My son is giving his African-American History Month presentation on Wednesday...as Barack Obama. He has to speak in the first person. He has to be the President. I bought him a little suit (we DO have a wedding coming up) and a blue tie (Obama's favorite color) and my husband suggested that he get a few of his friends to act like Secret Service agents when he walks in. His teacher suggested that maybe one of his parents do it (which is why I LOVE his teacher) and my husband is free on Wednesday while I may be serving jury duty (which is nearly the same, citizenship-wise, as pretending to be a Secret Service agent). But at the beginning of the practice presentation my husband scurried into the room and talked into his cellphone so I showed him how the Secret Service really acts (I went back to the Albion College commencement the year that George Bush gave the address. There were Secret Service agents everywhere trying to look like yuppie parents and not. pulling. it. off. I've had firsthand experience). I strolled in casually yet purposefully, opened a door to make sure there were no assassins hiding in the garage, then said into my fake cuff link/microphone "The coast is clear."
I was SO impressive that my son thinks we should move to Washington D.C. so I can get a job with the real Secret Service and, while that sounds fun, I just landed a full-time gig and don't really feel like taking a bullet. Sorry, America.
It’s us, but in dead animal form. But not really dead because they weren’t ever alive. Undead? No. That makes them sound like vampires. So not that. Fuck. I don’t know the word. Hey, how long can a title be? Because this seems excessive. Someone should stop me. Jesus. This is as bad as 280-character twitter.
1 day ago