Sunday, January 18, 2009

Make like your name and get the fuck outta here!

Napoleon. Washington. The Bolsheviks. History has seen its slew of coups, government takeovers and shifts in political rule. And while the coming change on Tuesday couldn’t color me happier in my pants, there’s a group I wouldn’t mind going down like a bitch named Palin. Despite the fact that Obama quietly deletes their emails, and the election results created a context that makes their name seem like they’re against the party they support, my fucking inbox is still clogged like a giant hairball in cat’s throat. We’ve moved on, .org. Leave me the fuck alone!


do they make this for email?

Oh sure, I appreciate the idea of a like-minded community of liberals as much as the next hippie. But after the country went the way the name suggests, do I really need to be hounded with thirty-seven emails a day? Let’s all take a trip into our imaginations and pretend another politician was just as send-happy, shall we?


Havana, June, 1978

’Sup Amigos, Fidel here. Sorry ‘bout the other 30 emails I sent esta mañana. I know I’m in power and everything, but just wanted to say qué pasa n stuff. It is true what they say about the top being how you say??… lonely? And de verdad, I’m just kinda bored. Can you make a donation of $25 or more today?

See you in six seconds,

Fidel


Seriously, Fidel. Get a fucking life. And by Fidel, I mean you, MoveOn.org.

As you’ll see here in this screen shot lifted directly from one in my 78 billion emails, MoveOn is well aware we got what we came for:



But it’s never enough, is it? Because every time I think I’m getting an email from a friend, feedback from my boss, or some super sexy awesome Concha Libre fan mail, it’s just Nita, Eli, Carrie, Karin and the rest of the team asking me to stick $25 bucks or more into their grubby little palms. A group with a strategy about as crafty as mine at ten-years-old. “Yeah mom, I know I said I’d never ask for anything again if you bought me those Micromachines, but now I want a BMW. Seriously, Mom, what’s so funny? why are you laughing and slamming your bedroom door in my face?”

It’s a fucking recession, Nita, Eli, Carrie, Karin and the rest of the team. And while I’ve been lucky enough so far (knock on all the wood in the world) to escape the plunging numbers unscathed, as far as you know I’m as broke as the next Detroit pink slip. So (in an email that assumes I’m completely ignorant to different styles of get-togethers) you’re asking me to throw a party?



You want me vote again? Didn’t I already do that?



This is your rationale?



So, fuck me if I’m wrong, but you’re saying that if I don’t jump on the peace train, I can finally get a break? Because, if I correctly recall there were a lot of months I spent Sarah Palin bashing, republican convincing, and risking my relationship with my republican parents to well, move us all on. And maybe…maybe I need to get back to my life, instead of ending up like this:





Wanna know how I’m gonna move forward?



By making like your name, and moving the fuck on.

...and in the spirit of MLK day, I can’t help but feeling, “Free at last!”

Happy inauguration, ya'll.




aw. waaaa.

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