Part Two - "The Pecking Order"
One of the great ironies of work is that, being under the employ of another man, we must take orders from one who, under God, is no more than my equal. What of it, if some old codger orders me around, letting me know at which time I am permitted to arrive and depart, who I am able to talk to, and in what manner, or to make demands of how many agreements I am to geo-locate in a day's work? What does that indignity amount to, weighted, I mean, in the scales of the New Testament? Do you think the archangel Gabriel thinks anything the less of me, because I promptly and respectfully obey that old codger in that particular instance? Who ain't a slave? Tell me that. Well, then, however the old sea-captains may order me about -- however they may thump and punch me about, I have the satisfaction of knowing that it is all right; that everybody else is in one way or other served in much the same way -- either in a physical or metaphysical point of view, that is; and so the universal thump is passed around, and all hands should rub each other's shoulder blades and be content.
The other great irony is that the captain believes it truly is he who is guiding the rudder. As our ship cuts across the open seas, it is the deck hands who take to the fore while our exalted captain remains comfortably seated in the aft. For in the world of sailing, head winds are far more prevalent than winds from astern (that is, if you never violate the Pythagorean maxim), so for the most part the Commodore on the quarter-deck gets his atmosphere at a second hand from the sailors on the forecastle. He thinks he breathes it first, but not so. In much the same way do the common men lead their leaders in many other things, at the same time that the leaders little suspect it.
As according to Newton's laws of motion: for every force exists an equal and opposite force, so as the puppet master manipulates the strings, or so he thinks, the articulated joints of the marionette pull back with equal pressure. Tell me, then, who really runs the show? For without the common worker, what foundation would the leader then be able to build his empire; and for what reason, then, would he be able conceive of himself as any more of a man than the rest of us? This is why I am able to remain content as a worker, because it is truly the masses that wield the power. Without the common worker, the foundations of our society would crumble like a Jenga tower.
Yet, there is no greater tool to the boss man than one who aspires to, himself, become the boss; and likewise there is no man with less authority over his own destiny than one who holds the ambition to take command -- nor is there a greater enemy to his fellow man. For when we elect to serve under a particular leader, we do so because we are sentient of how to manipulate them to do our bidding. This is what separates the common man from the truly ambitious, for those who aspire to lead for themselves are unaware of the double-edged sword of power dynamics and are very easily tempted by the gravitational pull of corruption and greed that accompany self-elected authority. With such a tool, the boss can clear his own desk of work, vacating a space for him to prop his feet up and relax back in his over-sized, double-padded captain's chair while his peon enforces his bidding. The ambitious man may refer to his actions "taking initiative," but the boss man simply calls it "living the dream," or by our standards "getting paid vast sums of silver to sit on ass."
The ambitious man attains no more silver than his peers for taking on a larger volume of the workload. So what truly makes his peers resentful and keeps them in a state of unrest is the acquisition of a disproportionate chunk of a very important piece of real-estate: the boss man's ear. The ambitious man will freely volunteer information regarding his peers in his desperate grasp for more power or more coin, if only he can make himself look good in light of them and possibly divvy up their share of the spoils one less way -- by sending one off the plank to swim amongst the sharks.
Captain Ahab was such an ambitious man. Perhaps it has already become apparent to whomever may have stumbled this message in a bottle -- and whom is currently reading this memoir -- but the title of Captain is not an official rank bestowed upon Ahab, though rather an endearing term of resentment given to him by his fellow ship mates aboard the Pequod: the jolly band of scalleywags whom affectionately call themselves the Airlite 9.
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
Monday, November 10, 2008
Moby Dickhead - Part One
Foreward: This is part one of an epic saga describing the Airlite as the doomed ship, the Pequod led by the obsessive nature of our own Captain Ahab to shatter the daily agreement record while, in the course of fulfilling his destiny, subsequently sending all of our lives sinking to the murky depths of unemployment. Without further adieu, I bring you the story of the white whale:
Part One - "Loomings"
Call me Ishmael. Some months ago -- never mind how long precisely -- having little or no money in my wallet and nothing in particular to interest me in Iowa City with regards to employment opportunity, I thought I would venture back home to Omaha and explore the world of possibility offered by the Railroad. In spite of our deepest desires to sit around the house all day, when faced with the grim reality of boredom that comes with lack of money and an excess of free time, oft do men such as I find ourselves invariably drawn to work. The urbane activity with which a man receives money is really marvelous, considering that we so earnestly believe money to be the root of all earthly ills, and that on no account can a monied man enter heaven. Ah! How cheerfully we consign ourselves to perdition!
Whether this choice was governed by an act fate or free will, I found myself consigned to a small warehouse in the near North side of the city dubbed, "The Airlite Plastics Facility," though my fellow cartographers and I have since affectionately christened our sinking ship as the Pequod. The Monday I first arrived was a very dubious-looking, nay, a very dark and dismal February morning, bitingly cold and cheerless. I knew no one in the place. With anxious grapnels, I had sounded my pocket, and only brought up a few pieces of silver, -- So, thankfully, I said to myself, I need not plug a parking meter, as I stood in the middle of a dreary trash-lined street and comparing the gloomy prospects of my place of employ towards the north with the darkness and boredom towards my home in the south. On this day, I continued to tell myself, wherever in your wisdom you may conclude to dine, my dear Ishmael, be sure to inquire the price, and don't be too particular. Come Friday, however, and each Friday thereafter, my pockets would be lined with silver, and I would need not worry about such frivolous things, in stark contrast to the unemployed and shelterless frame of a man lying on the steps of the church opposite the Pequod. Never did there exist a more startling allegory of polar opposition with regard to my decision to return to work. Though I was aware beforehand of the short-term nature of my contract, I had to be grateful that I would be able to provide food and shelter for myself at least through the remainder of the cold season.
Looming just over the horizon, and across the street, were two very different prospects: for one, I was lured by the promise of full-time employment should I perform my duties to the best of my extent and to the complete satisfaction of my employer; the other prospect involved a similar future to that of my companion laying on the steps. One prospect was based on a hollow promise yet to be fulfilled, and the other was based on a near certainty, but at the time I preferred to remain optimistic about my future and thus gambled on the possibility that I would continue to be the one safely aboard the Pequod looking down upon the drifters amongst the flotsam of the church steps and not the other way around. Had I the foresight to witness which circumstances I am currently surrounded by, I would have at least requested that my seat cushion double as a flotation device.
Moving on, I at last settled into my chair inside the hull of the Pequod, holding the rank of FNG. In my exploits as a fledgling young cartographer, I was shown the ropes by a legendary old salt by the name of Bryce. He told of a time long ago when boxes were as bountiful as the sea is vast, and the agreements were ripe as cherries waiting to be hand picked. In the early days before the expansive sea of agreements was exhausted by over harvesting, a record was once set. To some folks, the number was simply a fishing tale -- ramblings of a man gone crazy as the combined result of several years spent geo-locating legal agreements and living in a bleak land known as "Kansas," but Bryce claimed to have set the record himself and experienced firsthand the simultaneous feelings of grandeur and horror that accompanied the sight of the white whale of record. It was, indeed, an attainable number according to Bryce, but we were forewarned about setting out to witness it for ourselves, and that rather we should aspire only to geo-locate just enough to sustain a comfortable living so as to make sure we could hold tightly to our shelter and provide food for our families for years to come. Though it was often preached not to over exert ourselves, Bryce would routinely set out with the same goal in mind, haunted by his past efforts and forever doomed to repeat them.
Others had come within sight of the great white whale, or so they claimed, but my mentor was the only one who had ventured to such a depth of numbers and survived to tell about it without first going mad with boredom and loneliness. Nonetheless, the experience left a scarred impression stained upon his countenance, and he seemed to lack any personality that he once may have had, now at times falling into pits of rage and despair for seemingly no apparent reason. Alas, the old curmudgeon passed on before the Pequod took wind to its sheets on my maiden voyage of cartographic experience. Some say he packed up and set sail to finally seek vengeance upon the whale that had since destroyed his life, but his sudden departure still remains an unsolved mystery, and the idea of Bryce has since faded into such relative obscurity that he himself is thought by many to be nothing more than a figment of the legend of which I speak. The few of the remaining crewmen of the Pequod that served with Bryce, myself included, continued to keep his lore alive, not knowing that it would one day spur one ambitious cartographer by the name of Ahab to embark upon a voyage in an attempt to bring in the legendary white whale and avenge Bryce's consequential loss of identity.
One really can't blame Ahab for trying, for it was seemingly a noble cause, but in his youth and inexperience, Ahab didn't fully understand the consequences of what was to be our collective fate via the actions of one. It is understood of most seekers of the holy grail that they initially set out on their arduous journey with the full intention of benefiting all of humanity, but in the end, the quest consumes them to the point that they succeed merely in deceiving their own selves into believing that their cause truly is one of nobility. The prize is built up to be more than that which they first set out to attain, and the promise of the unattainable inevitably steers them off course. Beneath their facade of righteousness and benevolence lies a more sinister emotion fueled by greed and self-entitlement, thus leading to the their own tragic downfall. Such is the story of Captain Ahab and the Pequod, which is a story intimately interwoven with my own, and that of my fellow crew, by the strands of fate and consequence that binds our crew together...
Part One - "Loomings"
Call me Ishmael. Some months ago -- never mind how long precisely -- having little or no money in my wallet and nothing in particular to interest me in Iowa City with regards to employment opportunity, I thought I would venture back home to Omaha and explore the world of possibility offered by the Railroad. In spite of our deepest desires to sit around the house all day, when faced with the grim reality of boredom that comes with lack of money and an excess of free time, oft do men such as I find ourselves invariably drawn to work. The urbane activity with which a man receives money is really marvelous, considering that we so earnestly believe money to be the root of all earthly ills, and that on no account can a monied man enter heaven. Ah! How cheerfully we consign ourselves to perdition!
Whether this choice was governed by an act fate or free will, I found myself consigned to a small warehouse in the near North side of the city dubbed, "The Airlite Plastics Facility," though my fellow cartographers and I have since affectionately christened our sinking ship as the Pequod. The Monday I first arrived was a very dubious-looking, nay, a very dark and dismal February morning, bitingly cold and cheerless. I knew no one in the place. With anxious grapnels, I had sounded my pocket, and only brought up a few pieces of silver, -- So, thankfully, I said to myself, I need not plug a parking meter, as I stood in the middle of a dreary trash-lined street and comparing the gloomy prospects of my place of employ towards the north with the darkness and boredom towards my home in the south. On this day, I continued to tell myself, wherever in your wisdom you may conclude to dine, my dear Ishmael, be sure to inquire the price, and don't be too particular. Come Friday, however, and each Friday thereafter, my pockets would be lined with silver, and I would need not worry about such frivolous things, in stark contrast to the unemployed and shelterless frame of a man lying on the steps of the church opposite the Pequod. Never did there exist a more startling allegory of polar opposition with regard to my decision to return to work. Though I was aware beforehand of the short-term nature of my contract, I had to be grateful that I would be able to provide food and shelter for myself at least through the remainder of the cold season.
Looming just over the horizon, and across the street, were two very different prospects: for one, I was lured by the promise of full-time employment should I perform my duties to the best of my extent and to the complete satisfaction of my employer; the other prospect involved a similar future to that of my companion laying on the steps. One prospect was based on a hollow promise yet to be fulfilled, and the other was based on a near certainty, but at the time I preferred to remain optimistic about my future and thus gambled on the possibility that I would continue to be the one safely aboard the Pequod looking down upon the drifters amongst the flotsam of the church steps and not the other way around. Had I the foresight to witness which circumstances I am currently surrounded by, I would have at least requested that my seat cushion double as a flotation device.
Moving on, I at last settled into my chair inside the hull of the Pequod, holding the rank of FNG. In my exploits as a fledgling young cartographer, I was shown the ropes by a legendary old salt by the name of Bryce. He told of a time long ago when boxes were as bountiful as the sea is vast, and the agreements were ripe as cherries waiting to be hand picked. In the early days before the expansive sea of agreements was exhausted by over harvesting, a record was once set. To some folks, the number was simply a fishing tale -- ramblings of a man gone crazy as the combined result of several years spent geo-locating legal agreements and living in a bleak land known as "Kansas," but Bryce claimed to have set the record himself and experienced firsthand the simultaneous feelings of grandeur and horror that accompanied the sight of the white whale of record. It was, indeed, an attainable number according to Bryce, but we were forewarned about setting out to witness it for ourselves, and that rather we should aspire only to geo-locate just enough to sustain a comfortable living so as to make sure we could hold tightly to our shelter and provide food for our families for years to come. Though it was often preached not to over exert ourselves, Bryce would routinely set out with the same goal in mind, haunted by his past efforts and forever doomed to repeat them.
Others had come within sight of the great white whale, or so they claimed, but my mentor was the only one who had ventured to such a depth of numbers and survived to tell about it without first going mad with boredom and loneliness. Nonetheless, the experience left a scarred impression stained upon his countenance, and he seemed to lack any personality that he once may have had, now at times falling into pits of rage and despair for seemingly no apparent reason. Alas, the old curmudgeon passed on before the Pequod took wind to its sheets on my maiden voyage of cartographic experience. Some say he packed up and set sail to finally seek vengeance upon the whale that had since destroyed his life, but his sudden departure still remains an unsolved mystery, and the idea of Bryce has since faded into such relative obscurity that he himself is thought by many to be nothing more than a figment of the legend of which I speak. The few of the remaining crewmen of the Pequod that served with Bryce, myself included, continued to keep his lore alive, not knowing that it would one day spur one ambitious cartographer by the name of Ahab to embark upon a voyage in an attempt to bring in the legendary white whale and avenge Bryce's consequential loss of identity.
One really can't blame Ahab for trying, for it was seemingly a noble cause, but in his youth and inexperience, Ahab didn't fully understand the consequences of what was to be our collective fate via the actions of one. It is understood of most seekers of the holy grail that they initially set out on their arduous journey with the full intention of benefiting all of humanity, but in the end, the quest consumes them to the point that they succeed merely in deceiving their own selves into believing that their cause truly is one of nobility. The prize is built up to be more than that which they first set out to attain, and the promise of the unattainable inevitably steers them off course. Beneath their facade of righteousness and benevolence lies a more sinister emotion fueled by greed and self-entitlement, thus leading to the their own tragic downfall. Such is the story of Captain Ahab and the Pequod, which is a story intimately interwoven with my own, and that of my fellow crew, by the strands of fate and consequence that binds our crew together...
Friday, November 7, 2008
Breakdown...
Entropy -- en·tro·py (ěn'trə-pē)
1. A theory that suggests that all matter and all systems in nature undergo an inevitable and constant state of deterioration.
2. A law of thermodynamics describing the tendency for all matter and energy in the universe to evolve toward a state of inert uniformity.
----
Two very different definitions, both eerily relevant to our situation... which will it be? Will the Airlite 9 deteriorate with the rest of society, or will we all be able to agree upon a happy medium and keep our jobs at least until December?
1. A theory that suggests that all matter and all systems in nature undergo an inevitable and constant state of deterioration.
2. A law of thermodynamics describing the tendency for all matter and energy in the universe to evolve toward a state of inert uniformity.
----
Two very different definitions, both eerily relevant to our situation... which will it be? Will the Airlite 9 deteriorate with the rest of society, or will we all be able to agree upon a happy medium and keep our jobs at least until December?
A Certain Douchebag Cartographer...
Whether or not you realize it, the ship is sinking, bro. Chill the fuck out.
Thursday, November 6, 2008
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
Monday, November 3, 2008
Thursday, October 30, 2008
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
The Numbers Game -- Ode to A Happy Medium
When the reviewers are slow,
Our numbers dip low,
And the brass assumes it’s our fault.
When we drop 'neath average,
The reviewers think us savage,
Bringing our fun to a halt.
When the numbers are high,
Our brains do fry,
But ne'er do we gain exalt.
We must hold firm in the mean,
To keep them keen,
And show we’re worth our salt.
So when next Doug calls
To break our balls,
I'll need not fear
About my career,
and I'll continue to line my vault...
Our numbers dip low,
And the brass assumes it’s our fault.
When we drop 'neath average,
The reviewers think us savage,
Bringing our fun to a halt.
When the numbers are high,
Our brains do fry,
But ne'er do we gain exalt.
We must hold firm in the mean,
To keep them keen,
And show we’re worth our salt.
So when next Doug calls
To break our balls,
I'll need not fear
About my career,
and I'll continue to line my vault...
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
Mr. McCain...
He's cute ain't he? Only problem is, he's got a little bit a Mississippi Leg Hound in him. If the mood catches him rite, he'll grab your leg and just go to town. You don't want him around if your wearing short pants, if you know what I mean. Word of warning though, if he does lay into ya, it's best to just let him finish.
Thursday, October 23, 2008
The Straw Man Campaign
As many of you no doubt know, I have been following the campaign very closely this year. Watching the train wreck of the Straight Talk Express is just too tempting, almost like the rubbernecking that occurs as you pass by the gruesome scene of a highway fatality. It’s quite repulsive and haunts you in your dreams, but for some reason you always want see more gore and know more fine details about how the steering column punctured the drivers lungs, causing him to choke to death on his own blood. Well… such is the nature of Election 2008. Anyways, as I was watching some coverage last night, I finally realized something. John McCain is throwing the election!
“Why,” you may ask?
The answer is kind of drawn out an complicated, but I believe I’ve presented a solid case:
Exhibit A: Election 2000
If any of you followed politics before the 2000 Election, you may know that John McCain DID, indeed, build his reputation as a Maverick. He was a ‘take no bullshit, give no bullshit’ type of politician, which is a stance I can respect. It wasn’t until a few years after his defeat that he began to fall into step with his party and his president. He was one of the few republicans that I ever would have considered voting for, at least at the time (though if it would have been a Gore vs. McCain election, I would probably have still voted for Nader…)
As fate would have it though, the republican base was really fired up about the “crazy liberals” and their “blow job antics,” so they wanted a candidate endorsed by God himself. As the fairytale goes, George W. Bush was handpicked by God, and there’s no bigger endorsement than that! John McCain never stood a chance against that, particularly when W’s underhanded campaign strategies now famously known as the “Swiftboat Attacks” caused the longtime senator to second-guess the integrity of his party. Considering his long reputation of bucking his own party when it is at odds with his staunch personal beliefs (for instance, when he advocated strongly against Bush’s tax cuts for those making > $250k annually. I’m paraphrasing here, but he harped on how the tax cuts were unethical and unfair to the middle class, because trickle down economics only work in a vacuum where there doesn’t exist greed), McCain even flirted with the notion of jumping ship altogether and maybe declaring himself Independent or even switching to the Democratic party.
Enter Primary Season 2007-2008:
As we all know by now, this was an election cycle in which it would have been nearly impossible for any Republican candidate to win. Ok… maybe impossible is kind of a strong word considering that somehow W won a second term… but if any Republican stood a remote chance at holding the office it was John McCain with his long history of “maverickyness.” Just take a look at how he absolutely decimated his competition even within his own party, which is quite impressive considering how the GOP has historically been a little icy in regards to McCain because he often disagreed with them on some of their most non-issue issues.
As any political pundit could tell you, in the current electoral environment it is literally impossible for any candidate to take the office, given only the support of his/her base. It is necessary to win over the majority of independents and undecided (read: retarded) voters as well. This is something that the McCain of 2000 could have done very easily, and probably something he could have done very easily this cycle as well had he not chosen to become yet another drone in the Republican hamster wheel over the past several years (voting with Bush over 90% of the time). Hell… even with his recent departure from “maverickyness,” most of the voting public is too dumb to realize that a historical record of reform means nothing if the current attitude is lock-in-step to the party that even the most retarded of undecided voters know we need to remove from office. Furthermore, John McCain is not George W. Bush, as anyone can tell, thus it is not necessarily a given that the current policies would continue to lead us further into a downward spiral during his presidency, incumbent party or not.
John McCain was poised to win the election before it even started. The base of the republican party, a ravenous group of rednecks, would never in a million years vote for a black man (or even a half-black man for that matter). There would maybe be a few stragglers that dislike McCain enough to jump party or abstain from voting, but very likely not nearly enough to have any significant effect. So… John McCain had a secure base, a wealth of experience against one of the most inexperienced candidates in history, so all he needed to do was win over some independents: an easy task for a “maverick” like McCain, particularly if he chose an ex-Democrat liberal-leaning Independent such as Joe Lieberman (AKA douche, but once again I digress…) as had been speculated by many pundits to be the most likely choice, and probably his best shot at winning.
Exhibit B: Sarah Palin
So what does John McCain do? He panders to his base! If this was the John McCain of 2000, it may have been a wise idea, but given McCain’s most recent history of following his base, it really wasn’t necessary. Instead, McCain chose the most inexperienced, backwater, rifle-totin’est, moose-huntin’est, rootin’ tootin’ redneck woman in the national political arena as his running mate. At first glance it seemed as if it was all over for us liberals because of the sexist Hilary voters who would rather vote for another woman… ANY woman over a male candidate who shares their ideals but just so happened to defeat their messiah… even if that woman would seek to turn the women’s rights movement retrograde.
John McCain may not have the most impressive academic credentials, but he’s a frickin’ political dinosaur! He knows better than we do what he needed to do to win, regardless of how “out-of-touch” he is accused of being. If the Republican electorate machine were really so naïve, there is absolutely no way we would have seen a second term of W. He had to have known that there would be enough time for the women voters to cool down and take a step back from the situation before election day, and that there is no freaking way any of them would vote for Sarah Palin after she had been vetted by the press. He had to have known that such a polarizing figure would actually turn independents away. He had to have known that his selection would undermine the inexperience argument that his party had used so effectively against Senator Obama. He had to have known that even members of his own party would be turned away by her inability to speak to the press and her general lack of worldly knowledge and experience. Perhaps what he didn’t know was what a hypocrite this so-called maverick reformer would turn out to be, but it’s likely that he would’ve been able to foresee it even with what little time he had spent vetting her.
So why did he pick Sarah Palin unless he was setting his campaign up as a straw man? Kind of a reality check on the Republican base is my theory. A mirror never lies… and this particular mirror into the redneck base shows tells them “My God… do I sound like that? Is this what the rest of the world thinks of me?”
One could argue that the reason is that she has single handedly brought his campaign crashing, but if you pay attention to his body language, McCain himself appears disgusted by listening to Sarah Palin speak. He defends the media’s attacks on her very disingenuously.
Exhibit C: Straight Talk Express
As I mentioned earlier, John McCain has long been known for his no-holds-barred truthiness, media transparency, and his honor and integrity that includes not making personal attacks on his political opponents or using the same old Karl Rove fear tactics. So where did this series of personal attacks and media reclusiveness suddenly come from? Why would he hire the protege of Karl Rove, the man who destroyed his ambitions in 2000, as his political advisor? Evidently he knew that his honor and integrity is something that the independents and undecided voters hold in such great esteem as any other issue. So in an attempt to shake off any stragglers that would vote for him on that issue alone he would have to become a maverick unto himself and launch one of the most disgusting smear campaigns in history. If you pay attention to some of the rhetoric, however, something intriguing happens... his campaign informs the public that Barack Obama is "not who we think he is." Now... think about the people that are most susceptible to this type of smear attack. Who do you think they believe Barack Obama is? Some kind of terrorist! So when the McCain camp tells these people that Barack Obama is not who they think he is, they are really saying that he is not in fact a terrorist. Or this one: "We've got 'em right where we want 'em!" And where is that? Comfortably in the lead and halfway in the door of the White House?
Not satisfied that enough Independents and undecided voters would stray from him with these underhanded smear tactics, he realized he would have to flip-flop on several issues just to set himself up as even more of a hypocrite. On top of that even, he would need some real zingers for gaffes. For instance, the other day while campaigning in Western PA, in response to charges of voters in that area having racist attitudes, McCain said something along the lines of “As you may have heard, a lot of Obama’s supporters had some pretty nasty things to say about Western Pennsylvania…….. and I couldn’t agree more!” ZING! After a few bumbling attempts to correct his error, the crowd behind him looked absolutely pissed. In the immortal words of George W. Bush: “Mission Accomplished!”
Conclusion:
John McCain truly is an American hero. He was willing to set aside his ambitions of becoming a greater and more powerful man than either his father or his grandfather, both very highly touted Navy Admirals, so that he could do the right thing: give a swift[boat] kick in the ass to the party that has always disrespected his attempts to reach out across the aisle and unite this broken country. I salute you John McCain, and if I had said anything nasty about you this campaign season I beg of your forgiveness, for I was not lucid enough to see your true intentions. When John McCain says he always puts country first, now you know what he means.
“Why,” you may ask?
The answer is kind of drawn out an complicated, but I believe I’ve presented a solid case:
Exhibit A: Election 2000
If any of you followed politics before the 2000 Election, you may know that John McCain DID, indeed, build his reputation as a Maverick. He was a ‘take no bullshit, give no bullshit’ type of politician, which is a stance I can respect. It wasn’t until a few years after his defeat that he began to fall into step with his party and his president. He was one of the few republicans that I ever would have considered voting for, at least at the time (though if it would have been a Gore vs. McCain election, I would probably have still voted for Nader…)
As fate would have it though, the republican base was really fired up about the “crazy liberals” and their “blow job antics,” so they wanted a candidate endorsed by God himself. As the fairytale goes, George W. Bush was handpicked by God, and there’s no bigger endorsement than that! John McCain never stood a chance against that, particularly when W’s underhanded campaign strategies now famously known as the “Swiftboat Attacks” caused the longtime senator to second-guess the integrity of his party. Considering his long reputation of bucking his own party when it is at odds with his staunch personal beliefs (for instance, when he advocated strongly against Bush’s tax cuts for those making > $250k annually. I’m paraphrasing here, but he harped on how the tax cuts were unethical and unfair to the middle class, because trickle down economics only work in a vacuum where there doesn’t exist greed), McCain even flirted with the notion of jumping ship altogether and maybe declaring himself Independent or even switching to the Democratic party.
Enter Primary Season 2007-2008:
As we all know by now, this was an election cycle in which it would have been nearly impossible for any Republican candidate to win. Ok… maybe impossible is kind of a strong word considering that somehow W won a second term… but if any Republican stood a remote chance at holding the office it was John McCain with his long history of “maverickyness.” Just take a look at how he absolutely decimated his competition even within his own party, which is quite impressive considering how the GOP has historically been a little icy in regards to McCain because he often disagreed with them on some of their most non-issue issues.
As any political pundit could tell you, in the current electoral environment it is literally impossible for any candidate to take the office, given only the support of his/her base. It is necessary to win over the majority of independents and undecided (read: retarded) voters as well. This is something that the McCain of 2000 could have done very easily, and probably something he could have done very easily this cycle as well had he not chosen to become yet another drone in the Republican hamster wheel over the past several years (voting with Bush over 90% of the time). Hell… even with his recent departure from “maverickyness,” most of the voting public is too dumb to realize that a historical record of reform means nothing if the current attitude is lock-in-step to the party that even the most retarded of undecided voters know we need to remove from office. Furthermore, John McCain is not George W. Bush, as anyone can tell, thus it is not necessarily a given that the current policies would continue to lead us further into a downward spiral during his presidency, incumbent party or not.
John McCain was poised to win the election before it even started. The base of the republican party, a ravenous group of rednecks, would never in a million years vote for a black man (or even a half-black man for that matter). There would maybe be a few stragglers that dislike McCain enough to jump party or abstain from voting, but very likely not nearly enough to have any significant effect. So… John McCain had a secure base, a wealth of experience against one of the most inexperienced candidates in history, so all he needed to do was win over some independents: an easy task for a “maverick” like McCain, particularly if he chose an ex-Democrat liberal-leaning Independent such as Joe Lieberman (AKA douche, but once again I digress…) as had been speculated by many pundits to be the most likely choice, and probably his best shot at winning.
Exhibit B: Sarah Palin
So what does John McCain do? He panders to his base! If this was the John McCain of 2000, it may have been a wise idea, but given McCain’s most recent history of following his base, it really wasn’t necessary. Instead, McCain chose the most inexperienced, backwater, rifle-totin’est, moose-huntin’est, rootin’ tootin’ redneck woman in the national political arena as his running mate. At first glance it seemed as if it was all over for us liberals because of the sexist Hilary voters who would rather vote for another woman… ANY woman over a male candidate who shares their ideals but just so happened to defeat their messiah… even if that woman would seek to turn the women’s rights movement retrograde.
John McCain may not have the most impressive academic credentials, but he’s a frickin’ political dinosaur! He knows better than we do what he needed to do to win, regardless of how “out-of-touch” he is accused of being. If the Republican electorate machine were really so naïve, there is absolutely no way we would have seen a second term of W. He had to have known that there would be enough time for the women voters to cool down and take a step back from the situation before election day, and that there is no freaking way any of them would vote for Sarah Palin after she had been vetted by the press. He had to have known that such a polarizing figure would actually turn independents away. He had to have known that his selection would undermine the inexperience argument that his party had used so effectively against Senator Obama. He had to have known that even members of his own party would be turned away by her inability to speak to the press and her general lack of worldly knowledge and experience. Perhaps what he didn’t know was what a hypocrite this so-called maverick reformer would turn out to be, but it’s likely that he would’ve been able to foresee it even with what little time he had spent vetting her.
So why did he pick Sarah Palin unless he was setting his campaign up as a straw man? Kind of a reality check on the Republican base is my theory. A mirror never lies… and this particular mirror into the redneck base shows tells them “My God… do I sound like that? Is this what the rest of the world thinks of me?”
One could argue that the reason is that she has single handedly brought his campaign crashing, but if you pay attention to his body language, McCain himself appears disgusted by listening to Sarah Palin speak. He defends the media’s attacks on her very disingenuously.
Exhibit C: Straight Talk Express
As I mentioned earlier, John McCain has long been known for his no-holds-barred truthiness, media transparency, and his honor and integrity that includes not making personal attacks on his political opponents or using the same old Karl Rove fear tactics. So where did this series of personal attacks and media reclusiveness suddenly come from? Why would he hire the protege of Karl Rove, the man who destroyed his ambitions in 2000, as his political advisor? Evidently he knew that his honor and integrity is something that the independents and undecided voters hold in such great esteem as any other issue. So in an attempt to shake off any stragglers that would vote for him on that issue alone he would have to become a maverick unto himself and launch one of the most disgusting smear campaigns in history. If you pay attention to some of the rhetoric, however, something intriguing happens... his campaign informs the public that Barack Obama is "not who we think he is." Now... think about the people that are most susceptible to this type of smear attack. Who do you think they believe Barack Obama is? Some kind of terrorist! So when the McCain camp tells these people that Barack Obama is not who they think he is, they are really saying that he is not in fact a terrorist. Or this one: "We've got 'em right where we want 'em!" And where is that? Comfortably in the lead and halfway in the door of the White House?
Not satisfied that enough Independents and undecided voters would stray from him with these underhanded smear tactics, he realized he would have to flip-flop on several issues just to set himself up as even more of a hypocrite. On top of that even, he would need some real zingers for gaffes. For instance, the other day while campaigning in Western PA, in response to charges of voters in that area having racist attitudes, McCain said something along the lines of “As you may have heard, a lot of Obama’s supporters had some pretty nasty things to say about Western Pennsylvania…….. and I couldn’t agree more!” ZING! After a few bumbling attempts to correct his error, the crowd behind him looked absolutely pissed. In the immortal words of George W. Bush: “Mission Accomplished!”
Conclusion:
John McCain truly is an American hero. He was willing to set aside his ambitions of becoming a greater and more powerful man than either his father or his grandfather, both very highly touted Navy Admirals, so that he could do the right thing: give a swift[boat] kick in the ass to the party that has always disrespected his attempts to reach out across the aisle and unite this broken country. I salute you John McCain, and if I had said anything nasty about you this campaign season I beg of your forgiveness, for I was not lucid enough to see your true intentions. When John McCain says he always puts country first, now you know what he means.
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
She's Baaaack... -- A Nature Documentary on the Black Widow
Just when we thought it was safe to sit back and relax, the gaze of the all-judging, all-seeing eye has once again fallen upon us. Its insatiable thirst for knowledge of our doings refuses to wane. In fact, in its absence during the early part of this week, it has only become all the more ravenous. Do not be fooled by the appearance of cataracts, for the eye sees not the light as does yours or mine, but instead it penetrates through skin and bone to read your soul. In the presence of the one called "Karen," one must think no evil nor speak of it. The guilefullness of this one is unmatched by any other known force in nature. Consider the Angler Fish, which uses a bio-luminescent appendage protruding out over its gaping maw to lure in a potential meal. The "Karen," on the other hand, is a more devious sort. The "Karen" itself presents no physical threat to its prey with its frail and aging 90 pound body. Instead, the "Karen" looks deep into one's soul, and if it senses even the faintest hint of evil intent, it will deploy a very potent form of psychically transmitted neurotoxin that transforms even the most headstrong of individuals into a threat unto itself. It tempts one into thinking evil thoughts, practically goading one into a self-destructive outburst... at which time the trap is already sprung, and all hope is lost: you have already made her shit-list.
The lure of the Angler Fish is easily avoidable to the experienced eye, but the "Karen," on the other hand, packs a full arsenal in the event that one weapons system should fail. If its excessively loud and obnoxious ringtone doesn't chide her prey into jumping across the cubicle to strangle what little life is left from her feeble frame, her piercing voice will launch a campaign of psychological warfare unmatched by any military force yet to be. The word "Scott" may seem harmless when uttered by you or I, but her grating tone causes stimuli in the brain to react in an unpredictable and often violent and inappropriate manner. Meanwhile, the "Karen" remains coiled in her cubicle, stenographers pad at hand, poised to strike by jotting down our misdeeds for a report to the hive mind in control of our operations here at Airlite.
Rather than an instant and painless kill, the "Karen" will slowly suffocate its prey with threats of job loss. With no source of income, the victim quietly starves itself while attempting to seek out a new source of employment amidst our complete failure of an economy until it eventually dies of malnourishment. The strike is unavoidable and boasts a 100% efficiency with its kill ratio. It is for this reason that the "Karen" is referred to as the Black Widow in certain circles.
The lure of the Angler Fish is easily avoidable to the experienced eye, but the "Karen," on the other hand, packs a full arsenal in the event that one weapons system should fail. If its excessively loud and obnoxious ringtone doesn't chide her prey into jumping across the cubicle to strangle what little life is left from her feeble frame, her piercing voice will launch a campaign of psychological warfare unmatched by any military force yet to be. The word "Scott" may seem harmless when uttered by you or I, but her grating tone causes stimuli in the brain to react in an unpredictable and often violent and inappropriate manner. Meanwhile, the "Karen" remains coiled in her cubicle, stenographers pad at hand, poised to strike by jotting down our misdeeds for a report to the hive mind in control of our operations here at Airlite.
Rather than an instant and painless kill, the "Karen" will slowly suffocate its prey with threats of job loss. With no source of income, the victim quietly starves itself while attempting to seek out a new source of employment amidst our complete failure of an economy until it eventually dies of malnourishment. The strike is unavoidable and boasts a 100% efficiency with its kill ratio. It is for this reason that the "Karen" is referred to as the Black Widow in certain circles.
Pork Barreling Much?
http://www.cbsnews.com/stories/2008/10/22/earlyshow/main4538064.shtml
http://hosted.ap.org/dynamic/stories/P/PALIN_FAMILY_TRAVEL?SITE=AP&SECTION=HOME&TEMPLATE=DEFAULT
Can you say H-Y-P-O-C-R-I-T-E?
Sarah Palin famously attempted to sell her private Governor's jet on eBay because she thought the tax payers of Alaska shouldn't have to pay for it. On the other hand, she has no problem charging her tax payers for her kids to jet-set around the States with her or having her tax payers put them up in luxurious hotels for several nights. Is this how it's going to be if the McCain ticket wins their bid for the White House (which thankfully would only happen if video evidence of Obama murdering infants while sitting around with his terrorist pals, using $100 bills to light his crack pipe surfaces... but I digress) ...? Are we going to have Sarah Palin meeting with various world leaders, kids in tow? Somehow I don't think Putin would find it very "cute," doncha know?
Also... $150,000 on wardrobe paid for by the RNC since Palin was announced as the VP pick several weeks ago? That's roughly 4 times what we EARN in a year spent on designer clothing and accessories in just a few months. Hmm... how quaint. You really think she connects with Joe-Six-Pack just because she likes to shoot stuff and poop out a new child every other year? Get real... /end rant
http://hosted.ap.org/dynamic/stories/P/PALIN_FAMILY_TRAVEL?SITE=AP&SECTION=HOME&TEMPLATE=DEFAULT
Can you say H-Y-P-O-C-R-I-T-E?
Sarah Palin famously attempted to sell her private Governor's jet on eBay because she thought the tax payers of Alaska shouldn't have to pay for it. On the other hand, she has no problem charging her tax payers for her kids to jet-set around the States with her or having her tax payers put them up in luxurious hotels for several nights. Is this how it's going to be if the McCain ticket wins their bid for the White House (which thankfully would only happen if video evidence of Obama murdering infants while sitting around with his terrorist pals, using $100 bills to light his crack pipe surfaces... but I digress) ...? Are we going to have Sarah Palin meeting with various world leaders, kids in tow? Somehow I don't think Putin would find it very "cute," doncha know?
Also... $150,000 on wardrobe paid for by the RNC since Palin was announced as the VP pick several weeks ago? That's roughly 4 times what we EARN in a year spent on designer clothing and accessories in just a few months. Hmm... how quaint. You really think she connects with Joe-Six-Pack just because she likes to shoot stuff and poop out a new child every other year? Get real... /end rant
Monday, October 20, 2008
Walking a Mile in Karen’s Orthopedic Shoes – Part III of III
12:35 PM: Several of those cartographer riff-raff just returned from their lunch break. They took longer than an hour! Personally, I’ve never stayed around late enough to make sure they round out their full 8 hours a day, but it’s very unlikely they do, so it’s going in my report. Furthermore, whenever they come back through the door they’re a hootin’ and a hollerin’ about something that’s probably inappropriate for the workplace… most likely because they have freshened up their buzz from the morning with a few drinks over lunch. I haven’t ever smelled booze on them, but the sin is clearly written on their faces, so I can feel just in my accusations.
12:40 PM: Now they are all just sitting around like a bunch of bumps on a log, all of them moaning about how they didn’t want to come back to work, or they don’t feel like doing anything for the rest of the day other than crosswords. Should have thought about that before you went through that gallon of whiskey before noon!
1:00 PM: The whippersnappers have all but gone to sleep for now. Just a few quiet clicks here and there, but not much shouting. They probably aren’t doing any work, but it’s still nice to have some quiet. I’ll let this one pass… for now.
1:30 PM: That heavy-set fellow from the backroom has come to use our printer 3 times in the past half hour! Not only is he using up all of our ink, toner, and paper, but he is wasting our time when we have to wait 30 seconds for his stuff to finish printing before our stuff does. Doesn’t he know that since we’ve been here longer that our jobs are more important?! Besides… anybody that heavy is obviously a sinner.
1:45 PM: Now the dark-skinned fellow from the backroom keeps coming to use the printer. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but there’s something I don’t trust about him. For some reason, even when he smiles at me, I feel scared for my safety.
2:00 PM: Now it’s the backroom fellow with the gangly ape arms keeps coming in to use our printer. Why can’t they get their own? I’m not using it now, but I would be absolutely livid if I had to wait behind a monkey! God made humans better than monkeys, therefore I shouldn’t have to wait behind one!
2:30 PM: We’re running low on boxes... Who’s ass do I have to ream around here to get somebody to ream Kathleen’s ass for more boxes?
2:45 PM: The one called "Jason" has been folding an armada of paper airplanes ever since he got back from lunch, and he is just now beginning to launch a full scale invasion into the cubicle next door. I knew I had to keep an eye out on this one.
3:00 PM: What a bittersweet time of day. Since I get here earlier than them, I get to leave earlier, but that means that the children will go unsupervised for a while. Don’t get me wrong, I love stapling documents together and arranging them in boxes, but I have a set of knitting needles, a bible, and a house full of cats waiting for me at home (oh… and my asshole husband too, the stupid prick). Also, I am free from the torment of watching these clowns play with paper airplanes and rubber bands. Unfortunately these joys are always overshadowed by the haunting thoughts that I can’t shake out the back of my head during my free time: what kind of evil are those children up to after I leave? Do they even stay after I leave? Who keeps stealing the rubber finger tips from my desk? Are they laughing about me right now? I’m just going to have to assume that my deepest fears are hard fact and include them in my report… just in case. At least until I can get my spy cameras set up.
3:05 PM: Whew… I made it to my car without any black people asking me if I had any cigarettes or change. Another successful day that I can consider myself lucky to still be alive.
3:20 PM: Ahh, home… now I have two hours to read the bible cover to cover, practice the piano for Sunday service, knit a hideous sweater for my grandchild, curl up with Mr. Snuggles, and flagellate my husband for whatever petty mistakes he’s made before it’s my bedtime and I have to wake up and do it all over again.
12:40 PM: Now they are all just sitting around like a bunch of bumps on a log, all of them moaning about how they didn’t want to come back to work, or they don’t feel like doing anything for the rest of the day other than crosswords. Should have thought about that before you went through that gallon of whiskey before noon!
1:00 PM: The whippersnappers have all but gone to sleep for now. Just a few quiet clicks here and there, but not much shouting. They probably aren’t doing any work, but it’s still nice to have some quiet. I’ll let this one pass… for now.
1:30 PM: That heavy-set fellow from the backroom has come to use our printer 3 times in the past half hour! Not only is he using up all of our ink, toner, and paper, but he is wasting our time when we have to wait 30 seconds for his stuff to finish printing before our stuff does. Doesn’t he know that since we’ve been here longer that our jobs are more important?! Besides… anybody that heavy is obviously a sinner.
1:45 PM: Now the dark-skinned fellow from the backroom keeps coming to use the printer. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but there’s something I don’t trust about him. For some reason, even when he smiles at me, I feel scared for my safety.
2:00 PM: Now it’s the backroom fellow with the gangly ape arms keeps coming in to use our printer. Why can’t they get their own? I’m not using it now, but I would be absolutely livid if I had to wait behind a monkey! God made humans better than monkeys, therefore I shouldn’t have to wait behind one!
2:30 PM: We’re running low on boxes... Who’s ass do I have to ream around here to get somebody to ream Kathleen’s ass for more boxes?
2:45 PM: The one called "Jason" has been folding an armada of paper airplanes ever since he got back from lunch, and he is just now beginning to launch a full scale invasion into the cubicle next door. I knew I had to keep an eye out on this one.
3:00 PM: What a bittersweet time of day. Since I get here earlier than them, I get to leave earlier, but that means that the children will go unsupervised for a while. Don’t get me wrong, I love stapling documents together and arranging them in boxes, but I have a set of knitting needles, a bible, and a house full of cats waiting for me at home (oh… and my asshole husband too, the stupid prick). Also, I am free from the torment of watching these clowns play with paper airplanes and rubber bands. Unfortunately these joys are always overshadowed by the haunting thoughts that I can’t shake out the back of my head during my free time: what kind of evil are those children up to after I leave? Do they even stay after I leave? Who keeps stealing the rubber finger tips from my desk? Are they laughing about me right now? I’m just going to have to assume that my deepest fears are hard fact and include them in my report… just in case. At least until I can get my spy cameras set up.
3:05 PM: Whew… I made it to my car without any black people asking me if I had any cigarettes or change. Another successful day that I can consider myself lucky to still be alive.
3:20 PM: Ahh, home… now I have two hours to read the bible cover to cover, practice the piano for Sunday service, knit a hideous sweater for my grandchild, curl up with Mr. Snuggles, and flagellate my husband for whatever petty mistakes he’s made before it’s my bedtime and I have to wake up and do it all over again.
Thursday, October 16, 2008
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
Walking a Mile in Karen’s Orthopedic Shoes – Part II of III
9:00 AM: My spying on that surly bunch of cartographers was interrupted by an announcement that we are not to park in front of the building. I brought up my concerns about being mugged in the extra 100 feet it would take me to walk from the parking lot to the building… after all, one of those filthy scoundrels asked me if I had a cigarette the other day… A CIGARETTE! Can you believe those people? The solution? Now I have to ask one of those juvenile cartographers to escort me to my car. I would just as much like to stay away from those youngsters as I would the bums across the street!
9:01 AM: While I was busy rambling about my parking situation just a minute ago, I almost missed something. I’ve got to remain more composed and vigilant. Anyway, the flatulent one called “Dan” cranked the thermostat down to 74. How does he expect us to work under such frigid conditions? This is going in my report. Note to self: send Dan a copy of my doctor’s bill after I’ve been diagnosed with pneumonia.
9:30 AM: That degenerate who, for some reason or another, has more authority than I do, farted yet again. The giggling that ensued was very distracting to my work of stapling documents together. I didn’t hear anything specific, but I’ll just have to assume that there was a slanderous comment about me involved as well.
9:45 AM: My co-workers have attempted to distract me with enticing conversations about sump pumps and country music. As much as the thought of George Strait pumping flood water from my basement ironically gets me a bit moist downstairs *ohhh*, I don’t want to miss any goings-on over on the other side of the room, so I try to brush off the conversation under the pretense that “I am busy working.”
10:00 AM: Their hangovers and drug overdoses must be wearing off on them, because they are now starting to wake up a bit and talking to each other over there. I’m getting out my tape recorder just in case I miss something good for my report.
10:05 AM: I just saw one of them put a box on the shelf where it doesn’t belong. Now I’m going to have to take a break from my important work to ream their ass! On top of that, he has his headphones on and somehow can’t even hear my penetrating voice through the sound of his devil music. So now I have to take even more time away from my duties with the UP-CIA just so I can drag him by the ear all the way back to see what he did wrong.
10:15 AM: It appears that they are doing a crossword puzzle instead of working. Furthermore, I keep hearing lewd remarks about how “15 Down is NOT boobies, Dan!” Golly! I just can’t believe that people would speak of unmentionables in such a loud and casual manner.
10:40 AM: What a crass bunch… they are no longer even trying to pretend that they are doing work. I see those screen savers! Not only that, but they are using some sort of code language that I haven’t quite deciphered. “Sea of Gravy,” “Radial Raft,” “Beef Stew.” I think it must be their esoteric language for: “let’s take a two and a half hour lunch so we can drink liquor and smoke drugs.”
10:45 AM: I went over to talk to Scott so I could give him a half time report and voice my concerns in regards to our office security. For being the big boss, he sure doesn’t act in a very authoritative manner when he shrugs me off.
11:00 AM: After I briefed Scott on their activity so far today, he immediately walked over to Dan’s cubicle, presumably to ream his ass! That’ll show him! Scott is an awfully quiet ass reamer, and quite amiable I might add, but effective nonetheless. After a few whispers and chuckles, their activity peters out if only for a short while. Don’t get me wrong, though, I have only won a decisive battle in a much larger war.
11:05 AM: Finally a few hours of peace and quiet now that the “problem” bunch has left for lunch break. I’ve noted the exact time of departure for my full report. In the mean time, I will take my own lunch down to my secretary’s desk at the foot of the stairs so I can make sure I will know exactly how long they took for break, and because I know it makes them fear my power even more to see me seated there. My report will resume upon their return, of course.
9:01 AM: While I was busy rambling about my parking situation just a minute ago, I almost missed something. I’ve got to remain more composed and vigilant. Anyway, the flatulent one called “Dan” cranked the thermostat down to 74. How does he expect us to work under such frigid conditions? This is going in my report. Note to self: send Dan a copy of my doctor’s bill after I’ve been diagnosed with pneumonia.
9:30 AM: That degenerate who, for some reason or another, has more authority than I do, farted yet again. The giggling that ensued was very distracting to my work of stapling documents together. I didn’t hear anything specific, but I’ll just have to assume that there was a slanderous comment about me involved as well.
9:45 AM: My co-workers have attempted to distract me with enticing conversations about sump pumps and country music. As much as the thought of George Strait pumping flood water from my basement ironically gets me a bit moist downstairs *ohhh*, I don’t want to miss any goings-on over on the other side of the room, so I try to brush off the conversation under the pretense that “I am busy working.”
10:00 AM: Their hangovers and drug overdoses must be wearing off on them, because they are now starting to wake up a bit and talking to each other over there. I’m getting out my tape recorder just in case I miss something good for my report.
10:05 AM: I just saw one of them put a box on the shelf where it doesn’t belong. Now I’m going to have to take a break from my important work to ream their ass! On top of that, he has his headphones on and somehow can’t even hear my penetrating voice through the sound of his devil music. So now I have to take even more time away from my duties with the UP-CIA just so I can drag him by the ear all the way back to see what he did wrong.
10:15 AM: It appears that they are doing a crossword puzzle instead of working. Furthermore, I keep hearing lewd remarks about how “15 Down is NOT boobies, Dan!” Golly! I just can’t believe that people would speak of unmentionables in such a loud and casual manner.
10:40 AM: What a crass bunch… they are no longer even trying to pretend that they are doing work. I see those screen savers! Not only that, but they are using some sort of code language that I haven’t quite deciphered. “Sea of Gravy,” “Radial Raft,” “Beef Stew.” I think it must be their esoteric language for: “let’s take a two and a half hour lunch so we can drink liquor and smoke drugs.”
10:45 AM: I went over to talk to Scott so I could give him a half time report and voice my concerns in regards to our office security. For being the big boss, he sure doesn’t act in a very authoritative manner when he shrugs me off.
11:00 AM: After I briefed Scott on their activity so far today, he immediately walked over to Dan’s cubicle, presumably to ream his ass! That’ll show him! Scott is an awfully quiet ass reamer, and quite amiable I might add, but effective nonetheless. After a few whispers and chuckles, their activity peters out if only for a short while. Don’t get me wrong, though, I have only won a decisive battle in a much larger war.
11:05 AM: Finally a few hours of peace and quiet now that the “problem” bunch has left for lunch break. I’ve noted the exact time of departure for my full report. In the mean time, I will take my own lunch down to my secretary’s desk at the foot of the stairs so I can make sure I will know exactly how long they took for break, and because I know it makes them fear my power even more to see me seated there. My report will resume upon their return, of course.
Monday, October 13, 2008
Walking a Mile in Karen’s Orthopedic Shoes – Part I of III
5:00 AM: My gosh… I really slept in today. I must’ve had one too many soda pops last night, may God forgive me.
5:30 AM: I tell ya what. That neighbor fellow’s rooster calls every day at the same time. I have half a mind to go over next door and complain about it to his wife behind his back. I’m sick of having to hear it every morning while I get ready for work. If I needed a signal to remind me what time it was every morning, I’d just trust in Old Faithful... which is what my husband refers to my colon as after I’ve had my daily prune juice.
5:35 AM: My husband left the garage door open again last night. I swear... sometimes I wonder if he realizes that we have Mexicans living around here.
5:55 AM: It’s pitch dark outside the Airlite today. I’m going to have to remember to write an angry note to replace the lightbulb in the parking lot. In the meantime I’ll just park right here in front of the building, even though I’ve been told not to on several occasions. If they have a problem with it, I’ll just tell THEM to risk getting outside of their vehicle when it’s dark out and there are black people around. From what I’ve heard about them on the National Geographic channel, they don’t wake up until after noon, but I just don’t have that much faith in science.
6:00 AM: When I walked in the building, everything was dark, and my night vision isn’t quite what it used to be, so when I flipped on the lightswitch I was startled to find the one they call “Jason” already sitting at his desk, not doing anything of course. After prying for several minutes, I discovered that he sometimes works for UPS in the mornings and comes straight here. I’ll have to keep an eye on him today, because there’s something that just doesn’t feel right about this one… the one that stands out as a miscreant among a group full of degenerates…
6:15 AM: He scratched his head. Is that some sort of sign of aggression against me? I don’t know, but the gesture has been duly noted…
6:15:35 AM: He cleared his throat. No doubt he is making fun of me in some way. Doug will definitely be hearing about this.
7:00 AM: After spending the last hour on high alert, I am relieved to see some of my colleagues have finally started to arrive for the day. When it was just me and that young man I was worried for my life and my purity, but now I have strength in numbers.
8:00 AM: Bitched about my husband to my co-workers for an hour. As usual, they reaffirmed my suspicions that he is a big dumb oaf incapable of doing anything right.
8:30 AM: Those lazy cartographers are just now starting to filter in… late as usual. They all look like they just smoked drugs before they rolled out of bed and straight into work. If they’re not high then they are DEFINITELY hung over. I’m noting the time and possible affliction of each cartographer as they enter the door for my daily report.
5:30 AM: I tell ya what. That neighbor fellow’s rooster calls every day at the same time. I have half a mind to go over next door and complain about it to his wife behind his back. I’m sick of having to hear it every morning while I get ready for work. If I needed a signal to remind me what time it was every morning, I’d just trust in Old Faithful... which is what my husband refers to my colon as after I’ve had my daily prune juice.
5:35 AM: My husband left the garage door open again last night. I swear... sometimes I wonder if he realizes that we have Mexicans living around here.
5:55 AM: It’s pitch dark outside the Airlite today. I’m going to have to remember to write an angry note to replace the lightbulb in the parking lot. In the meantime I’ll just park right here in front of the building, even though I’ve been told not to on several occasions. If they have a problem with it, I’ll just tell THEM to risk getting outside of their vehicle when it’s dark out and there are black people around. From what I’ve heard about them on the National Geographic channel, they don’t wake up until after noon, but I just don’t have that much faith in science.
6:00 AM: When I walked in the building, everything was dark, and my night vision isn’t quite what it used to be, so when I flipped on the lightswitch I was startled to find the one they call “Jason” already sitting at his desk, not doing anything of course. After prying for several minutes, I discovered that he sometimes works for UPS in the mornings and comes straight here. I’ll have to keep an eye on him today, because there’s something that just doesn’t feel right about this one… the one that stands out as a miscreant among a group full of degenerates…
6:15 AM: He scratched his head. Is that some sort of sign of aggression against me? I don’t know, but the gesture has been duly noted…
6:15:35 AM: He cleared his throat. No doubt he is making fun of me in some way. Doug will definitely be hearing about this.
7:00 AM: After spending the last hour on high alert, I am relieved to see some of my colleagues have finally started to arrive for the day. When it was just me and that young man I was worried for my life and my purity, but now I have strength in numbers.
8:00 AM: Bitched about my husband to my co-workers for an hour. As usual, they reaffirmed my suspicions that he is a big dumb oaf incapable of doing anything right.
8:30 AM: Those lazy cartographers are just now starting to filter in… late as usual. They all look like they just smoked drugs before they rolled out of bed and straight into work. If they’re not high then they are DEFINITELY hung over. I’m noting the time and possible affliction of each cartographer as they enter the door for my daily report.
Doomed to repeat...
The budget should be balanced, the Treasury should be refilled, public debt should be reduced, the arrogance of officialdom should be tempered and controlled, and the assistance to foreign lands should be curtailed lest Rome become bankrupt. People must again learn to work, instead of living on public assistance. -- Cicero , 55 BC, ROME
Thursday, October 9, 2008
Hmm
This is awkward... 4 more years of publicity hugs like this... no thanks...
http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/26612340/
"I think he just rubbed old man sweat all over me.. hehe"
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
Tuesday, October 7, 2008
All Hail...
There are few in the Airlite that possess the kind of power that the General does. His steadfast leadership has helped guide us through the dark times. When he moves on it will be a great loss for the Airlite Nine. We can only hope that someone... will step in to fill the void that he leaves behind... Maybe the H3sford will be the next great leader of the Nine... We will have to wait to find out...Monday, October 6, 2008
New Proposal...
Having recently noticed the excess upperlip hair growth on Aaron...I propose...
The Office Moustache Contest
No goatees are allowed, must be full 1980 Moustache...or one from previous era in history...handlebar...etc.
Points will be based on, style, creativity, coverage (Thats right Patches H3sford...) and length.
Winner shall recieve a bragging rights, a $20 gift certificate to anywhere they choose (Best Buy, Etc) and a Gillette Mach3 Razor... to shave the fugly thing off.
Contest begins... as soon as you can start the growth... and damn it... Aaron is already ahead.
Friday, October 3, 2008
I could definitely see the benefits to this...
Here's a simple plan that I really like- it makes a lot more sense than what Washington is talking about-
To my fellow Americans...... I'm against the $85,000,000,000 bailout of AIG. Instead, I'm in favor of giving $85,000,000,000 to America ina We Deserve It Dividend. To make the math simple, let's assume there are 200,000,000 bonafide U.S. Citizens 18+. Our population is about 301,000,000 ± counting every man, womanand child. So 200,000,000 might be a fair stab at adults 18 and up. So divide 200 million adults 18+ into $85 billon that equals $425,000. My plan is to give $425,000 to every person 18+ as aWe Deserve It Dividend. Of course, it would NOT be tax free.So let's assume a tax rate of 30%. Every individual 18+ has to pay $127,500.00 in taxes.That sends $25,500,000,000 right back to Uncle Sam. But it means that every adult 18+ has $297,500.00 in their pocket.A husband and wife has $595,000. What would you do with $297,500 to $595,000 in your family?Pay off your mortgage - housing crisis solved.Repay college loans - what a great boost to new gradsPut away money for college - it'll be thereSave in a bank - create money to loan to entrepreneurs.Buy a new car - create jobsInvest in the market - capital drives growthPay for your parent's medical insurance - health care improvesEnable Deadbeat Dads to come clean - or else Remember this is for every adult U S Citizen 18+ including the folkswho lost their jobs at Lehman Brothers and every other companythat is cutting back. And of course, for those serving in our Armed Forces. If we're going to re-distribute wealth let's really do it...instead oftrickling out a puny $1000 ('vote buy') economic incentive that is being proposed by one of our candidates for President. If we're going to do an $85 billion bailout, let's bail out every adult U SCitizen 18+! As for AIG - liquidate it. Sell off its parts. Let American General go back to being American General.Sell off the real estate. Let the private sector bargain hunters cut it up and clean it up. Here's my rationale. We deserve it and AIG doesn't. Sure it's a crazy idea that can 'never work.' But can you imagine the Coast-To-Coast Block Party! How do you spell Economic Boom? I trust my fellow adult Americans to know how to use the $85 Billion We Deserve It Dividend more than I do the geniuses at AIG or in WashingtonDC. And remember, this plan only really costs $59.5 Billion because $25.5billion is returned instantly in taxes to Uncle Sam. Ahhh...I feel so much better getting that off my chest.
Timothy J. Wilson
Program Services Unit ManagerBER- Surface Mining Section
Kansas Department of Health and Environment
4033 Parkview Drive
Frontenac , KS 66763
(620) 231-8540
To my fellow Americans...... I'm against the $85,000,000,000 bailout of AIG. Instead, I'm in favor of giving $85,000,000,000 to America ina We Deserve It Dividend. To make the math simple, let's assume there are 200,000,000 bonafide U.S. Citizens 18+. Our population is about 301,000,000 ± counting every man, womanand child. So 200,000,000 might be a fair stab at adults 18 and up. So divide 200 million adults 18+ into $85 billon that equals $425,000. My plan is to give $425,000 to every person 18+ as aWe Deserve It Dividend. Of course, it would NOT be tax free.So let's assume a tax rate of 30%. Every individual 18+ has to pay $127,500.00 in taxes.That sends $25,500,000,000 right back to Uncle Sam. But it means that every adult 18+ has $297,500.00 in their pocket.A husband and wife has $595,000. What would you do with $297,500 to $595,000 in your family?Pay off your mortgage - housing crisis solved.Repay college loans - what a great boost to new gradsPut away money for college - it'll be thereSave in a bank - create money to loan to entrepreneurs.Buy a new car - create jobsInvest in the market - capital drives growthPay for your parent's medical insurance - health care improvesEnable Deadbeat Dads to come clean - or else Remember this is for every adult U S Citizen 18+ including the folkswho lost their jobs at Lehman Brothers and every other companythat is cutting back. And of course, for those serving in our Armed Forces. If we're going to re-distribute wealth let's really do it...instead oftrickling out a puny $1000 ('vote buy') economic incentive that is being proposed by one of our candidates for President. If we're going to do an $85 billion bailout, let's bail out every adult U SCitizen 18+! As for AIG - liquidate it. Sell off its parts. Let American General go back to being American General.Sell off the real estate. Let the private sector bargain hunters cut it up and clean it up. Here's my rationale. We deserve it and AIG doesn't. Sure it's a crazy idea that can 'never work.' But can you imagine the Coast-To-Coast Block Party! How do you spell Economic Boom? I trust my fellow adult Americans to know how to use the $85 Billion We Deserve It Dividend more than I do the geniuses at AIG or in WashingtonDC. And remember, this plan only really costs $59.5 Billion because $25.5billion is returned instantly in taxes to Uncle Sam. Ahhh...I feel so much better getting that off my chest.
Timothy J. Wilson
Program Services Unit ManagerBER- Surface Mining Section
Kansas Department of Health and Environment
4033 Parkview Drive
Frontenac , KS 66763
(620) 231-8540
Thursday, October 2, 2008
The Waiting Game
"Why did I even come into work today?" I wondered after sitting at my desk for an hour... my desk that is currently devoid of agreements to locate. The old chickenheads known as "the reviewers" have spent so much time squawking amongst themselves this morning that they seem to have forgotten that we are dependent on them to keep our hands from staying idle. Perhaps this is what they want? If we appear to be sitting around twiddling our thumbs all day then surely we will end up doing something stupid out of boredom which they could later report to their Overlords.
Yesterday was so uneventful that I wasn't able to come up with any fodder for my daily narrative, and today is shaping to be even slower with a total lack of productivity. I can't possibly imagine that I'll manage to keep my mind engaged for another seven hours with only the aide of the weblog and a few crossword puzzles. I have no desire to return to the fringe of the information super highway, as I have already witnessed the desolation and horror that exists when one wades out past the civilized areas of the internet and beyond all of the porno and myspace garbage.
I fear for my job security when all that's left to do is to peg Chicken Little in the back of the head with a projectile shot from my trusty rubber band. Perhaps that is another strategy employed by "the reviewers." If we have nothing else to do, maybe a rift will form amongst our ranks, causing us to crumble from within in the midst of civil warfare. Cartographers fighting cartographers in a war that could possibly destroy all of mankind, or at the very least leave a few little red marks on each other where we have make direct hits with rubber fingertip bullets.
Further adding to our discomfort and irritability, it is hotter than a nutsac in a sauna in this place. This might just be the day that finally breaks us. If I never get the chance to say it again, "I have loved and honored your friendship, Airlite 9ers."
Yesterday was so uneventful that I wasn't able to come up with any fodder for my daily narrative, and today is shaping to be even slower with a total lack of productivity. I can't possibly imagine that I'll manage to keep my mind engaged for another seven hours with only the aide of the weblog and a few crossword puzzles. I have no desire to return to the fringe of the information super highway, as I have already witnessed the desolation and horror that exists when one wades out past the civilized areas of the internet and beyond all of the porno and myspace garbage.
I fear for my job security when all that's left to do is to peg Chicken Little in the back of the head with a projectile shot from my trusty rubber band. Perhaps that is another strategy employed by "the reviewers." If we have nothing else to do, maybe a rift will form amongst our ranks, causing us to crumble from within in the midst of civil warfare. Cartographers fighting cartographers in a war that could possibly destroy all of mankind, or at the very least leave a few little red marks on each other where we have make direct hits with rubber fingertip bullets.
Further adding to our discomfort and irritability, it is hotter than a nutsac in a sauna in this place. This might just be the day that finally breaks us. If I never get the chance to say it again, "I have loved and honored your friendship, Airlite 9ers."
Hypocracy... "What's 15 Down...and no Dan...it's not Boobies"
I sit here at this early hour, diligently working away on my agreements, my headphones are fit snugly into my ears bringing me the local morning talk radio... and yet I can still hear them... the three female "reviewers" cackling away on the opposite side of the room. I cant help but to thinkabout how they complain at "loudness" in the afternoon, and yet the morning, generally a time reserved for quiet, they feel they need to practically yell about their "fun filled lives". As if anyone else wants to hear about dencher cream, panty hose, or how their husbands (the poor bastards) left the garage door open the night before. I only hope that we can learn from this, "The Greatest Generation", in that when we get old, we take the revolver out of the desk drawer, and shoot the old women... I mean who wants to look at those saggy old bodies anyway... bring on some 20-something co-eds.
Wednesday, October 1, 2008
Dumbass...
Garmin GPS..........$250
Can of Redbull.......$3
Bag of Funyuns.....$0.99
Lack of Common Sense...100%
Following your GPS rather than using your head....Priceless
http://www.switched.com/2008/09/30/gps-sends-another-driver-onto-train-tracks-of-doom/?icid=100214839x1210151909x1200656508
Can of Redbull.......$3
Bag of Funyuns.....$0.99
Lack of Common Sense...100%
Following your GPS rather than using your head....Priceless
http://www.switched.com/2008/09/30/gps-sends-another-driver-onto-train-tracks-of-doom/?icid=100214839x1210151909x1200656508
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
The New Danger
With the installment of a new UP Overlord in our building comes a new syndicate of fledgling contractor underlings. This new gang of peons requires the usual amenities: coffee, water, toilet paper, etc. Herein lies the problem. As the inflow of contractors increases, the strain put on the capacity of our limited resources does likewise. The infrastructure is beginning to swell, and it's only a matter of time until the pipes burst at their seams.
According to a report from one of “the reviewers,” the new underlings consumed three large pots of coffee before 9:00 AM, like how a plague of locusts cuts across a fertile plain. As one may have guessed, our water reservoir is being depleted with unprecedented speed to keep in stride with their consumption of coffee. With such ravenous use, one thing is a certainty: sustainability is at risk! Also, as we all know, coffee is a popular diuretic. Our toilets will fill up with prodigious amounts of shit and tissue paper relative to the rate our water levels are drained. I’ll let you do the math…
As you work your mind around the equation, here’s an important variable to keep in the back of your head: I present to you a certain underling, whom we will refer to as “Francis Buxton” due to previous evidence supplied by one of our ranks. [see posts "The New Backroom Guy...?" and "Further Evidence"] I entered the restroom earlier today to see a voluminous pair of jeans bunched up around a proportionately large set of cankles peeking out from under the stall divider. Needless to say, it’s embarrassing for both parties when you walk in on such a situation. However, when you factor in the smell and a series of grunts, groans, and complex breathing exercises usually reserved for birthing mothers, it just makes the experience that much more uncomfortable. The straw that broke the camel’s back, though, was when I heard a set of pudgy sausage-like fingers wrap around the railings on the inside of the stall divider. It became readily apparent that this was not your ordinary turd, as it took the full strength of both his upper and lower limbs to assist in powering it out…
The Airlite 9 have been caught in a constant whirpool of struggle to stay afloat in any given situation, but with the increasingly insurmountable odds weighing down at our shoulders, we just may sink. I only hope we can be as resilient as his turd must have been in its steadfast refusal to flush down that drain.
This brings up another interesting point as well, just to play devil's advocate against my whole argument. Is it advantageous to us that our numbers are swelling? Nevermind the old saying, "there's power in numbers," but if we are collectively a large turd spinning around in the toilet bowl that is Airlite (as I already alluded to), will we also become too large to flush? Just let that thought stew around in your head as well...
According to a report from one of “the reviewers,” the new underlings consumed three large pots of coffee before 9:00 AM, like how a plague of locusts cuts across a fertile plain. As one may have guessed, our water reservoir is being depleted with unprecedented speed to keep in stride with their consumption of coffee. With such ravenous use, one thing is a certainty: sustainability is at risk! Also, as we all know, coffee is a popular diuretic. Our toilets will fill up with prodigious amounts of shit and tissue paper relative to the rate our water levels are drained. I’ll let you do the math…
As you work your mind around the equation, here’s an important variable to keep in the back of your head: I present to you a certain underling, whom we will refer to as “Francis Buxton” due to previous evidence supplied by one of our ranks. [see posts "The New Backroom Guy...?" and "Further Evidence"] I entered the restroom earlier today to see a voluminous pair of jeans bunched up around a proportionately large set of cankles peeking out from under the stall divider. Needless to say, it’s embarrassing for both parties when you walk in on such a situation. However, when you factor in the smell and a series of grunts, groans, and complex breathing exercises usually reserved for birthing mothers, it just makes the experience that much more uncomfortable. The straw that broke the camel’s back, though, was when I heard a set of pudgy sausage-like fingers wrap around the railings on the inside of the stall divider. It became readily apparent that this was not your ordinary turd, as it took the full strength of both his upper and lower limbs to assist in powering it out…
The Airlite 9 have been caught in a constant whirpool of struggle to stay afloat in any given situation, but with the increasingly insurmountable odds weighing down at our shoulders, we just may sink. I only hope we can be as resilient as his turd must have been in its steadfast refusal to flush down that drain.
This brings up another interesting point as well, just to play devil's advocate against my whole argument. Is it advantageous to us that our numbers are swelling? Nevermind the old saying, "there's power in numbers," but if we are collectively a large turd spinning around in the toilet bowl that is Airlite (as I already alluded to), will we also become too large to flush? Just let that thought stew around in your head as well...
Monday, September 29, 2008
The sky is falling...!
Ahh, Mondays… For those of us working stiffs, there are few days more horrifyingly dull. As I sat at my desk this morning, staring blankly between my computer screen and a poorly scrawled railroad map of St. Paul, Minnesota, I thought about all of the places I’d rather be, and of all the things I’d rather be doing. No matter how long the weekend lasts, it’s never long enough regardless of whether you sat on ass for two days straight or busted ass trying to complete the chores that had piled up over the course of the week as you sulked around the house because it wasn't quite 5:00 PM Friday. So, as I sat there lulling in and out of a working state of consciousness, my mind fell into its ADHD fueled auto-pilot hyperlinking stage: St. Paul is in Minnesota > Minnesota is cold > When it's cold it snows > When it snows I can go snowboarding. I thought I must have been hallucinating snow fall in anticipation of carving a path down the hillside through a fresh coat of virgin powder.
I was brought back from la-la land as one of the Airlite 9 (whom I will refer to as "Chicken Little") shouted from the adjacent cubicle concerning the falling primordial dust and asbestos that had been trapped in the overhead air ducts for the greater part of the century, now liberated by the gentle stroke of a feather brush. Like my snowflakes, the dust came shimmering down from above, no two particles alike. It appeared that Custodial Claus had brought me an early Christmas treat. I appreciate the gesture, but it was a gift I was just not prepared to accept, at least not until I scooted my chair from underneath the goddamn duct.
Just what I needed to make my Monday official… on the other hand, thanks for finally poking some holes on the lid of the shoebox you keep us in! Certainly I'll be able breath easier from now on, of course after I hack up all of that asbestos, rat feces, and dead skin cells from long-retired plastic makers of the past.
I was brought back from la-la land as one of the Airlite 9 (whom I will refer to as "Chicken Little") shouted from the adjacent cubicle concerning the falling primordial dust and asbestos that had been trapped in the overhead air ducts for the greater part of the century, now liberated by the gentle stroke of a feather brush. Like my snowflakes, the dust came shimmering down from above, no two particles alike. It appeared that Custodial Claus had brought me an early Christmas treat. I appreciate the gesture, but it was a gift I was just not prepared to accept, at least not until I scooted my chair from underneath the goddamn duct.
Just what I needed to make my Monday official… on the other hand, thanks for finally poking some holes on the lid of the shoebox you keep us in! Certainly I'll be able breath easier from now on, of course after I hack up all of that asbestos, rat feces, and dead skin cells from long-retired plastic makers of the past.
Terror Threat SEVERE
<---
If you have seen this man...Please notify the proper authorities.
Yousef Ali bin Leuark
a.k.a. "Deuce Honker"
Known to "blow his nose" very loudly disturbing the Airlite9. Also has a tendancy to look at dog porn and cram little white earbuds improperly in the ear canal.
If your looking for a good time call...
This summary is not available. Please
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Friday, September 26, 2008
The Gospel of Airlite
Working as a contractor is similar to believing in God. You don’t know any of the details behind the fabled contract, therefore it requires a certain degree of faith in order to get you through the day. The contract company will preach to you that it will always be there for you, contrary to any evidence that shows your job may be swept out from under your feet at any time. The flow of boxes slows to a trickle, yet more contractors are brought in at a steady flow creating an even greater stranglehold on our collective productivity. No matter how bleak and dismal the future may seem, we are taught to have faith that it is just a lull, and that the contract is actually being extended beyond the previously quoted time, because the UP Gods love us unconditionally. We may not always believe, but we are too frightened at the prospects of finding something different that we are satisfied with pretending to believe.
As with any God, there is a love-hate relationship. He tests us with great hardships because He loves us, and while sometimes we may doubt Him and find Him cruel, we realize that these are the kinds of hardships that polish an ugly looking rock into a gem. The Gods at the UP are always watching over our numbers. They always expect more of us, but when our numbers drop, their satisfaction is not shaken. Our mental alacrity is challenged by hours of dull work, but we always find a way to pick our spirits back up. Sure, maybe we don’t have benefits and we are barely able to scrape together a decent living with our wages, but at least we aren’t passed out on the steps of the church next door with the rest of the bums. The “reviewers” constantly challenge our faith by reporting our work-related sins to the UP Overlords, but the UP Gods are compassionate enough to forgive us, for we know not what we do in our states of desperate boredom.
We may not have much as contractors, but we can still have faith that tomorrow is a new day. And perhaps that will be the day where we are provided with a bounty of boxes full of agreements along with detailed and accurate maps, in order to get us through to the next day without completely losing it. Working as a contractor doesn’t necessarily mean we have a contract on our heads or that our days are numbered. It may seem like a life sentence at times, but at least it’s not a death sentence…
As with any God, there is a love-hate relationship. He tests us with great hardships because He loves us, and while sometimes we may doubt Him and find Him cruel, we realize that these are the kinds of hardships that polish an ugly looking rock into a gem. The Gods at the UP are always watching over our numbers. They always expect more of us, but when our numbers drop, their satisfaction is not shaken. Our mental alacrity is challenged by hours of dull work, but we always find a way to pick our spirits back up. Sure, maybe we don’t have benefits and we are barely able to scrape together a decent living with our wages, but at least we aren’t passed out on the steps of the church next door with the rest of the bums. The “reviewers” constantly challenge our faith by reporting our work-related sins to the UP Overlords, but the UP Gods are compassionate enough to forgive us, for we know not what we do in our states of desperate boredom.
We may not have much as contractors, but we can still have faith that tomorrow is a new day. And perhaps that will be the day where we are provided with a bounty of boxes full of agreements along with detailed and accurate maps, in order to get us through to the next day without completely losing it. Working as a contractor doesn’t necessarily mean we have a contract on our heads or that our days are numbered. It may seem like a life sentence at times, but at least it’s not a death sentence…
Palin talks to Couric -- and if she's lucky, few are listening
If the reality of coming into Airlite everyday wasn't enough to make you vomit a little in your mouth... The possibility of this woman being in charge should...
http://http://www.latimes.com/news/printedition/asection/la-na-onthemedia26-2008sep26,0,3542588.story
I say we nominate a different Palin... Michael Palin... I know he's British and all, but since McCain isn't actually a citizen either (born in Panama and here's the article: http://www.nytimes.com/2008/02/28/us/politics/28mccain.html) I think he might have a chance...
http://http://www.latimes.com/news/printedition/asection/la-na-onthemedia26-2008sep26,0,3542588.story
I say we nominate a different Palin... Michael Palin... I know he's British and all, but since McCain isn't actually a citizen either (born in Panama and here's the article: http://www.nytimes.com/2008/02/28/us/politics/28mccain.html) I think he might have a chance...
Thursday, September 25, 2008
Project Sisyphus
No matter how many boxes full of legal agreements we are able to geo-locate, there are always more boxes to be put up in their place. It’s a cruel form of punishment that seems to lack a beginning or an end. The humanity of it all is quite startling. The few tools we possess to keep from going completely mad are strictly regulated by our UP overlords. We can hold conversations with one another, as long as it’s not in a “girlish" tone of voice. We can browse the internet, as long as it is not pornography related (and being the cruel masters they are, the term pornography by their definition is an extremely loose parameter that includes any subject matter of remote interest. My friends… in my struggles to keep sane, I have traveled to the far ends of the information highway and witnessed firsthand the last page of the internet. It is a boring and desolate place. You don’t want to know how to get there, and I don’t want to tell you). Rubber bands, on the other hand, are STRICTLY prohibited out of fear we could use them as firearms, with which it would be possible to overthrow our lords.
Furthermore, our ranks have been infiltrated by a secret society known only as “the reviewers.” Publicly, their job is to sort through the boxes and tag which legal agreements are necessary for us to locate, but we have recently learned more about their clandestine organization. As our mole agent has discovered, “the reviewers” are the eyes and ears of the UP overlords, and their real job entails reviewing our behavior so they can provide their masters with a play by play of our activity. Even though, like Sisyphus, we are charged with a task that by its very nature can never be completed, “the reviewers” have made it their goal to see to it that we never stray from the task or even eke out a crude form of enjoyment from it. Fortunately for our sanity, “the reviewers” are easy to recognize by their old, crusted, and wrinkled appearance and their shrill, squawking voices that are capable of penetrating your skin. Thus we are able to keep our diversions relatively private from their prying eyes.
What our diversions amount to, though, is like a single drop of rain in a desert that stretches wide across the globe. We are slowly going mad in this place, and it’s starting to show.
Furthermore, our ranks have been infiltrated by a secret society known only as “the reviewers.” Publicly, their job is to sort through the boxes and tag which legal agreements are necessary for us to locate, but we have recently learned more about their clandestine organization. As our mole agent has discovered, “the reviewers” are the eyes and ears of the UP overlords, and their real job entails reviewing our behavior so they can provide their masters with a play by play of our activity. Even though, like Sisyphus, we are charged with a task that by its very nature can never be completed, “the reviewers” have made it their goal to see to it that we never stray from the task or even eke out a crude form of enjoyment from it. Fortunately for our sanity, “the reviewers” are easy to recognize by their old, crusted, and wrinkled appearance and their shrill, squawking voices that are capable of penetrating your skin. Thus we are able to keep our diversions relatively private from their prying eyes.
What our diversions amount to, though, is like a single drop of rain in a desert that stretches wide across the globe. We are slowly going mad in this place, and it’s starting to show.
And so it begins...
Somewhere in the United States of America, an economical genius has figured out how to pay for worldwide healthcare, fix the budget, fund the war and balance the budget at the same time. His ideas are novel and sound and without any critics. It will revolutionize the world forevermore. Unfortunately...this story is not about him. This story is about the Airlite 9; nine figures thrown together by a dark destiny shaped by the evil machinations of Colonel Habib to shape the world of mapping forevermore. This is their world; four white walls and shelves of dust and grime in a house of pain that truly undermines any ambition to do anything else. My god..when does it all end...WHEN...DOES...IT...END?!"
Dawn of a New Day
I stepped out of my vehicle today with a sigh, knowing that a full eight hours of grueling work were ahead of me. The work itself was not particularly difficult or physically strenuous, but the nature of the project was an exercise in futility that could bring anybody's sanity to the brink of collapse. As my car door opened, the clean, fresh, dew-laced aroma of another morning in Glenwood was quickly overtaken by the dank, grimy odor of the city with all of its hustle and bustle. On top of that, the taste of freshly molded plastic ironically hung heavy in the air outside of the Airlite building. Robert Duval once said he loves the smell of napalm in the morning, but even his character in Apocalypse Now would have gagged upon stumbling by this purgatory.
Pieces of trash blew down the empty street like the tumbleweed rolling through the old west, evoking an ominous feeling of loneliness and despair. These emotions were only further amplified by the sight of the bums passed out on the steps of the church across the street, sleeping off the previous night’s hangover. Their day would amount to panhandling for enough change to buy a few more tallboys of Colt .45 Malt Liquor. The sigh that I breathed as I exited my car? That was the sound of me realizing my day wouldn’t amount to much more. I was simply better dressed for the occasion. Such is Airlite…
Pieces of trash blew down the empty street like the tumbleweed rolling through the old west, evoking an ominous feeling of loneliness and despair. These emotions were only further amplified by the sight of the bums passed out on the steps of the church across the street, sleeping off the previous night’s hangover. Their day would amount to panhandling for enough change to buy a few more tallboys of Colt .45 Malt Liquor. The sigh that I breathed as I exited my car? That was the sound of me realizing my day wouldn’t amount to much more. I was simply better dressed for the occasion. Such is Airlite…
The Formation of the Airlite9
We came to be because of what we were... Cartographers in need of work. This place... The Airlite... has brought the 9 of us together, and it will slowly tear us apart...
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