Learn Your Goddamn Math!
November 29, 2011 in America The Fucked, Rants
It went something like this: two of my acquaintances are talking on one of their Facebook walls about the daunting task of preparing holiday cards.
Madame Bovary: "After preparing sixty holiday cards, I feel exhausted." (She actually wrote "Christmas cards," but in that this is a multi-denominational/atheistic blog, I decided to sanitize her words for you heathens.)
Barbarella: "Ahh, I actually had to prepare ninety holiday cards, so I'm equally if not more exhausted."
Yes, in this post I shall discuss what Thanksgiving means to those who celebrate it in modern America. No, not really. It's really just Thanksgiving-themed pornography, if I'm being honest. Yep – every dirty and lewd Thanksgiving-related filth I could find out there on the internet is embedded below. I only called it "The Shifting Symbolism Of Thanksgiving in Modern American Culture" because someone might be walking behind you as you surf the web on your lapbook or netpad out of sheer boredom on Thanksgiving, and well they won't suspect a dryly-titled big-fonted post here, will they? Oh no they won't! HAHA!
On Cinco de Mayo of this year, I was working at an off-duty detail for extra money at a local department store. I was in the car—probably typing or editing something for this blog—but I honestly don't remember what I was doing. At about nine o'clock the dispatcher came over the radio with a car crash that was just south of my location—about half a mile away. Normally a crash wouldn't take me off of my detail, but the notes said that it was a three-car collision where multiple children had been ejected from the vehicle and were lying dead in the street. 
Hi everybody! I know you probably thought I forgot about you, but I've just been coming off a two or three or four week Halloween candy bender. Oh what, like you don't start dipping into your trick-or-treat stash a week early? Pfft whatever, live in denial, haters. While I was busy scarfing down Tootsie Rolls (Best. Candy. Ever.) and avoiding candy corn like the plague (They suck. Get over it.), you were all busy writing about getting busy 
1994. The cops come knocking on the door. Ack. I think I’m getting old ‘cause dogs getting blown up in microwaves and kids getting shot in libraries aren’t at all entertaining to me. Just makes me feel sad and sick to my stomach. But hot naked older men crying and masturbating over sexy housekeepers? I’m totally okay with that. More, I say! As much hot naked men masturbating as you can! Anyway, the high school kids are frightened and die at the hands of another kid. That actually is an American Horror Story. A realistic version of the Whistle Death song. O, dear, that one cheerleader needs to drink more water or maybe her lemonade Gatorade spilled? Red gun lasers swimming over Tate’s black-shirted chest. He shoots himself in the head with his finger. Ur doin it rong!
