If I were in charge, losing a child would earn a person immunity. He or she has scaled the pinnacle of pain; it should all be downhill from there. If I were in charge.
Today, however, I’m still not in charge, and so my thoughts go out to Elizabeth Edwards. The world needs as many good hearts as possible. I think she has one, and I hope it keeps beating strong for a long time to come.
Keep slugging, Mrs. Edwards!
Congratulations to Francis E. Allen, 75, for winning the Turing Award for Innovations to High Speed Computing. For the first time in 40 years, the Association for Computing Machinery awarded a women the honor.
And I love this… The Associated Press reports:
Allen called it “high time for a woman,” though she quickly added: “That’s not why I got it.”
Apparently 2007 is not really the Year of the Pig, but rather, the The Year of the Demise of the Chauvinist Pig.
First, Madam Speaker of the House. Why she didn’t use the gavel to club the guy standing in front of her at State of the Union is beyond me.
Second, a woman running for POTUS. Like her or not, ya gotta like the idea of ovaries in the oval!
Third, Geek Chicks rule! Go, Fran!
Fourth… please stay tuned!
Thank God, it’s Valentine’s Day!
Mind you, I am not a prude. I am not opposed to romance. The idea of a day to promote love ain’t at all a bad thing. And who would pass up an excuse for candy and flowers?
However, if one has spent any time watching TV since the new year began, one would be convinced that February 14th is Sex Day. Ah, the objectified woman.
Where is the romance when the TV says to send HER a pajama-gram, the one sure way to get HER to take HER clothes off?
Where is the pitter-patter-my-heart when KY Jelly proclaims it has the longest lasting personal lubricant and the commercial shows that it’s 4 AM?
Where is the mystique when an international non-profit health organization says the way to say you love HER is for HIM to hear the snip snip of the vasectomy scalpel?
For many, sex can be had without love.
For the rest, love comes before anyone else can.
In either group, love equals sex.
Geesh!
Ya just gotta love this catchy article headline:
Well, hell, why didn’t I think of that? Beat my brains to a pulp and perhaps I’ll forget that I am a smoker.
As one of the filthy, stinky, scorned members of society, I am sure there are quite a few squeaky clean, fragrant, holier-than-thou members who would happily oblige.
Yeah, I know. The article says: Clearly brain damage isn’t a treatment option for people struggling to kick the habit. Sometimes, however, I think it might be the appropriate treatment option for the self-righteous non-smokers out there. Perhaps they’ll forget that while, yes, they have a right not to breathe my fumes, the entire fricking universe does not revolve around them. Blemishes, bad habits, and blasphemies—we all have a right to be here. If I keep my smoke away from you, would you promise to keep your hot air away from me?
Gee, don’t get me going here! I’ll end up on a rant so enraging that I’ll end up banging my head against the wall! And what’ll that get me?
Oooooh yeaaaaah!
Brain damage!
Then I’ll forget I’m a…
I’m a…
I’m a…um…
What were we talking about?
Kudos to Nancy Pelosi! It’s frickin’ about time to put the women in charge. Just think how much greater — and more respected — this America would be if there had been the Founding Mothers.
And Dems… PLEASE don’t screw it up. PLEASE do what you vowed to do.
So… The pope is in Turkey today, trying to fix the problems he caused with his utter crap about Islam. Yes, it is the pope’s Turkey Day.
Will it work?
Why does religion (of all things) seems to be a license to spew prejudice and hate?
But the burning question…
Does the pope’s actual presence in Turkey finally, finally, finally sanctify the term “pope’s nose” for the utterly weird and offensive part of the turkey’s ass?
For 364 days out of each year, we teach our children not to talk to strangers. Some strangers are vastly stranger than others, but it’s best to be standoffish to all. Even the nice lady who tried to lend a helping hand to the child on the ground, under the bike, with the skinned knees. It was the right thing to do, to yell “Help!” because of the approaching lady, not because of the knees.
For 364 days out of each year, we teach them not to take candy from strangers. After all, it could be a ploy. It’s easier for a bad person to seem really nice when extending a hand that’s filled with Tootsie Rolls.
Then, for 1 day of each year, we throw the rules out the window. Approach people’s homes! Go on, talk to that stranger! Say clearly, “Trick or treat!” Don’t forget the thank-you. Then, take the candy from them. Don’t grimace if it’s not the kind you like. Take it even if it’s unwrapped, homemade, or mangled. We can get it x-rayed if it seems that suspicious. Mind your manners above all else. And, for heaven’s sake, don’t eat any of your candy-from-strangers until we check it for razor blades, needles, LSD, or any other sick bastards’ inventions.
It’s seems a contradiction—that one-day-a-year—and yet we are still teaching them to stay safe. It is defiance of the proverbial “one bad apple spoils the barrel.” The sick bastards among us needn’t make us all sick bastards, but if you’re a vulnerable child in this world, it’s safest to assume. Any other day of the year, they will look at me with suspicion or yell for help when I’m trying to help. I hate what that makes me feel, but I still know that it’s right. But one day a year, they’ll approach me, they’ll speak to me, and they’ll take what I have to offer. Just a treat, not trick.
So I hope there are kids in the world this morning who savored the excessive salvia that comes from the delectable Tootsie Rolls this house handed out. There are good apples in the barrel, plenty of them. There are good people who want nothing more than to offer a smile and a simple treat. There are things that are not a trick. Maybe we just show them that one day a year, so they know. Then when they are old enough to differentiate on their own, they will still have faith in humanity.
And major kudos to all law enforcement officers who were out last night checking up on the Child Molesters and nabbing any who violated the terms of their probation by handing out candy to the kids. Yes, handing out candy is contact with children. Sick bastards!
Italy is cracking down on television broadcasters who crank up the volume on commercials. Survey Says: “83% of the adverts shown on three important Italian TV channels were broadcast with a volume level about 50% higher than the programmes they interrupted.”
Damn, I hate that!
Can’t the boys and girls in our Congress spend their time working on important legislation to ban this practice in the U S of A instead of wasting their time trying to make flags non-combustible and the rich untouchable? Oh, that’s right: the boys and girls are out for recess. Maybe after they put the dodge(d) balls back in the storage room, then? Please? Pretty please?
I mean come on! Some of us are insomniacs who use the TV as the tried and true cradle-rocker. The Sandwomen is tip-toing ever so near to bag her prey when some goddamn commercial loudly spews some spittle about Zestra, the feminine arousal fluid. Okay…so now I am rudely reminded that not only am I not getting sleep, I’m not getting laid either. Thanks so much for that! Then a parade of men beller about their fricking ED. GD ED! F U ED! E(at shit and) D(ie) ED!
Instead of being lulled into a peaceful sleep, I toss and turn with nightmares about heterosexual chemical sex.
“Here, honey, slather this on your much-too-private parts.”
“Oh, thank you, dear, and here, you down this little blue pill so your way-too-public parts can salute this handy dandy non-combustible U S of A flag and my itch won’t be untouchable.”
“Yes, and by the time this reaches my bloodstream, we can…zzzzzzzzz…”
Yeah, Italians do it better.
Get a load of this: “Constipation Linked to Aggression in Nursing Home Residents.”
Constipation can trigger physical aggression in a nursing home resident with dementia, researchers here reported. In a large group of residents with dementia, those with constipation were about as likely to exhibit aggressive physical behavior as those who experienced hallucinations…
Yes, according to the powers that be, physical and verbal violence stems from 4 causes:
The aging process is already humiliating and unnerving. Now, I gotta worry about this?
I can already wear a blue funk that’d make a drag queen swoon. (Wild women do, too, get the blues.) I’m already prone to delusions of grandeur. (Highly refined ones, of course.) I already fantasize. (Please don’t tell Holly.) And the clincher: I’m already anal-retentive.
I’ll be smackin’ orderlies before the state can liquify my assets. (Which may alleviate constipation. Hmmm… Is that why they take everything you own?) I’ll be the cantankerous old women with the penchant for the f-word. They’ll slide my dinner tray under the door and run. People will congregate outside my window on Halloween, pointing, waiting for a glimpse of me in all my unholiness. I will growl just to hear them shriek. Priests will throw holy water. Crosses on walls will spontaneously spin and stop at up-side-down.
God, I’m working myself into a perimenopausal frenzy! Back to the reality!! Back to the article…
Okay, yadda, yadda…effective treatment may reduce the risk of violence in nursing homes…yadda, yadda…
Stop the presses!
When you get near the bottom of the article, you get this little nugget…
It is not clear whether physical aggression may be related to…interventions such as suppositories that may elicit a defensive action by some residents
Well, doesn’t that offer a shitload of insight! Huh? Are some older folks aggressive because they are constipated or because some asshole orderly is shoving a suppository where the frickin’ sun hasn’t shone for a century?
It’s not clear to you scholarly researchers you? It’s not clear?!
It’s suddenly perfectly clear to me.
Wish upon, wish upon, day upon day, I believe oh lord
I believe all the way
Come get up my baby
Run for the shadows, run for the shadows, run for the shadows in these golden yearsNothin’s gonna touch you in these Golden Years, gold
Golden years, gold whop whop whop
Thanks, David.
An Associated Press article, Fight Erupts at Shoe Sale; Customer Shot:
ISTANBUL, Turkey — Chaos broke out at a shoe sale in Turkey this week, and one person got shot in the foot, a news agency reported.
The incident Friday occurred in Karabuk…[at a] retailer that was selling pairs of shoes for as little as $6… When customers rebelled against orders to close the store because of overcrowding and started to fight with one another and with salespeople, a store employee shot his gun into the air… The bullet struck the foot of a customer…
Now being a normal person, I am supposed to roll my eyes and make an indignant tsk at the fact that a shoe sale would incite violence. Then, I am to remember the picture of the poor woman losing her wig as she’s trampled by an onslaught of Walmart shoppers after those damn cheap laptops. I am then to do a little math in my head: women + shoes + sale = oh yeah, believe you me. Suddenly the roll of the eyes and the perfect tsk are to become a commiserating chuckle.
If I were a normal person, cuz that ain’t what happened in my gray matter.
This portion of the article bears repeating: a store employee shot his gun into the air [and] struck the foot of a customer [at a shoe sale].
Was the customer standing on his/her head to have received this bullet that was shot in the air? Hanging from the ceiling? Dancing on the dumbass Ceiling with Lionel Ritchie? Looking for a 6 1/2 narrow on the top of the shoe racks? What? That’s what I wanna know.
And… If a person at a shoe sale gets shot in the foot, I just thank Goddess Moon that it was not a sale at Victoria’s Secret (ouch!)…
Woman Shot in Pie Hole at Baker’s Square’s Buy-One-Get-One
“You’ll shoot your eye out, Ralphie!” Screams a Mother at a Pearle Vision Sale Before First Shot Fired
Man’s Nuts Blown Off at Buddy Squirrel Early Bird Sale
Page created in 0.354 seconds and powered by WordPress and a feisty attitude.
The Clique, women's banner exchange
© 1998-2008 by You Decide. All Miranda Rights Reserved. You reserve the right to remain silent.