So last night I couldn’t sleep so I became the President. Hang on. Let me share the events as they unfolded, live:
(I can’t figure out how to make the whole story appear here so you have to click on the above link and then come back to read the rest. Sorry.)
You may be asking yourself, how did this happen? Was it because America needed a hero? Maybe. Was it because I’d been drinking? Slightly more probable. Was it because of my socks? In a word? Fuck yes. Technically that’s two words but when you’re the President you’re no longer limited to the surly demands of math and logic.
You might be thinking I’m insane but LOOK AT THESE FUCKING SOCKS I BOUGHT:
And a good President shares her booty with her people so I’m giving you ALL magical socks. And by “all” I mean “three of you” because I can’t buy socks for everyone. Money and socks don’t grow on trees, y’all. At least not until I get the scientists of New Canada working on that. Want some socks? Leave a comment with a suggestion of my next presidential decree and I’ll randomly pick three of you to get socks. Unless the scientists make a sudden breakthrough on the sock-tree thing. Then it’s socks for everyone.
PS. I’m going to need a cabinet. Then I’m going to need to fill it with liquor. Then I’m going to need the other kind of cabinet. The political type. And I think it’s only fair that it be filled by you. Pick a title. Secretary of Cat Wrangling. Ministry of Bacon Variants. Or if you can’t think of one just get assigned one from the Random Title Generator for the Church of Bloggessianism.
PPS. I just noticed that Wikipedia has removed the Church of Bloggessianism as a religion, which is fine but I really don’t appreciate your tone, mister.
This aggression will not stand. Or it will stand if I get distracted, which is very possible because I forgot to refill my ADD meds again.
PPPPS. Victor is actually in Canada right now for a workshop. He just texted me:
PPPPPS. I just looked up “peameal bacon” and apparently it’s back bacon rolled in cornmeal. There are no peas in it at all. Even spellcheck was like “Nope. That’s not real.” WTF, Old Canada? How are you doing everything else so well but fucking up so hard on bacon? It’s fine. I’m here now. Let’s get to work.