The Opinionated Serviceman Dreams of The Female Form.
Yesterday evening I got a call from my boss. "I need you to go to my daughter's house in the country, she'll be there at 7:30. Charge the unit, and find the leak."
I love my boss. I love my boss's family-they all seem to love me too, and I don't have to worry about appearances, and bullshit-the way that I have to in the rest of the world. Also, I already knew that the boss's daughter would offer me however many beers that I felt that I needed to drink.
How can you beat that deal?
I really enjoy the people that I can be me around, and I'm likely to tell the boss any and/or everything that I have on my mind. I often have sex on my mind, and so whenever I'm talking about some woman that stimulated my vast, explicit imagination-I'll say,
"She was almost pretty enough to be one of your daughters."
That isn't meant as a compliment-it's just a plain fact that the boss's daughters are as beautiful as the female form has managed to manifest itself in the history of the world, recorded or not.
The boss's wife? As beautiful and classy as a Lady could ever be.
Let there be no doubt, me bruthas and sistas, I'm every bit as opinionated as you think I am. I'm also sort of cocky sometimes. Without anything to back it up with-I'll often assume that I'm right about something that you may very well be an expert on.
I love my boss. I love my boss's family-they all seem to love me too, and I don't have to worry about appearances, and bullshit-the way that I have to in the rest of the world. Also, I already knew that the boss's daughter would offer me however many beers that I felt that I needed to drink.
How can you beat that deal?
I really enjoy the people that I can be me around, and I'm likely to tell the boss any and/or everything that I have on my mind. I often have sex on my mind, and so whenever I'm talking about some woman that stimulated my vast, explicit imagination-I'll say,
"She was almost pretty enough to be one of your daughters."
That isn't meant as a compliment-it's just a plain fact that the boss's daughters are as beautiful as the female form has managed to manifest itself in the history of the world, recorded or not.
The boss's wife? As beautiful and classy as a Lady could ever be.
Let there be no doubt, me bruthas and sistas, I'm every bit as opinionated as you think I am. I'm also sort of cocky sometimes. Without anything to back it up with-I'll often assume that I'm right about something that you may very well be an expert on.
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Not Giving a Funk, with Special Guest Freddy Nietzshe
I don't give a funk.
A pretty well known German Philosopher once said something about how one of the challenges of the future generations was going to be establishing the value of various and sundry things.
*special note* Don't even think about asking me questions about Freidrich Nietzshe, there is one woman in particular who's got my burial plot picked out already-it's in her Mother's backyard, between two flower beds. .. .and next to a garden gnome, who's name, alas, is also "Todd." I'm learning not to talk about Freddy N. anymore.
So anyways, at the boss's beautiful daughter's place (he has TWO incomparably beautiful daughters, actually) I started adding refrigerant to the system, and I recalled the last time that I'd worked on her air conditioning. I distinctly remember it because I was over there till almost two in the morning. Typically, I'm not doing air conditioning stuff that time of day-but if someone is the boss's daughter, or rich. . . .it can happen.
Good Cop Bad Cop-Featuring Dirty Dick Cheney.
I also remember it well because the very next day, I got a visit from the Kaufman Police Department. Now, there aren't any police departments that I associate with, and there aren't any police officers that visit me on any sort of basis.
"Todd? Are you in there?"
It's the "nice" officer, who is big enough to pick me up and throw me, but he acted like he thought I might disembowel him the night he arrested me for traffic warrants.
I answered the door to my grandfather's workshop, where I practically lived-at my grandmother's house.
"Hey, you're not in trouble, or nothin', I just wanted to check on you. . .and see how you were doing. . . ."
Bullshit.
I'm cool with that shit though, and I wouldn't give a funk if some police officer or another came to visit me at any or every ungodly hour-so long as they knock on the door, and don't act like marine corps s.w.a.t. team nutcase wanna be's who really came by because they enjoy having the authority, and means to bust some poor person's door in, beat his ass or shoot him, his wife, etc, etc,etc.
Have I mentioned yet that I believe that modern American police politics and procedures have a not even hidden agenda in which the American non-officer is expected to become accustomed to atrocities such as the murder of the occupant of the "wrong address, we are so sorry,". . . . .in "no-knock" raids? . . .don't get me started.. . . .too late, and the warehousing of non-violent drug criminals for the entire purpose of benefiting the likes of Dick "hey George, I just got 52 million dollars from Halliburton to run as vice pres, so why not start a war with Iraq. . . .I know, don't worry. . . .and let Halliburton get all the reconstruction contracts? Cheney.
Dick Cheney profits every time a poor black, white, or whatever person who would never harm a soul gets arrested, and sent to the pen for_______(insert drug of choice), AND Dick Cheney profits from the destruction of little brown people's homes and/or loss of life in places that our only announced justification for even being present at is "weapons of mass destruction."
I mean,. In this day and age, the fucking media has people so confused that they can just drone "weapons of mass destruction" in the voice of a blatant, smirking, liar who will soon be making jokes about the very thing. . . .-and people will just forget about it. It's like they'd never even had the insight to see the Corporate imperialism that our particularly powerful nation's band of liars, thieves, i.e., government mis-functions with, OR. . . .maybe it's just that the media's world of materialism, and lies has people so hypnotized that you can show people the truth-and though they know it for what it is, they'd prefer to go on living in the television, radio, and movie theater's dream world.
If I've not digressed-then I've been asleep.
"Todd? Are you in there?"
It's the "nice" officer, who is big enough to pick me up and throw me, but he acted like he thought I might disembowel him the night he arrested me for traffic warrants.
I answered the door to my grandfather's workshop, where I practically lived-at my grandmother's house.
"Hey, you're not in trouble, or nothin', I just wanted to check on you. . .and see how you were doing. . . ."
Bullshit.
I'm cool with that shit though, and I wouldn't give a funk if some police officer or another came to visit me at any or every ungodly hour-so long as they knock on the door, and don't act like marine corps s.w.a.t. team nutcase wanna be's who really came by because they enjoy having the authority, and means to bust some poor person's door in, beat his ass or shoot him, his wife, etc, etc,etc.
Have I mentioned yet that I believe that modern American police politics and procedures have a not even hidden agenda in which the American non-officer is expected to become accustomed to atrocities such as the murder of the occupant of the "wrong address, we are so sorry,". . . . .in "no-knock" raids? . . .don't get me started.. . . .too late, and the warehousing of non-violent drug criminals for the entire purpose of benefiting the likes of Dick "hey George, I just got 52 million dollars from Halliburton to run as vice pres, so why not start a war with Iraq. . . .I know, don't worry. . . .and let Halliburton get all the reconstruction contracts? Cheney.
Dick Cheney profits every time a poor black, white, or whatever person who would never harm a soul gets arrested, and sent to the pen for_______(insert drug of choice), AND Dick Cheney profits from the destruction of little brown people's homes and/or loss of life in places that our only announced justification for even being present at is "weapons of mass destruction."
I mean,. In this day and age, the fucking media has people so confused that they can just drone "weapons of mass destruction" in the voice of a blatant, smirking, liar who will soon be making jokes about the very thing. . . .-and people will just forget about it. It's like they'd never even had the insight to see the Corporate imperialism that our particularly powerful nation's band of liars, thieves, i.e., government mis-functions with, OR. . . .maybe it's just that the media's world of materialism, and lies has people so hypnotized that you can show people the truth-and though they know it for what it is, they'd prefer to go on living in the television, radio, and movie theater's dream world.
If I've not digressed-then I've been asleep.
Hunter S. Thompson Pose.
Me.
How The Local Fuzz Discovered Literature On Myspace.
There was another officer with Chris, the one who was poised to play the "good cop," and really-I think Chris probably is something close to "good," as far as modern American police are concerned.
With my hand stuck out in the formal manner of greeting I say, "Hello Officer, I didn't get your name. . . . ."
Now Chris feels the need to justify the visit. "We got a call, something about someone with a shaved head, riding a bicycle, and cursing loudly. . . . .last night."
This is all pretty funny to me, but I'm drinking-and in a mellow mood-so I figured that I'd bust the "good cop" with a question.
"Really!? When was this?"
"Last night," Chris responded, "around midnight."
"Huh! That's weird, cause I sure fit the description-and I ride a bicycle a lot in town-but I was on a service call till one thirty in the morning last night. I was with my boss, at his daughter's house. Listen, do you want his phone number or anything?"
Busted.
So I'm still standing there with my hand stuck out in greeting to a red headed guy who is about my size-but he's got a gun, and a badge. . . . . .
"I'm Officer Sinclair! I believe you've wrote some literature about me!"
This cop is so pissed off that he's shaking as he's forced to accept my handshake. I love this shit more than any one of you can ever possibly know. He knows that I've outed him on Myspace, with bulletins describing him, what he drives, and his completely racist undercover doings all on the "People From Kaufman" group.
Guess what. When you do nothing but run around and send poor, desperately poor young black men to the pen for five to ten years for selling crack. . . . . .It is my honor to expose you. I'll post such information whenever I have it(which is more often than any local police officer would ever believe), whenever I feel like it, at my discretion.
I have values that are based on the notion that a poor, black male who was born and raised on "the hill," aka East First North St., in Kaufman Texas-is likely to be only somewhat literate, in a state of poverty, and without much chance, or hope at all of getting much of an education, or ever having a good job for any length of time.
So if a some undercover cop is running around, and locking up people with so few opportunities who aren't physically assaulting anyone. . . . .and I know about it. I HAVE TO TRY TO DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT. My values dictate that every poor black man, literate or not, living in poverty-fuck it, I value those persons more than I value the life of some imperialist, profiteering, wanna be Illuminati motherfucker like Dick Cheney.
If you don't like my values, and you wish to change them so that I'll "get in line;" Well then, I suggest that you wish in one hand, and shit in the other-tell me which one fills up first
~WTS~
With my hand stuck out in the formal manner of greeting I say, "Hello Officer, I didn't get your name. . . . ."
Now Chris feels the need to justify the visit. "We got a call, something about someone with a shaved head, riding a bicycle, and cursing loudly. . . . .last night."
This is all pretty funny to me, but I'm drinking-and in a mellow mood-so I figured that I'd bust the "good cop" with a question.
"Really!? When was this?"
"Last night," Chris responded, "around midnight."
"Huh! That's weird, cause I sure fit the description-and I ride a bicycle a lot in town-but I was on a service call till one thirty in the morning last night. I was with my boss, at his daughter's house. Listen, do you want his phone number or anything?"
Busted.
So I'm still standing there with my hand stuck out in greeting to a red headed guy who is about my size-but he's got a gun, and a badge. . . . . .
"I'm Officer Sinclair! I believe you've wrote some literature about me!"
This cop is so pissed off that he's shaking as he's forced to accept my handshake. I love this shit more than any one of you can ever possibly know. He knows that I've outed him on Myspace, with bulletins describing him, what he drives, and his completely racist undercover doings all on the "People From Kaufman" group.
Guess what. When you do nothing but run around and send poor, desperately poor young black men to the pen for five to ten years for selling crack. . . . . .It is my honor to expose you. I'll post such information whenever I have it(which is more often than any local police officer would ever believe), whenever I feel like it, at my discretion.
I have values that are based on the notion that a poor, black male who was born and raised on "the hill," aka East First North St., in Kaufman Texas-is likely to be only somewhat literate, in a state of poverty, and without much chance, or hope at all of getting much of an education, or ever having a good job for any length of time.
So if a some undercover cop is running around, and locking up people with so few opportunities who aren't physically assaulting anyone. . . . .and I know about it. I HAVE TO TRY TO DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT. My values dictate that every poor black man, literate or not, living in poverty-fuck it, I value those persons more than I value the life of some imperialist, profiteering, wanna be Illuminati motherfucker like Dick Cheney.
If you don't like my values, and you wish to change them so that I'll "get in line;" Well then, I suggest that you wish in one hand, and shit in the other-tell me which one fills up first
~WTS~
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