Category: snivelry

Posted on

Awkward Allegiances

24 April 2021

Guest commentarie from correspondent Otmia Unogsy:  “You know what’s awkward?  Being dubbed an American but loathing everything about its military.  I’m civil to militarists, because they’re human and they’re at least 90% or more of Americans, and I’m not the hating kind anyway.  I actually like humans and their stellar potential.  But evangelical militarism is everywhere in the U.S.  It’s a fucking religion.  And I’m militarily atheist.  It’s AWKWARD to the point I’m not comfortable here.  And I have to shut my mouth for fear of who knows what would be done to me if I say how US militarism makes me vomit.”

I don’t fully relate to Otmia’s frustration, but I share it a lot.  Still, it sounds like it’s more comfortable being me.  Either I’m not as concerned with feeling awkward myself, or I’m less empathetic toward others’ awkwardness, or I get more of a pass from my reformed terrorist status (Strategic Air Command, ca. 1980), allowing me to talk candid shit about the Occupation.

Otmia continues:  “I just passed a billboard going into town earlier, that was advocating seductively, targeting youth, to join the marines.  Puke.  Recruiters in the schools!!  They target elementary kids.  Principles are former military, they have all the military worshipping regalia in their offices.  Half the staff in government schools are former military, and they preach militarism to the kids.  It’s sick.  Militarism is in half the TV shows.  PUKE.”

I still have a hard time disputing it, and I share many of Otmia’s concerns as well, but I think I’m generally less alarmed.  A little anyway.  Still… the worship of the state, and not just the enforcement branch of that vast criminal enterprise, is just as worrisome, and I would be considerably less alarmed if equal time were given to anarchists and peaceniks as is given to statist orthodoxy.  Meanwhile, I thank Otmia for her vigilance and attention to these matters, and hope she finds as comfortable an emotional accommodation to the real world as have I.

Otmia concludes:  “OK, I’m [removing] this post.  Too many people [at this venue] take offense.  Apologies.”

I hope no part of that apology is for me because I not only was never offended in the first place, but I also don’t blame her for ducking the additional heat.  The venue in which the comments first appeared is indeed aswarm with blood-soaked leftists who’ll seize immediate offense at any sort of anti-state or a-martial heresy.

Vaya con Carne & Sic Semper Shalom!

Posted on

Strictly Minimum™

15 May 2021

Hereafter, given a choice, I will no longer work for more than the statutory minimum wage, and will take partial payment in CASH, meaning United States Legal Tender® Gold or Silver Coins at face value.  Naturally, the proportion of specie to F’eral Reserve® Digits will be negotiable, but the total must never be more than Strictly Minimum™!

Go Strictly Minimum™.  Minimum tax liability helps to starve the beast and gun ownership helps to hold it at bay.  Transact in silver coins at face value, at currently a 97%(?) discount against F’eral Reserve® Digits (aka ClowNotes™, Sucker Bux™, or United States Legal Tender®).  Work for minimum wage and take partial (negotiable) advance payment in U$LT® silver coin at face value.  DO NOT redeem specie for F’eral paper with your employer or you are professing a tax liability.

correspondent KE expresses some (familiar and fully justified) doubts about my sincerity and/or my sanity.  She’s not always sure, and I don’t blame her because I am a lifelong sarcastic prick.

I am utterly sincere.  If tax forms are ever involved again, I will not realize more than the statutory minimum.  Fuck the state and fuck its war machine.  Far too much of my money has already been used to murder children.  The Demoblican Occupation (and their Stockholm Syndrome Cheerleaders) won’t stop until they are completely powerless or until WE are all dead.

The Currency Buds – 211202
(meter stolen from Jimmy Driftwood)

Long about 1865, the French and the Swiss thought trade was jive!
“We ought to adopt a common currency!”
And so, they organized the Latin League.
The Franc was defined in Silver and Gold,
And the Lire and Peseta jumped in the fold!
They had the goods, and they had the cash,
And the market fired up like a birthday bash!

The currency buds thought trade was keen,
That tariffs were lame and taxes were mean.
If you had silver or you had the gelt,
Then exchange rate trauma was a pain not felt!

In ’73 the USA, thought they’d jump in and join the fray!
“If we make our Dime just a little bit light,
It’ll match up with Half a Franc just right!”
So the Western world had the finest of times,
Hustlin’ their goods ‘cross the border lines!
Reliable money worked as slick as you please,
Then it all blew away in the War Storm’s breeze.

The currency buds thought trade was keen,
That tariffs were lame and taxes were mean.
If you had silver or you had the gelt,
Then exchange rate trauma was a pain not felt!

Fiat scrip’s now here to stay, so hide your silver and gold away.

The currency buds thought trade was keen,
That tariffs were lame and taxes were mean.
If you had silver or you had the gelt,
Then exchange rate trauma was a pain not felt!
(That’s good money…)

Sucker Bucks  — 140430  (original meter?)

I pulled into the QuikkStopp™, to check my manifest.
The price I saw for gasoline, well it put me to the test.
The sign said, “Bring your silver.  We’ll gladly make a deal.”
For just two silver dollars, a full tank and a good hot meal!
A paper “dollar” don’t go too far
When you try to put gasoline in your car.
Groceries, rent, and an MP3, underwear, and an orange tree,
A six-pack, chips, or a pack of smokes,
These sucker bucks are a sad sad joke!

So they call it Quantitative Easin’, but it’s their skids they’re greasin’.
The banksters keep on squeezin’ while the workers take their beatin’!
We’re just tryin’ to make a livin’ but we’re givin’ up on givin’
Our hopes or votes to more rich parasites.
It’s long past time that we adjust our sights!

If you make from silver or you make it from gold,
If you give it some value a man can hold.
If you give it some weight he can feel in his hand,
Then good’s good enough for a workin’ man.

Posted on

Adventures in Bad Lyrics, vol. I

8 August 2015 – “Do you you feel like I do” that in “this ever changing world in which we live in” that Peter Frampton and Paul McCartney may well be the worst lyricists in the history of getting paid for it? Mick Jones comes close.

“Viva Agora,” says I, and “Hear hear!” and “Tell it, brother!” Maybe I’m a little too sensitive to bad lyrics, as they can interfere with my appreciation of otherwise enjoyable tunes. This is why I am most grateful currently to Choice Inns and their advertisers’ recent co-option of the formerly execrable “Shall I Snivel or Shall I Moan?”. A plaintive lament that not only misses the obvious point, and therefore asks the wrong question, but asks it over and over and over. (C’mon Mick, think this one through. If you left there would be trouble. If you stayed it would be double. ARITHMETIC HAS SOLVED YOUR PROBLEM!) I would (and still do) cringe whenever it comes out of public audio. Now, however, when I hear that “Class reunion’s coming fast” while indulging in mindless video, I actually attend and enjoy. So again I say, “Viva Agora!” (and “Please John, help Paul with his lyrics.”)

2 February 2018 — Long time side hustle — delivering groceries and sundries to shut ins and the infirm. Had a bit of a scare last year. Loyal clients, Lena and Percival (Do NOT call him “Percy”) Whitney, reported that Whit had lip cancer, allegedly from his years of “dippin’ chew.” He’s outta the woods now, minus that tumor, parts of his lip and jaw, and four teeth. But otherwise cancer free. Now my quandary: Whit’s renewed his customary order, two logs a week, long cut, straight (“tobacco flavored!”), but Lena’s giving me grief over “enabling him.”
Look, he’s expecting delivery on his front deck tomorrow morning,
so you tell me:
Al-though… His wife… Wants him to quit,
Should I leave Whit chew? …
update 190716:  “That’s why I got chew on my my eend!”

5 February 2018
I’ve been struggling to make this song sound right.
But every thing I scrawl is tiresome, weak, and trite.
Perhaps it’s time to quit, and maybe say “Good night.”
Then I’ll revisit this in the morning light.
How many lines do you think I should end with “you?”
Do you think that ten is a bit too few?
Should I check my thesaurus and find a clue?
Or scrap this mess and start anew?
What’s a lad to do, when nothing rhymes with “you?”
It’s a task I rue, ‘cause nothin’ rhymes with “you.”

3 March 2018 — Los Angeles is clearly both a discotecque and a country club.
Furthermore, four out of five happy shiny people are holding other happy shiny people. One of them is holding a happy shiny person holding hands, and that one is holding nothing but hands.
And now that we’ve got that straight, is it the “hippy hippy shake”
or the “hippy shake shake?”

“Adventures in Bad Lyrics” is sponsored by The Confederate Mint (purveyors of metallic securities in gold, silver, copper, and lead).  For sample sheets of Metallic Certificates (total face value One Tenth Silver Dollar) send One Silver Dime plus a self-addressed stamped envelope; or Four United States Legal Tender Federal Reserve “Dollars” in scrip, check, or money order, to Greigh Area Associates, c/o Gene Greigh //  401 Rio Concho Drive, #105;  San Angelo, Texas;  76903

Posted on

“But I Was Just Trying to Help!”

29 April 2018

Maybe.
I’m not so sure.
You certainly weren’t actually helping.

People who want to help generally help, and one of the first things they do is make sure they’re not doing the opposite of helping. And one of the last things they’ll ever do is whine about just trying to help.

People who want to appear helpful won’t do anything until someone is watching. I tend to think most of them are creepy weasels, but I get them. Getting ahead requires getting seen and you want your efforts to count for something. If they think the boss is watching and they’re helping me out then that’s good enough for me.

The most loathsome of all types are those who wish to feel helpful. They don’t care about you or the boss, they’re just mostly sad schmoes who crave validation. If you’ve ever had a child “help” you in the kitchen you get it immediately. At least with the child, you have the advantage of imparting valuable skills, so the hassle is worth it. Alleged grown-ups who blunder in and mess up your rhythm (at the least of it) and feel all good about what swell people they are are using you to masturbate.

If I don’t want to go several blocks out of my way, the last turn to get to work is a left across two lanes of traffic. It’s a busy neighborhood with about a half a dozen vendors clustered close to the Interstate, but there’s a turn lane in the middle of the street, so I’m content to wait.

Sometimes some motorist will stop in one of the oncoming lanes and gesture for me to pass in front of him. He’s often less than a block from the red light so it probably costs him nothing, and if I can see that it’s safe, I’ll cut in and smile and wave and be done with it.

However, and too often, I will not be able to see that it’s safe. There are a couple of parking lots bleeding into that right lane on busy nights, and if he’s in his left lane I can’t see through him, so I don’t always know whether it’s safe. If I’m T-boned turning in front of traffic, I’m the one charged with failure to yield. Let alone maybe dead. Meanwhile, in this alleged super-hero’s lane, traffic is stacking up behind him and all they can see now is that green light at the intersection. So he’s not just using me to feel good about himself. Now he’s hijacked the time of all the hapless drivers behind him. Finally, he gets fed up and proceeds to exercise his right of way, but makes a point of screaming at me as he drives by because clearly I am the parasite commandeering everybody’s time.

update 230201, contra The Alleged Super-Hero and his Angry Fans, correspondent Mykpogdyf Mminx responds:  “I can see this so vividly in my mind’s eye as you describe it. And you are spot-on. In some people’s needy, soul-sucking fervor to appear virtuous, other people can get hurt. Plus, it’s straight-up cringe-worthy watching them preen and puff-up preemptively to doing ‘their good deed‘.”
 # (cross-hatched tag) whattagoodboyami

Posted on

That’ll Learn Me!

3 April 2021

CONGRATULATIONS!

Your submission (of 11 January) “Love is in the Air” has been selected by a panel of 3 Judges as the CTN Short Story 2021 runner-up contest winner. Your award includes:
1. $100 Amazon Digital Gift Card (emailed upon receipt of attached permission/information)
2. Interview/Story published on the CTN website (upon receipt of responses to question/permission found attached
3. Free Book Consultation (must be scheduled) In order to receive your award package, you must respond and return the attached information to justwrite@ctnbooks.com by MARCH 24th 2021.
If we do not receive the return document by this date,
your award will be forfeited. If you have any questions,
please contact us at the aforementioned address.
Again Congratulations! CTN Administrator

Let this be a lesson to me. E-mail is not ENTIRELY bad news and trauma, unless I’m too a-scared to look. Then I miss stuff. Like otherwise good news or deadlines. My response to them:
“I am delighted to learn this ON THE THIRD of APRIL. So… tough break for me, at least in re the hundred bucks! Please feel free to publish it anyway. If a story is any good then it shouldn’t matter whether the author is still alive or gets paid. It’s supposed to be about the story, right? So… where may I see it in print, and how do I purchase copies?

Who would have thought that e-mail could actually be used for something useful or profitable? Well, demonstrably, it still can’t! Anyway… the “winner” in question:

Love is in the Air
MMXI
(Ever wish you could live in a musical comedy? 
No you didn’t.  You know better.)

God I hate spring.  Every year it seems to get worse. 

          I was standing in the middle of the fountain in the middle of the square in the middle of town in the middle of April when I came to.  I was standing with my feet spread wide and I was holding this strange woman.  Startled by my own dawning awareness, I dropped her, and she splashed loudly at my feet.

          She had no beef with me.  I was no more responsible for her dunking than she was.  There’s no telling how wet we might have gotten during the spontaneous production.  I should be the least of her complaints.

          She came up sputtering and looking a little lost.

          The Restoration Crew, resplendent in their powder blue uniforms and shining nickel plated helmets, rushed into the square as I helped her to her feet.  I tried to apologize for dropping her, but she predictably brushed me off – bad enough to find oneself in an intimate embrace with a stranger, no need to prolong the awkwardness.

          A young officer stopped by the edge of the fountain as we made our way out.  “Any injuries here?” he asked.

          I looked at my impromptu dance partner and she shook her head.

          “Nah.  I guess we’re good here, Officer, thanks.”  After he bustled off to tend to other possibly distressed dancers in our ephemeral troupe, I turned back to my erstwhile companion and attempted to apologize again.  I’m new to the city so I guess I’m a little less jaded about all this.

          “Don’t be so hard on yourself,” she said, shaking her head slowly, trying still to dislodge the cobwebs in her mind.  “There’s no telling what might happen during one of these numbers.  I guess we’re lucky we’re just wet.  We could’ve danced our way into traffic.”

          “Brrr…”  I shivered from both the cold wind across my drenched trousers and the thought of spontaneous choreography taking us into the oncoming lorries.  Their heavy magnetic shielding may protect drovers from getting caught up in song, but it also necessarily obstructs operators’ views.  All those blind spots don’t help much when some hapless civilian blunders into the road.  “Ouch.  Grease spot is the word,” I agreed.  “That is one nasty way to paint someone’s wagon.”  She smiled and nodded as she wrung out her skirt.

          It’s a good thing, I guess, that there are more suicides in December than in April.  Also that depression is generally less infectious than infatuation.

          Infatuation is wonderful but it’s also the worst.  Things are only new when they’re new, after all, and when infatuation fades it leaves either true enduring love or near mortal embarrassment.  In the meantime, however, it has such empathic potency as to draw disinterested strangers into its orbit.  Collateral damage, some call it.  A bleeding nuisance, says I.  Compulsive choreography kills more innocents than drunk driving, these days.  Cities are getting too big.  If it weren’t for economies of scale, ease of communication, and other wholesome market phenomena, no one (excepting hopeless romantics) would put up with this crap – in spite of the intense reverie one feels during compulsory terpsichore.

          I checked my directional guide and started following the indicator to my case.  Naturally, it had its own little broadcast beacon.  Standard equipment these days.  After happy bums are finished tripping the light fantastic, they could easily abscond with strangers’ goods if we didn’t take such sensible precautions.

          A high pitched peep peep peeping alerted me to the near presence of my satchel so I switched off the beacon and started batting the bushes out of my way to reveal my reports and lunch still safely nested under the hedge.

          Not sure how late I was, I hopped the crosstown trolley, jumped off at the corner of Lerner and Loew, and raced into Hammerstein Centre in time to witness a proposal of marriage.

          Half an hour later I was again looking for my case as I tried to shake the fog out of my head.

Posted on

* * Moms DEMAND Action * *

1 April 2021 — DEMAND!
Because to ask politely means that the patriarchy wins,
Or is this just the natural consequence of having married
Uber-woak Soyboys?

130717 — The Babble of the Sexes
Men are almost impossible to understand.
When a man says that he’s looking for a wealthy hot babe with a hefty rack and an unquenchable thirst for fresh semen what he ACTUALLY means is that he’s looking for a wealthy hot babe with a hefty rack and an unquenchable thirst for fresh semen. I understand your confusion. 
Women make more sense.
When a woman says she’s looking for a soulmate who will respect her womanhood, honor her individuality, and help her to actualize her best self, what she clearly means is that she’s looking for a jerk in a leather jacket to treat her like garbage.
See?  MUCH simpler!

190929 — People are funnier than they realize.
It’s a pity they’re not as funny as they think.
191116 — “You know what I mean?” Okeh, so maybe you did speak in a Valley Girl accent. Still…   If I’m supposed to infer that your declarative statement is a question, why don’t you infer that my not contradicting it is an answer?
200103 — Most people are horrible.  Some people are worse.
But that’s just the majority.
200104 — Iran shoots intruder in neighbor’s house.
Intruder’s family vows revenge.
200105 —   Wondering about That Old Guy at the QuikkStopp™
“Why are you always in such a fucking good mood?”
Because I live in a beautiful world filled with music, cats, literature,
poetry, pretty girls, and hard drugs.
“Are you for real?”
I may not be what you expected, but I exist.
200106 — “If it doesn’t come naturally, leave it.” – Al Stewart
He’s not entirely correct, but still…
Nothing fixes a frown so firmly on my face as the insistence that I smile.
Nothing slows me down as effectively as the insistence that I hurry.

200814 – Any time you ask me if it’s a quiet night, it automatically isn’t.
When you ask me how my “night’s going” you are making it worse. If the first word of your directive is “just” then I have already and automatically failed to comply.

210402 — If Lance has his genitals removed and declares his name is now Louise, I’m going to try to be polite and call him Louise.
By the same token, I generally call fake capitalists “Republicans,”
and fake humanitarians “Democrats.”

13 August 2021 – “Don’t Label Me, Bro”  — or –  “Gimme da Kine”

Most of the damage done by tools has been through their misuse.  Most people wouldn’t care to be stabbed with a screwdriver or clobbered by a brick, but survivors would not likely blame the tools themselves.

The damage done with words (tools which denote or describe people, places, things, concepts, actions, or attributes) are accomplished through deceit or conflation.  Deceit is usually clear, and often defensive, but conflation is sneakier.  It is used to distort meanings and positions to link common characteristics with individual misbehaviors – it is an attempt to cover a broad concept with a narrow blanket, as if to say, “Oh, you’re not a ‘Republican?’  Then you must love Hillary.”

In a reflex that closely resembles “I am NOT my Daddy,” people frequently object to labels, as if they were to exclusively define them irrespective of however else they might differ from the pack.  But labels are useful insofar as they help us grasp important differences.  Most of us have a pretty good idea of what “give me a hand” means, but no one understands “that” or “da kine” outside of a context.  If my mate can’t see me pointing at the spanner, I should probably use the suitable label.

“Oh!  You’re with BLM?  You must hate white people.”
“You’re a border hawk?  Why do you hate Mexicans?”
“You’re a lib-uh-terian?  Don’t you like roads?”


Posted on

Scrooge McMoneybags®

23 March 2021

correspondents IA & BA express concerns that the “pathological hoard[ing]” of cash by the monied elite could “impoverish [an] entire nation” and yet society lauds such miserly malefactors as “role models.”
And some offer lamentations of “glorify[ing] greed.”

“Hoarding cash” impoverishes no one except perhaps the truly rare “pathological” miser, and even that’s arguable. He may get a rush out of it, but it’s his, so it “neither picks my pocket nor breaks my leg.”
Maybe he likes hookers and blow, too. What do I care?
Contrariwise, the accumulation of large resources permits long term delays of consumption on a massive scale, which can, for example, build a hydroelectric dam or fuel a moon launch. And even if the wealth is NOT invested, just the very removal of currency from circulation enhances the value of that which remains. If your megabucks are NOT bidding up prices, my meagre mites have more power.
And frankly, I find the exaltation of need to be symptomatic of the
greater pathology, and far more destructive.

Scrooge McDuck® et al are the creations of Carl Barks
and are held de jure by das MausenKorp®

Hotez Bears the WHO
(by Doctor Staccato)

Joe Rogan knows a showman shows,
And Rogan shows how much he knows,
But when his lacks to him occur,
To wiser heads he will defer.
But Hotez knows to go with flows,
And yield conclusions presupposed,
To carry forth his sponsors’ products:
Placebos palliating addicts.

Posted on

Accounting Irregularities

14 March 2002

Our President and Congress make a big noise about corporations going belly-up and the “scandal” of insider trading, so they propose “tough new regulations” to restore investor confidence in the stock market. I’m a little confused. Aren’t crimes like fraud, theft, extortion, and perjury already illegal? We don’t need new laws to “restore confidence.” Artificial reporting requirements are part of the reason that many businesses are having a rough time of it already.

Now, I do not intend to diminish the very real trauma for shareholders, pensioners, and employees who are getting hurt in the fallout from the failures of Enron® and WorldCom®, but the sad fact is that some enterprises don’t cut it, and some people don’t do well in the market. It’s tragic, but the only alternatives to the free market are Fascist Italy, Nazi Germany, Communist China, or Soviet Russia. So when Republicans® and Democrats® vow to fix the system, to protect the consumer, to cushion the investor, and to save capitalism from itself, I have to say, “Hold on to your wallets, folks, you’re about to get gored.”

The fact is, bankruptcy isn’t all bad news. It isn’t fun, but sometimes it’s the best thing in the long run. When a company goes under, its material assets don’t evaporate, and the talents and experiences of its many employees don’t disappear. The market will reallocate them to other tasks. It is far better for the economy for a failure like Enron to fade into history, than for “successes” like Amtrak and the US Post Office to continue sucking up taxpayer subsidies and posting record losses quarter after quarter. When a capitalist makes a bad decision, the market mercilessly shuts him down. When a government agency makes a bad decision and loses record amounts of money inflicting record amounts of damage, the Congress increases its budget.

If private citizens ran an operation like the Social Security Pyramid Swindle, they’d be in prison. It’s long past time to retire that fraud. Liability to three generations of Social Security and Medicare victims can arguably be considered to be a part of the Federal Debt, and settlements based on divestiture of Federal Assets may provide us with the leverage we need to retire these schemes.

I want every victim of the Social Security Scam to get back every dime that was taken plus interest. How much interest is hard to say, but we can have that argument later. Victims who trusted the system and are now wholly dependent on it should get the help they need. The help they NEED. Yes, I propose means testing. The Congress must change the statute so that those retirees who are able to care for themselves will not get any more than a just return on what was taken.

Most important of all, however, is to let every working American stay out of it altogether. Let them save the money if they wish, or put it into their coin collections, or bury it in the back yard. Better still, let them invest it in their own retirement, and let them earn a market return, rather than the anemic performance of the Social Security “Trust Fund.”

Savvy politicos have named Social Security the “Third Rail of American Politics.” It is a reference to electric subway trains that draw their power from the charged third rail. You touch it and you die. It’s a very colorful expression, and it may well have some merit as a warning to those who would court the free lunch vote, but a candidate who refuses to acknowledge the inevitable collapse of the system doesn’t deserve your respect or your vote. We have nothing to lose by retiring Social Security except constantly rising taxes and constantly diminished prospects for a survivable retirement.

Pessimists will have you believe there is no hope, ever, of changing the system, and since they haven’t the means to make a difference, they have relieved themselves of the responsibility to make the effort. I’m not surrendering to their future, and I hope you won’t either. We can make a difference, every day, with every vote, with every purchase, with every word and gesture and action. We are making the future every day. It’s up to each of us.

update 180311: Very little has changed on this front except the public notoriety of Martha Stewart’s time in stir, providing critics of the Iraqi invasion the handy slogan, “Martha lied, but no one died.” It is sad, stupid, and ridiculous all at once. Ms Stewart wasn’t even convicted of the outrageously contrived non-crime of “insider trading” but of simply stymieing the FBI’s pointless investigation.
update 210325: Considering the evil that the FBI commits, Martha deserves a full pardon. Maybe even a medal. Lying to the fuzz wastes their time and obstructs their investigations. I wouldn’t recommend it, because they are heavily armed, highly vengeful, and demonstrably homicidal. But I still salute courage.

These comments are sponsored by The Confederate Mint (purveyors of metallic securities in gold, silver, copper, and lead).  For sample sheets of Metallic Certificates (total face value One Tenth Silver Dollar) send One Silver Dime plus a self-addressed stamped envelope; or 
Four United States Legal Tender Federal Reserve “Dollars”
in scrip, check, or money order, to Greigh Area Associates,
c/o Gene Greigh // 401 Rio Concho Drive, #105;  San Angelo, Texas;  76903

Posted on

With or Without a Bookie

6 March 1998 — approximated & paraphrased

Patient with a brokered account: “Time to settle up.”
Receptionist: “Well, looks like we’ll send a bill to your insurance company for a hundred and twenty dollars, but we’ll need your co-pay of twenty dollars, please. You can mail it in, if you like.”
P w/ aba: “Thanks! Have a great day!”
Receptionist: “Thank you, hon!  Next please.”

Patient without a brokered account: “Time to settle up.”
Receptionist: “Uh… you don’t have any insurance.”
P w/o aba: “That’s correct.”
Receptionist: “That’ll be three hundred dollars. Right fucking now!”

update 210108: Mrs Axis once explained this to me. Insurance companies deal in large numbers, and can therefore negotiate lower rates because they represent a bloc of reliable payers, whereas I am an unknown quantity, and they’re not sure they can get even a fraction out of me. But they didn’t know me, did they? So they couldn’t know in advance that for EVERY time I ever walked myself into a doctor’s or dentist’s or other skilled contractor’s office, and incurred a debt, they ALWAYS got EVERY DiME! Which makes me considerably more reliable than every bookie who ever went belly up and left thousands bereft.

The images above are reproduced for purposes of analysis and scholarship.  Their use here constitutes free advertisement for their creators at the considerable expense of Piracy Press & Greigh Area Associates. Stories are selected with the greatest of discrimination, but even numbered issues of Daring Love are specifically edited with the prurient interests of atavistic fanboys in mind.  
Reader discretion is advised.

Posted on

Wishful Thinking

15 March 2021

Says Syed Balkhi:
“Hey, I noticed you created a contact form with WPForms – that’s awesome! Could you please do me a BIG favor and give it a 5-star rating on WordPress to help us spread the word and boost our motivation?”

That is one interesting observation.
I recall trying to figure how to decipher the “instructions” for setting up “forms” in the “backend” of my “D-panel” but I have no recollection whatsoever of actually accomplishing anything. In fact it was not “awesome” at all. It was painful and frustrating and fruitless. I expect that my experience with this cybernetic horror show is hardly the testimony that a vendor is going to want to clarion to the world. Fortunately for professional cyber-geeks, most consumers aren’t nearly as stupid or retarded as I am.

Alex (Swamp Thing) Olsen, Linda Olsen, Shvaugn Erin, 
& Jan (Element Lad) Arrah, are all properties of 
Detective Comics and Warner Communications.  Their images are reproduced by Piracy Press for purposes of analysis and scholarship.
Stories are selected with the greatest of discrimination, but even numbered issues of Daring Love are specifically edited with the prurient interests of atavistic fanboys in mind.  Reader discretion is advised.