Archives for the month of: August, 2012

Donna Louise here hurrying to the computer to do this morning’s post. I hid all the sharp objects last night before I went to bed and have a call in to my primary care physician already this morning. See, I think it’s time I go on anti-depressants until the election is over—unless, of course, Mitt Romney sweeps into office followed by his hoards of “back-to-God’s-country” folks—and then I’ll stay on meds as long as necessary to face everyday as a legal second-class citizen. Now some of you will say I’m overreacting and I hope you’re right, but it looks bad for intelligent, thinking people in the U.S.

“Bubba” Akin still leads Claire McCaskill in the polls. Lest we forget who “Bubba” is, I’ll remind you. He’s the “legitimate” rape guy from outside St. Louis. He made the top ten of the August Vaginal Vigilantes, Penis Punishers and Sex Scourgers (VVPPSS) List. People seem to think of him as a rebel and not as an idiot which means turning a blind eye to just about everything the man says.

Then I listened to some of the speakers at the Republican National Convention (RNC) and wondered how anybody would want those people in office. Except, I like Ann Romney, even though she is not a working-outside-the-home, middle class mother. I liked Mitt Romney before he started sleeping with the fundamentalist Christians. Didn’t he learn anything from the Missouri Mormon Massacre of 1838? Those people he’s in bed with will turn on him. It’s their nature.

In the 1800s, Latter Day Saints (aka Mormons) had settled northeast of Kansas City because THE PROPHET (aka Joseph Smith) said so. (Bet you didn’t know the Second Coming will occur in the square in Independence, Missouri.)

Mormons flocked to the area and bought up property. Soon they outnumbered the other residents in the county, enough that they could win any election. The “good” citizens of the county didn’t like “the majority rules” part of democracy so they lobbied for the removal of all Mormons. The Mormons pointed out that, as Americans, they had the right to settle anywhere. Wrong again, the local citizenry took up arms against them because mob rules trump the rules of the democracy (sound familiar?).

Eventually Governor Lilburn Boggs issued Missouri Executive Order #44 on October 27, 1838 which ordered the extermination of all Mormons, as necessary, to ensure the public peace. After several battles, the Mormons fled the state and settled at Nauvoo, Illinois.

Missourians didn’t continue to harass the Mormons as frequently or as violently. Just to make sure there were no problems though or perhaps because no one remembered the executive order, it stayed on the books until Governor Christopher “Kit” (Can’t find my way out of a brown paper bag) Bond rescinded it on June 25, 1976.

What is the lesson here for Mitt Romney? Don’t trust the majority of people who support your campaign for the presidentcy. They will turn on you as soon as they have enough power and then you’re Mormon toast. Remember what Michael Corleone said in Godfather II, “Keep your friends close but your enemies closer.”

Hmm, maybe Mitt isn’t as naïve as he appears.

Then I listened to an interview where Michael Moore said, “We better get used to saying two words—President Romney.” That’s when I hid all the sharp instruments.

I’m taking an anti-depressant and returning to my bed until after the election in November. Just kidding. The doctor may prescribe a few days of no political conventions for a complet recovery.


Donna Louise here baking my famous breakfast casserole for Carl and Max. They returned home yesterday afternoon. The doctors told them they had contracted a rare virus that required them to be placed in a coma. Max caught me outside last night and thanked me for taking care of the dogs while they were hospitalized. He invited me over for breakfast this morning before they go back to work. I’m so happy to have them home.

While I embroidered on my front porch yesterday afternoon, a nicely-dressed young woman stopped by to chat. I knew she was selling something, but I gave her a chance to prove me wrong. She missed her chance. Turns out she was selling Mitt Romney.

The desire to order her off my porch disappeared when my Buddha nature took over and I felt compelled to treat her as a well-meaning fool. I asked her to have a seat while I continued my handwork.

She took out some literature and put it in her lap. “Mitt Romney wants to reach thinking women across America. He speaks to our issues. Did you hear Mrs. Romney’s speech at the Republican National Convention?”

I nodded.

“Wasn’t that inspirational?”

I nodded rather than open my mouth and unleash a torrent of mean comments about Ann.

“It was good to hear from a real working mother, wasn’t it?” She picked up a pamphlet as though she planned to hand it to me.

“Are you talking about Ann Romney as a working mother? Other than raising five children has she ever held a job where she had to earn enough money to feed her family?”

The young woman seemed surprised at the question. “A woman who stays at home works. I know because I’m a stay-at-home mom.”

I put down my embroidery hoop and slid the needle into the cloth just so I wouldn’t be inclined to sew the woman’s mouth shut. “So you don’t work outside the home.”

She smiled. “Like Mrs. Romney, I don’t need to work at a job.”

“How lovely for you. What can you tell me about pay inequality for women who do need to work outside the home?”

She scanned her literature for a snippet of information she could spout off to me.

“Not everyone has a multi-millionaire to support her.”

She looked up in shock. “My husband is not a multi-millionaire yet. And you can’t possibly hold it against Mrs. Romney for marrying well. That’s not her fault.”

“Like it’s not the fault of working women that they need to support their families. What does she, or you for that matter, know about the lives of middle-class and poor women?”

“I’m not sure.”

“I can tell you. She doesn’t know anything and you don’t either. She represents entitled women, not the working poor. See, they don’t vote.” She started to say something. “Are you a Democrat? Do you support abortion rights, pay equity, equal rights and same-sex marriage?”

The literature slid off her lap onto the porch. “Oh, my God, no. Do you?”

“To answer my questions: yes, yes, yes, yes and yes. Don’t you?”

She gathered up all her stuff and slid the papers into her folder. “No, I don’t. You feminists are abortionists, witches, lesbians and degenerates.”

“Again, yes, yes, yes and yes. Now get off my porch with your out-of-touch self and run back to your lovely home where your Salvadoran nanny takes care of your child for less than minimum wage and do what you always do for dinner—make reservations.”

“How did you know about Carmelita?”

“Because you wouldn’t be out on the street if someone wasn’t watching Buffy or Brent.”

She hurried down the stairs. As she got to the sidewalk, she said, “Bitch.”

I yelled after her. “Right again.”