What to do after you've been Sh*t-Canned Part 2

I hope you enjoyed our previous discussion about attempting to smear your former boss's good name, or bad name, as the case most assuredly is.

I spoke in the previous installment about getting to know your town. You will want to familiarize yourself with the following locations 1. Fast Food restaurants 2. Banks 3. Bars 4. Walmart 5. Seven-11 6. movie theaters.

Civil unrest begins with baby steps. Not that we're planning to go full-bore revolution anytime in the immediate future. But if you've taken the steps, as I have outlined them, to collect unemployment you've got some time on your hands. Certainly there are no jobs just now, not even in the highly-covetted fast-food service, "opportunity structure." So, you must fill your time with something. And if the spouse is hounding you to "get out there," by all means make that away-from-home time productive and healing.

You're angry at big business, not any one particular political party; let's face that fact. It's corporate America, giant non-feeling entities hiding behind laws designed to protect individuals, who have forked all of us, over and over, in the anus, and left us smarting as we woke up from the credit-bubble hangover, trying to find out who stole our economy?

Getting some "get back" as James Brown called it, need not entail violence, but it should entail snide disobedience. And while you're at it, why wouldn't you hunt down the great, white whale: the huge payday?!

As Robert Kennedy said, some people look at the impossible and ask why? I choose to ask, why not?

Einstein had an equation. Energy is related to mass using his simple formula, allowing you to covert one into the other. So too, dollars, and time share a similar, directly proportional relationship. They have taken away your dollars for no good reason, but, in money's stead, they have left you something perhaps of infinitely greater value: time.

Time to explore all sorts of things you've never dreamed of. Look at the world sideways with me now. Observe as the grand, cafe-colored delivery truck makes the same turn, every Tuesday into the shopping plaza at precisely the same time of day. That turn, often as not, is taken rather haphazardly isn't it? The driver, often as not, busily fielding an angry phone call from his wife, and not pleased at all. Pity the driver, but damn the company, I say.

Are we on the same page, now? Are we smiling to each other across the gap between the time these fingers hit the keys and you read the words? Yes we are. Here I go, I am smiling to you, are you smiling back?

You set your black coffee down now on the table, look at the busy restaurant, patrons coming and going, managers shoulder-riding the downtrodden fry cooks and cashiers. So wonderful that cup of coffee, in its double, re-inforced styro shell, isn't it? Why? Why so much care taken with the construction of a cup? Well Virginia, some unlucky patron poured flaming hot coffee on her lap, didn't she? Ten years ago, wasn't it? Well, you say to yourself, the company - that rips down more Brazilian rain forest every day, than a hurricane could in a month of sundays - had to protect itself, didn't it? Thus these lovely, strong cups. Strongest styrofoam produced by science!

But, has the faceless corporation missed something? Let's consult our allies, TIME, and OBSERVATION. You note that every day, down to the minute almost, an hourly wage slave takes a bucket and a mop outside and slathers that walkway with soapy water. Strange, that the employee is directed to do this just after 9 a.m. every, single, day.

Hmmmnnn, that coffee is goooooood, isn't it? Take another sip, why don't you, and allow yourself a reptilian smile of satisfaction.

Oh, go ahead. Mark it down in a little notebook. Just don't put it in an email or on a blog, like I am doing. Look how giving I am to you! And I don't even know you! That's love, people. Can you feel it? I'm with you. I'm there for you.

Take your measely unemployment check to Walmart and get it cashed. Oh, we'll come back to Walmart: yes we will. Now, take the cash over to your greed-head bank. Open an account with some of it, or all of it.

Do they have egregiously bad terms? Take the time, as they make you wait, to observe the lobby. Do you see little old ladies whining to the bank manager that they simply cannot understand the statement? And that somehow they were smacked with $45 in fees to checking and savings, they were unaware of? Do you see other patrons quibbling with customer service because the bank card was hacked?

Welcome home. Poor service bordering on outright theivery to you, a recently unemployed father of three down on his luck, sounds like the beginnings of an intriguing legal case, doesn't it? Here you sit waiting for them to deliver the poor service, which is now your future asset.

Please feel free to comment with vigor: more when we come back.

And in the meantime, see below. Why here's a bright young fellow in Ontario, Canada. After he was "administratively partitioned in a reductive capacity" from his job, he very nearly jumped from that bridge into those frigid waters. Now look at him.

His wife thinks he's "out there pounding the pavement," right now.

A Word to the Wise: Pay Unemployment!

Sometimes we here at My Bladder is Full, are braced with the fact that some of this stuff can get downright serious.

Orlando police are now saying that a deranged gunman - and funny how these words flow so easily together, today - who in November walked into his former job site killing one, and wounding others, was angry after being fired in 2007. Why? The bosses had fought him over collecting his unemployment benefits, the newspapers are telling us.

Several employees were very nearly expecting it, according to the account in today's AP story. Otherwise, how do you explain the fact they feared he might come back armed? "'... 'cause we knew he was a little off," co-workers told the Orlando paper.

Employers, and co-workers, we're ALL a little off, okay? Now more than ever, as Nixon used to say. Assume we're all under pressure, we're all a little off. Tasteless references about "going postal" and "AR-15s" aside, there is no excuse for committing a violent act against co-workers former coworkers or bosses. None.

The case of Jason Rodriguez is particularly tragic. Not paying someone's unemployment compensation claim should not be a capital offense, ever. And target selection in these cases is often random by the time the disgruntled gunman makes it to the front door. By the time they "go there" the assailant usually has a dead-pan, expressionless gaze; so far removed from that of a thinking human being they aren't recognizable to the people they aim at. Nor do they appear to recognize their targets, certainly not as human beings and co-workers.

But having said that I want to ask employers out there, how smart do they think they are by playing some of the games they play with peoples' lives? By quibbling over unemployment benefits in today's market?

Awe that doesn't happen? Awe c'mon.

Yeah? Bullshit. Grow the fuck up, of course it does!

I say this in the most general sense, not directed at this particular firm that suffered this unthinkable tragedy: If you have a hard-working employee who needs to go because of the downturn, don't fuck around with it, pay the goddamned benefits! Okay?...asshole!?

In my personal case, I was fired after I had made a complaint to human resources, because my boss, a female, had said something to me so egregiously wrong, and foul, I couldn't let it slide. By the time this happened, though, I could see the writing on the wall. I knew it was coming and had packed my "carry-on," so to speak.

The fact I made the complaint before getting the axe - and they were looking to downsize and I was the last one hired, so we do the math - likely secured that I would be collecting unemployment. A smart move.

Further wise on my part, I sent myself an email, immediately AFTER the harrassing comment was made, then I let it sit for a few weeks, and I watched her for further, nutty behavior designed to get me to pop-off and start hollering at her, thus, ruining my chances at collecting unemployment.

The email to my home computer from my office, through the company server (because if they erase something incriminating, folks, THAT'S INTENT), documented the time, and precise context of the conversation. That's called using your head, people: learn from it.

This way, if I had started an official complaint immediately after the comment was made, (and we were outside the front door of the office, and alone when this bad conversation took place,) I had protected myself even against her lying about the nature of the conversation (i.e. that I harrased her, pulled my wee-wee out: that sort of thing). Her move was obviously calculated, so I played the same game right back. I had them six ways to Sunday.

Not that I can support a family on the pittance in unemployment benefits. Thank God my wife works, because I am still looking for work, and I mean, there is NU-THING out here!!! Especially in my town, with the sun-setting of the Shuttle Program everyone knows to pare down, not hire more.

Was I angry at my treatment at the hands of my bosses? You bet I was. In journalism we have a saying it's called the "beat your wife" question.

"How often do you beat your wife?"

"I don't beat my wife!"

"When did you stop?"

Let's just spare you the details and say, I was asked a "beat your wife" question.

Ooooo man! Was I pissed. But, I have a family, see? I have a support system, and since Florida is a right-to-fire state, I have seen so much in the way of this unbelievable gamesmanship played on me, and on coworkers over the years, by bosses who take it as a point of locker-room pride that they got rid of someone without having to pay unemployment, I wasn't so shocked I didn't see it coming, nor so incensed by it that I was leaning toward violence, or even vandalism.

Editor and Publisher just went out of business after 108 years. Speaking of this august publication, I once worked at a little bitty newspaper in a neighboring county that was eventually swallowed up by a daily, which was then swallowed up by a chain. My editor was kept on for the better part of a year by our mutual boss and publisher, and then hounded, run down like a dog, before he was finally let go. How did they finally do it? They published his job description in Editor and Publisher, then "someone" left a copy of this ad on his desk. "Gee...sorry to hear you're leaving" kinda deal. He made some volcanic comment, and next day, his presence was noted in the negative column.

The same sort of thing happened with me a year later, although working sometimes 70 hours a week and only being paid for 40, did pay off eventually; I fought them to a standstill with hard work, then showed the unemployment office my time sheets, wherein I was urged to falsify, precisely 40 hours, for a solid year. A solid year without a vacation.

The clue? "No one works precisely 40 hours a week for 52 consecutive weeks in the news business, ever. Just too many variables. Not one time was the employee paid overtime? As a reporter, I was deemed "hourly." In this state they take a very dim view of doing this to hourly people. It's a method designed to get them to walk off the job.

"We see this all the time, from them" I was told. During the year they ran me down, I would often re-write the same news item seven times, to please a team of editors. Remember I had been a competitor acquired, not chosen, not hired, in a corporate purchase. The enemy within! I would slavishly comply with the vagauries of this editing process, only to see the first rendition of the news story fall on the page. Copies. I kept copies of the edits, some were simply outrageous, and copies of what eventually ran on the page. Nice beginnings of a lawsuit if, I had pushed it. Harrasment? Yes, there was an element of that in it. Hostile? Oh, hell yes.

So in my case, here this company was wasting my time, and theirs for more than a year, risking a massive lawsuit for the simple "fuck-you" effect: attempting not to pay me unemployment. Where ego meets God-awful stupidity. Going to such lengths to perhaps medically, emotionally wound another individual, not to mention waste the money of actually PAYING them, for an entire year when you don't want them working for you in the first place?! Fucking juvenile.

Here's another example: this one more serious. I had a teammate on my college cross country squad named Matt Beck. A hell of a nice guy. Funny, engaging. Great Boston accent, all kinds of excellent, sick jokes.

Years and years go by. For whatever reason, in 1998 Matty went into his place of work at the Connecticut State Lottery and killed four people before turning the gun on himself. If you read the account, you see not just a ' crazed, lone gunman', but a human being with a story. Although, crazed lone gunman, oh yeah, he became one in the end.

How does an enaging nice young man that I knew, become this iconic figure we are all dealing with now, either in the flesh, or in our minds? Because even though we haven't met him yet, we still think about him in this environment. Is he the guy we shoved out the door, just last week? Is he the one who worked for us for five years, then we fired him for stealing a goddamned stapler, just to keep our unemployment costs down?!

If so, how fucking slick does that really make us, in this day and age?

Like I say, all kidding aside, we need to think about this. Now more than ever.

Things to Do After You've Been Sh*t Canned Part 1

"Dear Putz, we're done with you. Thanks for all your efforts here. Please have a good life elsewhere."

Hopefully you've taken your "ejection seat carry-on" with you, as discussed in a previous blog posting. This would be the one you needed to assemble after you even smelled a whiff of intent on their part to dump you. The one you began squirreling away in your car filled with information needed to build your lawsuit, or cheap souvenirs that make YOU feel better for having lifted them, BEFORE you got the axe.

The first thing you'll need to do is scope out your town for the locations of the last remaining pay phones located therein. Let's face it, you're angry as hell. Why not have a little fun at their expense? Was there someone at your office who severely mistreated you? Now would be the time to use those numbers in your carry-on. Starting with front reception at your former place of employment.

Picture this charming, holiday scene: chatty malcontent front-reception type person gets a call from a woman who doesn't want to leave her name, at least not at first. This is always a tantilizing tidbit; "Is Steve there?" And you know Steve's itinerary, don't you, right down to the minute.

Chatty Malcontent with the snarky voice: "No I am sorry, Mr. So and So is not available at the moment would you care to leave a message for him?"

"I DON'T want to leave my name," you or your designee huff down the line.

" Would you like his voice mail?" She says this, with a peeling, holiday-happy snarl that could curdle baby milk. Why does she demand further interaction with someone who "won't leave her name?" Because, she's hoping, she wants - nay, NEEDS - information on Steve, just like you did before you got the boot.

Now it's jui jitsu time. Time to use the intra-office system of intrigue and back-stabbing against itself!

It's important to feign panic here: breathe deeply as though you're debating whether to let the cat out of the bag.

"Just tell that scumbag, that Kimberly is pregnant! And I'm calling his wife next!"

Then hang up that phone with a slam! Or, if you're more comfortable, pay someone to do all of this for you. Who might that be? Look for the nearest unemployment victim on the street. They're everywhere these days. In no time you should be able to explain yourself and they will surely do it with an inspired flourish for only a sawbuck or two.

Feel better? Good, that's what it's all about now. Feel guilty? Hell no! Don't. Remember these little acts of self-kindness actually help YOU get on with your life WITHOUT having to resort to stronger methods; such as the AR-15 you were thinking of buying. Hell, you're practically GHANDI here, so cheer up!

Now what. Take a breath. You've fired the first shot against the system; specifically against your thoughtless careless bosses who, like royal chickenshits, dumped a perfectly good employee with no more thought that using the rest-room.

Part 2 in 24 hours.

Enjoy this short video at the bottom of the page, be sure and visit our Glenn Beck parody site for a good time. Or Father Riley's words of inspiration. Father Riley is a laid-off priest. Visit my blogger profile to review all my writing which I am preserving for posterity on the web. This, so that the aliens know precisely what kind of sick, dangerous animal they are dealing with, and come armed for battle, when they come for me!

It's Howdy Doody Time

Why is Glenn Beck so popular just now?

Howdy Doody. That's right. Blame the Doodymeister.

One of the things that happens to you after your newspaper is downsized and the first to go are the reporters actually trying to do their jobs by looking into corporate corruption, is that you have time on your hands to ponder the wonderfulness, of Glenn Beck.
What is it that currently makes him so popular?

After months of careful study and scrutiny, and attending a Michael Moore movie, I have come to the conclusion that Glenn Beck is Howdy Doody, come to earth again, to lead his devotees.

Howdy had a high-pitched voice that always seemed to be on the verge of tears. But the similarities, complexities, and sublties of the marketing scheme are so much deeper, and playing across decades, one can only marvel at the lengths to which some god-awful power has gone, to control the masses. And I will only begin to scratch the surface by the end of this one. Nevertheless, the comparisson has been noted by greater minds than mine, and so the attempt will be made.

As Mr Moore hinted so quickly in his movie, blink and you missed it, ageing Baby-Boomers are responding reflexively to psychological, Pavlovian cues, which were ingrained into their personalities from their earliest days of sitting dunder-mugged and drooling before the neon nipple.

Howdy Doody was the popular wooden boy, the All-American wooden boy with 48 freckles, operated by 11 strings, who told the children precisely what they wanted to hear just before nappy or nite-nite time, back in the salad days of our grown-up culture; the 1950s.

At the appointed hour, all good, first-generation Boomers were dressed in their Howdy Doody PJs and night-gowns, kneeling devoutly before the great big RCA television in their living room. Surrounded by the smell of mom's cooking, a favorite Teddy bear was snugged comfortably in their arms. Up came the music and the kids all sang in unison, the Howdy Doody Theme Song (please sample now then return to the article. Let the ring of it remain in your ears as you read).

The time slot, for much of Howdy's ten-year reign was around 5:00 p.m. Is it any coincidence that on the east coast, Glenn Beck has the 6 p.m. time slot, so that in the heartland of America he's on at 5 p.m. on the dot?

Other eerie similarities and themes. (Link leads to facts about the Doody). As the Howdy Doody Show evolved, characters came into the mix, such as Clarabell, the mute puppet. During the final episode, Howdy and Buffalo Bob let the kids in on a secret. They whispered that they had a"surprise" they would reveal to all"good boys and girls", by the end of the show. The fact, nothing more than Clarabell actually uttering a few words, turned out to be a very effective advertising ploy; a pioneering move in television which led to every conceivable cliff-hanger on every soap opera going, not to mention Glenn Beck's Fox show, of course.

Beck, like Doody, always has a little secret he will reveal to the Peanut Gallery by the end of the show. Howdy's heir apparent wooden love child, has mastered the art of "when we come back," so well, we seldom notice the immense leaps in logic, or that these schemes most often lead us nowhere. Often as not, there is no connection in these whispy trails he lays down before the ad-block forks its way into our minds.

For instance, what could a tin of Copenhagen snuff possibly have to do with President Barack Obama? "I'll explain, when we come back," he says in his customary refrain with a dollish grin. But on that particular show, someone sold too much ad-space, because Beck never did explain what these two had in common.

Good boys and girls were left to infer that Beck was shaking a naughty stick at the president for going to Copenhagen in an effort to sway the Olympic Committe to let Chicago host the next Olympiad. Bad, bad, (the 'black' is silent) president!

Howdy's show was replete with double-entendre, which was good for parents who got a kick out of some of the quips between the characters. This higher-level conversation went right over the heads of the boys and girls, and Beck is also a master at this.

Beck's doublespeak of course, is the stuff the politically-correct censors would tamp down on; sticky stuff like racial overtones. For instance when Beck pointedly mentions the artists performing at the president's most recent state dinner, without specifically bringing race into the discussion of course. Why say it when a glassy eye roll will suffice just as well, to get the point across, that those people (hip-hop, soul, etc. the 'black' is silent), now hold the horns of power.

(Wink, nod: You know what I'm talking about-kids! Is this CRAZY OR WHAT?)

Other Howdy characters included Mr. X who travelled through space and time in his "Whatzits Box" teaching the children about history. Advertisers later thought this was too scary, and had Mr. X removed.

Beck is good like that; he doesn't let actual history get into the mix on his show, when he has so much fake history and fantasy to draw from. His chalkboard is the Whatsits Box of many wonders. We recently learned the sinister nature of that tall white obelisk on the Washington Mall, which is "from Egypt." Egypt I tell ya!

Do the math: Egypt=Africa="Hey kids, the 'Black' is silent"=Kenya=Barack=Axis of Eeeevil! Eeeeevil!

Before he began attacking one of our founding principals, the separation of church and state, Beck spent nearly entire shows, going over the subtext in architectural design schemes which somehow - and being good boys and girls who can catch all the hints he's throwing over those meany censors - points to a New World Order conspiracy that our president is either a pawn within, or the master mover thereof. Who knows, the trails lead right up to the ad-blocks, and "when we come back" is frequently a downer because by then, Beck and his Whatsits Board, have moved on to something else.

But why ask for substance, or concrete references when a pic of Che Guevara tossed on a board will do quite nicely?

Howdy says: "Hey, jackass, facts and specifics are what elitist journalists do! Are you one of those people? Pick up your damned blanky and get the hell out of the studio! This is the Howdy Doody Show!"

Howdy is a wooden puppet guided by 11 strings. Beck has his strings and we can see those too: big pharma, big oil, to name two. But the good boys and girls ignore the strings: whilst the meany Mr. Bumbles (and don't be an elitist Mr. Bumble) immediately point out those strings!

Aw, Looky there! He ain't nothin but a fake! Frequently suffering Facebook unfriending by our elder siblings for our efforts, much the way they bruised our biceps with childish punches when we offered such insult to the Doody altar they still lavished adoration upon, even in syndicated re-run.

Secretly deep down they knew Howdy was not for real. Most boys and girls of the 1950s were able to accept that even as they became pre-teens in the sixties. But then as today, they were subdued by Howdy's country attire, his shiny whiteness, freckles, and his glassy-eyed stare, into a state of suspended disbelief. Never mind that he's horribly, heinously artificial and operated by corprate guy-wire. No one alive or dead could possibly be that cartoonish, could they?

A good boy or girl had a right to pretend back then, didn't they? Don't they now?

This would be a childish taunt if Howdy hadn't become such a corporate tool, of late, asking us to forget where we come from, and where we would like to go: a place of peace, as well as prosperity.

If it helps, when Beck comes on, just play the song in your mind.

"Let's give a round of cheers for Howdy Doody's here! It's time to start the show, so kids let's go!"

PS! Hey Kids, scroll back to the top and take the Doody Polls located to your right. The first will ask you about your Doody connection. The second will ask about Glenn Beck. Have fun!

YOU HAVE UNTIL WEDNESDAY AFTERNOON TO DEFEND YOURSELF

That's right! There's a very good chance, if you aren't already out the door at your office, D-DAY comes Wednesday afternoon, BEFORE Thanksgiving!

Why? To get it done before the Christmas Season! Why You? Because you're still employed, you don't see it coming and likely as not, you've done no prep work incase the worst happens, i.e FIRED WITH CAUSE!

What can you do? Read on!

Question and Answer Session with an At-Risk Employee named “Steve”

The following is an email correspondence between myself and a buddy living and working in Orlando, who thinks this unemployment issue cannot possibly happen to him. Watch as I coach Steve about the dangers he is facing through a series of interrogatives. I have done very little other than cut and paste, to reproduce this exchange from our chats, Tweets, Facebook and emails:

Steve, what do you do for a living?
I’m a copywriter for a large public-relations firm in the greater Orlando area.
And you’re not concerned for your job?
Not really, we do a lot of business with governments, municipal airport authorities, developers, law offices, and some engineering firms. There’s always work.
How long have you been employed at your current place of work?
Three Years and seven months.
And you don’t find that concerning?
What?
That you’ve been working there just long enough for people to know you, but not long enough for you to get into the good graces of upper management? Also, you have a squishy job, don’t you?
Define squishy!
Well, you’re a copywriter. You’re neither fish nor fry, neither software developer, nor engineer. You don’t teach, account, legally represent, engineer, or otherwise produce anything. In effect, what you do is re-assemble information, not so?”
Sound ominous.
That’s a good word, Steve. Ominous. Good for you. You’re catching on.
But, like I said, we have work to spare.
Is it the sort of work that someone in management could do, if they were forced to?
Yes, I suppose so.
Do any of the managers have advanced degrees, business administration, finance, and so on?
Yes. So?
So in pursuit of these advanced degrees, did they learn to write, do you suppose?..........Steve?
Steve, could it be said that you’ve got work to do here?
What work?
You’ve got to gather enough information, yes, blackmail material, on your employer so that when they let you go, in no way shape or form will they think about check marking “with cause” on their paperwork to the unemployment masters.
You’re in a death match here and now with your corporate masters. Because you a remainder, a stop-loss number, a target. You are the prisoner on the Battan death-march and management are the Japanese prison guards with the swords and bayonets. Get used to that imagery.
Why me? What have I done?
Steve, think about it. They’ve already laid off as many people as they can afford to!
So? Now they can’t afford to let me go.
You’re not hearing me. I said they’ve already LAID OFF as many as they can afford to, not let go.
So that means, the remaining employees will have to be let go for cause! Because, the company’s payouts to unemployment insurance right now are through the roof!
When they let go of Jimmy in accounting back in March, you thought, “screw him. He’s a tool!” Well guess what? Back in March when they had no idea how deep this recession was, they paid him severance, and had no trouble signing off on unemployment compensation claims. Duh!?
What of it?
Are you stiff? That means, Steve, between then and now, little Jimmy may not have been working, but he has been earning just as much as you were, every day you dragged your sorry, cadaver ass through those doors. But between laying off Jimmy and this morning, they laid off Marcie, Joanne, Todd the Douchebag, Mark, Bob, and the list goes on and on.
STEVE, Even that girl Sheila who was doing the owner’s son, what’s his name, got the walking paper’s deal. You didn’t. It turns out the "walking papers deal" was actually a better deal than the one they are planning for you, my friend.
….Uh…?
They likely have saturated their available balance to unemployment insurance. If they lay off more, that will bump up how much they have to pay. This cuts into their bottom line at a time when they are already running into serious debt!
Steve, Look, around! What do you see?
I see…
That’s right, the remaining candidates are you, Fred, Miles, Shaniqua, Featherhorse, Amy at the front desk, AKA “Flowerpot Amy,” and Park, the Korean guy in IT. Apart from Park who speaks very little English, they have “something” on each one of you, otherwise they wouldn’t have kept you on so long, would they, genius?
But...
Well, let’s be honest: they don’t really “ have” anything on Shaniqua, even the fact she recites lesbian poetry from the bathroom, and never, ever flushes. Nor do they have anything on Featherhorse do they, even though they caught him selling weed to the intern last year? Count Featherhorse and Shaniqua out, I’m not talking about them.
….? Uh…?
What do you, Flowerpot Amy, Miles and Fred have in common? (Jeaopardy Music Here)
Feel that little chill up your spine? Like icewater in the veins, isn’t it. Yes, they’ve got you for cause, on something.
That tiff between me and Flowerpot Amy?
That’s good enough. Look at it, Flowerpot Amy doesn’t make as much as you do. If, and I mean this is a big If here, if they had to let go of someone at this point and do it paying out unemployment, she hasn’t worked there as a long as you have, and, she doesn’t make as much. She’s the afflicted party, Steve. Are they going to be looking at a lawsuit if they try to say your little tiff was her fault?
Probably…
Good Steve. Good. I hate to break this to you, they kept you on because they know they can keep you working right up to the last minute, and no matter what, they will pull this tiff business out of their asses, or get Flowerpot Amy to throw another hissy, which they will blame on you, again, my friend. That way (lean in here while I whisper it) they won’t have to pay your unemployment insurance! Think this is a game? Oh…it’s a game, alright.
I’m not political. I didn’t think it would happen to me.
Ostrich, or Columbo, Steve?
What do you mean?
Which way are you playing stupid right now at this minute, as an ostrich, or as the old television detective, Columbo?
I’m guessing Columbo, is the way to go?
Good Steve. Yes, Detective Columbo, you need to get something on your boss BEFORE Thanksgiving, if at all possible. I don't want you to panic because that will blow your "I'm too stupid to be concerned about act," but you’ve got less than a day, and that's not much time. Wednesday afternoon your boss is going to be approaching you.
There will be a genial, yet cold tone. “Steve meet me in the conference room.” Something like that. You’ll step into that room and there will be a speaker-phone in the middle of the conference table, on the line before your ass hits the hot seat will be someone from human resources. Two people will be in the room with you, likely one male, one female or minority. Someone will say “Steve there’s been a concern raised about your behavior.”
Oh my God!
Are we communicating now, Steve? Are you hearing me at last?
Yes, yes! But what do I do?
If you have to stay at the office all night tonight, claiming you need to go over a few things, you do it.
Then what?
If you have to BLOW or bribe the guy or gal in IT you do it. You need passwords. You need all-access Steve; hear me? You need to sort through any and all information and find something: an interview set up between your boss and a company rival that you can extrapolate into disloyalty. That’s a start. You need to do a web search on your boss, covering Facebook, et al. Anything compromising will do: a shot with a scantily clad woman, or man. A few shots from her recent stop at Chippendales, or even better from Sandals Jamaica. Perhaps there are some things or her expense account, some unsavory purchases, some adult toys, perhaps, that you know about. It all comes out now, Steve. You need to have these cards whatever you can assemble in 24 hours, out on the table BEFORE THEY SANDBAG YOU MY FRIEND!
Is the top decision maker at your company a Glenn Beck fan? Good, if you have to use a mirror site (ask the IT person they’ll know) to set up a fake identity, you do that. You lambaste that raging dumbass Glenn Beck on a blog site, then threaten to point it out to her boss!
Start thinking laterally like a rat in a sinking ship, Steve. If all else fails, shave your ass, sit on the copy machine, stick the copy in your cubby hole and claim SHE DID IT to human resources! It’s survival time, buddy!
Then what?
If you survive Wednesday afternoon, you need to go back into the office on Black Friday by 6 a.m.
And what else?
You need to assemble an ejection carry-on? Do you have one ready?
A what?
An ejection carry-on Steve. If your ass was ejected from the company five minutes from now, what would you wish to God, you had the sense to take from your office and place in your car, BEFORE the company security goon squad escorted you out of the building? This ejection carry-on could include names and contact points of clients, and phone numbers of people loyal to you INSIDE the company so you can plot your revenge from the outside, should you get the boot this afternoon! Supplies, paper, books, staplers, pictures, company badges, ashtrays...anything and everything that, in its being left behind, would make you slap your forehead and say "shit I should have grabbed that BEFORE!" Know that now, while you are still employed is BEFORE, is that back-in-time you will dream you had back, that prior-to you will rue if you do not take full, and I mean full advantage of it.. As we've gone over here, the inevitable is coming, it's what you do now that will define how you live after you're given your walking papers. Do you walk around with an ache in your belly that will drive you to insanity, or do you hold your head up high, knowning you stole the estuary print from the company boardroom. At least you got that out of them BEFORE they tried to burn down your good name for their bottom line.
Get to it! Nothing is out of bounds here. Get it to your car today, and add to your collection right up to the minute they try to axe you with cause. All's fair. That way you don't feel so bad as they shuffle you out the door.
Remember there were 500,000 LAID OFF last week. CNN never tells us, how many people were FIRED, which is likely another 500,000 MORE!
Don't ask for whom the bell tolls? It tolls for thee, my friend!

Wwwwwwelcome to UNEMPLOYMENT MONTH

Ho, ho, Ho….and you might now be one, because of all this hootenanny going on with the economic downturn. Shhh, children, mustn’t call it a “Depression” ……………yet.
We here at http://mybladderisfull.blogspot.com, readily commiserate with your situation and that of 5 million Americans and counting, another 500,000 of you join us every blessed week.
Jump right in, the water is warm! Hoooray!
Many of our interns, now manning shiny telephones to take your calls, are also, technically unemployed. Though we use that term rather sparingly round the office, so please don’t tell them.
Anyway, here’s something to get you started. News you can use:
Excuses to give to close family members, why no presents are forthcoming from your house. (Without telling them you’ve been sacked)
1. F&ck you!
2. And mom!
3. I got robbed on the way to the post office.
4. The dog gave us all the swine flu….and the clap.
5. We’ve all died here at this residence, from the plague. This letter to you was written posthumously. (That means after we died). P.S. send money.
6. Our clothes have been repossessed by the bank, we couldn’t leave the house.
7. I didn’t have enough for postage, even, and the phone has been cut off, and so has the internet. This card was sent to you on donkey-back and we owe the fellow money for it. Can you wire me $100?
8. We’re staying at a Holiday Inn, pretending to be the help. We’ve spent all our money on uniforms and for someone to hack the card keys for the doors to the vacant rooms. We have to move every morning at about six a.m. and it’s a real hassle. Can you send all your used gift cards for blanks, and swipe a few Visa Master’s out of Uncle Ernie’s wallet? He’ll never miss it and we promise not to use debit, or our real names.
9. Our marijuana grow house was busted, so we’re all in jail. All we can spare are seven 1000 watt bulbs, air movers, 600 yards of Mylar sheeting, and twelve ounces of Death-nug-kush. We can swap for an attorney to stymie these bastards to null-pros us out of county. We didn’t do it! It was the neighbors!
10. We’re now farming roaches, cicadas and palmetto bugs, and (totally unrelated business) selling burritos at a roadside stand. The health department has filed an injunction. Whatever happened to Free Enterprise in this country?
Welcome to unemployment Month at My Bladder is Full!

Disclaimer: We began Unemployment Month (December) a little early. But, we did that because, we know that we should let people get accustomed to the idea, BEFORE THE HOLIDAYS. See? It looks really bad and heartless if you do it DURING THE holidays. And doing it this way cuts down on the, uhm (whistles, makes finger into a gun, points to own head) doesn’t it?
Yeah, so, if you don’t do it sometime after Halloween, you know, then you’re into Thanksgiving, and how (forking peace signs in the air, whilst smirking) ya know “Christian” is that? Heh, heh.
And, c’mon, you know how these hangers-on whine. Can’t get rid of them. They’re all like “waaaa, my kid is sick” and “waaaaaa, if I miss one more payment they’ll foreclose on me” and “waaaaa, my mother is dying” and you’re all like “Okay, Jesus. Whatever okay, just go back to your desk.”
And okay, give them another few weeks to get their shit together or whatever, but, see? If you do that, by now you’re into the (smirk, crimping peace signs again) “Christmas season” and like “Oy! What is this, a social program? Jesus!” And if you go that long, now you’re going to have to wait until after Jan. 2! And (snaps finger in your face) are you up on the math, here, Sparky? We’re talking about a whole other, month and a half, here! And for what?
So, bottom-line, we decided to start now, before! Mnnnnyeah, Thanksgiving. (Nervous laugh. Guilty grin, sweat on lip. Hands clammy)
Mnnnnkay?
“….and a God Bless us every one!” Tiny Tim says as he crutched away with his little, one good leg.
Later that evening, that little, charming imp passed away in his sleep, during yet another argument between Bob and Martha Cratchit in which Bob said; “God damn it, I DIDN’T DO IT. Don’t you know what that c$#t said to HUMAN RESOURCES ABOUT ME behind my BACK?! She threw me under the bus,” and then Martha was all like “I just knew you were no good, Bob Cratchit!”
MMMMMmmmmmmerrry ( Corporate) Christmas, everyone!

Why Big Brother Won't Allow FULL UFO Disclosure anytime soon?

He can't afford to.
That's right. Someone is making too damned much money, and too many people will be outed, and too many countries will be angry at the United States of America.
Not our Air Force, not the Navy, not the military industrial complex who all really had the major hands in what Stanton Friedman calls "Cosmic Watergate", but the country at-large. You and me.
Why?
Because our U.S. Constitution says We the People should be in charge of these entities and not the other way around. That's right, according to our documents, our paperwork, as people call it on the big prison yard, we tell them what to do, not the reverse.
But for sixty some-odd years, it hasn't been working out that way with regard to The Big Lie, as I call it in my novels, which has been at work making us as a society collectively insane.
So a secret has been kept for decades, a secret which could have long ago solved world energy needs - of course there's a "perhaps" in there - but still; we, you and I, have been keeping this quiet from the rest of the world. We did this because we had "enemies". Not that a non-human, technologically-sophisticated entity in our midst might more readily foot the bill, no, we chose to demonize those other humans who were not us and keep them all at bay using some of the very wonders we had discovered in Roswell in 1947.
Well, ain't that just fine and dandy.
I suppose we wouldn't be angry had the shoe been on the other foot? Had the Russians and the Chinese not found this technology first, we would be okay with them harboring it for sixty years and lording the technology over us, I suppose.
In a pig's eye.
We have one hell of a problem on our hands. How President Obama handles Disclosure will define his presidency, whether the truth gets out or not.
Since Clinton, in 1997, it has become more alarmingly clear that it is not our timetable for disclosure that is so important, but theirs. Their plans, not ours, render this information tinderbox most dangerous.
Our reluctance to admit what has been going on behind the scenes of Roswell, Area 51 et al, has put that power in their hands; we think they have hands, or biomechanical appendages which resemble hands..
They don't respond to any previous treaties in which they have been politely asked to kindly refrain from making scary aerial demonstrations. They make appearances wherever they want to, whenever they chose.
The fly right over then President George W. Busch's ranch at Crawford, Texas. The sort of demonstration a dog might make in lifting his leg to your lamp-post when you tell him to get out of your yard.
Clearly some professors at our military academies need a refresher course in strategy. Someone needs to read Art of War again, or I Ching or whatever it is they read over there covering this topic. A potential enemy, particularly a more sophisticated one, should not be permitted such a strategic, tactical advantage, as these beings now posses over us.
All they have to do is literally arrive on the White House lawn - and they can - and they could send us all into a tail spin.
That's an advantage: when just announcing your presence can defeat an enemy. No? Am I wrong? Wasn't this what the Visigoths did to bring down the Romans? Didn't the Vikings do this to take Paris? Tell me I am wrong and I can sleep at night without the meds.
Virtually no prep work has been done in this strange disclosure dance apart from labeling those who have seen one, or otherwise experienced one, as insane. Adjuncts to that have been the discreditings. By example, one of the finest, fiercest scientific minds this country has ever produced belonged to Dr. James E. McDonald.
Gosh, I would really like to have a mind like that back to respond to the challenge we are about to face with disclosure, but, gee, our FBI and other elements of government followed, ridiculed and hounded this man until he blew his brains out in 1971.
His crimes were, he spoke out about the need for peace during Vietnam and the ill use of nepalm, ( both of his positions on these societal ills have prooved morally, ethically just, good and true) and he voiced his strong opinion that the existance of these strange craft, commonly called flying saucers, or UFOs, needed serious open scientific discussion among learned minds, and civilized nations.
No nut-job dressed in desert boonies and binoculars, this was an atmospheric physicist for University of Arizona, Tuscon.
Thanks almighty government! Could use this man's help about now, I bet, couldn't you? Sage advice in how to calmly, logically handle the problem?
Dr. McDonald can't take your call right now, because he's dead and we killed him.
His truths were inconvenient.
Now what?
This interrupted sex approach, put it in a little (shsss there are UFOS) pull back on that a bit (to hell with that noise, all of you are nuts!) might also be deemed mini-truth innoculations.
Designed to step-wise introduce you to the truth without explicitly admitting what it is, nor our part in keeping it secret for so long.
Mnnnn, yeah, really don't want to admit this, tee-hee!
The injections have gotten bigger haven't they?
Fourth Kind, was a brilliant bit of counter-intelligence. Get the public talking about an event that never really happened, so they throw the concepts out - things which very much have happened, right down to the owl - with the bathwater after the movie is viewed and then savaged by "reviewers" who in no way were connected (incredulous tone here) to the intelligence machinalia.
Then we have V, all the concepts wrapped in an inane dismissable supository which we giggle about until the third episode which by this time will illicit nothing more than a yawn.
The hope is, by the time the real truth comes out everyone will be bored with the topic as to not care but, somehow, I don't think it's going to work out that way, sorry to say.
Come right down to it, we're stuck on the truth Johnny-pot, never having mustered the guts to either finish or get off. We've got derschfincterlock.
While we sit the thunder mug on this, these things, whomsoever and whatsoever they are or may represent, go about their business.
When they put on their major display for us, We the People will be held in a very bad light and in very bad esteem worldwide.
First to go on trial in the court of public opinion will be elements within the Air Force who maintained rights to the gear, the stuff, the kit, we found at Roswell. Next will come those within the military industrial complex for keeping it all to themselves without sharing it to our energy experts. Alot of pain and heartache could have been avoided over these last decades if we weren't so damned busy making the Saudi Royals rich along with a few select Texas oilmen.
Those in power who knew yet said nothing will also be on display.
Right down the line, there is a push to keep all this quiet. People want to retire first, die or be on their deathbed before it comes out and that is understandable. And much as we would like to oblige, again, it's not our timetable that's important it's theirs.