Sunday, November 24, 2013
No posts till 12/6
Saturday, November 23, 2013
Lit and Post Lit
Our Various Characters
-Behind that gruff interior...
-lies a gruff interior.
-And that sweet little one hides a well of poison!
-Ouch! How come those we know don't conform
to the lovables of fiction?
-Or the hateables? Well, ours don't hafta sustain much
of anything. But the writers of magazine episodes had
that problem. Thus do the two-noters stay the course
rather easily: whore with heart of gold, tyrannical boss
who’s a softie, etc. As do one-noters, such as outright
villains preparing to brutally grip dewy maidens.
-Next month: FATE WORSE THAN DEATH!
-Probably not. Anyway, all the folks we know possess
several notes, quite often clashing. And few are
genuine villains.
-They're working towards it.
-Takes some competence.
-Then we’re safe.
Labels: character, complex characters, flat characters, Literature, Literature and Life
Friday, November 22, 2013
The Sad Art of Being a Yes Man
CEO
“I don't want individuals who are right! Or wrong.
Both in embroidered shirts.
That's cats and dogs!
Only the team has to be right. Japanese understand this.
How about me? I'm always right!
Joking, but I'm my only critic mid the deafening
ass-kissing.”
Labels: CEO, Japanese, management, team, yes man
Thursday, November 21, 2013
Keening
Speeding Up To the Mark. Not.
-Report says I'm not keen enough.
-How do you get that, anywayz?
-Some are, in their hobbies.
-But at work?
-It's the atmosphere today. Management
is keen on discovering new ways of
screwing you!
-Even in the unionized states, the membership
finds themselves giving back what they fought
hard for.
-The Democrats don't like it, and stand around
deciding something perhaps to maybe sorta do.
-And the Republicans in unrestrained glee!
-Cuz wez learnin our place?
-Do'n hit me, Massa! I be keen! I be keen!
Labels: Democrats, givebacks, keen, management, Republicans, slave, work evaluation
Wednesday, November 20, 2013
Justice Trifecta
Highest Political Operatives
-He's a ferociously independent judge.
What the nation wants.
-And he'll do every fuckin thing we
tell him.
-Best of all possible worlds!
---
Legislators and Judges
-Then just what the fuck do these judges want?
-They adore the thrust of the new law, but clarity.
Clarity!
-That, and we're all out of business.
---
Severe Sentences For Hackers Portraying
Their Own Version of Patriotism
Hellfire judges wish
to spread the wealth
of punishment around
to those opposing
the slipping thrust
of grand old words.
Labels: independence, judge, Justice, legislator, punishment, tradition
Tuesday, November 19, 2013
Doctrinaire
Libertarian
“Let the system clean itself out! Which would happen
if we didn't protect from failure.”
(No one should be shielded, of course, save, of course,
your own Larry, Moe, and Curly.)
Labels: Libertarian, Libertarian Republican, protecting from failure, self-correcting systems, stooges, system, theory and pets
Monday, November 18, 2013
Walking the Cat Back
FBI or Other
-We hafta walk the cat back, or no case.
-This is one erratic couple! We’ll never find out what-all
they did, if anything.
-Try as you would with the aimless feline!--thus the
expression.
-I don’t need your schooling! Where the hell’s the meat?
Sharing a jerk-off Lefty fantasy is not a crime!
-It is to the Righties in charge at present.
-Strictly political! What shit! Am I to make a career
of pleasing these cretinous Wingers?
-Bingo! You can see! He can see! O thank the Lord
my Novena wasn’t in vain!
-Uh huh? And does this all switch when Lefties come in?
-They never really do.
Labels: Right Wing, socialism, walking cat back
Sunday, November 17, 2013
Brain’s Drain
Great Moments in Thought
-Brenda left Brain!
-Nearly alliterative. Was there a fight?
-They had tea, and then he abstracted for
great thought.
-And she absconded in plain sight?
-I guess. Left a note.
-Written in bubble gum?
-That's some pink image!
-An expression showing her level of maturity.
-Her grievances, at any rate, spelled out.
-Which he presently parses like a lost book
of the Bible.
-Well, trying to figure things out.
-Uh huh? Zeno's paradox. Today he's halfway
to a solution, tomorrow that half is halved,
and so on.
-So you never really arrive?
-But come closer and closer.
-Nightmare Alley!
-The Life of the Intellectual. Ineffectual in personal life.
-But wez them too.
-I rest my case.
-I'm glad we had this little chat. Where can I conveniently
suicide?
-The rub is in the adverb. It's always INconvenient,
and thus we soldier on!
-That's what this is?
Labels: breakup, intellectual, relationship, Zeno
Saturday, November 16, 2013
All in the wrist!
Various Cons
Wristy had real estate schemes we turned off on.
As everything he promoted, the Devil lurked in the
details. And he was the Devil.
We just knew he was flipping properties wholesale.
So effectively that he bought a special edition
Infinity. Only thirty made.
The “Wristy” came from his claim about golf, that it
was all in the wrist.
Our good player claimed that it wasn't and never
was, but such never deterring Wristy.
Oh well, loud nights at sports bars to help spend youth!
No foul no harm.
Comes the Crash and he's quickly underwater, with
a huge inventory. But, not to worry, he's sent to prison
before he's ruined.
Some non real estate pipedream he concocted with
a junior banker from the next town. Details so
complicated, the prosecution expected the entire jury
to fall asleep. But they toughed it out, and, in fact,
convicted.
“Got the quad,” Wristy emailed us. Four years in Danbury.
Where we imagine him telling others in an exercise yard
that it's all in the wrist.
The Infinity up on blocks, his attorney able to save it
and nothing else.
The bunch drives up next weekend. Can’t wait for
the next con he's dreamed up, with the collusion of
bent teachers there.
Labels: Danbury, Devil in details, flipping, golf, prison, Real Estate, sports bar, underwater
Friday, November 15, 2013
The Duty of Serving Genius
Carrying It Out
-Did you finally get hold of Mr Bigass Policy?
-Yeah. He said you handle it. That's not what he does.
-Yeah, me! The peasant!
-Whatever the Barons half-wittedly decree, ours, then,
the super-abundant headaches carrying it out! Oy!
-Like to get my hands on his throat!
-Ask me where our interview occurred,
where I finally caught him.
-I'm...wincing.
-On the country club verandah. They spend
half their lives there. “More gin than tonic
next time, Charles, if you please!”
-I'm a sonofabitch. I'm just a complete freakin...!
-Let's get a drink and not go back in there today.
-Not go back there? It’s chaos without us!
-I'll be a sonofabitch if you ain’t right! But I do wanna
make policy in the next world! Force peasants to dance.
Observe their natural rhythms.
-It’s sewed up there too.
Labels: decision making, management structure, Policy, Policy Maker
Thursday, November 14, 2013
The New Thing in the Old Thing
Contractor
-We wrote the contract for the government
-So that we'd get it?
-What else? But there were other bidders
-Where'd you dredge them up?
-From where such are dredged? At any rate...
-We tip them, like waiters.
-Now let's do the job, and in the proper time!
-What's the job?
-The usual shit.
-And the timeframe?
-We fuck that dog out the door and down the street.
-So, miss the deadline?
-We’ll negotiate a new one. After all, a whole bunch
of unexpected challenges bound to come up!
-And expensive ones. More shit!
-O ye of little faith!
-I...don't understand where my tragic, tragic lack
would come from.
-I’m buying yours, and mine, for a cool mil each.
Bonuses making up most, of course
-It is right and just so to do.
Labels: bid, bid process, contractor, government contracting
Wednesday, November 13, 2013
Race To the Bottom
Keeping Up to Date in Negotiations
The Governor had offered everything but his daughter,
and the union couldn't think of anything more to give
back, but Jerome opined that sometimes one had to be
cruel to be kind.
He thus moved operations to a terrifically automated
factory in Mexico. "Hey the few workers get coolie wages!
What's not to like?"
He laughed off the local paper's editorial re a devastated
community. "So? Get un-devastated."
Was he moving down there? golf partner asked.
"I'll keep an apartment, but you know me, real
homeboy. House and Club and Church about does it."
Labels: industrial policy, labor negotiation, wealthy owner
Tuesday, November 12, 2013
The Whole Nine Yards
Mike, the Beautiful Plumber,
turned out to have a racist mouth to begin with. He then
detailed plots by shadow Lefty groups.
Mickey-Moke, waiting for him to fix the diner’s dishwasher,
was informed, too, that a buck an hour more boosting his
minimum wage would ruin the country.
“If you could ruin a ruin!”
“Being so handsome, though, is a wonderful starting point.
If I went out with him, maybe I could...change the subject?”
But Jeanine, totaling a check, shook her head at Monica’s thought.
“Lost cause, Honeybun. Stay around him you'll get ear infections.”
Monica had disagreed. And put on her best smile handing Mike
a requested iced tea, no sugar. “If I want sugar I‘ll eat sugar!”
At that unsweet point, she discovered that the immigrant Italian
couple who opened the diner way back when had been Mafia.
The funny old man had hired her, and he and Rosa had worked
into their eighties.
Giving up a beautiful thing is always difficult, but Monica wanted
to do more when she got home that evening.
She showered, changing into pj shorts and a raggedy t-shirt.
Went on her laptop to alter her Match.com profile. No Republicans
she typed.
Labels: beauty, diner, handsome, Left Plots, Match.com, Republican, Right Wing
Monday, November 11, 2013
Minimum Wage, Australia
The Moral Voter
-The Minimum Wage in Australia around seventeen bucks.
-But do they mandate vaginal probes?
-I wouldn't think. But, neither do we, at least nationally--
some Goober states...
-Well, I'm staying put until we do. Poor, but moral.
-Just the kind of Republican the party loves.
-I feel the love. I feel it!
-The Dems hafta become more emotional. Too techy.
-Bring back the slide rule. They can stick it up their ass!
Labels: Australia, Democrat, goober, minimum wage, Minimum Wage Australia, Republican, slide rule, vaginal probe
Sunday, November 10, 2013
The Power of Names
Experimenting With Nuts
“Abrupt them!” went the Doctor's direction.
“He's inventing a verb.”
“Whatever. How's it going with yours?” Claude
asked Jerry.
“My patients are batting 500.”
“Mine about the same.”
Anyway, makes no difference the context,” laughed Jerry,
“I just snap Name? LAST NAME FIRST!"
"As you’re supposed to, but what's it proving?"
"Ours not to reason why."
Whatever it proved or disproved, the program
went reasonably well until the new aide read
a forgetful patient his name. Trouble was he told
him the wrong name. So Bill Halkins became
Walter Sygminski.
And really did, from that moment. The unit thus
gaining an additional Walter.
When it was reported to the doctor, he got mixed up
and thought that Claude was the miscreant. "You need
a week off. You must have several vacation days coming.
Take next week, and that's an order.”
“But...!” got him nowhere. He swallowed yet another
injustice.
But the travel agent found him a place of
undemanding seminars and health whatevers.
And it was Bird Watching Week.
Claude bought a beautiful manual, and loved the
pictures. Absolutely loved them. Lingering over them.
He was very far from unwound, though, that first
morning when Rilly came to fetch him for a 7 am
massage. It being dark he stuck close to white-clad
Rilly, who chuckled hoarsely at Claude’s stumbles.
The lamplight in the studio showed him that
the departing Rilly was blind.
Brenda, the masseuse (perfumed least Shalimar), didn't
quite snap it, but Claude, in some still-sleepy perversity
he'll never grasp, answered her request for his name,
“Sygminski, Walter.”
Brenda embraced him. Rilly, outside, had overheard,
and reentered to embrace both together. Jinks, from
the next booth, rushed in and did the expected.
Whereupon the quartet swayed, emitting a high-pitched
"Walter! Walter!"
Labels: experiment, health farm, mental health, perversity
Saturday, November 09, 2013
The Wasted Life
Help Within the Bunch
Hoke wasted his life. No one could convince him
otherwise.
We brought up Lucy. How they met, etc. The early
stages, not the later storms.
His foot slipped on his pedal one Sunday morning,
and shin badly scraped, bleeding. She had jogged past,
but then returned. Walked the bike home for him.
Then insisting on searching the messy studio for
bandaging and disinfectant, but finally had to ask
the neighbors.
"Your reputation is ruined," he told her after
she got stuff from the master gossip.
"I'm used to that. Never being a chapter and verse gal."
It helped to invoke her now, since she had died of
breast cancer, and we could get Moke into the
walk against it that weekend.
But he resumed being totally down afterwards, sobbing
about his Lost Angel.
Rip finally suggested he move to a nicer place.
The rest of the bunch concurred, but Lefty, as always,
injected politics.
"Wanted: shitty apartment near shitty job.
Try landofree.com. They got all the answers, especially
the one keeping billionaires’ whores in butter creams".
The shitty job part was right. His third time
working for Old Andrews, who'd give you the
sleeves out of his vest.
Lefty, the activist who stayed active, brought
Moke to the soup kitchen at the Presbyterians.
Though mechanical with the mashed potato scoop,
and completely wooden-faced, he seemed to
enjoy himself.
Rest of us tried various other things. Though
Bernice couldn’t rope him into her weekly group
of major depressives.
Anyway, all to no avail.
Got more and more, as time slogged on, to look like
Moke had trapped himself into the final, fatal funk.
Well...you eventually pull out of one of these yourself,
or you don't.
He did. Took a whole morning to de-stink with bath, etc.
Put on his best suit, combed his snaggy hair.
You don’t really have to be clean to murder the totally
purple funk, but it helps.
Labels: depression, friends, funk, wasted life
Friday, November 08, 2013
Polite Behavior in Heaven
A Being with Crazy Thoughts
Haunting! But told not a soul.
Heaven's reckoning came in time,
St Peter remarking “Look at you!
A lively one. Not. Wouldn't say
‘shit’ if you had a mouthful."
“My thoughts are sin. Forgive me.”
“Hey! They're just fuckin images!”
“Is heaven...vulgar then?”
“Has to be, since it's sacred.”
Labels: heaven, politeness, St Peter, vulgarity
Thursday, November 07, 2013
Who You Know
Playing Army with Inside Friend, Nam Era
-Getting along so far?
-Not bad. Expected crap and got it.
-How do you feel about dogs?
-Hate the dirty little fuckers!
-No! You love 'em!
-If you say.
-Getting you into veterinary unit.
-Advantage there?
-You don't get killed. Oh, maybe a dog or two.
-The more the better.
Labels: dog, favoritism, influence, Nam, Vietnam
Wednesday, November 06, 2013
History of Odd Things
All Things Troll
Once, in a cave, a monster or dwarf, often enchanted.
Then, frumpy nut under a bridge.
Nowadays, tirelessly infecting thousands of websites,
and often in pay of lobby or party.
Or hiding beneath legislative desks, the better
to assault women.
Labels: political trolls, troll, War on Women
Tuesday, November 05, 2013
Of Great Event
What’s New?
Fashionable friend collapses in swirl of cape
and scarves
Rick runs for a glass of water; Heather fans her
with a wrinkled newspaper out of a box of dishes.
“I’ll come again to this new abode, but won’t look up!”
she finally whispers from her chaotic nest.
“These popcorn ceilings!” hissed Heather. “I told you!”
“And I told you no freakin money to get rid of ‘em
right now!”
Labels: culture, friend, marriage, popcorn ceiling, Real Estate, relationship, taste
Monday, November 04, 2013
Holding Few Cards
Small Factory
-The Old Man having crushed the Union in order to
enter Reactionary Heaven, we get Junior appointing a
Negotiating Committee of Management-Licking Toads.
-What have they negotiated away thus far?
-Half the vacation, half the medical, but only a third
of the wages.
-That last being the good news?
-There's more. Junior is leaving us to run
for Republican something or other.
-He fits perfectly into The Party of Endless
Fuck-around.
Labels: labor negotiation, management, medical, Republican, toady, vacation, wages
Sunday, November 03, 2013
Eyes of Murder
The Trio
Renton in the next cubicle has called her E. M., for
Eyes of Murder, but to be fair, Monette's PMS really
didn't seem that more wretched than the usual.
Besides, it proved a mercy that she withdrew
often, grabbing a smoke on the receiving dock.
The boss there, Chancey, hardly noticed her
from far up in his brilliant perch.
Though he had to descend when more than one
truck came in at a time, to move his crew along.
Chancy lived with a strong mother, so knew
the vibrations off of Monette, even when she
didn't talk.
But they finally said something to each other.
And liked what they heard.
Upshot: started going out, would you believe?
Upshot 2: She moved in with him and The Horror.
How could that work?
He has recounted how he withdrew to his mancave
and watched football while they went at it.
It not only proved a draw, but one day he heard
them laughing.
“This is not good news,” he whispered to Greg Gumble
at halftime.
The deal the women decided on was marriage.
No evidence at work now, since neither wore a ring.
Monette proclaiming “I'm not Chancey's property.”
Mom took to calling her Bette, after
Bette Davis, who often graced the screen of
the tiny black and white in her bedroom.
Monette took to crushing cigarettes the histrionic
way Bette did.
Both women decided Chancey isolated too much,
and thus Monette moved her sewing stuff into
his Mancave.
He had to listen on reduced volume, but had
sharp ears, even over the sewing machine chatter.
She spoke to him too often, and he answered in
uh huhs. It all seemed shaping up to a traditional
American marriage.
But Chancey not without his own cards to play.
He schemed to move Mama to a retirement home,
and thus free her bedroom for the sewing crap.
The women trumped him again. They had already
picked out Bide a Bit, and a beaming Mama
was eventually dispatched in a startling cherry
number Monette had designed and sewn.
There the women were jealous and the men,
goats. She loved the attention. Monette phoned
her a few times daily.
Monette got seven orders for dresses there,
and quit the company. The last one, of a Spring
green, was for the mother of the owner of a posh
department store. He was quite miffed she hadn't
chosen from his highest-end rack.
Long story short: He hires Monette.
Shorter: She leaves in two years to open
her own shop with the help of Mama's money.
...
Had been watching Giants-Eagles.
“A man surrounded by strong women. Good or bad?”
asked Dr Packwood Oliver in a commercial.
“Both at once!” answered Chancey, ripping open a bag
of Fritos. “But I never trust faggots with names reversed.”
Labels: Bette Davis, businesswoman, marriage, mother-in-law, PMS, relationship
Saturday, November 02, 2013
The Romance Department
Very Short Exchange
-Mackey out playing with the toddlers, got
mud all over him. Came into the kitchen
to wash it off. Then, who drops by but the old
girlfriend! And bursts into tears at what Big C
has done to him!
-Yeah, it’s a shock. So what?
-They really still love each other.
-You women go for that love shit! They parted
in mutual hate way back when. So, put the two
states together for everybody’s usual average.
-Have I told you what a prick you are?
-Don’t hafta.
Labels: Big C, Cancer, marriage, relationship, Romance, women
Friday, November 01, 2013
Trying to Breathe During the Hierarchy
Grandpa Knows Brusque
-Grandpa, are you finally satisfied? We’re barely
topping Zimbabwe in regards to Income Inequality.
-No, I’m not satisfied at all! Folks used to know
their place without all the bellyaching.
-So it’s time to fix it so they fight like cats and dogs
to hold the one they got?
-You laugh, but that’ll get the notions outa
their heads.
Labels: class, class war, Conservative, Income Inequality, Zimbabwe
