Monday, June 25, 2007

Head Up My Ass

Holy shit. Who knew? Not me.

Of course, you have no idea what I’m talking about, do you? Nope. And, frankly, my week was so goddamn boring that I’m not even sure I’m going to even venture into the new adventures that dominate the new and not-so-improved life of Snarky Boy.

Let’s just say that I’m in an office now. And the office is co-owned by my brother-in-law. And that same brother-in-law is well aware of my Snarky blog (hello, Bro!). In other words, all I really have to say here now about the new job is that it is great, he is great, and everyone there is just fucking great. Yeah right.

Imagine Snarky in his own little cubbyhole. Or, better yet, imagine Snarky in a meeting with a bunch of yuppies – oops, make that, wonderful people – making decisions that basically avoid what the decisions are really about: Getting filthy fucking rich at the expense of others who are already filthy fucking rich. Of course, as a guy who’s spent much of his adult life on a ladder and in a bar, having a savings account seems filthy rich to me – not matter what’s in it.

But I’m in no position to let you in on any more of it right now. Let’s just say that I haven’t made myself indispensable quite yet. In fact, I think I’m already skating on thin ice. Imagine that. But, thanks to my oh-so-sweet Bro, I think I’m being given a few more wrong turns than the average “new hire.”

I will say this: These bastards sure know how to play after work. But instead of heading to Charlie O’s, they put on hundreds of dollars worth of biking clothing and then take frantic rides on bikes that cost more than I used to charge for painting an entire house. Yeah, you’ve seen these fellas on all the roads in and around Montpelier. You can’t miss them – they look like billboards on bicycles, with their shirts, pants and bikes full of logos and the like. Aside from the dopey gear, I really can’t blame these fellas for wanting to go for a screaming bike ride after a day of being totally fucking cooped up in an office and kissing more ass than a group of Vermont reporters kisses at a political press conference. I think the more they sweat the more they forget about the unspeakable boredom of their days.

Oops, but that’s not to say that I’m bored. No way (hey, Bro!). I love it (wink).

The best part of my week was actually getting on a borrowed bike and riding with these clowns. Yep, on Tuesday night Snarky Boy mounted…ahem…a mountain bike and headed to Morse Farm to join the throngs of testosterone-filled boys (and a couple girls) to race. Yeah race. As in, three goddamn times around a 3-mile-plus loop through the woods.

They were all fueled with all kinds of special little (high-priced) concoctions they carry in little plastic flasks. Yours truly was fueled on the pent-up energy from being a newly hired office boy and a rather primitive yearning to force at least one of these “very nice” fellas who told me to do stupid shit all day to taste the mud splattered from my back wheel.

Let me tell you, I missed Charlie O’s. Bad. Real bad. And if it weren’t for my real secret weapon – an iPod with the new White Stripes on continuous play – I would have never made it to the end in front of the one person I really wanted to end in front of. And then I went to Charlie O’s. Whew. There’s nothing like home. But my legs were fucking sore and I couldn’t let the little yups know it.

So I guess this is all just a lame attempt at an apology and an explanation for my wayward ways this week. Again, I appreciate the emails that keep coming in. I will, as always, respond to them as soon as I can.

But I will say this: It sure seems like I’m not alone in my absolute hatred of all things mowing. Perhaps it’s time for a little coalition? My favorite anti-mowing email came from an ever-so-gleeful fella who told me to check out one of those dopey lawns in what we always called the “Cody-ville” section of Elm Street, just north of Montpelier. Ha! It turns out the old bastard got a little overly gleeful with his spring fling with lawn toxins and fried the shit out of one long trip around the outer edge of his lawn. Go check it out for yourselves. It’s on the right as you head out of town. And, while you’re looking at it, imagine how much goddamn therapy the guy needs to get over it. I mean, that lawn is his fucking life.

Speaking of Cody-ville, one of the little brat children who were raised in that section of town, Richard Cody, is now the big-wig in the U.S. Army, assistant chief of staff, to be precise. And it turns out that Montpelier’s own high-powered military man played a key role in getting the general who investigated Abu Ghraib shit-canned. Yep. You can read all about it here, including the not-so-subtle mention of Montpelier’s own General Cody.

Hmm, I wonder why the local media won’t delve into this? Oh yeah, I almost forgot, they’re too busy stuffing their noses up the asses of those in power. Don’t believe me? Just pick up a paper or turn on the radio. Here, for example, is the headline from last week’s Time Argus regarding Governor Douglas: “Study: Douglas Wields Real Power.” The article was penned by Louis Porter, one of the few remaining warm bodies in the news gathering business in the Capital City. Great work, Louis. Now why don’t you write something that will confirm the fact that Leahy, Sanders and Welch are allowed to vote in Congress. You dope.

Let me tell you, you media and political types are lucky the Snarkmaster has been distracted by this new job of mine. But the distraction’s almost over. I’m learning the ropes, gaining some freedom, and seeing the light at the end of that hideous tunnel of learning. You’ve been warned. Because it sure seems like this state needs someone – anyone! – to light the stinkbomb of truth from time to time.

Hang tight. And keep the comments coming to me at: