Category Archives: tales of stupidity

A lite-er shade of Palin, or, Is that all you got?

The media has a lot of damn nerve expecting Veep candidate Sarah Palin to actually answer THEIR questions.  Palin has her answers – maverick – and she is gonna give em’ regardless of the questions.  The so-called debate last Thursday night – maverick – was little more than another chance for Palin to give her well-coached stump speech.  Her call for more ‘Joe Six-Pack’ was but a feeble chimera of faux-populism that will hopefully fall as flat as the current ‘half-of-a-six-pack’ running the country.

And now she has the you-betcha chutzpuh – maverick – to deride Obama for pal-ling around with a ‘radical’ who actually performed his radical acts when Obama was all of eight years old.  Is that all you got, Palin?  Has it come to THiS?  I know that it’s traditional for the Veep candidate to be the attack dog, but this canine doesn’t even have lipstick.  This is nothing more than blip-schtick, unworthy of even Joe McCarthy’s fabled list of the fifties.

Here’s a woman who sleeps with a man who seriously wanted Alaska to secede from the United States of America, and is running with a man who was against torturing prisoners and now is FOR torturing prisoners, who was AGAINST regulating the sub-prime lenders but who is now suddenly going to regulate the stuffing out of them – maverick -, a man who is either for or against off-shore drilling (I can’t remember where he stands NOW) and she’s gonna play the the Obama had a bad friend game?   How about Charles Keating..how about the sick people who smeared McCain back in 2000 working for Karl Rove at the time who are now working FOR McCain.  Forget all this…how in God’s name is Sarah Palin remotely qualified to run this country?  Oh yeah, she loves Israel and Jesus and Joe Six-Pack and hockey moms and can see Russia from her freaking house?

I am actually optimistic that the people of this country are tired of the anti-intellectualism neo-con,  con game stooges who have been ruining our country.  I’m optimistic that the people of this country will see though the stunt nomination of Sarah Palin and the suspension of the campaign and the flip-floppery opportunism of Senator McCain, a man – maverick – who has become little more than the re-incarnation of the current failure-in-chief.

If this is really all you got, Ms Palin – maverick – then bless your heart.

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Just don’t do it (not feeling the flying love, actually)

I didn’t take my first airplane flight until I was 23 years of age.  It was a time (yeah, it was after spats and in the early years of the push-button phone) when people actually dressed up to fly.  Flying was special, a treat reserved for important-looking-brief-case-carrying-besuited men and rich kids on vacation.  I flew laced, pin-pointed and blazered.  I had no briefcase but I knew Aladdin’s joy.  I was given a meal and as much coke-cola as I wanted.  My bags were checked, my ticket was punched amidst smiles and aisles.

My memory of flying coincides with the closing scenes of ‘Love, Actually’.  Families, lovers, friends hug-a-mug happily embracing.  The entire fam  comes out to meet you at the gate, and if a kid snuck under a rope to see his mom or dad disembark, no one gets shot or detained in a concrete room with a cell phone that can’t penetrate the mass.

I’m not a frequent flyer.  At best, I’m in the air 3 or 4 times a year.  I can’t imagine going through the morass of modern flying more than that.  I pity the foolish scheduled weekly flyers.  They shall see the kingdom of heaven on time, with free drinks.

The process of flying has become loathsome.  It is a process.  We are meat, we are cattle, and we are not golden.  We are extra-charged, bumped, bullied, stripped of clothing, treated like terrorists, delayed and delayed again. Our flights are cancelled, re-gated, de-gated, and de-bated.  The second bag now costs $25.00 to check.  I won’t be surprised if we have to pay for the oxygen mask to appear when the cabin pressure drops as precipitiously as the fun that used to be flying.

On my flight to and from Chicago this weekend, peanuts would have cost me three damn dollars had I asked for them.   The seats, in which I spent 1 and 1/2 hours tarmac-ed,  are made for rear ends the size of mine (I have none).  I pray for a seat-mate that will not be zero to my one, making for a sloppy ten.   I pray that my bags actually appear.  I feel happy when my plane takes off only an hour late.  I’m impressed when the flight isn’t cancelled.

I try to find pants I can wear without a belt when I’m going to fly the once-friendly skies.  My shoes don’t have laces, and when my jeans are more relaxed than I had intended, I stand rapper-like, holding the folds of my jeans, hoping my pants won’t fall as quickly as my pride while being singled out for special wand-ing.  Abracadabra…I hate flying.

I’m not stupid enough to call for one of those boycott days.  People are gonna fly.  Business must be done, but I do wish the next time you think you need to fly someone that you don’t.  You stay close to home.  You write the airlines and tell them why you’re not flying.   Your grounded state may not last forever, or even a year, but for now..you’ve had ENOUGH.

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To the kids driving mom and dad’s canary yellow Ford Escape on West End this afternoon, license number NBH-713*..

That was REALLY a terrific drawing of a large penis you were showing off to the cars around you.  I’d like to recommend your artistic skills to anyone needing an accurate rendering of said member.  I’ve gotta ask one question though:  Did you sneak and watch your dad in the shower or did you use some new super-duper-high-power magnifying glass from Sharper Image to sketch your own penis?

I hope you don’t waste your artistic talents..perhaps another angle from behind would make for a great self-portrait.  Good luck with your art classes in the future.  I’m sure mom and dad would be SO proud.

*Williamson County, go figure…

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The gripes of wrath – Tom Joad in bizarro world

Towards the end of Grapes of Wrath, Tom Joad (Henry Fonda) tells his mother

“…I’ll be all around in the dark. I’ll be ever’-where – wherever you can look. Wherever there’s a fight so hungry people can eat, I’ll be there. Wherever there’s a cop beatin’ up a guy, I’ll be there. I’ll be in the way guys yell when they’re mad – I’ll be in the way kids laugh when they’re hungry an’ they know supper’s ready. An’ when the people are eatin’ the stuff they raise, and livin’ in the houses they build – I’ll be there, too.”

Contrast and compare: Stacey Campfield, state legislator, un-extraordinaire, speaks of his bill that would bar entry to children of illegal immigrants to our state colleges:

I don’t think they should be here in the first place..We kick kids out of school all the time for bad behavior and criminal activity. I happen to think illegal immigration should be on that list

I’m thinking he’s probably not talking about Canadian kids here. Folks, these kids are here. We’re not going to take all 12 million folks out of their homes (AND JOBS). Being born a citizen of another country is not ‘bad behavior’, and it’s certainly not criminal. Comparing the birth passage to criminal activity is inane.

Anytime I read about a mild-to-totally goofy bill in our state legislature, I’m pretty sure whose picture is going to pop up associated with said bill. Congratulations, the ghost of Tom Joad certainly doesn’t haunt your heart or brain, Mr. Campfield.

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It’s for the chirren, right, or Adopting bigotry as a state standard

I suspect there are many too-old-to-be-cute baby children who would like to be adopted in our fair state. I’m also guessing that many people who would like to adopt some of these kids are not married in the traditional legal sense. Shelby County Democrat John Berry is co-sponsoring a bill* with a Shelby County Republican (I’ll let some GOP types go after him) that would prohibit adoption of a minor to any couple who is ‘residing with another person and involved in a sexual relationship ‘ with said other person, if the couple are not married under the laws of the state of Tennessee (gay folks are out, in other words).

The converse of this wording is interesting, because you could say it implies that any married couple has to be sexually active in order to adopt a child, which, present company aside, ironically screws over a lot of married folks who haven’t even looked at each other lustfully in a dozen or more years.

Yeah, I know, the purpose of this bill is to keep children away from gay couples and that nobody is really going to ask married couples how often they copulate before they get to adopt a kid, BUT, this law does seem to have a loophole that allows non-sexually-active couples residing together to adopt a kid.

‘Do you solemnly swear that you have not penetrated or exchanged bodily fluids with said partner for the past 90 days’? Sheeesh.

Of course…screw the children. So what if they are wilting in orphanages or wards of foster parents only in it for the money. God help us if they actually have to hang around GAY people.

*HB3713

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Tales of stupidity, part 437, or ‘Hail Hail, Moronica’

If there was a board of Adult Behavior and they licensed people over the age of 40, I would be losing my credentials in the near future. I work for the state. I sometimes travel across the state. Last night I drove to Knoxville. Normally I drive a state car, usually a Taurus or Dodge Stratus. This trip I’m involved in training and I’m what is known as a SME (subject matter expert). I may be evolving into GD (general dumbass).

This training involves the delivery of Dell servers and hand-held scanners to the folks being trained. The vendor of the software that runs on the servers and ‘handhelds’ is the primary trainer, and cannot drive state vehicles. Like a big idiot (mistake number 1) I volunteered to deliver the equipment to each training site (they need the equipment as part of training).

The amount of equipment to be delivered does not fit in a normal cargo van. I discovered that the state has a box truck (much bigger than a cargo van, but not as big as a semi). Said cargo truck is tall. Way taller than any car or van I’ve ever driven. After a somewhat lengthy trip driving a somewhat uncomfortable-to-drive vehicle for 200 miles, my body and brain felt as if I had been Waring blended. I appreciate truck drivers more than ever now.

Anyway, I had reservations at Crown Plaza on Summit Hill Drive close to downtown Knoxville. They were nice enough to offer state rates and thoughtful enough to offer a covered walkway to the lobby so that patrons leaving their car in front of the lobby don’t have to be exposed to the elements. Said covered walkway has a strip of lights (think lights around a vanity mirror in a bathroom, except they have a LOT more lights). Said covered walkway is, say, about 7 and 1/2 feet high.

You may remember that I was driving a truck that is taller than anything than I’ve ever driven. You may remember the subject line of this post. Put those two facts together, along with a 7 and 1/2 foot covered walkway and you can imagine the destruction I wrought when I drove my truck INTO the walkway and wedged said truck cleverly in such a way that backing out would lead to yet more destruction.

Imagine the hotel employees and pedestrians glaring and laughing, respectively. I unwedged the truck, broke a few more light bulbs, bent the metal strip that holds the light bulbs into a shape that would easily fit into the Ghost Ballet sculpture and was directed to a ‘special’ parking light somewhere in East Judas. After my third trip lugging stuff from the truck across a parking lot, across a street, through another parking lot, down some stairs, through the ‘normal patron’s’ parking lot and up some more stairs, I was beginning to get used to people pointing and laughing.

Someday, after much paperwork is filed and people back at dispatch quit pointing and laughing, and after the facade to the covered walkway is repaired, I will laugh. Until then, I feel branded with a scarlet ‘D’ upon my forehead – DORK.

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Investment Question Updated

Several months ago I asked the more monetarily savvy mavens if the over/under line on Pacman going broke should be set at age 37 or age 38. Obviously I was wildly optimistic re Pac’s chances. Do you think that age 28 is too high?

Something is happening here, and you don’t know what it is, do you, Mr. Jones. Five’ll get you ten he doesn’t suit up for the Titans anymore. On the other hand, trading prison stripes for Bengal stripes is always a possibility.

Update: My favorite news source has a great update on the Pacman saga.

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