Interview with a Bored Goddess: Queen Brighid the Bright

My goodness, have we ever strayed from our Mission Statement here at The Gods Are Bored! How long has it been since a deity sat for an interview? Can't even recall the last time. Thankfully, Imbolc is upon us, and Queen Brighid the Bright has settled in by the fire with a piping hot cup of Irish breakfast tea. Please give a warm and wonderful "Gods Are Bored" welcome to the Goddess Brighid the Bright!

Anne: How's the tea, great Goddess?

Queen Brighid the Bright: First rate! Your firewood is not well seasoned, though. 

Anne: Our first shipment was so well-seasoned that we burnt through it all. Now we're stuck with this smoky stuff that sizzles and leaves creosote in our chimney.

Queen Brighid the Bright: Well, we can't have that, now can we? (Blows on the fire, and it leaps with purple flame.)

Anne: Snap! Thank you!

Queen Brighid the Bright: Anne. Anne! What's this?

Anne: Emmm .... the Sunday New York Times crossword puzzle? (hides her head)

Queen Brighid the Bright: Well! I'm not inclined to scold you, Anne, but what the hell?

Anne: It's a pandemic, Goddess. I'm basically in quarantine. So I sit around here and cross stitch and do the Sunday crossword puzzle.

Queen Brighid the Bright: Like a geezer.

Anne: Oh, you cut me to the quick! Don't think I don't know that these stodgy hobbies are pathetic. But take it from me, they beat Twitter.

Queen Brighid the Bright: Twitter? You mean the sound birds make?

Anne: Close enough. But fear not, dear Goddess. I have enrolled in an online course called "Navigating Tower Time". I'm going to start it tomorrow.

Queen Brighid the Bright: Well, see that you do! We don't want to get lax in our spiritual path, do we?

Anne: It's hard not to get lax in everything when I'm pent up at home, day after day, week after week, month after month.

Queen Brighid the Bright: Chin up, Anne! Imbolc is here, the lambs are being born, it's halfway to equinox, and my goodness! Your larder is bulging.

Anne: Pandemic supplies.

Queen Brighid the Bright: What are these six bottles of Clorox all in a row?

Anne: Five mistakes based on a shortage.

Queen Brighid the Bright: Four dozen rolls of toilet paper?

Anne: We ordered it in bulk from Amazon.

Queen Brighid the Bright: How are Amazons to work with? I should imagine they drive a hard bargain. I've never met one.

Anne: They're ruthless, and they dominate the landscape. Great Goddess, will you listen to a petition?

Queen Brighid the Bright: Of course! I'm not as bored as I used to be, but I still grant petitions! What can I help you with, Anne?

Anne: Place your gentle hand on my daughters.

Queen Brighid the Bright: Done. Anything else?

Anne: Protect me from COVID-19.

Queen Brighid the Bright: Perhaps The Morrigan would do that better. She is crackerjack with corvids.

Anne: COVID-19 is the name of the disease. It doesn't have anything to do with crows.

Queen Brighid the Bright: What a ridiculous name! What happened to descriptive disease names like smallpox and yellow fever?

Anne: Good question. Maybe people would take it more seriously if it was called "drowning on dry land."

Queen Brighid the Bright: Well, whatever it's called, I'll protect you from it. Looks like you've got all kinds of solid Appalachian magic going on already. But I'm always glad to pitch in.

Anne: I imagine you'll be really busy on Imbolc, but if you have a chance, pop in. I have a wonderful smudge stick that my daughter The Fair gave me for Yule. I'm going to purify the whole house.

Queen Brighid the Bright: As well you should. And keep the faith, Anne. Quarantines don't last forever. It only seems that way.

Anne: And how, Goddess. And how.

WWG1WGOTR

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored," broadcasting from the Independent Republic of Johnsonia! Did you watch that fluffy inaugural celebration on Wednesday night? I did, and I wept the whole way through. Seriously, Jon Bon Jovi singing "Here Comes the Sun?" And did you see Yo Yo Ma? For the love of fruit flies. And then fireworks at the end. Johnsonia is going to send the Biden administration a nice pecan pie!

Don't know about you, but when I was growing up I had lots of cousins that were good friends to me. Now they're all scattered to the wind, and I don't even try to keep up with them. I carry a grudge against my father's people for wanting to sell the farm, and some of my mom's nieces and nephews climbed on the Trump train. Meh, cousins. 

Therefore I was decidedly unenthusiastic when I got a text message from one of my cousins, asking if she could give my phone number to her older brother. This particular brother was a blister on my heel growing up. I have no fond memories of him. But I'm not heartless, so I said sure, fling him my digits.

He called a few days later, and it happened that Mr. J was out. So I picked up the call.

Y'all see me here, I can blather on and on with no brakes whatsoever. But get me in a social situation, or on a phone line, and I have next to nothing to say. Mostly that doesn't matter, though. My experience is that the most I ever need to say is "uh huh" and "oh yes, you're right." And that covers it.

So this cousin starts off somewhat sane, politely asking me about my family and telling me how much I meant to him back in the day (not mutual). But it soon turned out that his real reason for calling was to see if I knew about The Storm.

Yes, that Storm. The lunatic lives in Florida, so at first I thought he might be talking about an off-season hurricane, but no.

He launched into a long diatribe about the Deep State that included the most ridiculous things you have never heard, and me telling him that I did some anti-fascist actions didn't even slow him down. Antifa is "infiltrated," like pretty much everything else from Maine to Hawaii.

And when I called him on his bullshit, which I did frequently, he said, "Anne Janette, you know I'm smart, right?" (Not really) Then he delivered up the juiciest: "It's all over the Internet. All you have to do is look."

Just look on the Internet?

Well, for a hot second I thought he might be right, because hardly anyone believes that the Pacific Northwest Tree Octopus is nearly extinct. I know I've talked myself blue about the tree octopus, because it's all over the Internet.

I finally got the windbag off the line by telling him I had firewood to stack. Yes, readers. I used that very excuse. Wasn't even fake. After getting an earful of QAnon, I grimly stacked a cord of hardwood like it was cotton candy.

Gave this no more thought until the day before Inauguration, when I saw him trying to call me again. I sent him a text and said I didn't have time in my life for advanced crazy.

To which he replied that, if I know what's good for me, I'll go right away and tank up my car with gas and get a big wad of cash and be ready for Judgment Day Armageddon The Apocolypse the Overthrow of America by a Worldwide Papal Conspiracy That Controls Everything. He said I should be very afraid. Where would I even go? Did I know?

I texted him back, "I'll go to Camden. No one cares about Camden."

KaChing! Anne for the win! That shut him up. Because of course it's true.

There's a streak of crazy a mile wide that runs through my mother's family. You can literally trace it backwards in the family tree. All the same, it's sad to see someone so deluded that he thinks the world is going to come to an end because the members of the Supreme Court are pedophiles. What a burden, these delusions of grandeur! ("I know what I'm talking about, I've done my research on the Internet!")

If any of my cousins are reading this, please be aware. My happy writing career was put out of business by the Internet. In my reference book work, I had to fact-check everything. And Gods forbid I misspelled someone's name! No one knows better than I do what a stinking swamp of misinformation can be found on the Internet.

Ever notice that I don't fact-check anything on this blog? I don't have to! It's the Internet!

Gosh, now I can say I know someone who believes QAnon. Where They Go One, They Go Off The Rails.

Really wish these people would be Raptured.

Who Else?

 Who else feels like they can finally breathe again? Is it too soon to be hopeful?

Here in Johnsonia, we're absolutely delighted.

Read This for Laughs! (Do I Ever Lead You Wrong?)

 Well, proving positively that she is a product of my genomic sequence plus someone else's, my daughter The Fair has written a funny little piece about playing pro football! Now, dear readers, it costs you nothing to peruse this piece, but she gets paid by the click ... so won't you click for me? I wouldn't bother if it wasn't just the sort of silly thing we all need right now.

CLICK HERE!!!

Official Statement from the Grand Wazoo of Johnsonia on the Recent Traitorous Rebellion in the USA

 January 7, 2021

The leaders of the Independent Republic of Johnsonia hereby express our dismay at the unsuccessful but nevertheless alarming insurrection in the United States of America that occurred on January 6, 2021.

 For 200 years, the United States has been held in high esteem (not always deserved) as a bastion of freedom and justice. The reckless and lawless behavior of January 6, urged upon a rabble by the sitting president, is a stark departure from the orderly operation of government most often associated with America.

Good leadership is important, and the lack thereof can be catastrophic. The inability of Donald Trump to govern the United States is the entire reason that Johnsonia declared independence in favor of home rule. We see now that our decision in this regard was a sound one. Our thoughts and prayers go out to the citizens of the United States, in hopes that this dark episode will not be repeated in this or any other era.

Respectfully submitted,

Anne Johnson

Grand Wazoo, Independent Republic of Johnsonia

Pardon Me While I Wallow in Self Pity and Nostalgia

 Oh, Wretched New Year! This would have been my 10th year marching in the Philadelphia Mummers Parade. Alas, quite sensibly, the 2021 parade was canceled. Here I sit, on yet another day of self-imposed quarantine, dodging COVID and watching Mummers recordings on t.v.

Strutting down memory lane is the best I can do.

EXHIBIT A: 2017 with The Fair

EXHIBIT B: My 3rd Parade, 2013

EXHIBIT C: OUR 1st Place Finish, 2018 (I'm in the rear in the red hat -- it was 6 degrees F at the time.)

EXHIBIT D:  2019 on Broad Street

EXHIBIT E: 2020 St. Patrick's Day, Luckily Held in February, Most Recent Strut

EXHIBIT F: Gritty and I Need Another Assignment ... Maybe Overthrowing the Oligarchy

EXHIBIT G: 2021

I'm crossing my fingers that 2021 will bring us a new, effective president and an end to this pandemic nightmare. COVID is real, it's a killer, and I wouldn't be in the parade this year if I was the only one missing it.

Stay warm, stay safe, Happy New Year!

Another 2020 Sucker Punch

 In the grand scheme of things, losing your favorite soft drink for all time is a small disappointment. But this is 2020, Year of Horrors, and Coca-Cola's decision to discontinue production of TaB is One. Last. Kick. In. The. Keister.

Yes, here I sit looking at my last two 12-packs of TaB, purchased at great expense from Ebay. By the time the fucking assholes management team at Coca-Cola announced the discontinuation of this worthy beverage, all available stocks of it had been snapped up by opportunists.

I've been drinking TaB since the early 1970s, and it is literally the only Coke product I like. TaB was Coke's first diet cola, and it doesn't taste anything like Coke or Diet Coke. It's not sweet. It has a hint of cinnamon. And until Red Bull came along, it was the best soda to rev up the heart rate.

It hasn't been easy to get TaB here in New Jersey for the past 10 years, but if you had a good eye you could find it. And then you just bought every 12-pack on the shelf. In this way I've kept my larder stocked with TaB pretty continuously. Alas, no more!

So a big, fat FUCK YOU to Coca-Cola! You had ONE product I bought. You DISCONTINUED it. I hope it's the beginning of the END OF YOUR COMPANY!

You know who drinks Diet Coke? Donald Trump. Case closed, the company can drown in rat poison.

A Smithsonian-Worthy Yule Navel Gaze

 We stubborn hillbillies never forget a slight. When the Smithsonian said this page wasn't worthy of inclusion in its ranks, it rankled. Take this holiday, for instance. It screams, bleats, shouts, and roars "pandemic diary."

People are getting tired of observing pandemic guidelines, and the case numbers are rising again. I'm not an ordinary person, though. I'm a stubborn hillbilly. So when my school deemed it unsafe for small cohorts of students to walk in the door, I flung them a doctor's note so I didn't have to either. I've been working at home ever since. I don't like it, but it beats getting the virus. I gerry-rigged the home office I used for so long as a writer, which is weird in the extreme. 

The worst part is having virtual teachers' meetings at home. All those administrators you can't stand? Suddenly they're in your living room. Makes my skin crawl.

The pandemic has put a lot of time on my hands with nothing to write about, so I have returned to the teenage hobby of cross stitch and embroidery. Look at this Xmas gift I made for The Fair! 

She says everyone will ask where she got it!

I've never been apart from my daughters during the Xmas holidays, and like everyone else in America, I wanted to observe traditions. But ... stubborn hillbilly. Luckily, both daughters live in Philadelphia, so on Xmas morning early (between the period of driving rain and the period of plunging temperatures) we convened on the porch of The Heir's West Philly rowhouse. Heir lives on the third floor. We used the porch.

Heloooo? Smithsonian????? How many pandemic photos do you have of ordinary families following the goddamn CDC guidelines?

The other thing I have never done without on the holidays is a Yule tree. About two weeks before the winter break, I bought a little tabletop "fresh" tree from a supermarket. By Xmas Eve it looked gray as a ghost. So I got in my old car (which needed a spin) and drove to where I knew there was a vacant lot with some pine saplings, and I ethically sourced an organic, free range tree. Third time I've done this, and although it's mean to maim a tree, it certainly cheers things up here.

These New Jersey pines aren't fragrant, but I like the long needles.

Here I am, another American affected by the pandemic, but not nearly or even remotely as dreadfully as a lot of people. Now it's just a countdown until the day the USA is rid of Donald Trump (cross fingers) forever. He's bent upon ruining the nation the way he tanked all his other businesses. What a train wreck.

The Light returns, we'll get through this mess, and the next time you hear from me it'll be from a bottomless pool of self-pity. But I'll leave that for later.

Borders Sealed

I bid you greetings from the Independent Republic of Johnsonia! We have reached out to congratulate President-Elect Biden on his electoral college certification and his strong speech thereafter. The coughing and throat-clearing were a bit concerning.

Speaking of concerning, after seeing the case counts rising at her place of work (and after hearing someone in the restroom fail to wash their hands), the Grand Wazoo put in a doctor's note that will keep her working inside the borders of Johnsonia for quite some time.

Whew! What a relief!

Actually I'm surprised how relieved I am, but I am really, really relieved. No workplace can be 100 percent safe right now, and even though mine seemed like a good bet, recently I was not nearly so comfortable.

So Johnsonia is all sealed up, not even allowing our ambassadors-at-large to come home for the holidays. We take public health very seriously in this nation.

Also, there's some kind of winter storm on the way. Since Johnsonia is in the coastal plain it usually gets a "wintry mix," which is a nice way of saying "too warm for snow, too cold for rain."

Batten down, foreigners!

In Which I Wax Emotional

 Don't know if you will be able to view this, but what the hell, I have nothing else to say today.

https://flipgrid.com/s/4yXJJSrzJzNCfhyw

Frank Talk about Infectious Pathogens

 We all know that Rudy Giuliani is in the hospital (or was), having been infected -- who knows how -- with COVID-19.

I say "who knows how" because just about everybody around him is as daft as he is. Nobody wears a mask.

Rudy is sick, and the entire Arizona legislature is quarantined because he went out there to pull sneaky shit brief them on his unfounded views of election fraud.

So we all know how germs work. They have to be inside us, and then expelled from us, to infect another person.

Can you imagine getting sick from COVID after being around Rudy Giuliani? Something that was inside him and expelled from him got into your body.

EWWWWWWWWWWWW!!!!!!! GROSSSS!!!!! Rudy Cooties!!! Disgusting.

Have I ruined your day? Sorry.

The Wazoo's Gambit

 Some day, 300 years from now, an earnest young researcher will go to the Smithsonian Institution and ask, "Do you have any primary source material from suburban white women in the early 21st century?" And the curator will look at the researcher with a vacant expression and say, "I don't know. Have you read Joyce Carol Oates?"

In the meantime, this fabulous blog, containing events big and small for more than 15 years, will be relegated to the landfill of American history. I tell you, I'm still peeved about it.

Take this week's adventure, for instance. It is:

a) pandemic related

b) reflective of middle class liberal female values, and

c) a subtle statement on the consumer economy.

You would think the Smithsonian would eat this stuff with a fork and spoon.

Oh well, pish tosh as I always say. Let me tell you about the Gambit that kept me from losing my online teacher mind this week.

Thanksgiving has come and gone, and Yule looms with the same horrible restrictions. The various citizens-at-large of Johnsonia already know that there will be no gathering for Yule. Household members only.

With that in mind, I set out to deck the halls with my usual holiday trappings. Except I couldn't haul them from the basement. Everything brought back memories of non-pandemic times. "I'll only be more depressed if I look at this stuff for a month," I said to no one in particular.

What I needed was some basic new stuff, a few candle holders for the mantelpiece. I could see in my mind exactly what I wanted -- tea light holders like they have in abundance at the thrift store. Trouble is, the thrift store is always crowded, and it's in a former factory that has zero ventilation. I haven't been there since August.

I started shopping online. I looked at JoAnn Fabrics, Ross, Macy's, Target, Marshall's, Williams Sonoma, and Lowe's. Not finding anything, I turned to Etsy. This is where I picked up the term "crackle glass." They have 22,000 Christmas candle holders for sale. And nothing is cheap.

All the while, the little voice in my head was saying, "You know you can get these at the thrift store, right?"

But I resisted. My county is a hot spot. It's irresponsible to put one's life at risk for a candle holder.

Never underestimate the fallout from a bad day in the teacher trenches, though. After receiving a spectacularly lackluster score on an observation that lasted 20 minutes, I pretty much decided what the heck. After school I got in my car and drove to the thrift store.

I strode in. As I knew it would be, all the holiday swag was right in the front of the store. Bip Bip Bip, I picked up 3 candle holders (just what I wanted), a package of tapers, a fake poinsettia, and -- on my way to check out -- an ugly Christmas sweater for the ages. Fifteen bucks, and I was back in my Subaru in less than 10 minutes.

That was three days ago, and I don't feel like I caught COVID 19. In fact, every time I look at my mantelpiece, I feel damned good!

The moral of this Gambit is, when one feels underappreciated one tends to throw caution to the wind. But one doesn't really throw, one tosses lightly. No harm is done, no furniture is stained, and there are tea light holders to boot.

How's the case count where you live?

Thanksgiving 2020

 I've spent the last three hours making side dishes for Thanksgiving dinner. Cranberry sauce too. Ever notice how these recipes make enough for a large family and friends? Yeah, well, this year it's just me and Mr. J and one poorly-behaved orange tabby cat named Gamma. The governors of Pennsylvania and New Jersey have asked residents to limit their Thanksgiving guests to people living within the home.

Every year since 1989 I have hosted Thanksgiving at Chateau Johnson (now an official government residence). That first year my daughter The Heir was 5 months old, and we invited her godfather from Washington, DC. It snowed about 4 inches. Made for beautiful photos.

There was a memorable year when I hosted a couple of principle dancers from the Philadelphia Ballet. Mr. J had just finished writing a magazine profile of Arantxa (who was practicing to be the Sugar Plum Fairy in "Nutcracker"). She and her Russian husband had never been to a traditional Thanksgiving dinner before. He ate everything in sight. She had a small portion of white meat turkey and an undressed salad. They were lovely. Literally.

On several Thanksgivings the Monkey Man has come to eat with us. Once he brought his sister and her boyfriend. Of course the monkey, Bongo, came too. Therefore, in Bongo's honor, I made banana bread.

When The Heir started working for a sculptor named Kate Kamen, I invited Kate and her husband to Thanksgiving. We learned a lot about spear fishing and other Type A behavior that would have made the ballerinas wince.

But mostly on Thanksgiving I had my mother-in-law here with us. She was an exquisite chef and often brought dishes or dessert, until she grew too infirm to cook. Must have been at least 10 and probably more like 20 years that she joined us every year. She was with us on the fateful Black Friday when Decibel the parrot died.

One year when The Heir was about 22 and The Fair about 17, I had to drive to Baltimore on Thanksgiving morning to pick up Mother-in-Law. It's a good 100 miles from Philly to Baltimore, and then turn around and drive back ... and then put the turkey in the oven. The drive down was uneventful. But coming back -- mind you, 11:00 in the morning on Thanksgiving -- we got into a whopper of a traffic jam on I-95. It was a parking lot, and the clock was ticking on getting that bird in the oven.

When it looked unlikely that I would return to Chateau Johnson in a timely manner, I phoned home to ask for assistance from my grown daughters. The conversation went something like this:

Anne: Fair, I need you to put the turkey in the oven.

Fair: Not me. I'm not touching a raw, dead bird! Forget it! Eww, gross!

Anne: Please? I'll walk you through it.

Fair: No way. I'd rather eat peanut butter.

Anne (turning to an inferior Plan B): Put your sister on the line. Heir, are you there?

Heir: Oh, hi Mom! How's it goin?

Anne: Not good. Listen, I need for you to unwrap the turkey and put it in the oven. I'll walk you through it.

Heir: Uhhhhh ...... emmmmmm ..... uhhhhhhh ...... mmmmMMMMMMmmmmm .... um, Mom.

Anne: Please?

Heir: Ummmmmmm ..... emmmmmmm ..... uhhhhhh .... oh gosh, I ..... ummmmm.

At this point the traffic moved an inch.

Anne: Never mind.

Heir: Oh! You have a great trip, Mom! See you soon! *Click*

Long story short, that was the year I learned to use the convection setting on the oven.

In the time of novel coronavirus, I will not be stuck in traffic on I-95. I won't be making salads for ballerinas or banana bread for Bongo. I won't be going to the shopping mall at 6:00 a.m. with The Fair or to a Christmas tree-lighting in Haterfield with The Heir. My county is a hot spot, so I don't even want to go to the hardware store for new outdoor lights.

But I might do that last bit. If ever there was a year when we have to beat back the darkness, this is that year. We started with the election of Joe Biden, but it's a deep hole we're finding ourselves in, what with Trump tweeting RIGGED RIGGED RIGGED and 70 million Americans believing him and another 250,000 dead of a disease no one had this time last year. 

Light is what we need. Lots and lots of light.

Four weeks until Solstice. I'm here, it's Thanksgiving, and it's just me and Mr. J and a poorly-behaved orange tabby cat named Gamma.

Stay safe!

Important Public Health Announcement for the Citizens of Johnsonia

 Hear the words of the Grand Wazoo of Johnsonia, Anne Johnson:

Effective immediately, the borders of the Independent Republic of Johnsonia are closed. No one will be allowed to leave Johnsonia or return to it except for essential travel.

No non-citizens will be allowed to visit or stay in Johnsonia. This includes outdoor gatherings and holidays.

Essential travel is defined as work-related or food-gathering-related or of medical necessity.

The Wazoo would like to take this opportunity to SCOLD the United States of America for IGNORING and SCORNING the advice of SCIENTISTS who WARNED THIS WOULD HAPPEN. May this plague fall upon the shoulders of the U.S. citizens who most resisted considering it important, while passing over good people who heeded the advice of health professionals!

Wazoo probably gonna be working from home beginning next week. Just a hunch.

Official Pronouncement from the Independent Republic of Johnsonia

 Dear Mr. President-Elect Biden,

On behalf of the citizens of the Independent Republic of Johnsonia, I wish to congratulate you on your resounding victory in the recent presidential election.

We of Johnsonia are looking forward to an era of cordial relations, productive alliances, and mutually beneficial trade relationships.

In all honesty, we're quite relieved at the outcome of the election. When it was announced, our color guard banged pans in the northern boundaries of our nation. We will be honored to send a delegation to your inauguration, if you have a public ceremony in these trying times.

With deepest regard,

Anne Johnson

Grand Wazoo, Independent Republic of Johnsonia

Morning in Johnsonia

 It's a blustery morning here in the Independent Republic of Johnsonia, and the Grand Wazoo has a day off.  I, Anne Johnson, am that Wazoo.

I'm very glad to have my own country, because it is Election Day in the United States of America, and if I was still a citizen of that nation, I would be FREAKING THE FUCK OUT.

Instead, I'm busy with affairs of state in my own dear country.

Several prominent blue jays have hopped forward for Cabinet positions. To balance out all that blueness, I have also engaged four cardinals to dispense justice and to see to an even distribution of government-issued rations.

Squirrels are the opposition party. No surprises there.

Gamma the cat is now Secretary of the Interior. He is a known polluter, but he promises to keep Johnsonia free of disease-bearing rodents.

My firstborn daughter has agreed to be Ambassador to the United States, and her somewhat baffled boyfriend is now Ambassador to the E.U. (He stood for our national anthem but had to be briefed on the whole secession thing afterwards.)  If daughter Fair is interested, the ambassadorship to Canada is still open. If she's not, I'll appoint a blue jay.

Johnsonia just celebrated its first Samhain -- Druidism is the state religion -- in a very depressing manner. While a record number of American trick-or-treaters took candy from a basket in front of the house, we citizens hunkered around a bonfire out back.  The U.S.A.'s cavalier response to the pandemic is one reason for secession, and on Samhain we felt it keenly.

Johnsonia wishes its neighboring nation a free and fair election and a peaceful transition of power. Thank goodness none of that matters to us!

Stop a Moment

 Stop a moment and think back to April 1, 2005. Think about what you were doing, how old you were, and what your hopes and dreams were.

Now imagine that a stranger walked up to you and said, "In November of 2020, President Donald Trump will appoint a third Supreme Court justice a week before the general election in the midst of a pandemic that has taken 225,000 American lives in six months."

Imagine.

I'm surprised more people aren't seceding and starting their own countries.

Johnsonia Update and National Anthem

 Welcome to the Independent Republic of Johnsonia! If you recall, we seceded from the United States of America (irreconcilable differences) and became a country on 1 October 2020.

I, Anne Johnson, have been appointed Grand Wazoo. It's a lifetime appointment.

We've been incredibly busy with affairs of state, including collecting revenues through our Wazoo's unceasing labor. We have also undertaken infrastructure repairs ... and you know how that goes. Always more time and money than you expect.

We have, however, found time to write our National Anthem. It is to the tune of "O Canada," because you know it's okay to steal awesome national anthem tunes!

Ladies and gentlemen, please rise for the singing of the National Anthem of the Independent Republic of Johnsonia!

Johnsonia

Our fertile faithful ground,

Beyond compare

The greatest land around!

From the parking drive

To the hornet hive

To the roof that needs repair,

From the sidewalk crack

To the shrine in back

We stand beyond compare!

Johnsonia

Stand up and sing!

Johnsonia, we will let freedom ring!

Johnsonia, we will let freedom ring!

Play ball.

Well, Looky There

 Can you believe this? A guy who called the whole pandemic a joke, then said it would be over soon, then refused to wear a mask and belittled people who do? A guy who said it was no worse than the flu? Yeah. I knew it was a matter of time.

But you know, we Heads of State have to issue statements in situations like this, so here goes:

We the people of the Independent Republic of Johnsonia extend our best wishes to President Donald Trump and his wife Melania, for a speedy recovery from the novel coronavirus. We recognize that President Trump has many risk factors for having a worse case than average, and he may be laid up for quite some time, but yo. Feel better, dude!

Anne Johnson

President, Independent Republic of Johnsonia

Declaration of Independence, Republic of Johnsonia

 When in the course of human events it becomes obvious that the nation one inhabits has failed to address and respect the well-being of its citizenry, it becomes necessary to declare independence from the same. 

We hold these truths to be self-evident: that all human beings are created equal and that they deserve to be considered so throughout their lives. That the planet, being the only place these people are able to live, should be revered and protected. And that leaders should concern themselves solely with the prosperity of their citizens and the preservation of the planet.

The current governing bodies of the United States of America, including its president, are deficient in all these respects. Therefore, we the citizens of *** ******* Ave., Haterfield, NJ, do hereby declare independence from the United States of America.

We do this because our wishes as citizens of the United States of America have been belittled and overlooked for too long, and we see that this state of affairs will get far worse in the years to come.

Therefore, this Declaration of Independence will go into effect on 1st October 2020. We pick this date because it's easy to remember.

Our nation will be called the Independent Republic of Johnsonia. May it never perish until its founders do, and after that we don't particularly care.