Quit jerking off on stage and give out some Oscars

As Seth MacFarlane started his Oscars monologue, I remembered why I don’t like The Family Guy. That was exhausting. We were at my parents’ and were going to leave after the monologue and the first award but it just went on and on and on. Captain Kirk was funny but the whole conceit just went on to the point where it was excruciating and no longer amusing. Just like Family Guy.

The whole joke of MacFarlane singing tasteless songs and Kirk preventing him from doing so was an example of a joke crawling up its own ass. Even in joking about the tacky song, he still performed the tacky song. It was just three layers too much of meta bullshit. For me, the best way to describe the “I Saw Your Boobs” song was that I laughed but felt bad about laughing. I didn’t realize til later that a lot of the women MacFarlane was poking fun at showed their boobs in movies where they got raped, which kind of detracts from the fun a tad.

I did enjoy the sock puppet re-enactment of Flight.

This whole thing begs the question of why the Academy Awards people had MacFarlane on in the first place. They have had problems before with hosts who were too irreverent and did not go over well with the audience. And they knew MacFarlane would be too irreverent and they had him on anyway. And then he just makes smartass jokes about how everyone will hate him. And it becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy.

What in the name of God was the point? How about just hosting the fucking show instead of making masturbatory skits about yourself?

If the organizers want to make the show less than three hours, they need to drastically cut down on the dance numbers and such. I did like the performance by the Les Miserables cast. It made sense to do this at the Oscars because it’s from a nominated movie. Similar to how artists at the Grammys will perform their songs, at the Oscars, the actors should strut their stuff from their nominated movies. But looking back at Chicago and Dreamgirls as part of a tribute to musicals was really a reach. Is anyone really saying, “Can you believe it’s been 10 years since Chicago? Let’s look back.” Ten years is an eye blink to me. There are much more venerable movie musicals to salute.

I didn’t see the James Bond musical tribute. I heard Shirley Bassey was great but I’m just annoyed than they didn’t ask Duran Duran to perform as they did the greatest Bond theme ever. Sorry, Adele, but it’s a fact.

So I really didn’t like those dance numbers during MacFarlane’s monologue. This is not the Tonys and I have no desire to sit through this person’s tapdance just because he likes to tapdance. That horseshit, not the acceptance speeches, is why the Oscars are over three hours. Quit jerking off on stage and give out some Oscars. At least things aren’t as bad as they were when Debbie Allen regaled us all with interpretive dance.

Also, I’m bored out of my mind at the overanalysis of why The Onion calling Quvenzhané Wallis the C-word was wrong. The whole thing boils down to “Don’t call a 9-year-old girl the C-word.” And that should be it. It just isn’t hard to understand why it was offensive. I don’t need a 2,000-word think piece on it.

But no. By all means, let’s have every person with a pulse write a melodramatic take on why it was wrong to say that word about that girl. Let’s all write so much about it that it draws more attention to the infraction and that girl will have an easier time of finding out what The Onion called her. (Yes, I realize I am also writing about this but I do not have a national platform with which to bore people; only a local platform for boredom.) Let’s have every journalist and writer milk the shit out of this incident so they can have something to do. I saw a writer at the Huffington Post react to a New York Times writer’s reaction to the tweet and I just wanted to tell them that it just gets less and less interesting the more the circle jerk of self-referential analysis continues.

The entire point of this incident was that you shouldn’t call a kid the C-word. Must all these commentators turn it into their graduate thesis?

I had the most princely dream

I dreamed that I was at a Prince concert. I have been a fan for about 25 years and have never seen him live. I finally did.

The concert was in some kind of small auditorium like at an elementary school. Prince opened with “Little Red Corvette.” I was wondering why I was not that excited, especially since it was my first time seeing him and you think I’d be screaming and singing along. Nobody else was excited either. The second song was “Sign ‘o’ the Times,” which Prince played at a barely audible level. I love this song but I really think it’s the most depressing top 10 hit ever. Here are some sample lyrics:

“In France a skinny man died of a big disease with a little name.”

“Hurricane Annie ripped the ceiling off a church and killed everyone inside.”

“Sister killed her baby because she couldn’t afford to feed it.”

“If the night falls and a bomb falls, will anybody see the dawn?”

This got airplay? Anyhoo, after “Sign ‘o’ the Times,” people started leaving. I thought that was odd. Two clowns started dancing around as some sort of interlude. I figured Prince was taking a break after two songs and some “special guests” were performing instead.

I frequently have dreams about concerts I’ve never been to. This is my second most common dream, after the dreams I have about having to move back to one of my old apartments, which I have almost every night. I sometimes dream about seeing Madonna live and sometimes it’s at some odd elementary school auditorium, like the Prince show. Sometimes she’ll be re-enacting her previous tours and they will be very elaborate and intriguing and I’ll wake up and be disappointed that the show never happened.

Anyhoo, the point is that I really need to get tickets the next time Prince tours.

Day Three: Salvation Arrives

It was the sound of helicopters that awoke the guests.

Even from underneath layers of clothes and blankets, they could hear the whirring of the blades. Three CNN helicopters were hovering in the sky over the Bon l’Hiver lodge, broadcasting images to the world. The news team captured the sleepy, powerless lodge just after dawn.

But the copters also could see what the 17 guests could not: Just a few miles away, snowplows were working their way through nearly a foot of snow, clearing a path for transportation to take all of them home. Salvation was on the way.

“When I saw CNN was covering our trip, that was the first inkling I had that our long weekend was major news,” Jonas Thomson recalls. “My sister called me and told me it was all the network had been talking about all weekend.”

“Anderson Cooper flew straight in from Iraq to cover this, so you know it was a big deal,” adds his wife, Kate.

There were a few challenges to face before the long-awaited rescue. The smell from the clogged toilet had barely dissipated overnight. And the guests faced another breakfast of cold cereal.

“People did start grumbling a little, yeah,” says staff member Marie Cohen. “We started running out of milk and that seemed to annoy people. Some parents sacrificed their own milk to give to their kids and were left with dry cereal. It was pretty heroic, actually.” 

“To this day, I can’t stand Cheerios,” says Marty Delgado.

****

Around mid-afternoon, the refugees heard the sweet sound of plows clearing a path to the front door. A few of them went outside with signs they had made, holding them up so the CNN helicopters would see. “SOS,” read one sign.

The Delgados had called a cab and bounded out the door as soon as it pulled up. They thought they were home free but fate was not yet done taunting them.

“We had gone about three miles and don’t you know it? The cab breaks down,” says Diana Delgado with a sad chuckle. “We waited 45 minutes on the side of the road for Triple A to come out.”

“What a disaster,” adds Marty Delgado.

****

In the years since their traumatic vacation, the 17 guests and staff have had to readjust to life on the outside. Perhaps surprisingly, none of the lodge staff quit, despite having to unclog an overflowed toilet and deal with surly guests. The guests praised the staff for their heroism during the ordeal.

The guests all did get refunds, although that wasn’t enough for some. Seventy-seven-year-old Alma Chambliss sued Bon l’Hiver and won an undisclosed financial settlement.

“You can’t put a dollar value on my pain and suffering,” says Chambliss.

The Delgados have had numerous offers over the years to sell their story for a TV movie but they have turned all of them down. Both of them prefer to move on and forget that weekend.

“I’ll tell you one thing: I’ll never go skiing again,” says Diana Delgado.

Day Two: The End of Canapés

For the 17 people staying at the Bon l’Hiver Lodge, dawn couldn’t come soon enough. After scrounging for blankets, each of the guests shivered through a night when the heat in the venerable lodge wasn’t working as snow piled up outside.

“When we woke up, the thermostat in our room read 59 degrees. So yeah, it was a tad chilly,” says Kate Thomson.

For breakfast, they made do with cold cereal, as the oven was as temporarily as dead as the heater. It was not the omelet-centered breakfast the brochure had promised by nobody really grumbled too much. Outside in the sun, it was a little better. The guests, figuring they were already cold indoors, decided they would be no colder outdoors so they decided to hit the Vermont slopes.

It was a gorgeous day after the snowfall but there was an additional problem nobody anticipated. More snow had fallen than forecast, some 11 or 12 inches, and that was causing problems for the repairmen getting to the lodge to fix the heat.

“As we were all gathering for lunch, they made the announcement,” recalls Marty Delgado. “They weren’t sure the heat would be fixed by nightfall. The roads just weren’t clear yet.”

“Then people started getting a little restless,” adds his wife, Diana.

****

That Sunday afternoon, other problems had started to surface. Alma Chambliss, a 77-year-old guest, had run out of her prescription medication for her restless leg syndrome. With the roads closed, it was unclear when she would be able to get a refill.

“Yes, I do remember my legs flaring up that day,” Chambliss says by telephone. “You know, restless leg is an uncomfortable condition. I wasn’t sure what was going to happen without my pills.”

As if that weren’t enough, shortly before dinner, the toilet just off the lodge’s common area overflowed.

“What a mess,” says Jack Conaway, the employee charged with cleaning it up. “I almost got sick from the smell. I must have washed my hands 15 or 20 times after cleaning that. And there was still (excrement) everywhere. I could only do so much”

“You couldn’t escape the smell. It just kind of hung in the common area,” says Jonas Thomson. “The worst part that the common area was the warmest part of the lodge, with several fireplaces. So we had no choice but to stay there and keep warm. People were getting sick.”

****

Tensions started to flare after dinner, several guests recall. The lodge employees were forced to throw out the night’s planned banquet: Pork tenderloin, mushroom risotto and cheesecake. Don Smythe, the manager, remembers people being particularly upset about one spoiled item.

“When I told people we had to throw out the canapés, they started getting upset,” says Smythe. “But what were we going to do? I couldn’t have people getting food poisoning. Not when there was no way of getting medical attention.”

Faced with few options, the lodge staff had to satisfy everyone with trays of lukewarm lunchmeat and vegetables. A long line formed, snaking from the kitchen nearly to the lodge foyer. The guests grumbled and waited their turn.

“Waiting in a long line for some cold cuts,” remembers Diana Delgado, shaking her head ruefully. “Some vacation, huh?”

With no repairmen able to trudge through the snow and the night getting colder, the guests huddled together for a second night, apprehensive about what the next day might bring.

Tomorrow: Salvation arrives but not without a few snags. The survivors try to adjust to the aftermath of their experience.

Day One: Powerless in the Storm

The entire world spent last week breathlessly awaiting updates about the unfortunate souls who faced four days of extreme hardship on the stalled Carnival cruise ship. These vacation tragedies occur more often than one might think. As a public service, CNN is repeating its Peabody Award-winning coverage of a devastating vacation at a ski lodge in 2005. For a harrowing holiday weekend, 17 people faced the limits of human endurance when the power failed. In the first of three parts, we examine how the odyssey began.

Sitting at her kitchen table, Diana Delgado sips coffee and her eyes seek the middle distance as she remembers.

“People don’t understand sometimes,” she says. “They think it was just an inconvenient weekend. “Sometimes I think the only people who can relate are the people who were on that ski trip.”

The rain outside turns to sleet and Diana stares at it for a second. You can almost feel her tense up. It’s a habit these days. Ever since she spent a night listening to the howling winds and swirling snows, she’s been especially vigilant against any hint of inclement winter weather.

She continued. “You know, you forge a bond with people when you go through something like that together. In a way, I don’t think I’ll ever be as close to anybody else as I am to them.”

Marty Delgado looks up at his wife and speaks for the first time during the interview. “We went through hell together in that cabin. Hell,” he emphasizes. “And you’ll never understand it unless you’ve been through it.” His eyes return to the floor.

****

The Delgados, along with 15 other souls, certainly caught a glimpse of hell last winter. Trapped in a ski lodge without electricity overnight, their only food options prepackaged snacks and with one toilet inoperable, what they endured may be unthinkable to those of us used to the luxuries of the First World. This is a story of how much the human spirit will endure before it breaks. This is a story of survival.

****

When Diana and Marty arrived at the Bon l’Hiver Lodge in Vermont last President’s Day weekend, they were excited and happy to get away. It was their seventh anniversary. That Saturday morning, they checked into the king suite and observed their surroundings.

“The trees were already covered with the snowfall of the previous night so everything was coated in white,” Marty remembers. “And it was just starting to snow when we arrived. Everything was picture perfect.”

In an adjoining cabin, Jonas Thomson and his family watched the flurries starting to fall. “David got so excited that he ran outside before we could even unpack,” Thomson says with a chuckle about his then-7-year-old son. Before long, the whole family had donned their brightly-colored gear and hit the slopes. David and his siblings, Jenna and Chrissy, spend the afternoon on the bunny slope, laughing and throwing snowballs. Mom Kate Thomson struck up a conversation with Diana Delgado.

As dusk descended and the flurries increased to heavier snow, the guests headed into the lodge for a stick-to-your ribs dinner of beef stew and for the adults, a spiked hot chocolate or two. Everyone was satisfied and in good cheer.

****

It was 8:23 when the power went out.

“I remember because I had just checked the grandfather clock in the common area of the lodge,” says Kate Thomson. “We figured the power would be back on soon. Little did we know.”

At first, the blackout was almost fun, says Diana Delgado. The Bon l’Hiver staff placed candles and lanterns in every room and threw a few more logs on the fireplaces. “I grabbed a good book and a blanket and cozied up to Marty and read for awhile. It was actually kind of romantic.”

“We found Monopoly and played with the kids,” says Jonas Thomson. “Then we got a little bored and wondered when the power was coming back on. And it started to get a little chilly in our room.”

Around 10 p.m., the 17 guests got the bad news: The power would not be coming back on that night.

“You have to understand that this wasn’t a simple power failure,” says lodge manager Don Smythe. “In these old lodges, and Bon l’Hiver has been around since 1927, it’s not always as simple as flipping the circuit breaker. We needed some parts and just didn’t have them.”

The backup generator was of no help that night. Smythe says it was also waiting for a part, which was to arrive Tuesday. One way or another, none of the guests would be around to see it.

“And the snow that night wasn’t helping,” Smythe adds. The forecast was for six to eight inches and he explains that the maintenance service was unwilling to traverse the winding roads in such conditions to fix the electricity. Salvation would have to wait until morning.

****

“I can still almost hear the wind swirling outside,” says Diana Delgado, shivering at the memory.

“We just rounded up all the blankets we could find and we and the kids tried to go to sleep,” says Jonas Thomson. “But Kate and I knew it was futile. We knew we were in for a very long, very cold night.”

Tomorrow: The Bon l’Hiver Lodge food begins to spoil as the snowbound guests face the end of canapés.

I can't deal with February

The month is kind of inconvenient. I’m reminded of this every year when I have fewer days to send my mortgage payment. It’s not like we’re going into default or anything but I have my schedule. I get paid and then write the check and in February, I have two or three fewer days to do that.

President’s Day also cuts into that because it’s a bank holiday and I have less time to mail the checks. (Yes, I still mail everything. I have no patience for online bill paying, since I am sometimes forced to alter my user name since someone already has it, or add numbers or capital letters to my standard passwords, so I will forget these and have to reset the passwords and I am very easily frustrated by that type of thing. Plus, I like to support the Post Office.) This year the holiday falls right after payday, so it will screw me up a little.

The other annoying thing about February is it’s during this month that our sewer tax is due. I have no idea what this is for but I have this reflex where an official-sounding agency tells me I owe them money and I sigh and write the check. I forget this is due every year so I don’t factor it into the budget and it just makes things inconvenient. February is probably the worst time this tax could be due because I’m recovering from Christmas spending and then there’s this big, non-negotiable lump that I have to pay. I wish the county would just add this tax onto my mortgage escrow. It would be nothing to pay $25 a month but that $300 is irritating.

The shorter month also makes our magazine’s deadline extra annoying. There’s more of a time crunch to finish. Then after we’re finished with print, I have fewer days to get the website together by March 1.

I just want to get through February and make it to the 12 Days of March …

Get Out of My Way

Have you ever, in the midst of a bad day, had an encounter with a stranger that was the straw that broke the camel’s back and made you want to scream?

That happened a few days ago. I had been having a bad day at work and stayed an hour late so I could get a few things from the art department in preparation for working at home the next day. I never got what I needed, so it turned out I could have left on time and not sat there staring at my computer. I was barely out of the parking lot when I realized I would have to go into the office the next day anyway.

Then when I was almost home, there was a terrific accident on Route 141 in front of me. It blocked the whole highway and nothing was moving anytime soon so I made a U-turn across the grassy medial strip and went another way. What annoyed me is that if I hadn’t stayed late, I would have avoided the accident. Even staying late, I also would have avoided the accident if I’d gone my normal route straight home. Instead, I had to stop at the supermarket for breadcrumbs that I needed for dinner.

Are you crying yet at my tale of inconvenience? Try to steel yourself for the worst is yet to come.

I went to Pathmark instead of Acme because it was more on my way home. I usually avoid that store because it seems to move at a slower pace than the rest of the world and I am merciless when it comes to efficiency in the checkout line. At self-checkout, a woman scanned her last item and must have realized she could get a buy one/get one carton of orange juice. She checked with the cashier and sauntered off — no rush — to get her OJ while I was standing there behind her.

It was the look on the woman’s face that set me off. She just seemed sort of oblivious and anesthetized, with a sleepy smirk of contentment. “OH COME ON,” I said to her in all caps as she drifted away, no urgency whatsoever.

This sort of thing irritates the piss out of me. She could have at least apologized for delaying me and it would have been fine. Had it been me, I would have apologized and sprinted to get my items. I have done that before and only when nobody else was behind me and after telling the cashier I would be right back (if there’s a line behind me, I figure I’m out of luck and don’t get the item). I try not to get in anyone’s way in these situations.

I realized I am overthinking this and this all sounds insane but that woman was a symbol of one of the things I hate: People who move slowly when they are physically capable of going faster. If you want to move slowly in some blissed-out manner, that’s your prerogative. But do not hold up other people. (This obviously does not apply to people who are not able-bodied enough to hustle.) That’s what kills me: The sheer obliviousness, the total inconsideration, of people who are unaware that society has lined up behind them and waiting on them to move at an acceptable human pace. On the road, the equivalent is people who don’t move as far as they can to the left when making a left turn, so nobody can get by and traffic backs up. And they sit there, completely clueless and under the mistaken impression that they are skilled drivers. Get out of my way. Just make some sort of effort. Just a little hustle. Are you sentient? Are you alive?! Do you have any idea what’s going on?!?

The torture did not end there, my friends. I got out of line behind Pokey and got in another line. Of course — of course — the guy in front of me had a problem with his card so I was delayed with my one item. Then his phone rang, which slowed things down further, but of course you always have to answer your phone because you’d hate to inconvenience someone, right? “FOR FUCK’S SAKE,” I said in all caps to nobody in particular.

I found a free self-checkout and had rung up my purchase in 0.038 seconds, because I am halfway competent. Meanwhile, the guy on the phone was still figuring out how to pay for his purchases. As I left, Pokey was just then drifting listlessly back to the self-checkout, no doubt exhausted from her epic marathon all the way to the other side of the store. She is probably still loading the groceries into her car as I write this.

So that was my evening. I guess I’m so in wedding planning mode that I’m all about getting shit done and have less tolerance than normal for delays. Anyway, I was over it like 30 seconds after I got home. They were the best breadcrumbs I ever had.

Take This Papacy and Shove It

The scene is the human resources office at the Vatican. Pope Benedict XVI waits outside the HR director’s office, one last time reading over a document he has written. The phone rings and the secretary picks it up.

Secretary (after hanging up): He’ll see you now.

The pope nods and walks into the office. It is a drab room with a fern and a Successories poster on the wall that says “Determination” over a picture of a mountain. Without getting up, the HR director gestures for the pontiff to sit.

HR Director: Good afternoon, your holiness. I understand you have a personnel matter to discuss with me.

Pope: Yes. I have a letter for you.

The HR director reads the letter and frowns.

HR Director: I must say, this comes as a surprise. You’ve been with the Vatican for a number of years.

Pope: Since 2005.

HR Director: Yes, I recall the white smoke. Why resign? I thought the terms of your contract were generous. Lifetime tenure is not a perk that one can find at any organization.

Pope: That is true. But as I move further into my ninth decade, I find that I need a change. I’ve been with the church for decades and as I get older, I find it harder to muster the energy required for my office. I trust nearly three week’s notice will be sufficient?

HR Director: Certainly, your holiness. I’m sure we can find a replacement by the end of the month.

Pope: Fine. I’m willing to help train the new pontiff if needed.

HR Director (with a quizzical expression): Can I ask a question? Are you certain there’s not more behind this resignation? It’s the first for a pope since 1415.

Pope: Well … oh, what the hey. I’ll just say it. It’s Federico.

HR Director: In the PR department?

Pope (sighs): He’s been driving me crazy. For years. Always late with everything and I’m getting exhausted with sending him reminders to turn in his work. His spelling is atrocious. He takes way too many personal calls. Plus, he refuses to wash out the coffee pot. And have you heard the way he whistles in his cubicle? The man actually whistles. I swear I can’t even …

HR Director (interrupting): Well, I suppose there are a number of factors at work in your abdication. You’ll be happy to note that we do offer a generous severance package. Now, as for your exit interview, would the 28^th be a good day?

Pope: Yes. And I’ll turn in my ID card at that time.

Apropos of Nothing

There was a refreshing lack of traffic this morning. I’m hoping that means (knock on wood) that people stayed home from work due to the Mega Blizzard and I will have no trouble getting home tonight. It’s pleasant to be the only driver on a snowy road.

Beyonce seems like one of those artists for whom, if you have any criticisms, you are just a hater. I guess Adele would be another one. For instance, if you think the transitions between songs in a Super Bowl medley were clunky and killed the momentum or if you think an entire album of breakup songs might be laying it on a little thick, you don’t have a legitimate point. It’s just blind, unreasoning hate. And haters gon’ hate.  

We are still having a leak dripping down that pipe into our basement. The roofers and plumbers have been out several times and it’s condensation dripping down from the pipe near the roof. As long as it’s not the pipes or the roof actually leaking, I’m not going to worry about it. I’m not going to make myself sick because of an occasional drip onto a concrete floor. They said to fix it for certain, they’d have to replace the cast iron pipe near the roof but that would mean knocking through the wall and it’s just not worth the money or disruption.

I hate Andy Bernard on The Office. How dare he go away for three months and come back to work and collect a bonus check like nothing ever happened? How dare he sail to a distant island and let his girlfriend worry that he might be dead? Steve and I applauded last night when Erin dumped Andy. I hope next week’s episode opens with a shot of him in the parking lot carrying his belongings to his car for the final time. Caaaaan’t staaaaaand.

X-Box Kinect is kind of fun. I guess I’m doing well with the Wall Breaker game because I am setting personal high scores every time I play.

Why do pop singers compare themselves and their lovers to Romeo and Juliet like it’s pure romance? Do they not know they both died at the end? Did they fall asleep in high school literature class and miss that?

You Bring Me No Comfort

I recently realized that I’m not comforted by a lot of the comfort foods that most people seem to enjoy. I am left physically and emotionally bereft by these foodstuffs.

The classic meal on a cold day seems to be tomato soup and grilled cheese. No thanks. I don’t like tomatoes unless they’re in sauce so I wouldn’t eat the soup. Grilled cheese is one of those foods that I would eat if someone were serving it but I don’t like that much. I don’t think I’ve ever actually made a grilled cheese for myself.

I’ve also never made macaroni and cheese for myself. Again, if it’s on the menu, I’ll eat it but I don’t crave it like people seem to. I barely even know where to buy mac and cheese in the supermarket. And I guess it comes with … packets of cheese and you spray that on the macaroni? I’m an idiot about that. The idea of cutting up a hot dog and putting it in the mac and cheese is completely alien to me. Rather than bringing comfort, that would actually distress me. I also agree with the person who recently said artisan mac and cheese should not exist. I hate when people try to gussy up simple foods with fancy ingredients. The beauty of food like pizza and sandwiches is that they’re simple and fun and a pinch of saffron adds nothing.

Chili? No thanks. Can’t stand it. Don’t like the beans and cannot deal with green peppers. It’s disgusting. Just absolutely repellent to me.

The Super Bowl commercials reminded me how much I hate Doritos. I don’t know why. Even the sight of the bag on TV is nasty looking to me. I’ve eaten Doritos like six times in my life and I know that makes me weird.

I eat my share of crap but I don’t tie it that much to comfort situations. When it snows, I don’t go into comfort food mode and eat a bunch of snacks. I just pretty much carry on like normal. I don’t even indulge that much at the Super Bowl. I watch it at my parents’ house and we just have a regular dinner. Last week it was a casserole, not some insane quantity of crap. As an appetizer, we had cheese and crackers so that was the one indulgence. I didn’t drink. Even when the Eagles played the Super Bowl, we didn’t even eat anything until after the game because we were nervous and caught up in the action. I was sober.

It’s not like I’m some ascetic for whom sunflower seeds are an indulgence. I guess I do have my own comfort foods. Chocolate is an obvious one, as is ice cream of any flavor. I guess chicken is a sort of comfort food to me, as I do enjoy thighs and wings, boiled being the best kind. I also like eggs.

But of those comfort foods, I don’t eat them when it’s cold or I’m feeling low. They’re just foods I crave. I eat because I’m hungry and fat.

Victoria Jackson sounds even crazier when you remove her punctuation

I’m just really tired of the white male and especially the white conservative Christian male being attacked in cartoons movies TV shows politics Affirmative Action etc it’s like in order to fix the “discrimination” problem culture flipped the racism from “against blacks” to “against whites” why do we have to be “against” anyone aren’t we all equal just for the record white men invented rockets space travel airplanes the automobile the English language the U.S.A. most medical advances electricity television telescope microscope Ivy League Universities the computer the Internet and on and on I think white men should be praised and respected white Christian Conservative Men especially should be loved and adored they were the backbone and originators of the greatest nation on earth we need more of them now in November 2012 the Blaze reported that Alec Baldwin tweeted Obama’s re-election signaled the end of white middle-aged Christian male dominance maybe that’s why our country is going to pot our huge deficit foreign attacks crashing economy racial and class warfare immigration problems bigger government disappearing freedom growing poverty sky-rocketing unemployment rancid immorality more pregnant teens etc etc the end of white middle-aged Christian male dominance I’m just saying find a white middle-aged Christian man today and hug him and then encourage him and your white Christian sons to stand up be leaders again and save our country from the God-hating communists like Alec Baldwin and Obama