Monday, September 25, 2017

I’m Choosing to View This Vehicle Through a Zombie Apocalypse Lens

An alert reader sent me this picture of a Jeep bearing a license plate and stick people decal that I’m choosing to view through a sort of Zombie Apocalypse lens. It’s the only way this vehicle makes sense and it also makes me feel better about the world.

Otherwise, I’d be forced to reconcile the logically inconsistent idea that abortion before you’re born is bad, but abortion after you’re born (in the form of shooting yourself in the face by mistake with an AK-47) is totes kosher.

I don’t buy it.

I think this family of three is simply armed for the Zombie Apocalypse and advocating that it would be prudent for others on the road to follow suit.

That’s why the license plate says KIL-ZMB and the trifecta is well-armed for the coming End Times. In that scenario, it makes sense to “choose life,” because the alternative is dying at the hands of a staggering Zombie who wants to feed on your brains. Then you best believe you’re gonna need a Bushmaster, a handgun, and a hunting rifle.

When you think about it, this is actually a pretty smart thing to do to your Jeep.

Sunday, September 24, 2017

I Rewrote This Apocalyptic R.E.M. Song for 2017

Oh great that wasn’t an earthquake
Drones, bombs, and fighter planes
Kim-Jong Un needs to get laid

Three giant hurricanes
Look at all the trees burn
World serves the world's greed
Don’t misjudge their misdeeds
Tweet it up a notch, they’ve got no strength

Their blather and their chatter
Makes us fear fight, world blight
Screaming that “you’re fired”
Make the world go up in flames
And a government for hire and a combat site

Alt-right, white fright, make everybody worry
About a mushroom cloud of fury that is mad high-tech
Team by team, reporters baffled, Trumped, leaks, Assanged,
Mnuchin on a public plane, fine, then
Uh oh, overflow, Obamacare and Tax Code
But it'll do, save yourself, serve yourself
World serves its own needs, listen to your heart bleed
Tell me with the Rapture and the reverent and the left, right
You vitriolic, patriotic, slam fight, bright light
Feeling unpsyched

It's the end of the world as we know it
It's the end of the world as we know it
It's the end of the world as we know it and I feel fine

Non-stop, T.V. hour, don't get caught in treason 
Slash and burn, return, listen to the news churn
Lock 'em in uniform, grandstanding, kneetaking
Every motive escalate, internet incinerate
Light a candle, light up Twitter, countdown, rundown
Watch your feels crush, crush, uh oh
This means no fear, cavalier, Anti-fa, and steer clear
An armament, and parliament, a tournament of lies
Offer me solutions, offer me alternatives, Congress Grow. A. Spine.

It's the end of the world as we know it (I had some time alone)
It's the end of the world as we know it (I had some time alone)
It's the end of the world as we know it and I feel fine (time I had some time alone)
I feel fine (I feel fine)

It's the end of the world as we know it (time I had some time alone)
It's the end of the world as we know it (time I had some time alone)
It's the end of the world as we know it and I feel fine (time I had some time alone)

The other night I kinda cried, about our national divide
People falling into line, climate change deadlnes
Vladimir Putin, Kapernick, and Rocket Man
Grand Old Party, headfake, Machiavellian BOOM
You sick despotic, fake patriotic, FAKE NEWS? SAD! Right? Right.

It's the end of the world as we know it (time I had some time alone)
It's the end of the world as we know it (time I had some time alone)
It's the end of the world as we know it and I feel fine (time I had some time alone)

It's the end of the world as we know it
It's the end of the world as we know it
It's the end of the world as we know it and I feel fine (time I had some time alone)

I’m Not a Dotard and I Can Prove it Because I Took Two Teenage Boys to See a 10:05 p.m. Showing of IT

Last week, along with most of America, my vocabulary increased by one word: "dotard." I'd never have guessed that Kim Jong-Un would've taught me a new word in my native tongue, and yet there he was, calling Donald Trump a "mentally deranged U.S. dotard" whom the chubby dick-tater-tot would "definitely tame" with "fire."

As soon as I stopped laughing,I IMMEDIATELY Googled "dotard" and learned that it was a noun meaning "an old person, especially one who has become weak or senile." 

Wow, for once Kim Jong-Un and I could agree on something!

Now the suffix "tard" has obviously fallen out of favor and for good reason. A lot of things sucked about being a kid in the '80s, among them how junior sociopaths would call everyone who didn't rise to their level in the social hierarchy some sort of "tard." Like "fucktards" or "retards" or "gaytards"--with impunity. After doing some etymological research, I discovered that "dotard" was more closely linked to "dotage" than "tard," and had reached its peak use in about 1800.

The point of all this, though, is that I AM NOT A DOTARD. How do I know? I'm glad you asked, because I'm about to tell you. I TOOK TWO TEENAGE BOYS TO SEE "IT" LAST NIGHT! AT 10:05 P.M. Pee-fucking-Em, ya'll!!! That's NIGHT TIME. A horror movie. AT NIGHT! In the THEATER.


We were sitting around having dinner earlier that evening, and my friend's 17 year-old son announced his plans to head out to "the Valley" to see a 10:05 p.m. showing of Stephen King's IT with his 16 year-old buddy. "How are you getting there?" his dad asked. When the kid said "you're driving me," his dad laughed in his face. "Not tonight I'm not!"

"I'll take you!" I volunteered spontaneously, before I could fully appreciate the implications of my offer. 

It was only 7:30. That meant I would have to stay AWAKE for another two hours to pick the kids up and then another THREE hours to watch a horrifying movie. This last part was actually pretty easy, because I am a YOOOGE Stephen King fan and have read all of his books, including IT. I legit wanted to see IT and no one--and I mean not one adult I know--would agree to see IT with me.

And so the arrangements were made. Two hours later, I was sitting in a half-empty movie theater with a box of frozen Junior Mints and two teenage boys I'd basically just met, about to watch Pennywise the clown fuck some shit up.

As I cringed turtle-like into my coat and probably herniated a disc in the process, I realized that I wasn't even scared. At least not by the parts of the movie that were supposed to scare me.

I was scared that I'd suffer hearing damage from the volume. I was scared of the kids being mean to each other. I was scared of the girl character's dad who was sexually abusive. I was scared about my own kids becoming teenagers. When it was all over, one of the boys asked me if kids were really that mean to each other in the '80s. "I've never seen ANYTHING like that," said one of them.

Well that's a relief, I thought, remembering how Gary Lit would barge in on me in the bathroom and how Rolph Heitmeyer (sp??) would smack me upside the head as hard as he could while waiting for the bus.

But here in 2017, one thing was clear: I had stayed awake to see a horror movie in the movie theater with two teenage boys who didn't seem 100% mortified to be there with me.


Friday, September 22, 2017

Parenting Right Now Is...

... Freaking out and pulling a lice comb through my hair every time I feel the slightest itch on my head

... Hiding all my gum, candy, and Band-Aids

... Listening to Despacito feat. Justin Bieber over and over and over and over and ...

... Refereeing fights over who got more sugar

... Refereeing fights over who got more screen time

... Refereeing fights over who broke whose shit

... Refereeing fights over who started it

... Not caring what "it" was

... Agreeing to let Isaac wear a "ninja suit" on picture day

... Overdue/missing library books

... Not being able to find the floor in even one room of my own house

... Not being able to make it through one sentence of this blog post without Paige trying to read me a Far Side cartoon out loud

... Being subjected to Hey Jesse, Liv and Maddie and Octonauts every weekend morning

... Eating stale Late July tortilla chips with crusty cheese melted on them because no one puts the clip thing on the chips or wraps the cheese back up after they make their lunch

... Being an indentured cruise director and recreational advisor 

... Signing crumpled up permission slips

... Explaining Donald Trump

... Driving back and forth and back and forth and back and forth to soccer and dance and birthday parties and Costco and whoops one of my kids forgot their sleeping bag so I'm driving back home again

... Feeding Squiggles the frog

... Forgetting to feed Squiggles the frog and worrying that he's dead and then being amazed that he isn't

... Crying when I check my bank account online and admonishing myself for being 40 years old and still living beyond my means

... Answering "how do you spell" and "what does it mean" every two seconds

... Not being able to do fourth grade math

... Fidget spinners

... Total unmitigated gratitude for these two amazing humans!

Thursday, September 21, 2017

I Rewrote a Song Because Trump is Lying to His Base

Because you know I'm lying to my base
To my base, I’m trouble
I'm lying to my base
To my base, I’m trouble
I'm lying to my base

To my base, I’m trouble
I'm lying to my base
Right to their face...face

Yeah, it's pretty clear, I got low IQ
But I can fake it, fake it, like they all want me to
'Cause I got that spray tan and cops sprayin' mace
And all the alt-right in all the wrong places

I faked Time Magazine, my golf-club Photoshop
We know that shit ain't real, but I won't make it stop
If you got money, money, cha-ching it up
'Cause I'm conning all you MAGAs 
And you're eating up this slop

Yeah, my daddy he told me "don't worry about your lies"
(Shoo wop wop, sha-ooh wop wop)
He said, "whites
 wanna hear that the country is stayin' white"
(That's bullshit, bullshit, you know that's bullshit bullshit)
You know that Mexico won't ever pay for a giant wall

(Shoo wop wop, sha-ooh wop wop)
And I promised you JOBS JOBS but they're staying in Nepal

Because you know I'm lying to my base
To my base, I'm trouble
I'm lying to my base
To my base, I'm trouble
I'm lying to my base
To my base, I'm trouble
I'm lying to my base
To my base... Hey!

I'm bringing treason back
Go 'head and tell Bob Mueller that
My wife looks like she wants to hit me with a bat
But I'm here to tell you...
Every tweet I write is stupid and my hair looks like a mop

Yeah Ivanka she told me "keep wearing those long red ties"
And I'm building hotels for a posse of Russian spies
(I'm making money, money, I'm making money, money)
You know I wish that my fingers were not quite so very small
And to prove that they aren't I guess I'll just nuke us all.

Wednesday, September 20, 2017

Who Wore it Best? Melania or Your Lady Junk?

What's new, Pussycat? Melania Trump and Your Vagina made powerful cases for dressing like a bearded clam as both ditched predictable little black cocktail dresses for separate events today.

Melania, 48, continued her slog as embittered arm candy to a fascist cantaloupe in New York City, wearing a much more Georgia O'Keefe-inspired look than the slew of safari jackets and stilettos she’s been spotted in during her whirlwind tour of the not-caused-by-climate-change-hurricane-ravaged Texas. 

The FLOTUS, who looks chronically miserable even when dressed as an engorged vajazzle, chose a bright pink labial ensemble by Giorgio Punani, teamed with a landing strip of bleached pubes and Jimmy Choo Lucy 100 pumps.

In the lobby of Trump Tower, Melania stared vacantly into space, contorted her face into a rictus of pain, and slapped Cheeto Satan's hand away, cringing in repulsion at the man she calls her husband and President of the United States. 

"Get me out of here," she whispered. "I didn't sign on for this shit. No seriously, no amount of jewelry and private jets is worth this shit show."

Meanwhile, down in your pants, Your Vagina, 40, hosted the opening of a toilet seat as you went to go pee and then just sat there "reading" on your phone, long after your bladder was empty, simply so no one would bother you. The Part of Your Anatomy and Source of All Life wore an unflattering style of almost Granny-panties with pubes coming out two three sides like some kind of fucking animal.

So, tell O.H.M.: Which suits your taste better, Melania or Your Lady Junk?

Tuesday, September 19, 2017

No, I am Not "Curious About My Body Composition"

Today I received an offer from my health insurance inviting me to measure my body fat percentage and asking if I was "curious about [my] body composition."

The answer is no. No, I'm not.  Not even "Christy" my "onsite health coach" can pique my curiosity about this or get me excited about "setting goals for progress."

Like why would I go out of my way to spend my lunch hour just so Christy can put a number on my laziness? 

Here are 10 things I'm more curious about than my body composition:

1. What it feels like to put my finger in an electric socket.

2. The much-debated actual size of Donald Trump's peen.

3. What's on page 1,456 of the annotated tax code.

4. What happens if you drink a whole bottle of Sriracha.

5. If Bernie really would have won.

6. My aunt's most recent comment on Facebook.

7. The names and addresses of every person who hates me.

8. If my kids will ever stop fighting with each other.

9. What my head would look like if I shaved all my hair off tomorrow.

10. Christy's body fat percentage.