Suck it robots!

So I got my 2010 census form yesterday, which I was really excited about because I love filling out forms like Angelina Jolie loves making out with her little brother in public.  I also like my pop culture references dated as jelly shoes, if not dateder.  Anyway, the fascist in me believes that counting things accurately for the government is both relaxing and rewarding.  But my enthusiasm quickly waned when I realized they don't ask you very many questions per person. If I want any fun, I got to invent more people to be, and I don't want any roommates, not even imaginary ones.   What gives, government?  How can you learn anything remotely interesting about me just by finding out if I'm a lady or gent, or how many of me there are, or what my sunlight tolerance is?  That is some useless-ass information!  So the anarchist in me demands A Statement.  I can't *lie* on the form, because I am compulsive if selective truth-teller.  And I can't just not send in the form, because that's weak.  So I somewhat passive-aggressively checked the OTHER race box, and wrote in "Human", because white or Mexican or whatever is not a melon-farming *race* and that is one of my many hugest pet peeves ever, and I felt pretty good about myself for sticking it to The Man a little.

Then I got to thinking.  What if it isn't The Man behind the census, counting me so They know my township doesn't need money for an extra swingset because I am maybe a little old to go "Wheeeee!"?  What if it is The Robot, counting me so they know how many people batteries to build and whether they need to set it for Lazy White Girl?  What if the robopocalypse is closer than I think, and they're in the information collating stage, which is pretty close to the humans crushing stage?  In that case, I didn't passive-aggressively check a little box and write in a waspish little answer and irritate an overworked little bureaucrat who would like me to know that I'm not nearly as clever as I think I am and also he knows that answer means I'm caucasian because only white people get guilty like that so he's just going to check "cracker-ass cracker" for me on the form anyway.  (I am now totally regretting not writing in "cracker-ass cracker" on the form now, or perhaps "honky".  Fuck!)  In that case, I let The Robot know that, motherfucker, I am a human and I AM ON TO YOU.  It is not a census, it is a declaration of intent.  This pink oily meatsack is not afraid of you and your hordes, The Robot.  I've absorbed enough sci-fi information since birth to know how to organize a human resistance cell, and I'm suspicious of new technology enough not to have a smartphone already draining my precious brainwaves out of me.  My phone just goes "Quack!" when I take a picture; good luck getting it to direct me to my nearest battery center.

I'm just saying.  If my calculations are wrong and it's a zombie apocalypse, let me go out first because asthmatic thirty-three-year-old ladies with a strong need for corrective lenses never survive those, and you might need some bait.  [To any zombies reading this, please let me be right and you're too illogical to really exist, because I'm still super scared of you sometimes.  Unless you're a voodoo-type zombie, in which case I completely believe in you (and I'm also still super scared of you all the time), but I have made a solemn vow always to be extremely decent to voodoo practitioners and gypsies, just in case, because I may be paranoid and crazy but I am not fucking stupid.]  But if my calculations are correct, and they usually are, if it's a robopocalypse, drop ALL your electronic devices and line up behind me, because I just might save your life.

You are a motherfucking GENIUS, Dr. Michael J. Breus!

And I salute you!  Without your tireless, pioneering work in the field of obviousness-stating, I might not know that my dreams of being chased by malevolent acidic piles of green slime are not representing my natural and specific fear of malevolent acidic green slime entities, but are in fact dreams about anxiety.  Non-specific, cant-do-shit-about-it, psychologist's-paycheck anxiety.  That HELPS. 

Sleep Doctor, my ass.  Lucky thing that made up titles can't be revoked, I guess.

Dear Avon,

"Experience the scent of New York" is a TERRIBLE advertising slogan, and "Urban Flowers" is an even more TERRIBLE name for a perfume, especially considering that you probably sell better in the Midwest than in the actual New York City.  Here in the Midwest, we're generally pretty sure that New York City smells like warmed-up hobo, and we get quite enough of that out here as it is.  I mean, is anyone, anywhere, clamoring for a perfume that smells like 8.3 million densely packed people?  Probably not.  Don't worry, though, I'll always buy way more lipstick than any one woman could ever possibly use in her natural lifetime.


P. S.  You KNOW Derek Jeter doesn't wear that shit.  Quit playing.  But thanks for the free picture, he is hell of dreamy, and a nice local boy to boot!

P. P. S.  While we're on the subject, Derek, drop the Yankees and come back home.  The Tigers need you, and y'all will never win another World Series out there while you still have A-Rod.  Kalamazoo is a significantly less handsome place without you.

Just Go Back To Bed

You know it's going to be a bad day when you're looking for your car in the parking lot, and yours is the van full of ninjas.
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Seriously, that baggage return is quite vexing me with worriness

So maybe it's perfectly normal to have to buy internet shampoo [in my defense, said internet shampoo (and matching conditioner, OBviously) kept my hair really healthy and happy during a two-year period of bimonthly bleaching and coloring, so it is clearly very special shampoo], and maybe it's not the worst thing in the world to pay $12 in shipping for it because 550 mL bottles of shampoo and conditioner are really freaking heavy.  But does it get weird when I start thinking about learning to speak and read Japanese just so I know where to use the bonus soap that came with the shampoo?  It would not be appropriate to use the soap on the wrong parts.  If it's meant for kitten pitties and I use it on my face, I might die!
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