Moo for Wisconsin Governor 2012

I’m running for the governorship of Wisconsin in 2012. 

Yeah, yeah, I know.  The current guber isn’t planning on giving up his Machiavellian reign over his kingdom…er…ah, state just yet.  Why as we speak, he probably has the one of the Koch brothers on line one while reaching for the speed dial to contact the National Guard on line two, trying to figure out how he can squash us middle class union folk down. 

But I have a word for you readers: recall.  Here’s some of the real reasons why since you won’t catch them on any of the local news networks. (Don’t go reading the yellow print, or watching the yellow-tinted newscasts; it’s probably worse for you than yellow snow!)

Don’t you know?  Peaceful protestors are quite a threat.  Why, they might chant things that you don’t want to hear about yourself.  Or sing old threatening hippy folk songs.  *shudder*  Or WORSE, the national anthem while waving American flags!  AUGHH!!!!!  (Whew.  I got way scared by that last one.)  And they multiply like rabbits!  Why, they incite other, non-union, non-public workers to join in the fight against your anti-civil rights maneuvers because while some of those folks may have voted for you, they had NO IDEA that you were 1) a dicktator who refuses to even listen to what a good portion of your constituency wants and 2) incapable of compromise with all members of your legislature—a necessary skill in the world of politics, I say. 

But who needs to compromise when you can dictate?  Rumor has it that you had the powers that be lock the doors while simultaneously welding the windows shut in an effort to keep food from reaching the protestors inside.  http://blog.aflcio.org/2011/02/28/walker-welding-capitol-windows-now-to-keep-workers-from-passing-food-to-those-inside/  Hey, don’t worry about fire codes or anything like that, Heir Walker.  I assume your dicktatorship is shutting off the water next?  If you’re being honest with yourself, it’s not particularly surprising that some of those very same reasonable persons who voted for you might actually decide that they made a mistake.  (For those of you who now realize your grave voting error, I understand the need to save face here, so I’m personally willing to avoid the whole finger-pointing bit.  Plus, let’s be honest.  He did misrepresent himself as a reasonable person when in fact he’s a power-hungry kook.  It’s really not your fault.)

In fact, Dicktator Walker has pulled all sorts of forceful maneuvers at our state capitol to punish anyone, who in an effort to maintain true democracy, does what they feel is necessary to save these civil rights for the working class.  (By the way, I’m a firm believer that walking away in this case IS doing your job.  A special shout out to 14 fabulous, dedicated, brave politicians for realizing that sometimes your job includes “other duties as assigned or necessary”, which may require a whole lot of courage and stamina.  Keep up the good work, my friends.  Keep up the good work.  Without you, this asshat would have gotten away with bending over the entire middle class and giving us the unlubed version of his “repair” bill.)

All I know is there are a whole lot of reasonable people that have just about had enough of Heir Walker’s shenanigans.  And they should be at the enough’s enough stage.  His behavior borders on the criminal.  And perhaps, unconstitutional. http://budget.wispolitics.com/2011/02/milwaukees-city-attorney-says-budget.html

Here’s what I believe:  the head guber should be the head negotiator as well.  The person willing to work amenably with both sides of the aisle.  Compromise is a necessity for this position because when you only win 52% of the vote and less than half of your state has actually voted, there’s a REALLY good chance that more than just that 48% minority who did vote is in disagreement with your practices, policies and general ideas.  Confused?  Scotty, you can’t run your policies solely based on a minority of the total population, even if it's the majority of the minority.  You represent all of us, dumbass.

And let’s face it, he’s already admitted that all of this disgusting drama has nothing to do with the budget and everything to do with breaking middle class unions, and thus, eliminating middle class rights to fight for better work conditions.  (For the record, unions are defined as an organization of employees formed to bargain with an employer.  Note:  no where in the definition does it say anything about lazy parasites and/or bloodsucking leeches.  These ideas have been perpetuated by PAC groups formed by members of the 1% elite in order to keep us ALL down.  Get us hatin’ on each other.  Scary that this misperception seems to be working on some folks.) 

In any case, what we got here are regular middle class workers who decided to pool together their efforts to better their work conditions.  Yes, they happen to be public employees, but civil rights are civil rights.  It doesn’t say civil rights but not for public employees, well, at least so long as the Dicktator doesn't get his way.  Additionally, once you lose them, I can guarantee that blood will have to be shed to get them back.  Look at other dictatorships.  Our current head guber wants to get rid of that civil right, which in my opinion, doesn’t seem like the best idea for any of the members of the middle class.  Start with public unions.  Move to private ones.  Hell, let’s just get rid of any of the laws that allow anyone in the middle class the right to litigate in wrongful employment practices and whatnot.  Thank goodness people are starting to wake up here.

So now, we’re talking recall…well, that’s given that Dicktator Walker doesn’t mess up and get himself busted and tossed in the pokey for doing something stupid and illegal like actually hiring the “troublemakers” he’s been talking about hiring to stir up, well, trouble.  You know, it’s important to stir up trouble with people who are peacefully protesting your attempts at stomping out their rights.  *eye roll*  That way, the very, very yellow local press can create drama that doesn’t exist (taking a pro-uberconservative stance, of course).  If you want the real story, try the BBC.  They seem to have a handle on it, at least the last time I checked.  It’s depressing that one has to go thousands of miles away to get truthful, unbiased coverage, although I do think I’m going to like living in London someday.  So recall, provided we don’t have a trial.

Recall.  Why that means we’ll need a new governor come 2012.  I think I’m going to throw my hat in the ring.  I mean if a guy who openly says he’s going to take away your rights can get voted in, why, I think people would vote a wildcat like myself into office who says I won’t.  Civil rights have been fought long and hard for by our ancestors.  Blood was spilled for them.  We cannot, CANNOT, take them for granted nor give them up.  Times like these help us to appreciate their importance, I guess.

Balance the budget, you say?  I think I’m going to set up a law to tax groups like “Americans for Prosperity” that are set up by the Koch brothers (from out of state, no less) in order to manipulate one sector of the middle class into warring with other sectors.  In fact, those douchebags from out-of-state will be charged double.  We KNOW they’ve got the money.  I say, dole some of that sugar out to us regular dudes and dudettes.

We’ve seen what happens when we play supply side economics.  Doesn’t work.  Remember the big ole tax breaks that George W(eener) Bush gave out to his cronies?  Our economy tanked out AND his good ole boys moved the working class jobs to Third World countries anyway (while giving outrageous bonuses to the company elite) because no matter how you look at it, the labor’s cheaper there because they don’t have unions in the Third World to fight for the everyday worker. 

That’s another thing I’m gonna do.  Create an environment where jobs exist for American workers.  You, Mr/Ms Richierich?  You wanna move your company to a Third World and screw the American working class?  Fine.  I’m going to create a law that makes your shit illegal to buy in this state.  You need us to make your riches.  Use Americans for your workforce, dammit.  We know that it’ll cut into your billions and billions a little bit, and that will trigger a case of the greediness DTs, but I hardly doubt you’ll starve if you have to cough up a little more for the everyday worker.  Think of the pride that you could have saying your product is American-made... 

(At this point, I’d also like to take a little time to address John and Jane Doe from Anywhere, Wisconsin. You’ve got a bit of faulty logic happening for you.  Public workers are not to blame for your old company moving jobs out of the US, forcing you to take a lower paying job.  The sole blame for that falls upon the owner of that company, no matter how your old boss tries to spin it.  Perhaps if they hadn’t given the big bonuses out to their managing elite while sending your job to China and India?  Stop displacing your anger on the wrong people, please.  I swear *raises right hand*; we're on the same side.)

The end game is this: You think you can fuck the working class, and then you expect us to buy your shit?  Don’t think so, Biff. We need to go back to buying from companies that support American workers, thank you.

Well, that’s all I have for now.  But I’ve got a little more time to map things out before January 2012 rolls around.  Be looking for my name on the special election ticket though.  I’ll be there under “M” for Moooooooo...

*stares blankly*

There’s something seriously wrong here.

Heh, I know you think I’m going to go on another 45 year-old, middle-classed, working woman’s diatribe about how the middle class is committing suicide by their poor choices in governmental leaders, but no.  What we have to discuss here is something way more important.  Earth shattering, really.  And y'all need to know about it.

Were you aware that work shouldn’t be split 50/50 in a marriage or resentments will develop? 

*puppy head tilt left*

*puppy head tilt right* 

What. 

The.  

Fuck? 

http://shine.yahoo.com/event/financiallyfit/economics-the-key-to-happy-couples-division-of-labor-2455003/

My bullshit meter has really been working overtime lately so you’ll have to excuse me if I’m off base here a little bit, but Dory, sweetheart, you’re cracked.  Epically.  Well, unless by 70/30 you meant that my hubby was going to do 70 percent, and I was responsible for 30.  Then it’s perfect actually.

Dory, honey, I’m going to set you straight on a few things about marriage since it appears you were hitched just yesterday.  Happy and marriage used in the same sentence is pretty much an oxymoron. 

Don’t misunderstand.  A person can be gloriously happy and be married, but the point is it’s work.  Most times a whole lot of work.  If you see a happy couple who’s been married for any length of time (15+ years), it’s because they’re all in and do all they can to make it work (and also perhaps because there’s a written agreement to avoid sharp objects while verbally warring).

And no matter what you seem to do in the context of marriage, there’s going to be resentments and strife of some sort.  Part of the territory when you live with and screw the same person for years (and years), exclusively, I say.  Take it from me.  Happy as hell, married 23 years, but I have no doubt that there have been days my boy has seriously considered holding my own pillow over my head until the kicking stops.  (Oh.  Now that I think about it, maybe that’s just my idea for him, particularly when he’s snoring in tandem with our hound and sleep is eluding me.)

As for this idea that each spouse should do what they’re good at *starts shaking head*, ah, no.  Not necessary to sort by virtue of speedy skill.  There’s trickery to be had here, D-gal.  Trickery of the sneakiest sort.  You can prove yourself crappy at all jobs (at least all the ones you don’t really want to do), but this doesn’t mean you should be awarded the “get out of jail free to go sit and watch the ball game instead because you finished the 30 percent you were good and speedy at” card. 

Case in point:

“Gee, sweetheart, I don’t know how my red running sock got in with your lacey whites.”  (Pink.  I fucking hate pink.  And he knows it, too.  Grr…Don’t think for one minute I don’t get the ruse happening here.)

“Yeah, loverboy, sorry about the 53 holes in the vinyl siding out front that you’ll have to repair later.  The hooks for the Christmas wreaths are right where I want them…now.  Perhaps if my mind wasn’t obsessed with A) how fucking cold it is outside the day after Thanksgiving, and B) how much I just love the color of my new pink panties…  *smirks*  Well, next time we’ll both get it right.”

And we do.  The learning curve is furiously fast when you start thinking damage control.  Promotes an honest effort to do your half, too.  I’ve learned to measure twice and cut once; he’s learned that red socks can hide in the darnedest places.  See what I mean, Dory?  Don't have to be good at the job; you just have to do it.  50/50.  Partnership.  Even Steven.  Committed to the split up the middle.  Just how we like it.

Oh, and one final thing…you’re wrong about the dishes, too.  My mate actually likes doing them, especially when he can do them by hand.  Yes.  You heard me right.  Mr. Mom?  Maybe.  Reminiscing the years when he thought marine biology would be a career choice (right up until he married the woman afraid of sea life forever trapping him in the frozen state in which we live)?  Possible.  Then again, it could just be that he’s a super-freak, he’s super-freaky, yow…

The Face of the Union

I just got back from the most moving experience I’ve had in years.  While I was there in my state capitol (although I've had the information coming in all this week for that matter), I learned a few hurtful things…

I’ve learned that I’m entitled. 

And lazy. 

And living off the backs of everyone in the private sector who pay taxes so I can supposedly live high on the hog. 

I’m not going to lie.  I’m completely perplexed by this.  Anyone who really knows me, knows I suffer from serious self-worth issues.  I don’t think I’m entitled to anything, even if people say I’ve earned it (and many times more).  I won’t approach anyone to start up small talk because I can’t imagine why anyone would give a shit about what I’d have to say.  Once in a while, someone manages to convince me that I can take a little (not even my full share), but I usually end up feeling guilty, and return whatever favor tenfold.  I've been convinced to start this blog because someone thought I had something to say that I can't personally believe anyone would want to read.  At the same time, my inner compass is driven by doing the right thing for the right reasons, which do not typically include self-motivations.  And let’s face it, society doesn’t value any of that…I’m definitely not validated for my values.  Yet operant conditioning just doesn't seem to work on me because it doesn’t change them.

I’m stunned that anyone could think me lazy.  Most of those who have spent any real time with me know I suffer from Type-A personality as a disease process.  I actually look for things to do when I’ve finished doing what I have to do.  I gotta get the A+++ in classes.  I’ll push myself until I’m sick or injured because my body, mind, and soul can weather it.  There isn’t a seam between my home and work lives.  I can be rather warped in my need to be sure I’m doing my part.  I use work to avoid other work.  (Who the hell does that??)  I end up arriving late to appointments, parties, and the like because I think I can get that one last load of laundry in so my hubby doesn't have to do it, or maybe because I want to assist a colleague finish up with something before going home at the end of a long day.  Relaxing is something I’m learning to do now (with difficulty) at the ripe age of 45, yet my work ethic is a sickness; I get that.  A sickness I'd hardly label “laziness”.

I’m not afraid of giving my share.  I’m not.  In fact, I’d rather give more than my share if I’m being honest.  Sometimes I have to force myself not to give of myself, but most times I do.  So to ask me to pay more to lighten someone else’s load isn’t a difficult decision for me.  I know people pay taxes…that includes me.  LOTS of taxes actually.  But you want me to pay more for things you feel are my personal responsibility because you'd like to pay less?  That makes sense, and I’m okay with that as well.  Truth is I believe in the services that others get so I don't have a problem with the paying more taxes part anyway.  I’m okay with paying for someone else to get the help they need because if I have and they don’t, I’m okay with sharing.  Seriously.  And not that it's the point, but I don't have a problem taking care of my fair share of insurance and retirement plans either.

I don’t live ostentatiously.  Oh, but if I could!  Nah.  Not true.  I would end up donating and gifting a lot of it if I were a rich girl.  I'd feel guilty for having it.  (See personal issue number one.)  Call it faulty hardwiring.  I guess I prefer to live more modestly anyway.  In part because that's who I am.  But mostly because that's what my checkbook allows.  I don't make the great riches that have been erroneously portrayed in the media.  Their numbers are GREATLY inflated.

So when people say how public unionized employees are entitled, lazy richiebitches, I am left completely stunned because that is not the woman looking back at me from the bathroom mirror.

Wanna know something?  My kind of work ethic is the rule, not the exception.  Outside of colleagues at my institution, I have a friend Pam who, no shit, works 3 different jobs to survive.  Probably one of the hardest working, most responsible women I know.  Not only a public servant, but a public worker, by the way.  She has ZERO problem with doing her part and then some.  I don't see her in the negative, media-hyped description either.

Wanna know something else?  The reason most people work a 40-hour week in a safe environment with any benefits at all instead of working in sweatshops is because of unions.  Approximately 150 years of fighting for the rights of workers.  All workers.  Yeah, you may think the Union works only for their members, but the truth is that all workers garner the benefits, whether they recognize them or not.

I’m scared that people won’t wake up.  I am.  Or worse they’ll wake up too late and be very aware of what they could have stopped.  I spent the day at our state capitol at the most peaceful protest I’ve ever seen, even though yellow journalists tried to spin it as some crazed, out of control, anarchist situation.  Seriously.  The people I saw didn’t even get into each others faces spouting nastiness, let alone get violent with each other.  There were about 1,000 members of opposition to about 70,000 union folk, and there weren’t ANY altercations of which I knew.  That’s how the middle class is though, isn’t it?  We don’t really want to hate each other, do we?  But we sure would rather keep our eyes closed, humming songs to ourselves...

This fear and lack being promoted by the power elite isn’t really us everyday folk, is it? 

The fear is being promoted to divide and conquer all of us.  And it’s working.  Their plan is genius in it’s perfection.  We’re all biting, hook after hook.

The power elite is playing us ALL like pawns in some nastily contrived chess game where they use us as little pieces.  They will use one side of us to take down the most powerful pieces first, eliminating their rights one by one, but you can be certain that no one's rights are safe, and in the end, only the power elite “king” will win, laughing all the way to the bank; 100 percent power corrupting 100 percent.

Yeah, I may not be perfect.  I honestly don't claim to be.  But I try really hard to make good choices, fair choices.  I always try to choose the whole over the one, or the me, as it were, even when it is to my detriment.  If you know me, really, truly know me, you know this is true.  Ultimately, I live from that space.  Thinking of the whole.  We are the whole.  All of us.  Even the power elite.  The power elite needs to know that we want to work with them, too.  Just do the right thing.  That's what we're asking.  One human unit on this planet.  You, too, Union.  Play fair and nice.  I truly believe we are all One.

In the end, here’s what I absolutely know with all my heart. Removing someone’s rights doesn’t resolve a budget problem, especially when a surplus is turned into a deficit because the power elite has been given a financial get out of jail free card.  (PS.  Think they’re really going to use that tax break to hire more people?  Really?  When has that ever happened on a global scale?  It has been proven again and again that this sort of economic policy does not work and that those monies end up in CEOs pockets while we peons flounder.) 

Asking people to sit down and talk about what they can give up to help the budget not only can help resolve budget issues, but it preserves the rights for everyone and develops trust.  It gives people a sense that they are part of a solution rather than being in an adversary role.  Isn't that a better, more peaceful solution?

Truth is this "war" isn’t about a select few paying their share.  It’s about the power elite's attempt at eliminating the political power of unions so that the power elite can do whatever they want to all of us Joe Blows eventually.  And they do it by pitting us against each other.  And we’re playing along just how they want it. 

I hope we wake up before it’s too late and find out the rights most important to us are already on the chopping block, and there's nothing we can do to stop their demise.  I hope that they realize that we are all being used in some big corporate game where richie-rich CEOs everywhere are laughing their asses off like we’re all some big middle--soon to be lower--class joke.  In the meantime, I pray the power elite grows a healthy conscience.  Rich does not equal evil.  Some power players get the big picture while playing nicely in the sandbox, and I thank them for that.

And the Union?  In the event that you think the Union is some outside entity that is the perfect focus of your hate and contempt, I’ll tell you one simple fact.

If you are my family or true friend, you need to know you don't have to agree with me, but your constant open hate and lack of support hurts me deeply.  You see…

I am the face of the Union. 

Pretty (Stupid) in Pink

I hate pink.

I hate pink and all the other stupid pastels that help to define what I figure to be Hallmark’s biggest farce of a lovers’ holiday.

Now before you go all ape-shit on me, please understand I am a HUGE fan of love of all kinds.  Epic, sweeping, love-is-a-many-splendored-thing love.  Byronic love.  Happy ending love.  Unrequited love.  Platonic love.  Spiritual love.  Unconditional love.  Hey, you name it, I love it.

And it fills my soul up when I read about the joys one has within the context of their loving relationships.  My sister has a fabulous blog where she rightly applauded and reveled the beauty of her relationship with my brother-in-law. http://castletothekeys.blogspot.com/2011/02/mystery-date.html?spref=fb 

32+ years together = truly one of those epic sorts of relationships that start, middle and end happily, with our protagonists riding off in the sunset on a really cool white horse.  Or driving off in a white clown car.  (They don’t have a horse; they have one of those boxy looking cars where you expect that once the door opens 57 clowns will keep spilling out.)  Anyway, love rocks, no matter how you define it, and it’s fun as hell to read about my sister’s devotion, particularly after so many years of putting forth the effort to make her marriage work.

Here’s the thing though.  It isn’t love that I don’t love.  It’s Valentine’s Day. 

Maybe it’s because I was dropped on my head too many times as a child.  I mean, I can kind of remember sort of liking the making of Valentines for the other kids in my grade school classes.  But something got skewed along the way.

Maybe it was because I never really had a serious boyfriend until the end of my junior year of high school, so I didn’t get the hearts and flowers thing.  Then that senior year, I spent the holiday morning sitting on my mother’s bed, weeping, while I told her I was knocked up.  And knocked around.  Yeah, not feeling the holiday.

Eventually, I met a guy whose love for me did not equal crazy, possessive, battering psycho although we had a rather scary (albeit necessary) turning point in our marriage that began on a Valentine’s Day a few years back.  All’s well now, and while he does buy me lovey-dovey gifts, it is never on that day, which is a-okay with me.

Truth is I’ve never bought the whole special day for hearts and flowers thing.  In fact, in my opinion the day itself needs a new title in order to maintain its integrity.

New title, you say? 

Ah yes, folks.  Let’s call a candy heart, by its authentic, sugary-sweet name.

From henceforth the day shall be referred to as: Buy Your Mate Candy, Flowers, and Dinner so You Can Be Sure to Get Laid Day. 

(Oversharing note:  I personally like starting everyday all shiny and glowy, so I don’t really need a special gift day to make that magic happen, but I get that not every woman likes to wake up with both the sun and the moons a-shining.  I suppose special holidays are a requirement for that reason.  I mean, birthdays only come once a year, which for straight women typically means offering up the yearly BB anyway.  Once a year would probably make for some spiking divorce rates…ergo, the occasional helpful holiday makes for happier people.  Make love not war, right?)

Don’t get me wrong.  Not everything is off with the holiday.  Flowers are always a good idea.  Make an effort to ask her friends what her favorites are. Makes it seem like more of a surprise than if you have to ask her. 

Chocolate?  Most women aren’t going to turn that down.  Just be sure not to bring too little or too much.  Too little will make her think you’re a cheap bastard; too much will have her cursing you when she steps on the scale next week.  Balance.  It’s delicate, but necessary. 

Oh, and be sure that dinner is at her favorite place, too, in order to secure the keys to the promised-land.

There are, however, some additional changes required of said holiday in question.  In addition to the title, I’m changing the colors of the day, too. 

Pastels?  Really?  Come on, ladies!  Even good boys like dirty girls.  Even when they say they don’t; especially when they say they don’t.  I mean, look at how prolific the porn industry is.

Case in point:  Dress an Angelina Jolie-type in froofy pastels and she’s gonna get some serious looks, sure.  Dress her in a leopard-print, gartered bustier (panties optional), fishnet stockings, and a pair of black, thigh-high, leather, stiletto boots whose soles have never touched the floor, and some poor sucker’s gonna pop a vein.  Or go blind.  (‘Cause we all know that to get the Angelina Jolie-type, you gotta be the Brad Pitt-type.)  But you don’t have to be Angie to pull the look off and make the payback for all his effort worth his while.  Remember, if he's going to the effort, he's already hot for you.

The point is this:  everything’s better with animal print.  SO, I vote the official “colors” of the new February 14, BYMCFaDstYCBStGL holiday are leopard, tiger, and zebra.  (Show of hands in favor, please?)  Oh, all forms of red are good, too.  (Red peep-toe stilettos rock.)  And leather, naturally.  Or rather, pleather.  (There’s no excuse for a lack of eco-consciousness.)  Certainly classic black always sells.

I don’t know.  I keep coming back to the real point here.  You shouldn’t need a special day to do romantic (whatever that looks like for you) things for your honey.  Your grass will stay lush and green on your own side of the fence if you just water and fertilize regularly.

Say no to Hallmark today, but yes, next week.  Or the week after that.  Or next month.  Or get creative and make your own cards.  Or do something else fun that shows to your sweetie that s/he matters.

And I suppose if pastels work for you, wear ‘em.  Just don’t wait till February 14 to bust out the dirty-girl goods that normally get crammed into the back of your lingerie drawer ‘cause they only see light but once a year.

As for me?  Being married to an Aries boy has its own privileges.  The emperor’s new naughties seem to work just fine, thanks…

PS.  Happy BYMCFaDstYCBStGL Day everyone!  Oh, and special Happy Anniversary to Pat and Patty.  (Your love story is one of my few votes in favor of St. Val's...seriously.)

To fart or not to fart, THAT is the question...

Some of you may know this already, alas for those that don't, my inner child is actually a 13 year old boy.

No, really.  Seriously. 

There was a point in time I thought he was only 12, but my 21 year old adult man-child pointed out that a 12 year old still has some teeny modicum of rationale indicative that an adult may be in the making, whereas a 13 year old boy has ZERO maturity and has even less class.  Boorish.  Obnoxious.  Perfect definition of my inner child, I say.  I figure, who needs class anyway?  Needless to say, I won’t apologize for the things that crazy boy says and does, nor for the things he finds amusing…well, I suppose his sense of funny isn’t for those lacking a sense of early teen male-child humor anyway, which says a great deal about the company I keep perhaps.

SO getting back to the real point of this blog.  Malawi is not on our next travel docket.  Why, you ask?  (Okay, maybe you didn’t ask, but I’m pretending you did because this is my blog and I can do what I want, right?)

In the very near future, you may not be able to legally fart in public.  http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-africa-12363852

Yes.  I said that right.  No passing of the wind.  No public tooting.  No bowel bombs.  No blowing the butt horn, airing your dirty beans, cutting the cheese, or firing your ass gas in your neighbor’s direction.  Not in public.  Not in Malawi anyway.

Look.  Holding it all in isn’t at all healthy for you.  My sister-in-law says you could blow up if you do that.  (She’s a registered nurse so she knows.)  You wouldn’t want to blow up, would you?  That could just get…messy.  And smelly.  Smellier than if you just let one occasionally sneak out.  (Just not in my direction, please.  This girl gas *snicker* her own problems.)

Besides with my very-actively-involved-in-my-life inner boy-child, there is NO WAY I could make it very long without squeezing out a happy tune for my own amusement.  (Thank goodness my hubby finds a fart as funny as I do.  Apparently he has a 13 year-old boy for an inner child as well!)  So while I can’t seem to hold my gaseous emissions within, at the same time, I really don’t want to do time in a Malawi jail for letting loose with my noxious honk as I make my way down some crowded Malawi street.  You gotta figure someone will drop a dime on even the cutest of zipper rips.

Course, if I could just figure out how to master the silent but deadly.  My eldest brother was pure genius of flatulence.  I still wonder (with full admiration, of course) what in the hell that man would eat.  Yeah.  Silent but violent.  I can see it now…

*phhhhffffffft*  What?  Why are you looking at me like that??  You smelt it; you dealt it, buddy.  Just try to arrest me for something you can’t prove anyway.  Believe me when I say, when I’m done with you, the whole world will believe you pumped it out the smokestack of your own methane factory, so don’t even try to point your finger my way.  One finger in my direction, three in yours anyhow, pal. *sticks tongue out*

But then I started wondering, what if in the crazy process of the seated one cheek lift, a shart occurs?  *shudder*  Ooo, not pretty.  Not pretty at all.  I guess the proof would be in that puddin’, wouldn’t it?

Okay, I know.  Not the most mature conversation.  Alright, not mature at all.  Just what did you expect from a 13 year old boy?  My 13 year old boy?  And you real adults are probably right, maybe it’s not worth the hassle of an arrest record. 

I think I’ll just go someplace where they embrace this sort of self-expression.  Nothing wrong with a good ole fashion staycation, I say.  A fartcation.  Yes.  That’s it.  No one’s going to bust my butt out over the green gas produced from a delicious stalk of broccoli here in this house.  Besides, if they do, the only time I’ll be doing will be that moment in time spent in a state of sincere, albeit stinky, pride …