Towed Cars and Angry Swine: Another Day in Phoenix

A Phoenix police officer just left my property. Upon noticing the cruiser, I walked out and asked “Pardon me sir, but what are you doing here?” I had the cop part right but the sex part wrong. It was an honest mistake.

The thick-boned sow, a real throw-back, was visibly incensed by my error, but I didn’t take it personally. I knew it wasn’t just me. One look at her told you she had many things to be angry about; deeply angry. It was obvious, she was looking for someone to pay, and pay dearly. The writing on the wall said 'Ball-buster.' “Shit” I thought.

From the driver’s seat, she began upbraiding me like I was some insolent child, but out of habit, I only heard snippets of what she was saying. What I did notice was the tone of voice. It carried the jagged edges of contempt for her fellow citizen, the same people she once swore “to serve and protect.”

“This car is parked illegally and I’m having it towed. Don’t you know you can’t have an unregistered car parked on the street?” she barked.

I replied “Yes I know my car is on the street, but no, I didn’t know it wasn't allowed. Do you understand that this is my home, and the only reason I don’t have it registered because I can’t afford to? I wish it was registered, so my wife and I would each have a car to drive. Furthermore, you guys left a sixty-five dollar ticket and stuck one of those orange stickers on it like I had abandoned it on the I-10. I thought it was some weird rookie mistake.”

She said, “No it wasn’t. Having unregistered vehicles on the street like this is illegal; it brings down property values. We just can’t have it. The tow truck is on its way right now, move it or it’ll be towed, Buster.”

I couldn’t hide my contempt. “Property values? Ha! Talk to Wall St. about property values, not me lady. You’re kidding, right? Don’t you have something better to do than hassling homeowners? Shouldn’t you be out catching killers and rapists, or ruining the lives of pot smokers?”

“No I’m not kidding. And no, I don’t have anything better to do. I’m on this parking detail so other officers can catch the killers and rapists.”

“That’s too bad. Is that an obtuse way of saying your bosses don’t like you either?” I was chuckling, but my sense of humor was rapidly dwindling. “It seems like you guys are desperate, and they sent you out looking for any reason to grab some free cash and cars. It’s sick, really. You should be ashamed.”

At that point she started ignoring me, and taking pictures of me and my '96 Explorer, still from the front seat of her cruiser. As she clicked away, I gave her a couple of classic body-building poses and then went inside the house to get my wife and the keys.

When I came out, I asked the officer “Are you going to ticket me for driving this thing into my driveway?” She said “No. I’m not.” but I didn’t believe her. I was walking a tightrope and I couldn’t afford to screw up now. My wife got in the driver’s seat and I pushed the car into the driveway. After I pushed the car to its final resting place, she started to leave. As she did, I said to her, “You know, you’re a really bad person; a real scum of the earth type.” “Scum of the earth, I say!” over-acting and pointing my finger in the air.

She stopped just short of the corner, and I thought “Now I’ve done it. I’ve pushed it too far.” But, she only was stopping to hassle the Native American family two doors down for the same reason, again from the front seat of her cruiser.

I laughed to myself as I went inside: “Not long ago, their ancestors would be adding her scalp to their collection if she dared tell them they couldn’t tie their horse in front of their own tee pee. My, how times have changed."

Truth be told, I wouldn't have blamed them; not in the least.

Carpe Deum

Just like the first great depression, they are manufacturing this crisis to create one world bank which equals one world government. If you're like me, there's an increasingly uncomfortable pain and mounting pressure (no pun intended) fulminating near your backside, but screw it; today, I urge you to go out and get drunk in the sunshine.

Truth and reality are complete shams, because life is what you make of it. For now at least, we still have the luxury of turning our backs on whatever the truth of it all is. So I say, sweet talk your girl into giving up the "back door", or do a naked one act play on your front lawn. Do something crazy; something juvenile and silly. Whatever. These really are the halcyon days compared to what's ahead. The cyanide tablet is under the tongue and there's no need to sit around waiting for the bitter-almond end.

Maybe I'll take up Shao-lin Kung Fu, or advanced food canning for the thinking individual/criminally insane. Everything has been turned upside down and is twisting back upon itself. Reality and surreality have become one in the same.

All the vibrant colors on the palette have been mixed together to create the world's shittiest of shit browns. Go out there and become a "poop Picasso" or a "scatological Cezanne" and turn this day into a masterpiece because fierce monkeys have taken control of our hallowed halls and are flinging feces at anyone who tries to get close. They are openly fornicating and telling people not to look. It is the height of absurd madness.

I'm going to have a delightful day, and I'm going to enjoy it as though it were my last.

Carpe Deum,

Jet

A Red-Letter Day

10/03/2008

Today has been one of those rare, red-letter days, but not like Christmas, or my personal favorite; “kick an asshole in the balls” day. It's not a day that is officially scheduled per se, but is intended to be celebrated on a purely “as needed” basis. It was first declared by Pope Boniface VI in a.d. 896, and will forever be remembered, mostly by historians, scholars, and Catholics with too much time on their hands, as the sole meaningful decree of his 16 day reign as Pope.

The House of Representatives has chosen to ignore the angry demands of it’s constituency and voted to overwhelmingly pass the Senate’s version of the 700 billion dollar bailout package at the urgent, threatening behest of those they consider their real bosses; the cryptocracy of elite bankers and corporations. On top of that, I was summarily fired from my job for reasons which remain unknown.

Screw 'em all. My unbridled fury knows no bounds.

The memories of that god-awful place are already so “two hours ago.” I’ve up and quit much better jobs on a drunken whim. Misery, the forlorn bitch that she is, does love company. My former co-workers, a sullen corps of uber-nihilistic, thread-bare lumpen-proletariat, can have the shit-hole to themselves. They can continue wallowing in the ebb and flow of feces and urine, set amidst the brume of palpable fear and senseless death that defines dog pounds everywhere. Truth be told, it was seriously beginning to harsh on my positive vibes.

But today, it's not the Maricopa County Animal Shelter I’m worried about: it’s the bailout, and on multiple levels at that.

”Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.”

– Divine Comedy, by Dante Alighieri.

In a possibly related story, a seismometer at USGS headquarters in Reston, VA has detected a small area of seismic activity, the type of which has never before been recorded, in nearby Mount Vernon. Specifically, the activity appears to be emanating from below the earth near George Washington’s estate on the Potomac.

Seismologists at the Advanced National Seismic System are baffled, and the rabid debate over the origin of the waves somehow devolved into a pallid, flailing-armed donnybrook among the scientists, a bloodied USGS spokesman told a handful of reporters as he spat out a shard of broken bicuspid. The spokesman, who repeatedly refused to state his name, said that one camp asserts that seismic activity is not at all uncommon along the eastern seaboard, while the other camp has suggested that there is overwhelming evidence that the first President of the United States is "spinning in his grave like a laboratory centrifuge."

Whoa, whoa, whoa. I just had a great idea. In fact, it’s a crackerjack.

Why don’t we just say to hell with it, and create a national day of celebration over the bailout. We could take a tiny portion of the 700 billion dollars, and buy up all known copies of the Constitution and Bill of Rights. We could then mix them in with some old currency to be shredded by the Bureau of Engraving and Printing, and have the shredded funds and documents dropped over the moist-eyed crowd during a ticker-tape parade down Wall St.

The parade would be to honor the President, the Vice President, the Treasury Secretary, the Fed Chairman, and every member of the bicameral Congress who voted for the passage of the bailout. It would be a powerful statement to the world; to show how powerful we remain, and to prove that we aren’t just a paper tiger or a cheap knock-off of our former selves.

We could also use the occasion to demonstrate that we remain the "bread basket of the world", and the “land of plenty”, by hurling eggs, tomatoes, chunks of rock salt, and other foodstuffs from the building tops along the parade route, in a uniquely American display of heart-felt appreciation and affection. It would be a wonderful and grand spectacle to be sure.

In the words of Willie Dixon, and immortalized by Howlin’ Wolf; it would be a real “Wang Dang Doodle.”

That would show them; that would show them all.

An Open Letter to "Way of the Master"

Dear "Way of the Master",

You filthy fuckers make me sick. You are involved in the world's 2nd oldest profession, but when all is said and done, I can respect what prostitutes do. Kirk Cameron and Ray Comfort (Is that his real name? I doubt it.), and anyone else who participates in such a cockamamie sham of blatant exploitation are nothing more than garden-variety shills that have chosen, of their own free will, to illicit and amplify people's fear of death and use it against them for their own benefit. In other words, the "same old, same old."

4 of the 7 tabs on your website offer something for sale: It’s one big tax-free business, not that I hold that part against you. What I do hold against you is that you use false piety to act as though you're somehow better than everyone else. Shame on you for what you do to people; for bringing more fear, discomfort, and unease into their already difficult lives.

Me, I believe in the loving, kind, and understanding God that you say doesn't exist, because that God is "a figment of my imagination." It is my firm belief that God is our parent, not some cold judge that merely casts sentence upon us for our sins as you would have people believe.

Would your parents cast you to a "Lake of Fire" for lying to them, coveting something that they owned, or taking their name in vain? I'm quite sure my Mother would not for any of those things, including whether or not I lusted after Mary Jane Rottencrotch (I did, by the way). If I killed someone - I'm sure she would consider it; but even then I don't ultimately believe she would; especially if I was truly sorry. That is what pure and honest love and acceptance is.

This life is an awesome test of resilience. It is a struggle from day one, moment one, right through to the very end. You're right about one thing: most people don't live up to the standard that you, not God, has created.

To quote your own guidebook, one that I don't espouse, literally or figuratively (heh-heh-heh), as Gospel:

The Gospel According to Matthew, Chapter 7

1. Judge not, that ye be not judged.

2. For with what judgment ye judge, ye shall be judged: and with what measure ye mete, it shall be measured to you again.

According to what you openly state are among your beliefs, it seems to say that you shall suffer the same fate.

Personally, I don't know what will happen to any of us after we die, nor will I ever say so. However, I am acutely attuned to the real sense of right and wrong that resides somewhere within my soul, and that sense tells me that you are a fear-mongering corporation set up so that a "god-awful" Kirk Cameron can keep acting.

Watching Kirk Cameron tread the boards is like going to a bestiality show in Tijuana for the first time. For the first few minutes, it's entertaining in a sad sort of way. But then, a deep, unsettling nausea sets in, and you taste the hot, acrid bile that has risen to the back of your throat. With that, you arrive at the sudden realization that you've had quite enough for today, thank you very much.

Fuck you, in Jesus' name,

Jet Lacey

Running Amok: Women, the workplace, and free speech.

I am the ONLY "swinging dick" where I work. I get so frustrated with the bitchy, dramatic cruelness that some women display as their dominant personality trait that I sometimes find myself disgusted with women in general. I know deep in my heart I shouldn't be. That's the essence of prejudice isn't it? The censure of a whole group for the misdeeds of a few? God-dammit; I'm better than that. But for Christ's sake, since I started working at the Animal Shelter, my once rich and fulfilled sexual self-image has, like Elvis, left the building.

Work with me here, people.

First and foremost, I make no apologies for my words; they are written out of fulminant and raw frustration. I certainly don't believe in what I refer to as the "Clark Gable Slap-a-Sassy-Bitch-in-the-Face” times of yore, but I do believe that the proverbial fence has swung too far the other way and that political correctness has largely robbed a man of his ability to tell females, or anyone else for that matter, exactly what he thinks directly to their face, especially within the workplace.

Any assertive response by a man to a woman is perceived to be "aggressive" and is thus subject to sanction. This fact was pointed out to me by an Australian friend of mine a few years ago. He said, “Your women run the show here; you can’t say shit about it, and it’s all your fault. You Americans have given your women too much power and the men have been totally emasculated. You have given away the farm out of “white man’s guilt.” We Australians have acted similarly with regard to the Aborigines, but not to the extent that you did.” I thought a lot about what he said, and I believe that the words of wisdom he imparted to me that day were truer than I had wanted to admit.

I absolutely love women, and I don’t consider myself to be a card-carrying misogynist, but the truth is the truth.

On a larger scale, it is my belief that political correctness has damaged this nation irreparably. If someone claims to be offended by someone else’s views on whatever-the-fuck, it automatically gives them the right to become prejudiced against, and summarily dismiss the other person as “intolerant." In actuality, it is the person who claims to have been offended that is ultimately the intolerant one. Mere disagreement must not be confused with intolerance. The unimpugnable, uninhibited flow of ideas between a nation's citizens, whether you agree with the other person or not, is essential to the continuance of a truly free society.
William O. Douglas was the longest serving Supreme Court Justice. Appointed by FDR, Justice Douglas served on the Court until the Ford administration. He was known as a staunch defender of the Constitution and individual rights; especially the rights and guarantees afforded to us by the First Amendment. I think that he sums it up best:

"Restriction of free thought and free speech is the most dangerous of all subversions. It is the one un-American act that could most easily defeat us."

and

"The First Amendment makes confidence in the common sense of our people and in the maturity of their judgment the great postulate of our democracy."

Furthermore, there is a lot of harmless human interaction, especially between men and women in the workplace, that seems to cause excessively sensitive people to become offended, and the level of immaturity displayed by the offended borders on the hilarious. Good Lord, and grow the hell up. What isn’t funny is that if filed as a complaint, the person who says that they’re “offended” can easily affect the other person’s employment status through threat of a lawsuit. No matter how ridiculous the charge of harassment might be, it is infinitely easier for the company to simply get rid of the “offender” instead of ignoring the hyper-sensitive complainer.

A perfect example: A lady I work with showed me a cat that had markings on its back that looked like wings. I agreed with her, and I said that if it was my cat, I'd name it "Always Ultra." Later in the day when we were speaking, she stated that what I said had amounted to sexual harassment. Covering my ass, I had to say that I was deeply and honestly sorry. In reality, I was more than pretty pissed off at her. In different social climes, I would have told her a.) to get over herself, and b.) to have a nice, hot cup of "shut the fuck up."

On a funnier note, she stated during the same conversation that I had also offended her in the previous week. I was prepping a dog (shaving its balls) for surgery, and I jokingly asked aloud if anyone would prefer that I gave it a "sweet Brazilian" since I was “already down there.” If you can’t laugh at the utterly humbling moments in your life, then life just ain’t worth living

"Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turned / Nor hell a fury like a woman scorned."
-The Mourning Bride by William Congreve, 1697.


These are quintessential examples of what makes me wonder, just exactly what the fuck is wrong with people. Had I somehow fractured her at the very core of her personality, or wounded her delicate sensibilities to the point that she would never regain her child-like innocence? Like Nell Carter said, "Gimme a Break!"

It's not like I took her to a Tijuana donkey show on a first date, and then awkwardly tried to force my finger in her ass during the middle of the strange, bestial spectacle before we had even kissed, but that's what she tried to make me feel like.

She has wondered aloud on a few occasions why she can't find a solid man to have kids with. She said that not having kids was the "biggest empty" in her life. I wanted to, desperately in fact, tell her that I knew exactly why, but as she stated "we live in a PC world so you better get used to it." For many reasons, not the least of which is that she can go fuck herself, I kept my mouth shut and I would bet a hefty sum that she'll continue to be lonely for quite some time.

Political correctness has been bastardized into a way of stifling people’s exercising of their 1st amendment rights that guarantee free speech. It has created a deep chasm between people in this country, and continues to fuel the raging inferno that is the malignant contempt and mistrust people harbor for one another just under, and oftentimes over the surface.

Peace,

Jet

The Good In Me Is Gone

The Good in me is gone

Fuck em’ all

White heat of burning embers

Rains down on you

The light means nothing

I lurk in the deepening void

I will take from you

My payment in bright crimson

The good in me is gone

Wrested from me

By the blindly self-righteous

In a fleeting moment

Not just once

But over and over again

I’m still here

Waiting for you to be mine

The good in me is gone

I hone pointed steel

My salty tears turn to hate

We’re joined by your blood

As it runs down your face

And mixes with my sweat

Smell my hot breath

And breathe your last

The good in me is gone

Here comes the maelstrom

I have So Much Hate

I have so much hate
I give it all to you
Whiling away the hours
We’ve become so close
There are so many things
That I want to do with you
Your warm flesh in my hands
Then it drops to the floor

We spin a yarn of pain
An incredible tale of woe
Our fates are forever bound
It can’t be undone
I want to share with you
My deep, dark secrets
A picture of your terror
Is worth a thousand words

You really must excuse me
I’ve been a terrible host
Scream if you must
A lusty cry, of fear and rage
My hard words spoken softly
Our time is closing fast
I must silence you now
I will silence them all

Your life has just ended
But mine has just begun