Friday, October 14, 2011

Occupy Wall Street

When I see photos of Teabagger's holding poorly spelled, racist, bigoted signs conveying really ignorant concepts, I shudder but giggle. Way to stand up against Muslin, idiots.

I hear what they are saying, but I still think they are full of shit. Why? Because the leaders who feed them the drivel they regurgitate are full of shit.

Corporation CEOs are not your friends, Dummies. They are clever, clever thieves. While Congress is in their back pocket doing their dirty work by running into the bank and waving their guns, they sit at home waiting for the loot to be delivered to them. For some reason, you sign-holding idiots don't realize it's YOUR MONEY that was just stolen. You've got one hand holding up a stupid sign and the other one holding the bank door open so Cantor and Bachmann can make their getaways.

Unfortunately, I feel a heavy shoe on the other foot, at the moment. The theatrics of some at the Occupy Wall Street Movement are, at times, embarrassing, and I wince when I consider how they not only detract from the OWS message, but actually allow for blatant misinterpreting from opponents. And honestly, the term 'Redistribute the Wealth' doesn't sit well with me. It sounds a lot like 'Hand Me Some of What You Got.' I don't want what you got. I want what I earned, and I want your ass in jail if you stole it.

So to those of you who think this movement is about handouts, be advised. You are wrong.

This is about Corporations who forced their workers to pay into pension funds and then syphoned that money away to themselves using tricky loopholes that Congress continues to allow. And while you continue voting for representatives who protect these CEOs, these CEOs will continue their decimation of workers' retirement plans to boost their own pay and pensions. You, who does not understand this movement, are handing over YOUR money and future to someone else. Period. That, to me, is stealing. And while Congress continues to allow it, there's your fucking Hand Out.

If I'm wrong, why did Eric Cantor once talk of "The battle for our Democracy" and how "We must win this battle," and how "We can take this country back" only to claim NOW that "[He] for one [is] increasingly concerned about the growing mobs occupying Wall Street and the other cities across the country?" Because he's full of shit, that's why. Full of CEO/Corporate shit that's been pumped up his cornhole too far by CEO/Corporate dick.

If you really don't understand the protests, you've been brainwashed. If you pretend you don't understand, you're really fucking rich and very nervous.

List of Demands

You are the result of 4 billion years of evolutionary success.
Fucking act like it.

Wednesday, October 12, 2011

The Fuck Up Fairy Flies United.

I spent last week back east visiting my mother. Her husband, who I hate like poison, was getting out of the hospital, and I just wanted to make sure she could handle his return home. She is old, and he is Street Rat Crazy. His release was abrupt news so I quickly bought the most affordable ticket which included flights with a stop on both legs. I've flown only a handful of times, and did not know this was just plain stupid.

The MRI and Neurological check ups I go through twice a year were both scheduled for Tuesday morning and afternoon, and I didn't want to postpone them. To squeeze in as much alone time with my mother before He Who Ruins Her Life got home, I chose to end that very long day with a Red Eye Flight that would get me to her early Wednesday morning, a full day before she had to pick up the Douche Cannon. I assumed I'd be so tired I'd just sleep the through the flight, but the seats were unbelievably small and uncomfortable, and there was a very large passenger to my right who had no choice but to take up half of my space. The plane flew through a very stormy night and the constant turbulence added no comfort. It was just impossible to sleep through such a bumpy ride.

To top it all off, the flight was delayed for 35 minutes. It was just enough time to make me believe I might possibly catch my connecting flight and then miss it by one minute. For real. I arrived at the gate only to see my plane backing away. Had the pilot been looking, he would have been close enough to see me give him the finger.

So I rebooked the next flight available and sat there, tired as fuck, for four hours waiting to board the model kit airplane they constructed earlier that morning. You could smell the glue still drying on the wing. We boarded and then sat on the runway so long the pilot apologized for Air Traffic Control not being "on top of their game" that day. We'll chuck that phrase into the bin of shit I don't need to hear.

We landed, I spent a few precious hours alone with Mom, and then endured the next few days with her and her husband who sucks a bag of dicks.

I returned to the airport on Saturday at noon looking forward to getting away from the Bag of Dick Sucker and returning to The Boy and our pets, but sometime after we were supposed to board the plane, United told us the engine was leaking oil. They delayed the flight every hour with constant reassurances that it would all be done soon, so everyone rebooked their connecting flights but kept their eye on the clock because with every delay, it became clear that our new rebooked itineraries would require another rebooking.

Now, United could have been honest with us at noon and confessed that their mechanics would spend the next 8 hours Coming Down and might get to the repair when the snakes and bugs left them alone, but they were so desperate to avoid spending money accommodating us with meals, hotel rooms, and flights on other airlines that they strung us along all day and kept their fingers crossed that they could MacGyver the hemorrhaging engine with something cheap like gum and a paperclip. At 8PMish when they announced that they MIGHT need to order a part, I believe I snapped. A Fucking Part to a Fucking Plane that I have to Fucking Fly to another Fucking city to get a connecting, Fucking Flight. Fuck That, you Fucking Fuckers.

Exhausted as I was, I approached the counter and told United to rent me a car so I could drive to another airport, to buy me dinner and a hotel room for the night, and to pay for a direct flight for me to get home. They told me they could take care of everything, but couldn't rent me the car, they could only send me a limo and give me a ride. Well spank my ass, and call me Charlie, I'll take it.

The limo took me to another airport, and when I arrived, there was no one at the United counter. NO ONE. At United's counter, at a big airport, at 9PM, on a Saturday night. So I pick up the Courtesy Phone and explained that I needed a staff member because I'd been sent there due to mechanical problems with their plane in another city and that I had been given vouchers for not just a direct flight on another and much better airline, but for a meal and a hotel room - on them. Of all the things I was prepared to hear from the woman on the other end of the line, "How did you get this number?" was not one of them. I shit you not, I've been at an airport all day, I'm tired, I'm hungry, I just want to get home and am still no closer to it than I was when I arrived at the first airport 9 hours earlier, and this vaginal blood fart on the other end of the phone acts like I've phoned her cell.

How did I get this number?!? Bitch, are you fucking stupid for a living? I did not wake up this morning to be flypaper to cunts today, I will fucking cut you. I have been through Shawshank this week only I tunneled through a lot more shit and there was no fucking redemption so sort yourself out NOW, and put my ass in a comfortable bed or I will hunt you down like you owe me money and so help me I will never stop smacking you. How did I get this number? I got it from your Baby Daddy, you bloated sack of cum. Now suck my dick or be prepared for me to shove my dick in your eye because I am NOT having this. Cunt.

Everything was smooth from that moment on. Fast shuttle to a free room at the Hilton, free meal, a little alcohol, a comfy bed all to myself, and a direct flight home that was not just on time but arrived early and had leg room. I'm 5 fucking 2. If I tell you that first flight had no leg room, I assure you, there was no room for your fucking legs.

I stepped off the plane pretty well rested, but 30 minutes early so I sat at the bar, ordered a shot of Jack and a breakfast sandwich, and promised myself to never do it again...

Mama Said Knock You Out

You are the result of 4 billion years of evolutionary success.
Fucking act like it.