Happy St. Patrick's Day! A bitch plans to toss back several green vodka-based drinks a wee bit later.
A quick clarification…
Regarding the issue of parental involvement in sex education, this bitch is all for it. The problem is that even the most involved parent tends to fuck it up. This is perfectly understandable, since Americans tend to be rather repressed about sex in general and totally repressed when sex is connected to their spawn.
A bitch works with a population that is generationally challenged…not lazy, not apathetic and not assholic. Parents can only teach what they know and many of these parents are flying without a co-pilot on issues of contraception, protection and how to safely get your freak on.
Now, catch your knee before it jerks, Anonymouseseses.
This is not an issue of class or desire. What we fail to teach as pertains to sex education crosses all known social categories and all areas of intent…just like unplanned pregnancy, sexually transmitted diseases and exploitation.
Which brings us to the real issue on the table and a bitch is all about cutting through the bullshit. We are a society that is challenged to deal with the ramifications of unplanned pregnancy, exploitation and sexually transmitted diseases.
We have a couple of options on the table. We can say fuck it…parents need to step up...maintain the status quo on sex education, which panders to the cultural right and provides no supplement for inadequate parenting/mentoring/support…and watch the cards fall where they may, which will be on us like a ton of bricks.
Or we can embrace our social responsibility…and a healthy portion of reality as pertains to the limited educational capabilities of your average parent and the massive appeal of hot passion-based sex…and simply educate folks on the benefits of abstinence and protection...oh, and planning your fucking parenthood.
This bitch chooses the second option...the more balanced family valuesque route to me (wink).
Polls and Drama - A Dream-Based Exploration...
The following is a dream-based exploration and is in no way based on actual events...unless this is all a dream and my dreams are reality and...oh fuck it....
A bitch went to sleep with thoughts of Operation Swarmer on my mind.
Deep in the bowels of the White House the party faithful gathered. In a dimly lit room they munched on salty snacks and lamented the current Presidential poll figures.
John McCain angrily kicked a chair and glared at Scooter B.
“Gawd, I hate you! All my advisors keep telling me to pander to the Republican base...so there I was at the fucking straw poll circus in Memphis pandering like a motherfucker! ‘Support the President’, ‘He was so right on everything’ and ‘Don’t vote for me vote for him to show how American you are’! Fuck! Even the base hates you. They’d rather cast their straw vote for your asshole clone, Frist!”
McCain spat on the ground and stuffed chips in his mouth.
“Jesus! How the hell did I loose the primary to you? If this keeps up we’ll have Republicans jumping parties by 2008!”
Senator Bill Frist rolled his eyes and stepped forward.
“Pass the chips, you greedy bastard, and shit the fuck up. George, the Senators are all over me on these poll numbers!” He paused and shifted uncomfortably. “Shit! Look…they want me to pat down your ass and confirm the complete lack of coattails. Christ!” He awkwardly moved forward with hands outstretched.
“You know what? Fuck this shit to hell and back!” he exclaimed. “We need a plan!”
The President (Scooter B. to this bitch) sighed heavily and cast his eyes about the room.
“Where are the fucking chips? Okay…fine…ummm, Karl! Karl?” his gaze settled on Rove, who was fingering his new charm bracelet and gazing obsessively at the picture of Senator Hills Clinton he had attached to it.
“Oh, holy shit!” Scooter B. exclaimed. “Rummy!” his attention shot to Rumsfeld, who was in the far corner folded dejectedly into a chair.
“Rummy?” Scooter B. whispered.
Rumsfeld was beyond reach, rocking slowly back and forth an mumbling incoherently…"All I know is that it won’t be like our Civil War…not like ours!…not our Civil War…not like our Civil War at all…not one bit…not like the one we fought…North and South…oh, Mother!...oh sweet heaven…not like our Civil War at all!”
Scooter B. visibly swallowed. “Shit…fine...we’ll just bomb something! It worked for Nixon! Didn’t it? Fuck it! Tell the Joint Chiefs to blow something up over there! Pronto!”
A cautious minion stepped forward…"But Master, the press will connect this to the polls! They will know that this is a wasted effort and that stability can not be reached through random bombing!”
Scooter B. stuffed more chips in his mouth and shook his head…"No, son, they won’t. Damned country is too volatile for most of those assholes to get out and see a damned thing. For all they know we’re in control!” he paused and tossed in more chips. “Yeah. Bomb Samarra and then toss in a vague domestic threat…make it against malls or…oh, I know! Make it against the NCAA Tournament! Yeah! Big Business will appreciate that…they are all bitching about the lost productivity in March! Oh, guys, it's all coming together now!”
Scooter B. jumped up and clapped his hands gleefully.
“We are so cooking with hot grease, guys!”
Frist’s gaze locked with McCain's. Softly he muttered under his breath…"We’d better start preparing for a grease fire, ‘cause this asshole's second term is officially fubar.”
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