The Oppression Blogs

How long shall they kill our prophets, while we stand aside and look? -- #92

Ever since getting a shout-out during President Bush's speech before the UN a few weeks ago, the interweb is all abuzz about Myanmar (also known as Burma, if you haven't been following world history or are the leader of the free world). Myanburma is so hot right now that Angelina Jolie is looking into adopting their children and Access Hollywood reported that General Than Shwe had sex with Lindsey Lohan while she was in rehab. That's a joke. Actually, Myanmar is currently a cesspool of murder and political violence. How do we know this? From the Burmese oppression blogs, of course!

Sure, blogging about rampant abuse amid a culture where dissension is harshly punished might alert the world to the gross human rights violations in your country, but it also seems like a real convenient way to gain traffic to your website. "Oooooh, look at me! My brother spoke out about the junta and the next day my entire family went missing and haven't been heard from since! Please help me! The soliders are coming to cut out my tongue! Waaaaaahhh!!!" How desperate for attention can you be?

Personally I think this is unfair. I mean, just because I don't have the advantage of living in a hostile climate where expressing my thoughts would likely get me tortured and killed doesn't mean my blog is any less important. I'm in my mid-thirties, unemployed, and forced to move back in with my parents after I spent all my money on law school -- I'm just as oppressed as some dude in Myanmar. Does anyone care about me? Stupid lucky bloggers living in a Burmese hellhole.

Anyway, it's time for me to end the silence and speak out about my oppression. I don't care if this means that I won't get my allowance this week or my father decides not to pay my Mastercard bill this month. The world needs to know. There is no tomorrow anymore.

Monday, 10:30 A.M.
I woke to the screams of the vacuum running. Outside my room my mother was once again clashing with the dog hair gathered around the edges of the cabinet that housed our high definition TV. I quickly jumped out of bed and found safety near the gourmet coffee machine. There was very little coffee left and it was cold. The crumb cake from the previous day tasted stale and brittle. I'm not sure how much more of this I can take.

Tuesday, 11:00 P.M.
At night the sound of acorns crashing against the deck by the pool keeps me awake. My troubled mind wanders in the darkness. "Did I leave my iPod at the gym? It wasn't in my bag when I came home. Maybe it's in the car." I pull my comforter close to my chin, shivering from the cold conditioned air. I hope I didn't lose my iPod. That would really suck.

Wednesday, 11:00 A.M.
I must find a job. My checking account is nearly depleted and the beer from our Labor Day BBQ is almost gone. Plus I want to get an Xbox to play Halo 3. I spend my afternoons searching online through the job postings, though the vast majority are unsatisfactory because they don't pay well enough. My will remains firm, however, and I will not give up hope. My father suggests that I get a job at the local supermarket, just to have some spending cash. Fuck that. Do I look Mexican to you, Dad?

Thursday, 2:00 P.M.
Forced to decline tickets to see the Foo Fighters in Atlantic City. The nightmare continues.

Friday, 6:00 P.M.
I returned from mountain biking today and was preparing to settle into a night of televised hockey and hard lemonade when my mother cornered me and began interrogation about my day. I provided her with information that my day was "fine" and that I was feeling "pretty good." She pressed further and demanded that I sit down and listen to her story about who she met while out shopping that day. Her story lasted a full twenty minutes, causing me to miss almost a third of the first period of the hockey game. Not only that, but the steak she had cooked for my dinner was a little dry. I cannot endure this torture much longer.

Saturday, 3:00 P.M.
Fighting erupted in the house today. I was staging a non-violent sit-in on my couch to protest the playing of college football games when paternal forces stormed in and demanded an explanation for certain charges on my credit card bill. I peacefully explained that lobster bisque and fantasy football does not pay for itself. This was met with harsh punishment as I was forced to clean dog feces from the yard. The regime seeks to break my will with humiliation, but my spirit remains strong.

Sunday, 11:00 A.M.
My hangover sleep was again interrupted by the shrieks of the vacuum. Pray for me that this madness will someday end.