Tuesday, February 3, 2009
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
The Glass Ceiling of Truth
Now we interrupt your normally scheduled program to bring you something completely different.
People have more faith than they realize. Faith that their German Shepherd won’t eat them in their sleep or that the sun will rise tomorrow. Or even more foolishly, some people think they can trust gravity to always be there for them.
Poppy cock! (Or some other exclamative that makes more sense.) “Gravity” is an ungrateful whore. She may not be here when you wake up tomorrow. Your wallet and TV may be missing too, and you’ll be left thinking, “Damnit. Why did I trust gravity?”
That’s why I’m here to tell you not to, especially when there’s so much at stake. Look, as soon as gravity goes, oxygen’s going. And from what I’ve heard from old men at the local dives, we humans can’t live without oxygen.
So are we really going to unwaveringly trust in a cheap trick? I know I’m not. I’m putting my faith in something more reliable than gravity. Something we women have trusted for years. A little something I like to call “The Glass Ceiling.”
You see, when gravity gives out, and all the oxygen starts escaping, you know where I’ll be? Underneath this bad boy where all the oxygen is safe and sound.
I’ve seen too many women looking up through the invisible bearer, wishing they were on the other side, and for what? More money? More prestige? Are they really willing to trade their safety for freedom?
Not me, Palin. Not me.
What kind of damage do you think you’re doing to the rest of us women who understand what’s at stake? You’re putting cracks in the only defense we have against gravity and oxygen loss! Ever thought of that? Have you?
Despicable. We can’t continue with these unsubstantiated trusting attitudes. Embrace a little paranoiah once in a while. And most importantly, STOP. Putting cracks. In my glass ceiling!
People have more faith than they realize. Faith that their German Shepherd won’t eat them in their sleep or that the sun will rise tomorrow. Or even more foolishly, some people think they can trust gravity to always be there for them.
Poppy cock! (Or some other exclamative that makes more sense.) “Gravity” is an ungrateful whore. She may not be here when you wake up tomorrow. Your wallet and TV may be missing too, and you’ll be left thinking, “Damnit. Why did I trust gravity?”
That’s why I’m here to tell you not to, especially when there’s so much at stake. Look, as soon as gravity goes, oxygen’s going. And from what I’ve heard from old men at the local dives, we humans can’t live without oxygen.
So are we really going to unwaveringly trust in a cheap trick? I know I’m not. I’m putting my faith in something more reliable than gravity. Something we women have trusted for years. A little something I like to call “The Glass Ceiling.”
You see, when gravity gives out, and all the oxygen starts escaping, you know where I’ll be? Underneath this bad boy where all the oxygen is safe and sound.
I’ve seen too many women looking up through the invisible bearer, wishing they were on the other side, and for what? More money? More prestige? Are they really willing to trade their safety for freedom?
Not me, Palin. Not me.
What kind of damage do you think you’re doing to the rest of us women who understand what’s at stake? You’re putting cracks in the only defense we have against gravity and oxygen loss! Ever thought of that? Have you?
Despicable. We can’t continue with these unsubstantiated trusting attitudes. Embrace a little paranoiah once in a while. And most importantly, STOP. Putting cracks. In my glass ceiling!
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
Redefining Abortion
Several people seem to be confused about the wording used in Bush's attempt to redefine abortion. The most confusing section is the part that defines abortion as “any of the various procedures — including the prescription, dispensing and administration of any drug or the performance of any procedure or any other action — that results in the termination of the life of a human being in utero between conception and natural birth, whether before or after implantation.”
No, ignorant humans. This does not mean implantation of the sperm into the uterus as the facebook group "No, I do NOT want the definition of 'abortion' to be changed!" claims. It means implantation of the fertilized egg into the lining of the uterus. Some, not all, birth control pills thin the lining of the uterus so a fertilized egg cannot attach to it.
But this isn't the main confusion. Some people are claiming that having a period that discharges a fertilized egg, which naturally didn't attach to the lining, would be considered abortion. Let me provide a small drawing that will clear up this misconception:
No, ignorant humans. This does not mean implantation of the sperm into the uterus as the facebook group "No, I do NOT want the definition of 'abortion' to be changed!" claims. It means implantation of the fertilized egg into the lining of the uterus. Some, not all, birth control pills thin the lining of the uterus so a fertilized egg cannot attach to it.
But this isn't the main confusion. Some people are claiming that having a period that discharges a fertilized egg, which naturally didn't attach to the lining, would be considered abortion. Let me provide a small drawing that will clear up this misconception:
Sunday, June 29, 2008
Why Childhood Development Rots the Brain
I think I’ve just experienced the most annoying thing I have ever experienced. Some of my brain cells just died and vomited from my mouth. I may never be the same.
I am about to endure the last horrifying nightmare that is my college career. The only thing I need is three hours of upper division credit, and I am out of here. No more financial aid fiascos. No more professors telling me google ruins conversations and the founding fathers were whiners.
And of all the upper division credit hours I could choose from, I found a summer course that is extremely easy and perhaps beneficial to my someday-a-mother yearnings. Early Childhood Development. All I know is the teacher sometimes doesn’t show up, and that sounds good to me.
So I get an e-mail from the professor telling us how important her class is and that we should show up all the time. AND that I have an assignment do on the first day of class. Professors who assign homework the first day immediately go on my hate list and have to spend the rest of the semester working to get off it.
But when I went on-line to get the information, I found this:
Please fill out the following questions:
Your name:
Major:
Why you are here:
I am about to endure the last horrifying nightmare that is my college career. The only thing I need is three hours of upper division credit, and I am out of here. No more financial aid fiascos. No more professors telling me google ruins conversations and the founding fathers were whiners.
And of all the upper division credit hours I could choose from, I found a summer course that is extremely easy and perhaps beneficial to my someday-a-mother yearnings. Early Childhood Development. All I know is the teacher sometimes doesn’t show up, and that sounds good to me.
So I get an e-mail from the professor telling us how important her class is and that we should show up all the time. AND that I have an assignment do on the first day of class. Professors who assign homework the first day immediately go on my hate list and have to spend the rest of the semester working to get off it.
But when I went on-line to get the information, I found this:
Please fill out the following questions:
Your name:
Major:
Why you are here:
How I can facilitate your learning:
Favoritest of your favorite color:
Actually, the last one was mine, but it’s stuff like that that pisses me off. I spent about five minutes of my life worrying about having a real assignment only to find out I’ll have to move my teacher from hate list to hit list.
But wait. You haven’t actually heard the annoying part that made me barf pieces of my own brain matter. The professor wanted us to drop our comments in a discussion board so we students could get to know one another.
I was just going to leave the format exactly the way she had it. But when I looked at some of the other people’s submissions, they were more like biographies than anything.
Let me compose a creative example of what I read there.
HI EVERYONE! I really hope you had a splendid summer. My name is Jessica Bobessica, a childhood development major. Cup size AAA. I am like sooooo excited to take this class, you like cannot believe! I am from Sorority Kappa Kappa Kappa and have like lived there like for the past like three years. I used to be a cheerleader in like high school and sometimes do the Herky all over the floor after a big party at fraternity Alpha Omega Obama. I really want to like leave this class with a like better understanding of children because I’ve aborted a lot of them, but someday hope to actually keep one. I like sooo look forward to meeting you all. Much Love!
I decided it would be best to keep mine a little shorter and less intimate. I also decided that if I were going to make it through this class of women with such small breast sizes, I was going to have to let them know where I stood.
So I wrote this:
Hello my name is Janica Unruh. I’m a professional writing major, which means I’m extremely cynical and uncaring unless I’m interested in using you as a character in a story. So if you don’t want your absurdities to be published, you should probably tone down your overbearing personalities. Oh yeah, and Oklahoma, need upper division hours, bring me coffee, and red. THE END.
Favoritest of your favorite color:
Actually, the last one was mine, but it’s stuff like that that pisses me off. I spent about five minutes of my life worrying about having a real assignment only to find out I’ll have to move my teacher from hate list to hit list.
But wait. You haven’t actually heard the annoying part that made me barf pieces of my own brain matter. The professor wanted us to drop our comments in a discussion board so we students could get to know one another.
I was just going to leave the format exactly the way she had it. But when I looked at some of the other people’s submissions, they were more like biographies than anything.
Let me compose a creative example of what I read there.
HI EVERYONE! I really hope you had a splendid summer. My name is Jessica Bobessica, a childhood development major. Cup size AAA. I am like sooooo excited to take this class, you like cannot believe! I am from Sorority Kappa Kappa Kappa and have like lived there like for the past like three years. I used to be a cheerleader in like high school and sometimes do the Herky all over the floor after a big party at fraternity Alpha Omega Obama. I really want to like leave this class with a like better understanding of children because I’ve aborted a lot of them, but someday hope to actually keep one. I like sooo look forward to meeting you all. Much Love!
I decided it would be best to keep mine a little shorter and less intimate. I also decided that if I were going to make it through this class of women with such small breast sizes, I was going to have to let them know where I stood.
So I wrote this:
Hello my name is Janica Unruh. I’m a professional writing major, which means I’m extremely cynical and uncaring unless I’m interested in using you as a character in a story. So if you don’t want your absurdities to be published, you should probably tone down your overbearing personalities. Oh yeah, and Oklahoma, need upper division hours, bring me coffee, and red. THE END.
Thursday, June 19, 2008
A Lesson in Paranoia
I was reading the bible the other night. Ah-ha! And here you thought I was a heathen! Well, I’ll have you know that legalistically speaking, I’m a very good Christian. Except when it comes to standing through the entire worship service. Some music leaders don’t know how to ask people to sit after the third or fourth song. And I’m sorry, but contrary to popular believe, I can worship in my seat just as well or much better than standing.
Now what was I saying? Oh yes, not a heathen. So anyway, I was lying in bed (even better) and reading my bible when I came across this passage in John 2 verse 24, “But Jesus would not entrust himself to them, for he knew all men.”
Now believe me you (and I usually don’t), I know that Jesus loves everyone. But I firmly believe that while Jesus loves us, he knows how disgustingly sinful we are and, therefore, doesn’t “entrust” himself to us. We’re like the leper with pealing eyelids that he’ll bring soup, spend Christmas with, and even hug when necessary. I mean that’s effing love, people. But I can’t see Jesus making out with a leper. Can you?
I like this theology because, personally, I think all humans are leprous. Now this may be the tendonitis talking because I haven’t had my morning rum, but I don’t trust any of them, let alone “entrust” myself to them.
I look out my window and see them walking around with their beetie little eyes. None of them can be trusted! NONE! And so I have formed this 5 step plan that will keep me from ever trusting a dirty human.
1. Always suspect that the person you see (or don’t see) is concocting a way to destroy you.
2. Never leave your important personal belongings where someone can put their filthy, germy hands on them.
3. People are dirty, rotten liars. Whatever they tell you, believe the opposite.
4. Question everyone’s actions.
5. Watch for signs of conspiracies.
Just to see, I spent five hours yesterday putting my new life-style into practice. For the first three, I stared out the window, watching them walk to their cars, the mailbox, and the park. What sort of things were they planning against me? I may never know.
But once when a woman went to the mailbox, she opened the slot right next to mine! I knew she must be trying to steal my mail through some secret compartment, so I grabbed my important personal belongings and rushed out to confront her about her devious acts against me.
“Hey! You! Stop!” I yelled all the way down the sidewalk. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Me?” she asked innocently. “I’m checking my mail. What does it look like?”
Ah-ha! So she was trying to steal my mail. “You can’t play games with me!”
The woman’s eyes widened, and she turned to walk away. “That’s right!” I yelled. “Next time, keep your grubby hands to yourself.”
Just then my neighbor walked out of her apartment. “Hey. How’s it going?”
Why would she ask that? What sort of evidence was she trying to get out of me? I knew she must have wanted my personal belongings.
Sure enough she asked about them. “I see you have a teddy bear in your arms. Taking a nap in the street?”
She laughed, but I shoved Tedd Underoo up my shirt so she couldn’t put her filthy hands on him.
“No. You see nothing! LIES!” I screamed and ran back to my apartment.
That took up about ten minutes of the remaining two hours. The next thirty minutes I spent checking all the faucets, light fixtures, and picture frames for video cameras. Then I got hungry, so I drove to the nearby Taco Bell to get some food.
I stood completely still for almost ten minutes, horrified at the number of people in this establishment. They must have been there, knowing that I would get hungry at some point and leave my apartment.
My eyes shifted back and forth at the small, sticky children, overweight men and women, and dirty cooks. A teenage boy walked very close to me, and I thought that if I stayed completely still he wouldn’t look at me. But as he passed he said, “’Scuse me.”
What did he mean by that? What sort of scheme was he enacting.
“Why?” I asked casually. I couldn’t let him know I’d caught on to his plan.
He turned with a tray full of tacos and looked at me. “Sorry, what?”
“Why excuse you?” I stepped closer, but not close enough that he could touch Tedd Underoo still stuffed into my shirt. “What are you up to, leper?”
His eyes got big. The mail-checking woman’s eyes had widened too! That must have been some sort of code signal. I turned in three circles and looked at everyone in the restaurant. Only one sticky face child met my eye. It was a little girl about two years old. Her face had a piece of shredded cheese stuck to a mess of hot sauce and soar cream.
I ran through the crowds of people and sat very close to the child. It still looked at me, smiling!
“What sort of conspiracy are you a part of? I know your games, mutant! Tell me!”
The woman next to the child leaned over and looked at me. “I’m sorry. Did you say something to me?”
“No. Unless you’re part of this?” I suddenly gasped and stood. “You are, aren’t you? YOU ALL ARE!”
Everyone in the restaurant stopped eating and looked at me.
“Get away. Get away from me!” I ran out the door and sped all the way home. When I got there, my five hours were almost up, so I decided to sit on my porch and yell at the people that passed.
“Liar!” I yelled at one man. “Cheese stickler!” at another. Until the seconds ticked down, and my practice session was over.
I think I was successfully paranoid. Next time I try this though I need to have one of two things: a bucket of kittens to throw at people or a big wig to conceal my identity. Hey, maybe both. You never know.
Now what was I saying? Oh yes, not a heathen. So anyway, I was lying in bed (even better) and reading my bible when I came across this passage in John 2 verse 24, “But Jesus would not entrust himself to them, for he knew all men.”
Now believe me you (and I usually don’t), I know that Jesus loves everyone. But I firmly believe that while Jesus loves us, he knows how disgustingly sinful we are and, therefore, doesn’t “entrust” himself to us. We’re like the leper with pealing eyelids that he’ll bring soup, spend Christmas with, and even hug when necessary. I mean that’s effing love, people. But I can’t see Jesus making out with a leper. Can you?
I like this theology because, personally, I think all humans are leprous. Now this may be the tendonitis talking because I haven’t had my morning rum, but I don’t trust any of them, let alone “entrust” myself to them.
I look out my window and see them walking around with their beetie little eyes. None of them can be trusted! NONE! And so I have formed this 5 step plan that will keep me from ever trusting a dirty human.
1. Always suspect that the person you see (or don’t see) is concocting a way to destroy you.
2. Never leave your important personal belongings where someone can put their filthy, germy hands on them.
3. People are dirty, rotten liars. Whatever they tell you, believe the opposite.
4. Question everyone’s actions.
5. Watch for signs of conspiracies.
Just to see, I spent five hours yesterday putting my new life-style into practice. For the first three, I stared out the window, watching them walk to their cars, the mailbox, and the park. What sort of things were they planning against me? I may never know.
But once when a woman went to the mailbox, she opened the slot right next to mine! I knew she must be trying to steal my mail through some secret compartment, so I grabbed my important personal belongings and rushed out to confront her about her devious acts against me.
“Hey! You! Stop!” I yelled all the way down the sidewalk. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Me?” she asked innocently. “I’m checking my mail. What does it look like?”
Ah-ha! So she was trying to steal my mail. “You can’t play games with me!”
The woman’s eyes widened, and she turned to walk away. “That’s right!” I yelled. “Next time, keep your grubby hands to yourself.”
Just then my neighbor walked out of her apartment. “Hey. How’s it going?”
Why would she ask that? What sort of evidence was she trying to get out of me? I knew she must have wanted my personal belongings.
Sure enough she asked about them. “I see you have a teddy bear in your arms. Taking a nap in the street?”
She laughed, but I shoved Tedd Underoo up my shirt so she couldn’t put her filthy hands on him.
“No. You see nothing! LIES!” I screamed and ran back to my apartment.
That took up about ten minutes of the remaining two hours. The next thirty minutes I spent checking all the faucets, light fixtures, and picture frames for video cameras. Then I got hungry, so I drove to the nearby Taco Bell to get some food.
I stood completely still for almost ten minutes, horrified at the number of people in this establishment. They must have been there, knowing that I would get hungry at some point and leave my apartment.
My eyes shifted back and forth at the small, sticky children, overweight men and women, and dirty cooks. A teenage boy walked very close to me, and I thought that if I stayed completely still he wouldn’t look at me. But as he passed he said, “’Scuse me.”
What did he mean by that? What sort of scheme was he enacting.
“Why?” I asked casually. I couldn’t let him know I’d caught on to his plan.
He turned with a tray full of tacos and looked at me. “Sorry, what?”
“Why excuse you?” I stepped closer, but not close enough that he could touch Tedd Underoo still stuffed into my shirt. “What are you up to, leper?”
His eyes got big. The mail-checking woman’s eyes had widened too! That must have been some sort of code signal. I turned in three circles and looked at everyone in the restaurant. Only one sticky face child met my eye. It was a little girl about two years old. Her face had a piece of shredded cheese stuck to a mess of hot sauce and soar cream.
I ran through the crowds of people and sat very close to the child. It still looked at me, smiling!
“What sort of conspiracy are you a part of? I know your games, mutant! Tell me!”
The woman next to the child leaned over and looked at me. “I’m sorry. Did you say something to me?”
“No. Unless you’re part of this?” I suddenly gasped and stood. “You are, aren’t you? YOU ALL ARE!”
Everyone in the restaurant stopped eating and looked at me.
“Get away. Get away from me!” I ran out the door and sped all the way home. When I got there, my five hours were almost up, so I decided to sit on my porch and yell at the people that passed.
“Liar!” I yelled at one man. “Cheese stickler!” at another. Until the seconds ticked down, and my practice session was over.
I think I was successfully paranoid. Next time I try this though I need to have one of two things: a bucket of kittens to throw at people or a big wig to conceal my identity. Hey, maybe both. You never know.
Monday, June 9, 2008
A Prayer for Cake
I hate going to the bathroom. Not that I hate actually using the bathroom. That can sometimes be more pleasing than I think God intended. But it’s the going that makes me angry.
And like any good trailblazer who forms paths into the scientific and cultural unknown, I have found a solution for this irritating problem.
I believe that it should be socially acceptable for we humans to just go in our pants. Just wherever we are -- walking from the store, sitting around eating donuts, sleeping, or the occasional sky diving. And not in like a diaper or something eccentric like that, but warm and running down our legs.
Think about it. Any experience you’ve had that was made uncomfortable by your bladder could quickly become the best experience of your life if you could just pee where you were.
And like any social acceptable norm, peeing your pants would have to have a positive informal sanction. If someone stops at a crosswalk to let you walk by, you wave your little hat, blow them a kiss, and walk on your way. You make them feel good for their behavior, which encourages them to do it again. No less should be attributed to the action of peeing your pants.
I should get a big pat on my back every time I use the restroom while shopping. There should be cheering. There should be cake! Someone should walk up and hand me a freakin’ cake for doing such a socially acceptable deed.
It’s an unfortunate circumstance we find ourselves in today. Unable to wet ourselves and possessing no cake, we rush to the bathroom every time “nature” calls.
Well I have found a bigger nature in action here. I have just recently realized that, holy crap, there are a shit load of saints.
I will pray to every one of those saints this simple prayer I would like to call a prayer for cake:
Dear Saint Francis, please let it be socially acceptable for me to pee my pants and receive from thy blessing an abundance of cake. Amen.
Once I pray this prayer to all the saints that were better than me in their lifetimes than I am than me in my lifetime, everyone on this planet will be so full of cake they will never want to pee again.
And like any good trailblazer who forms paths into the scientific and cultural unknown, I have found a solution for this irritating problem.
I believe that it should be socially acceptable for we humans to just go in our pants. Just wherever we are -- walking from the store, sitting around eating donuts, sleeping, or the occasional sky diving. And not in like a diaper or something eccentric like that, but warm and running down our legs.
Think about it. Any experience you’ve had that was made uncomfortable by your bladder could quickly become the best experience of your life if you could just pee where you were.
And like any social acceptable norm, peeing your pants would have to have a positive informal sanction. If someone stops at a crosswalk to let you walk by, you wave your little hat, blow them a kiss, and walk on your way. You make them feel good for their behavior, which encourages them to do it again. No less should be attributed to the action of peeing your pants.
I should get a big pat on my back every time I use the restroom while shopping. There should be cheering. There should be cake! Someone should walk up and hand me a freakin’ cake for doing such a socially acceptable deed.
It’s an unfortunate circumstance we find ourselves in today. Unable to wet ourselves and possessing no cake, we rush to the bathroom every time “nature” calls.
Well I have found a bigger nature in action here. I have just recently realized that, holy crap, there are a shit load of saints.
I will pray to every one of those saints this simple prayer I would like to call a prayer for cake:
Dear Saint Francis, please let it be socially acceptable for me to pee my pants and receive from thy blessing an abundance of cake. Amen.
Once I pray this prayer to all the saints that were better than me in their lifetimes than I am than me in my lifetime, everyone on this planet will be so full of cake they will never want to pee again.
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