chuck e cheese

My Birthday Gift From WordPress

Forty years ago today, I made my arrival into the world.

Little did the world know that nearly 40 years later, that little darling baby girl would write about post about gonorrhea tonsils and see it get Freshly Pressed.

Did the delivery doctor have an inkling? Say when he cut the umbilical cord, that one day that red, slimy, mutant-looking screaming thing would craft a post that not only combined a fear of potatoes with STD-infected tonsils, but would also be able to insert the words “27 vaginas?”

Probably not. That’s kind of a weird thing to think about a baby.

Still this was a nice early present from the WordPress staff.

I promise my new readers that I write about other things besides venereal diseases although tomorrow’s post will make it seem like I just lied.

In fact, I just checked my search engine terms and am intrigued by this idea: chuck e cheese birther.

That seems about right.

Dearest Reader: Speaker7 is attempting to write a post every day in November so she doesn’t have to participate in NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month). This is the fifteenth post. Halfway there. Lord help us all.  

This Post Will Make You Blush

People hate being embarrassed. I remember reading an article about choking in restaurants. It stated one of the main reasons people died is because they left the table to deal with the choking in the privacy of the restroom so as not to embarrass themselves in front of others with all the gasping and eye-bulging. It embarrasses me that I cannot remember the name of the article or find a link to it.

In 10th grade, I was walking and waving to a group of friends on the front lawn of school. My head was not turned in the direction I was going, and I fell over a bicycle rack. To make it even better, the boy I had crush on witnessed the entire event. I immediately left school and joined a nunnery in the Himalayans. Here’s the kicker: There wasn’t a nunnery there. I was so mortified that I tried to pass myself off as a curvy monk, but my bright red cheeks and excessive sweating gave me away. And I’m not even curvy. Why did I say that? Oh my god. I’m completely humiliated.

Some sciency people say embarrassment is a good thing (is sciency people the right word? What are they called? Sciencers? Sciencence? This is mortifying). It’s a sign of virtue. It shows you can be trusted, and it makes motorists stop when they mistake your bright red face for a stop sign.

So what does it mean if you’re someone who is not easily embarrassed? Does it mean you’re an untrustworthy asshat? The sciency folks could not say for sure, but maybe would look into it in the future.

Well let’s look into it now, shall we. Let’s examine the behavior of one Donald Trump.

Donald Trump cannot be embarrassed. Just look at him:

He knows his hair looks like cotton candy run through a taffy pulling machine then set on fire and extinguished by a pound of cat fur mixed with sawdust.

His hair alone should cause his face to be the color of a fire hydrant. But the reason his face is the color of a fire hydrant is because he’s always blowing hot air out of his yawping maw.

“Look at me! Look at me! Look at me!” he screams like an over-sugared toddler.

He recently blathered some nonsense about Trump steaks. No wait. It was about his many bankruptcies. Nope. I’m wrong again. I’m totally blushing right now.

He said: “Celebrity Apprentice just ended, and I need to be on TV again so how ’bouts I prattle on about President Obama not being a U.S. citizen? Yeah, let’s do that. I’m fired…up. Did you see what I did there? Look at me! Look at me! Look at me!”

See, I would be embarrassed to say something that’s been so obviously refuted that it’s on par with saying something like “Donald Trump is virtuous.”

But that’s me.

Donald Trump said this right before hosting a fundraiser for Republican presidential nominee Mitt Romney. Mitt Romney said he believed Obama was a natural born citizen, which was very big of him. Using the word “believe” means there could be a tad uncertainty about it. Well done.

I believe Mitt Romney escaped from the Chuck E. Cheese automaton band, and is full of ricotta cheese. But that’s just what I believe, man. You can believe your own ride.

I also believe that Donald Trump is actually a robotic megaphone coated in spray tan and axe body spray.

It would explain the inability to be embarrassed.

And the hair.

But what I do know for certain is that he is an untrustworthy asshat.

Science!