I want to be in Wisconsin. Or hiding out in Illinois. I wanna be a player. Get tear-gassed. Be carried off by the National Guard as I scream, "UNION!" God, that would be awesome.
Of course, it would take the entire National Guard to carry me off. And even then, I bet a few of their backs would go out. I bet it would be on national news. They'd probably even report my weight. You know, to get sympathy for the Guardspeople whose disks I ruptured trying to lift me. Oh, I'd lie, of course. With my last breath I'd be screaming, "I am wearing heavy boots! And sterling silver earrings that weigh at least seven ounces! I have on two Maxi Pads! TWO!"
And some hungry mofo intern at Fox would Watergate his way into my medical records and stick my actual weight on the news crawl. And because I would refuse to go on any of their bullshit news shows to defend myself, they would get revenge by having, say, Ann Coulter standing in front of a, I don't know, computer generated diagram of my naked body and she'd be holding a laser pointer to show the most progressive, repulsive areas of me. And she'd blame my flabby repulsiveness on health care reform or Mexicans or something. God, I hate Ann Coulter.
Wait. Where was I?
Wisconsin. Right. Or maybe Illinois. I'm not telling.
Can you imagine how awesome it would be to hide out somewhere? Oh, I don't mean in a running from Nazis Anne Frank way, although who are we to say that didn't have its own sort of desperate, despairing joie de vivre? One man's freilach.....
I mean, it would be awesome to hide out in a fun, no one's gonna kill you when they find you way. Like Capture The Flag. Capture the State Senators. And when they find you, you just have to march across the baseball diamond and then go sit in the shade and drink some Crystal Lite or something until everyone is found and it's time for the camp talent show.
I think I'd be a pretty good fugitive. Now that I've switched out Diet Coke for iced tea, I defo have the belching down to a low roar, so the enemy can no longer track me by my burps. And I am surprisingly low maintenance during a long haul. Ask Robin. When we were in New York, I was a total trooper. After I woke up at the crack of noon each day, sent Robin down to bring me coffee, run my Kiehl's rosemary oil bath while he ironed my linen sundress for the day, I was pretty much self-sufficient. Except for those three days I had that blister on my foot.
Maybe I should just get up and get myself to Wisconsin. (Or Illinois. You figure it out.)
I can't do it tomorrow because tomorrow I have to wait for the Sears guy to come and look at the dryer. And then I have plans tomorrow night. And I think that blister is acting up again. Plus, I only have four Xanax left on this refill.
I have an idea. All you Wisconsin Senators? Come to Oregon. To my house. They will never think to look here. Plus, we've got Tonya Harding here. She might be a Republican but I think I can talk her into doing some knee-whacking if Scott Walker shows up looking for you. Tonya seems like a reasonable person. Pro-Union.
Take refuge with Dr. Strangemom, Wisconsin liberals. I will make you matzo ball soup and brisket with carrots and onions. We shall overcome. But first, we shall overeat.