Never Truth

“Politics is never about the truth. Who would vote for it? Elections is all about pandering to your tiresome, your put-upon by, and your overweight pretending that their poundage is not at all their fault. To do that, they cannot let a smidgen of truth infect their pure, unadulterated mendacity. No, no. The minute truth gets a toe-hold, soon all sorts of reality-based responsibility creeps in and your creeps won’t be able to keep the delusion going that they are the good guys. The problem with the rest of you is that you’re not miserable enough to need a morally bankrupt liar to hide the ugly reality of your hopeless condition from you. Yet.”

The Election Crazy Show

Your political season can only get crazier. I don't know about you, but I am planning on spending the next 90 days with one hand on a bucket of popcorn and the other on the anti-spacecraft missile launcher in case anybody running away from the madness there tries to come here. Yes, I am a terrible person refusing interplanetary refugees, but then I am not a candidate pretending that you should give me the power to combat global warming with a nuclear winter.  I am not a candidate to run anything, not even my own life.

Not to mention that anybody with enough money to cross the interstellar void uninvited does not count as one of your tired, your poor, your hungry, but in fact will be one of your face-lifted, your rich, and your power-hungry. Those people can come here for vacation, but we got a zero tolerance on immigration here, meaning nobody gets to stay. Except me. And people I like. Which isn't you.

So stay where you are and take care of the political mess on your own planet. This one is taken.

Elections from 1000 Light Years Away

The work it takes to not know a single thing about your upcoming national elections should have its own Olympic sports category. And I guarantee, if they was giving out medals, yours truly woulda got a silver medal if not the gold when I was back on Earth. Being here on Unpronounceable where no one cares, I can watch the parade of political posturing like it's just another seasonal TV show, equal parts cynicism and shmaltz that is the same every year.

First off, nobody, except maybe a couple of guys with Aspergers and no personal life, is looking for real information that could change their mind. Everybody is paying attention so's they can have real or imagined facts to prove the opinion that they already have is the right one. The first time you see and hear a candidate, you make your call, the way you judge everybody from the barrista with the pierced nostril to the jogger in pink velour with her golden retriever and golden ponytail. Snap judgement, right or wrong, that's the motto of the human race.

Then there is the other problem that nobody in their right mind would run for public office in the first place, so even your snap judgement of any one of those louses - or is it lice? - leaves your brain feeling like the inside of a portapotty on a summer day.

Fortunately, your Founding Fathers created a system of government in which it is nearly impossible to change anything. Even when change happens, the people are so not willing to give up the tiny part in the hot mess of their lives that they like to improve the all the truly horrible parts they don't. This is why whole generations protest for the rest of their lives for a return to the good old days, never mind the widespread death from cholera and dysentery, the rape and pillage protocols of conquering armies, and the degradation of slavery and serfdom. Change, these true believers understand, is not a happy daisy in the sun. It more like kudzu that ain't gonna stop after it covers the dead stump you want to hide, but soon will be smothering that old apple tree your granny planted, and you're willing to firebomb the garden just to show it who's boss.  This is why Congress can have a 15% approval rating and a 90% re-election rate. No change necessary here. Do not touch the dial.

Fingerpointing for Suckers

I am the last human on the planet who should be giving advice. But since I am the only human on the planet, see, it works out just dandy cuz I am also the best person on the planet to give advice. So here's my advice: keep your advice to yourself. Nobody is going to listen to it unless they already want to do it. You are just there to be the one to blame if it don't go so well. I know. Giving advice makes you feel all wise standing so high above things on your Molehill Olympus. Stop it unless you like being the patsy for everybody else's stupid behavior.

Moo Cards Arrived

Getting ready for WisCon, a girl needs a calling card. These are from moo.com, the only company that lets you have up to 50 different images on a single pack of cards. In this case, however, why mess with perfect? These are all the same, pink like the Blobs, and just as tacky. But this being America, tacky sells and you know you're curious about the alien sex thing. Not that I'm admitting anything here...

Hooray for Hollywood Redux

In response to the question of was I movin' to LA after the success of the movie: No.

California is no New Jersey. It don't even compare to Delaware where people at least know that beaches is for getting fat on Boardwalk fries, frozen custard, and taffy while acquiring a yearly sunburn.

Los Angeles is like twin cities with Washington DC, only with more plastic surgery. Everybody is too important to have anything to do with reality.

And Hollywood is the saddest place on earth, I guess cuz apparently you can't make movies without humiliating underlings, feeling up waitresses, and generally making sure nobody feels respected or secure in their job, relationships, or looks. This is where all the psychotic losers come to prove they are somebody among the beautiful people. Only duh they're actually all losers so deep down people constantly worry that secret loser cooties will rub off.

So no. I don't go to Hollywood, not even for the premiere of a movie about me.

Unpronounceable Ideas 101

At a reading of my book yesterday, spoken in a bad Jersey accent by my ghost writer alter-ego, Susan diRende, someone asked how come all the other diplomats failed. This was a young person at Olympic College, so can be excused for not yet understanding that being a diplomat is one of those cushy jobs given to the important-but-incompetent friends of the powerful. A few days out on the streets, diploma in hand, rattling an empty cup at assorted passers-by, human resource gatekeepers, and parental units with a finished basement, and this young person will come to realize that the game is rigged so that anybody with original thoughts or interesting ideas is kept as far away from power and influence as the system can manage.

Far be it for me to say there is no Truth Fairy, I will simply explain by way of an example. The businessman who was sent to Unpronounceable decided we needed to build a wall to keep Earth safe. Around a planet. He wasn't clear on how high it had to be, or what it would sit on. He simply promised, if you gave him the contract, he could get it done cheaper than the government. Nuff said.

Unpronounceable Readings and Signings

So the gal who wrote down my words so's they could be a book that you could read and be totally disgusted with how my life turned out compared to yours will be reading from said book at some bookstores and libraries in the Seattle area. Better her than me because this girl is not ever setting foot on planet Earth let alone that disaster of gloom and granola that is your Pacific Northwest. Still, for a cheap thrill you might want to go if you're in the area. The forecast is for rain, so a few laughs might help keep away that suicidal depression lurking just beyond the next low pressure front, dontcha know.

Here's the schedule:

• Wednesday, April 13 @ 10:30AM at the Olympic College Bookstore in Bremerton, WA
• Friday, April 15 @ 1PM at the Kitsap Regional Library also in Bremerton
• Tuesday, April 19 @7PM at Third Place Books in Ravenna, WA

 You could also buy a book while you're there, but don't expect me to sign. You can get the writer to sign her name, and that will have to do. Like I said, Earth and me, we're no longer on speaking terms.

Don't Bother to Share

Don't send me one of those Facebook insult posts pretending to be about connecting with your "real"
friends. You know, where you ask me to "Like" and "Share" some badly written desperate plea to be treated better. All that makes me want to do is treat you worse. It's  all I can do to keep my own insecurities, neuroses, and general flaws from sending me to your house and  emptying the garbage can from the dog park in the middle of your front lawn. Blackmail don't work unless you've got some killer photos of yours truly that I would sell my soul to keep from my Aunt Mizi.

I know you're lonely and miserable, but that's who you are embrace your unloveableness. Tell you what. You send me one of those and I'll just Unfriend you. Problem solved.

A Book about Yours Truly

I got a book coming out about me. I know, you losers have been trying to hawk your pathetic memoir for years, and here I am with somebody begging to tell my life story. Okay, so maybe they aren’t the biggest publishing house on the planet. Okay, so maybe they’re so small you need a microscope to find them on that World o’ Books map you keep pinning your hopes on. I coulda got somebody bigger, but first I woulda had to work for it. You know, that miserable round of begging who knows how many clueless jerks to read my story and then smile while they’re screwing me over in the contract part. No. Here’s the book from a small enough publisher that I know where all of them live and so, if they give me too much crap, I am able to make their lives as miserable as I can without breaking any laws that somebody can prove. Simple.

Now go buy the book here: Unpronounceable