Stories, Poems and Other Stuff...

Thursday, March 28, 2013

Tiny Rant on Gay Marriage Debate...

What do I think of gay marriage? Absolutely nothing. As a a happily married heterosexual male I do not feel the least bit threatened if men marry men or women marry women. The institution of marriage is not jeopardized within the church, synagogue, or mosque. What business is it of mine or anyone else's for that matter, if some one would like the right to provide for their loved ones when they pass away? Meaning, this is a founding principle of our country, that of life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness, all of which is extended to those we care about. Most of us, if we are honest and not complete jerks, can agree that nothing would make one so happy on their death bed than to know that the ones you love are taken care of when you die, whomever they may be.

As a narrow minded bigot you have the right to your opinion. That right is guaranteed by our constitution. It also guarantees my right to say you are wrong and a cotton headed ninnymuggins.

As Christians we can defend non issues until we are blue in the face, but the argument remains footle when there are far more pressing issues that we can be addressing. Strain the gnats and swallow a fly. Ack!

I guess I do think something about it.....

Tiny Rant on Gay Marriage Debate...

What do I think of gay marriage? Absolutely nothing. As a a happily married heterosexual male I do not feel the least bit threatened if men marry men or women marry women. The institution of marriage is not jeopardized within the church, synagogue, or mosque. What business is it of mine or anyone else's for that matter, if some one would like the right to provide for their loved ones when they pass away? Meaning, this is a founding principle of our country, that of life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness, all of which is extended to those we care about. Most of us, if we are honest and not complete jerks, can agree that nothing would make one so happy on their death bed than to know that the ones you love are taken care of when you die, whomever they may be.

As a narrow minded bigot you have the right to your opinion. That right is guaranteed by our constitution. It also guarantees my right to say you are wrong and a cotton headed ninnymuggins.

As Christians we can defend non issues until we are blue in the face, but the argument remains footle when there are far more pressing issues that we can be addressing. Strain the gnats and swallow a fly. Ack!

I guess I do think something about it.....

Saturday, March 23, 2013

Common Sense Drinks Alone


Common Sense
downs another shot
at the end of the bar.
He has been at it
for an hour or so,
and things out there
are starting to get fuzzy.

Now reality
comes in bits and waves,
an optical illusion,
made palatable
by carefully spun lies.

Corporate paltering
selling plasticine promises
of old age sex
and face paralyzing
beauty cream.

Another shot down,
the future looks
Dali-esque,
eyeballs hardening,
funhouse mirror reflects
aberations of the past.

Grabbing the bottle,
four fingers down,
and everything dims,
intentional vivisepulture,
fresh food for the worms.

Common Sense
found puking
behind the dumpster
in the alley,
while the Tea Party looks
for its Mad Hatter,
sitting on their hands
for the revolution to come.




Wiping his mouth,
bellicose bantering
from would be jingoists
fill his ears with
Pavlovian responses
to real world issues
manufactured by the
Fair and Balanced.

and tasting stale vomit,
Common Sense goes home.

Common Sense Drinks Alone


Common Sense
downs another shot
at the end of the bar.
He has been at it
for an hour or so,
and things out there
are starting to get fuzzy.

Now reality
comes in bits and waves,
an optical illusion,
made palatable
by carefully spun lies.

Corporate paltering
selling plasticine promises
of old age sex
and face paralyzing
beauty cream.

Another shot down,
the future looks
Dali-esque,
eyeballs hardening,
funhouse mirror reflects
aberations of the past.

Grabbing the bottle,
four fingers down,
and everything dims,
intentional vivisepulture,
fresh food for the worms.

Common Sense
found puking
behind the dumpster
in the alley,
while the Tea Party looks
for its Mad Hatter,
sitting on their hands
for the revolution to come.




Wiping his mouth,
bellicose bantering
from would be jingoists
fill his ears with
Pavlovian responses
to real world issues
manufactured by the
Fair and Balanced.

and tasting stale vomit,
Common Sense goes home.

Saturday, March 09, 2013

Learned Poet (or Arrogant Jackass)



Your written eloquence
speaks nothing to
the eyes reading,
to the soul searching, 
the heart screaming!

Your attention to 
trivialities pound words,
like metal, into dull knives,
bruising more than cutting,
hacking the senses
into dullness,
into coma!

Your lettered names
prove nothing more
than ideas learned,
blinded lemming pride
the halls of academia!

You see, teacher,
a good poem
speaks to our souls, hearts,
coming from life lived
in the tragic,
the mundane,
and magnificent!

Learned Poet (or Arrogant Jackass)



Your written eloquence
speaks nothing to
the eyes reading,
to the soul searching, 
the heart screaming!

Your attention to 
trivialities pound words,
like metal, into dull knives,
bruising more than cutting,
hacking the senses
into dullness,
into coma!

Your lettered names
prove nothing more
than ideas learned,
blinded lemming pride
the halls of academia!

You see, teacher,
a good poem
speaks to our souls, hearts,
coming from life lived
in the tragic,
the mundane,
and magnificent!

Friday, February 22, 2013

Circus Nation

My country is hemorrhaging clowns.
Rather, Uncle Sam has taken a serious head wound 
and is hemorrhaging clowns.
Desipient pissants making footle decissions,
pissing on the poor and forgotten for rapacious gain.
Welcome to the politico 2013,
where common sense meets Walter Mitty
and nothing gets done.
Yup, my country is hemorrhaging clowns....

Circus Nation

My country is hemorrhaging clowns.
Rather, Uncle Sam has taken a serious head wound 
and is hemorrhaging clowns.
Desipient pissants making footle decissions,
pissing on the poor and forgotten for rapacious gain.
Welcome to the politico 2013,
where common sense meets Walter Mitty
and nothing gets done.
Yup, my country is hemorrhaging clowns....

Thursday, February 21, 2013

My First Car
(Or, Am I Really That Small?)

In 1984 I was 18 years old, living in Southern Indiana with my dad. I had only been there for a little over a year. My dad, originally from that region, moved back there shortly after leaving me outside San Diego, to live in a tent.. –He had done this sort of thing before. Before leaving me in San Diego he left me, my brother and friend in Ensenada, Mexico for a few weeks with nothing more than a case of Squirt soda, a small bit of food, two bottles of tequila and forty dollars to get more food…..five miles away, without a car! I was in need of a change and stability and called my mom and step dad if I could move back with them in Massachusetts. In a couple of days I was on a plane to Boston to a life of relative safety and comfort.

I had only been there for a couple of weeks when my step dad got me a job as a security guard at the now defunct Wang Labs, his employer. What could go wrong?

It was an unarmed position. In retrospect this was a good thing for two reasons: 1. It only paid minimum wage (under $5.00 per hour)   2. At that time in my life I had a bit of an anger problem, the kind that does not mix well with firearms. However, I did have a really cool two way radio and a five pound Detex clock. The latter is a precursor to a man purse with absolutely no marsupial qualities. It did have a paper tape with pre-printed times on it. As a security guard I would walk around a certain route where there were little Detex boxes at specific locations with Detex keys in them. I would take the key, insert it in the clock and turn it to make an impression on the paper tape, thus giving them printed proof that I made the rounds and that everything was safe.

My only goals for this job were to stay awake and earn enough money to buy a car. Coffee and the Detex clock ensured that I would stay awake. Borrowing my mom’s 1980 Dodge Aspen kept me on the savings path.

I had worked for three months and was able to save a thousand dollars, more than enough money to buy a car back then. I found a few cars that I could afford, but didn’t like. I found a Pinto. Not wanting to die a fiery death I passed on that gem—another was a sweet late sixty’s Impala that I drove thirty miles to see only to find out it didn’t have an engine. What I bought was a Maroon, 1976, Chevy Cogsworth Vega. It had a five speed, aluminum engine block and an aftermarket forty watt Craig stereo system. (I blew the speakers out the second day I owned the car blasting Black Flag’s My War) Alas, it was to be a short love affair with General Motors Engineers hurried, cocaine and booze filled answer to produce a sports car known as the Vega. Its namesake, the brightest star in the constellation Lyra, didn’t have an effect on this car. 
At the time I thought it was a good car.

The first two weeks I owned the car had a dramatic effect on my weak time management skills. In that time I was late for work at least six times. I had just finished a meeting with my supervisor at the end of my shift, which ended with him giving me my last warning before being fired. So, being the responsible man boy, I went home and did what anyone in my shoes would do: Get ready to go out for the night.

That night I went to a show in or near Boston. I think it was Jerry’s Kids, Gang Green or some band like that. I knew that I would be home late, but working second shift meant that I could sleep until one or two in the afternoon with plenty of time to make it to work at 4.

I got home late as planned, went straight to bed and to sleep. I dreamt of whatever disturbing stuff that eighteen year olds dream of. That night we had an unusual round of thunderstorms that  woke me for only a minute. The transformer behind our house took a hit from a bolt of lightning, knocking out our power and my alarm clock. I do remember hearing an explosion and the later repair crews, but I figured that it was part of my dream and went back to sleep until 4:30pm.

I roll out of bed, head upstairs, start making coffee and hear the front door open. It’s my mom coming home from work. “Early day,” I ask.

“Nope. You not working today?”

Not realizing that she hadn’t come home early I replied, “Getting ready now.”

“Hmm, late start?”

“Why would she ask that?” I thought to myself.

I turned around to look at the only battery operated clock in the house…. 4:45!

“I’m late!”

I rushed downstairs, grabbed the nearest uniform off the floor (the one from the day before, complete with cucumber sauce stains from my Gyro dinner) getting dressed as I ran out the door yelling to my mom, “I may be home early!”

I looked at my watch. It was 4:50. Normally my commute was ten minutes. Of course there is always the traffic issue that plagues Boston and places close to Boston. I could make it there and only be an hour late. Surely my boss would understand and not fire me.

I am flying down the road. My bright and shining star is running great, Henry Rollins is screaming fuzzy nothings over the speakers; I think about love, maybe hate. No, definitely hate. I am thinking about possible excuses for my tardiness, not really paying attention.I am on auto pilot.

I had taken this route on Boston Road in Billerica many times. I coming up to a McDonald’s on my left. I say that the corner is a blind corner, when in actuality it is a pretty straight road at this point. There wasn’t a center turn lane and a few of my friends had accidents that involved rear-ending someone trying to turn left into McDonald’s.

I saw a couple of friends eating outside and yelled a testosterone fueled greeting, “Hey pussies!”

I look forward in just enough time to hit my brakes and suddenly heard the sound of screeching tires (mine) and metal hitting metal at forty five miles an hour. I slammed into the back of a full size Caprice station wagon, wedging my grill and hood underneath his back bumper. I also hit my head on the steering wheel, cutting my head right at my widow’s peak.  

I looked up, sort of dazed and saw the back of the Caprice. It was a rolling billboard for Jesus.

Jesus Loves You!

God Is My Co-Pilot

Let Me Tell You About My Best Friend

In Case Of Rapture, This Car Will Be Unmanned

And so on…

As I collected my thoughts and searched for a cigarette, Uber Christian tapped on my window, “Hey little buddy, you okay?”

First of all, pal, at 5’ 6” and 115lbs, I am not little! And secondly, when did we become friends?

As I got out of my car I noticed that Uber Christian was tall. Like 6’ 3” freakishly tall!

Maybe I am little…..

The conversation that followed was between me, Uber Christian and my friends.

UC: Are you okay?

Me: Yeah, I’m fine.

Friend #1: Hey Charlie, nice driving Mario! Ha!

Me: Shut up douche!

UC: You have a cut on your head (he lays a hand on my head) Father God….

Friend#2: Hey Charlie, doesn’t look like you’re going to burn in Hell now!

Me: Again, shut up douche! (pulling away from Uber Christian) and get your hands off me dick!

UC: In Jesus name, Amen.

This went on for a few more minute, ending with me telling Uber Christian that if he didn’t stop preaching at me I was going to jump up and hit him in the jaw. To which friend #2 yelled, “I don’t think you can jump that high!”

Maybe I am short….

The cops finally showed up, took all our information and called a tow truck. The wrecked shining star became a faded memory of its old self in my mom and step dads back yard, eventually being sold for scrap while I was in the Army fighting the Cold War.

There are a few things I learned from this episode in my life:

1    1.  Vegas aren’t really that cool.
2    2.   A car accident is a good excuse if you are not habitually tardy.
3    3.    I need to pick better friends.
      
      And I may indeed be small.




My First Car
(Or, Am I Really That Small?)

In 1984 I was 18 years old, living in Southern Indiana with my dad. I had only been there for a little over a year. My dad, originally from that region, moved back there shortly after leaving me outside San Diego, to live in a tent.. –He had done this sort of thing before. Before leaving me in San Diego he left me, my brother and friend in Ensenada, Mexico for a few weeks with nothing more than a case of Squirt soda, a small bit of food, two bottles of tequila and forty dollars to get more food…..five miles away, without a car! I was in need of a change and stability and called my mom and step dad if I could move back with them in Massachusetts. In a couple of days I was on a plane to Boston to a life of relative safety and comfort.

I had only been there for a couple of weeks when my step dad got me a job as a security guard at the now defunct Wang Labs, his employer. What could go wrong?

It was an unarmed position. In retrospect this was a good thing for two reasons: 1. It only paid minimum wage (under $5.00 per hour)   2. At that time in my life I had a bit of an anger problem, the kind that does not mix well with firearms. However, I did have a really cool two way radio and a five pound Detex clock. The latter is a precursor to a man purse with absolutely no marsupial qualities. It did have a paper tape with pre-printed times on it. As a security guard I would walk around a certain route where there were little Detex boxes at specific locations with Detex keys in them. I would take the key, insert it in the clock and turn it to make an impression on the paper tape, thus giving them printed proof that I made the rounds and that everything was safe.

My only goals for this job were to stay awake and earn enough money to buy a car. Coffee and the Detex clock ensured that I would stay awake. Borrowing my mom’s 1980 Dodge Aspen kept me on the savings path.

I had worked for three months and was able to save a thousand dollars, more than enough money to buy a car back then. I found a few cars that I could afford, but didn’t like. I found a Pinto. Not wanting to die a fiery death I passed on that gem—another was a sweet late sixty’s Impala that I drove thirty miles to see only to find out it didn’t have an engine. What I bought was a Maroon, 1976, Chevy Cogsworth Vega. It had a five speed, aluminum engine block and an aftermarket forty watt Craig stereo system. (I blew the speakers out the second day I owned the car blasting Black Flag’s My War) Alas, it was to be a short love affair with General Motors Engineers hurried, cocaine and booze filled answer to produce a sports car known as the Vega. Its namesake, the brightest star in the constellation Lyra, didn’t have an effect on this car. 
At the time I thought it was a good car.

The first two weeks I owned the car had a dramatic effect on my weak time management skills. In that time I was late for work at least six times. I had just finished a meeting with my supervisor at the end of my shift, which ended with him giving me my last warning before being fired. So, being the responsible man boy, I went home and did what anyone in my shoes would do: Get ready to go out for the night.

That night I went to a show in or near Boston. I think it was Jerry’s Kids, Gang Green or some band like that. I knew that I would be home late, but working second shift meant that I could sleep until one or two in the afternoon with plenty of time to make it to work at 4.

I got home late as planned, went straight to bed and to sleep. I dreamt of whatever disturbing stuff that eighteen year olds dream of. That night we had an unusual round of thunderstorms that  woke me for only a minute. The transformer behind our house took a hit from a bolt of lightning, knocking out our power and my alarm clock. I do remember hearing an explosion and the later repair crews, but I figured that it was part of my dream and went back to sleep until 4:30pm.

I roll out of bed, head upstairs, start making coffee and hear the front door open. It’s my mom coming home from work. “Early day,” I ask.

“Nope. You not working today?”

Not realizing that she hadn’t come home early I replied, “Getting ready now.”

“Hmm, late start?”

“Why would she ask that?” I thought to myself.

I turned around to look at the only battery operated clock in the house…. 4:45!

“I’m late!”

I rushed downstairs, grabbed the nearest uniform off the floor (the one from the day before, complete with cucumber sauce stains from my Gyro dinner) getting dressed as I ran out the door yelling to my mom, “I may be home early!”

I looked at my watch. It was 4:50. Normally my commute was ten minutes. Of course there is always the traffic issue that plagues Boston and places close to Boston. I could make it there and only be an hour late. Surely my boss would understand and not fire me.

I am flying down the road. My bright and shining star is running great, Henry Rollins is screaming fuzzy nothings over the speakers; I think about love, maybe hate. No, definitely hate. I am thinking about possible excuses for my tardiness, not really paying attention.I am on auto pilot.

I had taken this route on Boston Road in Billerica many times. I coming up to a McDonald’s on my left. I say that the corner is a blind corner, when in actuality it is a pretty straight road at this point. There wasn’t a center turn lane and a few of my friends had accidents that involved rear-ending someone trying to turn left into McDonald’s.

I saw a couple of friends eating outside and yelled a testosterone fueled greeting, “Hey pussies!”

I look forward in just enough time to hit my brakes and suddenly heard the sound of screeching tires (mine) and metal hitting metal at forty five miles an hour. I slammed into the back of a full size Caprice station wagon, wedging my grill and hood underneath his back bumper. I also hit my head on the steering wheel, cutting my head right at my widow’s peak.  

I looked up, sort of dazed and saw the back of the Caprice. It was a rolling billboard for Jesus.

Jesus Loves You!

God Is My Co-Pilot

Let Me Tell You About My Best Friend

In Case Of Rapture, This Car Will Be Unmanned

And so on…

As I collected my thoughts and searched for a cigarette, Uber Christian tapped on my window, “Hey little buddy, you okay?”

First of all, pal, at 5’ 6” and 115lbs, I am not little! And secondly, when did we become friends?

As I got out of my car I noticed that Uber Christian was tall. Like 6’ 3” freakishly tall!

Maybe I am little…..

The conversation that followed was between me, Uber Christian and my friends.

UC: Are you okay?

Me: Yeah, I’m fine.

Friend #1: Hey Charlie, nice driving Mario! Ha!

Me: Shut up douche!

UC: You have a cut on your head (he lays a hand on my head) Father God….

Friend#2: Hey Charlie, doesn’t look like you’re going to burn in Hell now!

Me: Again, shut up douche! (pulling away from Uber Christian) and get your hands off me dick!

UC: In Jesus name, Amen.

This went on for a few more minute, ending with me telling Uber Christian that if he didn’t stop preaching at me I was going to jump up and hit him in the jaw. To which friend #2 yelled, “I don’t think you can jump that high!”

Maybe I am short….

The cops finally showed up, took all our information and called a tow truck. The wrecked shining star became a faded memory of its old self in my mom and step dads back yard, eventually being sold for scrap while I was in the Army fighting the Cold War.

There are a few things I learned from this episode in my life:

1    1.  Vegas aren’t really that cool.
2    2.   A car accident is a good excuse if you are not habitually tardy.
3    3.    I need to pick better friends.
      
      And I may indeed be small.




Saturday, February 16, 2013

Sound Bites


sound bites
for
sound minds......
lonely?
sad?
depressed?
at 4am
watching T.V., 
who isn't?

sound bites 
for 
insomniacs.....
can't sleep?
restless?
anxious?
at 4:30 am
watching T.V.,
who isn't?

-Get over it-
-Go to bed-
Sound Bites


sound bites
for
sound minds......
lonely?
sad?
depressed?
at 4am
watching T.V., 
who isn't?

sound bites 
for 
insomniacs.....
can't sleep?
restless?
anxious?
at 4:30 am
watching T.V.,
who isn't?

-Get over it-
-Go to bed-
Republic Reverie

America,
land of contradiction,
land of two distinctions:
corpulent poor, 
Walmart Superstores....

America,
land of the free,
land of greed and luxury,
hidden slums,
homeless bums....

America,
in God you trust,
spurious religious freedom,
master mammon,
covert avarice....

America,
you feed your needs,
the third world bleeds,
patriotic lemmings,
love (or) leave....
Republic Reverie

America,
land of contradiction,
land of two distinctions:
corpulent poor, 
Walmart Superstores....

America,
land of the free,
land of greed and luxury,
hidden slums,
homeless bums....

America,
in God you trust,
spurious religious freedom,
master mammon,
covert avarice....

America,
you feed your needs,
the third world bleeds,
patriotic lemmings,
love (or) leave....

Wednesday, February 13, 2013



As I watched the State of the Union Address the other day I couldn't help but notice that John Boehner had the most sour face resembling that of a four year old who is not getting their way. A few words of advice for you Mr Boehner:

1. Try a smile once in a while.. You have a look that screams sore loser. 

2. Try and respect the office of the President, and your office for that matter. Nobody likes a sore loser. 

3. Quit trying to undermine the President and actually do something other than complain about the other guy's policy and or leadership. you are not being a very good leader pudding head...

4.  Try shutting up.. My momma used to say, if ya can't say something nice, shut up...

5. Never wear that pink tie again..



Now, with that out of the way, let's get down to business.




"House Speaker John Boehner shot down President Obama’s State of the Union proposal for a minimum wage increase on Wednesday – calling the plan a job killer.
"When you raise the price of employment, guess what happens? You get less of it,” Boehner told reporters Wednesday morning. “At a time when the American people are still asking the question, 'Where are the jobs?' why would we want to make it harder for small employers to hire people?"

Read more:  http://www.nydailynews.com/news/politics/boehner-shoots-minimum-wage-hike-article-1.1263163#ixzz2Kprv1y4L









Like everyone else, I want more money. Poor people want more money too, as do teenagers, recent ex-cons and single parents entering the workforce because their spouse decided to leave after 15 years of marriage leaving them to enter the workforce without any real work skills. The current minimum wage is $7.25 per hour. With the cost of things going up, it is not uncommon for one working for minimum wage to work the better half of an hour for a gallon of milk. The proposed increase to the minimum wage is only a $1.25 per hour increase. Put yourself into a low wage earners shoes and you too can say, "Oh boy! now I can get a couple of cans of tuna!"

Like many politicians, Mr Boehner is woefully out of touch with how the working folk live. My guess, he is worried about having to pay his housekeeper more. Okay, I am not sure if he has a housekeeper, for all I know he farms that out to illegal aliens. 

Taken from the richest.org:

 American politician,businessman and current Speaker of the United States House of Representatives,John Andrew Boehner has a  net worth of $2.7 million as of 2012, dropping from $2.1 million to $1.7 million



It is my guess that John's recent drop in income has him worried who will clean his pool, house or cook his meals. Again, not sure if he has these luxuries, but if I had that much scratch I would, and I would certainly pay them more than $9.00 an hour!


For your stance on this issue, along with many others, and your general nasty disposition I am awarding you with the Political Douche Bag Award.. 









As I watched the State of the Union Address the other day I couldn't help but notice that John Boehner had the most sour face resembling that of a four year old who is not getting their way. A few words of advice for you Mr Boehner:

1. Try a smile once in a while.. You have a look that screams sore loser. 

2. Try and respect the office of the President, and your office for that matter. Nobody likes a sore loser. 

3. Quit trying to undermine the President and actually do something other than complain about the other guy's policy and or leadership. you are not being a very good leader pudding head...

4.  Try shutting up.. My momma used to say, if ya can't say something nice, shut up...

5. Never wear that pink tie again..



Now, with that out of the way, let's get down to business.




"House Speaker John Boehner shot down President Obama’s State of the Union proposal for a minimum wage increase on Wednesday – calling the plan a job killer.
"When you raise the price of employment, guess what happens? You get less of it,” Boehner told reporters Wednesday morning. “At a time when the American people are still asking the question, 'Where are the jobs?' why would we want to make it harder for small employers to hire people?"

Read more:  http://www.nydailynews.com/news/politics/boehner-shoots-minimum-wage-hike-article-1.1263163#ixzz2Kprv1y4L









Like everyone else, I want more money. Poor people want more money too, as do teenagers, recent ex-cons and single parents entering the workforce because their spouse decided to leave after 15 years of marriage leaving them to enter the workforce without any real work skills. The current minimum wage is $7.25 per hour. With the cost of things going up, it is not uncommon for one working for minimum wage to work the better half of an hour for a gallon of milk. The proposed increase to the minimum wage is only a $1.25 per hour increase. Put yourself into a low wage earners shoes and you too can say, "Oh boy! now I can get a couple of cans of tuna!"

Like many politicians, Mr Boehner is woefully out of touch with how the working folk live. My guess, he is worried about having to pay his housekeeper more. Okay, I am not sure if he has a housekeeper, for all I know he farms that out to illegal aliens. 

Taken from the richest.org:

 American politician,businessman and current Speaker of the United States House of Representatives,John Andrew Boehner has a  net worth of $2.7 million as of 2012, dropping from $2.1 million to $1.7 million



It is my guess that John's recent drop in income has him worried who will clean his pool, house or cook his meals. Again, not sure if he has these luxuries, but if I had that much scratch I would, and I would certainly pay them more than $9.00 an hour!


For your stance on this issue, along with many others, and your general nasty disposition I am awarding you with the Political Douche Bag Award..