Writers are tricky and have the best excuses

Thanks for the idea, Tom! You really sake-ed it out of the ballpark with this one.

I’m referring to Tom Clancy…the author of one of my favorite books, The Hunt for Red October (and not a bad movie, either. Sean Connery…da!) Remember Debt of Honor, a Clancy novel that once again featured the wily Jack Ryan of the CIA? The one where the United States is under attack by Japan, only not so much with weapons of mass destruction but rather with the killer idea to cripple the Stock Exchange? Remember Jack’s totally brilliant solution…after the bad guys are toast and the government and bankers are all OH MY GOD, WHAT DO WE DO NOW??? Jack comes up with the idea to start the day’s trading with the stocks value EXACTLY THE SAME as just before the Japanese attempt a sashimi on the SEC. I tell you…that Jack is one smart Irish guy. Not that I have any experience in knowing smart Irish guys. I’ve yet to meet one. Full of themselves, yes. Full of smarts…sadly, still waiting.

So…that’s what I’ve decided to do here today on Blogdramedy. Pretend it never happened. The past 25 or so days of not blogging never happened. I’m in total denial and if you ask me what happened I’m going to say…what do you mean, what happened??? Nothing happened. Except…okay. I’ll tell you one thing that happened and then we’ll just continue as if nothing happened.

Years of working in advertising has left me with the ability to totally ignore ads of any and all kinds. They don’t stick. I buy what I want because I want to…not because some blonde housewife claims that I can save the world from utter and total destruction if only I’d go out and buy the toilet bowl cleaner she’s hawking on national television. I so enjoy making flushing noises when I see those types of idiotic ads. If I see an advertising campaign that makes me sit up and take notice because it’s funny and witty and, dare I say it…smarter than a five year old, I may…MAY…take note and possibly…POSSIBLY…give it a try. I think that’s happened twice.

This is not about one of those times.

This is about the Mister succumbing to an ad by Amazon for the Kindle. I didn’t see the ad and have no idea what was involved but since he went out and bought one almost immediately, I think I’m safe in assuming the ad featured a woman in bed wearing something just this side of sleazy reading erotica on a Kindle.

Or something to do with baseball.

The why doesn’t really matter. It’s the how that is important in this story…damned quick is how. He saw the ad and the next thing I know he’s back from the store with a Kindle.

And now, I have a Kindle, too.

In my case, I did not see an ad featuring Karl Urban on his back in a sun lounger out by the pool covered in nothing but some sun tan lotion and sweat (although if I had, my “that’s happened twice” statement a paragraph or two back would have been a triple hat and faster than you can say “put it on my Visa.”)

Believe me...if I had been able to find a photo of Karl lounging by the pool, I would have used it.

No, it wasn’t an ad. It was the Mister going out and buying an electronic device without three days of research and googling! He just decided he wanted one and went out and bought one. So, of course, I had to go get one as well.

And that’s what I’ve been doing. Kindling. With my Kindle. And spending my entire month’s “entertainment” budget on Kindle edition novels. I’m now trying to decide if I can forego spending money on deodorant and toothpaste so I can buy Stephen King’s new book instead of waiting until the first of May and next month’s entertainment budget. I think I’m gonna go for it…with the Mister and I so engrossed in our new Kindles, who needs to smell good and have onion-free breath? I know, I know. Tapping into next month’s budget is very Ponzi-like but I know that this love affair won’t last forever…they never do. But while the feeling lasts, I’m going to pour on the sun tan lotion and make Karl Urban. Sorry…I mean make LIKE Karl Urban. You know…sitting by the pool getting all sweaty and stuff…reading on my new Kindle.

Next up…what I’ve been reading and a brand new BOOBS!

And on a lighter note…

After my heavy-duty posts the past couple of days, I thought we could all do with a little levity. Not that I’m laughing so hard my vodka snorts out my nose…because every thought this man has is golden.

Racial profiling — it’s all about the athletic gear

I’ve never been able to take Geraldo Rivera seriously. But now that he’s found himself under the spotlight of controversy with his statement last Friday on hoodies and the death of Trayvon Martin, I understand that he is serious…about being stupid. And then there is his age thing.

"Don't judge me by what I'm wearing. Read the article and then decide I'm a misogynistic, racial-profiling asshat who thinks men only read the articles."

There is nothing I love more than seeing a man coming into his own on live television. A man who speaks his mind based on sound reasoning and rational thought is a rarity in today’s world (she writes with a heavy pen of sarcasm.) It’s gotta be that mustache…you spend so much time wondering how anyone can kiss someone with a mustache like that and if he has a special comb he uses to clear out the crumbs that you tune out the actual words and only listen to his authoritative tone. He’s like white noise for bigots.

It was this comment that got the party started:

I think the hoodie is as much responsible for Trayvon Martin’s death as George Zimmerman was.

If that’s not racial profiling, then I guess I need to put in a call to the dictionary people to get them to change the definition before more people start using the “hoodie” defense when they accidentally, or on purpose, shoot someone. (I think that determination is up to the police and the courts, not the media…but then, I’m a stickler that way.)

I think Nike, Lululemon and all the other makers of athletic gear should take note and start adding a warning label to their hooded sweats and jackets. “Wearing this article of clothing with the hood up could lead to serious bodily injury and/or death.” In small print they should also add: “We’re including this warning because we’ve found that people are stupid. This warning only applies to people of color; white people are exempt.”

As a Sl.ob [slut (former) and snob] I just know that any day now we’ll be seeing advertising featuring non-white models sporting hooded clothing with the slogan: “Be Daring. Wear a hoodie and let your next trip to the 7-11 be an adventure.

Do a lot of young people wear hoodies? Yes. Do they wear low-slung jeans? Yes. Does that make them all murderous felon wannabe’s, rapists and thugs? According to Geraldo, yes. Because, after all…clothing makes the man and everyone should base their fears on first impressions.

The only crime people are committing when wearing clothing like this is a fashion crime. Wearing a hoodie makes you no more likely to be a vicious criminal than wearing a really short skirt makes a woman a slut. Showing cleavage does not mean you are “asking for it.” The only thing they are “asking for” is a good friend to tell them to rethink that outfit.

Society puts too much emphasis on style and not enough on substance. I wish Geraldo would use his high-profile pulpit to educate people about prejudices and bigotry instead of using words like these:

He called it “common sense” for minorities to avoid wearing hoodies. He said that he was “reminding minority parents of the risk that comes with being a kid of color in America.”

Sure, blame the parents. Some parents do deserve to be called out but telling your teen not to wear a hoodie because some white guy might shoot them is not the lesson parents should focus on. Educating and limiting the amount of ignorance among other parents and adults seems to me to be the better lesson.

But it’s an age thing, too. The older you become, the more fearful you get of anything different or something that doesn’t fit your concept of “correct or good behavior.” You are inching ever closer to your own mortality and in some people’s minds, like Geraldo — hoodies are worn by young people; young people are scary — that means hoodies are scary. Quick someone, hand me my gun.

There are greater risks than choosing to wear the hood of your jacket up or down. For example, listening to people like Geraldo and Rush Limbaugh…they are taking the wrong end of the stick and shaking it in people’s faces, which is only making things worse.

But then, it’s easier to use fear as a tool to educate. Saying no is always easier. Ask any parent of a four-year old. Saying that wearing a hoodie was the cause of Trayvon Martin’s death was the easy-out answer for Mr. Rivera.

“I’ll bet you money, if he didn’t have that hoodie on, that nutty neighborhood watch guy wouldn’t have responded in that violent and aggressive way.”

Telling a kid “if you wear a hoodie, you’ll be a victim of racial profiling” IS racial profiling. Am I the only one who gets this? Right there, Geraldo shows his ignorance and that blanket statements like this will only lead to more cases of violence and death.

I know that we don’t live in a perfect world. As much as I’m an idealist, I’m not a total moron. Some kids do wear hoodies and commit crimes. But not every kid is a “gangsta.” Some women do wear short skirts and show a lot of cleavage. But not every woman who does so is a hooker. Some people wear really god-awful mustaches but not all of them are demented crazy scientists…they just have something to hide…and what’s wrong with that? If it’s worth the aggravation of growing out a big, bushy mustache then odds are I don’t want to see what you’re hiding anyway.

My rather long get-to-the-point point is: don’t let clothing be the motive behind a heinous crime. Don’t judge everyone on their fashion sense…judge them on their actions. After all, some of the worst criminals in today’s world don’t wear hoodies…they wear $5,000-worth of hand-stitched English houndstooth suits and $2,000 Italian loafers. Like bankers. And Republican presidential candidates. Which goes to show there are exceptions to everything…them you can judge both ways.

March Madness meet the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse

Well, March is coming to an end and with it, the final four teams step onto the court in the NCAA Basketball Championships. And then there’s the other final four. The ones who are bound and determined to see the utter decimation of the sanctity of every woman’s womb.

I would so love to "pick & roll" these guys into the court.

I’m talking about the Four Horsemen…conquest, famine, war and death…better known as Rick Perry , Sam Brownback, Rick Santorum and Terry England (he’s not on Wiki yet but with the way he’s going, he will be soon.)

March Madness, indeed.

It seems that while the rest of the world has been caught up watching the games and cheering on their favorite teams (or not, depending on your level of interest in basketball), these four have taken advantage of our glued-to-the-box mentality and decided to play a little game of tag-team wrestling…with the constitution. And a woman’s right to…well, pretty much anything you can think of.

Right now, these horses have better health-care coverage than the woman of Texas. Can you say yee-haw!

Horseman Conquest Rick Perry is quickly making his way up the “Top Ten Most Wanted” list for woman across the great state of Texas. The trans-vaginal ultrasound bill, more commonly referred to as “forced rape and shame” is just the latest scheme to strip women of their right to make any choices for themselves.  This on the heels of Perry and gang circling the wagons against Planned Parenthood and federal health care funding partners so that low- and no-income women just have to keep their legs crossed (those sluts!) and let a bottle of Midol take care of those “woman” issues. Perry is all about how many notches he can get on his cowboy belt in the war against woman. When will we women learn to just stay in the stable eating our oats and letting the big boys ride us until we’re good for nothing but glue. What a toe rag of a man.

Kansas Governor (aka Horseman Famine) Sam Brownback is throwing the baby out with the bathwater with his sweeping anti-abortion austerity program. That may be a poor choice of words considering the subject but hello! this man is willing to sign a bill that would allow doctors to LIE to a pregnant woman and not share with her ALL the information regarding her pregnancy if there was a possibility that the information could lead to a decision to request an abortion. Oh, and then there’s the issue of adding sales tax to fees for abortion procedures. Anything for a buck.

Well lady, I wouldn't lie to you...but your doctor might. Let me correct that. Yes, I'd lie...but in an "it's for your own good" kind of way.

Rick Santorum, presidential (really?) hopeful Horseman War must be getting tired of that steady diet of foot-sicles he’s snarfing down. Just how many feet can that man shove in his mouth at one time? And he’s so into all things “evil” that he’s making me suspicious. Like the “evil” birth control.

One of the things I will talk about that no president has talked about before is the dangers of contraception in this country, the whole sexual libertine idea. Many in the Christian faith have said, ‘Well, that’s okay. Contraception’s okay.’ It’s not okay because it’s a license to do things in the sexual realm that is counter to how things are supposed to be … I’m not running for preacher, I’m not running for pastor, but these are important public policy issues.

Contraception is an important policy issue? How can you relate a woman’s right to choose when and if to have a baby to a policy decision?

Definition of POLICY

a: prudence or wisdom in the management of affairs; b: management or procedure based primarily on material interest

a: a definite course or method of action selected from among alternatives and in light of given conditions to guide and determine present and future decisions; b: a high-level overall plan embracing the general goals and acceptable procedures especially of a governmental body

Do any of those definitions meet the criteria as a defense against the “evil” of contraceptives? My body; my right — not a topic of policy discussion. Jobs, the economy, world peace. Now those are items that should be on the agenda. And how about his past comments on women in the military?

I do have concerns about women in front-line combat, I think that could be a very compromising situation, where people naturally may do things that may not be in the interest of the mission, because of other types of emotions that are involved. It already happens, of course, with the camaraderie of men in combat, but I think it would be even more unique if women were in combat, and I think that’s probably not in the best interest of men, women or the mission.

Any woman who’s made it through boot camp and moved on to the front lines, be it on a peace-keeping mission or on active combat duty, is a woman who knows how to not cry over a broken fingernail, not bitch about PMS and not not be there for her troops under her command. Only I guess if Santorum can’t totally stop women from serving, he’ll try his damnedest to not let them go first into battle. They may get “emotional.”

Then there’s the misconception he has about porn.

You can't convince me he hasn't picked up a thing or two in all his porn "research."

Oh, and let’s not forget that Santorum believes the right to privacy is not part of the constitution. Woot! He got one right. The word privacy is not in the constitution. But it’s not about contraception, either. What it states: “…right of the people to be secure in their persons, houses, papers, and effects, against unreasonable searches and seizures, shall not be violated…” In everyday speak, this translates to people (excuse me but that includes woman) and persons (that means women, too) have the right to not be forced to undergo an invasive procedure as a caveat to requesting an abortion. As a woman, I call that a violation…of my privacy. You want a handful of anti-delusional sprinkles with that foot cone, Mr. War?

Right now, we’re in Georgia. I love Georgia. The people…the scenery…the incredible half-pound pulled pork with coleslaw sandwiches. That was until I read the story about the Georgia State Legislature debating a bill (HB 954) that would require pregnant women to carry a stillborn or dying fetus to term, or until labour begins. Horseman Death, State Representative Terry England, in talking up this bill, shared his sympathy with women in this situation. And also, pregnant cows and pigs. He said,

Life gives us many experiences…I’ve had the experience of delivering calves, dead and alive. Delivering pigs, dead or alive. It breaks our hearts to see those animals not make it.

Well, the only similarity I can see in that statement is that women can provide milk for their young…I’m not sure if you can just go out to the barn and milk them like you would a cow but something tells me Mr. England would move this to the top of his “must-try” list damned quick if given the opportunity. Ladies, let’s hope that never happens.

Cow, pigs, women. Who can tell the difference? Maybe if you blindfold me and give me a milk taste test...

So where does all this leave us? With the hope that April brings some sanity to the minds of these repulsive Republicans. After all, hope “springs” eternal and this March Madness is doing my head in.

Author’s Note: this post was based on my own personal views and is not a blanket statement on all Republicans. At least, not the sane ones. 

My boob is gay. I think it’s the left one.

It doesn’t take much to keep my BOOB!(s) happy. A little attention now and then…a soft touch in the right place. A well placed comment or a “snappy” reply. *wink-wink*

Yes, I’m talking about my Blogs of Other Bloggers segment here on Blogdramedy…more fondly referred to as BOOB! Yes, with the exclamation point!!!!!

I know that as a punctuation mark, the screamer is bandied about all too frequently for most editors of a snarky persuasion (and I include myself in that snark.) However, whenever anyone is talking about boobs, large or small, an exclamation point is mandatory. Just ask anyone enamored by the sight of firm mounds of hot flesh packed into something tight. Pass me a napkin…I’m drooling.

I could have called my adoration of other bloggers the BUTT! segment,  but I hurt myself trying to come up with a phrase that would match that acronym so I settled for the K.I.S.S philosophy…Keep It Simple, Sexy.

And, once again, I’ve let my lead take over this entire post. I’m supposed to be fitting you up with a new BOOB! Let me just get out my measuring tape…SNAP! Okay, here we go.

The Diary of a Mad Gay Man first crossed my horizon when the Mad Gay Man himself asked to join in my BlogFestivus writing challenge back in December. I screamed out a welcome and have been an avid bitch of a follower ever since.

Makes me want to take out my glitter pen and get busy.

As the man says, drama abound! With an exclamation point. See? I think I’ve made my point about exclamation points. But maybe you’ve heard enough about those fucking screamers so…point taken!!! (Sorry.)

MGM is all not all glitter and show tunes. Come to think of it I don’t think I’ve ever seen him write about show tunes…but hum him a few bars and he might surprise you. He writes about how awesome being gay is, what being gay means to him and how being gay can make you gay…the 1950s definition of gay. Hint: it rhymes with tappy…which might sound gay but is not. You need an “h” for that. Are we clear here?

He has his ups and downs. His boyfriend is a hunk. He gets involved in some crazy shit (his words; not mine. Mine would be crazy fucking shit.) He gives out a fucking awesome award called the “Bitch You’re Fabulous – The Mad Gay Man Award” to fucking awesome bloggers. And before you ask, yes, I’m a bitch and I’m fabulous.

If I had to put a size on him, it would be a 38DD. Big enough to catch your eye but not so big it makes you think Dolly Parton. Because no one needs that much no matter what the guys in the locker room say.

So, check out The Diary of a Mad Gay Man. Tell him Cher sent you.

Sorry for the interruption but you need to do this NOW!

Vote for me. Blogdramedy. That’s me with a capital B.

Don’t even bother reading the rest of this post…it’s not that good. But voting for me would be a good thing. Right up there with adopting a stray puppy or voting for Obama. It will make you feel good.


I want you  to vote for Blogdramedy!

Go here and read the poll then vote. Or if you insist, keep reading until you get to the end, then vote.

I’ve been informed by a very reliable source that I am a finalist on The Byronic Man’s blog segment, “Weekly Question of the Week” or WQW for short. The reliable source was the B-Man himself and he wouldn’t lie to me. EVER!

The question:

What Does The Government Do With All Those Hours They Take From Us When We Turn The Clocks Forward?

My answer:

They’re planning to sell it back to us at a higher interest rate, like time foreclosure.

Okay, you got this far so you know what to do. Go to The Byronic Man and vote.

For me.

Yes, the others gave good answers and they are all worthy potential winners but I named B-Man one of my BOOB! winners so he kind of owes me. Not that he should take that as a bribe or anything. I’m just saying…I’m a 34DD and I let him get a glimpse of my cleavage and he’s never been the same since so…

As the “bribe” word has already come up in this post…I’m offering. What’s it gonna take? I’m open to all offers as long as it doesn’t involve anything to do with chickens.

Can’t come up with anything? How’s this:

If I win, I’ll take a saucy photo of one (or maybe two) of my favorite body parts that B-Man can post along with his announcement of the winner. Which will be me, of course. The body part may, or may not, have warm chocolate sauce drizzeled on it…depends on the point spread.

You may now peel your eyelids back down and go vote. Thanks!

As is my wont, I geared this bribe towards those of the male persuasion. If you’re a woman, or gay, it’ll be a photo of shoes. If you’re a woman and gay, then it’s shoes drizzled in chocolate. I can hear heavy breathing already. If I’ve left anyone out, let me know. As I said, as long as it doesn’t involve chickens, I’m open.

PS – Byronic Man…sorry for all the pingbacks. You did tell me to embark on a shameless self-promotion blitz.

P.T. Barnum was right

There is a sucker born every minute. You’re looking at one.

Yesterday was a total bust. That wild chicken festival I told you about? Well, there was a festival but nothing wild or chickeny about it…just lots of kids in strollers and parents gnawing on bbq turkey legs (TURKEY! At a chicken festival. Fuck.)

The event was bigger than I had thought it would be…it ran about four blocks. If I wanted to buy a t-shirt with a chicken on the front, I was in the right place. Ditto any kind of fried food…except chicken. Go figure. If I’d had any energy left after my crying jag on finding not one wild chicken pecking its way down main street, I would have tracked down the event organizer and given them my definition of a wild chicken festival! Hint: you need lots of what made Colonel Sanders famous.

Even back in the day, the Colonel could tell a breast from a thigh.

Maybe the chickens were in hiding. Or on vacation. Or maybe all along it had just been one chicken who moves really fast like Silver Surfer or The Flash.

Whoa! Cool! Hanging ten with only his beak poking through the waves. Dude, that's one wild chicken!

Whatever. It was a nice day for a drive. Like that makes me feel better. I really wanted to see a bunch of wild chickens clucking their way through the town hall, hunting and pecking and generally making a nuisance of themselves.

Guess I’ll go back to reading about Mitt, Rick, Newt and Ron…the feathered foursome all still running around the country like chickens with their heads cut off. Cock-a-doddle-do…who’s the biggest, baddest rooster. Talk about a fuster cluck.