So it’s been told to me. It’s been drilled in to my head. It’s been pounded in to my brain with a rubber mallet that women are not treated fairly in the workplace. And now I read on Yahoo news that the more sexually attactive a women is the less likely she is to be taken seriously. Such as the larger a woman’s breasts the less likely her chances of promotion. Bullshit! Not that a woman would ever read this blog but if one should be lost in the world wide web then let the big boobed bimbo be educated. Ladies, I assure you the consideration of women in the workplace is equal to not only men but also to their curvier counterpart. The large breasted woman in the office will be every bit considered for the promotion as the woman who tucks her penis.
Did I ever tell you about the time I found out I was Jewish? I was looking through some old pictures of the family my grandmother had and I came across the picture of my father holding me when I was a baby. My father with his long, dark and curly hair. His beardless face and long nose protruding out past his thin lipped face. I smirked and looked to my mother and said, “Dad looks like a real Jew in this one”. At which my mother replied, “Oh yeah. Jews tend to look like Jews”. As it turns out I’m about 1/32 Jewish, which I don’t think is a real thing. I don’t expect any Greenspans or Spielbergs to be calling asking me to get in the family business, but I’m a Jew. I’m only Jewish enough that if don’t marry a Jewish woman then the blood line dies out. So I guess what I really mean to say is, are there any single Jewish ladies out there interested in making a baby?
A true Aristacrat. A true person of prestigous class. A true person of fortunate birth. A true upper class citizen knows that they can pee in the street, day or night, at anytime they choose.
I don’t want people to think that all I blog about are my shitty experiences. I also have some shitty observations. Yesterday on my work place desktop, the little helper pinged and said it noticed some ‘unused icons’ on my desktop. The ever so helpful little helper asked me if I would like for it to remove the ‘unused icons’ from the…wait…I mean MY desktop. ‘Why yes little helper, you ever so helpful little helper. Remove those unused icons for they are also unwanted. Please and thank you.’ And as promised the little helper removed the unused icons and filed them in what I can only imagine as the equivalent to an orphanage home for icons. It was a total of 2. Just 2 icons is all it took. Now those of you who know me know that I pride myself at not doing anything at work and still getting paid, so of course you would think that the little helper would have cleared the whole desktop. It was a total of 2. And in the place of those two unused and unwanted icons it left another icon. An icon now sits on my desktop labled ‘Unused Desktop Shortcuts’.
The fear that keeps me up at night is that damned chore! The chore that I have to accomplish. The chore that God and man have both yoked me with for all my natural life. The chore of Sisyphus. To forever push the boulder up the mountainside. To strain, struggle, wretch and wrench the weight of the boulder up the mountainside just to have plummett to the base of the mountain again once I reach the peak. The fear is of the chore. My shame is that I have yet to even reach half way up the mountain.
Almost 3 years ago I volunteered to assist with the special Olympics in my community. One of my responsiblities was to coach a basketball team consisting of 6 downed syndrome children. This proved to be a most taxing resposinbility but I enjoyed it. Teaching children the in and outs of a sport that requires hand and eye coordination that most adults don’t have is nerve racking but you pull for the kids because there is so much potential. I equate this experience to my present employment. Working here is a lot like teaching young downed syndrome children to play basketball. Only without the potential.
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