Date Archives November 2008

Wisconsin Day Four: The White Trash Wedding of the Century

Unless you are John Waters, only occasionally in your life will you be called to bear witness to a true trash spectacle. And when that moment arises, it is your solemn duty to absorb every detail so that you may regale others with the story for years to come.

Friends, I stand here before you today to tell you the tale of the White Trash Wedding of the Century.

I was not invited to this wedding but attended as the guest of someone else who likely should not have been invited, either. You see, at different times, both of us had dated the groom. We both determined that sometimes people are ‘touched by an angel’; only in this instance, we were both ‘touched by a moron’. He had actually gone as far as proposing to Nicki while high on whippets, because nothing quite says “I will love and cherish you forever” like concentrated inhalants that strike down large swaths of brain cells in an instant. Lesser girls might have taken those glazed eyes for true love, flashed him a boob and then squealed yes, but Nicki, being a different caliber of lady entirely, decided that she COULD do worse, but only if she went cross-species.

You might think we’re being harsh, bitter bitches in our disdain, and you would be wrong. Here, I’ll prove it to you.

*This is a guy who proclaims to be an enlightened Taoist, but is seriously pondering getting a “bitchin’ tattoo of the Archangel Michael fighting Lucifer”.

*This is a guy who cannot construct a basic sentence in his native language yet somehow felt qualified to pursue a doctorate; when he was rejected by schools that felt differently, he placed the blame for the rejection on coming from a ‘broken home’. I didn’t personally know that when your parents got divorced well after you’d already moved out that it still counts as coming from a broken home. I’m looking forward to using this new scapegoat to my advantage. “I’m sorry that I missed that work deadline; I come from a broken home.”

*This is a guy who lists ‘tacos’ and ‘his cat’ as interests in an online profile before his wife. He also lists Jesus as one of his personal heroes. What?!? I thought he was a Taoist! The entire list consists of Jesus, Wolverine, Ghandi, Socrates, Benkei, Abraham Lincoln, and ‘Those who fought for us in America to save our freedom (what we have of it at least) and rights’. So I guess, Civil War soldiers. But most importantly, Jesus.

*This is a guy who refused (and still refuses) to sign the birth certificate for his daughter without having a lawyer look at it, because he’s afraid it might make him financially responsible for the kid that was apparently immaculately conceived, as that’s the only feasible reason to NOT man up and admit he’s the father. Since he can’t afford a lawyer, he still hasn’t signed it. That, and maybe he figures broken homes beget broken homes. I’m not an expert.

Even though Nicki set the bride up with the groom, for some reason, the bride still remains her friend, and insisted that Nicki be invited though Ben objected. Mandy won, and soon Nicki received this gem in the mail:

I knew as soon as I saw the South Park characters in the likeness of the bride and groom that I was being called to witness a major trash event. I was so certain of this that I flew across the country so that I could have first-hand memories of this event with me for the rest of my natural life.

So on Saturday, October 18th, Nicki and I put on our finest attire, prepared for an evening of velveeta and sausages from a can, and drove to the ‘Polish League of American Veterans Hall’. But how does one truly prepare for such a momentous occasion, knowing that you’ll be coming face to face with history? We arrived a few minutes before the reception was due to start (no one was invited to the wedding except family, and with six people standing up on either side and two people in the audience, I’m sure it made for a funny picture at the zoo. Oh yes, I neglected to mention: They got married at the Racine Zoo, home of the Mellzah-molesting camel. Because nothing other than whippets says ‘I will love you and cherish you forever’ like the wafting smell of large animal feces.) and determined it wouldn’t be right if the people who showed up to snark the wedding arrived earlier than any nice, legitimate guests, so we decided to prepare by having a drink at the bar across the street beforehand. A rather large drink at the bar beforehand.

Thirty minutes and thirty-two ounces of hard liquor later, we darted through traffic and into the Polish League of American Veterans Hall, and waited for the wedding party to show. And waited. And waited. And waited.

And then we noticed this sheet of goldenrod-colored delight at each folding table seat, and the grand trash ceremonies began. I have endeavored on this occasion to only snark at the groom.

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I’m pretty certain that someone’s grandma doesn’t need to know anything about Jeremy Bush’s beast, and may, in fact, be happier living in ignorance.

She might also have been happier if she had been struck suddenly with blindness moments before the entrance of the wedding party, because no one with 20/20 vision left the event without cursing its clarity and precision, even at a distance.

The groomsmen were clearly instructed to wear just ‘a shirt and tie’ without respect to color or style, and thus strutted in with one powder blue shirt, one electric blue shirt, one lucifer’s ass red shirt, one beige vest, one white shirt, and one poufy ren-faire shirt. I remain surprised that no one decided to sport the Canadian Tuxedo: jeans, a denim shirt and a jean jacket.

The groom elected to appear at his own wedding, in photos he was paying for, with hair bleached so blond, it appears in safety gear catalogs directly behind ‘safety orange’, and a goatee comprised of 7 carefully-spirit-gum-applied pubic hairs.

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When the lights were turned off in the hall, his hair glowed in the dark.

I felt awfully sorry for Mandy and her rather unfortunate, unflattering dress, but she made her own bed when she asked one of the groomsmen’s recent, unproven hobby seamstress girlfriend to make her wedding dress, and a dress for her daughter. This hobby seamstress girlfriend took on the job, and then sent the bride a text message on the day of the wedding to let her know that neither dress was done. After much freaking out, the hobby seamstress girlfriend finished the wedding dress bare minutes before Mandy needed to put it on for the ceremony. As she fastened the zipper in the back, hobby seamstress girlfriend proudly mentioned that she’d left Mandy ‘some room to eat tonight’. She certainly did–Mandy can gain forty pounds and the dress will fit better than it did on the day of her wedding.

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God, that hair.

After dinner, Ben’s sister ran up to me to say that she had been excited to learn I was coming because she reads my blog.

Whenever someone approaches me and tells me that, and I hadn’t previously been aware they knew I had a blog, I will freeze in place. I will stand perfectly still while alarm bells scream in my head and I think about anything that I’ve said that might cause me to have to apologize. Liz either hadn’t noticed that I was referring to that day as the White Trash Wedding of the Century or she agreed with me, but I wasn’t about to make any inquiries.

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GOD, THAT HAIR.

And then there was an excessive amount of bump and grind on the dance floor, and then glowsticks were busted out and THEN little kids started showing their butts to everyone and grandmas were hurling in the bathroom, and dudes got drunk and started burning cigarette holes in everything, and the air started to reek of sweat, singed polyester, and love.

We learned some juicy tidbits that night, namely that Ben and his new wife are still going to live in grandma’s basement, and that a flamboyant drag queen once mistook Ben for a bull dyke, and after a few drinks, the bride told us exactly what she thought of hobby seamstress girlfriend, and then after a few more drinks, we learned the secret that would drive us to conclude that the evening had reached its zenith, and that no more schadenfreude could be derived.

They were doing the ‘dollar dance’ portion of the evening, which is something I had never heard of before. If you’ve never heard of it, it’s essentially a cash-grab by the bride and groom where the guests line up and pay a dollar or more to dance with either of them. I elected not to participate, but Nicki lined up to dance with the bride. And while they were dancing the dance that Nicki paid for, the bride enhanced Nicki’s dancing experience by whispering to her that she’d needed to have her bridesmaids cut the crotch out of her pantyhose because she’d urinated in them. Even as the behavior of the guests devolved, it’s unlikely that anything could top the bride wetting herself, so we excused ourselves and congratulated one another on dodging a peroxide blond bullet.

Thus ends the tale of the White Trash Wedding of the Century. I hope that you have laughed, and cried, and shouted in horror, as I have on many sleepless nights since.

I got me 100GB of ram, I never feed trolls and I don’t read spam

I just received this email on myspace this morning:

hi you want to chat how is the date site going for you sunshine you got a man

Good morning ? I am local and i am looking for me self a hopeful. You fine i want to make you mine. OK hit me up with some info so we can get close what do you need to know about me ? OK here check the info ,A small adjustment in your approach can make a big difference in your results. Explore your alternatives and you’ll discover a path to improved performance. Sometimes, doing a task at a different time of the day can cause a major improvement in your effectiveness. Or perhaps doing things in a slightly different sequence will make the rewards more rewarding. If you’re already getting it ninety-nine percent right, work on that other one percent. It can make all the difference in the world. No failure is permanent and no failure is a complete failure. Learn from the portion of the effort that went wrong, change it, and recombine it with the part that went right. Rarely is it necessary to throw out everything you’re doing. Instead, look for ways to fine-tune your efforts until you get the results you desire.

Be curious, be objective, be creative and be flexible. A little bit of change can put you over the top.

Hit me do not miss me i want to get it going on with you ok ?

WUT.

If it’s spam, I *really* don’t get it. No links to porn sites, nada.

Then just now, I got this from one of my long-distance coworkers in preparation for an upcoming conference call:

I pretty much can’t tell which one is worse.

Also, an intertubes website just emailed me to spoil what my Cthulhumas gift from my mom is this year by letting ME know exactly what it is, and also that it’s on backorder.

This is technology, working for me!

The Napoleon Complex

If anyone at my apartment complex was looking out their window just now, they were sure to have a laugh.

I was out walking Napoleon, when all off a sudden a fluffy lapdog leaped out of the bushes and started yapping furiously. Napoleon, of course, wanted to eat him which I, in good conscience, could not allow, so I started to jog off, dragging him reluctantly. This tiny puffball dog, oblivious of the threat to his wee existence, began to chase us. But his legs were so short, he couldn’t get anywhere near us. So every few steps, I turned back and scolded him and told him to go home, while laughing at the ridiculousness of the situation, because this dog was seriously a cotton ball with tiny legs who thought he was a Terminator.

None of the neighbors would’ve known I was dragging Napoleon away to keep him from injuring the other dog, so anyone looking out the window would’ve thought we were running away in fear of the world’s fluffiest dog.

Ursula: A Halloween Costume Restrospective

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I knew from the start that this costume would be a challenge–less of a challenge than I knew would be inherent in my first idea, the Borg Queen, but a challenge nonetheless. Missing eight days in the middle of the month was a much larger setback than anticipated, and in the feverish last-minute final construction, I swore more than I ever have in my entire life. Here’s what happened, and what went wrong:

I constructed the costume from pretty pretty pretty thin cheap fabric, which I intended to coat in liquid latex in order to give the whole thing a shiny, wet sea-creature look, and save an asston of money in the process by not buying the shiny-wet-look-10x-the-money-per-yard fabric in the first place. Until it was coated in the latex, I couldn’t sew the complex pieces together to get any idea of what the first fitting would be like. This turned out to be one of the biggest problems–when I finally got everything together, the top bit, by nature of the strapless costume design, had to be quite tight in order to keep from falling down and exposing myself to everyone. To this very moment, I would swear to you that I made it (with a pattern, no less!) to my measurements, but when I put it on, it was a goddamned tent. You can bet *that* was a moment for some expletives.

Liquid latex is blended with ammonia to keep it from solidifying in the container, so I took the first piece out onto my back porch in order to have plenty of fresh air to breathe; unfortunately, since I could only work on the costume in the evenings, it was too cool out for the latex to cure. With my rambunctious dog, my only other option for latex was to lay dropcloths in my room and shut the door behind me, lest he track latex everywhere or shake fur into the mixture. This meant that every time I painted latex onto cloth, my lungs were burning, and it STILL took hours to cure, much, much longer than anticipated, so I could only work on small sections of the costume at a time, and everything had to be picked up and moved so I could actually use the room to sleep in, thus the window of time I could actually work on the costume was quite small.

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Until it was entirely coated in latex, I couldn’t buff anything out with the silicone compound, so everything was sticking to itself in a most horrific manner. This was a HUGE problem. Because I don’t have a dedicated project studio and the costume bits needed to be moved around to accomodate actually LIVING in my home, no matter how careful I was, pieces would crease or fold in on themselves and one of two things would happen: Either the latex would mar when I pulled it apart, or I absolutely could not pull it apart, no matter how much I tried. This was extremely frustrating because I wanted the whole thing to look very smooth, and as creased and bunched as it got, particularly around the tops of the tentacles, it made the waistline look rotten.

I had wanted to arrange the tentacle skirt in such a way that my legs appeared to be the front two tentacles, instead of being awkward legs in the middle of a bunch of tentacles. This idea involved the procurement of super-shiny leggings from American Apparel. As it turns out, the fine folks at American Apparel have decided people my size are too fat to wear their shiny leggings, and that my money is not as good as money spent by people a size slimmer. So here’s a great big fuck you to American Apparel! For a moment, I thought I’d try it with black pantyhose, but the tentacles were cut very high in anticipation of full-coverage leggings, and had I worn pantyhose, there would currently be pictures of my junk on the internet. I know my friends love me, but probably not enough to have to look at my barely-covered ass. So again, at the very last minute, I had to change things up and I wore black pants underneath my skirt.

The tentacles were a nightmare. I’d sewn rebar tie wire to the backside, but sewing was not enough to keep the wire in place, so I had to glue the wire on with more liquid latex, which added multiple days of work that I could ill-afford. Once the topside was entirely coated in latex, then I sewed on the shiny purple undersides, and when I went to stuff the tentacles, I learned why I shouldn’t have skimped on fabric–a good portion of the seams popped immediately, and the purple fabric developed runs all over. !*^&#$ As an additional frustration, once I’d stuffed the tentacles tightly enough for the latex tops to be smooth, they were too heavy and full to be bendable, so all of the time I’d spent on wire-work was wasted.

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Once everything was coated in latex, my sewing machine refused to work on it any more. It wouldn’t feed anything through, so the majority of everything at the end was sewn with a giant needle and cursing that would make a sailor blush.

I determined early that I would not be able to color my skin purple without an assistant and an airbrush, so that was right out. I determined much too late (after I’d already ratted and styled my hair) that the white spray does NOT make my dark hair look white, but instead makes it look old and grey. This was, of course, also after I had spent a loooooong time doing elaborate eye makeup, so I ended up having to do a really awkward wash-out hunched under the bathtub faucet. (Of course I had to do elaborate eye makeup–Ursula’s character was based on Glenn Milstead, better known as Divine, whom I ADORE.) Pictures don’t even begin to capture it, but it was a dark, dark base and crease with reflective teal glitter pressed into the center of the lid, so it looked like flashing fish-scales when I blinked.

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The trident I made by melting and shaping a plastic pitchfork over a candle to give it the proper shape and then spraypainting it gold. It’s all right as far as a prop goes, but it’s nowhere near on the level of my Wonka cane, which I was particularly proud of last year.

Here’s the thing, though: For all of the problems, people REALLY responded to this costume. Everyone who saw it recognized it, even with the fundamental changes I’d had to make in terms of skin and hair color. More people recognized this costume than recognized Willy Wonka, which I felt was FAR more screen-accurate. I hesitate to call this costume a very successful one, but I would say that I learned more in constructing this one than I have in any previous costuming attempt, which is always the goal.

Other things I learned:

*Having a skirt made of giant, floor length, thick tentacles makes it awfully difficult to sit down.

*Having a skirt made of giant, floor length, thick tentacles makes it an adventure to drive, with half of them shoved back between the driver & passenger seats, and half of them stacked up and crammed into the narrow gap between the driver’s seat and the door frame; it’s like being hugged to death by tentacles.

*When making a costume in which it’s difficult to get into and out of the car, it’s really much smarter to buy gas EARLIER in the day instead of struggling with it in front of people.

*If you’re wearing a skirt made of giant, floor length, thick tentacles, expect people to treat you like you’re wearing a skirt full of penises and act accordingly.

356_34465593939_4157_n I’m not sure what this picture says about Captain Hammer.

*Four am karaoke is really the best way to end any Halloween party.

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What were YOU for Halloween? I DEMAND PICTURES.

Pumpkin stabbing ’08

This year’s turnout was great, and the weather couldn’t have been more cooperative–Halloween in Washington is almost always rainy and cold, but I have been fantasically lucky as for four years in a row now, in that the day that I have picked for pumpkin picking and corn mazing has been consistently glorious!

This year, Carpinito Bros had two corn mazes–one shaped like an alien, and one shaped like a spaceship, each one running just over two miles long.

We only had enough time to do one maze, so we picked the alien maze and set out boldly, almost immediately ignoring the maps we were given at the start–the logic behind that move being ‘What is the point of a ‘maze’ if you know your location at any given moment?’.

We VERY soon realized our folly, as almost immediately, we became quite lost and wandered around the same section of the maze for quite a while.

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In a corn maze, EVERYTHING looks familiar, rare is the moment when you can say “Oh, I’ve seen this place before” and that’s typically when you walk past the same punch-station six times in a row.

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After a time, Aisling, Dick, and Ryan were eaten by the maze monster, and Jim, Tonya, Anne, and I tried to catch up with them, but ended up somehow traveling in the opposite direction. People kept calling and asking where to meet us, and my answer was “…I don’t know, I’m lost in corn. :whimper:”

Eventually, we came to a section that was clearly a side-wall as we could see people and pumpkins on the outside, and we also found a punch-station. This was the point when we decided it was time to take out our map and try to figure the way out from where we were.

 

Very soon afterward, the four of us were outside waiting by the exit for Aisling, Dick, and Ryan to finish. At one point, I called Aisling, and they had just found a punch-station out near the highway and were themselves trying to figure out how to get out of the maze using the map.

When they finally showed up, the exit is not the point from where they emerged–they had found a spot on a side of the maze where some other group had broken through the corn to freedom and said ‘Fuck it, let’s get out of here’–only now they also had to contend with climbing over the chain-link fence to get back on the correct side of the creek.

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Outside the maze, we met up with James & Katy, and Nicole and Shana called to say they were running late but they’d meet us at the patch later, so we set off a-pickin’ and a’group-photoin’.

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Here’s James with the two pumpkins I’d picked out–one for myself and one for Amy, who had graciously agreed to stay at the cabana to decorate for the party as even though I had stopped into the office six times to confirm the time I needed the cabana unlocked for my party, Snoozy Suzy apparently decided it wasn’t a priority to get it unlocked for me on time so Amy and I had barely enough time to haul everything over in the half an hour I had before we were supposed to meet people at the patch. Snoozy Suzy, in turn, wanted to know what time *I* was going to be out of the cabana so she could begin setting up for HER party the next day. Turnabout is fair play, so Amy and I decided it wasn’t a priority for us to leave before midnight, even though the party had ended hours before. So sorry.

I had spent the whole day prior to the party baking–I made some super-awesome pumpkin cupcakes made with fresh-grated pumpkin, popcorn balls (which are a huge mess and I will probably never make them again), ‘witch finger’ cookies, and what were suppose to be brittle bone crackers that ended up just destroying my kitchen and not even being worth a fraction of the effort.

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We watched movies and carved and listened to music and made filthy, filthy jokes, and this is what we ended up with:

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In Mellzah’s communal pumpkin-carving activity, pumpkin carve you!

Nicole fully intended to place this pumpkin next to her neighbor’s Obama pumpkin, but I have yet to see photographic evidence of this.

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Tonya (amazoni) carved the three on the right–the one with the smooshy face on the far right makes me laugh every single time I see it.

Anne (poetrix618) made the pumpkin shark with candy-corn teeth–it actually has several rows of teeth for extra authenticity and deliciousness.

Katy (goosezilla) carved the teeny one in front in honor of her dog Phoenix.

James (too cool for an LJ) carved a witch and a skeleton into one pumpkin, representing this year’s Republican ticket.

Katy also carved the goatse pumpkin, which was super-awesome to have up on the porch when random packs of Kent children started wandering around, checking out our work.

Mine is the squinchy-faced, large-toothed one on the left.

Aisling (conceptcanibal) made the one on the right–she had originally wanted to do something different, but when she sat the pumpkin upright, the part that faced up was scarred, so she just followed the scars and ended up with that silly character.

I’m pretty sure Katy also carved the white pumpkin, but I couldn’t tell you for a fact.

Ryan carved the two orange sugar pumpkins, one of which was left behind so I kept it on my office desk for a week.

Dick chose a green pumpkin, the better to turn it into a Green Lantern pumpkin.

Amy’s pumpkin is the one in the back, with a ghost popping out from behind a tombstone.

Jim’s (jimhark) pumpkin, although hard to see, depicts the DOW crash, which he characterized as “pretty damn scary”. What was equally scary was when he was leaving and dropped his phone between the slats of the stairs by the pool, which has been deadbolted and padlocked for the season, with no one to contact to open it up so he could retrieve it. He ended up snagging the pool skimmer and fishing for it between the steps, to the great amusement of everyone who DIDN’T have a phone trapped underneath a bbq grill.

All in all it was a fab addition to my pumpkin carving party tradition and I’m thrilled that everyone got along and had a good time!

Concession? NEVER.

WHAT? I demand a recount! Somehow this ‘Obama’ character was elected instead of a swanky new Dildarian regime, which both shocks and appalls me. Clearly there was some voter fraud going on, because there wasn’t a single royal purple state on the map. WHO IS DISENFRANCHISING MY VOTERS? Your liberal media is sweeping my regime under the rug. You make me sick. SICK.

Now, instead of voting in the glory that is my mustache, you will have it thrust upon you at an unspecified time in a very unsexy manner, despite my usage of the word ‘thrust’.

You may want to take a moment to contemplate your fate, and learn the words to my totally inspirational theme song (which may eventually replace the national anthem, and as a bonus, is way easier to sing).

It goes a little something like this:

Bow before the might of Mellzah, meatbags Kneel before the new lord and master of the world She can shoot fire out of her grill (the front one) And she’s powered by booze and WD-40 She is a mystery in a riddle wrapped in a cardboard bo-ox

She is just a girl with massive delusions But if she’d just use her steely claws and steal old people’s medicine She might never have to turn back into a puny human…whooo

BOWS before the might of Mellzah, meatbags kneels before the new lord and master of the world She likes to sing karaoke (in bars) And she dances on the corpses of her enemies

She is a mystery in a riddle wrapped in a cardboard box:

MELLZAH.

A Vote for Mellzah is a Vote for Awesome

We’re getting down to the wire, and the time has come for me to reiterate what an awesome benevolent dictator I’d be, and renumerate why you should mark your ballots for me tomorrow, instead of forcing me to seize power, which mayn’t make me feel so benevolent at first. Vote for me, and I will rule you gently with my iron fist!

Life will be sweet under a Mellzah Dildarian dictatorship, no doubt.

First and foremost, I’ve got the chutzpah, gumption, and hard-hitting awesomeness it takes to lead. I don’t kill wolves with guns from helicopters–I kill simply with a hard stare. Eventually, I will be able to kill with a glance. Who can keep the country safe better than me, armed with a pair of binoculars or perhaps a telescope?

Second, I understand how important it is for a leader to take a strong stance on facial hair. My voting record clearly indicates that I have been a long-time supporter of the mustache. I cut an impressive figure. If you were to compare me to a type of tree, I would undoubtedly be an oak, or maybe a horse chestnut. I am all teeth and curls with wild, untamed hair, but with a pleasant, open face, and my mustache is fantastic and glossy, and the ends of it are twisted with expensive-looking ribbons. Living at sea tends to leave one with ratty, matted hair, but I keep mine silky and in good condition, and though nobody knows my secret, they all respect me for it. They also respect me because it’s said I’m wedded to the sea. A lot of pirates claim they are wedded to the sea, but usually this is an excuse because they couldn’t get a girlfriend or they were gay pirates, but in my case, no one doubts that I’m wedded to the sea for a minute. My great luxuriant mustache has inspired at least one book of epic poetry, and I know this because I dictated it one night whilst on an adventure when it was raining too hard to really do much else. (a)

But what sort of policies will I dictate, you ask? Why, seeing as I am ever so benevolent, I shall tell you.

As benevolent dictator, I fully intend to:

*Reinstate naptime. After a good-sized lunch, you’re not feeling at all productive and, in fact, may be feeling quite snoozy. Under a Dildarian regime, you would be free to take a nap if needed, thus actually boosting your afternoon productivity.

*Abortions for some! No abortions for others! Miniature American flags for all, with my face pasted right in the middle as a daily reminder to ‘Be Awesome to one another’!

*Reinstate corporal punishment in schools. If bullies got the shit kicked out of them regularly, and knew their teachers were packing stun guns, they’d think twice about driving angry loner children to the point of hit lists.

*Minor drug offenders will be set free. Violent offenders, however, will all be shipped to Utah for a ‘last man standing’ gladiatorial match. Weapons will be dropped inside at random–a sock full of pennies, a sharpened broom handle, and giant sporks. This will be televised on pay-per-view, and proceeds will go back to funding your Mellzah-led utopia.

*Opposing politicians? Sorry guys. You’re all going to be shot. Goes for the House and the Senate, too. You’re useless, and the money we were paying you is better spent elsewhere. Except Russ Feingold. You’re cool, you can stay. Sort of comes in the package with the whole ‘dictator’ thing. There is only ONE dick allowed in the mashed potatoes and that dick is mine.

*The war? Done. Fuck that shizz in the EYE. The Sunnis and the Shiites want to blow each other to kingdom come? Have a blast, guys. Here, have a giant spork.

*Paris Ho-lton, Lindsay Ho-han, and Slutney Spears (and potentially more) will be shot on a rocket to Mars. For science. Riiiight.

*True freedom of religion (and non-religion!) and absolute separation of church and state. You can worship any invisible man/blue man/ blue man group you want, but don’t you dare tell anyone else what they should and should not be doing or prepare to be slapped on the next rocket to Mars. Or to battle Xenu. Whatever. Anyone who knocks on my door offering to ‘help’ me while I’m dressed in the dictatorial bathrobe can expect to be shot immediately.

*Gay marriage will immediately be legalized nationwide. Marriage is two people who have made a commitment to one another, conferring all rights and privileges on their union. Anything less is discriminatory. Religious types who are offended or threatened by gay marriage may choose to have a different, religious-based ceremony, but this religious ceremony will not be recognized by the Dildarian state, nor will it confer any special rights or privileges under the law.

*Illegal immigrants will be granted amnesty. Have YOU ever picked blueberries? Awful, awful work. But I’d still like blueberries on my cereal, so, y’know, amnesty.

*Cuba? Sanctions lifted, y’all. Quality cigars should be plentiful and cheap.

*Drunk drivers will have to walk home naked from the point where they are pulled over. Second time, with a matchstick squeezed in between their butt cheeks. Third time? You’re GOIN’ TO UTAH, BABY!

*My face will grace your money, making it much more attractive and further demonstrating my strong commitment to facial hair.

But how will a Mellzah dictatorship work, you ask? I understand; you’re confused. You’re used to living under a democracy with three branches of government, with a lot of levels and bloat and useless people mucking up the works like Tim Eyman. Under my benevolent dictatorship, the whole process will be more streamlined. Unfortunately, though I may seem god-like in stature to some, I cannot be everywhere, so I have a number of second-in-commands, each with a specific area of expertise, all assigned to a particular region. While you may not be able to interface with me directly, my number twos will be like unto the voice of god when they are in the field as my representative. Though it may seem backwards to have several number twos, this system is designed to protect not only me, but you, from the confusion and terror that inevitably follows the usurping of an awesomeness such as mine by a lesser-known person. In the event of my untimely passing while reigning as benevolent dictator, my second-in-commands will have to battle one another to the death, insuring that only the strongest one reigns, and secondly, that they cannot be in collusion with one another against me without forfeiting their lives.

Those who have complaints may bring it up with their regional dictator, who will in turn bring it up with me, and I promise to give the issue my fair and balanced consideration, which is more than you get now unless you happen to have a boatload of money.

I thank you for your time and consideration. Regime change begins at home: VOTE MELLZAH DILDARIAN FOR BENEVOLENT DICTATOR.

(a)Apologies to Gideon Defoe.