Outrage Overload

It must be something in the in the air. I'm not the only one infuriated beyond comprehension today. While I experience the feeling often, today it came super jumbo sized. Given that, I'm surprised I didn't spontaneously combust. Melissa at Shakespeare's Sister writes:

Every day, there are new stories emerging about which I should feel outraged, and yet five years of no accountability is making me weary. How many hundreds incidents of unethical or flatly illegal behavior am I meant to read without having the slightest bloody ability to do a damn thing about it?

Exactly. What can I possibly do about it, a mere mortal who doesn't even have her own Fortune 500 company? Thankfully, we the people have representation, right?

And while I’m mad at the Dems for being ineffective, and mad at the GOP for being corrupt motherfuckers who don’t give a shit about what’s right as long as they keep winning, ...

Oops. Yeah, just what I was thinking.

I’m mostly mad at the American people who can’t be fucking arsed to pay attention, leaving the rest of us to bear the burden of caring, caring, caring on everyone’s behalf so they can keep on shopping and watching Wife Swap while our democracy slips away.

Argh!

Ignorance really must be friggin’ bliss, because knowing just makes me tired down to my goddamned bones.

You know, it can be cathartic to run across something that looks like it was transcribed right out of your head.

This is not one of those times.

It's fucking depressing. It means that there's less chance that I'm hallucinating, passed into some alternate universe, or am suffering an extremely long bout of PMS. Nope, no need to adjust your dial, this is reality, not TV shows that call themselves reality, or endless celebrity sex life exclusives, or missing white teen macroseries that hypnotize the masses into a trance, performing on cue with every suggestive key word. "Nine eleven!" -bark- "Terrorists!" -sit- "Patriotism!" -heel-

Stop licking your balls, people. We are snapping our fingers, here!

So, it was not quite surprising, but still freaking eerie, that Melissa later followed with her Question of the day:

Given twenty-four hours to spend any way you wanted, with no limit in terms of cost, what would you do? (The only parameter is that you can't magically beam yourself from here to there, so travel time must be a consideration, with your current location at your starting point.)

Damn. I know that one. In a hammock among the palms next to my hotel room, 20 feet from the beach, looking out on the bay in St. Martin. I'm assuming I'd have to come back, though. In the end, nothing would change.

No limit in terms of cost, huh? Since anyone can be bought, perhaps I'd start by chartering a few jets from D.C. to Gitmo. Board some special passengers for the junket. By the time 24 hours are up, I'm sure our guests would be safely tucked away in their cells, wondering what wonderful island activities are in store for them the next day.