Do you know what I’ve discovered? The government shutdown is over, my husband has gone back to work, and my peace of mind is on its way to being restored—I hope. But the Tea Party’s ass is grass as far as I’m concerned. They should be required to pay back everything that was lost by their shenanigans ($24 billion and counting)—not to mention the stress and anguish caused to the children who missed starting their Head Start programs, mothers who missed work because their kids had no pre-school to go to and no daycare, small businesses that lost a ton of money that will take them months to recoup if they are lucky, savings that got depleted, and a husband who used the time off to wire TV speakers into sixteen possible positions in the ceiling, the walls, and into the backs of our wrap-around couch in his man cave while his wife went slowly crazy.
Used by permission: David Fitzsimmons The Arizona Star
I am temporarily deaf due to the new speakers installed by a man who had too much time on his hands and I am pissed. My husband likes to work, and he loves serving his country. However, the Ted Cruz Tea Party Repubs and their speaker-in-name-only John Boehner tried to destroy an approved law they didn’t like, set up by our two-term all-American president (READ IT: TWO-TERM ELECTED BY THE PEOPLE PRESIDENT), and it robbed my man of the ability to do his job which in turn robbed me of my peace. And I think that even though the TPs got their asses handed to them on a platter as the result of their heartless ploy, I bet they are going to try this stupidity again because they’re just that brain-dead and don’t give a fuck about anyone but themselves!
Cartoonist: email@example.com by way of progressive-charlestown.com
Since my husband and I used to be Republicans (operative words: used to), I tried to give the Tea Party the benefit of the doubt in the early days—very early days. But it didn’t take me long to realize that something was very wrong with them, and I figured out what it was: They’re the first wave of the Zombie Apocalypse! I noticed their trademark skills of sucking out brains and eating human hearts when the likes of Palin, Bachmann, and Beck hit the scene. I especially stood up and took notice when some of my friends started turning into zombies. I mean their bodies were still there, but I’d be talking to them on the phone and suddenly they’d blurt out a zombie statement in a staccato-like vocal pattern:
“I hate Nancy Pelosi.”
“Grrrrr. . .where did you get that Obama campaign pin—he’s a baby killer and he hates white people?”
“Lame stream media, lame stream media, lame stream media. . .”
“I only watch Fox News because it is the only fair and balanced news channel.”
Cartoonist: Stuart Carlson, Universal Press Syndicate
By the time I figured out what was going on with my friends they were at a point of no return. But I grew up with zombies trying to mess with me, so I should have known better and seen the signs sooner—maybe I could have saved my companions. I met the head zombie leader when I was four years old, and I should have recognized his methodology when he showed up as the head of the Tea Party. In my day, he was called the “Boogeyman” and he lived in the basement, while his counterparts lived in the graveyards. Every poor black child knew of The Boogey’s existence, which is why no child in her right mind spent too much time below the first floor. (None of this man-cave crap existed back in the day when I was a kid, and the thought that one day I’d own a house with a basement boasting sixteen speakers would have blown my little mind.)
The basement of my childhood home housed the washer and the giant furnace which fed on coal that slid down a chute. I imagined The Boogey lived behind the furnace and practiced his brain-sucking and heart-munching techniques on little kids who were unlucky enough to be sent down into the basement for punishment. I am one of the few who ever saw him in the neighborhood and lived to tell the story.
It still gives me chills.
Motifake Demotivational poster
The floor of our basement was dirt packed and it is my theory that the house had been built over a small family graveyard. The walls were stone with rough beams in the ceiling. There was only one light that cast shadows here, there, and everywhere, but especially against the coal chute next to where the vegetables had been canned and stored. One night I was sent down to the basement to fetch a jar of pickled okra. Even though I begged and pleaded, screamed and yelled, I was still threatened within an inch of my life to do as I was told. So I tip-toed down the steps, across the basement floor as quietly as possible, hoping The Boogey was out on his nightly rounds, and we wouldn’t run into each other. My heart pounded so loudly that I could hardly hear myself think. I deduced that if I was as quiet as a field mouse, I might escape the head zombie’s detection. I think my plan would have worked too, but the furnace let out a sudden fiery red blast that scared me to death, and I screamed and dropped the jar of okra which shattered all over the floor in front of me. At that very moment something brushed across my feet, and I swear that I saw the silhouette of a monster’s reflection on the jars of vegetables. His hands began to crawl up my legs, and faster than I could say, “help me Jesus,” I turned to take the basement steps in a single bound as The Boogey’s other hand came up over my shoulder and slid down the front of my overalls. I didn’t stop running until I ended up in my bedroom under the covers on the second floor, and I didn’t stop screaming for hours. I got two beatings that night for refusing to go back down into the basement to fetch another jar of okra, but it was worth it because I know what I saw and so did my caretakers, which is why none of them went to the basement in my place that night.
Until this day, I can’t go into any basement—including my own—unless there are plenty of windows, and all the lights are on (and I do mean all). I never encountered The Boogey again until the election of our first black president. Suddenly, I started hearing of zombie uprisings bearing the name of The Tea Party who were instantly disrespectful and disruptive to our Commander in Chief (remember the Zombie that screamed out “You lie” in the middle of President Obama’s State of the Union address?). And every time the Tea Party Zombies seemed to have been beaten back, another surge would happen and a new leader would emerge: first Palin and Bachmann—and now Cruz. I can’t prove it, but I think the Boogeyman came out of hiding in the basement of my house, and he started recruiting for the Tea Party zombies which is why my friends bit the dust to the TP extremism so easily. I don’t know if it is because Halloween is just around the corner and we’re headed for a Zombie Apocalypse that I think I’m beginning to see them everywhere, including in the government shutdown, but sometimes on a foggy night I think I can see them amongst the trees waiting for me—trying to get ahold of my head and heart like they did some of my friends.
Zombies from Stuffstumbledupon.com
I am discovering that I might be on to something with these Tea Party wingnuts being the first of the Zombie invasion. Seeing the destruction they’ve done to our country these past few weeks, the Tea Party Zombies make about as much sense as the Boogey Man did in my basement as a child—turn on enough lights to show them up for who they really are, and they will actually turn out to be just rats hiding in the dark amongst the pickled okra and canned string beans.
Anyway, my head is really itching and getting foggy since I’ve been typing this blog. My heart feels kind of funny, too. Maybe, I need to take a nap. All this talk about zombies is really making me feel kind of weird. So Happy Halloween to all my readers, and keep your brains and hearts safe from the zombies because the Tea Party would love to suck out your brains and eat up your heart so that you can no longer think or feel anything for your fellowman!
“My friend ‘M’ says the irony of being a zombie is that everything is funny, but you can’t smile, because your lips have rotted off.”― Isaac Marion, Warm Bodies
“This is the part in the movie where that guy says, ‘Zombies? What zombies?’ just before they eat his brains. I don’t want to be that guy.”― Holly Black, Kin
“The website didn’t say how much brains–or even how many–I should eat, only that I should eat them in 48 hours OR ELSE. Why doesn’t anyone pay attention to details anymore? Would it be so hard to add a simple line like, BTW, Maddy, 3 pounds of brains per week is plenty? Seriously, am I the first new zombie ever to ask?”― Rusty Fischer, Zombies Don’t Cry
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