PETA and the Breast Pump

PETAns, the genuine ones, give all animals the status normally reserved to humans. Speaking of which, between maybe 1493 and ... now, some White Folk would only give human status to other White Folk. I read just the other day that during the building of the transcontinental Canadian railroad, X number of 'people' died, not counting the Chinese, who when it came to record-keeping, simply weren't tallied. So no one knows how many Chinese workers died in that construction, but none of the guesses are under four figures.

It's unfortunate for their reputation, but there are so many records of how shabbily the British treated all their subjects whose natural skin tone was a shade or two darker than antique white, or that old Crayola color, "flesh". I wonder which country would like to come forward now to admit that it was their ancestors who came up with the phrase, sub-human?

So with that as an intro, I think I have shown that I'm down for the struggle.

But replacing cow's milk in ice cream with human milk, often called breast milk, as if that makes it more special (it does!) is icky. Unless I can somehow wrangle a job as an inspector. But that could very well make me blasé about the female bosom. I really don't want to lose my appreciation for any part of the female form.

So I'm now I've reasoned myself into a position of being totally against PETA cow's milk in frivolous food products with human breast milk. I didn't hear the entire presentation, so I don't know why PETA is promoting this idea, or what PETA expects the cows to do with the extra time they have because they don't have to produce so much milk. Pilates? Blogging? Continuing their education?

But I bet milk from the Swedish Olympic bikini team would be so, so creamy...

Sheila222, if you're reading this, I'm sorry!!

This very nice, warm, cuddly, heterosexual female on another blog site asked if she could read my personal blog. Naturally, because she was heterosexual and breathing, the last thing in the world I wanted was for her to see anything that might take me out of the race for sperm donations to her bank vault. Yes, she lives as close to the Atlantic as I do to the Pacific and yes, we're both happily married, but a person as uncertain about the future as I am doesn't like to too hastily rule things out. If there's one thing one should learn in life, it's that one never knows what one's future holds...

And so, Ms. Sheila222, if perusal of my blog reveals anything that in your mind irredeemably takes me off the table, sexually speaking, I didn't mean it, it was just a joke, it was just me trying to get a rise out of Pistols, but not that kind of rise, because he does nothing, NOTHING, for me sexually.

Phew!

The same goes for all you skirts... Which I mean in the nicest possible way, because when I was growing up girls had to wear skirts to school. BYU, my alma mater, didn't allow women to wear anything on campus BUT skirts & dresses, and the hem of the skirt had to touch the ground when you were on your knees, which in Mormon-dom, can happen frequently. In my rule book, skirts MUST have at least 1.5 inches of skirt, but if all you want to wear is a belt, that's fine, too.

Thank goodness I took the time to explain things so as to remove all possibility of offending any female over the age of 18! (14 in Utah and Kentucky)

I'm Sure She has a Perfectly Good Explanation

I just can't imagine what it would be...



At least with the guy you can understand his priorities. Not to mention that he's made his dad's life a living hell for however long the marriage lasts, assuming his mother didn't fall over dead at the reception.

ATHEISTS for GHAWD !

I was invited to join a new organization and I've been involved in Rush Week activities. It's been a veritable non-stop flow of meetings and parties. I finally heard my first atheist prayer...

Oh, Emptiness, Oh, Great Non-Existent One, Hearer of Nothing we say, don't bother listening to our petition. We are gathered here for reasons of our own, having a good time. Please continue to butt out. This we say in my own name, amen.

I wasn't impressed. Too much fluff.

I'm back. Who knows when I'll get distracted again. I'm prone to flightiness. Once I spent a week in bed with a woman who needed a place to hide from her husband, totally forgetting that I had a job. I lost both. But luckily a new Jack in the Box opened and I got a cushy third shift position. I've kind of always been lucky/unlucky that way.

I didn't join Atheists for Ghawd. It was close, what with the list of rules you don't have to follow. But I hate being pinned down by lists and rules. So I'm still flying solo...

Rock Concert

Sunday evening all the gathered family drove a couple of miles up Highway 18 to

It cost the males $5 each to get in. The women all got in free. What does this say about which sexual organs are more valuable to commerce? And who am I to disagree?

The concert was bone jarringly, ear drum splittingly, individual-note-discernment impossibly loud. After .7 second of sound check I had begun the process of fashioning ear plugs. It takes a few seconds to make good ones, and I invested the time. Of those over 30 in our group, I was the only one without a headache when the performance was over. And we were way at the back.

All those under 30 had moved up closer so they could hear better.

Our boy seemed happy with his and the band's performance. And you know how it is with parents, we were just happy that he was happy, although I wouldn't have minded my $5 back.

The Forgotten Voter Bloc

There is a bloc of American voters who never get any press. No one really seems to be courting them: These potential voters are unregistered, disaffected, socially uncommitted single males.

Look around you: how many single males do you know who have campaign bumper stickers on their cars? Aren't there any number of single males you know who wouldn't surprise you by not being registered to vote? How many single males do you know who the day after Obama's acceptance speech were talking about having watched it? Isn't it true that you know some single males whose failure to vote on Nov. 8th would not surprise you?

These guys, and their numbers are incalculable because they either don't answer the phone or tell the pollsters that they're too busy, or pretend to be illegal aliens, have been ignored for years and years. No party courts them because no party, until now, has had anything these guys wanted.

So if McPalin beats O'Biden in November, it could be because enough members of this Forgotten Voter Bloc thought sexy Sarah was hot! They won't be pulling the lever for Republican politics; nope, they'll be voting for something personally fulfilling, substantially primal and overarchingly essential: a good looking woman with whom you could hold a interesting conversation while waiting to get it up again.

There are few things more exciting to a disaffected male than a hot looking woman who knows how to field strip, clean and maintain a her man's gun and will absolutely, positively have his baby... Sure she's whack for thinking the Humanity sprang into existence 6,000 years ago, but c'mon, with a rack like that, you gotta cut her some slack!!

Will there be enough of these disaffected males to put McPalin into the White House? Only time will tell, only time will tell.

And now back to you in the studio, Jane.

The Big Day is Here!

With our two boys home for the holiday, this morning's festive activities reminded us of all the special Labor Days we'd enjoyed as they were growing up, when Labor Day was still filled with magic and mystery for the little tykes.

And even though they think they're all grown up, you could still see a bit of eager whimsy in their eyes as they went to check on what Ol'Samuel Gompers had left them under the Anvil Tree. Now that they're older, they're hard to shop for. Roby got a subscription to Modern Feather Bedding and Andrew got the woolen union suit he'd been hinting at, to help him get through the cold, dank San Franciscan winter. Liz got me one of her 'treat me like a working girl' coupons and I got her a vibrating Pinkerton's baton...

Later today we'll sit down to the traditional Rump Roast of Scorpion, commemorating Gompers' ascension over Eugene V. Debs before WWI. And after dinner we'll drink union beer and sing union songs, but only the pre-Bono ones.

Then tomorrow I'll help Liz take down all the Labor Day decorations before I head out to work, reinvigorated and eager to face another year of organized Labor!