Governor Haslam responded to the controversy during a stop in Chattanooga saying “We are not in favor of discrimination — I want to be very clear about that. We are in favor of businesses deciding within federal laws what their policies should be. We just don’t think that local governments should set H.R. policies for businesses. “
I’m sorry. This literally made me laugh out loud. We, as a state, aren’t in favor of discrimination, but it’s important to make sure businesses can discriminate without local government interference. How is that not being in favor of discrimination?
Face it, Governor Baby. You have failed to save these jackass Republicans from themselves, and you’ve made the state of Tennessee once again synonymous with discrimination codified into law.
And it’s only May. Of your first year of your first term.
This must be a proud, proud moment for you.
There is one person I have known my whole life who I am not related to. The Other Minister’s oldest son was born in January and I was born Sunday. Anyway, he’s in the hospital with something that necessitates calling in the CDC.
I told his brother to tell him that, if he doesn’t get better, and soon, I’m coming to kick his ass. And I mean it.
The Butcher suspects he’s turning into a zombie.
That would be just like him, get all survival-trained and then become a zombie.
Ugh. It is scary, but I’m also excited about the CDC. I wonder if they came up from Atlanta on a secret jet or if they have people all over the nation ready to deploy the minute someone is struck by a mysterious thing?
I feel a little like you do when you go out and buy that first pack of cigarettes after you’ve given up quitting. Like, you know this could be bad… is going to be bad… goes nowhere that doesn’t end up with you up until three in the morning, trying to find a place that’s open where you can get more. But there’s the crinkle of the cellophane and the smell, that smell of dry leaves, hitting your nose. You can already imagine the feel of it in your hands. You’re not thinking about the cluttered up house, the cost, the unseemliness, the sneaking out at lunch to do it–the downsides you know so well.
No, at that moment, it’s just the wonderful “yes.”
I was a little concerned about the two-cake situation, but the Butcher and the Red-headed Kid sat down last night each with a bowl full of a huge piece from both cakes and a large mound of ice cream. Each of them had tiny mountains of chocolaty goodness in their laps.
The Red-headed Kid was remarking about how, with his luck, this cake would probably kill him. We still talk a lot about death with the Red-headed Kid–me because I’m morbid as hell and him because he’s still getting used to the idea that he might not die before he’s 30. But we both decided that “Killed by delicious cake” would be an epitaph we would be proud to have on our headstones.
I am envious of their ability to eat that much cake in one sitting. It looked, from the other end of the couch, marvelously decadent.