The Liquor Talking

It’s Friday, January 30, 2009 and I’m feeling rather sporty this morning.

I think I’m finally back into my normal sleep pattern and am pretty much satisfied with the state of things under my immediate control. Sure, there’s things that I’m not at all pleased with that are outside my sphere of influence, but being unable to influence these, there’s little to be gained by giving them emotional energy.

So, instead of taking umbrage with this so-called “American Recovery and Reinvestment Act of 2009”, I’m picking my way through it, looking for stuff to laugh at.  I didn’t have to get very far:

So, gambling joints, aquariums, zoos, golf courses and swimming pools are not good for the economy.  Gotcha.

The 258 page document is rife with spending that (as near as I can tell) has absolutely nothing to do with economic recovery.  For instance:

Okay, so it was 12 years ago that I sat through Doc McDowell’s economics classes, but can anyone describe for me a project or activity that will “preserve jobs in the non-profit arts sector threatened by declines in philanthropic and other support during the current economic downturn?”

Sure, when the economy goes south, people don’t buy as much art.  Which of course means that artist don’t make as much money.  Normally, an artist can go hungry (suffer for their art) or get a job doing something else until things turn around. But now, there’s gonna be 50 million taxpayer bucks to let them keep their jobs, producing art that no one is buying.

How do I get in on that action?  In terms of being an artist, I’m about as non-profit as you can get.  I could quit this gig and draw a check for producing art that no one is buying.  Yeah… Let’s see what other goodies are in here.

There’s $335,000,000 to be used as an additional amount to carry out domestic HIV/AIDS, viral hepatitis, sexually-transmitted diseases, and tuberculosis prevention programs.

I don’t have any of those, and if you give me some of that money, I’ll keep on not having any of that shit. For a million bucks, I’ll prevent myself from getting any of that. Anything less and I’ll run right out and get all 5. I’m taking myself hostage.

There’s a billion dollars to hire more cops.  I’m not making this connection either. Maybe more cops = more criminals behind bars = more prisons = more corrections personnel.  Okay, I can probably see that one, providing it’s not amended to be something stupid like “hire more cops with Downs Syndrome that ride pogo sticks made in Eugene Oregon.”

Oh yeah, here’s a gem.  $400 billion for climate research.  This I gottah hear.  How is climate research supposed to stimulate the economy?

Yeah, Doc McDowell has some explaining to do.

Damn. It’s not even noon yet and contrary to the goal I set yesterday, I encountered someone to whom I was not pleasant.  The phone rings and it’s an 850 area code.

Telemarketer!

It starts out as recording of some chick saying that they’ve been trying to contact me about lowing my credit card interest and how this is my last chance to act before being deleted and being ineligible to reduce my rate.  Press 1 to speak with a credit counselor….

1
JEFFREY: Hi this is Jeffrey from Credit Services of America.  Are you interested in reducing your credit card interest rate?
ME: I dunno.  What’s it at now?
JEFFREY: I’m sorry, I don’t have your account in front of me now.  Can I get..
ME: So, do you even know who I am?
JEFFREY: Not at the moment. I’m not able…
ME: Your recording said you’ve been trying to get in touch with me. In what ways have you been trying to reach me?
JEFFREY: I’m sorry?
ME: The recording said you’ve been trying to reach me.  But you don’t even know who I am.
JEFFREY: At the moment I don’t have access to that.
ME: I think you just dial random numbers until you get someone to press 1.
JEFFREY: No sir, we have a database we work off of, but it’s not available to me right now. Can we start by you giving me your name?
ME: I am Gunnery Sergeant Hartman, your senior drill instructor.
JEFFREY: Did your say Gunnery Sergeant Hartman?
ME: From now on, you will speak only when spoken to and the first and last word out of your filthy sewers will be “Sir.”  Do you maggots understand?
JEFFREY: Maggots?  I don’t think…
ME: Bullshit! I can’t hear you!
JEFFREY: You don’t need to call me a maggot!
ME: What’s your name, fat body?
JEFFREY: My name is Jeffrey.
ME: That name sounds like royalty.  Are you royalty?
JEFFREY: Not that I know of…
ME: Bullshit! I can’t hear you!
JEFFREY: No! I am not royalty!
ME: I don’t like the name Lawrence! Only faggots and sailors are named Lawrence!
JEFFREY: Um, okay.
ME: You think I’m cute? Do you think I’m funny?
JEFFREY: No, I’m just trying to…
ME: Bullshit! I can’t hear you!
JEFFREY: Are you interested in lowering the interest rate on your credit cards?
ME: You do believe in the Virgin Mary, don’t you?
JEFFREY: I don’t know.
ME: I don’t believe I heard you correctly!
JEFFREY: I said I don’t know.
ME: Why you little maggot! You make me want to vomit! You goddam communist heathen! You had best sound off that you love the Virgin Mary or I’m gonna stomp your guts out!
JEFFREY: Fine, fine. Do you want to lower your rates or not?
ME: Are you trying to offend me?
JEFFREY: No, I’m just wanting to know if you want to lower the interest rate on your credit…
ME: This is my rifle! This is my gun!
JEFFREY: Excuse me?
ME: This is for fighting! This is for fun!
JEFFREY: I don’t understand what you just…
ME: You had best un-fsck yourself and start shitting me Tiffany cufflinks, or I will unscrew your head and shit down your neck!
JEFFREY: I’m gonna hang up now.
ME: A jelly donut? How did it get here?
CLICK

Time to do my Czechoslovakian Crank Careen!

No, it’s not.

Now Jen is on my list.  She transferred to me quite possibly the dumbest bitch I have yet to encounter in my time in tech support. It’s not that she transferred her to me that got her on the list.  It’s that she transferred her to me knowing full well that the customer was dumber than steamed turnips without warning me.  With just a little warning I can gird up my loins (figuratively that is.  They’re pretty much girded up all time) and wade in without worrying that the caller will be able to suck away my will to live.

32 minutes later, I was thinking that jumping off the roof would at least make it where I didn’t have to talk to her any more. That or burying a hatchet in her forehead. Still, I did manage to make her laugh. I should get sainthood for not cussing her out and hanging up on her. No, check that.  I should get sainthood for not going over to her office and plunging a shovel into her neck.

Time to do my Peruvian Pecker Polka!

No, it’s not.

Is however time to call Darby, the dumb bitch a few paragraphs back and get to know her.

DARBY: —— This is Darby, how may I help you?
ARNOLD: You lack discipline!
DARBY: Pardon me?
ARNOLD: I want to know what’s going on and I want to know right now!
DARBY: Going on with…
ARNOLD: So don’t give me that crap!
DARBY: What are you talking about?
ARNOLD: Who are you?!
DARBY: I’m Darby.
ARNOLD: Nice to meet you.
DARBY: Sure and what’s your name?
ARNOLD: Douglas Quaid.
DARBY: Douglas…
ARNOLD: You idiot!
DARBY: Excuse me?
ARNOLD: First, I would like to just get to know you.
DARBY: Not if you call me an idiot.
ARNOLD: Now I’m going to ask you a bunch of questions.
DARBY: Questions about….
ARNOLD: And I want to have them answered immediately!
DARBY: Who IS this?
ARNOLD: I would like to talk to you about Thomas Aquinus.
DARBY: About who?
ARNOLD: Your confusion is not rational.
DARBY: I’m just having some trouble understanding you.
ARNOLD: You idiot!
DARBY: Look, you don’t get to call me an idiot.
ARNOLD: Yeah. You idiot!
DARBY: If you call me an idiot one more time, I’m hanging up.
ARNOLD: Yes. You idiot!
CLICK

Rats. One of Morgan’s birthday presents won’t be ready until the 5th. It’s entirely her fault though and she’ll know why when she sees it.

It’s time to do my Turkish Tally Whacker Trot!

No, it’s not.

I may have better luck actually doing a dance if I didn’t try to clear it with the wife first.  Thus far, she’s denied me permission to do any dancing at work that in any way involves waiving “it” around. Still, if word got back to her (and it would) that I performed my Sudanese Sausage Saunter at work, she would be displeased and I make it a point never to be the reason she is displeased.

So……
Show me the way to go home!

Everyone have a safe and happy weekend.  It is my plan to wash my truck, no matter what the weather is.  She’s dirty beyond my ability to stand it and it will be done!