How to Survive Your Crappy Job

http://finance.yahoo.com/news/50-Tips-for-Surviving-Your-usnews-650024601.html?x=0&mod=pf-career-work

The list, with my commentary:

--Don't promise what you can't deliver. I ONLY PROMISE THAT I WILL NOT DELIVER.

--Learn to manage your emotions, instead of letting them control you. I ALMOST SLUGGED A COWORKER OVER AN ARMOIRE.

--Cultivate a sense of humor. I HAVE A POOPING REINDEER ON MY DESK.

--Resist perfectionism. I HAVE A PERFECT RECORD OF ZERO BUSINESS TRAVEL OVER THE PAST 12 MONTHS.

--Resist micromanaging (of yourself and others). I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT THE PERSON WHO WORKS FOR ME DOES.

--Get the sleep you need. I TAKE MICRO NAPS IN THE OFFICE.

--Try getting to work 10-15 minutes early. IF THE WORK DAY STARTED AT 10AM.

--Take regular breaks. CALL ME THE PERFECT EMPLOYEE IN REGARDS TO THIS.

--Take a walk at lunch, or do some stretching exercises, or jumping jacks, or something. LUNCH IS FOR LUNCH. 3-5PM IS FOR WORKING OUT.

--Don't overdo the caffeine. PUSSY.

--Don't skip breakfast or lunch. WHO WOULD DO SUCH A THING?

--Learn to recognize symptoms of stress (anxiety, headache, anger) so you can nip it in the bud. AND HIS NAME IS JOEL.

--Make some friends/allies at work. LIFE TO ME IS ONE BIG GAME OF AXIS & ALLIES.

--Talk about your stress, to somebody. POOR KARLA.

--Pay attention to your breathing; slow it down, deepen it. MUCH BETTER WITH A CIGAR.

--Post family photos (or other images that make you happy) in your workspace. CIGAR GIRLS.

--Focus on the now (i.e., don't agonize over the past, don't fret over the future). I NEED TO GO PEE…BE RIGHT BACK.

--Take some alone time. IT’S CALLED STALL #1, MENS BATHROOM

--Find harmless ways to vent; e.g., cry, or punch a pillow. THREATEN TO PUNCH A COWORKER OVER AN ARMOIRE. DON’T ACTUALLY PUNCH COWORKER OVER ARMOIRE.

--Vary your routine. SOMETIMES DIM SUM, SOMETIMES SUSHI, OCCASIONALLY MEXICAN…WE KEEP IT VARIED.

--Stop trying to multitask. ONLY RETARDED PEOPLE STRUGGLE TO MULTITASK.

--Remind yourself of what's really important in life. KALBI TACOS.

--Beef up your skills; become better and faster at what you do. THIS EMAIL ONLY TOOK ME 5 MINUTES TO COMPOSE.

--Make sure you truly know what is expected of you (you may need to talk to your boss). MY BOSS AVOIDS ME.

--Try looking at situations from different points of view. HOW WOULD THE MAIL ROOM GUY HANDLE MY SITUATION…

--Seek work that suits your personality. CHIEF MOCKERY OFFICER.

--Learn to say "no." DONE.

--Always have a fallback plan (a "Plan B"). TACO TRUCK.

--Get better organized. PLANNING TO START A UNION FOR MY DEPT. FUCK THE MAN.

--Clean up workspace clutter. I AM TRYING TO GET “THAT GUY” FIRED.

--Stop procrastinating. I NEVER HESITATE. AS SOON AS FEEL THE URGE TO GO #1, I GO.

--Make your workspace as ergonomic as you can. DECIDING WHETHER TO TURN GARBAGE CAN INTO OFFICE TOILET.

--Wear clothes that are comfortable and that you look good in. I WORK IN THE LAND OF UGGOS. A MUUMUU WOULD LOOK GOOD HERE.

--Try some "positive affirmations." THERE ARE OTHERS THAT SUCK WORSE THAN ME.

--Learn to manage your boss. I THINK HE’S AFRAID OF ME.

--Meditate/pray/contemplate. IS THIS SOME STUPID PLAY OFF EAT PRAY LOVE??

--Avoid negative people as much as you can. ONE CANNOT AVOID ONESELF.

--Write down the things you like about your job. MY PAYCHECKS DON’T BOUNCE.

--Make a list of all your achievements in the last year. 1) AQUATHON, 2) …

--Get clear on your life goals and take a step, no matter how small, toward those goals every day. IT’S BEEN 10+ YEARS OF BABY STEPS TOWARDS MEDIOCRITY.

--Learn to love yourself as you are. QUICKEST PATH TO BECOME A FAT BASTARD.

--Put a smile on your face. TACO TUESDAYS AT KALBIQ.

--Get a hobby that makes you happy. PAPER CLIP SCULPTURES.

--Learn to prioritize. Learn to delegate. LUNCH IS A PRIORITY. TRYING TO HIRE A MANTERN TO DELEGATE.

--Stop comparing yourself to others. COMPARING YOURSELF TO ONE OF THOSE MALL KIOSK GUYS USUALLY LEADS TO A SMILE.

--Ask for help when you need it. I DON’T KNOW HOW TO PLUG THE DAMN PROPANE TANK TO MY GRILL.

--Break big jobs into bite-size pieces. MY APPROACH ON SLIPPING PROZAC INTO MY ADMIN’S WATER.

--Know your limitations and let others know them too. I AM CAPABLE OF ONLY 1.25 HOURS OF WORK IN ANY GIVEN WORK DAY.

--Don't try to control what is uncontrollable. I'VE GIVEN UP HOPE THAT OUR STOCK IS EVER GOING TO MAKE US RICH.

--Hang in there! SHUT UP.

Tax Cuts Cure Cancer

Over the last couple of years, there’s been a lot of debate on how best to stimulate the economy. Obama and the Dems have pushed for increased government spending to coax the economy along. Republicans have pushed for more tax cuts to stimulate the economy. And the Tea Baggers have pushed for, as best as I can understand, no taxes and no government spending of any kind.

So let’s set aside the Tea Bagger constituency as nothing but a hodge-bodge group of uneducated, unemployed, racist, ignorant monkeys who really shouldn’t have a voice in a civilized democracy. And for purposes of this email, let’s set aside the Dem’s position and focus on Republicans and their view that tax cuts are the cure for all things including fixing the economy (I’m sure if you place enough Republicans in a room, they’ll figure out a way on how tax cuts would cure cancer).

Republicans argue that if you cut taxes, businesses and individuals would have more money to spend and invest their capital, which in turn, would stimulate the economy. I’ll leave individuals for another discussion and focus more on businesses. Their argument seems to make sense: if a company didn’t have to spend its cash paying Uncle Sam, they’d have more capital to invest in R&D, B&P, and improve/increase their workforce.

But something always bothered me about this argument. Take the company I work for. We’ve weathered the poor economy better than most. We are a healthy large business with significant revenues and profits. We’re not exactly what you would call cash-strapped. We generate tons of cash every year and have billions of capital that we could easily deploy. You would think that we would take our cash and invest it in our future growth, that our R&D budget would grow, our B&P spend would increase, that we would be hiring the best talent to take advantage of our strong market position. We are not doing any of those things. Instead, we’re sitting on our cash. Sure, we’ll buy a company here and there, but that really doesn’t help the economy in any material way. Yeah, we’ll make a handful of dudes rich, but it’s not like they’ll go and spend all that cash buying stuff. All those greenbacks will probably be sitting in mutual funds or money market accounts somewhere.

My company pays about $300M in taxes annually. Let’s say Obama had listened to Republicans on this whole stimulus thing. Screw the poor and middle-class people, screw investments in infrastructure, all we’re going to do is give tax cuts, especially to businesses. Let’s say we cut taxes by half. My company would save about $150M. What do you think we’re going to do with that cash? Invest in our research, our marketing, our people? Hell effing no. It’s going to go in the piggy bank with the rest of our capital, sitting there, doing nothing.

You may then argue: “Well, maybe that’s just your company, it may help others”. Fair point. So I went and pulled up all the companies in the S&P 500 representing over $10 trillion of market cap, $8 trillion in revenue, and 22 million employees. Here’s what I found out:

Median figures
Revenue: $9.4 billion
EBITDA: $1.2 billion
Tax expense: $200 million
Operating capital (working capital + CapEx, ie amount of capital to sustain business): $540 million
Cash: $800 million
Debt: $2.8 billion

What does all this mean? It means that chances are, your average large company is going to be in the same position my company. Your average S&P 500 company currently has more than 1.5x the cash required to sustain operating capital (above and beyond the operating capital they currently have), $800 million of cash, and assuming max Debt/EBITDA levels of 4, over $2 billion of deployable capital. In other words, they’re not hurting for cash and any tax cut isn’t going to impact their decision on how to deploy capital. For avoidance of doubt (as those lawyers like to say), it means that if you have $2 billion, another $100 million isn’t going to mean squat.

So if you want tax cuts simply based on the principle that what you what you make you should keep, I guess I understand. Myopic sure, but I understand. However arguing that giving large businesses tax cuts will somehow stimulate the economy better than putting actual dollars into the hands of consumers doesn’t seem to hold water.

If this is the case, then why do so many supposedly smart Wall Street types, like my banker friend Sunny, push fanatically for corporate tax cuts? Simple, because it’s in their best personal interest to do so. Think about it: who is likely to have sizeable next eggs invested in equities? Rich banker types like Sunny. If you cut the taxes of large companies, theoretically their valuation will go up. Simple example: If the average Price:Earnings of the S&P 500 is 20, cutting taxes will increase Earnings and assuming a fixed P/E of 20, that means Price will have to go up. So your average Sunny will see his already sizable nest egg increase in value. But this is good for the economy right? Sunny will take that increased wealth and spend on consumer goods or start a business which will be good for the economy, right? Wrong. What Sunny will do is buy a beige Mazda minivan, last year’s model, on sale, and keep the rest in his eTrade account sitting idle.

At the end of the day, just like everything else, the solution to our economic troubles is a combination of things. When no one is spending, business or consumers, we unfortunately need the government to spend to prevent a real Depression. We also do need tax cuts, but smart tax cuts, those that will actually spur economy activity. Personally, I think this is all a moot point. Despite what the Fox News contingent want you to believe, all indications are that we are in an economic recovery. So go out there and spend some of that money. Who knows, in a couple of years, Palin could be President. Then we’d all be screwed anyways.

Random Crackhead Facebook Comment of the Day

I found this comment below on my Facebook friend's status update:

"Hi Jessica and Brother Will, Yes it is in all God's hands. Here's a prediction. The dollar collapses into freefall and Obama and the other one worlders create a new global currency that all countries must accept. Control the money supply and you control everything. 2012 is based on Mayan fairytales and superstitions. The Bible has a proven track record of accurately predicting the future and something like the scenario I laid out is mentioned in Revelations. Whether the millenium is a literal rule or more allegorical, I'm open to either as plausible as it doesn't impinge upon the fundamentals of my faith."

It scares the living crap out of me that there are actually people who think like this walking around in this country. It scares me even more that there's only two degrees of separation between me and this particular nut.

Carrie Prejean Makes the Perfect Wife

I want to marry Carrie Prejean. She's a good, wholesome Christian who likes wearing bikinis and making "videos". I like bikinis and "videos". And she's a woman, so you know, I can like marry her and stuff. We will procreate, because God said we can via his intelligent design of my penis and her vagina.

Cartman Does Glenn Beck

Cartman is my fucking hero. Glenn Beck is still a douchebag.

John Stewart Does Glenn Beck

John Stewart is a genius. Glenn Beck needs to get kicked in his left nut repeatedly.

The 11/3 Project

The Daily Show With Jon Stewart	Mon - Thurs 11p / 10c
www.thedailyshow.com
Daily Show Full Episodes Political Humor Health Care Crisis

Get Me Some Cream Frenchie

Nothing is more obnoxious than being at a McDonald’s or any other fast-food joint and having to stand behind the Hot Fry Guy. You know who I’m talking about. You probably have friends like him, or perhaps you are one yourself. It’s the guy who insists on being served only the fries that have just come out of the fryer, like he’s some kind of damn French fry connoisseur whose taste buds would be tarnished if they’re touched by stale fries. If he’s served fries that have spent any time at all outside of the fryer, he’ll refuse them and ask the poor counter guy to go back and schlep him the batch fresh from the fryer, as if the two minutes spent under the hot lamp are going to screw up the fries to the point that it ruins his exquisite $3.99 culinary experience. You’re at a McD’s jackass. Your meal including drink costs less than the starter salad at a sit-down restaurant. The guy serving you your meal wears a paper hat and makes minimum wage. Life sucks for him enough. He doesn’t have to put up with your shenanigans about the fries.

HOWEVER….

If you’re at a sit-down restaurant, with an actual waiter, and the price per meal is more than a lap-dance, I say that you are entitled to some basic level of quality and service. And this bar is raised even further when your meal starts going above a lap dance or two, and starts approaching Champagne Room prices. Last night, a few of us took out our friend who was visiting from Alabama. We decided to take her to a rustic French restaurant called Bleu Boheme located in this hip part of San Diego called Kensington Park. We’ve been to this restaurant a few times and have always enjoyed the food and ambiance. Knowing that we were going to have this dinner last night, my mind (and belly) was fixated on their mussels in wine and cream sauce. It’s absolutely divine (hmmm…I believe man rule states that I can’t describe something as “divine”…oh well).

We were seated at our reservation time of 8PM and immediately ordered a couple boards of cheeses and meats (Les Planches) and a bottle of red wine. We were in a great mood. The food and wine were delicious, the conversation was great. The waitress returns to take our order.

“I’m sorry, but I just want to let you know that the kitchen has run out of cream.”

Run out of cream? What the fuck??? You’re a French restaurant. How the hell do you run out of cream? Isn’t cream the base for many of your sauces? And most importantly, how the fucking hell are you now going to make my mussels with wine and cream sauce?

“I’m sorry sir, but we can only serve you the mussel dishes without the cream.”

The blood pressure starts rising. I cannot believe I am going to get screwed out of my dish, the one I’ve been craving for all week. I try to keep calm. Our friend is a sweet, lovely Southern Belle and I don’t want to act like a total jackarse in front of her. So I bite my tongue and order the mussels without the cream.

Minutes pass. I do a poor job hiding my seething anger. My friends try changing the topic but I can’t help thinking about the ridiculousness of a French restaurant running out of cream. It’s like a hamburger joint running out of ketchup or a Vietnamese restaurant running out of fish sauce. It doesn’t make any sense.

The food arrives. I take a sip of the broth. It sucks. There’s too much white wine flavor which, without the cream, overpowers the sauce. I refuse to have anymore. I call the waitress over to take away the food. A few minutes later, the manager comes to our table:

“Is there something wrong with the mussels?”

“Yeah, I don’t like it. I wanted to mussels with the wine and cream sauce but apparently you ran out of cream.”

She then proceeded to rattle off a laundry list of reasons why they ran out of cream: it was a busy night, one of the waitresses called in sick so they were short-staffed and couldn’t send anyone to go buy cream, and (most absurdly) the supermarket is closed.

Let’s break down each of these lame excuses one by one:

It was a busy night. You’re always fucking busy. There’s never a time when your restaurant is not packed. You serve French food. How do you not have crates and crates of cream in your fridge???

They were short-staffed so no one could go buy cream. Let me get this straight, you’re telling me you couldn’t send the busboy who was over at our table every couple of minutes filling up our water glasses down to the supermarket to buy some cream? I suspect your guests would have been just fine going 20 minutes without a water refill.

The supermarket is closed. We don’t live in fucking Utah. The supermarket will be open at 9PM.

Needless to say I was pissed. I told the manager Ill give someone $40 to go run and buy some damn cream. That didn’t work. She apologized and ask if there’s anything else they can provide on the house. Rather than calming me down, her offer pissed me even more. Look bitch, I can buy my own damn food. I don’t need no fucking comp’d meal. I want my fucking mussels with wine and cream sauce and I’m willing to pay your shithead employee triple the list price to make it properly.

Here’s my problem with what happened last night: It’s not like I was asking for something absurd like Python blood and became indignant when they tell me that don’t have any in stock. I was asking for something that they have on their menu, made with an ingredient that is a basic staple in their type of cuisine. And even if you run out, we live in a fucking major city in fucking America, not in some starving village in North Korea…go out and buy some more and make your customer happy you dipshit!!!

And yes, I’ll likely be boycotting Bleu Boheme after last night’s incident. But unfortunately, this type of bewildering customer service isn’t limited to French bistros. In fact, it happens quite frequently, even at nice restaurants. Once we were dining at the luxurious Fairmont Kea Lani in Maui and I tried ordering surf and turf, specifically steak and lobster, and more specifically ribeye steak and lobster. You figure this request would be easily accommodated at a fine establishment like the Kea Lani, especially considering they offer all the components of the requested dish on their menu. Well my friends, you would figure wrong. Apparently the surf and turf can only be served with the filet (real men don’t eat filet) and cannot be replaced with the ribeye. Again, they have the ribeye there. That’s not the issue. They just cant serve a ribeye as part of the surf and turf. I told our waiter that money is no object. Just charge me more for the ribeye. Again, he says it’s not possible. I finally told him:

“Look, I'll order the ribeye AND the surf and turf with the filet. Have the cook throw away the filet and replace it with the ribeye.”

His response?

“I’ll see if the chef can do that.”

I almost killed a man that night.

Despite What You Heard on the News, Life Does Not Suck

Yesterday, Republicans took back a couple Governor spots. It appears that voters based much of their decision on the economy and nagging concerns about jobs. It got me thinking: are things really that bad? If you’re a college dropout mill worker in mid-America, life probably sucks. But I suspect life would suck for you even in a good economy. How about people like me, people in my socio-economic group?

After much deliberation, I came to the conclusion that life in fact, does not suck for many of us. In addition, I believe that things are looking better and that the future ahead is as bright as ever.

So with that, here are my top 10 signs the economy is improving (and that everyone is a whining b*tch)

- It’s pretty much damn impossible to book a $125 massage session on less than a day’s notice.

- Of the 89 Facebook friends I have, only 2 lost their jobs during the past 12 months with 1 getting a new job in the interim. That’s a 1.1% unemployment rate.

- Expensive seafood restaurants in San Diego are packed on a random Tuesday evening.

- My friend who works at Bloomingdale’s sold 10 expensive suits last Saturday. I added an 11th on Sunday.

- I have to wait 20 minutes to get my shoes shined at Nordstrom’s. Average tips I saw were $10-$20.

- Every investment banker that comes to visit at work is all giddy again. Lots of talk of capital and risk coming back into the system.

- There was a 30 minute line to check out of the costume store the day before Halloween. People apparently have discretionary income to blow $50 on a cheesy costume.

- $1,000 to $2,000 per night suites in Vegas are in short supply. We couldn’t even book one of the party suites ($3,000 per night) at the Palms cause they were all sold out.

- My net worth is at least 20 percent higher than one year ago even though my company stock sucks balls.

OK, I could only come up with 9 but bottom line, I think people are watching the news and projecting the whining and gloom-and-doom of the should-be-unemployed to their own lives. If you’re employed, have savings, and life is generally pretty good, stop acting like you’re some god-damn unemployed college dropout mill worker in mid-America.

Please Date an Asian Man

It sucks that us Asian guys need our won Public Service Announcement...but hey, we'll take it. Jen Kwok wins my vote for Woman of the Year.



via asianjoke.com

I Reacted in a Similar Fashion When I Was Served Chicken Breast

When Your Jeans are a Wee Bit Too Tight

Why English Matters

The girl I’m sorta seeing, the same one that may or may not be afflicted with a horrible genetic disease and who English is very much a second language, works at a Japanese restaurant that we eat at quite frequently. A couple of days ago, my coworkers and I stopped by for lunch and we were surprised to see her there since she usually doesn’t work the afternoon shift on Mondays. Apparently she was filling in for another waitress – a girl we also know – who has been sick for the last couple of weeks. She told us that the girl has Leukemia. We were shocked. Leukemia? That’s horrible! This poor girl has a husband in the military and a 10-year old daughter. How unfair life can be that a mother, a wife, at the prime of her life can be struck down by something as horrible as Leukemia.

We were all bummed. We spent the rest of the lunch lamenting about the poor waitress and discussing how we should all take full advantage of the fact that we still have our health. It was a sober afternoon.

Later that night, I get a text from my girl:

“Sorry, she has appendix not leukemia”

Appendicitis, Leukemia, same difference. Jeebus Freaking Cristos, how the hell do you confuse the two illnesses? They don’t even sound the same. Thank goodness she’s not working as a nurse. Can you imagine the chaos?

“You have cancer. Oh, so solly, you have hemloids not cancer.”

I’m starting to think that perhaps I should really move on to a new girl. Perhaps one that has better command of the English language. And preferably one without Down Syndrome.

Twinky, No Service

I recently saw this disturbing sign on stuff white people do (great blog btw), and thought hmmmm....what kind of bigoted sign would I post on my future boba shop - slash - cigar lounge - slash massage parlor. Well I'd first have to decide who I would want to keep out. The answer is easy of course: twinkies. They are the bane of my existence, the one group of people that would turn me into a war criminal if given the opportunity. If I ever became Jaba Himmler, I'd throw all those twinkies into concentration camps and feed them nothing but chicken feet, blast Taiwanese pop songs 24/7 and make them watch Korean dramas until they turn into melodramatic mush.

So back to my sign. First, I would write the sign in Oriental font - not Chinese characters mind you, but that exaggerated lettering that you find in cheesy faux Chinese restaurants that dot suburbia America, and put Hello Kitty stickers all over it. Yes I know, Hello Kitty also piss off non-twinkies, but I figure twinkies will have a more visceral reaction since that evil cat is just so Asian.

Then I would hire one of those cutsie Japanese girls with the perpetual giggling problem to hold up the sign with one hand while flashing that peace sign (or is it "V" for victory? whatever) to everyone that walks in. Again, non-twinkies find them annoying too but twinkies even more so.

And what would the sign actually say? Well, I thought long and hard about every twinkie that I ever met and came up with the list below. Please feel free to comment if you think there's something I should add.

Disclaimer: The Holocaust is not funny. However putting twinkies in concentration camps is.

IF YOU'RE ASIAN:

NO ABERCOMBIE & FITCH ATTIRE.

NO SHIRTS WITH GREEK LETTERS.

NO BLONDE HAIR (STREAKS PERMITTED IF COMPRISING LESS THAN 20% OF TOTAL HAIR FOLLICLES).

NO COLORED CONTACTS (UNLESS OBVIOUSLY NON-NATURAL LIKE PINK).

NO CAUCASIAN SIGNIFICANT OTHER.

NO TREATING ASIAN SERVERS AND FELLOW ASIAN CUSTOMERS WITH CONTEMPT BECAUSE THEY'RE "SO ASIAN".

NO ARRIVING IN A PICKUP TRUCK.

NO ASKING FOR "WHITE MEAT" WHEN ORDERING THE CHICKEN DISH. WE DISCARD THAT PIECE.

NO ASKING IF WE USE MSG. WE DO. IT TASTES GOOD.

NO ASKING FOR A FORK. WE HAVE AN ASIAN VERSION. IT'S CALLED A CHOPSTICK.

NO SAYING "EXCUSE ME?" IF YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND WHAT WHAT WE SAID. "WHAT?", "HUHHHH?", "EGGGHHHHHH?" ARE ACCEPTABLE.

NO ASKING "WHAT IS BOBA?"

RUBIOS IS DOWN TWO BLOCKS ON THE LEFT.

Touching Speech

"The woman at my polling place asked me do I believe in equality for gay and lesbian people. I was pretty surprised to be asked a question like that. It made no sense to me. Finally I asked her: what do you think I fought for in Omaha Beach?"

Just Fucking Brilliant

What a brilliant yet simple web site idea: thefuckingwordoftheday.com.

I hope they sell for millions.

When Karaoke Goes Really, Really Bad

Wait, How Old is She?

With age, I've apparently lost the critical ability to tell whether the girl I'm checking out is 15 or 25. Unlike knowing how to use a power drill or driving a stick shift, figuring out whether or not the girl you're oggling could land you 5 to 10, as well as a real interesting conversation with your parents/wife/kids is quite an important skill for any man. Even if your mild stalking doesn't land you in prison, it could still make for some uncomfortable situations.

I'm writing this post poolside at a lovely luxury resort in Oahu. It's away from all the frat boy, coupon clipping, Denny's eating rift-raft in Waikiki. Most of the guests at this particular resorts are well-heeled couples and families. A little while ago I was frolicking about in the pool when I looked across and saw this stunning Mila Kunis look-a-like. I caught her glance, she gives me a coy smile. I smile back. Hmm...there's no way a sexy little thing like this could be vacationing alone. She must be with a man, perhaps a doctor, a lawyer, a hairy Persian...somebody.

I casually look around to see if I can ID her man. No one looks like a good candidate. The balding AIDS patient looking character? Looks like he has a wife with him. The thin Japanese guy with the unusually leathery tan? Gawd I hope not.

I float around a bit more, stealing a few quick glances over. She smiles back each time. My heart starts to flutter. Could it be that this fat Indo is going to get some vacation lovin? That would be glorious.

I start swimming closer to her, my mind racing. What should I say? Maybe ask her how it was filming Forgetting Sarah Marshall. No, that would be cheesy. Perhaps I should just ask her if she would like a drink. The hotel's rum-spiked mango smoothies are absolutely deelish and the alcohol may help me seal the deal.

Just as I was about to make my move, I felt a chilly stare coming from the pools edge behind me. I knew it. She has a man. I glance over. It WAS a man. A very pissed off looking man. Hmmm...he looked older than I would have expected. He must be her sugardaddy.

It turns out he was her daddy. Her real daddy. I realized this when he was joined by his wife/her mom, and a kid in a wheelchair who looks handicapped. Not handicapped like he loss the use of his legs kind of handicapped, but you know, "handicapped". They were all giving me the evil eye.

"Big deal", I thought. So I'm scoping out their daughter/sister. She's attractive, it's the islands, we're on vacation, I'm not doing anything wrong. Her dad apparently disagrees and ushers her over.

As she swims away, I begin to notice how young she looks. Wow, like really young. She gets to the pool steps and begins to climb out. Oh gawd. She doesn't just look young, she is young. That lithe body that I initially thought to be simply attributable to good genes and a solid pilates program, it turns out it was just the result of being a fucking pre-teen. And the reason she was smiling at me? Hell, she probably thought I had some candy for her or something.

So there you have it. At the ripe old age of 32, I've turned into that perverted old man feared by every father who has a daughter. Instead of finding my island vacation romance, I have managed to prey on a girl who's not even old enough to drive, and in addition tick off her poor crippled brother who probably wants nothing more than to run me over with his wheel chair.

I expect that it'll be all downhill from here. If you see me hanging out at your local Old Navy trolling for pre-teen ass, just go ahead and call the mall cops.

Choose Your Religion

via holytaco.com

Master of....Days Inn???

I woke up this morning and after going through my daily morning ritual of microwaving a low-calorie turkey egg white sandwich and brewing a rich cup of coffee, I log on to Facebook to check out what’s going on with my peeps. I see a friend complaining for the umpteenth time about how hard her life is (yes, we get it, being a veterinarian is hard work), another friend just compared me to a fat skunk (I have wonderful friends), and wait…what do I see…a riveting back and forth on politics. I always love me a heated, uninformed political discussion so I take a closer look.

It all started with my friend declaring on her update that she’s:

“waiting on the world to change”

Innocently pleasant enough. After a few more benign smart-ass comments from a couple of dudes who are obviously just looking for some ass, my friend added:

“LOL, I’m not the one committing rape, murder, theft, bullying, starvation, war, power, bias in the news…shall I go on????”

Hmmm…now them fighting words. And as expected, someone took the bait. That someone happened to be some Asian dude who interestingly enough has a white last name (Shaw???) who replies with:

“this is america . if you don't like it, leave! murder/theft/bullying/war/power/bias is what got you here girlie! if you forgot, ask yo momma”

Wow. I didn’t know my friend got her job as a retail clerk through murder, theft, bullying, war, power, and bias. Remind me never to seek a job at Bloomingdales. But boy, this Mr. Shaw character, he must be one hard motherfucker. War. Power. Murder. This must be a mover and shaker, a master of the universe, a man who commands respect.

My friend responds by calling Mr. Shaw ignorant, that we need change, that he should read Obama’s book. Incensed, Oriental Shaw replies:

“you want change? you got it! tax hikes and hand outs. keep em comin! don't call other peoples political views ignorant. not everyone wakes up feelin like an obama every day.”

So not only is Yellow Shaw a man of great importance, he must also carry with him a mighty big wallet. A man who is hurt by tax hikes must be making more than a quarter million a year. And of course a man who already pays tons in taxes should be incensed about giving hand-outs to the poor, the uninsured, and those who have failed to pull themselves up by their boot straps.

Now I’m starting to become intrigued by Kenghis Shaw. Who is this man? Perhaps he is someone I should get to know better. In fact, maybe I should add him as my Facebook friend. Surely he could help me with my career or at the very least provide with guidance on how I too, can be a great, powerful, rich Asian man. I click on his profile. I click on his info. I scroll down.

High School: Morse Senior High

Employer: Days Inn Harbor Hotel

Position: Front Desk Clerk

Time Period: December 2005 to present

What the motherfucking fuck??? I felt more let down than a Clippers fan after being promised the next Shaq only to find out that they drafted Michael Olowokandi. It turns out that General Tso Shaw, the great proselytizer of power, guardian of tax payers, is a godamn high school grad, front desk clerk at the freaking local Days Inn!!! Who are you bullying…the illegal maids? What power are you wielding…the ability to upgrade me from the garden view room? And how much in taxes could you possibly be paying at 12 bucks an hour???

It took a great deal of restraint for me not to chime in mock this piece of shit. But I had to go to work so I can pay my high taxes which is undoubtedly being handed to his poverty-line riding ass.

Money Can Buy You Happiness (and a Pork Chop)

A Facebook "friend" (in quotes since she's not really a friend...just some hot piece of ass that I got to know) recently posted the following status update:

Money can buy you a house, but not a home. It can buy you insurance, but not security. It can buy you entertainment, but not happiness. It can buy you status, but not respect. It can buy you a bed, but not sleep...

Ahhh...So deep, so profound. Interestingly though, if you look through the photo albums of Ms. Enlightened, you'll find nothing but pictures of her vacationing in exotic locales and boozing it up with bottle service at all the hot clubs. Gee, she must be one very unhappy girl.

Only in a land of rich abundance like America can you have wenches blather on about the evils of having money. It reminds me of a Sociology class I took in college - which by the way, is a whole other topic...Sociology...now there's a complete fucking waste of four years - where the professor was espousing the virtues of vegetarianism. Usually in class, especially in Sociology, I'm half-napping and barely paying any attention to what the professor is saying. However, my ears perked up when he said, "...like in Indonesia, where in their culture meat is not a major part of their diet."

Huh? Wait, what? I was born in Indonesia. Did he just say Indonesians don't eat meat? I rustled myself up and raised my hand:

"Professor, actually I was born in Indonesia and lived there for a few years. I don't think what you said is true. They do eat meat in Indonesia."

If you want to see a grown man get all in tizzy, just tell a vegan, Sociology professor that he doesn't know shit about what he's talking about. I think he called me some variation of ignorant and referenced all the fancy books he's read to justify his claim. Seeing that there was only 10 minutes left in class, I dropped the matter and went back to napping.

In hindsight, I shouldn't have given up so easily. I should have told him that the only reason native Indonesians eat very little meat is because many of them are poor villagers or fucking servants who work for the Chinese, like moi. And guess what? Being the ahole dickheads we are, we don't give the help much meat. They get whatever leftovers we don't want and they supplement their diets with a helluva lot of rice. And when I say supplement, I don't mean like in a balanced diet kind of way. I mean supplement the gnawing hunger pains in their bellies. Trust me, if you put a pork chop in front of your average Indonesian, he will eat the shit out that pork chop. Only a spoiled, fat fuck living in Westwood can make some silly, ignorant statement like "Indonesians don't eat meat." Hell, he says that in front a bunch of hungry Indonesian and they'll turn his pasty ass into the other white meat.

So here's the deal: if you're broke, unemployed, have no savings, trying to feed 5 kids and a dog, go right ahead and tell yourself money can't buy you happiness. That's probably all that's stopping you from putting a bullet in your head. However, if you're some Persian princess who went to a private school in Luxemburg and whose Daddy is paying for you to live a diva's lifestyle while you pretend to get your degree - in Sociology I'm sure - than please, SHUT THE FUCK UP.