Fuck you, Congress

I wish I could say I had no words to describe the utter stupidity and insanity you’ve displayed. But oh, do I have words.

You scum-sucking vermin. You cretinous, moronic little monsters. You have no idea how much I fucking hate you. SO MUCH HATE.

Mr. Weebles said it best yesterday: You have no interest in serving the American people; you’re interested only in serving your own selfish agendas, inflicting your own ideologies on everyone, and screwing over the guys on the other side of the aisle. That goes for all of you, not just those of you whom I’ve targeted before.

And for you small-minded, bigoted bastards who will do anything to thwart any and all policies the president initiated—I know most of you are THIS CLOSE to calling Obama “Boy.” You should all become Satan’s girlfriends in Hell.

You can’t come to an agreement to keep the government running? Then you’re not doing your fucking jobs. So why can’t we eject all of you from your cushy little seats? I want to stop paying taxes. I want to fire all of you. I want to see all of you rot.

So many people depend on the government for their income, their livelihoods, and so much more. You’ve made it patently obvious that you don’t truly care about any of them. And all you mean-spirited jackals can do is puff out your chests and bloviate. Fuck you.

If you actually cared about your country, about the American people, you would have gotten it done. You didn’t. You should be fucking fired. All of you. Choke on those furloughs, motherfuckers.

As for you, John Boehner, fuck you especially for saying, “The American people don’t want Obamacare.” Is that a fact? Did you interview every single American citizen? I’m quite certain you did not.  You may be Speaker of the House but you absolutely do not speak for the American people, you demonic pus-filled slimeball.

Children would do a better job of running the government than you people. Even the kids from Lord of the Flies would do a better job. They’re not nearly as petty as you troglodytic* half-wits. Blow me.

You could have come to an agreement. You could have found some ground on which to compromise. But you all let your personal interests and your hatred of the other party blind you to the all-important fact that YOU WORK FOR US.

You failed. Miserably. I wish we could charge you with criminal negligence and throw all your sorry asses in jail. I cordially invite all of you to fuck yourselves as hard as possible.

*Apologies to actual troglodytes. You’re probably smarter.

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This Fuck You Rant was inspired by the government shutdown, and also by my friend Rants. If you haven’t read his stellar screed on Congress, you should do so right fucking now.

Fuck you, Texas lawmakers

By now I’m sure many of us have heard about this travesty of justice, in which a Texas man was found not guilty of murdering an escort. Under Texas law, a person is justified in the use of deadly force to recover property stolen as part of a nighttime theft—in this case, the theft of $150 that the escort allegedly took from the defendant. This is just one of the many What the Fuck laws on the books in the Lone Star State. Hence, the rant that follows…

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So Ezekiel Gilbert has been acquitted. Phew, you boys must be so relieved. How tragic it would have been to incarcerate a perfectly good white man merely for the cold-blooded murder of a woman…a non-white woman who was working as an escort. Interestingly, another Texas man, who happens to be black, was sentenced to 50 years in prison for possession of a knife and stealing a $35 rack of ribs. Yes, the guy was a repeat criminal, but the key takeaway here is that a misdemeanor involving a dead cow or pig is far more of a heinous crime than the murder of a woman, right? I mean, who cares about human decency?

See, I’ve noticed that what’s really important to you folks is the legality of protecting your property by shooting to kill. Like that theft law, and your “Castle Doctrine” law that allows Texas residents to shoot intruders. But I have news for you: those laws? Not helping. Texas was #2 in the United States last year in the number of car thefts, overall property theft, AND burglary. So tell me again about how gun ownership deters crime. How’s that working out for you, dickwads?

Seriously, assholes, fuck you. You already had some of the loosest gun laws in the country, to the delight of many gun nuts with itchy trigger fingers. But as of last month, you relaxed your gun laws even further. Well done. What’s next, giving each baby in Texas a Fisher Price My First Shotgun?

None of this should really surprise me; you draconian sons of bitches have never really had any use for anyone who isn’t a white, gun-toting, Christian, heterosexual male. You know the updated Violence Against Women Act that Obama signed into law a few months ago? Twenty-two senators voted against the act. Guess which state’s senators were among them? That’s right, yours. Both of them. I suppose that’s fitting, given that the incidence of violence against women is pretty damned high in Texas. You certainly wouldn’t want to do anything to curb that, would you. Texas ranked second in the country last year in the number of rapes. And in 2011, Texas ranked second in the number of calls to the National Domestic Violence Hotline. Evidently you’re okay with that.

I’m not the only one who thinks you’re insane, by the way. Here’s a little article from Forbes magazine, in which one of your own citizens cuts you to pieces. Reading it warmed the cockles of my heart, but reading this one filled me with the greatest joy. Looks like a bunch of people have your number. Too bad they don’t all have the power to vote you out of office and make sure you never, ever return, you evil fucks.

Then there’s your governor, Rick Perry, who has a smile that makes my blood run cold. Rick, it’s obvious that you’re waging a war against women, gay people, and probably everyone else who doesn’t fit into your bizarre world view. You’ve signed legislation to close abortion clinics all over Texas, and in the few places where abortions are still allowed, you’ve signed another law that forces women to undergo ultrasounds before they terminate their pregnancies. You’ve expressed your disapproval of the Boy Scouts’ decision to allow gay scouts and in a stunning display of what I can only describe as chutzpah, you even likened being anti-gay to being anti-slavery. You opposed the repeal of Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell, and I assume you won’t be signing any laws allowing same-sex marriage. When karma finds you, I hope it takes the form of a gay, black, Muslim woman, and I hope she makes your life a living hell. It will be good practice for when you reach your Final Destination.

There are other states swarming with fucked-up politicians—South Carolina and Arizona come to mind almost immediately—but it pleases me to give you special treatment today, Texas lawmakers. Maybe if you weren’t so gun-crazy, and such blatant, unapologetically misogynist, racist, homophobic cretins, you wouldn’t be on everyone’s radar. Maybe if you weren’t a disgrace to humanity, I wouldn’t feel the urge to rake you over the coals. Maybe if you weren’t hellbent on returning Texas to the 19th century, you wouldn’t be the punchline to a very bad joke.

Apologies to all the normal, decent people of Texas—because I know there are so many of you. I realize that this screed may offend, but it’s a risk I’m willing to take.

Fuck You: Year-end (or World-end) edition

If you’re reading this, the world hasn’t ended…yet.  The Mayans didn’t say what time the end would come, or in what time zone, but let’s assume we have at least a few more hours.  If the world does explode today, I want to say farewell with a Fuck You medley.

Fuck you, gun nuts.  Fuck you and your arguments about how owning assault weapons protects us from tyranny.  The United States has the biggest arsenal on the planet.  If the government wanted to subdue the masses, do you honestly think a semi-automatic rifle would help you?  You could have a Howitzer in your front yard and it wouldn’t matter.  And you morons truly believe that arming everyone would prevent horrific shootings like the one in Newtown??  Rot in hell, you twisted, deranged scumbags.

Fuck you, cottage cheese.  I despise you.  I truly do.  If I were stranded somewhere and you were the only thing available to eat, I’d starve to death.  You’re disgusting.  You have icky curds and a funky aroma, and I still have PTSD from the one time I tried you.  People say you’re a good, healthy snack.  I disagree.  You’re nasty, and I hope you become someone’s prison bitch.

Fuck you, cancer.  You miserable fucking mutants.  You’ve killed millions of people.  You’ve tried to take out members of my family.  What is your fucking problem?  As long as I’m alive, I vow to fight you.  I will make sure everyone I know is vigilant about keeping you away and getting rid of you as fast as possible.  Drop dead.

Fuck you, Tom Cruise.  I hate you.  You’re a shitty actor and you’re insane.  And your voice annoys the shit out of me.  By the way, you’re about as suited to play Jack Reacher as I am.  Fuck you.  For the love of Xenu, go to the Scientology compound and stay there.  Permanently.  Do not speak or show yourself in public ever again.  You suck.

Fuck you, CEOs.  You’re greedy, evil motherfuckers.  You’ve destroyed so many lives with your callous disregard for your employees and your customers.  You’re soulless vultures who would sell your families for a few extra bucks.  I want to be there when the Universe doles out your karmic retribution.  I would mock you, laugh heartily, and eat popcorn while you suffered the slings and arrows of your outrageous fortune, as it were.  Blow me.

Fuck you, man sitting behind me on the plane.  You couldn’t gently put your tray back up—no, you had to slam it into the back of my seat.  Were you trying to give me whiplash or was that just a bonus?  And then you grabbed my seat back to hoist yourself up every time you changed positions.  Asswipe.  I reclined my seat in hopes of pissing you off but you didn’t seem to mind.  That just pissed me off more.  If I ever see you again, I will cut you into teeny tiny pieces.

Fuck you, dickwad standing behind me on line at the ATM.  Do you always stand that close to people you don’t know?  What the fuck is wrong with you?  You should have at least bought me a drink or asked for my name before you crawled up my ass.  I have three words for you: Personal space, motherfucker.

(Also, I really will be blogging about my party with Darla, Calahan, and Joe—as soon as the dust settles from Armageddon.)

Fuck you, bullies

NOTE: I had hoped to make this a regular Friday thing because I like the alliterative quality of Fuck You Friday, but I haven’t been able to stick to a regular schedule so far.  Therefore, I declare today to be Fuck You Fwednesday.
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Hey, assholes.  Yeah, you.  The scumbag who likes to belittle people.  The stuck-up bitch who trashes other chicks right to their faces.  The mean kid who makes fun of his classmates.  I’m talking to you.

You people are everywhere.  You’re a fucking plague.  I’ve read too many heartbreaking stories about children and teenagers being bullied for one reason or another.  Do you find it rewarding to pick on those who are smaller, weaker, or different?  Is it that much fun to gang up on someone and spread nasty rumors about them?  Does it truly satisfy you to taunt a person until they cry?  Or worse, until they have a nervous breakdown or commit suicide?  Do you think it makes you powerful?  It doesn’t.  It makes you vile subhuman filth.

The same goes for your adult counterparts. Internet trolls who get their rocks off by posting rude and insensitive remarks.  Facebookers, bloggers, and tweeters who target and mock others for entertainment.  Mean-spirited fucks who enjoy embarrassing their colleagues publicly.  Toxic bosses who are verbally abusive to their staff.  The foul vermin who bully their spouses or partners. What the fuck is your problem?  Obviously you haven’t grasped that you can’t become superior by cutting someone else down.  Here’s a news flash for you: not only does it not make you superior, it also makes you lesser people, you fucking cowards.

I was bullied when I was young.  I was shy and I was afraid of a lot of things.  I was also not an attractive child.  To make matters worse, I was the tallest one in my class, and the only one who had glasses and braces at the age of 9.  I may as well have had a bullseye painted on my forehead.  Terrible things were said to me.  My classmates teased me unmercifully.  Grownups made cruel, judgmental comments.  I was physically confronted by bullies a few times too, and it sucked.  Being a target because I was funny looking was bad enough; I can’t imagine how traumatic it is for kids who are victimized because of their color, religion, socio-economic level, or sexual orientation, or because of a handicap or other physical differentiation.

I’m not that shy, scared kid anymore.  As an adult, I feel very strongly about about confronting and stopping bullies.  You’re like cancers—you spread everywhere and you need to be cut off in your tracks.  I’m not a mother, and you should be glad about that because I would be your worst nightmare if you ever picked on my kid.  As it is, I am insanely protective of my friends and family.  If you take a potshot at someone I care about, I WILL COME AFTER YOU.  If you so much as say ONE WORD out of line about any of my loved ones, you will hear from me. I’m not kidding.

I don’t care if you had an unhappy childhood.  I don’t give a shit if you feel powerless and frustrated.  Under other circumstances, I might have compassion for you.  But if you choose to take out your misery and anger on someone with even less power, you forfeit any right to sympathy as far as I’m concerned.  Justifying your actions by blaming your home life or your upbringing makes as much sense as serial killers who target victims who look like their mother, or wife, or the first woman who ever dumped them.  The problem is YOU, motherfuckers.  Look at yourselves for a change, you spineless losers.  Look at what your actions have wrought.  Nothing good, right?  Think about that for a while.

Fuck you, you hate-filled jackals.  Fuck you and your twisted need to hurt others.  I don’t even have to wish ill on you—all I have to do is hope that you get what you deserve, because karma will be a vicious bitch.

The stigma of living with Crone’s disease

You’ve no doubt heard of Crohn’s disease, a chronic inflammatory disorder of the bowels.  My heart goes out to people with Crohn’s because it can be very debilitating and difficult to live with.

However, there’s another condition with a very similar name, and this is the one I want to talk about today.  It’s not easy to discuss, but I need to face my fears and tell my story.

My friends, I suffer from Crone’s disease.  I don’t have full-blown Crone’s yet, but it’s just a matter of time.

Medical literature on the subject is scant; patients generally present with very vague signs and symptoms.  Because there are no tests for Crone’s, proper diagnosis can be made only when the disease is already advanced.

I vividly remember when I noticed the first symptom.  I was at a bar and the music was really loud.  Probably no louder than the music at other bars I had been to, but on this night the volume really bothered me.  I was seized by the overwhelming urge to tell the bartender to “turn down that fucking noise.”  This was accompanied by a strong desire to reflect loudly and at length on how much better the music was when I was in high school and college and how “bands today all sound the same.”

I had never experienced anything like that before.  It scared me.

Several years later, another alarming symptom reared its ugly head.  I was out with some friends.  We had a great time carousing but after so much debauchery I needed to call it a night.  I looked at my watch.  It was 11pm.  That can’t be right, I thought.  It’s got to be around 4am.  My watch must have stopped.  How could this be, that after only a few hours I was tired and wanted to go home?

I didn’t know it then, but I was in the early stages of Crone’s.

Other symptoms emerged recently. Not long ago I used the phrase, “Kids today have NO IDEA.”  I sometimes mutter under my breath at loud groups of young’uns in their 20s and 30s.  And when people discuss celebrities, I frequently have no clue who they’re talking about.  Blake Lively?  Who’s he?

I babble about how U2 was really great “back in the day.”  I bemoan the fact that people born in the 80s and 90s are co-opting The Breakfast Club and calling it a movie for their generation.  Yeah, well, I’ve got news for you, you little punks:  you can’t possibly know what it was really like back then.  I was there, bitches.  So why don’t you just run along and play with your Xbox or something?

Doctors don’t talk about prognosis when it comes to people with Crone’s.  But I’m not stupid.  I know what’s in store for me.

“Get off my lawn, you rotten kids!”

I’ll start saying “I’m too old for this shit” more often.  My joints will make odd cracking noises, like an old house settling.  It will take me ten minutes to get up after sitting on the floor.  Certain foods will no longer agree with me but I’ll insist on eating them anyway and complaining when my stomach hurts and I can’t sleep.  My glasses will crap out and I’ll be forced to read stuff by holding it either really far away or right in front of my eyes.

I won’t even get into the visible manifestations of Crone’s disease because they’re too numerous and horrifying.  But I will say this: grey hair is associated with an increased risk of Crone’s.  As you know, I already have a touch of hag.  My future is grim.  Eventually I’ll have to accept my fate.

For those of you who think you might have Crone’s, please know you’re not alone.  You shouldn’t suffer in silence.  Instead, you should bitch and moan to anyone who will stand still long enough to listen.  It’s the only way.

Fuck you, pantyhose

I plan on having a new “Fuck you” post every Friday, but this post had to be postponed from last Friday because of the blogging duel.  So better late than never.

This is a post mainly for the ladies, although there may be some male readers who have had first-hand experience with pantyhose.  That’s cool, I don’t judge.  But if you’re not one of those gentlemen, this post will probably be of little interest.  So for your enjoyment, I offer this classic:

And now for today’s “Fuck You.”

I loathe you, pantyhose.  You come in only two sizes:  Elephant Leg and Death Grip.  They both suck ass.  You have no redeeming features.  NONE.  You’re hot and sweaty, even in the winter.  You haven’t the slightest idea how to fit.  You pinch, bind, constrict, sag, bunch, and twist up inexplicably . . . why don’t you just jam bamboo strips under my fingernails, you hateful little shit?

And you know the worst thing about you, you stupid hose?  You’re weak and pathetic.  I can put on a brand-new pair of you and you start to run immediately.  I might be able to distract you briefly with a dab of clear nail polish, but invariably you freak out and run somewhere else.  Sometimes you spontaneously form giant holes just for funsies.  Thanks for wasting my money, you fucking losers.  I lost count of how many mornings you made me late for work, how many times you caused me to curse uncontrollably, how many times I wanted to rip you into shreds, set you on fire, and dump your ashes in that mystery liquid on the subway tracks.

Here’s how much you suck: criminals wear you over their heads so people can’t tell what they look like.  So you’re either directly causing harm by inflicting massive discomfort and misery when we wear you, or you’re indirectly causing harm by aiding and abetting felons.  Good job, assholes.

You’re proof that if there is a God, he’s definitely male.  Because a female God would never have allowed you to exist.  You are to humans what Windows is to PC users—we hate you, but we use you because we don’t have many alternatives.  I pray for the day when women everywhere realize how horrific you are and decide to banish you from the face of the earth.  You deserve it.  You’ve enraged us long enough.

Fuck you, you odious pieces of nylon.  Fuck you a lot.

Fuck you, Republican wingnuts

[Disclaimer: This is not aimed at my Republican buddies here, who are intelligent, thoughtful human beings.  This is for the members of the GOP who are hell-bent on fomenting hatred and encouraging discrimination, among other things.  Anyone who is offended by this, however, is exactly the type of person I’m referring to below and should be offended.]

[Note: I’m not generally a politics person.  I will probably never write another political post, so I wanted to make this one count.  I’m coming out swinging.  I might lose some readers, and that’s okay.]

Hey, wingnuts.  You don’t know me but you hate me.

I’m from New York City.  To you guys, that’s just another name for Sodom.  Y’all hate us city slickers because we’re not honest, hard-workin’, church-goin’, “real” Amuricans.  Yet my city, along with 3,000 people, took a big hit for you 11 years ago.  Fuck you.

I believe that a person’s race, religion, or sexual orientation has absolutely nothing to do with a person’s right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.  You, on the other hand, cloak yourselves in your “Christian faith” and use it to justify your perverse views on humanity.  And you’re fine with people enjoying freedom—as long as they’re white, Christian, and heterosexual, and as long as they think exactly as you do.  You’re fucking hypocrites.

I care about the earth.  I know global warming is real.  I oppose drilling in the Arctic, fracking, and everything else that messes with our fragile environment.  I support the Kyoto Protocol and I’m ashamed that we are one of the few nations not to ratify it.  You hate that hippie shit.  As long as you make more money, who cares what happens to the planet, right?   You clueless fucking idiots.

I’m a woman.  I’m everything you dislike in a woman, too.  I am child-free by choice.  I didn’t take my husband’s last name.  I have my own career.  I believe all women should be able to live without the government dictating what we can and cannot do with our bodies.  You think we should be smacked around and put back in our place.  A lot of you don’t even seem to believe rape is a real crime.  That’s how much you hate us.  Fuck you, you sick misogynist bastards.

I say women should have equality in the workplace and get equal pay for doing the same work as men.  You hate that idea with a passion.  Let me tell you something, wingnuts.  The first women in my family to work outside the home were my grandmothers.  They were working their asses off when Lilly Ledbetter was still just a gleam in her daddy’s eye.  My grandmothers worked because they had to.  One of my grandmothers was an immigrant from Sicily.  You would have hated her just for that.  The other was a Rosie the Riveter—she worked at Fairchild Camera, manufacturing bomb sights and reconnaissance camera equipment for the war effort. (You’re welcome.)  They had difficult lives and few options.  Today, American women have opportunities that my grandmothers couldn’t even have dreamed about.  And you can’t handle the fact that women are now outclassing you and challenging your authority, can you?  Fuck you, you deserve it.

One of our greatest Republican presidents, Theodore Roosevelt, was a champion of women’s rights.  He also spoke out against racism.  His unorthodox views didn’t endear him to a lot of people, but he was a very forward-thinking guy.  I suspect that if he were alive today, he would have been just as open-minded on the subject of gay rights.  Meanwhile you halfwits are trying to drag us back to much darker times.  You’re a disgrace—not just to the Republican party, but to the whole country.  TR would kick your sorry asses back to the Stone Age.  Fuck you.

You disgust me.  You’re vile, arrogant, and pathetic.   I hate how you’ve given my country and my people such an awful reputation around the world.  Because the Americans I know—immigrant, American-born, gay, transgender, hetero, black, white, Latino, Asian, Christian, Jewish, Muslim, Hindu, atheist, whatever—are decent, kind, open-hearted souls.  They’re better Americans and human beings than you will ever be.

You’ve rewritten history to suit your agendas.  You’ve twisted the truth to such an extreme that it’s not even recognizable anymore.  Some people say you’re insane.  I disagree.  You’re not insane, you’re just evil.

The only good thing is that the more you talk, the more you reveal yourselves as hate-filled, ignorant troglodytes.  And the more that happens, the more people will want to stop you.  Because you need to be stopped.  You need to go back to your caves and pick bugs off each other, and leave my country alone.

Fuck you.  Fuck you all.

The Insomnia Monologues

List of Characters:
Madame Weebles, your performer and insomniac
Mr. Weebles, who can fall asleep just thinking about sleep
Cupcake, a beautiful, un-declawed, 18-pound kitty

Setting:
The bedroom, in the middle of the night.  It’s dark.  Mr. Weebles is asleep.  My alarm clock is taunting me with those giant glowing red numbers, pointing at me and snickering.

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I can’t believe this is happening again.  I’m so tired.  Why can’t I just go to sleep?  It’s 2:00am.  If I get to sleep by 3:00, that’s still four hours of sleep.  I guess that’s not too bad.

I could read but I’m too tired for that.  And I’m too tired and lazy to get up and go to the computer.  But my brain is spinning.  I don’t get it.  How can my brain be spinning when I’m this tired??  Maybe I’ll try that deep breathing thing I read about.  Innnnnnhaaaaaaaaaale.  Exxxxxxxxhaaaaaaaa—forget it, this is boring.

What’s on television?  Hey, Law & Order: Criminal Intent is on!

Ooop, someone just jumped on the bed.  It’s Cupcake.  Hi Cupcake!  Such a good girl.  Come here, let me pet you.  Ow, don’t stand on me, you’re concentrating all 18 pounds on one paw.  It really hurts.  Just lie down, pumpkin.  Come on, lie down.  No—please, don’t walk on me.  Ow, the claws.  Oh no.  Please, not there, Cupc—oww, NOTTHERENOTTHERENOTTHERENOWOWOWAWWWWW, look at you, you’re so cute!  See, isn’t this nice, lying down?  Yes, this is much nicer.

4:00am.  If I fall asleep in the next half hour, that’s two and a half hours of sleep.  Sigh.  At least it’s something.

Uh oh. There’s that poor limping dog—it’s that ASPCA or Humane Society commercial again. I need to change the channel.  What did I do with the remote?  Dammit, now I have to grope around for it with my eyes closed, I can’t watch these animals, it’s too sad.  Where’s the remote??  WHERE IS IT?!?!  I have to switch channels immediately!!  Lalalalalalalalalalalala I’m not listening lalalalalalalalalalalalalalala oh here it is.  **click**

4:30am.  Yay, I’m finally getting really drowsy.  I should be asleep pretty soon.  What a relief.

BRRRRRROOARRGGGGGGGGGGHRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!!

Fucking motorcyclist.  I hope he wraps his bike around a lamppost and it bursts into flames.  Asshole.

5:15am.  My heart is still racing from that motorcycle scaring the shit out of me.  I want to find that motherfucker, tie him to a stake, baste him with honey, and set fire ants on him.

Look at Mr. Weebles, sleeping so soundly.  That smug bastard.  How does he do that?  He looks so peaceful and cozy.  I really hate him.

6:00am.  If I fall asleep RIGHT NOW, that’s an hour of sleep.  That’s barely even a nap.  Fuck my life.  Is it possible to smother oneself with a pillow?

I want to make a voodoo doll of that biker and puree it in the blender.

6:45am.  Sonofabitch.  I can’t believe I haven’t slept all fucking night.  This is BULLSHIT.  I may as well just get up now since my alarm is going to go off in fifteezzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz……….

THIS is why the world hates America

I’ve just seen a commercial for a new TLC show called Here Comes Honey Boo Boo.  This Honey Boo Boo creature, who is 6 years old, is one of the stars of another TLC train wreck, Toddlers & Tiaras, and is a regular on the children’s beauty pageant circuit.

Now this little monstrosity has her own fucking show.  Because when TLC deliberately scraped the bottom of the barrel last season, they apparently still weren’t satisfied.  I haven’t checked the weather forecast for the week yet but I’m expecting locusts and frogs.

Here’s a video clip to give you an idea of what we’re dealing with here.

That “special juice” she’s talking about, by the way, is a mixture of Mountain Dew and Red Bull that her mother concocted for her.  She calls it “Go-Go Juice.”  No wonder the kid has the crazy eyes.

This is going to be one hell of a show.  A children’s beauty pageant contestant, her nightmare pageant mother, and the rest of her trailer trash family (although they don’t actually live in a trailer).  The daughter is an obnoxious, mumble-mouthed brat who’s cruising for a bruising if the parents continue to encourage that attitude of hers.  Mom is a brash, ignorant fame whore and a diabetes disaster waiting to happen.  And one of her other daughters proudly proclaims that they’re not rednecks because “we have all our teeth.”  With all that Red Bull and Mountain Dew?  I doubt that, honey.

And if that weren’t enough, the mother is a self-confessed “coupon queen” and one of the teenage daughters is pregnant.  TLC won the Extreme Reality Jackpot with this crew.  They must have wet themselves when they realized they hit the dysfunctional mother lode.

And before anyone starts yelling that I’m unfairly going after Southerners, rest assured that I also have plenty of venom for Snooki and her vacuous, sun-fried friends on Jersey Shore, the shrieking harpies on Real Housewives (all of them), the snarling shrews of Bridezillas, and most other reality-show “celebrities.”  They’re the worst of every possible stereotype.  I’m sure the producers edit the footage so that they seem as appalling as possible, but surely that doesn’t require much effort in most cases.

Networks will continue to put this dreck on the air as long as we keep watching it for our guilty pleasure.  Reality shows about well-adjusted people sitting around reading on their Kindles just doesn’t make for riveting television.  The problem is that these programs end up spawning legions of increasingly self-absorbed, brain-dead lemmings who want their 15+ minutes of fame.  They celebrate and encourage ugly behavior.  And they make us look bad as a country.  It’s embarrassing.

Sure, the world hates Americans because we’re big bullies and we know think we’re better than everyone else.  But big deal—that’s been the case for decades.

No, it’s these literacy-free cretins who really ruin it for us.  They’re why people in other countries think we’re fat, lazy, arrogant assholes with the intelligence of a speed bump.  For better or worse—mainly worse—in today’s world, these reality shows, like Hillbilly Handfishing, My Teen Is Pregnant and So Am I, Bad Girls Club, etc., end up serving as our nation’s ambassadors.

So forget about our ham-handed approach to world affairs, our penchant for going to war, and the fact that McDonald’s can now be found in even the most far-flung locations on earth.  Our reality shows are why everyone hates us.  Can you blame them??

Bless me, bloggers, for I have sinned…

My friends, it’s time for a deep, dark confession.

Many of you, here and on other blogs, have remarked on my kindness.  And I appreciate that very much.

I’ve looked at some of my recent posts to see how I might come across to someone reading them.  I suppose I do seem kind of kind.  And I am.  Sometimes.

But then there’s this post.  As well as this post.  And this one and this one.  Also this.

You see, dear readers, I’m really not all that nice.  I am not a people person.  I get ticked off extremely easily.  I’m one of the most impatient people I’ve ever met.  I have a temper that goes from 0 to 60 in 2.5 seconds.  I get road rage as a pedestrian.  So I think I’ve done the world a great service by choosing not to have a driver’s license.

The message on my cross-stitch pattern is not strictly tongue-in-cheek.

I have no qualms about ripping someone a new one.  There are few things more satisfying to me than taking an arrogant asshat down a few pegs or dressing down an incompetent co-worker.  I enjoy it a lot more than I should.

And then there are my interactions with tourists.  I’ve given plenty of them something to tell their friends back in East Buttfuck:  “Hey, I was cursed out by a New Yorker on the E train!”  If you congregate in front of an escalator or subway door, or if you walk aimlessly while staring at your giant maps, I’m going to make sure you get the hell out of my way.  I’ll start by being polite, but after that all bets are off.

Just the other day someone told me it’s not healthy to be so type A and that I should really slow down and chill out.  But that’s the thing—slowing down and chilling out is what annoys me.  I don’t want to slow down.  I want everything else to speed up.  I feel most Zen when I can go at the speed I want.  Richard Belzer did a great stand-up bit many, many years ago, about how someone said he talked too fast—to which Belzer replied, “No, Sparky, you just listen too slow.”  I understand this completely.

But I digress.

I wanted to share all of this with you because I actually like you guys and want you to know more about who you’re reading here.  So yeah. I’m not Mary Sunshine.  Unless Mary Sunshine is a bitchy 40-something who can be recreationally confrontational and gives basilisk stares to people who piss her off.

Now who wants cookies?