Politics: The Lighter Side

I have to admit this political season in the United States is getting to me. One cannot turn on the TV without encountering a nasty story or stories about this candidate or the other. 

On social media one might scroll through dozens of political memes before encountering even one cute kitten video, and weren’t cute kittens the reason social media was invented? 

I’m guilty of posting the political stuff on my Facebook page. Even though there is absolutely no one on my friends’ list who doubts my political leanings I am compelled to seek out and share that one photo that just might make everyone, even obstructionists like senate majority leader Mitch McConnell, change their minds and see things my way.

  
Can you imagine? The phone rings, 

“Hello?” I say.

“Ms. Noyes, this is senate majority leader Mitch McConnell.”

“No effing way!”

“Yes, it’s me. Surprise!”I can hear the smile and goodwill in his voice.

“Look,” he continues, “I want you to know that SCOTUS meme you posted…it really made me reexamine my position. Now, not only am I going to urge members of my party to visit with the President’s nominee, but I’m going to suggest they give him a down vote so Mr. Obama can nominate a true Liberal to the court.”

“Well, it’s about time you saw the error of your ways. Would you now please ask jackassinpoughkeepsie to stop trolling me online?”

“Sure! Sure! Anything for someone as politically astute as yourself.”

Something occurs to me, “Say Mitch, you know if you go this route with the Supreme Court nominee the National Rifle Association is going to pull its support so quickly that not only will your head spin, but the heads of your children and your children’s children will look like multi-colored tops orbiting the equator.”

“No worries! I’ve stockpiled the um, donations the NRA has made to my campaign for years, so I’m set for life. For several lives, actually.”

“Good to know, Mitch. So I’m pretty busy. I need to get back to scouring the web for cute cats. I hear there’s a great video showing them jumping out of boxes.”

“Okay! Hey, keep up the good work. You really made me see the light.”

“‘Bye Mitch.”

“Goodbye Ms. Noyes.”

My imaginary conversation with Mitch made me do some soul searching. What if, instead of posting serious political memes on my Facebook page I looked for the lighter side, the Pollyanna version of politics. So with that thought I give you the following. Both sides will get skewered:

Truly. Hitler might be surprised at all of the candidates, left and right, who’ve been compared to him.
My point….
  
 
See, I’m being kind-ish.
 
 
Hadn’t seen this one before!
 
 
Mrs. Clinton does field some odd questions.
 
 
bwahaha!
 
  
  
Now, this is clever!
 
 
Sing it!
 
 
Kasich was the only one I had to struggle to find anything even remotely funny about. Kasich, the only moderately sane GOP candidate.

My personal favorite:

 
But, honestly, wouldn’t we all rather see this?

  
https://www.facebook.com/AndMyCat/posts/1224833260861682
 

And as always, Peace, people! 

Just For Gaffes (edited)

I owe my life to “I Love Lucy.” Not in any literal sense, but certainly in some sort of metaphysical way. Lucy’s propensity for doing the wrong thing at the right time set a disturbingly cool precedent for me back in the days when the television was actually a pretty decent babysitter. Lucy’s grape stomping, ledge climbing, chocolate wrapping legacy, if nothing else, gave me permission to be my goofy self with no, ok, a few apologies.

But Lucy wasn’t my only influence. My mom, Freida, and her younger sister, Nedra, lent their wackiness to my formative years, as well. Once while waiting to pick up a relative at the small airport in Amarillo, the pair scurried off to answer the call of nature inside the ladies’ room of the nearly empty terminal. It was late at night and they might have been a bit tipsy. Mom was in one stall. Nedra in another. Gas was passed. Loud and long and clear. Nedra, always quick with a witticism sternly admonished, “Freida!” A deep silence ensued. The kind of silence that indicates something is very wrong. A toilet flushed, a stall opened and closed, followed by the sound of footsteps leaving the room. Only then did Mom explode in laughter as Nedra realized she’d scolded a complete stranger for farting. The pair hid in the bathroom for awhile hoping the gas passer wouldn’t associate them with their bathroom behavior.

Once my Aunt Nedra and her husband Uncle Richard, along with my mom and dad were spending the night at my grandparents’ home. As was their habit at such gatherings, the men went to bed ahead of the women who liked to tell stories and laugh well into the night. After much silliness my Aunt said goodnight to Mom and my grandmother and went to bed. Soon after, my mom followed, but found her spot next to my dad, occupied. She started laughing and soon her mother joined her in fits of uncontrollable giggles. Groggily, Nedra asked, “Richard, why are they laughing?” My dad, who until then was sound asleep responded, “Maybe because I’m not Richard and you’re in bed with your sister’s husband.” Everyone but my grandfather thought the story was hilarious. It just pissed him off.

I’ve turned doing embarrassing things into an art form. Too many to list here, but one of my favorites(?) was the time I was having some sort of sonogram done. As I lay on the exam table the tech was instructing me to take deeper breaths, hold, release, etc. The doctor to whom I’d been referred had an odd name, something like Bozdagerian or Bodgazerian or Bogzaderian.

I asked the tech, “Just how do you say this doctor’s name anyway ? Boz-da-ger-ian?”

“Deeper” said the tech.

So I lowered my voice an octave and tried again. “Boz-da-ger-ian?” I intoned.

The tech started laughing. “That was impressive,” he said. “Now please take a deeper breath.”

I’m most apt to commit verbal faux pas, like the time I told a crowd of people that upon Turning 50 I had “embraced my AARP-ness.” Read that aloud and you will know why I was the butt of more than a few jokes that afternoon.

Then there was the time a drunken me asked a lady on the dance floor where the deejay was located. Coincidentally, she asked me the very same question. At the very same time. She even kind of looked like me, only drunker. I noticed dancers giving me odd looks. That’s when I realized I’d been carrying on a conversation with my reflection in a mirror. I told myself thanks and returned to my table. I never did find the deejay.

My mom always said I was just like my Aunt Nedra, but at least I’ve never slept with my sister’s husband.

Peace, People.