Batman Smells

Most of us who work here at the dump are Unbelievers. We don't call ourselves Atheists, because we believe that there probably is a higher power - we just don't think It gives a rat's patooty about the affairs of human beings on this planet. We call ourselves Unbelievers because we don't believe any of the religious bullshit we hear from preachers, mullas and evangelical know-it-alls.

We were reminded of the irony of belief last night watching the news about a fishing boat that sank. 4 drowned, including the captain. The brother of the surviving crewman was being interviewed on camera. He explained the recovery of his brother as "The Grace of God." This is typical of what passes for faith in our modern culture. You see it all the time in sports: the home run hitter crosses home plate puts a fist to his heart and then points to God in thanks for his grace. Winning Boxers almost always thank God for the victory.

So if you think this makes sense, then you believe that God cares whether the Yankees or the Red Sox win a stupid baseball game? God, in his infinite (i.e., incomprehesible) wisdom flipped the boat and drowned 4 seamen to punish them for ...well I guess we will never know.

There is a magical trick people of faith play on themselves. When something good happens, they say it is God's blessing. When stuff goes wrong, well it must be the devil, or a punishment. They are entirely oblivious to the absurdity of this position. Many people of faith think that it is immoral for a mother to get an abortion because God says Thou Shalt Not Kill.
They have decided that this particular form of killing is bad - some think its bad enough to kill the doctors who perform abortions. Yet these same people stand idly by while people are being slain by the millions around the world. I looked up the ten commandments, and there is no fine print. It is one of those absolute statements that you cannot weasel around with, even if you are a used car dealer.

But people of faith are intellectually dishonest, most of them. They preach absolute obedience for others and practice situational ethics for themselves. The scandals in the churches and in the lives of many evangelists are ample evidence that people of faith are following the wrong leaders and fooling themselves with their inane chanting and praying. By the way isn't praying just an arrogant attempt to change God's Plan?

So, enjoy the Christmas Holiday for what it is: A secular celebration of friendship, family and and excuse to drink too much. Oh yeah, and gifts...

(Ah, a matching pen and pencil, just the thing I need, how nice."

Seasonal Salt

Some of us in the office have begun to suspect that Lardass is on steroids. In the past several years he has been bulking-up. Some of the guys recalled the other day that his real name is Vernon, but no one has referred to him by his real name since Hector was a pup. Hector is the name of the old black Labrador Retriever that has been spending the most of week sprawled on the floor in front of the Franklin stove catnapping and wheezing. Normally, I don't like dogs - or any other animals -in the office but George insists that Hector creates chi in the office. If chi smells like a fart, I'd have to agree with him. Anyway, George claims that it's it's bring-your-dog-to-work week. Over my protests, he leaves the animal in my office instead of taking him outside. It's too cold,

Intra-office conflict is my bread and butter. I have studied every negotiating guide from "Getting to Yes" to "Feed them crap and make them love it." I am proud of my record as a tough negotiator and an obstacle buster. First you acknowledge the conflict and define the points of disagreement. Then you pull rank.
"What the fuck is that dog still doing here?" I ask pointedly.
"What dog? I don't see any dog"
"That big black animal lying like a beached moose in front of the stove, pumping methane into our atmosphere" I am getting testy, but still in charge.
"Oh, that. That's not a dog. That's Hector"
George was doing his usual steaming-up-the-mirror tactic. He is an atrocious fabricator.
"And I suppose he isn't blowing pizza-crust farts either." Holding my nose, nodding to the empty pizza boxes piled on the floor. The lads had sent out to Dominos for lunch.
"You know Hector has a congenital problem digesting carbohydrates." George was stubborn and insubordinate.

I was mulling whether to pull rank, when Lardass lumbered into the office.
"Cripes. What a stench!" This was a surprise. I always thought that LA did not have a normal sense of smell. He once confided to me that he was intrigued with the odor of skunk. "Somebody light a match."

Lardass was excited because he had read in the news that a local DPW outfit was adding beer tailings to rock salt on the roadways during snow storms. Beer apparently makes a Super Melt Salt that keeps the snowmelt from freezing at the normal freezing point. A scientist invented the product after he noticed that the pool of fetid beer mash behind the Budweiser plant never froze.

Lardass had an idea. "Hey, we have the same situation. Did you ever notice that our tank of radioactive liquid waste never freezes?"

The idea hung like a giant fart cloud in the room.