SuperGurl

No time for artistic expression. Sorry.

My trip out east was wonderful, though a lot like slow motion time travel. Kept losing time, everyday, a flight cancelled, reconfigured. A traffic jam in Birmingham. A new time zone in Georgia. Daylight savings suckage on my departing day. I’ve been backlogged all month. I found that I have become defiantly inflexible.

You know what the market has been doing. Suckfest since day one, that should be the Democratic party slogan. Afterall, the market is a forward looking mechanism and ever since it’s been seeing Democrats in the future, it’s been bleeding. And why shouldn’t it be that way? They are the most negative fucks on the planet. Sorry for the language, folks, but for the life of me, I don’t know how anyone could feel intelligent supporting those viewpoints. When I hear them, I hear hatred of everything that makes this country great. Only cowards could turn what our great President George Walker Bush has done for us in the name of freedom and humanity in the mideast, into a bickering, self-loathing, first-to-flee contradiction. Where is the sense in this? Anyone? How is all the public back-biting at all supportive of the troops and their ongoing mission? Still, it doesn’t surprise me that the American public only took five years to become completely apathetic to the cause. Why would we want freedom for others when we piss on our own?

Are wars a financial decision? When the Islamic nutjobs that want to kill us all brought down the twin towers, do you remember asking, “How much will it cost to protect us?” Well, do you? Why do we supposedly care now? Can you tell me this? C’mon, all I see the Democrats do is bitch about the cost, to our economy and to our immeasurable standing around the world. The cost in blood and treasure. What a terribly overused cliche. This is a turn of phrase meaning what? I thought our blood was our treasure? Remember what Wonder Woman said on the Fourth? It was all “HELL YEAH” back then. Hello? Can anyone explain this one to me?

I have to remind myself as my uncle did recently, the reason nobody likes us in the world is because that is what our biased liberal media projects all over the world. Agree? I can’t believe there’s no pride in freedom. There’s no pride in personal responsibility. What about easing human suffering around the world just because we can and we have an unwavering will to do it? Why is our image both abroad and here at home so damaged? And if we are so hated, then why the hell do you think people are breaking laws and risking life and limb to get here?

Wow, just read the draft and this is some seriously grumpy Saturday morning material. Guess someone got up on the wrong side. I’ll go get my coffee and see if things improve. Ya’ll be good and have a great Saturday.

Are you like me, friend? Tired of finally turning off your television set only to hear the same lunacy parroted back at you from all directions? Do you sometimes feel uncomfortable in conversations about the economy simply because you haven’t spent a lifetime mired in it’s minutiae? Well, fret no longer, mon frere. SuperGurl, however absentminded, is here.

For today, and today only, I am prepared to offer you a challenge. In five paragraphs or less, I believe I can arm you with some new tools and complex sounding verbage which will elevate you easily to the top of the heap among your know-it-all friends. And why would I do such a thing, you ask? A sick, deranged, drooling capitalist like myself? Surely, you’re wondering already, “Yeah, but what’s in it for SG?” Right? It’s cool, I’ll get there. And while everyone loves a skeptic, let’s have some fun before we start talking compensation, shall we?

First, it’s important to recognize and assess your threat as soon as possible. Since ten times out of ten, the person you’ll be facing off with has no basis in fact, relax. Second, I find it very disarming to double down on depression. No matter how bad they say it’s going to be, make your prediction worse. Much worse. It’s a fantastic way to win over the terminal pessimist. Generally, they are the most depressing person they’ve ever been around, so you will really endear yourself to them if you employ my patented “double down on depression” move.

You are such a quick study! Now, memorize some nonsensical financial chatter that you can inject into any conversation. These are safe topics, much like bridge building in the sales culture, you know, when you find common ground with your subject that you can retreat to when the conversation gets beyond your control. Now if you were trying to sell them something, you would want to build that bridge out of benign and comfortable materials, a verbal respite for a conversation gone awry. But we aren’t selling, kids, we’re winning and the rules are totally different.

Nah, this needs to be a dilapidated bridge. Build it of refuse and as much catastrophic imagery as you can cram into as few words. If inventing fictional financial analogies eludes you, try these mad libs style practice phrases until you find one that’s uniquely you:

[any industry/commodity]+[any natural disaster] of [any year]
You follow? It should sound something like the corn epidemic of ‘74 or the currency avalanche of ‘68, you see? Or add a competing G7 locale for extra flavor, like the Italian gelato drought of 1945, that was a bad one. Diabetes almost completely eradicated from the earth. Now you can really cripple your cryptic foe. Play with it. Add a disdained president. Change up the order. Stretch out the enunciation of the fictitious year. Most of all have fun, remember, this bridge should self-combust on delivery. That is the point. Now, to say it with a straight face, that is the art. You want to use these as comparative studies, like, “reminds me of,” or “yeah, just like..” and sprinkle them heavily throughout the conversation.

Never hurts to throw in a, “Hey, I thought if we made it through that we could make it through anything. Now, I’m not so sure.”

You ready to draw blood? Cool, cause here comes the kill…

Once you and your foe have worked your way into a frothing nothing-left-to-live-for existence, affirm his depression with my favorite, “You’re right, it’s kind of a death spiral.”

The longer you are able to keep the fiction flowing with relative sobriety, the more confident you should become with this exercise. End it with something that sounds ugly, but rings true. Something like “You remind me of everything that’s wrong with this country. Which reminds me, I need to put some more hay in the barn.” Because seriously folks, the time to invest is when there is blood running through the streets and Nostradami springing up on every corner to predict the future. I’d venture to guess if you can carry a conversation using only made up bs like I’ve given you here, an alarm should sound in your head. A deafening alarm to remind you the future is now, Prosperity Now.

Prosperity Now to you, pal. Are you disappointed? I know it sucks to hear the truth sometimes, but e.s.p. has no place in your long term investment plans. When you find yourself battling about how bad the future will be, or find yourself faced with someone who claims they know the future, run thee with haste and throw a few extra bricks on your foundation. Refocus your priorities, be vigilant and don’t forget to put extra hay in the barn.

Finally, compensation. As far as compensating you goes, I’d like to see your best financial analogies in the comments. Anything I can slip by my peers in conversation with relative believability will earn a dedicated post, to you on your topic of choice. Now go out there and strive to beat these crazy coots to death at their own game. That will be compensation enough for me.

Must be nice to be you. Not be ate-up with the crazies all the time, not clenching your teeth over nothing. I’d love to hug you, brother. I would, but I’d be using you; hoping that some of your grotesquely apathetic testosterone might wash over me and level the ph, or something.

Struck me this morning. I was having my standard ten a.m. cure for my regularly occurring rot-gut, brought on by the empty stomach espresso buffet from 6-9. I had just batted around a hot english muffin. It was toasted to perfection, and I laid it down just long enough to butter it. That’s when I noticed my love muffin. It was heart-shaped. Yeah.

I stood there in my mini kitchen at work, loving my breakfast and my breakfast loving me. It was a happy time. I mean really happy. I was having all these gay thoughts about how wonderful it is to love and be loved, and that’s when it hit me, I must be ovulating ostrich eggs.

Signs are signs, and I was seeing them everywhere. Now, I know there’s a natural tendency to gag whenever some batshit woman starts blogging about her cycle. Look, you don’t have to tell me. I have a gag reaction that just won’t quit. If I even start thinking of some of the horrors I’ve heard, I’ve read, I’ve smelled, I could be hurling in an instant. But that’s not this, lovies, no. That’s not this.

Before I could ponder very long on my love muffin, in came a stranger. He’s sitting there, talking about the standard things we talk about, family and the like. I’m daydreaming. I’m always drifting somewhere, but today it was West Texas fence posts. This wonderful man who trusted me with his money became an object of my psychosis. I kept thinking, I wish he’d rebuild my fence. He looks mighty strong, those arms, disturbing. I sure could use an able-bodied provider type to fix my falling down fence. You look wind worn there, fella, how would you like to help a lady with a fence?

And snap. I realized he needed my help. Duh, that’s why he came in! I pulled it together, explained tax free bonds, I think. I don’t really know. I was doing everything I could think of to keep myself from an ugly Freudian slip. He opened an account and promised he’d rob the bank for me tomorrow. I was happy and somehow restrained myself from begging him for babies. Precious babies.

So there’s that time of the month and this time of the month. That one is grumpy and irritating. This one is irritating also, but in a “let’s procreate” kinda way. So I’m fixated on love, thanks to Aunt Flo and the backside of her hormone hurricane. I know I shouldn’t share it either, but hell, that’s what the ole blog is for. All those unspeakable urges that would scare all the real men away, they fit in perfectly here among all the other anonymous blathering.

My apologies to the real men that read here, though. Thanks for taking on some of the damage for me so I can continue to stuff my inner psycho deep down inside. You are all wonderful for that.

Now I’m off until Sunday. Flying East to reunite with some of my favorite blown-eyes in Hotlantra.
Ya’ll be good, cause you know what’s coming next, don’t ya?