GOP

Please, Please, PLEASE Can I Be A Drug Dealer?

ME Overly simple thoughts , ,

Stop it, she's not actually doing lines of coke. That's ground up birth control pills, about $600 worth on the street.

I made the mistake of choosing “public school teacher” and “author” as career paths without marrying a Beverly Hills plastic surgeon first. That basically means I’m doomed to a lifetime of driving a nine-year-old minivan and vacationing in places whose historic landmarks date all the way back to 1985. But never fear, I am ever the intrepid opportunist and I have found a whole new source of income.

I’m going to be a drug dealer.

I’m really, really scared of people who look like thugs and I’m the biggest chicken when it comes to doing something I was told not to do and then getting in trouble for it, plus I’m pretty sure I’m allergic to crack and I almost flunked chemistry so I probably shouldn’t try to cook meth. Fortunately, I got the bestest idea EVER from our own government and now I’m going to be So. Fucking. Rich.

I’m going to stock up on birth control pills and sell them on the black market when our government finally finishes those last few inches and gets its collective head the rest of the way up its ass.

Yes, like any good carpetbagger, I’m going to make my fortune off the backs of the people who are about to be royally screwed over by the government. I will conduct business in bus station bathroom stalls where I pop out and sell illegal Depo-Provera shots. I’ll be that person who says, “Psst,” in a loud whisper then beckons you over to the trunk of my car (mini-van…sigh) by jerking my head at you and asking you if you wanna taste. Of Lo-Ovral.

And just like all those mail order Canadian Viagra websites, I’m gonna make a fortune. I’ll be the person that you all know when you tell each other you “know a guy.” And you will pay me whatever I ask because I can get the good stuff, the really high quality pharmaceutical grade stuff that will actually keep you from getting pregnant. Not only that, even when you’re done paying me you’ll never really be done paying me because then I will OWN you for buying drugs from me. I can make you be my bitch because you’re addicted to only having two kids.

Wait. This stopped being funny about a paragraph-and-a-half ago. Because it’s gonna happen. But at least I’m gonna get in on the ground floor.

A Tutorial in Camel Math

ME Overly simple thoughts , , ,
I don't think this poor man understood how the deal was supposed to go down.
I don’t think this poor man understood how the deal was supposed to go down.

To quell my rage at the current state of women-bashing from some politicians, I decided my time would be better spent looking up stuff on the internet rather than browsing in the gun store and giggling over all the really shiny bullets. I thought I might feel better about how women are being treated in this country if I looked at how much things actually seriously suck for women in some other cultures. Kind of like how you don’t really feel super fat anymore if you hang out with sumo wrestlers.

So I was shocked—shocked, I say!—to discover that in some parts of the world brides are still purchased by their would-be husbands. Wait, that wasn’t the shocking part. I was shocked that in some parts of the world where you can still purchase your wife, you still have to pay for her in camels.

Yes, camels. Well, not actual camels, this is 2012. But since camels are the only unit of currency still accepted for purchasing another real-live human being, the price in cash is still factored using the Camel Exchange Rate.

This is where camel math comes in handy. Okay, it’s only camel algebra in parts of the world where camels are useful. Here, for example, having a camel around would just be a serious pain in the ass. I would have to guess that where I live you’d have to buy your bride using the Possum Exchange Rate. The Camel Exchange Rate dictates how much money a camel is worth depending on its age, its gender, how many camel babies it can have, how many original teeth it still has, etc. You know, important camelly things.

In those parts of the world where this still applies, you get together with the bride’s family and your family and you come to an agreement on how many camels the bride is worth. Then, you convert that number into actual usable money based on the price per camel. Or you could kick it old school and actually show up with a few camels and let the bride’s father take those camels down to the bank and swap ‘em for cash. Kind of like those check cashing places. Only with camels. But here is exactly why camel math will never work in this country.

ME: Honey, I need you to answer a question without really thinking it through. If you were going to guess how many camels you could get in exchange for me, how many would it be?

HIM: (blank stare)

ME: C’mon, you’re over thinking it. How many camels am I worth? What’s the first camel number that comes to mind?

HIM: (more staring)

ME: Hurry up, already! You’re reading too much into it! Just tell me how many camels you could get for me!

HIM: (retreating to the garage without turning his back on me)

ME: You’re gonna be sorry when I make you pay with a whole lot of camels! You’re gonna get robbed on the camel rate because you’re not being a savvy shopper!

He didn’t want to talk after that and it’s not like he had a whole lot to say during that conversation anyway. He was probably just blown away by my generous offer of camels since all he’s ever dealt with so far is possums.