Comfort through consistency

November 18, 2012

It is strangely comforting that even the head of the CIA is having his emails read by someone else in the government, which means some other agency is reading their emails and it probably ends up in some circle of surveillance that everyone’s emails are being read by everyone else.  If anything, this should encourage more face-to-face interactions.  Just be sure to always check that your paramour isn’t wearing a wire.

It’s also strangely comforting that Mitt Romney blamed minorities and young people for his electoral defeat because it reminded us of when your friend or family member is married to some asshole or bitch you can’t stand but you can’t say shit about it because it’s going to cause a lot of drama but then they finally divorce that asshole or bitch and you finally get to unload about everything that pissed you off about that fucker.  That’s what Romney was doing when he was said that Obama won because he gave away “gifts” to blacks, Hispanics, and young people in the election such as health care, loan forgiveness, and immigrant amnesty – as if “white” people (or whoever counts as white people these days because that changes a lot in history) don’t like health care or loan forgiveness too.  Finally Romney could stop pretending to care about people who aren’t like him in anyway  and go back to being the rich douchebag seen in that video where he writes off 47% of the US population.  The joys of having “fuck you money” in America…

Also of strange comfort is the Hostess Bakeries liquidation, where the maker of Twinkies and Ding Dongs and other assorted sugary treats shut down their whole operation. If you want a fine example of Americans being fatties make this Exhibit A because people are losing their shit that Twinkies aren’t being made anymore.  People are selling Twinkies on Ebay at ridiculously marked-up prices, ignorant of the fact that Hostess is being liquidated and some company will buy the Twinkie-making parts of it and decide that they can make a profit selling cream-filled spongecakes that can survive nuclear fallout.  If it can happen to Pabst’s Blue Ribbon, it can happen to fucking Twinkies.  My strange comfort with this tale is that it is unfolding pretty much as I expected it to go, reinforcing previously held beliefs and notions, which in turn helps me better understand the whole “living in a bubble” concept.  It’s cozy in the bubble, why leave it, right?

It’s important in a universe where you don’t understand most of the shit that happens in it to reflect on the shit that you do understand and take some small amount of pleasure of solving those smaller mysteries so that you figure new shit out tomorrow and in the future.  Maybe one day I’ll figure out why I don’t understand dancing.  As in when someone says “I just gotta go out and dance tonight.”  For some reason I am immune to the “dance bug.”  Is it my complete inability to coordinate multiple smooth body motions in time to a beat?  Perhaps, perhaps not.  But now that I don’t have these other issues to ponder anymore, I can give more resources to solving my dance deficiency.  Or to writing more blog posts about vaginas.



  1. It’s not that I love to dance, it’s that I love to flail about.

    And do you realize I just learned about Twinkies just now? From you? Right here? That’s what I get for going internet dark all weekend. I do not like Twinkies.

  2. There is comfort in the ‘same as it ever was’ regime. When we get old enough, and on the rare days we are sober, we can sit back and predict how things are going to go down. Maybe Nostradamus wasn’t a prophet – he just had sufficient memory to figure out that we’re just going to keep doing the same shit over and over for centuries…

    oh, and if you can’t/won’t dance? what about drumming? it’s primal. as someone who has the ‘dance bug’, which is anti-biotic resistant, by the way, i have discovered that drumming is even more therapeutic. especially when i’m angry… dancing angry just makes me look like a psychopath.

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