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Sunday, July 31, 2011

Solutions to Problems You Didn't Even Know You Had

Recently, while whittling away my humanity on Facebook, I read the status of a friend who was complaining about the incessant crying of a neighbor baby. She said wanted to just walk into the apartment and “stick a boob in his mouth.” Breastfeeding seems to be a hot topic for some. Most of the women I know don’t feel that being females or mothers obligates them to do much of anything, but they are fairly certain that if they want to whip out their tits and lactate into the baby’s mouth in public, then the rest of the world is obligated to lap it up (figuratively). Just to be clear, it seems natural enough for women to nurse their babies, and I think you’d had to be pretty stupid to try to hold the line against public nursing. Every year, some clueless security guard, bus driver, restaurant owner, whoever, hassles some woman over feeding her baby and showing a little boob in public, and every year a bunch of humorless, angry mothers rally against that hapless boob banner. There really aren’t policies or laws against nursing in public, but someone will always witlessly try to prevent breasting anyway, and the cycle will continue.  My interest isn’t in that debate. I’m a little more interested in the solution suggested by friend for handling problems, putting boobs in mouths. A lot of the nursing enthusiasts are hippie type moms who are generally anti-war, pro nature et-cetera. I’ve seen peace activists at Klan rallies, riots, and angry fag hating Baptist demonstrations trying to help crowds avoid conflict and violence. I think it’s time for the fertile women among them to take the next step. Put boobs in the mouths of all the discontented. If I were angrily protesting the Westboro Baptist Church and getting increasingly angry as Shirley Phelps shit out something vile through mouth I’m pretty sure my anger would be dissipated if some buxom earth mother came up to me, put her titty in my mouth and said “Peace brother, let the waters of life cool and replenish your raging soul.” I can imagine a column of women with dreadlocks, wearing nothing but sundresses walking into an irate crowd, perky nipples at the ready to cool down the masses.

 Speaking of solutions, slapping the side of appliances seems to be a common one. God’s one indulgence to the angry is to allow them to get positive results from smacking the sides of televisions and radio in order to get better reception.  There are similar solutions; variations on a theme. I also read on soul-sucking Facebook that my friend’s mother had recently struck a broken refrigerator with a hammer, and the refrigerator had come back on, fully functional. I can only glean from this that hitting things with hammers can fix them. I want to help the world now. First thing in the morning, when I take the earliest of busses to work, I will look for the poor souls that have obviously been up all night drinking. They’re usually poorly shaved, reeking of stale booze and cigarettes, but no longer; I’m going to give them a playful whack on the back of their skulls. After clearing the initial cobwebs, they will appear clean shaven, in fresh clothing, smelling like roses. They would be elated, but they will have realized that they’ve squandered their lives. All they’ll want to do is grab a newspaper and find a help-wanted ad in order to better themselves. My hammer blows on the bus aren’t over. Often, I notice some mother swearing at her small children on the bus, cruelly berating them in an age inappropriate and ridiculous way. SMACK! Mom won’t be able to talk much for a few minutes, but then she’ll be all smiles, taking life for what it is, not prone to sharp responses or coherent thought really. The public transportation casa novas (oxymoron, anyone?) who harass every healthy woman of breeding age that walks onto the bus is also due for an upgrade.  The next time he opens his mouth, CRACK! In the future, he’ll have to settle for smiles (closed lip) and nodding. If the budding romance is real, it will have to be the initiative of the women in question. This shouldn’t be thought of as punitive. We can improve writers who need inspiration, jolt depressed people who don’t feel anything,  reclaim clowns who need blood to wash away their shameful make-up, help students tune out the distractions in their life, etc. In fact, I might just go on an improvement spree right now, anyone care to join me at the mall?

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