From the Dec. 28, 2005, editions of the Milwaukee Journal Sentinel (and worst of all, it is true):
Attackers sought in driver's beating
'They were having fun,' shocked witness says
By JOHN DIEDRICH and RAQUEL RUTLEDGE
Posted: Dec. 27, 2005
A 50-year-old Milwaukee man was dragged from a car he was driving and severely beaten Monday night by a group of at least 15 teens and young men after he honked at them to get out of the street they were blocking.
Witnesses said the attackers jumped off cars and did flips onto the man's head, laughed and blasted music as if they were having a "block party."
The victim, identified by family as Samuel McClain, suffered "severe head trauma" and was in critical condition late Tuesday at Froedtert Memorial Lutheran Hospital in Wauwatosa, a hospital spokesman said. His family was gathered at Froedtert, awaiting word on McClain's fate. It was unclear whether he would survive.
"He really took a beating," said Anne E. Schwartz, Police Department spokeswoman.
Late Tuesday, one police source said some arrests had been made in the attack. But an official with the department’s detective bureau, Lt. Jeff Point, would not confirm that, saying only that several people were in police custody for questioning.
McClain's former wife and the mother of four of his children, Tina Bost, said McClain is a "happy-go-lucky man and a real nice person."
"I don't understand how that could happen to him," Bost said. "It's awful the way they did him."
Bost said McClain is remarried and also has children with his current wife.
Police are treating the case as an attempted homicide, Schwartz said. No one has been arrested. Detectives were searching for at least 15 participants, ages 16 to 23. They also were looking for two girls who apparently were stopped and harassed by the same group but made it through uninjured.
"We would love to chat with those girls," Schwartz said.
Police spent Tuesday night sweeping through the neighborhood with beefed up patrols, said Capt. Eric Moore.
"There is a significant saturation patrol in the area, and we're conducting a vigorous investigation," said Moore, adding that those arrested were being questioned in the beating.
McClain left his sister's home about 9 p.m. Monday, said his niece, Jennifer McClain. The family hadn't seen him in a couple of months, but he showed up for Christmas, she said. He has been working for a temporary service, she said, but wasn't sure where.
He said he was going to a friend's house on N. 36th St. and W. Hampton Ave., perhaps to play pool, she said.
As he pulled down 36th St. shortly before 11 p.m., he encountered a large group - as many as 30 people - standing in the street and blocking traffic, police said.
Minutes earlier, witnesses said, two girls encountered the same group, Schwartz said. The girl got out of her car and yelled at the group to let them through, which they did, she said.
When McClain honked, the group descended, dragging him from the car and into the street, police and witnesses say.
Jennifer McClain said her uncle is large, making it difficult to pull him from a car.
A 17-year-old visiting relatives nearby said he called police when he saw the group grab McClain and start beating him. The boy didn't want his name published for fear that the attackers would retaliate. He said he watched the whole beating, peering through the blinds of a bedroom window.
"They just started stomping on him, beating him," he said. "They were having fun, like it was normal, like it was an everyday thing."
They were drinking, laughing and playing music, he said.
"I was in shock," he said.
Britney King and her two sisters said they saw the attackers doing flips and cartwheels off cars onto McClain as he lay in the street.
"It looked like they were having a block party," King said. "They sounded like they were having a good time."
King said she and her sisters did not call police.
"It's just not me to call police," said LaToya King. "It would not cross my mind. In places like this, police don't come fast enough and solve anything. People here don't trust the police."
When police arrived, they found McClain in the street and that the crowd had dispersed, Schwartz said.
Mayor Tom Barrett called on the community to help solve the crime.
"We cannot put a police officer on every corner and midway down the block," Barrett said at a news conference at the scene of the beating.
"We need people to step forward especially in a crime like this. . . . If the community steps forward, we can get the people who perpetrated this crime off the streets," he said.
He encouraged anyone with information to call police at (414) 935-7360 or, to report it anonymously, to call the WeTip hotline at (800) 78-CRIME.
Barrett said police presence in the neighborhood is not the issue.
"It's a societal issue," he said. "We have to create hope (for young people), but at the same time we can't condone the violence."
Some community members backed Barrett's approach and challenged families to get more involved in the lives of their sons and daughters, nieces and nephews, siblings and cousins.
"The police have worked endlessly, day and night, to provide us the safest environment they can at 36th and Hampton," said Keith Bailey, owner of Bailey's Dry Cleaning and Laundry Service, just around the corner from the site of the beating. "The police can only do so much. We have lost accountability of our family members."
Last year, there were four mob-style beatings in four weeks in Milwaukee, leaving one man dead and three other people seriously injured. None of the beatings was related.
David Rutledge, a 54-year-old man with schizophrenia, was robbed and beaten July 4, 2004; he later died. Six teens were charged. One was convicted and one is awaiting trial; charges against the others were dropped.
Four days after the Rutledge beating, a 14-year-old boy was kicked, punched and hit in the head with a piece of lumber after he had exchanged words with a girl on a playground. She summoned older relatives, suspected of beating the boy.
Two weeks later, a Milwaukee man was beaten by a group of men after a girl in the neighborhood falsely accused him of indecently touching her.
And on July 29, 2004, a 16-year-old boy and his brothers were beaten by a group armed with bats, bottles, sticks and socks stuffed with canned food.
In 2002, Milwaukee drew national attention after the fatal beating of 36-year-old Charlie Young Jr. Young was pummeled by at least a dozen people, including children as young as 10, who used shovels, tree limbs and other weapons.
Police are looking for two suspect cars in the McClain beating: a black, late- model four-door Mercedes with a broken-out back window covered with plastic and a 1980s Mercury station wagon with imitation wood side paneling and a license that includes either "617 or 627," Schwartz said.
jdiedrich@journalsentinel.com
Weasel's thoughts: If you ever come across a group of teens standing in the middle of a Milwaukee city street, fuck 'em. Rev your engine and run the little bastards over. If you try and warn them, they'll simply use you as a human punching bag.
And people wonder why I have no faith in humanity.
--Weasel, "Two words. Speed. Bumps. End of problem."
Thursday, December 29, 2005
Friday, December 23, 2005
Boned for the Holidays
I am so fucking pissed off right now.
Seriously. Pissed. OFF.....!
The entire week has more or less sucked ass, but today was the coup de grace, so to speak. Here goes:
We were busy today. Insanely busy.
It was as if every resident in Northeastern Wisconsin woke up this morning, farted, then sat up screaming, "Holy fuck! Chri$tma$ comes in two days! I haven't gotten any gifts for Uncle Nancy and Aunt Bob!" So every resident in Northeastern Wisconsin jumped into their cars and went shopping. And every resident in Northeastern Wisconsin came to my fucking store.
What made things worse? I walked into the building early. I will never make that mistake again.
I clocked in 45 minutes early. One of the head cashiers told me that if I came in early, I would be able to leave early.
That wasn't the case. I left at 8:30, which was my scheduled time. (And there is a hilarious story involving that....!)
My register had a line of customers that was at least seven people long; it didn't thin out until 6:30. Because of that (and the idiot head cashier who never changed my schedule on the chart), I got every one of my breaks late. By at least thirty minutes. To top it all off, the Sow was being her normal overbearing self, so I had to fight the urge to strangle someone. Man, was I ever happier than hell when 8:30 rolled around. I shut down my lane, put my drawer together, dropped it and left.
Not five minutes after I clock out, one of the heads was calling me back to the podium. It appears whoever wrote my schedule down royally screwed up: they had written me down for 11:30 to 9:30. A ten hour day. The longest we are supposed to work is nine hours.
They wanted me back on my register. I had to tell them that A) I had checked my schedule yesterday and it had said I would leave at 8:30 and B) 11:30 to 9:30 would be a TEN HOUR DAY. I even counted it out to illustrate my point. Rather than admitting she was wrong, head cashier KS (the same dumb bitch that bawled me out for "being late" on my breaks) said, "Well, you dropped your drawer anyway. Just go."
Wow, how big of you. Can't even admit that you're wrong. Either that, or you're too goddamned retarded to know that you're wrong.
I sometimes think I'm the only person in that building that has a functioning brain.
--Weasel, not looking forward to tomorrow at all.
Seriously. Pissed. OFF.....!
The entire week has more or less sucked ass, but today was the coup de grace, so to speak. Here goes:
We were busy today. Insanely busy.
It was as if every resident in Northeastern Wisconsin woke up this morning, farted, then sat up screaming, "Holy fuck! Chri$tma$ comes in two days! I haven't gotten any gifts for Uncle Nancy and Aunt Bob!" So every resident in Northeastern Wisconsin jumped into their cars and went shopping. And every resident in Northeastern Wisconsin came to my fucking store.
What made things worse? I walked into the building early. I will never make that mistake again.
I clocked in 45 minutes early. One of the head cashiers told me that if I came in early, I would be able to leave early.
That wasn't the case. I left at 8:30, which was my scheduled time. (And there is a hilarious story involving that....!)
My register had a line of customers that was at least seven people long; it didn't thin out until 6:30. Because of that (and the idiot head cashier who never changed my schedule on the chart), I got every one of my breaks late. By at least thirty minutes. To top it all off, the Sow was being her normal overbearing self, so I had to fight the urge to strangle someone. Man, was I ever happier than hell when 8:30 rolled around. I shut down my lane, put my drawer together, dropped it and left.
Not five minutes after I clock out, one of the heads was calling me back to the podium. It appears whoever wrote my schedule down royally screwed up: they had written me down for 11:30 to 9:30. A ten hour day. The longest we are supposed to work is nine hours.
They wanted me back on my register. I had to tell them that A) I had checked my schedule yesterday and it had said I would leave at 8:30 and B) 11:30 to 9:30 would be a TEN HOUR DAY. I even counted it out to illustrate my point. Rather than admitting she was wrong, head cashier KS (the same dumb bitch that bawled me out for "being late" on my breaks) said, "Well, you dropped your drawer anyway. Just go."
Wow, how big of you. Can't even admit that you're wrong. Either that, or you're too goddamned retarded to know that you're wrong.
I sometimes think I'm the only person in that building that has a functioning brain.
--Weasel, not looking forward to tomorrow at all.
Tuesday, December 20, 2005
So Close... So Very Close...
I was playing Pokemon XD yesterday and made some major progress; I've hit Citadark Isle.
I'm so close I can practically taste it.
Not long now and Shadow Lugia will be mine... and I will make him whole again.
.....
.....
IT'S DRIVING ME CRAZY!
I know good and damn well that I'm not nearly strong enough to go up against Greevil; I want to be at level 57 at least. I'll have to leave the island to go to the Colosseums and level up as much as possible. I know I have to do it, but it feels like an unnecessary delay to me. I really, really really want to Snag that Lugia. And I want to do it now. Leveling up just feels like a waste of time.
..........
Okay, that's it. I'm hitting the 'Cube. Now.
--Weasel, hoping she doesn't get Nintendinitis.
I'm so close I can practically taste it.
Not long now and Shadow Lugia will be mine... and I will make him whole again.
.....
.....
IT'S DRIVING ME CRAZY!
I know good and damn well that I'm not nearly strong enough to go up against Greevil; I want to be at level 57 at least. I'll have to leave the island to go to the Colosseums and level up as much as possible. I know I have to do it, but it feels like an unnecessary delay to me. I really, really really want to Snag that Lugia. And I want to do it now. Leveling up just feels like a waste of time.
..........
Okay, that's it. I'm hitting the 'Cube. Now.
--Weasel, hoping she doesn't get Nintendinitis.
Monday, December 19, 2005
Loss
Just walked back from the post office. Doesn't sound so bad, but the temperature is -4 out there. To put it mildly, it's damn cold.
Couldn't sleep last night, even though I went to bed about an hour later than Prime. It was nearly 2am when I slipped beneath the blankets. I was exhausted as hell. Even then I didn't go to sleep; I merely sat up in bed and stared out the window, looking at the moon and the stars and the snow-covered rooftops and the denuded trees and the ever present steam from the paper plant by the river. I sat there for Primus knows how long. Fifteen, twenty, thirty minutes maybe? I don't know; I didn't even bother looking at the clock. When I finally laid down I couldn't sleep then, either. I didn't want to sleep. At least twice I yanked myself out of dozing off (at one point I had begun to snore lightly), just to stare out the window and sigh.
How do you measure a life?
Is it measured in the number of breaths you take, or the number of times your heart beats? Is it measured by how many people love you? How well you love your job? How much wealth you've amassed? In the end, does it even matter?
No one is supposed to die at age twenty five.
At twenty five, you're supposed to get married, find a house, have a few kids, enjoy the better part of your career, hang with your friends, and plan for your future. Cancer isn't supposed to enter the equation and if it does, you're supposed to make a full recovery. You're not supposed to die.
But whoever said the Fates played by anyone's rules, except their own? Even the Gods could not oppose their will.
Prime's back at work today. I'm glad he is, but then again, I'd rather have him here with me. I don't like being alone.
I'm still pissed off at work; we've had other employees who have had minor tragedies (compared to this) befall them and management holds pot-lucks to raise money for them. There's a death in my family and I get squat. No wait, that's not fair; I did get something. I got yelled at by the head cashiers and I got my breaks cut short. Management wonders why our morale is so low.
Prime wants me to call a few Wal-Marts and look for some new Transformers. I'll do it later today. I'm thinking that this will be pointless as hell; Wisconsin is the ass end of nowhere and we rarely get new toys in our area. But I'll do it to make him happy.
All I want to do is crawl back into bed, stare out the window, and sigh.
--Weasel, trying to make sense of it all.
Couldn't sleep last night, even though I went to bed about an hour later than Prime. It was nearly 2am when I slipped beneath the blankets. I was exhausted as hell. Even then I didn't go to sleep; I merely sat up in bed and stared out the window, looking at the moon and the stars and the snow-covered rooftops and the denuded trees and the ever present steam from the paper plant by the river. I sat there for Primus knows how long. Fifteen, twenty, thirty minutes maybe? I don't know; I didn't even bother looking at the clock. When I finally laid down I couldn't sleep then, either. I didn't want to sleep. At least twice I yanked myself out of dozing off (at one point I had begun to snore lightly), just to stare out the window and sigh.
How do you measure a life?
Is it measured in the number of breaths you take, or the number of times your heart beats? Is it measured by how many people love you? How well you love your job? How much wealth you've amassed? In the end, does it even matter?
No one is supposed to die at age twenty five.
At twenty five, you're supposed to get married, find a house, have a few kids, enjoy the better part of your career, hang with your friends, and plan for your future. Cancer isn't supposed to enter the equation and if it does, you're supposed to make a full recovery. You're not supposed to die.
But whoever said the Fates played by anyone's rules, except their own? Even the Gods could not oppose their will.
Prime's back at work today. I'm glad he is, but then again, I'd rather have him here with me. I don't like being alone.
I'm still pissed off at work; we've had other employees who have had minor tragedies (compared to this) befall them and management holds pot-lucks to raise money for them. There's a death in my family and I get squat. No wait, that's not fair; I did get something. I got yelled at by the head cashiers and I got my breaks cut short. Management wonders why our morale is so low.
Prime wants me to call a few Wal-Marts and look for some new Transformers. I'll do it later today. I'm thinking that this will be pointless as hell; Wisconsin is the ass end of nowhere and we rarely get new toys in our area. But I'll do it to make him happy.
All I want to do is crawl back into bed, stare out the window, and sigh.
--Weasel, trying to make sense of it all.
Sunday, December 18, 2005
Life's a Bitch
Gods, I fucking hate my job.
As you all know, the glorious fuckers at my place of work (aka the 69th Layer of Hell) decided that attending Prime's brother's funeral was an unexcused absence. Before anyone asks, yes, I went in on time. It was a "good" thing I did. The moronic head cashier who had taken my call earlier that morning had not marked me as being potentially late. In other words, had I skipped out on the first few hours of work, the idiots in charge of that hellhole would have tried calling my apartment, wondering where in the hell I was. And when I would have arrived there, I would have ended up in the Ad Office getting my ass chewed out for being late. Worse still, since I called in Monday, I probably would have been written up or fired for missing time on Friday. And these idiots bitch and whine that the media is after them, trying to make them look bad.
But it gets "better". Just yesterday, one of the busiest shopping days of the season, I'm stuck on an express lane, getting yelled at by the heads to go faster because we have lines. Uh, no shit, asshole! Of fucking course we have lines! And me ratcheting up my speed didn't help the situation much. For every one customer I got out of the store, three more got in my lane!
But nothing tops what the assholes have been doing lately. On Tuesday and Wednesday, they've been calling me back early from my breaks. Not because we're busy, just because they think I've been gone too long. I swear to Primus, I damn near walked out Wednesday, when head (case) cashier KS tried to bawl me out in front of customers.
Man, I can't wait for tomorrow. I'll be checking for any local job openings. If I score a new place of employment, my current hellhole won't know about it.
--Weasel, "Fuck the two week notice shit. They don't deserve it."
As you all know, the glorious fuckers at my place of work (aka the 69th Layer of Hell) decided that attending Prime's brother's funeral was an unexcused absence. Before anyone asks, yes, I went in on time. It was a "good" thing I did. The moronic head cashier who had taken my call earlier that morning had not marked me as being potentially late. In other words, had I skipped out on the first few hours of work, the idiots in charge of that hellhole would have tried calling my apartment, wondering where in the hell I was. And when I would have arrived there, I would have ended up in the Ad Office getting my ass chewed out for being late. Worse still, since I called in Monday, I probably would have been written up or fired for missing time on Friday. And these idiots bitch and whine that the media is after them, trying to make them look bad.
But it gets "better". Just yesterday, one of the busiest shopping days of the season, I'm stuck on an express lane, getting yelled at by the heads to go faster because we have lines. Uh, no shit, asshole! Of fucking course we have lines! And me ratcheting up my speed didn't help the situation much. For every one customer I got out of the store, three more got in my lane!
But nothing tops what the assholes have been doing lately. On Tuesday and Wednesday, they've been calling me back early from my breaks. Not because we're busy, just because they think I've been gone too long. I swear to Primus, I damn near walked out Wednesday, when head (case) cashier KS tried to bawl me out in front of customers.
Man, I can't wait for tomorrow. I'll be checking for any local job openings. If I score a new place of employment, my current hellhole won't know about it.
--Weasel, "Fuck the two week notice shit. They don't deserve it."
Thursday, December 15, 2005
Breaking Point
They've finally done it.
The job has pushed me to the edge.
If they fire me, they'd be doing me a favor.
We lost Wavebreaker Monday. He slipped away peacefully. The funeral is today.
Just called the fuckers at my workplace, asking if there was any way I could go and pay my respects. If I were to come in late because of the funeral, it would be unexcused.
An unexcused absence. For a goddamned funeral.
These are the same assholes who bitch and whine that the media just wants to tarnish their image. The media's not tarnishing it, you dumb fucks: you are. Get a goddamned clue.
--Weasel, wondering if she should go in to work today and start telling her customers just how "wonderful" it is to work for her company.
The job has pushed me to the edge.
If they fire me, they'd be doing me a favor.
We lost Wavebreaker Monday. He slipped away peacefully. The funeral is today.
Just called the fuckers at my workplace, asking if there was any way I could go and pay my respects. If I were to come in late because of the funeral, it would be unexcused.
An unexcused absence. For a goddamned funeral.
These are the same assholes who bitch and whine that the media just wants to tarnish their image. The media's not tarnishing it, you dumb fucks: you are. Get a goddamned clue.
--Weasel, wondering if she should go in to work today and start telling her customers just how "wonderful" it is to work for her company.
Tuesday, December 06, 2005
The Mommy Militia Strikes!
Okay, this is just classic:
the Mommy Militia is boycotting a Chicago bakery that has posted a sign asking for children to behave and use their "indoor voices".
(I'd love to know how they'd react to the sign at the pet supply place my mother frequented. It read: "All unattended children will be sold into slavery.")
Yes, you are reading that correctly: these dipshits are pissed off because this poor guy is asking parents to (GASP!!) make sure their children behave! Oh, the horror, the horror! What next? Will parents be forced to actually discipline their children, rather than let them run wild in public places? Oh, the humanity!
I've got some advice for the Mommy Militia: quit your bitching and get the fuck over it.
Remember, I work as a cashier. I have seen more misbehaving children than I care to go into. And I have seen more "parents" just stand the hell by and let their "pwecious widdle peanut" get away with whatever they want.
Newsflash, idiots: people are fucking tired of your bratty children. We are sick and damned tired of your "perfect widdle pwincess" screaming "I WANT CANDY/TOYS/WHATEVER NOW!" or your "sweet widdle pumpkin" racing around the supermarket, running into people and displays as if he's in a playground and not a place of business. And we are royally sick and damned tired of all you "parents" doing absolutely nothing to stop your children's bad behavior. Really now, were you allowed to act like that in public? I seriously doubt it.
I come from a time when "Children should be seen and not heard" was the general rule. My parents would not allow misbehavior in public. If I screwed up, there were consequences. Severe consequences. And I knew ahead of time that there would be severe consequences if I did not behave. If I was extremely lucky, I'd get dragged out to the car by my mother who would then tell me that we were going home NOW. If I really screwed up, I'd get walloped on the ass, dragged out to the car, then grounded for at least a month the very nanosecond I arrived at home. Was it harsh? Yes. Did it keep me in line? You bet your sweet ass it did. I'm not saying I was perfect (and no, I wasn't), but I did try to behave decently in public whenever I could.
Now, why can't other parents do that? Is it because they lack testicular (or ovarian) fortitude? Do they just not want to be the "bad cop"? Or do they just not want to make "the same mistakes" that their parents "made"? What gives?
It doesn't really matter, though. I can't wait until the Mommy Militia starts dealing with their spoiled, bratty teenagers. By then, they may understand why Mr. McCauley posted that sign.
--Weasel, who supports the public tasering of naughty children
the Mommy Militia is boycotting a Chicago bakery that has posted a sign asking for children to behave and use their "indoor voices".
(I'd love to know how they'd react to the sign at the pet supply place my mother frequented. It read: "All unattended children will be sold into slavery.")
Yes, you are reading that correctly: these dipshits are pissed off because this poor guy is asking parents to (GASP!!) make sure their children behave! Oh, the horror, the horror! What next? Will parents be forced to actually discipline their children, rather than let them run wild in public places? Oh, the humanity!
I've got some advice for the Mommy Militia: quit your bitching and get the fuck over it.
Remember, I work as a cashier. I have seen more misbehaving children than I care to go into. And I have seen more "parents" just stand the hell by and let their "pwecious widdle peanut" get away with whatever they want.
Newsflash, idiots: people are fucking tired of your bratty children. We are sick and damned tired of your "perfect widdle pwincess" screaming "I WANT CANDY/TOYS/WHATEVER NOW!" or your "sweet widdle pumpkin" racing around the supermarket, running into people and displays as if he's in a playground and not a place of business. And we are royally sick and damned tired of all you "parents" doing absolutely nothing to stop your children's bad behavior. Really now, were you allowed to act like that in public? I seriously doubt it.
I come from a time when "Children should be seen and not heard" was the general rule. My parents would not allow misbehavior in public. If I screwed up, there were consequences. Severe consequences. And I knew ahead of time that there would be severe consequences if I did not behave. If I was extremely lucky, I'd get dragged out to the car by my mother who would then tell me that we were going home NOW. If I really screwed up, I'd get walloped on the ass, dragged out to the car, then grounded for at least a month the very nanosecond I arrived at home. Was it harsh? Yes. Did it keep me in line? You bet your sweet ass it did. I'm not saying I was perfect (and no, I wasn't), but I did try to behave decently in public whenever I could.
Now, why can't other parents do that? Is it because they lack testicular (or ovarian) fortitude? Do they just not want to be the "bad cop"? Or do they just not want to make "the same mistakes" that their parents "made"? What gives?
It doesn't really matter, though. I can't wait until the Mommy Militia starts dealing with their spoiled, bratty teenagers. By then, they may understand why Mr. McCauley posted that sign.
--Weasel, who supports the public tasering of naughty children
Monday, December 05, 2005
Weasel's News Round-Up
I report the news, so you won't have to jump around the net!
Our first story for today: an eighth grader removed a hidden camera from the boys bathroom, netting himself a five day suspension. Yes, you read that right. He's being suspended and this is going on his permanent record as "stealing" school property. If that doesn't piss you off, then this will:
"That was the interesting part to me that surprised me -- Ms. Massengil, the middle school principal, nor the teachers were aware. No one seemed to be aware besides the principal at the high school," Champion said. "I had told the high school principal, Mr. Fore, that he needed to come up with another solution -- that this wasn't appropriate. His response to me was he was going to continue to film." (All emphasis mine.)
Mr. Pervert High School Principal needs to have his sorry ass fired. Immediately. If not fucking sooner. Can we say "potential molester/pervert"? Sure we can! Gods, what an assbrain!
In other news: Newsmax proves it's only good for lining the bottom of birdcages. I just love their "logic" or lack thereof. "Hey, if torture broke John McCain, then we should use it!"
"That McCain broke under torture doesn't make him any less of an American hero. But it does prove he's wrong to claim that harsh interrogation techniques simply don't work."
Um, yeah. You dipsticks realize he signed a paper confessing his crimes that was not in his native language?! Hello, McFly! How fucking "useful" is that?! But, it doesn't matter much anyway. Love some of the "techniques" being used:
"Long Time Standing: This technique is described as among the most effective. Prisoners are forced to stand, handcuffed and with their feet shackled to an eye bolt in the floor for more than 40 hours. Exhaustion and sleep deprivation are effective in yielding confessions.
The Cold Cell: The prisoner is left to stand naked in a cell kept near 50 degrees. Throughout the time in the cell the prisoner is doused with cold water."
This one makes me sick to my stomach just thinking about it:
"Water Boarding: The prisoner is bound to an inclined board, feet raised and head slightly below the feet. Cellophane is wrapped over the prisoner's face and water is poured over him. Unavoidably, the gag reflex kicks in and a terrifying fear of drowning leads to almost instant pleas to bring the treatment to a halt."
Yeah, I'm sure shit like this will bring about "confessions", all right. By the time these dipshits are done with this poor son of a bitch, he'll claim he shoved a bomb in his scrotum and the sky is purple with hot pink spots! As it's stated in the article, this is ..."bad interrogation. I mean you can get anyone to confess to anything if the torture's bad enough," said former CIA officer Bob Baer.
And in our last story for today, a "doctor" proves that he's a total moron by denying an 18 year old Wiccan girl birth control pills. Gotta love it: "I found out later he did diagnose me with depression because I cried."
Uh-huh. A diagnosis of depression because she cried. I diagnose him with "cranial-rectal impact" or "head up ass" syndrome. There's no real cure for it Doc, short of a common sense transplant. But in your case, it won't fucking help. You're a clear example of a waste of a college education. Dumbass.
That's all for today. This has been your anchor-ferret,
--Weasel, signing off.
Our first story for today: an eighth grader removed a hidden camera from the boys bathroom, netting himself a five day suspension. Yes, you read that right. He's being suspended and this is going on his permanent record as "stealing" school property. If that doesn't piss you off, then this will:
"That was the interesting part to me that surprised me -- Ms. Massengil, the middle school principal, nor the teachers were aware. No one seemed to be aware besides the principal at the high school," Champion said. "I had told the high school principal, Mr. Fore, that he needed to come up with another solution -- that this wasn't appropriate. His response to me was he was going to continue to film." (All emphasis mine.)
Mr. Pervert High School Principal needs to have his sorry ass fired. Immediately. If not fucking sooner. Can we say "potential molester/pervert"? Sure we can! Gods, what an assbrain!
In other news: Newsmax proves it's only good for lining the bottom of birdcages. I just love their "logic" or lack thereof. "Hey, if torture broke John McCain, then we should use it!"
"That McCain broke under torture doesn't make him any less of an American hero. But it does prove he's wrong to claim that harsh interrogation techniques simply don't work."
Um, yeah. You dipsticks realize he signed a paper confessing his crimes that was not in his native language?! Hello, McFly! How fucking "useful" is that?! But, it doesn't matter much anyway. Love some of the "techniques" being used:
"Long Time Standing: This technique is described as among the most effective. Prisoners are forced to stand, handcuffed and with their feet shackled to an eye bolt in the floor for more than 40 hours. Exhaustion and sleep deprivation are effective in yielding confessions.
The Cold Cell: The prisoner is left to stand naked in a cell kept near 50 degrees. Throughout the time in the cell the prisoner is doused with cold water."
This one makes me sick to my stomach just thinking about it:
"Water Boarding: The prisoner is bound to an inclined board, feet raised and head slightly below the feet. Cellophane is wrapped over the prisoner's face and water is poured over him. Unavoidably, the gag reflex kicks in and a terrifying fear of drowning leads to almost instant pleas to bring the treatment to a halt."
Yeah, I'm sure shit like this will bring about "confessions", all right. By the time these dipshits are done with this poor son of a bitch, he'll claim he shoved a bomb in his scrotum and the sky is purple with hot pink spots! As it's stated in the article, this is ..."bad interrogation. I mean you can get anyone to confess to anything if the torture's bad enough," said former CIA officer Bob Baer.
And in our last story for today, a "doctor" proves that he's a total moron by denying an 18 year old Wiccan girl birth control pills. Gotta love it: "I found out later he did diagnose me with depression because I cried."
Uh-huh. A diagnosis of depression because she cried. I diagnose him with "cranial-rectal impact" or "head up ass" syndrome. There's no real cure for it Doc, short of a common sense transplant. But in your case, it won't fucking help. You're a clear example of a waste of a college education. Dumbass.
That's all for today. This has been your anchor-ferret,
--Weasel, signing off.
Friday, December 02, 2005
Wake Me Up When December Ends
(My apologies to Green Day for "borrowing" one of their song titles.)
You know, with the way things are now, I say we skip straight to January 1. No one bitches and whines about a faux "war" over New Year's Day.
Apparently, Jerry Falwell and his ilk won't stfu over this supposed "war" on Chri$tma$. (If the site wants you to login, just hit up bugmenot.com to by-pass it.) But this little comment from said article really cracked me up:
"The renaming of Christmas trees to holiday trees is symbolic of what's happening with Christmas," Staver said. "When people seek to rename what otherwise is a secular symbol simply because of the name 'Christmas,' that shows the depths of political correctness run amok."
Excuse me, I'm sorry but... BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA (gasp...)HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAA!!!
Guys, seriously, you need to read this.
You're reading that right. The "Christmas" tree has PAGAN origins! Ooopsie!! Many of the trappings of the holiday are Pagan, which is why there are certain Christians sects who refuse to celebrate the holiday. But leave it to the hypo-christians to conveniently forget about that. Or not bitch about the fact that their "holy day" has been whored out by all the major merchants, who use the "holiday" to fatten their pocketbooks.
Well, at least I'm not the only one who's sick of this crap. Nearly laughed my ass off when I read:
"Our nation's slogan should become: "In God We Trust and Shove Down Your Throats!" That'll show the Godless mud people who aren't like you and me that if you dare sneak into our country, we fully intend to shove a plastic Nativity Jesus down your various dirt-worshipping heathen throats."
Yeah! You tell 'em, Bob! If they don't conform, we'll force 'em!! YEAH! (snicker)
As far as the work front, it was a normal day. I'm doing my damnedest to stay the hell out of the Sow's way; it's working. Now, if only I can make it through another holiday season...
--Weasel, sick of it all
You know, with the way things are now, I say we skip straight to January 1. No one bitches and whines about a faux "war" over New Year's Day.
Apparently, Jerry Falwell and his ilk won't stfu over this supposed "war" on Chri$tma$. (If the site wants you to login, just hit up bugmenot.com to by-pass it.) But this little comment from said article really cracked me up:
"The renaming of Christmas trees to holiday trees is symbolic of what's happening with Christmas," Staver said. "When people seek to rename what otherwise is a secular symbol simply because of the name 'Christmas,' that shows the depths of political correctness run amok."
Excuse me, I'm sorry but... BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA (gasp...)HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAA!!!
Guys, seriously, you need to read this.
You're reading that right. The "Christmas" tree has PAGAN origins! Ooopsie!! Many of the trappings of the holiday are Pagan, which is why there are certain Christians sects who refuse to celebrate the holiday. But leave it to the hypo-christians to conveniently forget about that. Or not bitch about the fact that their "holy day" has been whored out by all the major merchants, who use the "holiday" to fatten their pocketbooks.
Well, at least I'm not the only one who's sick of this crap. Nearly laughed my ass off when I read:
"Our nation's slogan should become: "In God We Trust and Shove Down Your Throats!" That'll show the Godless mud people who aren't like you and me that if you dare sneak into our country, we fully intend to shove a plastic Nativity Jesus down your various dirt-worshipping heathen throats."
Yeah! You tell 'em, Bob! If they don't conform, we'll force 'em!! YEAH! (snicker)
As far as the work front, it was a normal day. I'm doing my damnedest to stay the hell out of the Sow's way; it's working. Now, if only I can make it through another holiday season...
--Weasel, sick of it all
Wednesday, November 30, 2005
Why I Blog
I’ve hit a milestone here at Rhymes With Idiot: I’ve just made my fiftieth post.
It’s a bit surprising; I really wasn’t expecting to hit fifty until sometime next year. In any case, I thought that this would be a good time to look back and reflect on why I do this.
I blog for many reasons: exercising my freedom of speech, sowing the seeds of dissent, voicing my opinion for the entire world to see (and read), because I enjoy writing (and blogging is cheaper than hiring an agent), shits and giggles, etc. But the biggest reason?
Drum roll please: I finally have the chance to quash stupidity in its many forms.
This blog serves as my venting point, my shoutdown to all the idiots in the world who would try to make things worse for this planet. Whether it’s someone whining about “violence” in the media or an idiot who brings a full cart of groceries to a 10-items-or-less lane, I can finally put them in their rightful place. I can put the smackdown on someone who opens their mouth and inserts their ass. I can finally slap down the stupidity that fills my life.
And I enjoy every second of it.
Like today, for example!
First off, it was a noon to nine shift. I hate noon to nine. But it just gets better! And more full of stupidity!
I was slapped on self check. If I’ve said it once, I’ve said it 8,214,696,784 times, I hate self check. Yes, they were still malfunctioning, yes #45 was still doing the “Rear Arch Block” and #43 decided to join in the fun, yes I had an assload of ID-10T "errors", but that wasn’t the best part. The best part happened right after lunch.
I’m standing at the podium, waiting for a head cashier to tell me where to go (back to self-check, I’m afraid) when I notice just who is standing at the cashier’s podium.
It’s the Sow.
Elton John said it best, “The Bitch is Back”.
It all went downhill from there. The self-checks kept locking up, then #44 decided to freeze... and when I told head cashier “KS” that 44 was frozen, she said it wasn’t. I had to tell someone from cash office what had happened. At least the associate from cash office agreed with me, thank Primus.
Yes, the fucking thing was frozen up. Gods, how could KS not fucking see that?! Oh right, she’s an idiot.
I’m so glad I have this blog. I can air out the stupidity here. And in a few years, I’ll get a good chuckle out of this bullshit.
Maybe.
--Weasel, actually enjoying her battle versus idiocy
It’s a bit surprising; I really wasn’t expecting to hit fifty until sometime next year. In any case, I thought that this would be a good time to look back and reflect on why I do this.
I blog for many reasons: exercising my freedom of speech, sowing the seeds of dissent, voicing my opinion for the entire world to see (and read), because I enjoy writing (and blogging is cheaper than hiring an agent), shits and giggles, etc. But the biggest reason?
Drum roll please: I finally have the chance to quash stupidity in its many forms.
This blog serves as my venting point, my shoutdown to all the idiots in the world who would try to make things worse for this planet. Whether it’s someone whining about “violence” in the media or an idiot who brings a full cart of groceries to a 10-items-or-less lane, I can finally put them in their rightful place. I can put the smackdown on someone who opens their mouth and inserts their ass. I can finally slap down the stupidity that fills my life.
And I enjoy every second of it.
Like today, for example!
First off, it was a noon to nine shift. I hate noon to nine. But it just gets better! And more full of stupidity!
I was slapped on self check. If I’ve said it once, I’ve said it 8,214,696,784 times, I hate self check. Yes, they were still malfunctioning, yes #45 was still doing the “Rear Arch Block” and #43 decided to join in the fun, yes I had an assload of ID-10T "errors", but that wasn’t the best part. The best part happened right after lunch.
I’m standing at the podium, waiting for a head cashier to tell me where to go (back to self-check, I’m afraid) when I notice just who is standing at the cashier’s podium.
It’s the Sow.
Elton John said it best, “The Bitch is Back”.
It all went downhill from there. The self-checks kept locking up, then #44 decided to freeze... and when I told head cashier “KS” that 44 was frozen, she said it wasn’t. I had to tell someone from cash office what had happened. At least the associate from cash office agreed with me, thank Primus.
Yes, the fucking thing was frozen up. Gods, how could KS not fucking see that?! Oh right, she’s an idiot.
I’m so glad I have this blog. I can air out the stupidity here. And in a few years, I’ll get a good chuckle out of this bullshit.
Maybe.
--Weasel, actually enjoying her battle versus idiocy
Monday, November 28, 2005
Busted!
So much for our “spectacular” Blitz this Friday; it was a bust, just as I had predicted. We were busy from about 5am until 6, and then..... nothing. And I mean nothing. The crowds were just gone. Poof. Like that. It was as if we had never been busy to begin with. Just like last year. We had at least twelve cashiers standing around, red-lining and doing absolutely nothing.
To be totally honest, I have no idea why in the bleeding hells we even bother with Blitz anymore. We’re getting our ass handed to us by most, if not all, of our competitors. They have better deals, better stuff, pretty much better everything. If we’re even going to attempt this again next year, we need to have some actual, honest to Gods damned deals in our circular. None of this “off-name, cheap ass, it breaks in six months” electronics bullshit. None of this “we had it last year, so have a second helping” bullshit. None of this “the only toy deals you’ll get is maybe a two pack of some crappy lame and outdated electronic toy” bullshit. Give the consumer something to get excited about.
Which is what our competitors keep doing. Every year now.
Management just doesn’t get it. And they probably never will.
It gets "better" as the weekend progresses, though. Saturday wasn’t so bad; we were moderately busy and the day went by pretty fast. It was Sunday that royally bit ass.
I was stuck on self-check. As damn near everyone knows by now, I fucking hate self-check. First off, the damn things didn’t want to half work; they were slower than hell and kept freezing up or hanging up the rear arch. Number 45 had at least ten incidents of “Rear Arch Blocked” errors. If the idiocy of the machines wasn’t irritating enough, there was the idiocy of the customers.
I’d say about 2/3 of the remaining errors I was dealing with was USER ERROR:ID-10T. Precious few of the humans who use self-check know just what in the hell they are doing. How damn difficult is it for someone to understand “Carry this item to the bagging area”? Apparently, it’s damn near impossible because these morons will shove the item through the arch and lock up the machine. Then they bitch that “these damn machines never work right”. No, for once the machine is fine. YOU ARE THE PROBLEM, JACKASS! Jeez, how hard is it for your brain-dead fucks to listen to fucking directions?! “Duh, lissen too duh-rexshuns? Wut iz dat?” GAAAAAHH!! (slamming head into wall)
Thank Primus I’m off today and tomorrow. I might have snapped otherwise.
--one exhausted and frustrated Weasel
To be totally honest, I have no idea why in the bleeding hells we even bother with Blitz anymore. We’re getting our ass handed to us by most, if not all, of our competitors. They have better deals, better stuff, pretty much better everything. If we’re even going to attempt this again next year, we need to have some actual, honest to Gods damned deals in our circular. None of this “off-name, cheap ass, it breaks in six months” electronics bullshit. None of this “we had it last year, so have a second helping” bullshit. None of this “the only toy deals you’ll get is maybe a two pack of some crappy lame and outdated electronic toy” bullshit. Give the consumer something to get excited about.
Which is what our competitors keep doing. Every year now.
Management just doesn’t get it. And they probably never will.
It gets "better" as the weekend progresses, though. Saturday wasn’t so bad; we were moderately busy and the day went by pretty fast. It was Sunday that royally bit ass.
I was stuck on self-check. As damn near everyone knows by now, I fucking hate self-check. First off, the damn things didn’t want to half work; they were slower than hell and kept freezing up or hanging up the rear arch. Number 45 had at least ten incidents of “Rear Arch Blocked” errors. If the idiocy of the machines wasn’t irritating enough, there was the idiocy of the customers.
I’d say about 2/3 of the remaining errors I was dealing with was USER ERROR:ID-10T. Precious few of the humans who use self-check know just what in the hell they are doing. How damn difficult is it for someone to understand “Carry this item to the bagging area”? Apparently, it’s damn near impossible because these morons will shove the item through the arch and lock up the machine. Then they bitch that “these damn machines never work right”. No, for once the machine is fine. YOU ARE THE PROBLEM, JACKASS! Jeez, how hard is it for your brain-dead fucks to listen to fucking directions?! “Duh, lissen too duh-rexshuns? Wut iz dat?” GAAAAAHH!! (slamming head into wall)
Thank Primus I’m off today and tomorrow. I might have snapped otherwise.
--one exhausted and frustrated Weasel
Wednesday, November 23, 2005
Blitz or Bust
I'm thinking our sales on Black Friday are not going to be all that wonderful; the "$400 Laptop" is going to sell for $632. This is all thanks to a wonderful Wisconsin law that does not allow selling items below cost. There are a lot of pissed customers out there; most are kicking themselves for spending their Thanksgivings here in the Dairy State and not Minnesota or Michigan. (Both states will have the $400 laptops. I say if they want it that bad, hop the damn border.) In any case, I'm figuring it's going to be a big fat waste of my time getting up at 3:45 in the morning, just like it was a big fat waste of time the last couple of years getting up at 4am. Maybe I'll be wrong about this.... but I doubt it.
--Weasel, gritting her teeth and getting ready for Hell Day aka Black Friday.
--Weasel, gritting her teeth and getting ready for Hell Day aka Black Friday.
Tuesday, November 22, 2005
Dear Jerry Falwell,
Please just stfu.
From the article itself:
"That they're doing this in the name of religion is very, very sad," Gunn said. "It would be one thing if they're talking about consumerism of the season or something, but they're not."
Jeez, maybe somebody has been paying attention after all. It would be nice.
--Weasel, getting damned tired of having to say the exact same thing every frakking year
From the article itself:
"That they're doing this in the name of religion is very, very sad," Gunn said. "It would be one thing if they're talking about consumerism of the season or something, but they're not."
Jeez, maybe somebody has been paying attention after all. It would be nice.
--Weasel, getting damned tired of having to say the exact same thing every frakking year
If This is a Joke...
I ain't laughing.
I mean, seriously. This has got to be a damn joke.
Whether or not it is, I'll say this much: it ain't one damn bit funny.
This is how most Wal-Marts are: if you dare criticize the company in any way, shape, or form, you will get your happy ass hauled into the ad office for a coaching. Why? Any criticism of the company "brings down morale", no matter how true that criticism may be. (And having clueless, dumbass managers who kiss up to greedy, lying customers won't? What the fuck ever!) Hell, this even sounds like their "logic" or lack thereof:
I mean, seriously. This has got to be a damn joke.
Whether or not it is, I'll say this much: it ain't one damn bit funny.
This is how most Wal-Marts are: if you dare criticize the company in any way, shape, or form, you will get your happy ass hauled into the ad office for a coaching. Why? Any criticism of the company "brings down morale", no matter how true that criticism may be. (And having clueless, dumbass managers who kiss up to greedy, lying customers won't? What the fuck ever!) Hell, this even sounds like their "logic" or lack thereof:
“These kinds of smears on America’s biggest employer, no matter how true, are bound to demoralize our troops and embolden our enemies.”
Where did they get this? Straight from a store manager's mouth? Parody or not, it sounds just like the kind of crap they would spout at the "world's biggest retailer". If you don't believe me, ask a few former associates. They'll tell you just how bad it truly is there, how saying the wrong thing to the wrong person about the company can get you a verbal coaching or worse. Even the associates who hate their jobs speak highly of Wal-Mart. You have to, or you will get termed. There is nothing funny about that. Trust me on this.
In other news, Prime is still sick and still sitting on his skidplate (What else can he do? Run a marathon?) here at home. This is the second day in a row I've had to call him in due to illness and lack of sleep. Wavebreaker is doing as well as can be expected; Claymore is still here in WI. I have no idea when they'll call Claymore back to Iraq; hopefully, it will be after the funeral. I myself happen to be bracing for the most insane damn day in retail, Black Friday.
If you aren't sure you want to get up and hit the malls at 5(!) in the morning, you can always point your browser over here to check out all the deals at your local stores. If you want my advice, it's this: it ain't worth it. You do not want to be physically assaulted by an eighty year old woman wielding a shopping basket, or screamed at and slapped by a foul-mouthed soccer mom who wants the last Giggle-and-Puke Elmo that you just happen to be holding, or constantly fighting the greedy bastards trying to take items out of your cart. Stay home and sleep in that day. You won't have to deal with a huge credit card bill and you'll keep all your limbs in tact. It's a much better deal than a $150 off brand big screen TV that will only begin to malfunction in three months. Besides, will anyone in your family really care that you got up at 3:30 in the morning to stand in front of a local Buy-Mart just to get a cheap ass Barbie doll for your sixth cousin's four year old? I highly doubt it.
--Weasel, bracing herself for the worst in sales and human behavior.
Monday, November 21, 2005
Post Office Blues
Just checked the mail not 45 minutes ago and I must say, one of our letter carriers must be retarded. Or just plain stupid.
How hard is it to put a few envelopes and a small magazine in a top-loading mailbox? Apparently, it's very hard for this jackass. Instead of folding the magazine around the envelopes to easily slide everything into our mailbox, this moron crams the envelopes in first. S/he then shoves the magazine in, crushing and tearing whatever is sitting inside. I've lost count of just how many times Prime has called our local post master to lodge complaints about this sort of thing. (We've had more damaged mail at our current address than I'd like to count. Trust me, it's a shitload.) We don't want to have to rent a P.O. box just to receive our mail in good condition, but that may be our last and only resort.
At this point, it's very damned tempting.
--Weasel, about to go completely postal... on the post office
How hard is it to put a few envelopes and a small magazine in a top-loading mailbox? Apparently, it's very hard for this jackass. Instead of folding the magazine around the envelopes to easily slide everything into our mailbox, this moron crams the envelopes in first. S/he then shoves the magazine in, crushing and tearing whatever is sitting inside. I've lost count of just how many times Prime has called our local post master to lodge complaints about this sort of thing. (We've had more damaged mail at our current address than I'd like to count. Trust me, it's a shitload.) We don't want to have to rent a P.O. box just to receive our mail in good condition, but that may be our last and only resort.
At this point, it's very damned tempting.
--Weasel, about to go completely postal... on the post office
The Eternal Question
Why is it that men can dress up in nothing but a thong and body paint at a mid-December football game (with windchills of twenty below no less!), but fall to frigging pieces when they catch a little cold or flu virus?
--Weasel, who is almost always stuck working, cooking dinner, washing dishes, doing laundry, etc. every time she has a Primus-awful illness...... (I kid, really!)
EDIT: No, my man isn't that bad, it's just an observation on men in general, okay? (Mine doesn't do the football thing; he collects transforming robots. Lots and lots of robots. Tons and tons of... oh God our apartment is full of 'em! And he isn't too whiny when sick.... no more so than usual!* ;)
*I'm kidding, honey! You're not whiny! ;P
--Weasel, who is almost always stuck working, cooking dinner, washing dishes, doing laundry, etc. every time she has a Primus-awful illness...... (I kid, really!)
EDIT: No, my man isn't that bad, it's just an observation on men in general, okay? (Mine doesn't do the football thing; he collects transforming robots. Lots and lots of robots. Tons and tons of... oh God our apartment is full of 'em! And he isn't too whiny when sick.... no more so than usual!* ;)
*I'm kidding, honey! You're not whiny! ;P
Saturday, November 19, 2005
All Stressed Out...
...and no one to choke.
Wavebreaker's home. If I recall correctly, he's getting hospice care. "Claymore", the youngest and last of Prime's brothers, is back in Wisconsin for a bit. He visited Wavebreaker a few times while he was in the hospital. Claymore's taking this pretty hard, but then again, how the hell are you supposed to take losing a brother? I'm so upset about all this, I could just lay in bed and cry all day. Unfortunately for me, I can't.
I work this Thursday. That's right, I work Thanksgiving. A full eight hours. I could scream, but that will do exactly jack and shit to help the situation. Even worse, I work the Friday after Thanksgiving aka Black Friday. And that hellhole of a store wants me in at 4:45 in the damned morning. Seems we're starting our Blitz at five in the fucking morning because one of our competitors did the exact same last year and kicked our asses in sales. Lovely. Just fucking lovely. I'll have to drag my ass out of bed at 3:45 in the frakking morning to go to that frakking hellhole just to stand behind a damned cash register to ring up the orders of assholes and idiots. (Don't believe in evolution? Shop the day after Thanksgiving. You'll be treated to free viewings of the pack behavior of the North American Spotted Fucktard. Trust me on this.) At least I get out of there at a relatively early hour; I'm done at 12:45. I am so taking a nap when I get home.
As for today, we were so insanely busy I could have screamed right at my register. All the deer hunter widows came in to do their Chri$tma$ shopping. We had front and back registers open and still had long ass lines, up to five people deep. I swear, on days like this the only thing that keeps me from losing what little I have left of my mind is the fact that I'll be coming home to Prime. It also helped that we saw our friend Shawn (who brought us new toys! Whee!!) and we spent about two and a half hours shooting the shit with him. That rocked. And now, to settle my nerves completely, I'll be heading to the bedroom in our to stomp the hell out of a few Cipher Peons and Admins. Yes, I got XD. And oh man, it rawks!
--Weasel, "It's the most deplorable time of the year."
Wavebreaker's home. If I recall correctly, he's getting hospice care. "Claymore", the youngest and last of Prime's brothers, is back in Wisconsin for a bit. He visited Wavebreaker a few times while he was in the hospital. Claymore's taking this pretty hard, but then again, how the hell are you supposed to take losing a brother? I'm so upset about all this, I could just lay in bed and cry all day. Unfortunately for me, I can't.
I work this Thursday. That's right, I work Thanksgiving. A full eight hours. I could scream, but that will do exactly jack and shit to help the situation. Even worse, I work the Friday after Thanksgiving aka Black Friday. And that hellhole of a store wants me in at 4:45 in the damned morning. Seems we're starting our Blitz at five in the fucking morning because one of our competitors did the exact same last year and kicked our asses in sales. Lovely. Just fucking lovely. I'll have to drag my ass out of bed at 3:45 in the frakking morning to go to that frakking hellhole just to stand behind a damned cash register to ring up the orders of assholes and idiots. (Don't believe in evolution? Shop the day after Thanksgiving. You'll be treated to free viewings of the pack behavior of the North American Spotted Fucktard. Trust me on this.) At least I get out of there at a relatively early hour; I'm done at 12:45. I am so taking a nap when I get home.
As for today, we were so insanely busy I could have screamed right at my register. All the deer hunter widows came in to do their Chri$tma$ shopping. We had front and back registers open and still had long ass lines, up to five people deep. I swear, on days like this the only thing that keeps me from losing what little I have left of my mind is the fact that I'll be coming home to Prime. It also helped that we saw our friend Shawn (who brought us new toys! Whee!!) and we spent about two and a half hours shooting the shit with him. That rocked. And now, to settle my nerves completely, I'll be heading to the bedroom in our to stomp the hell out of a few Cipher Peons and Admins. Yes, I got XD. And oh man, it rawks!
--Weasel, "It's the most deplorable time of the year."
Friday, November 11, 2005
And So It Begins...
As it does every frakking year now: another battle over Chri$tma$.
It seems that a Catholic group was going to boycott Wal-Mart, but called it off because of an "inflammatory" employee email defending the company practice of wishing customers "Happy Holidays" and not "Merry Chri$tma$".
This happens every damned year. I have just one thing to say to these morons: if you really care about your damned "holiday", you will wrench it from the money-grubbing paws of the retailers and put it back in your houses of worship. Immediately. If not sooner.
Listen up, dimwits: the only thing that Wal-Mart cares about when it comes to Chri$tma$ is how fat the CEO's wallet gets. They don't give two craps about the "sacredness" or "holiness" of that day. To them, it's a shitload of dollar signs. And it's the same general attitude with every other retailer out there. Why do you think I refer to the "holiday" as Chri$tma$ or "Giftmas" and not Christmas? The "holiday" is little more than a joke, overshadowed by the orgy of gift buying. "Savior? What Savior? I gotta buy that Giggle and Puke Elmo for little Janey and that Planet Ranger Doofus Farce for little Bobby!"
Get that through your thick skulls, pinheads, before you pull any more of these ridiculous stunts. I don't want to have to post this again.
--Weasel, already dealing with the Chri$tma$ rush.... and hating it.
It seems that a Catholic group was going to boycott Wal-Mart, but called it off because of an "inflammatory" employee email defending the company practice of wishing customers "Happy Holidays" and not "Merry Chri$tma$".
This happens every damned year. I have just one thing to say to these morons: if you really care about your damned "holiday", you will wrench it from the money-grubbing paws of the retailers and put it back in your houses of worship. Immediately. If not sooner.
Listen up, dimwits: the only thing that Wal-Mart cares about when it comes to Chri$tma$ is how fat the CEO's wallet gets. They don't give two craps about the "sacredness" or "holiness" of that day. To them, it's a shitload of dollar signs. And it's the same general attitude with every other retailer out there. Why do you think I refer to the "holiday" as Chri$tma$ or "Giftmas" and not Christmas? The "holiday" is little more than a joke, overshadowed by the orgy of gift buying. "Savior? What Savior? I gotta buy that Giggle and Puke Elmo for little Janey and that Planet Ranger Doofus Farce for little Bobby!"
Get that through your thick skulls, pinheads, before you pull any more of these ridiculous stunts. I don't want to have to post this again.
--Weasel, already dealing with the Chri$tma$ rush.... and hating it.
Sunday, November 06, 2005
Life Sucks
"And twenty-five cents equals a quarter." Thank you very much Captain goddamn Obvious.
It's been said that "the shit rolls downhill" and it certainly seems to be doing so: our customers are getting crankier and crankier, management is getting stupider and stupider and I'm about two and a half seconds from having a complete breakdown and strangling someone. I'm getting sick and damned tired of having to listen to our wonderful in-store ads that feature country singers and R&B artists yowling that they'll be "Home for the holidaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaays!" I'm sick of the screaming kids, bitchy parents and clueless head cashiers. And things aren't going to get any damn better, especially in the next few weeks, not on the job or at home.
Prime's younger brother, for argument's sake we'll just call him "Wavebreaker", was diagnosed with cancer last year. We didn't think much of it, at least not until recently. Then we got the latest update on his condition: the cancer has taken over a kidney and is spreading into his lungs. Prognosis? Wavebreaker has two to six weeks.
Two to six weeks. That's it.
I could scream. Primus knows I fucking want to badly enough. For the last three days I have been repressing the urge to scream at someone. I just want to know why. Why the fuck does this shit have to happen? I could cry, just thinking about it.
Cry and pray, that's all I want to do right now.
Poem copyright Weasel Productions, November 2005. No distribution is allowed without permission of the author or else I'll put a smack-down on ya.
From Primus do all sparks come,
To Primus all sparks return.
O Primus,
Mighty Allspark,
He who is the Light in Our Darkest Hour,
look upon our comrade's spark.
Take it within thy hands
and grant him
rest.
Til the Day All are One.
--Weasel, trying not to cry now.
It's been said that "the shit rolls downhill" and it certainly seems to be doing so: our customers are getting crankier and crankier, management is getting stupider and stupider and I'm about two and a half seconds from having a complete breakdown and strangling someone. I'm getting sick and damned tired of having to listen to our wonderful in-store ads that feature country singers and R&B artists yowling that they'll be "Home for the holidaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaays!" I'm sick of the screaming kids, bitchy parents and clueless head cashiers. And things aren't going to get any damn better, especially in the next few weeks, not on the job or at home.
Prime's younger brother, for argument's sake we'll just call him "Wavebreaker", was diagnosed with cancer last year. We didn't think much of it, at least not until recently. Then we got the latest update on his condition: the cancer has taken over a kidney and is spreading into his lungs. Prognosis? Wavebreaker has two to six weeks.
Two to six weeks. That's it.
I could scream. Primus knows I fucking want to badly enough. For the last three days I have been repressing the urge to scream at someone. I just want to know why. Why the fuck does this shit have to happen? I could cry, just thinking about it.
Cry and pray, that's all I want to do right now.
Poem copyright Weasel Productions, November 2005. No distribution is allowed without permission of the author or else I'll put a smack-down on ya.
From Primus do all sparks come,
To Primus all sparks return.
O Primus,
Mighty Allspark,
He who is the Light in Our Darkest Hour,
look upon our comrade's spark.
Take it within thy hands
and grant him
rest.
Til the Day All are One.
--Weasel, trying not to cry now.
Tuesday, October 25, 2005
Baby Blues
Luckily, this has nothing to do with me. I don't like kids, remember?
It seems two of our head cashiers, KB (female) and BR (male) are expecting. KB is pregnant; BR's the daddy. As to whether or not they'll get married, I have no clue.
I should have expected it, come to think about it. They did like horsing around while on the clock. Man, I was just kidding when I told 'em to "get a room"!
--Weasel, still trying to shake off a nasty head cold
It seems two of our head cashiers, KB (female) and BR (male) are expecting. KB is pregnant; BR's the daddy. As to whether or not they'll get married, I have no clue.
I should have expected it, come to think about it. They did like horsing around while on the clock. Man, I was just kidding when I told 'em to "get a room"!
--Weasel, still trying to shake off a nasty head cold
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