So these are two old posts dug up from some ancient cesspool of a blog, but I happened upon them today and thought they were still relevant. So here you go. Enjoy. Or don’t. I really don’t care :p

Throwback #1: Beauty Pageants

Last night I watched two shows about little tiny girls in Beauty Pageants. Wow. I know what you are thinking. I watch too much TV. I really do. Especially in the winter when it is too cold to go outside and do anything productive. Anyway, I was watching these shows and two things kept going through my mind.

1) How do they get 3 and 4 year olds to DO those things? My daughter (who is 3) would be running all over the stage asking the other girls if they had any candy. Then she would probably skip to the front of the runway when they called her name, fart loudly, giggle and run away. If we were lucky we would get an *Excuse me* out of her, but it would depend on the time of day and if anyone had procured any candy for her, yet.

2) What the hell is wrong with these parents? Some of them spend thousands and thousands of dollars just on CLOTHES for these beauty contests. One mom even admitted her husband would rather she put that money into an account where it could accrue interest for her daughter’s education (gasp!) and she disagreed. Another mom stated that parent’s who thought Pageant Parents were doing something wrong had ugly kids. Are you freaking serious? And why do all of these parents have southern accents and bleach blonde hair?

I don’t pretend to understand anything about these types of settings. I can’t understand wanting my small child to dress like a prostitute and flirt with a weird man singing out-dated love songs to all the contestants who are wearing fake teeth and (sometimes) fake hair. I can’t relate to parents who think beauty pageants are a way to teach their kids about *real life.* I don’t want my daughter to think her worth to me depends on how cute she is, how well she can sing or dance, or how tan she is.

I would like her to quit farting and burping loudly in public, though. So if anyone has any suggestions, let me know.


Throwback #2: American Idol

I’m not gonna lie…I hate this show. I hate it. I hate American Idol. I am sorry to all of you who love it. I know you are out there. I know it is a family show many people like to watch together. I get how some people like it, I am just not one of them. However, there was absolutely. nothing. on. last. night for most of the night. So, I ended up flipping back and forth between American Idol and the shows on CBS (Gary Unmarried is SOOO Funny!)

Anyways, the first few episodes of American Idol are usually the most entertaining because they have all the nutjobs from the state they are visiting in one line, and they parade them around and put them on the air, and it is funny (sometimes. Other times it is just cruel). What I don’t get though, are the PARENTS of these nutjobs. Honestly. What the hell?

Ok, so you have little Suzie who you have been grooming for stardom since she was 2 years old. All your life you have told little Suzie how great she is at singing. From the time she learned her ABC’s you have been praising her voice and putting her up in front of friends and family and throwing crackers at her to get her to perform. You bought her cute little outfits. You got her teeth whitened. You paid to have her hair the right shade of blonde at all times. You would’ve even paid for voice lessons had they been needed 😉

Of course you didn’t do ALL the work. Little Suzie *did* get herself into the choir and she *did* try out for all those solos at school. She sang in front of everyone who would listen. She even sings in the middle of class and on the bus, and during soccer practice! So, when little Suzie heard American Idol was coming to audition people in her state, well of course she decided to go stand in line for 48 hours with her excited parents!!! After all, what could go wrong?

And you can’t really blame little Suzie for thinking this way. I mean, look at her. She *is* beautiful. Her parents and friends and family members have told her how beautifully she sings since her chubby little two year old hand could grasp a microphone by itself! She is so excited to meet Simon, *Dawg* Jackson, Crack-head Abdul, and that new judge lady I don’t know her name. She sings her little heart out. She really gets into it. She is bobbing her head, closing her eyes, doing jazz hands. She is giving it all she’s got. If you had it on mute, you might actually buy that she was good. The problem is, she isn’t good. Not even remotely. She makes sounds that mimic a cat being ripped apart by a pitbull. You check to make sure your ears aren’t bleeding. Even the judges can’t keep a straight face. They are in shock. Such high hopes for a pretty little girl, but alas she gets booed out of the audition room.

So, then the parents are out waiting in the hall. When little Suzie comes out crying, no yellow sheet in her hands, the parents erupt into hateful cries. “Those Judges are CRAZY! They have no idea what they are talking about! Ohmigosh, the HORROR!” And I just want to say to them, “What the HELL are you talking about?!?!” I want to reach into the screen and shake them. I feel bad for Little Suzie. I really do. It isn’t her fault that her parents are delusional, tone deaf nutjobs. It isn’t.

Honestly, who is worse here, the judges for being assholes, or the parents for setting their children up for failure? I mean, unless you are completely deaf, there is no way anyone can *truly* think little Suzie is a good singer. I’m not buying it. There is no way anybody who LIKES music can say that Suzie has a future in the music industry. No way, no how. What are these parents thinking? Why would anyone encourage little Suzie to go on national television and humiliate herself? Its like telling a quadrapalegic he has a real shot at the Ping Pong championship. It’s just cruel.

So I’m just wondering. Are there really that many tone deaf people in America? I think it’s doubtful. I think some people just truly believe if they say something over and over and over again, it will come true. If we all *believe* little Suzie is a good singer, other people will believe it, too! If we dress her up real pretty, and tell everyone she is going to be a star, they will have to agree with us! Yes! That is so obviously how the world works! And then we will all just sit around eating rainbows and pooping butterflies (haha that’s from Horton Hears a Who)! Someone should take these parents out to a dark alley and beat them with a pillow case full of cheese. And buy little Suzie a drink. She needs one.



“Hey, can I ask you something?”

“Who, me?”

“Yeah, you. Gettin into your car.”

“Um… but, you’re a bird.”

“Yeah, yeah. We’re not s’posed to do this, ya know, talkin to humans thing, but somethins been buggin me lately. Can we talk?”

“Uh. Yeah. I mean, okay. Sure.”

“Who’s gonna pass up a chance to talk to a bird, amirite?”

“Haha, yeah. Okay, so… what do you want to talk about Mr. Bird. Is that– I mean, what can I call you?”

“Yeah, I mean, that’s not my name or whatever, but fine. Mr. Bird is just fine.”

“So… what can I help you with, Mr. Bird?”

“Well, me and my friends been noticin a lot of you have been real stressed out lately. Like, since November? Y’all been kinda pissy and arguin with each other. The newspaper’s been all kinds of bad news.”

“You read the news?”

“Yeah, ‘course I do. We all do. Anyway, what’s up with this Shimkus guy? I remember seeing all kindsa signs with his name on ’em not too long ago, ’round here.”

“Oh yeah. He just won reelection. Ya know, for U.S. congress.”

“So, why’s everyone mad at him now for?”

“Because he said men shouldn’t have to pay for women’s prenatal health insurance.”

“Them’s a whole bunch a words I don’t understand.”

“Oh. Right. Well, uh, when people need healthcare–like when we get sick or need a doctor?–we have insurance. So that we don’t have to pay the entire cost ourselves. It’s like a pool of people all paying in, just in case one of us needs to get medical care.”

“So what’s that gotta do with uh… whatcha call it? Prenatal–”

“Prenatal care. Yeah, that’s when a woman gets pregnant? Like you lay eggs, human women have babies… they need care before, during, and after that. He doesn’t think men should have to pay into the insurance pool for that.”

“Oh. You guys like one of those weird species where you just split in half to procreate?”


“You get yourself pregnant?”

“No, nothing like that.”

“But like, the men… they ain’t got nothin to do with that whole process? That’s why he’s mad?”

“No, they have everything to do with it. Us women can’t get pregnant without a man. Like, at all.”

“Really. Huh. So, what’s this guy’s deal? He against babies? He like, think they should be stopped from being born at all costs?”

“No, he’s actually really against birth control, and abortions, and thinks women should just have babies, I guess.”


“Yeah, I know, right? Makes no sense.”

“So… I mean, not to be incendiary–”

“That’s a really big word for a bird.”

“–but why ain’t y’all like, protestin and riotin and stuff? If that happened in bird world, we’d have a revolution on our hands, lemme tell you what.”

“Uh… well, I mean, I guess some of us thought about it but I’ve got like, this Pilates Class thing later?”

“Pilates? That’s that thing where you’re rollin ’round on the floor and stuff?”

“You’ve watched me do Pilates?”

“Well, not on purpose but you should close your blinds.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“No seriously, you look ridiculous when you do that.”

“Yeah? Oh, shit. Well… I think I’m getting better.”

“No, you’re not. Anyway, what can I do to help? Anything I can do? Me and my pals? Like hey, look at that guy right there walkin to his car, could I shit on him?”

“Him? No, that one’s mine and he’s fine. Don’t shit on him.”

“Well, who can I shit on?”

“I’m really not even sure how that would help…”

“Me neither, but I do gotta go anyway so I thought, ya know, two birds with one stone. Haha.”

“Haha yeah, okay. Well, you can never go wrong with a guy getting out of a truck that has testicles hanging from it’s hitch.”

“I gotta tell ya, I got no idea what the hell a testicle is.”

“They look like little balls? Hanging on the back of the truck?”

“Oh. Yeah. Yeah, I’ve seen those.”

“Okay. Well, there ya go.”

“All right well, it’s been nice talkin to ya. Good luck with your revolu–oh right, you’re not having one. ‘Cause of Pilates.”

“Right. Haha well, have a nice shit, Mr. Bird. See you around.”