Lemming Is the New Black

And they lived happily every after. The End.

2009-08-29T14:46:00.000-07:00

Well, monkeybirds, it's been quite a trip. I'd type my fingers right off if I were to try to tell you everything this blog has done to help me discover myself and grow as a person. Like all good things, though, it must come to an end, and I've let it go on much long enough without putting a proper finish on it.

So here's to you, all you who've read my blog: you've been great, babes, real top-notch. I couldn't have asked for a better group of readers for my debut into the writing world. Thanks for sticking with me, lovelies, and I hope we can look back at the crazy things we've shared with fondness and laughter.

xo Lassin Sayne

Lady Gaga (What Else Is There to Say?)

2009-06-19T15:44:00.000-07:00

Since upon seeing this Lady Gaga photo I've had the following conversation, in one form or another, with myself.

LASSIN SAYNE: Wuzzah? I don't even know what to say. She looks insane. (Heh, I guess the world is in working order.)

LASSIN SAYNE'S BRAIN: PANCAKE HAIR.

LS: Not sure I want to go with the obvious "E.T. phone home" joke here . . .

LSB: Pancake. Hair.

LS: Lady Gaga joins the Justice League, incapacitating enemies with the blinding combination of her hair and outfits . . . nah, that's kinda tragically hacky . . .

LSB: PANCAKE HAIR PANCAKE HAIR.

LS: Hottest new skein-o-yarn hair accessory in case a frantic knitting tournament erupts in the middle of her interview?

LSB: PAAAAANCAKE HAIR.

LS: Her hair stylist was viciously craving a jelly donut?

LSB: PANCAKE HAAAAAIR.

LS: Gah, it's hypnotic in its monstrosity; I can't think of what to say. Sometimes there just aren't words.

LSB: I CAN THINK OF TWO WORDS THAT WOULD FIT QUITE NICELY.

P.S. I actually had this post done yesterday, but the only computer I had access to wouldn't let me operate Blogger. Sorry about that.

. . . Boys Go to Jupiter to Get More Stupider

2009-06-15T19:07:00.000-07:00

A long-disputed and highly controversial subject in our society is the question of whether males or females are the superior gender. I am here to tell you that, without question, it is most definitely the latter. Three facts that prove girls are better than boys beyond a shadow of a doubt are that they are more highly esteemed as models, are more determined to look good, and make better mothers.

If there’s one thing modern America has taught us, it’s that models are a more evolved subspecies of humans, and we should all want to be like them. Naturally, one could infer from this that if a person were easily recognizable as a model, he or she would be the best of the best – the ultimate Homo superior, if you will. Now, if I were to ask you who Tyra Banks is, you’d probably answer “the host of America’s Next Top Model” or “that chick on Sport’s Illustrated: Swimsuit Edition,” depending on if you’re a girl or boy. Simply, I’m sure you would be able to identify her as a model. However, if I were to ask you to tell me who Travis Fimmel is, could you? Is the name ringing any bells? Well, Fimmel is currently ranked the number one male model in the world. My point in this demonstration is, of course, that in putting two allegedly famous models together, a female and a male, you only knew of the former. If, indeed, a model is a sign of excellence, then men have been made Mercury to women’s Jupiter.

On a similar note, women tend to go to greater lengths to present themselves in a more attractive manner. It’s a proven fact that attractive people are more successful in life than their average counterparts. Though at first glance the average woman spending $471 a year on beauty products compared to Joe Sixpack’s $198 may seem wasteful, in the long run it will actually allow her a better shot at a well-paying job. This not only makes females smarter for a larger initial investment in appearance, but also ultimately more successful. Although it is true that things like the addition or absence of floral scents from shaving cream make such stark differences in the figures mentioned before, you have to ask yourself the question: Wouldn’t I be more receptive to someone who smelled like roses? Wouldn’t I be coerced more willingly into a pointless purchase if I was satisfied in matters of olfaction? I think you’ll find that the answer is yes, yes you would be.

Of course, nothing measures success like good mothering. Although all of us need to be told to wipe the blood from our lips and man-up when we get into trouble, there is also that small and irrational part of our psyche that wishes to be comforted when we’re in pain. And let’s face it – although Dad was great slapping that cold steak on your eye the first time you got whapped with a baseball, he isn’t gonna be there to rub your feet and feed you chicken broth when you have the sniffles. A very important part of child development is TLC. It’s what trains us to value negotiation over brute force; what keeps us in check all those years down the road when that that kid in our Algebra class won’t stop talking about his new video game and our pencil is poised to strike. When you get down to it, mothers are the only ones who can offer that ever-so-important tender, loving care. They’re the ones who’ll wear the luridly flowered aprons and cook the slightly-burned bacon that make a house feel like home. They’ll never tell you the truth about your school photos, and always compliment your English essays. You’re your mommy’s googly-bear, her snuffle-dove. Honestly, Pops will never hit that level of endearing smothering, no matter how hard he tries . . . unless he’s Clay Aiken, but I shouldn’t get into that now.

Being a decent human being, of course, I believe that both genders must have equal representation under the law, but I think we can all agree that when we strip bare the pillar of humanity, doing away with sociopolitical nuances and attitudes, women leave men in the dust. But don’t worry boys – if there’s anything people like Chris Crocker have been a shining example of, it’s that you can shed that cumbersome coat of masculinity and release your inner diva.

"Loving the Alien"

2009-06-12T13:58:00.000-07:00

"Leonard Nimoy’s quizzically handsome, slightly inscrutable, deep-voiced Vulcan Spock -- a man so arch he had permanent raised eyebrows -- was . . . [a] kind of missing link between the British TV alien time traveler Doctor Who (who debuted in 1963) and Yoda, Spock, the Vulcan with the ears of an elf, the bangs of a mid-'60s turtlenecked nightclub dandy, and the manners of an extraterrestrial Zen guru, was, symbolically speaking, humanity “evolved” into a creature of ultimate, impeccable logic and wisdom. Of course, such perfection isn’t really attainable, or even necessarily desirable, which is why the flaw in Spock’s nature, his human side -- the bits of emotion that niggled away at his placid demeanor -- were what made him sympathetic. Yet within the temperamentally integrated rainbow coalition that was the crew of the U.S.S. Enterprise, Spock, the suavely rational brain man, represented something new: the coming of geek chic." -- 'Star Trek': Why Spock is cooler than ever by Owen Gleiberman

"Chibi Spock" by aurorblackcat on DeviantArt

I have a new and ever-growing love for Mr. Spock. Some ask me, "But why Spock? Why Spock?! The ears, the ears!" To that I say, "Hm, nyah -- shuddup, I can't hear the TOS episode over your yapping." I can understand how some might not find Spock attractive: Leonard Nimoy (the actor who played Spock -- the original Spock, the real Spock, thankyouverymuch, Zachary Quinto) is not conventionally handsome, by any means; he's an indifferent character, ostensibly incapable of showing emotion; in the same vein, he's acutely logical, possessing such an unyielding sense of rational -- completely untainted by feeling -- as to make him seem cold and perhaps even cruel; and let's not forget the ears and eyebrows. However, I think it's crystal clear why Spock is so mind-numbingly attractive. And I will share that knowledge with you. You're welcome.

Seeing as how this is the biggest and most obvious reason for Spock's appeal, I'll get it over with right off the bat: The man (Vulcan?) could out-think Einstein any day of the week and twice on Sunday. Our boy Spocky is an intelligent little thing. He's served as a Science Officer under two captains, in addition to First Officer under one. With a brain that vast, you'd never be intellectually bored. Such dedication to bettering one's mind shows a sense of commitment and passion, both of which as hugely important factors to Teh Appeal.

Spock is notorious for his ostensible incapability to display emotion. Given that, if he ever told you he loved you, he'd really have to frickin' mean it. All the females I know need that sense of sincerity behind a declaration of love, which Spock is more than able to provide.

Spoiler alert (from 27 years ago)! In Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan, Spock dies while saving the Enterprise from the Genesis Device which Khan had activated to destroy it. He ultimately saves the ship by restoring its power, but dies from the radiation released by the damaged warp drive. In the funeral held by the crew, Spock's body is shot into space . . . eventually landing on the Genesis planet, which converts his body so that he is once again a (living) baby. Moral of the story: Not even death will do you part -- Spock can love you forever.

Although he is often presented as gentle and reserved, Spock contains an arsenal of wow-worthy physical abilities. Never mind heightened strength, stamina, and agility, he can incapacitate someone by pinching one's neck! That is very nearly a superpower. How. Freaking. Awesome.

Despite the fact that it will likely require a bit of coercive maneuvers on his will and body, Spock will sing a beautiful, tantalizing, elegiac melody for you. In addition to his vocal talents, he is also a master of the piano and Vulcan lute. Haven't you always wanted a strong and silent alien hybrid to sing you to sleep? I know I have.

Spock has the capacity (and sometimes the desire) to share thoughts, emotions, and knowledge with other individuals through no more than the act of sticking his fingers on your face. He can do this with two hands or one hand. Do you know what this could entail? Telling you just what he thinks of you in that dress without any insulted and disturbed glances from passerbys. Knowing not only that it's not "nothing," but the exact "something" that's made you mad. It would be an endless mindscrew and utterly amazing. I have no shame in admitting that he can Vulcan mind-meld me to his heart's content anytime he wants.

In essence, Spock is a bold and confident man, and will easily go where no other has gone before. He takes on the Horta when Kirk proves to be too much of a latent, emasculated girly-man. His dangerous and cunning alter ego can attractively wear facial hair. He made out with a hot nurse on a chaise lounge. He has, time and time again, shown himself to be a man of poise and assertiveness. Given the utter confidence he places in the risks he takes, I wouldn't mind entrusting my heart to him. And should that ever prove to be a mistake, I have the trust in knowing that he is, and always will be, my friend.

P.S. Sorry for not getting this up yesterday -- would you believe I actually just plain forgot? Yeesh, I feel stupid. :P

Ch-ch-ch-changes for Teh Blog

2009-06-10T20:49:00.000-07:00

1) Summertime has come into my life. The school year has ended, and I'm a free women -- until the 22nd, when I start up an intense French 101 course at my local community college. That aside, I've come to realize that, with my days being so freed up without the burden of a regular school schedule, I should probably get more on top of doing regular blog posts (And there was much rejoicing . . . Yay! Yay!). I won't promise anything, because that's never worked in the past (oops -- *wrist slap*), but I'm earnestly going to try to update twice a week: Mondays and Thursdays around 3 am GMT.

2) I run short on ideas. That hampers my ability to produce blogs that will satisfy my perfectionism and amuse/provoke thoughtfulness in you. That being said: PLEASE TELL ME TOPICS YOU'D LIKE ME TO WRITE ABOUT. Please, please, please make a comment with any and all ideas you have for a post, either with your Blogger account or anonymously. This will make it easier for me to turn out fast and quality work (you might be surprised with the amount of time it takes to formulate and shape an idea), as well as providing an opportunity for you to get what you want out of this blog.

With that, I sign off. I love my readers, all one and a half of you!

Superficial or Decisive?

2009-05-21T19:00:00.000-07:00

I am a staunch subscriber to the idea that beauty if in the eye of the beholder. If someone were to ask me my biggest celebrity crushes right now I would say Robert Downey, Jr. and David Bowie; I think the most attractive women in Hollywood are Rachel Weisz and Gwyneth Paltrow. I've had people comment before on how there seems to be a discontinuity in my perception of beauty, and this is because my attraction to someone has very little to do with physical appearance, and almost everything to do with personality and what that entails. (Click here for a more complete entry on what I find attractive.)

Given that, take everything I'm about to tell you with a grain of salt. I've had a request to do a post on what I find attractive on the basest of levels, all ethics and interaction aside.

Onward and forward:

Males: I love men with large eyes. Shining, clear pools that draw you immediately to them without dominating the face. Blue eyes, especially -- I watch shows from the BBC with my family, and -- So. Many. People. Have. Blue. Eyes. Gah! It's like stealing a piece of heaven every time someone looks at the camera. I don't particularly care if a guy shapes his brows, as long as it's not too obvious.

The color of hair doesn't matter nearly as much as the cut, though I have found myself partial to blonds and medium-browns.

I couldn't find very good photos (the one on the top-left is especially crap), but David Bowie has the most gorgeous hair in the world -- just take my word for it.

It's very hard to say what I find handsome in a face, because so much of it has to do with disposition and character. However, I do like strong bone structure -- high cheekbones, squared jaw. A nice smile is certainly attractive, though I've realized that I don't particularly like full lips on a man; average, maybe even a little thin, is very nice. Dimples are adorable. I consider a straight or slightly aquiline nose preferable. Clear skin, of course, is very important, and I love it pale or lightly tanned, which I know sets me far apart from Hollywood's standard of beauty.

I'm not into a built up body on a man. I, like other girls I know, enjoy a lithe and lightly-muscled physique. The chest is most important, then arms, then legs, then abs. I find broad shoulders and tall frame attractive, but that's just because I'm relatively tall myself.

The big question, of course, is body hair. I am a huge supporter of men keeping their body hair, drawing the line at bear-like chest carpets and back hair. As I've mentioned on this blog before, chest hair can be extremely alluring in that I-am-man kind of way.

Females: My views of female beauty differ greatly from that of male. I'm not sure why, but I find very petite women with large eyes, full lips, and understated curves to be very beautiful (in a totally objective way, you understand).

I like dark hazels and dark browns best on women, which is odd because I'm usually adverse to brown eyes on men, and am most attracted to light eye colors. I've also come to appreciate females who have light or medium tans. I definitely prefer brunettes (ignore the weirdness of this statement, please), which is also strange because I like very few shades of brown on men.

In another category altogether, I'm fascinated by African women. I don't really know what, exactly, I find so beautiful about them. I think it has to do with the fact that their features can be so drastically different than the Caucasians I'm used to, and their skin so very dark. I was surprised when I realized this about myself, as I'm only ever attracted to men of European descent.

Obviously, my section of females will be shorter, and I don't make a point of dallying on the rainbow road.

Hope you enjoyed reading my perspective on physical appearance. If you agree or disagree with me I'd love for you to comment, even if you aren't on Blogger -- anonymous commenting is enabled. I find the human form a marvelous work of art, and I love discussing it (in an appreciatively objective way ;-) ).

Ciao.

Let's Face It, Bella Swan: You're Gonna Get Stuck With Eric

2009-05-21T17:55:00.000-07:00

I find it tremendously funny how our culture has entered into a mindset for romance. It used to be that two characters who fell in love stood in similar lights in the eyes of society. I've come to realize, however, that this paradigm has shifted: We now create stories in which a mildly pretty, mature, sweet but sarcastic, intelligent girl -- who, though liked well enough by the majority, is no less considered strange -- lands the hero whom all the females desire.

Now, in principle, I don't have a huge problem with this. A writer myself, I understand that sometimes you need to appeal to the strongest base of readers (i.e. insecure teeny-boppers with hopelessly romantic spirits), but it's gotten to the point where I have to wonder: Are you even writing this for an audience anymore? While it's true that fiction (be it in a movie, book, or otherwise) is escapism, and therefore must, by and large, offer appealing scenarios, I think we've come to the point where we've not only surpassed "too much of a good thing," but dragged it into an alley kicking and screaming and brutally beat it to death with a two-by-four just to steal its lunch money.

NO! DOES NOT COMPUTE!

It seems to me that no self-respecting artist would continue to play on such a vaguely grating cliche unless they themselves have a personal investment in the story.

There's a fine line between unrealistic and fantasy escapism. One thing I've come to realize in my years of reading and writing is that authors are supposed to appeal to emotions, not (necessarily) situations. Simply put, you want the characters to act like real people even if they aren't in the same positions as them. (Your heroine is a rock star-by-day, vampire-by-night, polyglot psychoanalyst studying for her Master's at Cambridge? Fine, but does she eat a bowl of ice cream and cry over 10 Things I Hate About You when her boyfriend dumps her? Lovely, moving on.)

Let's be frank(er) for a moment: There is no way, in this world or the next, that a passably attractive, kind, academically-minded girl with an affinity for Native American tribal masks is going to wind up dating the quarterback, so let's stop pretending. There's sympathetic and there's insulting, and continuously shoving this plot down our throats consistently falls into the latter.

What I've come to believe is that, as very clearly illustrated in books such as Twilight, the writer places him- or herself into the story as the protagonist, and we're pulled through all the experiences and fantasies that could never be lived out in the real world. If this is the case: Come on people, this is pathetic. We're supposed to keep insecure delusions locked up with the princess owns form our fifth birthday.

Yes, yes -- Edward only ignored Bella because he was badly in love with her. Heheh, that's right -- right. The football captain just loved Stepheni e -- he was madly, possessively, dangerously in love with her! That's why he always glared at her in biology . . . *le sob*

How it would really go:

DaBo says: Don't believe the lies. Hot people date hot people, ugly people date ugly people, and never the twain shall meet.

Mariah stared at him through the hazy glow of the setting sun. Everything seemed perfect, somehow, despite what she had been feeling earlier. The fluid pull of his muscles as he ran, the hard look of content concentration on his face . . . she hardly knew him, and yet, she felt like everything important had already been revealed to her. AP History with Anthony had shown Mariah that jocks could have brains. She was m omentarily distracted as he ran a hand through his glistening raven hair. It was unfair, she mused, that someone should be blessed with such a heady meld of body and mind such as he.

Tentatively, Mariah stood from her spot on the bleachers and walked toward the parking lot, careful to be quiet. She wasn't sure she could live down having Anthony catch her watching him.

"Hey, wait up!"

Mariah froze, her breath leaving her in a whoosh of trepidation and excitement. That voice -- his voice. She turned slowly, heart skipping a beat as she locked eyes with him -- brown on green. His full lips pulled apart to reveal a beautifully lopsided smile.

"Aren't you in history with me?"

She nodded wordlessly, the ability to speak running off with her racing heart. He stepped closer now, and she could smell the earth and sweat on him, mixing seamlessly with his innate masculinity.

Her back was against the wall now, his face mere inches from hers. She clutched her books tightly to her chest, lips parted and eyes heavy as her breath came in rapid spurts.

"Mariah, right, I knew I knew you! We're doing that assignment together, yeah?"

Her eyes flew open, blinking rapidly as she tried to process why his lips hadn't connected with hers yet.

"Right, right. Hey, look, I promised my girlfriend that I'd take her out tonight, but I can't if I have to do that paper thing, so I was wondering if maybe you could do my part for me, yeah? I don't wanna make my angel mad." He flashed another diamond-dusted grin.

"Guh-I-ummmm . . ."

"Sweet! Thank you so much!"

"Buh . . . wah -- no?" She tried to form a coherent sentence as her eyes assessed his retreating form.

"Catch ya later, bookworm!"

"Wait! No, I can't do that! I have piano --" Her exclamations were cut short as the passing cheerleading squad knocked her down, kicking her into the wall in their oblivious excitement and haste.

The darkness closed in as shouts of "Two, four, six, eight, who do we appreciate?!" drew tears from her eyes.

In Which I Whine, and You Get To Listen Because I Love You

2009-04-29T20:42:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I wish I could be beautiful. Traffic-stopping, breathtaking, silence-inducing, can-I-buy-you-a-drink beautiful. Judging by the copious aesthetic enhancement products on the market, I know I'm not the only one who feels this way. Now, I don't consider myself a particularly vain person -- sure, I have my moments (don't we all?), and I certainly take pride in my appearance (though not excessively), but I don't taunt and flaunt what the good Lord gave me . . . such as it is. :P Still, I find myself wondering what it would be like to be one of "them."

Yes, you're gorgeous -- now go hide in a corner.

Is it as flawless a life as it seems? Logically, I can tell myself no with just a sweep over the tabloids. But a little voice -- that niggling, soft, shallow voice in the back of my mind -- says that it would be different: It would be perfect. Could you imagine the dizzying power of having the male (or female) population at your beck and call? It would be sickening and delightful, I'm sure.

I'll confess something to you: You know that girl who everyone stares at when she walks into a room, and keep casting glances at her throughout all of class? I've always wanted to be her, even as a little girl. I don't know what that says about me. Naturally, I wouldn't change who I am intrinsically to become "her," but it's a nice little daydream to dredge up on boring days. Tell me I'm not alone?

I think I'll expound a bit on this last thought. There are different types of "her," of course: vapid but fun, self-absorbed and spiteful, shy and unaware, manipulative and outgoing . . . -- all beautiful. I find it odd how few very attractive people have truly balanced personalities. Nearly all of them can be cubbyhole-d within the first ten minutes of initial interaction. I find it a sad but inevitable fate for the majority of beauties. (Btw, this is the part where my daydream starts to waver, and the notion that's it's probably better not to look like an angel wiggles in.)

Oh, don't leave yet! I'm sure I could muster up some more self esteem for you to destroy.

Despite the obvious dissatisfaction stunning stars in the news have with life, I can't help but override my natural aversion to their personalities, and focus on their sculpted appearances. What would it be like to put on dress after dress and embody perfection every time? What would it feel like to have thousands of people telling you how beautiful you are on the streets, on the internet, in interviews, in magazines?

There are many times I wish I could have this life, just for one day. God knows I'd probably be disillusioned of the whole idea within two hours, but I'd like to experience it nonetheless, just to be able to say, "yes, I am soul-crushingly attractive and you hate me but you can't look away, can you?"

P.S. Yes, I know that life isn't all it's cut out to be, and no, I wouldn't change who I am or what I look like to anything in the world.

P.P.S. Wow, this post was all over the place, huh? Well, I blame the late hour for causing me to emotionally vomit all over the screen. I'll try to make things more fluid next time around.

OMG no DaBo? Will mend!

No need to thank me, ma'am, it's all in the line of duty.

Well That Was a Tree Solution

2009-04-22T21:29:00.000-07:00

Listen closely, dear readers, for I have coined a new phrase. A brilliant and spicy new phrase that I hope to soon spread nationwide.

The shiny new idiom I speak of is a tree solution.

A definition for you:

tree solution (trē səˈloō sh ən): n. a thoughtless and unnecessary solution to another individual's problem that is acted upon, and though solving the immediate problem, results in more difficulties for the individual

I've taken this, of course, from the Greek myth of Apollo and Daphne. If you're unfamiliar with the story, the gist of it is that the god Apollo lusted after a nymph, Daphne, though she despised him. When he pursued her, she ran in fright, and when he nearly caught her she called upon her father for help. To save her from Apollo, her father turned her, irreversibly, into a tree.

So therefore, it is a tree solution. She's safe from Apollo's bed, but has to stay a tree forever. Yay.

No tree solution here, just prettiness. (Jareth!)
If you haven't seen Labyrinth, I suggest you watch it now, though not around impressionable young children.

It's Because I Want To Help You

2009-04-17T22:56:00.000-07:00

I've decided it's time to step in and stop boys' (adorable) desperate flailing when it comes to being in a relationship. Although it can be sort of endearing how much they want to succeed, I think everyone involved would agree that it would be easier to just lay out a fool-proof list to win the heart of a girl. Obviously, because I am (usually) only one person, I can only list what my expectations are, but I believe that they ring true for most every woman. (Keep in mind that, as a Christian, my faith will be pervasive throughout my list. This is likely the major difference between what I consider important and what woman of other faiths or none at all do.)

David Bowie is my favorite boy right now, even though he fails about a third of my list (and is 62 *cough*).

1) He must be a Christian.

I don't care how good-looking, smooth-talking, suave or rich he is, if the man has not dedicated his life to Christ I will not give him a second glance. Because of my own weaknesses, I know that if I don't have a boyfriend who will uphold my faith then I may just lose it. It is vitally important that this does not happen. Therefore, a living faith has definitely scored numero uno on my list. (Not to mention that, as it happens, most of the true Christian guys I meet are smarter, nicer and funnier than the non-Christians, but I suppose those perks just come with the territory ;-).)

2) He must be intelligent.

I do not necessarily mean on tests (though it would be nice), but the person I choose to date must be obviously bright. I hate having to put up with pointless, dull conversations with people who have horridly limited vocabularies. You know the kind I mean, the ones who think "socialism" is a big word. Yeah. Gag me with a spork. It ma y, regrettably, be a streak of superiority that runs in me, but, whatever the case, the only people I can really become friends with are i ntellectuals of some flavor. I'm smart, and therefore he must be smart too.

3) He must be a conservative.

And yes, I do mean in terms of political alignment. I could never, not ever stand even sharing the same breathing space in a political debate with a devout liberal. Considering the world I've been raised in, politics have becom e very important to me. I do not care if he is Republican-conservative or Democratic-conservative -- because really, party affiliation means little at the base of things -- but if he is green, liberal, anarchist . . . anything besides conservative, I will leave him in a second flat. Knowing my idealistic self and how important those who influence America are to me, I could never put up with a boyfriend who did not support my political beliefs. (I would tell you why, but I'd just start hating on the liberal agenda and that isn't the time for that.) Having someone to analytically and intelligently discuss the news with without fear of a smackdown is always nice, too. :-)

So, admittedly, a terrible haircut, but the golden tan and toned pecs more than make up for it, right?

4) He must be ambitious and have potential/be successful.

I grouped these two together because I think in a quality man following what God wants him to do the two go hand in hand. I could never date someone who wasn't a visionary. I don't care if he's doing great when I meet him (I don't want him to be broke, mind you, I just don't care if he's the next Bill Gates or not), but he ne eds to show that he at least has the ability to keep a steady job that earns a decent amount of money while working for bigger and better things. I don't want his dreams to be something like opening a burger shack, but if his only ambition is to find an acceptable, well-paying job at some office and raise a happy family, I'm perfectly h appy with supporting him in that. I just want him to have a dream of contentment and see him actively pursuing it.

5) He must have a sense of pride.

"Dignity" might be the better word to use. I can't date a guy with low self-esteem. Because of some of my co-dependent habits I will be constantly trying to encourage him and it will become annoying and our relationship will go down in flames. He must have an appropriate sense of achievement and pride in what he's done -- con fidence, I suppose. Confidence and the ability to accept the good he's done instead of brushing accomplishments off like they're nothing. This might sound insignificant, but you try spending five minutes with a guy who says you're lying to make him feel better whenever you point out something nice about him. Every. Single. Time. You'll be ready to commit an armed robbery, believe me.

6) He must have a sense of humor.

Most intelligent people I know have senses of humor, but I thought I should make it its own number just 'cause humor is so important to me. If he can't make me laugh then he's not worth my time. Albeit, it's not hard to make me laugh, but to make a well-timed, tasteful joke, give a cute, quirky grin, and laugh along with me is something special. He'll have to be able to laugh at his own jokes (not obnoxiously, of course, but it refers back to confidence to acknowledge something intelligent and enjoyable he's said). Along with a sense of humor must also come the ability to laugh at himself. Not in a degrading way, but he just can't take himself too seriously. When I meet a guy who can laugh off a stupid mistake he's made, my faith will be fully restored in the male species.

"What does ravish mean?" Very young an (ostensibly) innocent -- you can't fool us, Bowie.
On a side note, I have this insane urge to paint henna tattoos on his stomach.

7) He must value relationships.

I don't mean he has to be the most romantic guy around, but he has to be able to see and accept that when you enter into a relationship there's testing out the waters first, of course, but if we're going steady I want him to act like it. This could mean we hold each other up in prayer, share our troubles, or offer advice without being critical. He must be involved -- this does not mean spending every waking minute with me. That would be creepy; there has to be room to breathe. But I expect him to introduce me to his friends (as I will introduce him to mine) and at least do something like hold my hand or put an arm around me in public. He has to understand that there will be problems and he must be willing to work through those with me and bring God into it. He has to be dedicated, I suppose, in short.

8) He must be sensitive.

I don't mean one of those guys who cries at the sun setting because "it's just so beautiful, man." That just sort of . . . worrying. But he can't be cold. I don't care if he acts detached in public really as long as he's able to open up and contemplate deeper things while we're in private or with close friends. He must be in touch with his emotions and ready to share how he's feeling with me. If I care enough about a person to date him, then naturally I'll be curious as to how he's faring emotionally, and offer help if I can.

9) He must like kids.

I don't really need to explain this much. I just think it's weird and a turn-off when people don't like the cheerful innocence kids -- I automatically get creepy, mean vibes from people like that.

Odd pose, but quite attractive . . . . quite attractive . . .

10) He must be clean cut.

Not a lot to this one, really: respectful of females, polite in formal situations, drug- and alcohol-free, polite to my parents and friends, physically composed (wears clean clothes that fit, brushes teeth and hair on a daily bases, takes regular and frequent showers), devoid of any criminal record, etc. Okay, so maybe there are a few things, but certainly nothing outlandish.

Here come the last four and the most superficial:

11) He must be taller than me.

I never really thought this was important to me until I imagined myself dancing with a guy three inches shorter than me. However shallow you may say it is, I would be embarassed to be seen with him. Just a few inches makes all the difference in the world.

12) He must have a nice smile.

I do not mean a million-dollar moviestar smile. It just really irks me to look at uneven, yellowed teeth, much less kiss a man with them. He just has to have good dental hygeine and relatively even teeth. I know, I know: superficial, but it really is a must for me. Don't ask me why, because I'm not completely sure myself.

Lalalala -- he can't hear you!

13) He must have nice eyes.

I just can't stand having to look at someone's piggy, watery eyes. It makes me sad. Even if the color isn't spectacular, I'd like them to be normal in proportion to his face and have that lively shine in them. Slightly big (I could like, actually), slightly small or a little buggy I can deal with, but they must at least look normal, healthy and alive.

14) He must be a normal weight.

By this I am allowing a little overweight -- like twenty-five pounds max. I little pudge can be nice, actually, depending on the guy, but I couldn't deal with a fat boyfriend -- because this would be a food addiction, and addictions kill relationships. See, it's not totally superficial.

I suppose this is a pretty long priority list, but in fairness, I wouldn't expect anything of someone else that I myself was not ready to give. As seen by the descending order of important, looks don't matter nearly as much as personality, because if a guy has a great soul then he'll start looking more beautiful naturally. I suppose this was a bit more of a serious post, but with "summer lovin'" fast approaching, I wanted to do a favor for all my male readers.

Seriously, how can you not love this, even just for the spectacle of it?

P.S. I could think of a whole slew of other things that are nice in a man, but I wanted to just give the skin and bones of "acceptable" and leave the tasty fat to bubble over the fire for my own enjoyment. No, I don't really understand the analogy either. It's late and my brain has checked out for the day.

P.P.S. Yes, I will fit David Bowie into every post possible. Get over it -- there's nothing you can do to stop the inexorable pic spams.

Obviously not real, but I thought it was a beautifully scarring note to end the post on.

Eyemakeup Makes Me Squee

2009-04-13T21:25:00.001-07:00

I love eye makeup. I mean truly, deeply, worryingly ADORE it. The amount of time I spend on my own (though I never have as much fun with it as I'd like) is quite embarrassing. Pencils, liners, creams, shadows, liquids, gels . . . if it can accentuate the eye (with minimal long-term damage) I will wear it. I've told you all this to give you some background, because obviously, one so deeply entrenched in an orb-improving affair such as I would know a thing or two about the "do"s and "don't"s of eye makeup.

So trust me -- implicitly -- when I tell you:

Guyliner makes for uber-sexy squee time.

Some of you may say, "No, you're positively delusional. Guyliner is only for gender-confused, lithe pretty-boys with no dignity to speak of and too much time on their hands." To that I say, let me provide you examples of guyliner in action, so that I may beautifully and concretely change your mind forevermore. (Note: as always, when men are applying makeup to wear in public they must either be, a) famous, b) subtle, or c) emo [with the clothes to match] so please -- for the love of all that is holy -- do NOT try to imitate the mall emo band eye makeup to impress that chick in your sociology class. It will not work. It will make you look like a douche.)

. . . . .

Actually, you caught me. I thought I liked it, and then I did research and decided that no, not all guys should wear eyeliner. Sorry, Gregory, I just pulled a female switch-a-roo on you.

But there are men that look good in it! Just not most of the male population. However, I will, indeed, provide you will pretty examples. You've just wasted about two minutes of your life reading my confuzzled ranting. You're welcome.

circa 1978

BOWIEBOWIEBOWIEBOWIEBOWIEOMGILOOOOOOOVEYOU!!!!!! Marry me! Leave your wife! I'll raise your little girl! I'll give you another son! We're meant to be together! We have such beautiful features to mix! PLEASE! I ADORE YOU!

Um . . . heheh, just kidding. Right. Ahem. Moving on.

Gerard Way, you were my schoolgirl crush for a long time running. (You know why.) I had -- and have, if I'm being completely honest -- a huge thing for your makeup, stage and casual. However, I've decided you're just a bit too much of a high-talker for me. You know what I mean? You know what I mean. You're absolutely adorable, though, and I wish you and wifey all the best with the pregnancy thing. You''l make a great baby-daddy. No, really. You have to believe me. Of course I'm not mad -- we were never meant to be.

Okay, I'll be quite honest with you, Pete Wentz. I don't get all the fuss made over you. You're cute in that "short, guyliner-sporting rock star" kind of way, but certainly not as drool-worthy as the mags make you out to be. However, you do manage to pull of the heavy eyeliner, which is no small feat, so you get props for that. Besides, I like Fall Out Boy. (Ooh, and btw -- tough break with tying the knot with Ashlee Simpson, man. I'd say I understand your pain, but frankly I've never been drunk enough to do something like that. You're in my prayers.)

You -- I don't know who you are, actually, but you're rockin' the eye makeup like a sailboat in a storm and you're hot so you're here, (even if you do have almost unforgivably effeminate brows).

circa 1975

Oh, Freddie Mercury, if only you weren't gay and dead. You know I love you, even with your strangely endearing buck teeth and that inexcusable Village People mustache you grew in the 80s. My love for you in the 70s in abounding, though, with your black nails, heavy makeup, and leather pants. I'm sorry we lost you to the other side before we lost you forever, darling.

So, we have several lessons for today: 1) don't trust me about guyliner -- it's obviously a bad choice if you don't have the fame to back up the audacity and femininity of it (I mean, don't trust my previous opinion, trust this one . . . don't wear guyliner); 2) not all men who wear makeup swing to the rainbow end of the Kinsey scale; 3) if you're David Bowie, walk around shirtless more often for our enjoyment.

Put the Hot Wax Away, Boys

2009-03-15T14:06:00.000-07:00

You know what bothers me? Hairless man-chests in movies. It's really, really starting to get to me on a deeply intrinsic level. I absolutely hate it. I find it perverse and disgusting how boyish and shiny they look all the time. It's just -- gah *growl*! I HATE YOU ALL!

Most men have chest hair. If you doesn't, fine. Congratulations. You naturally live up to Hollywood's ideals on man-body-hair beauty. And it's a good thing. It's a naturally-occurring, testosterone-showing trait of the male species that makes women think, "Virile male. He will make healthy children." Without it, there's a certain part of women that is left confused. Take for example the movie 300:

Look! Look at that! Wrong, wrong, WRONG! A Mediterranean male would not be smooth as a babe's bottom upon his chest. It is, frankly, unattractive. My eyes are pulled away from his fabulous red cape and intense method actor gaze to his bald, shiny lady-man chest. And chest hair is attractive. Look at this sucker:

Sean Connery? Hot. Oh yes, his chest hair too. Especially his chest hair, even. He's just so manly and . . . mmmmm. Ending this now.

I don't really have a point to this post. It was just something that really started to irk me, so I decided to share it with you, because I know you love hearing me complain.

And if you think I made this update just to showcase shirtless men then you are pervert.

Bring Out the Hickory Stick

2009-03-15T13:56:00.000-07:00

Oh my gosh, I feel horrible. I cannot express to you, dear readers, how very sorry I am that I have failed you with my sporadic updating. I'll really, truly try to make this more regular.

I know I said that I would move back to political topics now, but suddenly I'm having second thoughts. I think (and give me your opinion on this) that it would be better if I continued to make this a humor blog with random political posts thrown in at random. If you'd like to hear more political posts, though, I suppose I could work them in. I've just reached a point personally where I no longer want to dwell on and whine over problems, but rather take an active approach in solving them. Not to say, by any means, that the two are mutually exclusive, but I feel (perhaps arrogantly) that I'm simply enabling what I perceive as the conservative do-nothing sickness by writing political satire.

Anyway, I've rambled enough. Give me your thoughts on where you'd like this blog to go, and have a very happy Sunday.

Oh, who's da wittle kitty? You are! You are! Ooo, you're just adorable, yes you are!

It's Annie the Musical in My Bathroom

2009-02-21T16:12:00.000-08:00

I'm in the middle of cleaning the house right now, and as I went to put the surface spray away I noticed that my family keeps a toothbrush with the cleaning supplies. The strange things my family do disturb and amuse me.

Why Do You Cling To the Degenerate Shreds of Your Pathetic Ideals for America, Libtards?

2009-02-20T20:55:00.000-08:00

I've abstained from commenting on politics for a while because: 1) I felt homicidal for a while there about the whole Obamessiah-in-the-Whitehouse dealio, and 2) I wanted to explore other creative writing ideas/commentary outside of politics. However, I believe the season for shameless abuse of the liberal agenda has returned, and I intend to re-acclimate myself to the political blogging environment with gusto.

Today, I will speak about Prop 8. Yes, I too thought it was over with back in November when we passed it, but apparently the Dhimmicrats don't share our sentiment. In my travels trolling across YouTube, I've found that the most delusional and stubborn* of liberals are still dragging their diseased claws across "Equality for All," in a desperate and laughable attempt to seemingly change the course of history and render the Californian people's decision void.

Gay gossip hound blogger is just trying to make the world a better place for his queer bros and hos! See how smiley-happy and totally non-creepy stalker-esque he is?!

Before I continue, let me get a few things out of the way: 1) I do not hate gays. I certainly do not agree with the lives they've chosen to lead, but I don't go around egging the houses of homosexual neighbors, either. In fact, I've met some very pleasant and enjoyable people who are gay. We've shared laughs and have carried on normal, non-controversial conversations. 2) I believe that homosexuals are my legal equals. I believe that they (given that they are American citizens) are entitled to any constitutional right that is extended to another citizen. Although I think what they're doing is wrong, I believe that homosexual partners should be granted civil unions if they choose to receive one. I do not believe that they're homosexuality inhibits their ability to work or be functioning, contributing member of society.

That being said, I also believe that homosexuals should not be allowed to: 1) be involved in the daycare, preschool, kindergarten, elementary, and junior high school education systems, 2) adopt children, 3) be married to a member of the same sex.

The last, of course, is what this post will be about. As I mentioned above, some of the Looney Left are still prostrating themselves at the altar of "gaysarepeopletoosotheyshouldbemarried." For all the reasons this is untrue, please check out the first post this blog ever saw. For a fresher, less political view on the subject, continue with me now.

Idiosyncratic '70s homosexual band, The Village People (wearing gay fantasy costumes *cough*).

First off, marriage originated as a religious ceremony. This means that the people it really matters to are religious -- and what I mean by "matters" is that, to them, marriage is the catalyst to have sex (sorry -- unavoidable), children, and in some cases safety from the streets, a job, and respectable social standing. To many religious groups, there is no alternative way -- no "different path" -- to take to achieve these things. It's set in stone, and nothing and no one can change it without open defiance and disregard to their religion. What I'm trying to say by all this is that to a lot of people, marriage is more than just a contract of love like it is to secular humanists; it's a door opening into a new world and completely different life.

Jumping to a slightly different topic, there is not one major religion that endorses homosexuality. Not Christianity, Judaism, Islam, Buddhism, Hinduism . . . Do you see where I'm going with this?

See: they're just like you and me! *joke, don't lynch me*

Well, if marriage to you is what I described above, then you shouldn't be homosexual. Period. It's not judgmental, it's not exclusive, it's just the way it is. This means that if you're gay, then not getting married isn't barring you from anything (except, perhaps, a shiny state certificate as proof of marriage and a lacy white dress and/or overpriced tux) -- you won't be forced to die a childless, homeless, jobless, lower class virgin like some of us forever-singles.

So bitch and moan all you want, but you're just acting like greedy kids complaining that Robbie has a shinier firetruck than you.

I'm aware that some people would argue, "So what? So it's a rite intended for religious people, but what's it gonna hurt to let the gays in? It's not like it will take away from the weddings of any straight people." And to that I say, "Kindly STFU, sir, you clearly don't know what you're talking about."

Please excuse this poor analogy I'm about to give you: it would be like if you wrote a book, and it had your name, your thoughts, and your ideas written in it. Anyone who gave even the briefest glance would be able to see what you represented. Now say some kid comes over and scribbles his thoughts and his ideas in the margins, and writes his name on front next to yours. Yes, the book hasn't technically changed -- it holds the same purpose, and accomplishes the same function as before. But it's been marked by someone else now, and people who look at it will see not only your original ideas, but all the ideas of the punk who vandalized your property, too. It's no longer in a pure form, but being shared by someone else that you don't respect or agree with. When people see the two of you sharing the pages, they'll assume that you're in it together.

"I'm gay as a daffodil, my dear." -- Freddie Mercury

Do you understand the point I'm trying to make? People would look on homosexuals allowed to marry as religious groups accepting the gay community, which couldn't be further from the truth.

Anyway, a bit long-winded, but I'm glad I'm back in the political swing of things. I hope to have similar liberal-shredding posts up soon. Comment if you're sick of hearing about gay "rights."

It was the gayest rainbow picture I could find, okay? I did my best.

*I know that this is an especially hard condition to envision, given how concerningly detached from reality any "normal" liberal is. For the sake of example, though, I implore you to imagine Rosie O'Donnell and Michael Moore's child times a gulloopatrillion. Actually, for the sake of your sanity, don't do what I just said. Just . . . run with the basic idea. But seriously, for all that is good and holy, please don't try to visualize that coupling.

Snow White Disgusts Me

2009-02-14T17:44:00.000-08:00

I will never ever never let my kids read Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs. Or watch the movie. Or own the Barbie. Never.

You want to know why?

Because it's disgusting, that's why.

At first glance it seems okay, right? The seven little men living alone in the woods is, admittedly, a little weird, but who are we to judge? But that's at first glance.

The other day, my mom and I were pondering over this particular work of fiction. Why? we asked ourselves, do the dwarfs have such strange names? And why is Snow White so nice? And why did Disney deviate so far from the original story in the creation of the movie?

Then the oh-so-true truth dawned on us. The sick, horrible truth: Snow White is a commercial endorsement of drug use, psychosis, and mild disorders.

Allow me to expound:

Doc

He's the pre-med dropout/alcoholic. After showing up drunk to class for the third time, he was "let go" from his courses. And given a restraining order. When the dwarfs realized Doc couldn't act as their supplier anymore, they moved out into a secluded wood to wean themselves off their addictions. It didn't work. Doctor Dipso's constantly red nose (I mean come on -- he can't get sunburned in a mine), beer belly-paunch, and onsetting wet brain do little to disguise his addiction. (Not to mention, an alcoholic doctor. Come on, man -- spare us the irritating cliche.) Luckily for him, the A-type personality and delusional optimism that keeps his drug circle droogies in line also keeps Grumpy's knife at bay.

Dopey

It's a sad day for humanity if I have to explain this one. He's the hippie pothead, originally too scared to try anything hardcore, and now too brain damaged to care one way or another. He's the luckiest of the seven, as the forest provides a fertile environment to grow and harvest his marijuana, so he never has to go without a fix. The green-suited dope fiend is probably also sharing in Doc's booze supply (note beer belly, red nose, and vague, swimming demeanor).

Sleepy

He's the resident barbiturate addict. Ironically, he wasn't a druggie before moving out to the woods, but his brothers' compulsive and violent withdrawal behaviors sent him running for escape . . . which he found in sleeping . . . all the time . . . with the help of downers. Sleepy has been known, at times, to substitute alcohol for drugs, curling up with a bottle of Scotch (Doc's Scotch) and crying himself to sleep. It's a clinical depressive thing -- you wouldn't understand.

Sneezy

Tell me, what drug is taken through the nose, hurting the nostrils and causing uncontrollable nosebleeds and sneezing? That's right -- he's on a regular diet of Bolivian Marching Powder, this one. Unfortunately for our little cokehead, during the making of Snow White he was in the habit of blowing a rail every night, leaving him with sick hangovers right out some cliche drug movie and nasty-tasting postnasal drip during filming. (His inexplicably retarded behavior -- EXPLAINED: the man was using Doc's liquor stash to counteract splitting cocaine-induced headaches. He did fabulous considering how plastered he was.)

Grumpy

Originally, Grumpy was a heroin addict. Seeing as how his dealer wasn't willing to tramp into the happy bunny forest where the dwarfs relocated to exchange the goods, though, he made the switch to methadone in hopes of coming off his dependency altogether. He failed. As a result, though he's been spared the seemingly inevitable opioid withdrawal syndrome, the methadone has left him and without any of the euphoric effects of heroin, leaving him a right crotchety old jerk (and completely stabilized, mind you, meaning he can continue his pissy behavior right up to his death).

Bashful

A chronic sufferer of social anxiety disorder, Bashful turned to self-medication within the SSRI family of drugs when Doc got his hands on some Paxil. (Side note: Bashful used to be a rather trim little thing, but as paroxetine causes serious weight gain, he's now running (no pun intended) at about forty pounds over.) His condition being so severe that the ingestion of any more pills would result in heart failure, Bashful also frequents Doc's alcohol supply -- Coors Light, to be exact, which keeps a nice buzz going without causing (too) serious an impediment to his mental faculties, and also doesn't contribute (too) heavily to any further weight gain.

(It may be worth mentioning here that most of the dwarfs are burgeoning alcoholics, courtesy of Doc. It was unavoidable, really, given that alcohol is the universal substance to abuse.)

Happy

I'm of the personal opinion that men this morbidly overweight should not even attempt cultivating facial hair, as it makes them out to be some sort of deranged Santa. And by God, I was right. Albeit, in this case, it's more of an overly-friendly a la Captain Kangaroo, potato sack shoe-wearing, strangely shaped hat-sporting deranged elf of Santa, but my point remains, nonetheless. Anyway, I think it should be clear to anyone with two brain cells to rub together that that not only is Happy a chronic overeater, but is also, not surprisingly, on "happy pills." Ecstasy. Lord knows all the symptoms match up: enhanced sense of self-confidence and energy, feelings of closeness and the desire to touch others, as well as peacefulness, empathy, and acceptance. Now if only there were medical terms to explain away that blasted horn he insists on playing, and we might actually be getting somewhere.

Snow White

If you thought the dwarfs were bad, just wait till I fill you in on Snow White. Although she doesn't participate in substance abuse (on a regular basis), Snow White does have deep and concerning psychoses. First and foremost, she displays indulgence in fantasies and escapism (through manual labor) to such an extent that she is barred from reality. We first see this shown in the beginning when she is singing that "one day her prince will come" while performing tedious and straining cleaning under the abusive jurisdiction of her stepmother. These could very well have stemmed from a desperate attempt to put up walls against her stepmother's maltreatment, having evolved in such a way that she has mentally separated herself from this plane. Another point of interest is her weak-to-the-point-of-nonexistent personal boundaries and a thwarted maternal drive that we see manifested when she joins up with the dwarfs. Perhaps these are just subsets of her fantasies (refer to her seemingly inherent need for a prince?), or another thing altogether, but we've got trouble in River City either way.

I won't even bother asking if I've converted you, because I know I have. And because I'm not quite satisfied with the low amount of potential scarring this post already contains, here:

Ms. Bowie wishes you a Merry (very belated) Christmas on behalf of myself.

Oh yeah -- and Happy Valentine's Day and all that jazz. Huzzah. (If you're cynical like me you call it Singles Awareness Day, and we should meet over coffee sometime.)

Well, Brandon, You Were Right

2009-02-06T19:17:00.000-08:00

I'd like to consider myself a humble individual. I'd like to think that when a times comes that I am proven wrong (a rare occurrence indeed), I'm able to suppress my ego and admit it.

Now is one of those times.

Brandon: You were right and I was wrong. David Bowie really is a woman.

He (she?) was pictured here with actor Will Smith at a charity gala in NYC on Wednesday.

Well snaps and claps to you, Brandon. I never saw this one coming.

I'm just . . . stunned, really. I mean, I had my suspicions all along, of course (not that I ever admitted those to anyone), but I never expected him/her to come out even if he/she did turn out to be . . . you know . . . a female.

This is devastating and more than a little awkward.

(P.S. Is it just me or is Bowie looking a little fat?)

Mother Earth Is Having Hot Flashes and they Murder Fuzzy Mammals

2009-01-22T19:19:00.000-08:00

The polar bear pads softly through the freshly fallen snow, his shiny black nose up in the air to sniff out potential prey. He cocks his round head to the side, hearing a splash down by the water being picked up on the breeze. At the thought of a juicy ringed seal, a smile makes its way up the sides of his fuzzy face. He runs down to the water’s edge, the wind pulling his shaggy coat back and compressing pudgy blubber rolls on his skin. The bear seeks out the seal he heard, but finds nothing. His stomach growls – begging for food – but sustenance is nowhere to be found. The polar bear collapses on his side, tears escaping the corners of his coffee-colored eyes. His world is dying, torn apart by the effects of global warming! Why did humans have to be so selfishly cruel? Are Hummers worth the weight of his life? The bear’s stomach seizes up, and he releases a choked sob as the ice melts beneath him. The last of his strength gives out as he’s dragged down to the icy depths of his watery grave. Ernesto the polar bear will never see his little cubs again, never again frolic in frozen fields . . . all because of the brutal reality of global warming.

He's now dead, and you helped kill him, you sicko.

Time to Freeze Spot's Nuts!

2009-01-21T10:12:00.000-08:00

OMG, what is this world coming to? Are we so afraid of change, so afraid of moving on past hard times in our lives (i.e. Fido kicking the bucket) that we'd artificially reproduce an exact replica of our doggies? Except, it wouldn't be an exact replica. . . . It would look the same as Sparky, but it would actually be a different dog, with a distinct personality and no "memory" of you, like a little pod-puppy.

The Feeling Is Mutual, Hussein.

2009-01-20T23:57:00.000-08:00

Will the Hafrican Messiah approve of you, unenlightened plebeian? Take this quiz to find out.

And how did this humble religion-clinging war monger do? . . .

I'm an embarrassment to Barack!

I only scored 14 on the Obama Test

Teh One is not pleased. If you don't see me this next week, you'll know it's because I'm performing the ritualistic cleansing necessary to enter the Dali Bama's presence and beg His Holy Forgiveness.

Patrick Bateman-esque Robert Plant

2009-01-09T23:10:00.000-08:00

Irrational fears are something that can be endearing, worrying, or pant-wettingly terrifying looking on from the outside in. They're something everyone has, whether big or small. They can stem from childhood experiences, movies, trains of thought . . .

Time to take out the Depends yet?

Everyone else thinks they're ridiculous, but you know the truth. You know that he's out to get you. You can run, but you can't hide, because it's fate that you will be the sole sufferer of this affliction. And what makes it all worse, is that you know it's only a matter of time before it happens.

One of my greatest irrational fears stems from reading Wikipedia's article on American Psycho and hearing about the Shark Myth surrounding the band Led Zeppelin (long story short if you haven't heard the second one: the band had fun with a red-haired groupie and a red snapper -- yes, it will follow you into your nightmares). (If you value your sanity at all, you will not look up/read either of these. Seriously. Don't.) My subconscious made a connection, and I am now rigidly, irrevocably convicted that if I ever meet Robert Plant he will deliver me a horrifying, orifice-abusing, cannibalistic death. Sure, you laugh now (or, more likely, quietly edge away), but just wait until you find my violated corpse resting in Plant's hands, being cut up into little pieces along with a red snapper over a crock pot. And honestly, if you take one look at the man you'll agree my fear is not so irrational after all.

Not pictured here: chloroform-soaked rag and meat cleaver.

Sharing is caring! Post your irrational fear(s) in the comments.

"I'm an instant star. Just add water and stir."

2009-01-08T21:51:00.000-08:00

HAPPY 62nd BIRTHDAY DAVID BOWIE!!!!

May you continue to age like fine wine!

Name Change Game!

2009-01-04T14:23:00.000-08:00

I am officially (not really) changing my name from Zeabbrah Wourlde to Lassin Sayne. Okay? Okay. Just wanted to give ya'll a heads up so you're not like, "o.O wtf?" I wonder sometimes how I came up with a name like "Zeabbrah" in the first place. Seriously. It makes me feel like a blogging deaf mute. "Eieeye cahnn spheagk ghoowd toowo."

So I have a comment question for you today: If you could change your first and last name to anything, what would it be? I mean, if you could be Johnny Dazzles or Xenu Friedrich Appleseed would you?

Lucius Malfoy, Angry, or Captain Kangaroo?

2009-01-04T13:19:00.000-08:00

Happy 2009, fellow internet stalkers!

Sorry I haven't posted in more than a month. I really have no excuses, so I'll spare you the bologna sandwich.

Today, I want to do a bit of a human interest post. Hopefully, what I have to say will aid you in dealing with various older men you meet day-to-day (and by older I mean they have 15+ years of existence on you).

In my experience, (and granted, I am a girl) older men respond one of five ways when meeting me: disinterested, pleasant or uncreepily friendly, condescending, angry, or lecherous. I've been known to confuse the last three on many occasions. Perhaps you have as well. This is why I've made up a compare/contrast essay of sorts to help you define whether you should devour his soul in your mind, prepare to flip him the bird, or whip out your Mace (or pepper spray, or taser, or giant wooden club, per your preference).

Is He Condescending?

Though infinitely more annoying than his angry and lecherous cousins, the condescending older man is the safest. He has no interest in you other than to crush your spirit, so your physical safety is assured even though you may feel the disturbing need to hug a razor and listen to The Cure for a disproportionate amount of time afterwards. You can often recognize him by the tilt of his head (chin raised slightly and pointing just a few degrees right) as he looks down at you with a fixed, cold smile that's often accompanied by a smirk following one of the many aloof "mm-hmm"s that wills surely flood your acquaintance.

He is like an angry older man because he has a cold smile and generally detached demeanor that could be mistaken for hostility.

He is like a lecherous older man because he will often have his eyes travel over your body. Though it may be uncomfortable to you, rest assured that this older man is only interested in picking out your flaws so that he can have someone to tear down over martinis with his friends later that night.

"Stop breathing my air."

Is He Angry?

Depending on whether or not he is under the influence of a substance (e.g. alcohol), if you are in a public or private place, and if there are other normal people present, your physical safety may or may not be in jeopardy. Most angry older men can be stilled with a simple "gosh darn you, now frack off!", but it's always a good idea to have that aforementioned giant wooden club ready just in case. He is easily recognized by the tight smile and clenched jaw or a sneer. It's probable he will seem to have problems standing still (i.e. he will often shift from foot to foot, repeatedly pick up and put down a drink or food, twiddle his fingers, scratch various body parts numerous times, etc.).

He is like a condescending older man because his facial expression will always seem to be toeing the line between overly-polite and offensive.

He is like a lecherous older man because you will get the sense that you just got added to some sort of mental list he keeps.

Yes, if he's pulling finger guns on you he's angry.

Is He Lecherous?

You are naked in his mind. He is removing your Levis with his eyes. Though undoubtedly the most mentally and emotionally scarring of the three, lecherous older men are often kept in check from doing any real damage by pesky things like their possible future with a 300 pound, tatted-up cell mate with herpes and a gold tooth. A weapon of self defense is HIGHLY suggested, preferably Bear Mace. Lechers are most commonly recognized by their vague and almost smirking smile, wandering eyes, and languid, overly-helpful disposition.

He is like a condescending man because he will do or say nothing overtly offensive -- rather, his attacks come primarily from body language.

He is like an angry man because he does illegal things in La La Land.

He lives in your closet.

Until next time (which will be in no more than a week, according to my New Year's Resolutions), stay classy world wide web. ;-)

Hairdressers Are the Devil's Lapdogs

2008-11-26T21:27:00.000-08:00

I just got my hair cut. It was supposed to be amazing: choppy, layered, very punk-awesome. Instead, it turned out looking like the sick love child of a drunken one-night stand between Jareth the Goblin King and Joan Jett.

I hate hairdressers.

Teletubbies Are G

2008-11-16T13:58:00.000-08:00

So, I put up a poll about a week ago on the sidebar that I forgot to tell you about. It was about which Teletubbie was the best. Anyway, two of you voted, and Tinky-Winky and Dipsy tied at one vote each (woo!).

What I'm curious about is why? My favorite is totally Laa-Laa -- she seems like the only normal one. I always thought Tinky-Winky was a girl, so when I found out he was, well, a he, it really ruined it for me. I guess Dipsy was my favorite male by default, then.

Next time I do I poll I pinky-promise I'll tell you.

Humanity Annoys Me

2008-11-13T23:01:00.000-08:00

Why, when a someone wants to stop being friends with you, does he/she just start ignoring you right off the bat or slowly withdraw from you? Why, if we don't want to hang out with a person anymore, can we not just respectfully tell them so? Are we really all so codependent?

Gah! It frustrates me. :P

I'm going to set up a hypothetical situation for you real quick:

There are three friends: Gianna, Anne, and Catherine. One day, Gianna decided she wanted to stop being friends with Anne and Catherine. Well, she started hanging out with other people, and Anne caught on pretty quickly. She was hurt, but accepted it. Catherine, however, was in complete denial. Catherine was still inviting Gianna out to events, and every time -- every single time, bar none -- one of these invitations was extended, Gianna said, "Um, okay, I'll try, but I have a lot of homework." But still Catherine persisted, even though she and Gianna hadn't been able to hang out inside or outside of school for months, and Gianna actively sought to ignore her when passing her in the hallways.

Have you ever had a "Catherine" in your life? 'Cause mine is driving me crazy!

Why does life have to be so annoying and confusing?

Note to Self:

2008-11-13T11:52:00.000-08:00

Stupidity is not considered a legal provocation for aggressive action. (Read: no stabbing the people sitting next to you.)
It's nice to be nice. (Read: some people can't help being total jerks. You are not allowed to hurt them, so just shine them on. When you get home you can write them all into a short story and kill them off slowly.)
Sometimes you have to be your own best friend. (Read: despite what people try to tell you, talking to yourself is not the first sign of insanity. You're perfectly fine. Really.)
The teenage years are when boys start taking more pride in their appearance. (Read: those guys in your classes are completely normal. Color/pattern-coordination, hair styling, and . . . um, hip-swaying . . . are all part of the male development. Don't think twice about it.)
Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. (Read: although you can't understand it, some people honestly do find the Jonas Brothers attractive. But don't worry -- just like the Backstreet Boys, they too will fall out of style. Until then, keep suppressing your gag reflex. Please.)
Genius often comes before its time. (Read: the people who misunderstand your writing are just too underdeveloped to understand. You don't need to change a thing about yourself.)
Vladmir Putin doesn't know you exist. (Read: no matter what your dreams try to tell you, a 5'5" ex-KGB world leader is not going to hunt you down and murder you. It's okay. Just breath into your hyperventilation bag.)

You Don't Understand Our Love . . .

2008-11-08T23:58:00.000-08:00

Since no one seems to share my fascination with Gary Brunson, I've chosen a new man to be the love of my life:

Isn't he just gorgeous?!

. . . Yes, I am joking.

. . . And yes -- unfortunately, that really is man. Bill Kaulitz, singer in the emo, teen pop, and glam rock German band Tokio Hotel, to be exact.

Mom, Dad, I Want You To Meet the Love of My Life

2008-11-08T23:01:00.000-08:00

I've met the man I'm going to marry. I'm absolutely, irrevocably, unconditionally in love with him. He's intelligent, ambitious, witty, independent, and charming.

He's every perfect quality I could ever imagine in a man, such as he is.

Some might say I haven't known him long enough to be so sure of my affections for him, but to hardly know him is to know him well -- he presents his whole self up front and without worrying what others might think of him. He is his own man, and proud of it.

My whole world has suddenly become brighter.

A Day Late and A Dollar Short, O-bots

2008-11-08T17:37:00.000-08:00

Of all the condescending . . . >:-(

Now that you fascist Democratic frauds got Comrade Obama elected, you're all ready to work together with us "48 percenters", promising to listen, respect, and even -- what a laugh -- "fight for us!"

All in the name of "unity."

I think I just threw up in my mouth a little.

Gee . . . so in other words, now that you've sentenced us to four years living in a concrete government two-bedroom tenement eating sloppy gruel prepared with the hour of electricity allotted us, we'll all be able to take comfort in knowing that we're at peace with our "52 percenter" brothers and sisters.

Well thank you, Obammunists, thank you so very much, because that was what I was really worried about. In fact, I don't care a whit that you've helped shove me into forced labor while my parent's retirement funds are being stolen by electing a man who couldn't even fork out the dough to pay his own campaign workers. Oh no. Not in the least. Not as long as I'm reconciled with you.

You know, in other times, under different circumstances, I'd be deeply humbled by and grateful for your magnanimity in extending the olive branch in the aftermath of your victory. Honestly.

But considering people sharing my political views just spent the last eight years being subjected to juvenile invectives from you totalitarian idiots, witnessing you lifting your chin and calling people like me Christofascists, xenophobes, Nazis, homophobes, racists, trigger-happy morons, subretarded inbreeds, etc., etc. (and those are the cleaner ones), after listening to eight years of you defend radical Islamic terrorists who want nothing more than to wipe us "infidels" off the face of the planet, calling for our troops in Iraq to turn their guns on their own leaders and high tail it out of there, watching you march in the streets supporting your leftist causes and cruelly shutting us down when we try to do the same, and generally acting like a bunch of amoral, egostical, malicious, and crotchety brats, I'm afraid that I'm just not ready to offer any more in return than a hearty, "Yippee-kay-ay, mother--s!"

You're behavior is a perfect analogy to an abusive parent, who, after eight years of denigrating, undercutting, beating, and generally making life hell for the child, suddenly decides that it's time the two of them "make up and make this relationship work", as if the poor kid had anything to do with the wretched situation in the FIRST place.

When your Dear Leader is blatantly violating our First Amendment rights with the "Fairness" Doctrine, trying to eliminate conservative talk radio from the air, will you be there, protesting in the streets and calling for his impeachment, just as you used to go into full-blown conniptions whenever you thought that someone might listen on on your phone calls back home to Ma, Pa, and Little Tuck?

When your Ascended Demigod Among Mere Mortals decides to enslave citizens into the service of his Obama Youth, directly breaching the thirteenth amendment, will you be ready with pitchforks and torches just as you are when you fight the airwaves, newspapers, and internet, frothing at the mouth and screaming your infantile rants, every time someone starts talking about reinstating the draft? (Which you always manage to pin on the Bush Administration, God only knows how.)

When your Messiah gives the final push to eliminate my Second Amendment right, will you flash up the barriers and picket signs and yell "BACK OFF!", just as you screech into manic fits of derangement every time you perceive a slight to your holy Roe v. Wade, especially considering that my right to bear arms is, as opposed to your "natural right" to abortion on demand, actually, ya know, in the friggin' Constitution?

Somehow, I can't see you doing any of these things, but I'm willing to be proven wrong. We'll see how it goes. If you do manage to pull off being decent human beings for a change, then we can talk about "making up" and "unifying ourselves".

Because you, my friends, are the ones who have a whole heck of a lot of "making up" to do.

Until then, you are cordially invited to all take long walks off short piers, like the subfunctioning lemmings you are.

Hypocritical Obammunist Cow

2008-11-08T15:27:00.000-08:00

I'm seeing red.

Of all the sick tactics of the Syphilitic Left, the exploitation of children, in any form, gets me the most riled up.

You can watch the footage I'm ranting about below. Instead of this overpaid, ignorant sow of a teacher actually, you know, teaching, she turns fifty minutes of class into a "Hate Against John McCain" Kum Bah Ya circle.

She does not know how lucky she is that: a) I can't drive; b) I don't own a gun; c) I don't know where she lives. Does it make you feel all warm and fuzzy inside to know that you were able to get one over on a little girl? Yeah, real freakin' cool, you useless piece of fat. Let's step outside, just you and me; I would drag you to the seventh circle of hell and back if I was in your class. Did you notice how she decided to crucify the kid whose daddy is in Iraq, fighting to preserve this lying donkey's freedom, such as it is. God knows Comrade Obama has already enslaved her puny mind.

Wanna tell us who forgot to flush after they squeezed you out, Diantha Harris?

Dis iz Mah Kitteh

2008-11-07T23:09:00.000-08:00

It was worryingly hard to find a more modern poem of mine that didn't make me sound like a suicidal high school dropout, so I had to settle for publishing something I wrote for a project in 5th Grade. If you liked reading my failed effort at poetry, then there's plenty more where that golden nugget of "art" came from, so just let me know. (One, an ABC poem, includes a butterfly getting eaten by a spider. I was ten and already killing off characters in my writing. Was there ever any hope for me?)

The above is a video I took of my kitty-cat. Her name is Journey (No, before you ask I did not give her that retarded name -- that was what it was when we got her from the Humane Society. If I were to name a cat, it would be called Spandex.), but I call her: Flinko, Fwinko, Baby, Angel, Lovey, Bubbles, Sweetie-Heart, Babboo (variation of aforementioned "Baby"), Dear, Deary, Deatest, and Amazing Tomato (pronounced AH-mah-zing tah-MA-toe, long story), among others.

She's part Siamese, has big, bright green saucer eyes, is about four years old, and very affectionate. She acted like a Crack Baby when she was a kitten (she crawled up the freakin' chimney the day we brought her home), but she's calmed down to a semblance of normality now. Isn't she just adorable? I friggin' love cats. They're fanatstic creatures.

May I be frank with you? I think cats are better than dogs. They're cleaner, quieter, sweeter, and mellower (yes, it's a word). I know several people who said they would run a cat over with a lawn mower if they ever got one (sicko, sadistic dog-lovers), so I am aware that not everyone thinks felines are God's gift. Not to say I don't think dogs can't be great companions too, but they're just so much work!

But what do you think: cats or dogs? I'm a kitteh funattic mahselfe. (Yes, Lolcats is amazing.)

Poetry Review: Nature's Life

2008-11-07T23:01:00.000-08:00

This attempted quatrain from her first anthology, Nature My Way, is symbolic of what she perceived as the cruel and thoughtless mass-producing of harvest that weakens Mother Earth. Albeit, this sort of writing often encourages the anti-greenies to go out and harm the earth for the pure sake of schadenfreude, rather than promote environmentalism, but you can't reason with artists. She would've liked to say that all that glisters is not gold, and just because a wordsmith like Frost was able to fill everything with elegance and imagery while she was lacking in that department, at best, her messages were no less real or important than his. Despite her embarrassingly inflated ideas of her poetic skill, most wouldn't have missed anything if she had fallen asleep in the snow.

Poetry, the Golden Years: Nature's Life

2008-11-07T22:45:00.000-08:00

A tiny sprout starting to bloom

The petals' shade of gorgeous red

The soil is its fertile bed

It now sits in a sunny room

Its life is absolutely gone, there isn't any more

It became a showpiece with no charm

It was taken away from its large farm

And when it wilts, it will become a hanger on a door.

My Mommy isn't a Technologically Inept Old Person!

2008-11-07T22:27:00.000-08:00

My madre has a blog! I'm so proud of her! :D Now, if only I could coerce the rest of my family into making one . . .

You should check it out, it's some serious lol-worthy stuff:

http://shannonny123.blogspot.com

In honor of her and her newfound interweb awesomeness, I will do some posts in her style to encourage you to visit her blog. (What do you mean I'm out of ideas and plagiarizing family members under the guise of promotion? That's a cruel thing to say to anyone.)

"You really didn't think I'd make it that easy, did you?"

2008-11-07T22:07:00.000-08:00

If anyone gets the reference of this post's title, I will give you virtual cookies until the day I die, because you are an amazing individual. There is a real reason I put the quote in though -- I'm starting something new. Something exciting, fantabulous, wonderful, and shiny.

On the edge of your seats yet? You should be.

I'm putting a quote from one of my favorite movies in every post from now on! If you get the quote, the movie, and the character who said it, I will give you . . . um, something phenomenal. We can work that out later. So keep an I eye for lines that look copyrighted.

This is short -- just a little update, really: I'm not done ranting about politics yet (le gasp).

I know, pretty inconceivable idea, but true nonetheless. I just wanted to take a break from it before continuing so I wouldn't post something I regret, or just do another mindless rant without any substance. I'll give you a political post tomorrow chock full of panache and sarcasm. (You lucky, lucky little lemon drops.)

This ties into my next point: rants. Yes, of course I rant. Blogs are made for ranting. If you don't like this style of bloggery, then please, please, please don't force yourself to read! I don't want to make anyone uncomfortable or bored. It's just a form of catharsis for me so I don't wind up stabbing the kid next to me in math class with a pencil because of all my pent-up anger and frustration.

Thatisall.

A Few Prozac Lolz

2008-11-04T23:29:00.000-08:00

Considering Russia won't be taking us over since Obambi was elected (pretty funny story behind that if you ever wanna hear it), I figure that I'm now at liberty to laugh at their Prime Minister:

You have to admit, the man has a sense of humor . . . even if he is nightmare material in every other aspect of his life. I have a bizarre fascination with Putin -- know a good bit about him, too, if you're ever interested.

Don't Fire Until You See the Whites of Their Eyes

2008-11-04T20:43:00.000-08:00

My fellow conservative bloggers, a message to you:

All is not lost.

I know none of us wanted Sen. Barack Obama to win this presidency, but you have to look on the bright side (as you'll have to be doing often these next four years): ladies and gentlemen, this is the first ever black president! America has overcome all prejudice and elected an African-American to the White House. America is still a great nation, where no matter your race, gender, or place in life, you has the opportunity to follow your dreams and find your place in life, according to what you decide is best for you.

These next four years will be a chance for us to regroup, to kick out all the psuedo-conservatives that have gathered around us and purify our pool for the next election. We will be ready when the time comes for us to re-assume power. America will be great once again. These will be years of judgment, but all is not lost. Not by a long shot. America is still the greatest nation in the world -- one man cannot change that.

Not to say it won't be difficult. We'll need to fight, and fight hard, to hang onto what the government will try so desperately to steal away from us: our freedom. This is our country, and I for one will not sit around while it's pulled apart by a bunch of nancy libtards. I kid about jumping the border, but in reality, I'm gonna stay here till they drag me away kicking and screaming to the reeducation camps.

So let's make a promise to make these next four years worthwhile. Let's stay true to God, and to the laws and rights our forefathers lay down for us. Let's gather our sources and pour our blood, sweat, and tears into fighting against this oppression.

It's this generation's turn to kick commie ass, my friends.

And That's a Wrap

2008-11-04T20:11:00.000-08:00

Well, my lovely inky octopuses, it appears I'll be reporting to you sooner than I thought. I was going to give you the result of the campaign (like we didn't all know :P) tomorrow before school, but my friend and I just had a text message conversation as follows:

Obama won

Frack

Sigh

I thot we werent finding out til 1 in the morning tho

No they just called it

Shit. U serious?

Yea

And sure enough, when I checked out CNN live these were the results:

VOTES NEEDED TO WIN: 270

ELECTORAL VOTES REMAINING: 70

OBAMA: 323

McCAIN: 145

It's not like this was a surprise, though. I'll admit, McCain could've won -- really, he should've. If he had taken off the kid gloves after the Republican Convention and gotten to the nitty gritty of the issues, shown Obama for his true colors, and played it out like a real conservative, he would've stolen the election. But it was almost as though some driving force -- subconscious, maybe -- was leading him to do all the wrong things, just so he would lose. The man has an ego the size of Texas, a crap campaign, and the Obamedia was too busy licking the feet of Teh One to spare a good word for McVain -- there was no way he could've won with all these forces conspiring against him.

And any conservative who thought otherwise was pulling the liberal card of "if we ignore it it'll go away and then we'll win." Da Nile isn't just a river in Egypt.

It was nice knowin' ya, free America. Gimme a kiss goodbye.

English Class Cheated on Me

2008-11-04T19:47:00.000-08:00

I was going to avoid the election until tomorrow, because I knew if I paid attention today I would act like a PMSing Chris Crocker.

And guess what: I was right. More on that below.

Turns out, my English teacher had different plans for today. She decided that we should spend 30 minutes today following the election (through blogs, TV, or other means) and jot down our thoughts on it. I spent my 30 minutes in the seventh circle of hell, and now you can share in the misery. Here are my notes:

v 6:42 pm McCain just lost Ohio. He now has 124 electoral votes, and 49% popular vote. Obama has 199 electoral votes and 50% popular vote. Why do we need to have electoral votes? The conservatives might actually have a chance of winning otherwise. But California still needs to be tallied in, and that would undoubtedly tip the scale in Obama’s favor. Well, it will anyway, I suppose. I’m barely literate right now. Fear has me in a haze.

v 6:49 pm Obama has 19,480,495 popular votes, while McCain has 19,184,965. I just posted on my blog about the election. It’s helping me to think clearly again. So many people my age just don’t understand how important this is. I’m so scared, and my dad just banned talking politics in the house, so I have no one to be comforted by.

v 6:52 pm Popular votes: Obama – 20,822,014; McCain – 20,414,522. It doesn’t look like there’s any chance for McCain to pull through now, especially with California still off the charts. I was holding onto a sliver of hope. It was just incinerated. I hope these next fur years aren’t quite the hell I’m envisioning.

v 6:55 pm Popular votes: Obama – 21,110,153; McCain – 20,650,932. Christians will be under attack. We’ll just have God and each other soon. I don’t know if that’s a good thing or bad.

v 6:58 pm Popular votes: Obama – 22,190,557; McCain – 21,624,493. There’s a family that goes to my church that I baby-sit for sometimes A very nice family, really. They’re liberal. I’m sure they’re voting for Obama. I don’t think I’ll be able to baby-sit for them anymore. I can’t be in that close proximity with someone who caused this. I know that sounds hateful, but I can’t help it. The whole situation just makes me so friggin’ mad I could spit nails.

v 7:01 pm Electoral votes: Obama – 206 (Oh God, he only needs 64 more); McCain – 135. I think America’s under judgment from God. In the Bible, when a nation was under judgment, it was given bad leadership. We had Clinton, Bush, now Obama. Nuff said.

v 7:04 pm Popular votes: Obama – 22,635,152; McCain – 22,017,149. I’m actually getting teary watching this. Can the libtards even comprehend what they’re doing to us? We’re gonna have another freakin’ 9/11. My dad has a friend who converted to Christianity from Islam named Daniel, and Daniel said that all the Muslim terrorists he knows consider Obama to be “their candidate.” Not to mention the fact that Obama continuously voted against trying to protect infants of live abortions. Even Hillary Clinton voted for that. What do these things tell you? The man is a tool for the devil. He’s sick.

v 7:09 pm I have three more minutes until I can stop. I can’t take this any longer. I developed a headache a while ago, I feel like I’m going to start crying, and now I feel nauseous.

v 7:10 pm My connection just timed out. I can’t watch it anymore.

All of that is original, folks. My really real view while watching McDorkbrain's downward spiral. Right after I wrote that I went down to dinner and had an emotional breakdown at the table. The flip side of that is now all the negative chi is out of my system, so my headache's gone and I'm feeling more positive. Still . . . things aren't all ladybugs and rainbows, ya know?

I'll try to post later with more covering the election, but I need to take an immediate break from it.

You want to know the saddest thing about this though? No, I'm not talking about the fact a pansy-ass lying weasel is going to head up our nation. I'm being infinitely more selfish than that. No, the saddest thing is that I used to love English class. I trusted and adored it's vaults of knowledge and creativity.

I feel betrayed by it.

Like . . . like . . .

Take this analogy: I have a dog named Ginger. English class is Billy "Blowjob" Clinton, who has a dog named Imalyingscarybastard.

I feel like Ginger just went and had puppies with Imalyingscarybastard.

. . .

2008-11-04T18:38:00.000-08:00

I'm sitting at my computer, keeping tabs on CNN's live election results.

McCain just lost Ohio. He has 124 electoral votes, and 49% popular vote.

Obama has 199 electoral votes, and 50% popular vote.

And I just realized, "Oh my God, Obama is really going to win this election."

It didn't sink in before now just how serious this situation is.

Look around America, you're under judgement.

Look around libtards, your Golden Boy is a tool of punishment.

Oh my God.

What have we done?

My Muse is PMSing

2008-11-04T15:44:00.000-08:00

Have you ever had those days, weeks, months, where anything and everything creative (whether it be in writing, music, or simple conversation) not only eludes you, but beats you back with a hot poker?

Oh yeah, that's where I am right now.

I feel especially horrible, because my life is so dependent on the left hemisphere of my brain, and my little funks have never been quite so bad for quite so long. *tear*

And have you ever noticed that these creative depressions, such as they are, always hit the day you need your wit about you the most? Like in class, when you're sitting next to this really hot guy, and he talks to you -- under normal circumstances, you'd be able to make him smile, maybe even laugh, but today he looks at you as though you're a retarded penguin who just sprouted another beak. Then, you think of the most amazing line ever that would've been perfect to use about fifteen minutes earlier. So for the rest of the afternoon, you mentally prep yourself for your encounter with him the next day -- and you think you've eluded The Funk -- except he isn't there when you show up. That day, or the next day. And when you finally do see him, he sits across the aisle from you, so you can hear his voice, and see the back of his gorgeous head, and study his strands of silken hair, but have no opportunity to redeem yourself, forever cursed to be thought of as an illiterate, banal platypus.

Ah, darn you to the hottest rings of hell, Left-Hemisphere Glitch!

Of course that's a hypothetical situation, why do you ask? o.O

For the sake of the world at large, let's pray that my muse and vocabulary return to me soon, hmm?

Obambi vs. McVain (or, May the Good Lord Save Our Sorry Asses)

2008-11-02T01:29:00.000-07:00

I've been purposefully avoiding speaking about the election. Yes, color me a bad blogger, but my anxiety level has actually gotten to the point where the mere mention of the Obamessiah winning this election has made me want to slit my wrists with a broken window pane. If it was up to me, in all my infinite wisdom (yes, you should be sensing the sarcasm here, ladies and gentleman), Obama bin Biden would be quarantined on an island in the South Pacific, along with their messages of "Teh One can bring us Hope and Change! Eingkeit und Recht und Freiheit für das Amerikanisch Vaterland! Abstimmung für Obameinführer!" (But honestly, all kidding aside, does it not scare the shit out of anyone else that Hitler's message was "hope and change," too?)

Not that McVain is any gem, either, but he's the lesser of the two evils. And if the sheeple get out of their funk long enough to elect McCain, we'd have Palin in the White House! Wooooot!

But I did not write this for the sake of debating the tickets, because you already know about them and I might be put on suicide watch if I have to think much more about the extent to which McDorkbrain screwed this puppy up. No, instead, I have a proposition:

If Obama bin Biden swings this, I want to declare Wednesday, November the 5th, 2008 National Jump the Border Day. Anyone who does not want to be stuck four years under an oppressive jackass dictator in a socialist republic will mosey on down to Mexico and establish himself as a drug lord. After releasing your anger of Teh One assuming office through corrupting the lives of countless druggies (and don't say "But I'd never do that!" because a piece of Communist . . . um, feces brings out the sadistic, vindictive streak in all of us -- or sucks our souls from our bodies, but badness either way), you jump back over the border as an illegal immigrant, therefore being eligible for Obambi's welfare and healthcare plans!

Oh yes, 'tis quite an amazing plan, I know. Take a moment to bask in the rays of its magnificence.

. . . Okay! Moving on.

For all my Christian brothers and sisters out there on the interweb, keep praying! I'm with you in spirit.

For all the rest of my fellow bloggers, throw darts at the pink elephant of Obama's incompetence.

May God bless this election, and pull us out of the grave this country in intent on digging for itself.

And just remember this when you get random urges throughout the rest of the day to go down to your nearest Safeway and but a pack of razors, crawl into a dark corner, and sob things like, "My life hurts no more than the rising sun hurts the moon.": "'For I know the plans I have for you,' declares the Lord, 'plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.'" (Jeremiah 29:11, NIV)

P.S. By the way, in case you couldn't figure it out: yes, Obama supporters, the Demotivator at the top of the post is for you. So siss the feet of your of your Führer and hop in line for your government cheese. You are the cancerous idiots that made this Lemming Apocalypse possible.

Proposition 8: California Marriage Protection Act

2008-11-01T20:39:00.000-07:00

For those of you who live under a rock (or in another state or country, as the case may be), Prop 8 is the "California Marriage Protection Act" that, if passed, will amend the California State Constitution by adding these fourteen words: "Only marriage between a man and a woman is valid and recognized in California." The voting to pass or reject this proposition will happen on November 4, 2008.

Since nothing concerning politics can be unbiased, I want to give this disclaimer before I go any farther: if I could, I would vote "yes" on Prop 8. Onward and forward!

First, let's get some facts:

FACT: In 2000, California voted "yes" on the legislation to define marriage as being between a man and a woman.
FACT: In May of 2008, four San Francisco judges overturned this legislation, ruling it unconstitutional.
FACT: According to Section 297 - 297.5 of the California Family Code, domestic partners have the same benefits, protection, and rights as heterosexual married couples.
FACT: Massachusetts is the only other state to legalize same-sex marriage, having done so in 2004.
FACT: In 2006, a second grade teacher read her class "King and King," a story about two princes getting married. When parents objected, courts ruled that parents had no right to be given advanced notice that their children would be learning about gay marriage in schools, nor could they pull their children from class.
FACT: In 2006, Catholic charities ended its adoption work in Massachusetts after more than 100 years of service, because the state's anti-discrimination laws required adoption agencies to place children in same-sex homes.

Okay, so there are a few things to bring you up to speed. From here on, my own personal opinions will be intermingled with facts. You have been forewarned (unlike the parents of second-graders in Massachusetts). After reading that, my question "Will the allowing of homosexual marriage in California affect me?" was answered: yes, it most certainly will. While I tolerate homosexuality, I do not accept it (i.e. dictionary definition of accept: "believe or come to recognize (an opinion, explanation, etc.) as valid or correct"), and I do not want it to be forced into my everyday life.

One thing I am very confused about is the arguments of "No on Prop 8" supporters (all taken directly from their website):

Prop 8 is Unfair Regardless about how you feel about this issue, we should not eliminate rights for any Californian. Prop 8 would mandate, under the laws of our state, that one group would be treated differently from everyone else. That's just unfair.

I feel like the kid in Live Free or Die Hard. "Please tell me they're just here for show and aren't actually in charge of anything." First and foremost, Prop 8 wouldn't eliminate any "rights"; as I stated above, domestic partnerships are equal to marriage under California State Law. Furthermore, "No on Prop 8" seems to be laboring under the delusion that marriage is a right, when in fact it is a privilege. You need a license to marry someone, just like you need a license to drive a car or carry a gun. You do not exit the womb with the inalienable right to marriage, driving, and bearing a firearm. These are things you need to go through a legal process to be allowed a permit for. In any case, the whole thing is BS and not worth analyzing, because the fact is, homosexuals are allowed to marry. If a homosexual man and a homosexual woman wanted to receive a marriage license, they would be given it. The state allows that. Marriage just has to be between a man and a woman and mutually consenting. It has nothing to do with orientation. Besides, groups of people are treated "unfairly" all the time: twelve-year-olds are not legally allowed to drive cars, sixteen-year-olds are. Unfair would be if not every sixteen-year-old (granted that he is not blind, crippled, etc.) was not offered the same chance with the same test to get his license. Unfair is not the fact that twelve-year-olds are not permitted to drive a car. Twelve-year-olds and sixteen-year-olds; same-sex marriages and heterosexual marriages; apples and oranges.

Prop 8 is Wrong Prop 8 is fueled by special interest groups that have engaged in a deceptive campaign. The government has no business telling people who have been together for years that they can or cannot get married. In California, we let people decide for themselves what's best for them. We believe in freedom to make choices without government interference. Prop 8 is wrong for California.

I'm frackin' speechless. Honestly, I'm not sure whether to laugh or cry at the sheer level of retardation these people put forth. I'm going to have to answer each contradicting claim separately so that my head doesn't explode. 1) It's strange how "special interest groups" has come to mean "anyone not on our side of the fence." There are plenty of perfectly average citizens out there -- on YouTube, on blogs, on sidewalks -- that are saying "yes" to Prop 8. And does "have engaged in a deceptive campaign" sound painfully bad-Cold-War-era-spy-movie-synopsis to anyone else? By the way, this so-called "deceptive campaign" would be better called "deductive reasoning." But more on that later. 2) In that case, then the government also has no right to tell a man and his dog, a brother and sister, a pedophile and a little girl, or a group of polygamists that they can't get married. Do we really want to introduce and legalize those choices in America? 3) The title of their argument is "Prop 8 is Wrong," and yet they still say "we let people decide for themselves what's best for them." What? Those two statements exist in a dichotomy. In California, we also like to decide for ourselves what's right and wrong, not have some government-approved, wolf-in-sheep's-clothing moral compass shoved down our throats like some freaky communist dictatorship, thankyouverymuch.

Don't Buy Their Scare Tactics Proponents of Prop 8 are twisting the truth. Top educators like Superintendent Jack O'Connell and California Teachers agree that Prop 8 has nothing to do with schools. Public schools are required to teach nothing about marriage. Separate facts from fiction. Get real answers about Prop 8 >> Every Major newspaper opposes Prop 8. Find out why >>

Here's the "more on that later" part. What I have found with liberals is that when you give them an inch they take a yard. (If you are somehow unaware that it is, in fact, the liberal agenda driving this proposition, you know now.) 1) Schools don't have to teach about gay marriage now, but what about in a year? Fifteen years? What about in sex education? They're teaching safety about heterosexual relations, and if same-sex marriage is legalized (making homosexuality "normal") then homosexual sex safety will legally need to be taught too -- and sex ed is mandatory to graduate from a public school. There are more weak and easily refuted points like this if you follow the link. I already know why every major newspaper opposes Prop 8: because it falls in line with their flaming liberal agendas.

That is Prop 8. I've given you my analysis of it, and now it's time for yours; I have some questions for you that you can answer in your comment:

1) Do you agree with Prop 8? Yes or no, and why or why not?

2) Do you think passing Prop 8 would be unfair? Yes or no, and why or why not?

3) Do you think that California saying "no" to Prop 8 would open the door to bestiality, incest, pedophilia, and polygamy? Yes or no, and why or why not? If yes, do you think this is wrong? Why or why not?

I'm very interested in hearing some feedback on this. As I've made clear, I'm a strong supporter of "yes" on Prop 8, but I would like to hear the other side's view on it . . . as long as it's supported with facts that actually hold up under the most minimal examination.