Friday, February 29, 2008
We all make mistakes but the mistakes are not random they are mistakes that can be predicted like why I always work at self help counters
I'm irritated and I didn't want you to think I am irritated from work. All my customers are depressed today. I have to make an effort to hold down all the bile they give me. Customers overestimate how good they are at operating simple devices like self checkout machines. The roll the the items they wish to purchase over the machine back and forth and then shake it over the laser like it can't pick up a bar code. They get pissed and scream at me. They don't realize they need to make sure after they scan an item that the item is then placed in the bag weigh scale station before it will let them move on to another item. The machine is intentionally keeping them from scanning more items because it thinks they are stealing, or it thinks they are scanning one item and exchanging it for another item. I don't know what the machine thinks, because if it thinks at all, it would let the 4 pre-teen girls buying Dora the Explorer products for $2.04 and demanding change back from their 2 dollars to just go, and not keep them on the pay screen where they can punch "cancel order" over and over again even though they are too far into the order to cancel, and I will have to void the entire transaction for the third tim. The computer if it contained any humanity would simply toss them 4 cents, so they could get the hell out of my store. But computers are heartless and that's why they rule the world, and that's why I will drink tonight.
My blood pressure is up from my encounters with customers and my throat feels like I just swallowed a jar full of cotton. My heart skips off on a random rhythm like it's pissed to have to do it's job. It's telling me soon it won't, like the customers who fuck with me at the self check, my body wants to get the last laugh.
Work wants me to wake up at 10 am for a celebration tomorrow. They are throwing us a party for being number one in the district "mystery shop" contest. Every employee at the store received a 100 dollar gift card. Everybody feels Ghetto rich, and blows the card money in the first few hours, I splurge on hair care products, the girls buy eye makeup.
The party is from 11am to 1pm and there will be "give aways and steak" and I can't afford steak or gifts so I guess I better get up early and get my ass down there. I laid down after work today to prepare for such and early rise and tried to sleep to MegaDeath screaming into my ears on my Phillips MP3 player. Megadeath is angry and so am I. I suddenly hate my manager, I want to tell her that growing her hair past her ass when she is 40 years old looks ridiculous, it looks more ridiculous than her braces, it looks more ridiculous than the sad roses she got on Valentine's day that I thought she stole from the back of the floral department.
I thought about asking my front end manager if I should report on her for stealing, but I figured she's the boss and she can get away with it. But then I heard that the sad rose basket came from her boyfriend and then I felt sorry for her, and I even understood why she drives three different Cadillacs to work, even though getting those three different cadillacs to work means she has to cut hour after hour for your employees, and it means I have to work 6 days a week in order to come close to 30 hours this week, and I'd rather have health care, and I'd rather get paid more than a dollar an hour over minimum wage, and if her company gave as shit about it's employees like it says it does it would do stuff like that, but instead my manager had Marty wash a 151 baked potatoes and plan a BBQ and she left nasty notes behind telling us to blow up 500 balloons and, "somebody should make them blue" because we only have 2 colors and you aren't going to spring for the money for a third color, and just how the hell does someone make a balloon that's not blue, blue anyway?
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Fat chicks love totalk. They also like to eat. This fat chick liked to combine both of her favorite hobbies. She talked the whole time she was eating. She talked to no one in particular, but sometimes she talked to me, at least she talked to me in between taking bites of her pizza and gulping down liters of beer.
She talked about getting first class tickets on a real live locomotive train and hotel tickets for the Queen Mary. I have no idea why the fat chick prefers old school transportation like trains and luxury liners, maybe she is too afraid that a plane would crash on take off with such a big fat ass aboard.
I hate fat people on airplanes more than I hate muslims on planes. Though I am pretty sure the muslims that get on airplanes these days aren't up for trying shit. But if I were on a plane with an overweight, fat chick sitting next to me, you can bet your fat ass that we would all be headed into the ocean, and that's assuming the plane could get going on any kind of forward motion.
It was just when I noticed that the fat chick wasn't paying any attention to me that I discovered that a waitress from across the room was. It turns out the waitress used to bartend over at T.G.'s about 3 years ago.
Sunday, February 24, 2008
Saturday, February 23, 2008
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
Or leave me a voice mail at 623-239-0852.
I will play it on the podcast!
I've removed the my podcast player because I can't disable the automatic play feature. But you can still subscribe to the podcast at Apple's I-tunes by clicking HERE.
Or you can visit my feed at Switchpod to listen or download any episode. Over a 123 downloads can't be wrong!
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
I hate america like I hate our flag. I usually never have to see any of the flags my neighborhood watch drops off because they pick them back up again around 5pm. That's about the normal time I pull myself out of bed.
I've had the last two days off from work and I figured since I was up early, and I had nothing in the mailbox, I would go ahead and clean up all the trash that's been collecting in my roommates front yard.
My roommate enjoys owning his house, but he doesn't think upkeep is part of the bargain. He's not alone in slumming up the suburbs. The Atlantic Magazine is telling all its readers that the suburbs are the new Ghetto. I want to slow down the decline, that's why I was out in the 70 degree heat collecting litter and spraying gray spray paint on his fence to cover up the graffiti that was left by some random gang banger. It was probably the same random french gang banger that broke the window of my car last year, and at least 20 other cars since then in this subdivision.
After I was done being a good roommate I decided I needed to eat and buy some soda. I rode the bike over to Rally's (they call it Checker's in Palmetto) for a burger. They offer 99 cent 12 ounce shakes. Just the right size to not make you feel like a fat ass who wears crusted Pac man t-shirts and sits in his underwear blogging all day.
At the Rally's I see 4 cute Mexican teen girls. The cutest one blurts out how she wants to get pregnant so she can rest her soft drinks on her belly. She tells the other teens that she can't wait to get pregnant. They remind her that she will have to wait until she goes on her mission. So the teen wanna be pregnant mexican is a mormon. You don't see that everyday. I grab two hamburgers and shake and bike off to Circle K. I buy a 2 liter of RC. Circle K has raised the price from 99 cents to $1.19. What a rip off. As I leave the store a drunk homeless woman asks me for quarters. She explains that she needs a beer.
I ride off a few nickels short and watch a woman at a nearby bus stop cry. I have no idea why she is crying, maybe she hates waiting for the bus. At least it's not raining. At least she didn't leave her keys at work and have to ride all the way back at midnight to retrieve her keys in the rain. And at least it did not rain on her all the way back home. When she got home she didn't have to throw her work clothes in the washing machine. Did she watch the Suns lose on TIVO? Even though they now have Shaq. Was she crying because she was so disappointed with her blogging efforts for a sequel to the awesome PalmGhetto post? I don't think she should cry. Sequels never work.
Sunday, February 17, 2008
"Now they want to cut the work days too." I told the manager. "I could have had 4 days off this week if I wanted."
"Well that's pretty cool." He says. "Only if you don't like paying your bills." I remind him.
I can feel the anger swelling in me today. I mutter under my breath everytime a customer does something stupid, or asks me for something. "Is it them or me?" I ask around the store. I think I just described my whole day, except for the handicapped guy wants me to sell him beer, even though his girlfriend can't produce identification.
"I have to bring someone with me to help me shop." He implores. "No you don't." I tell him. "We can always have some one assist you with shopping, but we can never sell alcohol to an underaged person." I'm no lawyer and he claimed the girl with him was just an "assistant," so I sold him the beer. Turns out the assistant was his girlfriend. At the self check register the "assistant" mentioned that her boyfriend would be over to purchase something.
I guess you can't trust the handicapped, even when they give you the "you gonna deny a brother in a chair some beer?" eyes. I don't normally pick on the handicapped, but this hadicapped guy is living the dream. Booze on food stamps, and underage girlfriend. I feel sorry for this guy? My life will never be that good.
Friday, February 15, 2008
You meet the "Enforcer," or my bagger can kick your bagger's ass, or I finally write some grocery store etiquette that you can use.
There are people who want to support this blog and my career. After hearing about my blog, my bagger wanted me to post his video. It was shot right outside of our grocery store in the front parking lot. After you watch the video you will know why I nicknamed my tuffest bagger "the enforcer." My bagger is from Bosnia, which means that not only can he kick your ass, he can cut off your head too.
Many shoppers act like just because they earn more than me, they are better than me. Well they aren't, and neither are you. I posted this video to remind you to behave in my grocery store. If you don't, you may just get to meet the "enforcer."
AVOID THE ENFORCER. Here are some tips to make your shopping experience better.
- DO NOT BAG YOUR DIFFERENT PRODUCE ITEMS TOGETHER. If you throw all your produce in one giant plastic bag I will have to touch your food. I don't like touching your produce anymore than you like me touching it. But every different kind of produce has to be rung up separately. Don't worry about my germs, I may not wash my hands, but you can always wash your apples. If you want to save the environment buy a reusable produce bag, or don't use a bag in the first place.
- If you enter the express line over the limit with a cart load full of groceries you are morally obligated to help me bag them. (Express lanes never get carryout help. See also: Karma and the people behind you who obey rules.)
- State aloud to me how you will be paying and the amount in cash you are giving me. This simple rule will speed up your transaction and ensure you get proper change back.
- If you have a bagging preference tell me right away. Don't wait until the bagger has half your stuff in plastic and tell me you wanted it all double bagged in paper. Not that I can fathom why you need paper doubled bagged. Old people love them some paper bags for "the frozen items," though I am quite sure I've never where they read the literature that proved paper insulates better than plastic bags. Paper tears when it gets wet, doesn't it?
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
I wore my new pin proudly all day at work today. It's the first time I felt like I was part of something bigger than myself. Part of a team. I was unusually polite and friendly to customers because of my pin. I wanted customers to know that union workers are better than non-union workers.
I was high from joining the union the first 2 hours at work. Then I got an early break and my back began to hurt. I went back to being courteous and efficient. I took a pain pill after my back began to really hurt. I became serious and unhurried, until the pill took effect. Then I was back to pleasant and efficient. Union proud.
I don't like working for corporations, but I did not mind working today because of my newly acquired union membership. I took the job because daddy needs to eat, and daddy wants to drive a Land Rover someday.
The union claims to have stopped these cutback from management:
- topping out pay at 10 dollars an hour
- 22% cut in pension
- no sick day
- no holiday pay
- no pay raises
- eliminate 20 hour a week minimum
- permanently reduced health care benefits
What kind of country do we live in? Why is this OK? Why are the shareholders viewed as the only stakeholders who matter? IF workers can't get pay increases when times are GOOD, when will we see them? What are they going to do to workers if times get bad? GM decided to buy off its entire labor force so it could replace them with cheaper workers. Welcome to end of the Manufacturing Era in the U.S. We are eating our own. Soylent Green was people. New and improved soylent green is workers!!!
Why is it acceptable to cut workers out of the gains of productivity seen in rising profits and revenue? It's not. It simply is immoral and wrong. We need to be outraged by instances like this.
Some people like to point to Costco as a company in the retail trade that treats its workers ok. It's true. They are lot better than the big grocery chains and the Walmart's of the world. Costco pays it's workers better and appears to think that stakeholders other than shareholders have value. Costco CEO and founder James Sinegal likes to brag that his salary is only 550,000 dollars a year after bonuses.
He does not like to brag that he has made 150,000,000 dollars in stock options over that time. I've applied to Costco. For the record, I had to fill out a 100 question personality test again. I really need to work for the government again. Maybe something in counter-terrorism.
Monday, February 11, 2008
It's the same way with my acid reflux. I used to brag about how I never got an upset stomach or indigestion. I never thought I had indigestion, because I was always having indigestion. It turns out that I am just retarded and don't pay attention to my body. Before I realized I had acid reflux I thought I just had a mild case of the AIDS because my throat was sore all the time. The doctor explained that I don't have an AIDS infection, that the throat pain is just stomach acid eating away at my esophagus.
I told the doctor that my throat was feeling better lately, so the acid reflux must be getting better, he told me to stick to writing silly blog posts about under aged girls, because whenever your throat stops hurting, you can bet the cancer has moved in, and cancer is a shit load worse than you think it is.
I bring up the sunflower thing today because some guy went through my line and bought a bag of sunflower seeds. Only the bad of seeds was busted opened. I told him about how the bag was ripped open and offered to get him another bag, but he decided to keep that bag of opened seeds. He's probably going to eat sunflower seeds from an opened bag, and I find that shit disgusting. I thought you would too. But if you don't, I couldn't care less. I write this blog for me and not for you.
Grocery Store Etiquette.
Here is where I am going to write something for you.
Stop fumbling for exact change. Exact change slows me down. You think it helps me out, but it doesn't. I have an automatic coin machine which sorts the coins for me. I am 3 times faster when you just hand me bills and you shove those unwanted pennies in your pocket. The people in line behind you hate your guts. You are the second slowest payment transaction category, just behind grandma with her checkbook.
- Don't even think about using a check. That's why they invented debit cards asshole.
- I am not flirting with you. I don't even like you. Management is forcing me to be nice to you.
- If you want to buy cigarettes from my line, tell me before I start ringing you up. Management tracks how long it takes for me to scan your purchases. If I have to stop my scanning process to go get you something, I won't earn my 5 dollar gift card for quick service. And 5 dollars is about what I make an hour, so yes it's that important to me.
- Better yet just buy your cigarettes at Circle K like the rest of America does. I hate having to unlock the window to get your cancer sticks.
- If you don't see a bagger at your register, then you are the bagger. If you want management to hire enough staff to bag your groceries, tell management to hire more staff. But bagging your groceries is not my job. Cashiering is.
- If you see that I have not rung up all the items for the customer in front of you, point it out to me. Don't let him run off and then tell me halfway through your order. Be a human being for a change and help the guy out. Because it was your fault for not placing a divider in between your order and his. If you don't I am going to have to void off his items from your order. I can get in trouble for voiding items off. Yeah, as unbelievable as that sounds, I get in trouble for that.
- Place the fucking divider down after you are done unloading your groceries, or before placing your items on the converyor belt.
- Learn to add. If you only have 20 dollars you cannot afford the tequila and eat for the whole week.
- 50% of your coupons are invalid. I scan them anyway. I do shit like that for you all the time, and you don't know it. I never get thanked for it, or anything else I do for you.
- If you think you are being overcharged you are wrong 89% of the time. If you think you an item was accidentally scanned twice you are correct 98% of the time.
- I know when you are on the rag. Every day I see chicks in pajamas buying boxes of maxi pads, ice cream and wads of toilet paper. I don't judge you because of your purchases. If you need a case of monostat 7 to get over that yeast infection, so be it.
- I am a jealous cashier. I get pissed when I see hot chicks in line with other male cashiers. I can understand if you want to move to another line because there is no waiting, but would it kill you to wait an extra second or two. I've been anticipating your transaction since you got in my line. The perfumed and soon to be drunk girl on Friday night in my line is one of the few perks of this job. I work weekends and nights because that's when you all choose to shop. Throw a brother a boner will ya?
- If it appears to you that shoppers all go to the store at the same time, you are right. I am sure there is some kind of quantum physics which can explain it, but I failed Algebra II. That's why work at a grocery
Sunday, February 10, 2008
The Sun is cooling off like a big douche bag, but the Sun could never be as big a douche bag as Mitt Romney
But what if the sun really stopped working? What if it suddenly quit on us like Mitt Romney did? I mean other than quitting today, Mitt Romney never gave us any indication that he was a flip flopper like that. One minute he's in the next he's gone. He still has all that money to spend too. Millions left he could loan himself. Hillary loaned herself millions, and no one thinks any less of her.
I can't sleep and I can't concentrate. I don't think I can concentrate because I am having a hard time concentrating. It might be the caffeine. I've had six cokes since midnight, so I may not sleep at all tonight. I am not writing even though I come up with a lot of ideas when my head is buzzing from caffeine. I know most of them aren't any good, but that's not the reason I am not blogging. I'm not writing because I can't concentrate for longer than 3 seconds on any one topic. I have Netflix on my brain. I just watched three movies they delivered to me. One of them was Sunshine. A movie about the Sun cooling off. It gets 4 stars out of 5.
D-cup had writers block and still manages to post a great blog. My blog lacks focus and I post sporadically, because I can never think of anything "specific enough" to this blog to write about. Today I have lots of ideas. I want to start a section on the blog for grocery store etiquette. I want to teach you all how to act in a grocery store because your momma never did.
I want to talk to you about a fun anthropological experiment I've been running. I convinced 4 teens to join me in plural marriage, otherwise known as the "principle" in Mormon circles. As I write this post, I have 6 teenaged girls fighting over me. All my new spirit wives are tyring to establish their pecking order within the "family." Spirit Wife number 1 gets my heart. Number two has my babies, and Number 3 gets my body. Four just wants my money. My new nickname is "baby-daddy." #1 wife Leslie introduced me to her Mom as her "spirit husband." I hugged Leslie goodbye in front of her Mom. I don't think that was a good idea. I am pretty sure her Mom is going to have me arrested soon. Why? After I hugged Leslie goodbye she said "no kisses this time, not in front of my Mom."
I've never had girls fight or get jealous over me, so you can imagine how much fun this is for me. Maybe I am an idiot but I've always believed it when my girlfriends told me they didn't get jealous. I guess my behavior doesn't inspire passion from women. I treat women with as much respect as I would like to get treated with some day. I think we know that will never work. Only high status men are attractive to women. You can thank evolution for that. I have no beef with natural selection, it's just that some men are able to confuse women by exhibiting behaviors that mimic high status, when they are really just being jerks. You'd think women would have adapted some kind of mechanism to counter act the mimicry effects of jerkiness, but you'd be surprised to see how few have. I guess that's why it pays, evolutionarily speaking, to be a jerk.
I'm an atheist so you'd think I could have accepted that emotions are built on circumstances and not attached to some kind of soul, but it's been very difficult for me to let go of that notion. Maybe one day I will let go of it, and maybe one day I will get laid again.
Saturday, February 09, 2008
from all the wine we drink
like bitter lawn darts
swallowing our youth
Please don't suck my blood Kirsten. Just keep drinking the booze. It's the only thing that keeps you alive.
Thursday, February 07, 2008
I can't vote. But I can get an i.d. at the DMV and stop by the bank and have a catharsis, so I can learn how E-banking sucks.
I get to the DMV and a bunch of hippies are waiting in the "free speech zone." They want me to save the Grand Canyon. I tell them I don't have time. I want to give them a lecture on Objectifying nature, but I don't. The inside the DMV is abandoned. I don't have to wait in line to get a number. I fill out the paperwork and decide to register to vote at my correct address, and to change my party affiliation from Communist to Democrat, because I am tired of not being able to vote in the closed Arizona primaries. As soon as I get my number I get called up to a DMV agent. The agent is a middle aged Latina. I mention something about voting, and she starts in on how Bush is ruining America. She hates him and wants to vote for Hillary. She is worried that Obama is secretly too conservative. She insists it is better to go with what you know (Hilliary) than what you hope for (Obama). I can see her point.
I tell her it is a shame that Edwards won't be in, and she agrees. We talk about how the rich get richer and the FBI wants to track citizens with new "real i.d." I figure she hates real i.d. because it means a lot more work for her. I sympathize with her. I have to ask where I take my paperwork to get my i.d. or I think we would have talked for an hour.
I leave the DMV the whole process takes just 5 minutes and I make it back to the bus stop just as the bus pulls in. I stop at a great Hot Dog restaurant before making my way over to the bank.
I have a debit card again. I needed my freshly minted DMV identification card to replace my lost debit card. My banker has a "just voted" sticker on her chest and I think she is flirting with me. She seems concerned that someone could take my i.d. or my bank card and "rent a u-haul" or something with it.
I tell the cute banker girl that my credit is a mess and I'd be grateful for anyone taking on my identity. She laughs and says she can "think of all kinds of things that people can do with a i.d. number." She warns me to get my license number modified or the terrorists win.
I had a whole mess of things I needed to get changed while at the bank. My e-banking, and my e-phone password don't work. I need to deposit money so I can buy insurance. Basically I am stuck at the bank.
The banker chick ushers me into her office, sits me down and gets to work on my problems. The whole time inside her office I feel like I am in a counseling session. I wanted to tell her all kinds of things about my personal life. I told her I was like a chicken with its head cut off. I mentioned that chickens can live "weeks without their heads." I know I bring up points like this all the time in conversation with friends. I like to point out how the third biggest political party in the U.S. is the Constitutional Party. I read that fact on the Internet, and I am not too sure if it is true, but it informs my world view, so let's hope it is.
My banker laughed at all these thoughts. I say thoughts because I can't remember if I told them to her, or just thought them to myself, and superimposed her laughing on my jokes. I do remember she laughed a lot though, so I must have been funny.
Today, I tried logging into my e-bank account to check my balance, and to see if the password I was given worked. It doesn't. I tried logging into the account so many times that the account was disabled. Now I am back to square 1. I guess that gives me another shot at seeing the cute banker girl though. Nothing shows your dominance over a female like pointing out her flaws and mistakes.
Sunday, February 03, 2008
I work on Super Bowl Sunday where I explain RSS feeds, the reification of god, or why Evil Spock is dead, and why Leslie gets her own tag on my blog.
I must have given Leslie at least 10 dollars in quarters by now. And with me not getting my tax rebate this year that hurts. I thought my 25 cents was at least buying a reader. Leslie is 17 and one of my huggers. Like other members of her generation, Leslie gets pissed when I try to hide her true identity online. I tell her it's for her protection. She says she is really only worried about stalkers.
I tell her that she really doesn't have much to worry from guys in Ohio jacking off to her pictures on the Internet. Most people who stalk you know you personally. They are ex-boyfriends or family members. I tell Leslie that she should worry about future employers finding her on this blog and not giving her a job. I tell her she needs to worry about insurance companies reading her MySpace and denying her coverage.
Leslie tells me she will start reading my blog again if I write a long post about her, but she says she is never sure when I add another post. I tell her it's about time to abandon the ego-centric moral development of juveniles. She gives me a pouty face. So I decide to write a long post dedicated to her where I can explain what an RSS feed is. But I decided to just let you guys look that up on Wiki. By the way I have as RSS feed, and I am pretty sure that I don't have even one subscriber. The feeder link is the orange button next to my stats info. I put the RSS feed up on the suggestion of my brother. I know from my RSS stats that even he hasn't bothered to subscribe.
The staff over at the Daily Brimstone doesn't think I am boring. They just wrote a huge blog post about how great I am. Some people, namely Dr. Monkey Von Monkerstein, think my posts "are like haunting prose poems of the damned or they are a dry joke inflicted on a world that has no sense of humor." But I can't expect the entire world to love me. Only the smart ones I guess. And the ones I write about.
Leslie and I play SAT vocabulary games at work to pass the time. She is smarter than me, but I read 18th century Philosophy, so whenever she stumps me with a word I break out Kant. Antinomy, gets a blank stare from her. Reification? Leslie does not think these are words. But I can use those words in a sentence. In fact I will commence with an entire paragraph, because I am tired of people reifying the concept of God.
"Reification in thought occurs when an abstract concept describing a relationship or context is treated as a concrete "thing", or if something is treated as if it were a separate object when this is inappropriate because it is not an object." [Wiki: Reification-Marxism]
You know the way that some deists and "spiritual but not religious" people think that god "must" exist. When people talk about "god" that way they usually empty the content of the word. But if words are to mean anything they must describe something in particular. And there are plenty of examples of what people think god is, and most of those ideas are sillier than than the idea that God wrote in Egyptian hieroglyphics on golden tablets about his son's trip in to the New World and then buried them someplace in upstate New York.
I have no idea how that was supposed to tie in with Evil Spock being dead. But I wasn't going to lecture you on the meaning of god I was just going to break into my character Medusa-in-a-box and tell you about Evil Spock's return. But I can't remember how the hell I was going to do that. I think it had something to do with the disappearance of Cowboy killer Jessica Simpson's now red headed little sister, Ashlee Simpson.
I mean where the fuck did she go? She go that cute little nose, anorexic figure, and capooee. Blogs don't talk about her anymore. I guess with the Britney and Jamie-Lynn's hogging all the attention and the coloring of Ashlee's hair red, your guess is as good as mine. Though it turns out Scottsdale is the correct answer. And Scottsdale is very close to me, and Ashlee is close to Jessica and Jessica killed the Cowboy's chances for a Super Bowl and My name isn't Romius Texis for no reason y'all, so yeah I'd like to kill me some Ashlee Simpson. I think I'd fuck them before I killed them. Or maybe after I killed them I'd fuck them. I mean can you imagine having to listen to both of those emo-cunts in one night? Below is a picture of Ashlee looking hot, not red-headed.
Saturday, February 02, 2008
A second reason I don't pay taxes is because I don't support the war. And stop trying to sell me those "I heart the troops" stickers. I don't support the troops either. If you want to be patriotic you don't have to go around killing women and babies, you could volunteer at a polling booth this year. If you started volunteering at polling booths I could vote faster. The old people at my voting place are the near dead and slow as hell. They keep telling me that it's a shame that "Jack" Kennedy died. And I keep telling them that only assholes try to fly at night when they aren't instrument trained.
Even though I don't like paying taxes, I still file them. Unlike my hero Henry David Thoreau, or my new hero, action movie star and 16th Amendment to the Constitution of the United States denier, Wesley Snipes. I file my tax return because I expect to get a tax rebate.
But that shit is about to change. I just got a letter in the mail from the Treasury Department telling me that they were gonna take my refund, all 308 dollars of it, and apply it to my student loan. First of all I haven't graduated from college. So asking me to pay for the tuition is like asking me to pay for a half eaten apple. If I took a bite out of the apple and discovered that it had a worm it it, I wouldn't have to pay for it at the grocery store. I don't see any difference here.
Credit card companies are evil, and credit card companies are owned by banks, and banks cheated student borrowers out of billions, so I don't feel any moral compassion for Salie May, or whoever the fuck I borrowed all that money from to go to community college. Last week some guy made fun of me for going to community college in the first place. Then he gave me a brochure for Al Collins Graphic Design School. I got accepted and I can't wait to begin drawing for a living.
As pissed off as I am at the Treasury Department or the IRS for giving away my tax refund, the laugh is on them. I claimed exempt for most of the year. So I only paid about 80 dollars in federal income tax. Most of my tax rebate consisted of an "earned income credit" for being poor. The government gives about 300 dollars in EIC money to single people who earn less than 7000 dollars a year. The IRS thinks it collected 300 dollars from me towards my student debt, but in effect all the IRS really did, was make this months loan obligation for me. Just call me the Henry David Thoreau of the Gulf War.
Thanks, Uncle Sam.