Some people, usually sociopaths without any sense of empathy and libertarians, claim that the government can’t do anything right. They insist that any project, no matter how simple, somehow becomes irreparably fucked up should any bureaucrat or government funding touch it. This probably partly explains why some libertarians don’t want to see any federal funding for abortions: no one likes a botched abortion.

Being a liberal, I find the assumption that governments automatically ruin everything to be a bit overstated. Governments ruin things no more or less than Wall Street bankers who bring down the entire U.S. economy. However, even my steadfast belief in the role of government is sometimes tested. The food pyramid, for example, is just one such government hack job that continually flusters me and forces me to question the wisdom of government intervention.

You see, the food pyramid is among the worst symbols ever devised. And this is including the Nazi symbol. Charles Manson and his followers must have thought they were being rebellious and inflammatory when they tattooed swastikas to their faces, but the effect would have been more chilling had they simply tattooed the food pyramid to themselves.

When I was a child, the pyramid was a hopeless monstrosity trying unsuccessfully to promote healthy eating habits. It did so with the image of a bland triangle with horizontal divisions, with the bigger lower base representing the larger quantities of grains, vegetables, and fruits we children should have been eating, and the smaller divisions toward the top representing the tastier, less healthy foods like dairy and meat that we were already eating. At the pinnacle, though, were fats and oils, with the warning to eat them sparingly. The design was busy and confusing. Instead of making me think about eating healthy, it made me think about pyramids. And then Egyptians. And then mummies. And then mummy curses. And then I got scared and ate candy because that’s what I did when I got scared—I found solace and comfort in fats and oils. Not only that, but it seems apparent the designers had never seen a Christmas tree or Maslow’s hierarchy of needs, which were also triangular objects. In Christmas trees, for instance, there were only crappy ornaments at the bottom, but the kickass light-up star (or sometimes a less kickass, but still better than the lower ornaments light-up angel) went at the top. Similarly, with Maslow’s hierarchy of needs, basic survival necessities like food and shelter were at the bottom, but items more important for a meaningful and fulfilling life were located at the top, like self-actualization and happiness. But the food pyramid inverted this tried-and-tested method in which things at the top of triangles are better than things at the bottom. At least, it attempted to invert this long-standing precedent. Instead they put grains and healthy shit at the bottom, and fats and oils and cheese at the top. Like Maslow’s hierarchy of needs, the essential stuff for survival was at the bottom, but the stuff that gave you happiness and purpose and meaning—the fats and oils and cheeses—were at the top. But the government panel that created this graphic did not consider this possible misinterpretation. They had inadvertently emphasized these unhealthy items as perfect and delicious, the pinnacle of all foods. They had unintentionally created a graphic that appeared to be saying, “Here is a pyramid with the tastiest foods put into order for you, where the tastiest ones at top are the best, and fuck those vegetables and grains at the bottom. Those are just there for support. Kind of like how the bun and the lettuce are just support teams for your meat. Now would you like some fat and oils on your burger?” And even though it said to eat oils and fats sparingly, few people in America knew what that word meant. This was America, after all. The only words we know here are money and pie. And also incoherent chants of USA! USA! USA!

To rectify this, no doubt, the food pyramid was subsequently redesigned. Instead of having  horizontal divisions, which led to the inadvertent thought that items were arranged from top to bottom by tastiness, they used vertical divisions. And instead of filling the pyramid divisions with an endless number of words and pictures that explained each division, they just left the divisions totally blank. In short, they took it from one inept extreme to the other. The overly wordy, confusing prior pyramid had been replaced with a pyramid devoid of any context or explanation whatsoever, with an unlabelled color code and a picture of a weird stick figure with weird praying mantis arms apparently trying to climb to the top of the pyramid where the fats and oils used to be. It didn’t seem possible, but the new design was an even bigger monstrosity than the old. The following image is almost an exact replica of this new and improved food pyramid, as drawn by me:

Anyone who glances at this image instantly recognizes what it means: that whoever made it is retarded. No, I can’t even say that, as it is an insult to people with severe mental disabilities. It looks as if it were made by a paraplegic dog whose mouth was stuffed with an assorted color of paints and then made to spew it everywhere. Far from resembling a food pyramid, it instead looks like a lone figure bravely ascending a mountain of homosexual vomit. This is worse than thinking of Egyptians and mummies and mummy curses. Instead it conjures up images of festive, proudly-gay vomit that has been converted into an escalator for stick figures with troublesomely enlarged appendages. And nothing makes me hungrier for oils and fats than constantly being forced to think about the gays vomiting in such a manner that poorly-drawn men can climb atop it.

Given the long and sordid history of the food pyramid’s attempts to convince children to eat healthy foods and successes in making children binge eat in fear of mummies and gay vomit, the Obama administration has rightly taken it upon itself to remedy this disaster by creating a new image that will better represent the facts of healthy eating.

Michelle Obama has already made a point to fight against childhood obesity with the Let’s Move! campaign. Savvy children are already finding loopholes for that, though. Because eating involves moving one’s mouth and hands, and because the campaign slogan only mentions moving and says nothing about eating less, several thousand kids have taken the slogan to mean they should move more by eating more potato chips. Still others have confused it with meaning they should move to a different city, perhaps one well known for its fatty, unhealthy food and from which the Obamas hail: Chicago. In short, the program has not reduced childhood obesity yet. It is no wonder that the Obamas are now trying to spearhead a revitalization of a campaign that attempts to educate people about healthy eating through images of pyramids. (And is it just a coincidence that they would be so intent on revising an image that depicts pyramids, which are found in Africa, just months after Obama had released a fake birth certificate attempting to prove that he was not in fact born in Africa? Hmm…)

The new logo has not been released yet, but inside sources have said it will be in the shape of a plate, with portions sectioned off representing the various food groups. I predict it will look something like this, given past efforts and the previous debacle of the food pyramid:

Holy shit, that’s beautiful. However, this is my own design. The real design, seeing as how the government is designing it, is likely to be an abomination equal to or greater than the original food pyramid, eating shellfish, and/or gays marrying each other. And it will probably have many of the same problematic misinterpretations. For instance, it sort of resembles a pie chart, which will make people think of one of three things:

1. Pie. Apple pie. Chocolate pie. Peach pie. Key lime pie. Pizza pie. Basically any kind of pie. And basically any kind of pie is exactly the sort of thing you don’t want this image to evoke, because any kind of pie is unhealthy and would be filled to the gills with oils and fat, if pie had gills. Thankfully it doesn’t have gills. There are too many oils and fats in pie for the gills to fit. There is no room left for the pie to breathe underwater.
2. Pi. Also known as the ratio of a circle’s circumference to its diameter. Also known as 3.14159265… okay, you get the idea. It is not good for children to be thinking of pi, because it will make them obese. For one, it has infinite digits, so it makes kids think they can eat infinite pies. For two, it has to do with circles, and circles are round and beautiful, leading children to rationalize their growing obese pot bellies as beautiful when in fact they are disgusting.
3. Hannah Montana. Kids will think of Hannah Montana when they see this new design for nutritional eating because they are always thinking of Hannah Montana. They fucking love that Hannah Montana. I think they should somehow try to incorporate Hannah Montana into the design to make it better and to pre-empt this thinking of Hannah Montana. Then the kids will be like, “I just thought of Hannah Montana. And now Hannah Montana is in this plate depicting healthy portions of nutritional foods to eat. That would be informative if I weren’t now thinking about Hannah Montana again.”

In summary, I am not optimistic about the prospects of this redesign convincing children to stop eating, provided there is no Hannah Montana themed element in the design. Instead of wasting time and energy and money on such crude designs, Obama should be spending money on scientific research into how to make vegetables taste like cookies. Kids eat too many oils and fats not because of failed food pyramids misleading them or failed infographics or pictures of plates. They eat oils and fats because they taste like cookies. So they should just make vegetables and fruits taste like cookies, and then also use science to make cookies taste like vegetables, and then make a picture that says “VEGETABLES TASTE LIKE COOKIES AND COOKIES ARE GROSS AND TASTE LIKE ASPARAGUS AND WILL MAKE YOUR URINE SMELL WORSE THAN USUAL.” And then they can put that on a picture of a plate or something. That will be the only way to make kids eat healthy.

I have writer’s block. The mere fact that I call it writer’s block proves that I have writer’s block. If I didn’t have writer’s block I probably would have been creative and coined a new term for it, like unsayingnessarrhea, which is funny because it combines a non-concept like not saying anything with the process of eliminating watery, non-viscous stools. I’m not sure why that makes it funny, but you’ll have to take my word for it. Alternatively, I could have just compared my writer’s block to something else. That’s called a metaphor. But I have writer’s block so I can’t think of an appropriate metaphor. I just want to compare everything to donuts. I guess you could say that writer’s block is like a donut because it’s very filling but ultimately empty inside. And that’d be a pretty good metaphor if I didn’t have such terrible writer’s block and want a donut really badly right now.

I have writer’s block. It’s so bad that I can’t even be bothered with transitions to new paragraphs. I simply start them haphazardly, justifying it to myself by saying that this is what Hemingway would have done, and then getting a weird sensation in my gut when I remember that Hemingway rarely combined concepts with diarrhea for cheap humorous effect and when I see that the sentence proclaiming my similarity to Hemingway has begun to completely lose its meaning as it careens away from the topic into a mist of absurdity that in no way resembles his terse, short prose about manly things like fishing. This is long, rambling prose, if it can even be considered prose. And it’s about gender-neutral topics like insecurity and my inability to write.

So now I am writing this story about how I am unable to write, because creating paradoxes is one of my favorite hobbies. This is also why I like to lie about lying and lock myself in boxes with cats that are both alive and dead because I refuse to observe them. This isn’t difficult because I’m just as good at ignoring cats as they are at ignoring me. Of course, some would say these are not actually hobbies. But this would mean that my hobbies are not hobbies, which is another paradox, and which proves my point. And also doesn’t. But that’s the point. Paradox! It fucks your mind like a penis that is inside your mind. That’s a simile. I never said it was good. I have writer’s block.

Lately I have been trying to write stand-up comedy routines, because I’ve been overcome with an absurd desire to talk to a bunch of strangers about strange things. I never want to talk to people about strange things in other contexts, like at the grocery store or at a stop sign. So this strange compulsion to talk to strangers from a stage and make them laugh at me seems a bit out of place and concerning.

Most of my comedy notes are written on my phone in poorly typed memos. They are cryptic and surreal, saying things like, “Peacocks. Female peacocks are female dick birds with huge dicks. If human females were smart, they’d be like peaheans [sic], use sexual selection to make all men have huge, cumbersome asses. That way they could be good at sports.” I figure that saying things about peacocks that are slightly misogynistic will win over the audience. I’ve also written things about atheism, politics, and how the bullying in my childhood was a lot like the Isreali-Palestinian conflict and the Cold War. However, I’m not confident enough to talk about socially-conscious and important things to an audience of drunk strangers that probably won’t like what I have to say. And also because it’s not funny. So I’ll probably ditch the atheism and politics and instead talk about peacocks and those little spike things you put on the ends of corn on the cob. These are the kinds of things everyone can relate to.Everyone has known a peacock and everyone loves those little corn on the cob spike things. These are the good, clean topics that anyone could get behind. In other words, I haven’t even performed yet, and already I’ve sold out. But at least I won’t be merely iterating a list of yo-mama jokes. I prefer to talk about the inadequacies of fathers.

When I took creative writing courses in school, my teacher told me to just write about anything if I was unable to come up with anything. The process of free-writing was supposed to be a cathartic activity that dusted the cobwebs off the writing centers of my brain and allowed the creative juices to flow. This was how he described it, at least, but I’m still relatively certain that creativity is not released as a juice. If it were I would definitely drink some of that juice because they would probably sell it in stores. But all the neurologists I know assure me that creativity cannot be drank. My other, cooler friends, however, insist just the opposite, that creativity can be drank, although the liquid that provides the creativity also impairs driving and other higher cognitive functions. Apparently those aren’t needed for writing. And after looking over some of the things I’ve written, I can see there’s some truth to that.

The main thing holding me back, of course, is that lately I have been interested in politics, but politics lately has been dreadfully boring. The only news seems to involve Republicans slowly announcing their candidacy for the presidency and endless disputes about the continual excitement of the budget. I could, of course, stray from topical humor and write about philosophy, or science, or even history, but writing about these topics would likely involve having to research something and write at length about it, so I figured it better to simply write about how I have nothing to write about.

It kills me. There is plenty to write about. Scientists are constantly making discoveries. The world is constantly changing. Just in the Middle East, people are setting themselves on fire and protesting and trying to overthrow dictators. But this isn’t interesting enough for me. It just doesn’t pop. What needs to happen is the Middle East needs to pop. Or snap. Maybe even crackle a little bit. If it did that I’d definitely write about it. Because then I could humorously compare it to a breakfast cereal featuring elves. That’d at least buy me a couple of lines to write.

Osama Bin Laden may not have been the only one to take it in the face at his Abbottabad compound. US officials have reported that an “extensive” amount of porn was found at the hideout. And as any typical male knows, “extensive” can be quite a lot. I suspect that for every thumb drive loaded with a terror plot, they’ll find 99 loaded with “plots” that are often forgotten when interrupted by random sex scenes.

Of course, no information was released concerning the nature of the pornography. This information could make a world of difference, as standards of pornography vary wildly across the world. Was this Muslim pornography, for instance? Muslim pornography is typically much tamer than Western porn, featuring titles such as Girls Gone Slightly Less Respectable, where money shots are instead replaced with the ecstatic removal of a hijab. In the more hardcore Muslim porn, women not only remove their hijabs, but are also permitted to speak and act freely…sometimes even in the presence of a stranger of the opposite sex! Thus, we should not be so quick to judge Bin Laden based on the presence of a few thumb drives labeled “Porn” and effaced with poorly drawn images of boners. In Muslim countries, even The Golden Girls could be labeled porn. Those hussies have the nerve to show their hair and ankles!

However, it is far more likely that Bin Laden was in the possession of old-fashioned American porn, the best damned porn in the world. If there’s one thing Americans still manufacture correctly, it’s porn. (And if there’s one thing that the Japaneses surprisingly do not copy and make better—and in fact make worse and highly more disturbing and tentacle-laden—it’s porn.) It makes you wonder what kind of porn Osama liked. Was he an ass-man? Did he like MILFS? Did he prefer cumshots or creampies? If the attacks on the Twin Towers were any indication, it seems clear that he at least enjoyed double penetration. (Too soon?)

Honestly, though, this should not be news. Anyone with enough money to live in a place with electricity has porn, and those who can’t afford electricity take solace in livestock. Osama, for his part, who probably spent a good deal of time in remote areas and caves before making his way to the compound in Abbottabad, probably partook in both. This would certainly explain, for instance, the great number of talking barnyard animals that frequent children’s shows, as well as their subtle resemblance to the bearded terrorist leader. Still, though, almost any man who has the misfortune of having Navy SEALS descend upon him and shoot him in the face will inevitably leave behind a hefty collection of pornography. Thankfully, most men with pornography are not self-professed religious leaders who disclaim sexual acts and immorality.

Republicans were furious before Wednesday night’s poetry readings sponsored by Michelle Obama and the White House, but for strange reasons. Most people despise poetry because it is tedious and makes no sense, but it was clear that this couldn’t be the source of the Republican party’s ire, seeing as how several of their candidates have perfected the ability to be tedious and make no sense much better than any poet, Gertrude Stein included. No, the Republicans were angry because they felt one of the featured poets was too offensive. Of course, many Republican representatives from the southern states had initially become angry at the event because it promotes book-learnin’ and creativity, two of the greatest enemies of conservative politics, but when Karl Rove and Sarah Palin focused on a particular guest as offensive rather than the whole of poetry, the other Republicans quickly fell in line with this much more reasonable excuse to find offense with anything the President does.

The event featured actual poets like Billy Collins and Rita Dove, as well as normal people who make their living in a way that makes sense, like singer Aimee Mann, comedian Steve Martin, and rapper Common. Of these guests, there was one wild and crazy guy that Republicans naturally found offensive: the black one. Granted, Rita Dove is black, too, but she’s a poet, and most people don’t believe poets actually exist, or if they do exist it’s only in a strange metaphysical sense that would be shared with unicorns, leprechauns, and the current balding King of France. Republicans are commonly offended by black people, especially when they become Presidents, because they do not share common ground and listen to crazy jungle music, which is not common in rich white person circles, so no one found it uncommon that the Republicans would be offended by Common, whose skin color makes him look like a common criminal. But come on, it’s Common! He’s about as gangsta as Will Smith. (Republicans will not understand this reference because they are all uniformly terrified of Will Smith and quickly cross to the other side of the street when they see him walking toward them, scared that he’s up to no good and will start making trouble in the neighborhood, leading to an eventual change of residence in which they are forced to live with their wealthy uncle in Bel-Air.) Republicans just wanted to stop another black man from getting into the White House.

Karl Rove called Common a “thug,” claiming that Common rapped about assassinating George Bush and committing violence against police officers. Indeed, none of this can be denied. In his poem, “A Letter to the Law,” Common speaks about abuse of power, from police officers who kill the innocent and disproportionately focus upon African Americans and crimes more prevalent in that community, to Presidents who start unjustified wars under false pretenses that lead to the deaths of millions (e.g., he raps, “Burn a Bush, cuz for peace he no bush no button”). Clearly, it is offensive for Common to demand an end to police brutality, and instead he should just sit down and shut up and pick some cotton while allowing police officers to needlessly target his community and beat him senseless. It is also clearly offensive that Common would call for the burning of Bush, because it is obviously not meant as a metaphor evoking the burning bush of the Bible, nor is it meant merely as an indictment of a war that killed millions.

Sarah Palin echoed Rove’s sentiments on Twitter, linking to an article critical of Common’s inclusion in the night of poetry, and then quickly commenting on any other thing that happened during the day in a desperate attempt to retain relevancy and attention.

Conservatives are rightfully angry about this issue. The White House is a place only for luminaries who have actually committed atrocities, like George Bush, dictators in Third World nations supported by America, and CIA operatives who have tortured innocent people. People who have only merely recited poetry about violence are not welcome, particularly if that recited violence is justified with something other than imaginary weapons of mass destruction. Plus he’s black.

With the death of Osama bin Laden, millions of Tea Party conservatives erupted into cheers, mistakenly believing that President Obama had been killed. After a long and absurd association of President Barack Hussein Obama with Saddam Hussein and Osama bin Laden because of similarities in their names, it was little surprise that news of Osama’s death would confuse conservatives. In fact, the delusion was heightened by the realization that all of the things often associated with President Obama—like Hitler, Saddam Hussein, and the prospect of American socialism—were also long-dead.

In the wake of this momentous news, Republicans have been scrambling to find ways to minimize Obama’s role in Osama’s death. Tea Partiers refused to believe Osama was really dead because no one could prove it was really him by producing his long-form birth certificate. Mitt Romney took the religious route, calling it a miracle and attempting to give all the credit to God. Ron Paul simply ignored the news, continually ranting about the Federal Reserve instead. And Michelle Bachmann screeched an incoherent succession of slurs against Obama: “Socialism! Brown person! National debt! Libya! Nazis!”

More exciting than the death of Osama, of course, is the elation in knowing that reporting of the Royal Wedding will finally be bumped in favor of this much more important news. Now we can finally stop asking, “Did you see all the funny hats?” and start asking, “Did you see Osama’s funny hats?”