SUP3R BOWL XV

It wasn’t the same.  Once again, the Rona has done a ruination on a highly anticipated event for all mankind.  Yes, it was uplifting.  Yes, it was great that all the first line workers were honored.  Yes, the pre-game singing was awesome. (Don’t ask me about The Weekend’s half-time show; no idea what was going on with that.)  Yes, the new Progressive Un-Parent commercial was hilarious. (I laugh because it’s funny; I laugh because it’s true.)

What the what?

But where was the King of Beers?  Where was Matthew McConaughey driving around in a Lincoln no one will ever buy talking some nonsense no one will ever understand but doesn’t care because he’s pretty?  Instead, we got Flat Matthew.  Flat Matthew?  What the hell was that?  Might as well kept running that Weekend performance with his mummy crew.

Dogg and puppies!!!

Sidebar:  Fortunately, the Puppy Bowl did not disappoint.  Animal Planet seems to know what CBS does not:  can never go wrong with Snoop and Martha.  Especially when they are holding puppies and making cocktails.  Look at that furry little face! (I refer, of course, to Martha.) Come on, CBS! It’s like you’re not even trying.

But the game itself did not disappoint.  If you’re a Tom Brady fan.  (Which, if you are, you should stop reading and go have a nap on some train tracks.)  I was surprised to learn that Tampa Bay was actually billed as the underdog.  Seems like a whole bunch of betting people forgot the part where old age and treachery will always overcome youth and skill. 

25? Really?

I mean, come on. Tom Brady is 43 years old and looks like a Greek god; Patrick Mahomes looks like he lost his retainer in the school cafeteria.  That should have told everyone right there that the youngster didn’t have a shot against TB12.  Apparently, that’s what we’re calling Brady now.  Ugh. Did no one learn from remember the time Prince changed his name to a symbol?  And Snoop became a lion?

TB12

Look, I’m not calling Brady a lizard person, but my husband is 43 years old; I know what a 43 year old human looks like.  And that ain’t it.  Even for a professional athlete. Drew Brees and Peyton Manning, anyone? So…. does he have that body and those Chiclet teeth and all that hair on his head instead of his back because he eats veggies and works out and manscapes?  Or is it because he eats babies and wears their faces as a mask?  Just wondering…

1979 Tampa Bay Stadium – I’m the Lurch

Actually, I was a bit torn between my desire to see Tom Brady have a hissy fit on the sidelines because he is losing (no need to question that; we all see it), and my love for the Tampa Bay football team.  I have been a Buccaneers fan since I was 14 years old. That’s when I visited Tampa Bay with my cousins, went to the stadium, got the t-shirt, and wore it proudly all through high school.  You know, until the freshman 15 made it too small. Forty years later, on team change and my dedicated life of Buccaneers fandom is ruined by that giant tool TB12. So bitter.

Fortunately, the highlight of the game featured neither team.  It was Tony Romo and his pee pee stain. Not that it was surprising. I said to my human husband the first time he and Jim Nantz were onscreen, “It’s the Sup3r Bowl. You could cut butter with the crease in Jim Nantz’s pants; looks like Romo picked off the floor and wore the same dirty khakis he wore to his third cousin’s rehearsal dinner last summer.”

Accident? Or just a way of life?

The best part is that you know the cameraman did it on purpose.  It would have been easy to make sure no one ever saw the pee pee stain on air.  But no, it’s everywhere.  Know why?  Payback.  Can’t bother to shave, looks like he came off a three day (read:  week) bender; sounds like he smokes pot 24/7, wrinkled—and later pee stained—pants.  Cameraperson who has to look/hear/smell that every game finally got a little joy. (I’m not saying it’s true; I’m just saying.) And the world rejoiced, regardless of team affiliation. God Bless America.

So, at the end of the game, Tom Brady won. Again.  Patrick Mahomes lost because he hadn’t fully recovered from the concussion he got after being zapped in the head with a Jewish space laser.  Or something like that.  A bunch of people lost a whole lotta monies.  My cousins and I need to plan a return to Tampa Bay. And Tony Romo showed us that even during a pandemic, every crappy thing has a silver lining.

FREE SPEECH

I’m a fan of free speech.  It lets me put stupid stuff like this moronic discourse on the internet for all the world to (not) read, and to look at Bernie mittens memes all day instead of cleaning the kitchen.

Feel The Bern

Recently, thanks to the riot/insurrection/protest/siege of the Capitol, I have seen way too much information on free speech and/or the lack thereof.  Since the debate has been going on for what seems like forever, I thought I might be able to help clear up some things for folks (read: Republicans) fearing the “muzzling of America,” (per that adorable little Josh Hawley, below) learn how to keep a tight hold on their freedom of speech and not end up in the same boat as the as the ex-President and his buddies.

Hawley – So pretty; so, so stupid

To be brief, there is one simple reason why certain groups and individuals have been “canceled” post Jan 6:  capitalism.  Remember capitalism?  One of the principal principles of the Republican platform?  Yeah, that’s the real reason Trump was uninvited to use the Twitter anymore.  And the Facebook. And the YouTube.  And no more proud boys on the AWS network.  And poor My Pillow guy can’t use the YouTube or the Twitter to sell the pillows no one will sell in stores anymore.  Fortunately, we still have the Fox News, where any lunatic can spout out any conspiracy theory and be applauded for it.*

In case a refresher is needed on how capitalism works:  Dorsey owns Twitter; Zuckerberg owns Facebook; Wojcicki owns YouTube; Bezos owns Amazon.  These folks do not own the companies for your or anyone else’s benefit; these companies were created to make money for the owners.  Why?  Because that’s how capitalism works.  So, when something (let’s just call it inciting – we’ll get to that next) happened that forced said owner to 1. Potentially lose customers (AKA money), and 2. Forced him (because of course they are all men) to actually do some work to address the issue at hand, the actions were swift and severe.  Why? Because time is money, and money is the goal of capitalism.  Get it?  If so, will you please explain it to muzzled Josh Hawley so he can get back to the hard work of pretended the election was rigged? 

Unpretty Ted Cruz

 Now for the free speech part:  Free speech doesn’t mean you can do and say whatever the hell you want when and wherever you want regardless of who you are.  Sorry to be the one to break that news.  (Click here  for more.)  For instance, Ted Cruz is allowed to compare the Paris Accord to Pittsburgh because that’s just his (idiotic) opinion, and hurts no one.  Well, except the people who are subjected to and are forced to defend him.  Someone (read:  Josh Hawley) should really tell Cruz he’s not nearly pretty enough to be that stupid.  And don’t even get me started on his wife.

Anyhoo…What Trump (and Giuliani and Mo Brooks and Don Jr and the My Pillow guy and rest of the nut bags) did is akin to yelling Fire in a crowded theater.  His words incited actions that caused harm (and, in this case, death) to others.  That’s not allowed.  Especially when you are the leader of the country.  And you’ve got a horde of rabid adherents waving confederate flags directly in front of you.  Waiting for you to tell them to go to the Capitol and Stop the Steal.  But, you know, whatever.

Needs No Caption

As for the cancel culture part: As my beloved Dr. Phil likes to say, “words are powerful.”  Also, “You choose the action, you choose the consequence.”  Which means if you are the President of the good ole US of A, you must be mindful (there’s a word seldom seen in the same sentence as Trump) that your words have bigger importance than the basic Karen standing in her yard yelling with the neighbors about how Comcast is the devil.  (Yes, that’s me. I’m basic Karen.)  

Giuliani realizing he doesn’t have $1.3 billion

So, keep that in mind before you want to spout off about something next time.  And maybe check your bank account.  If you get sued for $1.3 billion like Giuliani for making up stories about the election machines, you’re gonna need some cash. And now the lizard people are coming after the My Pillow guy.  Is no one safe???, you ask?  No comment.  (See how easy it is to just respond, No comment?)

The My Pillow guy

At the end of the day, it’s really pretty simple:  if you don’t want to be muzzled and become part of the cancel culture, don’t say stupid shit.  And maybe encourage you political representatives to do the same.

*I could make a joke about Marjorie Taylor Greene, but anyone depraved enough to say out loud that 9/11 Pentagon and school shooting didn’t happen, is unworthy of humor.

SSI – A PSA

As election day draws near, I see more and more Trump 2020 hats/shirts/bumper stickers/flags/etc. Living in one of the poorest states in America (#4) and knowing WV benefits more than most (again, #4) from federal funding, I could not figure out how so many people dependent on social services plan to vote for someone who wants such things ended.

So, I started asking questions. What I learned was enlightening and infuriating and somehow not at all surprising. It appears many people in my homeland don’t know how SSI works. So the Trump supporters have been fake newsed into believing Biden will drive us to socialism, having no idea they already live in a socialist society. Hence, this PSA.

Dear fellow hillbillies and other Americans: I know (most of) you have worked hard all your life. I know that you pay/paid your taxes dutifully. Please sit down while I say this: the money you contribute to Social Security during your work years is not the money you collect during retirement. The government doesn’t have a little box with your name on it during you work years in which they place the SSI money deducted from your paycheck. Likewise, your SSI retirement money will not be removed from said box and mailed back to you in your golden years. The money you put into the SSI fund during your working years pays for people in need during your employment period. The money you receive when claiming SSI is funded by the current work force of that time.

Make sense? Good. Does it sound like socialism? That’s because it is.

The truth of the matter is we have been a socialist society for longer than anyone cares to count. SSI, welfare, food stamps, disability, Medicare, Medicaid, SNAP: believe it or not, these are all social programs and make up our (socialist) society. We are taking money from people who have it (the work force) to give to people who don’t. Kinda like Robin Hood, but without the sexy tights.

The democrats don’t say this out loud because they know people get all riled up when the socialism word is used. The republicans don’t mention that we are already there because they want you to believe you will get to keep more of your money by cutting back and/or eliminating social services. This may be true, but you will probably end up using this money to support the poor side of your family anyway, since you know they’re gonna come knocking when the food runs out. Well, until they all die from the coronavirus hoax, but whatever.

So if you want to vote for Trump, have at it. Just know where your money came from, where it went to, and where it’s coming from now, Don’t be fooled; we already got enough jokers running our lives.

MASKERS FOR JESUS

(or Anti Maskers Part 2)

I thought it only fair I address the religious opposition to masking having previously discussed the political side. So here goes…

I don’t know what the religious argument is for not wearing a mask. I considered googling it but why would I bother? I’m guessing it has something to do with the health of unborn babies and the masks being made by the demonic homosexuals.

So I will speak only regarding that which I know about Jesus, which I admit isn’t much.

Item 1: If you think Jesus will protect you, so you don’t need a mask, here’s a tip: Jesus is protecting you by having masks invented for you to wear. If Jesus protects your face, I’m certain He also protects your feet. Bet you’re not running around barefoot everywhere though, are you? Yeah, put on a mask.

Item 2: If you gave it to Jesus in prayer, and he responded to you that you shouldn’t wear a mask: that’s not Jesus. That’s your lazy ass looking for an excuse. Yeah, put on a mask.

Item 3: Jesus is kinda busy right now. In case you didn’t notice, there’s a hoax pandemic underway. He doesn’t have time to listen to you blaspheme about how your faith prevents you from doing the right thing. Remember that thing about using his name in vain? You’re doing that. Yeah, shut up and put on a mask.

I could go on, but again, why would I. Jesus doesn’t want heaven filled up with a bunch of idiots. Put on a mask. ‘Nuff said.

ANTI MASKERS

Pop quiz for anti maskers:

1. Do you own a car? (If the answer is no, stand down for future posts. You’ve got bigger fish to fry than not wearing a mask.)
2. Does your car have a license plate?
3. Do you have a drivers license?
4. Is your car insured?
5. Is your car registered?
6. Do you drive the speed limit?
7. Does your car have brake lights?
8. Do you use your car headlights when driving at night?
9. Does your car have rear and side mirrors?
10. Do you wear a seat belt?

If you answered Yes to any of the above, congratulations; you are already allowing the government to dictate your actions. So kindly put on a mask and STFU. Don’t make me come back here and talk about taxes.

CORONAVIRUS

So….  We’re all goners.  Or it’s nothing to get worked up about.  Depends on who you ask.

As we are a high risk household, husband (asthma), Ralphie (generally weak and frail), and I (elderly) are sheltering in place.   We will be here until the threat of infection is over or we run out of chips and dip, whichever comes first.  Because if the virus takes me, my last meal will not be kale.

Sheltering in place

I did, however, make a trip to the Walmart and the liquor store before going under.  There was no toilet paper, but I didn’t care.  I can drop a turd in the back yard with the dog if it comes to that.  But if my husband and I run out of liquor during the quarantine, one of us will end up in the boneyard, virus or no virus.

This week, I began using the Walmart pickup service.  (Yes, it took a pandemic to drag me into present day.) They were out of a lot of items and there were many substitutions, but we were able to get enough supplies to last us another week without having to expose ourselves to the carriers and the doomed.

And you folks know who you are.  Carriers are young and vibrant and have fully functioning immune systems and don’t care that, while you feel GREAT doing shots at the beach, you are infecting the rest of the world.  So maybe consider this somewhere between shot 19 and 27:  the 70-year-old man who has to clean the vomit out of your hotel room is high risk, along with many other service workers forced to remain on the job so you can get your spring break on.  I know that’s not funny, but it needs to be said.

The doomed are the elderly because, for some unknown reason, it is impossible for them to stay home.   My friend’s mother, who is well into her 70s and has neither an infant nor a cat, went out to buy milk on Tuesday.  You know, because she needed milk.  Doomed.

We are fortunate that my husband can work from home, but I would be lying if I said it wasn’t disrupting my routine slightly.  Mostly by him asking me 90 times a day what I am doing.  Because I’m doing nothing.   I refuse to run the vacuum if I might be dead next week.  I’m spending what may be my last few days/weeks/months on earth eating stockpiled chips and taking pictures of the dog.  I guess some things don’t change with a pandemic.

And so here we sit, covered in Frito dust and dog hair, doing laundry and writing dumb blogs, watching The Office and the dog chasing birds, wearing our comfy clothes and trying not to choke each other, wondering if the toilet paper hoarders will let up before we actually run out, wondering if I will die if I go to the post office, wondering when vodka delivery will be available…

My beloved Aruba

WHY CANCER IS MY THING

Breast cancer stole my aunt.  Slowly but surely, piece by piece, we watched her lose her fight to this insidious disease.  She was the aunt who instilled in me a love of travel, then helped me move nine billion times during my nomadic 20s; the aunt who ensured my parents always visited me for my birthday; the aunt who, like I, knew my mother wasn’t always right, but it was just easier to let her think she was.  The rule is that if you are cancer free for five years, you are considered cured.  She was.  But she wasn’t.  And cancer returned.  My aunt was a warrior; she fought like a girl, and her motto was “I’ve got cancer; cancer doesn’t have me.”  But she was wrong. In the end, cancer got her and took her from us.

When I was 37, during my aunt’s first diagnosis and treatment, a lump was found in my right breast.  A biopsy was done; there was a 99% chance it was benign.  It was not benign.  It was atypical ductal hyperplasia.  Big words. I asked, is it cancer?  Not really.  I asked, is it benign?  Not really.  WTF?

A diagnosis of ADH means that you do not have cancer, but, if left untreated, it will become cancer.  I didn’t even know that was a thing, but I set to work getting my cancer fetus out of my body as quickly as possible.  I had a lumpectomy to remove the mass, then was sent off to an oncologist.  The oncologist said I could opt for Tamoxifen and all its glorious side effects, or I could opt to take a ‘wait and see’ approach.  You know, because it wasn’t really cancer.  Since I was so young and the cancer fetus was caught early, he recommended, and I agreed with, the wait and see idea, and I began rolling the dice with breast cancer.

For the next year, I had a mammogram every three months.  Let me just say this:  I am done hearing about Elon Musk spending money to build rockets when a woman still has to put her boob in a vise to see if she has cancer.  Side note:  the highlight of my lumpectomy was the joy of having my boob put into a vise and then a six-inch needle stuck into said boob so the doctor could find the tumor.  Again, WTF?

After a year with no visible recurrence, I had mammos every six months for the next two years.  Now I have one mammo a year.  Being the proud owner of exceptionally small breasts with exceptionally dense tissue and an exceptionally high lumpectomy site, it is a rarity that all angles are captured in one take.  So I get to have my boobs repeatedly vised to ensure nothing is missed.  Good thing it is only uncomfortable and I only feel a little pinch each time.  (Gentleman readers: replace boobs with balls.  Now you’re with me.)

But so far, so good. There has been no recurrence, and the dice continue to roll on my defective boobs.

Recently, due to my high risk status, I was recommended for genetic testing.  I was all for this idea.  If I am carrying the gene, I want to get these boobs Angelina Jolied before they kill me.   So off I went to the oncology department once again.

The nurse surveyed my family history and my medical history, ran the numbers, read the numbers, and advised me that I am four times more likely to get breast cancer than the average person in the next four years and three times more likely throughout my lifetime.  That pretty much sucks, but I already knew that, hence the desire for the testing.  But the super sucky part is that this does NOT qualify me for insurance-paid genetic testing.  (Hey, Elon Musk, how about driving your electric car over to the insurance agency and focus on fixing that load of horse shit instead of playing with rockets all day?  Because that is a RACKET).  Oh well, Elon has his thing and I have mine.

The nurse advised me that the best way to prevent breast cancer is diet and exercise, and limiting alcohol intake to two drinks per week.  My response, then what’s the point of being alive?  Then she signed me up for yearly MRIs in addition to mammos.  Note:  not instead of, like I asked, because apparently I lost a bet in a previous life and my penance is having my boobs in a vise at least once a year forever.  Lucky me.  And the dice roll on…

That’s why cancer is my thing.  Because unlike my aunt, I am no warrior.  I am weak and weird.  If I get cancer (or rather, if cancer gets me), I will probably be dead of fright before they can mix up the first batch of chemo.  Not to mention the fact that bald will not be a good look for me with my giant melon head.

Ergo, once a year, I wrap myself in all kinds of pink (even though I’m a cool, not a warm), walk a 5k, and hit up people for money to help find a cure.  (Elon Musk: feel like donating a few million PayPal residuals to boobs instead of rockets this week?)  We walk with people who have survived the fight, people who are in the fight, and in memory of people who have lost the fight but inspired us all to keep on fighting.

Today I am livin’ the dream; I have a total bad ass husband (paid to say that); I have a sensitive and delicate dog; I have friends and family who have donated a boat load of money to support our efforts to find a cure for cancer.

Today I am cancer free.

So today I live in the moment, while my defective boobs and I continue to roll the dice with cancer.  But I am aware that I have already beaten the odds for a mighty long time, and cancer will never give up and just walk away.  Cancer will always be lurking around my life, waiting for the chance to end it.  Cancer got my aunt.  I wanna kill that mother fucker before it gets me.

 

Random Thought Friday

Only in West Virginia will someone drop the F-bomb and call you Honey in the same sentence.  #iheartrednecks #wvnative

RTF

The guy in the truck with the This is America.  Speak English bumper sticker has obviously never been off the resort in Cancun and caught a wave of Montezuma’s revenge.  Gonna be sad times for the bigot when he gets to the pearly gates and finds out that Jesus is Puerto Rican and everybody inside speaks Spanish.

LOVE

Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that.   –Martin Luther King, Jr.