Holy hell:

Evidently, Karl has (somehow) managed to stumble his way to survival, once again:

Turns out, York didn’t get back to him because they had been having “E-mail issues”

As a result, he has (somehow) managed to score an interview – at some indeterminate point in the future.

There are several possibilities, here:

  1. Either he is llying to me for some reason
  2. They are Lying to him
  3. He actually has an “interview

At any rate, he evidently believes that the “interview” is merely a formality, and that he is more or less guaranteed to get the job.

On another note, he has at least started claiming that he will begin selling some of his E-hoard off “at some point”.

I honestly have no idea if he’s lying to me about any of this stuff, or not.

On another note: my wife has bronchitis and is on anti-biotics.  *I* have some sort of bug and feel like warmed-over ass.  (I thought Florida was supposed to be less prone to this kind of bullshit)..

Yes, well.







Same idiot, different day:

Last night, Karl was supposedly “on the verge of an anxiety attack”, over the fact that he has failed to simply “walk into” the various jobs which he had been “assured” would be trivial to acquire.

Both county jobs are off the table: Lancaster evidently hired someone else, and York has simply failed to respond at all.
Another (unnamed) place evidently shot him down by simply stating “we’re not hiring”, and hanging up on him.

Quite honestly, the most likely explanation is the fact that he has become rather infamous – both for being a petulant little shit, and for the fact that he tends to be fired from most of his jobs.

As of this writing (November 2017) the pattern is clear:

1. He (somehow) manages to lie his way into a job (either by strategically “failing to mention” the other employers who fired him, or by managing to appear at least semi-human during the interview process – or both).
2. Initially, he appears at least semi-competent and likable – until his co-workers/employers discover that he tends to be slow, recalcitrant, and bellicose when he believes that the task they’ve assigned him is “beheath” his dignity, and/or the project itself is being done “incorrectly”.
See, Karl fancies himself to esentially be the reincarnation of Nikola Tesla. As such, he is always and impeccably correct – regardless of what the customer (or the bosses) want done.
If their instructions strike him as the “wrong” way of doing something, he’ll simply do it his way (whether that’s what the customers/bosses wanted, or not). Likewise, if he finds the alloted time-frame too “stressfull” – he’ll “get around to it”, when he damned well pleases.

In other words, Karl is either unable (or more likely, unwilling), to comprehend the fact that his employers have hired him to perform specific task(s), in a specific manner, over an equally-specific time-period. Being terminated for repeated failure to do any (or all) of the above is NOT any sort of “evidence” that “the Cosmos” is persecuting him.

At any rate, he is now back at the point in his standard pattern where his usual facade of arrogance slips, and his (vanishingly-few) “friends” get a glimps of his authentic personality (a whiny, self-pitying neurotic who blames anyone-and-everyone else (up to and including “the Cosmos” itself) for his unbroken, decades-long span of failures, but who is simply too stupid to be able to refrain from making exactly the same mistakes, yet again.

His latest “plan” is substantively identical to a “plan” he devised during his last cycle of self-pity/panic:

1. Dump (yet more) of his poorly-sorted junk into the existing storage-units (snsuring that they are crammed even more tightly – yet haphazardly – with detritus).
2. Relocate to Arizona (despite having no funds, no prospects, a mountain of unpaid medical bills, and a ‘credit history” which is irremediably fucked).
3. “Walk into” any of the myriads of tech-jobs which will just magically fall into his lap.
4. Become “successful” enough to rent/buy a “big enough house” to contain all of the hoarded E-waste.
5. Somehow bullshit his employer into allowing him to return to PA for however long it takes to sort/load up the E-waste.
6. Transport the E-waste hoard to Arizona.
7. Cram the E-waste hoard into his house.

At this point, I’m bored.
I don’t give a shit either way.

Either he manages to (somehow) weasel his way into another job (from which he will inevitably end up being fired), and then manages to stumble through his sad parody of a “lifestyle” for another few years – or he ends up being evicted from his trailer, and having to crash on somebody’s couch.

He has straight-out told me that – if faced with the choice – he will chose non-payment of rent (and resultant eviction) over the “loss” of the E-waste hoard, primarily because if he gave up on the hoard, he would have “nothing to show” for a “lifetime” of “collecting”.

The whole pattern has become completely predictable, and – worse – boring to me.

He is either too stupid – or too arrogant – to ever learn from his mistakes.
As a result, his pattern of (self-inflicted) failure will either continue as-is, or worsen.

Either way, I’m done trying to help him, or give him advice.

How does he get away with it all?

So, I (stupidly) communicated with Karl:

1. He has been “laid off” (IE: FIRED – in all but name).
The basic gimmick behind “layoffs” is: you no longer work for that particular employer (for whatever reason)….but you’re never quite sure whether you should ‘risk” attempting to hire on somewhere else.
Now, the thing which strongly indicates the real nature of this “layoff” is: they actually came by karl’s place, to get the work-van. Result? He actually has to sink vast amounts of money into getting his rickety shit-bucket of a Jeep repaired enough to pass inspection.

2. Based exclusively on what sounds suspiciously like idle chit-chat at the local vape shop, Karl now m (mistakenly) believes that he can “just walk into” any of several jobs, with any of several counties.
Except, of course, that (since this is Karl we’re talking about), he neglected to even apply for the Lancaster job until the DAY of the deadline (IE: bottom of the list).
As to the York job? NO response, but he (mistakenly) believes that they either won’t check his references at all, or that his former employers will all give glowing reviews merely because he happens to be a technological genius on par tiwh Nikola Tesla.
Conveniently, Karl is ignoring the fact that his co-workers and employers tend to HATE HIM, after a remarkably short time at any given job.
(That’s the thing about Karl: he can manage to be tolerable – for extremely short time-periods.)

3. Dumping shit-tons of money into repairing his jeep has placed him in a position where he is unlikely to be able to both pay his rent *and* keep paying on the storage units full of hoarded E-waste, next month.
By his own admission, things could get “really bad”. (One can only hope so, given Karl’s eerie ability to never actually face the consequences of his bad decisions).

Alas, since this is Karl, he will most likely manage to weasel his way into another job (where his co-workers and employers will eventually come to hate him), at which point he will continue stumbling along in his current “lifestyle” for an indeterminate period of time – before some variant of this scenario happens again.

I honestly don’t understand how it is possible for somone to repeat the same basic error(s) repeatedly – without ever managing to learn anything from the successive iterations, and – more importantly – without ever facing any sort of consequences related to stupidity/negligence/compulsive hoarding, etc.


The secret to religion: defining the “miraculous” down to genuinely absurd levels

Some while back, one of my wife’s vaguely “Baptist” friends recounted something which she claimed was definitely a “god thing” (IE: miracle).

Evidently, she had “butt-dialed” some former acquaintance, who just happened to have recently moved back to town, after having been gone for some while.

Now, here’s the thing:

“Dialing back” the miraculous to this level is, quite frankly, an insult BOTH to the intelligence of anyone hearing stories like this, AND a “slap in the face” to the (purportedly omnipotent) imaginary deity they claim to “worship”.

Let’s examine how utterly mundane this event actually was, and worse – exactly how much of this supposed “God thing” involved her own NEGLIGENCE:

  1. That particular woman’s contact information was “still” in the phone
  2. The woman had neglected to lock her phone.

Now, Here’s the sort of thing which I cannot help but wonder about when I hear “miraculous” stories of this kind:

  1. How many contacts does she have on her phone?
  2. How sensitive is the interface? (IE: how easy is it for “pocket calls”/butt-dialing to happen?
  3. Would she have even bothered to recognize this as a “God thing” if she had “butt-dialed” any of her other contacts?

    Now, what would be a (somewhat) more interesting story?

    If the equivalent of this story had happened forty years ago, with one of those old rotary-dial telephones.

See, those phones didn’t have “contacts” stored on them, and available at the push of a single button.

Actually dialing people’s numbers involved the expenditure of a vanishingly small amount of) effort, and the investment of at least a few seconds.

This story would ALMOST be (somewhat) interesting if this woman had dropped one of those dial telephones, and that phone had somehow spontaneously happened to dial the other woman’s (full) telephone number (7 digits).

Bonus points if the woman in question had lived in another area-code (3 more digits, for a total of ten).

This story  – coupled with the fact that everyone else where we heard it appeared to consider it “evidence” for their particular socially-sanctioned delusion – made me lose any further respect for the intelligence or critical-thinking skills of EVERYONE ELSE in that room – especially the “butt-dialer”, herself.

Quite frankly, this is how “organized” religion continues to exist.  What they call “unbelief”, any even semi-sane person regards as merely the most basic level of “critical thinking” skills, and what they denigrate as “walking by sight”, a genuinely sane person regards as having an evidentiary justification for one’s (purported) “beliefs”.








Predators, prey, and “love”

I honestly can’t fathom why victims are (relentlessly) counseled to “love”, “understand” or “forgive” their victimizers.

  1. Such “forgiveness” ensures that the victimizers continue their antics.  (“Battered spouse” syndrome, anyone?)
  2. It destroys any trace of self-respect in the victim.
  3. (When tied to mere consanguinity (IE: “blood”-kinship), it ensures the victimizer a constant pool of victims to continue victimizing.
  4. It breeds contempt for the victim – both in his/her own eyes, and in the eyes of the victimizer.  (Abject belly-crawling is never attractive to anyone.)

Ironically enough, most of us understand (tactily) that the shiny-happy “forgiveness” bullshit is utterly wrong.  (This is why even the most purportedly devout “Christian” typically approves – at least in principle -f such things as police apprehending criminals).

Exhortations to principled injustice ring hollow, when the rest of the culture actively attempts to contain (or rectify) such injustices.


Great song – about the (richly-deserved) consequences of idiocy:

I honestly didn’t realize how much 2013 changed me.

I mean, yeah – I knew that I fucking hated both of ‘those two, but it was more of a “subconscious” thing.  I guess, while we were still unlucky enough to live in even fairly-close proximity to  them, it was more difficult to avoid interacting with them (although, by no means impossible – given the fact that I had no contact with my “dad” for over a decade, and – for most of that time – had no idea where he lived – and for most of that time, he was basically  living on the other side of the same town where I lived, without me being aware of it.

But, as I said: 2013 changed me, mostly because I finally had the opportunity to get the fuck away from that racist, junkie fat-ass chain-smoking piece of shit, and his Enabler (my so-called “mother”).

Not getting sucked into their stupid fucking idiocy on a regular basis gave me a taste for sanity, in a way that I hadn’t really had the opportunity to experience it, before.

Then getting “guilt-tripped” into going back there in 2013 – only to get physically attacked in my own “mother’s” driveway – I was done, at that point.

The last thing that worthless fuck roared at me, was the command to “get the fuck back in the house”

The worthless fuck is dead, but I’ll be honest: If I EVER step foot within my so-called “mother’s” house again, I would feel like I was “obeying” that worthless piece of shit.

That’s never going to happen.




Search the Internet for “Adolf Hitler with dogs,” and you will find some odd little films of the Fuehrer at his alpine retreat. He looks every bit the kindly country gentleman, as he dotes lovingly on his German shepherd and watches puppies skitter around the terrace.

2016-03-23-1458738334-5016672-HitlerDogjpg.jpgTo the modern viewer, these films are disorienting. Knowing today the colossal scale of Hitler’s monstrosity, one expects it to overspill every aspect of his persona, to be horribly visible from all angles. We picture Hitler in a perpetual rage, striding about the Reich Chancellery, glowering and declaiming at henchmen. He seems the kind to kick a dog, not pet it.

But no. And it’s not just the happy afternoons in the Berchtesgaden with the dogs. Here is Hitler on the Berlin social circuit, being gushed about for his dazzling wit. There he is laying a gentle hand on a sweet pig-tailed girl, who beams back at him adoringly. The incongruity of it all is difficult to process… which makes the lesson hard to absorb.

And Hitler was hardly unique among historical figures in presenting such confusing incongruities.

Stalin composed poetry and contributed a lovely singing voice to his church choir, before going on to murder millions of his countrymen and enslave the rest.

The Shah of Iran cut a dashing figure in his finely-tailored western suits, entertaining celebrities amid strutting peacocks and flowing champagne. Meanwhile, his secret police, dressed more somberly, entertained dissidents with electrical implements and fingernail extractions.

Nero delighted his subjects by competing personally in athletic competitions and appearing on stage as an actor, when he wasn’t otherwise occupied beating his pregnant wife to death and then mutilating her replacement.

There is also a distinct sub-species of strongman-clown. Idi Amin with his overstuffed, sweat-coated comic bluster. Kim Jong-Il with his strange hair, platform shoes, and peculiar Hollywood obsessions. The first could have starred in his own sitcom, the second was the real-life inspiration for a real-life (albeit puppet-acted) comedy film. It is easy to laugh, until you remember the thuggery, hijackings, nuclear tests, and mass starvation.

All these plays against type, these incongruities, are unsettling precisely because we expect danger to be easier to spot and harder to disguise, because we want monsters to present themselves helpfully in horns and cloven feet and are surprised when sometimes they don’t.

But monsters, it seems, can be nice to children. They can be kind to animals. They can be loyal to friends. They can be comically oafish or gracefully elegant, sharp dressers and talented writers, and many other things that are “comforting,” or at least unthreatening.

They are still monsters.


That’s fuckin’-A right!