We’ll Just Use Those Guys Standing Around the Parking Lot at Home Depot

Seriously, America, is there anything you won’t ask illegal immigrants to do?

I have this song on my iPod; the chorus goes, “You’ve already put big old tears in my eyes.  Must you throw dirt in my face?”

We’ll let undocumented workers scrub our toilets, clean our houses, raise our kids, plant our fields, harvest our food, butcher our meat, build our highrises, and FIGHT IN OUR WARS, but we don’t think they’re good enough to be U.S. citizens?

We’re trying to send undocumented kids to FIGHT IN OUR WARS.

I about fell over.  If you get kicked by a random brown person today, America, this is probably why.

Terry Frank and I Agree. I Presume Hell Has Frozen Over.

Terry Frank reports on the bizarre lengths our state goes to harrass smokers (I know, I know, that stuff is also in there, but you know riding the illegal immigrant issue is her thing, and yes, I know, she’d be more fun if riding illegal immigrants were her thing).

For those of you who’ve never been to Tennessee or thought much about Tennessee, let me explain.  Our state is so thin that, if I roll out of bed on the north side, I’m in Kentucky.  If my orgies get much larger than thirty people, one of them is going to have to firmly plant a foot in Alabama, just for leverage.  People in Southern Illinois can be in Mississippi in practically three and some change hours.  It is virtually impossible to be in your car longer than an hour and a half headed either due north or due south and remain in the state.

(Oh, oh, oh, but you know where I bet Frank and the Administration could find common ground?  We could erect a giant wall around Tennessee, keeping all of the Tennesseans in where we can insure we spend our tax dollars in the state where we need it, and keeping all of the illegal immigrants and Yankees out!)

So, here’s the thing.  The Administration passes this draconian cigarette tax.  Stay with me here… in a state that’s just three feet thick.  And, “surprisingly,” folks are going out of state to buy cigarettes where the taxes are much lower.

You would think that this would result in the Administration saying, “Shit, that was a stupid tax.  Look how easy it is for folks to get around it, because our state is so easy to get out of.  Okay, let’s repeal it.”

But no, America!

Instead, they’re going to use more of our tax dollars to try to catch Tennesseans smuggling cigarettes into the state.  They’re going to stake out out-of-state cigarette stores.  They’re going to take our cars.

You know what makes this funnier?

One of our official state songs is “Rocky Top.”

I ask you to consider the second verse.

Once two strangers climbed ol’ Rocky Top,
lookin’ for a moonshine still;
Strangers ain’t come down from Rocky Top;
Reckon they never will;
Corn won’t grow at all on Rocky Top;
Dirt’s too rocky by far;
That’s why all the folks on Rocky Top
get their corn from a jar;

What strangers run around the mountains looking for stills? 

Perhaps George Jones can tell us:

well the g-men t-men revenures to
searchin’ for the place were he made his brew
they were lookin’ tryn’ to book him
but my pappy kept on cookin’

Yes, I believe there’s ample evidence to suggest that the second verse of our beloved “Rocky Top” is about the “mysterious disappearance” of tax folks getting too curious about the behavior of Tennesseans.

And yet, who wants to monitor Tennesseans’ behavior to make sure we’re not buying too many smokes?

Tax folks.

Gee, I wonder how that’s going to go over.

Happy Blogoversary to Me!

Today is the end of the third year of Tiny Cat Pants and the beginning of the fourth.  It somehow seems like it’s been longer than that–so much has happened in that time, it’s almost hard to believe.

Of course, none of it would be possible without my awesome kick-ass readers, who are some of the smartest, sweetest, funniest, kindest people on the internet.

In your honor, I’ve decided to hold the first Tiny Cat Pants contest.


The Rules:

You collect the sperm of you or someone you think would make a suitable father for my baby, freeze it, and overnight it to me.  I’ll put all the sperm together in one container and then, once thawed, artificially inseminate myself.  If it takes, after nine months, I will deliver a baby you all can consider yourselves the the fathers of.

Everyone wins!

The Criteria

I need a baby who is dependable, forthright, and decisive.  My baby will have to take on a lot of responsibilities rather quickly so he or she needs to be bright, preferably good at math, able to make a budget and stick to it, and, in a best case scenario, happy to clean and do the dishes.  He or she will need to take responsibility at a young age for a lot of sweet but somewhat aimless and ridiculous people he or she feels tied to by love and blood.

We’re all about improving the gene pool in my family, folks, so carefully consider what kind of sperm you’ll send.

I’ll post pictures and mommy blog incessantly and you all can send $50 a week and presents when the mood strikes you.  I promise to never make any effort to discover the identy of the father so that y’all may feel equally invested in Baby’s future.

The Benefits

I will have have someone to watch out for me and to help me during family crisises.  I’ll also have guaranteed blogging material for the next however many years.  You’d have something to read about and wouldn’t reading about a possible child of yours raise the stakes around here quite a bit?

Think it over.