Pussy Grabbing, Locker Room Talk and Why Trump’s Comments are Truly Problematic

pig-pile

We get it, men talk about pussy. They do, and they talk about it like that, like it’s a thing having nothing to do with an actual person and while it’s not ideal I think it’s fair to say that it is normal and will continue to be normal until societal norms change, and I am sure they will, slowly, but they will.

But until we live in an ideal society where everyone has their own unicorn and all lives of all human beings are valued equally and we all get together and hug it out at a big fucking ice cream social every Saturday afternoon, men are going to continue to talk about women and their vaginas like they are a commodity, something to be obtained in order to bolster their own self worth. But that’s not the problematic thing about Donald Trump’s comments that were caught on a hot mic in 2005. The problematic thing with the comments that the Donald made is that he explicitly talked about kissing women without their permission and then went on to talk about how he didn’t need permission because he was famous! It’s not because he said the word “pussy”! It’s because he talked about grabbing said pussy without obtaining consent to do so! I’ll allow that his talking about trying to “fuck” a married woman whilst being married himself is gross but I think it’s gross because it’s Donald Trump talking about fucking and that’s just toe-curling-ly nauseating! Was is very “presidential”? Certainly not but is anything that guy does?

Obviously we have had presidents in the past who were absolute poon-hounds and were absolutely unfaithful to their wives, before, during and after their presidencies but, as far as I know, none of them were ever caught on tape, describing themselves sexually assaulting women. And that is why Donald Trump parading all (okay obviously not all, it wasn’t that big of a room) the women who Bill Clinton slept with or sexually harassed or flashed or  who have accused him of sexual assault is not going to work for Donald. First of all using these women, who have already been through Hell, as a despicable political prop is pretty fucking lousy and just feels icky but the worst part is that, in doing this, Donald Trump seems to have completely disregarded that fact that Bill Clinton IS NOT THE ONE RUNNING FOR FUCKING PRESIDENT!!!! It’s like he can’t even treat Hillary like an individual human being and simply equates her to the closest man in her life.

But here’s the thing; Donald Trump wants to use the actions of Hillary’s husband against her, citing that because her husband did these things that somehow makes her unqualified to be president! WHAT THE DAMN HELL? So, on the same side of that coin, does Donald Trump’s wife posing naked on the cover of Max Magazine in 1997 (and naked on the inside of the same magazine with another naked woman in 1995) make him somehow morally deficient? My guess is that Donald Trump would argue that it makes him a “stud” because that is just the kind of grotesque, prepubescent logic and phrasing he would use. I find that Donald Trump’s repeated and continued attempts to use Bill’s actions as a case against Hillary to be genuinely disturbing and definitely a symptom of his own deeply held sexist attitudes towards women. Donald Trump is a sexist, I don’t think anyone can argue that point (although that won’t stop some from trying), but it’s the fact that there is an enormous segment of the population (as well as an enormous segment of people in positions of power) that is able and all-too-willing to overlook the fact that he is a sexist that is the real problem.

Which brings me to my next point, larger Republican establishment, why now? Why this audio? How is this the straw that finally broke the camel’s back? Is it because he said “fuck” and “bitch” and “pussy”? I’m guessing that’s why because you already knew who Donald Trump was, and this audio is EXACTLY who he is! You already knew that he was basically just a racist, upside down traffic cone filled with bile and overcooked steak who liked to start Twitter wars at 3 a.m. with former beauty queens or David Letterman or Rosie O’Donnell or basically anyone who has ever said anything bad about him. He has no self control (which is probably one of the reasons he is always cheating on his wife and trying to have sex with married women), he has no capacity for empathy, he is a pathological liar (I MEAN SERIOUSLY! JUST LOOK AT THE FACT CHECK SITES, THIS IS NOT FUCKING COMPLICATED! IT IS LITERALLY A GOOGLE SEARCH AWAY FROM YOU!!!!!!), he is a deplorable racist, he is a xenophobia-spreading cancer on this nation! But it was that fact that he talked about pussy that was just too much for y’all to bear? Seriously?

And the way that most of the Republicans who came out to denounce Donald Trump or remove their support of him was just as cringe-worthy as having supported him in the first place. All the cable news channels just showed wave after wave or white guys talking about how Trump’s comments disgusted them because they have daughters and/or sisters or mothers or wives or females dogs as pets or what the fuck ever. So basically, you’re saying that if you didn’t have females close to you then you’d be just fine with ol’ Pussy Grabber Trump prattling on to a giggling Billy Bush (and we are DEFINITELY going to talk about that scumbag) about how he uses his fame to justify assaulting women? It’s only the fact that you have daughters that makes you capable of understanding why his statements were deplorable and wrong? Otherwise you would have no understanding of why the things that Trump said were so damaging? Well….that’s just fucking great!

Your saying that you found Trump’s comments upsetting because you have daughters is nearly exactly the same as Trump saying that Hillary is unqualified to run this country because of the things her husband has done! Both statements are steeped in some seriously deep-seated sexism but really one thing should not have anything to do with the other! The things that Trump said on that tape should be condemned because they patently sexist and, even worse, were advocating sexual assault and if you could not come to that conclusion without first thinking about whether or not someone might speak that way about your daughter or your wife then you, my friend, are right up there with the Donald himself! And this seems like the perfect time to remind you of a point I made WAY back up at the top of the page; women are not pissed about Donald Trump talking lewdly, we are pissed about his admission that he has kissed women without their consent, that he would grope a woman without consent and would expect no consequences because he is famous!!!!

It’s not the words he used, it’s what those words said! Do I wish I could go back in time and never have to hear Donald Trump say the word “pussy”? You’re Goddamn right I do! That shit is gonna haunt my nightmares for at least another month at which point all of my frustration and exhaustion over all this sexist bullshit will be completely washed away by the elation of having our first female President of the United States of America…even if it is Hillary Clinton. Just like how racism doesn’t exist anymore because we had a black President!!!!

Wouldn’t that be awesome if that’s how things worked in real life though?

XOXO!!! Thanks for hanging and reading!

P.S. I said I was going to talk about that tittering piece of human garbage, Billy Bush, so here is it: Billy Bush is a vile little troll who single-handedly grossed out millions of women by acting as Donald Trump’s hug pimp and referring to himself as “the Bushy”. That alone should be an offense punishable by firing squad or being made into some kind of human piñata and then being continually beaten with a baseball bat until his intestines fall out his asshole. He is a shriveled, repugnant, jizz-stained, hair-sprayed, malodorous sack of fetid human waste who is absolutely the worst version of himself and I don’t even think that Oprah could help now. That is all.

P.P.S. Also, how great was it when actual professional athletes came out and started criticizing Trump for his use of the phrase “locker room talk” citing that sexually assaulting women was definitely NOT something that was discussed in actual locker rooms?!?!  Super Great! That’s how!

P.P.P.S. Also THIS!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Power of Positive Drinking*

*Originally Published as “I am an Achiever” which was a thinly veiled Big Lebowski reference

ACTUALLY I wrote this over a ago and it was first published on May 17th, 2015. I did, however, add some things to the list so there are a few new/updated bits! Enjoy!

I wrote this a few weeks ago and read it at the live reading we did at the beginning of the month, but even if you came to the reading there are some extra goodies at the end of the post. Thanks for reading and I love you guys!!!

I took my son to the park the other day and, granted it was a mild Sunday afternoon of which we do not get many in April in the great Pacific Northwest, I saw 5 pregnant women there…5!!! Oh wait, it gets even more interesting from a sociological and anthropological stand-point (said no one ever…except for maybe Oliver Sacks)! Of all the pregnant women every single one was there with their already existing child/children. And of all of the families at the park that day the pregnant moms were making up nearly half of the moms! Now, I am fully aware that it is rutting season and we are coming out of winter wherein the humans hunker down and procreate, mainly to stay warm and have an excuse to shave, but this just seemed excessive to me. As I watched the the gravid parade of moms waddling slowly from one end of the playground to the other chasing after their rapidly swelling broods, I realized that two of the five already had four children to their names!!!! That means each of those two women were currently gestating a fifth child!!!!

I can’t be the only one who becomes immediately suspicious of anyone who voluntarily has, just an unreasonable shit ton of kids, right (I say voluntarily because I am just assuming that since I saw these ladies at the park neither of them has been chained up in a basement being forcibly and repeatedly impregnated by their captors, but stranger things have happened, GO CLEVELAND)? I mean there are only a few reasons why anyone has that many kids; 1) to repopulate the planet with ready-made, home-schooled evangelical cult members 2) their religious beliefs prohibit the use of birth control (see also reason 1) and 3) sheer stupidity (see also reasons 1 and 2). All this reproduction just seemed excessive to me. I mean these ladies were clearly trying to compensate for something because they were totally overachieving in the baby-making department; they were reproductive overachievers!!!

In the face of all this extravagantly superfluous and even a little show-offy propagation of the human species I started to feel a little bit like a reproductive underachiever with my one measly kid. I will allow that I do have a pretty top notch baby (yes, I realize that he is four and no longer a baby but he will ALWAYS be my baby so shut up about it, okay!), with whom I am desperately in love. But every now and then, as I imagine all mothers do, I get sort of nostalgic for the days when he was a tiny little thing who smelled amazing and never ran away from me in the parking lot of Target. Then I quickly remember what it was like breastfeeding or staying up all night or cleaning feces off his neck and I am quickly ripped out of the land of newborn nostalgia and firmly back on earth where the worst of our problems consist of the DVR always missing the last two minutes of “The Very Hungry Caterpillar” no matter how many times I try to record it from Sprout.

Besides I may be a reproductive underachiever but there are plenty of things at which I totally overachieve! Here is a bulleted list of those things in no particular order:

  • examining my pores in the mirror for hours at a time (okay, half hours at a time, but still)
  • anxiety
  • turning anxiety into chin acne
  • binge watching “Daredevil” on Neflix (and can I just say I’m on episode 10 already and he still doesn’t have a goddamn costume! WTF)
  • oral (full stop) hygiene
  • finding spare change in the car seats while waiting in line at the drive-through for a Blizzard
  • eating an entire pound of grapes in one sitting
  • WINE!
  • sleeping in until 10 o’clock
  • eyeliner
  • plucking my chin hairs
  • angrily screaming “SUCK MY DICK!” at street harassers
  • makeup in general
  • thrift store shopping
  • cussing people out while driving
  • Simpson’s trivia
  • being continually blown away by the size of my son’s poop
  • Boggle
  • neuroses
  • remembering all the names of the characters from the “Transformers” cartoons
  • “Big Lebowski” quotes
  • moping
  • always having a corkscrew
  • laughing at my own jokes
  • stick shift (also not a dirty metaphor)
  • getting kicked in the tits while trying to put shoes on a shrieking four year old
  • scalloped potatoes (I seriously make awesome scalloped potatoes)
  • sarcasm
  • inevitably being that person in the crowded bar who is saying something embarrassing or wildly inappropriate when the music suddenly dies down
  • forgetting to put tampons in my purse
  • scheme hatchery
  • “forgetting” to pay for the items I put on the bottom of the cart (and this is just a karmic reach-around to which I am not looking forward)
  • whiskey
  • insomnia
  • always picking the line at the grocery store that will take the longest no matter how few people are in front of you.
  • reciting the plots of all the episodes of “Ultimate Spiderman” when called upon to explain what the fuck my son is talking about and why he is trying to lock you into some sort of mental combat wherein he is the “Grandmaster” and you are the “Collector” and you each have to pick a team of heroes or villains to battle for the fate of New York City,  and how you should ALWAYS pick Kraven the Hunter because Kraven the Hunter is tits, but I mean, c’mon people, this is day one shit.

I could go on, but I don’t want to toot my own horn. But you see, there are plenty of things I do well, in addition to making fabulous, if not a little free with the nudity, babies! These are the things I have to tell myself in order to sleep at night when wading through the long list of all my inadequacies…also, whiskey helps a lot with that too.

P.S. Yes, I am perfectly aware that there are people with tons of kids who are NOT actually religious fanatics….as I had to point out to a friend of mine who busted my balls the first time this was published. But if I never blew anything out of proportion, never made broad, sweeping generalizations, and avoided hyperbole and sarcasm at all times, this probably wouldn’t be a very fun blog to read, now would it? So you can refrain from emailing me to tell me about all the perfectly normal atheists you know who just happen to have 7 kids because I already know that this is a thing that happens in real life, thank you. XOXO

How I Didn’t Die at the Pool! Go Me!!!

I have been meaning to relink/republish some older posts that were deleted in the website reboot. I figure since I am too damn busy getting ready to get married in two weeks to actually write anything, now is the perfect time to repost some old shit that I have already written and pass it off as new…or not, since the jig is clearly up. Why can I not just keep my fat mouth shut? Anyhow, this was originally published on April, 6th 2015. I hope you enjoy it!

So it was a fairly normal Tuesday when I suddenly found myself childless and in my mother’s car on the way to the aquatic center to participate in something called River Run Boot camp. And that should have been the first red flag right there. As a chubby person whose laziness is depthless I should really know better than to willingly participate in anything labeled as a “boot camp” but I was so intoxicated by the idea of two whole childless hours that you probably could have gotten me to go along with anything at that point. You could be like, “Hey, Dacia! You wanna come with me to a  Hitler youth rally and then have our toenails pulled out and our feet dipped in lemon juice?” and I’d be like, “I don’t…..” and then you’d be all, “Someone will watch Bo for a couple hours so we can go.” At which point I would already be sitting in the car waiting for you and only wondering a little bit how, exactly, our toenails will be removed.

And that is how I came to be in the women’s locker room at the Snohomish Aquatic Center (or SAC if you’re into brevity and funny acronyms) stripping down in front a six-year-old autistic girl who was hiding in the corner to be away from the noise of the cacophonous hand dryers and her mother. I learned a long time ago that there is no point in being bashful in these situations and that if anyone didn’t want to see something they could just look away so I took to removing my clothing with casual efficiency. Then the mother started up a conversation and to my surprise I was not put off at all by making small talk with a complete stranger while removing my panties. “Is it spring break?” she asked me. “I have no idea.” I said. At which point I realized that Easter is this weekend and it probably is spring break…somewhere. I added quickly that my “little one” has spring break next week at which point I noticed a look of abject horror cross the older woman’s face. “He’s just in preschool, though.” I added with a nervous chuckle. This did nothing to temper her appalled expression. At which point I realized that she was asking me about spring break because she assumed I was either in high school or possibly college. There was some additional banter and then she and her daughter were off. I sort of wanted to yell after her, “I’m not a teenage mother! I had him when I was 30!” but I was admittedly pretty flattered at being mistaken for a teenager….especially while topless.

I am white girl. I know this seems pretty obvious but I am not just white, I am like a 10th degree Caucasian and whenever I have occasion to wear a bathing suit in public this fact does not go unnoticed. Inevitably I will catch someone staring at me like they are not sure if I am real or just an apparition at which point they have to look around at all the other people to see if they notice me too. Most people give up staring at me once they realize they are not hallucinating. I was relaying this fact to my mother as we entered the Jacuzzi. She laughed and then pointed out another pale girl across the pool and said, “I dunno, she’s pretty white.” I agreed as we both studied the young lady and she continued, “It is a different kind of white though, she’s less….”
“Transparent.” I offered. “YES!” she agreed excitedly, as I had intuited the exact word for which she was searching, and added something about her whiteness being “creamier” and “more opaque”. Now pay attention kids, my terrifying pallor will be a topic of conversation again.

My mom and I get out of the Jacuzzi and into the river run area which is basically a slow moving current going around in a figure 8, or at least the current seems slow, until you try to go against it, then it seems kind of like trying to wade through Nutella while wearing a lead jumpsuit. Needless to say, about 4 minutes and 38 seconds into the actual boot camp, my doughy ass is sweating like a whore in church and this is really an odd sensation. One is very rarely, if ever, aware of their sweat while actually submerged in water. I see that every time I pass the instructor whilst going through the figure 8 she looks at me with what appears to be barely concealed alarm and I know this is because I probably look like a beefsteak tomato that someone has put in the microwave. Which brings us back to my whiteness. As a 10th degree Caucasian who is nearly transparent, when I am experiencing exertion I get red; my chest, my cheeks, my forehead all turn crimson, same thing happens when I cry…which is really why I should try to do that in public less. About the third time I pass the instructor and notice the same look of concern on her face I almost scream “I am totally not having a stroke! I am just Norwegian!” Instead I just try to smile and look like I am having fun, which I actually am, but I think my attempt at conveying “I am totally having a good time and you should not worry” appeared more like “I am a sociopath that has no idea how to properly express human emotions…and also I might be pooping right now”.

In a shocking turn of events, I managed to last the whole hour of boot camp without dropping dead, much to the visible relief of our instructor. And after a brief post-boot-camp soak in the Jacuzzi it was back to the locker room, where upon catching a glimpse of my reflection in a mirror on the way to the showers, I had to admit to that I really could not blame the instructor for thinking I was going to die because I was, really, really red. But none of this is the best part!!! The best part is that while showering and getting ready to leave I found a kickass pair of Jack Skellington hairpins abandoned in the shower soap dish!!! Score!!!

Totally fucking worth nearly getting mistakenly carted away from the pool on a stretcher!

And, yes, I am fully aware that I should have turned the hairpins into the lost and found at the front desk but I feel as though it is a pretty well established fact that I am an asshole…so I didn’t do that.

Goodbye for now my dearies!

BUNNIES!!!!!

OH MY GOD, y’all! I just discovered that there are bunnies living on the grounds of the office complex which houses the newspaper where I work. I literally just spent like 27 minutes staring out the the window of the lunch room when I should have been working, just watching a bunny eating some grass. I mean, you’d think that I would have gotten bored after that long but my tolerance for watching bunnies do bunny things is shockingly high. On that same note you might think that the bunny would have gotten bored of eating grass while being ogled through a window by a crazy woman but, in his defense, he wasn’t eating the whole time, and also, I don’t think he saw me. I’m pretty sure he wasn’t one of those voyeuristic rabbits that “likes it when you watch”, although I have no way of confirming that. We did not share any significant eye contact, while he munched on grass and silently told me, with his smoldering bunny gaze, that it was totally cool if I wanted to keep watching him, I feel like that might have made things weird between the bunny and I. But yeah, as high as my tolerance for staring at bunnies is, his tolerance for eating grass and occasionally hopping about seemed to be about that same. In that, there was no awkwardness with vaguely sexual undertones between the bunny and I. I hope we can visit again soon.

XOXO

Here is your Owl, Now Please Oversee my Nuptials

As some of you may know (if you’re my mom perhaps) I am planning a wedding. It is a small wedding but a wedding nonetheless. Did I mention that it’s my wedding? It is. Someone has not only actually agreed to marry me but it was HIS idea. I mean, he totally asked and everything! Weird, right? In any case, he has found that my special brand of being annoying is the kind of annoying he wants to tolerate for the rest of forever so a wedding must be planned to celebrate our mutual tolerance of one another’s annoying-ness ….and the fact that we love each other….and to make my mother happy.

As a graphic designer (which I still think is kind of a silly thing to call myself…we should go with “as a person who likes to make pretty pictures and sometimes silly pictures of otters and barbarian teddy bears and extra fancy hamsters”) I was really excited about making the invitations. And I got them back last Thursday and I was super pleased. The next step was collecting everyone’s addresses.

I messaged my friend Jon to get his address and the conversation that we had about how OUT OF FUCKING HAND wedding invitations had gotten was kind of funny:

Me:
Need your address…for I plan to stalk you….or send you a wedding invitation. One of those.
Jon:
B) I thought you already got married. Life is gonna suck if I start having FB hallucinations.
A) was supposed to be “congratulations” but, thumbs.
Congratulations!
Me:
Thanks, no…I got engaged about a year ago. Marrying comes next.
Jon:
C?D?) [ADDRESS REDACTED]
Conformist.
Me:
I deserve that.
Jon:
Is there a date what to save?
Me:
June 25th, I chose not to send save the date cards and am just sending you an invitation. Because I did not need one MORE thing to do.
Jon:
Also, it is the goddam 21st century. You can use the internets.
People may call it lazy, I call it saving the fucking planet.
Me:
There are certain protocols that I (read my mother) will not see shirked.
Jon:
A friend got married a few years ago & there was a fucking sheaf of paper & also glossy photos involved. It hurt me so to have to recycle all that.
Understood.
Me:
Yeah, people’s invitations are totally out of control. They send them in boxes and shit! Some have live butterflies in them that fly out when you open the aforementioned box.
Frankly, I wouldn’t really want a box of mostly dead butterflies and their poop. 
Jon:
Oh! And ribbons!
Me:
SO MANY FUCKING RIBBONS!!!!
Jon:
You should tie ribbons on the necks of condors & ship them with every invite.
Do not forget to punch holes in the lids.
Me:
So you would go with condors? Because I had planned on doves but I see your point….
Jon:
Compromise= barn owls. The recipients can use them for pest control.
Me:
BRILLIANT!
Jon:
We have solved wedding invites!
Me:
And controlling pests!
Jon:
The world really should thank us by sending money.
Me:
I wouldn’t say “no” to a Nobel prize.
Jon:
You have my permission to blog about this. I will be your silent (read 50%) partner.
Me:
Noted.
Jon:
This was probably the most productive meeting I never attended.
Me:
You’re welcome!
I, on the other hand, opted out of all that craziness. There’s enough outlandish shit on which we are expected to spend money where weddings are concerned. I was not about to spring for the postage to send people an invitation that had to be housed in a goddamn box that plays music upon their opening it and also contains a legit, goddamn bird’s nest!
wedding invitation craziness

Are you fucking kidding me? I don’t like anyone enough to want to make them feel this important. 

My invitations were a very simple, 5 by 7, single-sided card with instructions to RSVP via email or phone call. I was determined NOT to have to pay more than 47 cents per envelope to send those bitches. Here’s a copy because I think they’re pretty!

invitation_redacted

I left out the address, because I know the types of folks who hang around here and I don’t want you miscreants crashing my wedding. Also, I try to avoid being embroiled in assassination plots whenever possible. And yes, I am JUST DELUSIONAL ENOUGH to consider my murder, which will probably be the result of the ill-timed use of sarcasm on my part, an assassination! I am not going to say that I have never wondered exactly how important one must be in order for their murder to be considered an assassination but I feel that I, somehow or another, pass the muster. Also, refer back to previous statements about my delusions.

I did, however, include the registry information, just in case anyone is feeling generous, or drunk or both of those things.

Also, in case you’re drunk, and/or had no idea just how out of fucking hand wedding invitations had gotten, here are some pics of some ridiculous shit! Enjoy!

IT IS A GODDAMN BOARD GAME!!!! ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME!!!

It’s a Viewmaster, and the little slide wheel has pictures of the happy couple! If you legitimately think anyone cares about you enough to think that you and your fiancee deserve this much fanfare your delusions of grandeur are like, Kanye epic.

are you fucking kidding me

What the shit is this? I bet this cost more than my wedding dress!

not sure whats going on here but it looks foreboding

Does anyone else think that including a tiny noose in your wedding invitation is just a little too dark…even if it is in cyrillic?

pastel-boxed-wedding-invitation-set__full

I am so done with making people work for the information you’ve included in your wedding invitation. If I have to use a key or a decoder ring or a map to figure out to what I have been invited, you can bet your ass that I will expend no further energy on your ridiculousness and will probably boycott your wedding on general principle.

awesome-3d-decoder-wedding-invitation__full

I forgot to include special glasses in the list of shit that I want no part of. Consider them added now.

rustic-wood-wedding-save-the-date-in-mossy-box__full

Go fuck yourself.

XOXO!!!!

 

Another Day, Another Death Threat…also UNICORNS!

So, on Tuesday I wrote about how I was upset about a gruesome murder that took the life of a woman from my city over the weekend….and people lost their damn minds! It was probably because I said “fuck” a lot, like even for me, and in the title. I may have suggested that some people could go fuck themselves. But if I had only known that all I had to do was use the word “fuck” in the title of a post to get over 5,000 views in the matter of a few hours I would have been doing it…much more often than I currently do.

But, of course, the more people who actually read your blog the more people you are likely to piss off….which is what I love most about being a writer. On Tuesday I wrote a post that addressed the idea that a social “safe space” is kind of a fucking joke. I also said some  things about people’s attempts to “regulate hate speech” within these “safe spaces”. People were very unhappy with this. Which is kind of ironic, someone getting all freaked out about one stupid person’s opinion (yes, you read that correctly) when aren’t what we are all (when I say “we all” I am kind of confused as to who is lumped into that anymore but let’s go with a vague outline of peaceful, progressive, intelligent humans who want to work toward a just and ultimately free world where all lives are valued and respected equally under the eyes of the law…now, doesn’t that sound nice?) working for is a place where ideas and ideals can be expressed freely without fear of legal or custodial retribution? But here’s the thing, about regulating speech, any kind of speech; it’s a slippery motherfucking slope!

Do I wish people were not dicks? Yes. Do I wish everyone knew that some shit, you just don’t fucking say? Of course, naturally. It would be nice if all us folks could get together in our collective unconscious and have a meeting where we hand out leaflets telling everyone all over the world that we don’t hate on women or homosexuals or transgendered or poor people or people that happen to have a different skin tone or religion than we do. That would be super, and I get that there are people who ARE out there doing this work every day and they deserve credit and probably a trip to Dairy Queen for a delicious Blizzard treat because that is goddamn hard, unending and merciless work, but to not address that the liberal ideal (and, yes, I am a liberal…like a motherfucker) might be a two-edged sword is just willfully ignorant. Sometimes when you’ve been fighting so hard for so long for what you feel is right, the rhetoric of battle can become skewed along the way.

Basically, what I have realized about some people who favor the official or legal regulation of speech is that they are kind of narrow-minded. Several of the people who told me they favored things like “safe spaces” were the same people saying that they “would want to kill me” for saying that I thought “safe spaces” were kind of bullshit. Does that seem a little counterintuitive to anyone else? The same person who thinks that we should all be able to go through life without ever having to be offended or uncomfortable or feel threatened or ever having to hear anything with which we might disagree is the same person saying they want to “kill me”!?!?! I mean, WTF? Seriously, WHAT. THE. FUCK.

But you know what, while threats do not fall under the guise of “protected speech” I think that the person who said those things was angry about their beliefs being called to the carpet and I respect their passion. I realize not everyone would view things as diplomatically. That’s probably why we have “safe spaces” but let me elaborate on that; if we are never made to feel uncomfortable, never made to confront what is different, never made to argue for what we believe is right, never forced to face adversity of any kind then why would we work to change anything? If every space is a safe space, what would motivate us to progress? Do you really want everyone in the room to agree with you 100% of the time about everything? I sure as hell don’t…but then again I rarely have to worry about that’s happening.

Thanks for reading, and, in the interest of making people feel safe and happy and just as precious as the special little snowflakes that you all are HERE are 29 pictures of majestic fucking unicorns! Also, in my safe space, everyone will have a sense of fucking humor and not take themselves so goddamn seriously! XOXO

Last_Unicorn16

Hey kids, it’s the “Last Unicorn” Unicorn! 

pegacorn18

Yes, it has wings but it also has a horn and therefor, technically, still a Unicorn….Pegacorn? 

pink-unicorn26

This one is galloping straight into your heart…and not at all in a stabby way. 

unicorn3

So majestic! 

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So fucking majestic! 

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The only thing I resent my son for (other than the obvious things all parents resent their children for) is that he said he did not like this movie….we’re working through it. 

unicorn8

Majesty like a motherfucker! 

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This one was taken in my backyard

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This speaks to me on deep, personal and emotional levels that only Batman riding a robotic unicorn amongst a pod of dolphins could ever reach. 

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This one too, also taken in my backyard…to be fair I might be a pathological liar. 

unicorn15

MERMAID!!! 

unicorn19

Ooooh! Purdy! 

unicorn20

Don’t anyone say that I failed to represent diversity among unicorns.

unicorn22

So Fancy! 

unicorn23

Okay, this one is legit, kind of creepy.

unicorn24

Like Jell-O and patriarchy, there is always room for Lisa Frank! 

unicorn25

Is that a rainbow samurai sheep riding a rainbow maned unicorn into sparkly battle? Why yes, friends, that is exactly what that is! 

unicorn27

Old School unicorn action

unicorn49

This one is off the charts with majesty! 

unicorns

Raibow? Check! Sunset? Check! Unicorn? check! Majestic? You bet your ass!

unicorns4

I, no joke, had this as a huge poster-size framed print on my wall in my childhood bedroom. Did I mention that my walls were painted pink? At my request, nay, may insistence!

Unicorns10

There is nothing that I could say that add the this perfection! 

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I WANT IT!!! 

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I think the best part of this one is the eagle. 

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This pony is all full of lightning!

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Majestic-ing so fucking hard! 

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Damnit! Now I have to go buy felt! 

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D’aw! 

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Hey! How’d that get in here? 

 

Dear Santa, THESE!!!

So, a few weeks back I was at Target, in the toy section because I have a 5 year old boy and taking him to Target to look at toys is basically what we do for entertainment and a lot cheaper than taking him to the zoo or Tutta Bella or the bookstore…until we start buying things, that is. Even then, we can usually get out of Target for under $30.00 (in toys anyway) and when’s the last time anyone could say that about the zoo. In any case I was wandering the toy aisles when I stopped at an end-cap display and was nearly…okay, actually moved to tears by what I saw!

yes

This is not the actual display I saw but nearly identical. I was too busy weeping to snap a pic.

That’s right folks! It was an entire line of DC Superhero (yeah, we’ll talk about how we are using that term loosely when applying it to characters like Harley Quinn and Poison Ivy) dolls, costumes, toy weapons and play sets featuring all female comic book characters!!!! Where was this when I was a child (granted I did have my She-ra, Princess of Power doll) …or even like 5 years ago because I would have been all over this shit! I wanted to buy every single one of them, skip all the way home, gleefully tear open their packages and spend hours playing with them, imagining and acting out all the scenarios in which they would kick ass, rescue Batman, Robin and Superman, I would swap their clothes, beat up the bad guys with their weapons, and find them each the perfect Breyer Horse on which to off ride into the sunset…but I did not do that. Not only did I get rid of my Breyer Horse collection like 15 years ago but I am an adult (or at least attempting to masquerade as one) and when adults spend $150.00 on dolls their spouses are usually not pleased and even less pleased when you spend hours on the floor playing with the aforementioned dolls that were formerly the money that was going to pay the car payment when you are supposed to making dinner or doing your taxes or replacing the car tabs or whatever bullshit adult task you were avoiding while you were playing with your AWESOME NEW DOLLS!!!dolls

Fuck being an adult…who never gets to play with dolls! And no, playing with my son’s action figures, while they are totally awesome and fun, does NOT count. Plus, having to share things with him is a total fucking bummer. He commandeers all my favorite stuffies too! The nerve of that kid….I swear!

Perhaps the most encouraging thing about the display, that I noticed through my tears, was that it was not in the “Girl” section. I wasn’t even near the “Girl” section whose pink you can practically feel radiating off it when you walk by. It was an end-cap display right off the aisle where you find the seasonal and outdoor toys and the last aisle of what would be considered “Boy” toys that housed a bunch of Star Wars toys, Transformers, and some Batman V. Superman movie themed toys. It was just there, waiting to be noticed. And it was noticed. While I stood there, once again, crying in the middle of Target I saw two other moms come up to the display and snap pictures. One of them even turned to me, with a look of understanding that basically said she wanted to come stand next to me and shake her angry, white fist at the patriarchy while singing Helen Reddy songs. We totally shared a moment.

shared moment

The other really encouraging thing about the display is that when I went back to Target, like a week and half later, they were nearly all gone! The display was practically empty! I even checked the “Girl” aisle in case they were moving them or something….not because I was totally going to buy myself Poison Ivy or Batgirl and/or maybe Harley Quinn, I was definitely NOT going to do that with part of the grocery money, because that would be totally irresponsible! The only doll left was Bumblebee, 3 lonely Bumblebees, just hanging out, waiting to inspire some young woman to greatness! And no, I don’t think the reason only Bumblebee was left has anything to do with the color of her skin (although it could be that I am just choosing to be willfully ignorant in this particular case because I am already too bummed from not getting a doll to think about the systemic and endemic racism in our country and would rather just put this whole experience in the feminist win column). I think it has more to do with the fact that Doom Patrol and Teen Titans just weren’t that popular and Bumblebee has never has her own series of books….until, of course, the introduction of the DC Superhero Girls at New York City Comic Con last October!

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Now, all these cool chicks have their own books, web series, app, games, dolls, action figures (yes, there is a difference) and are basically taking the world by storm! This almost makes up for DC Comics saying, back in 2011, that “no one would watch a Wonder Woman movie”. And sadly, if they still let Zack Snyder direct it, they’ll probably be right. But alas, Zack Snyder can’t hit the mark every time….it’s not like Christopher Nolan or something, but I digress…no, I really do…because usually after saying that people keep on talking. I’m not going to do that. Okay?

Alright, I lied. I am going to keep talking about how badly I want one of these dolls and how they are much cooler than DC and Mattel’s previous pairing back in 2008.

not sure

While there’s nothing really wrong with these DC Barbies, other than the fact that they are Barbies, they seem like more collector’s items to me than something that would inspire adventurous and imaginative play for young girls. Don’t get me wrong. If I saw these on the shelf at Target today I would totally buy every last one (because how HOT is Black Canary over there?) but I would take them home, take them out of their boxes and then put them up on the shelf in my office (which at this point is imaginary…both the shelf and the office…because my “office” is just a room full of boxes that I have been too lazy to unpack for 6 months) and look at them, because they are cool and pretty to look at but not much good for anything beyond that.

I think we should all try to inspire young women to be more and do more and if seeing someone like Harley Quinn (who I guess now gets a “Superhero” pass because of Suicide Squad) who is mentally and emotionally unstable and in an abusive relationship with a criminally insane thug get her own doll, well, then I think that means any of us can do anything she wants!!! Yay for Democracy! But, sincerely, thanks to DC and Mattel for putting out these dolls, books, games and videos; they’re just really, really cool!

And thank you guys for hanging out with me, you mean the world to me! XOXO

 

Comic Book Geekery…

…in case you’re into that sort of thing.

I’ve been writing this one for a while but finally finished it last night. Enjoy…or don’t. Whatever.

I did not grow up reading comic books. But like anything else, if you are a big enough research nerd, it won’t take you long to become a self-proclaimed expert, or at least know enough to not completely embarrass yourself when in the company of the truly knowledgeable…at least about the subject in question. You’ll still have plenty of opportunities to embarrass yourself with your abhorrent behavior….if you’re anything at all like me. How I became a comic book nerd was kind of a roundabout journey.

When I was little I loved books. I always knew that there was this deeply important and incredibly powerful thing inside all books. Knowledge. Whether I was sneaking my Mom’s copies of “Lace” or “The Cider House Rules” off her bookshelf or leafing through the children’s books at my Grandmother’s house I felt as though what I were really doing was searching for that ONE really and truly astonishing something, that fact or artifact that no one else knew about or that the knowledge of had long since been forgotten. In my time flipping through books, pouring over pages, looking for things, information, stories, I also grew to love the pictures.

I think I may have been an artist long before I was a writer. I took my drawing pads and pens with me EVERYWHERE! I held onto books that were “too young for me” for far too long because I could not let go of the artwork contained in them. There was one book by Ruth Heller called “A Cache of Jewels” that I pored over long after I had memorized the information within.

ruth heller

The illustrations were so precise, so jewel-bright, so beautifully realistic, but also completely whimsical. I remember trying to recreate this cover image on many occasions with my unsure, eight-year-old, artist’s hands. It was, of course, never quite right, but I never stopped trying.

Like most 8 and 9 year old girls who loved to draw and loved to draw characters, another huge inspiration was Walt Disney or at least the Disney movies that were being released at that time. I would spend countless hours drawing and redrawing Ariel and Belle until I got them to look EXACTLY like the images I saw on the screen. You see kids, the internet did not exist back then, at least not for civilians, and we had to make our own fun. When I wasn’t drawing a character study of Belle from a wobbly and striated paused VHS on the TV screen I was probably playing outside with a stick or something. They were dark times.

Comics and the incredible art contained within, started to become more relevant once I started working in a bookstore. And when I wasn’t working in a bookstore I was literally across town, hanging out in a different bookstore. This shop was much cooler than the one where I worked and had the owner been able to hire someone I totally would have worked there instead. Something Wicked was the name of the shop and it focused mostly on Science Fiction and Mysteries. The owner, Jon, and I became friends and still are to this day. Because his shop was Science Fiction-y he would occasionally go to Cons. Jon knew of my fondness for pinup art, Olivia art, and drawings of beautiful if scantily clad females and from one Con he brought me back a book of Joseph Michael Linsner’s “Cry for Dawn”.

dreams of dawn

This is not the book. I could not find a picture of the book on the internet and while I totally still have the actual book it is more than likely buried in a box somewhere in my office that I still haven’t unpacked from moving back in October because I am a terrible person.

It was lovely! It was page after page of this wonderful, powerful, and uniquely sexy character and I was hopelessly in love!

From there I got into Jim Lee for obvious reasons….reason #1, however, is that he’s a total BADASS!

 

wolverine

And then there were the other artists like Robert McGinnis who did book covers (and so much more) for cheesy pulp novels in the 50s, 60s and 70s….

…that led me to find other comic artists like Jim Silke who were constantly straddling that line between storyteller and pornographer.

And yes, Jim Silke is a HUGE fan of Bettie Page!

And his work, strangely enough led to my falling in love with Al Williamson and his rich, elaborate, story-boarded scenes from “Flash Gordon”.

Then there were the connections made randomly, organically, like my love of Ralph Steadman spurring my affection for Frank Miller (at least his artwork because the dude is an ACTUAL hot fucking mess in real life). I don’t think one can critically speak of Frank Miller without mentioning Steadman. It would be remiss.

frank miller for real do

batman

All in all it was my love of pictures, of art, of strong, beautiful women that led me to comics. They are at the heart of who I am in that regard. And it was Jack Kirby’s faces, that I found so fascinatingly simple and jarringly emotive, that found me, falling in love with Marvel comics. For a long while, when asked to pick a side, which one occasionally is asked when frequently in the company of comic book nerds, I would proudly declare myself a “Marvel Girl”. And since we are looking at pretty pictures here’s some of my favorite Jack Kirby characters and some other random Marvel highlights.

Above is all Kirby (or inked over Kirby’s sketches). His Odin blows my Goddamn mind!

Other Marvel stuff and in case you couldn’t tell I am moderately obsessed with Hellcat right now! I also want Thor to cup my ass just like that….Dazzler is one lucky gal! Also, also….WENDIGO!

Marvel is a universe crafted at the hands of two brilliant men with unfathomable minds and luminous artistry and it is responsible for launching some of the most brilliant artistic careers of the Silver Age of comics; Buscema, Steranko, Romita (or as I like to call them the Three Juan-itos…because all three of them are named John) to name just a few. Marvel was and is awesome in every sense of the word…but they were always missing one thing….The Bat.

Detective_Comics_27

Bob Kane’s Batman first appeared in Detective comics (later DC) #27

The Batman, the Caped Crusader, Bats, the World’s Greatest Detective, the Dark Knight, Bruce Wayne; whatever you called him, Batman was and remains an incurable badass (except maybe when George Clooney played him, but that wasn’t really Clooney’s fault. I mostly blame Joel Schumacher for putting nipples on the Batsuit. Way to go, Joel! That’s what Batman had been missing all those years…nipples). Batman was a symbol that any man (who was a billionaire with infinite resources) who was tired of corruption, of looking the other way, of the status quo, could rise up and become someone else….something else (and is that sounds familiar to you it’s supposed and I am totally getting there) in order to protect the things and people he holds dear. And this became the template off of which so many other DC characters were built.

I would be a liar if I said that it was not the more recent additions to popular culture that has fueled my enthusiasm for DC’s universe and characters but certainly they were not the only things….I do have a five year old boy after all and little boys love Batman. They just do. They cannot help it. I think it’s in their blood, woven into their biology by 70 years worth of human evolution.

I wanted to touch briefly on the Christopher Nolan “Dark Knight” movies as “the thing that made Batman cool again” after a decade or so of cinematic embarrassments. “Batman Begins”, being the first installment in the Dark Knight Trilogy, was a re-creation of the character for a modern age; gritty, complex, stoic, strong, even romantic at times. Christian Bale brought to Batman a depth that he had previously lacked outside the comic books and he brought it to a national audience and national acclaim. You cannot talk about the Dark Knight Trilogy without at least mentioning the haunting and even disturbing portrayal of Batman’s longtime nemesis, The Joker by a doomed Heath Ledger. The impact of that performance and what it has done to and for the evolution of that character is astounding in its depth. I feel like it raised the bar for the portrayal of villains in general.

I know that everyone is climbing the goddamn walls right now and shouting that the DC conversation HAS TO begin with Superman and to you I would say, this is my blog and I do what I want! So there! You wanna talk about Superman get your own blog….although we are going to talk about Superman in so much that he is kind of an outlier as far as the major heroes go in the DC universe.

Superman is an alien (albeit an alien whose life basically mirrors the biblical story of Moses). And while he has an interesting life story and abilities he is not a man…he is a super man. I personally feel that the evolution of Superman as a character and the trajectory of his life story are much more lackluster than a lot of the other characters in the DC universe (and I will admit that I have not seen “Man of Steel” so sue me, okay). But it is continually argued (and not incorrectly, even in my opinion) that Superman is one of the greatest, if not THE greatest, comic book superheroes in history. He is certainly the most iconic. But, in my humble (lol) opinion he’s also one of the most boring. Superman is unerring in his goodness. What makes modern takes on characters like Batman and Green Arrow so compelling is that they constantly struggle between doing the RIGHT THING and doing what feels right at the time (although no one ever said that vigilante justice was an easy business to be in). Superman never falters…because he’s fucking SUPERMAN! Although, in the very first Superman stories told by his creators Jerry Siegel and Joe Shuster it is said that Superman was “…rough and aggressive. The character often attacks and terrorizes wife beaters, profiteers, lynch mobs, and gangsters in a rough manner and with a looser moral code than audiences today might be used to”. I say we need a little more of the Old School Superman. You can definitely picture Old School Superman hanging out with Oliver Queen, drinking vodka stolen from the Bratva and giving each other homemade tattoos (you totally thought I was gonna say blowjobs, didn’t you, you sick fuck….and now you’re picturing it….it’s kind of hot, huh).

Speaking of Oliver Queen, I’m just gonna leave this here……

amell ladder

I could watch that ALL DAY!

If it weren’t for Stephen Amell’s abs  I would probably not be as enthusiastic about the DC Universe as I am today. I think I was home sick one day and I started watching “Arrow” on the CW shortly after it came out with its first season. I may have been there, initially, because of Stephen Amell’s body…and eyes…and ass (yes, I am aware that too is a body part but I think it bears repeating)…his soft gravelly voice….his ferocity…his workout routine, but I stayed for interesting character development, largely believable motivations and kick ass fights with bows and arrows because, DUH! “Arrow” definitely sent me down the “looking things up rabbit hole” and got me excited about the larger DC Universe in general.

Along came Barry Allen and with him came a particle accelerator, which promptly exploded, making all kinds of crazy things happen! Like turning a normal dude into the “fastest man alive”! The CW’s “The Flash” was (finally) released on Netflix in October of 2015 and it was ripe for the binge watching. And it was binge watched, rapidly and with extreme prejudice….I actually don’t even know what that means, it just sounded cool. But our hasty binge watching has left us twiddling our thumbs waiting for the Netflix release of season two, which, of course, is already playing on TV’s CW Network

There are so many cool and interesting characters and stories in DC Comics, Aquaman not withstanding (although, as was recently pointed out to me by my fiance’s 6 year old nephew, he can talk to sharks and that’s pretty damn cool), that it’s kind of like this former “Marvel Girl” gets to get into comics all over again…with a whole new (to me) UNIVERSE!  And I cannot wait to start digging deeper into the lives and people contained within!

My son and I read about Batman, the Justice League, Superman, Wonder Woman et al. nearly every night. We watch Batman and Justice League cartoons together (because cartoons are art too, goddamnit, and even though we don’t own a TV and I once used to own a bookstore I am not prepared to be one of “those” people who look down their nose at everything that has been touched by pop culture, those people who are like, “I don’t know what “Dr. Who” is because we don’t have a television, we just sit around listening to symphonies, reading books, sipping port and judging people.”) so my interest and knowledge are constantly being bolstered. Even if “Batman v. Superman” sucks, and sadly, I have heard nothing up to this point that would have me believe that it doesn’t, I am still going to love it because it’s mine. Comic book characters feel like friends. They’re these people we all know or at least all us nerds and frankly I cannot think of a better “we” to be a part of. The characters don’t always do the right things but it kind of makes us love them even a little more. We feel as though the choices they make have an impact and not just on their lives but our lives because their effects will be felt…across their Universe.

I am super tired from staying up too late last night to finish season 2 of “Daredevil” which just came out last week. I have no shame regarding this matter nor do I think it is owed. “Daredevil” kicks fucking ass and I will totally be writing a blog about how much it does that very soon but right now I need to get to bed. XOXO

And here’s a ton more pretty pictures to look at featuring the artists and characters of the DC Universe, highlighting the work of Gil Kane, Carmine Infantino, Neal Adams, George Perez, Frank Miller and many others!

 

 

 

 

 

The Trump Blog All 5 of You Have Been Waiting For

So there’s this election coming up and while in my real life I am anything but A-political when I am here, sitting in my awesome blogging throne* from which I do all my totally awesome blogging I tend to keep politics as an aside although I am relatively certain that most people can guess which way I lean. It’s not that I don’t have strong opinions or even that I have nothing to say on the political matters that are important to me, it’s just that I prefer that if people are going to hate me, it be for good reasons like I got drunk and pooped on your front porch and then videotaped your stepping in it the next morning when you left the house….hypothetically, or because I called you cuntrag in front of your small child because you cut in line at the zoo, or I ate the last of the Cocoa Krispies and left the empty box in the cupboard so that you thought there were actually Cocoa Krispies left so you totally got your hopes up for some delicious Cocoa Krispies but when you felt how light the box was your hopes, while diminished, were not completely crushed until you upended the box over your bowl and were met with only a feeble sprinkling of Cocoa Krispy dust. Frankly I cannot think of better reason to hate someone than that last one. Except maybe if they were a psychotic, racist, sexist, violent, misogynistic, bloated, homophobic, orange, narcissistic, delusion, mono-maniacal, smarmy, creepy, lying, repugnant, xenophobic, greasy, vomit-swelling, little fuckstain of a shriveled up oompa loompa, that might also be a good reason to hate someone. But, alas, hate only breeds more hate, just like anything else that powerful…like love, for instance. So let’s maybe not talk about why we “hate” that oompa loompa and talk about why he’s such an incapable, dangerous, and downright idiotic choice for a leader.

Of course I’m talking about Donald Trump and just like John Oliver said, I am kind of loathe to even write out his name because I am positive he has a tiny orgasm every time it is written…..or spoken….or read, not even aloud, just in your head, but he still knows because he once made a wish with a genie from a magic lamp and now he can sense it whenever bile rises in someone’s throat after simply hearing his name or seeing his picture.

 

oface

It seems like an oddly impractical thing to wish for if you ask me, but let’s be honest people, we are not dealing with a Rhodes Scholar here. Sometimes, after the Donald feels the need to reassure the American public that there are “no problems” with his dick (I find this highly doubtful coming from a man who repeatedly and in earnest talked about wanting to bang his own daughter), when I am done throwing up, I try to figure out if this is actually happening, like for real, actually happening. It’s kind of like watching Trapped in the ClosetR. Kelly’s much beloved/maligned “hip hopera” that is still puzzling stoned people everywhere as to whether or not its creator was entirely serious in the making of what the writer, producer, director and actor of the “films” would call his masterwork.

r-kellys-trapped-in-the-closet.jpg

Have I mentioned that in R. Kelly’s Trapped in the Closet he is legit trapped in a literal closet?

There is simply no way to watch Trapped in the Closet and not think to yourself, “NO FUCKING WAY THEY ARE TAKING THIS SHIT SERIOUSLY!” And that sentiment is pretty much echoed whenever I hear about the next, ridiculous, offensive, stupid and/or (usually and) appalling thing the Trump campaign has done. I can just imagine the Donald sitting around the frat house with his other white, be-polo-ed frat buddies (only because that’s where I assume he lives), high-fiving one another, drinking their way through case after case of unsold Trump brand vodka (which was absolutely a thing….just not a thing anyone wanted), and trying to think of the next absurd thing that Trump is going to say or do that will inevitably get him more headlines, more recognition and possibly, more votes.

“Dude! You know what you should totally do tomorrow, bro? You should totally talk about murdering innocent women and children. Betcha no one will call you out on it!” *shouts of bro-ly agreement* *high fives all around*

“BRO! Then you should totally talk about how big your dick is at the debates! That would totally fuckin’ crush it!” *smashes empty beer can into forehead, swigs Trump brand vodka, casually rapes coed while high-fiving his bros, posts it all the Twitter*

“Fuck yeah! You should threaten to walk out onto 5th Avenue in downtown NYC and shoot someone! Fuckin’ EPIC, Bro!” *Tweets about how he’s gonna retweet the tweet that Trump will tweet after he is forced to go on Twitter and defend his saying that he could shoot someone and no one would care…oddly enough, no one cares*

The Trump candidacy has been the most collectively head-scratching theater that the American public has ever seen. I mean this guy has Andy Kaufman beat by a country mile…unless he’s actually serious….OH GOD! You don’t think he’s actually serious about this, do you? I mean, if he is actually serious about his campaign, which, of course, is a possibility, he might be some kind of publicity savant and he genuinely and truly thinks that the hardest part of being President of the United States is getting elected….while simultaneously proving himself wrong at every turn! GENIUS!

But in reality I don’t think Trump has given much, if any, thought to what would happen after getting elected. I honestly don’t think he thinks things out much at all; what he’s going to say, how he’s going to “run a business (into the ground?)”, how or where his money is spent, what bullshit thing/building/failed casino/piece of steak he puts his name on, or to whom he might be liable if elected. I think the most dangerous thing about Trump is that Trump only cares about Trump. He is not interested in the welfare of the American People at all. The only reason he is even running for President is because it was the biggest popularity contest he could get himself into and he NEEDS validation, adulation and attention like normal, non-psychotic, non-narcissistic people need air or water. And let me tell you one thing, the leaders that are only in it for themselves and to further their personal agendas, their own need for power, worship, veneration, awe, devotion, glorification, praise, flattery, blandishments…those are the men (and I say “men” because I fucking mean MEN) who are truly dangerous because at the end of the day they are only beholden to their own emptiness at NOT having those things. And like a toddler, he will resort to any means necessary to get them. Unlike a toddler instead of throwing a tantrum, the leader of the free world can just decide to send a nuclear missile strike to….*throws dart at globe, comes up with country I cannot pronounce, picks France instead because I totally bet the Donald hates France for no reason at all*….FRANCE!

Trump may or may not be a psychopath (my money is on the former) but he is definitely dangerous. He is definitely not a leader. I wouldn’t let Trump lead a goddamn girl scout troop…mostly because he would try to sleep with all the girls and when they refused he would call them “cows” or “lesbians” and threaten to sue them and then he would rename all the cookies “Trump-mints” and “Trump-moas” and “Trumpalongs” or “Shortbread Tre-ump-foils” and then he would convince the girls that are just commodities and that if they wanted to achieve anything in life they’d better do it in a 24 karat gold-flake Trump brand string bikini while stripping in Atlantic City because that is the only way those stupid cows are going to find a rich husband, but it may already be too late for Trisha because she’s going to be 14 in a month an a half and the only thing you little bitches really have to offer a “successful” man is your youth and beauty. And don’t you forget it….MAKE ‘MERICA GREAT AGAIN!

Also, globe darts is the best sport I have ever just invented! XOXO

*”blogging throne” may or may not refer to any chair, bed, toilet, yurt, park bench (where I was totally NOT sleeping), carpet, patch of mostly dry grass, blankie, tuffet or really any flat surface available for sitting within reach of the writer.

P.S. I decided that when I run for president (because that is what wildly under-qualified lunatics are doing these days) my campaign slogan will be “Make America Pie Again” because who doesn’t love pie?!!!! BOOM! That’s at least 26 delegates right there! Also, I am suddenly feeling the need to make “Biblio Diva for President” T-shirts and bumperstickers. It’s gonna be a long night. XOXO yet again!

Just Filling the void

This is not a real post.

I totally keep thinking of awesome things about which to write but I am usually in the shower or driving or lying in bed when I should be sleeping and nowhere near a computer when these nuggets of brilliance seep up to the surface. I think I need to get one of those chalk boards that I where around my neck like Anthony Hopkins in “Legends of the Fall” after he has his stroke and can’t talk anymore.

hopkins

Dude! He also has a pipe on a string around his neck. This idea could revolutionize EVERYTHING!

 

Except for that brings up the whole issue of having to learn to write upside down and frankly, I am totally done learning new skills.

happy hopkins

If you did not cry during this scene you obviously have no soul….or no tear ducts which is a totally real thing!

Or, and I am just spit-balling here, in lieu of the bulky chest chalkboard (chestboard?) I could carry around a note pad. OOOOH! Or one of those little hand-held tape recorders (I know all the millennials are just shaking their heads at me and saying to themselves in voices full of thinly veiled pity and condescension “Yeah, there’s an app for that on your smart phone.” And to them I say “You are talking to a woman with a typewriter collection who grew up idolizing Hunter S. Thompson and for whom outmoded and anachronistic means of communication will never be anything short of wildly romantic and awesome…so suck it!”). C’mon, you can’t tell me you’ve never thought about having one of those pocket tape recorders wherein you store all your sagacious, enlightened, little tidbits of brilliance that pop into your head from time to time. I think the bummer part of that whole process would be sitting down at your desk at the end of the day or, even worse, the end of the week, to record all your noteworthy opining and unprecedented epiphanies and all you have is a note to buy more grapefruits and then two hours of continuous recording of the noises that occur inside your purse. GENIUS! Except for not really.

You know what WOULD be genius? If you had the idea to combine a few great things into one AMAZING like hash browns and masturbation and watching  Daredevil into….I don’t know, but those the the “few great things” I came up with on the fly and, frankly, that seems like a pretty damn solid list to me.

I totally forgot where I was going with this, but I think that kind of drives the point home about my needing a chestboard or at the very least a tape recorder and that’s good enough for me. I think I will quit while I am ahead-ish or at least ish.

XOXO