You know, blogging will bring you a lot of weird things, some good, some bad. You’ll meet interesting people. You’ll meet weird people. Sometimes, you’ll be off having a public discussion with a woman (say, Terry Frank) you had previously regularly accused of being an idiot only to find out that meeting her made you appreciate a little better where she was coming from and make you feel like you’ve been unfairly harsh, only to come home and go about your weekend completely oblivious to the fact that while you were driving over to said discussion, an elected official was fantasizing in public about your genitals.
Then you might find out at lunch today that, indeed, an elected official was publicly discussing your genitals, fantasizing about how you might talk about them to Terry Frank.
on Sep 17th, 2009 at 12:48 pm
Terry Frank: 9th amendment , 10th amendment. Free speech.
Aunt B: My (expletive) itches.
Terry Frank: Freedom, liberty, free market, constitution, personal responsibility, bill of rights.
Aunt B: F$%^ off!. My (Expletive) still itches!
Going to do battle with a mentally unstable person who has a tenuous grasp of the issues to be discussed has got to be a real treat for Terry. Hold out for the video. My money is on Terry. BIG.
Now, don’t get me wrong. I was upset about this. I even called the Butcher to complain. But thank gods for brothers, right? Because there’s a pause, and then the Butcher lets out this huge belly laugh, and says, “An elected official was talking like that?! Man, I feel bad for his wife.”
And true enough. There it is, right in the middle of the day, and Campfield is sharing his fantasies about how I will talk about my cooter (which of course must be diseased and itchy, because you know what an immoral slut I am) and Terry will show me up with her great knowledge of the Constitution and put this “mentally unstable” person in my place.
All that’s missing is the part where Terry throws me over her lap and spanks me until I admit what a bad, bad girl I’ve been. I mean, Jesus, most folks have sense enough to keep their private sexual fantasies to themselves, but Campfield’s putting them out there in the comments on a liberal blog.
Here’s the thing, though. I can avoid him. Shoot, I can live my whole life without ever having to come in contact with him in person again.
But Frank’s got to see his creepy ass regularly.
And I sincerely feel bad for her about that.
I mean, yeah, being the whore in the madonna/whore set up has its drawbacks, but being the failed madonna (and we all must fail at some point) is no fun either.