What am I supposed to Talk About Now? Oh yeah, Facebook!

In case you've been living under a rock, President Barack Obama was re-elected.

And my vagina unclenched for the first time in months.

All the horribleness that is watching a campaign play out was made worthwhile knowing that Mittens McMagicUnderPants would have to go home and cry in his beer glass of warm milk.

Until I got on Facebook, that is.

I always thought my friends were just overdramatic losers without anything resembling an actual life. But in the days following the election, I learned they are also slobbering idiots/bigots.

Good to know, guys!

Here are a few gems I just had to share with you all.

I voted. Where's my money? Love, Moochers

No problemo.

In all fairness, you won't be able to say much when 

you're a Communist.

Dammit, I was wondering where my baby went.

Wait? He's black? I just thought he was Hawaiian. Fuck.

And last, but definitely not least, ME!

The Mayans were obviously huge Romney supporters.

*UPDATE* My Facebook friends are well-mannered and informed compared to the election night social-networkers compiled at Jezebel. Warning: Many of these posts are ridiculously offensive.

Olympic Cycle Political Participants and the Bloggers that Hate Them.

I should probably be talking about politics--what with the RNC last week, the DNC this week, and a presidential election a mere 61 days away—but I just don't have it in me.

As someone who has branded herself a political blogger of sorts, I have a semi-scandalous confession. 

Election season makes me hate politics.

I know I can't be alone. I can hear the exasperated sighs from everyone when, yet another, political ad flashes on the TV screen, when your second cousin, with his eight-grade education, waxes poetically about the president being a Kenyan Muslim who collapsed the economy and the World Trade Center with one swoop of his half-black finger, and when every media outlet forgets their journalistic oath of unbiased coverage and picks a mother-fucking side like this is dodgeball.

It's not a secret, I'm a Democrat. A left-leaning Southern-born feminist, and I could write a goddamn novel about what it's like to have people around me think I'm a moron for my political beliefs. It would go a little something like this.

Now while I'm more than used to being in the political minority, I have a hard time listening to people who are what I like to call “Olympic-Cycle Political Participants”. You know the type, they actively participate in the presidential election, but couldn't tell you the name of their Senators if you put a gun to their head. They also always seem to scream the loudest—probably because they have to make up for all those years being political vegetables.

Now don't be misunderstood, OCPPs exist in both parties. But this is my blog, so I write about my truth-- a truth redder than 1980s Russian Shark Week.

These are the people that make this time particularly hard for me. Because while I'm extremely vocal on my blog about my opinions, I try to be respectful of others beliefs in my real life. I don't often post political messages on my personal social media sites, mainly because I realize the people who disagree with me are not going to be swayed by a snarky meme, just as I would not be if the roles were reversed.

I also am not interested in fighting with unarmed men. This may sound slightly arrogant, but I love politics. I follow it like most people follow professional sports. So I'm not going to argue with some once-every-four-year voter, just as I would not want to argue football with someone who knows what in the fuck a wingback is. (Thank you, boyfriend.)

But while I'm frustrated with the social-media zealots, the political ads and the Rush Limbaugh's of the world, I can't help but still tune it.

Just now, I watched Gabby Giffords lead the Pledge of Alligance at the DNC, and I can't help but feel lucky. Lucky to have a voice. Lucky to care enough to vote, to be an active political participant. Because November will come and go and OCPPs will go back to spamming my Facebook feed with Farmville updates and Nickelback videos, and I can go back to enjoying life.

But until then, I'll remember how grateful I feel right now as I watch this brave woman lead a room full of people who believe in the political process. I'll also remember that I have a deactivate account button. 

See you November 7th , Facebook.

RNC and the Five Stages of Grief

As many of you know, we're elbow deep into the Republican National Convention. Obviously my prayers for Hurricane Isaac to blow through Tampa like Marcus Bachmann during fleet week went unanswered.

Oh well, you can't win 'em all.

If anything positive has come from the old, rich, white guy Olympics, better known as the RNC, it's that we finally have a confirmed Republican presidential nominee.

Yep, Mittens McMagic Underpants will try to convince enough people that he is likable. And Paul Ryan will continue to spit on rape victims while polishing his dead eyes.

It really is an exciting time for everyone.

Except me.

I've tried, guys, really I have, but my pain threshold just isn't what it used to be. Every time I try to watch coverage, I end up going through the five stages of grief.

DENIAL: This cannot be happening to me.

ANGER: Yes, Ann, he's totally a self-made man, you fucking twat-waffle!!

BARGAINING: Herman Cain wasn't that bad. Can we get him back? I swear to turn in my frequent aborter card. 

DEPRESSION: I give up. I don't need equality. I just need to lie in bed for awhile and eat this pint of Ben and Jerry's.

ACCEPTANCE: I can accept this! I can accept this! Trickle-down economics? Are you fucking kidding me?!

And then the cycle starts all over.

Hopefully, you guys are enjoying the RNC coverage more than me. Let me know if there's any good drinking games helping you get through this trying time.

I'm going to go watch Pretty Woman now and try to remember a simpler time when venture capitalists looked like Richard Gere and romanced hookers, instead of attempting to hold office.

Todd Akin Gives Us a Biology Lesson.

Oh, Todd Akin.

I take one week off of blogging and basic biology gets a total overhaul. Let's bone up, shall we?

If you have been living under a rock, Rep. Todd Akin (R-Mo.) was asked in an interview Sunday if he supported abortion in cases of rape.

It appears the GOP Senate nominee somehow confused female reproduction with the self-destructing message from the Mission Impossible movies.

"If it's a legitimate rape, the female body has ways

 to try to shut that whole thing down."

This fertilized egg will detonate in 5 ... 4 ... 3 ... 2 ... 1.

I had absolutely no idea that this kind of technology was lying dormant in my lady parts. Looks like I need to go put on my best "come rape me outfit" and try this puppy out.

Good looking out, Rep. Akin. I'm going to make the assumption that since women come standard with this feature, abortion is absolutely off of the table, right? But let me play feminazi's advocate, what if there's a defect and a "legitimately raped" woman became pregnant, could she obtain an abortion then?

"Let's assume maybe that didn't work or something. 

I think there should be some punishment, 

but the punishment ought to be on the rapist."

Oh. So we can punish the rapist. But the victim still has to go through with the pregnancy, because the cluster of cells spawned from what would likely be the most traumatic experience of any woman's life, is more important than a her free will.

That's seems completely legitimate.

Speaking of legitimate, Rep. Akin, what exactly defines a "legitimate rape"? Is it a rape that requires two forms of identification and a notary present? 

Or is "legitimate rape" just one of those anti-abortion buzzwords that excludes things like date rape and spousal rape? But you wouldn't want to actually say something like that, you'd sound like a misogynistic asshole.

Well thanks for the biology lesson, Todd. I feel bad for all those faulty woman who became pregnant after being raped. 

But not nearly as bad as I feel for your wife. Because if you honestly think this bullshit is true, then it's safe to assume that you have no clue what a clitoris is, you fucking moron.

Good luck on your botched Senate campaign and subsequent Crystal Meth addiction.

Pour Out a Little Liquor: Gingrich Edition

Last week, Ol' Big Noggin Gingrich teased the American public with a promise that he would end this ridiculous joke, also know as, his run for the presidency.

My first reaction to the news of his suspension was, "Wait! How the fuck am I going to get my $2.50/gallon gas?

Dammit. I guess that means I'm back to siphoning it out of cars in the Walmart parking lot.

But then I remembered that the promise to cut gas prices was coming from a bloated, delusional megalomaniac, who has a better chance of riding a magical unicorn to Neverland than landing in the Oval Office.

Then I just wanted to know why this asshole was sending out "save the dates" instead of just pulling the plug on his ailing spouse... err, I mean campaign.

To answer that question, many news outlets are reporting that Gingrich wanted to treat his last week on the campaign trail as a sort of "farewell tour." Shaking hands, throwing out the first pitch at baseball games, going to fairs and having carnies guess the weight of his head. You know, fun stuff.

But all good things must come to an end, and today Gingrich released a video letting his supporters-- and those of us that are sane-- know that he will officially drop out of the race Wednesday.

It's the end of an era, guys. A really stupid era.

Newt Gingrich is a Democrat

This shit is confusing.

I don't know if any of you have heard, but Newt "Reagan Fetish" Gingrich won the South Carolina Primary upsetting Mitt "Magic Underpants" Romney by 13 points.

This proves once and for all that the South is a land rooted in traditional family values. A place that upholds the sanctity of marriage and will not stand idly by while someone tries to make a mockery of this holy union.

Wait.

Hey South Carolina, did you hear that Newt Gingrich has fucked up so many sick women's lives that Susan G. Koman is thinking about naming a three-day walk-a-thon after him?

No.

Well, I know you had to hear that the day of the debate, his second wife, you know, the one he left after she was diagnosed with MS (not to be confused with the first wife he left while she had cancer) came out in the media saying that Mr. Gingrich propositioned her for an open marriage.

Cue shock, South Carolinians. 

Yep, Mr. Reagan-Republican himself asked his then-wife if she wouldn't mind sharing all of his big-headed lovin' with his congressional-aid/mistress, you know, the one he had been banging for the prior six years.

She of course said no, probably because she was eager to get out from under the weight of his humongous head. She also decided to give a tell-all interview in hopes to show what kind of man ol' Newt is.

Which is a philandering, adulterous, sexual deviant, who has made it a mission to devalue every one of his marriages by having tawdry affairs with other women.

This proves, once and for all, that Newt Gingrich is a Democrat. 

Because Republicans don't have extra-marital affairs. With Women.

Republicans have affairs with dudes they meet on Craigslist.

I'm looking at you, Mr. Santorum.