blech.

Live in Kansas at your own risk.

So... there's a possibility for a crime to have been committed. There isn't a shred of proof that one did, and there's not a single suspect. And this douchebag wants the medical histories of women and girls released to him. Based on that. Wow.

I'd like for all proctologists to release their records, too. Clearly, something might have crawled up someone's ass and died... was there foul play involved? I'll never know without this extremely private, yet randomly seized, information.

Have I mentioned that republicans *really* tick me off? Oh, cause they do. Are they still claiming to be interested in keeping the guvammint out of our lives? Is anyone still buying it?

Okay, here's the thing

I know everyone loves the movie Lost in Translation. I know that I'm supposed to be one of the sensitive intellectuals who can enjoy a complete lack of plot and explosionage.

But here's the thing: I see Bill Murray's name on a movie? I expect Ghostbuster quality. Bare minimum. I don't think that's too much to ask for. Would it have *killed* them to throw in a creepy, dead librarian or two?

I don't think it would have.

Fun with Pro-Lifers

Pro-lifers take themselves entirely too seriously. This can provide an insane amount of entertainment for the rest of us normal folk. I found this secret out one day when I went with my friend to an abortion clinic. She was actually just there to pick up her birth control, as the abortion clinic sells it more cheaply than a regular pharmacy, but the protestors outside didn't know that. As we were walking in the door, the protestors geared up:

"THEY'RE KILLING BAAAAABIES IN THERE!" A woman screamed passionately at us.

"Oh shit!" I said. "I thought they were giving away puppies!"

We pretended to turn around, but couldn't stop laughing long enough to pull it off.

The realization that pro-lifers have *no* sense of humor when it comes to the whole "baby-killing" thing has really helped me keep my sanity through protests. I used to just flick them off and do the whole "my body, my choice!" chant. Which is nice, don't get me wrong. There's nothing like a good chant. And flicking them off does provide a certain "warm fuzzy" that few things can replace. But there is a much deeper satisfaction that comes with really having a hearty laugh instead.

I remember at the March for Women's Lives up in DC, there was a proud pro-lifer along the march route. He held up a sign with some nonsense about abortion being a modern holocaust. Unlike the more polite protestors, he was standing in the march route, where we had to bump around him as we passed. This would have been annoying, had it not provided a GREAT opportunity to sticker his back without his knowledge. By the end of the march, he had more "Pro-choice is pro-woman!" and "Every child a wanted child!" stickers on him than Susan Sarandon and Ani Difranco combined. I wish I could have been there when he found our gifts of love.

Speaking of protests, My good friend Brian (aka guyincognito) and I were tossing around an idea when we were in DC this past January. We were at the American History Museum and noticed a guy in the mall holding a sign. The sign said: "Sin is evil." Now, it just looked lonely. I mean, marching for something that has no real opponent is kinda sad. We really wanted to stand next to him, holding a sign that said "Yay sin!" I might have even pretended to let him convert me. "You mean... sin is *evil?* But... this ruins my whole idea of good and, um, you know... evil. What have I been doing with my life?!?"

Unfortunately, we had nothing with which to construct some signage. Brian, always one for a "get rich quick... off sucker political activists" scheme decided that it would be a great idea to make a compactable, eraseable protest sign. A must have for the liberal-on-the-go. Think about the potential. You could protest ANYTHING, ANYWHERE with no warning at all. Don't like the service at your local falafel joint? Break out the sign! Vending machine eat your dollar? Break out the sign! Tired of people protesting stuff? Hey- you've got a sign for that, buddy!

You'd better pre-order now. These puppies are going to fly off the shelves.

DARE to keep Jon on drugs...

More adventures with Jon Thomas Lore...

Outside the bank today, there were some people soliciting donations for a well known group called DARE, which strives to keep kids off drugs.

For some bizarre reason, I decided to tell Jon Thomas about it.

Jon's response?

"I woulda given her some change and just said 'yeah. I hate it when I go to my dealer and he's says he's all out cause some teenagers bought it all. High school kids just ruin it for everyone. A real addict needs that shit."

aaaaaand end quote. So, there you go. DARE to keep Jon on drugs. It may be a side effect that the good people at DARE never intended... but atleast they're helping someone.

It's not as bad as it seems

Dems everywhere, don't cry. It's not as bad as it seems.

I know several friends who were near suicidal when this gallup poll was released: http://www.gallup.com/poll/content/?ci=14974

Okay, okay. So people named Reagan as the greatest president. I'll say it if no one else will. It's cause he just died. Nothing raises popularity like death. You have to wait at least 5 years after a president's death before obtaining any sort of long-term idea of popularity. So don't go and off yourself because of this... unless you want to raise your own popularity, of course.* And other than Reagan, who was on the top 5? Clinton, FDR, Kennedy and Lincoln. All of whom can reasonably be considered progressives. (normally, I would insert a Clinton/DLC disclaimer for all you truebelievers but yannow what? After 4 years of Bush, the grass is lookin' greener, my friends. It's lookin' greener.)

And yes. Lincoln wasn't technically a dem. But comeon. He *so* would be today and you know it. And FDR? Shiiiiiit. There are *still* diehard, ornery, octogenarian conservatives who will refer to him only as "that man."** That makes him a-ok in my book.

So basically, this just tells us what we already knew. Progressive politics are fantastic in hindsight, but they're big-n-scawwy in the present light. So, while it may be nearly impossible to actually *get* elected, the people will love you forever once you're gone. Thanks, America.

*disclaimer 1: To all you teens- no, I don't condone suicide for popularity's sake. Just do what the rest of us malcontents did: write bad poetry about how tragic your life is and invest a small fortune in thick, black eyeliner. It's much less permanent and you get the same angst-ridden result.

**quoth my friend, Metal Prophet, who has apparently met some of those ornery octogenarian conservatives.

Random conversation in the lobby-

There's nothing better than hearing *part* of a conversation... the part that's completely weird if taken out-of-context. This was part of a conversation that was too good to keep to myself. The roles are played by my boss, A and my co-worker, T.

A- That's the guy with the tatoo of jesus, right?

T- He does not have a tatoo of jesus!

A- The hell he doesn't! Right on his leg!

T- No! That guy is supposed to be jesus?

A- Do you know of anyone else who wears a crown of thorns?

T- uhhh...

A- Look at Bikinikiller. You know she's thinking "get your religion out of my lobby."

Heh. Actually, I was thinking that I am *so* lucky to work at a place where heresy happens daily. Thank you, jesus.

The one that got away...

For some time now, I've had a severe armadillo-phobia. Some would call it an "irrational fear." They lay on that "it's more scared of you than you are of it" line- like anyone actually buys that. That's what the armadillos want you to think.

So as I pulled up to our apartment after work tonight it was unsettling to discover an armadillo between my car and my apartment. Perhaps I should explain the root of my fear, so you can understand where I'm coming from.

It was a balmy summer night at a woodsy little camp called Cedarkirk. We were playing a massive game of Capture the Flag that encompassed acres upon acres of wilderness. Armed with only a flashlight, I set out to complete the mission. For those readers not familiar with Capture the Flag, the mission, not surprisingly, is to Capture a Flag. Anyway, I was in a low crouch with my face to the ground. My eyes were focused on the flag I so dearly sought. I could taste victory.

Then out of nowhere, a giant, man-eating armadillo popped up in front of me, his murderous eyes glinting in the moonlight. He bared his bloody, armadillo fangs and gave a look that can only be described as "Your ass is mine, Wankershanks."

I screeched and ran. To my horror, the armadillo chased after me. With astounding speed and agility, he lept and scuttled at my heels. I may have had 50 times his body mass, but he had a will that would not fail. You'd think I'd insulted his mama the way he was running after me. That mofo was determined to mow. me. down.

Suffice it to say, I am still alive. I was not "another statistic." I was not "another notch in his belt" although he certainly tried. I don't how long the blood sport lasted... only that there was a bright light beckoning to me from above and I ran for it. Even death would be an improvement over such terror. Luckily, I didn't need to die, as the bright light scared the crap out of the armadillo. Oh yeah, and it was the lights around the pool. Not God. FYI.

But you can see that I've been scarred. Who wouldn't be? So when I saw that armadillo outside of my apartment tonight I wondered, "who had he been talking to?" Was I the one that got away? Was there a bounty on my head in the seedy armadillo underground?

I hurried inside without incident, but who knows what they have planned for morning? If I'm taken down by a snarling mob of oversized rat-dogs, I beg you good readers: Avenge my death.