Category Archives: Politics
I decided to look up my Roller Derby name today. According to Mia Psycho’s Roller Derby Name Generator, I am “Terror Shattering”. It’s good George W. was not aware of this during his interminable term, what with his whole hostility against horror. I might have been drafted to be some kind of weapon of mass emotion obstruction, which I would, of course, have found morally reprehensible. Even though, ironically, I take a pill every morning to obstruct my own emotions. And I think I can pretty much directly trace the necessity for that back to George W.
George’s Roller Derby name, by the way, would be “Anger GimmeMore,” according to Mia Psycho. She is amazingly accurate, that Mia.
I am not intending to join a Roller Derby team. I just ended up watching this unique sport last night when Kanye West got a bit too intense and creepy on Saturday Night Live and I was looking for another channel to switch to that would not be too engrossing because I definitely wanted to switch back to SNL in time to see Seth Meyers do his last news report.
Looking at the online guide, it seemed that Roller Derby might fit the bill, and I arrived on the scene just in time to see some kind of penalty being assessed, and a giant wheel being spun to determine the consequence, and the ensuing pillow fight between two of the opponents, the winner of which was determined by some kind of peanut gallery of spectators who certainly seemed completely objective.
I nearly did not get back to Seth Meyers in time because I found this human behavior so sociologically absorbing that I could not peel my eyeballs from the screen or shove my chin back up to meet the rest of my skull.
I’m not really into contact sports. Or sports. But I have got to admit that Roller Derby is fascinating. And not nearly as disturbing as Kanye West. It’s a bit like Quidditch combined with football and roller-skates. And without the flying, of course. I’m not absolutely sure there are no broomsticks, though. The rules seem a bit vague on that.
I only had to watch Roller Derby for two minutes and seventeen seconds to realize that this is the solution to every major conflict on this planet, and that women definitely should rule the world.
Just stick me on the rink with Aim Antagonism (Kim Jung-un) and a pillow, and I’ll have things sorted out before you can say, “Ithaca New York Suffer Jets versus the Empire Skate Troopers”.
God, I love puns.
Until I can find the tangible evidence that my doctor hates my hair stylist, thus giving him the perfect motive to tank my thyroid test, I have decided to blame my depression on The Sequester. I mean, if my problems aren’t the result of thyroid dysfunction, they clearly must have some external cause. And this whole sequester thing is definitely stressing me out.
First of all, I’m totally bummed that “Sequester” has a completely different meaning than the one I’ve known all of these years. Until now, a sequester was something I could only dream about – having the government pay for me to stay in a hotel with maid service, room service, and all of the books I could ever want to read since I wouldn’t be allowed access to any media in case Nancy Grace might somehow manage to cajole me into nailing Jodi Arias to the wall.
When the news outlets started warning about an oncoming sequester in Congress, I pictured the whole muddle of them being locked inside the Capitol until they knocked each other off and one person became the victor – kind of like a mix between Twelve Angry Men, Fight Club, and the cardinals in the Vatican conclave. I was sorely disappointed to find out that this was not the case.
I was even more alarmed by rumors that this whole sequester thing might delay my tax refund. After all, I use my tax refund to pay my psychiatrist, so if I don’t get my refund, I don’t…well, you get the picture.
Of course, I should be completely straight with you, and admit that we have received an unexpected endowment from the county recently. Although, to be honest, I don’t think it would pay for the gas to take the check to the bank, much less thirty seconds with my psychiatrist.
In fact, I find it depressing that the county actually paid for a stamp to send this check to us.
And then Hugo Chavez died. The only person more paranoid than me. The person who said, “Would it be so strange that they’ve invented technology to spread cancer and we won’t know about it for 50 years?”
Remember? I’m the one who said terrorists are poisoning our food. And now I’m depressed. Hugo said there are mad scientists spreading cancer – and he died of cancer.
I think the connections are pretty obvious.
If my doctor had just said, “Your thyroid is wonky, and that’s why you’re depressed,” we wouldn’t be in this big mess.
Dear Man Who Rescued Me from My Solitude While I Waited for My Daughter to Finish Swim Practice, Foolishly Thinking I Could Spend My Time Writing:
I was so overcome during our conversation the other day that I could not find the words to properly thank you. So, here it is.
First of all, thank you so much for offering me your used earbuds so I could listen to your daughter’s video on your phone. Your generosity apparently knows no bounds.
Secondly, thank you for educating me about gun control. Now that I know that the government is out to get us, I am going to save up some money for an AK-87 (the bigger the number, the better, right? but I thought an AK-97 would be too greedy) so I can defend myself. Because when the government finds a way to persuade the military men and women who have sworn to protect our country to start dropping bombs on my house, I want to be ready.
Once I was edified about my need for an arsenal in every room of the house, your insights into the welfare system and health care illuminated how completely selfish it is for my friend to ask for assistance for his son, born prematurely, who maxed out his health insurance life-time benefits before he turned one. I can’t wait to inform him that his money-grubbing ways are, in a large part, responsible for our titanic national debt.
I only wish you had been around to admonish me before I made my foolish choices in the last two presidential elections. Of course, you would have had to find some kind of loophole in the 22nd Amendment in order to keep the man who, “at least you knew where you stood with him” in office. I say just blast a hole in that pesky little alteration to the Constitution with your assault rifle “that isn’t any more dangerous than a revolver”. That’ll knock some sense into people.
I’m probably leaving out something important, but I think you can get the gist of my gratitude. It’s not every day that someone takes as much time as you do to rectify all of my clearly preposterous beliefs and assumptions.
I’m only sorry that you did not get the chance to enlighten me on abortion and gay marriage.
Maybe next time…
Mrs. Cap’n Firepants
Given my recent struggles with depression, an inefficient colon, and a bulldog who hates Halloween, I decided to drop out of the United States presidential election for this year. So, don’t write me in or anything. I don’t think you really want someone who mentally decapitates the person who spelled her name wrong on an offer for a free oil change for the car she sold 6 years ago to lead your country. Or, maybe you do.
If I was still running for president, you can bet that I would add some more pertinent issues to the national debate. Most of the topics being hurled back and forth seem to deal more with domestic problems, and I tend to have a more global view.
For example, one of the top priorities of my campaign would be to lean on the International Olympic Committee to eliminate their archaic sexist policies. They seem to think they are free and clear now that woman can box, but I refuse to turn a blind eye to the two last exclusionary sports – rhythmic gymnastics and synchronized swimming. It’s completely unfair that men cannot compete in these sports. They have just as much right to cake on the makeup and paint their hair with Knox gelatin as the rest of the population.
And, come on, a few more handsome men in speedos or leotards certainly couldn’t be detrimental to the numbers of viewers tuning in.
More and more men have been participating in synchronized swimming, in particular, and I think it’s an international tragedy that their talents cannot be showcased on the world stage. If Martha Raddatz does not grill Obama and Romney in the October 11th debate about their intentions for rectifying this situation, I will lose all faith in Martha and her journalistic ability to cut to the chase.
Of course, when I run in the next presidential election, I will make this a priority in my platform, as the next Summer Olympics will be right around the corner. But I will expect the men to refine their performance a little bit more by then…
After a couple of glasses of wine, I have a tendency to get a bit feisty. Cap’n Firepants tends to avoid conflict, but when we’re stuck in a booth together at a fancy restaurant, I don’t give him a whole lot of choice.
Me: So, gun control.
Cap’n Firepants (eyeing me cautiously across the table): What about it?
Me: Assault weapons seem to be a bit controversial.
Cap’n Firepants: Yes.
Me: I think it’s ridiculous for an ordinary person to own one. But I can kind of see why we should have the right.
Cap’n Firepants (incredulously): You can?
Me: Well, if the government people are the only one that can own them, then they can take us over any time. What am I gonna do – shoot down an AK-747 with my starter pistol?
Cap’n Firepants: I never really thought about it that way.
Me: Well, you obviously don’t read dystopian teenage novels in which the government force adolescents to kill each other in a sick attempt to quell rebellion.
Cap’n Firepants: No, I really don’t.
Me: Of course, we can’t just let every Tom, Dick, and Harry Potter own a weapon like that. There should be some kind of control.
Cap’n Firepants: Okay-y-y
Me: But the government can’t be in control because then we’re just gonna have the same problem. They can stick it to the man anytime.
Cap’n Firepants: I don’t really know what to say to that.
Me: Don’t worry. I’ve got it figured out. I think the NRA should be in charge.
Cap’n Firepants: The NRA?
Me: Yeah. Think about it. It’s perfect. They’re the ones trying to keep the government out of it, so they should be the ones responsible for what happens when the guns get in the wrong hands.
Cap’n Firepants: Hmm.
Me: And if someone goes crazy, they should have to suffer the consequences.
Cap’n Firepants: The NRA?
Me: Of course. Checks and Balances, you know. You really need to read your Constitution more often.
Cap’n Firepants: Again, really not sure what to say.
Me: Aren’t you lucky? Aren’t you glad you married such an out-of-the-box thinker?
Cap’n Firepants: You’re out-of-the-box, alright.
I’ve decided that my daughter, Dimples, elderly friend, MILlie, and Donald Trump are all conspiring to drive me bonkers. The three of them seem to enjoy having the same darn conversation over and over again…
Dimples: Can I get this hair band for my hair?
Dimples: Why not?
Me: Because you won’t wear it.
Dimples: Yes, I will.
Me: That’s what you said the last three times.
Dimples: No, I didn’t.
Me: Yes, you did. And then I fell for it, and you didn’t wear it.
Dimples: So-o-o, can I get it?
Me: Yeah. No.
Me (to MILlie, our elderly friend): I notice you are wearing your old glasses. As soon as I get out of school, I’ll take you to get the scratch on your new ones fixed.
MILlie: It won’t make a difference. They’re no good.
Me: What do you mean? That was the 5th pair we’ve gotten this year! You said they were good!
MILlie: They don’t work. He didn’t fit them to my eyes.
Me: Of course he fit them to your eyes. He used the prescription you gave him – remember, the one that you went to get on your own because you didn’t like the one that my doctor gave you?
MILlie: They give me a headache.
Me: You said the old ones, the ones you are wearing now, the ones you keep going back to every time we get you a new pair, give you a headache.
MILlie: But I can take these off when I read.
Me: Now, I’m getting a headache.
As for Trump, I’m sending him a box of Dimples’ headbands, since I think he needs them way more than she does. Or, maybe he would like to borrow one of MILlie’s pairs of glasses, so he can take them off when he examines President Obama’s birth certificate for the 798th time. Geez, dude, give it a rest.
So, one of my former co-workers (who obviously does not read my blog), recently asked if the Firepants Family would be interested in hosting a foreign exchange student.
Two things come to mind whenever I hear “foreign exchange student”: Sixteen Candles and That 70’s Show.
I’m pretty sure that I would not want either of the foreign exchange students represented in these shows to share a house with my 9 year old daughter.
Now, I know that those are stereotypes, and that most exchange students are probably delightful. I also know that it would be a great experience for Dimples.
When I received the invitation, I even briefly considered requesting a student from Malawi – since that country appears to me my second biggest fan based on my blog stats.
Then I realized that the problem with this whole scenario is not that we might end up hosting a not very intelligent but excessively horny male teenager who consistently misunderstands American idioms.
The problem is that any student who has the misfortune of being assigned to Firepants household will, at the very least, sue the organization that matched him/her with us. And, it would not be completely outside the realm of possiblity that word of the student’s experiences with us would result in an international incident threatening nuclear annihilation.
Maybe, I thought, I could compose a letter ahead of time that would gently prepare the student for the culture shock sure to occur after a few days residing with Family Firepants.
We are delighted to hear that you will be staying with us during your visit to the United States. You have learned, I am sure, about many of the differences between our two countries. However, there are some things you may want to know that you will probably not find in the Wikipedia entries you may have been perusing.
First of all, you would be well-advised to pack the following things in your suitcase: noise-canceling headphones, white clothes, and a gas mask.* Other than that, bring nothing that you truly value. In fact, just throw your clothes in a trash bag. Luggage is overrated, anyway.**
Secondly, if you have not had any martial arts training, I suggest that you take a crash course before you make your trip.***
Thirdly, if you are at all sickly, are allergic to peanut butter, cannot swallow pills, and are adverse to having a hand shoved down your throat – you should probably reconsider your decision to make this trip.****
And, as a friendly warning (that you should not consider to be threat in any way shape or form), it would be best if you never mention the words “Diet Coke” around your hostess in any context. This is considered an obscenity in our
family culture and, in the state of Texas, for this you could be shot.*****
*headphones to block out the sound of smoke alarms beeping and Dimples’ c.d. endlessly repeating c.d., black clothes will be covered in fur the moment you enter our house, gas mask to filter the mixed toxic fumes of Wonderbutt’s gas emission and a half-dozen Wallflowers from Bath and Body Works
**Wonderbutt only chews items of value
***As we do not have a concealed light saber license, martial arts is our only defense against the members of the Temple of the Jedi Order who may or may not have ordered a hit on us
****I have one way to administer pills to those who won’t swallow them – and it isn’t pretty
*****I have been a recovering Diet Coke addict for 2 months, and appear to have permanent withdrawal symptoms
Of course, there are far more rules that should be outlined to ensure the student’s survival – but I don’t want to overwhelm the poor kid.