Our kids need to get out more.
Tag Archives: Oh shit
Don’s Johns
Sometimes a metaphor actually plops into your lap. Or your hands. Or into someplace you hope you don’t drop your cell phone.
That happened to me today, when I read an article in the Huffington Post about one of the, ahem, priorities, of the folks setting up Friday’s Inauguration of Donald J. Trump. And really, it is a metaphor for what is to come.
You see, whenever there is a big event here in the DC area, there’s a lot of shit going on. Literally. Lots of people = lots of pee and poop! So port-a-potties line the Mall, surround the Monuments; and ring the Capitol itself. And in the DC area, one company has the scoop on poop.
Photo Caption Don’s John’s.com
But, according to the Huffington Post,
Someone’s Covering The ‘Don’s Johns’ Logo On Port-a-Potties For Trump’s Inauguration
When I saw that headline, my first thought was, “Of course they are. They’re covering up all kinds of shit.” But this time they’re not covering up the shit, but the name.
Photo Credit: Michael Showalter for the NY Post
Of course folks are covering up Don’s shit. But it’s up to us to pull off the tape and show the world Don’s Johns. That will be our job for the duration of Trump’s presidency — whether that is for 2 weeks or 4 years. To pull off the tape on Don’s Johns. To expose every breach of law, each unethical behavior, all threats to the rule of law.
THAT is how we will survive Trump. Because you can’t paper over the truth for long.
Filed under 'Merica, 2017, ; Don't Make Me Feel Perky Tonigh, A Little Restraint, Perhaps, Adult Traumas, All The News You Need, Ammosexuals, Bat-shit crazy, Beating that Dead Horse, Being an asshole, Cancer on Society, Chronic Disease, Clusterfuck, Criminal Activity, Curses!, Cyber Brownshirts, Disgustology, Do GOP Voters Actually THINK?, Don't Take My Medicare, Donald Trump, Donald Trump is a Pussy Too, Dying Dreams, Elections Matter, Farts, Fuckin' Donald Trump, Global Warming, Goats, Good Works, GOP, Hands off My Medicare, Health and Medicine, History, House of Representatives, How stupid can you be, GOP?, How the Hell Did We GET HERE?, Huh?, Humor, I Can't Get No, Just Do It and I'll Shut Up!, Kakistocracy, Longing for Dick, Mental Health, My Right to Protest, Nobody's gonna excavate my poop. I hope., Not My President, Nuremberg Trials, Oh shit, Out of the Pot, Peaceful Protests, Planned Parenthood, Political Corruption, Poop, Saving the World, Shit Your Pants Scary, Shit! The Perfect Metaphors for the GOP, Shitty GOP, Taking Care of Each Other, Toilets, Trump is a Putz, Trump Legally Declared a Slug, Trump Mis-Administration, Useful thing to do with poop, Washington, What a Maroon, What a Putz, What must folks in other countries be thinking?, Where does the GOP get these guys?, Where is Joseph McCarthy when we need him?, Wild Beasts, Women Should Decide Women's Health Issues, WTF?
Keeping Our Heads for Four Years
If you were a news junkie during the George W. Bush era, you’re already experiencing deja vu. That sinking feeling already makes your eyes roll automatically when Putin’s President appears. It settled into the back of your neck from the whiplash as you shake your head and shout “no, no, no, no, no, no, no!” over the latest outrage or tweet. And it’s there in the pit of your stomach, when you try not to vomit whenever you see the color orange.
Yup, it’s started. The Deluge. The Flood. The Trump shit storm.
During the Bush years, I would just be ready to pounce on one issue, when another hit the fan and took the wind out of my sails. Resistance is hard if there is just so much to resist.
How, I worried in the days since November 8, will I survive Trump. I feared a heart attack. A stroke. Getting so scared I’d shit in my pants. Of course I worry about the last one sometimes during a scary movie.
Anyway, I’ve come up with a strategy for a hybrid Resister/Surviving Human. I’m going to become a political centaur!
Google Image. No shit will be given by this filly.
I’m going to take my mother’s marital and parental advice and apply it to my activism. She said:
Choose Your Battles!
Me, I’m going to try to focus on issues I know about and/or that are closest to my heart. The ones I write about here on FiftyFourAndAHalf.
But that won’t be all I do. I will look for and follow the lead of others who are knowledgeable about other issues, and I will try to help to the extent I can. It’s not hard, really, to make calls to Congress and the White House. Really, it just takes a minute. You or I can even just cut and paste and hit “send.”
But I will try my very best to keep my blood pressure — and my outrage to livable levels.
George W. Bush kept us all off balance because there were so many things to be outraged about, that we couldn’t keep it up. Different bad presidents need different tactics.
And Trump will make the Dubya years look like a walk in the park. And that park is in Baghdad.
Filed under 'Merica, A Little Restraint, Perhaps, Abortion, Adult Traumas, All The News You Need, Bat-shit crazy, Cancer on Society, Chronic Disease, Curses!, Disgustology, Do GOP Voters Actually THINK?, Don't Make Me Puke, Dying Dreams, Elections Matter, Fuckin' Donald Trump, Good Deed Doers, Good Works, Gross, Gun control, Hands off My Medicare, Health and Medicine, House of Representatives, How stupid can you be, GOP?, How the Hell Did We GET HERE?, Huh?, Hypocrisy, I Can't Get No, Just Do It and I'll Shut Up!, Kakistocracy, keys to success, Mental Health, My Right to Protest, Not My President, Oh shit, Planned Parenthood, Political Corruption, Politics, Saving the World, Shit happens, Shit Your Pants Scary, Shitty GOP, Size Matters, Taking Care of Each Other, The Real Red Scare, Tom Price, Trump is a Putz, Trump Legally Declared a Slug, Trump Mis-Administration, Useful thing to do with poop, Washington, What a Maroon, What a Putz, What must folks in other countries be thinking?, Where does the GOP get these guys?, Where is Joseph McCarthy when we need him?, WTF?
The Evoluion of a WorryWart
You probably wouldn’t believe it, but I used to worry. A lot.
It’s true.
My husband traveled frequently, and from the time he left the house until he was back again, I was positive that his plane would crash, his train derail, or he would be hit by a mode of transportation I couldn’t even name in a foreign country I might or might not be able to locate on a map.
News junkie that I am, I didn’t listen or read or google while he was away. Nope. I was not going to hear the inevitable on CNN.
And then, seemingly out of the blue, my sister Judy died. I hadn’t been worried about her at all. Not a bit (although I should have — she had a heart condition for goodness sake!)
A lightbulb went off in my head: The person I worried about was fine, the one I wasn’t worrying about, well, wasn’t.
I decided that worrying didn’t help. Not one little bit.
So I stopped. I took Alfred E Newman’s motto for my own.
Strangely, Alfred and I look alike. My hair is longer and curlier, though. Google image. Duh!
Let me tell you, being a non-worry-er is great.
You have room in your life for, ummmm, a life. You get to go about your business and assume that bad news will find you if it needs to. You get to sleep when your husband is traveling. Or when your adolescent-teen-young adult son is out. Or when the weather is bad and any one of the 3,427 people you know might just have gotten into their car. And started moving … and might just …
Sadly, though, I have gone full circle. I am not happy to say that I am once again a Worrywart. I have evolved. Or devolved. Or regressed. Or been bitch-slapped out of M.A.D. Magazine.
You see, my son Jacob had a car accident.
Most importantly, he was unhurt. He should, however, do a Subaru ad, because his Sub saved his life. It was crunched, front and back. Totaled. But Jacob only got a scratch when he reached in through the back window to retrieve stuff.
So now I worry. But I won’t for long, thank God. Or thank J.K. Rowling and Potterheads.
Because I just learned that somebody has finally invented a Weasley clock. You know, that special clock at the Burrow in the Harry Potter books. The clock that Molly Weasley looks at to find out how her family members are doin’.
The clock that lets her know whether a family member is in mortal peril.
Yup. Someone has invented a real-life Weasley clock that can let parents know when family members are at “Home,” at “Work,” “On the Way,” or in “Mortal Peril.”
After the inventor’s family, I’d like to be first in line to get one of these clocks. Because I know that if I get one of these I will be able to sleep again when Jacob is out. And that is worth whatever I have to pay to get one of these. I’ll even pay for shipping.
FiftyFourandAHalf 