Say it like it is!

This blog was originally posted on MySpace.

I don’t usually care for Bill Maher, but after I read the blog A politically motivated message posted by Heather today, I just knew I just had to repost. What do you think?

Oct. 13, 2006 | If you think the worst thing Congress doesn’t
protect young people from is Mark Foley, wake up and smell the
burning planet. The ice caps are cracking, the coral reefs are
bleaching, and we’re losing two species an hour. The birds have
bird flu, the cows have mad cow, and our poisoned groundwater has
turned spinach into a side dish of mass destruction. Our schools
are shooting galleries, our beaches are cancer wards, and under
George W. Bush — for the first time in 45 years — our country’s
infant mortality rate actually went up.

Read the labels on your food. It turns out the healthiest thing
you can put in your body is Mark Foley’s penis. He was probably
the first fruit those pages ever came into contact with that
wasn’t drenched in pesticide.

But that’s America for you — a red herring culture, always
scared of the wrong things. The fact is, there are a lot of
creepy middle-aged men out there lusting for your kids. They work
for MTV, the pharmaceutical industry, McDonald’s, Marlboro and K
Street. And recently, there’s been a rash of strangers making
their way onto school campuses and targeting our children for
death. They’re called military recruiters.

More young Americans were crippled in Iraq last month than in any
month in the past three years. And the scandal is that Mark Foley
wants to show them a good time before they go? When will our
closeted gay congressmen learn? Our boys aren’t for pleasure.
They’re for cannon fodder. They shouldn’t be another notch on
your bedpost. They should be a comma in Bush’s war. If I hear a
zipper, it had better be on a body bag.

Why aren’t Democrats and the media hammering away every day about
who we’re supposed to be fighting for over there and what the
plan is. Yes, Mark Foley was wrong to ask teenagers how long
their penises were — but at least someone on Capitol Hill was
asking questions. We’re the predators. Because we have an entire
economy built on asking young people what they want, making the
cheapest, sleaziest form of it they’ll accept, and selling it to
them until they choke on it and die.

You know who’s grabbing your kids at too young an age? Merck,
Pfizer and GlaxoSmithKline, by convincing you they’re depressed,
hyperactive or suffering from attention-deficit disorder and so
they must all get medicated. The drug dealers hooking your kids
aren’t in South America, they’re in the halls of Congress handing
out campaign donations to your congressmen. Mark Foley says he
never slept with those kids, and I believe him, because American
children are so hopped up on pills I doubt any of them could get
it up.

From 1995 to 2002, the number of children prescribed
antipsychotic drugs increased by over 400 percent. Either our
children are going insane — which we might look on as a problem
— or, more likely, we have, for profit, created a nation of
little junkies. So stop already with the righteous moral
indignation about predators — this whole country is trying to
get inside your kid’s pants because that’s where he keeps the
money Daddy gave him to stay out of his hair.

I don’t care if Mark Foley had been asking boys to describe their
penises because I have some sad news for you: Your kid is so
larded out on Cheetos and Yoo-hoo, he can’t even see his penis.
We live in a country where the ultimate consumer is an obese 16-
year-old hooked up at one end to a Big Gulp and at the other to a
PlayStation. So many of our kids today are fat drug addicts, it’s
almost as if Rush Limbaugh had had puppies.

In conclusion, we can pretend that the biggest threat to “our
children” is some creep on the Internet, or we can admit it’s Mom
and Dad. When your son can’t find France on a map, or touch his
toes with his hands, or understand that the ads on TV are lying
— including the one in which the Marine turns into Lancelot —
then the person fucking him is you.

— By Bill Maher



about moi…

Hi, my name is Cass. I am married to an amazing man who loves me unconditionally. I’m a stay at home mom to a rockin’ 2 year old boy who I call Monkey. I have an 12 year old step-daughter who lives in another state. We miss her daily. We also have two fur babies, Daisy and Jazz, who keep us on our toes. They are awesome!

I am a complete goofball, a photographer and a constant out loud thinker. I am a grammar challenged, vulgar, cursing, sex obsessed Big Mama fumbling through life. Among other things, I battle PCOS causing infertility, Bi Polar, Anxiety and OCD.

Currently I am riding the fertility roller coaster in an attempt to make Monkey #2. This blog is about a little of everything. I hope you enjoy. Read at your own risk!


my photography page:



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