Wednesday, November 17, 2010

It's Kinda Like A Rant. But With Pomposity!

Someone told. Someone or something told Pandora that I was sitting in front of the fire last night doing nothing but reading and eating gingerbread turkeys. I think it's my iPhone. Normally I don't go around pointing fingers, but since I'm pretty sure my phone is like three times smarter than me, I think it's a pretty good guess. How do I know this? Because tonight while eating dinner with Katie and Ellie and balancing a plastic horse on my head Benjamin Gibbard mocked me with the song "You Remind Me of Home." The chorus? "You're wasting your life... You're wasting your life....You're wasting your life...You're wasting your life...." It seriously went on forever. RUDE! I don't need to be belittled by the lead singer of Death Cab For Cutie. It's not cool man. Not cool.

So, in order to prove Benjamin Gibbard wrong (because he was obviously talking about my blog), I've tossed my original post topic of "Why I Would Date Edward Cullen" for the much more relevant topic of "The Thanksgiving Boycott of X-Ray Body Scanners and Airport Security." And you all thought I was only capable of cannibal jokes, Twilight references, mocking Michael Bolton, bashing sci-fi, and throwing out prophetic Buck Roger warnings. (Not to mention butchering all grammar rules. On purpose. Obviously. Alot.)

Heh-hem. (That's me clearing my throat pompously in order to get your attention. You know, like a history professor.)

Heh-hem. (No one ever listens the first time.)

When I was pregnant with Ellie and jet setting around the country (read, I flew to Ohio) I was hoping someone would ask me to sashay my fertile self through one of those new fangled x-ray scanners. Mostly, because when I'm pregnant I walk around with a huge chip on my shoulder. But, they didn't and a little part of my inner grouch died that trip. BUT! I then read about the boycott people are calling for on the day before Thanksgiving and to them I say, "Here! Here!"

We simply can not allow our government to throw money around in an attempt to create a database of fuzzy naked photos of airline passengers. It's demoralizing. And...kinda creepy. Plus, who knows to what use those images will be put in the future. For instance, Katie walks through one and next thing you know some hacker in 2042 finds her photo and pastes it all over the internet thereby totally derailing her bid for the presidency and my chance to find all the secret passages in the White House with my grandson, Hubert in tow. Again, not cool, man. Not cool.

"But what about the Crotch Bomber?" you say. "We couldn't have caught him without the gratuitous use of cancer causing technology or a serious bun squeezing pat down."

True. But what about dogs? Bomb sniffing dogs. Crotch bomb sniffing dogs to be exact. Imagine, there you are at airport security with little Hubert.

Hubert: Mom! Can I pet the dog?
You: Why, yes, Hubert. Yes you can!

And then you just shuffle the family in their airport socks on over to meet Pickles, the nose of airport security!

It's simple. It's effective. It's fuzzy. Cute. And STILL naked! Plus, the average lifespan of a dog is, what, 12 years? Those dogs will totally be dead by the time Katie runs for Executive Office! Score!


Maybe I should stick to Twilight.


  1. That's what Katie tells me! We were having dinner the other night and she tells me that if she has a boy when she's all grown up she'll name him Hubert. Blame Mrs. Piggle Wiggle, not me! (This time.)