I did the moth. Here it is.
"Tough Cookies" By: Jessica Lee Williamson
"This American system of ours…call it Americanism,call it capitalism, call it what you like, gives to each and every one of us a great opportunity if we only seize it with both hands.” Al Capone said that.
Now my eyes tell me that there are some little hands in this room that aren’t seizing anything. And my ears tell me you’re making excuses: Diabetes is at an all time high. The stock market is at an all time low. You’ve got Chocolate,Caramel, and Coconut with a crumbly cookie crust and, as far as I’m concerned, These Somoas should be selling themselves.
These cookies have fun names people. Cartwheels. Do-si do’s? Who wouldn’t want to buy a 4 dollar box of fun? Has anyone even bothered to mention some of our fun cookie facts?
How did Somoas get their name? Are they Somoan?
We went over this two weeks ago in the smart-cookie workshop. Drop in one of those FYI’s and you’re going to see some one excited to by some gosh darn cookies. I don’t see how any of you are going to earn your cookie biz badge at the rate you’re going. You didn’t seem to have this problem earning your Across generations Badge.
Maybe you think that’s what this is about. Helping an old lady with her groceries. You think because you’ve got some brownie wings and a world wide wanderer pin that you’re in the clear? Well. Sharing snacks and stories with an adopted grandparent…. Learning about what kind of food a little girl raised in the Guangdong Province of China might eat for dinner……Turning an old pair of jeans into a razzle dazzle mini skirt.
These things don’t make money. They cost money. Cookies make money, but you aren’t selling any. Without money, we don’t have a troop. You want to start spending you’re tuesday afternoons with the Loveland girls? Loitering down at the Target Cafe?
Do you know what the teenage pregnancy rate is for girls who don’t participate in extra-curricular activities. We might as well sign you up for the WIC program now. Your kids will be eating raw hot dogs for dinner, because you can’t afford electricity. I hate to tell you this, but the girl scouts don’t offer a babies making babies badge.
Hmmm selling fun cookies with fun names or becoming an ovary with legs? I don’t know, they both sound so good.
You know, people warned me about you girls.They said “you’re wasting your time Linda, you’re wasting your time. These girls don’t care about the bottom line, they care about snowflakes and kitty cats.”
You know what I told them? I told them I had a cat once. My mother said "That’s a feral cat, you’ll never get it to do what you want. It’s wild, it’s feral." With in a month that cat was purring in my freaking lap. I got that wild, feral cat right where I wanted it. Just think of what I’m going to do for you pussies.
If there is one thing I learned at the hairdresser today it is this: The girl who cut my hair doesn’t need anyone. She doesn’t “need to be in a relationship”. This is her time, her turn to fly high. Who says she wants to be in a relationship anyway? Maybe she needs sometime to herself, you know, to learn how to play an instrument or maybe take a sewing class or something, figure out who she really is. Nope, she doesn’t need anyone. Besides, she couldn’t move to London to be in a “relationship” even if she wanted to, because she’s got 6 more months worth of orthodontist appointments right here in America. The other thing I learned is that a moisturizing shampoo can really work wonders for your hair this time of year.
Backhoes Are For Winners By: Jessica Lee Williamson
Backhoes are for winners. They are the creme de la creme of tractors and heavy machinery alike. In case you don’t speak french, that means backhoes are the best. A backhoe will remove a tree stump in one fell swoop. Sure, a man could take a shovel and dig himself a hole, but he’s certain to get blisters. Blisters are for pussys. The guy on the backhoe moves that joint stick left, then right, and voila; you’ve got a hole in the ground where a fucking tree stump used to be. Blister free. Pussy.
That guy on the Backhoe is licensed to operate heavy machinery. Class C all the way. He’s in three deep. That Class A and B shit just won’t do. Class C means he took a special test. He set his alarm clock for 8 am, walked his ass into the DMV, pulled out a number two pencil, and said “Let’s fucking do this.”
Before that he had to put in the time and discipline to study for that test. When his lady friend tapped him on the shoulder and whispered in his ear, he could have taken her into the bed room. He could have given it to her right there. Instead he whispered back. Yeah he did. He whispered “Not right now, I’m busy.”
It’s a risky move turning a fine lady down on a Friday night. But the man who operates a backhoe knows the score. He’s got the confidence and wherewithal to know the job stability of a heavy equipment operator just makes him that much more desirable. Fine, fine ladies are one of the reasons he took that test in the first place. One look at that man on the backhoe and they say “Dang. An orange vest and dickies never looked so hot damn good.”
And when he did take that test, just like the ladies, those questions didn’t stand a chance. He took that little upside down hook and knocked it flat on it’s face. Now that sentence ends in a period. It’s not even a question anymore, he fucked that shit up. He can’t stop there, that license expires. He’s got to maintain that bitch. He’s got standards and safety regulations to adhere to. He’s gotta keep on fucking that shit up.
When the backhoe operator steps foot onto a construction site his crew members know what time it is. It’s destruction time. Demolition time. Time to grip it, and rip it, and hit it all down. Time to F dot S dot Up. With the flick of a thumb he can knock it all over and scoop it away, while sitting in a plush leather seat. It’s called luxury and there’s only one guy, in a crew of twenty, living in it’s lap. It’s the guy who’s F-U-C-K-I-N-G-S-H-I-T Up.
The guy who’s holding the sign with the word stop on one side and the word slow on the other, yeah that guy lost, he lost a long time ago. The guy riding on the back of the slow moving truck, dropping the cones one by one. He’s gonna loose, if he hasn’t already. Same goes for the guy spreading tar with a shovel. But the guy on the backhoe in the plush leather seat, yeah, he’s a mother-fucking champ.