We Are The Hurled
The Law of Biology states:
An organism will do anything it can.
The hypothetical and highly imaginary Law of Ethics states:
Just because you can do a thing doesn’t mean you should.
BZZT! Shock administered to test subject. The word “should” is disallowed. You lose a turn. Go back to START.
Okay. How far back should I go?
Hmm. No need to be excessive. How about the day your slimy species grew legs, became amphibious and hauled itself up out of the primordial ooze and lay panting on the beach?
So yeah, the other day I became embroiled in a discussion on Twitter about free speech. It all started when a person I follow stated they were under attack by some haters. Not only that, but she had just written a piece about how the haters were attacking her supporters, too. Hate by proxy, I guess. Adding my two cents, I responded with this pearl of wisdom:
“You have the right to your voice. Online harassers shouldn’t be allowed to operate with impunity.”
Naturally, as if to prove her point, I picked up some criticism of my own. I then got involved in a surprisingly civil discussion about the perils of too much free speech and what, if anything, constitutes “hate speech.” I began by asking my new-found critic a simple question: Where do YOU draw the line on anonymous online free speech?
His reply? “I don’t. Sticks and stones…”
No limits on free speech? None??? Such is the world of absolutes that some find friendly. This got me to thinking. Twitter, alas, was too limiting of a medium to try to explore some complicated concepts, so this post was born.
What would a world with no limits on free speech look like? Warning: This isn’t going to be pretty.
Continue reading →
Hey, Gorgeous. You’re Beautiful!
Somebody asked to see me? That really makes my mustard a go-go.
Ah, the online world of the internets. A place of unspeakable and (almost) unimaginable evil.
It’s a land where 14-year-old children use the latest and greatest state-of-the-art technology to play mind games in the hopes their contemporaries will – quite literally – kill themselves. It quickly goes downhill from there.
Need a place to post your latest rape video? Check. The internet has got your back.
I’m deliberately leaving out the really nasty stuff. In short, technology lead to a life of ease with record leisure time which we promptly filled up with shitty behavior towards each other. Welcome to the Shit Age, the unpredicted successor to the Information Age.
On the bright side, though, there can be positive, fun moments, too. Like when you create your online persona, upload a real picture of yourself, then some stranger says, “Holy fuck, you are one hot bitch!” and emails you a picture of his penis. (Or so I’ve heard. I’ve never personally experienced that form of an internet “compliment.”)
Ah, internet. I see what you did there. You even ruined the so-called nice stuff. Well played.
In a place like this, a compliment on your avatar might seem like a refreshing change of pace. It might feel like a beacon of light in a sewer-sludge trash compactor of darkness and evil.
But is it really?
Continue reading →
Fires in the Works
It’s all (allegedly) fun and games until something like this this happens. Must satisfy impulses now. Regret can come later.
I am proud to be an American.
BOOM!
Whoa! What the fuck was that? And, more importantly, who’s going to help me change my diaper?
So let me get this straight. You love America, too. And to prove it you’re going to make something go boom boom. Do you mind if I get some background information? Are you the same guy from elementary school who got paper towels wet and threw them into ceiling lights until they blew up? Are you the one who was so fascinated with fire that he set his junior high school locker ablaze? Do you think shooting a gun up in the air is good clean fun? No, no, don’t tell me. Let me guess. All the same guy, right?
Just in case you doubt my cred to discuss this topic, please know that one time I visited the game store where my son the gerbil liked to hang out. Staff regaled with me with stories of my son’s exploits in the back parking lot shooting bottle rockets using his ass as the launch platform. So I think I’m qualified!
In 2012, 60-percent of the year’s fireworks injuries occurred between June 22nd and July 22nd, sending an average of 200 people per day to the hospital. … All six fireworks-related deaths that happened last year involved illegal or homemade fireworks.
–Source: All the Amazing Facts About Your Fireworks Injury (Gizmodo)
Fireworks are a product. I know for a fact that those who make them have a profit motive. What I secretly suspect, however, is that they also hate America and are out to conquer us one body part at a time. Yes, it’s a theory, but it fits the available facts, dammit!
There’s no such thing as a zero error rate in the manufacture of products. Stay with me here. I’m building a logical proof piece by piece (if you’ll pardon the expression). That means some percentage of fireworks legally sold in this country are inherently flawed. Use of those products is, therefore, a calculated risk. Fuck that. I’ll stick with the craps table. I deem that to be an acceptable level of risk, but hey, that’s how I roll. Your mileage may vary.
Some, like me, might argue further that just the existence of the product is an intentional design flaw, but I won’t go there.
I’ll just say, like I am often wont to do, “What could possibly go wrong?” Life is dangerous enough. Why do we deliberately go out of our way to do nonsensical things that have no logical purpose that increase the odds against us? That makes absolutely no sense to me.
At ease, people. Blow ’em up if you got ’em.
BTW, the fireworks we give to youngsters make a lot more sense. Sparklers. So pretty. And what are they? Pieces of metal burning at temperatures up to 2,000 degrees or about as hot as a blow torch.
What could possibly go wrong? (Oops. There I go again.) I can’t understand how sparklers are responsible for 12 percent of reported fireworks-related injuries.
Misguiding In Cars With Boys
Guru Death Theory states:
Transportation increases the odds of accidental fatalities. However, remaining stationary does not reduce the odds to zero.
–Tom B. Taker
In other words, getting from Point A to Point B can be inherently dangerous. Any method of transportation that moves your body through the physical universe increases the chances you’ll take it in the shorts. The moment you begin to move your odds of dying increase. This can take many forms. It may be a flight from Los Angeles to New York City. It might be your morning commute to work in your car. Or it could be as short of a journey as stepping into the bathtub. Or even just getting up out of your chair.
Cheery, eh?
So you might think to yourself, “I’m not moving. I’m going to sit right here and remain safe.”
A nice thought. Except that death may still find you.
For example, you could be on the bed in your very own home when a sinkhole suddenly opens up and you’re just gone. Or, ripped from the headlines just yesterday, you could be standing in your home when the ceiling violently gives way from the impact of a jet aircraft. There are no reports of deaths on the ground in this latest incident, but a young boy did get nicked on his forehead. Come to think of it, the last time I wrote about this theory, I used the example of a jet aircraft engine landing on a house. As always I hate being right.
Being alive can be dangerous.
Maybe it would be a good idea to go for a walk, clear my head and think things over. (Hint: It’s not.)
Continue reading →
That’s liable to be a problem
Hot damn I just love being prophetic. Check out what I wrote about the boss circa July 12, 2010. (One week ago today.)
He doesn’t pay you to run errands in your own vehicle after work, either. Like when he demands that packages be dropped at the post office. He doesn’t offer to cover mileage, either. Incidentally, this is a dumb ass thing to do on his part. If an employee got in an accident and didn’t have insurance, it’s his business that would be on the hook. But those are the kinds of pennies he loves to pinch. (Source.)
That was only a week ago and it has already happened! This scenario went down exactly as I predicted. Why I’m not paid to be a prognosticator I’ll never know!
Our newest employee is just a youngster but has already been entrusted with all sorts of responsibilities and pressure even though he’s only been here a few months. That’s just the way this place works. The company’s needs dominate everything.
Late last week this employee was dispatched to pick up an order of ours from a local merchant. The employee hopped in his car and took off, not bothering to mention that he doesn’t have liability insurance. Oops. Of course, the boss wants what the boss wants. And what he wants is all employees doing his bidding no matter how dumb ass his decisions.
So the employee makes the pickup and then, one block down the street, picks up a bag of delicious fast food, then heads back to our world headquarters.
Suddenly tires screeched. The car in front had slammed on the brakes. Our hero slammed on his brakes, too, but it was too late. He skidded right into that car and hit hard.
Thankfully everyone was ok.
The other driver hopped out and checked to make sure our hero was ok. After getting an affirmative response, then came the $64,000 question. “Do you have insurance?”
Our hero had to say no.
Did I mention our hero was young? So young that he’s never been in an accident before and didn’t even know what to do. Yikes. Information was exchanged but our hero got nothing but a phone number. No name. Oops.
And, here’s a potentially important point. When the other driver said she was on her lunch break, our hero decided to add, “Me? I’m just running an errand for work.” SAY WHAT? This just might turn out to be an important plot point somewhere down the road, eh?
Cars were inspected. The other driver just had a minor mark on the bumper. The front of our hero’s car was crunched pretty bad. The other driver said she felt fine. Then she said, “You know what. I’m okay, the damage is light. You’d better get out of here before the cops show up or your car will get towed because you don’t have insurance.” An agreement was made that our hero would cover any damages so his record could be kept clean.
After an amazing amount of time, about 30 minutes or so, everything changed. The other driver called back and said, “You know what? My vehicle damage is worse than I originally thought. Also my back is starting to hurt.”
Our poor hero. The kibosh is about to come down and come down hard. You just got served.
The other driver continued, “I’m going to have to go ahead and notify my insurance company.”
Stop your grinnin’ and drop your linen. That’s it, man. Game over, man. Game over, what the fuck are we supposed to now, huh, what are we gonna do?
Those of us with a bit more life experience than our hero know what happens now. Once the insurance company is involved a police report becomes mandatory. That will put our hero on the hook for driving without insurance. (Which was, of course, a hideously dumb ass thing to do.) Which means that our hero is about to lose his driver’s license for a year and no doubt pay some fines.
Where it gets really interesting, however, is the part where our hero let slip that he was driving on company time. That makes the corporation potentially liable for any damages not covered by our hero’s insurance, which, of course, in this particular case is none. Our hero is poor and has no assets. Guess what that means? The corporation might be on the hook here.
Now this doesn’t sound like the most expensive accident of all time, but this could theoretically impact Mr. Penny Pincher’s pocketbook, and if so, our hero’s days here in the shithole are numbered. Our boss sure is a bloody genius for making employees do his tasks in their own vehicles and not making sure they have auto insurance.
Maybe it will all work out. It will be interesting to watch how this unfolds. Perhaps we can retain the services of Has Been, Never Was & Has Been LLP to save our hero and make sure the company pays? 🙂
Workplace injury fails to satisfy
I’ve been dreaming about Mama Compensation* for a long, long time. At long last, this week, I have finally been injured at work.
What a heady experience and an exciting time! It is a time full of great promise …
Here’s how it happened. This last Monday I returned to work after a nine-day vacation. That’s five whole days off sandwiched between four weekend days. It also happened to be the first week paid week of vacation I’ve had since the year 2000. (Shudder. That streak is almost too evil to contemplate.)
If coming back from a three-day weekend at work is rough then being away for nine whole days was a friggin’ nightmare. I knew there was zero chance of having a “normal” day upon my return. What is normal, anyway? One definition is: “What everyone else is but you are not.” In a workplace setting, however, a normal day is a theoretical construct; something that simply doesn’t exist.
So on Monday because some job duties had been shuffled around due to a new employee, I was forced to work at her desk for a few hours so she could work at mine. (This has gone on all week. I’m still waiting for that “normal” day.) Eventually her new computer will arrive and we’ll get all of the software and printers moved around so we can each do what we need at our own workstations. Who knows when that day will come? Like usual the company fails to plan ahead. Hire employee then think about the tools. It just isn’t possible to do things in any other order! Until then we’ll continue to play workstation switcheroo.
Now the one thing I hate most in the whole world are those little slide-out keyboard trays that live just under the top of a desk. (Ever notice how the thing I’m complaining about right now is always the thing I hate the most? That’s just the way I roll.) My workstation certainly does not have one of those trays. The day I moved in I grabbed some tools and physically removed the damn thing so it wouldn’t hit my knees all day long.
Co-worker’s desk, however, had the keyboard safely ensconced below. This forces several things to happen. First your hands are too low which increases the distance your eyes must travel when looking back and forth between the monitor and the keyboard. I normally keep the keyboard as close to the monitor as possible. And secondly, the tray when slid out forced me to sit an additional one foot away from the desktop. Which happens to be where the mouse lives. (The tray didn’t have room for a little mouse pad.)
Without realizing it, I used the mouse for hours right at the extreme edge of the desk. That meant my arm and wrist were suspended in mid-air as I did my work. At my desk my right arm normally stays flopped on the desk like a dead fish and very little power and muscle movement is required to twitch the mouse around its pad.
You guessed it. That minor little difference in arm position led to my injury. By 11am I was like, “Damn! My wrist fucking hurts!”
Now, aside from having absolutely no muscle conditioning of any kind, this is the embarrassing part. I bitched about the keyboard tray to my supervisor and she said something rather brilliant. “Why not move the keyboard on top of the desk?”
WHISKEY TANGO FOXTROT!
I’m a genius sort of dude, or so I thought. Why the hell didn’t I think of that??? The keyboard was even cordless, so there was no need to get an my hands and knees and fiddle with cords. (Which is, by far, the thing I hate most in the whole world.) Two seconds later the keyboard was snuggled up to the monitor and my arm was properly lounging on the desk where it could fondle the mouse in leisure all it wanted.
Pure genius.
Of course I was still injured at this point. And this is where the dramatic sadness and melancholy kicks in. See, even though severely crippled by injury, I still had to keep working! And the next day, too. And the day after that! In fact, it’s almost like I’m never going to see a return on the promise of bounty on this injury! Even now I can sit here and clench my fist. Ow! That hurts!
I guess Mama Compensation is going to leave me hanging one more time…
*Video: Kids in the Hall: Mama Compensation.
Shouts from the Abyss 
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