Motherfucking High, School

Any adults wondering why teens do drugs should spend a few moments talking to a teen about high school. Right now, simply having a teenager in high school makes ME want to do drugs. It seems like everyone is off to kindergarten this year, with woes abounding about school lunches and lining up correctly and snack time. In my household, my ninth grader is learning how to tell his friends that he is gay. He is getting intentionally bumped in the halls during passing period by big guys who say, “Oh sorry! I’m not GAY.”

What. The. Fuck? I can’t even wrap my head around why someone would do that to anyone. I can understand blatant name calling, but pushing someone only to say “Hey buddy I had to touch you but you better not like it, you queer? And don’t tell anyone that I liked it?” Or it is simply, “I can see that you’re gay and I want you to know that I’m NOT so don’t try anything, scrawny freshman.” Am I missing something here? I’ve never been a teenage boy.

Then there is the female friend of Chicken that exclaimed, “Oh my GOD I’ve always wanted a gay friend!!” with all the attendant squeeing that goes on when you’re 14. On the surface, it’s a nice reaction, but when you insert [black] or [white] or [fat] or [little person] or [label xyz] instead of [gay] it illuminates what she is saying. It may feel good initially to be liked by a group when you’re an angsty teen, but not so much when you’re liked for being [label]. Eventually you want people to see you and like you as YOU.

Posted in Chicken, School, Suck Ass, Teh Gays, WTF | Tagged , , | 13 Comments

You Told Me

Remember when I was pregnant with Egg and it was the worst, most horrible thing ever and I swore that I would never NEVER do it again no matter how adorable Egg was? And you told me that I would forget the misery and want another baby because Egg is truly awesome. Well, I haven’t forgotten. It was a horrible, terrible, no good, very bad 39 weeks. It sucked the biggest, sweatiest, nastiest donkey balls ever to swing freely. And I’m going to try to do it again. Fuuuuuck.

One of the things that I hate about pregnancy is that fetuses are not down with shitloads of narcotics, sleeping pills, muscle relaxers, and anti-inflammatory medications. Fetuses even hate xanax. Can you believe that? There is something fundamentally wrong with anything that hates xanax. Fucking babies, man. Why do they have to be so awesome and yet so fussy about their developing arms and legs in the right places?

Even though I’m not yet pregnant I have had to let go of my best pharmaceutical friends. The friends that help me through the pain of moving and sleeping and just plain living. And I’m bitter. I was at the beach with Egg and Chicken the other day when I saw a woman in a kick-ass wheelchair with big huge sand-friendly tires. And I was jealous. Jealous that she didn’t have to drag her sorry ass across the sand carrying a 23 pound infant without the benefit of pain meds. I know this makes me an asshole, but it illustrates the point I’m trying to make.

I want a baby. I really do. But today, I’m hurting and exhausted and dreading being pregnant before it has even begun.

Posted in About Me, Baby, Balls, FMS, Fucking babies | Tagged , , | 23 Comments

Where I Step In It

I think Egg has weaned. I’m not entirely sure of it, but maybe? Remember when I was whining and crying about Egg’s two second nursing plus a big grin and a high five? Shortly after that he went through a growth spurt and started to nurse in earnest around the clock. I mean AROUND the clock. Goodbye nighttime weaned and hello sore boobies.

After the growth spurt was over Egg went back nursing whenever he felt the need, and I have been fine. I night weaned him again because I would like to see what it is like some day to sleep through the night again. If it suites him and all, because it’s not like I’m in a hurry. I can wait. Ha ha ha. I need some motherfucking sleep, yo. Really, I need some sleep.

But this isn’t about sleep, or whether or not Egg is truly weaned. It’s about my opinion on the Robeez explosion on Twitter today, and the subsequent post on Birth Routes about the controversy. For those of you that missed the story, Stride Rite (parent company of Robeez) distributed infant formula in swag bags at a private party during BlogHer. I wasn’t there, so I am not arguing for or against Stride Rite. I would like to address the issue of distributing free formula as opposed to this particular incident.

In countries where clean drinking water is scare, distributing formula samples that will result in severing the nursing relationship is wrong. However, in the United States I would hazard a guess that the majority of us have clean drinking water. Many new mothers want to nurse and encounter road blocks. Some manage to persevere, while some cannot nurse their children for as long or as much as they want.

I wanted to nurse Egg for twelve months, and after that I was open to whatever worked best for us. If Egg is truly weaned, he will have nursed approximately 18 and 1/2 months. I dealt with horrific oversupply issues, months of yeast in my breasts, painful plugged ducts, and mastitis. There was some motherfucking suffering to get to eighteen months is what I’m saying to you. I worked HARD.

I read a comment once where a mother disparaged breastfeeding as easy. She wondered why women were so proud about something that just happened naturally without any effort. It was one of the few times that I have wanted to reach into the computer and smack someone across the face. I am proud that I nursed Egg and I deserve every drop of pride. EVERY DROP. I fought for it. I earned it. I enjoyed the shit out of it.

But some women lose the fight no matter what they try. Some women don’t try because they have their own personal reasons. Saying that giving a free sample of formula is bad and wrong means TO ME that we, as women aren’t big girls. We aren’t grown and responsible and parents enough to decide that we want to feed our babies breast milk or formula or both.

I received free samples of formula. I nursed Egg. I was able to fight through the hard times, I had enough milk to sustain him. I could have chosen to give him formula. The days that my fibromyalgia was ruling my body and the pain felt insurmountable I really, really wanted to take medication that would stop the misery. But that would have meant weaning Egg.

To tell me that I am not able to choose how to feed my baby, to tell me that I am so easily swayed that a free sample is going to change such a huge decision is insulting to me. It’s insulting to all the women that have given their bodies to nourish their children. It’s insulting to those that tried, and those that chose not to try. I believe in breastfeeding, but I believe in women more.

Posted in About Me, Baby, Da Girls, Egg, Fucking babies | Tagged , , , , , | 25 Comments

Dear GAWD I Know

Egg

Fishing For Sharks

Too many words at once, I apologize. Here’s a bonus cute baby picture to make up for the brain spewage. I am contacting Early Start tomorrow. Wish me luck.

ETA: to be clear, I’m not flipped out about Egg’s health & well-being. I’m flipped out about the phone calling and talking to people I am having to do in order to feel like I am covering all my bases. Because I don’t like people, dammit.

Posted in Uncategorized | 8 Comments

I Love Doctors And Don’t You Wish You Had Balls?

Sooooo….what up? Nothing much here, just stuff…doing…the usual. Mostly trying to figure out how the bloody fucknut to write this post because OMG. I’ll start with the simply ridiculous and go progressively more difficult, okay?

I found an in-network audiologist by simultaneously calling our insurance company and utilizing the search engine on the company’s website. Guess who figured this shit out first? I remained on the phone only because I’m a smug bitch and I wanted to verify that really, 32 miles away is the closest audiologist. I politely thanked her for the redundant information and immediately called the phone number listed. I left a voice mail. Two days later I left another voice mail. Last week. I have yet to hear back from the audiologist and I am tired of wasting my xanax on the fuckers.

Normally I am not quite so stingy about in-network versus out of network because we put away approximately $3,000 each year into a FSA for medical expenses. However, we have done burnt that shit up, yo. Is all gone until January 2011. Therefore, I am trying to be more frugal. The very best way to be frugal when it comes to medical expenses is to call a doctor that will not ever: a) pick up the phone or b) call you the fuck back. A bloggy lurker whose name sounds likes Hairy Fin (yes I’m grateful AND crazy) emailed me and gave me some sage professional advice and a link to ASLHA. I’m not going to type it out because I am lazy.

I used an awesome search engine on ASLHA to find a speech/audiologist type person in my very town. Like, the same city name. Which is crazy because my city is not even a city. It’s like a zit on the ass of a teeny tiny prepubescent gnat. I sent this person an email right away, because even though she wasn’t in my insurance network emails do not require xanax. WIN!

Guess what happened next? Absolutely fucking nothing. No return calls. No emails. NOTHING. At this point I just would appreciate a simple exam by an audiologist and a result of: “Your child’s hearing is normal.” I know he can hear. It will make me feel better to rule it out and that is FINE, okay. FINE. Let me have this one, Jeremy.

Yesterday I took Chicken to the pediatrician for his annual check up and first ever manly ball feelage. I’m not sure what the proper terminology is but I’m sure you get the picture. “Drop your shorts, son.” The gloves SNAP on and oh boy I really felt bad for him. If only that was the worst part of the visit. Oh NOES it was not.

I asked the doctor about Egg because fuck I waited an hour and I wasn’t going to make another appointment so I decided to get a two-fer for my time. I explained that my insurance would not cover speech therapy for a developmental delay. I told him that the innernets had learned me about Early Start and requested information. “Oh, they only help with children that have autism and I’m pretty sure that Egg isn’t autistic so they won’t help you. You can wait until he is three and your local school district will help.”

Is your jaw on the floor? Because I think I heard a distinct CRACK when it hit the tile. But I’m a fucking MOTHER you fucker and if you are going to be an ignorant fucking fool I’m at least going to fuck you in the ass (and not in the fun way) until you give me SOME information. In the end I got a business card for a local speech therapy place and another phone number to something that I cannot currently remember because I am full of hate. Hold onto your hats and glasses boys and girls, because this shit gets dumber. More full of dumb and seriously I cannot for the life of me understand why I hate going to the doctor so much.

I gathered my wits and I asked the doctor about the Gardasil vaccine for Chicken. I had heard that it was now being recommended for boys as well as girls, in order to stop girls from getting HPV which can lead to cervical cancer. I’ve had two friends undergo procedures to have various hunks of pre-cancerous cervical tissue removed so this is a sensitive issue for me. However, Chicken is not going to put his penis in anyone’s vagina. I asked the doctor what the reasoning was behind vaccinating boys and listened to his reply. Then I asked, “Well since Chicken is allergic to girls, is there any reason for him to get the vaccine?” I was trying to be subtle and did not want to throw Chicken under the homo bus. The doctor said that yes, it would prevent certain strains of warty peen. In doctor language of course.

Then the doctor remarked that in the future, Chicken would no longer be allergic to girls and then the shot would be beneficial. Thanks, doctor for making me go there after you have already embarrassed the shit out of my kid by handling his balls. I said, “Um..no. Chicken is gay.” Awkward and stunned silence ensues. Chicken told me after the appointment that the doctor looked like someone had smacked a walrus in the face with a rather large mackerel. The doctor haltingly asked me, “How does he know?” and I really really REALLY had to hold back because I wanted to say, “Because he enjoys fucking other boys in the ass.” Can you imagine the response that would have garnered? Oh it would have been delish. However, I said, “The same way a thirteen year old boy knows that he likes girls.” Because I’m a nothing if not a proper lady at all times even under great stress. And then there was an awkward goodbye and exit by our former pediatrician.

Posted in Asshats, Baby, Balls, Chicken, Penis, Some Fucked Up Shit, Stupid Twats, Suck Ass, Teh Gays, WTF | Tagged , , , , | 14 Comments

The Cat Key

Dude the Cat

Most lovable cat ever in teh history of cats.

I’m sorry that my recent posts have been filled with angst. I really need to talk about what is going on in my life when it is happening as opposed to stuffing it all inside and then barfing it all over the innernets at one time. To make it up to you, I have a short funny story for you! I’ve always been fabulous at making up stories on the fly. It is where the title of my blog originated. This comes in handy when you have children that you want to amuse or torment. Especially when that child is my beloved Chicken.

Today Adam, Egg, Chicken, and I went to lunch together. On the way back to Adam’s office he mentioned that he got a cat key for a friend’s son. Chicken asked, “What is a cat key?” Now, I knew what Adam was talking about, but I saw an opportunity to fuck with Chicken. Thus began the story of The Cat Key:

A Cat Key is a key that you insert into the ass of a cat. Depending on how you turn it, the cat meows a different way. Let’s say you have a cat that normally says “ME-ow.” Turn the Cat Key and your cat might say, “me-OW” or maybe just “mew” or even an angry “YOWL.” (I’m thinking an angry YOWL followed by a swift disembowelment of the key holder is the most likely result, but I’m just being a realist.) It is kind of boring to have your cat make the same kind of sounds all the time. The Cat Key allows cat owners to mix things up a bit. Chicken asked where the Cat Key was, and Adam told him it was on his office desk. I told Chicken that we purchased it on eBay. “Really?” asked Chicken incredibly. I could hear his brain going chug chug chug as he tried to decide if this was awesome or gross.

We had to stop laughing before I could muster intelligible words and tell him the truth: “No, a cat key is a key that fits most caterpillar heavy equipment. Instead of a unique key for every bulldozer and backhoe, there is one key. So technically you could go to your local construction site and drive around any machinery you want. For a five year old boy that loves heavy equipment, it’s a really cool thing.”

I must mention that for some reason, the Cat Key story made me think of Swistle as I was writing it. Not the violating cats’ assholes part, but the various “Meow” sounds part. Maybe because she just got a new and super adorable kitten? Because she’s a cat person? Because she’s super adorable? You know she is. That should be her tag line, “Swistle: I’m super adorable.”

Speaking of adorable, the picture of Dude is a rare treasure. He fucking hates having his picture taken, mostly because the flash annoys him. Even if you don’t use a flash, he squints angrily just in case. It’s not like I can tell him, “I’m not going to use a flash. Look normal, okay?” Every picture of him makes him look like an angry bitch, which is not a fair representation of his personality at all. He is the most social, cuddly, tolerant, and lovably awesome cat ever. Lady cats- don’t be ringing my bell for a chance at this handsome stud, as his heart will always belong to Gus. Sorry. And yes, he is laying on a shelf placed at the window just for the cats. We’re all pussy lovers here at Sam’s place. *ahem* Well. Most of us.

Posted in Uncategorized | 7 Comments

Now I Hate My Insurance Company. Even More.

I took a xanax, hiked up my huevos and called the administrators of my insurance company. My doctor warned me that typically insurance does not cover speech therapy until a child is two years old. However, my insurance company covers speech therapy only when….

IT DOES NOT INVOLVE A DEVELOPMENTAL DELAY.

So now I get to call the actual insurance company to get the name of an in network audiologist, which will be covered at 90%. Who will then say, “Your child can hear just fine, so so the speech is due to a developmental delay.” Which will then not be covered. AT FUCKING ALL. Because apparently children don’t need to talk. Yes, I am aware that probably everything is fine. BUT!! What if it isn’t? What if speech therapy would help? Thanks insurance that we pay out the ass for, thanks for only covering $500 annually of well baby care. You fucking suck. And not in the good way. You suck with jagged hillbilly teeth and a dry mouth infested with oozing herpes sores. That’s how I feel about you motherfuckers.

Posted in Answers, Asshats, Backend, Balls, Drugs, Egg, Fucking babies, PMS, Some Fucked Up Shit, Stupid Twats, Suck Ass, Teh Gays, WTF | Tagged , , , | 14 Comments

I Hate You, Phone of DOOM

Dude. I should be sleeping. But instead I’m sitting here with a belly full of anxiety, wanting to post but not wanting to post and OMG I’M JUST GOING TO WRITE AND HIT PUBLISH AND GO TO FUCKING BED ALREADY. You might notice that I’m a bit uptight. I still have one more big post stuck in my brain regarding mental health issues (nothing new! just anxiety! too much! aaahhhh!) but today’s topic has taken precedence because it’s about mah baby.

Egg started walking at about 17 1/2 months. Today he is 18 months and six days. He is a walking motherfucker. Everywhere, all the time, walking walking walking. (Side note: Adam’s insane cat is licking the footrest of Egg’s high chair. Um? Gross. Now she’s IN the high chair. Searching for dried nuggets of yuck. Nasty.) So! Egg. Walking! This is good, right? Right.

But he’s not talking. He signs like crazy, so his expressive language is great. He just sucks a bit at ORAL. No I could not resist. On Saturday he saw a sea lion barking at the aquarium and signed, “dog” to me several times. I told him it wasn’t a dog, but I have no idea what the sign for “sea lion” is and I’m too lazy to look it up right now. The innernets, they are so far away. Egg started babbling just a few months ago. It was strange because until then he was silent unless he was whining or crying. He’s been about to say “Dude” for a long time, but he doesn’t actually use that ability very often. Sometimes he babbles, “dadadada” or “mamamama” but not “dada” or “mama.”

He has just learned to say, “moo” if you ask him what a cow says or if he sees a cow. A friend recently taught him that a dog says “woof” but that’s about it for animal noises. I’ve had a bit of worry tucked back in my brain next to the reassurance that Chicken was a late talker and we all know how that turned out, right? However, when I took him to the pediatrician for his 18 month check up last week Egg was given a referral to an audiologist and a speech therapist. The doctor said that Egg is in all likelihood normal! and fine! but speech delayed! !1! which makes my head hurt.

I’m walking around going HE’S FINE with most of my brain but then the other, more sinister parts say things like, “But what if you’re in denial!?!” and “What if something IS wrong?!?!” and “OMGWTFBBQ?!” and this is not the best medicine for my anxiety. I don’t need things to stew on because I can make that shit up all on my own. You might say, “Just call your insurance and make the appointments and they will check out Egg and everything will be FINE SO SHUT UP.” However!! Like some people on the innernets, I have ISSUES WITH THE FUCKING PHONE. And on the top of that Issues With The Fucking Phone list are calling 1) to make appointments 2) doctors 3) insurance companies or phone companies or credit card companies or OH FUCK JUST PEOPLE THAT ARE DUMB AND I HATE.

I really just need to take a xanax, make the phone calls, and get over myself. But first I’m going to ask my BFF’s inside the computer to give me input about the situation. What do you think, with all your great first-hand knowledge of my kid plus your MD? Tell me. I command thee! And then hold my hand because I’m worried and Adam thinks I’m being stupid.

Posted in Baby, Egg, Mah Peeps, My Pussy Hurts, Suck Ass | Tagged , , , , | 23 Comments

Asperger’s Syndrome

This is the first in a series of posts about Asperger’s Syndrome. It has been living in the back of my brain for months, taking up precious space and time that I don’t really want to lend out anymore. I need to spew it out onto the innernets. I need to be able to talk about this subject, to get advice, support, to vent, to cuss up a motherfucking storm if need be. I need mah peeps.

A former friend of mine diagnosed herself and many other people with Asperger’s Syndrome, including myself and Chicken. I’m not here to argue the validity of her armchair diagnosis of people not in my immediate family. However, I can say that it is amusing to me that the one person she did not diagnosis does in fact have Asperger’s Syndrome. My husband, Adam, is an Aspie.

I’d like Adam to guest post to tell his story, but for now I will clumsily tackle the topic. Somewhere on these here innernets, someone recommended seeing the movie Mozart and the Whale. It is a love story about two Aspies+. Adam and I sat down to watch it one evening at home and came away with very different feelings about the movie. My thoughts were, “I don’t identify with them. It must be so difficult to live in a neurotypical world when you have an Asperger’s brain. How do they succeed? How do they cope?” My husband did not remark on the movie at the time, but his brain was thinking thoughts of an altogether different kind.

Six months later, Adam got in trouble at work. He came home visibly upset and told me what happened. Then he casually remarked, “Remember that movie we saw about Asperger’s Syndrome? I think I have it. I’ve been doing a lot of research on it.” My response was something like OMGWTFBBQ?!?! and then “oooooohhhhhhh” and another “Oh. My. God. (imagine me saying this very drawn out and dramatic like) it all makes sense.”  Followed by many more OMGWTFBBQ in my head as prior knowledge and current experience collided violently in my brain.

You see, when my old friend diagnosed ME as an Aspie I did a lot of research on the subject. Although I came to the conclusion that I was not an Aspie I did have a fairly robust body of knowledge rattling around my noggin. For the first time I looked at my husband and the majority of his behavior made sense. Adam is brilliant, however he misses social cues that neurotypical children master. He is skilled with his hands, but it takes him great effort and concentration because he is clumsy. His attention to detail is astounding, but he will miss things completely that aren’t on his radar. When he is interested in a subject he goes balls to the fucking wall on it. Researching, talking, researching, talking, did I mention the talking? Aspies tend to have trouble realizing when someone is bored, tired, or annoyed with a conversation. They continue talking beyond the socially accepted amount of time, giving excruciating detail in many cases. Dear GAWD this can annoy the shit out of me.

Now, my old friend was correct in some respects. Chicken and I share some Aspie traits. However, we seem to be just on this side of the neurotypical fence whereas Adam is on the other side still talking about fucking speakers. Or plants. Adam wishes he knew that he had autism fifteen years ago. He has struggled for his whole life knowing that there is something different, wanting to understand why people think he is an asshole, wondering what he is missing when he incorrectly interprets things literally. With therapy he is learning the social skills that most people learn naturally. His therapist specializes in the autism spectrum and children, so one of the first things I asked was, “OMGTHEBABY??” She evaluated Egg and he appears to be neurotypical beyond a doubt. Next we had some appointments where I join him to help work out marital issues.

Aspies tend to have “problems expressing the degree of love and affection expected by others.” (OASIS @ MAAP) It’s like being married to a man. But not just any man. A MAN x 10. One that drives me batshit crazy with his plants! plants! plants! and forgetting about the WIFE with the FEELINGS. Therapy is helping. For some reason this therapist can say, “Adam, what Sam is saying is that she needs more from you emotionally and to be more included in your life, ” and the motherfucker gets it. She says it in a special language that only dolphins can hear or something. But he gets it. When I say it? It sounds like Charlie Brown’s teacher in super bitchy nag mode.

It is still a work in progress, but we are learning so much about each other. Adam’s peers and management have noticed the difference although he has yet to tell them of the diagnosis. Therapy and an official diagnosis have changed all of our lives.

Posted in Adam, Asperger Syndrome, Therapy | Tagged , , , | 17 Comments

Parenting A Chicken

I have struggled with Chicken and his chores forfuckingever. I know it would be easier if I just did them myself, but parenting isn’t about easy, yo. It’s about stitches in your nethers, bleeding nipples, and a teenager that will take four fucking hours to clean a chicken coop. Adam  (formerly known as TB) has a therapist (more on that later) and she has sat down with us to work on Chicken and his chores. Nothing has been as annoying, frustrating, and holy fucking just shoot me and get it over with as getting Chicken to do his chores in a timely manner. NOTHING. I dare you to think of something that is worse.

The child would drag his heels, miss out on friends, events, treats, and just plain life. He would spent a whole entire Saturday to complete an hour of chores. I absolutely hated making him do chores, it was draining and awful. Adam and I just kept at it, but we couldn’t seem to get to the point where we said “chores!” and he did them at a reasonable pace. I never expected him to joyfully do his chores whilst singing a happy tune, but I needed it to be less soul-suckingly miserable.

The therapist works with more children than adults, and she laid out a plan for us based on the techniques found in Parenting Teens with Love and Logic. Summer vacation was a perfect time to implement this solution, however the therapist warned us that it would be rough at first. She predicted four weeks of struggle before it became easy, and I was not looking forward to spending half of Chicken’s summer locked in a battle of wills. But motherfucker I was going to get Chicken to do his motherfucking chores if it killed all of us.

The basic outline of the plan is simple: Chicken was not a member of the household until he completed his chores. He had no rights or privileges until his chores were done. I gave him a few chores each morning, and sometimes he had the option to choose which chores he preferred to do. He could spend the entire day doing his chores if he chose. But until they were finished he could not do the following:

  • Chat with me
  • Use his phone
  • Read enjoyable books
  • Use any electronics
  • Close his bedroom door

One of Chicken’s favorite things in the world to do is talk to me. Seriously. That kid didn’t say much until he was 2 1/2 years old, but he had made up for it in the last decade. Oh my LORD. The talking. So not allowing him to talk with me or interact with anyone else is brutally effective. If he wanted to he could play by himself in his room, but he has never been that type of kid. He needs PEOPLE.

Some of you might be wondering why we aren’t allowing enjoyable books, thinking that we are heartless fuckheads. We’re a family of hardcore bookworms. Give any of us a good book and we can tune out the world for days. It is one of the few solo activities that Chicken really enjoys. We gave him the option of reading books that we selected out of our library for him. Tedious books. Dry, flaky books of DOOM to a teenage boy. Beyond that, he could play with anything else in his room. Alone.

Let me tell you, this shit worked. The first few days it was a struggle. He tried to read boring books. But in the end, he started to do his chores, and today he does his chores more quickly than ever before in the history of the whole wide fucking world. Like a normal person, and with very limited teenager attitude. His whole disposition has improved.  I am amazed and every window covering in my house is clean. Do you know how much I hate cleaning blinds? A whole fucking lot, that’s how much.

Today, I thought I would try something different. High school starts on August 11th this year, and I want him to start getting in the groove. I asked him to write a one page paper on the Tea Party using five sources. Here is what he wrote, unedited:

The Tea Party has had a couple different forms over the past centuries, but the most recent one started in 2009. Its name comes from the Boston Tea Party, which was caused by unfair taxation. The protests were provoked mainly by the Obama Administration’s bailout, stimulus package, and the health care reform. A “Contract From America” was written in 1994 to keep politicians on track for success, but the tea party’s website “Jointheteaparty.us” blames all of the nation’s problems on politicians straying from the contract. *Bullshit cough cough*

At the moment, about 18 percent of Americans are supporters or part of the Tea Party Movement. The same survey from the New York Times shows that 92 percent of Tea Party supporters are not happy with the track that the country is on. As Michel Martin says, “The survey finds, as in fact we have found in our interviews, that these are not the people without health insurance, and these are not the people who have lost jobs; they are in fact wealthier and better educated than the rest of the population. But they are also very pessimistic about the direction of the country.”

Currently, there are only a handful of political leaders/candidates that are a part of the Tea Party. Supporters of the Tea Party have made an edited version of the Contract From America, which was released on April 15th, 2010. Their main goal is to limit the power of the government, and also give the states more rights. Tea Partiers have cited the Constitution for a few of their arguments, such as the 10th and 17th Amendments to show that the states’ rights have been “trampled”. More controversy over the party has been caused by a billboard in Iowa with pictures of Hitler, Stalin, and Obama. The words “Radical leaders prey on the fearful and naïve”, along with “Live free or die!” are written on the bottom of the billboard. After much research, I have come to one conclusion: Fuck the Tea Party.

It’s not the best paper he has written, but my objective was met. He researched a subject, learned about it, and wrote a paper. Without a fuss. We talked about the Tea Party after he wrote the paper, and the paper only touches on what he learned. He used sources including those from Join the Tea Party, NPR, and Wikipedia. I am proud of my Chicken.

Posted in Chicken, My Pussy Hurts | Tagged , , , | 10 Comments