I liked to have shit! Was this real or is this just a scientific ploy by a bunch of PC (the computer, not Politically Correct) guys from a scientific community getting a really good jab at the Mac folks? Personally, I don't think I'll be getting that much mileage out of this, but the spark of bellicose hilarity for the title alone made this worth blogging about.
"Apple 'fanboyism' triggers same brain reaction as religious zealousness"
The article as I found it can be read at the following LINK and at the time of this blog doesn't seem to be bringing the house down with much more press.
In a nutshell, the BBC is completing a documentary surrounding behavior and something called “Superbranding”. It just so happens that the Apple computer manufacturer is in the mix along with probably a half dozen other well known Fortune 500 organizations. But what shot my fat ass off the office chair cushion was the references to the fanaticism akin to that of religious fervors recognized in revivals & other “zealot” (their words, not mine) blow outs.
Now I'm not talking about tears & snot flying guffaws here, but I was chortling pretty good. You see I grew up with one side of my family being REALLY religious. While the bulk of you readers may conjure up the tedium of dressing, driving, attending, mantra, vacating and the rest of the day being the jest of your religious experience, I don't think that's exactly what the BBC crew had in mind when putting this broadcast together. Having written 'that' I'll guarantee they didn't have the same experience or baseline that I did when I read this small article.
The simple comment of “glassy-eyed staff at the Apple store opening“ mentioned within the BBC documentary is so subjective alone I could shit. Everything from "it's your job", "opening day jitters" to "quick dude, smoke this” could have contributed to that... so for all intents & purposes those folks conducting the 'experiment can fuck off... What kind of quantitative study is this shit based on?
No, where I want to go with this blog is where no colonoscopy has ever tipped my brother into pissy-dom. Not that I have ever known my brother to wait in line for anything more than a movie, I will brave the beating for the artistic masterpiece I am about render before you...
For you - my 158 readers, 2011 May 17 15:00 – 2011 May 24 14:00... Pricks one and all!!!
I salute you.
So much for family ties... HahHAHahahaHAAHAHA!!!!
It's a lightly breezed late May weekend in Sanford; a suburb of Orlando. My Brother, we'll call Bubba, (not that changing his name will necessarily protect him) is out with the kids in the family hearse (traveling at something just shy of the speed of sound) as the wife stayed home.
Wife, “I'm not going out to stand in line for you to spend more money on that techno-shit so you can have yet another reason to retreat from the family.”
Bubba, “That's not what...”
Wife, “Don't give me any of your bullshit! You want... whatever the hell you call that thing... You take the kids with you!”
My brother, knowing a hidden victory when he sees it, doesn't allow the air to escape the rest of her lungs off of “... with you!” before the son, daughter, dog, car keys wallet and personal, undocumented check book have made their way out of the house, into the minivan and down the driveway.
Befuddled by the commotion, Megan (protected, for obvious reasons) emerges into the garage to witness the remains of Bubba's escape. The garage door still groaning its way up, green metal flake glinting off the bottom of the two unhinged, swinging panels... primer dust floating to the cement floor. The smell of burnt rubber & oil smoke lingering in the air. Possibly even a faint hint of dog shit and Juicy-Juice, one can't be sure.
A small breeze tussles Megan's hair from over her ear. For a second she thought she heard a child shriek or was it an animal. She emerged from the now fully open garage to look in the direction that Bubba was last thought to drive off. Should she fear?
Bubba-log – Stardate: May 2000 and – Fuck it... I got to get to this new Apple Store outlet cause the Mac stiff-dick is about to come out & I just got to have it.
Once again the wife seems to think this tank runs on wish piss and that the gyotdamn “E” on the dash means “Enough to get me back and forth for the rest of my life”. Fuck, fuck,fuck,fuck,fuck,fuck,fuck,fuck,fuck!!! (done to the tune of any military limerick you want)
Bubba, “yeah, son...” 65mph...
Jr., “da dog barfed...” 40mph!
Everything slides up into the front with Bubba... including the yacking dog...
Bubba, “Get something to clean it!” 45mhp.
Jr., “All da stuffs up there wit you & sides I can't reach it wit my seat belt on & in muh chair...” 47mph.
Rover's eyes are bugging out and his mouth is starting to yawn like a second set of mandibles are going to appear any minute. Terry is giggling at the whole process. She's two and would probably giggle if the walls started bleeding. Which for the Bubba, the day is just starting.
Bubba, “FFFFffffffff antastic... OK, OK, hold on then...” 45mph turns into passing gear!
Jr,.”ALRIGHT!!!” 57mph! Eyes bugging, body pinned, skin rippling slightly...
Terry, “Giggle!” 68mph! Eyes bugging, similar body disposition... Shit from front bounce harmlessly off car seat like one of daddy's scifi movies.
Dog, “Bork!” or “York!” intermixed with a kind of wet meaty snap that comes from a larynx violently closing after trying to vomit but being thrown from one's comfort area into a fight or flight condition. I'll let you decide which as the untethered dog was in the vehicle as it reached 88mph and Captain Bubba started to see flashes of lightening encompassing the van and the greater Orlando burbs slowly flashed back & forth between highway & swamp land.
TWANG, RATTLE, RATTLE, RATTLE...
Jr, “Barfs gone dad...” 93mph.
Do minivans have push rods? Maybe valve springs? Better take my foot out of this thing...
Bubba, “That's great son, make sure that stupid dog stay's in the back till we get to the store, OK?”
Jr, “K, dad. Get back Ratscal.” 84mph...
Fifteen miles in six minutes, Bubba was ready to split atoms with the best NASA had to offer if only the masses would get the fuck out of his way of in front of the “APPLE STORE”.
Like a mutated throbbing horse cock being strode down the hallway of a brood farm; you want to look away, but were freakishly fixated at it. Call it the ending to Titanic, an impending train wreck, a lit fuse... Gyotdamnit, you KNOW what's going to happen, yet there you are watching the clock tick away. The second hand slowing, literally coming to a virtual stop, but with the perfect knowledge of it's inevitable last steps to detonation, fall, collision, submersion. Bullet Time!
He pulls into, what would seem to some, a freakishly small parking lot of the store, jammed to the gills with the nameless minions of those slobbering to have hands laid upon by... “Apple”.
So innocent are the young, tethered to their car seats... the others in their strollers. No escape to be had and yet ignorant of the knowledge that they are in need of that escape. Cattle to the slaughter. Or should it be called veal?
Missionaries say the same thing as well. Bubba hasn't used or said the 'words' exactly... but he can hear the “CALL”... it's on the wind... “Join Us”.
In the excitement Bubba almost loses control over the minivan as he scrapes the passenger side, squeezing the vehicle into the last available space reserved for “compact vehicles”.
Jr, “Ya almost got on two wheels dad! Dat was cool!”
“Don't tell your mom I did that & we'll do it again some time... Got It!”
Jr, “All Right!”
Having a shape not exactly concussive to moving like special forces operator Bubba moves from his belted seat to opening the hatchback, getting the stroller out for Terry and letting the kids out, seeing as they couldn't get out of the other side anyway.
“Fuck it. I compacted it in there. Besides, emerald green metal flake broad stripes look pretty good on that burgundy Metro.” Bubba pursed his lips in assurance looking down the side of the van, inspecting the 'customization'.
Jr, “Dat really was cool dad! Can we do dat on duh way home! Hey, whats da matter wit da dog?” as he hops down from the back of the still hick-upping van.
Terry pokes the glazed hound in the eye as she waits to be picked up and be lowered into the stroller. Rascal's on his back staring out the back, tongue hanging out, panting like he's smoked half a carton of Pall Malls & covered in his own stomach lining. “At least he ain't pukin' any more”, Bubba thought.
Bubba, “Oh, he's just excited to see all the people.”
Jr, “Why's he on his back den?”
Bubba, “Cause he's an artist, now git your ass out of the parking lot before someone steals you and tries to sell your ass on the black market!”
Slamming the hatch closed, Bubba's brain immediately transfixes into a new universe. Tracers of purple and green wisp from the Apple Store neon as he scoots Terry closer to curb of the side walks edge. It's 0945 do you know where your balls are?
It's at this point that I'll probably get gouged out of the Christmas card list, my head stone pissed on annually (my birthday & death date) and voodoo doll desecrated in fashions left for world criminals that make Hitler, Bin Laden, Bundy (hell, throw in your favorite atrocity) look like squeezed rodents, but I feel that it's still for the betterment of you... my beloved readers. All 158 of you...
So if you enjoyed this shit - Fucking share the wealth & turn someone else on to the site!!! I'll write more!
0955 --- The carnival barker (or Baptist minister, being in Florida WTF would be the difference) has firmly placed their dominance over the crowd and placed them into a belching white bread, cracker fever pitched frenzy that has scared all the black folks and Latino people away for at least 2 weeks of this opening date.
Four minutes earlier, Bubba tore off his Polo shirt in a palsy Hulk Hogan fit of half rage, half flatulent abound that permeated the sandwich shop next door set off the fire alarm of the candle shop of the adjacent store.
Now adorned across his chest are the medals of his god (actually stickers) depicting the new Mac-stiff dick and other blessing offered from on high. His arms swaying along with those of his other followers, back and forth like saw grass on the beach. Iphones popping their lighter apps in & out of screen. Some showing the timers counting down to opening.
Jr standing innocently next to his sister holding his Juicy-Juice box up (Bubbu ain't giving him a phone, you know what those fucking things cost?) a little Apple sticker on his forehead. Terry quietly sitting in her stroller with one of her diapers on her head (empty you assholes! Bubba's catatonic not stupid), a couple of holes tore out for eyes. She ain't saying shit for the mere fact she may be the smartest one in this whole "fuck factory" of mayhem.
On one side of the lot we get some grunting of protest that the store should have been open already. The barker starts a rhythmic bouncing & chanting of some kind of song or speaking in tongues. Someone else in the crowd goes wild eyed and acts as though they "know" what is being said and starts deciphering the cryptic language.
A small handful of indiscriminate people in the crowd stiffen... their eyes roll into their skulls... A thunder clap sounds in the distance, the vibration reverberating through the crowd! Those individuals shit themselves soundly and forcefully and fall to the ground! A couple of the bystanders play "Name the Fart".
Jr, "Hey dad, Dis guy smells like Ratscal.."
The barker stands suddenly and silently, closing his/her eyes(the fucker's androgynous. Like I have an idea who they are...) turning their palms to the heavens. The locks to the double doors loudly "CLUNK" to open with no one there to turn the tumblers.
(In my best Jimmy Falwell) Opening day is upon us! Thank god somebody was here to cover the event too. We can always use free publicity. Who's the news crew there? Ah FUCK! It's the BBC...
Merry Christmas Bubba
Thursday, May 26, 2011
Tuesday, May 24, 2011
Personal responsibility... fuck me in a frilly little basket with a red bow attached.
I'm not exactly sure when it started, but I can certainly narrow it down to about the time when to when stupidity started to become legal in the United States in or around the mid to late 1970s.
I take you to a case that I remember back in late 1978 or early 1979. Star Wars had taken over the nation and virtually everything culturally had to have something with a science fiction flair attached to it. ABC television had a hit TV series at the time called Battlestar Galactica and although the Star Wars campaign had the toy line completely cornered, BG wasn't going to sit idly by without at least something for the Christmas drive.
In walks the literal first major 1979 new years idiot kid disaster story. Idiot Kid (Robert Jeffery Warren) was born in 1974 (and subsequently dead) in Atlanta, GA of December 31, 1978, a terrible week after the little bastard probable raised all kinds of hell for the Battlestar Galactica toy for Christmas.
Now the news reports and papers will say the kid was 4 years old, swear up & down that the kid was old enough for the toy and how the evil toy company should have made the toy safer, when in fact, the parents should have taken RESPONSIBILITY and should have simply told the child NO.
Easily sitting down with a piece of paper to figure out a calendar would show that the child was in fact BARELY 3 years of age and probably nowhere near mature enough for the toy to begin with alone had me screaming for vengeance as a 12/13 year old kid myself. Even at that age I knew enough to just watch your brat to see if they can keep shit out of their mouth or if long enough to shut up is sufficient time enough to discern if they can keep projectiles out of their fecal grinder to merit if this kind of toy is a proper gift or a fucking death warrant.
Better yet; if you crank on their little ass in an attempt to force their silence... if the child MUST stick something in their mouth to force their own silence, then the same precautions should be maintained. I.e., if you have to swat the child to silence them (if even for 2 minutes) and the child 'has' to stick "SOMETHING" (toy, stick, animal, their own fucking hand) in their mouth to maintain that silence... toys with removable parts of any source SHOULDN'T be given to them. This isn't higher math for fuck's sake people! And for the anti-spank, anti-hitting, anti-violent whatever crowd out there - go fuck yourselves. I've got a whole "War & Peace" worth of blogs for your ass', even your doctorates; so save up.
YOUR NEED for the child's SILENCE is not a correct motive for giving a kid a more advanced toy... morons. To put this in any more terse language... If YOU have to come to MY ass for parenting skills... Let's just say maybe it would be better to pull the hammer back on the 45 and put the thing in the crib with the child now before things get any worse...
Plus, just cause you WANT/WISH/THINK your child to be a prodigy, doesn't make it so. Thus, a toy that says “for ages four and over” may still mean your 10 year old needs to steer clear.
I'm sure the myopic few readers out there that I have, that even bothered to actually get to read my blog have probably hit the ceiling, turned & reflected internally and are probably thinking I have finally “Themal & Louise”-ed into a nuclear nightmare of no return for attacking a dead child... For those few pasty caked shorts of you, “fuck off”... In another avenue of thought, it's been over 30+ years ago & about the only subject heavy enough for me to use for a better than "sledgehammer' force example. Then there is the 'not so apparent fact' that I was making ill of the parents or grandparents who put THEIR feelings ahead of the child's.
YES, “their” feelings. "THEY" wanted to feel good when the child opened the gift and squealed with delight at the toy hidden inside the wrapper. If "THEY" had a true concern "THEY" would have read the damn box and done the simple math that I spoke of about the kids age (that the idiot nurse didn't do, or plaintiff/defense lawyers either). Then THEY would have also done the addition internalizing, weighed the proper psychological profile of the child as they knew him at the time and garnered whether the imp was actually 'fit' to have a toy like that in their possession. If so, could he be left alone with it. Sadly, hindsight has shown the world this was not to be the case.
So why bring this shit up some 30+ years later & act like I revel in rubbing the survivors noses in their loss. Hold that thought while I butter up both sides of that “fuck you” for ya...
I bring it up because I'm getting tired of the tort cases, the lawyers and most apparently the legal lottery assholes that seem to think they're going to get out of this fucked up existence by retiring for being stupid!
But I'm not talking about legitimate stupidity here. Oh hell no! I'm not talking about you bought a home that just happened to be on an ancient native American burial ground & fucking spirits come up and start eating your household pets, then leave you messages in their blood about how they want you to kill the real estate agents that sold you the house or your next... Not that shit!
I'm talking about Selective Stupidity... Cock suckers who write the rule books for the Mensa Society, looking like a line backer for the NFL, who slip in the sand paper isle of the hardware store, then start spinning a legal yarn about how they can no longer find their ass with both hands, or piss in the toilet bowl while seated, can't answer to their own name, but need their $4,982,653,301.61 check by tomorrow because they are piloting their new Gnutella satellite (made from old catheter plumbing) through a Gandolph black hole he discovered while figuring the mathematical discovery he garnered three days ago while pissing in the cloths hamper.
Yeah, OK, fine... So I took another leap with artistic license, but am I so far off as with the story of Liebeck v. McDonald's Restaurants?
In a nutshell, old lady Liebeck, 79, takes a trip to McDonald's and grabs a cup of coffee at the drive-thru. She puts the damn thing between her legs, one thing leads to another, spills the thing and burns her cooter. As the case read she managed to get “THIRD DEGREE” burns to bush, buns and inner thighs.
Ladies (if this blog even garners such a thing) & gentlemen, I most assuredly, as any deity may bare witness, I do indeed declare BULLSHIT!!!
You have to have COMBUSTION for third degree burns on skin... PERIOD!!! LITERAL FLAME!!! I was attached to the medical command of the United States military. I have seen enough of that shit to cover several life times, fucking fight with me all you want. Third degree = degradation of major proportions and the temperatures recorded by the restaurant for fucking coffee won't/don't get THAT hot.
Secondly... at what point do you take responsibility for your actions? In this case she could still drive a car, still count money, still form a coherent sentence and order the correct item for purchase AT A FUCKING McDONALD's no less. At the time this case came into existence you survived a great depression, two world wars, 3 major conflicts, what(?) 8/9 presidential elections, 2 careers, hippies... NOW all of the sudden you're too ignorant to keep scalding liquids out of your crotch? The 'fuck off' is strong in this one.
Have I made mistakes in my life, you bet your ass I have, but none of you shit heels out there have ever had to pay for them. Yet I have had to pay 'oh so dearly' for mine. So why do these fuck wits get preferential treatment?
More oft than not in these tort cases it's the damned lawyers that make the money than the victims anyway. Justice my ass. To quote Louis Wu (for those fans of “Ring World”) TANJ.
This even spans into our societal laws of “protect you whether you like it or not” mentality. How profound can I state “What The Fuck”!
Although grounds for another blog (or doctoral dissertation altogether) maintaining a healthy retarded baseline in our bloodline is not only damning our society it is damning our race as a whole as well (that's going to hurt).
I can hear the executioner’s needles priming right now, readying for my demise as I write this... Look, stick the moral pill up your ass for a moment and keep it warm next to your heart. I'm not talking about chug-a-lugging the Nazi sauce and wasting all the impures here... I am saying that there is something to be desired for an individual offing himself for having wrapped his meat in tinfoil, twin pronged it and then fucking an electrical outlet.
Or let's just be hateful and throw in a pedophile. But not just an individual that has been a victim of earlier abuse. I'm talking about a raging, flaming advocate of hot squeezing vegetable oil, lathered little boy raping, micronization of the law twisting individual who uses everything imaginable to validate his existence to defile children & robbing them of their childhood kind of pedophile.
Now, with that huge moral pillow safely tucked away in your ass, don't you think society and humanity as a whole just might evolve a little bit better without these assholes fucking up the batter? Not that I entirely care, but I'll leave it up to you from here. Sure, I just painted a picture of two virtually polar opposite people, one obviously a detriment to themselves alone and probably not to any one else, but are either representative really 'giving' anything 'back' to... well... anything? Equally, putting myself on the block... some of you fucks could say the same of me.
I say the definer is simply Responsibility. That's what it all boils down to. I wish it were simple. Like a light switch or the damned binary code that we've come so damned dependent on for our computerized shit these days, but obviously it isn't. Yet look around at our animal companions that we so vehemently deny our lineage to (not all of us, just play along).
You know, the squall-age bullshit whiners that want to say, “we're not animals!!!” while beating their chests, hide behind closed doors, chugging wine coolers, beating their child wives & kids and porking untreated barnyard animals with his inbred buddies on weekends after a bender, but not too late because he has to deliver the sermon tomorrow morning. Those fucking assholes don't get to vote and are probably in need of a bit of that eradication process that I'm talking about. If nothing more, just disallow breeding privileges and fucking fade away...
The animal kingdom they squawk about has more in common with binary systems than we ever will though. You don't see Fluffy fucking over Mittens for controlling stock of the water bowl do you? And don't get some condescending idea of pushing your 'HUMAN' mentality and emotional conditioning into the cat's thought processes here either.
I'm talking Fluffy is thirsty. Mittens is laying in front of the water dish because the sun happens to be hitting the floor there. Reality states and displays that Fluffy will literally stand on Mittens, get a drink and then fuck off. Mittens probably won't even stir more than enough to see who's blocking the sun.
No hording, blockading, contracts, mergers, insider trading, back stabbing, murder, rape... and sadly, if a kitten (or any other 'animal' for that matter) is incapable of suckling, its allowed to die in its sleep. Thus the earth has continued to rotate and perpetuate into the strong creative existence that it has. Except humanity. We're not going to burn ourselves out of existence... we're going to retard ourselves out.
Get to the point Russ...
Don't get me wrong, I'm not against materialism. I'm not for euthanizing every asshole that breaks the speed limit either. I am however in favor of slapping a monetary fine of double the amount asking price on the lawyer and plaintiff of a tort toting asshole looking for legal lottery payoff. I.e., Bob is suing the U.S. Postal service for knocking over his mail box for the tune of $100K because he can't get a hardon anymore due to the fact his impending Clearinghouse Sweepstakes entry 'might have been in the mail that week that the mail box was tore up.
Granted, Bob never stopped getting his mail, but Bob's an asshole with easy street on his horizon, so what the fuck right? Not to mention there's enough sleazebag fucking ambulance chasers out there too keep us all on our toes as it is right?
My world... Just for filing the papers for this kind of shit... Bob gets a nice little $200K bite to his nut sack & can be a greeter at Wally World till he drops. For the lawyer's part in this bullshit, seeing as he probably had his sights set higher, he/she can give birth to a much bigger calf of $400K.
The court systems... for their continued sins and allowing this bullshit in the past will take the revenues from these and 1. purchase body bags for the corpses of the Wally-droppers and pay for the morgue's over time. It's going to take a while for some of these pricks to get the idea to stop this legal-lottery shit. 2. Forcibly use the revenue to actually promote exemplary representation of pro bono cases. But that's fuel for another topic, for another time...
Thus, I propose at least ONE (1) step toward a SOCIETY taking responsibility for its actions. It doesn't seem to have a problem with forcing me to take responsibility for mine. How about you?
Saturday, May 21, 2011
I never figured myself prolifically educated enough to even bother with reviewing a book; what with all the snotty academia & smarmy elitist assholes out there that could verbiage me into the stratosphere... what possible slur of 'hunt-n-peck' tapping on a keyboard could make a passable impression on a reader to want to re-read something that made an impression on my baked head cheese?
Yet here I sit to make a such a boastful impression none the less. Given the title of the book I'm about to reveal, if the title the blog weren't indicator enough, I can only hope that 'some' leeway will be shown.
That's not to say I'm cowering away from my prior education or social conditioning. I just don't live in a fucked up delusional state as a lot of other people out there do. Cowards that don't comment out of fear of written retribution, snotty assholes who feel they are beneath commenting for one entitled belief above or below my particular beliefs or actually chicken shit to think someone out in the real world would actually recognize them as having read my blog or the book I'm about to blurt out.
My folks went through their entire existence pitching a fevered bitch about my behavior and what ramifications 'my' actions would have on "their" living standards. And for what? My uncle was a hell raiser and a half when he was a kid. From the way he told the stories, he caused them a shit coffin full of pain, yet I don't ever remember hearing shit of his escapades from my grandparents, at all.
My folks would have you believe I was the biggest dope dealing, gigolo, pimp who peddled dope & hookers out of the house while my mom had the ladies over for tea and bible study with the padre, while I simultaneously maintained a preschool prostitution ring from a vacant trailer next door.
Anyway, the book was Tucker Max's “Assholes Finish First”. (((Edit I was a dick and accidently wrote the title wrong and wrote "LAST" instead of "FIRST here. Tucker could sue me, but I don't have any money so, fuck off))))) The sophomore (which a few readers will say a title supporting a subtext) book of his New York best seller “I Hope They Sell Beer in Hell”.
So here is where I am going to be different in reviewing this book than any other asshole mumbling over his hard work.
One, He'll probably never read this review. Who the fuck am I, right?
After reading the dick-capades of this guy, visiting the blog of a borderline conspiracy fanatic that lives in virtual anonymity is begging to be a stalker of the n'th degree right? The man wrote about it in his book for shit's sake. The difference is, like him, I'm educated, & I don't give a shit.
Oh, I'll drop him a line & tell him I wrote him a belated review that doesn't amount to a hill of shit, but at least I took the time and that indeed a group of individuals out there in their mid 40s and older do like the idea of looking back and reminiscing of their idiot age.
Which IS the alluring quality of this book.
Two, I didn't read his first book.
So many times a second effort gets mired or trashed because a first effort gets pulled from a stone and held to a standard that no one can live up to. They expect the next effort to another epiphany. Gyotdamnit, it just doesn't work that way. What the fuck are you going to do when you see your god? Ask his/her ass to top it? Assholes...
Quick third step, for those of you new to my blog, yeah, I use profanity...
Besides, I didn't see the book as a continuation (necessarily), but as a growth step. In keeping with 'my' particular blog motif I feel he was being shape charged into keeping the butt fucking money machines at bay by writing another book & a possible movie sequel so the 'money-for-nothings' have their little hope hardons at half mast at least for a little while. All I can say there is, “Be careful Tucker. You're a smart kid, but don't let that pecker of yours get to far out front.”
In this book Tucker tells of a few stories of post riches and 'their' trials and tribulations, which are a nice change from the hidden truths of the assholes that want to keep the mystery. Like there is a "unicorn existence" to living with money and not just anybody can do it. Not that Tucker is doing it, but I can live in a three bedroom house with 8 million dollars in the bank, drive a six year old truck, drink beer, say fuck like it were good on a salad and still rub shoulders with individuals that make more money in one night than I theoretically have in my account, (and here's the kicker) and these fucks wouldn't even know it.
Here's the surprise... I barely have $100 in my account, drive a 20 year old car and I HAVE stood in a room full of the very same executives shooting the shit with no more a clue of who or what I did than a man in the moon. Therefore I cry bullshit & thus this blog exists. Yeah, I know, all 100+ readers, fuck off. Rome wasn't built in a day either. Ask Tucker, he wrote about that too.
Tucker had put into several words and seminal fluid pretty much what I babble about here. I just didn't pound down that much alcohol and frankly, though I will proclaim myself to be the “dick of death”, my conquests aren't anything encroaching the Gene Simmons numbers he's implying, nor would my persona really want too. It's not a jibe Tucker, it's just a 'me' thing.
I suppose if I had to pick a fight with Tucker it would have to be with his attitude toward enticing aggression from others. Several times in his book he speaks of shenanigans where he & his group pull some rather, well, I would call them hateful pranks on people. At first I even think they're funny, but knowing myself and the maladjusted mess I still am... I just know his chapters wouldn't have come to the same conclusions had I intercepted.
Quote all the Greek philosophers you want & get Freudian with all eight 'isms' you want and jump back into your academia training pants it still doesn't change the fact, pushing people to a point of violent behavior – having them right at that verge of acting upon it, only to walk away – doesn't make you a victor. I don't care what verbiage you surround it with.
Is what I'm about to write predictable? Yup... Is it arguable... Nope... Russell's Rules... Sure, there's laws that say, “no, no, Mr. Russell. You can't...” But what stops Tucker from behaving like an asshole? Food for thought.
I know it's not going to change the world, but Tucker got to boff a lot of women and write about it. It's not a whine, he had to work at both items despite the candor reflected in his book. It was the road he traveled, he chose it, some will will say wisely.
The following few paragraphs bellow the dividers I've written will be considered ONE of the many chapters of Russell's, “I'll be Drinking Your Beer in Hell”...
I know it's not going to change the world, but Tucker got to boff a lot of women and write about it. It's not a whine, he had to work at both items despite the candor reflected in his book. It was the road he traveled, he chose it, some will will say wisely.
The following few paragraphs bellow the dividers I've written will be considered ONE of the many chapters of Russell's, “I'll be Drinking Your Beer in Hell”...
I don't expect any of you to believe the story, so you may fuck off at any time during your readership, but remember this... facts is stranger than fiction.
So to close the review, the book was very entertaining. I did laugh, I did concur on several of Tucker's insights. I too share several ideas and ideals, but unlike his interludes with passive aggressive individuals... well, you too might want to read my insert.
Give his book"s" a chance. Then maybe you'll give my book a chance. If you'll believe his bullshit, then you'll be able to stomach mine. Although where his life does seem to follow a pattern and lineage, mine has no rhyme or reason whatsoever...
I'd finished having sex with my long time girl friend of the last couple of years and wasn't in the mood to just render the stereotypical pull out, roll over and “I got mine... SNORE". Besides, I had a long nap earlier & the silly bitch drank most of the bar closed before we got home.
Being a 'fly-weight' and chemically imbalanced anyway, I don't drink all that much which always leaves me being the candidate for designated 'dumbass' and band leader for the Pissed Parade. Most of the time I don't bitch due to the fact I make it a habit to start collecting keys mid-way through the drinking process. This consists of snagging keys and wallets naturally; however, my procedure includes showing me the proper keys and then having the owner of said keys producing some cash for my gas which I conveniently never seem to have enough of. At the time I drove a 1974 Monte Carlo with 410 horse power & a 350 transmission with a B&M shift kit in it; a tank to say the least. You didn't want to be in a hurry and trying to drink coffee at the same time either, but then gas was only $1 a gallon then too.
Dragging this story out as well as my girls ass along, it was amazing how disproportionately the "open to closed" her mouth got in relation to her legs when introduced to alcohol. It was like the sequence in "Raiders of the Lost Ark" when Indie was trying to figure out the sand to gold ratio for the switch to take place with the idol... That was me most of the time, pretty much to just get her ass to shut-up. I wasn't even looking to get laid! Yeah ladies, go fucking figure...
To some (most?) guys this is tolerable. I considered it to be a pain in the ass. I mean, sure if I'm adventurous that evening, she'd be compliant, but not if it's just for a romantic evening (yes, there are a few guys out there) or god forbid we were arguing (which was more often than not). So instead I get a few ancillary gruntage slamming moments, she squeals in delight and passes out before I get off the bed. Fucking Kodak after glow moment...
So I retire into the living area. There's a deck of sorts off the living room separated by a sliding glass door. Not really knowing just how much noise these cheap assed apartments make in this college town, I use my stealth skills to slide the door slowly and quietly open. How's that done? Their cheap, which means their also lighter than most double paned doors found in expensive permanent homes, so lifting the jamb on the door's left & right hand side, while using the rollers at the top of the door as a guide, will keep the door from rolling on the floor... possibly alerting the folks downstairs that you opened the back door onto your porch.
Being the last few days of the month of spring classes the weather hadn't turned to complete humid shit, so cool weather was a welcome feature to walk into. I rested my elbows against this half assed 2x4, red wood stained apparatus that was supposed to serve as a railing and looked over to see my car below. The sulphide gas charged lamp buzzed annoyingly from the opposite side of the parking lot casting a yellow haze onto everything. I allowed the jaundiced light to pierce into my brain as I continued to reflect on the last few hours which then turned into previous months of my life. I had to shake my head in amazement as to what the hell it is I wanted in life and whether I'm doing it right. Not to mention if this shit was too heavy for someone who was only 23/24 years of age at the time anyway...
My attention was drawn to a couple who seemed happy with each others attention walking under the lamp.
My concealment consists of of the deck being eight and a half feet to the ground, the parking lot is another 3 feet further. The parking lot is 30 feet in length till you hit a 4 foot strip of 'lawn' that has a sidewalk through it, then another four foot of earthen strip which then empties into five lanes of traffic. All of which runs parallel to the back of my apartment. Just outside to the left of my parking lot is a simple two lane street that empties into the aforementioned traffic area or backtracks into another neighborhood. To the right of the parking lot is a privacy fence that runs about fifteen feet covering the back of a single story brick apartment building. I didn't see the couple until they emerged from behind the fence, which leaves them exposed for approximately 20/25 feet prior to intersecting the parallel two way I spoke of. This leaves them exposed for another 75/80 feet further down the street till another apartment complex blocks the view.
Given the buzzing of the damned light and the intermittent traffic I couldn't hear anything the couple were saying, so I kept my silence and remained still so as to not disturb the love birds. All the lights in my apartment were turned out for the evening including the terrace/deck, so why bug them. I mean a shadowy figure moving around in your peripheral vision is startling. I'm an asshole, not a voyeur cock blocker looking for cheap thrills.
However, upon closer scrutiny, what I thought “looked” like a tender embrace by the couple was actually the female holding a cloth on the male's head in an attempt to stop his bleeding from an apparent head wound. I didn't know this immediately as they had traversed several feet across my field of vision before I witnessed six drunk black males chastising the couple, who had now cleared the fence some several feet behind.
I knew they were being called names, but I didn't get involved... yet. I knew they were drunk... I saw the beer bottles. I'm not aware of any reason 'why' these individuals would be berating this couple. Did one of the couple make a racial epitaph? Did/do I care? The group made it to the two lane street and the six males had now surrounded the couple. The six individuals had then made their intentions made and as of yet, no one had made a move to help them. One of the individuals (I'll call him #1) double armed shoved the female heavily to the ground, the male of the couple had now been hit with a beer bottle and knock unconscious...
"All that is necessary for evil to triumph is that good men do nothing"... Edmund Burke
Vaulting the railing, I landed on a neighbor's car hood. I combat rolled into the parking lot and within three strides I have landed both feet into #1's back. Had it not been for adrenaline & anger I would have laughed at the sound of this asshole hitting the ground. Think of a large hunting dog getting the wind knocked out it and then large wet knuckles popping under meat. This, pictured with a crazy white goon standing over two fallen individuals. One of them is your buddy. This white boy has a mean ass stare that can cut 1/4 inch steel plate and a Cheshire grin aimed right at you, "Come on asshole... Let's dance."
Asshole baby, I've named Beer Bottle, decided he wanted to stick with his weapon of choice. Apparently, his training that evening had served him well, so swing like an idiot he did. Wild as malaria he swung at me and I simply allowed him. With a simple swing at me, I leaned back four inches, allowing his arm to pass by unmolested and then pushing his elbow with additional force in the same direction, avoiding the bottle but continuing his swinging momentum. What he thought was a controlled swing was now an uncontrolled wild pendulum clocking the shit out of homey #3, who thought he was going to come in & get some ethnic buck-up digs on the 'would be' downed whitey.
Beer Bottle, dumb founded by what just happened, stood for only a moment trying to ascertain WTF, giving me more than enough time to iron strike him to the base of his skull. Didn't do my knuckles the slightest bit of good, but it took his ass out of the line up for the rest of the night. Is it possible I could have killed him? Yup. Now ask me I give/gave a shit. I don't even care if he has brain damage to this day either. I still have no idea what the condition of 'his' victim is after all these years, so this fuck-ups well being is by-far 'black hole' less than paramount. So no, I have no sympathy for him or what I'm about to describe to the three remaining assholes.
Two minutes in, six have turned into 3. Two may have brain damage and one has at the very least shit his pants. #4 has stepped up to test his moxie and seen fit to grab my right shoulder and arm, just above the elbow. He's the closest to me since Beer Bottle and #3, as they were on my left. This is a bad move on #4's part, he should have made his move right before Beer Bottle made for his patented home run swing. Reason being is that he may have had the chance to hold on longer, thus prolonging his idea of having actual control over
the situation me (sorry, none of them had control over the situation). Although, it is a proud moment. He's the only one that actually 'laid a hand' on me. Sadly, it was my plan.
#5 & #6 are still standing with a bit of amazement that 'honky' is inflicting all this damage but are starting to come around and thinking about joining the fray. With both hands occupied, I look #3 in the eyes and bellow, “DO SOMETHING MOTHERFUCKER!!!”
They train you in the military to NOT do one thing above all... DON'T hesitate. #3 did the VERY thing I wasn't willing to do. He predictably gave me that patented dumb assed look of “what” on his face. I only had to pull my arm partially free, about 6 inches was all I needed... and then promptly planted 'that' elbow firmly and most deeply into his face. Aiming primarily for his nose. Blood literally shooting everywhere.
#5 & #6 stopped dead in their tracks as #4 grabbed his face in a muffled kind of 'yelp' or 'yarp' and then literally dropped onto his ass. Fear was now their mantra. Fight surprisingly gone even though numbers still being on their side. Drink and stupidity were certainly still there and I'm certainly not one to deny them that. Pure positioning was no longer on my side as these two were now on my weaker fighting side and the typical “have your enemies surround you” technique was no longer an option. Plus these were the cowards of the bunch. Not to mention, I'm standing in a virtual sea of bodies here.
The last of the bunch are always going to use sneak tactics and use flight techniques to gain any advantage they can to get the upper hand. These are the guys I like to toy with before hurting the most. Naturally chides of motherfucker this and motherfucker that pierce the darkness like mosquitoes on an un-inoculated newborn, not to mention these two fucks weren't just going to leave their busted up retarded friends so they HAD to go down as heros or full on ass-up elephant sodomized bitches. It was going to be one or the other.
Sweating like a Taliban undergoing water-boarding, I was going to have to move fast. Being drenched like I was, was my only 'bullet proofing' if any kind of weapon came out of hiding so I had to act soon. Cooling off meant drying out and that was going on while these guys played Cracker Jack, Captain Crunch, cock sucker, Mo Fo run and it might get me put in a box too. Not to mention the fact that this guy on the ground needed a doctor.
Watching Slick & Snide, I took up my stance and glided backward toward the fallen female who was finally catching her breath, still shaken and in shock. “Are you hurt?”
Female: Nnn No..
Slick or Snide (just cause I don't give a fuck): Motherfucker you gonna be da one huttin...
Me: Get up. Cross the street. One block over. You know the police station over there?
I'm helping her to her feet and guiding her the direction I want her to go, all the while never taking my stance or eye off frick and frack. And yeah, can you believe that shit? A fucking police station within a block of where this shit is going down.
Slick and Snide: We be gone fo dey get here mu fucka
Me: Tell them to immediately call an ambulance and the morgue. Your boyfriend is hurt and there are six dead men over here...
I shoved her in the direction of the police station. Two steps I was between Frick & Frack. I know I promised Mr. Lee to not use what he taught me for evil or for misuse, but what are you going to do. I wasn't going to kill them. I'm not superman nor do I want to be, but I'll be damned if I'll put up with somebody being mistreated. In less than 5 minutes I dispensed justice that months of judicial bullshit would only roll off their backs as so much water off a duck. Then only to have it culturally dismissed as whitey's bullshit and lofted onto possibly another innocent. Horseshit!
Maybe there's another crazy white boy out there like me. Or maybe, just maybe, we're all that way. And luckily, there is a statute of limitations on felonious assault.
Monday, May 9, 2011
Sony has done it again folks. Not only have they bilked the public out of millions of dollars of hard earned money for proprietary technology, but now they're trying to draw fire from their security debacle onto a hacking organization by the name of “Anonymous”.
Long story short, this alone sounds like an Abbott & Costello skit gone to the corporate annals into the court rooms ready for prime time C-SPAN.
Sony Lawyers : Your honor we believe we know who has been hacking into our impenetrable server network and stolen our... sorry, the client's sensitive financial information.
Stuck-up hi brow Judge: That's good Sony assholes and who might that be...
Sony Lawyers : That's Anonymous your Honor...
Stuck-up: Might I remind you that you're in a court of law and that in order to make good in staving off prosecution against those suing for losing those financial records you must relinquish the breaching party?
Sony Lawyers : Yes, of course your honor and as we have already stated, they are Anonymous.
Stuck-up: So when will the court have their names?
Sony Lawyers : They haven't been apprehended yet your honor. The group has only just announced their involvement in breaching the server.
Stuck-up: So what is the group's name?
Sony Lawyers : They are Anonymous your honor...
Stuck-up: I swear to god, I will hold the whole gyotdamn company in contempt if I hear you say anonymous one more time!
When in fact it seems that the root of the whole thing is a misnomer.
Anonymous did indeed hack into Sony's Playstation Network servers a while back and shut them down, but it was in protest to how they were treating a boisterous hacker by the tag name of Geohot. But this had nothing to do with financial records, at all.
Not that Geohot is even remotely special, but apparently he is an outspoken individual like every other fuck-wit teenager of this generation that stands on the shoulders of every other thinker and worker before him. He borrows the work left over or disposed of from a project that did or didn't work in the world of software and then lends it into another in hopes of it working to the ends of another project.
Unlike Thomas, Fucked-up Asshole, rip you the fuck-off Edison did for years and made riches at it, Geohot didn't hurt anyone. He simply figured out a way to make the PS3 game console use different software, make it play burnt software and a couple of other things & where other guys that are a FUCK load smarter than him ran off with it and made the PS3 do infinitely more. This pissed Sony off so they started suing him.
Like every gyotdamn teenager, generation fuck-up of the 'now', he doesn't know how to shut up when the going is "going is getting good" and things started to heat up. Sony (as always) believes they own the human race, in contrast, Geohot thinks Sony owes him... fuck, I don't have a clue what the hell this ignorant kid is thinking & I have a pretty good idea unless he has his prick in his hand, he hasn't an immediate clue what he's thinking either. Like every other spoon fed, hollow, egg shell ego of the last couple generations, these assholes think they're bullet proof and their ideas, although virtually 85% built from another's toil, is claimed as their own (refer back to Thomas Edison).
History lesson swinging along, hackers and sympathizers alike rallied behind this fuck-wit (for what I will admit is a valid reason) in the form of donations for legal fees and email/forum support. Not what I would call the sit-ins and protests seen on college campus' of the 60's & 70's during the Vietnam era, but every generation needs their own Woodstock I suppose.
Then along came this group “Anonymous”... at the time of this blog about 3 to 4 weeks ago, they had proclaimed globally and to Sony that they were going to breach their server network and for “the” very reason of violating Geohot's civil rights and those echoed onto the rest of their customers as well.
Geohot's sin to society and Sony is apparently having found a software solution to allow the Playstation version 3 game console to accept older programming so that it will allow not only homemade games, but also be able to play games that 'you' (the consumer) are allowed to back-up (in the USA anyway)
Without getting/going into the whole debate over what “COULD” be done with copy-written material, but it's Sony and Apple's (and any other corporate asshole software or fucking “intellectual property” conglomerate) throwing an insanity shit storm, rattlesnake saber chase and legal tort fiasco against the world over “WHAT COULD BE”. So I don't want to hear shit about piracy, the probability of selling or ANY of the downloading possibilities.
However, you have absolutely got to be shitting me when you tell me that Corporate America now gets to sue and prosecute individuals (and one other apparently) over “potential” illegal implications. The fucking “Minority Report” is out and we're all about to serve life sentences for our crimes folks. Be on the look out folks, Sony or Steve Jobs is about to serve a summons on your ass.
If you didn't pay attention to the title of this article you might want to now... so, do you now know what Sony and sodomy seem to have in common? With a little 'letter' play it seems to me “MY MONEY” is one glaring acronym for sure. The other reference is a plain abuse implying ass rape of the highest order.
I've already attacked Sony & Steve for other reasons LINK, so I won't waste any more on that. Where I'm going with this is Sony's current childish attempt at damage control.
Like BP, Sony took the low road to security and safety controls & got bit in the ass. True to their word Anonymous did indeed breach the Playstation Network and take down the game servers, much to their dismay & realization (hopefully) that this display of aggression actually fell onto the consumers/gamers instead of the CEOs or controlling “bean counters”. Obviously, I've bitched about these guys hitting the wrong people in the past.
But as recent events would have it, Sony's lawyers (and money) made sure that they 'said' the right thing & publicly called Anonymous out as being the 'possible' thieves to the 100K client information stamps. Cute Sony, real fucking cute.
Not only has Sony repeatedly lied about security problems with the PSN gaming servers alone, but I have reason to believe that there has been a problem with Sony's “entire” security system governing their internet access and consumer base. I base this simply on my original Sony blog analysis, Bank Sodomy, and the whole 80s generation social economical mutation (based on the “fuck it, you bought it” mentality), not to mention Sony's relentless adherence to their business model since sales caught in in the US in the early 60's. So instead of taking their system off-line, spending the money you take in and repairing the damn thing like you're supposed to; they continue to maintain course, holding on by a thread and hope that nothing happens. Just like everything else, the levies in New Orleans, the safety cap on the oil rig off the coast of Florida and now the damned Sony servers, the damned thing fails...
And JUST like Watergate, instead of admitting fault, digging in their heals, throwing down a shit load of cash and fixing the problem ASAFP: No, instead they pissed and bitched, “SPIN” (AKA lying their ass off), drew the fire of blame onto the wrong group, lied that there was a problem at all (how do we know there isn't a stupid conspiracy surrounding lost accounts done INTERNALLY...?).
So saying that, I would like to make this outlandish statement...
I think "Sony" is the one that has actually violated the client security. I say someone in their own company has actually stolen their own client information and has made off with it.
I know, I've gone against my own ethics and possibly fallen backward into a pile in my own shit called conspiracy. But is it so outlandish that Sony would use its own resources (money, power and influence) to throw the FBI off for a few days so they could do their own internal investigation and attempt to solve, prosecute and implement their own solution before the public as a whole can invoke their own class action suit. Greed money has bought bigger fandango messes in the past, why would this be any different?
At the moment Sony thinks they can buy off their consumer base by offering a free ID blocking service, but I haven't (as of this posting) yet seen the proper link or a proper email link to get the service due me (cause I am also one of those customers email alerted that my account was stolen).
I just consider myself a bit smarter than the average bear in that I don't give out all my information on the game servers or any other “FREE” anything. Including those 'scan' cards for grocery cards, gas, weasel food, you name it.
Let's be honest. You don't need to know where I live, my phone number, what hand I wipe my ass with and the same goes for me with regards to information about you. So what the FUCK makes you think Sony, Steve Jobs, Microsoft, Shell or any other Fortune 500 organization needs to know shit about me?
I'll tell you what... They can have all the information about me when they come over to my house and bring me full disclosure about themselves and their company activities as well. We'll do lunch.
In closing... Sony... You can't control me, so stop trying. Dumb asses. Fix your shit and produce what the masses want; otherwise get out of the business. Same goes for you Steve. I'm not your bitch. Fucking whiner.
Anarchists... Assholes! Pick the correct targets for your wrath, you fucking idiots! If you're going to be the next Robin Hood ACT like you actually got an education! You fucking idiots! I feel bad for these poor rebels over in Libya trying to throw Moammar Gadhafi out of power. They have the fighting spirit, but they don't realize that fighting your ass into a capital city doesn't mean shit if you don't have a plan for keeping it. Like a wise man told me, “Think of what you're going to say before you say it.”
You idiots want to make your own decisions, great. Go for it. Just remember a few things first. In a complete anarchist environment; does your dumb ass know how to make bread, smelt lead & make gun powder for bullets, know how to remove an appendix and could you kill another before they kill you because this is also one to two steps shy of an atmosphere of what you seem to think might be so cool.
Make your attack on the individuals who are "THE" root of the problem. I understand you may have to get rid of a couple of foot soldiers, but make gyotdamn sure you're still aimed at the prize. But if you're not sure... Damnit!!! Don't Do IT!!!
Thursday, May 5, 2011
I have to hand it to “SOME” retail and restaurant businesses, they're starting to get the idea...
This “idea” I'm about to blather about revolves around the concept of “stack it high & watch it fly” kind of mentality to sales in the US.
Some will want to credit Sam Walton of Walmart fame with this particular quote and business practice, but I can't exactly confirm that, but the old bird did have a point. Like any other genius, its simplicity was its brilliance which is why Wall Street and all the other Greed fucks will never reach the god-like status they always seem to coincide with what that think they deserve.
Somewhat simple example; Wall Street wants to sell cigarette lighters that cost .10 cents to make at $1.50. They call this selling the lighters “what the market will bear”. They have been doing this shit since the 80's when the whole “fuck you, you bought it, you deal with it” and the “this is cheap shit” era came into existence.
Now bitch about Walmart all you want, but what Sam tried to do back when he still had control was buy all the damn lighters he could, as cheaply as fucking possible so that folks who couldn't even afford the damn things at $1.50 could buy them at .85 cents. Not only did this get folks to at least buy one, it got folks that could only afford one to actually pony up and buy 2, so when the Wall Street fucks tried another stupid stunt, Joe America might be able to weather out the storm with their surplus lighter. Or, Sam would have enough of the cheap lighters sitting in a warehouse that he could continue selling to folks so that they wouldn't be taken to the cleaners.
I really don't think “Sam” was never an evil guy, it's what they have done in his name after his death that has tarnished his good name.
Back to the sodomizing of America...
So here we are 35+ years later, Wall Street has fleeced your ass over that same $1.50 cheap assed lighter, but now they (Wall-nuts, capitalism Greed mud-fuckers) have learned that it is going to cost $1.45 to MAKE the damn thing. But now they have fucked themselves!!! The market will no longer bear much over $1.50 for a disposable lighter, i.e., people aren't going to pay that much any more. Speaking for myself, I don't smoke, so I'm not in the market every other month for a lighter to determine a competitive price, but I can definitely tell you that when I feel the old pyromania creeping up my asshole I certainly don't race down to the minute mart with the intentions of spending more than a few coins from the floor boards for a damned lighter. I'm sure there will be more than a few affirmations with me on this one.
With this in mind let me throw a new sales pitch from a local car lot on you from my area on you.
Now I grew up with advertising being the 'bread and butter' in the house hold. If I were a younger lad I would most certainly have my feet held to the flames and scolded for spilling bile in public against the very thing that has fed, clothed and sheltered my ungrateful ass. Truth be known, had it not been for my attention to the art of bullshit, sorry, advertising, I wouldn't have made through a few rough years myself.
Look, everyone has had to “advertise” themselves. Putting it in perspective, that's what your resume is for. But I'm talking about current affairs and equivalent of snake oil in today's society.
I was supposed to be commenting about this car dealer in my immediate local...
Now the sales slogan this shit head is using has been tried (or originated) in the past by the now defunct Saturn division. It is basically a technique by which they price their cars just low enough where they “look” cheaper than those advertised by everyone else; “just walking onto the lot”. I.e., you walk up to the new car on the lot, look at the sticker thinking your going to explosively shit yourself, but come to find out it is 'relatively' cheaper than what you have been seeing at other dealers.
What they then do is 'tell' you is that this price is as cheap as they can go because 'they' (the dealer themselves) had done all the shopping and under cut the whole mess and gave you the customer the best deal. And because they went and did all this work, you don't get to haggle over the price, you get to pay that price there on the window. Thank you for shopping. Now either pay up or go away.
This “PRICING” is conveniently called “market based pricing”. I believe the proper, although probably socially unacceptable, slogan should be “market based fucking”...
Putting things into further perspective... Different situation; I was working with this asshole fixing computers. I wasn't doing it for my betterment. I did it for, stuff. It sure as hell wasn't for money because this asshole literally fucked me out of what could have been a descent cash flow. And no, not from a source of personal greed either. It was HIS fucking greed that killed it, as I will now explain. Pack your ass with steel wool you new capitalist loving fucks...
So ass love owns this pawn shop in a college town. The recession hits and like everyone, shit is getting tough. Without getting into another history lesson, pawn shops get a bad rap for several reasons, when they really shouldn't. It's the owners or individuals within that give the establishment their reputation. Nuff said.
Anyway, in order for a shop to be successful, electronics that come in and set, obviously produce a problem that the seller 'didn't' tell us about. Customers that come in can't get it through their thick fucking skulls, “you're buying a USED item!!!” Fucking Moron!!! It's not factory fresh. Asshole hired me to get it completely operational, or simply as close as I can get the thing & then it gets priced accordingly so that he can recoup his investment. Thus, business.
Well, we also did computer repairs and other electronic repairs as well on the side that required no out of pocket expense from him. That put money in his shop to continue the cash flow. But there was a HUGE problem with his pricing options. I had a conscious and he didn't.
There were times I couldn't/wouldn't want to warranty a repair and he would undermine me & then hold my feet to the repair which cost $$$ each time I opened the device & executed the repair, but he didn't pay for the parts or labor. Not to mention, I can't afford “out of pocket” for some of these repair items. Quick example: $300 for a projector lamp for a DLP television. Even though it's customary for the client to cough up half first, I have to get the other half. Not the pawn shop, but he'll definitely sell the TV to recoup the repair parts and my time, but I didn't get shit until after that time. WTF!!!
This didn't happen all the time mind you, but often enough. But the biggest complaint was pricing of services that killed the whole deal; both his cash flow & mine, i.e. his Greed... To put it into a better frame of reference: Best Buy will charge you $320 to reload your operating system onto your computer due to a complete system failure or viral pollution or Geek Squad bullshit-a-thon. Similar costs are charged from other chain stores I'm sure. Other area computer shops and re-sale shops want to charge in the neighborhood of $200+ for a similar process and will probably have older operating systems and be more receptive to folks that don't want the “latest and greatest” yet, as the chain stores will brow beat the shit out of you to upgrade or simply turn you away period.
Seeing as we were a pawn shop and not known for doing/associated with electronic anything, commanding a higher price would be a damned foolish idea. Not in Asshole's mind. He constantly reminded me that he was going to price things under the hospices of “What the Market Would Bear”. And yet that's exactly what killed my little gig with the pawn shop.
My grandfather, god love him, said it best. “If a rich man is the only one that can afford a hamburger, then no one is going to buy one. Cause the rich man won't find an idiot to buy one for him. Make the hamburger affordable so even the poorest man can at least buy one, then even the richest asshole will buy one.”
What Asshole couldn't/wouldn't get through his thick skull was, sure, 1 person would come to “ME” to get his computer worked on for $100 and get it up and working 'like' new, but the poor bastard was only going to pay that much on an old computer one (1, uno, hana, mahz) time! There is NEVER going to be repeat business.
People get pissed, especially if the repair took, but not REALLY good. Say it was a descent repair, but what is the customer is an idiot. Say I removed a virus and got rid of Limewire (the avenue that put the virus on there in the first place) with instructions to not do it again, otherwise I can't warranty the work. At $100, I may be scoffed as half an idiot and the client may do whatever the fuck they want again with the exact same results and then never return for another repair. I lose business, Asshole loses the business.
When at the beginning, I told Asshole to charge $50, we split the money (seeing as he isn't doing a damn thing to earn his keep anyway) thus procuring a better than 75% chance of return business even if the repair goes bad in a short time. Hell, I would bring a repair back for a second try for a total of $100 as apposed to $100 each time, that's simple fucking math in anybody's book. Well, except for Asshole's.
My whole point to this particular blog being that debt doesn't “MAKE” anything. Whoever thought that one up needs to run through a gauntlet of eighth graders with his nuts bared and the kids armed with ping pong paddles. The offender then pulled slowly through the ranks as the kids swing like wild horizontal wind mills at his testicles. Fucking moron, debt is less than nothing. You fucking football bat, there is NOTHING to be had and yet act like you're an innocent victim in the demise of our economy that YOU helped cause?
Ideologicals will scream socialist, but I bellow ethics and common sense in saying that only one of two things will cure the fucked up mess that the good ol US of A is in and neither are going to be popular. So here goes...
My particular favorite that covers all social, political, economical and religious fanatics is the crowd pleasing zombie apocalypse. You can't exactly run from it or hide from it. At one point or another you will have to confront it with all your baggage. I mean ALL your baggage!
The other solution is to take America’s wealthy and force them to pony up and pay into the slush fund that forces the corrupt system back into a 'flush' state. Obviously this opens Pandora’s box into a worm fervor and a mess that not only causes the Catholic's to explode, but organized crime, the wealthy, the corrupt wealthy, the borderline wealthy, the idiots who think they are wealthy, business owners who think they are wealthy, anybody active with the tea-bag party, right-wing activist assholes, Greed capitalists, upper corporate echelon, pig fucking assholes from the oil producing companies that have butt fucking the world public in general for the last 40 years, everyone involved in the tobacco industry, drug czars, politicians and probably a shit load of other individuals I haven't the slightest clue about to shit a woolly worm & start their own hate letter campaign.
You all get to take them bazillions in cash you've been corn holing the public out of and put back into the system that you have fucked and get it back to flush. Or at least something that looks flush anyway; then you can get a real job and earn a “REALISTIC” paycheck like the rest of the world.
You know, I've made some decisions that million dollar plus projects were hinged on and never got paid bullshit bonus checks for my involvement .[and don't give me any bullshit about how I should have 'held out for my take' , fuck you very much...] I have a VERY educated and technical background. I'm also quite rehearsed in history and theoretical studies, so I dismiss your diatribe on any other insight to actions unseen by the general public as otherwise pretentious bullshit.
For those continuing to bitch that this is still Nazi propaganda and incites radical anti American actions I conclude with this... Hey FUCKHEADS!!! The poor bastards paying taxes like they should!!! The ones still paying bloated prices for shit they still need to get by in this fucked up society YOUR capitalism is creating!!! YEAH!!! Those people are the ones that payed $150 billion to YOUR fucking capitalist fuck ups and with NO fucking information as to where the money went to. Not one fucking word.
So Capitalist, right-wing tit mouse, why don't you write a check for grand and over night to me. It's none of your fucking business what it's for & don't bother asking when I'll get it back to you either.
This is EXACTLY how your corporations of today do business. Now, capitalist love-plug, you want to tell me which of the fucking ivy league schools has Ass Rape of the American Tax Payer 656 on the graduate itinerary?
I didn't fucking think so...