Category Politics

Junk mail

I usually just press delete all for my junk mail file, but I just happened to notice that since this morning there are 20 new pieces of junk mail.

This morning I got one of those letters from someone asking about an ex.

 

The sad crazy of the far right

I keep getting emails from people I have known, or people I have emailed in the last 20 years, or complete strangers who purchased my email address, all of them right wing nut cases who would vote for any republican, no matter how disastrous.

Here is the latest pathetic excuse to change the truth that you have to be somewhat insane to support Trump, but using classic projection, they seem to be trying to make the case that it’s the democrats who can’t be bothered to see the truth.

Keep in mind that Trump gets dragged into court on average 93 times a year for the last 30 years. He is right this second facing fraud, racketeering and rape cases to be in court this year. Instead, try and wrap your brain around the idea that it is Clinton supporters who are delusional.

Hillary.jpg

Comcast is still the worst company in the history of worst companies

If you have ever wasted the time to read the meandering and nonsensical words on this blog, you know one thing and one thing only, Comcast and I have had a love/hate relationship for a very long time.
For the past 15 months I paid Comcast for high speed internet that was predictable, and on a daily schedule, a lot closer to dialup. I would call Comcast and they would respond by promising to do everything in their power to fix the problem. Literally I would have a Comcast technician over to my house and every single time, not a dang thing changed. Not once did they fix the problem, which is what I came to expect. That said, Comcast proved efficient in billing me for their terrible and inadequate service.
Then last month my house burned down and that was the end of Comcast.
Or so I thought. Today I moved into a temporary apartment and of course I had scheduled to have the super high speed internet only available from Comcast turned on. Of course they promised to send out a technician who would do this sort of thing. Now if you ever watch the big dumb TV you have in your favorite room you have probably witnessed a slew of Comcast commercials where they brag about this new service where they promise to be at your side in a two hour window to take care of whatever ails you.
So, of course, Comcast set a time to stop by my apartment and turn on the magic internet machine. 2:30-4:30 was their magic window. When I called the worst company in the history of all the worst companies in history and asked why no magical technician had bothered to show up, the good person explained to me that the technician screwed up.
Oh?
Imagine that. Well, those Comcast people do know how to lie, so the Comcast phone guy promised me that next Monday another well trained and prompt technician would stop by and internet my life.
Because I trust Comcast like I trust a brain tumor, I offered a compromise, “what say you get your drunken, irresponsible technician to drop by tomorrow?”
Well, of course Comcast offered that, because you and I both know that will never happen. That said, even if one of the amazingly belligerent Comcast technicians does bother to set up some sort of internet machine tomorrow, one thing you could bet every single dollar you have ever had in your possession is this, the promised speed of the Comcast internet system will be just shy of dialup.

As a protest, I will not compete in the Winter Olympics

To- Vladimir Putin
Internet tough guy, gay icon, president of Bosnia (Google that one and find out which province he is actual prime minster of and then come back and fill that in).

Vladimir-

Thank you for hating the gays, I have been in-training for the Winter Olympics for weeks now and all of a sudden you hate on the gays and for whatever reason, I am just going to boycott you now. Thanks. To be honest, I’m not that good of an ice dancer anyway. As you probably know, my family has been an integral part of the Olympics for over 100 years now.
A little history.
In 1972 my mother, god rest her soul, decided that in good conscience she could not attend the Albanian Winter Olympiad because of the great Mouse Massacre, as I’m sure you are well aware. The so-called Mouse Massacre was indeed a kGB enterprise, using a Disney movie set in a plastic kingdom in Luxembourg to kill and maim thousands of innocent chocolatiers, or something. It got lost in her drunken storytelling, but the bottom line, my mothers destiny to be a gold medal winner was stolen from her.
As you may have heard, my dear father was in training for the summer Olympics of 1968, but of course tragically he lost both legs on the slalom course. Ironically, he was not even on the slalom course at the time, but that’s a whole other mystery that no one seems to want to talk about.
Of course my older brother famously held his arm up in defiance at the summer Olympics in Mexico City to protest the over use of avocado and corn tortillas at Olympic Village housing breakfast and lunches.
He came in seventh in the 100. No one says anything to him, he is a medicare commodities trader in New York City, imagine the family shame.
My first sister began ice skating when she was one year old and everyone knew she would someday win a gold medal. Of course former president Clinton ruined that when he “Lewinskied” the Olympics in ’96. She recovered, but only after a year in rehab and three years on skid row (in that order, sadly).
My oldest sister missed the Winter and Summer Gay Games of 2000, boycotting because of some sort of misunderstanding as to what sort of “objects” she was allowed in her carry-on luggage.
I wish it all ended there, but in 1936 my grandfather was the designer of the Azerbaijan Olympic uniforms, which consisted mostly of a garish pink belt and some well worn Nazi leather vests. His insane designs caused my family so much shame that it would be another four years before any family member would take part in the Olympics.
My great grandfather was a long distance runner in the ’40 Olympiad, held in Switzerland. Of course, during those Olympics there was also some war going on and my great grandfather ended up being the only athlete who took part in those Switzerland Olympic Games. Obviously he never actually received a gold medal for the race he won (alone, I might add) but for the longest time he would show off his empty bottle of Switzerland’s best ale, “Smoldenbergen” and declare that this was indeed his gold medal. No one ever believed him, tragically.
Strangely, my great great grandmother was one of the first competitors in the 1896 Olympics in Greece. She was not an athlete, per se, but more of a massage expert, if you catch my drift. Great Great Grandma was quite famous in the Olympic training room and while she did not take home a gold medal, she did leave Greece pregnant with a child who would someday become my great grandfather, born 17 months after those games ended, a long and painful pregnancy if ever there was one. 
Luckily that son of her’s would go on to compete at the first no-Olympic games, an absurd sporting event held for the first (and last) time in Paris in the late summer of 1922. If you know anything about history, you will remember that during the summer of 1922 Paris was boiling in the hottest and most humid time in that once great cities history. Great grandpa competed in the three man wheelbarrow and mascara race. He won the plum colored medal, which still hangs obscenely on my own wall as I write this. I say obscenely because those non-Olympic game medals were all created in the image of a vagina, a design from the unknown artist Pablina Pacasso.
So Great Communist Dictator and Unbelievably Gay Icon Putin, I am sorry to say I will not be making it to Sochi anytime soon to compete in what is already being called “The Worst Olympics in History” which by the way, will be surprising because the actual Worst Olympics in History is, of course, the Budweiser Poodle Olympics of 1986, but I won’t bore you with those details.

The man responsible for the worst black president in history

I’m not proud of the fact that I recently took a customer service job with a major cable/internet provider. In fact, I take long hot showers on a hourly basis just because of the scuzzy feeling I get from hearing people who pay ungodly amounts of money for fast internet and digital television and never get much of either.
The good thing is I can work from home and wear nothing while logging complaints and pretending to address the various issues with my new companies terrible service. It was during one of these recent calls where I met and befriended the man responsible for electing the worst black president in American history.
Let me backtrack, I took a call from someone Chicago, I never really know who I am talking to, nor do I care because company policy is always the same, “we are working on your issues and that problem should be repaired in the next two weeks, is there anything else I can help you with?” That is what I have been taught to tell anyone who calls, regardless of their issue.
My computer screen tells me where the call is coming from and who the registered person is on the other end of the conversation. Sometimes I pretend to speak a foreign language, with a terrible accent, just to piss people off who almost always start screaming, “it’s low paid illegals like you who are ruining this once great country.” I never bother to tell them that I live in Milwaukee.
So there I was a couple of days ago, sitting on my recliner and telling my dog to stop licking his dog sex organ, when my screen lit up with the call from Chicago. I answered and immediately the belligerent idiot on the other end started railing about my new employers incredibly terrible service.
“I’ve been calling your outsourced off-shore call center for two months and every time I hear promises about increased service and replacement of broken parts and how my high speed internet should be super fast in the next week or so. Guess what? It has never happened.”
I broke in, “well, maybe I can help you with your problem,” I said, matter of fact like.
“What sort of accent is that, are you in Italy?”
“Very good,” I said in probably the worst Italian accent imaginable.
“Yeah, this is why your company sucks, because even the lowly and idiotic call center zombies are off shore.”
“Sir, I can promise you that we here at (cable/internet provider) will do whatever it takes to get your the fast internet we have been promising you for months.”
“Look, I don’t want to be a dick or anything, but it’s been months and all I ever hear is that you will send out a tech who will increase the speed, or repair something, or some other excuse.”
“Well, this time, I can promise you that we will resolve this problem,” I lied.
Of course, I knew that I was lying and I kind of figured he knew I was lying, but the online corporate training course I had aced demanded that we lie to all people calling in to complain about any of the terrible services my new employer offered.
The Chicago caller continued to document his various calls and the enormous lies he had been told and asked how I was different. I promised everything was being sent to the preparer managers who could deal with his particular issues. There were no managers who would be reviewing anything, of course. That’s about the time he said, “look, I have been frustrated a lot lately because of this stupid Obamacare mess and all I keep thinking is, if not for me, we would still be happily living under the McCain presidency.”
Well, even for me, a new employee more interested in my dogs grooming habits, was caught just a little off guard.
“How is the terrible Obamacare mess your fault,” I asked, mostly because I was hoping to avoid hearing any more complaints about my new employers incredibly terrible service.
“About 20 years ago I was trying to impress this woman I was trying to get with by pretending to be a liberal leaning, pot smoking, Southside hipster. That was the fall when Barack Obama was first running for state senator and to score points with this hot woman completely out of my league, I stupidly voted for the unknown candidate, thinking there was no way this guy with the silly name would win more that ten or fifteen votes. Of course he won, and sprung from state senator to Illinois senator and finally, tragically, president. It’s really all my fault in some cosmic way and whenever I see another misstep and failed attempt to turn this once great country into a socialist European state, all I can think of is how all those years ago I was foolish enough to help get this all started.”
“I doubt you are solely responsible for the Obama presidency,” I said, with just a slight bit of sarcasm.
“Check the election results when he ran for state senator, he won by a single vote.”
“Is that true?”
“It is, that’s a fact and I am that vote.”
“Well, you sir, wait, did you actually end up having sex with this Chicago hottie 20 years ago, in exchange for electing the worst black president in history?”
“I did not.”
“Then you sir are a disgrace to both you country and your political party.”
“Will you make sure I get fast internet?”
“Now? No way possible. In fact, as I speak I am deleting your account.” With that, I hung up my phone, only to look across my cluttered living room to now see my dog dragging his butt across my recently shampooed carpet.

Elections really do have consequences

Be careful who you vote for, because sometimes the exact person you would never want serving your election needs is the exact person who gets elected.
A small bit of history. On November 5th of this past year I wandered over to out local polling place and voted on a couple of local issues that seemed important to me. Of course, the ballot was littered with all sorts of meaningless offices, supreme court, dog catcher, you get the idea, that I just don’t have time for. So in most of those instances I wrote my dogs name down and did not give it a second thought.
Then, by complete disregard for any sort of social contract, I wrote my own name down for a position I did not even know existed, I believe it was director of local elections, or something confusing like that.
Today I got an official letter from the State of Pennsylvania, along with a very official document from the Commonwealth, telling me I am now a Majority Inspector for Election, a four year term. A position I was elected to by, get this, one vote.
So, of course, knowing nothing about this job and it’s duties means I will soon be running for congress, since that is the only prerequisite for that particular job now days.

Football update

If you’re like me, and thank the good lord Sweet jesus you are not, but even if you are just kind of like me, you are completely overdosed on turkey sandwiches and prescription pain medications, laid out on an uncomfortable couch and barely able to make out the blurs on the big screen which is apparently about a half mile away on a far off wall, with the best college football game in the nation playing this very second. If that is the case and you are slowly fading in and out of consciousness you may be awakened by the supreme play of Alabama super player HaHa Clinton-Dix.
I was just laying there on the couch and every so often the languid vocals of the drunken announcer would say, “that’s Haha Clinton-Dix again,” or something like that and I would all of a sudden wake up, sort of.
It’s not every single day of your life that you hear the words Haha Clinton-Dix all strung together like that.
Then again, if you think about it, a college football player is probably somewhere between the age of eighteen to twenty one. So, if my math is even close to accurate, Mr. Clinton-Dix was born somewhere in the early 90’s. So even I, a person with only decent Google abilities could figure out which famous president was in the Oval office at the time of Haha’s birth.
I’m just going to go out of my way here and thank the parents of this spectacular football player for thinking so far into the future during the early days of the turbulent presidency of one William Jefferson Clinton. How could they have ever known how ironic and fun their superstar sons name would be just a few years later.
“Haha Clinton-Dix slams another Auburn player to the ground.”