*eyes can opener* *eyes can of worms*

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Mornin’ all.

It’s been awhile. What can I say? It’s summer, and the brain’s been on cruise control.

…actually, that’s not really true. While it is summer, and my mind has been on a sort of break, it’s less like easing down the open road on a lazy sunshiny afternoon and more like a perpetual day at an amusement park. I’m stuck on The Whiz Bang, the world’s most insane internal roller coaster that zips and zings, full of twists and turns and untamable racing thoughts.

I’d like to coast right now. Truly I would.

So I turned to the internet to zone out and relax.

“Oh Bethie you fool.”

You’re not wrong.

I know everybody is weighing in on the latest Twittery from the Oval Office, and I generally do a pretty good job of keeping my 2 cents about the dude to myself. I overall think he’s an ass. I hate that he’s in that office. But I really thought he was simply a Donaldist…just in it for himself, damn the consequences. Until now.

I’m talking, of course, about the horrible incidents in Charlottesville, Virginia, and Donald Trump’s reaction. To recap for the couple of people who live in a deep dark cave and haven’t heard about any of this, modern Nazis held a rally over the weekend to protest the removal of statues honoring famous Confederate figureheads.

That was the claim. That was the very loose reasoning for a Nazi rally.

“Alt-right, Bethie.”

Nazis. That’s what they are. They proudly wear the swastikas. They quote Hitler. They throw sieg heils around like parade candy. They openly and unabashedly hate: black people, Hispanic people, Asian people, native peoples, Muslims, Jews, and anyone who has anything at all to do with the LGBT community. The signs they were waving during their Nazi hate rally targeted all of these groups and more. The ONE thing they said that was correct was that Hitler would be proud.

THEY. ARE. NAZIS. And when you try to politically correct the hell out of their group, it weakens the sentiment and the meaning behind their actions and makes it palatable for the average Joe.

It should not be softened. It should not be palatable. If you throw a sieg heil, you’re a NAZI. If you wave a banner with a swastika on it, you’re a NAZI. If you feel a swelling in your breast when you think of Hitler, YOU. ARE. A. NAZI.

I hold this truth to be self-evident. I honestly do not understand anyone who doesn’t.

*deep breath*

Okay. I didn’t want to come on here just to call a racist spade a racist spade. There is a whole lot of confusion stemming from this event and around the issue in general. Trump did say that some people were there not to hate, but to legally protest the removal of Confederate shrines. While the organizers of the event were not at all there for that purpose, I actually think there were some regular folks caught up in the “let’s preserve our history” rhetoric who meant no harm.

Because that’s what happens, folks. That’s how these horrible organizations grow. Not with the hate and signs and anti-human chants…that only works on a few. It’s the reasonable sounding propaganda that actually gets people to stop and listen. It’s carefully spun words that open the door for the evangelists of evil. That’s the truly dangerous thing about hate groups. They know what to say to get you to listen and join.

The rally itself was billed as a protest over the “loss of history” in removing Confederate monuments, so let’s investigate that first.

This issue has been at the forefront for a couple years now. Do we remove the Confederate flag? Do we take down statues of Robert E. Lee? Do we eradicate these symbols of the past? Or will that erasure of a part of history damage the true narrative of our nation?

These aren’t light questions, and I can see why on the surface it could seem to some that by taking down these objects, it feels like we’re sugar coating a significant part of the Story of U.S. If you’re on the fence, I get it. I do. If we don’t acknowledge the past, we’re doomed to repeat it.

But the most important part of acknowledgment is “knowledge,” and that’s seriously lacking in propaganda. Let’s inject a bit of knowledge into this old debate by looking at the most common reasons for leaving up these symbols of the Confederacy.

1) The Civil War wasn’t about slavery, it was about States Rights.

…yes, their right to keep slaves. What launched the war was a series of documents from the states who were seceding called Declaration of Causes of Seceding States (referred to by a number of titles depending on the issuing state), based off our own Declaration of Independence. The state representatives got together and drafted documents clearly stating their grievances and reasons for secession for five states: Georgia, Mississippi, South Carolina, Texas, and Virginia. All of the states listed issues surrounding slavery as the crux of the problem, whether it was the idea of the abolishment of slavery, the refusal of the federal government to apprehend people who harbored and assisted escaped slaves, or the impact any restrictions on the slave trade would have to local commerce.

If you’re looking for references, just Google it. And if you want a killer quote to throw at people who insist the “states rights” issue was NOT about slavery, here’s a gem from the reps of Mississippi. This is directly out of the document. This is what the Confederacy went to war over:

“In the momentous step which our State has taken of dissolving its connection with the government of which we so long formed a part, it is but just that we should declare the prominent reasons which have induced our course.

Our position is thoroughly identified with the institution of slavery- the greatest material interest of the world.”

I am not taking that out of context to make it sound worse than it is. That is how the document opens, and it gets worse once they line out specific examples of how the abolitionists had worked against the “institution of slavery”. These individual “offenses” include the government barring the import of slaves, refusing to uphold the Fugitive Slave Law which “has utterly broken the compact which our fathers pledged their faith to maintain,” and probably the most egregious in their eyes, the government “advocates negro equality, socially and politically, and promotes insurrection and incendiarism in our midst.”

Guys. Come on. There is absolutely no ambiguity whatsoever. They went to war to keep their slaves. Period.

2) So? Lincoln himself was on the fence about slavery.

No. Lincoln personally was not. He argued that owning slaves was immoral long before he was president. Once in office, politically he believed the Constitution gave the states the right to own slaves, and supported the House and Senate in their bid to change that part of the Constitution. You know, how things are actually SUPPOSED to happen. A president is not a king, and Lincoln tried to work within that system.

3) But it’s history. I’m a proud American, and honest enough to admit where we screwed up.

This. This is where I have a serious problem with the people pushing to keep Confederate shrines.

Let’s ignore all of the factors that led to secession. The Civil War happened, and we can all agree there were two parties: the Union and the Confederacy, right? The Union wanted to keep the United States whole, and the Confederacy wanted to leave.

How can you pretend to be a patriot while you support the public reverence of people who wanted to leave our nation??

It utterly baffles me. On that point alone, you’ve got no legitimate argument whatsoever. You need to take a step back and look at it in these bare bones terms. They didn’t want to be patriots. The majority was making laws of the land that they did not like, and they decided to leave. THEY DIDN’T WANT TO BE PART OF THIS COUNTRY ANYMORE! So you calling yourself a proud patriot for preserving statues honoring them doesn’t really make any damn sense, does it?

Now, add all the shit back into the pot. I’m not talking about erasing history. I think erasing the past is very dangerous. But, there’s a difference between including the information in museums and education, and naming a school after a racist. One teaches about the history so we don’t lose perspective, and the other glorifies people who hated the idea of giving up their “right” to own as property so much that they wanted to leave the country.

One educates, one exalts. I don’t want a statue of Stalin on my town’s square. I don’t want to send my kid to Hitler Memorial High School. I would definitely have a problem with the North Korean flag being flown above the entrance to my town hall. Know thy enemy. Do not glorify him.

We’ve allowed the exaltation of these bigoted twats for far too long.

So that brings us to Trump.

He went on a ten minute tirade doubling down on support for the KKK and Nazis by equivocating the anti-Nazi protesters with the Nazis themselves. He said the Nazis have some “very good people” among their ranks. And somewhere in there, he said that Washington and Jefferson owned slaves, so does that mean we should take down their statues?

This is how people still support Donald Trump. Because on the surface, that false equivocation sounds almost reasonable. And that’s what makes him dangerous.

Washington and Jefferson may have been shit people at heart (no idea, really…seems George may not have been too bad, but Jeffy was probably a schmuck on a personal level. Neither here nor there, and impossible to judge when modern thoughts and feelings are applied…), but that isn’t why they are given places of honor in history. They built something. THAT’S why they deserve monuments. They built the nation whose flag you proudly wave. Personal shit aside, they accomplished great things and they did it with the sole purpose of making a nation.

Robert E. Lee and the other reality stars of the Confederacy are ONLY glorified for their desire to keep owning slaves, a desire to see human beings as property so strong that it impelled them to drag people to war for it. They built nothing, they only worked to destroy. They were absolutely anti-American and do not, in any way, deserve monuments and reverence.

Take away the propaganda, and the issues become pretty damn clear.

Is a group telling you to hate people because of who they are? If the answer is yes, then they are Nazis and you need to distance yourself from them.

Did Confederate generals want to leave the United States? Yes, so you are being the exact OPPOSITE of a patriot if you want to honor them.

It’s not hard, and it seems to me if Trump would stop flapping his mayonnaise hole for a second, even he could reason this one out.

Thus concludes a pot-stirring Muse for Wednesday, August 16, 2017. Hey, at least the Nazi ass kissing takes so much time that Donny put a hold on his pissing contest with Kim Jong. That’s…something?

All that said, I bet I could still rock the hell out of turquoise studded fashion boots…

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Mornin’ all.

The other day after I got home from work and shed the constraints of corporate clothing to don my comfy around-the-house duds, I swore loudly when I went to pull out a new trash bag from the EMPTY BOX. *sigh* So, I got myself into public-appropriate uncomfy attire and crammed my tired, achy feet back into shoes so I could drive down to the store to pick up stuff I forgot to get before I left the store I worked at allllll day.

I hate that shit.

Anyway, I went, got the stupid trash bags and a couple other things my stupid ass forgot to pick up at the stupid store I worked at allllll stupid day. I was standing in line when a kid I knew from school walked in.

Now, we weren’t pals or anything, but I’ve mentioned before that my town is small. I had a graduating class of less than 30. The entire population of school children from kindergarten through seniors in high school was only around 400. I didn’t have to be friends with everyone to know who everyone was.

In school, the kid was one of the…hm. I don’t want to say “cool kids”, because that wasn’t it. He wasn’t the classic popular sportsy type. He was more “small town cool.” Into cars. Liked edgy music. Had a switchblade comb. Wore old heavy metal band t-shirts with the arms cut off to school picture day. You know, a real hometown rebel.

I can’t really tell this story without giving you an idea of my age. I graduated high school in 1996. It wasn’t exactly a few years ago. I think I can safely call those times “back in the day” now.

The dude walked in. He was still wearing an old heavy metal band t-shirt with the arms cut off. He still had the slicked back hair he no doubt styled with his switchblade comb. He had an earring, a dangly cross, and a chain necklace that was actual chain. He looked like he could have stepped right out of his yearbook photo.

…for the briefest of moments before my mind and eyes reconciled what I remembered with what was actually real, and I looked at him as he is now, not as he was 20 years ago.

Yes, he had all the trappings of teen rebellion still…with a pot belly. And a whole lot less hair to slick back. Half of what was left was graying. There were bags under his eyes that spoke of unpaid bills and kids who didn’t get home before curfew and the damn hot water heater that broke again.

He smiled and gave a nod. He was always friendly enough even if we weren’t friends. He stood in the line behind me to buy the same cigarettes he used to smoke, and then climbed into the same car he fixed up for himself in high school, an 80s Camaro-type rig that has now seen better days.

I sat there at the lights on the way back home and watched him peel out as soon as it turned green, “Pour Some Sugar on Me” blaring from his stereo.

When I was in high school, there were a couple of guys in town who used to hang out at the now-defunct convenience store. Not the new fangled gas station that was brightly lit on the corner, but the one in the older, run down part of town. You know…about 100 feet away from the “good” part of town.

No, seriously. The section of main street we were not allowed to hang out in was honestly less than a block from the section we were allowed to hang around. Small town, remember? We have two traffic lights, folks. Two. That’s it. On one side of the street, you’ve got Town Hall, the library, and the police/fire station. On the other side of that very street, when I was a kid, you had the seedy part of town, where the people your folks did not want you to grow up and become liked to chill.

They were ON THE SAME STREET. Directly across from each other. One side good, one side bad. Left side for preppies and prudes, right side for scrubs and skanks.

I can’t stress enough how small my town is.

Anyway, there were a couple of guys well into their 30s who used to hang out in front of the wrong convenience store. They drove a late 70s Ford, a huge boat of a vehicle. They would stand up against their car in their 80s cut off sweatshirts and board shorts. You remember the cut off sweatshirts. They’d stand there and listen to their old music and flick their long, thinning, bleached hair back and nod at people who passed by like they still owned the world, never realizing that the world had moved on without them.

As I watched my former schoolmate peel out, I it hit me. I realized that he’s become one of Those Guys. One who never realized that they got older. Or that there’s a time and place for Def Leppard, and that time has passed. That dangly cross earrings and a switchblade comb sticking out of the back pocket of stone washed jeans is probably not the look that’s going to get you that promotion you want. That no muscle shirt in the world can make a pot belly look cool.

I’m old enough to be in the same boat as our town’s new That Guy.

Am I “that guy”, too?

I’d like to say no, but at the very moment he was blaring Def Leppard, I was playing The Little Mermaid soundtrack in my car. Soooo….

When the hell did this happen? When exactly was the torch passed? Why didn’t I get the memo?!

*sigh*

Of course, I suppose instead of being That Guy, folks my age could be saying “fam” and “bae” unironically. I know people who do that, too; embrace the new as if they’re young enough to actually get it and be part of the fresh and young generation. I suppose a man bun in thinning hair looks just as dumb as a pot belly in a muscle shirt.

Poll time: Which is sadder? Someone who can’t move on from the past, or someone who pretends to be from a younger generation?

Thus concludes a quick and slightly depressing Musing for Saturday, July 8, 2017. I’m going to try very hard not to blare “Under the Sea” on my way to work. What are people my age supposed to listen to? Sports radio? Country? NPR?

It’s about to get patriotic up in here…

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Mornin’ all.

I’m going to warn you in advance…today’s Musing will contain above average levels of both patriotism and sap.

“Hm. How much sap?”

Think Hallmark card written in cursive.

“Damn.”

That’s why I thought it was only fair to warn you. I’ll take no offense if you would prefer not to read about how great the United States of America is.

But, I think now more than ever is the time to really reflect on the fateful decision a bunch of fed up, over worked, over taxed farmers made to band together to kick the Redcoats the hell outta here and take control of what was then- and still is today- our responsibility.

OUR RESPONSIBILITY. Ours. No one else’s.

Have you read the Declaration of Independence? I think everyone is fairly familiar with the first paragraph and first sentence of the second. They’re pretty powerful.

WHEN, in the Course of human Events, it becomes necessary for one People to dissolve the Political Bands which have connected them with another, and to assume, among the Powers of the Earth, the separate and equal Station to which the Laws of Nature and of Nature’s GOD entitle them, a decent Respect to the Opinions of Mankind requires that they should declare the Causes which impel them to the Separation.

We hold these Truths to be self-evident, that all Men are created equal, that they are endowed, by their CREATOR, with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness.–

Even if you didn’t know the full bit, you’ve seen most of the preamble and start of the second paragraph on various Facebook memes. And why not? That’s some good and powerful writing, and boy did they know how to work up a crowd, eh?

But, do you really know what comes next? Because in all honesty, what comes next is SO much better. It’s a bit frilly, though, and muddled in old timey-ness. Maybe that’s why people overlook it.

That to secure these Rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just Powers from the Consent of the Governed, that whenever any Form of Government becomes destructive of these Ends, it is the Right of the People to alter or to abolish it, and to institute new Government, laying its Foundation on such Principles, and organizing its Powers in such Form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their Safety and Happiness. Prudence, indeed, will dictate, that Governments long established, should not be changed for light and transient Causes; and accordingly all Experience hath shewn, that Mankind are more disposed to suffer, while Evils are sufferable, than to right themselves by abolishing the Forms to which they are accustomed. But when a long Train of Abuses and Usurpations, pursuing invariably the same Object, evinces a Design to reduce them under absolute Despotism, it is their Right, it is their Duty, to throw off such Government, and to provide new Guards for their future Security. Such has been the patient Sufferance of these Colonies; and such is now the Necessity which constrains them to alter their former Systems of Government. The History of the present King of Great-Britain is a History of repeated Injuries and Usurpations, all having in direct Object the Establishment of an absolute Tyranny over these States. To prove this, let Facts be submitted to a candid World.

I’d like to think they sent good king George a pot of aloe to ease those sick burns.

My favorite segment, pared down a bit to cut out the somewhat unnecessary frippery, is the line, “But when a long train of abuses and usurpations…evinces a design to reduce them under absolute despotism…”

They just called their king an absolute despot. Consider the era. No one- NO ONE- called the king of Great Britain names in a public forum. It just didn’t happen. It wasn’t done. Not without the serious risk of head loss.

“…it is their right, it is their duty, to throw off such government…”

Coups happen. They’ve been done throughout human history. When Ugh got too big for his loin cloth, Egh rounded up the other cavemen and kicked his ass outta the top spot. So a rebellion was nothing new. But goddamn did they do it with flair.

And you also have to remember that at this point in time, we relied on Great Britain for a whole lot. They were our economy. Our military. Our lawmakers. Our back up plan in case the still largely untested New World didn’t pan out in the long run.

“Such has been the patient sufferance of these colonies… To prove this, let facts be submitted to a candid world.”

The main goal of the Declaration of Independence was to establish the United States of America as its own nation in every respect, especially in terms of global trade. We would need to be able to make our own deals, and until we were firmly established as our own nation, that wouldn’t happen.

Congress was smart enough to realize that if they only sent a copy of the Declaration to the king, nothing would change. The king would laugh, raise the stamp tax to teach the plebs a lesson, and continue to wallow in excess on the backs of his subjects. The demands would basically be swept under the rug.

To solidify resolve and prove just how serious we were, our congress sent copies of this document EVERYWHERE. Which makes this next part so damn good when you think about it. They proceeded to air the king’s dirty laundry. And they didn’t hold back.

He has refused his Assent to Laws, the most wholesome and necessary for the public good.

He has forbidden his Governors to pass Laws of immediate and pressing importance, unless suspended in their operation till his Assent should be obtained; and when so suspended, he has utterly neglected to attend to them.

He has refused to pass other Laws for the accommodation of large districts of people, unless those people would relinquish the right of Representation in the Legislature, a right inestimable to them and formidable to tyrants only.

He has called together legislative bodies at places unusual, uncomfortable, and distant from the depository of their public Records, for the sole purpose of fatiguing them into compliance with his measures.

He has dissolved Representative Houses repeatedly, for opposing with manly firmness his invasions on the rights of the people.

He has refused for a long time, after such dissolutions, to cause others to be elected; whereby the Legislative powers, incapable of Annihilation, have returned to the People at large for their exercise; the State remaining in the mean time exposed to all the dangers of invasion from without, and convulsions within.

He has endeavoured to prevent the population of these States; for that purpose obstructing the Laws for Naturalization of Foreigners; refusing to pass others to encourage their migrations hither, and raising the conditions of new Appropriations of Lands.

He has obstructed the Administration of Justice, by refusing his Assent to Laws for establishing Judiciary powers.

He has made Judges dependent on his Will alone, for the tenure of their offices, and the amount and payment of their salaries.

He has erected a multitude of New Offices, and sent hither swarms of Officers to harrass our people, and eat out their substance.

He has kept among us, in times of peace, Standing Armies without the Consent of our legislatures.

He has affected to render the Military independent of and superior to the Civil power.

He has combined with others to subject us to a jurisdiction foreign to our constitution, and unacknowledged by our laws; giving his Assent to their Acts of pretended Legislation:

For Quartering large bodies of armed troops among us:

For protecting them, by a mock Trial, from punishment for any Murders which they should commit on the Inhabitants of these States:

For cutting off our Trade with all parts of the world:

For imposing Taxes on us without our Consent:

For depriving us in many cases, of the benefits of Trial by Jury:

For transporting us beyond Seas to be tried for pretended offences

For abolishing the free System of English Laws in a neighbouring Province, establishing therein an Arbitrary government, and enlarging its Boundaries so as to render it at once an example and fit instrument for introducing the same absolute rule into these Colonies:

For taking away our Charters, abolishing our most valuable Laws, and altering fundamentally the Forms of our Governments:

For suspending our own Legislatures, and declaring themselves invested with power to legislate for us in all cases whatsoever.

He has abdicated Government here, by declaring us out of his Protection and waging War against us.

He has plundered our seas, ravaged our Coasts, burnt our towns, and destroyed the lives of our people.

He is at this time transporting large Armies of foreign Mercenaries to compleat the works of death, desolation and tyranny, already begun with circumstances of Cruelty & perfidy scarcely paralleled in the most barbarous ages, and totally unworthy the Head of a civilized nation.

He has constrained our fellow Citizens taken Captive on the high Seas to bear Arms against their Country, to become the executioners of their friends and Brethren, or to fall themselves by their Hands.

He has excited domestic insurrections amongst us, and has endeavoured to bring on the inhabitants of our frontiers, the merciless Indian Savages, whose known rule of warfare, is an undistinguished destruction of all ages, sexes and conditions.

Wikileaks, 1776.

No, really. That’s what it was. An open tattling to all the other countries. Blowing the whistle. Revealing the wolf under the sheep’s clothing.

And it worked, but not really because of the “injustices” on the list. It wasn’t as if the leaders of other nations would look at the perceived offenses and find them all that unreasonable. The rulers would have looked at the list and said, “Yeah, seems about right. He’s a king and you are peasants. Duh.”

It wasn’t the king’s offenses that got other nations excited. It was simply the fact that peasants would dare publicly rebuke their king in such a bold and uninhibited manner. It said we were serious. There was no going back. Our congress chose this path and we were fully committed. That idea was what got other nations so excited.

The idea of a new trade partner that wasn’t England was appealing to them. Most of the world didn’t like Great Britain at that point. GB had spent the better part of a few hundred years plundering and conquering and warring. Most trade deals with Great Britain were the equivalent of a kid giving his lunch money every week to the class bully so the dude wouldn’t beat the snot out of them. Other nations wanted the things Great Britain could get, and they grudgingly got in bed with the enemy to make it happen.

Then along came the colonies.

Imagine being a foreign leader at the time who heard about a document just absolutely shredding the asshole you have to work with but totally hate. Nothing could have rallied the other nations of the world against Great Britain like the Declaration of Independence. Talk about a smear campaign!

In every stage of these Oppressions We have Petitioned for Redress in the most humble terms: Our repeated Petitions have been answered only by repeated injury. A Prince whose character is thus marked by every act which may define a Tyrant, is unfit to be the ruler of a free people.

Nor have We been wanting in attentions to our Brittish brethren. We have warned them from time to time of attempts by their legislature to extend an unwarrantable jurisdiction over us. We have reminded them of the circumstances of our emigration and settlement here. We have appealed to their native justice and magnanimity, and we have conjured them by the ties of our common kindred to disavow these usurpations, which, would inevitably interrupt our connections and correspondence. They too have been deaf to the voice of justice and of consanguinity. We must, therefore, acquiesce in the necessity, which denounces our Separation, and hold them, as we hold the rest of mankind, Enemies in War, in Peace Friends.

Here’s a clever bit. Congress laid out the king’s offenses, then turned it around and said, “Hey, we tried to work with you, fam, but you just have zero chill.”

“A prince whose character is thus marked by every act which may define a tyrant, is unfit to be the ruler of a free people.”

I’m guessing that when the rulers of other nations read the document to their rapt courts, this is the point where people put their fists to their mouths and said, “Oooohhhh I do believe the king hath been served.”

We, therefore, the Representatives of the united States of America, in General Congress, Assembled, appealing to the Supreme Judge of the world for the rectitude of our intentions, do, in the Name, and by Authority of the good People of these Colonies, solemnly publish and declare, That these United Colonies are, and of Right ought to be Free and Independent States; that they are Absolved from all Allegiance to the British Crown, and that all political connection between them and the State of Great Britain, is and ought to be totally dissolved; and that as Free and Independent States, they have full Power to levy War, conclude Peace, contract Alliances, establish Commerce, and to do all other Acts and Things which Independent States may of right do. And for the support of this Declaration, with a firm reliance on the protection of divine Providence, we mutually pledge to each other our Lives, our Fortunes and our sacred Honor.

Is it a perfect document? No. I don’t think such a thing exists. Times change. Attitudes become refined. Knowledge gives humanity a different outlook and the ethos of a society morphs with that new information. All you have to do is look at the last item on the list of grievances to understand this. “Indian Savages?” *cringe*

But you know what? It’s a pretty damn good way to start a nation.

And now, more than ever, I think we ALL need to read it. Understand it. Reflect on the meaning. I’m not calling for war. I don’t think we’ll get anywhere if we grab our pitchforks and storm the White House. Or Senate. Or the House of Representatives. Or whoever it is that you particularly hate or blame for the current state of our nation. I don’t think we need muskets to fix our problems.

I think we need to remember where we came from, though. I think we need to spend a bit of today not ignoring the problems, but embracing the idea that WE CAN FIX THIS.

We’ve done it before. We can certainly do it again.

And it’s worth doing! It’s worth the work. I’m sitting here telling you that I’m all for a political coup…

*I can’t stress this enough, I’m for a POLITICAL coup, not physical. I’m not advocating militias. I don’t think we need them, at least not yet.*

…and nothing bad is going to happen to me. I’ll say it right here. I don’t like the dude in the White House. I don’t like looking at his orange face. I don’t like watching his flap of hair waft in the breeze. I cringe at the words that tumble from his drooling maw.

And there’s nothing he can do to me for saying that.

I’m not going to be decapitated. I won’t be incarcerated until I release a statement saying good things about Honorable Leader. My family won’t be evicted from our home. I won’t be fired.

I don’t like him. And you know what? I’ve got a looooong list of “do not likes” from BOTH political parties. I’m overall pretty moderate, which means right now, I’m an equal opportunity shunner. I am disappointed in everyone in charge.

And, I’m very disappointed in us for putting them there. And keeping them there. And paying the fees to make sure they don’t beat the snot out of us instead of putting them in their place.

I love this country. I honestly would not live anywhere else. I just want us to think about what the Founding Fathers did, and maybe embrace our roots going forward. They weren’t perfect. I’m not even trying to claim they were. Hell, on a personal level, I probably wouldn’t have liked a single one of them. They certainly wouldn’t have liked ME!

But you don’t need to be perfect to have a good idea. You don’t need to be perfect to fight for something larger than yourself. You don’t need to be perfect to put yourself on the line to change things for the better.

And you don’t need to live in a perfect nation to love it.

Thus concludes my Patriotic Musing for Tuesday, July 4, 2017. Everyone have a SAFE and happy holiday. The Founding Fathers would be very disappointed in you if you drink and drive. Don’t make Ben Franklin sad.

 

 

One thing I’ll say about summer, it’s never boring…

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Mornin’ all.

Summer is in full swing. Teen Beta and Teen 2.0 graduated. It was a nice ceremony, even though it was hot and cramped in the surprisingly small school gym due to rain at the usual outdoor site. They had Senator Jeanne Shaheen speak, a pretty big get for this neck of the woods. The teens crossed the stage, shifted their tassels from right to left, and are now men.

…sort of. I mean, I can’t really call Teen 2.0 a “man” yet. He’s only 16. He is just an academically decorated tall child.

The Youngest Pup argued vehemently on behalf of Teen 2.0’s man status. At one point, I said, “So what’s the angle here? What do you think you’re going to gain by getting me to say that Teen 2.0 is an adult?” He said, “Mother. Don’t change the subject.” Every mum knows that if you’re discussing something with a child and they tell you not to change the subject, you hit some nail on the head. I still haven’t figured out exactly what nail that would be. In his mind, there is a beneficial reason for me to call his older bro an adult.

And now I’ve got to finish college stuff. It’s happening. Even if one of them is not, in fact, and adult, they’re both acting like they are. Life is happening as if they are. Time has marched unfairly faster for one and scooped him up to drag into the next chapter before I wanted him to be done with childhood. My stomach has been a churning vortex for days.

At least I still have the Pup, though he’s going into middle school already. Muh baby, in MIDDLE SCHOOL!!! *sniff* I asked him if he could just go ahead and be a little kid for awhile longer, please, and he said, “Don’t worry, Ma. I might be growing up, but I’ll still live here forever.” He paused, then said, “Well, until I move to Japan and raise Kobe beef.”

…*blink**blink*…

#LifeGoals?

Gah. I can’t talk about them growing up. I thought I could. I thought, “Okay, Bethie, you’ve been avoiding this for a couple weeks now and it’s time for some cathartic writing.” I was wrong. This is just making the vortex in my stomach whirl faster.

“You sure it’s not the coffee doing it?”

Admittedly, the coffee/paint thinner isn’t doing me any favors, either. I made this pot since Teen 2.0 is sick with a summer cold and Teen Beta has no interest in coffee or coffee making. I’m trying to teach the Youngest Pup, but so far, every pot of his has grounds in it. I just didn’t want to be chewing my coffee today.

Let’s talk about Other Things.

I had a most peculiar customer interaction at work yesterday. A man came over to scope out the bread cases at the bakery, and I asked if he needed some help. He said, “Not yet, I’m waiting for the womb.” Thinking I heard him wrong, I just gave a, “Oh, okay, well just let me know if you need something.” He said, “The one that grows the babies picks the bread.”

I did not hear him wrong.

I’m waiting. For the womb.

The Womb.

You gotta wonder if the other half of that relationship tells people, “Not yet, I’m waiting for the dick.” Odds are pretty good she does.

The woman in question never came over. She was shopping for other things so he called her on his cell. He turned and looked across center store while talking. I think he was looking at her. He ended up getting a four cheese loaf (highly recommended for either wombs or dicks). He was pleasant enough in every other respect. Smiled. Thanked me. Joked a bit while I was getting the bread. He just calls his other half “the womb.”

I…just…*???*

There were several odd customers yesterday, actually. Odd customers seem to descend in waves. One lady was dressed in old sweat pants, a mini skirt, and a bra. She had purple lipstick tattooed on her face. I didn’t say “lips,” because the tattoo had clearly gone awry and blown out over the years. It was a good half inch wider than her actual lips. And lumpy.

Yes. Lumpy.

She had frazzled hair and her eye makeup rivaled Cleopatra’s.

OH MY GOD! I just now realized who she reminded me of!

Okay, so did you ever see that 90s Johnny Depp movie, “Crybaby?” It was an odd flick, but enjoyable. Well, in the movie, there was a character named Hatchet Face. Take Hatchet Face, dye her hair that odd reddish color one can only get from too much of the wrong kind of peroxide, and give her a vacant, stoned expression. THAT was this customer.

And yes, she actually wore sweat pants under a mini skirt. Not leggings. Actual sweatpants. I’d say she was modest but for the choice of top. Only a bra. Honestly? I think she was just stoned out of her gourd and looking for snacks.

It’s summer, so we’re seeing a lot of questionable outfit choices, as one will when it’s hot.

Look, I don’t care a bit if people want to wear mini skirts or barely-there shorts. I just don’t personally understand the super tiny super tight clothing trend. How can lycra sausage casing possibly be comfortable? Don’t get me wrong. If I had a decent body, I’d give it a go and find out for myself what the attraction is. But, I do not have a body that should ever wear lycra, so I’m honestly curious about the draw.

I watched a woman walk/wiggle yesterday through the whole bakery. Every woman knows the walk/wiggle. It’s a way you walk when you know two things: You have a wedgie, and you’re not in a position to pick it. It’s a step, shimmy, slide kind of movement. And she did it through the whole bakery and beyond.

I just don’t understand these clothes. They’re clearly not comfortable. Any sex appeal you were going for is lost with your wedgie releasing spasmatic lurching. Why wear clothes that are guaranteed to make you an honorary member of the Ministry of Silly Walks?

*Monty Python fist bump*

Then there are the cutoff shorts that are so short their pockets hang out from the bottom…well, it’s not really a “hem”. The frayed cutoff line. You’ve seen these. They are all the rage at the moment. People want to cut their pants shorter and shorter, so what they end up with is essentially a pair of denim panties with pockets that flap in the breeze over their thighs.

Ladies, real talk. It’s not sexy. No guy has ever said, “Holy shit! She’s got pockets? Well sign ME up!”

It looks dumb. Stop it.

“Bethie. Are you…pocket shaming?”

No, of course not. The pockets did nothing but exist. I’m shaming the idiots who think flapping them in the breeze is somehow attractive.

“You’re being very sexist here. I don’t see you going off about men’s summer fashions.”

What’s there to say? Stop wearing socks with flip flops. If you wear shorts, it’s best not to emulate a 1970s basketball team. Knee high socks are great for winter, not great for summer beach wear. And for the love of anything you deem holy, put a damn shirt on under the overalls. No one wants to see your sweaty pit hair.

All of this has been said. Men have been making the same summer fashion mistakes for generations.

I tell you what, though. I promise that if I see a man actually wearing one of those new male rompers, I’ll go all in on that shit, okay?

Male rompers are not okay and they need to stop. #Stop.It.

Got sidetracked there. I was talking about the batch of odd folks yesterday. Ya know, I said it was an odd customer day, but it extended outside of work. Was there a full moon?

I think the most unusual person I saw yesterday had to be the lady at the town beach. I took the Youngest Pup for a promised dip in the lake after work. He swam, I sat under a tree. It was pleasant and he had fun. As we were leaving, we were climbing up the concrete steps when we noticed a woman juggling.

I’ve described out town beach before, but since I don’t expect you to scrape through the annals of this blog, I’ll recap. The lake sits at the bottom of a hill. The town decided to wall off the hill with concrete. It’s like a prison yard, with tall concrete walls surrounding the small, sandy beach. At the very top next to the parking lot and overlooking the lake is a small playground that’s fenced in with chain link fence to keep eager kiddies from plummeting to the first concrete landing below if they get too feisty on the swingset. I support the chain link fence. It does its job.

The woman in question was standing in the playground area right next to the fence. She was clearly performing, as she had put herself on display where the greatest number of people could see her. She was probably in her late forties, early fifties. She wore a sparkly bathing suit and flip flops.

And she was juggling.

Not balls. She had the juggling pins. Hers were two tone, metallic reddish pink and chrome. They really caught the sunlight and were fairly dazzling. Combine that with the sparkly bathing suit and she made quite a side show number.

She looked at us and smiled as we passed. I didn’t see a collection hat, but the smile was the kind that asked for donations. Perhaps it was just practiced, something she did so often in her juggling career that she couldn’t help but ask for payment with her eyes. Perhaps she really did want to try and make a few extra bucks. Who knows? If she really was busking, I can think of 746 better places to do so right off the top of my head. She was in a playground at a lake in a town with a population of maybe 4,200 people on a Thursday afternoon. Literally anywhere else would have been a more lucrative option.

Maybe she misses the circus lights and cheering crowds.

Or maybe she always wanted to taste the circus life, but never got there.

All I know is that yesterday was filled with wonderful oddballs. Here’s hoping we get more today.

Thus concludes a Musing for Friday, June 23, 2017. I have so much cake to make this weekend. So. Much. It’s not even a holiday, either. People, take a break from weekend bashes, okay? You’re killin’ me, here.

If you had Travolta money, would you really waste it on ham salad?

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Mornin’ all.

You will not believe who I saw at work yesterday.

John Travolta.

But it wasn’t the current Travolta people hate because of the freaky scientology and probable rapey-ness. It wasn’t really young Travolta folks hated because of his annoying laugh and unjustified swagger, either. It was like mid-career Travolta, the one everyone was starting to forget about right before he thought, “I think I’ll go cash in my thetans and buy myself a new face.”

That’s what scientologists do with thetans, right?

Anyway, he was walking through the store and stopped to look at the muffin table, so I got a good, long look at him. I swear it was pre-Xenufied Travolta.

You know what this means, right? It means those scientology buggers figured out how to build a god damn time machine.

Think about it. They’ve clearly been up to something for a long time. They’re super secretive. They’ve got so much money they blow it on things like completely new faces and the same scientology books over and over and over. They’ve got that Sea Org thing. Actual Org or merely a branch of the Illuminati? Hm??

Yep. Those little bastards got themselves a time machine. It’s the only thing that makes sense when you follow the bread crumbs.

Do you even know how galling it is that they got one before me???

Interesting choice on Travolta’s part to pick a spot in the middle of his fame polynomial. At first I thought it was weird. If you had a time machine, wouldn’t you want to go back to when you were at your peak in terms of looks, popularity, and ability to score mad amounts of ass? He didn’t, though. He chose the slightly plump version of himself, the one that floundered for awhile after “Face Off” failed to match “Pulp Fiction” status.

(Side thought: If John Travolta had passed on the script for “Face Off,” would it have ever occurred to him to get a new face in real life?)

I think he picked a spot in his career where he could go out for a walk without being hounded or heckled. He never really went into obscurity, but for a good chunk of time, people generally stopped caring. Maybe when he cut the million dollar check to Miscavige for the right to hop in the time machine, he thought, “I just want to be able to go to the store without either panties or rotting fruit being thrown at me.”

It was a bold, yet oddly reasonable choice for someone so thoroughly MEST up.

“Bethie, I think you might want to stop with the scientology puns. Those people don’t like jokes at their expense.”

Good point. I wouldn’t want them running a smear campaign on me. Folks might find out that I’m a fat, aging hoarder. I don’t know if I could live through a dox like that.

Pot Belly Travolta didn’t get any muffins, by the way. Looked at them, put them back, then went and bought ham salad. Ham. Salad. What a freak.

If you had a time machine, to when would you go?

Let’s put some restrictions on the question because it’s way too broad as it stands. You can only go to your own personal timeline. No hopping ahead 500 years to see how WWIII impacted the long term survival of humankind. In fact, lets make it a backwards only machine. Backwards in time to any point in your own life. And when you get there, you’re not like Marty McFly who has to duck and hide from himself. You Quantum Leap that shit and completely take over your own body.

When? What point do you want to live over? Redo? Stop and hold and savor?

I can’t answer that, personally. I’m trying, but every time I think of one, I think, “Oh no, wait! It’s…” They’re moments, too, not a general period in life of contentment or easy cruisin’. I would relive particular moments. Fleeting moments. Moments it would be impossible to recreate after the fact, or by going into them with the knowledge that I am going to relive an old favorite. I think if I actually tried, I’d screw it up.

My head is filled with happy vignettes, ones that have already been written. What if by going back and trying to relive them, I ruined the experience forever? What if I got there and was so excited that I turned it awkward and weird? The most happy memories I have are of moments that were natural and organic, not forced or carried out with an omniscience that would doubtlessly negate the exuberance of the very spontaneity that made the moment so special in the first place.

I’d never forgive myself for rewriting and ruining a treasured memory, especially since I most definitely would have the knowledge of both timelines and happenings. It would be a loss I couldn’t live with.

“What about going back and changing something you regret?”

I don’t think I’d do that, either. I don’t want to use my hop in the time machine to change anything. For good or bad, my decisions in life not only taught me valuable lessons, but they got me here, to this moment. And while my feet hurt like a summbitch this morning, I generally like being “here”. Things *could* change for the better. Or, they could change for the worse. That’s a gamble I don’t want to take. I’ve got way too much value right here and now to risk any of it by trying to go back in time to erase the fact that I’m human.

“You’re getting awful deep about a make believe time machine.”

Make believe, huh? So mid-career Travolta wasn’t in my store yesterday? Where’s your proof?

*crickets**crickets*

Pfft. That’s what I thought.

Thus concludes a very brief Musing for Sunday, June 4, 2017. I have a laundry list of things to do today, including laundry. Mowing. Room cleaning. Kicking my kids’ asses at Halo pvp. And now I’ve got to try and cover my tracks with the scientologists so they don’t start showing up at work threatening to expose me. Should be a busy day…

Any Les Mis fans out there?

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*a light shines on a lone baker, center stage* *soft music begins to play*

One day more.

Another pie, another past-er-y,

On this never ending road to feed my fam-i-ly.

These customers who spend their dimes

Will surely come another time

One day more…

Mornin’ all.

Today is my tenth day straight at work. Tomorrow, I get a day off. I’m feeling a tad bit punchy, if you couldn’t tell.

Though, to be honest, isn’t starting the day off with an epic musical routine always the goal?

A coworker got injured while one of our Janes-of-all-Trades started a two week vacation. We are already short handed as it is, so it’s very hard to absorb the blow of someone missing work from being hurt.

I’ll mix the cream up fresh today

How can I pipe if it has parted?

Tomorrow I’ll be worlds away,

And yet right now my shift’s not started…

You see, we knew someone was about to get hurt. We’ve gone way too long without injury.

There’s a curse on our bakery.

No, don’t laugh. It’s true! How else would you explain the fact that in the not quite year I’ve been there, we’ve had four major injuries I can think of, if you include pregnancy. Which, let’s face it, you should.

If I worked in a large bakery, that would be a pretty fair number. Humans tend to be clumsy and inept. I do not work in a large bakery, though. I work with 7 other people. That’s it. Four major health-related reasons for missing work is a LOT in that short time span.

One more day not at my home,

One more day not in my jammies.

What a nap I might have known,

But they say they need me there…

My working theory is that someone got pissed off about an order they placed. While we do a damn fine job, mistakes happen. Or, more often, people don’t understand what they’re actually asking for when they place the order and are then ultimately disappointed when they pick up donut holes that don’t match their croquembouche dreams.

Anyway, someone was unhappy enough with their order that they hopped on a plane to New Orleans, prowled around the old quarter until they found a tiny shop filled with dried chicken feet and alligator teeth, gave the secret password to get into the hidden back room to see an ancient priestess, and had her construct a voodoo doll for each of our employees.

Only thing that makes sense when you think about it.

One more day of icing cupcakes,

We will top them with rose buds,

We’ll be ready for those orders,

They will stuff themselves with food.

Boy am I looking forward to the day off. It’s not like I’m going to do anything fabulous with it. In fact, I am going to probably catch up on housework. Woot woot. The fun don’t stop on THIS party train.

It’s just having the time to DO the housework, ya know?

I’m not a full time employee. Hell, around here it seems like “full time” is just a bedtime story folks tell their kids to trick them into staying in school. A mythical carrot dangled in front of their naive noses, just to be pulled away by modern corporate America. Some weeks I only get about 25 hours. Not these past couple weeks. Those have been almost full time. Juuuust shy so that I don’t qualify for benefits.

So not quite full time. Doesn’t sound like a lot, does it?

But then there’s the other part of life that comes with having a passel of kids. It just feels like every day I fall further behind on my list.

I’m not complaining. I like the job, I like getting money. That passel sure eats a lot and last time I checked, grocery stores weren’t giving out chickens and spuds for free. I’m just saying that tomorrow will feel damn good.

Watch them oooh and ahhh,

Get them testing treats,

Never get to rest when sales are at their peak,

Here a little taste,

There a little try,

Get ’em with a sample and then watch them buy.

Teen Prime bought me an early birthday present. Mass Effect: Andromeda. I am DYING to play it, but I am a good mummy.

…actually, I’m not. At best, I’m so-so. But, I do have my moments, and one of them is waiting to play the game until Teen Prime can be here for the weekend to watch. He loves watching people play. It didn’t work out this week, so all I can do is cast longing glances at the gleaming new game disc and smell the potential trapped within the pristine plastic.

If he could have made it down, that’s what I’d be doing from punch out time today until clock in time Monday morning. A bit of sleep in between, and I’d come up for air once in awhile to make sure the passel had wrassled up some grub and weren’t bleeding. Instead, we clean. *sigh* Hey, at least we get to clean at home, right?

Gaming. That would have been an awesome way to spend …

Tomorrow I won’t be at the baker-ay. Tomorrow I’ll clean house all day…

Tomorrow we’ll discover

What our laundry piles have in store.

One more tart,

One more caaaaaake,

ONE

DAY

MORE

Thus concludes a…Musing? Is it, though? Is it REALLY? Or is it more like insane rambling?…for Saturday, March 25, 2017. I get it, Weird Al. Props.

Who the hell invited Stella!?

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Mornin’ all.

So here’s the thing. Two weeks ago, it was 65. Sunny. T-shirts were dusted off and donned by the citizens of the area eager to let the door hit Winter in its ass on the way out.

Of course, spaghetti strap tank tops that stop way too short and hot pants that would have been better off left on the store shelf also came into play. Can’t have a warm day without a few folks stuffing themselves into knit wear that’s probably silently weeping the whole time.

“Bethie! Are you fat shaming?”

No. I am refusal-to-wear-the-proper-sized-clothing shaming. They make clothes in different sizes for a reason. If wearing your clothes tests the physical limits of thread, you should wear a bigger size. If your feet turn purple because your hot pants are cutting off your circulation, you should wear a bigger size. If you need “someone to pull it up while I suck it in” to get any part of it zipped, you should probably go ahead and wear a bigger size.

Trust me. You’ll feel better. You’ll look better. Stop obsessing over the number and just wear what actually fits.

Anyway, we were all enjoying the laid back intro to spring, when Mother Nature said, “Psych.”

Winter storm Stella. They have named my enemy. Supposed to be a real nasty piece of work, too. They’re talking potential FEET of snow. In mid March. Not unprecedented by any means, but not a common occurrence. March snow tends to be a few inches of heavy, wet stuff that melts away in a day or two. This one? This one’s gonna take a bit longer.

It has put me in a funk. I am vexed. *slurps coffee* And the coffee’s not doing all that much to help, if I’m going to be honest. I woke up with heart burn and didn’t want to make it worse, so I watered down the usual varnish. Just doesn’t have the normal kick in the ass my body has come to expect.

Maybe I’ll grab a fresh cup, full strength, and just do a Pepto chaser.

“Ew.”

Snowstorm. Heartburn. And my cat shredded a whole roll of tp in the night. I gotta get this shit turned around. I still have to work, and you can’t make a nice cake when you’re pissy. Hm. What can we do to make this day better?

*whisper from off stage*

Hang on a sec. One of my go-go dancers is trying to get my attention.

*whispers**muttering**sound of a guitar tuning echoes through the quiet living room*

I’m back, and I have a plan. *achem* Oh, yeah, sorry. WE have a plan. *waves finger* Cue the go-go dancers and fire up the catchy theme music, because we’re going to have ourselves a….

* * HEADLINE ROUNDUP !!! * * *

Let’s thank the dancers for their most excellent idea! And while we’re at it, give a hand to the band. They totally nailed that intro.

Yes, it’s a Roundup. We haven’t done one in awhile, so for any newbs out there, here’s the deal: News is stupid. Often the headlines reflect the idiocy. I scour the internet news sites looking for tidbits that jump out at me. Sometimes they’re poorly worded, sometimes they’re confusing, and sometimes they just put an image in my head that I must share. The headlines are always 100% real. I just supply the heartburn-fueled snarkiness after.

Up to speed? Good! Then let’s get right to it.

-Conway on Surveillance: We Have ‘Microwaves That Turn Into Cameras’

Oh no. Oh honey, no.

– Is Preet Bharara Trying To Tell Us Something?

I don’t know. Is Preet Bharara talking? Because if he is, then the answer is probably yes. #TheMoreYouKNow

– N. Korea Warns of ‘Merciless’ Strikes As U.S. Carrier Joins S. Korea Drills

Aw, whatsamatta Kim Jong? Did Donald Trump stealing the “Most Insane Ruler” championship belt hurt your feelings?

*sidenote: Can we please, PLEASE actually make that belt happen? I’m thinking huge, like a WWE belt, only not as classy.

“Not as…classy??”

You heard me. Make it happen.

– Florida Agency Puts Out A Want Ad For Python Killers

Is “python killer” slang? Is that…is that the female version of “pussy slayer?”

“BETHIE!”

In my defense, it’s Florida. It’s a fair question.

– Conway Isn’t the Only One Afraid of Microwaves That Spy

Of course not. There is an organized society of people who not only believe the earth is flat, but PUBLICALY believe the earth is flat. They’re so convinced that we live on a dinner plate that they SAY SO OUT LOUD. Of COURSE there are people who think we’re being spied on while we nuke our leftovers. Just make them all some tin foil hats and go about your lives.

– Conway Isn’t the Only One Afraid of Microwaves That Spy

Look, I’m not saying it’s not possible. I’m saying it’s inept. We don’t need to use microwaves to spy. We’ve got far better, more reliable, more controllable ways of spying on every aspect of our citizens lives. If the government wants to spy on you, they can. And they can do so much more efficiently than using microwaves. Someone’s reading old spy novels again. I think we need to enroll the White House in a book of the month club and get some modern day CIA action on their radar. Er, an audio book of the month club. At least then the conspiracy theories would be current.

– Harvey Still Has Bodyguards With Him After Flub

Oh for FUCK’S SAKE Steve Harvey! Get over yourself. No one’s trying to kill you. It just didn’t matter all that much. Shit.

– Rubio Warns Snoop Dogg on Trump Video

…well there’s a headline I don’t think anyone expected.

– Rare Find Revisited: A Barn Full of ‘Birds’ 10 Years Later

I would like to think they are actual birds, because the thought of a documentarian being so desperate for a story that he goes back to a barn to film some damn pigeons 10 years later is dark humor I can get behind. The look on his face when he realizes they all died about 5 years ago would be film legend.

– Celeb Couples Who’ve Split in 2017

Awful early in the year to be pulling this one out. You’re wasting the best click bait. What the hell are you going to write about in November? You might actually have to report…news! *gasp*

– Ramirez’s Contract in Japan Has Some Hilarious Perks

…okay, I’ll bite. *reads* He gets a hotel room. He can opt out of practices in certain circumstances. He gets a car and driver. He has a meal budget. …and that’s it. Honestly, I can barely type through the laughter wracking my body.

– GM Has A Huge Supply of Unsold Cars

That’s called “inventory,” dear.

– Was Jane Austen Poisoned? New Evidence About the Writer’s Weakened Eyes Raises Questions

Holy shit, just the breakthrough Scotland Yard has been waiting for! Maybe they can finally arrest the guy. #JusticeForJane

– Europe Is Facing 4 Existential Tests. Can It Hold Together?

Oh, I know this one! Okay, Europe, when you get to the huge knot, just cut it. Saves so much time. #TopTip

– UK Cruise Ship Damages Pristine Indonesian Coral Reef

But the vacation pics Buffy and Skip got were totes worth it.

– WH Analysis Projects Bigger Health Care Coverage Gap than CBO

So what they’re talking about here is the Republican backed ACA health care replacement proposition. You know, the one that Trump ordered the Republicans to present? Yeah, now Trump is desperately trying to distance himself from the disgraceful piece of potential legislation. Think about that. It’s so bad that DONALD FUCKING TRUMP won’t even put his name on it. No jokes on this one. Please, PLEASE encourage your representatives to shoot this puppy down.

– Florida Girl Writes Letter To Burglar Who Targeted Her House

What a great way to get back at the burglar. I’m sure that she’ll read it and feel just awful about what she’s done. Then she’ll call you and tearfully apologize and you can meet up for coffee to allow her to cleanse herself by confessing and you can go about your life knowing that because of your letter, she will never burgle another house again, you noble crusader, you.

*heavy sigh*

– Facebook Bans Use of Its Data For Surveillance Tools

So, you know, don’t microwave popcorn when you’ve got the FB app open.

– Snaphash Is An Augmented Reality Weed Doctor For Your iPhone

I have absolutely no idea what the hell I just read.

– On Galapagos, Revealing the Blue-Footed Booby’s True Colors

Red. They dip their feet in blue paint just to screw with the scientists. Shh.

– How To Reset Your Body Clock For Daylight Saving Time

Don’t do it! Go rogue. #DamnTheMan

– The Controversial Campaign for Canada’s National Bird

Canada’s got a different set of criteria for what constitutes a controversy, don’t they?

– Boaty McBoatface Embarks on Its Maiden Voyage This Week

Remember the campaign to name the exploration submarine last year? Boaty McBoatface won the internet contest to name the serious, highly tuned scientific sub, but the society decided to choose a different, more respectable name. However, the pressure from the internet got too great and they have officially renamed the technological wonder Boaty McBoatface. Well done, internet. This makes me proud.

– Trump Has a New Rocket and Spaceship. Where Will He Go?

Where? Irrelevant. The only question is “WHEN?” #SendTrumpToMars.Personally.StuffHimIntoASpaceshipAndLaunchThatSucker

– The 50 Hottest Video Games You Shouldn’t Miss in 2017

They lead the article with the remastered Crash Bandicoot. The thumbnail is…Crash Bandicoot. The opening graphic is a still from…CRASH BANDICOOT. Are. You. KIDDING me?! Mass Effect: Andromeda? The Last Of Us 2? Red Dead 2? Breath of the FREAKIN’ WILD??? But no. NO. Crash. Bandicoot. Fistbump to all those who feel my outrage. #CRASH.BANDICOOT.REALLY!???

– John Cena Reveals Surprising Video Game Choice

Spoiler: it’s not Crash Fucking Bandicoot!

– Our Black Hole Has Been “Eating Snacks” For the Last 6 Million Years

Aaaand that’s it. I’m out. When you start talking about what you put in your black hole, it’s time to get off the internet.

Had to ruin it for everyone, didn’t you, IBT?

Thus concludes a quick Roundup for Pi Day, 2017. If there wasn’t a storm, the amount of puns at the bakery would get old. I guess that’s one thing to thank Stella for.