Sadly, No! » Alliteration and Hyperbole, Stocks in my Trade
Alliteration and Hyperbole, Stocks in my Trade
Posted at 15:23 by Provider_UNE
A Preternatural Predilection.
Recent almost events; triggers that have caused me to contemplate pulling mine have led me to the following epiphany: As I am the oldest of three (first born male) with two younger sisters I have always been burdened with a predilection towards protecting or helping those that lack strength or agency. My sisters are now far from me, and I know that they are equipped to handle themselves, but the residuals remain.
On Sunday I work with my favorite crew, and it coincides with the bosses day off (I actually like and respect the boss, but you know, boss.) Winner winner, Tandoori dinner. Actually I make a point on most Sundays to show up an hour early and make breakfast for all of us, because I really enjoy their company, and they really enjoy my eggs.
I have known the boss since second grade and I am not too far from beginning my fiftieths turn round the sun. There is someone we work with whose default setting is asshole (strongly suspect libertarian tendencies.) He also tends to regard himself as the smartest guy in the room, which on occasion, when I or one of my aforementioned Sunday co-workers are not in the building, might be the case, and I might give a fuck, if it mattered to me. Anyway the dude in question had managed to spend the last two weeks metaphorically standing on my balls and I decided to set up a meeting with the boss to discuss my problems with the guy.
I am from the school of management that Praises in Public, Rebukes in Private, but with the fact that we work in one room, are generally busy as all fuck and staffed in such a way that it is impossible for two people to leave the place at a given time…Showing up for work three hours early to take the pulse of the boss seemed the best place to start. What I wanted to avoid was going fully Nuclear on a day which represents my Friday. The following morning after one of my co-workers made it clear that she would like me to wait, I called off the meeting, deciding to sleep on it over my “weekend.” The bosses response was one of palpable relief. As I have said, this guy and I have known each other for a long time and he is well aware that I do not traffic in trivial complaints.
I do not know if words of my concern were exchanged, or the delivery of the extended “Live at Leeds” CD delivered on that day, or both had any pull, but the dude in question demonstrated that the phrases “thank you” “please” and “you’re welcome” have suddenly entered his workplace vocabulary.
For the time being, in any event, I will choose to let sleeping dogs lie.
Prevarication and Prejudice…
Which brings us to the spawn of the “Loins of Lucifurryanne™” also known ’round these parts as “DoughBob LoadPants” and whom was roundly taken to task by Cerberus, our current SnarkMeister In Chief™ for whom I would like to coin a new sobriquet, DoughJo™, though I must admit that preceding DoughJo™ with teh the, might also be an appropriate way to describe “The Corner” as in “I went to the DoughJo™ and discovered that their mastery of martial idiocy is where anything resembling coherence shuffles off to die, almost like an elephant graveyard of anything encroaching upon the realm of sanity and yet where the corpses are picked clean, reassembled and re-branded for “rubesylvanians” as they claw their way through Regnery’s remainder bin.
Upon further reflection, I suggest that “the DoughJo™” should become part of the Sadly, No! lexicon moving forward when referring to “The Corner”, though I am open to arguments.
Back to LoadPants™ If the laziest beast in the entirety of time, who blew his wad on the shittiest tome to make its way past the goalies at what ever pathetic publishing house actually sidled up to back the most a historically inaccurate piece of crap that has, aside from the bible, taken down a forest, continues to collect a paycheck, then there is something wrong with us all.
At this point I will admit to not either reading his magnum dopus, nor having the remotest concern of who published the excrescence. If damning with faint praise and waisting my time were within my wheelhouse I might be inclined to oblige the nepostistic bastard, that is, if I might find me a sucker to pay me for a review. Needless to say, one need look no further than the title of the piece which gives the entire game away.
When Goldberg farts it is certain that a turd is honking for the right of way, looking for the choicest seat at the nearest Octoplex.
Spite and Sensitivities
While I have a dump truck full of bags of hammers remaining to dump on the Goldbergian subversion of meritocracy, I feel the need to move on to a Colorado state Senator, one Vicki Marble.
MARBLE: We can’t force them to stop doing what they choose to do, but to give them the information. These are our families and our neighbors in the black community… Honestly, I learned how to smoke meat from my black friends down in Texas because they lived with me… and stayed at my house… Did we talk about cooking? Yes. The whole time.
Unpacking this line of reasoning could result in a, hell, fuck the one, multiple, graduate level theses. Starting with the paternalistic and patriarchal “version” of what passes for “freedom” as she jumps out of the gate, following with a wonderful variation of the “I have Black friends therefor I am not a racist” dodge, while demonstrating the racism inherent inside by using the word “they” which at the very least stands as a textbook example of an “othering”.
Beep, beep, beep (signifying the warning sound of heavy machinery backing up) I find myself looking at the stinkbug that I am currently watering while figuring out how to parse the “…but to give them the information.”
When one is born of privilege, White, under educated, and a discredit to ones sex, yet a protector of the current presumptions about race that are prevalent, one is likely to assume that facts not in evidence an argument makes. I am sure that someone in comments will educate me to the proper Latin phrase to describe the logical phallusy, though QED comes to mind.
Sorry, reader(s), I have to admit that I have not the Goucher education that Jonah received, and while I spent a minute in college, I have only 18 credit hours banked.
However, I decided to set up my own institute of technology, which unfortunately has been hijacked by necessity to focus on the evisceration of wingnutology.
I would like to add that I had a wonderful conversation on the phone with Fenwick yesterday morning. Adding another feather in my good fortune of meatspace greetings with previously “only known in comment sections” pals.
If anyone thinks I might just be a fan of the work of Jane Austen, they might just be right.
Stinky is still hanging out on the moistened napkin that was prepared for it. This, for some reason, makes me happy.
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Sadly, No! » Alliteration and Hyperbole, Stocks in my Trade