Happy Furry Puppy Story Time with Norbizness

Though She's Not Really Ill, There's a Little Yellow Pill

That's when I reach for my revolver...

First, a trip in the way back machine to the HFPST blogpost version for definitional purposes: "Let's focus on security moms for a moment. Obviously, this is a Rosie-the-Riveter equivalent of a soccer mom; i.e. some suburbanite who worries incessantly about the imperiling of her children by long-range balsa wood drones dropping Ziploc bags full of botulism all over the Little League field. In my day, of course, the standardized insane parental warning had to do with local freakniks putting LSD in the childrens' scratch-and-sniff stickers.... which may have been more plausible."

Recently, this maternal hypervigilance has manifested itself in the causing of a minor national panic over Syrian musicians who had presumably been through multiple security checks. Of course, this sort of inactivity will not be countenanced by mothers of action, a/k/a Type A Security Moms, such as Michelle Malkin:

The Sept. 11, 2001, terrorist attacks shook me out of my Generation X stupor. Unlike Hollywood and The New York Times and the ivory tower, I have not settled back casually into a Sept. 10 way of life.

Apparently 9/11 changed everything but the lame, lazy targets of an widely published conservative parody of herself. The ivory tower? Well, I suppose that's a tame series of bromides compared to her Agnewesque tribute to the motherland: the "mollycoddling milksops of Manila."

I have studied the faces on the FBI's most-wanted-terrorists list. When I ride the train, I watch for suspicious packages in empty seats.

In fact, I do so much in the way of assisting Interpol on a daily basis that I can devote entire columns to Ashley Judd's choice of T-shirts, Biblical plagues of Capitol Hill skanks, and the un-American undertones of Steven Spielberg's The Terminal!

When I am on the highways, I pay attention to large trucks and tankers. I make my husband take his cell phone with him everywhere — even on a quick milk run or on a walk to the community pool.

Oh, so this explains the rash of guys at 7-11 who look like life has beaten the shit out of them, reading expiration dates and product descriptions on milk cartons over a anytime-minutes cell-phone to an unseen overlord on the other end.

We have educated our 4-year-old daughter about Osama bin Laden and Saddam Hussein. She knows that there are bad men in the world trying to kill Americans everywhere.

Regardless of the dubious long-term psychological benefits of this kind of parenting (I didn't need help, I freaked myself out with the Book of Revelation as a kid), it is kind of sad to think that the Administration talks to the American public like Ms. Malkin addresses/makes subliminal connections for her pre-school child.

And at night, we ask God to bless our troops as they risk their lives trying to kill the bad men before they kill us.

And if your child asks why the Supremely Indifferent Vapor of the Stratosphere let the buildings blow up in the first place, remember to fall back upon its earthly emissary, Jerry Falwell:

"I really believe that the pagans, and the abortionists, and the feminists, and the gays and the lesbians who are actively trying to make that an alternative lifestyle, the ACLU, People For the American Way--all of them who have tried to secularize America--I point the finger in their face and say "you helped this happen."

Now that's the sort of divine insurance/deportation of undesirables plan that every mother in a silly, made-up demographic group can sign up for!

Posted by Norbizness at July 22, 2004 12:50 AM