Ammo Grrrll addresses a subject I know a lot about: IMPERFECT ANGER MANAGEMENT. If I may say so, I feel her pain. She writes:
A few weeks ago, the New York Times reported as “news” that the President was really angry, “seething”, to be precise, and let ‘er rip with his staff of designated liars, lickspittles, and sycophants. So with the Ocean-Lowerer as my mentor, I have decided to let my own Inner Child have a tantrum as well. As my hero, Mark Steyn, would say: “Stand well back.”
I am madder than a Diversity Drone who has had a sex change operation and now is just a crappy old white guy who isn’t entitled to occupy the position.
It really frosts my cupcake to think that I should be responsible for anything.
My job as a retired person with one weekly column is just too stressful to pay attention to every little detail. I am so busy I barely have time to call Netanyahu a doody-head and poopy-pants like the mature grownup I am. At least I don’t have to think up any insulting names for a single other head of state living or dead as only Bibi merits this treatment. Robert Mugabe, Hugo “Brothuh” Chavez, Boy-Dentist Assad, (giving new meaning to the dentist’s question “Do you want gas with that?”) — fine statesmen all. As was Yasser Arafat, Helen Thomas’s cuter twin.
What am I peeved about today? Some people are saying that my oleander bushes are in violation of the maximum allowable height for oleanders in the HOA rulebook! You have to sign onto those rules before you buy, sort of like “passing Obamacare to see what’s in it” as the Botoxed dimwit, Nancy Pelosi, advised. The document is roughly the size of the Phoenix Yellow Pages. I just read about stuff in the newspaper so it’s certainly none of my lookout.
I gathered my vast staff of underlings (a lifesize cardboard cutout of Jase Robertson I liberated from Walmart’s trash and a landscape guy wearing headphones) and was just fuming when I splained to the landscape guy that it was his fault for planting the offending oleander bushes that I told him to plant. I think “No hablo ingles, pendejo” means “Yes, ma’am, I agree that you are awesome and always right.” But, I don’t speak Austrian.
Furthermore, it has also come to my attention that I shot really badly plinking in the desert the other morning. That makes me so mad I could spit tacks. What kind of Big Evil Corporation gun manufacturer would even make a gun that allows a person to pull low and left?
I hate to haul out the big scary words here, but this smacks of “disparate outcome” to me. And we all know that is sexist, racist, and wrong. All outcomes – as well as all incomes – should be exactly the same, regardless of effort, talent, or practice. When I watch the gun shows with those unbelievable marksmen and women, it makes me feel inadequate and we can’t have that. Hey, this is the new America, where everyone gets a trophy!
I am eagerly awaiting the day when the beautiful women will be forced to get reverse nose jobs and fed pork rinds until they gain 100 lbs. I’m lookin’ at you, Halle Berry and Scarlett Johansson. And all those basketball players will be given partial leg-ectomies until the average height in the NBA is exactly the same as the average height in the USA, or possibly even Guatemala or Laos. The basket will be lowered to five and a half feet. And then I will achieve my lifelong dream of being called for goal-tending. The Dream Act 2.0.
What was I talking about, again? Oh yes, how gosh-darn angry and annoyed and upset and irritated I am about stuff that’s not my fault.
And being enraged is what really matters. Well, that, and a hash tag campaign or a speech. DOING stuff, especially proactively, that’s for boring workhorses, not for the people who are too cool for school. The courageous and responsible believe that actions speak louder than words. For the lazy and incompetent, seething is believing… that you have actually done something.
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