I think that a year’s worth (or more) of eating at McDonald’s fortnightly has caused me to develop a taste for their food. This morning I was sitting in my car at the gas station, waiting for the tank to fill up, when I saw a banner advertising their new Chipotle Bacon Burger or some such thing, and I thought to myself, “That actually sounds kind of good right now.” Then I slapped my face a couple times and shook my head vigorously, and everything was set right again. But still, it gave me quite a scare.
I open with that anecdote because I seem to be in the mood for making myself vulnerable to attack. I posted something about Glenn Beck at BCC earlier this week–actually, it was Wednesday, just before I went to eat lunch at McDonald’s–and the ensuing hilarity has left me with regrets. I stand by everything I said in that post (I think–I can’t really bear to read it for a forty-seventh time), but the reaction to it has only reminded me of my reluctance to write it in the first place. Glenn Beck is such low-hanging fruit, and I don’t watch his show (nor listen to it–I didn’t even know he was syndicated in Portland until my husband told me last night), and I didn’t particularly want to do the research necessary to write anything intelligent about him or at least about his most recent stupid thing, but I was also tired of the usual liberal Mormon attacks on him–which, seriously, have been done to death. But like Jason, they keep rising up out of the lake to attack you in your rowboat once again! So I decided blah blah, my own story bores me. Next paragraph.
I wrote this thing, and some people liked it and others didn’t, but I don’t care about that part. I mean, I appreciate when others like my work as much as the next person, and I don’t care if some Glenn Beck fans think I’m a jerk or if some Noam Chomsky fans think I’m a jerk or even if they compare me to a racist. If you have a problem with people calling you a racist, you have no business voting Republican. Stop crying and grow a pair. (Plus, if you sign up in person at the country registrar, they will give you a special Racist Card, which entitles you to a ten percent group discount at Haters ‘R’ Us, so you can totally afford the confederate flag you’ve had your eye on for so long. Oh, shut up, you know you want one.)
What I don’t have a stomach for is all the smug liberals slapping me on the back and congratulating me on being so enlightened, unlike other conservatives, who are all crapfaces. I guess I should be flattered that you think I’m not a crapface, but I wouldn’t want to take credit where it wasn’t due. It’s hard for some people to wrap their heads around, but you can’t just assume someone’s not a crapface based on one non-crappy thing they said.
I may appear to be decent on the surface, but behind your back I swear I’m as selfish and hate-filled as the next conservative. I would strangle puppies with my bare hands, but why should I when I have enough money to pay a struggling immigrant to do it for me, right before I have him or her deported because America is where we speak English, hello. Doesn’t it scare you how easily those words spilled out of my fingertips? Well, you ought to be scared because guess what, I voted for McCain, even after I found out Sarah Palin was his running mate, and I’d do it again tomorrow. I’d do it this afternoon, but there’s no election, so that’s beside the point. The point is that I’m what’s wrong with this country, just as much as the other crapfaces. So go ahead and call me a crapface because I. Would. LOVE IT!
Did you see Victor/Victoria? Remember that scene where James Garner goes into the bar and picks a fight because he’s been caught in bed with Julie Andrews, who everyone else thinks is a gay man, and he has to prove his masculinity to himself? That’s kind of where I’m at right now.
Speaking of losing it, I was talking to myself at the grocery store today, and I called myself by the wrong name. Doesn’t that beat all? And don’t get on my back about talking to myself. Who else is going to listen to me?