Yeah I’m Gonna Rag On the Butt-End of February Again

February 23, 2021Tonya Lanthron Leave a comment

It’s the most dismal time of the year…again. The weather sucks here in beautiful Central Ohio especially now that the 13″ of snow is melting and it’s Dog Shit Lake in the backyard. The snowbooger grey sooty melting piles are turning in to grungy flood water and mush. A good time of year to die, except I would not want to give my death to Dictator DeWine as another death to falsely record as death from COVID.

If you die in Ohio right now, believe it, COVID will be on that death certificate even if you’re found dismembered or die in a car accident. No heart attack or cancer deaths or OD deaths here any more either. Everyone who dies in DeWine’s Ohio right now dies of the COVID by the governor’s executive order. There’s too much greasy federal money to be had that way.

14 days of “stop the spread” has turned in to forcible mask mandates, closing down schools, restaurants and bars, and random cancellations (even outdoor festivals and fairs) for almost a year now. Completely politically weaponized propaganda, (I am still far more wary of strep with my history…) but we still have people jogging. Outside. Wearing masks.

But it’s still perfectly safe to hang out in Walmart as long as you are wearing that damned face diaper. Things that make you go hmmmm?

This year’s February is even more disappointing than a normal February. We have had Obama part 3 foisted on our nation by political fiat (election fraud) and the ineptitude and wanton economic destruction of Soulless Joe is even more grating than Obama’s sniveling and pompous pontificating.

Joe only does what his handlers tell him. The not-black hyena Heels Up Harris (that term of endearment for our illegitimate vice president- although it is very true she does have a lot of experience with vice- bought me 24 hours in Facebook jail for “offensive” aka truthful speech) is the madam in charge. A woman who slept her way to the top, who was even loathed by many in her own party, is in control. I think she could be Obama in drag. If she’s not she could be.

Trust not in princes, in mortal men who cannot save. (Psalm 143:6, my paraphrase)

‘Cause if you think Joe Biden or his illegitimate presidency is anything other than a train wreck, you got another thing comin’.

God help us all.

Strange Song Lyrics, Walmart, Livestock, and Back to 1981 (or not)

September 12, 2017Tonya Lanthron Leave a comment

Guillotine-Names

I was just thinking what an interesting world it would be if I wrote trivia questions for money. I have stored away too much esoteric and ephemeral knowledge for my own good over the years. Making it multiple guess would be too easy. I go for fill in the blanks, which at least requires some thought and/or creativity.

The first question I came up with? It’s a real blast from the past.

Name a song with the word “guillotine” in it.

I am sure there are more than one, but the one I am thinking of is, “Bastille Day” by Rush.

Even cooler is the rest of the phrase: “the guillotine will claim her bloody prize.”

Beheaded

At least I used a cartoon. Lighten up.

Imagine the lyrics police on that one today, although it’s better than all the sister raping and cop killing in rap music. If you could understand the lyrics in rap music, that is.

I am dating myself in saying that, especially knowing that rap has been around since before Blondie and her song “Rapture,” and that dates back to 1981, when Reagan was President, Steve Perry was the hottest thing in Spandex, and all was right with the world, except that the cars sucked.

steve-perry

Some things really suck about getting old. Since my car was trashed almost 3 months ago (yes I am pleased with the new Corolla, but still residually pissed about the perfectly fine 2014 Corolla that got trashed) I am finally feeling somewhat normal again. Therapy for my shoulder did actually work, which I am glad about even though I have had to fight the other guy’s insurance for bloody everything and I am still hashing over various things. I didn’t ask to get rear ended by some moron with a history of seizures who should have known better than to be driving. I didn’t ask to deal with four or five full blown arthritis flares along the way either. Thanks, asshole.

Maybe I should have gotten a lawyer, but I hate the legal profession even more than the medical industry. I refuse to refer to the medical industry as “health care.” They don’t care, and the last thing they want for their pocket books is for anyone to actually be healthy. The legal profession, insurance companies and the medical industry are all rip-offs, and all are in cahoots. Follow the money trail.

Yesterday I saw another one of those displays of cross stitch patterns that are a bit on the dark side. I love cross stitch, but haven’t done it in a long time. I would like to indulge in a nice cross stitch piece with a dark saying or two. I saw one that had a cactus, then underneath it the word, “prick.” That one is funny. I am considering designing a simple one about being a sweetie and wiping the seatie if you sprinkle when you tinkle. Then again, maybe a subtle DON’T PISS ON MY TOILET SEAT would serve me better.

field-of-f-cks

It’s been enjoyable being able to cook again- real food like beef and noodles or rotisserie Cornish hens, or grilled meat. Jerry was never pleased with anything I cooked, except sometimes bacon, and toward the end about the only thing I could get him to eat were chocolate covered mini-donuts. It was sad but there wasn’t anything I could do, and I felt like everything I did do was wrong.

I have said it before, and maybe it’s cruel to see someone’s passing as a relief, but Jerry’s truly was. He had been unhappy and ill and suffering for many years, and I bore much of the weight of his frustration and pain and sorrow. When I see people who I’ve not seen in awhile and have to explain what happened I can’t pretend to be all grief stricken and weepy. It’s not my personality anyway to be emotional and maudlin – yes, autistics get emotional, but not on cue, and not usually in any kind of “normal” appearing way. I strive to keep my emotions private and sometimes I am so good at it I convince myself I don’t have any at all. Then something taps the latch and the floodgate springs open at the most inopportune time.

I’ve had a few freaky dreams lately. The one about hanging out in a pen with a bull- yes, as in bovine-was especially weird. Why was I the only one he would be docile around? Everyone else would just aggravate him and make him aggressive, but I could do anything with him. Maybe it’s about boundaries or control issues- both are things at which I completely suck in the real world. Being the bull master in dreams- not really the stuff power trips and fantasies are made of- but I guess I have to take whatever power I can get.

I’ve had that effect on dogs and a few cats, but I generally avoid animals larger than dogs. I have a healthy respect for horses. It’s been years since I’ve ridden a horse. I like them, but they are harder to read than dogs and there is a lot less margin for error with them. You cheese off a dog and you get a warning snarl or raised hackles or any number of other warning signals. Dogs are good at body language, even to the point of getting an autistic person to get it. Dogs normally want to help. Cheese off a horse, however, and you are like as not to get kicked across his stall with little or no warning. Horses don’t have to be nice. They are only nice if they respect you.

Of cattle, I know nothing.

I never really had to hang out with cattle, except in Newark, Ohio.

There were, and likely still are, some Really Fat Cows there. Even 20+ years ago there was a stampede of heifers sporting too much cleavage stuffed into too small bras, and the parade of big butts hanging out of leggings stretched beyond reasonable limits was on. It was when I worked in Newark that I could buy “dinky sizes” such as 10 or 12 on the clearance rack at the discount store. I could also find 38D bras marked down which never happened in less ample parts of the world. It was also in Newark that I learned there is such a thing as women’s size 20 underwear, and that they could also serve as a car cover for my Corolla with room to spare.

Granted, morbid obesity is a thing in rural Ohio and it’s almost as bad as heroin or crack. People don’t have much to do other than watch TV, play on the Internet, screw, and scarf those dreadful greasy $5 pizzas from Little Caesar’s, unless they’re shooting heroin, making meth or smoking crack, that is.

There is Wal-Mart though. Wal-Mart is an endless source of entertainment.

Sometimes I think it would be funny to strap on a Go Pro in Wal-Mart and just see how it goes. What kinds of weird shit would I encounter?

walmartian

Coping Mechanisms, Dark Pragmatism and More Postmortem Pics

September 23, 2014Tonya Lanthron Leave a comment

I did draw hatchets, skulls and heavy metal band logos in my extensive high school boredom doodlings. This is why I know not to do it now.

When I get bored, I scribble and doodle. Sometimes I do it in a more figurative sense- typing is so much faster than writing long hand, at least for me- but drawing can only really be done the old fashioned way, with pens and pencils and markers.

The psychologists and guidance counselors had a field day with me in middle school and high school because of my rather dark themed scribblings and doodlings. When your primary emotion is “terror,” the secondary is almost always “rage.” (Repressed anger, anyone?- and this was decades before Columbine.) I would buy plain notebooks (even better if they had a canvas finish) and then I would draw macabre scenes all over them in a variety of colors. If the discussion went too slow or I got bored in class (pretty much every day) then I would write little snippets of prose or poetry along with whatever notes I was pretending to take inside the notebook. I didn’t have the advantage of having a laptop or a tablet or a smart phone in school. I graduated in 1986, when the entire school had three computers, all of which had a cassette player serving as a hard drive. By comparison, the Note 3 smart phone I have today would have been a supercomputer.

I should have learned my lesson regarding concealing incriminating evidence of my twisted thought life when I was in 8th grade. One of the boys decided to appropriate one of my more risqué notebooks and share its contents with the other boys. This was Not a Good Thing. The notebook got confiscated by a nosy teacher who wondered what the boys were laughing about. I ended up in an extremely awkward and embarrassing meeting with the guidance counselor that led to several months of camping out in the psychologist’s office every Tuesday afternoon. Since my mother worked for the school system and knew every single one of the teachers and staff, the repercussions of that indiscretion really sucked.

I still kept my funky notebooks with the outlandish scribbles on them, but I was more careful about what I wrote in them in high school, just in case someone would dare to screw with them. No one ever dared to. In high school, I found that when I ended up with large friends, who took a special delight in beating the daylights out of people who screwed with me, that my confidential items remained that way. I didn’t receive any unauthorized touching, spindling or mutilation to my person either, not after one unfortunate thug got her head shaved for spitting Skoal in my hair. The Skoal Incident- which took place toward the end of my freshman year in high school- marked the end of many years of harassment and beatings from my cohorts in school.

Some of my friends liked to fight. I didn’t. But by the time I had a car and smokes, I didn’t have to fight.

Granted, I was probably buying friends, (often with cigarettes) which isn’t a healthy thing to do, but it did save me from more than one ass-thumping, I’m sure. I was in survival mode back then, and it was refreshing to be able to go to school without being dumped head-first into garbage cans, having my hair set on fire, or being shoved up the stairs. The thought of being shoved up the stairs (concrete stairs with metal caps on the edges) makes my knee caps hurt even now.

Survival is what it is.

I probably shouldn’t have such a fascination for postmortem pics and/or the plight of the unfortunates of Walmart, but I do.

Pictures are expensive- sooooo- jump right on in there with the stiff!

She doesn’t look terribly fresh, but then again, she’s DEAD. How fast can the photographer get there on a horse?

The Victorians did pathos and high drama in a way that we just can’t stomach today, but as I’ve said before, back in the times before flush toilets and Clorox, death was in your living room. Death was your bunkie in more ways than one.

Maybe I should consider it an improvement in my emotional health that my primary emotion is “fear” opposed to “terror.” That might just be the mitigating effect of Prozac. I’ve noticed that my secondary emotion- “rage” – has sort of settled into a pragmatic anger. I try not to get angry unless that anger will do some good, but there are times when I just plain get pissed for no apparent reason.

I actually have some ivory tower time scheduled, although it seems sort of shitty that I have to schedule it in advance rather than just being able to drop off the planet for awhile, unannounced. This time I hope Jerry leaves me alone for at least a day or two. I could really use some peace and quiet with just Clara as company for a few days (months…yeah right) but I know Jerry too well. If I go to the campground he will feel compelled to follow me so I can fetch beer and make trips into town for KFC and so forth.

Man, that sounds good.

Let’s All Go to the Fair (‘Kay…) as If I Had Faith in Humanity to Begin With

July 30, 2014Tonya Lanthron Leave a comment

I think that might be a skunk on her right thigh.

One does encounter the frightening side of humanity at the Ohio State Fair- or any other public festival-type gathering. It wasn’t as alarming as I have observed in years past, or perhaps I’m getting a bit jaded to the freak show. The Marion Popcorn Festival is coming up, which makes the Fair look positively tame. I’ve also found that it’s a lot easier to take pics with the Note 3 than with a traditional camera because people just think you’re texting or something when you are really taking pics. Maybe that’s mean of me, but I run even worse than I fight.

Toasty tobacco flavor!

I wonder if Red here is disabled or if she just figured it was worth $10 to ride around in a Mart Cart all day. I think she weighs less than 300#, so they probably don’t let her ride the cart in Walmart. She is setting a lovely example for her (grand?) son though. Even while she is lecturing another offspring (?) spousal unit (?) on the dangers of wearing just socks without shoes in public.

Told ya ta wear some shoes, dumbass!

The dog had Barbie dolls with better hair than poor Red. I say “the dog” because Suzie, the deranged Dachshund my parents had when I was little, appropriated certain of my sisters’ toys for her own personal use- when she was done eating their socks and underwear, that is. Suzie didn’t like very many people, but she adored me. Go figure. I never had a problem with her, but my sisters couldn’t touch her, or get their toys back once Suzie decided she liked them.

I figured, with Suzie, possession was 9/10. If Suzie wanted it who was I to stand in her way? Although I could do anything with Suzie, including getting toys back from her, I wasn’t about to do that for either of my sisters. I liked Suzie better than either of them.

Shorts and cowboy boots?

I saw a number of people at the Fair wearing cowboy boots with shorts. I don’t know why this particular fashion choice bugs me, but it does. At least she’s not wearing Daisy Dukes. And she was nice enough to cover up her back fat, unlike this unfortunate girl:

Girl, you need a rear view mirror.

Perhaps I am being a bit harsh on fashion choices- after all I dress for comfort most of the time, and especially so if I am going to be traipsing along outside in the heat. It wasn’t as hot as it normally is which may have cut down on the freak factor this year.

The talking Smokey the Bear is freaky though.

When I was a little kid I always wondered about Smokey’s preoccupation with forest fires. I knew too many kids who were only too happy to fry ants with magnifying glasses (yes, I did do that) or set stuff on fire with Zippos (Steve-o,,,) I always wondered why Smokey talked about not playing with matches, but never mentioned Bics or Zippos or magnifying glasses.

Not a flashlight substitute, either.

Then again, central Ohio is a swamp and it’s usually raining, or there’s some form of precipitation at least every other day or so, so wildfires generally don’t happen, and when they do, they generally don’t spread much. However, the perpetual dampness never stopped the slumlords from burning down non-profitable rental properties to the point that in certain locales it is expensive and well-near impossible to get home owner’s or business insurance. There’s always accelerants, you know, if you really want something to burn. Too bad the ass-pilots that use them usually have very little understanding of forensic science. They can tell you doused the place with gasoline before you torched it.

Smokey seems a little quaint and outdated for these times. Nobody wants to intentionally burn down forests, because you can’t get insurance on a random forest. Maybe Smokey should be talking about arson? “Hey, kids, only you can decide not to burn down your non-profitable rental properties, ” or, better yet: “Hey, kids, don’t drop your crack pipe and burn down your crack house!” Especially if you just spilled gasoline on the floor.

Mi underwear – Su underwear?

Somehow, some things just aren’t meant to be shared.

I haven’t thought about poor Suzie in a long time. She was always in fragile health and died at the relatively young age of 7 years. I believe her early demise was largely due to being willing to eat vast quantities of anything, including socks, underwear, marbles, Army men, and things my mother served that were sort of supposed to be food. Mom’s cooking was rather disastrous a good deal of the time, so there was a lot of food left over to go with Suzie’s Chuck Wagon.

On second thought, maybe we should have just eaten the Chuck Wagon.

mmmm…Meaty! in a meat by-product-y sort of way…

Moonbat Nation, Tasteful vs. Tacky, and the Things We Do Because?

July 23, 2014Tonya Lanthron 1 Comment

This is an interesting concept.

I can see it now. This could be the cover of a beefcake (as in nude dudes) calendar with a fishing and hunting motif. The sign is from a local construction site where they are building a Field and Stream store as well as a Dick’s Sporting Goods. (Yes, for the sports non-enthusiast, Dick’s Sporting Goods is a real chain of stores.) This sign just struck me funny in a puerile, sophomoric way. It’s bad that I still enjoy toilet humor at my age, but some things are just funny, and it doesn’t matter if you’re 8 or 80.

Today’s trendy habit of photographing every bloody thing under the sun (and I am oh, so guilty of doing it too) provides vast quantities of comedic fodder. The horrible pics of moonbats in Walmart are proof of that.

It just seems incongruent that in these times where everyone has a camera (usually part of the phone) and can take pictures anywhere, that people go out in public looking like something left over from an 80’s slasher flick or an unfortunate survivor of an explosion in a thrift store. Just because you can go out wearing a halter top, SpongeBob boxers for pants, and you can dye your hair Ronald McDonald red, doesn’t mean you should.

Back in the 1940’s, for example (one of my favorite fashion eras) photography was expensive, and taking pics of people wasn’t a particularly easy endeavor. It was unlikely that someone would take a random pic of you, and even more unlikely that your pic would appear on screen or in print, ever. Even so, people dressed a bit more appropriately out in public. There are no pictures from the 40’s of anyone out in public with underwear showing above belts or pant waists in the middle (or the bottom) of the butt crack.

Women didn’t go running around outside with their back boobs showing either. It’s no crime to be large, but if you are, dress appropriately. No one wants to see that.

(Not sure if this is a woman, but you get my drift.)

We have become a nation of freaky moonbats. It started in the 1960’s when people started doing acid and other hallucinogens, and it’s getting progressively worse. Maybe I’m noticing this because my parents pretty much opted out of the whole ’60’s counter culture scene except for the thing for Volkswagens. I know more about old air-cooled Volkswagens than anyone probably should, but as far as I know, my parents are tee-totalers who only take drugs they have scripts for.

Saturday we’re going to the Ohio State Fair, which among other things, is a Walmart-caliber freak show. I’m going to try to sneak off some pictures as long as I can do it discretely. Last year didn’t disappoint. The Popcorn Festival in Marion is the world-wide showplace of Very Bad Tats (this is coming up in September) and I will have to try to sneak some pics of those too. The Festival is not an easy place to get pics, as it’s crowded, but the Bad Tat Bazaar (or should I say Bizarre) will be interesting.

I shouldn’t say anything about tats (I do have a small but tasteful rendition of Théophile Steinlen’s Chat Noir on my right calf) but there’s tasteful, artistic tats:

And then there’s tacky, drunk-and-stupid ones:

I did- or I should say Steve-o, aka Mr. Borderline OCD did- some research before we did the whole tat thing. He was diligent in finding a facility whose standards exceed the county health department’s for cleanliness and sanitation, and whose artists are truly artists. Getting the Chat Noir applied was a surprisingly pleasant experience over all, and going to a reputable facility was much preferred over getting drunk and giving some recently-released-from-prison bubba with a modified Walkman motor full of hepatitis A, B and C a $20 to scribble permanent scribblings into my skin. My best friend in high school did that, and she probably still has that particular ex-boyfriend’s name in three inch block letters on her back. I don’t know if she got hepatitis or not from that jailhouse tat, but it wouldn’t surprise me.

An Unexpected Blast from the Past, A Self-Esteem Boost at Walmart, and a Strange History

May 27, 2014Tonya Lanthron Leave a comment

I was a bit delighted as well as taken aback this morning at seeing my long-time most favorite singer, Steve Perry appearing live on stage again. I even liked the song he performed with the Eels (a band I didn’t know existed until today) even though the more prudy types would be offended by the language in it.

Sometimes coarse language is the only way to describe aptly the frustration and pain in one’s heart. Been there. Done that. Don’t want to go there again, although in my heart of hearts I know I will.

It’s still a good song, and for a guy of Steve’s age and ill health, he still sounds good.

Every time I go to Walmart with Steve-o it’s a new adventure. First he was pissed because he couldn’t find the one kind of deodorant he likes – Axe Phoenix, the blue gel, NOT the white paste- except in a two pack. I thought I was cheap. I told him, he has two pits, so why not a deodorant stick for each pit? Just label them “right” and “left” as borderline OCD as he can be. Finally he decided it would just be easier to buy two, as if he’s not going to use one up in a week or two anyway? It must be the opposite of the Costco mentality- buy barely enough for a few days, then make a trip to buy more. Personally if I have the scratch (and he has more than I do) then I usually buy in quantity- not only for the discount per unit, but to save myself a trip.

Of course we encountered the Freaky People of Walmart en masse- such as the morbidly obese woman who probably was not even 30 yet, trolling about in the little battery powered Mart Cart, sporting her bleach blonde ends and about three inches of black roots, and a plethora of extremely poor quality tats on a good portion of the exposed surface area.

When your ass is bigger than a Toyota Corolla, that “bright, Corvette-like finish” on your lard-ass cart is a sure bonus!

I guess my quandaries about the Mart Carts are:

1. How do they actually move under the suffocating heft of their passengers? If a normal sized person got in one and took off in it, would it set land speed records?

2. Is the minimum weight requirement at least 300#? Because I’ve never seen anyone under 300# trolling about in one of those.

3. Do they use deep cycle batteries, sort of like for boat trolling motors- or more like the batteries in a Prius?

4. Would the need for the carts be vastly diminished if some of the riders got off of their behemoth asses and actually walked a bit while in the store?

I sort of enjoyed Jelly Roll woman too. She wasn’t quite large enough for the carts (give her time, she was probably in her early 20’s) though I don’t think she realized that a cherry red tube top is a poor fashion choice when your body sort of resembles the Michelin Man’s. The badly done pink dye job on her hair and misspelled neck tats (when one is trying to say, “Missy loves Ray” it is not spelled “love’s“) were the icing on that cake. Woof. I am glad I didn’t have the pleasure of feasting my oculars upon “Ray.”

Then again, it’s Steve-o’s reactions to the wildlife of Walmart that I find absolutely priceless. Such as when he was looking for that men’s three-in-one shampoo, conditioner and body wash, and a rather large girl in low rise Daisy Dukes bent over right in front of him, exposing a rather hairy and somewhat substantial ass crack.

I thought he was going to hurl right down her shorts. That would have been camera-worthy, if only I had the courage. I don’t take pics in Walmart precisely because the wildlife are large enough to devour me in one bite, or to sit on me and squash me like the unfortunate “lost” Chihuahua in the “Lost Dog” cartoon.

Maybe it’s just me, but I don’t remember people being so flipping fat. I feel like a freaking anorexic when I go to Walmart, and I’m no Calista Flockhart by any stretch. The rural areas are absolutely the worst, as far as the really behemoth size 20+ underwear wearing chicks – (and there’s plenty of hefty dudes too) as if they have nothing better to do than watch Direct TV and tie on the feed bag. I can understand that in those places, though. There really isn’t much to do. Even screwing must get boring after awhile.

In defense of the portly rural poor, healthy food is expensive. It’s really cheap to go and get a bunch of store brand snackies or ramen noodles and mac and cheese if you don’t have much cash. It’s not so cheap to buy fresh produce (I even balk at that- frozen is cheaper and it’s less wasteful) or lean meat, or to buy minimally processed ingredients to prepare and cook one’s own food. A can of Spaghetti-os is a lot easier (and cheaper) lunch option than grilled white chicken on wheat with provolone, tomato, lettuce, onion and mustard on wheat toast. I have been there and done that. Canned and processed stuff is cheap and easy but will lead one down the primrose path to lardassism with the quickness.

I do love me some Skettios and Doritos, though! mmmmm!

As an aside, I just got put on hold and was subjected to a rather odious rap “song.” The only lyrics I could make out were:

Prestone

Body

Daddy

Anything you like

Whoever included those words and phrases in a song needs some serious psychotherapy time. Either that, or I just can’t make any sense of rap.

Scenic Central Ohio, Happy Halloween, and the Moochers’ Banquet

October 31, 2013Tonya Lanthron 3 Comments

Nothing says “high class” like an aspiring rug salesman fast asleep atop his wares…

At least his business associate stayed home today and the both of them weren’t sleeping in the rugs again.

The not-so-savory view across the road makes me almost wish they hadn’t closed the Swifty station, even though every time they were three cents a gallon cheaper than the stations down the road, the Somalians would line up for what seemed to be miles up and down Morse Road. I am averse to just about everything that blocks traffic, especially when all I’m trying to do is get out of the parking lot and get to Sally’s to get my hair dye.

Given my morbid sense of curiosity, I have to imagine what kind of exotic vermin are hiding out in those magic carpets- bed bugs, cockroaches, lice, or who knows what divers kinds of insect life that is not indigenous to the Midwest?

The native insect life is quite bad enough, thanks. The last thing we need here is an(other) infestation of some exotic and impossible to eradicate pest. It’s bad enough the Somalians and others hailing from cultures not accustomed to indoor plumbing, washing clothing regularly, and tending to daily hygiene brought in trillions of bed bugs.

I absolutely loathe unauthorized insect life- especially those that bite and/or spread disease.

As far as the unfortunate rug salesman, in his defense, at least the poor guy is trying to do something somewhat honest (providing that the rugs aren’t hot) rather than just collecting a welfare check and looting the grocery stores the entire first week of every month. Which reminds me, I’d better stop off at Costco and Target tonight and get scripts, coffee and dog food unless I want to fight off the unwashed masses tomorrow. Costco doesn’t take SNAP, (boy howdy how I wish Kroger’s and Speedway didn’t take it either, believe that) and you have to be a member, so that cuts down on the first-of-the-month free-for-most (but certainly NOT me) there, but you can’t buy everything at Costco. I don’t need to buy toilet paper 96 rolls at a time, for instance, and I don’t have anywhere to put 15 gallons of mustard.

It’s not going to sound very nice (since when do I worry about that) but there’s a lot in common between the government gimme crowd and trick-or-treaters.

For example, both government moochers and trick-or-treaters wear sometimes lame, sometimes colorful, but always interesting clothing and hair styles:

Trick or Treat- how cute!

I guess if you don’t have to worry about dress codes, anything goes!

I guess if you’re going to loot the grocery stores on my dime, thanks for at least giving me a good show.

One Dog Down the Cat Hole, and One Against the Thugocracy

October 15, 2013Tonya Lanthron Leave a comment

It’s easy for me to forget that Lucy is substantially smaller than the other two dogs. I thought that since Lucy has a rather large head for her size, that she was too large for the cat hole. I have since realized that Fanny can get through a smaller hole than previously thought possible, and Lucy can get through a much smaller hole than I’d ever imagined.

Let me explain the logic behind the cat hole.

The New Improved Cat Hole: Just big enough for 17# Fanny to fit through…and nothing bigger- I hope!

Dogs absolutely lust over cat food, and most dogs are inexplicably enamored of snacking on cat shit as well. Neither cat food (too high in fat and protein for a dog’s metabolism) nor cat shit (well, it’s shit, ’nuff said) is healthy for dogs to consume in any kind of quantity. It’s sort of like humans living on bacon and candy- it might taste good at the moment, but it’s just plain unhealthy, and such a diet can lead to serious disease. Dogs are not the best arbiters of healthy eating, and they really shouldn’t be left to free-forage. As George Carlin once wisely pointed out regarding “gourmet” cat food, “How many gourmets lick their ass?”

Since we have four cats and three dogs, the cats need a safe place to hide when the dogs get on their nerves, as well as a safe place to eat and crap. The dogs need to be kept out of cat food and kept out of cat shit. In our house, the dog-free zone is the basement. There’s a roughly cat-sized hole cut in the basement door that (in theory) keeps dogs out while letting cats move freely in and out.

Big Fat Fanny- that’s what I get for naming the cat while listening to Queen. The dreadful 70’s linoleum- not really my choice.

The original oversize cat hole worked just fine for Clara and Lilo, who have long since realized that they aren’t going to get to go downstairs to munch. Clara is slender but even so, she’s still 65#. Lilo is about 55#, and not terribly motivated to pursue anything that doesn’t afford her easy access. Lucy, at a comparatively tiny 45#, however, decided to use her thick skull to worm her way through the cat hole.

The cat hole was a bit oversize because Fanny is a bit oversize. Our cats range in size from 4 1/2# Jezebel to 17# Fanny. Isabel is just slightly bigger than Jezebel at right around 5#, and F.B. is about 8#. I have four cats and only one is “normal” sized. Go figure, and I have no idea why the two black ones are so tiny. Jezebel eats more than any of the other cats, but she’s still the smallest. Her (Jezebel’s) feral relatives that live on the body shop lot are all petite cats as well. Perhaps city cats have some sort of advantage in smaller size vs. farm cats who tend to be large like Fanny. Isabel and Jezebel were both city ferals at one time. Fanny was from out in farm country, and I have no idea where F.B. came from before we took her in when her first owner died.

As long as Fanny fits, and Lucy keeps from ramming it, the reduced size cat hole should keep cats and dogs in their proper places.

If Obama gets his way, the rest of the country will be just like Detroit.

I’ve tried to keep my mouth somewhat shut about the political rancor and just plain stupidity going on in Washington right now, but I can’t understand why there are still dimwits out there who don’t get it about Obama. Including Jerry’s Dad, the former Klan member.

“Take a shower!” or was that “White powder?” Ass pilot.

I can’t say I condone the Klan, but frankly I’m tired of any racial or ethnic group demanding preferential treatment. The white supremacists are just as stupid as the Al Sharptons and Jesse Jacksons and Muslim extremist crazies of the world, believe that. But Jerry’s Dad seems to have done a 180° to think Obama’s the best thing ever, and I really don’t understand why or how he would. Maybe he’s gone senile and he’s feeling guilty for 70+ years of unabashed racism? Or maybe he’s just batshit crazy. I tend to believe suggestion #2.

This guy is a nut, too.

The thing is, I can feel bad over injustices committed against black people – or any other oppressed group-in the past without feeling a need to offer a free pass to Obama’s present ineptitude, incompetence and malice. Equal opportunity includes the obligation to own up to your own epic failures. If you can’t run with the big dogs, I don’t care what color, gender, ethnicity or whatever you are. Stay the flying flip on the porch.

Instead of working together with others in government toward responsible leadership, Obama has established a thugocracy- a culture in which there is one central premise: that big government knows what’s good for you, and we’ll take what you have by force, ostensibly in the name of “the common good.” In reality it is about big government feeding itself at the cost of those who work, produce and create. Communism / socialism didn’t work in the (former) Soviet Union and it doesn’t work now.

I don’t know who came up with this summary but it’s pretty good:

Socialism: Moochers electing looters to steal from producers.

Joy and rapture. Welfare day at Walmart. I think I’ll wait until the second week of the month to do my shopping.

I’m just hoping Lucy doesn’t get downstairs to dine on the magical dog candy again.

Ignorant and Blithely Oblivious, Part Two

August 14, 2013Tonya Lanthron 1 Comment

I gotta love this Plastic Jesus guy for this particular prank.

I have to wonder how many people tried to buy the Useless Plastic Box. I can just imagine the look on the Best Buy Team Member‘s face when he/she got questions on that one. Then again, where I live, I’d be happy to find any retail store with a Team Member who a.) speaks English as a first language, and b.) actually gives a rat’s ass about the poor suckers who buy their crap.

The greater question would be, “Who would want to?”

I also have to wonder about the WalMart creatures. I know it’s not polite to make fun of other people’s poor clothing choices especially when those choices appear to be motivated by extreme drug abuse and/or profound brain damage, but it is funny. I freely admit that I don’t score high in “ability to empathize with others” at times. Appearing in public looking like a stoned and deranged circus clown (no offense intended to actual circus clowns) should invite derision as far as I’m concerned, not only from me, but from society at large.

These two could use a rear view mirror.

Speaking of society at large, we seem to have grown a substantial “Emperor’s New Clothes” mentality. When you know what you’re seeing all around you is completely ridiculous, uncalled for, trite, and without substance, but you’re afraid to speak out about it and call it for what it is, you end up with wannabe vapid figureheads in lieu of leaders.

My question is, how deep do you have to be mired in denial to fail to see that the gutless wonders in government and in the public sphere at large are devoid of substance and incapable of leadership?

Need I say more?

How long does it take to understand that there are moral absolutes just as there are physical and material absolutes?

I’d also like to know, while I’m at it, why it’s OK for black thugs to victimize and kill other black people, which happens hundreds of times a day, and that gets a pass from the media, law enforcement and the “leaders” of the black community, but it’s positively offensive for a white (or Hispanic) guy to defend himself against a black thug when he fears for his life? Where’s Al Sharpton and/or Jesse Jackson speaking out against black on black violence?

Don’t get me wrong, violence and thuggery are equally wrong and I don’t give a rat’s ass what race the perpetrator happens to be. How about looking at the crime and not the color of the perpetrator’s skin? Why is there some kind of crazy “affirmative action” that gives black perpetrators a pass?

You want true equality, then stop giving anyone of any race preferential treatment because of race!

It amazes me still as well that the most adamant critics of capital punishment are the staunchest supporters of abortion on demand. I don’t get this “logic:” Kill and brutally dismember the innocent for being inconvenient, but let’s all shed some crocodile tears for some unrepentant jackwagon axe murderer who slaughtered eighteen shoppers in a convenience store in a fit of drug-fueled rage. Let’s give the axe murderer three hots and a cot, cable TV, and a free education for his trouble. Give me a break. Public execution was a deterrent against violent crime and swift public execution for those convicted of egregious capital crimes needs to make a comeback.

And murderers and child molesters too! In public!

When I was growing up there were Things You Just Don’t Do. Those things were forbidden not because they were dangerous things, but because they were disrespectful. Walking on people’s graves, for instance. It wasn’t cool to be trampling all over someone’s Aunt Sadie’s final resting place. Eating or drinking stuff in the store before you pay for it, (still a pet peeve of mine when someone is letting their rug rat eat out of a box of not-yet-paid-for-snacks,) or failing to clean your plate at dinner if you had been invited to someone’s house to eat as a guest. Even if what was being served was positively vile and/or would make you violently ill.

Yep. The metal ring too.

Many of the Things You Just Don’t Do had to do with behavior in church. As Mom is and was a very strict old-school Catholic, if you missed any part of the Catholic calisthenics during Mass you were wide open for swift retribution ranging from a relatively subtle Vulcan Death Grip to being yanked out of church by the hair and getting a good whacking on the stairs. You did not forget to bless yourself with the holy water. You did not forget to genuflect in front of the altar before sitting down. You said all the responses at the proper times. You sang all the hymns. You sat quietly during the homily and did not occupy oneself by doodling on the missal. You did not get a pass on any of these things even at age two or three. The Catholics (ironically enough) don’t believe in having an nursery where you can take infants and toddlers during worship. A good Catholic mother takes those rug rats to Mass from day one and makes them mind in church during Mass no matter what. Up to and including flogging their offspring to get the point across.

I don’t condone praying to saints- but I would have to have added: “That Mom doesn’t go over the deep end when she beats us!”

I can sort of understand Mom’s obsessive detail to our behavior in church because it taught me that God is watching- but He’s not just watching to make sure a scared little kid is doing the Catholic calisthenics the right way. I learned about the wrath of God long before I discovered His mercy. There’s something to be said for that in a way, but it makes it a bit more difficult later in life to be merciful, to be forgiving, and to try to see the other side. I’m not very good at it.

The Art of the Epic Fail, Double Entendre, and Sophomoric Humor That Makes Me Laugh

April 9, 2013Tonya Lanthron Leave a comment

I would like to see this church’s theological statement. Just wondering. But it is in the UK.

I’ve gone through a bit of a humor drought as of late and it shows. It’s always better when I can laugh at things I see.

Over the weekend Steve-o and I, and Mom, and Sophie went to the zoo. The weather was unusually nice for Ohio in Monsoon season- as in it wasn’t pouring down torrential rain. The thing about public places, and even attractions like the zoo where the admission price should serve to keep some of the riff-raff out, is that it’s a human freak show out there. I thought Kroger’s on the first of the month was bad. The only places I’ve seen worse tats and even worse clothing choices are the Marion Popcorn Festival and/or the Ohio State Fair. I will be taking pics at both of those events this year. It’s almost as fun as taking pics of tacky Christmas decorations.

Is there a reason why you want to verify your gender to others via a forehead tattoo?

I had a camera on me, but didn’t really feel cool snapping off pics of the Behemoth Butches with Extra Long Leg Hair while Mom was pointing and wondering out loud, “Which one’s the guy?,” and Steve-o snorts out even louder, “They’re bull-dykes!” Mom, of course, replies by exclaiming, “That’s disgusting!” Mom and Steve-o’s conversation back and forth on the human freak show they were observing all around them was funny, if not predictable.

One has to remember that Mom is 1. very Catholic, 2. very conservative, and 3. from a very rural locale. She has lived a sheltered life. At least when she was growing up, the nuns wore full-body garb that would have covered up their buzz cuts, hairy legs, trucker’s wallets and such.

Even I remember Sister Mary Refrigerator Perry from CCD- she was about 6’5″ and a good 320# at least.

I didn’t take any pics of strange people at the zoo, (should have, because they would have been good) because I prefer taking pictures in stealth, without other people’s (loud and frequent) commentary to draw attention to what I’m doing. So I have no gratuitous pics of these “girls” with their lovely buzz cuts and their fetching ensembles of XXXL t-shirts, cargo shorts, trucker’s wallets, white socks and Chucks. Trust me-the world is better off.

Bull-dykes or not, I figure, live and let live. Their lifestyle choices- including their rights not to shave their legs, and to consume more slop on a daily basis than a pen full of feeder hogs- are none of my business. But the one chick did have more hair on her legs than Steve-o does on his head, which was a tad bit alarming. She also outweighed him by about 100#, too, so I’m glad she didn’t hear him.

My granddaughter did enjoy the aquatic life in the aquarium though.

It’s almost disturbing when Steve-o and Mom and Sophie are the only normal people I observed the entire afternoon. They were so normal that they were abnormal- no tats, no multicolor hair-dos, no mouth piercings, and a child who was dressed appropriately and actually behaved herself most of the time, which is hard to do when you’re 14 months old.

It’s getting really weird to watch people in public places these days. It’s as if the world has become WalMart, and that couldn’t be a good thing.

This is so sad, but it’s true!!!

Makes me wonder if he was climbing the fence, or if he just had a sadistic older sibling?

When I look at this pic, I thank God I was not born male with the two older sisters I had. I’d probably been nutted so many times by the age of three that I’d been made a castrato, had I been male and left to the mercy of my sisters’ evil meathooks.

I still got the living hell beat out of me, but at least, being a biological female, I come upon a high soprano vocal range honestly.

ELYSIANHUNTER, ALWAYS INCITEFUL:

Because comedy is the flipside of tragedy

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