Category: Rants

Out Damn Spot

In honor of Mother's Day I have spent the week pondering the potential joys of motherhood so often proselytized to me by new mothers, their eyes shining from behind those dark circles, their smiles dimpled with that little nervous twitch, their hands clutching the infant close, bindingly close, in their enthusiasm.

Our culture worships mothers. They spend little time in the world the rest of us cautiously navigate, yet they seem to control our laws, our entertainment, and even our personal relationships. As little girls, we want only to become one, to achieve that special regard and preferential treatment. Mothers don't diet, they don't clean, they don't dress up or do their hair or wait in line at restaurants. Mothers are princesses in a world of scullery maids.

And when we have a special holiday, just for our sweet mummies (and to try and coerce more of our ranks to join that aristocratic elite), well, it just makes a childless old crone like me think of all my former friends, now proudly promoted to the status of mothers. And all those cheery pastel parties to which I was invited to celebrate their new rank in society. And I think of all the little things I wish I had given them and was just too thoughtless to have considered at the time.

So I made a list!

MLEIV's TOP 10 BABY SHOWER GIFTS

  • 10. Large plastic wrappers. The kind left over from bulk toilet paper packs or large electronics. The larger the child hazard warning, the better.
  • 9. Strong disinfectants and kitchen cleaners... without the childproof cap.
  • 8. Baby-themed movies like Rosemary's Baby, Omen, The Good Son, Children of the Corn, et alia.
  • 7. Disturbing books like Edward Gorey's The Gashlycrumb Tinies or those awful books to help children cope with terminal illness or death in the family like this one, this one, or for a more personal message, this one
  • 6. Scary toys like the giant stuffed Oogie Boogie, The Living Dead Dolls, or Anatomical models
  • 5. A cat.
  • 4. Lots of very fluffy baby bedding. Extra points if they are made from goose down or flammable material.
  • 3. Something from the US Consumer Product Safety Division's List of Recalled Baby Products. Favorites include malfunctioning car seats and cribs with too-wide slats.
  • 2. A beautiful box of chocolate-covered RU-486, or other favorite contraception.
  • 1. A set of fancy metal coat hangers. Or at least this as the shower gift card.

The Eensi-Weensie Spider

These days I am more concerned with avoiding bankuptcy than finding the ideal work environment. After all, the American corporate life is such a pile of shit anyway, that I can't even conceive of a job that could utilize my extensive talents without undue stress juggled with suffocating boredom, annoying socializing being an extra bonus. Nobody really does any work, when you look around, and they do 60+ hours of it every week. Exceptional performance is rewarded with brief praise, and then subtle resentment and the future burying of any achievements. All workers are so drowned in paperwork, charts, meetings, and kiss-ass that there is no room left for real devotion to one's job. Worthless stock options are handed out like $10 meal certificates to everyone, but raises are a thing of the past. And salary is unimportant anyway, given the impending certainty of layoffs and the knowledge that one's own indispensibility or skills will not likely be factored in when the cuts are made, once they are weighed against the charm of a VP's golf buddy. Women continue to be pushed out of the boy's club that is upper management (not that I'm interested, personally, but I'm sick of my friends being fired for having the *gall* to try to improve the company).

Modern technology was supposed to allow all of us to move on and pursue our dreams and passions, but instead it is slowly pushing us all into menial jobs caring for our silicon replacements. Our lives are even more buried in paperwork, statistics, plans, and numbers than ever before. Relational databases are just some silly pipe dream, because management is still stuck in MS Excel and we have to cater to that, pumping out novels worth of work analysis which no one ever reads anyway. And where computers were implemented to improve a company's performance, instead it was used as a plausible cause to remove customer support and quality engineering, so we all spend 6 hours on hold with technical support for a painfully obvious bug which could easily have been avoided entirely.

After all, in a decent existence I would be making money as an artist, or failing that, as a programmer. And I can think of some people in both categories who would be working at McDonalds, or at least at JoAnne's Crafts. If there were any karma guiding our lives, I would be financially stable, since I never spend a dime on myself and the only financial frivolity ever present in my accounts has been spent on friends. But instead I face financial ruin every 6 months between layoffs, fires, car failures, and the like, while irresponsible breeders with no education and no more ambition than to buy a fifth television float through life on Daddy's money (or even better, Daddy, on his children's incomes). People who buy new cars every year, have a third mortgage (for that vacation in Cancun), and never think of foreign concepts like "savings account" and "401K."

But I've read Voltaire and Ovid and I know my lot in life. I just have to suck it in, go back to the 9-to-5 and smile graciously while I make my Excel reports and put my automation projects in the garbage bin. Because companies don't really care about quality, efficiency, reliability, cutting-edge performance, or even reputation. They want what I want, as many $$$$$$ as they can squeeze onto one page, and the rest of the world be damned.

Why Can't I Be You?

We have the right to "life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness," a man once penned during a strangely idealistic age. A world-shaking concept, those rights. A concept which has grown and mutated and spread across the earth. Our rights. The world suddenly became a fair, even playing ground where people are simple chess pieces, bound by predictable laws and moving through life in a complex, but still perfectly just, dance of fortunes. Our rights.

But who granted these rights, over two hundred years ago, and who enforces them? Because whoever it is, he must be new to the job and he sure hasn't got the hang of it yet. Colonial health care involved your life savings and one doctor's bucket of leeches, and trust me, there wasn't a malpractice payoff down the road when he accidentally killed your spouse and child through dirty examination instruments. A black plantation slave still had 3/4 vote more than the landowner's white wife. Neither one could read. A good proportion of children died before hitting puberty, and the terrible health issue of obesity was a much sought-after ailment.

But today we whine about our right to proper health care, our right to a decent education, our right to raise children we can't afford to keep. Our RIGHTS! Why, precisely, do we feel we have claim to these handouts? The rest of our society is shelling out a great deal of cash for privileges we demand for free. Is that fair? When we have 10 kids but work at McDonald's, is it fair to make the Smiths down the road pay for them, the Smiths who are waiting to get pregnant until they have paid off debts incurred while obtaining the university education which enabled them to get the salary which pays for everyone else who dropped out of high school? Why do the Smiths have to pay for our mistakes, our bad planning, our misfortunes, and our poverty? It is a charitable thing, certainly, but when did it become our RIGHT?

And what a monster our rights have become: Now we have the right to sanitized television, to filtered internet access, to clean water and unpolluted air, to cheap electricity, to healthful fast food, to long-term job security, to HMO-paid weight-loss programs, to retirement checks (regardless of financial status), and viagra prescriptions.

Do people in the Congo have any of these rights? What about in Argentina? Russia? Palestine? Oh, wait, that's right, only in America [anthem surges in the background] do we have so many wonderful RIGHTS. Well then, doesn't everyone else then have the right to take it all away from us, using force, if necessary? Be fair, when you run around the world handing people democracy, telling them that we are all equal, regardless of education, economic status, or socio-political history, what conclusion do you expect them to come to? They'll think they deserve to be as carelessly wealthy, spoiled, and coddled as our grand nation. And, when you think about it, it's true enough. Everyone deserves all of our rights equally, which is to say, not at all.

As human beings we have the right to what all animals on this planet have the right to: a chance to eke out our miserable little lives, killing or being killed, struggling to procreate, struggling to climb above all the other animals, but with no guarantees, no free rides, no comforting, omnipresent, merciful RIGHTS protecting us. And just because someone else manages to achieve something more doesn't entitle us to it as well. In fact, given the realities of nature, it tends to *exclude* us from it.

And perhaps when we run around demanding what we think are our RIGHTS, we should consider that by seizing special considerations which we did not earn, through effort, breeding, or by chance, we are dragging the rest of the world down, one right at a time. Every HMO payoff raises the cost of healthcare for everyone, lowering the availabilty of treatment for everyone, punishing the long-term health of everyone. Every child born on welfare lowers the welfare available to responsible adults, increases the gap between government-assisted existence and independent earners, increases the number of people likely to continue living on the dole without ever returning anything to their world. Every community with clean air restrictions takes jobs from that community, every clean water program increases the cost of water for that community, every viagra prescription is another year when birth control won't be covered.

Every right we claim as individuals must be extracted in equal share from someone else. And that, perhaps, is the best view of our rights. We have the right to screw everyone else, for as long as we can get away with it. But no matter what we call it, that particular exercise will never be noble, just, or for the betterment of mankind. It is just another petty degradation of our society as a whole, and when that degradation has finally progressed to the point of collapse, trust me, those with a college education, those with foresight and kindness and the spirit of invention, those humanitarians won't be there to bail humanity out. Because they've been doing it for far too long and getting nothing but shit for it. Because that's our right.

The Picture of Dorian Grey

The world of modern art has always puzzled me: its insistence on the need for a message, a political stand, a shocking violation of social mores-- even if they be at the expense of the art itself. Are they artists or merely pretentious social philosophers masquerading in the museums of the world? Their founders, those revolutionary impressionists, were not interested in shock and politics, but in painting and light. The only cause they fought was the right to oppose the established bucolic falsity of Bouguereau and his ilk, forever painting the poor as attractive young maidens in pretty-colored rags, sleeping on some well-lit hillside. But the impressionists were still, at heart, just artists: concerned with color and stroke and angle and emphasis.

So when did that become Andy Warhol, cynical socialite with more interest in mocking the commercial world than in exploring the boundaries of his painting medium and his own artistic skill? And then it occurs to me: the real question is, when did art become that glamorous career sought after by social philosphers at all? When did it join the ranks of poetry and music for the cafe-idling, black-dressed, angst-ridden, angry, young children of the bourgoise? Because there was a time, not long ago, when art was still a trade, and not a very glamorous one at that. When roman stoneworkers and underfed monks crafted their masterpieces on the assembly line, much like a modern blue-collar menial of the local cannery. When it was not a suitable pickup line to get a pretty girl to undress. When it was never an expression of radical thought, but perfect conformity to the tastes of the day.

Then one day a bunch of rich kids looking for something to spark up their dull, middle-to-upper-class lives, chanced upon it and stole it. Like the nobility of Bouguereau's day, playing out their fantasies of living in the country as simple sheepherders. They imparted a glamour and mysterious allour to what was before just a lowly peasant trade, and then they looked down their noses at all the tradespersons and said, "That's not art, that's just painting! This here, this shocking depiction of a baby beheaded in the Middle East, *THIS* is art!"

And in that moment they became what the impressionists opposed. The parents of this misunderstood modern movement spawned-- as many do in our age-- the antithesis of their ideal: a return to the falsity of the Romanticist idillic fantasy. The rich acting out the world of the poor, imposing their own rules on it, carelessly inciting wars and political upheavals, all for their little whims and fancies. Artists, poets, musicians, writers: a group of social philosophers living their modern bucolic dream.

And what a crime today to be a simple trade artist, with no agenda and no message. Just like the poor starving shepherd, watching the aristocrats cavort in velvet rags, confused as all hell, and likely beaten for his dirty, smelly, unidillic intrusion. The trade artist, the peasant, are only good insomuch as they inspire the rich with playful pasttimes, and beyond that we are a nuisance, an unpleasant reminder that their hobbies are just insubstantial, pretentious role-playing.

Don't want to ruin it for our betters, now do we?

It's a Wonderful Life

I have often thought our world has remarkably flawed religious festivals. It comes from a long study of pagan rituals where brides were dressed in saffron (red) veils as though they were being sent to death, where harvest was a celebration of plenty and winter a deperate plea for sun, where the new year was in the spring and was filled with indiscriminate sex.

Christmas' pagan predecessors began smack dab on the solstice (before various calendar changes)-- on the shortest day of the year. Looking ahead were the coldest days of the season, the harvest long since left behind, the food rations low, the liquor even less. It was hardly the time to hold a society's most important festival of the year, and originally, it was far from that. It was just a desperate reminder that the days ahead would be longer, eventually warmer, that the food might not run out before the snow, and that maybe a few of us might live another year.

But when Sol Invictus was seized by Christianity in the manner in which they acquired most of their pagan holidays, it was assigned a significance which catapulted it to prominence. For the sake of religious devotion, Christians were now required to celebrate during a time of want, to donate to the church when they had none themselves. In terms of unselfish sacrifice, it can be viewed as admirable. In terms of common sense and the responsibility held by a priest for his community, it was abominable.

In the last hundred years, things have just been made worse. Christmas, hijacked once by Christianity, has since been hijacked by every commercial organisation looking to cash in on religiously-required spending. Coca Cola began the spree with Jolly Santa, and there will never again be a shortage of soda, candy, cookies, or any other food product and/or toy with a Christmas theme. If they can't get customers from the warm 'n' fuzzy glow of devotion and spirituality, then they will use rosy-colored childhood recollections, the need for companionship, and-- ever the favorite of religion itself-- a wealth of guilt for the disobedient non-commercial Scrooge.

So there we stand today, facing a dichotic, commercialized, overblown holiday with too much importance to ignore and enough irony to make one irretrievably bitter. At the time of year when we are probably the least inclined and financially prepared, we run around fighting crowds to buy overpriced gifts which will undoubtably be discarded in less than a month. We make charming little snow families out of the a material that is cold enough to eliminate our own families if we spend too long around it. We cut up the only trees to have survived the harsh weather and kill them in our warm homes. We sing carols with words we don't understand to people whom we hardly know and who almost invariably dislike the imposition.

Or you do.

I, as an atheist, am generally exempt from all this foolishness. I once celebrated the solstice, but after my apartment burned down last year on Christmas day from a collection of solstice candles and one black cat-- well, that particular holiday has since been scratched. The fact is, there is nothing to celebrate in December. And there is everything to mourn. The world is dead all around us, and through snowy roads and drunken celebrations, many of us will join it. I plan to "celebrate" this year sitting in my basement with a fire extinguisher clutched in my cold fists, pondering the brevity of life and the greater frailty of contentment and stability.

What I lost this year:

[Redacted.]

[My Wonderful Job] I still have my job, but it's not the same one. After the whole economy went to shit, my job changed considerably. Now that my employers don't have to worry about losing me to a better buyer (did they ever?), they suddenly don't think so highly of my work (you know the line, "We could hire a family of computer experts working 80-hour weeks for half the salary we pay you!"). It could be worse, I suppose, but I spend most days wishing I could just quit and move to France.

[My Cleanly Nature] Spending a week cleaning soot from the remnants of an apartment you ended up getting kicked out of anyway can really put a kink in your tidy ambitions. The smell of cleaning solution will now always remind me of scrubbing walls with the 8th bottle and bleeding fingers, singing "Dead,Dead,Dead" over and over until I wished I were.

[My Toys] I lost all my Nightmare Before Christmas toys. This was terrible, especially since I am not a big collector and they were possibly the only trinkets I possessed. In fact, I would say this is thing I miss the most from the fire. And to all you idiots who think it's enough to just make it alive, I said the same thing at the time, and you're dead wrong.

[My Fourth Amendment Rights] Well, these were probably lost ages ago, but I just wanted to mourn their demise this year.

So I just wanted to let you all know that while you are decorating your fire-hazard Christmas trees and overloading your electrical circuits with pretty Christmas lights and spending so much money on potentially flammable gifts, enjoy it while you can: it won't last.

"What a festive season, someday you'll be dead." (Dead,Dead,Dead)

No Spill Blood

Crusaders for Animal Rights, take that cross and shove it up your bony vegetarian ass.

I wonder sometimes if the teenage children of the American middle-class had all the creativity and ambition sucked out of them at birth and filled that mindless void instead with political causes. I'm not saying that having a political cause is always a bad thing, but I would prefer that it be saved for a portion of the populace that has enough life experience to accurately assess the society in which they live. A white-collar middle-management's snotty blond offspring whose greatest angst for the day amounts to a spiteful peer insulting her hairstyle is not my idea of a person with the mature perspective to prioritize humanity's necessary improvements.

Let's not even look at the kind of abuse and neglect heaped upon our own pets, supposedly animals we love. The dogs tied up and dying of thirst whilst their owners drink up in the Bahamas, the cats thrown off roofs or tied to firecrackers... none of my concern. Don't bother with the endangered species hunted down in Asia simply so some misogynistic asshole can eat his obscure 3,000 year-old voodoo soup, because that's what it takes for him to get it up. Forget the torched habitats of small furry creatures in South America and the elephants killed for one piece of yellowed bone in Africa.

We might as well pop up the image of some emaciated baby dying on a dirty mat in some third-world cesspool. They are all just masks we use to cover up the real ills of society. Because the fact is that you can't improve that dark seething pit of cruelty and apathy in humanity's heart by picketing the local hospital or sending your dime a month to a nameless kid in Africa. All you are doing is making *yourself* feel noble. And once that is done, you settle down into your apathetic, destructive lives and slowly lapse back into what you were all along: a heartless, popularity-driven bastard sucking up the resources of the world for your SUV and disposable diapers.

So before you protest injecting those cute little mice with horrible toxins, prioritize a little. What will really improve mankind and the world we are currently destroying one Happy Meal at a time? What cause will mend that chasm in our own souls instead of just covering up? Because it hasn't been found yet, not in any religion, cause, or magical drug.

And trust me, if they found that drug, I wouldn't just be lining up to inject it into fluffy caged rodents, I'd be first in line myself.

Follow The Yellow Brick Road

With our brief-lived idyllic illusion of World Peace finally snatched from our grasp like the proverbial baby's candy, perhaps it should surprise no one out there that America is re-entering its fifties-era Father Knows Best mentality. By this I mean that all our societal interaction is now cloaked in a heavy blanket of pleasantry and saccharine insincerity.

In many professional occupations, it seems that composed politeness is desired. The supermarket check-out girl ("Oh yes, certainly I'll get you another package of eggs to replace the ones you dropped on my shoes!"), the department store changing room assistant ("Indeed, madam, that swimsuit is very flattering, especially the way it sucks in the flab around your waist like a rubberband on a giant water balloon."), the commission-haunted car salesman ("I'm so sorry that your child threw up in our $50,000 luxury test car, perhaps you'd prefer the blue model instead?"), all of these employees and more we expect to put aside any hint of a personality or opinion and devote themselves to stroking our egos, even if that ego happens to exceed the size of Texas.

And from a very selfish point of view this may seem like a good thing. If you forget to change the oil in your Jeep for two years and the engine abruptly siezes up on you, you would love the car repairman to nod sympathetically and tell you they all forget sometimes too, rather than face the entire staff snorting with laughter at what an jackass you are. But however convenient this may sound, it becomes quickly apparent why it is not a good idea when one is suddenly shoved back into the position of the innocent third party listening to the repairman explain that we all occasionally suck sleeping cats into our timing belts, and no need to worry, there are plenty more still out there. It is WRONG to coddle the mentally floundering masses in their continued acts of stupidity!

Firsthand most of us can testify to the detrimental effects of raising children this way. When dear Mama tells baby Joey it's okay to paint our shoes with magic markers and adds to us, "Aren't children just adorable!" it is not quite the adjective that comes into our minds, and certainly not the response that will keep baby Joey from doing it again. And this philosophy of kindness taken too far in adult can be just as damaging:

Imagine (from my personal repertoire of unbearable pleasantry) a debt recovery class where the instructor is discussing credit card debt and spending over your ability to repay, when in the back of the class an arm shoots up and a sweet little twenty-something Gap girl says, "But what if my favorite store is having a sale and I just need a new dress? Are you saying that is wrong?" Instructor quickly shakes her head. "No, of course not! We all have to buy a little something for ourselves now and then..." God knows we couldn't possibly tell anyone he/she has done anything wrong! That wouldn't be nice! And we all know from decades of indoctrination that being nice is much more important than being honest.

But the real problems are yet to be reached. Contrary to our experience from Happy Jesus Pals videos, it is not possible to love everyone. Trust me, for every person in the world, there is a whole shitload of people for him/her to loathe. But with our new insistence on pleasantry, we do have to be nice to everyone. And have you ever heard niceness from someone who loathes you? It isn't pleasant at all. In fact, it's passive agressive with definite undercurrents of insult ("My, don't you look lovely in that dress! I thought it was such a hideous shade of vomit green at first, but trust me, on you it works!").

But you can't ever address these undercurrents, which is why it has become such a popular tool of insult and manipulation. You know they are being rude, but you can't ever call them on the carpet for it, because they are superficially so felicitous.

The Mormon church has their "Proclamation on the Family," a passive-aggressive call to arms against abortionists, unmarried couples, and homosexuals. But if you try to bring these implications up when speaking to a Mormon, they instantly hide behind, "You're misinterpreting it!" and, "That isn't what it means!" Recently a Salt Lake Tribune reporter asked the LDS church its stand on appropriate Sunday activities, namely why the 4th of July was not celebrated on Sunday in Utah. The response? They have no official stand. They encourage and discourage certain activities but let families decide for themselves. Is this sounding familiar? Bringing back any childhood memories? "Of course you should do what you think is right, sweetie, but you know how I feel on the matter." Thanks, Mother! Consider what Martin Luther would have done as a modern Mormon: "Oh, I didn't mean it that way, Archbishop of Mainz, indulgences aren't bad! I was just saying that other people might feel that way."

And the wider implication of forced niceties is that we refuse to recognize unpleasant events which occur around us. Coming from a state that is #1 in Prozac use, I see a lot of rose-colored visionaries on a daily basis ("No, my husband didn't molest my five-year-old daughter: it was all a misunderstanding."). There is a strong cultural belief that unhappiness is a sign of sin, unkindness a sin itself, so everyone must always have a cheery smile on their face and a bubbly greeting for the world, no matter what their lives are really like. And in order to keep that smile properly fixed on their glazed little faces, any truly devastating events must be completely obliterated from their psyche: rewritten, forgotten, or ridiculed. And we should all know from Psych 101 that this is not healthy behavior to engage in over time, since it tends to cause sudden outbursts of violence, emotional distress, and bringing a gun into the nearest post office and shooting everyone in sight.

Admittedly, we have not been totally submerged in this new era of forced affection, many of the major proponents for the return of Father Knows Best can be exceptionally mean on demand, especially when defending their pleasant outlook to anyone who questions their grasp of reality. But to a child raised amidst the repressive cloud of All-is-Well, it is not enough. It is time to be honest. It is time to be mean. It is time to scream at your significant other and shout

"FUCK YOU!"

at all passing cars. Don't wait until the next time you need stamps: tell the world off today.

The Secret Life of Walter Mitty

Yup, it's that special time of year again. February, the month of depression, suicide, and excessive drinking, all because of the one thing that every American, single or not, can't do without:

a JOB!

In honor of this month of fruitless searching for gainful employment, I present the ten worst questions I have ever been asked in job interviews, and the answers I will give if anyone is stupid enough to ask me them again.

Do you own your own car?

Yes, and it's brand new--my fifth one this year! I just don't understand how I keep wrecking them, but at least the insurance company has really come through for me--especially on that last accident when I bent the axle running over an old woman and her granddaughter. I mean, for chrissake!, they were at least twenty feet from the crosswalk--or, at least, they were after the car stopped dragging them.

What is your typing speed?

Oh, I've gotten up to ten words a minute before. Sometimes I'm a little slower, seeing as I'm not really literate and I have to hunt for the pictures on the keyboard. And my spelling isn't too great, but that last memo when I mistakenly typed 'cunt' for 'cant' and 'bitch' for 'botch' and 'crack' for 'crate' and the CEO ended up in prison for twenty years for pimping prostitutes and selling drugs, well, I can't see as to how that's *my* fault.

So, what do you know about our company?

Oh, you'd be surprised! I actually hacked into your system last week, took a gander at your yearly net and the salaries of all the top employees. Checked out your IRS statements while I was there--forgot to report a little income in third quarter 1996, didn't you? Oh--and I found a few trade secrets too. Let me tell you, that new storing algorithm looks pretty damn cool; you wouldn't want anyone else to see that before you get the patent-! And did you know your wife was sleeping with Smith *and* Andrews? Found a few pictures they'd been sending back and forth, and let me be the first to say that she is one hot babe!

What was your favorite work environment to date?

I guess that would be Hamburger Hooties. I know it was a long time ago, but it was the only job where I could slack off all day, talking to the other guys and eating fries, and they never fired me. Plus, I made a lot of extra money stealing from the cash register.

What was your least favorite work environment?

Oh, god! I really hated them all. I mean it's work, work, work, all day long, and they bitch when you come in late and yell if you leave early. And my coworkers all complained about my attitude, like they've never taken a bat to a computer monitor on a bad day-! And my boss at Compudex was a total fucker--he totally blew me off for a promotion, just because I smacked around his daughter for calling me a whore when she caught me in bed with her dinky little boyfriend. But I'm not the one who blew up those buildings and cut the brake lines in the CEOs' cars, if that's what you're getting at.

What sets you apart from all the other applicants?

I'm actually a superhero in disguise. When trouble strikes, I sneak into the office restroom and don my neon leotard and fight evil and injustice with courage, strength, and witty repartee. In fact, you might be familiar with some of my prior work: I saved the Statue of Liberty last May from being blown up by Dr. StrangeGlove, last October I rescued the President from an evil plot by a militia group of mind-controllers seeking more lenient gun laws, and last Sunday I saved Jennifer Anniston from a wicked hairdressing organization seeking to overthrow the Hollywood elite by coloring their hair back to its natural hue.

What assets would you bring to this company if we hired you?

Oh, these two beauties right here for one. 34D and 100% natural! You wanna feel? That's no miracle bra there, let me tell you! And you can be certain that I'll never try to hide away these talents--no sirree! Down to the nipple, that's my clothing philosophy. If I fall out, what the hell! Who wouldn't want a closer look, hmmm?

What's your biggest weakness?

You know, I don't really think I have any big weaknesses. I know some of my previous employers might complain about my so-called "alcoholism", but I personally don't see how five vodka tonics before work can really interfere with assembling those tiny computer chips. And as for my drug habit, it's true it was kind of controversial at first, but once my last boss met my mafia supplier, he quit complaining right off. And when I visited him in the hospital, he even let me try some of his painkillers! And although some people might point to that pedaphilia issue, well, I just think of it as a way to get closer to my colleagues--you know, through their children.

If you could be an animal, what animal would you be and why?

I would definitely be a dog. Dogs get to lie around all day and lick their ass. Someone else feeds them, walks them, washes them, brushes them, and cleans their teeth. Plus they get to eat off the floor and pee on the furniture. Either that or I would be a worm, because I really identify with their life. I mean, they crawl through dirt and shit all day, blind and senseless, and after all that just end up getting chopped in half by a spade whenever I do any gardening.

What do you hope to get from this job?

Money. That's about it.

Many a Smale Maketh a Grate

It seems that this past decade a marked number of individuals have forgotten that they are just that--individuals. As in solitary, one, alone, not a majority. With the calendar-linked rise in religious fervor (fin de siecle malaise), the conservative and fundamentalist christian-political factions suddenly seem convinced that they have taken over the United States populace. Hello! Wake up, boys: just because you got a majority in the law-making offices of our once-fair nation doesn't mean that the american people agree with you that abortionists should be killed, gays tortured, and atheists entrusted to death camps.

And although the women of Generation Whatever have sweetly thrown aside and trodden upon with their clunky 70s platform shoes the ideals and hopes of the feminist movement from the past 150 years doesn't mean that all women will tolerate being discriminated against repeatedly at work, at school, even at fucking NASA, and most importantly in political offices. Your girlfriend may say women have everything they want so long as you put a pretty ring on her finger, but when you meet the women who aren't driven in life by the desire for the bliss of couplehood, you're going to be in sorry shape, skinny boy!

Likewise simply because a few men have decided that the modern notion of civilized behavior cramps their "masculine" urges--namely, the need to scratch, chew, spit, holler at women, shoot Bambi, and drink heavily--does not mean that your fellow buds have failed to recognize that abandoning their primitive tendancies to fight and bicker over territory, property, and women (all the same thing, eh?) is not exactly any loss to the future of humanity.

But perhaps the most important minority of individuals who stubbornly refuse to acknowledge their insignificance in today's world are the computer hackers. Excuse me, Computer Dave, but weren't you the little geek in high school wearing brown polyester pants with those white short-sleeve dress shirts, pocket protecter in tow? Weren't you the last in line at school dances and the first for school lunch? No, wait, I forgot--you couldn't eat school lunch because you were allergic to the artificial flavorings, so you had peanut butter and liver sandwiches instead. Even your teachers thought you were a little creepy, especially the physics instructor, who wondered if you were gay.

So what makes you nerds think that all of a sudden the world is going to do what you say? Okay, so you got a high-paying job in the MIS industry while all your former enemies went on to be managers at McDonalds. Okay, so blonde chicks who like your red Mustang convertible and can ignore your receeding hairline now hang on your every word. Okay, so you have five or six dweebs working under your supervision, who fear you and kiss your ass. Darlin', you could be elected fuckin' president of the company, and it still won't make you captain of the football team.

Because no matter how big you get, you aren't the majority. You can't stop people from buying Microsoft. You may jump up and down and scream and sob that it's an inferior operating system, but the majority of america will continue to prefer its interface to UNIX. You want to know why? Because they aren't geeks. They don't care about performance or compatibility or monopolies. They like solitaire and big-buttoned help windows and easy-to-read error messages. They like cheap prices and free software. Because they spent their high school years kissing girls instead of digitizing them on an Apple II.

While we're at it, people are going to keep buying iMacs as well. Laugh all you want about how inferior it is to an Alpha chip PC, THEY DON'T CARE! They like the tacky chassis design, they like the groovy neon colors and lack of sharp corners. After all, they wear bellbottoms and drive VW bugs, what the hell do you expect from them? This computer is an ornament on their desk, an email tool, nothing more. They aren't going to calculate pi, they aren't going to search for the Grand Unified Theory, they aren't even going to work out their taxes. The computer world will be lucky if they can even find the OFF button.

WELCOME TO REALITY, GREASE-BOY: everybody's a moron!
(How do you think the republicans got elected in the first place?)

So just suck up those Microsoft complaints, quit whining with all your friends that you "just can't understand" why people keep buying Windows 98, and recognize that the world hasn't changed that much since high school. Yes, you may have a chance to get laid at last, but that blonde who's giggling at your wad of cash probably owns an iMac herself. Maybe two.

Common Sense

During this 4th of July season, many Americans might be surprised to learn that, contrary to common belief, this is not a truly democratic nation. Rather than following the political system of the noble Greeks, as so often we are told, our government embraces instead the despotic method of the Roman Republic, namely rulership by the educated elite. We the people elect our senators and representatives, indeed, but they do all the decision-making. I mean, we're never allowed to vote on national issues like highway funding and the new $100 bill design. So I think that it is time we returned power to the people, where ANYONE can present a law and EVERYONE can vote on it.

Consider:

If we were a true democracy, quarters would be made out of foil-covered chocolate candy and dollar bills would be printed in the fashionable colors of the season with the images of current supermodels instead of dull, dead presidents.

If we were a true democracy, they would give out brownies and milk at the voting booths.

If we were a true democracy the National Endowment for the Arts would no longer be given to obscure modern artists with bizarre painting techniques, but would rather be alotted to crazy Aunt Edna and her charming still lifes of fruit bowls and teacups.

If we were a true democracy we would be able to vote ourselves pay raises annually the way our congressmen can presently.

If we were a true democracy, we would have state beers along with state birds, state trees, and state fish.

If we were a true democracy, the cast of Seinfeld would be arrested and forced back on the air. The new "Prison" season would air five days a week and Sundays at 7:00 PM on EVERY channel.

If we were a true democracy, Hanson would get a Congressional Medal of Honor.

If we were a true democracy, cops would quit wasting time and money writing out petty parking tickets and would instead get around to hunting down alimony and child support deliquencies. But it would be declared legal to vandalize illegally parked cars (two birds with one stone...).

If we were a true democracy, there would be a new stamp celebrating Pamela Anderson...nude.

If we were a true democracy, taxes for the lower and middle classes would be abolished once it became clear that the rich upper class in the USA are less than one percent of our population and can easily be forced to pick up our share.

If we were a true democracy, there would be no more of this Daylight Savings crap because it confuses and annoys all of us.

If we were a true democracy, instead of wasting millions on an anti-drug campaign, there would be a National Awareness Campaign devoted to informing the populace that "Rush Limbaugh Is A Big Fat Ass." There would also be a campaign for "Howard Stern is a Perverted Freak" and "The Spice Girls Empower Women."

If we were a true democracy, we would still refuse to convert to the Metric system. Even though the average Americal doesn't know how many feet are in a mile or how many cups are in a gallon, we are just too goddamn stubborn and arrogant to give in to those heathen Europeans.

So, during this month of patriotic ferver, take a stand for democracy. Don't be like the Romans and elect corrupt officials pretending to be defending your interests while they line their own pockets. Do it like the Greeks and organize a mob to lynch your local senator! Demosthenes would be proud.

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