Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored," demon-free since ... well ... gosh, since forever. Occasionally we get visits from Satan, but he's not a demon. He's an angel. As for real demons, we believe in them. But they stain the furniture with reckless abandon, so they're not welcome here.
Are you food insecure?
According to an analysis by the United States government, 35 million Americans suffered from "food insecurity" in 2005. (I'm a goat judge, not a mathematician, but I think that's roughly one in ten. Right? Right? Right?)
Okay, so one in ten Americans is insecure about food. What does that mean?
Food insecure. Kind of brings to mind someone with a deadly shellfish allergy perusing the offerings at a Chinese buffet, trying to pick out the entrees that contain shrimp.
Food insecure. Kind of brings to mind someone who's barfed from eating spoiled Spam, someone who will no longer trust that peerless potted meat product.
Food insecure. Definitely brings to mind the many Nicole Ritchies out there, trying to become beautiful by swathing their skeletons in as little flesh as possible. Yes. Food insecure definitely sounds like an eating disorder. But golly. As rampant as anorexia is, can one in ten Americans actually have that?
Turns out none of the above fit the precise meaning of food insecure.
We have this just in from the Ministry of Truth that Big Brother wants us to call hungry people ... food insecure. You see, they're insecure because they don't know where their next meal is going to come from.
Yeah, and layoffs are no longer layoffs, they're revised head counts. Big Brother says the word "layoff" implies you may someday return to your job, whereas "revised head count" means that your head is no longer needed for counting. Nor will it ever be again.
So, if you're one of the 35 million Americans who worries about being able to buy or beg enough food for yourself or your family, you're not hungry, or poor, or miserable. You're insecure. You don't need food, you need an antidepressant!
One in ten people in America doesn't have enough to eat. Leave it to Big Brother to make that sound like a gentle little psychiatric imbalance.
Someone's knocking on my door. I think it's time to go to the dungeon where the rats gnaw at my face until I love Big Brother more than anyone.
Thanks to Heroic Hecate for having a proper link for this information.
THE MERLIN OF BERKELEY SPRINGS
Insecure, for damn sure