Rut City, Population: Me

I’m fried. Burned out. Toast. Beat to a pulp. Dead behind the eyes. Numb.

And I haven’t done anything physically taxing. It doesn’t make sense.

I’m suffering from knowing that I have no purpose, nothing to offer and nothing to show for my roughly four decades on this rock.

I’ve said it before, but I’ll say it again: Being unemployed blows fucking donk.

It has zapped my energy, my will to create as well as my will to be out among the living. Sure, teeny, tiny freelance gigs trickle in from time to time, but that ain’t enough to put the thoughts of tri-state crime sprees out of my noggin. I listen to my friends bitch, whine and moan about their jobs, and I have to turn off all of my impulses to fucking throttle them with my she-woman strength.

There are times when I feel like this character from Game of Thrones, is hiding in the  surprisingly under-utilized section of my soul–she’s a loyal, badass who will fuck you up if you cross her.

Brienne of Tarth (courtesy of pandawhale.com)

A bit maudlin, I know, but I’m allowed. I still scroll through shitloads of job leads every day. Some I apply to, others get trashed.

Then, there are those job leads that cause me to utter aloud WHAT THE ENTIRE FUCK??

Don’t believe me? Here, check out this gem from a Houston all news-all the time-radio station.

Enjoy.

The actual requirements for the job–news editor/managing editor–were much shorter, see. And, they were typical news editor/ME duties like solid news judgment, assignment desk duties, AP Style knowledge, etc. When I read this list of “requirements” my first thought was, “Huh, yeaaaahhh…aren’t these requirements for being a well-adjusted adult?”

Not so fast.

So, as the news editor/ME, I wouldn’t be allowed to do my job–which entails being direct, sometimes demanding and expecting professionalism at all costs–but I’m not really allowed to express what I want for fear of hurting feelings or putting someone off.

I did send them a resume/cover letter combo platter and here’s a snippet of what I wrote, but nicer.

I’m a seasoned professional who is capable of working with others under stressful situations, and I expect that out of my colleagues as well. I’m tough, but fair because I realize that the news business is not always so. As for ‘evolving self-awareness’ — if you can explain what that is exactly, you’ll be able to hire whomever you choose.”

Of course, they called me.

Turns out, they have no clue about anything, and want tons of experience for roughly 9 bucks/hour and no (surprise!) relocation expenses paid even though this was advertised on a NATIONAL journo jobs website. A friend pointed out to me that the previous news editor/ME probably either got fired, or quit because he/she was doing their job, and not playing wet nurse to a bunch of fucking over-sensitive, pants-wetting, maladjusted dipshits.

Yeaaah … I’m gonna have to give you a big, fat NO.

The bigger picture here is this is what I am (and the millions of other US citizens who are unemployed) up against: These wish lists of skills put together by completely clueless hiring managers and HR departments who don’t know what they hell they’re talking about. I was recently asked to take geometry/algebra test for an editing job.

Yep, I shit you not.

I said no, then told the hiring manager that if I was going to be eliminated from consideration, is should be on a level playing field. I told her that testing me on something I haven’t done in almost 30 years is grossly unfair. She agreed and I didn’t have to take the test. I interviewed, and we’ll see if I get a call back.

Back to Houston, care to wager that they have an incredibly high turnover rate?

PS–I’ll be in NYC next week, so I’m sure I’ll have plenty to say. So, watch this space.

All Is Right With the World Again

Really, Jules? How can you say this–especially after you experienced a quick & painful hiccup in your non-existent career yesterday?

Well, here’s why.

From Rolling Stone.

Iggy Pop and the Stooges Ready New Album for April Release

‘Ready to Die’ features guitarist James Williamson, drummer Scott Asheton

Now, this makes me smile.

See, my three readers, 2013 was starting to look like yet another shitty year for McCrabass until I heard this news. I saw Iggy a long time ago in LA and it was quite the show–he was loud, crude-as-fuck and just plain out of control. It was one of the best times I’ve ever experienced standing up. I mean, I almost tossed my granny knickers at him, but was afraid he’d put them on and they’d be too big. He’s alluring in an ugly-sexy kinda way–if that makes any sense.

So, when I heard my favorite skanky, blue-eyed boy & the Stooges were releasing an album–some 40 years after the last one with James Williamson and Scott Asheton–I did a slow nod and muttered to my empty living room “Niiiice.” Yeah, very un-Iggy-esque but I gave up heroin before I even started and my leathers are being repaired.

Iggy Pop and the Stooges are ready with a new record, Ready to Die, which will mark the first time Pop has worked with guitarist James Williamson and drummer Scott Asheton on a full album since their 1973 classic Raw Power. As he’s done since the Stooges’ 2003 reunion, Mike Watt will fill in for the late Ron Asheton on bass. It’ll be Iggy and the Stooges’ first album since 2007′s The Weirdness, which was the last to feature Ron Asheton. Ready to Die is due April 30th on Fat Possum Records.

I don’t like to wish my life away, but April 30th can’t come soon enough. That’s kind of sad–I’m sliding down Crap Mountain again and I’m looking forward to an album release like I’m some sort of love-struck teenie bopper.

I need a do-over.

 

 

Interview THIS!

During my unemployment tenure, I’ve been playing past job interviews on a loop in my head, and I’ve come to one main conclusion: They were all an amalgam of this infamous one from Monty Python:

Obviously, I am doing something wrong. Yes? I think so.

I’m too formal and stiff in my interviews. I wear interview clothes. I speak interview speak. I glop on interview makeup. I style my hair into interview goodness (read: I hide the purple highlights). I research the shit out of any position I’m up for as well as the company and the people with whom I’ll be meeting.

Yeaaaah….that tactic ain’t workin’ no mo’. So it’s time I change things up a scosch.

I’ve even perused all of the drab “How to Ace An Interview Without Shitting Yourself and Smacking the Crap Out of the Clueless Interviewer” vidyas the Internets. None of them are helpful and I swear a few of the ‘actors’ featured are ‘stars’ of some of the low-rent porn I’ve seen lurking around the web as of late.

I’ve found a few examples in my travels and could use some help. That’s where my three readers come in–I need y’all to help me figure out which example displayed below would work for me. Well, maybe not exactly the same as what I’m offering here, but perhaps a combo platter of several, or maybe you know of others I haven’t thought of yet.

Here’s Bachelor #1–from one of my fave movies “Trainspotting”. One caveat here–I won’t get stoned before an interview–not my style anymore. I mean, I’m not in Hollywood anymore. That’s a non-negotiable at this point. However, the accent is a possibility. I can do just about any accent too–but my personal faves are South Asian (Dot Head is NOT the preferred nomenclature I’ve been told) and Little Asian Girl.

This one is good too, but I don’t look good in a wife beater unless it’s wet and I’m dancing on a bar in Waco. But, I do like Gettin’ Jiggy Wif It’s attitude here. Works for me

This one is just too smarmy for the most part. Topsiders? Nope. But, Ben Affleck is wicked hawt all the time so that’s something to consider.

I actually called an interviewer Pam in an interview when her name was really Pan. True story. So, this scene flashed through my mind during that 2 hour-long snoozefest of an interview at California Psychics.

Don’t know if I’m as clever as Sacha Baron Coen. I’d never be able to keep a straight face or wear that type of Jewfro.

Arthur Spooner is a folk hero. He was deftly portrayed by Jerry Stiller, and when Stiller first joined the cast of “King of Queens”, I was half-expecting a Frank Costanza Redux, but Arthur Spooner quickly became his own character. He was the best part of “King of Queens.” So, in this episode where he offers Spence Olchin (Patton Oswalt), job interviewing advice, it almost made me wet my Costco knickers.

and this one because it’s funny ..

Then, there’s this one. It’s not exactly a job interview, I just love Red’s “Yeah, fuck you” attitude in this scene. To me, it’s the best scene in film that’s loaded with best scenes. Also, I’m not into using swears during a job interview. I think that sets a bad precedent because I believe if hired, I’d be expected to swear all the time. While that’s very easy for me to do (I’m fluent in Salty Language), I don’t think I’d be long for that job, you know what I mean? Anyhoo, I do like Red’s attitude. He has nothing to lose and I’d like to be more like that in my next interview.

So, folks. There you have ‘em. If you have nothing better to do, please feel free to drop me some advice. The winner will get a pony.

A Somber Anniversary

This week marks a frustrating and sad anniversary for me: Two years ago–January 21, 2011–was my last day at my editing gig at a trade/B2B publication here in Chicago.

First, allow me to back it up a titch and regale you about how the fun began two weeks earlier.

I arrived at work on that crappy cold-as-fuck morning, had just enough time to put my stuff down on my desk, take off my coat, and say hello to my co-workers before the Editor-in-Chief asked me to take a walk with him. I found this a bit odd since he never paid me much attention, unless it was to gripe about something, or if he needed me to order some sort of pen.

So, when we rounded the corner that separated the newsroom from sales, and into a small conference room where the resident HR drone was waiting, my stomach flip-flopped. My mouth went dry and my chest felt like it was going to resemble Kane’s in “Alien”–but with my heart bursting out & smacking both the EIC and HR right in their mugs instead of a parasite that would eventually kill the entire fucking masthead. A wry smile crossed my lips for a brief second at that thought, but it quickly vanished when I heard the following:

“Um, yeah. Julia. We’re going to lay you off–it’s nothing personal of course–we’re just eliminating your position so we can add more to the sales team.”

What happened next few minutes was a blur. I do, however, remember giving the EIC a look that would kill a planet, tightening my jaw until it ached and feeling the tears starting to build up. Sadly, the death glare didn’t land because he wouldn’t look me in the face, but he did manage to set the land speed record for waddling out of the conference room so he could alert my colleagues of my fate.

You know, to save face and look like a fucking hero.

“Gosh, we really like Julia, but tight budgets are preventing us from keeping her on. So, I know she’s looking for work, so please help her out if you can.”

My immediate boss was absent that day so when she got my tearful phonecall an hour later, needless to say, she was furious. The next couple of weeks were a blur of phonecalls to friends slash possible employers, resume prep, buckets of tears, lashing out at everyone, allowing my shocked soon-to-be-former co-workers take me out for lunches and post-work drinks, and trying my damndest to not kick both the EIC and ME in the balls. It took alll of my god-given strength to NOT throw my ass in the shitastic Chicago River when I learned that an intern would be doing my job.

Not personal, eh? Go fuck yourself.

The last couple of years hurled all sorts of puke/jiz-filled crappy crap at me. I don’t know which moments were the most fucked-in-the-head: Was it the the snow storm that hit the area about a week after I was canned? Or was it the pubic-hair freezing cold that pounded Chicago in the ass afterwards? Or, was it going out to LA to look for work and have many jobs dangled in front of me only to have them taken away just as I was making arrangements to move my life west? Maybe it was three interviews I had with a certain Chicago media outlet that always hired someone too young and inexperienced over me, only to have that person leave a few months later because the work was “too hard.” This happened three times.

It coulda been the publisher in Florida who flat-out asked me my age during a phone interview, and when I gently reminded him that what he was asking me was, gosh, ILLEGAL, he proclaimed he didn’t care. I ended the interview soon after.

Perhaps it was the approximately 500 carefully crafted resumes with the appropriate key words and phrases I sent out that were probably mocked, laughed at and tossed in digital circular files–I have no idea which one of these events have helped push me down Crap Mountain the fastest, but I do know this much–

THE LAST TWO YEARS HAVE BEEN A MAJOR PIG FUCK.

Somedays, I can’t move. I don’t leave the apartment. I read my New York Times, the New Yorker, maybe watch my stories on the tee vee, watch porn on the computer–anything to distract me from the fact that I am a miserable failure. While I am well aware that there are many in my situation–and in worse situations–I can’t worry about them. Does that make me cold & heartless? Naah, it makes me realistic because I highly doubt they give a red rat’s ass about me.

Other days, I work on my book that no one will ever read, do Bikram yoga and consider cooking meth in my kitchen. I help other friends find work, read reports and a thesis or two for a pittance. I cheer when my friends find work, and am sad for them when they lose their jobs. My happiness for their successes is genuine, but so is my anger and resentment. It’s difficult to be around friends who are successful and have jobs, so I don’t go out much. Plus, this city is expensive.

I’m thankful for my health (knock on wood), and the facts that I’m well-educated, and don’t have a mortgage or kids to worry about. I don’t want to think about where I’d be if either of those were a factor.

I felt some cold-comfort upon learning that both the EIC and ME were canned under new management. Since it’s not my style to revel in someone else’s misfortunes, my happiness immediately turned to concern because they both have families and mortgages. But then again, they’ll probably find work before I do, so fuck ‘em.

So, what am I to do? Keep getting out of bed every day. Keep on with the writing because my book is turning out to be a gem.

And most of all, not listen to those folks who tell me I can’t succeed. One of ‘those folks’ happens to be me, but that voice is getting fainter and fainter with each passing moment.

I think Madonna said it best below.

Target as a target

I got this the other day.

“Julia -

In the last week, over 230,000 people have signed my petition asking my employer, Target, to change its Black Friday shopping hours to let employees have Thanksgiving dinner with our families.

The response from media has been incredible, too — I was interviewed on the Today Show, and my story has been covered by CNN, the Wall Street Journal, Good Morning America, NBC, and major newspapers across the country!

When I started my petition, I didn’t expect it to get this much attention. Shortly after my petition took off, Target employees in others stores across the country were inspired to take action as well by starting their own petitions. The response from both employees and customers alike has been unanimous — Target should set an example by stopping the trend of retailers opening earlier and earlier for Black Friday deals. 

We have real momentum, and this Monday, I’ll be delivering my petition with over 230,000 signatures to Target Headquarters – click here to join us and add your name.

After I was on TV, my manager offered me Thanksgiving day off. But I declined. This isn’t about just me — it’s about respecting one of the few days retail workers have a year to spend time with loved ones. 

I know that Target is feeling the heat, and the more signatures we have to show them on Monday, the more they’ll feel pressured to change their Thanksgiving hours. Sign my petition now.

Thanks for your help — and Happy Thanksgiving. 

Casey St. Clair
Corona, California”

Let me get this straight–in this shitty shitty piss piss fuck fuck economy, you actually have a job and while it might not be your ideal job, it’s more than a lot of us have. Also, Ms. St. Clair has worked at Target for a while, you know, BY CHOICE, see.

Target decides they want to open on Thanksgiving night because, well, they are kinda choady but hey, they’re not here to be all PC n’ shit–they’re here to make a big, ass buck or two. In order to open on Thanksgiving night to deal with the throngs of shoppers who have some sick desire to get away from their alcohol-fueled, overstuffed gobs and feuding holiday family fun time to load up on gifts to give to their ungrateful, spoiled spawn, Target needs its employees to work. I know, I know, that’s crazy talk!

Target employees got wind of this and the whining wah wah wah starts. And since online petitions are the latest “It” Girl, someone decided to start one protesting big old mean Target. Then, the media gets wind of it as does Change.org, and now we’re being bombarded with online bitch and moan sessions.

Give me a break.

Here’s an idea: If you don’t want to work holidays, don’t get a job in retail.

In other words… SHUTTIE.

Swimmin’ pools, movie stars!!

Hey, take a gander at last week’s paycheck from the temp job I have! Hope you’re sitting down because you’re gonna be shocked, SHOCKED by how much money I’m making.

Let me remind you folks that jealousy is a soul-killer, and if you let the green monster invade your being, it’ll hurt you in an Ebola kinda way.

You aren’t worthy. Really. The sooner you realize this, the better.

If you need me, I’ll be hanging out with Mitt while we move moneys around our Swiss bank accounts just for shits and giggles.

Look Who Bought the Myth!

Boy oh boy did I ever! What myth do you spaketh of dearest Julia?

The myth that if you work hard, get real good edumacated and play by all the rules that you’ll get a job.

Excuse me for a minute whilst I cackle like the terribly misunderstood witch in “Bewitched Bunny”. Wait–come to think of it–this is more like it.

Sorry–it took me a while to dry my eyes and don some clean knickers. Ahem. Sometimes laughter ain’t the best medicine, and whoever said that needs to have their balls shaved with a dull, dirty razor. Then, that person needs to sit for a long, long time in a big pile of salt. Man oh man, I would be aces at torture.

Anyhoo, currently I’m staring at the dirty asshole of 21 months of unemployment. Yep. I’ve written about this before but now this sitch is getting mighty damn ridiculous. In the past 48 hours, I’ve received three tears/sobs-producing rejections. I would’ve loved to work at any of these places, but once again, I was told in so many words that I suck shit. That I’m not worthy of employment at all, and that I should just give up.

Well, I have. Stick a fork in me folks because I’m done.

 

Over 500 carefully crafted resumes and cover letters have been sent, networking and ass-kissing has been accomplished (I deserve an Oscar) and I’ve “Linked In” up the whazoo. Stories I’ve pitched are ignored or given to someone else to write. I’ve even started this extreme diet because all of the places I’ve interviewed at are inhabited by uber-thin folks. Next up: Botox and skin-lightening treatments.

I’ve learned a lot, met a lot of good people, but not enough apparently.

Meanwhile, half-wit woman hater Todd Akin doesn’t know the difference between an abortion and a D&C and people want him to help lead this country? Oh, dearest Julia, surely you gest! No one can be that thick! See, this is what happens when you let God into politics. Or, when you think you know how God would rule on such matters.

Watch:

My plans? To lay low for the rest of the year because 2012 ain’t no longer worthy of my time.

It’s been a shit-fuck-ass mess of a year. Nothing has worked out and that just boggles me wee noggin. Now, normally I’m not one to wish my life away, but as for the rest of 2012, well, I ain’t participating. This year had a chance and it blew it. Big time. It’ll be interesting to see if I even decide my vote is worth it. The current POTUS hasn’t done shit for me so why should I even bother? Or, maybe this guy has the right idea? 

So..neener neener neener, 2012. Go away. Please.

A little of this, a little of that …

After a night filled with crappy sleep, I woke up to this on the tee vee:

.. and now I worship all things Morey Amsterdam.

(courtesy of the latimes.com)

He’ll be my soul mate in the next life.

G’head and laugh, but you’ll be so jealous. Just watch and learn.

I imagine that writing a sitcom in this day and age doesn’t resemble anything like this image …

(courtesy timfowlar.com)

First, the writers are too old, and aren’t sporting the appropriate attire. Depending on the show, there’s probably more booze, hooch, porn, chocolate, juicing supplies and Larry Gelbart’s biography strewn about. Or Seth McFarlane’s. Or Tyler Perry’s. Not enough ironic facial hair either and there isn’t a MacBook Pro or iPad in sight because you know, you can’t write anything without either one of those tools. Fuck ideas, the tools will make you a great writer. Pffft.

Yesterday, I had a job interview for part-time, fill-in holiday work and believe it could go either way. In all honesty, I wasn’t looking forward to it because if you’ve been paying attention at all during the past year, “luck” and “job search” are two concepts that hate each other in my world. To quote Unfrozen Caveman Lawyer, those two ideas “frighten and confuse me”, so I don’t know how to react when confronted by either one. Sometimes I’m struck dumb when these two phenomena meet, and I just end up staring at a light switch for hours on end. What’s real sad is when I applaud said light switch–I can be heard yelling out “bravo” and tears can be seen streaming down my face in appreciation.

No video of this occurrence exists so don’t ask.

Imagine, if you will, not ever having to get up in the middle of the night to pee. Sweet Jesus, isn’t that an incredible thought? We’ve all peed during our slumber with gross results, right? But imagine if you could actually sleep n’ pee without the unpleasantness associated with it upon waking up in the morning?

Fortunately, the Japanese have once again invented something to help us be even more lazy. It’s a toilet and a bidet all rolled into one exciting sleep aid.

(courtesy of France24.com)

(courtesy of giantrobot.com)

I love how the Japanese get how fucking lazy we Americans really are. I wish we could admit to it, but we’re all too busy telling the rest of the world how fucking appreciative they should be of us and our obnoxious, holier-than-thou ways.

Of course, this invention has other uses than to help lazy sots, it can be used for those who are elderly and bed-ridden for whatever reason.

And to answer your next question, I’ve already ordered one for me and each of my friends.

Life’s 47% Pageant

Last night, I dreamed that this was me in my new, seizure-inducing living room.

(courtesy of worldofwonder.net)

Hey, it’s a huge improvement over the dreams I usually have where this character makes an appearance in one form or another:

(courtesy of wikipedia)

I know. Ouch. Somedays I’m Saturn, other days I’m his son. Either is a bummer no matter what.

This week marks yet another unpropitious anniversary–20 months of unemployment. Or, to reiterate what I said to my friend Braulio recently, it’s been a fucking weird year.

Meh.

I could bitch and moan about it, but what’s the point? I’ve got some freelance work that’s keeping me one step ahead of the law so mankind is safe for the time being. Plus, it’s much more fun to provide witty, acerbic yet caustic commentary on what’s been happening in the world lately. As we all know, there’s a plethora o’ material.

In. His. Wet. Dreams. Herman Cain is the gift that keeps on giving–kinda like herpes and his GOP brethren. When he says stuff like: “Stupid people are ruining America, and we’ve got to take it back” you know it’s time for him to return to making shitty pizza and leave the tough stuff like maintaining control of all four limbs and making actual decisions about big important things — like how to solve this country’s problems — to those who have a titch more experience in such matters. Knowing which type of pizza sauce is tastier, makes you an expert in, well, nothing.

Folks, Russia’s latest export is a super hot-model. Yep. I know. Yawn.

Let’s try this again.

Folks, Russia’s latest export is a super-hot model is a DUDE who looks like a CHICK.

Meet Stanyslas Fedyanin. He’s prettier than everyone ever. Kudos on mastering tucking your sack back.

(courtesy buzzap.jp)

And we’re back to Russia, or in this case, the Ukraine. They’re all the same to me. Anyway, that part of the world births some of the oddest shit.

Anastasiya Shpagina is no exception. Apparently, living a real life isn’t enough so she’s now an anime person or character or whatever fanboys call them. I don’t really know what that is either. Maybe the videos below will provide some sort of explanation.

FYI: Dziga Vertov would be disgusted by the horrible camera angles.

Hope this helps tame your latent-girls-dressed-as-anime-characters-fantasy, pervs. If these examples didn’t take away the schwing you’re feeling in your nether regions, you can always get some broad to dress up like an anime character–money is always a good enticement. This vid will show you both how! Just keep the volume at a reasonable level because we all know how well sound travels up from your mom’s basement. You wouldn’t want to interrupt her canasta tourney.

Wanking Roger.

Gentlemen, when you’re too lazy to give ye olde pud a wank, there’s this.

Sigh.

If you use it, I wouldn’t go about all willy nilly bragging about it. Masturbation is one of the few great rights we have left and if you’re not up for it, I’d keep it to yourself.

“Get in the ring”

It’s no secret that I follow politics. Why do I torture myself you ask? Oh, because I’m an emotional cutter.

But, seriously, I follow politics because I love studying human behavior– especially the magic knickers, Kenyan birth certificates, dressage horses, videos from 1998 that have nothing to do with nothing, et al. It’s all fascinating to me.

Each presidential election cycle is more whacked-out than the previous one, and as we draw closer to Election Day, I find myself saying on an almost hourly basis “Well, just when I thought it couldn’t get any whackier, ______ happens.”

In this particular case, ______ is our favorite pearl clutcher, Ann Romney. Take a listen to the clip below from an interview Mrs. Romney gave to an Iowa radio station yesterday. The fun starts about 1:23 in.

http://www.radioiowa.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/09/AnnRomneyInterview.mp3

So, this got me thinking (I know, there I go, working without tools again)….Hmmm…

Sure, I can go into the usual talking points about how her husband is basically a spineless chump who is shaking his campaign Etch-A-Sketch on a daily basis, or how he’s pandering to a particularly dangerous segment of his base who believes that Obama wasn’t born here, but that’s just too easy. Plus, it’s been done.

Instead, I’ve decided to have some fun with “Stop it. This is hard” and Mr. Romney’s recent 47 percent gaffe. You’ll see and please, feel free to join in on the fun.

“Stop it. This is hard. Sometimes I have to drive one of my many Cadillacs through neighborhoods inhabited by 47 percenters in order to get to one of my mansions. I don’t like white-knuckling it.”

“Stop it. This is hard. I had a horse in the Olympics and it was so difficult making sure he had the correct hoof polish.”

“Stop it. This is hard. I didn’t know what to do with the tax write-off Rafalca  awarded us, so I bought some fur-lined mom jeans for Mitt.”

“Stop it. This is hard. You try having conversations with some of your husband’s 47 percenter campaign staffers! I LOATHE talking to serfs!”

“Stop it. This is hard. I have to pretend I like people who aren’t exactly like me.”

“Stop it. This is hard. We had to sell stock to get to this place.”

“Stop it. This is hard. You try being married to a man who doesn’t know his ass from his elbow.”

“Stop it. This is hard. You know how difficult it is to get John Boehner to cry about someone he doesn’t give a red rat’s ass about?”

“Stop it. This is hard. Why didn’t those bitches at the RNC 2012 believe my insincere “I love you” during my duller-than-paste speech?”

“Stop it. This is hard. I just learned that some LGBT folks have families. They’re ruining my America.”

If I had a nickel for every time the Romneys said something stupid, I’d be in their tax bracket.

Aaaand SCENE.