The Sporadic Curmudgeon

What, you think I make this shit up? Here’s the lead-in to the Reuters story:

One year after Hurricane Katrina battered the U.S. Gulf Coast and his political standing, President George W. Bush acknowledged on Monday that a complete recovery was still a long way off.

“There is hope down here, there is still a lot of work to be done,” Bush said. “This is an anniversary but it doesn’t mean it’s an end. Frankly it’s just the beginning of what is going to be a long recovery.”

Okay, I know it’s an ambiguously-worded couple of paragraphs. Some people are going to think the story is talking about the Gulf Coast’s recovery. But take a few minutes for a little refresher course with Think Progress’ Katrina Timeline, and then you tell me what Our Glorious Fearless Leader really meant.

For those who need reminding, President Bush attended a birthday party and did some fundraising (where he played a cute little guitar with the Presidential Seal on it), and Secretary of State Rice went to a Broadway musical (where she was booed) and shopped for shoes (where an incredulous woman shamed her). They did this while citizens of the most powerful country on Earth were dying of thirst in one of our own cities following a disaster that had been known about days ahead of time.

While the world watched, Bush and his political cronies were doing photo-ops and complaining about not having enough time to get decent service in a restaurant. The next time you see Bush’s smirking puss on the screen, think about the terminal patients in the New Orleans hospital that were euthanized because they couldn’t be moved and it was more humane than leaving them to die of exposure. Think about the elderly woman’s body rotting on the freeway overpass where she’d been stranded. Think about how Bush and his henchmen sat there and did absolutely nothing for those people until it became apparent even to their ignorant, greedy little 40-watt brains that it was going to be politically damaging.

And by God, you think of them when you step into that voting booth in November.

Sometimes it helps to remind myself that we’re all half-crazy, and life is a process of figuring out ways to work around our weaknesses.

foreign policy
Bush bending over backwards
hey, it’s dark in here

I have been offered a consulting position by a good friend that is going to enable my family and I to stay just long enough to leave Las Vegas without losing everything. The work looks very interesting and does not appear to carry the risk of eternal damnation or a continual erosion of my dignity. I am, for the first time since moving to this city, verging on happy, and am grateful beyond words.

Now that the decision to leave has been made, however, I have a few observations to make about America’s Playground.

When I first arrived here, I liked it. But I’ve seen things since, like the ten-year-old boy on a bicycle struck by a hit-and-run driver and left to die convulsing in the street. He died, alone and broken, too far gone to help, with a good samaritan’s overcoat draped over his broken body. It did not merit a mention on the local newscasts.

Other things, too: the shamefully piss-poor excuse for a school system in one of the richest cities in the world, the shallow lack of loyalty and compassion, the eternal pointless road construction, the laws making it illegal to feed the homeless, the fascist housing associations, the escalating violence and random beatings, the corruption and the myriad other things that make this fetid maggot-infested bucket of rotting fish guts splattered across the blasted landscape so very, very special. And let’s not forget the ever-increasing cost of living we pay for the privilege of being on the receiving end of a perpetual gang-rape.

So, in three months, we’re out of here. Be nice to take my daughter to some place where she can ride a bicycle without ending up crushed under the wheels of some moronic drunken hair-plugged asshole driving an SUV while screaming at an employee over the cellphone.

There are people I’ve met here that I will cherish forever, but they are a few lonely roses growing in a vast swamp of runny shit. I cannot wait to see the lights of this rank abomination in my rear-view mirror.

It’s happened to us all: you head down to the local Tiki Bar for happy hour with a few of your fellow cubicle-slaves, and seven or eight Piña Coladas and a montage sequence later you wake up with a tattoo of Kaiser Wilhelm on your wang.

The fine folks at type brighter have commemorated these epidermal indiscretions with several pages of really bad tattoos. Any fluids you happen to be drinking when you view this will be shooting out of your nose.

STERN PATERNALISTIC WARNING: the site in general, and especially some of the more cringeworthy examples, are definitely NOT work-safe, and would disgust a one-eyed 57-year-old El Paso table-dancer.

A Croatian man who’d been swimming in the nude managed to get his testicles caught in a deck chair and was finally freed by the beach maintenance crew.

Although it goes against every instinct in my body, I’m not going to make fun of the poor guy. It wasn’t his fault.

As revealed to the female population of the world on a notorious Seinfeld episode, male genitals are subject to shrinkage, aka “God’s little practical joke,” when exposed to cold temperatures. It’s nature’s way of removing guys that go skinny-dipping in mixed company from the gene pool.

In fact, the whole hangin’ huevos thing is one of the best arguments against so-called “intelligent design” I can think of. If we’re really made in the Big Kahuna’s image, then He never got kicked in the nuts. Or sat on a treacherous deck chair.

Without warning, on Monday my employer initiated a round of layoffs. I was one of the many let go. The reason given was poor sales performance in some divisions, yada-yada, blah-blah-blah etc. My particular job was entirely internal, and had nothing to do with sales. In any case, I am currently without employment in an industry rife with age discrimination, and the ol’ clock is ticking. As a result, updates to this site will be even more sporadic than usual. I will, with my usual lack of discretion, keep you informed as to my progress whenever I can.

So now I’ve got to try to turn this flaming bag of dog crap I found on the front porch Monday morning into lemonade, if I may mix an unsavory metaphor or two. In all probability I’ll be relocating, so we can all look forward to my bitching about life in some other part of the country.

To my ex-co-workers: I enjoyed my time with all of you. I’ll remember some of you with particular fondness: Todd, Rodric, James, Sam, Johns H. and C., Shannyn, Brian, Devin, Alex, Jason, Pennie, Myline, Keith, Mel and Myya.* You’ve all been good friends, and I’ll miss you. Good Lord I can get mawkish sometimes.

* If I’ve forgotten anyone that actually gave a damn about me, I’m sorry. I’m still in a little bit of shock.