General Stench – Page 14 – HappyStinkingJoy

Tickle Me…

Last night, during the commencing of the bedtime rituals for my youngest son, we shared the nightly scratching of the backs. This means my little guy said, “Dad, can you lie down with me for a little bit?”

And I said, “You know what would keep me here?” to which he giggles and starts scratching my back.

This ritual happens almost every night. He will scratch my back for awhile, and I end having to scratch his back for at least twice as long as he scratched mine. We do this like two or three times every week because… well… I love having my back scratched and so does he 🙂

Last night, after he finished scratching the same five square-inches of my back for about 30 seconds, I began scratching his back all over, as I always do. As always, as I moved to the sides of his back, he wiggles around and giggles, “Quit ticklin.” Of course, I don’t stop. I continually tease him with the occasional tickle for a good four or five minutes. He loves it. Tonight, however, the tickles raised a question.

“How come you aren’t ticklish?”

I don’t know quite how to answer this. The youngest son, although he usually concentrates on a specific, limited portion of skin on my back for his scratching, has moved around the sides and underarm areas in an attempt to get a tickle-response out of his old man. I can think of no time that he has actually evoked the tickle-response. In fact, I can’t remember actually being ticklish since I was in high school.

“I guess I outgrew it,” I said to the boy.

He looks at me with those soft brown eyes that are always just wet enough to keep you guessing as to whether he is about to burst in to tears or burst into laughter, and he says, “That’s too bad.”

That’s too bad.

And it kind of hits me; that really is too bad. Since when did I not want to be ticklish? What part of growing up dictates that I can no longer be forced into uncontrollable bouts of laughter by someone brushing their fingers across my skin? What part of the aging process forces the skin to be not so easily moved to silliness by another person’s touch?

A part of my youth is gone… has been gone for an extremely long period of time… and I will never get that back. Neither of my sons nor my wife will be able to ever sink their fingers gently into my ribs to evoke a giggling response. I think I miss that.

Being tickled too much can be, at the least, annoying, and ,at the most, downright painful. Being tickled ‘just right’ is a fun way to connect with another human being. Even when someone is completely down in the dumps, applying slight pressure to the side of the rib area and wiggling the fingers to and fro usually can, at the very least, generate a smile 🙂 The fact that I will never experience this again kind of hit me last night.

That’s too bad.

People are Idiots…

… and, yes, there is a good chance you are an idiot too.

I work for a regional Internet company. Like almost every job I have ever had, I somehow have ended up in a position where I get to listen to people complain about stuff or to people who are having problems with stuff… and usually the fixing of the stuff is way beyond my power or ability. This is not enjoyable because, to be completely honest, most people are self-centered, self-serving, semi-retarded morons.

Internet tech support; what does this mean? It means that the company you have chosen to provide your Internet service has either an in-house or an out-sourced staff that handles issues you are having with the Internet said company provides.

“My router isn’t working… I need someone to come out and look at my router.” You didn’t buy the router from us, the Internet works when we bypass the router, so why are you calling us? And what do you mean you refuse to pay for a service call? You are an idiot.

“I backed up my Quicken files on a flash drive before I restored my computer, but now I can’t get the files downloaded back on my computer. How can I retrieve my files?” Seriously, what does that have to do with the Internet service you pay us for every month? You are an idiot.

Honestly, this is the truth… “I can’t remember my Facebook password. Can you get my Facebook password for me?” Sounds to me like someone needs to pull her head out of her nether-regions and get a clue. You are an idiot.

People think that because they pay you for a service (Internet) on a monthly basis, all of a sudden, the Internet provider’s tech staff is suddenly the customer’s own personal Geek Squad. Seriously?!? You want 24/7 tech support that not only handles any Internet issues you may have but also support for your computer, router, printer, fax machine, and your toaster toasts a little on the dark side… so you need some help with that too. Seriously, $40 per month and you get unlimited tech support for everything… along with full-blown high speed Internet service? You are an idiot.

People think that just because they pay for something, the employees of the company that they buy the service from become some sort of indentured servants. “Hey, I buy cell phone service from your company… I need someone to come over and rub my feet… my corns are aching.” Did I mention, you are an idiot?

We recently had a major hail storm come through the area. Our service usually involves mounting a plastic-covered radio on the roof of a customer’s house to provide Internet. The hail we saw come through the area was golf-ball-sized to baseball-sized. Imagine what hail that size being pushed by 60 mph winds can do to a plastic cover on a radio. And people have the balls to call in and say:

“Am I going to get credit for the time I’m down? Am I gonna get credit for however long it takes for you to get out here and fix your stuff?” (It states clearly in the service agreement that we have each and every customer sign that we cannot be responsible for interruptions in service resulting from conditions outside of our control… i.e acts of God).

Well, let me give God, you know, the maker of the hail, a call and see if He’s willing to cough up a little dough for you, you idiot! Seriously, a major hail storm goes through the area, you’re down for less than 72 hours, and you’re wanting a credit? Okay, you pay about a dollar a day for service, so a $3.00 credit (since you were down for 3 days) seems fair.

“I think I should get a free month, ’cause of the stress not being able to check my Farmville farm for three days. I coulda lost my baby chicks.”

Yeah, well, I fell like I should be able to walk up to people like you and slap you across the face just for the fact that you are an idiot, but that ain’t gonna happen either.

Dealing with idiots all day can be a very frustrating. I am currently reading a book by Seth Godin called Linchpin. Seth is a famous marketing dude who has a very well-followed blog. I am about half-way through Seth’s book and am so angry I could rip the head off of a small child’s teddy bear. Seth feels that we all just need to suck it up and find the “art” in whatever it is we’re doing and do the best “art” we can, which means shipping. Confused? Yeah, not a great synopsis of Seth’s ideology, but if you follow Seth at all, you know that of which I’m writing. I think that by “art” Seth means whatever in the hell you are doing. If there is actually something in the traditional sense of “art” that you would like to do for a living… don’t count on it. Just do that crap for free, don’t ever expect a return from it, and concentrate on the “art” that is your job. What does that mean? I’m not exactly sure, but I know it involves “shipping”. What does “shipping” mean? I’m not exactly sure, but I think it means coming up with an idea and delivering the results of whatever that idea is (whether it be a success or not). Yeah, it’s at this point that one comes to the realization that Seth Godin does not live in the real world. He works for himself and does not have a boss and therefore shouldn’t be listened to unless one has a sincere desire to be fired by one’s boss.

you: “Yeah Boss, I came up with this great idea for increasing revenue. I installed a device that tracks our customers’ web history. Everytime a customer goes to a pornography site, we charge their account a quarter!”

boss: “We can’t do that.”

you: “Already done! Just think of the extra income we’ll make!”

boss: “That is unethical and immoral, and probably illegal.”

you: “Yeah, like porn is ethical and moral. Besides, the great thing is, who is going to complain! What are they gonna say, ‘You can’t charge me every time I go to foot-licker-house-of-fetish.com… of course their not. They are going to pay for it and never say a word.”

boss: “You are an idiot. You’re fired.”

But you were just “shipping” your “art”, right?

I will write more on Seth Godin’s Linchpin when I, well, actually finish it. The main thing that popped into my head while writing this post that made me think of Seth is the fact that customer service people need to find a way to make an upset customer a happy customer who goes out and helps build your “tribe” (more Seth-speak). I don’t know how much time Seth has spent dealing with upset customers but, I’m guessing, it hasn’t been much time. Positions in customer service and tech support usually have a relatively high turnover rate. Why? Because there is very little “art” to be found in dealing with idiots. Even when the idiots are not idiots, they like to treat you like you’re an idiot, so the whole situation sucks no matter what.

My main issue is the fact that I really can empathize with people. I wish I couldn’t, but I can. I understand how you might be upset that your new router isn’t working. I understand why you would turn to your Internet provider for help with this issue because, after all, if your router doesn’t work, your Internet doesn’t “work” (which it will, once the router is configured correctly). The problem is, when you actually take the time and help these (usually computer illiterate so you’re looking at at least a half-hour phone conversation) people, these people don’t help you grow your “tribe”, because you have done what they expect (even though you have just gone above and beyond). The expectations that people have make it had to win over customers because the customers expect way more value from a service than they are willing to pay for. In other words…

People are idiots.

Stinking STRESS!

Stress sucks.

Stress causes high blood pressure, headaches, twitches in a body’s limbs, facial tics, premature balding, premature ejaculation, erectile dysfunction, world hunger, saggy boobies, Tourette syndrome (which is, in my humble opinion, is the coolest of all the syndromes… son of a b#$@*, mother %$@!*&^ bas#$rd, %*&# sucking @$$ licker!) and, I believe, the gout.

Stress sucks.

Now I am going to share with you my tried and true methodology for surviving, and even defeating, stress: uh, and now come the words of calming inspiration that will lead so many of you to a higher level of satisfaction with your lives. This is the part where I share the sure-fired method of stress relief that have made my abilities to deal with stress legendary. Here it comes… are you ready? Are you ready to completely change your life and eliminate the stress that plagues your every move? Well? Are you?

Yeah, so am I. sigh ( meek sigh of hopelessness).

Ok, so I don’t have an answer to the question of stress. In fact, I am probably the last person on the planet who would hold any sort of credentials in the field of stress-relief. Stress wears on me like one of Rosie O’Donnell’s chins… completely worthless and grosser than snot on a sneeze guard at the all-you-can-eat buffet.

sigh

When stress attacks me, I turn into a gelatinous glob of goo: weak at every joint with muscles resembling over-cooked pasta. My mind converts from semi-functional to a position of complete worthlessness… and my vocabulary resembles that of a Tourette’s victim in full dysfunction-mode. Stress renders me almost completely unusable. I know that certain people thrive under stress… I am not one of these people (crap, I don’t think I am worthy of cleaning dog poop off the bottom of these people’s shoes when stress attacks).

I have a coworker who seems to have stress all figured out. He says he can control his stress-level with breathing techniques. He also speaks of positive and negative energies and some sort of life-force that connects us to the earth by means of our groin areas. All of this aside, he also does not eat meat, which he feels better keeps his alkalinity level on the appropriate path to… uh… enlightenment, or something. Ok, so I don’t have anyone at work I can turn to.

I know that nothing is too big for God, and if I just turn it all over to Him, life will be much better. So, will God speak to the next pissed-off customer that I have to deal with? Will God make things that are completely out of my control somehow suddenly become under my control? Of course God won’t do this. I believe God is trying to teach me patience and perseverance… two things that stress the crap out of me.

Ok, so how I deal with stress is by hitting stuff. I get stressed out and I hit stuff… and the more stressed out I am the harder I hit. There is still a dent in the refrigerator door in the break room at Alltel that I believe I fractured a knuckle creating. I am not proud of this dent (ok, maybe a little proud 🙂 ) I got a little stressed at work this past Friday and I ended up punching my desk… my solid-wood desk. The desk is fine; one of my knuckles is still bleeding a little bit. This behavior cannot be healthy, and I am constantly getting on my kids for dealing with stress in an aggressive manner… but, man, when you get that little bit of pain-thing going when you are all stressed-out… your mind clears just a little bit. Your focus comes into a bit more of… well… focus.

I think every employer should be required to install a punching bag in a discreet location at every place of employment in America. You have to deal with a screaming customer… take ten and tackle the bag. You find out that something is broken that you cannot fix… and you are going to have to pass this information along to people who rely on your service for not only their entertainment but, in certain instances, their livelihood… take five and work it out on the bag.

I have tried to talk my wife into moving the family to Alaska. You know, a little shack up in the wild. We’ll trap critters and sell the furs for cash to buy the basics… such as fruit and vegetables, flour, medicine, and toilet paper. I’ll kill all the meat we need. We can home-school the boys and we will hardly ever have to deal with another person on this entire planet other than those we have selected to spend our lives with. We will have little… but that won’t matter because we won’t have the TV screaming at us what we need to own to be important. The grass will never seem greener… because there will be no neighbors. We will have the basics, we will have the adventure associated with living on our own in the middle of the majestic nothingness and beauty of the untamed wilderness, and we will have each other. Stress would be almost non-existent. But… my wife kind of likes electricity. Damn electricity!

Ok, I am pretty sure that I will never have control over the stress in my life. I am pretty sure there is a heart-attack in my not-too-distant future. There may not be hope for me… but I think I may have discovered a methodology for surviving, and even defeating, stress:

Hit stuff… hard! And, if that doesn’t work, move the family to a shack in Alaska.

Good luck!

Why?

Why do I do this? Why do I blog… or, even better yet, why do I write at all? I do not feel naturally talented in the area of writing, nor entertaining… nor much of anything I actually enjoy. I do, however, love to write.

I also love to laugh, and I wish I could laugh more often. Few things make me laugh anymore. My boys make me laugh… with their innocent comments and their grand expectations… and their silliness. My wife makes me laugh when she tells me how goofy the boys were at this or how I would have loved to see that… my wife makes me laugh:) Did I mention that I love to laugh?

So, why do I do this?

I write to entertain. I have no false hope that what I write will enrich lives or fulfill destinies… I’m not a fool. I do think, however, from time-to-time, I can write something that someone, somewhere may find slightly amusing; that is what this is all about. When I can write something that makes someone else think or, especially, laugh, I’ve accomplished my goal. When I write something and it makes me chuckle, I have every hope that at least one other soul will find it amusing… even if that soul is someone I have never met. Perhaps someday, that soul I’ve touched and I will meet and have a good belly-laugh about how much Nebraska sucks… or how much turning 40 bites… or how retarded half of the people on food stamps are…… or how great it is having a family that you could not live without.

My wife didn’t marry me for my wealth; when we met, I was broke. If the status of my wealth had mimicked the status of my waistline, my wife and I would now be rolling in dough… but we’re not… and I’m fat. Sigh. My wife also did not marry me for my looks… I can make a dog howl just by sticking my face in his. Sigh. My wife stands firmly by my side, however, so I can bear the burden of whatever life throws my way. I don’t know what my wife saw in me when she agreed to spend her life with me, but I’m glad she saw what she did, and I feel an unusual commitment to live-up to whatever expectations she may have (or have had.) She saw something, and I write in hopes of finding what she saw… and unleashing it.

I write because writing words that someone else reads makes me feel alive. If I didn’t feel alive, I’d most likely feel… uh, I guess, dead?!? I write because I don’t want to feel dead. Who wants to feel dead? I hope someone enjoys it 🙂

Do You Know Who I Am?!?

You are dealing with a customer-service-type-situation. The person you are dealing with is asking you for things that are above and beyond not only what the rules and regulations of the company which employs you dictate as acceptable; the things this person is asking of you are beyond what a normal person would expect.

“Do you know who I am?”

Or better yet, “Do you know who you’re dealing with?”

Of course, if you have heard one of these phrases or something similar, the first thing that popped into your mind is probably pretty much the same thing that pops into my mind:

“Uh, yeah, apparently you’re a jackass!”

Of course, you don’t say this. You try to explain why what the moron is asking for is unreasonable and, after talking down to you in more ways than you ever imagined possible, he or she ends up tromping off in a huff (or hanging up if on the phone). They then work their way up the chain-of-command above your head until, 99% of the time, they get what they wanted in the first place. Would have been kind of nice if you were given the power to grant their request, but you weren’t; so you will always be the peon who “didn’t know who they were.”

People who throw out the “do you know who I am” spiel should all lose their ability to speak… immediately; this is my wish. Just the fact that someone would use this phrase shows that he thinks he is more valuable to society than you are. Wow, who doesn’t like to be talked down to? Who doesn’t like some arrogant jackass making demands and belittling you in the process? The thing is, these jerks often complain loud enough and hard enough that they get what they want, which only reinforces their unbearable behavior. These jerks have had “the customer is always right” driven into their heads for so long that they actually believe this “rule” is the gospel in each and every situation they come across in life. The fact that these morons have a position which they perceive as power-filled does not help the situation.

I live in rural America. The snobalicious people I am referring to in rural America usually hold some sort of political office. Small town mayors are notorious for being butt monkeys. Small town mayors make almost no money by means of their office, so they apparently think they need to get lots of “perks” from businesses that serve their community. It’s kind of like the mayor of Littletown, WY. Now, Littletown has a population of about 8 people, and for some reason they have a mayor. The mayor probably makes around $7.28/year for being mayor. The mayor also happens to raise (and smoke) meth (bet ya didn’t know meth could be grown, huh? Well in Nebraska and Wyoming, meth grows on the prairies like stink grows in Rosie O’Donnell’s armpits.) So, Mayor Littletown calls you up ’cause he buys a service from your company and he has a perception that something isn’t right. Let’s say it’s satellite TV.

Littletown: My TV ain’t workin’!

You: What seems to be the problem?

Littletown: My kid chucked his baseball through the front of the TV and now it ain’t workin’.

You: Uh… what does that have to do with your satellite?

Littletown: Look, I pay you guys for service every month and I want something done!

You: But, Sir, we just provide your satellite. We don’t have anything to do with your kid throwing a ball through your TV…

Littletown: DO YOU KNOW WHO YOU’RE TALKING TO? I’M THE MAYOR OF LITTLETOWN AND I HAVE A LOT OF INFLUENCE IN THIS COMMUNITY! YOU WILL FIX THIS OR YOUR COMPANY WILL BE DONE IN LITTLETOWN!

Ok, so the Mayor Littletown has a lot of influence… over 7 other semi-inbred rednecks (who are also the mayor’s best customers for his meth crops). Being the mayor of a community of 8 people does not mean that you were elected due to your impressive electoral campaign or your innate ability to reduce deficit and balance a budget. Being the mayor in a community like Littletown means… uh… it was your turn. Next term, your neighbor Jedidiah with the rotted front teeth and the constant tweaks gets his turn.

In rural America, it doesn’t usually seem to be the successful business people who are the butt monkeys (although there is a cafe owner in small town Wyoming that I would like to punt for a field goal.) Most rural American butt monkeys are usually paid with taxpayer money or “volunteer” to help the community: city council people, county commissioners, school board members, school administrators, city management, community development leaders, etc,etc,etc…

I’m not saying that all people in these positions are butt monkeys; I’m saying that a large percentage of the particular type of butt monkey which I am discussing (the “do you know who I am” butt monkey) can be found in one of the aforementioned positions.

You may wonder why I refer to people who I have issues with as “butt monkeys”. Well, it’s funny 🙂 Just the mental image that “butt monkey” conjures gets me giggling. You know, little monkeys… in your butt… peeking out every once in awhile and annoying the CRAP out of you (figuratively… or not…)

We the people, in order to form a more perfect union, need to destroy all butt monkeys! Whose with me? C’mon, let’s grab our butt-monkey guns and bag us some butt monkeys… wait, that would take effort… ok, lets just agree to make a crapload of fun of all butt monkeys. Agreed? And small town butt monkeys need to realize that they are butt monkeys and that they annoy the crap out of most normal people. So, if you know a butt monkey, make sure to slap them every time the butt-monkiness comes through. I think I’ve even come up with a slogan for the new anti-butt monkey campaign:

Give “spanking the monkey” a new meaning – slap the crap out of a butt monkey today!

Safeway SUCKS!

Anyone who has spent any time on my blog knows that I am pretty much good for nothing. I complain a lot, and I’m relatively good at complaining… in fact, if complaining were an occupation, there is a good chance I would finely be at the top of my game career-wise, ’cause I am, in my humble opinion, a top-notch bitcher. Ok, so I’m not good for nothing! I’m a good… no, a GREAT… bitcher! Man, if only the world could compensate me for this talent. That’s what I want on my tombstone: “Not Good for Much, But Boy Could He Bitch!”

Anyway, I had an experience a couple of weeks ago that got the complain-mechanism in my brain all fired up and ready to go. In fact, I was so torqued, I had to wait a couple of weeks just to prevent this post from becoming a spewing geyser of venomous hate… which it still runs the risk of becoming. I promise, I’ll try to be civil.

I was feeling adventurous and was going to try our a new recipe. In order to follow this recipe, I needed some Italian sausage links. Since we had none of these links at home, I was forced to drive to a grocery store. The closet grocery store to my house was a local store called Panhandle Coop, so I drove to Coop in an attempt to save time. I figured I could pick up about 3 packaged of Italian sausage for about $3.00 each.

I walk into Coop and head to the meat department. I walk up to the section that contains the Italian sausage and the crap is like $5.00 per pack. I turn around, grumbling loudly to myself and I leave the stinking store. “Hometown friendly my $#*!,” I grumble.

I drive a couple of blocks over to Safeway. I almost never shop at Safeway, because I feel like their name should really be “Wanna-Shop-Here-Then-Bend-Over-And-Take-Our-Exorbitantly-High-Prices-Like-A-Convict-Reaching-For-The-Soap-Way.” But maybe… just maybe… they are having a sale or something. After all, I have one of their pain in the $#*! Club Cards! I like to think of people who shop at Safeway as mostly mentally-deficient, because only those with brain damage would pay twice what something is worth just have the store pretty much to themselves while they shop.

Ok, so I walk into Safeway and I make my way to the meat department. I walk up to the Italian sausage section and… GLORY… they have Italian sausage on sale for $2.99 a package. I grab 3 packs from right behind the sign (this is particularly important and will come into play a little later) and I head to the counter.

I’m fumbling through my wallet searching for that stinking Club Card as the pimple-faced checker rings-up my sausage. I hand him the card and he swipes it.

“That’ll be $17.97,” croaks pimple-face.

“Should be like 9 bucks,” I tell him. “It’s on sale.”

He looks over at the cashier next to him and holds up my sausage, “Is this on sale?” he asks.

“No, not that one,” says next-door pimple-face.

“I’ll show you,” I say and I start walking back to the stinking meat department.

Me and my pimple-face get to the meat department and I point triumphantly at the sign which boldly proclaims that Italian sausage is on sale for $2.99 per package… and then I notice in very small print that it’s the Safeway brand of sausage that’s on sale. I had grabbed Johnsonville, which isn’t on sale even though the Johnsonville is the only sausage I can find in the meat cooler.

“I want the stuff that’s on sale,” I say.

“Yeah, we’re out of that,” says pimple-face rather a little too smugly for my taste.

“Then why is the sign still up and why is the Johnsonville piled up behind the sale sign?” I ask. “Can’t you honor the marked sale price with the product that is displayed?”

“No, that sausage isn’t on sale,” says Smugly van Pimple-face.

“Screw Safeway,” I say and make for the door, grumbling and unleashing expletives as I storm past the manager at the customer service counter as I realize that Safeway having a customer service counter is somewhat like Payless Shoes having an airplane repair counter.

“But Payless Shoes doesn’t offer airplane repair,” you may say.

Exactly.

I get in my car and I drive five mile to stinking Walmart. I get out of the car and hike like 1/2 mile to the meat department. I grab 3 packages of $3.00 Italian sausage and go to the checkout. I don’t have to get dig out any stupid cards, I pay my $9.00, and I leave. If I had just gone to Walmart in the first place, I would have saved time, I would have put less wear and tear on my car, and my blood pressure would have stayed within a safe range.

Ok, so the safe bet is to avoid all of the other retarded grocery stores and shop at Walmart, right? Moral presented in a solid fashion, correct? I thought so, until a couple of days later.

The family and I decide that the dry, itchy skin we are all experiencing needs to come to an end, so the oldest boy and I head out to buy some water softener salt for our water softener (which has been out for awhile because… uh, well, because I’m lazy, I guess.) But the boy and I play it smart. We don’t go to Coop, we don’t bother with Wanna-Shop-Here-Then-Bend-Over-And-Take-Our-Exorbitantly-High-Prices-Like-A-Convict-Reaching-For-The-Soap-Way, we head straight to Walmart. We park the car, head into the store, and make our way right to… where… the… water…softener… salt… used… to… be…

“Where in the crap is the water softener salt?” I ask the boy.

The boy shrugs and gets that oh-man-Dad-is-getting-mad-and-is-going-to-embarrass-me-in-public look on his face.

Our Walmart recently went through a remodel, which means that they put down new floors, moved everything in the store to a different location, and cut their selection way back… after all, they have already capitalized on offering a great selection and low prices and they have most people in the area trained to shop there, so why would they want to go through the expense of offering any sort of selection anymore? Walmart know better what you need to buy than you do… trust them, they are Walmart!

Finally spying an elusive Walmart employee, I ask where the softener salt has been moved to. The employee points out that the salt has been moved to the opposite end of the store, so the boy and I trek that direction.

After loading our cart up with softener salt, we head to the checkouts (which, it is not easy to push a cart full of bags of water softener salt through Walmart.) After paying for the crap, we start to make our way out of the store, struggling with that stupid cart full of heavy softener salt. I’m about to leave the building when one of the ‘greeters’ yells, “Excuse me… sir… sir…” and I finally realize that the dude is yelling at me “… I’m going to need to check your receipt!”

“What?” I ask.

“I’m going to need to check your receipt.”

“You think I’m stealing a cart full of water softener salt?” I ask.

“I’m sorry, I need to see your receipt.”

“Of course,” I spew. “I’m shopping at Walmart, therefore, I am the kind of person who would steal, right.” I’m pretty hot. Go into flipping Walmart, spend your hard earned money, and be treated like a criminal for it! I HATE Walmart.

“Well, if you are shopping at Walmart, you are the one that is being robbed,” says greeter-dude. He smiles. He puts his hand on my shoulder as he delivers his lame attempt at calming me down.

The boy pulls the hood of his hoodie up over his head and heads straight for the parking lot.

I’m not a violent man… mostly because I’m kind of a wimp and fear getting the snot kicked out of me… but this Walmart dude is about to lose his hand! And then, in a brief moment of clarity, I realize that this poor sap is stuck greeting ticked-off Walmart customers and making sure that the thieves aren’t running rampant through the front doors of Walmart. His employment at Walmart is punishment enough for his hand touching my person. I let him check my receipt, proving to him that not every nincompoop that graces the front stoop of Walmart is out to rob the stinking store blind (but… if you’ve ever looked around Walmart, you must realize that many of the shoppers in a Walmart are the kind of people that you would search if they spent a few minutes in you house, and by shopping at Walmart, we apparently put ourselves in the same class as this trash, and we should feel happy being treated like thieves by the greeters at Walmart after we’ve spent our hard-earned money to support their employment!)

The boy and I get home and I relay the experience to the wife.

“You shouldn’t act like that in front of the boy,” she says. “You’re setting a bad example… and it embarrasses him.”

So, I’m coming to the holy revelation that I am meant to stay away from grocery stores, and the final anchor in this feeling was pounded home the other night. My favorite ice cream in the entire world is Ben & Jerry’s Pistachio Pistachio Ice Cream. There is no better treat on the planet. We seldom have this treat. I know that 2 of the 4 grocery stores in our little berg do not carry this particular slice of heaven because they suck! That leaves us with Walmart and… heaven forbid… Safeway. After a great meal, the wife says, “Wouldn’t some Pistachio Pistachio be good right about now?”

“Oh yeah, that would be AWESOME,” I say… because I am a dorky product of the 80s.

“Well, Walmart doesn’t carry it anymore,” says the wife. “Since their remodel, they went from carrying about every flavor of Ben & Jerry’s to, I think, like, six flavors.” After all, Walmart knows better what you want to buy that you do yourself.

“What!,” I cry. If Walmart doesn’t carry my Pistachio Pistachio… and stinking Panhandle Coop doesn’t carry my Pistachio Pistachio… and the stupid Nash Finch store doesn’t carry Pistachio Pistachio… that leaves stinking Safeway, where I recently swore not another of my hard-earned pennies would be spent!

Needless to say, I called Safeway, they had Ben & Jerry’s Pistachio Pistachio Ice Cream, and the wife ran to their store and spent, I believe, about $20.00 for a pint of my favorite ice cream.

The moral of the story is… who knows?!? Corporate American SUCKS! Walmart SUCKS! Panhandle Coop and Nash Finch SUCK! I would honestly consider voting democrat if it meant our local grocery stores would stop being so stinking SUCKY and actually put the wants… no, I say, needs of the customers right up there alongside their stinking PROFITS (uh… ok, me vote democrat… hahaha… that may be pushing it… hahaha… I’m upset, I didn’t have a lobotomy.)

I guess the moral of the story has to be the same as the title of this post: Safeway SUCKS!

Dave Ramsey’s Stinking Financial Peace!

My wife and I recently finished up Dave Ramsey’s Financial Peace University. I am not going to dog on Dave’s system too much… ’cause I think it works and is pretty much worth the effort for anyone who wants to gain control of his or her finances. Dave teaches a lot of common sense stuff (and makes a buttload of money teaching it… how much is a buttload… well, it’s more than most of us will ever see; an amount of money that verges on the border of being uncomfortable.)

Dave teaches “baby steps” that anyone can follow and everyone could benefit from implementing. Dave’s little catch-phrase is that you should “live like no one else” (i.e. sacrifice having any sort of life-joy now,) “so later, you can live like no one else” (i.e. so if you find a way to avoid death and make it to 70, you can finally start realizing some of the fruit of your labor.) Yeah, doesn’t sound real dreamie to me either, but it sounds a lot better than completely depending on the soon-to-be-extinct Social Security (damn democrats… instead of finding more ways to spend my flipping tax money, like health care, why don’t you guarantee that I’ll get back some of the stinking Social Security benefits that I have given those who went before me!) Dave paints a much rosier picture than what I believe is truly possible for average folks out there. I think Dave may be a little unrealistic and misleading in some of his assertions and examples.

Dave Ramsey: “If you start investing $2000 per year beginning at age 12 and can make a simple 20% interest, by the time you retire at age 90, you will be a millionaire!”

Ok, this example may be a little far fetched… a little. Maybe Dave didn’t actually use any examples that were quite so retarded. It is funny, however, that whenever he gives an example of the average guy, he picks some 30 year-old schmuck making an above average income(’cause I think you have to make above average to really “live like no one else” in the long run,) and Dave proceeds to tell us all of the sacrifices this guy is going to have to make to (which usually involves, for some strange reason, a night job delivering pizza?!?); this is the first part of the “live like no one else.” Then, when we get to the second half of the “live like no one else,” Dave is throwing out examples of multimillionaires (like himself) who can drop cash for about anything because, well, they’re multimillionaires. The thing is, that 30 year-old schmuck isn’t going to get Dave Ramsey-rich just because he delivered pizzas. The only way to get Dave Ramsey-rich is to make a lot of money through your career (maybe by charging honest folks $100 to take your class where you can teach them how to find financial peace…,) which those of us living in the remote, rural areas of this country will never do. So, although Dave never actually comes out and says that the 30 year-old schmuck will get Dave Ramsey-rich, the way the “live like no one else, so later, you can live like no one else” is presented could be interpreted as a little misleading by anyone who is actually paying attention.

In most of his examples, Dave starts with a savings plan starting at or around age 30 and a retirement age of 70. He gives several examples of how you can amass a ton of wealth (MILLIONS) by investing X amount of money at age 30, making 12% on that money, and retiring when you are 70. First of all, I don’t know what the average age is of someone going through Financial Peace University… but I’m guessing it is well above 30. Crap, I’m 40, so I guess I would have to retire at 80 to hit Dave’s projections. Second, 12% earnings on a retirement fund may be slightly unrealistic in today’s market. I’m going to cut Dave a little slack on this one because the video series I watched was made like 2 years ago (I think it was made in 2008), so things are a little less financially rosy at present time than they were 2 years ago, and who know, maybe the markets will completely rebound and no other major damage will be done to the markets again (but I think the radical Muslims may have a thing or two to say about that.) Finally, even if I had started working toward financial peace 10 years ago, I have no intention of working until I’m 70! Hell, I have no intention of living until I’m 70, so why would I base future plans on retiring at that age?

Dave Ramsey is, first and foremost, a salesman. He tries to sell his ideas, and his books, and his program, and his swag (it kills me that Dave preaches that we shouldn’t spend money on unnecessary crap and there, right in the middle of his workbook which tells you not to buy crap, is an add for all kinds of Dave Ramsey’s Financial Peace University CRAP that Dave would love for you to buy… ’cause God knows that coffee is going to taste a helluva lot better while you’re doing all this personal sacrifice stuff if you’re drinking it out of a Dave Ramsey’s Financial Peace University coffee mug!) Dave portrays himself as, you know, just this dude who is trying to help others. He is so willing to help others that it only costs like $100 to take his course that will help you gain control over… uh… your money. But seriously, no harm, no foul. The dude needs to make money, and the course is well worth the money it costs to take… but the “I’m just here to help you” front doesn’t fly. Dave, if you are going to be honest with us and yourself, let’s try, “I’m here to help you, but it’s gonna cost you about 100 bucks because that’s how I got Dave Ramsey-rich and I ain’t ever going back, you’re gonna have to sacrifice more than you are probably comfortable with and you are going to miss out on a lot of crap for now, and you will NEVER be as rich as me. Want to buy a Dave Ramsey’s Financial Peace University fanny-pack?”

Dave works a biblical approach into his plan, which I like. He actually seems sincere when it comes to his faith, so I’ll give him props for that.

One of the portions of the course I really enjoyed was Dave’s philosophy on insurance. He starts out this section of the course talking about how insurance agents HATE this part of the course. Dave then goes on to talk about why whole life insurance is for idiots and all kinds of other things that I’m sure most insurance agents would not like the average person thinking about. Well, Dave gets done, the DVD player gets turned off, and the one insurance agent we have in our class goes off about how Dave Ramsey is not “all knowing”; about how Dave Ramsey is a salesman more than anything, after all we all paid for his class… he isn’t doing it for free… and about how each individual’s insurance needs are different and we can’t all base our needs for insurance off of what Dave Ramsey is trying to sell us on. In other words, the insurance agent in our class HATED this part of the course. The thing is, the “crappy” stuff that insurance agents try to do which Dave discussed are not things this agent does. I think Dave ended up pissing every person off in our class with one point or another… and it wasn’t that I really enjoyed Dave’s teaching so much as I enjoyed watching how right Dave was about insurance agents not liking this part of the course. Our insurance agent (who is, by the way, a good, honest person… and I like the dude) made this section enjoyable just by how much he let it upset him. It’s always fun to watch someone unnecessarily defend what they do for a living! I know, I used to work for a cell phone company… and there are few jobs that require more defense than when you represent one of the cell phone monsters:

“Isn’t cell phone insurance a rip-off?”

“Well, it makes it easier to replace your phone if something happens to it.”

“But you don’t get a new phone, do you?”

“No, you don’t. You get a refurbished phone.”

“How can you push cell phone insurance when it puts a customer in a refurbished phone?”

“Because I have had the people without insurance come up to me with the 2-day old phone that they dropped in the toilet and which now does not work, and I have had to explain to them that they are under a two-year contract and they have no insurance so their only option is to spend $200 or more full-retail price for a replacement phone. These people almost always yell at me, like I make the rules or I have the power to just give them a brand new phone because they have, after all, been a customer for three years or something. I don’t like being yelled at, I have no control over the policies and procedures of the company, you’re the retard that dropped a $300 cell phone in the toilet, I don’t make any more commission just because you have been a customer for three years… in fact, I don’t make any money unless you actually purchase something… and did I mention that I hate being yelled at… so buy the stupid insurance and quit wasting my time.”

Yeah, working at the cell phone company sucked… the money was good, but people are pretty stupid when it comes to their cell phones. Anyway… long story short (too late), I understand the insurance dude trying to justify around Dave Ramsey’s observations. No one likes to have what they do called into question by a “professional” like Dave Ramsey. Thank goodness there were no credit card customer service reps in our class 🙂

Probably my favorite lesson in the Financial Peace University course was the one on careers. Dave said some stuff that I thought really made sense. He spoke of finding a job that utilizes your natural talents. He said that those who tell you that you can “learn” to overcome personality traits that work against certain aspects of your career… well, those people are full of crap (ok, he didn’t say crap, but it was implied.) If managing people, or outside sales, or whatever, is not something you are good at or comfortable with, you will not “learn” to be good at this stuff. You need to find something you are naturally good at or enjoy and go full forward with that. I love this advice… and I agree wholeheartedly! Those people who tell you that you need to “work outside of your comfort zone” to be successful have no idea how extraordinarily craptastic the area outside of the comfort zone can be for many of us!

Dave refers to using personality tests to help you figure out what careers you can be successful in. Upon completing the Gary Smalley test, I have determined that I am almost 100% pure golden retriever, which means I have no self-confidence and do almost anything to avoid conflict… wow, big surprise there. There aren’t exactly a ton of high-dollar jobs available to golden retrievers.

Librarian was one that I think I would actually love… but that would mean, probably, another stinking bachelor’s degree PLUS a MLS degree to actually be able to make ok money… so, at 40, sell the house, take out some student loans, go back to school, and hopefully by the time I’m 50 I can have a career I love… and a crapload more debt. Yeah, that ain’t gonna happen.

I can’t really remember what other jobs a golden retriever could excel at, but I know they all paid CRAP! For example, I would probably make an excellent file clerk. I don’t care how long I work as a file clerk… or how GREAT I get a being a file clerk… or how indispensable I become to my employer as a file clerk… I ain’t ever topping about 12 bucks an hour as a file clerk, and I REALLY ain’t gonna get even close to Dave Ramsey-rich at $12 an hour. Ok, so the “follow your personality trait” deal sounds golden… but in all reality, I think it’s really just a stinking pile of pyrite.

Dave Ramsey has some great ideas, and if you are having issues with your personal finances… or have no idea how you are ever going to be able to retire… you might want to check Dave out. Dave’s system is not get rich quick (and he stresses that it is not get rich quick.) Financial Peace University is touted as a get-rich-very-slowly-system, and if your earnings are above average, you can get there. For those of us with a little less income coming in through the front door, Financial Peace University may offer us the hope of not having to reverse-mortgage our homes to survive when we retire!

Tech Support

If anyone has ever called the tech support department of their Internet service provider for one reason or another, every once in awhile you may get a tech on the phone who seems to be a little lacking in patience. The reason for the tech’s lack of patience is most likely because the following conversation (or something very similar) happened moments before you called:

“This is Rich, how may I help you.”

“Your Internet ain’t workin’. ”

“I’m sorry to hear the Internet isn’t working for you. How long has it been down?” hurried sound of typing as the tech tries to figure out what’s wrong

“Don’t know. Damn thing was working last night, but this morning, nothing. I paid my bill, so why ain’t it working?”

“Well, according to what I can see here, it looks like your Internet should be working. If you don’t mind, I’d like to try to do some trouble shooting over the phone…”

“…Can’t you just send someone out here and make this #$@*& thing work. I paid my bill!”

“Yes, I understand your account is current. I can’t get anyone out to your location today or tomorrow…”

“…So your gonna credit my $@#% account, right, since your Internet ain’t working and I gotta wait two days for you sons-a-$@#&s to come fix it?”

“I really think we can get this fixed over the phone if you just give me a few minutes to troubleshoot your problem.”

“Ok, fine, do your troubleshooting.”

“Great, thank you! Could you please open your browser?”

“Open my what?”

“Your browser….”

“…What the hell is a browser?”

“Your browser is the program you use to surf the Internet; Internet Explorer, Firefox, Google Chrome…”

“…So you want me to open the Internet?”

“Yes, please open the Internet.”

“But I already told you, the damn Internet isn’t working.”

“If I could get you to pretend that the Internet isn’t broken and you were trying to get on the Internet, that would be most helpful.”

“But it ain’t gonna do any damn good, ’cause the Internet is broke.”

“Yes, I understand that the Internet is not working. What I am trying to determine is the error message that you are receiving when you try to open a web page. This error message may help us figure out why the Internet isn’t working.”

“Well how am I supposed to open the Internet if the Internet ain’t working?”

“I don’t actually need you to get online. I just would like you to open your browser to see what error message you get.”

“What’s a browser?”

“For the love of… never mind!”

“Well, there’s no need to get snappy. If anyone should be getting snappy, it’s me. I’m the one who paid the bill and I’m the one who ain’t getting no damned Internet!”

“I didn’t mean to snap at you. I apologize. Let’s try something else. In the bottom right-hand corner of your monitor, there should be a series of little icons…”

“…What’s a icon?”

“An icon is a little, uh, like a picture. There should be a series of little pictures in the bottom right-hand corner of your monitor.”

“Oh, ok, pictures, and what’s a monitor?”

“………– You’re kidding, right?”

“What’s a monitor?”

“Four years of college and tens of thousands of dollars in student loans and… your monitor is your screen… you know, the thing you look at when you are using your computer… kind of like a little TV.”

“Ok, monitor, got it.”

“Down in the corner of your monitor, do you see a picture that looks like… oh man… two computer monitors?”

“Huh?”

“Ok… there should be a little picture that looks like two little TVs, one in front of the other, down in the bottom right-hand corner of the TV-type-thingie you look at when you use your computer.”

“I don’t have that.”

“You have to have that.”

“Don’t tell me what I have to have because I’m telling you… I don’t have that!”

“Ok… could you please tell me what you have pictures of down in the right-hand corner of the TV-type-thingie you look at when you use your computer.”

“Well… I got a picture of what looks like a speaker or something…”

“Ok.”

“…and I got a picture of a little blue guy with a red ‘x’ on him…”

“Ok.”

“…and I got a smiley face…”

“Right… right…”

“… and I got a picture of two little TVs with a red ‘x’ on ’em…”

“……..– So you have the icon of the two TVs that I asked you about?”

“No, these have a red ‘x’ on them. You didn’t say anything about an ‘x’. You gotta be specific. I ain’t real swift with this computer stuff.”

“Wow, you could have fooled me. Ok, can you please put your cursor over the little picture of the TVs with the red ‘x’ on them?”

“What’s a cursor?”

“For crying out… the little arrow that moves when you move your mouse. The thing you use to select things on the screen.”

“I don’t have an arrow on the screen.”

“You have to have a cursor. Every computer has a cursor! You HAVE to have a little arrow that you use to select stuff!”

“I have a little hand that moves around when I move the mouse.”

“Ok then, that is your cursor.”

“But you said I HAD to have an arrow. I don’t have an arrow, I have a hand, so you were wrong. I’m not to sure you know what you’re doing.”

“……….”

“Are you there? Did I lose you? Damn it, if he hung up on me…”

“… I’m here. Can you please move the hand over the little picture of the TVs with the red ‘x’ on them.”

“Ok, done.”

“There should be a little pop-up message that displays when the hand moves over the little TVs with the red ‘x’.”

“Yep there is.”

“……….”

“You there?”

“Yes, I’m here. Could you please tell me what that message says?”

“It says, ‘local area connection – a network cable is unplugged’. What does that mean?”

“It means that your computer isn’t getting the Internet through the cable plugged into it.”

“What cable is that?”

“It would be your Ethernet cable.”

“What’s a…”

“… Ethernet cable looks like an over- sized telephone wire. It usually plugs into the back of the computer.”

“You know, that’s kind of funny. I unplugged a cable from the back of the computer last night when I was cleaning up. It looked like a big telephone wire.”

“……….”

“Do you think I should plug that back in?”

“……….”

“Hello, did I lose you?”

“A long time ago. Yes, could you please plug your Internet connection back into your computer.”

“Alrighty.”

“Why would you unplug wires from the back of your computer?”

“……….”

“Hello?”

“Yeah, I got her plugged in and your Internet seems to be workin’ again. Thanks.”

click

Please, please, please think twice before allowing that codgerie, crankity person in your life to buy a computer. If you have even the faintest sliver of humanity in you, and if you disregarded my first plea… for the love of everything sacred and holy… please do not let that crusty, complaining, technologically inept person in you life get the Internet! Your goodwill may save the innocent from the fury of a tech support specialist gone postal!

Stinking Old Germans!

There are so many things about the Craphandle of Nebraska not to like! The wind blows here almost all of the time. The scenery is… uh… not very scenic. There is little to do here that does not involve killing critters of one kind or another or drinking lots and lots of alcohol (I know, I know; sounds like a redneck heaven… but if you aren’t 100% pure redneck, it sucks.) Low wages and a relatively high cost of living (i.e. we make less and pay more because we like killing stuff and drinking stuff… or something.) Oh, I could go on for hours about the stuff here that sucks! There is some good stuff here too, but the good stuff isn’t nearly as fun to write about!

One of the most annoying things of all about living in the Craphandle of Nebraska is the stinking old Germans!

Now, I have nothing against Germans as a people (other then, I guess, World War I… & maybe World War II… and that holocaust thing wasn’t real cool… and BWMs kind of suck ’cause they are only for rich, snotty people.) Heck, I have my fair share of German blood running through my veins. However, the Germans here are different! The Germans here in the Craphandle of Nebraska are Germans from Russia who left Russia to get away from the Czars… blah, blah, blah. I’ve had the whole thing explained to me before but it didn’t interest me at the time and I have no desire to bore you to death with it now. To make it short: Germans around here are… uh… different; did I already mention that?

To Germans around here, bratwurst isn’t a mainstay and sauerkraut is seldom seen. “Garlic sausage” is the meat of choice. Never heard of garlic sausage? Yeah, neither has 99% of the US population. Garlic sausage is a beefie porkish big link sausage thingie that tastes pretty garlicy. Don’t get me wrong, the garlic sausage stuff is good… but it ain’t bratwurst! Also, they have these things here called “cabbage burgers.” These are also known in German communities around the world as kraut burgers or runzas.

Kraut burgers are a mixture of lightly seasoned cabbage and ground beef stuffed inside bread dough and baked. Sounds yummy, huh? Actually, they aren’t nearly as gross as they sound and, if you’re like me, you will enjoy the gas-producing side effects:) There is even a franchised fast food restaurant based out of somewhere in eastern Nebraska that specializes in kraut burgers; it’s called Runza and it sells extremely overpriced, very small versions of the kraut burger. So, next time you’re in Nebraska, stop at a Runza and order some cabbage and ground beef stuffed bread dough… it will only take like 3 of them to fill you up, and they are only like $5.00 each. That’s a reasonable lunch!

Germans around here also like their “German Blackberries”, which aren’t blackberries at all but are the potentially lethal Black Nightshade.

The local Germans use these berries, which are from the same plant family as tobacco, in breads and various desert products. Poisonous tobacco berries… line up kiddies, Grandma has something special for you!

Aside from the strange cooking habits of the stinking Germans, the attitude that many of these people force on you will either really tick you off or make you sick! “My family helped found this valley,” the stinking Germans will say (’cause, I guess, much of the Craphandle is located in a valley.) They throw this at you in an attempt to, I don’t know, impress you? It’s like the fact that this moron’s great-grandfather settled here a long time ago makes the moron someone special. I always want to come back with something like:

“Well, if your family helped found this valley, why in the hell aren’t there better paying jobs here? Why is the crime rate so proportionately high here? Why has this turned into a retirement community where young families have to be semi-retarded to stay? Why is it, that at any given time of the day, you can be stopped by not one but two trains when trying to travel from one side of the “twin cities” of Scottsbluff and Gering to the other… what kind of “progressive” community still has railroad crossings on major streets instead of underpasses or overpasses… oh, that’s right, we’re not ‘progressive,’ ’cause we’re a bunch of stinking Germans who don’t need no stinking progress! Why is there a meth lab in every corn field and a meth head on every corner? If your family helped found this valley and played a major part in what this valley is today… I guess your family kind of failed us, didn’t they, Sparky!”

Of course, the stinking old Germans only throw this crap out when you are dealing with a customer service issue and they want special treatment because of “who they are.” If I was actually able to come back with the response I feel is appropriate, I would find myself filing for unemployment. Stinking Germans!

Another time where the stinking old Germans really try to tick me off is when they are driving! Even in my church parking lot, you really have to be careful with the stinking Germans behind the wheel. It can be 15 degrees Fahrenheit with the wind howling and the snow blowing and you are coming out of church with your family, including your new-born baby. You are trying to rush your family to the safety of the awaiting car but… LOOK OUT!!!… a stinking old German is coming right at you and there isn’t a snowball’s chance in hell that that old moron is going to slow down let alone stop to let you and your family find safety from the weather in your car… not until they drive by. How DARE you think that the stinking old German should let you cross just because he or she is in the warm safety of their car; they are old and they are German… you should feel lucky that they didn’t just run you down where you stand, because that is perfectly within their rights. Don’t you know who they ARE! And if you think the church parking lot is bad, just wait until you try the stinking Walmart parking lot!!!

Brett Favre Sucks!

I have been a Minnesota Vikings fan since I was 10 years-old. I saw Tommy Kramer make a game-winning Hail-Mary pass to Ahmad Rashad against the Cleveland Browns, and from that point forward I have learned to live with the major disappointment and depression that goes hand-in-hand with being a Viking fan. In fact, I partially blame the lack of professional success that I have found in my life on the misery the Vikings have caused me.

How can a person find success when they are associated with a bunch of losers like the Vikings. I mean, even with outstanding players like Fran Tarkington, Ahmad Rashad, Randall Cunnignham, Chris Carter, Robert Smith, Randy Moss and even Dante Culpepper, the Vikings have never been able to find a way to win it all. In fact, the Vikings hold the prestigious record of most-trips-to-a-Super-Bowl-without-a-win… something we can all be proud of.

So, much like my Vikings, I have found little satisfaction with my professional life. Like the Vikings, I have never gone all the way to complete success and seem to settle for mediocrity. It sucks, but it’s the way of the Viking.

And then, at the end of last year, 40 hit me like a tons of really old, crusty, worthless bricks and I settled into a funk. Mid-life was upon me, and suddenly I realized that the Vikings were having a pretty good year. And at the helm… Brett-Stinking-Favre: past nemesis, one of the all-time greats at the position of quarterback, and a dude who is (like me) dealing with just having entered the mid-life crisis of the 40s.
Suddenly, there was a light radiating from the end of the tunnel which had existed in nothing more than shadows these last 40 years. Suddenly, there was hope where hope had never existed. Suddenly, being 40 wasn’t so bad because if Brett Favre could lead my Vikings to a Super Bowl victory at 40, who was to say I can’t find some sort of success in my my own small way. 40 be damned… Brett Favre and I were going to show the world that turning 40 wasn’t an end of anything; Brett and I were about to show the world that turning 40 was actually the beginning of the best years of our lives!

And then tonight, Brett Favre and the lame, turnover-happy Minnesota Vikings destroyed this fantasy. Brett showed his age, and it wasn’t pretty. Brett let me down, but, more importantly, he showed me that turning 40 isn’t the beginning of anything good. The NFL is not kind. Being 40 isn’t easy. Being 40 in the unkind NFL is for nincompoops!

Brett, you nincompoop, you let me (and all of the Viking-faithful) down. It wasn’t for a lack of effort. It wasn’t for a lack of ability. It’s just, when you hit 40, the effort and ability rarely connect… and disappointment is never too far down the horizon…

Crap… man, the odds of Brett Favre reading my stinking little blog are about 1 in 10,000,000… but I want to get a message out to him! If any of you are in close personal contact with the 40-year-old grunt, let him know that he needs to give it one more shot! The Vikings need to win a Super Bowl some time before I die… and that stinking 40-year-old Favre is still the best bet of that happening…

Restore my faith, Old Man! Restore my faith…