I watched Selma the other day. It was awful. I cried for the negroes. Why couldn’t they just listen to George Wallace, the FBI and LBJ? Why couldn’t they wait to vote while we waged war in Vietnam for those people’s freedoms, I’ll never understand. But I’m glad it happened when it did so we as a nation could move on from that horrendous week in our history. It truly was an awful week. At least as it appeared from the safety of my basement on my 55” Panasonic Plasma with surround dolby 7.1 Bose speakers. It was frightening watching those negroes fight for their rights. I even saw flashes of the Confederate flag being shown. Actual photos from that awful week. I can’t imagine how those white people must have felt, only being able to wave their symbol of freedom and defenseless to those “activists”!

So why is racism dead Donviti? And why do you get to declare it?

Well it’s been dead for a while now, regardless of what some agitators want to believe. I want to share an actual hand to god, rabbit’s foot, eagle feather or whatever item you feel I need to swear upon for its authenticity, as a real life racist story. Brace yourself: I’m going to use the n word, but it’s going to prove to you that racism is dead. And, it will do so matter-of-factly that you will totz agree with me that, in fact I am right, it is dead. Which by result will in fact mean Obama plays the race card.

Story:

When I was 20, I visited my Grandparents in Jackson, Mississippi. I was stationed for my “A” school in Meridian, MS. My aunt picked me up from the base and drove me back to Jackson. I stayed with my grandparents. My school was during what I learned to be the literal dog days of summer. When it’s so hot, dogs find shade anywhere they can to escape the oppressive humidity ridden heat. Getting away for the weekend into a place with reliable and working air conditioning was welcomed as was seeing my grandparents which I would see maybe only once a year, if not less because they were getting older and couldn’t travel as easily.

My grandmother made me fried chicken the Friday night I arrived for dinner. My granddad and I wrapped up our dinner. He got up to head for the living room to watch tv. Personally I had no idea what the heck we were going to do after dinner. They didn’t drink, and there wasn’t any family party going on. I was just visiting for the weekend. Nothing spectacular. I do remember it was just about the end of basketball season, but I was pretty sure they didn’t watch sports. They are an hour behind down there so Wheel of Fortune and Jeopardy were on during the 6 o’clock hour not 7pm like the east coast. My grandmother was always reading books. She (again true story) was one of the first women in Mississippi to obtain her master’s degree. She’d tell me the story how she’d pick cotton next to blacks. How she had shoes with cardboard in them. How her daddy was a preacher and they were so poor.

After dinner my granddad and I were sitting around fumbling through the stations. I honestly don’t remember what we all did that weekend, but I remember this part like it was yesterday. My grandmother half in the kitchen and half in the living room calling out to my grandfather and saying, “Earl?! Why don’t you take Donviti to the mall and go watch the niggers”

I shit you not. I SHIT YOU NOT! I was fresh out of Boot Camp. I had never, EVER, I MEAN EVER heard my grandmother curse nor did I freaking know she was racist. Holy shit, if I had coffee I would have done my best Danny Kaye impression. MY GRANDMOTHER JUST USED THE N WORD! ARE YOU KIDDING ME!!!!!

And guess what we did? We got in the big ass Lincoln and went to the mall and watched “them”. It was THE SINGLE MOST SURREAL moment of my life. Sitting near the food court area of the Jackson Mall and people watching. But not just people watching. Black people watching. I don’t remember what my grandfather said or did. It wasn’t anything outlandish, only the normal “look at that one” type conversation. Feel free to picture a 6’2” white haired, brill cream slicked, a slim wirey build, wearing a short sleeve cotton blend shirt, with oyster shell buttons, tucked into black slacks, with a black belt and unassuming typical black shoes all enveloped with that dreamy slow, slow southern drawl. God I loved that accent. So endearing.

We got home sometime around 7pm I imagine, by grandmother then by that time had cleaned up dinner and was on the couch. She let me thumb through the tv channels. They had basketball on. I honestly am really fuzzy on who was playing. It was the NBA. Normally I pride myself on these details but I just don’t remember. What I do remember is my grandmother then saying she’d like to watch basketball. “Those niggers are so athletic”

HOLY FUCKING SHIT! Up until this point of my life I had never known anyone in my family to utter this word. I may have heard it from Richard Pryor on a record. Seen him or Eddie Murphy say it, but not a loved one. My grandmother was racist. Twice in the same day! Not one time up until that point had I heard this type of talk. So care free. The worlds tumbled out of her mouth like warm clothes in a full dryer.

So, why is this important? How does this mean racism is dead? What the hell does this have to do with Selma? Well I’ll tell you. This is going to be a little like common core math, but so be it.

Selma was in 1965. 1965 was 50 years ago. Life expectancy of racists is 70.5 years of age. Fact. Anyone participating in Selma or any other racist type event like lynching, bombing churches, or shooting up black congregation members with an automatic did not happen after Selma. People that lived through Selma were 20 years of age or older. They did not have children to pass their racist ways on to, and if they would have, Selma would have taught them the error of their ways and immediately taught them to love all people. Now, if all people in Selma and by extension all racists in 1965 were 20 years of age, as I already stated they had to be (Fact) then that means they would now be 75+ years of age. So Racism is dead. Math. Fact. Period.

My grandparents were racist. They are dead. They were around 40 when Selma occurred. So what gives Donviti! You just said all racists where 20 back then. Aha! They lived no more than 40 years after Selma. Since racism is dead I should also mention that racists over the age of 20 at the time of Selma then died within 40 years of that horrible week. Yes, they did however live past 70, but they didn’t live past the 40 year mark for any and all racists not 20 years of age.

Look, I know it’s confusing. But just know that based on the movie I saw and this simple math (apologies to Manchester Orchestra) that racism is clearly dead. The movie ended with LBJ giving the Negroes voting rights. Ergo, racism died. Also, my grandparents, god rest their racist souls, have passed on to the lily white cotton fields in the sky. We already know that racists only live to 70.5. No racists under the age of 20 existed. The rare exception that there were in fact any Racists over the age of 20 they only lived a maximum of 40 years. Lastly most importantly, racism wasn’t and isn’t passed on to children, like blue eyes or baldness.

So Listen, we don’t have to relive the nastiness anymore. It’s gone. Forgotten. And doesn’t need to be brought up again. Ever. I, Donviti, Delcare Racism Dead after Watching Selma and realizing that negroes were allowed to vote legally in 1965.

Over… fact.

It was only a matter of time before someone with some balls used the Bible to invoke war and not peace. It was done after 9/11 when we attacked that nation that attacked us. Er Nation that held training camps that attacked us. Errrrr, nation that allegedly funded the nation of the nation that in fact was the nation they actually came from that had really bad bombs that were never found.

Anyway…This time an avid DL reader has sent in a tip (not all of the tip, but most of the tip) that says Chris Coons after much deliberation was able to find the scripture that says we can “Bomb, Bomb, Bomb, Iran” and can stop mamby-pansying around like Obama.

Here it is:

Ephesians 6:9:And masters, treat your slaves in the same way. Do not threaten them, since you know that he who is both their Master and yours is in heaven, and there is no favoritism with him.

I asked for Comment from Coon’s War Room and was told, “Wait NO! That’s slavery! Shit. Hold on! Hold on! Stop the Presses.” Evidently the Coon’s Communication Center is saying that tip is wrong. It’s the wrong tip!!! Pull that tip out! They hung on me rather abrubtly and I have not heard from them.

MORE BREAKING NEWS!!!

Since I started this post yet another tip has come. It’s a big juicy tip I have to tell you. Here, now we have it on good authority Coons is citing this passage in the Bible:

1 Peter 3:1 Likewise, wives, be in subjection to your own husbands, so that, even if some refuse to believe and obey the word of God, they will be won over without a word, because of the behavior of the wives.

We reached out to Coon’s Communication Director again for more clarity. Reverend Goodfellow an apparent all things biblical consultant Coons leans on heavily to understand how he should behave diplomatically was able to tell us that this in fact is the wrong quote. Upon much going back and forth I am able to report that I did hear yelling in the background. “GOD DAMN IT!!!” Coons was heard screaming at a staffer, “We aren’t talking about beating our wives or freaking slavery!!!! Find something in the god damn book that says we shouldn’t talk to these pieces of shit and something that appeases the moron’s down in Sussex”

As I continue to update this Breaking News we’re getting additional reports now from Coon’s War Room that he has been going ballistic since I have called them asking for a quote on this fat and juicy tip that penetrated our server. They have since told me to find something in the bible that says what we want it to say and reads how we want it to read and just say that is what they are using as their justification to solve an ongoing diplomatic and political problems.

I asked for one last quote that does in fact justify war and they were able to give me this one:

I did not come to bring peace to the earth; I did not come to bring peace but a sword” (Matt. 10:34)

Before hanging up she said, “We’re confident the Bible can be used to justify our stance. No matter where we allegedly stand on an issue. Chris Coon’s was elected and defeated Christine O’Donnell. It was clear to us at the time that voters wanted and want us to lead how god would lead. Chris Coons feels confident the voters in Delaware will want him to turn to the scriptures as his source of strength and for answers on how to lead”

JPMorgan Chase settled a lawsuit accusing it of putting its interests ahead of an historic church endowed by descendants of drug company founder Eli Lilly and mismanaging its trust accounts.

Lawyers for the bank and the Christ Church Cathedral told a federal judge in Indianapolis on Friday they reached an agreement, according to a court filing. Settlement details weren’t included in court records.

The church, founded in 1837 and listed on the National Register of Historic Places according to its website, accused JPMorgan of causing its trusts to lose about $13 million in value from July 2004 to December 2013. The losses flowed from the bank’s decisions to “purchase over 177 different investment products, mostly from itself, using church funds,” according to a complaint filed two years ago.

There’s a special place in hell for this bank. And yes they will go to hell, because corporations are people and Hell has a special place for anything that that is deemed human (yet soulless) by America. Must I remind you that they are one of Delaware’s largest employers.

Look, it’s often said if you have to make a Hitler or Nazi reference, you lose your argument. But what does it mean when Nazis actually endorse you for President?

He lightly patted her ass. She looked so good tonight. She had on her Liz Claiborne dress. White down the back, covering the zipper. Cut just above the knees. Her simple black heels. Dark stockings that he’s pretty sure have lace at the top. He’ll wait to find out. The dress had no sleeves. Showing off her still stunning arms at 38. She still finds time to work out. It’s her security blanket. Her arms are freckled yes, the doctor said it’s nothing to worry about. Come back every six months. Her hair is still that auburn color. She doesn’t die it. Her eyes, bright, and yes of course blue. They shine when she is happy. Tonight she is happy. Simple and beautiful is his wife. My god how he loves her.

“Are you ready?” he asks. Grabbing the keys off the hook in the kitchen. He’ll take the Mercedes, and leave the SUV for the baby sitter in case of emergency. Through the mudroom he steps, dog food pieces here and there, some slobber from the little guy. Who get’s a puppy with an infant? He opens the door to the garage. Smacks the button, the bulb flickers. I should probably change that he thinks to himself as he dances around to the right side of the garage. Happy. He cautiously opens the door, spots yet another ding. He enjoys driving her though. Dings and all. He owns it. Door ajar now, he dumps himself into the seat, starts her up. The 6 cylinder is still a thing of beauty. A soft rumble. He swipes at the seat warmers; he knows she doesn’t like her tushy cold.
She gets in after a minute of him waiting, listening to the recent plight of his team.

“Torn ACL, out for the season.” He doesn’t care, tonight is going to be fun. They haven’t gotten out of their house in forever. They’ve been cooped up all winter. The baby has been unbearable. They have been at each other’s throats at 3 in the morning too many times to count. How do people do it with twins?

Working from home hasn’t been the best either. He tries to get into the office as much as he can but he’s needed at home. He makes his calls from the bedroom, the bathroom, the garage, at all times of the day and night. Ireland, Hong Kong, India, Texas, California. His laptop in one hand, held at the corner like a hotplate of food as he traverses the house towards a safe haven. The guys on the call don’t need to hear all the screaming and barking. At night it’s almost laughable seeing him in the Sequoia with the light of the laptop shining back at him, illuminating everything behind him.

He hears her sigh. This time he responds to it. Delicately and with compassion. “It’ll be fine. She knows what she’s doing.”

“I know, I know. We just haven’t left the house in 5 months. The seat is warm. Thank you”
He smiles while looking over his right shoulder. The red lights reflecting off the garage, the metal tracks of its door and out to the trees beyond it. The neighbor’s lights are on. God they really waste electricity. He’s half way out the garage and hits the breaks. “Shit, I forgot my coffee”. It’s 8pm on a Friday and there is no way he is making it till 11 without some caffeine. He pulls all the way out so he can open his door, and not ding it. Opens the door, passes the dog food and the dirty bibs,

“Hey Dianne”.

“Hey Mr. Thompson”

Holding his sleeping son.

“I forgot my coffee, we won’t be out late. If he fusses, he likes his back rubbed clockwise, and I like to pat him on his rump a little”

“Yea, your wife told me already”

“Oh, right of course. Ok, thank you so much”

“Sure it’s no big deal. Happy to do it”

The neighbor’s kid. Dianne, 8th grade. $10 an hour. Her parents are self-employed, he thinks. Guy is a financial planner. No doubt he’ll have to say he already has life insurance to Clark at some point.

He closes the kitchen door behind him. And the next one to the garage taking no notice of the disheveled state of the room this time. Coffee in hand, he walks past his aging mountain bike. Notices cobwebs riddled with dust.

“Sorry” he says as he slides back into the car. Pops out the cup holder and rests the Half Caf.
About ten minutes later they are there. It’s an unassuming place. Nothing palatial and is typical of the area. You wouldn’t stop to look at it if you passed by. You would see anything that stood out. Pretty much just like the rest of them. Nick, Steve and Alex have lived together for they don’t know how long. They don’t even know how they became friends. They seem to know everyone.

“I want to leave by 11 she says”

“I know but its New Year’s honey”

“I know but we can be home and in bed by 12”

So much for seat warmer chivalry he is thinking he should have gotten the car door too. Torn ACL ruined more than my fantasy season.

“HEYYYYYYY! Great to see you guys” Nick says shoving a hand into John’s. John fumbles with the bottle of wine he grabbed from his basement. A previous gift from his wife’s friend who thought they’d enjoy a South African Malbec. He doesn’t drink, and she fucking knows it.

“Oh you didn’t have to do that, we got so much booze already. Alex always buys too much.”
He delicately puts his free hand on the small of his wife’s back and says to Nick, “You remember Anne?”

“Of course I do. How is the boy? I hear you guys had some trouble the first few months?”

“He’s fine she says. It was a long autumn and winter”

John swipes a look at his wife, a quick wince of her eyes.

They step into past the foyer. It looks bigger on the inside then the outside. They have tv’s and monitors it seems in every room. What could they be watching on all these? He’s swiveling his head slowly taking it all in. He’s trying to remember what it is they do. Gotta be something with computers. He’ll ask Steve.

He and Anne follow Nick to the kitchen area. Straight down the hall from the entrance. More electronics adorn the walls in here. It’s subtle in a way, but he just notices it because he hasn’t been out of his house in months. Christ, has technology moved this fast. He feels like he just re-did his kitchen…shit…10 years ago.

Work! He knows these guys from work? No. That’s not it. They were friends with out of town friends and they moved into the area? He doesn’t care how he knows them. They are inconspicuous, down-to-earth folks. He trusts them

“Hey man!” Steve shouts as he excuses himself non-verbally from another semi attractive couple. “Wow Dianne you look great!” he says almost quizzically. “Everything’s ok then?”

She looks puzzled. What is he talking about?

He catches that she isn’t catching on. “The job? I remember you had to go on FMLA after the baby”

“Oh, yes.” She says shaking her head clear. When did she tell him? Never minding it for more than a second she goes on to say “John and I were able to work it out that we could work from home. Our jobs are a lot of calls so”

He cut’s her off addressing both of them, gesturing with his hands, “Project Manager’s right? Didn’t you guys meet down in Lake Mary?”

John laughs, looking at Anne. God she was so hot that night. They both got in on a Sunday, same, flight, same hotel, same floor. Her hair set for travelling. A ball cap. Phillies of course. She didn’t know jack shit about the team, but god she looked good in those jeans. He helped her with her luggage. Got the door that time. Chivalry paid off that day.

“Yes, that’s right. God that seems like eons ago.”

“10 years right?”

“Omg yes! We just celebrated it”

“In DC?” Steve says like an old friend would

John jumps in, “Yes, but how the hell did you know that!” Like he had just guessed the final puzzle on Wheel of Fortune with no RSTLN or E.

Steve, swigging his whiskey looks directly at him and says, “Come on John, your calendar is public?”

Still not getting it

“Google John, You had it on your calendar”

I don’t think he even realized that sort of thing was ‘public’. Weird. Oh well. Steve pivoted away from the both of them, waving to another couple. It’s a good mix of people. Man these guys really know a lot of people. It’s not quite elbow to elbow, but moving in and around people reminded him a little like being at the Philly Art Museum on a Saturday in the Impressionist area. Shuffling sideways, avoiding a few out of towners that wanted to stare at the Rousseau and reading about his trips to Africa. Negros’s are so captivating. Only this party they aren’t looking at art. It’s monitor after monitor. World News. Still Photo’s. Burning Man Highlights. The inevitable Hitler standing at a podium with the denizens cheering. Room after room they were there, different images. Some sort of real time art nouveau display.

“JOHN!” A hand comes from behind on his left shoulder. He didn’t even notice him so close. John turns in the direction it came from. His wife on his right spins the opposite way. Dancer’s on a stage. In sync. Her look of surprised happiness beaming towards him. Old friends uniting.

“How long has it been?” Alex says releasing his grip from John and half stepping to his right acknowledging and kissing Anne’s right cheek, then her left, now un-embracing yet still holding her right hand in both of his. “Gosh, I feel like it’s been forever since we’ve seen each other”

She pauses, thinks to respond with a time they had been together. Nick, Steve and Alex all seem to be a part of their lives. Heavens, when did I see him last? Fawning, feigning, feeling for a date, time, conversation, place, but nothing comes to mind she shakes her head, eyes still wide, smiling her bright accepting smile, her cheek bones high and accented like the day they first met. She turns to John pleading him to search her mind for the answer that is there apparently, she just can’t unlock the room it’s obviously stored in. The place the Alex has so clearly been. Almost lives in, that he remembers like yesterday and has it stored for just this time when he knew he would see her again. He doesn’t even look perplexed. Alex standing there easing his hands away and sliding one into his pocket. Eyes still transfixed on the 4 of theirs. Johns grey sideburns showing some movement as he too searches the recesses of his own clouded memory.

When did he see Alex last? “You know Alex, I honestly don’t know how long it has been.” He tries to change the subject away from the awkwardness of not being as good a friend as Alex seemingly is. “I barely recognize half the people here tonight. It’s been a long time since we got out” Still puzzled and embarrassed he doesn’t remember seeing Alex as he evidently should, Alex picks up the awkwardness. Brushes it off like a baby that had dirtied his knees. Clasps it in his hands and manipulates into a simple off hand comment that he shouldn’t give a second thought to not knowing about.

“Don’t worry about it, I remember you two were having some troubles. Gosh, what a miracle John Jr. is. It’s so great you were able to go full term this time. Hey, listen I have to run. John, you still not drinking I believe? How about we wash that coffee out. I made sure to have some Diet Dr. Pib. Your favorite. You had it on a vacation you took with your mom to Jackson, Mississippi that one time you were on your way to Vicksburg.” And with that he two stepped to his right, on to another group of people.

John looked at Anne, both now thoroughly perplexed. The night only having just begun and they feel like they have both undressed in front of a stranger, they had been undressed with each conversation between Nick, Steve and Alex. They felt fine quickly after feeling awkward, but still they felt a resonance of discomfort. They didn’t feel unsafe. They just felt like maybe they had not been as private as they thought they had been about their lives. They stepped out of the kitchen to their right, towards a living room that opened up to a sunroom. The moon shone bright with the leafless tree branches reaching towards the darkness and away from the light of the home. A fire wasn’t burning in the fireplace, but candles in it were. People were chatting, staring at the monitors. His Dr. Pib cool in his hand. Man he remembers that first time he had it. It was great. It brought back a flood of memories.

As the night moved along, they caught pieces of conversation, held conversation with some folks they hadn’t seen in a while. Fleeting conversations about how they had been getting along with the baby. The challenges they’d had the first few months, but how they’d used each other for support. Man, they were so grateful for Dianne. Friends and acquaintances echoed their sentiments. They had been there too. It gets easier, they said. Nick, Steve and Alex all continued on, sharing their knowledge about their guests. How they remembered each; the details that they each knew about their guests lives. The intimacy they clearly shared with them. On and on and on they, all three went amongst the guests.

As it approached 11pm Dianne located John talking to the hosts again. She asked if it was ok to go. Nick, Steve and Alex both turned to Dianne and said, “Want to be in bed by midnight huh?” They all laughed. An inside joke. Dianne looked at John, upset that he had clearly shared that she was the party-pooper. The wet blanket. He looked back at her not knowing what he did or said.

“Good luck in Seattle!”, Steve said as John was exiting the door. The brass lion doorknocker just beyond Steve’s ear. His one arm grabbing hold of the paneled wooden door. The small panes of curtained windows on either side emanating shadows from the monitors throughout their home.

John too tired to care about how his life had become such an open book to these guys waved it off and said,

“Thanks, It’ll be tough to leave the house. It’ll be strange being alone, leaving Anne and John Jr.”

Nick, Steve and Alex all at the door now in sync said, “You’re safe John, we’ll make sure of it”

What are our state lawmakers doing about criminal enterprises chartered, incorporated, and employing tens of thousands of citizens in our state? As well as ripping those same people off? Seriously? Shouldn’t they as LAWmakers be doing something? Don’t they have a duty?

I realize that making sure I don’t get a handy or catfished by my hottie of a psychotherapist is an important matter for some representatives of our state, but I wonder if those same people so ready to take away part of the reason I go see her are really doing jack shit about important things?

Shouldn’t they be focused on racketeering? Perhaps an employer engaged and convicted of energy market rigging: 5 banks guilty of rate-rigging, pay more than $5B?

Five major banks Wednesday agreed to plead guilty to criminal charges and pay more than $5.5 billion in collective penalties to settle charges their traders routinely manipulated the world’s foreign-exchange market for their own profit.

The Department of Justice, the Federal Reserve and other U.S. and European authorities and regulators said corporate units of Citicorp(C), JPMorgan Chase (JPM), London-based Barclays(BCS) and Royal Bank of Scotland(RBS) acknowledged their traders rigged foreign exchange prices of U.S. dollars and euros from Dec. 2007 to Jan. 2013.

Outlining what she termed a “brazen display of collusion,” U.S. Attorney General Loretta Lynch said investigators found that traders in the nearly unregulated, $5.3-trillion-a-day foreign-exchange market colluded in you-scratch-my-back-and-I’ll-scratch-yours forms of plotting.

The $2.5 billion in criminal fines levied as part of the resolutions represent the largest federal anti-trust penalties ever obtained by U.S. authorities, she said.

Is worthy of a little visit by an Attorney General? Maybe our lawmakers don’t care about military? Because I didn’t see them do anything when Chase was and has been convicted of illegally evicting people from their homes?

So again, aren’t these the things LAWmakers are supposed to care about? Making sure people don’t break the LAWS. And that they create LAWS that people and corporations employing people in Delaware? Look, I know that my favorite Asian massage parlor on Philly Pike was shut down because Yauni yanky the wanky. But who cares about that? Besides me? You know how many times you have to visit an Asian parlor for a message before you get offered off the menu services?

Shouldn’t our state rep’s be making sure that companies in our state that are FUCKING OVER THE ENTIRE CITIZENRY OF THE GOD DAMN PLANET are being held accountable? I wouldn’t be surprised if they are already fucking over people on Mars by now.

I found a list titled “The outrageous List of JP Morgan Crimes and Settlements” ..A Little old sure but I wonder what it takes to shut down someone? Maybe if Jamie Dimon was a Muslim giving dirty sanchez’s out to truckers cuming down I495?

Anyway…what is it they are supposed to be doing to illegal enterprises in our State?

My question is and will always be, at what point does the Governor of a State step in and do something about a company that constantly defrauds the citizens of his state? Of his country? And of the planet?

Did you get an automated call from JPMorgan Chase on your cell phone?

Allegations are the company made unsolicited robocalls to cell phones, which is illegal. Now they are settling a class action lawsuit, and you could get up to $50 back if you qualify.

Once again one of Delaware’s largest private employers has been sued, and is paying. It has broken the law, but admitted no wrong doing. When does our state’s government do something to protect us from this ongoing negligence? What recourse do they have?

I used to work at MBNA. The glory days. When high interest rate credit cards where just making their nut. My first day of orientation, had a general in it. Everyone went to “Orientation”. Even special generals. It was kind of of cool to me back then to see that the appeared to treat everyone the same. I was very young and ignorant of the banking industry at this point in my life. Why hire a 4 Star Retiring general into your credit card company?

Well, I don’t ask questions like that anymore when I see generals being hired by Banking companies that I believe are chartered in our fine state.

As the Church Lady would say, “Well, isn’t that special”

“will provide strategic advice and global insights to Chairman and CEO Jamie Dimon, the Board of Directors and members of the Operating Committee on a broad range of issues, including international planning and country risk analysis, technology, operations and the rapidly evolving issues of physical and cyber security, the firm said in a news release.”

The only thing that would make this hiring sweeter to me is if he got to wear his uniform around the office and the pleebs had to salute him while on duty, err I mean at work.

“Ray has dedicated his life to serving our country, rising to the top of the Army with proven leadership that delivers results,” Dimon said. “His experience, vision and impressive track record of success when confronting overwhelming challenges will provide significant value to our leadership team, the firm and our clients across a wide range of issues.”

Excuse me while I vomit my Kellog’s Special K with Extra Strawberries. Disgusting, sick, and everything that is wrong with our version of Capitalism. A real man of integrity you are sir. It’s good to see you cashed in General Odorous. I salute you.

It’s almost like people forget that Chase wrongfully foreclosed and evicted military families only 5 years ago.

As Coons continues to waffle and pretend he is tough guy (or act like it) on the Iran Deal, I figured I’d do a little lookie-loo back in time to see where else his shiny headed thoughts have bubbled and beaded similar nonsense that resembles a Delaware Way type of dissent. We all know it: the never ending sorta, kinda, wishy, washy, verbal non, almost in a way committal to your view and the 200 plus other views of Delawareans style of verbiage.

I didn’t have to go to far back to find Chris Coons once again challenging Obama. Questioning his strategy (however confounding) of diplomacy and not putting boots on the ground.

Floor Speech: Senator Coons speaks about the President’s strategy for stopping ISIS| Newsroom| U.S. Senator Chris Coons of Delaware

“After more than a decade of conflict in the exactly 13 years since September 11, 2001, I know Americans are tired of war. I know we are weary of war. And as the President spoke last night, it was clear that he is as well, as am I. But I would challenge today my colleagues and my friends as I challenge myself that though we are weary we cannot ignore the very real threats that we face today. We cannot ignore the brutal events that have taken place in northwestern Iraq and in eastern Syria. And we cannot ignore the threat that brutality poses to America and our allies. ISIS is a brutal terrorist organization. It has killed innocent Americans like the two brave journalists, James Foley and Steven Sotloff whom they beheaded.”

“In the case of Syria, Saudi Arabia has just stepped up and agreed to provide the funding and space to train and equip Syrian coalition fighters.”

Listen, I know you’re tired of watching midget porn, but if we stop watching midget porn, and take no longer watching midget porn off the table as option then what other options for porn are there? So, let’s keep the fact that we should maybe consider not stopping the watching of midget porn because if we do, it might mean we have no alternatives left after exhausting all other porn fetishes.

So now we know that Coons is a War Monger and has applauded the Saudi’s. The Saudi’s! Box Cutters and all. A country that really, if you look at them, shouldn’t be applauded, it then shouldn’t be a surprise that we see ads from Saudi Lobbyists telling us Delawareans to call the bald Marxist and tell him to vote no on wimpy talking to brutal terrorists. Not like the Saudi’s who are reasonable people. Just stay off the HOV lane to Mecca or they kill you.

Who else is surprised that these ads are from Saudi lobbyists? I mean, all this time I thought most of the pressure to not be a meshuganah came from the firm Rabbi’s Finklestein & Goldberg. I never considered it came from Al-Shabab-Adel-Muhjadenea-Haj-Afgars

So next time you see that number, jot it down and tell Coonie please for the love of god keep watching midget porn and, side with the Saudi’. Tell Coons you love what they are about and want to vote No on Diplomacy with Iran. Vote YES WITH SAUDI ARABIA!!!!! WAR!!!!! WARRRRRRRR!!!!!! grrrrrrr

Let’s play a game..which of these listed on the chart isn’t an employer to residents of Delaware? I know it’s not a big deal that these companies fuck over citizens of the USA and pay no price for it. The rats in their shiny metal boxes have to work. You can’t hold people accountable. That would mean these people have to hire more people. Hiring more people means less profit. Less profit means less dividends. Less dividends means that 3 year plan to increase the stock prices by 8% will result in a loss of a bonus. So if the shitty work they do leads to heart ache, anxiety and a never ending cycle of high interest rates or worst case the inability to get a job who cares.

I know these things don’t matter to people.

Have you ever had a problem with your credit and it wasn’t your fault? Ever tried to get it rectified?

It didn’t happen overnight. Something like this takes time. It takes years. Years and minutes. Thousands and thousands of minutes. Minute, minutia played out over the course of years. Minutia teased out into minutes. Scrolling minutia right to left. Accompanied by more minutia graphically displayed from top to bottom. Sponsored content of course. It’s all teased out into an endless string of so called events, one leading into the other into a cavalcade of disaster. Each one sirens a call for change. A reason that this time, this time it is a bridge to far. Now we have reached critical mass. It all is going to end badly. Here’s why this is his fault. Here is why too. An expert discusses it with another expert.

“This is it” he says to the glass. 25 stories up. His forehead is pressed against the glass. He can’t help but envision movie clips every time he does this. “I think I see my father” he mumbles to himself. He’s not even sure if that is the correct quote. He’s sure a remake is coming and he’ll be able to tell his kids he remembers when the original came out. As his dad did to him and said it was John Wayne and not Clit Eastwood. Clint dad, omg.

His life is an endless reel of thoughts he isn’t sure are his own. They are contrived from a life that has constantly absorbed media. Media in so many forms he doesn’t know what is and isn’t his own organic, original thought.

He turns. Closes his eyes. Runs. Runs as hard as he can. Step. Launch. Propels his body. Out. Flying. Falling. It’s done. I’ve done it. Fights to open his eyes. To see it falling towards him at 9.3 feet per second or some specific rate gravity falls at. He’d look it up on Google but he doesn’t have time right now. He has a 9:30 meeting with the sidewalk he hasn’t cancelled and can’t get out of at this point. Everything is screaming in his head. Freedom. No. This was a mistake. It’s all happening to fast. You can’t take this back. It’s too late. Too god damn late. He’s flailing. He’s turned over to his back. Helpless. He’s not looking back. Another clip enters his head. Another man falling. Jacket flailing. Superman? No, “yippee kaiyaee motherfucker” His white shirt compressed as he reaches back to where he came from. His body U Shaped. Soles of his new Florsheim’s glaring back at the camera. His tie blue striped tie trailing him. Whisping in the wind. His eyes in apparent surprise. What have I done? It has registered the finality of this decision.

He’s made the leap. In he goes. Into the content. He’s become the social media. He’s in and not looked back. He doesn’t care. All this means is more time to scroll. Scroll through the life he is missing out on. The life other people live. The life he is apparently supposed to be living but can’t. Can’t because some idiot out there has ruined it for him. And it’s not going to get better. Not until real change happens.
He is no longer falling. The door is closing to the empty room behind him. The meeting was cancelled. Too much is going on today. “We can’t meet” The text read, 7 minutes after he sat down. Swiveling back and forth trying to not be on his phone reading bullshit his friend from high school whom he avoided in Target last week is doing on Vacation in Rehoboth. God he got fat.

What the hell was he supposed to do. The leap would never have happened anyway. The windows don’t open he says to himself. You wouldn’t do it anyway. Why bother. Before he left, he lapped the table. Pushing in chairs. Stacking the coasters. 4 in each. 2 two a table. Placed the phone in between them. The sign on the wall says to leave it as you found it. If he left it like he found it, he’d be the one to get the god damned email from Lois that cc’d his boss saying he, Johnson didn’t turn the lights out or toss the cans from the clients.
The door is shut behind him. He’s reached into his pocket and disappeared. First day of school. No one tells people their kids aren’t that cute. God your kid looks just like you. Sorry.

He doesn’t know what he wants to do anymore. He doesn’t care. He says this too himself as he put his escape back in his pocket. It’s the latest one of course. 4GB month. No, the company doesn’t pay for it. They expect him to answer the emails sent on it though. He doesn’t have the balls to ask for a stipend for it. No one does. Everyone bitches about it though. They all fucking hate having to answer the emails that roll in after 8pm and then having to crack open the laptop provided to them on day one. Everyone complains, but no one does a god damn thing about it. No one can grasp that collectively they could make change, if they all got a backbone and asked for change, together. But why, they all have 2 cars and 2 kids and 4 week’s vacation. It’s all fine.

It’s a left turn out of the conference room and then a right 10 feet after the men’s room. He runs his fingers along the fabric of the cubes. Metal. Fabric. Metal. Aisle. Metal. Fabric. Metal. Fabric. “hey Larry”. Doesn’t wait for a response. 3 more cubes down and he can plop down in his less than ergonomic desk chair. Before Johnson sits, he slips his hand into his khaki’s. Flat front. Brown Belt. Blue Button Down Polo. Yes, with the horse. The pants are Banana Republic. Not on sale. It’s embarrassing shopping for stuff on sale. Slides the phone on his desk. Not before he looks again.

7+1, 8+1, 9+1, are you one of the 5% of American’s that know the answer? What’s your name mean in piglatin?

CTL + ALT + Delete. Cjohnson TY4thisJOb#1 for the 18 time today. Company policy says he has to lock his desktop. Yes. Lois is on his shit about it too. He knows It’s illegal to drag that fucking whore from her hair down the aisle slamming her idiotic head into each and every cube corner. I don’t have anything private on my computer that someone is going to steal and take to a competitor Lois! NO ONE CARES LOIS! Swing. Looks down to see her eyes clamped shut. Hands with her freshly done nails gripping her hair, trying to yank it from his two handed grip. Bam! Whipping her idiotic head to the left. Walking backwards. Dragging the 185lb useless Ann Taylor Loft mannequin with as much resentment as his ungrateful fuck of a son. Bam!!! They don’t care about you!!!! BAM!! Larry looks up, smiles, turns back to his 3 screens. Spreadsheets flicker on. Like I didn’t see you shopping Larry!! Let’s go of hair. Steps over her carcass. Then heads back to his cube. Un-clenches his eyes and opens phone. No F. Scrolls.

You shouldn’t have to Press +1 to hear English. Share if you agree. He hates his fucking Aunt. And the six people that like it. Also relatives of his, of course they are. Reads the news from it. Doesn’t want his employer to see the content. Hillary to speak with Media regarding Free College. Trump to discuss Immigration Plan. Huckabee Disagrees on Iran, Doesn’t Support Terrorism.

Normalized. When did it get normalized? Who is fighting for me. “I’m so tired of this”, he says. He can’t focus on work anymore. It’s coming from everywhere. The stupidity. The hate. The stupidity wrapped in hate. Barreled, gobs of stupidity. Balls of it. Melted down. Compounded with other fossilized pieces of matter. Pigmented. Stretched. Amalgamated. Immolated. Made into a wearable material that can track your steps and for $40 more it will track your heart rate and wick away sweat. All the data pulled from it, that you didn’t realize you agreed to when you downloaded the mandatory app on the app store is to be sold to them. Them. THEM. Those people way smarter than you creating an algorithm that will know when you are going to open your phone and read the content they fed you based on content you read yesterday, last month, last year. Data that was fed to you based on an algorithm they built for someone else in your same demographic they found to also work on White Males 40+ that have researched having their nuts kicked by donkeys because somehow women have been able to turn the tables and have their husbands get vasectomies because they went through the ordeal of providing your child life. As if you have to worry about getting pregnant anymore. Closes eyes sees that clip of Jason Bateman rushing home trying in attempt to get to his wife before she cinches her sweat pants, thus preventing any type of coitus only to be interrupted by the neighbor watering his lawn.

How do I do a god damned VLOOKUP? Christ, that god damned 10 year old in a YouTube video just unlocked his phone, built an app for it, created an open source api that calls twitter and knows when I’m looking a vine of his alleged just turned 18 year old sister. All in the time I tried to understand I have to have my list in fucking alphabetical order. I’m so screwed.

He doesn’t care anymore. He wants to unplug. He wants out. He wants out of this never ending cycle of impending doom. He’s now openly rooting for the apocalypse. When people say something stupid he wishes them dead. His mom included. His wife…no he didn’t type that, she may think he means it and not see he’s kidding. Fuck it!@ He doesn’t care. He’s so tired of fighting. Alone. He does it alone. The only place he finds solace is here. Right Here. Opens it again. No F. A Message.

The ceiling is leaking. Something is wrong with the toilet.

He drops his head down in a heap on his desk. Keyboard jumps. Daddy Needs Coffee mug splashes what’s left of his third Organic knock off K-cup his employer bought from Costco. Droplets run down monitor #3 and his face. And oh just fucking great the cuff of his starched shirt. His Tupperware of uneaten salad doesn’t move. It sits there. Staring at him. His head now laying flush with the desk. It’s coolness comforting his head. Staring at the salad, he sees the lettuce pushed up against the side. He should have eaten it. The doctor said he needs to lose weight.

He closes his eyes. He doesn’t care. He wants to stop fighting. He wants to give up. Pinching the bridge of his nose. The back of his head, balding of course, faces out towards the open.

“You OK?”, She asks. Don’t look at her chest he says to himself. Don’t do it. He did. At least he looked at her eyes first. Then when he broke contact, he didn’t know where else to look. God Damn IT! She’s standing right there. What the hell am I supposed to do with my eyes. She’s leaning with her right side pressed against the end of his cube wall. Half of her hanging into his office, the other half in hers. “Who the hell wears heels like that in the office?”, he says to himself as he rolls his eyes back up to the bridge of her nose. After of course looking again. Sigh…closes eyes, drops head slower this time. She walks away. He wishes smiling at his cuteness. She’s not. She’s smiling with pity.

“I’m Fine”, I was just leaving, “I’ve been working on this spreadsheet all day and can’t get the numbers to come out right.”

He can’t do this anymore. He has nothing more to give. 30 more years to retirement? That fucking kid on youtube just built a website in one 12 minute HD 1020 video! Who are the fucking people that vote for these idiots that want to extend retirement. Are you kidding me? Don’t you know who “they” are that want this? Why are YOU on their side? They are killing us. All of us. You too. You fucking idiot. They are murdering us. They stand us up individually. Fill us full of ideas. Tells us we are fine. We are good alone. We don’t need to all unite. We got you covered. Who believes this load of shit?

He stands up. Folds it up. Puts it into his pocket, puts it into his bag, also Banana Republic, so he can pretend that he’s going to open it when he gets home.

I’ll deal with the Vlookup tomorrow he says to himself.