the ghosts of blogging past
I realized (three years later) that it works out much better if I don't blog so early in the morning and just wait until I get to work. Actually, it's just that I've become less of a morning person than I used to. There was a time not too long ago when I would get up at 4am for no particular reason. Now, I cherish my sleep.
Anyhow, I thought that for the remainder of this month I would satisfy my own ego or something like that and post a "best of" from the past year. Hey, if I'm going to compile best of lists for every single form of entertainment out there, I can certainly compile my own, and it's not a bad thing to have favorites from your own writing.
Set the time machine back to February 25, 2003, when the TupperWar Lady came a knocking on the door:
This is why I love hate mail. It gives me a reason to go on each day.
Today’s mailbag brings some spittle-faced deep thinker to the forefront:
“You know what you are? You are just a mouthpiece for Bush and The U.S. Army. They probably pay you to go around spreading your warmongering ideas. You use your website as both a church and a collection plate. You preach and preach and you collect people into your little basket and crush their spirit and turn them into warmongers just like you. I wouldn’t be surprised to find out that you aren’t even who you say you are, but a paid government employee whose job it is to write shit about the war and terror and get people all riled up. You are evil, just like you say you are and you think that’s funny but it’s not. You are what’s wrong with America, women like you who think your opinion is right, women who should be doing other things rather than writing about guns and tanks and bombs.”
This guy doesn’t know whether he’s a member of the leftist brigade or a spokesperson for the John Birch society.
Either way, he’s found me out. It’s true. You heard of the Tupperware Lady? Well I am the TupperWAR Lady, and I rule a vast organization of pearl-wearing, pot roast cooking women who go door to door in hopes of charming other women into becoming warmongers.
Morning, noon and night, all I do is attempt to convert anti-war or otherwise neutral women into war hungry Republicans. And I don't stop at the women, I get to their children, too. Every day after school I drop my kids off at the Very Young Republicans Club where they too can master the art of warmongering and pass it on to their friends. I mean, what's a war movement worth if it's not passed on from generation to generation?
During lunch I hop into my TupperWAR brand black Hummer and drive around picking up lonely housewives and confused anti-war protesters. I play Rush Limbaugh on the Hummer's stereo and face the speakers out the window. When people come running up to see what's going on (The "Free Cookies Here!" sign really helps), I chloroform them and throw them into the back seat. Then I drive around, chanting, "We Must, We Must, Bomb Iraq or Bust!" over and over again until osmosis has taken its toll and when my victims awake, they have this sudden taste for bombs and biological warfare.
We stop at the diner for some Liberty Fries and I school my new group in all matters of war. I read from Fox News transcripts and Ann Coulter columns. Then I take them back to my house where we are met by my coalition of TupperWar Women. It's like a big old revival meeting. We sing war songs and throw darts at pictures of Arianna Huffington. We pretend it's that U.N. meeting, but this time Powell gets up and shoots down Chirac. Blood! We love blood and violence!
This is what I do all day, every day. I knock on doors and hand out tracts extolling the virtues of nuclear bombs. I go to supermarkets and stick leaflets on car windows with pictures of Saddam's head being blown off. I take my group of women with me and we march through the parking lot chanting "What do we want? WAR! When do we want it? YESTERDAY!"
I go to Kindergarten classes and replace their Sesame Street flash cards with pictures of Michael Moore and Hilary Clinton. Bad! I tell the children. Bad! They repeat. By the end of the day they are kneeling reverently in front of a poster of Tony Blair and they can spell out KILL SADDAM with their little magnetic letters.
A TupperWAR Woman never rests. I am always working, always brainwashing, always calling for the death of some tyrannical dictator, or some French guy. I do all this in a day and still manage to cook a lovely dinner for my husband and get all the housecleaning done - while wearing a dress and high heels.
All in a day's work for the TupperWAR Woman.
If you see me standing on your doorstep with a nice jello mold in hand, you may not want to open the door.