Change is usually something that is difficult to really see as it is happening. Change, in government, takes years and years, baby step after baby step. This time, it’s changing. The whole world can see it, we can see it, I can see it.

Change like this doesn’t happen very often, for good reason. People, especially here are too fat and too lazy to do a goddamn thing about anything, unless their cable goes out or their cellphone stops working. Then, my god, people will fucking riot if they can’t watch that rerun of Everybody Loves Raymond, or SO YOU THINK YOU CAN BE AN AMERICAN IDOL’S GOT TALENT SIMPLE LIFE. Or Fox “NEWS”.

Change happens for a reason, and when dramatic change occurs, the reason must be dramatic. And it really has. In retrospect, it’s taken a lot to get someone like me to even take notice. I don’t give a fuck about anything that’s not outside my arm’s reach, and now I am squished into a packed plane on my way to the Democratic National Convention, next to my wife and a stranger. She fights off the struggle of sleep, but she will lose this battle, because she sips on her cranberry juice with a little bit of grownup in it.

The reason for all of this is dissatisfaction. I am actually upset enough to do something about it. Even me doing something is me flying out on someone’s dime to be a part of it.  And a part of it I will be.

There will be no pictures of me at the DNC. The reason? I am going to be kicking it with Secret Service Agents. I can’t really elaborate here, but it’s SICK.

I don’t really know what to expect from this, but it’s odd to actually feel motivated about something that doesn’t benefit me in any real, immediate way.

Oh, and can I talk a little bit about Hillary Clinton? I just don’t get it. The only way that the Democrats could lose this election is to have a tough party fight and split and pout and be little kids. Getting yourself on the nomination ticket after you lost is childish. Releasing your delegates during the convention? Back and under-handed. I can understand people being upset that they didn’t pick the winner at the start. Really. But is it really worth it to give it to McCain just so you can say “I WAS RIGHT”? It’s not, and you give them a chance to take it all away.

One last thing: If anyone actually reads this, and tries to figure out WHY I get to kick it with Secret Service Agents, don’t be a dick about it. People’s lives are actually at stake, and careers, too. Don’t try to guess. Just let it go.

I fucking hate a lot of things, but coming in at number one, with a bullet: fat people. I can really hate them for a laundry list of reasons, but I am pretty sure that I would hate them even if I had no specific reason to do so, other than the fact that they were fat.

I’m not talking about overweight people, or big boned, or natural or whatever the fuck is the PC term for fat but not disgusting. I’m talking about the fat assholes who shop and Wal-Mart, because they can’t find a faux-leopard skin spaghetti strapped belly shirt in quadruple-X size anywhere else, or some lame faux-ironic T shirt with a normal, on any, regular sized shirt, small faux-witty saying from something topical from the Internet, but since it’s a on fucking sail sized piece of fabric, the letters are stretched out over a glorious rack of man tits, so elongated and wide, just as you would picture how the words would be printed over their heads in a word bubble if life was a comic book. I’m talking about these people. The ones that would be a waste of a regular sized person’s space. And, since they are so goddamn huge, they are wasting the space of three or even four people, and one of those people, smothered, trapped, and suffocated under some hard to reach, harder to clean roll of flab and sweat and grime and grease, one of those people must be productive, and what do they have to show for it? Constant shade and a rash?

I’m talking about the people you see, the ones that you can’t help but look at, out of the side of your eye, while you absently paw at whomever you are with, and hope they see it too so you can all have a laugh and go and buy sexy clothes. The people that are so fat it seems like they are trying to get away from themselves, in slow moving glaciers of mashed potatoes and microwave sausage, wrapped all up in skin so tight and thin and smooth it’s like some kind of organic (not green organic but homegrown) - but not vegan  - condom.

I am talking about the ones that work up a sweat riding a scooter around, lest they put some strain on their body to bear the beast they have become, and the scooter creaks and groans and flexes somehow bending but not breaking and getting these disgusting pigs from Burger King to Taco Bell to whatever place in the mall’s food court has the ‘good desserts’. Oh but don’t forget the Diet Coke. It just tastes better.

Just think of how sad your life has become if a major turning point in it is finding you have the will power to make that painful, life changing switch, from Coke to Diet Coke, and buying the healthy frozen dinners, the ones with the oh so small portions but I guess I can eat two or three right it’s healthy flash frozen Salisbury steak with mushroom gravy and mashed potatoes and some bullshit two bite cranberry cobbler. The nerve of those fuckers at the food company. Where the goddamn flying fuck are the chocolate covered apples fuck this cranberries. CRANBERRIES. Oh, look the same company also makes chocolate bars. More healthy food for me, thanks! Thank the Lord Almighty that my fat husband bought a shelf for the microwave that’s low enough that I don’t even have to get up from my scooter to make some food, and lo and behold! It’s within reach of the toilet. Thank God this trailer is so quaint.