Can't We Just Move On?
The election is over; it's time to make nice on Facebook
Hi, new Facebook friends! I’m Belinda Vandervelvet! The long-awaited election is over, and there is so much to celebrate here in Keewenah, Michigan. The people have spoken — Jesus has blessed our country with another term for Donald J. Trump! My new favorite number? 47.
Those of us with the Republican Women’s Federation of Michigan have been busting our bustiers over the Trump victory, especially those of us who’ve had breast augmentation, which is most of us. This is a new day, a new frontier for women, as we return to the values on which our country was built, where men make all the decisions, where women are in the kitchen making cheesy casseroles, where daughters are obedient, chaste and don’t wear thong underwear, and where our sons do pretty much whatever they please.
Did y’all see Melania last week? She was looking spectacularly gorgeous after President Trump’s first acceptance speech — the one he gave after .05% of the vote had come in. Love, love, love her almost blond hair and the breast reduction surgery — totally on trend with that, Melania! I’m really hoping I can swing that surgery, now that big rubbery tits are so pre-pandemic. My new husband Dan is not yet on board with smaller breasts, sadly. And frankly, though I’d love to get rid of my DD silicon implants, I’m not relishing the thought of having my nipples cut off and reattached higher up. I’ll just have to be patient and see what Dan decides. He’s praying on it.
Anyone else starting to feel the hate in their cul-de-sac? My GenZ grandkids warned me to soften my stance a bit, as some of our neighbors are not at all happy about the election results. And I think — why should I dampen my enthusiasm just because they LOST? They had their day in the sun, what with men in dresses peeing in the women’s lavatories and all of those Mexicans picking vegetables in California. We don’t even eat vegetables, so why should I care about immigrants or California? Sour grapes make for bad wine, speaking of which, I found double-size boxes of white zinfandel at the new Costco last week. Cannot wait to crack open a box while I watch my fav Hallmark movie: “An Ice Wine Christmas.” The methuselah-size wine box ought to get me from start to finish on this fabulous movie.
For those of you from Keewenah High, you probably remember me from the cheerleading squad — I was head cheerleader my senior year, 1980 — and that was because I was the nice girl on the squad, or so Ms. Kirkpatrick, our cheerleading coach, thought. She’s the one who made the assignments, thank god, because my fellow rah rahs would never have voted for me if we’d had an election. In fact, each and every one of them would only have voted for themselves — you know how competitive teen girls can get. I mean, there is only so far you can hike up your skirt before it is actually in your vagina. And, the competition for Matt Greenbach, the star quarterback, was fierce. It seemed to me he had enough sperm for the entire cheerleading squad (and the pom-pom girls), but you know how that goes — some girls are greedy.
Despite our petty grievances, the squad still gets together once a month. And to be clear, that’s not because we have any genuine feelings toward one another (unless you consider jealousy a feeling), it’s because we’re the only ones from our class who still live in Keewenah. Angela Bancroft, that, pardon-my-French, bitch who got straight A’s in physics and chemistry and had gorgeous, long blond hair, and looked like Daryl Hannah, is now apparently head (cheerleader?) of the astrophysics department (is that the science of astrology?) at M.I.T. and she moved to Boston three decades ago. Does anyone even know what M.I.T. stands for? I’ve never even heard of it. And the Boston Red Sox suck, so there’s that. Also, worst candy ever: Boston Baked Beans.
Over the years, I’ve gotten a lot of flack for my variation of “nice,” which in high school involved my never, ever making eye contact with anyone who didn’t belong to my parents’ country club, our Catholic parish or who had brown skin, minus those hunky guys on the football team, of course. I have a sensitive stomach and having to interact with those losers would have made me throw up, like in the hallway in front of my classmates from earth science. Totally embarrassing that would have been.
But I digress. Back to my main point, which is this… why can’t we all just be friends and go back to talking about holiday decorations and our favorite recipes and grandchildren? The time is now to leave this political stuff behind us, I mean really — put it in the rearview mirror. We won, you lost. Plain and simple. Please get over it and go back to liking my holiday pics.
You’re all going to love going back to the good old days when I was the boss of you and everyone else in the girl’s locker room. Remember what happened when anyone tried to stand up to me? Y’all got majorly snubbed by the whole school and bullied by the entire boy’s basketball team. I’ll leave it to you to guess why I never, ever got punished for orchestrating all of that mental anguish for you geeks and losers. Joke’s on you (and principal Kincaid’s wife). Imagine this now on a national scale!!!
Damn this is going to be fun! Let the good times roll!
This is very funny but also very sadly true.
Almost didn’t read this. It’s perfection