Four Unnatural Things That Should Worry You More Than Homosexuality

Hey-lo folks. Long time no write – right? So let’s get down to business!

 So, as most of you know, I’m kind of a change-making badass. I go to the queer rights conferences, I (used to) run meetings, I plan events, I make shit happen. Some may even say I FUCK. SHIT. UP. But that’s debatable.

Anyways, in my line of work of fucking shit up, you come across arguments – arguments that don’t really make sense. “OH EM GEEZ HOMOSECKSUALITY IS UNNACHURALL. IT KILED THE DINOSORES!”  - and the like. My BFF John Corvino gives a lovely lecture addressing many of these bizarre arguments – including the one I just mentioned. One thing he points out in his lecture is that people freak out because homosexuality is, supposedly, “unnatural.” But so are cars, alarm clocks, plumbing and a shit ton of other things we use every day – no one flips a shit about those.

Folks, I have compiled for you a list of four unnatural things that should worry you way more than homosexuality does. Please focus your hateful energy on the following unnatural items instead of a bunch of unnatural people lovin’ each other.

ROBOTS

 This thing is too unnatural to not being planning something.

Is no one else freaked out by these things? Is no one else terrified that roombas may get sick of cleaning up shit and attack? Start flying even? Or start nom-nom-noming on your toes? Am I the only one who would rather parallel park on my own than have the car do it for me? Do those talking baby dolls freak the fuck out of anyone else? I swear, after that one episode of the Twilight Zone, I can never look at talking dolls again. It’s just… not… natural. Did Stephen Spielberg’s movie A.I. give everyone happy dreams about bunnies, rainbows and glitter? ‘Cause it sure gave me nightmares about robot clones of myself taking over the world. That’s actually a lie. I just wrote that to make you laugh – I had no nightmares about that movie. It did really creep me out though.

SPAM

There are some things in this world I just don't understand.

I have never eaten this. I have no desire to. I don’t even have to look at the ingredients to know it’s unnatural. This shit is so unnatural it’s fucking TERRIFYING. It makes baby Jeebus cry. Hell, it makes ME cry. Like, just look at it.

I just… I don’t know anything anymore. Why the fuck are people protesting gay marriage when shit like THIS is being sold in our stores with no complaint? I DON’T UNDERSTAND.

I feel I have said enough on this topic. Moving on.

MGMT

 Duh nah nuh nuh nuh NAH NAH, duh nah nuh nuh nuh NAH NAH. Shut the fuck up Imma cut you.

I’ve written a bit about these folks before. Let’s talk about why they’re unnatural. In my previous post, you’ll notice I talk about their use of the synthesizer. Synthesizer. Syn.The.Siz.Er. Syyyyyynthhhhhhheeeeeeeesssssssiiiiiiizzzzeeerrrrrrrrrrrr. Does this word look like another word, perhaps? Look at it closely. Get your nose right up to the computer screen. Closer. Does it look similar to something else? No? Jesus, you’re dumb.

“Synthetic.” It looks like the word “synthetic.” What does “synthetic” mean, folks?

…Oh my god, I should’ve gone into English Education. Our society needs help.

FAKE. “Synthetic” means “FAKE.” Jesus Christ. And because their music is heavily synthesizer-based, this means their music is fake. UNNATURAL. Hate them and their unnatural, god awful music. More good will come out of it than hating the queers. You’ll even get a reserved seat in heaven if you break their synthesizer. Promise. I lie. I’m totally just saying that because “Time To Pretend” and “Kids” make my ears bleed and I never want to hear them again.

APPLE

 That's right. I went there.

I’m pretty sure I’m the only person who has made the following connection. Things that are unnatural – Apple. Apple is a computer company. They make computery… things. Laptops, music players, etc. Things that I barely comprehend and probably will never fully understand (“Oh, I push this button and it plays my music! I push this button, and the music stops! Hooray music! :D”) Anyways, “apple” is also the name of a tasty and nutritional fruit. You would think that a company named “Apple” would make tasty and nutritional things – edible things, things for consumption and energy. But no.  That is not the case. At all. You cannot eat a laptop. You cannot eat software. You cannot eat a music player (as much as I would like to. How cool would that be? A music player inside of me, playing music the soundtrack to my life ALL THE TIME. Rockin’).

 How things SHOULD be with Apple. (PS, SHIT JUST GOT META! WHAT!)

I would consider Apple the worst of the unnatural things on my list, as they claim to make natural things with the name of their company, but do NOT. In fact, it’s quite the opposite. Maybe that’s why the queers like Apple so much – because they’re so UNNATURAL. The unnatural queers like the unnatural Apple. It makes perfect sense! Maybe Unnatural Apple is a part of the Unnatural Queers’ agenda! GASP! CONSPIRACY!

There. Now you know where to focus your efforts. It’s not the queers that are destroying the moral fabric of our society – it’s robots, Spam, MGMT and Apple. If these things are eradicated (oo, great word. Five experience points to me for the use of the word “eradicate,”) from our society, there will be a POOF and we will be living in a utopian society. I know – I’m surprised no one has gone after these unnatural things before. Let’s team up and do it. ReadySetGO!

[Clearly, this is not a comprehensive list – what are some other unnatural things we should be worrying about more than Teh Qweers? COMMENTS. GO.]

Things I Hate: MGMT

The devil.

Yes. I hate MGMT. I find their music absolutely obnoxious. It drives me nuts. And the worst part is, is that when I listen to one of their songs (because one of my friends has their music on and I'm too polite to say, "FUCK NO WE ARE NOT LISTENING TO THIS SHIT!") it gets stuck in my head for days. IT. IS. TERRIBLE.

You know, I'm actually convinced that everyone hates MGMT's music. It's just that their music is so prevalent in our culture that it's easier to like their music rather than be tortured every time one of their songs comes on the radio. A stockholm syndrome of sorts. We have fallen in love with our tormentors, folks.

Enough of my ranting - let's get into WHY I hate MGMT.

There is really only one reason I hate the I-make-babies-cry music of MGMT. One reason only.

Their use of the synthesizer.

SO INCREDIBLY OBNOXIOUS.

It's as if they got high one day, discovered a synthesizer and was like, "WHOAAAAAA! DUDE! You have to fucking check this shit out!" and decided to use it in every song ever - thus giving some of their songs a bad disco sound. Just look at any of their songs and you'll find a synthesizer riff. There's one in every song they've ever created. I promise.

And it's not just that they use the synthesizer - it's that the sounds they use and the riffs and motives they come up with are so obnoxiously synthesizery. I'm pretty sure, when they were high, one of them was like, "No man. No. We have to let people know that this is a fucking synthesizer they're listening to. We need to make this thing say, 'HELLO I AM A MOTHERFUCKING SYNTHESIZER AND I AM HERE TO MAKE YOUR EARS BLEED. HAVE A NICE DAY' and then take it even further than that. You get what I'm sayin', man?"

MGMT? Tone down the synthesizer. Please. For the sake of my constantly bleeding ears, tone it down.

Why did the state of Ohio give me a license to operate an automobile?

 (No pictures in this one either, folks. They take too much work and I'm lazy.)

 ‘Cause I sure as hell don’t know.

Y’see, both of my parents were born and raised in Michigan. I was born in Michigan. I am a Michigan driver by blood and birth. For those of you who don’t know, for Michigan drivers, a car is a lethal weapon. That’s why they require a license to drive in that state. The state of Ohio should have realized this when my siblings and I applied for our licenses and said, “STFU GTFO.”

Honestly, with as many stupid things as I’ve done while operating an automobile, I should not have a license (and if you’re my mother, and you’re reading this – all of this is totally fictional. I’m writing it just for laughs. Promise). It took me three tries to pass my driver’s test. Three. And you would think it would be the maneuverability section (the equivalent of parallel parking elsewhere) I would fail on. Nope. It was the actual driving part. First time, I made a shitty left turn and nearly backed into a car. Second time, I made a rolling stop…. Twice. Third time? I passed! Hooray!

I’ve run over a cement parking block, driven the wrong way down a one way street, made a U-turn in the middle of the road (it was in the country. Not ENTIRELY unsafe), and purposefully run a red light.

Yes. I purposefully drove through an intersection when I was not supposed to, risking my life, and the life of others. My god, I am a terrible person.

Of course, those are not the thoughts that went through my head at the time. My thoughts at the time were more along the lines of, “Yellow light, yellow light, yellow light – can I make it? Red light. Fuck. Any red light cameras? No? Keep going!”

Let this be a lesson to you kiddies. If you’re thinking about running a red light, you can’t just assume you’ll make it through the intersection and everything will be okay. And if you’re gonna go the route I did, and check for red light cameras and run the intersection anyways, make sure you don’t make the same mistake I did.

Make sure you check for cops as well. Otherwise you’ll get a $120 ticket that will drain your bank account the way Dracula drains your mom.

And it wasn’t even a, “Oh, the light changed as I was going through the intersection! It’s up for debate.” No. The light was blatantly red and I said, “Fuck it, I’m not stopping!” And then the police officer was like, “Hahaha! Got you! >:D” 

And let me tell you, being pulled over is a terrifying experience, especially if you’ve never been pulled over before. But a strange, strange thing has happened.

Ever since then, I swear, I pass a police car every time I’m on the road.

No joke. It’s as if their, “Laura is nearing a car… starting a ca- OH SHIT GET IN THE CAR WE HAVE ROADS TO PROTECT!” senses go off every time I'm near a mode of transportation.

And after being pulled over, the sight of a cop scares you shitless. I once saw a police car at an intersection and immediately slowed down. I then realized I was going the speed limit and there was no need for me to slow down.

In fact, yesterday, I was heading over to my favorite coffee house, and there was a police officer in front of me and was in front of me for ten minutes. The fucker knew where I was going! JK he really didn’t, he eventually turned. And you know what? When I had pulled up to a stoplight – there was another one beside me. (He did tell me my right tail light was out though - and if you're my mom and reading this, your car's right tail light is out). THEY HAD ME SURROUNDED. It was terrifying. It was if they were saying, “Laura – we’re watching. Don’t fuck things up.”

But folks, let me tell you. This experience has taught me two things. The first is how not to get caught running a red light (check for red light cameras AND police officers). The second, is how to get out of a ticket. Yes, I know I didn’t get out of my ticket, but I thought of the perfect way to do so.

Kindness.

Don’t laugh. Listen - my idea is genius.

See, what you do, is you keep a stash of thank you notes with you at all times (or at least while you’re operating a motor vehicle). When you get pulled over, ask for the officer’s name, and address your thank you card to him/her. The pre-written message should say something like, “Dear ______, Thank you for keeping our city safe! I appreciate it :)” Then put the card in the envelope, and hand it to the officer.

See, no one is EVER happy to see a police officer – ‘cause it usually means the shit has hit the fan. By giving the officer a thank you card, he and/or she will be so happy and full of warm fuzzies that he and/or she will be like, “Aw, shucks. You don’t need no ticket.” (In a southern accent. I don’t know why. I’m in Ohio – I shouldn’t picture any imaginative person with a southern accent) and let you off the hook.

And if that doesn’t work, well… I told you to look for cops before running the red light. It’s your own damn fault.

This is what happens when you drink: A graphical representation

Break Up Therapy

(Sorry folks, no pictures in this one. I was too lazy to add them in.)

 Most of us have been there. The world sucks. Babies are no longer adorable. Cute couples make you want to shank a toddler. Puppies are suddenly as annoying as Fran Drescher’s voice. You want to punch every romantic comedy in the face and scream, “IT’S NOT LIKE THAT AT ALL.”

Ladies and/or gentlemen, I am talking about break ups.

Everyone always says, “Break ups are hard,” and “Break ups suck – they hurt so much.” But until you have to go through one, you have no idea how much it fucking hurts. It feels like someone cut open your chest, put a rabid squirrel in there, and closed you back up. It feels like someone replaced your blood with a mixture of Coke and Mentos. It feels like all the happy in you was replaced with dead puppies and drowning kittens. It’s awful, and can be a difficult thing to get through.

Lucky for you, your favorite blogger is highly inexperienced in the area of relationships and getting over break ups. I have put together a comprehensive list of therapies you need to partake in in order to get over your break up. A weekend* of nothing but these activities and you’ll be good as new.

*Note: This varies depending on the length of the relationship that has ended.

Crying -Like-A-Baby Therapy

Ex-Significant Other Sam has left after saying, “I think we should stop seeing each other.” You’re crushed. You numbly close the door behind Sam. It feels like there’s a mixture of marshmallows and lead in your stomach.

You know what you need to do. So do it.

Go ahead. Let it all out. Cry. Cry after he and/or she has walked out the door after just dumping you. Cry when “our song” comes on the radio. Cry when you’re eating his and/or her favorite flavor of ice cream. Just. Fucking. Cry. You’ll feel better.

Throwing-Shit-Around-the-House Therapy

It’s the morning after Sam has dumped you. You haven’t eaten since lunch yesterday because you haven’t been hungry since. After crying some more, you decide to make toast for two reasons: 1 – because you’re finally hungry, and 2 – because toast is good. Toast doesn’t leave you. Toast has been there for you when you were sick as a child, in the morning to send you off to school or work, when you were hungry and needed something quick. Toast is always there – toast doesn’t break up with you.

You open up the bag of bread. The first few slices on top are a bit dry and stale, so you take them out, set them on the counter, and reach for the better bread – the fresh bread. You put the bread in the toaster oven, and wait for your friend, toast, to comfort you.

You don’t know how it happens, but all of the sudden, the stale bread is in your hand and in seconds it’s on the floor. You threw it. You don’t know why you threw it, but you do know this – it fucking felt good. So you pick it up and throw it again. And again. You see the water bottle that has been sitting on the counter for weeks and throw that too. You see a stack of papers and throw that. You find shoes, bags, more water bottles, pillows, babies and throw them all. The house is now a mess, but goddammit that felt good.

Note that Throwing-Shit-Around-the-House Therapy is more effective when accompanied by Crying-Like-A-Baby Therapy.

Blasting-Music-so-Loud-You-Burst-Your-Neighbor’s-Eardrums Therapy

Your temper tantrum is done, and your friend, toast, has arrived. You sit down on the floor of the living room with toast. It’s quiet. You feel alone because it’s so quiet. Feeling alone un-does all the progress you’ve made in therapy. So what do you do? You turn on music. Loud music. There is only one rule – the music cannot be sad. It has to be music you associate with happy times – times filled with daffodils, puppies, daisies, kittens, sunshine and rainbows.

Note that Blasting-Music-so-Loud-You-Burst-Your-Neighbor’s-Eardrums Therapy is more effective when accompanied by Crying-Like-A-Baby Therapy and Throwing-Shit-Around-the-House Therapy.

Retail Therapy

After crying, throwing, and developing hearing loss, you feel like getting up and doing something. You don’t want to mope around. There’s a world out there! A world out there, ready for the taking! A world full of things to be bought! So, call up your friends and go shopping. Go to the most expensive store you know of and shop. It doesn’t matter if you can’t afford the clothes – try on fabulous garments that even the vapid women on Sex and the City couldn’t afford.  And take pictures of yourself in these garments. And if you just so happen to post them on facebook and your ex just so happens to see how mind-blowingly hot you look, well, kudos.

Or you could go to Target and buy a new bikini and some cute tops. That also works.

Note that Crying -Like-A-Baby Therapy, Throwing-Shit-Around-the-House Therapy, and Blasting-Music-so-Loud-You-Burst-Your-Neighbor’s-Eardrums Therapy probably wouldn’t make Retail Therapy any more effective. In fact, you would probably get a lot of worried looks from people if you started crying, throwing shit around the store, and turning your iPod on full blast. You would also probably be escorted off the premises by security.

Devouring-a-Burrito-the-Size-of-a-Baby Therapy

At this point, you’re starting to feel better. You’re smiling, you’re laughing. Yeah it still hurts, but you have friends and shopping to take your mind off things. Now that you’re feeling better, you’re realizing how hungry your friend, toast, left you.

This, my friends, is where Chipotle* comes into play.

There are two steps to this one:

Step 1 - Buy a burrito the size of a small baby.
Step 2 - Devour said burrito. All of it.

Life is now magical.

Again, the first three therapies probably would not work well in Chipotle. In fact, you would probably get banned from Chipotle for life. This is not cool. Don’t do it.

*Can be substituted with other Mexican restaurants that serve burritos the size of babies.

Tequila Therapy

It’s a Saturday night. Go out and get blitzed.* Just remember to stop after three shots of tequila. After three, you’re on the floor.

Note that the first therapy works pretty well with Tequila Therapy – but throwing things around the bar/club/party you’re at might scare some people, and get you taken away by the cops. In handcuffs.

*And by “Go out and get blitzed,” I mean, “Drink responsibly.”

Get-the-Fuck-Out-of-Here Therapy

Go somewhere – anywhere. I don’t mean go to the store or to a spa. I mean travel. See things, meet people, commit crimes have fun. Go to Dallas, Cleveland, Thailand – wherever. Sure you may just be trying to literally run away from your feelings, or seeing how far you have to travel to forget about Ex-Significant Other Sam, but as long as you get some new, awesome experiences out of it, I don’t see what the problem is.

Well, there you have it folks, a comprehensive list of therapies to help you get over your Ex-Significant Other Sam. All of these therapies may be repeated as many times as necessary – except Tequila Therapy. After repeating Tequila Therapy so many times, it stops being known as “therapy” and becomes known as “alcoholism.” That’s not cool, so don’t do it.

Lesbians: A Terror Upon Today's Society

Have you ever met a woman and instinctively been afraid of her? She has given you no reason to fear her – she’s nice, polite, and friendly. But for whatever reason, she scares you shitless and you avoid her the way you avoid a rabid elephant (I’ve never seen a rabid elephant, but I imagine it would be a petrifying animal).

This is because she is a lesbian.

“What? Laura, you’ve clearly had too many shrooms today. Lesbians aren’t scary!”

That, my dear Watson, is a lie. If lesbians weren’t scary, people wouldn’t be making claims such as, “ZOMG GAY MARAIGE KILED TEH DINOSORES!!!!!1!!1!!!ONE!” and everyone would be fine and dandy with Teh Gays. But people aren’t fine and dandy with Teh Gays. Therefore, lesbians are terrifying.

I could analyze why lesbians are terrifying on a theoretical level in that they’re completely like, “FUCK YOU PATRIARCHY!” by diggin’ the ladies instead of the dudes and therefore threaten the patriarchal structure that we all live in and love on a bizarre, perverse, masochistic level, but I won’t even though I just did. Instead, I shall make ridiculous comparisons.

THE FAUXHAWK

S

So, this isn't actually a fauxhawk. I woke up and my hair looked like this. Close enough.

Yes. That is a picture of me and my unmade bed. I couldn’t find decent pictures of females sporting fauxhawks, so I used my own. Plus, I’m narcissistic and totally rock the hawk and want you all to know how much of a BAMF I am - I mean, who goes to bed without a fauxhawk and wakes up with one? ME. That's who! I digress.

In case you aren’t up-to-date on lesbian culture, lesbians OWN the fauxhawk. Yes. They own it. If you are straight and sporting a fauxhawk, you are subject to copyright laws. No joke. So, don’t do it. Anyways, you might be wondering, “Laura, why on earth is a fauxhawk terrifying?” Well, I shall tell you. Sporting a fauxhawk adds – depending on the length of your hair – 3 to 23.96 inches to your height, making you terrifying if you are 5’10”, like I am. It is the equivalent to birds puffing up their feathers to make themselves appear bigger and scarier than they actually. Or those frilled lizards. The fauxhawk says, “I AM A LESBIAN. I TALK ABOUT FEMINISM AND CATS AND ANGELINA JOLIE. DO NOT MESS WITH ME,” to everyone. It also acts as a weapon to fend off unwanted attention from boys – like a rhinoceros horn, or elephant tusks, or fake nails. However, an untrained person sporting a fauxhawk can result in unintentional casualties – this is why the lesbians own the fauxhawk. They are the only ones trained in the ways of the fauxhawk and know how to wield its power.

NOTE: The above also applies to mohawks – except maybe the part about lesbians owning them. I don’t know that lesbians own mohawks.

FLANNEL

O

OH GOD IT'S SO SCARY. LOOK AWAY! LOOK AWAY! HIDE THE CHILDREN!

Now, you might be saying, “Laura! Flannel is not scary! It’s warm, cozy, and comfy! What’s scary about that?”

Well, I’ll tell you.

Aside from lesbians, who else wears flannel? No, not Donna Pinciotti! Think harder. That’s right. Lumberjacks. Lumberjacks carry around axes and chop down wood and eat stacks of pancakes and have big blue oxen. So when a lesbian wears flannel, and there’s no wood to chop, it sends a message. It says, “I AM A LESBIAN AND I CARRY AROUND AN AXE SO YOU BETTER WATCH YOUR BALLS.” People see lesbians wearing flannel, realize that there are no trees around to be chopped (especially if you’re in a city), and flip a shit. They stay the fuck away from the scary lesbians. Flannel also acts as the frill on a frilled lizard thingy. It sends a warning.

RUGBY

T

Hardcore. You don't mess with these girls. They'll fucking punch you in the face... with their elbows.

“Laura, rugby is a SPORT. Sports and athletes aren’t terrifying!”

That, sir and/or madam, is a lie. Sports are absolutely terrifying, which makes the people who play them walking pure and utter horror. For one, sports take an immense amount of WORK and EFFORT. We’re talking physical labor here. Exercise – it’s awful. Modern day form of torture. It should be outlawed. In addition to that, sports are VIOLENT. Not only do you become exhausted when partaking in them, but you also get HURT. And these are just sports in general – we haven’t even started talking about RUGBY.

Have you ever seen a rugby match? No? Neither have I. In fact, I know next to nothing about rugby, except that it’s like football – therefore, it must be violent. You have to be tough as a wolf who wrestles rabid moose in volcanoes for fun to play rugby.

Rugby – like the fauxhawk – is owned by the lesbians. Lesbians like to break bones, get bruised, and get scratched up… for fun. At least, lesbians who play rugby do. Lesbians who don’t play rugby? They still like to watch it. It’s like back in the day, with coliseums and gladiators. Lesbians are tough. You don’t mess with them.

BAGGY PANTS

 What secrets are they hiding???

By now, you might be saying, “Laura! Baggy pants aren’t – forget it. Why do baggy pants make lesbians terrifying?” Well, my friend, I am glad you asked.

Baggy pants can hide almost ANYTHING. You don’t know what could be underneath/inside them. Hips, legs and ankles? Perhaps. A syphilis-ridden armadillo? It’s possible. Secret portal to Narnia? Maybe. You just don’t know what they’re hiding. Which is why you should be on guard around a lesbian in baggy pants – don’t say anything that might offend her. Otherwise, she might whip out a giant isopod and command it to attack you. That would be traumatizing.

You thought I was being silly. You thought I was trippin’ on shrooms. You thought my claims were unjustified. But I have told you, and you understand now. You understand the threat, safety hazard, and terror that are lesbians. And you are safer having read this blog.

Where are all the ninjas?

Now, you might be thinking, "Laura, it's impossible to know where ninjas are PERIOD. I mean, they're NINJAS."

Yes, yes, I know. Ninjas. Super sneaky and all that jazz. But why hasn't someone died from a mysterious neck wound? Why hasn't anyone found a dead body with shurikens stuck in it? Why hasn't anyone been poisoned lately?

Where are the ninjas?! I ask you.

I'll tell you where.

They're in your churches, your convents, your catholic high schools. They're praying for you and beating teaching your children.

That's right. I'm accusing NUNS of being NINJAS. They are-

NUNJAS!

A nunja in her natural habitat.

"Laura, are you on acid? That's just ridiculous!"

Yes, yes, ridiculous, I know. But I'm sure you thought my claim about the love of squirrels for catholics was ridiculous, didn't you? And then you read, and understood and thought, "BY GOD! SHE'S RIGHT!" So, my friends, read and understand.

As I have said before, I'm a bit of a Catholic school expert. I have had the opportunity to view nuns in their natural habitat (I worked as a secretary for the nuns on my high school's campus a few years ago), and I must say, they're... suspicious, to say the least.

For one, they are quiet. FAR too quiet. You never see or hear a nun coming until they make themselves known. This happened to me many a time when I worked for them. I would never see a nun approach the front doors of the Provincial Center (where they lived on my high school campus) until they rang the doorbell (which was LOUD and scared me shitless countless times). Futhermore, if a nun was walking behind you, you would never know. If they were approaching you from behind, you wouldn't be able to tell. Even if it was quiet enough to hear a pin drop, you would not notice them until they said, "Hello, Laura (or whatever YOUR name may be), how are you today?"

Which usually results in a, "JESUS CHRIST! ... Thank you for this beautiful day. Please bless the sisters. Amen. Oh, hello, Sister. I'm wonderful - just doing a little praying to good ol' JC, y'know. How are you?"

But that is beside the point.

See? Nuns are so ninja-like that they have figured out how to get into the men's room!

"Laura, you're being silly. Some people are just really quiet!"

Uh huh. Sure. Then let me present to you, Exhibit B - Sr. Charleen.

Sr. Charleen was one of my Theology teachers in high school. She was this little, elderly nun who taught Prayer and Theology III, as well as other classes, I'm sure. Sr. Charleen, however, was in a motorized wheel chair.

"A motorized wheel chair? What does that have to do with anything?"

Well, I will tell you. Sr. Charleen told us that she has a condition (I can't remember what it's called, or exactly what it is [I know it has to do with her spine], but that's not important), so she can't walk very well, or very far, which is why she is in the wheel chair.

SPINE CONDITION MY FOOT.

She clearly injured her back in an epic ninja battle involving swords, poison, and shurikens. Doesn't that make more sense than a silly spine condition? After her injury, clearly, she had to retire as a ninja. BUT her enemies were still after her. Where could she retire to? Where would she be safe? With the NUNS of course! No one would suspect her to retire and live in hiding with the nuns, teaching religion to the most intelligent young women ever. No one would ever think of that!

"Laura, you're ridiculous. Maybe she just has an actual spine condition? You know, those DO exist."

Alright then. Let me tell you about Sr. O'Neil.

I met Sr. O'Neil when I was but a wee (the irish-ness of "O'Neil" gave me an irresistable urge to use "wee." STFU) freshman at UD. Back when I was still a Music Ed major and had to take pedagogy classes. Sr. O'Neil taught Low String Pedagogy as well as other string instrument-related classes. She is a cellist, and expained to us that her hands are so strong from turning the tuning pegs on her cello that she can open jars even full grown men have trouble opening.

Strong hands from tuning pegs?! I THINK NOT!

PROOF! I TOLD YOU!

Obviously, she got her strong hands from her NINJA TRAINING AND EXPERTISE. I bet she can crush someone's skull in a fraction of a second with her hands.

And, think back to the good old days when teachers were allowed to use physical abuse as punishment. How do you think nuns got so good at detecting when you were doing something bad? How do you think they got so good at making those ruler-smacks hurt so much? IT'S BECAUSE THEY ARE NINJAS. Only to keep up with their ninja skills while worshipping Jeebus, they've practiced using every day objects - rulers in place of nunchucks. Crucifixes in place of shurikens. CANES IN PLACE OF SWORDS! This way, no one is suspicious of them. No one can ask, "Sr. O'Neil! Why is there a sword in your cello case?" "Sr. Charleen! Why are there a pair of nunchucks on your desk?" Even look at the word "nunchucks." THEY WERE NAMED AFTER NUNS! It's so obvious!

And if all that evidence doesn't convince you, then maybe this will.

JUST LOOK AT THE SIMILARITIES! ARE YOU CONVINCED NOW?!