The Era of the Mercenary Workforce

When I was a young child, back in the late 70s, it was one of the unquestionable constants of this world that after graduating, you would find a job somewhere and work there until the day you retire. This wasn't a specific thing you were told, so much as one of those 'sky is blue' type concepts that was passively reinforced everywhere you looked. You'd start down at the firm, or laboratory, or whatever, and keep working there until the day they hand you a pension check and a fancy engraved watch to commemorate your decades of service. You would extend unswerving fealty to your company, and in return they would see to it that your career progressed at an appropriate rate.

And so it was, that you would end up working 30 or more years with a single company becoming the world's foremost expert on -- I don't know -- drop-forged titanium angle-planishing sprocket design, or whatever the hell it is you were doing. Having worked so long for the same company, there'd be a handful of guys that you'd worked with your entire life - retiring right along with you. And then you'd spend every Tuesday and Wednesday for the rest of your life at the local pub with your old work buddies giving shit to the new guys, telling 'em how easy their jobs are compared to when you started - back when it took a team of five burly lads to manually chuck-hammer the slag pots before the axial magnesium pump could be re-primed for the tertiary sulfur wash, or whatever. And the young guys would give you shit about how much more they're producing, or how the product has changed - all in good fun. Every so often they'd come to you for your opinion on some new problem, because you'd retire as a legend in your field.

It was a system that made sense. You stay with the company because it's all you know how to do, and they keep you because you possess a level of skill that can only come from years of experience. Merit is rewarded, you get job security and steady raises, and they get the benefit of your well established knowledge.

That system is dead.

Which would be fine, except that no one seems to be willing to admit that.  A lot of kids are being sent out into the workforce with advice that hasn't been relevant for at least 30 years. On the first day we arrive in the corporate world, we are greeted with the carefully practiced smiles of those who will soon be our professional adversaries. We are reassured that the office politics which plague the industry aren't an issue at [Company name here]. We are made to attend endless seminars and meetings and team building exercises and are told to take personal responsibility for the outcomes in our department, to move above blame shifting and buck passing. We are told that success and failure comes as a team. We are told that achievement is rewarded, and that an open and creative process is valued. Some of us believed it. I believed it.

I drank that fucking Kool-Aid and waited for the god-damned spaceships.

Face it:  If you were smart enough to catch that reference without help, you wouldn't be reading my shitty blog

The problem with 'not playing politics' is that whether you think you are playing or not, you are standing on the field of combat. No matter how neutral you stay, no matter how focused on the job you are, no matter how cordial you are, someone will eventually decide that you are a threat to their ascent, and actively work to block your success at every opportunity. With so much of your workday dedicated to maintaining an unassailable defense via a process of undue diligence, there's scarcely any time left to get work done. The whole scenario eats your soul until after an average 2-4 years you either quit, or the company decides it doesn't need you anymore.

In most cases, managers are brought in from outside the department - often from outside the company. Advancement structures have been flattened in such a way that it is nearly impossible to make the jump to the next level of the organizational chart at one's own company. You can be promoted 20 times, and never rise to the level your boss was at on your first day.

The days of company loyalty are over. Welcome the age of the mercenary.

With every new epoch, there will be new rules to be followed. Constraints which, in their difference from previous methodologies, might be counterintuitive. I've listed a few of these below. This is by no means an exhaustive list, so feel free to chime in with your two cents in the comments section.

Every job is a temporary job

At least within the tech industry, it has become standard practice for companies to hire contractors (who don't actually match the legal requirements of contractors) and temps rather than employees. This shelters the company from certain costs and streamlines the termination process. One will generally begin their journey with a company as a temporary worker, enjoying such benefits as forced unpaid vacations, 'benefits packages' that cost nearly as much as you make and yet provide little benefit, furlough days, and that special joy that can only come from having a hair-trigger pink slip dangling over your career like the Sword of Damocles. Firing a contractor is a process involving a single phone call on monday morning. "Don't worry about heading into work today. Don't worry about heading into work tomorrow, for that matter. In fact, we'll just let you know if the client needs you to come in."

They won't. The difference between a technical contractor and toilet paper is that some people are careful to conserve toilet paper.

Even after you are brought on as a full employee, never forget that the moment the stock dips and upper management is looking to protect the value of their massive stock awards, your job can be performed by a 10 people in some third-world sweatshop who would collectively make a scant fraction of what they pay you. "But they couldn't do my job well," You might be saying. Have you called tech support lately? How well would you say Pradheep Channarayapatra handled your call?

The reason your skill level is irrelevant to this discussion, is that the people responsible for making these decisions have absolutely no idea what your company does, much less what your department does, or what you specifically do. It's irrelevant to their job. If you distill business ethics to its core, the sole responsibility of upper management is to deliver a solid return on investment to the shareholders. Moreover, as some of the largest shareholders themselves, they are uniquely motivated to do whatever it takes to post good numbers. This means the moment your job, department, or site can be cut, moved, or replaced for a short term gain on the P&L worksheet you're done for. It's not merely profitable to them on a personal level - it's the only ethical thing to do.

Loyalty is dead

I can't drive this home enough. If the lives of 20,000 people in Bolivia depend on your sticking around for a few months to complete a project and you're offered a better position, put in your two weeks and take the better position, because the moment you've completed your project, the company might not need you anymore.

You will never see an ounce of recognition or gratitude

No matter how far above or beyond the scope of your job you go, no matter what you accomplish, you will never once be truly appreciated. All you can do is make 'em pay up front. Get what you're worth, because it's the only thanks you'll ever get. Take advantage of every perk, claim every expense, and then keep the receipts and write them off your taxes on the back end. Use every minute of PTO, and never pay for printer paper or pens for personal use. Because when your process reforms save the company millions in wasted time and costs you won't see a single red dime for your efforts - though you might see your VP taking credit for your work in the company newsletter (he'll probably earn a massive bonus for it too).

Tell HR nothing - Tell your lawyer everything

If you have a grievance with management, remember this one rule: Human Resources is never on your side. In fact, Depending on where you sit in the hierarchy, there's a good chance they report to the same boss you do (or his boss, which is often just as bad). Even if HR comes to you, unbidden, due to widespread accounts of managerial misconduct, you should never, ever talk to the HR representative. If it is absolutely necessary to file a grievance, use that prepaid legal, and let your lawyer handle it.

Either way, once you've engaged the grievance process, you'd best shine up your resume, because in a few months you're about to be released because of 'unrelated circumstances'. Think you were laid off unfairly? Not if you want your severance pay, you don't. Faced with the spectre of an economy that is uncertain and bills that are not, you're going to shut your mouth and sign away your rights (which never held any real value anyway).

Socialize, but don't REALLY socialize

One of the most challenging situations you will ever face in the workplace is the office Christmas party. By which, I mean the 'mid-December semi-compulsory office gathering which just happens to take place the Friday before Christmas' - because you can't actually call it a Christmas party.

Let me preface what I'm about to say with the following: There isn't a person on this doomed and miserable rock that hates Christmas more than I do. Every time someone says 'Merry Christmas' to me, I involuntarily respond with a "Fuck you". I spend a week every year holed up in my room because I'm making an active effort to be less of a misanthropic douche.

I hate Christmas, I hate the specific subset of Christians who can't even be bothered to read the damn book for themselves and yet insist on shoving it in my face, and I hate the imaginary savior they strive relentlessly to project into other people's lives. That said, this is a predominantly Christian country with longstanding Christian heritage and traditions. Irrespective of my or anyone else's feelings towards these traditions, they shouldn't have to hide the true nature of these celebrations because it might make a small minority unhappy. "But what about the Jews and their celebration of Chaka Khan!?!" My imaginary straw man asks. Well, fuck the Jews. Relax, I mean that in this specific context, not in general. Bear in mind, I'm saying 'Fuck Me' in equal measure, here. Chaunakkanahhkana isn't even one of their 'high holidays'. Contrary to popular belief, Hanukkah is not Jewish Christmas. It's more like the Jewish version of Passover. If they want to live in a country where their holidays are publicly venerated, they can go to Israel. And if I want to go to a place where I won't have to hear about god, I can kill myself.

But I digress. When you're at this company Christmas party, there will inevitably be booze - usually of the free variety. Make no mistake, this is a test. "I'll just not drink anything, and I'll have the edge all night," you might be thinking. A good guess, but the wrong answer. By not drinking, you will put everyone around you on edge and develop a reputation of being lame. Worse still, people might assume that you can't drink - probably due to extreme alcoholism. If you can't drink, your best bet is not to go. You'll lose some credibility, but it's not irrecoverable.

On the other hand, you might be thinking "free hooch? I'd better soak up as much of that shit as I can!" I like the way you think, but you're still wrong. Work would be infinitely more bearable if you could establish some kind of common ground with the other people in your department. How much more effective could you be at work if you were able to drop pretense and relate to your coworkers, even your boss, as equals? And nothing levels the playing field like 98 shots and several gallons of cheap domestic lager shared between 14 people. Unfortunately, this approach doesn't work because nearly everyone is there to take advantage of an opportunity to kiss upper level ass outside of work.

The correct amount of alcohol to drink is exactly 1 drink, every 2 hours. This shows that you are the office casual version of cool, without establishing yourself as the office rummy. The correct time to leave is an hour early, or after two hours - whichever comes first. This establishes the impression that you participated despite pressing demands on your time outside of work.

Above all - never ever answer questions about your personal life in any detail. Here's an example:

"How are your kids?"

Wrong Answer: "My eldest is in jail for assault, and the younger child is pregnant."

Better Answer: "My eldest child is out of school now, and the younger one is growing so fast."

Best Answer: "They're doing great! How are your kids?"

It's an unfortunate reality, but no one really wants to hear how you are doing. They'll keep asking, and if you are prone to honesty, you'll want to answer. The question, 'How's it going?' really means 'How can I navigate this social interaction with as little time and effort as possible, without coming off like the disinterested prick I am?' The only correct answer is a one word affirmative (e.g. 'Fine', 'Marvelous', 'Fantastic', et cetera), followed by the same question in return. It isn't necessary to break stride in order to catch the answer. Similarly, 'Any plans for the weekend?' really means 'There's a weekend coming up, and I'm trying to gauge how many people are going to cut out early. Also, I'd like to navigate this social interaction with as little time and effort as possible without coming off like the disinterested prick I really am.' Correct answers to this inquiry are a bit more subtle - invariably some form of productivity (e.g. "Painting the study", "Yard work all weekend", "I've got to meet up with Doctors Without Borders in order to schedule my deployment"). The last impression you should ever give is that you use your days off in any recreational capacity. Of course, in reality nearly everyone is going to go home, sleep most of Saturday, and vegetate in front of the television on Sunday.

If three or more people above you in your department leave all at once, you're being hung out to dry

It doesn't matter if they are laid off, fired, transferred or if they quit, when the rats in management jump ship it's because they know something that you do not know. And when they leave without warning or explanation - and I'm not talking about that perfunctory email wishing them luck in their future endeavors - It's bad news all around.

First of all, there's a good chance that the department has had its funding scaled back, and middle management is jumping to safer shores while leaving you holding the bag of shit. In this case, whoever comes in to replace them will be tasked with whittling down the department to the minimum required skeleton crew, as understood by some jackhole in upper management who has no idea what your department does, what the company does, or what you or any one of your colleagues does. Even if you survive the cuts, you are now working for a rookie manager with no concept of your group's minimum operational requirements in an understaffed department juggling a workload that hasn't been scaled back to compensate. Even if you are doing the work of three people at the pace of two people, your annual review will take a hit for letting a third of your work fall behind. The fact that management has failed to allocate sufficient resources to perform the workload in the timeframe they require will be strangely absent from the notes in your review.

Even if your department's funding is intact, when your boss and his boss are replaced simultaneously, that means you're facing two levels of incompetence from above. There's going to be a lot of fucking up on their end, and shit rolls downhill. Bring an umbrella.

Conclusion

The point of all of this is to illustrate the factors that have killed loyalty in the workplace. Managers can't understand the needs of their employees because they never did front line work within their own departments. The lack of true upwards mobility within an organization encourages a nomadic lifestyle in order to find advancement opportunity, while actively penalizing employees who are loyal. Additionally, since a publicly traded company is only valuable as a commodity in times of growth, upper management has come to rely on mass layoffs, site closures, and outsourcing to artificially juice the value of a company's stock in the short term. Moving from organization to organization prevents the development of meaningful long-term professional relationships within the office and inhibits the development of a long standing team dynamic, sowing the seeds of distrust between front line employees and greatly reducing the long-term effectiveness of the business. By fomenting an environment of competitive distrust, efficiency is further reduced since employees are effectively required to dedicate a considerable portion of their time to playing the 'cover your ass' game.

I'm not saying that there's some sinister agenda at work creating this environment. I think the establishment of a mercenary workforce is a symptom of rational decisions made by rational people who are rewarded and penalized based on a system that is focused almost entirely on the short term. However, I contend that in the long term, the relentless pursuit of growth (as opposed to homeostatic sustained profit) to the exclusion of all other factors has unavoidable and deleterious effects on the economy.  In other words, rational behavior can differ based on timescale

As more jobs are shipped overseas in order to meet the demand for constant stock growth, there are even fewer people who are able to afford the goods and services produced, requiring further cost cutting (inevitably in the form of off-shoring more jobs). It is a negative feedback loop that left unchecked will eventually consume the economy as consumer confidence continues in its inevitable freefall.

Don't get me wrong, though. I'm not trying to fix the problem here - My ego isn't that big.  Besides, if we can manage to fuck this shitty economy all the way to absolute collapse, I won't have to put up with your stupid Christmas parties anymore.

Don't listen to cynical, burnt out dickheads like me

The world will be a better place if you ignore everything I've said so far. Refuse to play the game.

Stop treating the people you work with like opponents. Speak and act in earnest. Don't engage in schemes or malicious plotting. Don't participate - even passively - in spiteful gossip. Strive to hold the highest moral ground without being obnoxious about it. Work to develop a tight-knit relationship with your team. Don't be afraid to fail - and if you're going to fail, do so quickly. Don't let 'it's not my job' stop you from doing something great. Accept challenging assignments that force you to learn. Encourage people to bring a little weirdness to their work. Practice creative collaboration, and give collaborative credit. Ask questions. Answer questions. Look for opportunities to do more than the minimum. Take pride in your work, and try to enjoy yourself in the office. Approach your work with alacrity. Don't waste time filling a seat when there's no work to be done. Looking busy never accomplished anything. Either find more work, or go home. Take regular vacations, and actually go somewhere. Help others succeed. Celebrate achievements as a team. Don't waste time assigning blame: meetings dedicated to identifying blame cost money and solve nothing - a waste of money at any cost. If someone is constantly the cause of the problem, help them learn. Understand the strengths and weaknesses of your team, and be willing to trade off tasks to improve efficiency - but don't use that as an excuse to duck unsavory tasks. Be honest, but also nice. Where possible, speak highly of those in your team. Act as an agent of positive change, and encourage others to do the same.

Being a decent human being at work won't go unpunished. You will be treated like dog shit by those who are playing the angles. On the other hand, acting like a persistent cockstain all the time is its own punishment. Almost everyone is playing the game, so you'll probably be a loner if you try this. What I am suggesting here is an act of subversion from the ground up, and it probably won't work.

On the other hand, if you can convince your coworkers to stop wasting time on the game, If you can convince your peers to strive together to make work more livable, and if as a result your team is able to go balls deep on work, you just might get the VP to take credit for these results in the company newsletter.

The Hazards of Chipmunk Love

Alvin and the gang are at it again.  Seeing as they've never recorded anything original, they've sunk to the lowest conceivable level and are covering Decemberists tunes.  But after years of drugs, alcoholism and bad blood, their professionalism is beginning to wane.


Don't let the title scare you off, imaginary reader:  This isn't a song about Richard Gere, or Richard Simmons, or Gene Simmons, or Gene Shalit, or Chaka Khan, or any of those guys.  It's all very straightforward drunk chipmunk stuff, and no one's fucking any animals unless you count the fact that the song is originally about a lady fucking a goat.  Technically, he's only half goat, but if you're daughter is fucking a guy that's half goat and half black, even the most racist, hate-filled colostomy bag in the world is going to object to the goat part.

That's OK, in another one of their songs a guy fucks a bird, so I guess that's just their thing.  Evidently, when you're listening to the Decemberists, it is inevitable that Colin Meloy is going to wax poetic about schtupping livestock and critters from the wetlands.

This whole article exists for the sole purpose of propping up my shitty video

I think this is really going to help narrow down my target audience.  Generally speaking, My work is too profane for children, and too silly for adults.  Most of my hits are coming from people searching some combination of the words "rape" and "van".  The rest of my hits are coming from people who are looking for proof that Scott Meisterheim is a Psychopath.

Once you factor out the readers I've alienated so far, all that's left are people with an unhealthy interest in psychopathy, and rape vans.  I figure, by adding a post about squirrels singing about a woman fucking a goat - I'll be able to ensure that anyone still visiting my weblog, while probably a psychopathic rapist with spacious ride, is into 'advanced animal husbandry', and thus unlikely to abduct me for an evening of duct tape and romance.

An Open Letter to Kaddafi's Amazon Guard

The ugly face of unemployment

Dear Kaddafi's former bodyguards,

It's been a good handful of months since Kaddafi was 'removed from office'. Most of us, if not openly pleased by the death of a tyrant, were at least happy for the Libyan people to finally have this deeply symbolic victory over the harsh oppression of a cruel regime.

But it's not all cheering and celebration in Tripoli. In any conflict there is going to be collateral damage. Those who, caught in the crossfire, are caused to suffer. I refer, of course, to you - Kaddafi's all-female compliment of hundreds of highly-trained, nubile, sweet-smelling, virgin bodyguards.


With Kaddafi out of the picture, you poor young ladies are out of a job, and you don't even have a good reference to put on your resumes. Worse still, you completely dropped the ball in the defense of your previous employer. Not to rub salt in the wound, but keeping him alive was basically your entire job description - and you choked conclusively.

I just want to reach out to you ladies, and tell you "Hey, we've all been there before". It pains me to admit it, but one time I was a few days late with an important report at work, and it completely messed up several people's schedules costing the company hundreds, maybe thousands of dollars in wasted time. Mind you, it's time that would have been wasted after the meeting anyway, so the actual impact was negligible. Also, my boss is still alive, and that wasn't even part of my job description. What I'm trying to say is that I can imagine how hard it must be to recover from a workplace blunder like that.

I'll be honest with you: There's not a lot of people who are going to want to hire you. To use an American figure of speech that probably translates well in any language: You guys really screwed the pooch. You are hated in your own country as a symbol of past oppression. The remnants of the old guard are be given to certain, shall we say, 'abuses'. Through no fault of your own, you're out of places to go. You have no one to turn to.

However, I believe in second chances, because America is the land of second chances (no matter what that bitch Helen from HR says).  Just like it says on the Statue of Liberty "Give me your tired, your poor, your tender and unspoilt (or gently used) maidens between the ages of 16 and 35..."  Also, I think it says something about yearning.

And so, in spite of your past experience I want to offer you ladies a job as my personal guard. Part-Time.

Now, I won't be able to pay you right away, but I figure we can probably set you up with a ghost writer and we should be able to live off the proceeds quite comfortably. Do the talk show circuit, maybe some college lectures. Some modelling and stunt gigs. Maybe even some coyote work down on the border. I dunno - we'll brainstorm something when you get here. Speaking of which, you'll have to pay your own way over. Better still, you should all gang up and steal a military transport plane from the transitional government - that would be so cool.

Don't let the pay thing dissuade you. Salary is so 2001. These days, it's all about Total Compensation - a phrase that means counting your benefits as part of your pay, even if they're the exact same benefits you used to get when you were paid a lot more.  This makes it look like you're more successful than you actually are.  It's the latest craze here in the States - trust me, you'll love it.

You'll find that you get a lot of the same benefits that you had in your previous position. Like Kaddafi, I will allow you to continue wearing western hairstyles, makeup, and high heels if you so choose.  But I think you will find my benefits package is superior to the one you've had all these years. For example:

• No one is trying to kill me, so your job will involve significantly fewer incoming bullets.
• Flexible workweek means your free to pursue your other interests - like finding a side-job!
• No more pesky chastity oath.
• You will almost never be called upon to murder rebels as a sign of loyalty.
• Rape-free work environment.
• Casual Friday.

The entire job will mostly consist of walking around with me and looking badass wherever I go. Since I only leave the house for a few hours a few times a month, you will find that it's a laid back pace compared to what you are used to.

Now I know some people out there are going to read some kind of perversion into this. They'll accuse me of trying to fulfill some kind of bawdy man-fantasy involving 200 or more fit, lethal women oiling me down in my romper room in a figurative orgy of hedonism and literal orgies. To them I say: That is absurd. I don't even HAVE a romper room! Here I am, reaching out to these brave young women in their hour of fragility, at a time when everyone else has done nothing, and you have the nerve to accuse me of impropriety?


Detractors aside, I can assure you the thought of licentious misconduct hasn't even entered my mind. To me, the thought of having hundreds of beautiful bodyguards seems like a completely utilitarian thing. As my personal lethal entourage you'll help me accomplish common everyday tasks. Things like:

• Helping me get to the front row of 'Festival Seating' shows.
• Convincing bouncers to let me into the club.
• Slashing the tires of every person who ever cuts me off in traffic. 
• Wacky flash mobbing.
• Waiting on hold for me when I have to call tech support.
• Serving as my armada of 'Wingmen' at the bar, to help me pick up chicks.
• Tasting foods likely to be poisoned (e.g. bananas, popsicles, foot long hot dogs, et al.).

I hope you ladies will consider this exciting employment opportunity. I'll admit, its not great work, but it's better than your last job, and a lot less dangerous. With your help, I will one day be able to say "I've got 99 problems, but 200 bitches ain't one"


Your only friend,

Generalissimo Avery

P.S. Please include a headshot with your resume

Bering Sea Gold

If you haven't caught this show yet, I'd recommend it.  Just don't tune in hoping to see hardened professionals dredging gold.  Rather, this show tells the story of desperate psychopaths trying against all odds to dig gold off the sea floor using equipment that is constantly falling apart.

There are several things in this show that hint at endemically poor impulse control.

In one scene you'll see a guy digging solo make $11k in a single shift. He accomplishes this by digging further out than the boat is meant to go. The show constantly reminds you that the coarser gold is further out. And yet, not one of these crews is running a purpose built sea dredger. Most of these ships aren't much sturdier than a 2 man rowboat.

You'd never see this on Deadliest Catch. Some ships are bigger, and some are smaller, but at least they are all crabbing vessels. They all use essentially the same crabpots and winches and coilers - the tools of the trade to get the job done. There is an established workflow, developed over centuries of experience.  Meanwhile, on Bering Sea Gold, time is constantly wasted due to shitty equipment (and shittier crews).

My point is, there's money being made out there, however it is evident that none of it is being reinvested into the business. A stable, well maintained purpose-built vessel could support several divers at once - much further out to sea. They'd have the room to classify their dirt without returning to shore - possibly without even pausing the dredging operation. A setup like that, and you could rake in millions, instead of mere thousands. More importantly, you could repeat the results without having to worry about time lost because your compressor ignition got a little water splashed on it.

It seems that there is an irresponsibility inherent to this profession - the dilapidated gear is a symptom - not the problem. Which brings us to...

The Crews of Bering Sea Gold


The Christine Rose
AKA: The 'Redneck Ambition'

I count 6 things that are about to go hilariously wrong

Little more than a motorized barge with a backhoe on one end and a trailer installed on the other. In other words, this is the closest thing to a seaworthy vessel on the show.  You will see members of this crew injured either due to inattention, or because some rusted out chunk of slag decided to give at just the right moment. For the most part, it's not that what they're doing is particularly dangerous, for someone with half the sense to keep an eye open - it's simply an aggressive indifference for personal safety.

Here are some 'para-quotes' that nicely illustrate my point

"I was bent over right next to the backhoe while you were running it, and you hit me with it"
"It's not my job to watch out for you"
"I was just telling them not to stand here, because it's a red zone - and that's when the cable snapped and dragged me into the water."

Remember when you were a kid, and every now and then you'd visit the trashy redneck cousins?  Or maybe it was someone else's cousins, or maybe you were the trashy redneck cousin?  Don't get stuck on details here...  Remember how it was inevitable that at some point someone would build a bike ramp out of wet particle board and nails, right next to a cliff overlooking a vertical brier patch and a freeway? And it went wrong every time, for reasons that were starkly obvious to anyone that was paying attention. They'd try out their bike ramp, or whatever, and eat total shit in predictably brutal fashion - and then they'd be completely baffled that their plan didn't work, blaming everything but their own inattention to detail?

Take that experience, and distill it into boat form, and you've got the Christine Rose.

I personally thought it was hilarious watching one of the crew members loudmouth his way off the most successful boat on the show.

Claim to fame: Their star backhoe operator getting stabbed in a bar fight.

The Clark

AKA: The 'if there's only one chick, she'll be the hottest one'

That can't be remotely safe...

I've got nothing to say that that picture hasn't made abundantly clear. It looks like a rejected art project from Burning Man. This thing isn't landworthy - much less seaworthy.

This is the boat with a woman on it. Manufactured one-sided sexual tension has never been so transparent - or creepy. At first glance, you might think the captain is a very progressive guy. At least, until you realize that he is unwilling to train her or work her like a man. Why'd you bring her in the first place, Skip?  Oh, that's right.  Reality Show Law: Every reality show requires precisely 1 woman, who by virtue of being the only female in the primary cast is the de facto hot chick on the show (e.g. Sons of Guns, Oddities, American Pickers, et al).

I don't like watching this team, because the thinly veiled whiny awkward man-angst makes me ashamed to share a gender with this passive-aggresive hipster douche.  Meanwhile, in spite of clearly being aware of this dynamic, the chick is totally taking advantage of this guy while intentionally hitting on dudes in front of him just to fuck with him.  Instead of feeling sorry for anyone, I just end up disliking both of these cockbags all the more.

Claim to fame: There is a bitch on the boat. And the other one is a woman.






The Sluicey
AKA:  The 'Even shittier than the Clark, somehow'

This vessel was presumably found floating a few miles off the shore of Florida.

Ironically, because the shipmates have taken to working solo in shifts they aren't losing any time to politics and bickering which means they're one of the only boats that's actually pulling gold out of the ocean.  Still, the perpetually inoperative equipment almost makes up for it.  

Claim to fame:  These guys seem well adjusted, comparatively.

The Wild Ranger

AKA:  The 'Psychotic Episode'

The rot is on the inside.

This ship is owned by a guy who (according to the show) knows nothing about ships or gold mining, and even less about staffing.  Ultimately, this crew is the reason you are watching the show.  At first, you want to like ship's captain Scott Meisterheim.  He's charismatic, and has a relatable story.  You kind of hope for him to be the show's Sig Hansen, if only because he looks the part.  Except that he's not Sig Hansen.  Nor is he Jim Henson, Taylor Hanson, or even Hans Moleman.  In fact, it is quite clear that his temperament makes him uniquely ill-suited for leadership.  Naturally they've paired him up with a chap who is equally ill-suited to accepting leadership.  Every episode centers around Scott, and his psychotic outbursts.

By the end of the season the Wild Ranger comes in dead last, harvesting only three quarters of an ounce of gold.  That might seem like a spoiler, but trust me, you'd have figured that out just by watching the first episode.

The unspoken message here is clear:  The real untapped gold is in providing psychological and mediation services for these jackholes.

Just make sure to get your cash up front.

The Rape Van: An Analysis

In an effort to establish, early on, a tone of my blog being a place of thoughtful prose and measured introspection into the obfuscated but elemental nature of the human condition, I was going to post a rather long essay that I've been working on for months.  It's probably the most interesting, and important thing I've ever written.  It's also longwinded, contentious, and boring.  So instead we're going to look at pictures of rape vans.

Ah yes, the 'rape van'.  Or as it's known to those of us who reached the age of majority before the '00s, the 'van'.  They're big enough to haul anything, you can seat 12 kids in the back (assuming you didn't install seats), they're rugged enough to survive years of torture, and they'll go just about anywhere you point them.  Once considered the ultimate working man's vehicle, the van lost much of it's credibility after the introduction of the minivan in 1984.

Minivans were the sensible, if neutered, younger sibling of the proper van.  At the time, they offered a cost effective way to shuttle a heavy load of groceries and a few rows of kids all over town.  They were grossly under-powered and unbearably mild-mannered, but the appointments were such that for the first time in history, family road time could be enjoyed in relative comfort - even by the shitheads in the back.  In short, it was a car for mom.

The minivan, of course, was later supplanted by the sport utility vehicle, which combined the seating and cargo capacity of a Datsun B210 with the fuel economy of an M35 cargo truck.  This was a no-compromises value proposition which unequivocally proved that American consumers are willing to sacrifice seating, fuel efficiency, cargo room, durability, and power in order to avoid driving a vehicle that might be perceived as 'faggy'.

With the minivan stripped of its dignity, the aging van - once simply out of fashion - was now relegated to it's own place of shame.  In spite of the undeniable awesomeness of the custom conversion van, the perception came to be that the only possible advantage of a full sized van was its lack of windows.

And so it became a stock cliché.  Anytime you see a van in a movie or on a television show, the driver is either a nefarious criminal planning a crime, a federal agent engaged in espionage, or a sexual deviant (usually a pedophile, just in case a regular snatch and grab rapist is too subtle for the audience).

So I've gathered a handful of the very best rape vans I could find in the darkest depths of the Internet.  Just kidding - no hard hitting journalism here, I grabbed the first several that came up on a Google image search.

I'm going to give each van a score from 0 to 10 in two categories 'Rape Factor' (The likelihood that the owner of this van will attempt to put a finger inside of you against your will), and Awesometude (an unironic assessment of how awesome the van would be if people would put away their hang-ups and just appreciate the sweet ride).



The Norse Horse

Rape Factor:  4

The good news:
The owner of this van is a blonde with huge tits.

The bad news:
Those are his best qualities.

Let's take a moment to deconstruct that mural.  It's a Viking wearing high top sneakers, brandishing a shield and an AK 47, cruising through outer space on a unicorn that shits inaccurate rainbows.  Maybe that doesn't seem particularly rapey to you, but ask yourself one important question:  How old were you the last time any combination of these things was cool?  Anyone who is old enough to drive should be deeply embarrassed to be seen in the passenger seat of this vehicle - much less caught holding the pink slip.

Damning evidence by any measure - so why doesn't this enchanted viking merit a higher rating?  It's because in spite of everything that is wrong with it, this van just isn't actually creepy.  I can't really explain why, but I get the distinct impression that the person driving this van likes all of these things in earnest.  Which means we're probably dealing with someone who is at least slightly retarded.  I'm not going to sit here and make fun of 'the man who has everything except a complete set of chromosomes'.

Retarded or not, the custom heart shaped window lets you know straight away:  If this van is rockin', don't hesitate to dial 911.


Awesometude:  2 

This is a tough one to tackle without my smartass hat on, because everything about this van begs to be ridiculed.  I was around for the 80s and 90s - a period of time so egregiously un-self-conscious that nothing on this van could possibly surprise me.  I've given it two points, for two reasons.

1. I needed some footroom in the scale.  
2. Any two items in the mural might have been cool.  Viking with an Kalashnikov?  Cool.  Outer space and unicorns?  Cool, if it's done right.  

On the other hand...

High tops and rainbows?  Never cool.



The Eddie Van

Rape Factor:  2

Strictly speaking, this isn't a rape van due to the inclusion of the large side windows.  Technically this is just a regular fleet van that got parked in the wrong side of town.  Be that as it may, if you're Sammy Hagar, you'd be well advised to consider the possibility that someone's looking to force feed you a tubesteak meatloaf with a side of warm yogurt.  It says so right on the side.  "Rape Van Halen".

Still, something about this phrase just doesn't seem right.  It isn't parsing right in my head.  It's the word Halen that's throwing me here.  It looks like Rape Van was written first, and Halen was added later.  It's clearly not part of the same thought process, because it's in a different shade of red.  Maybe the owner added it, hoping it would take the emphasis off the word 'Rape'. Maybe it's like a Wheel of Fortune 'before and after' puzzle.  What if the Van's owner wanted the words RAPE VAN on the side of his vehicle, but then it was defaced with the word - Halen?  There's definitely a mystery afoot here.


Awesometude:  4 

But what if it is all a single contiguous thought from a single author?  What if the owner of this van actually wants to Rape Van Halen.  Van Halen the guy?  There are two Van Halens in the band:  Eddie van Halen, and the other guy.  If you don't mean a specific Van Halen, do you intend to rape Van Halen, the band?  How does that even work?  I mean, are you going to forcibly fuck each of them individually?  It seems like that would take a few days if you were going to do it right.

Or are you actually schtupping the entire band as a cohesive unit - all at once?  That doesn't even really seem possible, unless you do some kind of weird 'Human Centipede' shit.  And even then - are you really raping ALL of Van Halen, or are you just forcibly hate-fucking the one on the end?  Is that enough?  Just fucking one Halen while he's surgically connected to the rest of the Halens?  HOW COULD THAT EVER BE ENOUGH???  

I call bullshit.

Something just doesn't quite add up.  I've got another theory.  Look closer.  The black paint outlines each stroke of each letter, right up until the oblique stroke of the N.  A black line was added to the distal edge of the N, but there is a clear disruption of style here.  Let's zoom in and enhance, ignoring everything after the initial omission of the black paint.

Rape Vai?  That actually makes a lot more sense.

I gave this one 4 points because it's like The DaVinci Code of rape vans.  And because fuck Steve Vai.



Playing Doctor

Rape Factor:  6 (but not directly)

Dr. Playground.  This one seems like a no-brainer.  That truck is definitely rape-tastic.  However, there's some background we should go through before I explain why this truck is even creepier than it looks.  Dr. Playground is the name of the park maintenance teams in New York City.  They travel from park to park maintaining swings and see-saws and doing whatever it is park maintenance crews do.  The fun motif makes these guys a crowd favorite with the kids and their parents.  They're like local superheros, keeping the parks safe for kids.  I really must stress that there is nothing subversive about that...

Unless you count the fact that they've created the perfect cover for NYC area pedophiles to loiter around parks in plain sight.  A green shirt and a toolbelt and people will assume you've been thoroughly vetted by the City of New York.  Some toddler wanders too far from the herd while mom is reading her novels, and you've got one more missing child to add to your milk carton collection.  And not one person will remember seeing a suspicious person.

To be fair, Dr. Playground only unintentionally facilitates rape.  Conversely, the New York City Tax Authority will coercively hardfuck you without romance or lubricant, and they won't even bother to enjoy it.


Awesometude:  1 

These things are total shitboxes.  They're eyesores, and the fuel economy is so bad that it's measured in gallons per mile. even if one was for sale - dirt cheap - you'd have nowhere to park it.  A truck like this would ruin the property value of your entire block.

The only reason you rent one every time you move, is that moving is the only thing in the world that's worse than driving a box truck.



Expecto Penetranus

Rape Factor:  9, but busted down to a 7

Here it is.  Our first proper rape van.
Creepy 60s vibe?  Check.
Double side doors for easy passenger side abductions?  Check.
Utterly windowless interior?  You betcha.

You're probably wondering why this one was busted down to a 7.  "You're being a bit picky about your rape-mobiles," I like to imagine someone saying at this point.

Looking at this image, the aging doesn't look digital.  This looks like an old physical photograph that was scanned in at some later date.  The obvious problem with that is that Harry potter probably didn't exist when this photo was taken (I'm guessing mid to early '80s, based on the wear shown by the vehicle and the photo).  So I decided to check closer.  From front to back the white paint on the van gets darker, because of lighting.  The lettering stays exactly the same color all the way across - with very little color variation at the pixel level.  I also found some image manipulation halos around that first E that look suspect.  To make matters worse, there is only one picture of this badboy anywhere on Google.  People would be snapping shots of this masterpiece every day.  Someone would have posted a recent image, right?

Long story short, I think this is a fake.  It's a pretty good fake, but it's a fake, and that makes the rapeyness seem disingenuous.

The concept is a 9.  Riding around in this vehicle, were it real, one could easily imagine a villain wielding his master wand on some pupils.  The village sawbones will be hard pressed to explain the sudden outbreak of pediatric genital hogwarts.

Despite the digital trickery, this is still a creepy and poorly maintained windowless van with a great deal of rape potential.


Awesometude:  7 

Honestly, If I had a band, and if people had a better sense of humor, this is the vehicle I'd want to take to the gig.  Slogan and all.  I think it's funny as hell.  I'll bet this thing belches more smoke than the Fukushima reactor, which gives it a kind of Uncle Buck awesomeness.

It's all about the double side doors, though.  Anyone who's ever loaded and unloaded their own gear knows exactly what I'm talking about.  And after a humiliating 2 hour set of your band bombing harder than the Enola Gay, the extra double door means you can pack your gear twice as fast and keep your post show walk of shame to an absolute minimum.

Plus you could put a bed in the back and crash harder than Yukio Araki.

The Yellow Despoiler

Rape Factor:  10

Nothing fake about this one.  This, dear reader, is the real deal.

Consider the clues:

Look at the mildewed roof, or the rampant rusting.  This vehicle has the general rotting disposition of a vehicle owned by a person who is so completely enslaved by his dark urges that he can't hold a job long enough to afford to maintain his vehicle.  This is a sociopath nomad who has been completely ostracized from society for a multitude of crimes that he is known to have committed, but for which no admissible evidence has ever surfaced.

Look at the side door - that's not damage from a collision.  A collision would have damaged the rear panel behind the door as well.  It's marks of a struggle - The chilling aftermath of a desperate victim fighting with everything they have to escape an act of vile predation.

The boarded window speaks to a foul and premeditated intent.  Only those who have been 'invited' will ever see what happens behind the sickly and decaying sheet metal.  A tale lost to the countless shallow woodland graves left in this vehicle's wake.


Awesometude:  0 

Seriously, Yellow?  Lame.

Rapes U

Rape Factor:  7

This one is clever.  It's like a rape ninja.  Looks completely legit, right up until you open the door. Then from out of nowhere - BAM.  Rape.  On the other hand, maybe it isn't so sneaky after all.  For all I know, Rekkapesu is a cross between Bukkake and waterboarding.  Maybe it's the most brazen and obvious rape van in the lot!

The handle visible on the interior of the side door makes it possible for an accomplice to snatch small victims without even stopping the van, so this one gets some points for practicality.

Whatever it means, you couldn't lure me into this thing if I was dying of thirst in the middle of the desert and this was my only way back to civilization.


Awesometude:  3 

A Volkswagen Van that isn't the type 2?  Lame.  I'm awarding 4 points for clever word tricks, with a 1 point deduction for those tiny wheels.  And at least it's well maintained.



It's a Trap!

Rape Factor:  9

You know how Michael Jackson owned an amusement park and a monkey?  This is exactly like that.  To be fair, there are legitimate reasons to own a vehicle like this - but it cannot be denied, that "to lure unsuspecting victims into my vehicle" is one of those reasons

I would get into this van with 4 large leering burly strangers wearing studded leather pants and bloody latex gloves - and I'm a grown adult that knows better.  A kid doesn't stand a chance - the driver won't even have to pretend he's looking for his lost puppy.


Awesometude:  10 

Remember when you were a kid, and you were told you could do absolutely anything you wanted once you were an adult, and you were certain that you'd eat candy for dinner, own a pet tiger (that you could ride!), live in a black castle with a moat, and find gainful employment as a ninja?

Remember how when you did get older, all of those things kind of crumbled under the weight of sheer impracticality and societal pressure to conform?

Well, this vehicle says 'Fuck You' to every adult that ever told you that you could be the president, but not a space pirate.  This van was designed by that part of each of us that isn't afraid to be completely balls-out awesome.  That bit that we learn to suppress as we grow up and become lame.  It's a reminder, that out there somewhere, someone just ran off and decided to be Han Solo for real.

I'll bet this guy has a pet T-rex, a hoverboard, and a working lightsaber too.



Satan's Econoline

Rape Factor:  10

Forced to guess, I would say that this van was the personal property of the ruler of hell - stolen from the devil by an Evil more worthy.  The Old Ones, perhaps.  If you insist on approaching this vehicle, you should have your weapon drawn and the safety off.  Make no mistake though:  This sort of evil is not subject to the whimsy of mortal intent.

The bullets are for the victim, if you are merciful - and yourself, if you are wise.

That's not rust.  That's the partially coagulated blood of the imprisoned souls of innumerable victims oozing out of the side of the dark lord's personal conveyance.  The axles don't squeal.  Those are the tortured moans of the innocent denizens of eternal torment - sequestered from a God powerless to save his doomed children.  That's not a turn signal, it's the intermittantly licking flames of -- You know what?  I'm just going to stop right there.  I think you can see where I'm going with this.

It's a bad van.


Awesometude:  10 

Do I even have to explain this?  I guarantee you that Freddy Kruger, Michael Myers, Jason Voorhees, and Pinhead are all in the back of this vehicle RIGHT NOW, shooting methamphetamine directly into their cocks and punching directions into their GPS.

That might not sound very awesome to you - but from their perspective, it's going to be a hell of a night.

I Promised Myself I'd Never Do This

When the word 'blog' was invented, back in the late '90s, I wasn't a fan.  The World Wide Web was just coming into its own back then, so every stupid thing that happened on the Web was hammered relentlessly by news outlets who were desperately attempting to appear technologically hip.  The word 'blog' was no exception.  A reverse portmanteau of the word 'weblog', blogs were the hottest thing since fire - in spite of the fact that no one had the first clue what the hell they were for.  It was a bit like hyping the spreadsheet before the invention of numbers.

On it's own merit, it's an ugly word.  Blog.  Remove it from it's now well-established context, and it sounds like a childish word for a particularly brutal shit (you know...  like a 'Big log').  I probably could have come to peace with the word, but the concept of blogging (and hence the word blog) got more media coverage than O.J. Simpson — for at least two years straight.

So for the last 13 or 14 years — however long it's been — I've avoided blogs like Orson Welles avoids marathon training.  O.K., like I avoid marathon training.  Instead I've written endless volumes of original content on forums, review sites, comments pages - anywhere but my own site.  And I'm not talking about quick little five minute posts.    We're talking about some pretty hefty essays here.  To make matters worse, I don't really write, so much as continually rewrite.  Every post ends up being edited and rewritten scattershot, as new insights hit me until I've rewritten the entire post 3 times.  Countless years spent bringing other people literally tens of thousands of hits.

Screw that noise.  I'm putting my hat in the ring.

Of course, I'll never get tens of thousands of hits on my own.  I'm ok with that.  Between the few dozen people I know personally, and spambots wanting to ply links to malware in the comments section, I'll probably hit the high single digits somewhere around June.  I'm not going to get a lot of hits, but dammit, they'll be my hits.

So I'm blogging now.  I prefer to call it 'writing', but the name of this webpage says I'm full of shit.

This leads us to the obvious next question:


What kind of blog is this?



A personal blog?  

I suppose there will be some content about myself, and most of it will be written from my perspective, because it's the only perspective from which I am qualified to write.  I could try to write from your perspective, but I don't think you'd appreciate me putting my words in your mouth.  People generally don't like it when I put things in their mouth.

That said, I absolutely refuse to be one of those vapid cunts that insists on polluting the web with a constant barrage of personal anecdotes about what I had for breakfast, or how my cats are doing.  I will certainly be a key character in my blog, but I am not the subject.  If I ever tell you about my lunch, it will be because I've discovered some amazing new kind of food that makes every other food you've ever tasted seem like bullshit.



An over-the-top shock blog?  

I'm certainly no stranger to colorful language, and I am very likely to post things that will offend others, but I absolutely don't want to fall into the rut of posting outrageous shit strictly for the sake of trying to offend.  Ironically, writing exclusively about things which are deeply offensive to most people is limiting - because most things aren't offensive.  If I post something offensive, I'd rather there be some sort of underlying complexity to it.

Aside from which, people who write exclusively about edge of the envelope shit - even in a satirical sense - invariably attract the absolute worst people in the world like some kind of alpha-loser homing beacon.  You start with a a reasonable and empirically sound statement like "Some gay people have really gone overboard in trying to restrict what language people can use,"  And you'll discuss how you can't even call something 'fruity' anymore without offending someone, but you can use the word 'denigrate' all day long, in spite of its legitimately offensive etymology.  Then some short-bus jackhole is going to jump into the comments with something like "Right on brother!  I'd like to kill all them fucking faggets, and send 'em back to Africa where they done avented the AIDS from buttsexing the monkeys and niggurs."

Fig. 1:  You know the type.

Let's make one thing clear:  I want nothing to do with that kind of discourse, and I will delete it from my comments section.  When you say shit like that, and all the people around you are laughing, it's not because what you said is funny.  It's because you're so indefensibly fucking stupid and backwards that you are a walking punchline.  They are laughing at you, you shit-headed fuckwit.

So again - I don't think that's quite what I'm looking to do.  When I say things that offend normative sensibilities, it will most likely be an act of satire, or an attempt to uncover some hypocrisy inherent to the status quo.  I mean, sure, I'm going to say 'fuck' alot, but I like to think that's simply because I've adopted a more earthy and humble mode of speech so as to suppress my inherently sesquipedalian loquaciousness and keep me from sounding like a pretentious grammarian.

Sesquipedalian like a motherfuckin' boss.



A science & technology blog?  

Probably not.  I do love technology (read: I am a massive nerd), and with huge advances in quantum computing and artificial intelligence on the not so distant horizon, I am quite likely to put up the odd technology post, but to be honest, I just don't have the kind of sustained interest or discipline that it would require to maintain a steady stream of tech commentary.

At the end of the day, I am far more interested in speculating about the possibilities of technology, or contextualizing it than I am simply reading off specifications from industry white papers.


A philosophy blog?


Fuck.  No.


An angry blog?


I find it odd that this is so common a format, since only a handful of people have successfully pulled it off.  I do (and will) spend an inordinate amount of time complaining about wildly irrelevant minutiae.  Additionally, there's a lot of real things in the world to be angry about.  As I have said, though, this kind of thing has been done to death.  It's too easy to paint yourself into a corner if you make it the format.  Spend too much time at the 'pissed-off well' and you wind up just another hack who's worn a hole in the word fuck, fucked the hole, and then wore that out as well.  Sooner or later, there's just nowhere left to go.  If the guy who messed up your drive through order by giving you 9 instead of 10 tacos is the most epic assbag in the history of the universe, what do you have left next week when someone shoots and wound-rapes your Cocker Spaniel?

If you crown a new 'all time biggest douche' every single week, it loses some of its impact.  There's nothing wrong with being a miserable bastard, but at least try to establish some kind of context instead of just launching straight into 'fuck horses!'


A humor blog?


I'm not exactly setting out to tell a bunch of jokes, but I would contend that humor is the common thread for anything I am likely to write.  Whether I'm writing about the forestry industry, living conditions in retirement homes, or child pornography, you can rest assured that I'm going to work in a line about 'old wood'.

So I'm not doing anything original here.  At the end of the day, I'm not even that funny.  But at least this will provide a context going forward.  Given all of the terrible crap I'll end up posting, the last thing I want is to be taken too seriously.