A Rose ByAny Other Name

Let’s begin by examining the definition of the word “engineer.”

According to Wikipedia, “Engineers design materials, structures, and systems, blah blah blah…”

So, when someone wants to sound clever they very much enjoy altering descriptions of job titles.

As a poor college student who refused to graduate with college loan debt – please pay attention, all you college pukes who are whining about your own massive loans – I worked several jobs.  One job was as a garbage man.

The words “garbage man” evokes a mental image of dirt-covered guys wearing gloves, tossing cans of trash into the back of a garbage truck, all while tying-up traffic.

But those oh-so-clever-sorts who desperately wanted to appear more educated than they really were would invariably correct me by telling me my job was not as a garbage man, rather it was as a “sanitation engineer.”

They were wrong.

My job did not involve materials design, structure design, or system design.  I simply threw unwanted smelly, juicy stuff into the back of a garbage truck.  Amen.

Then, upon graduation from college, I got a job in an office.  There were not only offices, hallways, and conference rooms, but also bathrooms.  Every so often, a fellow employee or patron would feel nervous about encountering a janitor doing janitor business.

Janitorial accessories

Janitor business includes mopping toilets, floors, dusting, vacuuming, washing windows, emptying trash cans, and being polite to the uppity staff members who were still trying to pay off their student loans.

 

I’m familiar with janitor duties as I also worked as one to augment my income in elementary school.  But, I digress.

And, one of these folks would verbally cough up the words, “Here’s the sanitation engineer!” when a janitor arrived to tidy up our space.

Once again, this verbose douchebag was proven wrong.  No re-engineered trash cans, magical toilets, or robotic dusting systems were developed because of the hard-working, honest janitors with whom I worked.

It seems as though people are uncomfortable around others who get dirty hands while performing their jobs, and those uncomfortable sorts try to make the dirty-hand person feel better about themselves.

Now, we need to turn the tables on the management types and more correctly label the bosses as butt-kissers, yes men, yes women, blood-suckers, little Nazis, and daddy’s boy.

In any case, just because you wear a tie does not mean you need to make yourself appear more stupid than you really are by conjuring up new job titles.

You’re welcome.

Good News, Bad News, No News

Not Whoopi Goldberg

 Firstly, here’s the good news: Samuel L. Jackson, Whoopi Goldberg, George Lopez, Jon Stewart, Cher, Miley Cyrus, Al Sharpton, Eddie Griffin, and someone named Raven-Symoné, all vow to leave the United States if Donald Trump is elected president.

This is actually terrific news as these goofs have been earning a living gouging Americans for many years, playing on the emotions of the less-intelligent among us.

Samuel L. Jackson, Whoopi, and Señor Lopez, earn a living pretending.  Yes, they play act to make money, and they get lots of it.  There are not a great deal of other countries that would allow these loafers to gad about the country bad-mouthing our elected officials, military, and upstanding, hard-working citizens, while taking in millions from the weak minded.

Samuel L. Jackson, avowed racist, said he hoped the San Bernadino Muslim terrorist killers “were crazy white boys” instead of peaceful Muslims.  Too bad, dude.

Whoopi Goldberg is another empty suit who hates anyone with half-a-brain and will vote for a Conservative, or someone who enjoys the benefits of the Second Amendment.  Nice.

Jon Stewart is an alleged comedian who spends his time maligning former President George W. Bush and anyone who believes in God.  Of course, the imbeciles in our midst laugh and formulate voting opinions based upon his slanted idea of what is good for America.

Eddie Griffin is another alleged comedian who claims he would rather vote for African racist Kanye West over Mr. Trump.  Now that’s funny!

Mylie Cyrus, the trollop we all watched grow from a Disney star into a porn queen, now has advice for her followers: Dump Trump or I’ll leave.  Bon Voyage!

Cher, the singer, actress, and wrinkle-free political wonk, promised to “move to Jupiter” if Mr. Trump was elected.  This is great news for NASA who has been searching for someone to engage in interstellar travel.  Too bad she’s too old to even travel to that old-age farm, Florida.

And lastly there’s a woman named Raven-Symoné who I’m not really sure what she does for a living.  She may be a welfare queen for all I know.  In any case, shee promised to leave the country if Me. Trump simply won the primaries.  We now know she is not a Mensa member.

The bad news in all of this is that none of these self-important assclowns will actually make good on their promises, er, carry out their threats.  In fact, they will do nothing but grouse for the next four-to-eight years about how awful our leader is, unless a Democrat wins the election.

This same thing happened when President George W. Bush was elected.  Brilliant entertainers such as Barbra Streisand, Julie Chen, Oprah Winfrey, Alec Baldwin, Madonna, and Jerry Lewis – I thought he was dead – all promised the same thing in 2001.  They all lied.  That’s the “no news” part.  Actually, it’s the bad news part, too.

Here’s an idea: Keep your promises.  Go!

Stop!

This morning I was waiting for the pharmacist to issue me my prescribed 90-day supply of diuretics.While in line with eight other geriatrics that were equally sick as I am purported to be, my mind began to wander.

 

Sure, I know there are also drugs to cure that mind-wandering business but, that is not the gist of this story.

Because my sainted wife and I travel a lot, and I take pharmaceuticals to make me pee, I stop to use the bathroom a lot.

It’s a pretty simple equation, actually.

So my mind began focusing on a recent news crisis about transgender bathroom use.

In case you just awoke from a several-year coma, transgender people – those folks who are certain about for whom they’re going to vote but, are unsure as to what sex they are – are suddenly emotionally pained about which bathroom door to open.

I suppose with the dawn of “civil rights” in America, everyone is now aggrieved, except normal people.

Normal people are those I define as hard working, honest, individuals, who want to achieve some sort of individual goal in life, without the help of others.  Such objectives usually provide that achiever with a sense of worth and gratification.

However, those perceived wrongs by the victim-class of America now requires everyone else to help ease those horrible wrongs by punishing others.

Financial massages are pretty good medicines because the guvment is involved via wealth redistribution.  You see, the guvment taxes the ‘normals’ to give that money to the ‘aggrieved.’

The cause-du-jour is gender identity.

Those members of the LGBT, lesbian, gay, bi-sexual, and transgender, community who have preached unity and inclusiveness for decades, are now exclusive.

Their goofy idea is that normals should expect members of the opposite sex to use any bathroom their damaged feelings desire.

At concerts, movie theaters, sports arenas, military bases, office buildings, restaurants, and schools, the aggrieved’s feelings automatically trump yours.

Although ½ of 1% of the population identify themselves as transgender, and they feel uncomfortable, they win the civil rights lottery.

You see, social justice only works when the politically correct can ram their self-centered feelings down your throat, all in the name of tolerance.

If you tried the same tactic, you’d be called a bigot or even worse, normal.

Heaven forbid our elementary school children should be protected from this sordid behavior.  Better to let these natural oddities dictate their desires to the rest of us that are too weak of afraid to say, “Stop!”

Just Chew

Let’s begin with some significant numbers.

Years:  100+

Toys:  23,000,000,000

Those figures refer to Cracker Jack.  Cracker Jack is the sticky, filling-removing, box of popcorn sold in the snack aisle.  The popcorn was, more often than not, stale with the consistency of damp cardboard, albeit covered with caramel, and a Spanish peanut or two added for flavor.

This stuff was pretty tasty, as a kid.  Now, it is similar to those old 1950’s space movies that featured a guy parading about wearing a deep sea diver’s helmet and a gorilla suit.  Back then it was great!  Today it is simply cheesy.  But I digress.

However, the big draw was not to get to the crunchies inside the box.  It was for the prize.

As a kid I recall my Mother opening a box of Duz.  Yes, Duz.

Duz was the powdered laundry detergent that sold countless boxes of detergent that didn’t contain lye.  The ads touted Duz would ‘keep your hands from turning red.’  They would turn red because the active ingredient in the soap was lye.  Lye is very caustic.  Amen.

EasternShoreFishAndGame.com bonus:  In case you don’t know why soap operas are called soap operas, they were traditionally sponsored by soap companies, hence the moniker.

In any case, my Mother would get a box of Duz from the grocery store and quickly opened it to see what sort of dinner plate or drinking glass she received as a prize.  She was usually delighted although we wound up with nine dinner plates, two juice glasses, and three tea cups without saucers.

Oh, the humanity.  But, providing dinnerware inside a box of laundry detergent was incentive to purchase a product again and again.

Cracker Jack did something similar, but directed at kids.

They enclosed toys to help induce a sale, which included plastic jewelry rings, one-inch tall camels, miniature books, water-soluble tattoos, vehicles and whistles.  I likely collected most of those items, all of which now reside in the county landfill.  Of course, they are now collector’s items fetching many cents each.

But the point of this story is to sadly announce that Frito-Lay, owner of Cracker Jack, has announced the demise of the tangible toys.

Perhaps today’s kids are too stupid to not being able to recognize those cheesy additions are playthings, or perhaps there’s a fear that a few stupid children might ingest them.  It is likely a cost-saving move that is going to save Frito-Lay nine-dollars a year in plastic gifts.

Their solution is to imprint the bag – not box – with an ever-useful QR code.  The munchers will be able to scan the code with their cell phones, which will take them to a video game. 

America has died.