Flavor

I have been mulling over just what I think the flavor of the next decade will be. In the Eighties, we were frequently treated to the tastes of Honey Mustard; in the Nineties, we were overcome with exotically hot Wasabi; and today in the Aughts, we can swing a foot long burrito without covering ourselves in the flavorful delights of Chipotle. So I ask you, just what do you think the new flavor will be? Pommegranate is rapidly appearing everywhere, but is it ready to take on the mantle of Flavor of the Decade? The future, like my labia, are wide open and ready to receive this exciting new adventure for the tastebuds!

What Dreams May Come

I bet that sometimes while you're lounging in the Kingdom of No Pants (affectionately known by billions as The Internet) and you're reading Top to Bottom, you find yourself thinking, "Pfft! That can't possibly be real! Renita, what perscription medication are you overdosing on this week?" Well, for those of you who demand Truth in comics, behold! Gays can now marry in California. Yes, they could already be domestic partners, but who cares about that? Now they can actually use the word married. I know, I know. In the sleepy mountain town of Toluca Lake, gays have been getting married without question for years!

As a writer of webcomics, like any good Artist, I strive to set the trends that the world will follow. Reading Top to Bottom is often like glimpsing the future, four panels at a time. Just look at the things my cyber crystal ball has predicted:

Cha-Ching has fully functioning motorized arms controlled by thought and now a one-armed woman can finally cut steak, just by thinking about it!

Monica was the unfortunate recipient of a face transplant and now a stupid French woman has an even stupider face!

Klaus discovered Hitler's head in a jar and they actually saved Hitler's brain!

Before you know it, they will discover a vaginal-shaped portal that leads directly to Hell (though, I suspect that is the ending of the new Indiana Jones movie).

Words I Hate 2

While at a party tonight celebrating the release of sixteen long-incarcerated victims of their own stupidity, I stumbled across another word that has displeased me many a time--so much so, that when it was uttered tonight I found myself cringing enough to incite a blog!

Chicken Hawk.

Okay, that's really two words. Or perhaps it's hyphenated. I don't really know, nor do I care. It's a gay term (serious implications here). Let's face it, the word(s) are designed to put a cute spin on a very nasty practice. I hereby banish its usage as we will now only be using the correct term:

Pedophile.

I refuse to glamorize old men chasing after the young. It's sick and tawdry and not nearly as charming as "Cougar".

The Beat Goes On

Today while cruising around in my vintage Lotus Elan this morning (a gift from a late paramour of mine who shall remain, like his fondness for gorgonzola, a mystery), I was twiddling the radio dial and happened on the briefest snippet of dialogue that made me see (or is it hear?) red. I believe the DJ was reading a listener-email commenting on police brutality during some sort of recent local public disturbance. They complained, "How dare the police beat the crowd when there were women and children present!"

Where was I when women and children were raised above receiving beatings? Speaking as a woman, all of us are righteous you-know-whats at times and deserve a good throttle, slap up side the head, or a good punch to the ovaries once in a while, as much as any man. And who hasn't wanted to smack a child just because it's Tuesday? Seriously, it is this kind of double standard that keeps vaginas at bay and out of offices of power and we're doing it to ourselves. If we can't get down and dirty in the mud wrestling pit with the men and take a good beating, we have no business complaining about our unfair treatment.

I didn't burn my bra decades ago because my breasts were afraid of the dark.

Words I Hate

I was listening to NPR this afternoon and very nearly vomited all over my iMac. In retrospect, if I had, it might have improved the computer. What was so wretched that would cause me to, well, retch? I heard a newsman repeat a word I hate. Nay, loathe!

Blogosphere.

It is truly terrible and should be stricken from the lexicon. Yes, this is a blog you are reading, but it is hardly a place for such crap as "personal journalism" and "which retard are you" quizzes. This, like the title says, is "an Internet curiosity for pitiful fools."

To counter such a heinous word, I am leaving you with one that I find most pleasing.

Tintinnabulation.

For those who would like to see it used in a sentence, I suggest finding a copy of Edgar Allen Poe's poem "The Bells".


Listening to: NPR
Mood: Indignantly Righteous