More bullshit from another asshole with a blog

Holiday Jeer!
26Dec08

Posted by wafwot

santa cricifixion I hate the holidays, and glad they’re over… for a minute. Only 279 days until the start of the 2009 Holiday season, and 364 more shopping days left ’til Christmas, bitches! Deck the malls!

Yeah… maybe I’m a Scrooge or a grinch, but I say bullshit. There’s no such thing as Christmas spirit anymore. There’s just buy buy buy! Sale sale sale! Now 30% off this shit, and 50% off that shit! Cities and towns decorate their streets not for the spirit, but to entice consumers to consume. Fuck each and every goddamned television and radio commercial for whoring themselves for our money. Fuck every newspaper ad and insert offering an insane discount on that must-have lead-laden crap made in China. Fuck the goddamned throngs of inconsiderate, mindless assholes that crowd every mall, department store, and curio shop in search of the perfect gift… or a gift that will suffice.

I’m not a religious man at all, yet I can’t help but laugh at how a religious event has been twisted into a reason to buy things. Whether you believe December 25 is a pagan celebration of the winter solstice, or a Christian celebration of the approximate birthday of Jesus, the roots of Christmas are based in religion not capitalism.

Back in the 1650s, Puritans in Massachusetts banned the celebration of Christmas for nearly three decades because they saw it as a throwback to their Crown roots. They couldn’t take time off from work, have a big feast, decorate their homes, etc. Even when the law was overturned, the disdain for Christmas continued for many years. In fact, Christmas in America attracted about as much attention as Kwanzaa does today until the mid 1800s. But, just after the Civil War, retailers realized they could use the Christmas season to market their shit we gotta have. Their first hurdle was getting Protestants to let go of their hostility towards Christmas. Then President Ulysses S. Grant designated Christmas a federal holiday in 1870, promoting the secular aspects of the holiday. Ever since then, the holiday season of advertising and commercialization has gotten out of hand.

If you’re less than 80 years old, you grew up with the heart-warming story of Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer who saved Christmas with his nose so bright. But that entire story was made up by an employee of Montgomery Ward. A national Christmas icon created by a department store in order to sell more crap, then immortalized in songs, television, movies, and comic books. While Coca-Cola didn’t invent Santa Claus, they definitely “standardized” the image of a jolly fat man, with rosy cheeks and a flowing white beard wearing a gaudy pimp suit.

Now that same happy image sits on thrones in department stores across the country, surrounded by “elves” in curly-toed shoes and long lines of selfish, greedy vaginal vermin begging for Red Ryder BB guns and dolls that piss themselves. I offer a hearty fuck you to all you parents and your children who have infested our retail outlets with incessant screeching and crying. We should pass a law that outlaws these prepubescent shitstains from throwing a fucking tantrum in a public store, and punish their non-confrontational, tree-hugging, soy-eating parents for not smacking the fuck out of their misbehaving brats!

Christmas is all about the almighty dollar nowadays, as evidenced by the non-stop holiday ads in every form of media. It’s ridiculous. It’s like driving down skid row looking for a hooker. They’re all dressed provocatively, as if to say, “pick me, pick me!” C’mon, you know it’s true! Especially when you realize you’re looking for the best deal for the least amount of money. “Sucky sucky five dolla? Me love you long time.” Or, “Garmin GPS hundred dolla?” No difference.

The recent economic recession seems to made things worse: holiday email spam, television ads, radio ads, junk mail, “Christmasized” logos on retailer’s web sites… It’s a constant barrage of holiday marketing that retailers hoped would make a bad economy a bit better. Christ! There’s over 50 shopping channels broadcasting 24 hours a day, and late-night television is lousy with paid programming. Who the fuck is buying all this shit in the middle of the night? If the economy is so bad, why haven’t all these sleep-deprived materialistic fuckwads with credit cards and a shipping address heard about it?

Of course, the holiday ads don’t stop on December 25. Oh no. There’s the “After Christmas” sale, the “Post-Christmas Sale-abration” sale, the “December Clearance” sale, the “New Year” sale, the “Boxing Day” sale, the “Everything Must Go” sale… whatever the time, the retailers have a sale for it. If there was truth in advertising, there’d only be one kind of sale — the “Buy Our Shit So We Won’t Have To Be Bailed Out By The Government” sale. Fuck TARP and fuck Prince Henry, too!

Why do they always pin the hopes of their bottom line on four to six weeks of holiday discounts? Doesn’t it make sense to market like it’s the holidays all year long? Maybe if they did, so much attention wouldn’t be paid to their economic well-being at Christmas and we can get back to the real reason for the season.

But the holidays aren’t JUST about capitalism. Even though it’s only for one week a year, families put aside their differences and get together to celebrate a tradition. People are usually more generous during the Chrismahanukwanzakah season, and the shear amount of alcohol consumption makes everyone appear happier. However, the impending debt, crowded stores, stupid greeting cards, ungrateful phony attitudes, and endless drone of the old tired Christmas songs just makes me hate the time of year all the more…. which leads to posts like this. It’s more predicable than the first snow.

Fuck it. That’s all for today. Tina’s already shot me several disapproving glares for writing yet another annual “I hate Christmas” post. I’ll have my annual year in review post sometime before the new year… hopefully.

Kissmyass Time
20Dec07

Posted by wafwot

Pedophile Uncle Christmas It’s the most shittiest time of the year. It’s the crap-crappiest season of all. All the kids and their crying; impulsively buying more shit at the mall… It’s the crap-crappiest season of all.

Some people really don’t like the holidays, and I’m one of them. No, I’m not Jewish, or Arab, or part of any other non-Christmas celebrating sect. As a child, I loved Christmas. The anticipation, the excitement, the lights, the tree, the music, family, not going to school for two weeks. It was fanfuckingtastic! More stimulation than a child should have. Maybe that’s why I’ve grown to despise late December. I totally understand why my paternal grandfather always called it “Kissmyass.”

Everyone and their goddamn great uncle’s cousin twice removed is in your pocket. Food banks are begging for food for the throngs of hungry homeless; the Salvation Army of bellringers clanging at every department store, grocery store and post office in an eight thousand mile radius; Christmas Seals apparently needs money for more cigarettes; it’s an interminable stream of pleading for money. Here’s an idea: Give the gift of get off my fucking back. Everywhere you go, it’s “save the starving, feed the dying, make the guy with a credit card feel guilty.” I’m just tired of it all.

And while I’m in a pissy, bitching mood, what the fuck is up with the stores? Jesus H. McChristmas, people! I went to Wal-Marché last weekend to get my inhaler prescriptions filled and pick up a few things we needed at the house. I think every fat Navy wife with their waterhead kids in the entire Pacific Fleet was in that store… and they’re rude as fuck! I’m going to write a book. “Wafwot’s Rules for Shopping in Modern Civilization.”

Rule #1: When pushing your shopping cart, move to the side of the goddamn aisle! I don’t know how many times I’ve headed down an aisle only to be aisle-blocked by some elderly Flip comparison shopping, trying to save that one tenth of a penny per pound of rice. It’s rice! You need to buy a ton to save a nickel. Pick up a box and move the fuck out of my way! Nothing pisses me off more than using another aisle to bypass a ailse-blocker, only to discover they’re now blocking the other end of the aisle!

Rule #2: Don’t talk to your friends in the middle of a high-traffic aisle. Yeah, yeah. We get it. You haven’t seen Steve since 1982, when you stole a bottle of Bacardi 151 from your daddy, got drunk, and sodomized the barnyard animals of old man Kotter’s farm. Catch up on your own fucking time, or take the conversation to Arts and Crafts, or Women’s Underwear. You’re creating a cart traffic jam for the entire store with all that jaw-jacking!

Rule #3: The rules of the highway pertain to shopping carts, too! If you’re in a store in the United States, and you’re pushing a cart down an aisle, keep right motherfucker! The only time you should be on the left side of the aisle is if you’re heading the other direction, or you’re passing some inconsiderate shit-eater who’s breaking Rule 2. I can’t count how many times I’ve got stuck between end caps, waiting for some supersize black woman trailing a bus load of crying children, like Mother Goose with a gaggle of goslings… one after another.

Rule #4: Pick up the pace! How many times have you been stuck being some crippled old fuck that’s shopping as they walk? They’re moving at the speed of smell, molesting every product they pass. If you’re 65 years old or older, this rule states that you’re only allowed to shop Monday through Friday between 10:00am and 4:00pm. Us faster moving folks will be at work, so slap on that wig and push that walker all you want during those 30 hours.

Rule #5: If you can’t control your kid, or your kid is acting like the spawn of Satan, screaming and crying to beat the band, then we as a shopping public have the inalienable right to bitch slap the fuck out of you and your misbehaving uterine litter. Congress should pass a law giving the public the ability to legally punch spoiled little brats in the throat as to crush the larynx, preventing further noise from their chocolate-coated faces.

It’s a short book, but I’ll leave it open-ended so we can add amendments to it. It’ll be a living document. If you have any additions, add ‘em to the comments below.

Okay, enough Kissmyass for now.

With all the money I sunk into my truck in November, you’d think it was in tip-top condition. However, you’d be wrong. It’s not a major tragedy, but I was sitting in a fast-food drive-through Tuesday night, and I heard what sounded like pouring water. It sounded very much like a circus animal urinating on pavement. Possibly a lengthy emesis of an intoxicated teenager splashing on linoleum of a high school hallway. Since it was raining out, I didn’t think much of it. However, I kept an eye on my dashboard gauges just in case.

I got my food and the temperature looked okay. About a mile from the Jack in the Box, the temperature was climbing, and I knew something happened to my damned cooling system. Sonofabitch! I was only about a mile from home, but I wasn’t going to make it that far. The gauge got to “H” at the top of a hill, and luckily, I was able to coast down the other side and let the December night air cool the engine down enough for me to make the final hundred yards of my trip home. The engine got as hot and steamy as Tommy and Pamela, but never went above the “H.”

The next morning, Tina and I went out and looked at the damage. We found a long messy gash on the underside of the lower radiator hose. Just as with women, long messy gashes are not good. I wasn’t taking the truck anywhere without replacing that hose, and I had an 11:00am doctor’s appointment. LDriver came and gave me a lift to the doctor’s, then we hit the auto parts store where I picked up a hose and a new thermostat. When I got home, I realized I asked for and bought an upper radiator hose, when I needed to replace the lower hose. Goddammit. Three hours would pass before I could get another ride to the auto parts store for the correct hose.

Once I had the correct hose, LDriver and I worked on taking the blown hose off my truck. I swear to fuck, there’s hardly any room to work in that engine compartment. It’s nothing at all like my old Mustang. You’d have more room to work if you were fingering a nun. No shit! On top of that, the hose just didn’t want to come off. We worked on prying that bitch off the water pump for more than an hour! It finally popped off with the help of a broom stick. The right tool for the… job. What the shit, man? Putting the new hose on was a bit easier, but not much. I coated the inside of the hose ends with oil, and LDriver and I tried to shove that hose onto the water pump. Only a priest raping a fourth grader would have a tighter fit. After another 30 minutes, it was finally good to go! I tightened down the clamps with a socket wrench, and filled that bitch with water.

My ass is fucking beat! I look like I was beat up by twenty three 5-year olds; scrapes and knicks on my knuckles, bruises on my arms, a deep fat bruise on my leg. Fuck, the hood latch left about seven bruises on my stomach. I look like I was caught in the crossfire of rubber bullets. I ache all over and feel like I was rolled by a ‘ho and her pimp, left for dead in a Motel 6. This getting old shit sucks ass.

All’s well now… or is it? I didn’t have a chance to replace the antifreeze in the system, and the temperatures are going to drop below freezing tonight. It fucking figures. Since I have to drive to Seattle on Friday, I’m going to have to go out tonight and get some antifreeze. Shit! It’s 10:00pm as I’m typing this.

I need to trade my truck in for a new(er) truck…

Trip to Oak Harbor
26Jan07

Posted by wafwot

TripThe people that run the Oak Harbor office needed a day off. It’s been — I don’t know — four months since their last time off, and there’s a new expansion pack out for World of Warcraft after all. I guess they need the extra time to reach level 70, or some such gayness. I keed, I keed! Who am I to turn down a couple of days of working in the town that I live in?

Yesterday and today, the carpoolers and I worked in the Oak Harbor office. The last time we worked at the Oak Harbor office, the Island was sans electricity. It was a nice change of pace. No need to wake up at 4am. That’s fucking earlier than dairy farmers, dammit, and it’s simply not human. I was able to “sleep in” until 7am, shower, dress, drive to my manager’s house and pick him up, and be at a keyboard before 8am. It’s a beautiful thing. If we had to drive to Seattle, that same process takes three and a half hours.

I really miss working close to home. The commute home (including “stop and go” traffic near Wal-Mart) took me a whopping six minutes. Can you believe that shit? It was still light outside! There’s also the benefit of being so close to a 7-Eleven, and all the fast food joints. Hopping in my truck, driving to 7-Eleven for a Snapple and cigarettes took all of five minutes. In Seattle, it also takes five minutes for a Snapple and cigarettes. Oh yeah, there’s an Asian taking my money as there is in Oak Harbor, but there’s no motor vehicle involved. Hell, I’m not even leaving the building! The store is only a two-story elevator ride away.

But with all the pros, there’s always some cons. The “better half” (and I use that term loosely) of the two previous owners of Galaxynet operates from that building — from that office — and I got to enjoy avoiding his bald ass today. He was there to meet with the president of the company. It’s probably some long, drawn out saga that’s really not worth the time to type about, but I got the impression he was whining about not having actual office space in the Oak Harbor office. Boo hoo. I so wish someone would have asked me my opinion before we jumped into bed with these two questionable individuals. Oh well, you know what they say about opinions. I knew my ass was fat, but had no idea my asshole was so big.

There’s also the people that probably figured I dropped off the face of earth. When I used to work in the Oak Harbor office, I worked upstairs which was not an area that the public was permitted. That sheltered me from all the Galaxynet customers that thought I was their friend. I still talk to a select few former Galaxynet customers, but when I run into the others at Albertsons, I simply offer a cordial “hello” and go about the grocery shopping task at hand. Why is it people feel the need to chat you up in the store? Can’t they see I have coffee, milk, and shit wipe to buy? Leave me alone! Anyway, as I said, I used to work on the second floor. During the past two days, I was working on the first floor and in clear view of every swinging dick that came in the door. Twice I had to glad hand someone who was happy to see me. I shook their hands, but gave them my “go away, I have work to do” vibe in order to reduce the typical questions regarding Tina, Christmas, and the new year.

I’ll bet you were wondering what the hell the picture of the dog had to do with working in a different office. Well, let me tell you. One of the carpoolers brought his dog to the office on today. His name is Trip, and he’s a great dog! If you know me, you know I think small yapping dogs are no better than rodents. Unless the dog has enough strength to pull you when you go for a walk, it can’t be called a dog. Trip has enough power to do that! He’s really friendly and loves everyone. I remember when Trip didn’t even have a name. This picture and this picture show Trip as a puppy in August 2006. As you can see by the picture above, he’s much bigger now… but he’s still a puppy! All these were taken with my cell phone, so the quality isn’t that great. Here’s another picture of Trip that really shows how big he’s gotten.

One final thing. I removed the captcha code for posting to the comments section. I upgraded the WordPress software to a brand new version (2.1), and the captcha code no longer worked. I had to modify the WordPress code after each upgrade, and I was getting tired of that bullshit. I also received complaints from folks with color blindness who couldn’t read the captcha image very well. At first, I had no sympathy. But, with the addition of several spam filtering plugins, I no longer need the captcha. So, without the extra hoop to jump through, I expect more comments, motherfuckers!

Okay. That’s enough for now. See ya next time.