Bush Wacked aka Explosions and Cigarettes and Eggs!!!

First off, sorry about the promise to deliver a blog last Friday only to get distracted by life and things and delivering nothing. I’m sure all of you who feverishly check this robust and popular website were left heartbroken. Anyways, I am still going to post the blog I had come to me while randomly putting words on the computer last Friday, but first I’d like to point out two things:

1) My Girlfriend and I got ourselves a Puppy. Our Puppy is wonderful, although she is in her kennel yelping like a fool right now. Thus I’m not sleeping; instead, I’m writing. If you enjoy this blog, please let Our Puppy know. She loves attention.
2) I found out, though My Friend in Chicago says I’ve known for awhile, that My Irish Friend from College also lives in the QC. This is great news, because I haven’t had an Irish friend in awhile.

Now, on to your regularly scheduled blog:

I want to tell you all a story about how I almost exploded on Thursday and why, like everything else that has gone wrong in the last six years, it is the fault of the President of the United States of America. But first, we have to focus on a situation I faced from September of 2005 thru January 2007 at My Warehouse.

In September of 2005 I needed a staff of about twenty people; I had a staff of thirteen. I didn’t really understand my job just yet, as I had had it for only four months. Being as it was a management job, and that I tend to somewhat like people, I was easily manipulated. I tended to take everyone’s word and trust my subordinates (I hate that word) implicitly. Around that time, four new hires started. Three don’t factor in our story and won’t be mentioned. The fourth, an idiot we’ll call Nikolai Wack (whose real name coincidentally is the same as my above mentioned Irish Friend from College), took full advantage of my inexperience. To make a long story short, by the time I figured out he lied and connived, it was too late to let him go without walking through the American Termination Process, which takes about a year (thank you Steel and Auto Unions).

I started to get inclinations he lied to me around the time his father had his third heart attack/head injury/accident on a third consecutive holiday weekend. Then the rest of my rapscallions (much better than subordinates) started to openly joke about Nikolai’s outside of work “recreational’ habits. Nikolai then got hurt at work and refused to go out for treatment when presented with a drug test. Combine those two facts with the strange raw skin under his nose and his (at times justified) paranoia, I realized the lying little thug in front of me enjoyed himself a little bit of the cocaine. This discovery, combined with the fact he all around sucked as one of My Rapscallions, caused me to fire him rather quickly (in relative American terms; that is to say, it took thirteen months).

I bring this up because if history proves anything, America, when faced with a similar situation, would have reelected him.

You’re probably asking yourself what this has to do with me almost sort of blowing up last Thursday. But before I dive into my thoughtful explanation let me add a disclaimer that while this blog deals with explosions and “Presidents” it has absolutely nothing to do with the war. I’m not going there, ever. People who do go there make me yawn. Anyways, Thursday, explosions, Presidents, etc….

I think we can all safely agree our current Big Prez is possibly the worst Big Prez of all time. However, what’s often overlooked on his unquantifiable, amazing “List of Dumb and/or Evil Deeds” is the No Child Left Behind Act. Without getting preachy, I’ll just say this bill actually made law what the late 1980’s over hyped push for political correctness started-everyone is to now be treated the same, or at the very least, brought up to an acceptable average by any means necessary.

Let’s put this in a fridgetal perspective. You have fifty eggs. Of those fifty eggs, three are far more hella delicious than the other 47. Two of the remaining 47 eggs are spoiled. They were spoiled before you bought them. They were spoiled because they came from a bad, corrupt chicken. The bad, corrupt chicken came from a brother and a sister chicken who, not only incestual, stole from their parents, who were both murderers. These two spoiled, rotten eggs never stood a chance. You want to make the perfect omelet and want to use the three best eggs available. Unfortunately, you get notice that instead of cooking the three best eggs, you have to invest millions of dollars into some crazy Refreshener Machine, just to bring these extra two eggs up to average. If you don’t, you are at risk of having your electricity cut off, which in both the short and long term, won’t be good for any of the eggs or your stomach.

Let me say this about why this pisses me off before explaining about how it almost exploded me. We, as an ever more depressing society, cannot treat everyone equal all the time. Some people are smarter than other people. Some people have natural skillsets in certain areas that others, even with years of practice, won’t come close to. I will never be My Friend in Chicago, currently getting like a triple post doctorate in Biologiasomethingorother, because I don’t get science. On the other hand, My Brother will never be me, because he doesn’t get small life details like how to make sure and spend less money then you bring in. As a manager this whole, “We can’t treat someone one way because it might offend someone else” frustrates me to no end. Some people busted their ass for me at a job with no chance of getting promoted because they need a “four year degree” (yet another rant for another day). Some people did enough to get by. Granted, it was my job to get as many of them to bust their ass as possible, but those who did naturally should be rewarded. If the lazy slack assers of the world got offended by this, I told them to shut up and work harder.

This whole “everyone is equal” mentality creates a situation where no one punishes or reacts negatively to anything anymore either. “I’m sorry I shot your pet cat.” “That’s okay; your years of child anguish probably caused it.” “I’m sorry I ruined your dinner by blowing smoke all over your meal.” “It’s fine; Jesus made you predestined to smoke.”

Enough ranting, let’s explain how you all reelecting George Bush (though John Kerry would have been equi-bad) and treating everyone the damn same almost got me blowed to high hell last Thursday. My apartment overlooks downtown, which like any downtown, has your combination of weirdos, drug addicts, and weirdo drug addicts. My apartment is next to City Hall, which means I get to see a lot of the weirdos, drug addicts, and weirdo drug addicts wearing their finest hemp clothing and stained tank tops on their way to meet with some government official. Thursday, Two of the QC’s Finest, left their car lights on (during the day) as they proceeded to enter City Hall. When they later came out, their car, a Taurus and a beaut, had a dead battery. I (and yes, I watched this whole situation without offering help), witnessed the the 2QCF make a call, wait for forty minutes, chain smoke, get excited when one of their boyfriends showed up (which awesomely enough was a Hispanic man, making them an interracial couple, my apologies to Broadway), then proceed to pop both hoods to both cars, and walk through the steps of jumping a car.

I’m not going to lie. I’m a smart guy. In fact, sometimes I know I’m smarter than others and I’m downright arrogant about it. I’m okay about this. You are too. I feel like I’ve typed those sentences before. However, if I were dumb, I mean really really uber dumb, I would never, ever, think the best time to light up not one, not two, but THREE cigarettes would be when I am hanging over an engine attaching jumper cables to car batteries. Then again, I wouldn’t wear a “Daddy Says I’m Naughty” shirt to City Hall either, but that point it ain’t. So the couple that saved me lots of money on charity insurance and their pal toiled away while ashes trickled down on to the inner works of a dying Taurus.

Now, I did not explode. Unless I did, and this is a weird paranormal Beetlejuice-esque experience, but I don’t think it is. Though that would explain the endless yipping from the other room. However, I’m pretty sure if someone would have been willing to step up and say, “You three people are damn idiots, leave our school immediately” instead of allowing them to eat, presumably overbreed, and smoke themselves the weed, all inherent risk of sitting around my apartment watching Royal Tenenbaums for the third time in eight days would be taken away. And that my friends, is why I would make a better President than George Bush. At least I think that’s what I set out to prove.