About the Podcast/Moron Sighting

 You can blame my school district.

They blocked Blogger.

I can see my blog but can't write new posts.

I guess I should write them in Google and then copy and paste them here, but there's something comforting about composing on this platform. Blogger and I go way back. Blogger is basically my blankie.

It occurred to me that I could do a podcast and put it up here.

Nowadays there are now thousands of podcasts out there. It's ridiculous, really. And when things get ridiculous, it's time to spoof them! You didn't expect "The Gods Are Bored" to go straight, did you? BAMP. No! If you're gonna spend time with me, I want you to have fun!

My first podcast was serious. If I do a serious one, I'll give you a head's up that it's serious or informational. If it's a spoof, I'll tell you that, too.

I'll also tell you how long the recording is. It won't ever exceed 10 minutes, because the platform I use maxes out at 10 minutes.

I'm not gonna switch completely to podcasting. That would make me snobby.

In today's news, Maximum Moron on the loose! Story below.

I joined a New Jersey hiking group on Facebook. Last night I saw a post, and I only wish I could find it to include the compelling photo here. Alas, it might have been axed from the feed. The post featured one of those morons that you stroke your chin and wonder: How the hell did this person live to adulthood?

The picture was of a young bro in his early 20s, out in the woods, holding up a snake. The bro was grinning ear to ear.

The photo caption: "I'm from Idaho, so I don't know much about the wildlife in New Jersey. What kind of snake is this?"

For the love of fruit flies!

The comments had been disabled, needless to say. But not before people informed the young idiot that he was holding a Nope Rope, a Danger Noodle, a Savage String. And someone else said, "We don't go pulling your damn potatoes out of the ground, do we?"

It's been quite a while since I saw a classic moron. Trump had the moron market cornered for so long, it's actually refreshing to see one outside of politics.

Sacrificing Grandparents on the Altar of the Economy: A Rant

Did you see where the wealthy Caucasian lieutenant governor of Texas went on Fox t.v. and said that senior citizens would be willing to sacrifice their lives to keep the economy humming? He's 70 or some such himself, so of course he could speak for all the wealthy white motherfuckers loving grandparents out there.

Count me the fuck out, Tex. I'll hang on to my life, Dow Jones be damned.

There is hardly anyone alive now who can remember the Great Depression. My mother was a little kid in the 1930s, and if she were still alive she would be 95. But the point is, America made it through the Great Depression. Without killing grandma! Jesus, has nobody read the last chapter of The Grapes of Wrath?

This bonehead Texas lt. gov. had the bloody nerve to speak for all older Americans everywhere. What does he know about the many households that are headed by grandparents? I'll tell you: He knows squat. Bupkus. Nada. Less than zero. There are significant numbers of such households, including in his state.

And excuse me for pointing something out to this clueless moron, but he forgot to ask grandchildren if they value their jobs over their grandparents. That's a big omission! Oh my Bored Gods, the stories I could tell him about my students and the bonds they share with grandparents! I wish I felt comfortable telling you all about it, but it would violate my students' privacy. But what does an old white guy care about people of color in New Jersey? The economy! Jobs! Executive Compensation! Salaries! Asshole.

I can only talk about myself.

When I was a child, growing up in a household ravaged by mental illness and redneck mentality, my father's parents were a bastion of strength and sanity. My life would have unfolded entirely differently if I had not had them and their gentle care, their little mountain home, and their comfort.

EXHIBIT A: BELOVED ANCESTORS

That's me on the far right. Smiling.

In order to keep my grandparents from dying before their time, I would gladly have worn feed sacks and eaten potato peels, or stood in line for soup, or lost my job. What amount of money can you place on the lives of your grandparents?

This is not to say I would never be willing to sacrifice my life for my daughters. Pish, tosh! I certainly would! But the reason for that self-sacrifice would have to be more than the national economy. My daughters are already suffering from this recession, and they will continue to after the quarantine ends. But I have confidence in the sweep of history.  We will bounce back. And if it gets grim, if we find ourselves in a Great Depression, we will live as they did then. Sharing sacrifices.

I want to live to see my grandchildren, if at all possible, thank you very much you clueless moron of a lieutenant governor. A plague upon your house! Go ahead and sacrifice yourself. As for me and my house, we need each other more than that.

Mandescending and Mindfulness

You've heard the term "mansplaining," and I really like it. Whoever coined it was pretty smart. The definition is basically a man explaining to a woman something that the woman is either more knowledgeable about because it's her lived reality as a female, or something she has trained to do and knows how to do already.

For instance, my daughter The Fair was filming an event the other night with high-end equipment she is well trained to use, and some dude tried to tell her how to set up the tripod. Really?

I'm going to add a new term of my own: mandescending. This is where a man is condescending to a woman and dismisses her out of hand, even though her concerns are serious, maybe either health- or job-related.

Yesterday my school district had a professional development workshop, and part of it was yet another session on how to use the baffling new web site for which the district spent tons of money to purchase a full package. The web site does a gazillion tasks but is about as user-friendly as a potted cactus. Every time we get a demonstration, the same guy comes. He's yet another of those paid consultants who spent a few years in the classroom, couldn't wait to get out, and saw this web site as a ticket.

Honestly, I'll be the first to admit that if I had trained as a teacher I would have been looking to move into corporate somehow after five to ten years. The teaching profession is poorly-paid, overly scrutinized, underappreciated by the public, and physically and emotionally exhausting.

Part of what makes it exhausting is trying to learn the web site du jour.

To return to my narrative, I was attempting to keep up with the blistering pace of this man's presentation, and as usual I fell a step or two behind. When I asked why my page didn't look like his, he came to my station, flicked a few buttons, and said, "There you are." And sniffed with derision.

I went to the vending machine and bought a Snickers bar. First one I've eaten in two years.

The joy of the Snickers soon abated, but my fury has not.

This country treats its elders with condescension. Or mandescension, you decide.

In the summer of 1979, I was working in the Milton S. Eisenhower Library of the Johns Hopkins University. I had a job with a special archive of psychiatric documents that belonged to a prominent Hopkins physician named Adolf Meyer. In order to prepare a documentary list of the voluminous records this man kept (which included extensive correspondence with Freud, Jung, and other psychiatric luminaries), the university purchased a word processor. It was the first one any of us had seen.

A technician wheeled the word processor into our office space and showed the lead archivist how to use it. But then an interesting phenomenon occurred.

One by one, the oldest professors in the Hopkins community dropped by to see the word processor. These were men (of course, it was 1979) who had probably written multiple scholarly tomes, using Royal typewriters or even legal pads. They wanted to see the machine in action. And so did I.

A few years later, I found myself working for a publishing house, preparing copy for encyclopedias. The work was done with pencil and electric typewriters. Then the company bought two word processors, but no one was particularly interested in using them. Having had a little bit of exposure to one, I gladly accepted a spot at the word processor. I got a raise.

I know I should have kept up with computing. I know I should be more capable when it comes to new web sites. Perhaps it shouldn't count that I was the most proficient with technology when certain workshop presenters were probably learning to use the potty.

I know my mental capacity isn't what it once was. I don't even write for this site like I used to. But to be dismissed with such thinly-veiled disdain was a nasty jolt. I'm old. I'm obsolete. I'm female. Thanks for reminding me.

But wait, there's more.

After being humiliated in the web site training, I had to go back into a general faculty meeting for both of the Vo-Tech campuses. When both campuses get together, it's a lot of teachers. A good two hundred plus, I should think. We fill an auditorium.

The rest of the long day was spent in mindfulness training. We had to ground, center, follow our breath, feel our feet on the floor (mine were cold), yada yada yada. Be in the moment, and if your thoughts drift, pull back to breath.

First of all, when I do this practice, it is tied to my religion, which I firmly separate from my work responsibilities. So I deliberately let my thoughts go as haywire as they wanted to. Here's the short list:

1. Wow, that guy is such an asshole! Karma's gonna come for him when he's 60, for sure. I'd like to be there when he gets confused over the communication system between himself and teachers on Mars. He won't have tenure. Maybe he'll get fired! Maybe a woman supervisor will tell him, "You're all washed up. Hit the road!"

2. I wonder where that mindfulness facilitator got her dress. Is that drip-dye, tie-dye or some other process? I like the way it drapes too.

3. Damn, I wonder what's going on with this student teacher I got assigned all of a sudden! Did she flake out on her previous assignment? What's up with that? Why did I even agree to do it?

4. Getting old sucks. I'm so tired all the time. I'm sick of people. I don't want to go out for lunch. I don't want to go to the gym anymore. My body is so weary, and my feet are cold. Why don't they turn on some heat in here? Dammit, I thought about putting foot warmers in my shoes, and I didn't do it! Dumb. Dumb. Dumb.

5. I wonder if I should pull back the ivy in the back yard just a foot or two. But grass doesn't grow well, and Mr. J never mows the lawn. Isn't the ivy better? But pulling the ivy would be good exercise. Yeah, but you know how annoying it is working with that English ivy. Yeah, maybe I'll just leave it. But if I had a nice straight line down the back, I could put up a stone border, like a rock wall ... what, am I supposed to be feeling my back against the chair? Fuck that. Fuck this whole thing.

6. I think I'll stop by Woodstock on the way home and see how they're doing. It's sort of on the way. Let's see, if I take Haterfield-Berlin Road to White Horse Road, and then ... that leads right to Springdale. Easy! Because it's such a long slog up Route 73. Oh! Why does everyone have their hand up in the air? Did I miss something? Who cares?

7. I can't believe I'm hungry after wolfing down that Snickers.

8. Donald Trump is an asshole. All powerful men are assholes. Geez, even Bernie Sanders couldn't run a tight ship. But this country will never elect a woman. Women won't vote for a woman. I wonder why that is? But I know it's true.

9. Camping or a hotel? I'm too old for camping! I'm not sleeping in a tent on the ground. But the hotel is so expensive. I could use that money to improve the front porch, so I don't have to look at the disgraceful, hideous house across the street ... Is it time to go yet? FUCK! Another two hours? I can't even. Like, camping isn't as bad as all that. You wake up in the cool morning air ... snap, I would have to buy so much equipment. But then I would have all the equipment, and I could use it again! Yeah, use it again to go camping. I'm done with camping! I spent my whole teenage decade in a tent! You know what else I'm done with? Mindfulness! Just another trendy stupid thing our school district is flirting with. You'd think they would train us on what to do when angry parents start shouting in our faces.

10. Whoa, look at the shop teachers! They are giggling like kids. Welding and mindfulness: perfect together.


If you've gotten this far, I know you get the drift.

Readers, my stats tell me that I have had over a million page views here at "The Gods Are Bored." I think a significant number of those are spammers of the pornographic variety. Still, someone has been reading my drivel. If that is you, do you want me to bake you a pie?

The Moving Saga of the Mutt Named Flip Flop

You know all about motherhood, right? Maybe you have sweet daughters of your own who ask very little of you ... until they ask for something big. This weekend my daughter (new name) Gumby and I went on a waterfall crawl in the Poconos.

Oh, I had the thing all planned out. I researched it, printed out trail maps and gentle walks through leafy glens, leading to brilliant, swishing cascades. Because, you know, I'm a woman of a certain age and getting a little creaky, it's best to adhere to hiking trails described as "moderate."  Being a planner, I had both days scheduled. First some bucolic walks in a New Jersey state forest, then -- the next day -- a gambol called Tumbling Waters across the Delaware in Pennsylvania.

It was getting late on our first day when Gumby and I pulled up at beautiful Buttermilk Falls, New Jersey's tallest waterfall. Take a look. Isn't it fabulous?

EXHIBIT A: BUTTERMILK FALLS, DELAWARE WATER GAP, NEW JERSEY

Now, you say to yourself, "Anne, prove to me that this is really New Jersey!

EXHIBIT B: REALLY NEW JERSEY

Gumby liked Buttermilk Falls all right, but when she looked at the trail map at the base of the falls, her eyes glazed over and a little bit of foam appeared at the rim of her mouth.

Buttermilk Falls, you see, is touristy. It's right by the road, and anyone can drive right up to it and cackle with pleasure. But above Buttermilk Falls is a hiking trail that leads to the Appalachian Trail. Once on the AT, an intrepid hiker can stroll to one of several crater lakes, high and lonesome and picturesque in that oh-so-not-a-waterfall way.

Gumby lost enthusiasm for Tumbling Waters Trail (my planned Sunday outing) and instead expressed interest in an amble along the Appalachian Trail, beginning and ending at Buttermilk Falls. Where even the steps to the observation deck will tire a mortal out.

I had done my research. The Buttermilk Falls Trail was rated "difficult," and most of the hikers who chimed in on it using various hiking sites pretty much confirmed that assessment. Of course, it's the hikers who don't use social media who can be the most arresting:

EXHIBIT C: SOUND ADVICE

Trouble was, this sage advisory was at the top of the trail, not the bottom! And in case you're wondering what a difficult trail looks like in our mild Eastern mountains, here's a little photo I captured of part of the one and a half mile straight up trek.

EXHIBIT D: WHERE'S THE TRAIL?

Gumby can leap up these rocks like a gazelle. Who am I to say her nay? Gamely I followed. And followed. And followed. Eureka! We made it to the Appalachian Trail!

EXHIBIT E: YOURS TRULY, TRANSFORMED BY 6 WEEKS OF PAINT CREW

This is where the mutt named Flip Flop enters the narrative.

Gumby and I were tooling along the AT like old hands, when we spotted a spry, mid-sized mutt sort of standing on the path, looking lost. The pooch had no collar. He started to trot towards us, but when he got close, he changed his mind about making our acquaintance and tore off down the trail. He was a sturdy specimen as are most mutts, and his ribs weren't showing, which meant he probably recently got lost.

EXHIBIT F: REASONABLE FACSIMILE OF THE MUTT FLIP FLOP

On a Sunday in August, the Appalachian Trail in New Jersey is not as busy as a shore town, but there are still a fair number of able-bodied folks. Gumby and I started asking everyone that passed us whether or not they had lost a dog. Other hikers reported seeing the pooch, but no one could get close enough to pet him. What would we do if we did? Take him home and keep him forever? By that time Gumby and I were a good three miles from even the most basic form of civilization.

Gumby and I discussed this as we walked. What do you do when you see a stray dog where no reasonable stray dog would ever stray? And what if the dog didn't want to see things your way and tag along until you could find his person? Long story short, this conversation ended when we followed the Appalachian Trail to a portion that looked like this:

EXHIBIT G: NOT GREATLY EXAGGERATING

Yes, the infamous Appalachian Trail just disappeared down a cliff, and you only knew you were supposed to go that way because one of the rocks way below had a white blaze on it.

Scrabbling up this genuine cliff was a scruffy young bro. He asked us if we had seen a loose dog. We confirmed the sighting and pointed in the direction the canine had sprinted. The bro said the mutt slipped his leash when he got threatened by a German shepherd.

Then, as if it wasn't already bad enough that a little doggy was running lost and scared through the nearly trackless wilderness, the bro added: "I'm dog-sitting him."

Truth, dear reader, is always more compelling than fiction.

Gumby and I continued on our way. We descended the perilous cliff (self reminding self of self's age and status as a provider throughout), and at the bottom was a charming little cliff-free path that led to the crater lake.

Boy, it was a really pretty lake!

EXHIBIT I HAVE LOST COUNT: CRATER LAKE

It doesn't look like something you'd find on a mountaintop, after a death-defying hike, does it? Rather put me in mind of Walden Pond, which can of course be reached by either automobile or on foot from a commuter train station.

While Gumby and I took a load off and munched our granola bars, we heard a great to-do from the cliffs above the lake.

"FLIP FLOP! HERE, FLIP FLOP! FLIP FLOP!"

It was the shaggy bro, calling his dog.

This went on for about five minutes and then stopped abruptly. Gumby and I assumed that a happy reunion had occurred.

I don't know if you have ever been hiking on the Appalachian Trail or one of its link trails. It's not for the faint of heart, especially if you have to go down the same way you came up. Because when it comes to hiking, the only thing worse than climbing rocks straight up for more than a mile is going down rocks for more than a mile. Gravity seems to be saying, "Aha! Another aging Baby Boomer, daring to defy me! I'll push and shove and make these rocks really loose and wobbly!"

It took us about 90 minutes to edge back down the Buttermilk Falls Trail, and I for one was never so happy to see a cheesy observation deck in my life as when that graffiti-laced structure loomed below me like a welcoming beacon. Then it was a mere 100 steps (straight down, of course) to the bottom of the falls, where self quickly shed her beloved and ancient hiking boots and shoved her tootsies in the water ... photograph-snapping tourists be damned.

It was during this blissful toe-bath that I heard another ruckus. Something was happening in the parking lot.

Gumby came running over and said the stray dog Flip Flop was in the parking lot, looking just as spooked as he had up on the trail. I quickly re-donned the footwear and pulled out the smart phone to make an emergency call to the Park Service. But the battery on said smart phone had had enough, and I couldn't make the call. So I went to the parking lot, where other baffled tourists were staring at a car.

The lady tourist said, "The windows are open, and the key is in the ignition, and the guy's backpack is just sitting there! And look! This dog just jumped through the window!"

I looked in the open car window, and there sat the dog Flip Flop, looking like he'd just seen 10,000 ghosts.

Now, if I had somehow managed to drive to the Poconos in my 2001 Saturn, I would most certainly have seen an opportunity not only to care for a dog that deserved better, but also to own a nice, newer car. But I had my 2015 Subaru (which, by the way, absolutely lives for such adventures). No contest. Subaru victorious.

Just at this moment, the distraught bro emerged from the woods. He spied Flip Flop sitting in the driver's seat (no irony there) and heaved a sigh of relief.

"Well, I'm glad I was here to see how this little story played out!" I told the bro affably.

He muttered something incoherent, then something half understandable about dog-sitting, and Gumby and I decided we'd seen enough. We parted ways with possibly one of the most misguided and irresponsible humans I have ever encountered and a city dog with enough smarts to smell his way back down one damned difficult trail to his keys-in-the-ignition-windows-open car.

You gotta love mutts. Even when they're scared, they're smart.

I'm not going to state the moral of this sermon explicitly. Suffice it to say, if you have a beloved pet, do by all means pay a bonded pet-sitter to minister to the animal in your prolonged absence. Flip Flop's scaly saga had a happy ending, but I am not lying when I say that I saw a bear track in the one little bit of mud through which we all passed. If dear lil' Flip Flop was afraid of a German shepherd, how do you suppose he'd feel about an Eastern black bear?

If you've read this far, thank you. We all need to laugh at garden variety morons when there's a bigger-than-garden-variety moron at loose in the halls of government.

I'm Back with a Weird Tale about Another Encounter with the Menace Named Michael Divine

Well! It's been awhile! How are you? I'm okay, I guess. You know what would make me feel better? A little laughter, Gods Are Bored style.

Over the weekend, Mr. J and I made our first trip to Gunnison Beach. A picture paints a thousand words:

Yes, Gunnison Beach is New Jersey's only lifeguard-staffed, clothing optional beach. As for the option, the vast, vast majority of people there opt to doff the threads.

I loved the place. Great vibe, good-looking people, beautiful view of Manhattan across the water, happy party atmosphere. I wish it was closer! Anyway, on with the story:


Mr. J and I went to Gunnison Beach because some people I'd met at Four Quarters Farm were going to be there. It was sort of a Pagan/polyamory/bi meetup that was advertised as having a little drumming too. Finally, a reason to make the 2-hour commute and the grueling trudge to the nudie beach! I even brought my hand drum.

We found the folks at the meetup, and after some swimming, and people-watching, and sun tanning, we just chilled and chatted with the Four Quarters folks. Much of our talk was about Four Quarters Farm itself and all the fun we had there.

All of a sudden I looked around, and ... what are the odds? ... I saw the same jerk who was rude to the Spare at the Fairie Festival! Yes, there he stood in his birthday suit, wearing a little hat with a feather in it.

Back story: This person is a show-off drummer. At a drum circle, he asked Spare if he could see the drum she was using, then took it to another part of the circle and dumped it. He didn't want to use it, you see ... he just didn't want her to use it. At least that's how it came off at the time. Who asks for a drum and then doesn't even bang on it? Then, to make matters worse, when we called him on it, he exploded at Spare and shouted in her face. Suffice it to say we found the man unpleasant.

And just about the last person on Earth who I would want to bond with on a nude beach. So I did my best to ignore him. (For one thing, I knew my drum would never leave its travel pouch.)

Thank goodness he didn't sit down in our group! But alas. He did sit down.

How's this for bad form? This guy ... same one who outdid himself at Spoutwood ... saw my folded-up beach chair in the sand. He picked it up, unfolded it, and sat his naked butt down on it without asking anyone! Who does this at a nude beach? Would you sit in a stranger's chair at a nude beach? Without even inquiring who it might belong to?

So he sat on my folding chair for about five minutes, banging his precious drum. Then he got up and walked away.

I liked that chair.

I really liked that chair.

It was a special chair. It was given to me on Ventnor Beach by a Canadian tourist who had bought it for her week-long vacation and didn't want to take it home. It was lightweight and easy to carry. It was also sturdy and a good fit for me.

What are the odds that the same person who threw a dark blanket over the Fairie Festival would rise from the rubble to bedevil me again? Because you know what I'm going to say, right?

No way would I ever sit in that chair again. I'm trying to wipe the very image from my mind!

On my way off the beach for the day, I ruefully paid that nice, lightweight, sturdy chair forward to a group of bathers who needed extra seats. They were grateful for it. I was sorry to see it go.

Today I went out and priced beach chairs. Even though it's mid-season, the doggone things are costly. Oh, by all the bored gods ... I may be faced with the options of sitting on the sand, or shopping at Wal-Mart!

Michael Divine, if you Google your name and find this, please know that I could make concessions for you regarding your behavior in the drum circle. But I can't even imagine how you could show the colossal bad form to use a beach chair -- on a clothing optional beach -- without first asking to do so. Where did you learn your manners, the Planet of the Apes?

And oh, by the way? You're a lousy drummer. A legend in your own mind.

Despicable, Heartless Woman!

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored," a voice crying out in the wilderness for collective bargaining since 2005! Today's sermon is about a sermon I heard over the weekend. Sadly, I can't produce the text of that sermon for you, because I couldn't find it on the news radio web page. But tra la la! This is a blog! I can say anything I want and not attribute it, because I'm not being paid!

The sermon I heard:
I was driving, so I didn't catch her name, but her title was dean of the School of Business at Drexel University. The news radio, KYW, billed the sermon as a "business commentary."

The dean spoke to the topic of "disgruntled employees." Here is the gist of her sermon, and I am not exaggerating:

*If you have a disgruntled employee, he or she can ruin workplace morale. Said employee will complain to others who will also then become disgruntled.

*If one of these employees comes to your attention, take swift action. Delaying can only make matters worse.

*The first step you should take is to warn the employee sternly to stop such behavior.

*If the employee does not heed the warnings, swift termination is recommended.

That was her sermon.

I almost drove into a ditch.

Nothing about having a chat with the disgruntled employee to see if there actually is a problem at the employee's level of the administration that could have a negative impact on the company's profitability.

Nothing about having a chat (or having human resources conduct a chat) to find out if the employee is having personal, relationship, health, or mental problems that could be addressed in a compassionate manner.

Nothing about talking to other employees about the impact the disgruntled employee is having on them and to gather opinions as to the damage the disgruntled employee is doing to company morale.

Basically scold 'em and screw 'em. Quickly.

And this moron par excellence is Dean of the LeBow School of Business at Drexel University, where tuition is $62,000 a year. This woman is influencing future generations of business leaders.

Annie's Swift Response to the Sermon:
When I got home from the grocery store, I went to the news radio web site to try to find the text of the commentary and the exact person who delivered it. I was unsuccessful. Everything I searched for "Drexel School of Business" brought up ads for the school.

So I went to Drexel's home site, and sure enough there was a female dean at the LeBow School of Business. She had an email that consisted of a string of numbers and letters, something like this:
z39QZT46 at Drexel etc. etc. etc.

So I sent z39QZT46 an email. It went like this.

Dear z39QZT46,

I happened to be driving along, and I heard your advice on how to handle disgruntled employees. I can't agree with you enough. I've been involved in business and industry for decades, and I think your practical advice should be heeded by everyone and anyone in a position of decision-making in a company.

You should be very proud of yourself. Our nation needs more forward-thinking professors like you, to guide the young people who are going into management positions so that they can assure a productive workforce. Jolly good show.

God bless America,

Anne Johnson
Triangle Shirtwaist Factory

The email didn't get bounced back to me, so someone over at Drexel got it. May the entire place be damned for its despicable heartlessness.

Chris Christie's School Reforms Are a Disaster for Taxpayers

Well, I bet I earn a few stray views from non-regulars with that headline, huh?

If you're here because you think Chris Christie's so-called school "reforms" are a sham and a mockery, welcome! Here's a little tidbit of evidence that New Jersey's governor, hailed nationwide for trying to wrench aging teachers out of the classroom, is costing taxpayers more money than he will save.

This week, the Board of Education of Haddonfield, New Jersey passed its school budget for 2013-14. In New Jersey, municipalities (not counties) pay for the public schools. Haddonfield is a high-rent district that receives minimal support from New Jersey state government.

The school superintendent, when explaining the inflated budget number, said that the district would have to hire a new administrator at $75,000 per year to comply with the new state evaluation system for teachers.

That's $75,000 that the residents of Haddonfield have to pony up. This figure was not in last year's budget, because the administrator was not needed until Christie's evaluation models had to be implemented.

*99 percent of all Haddonfield students go to college.
*Haddonfield students earn the highest average SAT scores in Camden County. (Last June, 1,714. Source: Haddonfield Sun)

So the taxpayers of Haddonfield have to pay an evaluator to tell them ... what? That the teachers are "proficient?"

You know who evaluates the teachers in Haddonfield constantly, relentlessly, and candidly? The parents. There's absolutely no need for a $75,000 bozo in a tie (or heels). Nevertheless, the citizens of Haddonfield must pay this person, and the person must evaluate Haddonfield's teachers the way Christie wants it -- four times a year, twice formally and twice informally.

For those of you in other states, let me just add that all New Jersey administrators must be trained in the new evaluation techniques. This training brings highly-paid consultants into the state to lead lengthy seminars that will consume the time and energy of people who already know how to judge good and bad teachers.

All of this to root out a few ineffective educators.

Haddonfield, if you vote for Chris Christie, he'll fleece you for more needless bureaucracy in your schools. You know the schools I'm talking about. The ones that are falling apart at the seams and are filthy because the janitorial staff has been cut back.

Whose money is Chris Christie saving? Not mine. I live in Haddonfield, and I just hired a new nobody instead of giving the terrific teachers a raise.

Can I make a bold, reform-based suggestion? Let's find an evaluator to look at Chris Christie four times a year. Twice formally, twice informally. Is he proficient?

Still Not Believing My Eyes

If you live in the Delaware Valley of the US of A, and you turn the TV on and see Rick Santorum as a serious presidential candidate, you are absolutely baffled. Baffled, I tell you! You want to open a window and shout, "HEY, IS SOMETHING WRONG WITH MY CABLE?"

Since the founding days of "The Gods Are Bored," ex-Senator Santorum has been a favorite whipping boy (tee hee), winner of more "moron par excellence" citations than any other imbicile on the planet. His presence at the top of the political scene proves that all investors, including Super PACS, want to buy at bargain basement prices.

Don't let the sweater vest fool you. Oh, wait a minute. You're reading "The Gods Are Bored!" You learned not to let sweater vests fool you at your mama's knee.

Anyway, it's time to re-acquaint non-Pennsylvanians with the antics of Santorum. Not the ones that made the public stage, like his suggestion that men would want to marry dogs. No, the antics that lost him his seat in the Senate.

Over the weekend, this moron par excellence heaped vitriol on public schools, pretty much calling for them to be abolished. He favors home schooling, because, of course, his long-suffering spouse home-schooled his brood of brats.

But wait. Read the fine print.

The Santorum brood was home-schooled at the expense of the taxpayers of Pennsylvania. Yes indeed, the Keystone State paid for the books, computers, testing ... everything except maybe the copies of Of Pandas and People that round out the liberal education of every unfortunate offspring of a wacked Christian zealot.

Here's the wrinkle:

The Commonwealth of Pennsylvania paid to educate the Santorum brood while said brood was actually living in Virginia. This came to be a sore subject on the old home turf around election time. Many citizens felt they had been ill-used. They voted accordingly.

Charter school? Santorum didn't use it. Parochial school? Santorum's kids did not attend. No, folks. The bitty babes may have learned Pandas in the comfort of their suburban Virginia McMansion, but they got a fully funded public school education. Rick Santorum's outlay for this education? Whatever the heck the property taxes were on the little house he called "home" somewhere near Pittsburgh. You know the place. The one where no one bothered to mow the lawn. Why should the grass be mowed when the family was living in Virginia?

I did a little research.

What do Dwight Eisenhower, Richard Nixon, Gerald Ford, and Ronald Reagan all have in common? Oh geez. They all attended public schools. Word! What a hoot!

Ladies and gentlemen, I call your attention to Rick Santorum ... suggesting that his esteemed predecessors in the Republican ranks did not get good educations. Moron. Par. Excellence.

Someone fix my cable box. Please. I can't watch this guy run for president.

When Abortion, Mormons, and Gay Marriage Are All That Matters

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored!" It's 2012, the Apocalypse year! Well, another Apocalypse year anyway. If we had experienced all the Apocalypses we have been promised over time, only the buzzards would remain. Therefore we forge ahead with the slow attrition that comes to any capitalist society where greed is not curbed by common sense.

I would be rejoicing over the choices of moron offered in the Iowa caucuses if I had any faith in our sitting president. Alas, it took less than four years for all of his platitudes to lose their hot air -- and his decision to waive habeus corpus for anyone deemed a "terrorist" is the most dictatorial move by a president since there was a real war going on right in our nation. The last president to decree arrests and detentions without charges or rights was ... drum roll ... Abraham Lincoln. Times were a bit different then, and it still wasn't right.

Oh well, la di dah, the message is clear: You Occupy, you die. No more wasted pepper spray. Hey, how do you think they got things done in Argentina?

Meanwhile, the Republicans are duking it out over the really, really, really important national issues: abortion, gay rights, and prayer in schools. How else could we possibly have experienced the re-emergence of Rick Santorum, a moron of such epic stupidity that his IQ has to be tested with the hamster scale? Chimps leave him in the dust.

If you've never heard of Rick Santorum, you haven't been here at TGAB very long. I've written more "moron par excellence" rants about him than any other hominid. (Using the word hominid rather reluctantly here.)

In the not-so-distant past, Rick was one of the U.S. Senators from Pennsylvania. Until some intrepid reporter got the idea to go visit the address Rick listed for himself and his family in some blue-collar locale in the western part of the state. Turned out Ricky and his large, home-schooled brood had decamped for suburban Virginia, where they were living in a lavish home, rather beyond the income level of an honest senator. He hadn't even bothered to hire someone to cut the grass at the old Pennsylvania homestead -- that's how he was nabbed.

Rick got trounced in his re-election bid. He is still living in Virginia.

The only people who like this guy are the same vote-splitting dingbats who were flocking to Rick Perry until he opened his mouth. Santorum is slightly more able to converse than Perry, but hardly the man to lead a large and diverse nation with severe economic difficulties and tense situations in several parts of the globe. Leadership? Rick Santorum couldn't guide rats through a maze if you spotted him the cheese.

I wonder what people in other parts of the world think of us. I think we look ridiculous, and I live here.

Rick Rant

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored," a happy home-sweet-home for anyone who believes in any deity who isn't attracting followers who are either stupid, dangerous, or numerous! Welcome, likewise, to those of you who don't believe in deities at all. Hey, we are in this together. Your vote keeps the ship afloat.

Below I've posted possibly the most despicable, anti-American political ad I've seen since the days of Willie Horton. Our moron du jour, Rick Perry, has openly allied himself with the most radical of Christian sects. But this just takes the cake.

Here's a guy who doesn't know how many people sit on the Supreme Court, let alone their names. News flash: Immigrants wishing to gain citizenship know the answers to both of those questions. Basically there's a man running for president who knows less than the refugee from Nigeria who's been here since 2009!

(*Anne snaps knuckles, returns to her rant*)

I've watched at least 40 speeches by Barack Obama, and in almost every one of them (including his Inaugural Address), he has ended with "God Bless America." So how exactly is he waging a war against Christianity? Has he sent his daughters to burn down the National Cathedral? What am I missing? Maybe he doesn't go to church every Sunday. Maybe he doesn't go at all.  Shame on him! Richard Nixon went to church all the time!

You know what I would really love to see? Right now, while they can openly serve in the military, I would like for every gay Navy Seal to go on YouTube and post his or her credentials ... then flex his or her muscles ... then shoot a crash test dummy through the "heart" from 500 yards away. What is the big deal about sexual orientation in the military? Oh please. It's not like people are lining up to head off to Afghanistan and get shot. We should be grateful for anyone who is willing to serve in this era of nebulous enemies.

And you can tell this is a holiday ad, because here it comes again. The war on Christmas! Prayer in the school! Okay, someone wave the white flag! Armistice Day for the war on Christmas, already. We'll just put Christmas into the curriculum and discuss its origins. We could do the same for Easter. I'm so freakin willing to do this! I think I'll submit a petition to my principal!

Ads like this one call upon us to have faith.

We must have faith that the majority of Americans who vote are rational, reasonable people. We must have faith that there are Christians aplenty out there who would be uncomfortable with this alliance between church and state. We must have faith. Faith that moves mountains.

Vote.

(*End of rant*)

Here's a nice, light ending. This picture is circulating on Facebook, and it's just such a hoot! Rick's trainers not only dressed him up in a jacket in what is clearly the middle of the summer (note the greenery in the background), but they chose from the Warner Brothers "Brokeback Mountain" wardrobe. This would be an easy mistake to make, but Rick would have been way safer wearing a choir robe from the Crystal Cathedral.

Moron Par Excellence: Whole Foods CEO John Mackey

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored," where we know a moron when we see one! John Mackey, please come to the podium. You have received the coveted "moron par excellence" award from TGAB!

Readers, you know how impossible I find it to link Internet stories to my blog. So, if you want all the facts about John Mackey and Whole Foods and health care, do a quick Google. You'll find the editorial I'm writing about, and the fallout.

First, for those of you who've never heard of the supermarket chain called Whole Foods, let me characterize it for you. There's one near my house. I've shopped there on rare occasions when I needed some esoteric grains that are hard to find elsewhere.

Whole Foods is an "organic" grocery store. It consists of three components:

1. Foodstuffs purporting to be "organic" but that look like they've been coddled since birth in prime conditions of some sort.

2. Foodstuffs that have been prepared in house for people who don't have time to cook. These foodstuffs include such healthy offerings as triple chocolate cake and macaroni and cheese.

3. Neurotic, liberal yuppie shoppers who are simultaneously obsessed with their looks and health and one hundred percent behind Obama's most ambitious initiatives.


Whole Foods CEO John Mackey recently wrote an editorial in the Wall Street Journal in which he attacks any effort to provide government-funded health care to people who can't afford coverage. You really should read the whole thing, but I'll quickly summarize:

*Whole Foods employees are 100 percent covered for health care after they meet a $2500 yearly deductible that can voluntarily be offset by $1800 Whole Foods gives its staff (30-plus hours per week) in "health dollars" each year. At best, then, a Whole Foods employee must pay $800 out of pocket each year before getting health insurance. Mackey did not say how much a Whole Foods employee earns in yearly wages after taxes.

*If Americans want poor people to have health coverage, American taxpayers should voluntarily add money to their federal income tax returns, money that would be used for Medicare, CHIP, etc.

*Most of America's health problems are self-inflicted by people eating and drinking too much. If everyone adopted a healthy lifestyle, we wouldn't need government-sponsored health care, and everyone would live to be 90 to 100 years old.

But the following quote was the one that earned Mackey the mega-moron designation from TGAB:

"Health care is a service that we all need, but just like food and shelter it is best provided through voluntary and mutually beneficial market exchanges. A careful reading of both the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution will not reveal any intrinsic right to health care, food or shelter. That's because there isn't any. This "right" has never existed in America."

This, my friends, is a benchmark of right-wing conservative philosophy. And if it flowed off the tongue of the CEO of Mercedes-Benz, it would be just another "let them eat cake" moment.

Except the majority of Mackey's customers are liberals.

Hey, John Mackey. I have a question. When you shot yourself in the foot, had you already exhausted your $2500 yearly deductible? I ask because you may need some of it for treatment of the depression you will develop when your stores tank.

All across the Internet, blue bloggers are calling for boycotts of Whole Foods. I add my voice, and my consumer dollars, to this boycott.

Perhaps this nation has never recognized an intrinsic "right" to food and clothing. Certainly many Americans have been homeless and starved through the history of this nation. Is that the standard we want to cling to in the twenty-first century? Put it another way. If health care could be covered voluntarily by donations from charitable individuals, why aren't mega-churches sponsoring free clinics?

John Mackey, moron par excellence, I will never darken the doorstep of your store again. You join Wal-Mart on my list of bad stores where nothing will be bought by Anne. Since your store near me is located in a liberal enclave that voted 75 percent for Obama, I daresay I won't be alone.

What. A. Dumbass.

Moron du Jour

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored!" I read the news today, oh boy. About a lucky man who made the grade...

Actually this is the first morning that I haven't read the news in any form. Mr. Johnson canceled both the Philadelphia Inquirer and the New York Times. The only paper we're getting now is the Philadelphia Daily News, which is terrific for sports but a little thin otherwise.

Yesterday Mr. Johnson brought home the circulation numbers for all the local newspapers, from the biggie, the Inquirer, to the regional dailies that serve the suburbs. Every newspaper has lost circulation. But the biggest loser is the Philadelphia Inquirer.

About three years ago, the Philadelphia Inquirer and the Philadelphia Daily News were bought by a group led by a local man named Brian Tierney. Mr. Tierney promised the staffs of both papers that he wouldn't interfere with the editorial decisions of the papers. Then he slashed 150 Inquirer employees from the payroll.

Mr. Tierney, a devout Roman Catholic who had made a portion of his fortune working for the Philadelphia Archdiocese, did not keep his promise. He hired Rick Santorum for a bi-monthly column ($3400 a month for two columns). Yes, this is the same Rick Santorum who lost his last Senate election by a landslide, earning about 10 percent of Philadelphia's votes.

Santorum, favorite moron of "The Gods Are Bored," has used his bully pulpit in the Inquirer to berate liberals (of course), to berate Roe v. Wade and call for it to be overturned (of course), to skewer Barack Obama (who won Philly by about 89 percent of the vote), and to question global warming, and to tout Roman Catholic family values.

The Inquirer already had two conservative columnists, the repulsive Kevin Ferris, whose work is about 50 percent unreadable, and Jonathan Last, whose name says it all.

But this week Mr. Tierney got the final fist to the gut. Keith Olbermann named the Inquirer one of the "worst persons in the world" for hiring torture proponent John Yoo to write columns. Turns out Tierney and Yoo were college chums.

Oh, did I mention that the Philadelphia Inquirer and the Philadelphia Daily News are in bankruptcy? Tierney owns both.

We at "The Gods Are Bored" support fair and balanced reporting and opinion pages. We do not mind reading the likes of Rick Santorum occasionally. But what kind of decision-making goes into hiring conservative -- even controversial -- columnists in a market that is at least 75 percent liberal, probably higher among newspaper readers? What do we get next? Lavish coverage of the Dallas Cowboys?

I miss my newspaper! But I stand with Mr. Johnson on this. It was possible to buy the Inquirer with Rick Santorum in it. Not possible with Yoo. Sorry. Not possible.

Funny thing is, the creditors seeking satisfaction from Mr. Tierney will probably demand that one of the newspapers close down. Which one do you think it will be ... the one alienating its readers by hiring Bush era goons, or the one that everyone turns to for sex advice and in-depth sports coverage?

You know who ought to be let go? Brian Tierney, right-wing moron par excellence. I don't know how the man can even walk. He's shot himself in the foot so many times it must be down to a stump.

Help

Just because of one nasty commenter, I have somehow disabled the comment portion of my web log. Will some patient person please email me and tell me how to get it back?

Exclusive Interview with Sarah Palin!

Welcome to "The Gods Are Boards!" Today you are in luck ... it's me, Puck! Anyone who's new here, don't be wary. I'm just your typical badass faerie!

Yesterday I went over to Fox News and pretended to be an intern from Bryan College. I asked if I could interview Sarah "whiter shade of" Palin. I'm so blessed! They said yes! And here she is now. More moose than cow.

Puck: Welcome, future vice prescient! And don't worry about a single little thing. I'll ask real easy questions, okay?

Palin: Look, Puck. I can answer hard questions, all right? Don't lob softballs at me. I'm ready to be president of the United States, Puck.

Puck: Of coarse you are. So. Here's the first question. What happened to Humpty Dumpty when he sat on a wall?

Palin: He could see Russia.

Puck: What did Little Bo Peep lose?

Palin: Her virginity. But only after marriage, Puck.

Puck: Is it true that you opposed the Bridge to Nowhere because trolls don't like to live under bridges in Alaska because of the climate?

Palin: How did you know that, Puck?

Puck: Now, my deer. I'm posting the questions here! Finish the rhyme: "There was an old woman who lived in a shoe. She had so many children..."

Palin: "She had to hire three nannies."

Puck: What does a stitch in time save?

Palin: A snitch?

Puck (to himself) This lady seems like a fine national leader to me! (To Palin) What's black and white and red all over?

Palin: Puck, I know that one! Wait ... wait ... it's coming to me ... emmmmm. Oh golly. I'll have to get back to you on that, Puck.

Puck: Okay. Spell "potato."

Palin: That's not fair, Puck! I need a chalkboard!

Puck: Final question. What is the first thing you will do when you're sworn in as president? Because, let's face it, your running mate is so long in the tooth he might as well be a beached walrus.

Palin: Actually, Puck, I don't have any plans for governance. I'm going to turn it all over to God Almighty, and maybe a few Assembly of God preachers, and just let Armageddon take its course.

Puck: And where exactly do you see faeries standing when Armageddon gets underway?

Palin: Knee-deep in a lake of fire in hell, Puck.

Puck: Faeries in hell? (Methinks this doth smell.) Ms. Palin, your brain doesn't work very well.

Palin: Are you callin' me a moron? Where's my hunting rifle?

Puck: Here's the show-stopper. You left it in the chopper.

*********************************************************

"Being able to pun, sing, or riddle will usually get you through fairy checkpoints. To deal with real fairies is to enter a realm of riddles and puzzle settings where what they punish is stupidity and what they love is intellectual cleverness."

--Terence McKenna

So Many Idiots, So Few Villages

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored," in this, the best of all possible nations!

Ahem. Yeah. Well, we could all be living in some hellhole like Switzerland.

We at "The Gods Are Bored" will now go on one of our famous moron tirades, so please be sure your seatbelt is fastened and your chair is in the upright position.

Devastating News for the Nation's Villages: This Idiot Is Too Rich To Live in an Apartment above the Post Office/General Store

Rush Limbaugh just inked a contract that will pay him $38 million a year until 2016, and a $100 million signing bonus. His response:

"I'm having more fun than a human being should be allowed to have."

Yeah, I'll bet. That kind of money will buy not only unlimited quantities of pharmaceutical-grade opiate painkillers, but also vials of baby pee to use in those pesky random urine tests. So you're set for life, big man. Hate pays.

And speaking of hate ...

Nation's Villages Bid on Ebay for Right to Own Rick Santorum

Backstory: A few years ago, the Boy Scouts of America decided it would not admit any young man who was openly gay or atheist. In response, the city of Philadelphia told its Boy Scouts chapter that they would have to start paying rent on their posh digs on Logan Circle. The Scouts went to court ... and lost.

Today, in his every other weekly column for the Philadelphia Inquirer, Rick Santorum (who lost his U.S. Senate seat in a thorough trouncing by a ho-hum opponent) let fly at the city of Philadelphia for expecting the Boy Scouts to abide by anti-discrimination laws if they want government support for their clubhouse.

Needless to say, ex-senator Santorum comes down squarely on the side of the Boy Scouts. Let's listen in on a bit of his argument ... it'll help drive up that Ebay bidding:

Thanks to the ACLU, liberal feminists and teachers unions, our government-run bureaucracy ... has waged war against boys. Liberals have largely run our great cities for the last half-century, but not many of them dare cross powerful special interests like the ACLU and the teachers unions, radical feminists or Hollywood and First Amendment absolutists (read pornographers).

Fair use copyright issues preclude me from quoting more, but I couldn't do it anyway without gagging up my breakfast. I will say that at the end of his editorial, Santorum threatens Philadelphia's mayor with a loss of federal funding for the city. Stop being an ACLU-loving pornographer, Mr. Mayor, "before some equally political legislator treats Philadelphia as badly as you have treated the Boy Scouts."

Rick Santorum has six children and is raising them as strict Roman Catholics. So much for progress in the gene pool. But at least the citizens of Pennsylania had the good sense to kick his pious butt out of the Senate chamber during the previous election cycle.

And now for that Ebay bidding on Santorum, Village Idiot Par Excellence. Early returns show several hamlets in Kansas in furious competition. But don't discount the longshots, Dover, PA and Dayton, TN. The former has a nice school the kids could attend, rather than being home-schooled. The latter has a lovely college where Mr. Santorum could teach. Emm, if only he wasn't a Roman Catholic.

With morons like these two on the loose, who feels like watching fireworks and eating hot dogs? Fourth of July? Bah, humbug.

Suffering for Barack Obama

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored," true blue and Union too!

Clearing the Record: Yesterday's post takes readers to the wrong link. (Oh gee, is anyone surprised by that?) If you want to meet David Miley, go here. I sent you to Jeff Lilly. Sorry, David!

My legions and legions of regular readers will recall that I've been going in for treatments on my hip that are administered by a nurse. The treatments do not involve needles, nor do they involve prescription medications. All well and good, but today I decided I'd rather just be in pain all the time.

You might recall that this nurse was a Hillary Clinton Democrat, fiercely devoted to her candidate. And that would be fine with me, except that the nurse in question has taken her disappointment over the primary to alarming levels of idiocy.

She hates Barack Obama and refuses to talk about anything else.

Oh readers. I tried. I really tried. Look at all the fascinating topics I attempted to steer her toward:

1. How to play the musical saw
2. The odd ways of faeries (a personal fave, usually works)
3. The Snobville Memorial High School Prom, what daughter will be wearing, and her problem finding shoes
4. How nice the students are at the Vo-Tech

Ah, but was she listening? Uh, nope.

She was horrified to hear, for the second week in a row, that I plan to vote for Barack Obama. None of her stirring speeches last week moved me an inch.

Out came all the tired racist stuff again. He's a Muslim. He swore into the Senate on the Koran. He has nothing in common with Clinton in terms of political platform (WTF?). His name. That name. No one should be able to be a president of the United States with a name like "Obama."

Sez I: "Hillary just endorsed Obama last Saturday. Do you mean to tell me that if Hillary walked in this room right now and asked you personally to vote for Barack, you wouldn't do it?"

Sez She: "Nope. I'm gonna vote for McCain. Hillary should have never caved like that. She should have stood up to him and taken all her followers with her."

Sez I: "Do you know anything about McCain's platform? What he represents politically?"

This last led her to declare Obama the Antichrist and to predict Armageddon should he be elected.

Seriously.

I decided that my hip will just have to hurt, because I ain't goin' back to that crazy lady.

It gets worse. I have so taken her rants to heart that I just volunteered for the Obama campaign! Picture me limping to a voter registration drive in Camden, New Jersey in two weeks! The San Juan Bautista Parade -- four hours in the sun, registering voters!

I haven't volunteered for a presidential campaign since 1976. See what happens when we at "The Gods Are Bored" hear the word "Armageddon?"

Why Democracy Doesn't Work ... Again

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored," frank talk about religion, politics, and hot sex with groovy partners!

Well, two outta three ain't bad.

Sometimes people say stuff that is of such monumental stupidity that it literally takes your breath away. And when you think that such people are allowed -- nay, encouraged -- to vote, you understand why we get fascists like Dick Cheney in positions of power.

I've been going in for treatments on my hip. The treatments last about 15 minutes. And try though I might to keep the subject from turning to politics, the (presumably educated) technician who gives me my treatments just wants to rant.

She hates Barak Obama. She hates his name. What kind of name is that for a president of the United States? She says he's Muslim, he was sworn into the Senate on the Koran.

When I wouldn't budge from my position that I'll vote for him if he's the Democratic nominee, she encouraged me to read the Koran. And get this: Even after I told her I don't like mean books like the Koran and the Bible, that's part of the reason I'm a Pagan, she just kept on ranting.

Says she: "Obama doesn't have enough experience to be president. He's only served two years in the Senate."

Says I: "Abraham Lincoln didn't have any more experience than Obama. He spent one term in Congress and couldn't even get re-elected. He lost a Senate campaign."

Says she:

Are you ready for this, readers????

"Well, this country is more complicated now than it was when Lincoln was elected president."

Pinky swear she said this.

Yeah, as president, Lincoln had a real sleigh ride. Easiest eight years in the history of America. And I'm sure he enjoyed his many years of retirement in Florida, too.

Now picture this pie-faced moron in a voting booth!

H.L. Mencken was right. Democracy doesn't work because stupid people vote stupidly.

So, jot that down in your history notes, kids. Our nation's politics are more complicated now than they were when the whole fuckin' shootin' match split in two, and then both sides fought over it for four years.

Moron. Moron. Moron.

I've got two more treatments to go. Next time I will wear my full Pagan regalia, if for no other reason than it might help me not to become infected with idiocy.

Photos: Gettysburg Battlefield, Andersonville Prison Cemetery

Rick Santorum Should Have to Raise Kittens

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored," mourning the death of four kittens tonight.

It has been our practice for more than four years to take kittens from the animal shelter who are too young to be adopted, raise them, and take them back for adoption.

Last year we fostered five litters, including one charmer named Casey Jones who came to us 10 days old. We didn't lose a single cat.

This year we have had seven kittens from three different litters. Only two have survived.

Last Saturday we picked up four kittens who were just at the weaning age. Their mother was at the shelter, but every time the cat lady put them in the cage with the mother, the mother tried to kill them.

When we first brought them home they seemed fine, but they sickened. If you've never seen a slowly dying kitten, you must be Rick Santorum. Today my daughter The Heir and I carted four skeletal sufferers to the animal hospital to be euthanized.

Better that their mother had handled them. Right to life, indeed. Rick Santorum isn't fit to kiss my daughter's footprint in the pig stye.