Better Things To Do

Posts around here have been sparse in recent months. To my dear and devoted readers, tough shit. I’m not your blog monkey. A wiser man once said, “I do this to entertain me, not you.” That’s so true, I wish I came up with it first.

There have been plenty of things to vent my spleen about here lately, but I just can’t squeeze out the five hundred or so well-crafted words about current events, celebrity deaths and embarrassing tales of my youth like I used to. Unlike during the Golden Age of Blogging, I have a goddamn job now. Not a job like when I owned the company and could sit in my office and fuck off online while my inexhaustible supply of cheap Guatemalan minions toiled to make downtown loft living a reality for struggling twenty-somethings making six figures a year. No, this is a real job with timecards and accountability and expectations of work being done. Something that many of you find foreign and vaguely threatening.

So unlike the aforementioned many of you, I don’t get to bitch about every little thing in my life on the company dime.

Or the government’s dime for that matter. While we are on this topic, indulge me for a second. State workers are pissing and moaning about cuts in payroll and a couple thousand have been offered some kind of buy-out deal from the Employment For Life program that they feel entitled to. Now I have some friends who are state employees and of course they aren’t included in the kind of folks we are about to discuss and are selfless public servants who do a fine job each and every day. However, in the course of my professional life I have had many opportunities to interact with several different departments of state government. From my field observations, a more worthless brand of human life you won’t find outside of a crack house or a Star Trek convention than in any random State of Tennessee cubicle farm.

Imagine a floor of an office building devoted to say, the Department of Environmental Conservation. Each and every time I go in there, the staff is lethargic to the point of narcolepsy and visibly annoyed that they are roused from their stupor to take your stupid form that you are required to fill out by law and turn in to them. Though they proudly show you the thousands of dollars of Darth Maul merchandise adorning their desk. In fact, as you look around, you notice that each cubicle is decorated in a manner where it is obvious that it took hours. These are not people who are planning on going anyfuckingwhere. Ever.

Here’s how Dollar Phil Bredesen needs to chop the deadwood out of the budget. Hold a Cubicle Decoration Contest. First five hundred entrants get a prize. A pink slip. That will send a message to the rest of these mouth breathers to do something other than suck off the taxpayer’s teat.

But, I digress.

The point of all this is, I don’t have the time to update here on anything even minimally approaching a regular basis. Posts here will be legal, safe and rare. Or is that abortions? I can never keep those two straight.

Don’t get me wrong. There are plenty of posts waiting to be written about the floods in the Midwest, Amy Winehouse, Don Imus and the upcoming political season. I just don’t know when I’m going to get around to it.

I have better things to do.