So, I got this job recently.  The pay is pretty good.  It’s a short-term thing, but it was something that I, well, I used to believe in it.

Believe, as in, one side’s arguments (as if I wasn’t selective in what or who I would even listen to) sounded better to me, for the most part, in theoretical implication, anyway.  People all know it was just one big sick joke.  Some are embarrassed.  Some are sad.  Some are angry.  Everyone feels betrayed.  Everyone.  Can you blame them?

They won’t tell me this, but I’m pretty sure they’re a political money-laundering and human torture concern.  That’s right.  A fly marrying a bumblebee.  They torture the field office manager, her staff, her canvassers, and the people we canvass.  At least the dirty capitalist’s money ends up in the hands of poor people.  More trickles down during war-time, eh?  ‘Cept for my “share” of what’s left also contains the blood of some of my friends.  Hey, it’s a hirer’s market, and I’m the one who refused to sign that “contract” and play bank.  I’m trying to do this all as quickly and painlessly as it can be done.  Let’s get some statistics, shall we?

Kick the ballistics?  “No uzi’s made in harlem” and whatnot.

Tweeted: my job has fringe benefits, too

Untweeted: People like you make me realize that “fans” deserve death.  If you’re not my peer, friend, family… leave me alone.

Tweeted: “nosotros tenemos mas influencia / con sus hijos que tu tiene / pero los queremos…”

gonna go try to talk my way out of work.

Update, a few hours later:
“Not for this job.”  Way to go, retard.  Like people don’t hate you enough. #SuckingAtLife

So, I’ll tell you… what the fuck I’m talking about, man.

This human torture concern I work for, well, it provided me the opportunity to meet a bunch of cool folks from Wisconsin Rapids.  I’m sorry, folks.  It’s a job.  I even took a righteous “I refuse to drive myself and [a] co-worker[s] for health reasons” to stomp around a friendly American neighborhood in 43 to 32 degree predicted temperatures and 24 mph winds gusting to 41 mph.  Rain showers and 32 degree wind chill.  The thing is, I could stand out in this shit, walk from house to house, and ring people’s door-bells and knock on people’s doors to see if they want to listen to me read an obnoxious script about some political races that they’re all sick of hearing about.  Some take it with a grain of salt.  Some see that I’m doing a job I don’t really agree with and they humor me.  I do what I can to minimize my requisite time wasting (theirs as well as my own), and I march off to try to hit my daily quota.  If I stay and talk on their dime, big brother gets cranky.  Hierarchies and whatnot.  You know what I’m talking about.

So, even in crap-tastic weather, some folks have stood out in the dark and cold even to speak with me.  The smart ones just don’t answer their door.  Yeah, the computer gets those as “not home.”  Why?  “Refusals” are to be used sparingly.  Says who?  Refusals are close to 50%, maybe more, if you actually listen to people, or look at their actions honestly.  There are still plenty of people who still take the old “sides” in this “fight,” however.  I don’t know what to think of them.  It’s like anything else, I guess.  A mix of “yeah, well, what can we do?” and “don’t you go bringing your big city ideas up in my little slice of American heaven, while my TV show is on!”  Blue light, shit.  Maybe it’s entertaining the terrified little domesticated animals within, or maybe it’s just driving them crazy.  Who can say.  I apologize for my part in this farce.

Here.  A zombie break.  With links to video of cuties.
fuck.  Yeah.

So, Rapids.  I like you.  We should get together some time.  One of you should drive to point to pick me up, and we should go somewhere we can talk, drink some beers, and maybe even smoke some dope.  Yeah, you too, grandma.  It’s good for you.  No, I would never twist your arm.  Unless you asked.  But whetever.  I lost over $60 in one day’s wages and my $1 hourly bonus to spare you the sight of me on your porch or trying to find your non-existent house numbers with a flashlight on this cold and windy evening.  Pretty much, as per usual, I feel like I get punished for doing what I feel is the right thing to do.  Kindness isn’t valued, huh.  Well, I guess if you wrote me in (that’s Tyler Mertes, not LAW or LazyAssWasteoid, at least not for the actual ballot.  Yeah, there’s a legal argument, but why test “the system” at something as dumb as that.)  You know who I am.  For once, your “vote” could actually give a high-paying job to someone who would stomp into town to learn about you, not to tell you how to think or act.  I’m trying to free up resources that have been tied up unnecessarily for the advancement of cruelty and greed.  I’m trying to convince each and every one of you that you are all capable of peaceful co-existence with the rest of the world.  You can think of me as your translator, if you like.  I do believe I smell what you’re steppin’ in.

Do others running for office put all their thoughts online?  How about their friends?  Do they show you their resume?  This is not the first “progressive” organization I’ve worked for, but arguing directly against war that was on the forefront of people’s minds seemed a little more to the point.  Now, “war” is at the bottom of the drop-down list of “issues” you deem important.  Yeah, that helps.  Right.  No, I told you already.  It’s political money-laundering.  I’m your washing machine.

Consider me a charity if you want.  I’m the only “anti-profit” there is, far as I can tell.  I’m the only organization whose stated goal is housing and feeding people as efficiently as possible under a system that utilizes their own thoughts, expertise, and resources.  But, whatever.  Keep the shit you got, for all I care.  I’m still surrounded by beauty.  Noises, people, glances, and wordy bits that make me giggle.  I could take down city hall with one barbaric yaup.  I believe the district may require a circle pit.

Oh, Rapids, when I come to visit, I’d very much like Unprotected Sex to provide the soundtrack for the evening.  Whatever.  Yeah, I can talk in a church.  Big rooms are fun.


K, well, that’s all you get for today.

Except this.

Seriously?  You don’t know a single girl who might like me?  Yeah, neither do I.


~ by LazyAssWasteoid on 2010-10-27 (Wednesday).

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