Cowboy Confessional

Cowboy Confessional
Guy Smith – writer, songwriter, political provocateur
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Bloody Wonderful

February 28th, 2010

I admit to having odd inclinations, the least weird of which is donating blood.

(Squeamish people … cowboy up.  I’ll talk you into bleeding like I talk everybody into it).

About four times a year I clomp over to the Red Cross offices and flirt with some nice young gal who assaults me with long needles.  We talk about anything aside from politics and exes, since agitating someone with sharp implements is never good policy.  Being an expert bleeder, I’m out of the chair and eating my weight in post-spew cookies in record times (truth be told, one of my motivations for giving blood are the cookies, an almost innocent sin).

Now here is where you come in.  You will donate blood, even if you are the biggest wimp since the last person I dragged to the donation center (she actually whimpered).  Know how I know this?  Because I know you will read the next paragraph.

Here is what I want you to do:  Imagine the person you love most in the world has been seriously slammed in an auto accident, is laying on an emergency ward table, and the doctors says to the nurse “What do you mean we’re out of blood?”

Donate Blood

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King Barry

February 26th, 2010

Some accidents occur at high velocities, where victims are instantly eliminated from future history (this seems especially true of Olympic luge racers and rock stars).  Other accidents are the slow motion variety, where the impact is plainly visible to onlookers but not to the victims themselves.

Of course I speak of Obama.

Several combined news items show a certain cluelessness about the regime du jour, the type of obliviousness that in other circumstance proceeds being belted by a biker or ditched by a girlfriend.  Within the gears of political machinery, slow-mo self destruction comes from declining to see that The People dislike incompetence or autocracy, though they will tolerate a competent scoundrel (for all his sins, and there were many, at least Bill Clinton lifted his head from an intern once in a while to take the pulse of the voting public).  Obama combines incompetence and autocracy in such a unique package that he’ll have the same number of terms as Nero, though ten fewer years to fiddle.

Such is Obama’s perpetual misreading of the public and voter demographics on the issue of health insurance.  Polls routinely show voters against legislation as drafted at Obama’s behest (Gallup say 60% against and Rasmussen says 56%).  By and large, The People are disenchanted, showing detest and come November they will be inclined to divest.  The secondary stimulus for their disaffection is the feeling that Obama and Company are not listening much less obeying.  Ever want to whack your child for being dangerously obstreperous and disobedient?  I know my parents did.

Voters appear poised to backhand Obama.

The primary political point is a general discontent with Washington, personified by the Tea Party movement.  Unlike the media, we must keep in mind that Tea Party rabble was roused in the waning days of the Bush administration as a backlash against incomprehensibly unconstitutional bail-outs of buddies (the unsavory collusion of Hank Paulson on behalf of his perpetual employer Goldman Sachs being instructive).  The peasants (a.k.a. my friends, family, neighbors, employees, preacher … everyone aside from politicians) were revolting against unrestrained power and apparent corruption before Obama waltzed into the White House.

He merely poured jet fuel on smoldering embers.

The Tea Party movement is a reflection of something deeper in the American political psyche.  Republicans imploded because they failed to stick to constitutional principles.  Democrats, not equally handicapped by constitutional fidelity, hijacked the crisis of economy and attempted an ideological end-run around the express written will of The People, folks with a nasty tendency to vote.  Disenchantment with the two parties and their indifference to The People’s policy is the paramount propulsion behind party defection, and the growing number of voters who self-identify as independents.

Independents hate ObamaCare more than Republicans or Democrats, with a full 62% willing to vote out anyone who votes up Obama’s legislation.

The collision ahead can only be ignored through blindness, willful ignorance, outstanding arrogance or plain stupidity, with “all of the above” being a distinct possibility when describing Obama’s latest misstep.  During this week’s refreshingly teleprompter free, but unfortunately day-long health insurance summit, Obama made it clear that his Henchman Harry would use a budgetary procedural gimmick (which Reid opposed when his party was out of power) to enact legislation despised by 62% of the largest voting block in the country.  Summarized, Obama is antagonizing the group most likely to beat him to an electoral pulp.

Uncle Bob used to call that “pissin’ in your own porridge.”

Tea parties have a recurring theme.  The original party was called because the government at that time ignored the express written will of The People.  The modern Tea Party movement and growth of the independent voter block is rising from resentment to the two halves of a similarly arrogant government.  When the 1773 government failed to listen to the people and abide by their will, blood was shed.  Let’s hope King Barry learns from King George before history reluctantly repeats itself.

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Dark Duex

February 23rd, 2010

A friend once opined that there is a fine line between being a realist and a cynic.

Wrong.  Those groups have widely overlapping memberships.

Playful cynicism has always been part of me, much like a congenital defect.  I have gathered, categorized and plagiarized some of the best cynical thinking in the history of humanity and committed it to a database, which may be the least safe place to put such anything.

For years a molder of a web site called The Cynical Web Site languished for lack of maintenance.  It was originally thrown together as an experiment in programming, and became an experience in pain management.  So in a fit of rainy weather induced insanity, the entire site was overhauled and republished.

www.Cynical.ws (the ‘ws’ stands for ‘web site’ and was chosen because some other maniac already owned .com).

So, please visit The Cynical Web Site frequently, copy and past links to cynical definitions and Murphyisms into your own web pages and blogs, and click on every advertisement you see (I could use the cash).

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Amazon’s Asininity

February 19th, 2010

It is widely considered unwise to bite feeding hands, but given the few crumbs I collect from Amazon, I doubt I’ll starve.

I was slightly surprised to receive a stack of 1099-MISC forms from various Amazon.com subsidiaries, held companies and associated oddball entities.  I earn a few Amazon affiliate bucks for links on other web sites.  According to my list of received deposits from last year, I earned something south of $200.

So receiving 17 separate tax documents claiming they had paid me $843,454.49 caught my attention.

Don’t get me wrong.  I would gladly accept the better part of a million bucks from Bezos, and even playfully suggested such when I telephoned their accounting department.  So far, no such payment has been received, though the folks at Amazon sensed my good humor and politely declined sending cash.  They also report that I am not the only affiliate to receive stacks of inappropriate tax filings, though mine might be the only set with the non-existent Social Security number 999-99-9999 (click the image to see a full Monty of one of the 17 forms).

However, humor is running out.

As of the first edition of this post (2010-02-19), they have attempted twice to send a correct 1099, but have yet to use the right SSN.  That is forgivable.  What isn’t forgivable is that they refuse to provide a certified statement that I did not receive $843,454.49.  An ineffective and I suspect otherwise dysfunctional gal named Mary Bartlett (if that is her real name) echoed in email saying “I want to assure you that none of this information has been filed with IRS.”

Sure Mary.  And I want to assure you that I won’t make a deposit in your mouth.

My secret shame is that I wasted a decade working in info tech, managing big iron for some large corporations.  Tax filings are as automated as everything else in our modern age, and odds are all 17 inappropriate tax reports were automatically submitted to the Feds.  Odds are 17 red flags have already popped in some IRS dungeon and I am on an April 15th watch list.  If my tax return doesn’t report an additional $843,454.49, an audit is in my future.

This is why I’ll likely take Amazon to court, to get a judge to enter into court records that I never landed all that lucre.  I issued Amazon a deadline to do the right thing (which they should do without the benefit of legal intimidation) but doubt they have their fecal matter sufficiently gathered.  Shame.  I don’t want to waste my time and they don’t need to waste their money on my lawyers.

Nor do they need this negative blog PR … or talk time I’ll get on CNN, CNBC, Fox and …

UPDATE (2010-02-23): Seems the mere mention of litigation motivates people, even Amazon (or perhaps they read this blog, or the letter I sent their CEO trickled down).  Regardless, 17 faxed pages were lobbed at Amazon this morning with their promise to overnight the stack back with appropriate *VOID* stamps, signatures, DNA samples and perhaps even a sacrificial virgin being laid … to rest in Seattle (though rumors of virgins in Seattle are unsubstantiated).

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Feather Forces

February 15th, 2010

One of San Francisco’s endearing aspects is its unregulated goofiness.  Just have a look at our Board of Supervisors.

Ignoring such institutionalized imbeciles, The City is rife with good natured fun.  Granted, much of it involves naked people doing very personal things to one another, but often San Francisco silliness borders on Middle American.  Such is the case with our annual mass pillow fight, or as we locals like to call it, the San Francisco Valentine’s Day Massacres.

As the Ferry Building clock strikes six chimes, a thousand or so strangers armed with feather pillows from their own beds commence to flail upon one another in post-adolescent adolescence.  There is no practical age barrier for this battle.  Children who can barley lift their bedding box octogenarians (granted, they only hit the geezers in the knee caps, but it is the sport that counts).  Cushion armed prototypical middle-incomers pummel punks while teenage girls scream, which as best as I can tell is the one unifying tribal trait of teenage girls around the globe.

The rules of engagement are pretty simple:  Feather pillows only, no loading your pillow case with anything but pillow, unarmed people or those with cameras are considered non-combatants and are to be left unscathed.

This year an ample number of unusual looking San Francisco denizens participated, but perhaps the best of the breed was an elderly fellow dressed in rather splendid pajamas and a quilted smoking jacket.  Looking like a badly aged Hugh Hefner (is that redundant?) he was a favorite with the smaller set.  Without being in the least creepy, he would let a kid wallop him, then say “I love you” before returning fire.  Kids exploded … figuratively … with joy and returned both the assault and the exclamation.

For all its seamier sides, San Francisco keeps one thing always in focus:  having fun, even if only reviving and grossly amplifying a childhood staple.

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