Tag Archives: john mccain

Not To Get All Preachy, But…

The roommate and I decided to go to church today.  It seemed like a good idea–it will make the Mom happy, it’s a step towards better integrating into the community, and those hymns can be damn fun to sing along with. 

Those were the general thoughts, as opposed to ones like–I need to save my soul, or, I hear Father Kirkpatrick is a real fox in his ornate robe.

Anyway, it’s a beautiful church, but I don’t think I’ll go back.  Not for any one reason, but just because it didn’t feel right.  I felt like I was pretending, like whatever spiritual fulfillment I’m looking for would not be reached within those walls. 

The sermon was about an Air Force pilot that uses his talents to draw Jesus’ face out of exhaust smoke in the sky.  I had a little difficulty understanding the priest, but it was something along those lines.  So all I could think was, that’s great, but he better be doing it on his own time…  But not great!   Those Jesus faces are killing the planet, one greenhouse gaseous cheekbone, eyelid, nostril at a time. 

If you disagree with what Ive written so far, just relocate yourself to the site this came from.

"Thou shalt not steal" photos from bizarre religious websites...

Before mass ended an announcement was made by a young girl, probably in her mid-teens.  She informed us that 45 million fetuses had been “murdered” since 1973 with Roe vs. Wade.  And to send a message to “the new administration,” parishioners were urged to sign up for an upcoming trip to DC on a free shuttle bus to a pro-life march. 

I want very much to march in DC, but not at a pro-life rally.  A free shuttle bus to a protest comes along and of course it’s for a cause I disagree with.  So much for a generous God.  But you know, here’s the silver lining–there is a new administration on its way in.  So scary zealous pilots (like John McCain) can keep scrawling their crap in the sky.  But I have faith that decisions for the greater good will be scrawled where it counts.

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The Local News is My Version of Hell

It’s a joke. A 30-minute disaster of a not-funny joke that makes my skin crawl in much the same way that my apartment is crawling with various infestations. Anyway, tonight I found myself watching the 11pm local news on CBS. I don’t know why. They suck you in with bizarre headlines and you think, “I simply cannot continue living life on this planet if I do not hear about that NYC firefighter who called in fake alarms to keep his station afloat with all these budget cuts threatening to shut it down.” Or something. I missed that report.

But luckily I did catch a fascinating report towards the end of the broadcast, just before Letterman (who had John McCain as his guest, WTF?). It was a “health” report from Dr. Holly Phillips about this not even all that new procedure called a “Y-Lift” that is “even better than a face lift!” It gets its name from the way in which the facial filler is injected into the skin–in a “Y” shape, apparently. A couple posts ago I said the American workaholic mentality was one of my least favorite things about this country. New idea: the American obsession with all things age-defying and anti-wrinkle tops that list. This is how Dr. Holly Phillips finished her important report (more important than all the other things going on in the world? fuck off, CBS):

There is a slight chance of having an allergic reaction to cosmetic fillers. To prevent this, ask your doctor to test a small amount of the filler on the inside of your wrist before injecting it into your face.

Do you hear yourself, Dr. Holly? “INTO YOUR FACE.” Best of all, though, was when it was handed back over to co-anchor Kristine Johnson who made this flub:

The cost of the wife lift procedure starts at about $4,500.

Pretty sure she meant to say Y-Lift…but I’m not going to open up that Freudian slip of worms. I’ll just move right on to the money thing. $4,500?? Are you kidding me? I was outraged at a man on a subway platform tonight using a $1 bill as a bookmark. Seemed like an unnecessary flaunting of wealth. So don’t sit there on your lumbar-supporting chair, misreading your teleprompter, and casually drop a figure like $4,500. We’re all going to be waiting in bread lines come New Years, but hey, at least our faces will be taut.

A Hot Mess of a Blog Post

So, I took 1970’s Love Story out of the library today because…I try not to admit this, but…sometimes I’m a girl.  I know, it’s crazy.   

Anyway, it just has me really depressed. Because first of all, it’s really dramatic. And also, Ryan O’Neal looks exactly like John McCain.  Not John McCain now, obviously, but this John McCain:

 

 

I don’t know. Maybe it’s just me. Maybe I need to push John McCain out of my mind. Then again, it’s not like two blog posts ago was a poem about him or that he’s ended up in my dreams. I think he just really scares the shit out of me, so it’s better to let it out. No use being a repressed asshole.

I also took out Annie Hall. I’m just really in the mood for neurotic right now.  I know Woody Allen is kind of a crazy dude, but I really like him. Not in a sexual way, but in the same way I like pigeons.  

 

 

 

 

 

I’ve decided “Never Have I Ever” is the worst game ever.  I was at a party and this dude starts the bar at, “Never have I ever had sex on acid.”  What??  He proceeded to say that there was nothing else he hadn’t done.  He was wearing a shirt that said “I Heart Hot Moms.”  One of those crappy ones you get at Old Navy on clearance for $5, or you buy it at full price and you’re even more of an ass.  Anyway, I wanted to get angry so I asked him about his experiences with hot moms, he told me, and yeah.  Nothing wrong with being proud of yourself for getting laid, but…have some class.  This guy didn’t.  Plus there were only two girls at this party so the machismo was just way too much to handle.  Gay jokes were flying everywhere, you couldn’t say two words without someone yelling out “That’s what she said!”, and yeah.  I had to lash out at someone, so that was that.  Sometimes I feel like more of a man than the dudes I encounter.  Okay, most of the time.  Is that weird to say?  I don’t care.

Oh, Wristcutters: A Love Story is a really good movie.  It’s about suicide and the afterlife and what could be more romantic than that?  And Tom Waits is in it!  Bizarre.

Nothing really comes to mind to entitle this, so…Untitled

I have nothing to say about Wednesday night’s debate except that my supervisor from my last job spent an entire day with Bob Scheiffer and said he’s super nice.  I wanted him to be meaner to the candidates, i.e., make McCain stop talking about Joe the Plumber, but that’s ok.

I might have to talk to a priest in about thirty minutes, which I’m not all that excited about.  Last time I saw a priest I started laughing.  Sometimes I can’t control myself, but that’s ok, too.

Hey, so I just noticed WordPress now has a poll feature.  Take it.

The Gentleman from Arizona

Charles Gibson’s name was on the tip of my tongue,

and Kathleen was sure I meant Peter Jennings,

“But isn’t he dead?”  Speaking of newscasters,

Tom Brokaw moderated the town hall style debate.

McCain kept calling us “friends,”

but he can’t comb his own hair

and I don’t have many 72-year-old friends.

 

An abandoned Rolling Stone

penned him the “Make-Believe Maverick,”

reporting he called Cindy a cunt who wears too much makeup

after she ruffled his non-existent hair,

but what about all of his cover up?

 

Two nights later we yelled about Sarah Palin in the yellow cab,

our legs grazing, our shoulders bumping,

our political passions on par with

those other passions we feel.  You know—

the ones you feel in places like (to borrow

the word from McCain) your cunt.