OUT OF FOCUS

How to kill a Cockroach, Psycho Style

I could not decide whether to categorize this post as Humor or Horror.

I would do prison time- I repeat- I would do prison time-two years- in exchange for never seeing another cockroach a.k.a water bug in my
apartment again.

I must admit, after living in New York City for 15 years, the city for which I kiss the ground that I walk on, I must admit, that my city is filthy.

I take out my garbage. I don't litter. I recycle. I'm the best damn Samaritan as they come, yet I have been cursed on and off with the presence of mice and cockroaches for the last fifteen years. Photo

Tonight, I saw a cockroach aka water bug. I guess when they grow big enough to do pool laps, they become water bugs.

This particular one was bigger than a Keebler cracker.

This has not been the first time I've received visit nor will it be the last. So now, in a drunken stupor, I must pass on my knowledge and expertise in:

STEPS TO TAKE WHEN ENCOUNTERING A WATER BUG:

1. Scream maniacally informing all neighbors of a break-in.

2. Chase cockroach with bottle of Rite Aid Glass Cleaner and spray until immobilized (you as well as the cockroach). This should take anywhere between 30 and 55 minutes.

3. Get kitchen size garbage bag, vacuum bag, foam ear plugs and Elexctrolux vacuum with three-to-six foot attachment.

4 . Plug in Electrolux vacuum while inserting earplugs to prevent the sound of a cockroach being sucked up the tube of vacuum. Place vacuum tube inches away from the immobilized cockroach.

5. Turn on Vacuum.

6. Turn away. Wait.

7. Look and see if water bug has been sucked up by vacuum. If not, reposition nozzle.

8. Wipe tears from eyes. Look again. If successful, turn off vacuum, take out vacuum bag and place in plastic kitchen bag. Seal tightly.

9. Walk to dark street corner, deposit bag in public trash receptacle as if nothing happened.

10. Smile to passing pedestrian and make predictable joke about cold weather.

11. Go back home,pour double shot, curse and listen to Pink Floyd's, The Wall like angry, stoned teenager.

12. Repeat if necessary.

After listening to side B of the album, I do to get a drink of water and I see something dark walk by. IMPOSSIBLE!! I looked more shocked than George C. Scott in The Changeling. It was either a family member of this bug pulled a total Houdini on me.

After reliving this drama twice in one night, I'm ten years older and ten drinks drunker.

How can one be so weak?

Wellbutrin Warning: Do not mix Alcohol with Auctions

Last night, I made a $3,000.00 mistake.  I spent $3,000.00 for a night in a men's locker room.  I swear its not what it sounds like.

I was invited to a gala fund raiser and by gala I mean the type with the flashing bulbs, tripping over casino cups full of money.  That kind of event.  It's not often that I rub elbows with the rich and athletic, but last night I found myself stuffing down button-sized hor deuvres and washing them down at one of their many open bars.

And then all I remember was a bell, and like Pavlov's dog, the sound of the bell made me drool for the taste of glamor and temptation. In front of was a stage with a suited auctioneer standing behind a podium.

I had never attended an auction before but I remember seeing one years ago on an episode of Dynasty. I always wanted to know what it would feel like wearing a feathered-to-the-floor ball gown and raising my ping pong paddle to the highest bid while looking smugly at those around me.

I swore to the two friends that accompanied me, that I could bid and get away with it.  Whatever the hell that meant at the moment (?)  "Watch.  Do you guys wanna see something really funny?  I'll start bidding like the rest of 'em and then just stop after awhile before I have any chance of winning. You just have to know when to pull out before you get sucked in". Huh?

Auctioneer: Next, an evening with box seats and champagne, followed by a night in the locker room of  (enter team name here)!  The bidding starts at 800.00.  Do I hear 800?

With an uncontrollable reflex, I shouted:

Kali: Eight hundred!

Auctioneer:  Do I hear nine..nine hundred?

Lady in Heavy Jewels: Nine fifty!

Auctioneer:  One thousand?

Kali: (arm goes up again)

Auctioneer:  I have one thousand over here!

Lady in Heavy Jewels: Fifteen hundred!

Kali: Two thousand!

Auctioneer: Two thousand. Do I hear twenty two?

Lady In Heavy Jewels: Twenty two!

Kali: Twenty four!

Auctioneer: Can I get twenty five?  Twenty five?

And this is where the Wellbutrin Warning comes in: Do not take this medication with alcohol.

Kali: Three thousand!

Auctioneer: Three thousand!  Going once, going twice...

Lady in Heavy Jewels: Thirty four!

My heart racing, I turned to my friends and said, "I told you so.  I'm out".

And then all of a sudden, the spotlight was back on me and the auctioneer said, "OK, I can make both you ladies happy. I'll take off your four hundred and I'll give it to you both for three.

Gavel Slam! 

Auctioneer: Sold!

What the hell just happened?  I wasn't on the streets of Cairo haggling for a ten dollar rug!  Was that even legal what he did?  I guess it was considering that most people who bid are serious?

Then I was thrust up on stage and led towards that back where I was asked by another Bejeweled woman for a credit card. 

There was my moment to run.  But instead I signed on the dotted line.

I cannot blame my clouded judgment on just three glasses of white wine.  I think I channeled the spirit of Alex Carrington last night.

Now, 24 hours later, the truth has sunk in and I have decided it would be best if I were to pass on the locker room visit and hand it over to some inner city youth or mentally challenged kids who would consider this a "dream come true". 

I've learned my lesson and consider this charitable deed "paying my debt to society".

In the meantime, I've got credit cards to cancel.

Outsourcing to Inuits? What next?

ADD Symptom: Road Rage.

On the rare occasion when I drive in the city, I go Zipcar. Its a car sharing company that allows me rent a car by the hour. 

No counter help. 
No hassles.
Just swipe my card on the windshield and off I go.

So I'm about to drop my car off in the parking lot where I picked it up from and I see that three firetrucks and four police cars barricading 12th Avenue and my parking lot entrance.

I kept driving towards the firetrucks as I had an ADD moment where the spinning police car lights hypnotized me in a trance behind the wheel.

A cop walks up to my windshield.

Cop: "Turn the vehicle around, NOW!"

Kali: "Excuse me, I need to park this car in that lot (insert smile).

Cop: "Sorry, not now. Let's go!  Let's keep it movin!".

I call Zipcar. After ten aggravating minutes of "press one, press two, press four, press eight" , I was routed  to a representative.

Rep: (overly chipper voice) "Good afternoon, how can I help you?"

Kali: (disgruntled) "Yeah, I got a Zipcar and the parking lot is on fire.  Can I drop off the car at a different location?"

Rep: Whoa!  Well, that's a shocker, eh? To whom am I speaking to?

Kali:  "Kali.

Rep: "OK, Collie, can you please hold?"

Sure, just bring my a bone when you get back, I thought to myself.  How hard is it to pronounce Kali?

15 minutes later.  I hand up.  She calls back.

Rep: "Sorry about that.  Collie, just park it."

Kali: "What do you mean park it?"

Rep: "On the street".

Kali: "There's is no parking where I am.  I'm on 12th Ave.  No parking."

Rep: Well how about you go find a parking. Because the next person who is renting will need to find it.

Kali: "That's impossible. Its gonna take me another hour".

Rep: "Tell ya what, I'll add on two hour driving hours at no additional charge and then you can park it".

Kali: "Park? Park where?"

(I can feel the urge of wanting to assault her with profanity.  Deep breath.)

Kali: "I'm sorry, what's your name?"

Rep: "Vanessa!"

Kali: "Let me ask you, Vanessa.  Are you in the city?"

Vanessa: "No, I am not".

Kali: "OK, well, you don't exactly PARK in New York City.  That's a false notion. Ask me to walk on water but don't ask me to park."

Vanessa: "Uh...huh".

Kali: "Where are you, Vanessa?"

Vanessa: "I'm at work-"

Kali: "Where? What city?"

Vanessa: "Oh, well I'm not in the city.  I'm in Canada.  Not far from the Arctic.  Do you know where Great Bear Lake is?"

Kali: "I'm sorry I haven't had the privilege".

Vanessa: "Not far from the Yukon!  Hahahaha...."

I can't tell if that was her laughing or her teeth chattering.

So at that point, it all became clear.I was on the line with an Eskimo:

An Inuit if you will.  Or whatever the latest rule is out out of the Book of Political Correctness.

So I kept it moving.  Spinning around, just like the truck lights, in dizzying circles, the same block for hours trying to find a parking.

And all I could picture was Happy Vanessa.  Cutting a whole in a frozen water with an X-Acto knife, fishing pole in right hand, phone in the left.  "Please hold...a representative with be right with you".

I now understand why Canada is hot on cheap pharmaceuticals. 

If only I can have Vanessa's happy pill.

Stick to the syrup, will you?

How to Vote Twice. Legally.

A typical ADHD moment.

I’m no crook or criminal.  I don’t deliberately cheat the system although sometimes I make honest mistakes that make me look like I cheat the system. 

Like when it comes to voting.

Last presidential election, I ended up voting twice, causing quite the ruckus.

Allow me to defend myself.

It was election year 2004. I bounce into P.S. 99 with my voting card in hand.  I am getting some stares because I am overly ecstatic knowing that my vote is the one that is going to make the difference.  There is a long line and each time it gets longer I chat more people up.

I ask them who there voting for.  I pry into their personal lives. I nonchalantly rubberneck, trying to get a peak between the striped-colored curtain and the Hospital Green voting booth. 

"You, hello! You.  You're next! Go-"

Three different voices coming at me at once.  Two are from behind and the other from the tiny, iron-fisted Senior ushering me towards the booth. 

I don't know what I was thinking but as soon as I walked into the booth, I pulled the lever, the curtain closes behind me and then I pull the lever back and the curtain opens once again.  I felt like a magician.

KALI:    "I'm sorry, I didn't get to vote." I accidentally pulled the lever."

BLUE HAIR: "Whatdya mean, you accidentally pulled the lever? You just voted!"

KALI: "No I didn't. I forgot to vote.  I just pulled the lever back and forth without thinking. Or maybe I just thought I had to wash the other voter's vote off the machine so I can start fresh-I don't know.  I just didn't vote-"

BLUE HAIR: "What the hell are you talking about?  Have you ever voted before?"

KALI: "Yes, I have- I screw up.  I'm sorry-I didn't vote-"

BLUE HAIR: Calling loudly across the room. "Bruce, I have a problem! This one pulled the lever but didn't vote!!"

HUSKY BRUCE:"What do you mean she didn't vote?"

BLUE HAIR: I mean she didn't vote.  She forgot to vote.

Impatient Woman in line behind me:  "Just let her vote.  She screwed up"

Outspoken Guy at the end of the line: "That's her problem. She doesn't get to vote again."

Impatient Woman: "She didn't even vote-".

Outspoken Guy at the end of the line: "She lost her vote.  She already voted. No one gets to vote twice!"

Impatient Woman: "She doesn't just lose her vote-!"

Bruce walks up to me.

BRUCE: "You really didn't vote?"

KALI: "I'm sorry, Sir, I did not vote-"

BRUCE: So then why'de you pull the lever?

BLUE HAIR: "She says she didn't know.  There's always one in the bunch-"

Impatient Woman: "Just let her vote for Christ sake!"

At this point I am purple with embarrassment.

I lean into the Blue Haired Lady's face.

KALI: "I really need to talk to you-"

BLUE HAIR: "What now!"

KALI:(Whispering) I'm dyslexic and can't read that well. That's why I pulled the lever.

Blue Hair has an "Ahhhh she's just stupid" look on her face.  She leans into Bruce.

BLUE HAIR: "She's disabled-"

Bruce: "She shoulda a said something. Eh, just let her vote".  He walks away.

So now I am in the voting booth, fake-crying real tears.

BLUE HAIR: "Why didn't you just tell me?"

KALI: " I was too embarrassed.'"

A reassuring Grandma's hand on the shoulder.

BLUE HAIR: "Honey, you gotta ask for help...Next time just ask for help-"

I force a shameful smile.

We vote together. Grandma and me.

I walk out of the booth.  As I exit, I walk along the long line of people still watching.
I stop in front of Outspoken Guy At The End Of The Line.

I lean into him.

"Hey", guess what? I just voted twice".   

True story.

I will not tell a lie, I cannot tell a lie.

I will not tell a lie, I cannot tell a lie.

"But why is it Kali that once again, you have been missing for five days?  Do you want us to believe you are another milk carton abduction? You say your back but you always leave?  What is it that you're really running from"

I will come clean. Figuratively speaking. 

I have a bad case of bed bugs. 

There.  I said it.

Oh, yes, I alluded to it in the title of January 8's entry but I could not keep this within me. 

I planned on putting up a facade as if every thing was dandy.

Life was grand.

Lotrimin Free.

But that's not me.

I cannot be two people at once although my therapist swears that I am.

The last time I shed this many tears was when I found out there was no Tooth Fairy. 

I am scarred.

I now know what it feels like to be on a witness stand murder.

I know what it feels like to be ostracized from society.

To feel plagued.

Malnourished from the lack of human contact. 

Except for the bugs.

And they have chosen me.

Me as a host.

I am the one that they want.

I am the one that they love.

The following is a transcript of the life-changing traumatic events that took place five days ago:

Exterminator saunters around apartment with flash light

ANTHONY
Uh Huh... Huh
KALI
What?  What?
(He lifts a finger as to shoosh her)
ANTHONY
Huh..
(Anthony walks over to her bed)
ANTHONY
This where you sleep?
KALI
Yes
ANTHONY
OK, Stand back.
(With all his masculine Italian might, Anthony heaves the mattress up as if dead lifting weights)
ANTHONY
Get over here!  See this?  Its movin!
KALI
Oh my God!
ANTHONY
(Anthony kills it and drops the mattress as if fatigued)
ANTHONY
You got bed bugs.
KALI
(She does the "get the bugs off of me dance" frantically)
KALI
Oh my God!  Oh no!
ANTHONY
Oh, yes..  You got em and this ain't just start.
(He holds out the dead bug)
You see this?
KALI
No!
ANTHONY
You got stage five here..  This is bad.  You been traveling?
KALI
Too Brooklyn-
ANTHONY
No I mean suitcase traveling.  Anyone going to remote third world countries or the Deep South?
KALI
No!
ANTHONY
Well you gotta sleep on this here bed because if you sleep anywhere else,
they's gonna follow you.
KALI
Are you out of your mind. 
(She lifts up her shirt revealing red welts on her back)
You see this?  This is what I got last night. 
ANTHONY
Can I see the front?
(She is about to lift her shirt and she finally gets the joke)
ANTHONY
Come on.  You gotta keep it light.
KALI
So why am I getting bit and not him?
ANTHONY
Are you the type of person mosquitoes feast on?
KALI
Yes all the time?
ANTHONY
You got sweet blood, baby?  Once they find who they wanna feast on, they stick with you.
KALI
Ill just sleep on the couch then-
ANTHONY
Cant do that.  Not only will they find you then your spreading them even more.  They move up to 90 feet to find you. 
KALI
And how are they going to find me if I keep moving around?
ANTHONY
Their heat sensitive.  So tonight your their meal. 
(He points to the bite mark on her arm)
ANTHONY
You see that pattern? They bite in three's.  Breakfast lunch and dinner. 
KALI
Well what if I were to go donate blood and then print the pint home and leave it in the middle of the room? 
ANTHONY
So now you wanna feed them?
KALI
I'm feeding them already aren't I?  Whats the difference?
ANTHONY
Listen, this is the severity of the situation.  I'm tellin you like it is.
KALI
So when can you come and exterminate them.  Can you do it now?
ANTHONY
I don't think you understand the severity of the situation-you gotta pack this place up-books clothes and all
KALI
What?
ANTHONY
You gotta take ever single piece of clothing and you gotta wash em in hot water and then dry each load on the hottest cycle for at least an hour.
KALI
Thats impossible
ANTHONY
Why is that?
KALI
I cant dry bra's and panties! Silks and Satins!
ANTHONY
Its either that or I can breath on em for you and they'll dry that way.
(He walks over to a wall of books)
ANTHONY
See all these books?
You gotta wipe every single one down, shake it and put em in a plastic bag.  Same with your clothes after you wash your clothes you gotta seal em up in a plastic bag. 
KALI
This is purgatory!
ANTHONY
You ain't seen nothin yet.  So when we cryogenically freeze the fuckers, pardon my French, from that moment forward every time you come home, you gotta put your clothes in a plastic bag.  You go to someones house now, you better take off your clothes at their front door and put them in a plastic bag.
KALI
This is crazy.
ANTHONY
This is New York City.  They spread like wild fire.
KALI
The I'll just have to go to a hotel tonight.
ANTHONY
Not a likely suggestion
KALI
Why?
ANTHONY
Well, your likely to spread em. 
KALI
And how much is this gonna cost me?
ANTHONY
'Bout two grand.
KALI
Two Grand!
ANTHONY
They chose you as a host.  They want only you.  Only you. This is the only way I can help you.

KALI

Bullshit! They'll be gone in a day.  You're just another fuckin con man!
Get the fuck out of my apartment!

So Five days later,
I still sit here,
washing and folding,
every concert T-shirt
every designer jean
every hat
every scarf
every shoe in between
I can only think of one other thing to do,

I bow my head in shame

I Dedicate this song

To Anthony, the Bed Bug guy

Don’t Let the Bed Bugs Bite

It seems in the last couple of years there has been a bed bug epidemic in my lovely city, and rather than fall victim to the nuclear surviving pests, I started doing some spring cleaning.  Bed bugs may not planning their ambush in your apartment now but if your roommate just flew home after a vacation stay at a local grass hut in the middle of Somalia, you most likely will be scratching for the next 7 to 14 days. 

So while I was struggling with life’s most difficult decisions, which scrawled-on cocktail napkin to keep and which one to throw out, I came across a poem that I wrote in the late 90's. 

Its called I think and it goes like this:

I think Tori Spelling’s a curse to the arts
And Ricky Lake’s really a man
I think Leonard Maltin’s a hermaphrodite
I was never a devoted fan.

I think David Hasselhoff should be thrown to the lions
And Chris O’Donnell be smacked with a pan
I think Demi Moore should admit their fake
I was never a devoted fan

I think Sly Stallone should stay in the ring
And Hard Copy in Afghanistan
I think Tom Cruise should come out of the closet
I was never a devoted fan.

I think Matt and Ben are long time lovers
And Oprah’s addicted to marzipan
I think Deon Warwick has no sixth sense
I was never a devoted fan.

I think Keanu Reeves has a speech impediment
And Pauli Shore an IQ of an orangutan
I think Ru Paul has made its point
I was never a devoted fan.

I think Jenny McCarthy should stay on the john
And the Real World should move to Iran
I think Hollywood has missed the whole point
I was never a devoted fan...

Life Within Facebook; One Woman's Struggle of Survival

Life Within Facebook; One Woman's Struggle for Survival.

This will be the title of one of the many books I intend to write in 2008.  Of coarse that is only one of my many resolutions:

1.  Write numerous novels involving themes of sex and distress.

2. Create an explosive commercial campaign starring myself.

3.  Become one of the most sought out Wellbutrin experts; book speaking engagements on Oprah, Travis Smiley, and Charlie Rose.

4.  Be one of the top 123,000 MOST GOOGLED NAMES.

5. Get one of my "many show ideas" produced so I can hire all my friends, family excluded, and fellow blog readers (if you are looking for a gig).

6. Find Patience and try never to misplace it.

So back to Facebook.  I joined Facebook when I was at Temple University, knowing that the only way I could truly communicate with any of my fellow-student-project-partners was through Facebook.

I'm sorry. I'm having some issues here. I don't get it.  OK, I get the whole "social connection aspect" but why the hell am I being:

POKED, PITCHED AND PROBED

HUGGED, NUDGED AND SHOULDER PUNCHED

Soon it'll be I am getting:

KISSED, KICKED AND KILLED      

Why do I have to pass a candle around the world?

Why am I being gifted with Teddy Bears? Candy Canes and Cyber Jewels?

Why am I getting emails that say, "You've been probed!" If you really want to probe me, pick up the phone and let's talk about it because obviously there are unresolved issues between us. 

Also, why, all of a sudden, do people know what kind of movies I am putting in my Blockbuster Queue? Are they also getting a rear window view of whether I butter my popcorn or not?

And why is there a Cyber Stalker by the name of Nikil Gandhy "high fiving" me?

You're kid's cute but I don't need to see a whole album of what you are doing on a lazy Thursday evening.

And how are all these people joining all these "groups"?

How do they find the time?  Is it me?  Am I the one that is still so unfocused?  Am I the one who greatly lacks  time management skills?

Is that a resolution I need to add to my short list of six?

Why is it that I am the only one who is Panic Stricken on Facebook? Its a race against the clock yet they have time to be sending chain letters?  Weren't chain letters a fad from the 70's?

Your not my Friend if your sending me a f*&king chain letter?  What next?

"(insert friend name) just pitched a miniature Haitian voodoo doll of you?"

For now, I chose to remain somewhat Faceless until I master time management.  Or get cloned.

Which ever one comes first.

2007 IDIOT OF THE YEAR AWARD GOES TO....

David Carpenter of Continental Airlines.

David Carpenter of Continental Airlines. 

David Carpenter of Continental Airlines.

"Who is David Carpenter of Continental Airlines?" one may question.

He's an ass*ole.  That's who he is. 

He's a manager who works behind one of the many impersonal counters of Nashville International Airport.

And he doesn't have an ounce of dignity. 

"Yes, but who is David Carpenter?" one may press on.

Well...

He's the guy the cuts you in line because his coffee's more important than yours.

He's the guy that denies his own wrong doing.

He's the guy who finds a wallet.  And keeps it.

He's the guy who revels in his own petty superiority.

He's the guy who wore the dunce cap in class and still hasn't taken it off.

And lastly, he's the "degraded little self" whose political views permeate his work. 

The miserly manager who treated one of our uniformed soldiers with disrespect not only by his actions but by his words.

While disgracing the Army with his own words, the constipated co-worker believes that no U.S. soldier deserves to be treated with an ounce of priority.

I beg to differ, David.

That is why David Carpenter decides to take the soldiers seat, demand that he exit the aircraft and give his seat to Mr. "Allahu Akbar" instead because Mr. "Allahu Akbar" does not have a seat but is a man under scrutiny in this country and David must tiptoe around his demands, because David is not racist, David is a lover of all people.

Except those who defend his country.

...with his own words, David is a lover of all people, except those who defend this country.

Boo hoo. David doesn't like the current administration so what better way to take out his repressed anger than on every soldier that he encounters during the holiday season.

Is this how he treats every U.S. soldier who is trying to get home for the holidays to see his/her family?  Will the limited time he/she may have before they deploy once more?

Show a little gratitude, David.

That's who David Carpenter is.

And that's why David Carpenter is this year's recipient...

of the 2007 Idiot of the Year Award.

Dancing Topless at a Harley Davidson Show

I knew that dancing topless at a Harley Davidson Show would some
day pay off.  Oh, what to do at the Jersey shore on a crisp spring day when you and your friends want to cut a day of high school? 

IDEA 1:
Go Bowling?

IDEA 2:
Attend a Harley Davidson gathering, get rip-roaring drunk and have your older brother find you topless in the next month's issue of In The Wind?

Since I could never feel fully comfortable in those tri-colored bowing shoes, I opted for #2.

So I gather that Maddog, author of The Most Bangable Blog Babes, must have seen my Harley Eagle Spread from way back when.  I am grateful for his tribute and acclaim.

To not leave my readers in a cliffhanger, I must tell you how I landed on top of a wooden picnic table surrounded by flashing bulbs and leather with three of my best girlfriends. 

I can't tell you.  Because I don't remember.

I can only assume that we were most likely bored and on the hunt to explore as we bagged an afternoon of bowling and chose what was behind door #2; a limo full of leather clad, long-haired men snorting what I thought were Pixie Stix. Regardless, it was one of those experiences that bring back the warm fuzzy feelings that you experience on your, say, first day of communion or winning your first Easter egg hunt.

If anyone so choses, I shall elaborate more in the future about my Playboy Bunny Friend, most likely the catalyst that had led us to that lovely Harley Picnic.  But today's entry is not about her but about The Most Bangable Blog Babes.  And  I say thank you, Maddog, for keeping my teen memories fresh, fine and alive.

Its not Happy Holidays, Jackass, Its Merry Christmas to me.

Who started this?  Who's the overweight, pipe-smoking jackass that leaned over his grandiose antique desk and spoke in a somber voice into his desk phone, "Madeline?  Can you come in here, please?".

Madeline, a spunky five foot two redhead, is one of many retail employees at Generic Department Store, who was programmed just like a Stepford Wife to greet all holiday shoppers with a "Happy Holidays".  But Madeline, being the good Christian that she was, chose to say "Merry Christmas" to her next door neighbor, who came in to shop one fine afternoon.

"Yes, Mr. Fredersen?"  Madeline was one of his favorites.  She wore the pink fuzzy mohair sweaters he loved so much.
"Madeline, have a seat," he groaned.  Her sweater looked extra special today; a cubic zerconia cross that rested on her chest that rose and fell as she breathed.  "Madeline, one of your team members informed me that you used the phrase Merry Christmas?  Is that true? I didn't think it could possibly be true after you sat through the whole 20 minute orientation film on political correctness narrated by the dictator-groupie himself, Sean Penn". 

Madeline shifted in her seat. "Well, being that I, as well as my neighbor, am a true believer in Christmas, I thought it would be OK to say it just this once."

Mr. Frederson hovered over her, moving in for the interrogation.  "How do you know if your neighbors don't pray five times a day on an oversized mouse pad or whose ancestors weren't enslaved by us Christians, therefore, celebrating the spirit of Kwanzaa? How do you know?"

"We were in the same bible study?"

So you see where I am going with is.  If I could only clone myself, I would have my second self on a nationwide manhunt looking for the one jackass who started all this.  Is it the fear of lawsuits?  Or Boo-Hoo you hurt my feelings... Why is it OK to chastise the holiday of Christmas? Can you imagine what would happen if someone spoke out about the falsehood of Kwanzaa?  (Oh my God, did she just say what I think she said?)

For folks who don't know, this is what Karenga, the creator of Kwanzaa, had to say about Christmas back in 1966:

"The Christian is our worse enemy. Quiet as it's kept, it was a Christian who enslaved us. Quiet as it's kept it's a Christian who burns us. Quiet as it's kept it's a Christian who beats us down on the street; and quiet as it's kept when the thing goes down it'll be a Christian that's shooting us down. You have to face the fact that if the Christian is doing all this there must be something wrong with Christanity."

Hang on, let me wipe that tear from my eye, just like the crying Indian on the horse.  Only difference is I'm not crying for the trash that is thrown from a car and lands at my feet.  No, I'm crying for the PC trash that is becoming more and more society's  gospel of what is right and what is wrong.

I think George Orwell referred to it as Groupthink.

Merry Christmas.