Squeak’s Squeals

Generally speaking, I try to avoid discussing politics here at the ol’ blog, but in my advancing age, I’ve become compelled to start forcing my opinions on others as well.  Please bear in mind, any flaming comments will be declared spam and my mad little Akismet baby will never let you post again.  Anyway… on with it!

Today, I would like you all to bow your heads and observe a moment of silence in memory of the die-hard, tie-dye clad, poetry-writing, wannabe hippie, liberal who once lived within me (back in my college days, when I thought it cool that the President was getting his strange).  For, this morning, I am publicly confessing that come November, my vote shall be cast for the McCain/Palin ticket.*

“But why, Squeaky, why!?” I hear you cry through your sobbing, looking at me with those giant, tear-filled, anime eyes.  “Do you really feel that John McCain can effectively lead this great nation?”

No, my children.  I think John McCain is an embalmed corpse being kept alive by some radioactive, intergalactic technology emitted by Dick Cheney’s brainwaves.

“Then, why, Squeaky!?” I hear you plead.

Because I think Sarah Palin is a member of the Alaskan Eskimo Society of Gubernatorial Ninjas.  I think this woman kicks some serious ass.  And I’d be willing to bet if she accidentally shoots someone in the face on a drunken hunting trip, they won’t live to joke about it.

Honestly, any woman who can survive five pregnancies, five deliveries, a household with five children, run an entire state AND thrive in the barren wasteland that is Alaska, can certainly accomplish as much on a bad day as the ol’ Dick-n-Bush have accomplished, in a combined effort, in the last eight years.

A comment was made to me earlier this week… something to the effect of ‘Do we really want a menopausal woman with her finger on a button that could annihilate half the globe?’  My answer: Hell, yes!  What’s more frightening than a middle-aged woman having a hot flash on a bad hair day with baby vomit on her clothing, standing on a bear skin rug she shot, skinned and tanned herself?  Catch her on the wrong day and some little, previously unheard of country suddenly disappears from the face of the planet as a warning to the others to keep their asses in line.  Besides which, the woman JUST had a baby.  She’s not menopausal yet.

“But, Squeaky, do you agree with her viewpoints on the issues?” I hear you inquire.

No, young Jedi, aside from her opinions on the death penalty, I do not agree with her stance on much else.

“Then why, Squeaky?” You ask again.  And put away those anime eyes.  They’re getting annoying.

Because she has opinions.  That’s it.  Simple as that.  This woman actually has hard and fast opinions.  There seems to be no one behind her, pulling a string, with a hand in her ass, or floating above her in a spaceship telling her what to say and when to say it.  She very simply states exactly what she believes.

Example:

Is she pro-choice or pro-life?  Pro-life.  Even if her own child will ride a short bus.  Abortion is not an option.  She states it.  And she lives it.  And I respect that.  Even if I dont’ agree with it.

“But, Squeaky,” I hear you say, “what about the feminists who think she should stay home with her children?”

HAHAHAHAHA!  My dear, gentle readers, these people are not feminists at all!  These are poor, misguided souls who aren’t sure who they are or what they believe.  “Women should not have to stay in the home and take care of the children!  Women should be able to venture out of the kitchen and into the workforce!  Having children should not hinder a woman’s right to grow and develop and become who and what she wants to be!  Women can do whatever a man can do!”….. but apparently ONLY if that woman is a liberal.  What a crock of bullshit.  Anyone subscribing to this philosophy and calling themselves a feminist, is nothing more than a hypocrite.

“But what’s wrong with Barrack Obama?” I hear you whisper among yourselves.

He is the devil, my sweet babies, nothing more than Lucifer himself.

And is it just me, or does Governor Palin look an awful lot like Detective Benson?

*This statement is subject to change at a moment’s notice anytime between now and November.

Want more political nonsense?  Head on over to humor-blogs.com.

The condensed story:

Men suck and I am outraged.

The back story:

Yesterday, I completed a site for a local, high-ranking political figure which included information on a special task police team.  For the site, I was responsible for the full design, full code and full back-end CMS development.  A link to the completed work was forwarded to the officer in charge of said special task police team, we’ll call him “Officer Sludge.”  Officer Sludge called my office this morning.  As luck would have it, I - ironically - answered the phone.

Little known - and apparently surprising - facts:

1. I am 100% female.

2. I write code for a living.

3. Roget’s defines “sludge” as ‘a viscous, usually offensively dirty substance.’

The call:

Sludge: “Hiya, sweetie, I was looking at this website and they asked me to look over the section about my special task team.  I can’t find a link to my team anywhere.”

Me: “At the very top of the screen, there is a menu.  It should say Home, About, Enforcement, Assistance and Education.”

Sludge: “All mine says is Education with a blue box behind it.”

Me: “Is the link on the far right side of the screen?”

Sludge: “No.  It’s the first thing on the left.”

Me: “What internet browser are you using?”

Sludge: “Sweetheart, I’m a cop.  I don’t sit in front of a computer all day.  I have no idea what you just said.”

Me: “If you look at the very top of the window, there should be a little picture.  Does it look like a blue E?  Or is it more of a blue circle with orange around the bottom?  Or is it something else entirely?”

Sludge: “Honey, I don’t know what a ‘window’ is.  Where do I find it?”

Me: “Are you in front of the computer now?”

Sludge: “Yeah.”

Me: “Are you looking at the website?”

Sludge: “Yeah.”

Me: “Okay.  You know the box where you type in the website address you want to go to?”

Sludge: “Yeah.  The one that says ‘http://www….’?”

Me: “That would be the one.  Either just above it or just below it, you should see a line of menu options: File, Edit, History, Tools, Help and so on….”

Sludge: “Yeah.  I see em.”

Me: “Good.  Click on ‘Help’.”

Sludge: “Okay.”

Me: “There should be a little menu that drops down.  What does the LAST line on that menu say?”

Sludge: “It says ‘About Internet Explorer.”

Me: “Great!  Your internet browser is Internet Explorer!  Now, click on the words ‘About Internet Explorer’ for me.”

Sludge: “Okay.  It gave me a little box.”

Me: “Good.  Somewhere in that box, it should give you a version number.  Can you read it off for me?”

Sludge: “It says ‘Version: 5.0. ……..”

Me: “Okay.  That would explain why the site is not displaying properly.  It was designed for use in Internet Explorer 7.”

Sludge: “Look, sweet cheeks, I have no idea what you are rattling on for.  My problem is I can’t see what I need to see on the website.  What I need is to talk to the guy who’s working on it.”

Me: “You got him.”

Sludge: “What!?  You’re a woman!  Jeezus!  [short pause] How about this: I’ll find out how to get my hands on this number 7 you’re talking about, then I’ll call you back.  I don’t want to makes things too hard for you to understand.”

Me: “You do that, sir.  Might I suggest you start your quest for the number 7 at microsoft.com?  Although, I could go back and modify the code to make it compliant with your current version.”

Sludge: “No!  No.  Dont’ do that.  No sense in having a woman go in and screw it up.”

The commentary:

Hmm…. where to begin?  Do I dare begin?  Do I make light of the situation?  Or do I go on a full-fledged feminazi rant about how men need to have their wankers firmly attached to their thighs via heavy-duty carpet staples and undergo involuntary estrogen infusions?

Now, don’t go getting your frilly, lace thongs in a bunch, fellas.  I know full well that not ALL men feel the way Sludge feels.  And I truly, TRULY appreciate those men.  My outrage here comes from the knowledge that men like Sludge STILL exist.

Honestly, WTF!?  Is this 1952?  Am I supposed to be donning a house dress and curlers while baking bread and planning a rummage sale for the PTA?  Give me a freaking break!  The simple fact that I have tits is NOT a reason to treat me like an uneducated, incompetent moron!

My absolute favorite part of the conversation (aside from being called a multitude of pet names)?  “No sense in having a woman go in and screw it up.”  That’s my favorite part.  Cuz, y’know, I’m only the SAME woman who went in and made it work in the first place.  But that was alright because it was assumed I had a nutsack.

Start YOUR search for the number 7 at humor-blogs.com.