Just Another Day

Today marks the seventh anniversary of the attacks perpetrated on the United States on September 11, 2001.
We really don’t have a good name for this day.

There needs to be a special name for this day along the lines of other days such as Memorial Day, Labor Day, Veteran’s Day, or Independence Day.

Most Americans simply refer to it as, “9/11”.

Personally, I have corrected this lack of a name for 9/11 with the following:

“Rudy Giuliani, While Personally Unpleasant, Showed Up for Work, Posed with Firefighters Who Lacked Equipment and Logistical Support and Somehow Managed to be Taken Seriously as a Leader and Later a Presidential Candidate Day.”©

I think the name pretty much sums it up, but I’ll be damned how the hell I can fit that onto a greeting card or a T-Shirt.

More importantly, aside from the name of the observance, I have a far greater problem with this day…I just can’t get worked up about it on a macro-emotional way any longer.

Oh sure, I am still saddened about the incredible loss of life and the lasting effects it has had on countless families.

And of course, I still get pissed off thinking about the penultimate in cowardice of the planners and hijackers, but…

9/11 has become nothing more than a semaphore for political fear mongering, meaningless color coded charts, and a call to arms against third rate Muslim nations.

It has, for a sizable minority of Americans, become a seed that has been sewn and has yielded a crop of overt, religious bigotry.

I have come to detest this day...

Not only because of the attacks themselves, but for the empty speeches, poll driven tears, and the manipulation of this tragic event by some to elicit visceral reactions in order to promote their agendas, as well.

I am off today, and will be listening to talk radio and watching some memorial events on TV.

I am sure I will be disappointed by the infusion of political ideologies into these observances.

I’ll become nauseous as I hear the royalties ring up for Lee Greenwood as he sings about how proud he is, while yet another radio station cues up studio tough guy Toby Keith singing about stickin’ a boot up somebody’s ass.

I’m sorry to be such a bummer, but after seven years, I don’t feel much of anything on this day. If anything; I feel, for lack of a better word, ickiness.

9/11 has been turned into a billboard…a yard sign…a 30 second sound bite…a joke.

Today, I am going to simply pray a word of peace for the victims and their families, and then go about my day.

Cheers!!

I Think I Must Have One of Those Faces You Can't Help Believing

I’m still feelin’ a bit noodle-like with the cold, but dammit, I must press on.

I had plenty of time to think while I was lying around masturbating nursing my cold yesterday.

My mind was bordering on boredom and delirium when I jotted down the following mentalisms.

(Yep, I just invented another new word.)

I was watching TV as John McCain and Sarah Palin worked the uber-conservative Southwest Ohio crowd in Lebanon, Ohio.

My thoughts were this…

I am probably sick because Johnny Mac and Sarah, Lame and Tall were just 42 miles south of the Bagwine digs.

And then, as the flag waving, adoption-only, mouth breathing crowd cheered while Old Man Mac beamed at her, it hit me…

Johnny Mac is an old, girly mama’s boy.

Sure, his 96 year old mom, Roberta-Mama, said just that in a video clip at the GOP convention, but it is confirmed by his life story. Follow me, now.

His mama raised him and he still uses her to deflect the age issue by telling voters he obviously has good genes that will allow him to live beyond the insurance actuarial charts.

But after becoming an adult, he needed a mama with whom he could have sex. In 1965 he married swimsuit model, Carol Shepp. They had a family. He went off to Vietnam.

He was shot down, captured and beaten up for five years. Carol was in a horrible car accident that crushed much of her body.

Upon his release, he was broken, as was his wife. Carol, being overweight and literally two inches shorter due to her injuries led Johnny Mac to ask, “Who will take care of me?”

Enter USC cheerleader, Cindy Lou Hensley…A lovely, nubile chick, whose father had money and political connections.

The Mac Man was eaten up, so to speak, by this babe who was 18 years younger than him. Johnny Mac divorced Carol. He and Cindy married, and had kids.

Relying on Roberta-Mama being married to an Admiral, and Cindy-Mama having money and daddy’s influence, a Congressman was born in 1982.

Or is that re-born to a new mama? I dunno.

Fast forward to 2008. McCain’s Cindy-Mama has helped him win the GOP nomination but the convention is fast approaching and his poll numbers aren’t so nifty.

Johnny Mac ponders upon his low numbers as he lies on his Posturepedic bed, curled in a fetal position, sucking his thumb, and peeing in his adult diaper.

And then in all of his infantilism…it comes to him. Through his cathartic, child-like cries he screams:

“Bring me Sarah-Mama!!”

And thus, Sarah, Lame and Tall, Governor of Alaska, is tapped to be his Vice-Presidential running-Mama…er mate.

Take care of little Johnny Mac, Sarah-Mama. He can’t do it on his own. He needs you to be his “special electoral needs mommy.”

John McCain…War hero? Eh, no more so than the millions of other Americans who have served.

John McCain…Maverick? Pffft. He is as old and unexciting as yesterday’s news.

John McCain…He is first and foremost a Mama’s Boy, and he is so looking forward to saying:

“Oh we have 15 vacancies. 15 cabinet positions. 15 vacancies.”

Just don’t cross this Mama’s boy or his mama, because as he would tell you, “A boy’s best friend is his mother.”

Cheers!!

Help Me Kelly, I'm Feelin' Green

Hi Kids…

See that picture on the right there?

That is our couch/my bed. That is where I sleep, eat, and watch TV.

I call her, “Kelly”…I love Kelly.

She comforts me while I slumber or enjoy a cup of hot coffee while watching the morning news.

She’s a good, good, woman. Today, I need her more than usual.

After managing to escape this past winter and spring without the flu or even much of a cold, I have been stricken by a virulent cold virus.

I think I picked it up while hanging out Saturday with an incredibly adorable 13 year old boy. My son, you perverts, my son!! Jeez.

Little did I know that while we laughed, tossed the football, and sat together watching ESPN, he was also conducting a full-frontal germ warfare attack upon me.

He’s fine now…I feel like crap. And not just any kind of crap…

The kind of crap one might experience after a night of consuming Vienna Sausages, corned beef hash, jalapeno poppers, and cheap Tequila…

Served together in a bowl full of Dick Cheney’s man juices gleaned from his Vice-Presidential prick as he watched Apocalypse Now.

Yeah, that’s exactly the type of crap that I feel like. Not good.

So, have a good day, and I will respond and cruise the internets as best I can, but for the most part I will be laying on top of Kelly...

At least until, I go to pick up my adorable virus factory from school. After that, I am going to drag my ass to work tonight.

If you feel compelled to do so, and you have even the slightest concern for my well-being, send me some soup; soup would be nice. Or, a nice, cozy tit shot of yourself. I like tits.

Until, well…um, until whenever…

Cheers!!