From the mailbag:

Notice to All Employees

As of November 5, 2008, when President Obama is officially elected into office, our company will install a few new policies which are in keeping with his new, inspiring themes of change and fairness:

1. All salespeople will be pooling their sales bonuses into a common pool that will be divided equally among all of you. This will serve to give those of you who are underachieving a “fair shake.”

2. All low level workers will be pooling their wages, including overtime, into a common pool, dividing it equally amongst yourselves. This will help those who are “too busy for overtime” to reap the rewards from those who have more spare time and can work extra hours.

3. All top management will now be referred to as “the government.” We will not participate in this “pooling” experience because the law doesn’t apply to us.

4. The “government” will give eloquent speeches to all employees every week, encouraging its workers to continue to work hard “for the good of all.”

5. The employees will be thrilled with these new policies because it’s “good to spread the wealth.” Those of you who have underachieved will finally get an opportunity; those of you who have worked hard and had success will feel more “patriotic.”

6. The last few people who were hired should clean out their desks. Don’t feel bad though, because President Obama will give you free healthcare, free handouts, free oil for heating your home, free food stamps, and he’ll let you stay in your home for as long as you want even if you can’t pay your mortgage. If you appeal directly to our Democratic congress, you might even get a free flat screen TV and a coupon for free haircuts (shouldn’t all Americans be entitled to nice looking hair?) !!!

[The haircut thing caught my eye.]

Thanks to Gerry.

Yes, my sample ballot arrived in the mail today. I looked it over and planned most of my voting strategy (I shall read the public questions more closely tomorrow). As promised and as advocated, I will vote against any incumbent, which, in my district, means that I will vote for Republicans. I will take particular joy (albeit fleeting and sadly futile) in voting against that cadaverous shithook Senator Frank Lautenberg, who belongs in a nursing home smelling of piss and bitching about the temperature of his farina.

There is, however, one problem, and that is that I cannot vote against my Waste-of-Air Congressman, because he is again running unopposed. His constituency largely depends on his continued service for their daily bread, and his constituency is big thanks to the Gerrymandering that was engineered by the rat bastards of BOTH PARTIES in this asshole state with the goal of making congressional seats safe.

Of course, I will be voting for McCain/Palin, which in New Jersey is about the equivalent of pissing directly into a gale force wind, but I will be secure in the knowledge that I canceled out Bruce Springsteen’s vote.

My cruller is too fried and my patience is too lean to do anything other than to use this space as a scratch pad for the skeeters that are buzzing around in my head at the moment. Because Comcast is jerking me around at the moment (see below), you should know that I am typing this on October 28, 2008 at approximately 9:10 p.m. It may get posted sometime around Thanksgiving.

1. Memo to the Democrats in Massachusetts’ Fourth Congressional District: Barney Goddamned Frank? What in the Christ is wrong with you people? Your voting history tells me that you feel genetically hard-wired to vote for Democrats, so I won’t suggest that you consider a *gasp* Republican. But, Jesus H. Christ! Barney Frank? How could anyone who has not suffered some sort of brain injury even consider voting for this disgusting, loudmouthed pig? There has got to be a Democrat in your state that is less of an asshole than this waste of skin. Jeez!

2. Farookin’ Comcast: At this very moment, I tried to fire up the web to check on a news story and came up blank. I glanced over at my modem, and ALL THE LIGHTS are blinking simultaneously, which tells me that something is screwed up either with Comcast or with my modem. I am typing this during the simultaneous light blinking in the hopes that the modem lights will soon return to normal and that I will be able to post this. Damn, I hate Comcast; I hate computers, and I hate Barney Frank (see above).

3. Modem lights still blinking simultaneously. Shit!

4. We’re Nazis? Holy crap! In 2001, Barack ______ Obama suggested that the United States had Nazi tendencies.

…there’s a lot of change going on outside of the Court, um, that, that judges essentially have to take judicial notice of. I mean you’ve got World War II, you’ve got uh, uh, uh, the doctrines of Nazism, that, that we are fighting against, that start looking uncomfortably similar to what we have going on, back here at home.

Sure. I remember 2001 and the networks of concentration camps, and the systematic extermination of Jews right here in the U.S. of A. What a swell idea it is to elect a guy as the President who thought this way about the United States just seven years ago and probably still does. Staggers the imagination, it does.

5. Farookin’ lights are still going blink, blink, blink all at the same time. Did I mention how much I hate Comcast, modems and computers in general? Don’t even get me started on Microsoft and why all of a sudden my Microsoft Picture Manager ceased working and apparently cannot be fixed by mortals.

6. So, you want to be a millionaire? If Obama wins, what’s the point? May as well just let some other chump break his ass to make a million and wait for the government to give you some of his.

7. Thank God and all that is holy for chocolate vodka and peanut butter.

8. I don’t know about you, but I would pay a considerable amount of money to be able to hit Al Sharpton with a sock full of shit, even though it would be a waste of perfectly good shit.

9. Pressed the reset button on the modem. Still Blink City. Comcast can kiss my ample ass.

10. Don’t ya love it when you’re standing OUTSIDE next to a sign that says “Designated Smoking Area” and some snotty shithead (almost always a woman) walks past you and waves her hand back and forth in front of her nose? Hand me that sock full of shit, please.

11, Going to try the “unplug the modem” thing. Bear with me. OK, it’s unplugged. Let’s see what happens now.

12. Replugging ……. Ha! Now only two lights are on and neither is blinking. I need all the lights on and the first and third blinking. Comcast can eat my dirty shorts.

13, Screw this computer thing. I’m gonna watch television.

14. Doooo doooo doooo doooo doooo doooo doooo (conveying the passage of three and a half hours of sleeping in Mr. Recliner)

15. Houston, we have normal modem blinkage. Obviously Comcast was just screwing with my brain. Do I post this crap? Damned straight. Sucks to be you.

I have returned from spending a weekend in Tennessee with a bunch of truly amazing bloggers and great friends of bloggers. If solitude and silence is your thing, a blogmeet is not for you. Get a bunch of half-assed writers in one place and the alcohol-fueled bullshit never stops flying. In addition, if such events were ever filmed (perish the thought!), a laugh track would not be necessary, because someone always seems to be laughing at any given time.

In addition to shit shooting, there was pool shooting (John Cox, artist extraordinaire, and Ken, my bodyguard pretty much ruled the roost at the table), pistol shooting, rifle shooting and shotgun shooting. Oddy, Erica and Elisson (Erica and Elisson being firearms virgins) dazzled the crowd with some kickass shooting.

John Cox, with the help of Johnny O, made a great fire, which provided a primo place to shoot the breeze and check out the stars. The fire also served to keep Dax warm at night, Dax being the only outdoor sleeper among us.

Zonker, probably the best known former blogger ever, gifted Ken and me with some Firefly Sweet Tea Vodka. I had read about the stuff at Joan’s place [fixed the incorrect link] and immediately looked on the web to see if it was for sale in Jersey. No! By a strange coincidence, Usual Suspect and fellow vodka hunter, Captain Art, called me while Ken and I were driving to Tennessee to tell us about the outrageous vodka he discovered while golfing in Myrtle Beach. Yep, it was Firefly. I told him that we would not be able to buy it in Jersey, so imagine my delight when Zonker handed me the gifties. Quite a guy, Zonker (and we share a birthday, so if figures he would be a cool guy).

Speaking of gifties, Recondo 32 and his wife, The Amazing Georgia, both longtime friends of bloggers and lifetime friend of the Late, Great Rob Smith, presented Zonker, Denny and me (all birthday boys) with gifts that … well … hmmmmm … some of what happens at a blogmeet stays at a blogmeet. Thanks youse guys for the gift. It was quite an eye opener.

Of course, Denny (the younger half of the Elderly Brothers) and I did our thing (John Cox handled the percussion, while Dax played guitar in the background, providing some class to the act), and on the second night we cleared the room faster than a beer fart. I think my singing a Bobby Vinton song in Polish did it. It was either that or when I swung into an Ink Spots number Mayyyyyyyybeeeee, yoooo’llllll think of meeeeee”; I’m not sure. I guess we played before people were completely oiled.

Other great bloggers were in attendance:

Bou, was there with sister, Morrigan and Sissy (who hasn’t blogged in a while). They arrived like the Marine Corps on Friday and whipped up a gorilla stompin’ batch of Eye-talian food for Friday night (speaking of food, Oddy brought homemade pies to die for). Bou, who could pass for a twenty-something and who is deadly funny and scary smart, is always a treat to be with. Morrigan, who may be the most radiant pregnant person I have ever seen, is as funny as Bou, and together they are simply deadly (I love how the exchange *blinks* upon hearing some goofy shit). Sissy is more reserved, but is as about as nice as they come.

Redneck (they tell me his site has caught a virus, so no link) was on the case, decked out in his Ohio State regalia and keeping the night shift at the Budweiser Brewery working. On the way home from Tennessee, Ken and I stopped at a Fireworks Superstore to marvel at all the explosives for sale (they’re contraband in New Jersey, you see), and who the hell was in the store buying stuff to blow up, but Redneck! Great minds.

I was very happy to see Jerry, because it gave me a chance to model the wonderful farmer duds he gifted me with last year. Even with the overalls, the Farmer Boy shirt and Indy Tractor hat, I just don’t think I could “pass” at the local feed store. ”Yo, how youse guys doin’? Yo, whadooo I feed dose bigass things out there? All dey eat is friggin’ grass. Dat can’t be good.”

Big Stupid Tommy took some time off work to hang with us. He’s big, but his very short on stupid and long on deadpan wit. Very good peeps.

Elisson and SWMBO were there, and they always light the place up. I believe I could shoot the shit with Elisson, who can whip out some doggerel at the drop of a colander, and who seems to actually know a lot about everything, and I say that in a good way. Hell, he may even know more stuff than I do, which pisses me off. Elisson was in charge of the Sunday eggs, while SWMBO made a Kugel that was so good I believe that several people were considering conversion.

Teresa arrived with her traveling companion, the Wiseass Jooette. Never was there a more unlikely pair of traveling buddies. Teresa executes her traveling arrangements with the precision of a drill sergeant, while Erica is about as together as a soup sandwich when it comes to travelling and keeping all her shit in one sock.

Teresa: I don’t know what’s keeping her. I texted her 8 minutes and 47 seconds ago, and she said she would be here in five minutes!

It’s a thing of beauty, I tell ya.

One of the great treats of attending a blogmeet is meeting new peeps. This year, I got to meet Richmond, who drove in from Wisfarookin’consin. She had me in stitches out by the fire doing her Fargo-Sarah Palin accent shtick. I also learned something about her that truly amazed me. She said in the course of a conversation where it really fit – no really, “I can whistle really loud.” So, naturally, a couple of us by the fire said, “Well, let one rip. We wanna hear.”

With that, she put two fingers in her mouth and whistled so loud my ear drums rattled. Caused the dogs within a quarter-mile radius to start barking, it did. Amazing, that. She ought to enter a damned whistling contest. I look forward to seeing her again.

Eric’s pals from the area, Gary and his wife Connie stopped by. Gary, originally from New Jersey, now sounds more southern than Eric. Wassup wit dat? Speaking of accents, Gary’s wife Connie is from Switzerland, and she has spent years speaking English in the South. You wanna hear a great accent!

Finally, a word about Eric, our host, and Mrs. SWG, our hostess. It is impossible to imagine anyone being able to make a gang of reprobates feel completely at home for an entire weekend, but they pulled it off with grace. When Eric wasn’t giving tours showing all the neat stuff he has assembled (while sporting his new pith helmet, which led to lots of “pith” jokes – “Oooh I have to pith!” he was serving as the firearms/safety instructor. When he wasn’t doing that, he was grilling up ten pounds of his special country-cut, boneless pork REE-yubs covered with his signature sauce. I thank them both for a great weekend.

The worst thing about blogmeets is how much it sucks when they are over.

Note: If I have forgotten anyone, I shall blame it on the fatigue and the refreshments. Drop me a note and I will correct the omission.

Yes, Peeps. Tomorrow morning, Ken, my friend and bodyguard, and I will toss our stuff in the trunk of the Caddy and head south to spend a couple days with some excellent bloggers and a few non-bloggers, many of whom have become close, personal friends over the years. I plan on making some new friends as well.

I will happily leave my computer home. We’ll listen to sixties music on satellite radio throughout the entire trip, and there will be no news and no campaign craziness — just music and bullshitting about nothing special. Sweet.

Once we and the others arrive, the serious blabbing will begin and will continue non-stop, accompanied by lots of adult beverages and punctuated from time to time with a bit of guitar pickin’, as the younger other half of the Elderly Brothers will be on the case. I suspect that more than a few games of pool will be played (I owe the Wiseass Jooette a righteous Jersey ass-kicking), a rocket or two will be launched and, weather and time permitting, we may put a couple hundred rounds down range (at a time during the day before the serious drinking begins).

Again, weather permitting, many will finish off the evenings sitting around a fire, exchanging goofy stories and, of course, drinking adult beverages.

I need it, big time.

See you in a few days. Play nice.

This Daffy Duck blabbering, loathsome sack of shit has gone right to the top of my Shit List — today’s edition of the Shit List, anyway.

For a less rage-producing, but highly instructive and amusing lesson on wealth redistribution, check this out, via Doug Ross.

That is all. I’m too goddamned crabby to write much of anything.

It seems that Rachel Lucas has been mocked by someone named James Wolcott from Vanity Fair magazine (some serious lah-dee-dah, right there). In the course of trashing Ms. Lucas as some sort of lunatic right winger, he opined that Rachel’s readers (that would be you and me) are “mental midgets.”

Positively nothing makes my day more than being called a “mental midget” by some snotty liberal puke who “attended” Frostburg State College for two years. Two whole years, James?

I’ll let Rachel take it from there, as she sure didn’t need my help to properly respond to this gnat.

I keep hearing that, with the passage of all the years between the time he set off bombs in federal and state buildings and now, William Ayers, who is not sorry for what he did, has become “rehabilitated.” I assume that he didn’t go to sleep one night an unrepentant domestic terrorist and wake up the next morning “rehabilitated.” Rather, I assume that his “rehabilitation” was a gradual process.

Wait a minute.

So, that must mean that this year Osama bin Laden, also an unrepentant terrorist, is a little bit less of a terrorist than he was last year and that next year he will be even less of a terrorist than he is now, and that with each passing year he becomes less and less of a terrorist until one day he will become “rehabilitated” and ready to host a high tea somewhere in the Upper West Side of Manhattan .

Someone call O.J., the unrepentant murderer, and tell him the good news, which is that if he lives long enough he won’t be a murderer any more.

Who knew?

BULLSHIT!