Carey Says Ums

I have no clue what to write these days. I'm writing everywhere else -- at work, on blogs and in songs. But here? I'm having a writer's block for sarcasm. Why? Sarcasma . . .

Let's face it, with these fake drugs running through my system, I'll never be able to get-snarky-wit'-it again. But I'll always have my blind humour. That's what counts, I guess.

My dad, a North Carolina republican for years, just hopped the fence and voted for Barack Obama for change he can believe in. Thanks, dad. Congrats, NC. This man must win, and you can help.

Okay, I've received a gatrillion e-mails begging me to seek help, calm down or just off myself.

Apparently, bitter banter doesn't sit well with the rest of the world. Mothers in my life are concerned (I love you.). Some friends think I'm off my rocker (I'm still rockin'.). And complete strangers? They're just as mad as me (Yes, me.).

Let's get one thing straight: I blog here to empty my mind of all negativity. That includes you, retard.

Sound gay to you? Well, it is. BUTT BUT it's working. The more I complain about the stupidity in my life, the more I make room for an ounce of hope. Then I smoke it, and all is well with the world once again. What? Hey, I don't inhale.

So, I'm back on this blog, refreshed-n-renewed. And ready to interject, "World, fuck you. . . . "

Hey, when you have a mentally retarded brother in jail, you just gotta laugh . . .

"I can't wait to finally get out of jail and into a prison. It should be this week."

. . . Think I'm too crass? Fuck you. No? Then enjoy one mirthy moment [for him].

Another international incident pops up to shift focus away from the stains of our homeland. . . .

"Racism is wrong," read my African American teacher from her prefab lesson plan in a fifth grade rendition of all-are-equal, just as a Native American spitball splashed onto my left-wing cheekbone, illuminated by thick tinted glasses and the buzzing, color-sucking fluorescent bulbs above.

Here in the American South, full of ethnic spittle and passive-aggressive equal rights, we sport rose-colored specs to curb our tendency to judge. We're patriotically egocentric and culturally lost, and coke-bottle shades conceal cockeyed glances to a classmate, hippie or person of color.

What gives us the inalienable right to invade another nation's cultural scuffle? We're so willing to help the world make a 1980s Coke commercial, but we're downright opposed to eradicating serious problems here at home. Racism. Poverty. Violence. Crime. Punishment. Humanity. Peace.

They mean nothing here, but abroad? That becomes the nosy business of homeland insecurity.

Now, missiles of scrutiny fly to China's crackdown occupation of Tibet. A local native drowning in his vommit is ignored. Mrs. Glover's words? Lost. But China is bad, invading a peaceful nation and making lead paint toys. And MSG, too. Those tasteless bastards! Forget Beijing boycotts, this is war.

Let's train armies with bullets, tanks and loud peace chants to rid the world of aggression. We'll partner with Great Britain. Hell, it looks as if France will be all-in , too. Afterwards, we'll come back home, put on our WE SAVED TIBET tees and find something else to distract us. Oui? Non.

Just before takeoff, there's a tired old phrase that goes, "Secure your own mask before helping the person seated next to you." There's a lot to learn from that flight safety spiel. Solve some of our own issues and then reach out and save someone else. Only then will we be able to breathe normally.

. . . But we'll never find healing if we continue to ignore the truth that lies within our sick borders.