Saturday, February 21, 2009

revenge fantasies. yum!

I know I'm not the only one who's having a hard time paying attention to the news; even my political junkie Mom has admitted to mainlining novels and bridge instead of her former drug of choice: MSNBC. It's just too damn scary out there. You can only hear so many times that we're in the worst economic slump since the depression before you start to feel, you know: depressed.

So I've decided to get angry instead. And not at the 'state of the world' or vague entities like 'the banks' or 'sub-prime lenders' or 'the Republicans'--at actual, living, specific people. I was leaning in this direction when I saw Bill Maher on Friday night--who, for all his flagrant, frat boy misogyny does say some wickedly funny, smart things--advocate actually killing a couple of to-be-named-later bankers. Which, while admittedly disturbing, was a strangely satisfying idea. Just...up and whack them! For the catharsis, for the possible deterrent effect and just, well, for the kicky fun of it!

Public executions may be going a bit too far, but there are definitely some particular people out there who are just plain Pissing Me Off. And since my splenetic letter to that dingbat John Thune didn't even warrant a form e-mail response (or better yet: an FBI file; fingers crossed!) I'm going to play out some fantasies here.

John Boehner: A persistent blocked tear duct would be good, so he'd be forever wet eyed and drippy. You want to cry? You're so upset? You feel so deeply? Then fine: cry. All. The. Time. Maybe the eye (ooh...both eyes!) could even be mildly infected, kind of red and rheumy so everyone will think he has conjunctivitis and no one will ask him to join in their congressional reindeer games.

Bobby Jindal: If he doesn't want Louisiana's portion of the stimulus package I think a) he should no longer be eligible for his personal portion of Louisiana's budget--i.e, his salary. b) He should have to live with a family of five in a FEMA trailer, right next to the pungent, rotting mess that used to be their house. c) to ensure he can't gain any presidential traction just because he's "cute", he should have to walk around permanently with one of those creepy Abu Ghraib bags on his head.

Bernie Madoff: It's absurd that this assface is still living in his opulent New York apartment. But I actually think jail is too good for him too. This douchey sociopath gets to sit around reading Jeffrey Archer novels and writing his own 'inside the big house' blog? I don't think so. I say he has to go work as a maid. And not just for someone he ripped off--for the maid the people he ripped off had to fire. And they can make him wear the silly little costume of their choice; French chambermaid? Sure. But giant cockroach would be fine too--not just for the visual perfection, but also because it would be just that much harder to fold a hospital corner with pincers for hands. At night old Bernie will have to tuck into some efficiency off the Major Deegan Expressway. Possibly with a semi-retarded, mouth breathing cashier from the Big Apple named Toby for a roommate.

Michele Bachman: This lying, soulless, whack-doodle should have her tongue super-glued to the roof of her mouth. That way, she can think all the outrageous, wildly untrue, heartless, just-to-the-right-of-Pol-Pot crap she wants. But when she goes on talk radio all anyone will hear is, "Gnnnmngrrchl."

John Thain: He of the $1400 garbage can. This tin-eared, Mr. Potter ass-hole should have to actually be a garbage man. Hanging on the back of the truck, wearing olive green coveralls, the whole bit. Hopefully, he will constantly be engulfed by the revolting fug of rancid broccoli water. And poop.

To end on a more fun, upbeat note--a fantasy crush I forgot last week: Julian Schnabel. The ego, the self-absorption, the genius, the genius, the genius. Amazingly talented film-maker (I actually like his movie-making more than his art), captivating raconteur. Big, burly, bearded, brilliant. Frankly, I want for nothing more. I'm even okay with the silly, yellow sunglasses. Sigh.

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