A friend of mine (who knows who he is) gets paid to promote a slightly-less-evil-than-normal bank. Well, they seem a little less evil to me because they're smaller, and they are paying someone I know personally a salary.

So, they're more of an imp than a full-blown demon or devil. But even so, they have to make money somehow, and that means stickin' it to the consumers somehow. So I suggested they use a hobo being ass raped with his own bindle to personify the bank's fee system.

Unfortunately, I'm not the first person to think of hobos as a marketing tool.



But the bindle as a rape tool is all mine.

I was checking the "referrals" on my Sitemeter to see if I attracted any wingnuts with my Sarah Palin ode, but I did not. Perhaps they are on overload trying to find detractors of their precious spokeswoman, or perhaps they are too busy trying to find a Kenyan birth certificate for Barack Obama somewhere.

However, someone did find my blog while looking for information on some sort of sports scandal involving a man named Thurston, but the second listing was for one of my posts.

With a headline like that, even I had to read it. Or re-read it. I don't remember if I read what I wrote. And I got mad all over again.

$4500 for an orgasm. Now, the middle class has $10 or so to throw away on rental porn for the same purpose. Poor people don't even have that. This asshole (these assholes) have $4500 of discretionary money that no one will even notice is missing.

How can they be expected to have any sort of empathy or understanding for normal people with a life like that? The only thing they're thinking is, "More orgasms, please. I guess this means I'll have to take the gazillion gobs of drug/insurance company lobby money. No health care for you, Everyone Else!"

Of course, if he gets a little social disease from his social encounter, he doesn't mind accepting the "socialized" medicine he receives courtesy of us, the taxpayer.

Also, happy birthday, Nick. You big dumb slug. I thought it appropriate to include your birthday message in a post containing the word "hooker."

Oh, Richard Connaughton, my high school English/literature teacher. You taught us to dissect and analyze the written word, and discuss its subtle meanings, and to wring the last bit hidden or overt wisdom out of every last phrase. So tell me, dear sir: what am I to make of this?

That's Sarah Palin, leaving on a high note. I have read it and listening to it, and parts of it still amaze me.

If she was delivering a "state of Alaska" speech, or trying for re-election, the middle part where she goes on about "I promised...(and how she delivered)" would make sense. I don't know if her claims are true or not, but at least it's composed of logical thought patterns.

Otherwise, I'm reading specious links between the military ... and pretty much everything and anything. Also, unsubstantiated accusations against "the media." (Only some of you; not Fox News, her likely next employer, of course!)

But the most outrageous paragraph, from a truth and logic standpoint, is this one:

"We are here today at a 'changing of the guard'. Now, knowing how much I love this state – some still choose not to hear why I made the decision to chart a new course to advance the state. It should be obvious. It is because I love Alaska this much that I feel it is my duty to avoid the unproductive, typical 'politics-as-usual' lame duck session in one’s last year in office. How does that benefit you? With this decision I will be able to fight even harder for you – for what is right and for the truth. And I have never felt that you need a title to do that. So, as we all move forward together, let us vow to keep championing Alaska and to advocate for responsible development and smaller government and freedom."

Excuse me, madam, but how is your giving incoherent explanation my "choice" not to understand? The last year (and a half) of an elected official's term is not "lame duck" unless he/she is ineligible for reelection. And even so, shouldn't it be your DUTY to do your job to the best of your ability up until the end?

You're basically admitting you planned on abdicating your responsibilities anyways, so you might as well leave. Madam, governors of states should not get "senioritis!"

And as for your assertion that "Governor" is an empty, meaningless title... well, I'll leave that to your fellow governors to dispute. If they can make heads or tails of your "arguments."

In conclusion, I think Sarah Palin would have failed Mr. Connaughton's class. Right before he started weeping and begging for the sweet release of retirement.

From my hinted-at complaints about my parents (and Dilf's mom) visiting us a little more than a week ago, you might think they're the kind of parents who rip their children's self-esteem to shreds or abuse them in some other way.

But that's not the case. My mother is not the type to curl her lip and sneer, "When did YOU ever have any interests?" as I witnessed another, meaner old lady say to her adult daughter after said daughter said she'd always thought of trying out for school plays.

No, my mother is just always churning with anxieties and she wants -- no, NEEDS her children to humor her or she'll wind up in the hospital AGAIN with an ulcer.

Most recent example: while my parents were in town, ÜberYounger tripped and skinned her knee. Lightly. You know when it just barely breaks the skin, in some spots? My mother said, "You better watch so she doesn't get MRSA."

I am thinking of the hundreds of thousands or millions of children who, throughout the world, fall and skin their knees any given day. Wouldn't that be some sort of global pandemic? As I look skeptically at her, she says, "Auntie Diane (oh, the "information" that comes from Auntie Diane) said some man got MRSA from a sidewalk. I think he lived in Minnesota."

Now, I'm not the type to run the opposite direction just to defy my parents. I wash the "wound" with soap and water, put some Neosporin on it and a bandage. But it's something I would do anyways; I'm not worried about ridiculous theories about killer bacteria from urban legends.

A week later, A WEEK LATER, my mother is STILL talking about it. "You have to be careful. You never know what germs could be on a sidewalk."

Just to be sure, and this is where my compulsive need for information joins with my mother's anxiety-fueled mania, I Google "MRSA sidewalk" just to see if there's any truth to my mother and her sister's lunacy. I get this link, not because anyone ever got MRSA from a sidewalk but because someone was having a sidewalk sale the same week this story came out.

And now I AM worried about MRSA.

Dammit.

What drives me crazy about the Birther movement is it's not about a debatable concept or idea or philosophy; it's debating a fact. A fact that has been proven over and over and over again. That suggests to me that no matter what proof is presented, if God himself came down with a stone tablet that read, "United States President Barack Obama was born in Hawaii," they would say, "Even God is in on the conspiracy!"

It reminds me of the time my dad was having an argument with someone, pulled an encyclopedia off the shelf to prove his point, and the person merely said, "THEY'VE even gotten to the encyclopedia people!" Who are "they?" Doesn't matter. Anyone who interferes with the fantasy.

I get bent out of shape about things like this, even though I shouldn't. I don't get bent out of shape when someone disagrees with me, but when something's a FACT, there should be no area of disagreement. And yet...

Some people claim that I am not a Christian. I am a Catholic. Even though there is a big crucifix hanging from the ceiling; even though every day and several times on Sunday, a priest or deacon reads the words of Jesus (as preserved in the Bible) to us; even though we can trace our roots through history to the earliest disciples -- we aren't "Christian."

Now, someone may argue that the message got corrupted along the way in history. They might point out reasons why they think the METHOD of worship is incorrect. I understand.

BUT WE'RE STILL CHRISTIANS. However imperfect you may feel we are, we are still TRYING to follow JESUS. Not some other dude. Not some pantheon of other gods. That is a FACT. Whether or not we're doing it correctly is open to debate. But you can't reject us and treat as as enemies unless you declare us outsiders, now, can you? We have to be "non-Christian" in order for you to reject us and still feel that delicious sense of smug self-satisfaction. And considering that Jesus told you that treating ANYONE as an outsider or an enemy is wrong... well, who's not Christian now?

I am also angry at Cuntzilla today.

Dear Cuntzilla,

If you are a one-car family, and you need the car for a day but your husband, of course, needs it to drive to work -- THEN YOU GET YOUR FAT ASS OUT OF BED IN THE MORNING, AND YOU DRIVE HIM TO WORK!

You do not have him spend the night at his parent's house so that your college-age nephew can drive him to work, because your father-in-law can't do it in the morning because his colon cancer treatments have caused him to spend the morning in the bathroom. And your mother-in-law can't do it, because... well, there's the public safety to consider.

But the point is, NOBODY else but YOU should have to do it. You lazy, inconsiderate, immature cow. A marriage is supposed to be made up of TWO adults.

Anger vented. Spleen resuming normal size.

I'm sorry, I know I should be talking about the CEO of my former employer and his sexual proclivities, but ...

I can't take it anymore.

If someone wants to debate Obama's decisions, his handling of financial affairs, his health-care plan, his political views, his stance toward stem cell use or abortion, his attitude toward gay marriage, anything like that -- go ahead. He's an elected official, all that stuff SHOULD be debated.

But good God, he produced his birth certificate. People have touched it and examined it. It's been made available to the media. Copies have appeared on the internet.

HE'S
A
NATURAL
BORN
CITIZEN!

Unless you think Hawaii's not a state. If Hawaii is a state, part of the UNITED States, then the man is a NATURAL BORN CITIZEN.

Anyone who thinks otherwise has her banana clip on too tight.

Today I will describe the day I lost all hope and ambition. It was the day I started working for Barney. Also known as Grimace.

The organization I (and Barney/Grimace) worked for provided low income housing through community groups, financed by largely corporate investors who received a tax credit for doing so. It was a "low income housing tax credit syndicator." In order to succeed, the organization had to attract and service both investors, and the community groups with viable housing properties.

When I was hired, I was a jointly-held property by the Investor Relations department and a newly-formed Research and Development sub-department. I distinguished myself with my cleverness, ingenuity, and strokes of brilliance that managed to overshadow my perpetually messy desk and clownish attitude.

Unfortunately, one of the ways I distinguished myself was by uncovering information that put a glaring spotlight on the company's weak point: we were not attracting community groups. They were disgruntled. We had a bad reputation with them.

Because I was young and stupid, I viewed my report as a triumph. I failed to see the political ramifications, which became all too clear when I was reassigned as the marketing person TO the community groups... under the department responsible for the mismanagement of the problem in the first place.

They were not grateful to me for pointing out how they could improve.

So, I get placed under the auspices of one large, slow-moving. slow-witted purple dinosaur with a grudge against me. I had heard complaints about this woman for years. Despite being a Vice President, she spent far less time Vice Presidenting, and far more time lurking in the shadows, reporting on who was 5 or 10 minutes late. She always wore purple. in fact, replace pink for purple, and you pretty much have this lady. Only add about 75 pounds.

For my initial meeting with her, I had put together a marketing plan for how to improve relations with these groups. I enthusiastically went through my bullet points, put succinctly into pre-printed notes for her convenience. She sat through it all without comment.

When I had finished, she looked at me and sneered, "That's all well and good, but what I really need you to do is file."

Thus was I introduced to the concept of office politics. It didn't matter anymore how brilliant I was, or what great ideas I had. In fact, those had become negatives for me since they were seen as threatening instead of helpful.

I was relegated to mundane tasks and inconsequential activities. Previously, my bosses had not given me things like their expense reports or their busy work, because my mind was better employed elsewhere. Not so under the purple nightmare.

Both she and I found out, nearly simultaneously, that American Express turns off your card if you don't pay them in three months.

I was brilliant in some ways, but not at filling out expense reports and collecting greasy receipts. I swear I didn't do it on purpose at the time, but I can't say I feel bad about it now, either.

As I made Dilf's lunch this morning, lovingly drawing a depiction of a stubbly-faced underworld figure on it and writing, "You touch this bag, and Fat Tony breaks your face" on it, I was reminded of my days in the working world.

I wonder if I shall ever see those days again. It seems the working world is acting like a pissy ex-boyfriend right now, feeling all hurt and petulant just because I broke up with it about 10 years ago. Listen, baby, wasn't it good for you before? It could be that way again... wait, maybe it wasn't so good. For either of us.

The truth is, I wasn't the best employee. Scratch that. Sometimes, I WAS the best employee. If I respected my manager, and was given tasks toward an objective I believed in, I was phenomenal.

But sometimes, I bucked against authority. I know that shocks and amazes you.

This week, I will regale you with tales from the workplace. My former workplaces. And why I came to get stomach cramps just thinking about re-joining the fetid cesspool of the working world. I will have to change names to protect the not-so-innocent, but those former colleagues of mine who read this blog will know of whom I speak.

For instance, the whole lunch thing made me think of the time someone was stealing lunches from the fridge in the break room. We all assumed it was probably one of the high school interns who forgot to bring lunch, and who maybe thought the box of frozen pizza was community property. Instead, it turned out to be one of the most highly-compensated attorneys on staff who just was too lazy to see to his own lunch.

He was stealing from a lowly accounting clerk, who didn't earn enough money to rent her own apartment. And trust me, this was a non-profit organization, so I'm not exaggerating.

Don't worry; the stories will not be as mundane as lunch-stealing. There will be sex and violence later.

I don't have much time to myself these days, with the guests and all. So I'm recycling a post and a related video:

Greetings, humans.

I am communicating here, even though I have my own blog, because I live to serve my mistress, and to a lesser extent, my master. She doesn't feel like writing.

I don't understand what is wrong with her. She is nervous and on edge, yet I don't know why. The giant cat creature seems to have left the area, so she is not being hunted. I know that had me nervous and on edge.

It has something to do with the old people who are here. And the small black rectangle that makes strange screeching noises that she talks into sometimes.

I don't know why the old woman upsets her so. I like her. She puts bits of meat in my bowl after most meals. And she talks nicely to me, even though she doesn't bend down to stroke my silky ears, and she doesn't like it when I kiss her.

I hope my mistress feels better soon. I don't like it when she's not happy.

I was supposed to have surgery last Thursday. That's why I returned to Chicago. Instead, the Battlestar Galactogram revealed I have more problems. For the extent of those problems, I had to have an MRI. I am now prepared to be one of those clowns they shoot out of a cannon at the circus, having been shoved into a tube and exposed to loud, bone-rattling noises.

Even better, the surgeon won't be back to read the MRI results until tomorrow (I have a magical, mystifying breast, according to medical science. I came back to Texas with no surgery, no answers, and my parents for a week-long stay), so for now I am theorizing that Keebler Elves have taken up residence in my left breast. Hey, can YOU prove me wrong? I thought so.

And the Keebler Elves have been trying to find a new place to live every since this started happening:


Keebler Elf Robbed by Squirrels - Funny video clips are a click away

Case closed. I have elves.

Hey, guys, guess what? My parents are here, staying with us, in our house! You know who else is here? My mother-in-law! Isn't that the greatest?

Yep, it doesn't get any better than this.

Dr. Monkey asked me to post this, and I have some comments to go along with it.



You may be dismissing these antics as those of some drunken hillbillies. But the people at the picnic knew better (which is why they didn't respond) because they knew their history.

Coal mining companies hired these goons to try to incite the picnic-goers to violence. Mr. Floppyboobs pulled out every goad in his arsenal, including threatening women and children.

Now, I can understand (while disagreeing with) a person who feels the mining company is the only paying employer in the area, and thus the only industry around should be supported lest they all wind up utterly impoverished and without any sort of income at all. But that point was not raised in a polite debate. These weren't caring fellow citizens with an alternate point of view.

But why does this make me think of something good about America? You would think it would cause the opposite reaction.

But the whole coal mining issue makes me think of a story I read in the biography of Mother Jones. The coal miners were on strike, because, really, when have they not been treated like shit? This time, the mining company thought they had them, for sure, because they owned the "company store," the only place for miles around to buy any sort of supplies. They wouldn't sell anything to the striking miners even if they had any money. They felt they could starve them out.

Except there were farmers living nearby. And those farmers brought the miners and their starving families fresh produce from their fields, and fresh milk from their cows and goats, and fresh eggs from their chickens.

The mining companies actually filed suit against these farmers, and sought the government's help in forcing the farmers to stop feeding the miners, as it interfered with their negotiations. But the government felt uncomfortable telling farmers what they could or couldn't do with their own property, and wouldn't intervene.

So, what I love about America? When we stick together and do the right thing. How many more people would have died after Hurricane Katrina, if people hadn't loaded up their very own trucks with bottled water and supplies and delivered them themselves? Things like that.

I'm not saying it's a uniquely American thing, and God knows we can do a better job of it. But sometimes we do the right thing.

Another thing I like about this country is people like Dennis:



Everybody's a "Dennis" on one subject or another. Other countries are amazed at how high our murder rate is, I'm amazed it's not even higher. Name even the most minute, the most mundane, the most meaningless fact or idea or event you can think of, and some American, somewhere will be passionate about it.

And Dennis is passionate about something important, there. So props to him.

Annoying? Hell, yeah. I'm not saying I'm exactly PROUD of every Dennis out there, or that I AGREE with every Dennis out there, but I'm glad Dennises of every stripe are out there, blathering on with intensity, about the things that are important to them.

And I'm glad they scream when someone tries to grab them.

If you voice any kind of complaint about what politicians are doing, or how fellow Americans are acting, you hear the tired old comments like, "You hate America!" or "Go live in Russia (or Iraq or wherever the enemy du jour lives)!" or "Stop talking while I stuff my Freedom Fries into my overfed gullet and listen to Toby Keith while wearing my poorly-made Walmart overalls!"

While I am full of opinions as to how things can be improved, I am also proud of a lot of things, and of course I think about those things this time of year. I am going to dedicate a week to those things.

First, here's what struck me this weekend. We had our big patriotic holiday on Saturday, and we didn't see anything like this:



Even George Bush II didn't parade heavy artillery down the street. When our military marches in celebratory parades, it is more likely than not they're carrying tubas and clarinets and drums, not displaying their awesome killing abilities. I'm very proud of that.

I'm sure other countries will be quick to point out the many ways we DO pull out our military swagger and covertly or overtly threaten people. Fine. But when it comes to civic celebrations, and what makes us clap as we line up our city streets to watch a parade, it isn't a big missile or a tank. (Well, I have seen historical pieces in parades.)

So, yes: there are some areas we need to improve. But we could be a lot worse. In my family, that's a compliment, people.

The one "The Man" doesn't want you to see:



So now you know.

After watching this video:



I finally understand Cynthia Davis. Despite owning a Christian bookstore and such, she's afraid of acting too Christian. I mean, just because she sells the Bible doesn't mean she's got to do what it says, right?

Feed the hungry? Judge not? Show mercy? That's the kind of stuff that loses an election for someone like her. It's all so clear now.

Dilf and I were watching a TV show last night for the hour or so between when the girlies go to bed and The Daily Show starts. The hero did some heroic things, but part of his "roguish charm" was that he bedded a different nameless barbie-doll looking woman just about every night.

Other people might get into a moral discussion about that, but I'd like to say I don't see what's so "heroic" there -- from a sexual standpoint.

That guy doesn't have to think up or try anything new. A guy in a long-term, committed relationship has to keep it fresh. What does this jerk have to do? Nothing. He doesn't have to learn anything. He doesn't have to be creative or thoughtful. Why is that heroic? Where's the effort? The skill? The inventiveness?

And he just leaves in the morning? He doesn't have to help her figure out the bills, or mow the lawn, or even unload the dishwasher. He is lazy.

And he doesn't have to put his heart on the line, or invest himself in any way. Where's the bravery?

The guy who makes a commitment and sticks to it is the heroic one, not this clod. I want to know why time and time again this type is considered heroic?

This morning, I turned to CNN.com to see what celebrity died today, and instead I read this. You would think after my above diatribe that I'd be waving pompons and yelling, "Go team marriage!"

I understand her sentiments, I do. But whenever people want to control what other people can and cannot do, I think they're barking up the wrong tree. Here's what I propose: instead of opposing something like easy divorce, how about supporting families? Instead of making it harder to divorce, why not make it easier to stay together?

I have some ideas about how to do that, but this post is too long as it is.

Try not to miss me too much.