History is written by the victors.
–Winston S. Churchill
I have this personal pet theory. It goes a little something like this:
What do I mean by this? It’s time for a tale of hungry dogs, drowning by garden hose, buxom secretaries, altered birth certificates and who’s car is parked next door.
Did you know that some people think it’s naive to expect a presidential candidate to keep his/her word? I promise you, this is true! I’ve been called it right to my face. By no small coincidence the person doing the speaking was one of the most monumental douchebags I’ve ever met. And no, he wasn’t even my boss. He wasn’t quite that bad.
As we gather our collective will, about to commit ourselves to the task of voting, I’m here to ask: What is a presidential promise? Why are they made? Do they even matter? Should we even care? And what, if anything, should happen when they are broken?
Consider this: If it is naive to expect a presidential candidate to keep his/her promises, then what’s the bloody point of it all? If that’s the case, what selection criteria should go into your vote? Why not just vote for the candidate you “like” the most then, when he/she’s all legit, expect him/her to do whatever the hell he/she wants?
Take Romney, for instance. Part of his platform is officially “get me in there and then I’ll fill you in on the rest of the details later.” Some might call that refreshing. Some might call it straight up. At least he’s not trying to fool the naive folk, right?
On the other hand, he does make his share of promises, too. The biggest one I can think of is: “I’ll create 12 million new jobs.” Now that’s a promise. Never mind that a bunch of economists predict that the U.S. will create those jobs either way, over the next four years, regardless of which of the two choices we select in 2012.
Hey, I’ve got a promise for you, too. The sun will come up tomorrow. I promise. If it actually happens, does that mean I’m brilliant? That I had anything to do with it? And what if it doesn’t? What happens then? Well, we’ll all be dead and there will be no one around to give a shit.
It’s a classic win-win.
Some Eistein smartypants will no doubt say, “Whatever. A president doesn’t have ultimate power. He’s not a dictator. Not unless we’re talking about Obama, of course. A president can’t just do anything he wants. He needs help from Congress and stuff. He can’t go it alone.”
True. And precisely because of that fact, I’ll tell you how, in my opinion, promises should matter.
Continue reading →
First there was the shot heard round the world. Then came the sucking sound heard round the world…
This Tuesday morning the work week started like most any other. And by that I mean, of course, hating myself and wishing I had the guts to … well, a little self-censorship can occasionally be a good thing. ‘Nuff said.
We were in the factory going about the business of selling our piece of shit widgets. It was gloomy.
Suddenly the phone rang and the boss took the call…
It was obvious that something was up. Soon the boss was panting like a bitch in heat, even more than he normally does. A big fish was on the line!
Eventually he hung up the phone and let out a holler. “I just made a $20,000 sale!”
I glanced over in disgust just long enough to see that his eyeballs were gone. In their place were spinning green orbs, pulsating, glowing and looking a hell of a lot like dollar signs.
The boss was gone, yo.
As always when customers were involved, there was some urgency regarding the order. In fact, they needed it like yesterday. Just like always. My failure to plan is your emergency. Typical.
Due to the figures involved, the boss couldn’t wait to lick their hand and give them every consideration. Remember – This is the all-knowing, all-seeing magical boss of intelligence who makes the Wizard of Oz look like idiotic mold found on top of pond scum.
Long story short, he devised a plan that was pure genius. Genius!!!
It went a little something like this:
Step One – Skip the step where we accept payment before shipping product. Remember, these customers were in a hurry.
Step Two – Spend all day working on the order, trying to keep up the appearances that you can actually follow through on what you said you’d do. Forsake all other tasks and customers who are suddenly irrelevant.
Step Three – Ship everything you can scrape together out the door.
Step Four – Payment magically comes, somehow, later.
The boss explained his ace up his sleeve here. If they didn’t come through with the payment as promised, he’d simply call UPS and recall the shipment. Oh, it sounds so damn easy in his fantasies.
The package was shipped. It contained about $14,000 worth of stupid, piece of shit goodies that we sell. Hey, it’s a living.
The next day the payment call didn’t come in as promised.
The boss waited another day then leapt into action. Suddenly the customer became hard to get a hold of and didn’t return calls. But still he held off on recalling the shipment.
On Thursday the window of opportunity on the shipment closed. The product was now in their grubby little fingers.
And then, today, the shit hit the fan. Oh my. I’m so surprised. Who could have foreseen this? Certainly not a blubbering idiot like me that depends on the boss to tell me how to wipe my own ass.
How did the boss spend his day? Crying about transaction fees on a $14,000 credit card charge. At two or three percent it worked out to be about $300. You see, the customer had to cancel the order but the credit card processing companies still keep their cut. Man, no pig in the history of the universe ever squealed so damn well! You’d think they wanted one of his kidneys or something. Actually, scratch that. He would have actually given one of those up to save the money from his own damn mistake.
That’s assuming, of course, that we eventually do get paid and don’t have to eat a $14k loss on this deal, which I feel is still possible. He was moaning a little while ago about how the customer had “lied” to him.
He spent all day long on the phone schmoozing banks, credit card companies, processing centers, and also the customer. He thinks he’s so damn smooth with his sickening little “aren’t I funny” giggle. Ugh. All he did was beg for other people to fix his mistake so it wouldn’t cost him personally. I thought it was really cute how when things didn’t go exactly his way he’d drop his fake nice person persona and turn on them in anger. Ha ha ha ha ha!
And he really squealed some more when getting schooled on how funds were on hold, refunds would have to come from his business checking, etc. That means he has to shift $14k of his own money around to cover this mistake for about a week. “I have the money,” he wined, “but I don’t want to do that!” If he was three years old holding his wubbie and stamping his foot it would have been sublime perfection.
This post is a hatchet job but I don’t care. I just wanted to share. I love working for intelligent people.
This is part of the U.S. Soldier’s Creed, which actually says, in part:
“I will never leave a fallen comrade.”
Unfortunately, not all of us live by this creed. Observe…
Last night I was on my nightly commute home. My commute used to be only two miles one-way. Now it’s three miles. Which is more than enough for the assmonkeys* to turn out in spades.
I had driven a whole two blocks from work and was approaching the first traffic light of the drive. The light was green. That means it was my turn to go, and it also means that pedestrians were supposed to wait.
You see, I have this thing about pedestrians obeying signaling devices. It really burns me when they don’t. Especially when they take a leisurely stroll when it isn’t their turn and make cars with green lights have to wait. I fucking hate that! It burns me every single time.
I’m the kind of guy that waits for the walk signal. Always. That’s just the way I am. Even if the street is deserted as far as the eye can see. If only I had a nickel every time I stood there waiting while other pedestrians gave me a funny look, then blithely pressed on without me. Motherfuckers!
So here it was a mere two blocks into my commute and I was experiencing my first full blown incident of road rage of the evening. Shit, why did it take so long? Couldn’t the universe throw something at me a block earlier? Quit slacking, universe!
From the right came a couple of pedestrians, a man and a woman. I assumed they were a married couple. They were a little older than me and obviously together. They had a “don’t walk” signal because my light was green. The man strolled out into the street without a care in the world. He didn’t look left or right. He acted as if the universe was exclusively his.
Meanwhile, here I come, trying to catch the green light before it turns yellow. In other words, I’m accelerating.
The man strolled out about 10 feet into the intersection then finally seemed to realize where he was. “Wait a fucking moment. I think I’m in a street!” He stopped, froze in his tracks, looked in my direction, and then, quite comically, backtracked like a little scared rabbit.
Ha ha ha, motherfucker! This intersection is mine!
Meanwhile, he had left his wife behind. They were obviously not in agreement on the whole “let’s challenge a car to a duel” thing. While he strode out into the street, she stopped at the edge of the sidewalk, then went back to push the pedestrian button.
By now the man had retreated almost back to the sidewalk. He had stopped about three feet from the curb and remained standing defiantly on the asphalt. He was clearly perturbed that a car had dared to interrupt his jaywalking. It was like he was saying, “The line must be drawn here. This far, no further!”
Luckily I was going straight. If I had been turning right I would have run over his toes. Gladly, I might add.
After I passed, I checked my rear view mirror. That man had taken off again right behind me after I passed. And there was his wife, still dutifully waiting on the sidewalk.
The motherfucker was leaving her behind!
He reached the other side of the street and continued on down the sidewalk. He wasn’t going to wait for nobody, not even his wife.
Finally the light changed and the signal said “walk” and the woman could cross the street. She jogged all the way to catch up with her mate, then they finally continued on their way together.
You have my condolences, lady. Not only is your husband a criminal jaywalker, you’re married to a douchebag assmonkey, too.
* Thanks for the term, Write Snark! 🙂