Godammit, I’m Mad!

Last night I attended the annual Port of Los Angeles Lobster Festival, drawn by the promise of a KISS tribute band composed of midgets.  It was a warm, humid evening, and hundreds of people wandered around happily wearing stupid red lobster hats, drinking beer and enjoying the opportunity to have a blast for only $7.

Bikers, home-girls, dock workers, head-bangers, shirtless Samoans, old people and little kids mingled together in perfect harmony.  When “Shorty’s Little Kiss Band” took the stage, it was a sight that brought pure joy to every face in the crowd. Raucous midgets in KISS make-up are the answer to everything! I didn’t recognize most of the songs but I figured out how to do the heavy metal hand sign and hollered appreciation with all my lung power.

From now on, I will be proselytizing that “Midgets Set You Free.” It’s the best time I’ve had in months. You can check out some other midget acts for hire over here at Shorty’s Little People Talent agency.

While searching for images of midgets, I glanced at a Q & A thing about which word is correct to use for Little People. Someone complained that the very question implied an “othering” of the group under discussion.  Uh-oh!

Today, in an essay about the obvious racism behind the right-wing attacks on health care reform, I read that:

“This noise is about race. It is about “othering” a President who is seen as a symbol of white dispossession: dispossession of white hegemony, white entitlement, white expectation, and white power, unquestioned and unchallenged from the darker skinned other.”

Yeah, baby! I couldn’t agree more.  But “othering” is going to be hard to beat for the title of most awful new buzzword. Ugh!

Who would like to nominate another linguistic crime or misdemeanor?

A few days ago, my friend R and I ventured into a Free People boutique, even though we’ve already agreed that their shit is much too expensive. We were both having a Fat Day, but we solved most of our other problems over lunch.

Free People is a shop and brand that I don’t quite understand, like Anthropologie. All the stuff seems retro and young, in a bad way. As we walked toward the sale rack in Free People, we noticed a little dwarf sitting outside the dressing rooms. Suddenly, two other dwarfs emerged from the rooms.

The waiting dwarf scrutinized the outfits modeled on the other two, and said to one of them “It’s cute, I think you should get it.” The girl was wearing some kind of bright little shirt that reached her feet. She looked skeptical.

R and I exchanged excited glances once we were out of sight. We left the shop and immediately expressed out pleasure in seeeing the midgets, even though they were actually dwarfs. We wondered what made them shop at Free People, and whether it was known as being midget-friendly. We also wondered how you could tell if something looked “cute,” since whatever it was would always be misproportioned.

So basically, we allowed ourselves to be mean and insensitive. We figured we could get away with it, since in our everyday lives both of us try hard to do the right thing.

Tonight, I had an uncontrollable urge to buy harem pants, which has been the farthest thing from my mind from the moment I first saw harem pants. But suddenly, now that they’ve largely disappeared from the online shopping sites, I wanted some. My Google search took me to Free People, where I ordered a pair of hideous black rayon harem pants on sale.

The dwarfs are happy now, I can feel it. When the harem pants arrive, I will be reminded of my bad character. I will keep them as a reminder of Karma, and I might even wear them so that Little People and big people too can have a laugh at my expense (which came to nearly $60 after shipping and tax.)

When I saw this picture today, I swear to god my first thought was “Where did Paris Hilton find that horrible midget?”

I’m so embarrassed.

I’ve been wondering where the Republicans have been hiding poor Bristol, and now I know. They’re hiding her on buses and planes, along with her sister, the very hot and soon to be impregnated WIllow Palin.

Wasn’t Bristol supposed to be finishing high school? Oh well, who needs schoolin’.

Why isn’t Bristol allowed to appear with Mrs. P? I just read that Mrs. P brought little Piper onto the Hockey rink where they were booed, in the hopes that no one would boo at a little girl! Mrs. P admitted this, so I guess she still doesn’t think it’s wrong to exploit her children.

Bristol, when your mom turns her back, run like the wind! Actually, make sure you get Trig first, so he can grow up with his real mom.  Don’t bother with that dummy Levi. Let your mom have him, he might come in handy later.

Here’s another nice picture from the McCain Palin tour, with Grandpa enjoying a midget as Cindy looks on, praying for a chance to take some Oxycontin.

It was almost sad, but you know, it wasn’t! It felt good to see Grandpa wandering around like an arthritic midget, baring his horrible teeth in a mean grimace. He was Danny DeVito to Obama’s Fred Astaire.

Who would you choose to run the country: An angry hissing old bastard who can’t open his mouth without lying, or a gracious, brainy idealist who is comfortable in his own skin?

Unless an October Surprise of monumental import comes to pass, Obama has it in the bag.

Just to cover the main points of the evening:

1. How many “My Friends” can anyone take?? All My Friends actually sent me text messages that began with the words “My Friends!” (I texted in reply, “U Hate Freedom!”)

2. Grandpa’s whistling S’s inspired a Whistling S contest between me and my nephew. I won!

3. No one left me any chicken wings! Fuckers.

Ah, but how gratifying to hear the post-debate blather at CNN. They all admitted that Grandpa was a repellent little shit. Not in those exact words, though.

Did everybody see McCain refuse to shake Obama’s hand? Nice touch, Grandpa! Now, we must turn our attention to Mrs. P, who probably thinks she holds the winning hand.