Further Proof of Pussification

With a nod to George Carlin for the invention of the word.
I'm flipping through the channels last night and I come across a show I had heard of but hadn't seen before: "Filthy Rich Cattle Drive". It piqued my interest so I watched. Holy shit, what a bunch of jerkoffs.
The premise of the show is that a bunch of wealthy early 20s spoiled pricks, the reproductive mistakes of celebrities, are on this cattle drive led by a few more-or-less real cowboys and a cute lil cowgirl. I didn't catch the beginning so I don't know how they happened to be there. I can only hope that the purpose of their being there is to be killed by wolves, bears or mountain lions. Actually, they're such pussies a flock of parakeets could probably do them in.
I'm not overly judgmental (lie!), but being a swarthy he-man I feel qualified to say that these kids are so pussified and mentally fucked up that they have no discernible reason to continue living.
What? You don't believe I'm a he-man? There's no way for me to prove it to the satisfaction of a virtual jury, but I can tell you that as I sit here in my home office for 10 or 12 hours a day, in my bathrobe and bunny slippers, hardly an hour goes by that I don't have some type of manly thought pass through my head. Harleys, booze, female genitalia, yep, it's all in there. On weekends I get to actually go out and do swarthy things. Submitted as Exhibit A, here's a pic of my actual leg, taken while changing a lightbulb on the family yachtster. When a light burns out on a sailboat, it's invariably the one that's 40 feet up, and wimps don't change them.



Now that my credentials are established, let me get back to the loser roundup. In an ironic twist, the one kid that seems to have his head screwed on straight is the son of Robert Blake. Imagine that. The rest however, need a severe beating. The one most in need of having the stupid smacked off his face is Fabio, described as the 'son of an Ecuadorian businessman'. If I was this kid's father I'd force him to change his last name, then disown him. He's that big of a pussy. You'd think that with a name like that he'd have been on the receiving end of a fair number of bitch-slappings by now and his attitude would have improved, but apparently not.
Of course this is a co-ed adventure. Most of the girls are easy on the eyes, but their attitudes are as horrendous as the guys'. As I said, most aren't hard to look at but one is a real toad. She must have sneaked in when no one was looking. She wears these sun glasses that make her look like a giant bug. I suppose that in and around the fancy establishments of Bel Air, those glasses are a necessity. But here on Planet Earth they are nothing short of ridiculous. If I saw her on the street I'd probably try and step on her. She's the worst of the female lot on the show, the bitchiest whiner.

I think that the ideal episode of this show would have the cute cowgirl push the whiner chick's face into a pile of cow shit. Then finish off by giving Fabio a couple black eyes, or maybe just slap him around till he cried. I'd pay money to see that.

If Beverly Hills is full of people like this there's no way I could live there. Not that I'd ever be able to afford it, but even if I could I'd steer clear.

Now I've Seen Everything

Check out the comment under the previous post. Friggin spam, in a comment. If people would use their talent and inventiveness for good instead of evil, the world would be a much better place.

Killing Time

Well... Here you are again, killing time when you're supposed to be working. Wasting company resources that should be used to enrich people other than you. But I can't say I blame you, I'm doing the same thing.

Want to waste some time and have fun doing it? I just stumbled across this Comic Strip Generator. It's pretty cool, and some of the comics people have created are pissers. Of course, you have to wade through a lot of crap to find a nugget, but that's the same all over.

Here's one I created.

and here's a few I thought were good: 1 2 3 4

Enjoy

Going to the Dogs

So where was I? Oh yeah... Dogs.

I like dogs as much as the next guy. I think they make great pets and I've had a few over the course of my life and I enjoyed their company immensely. Right now I don't have one because I'm trying to keep my life as simple as possible. I like to disappear for the weekend, take long weekend trips, go on vacation now and then, etc. I never was and never will be one of those people that feels they need to bring their pet everywhere they go, and I don't want to be running to and from a kennel to drop off and pick up a dog. Nor do I want to have to run home to let the dog out when I'm out having fun. Ergo, no high-maintenance pets. Been there, done that. I'll take a rain check for the time being.
As much as I like dogs, I absolutely detest yours. Let's face it - your dog sucks. It sheds, it barks incessantly, and it shits on my lawn.
In my warped view of the world there are four types of dog owners:

1. Normal dog owners. These are people that take good care of their dogs, make their lives comfortable, don't mistreat them, and see to it that their dogs aren't a nuisance to anyone else. They realize a dog is an animal and neither hold that against them nor put them on a pedestal. I was one of these. There may be 3 or 4 others in the world but I wouldn't count on it.
2. People that think dogs are small furry people. You know the types: The guy who can't go anywhere without his dog (complete with the requisite bandanna around its neck, of course); and the woman who dresses her poodle up like Paris Hilton and feeds it filet mignon. These are the kind of people that show up with their dog when they're invited to a party, and spend more time talking to the dog than anyone else.
3. People that have dogs that they just don't give a shit about. These are the kind of people that keep a dog tied up in the backyard on a 4 foot chain, 24 hours a day, 365 days a year. Or just as bad, just let them run around loose all the time. Generally one dog isn't enough to satisfy this type, they need a whole pack. The higher in quantity and larger in size, the better. They are usually low class, low IQ numbskulls, and probably litter too.
   
4. People that are an amalgam and display traits of all 3 above.
   

Both neighbors on either side of me have dogs. Naturally.
The dog on the left is loose all the time, I frequently find it sleeping in my front yard. I don't mind it too much since it shits elsewhere and doesn't make any racket. Although one time it decided it didn't like moles and dug up most of my back yard. I would've liked to take a shovel to its head after that episode. It is however, a chow. That and temperatures regularly over 90 are a bad combination. Throw in a good number of kids running around playing and you have a disaster waiting to happen. They're a young couple and this is probably their first house so they don't know any better. Or on the other hand they could be incurable dumbasses, it could go either way. Once their dog bites someone and they lose everything in a lawsuit they'll figure it out.

The dog on the right shits in my yard every day. Well, it used to till I set them straight. No exaggeration, every freaking day this mutt would shit in my front yard, and it's a big one too. This dog is nothing but a shit factory. It's old, feeble, and can barely walk, but it made it over here every day. These people are weird. They have a big fenced in yard but they don't let the dog in the yard, probably because they don't want its shit everywhere. What they do is either let it out the front door to crap in my yard or confine it on their deck, which is covered in shit. A nice big deck they could enjoy, but it's covered in dog shit. Dog lovers, go figure.
One day me and the wife were going for a ride on the Harley. I opened the garage door and there's the dog, taking a dump in my yard, as usual. I stormed out of the garage to chase the dog off, glance next door on my way and the whole fucking family was standing in their front yard watching their dog crap in my yard. What a bunch of jackasses. Naturally, I let them have it with both barrels, cuz that's what I do. I don't calmly explain how they could be better neighbors when they first do something inconsiderate, I do a slow burn as the annoying habit continues day after day. Then I eventually snap and come roaring in like a force 5 hurricane, leveling everything and everyone in my path. But that's the method I prefer, it keeps chit-chat to a minimum and gets the job done. At any rate, I don't find dog shit in my yard anymore.

Two doors down is the world-champion marathon barker. A very excitable and annoying terrier of some sort. One night, while I was asleep but my wife was kept awake by the yapping, she decided to call the cops on the schmuck / pet lover. She told me about it in the morning when I woke up. Unfortunately, as I explained to her, that schmuck is a cop. She says "Don't worry, they won't say who complained." Yeah right, and Karl Rove isn't vindictive. He probably didn't even have to ask before he was told who called. I don't think I've heard the last of that one yet.

So to summarize: If you have a dog take good care of it. It's your dog so keep it on your property. Clean up after it. Don't treat it better than a normal person would treat their children. Unless you're going to a park or to the vet , leave Fido at home. Don't foist your shedding, smelly, drooling, ill-mannered little darling on other people.
Follow these simple rules and others will appreciate your pet as much as you do.

Next time, more 'Must see PC': Neighbors who hate their neighbors, and the neighbors who hate them back. Be sure to tune in.

You Might Be A Redneck If...

I know there are big problems in the world, and big problems right here at home. But you know what really pisses me off and detracts from the quality of my life? Litter. Yes, you heard that right: Litter.
What exactly goes through someone's head that makes them think it's perfectly acceptable to just throw their shit out their fucking car windows? Are they really that lazy that they can't take 3 extra steps the next time they get out of their cars to put their trash in the proper place? I spent a day in Denver last week and I don't think I saw one spec of litter along a road. Come home to scenic Charlotte, NC and litter is everywhere. What a fucking shit hole, it's like driving through a landfill. Am I the only one that notices this crap? I wonder if a litter law has ever been enforced around here. The cops are so preoccupied with their "Click it or Ticket" bullshit, along with their speed traps and roadblocks that I'm convinced you could drive a box truck down the highway, pushing a refrigerator out the back every half mile and they wouldn't care. They must not care or there wouldn't be shit along the roads everywhere you look. They may be the ones littering for all I know. Tell you what fellas, take a tip from the book "The Tipping Point" and enforce the seemingly less important laws and people will think twice about breaking the more serious laws.

People that litter are complete rock-bottom degenerate inbred hicks. That's just my humble opinion, but I'm quite sure I'm right. I suspect that they're the kind of people you see on the news from time to time, living in squalor, up to their knees in shit and carcasses because they don't realize you're not supposed to have more dogs and cats than the local Humane Society. Toothless, brainless, inconsiderate jackasses. Yes, you're right, I do dislike the vast majority of people, but there's a special place on my shit list for people that think others should pick up after them in public. If you are a participant in this local pastime, fuck you, eat shit and die. Or just die, that works too. But hurry up and do it.

I tried taking some pics of the evidence when I went out to grab a bite earlier, but driving with one hand and taking pictures with the other didn't work out so well. You'll have to take my word for it, this town's a dump.

Next up: People whose fucking dogs bark all night and the neighbors who hate them.
Stay tuned.

Friday Afternoon

It's 2:30 on a Friday afternoon and the weekend is so close I can smell its musty, exotic aroma. It's calling to me but it's just out of reach.
I know from past experience that I'm 2 1/2 hours away from a magnitude 8.2 emergency on the imaginary emergency scale. I don't understand why, but there are a good number of people that seem to save up crap all week long so that they can spring it on me between 4:45 and 5:00 on a Friday afternoon. It never fails.
No sense worrying about things you can't change, that's how people lose their marbles or get ulcers.

Anyway, I got nothing. I'm not pissed about anything in particular and nothing exciting or noteworthy's happened in the last couple days. However, the word 'exotic' reminded me of a funny story that I'd be happy to regale you with, since you asked nicely.

Way back when... shit... probably around 1987 I was in Thailand on vacation. It was a hell of an adventurous place to go, but I had a guide. My brother, who is in the jewelry business had been going there for years to buy rubies. He went often enough to learn the language, so we had no problem with getting around. For transportation we rented a couple small motorcycles.
On one of my nightly trips where I was running around up to no good, I had occasion to wait for someone on the street outside their house. I remember it like it was yesterday. I was in a neighborhood of single family homes. There was a full moon, a breeze was blowing and palm trees were swaying. The exotic sounds and smells were spectacular, it was almost overwhelming. I was so far away from home geographically, culturally, and mentally that it was like being on a different planet.
Then I heard a voice, like an angel singing. My god that girl sang more beautifully than anyone I'd heard before or since. I couldn't understand a word of what she sang, but it didn't matter. I looked around and saw that she's in a room on the 2nd story of the house next door, sitting in front of a mirror and brushing her hair. The houses there didn't have glass windows, just shutters that they'd prop up and the rooms would be open to the outside, so I had a front row seat. The lights in her room were subdued, maybe lit by candles but I couldn't tell. What I could tell was that she was about an 11 on a scale of 1 to 10.
This went on for about 10 minutes - The most beautiful girl I'd ever seen or heard, brushing her hair and unknowingly serenading me with what sounded like the kind of music you'd probably hear only in heaven, while surrounded by the other sights, sounds and smells of the tropics.
After 5 minutes I was madly in love, after 10 I thought my head would explode. It was obvious to me that we were meant for each other. I didn't matter that we didn't speak the same language, or that we had completely different backgrounds, or that we didn't have a single thing in common. It didn't matter that her parents would hate me, and mine would probably take exception. This was fate, it was meant to be. There was no other way to explain how I wound up there that night, 12,000 mile from home.

Then the singing stopped. She threw back her gorgeous long hair, got up and walked toward the window. She must see me! She's going to say something! Maybe she feels this sense of kismet too! I was this close to a lifetime of boundless joy, my heart was pounding like a brick in a clothes dryer.
She gets to the window, slowly leans out, puts a finger over one nostril and proceeds to blow a nosefull of snot out the window. Not into a kleenex or anything, just right from nose to air.
Yeah, maybe the cultural differences would be a bit too much to overcome.

Have a great weekend

Airport Fun

You know how to have fun at the airport? Me neither. There is no way to have fun in an airport.
Everyone's so friggin serious. Serious and in a bad mood.
I spent the better part of yesterday at the airport. Five hours in the airport proper, and three and a half hours in the portable sauna they insisted on calling a "jet", sitting on the runway. It was so damn hot in there that the sauna attendant was walking up and down the aisle with a tray of paper towels soaked in ice water, handing them out. A nice thought, I give her an A for effort.
So we're sitting on the runway for 3 hours, and the sauna pilot finally gets clearance to head for Chicago. But now there's a problem: Not enough fuel. So back to the gate we merrily go, at which point an official sounding voice tells us that we'll be given some very important information in 4 minutes. Not 'a couple' minutes as you would expect to be told by someone who's buying themselves just enough time to run like hell, but exactly 4 minutes.
A half hour later we're told the flight crew has reached the FAA regulated maximum amount of time they're allowed to spend on duty, and a new crew will have to be found. Some folks are grumbling about this, saying we're tired but we're up for the challenge of sitting in a seat for a couple more hours, so they damn well should be too. I'm thinking that personally, I prefer a well-rested and alert flight crew. It's now 10:30 PM and I was supposed to land in Chicago 4 hours ago. At this point I'm ready to throw in the paper towel and go home, but they're still not letting us out of the sauna. A couple people are begging for food, threatening to go into diabetic comas. The situation is deteriorating rapidly.
That's when the announcement is made that this flight is canceled, everyone out.
There's one more flight to Chicago, at 11:30, but they're going to assign seats to old folks and women traveling with children first. After standing in line for a half hour, the gate attendant had assisted exactly one person, and was working on the second. There were about 40 people in line in front of me. At that rate I'd still be there at noon today so I cut my losses and headed home.
When I got there my wife wanted to know what I was doing walking around in public with shredded paper towel all over my face. Great.

Next week: Denver. I can hardly wait.

Charitable Donations

I don't know what it is with charities these days, but I get hounded regularly for donations. In the mail, at my front door, when walking into a grocery store, etc, etc. It never ends.
I know many of these are worthy causes, but in a lot of cases, I just don't give a shit about them. Not enough to give them my money at any rate. One thing I've learned (it happens on occasion, despite my best efforts to avoid it) is NEVER donate to anything unless it can be done annonymously. If they can track you down, they will pester you till your dying day. If you send a charity a check for $50, I guarantee that over the course of the next 12 months they will spend $75 on stamps mailing you additional solicitations for more money. No wonder they need money, they're idiots. I say take the money and run, move on, hound someone else. You've already scored here, it's unlikely to happen again. I sent you money, I feel good about it. If I send more, I'm going to fell like an idiot and that's not going to happen.

So, with the poor spending habits of many charities in mind, and with the knowledge that I also can be a worthy cause, I'm announcing that I will donate unlimited amounts of money to any worthy and legal cause. For a small handling fee not to exceed 200% of the donation.

For $100, I will donate $50 to your cause.
For $1000, I will donate $500.
There's no limit to my generosity. The deeper you dig the more you'll get in return.

Just send me a bank or cashier's check, drawn on a US bank, and you'll receive a generous donation within a week. Nigerian scam artists need not apply.

If this pans out, drinks are on me.

Why Didn't I Think of That?

Damn. It's happened again. Someone stole my idea.
Well, not really. I didn't actually have this particular idea... yet. But given enough time and liquor I surely would have had it eventually, considering my shitty attitude. So I guess it wouldn't be completely innacurate to say it was pre-emptively stolen.

Have you ever seen the products at Despair, Inc ? I have no affiliation with these imaginative folks, other than getting a huge kick out of their products. If you work in, have ever worked in, or probably just walked through the office of a large corporation, you'll get a kick out of them too. What they make are spoofs of those incredibly condescending motivational posters you see hanging on the wall of just about every company in the US. You know, like the one titled 'Teamwork' with the picture of the rowing team. Give me a break.

Here's a sample of their work:


Yes I know, it's too small (If I had a buck for every time I heard that...). Thanks again Image Shack. Under the title it says "If a pretty poster and a cute saying are all it takes to motivate you, you probably have a very easy job. The kind robots will be doing soon"

To see more of their stuff, click on this link Despair, Inc then check out the links under 'Individual Designs'. If you replaced the one hanging in the office with one of these, I wonder how long it would take the boss to notice. Have fun.

By the way, anyone have any suggestions on image hosting that doesn't require loading any additional software on my machine? Image Shack leaves a lot to be desired.

Smoke em if you got em.

Flying

Man, I am so damn lazy. No post for a week and a half. Maybe not so much lazy as busy. Yeah, that's it, I've been busy. I forget exactly why, but it's been taking up a lot of time. Work, I think - I've been swamped with trying to fix the imaginary problems that people seem to tirelessly manufacture around here. It's like a slow news day at the National Enquirer: When things get quiet people make up problems the way they make up news. And they're so creative about it. The other day it was a tax problem. WTF do I know about tax law? I have an engineering degree, and it's just an associate degree at that. Never had an accounting class, never even balanced a checkbook, and these people think I have some magical insight into something as cryptic as corporate tax laws. Schmucks.

Last Wednesday I had to go up to MA, to take a customer out for a round of golf. Not a bad gig. Getting there was a breeze. Managed to use an upgrade to weasel into first class, had a few cocktails, plenty of legroom, and a minimum of riff raff. I arrived well-rested and pleasantly buzzed. Take the courtesy bus to Hertz and I see my name over one of their 'prestige collection' cars - A Mustang GT. A cramped little thing, but this trip's turning out pretty good so far. Managed to get out of Boston and out to Westborough without making any wrong turns. Got up Thursday, played golf poorly but had a fun and productive time. Drove on back to the airport afterwards, and that's where the slide into the black hole of travel hell begins.

I had a 7:00 flight back to Charlotte but it was only 4:00. I managed to get on an earlier flight without being skewered for the $100 they like to charge for a minor change. That's usually a good sign, but there were no first class seats left, so no upgrade. I'm not superstitious but one thing I've learned is that when it comes to business travel, there is no such thing as one small problem. There is a limitless number of problems in ever-increasing size and complexity, and it all starts with the first seemingly small glitch. That glitch was a 15 minute delay.

First comes the 15 minute delay, then the 30 minute delay, then the need to vacate the gate. So we have to get on the plane and sit on the runway for an hour. Of course when I was in first class the day before, with the opportunity to swill free liquor, there were no delays, everything went like clockwork. Now I'm jammed into a seat that's too small for an infant, it's hot as hell, and someone in the vicinity is a complete stranger to soap and water. Every seat has someone in it. Luckily the guy next to me is the size of a leprechaun, so that was one bright spot.

The last guy to get on the plane looked like Fat Bastard, except he was a bit shorter and a whole lot fatter. I felt like hugging my leprechaun for taking up the seat next to me. Fat Bastard was a dick to boot, starting shit with the flight attendant because someone was in his seat. I don't know how much traveling you do, but giving a flight attendant a hard time is a terribly bad idea. They have a considerable amount of authority and can seriously fuck you up. I have a friend whose wife is a flight attendant, so he knows the rules. He spent last Thanksgiving in a cell at O'Hare being 'interviewed' by the FBI. His crime was to be seated next to a guy that gave the flight attendant a ration of shit. He didn't know that guy, but when they got off the plane the cops dragged off everyone in the row and locked em up. So the moral of the story is that when it comes to flight attendants, smile, nod, say please and thank you, and leave it at that. Everyone on the plane, including the flight attendants, is miserable and wants to be somewhere else, not just you.

Getting back to the story, Fat Bastard is making sure everyone knows just how inconvenienced he has been this evening. After his tantrum the flight attendant more or less tells him to either sit down in an empty seat and shut up, or get escorted off the plane. He follows her advice (after requesting a seat belt extender) and the remainder of the flight is uneventful, except for the fact that my earlier flight ends up leaving 30 minutes after my originally scheduled later flight. But they can't control the weather so it is what it is.

Uneventful until we land and pull up to the gate. I'm standing in the aisle with one small bag, right behind Fat Bastard, who's carrying all his earthly posessions, in addition to a backpack. Lining up in the aisle to get off a plane is the apex of the air travel cattle car experience. And this fat jerkoff puts his backpack on. There isn't room to inhale and this jackass feels the need to wear a backpack. Unbelievable.

Then he starts manuvering for room, which involves backing up and smashing me and everyone behind me. He found my limit. "Excuse me, is it really necessary for you to wear a backpack in a crowded plane and jam it into everyone behind you?" He says "Oh, I guess I just had to put this on, didn't I?" I'm wondering what the fuck does that mean? So I said "No, I don't think you did you inconsiderate jackass" I thought it was gonna be go time, which would have been costly in terms of time and the cost of legal representation. Then everyone within earshot starts calling the guy a jerkoff and an asshole, so I wasn't just imagining his asshole-ness. He thought better of continuing the conversation and turned around and stopped pushing. The rest of the evening proceeded without incident.

Which brings me to My Air Travel Tips for the Unwashed Masses:

1. Travel light. Don't try to carry your cello on the plane, there isn't room for it. When you check in, they will gladly take your luggage and give it back to you when you get where you're going. Unless you have a very small overnight bag, check your luggage. Don't be a dick.
2. Get to your seat, sit down, shut up, and keep your arm off my armrest. Unless you are a hot babe, don't talk to me.
3. Wear long pants, again, unless you are a hot babe. I don't care if you're on your way to a malaria-infested equatorial swamp, I don't want your hairy leg touching me. You're gross and it gives me the creeps.
   
4. Don't carry things on your shoulder when you walk down the aisle. You're hitting everyone you pass in the head with your fucking bag, you idiot.
5. Don't crowd the boarding area if they haven't called your row. It's not your turn until they call you. Seems simple, but apparently difficult for many to comprehend. If they haven't called you, get the fuck out of the way. If all goes as planned, the entire plane will arrive at the destination at the same time. You aren't going to get there any sooner because you got on before your row was called.
6. Never, ever, under any fucking circumstance whatsoever should you recline your seat. Ever. I don't know why seats even recline on anything shorter than a trans-oceanic flight. It's already as claustrophobic as hell, don't make it worse. I'm at the point where I'm going to start carrying a garrotte to choke the living shit out of the inconsiderate fucks that recline their seats. If I look down and see your head in my chest I'm going to cough, sneeze, belch and fart until you go away and give me back my painfully small amount of legroom. I don't even have to look down to know you're there since you will have just crushed both my knees. That scream you heard as your seat went back was me. Do us both a favor and sit up straight like your mother taught you.
7. If you're sick, stay the hell home.
   
8. If you're not in a hurry, just walk to your destination, stay away from the airport. Everyone else there except you and your companions is in a big hurry. If you and your slow friends absolutely insist on going to the airport, walk in a line, not a row.
9. When at baggage claim, keep your snot-nosed kids away from the belt. There's no room for them, they wouldn't recognize your bag if it fell on their heads, and they couldn't pick it up if they did. They have no business being there. Move em out, make room for people that have a legimitate reason for being there.
10. If you see me in an airport bar and don't buy me a drink, then the terrorists have won.

If we all make a concerted effort to pull together and follow these 10 simple rules, my trips will be much more tolerable, and may even border on pleasant. I don't think that's too much to ask.

Drink up men, could be your last.