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Archive for February, 2003

 
|| February 6, 2003 || 11:03 pm || Comments (3) ||

If you’re one of those lucky fucks that likes your job, KUDOS! and this entry is more than likely not for you.

Entrebat, 6 February
(dood,fixyourarchivesIwantedtolinkthepostsindividually):
My other blog was simply a place for my feelings behind that mantle of who I was, and who I wanted to be. It was a place I thought I could let go and be free to say and feel whatever I wanted to say or feel. It was a place unfettered by reality. It was a place to let myself just go off; at least until my boss found out about the things I was saying (may she inherit a most heinous case of herpes).

Entrebat, 5 February:
My last post at my former site indicated that my blog was found by my employers former employers. I was fired that day and have been taking some time to decompress from the toil of the Corporation (Fzuk Off King Stan!) and to find new employment.

Most people that have read me for a while know that I don’t talk about my employment much, if at all, on this blog. Most people that know me know that my ‘reallyforreal’ job is not the only one I have; I do things of a creative nature (“Nuts and berries! Nuts and berries!”) that help along my income and give me satisfaction from the whole artsy-fartsy standpoint. I’m truly one of those people that feels “If I’m not creating, then I am dying.”

My choice to not speak much regarding my job is not really even a concious one, but it is a choice, nonetheless. If I don’t speak about my job, my employer, in theory, has no basis to fire me with regard to this blog. If I don’t speak about my job, it narrows the possibility (however marginal) that some nutjob fuckpuddle will show up there, grinning all goofy and sideways, drooling and lisping, wanting to shake my hand or look at my breasts (or look at my hand and shake my breasts; to each his own). My goatloving pal and legal counsel, Delmer Skeets McGee, occasionally shakes his finger at me over the openness with which I display my life, most especially in regards to my children. He worries that I will inflame someone with such fury or lust that my children will become targets. He offers up his opinion unsolicited and unapologetically, which is the mark of a true friend.

I remind him that I have a small arsenal and a bad attitude, neither of which I’m hesitant to employ if need be. Hear THAT, Mister or Mizrus Uninvited Drooly-Lispy-Goofysidewaysgrinning Nutjob Fuckpuddle? Buckshot, it’s what’s for dinner. If you’re uninvited. And you freak me out suitably.

Anyhow, I’ve read what’s over at Behind the Mantle in the past, and while the author does rail or bitch about his job in several of the posts, he never mentions the company by name, never pinpoints it geographically, never names co-workers.

What then, is the harm?

He’s not the first to be fired from his job based on voicing opinions or thoughts about the level of suckitude at his job; recall Doocedotcom, whose situation was very similar. Someone, again, who did not mention names, but who did call names and was fired for it, who was told quite unequivocally, “Your words displease us. Begone, foul creature!”

Really now…how many people put on the yoke each day and grind away, seething under it all? How many people have jobs they loathe but perform to standard or beyond so that they can pay the bills and be the good ole productive citizens that mommy and daddy raised them to be? Why are those people not allowed to express their displeasure as long as

ay) they’re not doing it on company time and
bee) they don’t utter the company’s name or directive?

Don’t give me any of that ‘biting the hand that feeds you’ horseshit. It’s a plus to like the work you do, to like your co-workers, to be able to get behind your company. The bare necessities, however, are that you do the job that you are assigned to do and you do it with a proficiency that makes it, to the company, worth signing your paycheck. Fuck, I don’t always enjoy doing the dishes, but I like to have clean plates to eat off of, so I do what I gotta do. That frame it up for you in a nice, understandable manner?

Likewise, don’t give me that ‘if they’re so blame unhappy then they should find another job’ horseshit. In many cases, those cases involving mortgages and braces and that pesky little thing called eating, finding another job is just not feasible and/or practical. What is practical is staying where you’ve got the 401K and the vacation time and the sick leave and the seniority vested. Maybe someday you’ll be lucky enough to retire with the body and spirit intact enough to sit on a beach somewhere, sipping Cerveza and flipping the bird large and proud in the direction of corporate headquarters if you are so inclined. The American Dream, baby.

So back to my original point, because I did really have one. That point is, “FUCK the oversensitive ninny employer who can’t get behind the concept of freedom of speech and FUCK the simpering bastard company that can’t abide free will and FUCK the corporations who squash the livelihoods of the people that DARE exercise both of the aforementioned.”

And that, to coin a phrase, will be all for now.

 
|| February 6, 2003 || 1:14 am || Comments (5) ||

I was trying to find the perfect gift for the necrophiliac clown porn lover’s birthday, but I couldn’t “dig up” anything.

Ah well, Happy Birthday, melly (you tart). I tried to mail you some vino but the sots at the post office drank it all before I could get the box taped snugly. Those fuckers.

Greedy. Just GREEEEEDDYYYY.

 
|| February 6, 2003 || 1:11 am || Comments (4) ||

I need some trackback pingy magic, because I find this idea quite nifty.

Shut up, Dave, I know I’m a fucking techno’tard.

 
|| February 5, 2003 || 7:24 pm || Comments (5) ||

I dint ween no steenkeen lottarhee.

Still, I wonder how anyone can question the existence of God when I found the shoe sale that I lucked upon today. I was, in all actuality, prepared to zoom in, plink down forty bucks for new softball cleats for Scout –maybe some socks, as well– and zoom on out. As it turns out, we spent nearly two hours in that place trying on shoes, all because the lady behind the counter chirped merrily, “Hi girls! Everything in the store is fifty percent off today!”

The store is a clearance store for an entire chain, so everything is name-brand and marked down healthily anyway. YAY! YAY FOR CLEARANCE STORES HAVING SALES!

I got a pair of buttery squared-toed leather boots for seventeen bucks (regular price, $105), Sam’s football cleats for the fall rang in at fifteen dollars (formerly $75), lo-quarter leather Cons (gooooo, OneStars!!!) for me were ten bucks, and Scout’s Converse slides were seven dollars. Sandals! Little straw sandals with little dangly cherries! For two dollars (so we both got a pair)! Shiny patent leather wingtips with soles as thick as my head for fifteen!

*contented sigh* I get to go back again tomorrow, so I can take Sam along. Unfortunately for poor Mathias, all the shoes in his size were quite hideous.

But for me, those blood red pumps are on the agenda. And those maroon satin tap shoes. Yee!

 
|| February 2, 2003 || 2:37 am || Comments (7) ||

Wouldn’t it fall under the heading of “Most Excellent” if those deplorable fucks who were already selling shuttle debris on eBay got some of the contaminated bits and died a horrible, agonizing death within forty-eight hours (the predicted time of expiration after contact with said materials)??

I, for one, think that would be entirely awesome. What the fuck are these people thinking?? Are their bank accounts so paltry that they must capitalize on the suffering of others?

Same goes for all the silly fucks that were calling various news shows throughout the day to give their firsthand, eyewitness accounts: “Uh, yayuh, Ah seen more’n one smoke trayull inna skiiiiigh.”

I mean, fuuuuck me.

 
|| February 2, 2003 || 2:28 am || Comments (1) ||

Dearest Augusta,

Tried to send you an e-mail about berries on the vine and birds on the wing and dust on well-travelled soles, but it just didn’t work out. Technology was working against me. Hope you unnerstan’….

As ever,
Jett Superior

 
|| February 2, 2003 || 1:20 am || Comments (4) ||

Things of importance I have learned in the last twelve hours:

  • Mac OS rocks solid, true, and through-and-through. Feature-rich and easily navigated, I could become a techno’tard convert in no time at all.
  • Geeks find manual labor fascinating. A passel of them came by Eric and Laura’s new house to find her in one room with the gigunda sander and me in another room staining the newly-sanded floors a deep, glowing cherry color (Eric was, like a good manbitch, at the liquor store procuring the fiiiiine takillya). They took turns clustering around both doorways, saying, “Cooooool, this is so cooool, man.”
  • Drunk is as drunk does (OKAY, I learned this one long ago, but I am just getting around to telling you).
  • If you can’t burn a cd while drunk, you’re a weakling. So sayeth erique, anyway.
  • Have you the brain worms!?!” Invader fucking Zim fucking ROCKS. why didn’t you people inform me of this thing at an earlier date?? SHAME! Shame on YOU!
  • The geeks admire Creative Cussingtm skillz. When I traipsed across the vinyl kitchen flooring in my cherry-stained socks without thinking twice about it, leaving dainty cherry footprints all about, I said through clenched teeth, “Sonofa…” and then scream-wailed, “FUUUCKKK!!!” in fine fashion. The geeks exploded with glee, claiming this to be their favorite expletive EV. ER: “SonofaFUCK! ….I’m using that from now on, man!”
  • It only takes a couple hours of driving, some spicy Indian cuisine (essentially, huge chunks of lamb with liberal amounts of mint sauce and cilantro) and a visit to the great satan to make me feel some semblance of human and connected to the world again.
  • The Johnny Cash rendition of NIN’s ‘Hurt’ is exceptionally moving and the video punches you in the visceral gut. Jeezus, Johnny, when’ja get so old, and when did June get so fucking sad?
  • Apple-button-plus ‘C’. then Apple-button-plus ‘V’…fuck control!!!
  • The stars in the clear Georgia sky coupled with the sounds of a wailing train in the crisp winter air are delicious in the early ay emm hours. Hanging off a balcony puffing away only intensifies the effect.
  • Never paint your mobile phone into a corner, on a virtually unreachable shelf, when you think that you may be in the throes of a good, solid drunk later on and will want to call your smarmy InterWeb friends and share your vast store of wisdom.
  • Speaking of VAST, I missed those motherfuckers. I lost the CD long ago, far away, in some long-forgotten incident and was able to burn it fresh tonight. Hooray for the digital pirate!
  • Cable internet means that I get all my surfing done in twenty minutes rather than two hours!! What the fuck am I supposed to do with all this free fucking time??
  • Big Daddy Eric is reminding me that we will have to roll out of bed for more home improving in a mere six hours, and that I “should go to bed”, so I will take his very sage advice lest I should be a grumpy so-and-so at said time.

    Live free and die purty, mighty Superior Muffinasses, and beer and sausages for everyone (even you sober, steadfast types)!