As many of you are aware, your Aunt Slugger is getting married. I don't really understand how this is happening, but here at Aunt Slugger HQ, we never look a gift horse in the mouth.
Anyway, it turns out that planning a wedding is among the most painful things a person can do, and I include surgery without anesthesia and shaking hands with Rush Limbaugh in that statement. My original plan to elope in Vegas was quickly nixed and now the wedding has turned into a big affair where I will most likely be prohibited from wearing cutoff jean shorts.
My mother has taken over the bulk of the wedding planning ever since I very sincerely proposed having Taco Bell cater the event. She has left only a few things up to me, like selecting the color scheme and the groom. This is fine with me, since left to my own devices I would most likely put something together at the last minute that is only marginally more interesting than a Bible study.
I have also taken a keen interest in the invitations. There is nothing I hate more than a wedding invitation that takes itself too seriously. I found some invitations online that look as though a color printer has vomited flowers and birds onto fine linen paper. I filled out the form with all the usual shit, and then on the back, I added the following quote from Woody Allen:
"I was nauseous and tingly all over. I was either in love or I had smallpox."
I like this quote because it combines both love and smallpox, which is surprisingly difficult to do. And I thought it would set the tone for the wedding so that no one shows up thinking they can't make an infectious disease joke on the dance floor.
Anyway, I ordered a sample of this invitation and didn't think about it any more until I received the following email from the printer:
"Design contains text or image that is in violation of an individual’s rights of celebrity/publicity."
So I called them for clarification, and they sent me this email:
"In this instance, your order contained products with a Woody Allen quote on back, which [we are] unable to produce on merchandise as it would be a violation of their rights of celebrity/publicity."
True to form, I emailed an asshole response about how stupid their rationale was. They were unamused.
So that is why I am here today. I am here to ask you, my loyal readers, to help me find Woody Allen and ask him if I can use his quote on my wedding invitations.
Mr. Allen, if you're reading this, can I quote you on my wedding invitation? I have always been a huge fan, and I can't see the name "J. Edgar Hoover" without thinking about the movie "Bananas." In exchange for your support, you are welcome to attend my wedding, since I assume there is nothing you would enjoy more than spending a summer weekend in Fort Wayne, Indiana.*
Thank you for your consideration.
Sincerely,
Aunt Slugger
*I can actually think of about 75,000 things that sound better than that, but I won't mention them here in an effort to make the offer sound more attractive.
Answering life's deepest questions
Thursday, December 5, 2013
Tuesday, November 26, 2013
Securing Yourself a Man
I must say that the timing of my engagement was very serendipitous, since I snagged a man just before this helpful op-ed piece on foxnews.com created a run on husbands. In this op-ed piece, women are scolded for their efforts to be financially independent from men and encouraged to go find a man to support them, while being reminded that it will be difficult to find a supportive man because a generation of financially independent women have offended men.
Your Aunt Slugger loves columns like these. There is nothing I enjoy more than a white columnist waxing nostalgic about the "good ol' days" when women stayed at home, men were the breadwinners, and black people were lynched for using the wrong restroom. Those were the days, weren't they?! Things were great back then.*
Now, your Aunt Slugger is not here to judge straight couples where each gender takes on a traditional role. My own mother, for example, was a stay-at-home mother for much of my childhood, begrudgingly taking on some of the most awful tasks imaginable, like being a Brownie troop leader, presiding over the PTA, and helping me haul a giant barrel of overgrown impatiens to the county plant fair. Being a parent is like being a sewage diver without the pay or mandatory hepatitis vaccinations. It is a necessary, disgusting, and important job, but people do not have enough respect for this role.
But I digress. Our Fox News opinion writer cites a whole bunch of studies indicating that women value work-life balance and comes to the natural conclusion that the only way to achieve this is to find yourself a husband who will take care of you. After all, ladies, "you can't take your paycheck to bed with you."**
Obviously this solution makes sense. The fact that women cannot easily achieve work-life balance is NOT because of things like incredibly inadequate maternity leave, the wage gap between men and women, or a lack of quality state-sponsored programs for parents. No, you idiot women, it's because you aren't married to a man. But not just any man, ladies! You need a man who can support you if you leave your job or reduce your hours, which means you should NOT look for male social workers or male teachers (these men are probably not real men anyway, since they have eschewed money and glamour for women's work).
And of course, if you cannot find a man, "ask yourself why, and I bet you know the answer," says our delightfully offensive Fox News op-ed writer. It's because you are a repulsive trollop, with your own bank account and your career and what we can only conclude are loose moral standards.
So ladies, let's do ourselves a favor and set the women's movement back about a hundred years. I for one am going to change the focus of this column to be exclusively about housekeeping and matrimony, with upcoming topics like, "Can you recommend an alternative to PineSol?"*** and "How do you properly iron a man's dress shirt?"****
Sincerely,
Aunt Slugger
*False.
**$10 to the first person who knows what that quote means.
***Who the fuck even knows what PineSol does?
****You don't.
Your Aunt Slugger loves columns like these. There is nothing I enjoy more than a white columnist waxing nostalgic about the "good ol' days" when women stayed at home, men were the breadwinners, and black people were lynched for using the wrong restroom. Those were the days, weren't they?! Things were great back then.*
Now, your Aunt Slugger is not here to judge straight couples where each gender takes on a traditional role. My own mother, for example, was a stay-at-home mother for much of my childhood, begrudgingly taking on some of the most awful tasks imaginable, like being a Brownie troop leader, presiding over the PTA, and helping me haul a giant barrel of overgrown impatiens to the county plant fair. Being a parent is like being a sewage diver without the pay or mandatory hepatitis vaccinations. It is a necessary, disgusting, and important job, but people do not have enough respect for this role.
But I digress. Our Fox News opinion writer cites a whole bunch of studies indicating that women value work-life balance and comes to the natural conclusion that the only way to achieve this is to find yourself a husband who will take care of you. After all, ladies, "you can't take your paycheck to bed with you."**
Obviously this solution makes sense. The fact that women cannot easily achieve work-life balance is NOT because of things like incredibly inadequate maternity leave, the wage gap between men and women, or a lack of quality state-sponsored programs for parents. No, you idiot women, it's because you aren't married to a man. But not just any man, ladies! You need a man who can support you if you leave your job or reduce your hours, which means you should NOT look for male social workers or male teachers (these men are probably not real men anyway, since they have eschewed money and glamour for women's work).
And of course, if you cannot find a man, "ask yourself why, and I bet you know the answer," says our delightfully offensive Fox News op-ed writer. It's because you are a repulsive trollop, with your own bank account and your career and what we can only conclude are loose moral standards.
So ladies, let's do ourselves a favor and set the women's movement back about a hundred years. I for one am going to change the focus of this column to be exclusively about housekeeping and matrimony, with upcoming topics like, "Can you recommend an alternative to PineSol?"*** and "How do you properly iron a man's dress shirt?"****
Sincerely,
Aunt Slugger
*False.
**$10 to the first person who knows what that quote means.
***Who the fuck even knows what PineSol does?
****You don't.
Friday, November 15, 2013
Miley Cyrus
Dear Aunt Slugger,
I am wondering if you have any tips for Miley Cyrus. I find her recent behavior completely unacceptable and am shocked by her recent stunts, including smoking a joint at the Europe MTV Awards. Can you offer her some fashion and career advice?
Sincerely,
Florence W. Knudsen, St. Cloud, MN
Dear Florence,
Here at Aunt Slugger HQ, we have a policy of only providing advice to people who write in or to people or organizations who are in desperate need of good, albeit unsolicited, advice. These people include (but are not limited to) religious zealots, the United States Congress, people who record their workouts on Facebook, and anyone who talks about McDonald's the same way you'd talk about the Al Qaeda terrorist network.
And honestly, your Aunt Slugger has no advice for Miley Cyrus. I am not saying I like Miley Cyrus, and I'm not saying she doesn't regularly look like a homeless ferret on national television. I'm saying that she's a 20-year-old woman. This demographic is impervious to advice, so there's no point in wasting my breath.
Early on in her career, your Aunt Slugger spent some time working as a residence hall director at a New England university. As is the case with many universities, this particular university was overrun with people in the 18-22 age range. Your Aunt Slugger was responsible for three buildings filled exclusively with sophomore college students. I was also responsible for handling cases of student misconduct, like cheating on tests or eating hallucinogenic mushrooms or throwing a keg through a fifth story window or smoking crack out of a roommate's ear. For this hard work I received a shitty salary and a basement apartment where the toilet water was never less than 175 degrees Fahrenheit for reasons that were not entirely clear.
Many people spend years getting an advanced degree in higher education to work with these youth. These dedicated souls want to understand these youth, to mold these youth into decent citizens. With all due respect to these people and their hard-earned degrees, the only people on earth who are truly qualified to work with college students are medical professionals who routinely deal with naked, stoned, 150-pound kindergarteners.
One common theme throughout my career as a residence hall director was nudity. College students love to be either completely nude or in various states of undress. This particular university had a student-sponsored dance entitled, "The Less You Wear, The Less You Pay." It should come as no surprise that many guests were admitted for free. And even when people were theoretically clothed, they weren't clothed appropriately. Underwear hanging out all over the place, no underwear, bras being used in place of sweaters, and jeans stretched to the brink of exhaustion. These were the hazards of the job.
And then of course there was the alcohol and drug use. People in this age range love to drink, and they love to blaze up. Tobacco, marijuana - you name it, these fuckers were smoking it. My colleagues worried a great deal about these young, 19-year-old chimneys; your Aunt Slugger just waited them out. Nothing weeds out obnoxious college students more efficiently than a felony drug charge.
My point here, readers, is that we should not be surprised by Miley Cyrus. And honestly, we shouldn't worry about her, either. Young adults do not realize that the only thing separating them from newborn infants is a diaper. They will learn. Or they will get arrested. Or they will walk into a Courtyard Marriott in Omaha and find Jeff VanVonderen waiting for them.
And then eventually, before they know it, they will grow up and become...you. Easily shocked, easily appalled, and always boring.
Sincerely,
Aunt Slugger
I am wondering if you have any tips for Miley Cyrus. I find her recent behavior completely unacceptable and am shocked by her recent stunts, including smoking a joint at the Europe MTV Awards. Can you offer her some fashion and career advice?
Sincerely,
Florence W. Knudsen, St. Cloud, MN
Dear Florence,
Here at Aunt Slugger HQ, we have a policy of only providing advice to people who write in or to people or organizations who are in desperate need of good, albeit unsolicited, advice. These people include (but are not limited to) religious zealots, the United States Congress, people who record their workouts on Facebook, and anyone who talks about McDonald's the same way you'd talk about the Al Qaeda terrorist network.
And honestly, your Aunt Slugger has no advice for Miley Cyrus. I am not saying I like Miley Cyrus, and I'm not saying she doesn't regularly look like a homeless ferret on national television. I'm saying that she's a 20-year-old woman. This demographic is impervious to advice, so there's no point in wasting my breath.
Early on in her career, your Aunt Slugger spent some time working as a residence hall director at a New England university. As is the case with many universities, this particular university was overrun with people in the 18-22 age range. Your Aunt Slugger was responsible for three buildings filled exclusively with sophomore college students. I was also responsible for handling cases of student misconduct, like cheating on tests or eating hallucinogenic mushrooms or throwing a keg through a fifth story window or smoking crack out of a roommate's ear. For this hard work I received a shitty salary and a basement apartment where the toilet water was never less than 175 degrees Fahrenheit for reasons that were not entirely clear.
Many people spend years getting an advanced degree in higher education to work with these youth. These dedicated souls want to understand these youth, to mold these youth into decent citizens. With all due respect to these people and their hard-earned degrees, the only people on earth who are truly qualified to work with college students are medical professionals who routinely deal with naked, stoned, 150-pound kindergarteners.
One common theme throughout my career as a residence hall director was nudity. College students love to be either completely nude or in various states of undress. This particular university had a student-sponsored dance entitled, "The Less You Wear, The Less You Pay." It should come as no surprise that many guests were admitted for free. And even when people were theoretically clothed, they weren't clothed appropriately. Underwear hanging out all over the place, no underwear, bras being used in place of sweaters, and jeans stretched to the brink of exhaustion. These were the hazards of the job.
And then of course there was the alcohol and drug use. People in this age range love to drink, and they love to blaze up. Tobacco, marijuana - you name it, these fuckers were smoking it. My colleagues worried a great deal about these young, 19-year-old chimneys; your Aunt Slugger just waited them out. Nothing weeds out obnoxious college students more efficiently than a felony drug charge.
My point here, readers, is that we should not be surprised by Miley Cyrus. And honestly, we shouldn't worry about her, either. Young adults do not realize that the only thing separating them from newborn infants is a diaper. They will learn. Or they will get arrested. Or they will walk into a Courtyard Marriott in Omaha and find Jeff VanVonderen waiting for them.
And then eventually, before they know it, they will grow up and become...you. Easily shocked, easily appalled, and always boring.
Sincerely,
Aunt Slugger
Wednesday, October 30, 2013
A Refresher on How to Not Be a Huge Pile of Festering Shit
Today, it came to my attention that a friend of mine from high school and her wife received a piece of hate mail. Or at least I think it was hate mail; it was only semi-literate. Apparently, the authors of this letter are in possession of a computer application wherein the end user chooses a bunch of religious words and then watches as the computer vomits a random assemblage of these words onto a piece of paper. (This application is also used to draft Tea Party speeches.) So the letter went something like this:
"God is watching satan praying for you blah blah blah"
And then, perhaps coincidentally, a collection of words resembling a sentence:
"God wants you to listen to this dvd, satan doesn't want you to."
Accompanying this letter was a DVD entitled, "Satanism and the Homosexual Agenda: A 1-Part Teaching by Pastor Joe Schimmel."
One thing I will say about the author(s) of this letter: They make my job easier. Low-hanging fruit, so to speak.
This will not be one of those columns you see where people list out all the other stuff in the Bible that modern religious extremists have chosen to ignore despite their steadfast grip on the one liner anti-gay clause in the Old Testament. This argument never works. "The Bible advocates [something ridiculous, like eating babies]! Do you do that?" LGBT advocates will say in response to the Bible-thumping homophobes. You can't go down this path. It's not helpful. Because the answer is probably yes. Bible-thumping homophobes probably do eat babies. These fuckers have some skeletons in their closets that would make Ted Bundy look like Big Bird, and no one needs to see that.
Normally I wouldn't address the authors of this letter. People who write hate mail like this and then go out of their way to obtain a DVD featuring a pastor whose name makes him sound suspiciously like a Nazi war criminal are beyond my help. They won't (can't?) read this column, and even if they did, they would denounce it as Satan's influence and send me hate mail that would probably offend me if I could muddle through all the grammatical errors.
But say that you do own nine copies ofHeinrich Himmler's Joe Schimmel's one part series on Satanism and the Homosexual Agenda. And say also that you can read this (a suspicious claim at best, but fine). Here is my advice to you.
It's 2013. Get over it. Mentally, you're stuck in 1837, though honestly, for everyone's sake, I wish you were there physically, too.
"God is watching satan praying for you blah blah blah"
And then, perhaps coincidentally, a collection of words resembling a sentence:
"God wants you to listen to this dvd, satan doesn't want you to."
Accompanying this letter was a DVD entitled, "Satanism and the Homosexual Agenda: A 1-Part Teaching by Pastor Joe Schimmel."
One thing I will say about the author(s) of this letter: They make my job easier. Low-hanging fruit, so to speak.
This will not be one of those columns you see where people list out all the other stuff in the Bible that modern religious extremists have chosen to ignore despite their steadfast grip on the one liner anti-gay clause in the Old Testament. This argument never works. "The Bible advocates [something ridiculous, like eating babies]! Do you do that?" LGBT advocates will say in response to the Bible-thumping homophobes. You can't go down this path. It's not helpful. Because the answer is probably yes. Bible-thumping homophobes probably do eat babies. These fuckers have some skeletons in their closets that would make Ted Bundy look like Big Bird, and no one needs to see that.
Normally I wouldn't address the authors of this letter. People who write hate mail like this and then go out of their way to obtain a DVD featuring a pastor whose name makes him sound suspiciously like a Nazi war criminal are beyond my help. They won't (can't?) read this column, and even if they did, they would denounce it as Satan's influence and send me hate mail that would probably offend me if I could muddle through all the grammatical errors.
But say that you do own nine copies of
It's 2013. Get over it. Mentally, you're stuck in 1837, though honestly, for everyone's sake, I wish you were there physically, too.
Tuesday, October 1, 2013
Aunt Slugger Advice Column Temporarily Suspended Due to Government Shutdown
***Due to the government shutdown, "Dear Aunt Slugger" is being replaced with "Ask Senator Ted Cruz."***
Dear Senator Ted Cruz,Hello, I am hoping you can help me. I am employed by the Department of the Interior as a contracting officer, and I have been furloughed due to the government shut down. I do not have much in savings since I used it to pay for my grandma's gall bladder surgery, and I am wondering if you can give me an ETA on when I will get paid again.
Thank you,
Jefferson T. MacIntosh, Houston, TX
Jefferson! So good to hear from a fellow Texan! Well, let me tell you buddy, we are THIS close to making a decision. Realllll close. The problem is the Obama administration and their refusal to accept a budget -
Sorry for interrupting, Senator Cruz, but I thought the problem was that you are refusing to fund the Affordable Care Act.
The what? The Affordable Care Act? No no no, we are definitely going to fund that-
Whoops, sorry again. The Affordable Care Act, AKA Obamacare.
Oh! Sorry! Hahahaha! You know how I get my acts confused. Well, as you know, Barack Hussein Obamacare is a Marxist concept foisted upon the American people by the socialists who have infiltrated the -
Hi again. I really hate to keep interrupting you, but I thought Obamacare was legislation that was passed by democratically elected officials in the United States Congress.
Boy, you sure are annoying with all your so called "facts," Jefferson. Who told you that? Did you hear that in some underground socialist newspaper put together by the liberal Jews in Hollywood?
Well...um...the Senate website?
I'm kind of over you and your loud mouth, Jefferson. Next question.
Dear Senator Ted Cruz,
I am a 28-year-old male, and I met this really nice guy on match.com. We went bowling on our first date and then had dinner at Olive Garden on our -
Jesus Christ, gays eat at the Olive Garden? My kids ate there just the other day! I'll introduce an amendment to keep that from happening again.
I...um...wasn't expecting that reaction...um..so -
Oh my GOD, you and your pro-gay rhetoric. Let me guess: You're teaching your gay agenda in the classroom.
I'm a marine biologist in Tampa.
I always thought manatees seemed gay. Next.
Dear Senator Ted Cruz,
Hello. I was recently diagnosed as a paranoid schizophrenic with violent tendencies, and I can't -
Is this another sob story about not being able to get your medication? This needs to stop. You know, if you would just suck it up and deal with the voices in your head, maybe then you wouldn't need that damn medication. I broke my toe once and you didn't see me heading straight to CVS for some meds. I toughed it out like a man.
Actually, I was going to say I can't afford a new assault rifle. I passed the background check with flying colors, but weapons are just too expensive.
Well, that is just a tragedy right there, son. That should never happen. A man has the right to defend his home from any invaders, real or imagined. I'll introduce legislation in your name.
Thursday, September 26, 2013
Vaccinating Your Kids
Dear Aunt Slugger,
I am the father of a one-year-old baby. I am trying to decide whether to vaccinate him and I was wondering what your thoughts are, as a professional advice columnist with no medical training?
Sincerely,
Norman W. Carpenter, Fond du Lac, Wisconsin
Hi Norman,
It turns out that you have come to the right place, because despite my lack of formal medical training, I am literate, which is actually the only skill you need in determining whether to vaccinate your kids. I also, as it turns out, probably have a few screws loose because there is nothing I enjoy more than a good non-fiction book about diseases. I wish I were joking, but I am not. A quick look at my Amazon.com wish list and you find yourself asking if I'm cooking up biological weapons in my kitchen or if I just like to read about bleeding from the eyes.
Over the years, I have read books about smallpox, ebola, polio, rabies, and prion diseases, among other various horrifying and tragic conditions. I distinctly remember reading the ebola book on the elliptical at the gym and looking down at the handles and thinking maybe I should just hit those with some Clorox nine more times. And the rabies book had me side-eying my indoor cat.
One of the many takeaways from most of these books is that many viruses that once haunted humanity are no longer a threat to us because of vaccines. For those of you who do not recall any smallpox outbreaks (and if you live in a developed nation, you do not), smallpox is NOT. A. DAMN. JOKE. It had a ridiculously high fatality rate and was horrifically painful. Finding a vaccine for it and eradicating it is one of the great medical triumphs in human history.
And then you've got polio. If you are nostalgic for simpler times, like the 1940s, then don't vaccinate against polio and see how you like living out your days in an iron lung. Or measles. If you love blind children, then by all means, don't vaccinate against measles.
The reasons people cite for not vaccinating are stupid. Yes, I said it: Stupid. This (and the fact that I never went to medical school) is why I am not a doctor. Because as a doctor, you can't really tell your patients that they're dumb as shit for not vaccinating. Your Aunt Slugger's bedside manner would be atrocious and the only patients I would be able to treat would have to be in a coma.
People, for the love of Christ, vaccinate your children. And you don't have to trust me, your advice columnist-turned-armchair unlicensed physician. Listen to the Mayo Clinic. Listen to the World Health Organization. Listen to the American Academy of Pediatrics. Do not listen to the anti-vaccine whackjobs who were thoroughly and effectively ridiculed in this episode of Penn & Teller.
Also, to the upper middle class white people that this article had to call out: CUT IT OUT. Or look at a picture of someone with hemorrhagic smallpox and tell me you're glad he or she didn't vaccinate. He might be dead, but at least he doesn't have extra mercury in his system!
Sincerely,
Aunt Slugger
I am the father of a one-year-old baby. I am trying to decide whether to vaccinate him and I was wondering what your thoughts are, as a professional advice columnist with no medical training?
Sincerely,
Norman W. Carpenter, Fond du Lac, Wisconsin
Hi Norman,
It turns out that you have come to the right place, because despite my lack of formal medical training, I am literate, which is actually the only skill you need in determining whether to vaccinate your kids. I also, as it turns out, probably have a few screws loose because there is nothing I enjoy more than a good non-fiction book about diseases. I wish I were joking, but I am not. A quick look at my Amazon.com wish list and you find yourself asking if I'm cooking up biological weapons in my kitchen or if I just like to read about bleeding from the eyes.
Over the years, I have read books about smallpox, ebola, polio, rabies, and prion diseases, among other various horrifying and tragic conditions. I distinctly remember reading the ebola book on the elliptical at the gym and looking down at the handles and thinking maybe I should just hit those with some Clorox nine more times. And the rabies book had me side-eying my indoor cat.
One of the many takeaways from most of these books is that many viruses that once haunted humanity are no longer a threat to us because of vaccines. For those of you who do not recall any smallpox outbreaks (and if you live in a developed nation, you do not), smallpox is NOT. A. DAMN. JOKE. It had a ridiculously high fatality rate and was horrifically painful. Finding a vaccine for it and eradicating it is one of the great medical triumphs in human history.
And then you've got polio. If you are nostalgic for simpler times, like the 1940s, then don't vaccinate against polio and see how you like living out your days in an iron lung. Or measles. If you love blind children, then by all means, don't vaccinate against measles.
The reasons people cite for not vaccinating are stupid. Yes, I said it: Stupid. This (and the fact that I never went to medical school) is why I am not a doctor. Because as a doctor, you can't really tell your patients that they're dumb as shit for not vaccinating. Your Aunt Slugger's bedside manner would be atrocious and the only patients I would be able to treat would have to be in a coma.
People, for the love of Christ, vaccinate your children. And you don't have to trust me, your advice columnist-turned-armchair unlicensed physician. Listen to the Mayo Clinic. Listen to the World Health Organization. Listen to the American Academy of Pediatrics. Do not listen to the anti-vaccine whackjobs who were thoroughly and effectively ridiculed in this episode of Penn & Teller.
Also, to the upper middle class white people that this article had to call out: CUT IT OUT. Or look at a picture of someone with hemorrhagic smallpox and tell me you're glad he or she didn't vaccinate. He might be dead, but at least he doesn't have extra mercury in his system!
Sincerely,
Aunt Slugger
Wednesday, September 25, 2013
Critical Public Service Announcement RE: Obamacare
Dear Aunt Slugger,
I am wondering if you can help me. I was recently diagnosed with Parkinson's disease, but I am unable to afford my medication, so I can't keep my job -
Let me stop you right there, Shakes. You can't afford your medication? Are you kidding me? Look, buddy, I don't have all day to listen to your sob stories about not being able to climb stairs without tripping or needing someone to cut your food for you. This is AMERICA. You KNEW there was a chance you could get Parkinson's because your great Aunt Nancy had shaky hands, and yet what did you do? You went ahead and you got a job that doesn't pay well. Whose fault is that? You gotta PLAN AHEAD. Pull yourself up by your bootstraps and PLAN FOR -
Oh whoops! Sorry! I thought I was aselfish dick Republican Congressperson for a hot minute there!
Once again, here at Aunt Slugger HQ, we find ourselves issuing another
CRITICAL PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT
because people need to be told about themselves.
Your Aunt Slugger has been hearing a lot of whining about Obamacare these days, and I'm going to say it: If you do not believe that everyone deserves access to quality medical care, you CANNOT CALL YOURSELF A CHRISTIAN. Are we perfectly clear on this? YOU ARE NOT A CHRISTIAN; YOU ARE AN ASSHOLE. These are mutually exclusive concepts but people seem to think they are able to simultaneously call themselves Christians and maintain Epic Asshole Status (EAS) by making claims like, "Hospitals have to treat you" (they do not) and "Why should I pay for someone else's cirrhosis of the liver?" (Because we are not Neanderthals.)
Providing quality medical care to all people, regardless of their income or immigration status or race or bad decisions, is what developed nations do. We are not some backwoods, third-world toilet. And quite frankly, Obamacare is not even a real universal health care system. In a real universal system, you'd be insured by the government and you'd actually pay a real tax rate on your capital gains to fund this system. Relying on charitable organizations to provide healthcare to the poor and uninsured is like relying on your drunk uncle. Sometimes he's the life of the party, but sometimes he's passed out in front of the liquor store at 10am. (If you did not get that metaphor, I am referring to the 2008 economic meltdown, where charitable organizations suddenly found themselves groveling for cash and could not provide many of the services they wanted to provide.) (If you still do not understand this metaphor, you are probably opposed to Obamacare.)
I realize this is a controversial subject, but only because the people on the other side of this debate are selfish jerks. I stand by that statement. Paying an appropriate amount in taxes to ensure that your neighbor with a compromised immune system doesn't die from a hangnail is the right thing to do. People should not live in fear of tripping on a Barbie doll in the living room and ending up in the hospital.
(Though if I were opposed to Obamacare, I would probably say, "WELL HOW CAN YOU AFFORD A BARBIE DOLL BUT NOT HEALTH INSURANCE?" because that's obviously the next logical question.)
Sincerely,
Aunt Slugger
I am wondering if you can help me. I was recently diagnosed with Parkinson's disease, but I am unable to afford my medication, so I can't keep my job -
Let me stop you right there, Shakes. You can't afford your medication? Are you kidding me? Look, buddy, I don't have all day to listen to your sob stories about not being able to climb stairs without tripping or needing someone to cut your food for you. This is AMERICA. You KNEW there was a chance you could get Parkinson's because your great Aunt Nancy had shaky hands, and yet what did you do? You went ahead and you got a job that doesn't pay well. Whose fault is that? You gotta PLAN AHEAD. Pull yourself up by your bootstraps and PLAN FOR -
Oh whoops! Sorry! I thought I was a
Once again, here at Aunt Slugger HQ, we find ourselves issuing another
CRITICAL PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT
because people need to be told about themselves.
Your Aunt Slugger has been hearing a lot of whining about Obamacare these days, and I'm going to say it: If you do not believe that everyone deserves access to quality medical care, you CANNOT CALL YOURSELF A CHRISTIAN. Are we perfectly clear on this? YOU ARE NOT A CHRISTIAN; YOU ARE AN ASSHOLE. These are mutually exclusive concepts but people seem to think they are able to simultaneously call themselves Christians and maintain Epic Asshole Status (EAS) by making claims like, "Hospitals have to treat you" (they do not) and "Why should I pay for someone else's cirrhosis of the liver?" (Because we are not Neanderthals.)
Providing quality medical care to all people, regardless of their income or immigration status or race or bad decisions, is what developed nations do. We are not some backwoods, third-world toilet. And quite frankly, Obamacare is not even a real universal health care system. In a real universal system, you'd be insured by the government and you'd actually pay a real tax rate on your capital gains to fund this system. Relying on charitable organizations to provide healthcare to the poor and uninsured is like relying on your drunk uncle. Sometimes he's the life of the party, but sometimes he's passed out in front of the liquor store at 10am. (If you did not get that metaphor, I am referring to the 2008 economic meltdown, where charitable organizations suddenly found themselves groveling for cash and could not provide many of the services they wanted to provide.) (If you still do not understand this metaphor, you are probably opposed to Obamacare.)
I realize this is a controversial subject, but only because the people on the other side of this debate are selfish jerks. I stand by that statement. Paying an appropriate amount in taxes to ensure that your neighbor with a compromised immune system doesn't die from a hangnail is the right thing to do. People should not live in fear of tripping on a Barbie doll in the living room and ending up in the hospital.
(Though if I were opposed to Obamacare, I would probably say, "WELL HOW CAN YOU AFFORD A BARBIE DOLL BUT NOT HEALTH INSURANCE?" because that's obviously the next logical question.)
Sincerely,
Aunt Slugger
Friday, September 20, 2013
Catalog, Bill, Catalog, Catalog, Postcard, Catalog, Nazi Memorabilia, Catalog - Wait. What?
A little while ago, your Aunt Slugger discussed the fact that she receives a great deal of junk mail due to the fact that she purchased a glow-in-the-dark dinosaur coin last year. The vast majority of this junk mail is comprised of advertisements for places that sell extremely weird but otherwise benign shit. Oddly enough, the coin people rarely send me junk mail and instead focus their energies on calling me, apparently on the grounds that one $35 glow-in-the-dark dinosaur coin makes me a whale in the coin collecting community.
So I was actually somewhat surprised when I opened my mailbox to discover that not only do I need a Budweiser Majestic Clydesdale Sculpture With Leather Bridle RIGHT NOW, but also that the coin people had sent me a full color glossy catalog. And I won't lie when I say the offer of the free mystery gift caught my eye.
So I start looking through this catalog, and I will admit that the blue whale titanium coin did pique my interest. And then the mystery gift on top of that? I mean - we're talking about an investment, really.
And then I turned a few pages to find this:
First - of course it was found in Texas.
And second, don't you think, if you were in the coin business, that maybe you would make your Nazi Currency Department a little less public? Like maybe you wouldn't include that set in your full color glossy catalog? Maybe you'd limit the ability to find this set on your website, perhaps by only having it pop up when people type "I heart Hitler" in the search bar? I really couldn't believe that the coin people were trying to sell me their extra-fine German Reichsmarks. I am not surprised that people collect them, because there are enough crazy people out there to make this a plausible reality. But I was surprised that the coin people were so brazen about it.
So I decided to google this phenomenon, and found myself plumbing the depths of the internet. It turns out that a lot of people collect Nazi coins and see nothing wrong with it. I think this is weird and will not hesitate to judge these people. You've also got your armchair philosophers who say things like, "Do not ponder the path that the metal content has taken since being plucked from the earth. It is not the metals fault." Or my personal favorite, "I was intrigued when I discovered that the Boy Scouts of America used the swastika symbol on many of their tokens and badges in the early 1900's. Back then it was a good luck symbol before the Nazi party adopted the same."
That makes perfect sense right there. Airtight logic. "The swastika on those WWII-era Reichsmarks with von Hindenburg's face all over them is really just a good luck symbol! You shouldn't associate it with the mass murder of millions of people! I mean, why would you? It's just a good luck symbol!"
New York Mint: Stop trying to sell me your wares, and fuck you. You lure me in with blue whales and promises of mystery gifts and then BOOM! Holocaust! A must-have for anyone who loves glow-in-the-dark dinosaur coins!
Somehow, New York Mint, you are even creepier than the Bradford Exchange.
So I was actually somewhat surprised when I opened my mailbox to discover that not only do I need a Budweiser Majestic Clydesdale Sculpture With Leather Bridle RIGHT NOW, but also that the coin people had sent me a full color glossy catalog. And I won't lie when I say the offer of the free mystery gift caught my eye.
So I start looking through this catalog, and I will admit that the blue whale titanium coin did pique my interest. And then the mystery gift on top of that? I mean - we're talking about an investment, really.
And then I turned a few pages to find this:
First - of course it was found in Texas.
And second, don't you think, if you were in the coin business, that maybe you would make your Nazi Currency Department a little less public? Like maybe you wouldn't include that set in your full color glossy catalog? Maybe you'd limit the ability to find this set on your website, perhaps by only having it pop up when people type "I heart Hitler" in the search bar? I really couldn't believe that the coin people were trying to sell me their extra-fine German Reichsmarks. I am not surprised that people collect them, because there are enough crazy people out there to make this a plausible reality. But I was surprised that the coin people were so brazen about it.
So I decided to google this phenomenon, and found myself plumbing the depths of the internet. It turns out that a lot of people collect Nazi coins and see nothing wrong with it. I think this is weird and will not hesitate to judge these people. You've also got your armchair philosophers who say things like, "Do not ponder the path that the metal content has taken since being plucked from the earth. It is not the metals fault." Or my personal favorite, "I was intrigued when I discovered that the Boy Scouts of America used the swastika symbol on many of their tokens and badges in the early 1900's. Back then it was a good luck symbol before the Nazi party adopted the same."
That makes perfect sense right there. Airtight logic. "The swastika on those WWII-era Reichsmarks with von Hindenburg's face all over them is really just a good luck symbol! You shouldn't associate it with the mass murder of millions of people! I mean, why would you? It's just a good luck symbol!"
New York Mint: Stop trying to sell me your wares, and fuck you. You lure me in with blue whales and promises of mystery gifts and then BOOM! Holocaust! A must-have for anyone who loves glow-in-the-dark dinosaur coins!
Somehow, New York Mint, you are even creepier than the Bradford Exchange.
Sunday, September 15, 2013
Halloween Crafting With Your Aunt Slugger
Your Aunt Slugger decided today that she would stop into a local craft store to pick up some supplies to make a Halloween decoration for her front door. I have had a Valentine's wreath hanging on the door since January, and figured today was a good day for a change. I think it went well, and I have decided to share my step-by-step process with you, my loyal readers.
First, you will need your supplies. Your Aunt Slugger bought the following items at her local hobby shop: Ribbon, and a glitter spider attached to a web.
Second, you will need a pair of scissors that cuts unique shapes out of paper.
Third, you will need a regular pair of scissors when you realize that your pair of shape-cutting scissors is a piece of shit and does not cut ribbon. Your regular pair of scissors will also not cut ribbon, but it gets the job done with some elbow grease and jagged edges.
You will also need an assistant.
Your assistant will be responsible for quality control.
After you have cut your ribbon, you will need an absolutely useless Martha Stewart bow tutorial. Follow these instructions carefully. You will eventually get a nice, symmetrical bow, like this one:
Now clip your spider on and you've got your door decoration! Fucking professional!
Ask your assistant for help hanging that sucker right out there for the public to see. And you're done!
Friday, August 16, 2013
People Who Do Not Have Enough To Do
Here at Aunt Slugger HQ, we are always on the lookout for major news developments in your Aunt Slugger's hometown of Fort Wayne, a charming hamlet in the northeastern part of Indiana. Sadly, Fort Wayne has had some problems lately, including but not limited to more than 20 homicides in the first half of the calendar year. But honestly, who has time to count homicides when there are more pressing matters at hand, like the proposed addition of a subdivision containing homes valued in the $200-$300k range?
Well, for starters, we've got local residents Tim Gardner and Thomas Metzger, who are concerned that these paltry $200-$300k homes will be too close together and will make the place look like a Haitian shantytown, thus driving down home prices. (Tim Gardner and Thomas Metzger: I am going to assume here that you only dimly aware of affairs outside of northeastern Indiana, so here is an article about shantytowns so that you are armed with other topics of discussion besides the value of your home.) Tim Gardner, who took time out of what I presume is his busy schedule of parading himself around town acting like an elitist jerk, went on record to say, "We didn’t expect to be living next to a trailer park."
Grown man. Actual quote.
So today I find myself issuing an Official Aunt Slugger Warning to my readers:
THERE ARE PEOPLE WHO HAVE NOTHING BETTER TO DO THAN COMPLAIN BITTERLY ABOUT SUBDIVISIONS. THESE PEOPLE ARE SCARY AND WEIRD. TIM GARDNER AND THOMAS METZGER, I'M TALKING TO YOU.
Now, for those of my readers who live in San Francisco, Southern California, New York City, London, or other metropolitan areas where home prices are outrageous, a $200-$300k home in Fort Wayne, Indiana, will net you a lot of house. Even if it did not, a $200-$300k property is nevertheless outside the grasp of many Americans.
But I have left out the best part! The homes in the nearby areas (presumably where Tim Gardner and Thomas Metzger live) are, for the most part, OF SIMILAR VALUE. So home prices are already not that much different than the houses in the proposed subdivision. I am no expert in real estate, but I think the conclusion we can draw from this is that Tim Gardner and Thomas Metzger, along with the other milquetoasts who came to the public hearing to complain, are a greater threat to home prices than the proposed new subdivision.
So readers, beware. And the next time you find yourself feeling down, just remember: Another day spent not worrying about proposed subdivisions in your neighborhood is another day spent being a better person than Tim Gardner and Thomas Metzger.
Sincerely,
Aunt Slugger
Well, for starters, we've got local residents Tim Gardner and Thomas Metzger, who are concerned that these paltry $200-$300k homes will be too close together and will make the place look like a Haitian shantytown, thus driving down home prices. (Tim Gardner and Thomas Metzger: I am going to assume here that you only dimly aware of affairs outside of northeastern Indiana, so here is an article about shantytowns so that you are armed with other topics of discussion besides the value of your home.) Tim Gardner, who took time out of what I presume is his busy schedule of parading himself around town acting like an elitist jerk, went on record to say, "We didn’t expect to be living next to a trailer park."
Grown man. Actual quote.
So today I find myself issuing an Official Aunt Slugger Warning to my readers:
THERE ARE PEOPLE WHO HAVE NOTHING BETTER TO DO THAN COMPLAIN BITTERLY ABOUT SUBDIVISIONS. THESE PEOPLE ARE SCARY AND WEIRD. TIM GARDNER AND THOMAS METZGER, I'M TALKING TO YOU.
Now, for those of my readers who live in San Francisco, Southern California, New York City, London, or other metropolitan areas where home prices are outrageous, a $200-$300k home in Fort Wayne, Indiana, will net you a lot of house. Even if it did not, a $200-$300k property is nevertheless outside the grasp of many Americans.
But I have left out the best part! The homes in the nearby areas (presumably where Tim Gardner and Thomas Metzger live) are, for the most part, OF SIMILAR VALUE. So home prices are already not that much different than the houses in the proposed subdivision. I am no expert in real estate, but I think the conclusion we can draw from this is that Tim Gardner and Thomas Metzger, along with the other milquetoasts who came to the public hearing to complain, are a greater threat to home prices than the proposed new subdivision.
So readers, beware. And the next time you find yourself feeling down, just remember: Another day spent not worrying about proposed subdivisions in your neighborhood is another day spent being a better person than Tim Gardner and Thomas Metzger.
Sincerely,
Aunt Slugger
Thursday, August 8, 2013
Here's a Dude Who Does Not Like His Job
Your Aunt Slugger receives a large volume of letters from her loyal readers seeking advice on how to deal with a job they do not like. Your Aunt Slugger can relate to this particular predicament. Do you think I enjoy providing my unsolicited opinions on political and social matters? Do you think I want to perform a valuable public service function - blogging - day in and day out? My god. If I don't do it, who will?*
But that is the cross I bear, as an advice columnist.
Your Aunt Slugger has also held other undesirable jobs. In college, your Aunt Slugger was a "sanitation specialist" for her university's biology department. Each day after my classes were over, I would head over to the department's basement and open an antiquated dumbwaiter. If this dumbwaiter contained used test tubes, I would take the tubes out, rinse them, put them in special test tube racks, and sanitize them using two specially equipped dishwasher-type machines that rattled so much that they would crawl several inches across the floor each time I operated them. The dishwashers were located in a dirty little room with one lightbulb that swung from the ceiling. I hated this room. I hated the dishwashers. I hated the dumbwaiter. I had to wear a lab coat, goggles, and special gloves because the test tubes often broke into tiny little aggravating test tube bits.
One day your Aunt Slugger reported to the dumbwaiter to find buckets of dirty test tubes labeled "CAUTION: RADIOACTIVE."
"Ha ha ha," I said to myself. "They forgot to take the sticker off."
So I set about getting ready to clean the test tubes when, for the first time, my pea-sized, college student brain flickered briefly. I now know this sensation as "common sense."
You can see where this is going. The test tubes were radioactive, your Aunt Slugger got molested by a guy with a Geiger Counter, and she gave her notice the next day after being forced to forfeit her favorite sweatshirt because it had turned into an all-cotton version of the Bikini Atoll.
In retrospect, this incident explains a lot.
Anyway, so the point here is that I am no stranger to shitty jobs. We won't even discuss my summers spent mowing lawns in Indiana.**
So I know what it's like to want to call your boss and tell him that you can't take one more day making smoothies for ungrateful little fucksnots at the Glenbrook Square Mall. (Another job.) I know this feeling well.
HOWEVER, for all my bitching and moaning, I did not take the bull by the horns like this dude. This guy - Casey James Fury - this guy had just had enough of this shit. "Over it," he must've said to himself when he woke up that morning before he went to go work as a painter and sandblaster on a dry-docked submarine. "I'm going to fucking set fire to this NAVAL ATTACK SUBMARINE."
So he did. Just set the place ablaze.
But it turns out the Casey James Fury, whose photo should 100% be next to the definition of "lazy" in the dictionary, is no master arsonist, and he found himself back at work in only a short while.
So what do you do in that situation? Go back to work? No. No no no. You grow some balls like Casey James Fury, and you SET ANOTHER FIRE IN THE NAVAL ATTACK SUBMARINE.
Oh sure, he now owes $400 million and is spending 17 years in prison, but the bottom line is that Casey James Fury is not spending another fucking day sandblasting that dry-docked sub. Mission accomplished.
So the next time you find yourself looking for a way to get out of work, don't think small. A fake relative's funeral? Amateur hour. Think like Casey James Fury. Think big.***
Sincerely,
Aunt Slugger
*Absolutely everyone. Everyone has a fucking blog.
**Actually, we will. They were horrific.
***With "big" being defined as "a federal or state correctional facility."
But that is the cross I bear, as an advice columnist.
Your Aunt Slugger has also held other undesirable jobs. In college, your Aunt Slugger was a "sanitation specialist" for her university's biology department. Each day after my classes were over, I would head over to the department's basement and open an antiquated dumbwaiter. If this dumbwaiter contained used test tubes, I would take the tubes out, rinse them, put them in special test tube racks, and sanitize them using two specially equipped dishwasher-type machines that rattled so much that they would crawl several inches across the floor each time I operated them. The dishwashers were located in a dirty little room with one lightbulb that swung from the ceiling. I hated this room. I hated the dishwashers. I hated the dumbwaiter. I had to wear a lab coat, goggles, and special gloves because the test tubes often broke into tiny little aggravating test tube bits.
One day your Aunt Slugger reported to the dumbwaiter to find buckets of dirty test tubes labeled "CAUTION: RADIOACTIVE."
"Ha ha ha," I said to myself. "They forgot to take the sticker off."
So I set about getting ready to clean the test tubes when, for the first time, my pea-sized, college student brain flickered briefly. I now know this sensation as "common sense."
You can see where this is going. The test tubes were radioactive, your Aunt Slugger got molested by a guy with a Geiger Counter, and she gave her notice the next day after being forced to forfeit her favorite sweatshirt because it had turned into an all-cotton version of the Bikini Atoll.
In retrospect, this incident explains a lot.
Anyway, so the point here is that I am no stranger to shitty jobs. We won't even discuss my summers spent mowing lawns in Indiana.**
So I know what it's like to want to call your boss and tell him that you can't take one more day making smoothies for ungrateful little fucksnots at the Glenbrook Square Mall. (Another job.) I know this feeling well.
HOWEVER, for all my bitching and moaning, I did not take the bull by the horns like this dude. This guy - Casey James Fury - this guy had just had enough of this shit. "Over it," he must've said to himself when he woke up that morning before he went to go work as a painter and sandblaster on a dry-docked submarine. "I'm going to fucking set fire to this NAVAL ATTACK SUBMARINE."
So he did. Just set the place ablaze.
But it turns out the Casey James Fury, whose photo should 100% be next to the definition of "lazy" in the dictionary, is no master arsonist, and he found himself back at work in only a short while.
So what do you do in that situation? Go back to work? No. No no no. You grow some balls like Casey James Fury, and you SET ANOTHER FIRE IN THE NAVAL ATTACK SUBMARINE.
Oh sure, he now owes $400 million and is spending 17 years in prison, but the bottom line is that Casey James Fury is not spending another fucking day sandblasting that dry-docked sub. Mission accomplished.
So the next time you find yourself looking for a way to get out of work, don't think small. A fake relative's funeral? Amateur hour. Think like Casey James Fury. Think big.***
Sincerely,
Aunt Slugger
*Absolutely everyone. Everyone has a fucking blog.
**Actually, we will. They were horrific.
***With "big" being defined as "a federal or state correctional facility."
Tuesday, August 6, 2013
A Professional Baseball Player Uses Steroids, Humans Breathe Oxygen, and Other Well-Known Facts
Your Aunt Slugger browses several news outlets each day. In no specific order, these news outlets are
The Boston Globe
NPR.com
CNN.com
The Wall Street Journal
That Foreign Salmon-Colored Newspaper
The Fort Wayne Journal Gazette
The New York Times
Each of these news outlets offers something different. But one thing they all have in common: sports. You can't get through a single one of these news outlets without somehow encountering sports. Your Aunt Slugger hates nearly all sports. The only sports I enjoy are racquet sports that take place in an enclosed court because you don't have to run as far to find the ball, and your chances of sustaining an eye injury are far greater, which would mean ending the game early to go have appetizers. I also enjoy a good game of H.O.R.S.E. (South Side High School Sixth Period Women's H.O.R.S.E. champion '95 right here), because that's a sport that can be played, if not not improved, with alcohol.
Anyway, I realize that other people like sports, so I am not begrudging these news outlets for reflecting the interests of the masses. So I will instead complain about the masses.
Over the past few days I have been carefully avoiding clicking on any stories with the words "Alex," "A-Rod," "Rodriguez," and "Yankees" in the headlines because they clearly do not pertain to me. Instead I have been clicking on EVERYTHING ELSE. I've been trying to drum up interest in absolutely anything besides baseball. Anything at all. But then yesterday I saw this headline:
"Alex Rodriguez Says, 'I am Fighting for My Life.'"
And I thought to myself, "Oh my god, is he dying?" and I was suddenly consumed with sympathy for this man, who I assumed was suffering from a terrible disease or being unlawfully detained by the North Koreans.
Oh whoops! Sorry! No! My fault! He's been accused of using steroids and has been suspended for the rest of the season.
I don't wish to point fingers here, but which of you fuckers out there is sustaining the interest in steroid use among professional athletes? This, to me, is like reading a headline that says, "Grocery Store Sells Food" and "Pigeon Enjoying Discarded Croissant in Penn Station" and being interested. I should think the real news story is when a professional athlete is NOT accused of using steroids.
But perhaps it's time for me to accept that maybe I am just a statistical outlier when it comes to my interest in these matters, since I am sure a lot of people would say that this is not news. Although they would be wrong.
The Boston Globe
NPR.com
CNN.com
The Wall Street Journal
That Foreign Salmon-Colored Newspaper
The Fort Wayne Journal Gazette
The New York Times
Each of these news outlets offers something different. But one thing they all have in common: sports. You can't get through a single one of these news outlets without somehow encountering sports. Your Aunt Slugger hates nearly all sports. The only sports I enjoy are racquet sports that take place in an enclosed court because you don't have to run as far to find the ball, and your chances of sustaining an eye injury are far greater, which would mean ending the game early to go have appetizers. I also enjoy a good game of H.O.R.S.E. (South Side High School Sixth Period Women's H.O.R.S.E. champion '95 right here), because that's a sport that can be played, if not not improved, with alcohol.
Anyway, I realize that other people like sports, so I am not begrudging these news outlets for reflecting the interests of the masses. So I will instead complain about the masses.
Over the past few days I have been carefully avoiding clicking on any stories with the words "Alex," "A-Rod," "Rodriguez," and "Yankees" in the headlines because they clearly do not pertain to me. Instead I have been clicking on EVERYTHING ELSE. I've been trying to drum up interest in absolutely anything besides baseball. Anything at all. But then yesterday I saw this headline:
"Alex Rodriguez Says, 'I am Fighting for My Life.'"
And I thought to myself, "Oh my god, is he dying?" and I was suddenly consumed with sympathy for this man, who I assumed was suffering from a terrible disease or being unlawfully detained by the North Koreans.
Oh whoops! Sorry! No! My fault! He's been accused of using steroids and has been suspended for the rest of the season.
I don't wish to point fingers here, but which of you fuckers out there is sustaining the interest in steroid use among professional athletes? This, to me, is like reading a headline that says, "Grocery Store Sells Food" and "Pigeon Enjoying Discarded Croissant in Penn Station" and being interested. I should think the real news story is when a professional athlete is NOT accused of using steroids.
But perhaps it's time for me to accept that maybe I am just a statistical outlier when it comes to my interest in these matters, since I am sure a lot of people would say that this is not news. Although they would be wrong.
Friday, August 2, 2013
CNN Wastes Valuable Internet Space
First, I would like to thank my fans for the outpouring of congratulations I received on the announcement of my engagement. I would provide an update on the ring shopping, but doing so is based on the assumption that anyone cares, which people undoubtedly do not. So the update on the ring shopping is that there is no update, because you people have better shit to do with your time.
So we are back to our regularly scheduled Aunt Slugger programming. Today, your Aunt Slugger came across this article by a woman who feels as though she has been ostracized for her decision not to have children. In this article, she goes on to compare herself to gays and lesbians who wish to have children but cannot, and she makes many claims about the hate-filled remarks she has received over the years. She writes,
"The pressure is particularly intense living in Fayetteville, North Carolina, where my husband is stationed in the military. I've had women tell me that I was a horrible person, a horrible wife and a horrible American because it was my 'duty' to reproduce. I was shocked to hear such a statement in 2013."
Let me start this off by saying that your Aunt Slugger does not have kids, unless you count her cat or older brother who has a doctorate but cannot operate a stove. Your Aunt Slugger does periodically receive questions about whether she will have kids, and in fact, now that I am engaged to be married, I have received this question roughly seventeen times per every 24-hour period. It is an annoying question, mostly because it is very, very hard for your Aunt Slugger not to answer this question by saying, "I would love to have kids, provided they do not end up like yours."
But let's get back to our CNN contributor, who apparently believes she is a member of an oppressed minority group. So it is time for your Aunt Slugger to issue a
CRITICAL PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT.
Stop pretending to be victimized in national op-ed articles. You're acting as though you just published The Satanic Verses. And also, stop hanging out with assholes. If people are telling you that you're a horrible person for not wanting kids, you are hanging out with the wrong people. Go find some new friends. For the love of god, you said it yourself: It's 2013. You don't have to hang out with people who are dicks. De-friend them on Facebook, buy a new bumper sticker, and make some new friends. Your Aunt Slugger has friends across the spectrum: with kids, without kids, without kids but wanting kids, and with kids but looking for a good sleepaway camp so that they can get some goddamn rest. And none of them have ever called your Aunt Slugger names.
So please cut this shit out and find something of more importance to write about.
Sincerely,
Aunt Slugger
Childless Advice Columnist Who Does Not Give a Fuck What You Think of Her Childless Situation
So we are back to our regularly scheduled Aunt Slugger programming. Today, your Aunt Slugger came across this article by a woman who feels as though she has been ostracized for her decision not to have children. In this article, she goes on to compare herself to gays and lesbians who wish to have children but cannot, and she makes many claims about the hate-filled remarks she has received over the years. She writes,
"The pressure is particularly intense living in Fayetteville, North Carolina, where my husband is stationed in the military. I've had women tell me that I was a horrible person, a horrible wife and a horrible American because it was my 'duty' to reproduce. I was shocked to hear such a statement in 2013."
Let me start this off by saying that your Aunt Slugger does not have kids, unless you count her cat or older brother who has a doctorate but cannot operate a stove. Your Aunt Slugger does periodically receive questions about whether she will have kids, and in fact, now that I am engaged to be married, I have received this question roughly seventeen times per every 24-hour period. It is an annoying question, mostly because it is very, very hard for your Aunt Slugger not to answer this question by saying, "I would love to have kids, provided they do not end up like yours."
But let's get back to our CNN contributor, who apparently believes she is a member of an oppressed minority group. So it is time for your Aunt Slugger to issue a
CRITICAL PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT.
Stop pretending to be victimized in national op-ed articles. You're acting as though you just published The Satanic Verses. And also, stop hanging out with assholes. If people are telling you that you're a horrible person for not wanting kids, you are hanging out with the wrong people. Go find some new friends. For the love of god, you said it yourself: It's 2013. You don't have to hang out with people who are dicks. De-friend them on Facebook, buy a new bumper sticker, and make some new friends. Your Aunt Slugger has friends across the spectrum: with kids, without kids, without kids but wanting kids, and with kids but looking for a good sleepaway camp so that they can get some goddamn rest. And none of them have ever called your Aunt Slugger names.
So please cut this shit out and find something of more importance to write about.
Sincerely,
Aunt Slugger
Childless Advice Columnist Who Does Not Give a Fuck What You Think of Her Childless Situation
Thursday, August 1, 2013
Someone Tries to Make a Respectable Woman of Your Aunt Slugger
Dear Aunt Slugger,
Are you married? If not, I think I would like to propose. Please let me know via a notarized affidavit if you are interested.
Sincerely,
Inmate #58791, Leavenworth Federal Penitentiary
I will grant you, Inmate #58791, that your offer is appealing. You have stable housing and possibly access to cable television, which are two qualities I find attractive in a potential life mate. However, your window of opportunity has closed, because just this weekend, your Aunt Slugger received another marriage proposal, and she accepted it.
Yes, readers, you read that correctly. Your Aunt Slugger is engaged to be married. Your Aunt Slugger is very excited about this proposal, because being a married woman will lend some credibility to my advice columns about how to keep your husband happy, since we all know this is a topic your Aunt Slugger blogs about frequently.*
Your Aunt Slugger's paramour proposed to her with the caveat that your Aunt Slugger be responsible for selecting the ring. "I do not want to be held responsible," he said, "for making that decision." After shooting down my suggestion that we buy an Angry Birds ring from one of those grocery store vending machines, he took your Aunt Slugger ring shopping.
Now might be a good time to share with my readers a story from my youth so that you may have some context. When your Aunt Slugger was in the fourth grade, she entered a contest at a local mall to guess the number of Legos it took to build a giant Lego astronaut that was featured in this mall. A few weeks later, I received a letter saying I had won the contest and that the prize was $500 in gift certificates to this mall.
Bear in mind that I would be thrilled with such a prize NOW, let alone when I was roughly nine years old. It was like winning the lottery.
So my mother took me to this mall so that I might spend some of my winnings. Our first stop was the now-defunct L.S. Ayres department store, where I decided I wanted some jewels to complement my fashionable wardrobe of dog sweatshirts. My mother wisely steered me toward the costume jewelry section because I did not know the difference. I proceeded to select about five hideously tacky rings before my mother finally told me to call it quits on the jewels. But I did get my rings, and they were delightful. My mother winced uncomfortably when I would wear them.
Fast forward to today. Little has changed, except that I now have a job and am not constrained by my mother's jewelry store interventions. I buy 98% of my jewelry from established jewel dealers like Forever 21 and Claire's Boutique. I am always the oldest person in either of these stores.
So it goes without saying here that your Aunt Slugger does not belong in a regular jewelry store. And I certainly do not belong in the engagement ring section of a jewelry store. Yesterday, your Aunt Slugger and this poor dude who proposed to her went to a nice jewelry store, where the guy behind the counter looked as though he was fighting off an aneurysm the whole time we were in the store.
"I think I don't like this rectangle here," I said.
"The emerald cut," he said.
Well EXCUSE THE FUCK OUT OF ME. I took geometry in high school, and I know a rectangle when I see one. And that was a rectangle. If it were a dodecahedron, fine. That doesn't exactly roll off the tongue. Call it something else. But your basic jewelry shapes are circle, rectangle, square, flat square, and square with rounded edges.
So it goes without saying that your Aunt Slugger has not yet found a ring, or even a jeweler who does not have one hand on the panic button the whole time she is in the store.
But that does not mean that she is not still very excited. I am busily working on my next column, "How to Keep Dinner Warm While Your Husband Is Working Late."**
Very sincerely yours,
Aunt Slugger
*Never.
**Tell him to put it in the microwave; this isn't rocket science.
Are you married? If not, I think I would like to propose. Please let me know via a notarized affidavit if you are interested.
Sincerely,
Inmate #58791, Leavenworth Federal Penitentiary
I will grant you, Inmate #58791, that your offer is appealing. You have stable housing and possibly access to cable television, which are two qualities I find attractive in a potential life mate. However, your window of opportunity has closed, because just this weekend, your Aunt Slugger received another marriage proposal, and she accepted it.
Yes, readers, you read that correctly. Your Aunt Slugger is engaged to be married. Your Aunt Slugger is very excited about this proposal, because being a married woman will lend some credibility to my advice columns about how to keep your husband happy, since we all know this is a topic your Aunt Slugger blogs about frequently.*
Your Aunt Slugger's paramour proposed to her with the caveat that your Aunt Slugger be responsible for selecting the ring. "I do not want to be held responsible," he said, "for making that decision." After shooting down my suggestion that we buy an Angry Birds ring from one of those grocery store vending machines, he took your Aunt Slugger ring shopping.
Now might be a good time to share with my readers a story from my youth so that you may have some context. When your Aunt Slugger was in the fourth grade, she entered a contest at a local mall to guess the number of Legos it took to build a giant Lego astronaut that was featured in this mall. A few weeks later, I received a letter saying I had won the contest and that the prize was $500 in gift certificates to this mall.
Bear in mind that I would be thrilled with such a prize NOW, let alone when I was roughly nine years old. It was like winning the lottery.
So my mother took me to this mall so that I might spend some of my winnings. Our first stop was the now-defunct L.S. Ayres department store, where I decided I wanted some jewels to complement my fashionable wardrobe of dog sweatshirts. My mother wisely steered me toward the costume jewelry section because I did not know the difference. I proceeded to select about five hideously tacky rings before my mother finally told me to call it quits on the jewels. But I did get my rings, and they were delightful. My mother winced uncomfortably when I would wear them.
Fast forward to today. Little has changed, except that I now have a job and am not constrained by my mother's jewelry store interventions. I buy 98% of my jewelry from established jewel dealers like Forever 21 and Claire's Boutique. I am always the oldest person in either of these stores.
So it goes without saying here that your Aunt Slugger does not belong in a regular jewelry store. And I certainly do not belong in the engagement ring section of a jewelry store. Yesterday, your Aunt Slugger and this poor dude who proposed to her went to a nice jewelry store, where the guy behind the counter looked as though he was fighting off an aneurysm the whole time we were in the store.
"I think I don't like this rectangle here," I said.
"The emerald cut," he said.
Well EXCUSE THE FUCK OUT OF ME. I took geometry in high school, and I know a rectangle when I see one. And that was a rectangle. If it were a dodecahedron, fine. That doesn't exactly roll off the tongue. Call it something else. But your basic jewelry shapes are circle, rectangle, square, flat square, and square with rounded edges.
So it goes without saying that your Aunt Slugger has not yet found a ring, or even a jeweler who does not have one hand on the panic button the whole time she is in the store.
But that does not mean that she is not still very excited. I am busily working on my next column, "How to Keep Dinner Warm While Your Husband Is Working Late."**
Very sincerely yours,
Aunt Slugger
*Never.
**Tell him to put it in the microwave; this isn't rocket science.
Wednesday, July 24, 2013
Easily Among the Top Ten Greatest Marketing Failures in American History
Your Aunt Slugger doesn't check her mail much. I'd like to say that this is because I have moved to paperless billing and am thereby reducing wasteful mailings, but this is definitely not true. No, your Aunt Slugger does not check her mail much because the mailbox is in a centrally located building in her apartment complex, and it is out of her way. And by "out of her way," your Aunt Slugger means, "not right next to her door."
Your Aunt Slugger also receives a great deal of junk mail. Almost an unprecedented amount of junk mail. I trace this back to an ill-advised purchase I made from a coin dealer. Your Aunt Slugger does not collect coins, nor does she have strong feelings about coins one way or the other. But I saw this article about a glow-in-the-dark Canadian quarter and figured this coin would make a nice, if not sophisticated, addition to my curio cabinet full of Muppets glasses. I paid $35 for this coin, waited six months to get it, and then also received a commemorative Elvis coin for my patience. I have subsequently received a number of phone calls from this coin dealer, including one where I was sucked into the conversation with tales of a special panda coin.
"Well that sounds interesting," I said. "How much does that cost?"
"Two thousand dollars."
So my coin collection still only consists of the dinosaur coin, the commemorative Elvis coin, and a gold coin that I found on the ground and initially thought was a unique foreign coin until I realized it was a Chuck E. Cheese token.
Anyway, back to my original point: I am fairly certain I receive a lot of junk mail because the coin people sold my name and information to anyone out there who has a product to sell. All of this junk mail goes in the recycling bin, but I do have to sift through it for real mail, like letters from my grandmother and pamphlets advertising pizza deals.
So yesterday I finally dug into my pile of junk mail, and in this pile was what may be the single weirdest item I have ever received in the mail: an offer to subscribe to a magazine entitled "Angels on Earth." I decided to open this piece of mail. Below is the text of the letter, altered only slightly to use my legal name, Aunt Slugger.
I received an offer of three free gifts if I take them up on their offer of a free issue: A 2014 angel wall calendar, an angel afghan, and a mystery gift. I also received two FREE personalized bookmarks and a tear-out blessing card, presumably so I can give it to the Israelites and save their souls.
Your Aunt Slugger is not disparaging the people who subscribe to this magazine. People are allowed to believe in angels and read about them. But your Aunt Slugger is DEFINITELY disparaging the FUCKING IDIOT who thought your Aunt Slugger was in this magazine's target market. Yes, I realize that these marketing folks cast a wide net to try to reel in a few fish. But this...this net was too big. A glow-in-the-dark dinosaur coin DOES NOT an angel enthusiast make.
I also find it hard to believe that angels support mass mailings, or that they would charge me $14.95 for a bi-monthly magazine about them, but then again, I am no expert. I took a few Renaissance art history classes in college, and the only thing angels seemed to do in the sixteenth century was hand out white lilies to the Virgin Mary over and over and over and over again. So really, what do I know.
If anyone needs two free bookmarks or a blessing card to convert the heathens, you know how to reach me.
Your Aunt Slugger also receives a great deal of junk mail. Almost an unprecedented amount of junk mail. I trace this back to an ill-advised purchase I made from a coin dealer. Your Aunt Slugger does not collect coins, nor does she have strong feelings about coins one way or the other. But I saw this article about a glow-in-the-dark Canadian quarter and figured this coin would make a nice, if not sophisticated, addition to my curio cabinet full of Muppets glasses. I paid $35 for this coin, waited six months to get it, and then also received a commemorative Elvis coin for my patience. I have subsequently received a number of phone calls from this coin dealer, including one where I was sucked into the conversation with tales of a special panda coin.
"Well that sounds interesting," I said. "How much does that cost?"
"Two thousand dollars."
So my coin collection still only consists of the dinosaur coin, the commemorative Elvis coin, and a gold coin that I found on the ground and initially thought was a unique foreign coin until I realized it was a Chuck E. Cheese token.
Anyway, back to my original point: I am fairly certain I receive a lot of junk mail because the coin people sold my name and information to anyone out there who has a product to sell. All of this junk mail goes in the recycling bin, but I do have to sift through it for real mail, like letters from my grandmother and pamphlets advertising pizza deals.
So yesterday I finally dug into my pile of junk mail, and in this pile was what may be the single weirdest item I have ever received in the mail: an offer to subscribe to a magazine entitled "Angels on Earth." I decided to open this piece of mail. Below is the text of the letter, altered only slightly to use my legal name, Aunt Slugger.
I received an offer of three free gifts if I take them up on their offer of a free issue: A 2014 angel wall calendar, an angel afghan, and a mystery gift. I also received two FREE personalized bookmarks and a tear-out blessing card, presumably so I can give it to the Israelites and save their souls.
Your Aunt Slugger is not disparaging the people who subscribe to this magazine. People are allowed to believe in angels and read about them. But your Aunt Slugger is DEFINITELY disparaging the FUCKING IDIOT who thought your Aunt Slugger was in this magazine's target market. Yes, I realize that these marketing folks cast a wide net to try to reel in a few fish. But this...this net was too big. A glow-in-the-dark dinosaur coin DOES NOT an angel enthusiast make.
I also find it hard to believe that angels support mass mailings, or that they would charge me $14.95 for a bi-monthly magazine about them, but then again, I am no expert. I took a few Renaissance art history classes in college, and the only thing angels seemed to do in the sixteenth century was hand out white lilies to the Virgin Mary over and over and over and over again. So really, what do I know.
If anyone needs two free bookmarks or a blessing card to convert the heathens, you know how to reach me.
Thursday, July 18, 2013
When Idiots Are Given Access to Technology
Here at Aunt Slugger HQ, we do still periodically find ourselves amazed by what people are willing to put on the internet. And here I am not referring to videos of animals bathing in time with an intolerably high-pitched version of a Bobby Darin song, because really, that's art. No, what I am referring to are people who do not realize that the magnitude of their ignorance is a.) not recordable by any standard cognitive tests, and b.) so outrageous it's comical.
The story I am referring to is, of course, the Twitter response to a performance of "God Bless America" at the All-Star baseball game. It seems that Marc Anthony, a well-known singer from New York, sang this song at the game. Your Aunt Slugger is actually familiar with Marc Anthony, despite being almost clinically unable to match a song with its artist; I was introduced to Marc Anthony in college, when a classmate in my "International Political Economy" class invited me over for a study group and played this song on repeat. So whenever I hear or read about Marc Anthony, I think about the 1997 Asian financial crisis.
Anyway, it seems that our fellow Americans took to Twitter en force to bitch about "a Mexican singing God Bless America."
Some examples of these Tweets include, but are not limited to, the following:
So to my foreign-born readers who sometimes think their English isn't great, or who are embarrassed by their language skills, stop. Because here we have a group of Americans who were born and educated here, and they are barely literate. You are already ahead of them.
And with that, I am going to go listen to some more Marc Anthony and think about Alan Greenspan.
The story I am referring to is, of course, the Twitter response to a performance of "God Bless America" at the All-Star baseball game. It seems that Marc Anthony, a well-known singer from New York, sang this song at the game. Your Aunt Slugger is actually familiar with Marc Anthony, despite being almost clinically unable to match a song with its artist; I was introduced to Marc Anthony in college, when a classmate in my "International Political Economy" class invited me over for a study group and played this song on repeat. So whenever I hear or read about Marc Anthony, I think about the 1997 Asian financial crisis.
Anyway, it seems that our fellow Americans took to Twitter en force to bitch about "a Mexican singing God Bless America."
Some examples of these Tweets include, but are not limited to, the following:
- "How they going to pick a got (sic) damn Mexican to sing God Bless AMERICA?"
- "Shouldnt (sic) an AMERICAN be signing (sic) God Bless America? #getoutofmycountry #allstargame"
- "Another disgrace (sic) Marc Anthony singing god (sic) bless (sic) America. Is he even an American citizen?"
So to my foreign-born readers who sometimes think their English isn't great, or who are embarrassed by their language skills, stop. Because here we have a group of Americans who were born and educated here, and they are barely literate. You are already ahead of them.
And with that, I am going to go listen to some more Marc Anthony and think about Alan Greenspan.
Wednesday, July 17, 2013
At least it's not 1955, right? Right...?
As a white person, your Aunt Slugger does occasionally find herself in situations where other white people, assuming that because your Aunt Slugger is white she will "understand," make racist remarks to her. Examples include, but are not limited to, the following:
Periodically, there will be long stretches of time between these comments, and with the passage of time comes a mellowing of my opinions on exactly how many people are racists. And I think how far we have come as a society. I read books like this one and I think, "Well, at least no one is shipping himself to Philadelphia in a box to escape slavery any more." Progress.
And then there is the story of Emmett Till. Emmett Till was a black kid from Chicago who spoke to a white woman in Mississippi and was beaten beyond recognition to his death because of that. This was in 1955. The white murderers were positively identified by a black witness in the courtroom (which in and of itself was an event, for a black man to openly show anything other than deference to whites). The jury acquitted the defendants after about an hour, with one juror reporting that it would have taken less time had they not taken a break to get soda.
You read that, and you think, "By god, we have come so far." And I am not denying that there has been progress. The George Zimmerman jurors, for example, at least had the decency not to tell us they took an eighteen hour soda break.
But then there is this case. A black defendant, exercising the "Stand Your Ground" law in Florida, fired warning shots to keep her abusive husband away. She did not kill her husband. No one died.
And the jury found her guilty in fifteen minutes. They were apparently not in the mood for soda.
The point of all this is that I find myself once again issuing a
CRITICAL PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT.
If you do not believe racism still exists, and that blacks and other minorities are not marginalized by our society's laws, policies, and judicial system, you are - and I mean no offense here - clinically brain dead. To be a white person and not understand that white people are afforded certain luxuries, like being statistically less likely to be shot by armed vigilantes, assumed to be bilking the welfare system, or being profiled by law enforcement officials, then YOU ARE THE PROBLEM. YOU are the reason a jury acquitted George Zimmerman. YOU are the reason that minorities are still haunted, years later, by Plessy vs. Ferguson and Jim Crow. You are the reason.
And you will probably dismiss your Aunt Slugger as a bleeding heart white liberal. And this is fine. Because at least I am not you.
- "You probably don't want to buy a house in that town. The schools are, shall I say...diverse?"
- "The blacks can stop complaining now that we have a black guy in the White House."
- "Is it bad that when you said what the charges were, I knew the defendant was black?"
- "I am glad that Barack Obama isn't acting like some 'homie.'"
Periodically, there will be long stretches of time between these comments, and with the passage of time comes a mellowing of my opinions on exactly how many people are racists. And I think how far we have come as a society. I read books like this one and I think, "Well, at least no one is shipping himself to Philadelphia in a box to escape slavery any more." Progress.
And then there is the story of Emmett Till. Emmett Till was a black kid from Chicago who spoke to a white woman in Mississippi and was beaten beyond recognition to his death because of that. This was in 1955. The white murderers were positively identified by a black witness in the courtroom (which in and of itself was an event, for a black man to openly show anything other than deference to whites). The jury acquitted the defendants after about an hour, with one juror reporting that it would have taken less time had they not taken a break to get soda.
You read that, and you think, "By god, we have come so far." And I am not denying that there has been progress. The George Zimmerman jurors, for example, at least had the decency not to tell us they took an eighteen hour soda break.
But then there is this case. A black defendant, exercising the "Stand Your Ground" law in Florida, fired warning shots to keep her abusive husband away. She did not kill her husband. No one died.
And the jury found her guilty in fifteen minutes. They were apparently not in the mood for soda.
The point of all this is that I find myself once again issuing a
CRITICAL PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT.
If you do not believe racism still exists, and that blacks and other minorities are not marginalized by our society's laws, policies, and judicial system, you are - and I mean no offense here - clinically brain dead. To be a white person and not understand that white people are afforded certain luxuries, like being statistically less likely to be shot by armed vigilantes, assumed to be bilking the welfare system, or being profiled by law enforcement officials, then YOU ARE THE PROBLEM. YOU are the reason a jury acquitted George Zimmerman. YOU are the reason that minorities are still haunted, years later, by Plessy vs. Ferguson and Jim Crow. You are the reason.
And you will probably dismiss your Aunt Slugger as a bleeding heart white liberal. And this is fine. Because at least I am not you.
Friday, July 12, 2013
A New Entry in the Guinness Book of World Records
Dear Aunt Slugger,
What do you think about the George Zimmerman trial, and what do you think of its broader implications?
Sincerely,
Margaret D. Tomkins, Milwaukee
Hello Margaret,
It's funny you should bring this up, Margaret D. Tomkins of Milwaukee, because I was just thinking about this as I was reading this morning's paper. I was drinking an iced tea from Starbucks and reading an op-ed piece about how the prosecution hasn't proven its case beyond a reasonable doubt, and how he will probably walk. And it does kind of sound as though there is reasonable doubt from a legal perspective, despite the fact that the fuckstick is clearly a murderer.
And as I was reading this, I said to myself, "You know, maybe now, when George Zimmerman walks free after shooting an unarmed teenager, we as a nation will ask ourselves how we have allowed this to happen, how we have allowed gun ownership to become a more basic right than access to Sudafed, and maybe there will be some change -" And then I slapped myself, and vowed only to buy this hallucinogenic iced tea from Starbucks on the weekends.
So that is what I think of the broader implications, Margaret D. Tomkins. A young black man has died in an act of senseless gun violence, and in keeping with what has become a legislative tradition, not one single fuck will be given. Not one single fuck. An armed vigilante engages in racial profiling and shoots an unarmed kid, and our nation's lawmakers will set the record for the number of negative fucks ever given.
But I received a full-body pat down when I accidentally did not include my mango tango gel deodorant in a TSA-approved clear plastic baggie of liquids in line at airport security last week. So the lesson here is that you may actively seek out a confrontation and shoot a young black man at your leisure, but don't you fucking dare try to refresh your armpits at the airport without proper security clearance.
Sincerely,
Aunt Slugger
What do you think about the George Zimmerman trial, and what do you think of its broader implications?
Sincerely,
Margaret D. Tomkins, Milwaukee
Hello Margaret,
It's funny you should bring this up, Margaret D. Tomkins of Milwaukee, because I was just thinking about this as I was reading this morning's paper. I was drinking an iced tea from Starbucks and reading an op-ed piece about how the prosecution hasn't proven its case beyond a reasonable doubt, and how he will probably walk. And it does kind of sound as though there is reasonable doubt from a legal perspective, despite the fact that the fuckstick is clearly a murderer.
And as I was reading this, I said to myself, "You know, maybe now, when George Zimmerman walks free after shooting an unarmed teenager, we as a nation will ask ourselves how we have allowed this to happen, how we have allowed gun ownership to become a more basic right than access to Sudafed, and maybe there will be some change -" And then I slapped myself, and vowed only to buy this hallucinogenic iced tea from Starbucks on the weekends.
So that is what I think of the broader implications, Margaret D. Tomkins. A young black man has died in an act of senseless gun violence, and in keeping with what has become a legislative tradition, not one single fuck will be given. Not one single fuck. An armed vigilante engages in racial profiling and shoots an unarmed kid, and our nation's lawmakers will set the record for the number of negative fucks ever given.
But I received a full-body pat down when I accidentally did not include my mango tango gel deodorant in a TSA-approved clear plastic baggie of liquids in line at airport security last week. So the lesson here is that you may actively seek out a confrontation and shoot a young black man at your leisure, but don't you fucking dare try to refresh your armpits at the airport without proper security clearance.
Sincerely,
Aunt Slugger
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