Zen Grouch

Feeling pretty grim today. Well been grim for the past 10 or 20 years, but this past few weeks, it’s kind of the pits.  Now I’ve got this god damned image that I can’t get out of my head.  No big thing, but it’s annoying as fuck and such ancient history, I’m surprised I can remember it at all.  I was drinking pretty heavy in those days.  Heavy and non-stop.

Great thing about being a cop in the French Quarter, being drunk didn’t get in the way of the job, and in my case may have actually helped.  And as far as I could tell, nobody gave a shit.

I can’t even remember the rookie’s name I was breaking in that night, but he was taken out of the game early on this call.  Poor fuck couldn’t make it down the steps of the second story apartment on Bourbon Street, past St. Ann I think, before losing his lunch, after taking one look at the scene.

Pretty trippy shit, even by the French Quarter standards.  Call came out as a disturbance, and it was one disturbing motherfucker when we got there.  A couple naked hustlers, or male prostitutes to the uninitiated, were fuckin’ bouncing off the walls, literally! These fucks were high and witnessed some really awful shit that must have taken a few minutes to go down.  So these hustlers were banging into each other, the walls the furniture like pinballs, or maybe a couple of squirrels that got locked in a house.  Yeah, and they were about as communicative as a couple of squirrels, with that horrible shrieking.

Then there was this pimp looking older guy, had his underwear on, sitting in a chair, sporting a huge hat with a big feather in it, laughing like a madman.  No shit, I slapped the fucker a couple times and he just wouldn’t stop laughing.  Fuck, reminded me of my childhood.

That’s when my partner came running out of the back bedroom, but didn’t quite make it down the stairs before spewing guts all over the steps.  How embarrassing for that young Turk.

So, I decide to check out the back room, and get out of that fucking madhouse sound chamber, to see this naked guy, sprawled out and tied to the bed, belly up, with his face and most of the bones behind the face missing.  Well not missing, they were spread all over the walls and ceiling. Somehow his lower jaw was still hanging in there, by tendons, but Christ what a bloody mess, with brains all over place.

I’m thinking it had to be maybe one or maybe two blasts from a 12 gauge shotgun at close range. I wonder why nobody called in gunshots.  Later found out, the crazy fuck who did this, took his time with a claw hammer.  And judging from the freaked out male prostitutes, they watched.

I remember wondering what happened to his eyeballs, like I thought they should be rolling around on the floor, and didn’t want to step on ‘em.

It’s kind of eerie when you’re there by yourself before any kind of backup is available, so I call it in as a ‘30’ or murder, and go back to slapping that asshole in the other room until his feathered hat fell off and he stopped laughing long enough to give me a name.

Don’t know why I gave a shit and took this personally, maybe I felt violated for having to look at that head with a huge crater where the face and brain use to be and that ghastly jaw, just hanging there, like it was saying, “Have you seen my lips around here someplace?” Fuck me!

OK, maybe I’m enjoying slapping this prick even though he gave me a name and stopped laughing.  Things can get crazy sometimes and suck you in.  Ahh, he probably enjoyed it anyway.

Once backup showed up, I headed to a local biker bar to talk to an insane bastard, I’d ride bikes and party with on occasion.  Not too damn often since being seen with each other didn’t do either of our reputations any good.  Some of the hardcore redneck cops hated my guts for hanging with the assorted “scumbags” who knew how to live life their own way.

I put the word out to my biker buddy’s fine bitch that I needed to talk to him, and had a drink or three in that shit hole to wash out my brain, or kill some cells or what the fuck ever, when she told me the phone was for me.

Before becoming a piggie, I lived in a flop house on Bourbon Street after hitchhiking into town.  This bought me some points with the street people and folks who never left the Quarter, for the real world.  That’s why I was now able to be talking with someone who could tell me exactly where a guy was, matching the name I slapped out of that pimp lookin’ piece of shit.

Gave the information to the detectives, they caught the guy, took all the credit, cut me out of any kind of ‘attaboy’ and I got dicked… The End!

Good God! That is some kind of fucked up shit, I’ll probably delete when I sober up…

When I still lived in Ohio, the small town post offices were like something out of the past, where they’d give you reliable and friendly service.

Yeah, *reliable and friendly service* just another thing that ain’t here no more!  Sure, there are people offering services that’ll smile in your face, then fuck you up the whazoo when it comes to getting what you paid for.  Except maybe for crack whores, and the buck naked women down at “GIRLS, GIRLS, GIRLS!,” who really give it their all, so that you’ll slap down a buck on the stage.

But when you take the combination of, the U.S. Government, and people who are suppose to offer the average citizen a service, you got yourself people who would be on welfare if they weren’t working in the post office.  THEN to make matters worse, they make so much money working for the “Gob’ment” they feel they’re too good to deal with the public.  They’re like the pretty little pissy bitches too good to work at Burger Fucking King, but they’re still there giving you attitude and either 50 packs of ketchup or none at all, nothing in between.

Hell! The bums downtown that spit bloody lung cancer induced flem on your windshield and smear it around with an old newspaper are more service oriented than your average McDonald’s *associate* or post office worker!

BTW, anytime you ask someone what they do for a living and they, all secret like, say they work for the Federal Gob’ment, they’re the ones out there, putting your mail in the wrong box for shits n’ giggles.

I was working in Cleveland some years back, when I made the mistake of going to an actual Cleveland post office to mail some stuff for work.  What a fucking mistake that was.  First off, everyone was giving me that “What the fuck you doing here white boy!” look, including the huge buck working the counter…

Now normally, I don’t approach the counter until the person standing there says something like, “Can I help you?,” “Next?” or maybe, “WAKE UP MOTHERFUCKER!”

I learned that move after making the huge mistake of assuming that a person standing behind the counter, wasn’t about to go on break, or make a phone call.  Yeppers, you can walk right up there to the counter as bold as love, and they’ll have you stand there while they’re doing whatever it is they’re doing, for the appropriate amount of time that it takes to punish you, depending on their always shitty mood, before they grace you by acknowledging your presence, and wave you away with the Queenly “begone” motion of the down turned hand, while they’re on their cell phone.

As this happens, you’re not really pissed, more like perplexed, as you’re developing all kinds of negative mental images, and wondering, “How exactly in the fuck can *anybody* wipe their ass after taking a dump, with fingernails that freaking long?”

Either she has an intern to do the job, like the poor fuck apprentices working in Sumo stables that have to wipe the big hog’s butts, or the Post Office installed bidets in all of the employee restrooms.

So, this huge angry looking, about to go *Postal on Whitie* Gob’ment worker in Cleveland, wasn’t saying shit after he waited on his last customer who walked away, leaving a perfect void in front of his counter.  He just stared me down, and I stared back waiting for any signs of human communication indicating that I was indeed next in line to be served!

He finally gave me a look with a Cocker Spaniel twist in his head (well… a rabid Cocker Spaniel), as if to mentally telepath to me, “Wellllll, I’m waiting…” to which I responded by walking up to his counter and placing a package on it.

He said nothing, staring at me, I said nothing staring at him and the package.

He finally queried, “You want to mail this or what?”

I responded, “OK, If I weren’t here to mail this package, what would be my options?”

Now this angry fuck is getting ready to climb over the counter, but stops himself and asks, “You getting smart with me boy?”

I said, “You asked if I wanted to mail THIS package, “or what” I was just wondering what the “or what” was.  What do you do with parcels that are addressed that people place on THIS counter, other than mail ‘em?!”

Granted I was having a bad day, and suddenly realized that it was about to get a whole lot worse if I didn’t cool my jets a bit, and said, “Sorry, I’d like to mail this package, first class please.”

Currently I’m living in California, where there are enough Asians so that they’re the local post office’s minority of choice.  But they keep ‘em off the street, from making actual deliveries, maybe because… generally speaking… they can’t drive for shit.

But they can look at numbers without getting them all dyslexiaed up, much unlike my normal mailman, mail person, Postal-American or whatever they want to be called.

I’m constantly giving mail that ends up in my box to the neighbors it’s intended for.  By that token, I’d expect that they’d return the favor, but no.  Much of my mail is in the wind.  Especially anything from the DMV, that might be useful in the fake ID trade.

The wife never received her new driver’s license, she had to go into the DMV and be tested for, a few months back.  THEN, she had to go back in, wait in line AGAIN and had to pay for another license!  Like it’s HER fault someone in the post office is stealing driver’s licenses to sell on Olvera Street next to the bootleg DVDs, Rolex watches and penicillin!

Just a fucking well orchestrated gang bang by the bankrupt state of “Where’s my tax refund god damn it?” California and the USPO!

Then when I inquired about making a formal complaint to the Post Office, they were all sympathetic, and told me they would put a “trace” on my mail.

I politely asked, “A “trace”… OK… What exactly does that entail?”

The very kind person, hadn’t a clue, but assured me that any problems would be solved, “Thank you very much and NEXT!”

But I’m a huge ass hole trouble maker for refusing to move along, and ask how they’re gonna “trace” my mail and fix all my postal problems if they don’t know my ADDRESS?!

***NEXT!!!***

Yeah, but at least when you hear a whore yelling out that wonderful word “NEXT” that’s so full of hope for the future, at least you know you’re really gonna get fucking serviced!

FUCK THE POST OFFICE!

The entire system should be privatized, if they can’t do their jobs at a reasonable cost.

OK, “Reasonable Cost” so, I’m at the post office today to mail in a couple rebate forms to Nero.

You probably know how the rebates work.  They usually give you a form that’s so small you need special watchmaker optics to fill the thing out, then if it’s unreadable, and they probably hire the blind to read the things, it’s rejected.

If it gets lost in the mail, bam, rejected.

They don’t like the ‘rebate’ sales receipt Frys gave you for the puropse of getting the god damned rebate! No they want a copy of the original receipt, and YOU’RE OUTTA THERE!

Last problem I had was that Frys gave out two separate $10 rebates, for a total of $20 in rebates.  It’s right there in their ad for crying out loud!

“Sorry bitch” only one rebate per customer!

The the icing on the cake for that $20 rebate for SmithMicro’s AquaZone, is that they told me the check for $10 was in the mail.  But I never received the mother fucker.  So, I contacted them until their response is, sorry dude that’s an old one, no record, try again.  Fuck that noise.  That’s another topic…

So, anyway, I’m standing in line for 20 minutes, at one of the P.O.s main distribution centers, that unfortunately, might get closed down due to budget cuts.  Fine, they’ll get transferred, or retire to Tahiti.

But when I try and get a delivery confirmation on the two rebate envelopes to Nero, this bitch is telling me that I got to send the things express mail at close to six bucks a pop.

I tell her that in the past it’s only cost me about 3 bucks to get delivery confirmation.

She says, “Oh, that’s certified mail…”

I say, “But you just said I’d HAVE to send it express?!  My mistake, when I said I wanted a delivery confirmation, I should have specified, delivery confirmation, but NOT the most expensive way to do it!”

She gave me the forms that you can fill out with whatever you want since they are yours, and you can write down Nero-1 and Nero-2 and that should be enough.

But thinking I’d write about as fast as it takes her to hold a phone conversation while on the counter, she had me step aside, to take the 5 seconds it took to fill out the delivery confirmation forms, so I could track ‘em online.

Knowing that my rebate forms were about 10 minutes away from getting *accidentally* shredded, I took my shit and went to the smaller branch closer to home, and was in and out in 3 minutes, with the cheapest method of shipping suggested right off the bat.

So, what in the holy fuck!  I know they aren’t being paid on a commission, so why did this fucking bitch want to charge me twice what it should have been, just so that I could avoid one of the pitfalls of mailing in a mother fucking rebate form?!

I didn’t want my first post here to be a political one…
…but for the love of God, during the past few weeks we’ve been bombarded by little, other than bitching and moaning from the right wing-nut cry babies!  Little tantrum throwin’ children who are hell bent on doing everything in their powers to see that Obama is perceived by the sheep, as a failure.  Even if it means kicking our country in the balls, now that it’s down on the mat after being raped and pillaged by that mad man…  no, to call that lying sack of shit G.W. a ‘man,’ is giving him too much credit.

Bush is far from being a man, he’s more like the chief delinquent from the Lord of the Flies, hell bent on vandalizing democracy as we know it, so that the oil companies can make obscene profits, while the economy in general swirls right down the shitter.  While this Uncle Jed mother fucker plays his fiddle on the front porch in Crawford, singing the praises of deregulating everything… with the exception of women’s crotches!

Yep, it’s a wonderful world, when a company’s stock shoots up, after they announce they’re taking American jobs that were making them a profit, and shipping them to Mexico, so they can make an even BIGGER profit, AS THOUGH THAT WERE A GOOD THING?!

The more the American worker got fucked, the more the Champagne flowed on Wall Street!  Yes, it was a wonderful world under Bush!

*Recession? If I don’t know what that is, how can it be happenin’ under MY watch?*

OK… so now the brain damaged, jerk off is out of the White House, and we got someone in there trying to undo the damage… as authorized by the voting public.

But for some reason the Republican’ts who are totally responsible for the mess we’re in today, feel it’s their duty to stay the course of their Gutless Leader.

Oh yeah… that limp dick is probably in the process of drinking himself to death, and it’s just a matter of time before he “accidentally” takes his own life while hunting quail or eating a ham sandwich.

But thank Sweet Jebus, that speedin’, out of control garbage barge, also known as the Republicunt party, didn’t remain rudderless for very long, with an even bigger substance abusin’, shameless liar willing to step right up and and aim that toxic waste square ‘into the works’ for maximum damage.

Who knows… maybe someone in the Republican party might speak out against that fat tub o’ shit Rush (and not immediately take it back), if they weren’t so looking forward to the end of the world, with Jebus coming down from Heaven on a silver cloud with a *Rush for Prez!* bumper sticker on it, to smite the damned dirty Liberals, and take the Rightious Righties off to Heaven, so they can all shake hands with Ronnie *Poopie Pants* Reagan ’till the the end of time.

Rush was the best guest EVER, when the fool agreed to appear on NightLine, when it was still worth watching…

Teddy Boy Koppel presented Rush with one documented lie after another, that the walrus spewed to his loyal audience of ass sniffin’ sheep, until I almost felt sorry for the blubbering piggie, all backed into a corner with his little trembling hooves in the air showing his soft porkbelly, as he oinked out something to the effect of, “I don’t have to tell the truth! I’M just an entertainer!”

Game over!

By watching that trouncing and studying the pig’s quivering jowls and facial region, you just knew that Rush use to get his ass kicked every day of his miserable lonely life until he was 23…

Yet the same kind of stupid fucks who would vote for Bush again if they could, still listen to the sweet, sweet, honey drenched, golden lies from this hypocritical drug addicted parasite.

Anyway… every time I see that loser McCain, who spent 8 years as Bush’s lap dog bitch, on television, talking down Obama, I feel good all over that the voting public FINALLY got it right for once!

So NOW, we got someone in the White House, who might not just be blowing hot air for the sake of furthering himself and his friend’s evil, yet highly profitable, agendas.

His plans seem to have merit when it comes to rebuilding what Bush and the Right Wing-Nuts have ripped down, burned up, then pissed on.  And he seems to have the plight of the vast majority of American, people close to his heart…

OK, I realize the above is a concept that’s obviously way beyond the comprehension of the average Bible thumpin’ Right Wing crazy, but some people actually have goodness in their hearts, and use the Bible as something other than a license to hate those who disagree with their twisted views.

…so live with it suckers, you were voted out of office!  It’s time for reason and compassion to prevail!

The bummer is, the Republicans who were trounced in the voting booths, still think they’re in charge.

Fact is, they aren’t.

So, if they were to take to heart the old saying, “Lead, follow, or get the fuck out of the way!”…

…well, they aren’t in a position to lead anything.

And they obviously don’t care enough about this country to work with those who are trying to repair the damage done by the Right-Wing buzzards, who were pickin’ at the carcass, never considering where their next day’s meal was coming from.