Rush?

So there is this gentlemen who likes to talk on the radio and express sentiments I don't agree with. He is a bastard. I knew people who got his newsletter. I knew people who watched his television show. Most of them were closet racists. Apparently he said something about phony soldiers that if you missed it is hard to find in context. Also, from what I read, there are a bunch of cunts in ties authoring legislation to condemn said fat bastard. Don't get me wrong, I don't use cunt gender specifically. If you are a cunt, you are a cunt, male or female, sorry. If the cunt fits...

Anyways.

There seem to be a group of people who make decisions, or lack thereof, in our country who would rather spend their time creating glorified extra large going away cards for a piece of shit who spreads his subtly racist rhetoric to a group of people who spend most of their time in cars then actually do anything in terms of making the U.S. a better place to live.

I know, I know, the United States is the best place to live in the world. I'm just saying.

So you have a man with a microphone, and he talks shit, into the car stereos of people who, if they could, would dress and act like Michael Douglas in "Falling Down" every Friday instead of wearing Tommy Bahama shirts. And then there are a group of people, who are are about as effective as abstinence education, holding press conferences about how horrible this bastard is and how he never served in the military and he doesn't support the troops and blah blah blah.

This is a guess based on some quick research - combining the house and senate, about 29% of them spent time in the military...

All of this gets pretty redundant at this point. You have people who didn't/don't support troops or the idea of serving accusing people of not supporting troops or the idea of serving.

Let's be honest, they are all assholes, and they don't give a fuck about you or me.

You know how I know?

Every year from 1995 to 2005 there was somewhere between a 2% and 3% raise for members of our government.

LOOK.

It must be pretty rad to make 160,000 bucks every year. And it must be awesome to get a raise every year, especially when it is 4000 dollars. Or about that, sorry. When was the last time you got that sort of raise?

Fuck Mr. Limbaugh. Fuck Mr Distinguished Gentlemen from Wherever. And Fuck us, because we are fucked.

Shots anyone?

you ain't done nothing with your life

This gentleman, I don't know him. But what he stands for, what he represents, with his suit, and his crew cut, and his model rocket; no thank you.

I stood outside of Pepper's yesterday with two men who should have been wearing suits. Their briefcase bags were heavy with reports and findings on consumption and waste. They ran numbers in their heads of where they were succeeding and where I was failing. And it wasn't just the ability to raise money for charity. Or the ability to get other people who should have been wearing suits to drink at our restaurant. The areas where I wasn't failing counted for nothing. Any amount of commitment I had so far displayed to the company had no further bearing. He didn't say it, but he didn't have to.

I am no company man.

I may have shown flashes in the past. But not lately, not anymore. I have holes in my shoes. I don't wash my shirts as much as I should. I don't shave. I don't care. I am Robin Hood of the drunks, giving from the rich to anyone who will take it. Salads, Chips, Steaks, Guacamole, Beer and Shots.

When mediocrity is being embraced and hard work is being ignored. When the men and women who should be wearing suits are screaming in ears every 2 minutes about charity so they can have a larger bonus. When minutes, hours, days, weeks, months and years of work go unaccounted for to save on benefits and vacation pay. When your place of employment ruins your ability to enjoy yourself while you make them money. When these things happen, I am holding the back door open and profits are running out the back door.

It will end soon. I won't come back for a break, or won't show up for a shift, or they will ask me to never come back. There will be tears of joy and high-fives at my employment's demise. Drinks will be shared, stories of the good times passed around. I will continue to exist. Pepper's will continue to exist. Those men will get their suits, and they will have them taken away. And there will be more tears with less joy and high-fives of a stronger sort but by many more people.

And that day will be glorious.