Take The Train: AMTRAK At Your Service

Hey, recently decided to go to LA and get there by train. Well, I needed to leave out of San Jose, CA at 11:59 PM on the night of travel. Got there and guess what? All the parking is owned by CalTrain and limited to 24 hours which is shorter than my planned trip.

So, I call Amtrak and ask what they suggest. I am directed by some lady on the phone to a small lot at the other end of the world where Amtrak has parking. Snag is you need to get a permit from the ticket agent and at 11:30 at night there is no such person.

Ended up driving. Called customer relations next morning and talked to ‘Bob’ who informed me I should have looked into parking before buying my ticket. “After all,” he said, “If you were going to the airport you’d check out the parking before wouldn’t you!”

I said something like, ” ‘fuck no’ as airports have lots of long term parking and no snot ass customer relations people like you, Bob.”

Getting a refund is a bitch and they tag you for a 10% penalty for not taking their train.

Isn’t this typical of these quasi-governmental agencies. Jesus, you’d think they’d get it but NOT ANY ARM OF OR OUR GOVERNMENT.

So if you ever get the urge to go somewhere by Amtrak, sit down until the urge pases, book a plane and leave your Glock at home.

We can’t produce a DVD player, television, cell phone, computer or anything else worth a fuck but we can produce prime quality 100% pure bullshit. That is actually our gross national product. Now if our balance of trade is out of whack, it’s because no other country on Earth wants American bullshit any more–they manufacture enough of their own to keep them happy and their citizens asleep at the wheel.

Welcome To The Obama Rama Festival

© 2008 by Society To Oppress Political Ignorance in Total (STOPIT). All rights reserved. That said here is what you have permission to do with this piece. It can be freely emailed to friends, politicians, and so on. It can be stored in electronic format. It can be tattooed on the body part of your choice. All of this is permissible so long as this copyright notice accompanies it. It may not be broken up into smaller chunks and may not be published in any magazine for profit or non-profit.

This piece is not racist so if you think it is, get a life. This is satire, written by a white male, the single most oppressed human in America since around the mid-1970s.

You make up your own reaction to the words you read and I can’t control that process, for you, so get this–it’s all in your head. If American Caucasians can put up with the racist humor of Chris Rock, and that of George Lopez, then white ass, honkey satirists should also have open season on Blacks and Hispanics. Also notice the order of the words, American Caucasians. How about we deal with the reality of where we are? For example instead of African American make it American African, or instead of Mexican American how about American Mexican. Let’s get the language consistent with the geography of our location, opportunity and freedoms.

So, buckle up and get in for the ride…

What changes can we expect to see if Obama is elected President?

• For the first time in American History, the Inaugural Ball will be held at The House of Blues. The opening band will be The Rainbow Coalition with blues guitarist Jesse Jackson. He knows a lot of riffs and plays none well. The headliner is to be none other than Albert King. Yes, he has been dead for a few years yet, by Executive Order, they’re resurrecting him for this one event. He doesn’t look as good as before and some of his fingers may fall off during his appearance, yet the show must go on.

• The musical piece Hail to The Chief has no words therewith associated. Should Obama become President, expect rappers like Eminem to put it to a rap beat and hallucinate some cop killing lyrics to accompany this traditional brass band tune.

• The Name Game, made famous by Shirley Ellis, will be revived perhaps like this:

Obama Bama bo Bama
Banana Fana fo Fama
Fee Fie mo Mama
Obama!

• The White House Chef will be replaced by none other than Al Sharpton, who will continue to stew his juice of imaginary racism while preparing hush puppies and ribs.

• The President, his advisers, and cabinet members will all gather nightly on the White House porch for an hour or so to sing old religious songs indigenous to the Southern States. No, Obama is not from the South; He is, as former Vice President Dan Quayle once said from, “the great State of Chicago.” Yes, he said that—look it up.

• The words, Bro’, MoFo, Ho, Dude, Wasup, and so forth will integrate into common usage and eventually Websters will place them in the next revision of the dictionary.

• There will be new sex scandal rumors. These are starting already in that bastion of American journalism, The Enquirer. Should these have an inter-racial twist and involve a midget they’ll be so juicy and enthralling we won’t be able to stop listening to sound bites, and reading (at least the thirty or so words Americans understand) in rags like US, People, The Enquirer, and perhaps (hopefully) even Mad Magazine.

• Leaders of other nations of the world will need to learn new and interesting ways to shake hands.

• Oakland, California will abandon (if it didn’t years back) the idea that Ebonics (mostly American African [Black] slang) be recognized as an official language and jump onto a bandwagon to make talkin’ jive the official language of the San Francisco area called the East Bay.

• Dramatic new options will show up on voice recognition systems so when calling a government office you may hear; “Please listen up dude as our menu items hay been messed wiff. Press 1 for English, press 2 for Espan-y’all, or press 3 for Jive.”

• Congress will pass a law that Chitlins and Hog Maws (pig intestines and stomach) be a mandatory item on every menu of every restaurant across this great land, without regard for the restaurant’s ethnicity thus providing Americans with the opportunity to feast on many a new dish. Italian restaurants will feature Chitlins and Hog Maws Parmesan. Thai restaurants will offer Chitlins and Hog Maws in Green Curry Sauce. Chinese restaurants will feature General Tsu’s Chitlins and Hog Maw Szechuan (it will work, they eat chicken feet now). California Cuisine and the Nouvelle feeding troughs will feature Chitlins and Hog Maws On a Bed of Radiccio and Pine Nuts Garnished With Edible Flowers and Cactus Needles. Violation of this law will be a Federal Felony punishable by a $500,000 fine and 300 years in jail.

Ah, the possibilities are endless. Should Obama be elected, America will surely see many changes in attitude (especially from American Africans and the Red Neck middle of this country), policy and a continuation of the nonstop movement of America toward Socialism couched in the word Democracy.

Are You Still Among the Living?

Ever start feeling separated from life and the world around you? Some would call it a blessing, others a curse. See how it all depends upon one’s perspective and perception; it’s all in our head and you only watch the parade outside, take in what you see, process it through a bunch of acquired filters and then, miracles of miracles, form an opinion about what kind of thing or experience it is and whether or not it’s good or bad. Stretch those brain cells and you’ll discover there is no such thing as a common, shared reality.

Now, regarding being among the living, here are some ways to verify (with certainty) that you are dead, dead, dead.

1) Notice that as you walk down the street no one says, “Hi,” or “Hello,” or, “Get fucked,” no words, no smile, nothing.

2) Store clerks stop saying, “have a nice day,” and just don’t say anything.

3) People you consider good friends don’t pick up their phone and call you any more.

4) You hear the words, “Paper or plastic?” That’s just your soul listening in on a funeral home conversation regarding whether your remains belong in a sturdy cardboard casket or a body bag.

5) You sit next to someone on public transit (like the San Francisco Bay Area BART system) and the person next to you doesn’t even look in your direction. It sort of reminds one of the movie Ghost.

6) No one ever returns a call you leave in their voice mail (that does it for just about all of us).

7) Final item–you find yourself writing and reading shit like this.

You don’t need to score all 6 to be dead as two or three will suffice. So, buy yourself a wreath, go home and wait for the reaper. He will be along shortly.

Here’s to Schadenfreude

Buh-bye, Guv.

Was there ever anyone so deserving of being hoisted with his own petard?

I Hate Fucking Cats

Resist that urge to say, “then try women,” please. Sort of brings back the old joke: A man goes to the doctor and says, “Doctor it hurts when I do this.” So the doctor says, “Well, don’t do that.”

Look, who needs a pet that doesn’t come when called, rubs its fur all over your pant legs, hisses, scratches, and so on. Yes, this is sort of behavior of my wife’s cat’s . Aside from that, who really wants a pet that shits in the house as a regular habit? Yes, dogs do have accidents and when they do they get a sheepish look that says, ‘I’m sorry as hell.’ Cats just cover it up by kicking their back feet. We’ve all seen politicians do the same thing.

I wish this fucker would die. It is an Abby and a more foul dispositioned animal I have not met. I actually went on-line to look for plants poisonous to cats so I could brew a wee spot of tea for this fucker. Out of the question, however, as my wife is, and was, well aware of my dislike for her pet. Given that she is also a PhD in Biochemistry I figured she’d order up an autopsy.

Six weeks ago I hear my wife calling from outside telling me the cat fell off the deck, one floor below onto the concrete. Death at last, I thought–no such luck. One thousand dollars later and a cat in a leg splint and one of those collars that look like the animal tried to crawl up the small end of a funnel this pest still lives. I rather enjoyed watching this fur ball hobble about and especially enjoyed the inconveniences provided her by the collar. She was also heavily drugged and thus rendered quite mellow.

I had to put up a two foot vertical mesh extension across the expanse of the deck so the cat can’t leap for the railing and miss again. I suggested electrified wire mesh, and my wife killed the idea. She said this mesh guard was necessary as the cat doesn’t fly well. Bullshit! The cat flies perfectly well it just needs more practice on landing.

In fairness, I must give credit where credit is due. There are things which have been inspired by cats. I blather on below.

The catapult, medieval artillery used during sieges to hurl large projectiles of burning snot over castle walls was originally designed to rid small kingdoms and villages of cats. The first implementation of this artillery was a two-seater affair, one seat for each of two cats. The cats were placed side by each and harnessed in so they could not escape fate. The harness being specially designed to break loose at a specific G force worked flawlessly. The catapult was then cocked backed into position and then, a hooded guy struck the release and the armature swung violently forward with sufficient force to launch the kitty pair way, way out of the kingdom or village. I return to my earlier assertion: Cats fly well and land poorly. Only when all the cats were gone did mankind turn the catapult into a weapon of war. Oh, yes, it is worth mentioning that a catapult is yet another item one can’t take past an airport checkpoint.

The ‘cat box’ of course is a box, usually a plastic container filled with kitty litter (no, don’t say you dated her sister) into which the cat steps, dumps and covers. Then, you, you lucky pet owner, get to use a scoop of some sort and a plastic bag to rid the house of the waste.

I maintain ‘cat box’ is a misnomer for ‘feline honey pot’. I assert that a real ‘cat box’ is a box of fortified, thick cardboard and plastic coated inside into which one places a cat, folds the flaps down, tapes the box securely with industrial grade box tape, attaches a mailing label to Greenland and drops it off at FedEx.

My wife’s cat loves a particular canned cat food called, “Turkey Florentine.” Yes, it is the most expensive small can of cat food money can buy. Now a cat does not know Turkey Florentine from mice heads. It’s us humans standing in front of a dizzying array of cat food cans in the supermarket who read, “Turkey Florentine,” and conjure up the smell and taste of human food in our mind’s eye (or stomach). Just save all the marketing nonsense and label it according to truth in labeling laws and print, “Shit In A Can,” on all the fuckers.

There are some places one does not find cats ever, ever, ever—behind Vietnamese restaurants for example. I believe they are said to taste like chicken–doesn’t everything?

Finally, (Oh, he’s actually wrapping up?) I leave you, dear reader, with this factoid:

In Ancient Egypt, it was believed cats captured the glow of the setting sun in their eyes and kept it safe until morning, making it unlawful for cats to be killed (except in ritual sacrifice by priests). Cats would have been eliminated completely from Egypt, save for a severe shortage of priests and too few rituals. When the Persians attacked part of Egypt they tied cats to their shields – the Egyptians dared not put up a fight in case they injured or killed the cats.

What wasted opportunity that was. I’d calculate up the fewer number of cats in the world today had the Egyptians simply gone for it. I don’t have time now I have to feed the cat.