Cutting close to some bones

Heh heh heh ...



The last panel is definitely true ... moreso for some than others.

Ook ook

Be Careful What You Wish For

Boy, who knew there was anyone out there that really cared whether I ever posted again or not?

I'm flattered. To borrow a line from a giggly and slighly drunk actress accepting a statuette, "You like me. You really like me."

You poor sods.

Besides, you people couldn't have picked a worse time to try and rouse me from my stupor. And trust me, Skippy, a stupor created from an amalgalm (I like that word, by the way) of pseudo-ephedrine, alcohol, carne asada, and some intensely delicious and wickedly spicy salsa is one hell of a thing from which to be roused. Yep, no prepositions ending that sentence.

The thing is, I am feeling kind of frisky these days, and it isn't because I have again sampled Vanilla Ice Cream. I fear that will not ever be coming back, although I have recently developed a taste for newer flavors. But that is besides the point. Where was I? Oh yes, frisky.

It's the quadrennial even that keeps me from eating a bullet during the three off years that has my pecker up now. And if the opening was any indication, I am in for a month of orgasmic indulgence.

Germany beat Costa Rica in a wide open match, 4-2, which saw Miroslav Klose finally step on to the stage to live up to some of the hype he had in 98 and 02. He netted 2 goals (same as Wanchope for the Ticos), but the story was more the style of play. Up and down, with not the most elegant defense on either side. My Azzurri take the pitch on Monday, which is both good and bad. Good as in it gives me two more days to work into a frenzy, but bad as I will be at work, and unable to watch it until I get home and hit the play button on the VCR. Yes, that is VCR, not TiVo. I am so 1990's.

My big dilemma is whether to tape the ESPN feed, or the Mexican station. I think I'll opt for the Mexican as it will be far more nostalgic.

Oh, don't worry if none of the above made sense to you. It just means you're a provincial American doofus with about as much grasp of world culture as a concussed bee.

What else? Oh, I've found that I like NOFX. They strike me as very similar to the Offspring in that they are basically just a good old punk band.

Will someone please explain to me why there are still morons out there who believe that our invasion of Iraq was in any way jutified by prevailing events or the incessant beat on the 9/11 drum? A non-sequitor, I know, but it still amazes me. The idiots and boneheads who accept the propaganda behind it just amaze me. Though they do tend to help me understand how something like the NSDAP ever reached power. All I have to say to them is: You're an idiot. Endy story. No arguments. You are an idiot. Sell your nonsense to the tourists, because I'm not as dumb as you are to buy it.

So, are all you bitches happy? I've posted. Get off my tits and let me watch more footy.

Ook ook

I Read Dumb People

It's come to my attention that I've recently been de-listed by a few folks, for reasons which are entirely their own.

Hey, fair fucks to them. I suppose there is a casue for it beyond merely engaging in some sort of juvenile pissing contest, or popularity rankings, but I'm really not 100% sure and I don't really care. Whatever the case may be, it has happened.

My reaction to the whole thing: Oh.

I mean, am I supposed to be upset or insulted by this turn of events? Shall I engage in some sort of vengeance by following suit and removing them (if I have them listed) from my links section? I'll admit to more than a little confusion about the appropriate course of action since blogging is very low on my list of priorities. Right below cleaning excess wax from my ears, and above sweeping behind the refrigerator. So, tell me - what is the proper way to react?

My instinct is to do nothing other ponder the withertos and whyfores. But then again, I really don't care enough to mount anything more than an acknowledgment that at one point someone thought enough of my postings to have a link, but their mind has changed. And I understand that. I really do. I mean, on more than one occasion I've adjusted my link section as well; adding those I find entertaining or thought-provoking while removing those I find insipid, juvenile, self-indulgent or just plain boring. It's not personal, it's just opinion.

I guess blogging really is just another social structure - complete with cliques, ostracizing, alliances, rejection, and the like. And, much like the real world, it seems some folks really do take this far too seriously, and I may fall into that trap as well. Perhaps Snot Rag was right after all, eh?

So, if any of you now feel compelled to delist me, I understand. No hard feelings, etc etc etc. And if you don't see your site in that column on the right of this post, well, it's not you, it's me.

Besides, to paraphrase Groucho, would you really want to belong to a club in which a monkey would want to have you as a member?

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Damn Good Coffee ... and Hot!

Okay, it is pretty self-evident that the true fuel driving modern American corporate life is caffeine.

Screw all that talk of innovation, inspiration, and dedication. You can get all three in spades with enough joe. After your fifth cup in an hour, you’ll be more inspired, dedicated, and innovative than you could ever imagine. Only nitpickers and the types of swine who took jobs as grammar school hall-monitors seriously will care that the fruits of your innovation, dedication, and inspiration are basically useless gibberish.

The golden rule of business has always been throw the shit against the wall and see if it sticks.

Now, I’ve really only been involved in two subdivisions of the corporate ‘verse (yep, I’m a Browncoat): biotech and Internet, so my range of experience is limited. However, I still feel confident enough in the fact that I am smarter than you (much smarter than most of you) to make an engraved-in-stone conclusion. No industry needs caffeine as much as the Internet. Nope, not yours. Nor yours, Skippy.

And the evidence is everywhere. The fact that each desk is populated with at least three well-stained mugs, or that every conference table has so many coffe-stain rings that they look like modern design masterpieces. It is embodied in the pale, yellowish, gaunt zombies that stagger through the hallways, and the three-times-a-week delivery of bulk pre-packaged coffee from a central supplier.

These are folks who embraced the coffee generation sales pitch as if were chisled into tablets and left for some old geezer who refused to ask directions even though he wandered through a desert for 40 years, obstinantly ignoring the constant stream of “Are we there yet?” and “Are you sure we aren’t lost?” questions.

The thing that gets me, however, is the prevalence of these flavored coffees. You know the kind, they are often given clever marketing names hearkening to some exotic or idyllic ideal, such as Hawaiian Hazelnut, Essence of Vanilla, or Smooth Irish Cream. But when push comes to shove, they all have that over-perfumed, sugar-saturated, syrupy taste that strips whatever sense of coffee they once had.

What sort of person drinks these? Coffee is meant to be coffee, not some pseudo-dessert liqueur. If you like your coffee a bit on the sweet side, add that extra teaspoon of sugar. If you like some double-x chromosome flavor (yes, I am calling you a girly-man), then add some of that artificially developed chemical goo. But playing Frankenstein with coffee is just wrong.

You may have a contrary opinion about this. I respect that. But, of course, you are wrong. Accept it, I already have.

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The Age of Fear

So, it’s been a while, eh? I know, you all missed me terribly – at least the two of you who do still occasionally drop by. Thanks for that. Loyalty like yours will be rewarded, but then again it is its own reward, so it doesn’t really mean much.

How can I say something like that? Well, first off, I live in the time of Bush II, where loyalty means compulsory unquestioning obedience and slavish acquiescence to authority. Second, I’ve also worked for several major corporations, where loyalty (at least their loyalty to employees) is essentially a four-letter word.

Yeah, I know a thing or two about loyalty, Scooter. The only loyal thing in life is your dog, and even they can be swayed by a stranger with some particularly aromatic meat.

Mmmm … aromatic meat!

Loyalty, like any other commodity, can be bought and sold – and usually on the cheap. The “what have you done for me lately” school of thought is definitely in swing. Or, maybe rapidly shifting allegiance is due to the fact that people are easily manipulated by slick-talking hucksters who promise that bigger and better is just around the corner. Nah, that can’t be it. If that were the case Prince George wouldn’t be destroying the country with his second term. That slimy bastard won through fear and intimidation. Don’t believe me? Then tell me how many times since the election have we had any announcements of terror alerts changing the color from ochre to mauve.

Yeah, that’s what I thought. The currency of loyalty is fear and horror. You don’t stay at your job because you like it, or because you are being treated so well, you stay because you fear unemployment. If someone came along with an offer paying you 5% more, you’d leave. Andyou idiots voted for Bush because you believed those insipid lies about how the other guy would immediately put us in danger.

Maybe that’s the true legacy of Bush II: bringing us The Age of Fear. Today we compare things on the negative, and go with what or who promises the swiftest, most painless death. The future? Screw the future, we are suffering in the now. How can I worry about how bad it will be tomorrow when I am concerned with surviving today.

No wonder TV is filled with advertisements of pharmaceutical bliss.

Good grief, I need a beer.

Ook ook.

PS: Yeah, I know, this made no sense. So what. Despite the protestations of others who desperately want to believe there is something of substance to blogging, it really is little more than public onanism. So, excuse me for indulging myself.