disclaimer: this would be a poem. Insert monologue here about how poems are not necessarily based on any truth whatsoever, nor are they necessarily any reflection of the author’s beliefs. With that said, well, you know me…
We must protect our turf against outlaw regimes even if this entails atomic gleam.
Where once the land continued past the edge the earth is knocked clean, as we pledge
allegiance without reading the fine print like resting yr head on the pillow w/out removing the mint.
We must disarm the ghetto and give guns to the official militia, (none of whom are senators’ sons), and we will enact our television fantasy of John Wayne and Dirty Harry in hyper-masculine ecstasy!
We will take it to the desert, sell it as a pay-per-view concert:
The Outlaw Regime versus Wild West—Without our UN tagteam.
Live Rematch: US vs. Iraq!
Buy the lunchbox, t-shirt, backpack!
We’ve sold out our citizens, our culture.
There must be something in the water there, something that makes them all so angry.
Us/them Crazy/angry.
There must be [oil] in the water, and we imbibe that as excuse to slaughter.
The president has ordered troops to take a pill that will make it guiltless to kill.
Robots have an easier time obeying the chain of command.
They follow through as planned and die in their smiling prime.
Robots are expendable, rebuildable—not born with a spoon up the nose—not worth more than the rifle they carry, and are rechargeable.
It goes to show—goes to blow-by-blow award-winning coverage on the evening news.
news you can use to rock the vote.
The vote we rocked…ballots rigged like raffles at the church bazaar.
He rocked, she rocked, we rocked while the clock sped from November across winter,
and there was no consensus, and there was democratic chaos.
We, as in the brotherhood of broken states who fixated on Clinton’s boxers instead of forced burkhas;
We, who gyrated in the New Year as suicide bombers descended on Israel.
And explode in Northern Ireland, Chechnya, and explode over all those places ignored by our media, and we think, yeah, that’s how it’s supposed to go, this broken down connection.
We’re supposed to be siblings and I guess we are, disowned.
All I hear is how we’ve got to protect our own we’ve got to make our presence known.
I object to guilt trips based on lack of evidence when we reverse our policy of innocent until proven guilty.
And there are everyday explosions that we turn away from because there is a hot new unreality show to pacify and entertain us.
Us/ them Crazy/angry out of touch/out of sight.
out of our minds with fear.
Did you buy the fear of smallpox and rage of a madman? Did you?
Are you buying the propaganda?
I’m not.
Monday, April 20, 2009
Protecting the Unborn
It's cases like this in which we need legislation to make murder of unborn babies punishable. I don't buy any of the bullshit that yadda yadda yadda it'll be the slippery slope/domino effect and then abortion rights will be revoked. No. Two very separate things. A fetus, 9 months in the womb, is a baby for all intents and purposes. Clearly the mother was set on having this baby, and some asshole with bad aim shot her.
On a similar note, this is irritating to read about, at the least, because I am going to Boston next month.
On a similar note, this is irritating to read about, at the least, because I am going to Boston next month.
Happy Birthday Jack!
My puppy is 2 years old today. He's still very much a puppy - licking, shaking his tail into everything, and loves to follow me around EVERYwhere. I open the cellar door and he RUNS from wherever he is in the house to join me. You're going downstairs, mommy? Can I watch you doing laundry? OO, are you going out to the porch? Can I join you? How about me almost knocking you down the stairs at every chance?
He is trained - he actually went to puppy camp last summer, so he does listen well. In fact, he listens better than Maggie a lot of the time. Maggie is STUBBORN. Jack will come back with ONE call. We got both dogs as 7-week-old pups, and boy, have they GROWN!
And he is a LOVE. He likes to curl up on your lap and snuggle in. Someone should tell him that he is a DOG. Nah. I like him this way. I like him climbing in the dishwasher when I clean up. Sorta.
So Jack, my furry buddy - my hairy little friend, happy birthday! And thanks for crappying on the carpet the other day.
Bow, BOW!
Sweetpea helped me write this post, since, after all, Blue is her FAVORITE character EVER!
He is trained - he actually went to puppy camp last summer, so he does listen well. In fact, he listens better than Maggie a lot of the time. Maggie is STUBBORN. Jack will come back with ONE call. We got both dogs as 7-week-old pups, and boy, have they GROWN!
And he is a LOVE. He likes to curl up on your lap and snuggle in. Someone should tell him that he is a DOG. Nah. I like him this way. I like him climbing in the dishwasher when I clean up. Sorta.
So Jack, my furry buddy - my hairy little friend, happy birthday! And thanks for crappying on the carpet the other day.
Bow, BOW!
Sweetpea helped me write this post, since, after all, Blue is her FAVORITE character EVER!
Sunday, April 12, 2009
Unleash the HOUNDS!
Hubby had a wonderful idea today - why don't I bring the dogs to the dog park for a little run? There was some rain overnight last night, and they were calling for thunderstorms for the late afternoon and evening, but there was a nice window of nice (albeit humid) weather, perfect for a little pooch exercise. Hubby was working, kids were resting. I actually like taking the dogs out to the park alone - it's a relaxing time. Pups, want to go for a ride? Circle, circle, bark, squeak, WOOF!
When I got there today, there was 1 other car there, with the owners and the pooch playing in the field. Btw, this field has a fench on the side where the entrance is, with 2 gates along it. We used to live closer to this park, but we still manage to drive there when we can, to give the dogs a big field to run and play. And this park entertains all sorts. Young, old, nice dogs, mean dogs. There are rules. And there are nice people and biotches.
Today was the day of the bitch.
Let me explain. I parked RIGHT next to one of the gates, and because my dogs didn't have leashes, my plan was to open the gate door, open the van door and get them into the field asap. Now I am a responsible dog owner, and I have respect for other dogs and their owners. I saw the wench/bitch...ah..OLDER WOMAN with her 3 pups - a golden lab, a pug and a little brown YIPPY Dachshund - drive up. She had them on leashes, BUT I didn't see her bring her dogs into the field through the other gate until it was TOO LATE, I GUESS!
Mind you, I was trying to be quick with my dogs. Parked right next to the gate. I opened the door, then turned to open the van door. Mere seconds. And all of a sudden, I heard a voice resembling my mother's:
CLOSE THE GATE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
DON'T LEAVE THE GATE OPEN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
It rang so loud and so shrill that I think everyone in the 10 town area heard her. I was instantly a 10 year old girl getting in trouble for leaving the door open. "Do we live in a BARN?" My mother was the disciplinarian. The one who wore the pants. The bitch on wheels.
This woman instantly got my hairs up. I shut the gate quickly (as I saw her little yippyskankpup - and I use that term with the most love I can muster - coming towards my ankles, although it would've taken that dog a whole day to get to me, it was so small) and proceeded to get my dogs out of the van, put them on "heel" so they didn't run, because you know, I train my dogs to not run after STRANGERS, and got them into the field safely.
You know, I have no problem understanding that I should be sensitive to others at the dog park, and I have no issue with other people asking me to close the gate. In fact, I could understand an emergency tone to a person's voice, if they were nervous about their dog's safety. But to SCREAM at me? CLOSE THESE, BIOTCH!
Where the HELL were this bitch's MANNERS? Ever hear of the word PLEASE, lady?
I got my poop bags from the dispenser and led my dogs to the other SIDE of the field, where I didn't have to talk to that witch. We played fetch with tennis balls (I use something called a chuckit that makes the balls fly far) and kept to ourselves. And if she said one more WORD to me, I would've unleashed something like, "you know, I expect my preschool children to struggle with manners, but not a grown WOMAN!" I'll be damned if I was gonna take any more crap from this woman. She was probably over on the other side of the field telling all the old people who arrived after me that I was a thoughtful 41 year old who WAS GOING TO LET HER DOGS GET RUN OVER BY A TRUCK BECAUSE, after all, THE PARK WAS ON A ROAD TRAVELED BY 6 TRUCKS A MONTH! Heaven help us. And what would've happened if that little yippyskankpup bit me? I would've dropkicked that beast into next WEEK, I kid you NOT!
Ahem. But I digress.
After a nice 40 minutes of playing, the rain came down, and we all made our way back to our vehicles. And this woman. Ugh. As she drove away, I saw that she was sporting Florida license plates. Let's HOPE that she isn't here for the entire summer. Hopefully she was on her way HOME.
When I got there today, there was 1 other car there, with the owners and the pooch playing in the field. Btw, this field has a fench on the side where the entrance is, with 2 gates along it. We used to live closer to this park, but we still manage to drive there when we can, to give the dogs a big field to run and play. And this park entertains all sorts. Young, old, nice dogs, mean dogs. There are rules. And there are nice people and biotches.
Today was the day of the bitch.
Let me explain. I parked RIGHT next to one of the gates, and because my dogs didn't have leashes, my plan was to open the gate door, open the van door and get them into the field asap. Now I am a responsible dog owner, and I have respect for other dogs and their owners. I saw the wench/bitch...ah..OLDER WOMAN with her 3 pups - a golden lab, a pug and a little brown YIPPY Dachshund - drive up. She had them on leashes, BUT I didn't see her bring her dogs into the field through the other gate until it was TOO LATE, I GUESS!
Mind you, I was trying to be quick with my dogs. Parked right next to the gate. I opened the door, then turned to open the van door. Mere seconds. And all of a sudden, I heard a voice resembling my mother's:
CLOSE THE GATE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
DON'T LEAVE THE GATE OPEN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
It rang so loud and so shrill that I think everyone in the 10 town area heard her. I was instantly a 10 year old girl getting in trouble for leaving the door open. "Do we live in a BARN?" My mother was the disciplinarian. The one who wore the pants. The bitch on wheels.
This woman instantly got my hairs up. I shut the gate quickly (as I saw her little yippyskankpup - and I use that term with the most love I can muster - coming towards my ankles, although it would've taken that dog a whole day to get to me, it was so small) and proceeded to get my dogs out of the van, put them on "heel" so they didn't run, because you know, I train my dogs to not run after STRANGERS, and got them into the field safely.
You know, I have no problem understanding that I should be sensitive to others at the dog park, and I have no issue with other people asking me to close the gate. In fact, I could understand an emergency tone to a person's voice, if they were nervous about their dog's safety. But to SCREAM at me? CLOSE THESE, BIOTCH!
Where the HELL were this bitch's MANNERS? Ever hear of the word PLEASE, lady?
I got my poop bags from the dispenser and led my dogs to the other SIDE of the field, where I didn't have to talk to that witch. We played fetch with tennis balls (I use something called a chuckit that makes the balls fly far) and kept to ourselves. And if she said one more WORD to me, I would've unleashed something like, "you know, I expect my preschool children to struggle with manners, but not a grown WOMAN!" I'll be damned if I was gonna take any more crap from this woman. She was probably over on the other side of the field telling all the old people who arrived after me that I was a thoughtful 41 year old who WAS GOING TO LET HER DOGS GET RUN OVER BY A TRUCK BECAUSE, after all, THE PARK WAS ON A ROAD TRAVELED BY 6 TRUCKS A MONTH! Heaven help us. And what would've happened if that little yippyskankpup bit me? I would've dropkicked that beast into next WEEK, I kid you NOT!
Ahem. But I digress.
After a nice 40 minutes of playing, the rain came down, and we all made our way back to our vehicles. And this woman. Ugh. As she drove away, I saw that she was sporting Florida license plates. Let's HOPE that she isn't here for the entire summer. Hopefully she was on her way HOME.
Wednesday, April 01, 2009
Whee!
Okay, cool. My account's all set up, and this is officially a his n hers blog. Kev's much better about update-age than I am, so you'll be hearing much more from him than I.
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