I am astonished by the number of colossally horrible ads. I’m don’t mean the cheesy “I’ve fallen and I can’t get up” emulators and the ambulance-chasing lawyers and debt consolidators promoting their services. Those are bad because they are low-budget. But how dare those big players who have their choice of the top ad agencies to produce their commercials give us drivel like the following:

1.Cottonelle Saved my Marriage

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H0CTJj_-nJI&feature=related –

Perhaps something got lost in translation from the French version, but all this ad did was make me cringe.

I’m guessing the intent was to be humorous, but I felt only pity for that woman. She’s gushing over the virtue of a freakin’ toilet paper as we hear hubby make happy male noises off-camera, supposedly from the ensuite bath. She’s smiling in that “he hasn’t touched me since I had the kids and I was desperate to save this relationship! Thank you Cottonelle!” way. And right on cue, hubby steps out of the bathroom in his vintage Herb Tarlek finery ready to dry hump her on the dance floor at the local disco.

If their marital problems weren’t caused solely by hemorrhoids, this campaign is just sad and will not compel anyone to pay that dollar or two more to upgrade from store brand bathroom tissue.

2. Pull Ups training pants (featuring the “potty dance”)

I refuse to link to this one. It has already led to dozens of ill-advised youtube “tributes” made by misguided parents hoping to one day embarrass the crap out of their kids. I for one am embarrassed to be in the room when that bloody song interrupts The Young and the Restless. I’m guessing they paid the poor shlub who sang it a lot of money (though no amount of money can buy back dignity) as well as the potty dancing kids and adults. I can’t fathom why the hell anyone would anyone consent to being seen by millions doing the stupid thing for free.

As my children were all born crack litter box users, I am aware Pull-Ups doesn’t care what I think. But if I were part of their target market, I’d go out of my way to buy the rival big kid pants for fear of catching the stupid that led to those youtube So You Think You Can Potty Dance travesties.

3. Dairy Queen- 1/4 Lb. Bacon Cheese Burger Grill Burger

Disembodied whore lips singing about dreaming of “meat and bouncing pickles” then telling us to “shove it in our mouths.” And then fireworks explode out of nothingness. Creepy. I’d add that it makes me wonder what they put in the secret sauce, but that would be too easy.

4. Tim Horton’s “Worst. Ring Tone. Ever.”

What, because Timmy’s is a Canadian institution they don’t have to pay writers to come up with clever ads (at least I hope they didn’t)? Their commercials have been stupid for a very long time but the recent ad for their Caramel Café Mocha with a grating, synthesized “I Love Caramel” ring tone is just irritating. Wow, this gal must be batshit about caramel.

5. Multigrain Cheerios- “The box says I’m a bad, bad man and have a small penis.”

Television is overrun with ads that portray men (or at least husbands) as overgrown children who can’t be trusted to do anything around the house but can always be counted on to say the wrong thing. Why? Such commercials appeal to women (who still do most of the grocery shopping) who married losers in order to have babies and are now kicking themselves.

“Oh, that’s my husband all right! Lord, how I hate the bastard but I must swallow my resentment and carry on for the sake of our spawn who never, ever stop wanting STUFF—and he thinks I’m FAT! Why oh why did I go off the pill?”

These ads do neither sex any favors (men are morons, women are insecure ball breakers) and have caused me to never want to marry. At least we don’t have to suffer through the horribly dubbed (why the hell do we need to dub a commercial that was already in english? Would British accents make Cheerios seem snooty?) version that got foisted on Americans.

I know times are tough and even very big corporations may have less money to spend on advertising.

But how do you expect to penetrate our collective brain fog with advertising so bland and irritating? Or maybe it’s the brain fog that’s allowing such ads to happen.

You can’t throw a dried up old pen out the window in a major city without it bouncing off a hungry writer willing to compromise art in the name of eating or buying a second pair of trousers. No need to overpay talentless hacks or ask your ten-year old kid to write your scripts.

Dear readers (especially my adoring subscribers), you have the power to stop such ads. Don’t buy what they’re selling! Send your kids Pull-Ups back in protest (especially used ones)!

Please, before I am forced to get rid of my TV.

A hollow threat, yes. But just do it anyway! This revolution will not be televised. But it may end up on youtube.

I have always had a fondness for the charming plaster Garden Gnomes. Strategically placed in a garden, they make even the blandest suburban box seem  a little more like an enchanted cottage. I think that fondness might have arisen from the gnomes on the cover of George Harrison’s All Things Must Pass. But as I’ve only ever had a mildly successful balcony herb garden, I’ve never felt like I deserved gnomes of my very own.

Not to sound like I’m boasting, but gnomes were a somewhat significant part of my life long before the current buzz they’ve created on Entertainment Tonight. I like being ahead of trends. It makes me feel special.

When I joined the Brownies at age six, it was customary (and still is, I think) to group girls into “sixes,” each named for small, docile magical creatures. I became a Gnome. According to Brownie lore, gnomes were known for being very selfless and helpful around the house (which was also what the elves and faeries and pixies were known for too but we’ll leave that for now). By age eight, I became the leader of the Gnomes (simply because I was the oldest, but still, I was once in charge of other people).

The Laughing Gnome (the debut single David Bowie wishes would burrow back to the underworld from whence it came, never to return) and the Underpants Gnomes of South Park have brought many a smile to my face through the decades. As have the non-cuddly and bitey gnomes that inhabit the gardens of Harry Potter’s world.

As refreshing as gnomes and their lack of irony and attitude are, I fear that like vamps and zombies, they run the risk of becoming overexposed. They are unfamiliar with the dangers of the world of humans and therefore easily duped.

Just a few short years ago a group of frat boys showed up at one of our anti-KFC demos and introduced us to a little plaster fellow named Gnome Chomsky. Turns out they were trying to disarm us for evil purposes. They then proceeded to shove buckets of chicken into our faces (until my friend Ken scared them away). Sadly, I was unable to rescue poor Gnome Chomsky before the obnoxious twits departed.

If we’re not careful there will soon be gnome related TV shows (a family of gnomes moves to a mid-American subdivision where wackiness ensues, perhaps). And there will be designer gnomes made of gold in the garden of every celebutard (probably hand crafted to look like said celebutard). I have no doubt Hollywood will hang them out to dry and those poor gnomes will be forced to run back to the woods and bite off pieces of their own little mushroom houses to forget the horrors we exposed them to. And they deserve much better than that.

Can we be gentle with the little folk, please? Don’t make them into even bigger marketing gimmicks (I’m looking at you Travelocity.com!) I for one would welcome gnomes into our world on a larger scale. The human race is a mess and we could learn a lot from the example of these peaceful nature-loving beings.

Let’s not steal their magic and make them as shallow and tiresome as humans.

With their tiny lanterns they will show us the way!

And I know we (and by “we” I mean everybody and me) like our slang and when used properly colloquialisms make language richer and can turn communication an art. But most modern slang is simply displeasing to my the ear. To the point where I have to turn up my ipod to drown out the garbled verbiage that seems to follow me everywhere I go.

First off, we need to get rid of “vajayjay.” Honestly, did we need another childish euphemism for the female sex organ? “Sick” when used to describe something cool*, also needs to go. Anything shortened to webspeak (OMG! LMAO!) said aloud is just stupid for stupid’s sake. Do you really have so many vitally important things to express that you must speak in abbreviations?

It also pisses me off that “gay” is still being used as an insult. It makes people sound more even more like rednecks than they look.

But rather than deride our poor word choices (any more than I already have), I humbly offer some suggestions for new buzzwords. Not new in the sense that I invented them (if I were that clever I’d be ruling the verse by now) but resurrections of a few classics and one from the future as envisioned by Joss Whedon.

1 Zounds: popular in the fifteenth century, “zounds” is a fun word for expressing a sort of horrified awe. It is short for “God’s wounds” according to Ned Flanders. Used in conversation it might sound like “Zounds, I can’t believe Pip turned over all the wastebaskets and still had time to squeeze in a power nap in a space of four minutes!”

2. Pish-posh: first used around the 1590s, it is mild cry of contempt. It is so damn cute that it should both express one’s displeasure and also diffuse any tense situation. “Pish-posh! Justin Bieber is not the new Beatles! You take that back!”

3. Cat: as in “cool cat.” When a person is labeled a “cat,” he or she is clearly a creature above other humans, much like an actual cat. Originated in the Jazz Age. One clever variation is “cat’s pajamas.” “That cat just walked through the door wearing skin-tight pleather trousers like he owned the joint!”

4. Bamboozle: to deceive or puzzle someone, eighteenth century style. Additionally, it’s just fun to say. “Ack, I’ve been bamboozled! Curse you Taco Bell!”

5. Gorram: a version of “god damn” useful for both agnostics and those who don’t want to take their lord’s name in vain. I first heard this word on the brilliant television series “Firefly,” uttered by Captain Malcolm “Tightpants” Reynolds. Sadly, the show lasted a single season and “gorram” did not get a chance seep into our daily vernacular, but it really should. “The gorram power went out in the middle of Glee and it looked like Mr. Shue and Neil Patrick Harris were about to make out!”

I humbly ask that we all do our part to bring these words  into common usage. Please, before I destroy my hearing due to explosive ipod volume.

* The word “cool” is timeless, and always will be.

I sign up for a computer and sit back and read the Oprah magazine while waiting for it to become available. The place smells rather…”ripe.” As it often does, as sadly mental health care in this country is an embarrassment and some of those who fall through the cracks end up here simply because they have nowhere else to go (that is a seperate and weightier rant for the future).

Things got even less comfortable when I saw the troll who lives under one of the neighborhood bridges sitting at the computer next to mine. He was watching porn, really, nasty-ass porn, sound on, for everyone to see and hear. He was grunting a bit too, and not very sneakily sneaking glances at me. Sadly, this happened a few times over the summer too.

Since no one on the library staff was minding the second floor where the computers are located, there was no one I could wave over so I gave the porn troll a stern look and tried very hard to ignore him as I checked my backlog of e-mails.

Then the White Knights* rode up and tried to rescue me.

“How dare you watch such filth in the presence of a lady, you cad!”

“Are you quite all right, Miss? You’re not traumatized by that man’s boorish behavior? Can I fetch you some smelling salts?”

When I could hold my tongue no longer (and the troll challenged one of the white knights to a duel), I got up and proceeded calmly downstairs to the front desk and informed the guy sitting there that there was trouble brewing upstairs. He looked at me and shrugged “what do you want me to do? Get in the middle of it?” I replied that someone bloody well should. A lovely clerk asked out loud, though to no one in particular “should I call security?” I told her that yes, she should. She then asked me to explain what had gone on and I helpfully pointed out the culprit. By that time I was sick of the whole damn place and quickly took my leave.

For a brief period in high school, I contemplated becoming a librarian. I liked the idea of spending my working life amongst volumes of musty, rich texts, and maybe sneaking in a nooner with a sexy English lit professor in a secluded section of The Stacks. Veeery quietly, of course.

But to study library science required some level of achievement in math so I decided to become a poet instead.

Maybe if I had become a librarian our libraries wouldn’t be in the sad state they are currently in. Even though library usage has increased in recent years, they are no longer sanctuaries to go and read or research in peace.

Remember when libraries were serious places where no one even spoke unless it was absolutely necessary and even then we had to whisper? Not the case anymore. Kids shouting, babies screaming, adults carrying on inane conversations using “outside” voices…most modern libraries may as well be coffee shops or Chuck E Cheezes. And when I shush someone, I get the dirty looks.

But allowing patrons to watch pornography in plain sight? A little kid could easily walk by and see it. And so could a lawsuit-happy parent. And libraries are on shaky ground as it is.

Isn’t it best to keep disruptive people under control in places people go to read or study? Sadly, libraries are in danger of becoming so unpleasant that those who don’t go there to watch porn may just stop going and maybe the government may get rid of public libraries all together.

That would be a damn shame. Free books during a recession, accessible and affordable public space and internet access for when your computer has a boo-boo are all valuable services.

As of last night I have my internet back. So I can get shit done in my own apartment, one of the few quiet places left in my world. With all the meaningless noise out there, I’m tempted to never leave it again.

*White Knight: according to urbandictionary.com “a person (usually a male) who sees the typical maiden in distress, and believes that he can help her. A male version of the “mother figure” that some girls become.”

“Why is he going out with her? She’s broken, and a little crazy.”
“The fool’s just being a White Knight.”

It took a pretty high adolescent body count to finally get the issue taken seriously.

I was constantly bullied from grade school until about grade 10 (I can hear the collective gasp of disbelief ). I was a smidge overweight. I listened to the Beatles instead of Bon Jovi. I occasionally did and said odd or smart-ass things.  Nothing that ever hurt anyone, but for some reason a number of kids felt they had the right, nay the duty, to hurt me. And some adults agreed with them.  I was told to ignore them. I was told that I brought the torture on myself because I was so different and refused to hide it, that those poor bullies had no choice but to make my life hell.

I thought about killing myself almost every day.

It’s tempting to use this blog as a platform to scream for bully blood and demand that schools round the little fuckers up and throw them into a pit full of giant flesh-eating lizards. But in the years since graduation, I’ve learned a few things about these mini tyrants.

A little distance and a lot of therapy helped me figure bullying out. Much of their strength lay in numbers, which is why they tended to roam in little gangs (or cliques). How those who weren’t targeted stood by and watched in silence because they didn’t want to become targets themselves, not because they hated me.

I’ve also figured out those bullies were no better than me or any of the kids they picked on, and behind their smug hostility they knew it.

It’s likely their parents treated them like shit, and as no one was protecting them, they took it out on those they perceived as “weaker.” They were often ugly and dumb. Those who weren’t, like the elite Mean Girls, had their own insecurities. They were terrified that the slightest disturbance in the school caste system would threaten their status (and their spot at the cool cafeteria table) and had to keep us peasants downtrodden by any means necessary.

A U.S. study from 2003 found that bullies are seven times more likely than other students to carry weapons to school. Another found that children who bullied in grade 6 to 9 are six times more likely to have a criminal record by the age of 24. As adults, children who bully may display harassment in the workplace or may commit spousal, child, or senior abuse. Clearly, the problem does not magically end after graduation.

And if the internet had existed in my school days, damn straight it would have been utilized by the nasty kids. Those with the cranial capacity to turn on a computer, anyway.

But the internet is also full of resources for kids thinking death may be the only relief from the agony of school. Bullying is  a criminal offense, kids are finally learning.

http://www.torontopolice.on.ca/crimeprevention/bullying.php

They don’t have to take this shit.

I deal with the long-term effects of bullying to this very day. When you’re told you’re garbage nearly every day for years, eventually you believe it. Like I said before, I thought about killing myself constantly. But I got through my time in hell with the aid of a very strong imagination.

I often fantasized that one day I would win an Academy Award and I would use my acceptance speech time to “out” my former tormentors, knowing my legions of fans would mock and shun them and leave flaming bags of dog shit on their door steps. Those who weren’t in prison that is. Thanks largely to them repeatedly telling me how fat and ugly I was, I didn’t have the ego to pursue acting when I was young. I did take it up recently though (very casual and part-time) and now have two IMDB credits. If I ever get an award for anything, I won’t be mentioning my bullies.

I’ve forgotten most of their names.

I admit, I looked a few of them up on Facebook a couple of years ago out of morbid curiosity. I’m pleased to boast I look better than every single one of them. And their bios were bland and often contained blatant spelling errors. They also tend to live in the same bland suburb they were hatched in or worse.

My life is not what you’d call normal because I am not normal, as those bullies loved to point out.  But unlike in my school days, I see this as a good thing.  My literary stardom is imminent. I live in a great city in a nice place with two gorgeous and lovable cats. People pay me money to take my picture (not so fat and ugly anymore). I have purpose (being active in animal rights) and REAL friends who like me because of the quirks I was once shunned for. I’m alive, in every sense of the word.

I triumphed. Bully for them!

Since Mummy is feeling poorly I have decided to take the initiative and write this week’s Sand vs. Machinery for her. Aren’t I sweet?

You may have noticed (if you weren’t too distracted by my bright eyes and the fact that I can type and access the internet) that I am a black kitty . Mummy sometimes refers to me as her sweet little blackberry muffin, along with the dozens of other cute nicknames she has for me.

I was a very tiny kitten when I turned up on Mummy’s sister’s boyfriend’s doorstep. Auntie Missy told Mummy about me and a short while later I went to live with her. She loved me instantly, of course. And she made sure I had the best quality cat food, plenty of clean water and lots of toys and snuggles.

I was a saucy kitten, sticking my tongue out

I don’t remember how a helpless (yet plucky) wee kitten like myself ended up in the street all alone, forced to cry outside a strange door to be let in out of the cold. But I once overheard my daddy say it may have been because of my hair colour, a fact which baffles me and breaks my mummy’s heart.

She says the day she brought me home was one of the luckiest days of her life,  but black cats have long been considered unlucky or even evil omens in certain cultures. Some say that if a black cat crosses your path on a journey, the only safe thing to do is to turn around and go home. Old European folklore says that we were shape shifters in league with someone called Satan. We’re also said to be the top choice of witches as familiars, which confuses me because mummy says witches aren’t evil.

Historically, lots of black cats have been killed by humans in the name of this Satan or other kinds of dark magic. I won’t go into detail because you might cry.

Not long after Mummy took me in, I was roaming the hallway outside my first apartment when a neighbour came out of the elevator. I liked meeting new people  so I went up to her to say hello and she backed away from me like I was some kind of monster. And she said to Mummy, who was keeping an eye on me, that she was “freaked out” by black cats. Mummy frowned and snapped “bloody hell, she weighs all of three pounds and you’re scared of her?”  She then swooped me up and took me inside for a treat but I could tell she was upset by the neighbour lady’s ignorance.

Even though most people are no longer silly enough to believe in such superstitions, the sad reality is there is still a prejudice against cats like me. Animal shelters have a harder time adopting out black cats than any other colour.

Fortunately, some nice people are trying to change that. There are lots of lovely black cats waiting for good homes, some are almost as exquisite as me:

A lot of shelters won’t adopt out black cats too close to Halloween for fear that we’ll be hurt or killed in rituals by mean people, but Halloween is over so if you’re thinking of bringing a cat into your home, remember: black is beautiful. Black cats are often very shiny and soft, and we have an aura of mystery about us. Also our hair color tends to make our eyes “pop.”

Some old-timey funny man named Groucho Marx once said, “A black cat crossing your path signifies that the animal is going somewhere.” If only we could all be so sensible.

The time has come for you humans to get past this prejudice and worship embrace all kitties for the wonderful, superior beings we are.

About the Author: Maggie Muffincakes has spent a good deal of her ten years on this planet sitting on her mummy’s lap, watching her type away at her computer, whether she was writing this very blog, working on her yet-to-be-sold novel or making very important points about Harry Potter in chat rooms.  But Mummy had no idea how closely her darling kitty-cat was paying attention.

In her spare time Maggie enjoys napping, being petted and admired and the occasional bit of catnip. She lives in Toronto with Mummy and her little brother Pip.

Thankfully it wasn’t too cold out on Saturday when 6,000 zombie wanna-bes converged in Trinity Bellwoods park. My own zombie flower child get up was dead amateurish compared to some of the others (there were scores of zombie brides and beauty queens, a sushi chef complete with a tray of severed finger sashimi and even a giant zombie banana) but once the undead parade headed down Dundas and the grunting for “braaaiiins” commenced, it was all about zombie unity. Crowds of gawkers took our pictures, a few passers-by looked confused and disgusted but that made it all the more fun to stay in character.

Sure, it started to rain around the time we hit Kensington Market but it’s not like we could look any worse.

At one point I was shot by an over-enthusiastic zombie hunter with those plastic arrows with the suction cups attached (anyone know what those are called?). I played along, pretending to crumble to the ground, moaning “biiitch!” It was all just a harmless charade, after all.

By the time we got to the Christie Pits Danielle and I were getting drenched by the rain and decided it was time to go home and start the long and complicated makeup removal process. No longer distracted by playing a zombie, I began to realize I was in considerable pain. Walking stiff-legged, arms aloft, occasionally bent and staggering across the city is more taxing than it looks. And that’s with my reasonable good health.

That night as I  curled up in fetal position on my heating pad I thought to myself, if being a zombie for a few hours is this tough, what must being genuinely undead be like?

Yes, being caught in the rain is no fun for us liv’uns, but can you imagine how bad you’d smell if you were damp and dead? And if I’d been shot by an actual zombie hunter, I’d have fallen apart the second I hit that pavement, limbs snapping off, howling in agony.

The origins of zombies are unclear. Depending on the movie you’re watching or the expert you ask, their condition is either the result of a virus, voodoo or an alien invasion of a zombie race that happened sometime in the 1950s (see Fido, probably my favorite zombie flick). But unlike with the seductive allure of the vampire, few if anyone actually chooses to become a zombie. And yet they live out their existence as targets of our fear and prejudice until they are finally shot dead or set on fire.

I wonder how many in the crowd were actual zombies just trying to feel like they belong for once in their afterlife? But really, are they so different from live people? Most of us go through life working endlessly at meaningless jobs  with the enthusiasm of Marvin the paranoid android from The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. Then we come home and clean our bland homes, look in on our kids as they sit transfixed before television sets muttering “liek” and “omigod!” and mow our chemically enhanced lawns on weekends. There is little joy in our lives.

If zombies did take over the planet, would we really be worse off?

Zombies don’t fight each other, especially over silly things like land ownership or who has the superior deity. They don’t recklessly use up the planet’s resources or steal or lie.

I’m not saying I would actively encourage a zombie invasion. But really, there are millions of things we should be more afraid of. All zombies want is to eat our brains, and so few of us are using them!

And with science advancing so quickly that soon we will be able to reproduce human brains in laboratories, there’s no reason we won’t be able to peacefully co-exist someday. And then we can have ourselves a real Zombie Walk every October!

You can eat brains and still hug trees!

My supervisor was not satisfied with my numbers so one evening he had me listen in on the call center’s top producer (we’ll call him “Dave”) to pick up some pointers. I was astonished by Dave’s phone manner. He’d read the scripted intro in a booming, hostile tone of voice and by the end of the call he was practically barking at these people in broken English. And he actually got disgruntled former customers to sign back up.

I left work that night perplexed. I asked my then-boyfriend how the hell Dave was not fired. If someone called me up and shouted at me I’d demand to talk to a supervisor.

“They probably just wanted to get him off the phone,” he shrugged. But if people wanted to be rid of him, why not hang up? What the hell was wrong with people?

But truth be told, I have let myself be manipulated by such rude people as much as anyone.

Many times I’ve bought useless things due to hovering, pushy salespeople .Why the hell didn’t I just leave the shop and keep my money?

I’m ashamed to say I have even agreed to go out with men who badgered me into having a drink with them who didn’t understand the concept of “no” even when repeated more than once.Too often, I’d agree to that drink just to shut them up and regretted it.

Why didn’t it occur to me that I had the option to tell these idiots “hey you, shut up!”

That’s what sucks about being raised to be courteous. The inconsiderate oafs of the world (and there are many) tend to get what they want simply because we don’t have it in us to tell them to go fuck themselves. And in the end, we are the ones who suffer for being the better persons.

Granted, there are times when you can’t fight rudeness with rudeness.  At work, for example, telling your boss she is an unholy bitch is usually a bad idea (even if she is one). But far too often being brought up proper can work against us.

Whether some un-evolved creature is violating your personal space trying to get laid (and this happens to guys too) , or talking at the theatre, rude people make the world less pleasant. And as the parents of these morons (who should be deeply ashamed of themselves) couldn’t be bothered to do their jobs, it is up to us to put these boors in their place.

Sure, it can be hard for those of us not raised by rabid inbreds to tell these idiots off. The first few times I tried it I could feel the ghost of Emily Post frowning and clucking her tongue at me. But then I thought good and hard about how these uncouth individuals  have made me feel irritated, uncomfortable and sometimes even unsafe over the years.

Like the stinking drunk at the pub who had the nerve to ask me if I was in my thirties or my forties. I told him that was a very insulting question and to please leave. He took his time staggering back to his great unwashed drinking buddies until my gal pal snapped “you heard the lady, bugger off before we alert the bouncer!”

Or the five giggling teens who felt it necessary to amass around a library computer and loudly critique some poor girl’s Facebook page (no doubt cooking up some rude posts) who were oblivious to my shushing and dirty looks. Finally they left when another library patron went to complain to a clerk. Why didn’t I get up and complain myself (other than fearing they would retaliate by stealing my stuff)?

Or the sad lump of a man with delusions of studliness who attempted to chat me up on the Bathurst streetcar, followed me off the streetcar badgering me with questions about where I was going oblivious to my one word answers and lack of eye contact. Undeterred by my fictitious boyfriend he continued to demand my number and then got out his cell phone and showed me a picture of his penis.

Why did I not verbally emasculate him in a loud voice when he ignored my repeated “nos?” Why did I not take that cell phone, hurl it to the ground, repeatedly stomp on it and tell him “be thankful I’m not taking my hostility out on your actual wang you piece of shit!” and threaten to call the cops if he continued to follow me?

Lately I try to minimize my likelihood of running into any of that sort. Ear buds are a great way of pretending you don’t hear people. I also try not to make eye contact with anyone if I don’t have to (sunglasses are a great help here). But sometimes I ache for a second chance to give these assholes I have come across a bit of what they’ve been dishing out to the world.

Rude people only understand rudeness. And really, these lunkheads do not deserve to be treated with respect when they so blatantly disrespect us. Time to give rudeness the finger.

For those of you who don’t watch Glee and have no idea who I’m talking about, what the hell is wrong with you?

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sue_Sylvester

Not only is she the most arch of TV villains to come along in years, but the character (portrayed by Jane Lynch who won an Emmy for the role) has achieved icon status and Glee is only three episodes into its second season. She has been immortalized in wax by Madam Tussaud as well.

The power-mad champion cheerleading coach (who has taken Nationals six years in a row) will stop at nothing to achieve success. Blackmail comes as naturally to her as breathing does to mere mortals like you and I. She has no qualms about manipulating and threatening to expose the dark secrets of teenagers and adults (even McKinley High’s principal). She employs her Cheerios as spies to infiltrate the school’s struggling and plucky Glee Club, promising them a little power of their own and then turning on them when they fail her. She’s mean, yes.

And yet, there is much to be learned from Sue.

I knew I achieved official Gleek status when the fandom seeped into my dream life sometime last week. I had no earthly reason to be at an American high school, but all the kids were there: Rachel, Finn, Puck (who I think I was shagging), and Sue Sylvester had made me a Cheerio.

“But Sue, er, Ms. Sylvester” I protested.  “I’m not actually a student here. I’m twenty years older than most of these kids.”

“You need this! Now get in the tiny skirt and be at practice in five minutes!” she replied. Or barked, rather.

I have to admit, I rocked that uniform. My dream legs were long, shapely and powerful enough to kick the crap out of anyone who tried to subdue me.

A good villain, while evil, needs some redeeming qualities. Monty Burns has his beloved teddy bear, Bobo.  Sue has her sister whose poor treatment growing up due to her Down Syndrome made Sue fiercely protective and very angry at the rest of the world.

Indeed, she’s not made of stone. Or Teflon, as sometimes her actions do come back to haunt her. But she never stays down for long and she has a talent for turning her humiliations into triumphs (see the “Bad Reputation” episode).  and unlike most people who wear nothing but track suits, she has earned the right to live in sports wear.

She’s not afraid to throw sand in the machinery.

I have played and re-played the “get out of your box” episode of Sue’s Corner when I’m at the end of my rope and wonder if anything I do will mean a damn thing.

“You something, Ohio? It’s not easy to break out of your comfort zone. People will tear you down, tell you shouldn’t have bothered in the first place. But let me tell you something. There’s not much of a difference between a stadium full of cheering fans and an angry crowd screaming abuse at you. They’re both just making a lot of noise. How you take it is up to you. Convince yourself they’re cheering for you. You do that, and someday, they will be. And that’s how Sue sees it.”

I hope I will never become jaded enough to see the world quite as Sue sees it, but I can see fashioning myself a WWSD bracelet for those times when I can’t break out of my comfort zone by myself.

Naturally, McDonald’s has started yet another media equivalent of a schoolyard brawl.

Why single out McDonald’s in particular? They are the biggest fast food joint in the galaxy, with the most recognizable trademarks. They also cater to kids more than any other fast food chain, with Ronald serving up Happy Meals with the shiny plastic toys which they can enjoy on the indoor playground a lot of their locations thoughtfully provide (and by “thoughtfully” I mean they “thought” it would bring in a lot of kids accompanied by parents with money).

Being the biggest, they provide the largest amount of crap for public consumption. And after doing so for about fifty years, you’d think they’d have figured out that being that big brings a lot of attention, and not all of it will be good.

For an empire whose symbol is a clown, McDonald’s seriously lacks any sense of humor. The PSA is seen as so scandalous that it made the news before it even aired on television (currently only in the Washington D.C. area, during The Daily Show with Jon Stewart but I’m surprised it aired anywhere other than youtube).  Below is McDonald’s  response.

“This commercial is outrageous, misleading and unfair to all consumers. McDonald’s trusts our customers to put such outlandish propaganda in perspective, and to make food and lifestyle choices that are right for them.”

It bears repeating in italics.

“McDonald’s trusts our customers to put such outlandish propaganda in perspective, and to make food and lifestyle choices that are right for them.”

Since when is McDonald’s food the right lifestyle choice for anyone without a death wish?

McDonald’s Director of Nutrition Cindy Goody  claims “McDonald’s is committed to providing balanced menu choices and a variety of options to meet our customers’ needs and preferences.”

Variety? Are there any vegan options? Is there anything for Celiac sufferers? Other than a side salad and slices of apple (sans that caramel sauce) it’s slim pickins’. Even the fries are cooked in beef fat. Ew!

http://www.veganeatingout.com/mcdonalds>

Speaking of meatless options, a lot of critics are taking issue with PCRM’s sinister vegetarian agenda. Who do those hippie terrorists think they are, trying to save animals and make us healthy by taking away our cheeseburgers and “shakes?”

“If PETA members are interested in plant-based diets as part of their advocacy for animal rights, good for them. Our interest lies in plant-based diets for chronic disease prevention. We are not affiliated with PETA. We are an independent, nonprofit organization interested in nutrition for health,”  Susan Levin, M.S., R.D. Nutrition Director of PCRM tries to reassure the public.

When asked why PCRM chose to promote a vegetarian diet instead of just a “healthy diet,” Levin replied “Healthy is too vague. People don’t know what healthy means, but research shows plant-based vegan and vegetarian diets are healthiest for chronic disease prevention including heart disease, type 2 diabetes and some forms of cancer. Not only does research show you can prevent those diseases with plant-based diets but you can reverse symptoms of heart disease and diabetes.”

How about McD’s own sinister agenda in profiting handsomely off our junk food addiction?

As well as being the biggest, they are also the lamest. Their own ads range from tedious to annoying enough to send my finger racing for the mute button on my remote.  And their lawsuits, like school kids whining to their teachers when they’ve been called rude names, make them look pathetic and sad. Sure, they may have initially won McLibel, but they came off as looking like bullies that have been pantsed by the outsiders they once tormented. And then they were further humiliated by a movie about it.

http://www.mcspotlight.org/case/trial/story.html

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/McDonald%27s_legal_cases>>

Will they sue again?

That PSA cost PCRM a mere $7,000. Is McDonald’s  just pissed that with their astronomical budget that they have not been able to come up with a commercial that compelling since, well, ever? The recent bit with the three annoying girls singing about the new chicken sandwich has to be an embarrassment for them. Who is going to be swayed by an ad that makes you want to change the channel?

Try as they might, McD’s is rapidly losing their status. Perhaps they are scared that sooner or later all the cool kids will see how sad and toxic they are and abandon them to go hang out at the local Tofu Hut?

Sales may be slightly up (offering cheap food during a recession will do that), but their stock is definitely falling.

Ronald is wishing he were home schooled