Kiersten Marek:

Funny post about baby names!

Originally posted on The Wordslinger:

As the wife and I (but mainly the wife) reach halftime of pregnancy #3, I thought an update might be in order.  20 weeks down, 20 more to go.  Based on results from the first two matchups, I don’t expect this to go to overtime.  There’s no doubt that Mommy showed up ready to play, but as the half wore on, she seemed to tire and even had to fight off a few bouts of nausea.  The plan is to hydrate feverishly here at halftime and throughout the second half in an attempt to negate the effects of the impending summer heat.  It’ll be a grueling final 20 weeks, requiring stamina and endurance that I (a two-time marathoner) simply do not have.  But my wife is strong.  She’s been here before.  So buckle up for an exciting second half!

(This extremely long basketball metaphor, which ran its course at least…

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My Letter to Michelle Obama

Did any of you other liberals get the email from Michelle Obama yesterday entitled “Up Late”?  It started:

Dear Kiersten,

Every night in the White House, I see Barack up late poring over briefings, reading your letters, and writing notes to people he’s met.

I decided to write a response.

Dear Michelle,

Please tell Barack that I would prefer he not stay up late at night.  Sleep is one of the most important factors in mental health, and I would prefer to have a president who understood this and got his proper supply of Z’s.  Without sleep, a person can become quite emotionally imbalanced.  Without sleep, your body cannot properly rejuvenate to fight off disease and infection.

I like your husband very much and I want to see him survive for another term in the White House, as well as long into his retirement years.  Please tell Barack to go to bed and stop worrying so much about the next election.  The Republicans don’t stand a chance, IMHO.

Sincerely, Kiersten

What do you think, should the President stay up at night writing notes to people he’s met, or should he let his body and mind rejuvenate so he can make decisions and lead the free world? Just sayin’.

My Conscience Clause

I’m thinking about how my tax dollars are going to buy proton pump inhibitors for people who not only don’t have ulcers, don’t have raging gastric reflux– but people who tell me their stomachs are just fine!

I’m outraged. My religion, which I re-name weekly, forbids over-prescription of drugs of dubious benefit to people who don’t actually have a disease. My philosophy is called ‘evidence based’. It’s a minority religion, I’ll admit, but reality does have a way of sticking around whether it fits our narrative or not.

I demand that insurance companies stop funding proton-pump inhibitors for people who would do just fine with an occasional Tums. I demand that the secular authorities bow down to my authority as High Priestess (self-ordained) and re-arrange everyone’s insurance immediately.

Don’t whine to me that your stomach hurts. I have conscience, and I’m exercising it on you.

Edge of Glory

I’m trying to relax at home, my husband is watching TV but mutes most of the commercials because they get on my nerves. I hear subliminal messages in them and fear being turned into the Manchurian Shopper.

But now I have a new fear (bummer after a stressful enough day at work). There is a cheap, easily concealed device that can turn a simple credit card into a deadly weapon.

It’s called, Edge of Glory.

They call it a ‘knife sharpener’, but after you see the AmEx card cleaving a tomato like a samurai sword– will you ever feel secure again? Wallets full of razor-honed plastic, invisible to metal detectors. What could a terrorist do with this?

How will we feel safe in airport lines, knowing that the hair conditioner and nail file is confiscated– while the deadly weaponized driver’s license passes through undetected by the minimum-wage guys and gals we call, ‘security’?

The only safe course of action now is to print our picture ID on paper towels.

Laugh Out Loud


From Ellid via Daily Kos
comes a tale of a Christmas service gone horribly wrong…

Mum and I exchanged glances, and our friend June raised her eyebrows. June’s mother hissed, “This isn’t Lutheran!” and glared at the book fiercely enough that it’s a miracle it didn’t spontaneously combust in her hands. All around us people were wrinkling their brows and hesitantly singing along instead of making a joyful noise unto the Lord. It was not an auspicious beginning, and as we sat down Mum was muttering to June that this wasn’t close to the original German, which she’d studied in college.

There was more to come.

The Christmas Eve homily, which should have been based on the familiar story from Luke about the Holy Family in Bethlehem, was a rousing fire-and-brimstone call to repent and give one’s self to Christ to avoid the fires of hell and the horrors of the Last Judgment. Children who’d had visions of sugarplums dancing in their heads when they arrived at the church were shrieking in terror, while their parents stared in shock at their alleged shepherd preaching about the Apocalypse instead of Advent.

Mrs. Heley looked like she’d swallowed a lemon, whole.

The rest is hilarious. And that’s not all! If you link to Ellid now, you’ll get a bonus book review of that classic of American literature, ‘The Da Vinci Code’!

If this isn’t enough proof of Dan Brown’s mastery of English letters, consider the billions and billions many, many, many chapters, some only a few paragraphs, that make this book so easy to read while standing in line to have one’s junk touched by bored TSA workers in airports. And names like “Leigh Teabing” which sound like a rejected brand of Twining’s oolongs are so much more realistic than “Frodo” or “Tess.” And what’s not to love about a book where the female lead turns out to be not only the granddaughter of the murdered curator but a direct lineal descendant of the Merovingians AND Jesus H. Christ and his charming young wife Mary M. Christ?

Read the rest here. And let nothing you dismay.