Attention All Cats!

It is apparently gallop the length of the house time.

Please commence galloping the length of your own homes.

The orange cat has things taken care of here.

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Legalize It

This post over at Pith reminds me of the stupid, puritanical nonsense we have here in Nashville that strippers have to stay three feet away from you (or visa versa), thus ending, for all practical purposes, the lap dance.

Let’s just cover this in a bunch of easy points:

1.  If a woman wants to take off her clothes for money, more power to her.  Why should I give a fuck one way or another?

2.  If a woman wants to grind on a man for money, more power to her.  It’s not for me.  I would not choose to make money that way, but it doesn’t hurt me or make my life harder if someone else willingly dances naked all over a man who gives her money for it.

3.  I don’t even give a shit if it’s a slippery slope between grinding on a clothed man to committing sex acts with a man who then pays you.  Because paying for sex should not be illegal.  Being paid for sex should not be illegal.

Is it unseemly?  I don’t know.  Maybe so.  But I’ve sat there and listened to friends of my mom’s talking about how they feel like they have to have sex with their husbands because their husbands provide them with houses and cars and grocery money and I have to say, I cannot see the fucking difference.

Both are exchanging sex for goods and services and, while I’d hope that most marriages are based on more than that–mutual admiration and caring and love and a sense of camradery–many aren’t and we don’t send police into those women’s bedrooms and arrest them for exchanging sex for the things their men provide.  I mean, shoot, what would happen if we sent the police into every house in Belle Meade looking for women who are earning their lifestyles on their backs within their marriages?

The jails would be full of rich homemakers.  But, we don’t, because we don’t butt our noses into the arrangements married folks make with each other.  It’s perfectly fine for a woman to arrange with a man that he should provide for her and she will fuck him but that she won’t love him, as long as it happens within a marriage.

So why should the freelancers be treated differently?

Because it’s so much plainer what they’re doing?

I find that plainness refreshing myself.

I Never Agree with Christopher Hitchens, But…

I agree with him about this:

Those who despise science and learning are not anti-elitist. They are morally and intellectually slothful people who are secretly envious of the educated and the cultured.

But it’s not just that.  It’s the wanting to be rewarded for that sloth, to have that slothfulness polished up like that will somehow mask it’s turdish nature.

I Had to Read a San Francisco Blog to Get Important Tennessee News

Homegrown terrorists plan to kill black Tennesseans, ending their spree with Obama.

Shoot *or* decapitate? What the? Ya gonna pick which one sounds more convenient when the time arrives? This sounds like a group of people whose mouths are bigger than their bigoted abilities to actually pull anything off like this.

I agree with Brittney that they couldn’t have pulled off anything of the scope of what they had planned, but I do think people could have gotten hurt or killed and so I’m glad to see that the ATF is on top of this.

And, yes, it scares the shit out of me.  I mean, these two are clearly idiots, but what about the evil folks who aren’t?

(Also, in case you aren’t up on your racist parlance, 88 is significant because H is the eighth letter of the alphabet and so 88 is a kind of skinhead shorthand for ‘Heil Hitler.’  I assume the 14 is a reference to April 14th, the day Lincoln was assasinated, but I don’t know for sure.

Help Me, Nashville, You’re My Only Hope

For his birthday, the Butcher wants all of his clothes washed, miraculously.  Is there a service in town that will do that?  Like a drycleaner, but for all his clothes?

Well, shit, too, I don’t mind doing laundry.  I just hate folding it.  Is there a place I could take all his unfolded clean laundry to be folded?

Hmmm.

The Greatest Song Ever

I’m not one to shy away from controversy or outragious pronouncements (let’s remember I am the girl who used math to prove that II was a better album than… I can’t remember what.  Some shitty inconsequential Led Zeppelin album.)

Therefore, I feel qualified to say that the best song ever, yes, ever, ever, is Shirley and Lee’s “Let the Good Times Roll.”  Here’s what it’s got going for it.

1.  It’s a fun song about sex.

2.  The woman in the song gets to express as much joy and enthusiasm about fucking as the man in the song.

3.  I mean, listen to the way she sings “Come on baby, just close the door/ Come on baby, let’s rock some more.”  Which, yes, does make 3 pretty much an extention of 2.

4.  Every time it comes on my iPod, I feel like the universe is smiling on me just a little.

5.  It’s in a key I can sing in!

Now I Want a Sleeping Bag

I have a sleeping bag.  But I never thought of using it as a giant vagina.

Now?

Now it’s all I can do to not walk up to attractive cops on street corners and say “My, you look cold.  Might you like to slip into my sleeping bag?” and then wink.

We were having a discussion about women who stop trying after they’re married.  And I pointed out that the advantage to me is that I stopped trying decades ago, so there are no surprises.  I already burp and fart in public and don’t bother to wear make-up unless I think there’s the off chance I might get laid.  Shoot, if I have my overalls on, i can’t even be bothered to put on a bra on the weekends, because I find them oppressive and sometimes they give me a boob cramp and any piece of clothing that causes you to have a boob cramp is so obviously evil.

Which brings us to boob cramps, speaking of women’s health.  Sometimes, when I bend forward, I get a cramp right under my boob where the underwire rests.  I’m worried that the underwire on my bras is deforming the muscle there or something.

In a perfect world, I would do away with bras all together and women would either have boob handlers who would hold them up for them or we would develop boob unicycles.

Words Have No Meaning

I have been trying to leave Bill Hobbs alone as the election winds down, because I see the difficult position he’s in as Head Propagandist for the TNGOP.  McCain is going to handily win Tennessee.  No one doubts that.  But as more and more polls come out showing that Obama is going to win the election, Hobbs is in a bit of a jam.

He needs Republicans to turn out to vote–because the TNGOP would like for Republicans to win as many state elections as possible and that will only happen if Republicans turn out to vote–but there’s a huge chance that Republicans who don’t really follow state elections will not bother to vote, since their vote won’t matter.

So, he’s got to keep the base motivated.  He’s got to assure them that the election is very close, that McCain might still win it, that there is, in fact, then, good reason for them to be enthusiastic and turn out.  At least so Republicans can enact their plan of taking over the State.

Okay, fine.  He’s got a busy week ahead of him and an uphill battle to fight.  Good luck, Bill Hobbs.

But today he posts something so ridiculous that I can only assume that the bond that links words to their meanings has broken down and that words may now attach themselves to whatever meaning they want, so that, when a person writes something like

A Democrat asks the media, Have you no shame? If it was an open letter to the media, I’d sign it in a heartbeat.

shame actually must mean something other than what it means.

How else could Hobbs write that and not have to go immediately to church?  Forget that, how could he write something like that and still be able to enter a church without immediately bursting into flames?

Bill Hobbs.  Hello.  YOU HAVE NO SHAME.  If you signed an open letter to Santa Claus asking for a particularly merry Christmas this year, the letter would lose credibility by bearing your name.  Let alone if you of all people signed any hypothetical letter condemning anyone for not having shame.

If I were the media and someone sent me a letter about cleaning up my act and I saw your name attached to it?  I would assume it was a joke.  A parody sent to me from some well-wisher who thought I needed to brighten up my day.

You are a propagandist.  You spin the truth into untruth.  You know, because you are a bright man, for instance, that Obama supporters in Tennessee are not by and large urban elites.  But you twist the truth to suite the story you want to advance.  Just like you knew Michelle Obama wasn’t some America-hating harpie before you made your lovely little video, but you just had to take what was a geniuine moment of happiness for her and turn it into something ugly.

And listen, fine, that’s your job.

But when you turn around and act like you have any, any, any room to talk when it comes to folks acting without shame?!

It boggles the mind.

And here’s the thing that gets me–if your ideas are good (and by “your” I mean conservatives), they will stand up under their own power.  I’m a hippie liberal commie and I think you’re right that enacting an income tax in Tennesee would be, at the least, problematic because of how the legislature conducts itself.  I’ve come to see that Bredesen has some major issues, to put it mildly.  And, shoot, even the crazy gun nuts have managed to get me rethinking my positions on gun control.

At some point, Hobbs, your methods undermine your message.

I mean, shoot, when I think of you lecturing people on having shame, I laugh so hard it startled my dog.