Tag Archives: Politics

speechless

I imagined starting off this post with all the reasons excuses I haven’t been writing. My computer broke. I’ve been crocheting. I have more. If you’re interested, just let me know. But I highly suspect you aren’t.

The truth is, I’m speechless. At a time when I feel like I should most find my voice, I’m embarrassingly mute. It’s not that I’m disconnected; quite the opposite. I’ve become a news junkie. I go to bed at night wearing wireless earbuds and wake up in the morning wondering what I missed after I fell asleep with them in. It’s that bad.

I’ve always maintained that I can’t change what goes on in the vast world, and so I’m just going to pay attention to those things that I can change. Someone’s day. My outlook. A corner of the garden. That worked for me because I believed, and still do, that the majority of people in the world are good. I believed things would all work out in the end because good conquers evil most of the time.

So now I’m a news junkie and I can’t claim blissful ignorance anymore. I understand that the good majority is poor, and that money buys the world. And what does one do when her voice is small and peaceful in a world that is screaming injustice at the top of its lungs?

I became speechless.

It’s not that I have nothing to say. It’s just that there are others saying it so well and so loud with all the best words. (That’s funny, right?) I can’t compete. Nor should I. Just because I have opinions on the news doesn’t mean I ought to write about it. That’s like somebody who admires and critiques art feeling guilty for not painting.

In the words of one of my favorite millenials, I need to do me. And if my voice is small and peaceful and speaks of wholeness, balance and love, there’s room for it. And maybe someone will hear it and smile. Because if all I do today is make someone smile, that’s enough.

I’ll never rid the world of injustice, prevail over all evil, or move millions to march. But I am enough. For that one person who just needed a hug or a smile or to be seen, I am enough.

So maybe you’ll be hearing more of me again. But you may need to take out your earbuds and listen closely over the roar of the protesters.

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So proud of the women my daughters have become. They love deeply. They think critically. And on this day we became not just mother and daughters, but women standing as one with millions across the globe against injustice, fear, hatred, and bullshit.

Peace . . .

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Scut Farkus for President

I’m not one to get up on a soapbox when it comes to politics.  One politician is, in my humble opinion, as bad or good as the next.  However, I feel the time has come for me to bring to light something that has been glaringly overlooked.  The closest thing I have to a soapbox is my bottle of liquid detergent, so without further adieu, let me begin.

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Donald R. Trump is not a politician.  He is the neighborhood bully you wouldn’t have voted into class presidency.  He is a spoiled, egocentric, tyrant who never received the good whooping he had coming to him.  In fact, I have indisputable evidence that he is Scut Farkus from A Christmas Story, all growA-Christmas-Story-1983n up and running for president.

Please tell me you’ve seen the holiday movie A Christmas Story.  It’s the classic tale of a nine-year old boy who wants only one thing for Christmas — A Red Ryder Carbine Action 200-shot Range Model Air Rifle.

So who is Scut Farkus, and why am I telling you this story when there are still 292 days until Christmas?  Scut Farkus is the little shit bully who torments our protagonist, Ralphie Parker.  And I’m claiming Farkus grew up, changed his name to Trump, and is now running for the presidency of the United States of America.  By the time you’re done reading this, I think you’ll be convinced as well.

When we meet Scut Farkus, he’s cornering Ralphie and his two buddies, Flick and Schwartz, along with Ralphie’s little brother Randy in an alley.  Farkus lets out an evil laugh.  The narrator, adult Ralphie says,

“There he stood, between us and the alley. Scut Farkus staring out at us with his yellow eyes. He had yellow eyes! SO HELP ME GOD, YELLOW EYES!!”  

The boys run to escape, but are cut short by Grover Dill, Scut’s crummy little toady.  Every bully needs a toady to do his dirty work.  Bullies don’t typically have the grit for it, and dare I say, neither does Trump.

I’ve seen a lot of comparisons of Trump to Mussolini or even Hitler.  One included a who-said-it game, and I thought that might be valuable here.  Unfortunately, Farkus didn’t say much in this movie, so this isn’t a long game, but let’s see if you can play along.

WHO SAID IT — TRUMP OR FARKUS?

  1. Listen, jerk.  When I tell you to come, you better come.
  2. I don’t like losers.
  3. I’m not doing that to brag. Because you know what, I don’t have to brag.
  4. What?  Are you gonna cry now?  Come on crybaby, cry for me.
  5. She’s a fat pig.

Scroll to the bottom for the answers.

The narrator goes on to tell us, “In our world, you were either a bully, a toady, or one of the nameless rabble of victims!”  Yet, Ralphie proves he is none of these when, finally, he is pushed to his breaking point.  His hot tears turn to rage and he rams into Trump . . . er, I mean . . . Farkus, and knocks him to the ground.  Ralphie pummels the bully to a bloody pulp, while his toady, Dill, runs home to his Dad.

If Trump ends up being our Republican candidate, which it looks like he will, I can’t wait to see who his crummy little toady is, but I’ll bet he was once known as Grover Dill.  You’ll know him by the way his lips curl over his green teeth.

If you’re still considering voting for Trump, please check out these common traits of bullies:

  • Are often strong
  • May or may not be popular with their peers
  • Have trouble following the rules
  • Show little concern for the feelings of others
  • Think highly of themselves
  • Often a sign that a person has not learned to control his or her aggression

Does this sound like a certain Republican you know?  Is this the person you want leading the United States of America?

This year you will have the choice to be a toady or one of a nameless rabble of victims.  Or will you finally reach your breaking point, march into the election booth, and pummel this bully with your vote?

Lest you still harbor uncertainty for the likelihood of Scut Farkus having grown up to run as Donald Trump, I ask you to examine the uncanny resemblance.

When I’m right, I’m right.

Who said it — Trump or Farkus?

  1. Farkus
  2. Trump
  3. Trump
  4. Farkus
  5. Trump – Even Farkus wasn’t that mean.

How’d you do?

Peace . . .

 

 

 


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