Nice Things

1.  When the Butcher went to get me asprin, he also brought me a Snickers.


2.  I’ve emailed Lee about Colonel Sanders.  Hopefully, he’ll have an answer.  Why else would God have sent him this vision, if not as a sign of his destiny of knower of all things Kentucky?


3.  I got the invite to Tiny’s baby shower.  I laughed so hard that I cannot even tell you.  The Shill is the first one of my close female friends to have a baby (we’re late bloomers, I guess) and everyone should have a good snarky pregnant friend.  The Shill is the kind of friend who will tell you the truth about pregnancy–everything from the gas to the weird in-laws to the way you both want it to stop moving because it’s uncomfortable and how scared you get when you can’t feel it moving.


She’s the least girly pregnant woman ever and so the fact that the invitation came with a cute little bow just about did me in.


I have but two questions–1. Do I have to RSVP or is my plane ticket enough? and 2.  There’s going to be a keg at this thing, right?


4.  I found this awesome blog of a Nashville professor.  I don’t know him, but I should.  He’s already thinking some really interesting thoughts about blogging, especially from the perspective of a historian.

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Kleinheider Exhibits a Tiny Bit of Sense

Kleinheider’s got a post about the morning-after pill.

While it has one foot firmly on nutty right-wing ground (notice the superb slut-shaming–“It’s use may show a lack of foresight and personal responsibility”), I am falling over in shock that the other foot seems to be firmly placed on the ground of logic, reason, and fact–“It is a drug that stops fertilized eggs from attaching to the uterine wall. Something that occurs naturally quite often.”

I about don’t know what to say.

Um… well… okay.  Good half a job, Carter. 

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If I Were Going to Be in a Group Marriage, Who Would I Pick?

I know picking Luckybuzz is kind of cheating, because I don’t know her, but I also kind of believe that, if you are going to be in a group marriage, best to have at least one spouse who knows what he or she is doing.

My dad claims that Colonel Sanders was in a group marriage of sorts–divorced his first wife, married another, but the three of them lived together for the rest of their lives.  If that’s true, it’s suspiciously absent from his wikipedia biography.  I hope one of my Kentucky readers will be able to verify this rumor or debunk it. 

Anyway, dead or alive, I don’t want Colonel Sanders in my group marriage.  If I had to pick someone from Kentucky, it would, of course, be J.D. Wilkes.  A girl needs at least one husband who knows someone with an upright bass.

I mention all of this because Sarcastro sent me this story about the originator of Wonder Woman, William Marston, who lived in what appears to have been a very pleasant group marriage. 

All the time, conservatives piss and moan about how, if we let gay folks get married, what’s to prevent poly folks from asking to have their arrangements legally recognized as well?  I don’t mean to be an idiot, but if everyone’s consenting adults, why would that be some big problem? 

The Saddest Woman on the Internet

Y’all, I am eating the best cookies.  Chocolate chip with pecans.

Yes, pecans.  

Yum.

 They are so good that I have half a mind to make up a batch and send them, along with a Rabbit, to the saddest woman on the internet.

Who is this woman?

It’s very tragic.  She’s married to an exceptionally handsome man.  I don’t say that lightly.  Even Sarcastro will admit that this guy is good looking and Sarcastro is so straight that, when he was in the army, gay soldiers would stand near him in order to confuse the dogs trained to sniff out homosexuals and boot them from the service.

This man is so good looking that the first time I met him, I had a moment’s hesitation when he walked towards me, that this was some elaborate joke and that he was an actor hired to portray the crazy libertarian who would be taking me to dinner.

Fine, fine gentleman.

But…

And you knew this was coming.

 …he can’t keep his back in order.  Which means that his poor wife is in a pitiful hell–faced with a hot husband too fragile to properly fuck.

You can see how my heart goes out to her.  I almost think we should take some kind of collection*.

 

 

 

*Ha, that’s some vestigial Midwestern Protestantism right there folks. “There’s a problem!  Let’s take a collection!”  Which reminds me of an old joke about Methodists–Where two or more Methodists are gathered in His name, there will there be a collection taken. 

A Fun Job that Might Be More Trouble than It’s Worth

I was over at Radley Balko’s place… Yeah, shut up.  A girl needs her daily recommended allowance of gun-nut dog-loving libertarianism and I get mine from Balko and Say Uncle.

You read them and tell me if you don’t start to wonder just what the hell is going on with the paramilitarization of local police forces.

Lord knows I’m not ready to sit around drinking moonshine and laughing at the less fortunate (which I believe to be the main pastimes of libertarians, though I have no real evidence to back that up), but I do believe there’s something funky in the simultaneous trends to disarm regular folks and make battle-ready the police.

Ha, that sounds kind of like I believe there’s some grand conspiracy. 

I don’t.

I think, though, that it’s an unfortunate coincidence.

Anyway…

Yes, so today Balko links to a story about how the Hell’s Angels just received $800,000 from the city of San Jose for killing the dogs of the Hell’s Angels in a raid.

Just think about that for a moment–the Hell’s Angels have lawyers.

Being a lawyer for the Hell’s Angels would have to be some of the most fun lawyering you could do, I would think. 

Granted, if your Corporate Shill wife were just a couple of months away from giving birth to your child, herein called Tiny the Wonder Fetus, you should probably not think too hard about how awesome it would be to have a garage full of big old noisy slow moving Harleys you received in payment for a job well-done.

That’s what friends are for.  I will spend the next little bit thinking about how awesome it would be if the Legal Eagle were a lawyer for the Hell’s Angels and how much I’d love to be invited to his annual client-appreciation picnics.

I’m trying to decide what to get Tiny since its shower is rapidly approaching.  I wonder if they have infant-sized Harley Davidson t-shirts…

A Question I Don’t Really Want an Answer to

So, the Marines are taking the very least Mariney Marines they’ve got and forcing them back into active duty.  Once they run out of these folks, I hear they will be calling up people even more tangentially related to the Marine Corps–such as the ancient mariner Coleridge wrote about.   Sadly for the Marines, the Navy has already claimed Popeye.

Here is my question.  How much are our armed forces supposed to bear?  How many times are they supposed to go back into harm’s way before it is enough?

I remain opposed to this war and I don’t want the Butcher fighting in it.

But war is a shitty thing and people see and do things that are hard to endure and that fuck them up for the rest of their lives.  In the past, we spread this burden around.  Now that we have our all-volunteer armed forces, the burden is repeatedly borne by a small group.

I don’t like the idea of the military pointing at folks who are only tangentially still linked to the military and saying, "Hey now, come on back and report for duty" but I think it’s important to give other folks an opportunity to come home.

I just wonder at what point do we sit down and say–if we really are committed to being in Iraq, we need to provide the troops over there with some real relief?  And where are the folks to fill their spots going to come from?

The Internet is a Sick Place

I meant to tell you all about the search that brought someone here–“What can I expect for a $150 lap dance?” It just tickles me so much. I mean, if you have $150 to throw around… well, do what you want with it, but I would hope that, for $150, that lap dance would include not only a naked girl rubbing herself on you, but also an accountant who then took you aside and explained to you how money works.

But I never got around to it and now I see that some fucker has landed here looking for “tiny thirteen year old girls getting raped pictures.” It’s not just the subject that grosses me out, though clearly that does. What really puts it over the top for me is that this is some person who was looking for pictures of thirteen year old girls getting raped, who got distracted by something here at Tiny Cat Pants, and decided to stick around for a while reading.

I don’t want to be a way violent pedophiles amuse themselves when they can’t find appropriate porn.