The Bureau of the Census has recently given information regarding Arab-American populations to the Dept. of Fatherland Security,i.e., how many Jordanians live in a certain Zip Code? How many Lebanese? How many are males? etc.
Next step: Armbands.
I was a supervisor for the 2000 Census, and until now I was proud of the job my staff and I did. Now the culture of fear has stripped me of that,replacing it with shame. I feel robbed. Cheated. Betrayed.Scared. Outraged.
In 2000 ,our big boss, Ken Prewitt, made a formal apology to Japanese-Americans because Census data was used during WW2 to round up Japanese-American citizens and force them into concentration camps. He vowed this would never be done to any Americans again.
This didn't really make the news, but it was a big deal in our Census office. I felt good that the agency I worked for was willing to stand up and admit wrong-doing ,albeit belatedly.
Now the bastards in charge are using loopholes to do it again, probably for the same reasons as last time. Camps.
"But we don't identify anyone by name", say the Brown Shirts.
News: They didn't identify the Japanese-Americans by name either. They had numbers. Concentration camps and numbering human beings is not an American value, at least not in my eyes.
I spent almost two years explaining to doubting Americans why they should answer the Census, detailing the steps in place to ensure that their data would be zealously guarded, never used to identify them in any way. I probably gave that spiel 5000 times.
Suddenly, I'm a liar 5000 times over. I take that very personally.
I doubt we'll hear much outrage about this. After all, it's about National Security.
We'll never have National Security while the Fascists are running the show.
Friday, July 30, 2004
OK
Just talked to my grandmother and she's fine. I still have this fear,though. Goddamn, I'm tense. I should eat something and try to relax.
Up,Down, Afraid
After watching John Kerry's surprisingly passionate speech last night, I went to bed feeling pretty darn good, and I wasn't even drunk. The day had been ok, for a change.Office Lady #45 even told me a joke. It wasn't very funny, but I appreciated her taking the time to acknowldge my existence.
Took care of a couple minor technical difficulties at home, and even made myself laugh making stupid cartoon parodies (see below-click on them to enlarge); re-recorded a track I wasn't quite happy with and even wrote a poem that I think turned out OK.( My poetry usually reminds me why I should stick to disjointed rants)
Even took the trouble to cook a decent meal. The cats got treats. A low-key, but pleasant day.
Until I went to sleep. I had a bad dream. Very, very bad.
I have not had a nightmare like that for years- woke up sweating,with my throat very sore and dry, as if I'd been screaming. I have a feeling that something horrible has happened somewhere; I've had this feeling only a few times before,but it always means something.
I tried calling my Grandmother, but no one answered. She's in and out of hospital on a regular basis and it worries me. It really makes me angry that my dad and my cousin can't take the time to call me when she falls ill; instead I make a routine call home and a family friend or distant relative answers the phone and tells me she's in IC. This has happened more than a couple times, and it pisses me off to no end.
But I think she's alright. It wasn't the 'someone died last night' type of nightmare-it was violent ,bloody and incredibly realistic. I was looking through someone else's eyes, and I was horrified by what they saw. I'm not going to describe it. I can't. I've never had this nightmare before- none of my familar themes and symbol were there. It was like I was having another person's worst fears invade and occupy my soul.
Something bad has happened. I feel helpless and afraid. I hope I'm going mad, I can handle that.
Took care of a couple minor technical difficulties at home, and even made myself laugh making stupid cartoon parodies (see below-click on them to enlarge); re-recorded a track I wasn't quite happy with and even wrote a poem that I think turned out OK.( My poetry usually reminds me why I should stick to disjointed rants)
Even took the trouble to cook a decent meal. The cats got treats. A low-key, but pleasant day.
Until I went to sleep. I had a bad dream. Very, very bad.
I have not had a nightmare like that for years- woke up sweating,with my throat very sore and dry, as if I'd been screaming. I have a feeling that something horrible has happened somewhere; I've had this feeling only a few times before,but it always means something.
I tried calling my Grandmother, but no one answered. She's in and out of hospital on a regular basis and it worries me. It really makes me angry that my dad and my cousin can't take the time to call me when she falls ill; instead I make a routine call home and a family friend or distant relative answers the phone and tells me she's in IC. This has happened more than a couple times, and it pisses me off to no end.
But I think she's alright. It wasn't the 'someone died last night' type of nightmare-it was violent ,bloody and incredibly realistic. I was looking through someone else's eyes, and I was horrified by what they saw. I'm not going to describe it. I can't. I've never had this nightmare before- none of my familar themes and symbol were there. It was like I was having another person's worst fears invade and occupy my soul.
Something bad has happened. I feel helpless and afraid. I hope I'm going mad, I can handle that.
Thursday, July 29, 2004
That Was Nice
The long-distance boss called to tell me I'm doing a great job and he was going to keep me on as long as possible. It's nice to be rewarded for the good things I did when the chips were down. I actually get paid to sit here and blog. Thanks, boss!
Week of Broken Stuff and Insomnia
The breaking of stuff actually started last week with the demise of my 15-year old CD player. It's kinda hard to get upset about that, 15 years is a good run. So I hooked a DVD player to the stereo- and the fucking DVD player breaks. The damn drawer refused to open, trapping my Peter Tosh CD inside. On-off. Press buttons. Cajole. Plead. Threaten.
Finally, I used a screwdriver to open it. The patient did not survive the operation.
This still isn't too bad-I've got a turntable, so this gives me an excuse to convert my LP's to CD's; something I've been meaning to do for years. Got a brand new spindle of blank CD's all set to go. Put one in the CD recorder, cue up some Lou Reed and : NO DISC.
Remove the NO DISC and put in another. Same thing. Oh crap. I can afford another CD player, but not another recorder. Almost panicking, I go upstairs and put the offending CD into the 'puter. NO MEDIA PRESENT. Try another disc. The same result, over and over. The entire batch of discs are bad, which is much better than my recorder going down. No major disaster-I think I even have the CD reciept somewhere.
Monday, my wireless phone/answering machine breathes it's last. At first,it seems the battery just needed charging, but after further investigation it turns out to have completely lost it's will to live. OK. I've got other phones.
Tuesday,I break a string on my bass. I don't think I've ever broken a bass string before. No spares on hand, so I watch TV instead. It doesn't break, but sometimes I wish it would.
Yesterday, I regret not replacing the phone. I can't screen calls on my old-school phone. It's the cable people-my bill is overdue. No, it's not. I just checked my bank account, and that payment cleared today. As soon as I hang up ,the cursed thing rings again. A young sounding woman asks for me by full name. Figuring it's Comcast again, I hang up. Rings again. "Is this Allan xxxx who went to such-and-such High School?" Yeah, Ok, I'll bite.
Who is calling?
This is Debbie Xxxx!
( Using my work voice) What can I do for you Debbie?
Don't you remember me? From Journalism class? Sixth period?
No.(I haven't one bloody clue who this chirpy bird is)
Well,what are you doing now?
I'm drinking beer and reading old comic books.
(A pause, a nervous girlie giggle)No, silly. I meant for a job.
Nothing. I do nothing.
(Pause) I'm sorry. I didn't know...
Don't be. The pay is good. By the way, how did you get my number?
Er, your cousin gave it to me. I'm calling to invite you to our 20th class reunion. It's next month! (I make a mental note to kick the shit out of my cousin)
Oh. Well, I'll be sure to be there. Send my invitation to -(I give her the address of a pizzeria in Newark)
I thought you lived in Richmond?
I moved.
Oh. Well, I look forward to seeing you. Bye-Bye!
I hang up. I'll write about this. My keyboard doesn't work. Damn.
The phone rings again. I yell WHAT NOW! into the reciever. Oops. It's my friend, Biscoe, inviting me to a cook-out in the country. That's an invitation I can accept. This weekend might not suck after all.
Hours later, I still have no idea who Debbie is. I don't have a yearbook. I've never had my picture in a yearbook,for that matter. I was a teenage curmudgeon. I only had one friend my senior year, and we're still friends. I really don't care what any of the rest are doing today. I don't wanna hear about their kids, or their jobs or their banal lies about nothing. I certainly don't want to explain what I've done since 1984.
Looking back, I wonder why I even bothered to finish High School. The only thing I learned in school was contempt for authority and how to play the system. No one has ever asked me to prove that I graduated. Not once.
Last night,I tossed and turned as I mentally reviewed every bad thing that's happened to me in the last twenty years. That's not a healthy thing to do. I get little sleep.
I need to be able to screen my calls.
Finally, I used a screwdriver to open it. The patient did not survive the operation.
This still isn't too bad-I've got a turntable, so this gives me an excuse to convert my LP's to CD's; something I've been meaning to do for years. Got a brand new spindle of blank CD's all set to go. Put one in the CD recorder, cue up some Lou Reed and : NO DISC.
Remove the NO DISC and put in another. Same thing. Oh crap. I can afford another CD player, but not another recorder. Almost panicking, I go upstairs and put the offending CD into the 'puter. NO MEDIA PRESENT. Try another disc. The same result, over and over. The entire batch of discs are bad, which is much better than my recorder going down. No major disaster-I think I even have the CD reciept somewhere.
Monday, my wireless phone/answering machine breathes it's last. At first,it seems the battery just needed charging, but after further investigation it turns out to have completely lost it's will to live. OK. I've got other phones.
Tuesday,I break a string on my bass. I don't think I've ever broken a bass string before. No spares on hand, so I watch TV instead. It doesn't break, but sometimes I wish it would.
Yesterday, I regret not replacing the phone. I can't screen calls on my old-school phone. It's the cable people-my bill is overdue. No, it's not. I just checked my bank account, and that payment cleared today. As soon as I hang up ,the cursed thing rings again. A young sounding woman asks for me by full name. Figuring it's Comcast again, I hang up. Rings again. "Is this Allan xxxx who went to such-and-such High School?" Yeah, Ok, I'll bite.
Who is calling?
This is Debbie Xxxx!
( Using my work voice) What can I do for you Debbie?
Don't you remember me? From Journalism class? Sixth period?
No.(I haven't one bloody clue who this chirpy bird is)
Well,what are you doing now?
I'm drinking beer and reading old comic books.
(A pause, a nervous girlie giggle)No, silly. I meant for a job.
Nothing. I do nothing.
(Pause) I'm sorry. I didn't know...
Don't be. The pay is good. By the way, how did you get my number?
Er, your cousin gave it to me. I'm calling to invite you to our 20th class reunion. It's next month! (I make a mental note to kick the shit out of my cousin)
Oh. Well, I'll be sure to be there. Send my invitation to -(I give her the address of a pizzeria in Newark)
I thought you lived in Richmond?
I moved.
Oh. Well, I look forward to seeing you. Bye-Bye!
I hang up. I'll write about this. My keyboard doesn't work. Damn.
The phone rings again. I yell WHAT NOW! into the reciever. Oops. It's my friend, Biscoe, inviting me to a cook-out in the country. That's an invitation I can accept. This weekend might not suck after all.
Hours later, I still have no idea who Debbie is. I don't have a yearbook. I've never had my picture in a yearbook,for that matter. I was a teenage curmudgeon. I only had one friend my senior year, and we're still friends. I really don't care what any of the rest are doing today. I don't wanna hear about their kids, or their jobs or their banal lies about nothing. I certainly don't want to explain what I've done since 1984.
Looking back, I wonder why I even bothered to finish High School. The only thing I learned in school was contempt for authority and how to play the system. No one has ever asked me to prove that I graduated. Not once.
Last night,I tossed and turned as I mentally reviewed every bad thing that's happened to me in the last twenty years. That's not a healthy thing to do. I get little sleep.
I need to be able to screen my calls.
Wednesday, July 28, 2004
Lunatics Say the Darndest Things
Italics mine, the rest is verbatim:
"Blacks are gagging on the donkey but not yet ready to swallow the elephant," references to the fellating of the Democratic and Republican parties symbols respectively.
Bush,
July 23 ,2004
----------------------------------------------------
Here at the Spawn of Satan convention in Boston, conservatives are deploying a series of covert signals to identify one another, much like Klansmen do. My allies are the ones wearing crosses or American flags. The people sporting shirts emblazened with the "F-word" are my opponents. Also, as always, the pretty girls and cops are on my side, most of them barely able to conceal their eye-rolling. ( That's rather poor sentence structure for a "professional" writer. It makes more sense if you consider the intended audience )
Democrats are constantly suing and slandering police as violent, fascist racists -- with the exception of Boston's police, who'll be lauded as national heroes right up until the Democrats pack up and leave town on Friday, whereupon they'll revert to their natural state of being fascist, racist pigs. (Who reverts to what? An example or two of the suits she mentions would be almost as helpful as a clear noun/verb relationship)
As for the pretty girls, I can only guess that it's because liberal boys never try to make a move on you without the UN Security Council's approval. ( There is a very dark flipside to this statement- how do conservative boys behave? ) Plus, it's no fun riding around in those dinky little hybrid cars. My pretty-girl allies stick out like a sore thumb amongst the corn-fed, no make-up, natural fiber, no-bra needing, sandal-wearing, hirsute, somewhat fragrant hippie chick pie wagons they call "women" at the Democratic National Convention. (She sure hates women, corn and natural fiber).
-Ann Coulter, getting herself fired from USA Today
"Blacks are gagging on the donkey but not yet ready to swallow the elephant," references to the fellating of the Democratic and Republican parties symbols respectively.
Bush,
July 23 ,2004
----------------------------------------------------
Here at the Spawn of Satan convention in Boston, conservatives are deploying a series of covert signals to identify one another, much like Klansmen do. My allies are the ones wearing crosses or American flags. The people sporting shirts emblazened with the "F-word" are my opponents. Also, as always, the pretty girls and cops are on my side, most of them barely able to conceal their eye-rolling. ( That's rather poor sentence structure for a "professional" writer. It makes more sense if you consider the intended audience )
Democrats are constantly suing and slandering police as violent, fascist racists -- with the exception of Boston's police, who'll be lauded as national heroes right up until the Democrats pack up and leave town on Friday, whereupon they'll revert to their natural state of being fascist, racist pigs. (Who reverts to what? An example or two of the suits she mentions would be almost as helpful as a clear noun/verb relationship)
As for the pretty girls, I can only guess that it's because liberal boys never try to make a move on you without the UN Security Council's approval. ( There is a very dark flipside to this statement- how do conservative boys behave? ) Plus, it's no fun riding around in those dinky little hybrid cars. My pretty-girl allies stick out like a sore thumb amongst the corn-fed, no make-up, natural fiber, no-bra needing, sandal-wearing, hirsute, somewhat fragrant hippie chick pie wagons they call "women" at the Democratic National Convention. (She sure hates women, corn and natural fiber).
-Ann Coulter, getting herself fired from USA Today
Zany European Visitor
I've just learned that someone found my blog by Googling "use onion anal". Can't do links today (?)but here's the search:
http://www.google.se/search?hl=sv&ie=UTF-8&q=%22use+onion%22+anal&btnG=S%C3%B6k
I am uncertain what this anonymous Central European was looking for. However, I'm sure I don't wanna know.
http://www.google.se/search?hl=sv&ie=UTF-8&q=%22use+onion%22+anal&btnG=S%C3%B6k
I am uncertain what this anonymous Central European was looking for. However, I'm sure I don't wanna know.
Brain-in-Jar Disorder
Good news. I'm not crazy, I'm just a brain in a jar on a shelf somewhere, kept alive by a mad scientist or evil Nazi doctors , or maybe space aliens.
Not Matrix-type villians, more like 1950's sci-fi movie bad guys; the wild-eyed doctor in the requisite white lab coat, or a Martian in a rubber mask and a tin-foil jumpsuit. If I could see all the lab equipment around me, it would look a lot like obsolete broadcast gear, showing lots of big-ass vacuum tubes and giant dials and knobs. Undoubtably, it would be in black-and-white.
What seems like the slow plod through each day is just my recently unfrozen brain remembering my life, occasionally the memories flash backwards or forwards in surprising ways, but mostly I'm still trying to re-live 2004. It must be punishment for something.
I suspect I was found guilty of one or more heinous crimes, put to death and had my brain preserved so med students could study it, but I haven't remembered that far ahead yet. I'm not really looking forward to doing so.
It seems my visual cortex was damaged in this process, since the most vivid 'sights' I 'see' are blue damncube walls, computer screens and rush hour traffic. Sometimes I recieve messages on my imaginary monitor, I suspect these may be other captive brains communicating through some sort of telepathy. Or,perhaps this is what it's like for a deaf person who goes mad and starts hearing voices in their head.
Of course, I don't hear voices in my head.
I don't have ears, I don't even have a head-I've got a jar.
Not Matrix-type villians, more like 1950's sci-fi movie bad guys; the wild-eyed doctor in the requisite white lab coat, or a Martian in a rubber mask and a tin-foil jumpsuit. If I could see all the lab equipment around me, it would look a lot like obsolete broadcast gear, showing lots of big-ass vacuum tubes and giant dials and knobs. Undoubtably, it would be in black-and-white.
What seems like the slow plod through each day is just my recently unfrozen brain remembering my life, occasionally the memories flash backwards or forwards in surprising ways, but mostly I'm still trying to re-live 2004. It must be punishment for something.
I suspect I was found guilty of one or more heinous crimes, put to death and had my brain preserved so med students could study it, but I haven't remembered that far ahead yet. I'm not really looking forward to doing so.
It seems my visual cortex was damaged in this process, since the most vivid 'sights' I 'see' are blue damncube walls, computer screens and rush hour traffic. Sometimes I recieve messages on my imaginary monitor, I suspect these may be other captive brains communicating through some sort of telepathy. Or,perhaps this is what it's like for a deaf person who goes mad and starts hearing voices in their head.
Of course, I don't hear voices in my head.
I don't have ears, I don't even have a head-I've got a jar.
Tuesday, July 27, 2004
This Ain't Right Either
Why would anyone want to buy this item? As a memento of just how bad things can get? This thing should be run over with a bulldozer, melted into slag and converted into dum-dum bullets, which would then be used on anyone involved with this atrocity.
Well, anyone who's not already dead.
I was twelve years old and a Beatles fan when this steamy pile of cinematic droppings was foisted on the public.
Whatever small hope of having a happy childhood I might have had died that day.
It gets worse. A re-make of the Who's Tommy is in the works, with Justin Timberlake as Tommy and Janet Jackson's brother, Michael, as Evil Uncle Ernie. Oh, yeah-Elton John does something too.
Well, anyone who's not already dead.
I was twelve years old and a Beatles fan when this steamy pile of cinematic droppings was foisted on the public.
Whatever small hope of having a happy childhood I might have had died that day.
It gets worse. A re-make of the Who's Tommy is in the works, with Justin Timberlake as Tommy and Janet Jackson's brother, Michael, as Evil Uncle Ernie. Oh, yeah-Elton John does something too.
This Is Just Wrong
Who says romance is dead? Neural implants, electrodes and feelings transmitted through incisions are sexy? I think I'll a join a monastery. Sheesh.
Yes, We Have No Rapture Today
Everyone is at some meeting inWilliamsburg today. Not being a real employee, I wasn't told or required to attend. Suits me fine, I despise work meetings that don't involve heavy drinking.
This job is odd, but I've had stranger. Working the midnight shift in the Census office was my all-time favorite. One afternoon, my boss, Jim, calls me and my special friend, Alicia, into his office. Shut the door. Uh oh.
He reaches into his desk and pulls out a bag of empty Heineken bottles. There's a pair of pantyhose in the bag. Alicia's turning red. She looks at me-but we were so sly! No one suspected a thing. Wrong.
Jim was changing a light fixture and found these items hidden in the drop ceiling-but why call us on it? Oh. It was that obvious. Jim explains that if we are going to drink and screw in his office, we could at least toss the garbage in the dumpster beneath his window. Best boss ever!
I imagine I'll have another couple dozen jobs before one of them finally kills me, but I doubt I'll ever have as much fun as I did in 2000. That was the last good year I've ever had.
Come to think of it, an awful lot of bad things happened that year. In fact, it ended with me broken-hearted and on Federal probation. Fuck. Never mind.
I'm doing a bang-up job of depressing the shit out of myself this morning.
This job is odd, but I've had stranger. Working the midnight shift in the Census office was my all-time favorite. One afternoon, my boss, Jim, calls me and my special friend, Alicia, into his office. Shut the door. Uh oh.
He reaches into his desk and pulls out a bag of empty Heineken bottles. There's a pair of pantyhose in the bag. Alicia's turning red. She looks at me-but we were so sly! No one suspected a thing. Wrong.
Jim was changing a light fixture and found these items hidden in the drop ceiling-but why call us on it? Oh. It was that obvious. Jim explains that if we are going to drink and screw in his office, we could at least toss the garbage in the dumpster beneath his window. Best boss ever!
I imagine I'll have another couple dozen jobs before one of them finally kills me, but I doubt I'll ever have as much fun as I did in 2000. That was the last good year I've ever had.
Come to think of it, an awful lot of bad things happened that year. In fact, it ended with me broken-hearted and on Federal probation. Fuck. Never mind.
I'm doing a bang-up job of depressing the shit out of myself this morning.
Lost Office
Didn't get fired today. Everyone else did instead. There's no one here, the building is deserted. Is today a holiday? Very few cars in the lot, but all the lights are on and the coffee was still warm. This would strike me as odd, but these days everything weird seems normal, so sitting in an empty office without a freakin' clue about what to do is par for the course.
Other people's phones are ringing like crazy, no one to answer them. Don't much care.
Talked to some new and some old friends last night, which was a good use of the telephone, and actually visited another friend. Started feeling like perhaps I wasn't just so much flotsam and/or jetsam cast out into the sea and left for lost.
Ha Ha! I don't have to pretend that I'm working while I type this. Wonder where the 'off' button for the Muzak is? It's loud without all the babble.
Scary thought: maybe this is Purgatory and my heathen ways have landed me here for eternity.
That sure took the wind outta my sails.
Other people's phones are ringing like crazy, no one to answer them. Don't much care.
Talked to some new and some old friends last night, which was a good use of the telephone, and actually visited another friend. Started feeling like perhaps I wasn't just so much flotsam and/or jetsam cast out into the sea and left for lost.
Ha Ha! I don't have to pretend that I'm working while I type this. Wonder where the 'off' button for the Muzak is? It's loud without all the babble.
Scary thought: maybe this is Purgatory and my heathen ways have landed me here for eternity.
That sure took the wind outta my sails.
Monday, July 26, 2004
Teresa Could Whip Bob's Ass
Oh yeah! Never underestimate the recuperative powers of a good nap! I feel almost human again. I was in a good mood, but then I turned on CNN.
It seems that Mrs. Kerry and Mrs. Clinton are ruffling Bob Novak's feathers. Good. If Gollum was older , uglier and completely without redeeming virtue, he'd be Bob Novak. What a horrid, vile little man he is. I think he's afraid of strong women. Traitorous scumbag bully.
What I want to know is: why are the only Democrats with balls women? The buzz is to keep it polite and civil in Boston. Why? It's a goddamn knife-fight for our future this year, and you don't worry about keeping your elbows off the table in a knife-fight.
Re-energizing the flaccid Democratic Party is the only positive accomplishment of the Usurping Monkey -Boy's administration. Show me the outrage, people!
It seems that Mrs. Kerry and Mrs. Clinton are ruffling Bob Novak's feathers. Good. If Gollum was older , uglier and completely without redeeming virtue, he'd be Bob Novak. What a horrid, vile little man he is. I think he's afraid of strong women. Traitorous scumbag bully.
What I want to know is: why are the only Democrats with balls women? The buzz is to keep it polite and civil in Boston. Why? It's a goddamn knife-fight for our future this year, and you don't worry about keeping your elbows off the table in a knife-fight.
Re-energizing the flaccid Democratic Party is the only positive accomplishment of the Usurping Monkey -Boy's administration. Show me the outrage, people!
Experiment
I drove home for lunch today and decided not to go back to the office. This is the sort of thing that gets people fired, but I bet no one notices. I turned the ringer on my phone off so no one would hear it ring. At one o'clock I'd had one call, and it was a wrong number.
I'm beginning to think that I'm completely burned out at work. It's been a good run, but I'm ready for a change. Talked to the Twin last night, and he assured me I've got a place in Chicago. Having the Twin is awesome. I want to go there. Or anywhere. I'm too goddamn desperate to be picky about where I go. It's that caught-in-a- bear-trap feeling. If I don't get some relief, I may have to chew my foot off in order to escape. That's OK. I'll save money on socks.
Next: A big-ass nap in the middle of a rainy day. What could be better?
I'm beginning to think that I'm completely burned out at work. It's been a good run, but I'm ready for a change. Talked to the Twin last night, and he assured me I've got a place in Chicago. Having the Twin is awesome. I want to go there. Or anywhere. I'm too goddamn desperate to be picky about where I go. It's that caught-in-a- bear-trap feeling. If I don't get some relief, I may have to chew my foot off in order to escape. That's OK. I'll save money on socks.
Next: A big-ass nap in the middle of a rainy day. What could be better?
My Dream Job
This must be a dream job, since I keep falling asleep in my cube. Everyday I expect to get laid-off. Do nothing all day. Every day. Last week they gave me a key to the office, so I guess I'll be here awhile. I shouldn't complain so much- the money is much-needed.
Fuck it. Gonna complain anyway.
Yahoo-apeshit stir-crazy gotta do something or head explodes kinda complaining. Rant and rave until I can feel the veins in my temples throb and pound with every heartbeat complaining. Amazingly, I can do this in complete silence.
Need more than a paycheck. I need to make things. Creative all weekend, now stuck here watching the clock. Maybe hiding the taskbar will help. Nope. Another cup of coffee? Nope.
Nuffin' works. I sure don't.
Despite my protestations to the contrary, I'm pretty good at just about everything- I just really suck at nothing. Nothing is 40 hours of every week.
I'm so out of touch with everything and everyone that the sound of my own voice startles me. Am I talking to myself or to someone else? Who would notice?
Typed a lot this weekend. A right jolly time , it was. Yelled into a microphone and bounced all over my apartment with various guitars attached. (Gotta get a wireless system)
These are the good things. Must remember the good things while I sit in my damncube. Must remember to buy a phone-card on the way home. There's a phone call I want to make. That's another good thing.
God knows, I could use someone to talk to. My last attempt at conversation was depressing. Nah, it was more like humiliating. I've never had a bad time eating ribs before, but it happened. Usually I have to do something stupid before I get insulted-I think my big mistake was asking, "could you pass the slaw ,please?" I'll probably never know. I probably shouldn't even care, but I do. Don't ask me why. I ask myself that all the time and I'm still waiting for a reply.
I'm a fucking fly on the wall of life and some bloody bastard child has pulled my wings off.
Fuck it. Gonna complain anyway.
Yahoo-apeshit stir-crazy gotta do something or head explodes kinda complaining. Rant and rave until I can feel the veins in my temples throb and pound with every heartbeat complaining. Amazingly, I can do this in complete silence.
Need more than a paycheck. I need to make things. Creative all weekend, now stuck here watching the clock. Maybe hiding the taskbar will help. Nope. Another cup of coffee? Nope.
Nuffin' works. I sure don't.
Despite my protestations to the contrary, I'm pretty good at just about everything- I just really suck at nothing. Nothing is 40 hours of every week.
I'm so out of touch with everything and everyone that the sound of my own voice startles me. Am I talking to myself or to someone else? Who would notice?
Typed a lot this weekend. A right jolly time , it was. Yelled into a microphone and bounced all over my apartment with various guitars attached. (Gotta get a wireless system)
These are the good things. Must remember the good things while I sit in my damncube. Must remember to buy a phone-card on the way home. There's a phone call I want to make. That's another good thing.
God knows, I could use someone to talk to. My last attempt at conversation was depressing. Nah, it was more like humiliating. I've never had a bad time eating ribs before, but it happened. Usually I have to do something stupid before I get insulted-I think my big mistake was asking, "could you pass the slaw ,please?" I'll probably never know. I probably shouldn't even care, but I do. Don't ask me why. I ask myself that all the time and I'm still waiting for a reply.
I'm a fucking fly on the wall of life and some bloody bastard child has pulled my wings off.
Sunday, July 25, 2004
It's Never Over
Project Blog is done, and it was fun being there. ( Hi , you) But don't let it end.
If you haven't noticed the world is a mess, you are either asleep or unaware. Don't say it's not your problem, because it is your problem. What, you live on some other planet?
You don't need to spend money, stay up all night or preach from a soapbox-just be a little nicer to everyone. Manners matter, so be polite and show some respect. It'll make the world a little better, and it may keep you out of prison.
I live two blocks from a clinic- the kind of clinic that attracts protesters and Christian bombers. When I'm in a bad mood, I usually put ketchup in an empty mustard bottle and spew condiment on the zealots. They just sorta stand there, like the idea of red goo from a yellow bottle is incomprehensible.
I didn't do that today. I asked every angry white protester if they needed someone to make a food and water run. I got enough money to buy a six-pack and two cans of cat-food. Now I'm drinking with two fat sleeping cats.
I'd be a great philanthropist if I didn't hate people.
If you haven't noticed the world is a mess, you are either asleep or unaware. Don't say it's not your problem, because it is your problem. What, you live on some other planet?
You don't need to spend money, stay up all night or preach from a soapbox-just be a little nicer to everyone. Manners matter, so be polite and show some respect. It'll make the world a little better, and it may keep you out of prison.
I live two blocks from a clinic- the kind of clinic that attracts protesters and Christian bombers. When I'm in a bad mood, I usually put ketchup in an empty mustard bottle and spew condiment on the zealots. They just sorta stand there, like the idea of red goo from a yellow bottle is incomprehensible.
I didn't do that today. I asked every angry white protester if they needed someone to make a food and water run. I got enough money to buy a six-pack and two cans of cat-food. Now I'm drinking with two fat sleeping cats.
I'd be a great philanthropist if I didn't hate people.
Saturday, July 24, 2004
Unlovable
Gnawed the flesh from bones last night. Had the pleasure of anonymous's company. Just friends.
Tonight she said that I was the least lovable man she'd ever met.
Ha ha. Oh, boy, that's funny.
I feel like shit.
Tonight she said that I was the least lovable man she'd ever met.
Ha ha. Oh, boy, that's funny.
I feel like shit.
Give it Back
Give me back my Flag!
You bastards have usurped Old Glory and turned it into a symbol of Empire, Intolerance and Greed. It's used as a tacit endorsement of senseless war. It now signifies unquestioning loyalty to the rich white men's party line. Don't use my flag as an excuse to burn crosses. Don't use it as an excuse to burn flags , either. Show some goddamn respect.
It's supposed to be a symbol of freedom. Freedom as defined in such documents as :
-The Declaration of Independence
-The Constitution
-The Bill of Rights
September 1, 1939. Germany launches a pre-emptive strike on Poland, after convincing the German public that the Poles posed a grave threat to the "Fatherland".
The Poles had mounted cavalry armed with pistols and sabers and the Germans had tanks and Stuka dive-bombers.
Six years and millions of lives later, our flag prevailed. It became an international symbol of freedom. Our former enemies were now our friends.
Sadly, our former allies became our enemies. Watch out for those Communists. Duck and Cover!
They hate our freedom! Your neighbor may be a 'Red'. Be alert! Be aware! Live in fear! Missiles! Cold War! Bomb Shelters!
Sound familiar?
We aren't the good guys anymore. "But Saddam tortured way more people than we did!", you exclaim.
That's not good enough for America. We need to lead by example, not rule by force and intimidation. We have done it before, and I believe we can do it again.
But not with Bush.
You bastards have usurped Old Glory and turned it into a symbol of Empire, Intolerance and Greed. It's used as a tacit endorsement of senseless war. It now signifies unquestioning loyalty to the rich white men's party line. Don't use my flag as an excuse to burn crosses. Don't use it as an excuse to burn flags , either. Show some goddamn respect.
It's supposed to be a symbol of freedom. Freedom as defined in such documents as :
-The Declaration of Independence
-The Constitution
-The Bill of Rights
September 1, 1939. Germany launches a pre-emptive strike on Poland, after convincing the German public that the Poles posed a grave threat to the "Fatherland".
The Poles had mounted cavalry armed with pistols and sabers and the Germans had tanks and Stuka dive-bombers.
Six years and millions of lives later, our flag prevailed. It became an international symbol of freedom. Our former enemies were now our friends.
Sadly, our former allies became our enemies. Watch out for those Communists. Duck and Cover!
They hate our freedom! Your neighbor may be a 'Red'. Be alert! Be aware! Live in fear! Missiles! Cold War! Bomb Shelters!
Sound familiar?
We aren't the good guys anymore. "But Saddam tortured way more people than we did!", you exclaim.
That's not good enough for America. We need to lead by example, not rule by force and intimidation. We have done it before, and I believe we can do it again.
But not with Bush.
Friday, July 23, 2004
End Times Tidbits #2
In Florida, if you have been mistakenly denied the right to vote, all you need to do is fill out a form to get re-instated. Oh. Jeb Bush just eliminated that form, but not to worry-it's a new, streamlined electronic process. Good luck wading through that red tape before Nov.2.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Why do we need to kill more whales? For the ambergris? Who would've thought that the undigested beaks of giant squid would be so valuable?
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Iraq is free and America is safer. Bush flip -flops again.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I dream about these things.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Why do we need to kill more whales? For the ambergris? Who would've thought that the undigested beaks of giant squid would be so valuable?
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Iraq is free and America is safer. Bush flip -flops again.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I dream about these things.
My Twelve Step Program Goes to Thirteen
1.We admitted we prefer our senses as blurred as responsible behavior allows.
2.Came to believe that only we are responsible for our actions.
3.Made a decision to consider those who claim to 'understand God' as lunatics.
4.Made a merciless moral judgement of others and found them lacking.
5.Took the fifth amendement and decided our problems were no one else's business.
6.Were ready to accept ourseleves as we are, warts and all.
7.Decided that humility is a shortcoming.
8.Made a list of all the people we have wronged and concluded that most of them deserved it.
9.Burned all our bridges, dodged all our bullets and returned our library books in a timely fashion.
10. Refused to take shit from anyone or take the blame for stuff that's plausibly deniable.
11. Took whatever measures neccesary to avoid religious zealots.
12. Having achieved some slight level of contentment, we decided not to force our opinions on anyone who doesn't solicit them.
13. Let ourselves off the hook for fucking up the first twelve steps.
2.Came to believe that only we are responsible for our actions.
3.Made a decision to consider those who claim to 'understand God' as lunatics.
4.Made a merciless moral judgement of others and found them lacking.
5.Took the fifth amendement and decided our problems were no one else's business.
6.Were ready to accept ourseleves as we are, warts and all.
7.Decided that humility is a shortcoming.
8.Made a list of all the people we have wronged and concluded that most of them deserved it.
9.Burned all our bridges, dodged all our bullets and returned our library books in a timely fashion.
10. Refused to take shit from anyone or take the blame for stuff that's plausibly deniable.
11. Took whatever measures neccesary to avoid religious zealots.
12. Having achieved some slight level of contentment, we decided not to force our opinions on anyone who doesn't solicit them.
13. Let ourselves off the hook for fucking up the first twelve steps.
Betty Moved Away
My elderly next-door neighbor , Betty J., moved away last week. She moved into an assisted -living home, which really surprised me,since she's pretty healthy and active. I hope she makes some new friends her own age.
I'll miss her-she was a good neighbor. A couple years ago I was house-bound following surgery and she brought me food and beer, which helped a lot. Last New Years Eve I went to a really depressing party. It was so depressing I left before midnight and went home. It was unseasonably warm so I sat on the porch and drank beer for a while, wondering why I couldn't be happy like all those other people.
Betty came out with a bottle of champagne and told me some funny stories about her youthful years. She really cheered me up, and I'm notoriously difficult to cheer up.
Now she's gone and I'm dreading whoever fate casts as my new neighbor(s). Will it be someone who pounds on the wall the second you turn the stereo? A cat-hater? A bunch of poorly behaved students? A cop? A couple that fights a lot and fucks too loud? (They just moved out from the apartment on the other side). Someone with noisy babies? A really bad guitar player who wants to 'jam'? A crack dealer? A cannibal? A Republican?
Since most people suck, the odds are my new neighbor will too.
Maybe it'll be a smart ,creative single woman with a wide array of charmingly harmless neuroses.
Hey, I can dream, can't I?
I'll miss her-she was a good neighbor. A couple years ago I was house-bound following surgery and she brought me food and beer, which helped a lot. Last New Years Eve I went to a really depressing party. It was so depressing I left before midnight and went home. It was unseasonably warm so I sat on the porch and drank beer for a while, wondering why I couldn't be happy like all those other people.
Betty came out with a bottle of champagne and told me some funny stories about her youthful years. She really cheered me up, and I'm notoriously difficult to cheer up.
Now she's gone and I'm dreading whoever fate casts as my new neighbor(s). Will it be someone who pounds on the wall the second you turn the stereo? A cat-hater? A bunch of poorly behaved students? A cop? A couple that fights a lot and fucks too loud? (They just moved out from the apartment on the other side). Someone with noisy babies? A really bad guitar player who wants to 'jam'? A crack dealer? A cannibal? A Republican?
Since most people suck, the odds are my new neighbor will too.
Maybe it'll be a smart ,creative single woman with a wide array of charmingly harmless neuroses.
Hey, I can dream, can't I?
Thursday, July 22, 2004
Nicaraguans don't know Kerry
(AP) Puerto Cabreza-
Pipo Esteves , a 20- year -old orphan who can't feed her newborn infant looks puzzled. She doesn't know who John Kerry is.
Despite the tropical heat and the green trees, Pablo Gorgo, teen-age gangster look-out, agrees, " I don't know who the fuck he is. "
Throughout the hills and valleys of this once violence-ridden land, peasants and beggars all echo the same feeling.
"We don't know Juan Carey. Is he Reagan?", says a crippled village elder in broken English. " I flat-out refuse to vote for Juan Carey", he says, rubbing his stumps together, "Reagan is our hero ." His captors nod assent.
Narcotics trafficker and part-time human slaver Jorge Negron concurs. "The whole Iran/Contra/ CIA/Cocaine for arms investigation was largely based on investigations led by Senator Kerry. That proves he hates (criminal drug-trafficking warlord murderers in Central)
America."
Paulo, a displaced coca farmer with nothing left to lose offers dissent. "The Contras , they kill my village. They kill my children. They shot me thirteen times."
He shows this reporter only twelve exit wounds. He's a Kerry man.
Paulo couldn't even produce any official documentation of his self-described "slaughter of innocents", but decided to voice his support of liberal John Kerry anyway.
"If he's not Reagan , I'd vote for him", said the elderly Socialist.
It's hot here, but Paulo was sweating like a man who has secrets.
Pipo Esteves , a 20- year -old orphan who can't feed her newborn infant looks puzzled. She doesn't know who John Kerry is.
Despite the tropical heat and the green trees, Pablo Gorgo, teen-age gangster look-out, agrees, " I don't know who the fuck he is. "
Throughout the hills and valleys of this once violence-ridden land, peasants and beggars all echo the same feeling.
"We don't know Juan Carey. Is he Reagan?", says a crippled village elder in broken English. " I flat-out refuse to vote for Juan Carey", he says, rubbing his stumps together, "Reagan is our hero ." His captors nod assent.
Narcotics trafficker and part-time human slaver Jorge Negron concurs. "The whole Iran/Contra/ CIA/Cocaine for arms investigation was largely based on investigations led by Senator Kerry. That proves he hates (criminal drug-trafficking warlord murderers in Central)
America."
Paulo, a displaced coca farmer with nothing left to lose offers dissent. "The Contras , they kill my village. They kill my children. They shot me thirteen times."
He shows this reporter only twelve exit wounds. He's a Kerry man.
Paulo couldn't even produce any official documentation of his self-described "slaughter of innocents", but decided to voice his support of liberal John Kerry anyway.
"If he's not Reagan , I'd vote for him", said the elderly Socialist.
It's hot here, but Paulo was sweating like a man who has secrets.
Wednesday, July 21, 2004
Do This
Just passing along a reminder-The Project Blog Marathon is Saturday. The link is on the right.
I'm sponsoring a couple bloggers , Caryn , who had the first A.C.S. site, and Lyzard who is blogging for R.A.I.N.N. Hats off to both, and a special tip to Lyzard for listening.
They each had stories I could relate to- check out the bloggers and find something you care about and pitch a few bucks - go on- do this!
I'm sponsoring a couple bloggers , Caryn , who had the first A.C.S. site, and Lyzard who is blogging for R.A.I.N.N. Hats off to both, and a special tip to Lyzard for listening.
They each had stories I could relate to- check out the bloggers and find something you care about and pitch a few bucks - go on- do this!
End Times Tidbits
Maybe I'm old fashioned, but I generally consider the topic anal lube , er, personal lubricant , to be a real conversation-stopper on a first date.
The marketing geniuses at K-Y aren't so prudish. August 7th ,2004 is National K-Y Date Night.
Really.
Say there's that special someone you haven't quite found the nerve to approach- now you have a way to "break the ice." Just find a casual way to work sex grease into the conversation, and mention that the 7th is K-Y Jelly Night. Mention that you just got a free sample of their new 'warming lotion'.
Anyone who will go out with you after this spiel is a 'keeper'.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I am heart-broken. Stephen Hawking was wrong about black hole theory. He admitted he was wrong, which makes him more of a man than almost any politician ,ever.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Here on Earth things haven't gotten any better.
Proving that they are truly the party of "values and optimism" GOP apologist Byron York points out the positive elements of torture. I suspect he was Torquemada in a former life.
How will he feel when the American media finally admits that the prisoner abuse scandals include sodomizing and torturing children?
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Don't even bother mentioning Africa. No one else does. Almost no one.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
While we're ignoring things , let' s make sure we pay no attention to this potential war. This situation could get very bad, very fast.
The marketing geniuses at K-Y aren't so prudish. August 7th ,2004 is National K-Y Date Night.
Really.
Say there's that special someone you haven't quite found the nerve to approach- now you have a way to "break the ice." Just find a casual way to work sex grease into the conversation, and mention that the 7th is K-Y Jelly Night. Mention that you just got a free sample of their new 'warming lotion'.
Anyone who will go out with you after this spiel is a 'keeper'.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I am heart-broken. Stephen Hawking was wrong about black hole theory. He admitted he was wrong, which makes him more of a man than almost any politician ,ever.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Here on Earth things haven't gotten any better.
Proving that they are truly the party of "values and optimism" GOP apologist Byron York points out the positive elements of torture. I suspect he was Torquemada in a former life.
How will he feel when the American media finally admits that the prisoner abuse scandals include sodomizing and torturing children?
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Don't even bother mentioning Africa. No one else does. Almost no one.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
While we're ignoring things , let' s make sure we pay no attention to this potential war. This situation could get very bad, very fast.
Tuesday, July 20, 2004
You Are My Sunshine
No, you're not.
You're more like my Fog of War.
I know how to dial *69. That's your cell phone.
Why the hang-ups? You know I'm not home. Call my desk-we use the same switchboard.
Maybe my number is similar to your husband's parole officer's and you mis-dialed due to panic as hubbie beat you up. I worry about you.
It's better for the kids if their father is home, you say.
I'd tell you that children don't deal well with watching Dad/Step-Dad/ Mr. Wrong beat up their mother. I'd tell you that, but not talking was your idea.
You're more like my Fog of War.
I know how to dial *69. That's your cell phone.
Why the hang-ups? You know I'm not home. Call my desk-we use the same switchboard.
Maybe my number is similar to your husband's parole officer's and you mis-dialed due to panic as hubbie beat you up. I worry about you.
It's better for the kids if their father is home, you say.
I'd tell you that children don't deal well with watching Dad/Step-Dad/ Mr. Wrong beat up their mother. I'd tell you that, but not talking was your idea.
American Nihilist Party
Finally. There's a political party with a platform I can embrace and a candidate I can endorse- no one.
This party should enjoy wide-spread support from the non-voting public.
Always a Dull Moment
Nothing new ever happens. Every day is just another variation on some previous day. Good, bad or indifferent , it's all been done before. If I haven't done it already , someone else surely has. Chances are they did it better, since I suck at everything.
I let my guard down over the weekend and let myself be creative- oh boy, a couple brand-new songs! I congratulate myself for this, then I feel stupid when I realize this is important only to myself. It's not like I've never written a song before, I've got a zillion of them and they all suck.
So what? Any idiot can play electric guitar, which is why ' rock and roll' will never die. It should die. Dead people are better musicians- compare Jimi Hendrix to Lenny Kravitz or Billie Holliday to Pink. I might totally suck on guitar, but I'll never suck as much as Kravitz. Listening to Pink makes my balls shrivel up. I hate the radio. I hate MTV. Pop music fans have lower standards than a drunk tourist in a Tijuana brothel.
My vision of the Rapture would involve rounding up 95% of all popular musicians and hurling them into a live volcano . Hmm... why stop there? I like the idea of 95% of the human race vanishing, but I hate the thought that all those asswipes will get into Heaven. Or I would if I believed in that nonsense.
Who to keep around? I'd keep a couple drummers and a few cute girls who can sing- into the fire-pit with the rest of the so-called 'musicians'. I'd probably keep mostly women here with me on the material plane. No real logic to this, it's just the way my penis would like things to be.
I like the concept of hurling 5.5 billion humans to a hellish, fiery doom just so I have a better chance of getting laid.
(Does this mean I'm a bad person? Probably, but without bad we wouldn't have good, so by doing bad things I'm actually working towards good. Did I mention that I suck at everything? That goes double for philosophy.)
Even better: Global Spontaneous Human Combustion. That would liven up an otherwise dull day. Oh crap. Even extinction is old hat- we've had global die-offs since literally before time began. What a yawner. Nothing new under the sun. Fortunately , the sun can only explode once, bad news is I won't be around to see it. I never get to have any fun.
Maybe the UFO's will attack Earth this week. I wonder if I'd even notice . Or care.
I let my guard down over the weekend and let myself be creative- oh boy, a couple brand-new songs! I congratulate myself for this, then I feel stupid when I realize this is important only to myself. It's not like I've never written a song before, I've got a zillion of them and they all suck.
So what? Any idiot can play electric guitar, which is why ' rock and roll' will never die. It should die. Dead people are better musicians- compare Jimi Hendrix to Lenny Kravitz or Billie Holliday to Pink. I might totally suck on guitar, but I'll never suck as much as Kravitz. Listening to Pink makes my balls shrivel up. I hate the radio. I hate MTV. Pop music fans have lower standards than a drunk tourist in a Tijuana brothel.
My vision of the Rapture would involve rounding up 95% of all popular musicians and hurling them into a live volcano . Hmm... why stop there? I like the idea of 95% of the human race vanishing, but I hate the thought that all those asswipes will get into Heaven. Or I would if I believed in that nonsense.
Who to keep around? I'd keep a couple drummers and a few cute girls who can sing- into the fire-pit with the rest of the so-called 'musicians'. I'd probably keep mostly women here with me on the material plane. No real logic to this, it's just the way my penis would like things to be.
I like the concept of hurling 5.5 billion humans to a hellish, fiery doom just so I have a better chance of getting laid.
(Does this mean I'm a bad person? Probably, but without bad we wouldn't have good, so by doing bad things I'm actually working towards good. Did I mention that I suck at everything? That goes double for philosophy.)
Even better: Global Spontaneous Human Combustion. That would liven up an otherwise dull day. Oh crap. Even extinction is old hat- we've had global die-offs since literally before time began. What a yawner. Nothing new under the sun. Fortunately , the sun can only explode once, bad news is I won't be around to see it. I never get to have any fun.
Maybe the UFO's will attack Earth this week. I wonder if I'd even notice . Or care.
The Value of Fuck-All
I get a rash everytime I hear some hypocrite sounding off about "values" ,"family values", "mainstream values" etc. My entire body is covered in oozing, pustulent blisters, but at least my conscience is clean.
I'm kidding. I'm not covered in bloody boils and I'm constantly tormented by my past mis-deeds, but at least I don't go around pretending to be some great arbiter of morality and values.
While well-publicized examples like former "Morality Czar" (and inveterate whore-mongering gambling-impaired alcoholic) William Bennett immediately come to mind when discussing hypocrites, there are smaller , everyday examples that really get my hives in bloom.
Like Patrick. Patrick is a stinking twenty-something hippy that used to annoy the hell out of me at the old comic shop. Patrick will never have a job, but he's got at least two children by two different women. I recently ran into Mom #2 at market and innocently asked about Patrick. Ooops! She got red and let loose a vile stream of invective about him. She kicked his ass out because he wouldn't get a job or help with the kid (she has two jobs).
Patrick says working for other people is moral and spiritual prostitution. There may be some truth to that, but when heard from the mouth of someone who lives off of a single working mother, those words lose all meaning.
Patrick complains about not having any food to eat -in the same breath he'll aggressively criticize you for eating pepperoni. Patrick doesn't honor his debts- if you ask him to pay you back he starts with a lecture on materialism.
Patrick is one of those unwashed pseudo-liberals that have nothing to offer, yet insist we should all share. He smells like patchouli oil and dirty feet. Once ,I sprayed him with air freshener and he started ranting about the ozone layer. According to Patrick, our water supply is so polluted that bathing makes you dirtier. He convinces good-hearted women that he's a delicate flower who needs nurturing and love. In reality, a tapeworm would make a better life-partner.
I imagine it's only a matter of time until someone kills Patrick. I'd have done it myself, but beating up scrawny, tofu gobblin' hippies isn't challenging enough to be fun.
I'm kidding. I'm not covered in bloody boils and I'm constantly tormented by my past mis-deeds, but at least I don't go around pretending to be some great arbiter of morality and values.
While well-publicized examples like former "Morality Czar" (and inveterate whore-mongering gambling-impaired alcoholic) William Bennett immediately come to mind when discussing hypocrites, there are smaller , everyday examples that really get my hives in bloom.
Like Patrick. Patrick is a stinking twenty-something hippy that used to annoy the hell out of me at the old comic shop. Patrick will never have a job, but he's got at least two children by two different women. I recently ran into Mom #2 at market and innocently asked about Patrick. Ooops! She got red and let loose a vile stream of invective about him. She kicked his ass out because he wouldn't get a job or help with the kid (she has two jobs).
Patrick says working for other people is moral and spiritual prostitution. There may be some truth to that, but when heard from the mouth of someone who lives off of a single working mother, those words lose all meaning.
Patrick complains about not having any food to eat -in the same breath he'll aggressively criticize you for eating pepperoni. Patrick doesn't honor his debts- if you ask him to pay you back he starts with a lecture on materialism.
Patrick is one of those unwashed pseudo-liberals that have nothing to offer, yet insist we should all share. He smells like patchouli oil and dirty feet. Once ,I sprayed him with air freshener and he started ranting about the ozone layer. According to Patrick, our water supply is so polluted that bathing makes you dirtier. He convinces good-hearted women that he's a delicate flower who needs nurturing and love. In reality, a tapeworm would make a better life-partner.
I imagine it's only a matter of time until someone kills Patrick. I'd have done it myself, but beating up scrawny, tofu gobblin' hippies isn't challenging enough to be fun.
Sunday, July 18, 2004
Who Wants to be a Rock Star?
Musicians are the second dumbest group of humans on the planet. The greater mass of Stupid People are wanna -be musicians. What the hell? Why?
Musicians are stupid. Stupid and poor. They take drugs and have unsafe sex. Bad,bad musicians.
When a real Musician flushes the toilet in the back of the tour bus and sees his pee splash on highway stripes he doesn't worry about sanitation. The bus swerves and he wonders who let the drummer drive.
A hundred miles later, no accidents. Just a crap club in some pissant Carolina town. Don't ask where the loo is. It's everywhere. It all smells of piss.
It's a fucking "all-ages" show. I hate all-ages shows. The kids are all hyped on glue, freon and XTC instead of being properly drunk. I don't wanna play guitar for kids who sniff 'White-Out'.
I do it anyway. Anger is uncool. A teenager tells me anger is uncool. My guitar gets pissed, but it's not enough.
We suck. People move around. I get a pitcher of flat beer and the worst BB-Q sandwich ever.
The green Mohawk chick likes me. That's why she left without me.
I'm not very popular.
Glam? Ptooey!
Musicians are stupid. Stupid and poor. They take drugs and have unsafe sex. Bad,bad musicians.
When a real Musician flushes the toilet in the back of the tour bus and sees his pee splash on highway stripes he doesn't worry about sanitation. The bus swerves and he wonders who let the drummer drive.
A hundred miles later, no accidents. Just a crap club in some pissant Carolina town. Don't ask where the loo is. It's everywhere. It all smells of piss.
It's a fucking "all-ages" show. I hate all-ages shows. The kids are all hyped on glue, freon and XTC instead of being properly drunk. I don't wanna play guitar for kids who sniff 'White-Out'.
I do it anyway. Anger is uncool. A teenager tells me anger is uncool. My guitar gets pissed, but it's not enough.
We suck. People move around. I get a pitcher of flat beer and the worst BB-Q sandwich ever.
The green Mohawk chick likes me. That's why she left without me.
I'm not very popular.
Glam? Ptooey!
Thursday, July 15, 2004
Busy Day
It wasn't very busy, but enough stuff happened to keep me interested.
Before I'd had a chance to finish my third cup of coffee, I got a new claim. It was a policy on a rental property , apparently the repair crew showed up and found out the tenant had died sometime last month.
The claim is to cover the cost of " clean-up, sanitizing and fumigation ,USC" (under special circumstance) . Ugh. It's hot here. What a mess that must've been.
Oh. Of course they needed to provide photographic evidence. (You didn't really have to, sick bastards). Holy shit! That guy must have weighed 325 pounds! It looks like Alien hatched out of his chest, but I think that's just from gas causing the rotting flesh to burst asunder. The death certificate says heart failure. This guy was only two months older than me.
I sit and do nothing for a long time. A couple hours later I notice that all the paper-clips on my desk are bent and twisted out of shape. I guess I did that.
Later, I got a call from a policy-holder with really bad luck. Her mother's house was nearly destroyed last September, we finally got it fixed for her and her mother dies on move back- in day. I've done so much work on this I've memorized the policy and claim numbers, so I was able to skip all the BS paperwork crap and be helpful instead.
While the house was empty someone broke in and vandalized /looted the place. (no foul play determined)
So she was a little upset. She told me a lot about her mother. I didn't mind. She misses her mom every day.
I know. Every single day.
Before I'd had a chance to finish my third cup of coffee, I got a new claim. It was a policy on a rental property , apparently the repair crew showed up and found out the tenant had died sometime last month.
The claim is to cover the cost of " clean-up, sanitizing and fumigation ,USC" (under special circumstance) . Ugh. It's hot here. What a mess that must've been.
Oh. Of course they needed to provide photographic evidence. (You didn't really have to, sick bastards). Holy shit! That guy must have weighed 325 pounds! It looks like Alien hatched out of his chest, but I think that's just from gas causing the rotting flesh to burst asunder. The death certificate says heart failure. This guy was only two months older than me.
I sit and do nothing for a long time. A couple hours later I notice that all the paper-clips on my desk are bent and twisted out of shape. I guess I did that.
Later, I got a call from a policy-holder with really bad luck. Her mother's house was nearly destroyed last September, we finally got it fixed for her and her mother dies on move back- in day. I've done so much work on this I've memorized the policy and claim numbers, so I was able to skip all the BS paperwork crap and be helpful instead.
While the house was empty someone broke in and vandalized /looted the place. (no foul play determined)
So she was a little upset. She told me a lot about her mother. I didn't mind. She misses her mom every day.
I know. Every single day.
Wednesday, July 14, 2004
Bush Never Tires
Does Smirky McWarhardon ever get tired of lying?
No.
"America is safer now?"
Safer than when? 1812? 1941? 1962? Lunch-time yesterday?
What part of this vague "reminder" makes us safer?
If we are so safe, why this?
Blame it on the CIA.
Didn't the Chimp swat Libya down? No, he took credit for a process started by Clinton.
He's going to save us from the "whims of activist judges".
Maybe by "safe", he means safe from gay marriage. I'd prefer to be safe from having a partisan Supreme Court appoint my President, but it's a little late for that now, isn't it?
John Edwards was Kerry's second choice, after McCain.
Even McCain has publicly denied this. On the other hand, Crashcart Cheney was Smirky's second choice. Guess who was first? Yep. John McCain. He turned Bush down.
It appalls me that McCain ostensibly supports Bush after the 2000 campaign of smears and lies that BushCo. threw at him. I suppose it's the soldier in him that compels him to play along.
Next time you see him stumping for Smirky, watch closely. The man is so tense, his scalp is clenched.
I don't feel safer. I feel threatened. I fear Al-Qaeda with a sense of vague,detached uneasiness, much like wondering if you might get hit by lightning during a storm.
I fear the implementation of the world-dominating PNAC agenda in the same way I'd fear a shark that had just chewed my legs off and wants more.
No.
"America is safer now?"
Safer than when? 1812? 1941? 1962? Lunch-time yesterday?
What part of this vague "reminder" makes us safer?
If we are so safe, why this?
Blame it on the CIA.
Didn't the Chimp swat Libya down? No, he took credit for a process started by Clinton.
He's going to save us from the "whims of activist judges".
Maybe by "safe", he means safe from gay marriage. I'd prefer to be safe from having a partisan Supreme Court appoint my President, but it's a little late for that now, isn't it?
John Edwards was Kerry's second choice, after McCain.
Even McCain has publicly denied this. On the other hand, Crashcart Cheney was Smirky's second choice. Guess who was first? Yep. John McCain. He turned Bush down.
It appalls me that McCain ostensibly supports Bush after the 2000 campaign of smears and lies that BushCo. threw at him. I suppose it's the soldier in him that compels him to play along.
Next time you see him stumping for Smirky, watch closely. The man is so tense, his scalp is clenched.
I don't feel safer. I feel threatened. I fear Al-Qaeda with a sense of vague,detached uneasiness, much like wondering if you might get hit by lightning during a storm.
I fear the implementation of the world-dominating PNAC agenda in the same way I'd fear a shark that had just chewed my legs off and wants more.
Tuesday, July 13, 2004
Microwave Chicken
This is not a recipe, it's a game. Remember playing "Chicken"? The fun car game where you and your opponent drive as fast as possible towards each other, and the first one to swerve is "chicken" and loses? If you've ever played this game I hope you've lost your driver's permit forever. I do not want to share the road with you.
Here's a version you can play at home. You need :
1-microwave oven
1- lightbulb
2- idiots
Place the lightbulb in the microwave. Place idiots in front of oven, staring inside.
Turn power to High and hit 99:99 on the timer. Start!
Watch all the colors and sparks fly. Smell the weird ozoney-burning smell. Wonder what'll happen next.
The first idiot to hit the Stop button loses. Chicken!
Disclaimer: this might be dangerous.If someone gets hurt, it's not my fault.
Here's a version you can play at home. You need :
1-microwave oven
1- lightbulb
2- idiots
Place the lightbulb in the microwave. Place idiots in front of oven, staring inside.
Turn power to High and hit 99:99 on the timer. Start!
Watch all the colors and sparks fly. Smell the weird ozoney-burning smell. Wonder what'll happen next.
The first idiot to hit the Stop button loses. Chicken!
Disclaimer: this might be dangerous.If someone gets hurt, it's not my fault.
Bachelor Feast
A yummy carnivorous treat that's cheap and easy. You'll need:
-Some cheap beef(like a flank steak), it should be no more than 3/4 thick. 'Reduced for quick sale' is fine, since you're gonna cook the hell out of it anyway. Get as much as your appetite for left-overs allows.
-Onions. Put the onions in the 'fridge for a while and you won't cry as much. Also, breathing primarily through the mouth while slicing onions helps. Don't be ashamed if you do-the world has long ago turned it's back on you, so no one is watching.
Don't use onion salt. If you have onion salt in your cabinet throw it away right now and get some real vegetables, fer chrissakes!
-Garlic. Use only fresh garlic. Peel it, dice it, place it in a dish with a little olive oil. Do not place in fridge.The next day you'll still smell it on your fingers. Your co-workers will wonder why you keep sniffing your fingertips. Remain mysterious, keep them wondering.
If you have powdered garlic or garlic salt, chuck them into the rubbish bin along with your onion salt. Hang your head in shame at letting these things into your home.
-Soy sauce.Use take-out packets if you have to.
-Worcestershire sauce.Buy the cheap shit, it's all the same for this purpose.
-Red Wine vinegar and various cooking oils.
-Alcoholic Beverages. I used cooking sherry last time, but if you plan on drinking, use something else. I suggest beer, but wine is OK as long as no one sees you drink it. Do all your slicing and dicing before you get drunk.
-potatoes. Not french fries or Tater Tots. Wash them, but do not peel. Wrap them in foil and stab them with a fork. Repeat if this makes you feel better. Set aside.
Options. Carrots, peppers, celery etc. Now is the time to clean out your crisper. Slice and dice anything that appears edible. Push anything rotten to the back of the ice-box and forget about it for now.
First put the meat in a dish and pour some vinegar, some oil, some beer/wine, garlic ,salt and pepper etc over it. Use a little thyme and oregano if available. Stir and place in fridge while you struggle with slicing the veggies. Let it sit long enough to watch a Simpsons re-run.
Heat a skillet over medium heat, add oil. I like Mongolian fire (hot-pepper enhanced)oil,but be a wimp if you want. I don't care. You can go to White Castle instead if you're gonna be like that.
Put meat in skillet. If it makes a sizzling sound, it's cooking. Lightly brown each side. Do not sear.
Add veggies, garlic and spices, saute for a few minutes, until the onions start to brown slightly. Reduce heat and add enough beer/wine, soy/Worcestershire sauce to just barely cover the meat. Put a lid on this and let simmer for another re-run. Check every once in a while to make sure the sauce hasn't all boiled away.
Heat oven to 450. Put the potatoes inside. Let them cook for about the same amount of time it takes to watch a Buffy re-run , (or two Simpsons.)
When TV-time is over, remove 'taters from oven. Turn oven off. Remove spud from foil wrapper. Howl in pain as your hands suffer first-degree burns. Be more careful next time. Cut potato open and spread flat on plate. Do not use paper plate!
Remove meat-piece from skillet, place on plate next to potato. Spoon veggie/gravy mix over potato. The meat should be very tender by now, and the flavors well-blended.
Grab another beer and serve yourself.Don't you wish you had someone to share this with?
-Some cheap beef(like a flank steak), it should be no more than 3/4 thick. 'Reduced for quick sale' is fine, since you're gonna cook the hell out of it anyway. Get as much as your appetite for left-overs allows.
-Onions. Put the onions in the 'fridge for a while and you won't cry as much. Also, breathing primarily through the mouth while slicing onions helps. Don't be ashamed if you do-the world has long ago turned it's back on you, so no one is watching.
Don't use onion salt. If you have onion salt in your cabinet throw it away right now and get some real vegetables, fer chrissakes!
-Garlic. Use only fresh garlic. Peel it, dice it, place it in a dish with a little olive oil. Do not place in fridge.The next day you'll still smell it on your fingers. Your co-workers will wonder why you keep sniffing your fingertips. Remain mysterious, keep them wondering.
If you have powdered garlic or garlic salt, chuck them into the rubbish bin along with your onion salt. Hang your head in shame at letting these things into your home.
-Soy sauce.Use take-out packets if you have to.
-Worcestershire sauce.Buy the cheap shit, it's all the same for this purpose.
-Red Wine vinegar and various cooking oils.
-Alcoholic Beverages. I used cooking sherry last time, but if you plan on drinking, use something else. I suggest beer, but wine is OK as long as no one sees you drink it. Do all your slicing and dicing before you get drunk.
-potatoes. Not french fries or Tater Tots. Wash them, but do not peel. Wrap them in foil and stab them with a fork. Repeat if this makes you feel better. Set aside.
Options. Carrots, peppers, celery etc. Now is the time to clean out your crisper. Slice and dice anything that appears edible. Push anything rotten to the back of the ice-box and forget about it for now.
First put the meat in a dish and pour some vinegar, some oil, some beer/wine, garlic ,salt and pepper etc over it. Use a little thyme and oregano if available. Stir and place in fridge while you struggle with slicing the veggies. Let it sit long enough to watch a Simpsons re-run.
Heat a skillet over medium heat, add oil. I like Mongolian fire (hot-pepper enhanced)oil,but be a wimp if you want. I don't care. You can go to White Castle instead if you're gonna be like that.
Put meat in skillet. If it makes a sizzling sound, it's cooking. Lightly brown each side. Do not sear.
Add veggies, garlic and spices, saute for a few minutes, until the onions start to brown slightly. Reduce heat and add enough beer/wine, soy/Worcestershire sauce to just barely cover the meat. Put a lid on this and let simmer for another re-run. Check every once in a while to make sure the sauce hasn't all boiled away.
Heat oven to 450. Put the potatoes inside. Let them cook for about the same amount of time it takes to watch a Buffy re-run , (or two Simpsons.)
When TV-time is over, remove 'taters from oven. Turn oven off. Remove spud from foil wrapper. Howl in pain as your hands suffer first-degree burns. Be more careful next time. Cut potato open and spread flat on plate. Do not use paper plate!
Remove meat-piece from skillet, place on plate next to potato. Spoon veggie/gravy mix over potato. The meat should be very tender by now, and the flavors well-blended.
Grab another beer and serve yourself.Don't you wish you had someone to share this with?
Monday, July 12, 2004
Not a Good Idea
Note they mention that strict safety regulations were in place. Take off your shoes and stroll across a 12-foot pit of burning coals,don't worry though. Strict safety regulations are in place. What if there weren't safety regs in place? Would they dip your feet in napalm ?
Bloody good job.
Bloody good job.
For One Second
I go one weekend without paying attention to your evil machinations and what do you do? You fuck everything up!
For one second I can't turn my back!
What do you mean cancel the election ??
We didn't cancel the presidential election during the Civil War. In fact,Lincoln observed with eerie prescience, that if the Nation were unable to hold the election as mandated, then the very idea of America would be lost and the country would be undone.
What sort of attack could be worse than the Civil War?
In the event of an attack can we expect martial law? I'd like to think that Americans of any party would go berserk and riot in the streets if Big Brother told them they couldn't vote. Run amok until we are free!
I'd like to think that, but I doubt if it's true. Lazy bastards.
And are you trotting out that tired old Federal Marriage Amendment? What the hell is the matter with you? I'd welcome a rational argument why this is necessary, but there isn't one. This is our Constitution , not a goddamn toy for you to tinker with for political kicks!
Sen. Rick Santorum (R-Tartarus) thinks marriage, and hence,the nation will be reduced to lavender rubble if we don't act now! It's like a pre-emptive strike against Q-WMD. In most of the country gays can't marry legally. So let's pass an Amendment making sure it stays that way? This from the brain-trust that brought us Iraq.
This explains his position- don't click the link that says "pornography"-you'll be disappointed. I was.
This attack on a potential future civil right is the second most un-American thing I've heard since Abu-Ghraib.
How dare you. You have no shame, you have no honor and you damn sure don't care about the land of the free and the home of the brave, you chicken-shit, war-profiteer traitors.
For one second I can't turn my back!
What do you mean cancel the election ??
We didn't cancel the presidential election during the Civil War. In fact,Lincoln observed with eerie prescience, that if the Nation were unable to hold the election as mandated, then the very idea of America would be lost and the country would be undone.
What sort of attack could be worse than the Civil War?
In the event of an attack can we expect martial law? I'd like to think that Americans of any party would go berserk and riot in the streets if Big Brother told them they couldn't vote. Run amok until we are free!
I'd like to think that, but I doubt if it's true. Lazy bastards.
And are you trotting out that tired old Federal Marriage Amendment? What the hell is the matter with you? I'd welcome a rational argument why this is necessary, but there isn't one. This is our Constitution , not a goddamn toy for you to tinker with for political kicks!
Sen. Rick Santorum (R-Tartarus) thinks marriage, and hence,the nation will be reduced to lavender rubble if we don't act now! It's like a pre-emptive strike against Q-WMD. In most of the country gays can't marry legally. So let's pass an Amendment making sure it stays that way? This from the brain-trust that brought us Iraq.
This explains his position- don't click the link that says "pornography"-you'll be disappointed. I was.
This attack on a potential future civil right is the second most un-American thing I've heard since Abu-Ghraib.
How dare you. You have no shame, you have no honor and you damn sure don't care about the land of the free and the home of the brave, you chicken-shit, war-profiteer traitors.
Sunday, July 11, 2004
A Drive in the Country
Drove to see my grand-mother today. Even though it takes longer, I always take the backroads.There's some beautiful countryside here-all hills and woods and small farms. Fresh summer smells. Mmm..
I have always loved this drive, it's the destination that scares me. I'm going to the nursing-home and I don't know what to expect. My experience with these places is uniformly bad.
From the parking lot, it looks clean and fairly new. Ok. Through two sets of automatic doors and inside. Everything's clean and it looks well-appointed, like the lobby of an expensive hotel, except with wheel-chairs and oxygen tanks.
I can't find the little scrap of paper with her room number and the woman at the front desk is busy doing something. I think she's doing some sort of meditation exercise, since she's got her back to entrance and is staring at what looks like a wall.
Down the hall, I hear a voice. I think it's Granma's pastor, so I peek in through the open door. There's a few sad people standing around a bed-ridden figure.It's too skinny to determine gender. This is how people die.
I asked the first nurse I saw if she knew which room my Gran was in. She did, even walked me over there. Hats off to the people who can work in these places.
Gran's spirits are up, but she's very weak. Her heart is barely beating, and it shows.She tells me the same stories she told me a few weeks ago. I pretend like I've never heard any of this before, but I can't help thinking how mixed-up she sounds.
At least she's smiling and talking up a storm.
I take the extra-long scenic route home and the mountains make me feel a little better.
I have always loved this drive, it's the destination that scares me. I'm going to the nursing-home and I don't know what to expect. My experience with these places is uniformly bad.
From the parking lot, it looks clean and fairly new. Ok. Through two sets of automatic doors and inside. Everything's clean and it looks well-appointed, like the lobby of an expensive hotel, except with wheel-chairs and oxygen tanks.
I can't find the little scrap of paper with her room number and the woman at the front desk is busy doing something. I think she's doing some sort of meditation exercise, since she's got her back to entrance and is staring at what looks like a wall.
Down the hall, I hear a voice. I think it's Granma's pastor, so I peek in through the open door. There's a few sad people standing around a bed-ridden figure.It's too skinny to determine gender. This is how people die.
I asked the first nurse I saw if she knew which room my Gran was in. She did, even walked me over there. Hats off to the people who can work in these places.
Gran's spirits are up, but she's very weak. Her heart is barely beating, and it shows.She tells me the same stories she told me a few weeks ago. I pretend like I've never heard any of this before, but I can't help thinking how mixed-up she sounds.
At least she's smiling and talking up a storm.
I take the extra-long scenic route home and the mountains make me feel a little better.
Saturday, July 10, 2004
Alicia and the Dust of Time
There isn't much space on the desk between myself and my light box. I'm watching words appear on the box, but I keep looking at the reminder of you I just found, found it in a box of old forgotten things.
Maybe not so forgotten.
I remember blushing at that meeting. Big Jim asked us to stop staring at each other and pay attention.
I remember you letting me win at pool because I let you win at darts.
I remember how much you bragged to your friends about how great we were. I've never been prouder or happier.
Where did you go? Why did you go there?
It's been three years and I'm still picking up pieces of you.
That necklace was for you. I thought I threw it away. I can't do that. I can't give it to anyone else.
What can I do with this?
Maybe not so forgotten.
I remember blushing at that meeting. Big Jim asked us to stop staring at each other and pay attention.
I remember you letting me win at pool because I let you win at darts.
I remember how much you bragged to your friends about how great we were. I've never been prouder or happier.
Where did you go? Why did you go there?
It's been three years and I'm still picking up pieces of you.
That necklace was for you. I thought I threw it away. I can't do that. I can't give it to anyone else.
What can I do with this?
Friday, July 09, 2004
Thursday, July 08, 2004
Gee...Ya Think?
Tom Ridge sez:
"Since September 11th, 2001, we have had intelligence that al Qaeda intends to launch more attacks against the homeland," he said.
Well, duh. He forgets to mention that they had this intelligence before 9/11 as well. Does anyone really believe that al Qaeda was just gonna smoke a cigarette, roll over and go to sleep-and stay that way forever? Homeland attacks a possibility?
Just what we need-a reminder to be AFRAID. We need to brave like Bush! Hah!
He chicken-shitted his way out of Viet Nam, won't answer any questions about his arrest record (two known DUI's and a possible cocaine charge)and is so afraid of getting caught in a lie he couldn't face the 9/11 commission without Unca Dick to hold his hand. He's such a bad-ass.
"Credible reporting now indicates that al Qaeda is moving forward with its plans to carry out a large-scale attack in the United States in an effort to disrupt our democratic process."
The implication here is that al Qaeda wants Bush to lose, while ,in fact, nothing could be further from the truth. Terrorism is on the rise since Bush's war. Why kill the golden goose? The secret service is advising journalists at the Dem Convention to carry "respirator escape hoods." (Gas masks) What secrets do they know? I'm much more concerned about some whack-job American militia nut being played into the Tim McVeigh-style of political activism. Think Lee Harvey Oswald with a CIA-supplied truckload of WMD instead of a rifle. Oh, the target hasn't been elected yet this time.
Speaking of which, it seems the Repugs have really gone on the defensive, claiming to be the party of optimism while they tell us "you're gonna die, we just don't have the details." Shit, my doctor can tell me that. That would be a lot scarier.
Time for a second opinion.
"Since September 11th, 2001, we have had intelligence that al Qaeda intends to launch more attacks against the homeland," he said.
Well, duh. He forgets to mention that they had this intelligence before 9/11 as well. Does anyone really believe that al Qaeda was just gonna smoke a cigarette, roll over and go to sleep-and stay that way forever? Homeland attacks a possibility?
Just what we need-a reminder to be AFRAID. We need to brave like Bush! Hah!
He chicken-shitted his way out of Viet Nam, won't answer any questions about his arrest record (two known DUI's and a possible cocaine charge)and is so afraid of getting caught in a lie he couldn't face the 9/11 commission without Unca Dick to hold his hand. He's such a bad-ass.
"Credible reporting now indicates that al Qaeda is moving forward with its plans to carry out a large-scale attack in the United States in an effort to disrupt our democratic process."
The implication here is that al Qaeda wants Bush to lose, while ,in fact, nothing could be further from the truth. Terrorism is on the rise since Bush's war. Why kill the golden goose? The secret service is advising journalists at the Dem Convention to carry "respirator escape hoods." (Gas masks) What secrets do they know? I'm much more concerned about some whack-job American militia nut being played into the Tim McVeigh-style of political activism. Think Lee Harvey Oswald with a CIA-supplied truckload of WMD instead of a rifle. Oh, the target hasn't been elected yet this time.
Speaking of which, it seems the Repugs have really gone on the defensive, claiming to be the party of optimism while they tell us "you're gonna die, we just don't have the details." Shit, my doctor can tell me that. That would be a lot scarier.
Time for a second opinion.
Error on Page
Big thunderstorm yesterday, lots of claims coming in.Finally caught up. Got car out of shop.Missed lunch. Coffee-grinding teeth. Short clipped sentences. Blogger acting weird, hard to publish. Many errors. Can't italicize, bold or add link. Will try from home.
Based On A True Story
Hmm...that posted. The virtual gods are toying with me today. I suppose I deserve it. In a way, it's a relief, not be able to add links, because now I don't have to worry about being able to support my arguments with facts, I can just make shit up.
FACT: There is a Japanese company working on a device that alleges to "customize" your dreams for you as you sleep.
WHAT THEY AREN'T TELLING YOU: This horrible little device really brainwashes you into buying cheesy Japanese toys that are made for six-year-olds. How else can you explain adults who buy Dragonball, Sailor Moon, yugi-oh and such?
FACT: The German airship Hindenberg blew up in 1939.
W.T.A.T.Y.: It was due to a time-travel experiment gone awry. As a result it will explode again in 2029.Wait and see.
FACT: Cheney/Bush are hellbent on global domination based on a radical and corrupt ideology that has nothing at all to do with God.
W.T.A.T.Y.: Everything.
FACT: The above mentions Japan, Germany and America.
W.T.A.T.Y.: If I told you what this means, the cyanide capsule in my molar would be triggered by remote-control. It's pretty bad.
FACT: There is a Japanese company working on a device that alleges to "customize" your dreams for you as you sleep.
WHAT THEY AREN'T TELLING YOU: This horrible little device really brainwashes you into buying cheesy Japanese toys that are made for six-year-olds. How else can you explain adults who buy Dragonball, Sailor Moon, yugi-oh and such?
FACT: The German airship Hindenberg blew up in 1939.
W.T.A.T.Y.: It was due to a time-travel experiment gone awry. As a result it will explode again in 2029.Wait and see.
FACT: Cheney/Bush are hellbent on global domination based on a radical and corrupt ideology that has nothing at all to do with God.
W.T.A.T.Y.: Everything.
FACT: The above mentions Japan, Germany and America.
W.T.A.T.Y.: If I told you what this means, the cyanide capsule in my molar would be triggered by remote-control. It's pretty bad.
Wednesday, July 07, 2004
Improvement
Wow.Didn't have to drink myself into oblivion last night. Not a drop. My job sucks a lot less when I'm not feeling sick. I'm gonna lay off the hooch for a while. I've got better things to do, at least for this week.
Even after missing a day,I've got nothing to do at work. People are being nicer to me today, they can tell I'm feeling groovy and it's rubbing off a bit on them.
Having a major blackout worries me. I shouldn't touch hard liquor. Ever.
Some other things I need to do:
-Repair and clean car.
-The dishes. I've been neglectful. The floor could use a mop-down as well.Do the shower and toilet while I'm at it.
-Throw out all the trash and change the litterbox.
-Make sure my nails are trim and clean. Floss more often.
-Buy a real bed, one with a frame and a box-spring/ mattress combo.
-Get some real food into the house. I can do better than jellybeans and yogurt.
-Toss out my skin-mags and clean up my computer.I may wind up regretting this.
-Get a couple decent chairs.The folding metal chair and card-table aesthetic is getting old.
-Stop expecting the worst. This is the hardest thing on my list.
If I can accomplish all these tasks I will have earned a drink, but hopefully by then I won't need it.
Tonight I'll probably just go home and fall asleep right away. Unless...
I'm very tired today.
Even after missing a day,I've got nothing to do at work. People are being nicer to me today, they can tell I'm feeling groovy and it's rubbing off a bit on them.
Having a major blackout worries me. I shouldn't touch hard liquor. Ever.
Some other things I need to do:
-Repair and clean car.
-The dishes. I've been neglectful. The floor could use a mop-down as well.Do the shower and toilet while I'm at it.
-Throw out all the trash and change the litterbox.
-Make sure my nails are trim and clean. Floss more often.
-Buy a real bed, one with a frame and a box-spring/ mattress combo.
-Get some real food into the house. I can do better than jellybeans and yogurt.
-Toss out my skin-mags and clean up my computer.I may wind up regretting this.
-Get a couple decent chairs.The folding metal chair and card-table aesthetic is getting old.
-Stop expecting the worst. This is the hardest thing on my list.
If I can accomplish all these tasks I will have earned a drink, but hopefully by then I won't need it.
Tonight I'll probably just go home and fall asleep right away. Unless...
I'm very tired today.
Taking Turns Calling In Sick
I went out and got way too drunk Monday. Boilermakers for lunch kinda set the tone for the rest of the day.
So when I woke up the next morning, downstairs on the couch, it really didn't surprise me. I had a blanket instead of my usual covering of newspapers, unpaid bills and cat hair, which was a bit odd, but not really.
My trash can was full of beer bottles, which is also a little strange, since I usually keep them on the floor.
I felt really bad. Really bad.
I staggered into the kitchen. Water. Need water. Push purse out of the way to make coffee.
Purse? I don't have a purse.
I guess I snapped and went on a purse -snatching spree. That's the most logical explanation. This one looks familiar, somehow. I'll check for ID after I get showered and dressed.
Getting upstairs,I notice there's a woman sleeping in my bed.
Now, that's unusual.
It's the one who broke my heart last month. I've been thinking about her a lot, so I must be dreaming this.Well, dream or not she's too peaceful-looking to wake up, so I try to shower quietly. That means not loudly exclaiming, "I hate my job!" every ten seconds.
If she's a dream, she'll be gone. Hell, if she's real she'll probably be gone.
Still there, she's just waking up.
I mumble something incoherent.
She gives me a sleepy smile. She's beautiful when she wakes up. She even smells good.
I mumble some more.
She looks at me and I realize she can tell I don't know what's going on.
"You sure were tore-up last night". That's for sure.
Turns out she was "in-the neighborhood" drinking at a nearby pub and thought she'd drop by at two in the morning so she could crash on my couch.
"You don't remember any of this?" I'd shake my head, but I'm too stunned and hung-over to do much of anything but stare. Damn, she's pretty. I manage to tell her this.
"I know.You must've told me that twenty times last night.You even wrote me a little poem about it." Oh oh. I can only squirm and wonder just how pathetic I was.
"You were really sweet, too bad you passed out". She stands up and kisses me.I'm really glad I've just brushed my teeth. Her breath is soft and clean. Dream or not, I've got to have her. Right now.
She's pressed tight against me, so I know she can tell how I'm feeling.
With my last scrap of willpower I call the office and mumble something about my car being broken. Always one step ahead, she's already called in. Gotta take the kids to the doctor. They're in Florida.
Now I know I'm not dreaming. I never have dreams this good.
So when I woke up the next morning, downstairs on the couch, it really didn't surprise me. I had a blanket instead of my usual covering of newspapers, unpaid bills and cat hair, which was a bit odd, but not really.
My trash can was full of beer bottles, which is also a little strange, since I usually keep them on the floor.
I felt really bad. Really bad.
I staggered into the kitchen. Water. Need water. Push purse out of the way to make coffee.
Purse? I don't have a purse.
I guess I snapped and went on a purse -snatching spree. That's the most logical explanation. This one looks familiar, somehow. I'll check for ID after I get showered and dressed.
Getting upstairs,I notice there's a woman sleeping in my bed.
Now, that's unusual.
It's the one who broke my heart last month. I've been thinking about her a lot, so I must be dreaming this.Well, dream or not she's too peaceful-looking to wake up, so I try to shower quietly. That means not loudly exclaiming, "I hate my job!" every ten seconds.
If she's a dream, she'll be gone. Hell, if she's real she'll probably be gone.
Still there, she's just waking up.
I mumble something incoherent.
She gives me a sleepy smile. She's beautiful when she wakes up. She even smells good.
I mumble some more.
She looks at me and I realize she can tell I don't know what's going on.
"You sure were tore-up last night". That's for sure.
Turns out she was "in-the neighborhood" drinking at a nearby pub and thought she'd drop by at two in the morning so she could crash on my couch.
"You don't remember any of this?" I'd shake my head, but I'm too stunned and hung-over to do much of anything but stare. Damn, she's pretty. I manage to tell her this.
"I know.You must've told me that twenty times last night.You even wrote me a little poem about it." Oh oh. I can only squirm and wonder just how pathetic I was.
"You were really sweet, too bad you passed out". She stands up and kisses me.I'm really glad I've just brushed my teeth. Her breath is soft and clean. Dream or not, I've got to have her. Right now.
She's pressed tight against me, so I know she can tell how I'm feeling.
With my last scrap of willpower I call the office and mumble something about my car being broken. Always one step ahead, she's already called in. Gotta take the kids to the doctor. They're in Florida.
Now I know I'm not dreaming. I never have dreams this good.
Sunday, July 04, 2004
Thick Clouds of Mediocrity
Fireworks boomed badly but briefly. So many police. Not as many people as the last time I watched the fireworks, but a lot more police. They weren't beating people and no one incited a peace riot, everyone was just sort of there in some sort of obligatory exercise that makes everyone feel uncomfortable.
Our City Police were very cool, to be honest. The overall atmosphere was sort of bland and inevitable.
OOh! AAH! The rockets red glare! I'm tired of watching shit explode.
Right after the fireworks we have thunder and lightning. The lightning is much more fun to watch than the fireworks.The rain is OK too, somehow I just knew it would rain.
It was that strange feeling of placid, desperate panic you feel while waiting at the side of a dying relative, and suddenly some distant cousins or members of a church who's doorstep you've never darkened arrive.
You don't know them and they don't know you. That's not so bad, because you are both there to honor someone you all love.
The fact that the death of someone you love is your only thing in common is Lucifer's Ice-Breaker when it comes to idle chit-chat.
That's how I felt this Fourth of July.
Our City Police were very cool, to be honest. The overall atmosphere was sort of bland and inevitable.
OOh! AAH! The rockets red glare! I'm tired of watching shit explode.
Right after the fireworks we have thunder and lightning. The lightning is much more fun to watch than the fireworks.The rain is OK too, somehow I just knew it would rain.
It was that strange feeling of placid, desperate panic you feel while waiting at the side of a dying relative, and suddenly some distant cousins or members of a church who's doorstep you've never darkened arrive.
You don't know them and they don't know you. That's not so bad, because you are both there to honor someone you all love.
The fact that the death of someone you love is your only thing in common is Lucifer's Ice-Breaker when it comes to idle chit-chat.
That's how I felt this Fourth of July.
Brakes From Reality
(Note: If you don't have a NYT account sign in as camelsback. password is camel).
I saw this story on my interactive box of lights this morning. Then I read this. Then this . Moving on, I read this.
Enough already!
So I switch to my passive box of lights. On the staring-box the breaking news is George H.W. Bush getting shot down. During WW2. He must have been shot down about a million times because it's the only news on TV today.
There was more. Michael Moore to be precise. Did you know he hates America?
I didn't.
Until I watched cable news. Cable news calms me in the same way an automobile accident relaxes me.
If every bought-and-paid-for media whore that I've heard say Moore hates America was willing to contribute five dollars to America's public schools, cancer research and plain old American Know-How, we'd be smart, healthy and no longer dependent on our good friends in Saudi Arabia.
Instead I see Cruella DeVille extolling the virtue of tax-cuts as economic magic balm. The rich white guys who made noise on my staring-box all agreed.
What do I think about F 9/11? I think almost every single job created this month (yet another downwardly revised Federal report) involves selling popcorn at theatres for six bucks an hour,since it sells out everywhere. Ironic, no?
If I hadn't received a few good emails and a phone call from my brother I'd probably have smashed both staring-boxes with my sledgehammer.
My printer went kaput, but I've made a few CD's anyway. If you like my writing, you'll most likely change your mind once you hear my music.
If you want one, email me. Free.
It's much cause of happy dancing if you also send me something cool.
Anarchists love the barter system.
Yeah, I know. I'm not allowed to love any systems.
Tough.
Tough Love.
I saw this story on my interactive box of lights this morning. Then I read this. Then this . Moving on, I read this.
Enough already!
So I switch to my passive box of lights. On the staring-box the breaking news is George H.W. Bush getting shot down. During WW2. He must have been shot down about a million times because it's the only news on TV today.
There was more. Michael Moore to be precise. Did you know he hates America?
I didn't.
Until I watched cable news. Cable news calms me in the same way an automobile accident relaxes me.
If every bought-and-paid-for media whore that I've heard say Moore hates America was willing to contribute five dollars to America's public schools, cancer research and plain old American Know-How, we'd be smart, healthy and no longer dependent on our good friends in Saudi Arabia.
Instead I see Cruella DeVille extolling the virtue of tax-cuts as economic magic balm. The rich white guys who made noise on my staring-box all agreed.
What do I think about F 9/11? I think almost every single job created this month (yet another downwardly revised Federal report) involves selling popcorn at theatres for six bucks an hour,since it sells out everywhere. Ironic, no?
If I hadn't received a few good emails and a phone call from my brother I'd probably have smashed both staring-boxes with my sledgehammer.
My printer went kaput, but I've made a few CD's anyway. If you like my writing, you'll most likely change your mind once you hear my music.
If you want one, email me. Free.
It's much cause of happy dancing if you also send me something cool.
Anarchists love the barter system.
Yeah, I know. I'm not allowed to love any systems.
Tough.
Tough Love.
Cheery Lemonade
This morning I was listening to a story on NPR about an office worker lamenting his work-place invisibility. I can relate.
I didn't hear the whole thing because my brakes failed and I ran into the back of a pick-up truck. Life is funny like that.
It was a very low-speed collision, no damage or injury. I was lucky I hit one of my neighbors- he's a nice guy and said not to worry about it. I like my neighbor.
Being around people you like makes everything better.
Having to call my Grandmother and tell her I was stuck in Richmond and wasn't visiting her makes the Fourth of July worse.
I had no back-up plan. No car is a bummer, but I've been meaning to get it worked on for awhile now... last week I asked by boss if I could take some time off to put my '89 Honda in the shop- he said if it had to stay overnight ,I could use one of the Auto Pool cars to get home and back to work. Hooray for Cool Boss!
(Boss, I promise to show up for work sober at least three days a week. This time I mean it).
Instead of moping around the house I'm making CD's on my nearly obsolete CD burner. And Cheery Lemonade. Here's the recipe:
Bag of fresh lemons : Make sure these are real lemons, not a plastic facsimile containing bitter fluid of unknown origin.
Pure Cane Sugar.:Do Not use fructose or corn syrup. You will be consumed by a suffocating sense of self-loathing if you do. So don't.
Water. The cleaner, the better. Try not to think about what's in your water. Try harder.
Ice: You can use water( see above) to make this. Find the coldest part of your fridge and put some water in it.
Wait for hours.
A fruit juicer: The old-fashioned kind. The harder you struggle, the better the lemonade tastes.
Beer Pitcher: Drink the beer and clean the pitcher.Steal one from local pub if you don't have one.
1 20lb. Bag of Kitty Litter: While you're waiting for your ice to freeze, why not change the cat-box? Lemonade tastes better when your apartment doesn't smell like cat piss.
Cut the lemons in half. Mash the leaky parts of the bisected fruit against the pointy part of the fruit squeezer. Do this vigorously. Think of someone you hate while you do this.Or someone you want to fuck. Or someone you'd hate to fuck.
Continue squeezing and mashing until the lemons are spent and empty. Drain juice and pulp into beer pitcher. Discard hollow fruit.
Add water and sugar. Do this gradually, tasting as you go.Be careful here.
Once the lemonade is too thin, or too sweet, it's too late.
I didn't hear the whole thing because my brakes failed and I ran into the back of a pick-up truck. Life is funny like that.
It was a very low-speed collision, no damage or injury. I was lucky I hit one of my neighbors- he's a nice guy and said not to worry about it. I like my neighbor.
Being around people you like makes everything better.
Having to call my Grandmother and tell her I was stuck in Richmond and wasn't visiting her makes the Fourth of July worse.
I had no back-up plan. No car is a bummer, but I've been meaning to get it worked on for awhile now... last week I asked by boss if I could take some time off to put my '89 Honda in the shop- he said if it had to stay overnight ,I could use one of the Auto Pool cars to get home and back to work. Hooray for Cool Boss!
(Boss, I promise to show up for work sober at least three days a week. This time I mean it).
Instead of moping around the house I'm making CD's on my nearly obsolete CD burner. And Cheery Lemonade. Here's the recipe:
Bag of fresh lemons : Make sure these are real lemons, not a plastic facsimile containing bitter fluid of unknown origin.
Pure Cane Sugar.:Do Not use fructose or corn syrup. You will be consumed by a suffocating sense of self-loathing if you do. So don't.
Water. The cleaner, the better. Try not to think about what's in your water. Try harder.
Ice: You can use water( see above) to make this. Find the coldest part of your fridge and put some water in it.
Wait for hours.
A fruit juicer: The old-fashioned kind. The harder you struggle, the better the lemonade tastes.
Beer Pitcher: Drink the beer and clean the pitcher.Steal one from local pub if you don't have one.
1 20lb. Bag of Kitty Litter: While you're waiting for your ice to freeze, why not change the cat-box? Lemonade tastes better when your apartment doesn't smell like cat piss.
Cut the lemons in half. Mash the leaky parts of the bisected fruit against the pointy part of the fruit squeezer. Do this vigorously. Think of someone you hate while you do this.Or someone you want to fuck. Or someone you'd hate to fuck.
Continue squeezing and mashing until the lemons are spent and empty. Drain juice and pulp into beer pitcher. Discard hollow fruit.
Add water and sugar. Do this gradually, tasting as you go.Be careful here.
Once the lemonade is too thin, or too sweet, it's too late.
Saturday, July 03, 2004
Infernal Anti-Quiz
I enjoy a silly web-quiz , but there's too damn many of them.
I offer an option.
I'll ask you no questions, but I'll allow you to lie.
Give me a name of a well-known dead person and I'll specify which circle of Dante's Inferno they have been consigned to. I will give you the gory details regarding their particular damnation.
Only one damnation per cursed soul, and only one cursed soul per reader.
What? You expected Purgatory?
I offer an option.
I'll ask you no questions, but I'll allow you to lie.
Give me a name of a well-known dead person and I'll specify which circle of Dante's Inferno they have been consigned to. I will give you the gory details regarding their particular damnation.
Only one damnation per cursed soul, and only one cursed soul per reader.
What? You expected Purgatory?
Friday, July 02, 2004
I Need A Polite Term For Her
Warning: Contains socially objectionable language
Context: I answer phones/faxes from irate insurance policy-holders for a
living. I pull and review their file and then assign it to the appropriate claim representative. I have no control over who calls and what they need. None.
Situation: Got call from pissy customer. Using a combination of professional decorum and remarkable self-restraint I calmed her down enough to get a rational explanation of her complaint. Upon reviewing her file, I determined she had a valid case. I assured her that I would have an adjuster contact her after the holiday and the Company would resolve this issue. I don't enjoy doing this kind of crap, but I'm good at it.
When I worked for the Gubbermint I had the Governor and the Mayor call and yell at me, so some old lady with a leaky roof is no big deal. (I didn't have to spend 40 hours a week with the Governor though).
I assigned the claim to a new rep ,who I've never worked with before, and she flies into a rage. At me. For doing my job.
"Why do I get this shit?!", she barked. "I'm not doing this today. I'm not doing this next week either. Fuck all these storm claims-I'm too goddamn busy for this shit!" And so on...
For three hours I listened to her bitch about a simple-ass claim that any reasonable adjuster could process in fifteen minutes. Her damncube is directly opposite mine, so I can hear every fucking word she says. Things like: "Why the hell is there a temp here?" "What gives that guy the right to give me new work?"
She eventually called my boss and said she "doesn't appreciate having me around."
He must have told her to go fuck herself , because she shut up in mid-whine and said "OK, I'll do it" and hung up. Slammed that phone, she did. She slams the phone after every call.
I'm almost always in a state of barely controlled fit-throwing anger, but I'm as serene as Buddah compared to her.
Problem: I'm having a difficult time coming up with the proper epithet(s) to use when writing about this woman. Being a gentleman with a delicate and sensitive nature, I find it difficult and improper to use terms like "snarling she-bitch" , "screaming cunt", "vagina dentata", "pre-orgasmic witch" and such. I'm too nice for that.
So what should I call her? I have a feeling she's going to inspire more than a few angry rants, so help me out here with a proper and polite term or two for future usage.
Suggestions please.
Context: I answer phones/faxes from irate insurance policy-holders for a
living. I pull and review their file and then assign it to the appropriate claim representative. I have no control over who calls and what they need. None.
Situation: Got call from pissy customer. Using a combination of professional decorum and remarkable self-restraint I calmed her down enough to get a rational explanation of her complaint. Upon reviewing her file, I determined she had a valid case. I assured her that I would have an adjuster contact her after the holiday and the Company would resolve this issue. I don't enjoy doing this kind of crap, but I'm good at it.
When I worked for the Gubbermint I had the Governor and the Mayor call and yell at me, so some old lady with a leaky roof is no big deal. (I didn't have to spend 40 hours a week with the Governor though).
I assigned the claim to a new rep ,who I've never worked with before, and she flies into a rage. At me. For doing my job.
"Why do I get this shit?!", she barked. "I'm not doing this today. I'm not doing this next week either. Fuck all these storm claims-I'm too goddamn busy for this shit!" And so on...
For three hours I listened to her bitch about a simple-ass claim that any reasonable adjuster could process in fifteen minutes. Her damncube is directly opposite mine, so I can hear every fucking word she says. Things like: "Why the hell is there a temp here?" "What gives that guy the right to give me new work?"
She eventually called my boss and said she "doesn't appreciate having me around."
He must have told her to go fuck herself , because she shut up in mid-whine and said "OK, I'll do it" and hung up. Slammed that phone, she did. She slams the phone after every call.
I'm almost always in a state of barely controlled fit-throwing anger, but I'm as serene as Buddah compared to her.
Problem: I'm having a difficult time coming up with the proper epithet(s) to use when writing about this woman. Being a gentleman with a delicate and sensitive nature, I find it difficult and improper to use terms like "snarling she-bitch" , "screaming cunt", "vagina dentata", "pre-orgasmic witch" and such. I'm too nice for that.
So what should I call her? I have a feeling she's going to inspire more than a few angry rants, so help me out here with a proper and polite term or two for future usage.
Suggestions please.
Thursday, July 01, 2004
This Really Scares Me
According to this ad over 1,400 law-enforcement agencies and over 5,000 investigators are currently using this device, which allegedly can not only tell if you are being truthful or not, but can also determine a number of other emotional states, such as fear and sexual arousal. Yikes!
But don't worry. It's only available(in the USA) to certified government agencies and officials thereof. Let's examine this.
Is every one of these 5,000 agents completely trust-worthy? Are they required to submit to the same scrutiny as their interrogees?
If this technology really does work, it's only a matter of time before it hits the private sector. UK insurance firms are already using it to weed out fraudulent claims. Can US firms be far behind? I think not.
Before long, some (un)civic-minded entrepreneur is going to develop a smaller, commercially available version for consumer use, probably something built into a cell-phone if current trends continue. This would almost certainly lead to a total breakdown of our already tenuous social fabric.
Imagine being confronted with a polygraph test at a job interview. You might as well show up wearing a fright-wig and a loin-cloth. What if your date could just "scan" you and find out that their presence inspires pure animal lust? Or nausea? Or both?
What if your boss could do this?
Instead of various lip and tongue piercing, persons of all sorts would opt to have their mouths sewn permanently shut in order to avoid answering any questions, ever. Living with a feeding-tube would become preferable to a lifetime of mandatory honesty.
There'd be 12-step groups for chronic liars. "Hello, my name is so-and-so and everything I say is total bull-shit."
"Hello, so-and-so. Fuck you for sharing."
No one would ever get elected to any public office again. Dictatorships would become even more popular.
Just answering polite rhetorical questions would require long-winded explanations and a vast barrage of unnecessary details:
"How are you today"?
"I'm fine, thanks". (Red lights and buzzer-noise)
"Liar. My Emo-Scan says you feel anxiety and a wee bit of fear. Why?"
"I'm afraid I might not be able to resist the urge to strangle you with my bare hands. The thought of my resulting incarceration makes me tense and anxious." (Green Light).
"I knew it. After all, isn't honesty always the best policy?"
(Red lights and buzzer-sound).
But don't worry. It's only available(in the USA) to certified government agencies and officials thereof. Let's examine this.
Is every one of these 5,000 agents completely trust-worthy? Are they required to submit to the same scrutiny as their interrogees?
If this technology really does work, it's only a matter of time before it hits the private sector. UK insurance firms are already using it to weed out fraudulent claims. Can US firms be far behind? I think not.
Before long, some (un)civic-minded entrepreneur is going to develop a smaller, commercially available version for consumer use, probably something built into a cell-phone if current trends continue. This would almost certainly lead to a total breakdown of our already tenuous social fabric.
Imagine being confronted with a polygraph test at a job interview. You might as well show up wearing a fright-wig and a loin-cloth. What if your date could just "scan" you and find out that their presence inspires pure animal lust? Or nausea? Or both?
What if your boss could do this?
Instead of various lip and tongue piercing, persons of all sorts would opt to have their mouths sewn permanently shut in order to avoid answering any questions, ever. Living with a feeding-tube would become preferable to a lifetime of mandatory honesty.
There'd be 12-step groups for chronic liars. "Hello, my name is so-and-so and everything I say is total bull-shit."
"Hello, so-and-so. Fuck you for sharing."
No one would ever get elected to any public office again. Dictatorships would become even more popular.
Just answering polite rhetorical questions would require long-winded explanations and a vast barrage of unnecessary details:
"How are you today"?
"I'm fine, thanks". (Red lights and buzzer-noise)
"Liar. My Emo-Scan says you feel anxiety and a wee bit of fear. Why?"
"I'm afraid I might not be able to resist the urge to strangle you with my bare hands. The thought of my resulting incarceration makes me tense and anxious." (Green Light).
"I knew it. After all, isn't honesty always the best policy?"
(Red lights and buzzer-sound).
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)