Asshat Jocks...

I was a bit of a jock, but always had my geek on...Love this song, regardless:

Stupidity Is A Social Solvent

I rant. My inner gorilla stirs at the stupidity of others. I grow irritated with the bloodless shenanigans of asshats.

Why do I let my blood pressure climb over the colossal stupidity of others?

Because I give a fuck, that's why.

One might ask why I give two drips of ball-sweat?

Because if allowed to run rampant, asshattery will underwhelm all things. Stupidity acts on society like a solvent, eroding all reason.

Perhaps a personal example:

The other day I was riding in. As I rode along the on-ramp, a largish chunk of styrofoam blew in my way. I narrowly avoided it. There was no telling what it might do if I tried to ride over it.

A mile down the road, another piece, this one more easily avoided.

Three miles more, another, this one the size of my rather large cranium. Not so easy to avoid, coming as it did from behind a minivan.

Two more miles, a chunk or two more, this time added to by a stretch of cardboard. Ahead, I see a small red pickup truck. Shit is blowing around in the back, cardboard and the like.

I think, perhaps, this is the person who does not know they have a loose load in their bed. Perhaps, I reason, they are unaware that the cover must have slipped back from their load. I shall try and catch up, let them know dangerous and expensive things are falling from the back of his vehicle.

My reasoning that the individual is merely a hapless victim of circumstance begins to erode upon continued observation of their actions. The man, in his fully loaded tiny pickup, is driving well in excess of the speed limit, and I have a hard time catching up, as I have to dodge the shit flying from it. Indeed, it is not until we reach the tunnel and traffic backs up, twenty miles later, that I am able to catch up to the speeding litterer.

I pull up on his right, seeing the large quantity of loose styrene biker-killers barely held in place by two bungee cords crossing the bed. I advance to beside the cabin. I look inside. An Indian male driver with an i-Phone 4 in hand, glasses on, and earbuds jammed in both ears looks back.

I gesture for him to roll down his window. He does.

I yell to him that he has littered a string of styrene land mines along his path, that he needs to pull over and secure his load.

He rolls the window up. My Inner Gorilla body-checks the gates of his prison, nearly making my eyes explode from my head.

We are traveling at a walking pace, a difficult feat of clutch control for a moto rider without a raging Gorilla in his mind.

I bang on his window.

He starts to shuffle through his iPhone.

Had I my service weapon and cuffs, I would have shown him my star and ordered him to the side of the road. No, I was unequipped to take police action, and therefore couldn't safely take him on as anything more than a private citizen.

I bang harder on the window, my Inner Gorilla barely held in check.

He continues to act as if I am not there. Fucking pussy. My Inner Gorilla howls in impotent rage. I curse, swear, and then fall back, wishing I had a cigarette to drop in his bed. He would surely pay attention when his shit caught fire. My Inner Gorilla wishes for a molotov cocktail.

Instead of the contemplated mayhem, I get his plate.

I ride on. I look for some CHP. No dice. I even check their favored duck blind. No love.

Shit.

I go to work, run the plate. It's still registered to the tow yard where the asshat bought it.

So, nothing else I can do.

So. You might be tempted to ask what the above has to do with my point.

Well, here it is:

Never mind that the litter he left across twenty five miles of roadway will take decades to dissolve into the background of shit we are already wading through.

More important to me specifically is that had I been injured or killed by the debris left behind, my family would have lost their primary wage-earner, and because it would have been seen as a single-vehicle accident, most likely would not have seen a pay-out commensurate with what they were denied.

My wife would surely soldier on, but my child would grow up without her father.

The social fabric of my family would be dissolved. Those who like my company would be denied it.

And even thinking within the least extreme extrapolation on what this asshat did; that of what actually followed these events: I am left so impatient with the average asshat that I barely make it through the rest of my day without biting the head from those whose only crime is to be a moron, or late, or just blind.

All because of the stupid asshattery of one fucktard too cowardly to pull over and cover his shit, a process that might have taken five minutes.

Stupid is the solvent that will destroy us all.

Moronometer

GRIFFIN INDUSTRIES is once again ready to unveil another stupendous invention, this one for the workplace:

The MORONOMETER measures the atmospheric changes in the amount of moronions in the immediate vicinity, rising as the stupid increases. Several alerts are available, ranging from the English as second language MacDonalds employee calling out that dinner is served to the shrieking of a porn star having their orifices delved into quite deeply.

The alert will sound when pre-set limits are exceeded in the hope of attracting the moron to the device and away from those who have work to do. It is therefore suggested that the Moronometer be placed away from the actual location where work is being done. Perhaps the hall, or even the middle of traffic.

Now, a word about tolerance levels: Each Moronometer has five independent levels that may be arbitrarily set by day, or if the owner prefers, even the hour, but only by such individuals previously cleared of moronitude. Each of these independent levels is fully adjustable and has up to ten settings, so each approved user can label and set their own tolerance level for moronic and sub-moronic behavior. These levels are clearly visible to those who deign to look at the device, in order that those intelligent enough to actually read the current atmospheric levels and related tolerance levels will have a chance to avoid pushing beyond into the realm of the drooling moron, and destroying everyone's chance at a moron-free day.

The deluxe version also comes equipped with a cattle-prod-grade shocking device to prevent tampering by morons who believe they can change things.

The Super-Deluxe Moronometer will taze anyone who, by their mere presence, increases the moronion level beyond the factory-set maximum level considered survivable by sensible people.

The Basic Moronometer will be offered free of charge, as a public service, to the first 1,ooo non-morons who order it. The Deluxe version will require photos an additional one hundred dollars, while the Super Deluxe Moronometer will require one hundred dollars and photos of the first ten morons tazed by our fine device.

Please Note: One might wonder why asshatery was not the benchmark rather than moronions. Griffin Industries is trying mightily to isolate asshattery from ordinary anal leakage, and while we hope to bring such a device to market someday, but as far as current technology allows, there is no telling asshattery from farts without actually interacting with asshats, something Griffin Industries, perforce, wishes to avoid.

Karma is a Bitch, Ain't It?

Today I had another riding experience I am now going to force you to hear about.

Experience one:

Heavy fog this morning, forty two degrees out. I ride.

There is an intersection that has two left turn lanes, one of which is almost always used as a U turn lane and is slow as molasses because of it. As the road drivers complete the U turn onto is narrow, drivers often edge into the other turn lane, making it slow as well. Knowing this, and needing gas, I decided to go straight, perform a legal U turn in the next intersection, and get gas at the station located at the far corner of the first intersection.

Trying to get through the first intersection, the truck in front of me slams on his brakes. I brake, come to a stop inches from the rear end of the truck in front of me. I look to see what emergency has caused my near-death experience. It appears someone does not want to go straight and wants everyone else in three lanes to stop so they can butt into line. I wish I was that important.

So, on we go. We get to the next intersection, I put my signal on and begin my U turn. Those of you who ride might know that U-Turns are not the simplest maneuver on a bike given the low speed and tight turn radius required, especially in slick conditions. I gave myself space. I performed the turn. The asshat who started behind me decides to make his U-turn inside my arc AND THEN FAILS TO MAKE IT IN ONE MOTION, requiring me to stop to avoid hitting him.

ASSHAT.

I gave him a flash or two of the lights, to let him know he was endangering my life with his impatience. He did not move his head or raise a hand to indicate, 'oops' or anything of that nature.

I rode up next to him where he was stopped at the light (Unlike me, he was not getting gas) and motioned for him to roll down his window. He stared.

That's right, he was a big man behind the wheel of his hurtling car, but unwilling to man up and face even the mild correction I might have directed at him. Such behavior causes me some stress, as I was somehow brought up to acknowledge mistakes I made and own my behavior, yet there seem to be so few people who do this.

I was satisfied to see him zoom off to get stuck in traffic. Later, after getting gas and getting on the freeway a little further down the road I saw his vehicle with its ambers on, broken down on the side of the road.

Had I been in a lane closer and could have done it safely, I might have stopped, offered to help, then told him, "Karma's a Bitch." and ridden off.

Perhaps fortunately (for my own karma, at least) I was unable to do so. My darker side does hope the fucker is still there, unable to get help and stewing in his own juices.

Communication for Asshats

As I believe I promised a rant yesterday, I feel I must deliver.

If you are not an asshat, then it's unlikely you need this guidance, but as there is so much asshattery in the world and so very few people believe themselves capable of asshattery, let alone with enough frequency to deserve the appellation, I recommend that you read on, just in case.

If you are entering foreign lands, it might behoove you to come prepared. If it's a hot desert you plan to go to, a canteen or even camel back might be a plan, if it's the arctic, wear a fucking jacket and you might even wish to consider some gloves, asshat.

Regardless of the weather or terrain, you might want to learn a bit of the language or culture, or at least learn to keep your mouth shut and eyes open so as to avoid offending the locals so much that you end up a sacrifice to their gods.

Asshats like you are especially pleasing sacrifices to the gods.

I am fairly certain that last little bit is the reason my parents felt so strongly that children should be seen and and not heard: kids who keep their mouths shut and ears open in adult company are more likely to learn something from their elders (and thereby avoid being dropped in the stew).

Because children are all little asshats, waiting to be trained out of that state (or not, if the parenting skills of those responsible for a little asshat are found wanting.)

These rules hold for places and situations not all that foreign to one's culture. Unfamiliar situations such as being in court, trying to get a new job, dating, all carry a degree of risk where keeping your mouth shut, at least to a degree, might gain something for you, asshat.

As my agent once told me, the more you like someone or their work, the less effusive you should be about it when speaking to them. There are few places a conversation can go when a stranger walks up to another and starts the conversation with, "I love you and your work."

The opposite also holds true. If one is a cross-burning racist asshat, one will rarely be best served by starting conversations with, "I hate you and your kind."

Asshats who pull this kind of shit deserve whatever they get.

If you arrive late to whatever foreign place you find yourself, do not go on the attack. Do not think that just because you are concerned about whether you've fucked yourself, that others should give a rat's ass about your self-inflcited doom or, for that matter, feel the need to bow down and sacrifice the least bit of their time for you to engage in any kind of asshattery.

If you are asking what you think is a reasonable question, ask yourself first, "Has this target, this person I wish to ask the question of, have they already answered this question and I was just so late/caught up in my own bullshit that I missed it?"

If the answer is yes, best not fucking ask the question, you asshat.

If the answer is no, then consider asking the question with genuine politeness.

For a moment I forgot I was writing this for true asshats, and almost didn't explain it clearly: by genuine politeness, I mean speech that is not obsequious pandering to what you believe the questioned might want to hear, such as "Hey Boss, what's up with my ____?"

The preceding fails the litmus test for politeness and, further, if the person is not your boss or a horse, now you've gone and labeled them as someone:

a) who is an animal that prefers hay

or

b) who should run the show, and is therefore somehow capable of fixing your malfunction.

Sorry, no one can do that but you, asshat.

So. Ask politely. Perhaps something along the lines of, "I'm sorry to interrupt, but I'm late, could you possibly tell me what to do?"

Then, and this is critically important, you fucking asshat: wait for the full answer. Wait longer than you think an old lady in need of hip replacement would take to cross a particularly wide street.

Now, when the answer begins, give it your full attention. You asked for that answer, and, while I know respect of any kind comes hard to asshats, you need to show some now. This is especially true of complex questions or ones that require a multi-part answer. Process each part of the answer as it is given, and do not respond until the speaker is done.

Do not give in to the instinct to believe your inner asshat, and that the person answering your very important question is as much an asshat as you are, and might either lie to you just to see you get worked up, or doesn't know what they are talking about and failing to give you the very best answer.

This is especially true if that answer contains negative news for you, asshat. No one is willing to help an asshat who, when given bad news, decides to disrupt things further by engaging in further asshattery. Do not think that by getting louder, waxing tearful, pulling an angry face, or bemoaning the fact that you are being treated unfairly, that you are doing anything more than drawing further attention to your asshattery.

Do not repeat the question over and over again to different people hoping to find a better answer, it only proves you an asshat.

Oh, and if your friends have, in the past, proven themselves asshats, don't bring them along. Anywhere. No matter how much they might whine and complain. Their asshattery can only drag you in and keep you treading the shit-filled water.

In short, try very hard not to be an infantile, whining child, you clueless asshat. Try damned hard to follow these rules, and perhaps you will go unidentified as such.

Still, I know it is sometimes very hard to avoid showing your asshattery. For my part, if you are being an asshat, but you're sweating and gritting your teeth in attempt to restrain your natural inclination to such asshattery, I might take pity on you.

No promises, but I might.

Asshat.

Asshats and Their Asshattery

My patience has melted away to vapor under the heat-friction created when reality meets the willful stupidity of certain members of the public. I am done with the bullshit of people who should know better, but refuse to allow reality any bearing in their lives.

To be more fair than they deserve: Natural selection among American civilians has, for the most part ended. We have a great number of safety devices, medicine, and even legislation that have, when combined, crushed Darwin's theory 'neath their weight.

It seems to me that back in the day, if you were taking stupid risks, then you were less likely to survive. A simple if/then statement: reality hitting stupid in the face and cleaning the gene pool of mess.

See, I'm at low ebb right now-

I didn't get this far gone when working the streets, because there would always be some guy who thought they could run or fight and get away with it. Their criminal activity would allow the occasional opening of the cage on my inner gorilla, allowing some of the pressure to escape in an orgy of high-order physical and mental activity.

Now I'm a house-cat. Most days, that's a good thing. Others, like this last week, it weighs on me like a millstone.

If You're An Asshat & You Know It, Keep Your Mouth Shut & You Might Fake People Out.

Two men, waiting for one of the courts to open, are getting phonecalls and chatting in the antechamber of the court.  I step out to see what's up.  Confusion does happen, thinking perhaps they'd been sent to the wrong spot.

"Where are you supposed to be?" I ask.

"Department X at 3:30, for a settled statement on appeal," says bearded man.

"Hmmm, that doesn't sound right," says I.  I walk toward the door to that court, putting my hand in my pocket to retrieve the key required to open said door, intending to ask the clerk of the court what might be going on.  As I move the few steps this requires, I inform the men, "Court is over for that department."

"Well, you guys are on your own schedule," the man says.  From his tone, I can only presume he thinks he's being witty.

"You guys?" I ask, stopping at the door.

The man stares at me.

"I'm sorry, who do you mean when you say "you guys"?" I ask.

He continues to stare.

My key is left in my pocket as I take my hand out and begin ticking off points, "Because if you are referring to officers, our schedule is mandated by the department, so that would be inaccurate.  If you are referring to the courts, it would be inaccurate to lump me in with them, as I work for a different agency."

"I was just making a joke, just like I would with any of my crew.  I swing a hammer, you carry a gun. We're the same dude."

"Sir, I don't know you from Adam, so it would be a gross presumption on your part to assume we were 'the same dude'.

"I guess you're right.  You're a lot meaner than me."

I do so love to watch people burn their bridges with abandon, not knowing that had they been civil, I might have done them a favor.  As it was, I had no responsibility to aid this asshat, so I said simply, "Have a fun waiting out here," and returned to my courtroom.

It was an hour before the pair were told to go downstairs and try and get their matter dealt with.  I can only hope that the offices were closed when they did.

Driving for Dumb Motherfuckers

It occurs to me that I might be calling some drivers asshats when they know not what they did that causes said nomenclature to spring to mind. Hence, in the interest of being completely fair, I provide the following stages of driving for dumb motherfuckers:

Stage 1:  get in the car well in advance of the time of any appointment you might have, and, and this is vitally important:  allow for the time it might take to get where the fuck you are headed!  As part of this, you should know, at least generally, where the hell you are going in advance.

Stage 2: Pay attention.  Did you check all around your vehicle? Repeat this check with every movement of your vehicle, regardless of whether you are accelerating, stopping, changing lanes, turning, or merging.  You moving or changing rate of movement, you must constantly look the fuck around!

Stage 3: If you miss your turn/think you want to be in a different lane than that which you are currently occupying, signal your intent, repeat Stage 2, wait a moment, repeat Stage 2, and when it is obviously clear and safe to do so, then and only then complete the fuckin' movement. When any doubt exists as to the safety of a movement, don't make it. Wait.  Go around the block.  Get off at the next exit.  Do not skip any of the stages.

Stage 4: Do not ignore signs and then expect other drivers to comply with your stupidity or otherwise behave as you do.  In other words, don't honk at me to get out of your way when we are at a light and turning right.  I might see something you can't that prevents me from turning right safely, fucktard. Another fine example: If you are speeding, don't tailgate, honk at or flash me with your brights to get me out of the way.  The speed limit is there for us all to obey or not, don't get pissed because I choose to actually adhere to the law of the land.  Now, if I'm not an asshat, I should, as a matter of courtesy get out of the fast lane as soon as I have gone through my own assessment of the safety of doing so using Stage 3.

Stage 5: Drive according to your actual capabilities and present condition, as well as those of the road and the vehicle you are driving.  You may be a formula one driver, but if you happen to be behind the wheel of a minivan, slow the fuck down before you kill someone!  If your car is a clunker that parts may fly from at any point, don't get on the road.  If you are hung over, drunk, angry over your divorce,  or simply waiting to die, don't fuckin' drive. If the road you are driving down is full of potholes, slow down.

Stage 6: Be prepared! At any time things may change, so you may need to change your direction, speed or whatever. But being prepared means remembering to complete and repeat the other stages of driving, regardless of what the asshat sharing the road with you might or might not be doing at any given time. 

If you adhere to these stages of driving, you are, I think, more likely to avoid an accident than those that don't.  Certainly you will be less likely to cause an accident and endanger others...

ODWYCDo

It is an acronym, but not a military one.  I came up with it after a victim came to me to complain that his case was being mishandled by my coworkers.  I was taking his information for the report when he waxed very disrespectful of me and law enforcement in general.  From what he claimed were quotes from the officers that he dealt with first, he had a leg to stand on, too.

Now, as I said, he started to try and chew on my ass.  I clearly stated that while he may have complaints against someone else for what had happened in the past, I was doing my duty, behaving civilly toward him, and would appreciate it if he could keep his extraneous comments to himself. 

He became enraged.  I stood back and waited. He went on for several minutes. 

Aside from monitoring my safety, I put my mind in neutral, helped by a rather gorgeous and scantily-clad young thing that happened to walk by and stare at the hissy fit the man was having and the uniformed man standing nearby.

When he had wound down, I stepped up and got the rest of his statement for the report, handed him the incident report number and told him where to go to get a copy of the report.  I later wrote the report.

The man filed a complaint against me for unprofessional conduct and failure to do my duty.

I managed to get a "Not Sustained" result for the unprofessional conduct and 'Unfounded' for the duty complaint.  To interpret for you non-SF folks:  They could not prove whether I had or had not talked shit, but they could see I had written the report.

When asked by my partner, who had stood by while all this was going on, why I wasn't more pissed, I just shrugged and said, "Only Do What You Can Do."

I meant that I can only be responsible or concerned with what I do and have done in the past, not what some asshat on his bike thinks of me.  He will still be an asshat, wherever he may go.  I have to be concerned with what I do and say.  This goes also for supervisors, or other people who fuck your work up.  Hey, I did my job to the best of my ability.  You got a problem, it ain't with my work ethic.  I don't intend to shift blame with this thought process, but rather embrace what I can do something about. And ignore, as much as possible, that which I cannot.

It is the same with writing.  I can only be responsible for those things that I did.  If sales are low and I didn't push my stuff and do everything I could to make it happen, then that's on me, I didn't ODWYCDo.

On the negative or critical side:  If I wrote some inflamatory things, then that's on me, but I won't lose sleep over someone's blatant, intentional disregard for what was actually written in favor of their 'opinion' of what went on.  If you don't already know the saying about similarity between assholes and opinions:  Everyone has one and they all stink.

Oh, and my little acronym is pronounced OdeWickDoh!