Behold the Face of Depravity. Well, Half of It, Anyways.
This beast of a man has no shame.

He has denied my loved ones the pleasure of my cassoulet by stealing the dish in which it is baked in all its garlicky, sausage-y glory. He has kept it hidden away in his hellish pit of an apartment, probably using it as a chamber pot as he plays video games and watches NHL and reads his Gaiman books, too lazy to walk to the bathroom.

How does it feel, Dilf, knowing you gave this man rides back and forth to the airport and picked him up from the train when it was raining and invited him over to play poker, while he keeps you from one of your few joys in life?

He has the audacity to show up on Thanksgiving with a cunning smile on his face. Oh, casssoulet's not on the menu? Somehow, he knew that...

I know why Kansas is filled with such fervent believers. It is because they lived with the devil for so many years. Now he's here in Illinois. Then our governor went crazy. Coincidence?

Also, he has one spot left for his Superbowl squares.
Debate Topic: Worst Movie Poster
This isn't a worst MOVIE discussion; it's a worst POSTER discussion.

Exhibit A., nominated by this guy:

Exhibit B., From a Belarus site:

That's Drew Barrymore and Adam Sandler in "50 First Dates," in case you were wondering.

Finally, Exhibit C, which I chanced across myself:

If you find a worse one, feel free to link it in the comment section.
My Sister is Pure Evil, and I Have Proof
My sister amuses herself by forwarding on the insipid, vomit-inducing chain emails she gets from her sister-in-law. Despite the promises of "blessings" or "good fortune" or "riches" she's promised if she forwards the messages on to 8 or 10 or 25 people or whatever, she only sends them to one person: me.

I'm going to send her Sysm's email. I think he would find these far more entertaining than I do.

The last one she sent me was particularly heinous.

Not only did it contain trite religious clichés ("If God brings you to it, He will bring you through it") AND horrible warnings about what God will do to you if you don't pray long enough (I guess He has a stopwatch) AND pathetic attempts to make you feel guilty("If I don't get this back, I will know you really didn't read it. I got this from someone and thought the last part was really a good thought. Too bad that the person who sent it to me did not know 10 people who would admit to knowing the Lord"), but it also had lovely artwork like this:

and this:

and, most horrifying of all, a Thomas Kinkade picture that the email dared to state was "rumored to carry a miracle!"

I happen to know that a Thomas Kinkade painting is incapable of "carrying a miracle," because as I have stated before, Thomas Kinkade is an agent of Satan.

If you love Jesus, you will tell at least 10 people about this.

As for my sister, she deserves to be encrusted with itchy pustules. All over her body. In pretty Thomas Kinkade pastel colors.
The Duck, Continued...
Chapter Two

He swam. He jumped. He swam. He jumped.

He swam he jumped he swam he jumped he swam he jumped...

"Oooh, I can't DO it anymore," said the duck. So, after he did that stuff, he wanted to go to sleep.

"Remember, that's good to be done," said the duckling, "from all that swimming and jumping."

End of Chapter Two

Chapter Three: The Ducklings

The third day, the duckling woke up. So then he went for a walk, dancing all along.

"That was the best walk ever," he sang. "That was a great day," said the duck.


He ate breakfast. But the mommy ducks read books.

End of Chapter Three
Okay, People Gotta Be Nasty. Now Get Ready for a Cute Bomb of Massive Proportions.

That does it. Just for that, people, you're getting doused with cuteness. I will be printing ÜberYounger's first novel, titled The Duck


One day, there was a little duck who wanted to be like the others. But the duck didn't know how to be like other ducks. The next day, the duck learned how to swim. So, the duck started to think, the others started to laugh! "Oh, no!" said the goose.

end of prologue

Chapter 1: The Fish and the Duck

The next day, the duckling woke up so he could go to a party. He was EXCITED! So, he went to the party. That night.

Oh, MAN, was he excited!

The ducklings were hosting. The duck was so very excited that he went. So he went to that party.

"That party was AWESOME!" said the duck.

That duck was so happy from that party, he could not sleep.

"That was the greatest party," he said.

We'll return later for more of The Duck by ÜberYounger
Until Something Truly Momentous Occurs, This Is the Last Political Discussion for a While
It hasn't even been a week, and already minute and trivial aspects from Obama's presidency are being picked apart and analyzed and assumptions about him and his presidency are being made.

My own personal beliefs are this: there were only two people born human without sin, and Obama ain't one of 'em. He'll do some good things, he'll make some mistakes, and he'll do some stuff with consequences we won't recognize as good or bad until later.

I don't think he's a messiah who will do nothing wrong, but I do think he will try his best. He's been studying history for clues, and trying to be politically savvy. Being politically savvy might lead to some questionable choices in my eyes, but that's why I'm not a politician.

I just hope he manages not to succumb to either the burden of excessively high expectations nor the unnecessarily nitpicky criticisms or downright expressions of ill-will coming from Limbaugh/O'Reilly and such. I just hope he does a decent job and doesn't make anything worse.

I don't want to be rich enough to buy my own private plain, a personal tanning bed or even the granite countertops and stainless steel appliances HGTV tells me are essential to living.

What I do want is affordable health care without an insurance company choosing my doctor or deciding what treatment I should receive. I want my kids to receive an education that is more than a simple recitation of facts and rules to spit out onto a standardized test. I want to be able to buy and consume food without fear of being poisoned. That goes for air and water, too. I want to have a measure of security, that my home and income won't be unceremoniously yanked out from under me through no fault of my own. The utilities which people need for survival, like gas and electricity and water, need to be publicly owned and regulated, because the laws of supply and demand do not apply. I want a diversified marketplace, to end the monopolistic chokehold huge conglomerates have upon our nation's commerce. I want "truth" and "justice" to be the "American Way" -- or at least come a lot closer to it that it has been since the dawn of the millenium.

I don't expect Obama to do all of those things, but if he at least moves in the right direction, I will be happy.
I'm Either Bored or Terrified. I'll Decide Later.

Thank you, Mr. Pop.

Now, I've been taking Benadryl before bedtime because I have ongoing allergies that won't die, and it helps me sleep through the night.

The problem is, Dilf STILL manages to fall asleep before me, and is unable to stop me from watching horrible movies like this. It's all Dilf's fault!

Anyways, one of two twin infant boys is kidnapped in the movie. Somehow, I dreamed those two boys were sleeping in ÜberYounger's room, and the kidnapping was taking place. I must sleep with my eyes open, because I could see the greenish glow of Younger's macabre night light (I fail to see how she finds a sickly green light comforting, but whatever) and I was combining dreams with reality and moaning, "No, NO!"

Dilf woke me up and I tried to go back to sleep (I was too embarrassed to explain the bad dream), only then I (and Dilf) heard the stuff on top of his dresser rattle. The only other time I heard the stuff on top of his dresser rattle was during an earthquake (which obviously doesn't happen often in the Chicago suburbs). When I checked the news to see if we suffered some sort of minor earthquake, I found this.

So, there's always that to look forward to. In case you thought all was well in the world.
Here's a Reason Obama Gives Me Hope
The Lawn Rangers will be marching in the inaugural parade today.

Here he is in Chicago's St. Patrick's Day parade (What? His name is O'Bama!) wielding one of the group's plungers long before he hit the national stage:

I don't know if other presidents have included things like this in their parades, but it makes me insanely happy that Obama is doing it.

The whole lawnmower drill team group makes me happy. Witness the "controversy" between the drill teams. My favorite quotes come at the bottom of the article.

Once again, despite Blagojevich, I'm proud to be from Illinois.
I'm Feeling Better. A bit. I think. Well, My Headache's Going Away.
And Dilf has stopped cowering. Mostly. A bit.

I was watching the PBS series Make 'Em Laugh last night, which focused on female comedians. They talked about some of the pioneering female stand-ups, like Jean Carroll and Phyllis Diller and how much of their material contained an undercurrent of rage. Women had very defined roles back then, and they were beating their brains, which they weren't encouraged to use very much, against the wall.

I wasn't alive back then, so I can't attest to how women back then felt. I do remember my dad telling me how, when he married my mom, his co-workers asked if he was going to "let" my mother work. My dad (who would also parrot back racist statements he heard back to the statement-maker's face at a later time, replacing the n-word with "Republican" -- "I have no problem with Republicans, I just wouldn't want my daughter to marry one!") replied, puzzled, "There isn't any 'let' or 'not let;' it's up to her."

That, in turn, was met by puzzlement by the guys at work. Not a concept they grasped apparently. But where was I?

Oh, yes. I can't experience that rage because I don't have to deal with it. Like the transgender/gay people, I can try to put myself in their shoes, but I can't actually FEEL it, I can only IMAGINE.

Now, the rage I CAN feel, is the "damned-if-you-do, damned-if-you-don't" rage. Because I've worked, and I've been the mother/housewife. And they both suck. Not because of the people in my life, who I love and who are NOT the problem, but the "They" people. The people who have been in power since... well, I think Ronald Reagan and Gordon Gecko entered the scene, at least. There were other horrible societal leaders before then, but I didn't know them. I know these "Them." And they infuriate me.

But part of my rage is directed inward, partly because I let "Them" get to me, and partly because I haven't outsmarted "Them" yet. And I think in many ways, I've been hiding from "Them" in my cozy little house, located in a neighborhood full of non-"Thems."

And I think my anger, rage and irritation is building because it's time for me to face "Them," and take "Them" on.

"They" are going down, man. "They"'re going down hard.

Once I figure out how to do it.
More Samples of my 18th Century-Styled Brooding
What is the point of eating? What pleasure can you get from it, knowing that it's just going to kill you? And is that what life has become, a series of actions aimed at avoiding cancer?

And I hate clothes, and fashion. It's all a bunch of stupid, meaningless crap.

Also, as I no longer procreate, why do I care if someone does or does not want to have sex with me? Do I care if I "look good" when I go to the grocery store? And if so, why? Do I care what the guy stocking shelves thinks of me? The lady ringing me up at the cash register?

And why is the grocery store my only outside destination, besides school, which is really my daughters' destination? Do I even care about this, because what's the point of going anywhere else?

It's all smoke and mirrors or lies, this life.

I await death.
I'm Writing -- Like an 18th Century Russian Novelist
Dilf was reading the Utne Reader this morning, and he pointed out this article to me. In it was a picture of a guy in a blonde wig and a plaid skirt which caused Dilf to remark that he doesn't need to be so confused so early in the morning before his coffee had a chance to kick in.

I became irrationally angry, first because the guy wasn't dressing in traditional Native American tribal garb, choosing the blonde wig and such. Then I realized I had a deeper anger toward the whole issue. Again, I realize it's irrational and I'm not really angry at anyone, but...

Here's the thing: whether transgender or gay activist mean to send this message or not, I am hearing that heterosexuals are lucky because they don't have to hide their true selves, the way gay and transgendered people do.

But we do. We all do. We all put on a facade, don't we? Doesn't it eat at us? Aren't we all, in some way or another, faking it?

I'm not trying to compare anyone's struggle, and I can't imagine what life is like for someone else. I'm not trying to say "Poor Me" or "Poor Anyone Else."

But is a wedding, for example, really "celebrating" heterosexual love, as gay activists seeking the right to marry purport? Or does it put forth some idealized, unrealistic version of what "They" decided it should be? A version that can't help but lead to disappointment, because it's complete and utter fiction? Gay people might want to rethink having a set of standards imposed upon their relationships after all. Everything looks better from the outside looking in.

Don't "they" also do that to motherhood and masculinity and any number of human attributes, feelings and ways of living? How things "should" be, and how incomplete, inept or just plain wrong you are if you don't live up to the hype?

Who are the "theys" who decide upon "ideals"? Where are they and how can I kick them in the crotch? I know this is a common theme of mine. But as I navigate life and what I'm even doing on this planet, I can't help but butt my head against this time and time again.

The point is, I was momentarily jealous of these people who could get together and dress up and feel free to be themselves for a while. Truthfully, I've been conforming for so long, I don't know if I can even find the "real" me anymore.

But I have to stop thinking because my head hurts; it's going to snow again soon.
I Am Writing
My friend wants to write a screenplay with me. We sat down and came up with a basic plan for what could be a perfectly marketable movie. But that's just the problem; I can't write it because it's not a story I feel like telling.

To replace it, I've been trying to come up with a story I DO feel like telling, but I'm having a really hard time.

I don't want to sit there and gripe like some kind of Andy Rooney with tits, nor do I want to write an unrealistic piece of sentimental claptrap. I don't want to write some heavy-handed moralistic fable, either.

What do I want to write?

What do people want to see?

What do I want to say?

What will people find entertaining?

I am at a loss, so I keep writing stream of consciousness, hoping something will come to me. But it doesn't.

So. Anything interesting happen to you that I can exploit into a major motion picture? Or a small indie pic? Anything? Anyone?
I May Bitch, But I'm Normally Not A Bitch
I complain bitterly and often, but I rarely do anything about it. Today, I must've had an itchy trigger finger.

I voluntarily produce the ÜberGirl's school yearbook using an online dynamic publishing program from the school photographer. In order to access the site and get the work done, I need to put in my school ID, my ID and a password they provide.

I received an email with everything except the password, so I emailed back asking for it. My sales rep, who had simply forwarded on the information she herself had provided, said she was sure the computer person (I'm not sure of this person's actual function within the company) would email it to me.

Well, she did, only she made the mistake of lying to me. See, I don't mind mistakes. I don't blow up at mistakes. But when someone lies to cover her own ass, especially in such a small, stupid matter with so small a consequence, it bugs me. She said, "Here's a copy of the original email sent to you January 5..."

So I replied, "No, HERE'S a copy of the email sent to me January 5" and I cut and pasted it. I added (rather snarkily, I admit) "But thanks for the password, anyways."

What bugged me is that she went back in and changed it. If she had re-sent me the original email, mistakenly believing the password was in there, I wouldn't have been mad. Slightly frustrated, but not mad. But she KNEW the original was incorrect, and she CHANGED it to pretend it had been there all along. She must have issues.

Anyways, she responded to my snarky email by claiming my sales rep had made the mistake. My sales rep's only mistake was trusting that this crazy lady did her job correctly.

So, I sent my sales rep a letter that said, "I don't want to get into a pissing match with [computer lady]. I know that you just forwarded me the information that she sent you in the first place, so I don't know why she's trying to suggest that a)I can't read emails or b) you made a mistake. I just want you to know that you and I are cool. I just think she's a bit odd to try and cover up something that wasn't that important in the first place."

I know all of this stuff is small. But people like that computer lady are ruining the world in large AND small ways.
Stymied as to Why the "Third World" Might Hate Us?

Every day I read about how people are "suffering" as our economy plummets. The paper doesn't chronicle the lives of people who are ACTUALLY suffering -- those who were hanging on by a thread only to have that thread snap, or those who never had a thread to begin with; instead, I am reading about people who are used to having 50 grand in available credit and now must make do with 25 grand, or those who can't waltz into an upscale retailer and buy a designer handbag without a thought but who now must shop at TJ Maxx or Marshall's or something. They can't toss off thousands or even hundreds of dollars without a care anymore. The horror!

So, what the newspaper is portraying as economic devastation and deprivation is how I have been living for years. Actually, they're still better off. And you know what? I am middle class. There are millions of Americans who would love to be as well off as me, I would wager. But apparently, I've been wallowing (and continue to wallow) in squalor. If the media is to believed, which it isn't.

This makes me think of Vaniqa. What link could there possibly be? I will tell you.

When Elder was a bitty baby, I hardly watched TV but had NPR running nearly nonstop. Thus I was able to hear a story in early 2001 about drug companies who didn't produce an anti-malarial drug when it could save lives, but only when it could be used to inhibit facial hair growth. I specifically remember the Doctors without Borders guy debating the smug drug company rep, finishing with an ominous, "Someday, you're going to die. And St. Peter isn't going to care about your 'profitability!'"

Fast forward 7 or 8 months, to September 11 and the following weeks. Remember how commercial TV went on hiatus for a week or two? And only news coverage played, commercial-free? Well, I remember the very first commercial that I saw following that ad-free period: you guessed it, Vaniqa. It had this very dramatic, echoing theme music... "VANIQA vaniqa vaniqa" that was just ridiculous.

The juxtaposition of what corporations WANT us to THINK is important versus what actually IS important was painfully clear to me at that moment. Really? You want me to get bent out of shape about some stray hairs above my lip when thousands of people just died a horrific death? I can't believe I went 10 days without agonizing about that, but you're right! I must do something about this dire situation IMMEDIATELY!

That's what George Bush wanted us to do, forget about any serious issues. We were urged not to focus on the frightening events that had just befell our nation, remember? We were urged to GO SHOPPING. Do not use this historic event to reflect upon the meaning of life, or contemplate the ramifications of what had just happened. We should GO BACK TO NORMAL, and NORMAL meant comforting ourselves with material goods and frivolous services.

Right now, we have another "disaster" of sorts. We can be hanging our heads at our collective foolishness, and rebuild our economy by building things that will make an impact on our world's future -- like clean sources of energy that don't destroy our planet, transportation systems that move people and things quickly, cleanly and safely, safe sustainable healthy agriculture, education, and reliable affordable health care. We NEED clean air and water to survive, we don't need ridiculous and useless status symbols that demonstrate nothing but vapidity and stupidity.

Or, we can continue to pursue empty vanity and self-worship.
A New Era in Diversion Dawns
Just when I thought I'd have to tackle one of a number of serious topics on this blog, and just when I thought reality television was dead, something so deliciously awful appeared on the horizon via Dish Network. While the History Channel has been wasting its time examining Mayan Calendars and hidden messages from Nostradamus since the beginning of 2009, they needed only to preview some of their fellow cable network programming to find a real sign of the impending apocalypse: Tool Academy.

Oh, Tool Academy, you are just what I need to avoid thinking about the problems in my own life or in the lives of my fellow countrymen. I cannot resist you. See for yourselves the glory of which I speak:

I now have the perfect tool to help my neighbor get elected to the school board. "Fellow citizens of Downers Grove, without a proper and rigorous education, this is what our children may become..."
There's a Hidden Message in This Video

Actually, the message is in the song. Not the video. Sorry for any added confusion.
Don't Fear the Rich and "Powerful"

When I worked for a low-income housing tax credit syndicator in the mid-to-late 1990's, one of my coworkers had formerly worked as a personal assistant to the CEO of a major commercial builder. He had money, political connections and all the other trappings of a "power broker." When she left, she stole the "handbook" that all personal assistants were given (a highly secret document; it said so on the inside front cover!) that set out the guidelines (no, demands. "Guidelines" suggest they had some leeway) for the care and handling of this big bad mac daddie.

It was a thick manual. It didn't cover extraneous issues like fire safety, or other company business; it dealt solely with how this man demanded to be treated.

When and where to pick up his dry cleaning, for instance. When his wife's birthday and when his wedding anniversary occurred each year, along with a list of "acceptable" gifts. Also, and most hilariously, what he ate.

While the entire book was hysterical and ridiculous, the "breakfast" section sticks in my mind. He was to be served a lightly-toasted bagel of a particular size and from a particular bakery; it specified the amount of cream cheese and to what "margins" it was to be spread, as well as the jelly (flavor and brand also specified, of course), which was to be spread to a certain margin within the cream cheese. If he did not get this for breakfast, to his exact specifications, there would be hell to pay.

You'd be fired as a personal assistant, and the CEO's day would be ruined. Maybe his week. Maybe his life.

So, whenever I ponder how much control these "men" or "women" have over our economy, our nation or our lives, I think about what absolute helpless babies they are. I picture Mr. CEO left to his own devices, trying to figure out how the bagel gets toasted, and how on earth that square block of cream cheese winds up on top of it. ("Do I rub it on top? What about the jelly? I'm lost, LOST!")
We've Been Going About This Gay Marriage Thing All Wrong

And not just gay marriage -- the whole issue of prejudice has been mishandled in this country. I have a better idea. Or, an idea. It may not be better.

We've been trying to force or convince or otherwise change people into non-haters. I don't think it's going to happen. I think we should stop trying to fight it, but just make it a little more democratic. After all, we all have our prejudices. Why not give them all a shot?

Every year, every registered voter gets to write the name of their object of derision on a slip of paper which gets put into a huge raffle drum, and whoever is written on that piece of paper is subject to discrimination for one year. They can't marry, those who are married will have their marriages invalidated, they can be denied housing, lose their jobs (especially if they're teachers), be mistreated by restaurant staff, and otherwise be shunned and mistreated by the general public.

(You can't take it back when your choice hurts your friends in loved ones. If you put "Guys Named Todd" into the drum, you can't say, "Wait, I didn't mean that Todd!" Too late. What's done is done.)

After that group's year is up, they can't be chosen for another twelve years. Another group is chosen in its place. And so on and so on, ad infinitum.

I'm torn between two groups: artificial blondes in Lexus SUV's who have gotten a mani/pedi in the last three months, or guys like this or this. You can't change your DNA! You're not a lizard or a cat! Stop your foolishness! And now I'm drawing even more attention to you, which is what you obviously want! AAAAARGH!

Where was I?

Ah, yes.

There's always the chance that we vote to end this program and not discriminate against ANYBODY, once we've all had the chance to experience discrimination first hand. I mean, I'm in trouble once someone tosses "hairy toes" into the drum. I'm sure every one of you is at risk in some way, too. But, fair is fair.

If I want to see that stop-sign-ignoring, gold-digging Lexus whore writhe in torment, I have to be willing to take my chances.
It's too bad I wasn't blogging much around Christmas...
Because I missed the opportunity to present this:

Better late than never, though, right?
I Suggest Mob Rule and Mayhem as a Refreshing Change of Pace

So, Dilf and I were watching 20/20 last week (more like flipping between it and about 35 other shows we had only a marginal interest in seeing), and this segment got me thinking.

I was pissed (imagine that!) because they pictured these sociopaths getting "yelled at" by Congress and protesters, and portrayed that as some sort of "punishment" for their crimes.

That's no punishment. They don't care what someone thinks about them, or how their actions impact the lives of others. These people aren't comically inept characters on "Mayberry RFD" or "Gilligan's Island" whose antics cause the town to close down for a day or foil yet another rescue attempt. They didn't get rich by accident, and they sure as hell know about economics. They knew their actions could or would wreak financial havoc someday. They did it anyways.


So, heaping public scorn upon them won't affect them one bit. Unless we bring back the public stockade, and people can spit directly on them and ruin their expensive suits with bird poop. But I have a suggestion.

Release their addresses to the public and declare their homes "rule-free zones." Hey, they love de-regulation so much, I'm sure they'll be thrilled to have such "regulations" as anti-theft laws suspended on their properties. Then people can go to their houses and steal all their shit. Their curtains. Their duvet covers. Their martini shakers. All of it.

Police and/or military personnel will be on hand for crowd control and to make sure people don't physically harm each other fighting over a Tiffany lamp, but otherwise, anything goes.

They're such big fans of greed, I'm sure they'd understand.
Happy Freakin' New Year.

In order for the New Year to be better than the last, I and everyone will have to be less stupid than we were in 2008. I won't hold my breath. But I'll give it the old college try anyways. However, if I'm still as stupid as I was, which I fully suspect is the case, how will I know in order to fix it?

In other, totally unrelated news, I learned about this today.

I wish I could give you more, but right now I have cramps.
Name: Übermilf
Location: Chicago Area

If being easily irritated, impatient and rebellious is sexy, then call me MILF -- Übermilf.

So you want more huh?
Click here!

Perverts, scram. There's nothing for you here.

Now, who wants cupcakes?

I am Online
Add me to your Buddy List
Join my Chat Room
Send me E-mail

My site was nominated for Hottest Mommy Blogger!

adopt your own virtual pet!

follow me on Twitter
Design By:

Online Casino
Who links to me?

Listed on BlogShares
Blog Directory - Blogged Ubermilf at Blogged

My blog is worth $40,646.88.
How much is your blog worth?