Scratchy Glitter

Observations for the easily irritated.

Category: My Presidential Campaign

The Rage for Incremental Change

photo of guy fawkes mask on backpack

Photo by Markus Spiske temporausch.com on Pexels.com

I am tired of the above guy and his smirk, but there’s a paucity of photos available when you type in “army backpack” (mostly boring people hiking), so you’ll just have to put up with him.

THE STUFF YOU SEE ON THE BUS

…which is beginning to be what this blog seems to be about, but AT ANY RATE….

There was a guy in front of me on the bus whose giant army backpack (camo, bedroll on the top, aluminum pots and pans clattering on the sides) bore a patch that said:

“U.S. SPECIAL FORCES

TERRORIST HUNTING PERMIT  NO. 911-01–T.M.

NO BAG LIMIT, TAGGING NOT NECESSARY

2001-2050”

Let’s just analyze this, because that’s what we do.

  1. I bet every one of these patches sold said “Permit # 911-01.” Because, 9/11, September 11, 2001, get it?
  2. So it expires in 2050? Good thing we got that terrorist thing knocked down by then.
  3. Oddly, I felt not safer because this guy was on the bus, but less safe.
  4. The fact that it said T.M. (trademark) led me to believe this was not, in fact, actual Army issue, a fact my actual Army source confirmed by his disdain.

My thanks, as always, to the people who keep checking to see if I’m still posting. Am I? It’s so hard to tell. (I hear Rom’s voice saying, “You have an obligation to your readers.”)

Oh, and the title is Stephen Colbert’s comment on the moderate Democratic candidates. VOTE FOR ME, I’M NON-THREATENING! Right, Nick? “I thought you were going to write a story about me,” he says pitifully.

P.S. I am eagerly awaiting the appearance of pumpkin pie at McDonald’s. It can’t be long now! McDonald’s–another thing I share with Trump.

 

 

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Tyranny, Mutation, and Stuff

black and white dartboard

Photo by Engin Akyurt on Pexels.com

The above picture was chosen for its superficial resemblance to the cover of a favorite Blue Oyster Cult album, Tyranny and Mutation.

And speaking of which, let’s add to the Radical Centrist Manifesto:

–You are not entitled to free healthcare.

–You are, however, entitled to affordable healthcare.

“Radical Centrism–Our Motto: ‘See How Easy That Was?'”

VOTE FOR ME! I DON’T KNOW WHAT I’M DOING, BUT NEITHER DOES ANYONE ELSE!

SOCIAL PAGE: PARTY AT NICK’S PLACE

Nick had a birthday party for his two youngest cubs, who turned six and one respectively, on adjacent days. It featured the usual elements:

–Me Bringing My Own medication, a can of which will make me actually engage in conversation eventually,

–two palatial inflatable structures, with your choice of Water or Not

–a child getting on top of one structure, endangering his companions within

–a small child refusing to get out of the bottom of the water slide, annoying his companions at the top who now can’t slide down

–Nick engaging in reckless adrenaline-fueled activity in spite of a recent injury

–me going inside to decompress, only to be cornered by a dog and a small child

–adults discussing whatever surgery they’ve recently received

–Nick and his mate wrestling on the ground, trying to smear cake on each other. I was told this courtship ritual occurs at every birthday party, but I had not been privileged to see it previously. Actually, I didn’t see it this time, either, since the table was in the way. I only witnessed the combatants arising, duly covered with cake. I think Nick ended up taking several showers that day, for one reason or another.

–Cheetos! And cake, which I cut the frosting off of. I ate too much of both. But it was my first meal of the day, after all.

Speaking of Cheetos (that should have been my post title right there), I’ve noticed a cultural oddity: In my youth, the standard Cheeto type was those puffy styrofoam-like cylinders. Then they introduced an option: “Baked to a delicate crunch, or quick-fried to a crackly crunch!” (Or “indelicate crunch,” if you will.) It took a long time for the latter to catch on–my preference for them was considered a bit eccentric–but now they are the default Cheeto. (Disclaimer: My market research for this consists mainly in noting which kind is the standard-issue at Subway, which may not be a representative sampling, but probably is.)

Good thing I didn’t become a college professor (which I considered becoming until my Great American Novel was published), or the world would have been treated to “Cultural Shifts in Cheeto Consumption Over Time.” Publish or perish!

 

 

 

 

 

Holiday Complaints

defocused image of illuminated christmas lights

Photo by Miguel Á. Padriñán on Pexels.comWell

Well, the year is half over. Time to complain about Labor Day/Halloween/Thanksgiving/Christmas/almost time for New Year’s. How time flies.

I speak from the unique perspective of a rock star who’s also running for President. (“And has a pet dragon, don’t forget,” says Nick, curled at my feet.) I am capable of simultaneously wishing time was up and we already knew who the Democratic nominee is, and realizing this knowledge will not affect my vote.

A ROM-STYLE OLD-FASHIONED RANT

“Schools struggle with teaching slavery.” The reason is that re-enacting slavery in the classroom proves traumatizing to kids. How about…hear me out…we just READ ABOUT IT, AND SAY IT WAS BAD, WITHOUT FEELING COMPELLED TO RE-ENACT IT?  Looking at modern education as an autistic person, I have to say it was easier to pass for neuro-typical in the old days. If I had to re-enact stuff as a matter of course, I would for sure need special classes. “Senior service projects”? You have to “go out into the community” in order to graduate? Call me special-needs.

This is making me flash back to work-related “role-playing” training, and required visits to other agencies to see how they did stuff., and having other people “sit with you, and watch you answer 911 calls.” It still makes me want to scream. Hmm, it would have been interesting to have screamed at work. Maybe I’ll go out there and do so. I’ll have to call on the outside phone, and say, “I worked there for 30 years,” and hope someone remembers that no one has yet worked there longer.

WHY ARE PEOPLE STILL SHOOTING OFF FIREWORKS??? FOR THAT MATTER, WHY ARE THEY LEGAL FOR CIVILIANS??? SURELY MY QUANTITY OF QUESTION MARKS WILL DO SOMETHING????

 

 

 

 

 

 

Donald Trump Is the Antichrist For Our Time

silhouette of statue near trump building at daytime

Photo by Carlos Herrero on Pexels.com

I was watching the news, and they were covering a Trump rally which had not yet started. Music was playing in the background. “Screaming guitar,” Rom noted. “I know that solo–every note of it,” I said, thinking hard, then I realized–“Sympathy for the Devil!” Sympathy for the facking Devil, I thought (thereby taking the Devil’s name in vain). What the hell?!

Turns out this is a regular feature of these rallies. (By the way–campaign rallies right after the election? Need to be stroked much?) According to reporter Ryan Lizza, Trump has put together a mix tape (or whatever we call them these days), and the band most represented is the Stones. Trump is open to suggestions, however–Lizza was told, “The more inappropriate for a political event, the better.” I doubt anyone is going to come up with anything less appropriate than a mission statement from Satan, however.

The thing is, Rom and I had been joking earlier that maybe Trump is the Antichrist. “I expected the Antichrist to be slicker,” Rom said. But maybe we’ve created the Devil in our own image–coarse, crude, and he’s figured out that what’s wrong with lying in politics is that no one’s lied often enough. Plus, for sheer pettiness, you can’t beat going to court to argue that you shouldn’t have to provide people in detention centers with soap. Of course, at least one of his supporters has argued that the solution to the problem is to “Shoot ’em!” (Disclaimer: I am not for “open borders.”)

Of course, someone could always claim that this post is motivated by the fact that I myself am running for President. (By the way, I will not be at the debates tonight, having a polling number of 0%.) I need to get those “I’m the Outsider!” t-shirts printed up. As soon as I finish the ones for the Sour Neon Crawlers.

 

Dear Diary…

purple leather notebook black pen and brown branches

Photo by Alena Koval on Pexels.com

…I’m not sure what the twigs in this photo would be used for.

DEATH & TAXES UPDATE

From the state Department of Revenue: “We calculate your refund this year as $55, not the $121 you stated on your return. If you wish to dispute this, you may use the enclosed envelope.”

  1. If you already know how much it should be, what are you bothering me for?
  2. No, I do not wish to dispute this. I wish to back away from you slowly. I know a dragon curled on a pile of gold when I see one.

ROOM FOR IMPROVEMENT

I have been inundated with messages on “How To Be a Better Blogger!” If I was going to become a better blogger, I’d have done it by now.

ADVERTISING UPDATE

Febreze ad: “Your house smells musty because it contains soft objects that trap odors, then release them back into the air.” No fair! Why can’t they just trap the odors and keep them? “Febreze can even be used on clothes you want to wear another day!” Yeah, along with your dry shampoo for “the days you don’t wash your hair.” Let’s just live in filth. {Disclaimer: The other day, a Cheerio rolled off the table and into the corner, and I thought, No, I’m not eating that.}

Home decorating ad: “Our flooring will give your home that vacation feeling.” Rom: “That’s a lot to ask from a floor.” {Obviously, my kitchen floor does not give us that feeling–see above.}

VOTE FOR ME, I’M AS GOOD AS ANYONE!

In fact, better than some–I can make a public statement without saying anything stupid or abusive! Or get my picture taken without shoving others aside to get to the front of the line! And I know the place for my signature is at the bottom of the page! I have so much to recommend me.

WHAT MY OPPONENTS’ OPPOSITION RESEARCH WILL REVEAL ABOUT ME

Yesterday, Rom called me from the bike shop and told me his new bike would cost more than twice what we expected. Luckily, there was no one else at the bus stop to hear me cursing. Fiercely brooding about this, I got off the bus and headed for the convenience store, to drown my sorrows in a fountain drink. I obtained same and headed out the door. “Hello!” the clerk said. “Hi,” I answered, wondering why he was saying that as I was leaving. Turns out I’d forgotten the paying-for-it part.

 

Freedom Day

grayscale photography of waiting shed near open road at night

Photo by Alexander Kovalyov on Pexels.com

I guess everything looks cooler in black and white, Even a bus stop.

FLANNERY O’CONNOR AT THE BUS STOP

Flannery O’Connor was Catholic and wrote weird stories about the South. At any rate, the same woman who had previously announced at the stop that she’d shot a diseased chicken with a shotgun was there today. She wears glasses and has hair dyed pink and red, with dark roots, which reminds me uneasily of something I might have done at her age. AND SHE WAS TELLING US ABOUT HOW HER FAMILY ALWAYS TALKS ALL THE TIME AT THE TOP OF THEIR LUNGS LIKE SHE DOES, AND IF YOU CAN’T KEEP UP, TOO BAD, AND ONCE HER COLLEGE PROFESSOR GAVE HER AN F ON A PAPER AND SAID IT WAS “INCOHERENT RAMBLING.” Meanwhile, her man, a soft-spoken guy with the accent of his native Pennsylvania (according to him, I didn’t think he had any accent) was wearing a t-shirt with an old-timey newscaster, and the words “THIS JUST IN. YOU’RE AN IDIOT.” Actually, I am a very stable genius. I have to tell you, or else you’d never be able to figure it out.

IRONY ALERT

A picture of an old-timey 50’s newscaster signals that something ironic is about to be expressed. Similar, but more general in application, to a picture of a smiling old-timey 50’s housewife, which signals something ironically feminist, because all old-timey housewives are assumed to have been repressed and miserable and in a state of desperate denial . Get it?

CAMPAIGN NON-PROMISES

I need to update these, as 2020 is, well, not fast-approaching, exactly, but you get the idea.

If elected, I will not:

  1. Alienate our allies.
  2. Suck up to dictators. (I will be a dictator unto myself.)
  3. Impose tariffs on everyone even though I don’t understand how they work.
  4. Say that you owe me an additional 2 years on my term for daring to investigate me.
  5. Pay someone to block the release of my tax returns/school grades/SAT scores. My state of stable geniushood should be obvious to all.
  6. Dye my hair an unnatural color.
  7. Have a fake tan. Actually, have any tan at all.

So, if you’re trying to think who to write in on the ballot, keep me in mind. Then they’ll have to go looking for me. It’ll be like John Galt in “Atlas Shrugged.” Except better-written.

Oh, and the title? I retired 2 years ago today.

The Moral of the Story

black bird perching on concrete wall with ocean overview

Photo by Tim Mossholder on Pexels.com

A couple days ago, I missed my bus, for the usual reason of letting Rom show me points of interest in the yard for too long (and, I must admit, prolonging our romantic leave-taking). OK, I thought, I will walk down to St Joe, which takes me 20 minutes or so.

I got to the top of the hill, turned, and felt a warm splat on my face. Ironically, a couple of days previously, I’d thought, It’s surprising, with all the walking I do, that I don’t get pooped on by birds more often.

It got on my face, my hair, my pants, my glasses. Suddenly I lost all appetite for walking to St Joe, especially since I was wearing dark clothing (as I usually do), which made what had happened all too evident. I walked back down the hill, glasses clutched in one hand, and one eye squeezed shut, since the stuff was threatening to drip into it, in spite of my flailing at my face. There actually is a story in the Catholic Bible–you know, the one Protestants didn’t take books out of–about a man who slept out in the open, and birds pooped in his eye, and he went blind. (Yes, there’s a lot of weird stuff in Scripture.) I was fairly sure that, due to being legally blind, I would trip or be hit by a car, but neither occurred.

So I got home, cleaned my face, hair, and eye with makeup-remover wipes, and changed my pants. Rom said he’d never seen so much bird poop on a person, and speculated that it had been a large bird like a crow. Hence the illustration. Also keep in mind that crows are probably the smartest animals other than us and the great apes. (I don’t know about the not-so-great apes.)

But what is the moral of the story, you ask?

Well, Rom said, “It seems like Someone doesn’t want you to go out.” Nevertheless (and ever the more), I went out again anyway, and got on the next bus. At a stop down the way, a couple was waiting, but all they had was a $5 bill. They asked if anyone on the bus had change. And guess who had a wad of $1 bills, thanks to McDonald’s being short of 5’s? Considering one of them had a lunch box, and they were willing to use a $5 bill for a $1.50 fare for the two of them, I bet they got out at Walmart to work, not shop. So maybe Someone wanted me to take that bus, although I question the use of bird excrement to achieve the desired end.

VOTE FOR ME! I’M THE OUTSIDER!

And I know what it’s like to be shat on! And if I get any subpoenas, I’ll just ignore them. Why not?

Disclaimer: The author of this post received 1 or 2 subpoenas in the course of her job, when she had one, and did not ignore them.

 

Here I Am

2 BEVERAGE-RELATED TIPS (I REFUSE TO CALL THEM “LIFE HACKS”)

–Do not get an alcoholic beverage in your eye.

–Look at your water glass before you drink from it, unless you want an ant in your mouth. Rom’s response was, “Dead or alive?,” as if that made a difference.

WordPress is telling me, “Try the new block editor and level up your layout.” I don’t even know what that means, so I guess I don’t need it.

VOTE FOR ME, I’M THE OUTSIDER! 

Are you desperate enough yet?

THE WORST PHONE SCAM EVER

Rom’s phone rang. He was napping, so I answered it. The India-accented caller seemed surprised at hearing my voice, but then said, “Do you want Cialis erection medicine–for your husband?” To buy time while I gathered my wits, I said, “Excuse me?” (a tactic I learned at 911–911 builds character!) He hurried on, “Or Oxycontin or Fentanyl–we have very good prices!” You know, something tells me that reputable pharmacies do not call you out of the blue and offer you opioids.

macro photo of black carpenter ant on green leaf

Photo by Egor Kamelev on Pexels.com

 

 

It’s National Fragrance Day!

beautiful bloom blossom bud

Photo by YUSUF Yulipurnawan on Pexels.com

Yeah, I know no one else cares. Anyway, I dreamed I made Mitsouko my signature scent.

COSMO ASTROLOGY 1987

…is full of perils. Even though it was the year I married Rom. So here’s

Taurus with Taurus: “You’re the most wildly stubborn sign in the entire zodiac, and so is he–which makes for titanic clashes. Neither of you is capable of giving an inch, and life is soon reduced to a series of battles about what to eat, which movie to see, where to vacation. ..even sensational sex can’t make up for so many downs.” Actually, we are agreed about where to vacation–at home. Travel bad.  Speaking of which, my email contains, “ENTER THE AARP TRAVEL SWEEPSTAKES!” No, please no!

Oh no, I spilled Redd’s on my velvet pen case! What will I do? IT’S NATIONAL FRAGRANCE DAY, OF COURSE I AM CELEBRATING!

Home decorating for Capricorn: “Have the place painted in a subdued pastel hue. Furniture is covered or accented in the same subtle shade, for a look that’s breathtakingly coordinated.” It’s so breathtaking when you can’t find the chair, because it’s the same color as the walls.

Romantic Rendezvous for Pisces: “In a rowboat on an isolated lake.” Yeah, I can’t see that leading to drowning or anything.

IN OTHER NEWS

You know a guy in a suit at Taco John’s is going to be annoying. “I need Potato Oles, and make sure they’re hot and fresh.” Dude, take your chances like the rest of us peasants.

Seriously, the state of my velvet pen case is troubling me.

What is also troubling me is that the state of Indiana has not sent my tax forms yet, because they’re hoping I’ll panic and file online anyway. Why am I not filing online? A.) I don’t have my printer hooked up, because I fear it, and B.) I resist any attempt to make me do something. Yes, I will  panic and file online anyway if the forms don’t come. Next question?

VOTE FOR ME, I’M THE OUTSIDER, AND I WILL NEVER MAKE YOU DO ANYTHING ONLINE WITH THE SPURIOUS ARGUMENTS OF “THAT’S HOW WE DO IT NOW” AND “YOU’RE ON THE WRONG SIDE OF HISTORY.”

 

 

 

I’ve Always Been a Spider

candy machine jar

Photo by rawpixel.com on Pexels.com

You gotta love a spider vending machine, right?

MISHEARD COMMERCIALS

Similar to misheard song lyrics, only, well, you get the idea.

–For, I think, some TV streaming service: “Relax, put on your comfy pants…” sounds like “put on your puppy pants.”

==For a metastatic breast cancer medication: “I’m a fighter. Always have been.” I invariably hear this as, “I’m a spider. Always have been.” This raises two objections:

–If you were, indeed, a spider, breast cancer, metastatic or otherwise, would probably not be among your concerns. And,

–Haven’t all spiders always been spiders? Unless you don’t want to count the time they spent as eggs. And then you get into the philosophical/ethical controversy about whether spider life begins at conception or at hatching.

CURRENT FAVORITE COMMERCIAL

The McDonald’s one–“Gimme that fish! Gimme that Filet-O-Fish!” I find it creepily compelling. I do not, by the way, refer to said item as Filet-O-Fish when ordering. I refer to it as a fish sandwich, and encourage you to do the same. I also encourage you not to get tartar sauce, which is only mayonnaise with boogers in it. And, note to Hardee’s–Why do you think a fish sandwich should have lettuce on it? Of course, lettuce is pretty much pointless on any sandwich.

OBSERVATION AT WALGREENS

The amount of St Patrick’s Day merchandise is equivalent to the amount of New Year’s Eve merchandise. It falls into the in-case-somebody-cares category.

MORE CAMPAIGN PROMISES

I will abolish Daylight Savings Time, and make the Eastern/Central time zone dividing line the Indiana/Ohio border again. Or the Indiana/Illinois border. Something easy to remember. Of course, this may all be academic, since, if I become President, time as we know it will cease to exist.

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