So while watching the events of the last week or so unfold upon the world stage, I find myself, once again, proud to live, work and play at The World Domination MotorCar Corporation’s Phyllis Diller franchise in beautiful Pyorrhea, Arizona.

Yes, the United States Navy’s SEAL (Sea, Air, Land) Team 6 stunned the world with a precision strike against a wanted terrorist. Although it took ten years to accomplish the mission, the mission WAS accomplished in a very Arnold Schwarzenegger, Steven Segal, Sly Stallone fashion.

Well Done, guys.

Which leads me to a realization that life imitates work..

Allow me to explain.

Since working for the World Domination MotorCar Corp, I have been working with (or, depending how you look at it, been the victim of) many District Service and Parts Managers. There was of course that Scion of DSPMs Mike Keller, followed by Niles Porkannoy, Rush Job, Chunk Handily and others too forgettable to even bother to try and remember. That is, until…

*  *  *

The World Domination MotorCar Corporation, having completely lost control of it’s Arizona Operations (courtesy of one Scooter Hugglebutt) requested help from one of it’s subsidiary divisions, the Paramilitary Wreck and Destroy Not Very Humanitarian Liquidation Center and Petting Zoo.

The request, which was Directed by, Written by and, of course, based on a Screen Play by Wild Bill Von Beakman, concluded “And don’t send me one of those run-of-the-mill-type sissy boys from Boston College, either!!! I need someone who likes Anchovies on their pizza. Someone who hates touchy people. Someone who can enjoy the nightlife and still get up at 5:30 am and kick ASS!!! DAMNIT, I need a New Hard ASSET!!!!”

The request was processed, folded, spindled and mutilated over and over until only one candidate showed the required qualifications to be able to wage a campaign of terror and attrition required to bring the wayward region back into the collective hive-consciousness of The World Domination MotorCar Corporation.

The candidate’s employee packet landed with a resounding thud on Wild Bill’s desk, startling him out of his concentration over if he should move the red square or take a chance with the blue diamonds in his game of Bejeweled…

“Hurrumph!! Ah, is that it? Let me see… Hmmm… Says here that her name has been changed so she does not kill the moron writing this tripe. Yes, yes, all well and good. Code Name “J-No” for her penchant of denying any type of cooperation with anyone at any time for any reason… Yes, I can see now why this candidate floated to the top, she is looking better all the time. I see she was a decorated veteran of the Accelerator Wars, placed somewhere in her class in college, has quite a temper,” grumbled Beakman. “Yes, and a bit of a rebel, too. Says here that she dated, married and then devoured a co-worker. All of which violate company policy and yet, I must say I admire her moxie… I have not seen Praying Mantis behavior in a long time… Favorite TV show: Unlawful Disorder SUV. Currently commanding SEAL (Secret Enigmatic Alien Ladies) team 492. Yes…Yessssss. Yesssssssss precioussss, we likesss her. We will sends her to them and she will kills them… Then we will be done with them once and for all !! No more interrupting my Bejeweled games!!! MUH HA HA HA HA Ha Ha …

to be continued…

So here I am, rather torn on what to think about all the changes going on where I work…

First there were the slave labor directives about taking mandatory training courses on my own time (and against my will) and then saying “It’s a condition of your employment”. When I mention that beside violating several state and federal statutes, and the fact that the whole slavery thing went out of style in the last few years, they just reply:

“meh…”

Then there are the geniuses who recruited a failed INFOMERCIAL host (you know, those absolutely intolerable shits that promise that “Even you, you big, fat, good for nothing Jabba The Hut look-alike, can buy a house with no money down, let it go into foreclosure and still makes millions of dollars!!! Just follow my simple 492,346 step plan on 271 DVDs, only $99 down, $99 a month for 99 years!!! Isn’t that amazing??!!”) to try and shove the RIM HER system down our throats. I swear to GAWD that I wanted to run his “Honest Ethical Repairs” right up his left nostril…sideways and then ask “Is that pain Related, Immediate or Maintenance???”

And if that was not enough, I am constantly being bombarded with emails from the Phyllis Diller Auto Group about the “Naturally Cadaverous, Fit Right Up Until You Die of Starvation” Program. Seems that unless you really want to pay $479,124.22 for insurance per month, you have to join the Naturally Cadaverous program. And after seeing what some of the victims – er, I mean the course graduates, looked like, uh, no, thanks…. Don’t believe me? Well just look at the before and after:

Before, while paying $479,124.22 a month for insurance:

And after, all the while saving a buck two fifty :

You get the point…

Anyway, it happened while I was trying to hold off the demon spawn horde of nutritionists and personal trainers, swearing never to be taken alive, or at least alive at “the optimal weight for a person your size”, (Hint: Holding up a quadruple chocolate cake over your head in both hands and threatening to consume the whole damn thing and then going off and taking a nap, well, the effect is like threatening the use of Holy Water and a Crucifix to a Vampire…). It was right when I scored a direct hit against a nutritionist with one of my incredibly moist pieces of carrot cake with the triple whipped cream cheese frosting, which precipitated a frenzy as I nearly “turned” her right there. She started the change that would forever lead her to the Troy side of sugar, red meat and massive salt intake, when she was drug outside and slaughtered, her remains recycled in an environmentally sensitive way.

It was then that I received THE CALL

“Donson, go!”

“Uh, Troy?”

“Uh, yeah…”

“Uh, I have, some news”

“Uh, OK”

“Uh, get out your fire proof underwear, new DSPM on the way… That is all. Carry on. DIS-missed!”

Oh for the love of the patron saint of Rock Climbers and  Mexicans born on the east coast of Mexico, St. Carribeaner, not ANOTHER ONE!!!!!

Good Gawd, I had survived:

Mike “Killer” Keller

Niles Porkannoy

Chip off the ‘ol block Handily

and now a NEW DSPM???

God and The World Domination Motor Car Corp hate me…

And then to top it off, my minions find out that not only am I getting a new District Parts and Service Mangler, but this new one also has affiliations with two of the  world’s most deadly terrorist organizations known to MAN-kind.

Dear, gawd in heaven, she is in league with Greatly Influential Reactionaries Lacking in Subtleties (G. I. R. L. S. ) and that other nefarious Secret Society collectively known as F.E.M.A.L.E.S. (Frustratingly Enigmatic Maternal Alien Leprechauns for the Enrichment of Society)!!! Shit!! These outfits are worse than Greenpeace and PETA combined!!! (No, not MY PETA, [People for the Eating of Tasty Animals] the OTHER one.)

I wracked my brain trying to figure out how to avoid the doom of Titanic proportions I have envisioned for so many years. I figured I would meet the challenge as I greet the world, with “Balls The Size of Church Bells” (trust me even as demented as I am, a rather gorgeous young lady of my acquaintance graced me with that particular moniker) I would introduce my self via e-mail and attempt to bribe her with a large Rice Krispy Treat!!!

This would work…This HAD to work!!

I sent the following to Jennifer *head flip*:

-BTW the *head flip* is a left over remnant of the time I spent in California, where all the “Jennifers” would flip their hair around in a very “Valley Gurl” fashion whenever their name was mentioned… I mean, like, I am So sure… *head flip* -

Ms. Jennifer, *head flip*

Allow me to welcome you to the Valley Of Eternal Love that most assuredly is Peoria AZ.

As Your Grace, The New and Improved, High Holy DSPM, may or in all likelihood may not be aware, it is I, Troy Donson, Alignment God of the Valley, husband and mate to the High Priestess of Warranty Excellence, Cecily Donson, Krowned Kook of the Kontrol Arm, Duke of the Dustboot, Knight Templar of the Tie Rod (and all around nut-job), who wishes you
to know that we await your Grand Exalted Arrival and are prepared to greet you with a formal fanfare of horns salvaged from a 1987 Tercel...

I knew then that THIS ONE would be trouble…

to be continued…if I survive Jennifer *head flip*, that is.

So once again I find myself on the back porch swilling good beer, smoking a cigar and chatting it up with God T. Creator. Seems like since He is at all corners of the universe all at once, I figured He had time for a good bribe that would net me some advice.

Reaching into the cooler full of ice and St. Sixtus Westvleteren 12 beer, I toss The Am That I Am another bottle as I take a pull on my Gurkha Black Beauty cigar.  (Again, the idea is, if you are asking God for something, be prepared to offer something in return. Good beer and fine cigars seems to work alright for me.)

“So let Me get this straight, you are starting a new religion and you want some advice?”

“Well, Almighty, I sent my 6 bucks in to God-Bay, you know, the religious artifact auction house, and got myself ordained. So now I am a High Holy Priest with no religion that I can call my own. I am leaning pretty hard toward the whole “We are all children of the same Universe, can’t we all get along?” thing but I think am missing something and I can’t quite put my finger on it. That’s why I asked if you had some time to spare to maybe help me out. After all, Confucius told me to, as he put it, “Bugger off, Round Eye!!”, Buddha was contemplating the “universal aspects of belly button lint” and all the other deities are still afraid to come near me after the sound thrashing you gave Baal last time you two tangled. It’s not like you were my last choice or anything like that, it’s just that I didn’t want to bother you with such trivial stuff when you’ve got a universe to run…”

I figured that if I appealed to His sense of Ultimate Power, He would have pity on me. Mercy is not really in the cards, but pity? Yup, always a possibility.

“Well, first off, drop the whole Rodney King ‘Can’t we all get along’ thing. Ya see, I seem to remember that that was popular when I was wading through Sodom and Gomorrah destroying everything in sight. People all over the place, running around on fire, shrieking  “Can’t we all get along?” And, well, to be perfectly honest, when I am that pissed off and I take the time and effort to set you on fire, there is probably a pretty damned good reason I don’t feel like “getting along” with you. So, anyway, I was not fond of it then and I absolutely hate it now.”

Ever sensitive to the fact that, really, I generally don’t like the idea of being sent off running down the street on fire, I changed tacks.

“Check, there, Big Guy. On the other hand I do have an “Anti-Troy” all picked out and –“

“A what?”

“Hmmm?” Yes!! Hooked!! Now to reel Him in…

“You said you have an “Anti-Troy”. I am going to regret this, but just what is an “Anti-Troy” ? And while glaring at me He flicked His thumb, just like a Zippo lighter, and, just like my favorite Zippo, a nice even flame appeared which he alternately looked at and then at me, flame, me , flame, etc.

“Here have a Gurkha, God. That will give you something to light up besides me… And, uh, yeah, I have the local equivalent to the Anti-Christ all lined up.”

Whilst, puffing his cigar to life, G. T. C. eyed me with a scowl.

“Go on,” he prompted.

“Well, I work with a complete asshole-“

“Several actually.”

“Good call, there, Holy Kahuna. Anyway, I am so sick of this guy, I felt that if he were ever loosed upon the world, life as we know it would cease to exist…”

“L. J. giving you grief again?”

“Nah, L. J.’s not bothering me, besides, with L.J. it’s not like he is truly evil, he’s just rather misguided by greed and misplaced religious fervor.”

“Check. Seen it before. Damned shame I just had to give all you Muldoons free will… So who is the jerk?”

“Well I know You may have heard of him, but been just too busy to deal with him Yourself…”

“Troy cut the crap, who is it?”

“Mr. Heybuddy Can-you-do-me-a-favor…”

“WHAT???!!!!  JESUS CHRIST ALLMIGHTY !!! Is that stupid, dumb SOB still…”

And, once again, having caused God T. Creator to blow a gasket, He, once again, called forth His Only Begotten Son, That Lamb of God, King of Kings, Prince of Peace, The One, The Only, give Him a hand folks, Jesus H. Christ!!!

This time, seeing a need for a more mundane entrance, Jesus came sliding down out of the clouds astride an incredibly tall brass fireman’s pole. His robes were being employed to act as braking parachutes behind Him and yet he was still able to make the trademark squeaking noises typical of fire pole transportation. I made a mental note to ask later why in the world He bothered to even make those squeaking noises. Weird.

“Yeah, Dad?”

God started turning toward me with His Trademark Holy Anger. (BTW I was thinking of naming my new band Trademark Holy Anger, but I am really already pushing my luck…) Sensing a Smiting headed my way, I quickly moved to de-fuse the situation by asking what happened to Jesus’ hair.

“Oh, that…” Jesus actually looked somewhat embarrassed.

God, distracted from the Smiting he was preparing, glanced at His Son and then did a double take.

“Jesus Herman Christ, What in My Name have You done to Your hair???!!!”

“It’s called a Mullet, Dad.”

“I know damn well what it’s called !!! What were You thinking???”

“Well, Dad, uh, oh hell, you’ll find out eventually… Abraham, Moses and I were were practicing for the Deity X-Games and we made a wager over whose whale could do a better tail stand and 360 fakey…”

“Son, you have all my powers, how could you lose?”

“Well, Mom was gone doing some personal appearances and we got into the Sacramental wine cellar…”

Hating to see the brewing fight that was sure to follow, I stepped in quickly to try and break the tension.

“ ’scuse me, there, Jesus. I didn’t know Holy Mary, Mother of God was making personal appearances. Pardon me for sayin’ but it seems kinda funny to me that The Mommy of God would appear to open a mall or dedicate a new park…

“Oh, no, Troy, not that kind of personal appearance, She is scheduled to appear in a loaf of sourdough in Pokipsy, NY over the weekend and then in an apple tree stump down in Louisville next week.”

“Oh Dear Me In Heaven… What will I tell all the other Deities at the lodge? My Only Begotten Son, drunk on My wine, getting a mullet… How long?

“100 Years”

“Oh? Well, that’s not so bad… Anyway, back to you Troy. I know for a fact that even Trick Dipstick would never stoop so low as to purposely hire that cretin Heybuddy Can-you-do-me-a-favor-Don’t-worry-I’ll-take-care-of-you-I-promise…”

“Well, I don’t think Trick hired him and, for another thing, I think that you added a few syllables to his name.”

“Nah, his parents had to settle for a shorter name, they ran out of little boxes to put letters in on the application so they tried writing down the side of his birth certificate form but were denied. Guy’s a real piece of work isn’t he? Is that what this whole thing boils down to? You figure everyone who has known, does know, or will ever know him will come running to your religion because you have declared him the Anti-Troy?”

“Well, Creator of the sun and skies, ya got me dead to rights… I figure if everybody hates his guts and he is my polar opposite, well then it stands to reason-“

“Hey, Dad, I’m not much for all this religious crap, but I did hear a new joke: See, Odin, Zeus and Baal walk into a bar, and –“

“Hey, Jesus” I started, kinda torqued that he is ruining my sales pitch to His Dad,”don’t interrupt. It’s rude.”

“Well, you just interrupted me!!” said Jesus.

“Did not!!”

“Did so!!”

“Did not!!!”

“Dad, smite him, smite him, now!!! If You really love Me, You’ll smite him now…”

“Now, Son, why don’t You just settle down. Tell You what, if he does not give me a good reason for Me to give My blessing to his new religion, You can take him out and smite him any way you want.”

“Okay!!! Now We’re talking…”

Seeing that this was not going exactly the way I was hoping, I figured it’s either having to deal with Heybuddy for the rest of my miserable life or getting a relatively quick Smiting from -

“Oh, trust Me it won’t be quick!!”

Jesus, I realize that you have your Daddy’s powers to interrupt my narrative, but knock it off would Ya?

Anyway, I figured, at least if I could spread the word about Mr. Heybuddy Can-you-do-me-a-favor-Don’t-worry-I’ll-take-care-of-you-I-promise, it was worth the risk of a slow and extremely painful smiting-

“Hey, now THAT’S what I’m talkin’ about!!!”

- from that putz Hey-Zeus Christy!!

“DAD!!!!!”

Later That same day…

“So there you have it in a nutshell, GLA.”

“GLA???”

“Good Lord Almighty”

“Oh My Me, I should have known,” The Good Lord Almighty groaned as he sucked at the last of his Gurkha Black Beauty Swizzled in a snifter full of Janneau 25 Year Old Single Distillery Armagnac.

(Janneau 25 Year Old Single Distillery Armagnac @ approx. $160/500 ml. is an excellent choice for cigars because of it’s brilliant copper color and aromas of puttied and polished wood, melted toffee, sautéed peach, and peppery spice follow through on a rich entry to a dry-yet-fruity medium-full body with rich layers of caramelized whole nuts, brown spices, anise, and cigar wrapper. Finishes with a long, expressive fade. A must try Armagnac for quality cigars.)

“Troy, this Armagnac soaked cigar makes me think that opium is for the common working slobs. OK, that’s it then. You get ONE chance. Jesus, go home and clean up your mess before your mother comes home.”

“But, Dad, do I get to Smite him?” Jesus whined, motioning over his shoulder with his thumb.

“I have put his Smiting on hold for the moment, seems he has some rather original ideas on how to really bring out the worst kind of behavior from Mr. Heybuddy Can-you-do-me-a-favor-Don’t-worry-I’ll-take-care-of-you-I-promise. Like most dirty, stinking, worms, they don’t last too long in the sunlight or in this case the scrutiny of The New Guy. But, Troy…”

“Yes, Milord Gawd??”

(I gotta tell you at this point, you really have not lived or pushed your luck until you are standing there in front of the God-King of all Creation, and you are being a smartass and making him roll his eyes upward to Heaven and… well… Himself!! He is supposed to be everywhere at once so it makes sense in my perverted little world.)

Finishing his eye-roll of inhuman proportions, he continued. “Troy, you may not touch him.”

“But can I screw with his car?”

“No”

“How about his-“

“No”

“How-”

“No”

“H-“

“No”

“-

“No, and here is why: If you can out smart him, use his own idiocy against him, I will approve your Church and rescind your regularly scheduled smiting.”

“Well, thanks a lot , there, God!! I-“

“HOWEVER!!!! If you fail, Smitings for everyone!!! My entire retinue will have a chance to smite you in any way they wish…”

“Hey, that doesn’t seem fair at all, I mean-“

“I am a Just, Merciful and Loving God… Never said I was “fair”, asshole.”

And with that He bade farewell.

But, he did not get away before I had Riley T. Dog give him about 26lbs of dog hair by leaning against His robes as he walked over to the fire pole Jesus left. Ever the showoff, His sandals started smoldering, the voice from Mission Control counted down and God, on a pillar of fire, ascended to the heavens, leaving behind only cigar butts, empty beer bottles and the smells of burning dog hair.

As a parting shot, my head rang with the Glory of His Voice:

ASSHOLE!!!!! DOG HAIR??? I AM SOOOO GONNA ENJOY YOUR SMITING….

Contrary to what you may think, this is NOT some kind of kinky, kooked-up, whack-job porno post…

Then again, once I start explaining, it certainly may end up that way…

So there I was, at the Tuesday morning meeting, doing my best to look only mildly irritated (and failing, according to Ion Seltzer, World Domination MotorCar Corporation Certified Shop Fourperson [Yes, I know. Deal], here at the Phyllis Diller Auto Group Store in beautiful Pyorrhea, Arizona…).

Seems we were being told once again, by that Scion of Automotive Greatness, Trick Dipstick, that, ughhh, “As a condition of your employment here at the Phyllis Diller Auto Group, you are required to take the PhD Courses we have prepared for each and everyone of you. These courses will take approximately 47 years to complete if you start now and do not stop. Adding in 4 hours of sleep in every 24 hour period and assuming a 3 minute meal break once a day, you may be able to complete your courses in as little as 56.12 years. For you older techs – those over 40 – I suggest you hurry or we will be forced to back flag all your work retroactively starting with the day you were born. You will be required to stay late and work on Salesman’s cars as punishment if you delay starting your homework by more than 15 seconds after punching out tonight.”

“On a lighter note, Zeke Northern has left the building – “

This announcement was greeted with cheers and even, in a few cases, open weeping by those overjoyed with the news.

“You are also reminded that the Deadline for the Course E221, that will not be released until next week, is now 1 week overdue. Gentlemen, and those other life forms, you know who you are, I stress once again that being late on tests is –“

“Hey, Dipstick, how the HELL, can we take tests that have not even been released yet???” screamed a deep, masculine, resonant, yet accented voice. It only figured that Bulk Shogun, our Japanese WWF Wrestler turned detailer, would be outraged… He is still getting used to reading left to right…

“As has been explained before: On-Line Testing is a condition of your enslavement, er, uh, I mean to say, employment…”

Fast Forward to Saturday Morning

Now right at the start of Online Course E221-M, it states “All other versions of this course are hereby prohibited by law and punishable by death. If you should use, see or hear about course versions A through L you will be tried and EXECUTED by a panel of cashiers and warranty clerks. That is all. Carry on.”

Ok to be perfectly serious, most of our “On-Line” testing that is NOT about new cars and/or about diagnosis of vehicle systems, is patently STUPID³⁰⁷¹⁴  (Yes that says STUPID  to the 30714th power!! That’s a lot of zeros….)

For instance, acronyms should be banned.

Forever.

Period.

This is not the military where brevity in communications is an absolute necessity.

“Hello? This is ServManWorldDomPAZ, get me the NatComAUTH…”

Translation:

“Hello? This is Trick Dipstick, Service Mangler at the World Domination MotorCar Corp, Pyorrhea, AZ. Get me my wife…”

Anyway.

So the so-called technicians at work are being forced against our will, (“Gentlemen, Water Boarding is ALWAYS an option…”) we are forced to watch videos geared toward our MBA candidate Service Writing Dorks from plant Uranus.

Groveling, we beg and plead for death before having to hear some freaking, Mike Rowe wannabe, Duesch Bag preaching the Gospel Of R.I.M.

R. I. M. stands for

Related

Immediate

Maintenance

Related indicates Related to the customer complaint.

Immediate indicates an IMMEDIATE repair needed NOW.

Maintenance indicates, well, duh, a Maintenance issue.

So John Q. Shit-For-Brains (BTW, all you muldoons with hyphenated names need to get a life and pick a SINGLE last name, Gawd Damnit!!!) comes in on the hook with no wheels on his car and the entire underside of the car is peeled back like a can of sardines. Donald D. (for Dork) Dueschbag MBA, PhD, LLC writes the car up, attaches a “safety sheet”, gives the dumbass an estimate for $100 to have a tech “look at it” and jettisons the customer off into our shuttle van. Now under the RIM plan of action the tech is supposed to look the car over and decide what it needs, indicating in the spaces provided whether these needs are:

Related to the “Original Concern”

An Immediate need or

Maintenance

and the answer is……

YES!!!!

Look, I have been doing this for 34 years. If the Service Writer does not know by looking at an estimate what is needed right now and what can be put off, he needs to be in a different profession.

Shit-For-Brains needs a new car. Period. He does NOT need an estimate. He needs a new car. He does not need a Maintenance estimate for an Injector Flush and air filter. He needs a new car.

And by the way, getting a new car fulfills all the requirements of RIMing the customer. It’s:

Related to the “Original Concern”

An Immediate need AND

Maintenance

The other KEYWORD they like throwing around is

H.E.R.

Honest

Ethical

Repairs

So using what we learned in that “shoved down our throat video”, let’s take care of Shit-For- Brains, shall we?

Using the “approved” techniques as taught by the RIM HER video that, again, I was forced against my will to watch, we call the customer.

Instead of the old school “Hey Shit-For-Brains, get a new car!!!”

We instead waste our lives away explaining the following:

“Hello, Mr. Shit-For-Brains? It’s Don Dueschbag at The World Domination MotorCar Corp. Yes I have had our worst technician, Harry the Hack, look at your car. Do you have a few minutes to discuss it? Thank you. Harry did find the problem RELATED to your concern. He says that there were no wheels or tires on your car and the underside is peeled back like a sardine can. He found an IMMEDIATE need for you to replace everything but the gas cap. Also, he noted that your gas cap should be replaced as a MAINTANENCE item. Your total INVESTMENT today, if you consider this to be an HONEST ETHICAL REPAIR will be $ 928,194.61 and yes, we will have it ready for you by 5pm today. Yes sir, we guarantee it will look like a brand new car. Yes sir, thank you sir, I will call New Car Sales, er, uh, I mean I will have Harry get started on it right away. Buh Bye.”

So come on in and we will RIM HER as much as is humanly possible…against our will and better judgment.

This is the first in an occasional series of posts about people, persons (institutions?) who, for what ever reason, decide to be OBSTRUCTIONS as I go on my way with my life. Please feel free to “comment” on your own experiences and opinions and I will freely make use and/or fun of them in future posts as I see fit.

Thank you.

That is all.

Carry on.

My wayward son.

There will be peace,

When you are done.

Anyway.

ROAD BLOCK #18 is unusually highly skilled in pissing me off. These non-sentient beings are experts in the ways of blocking all progress – except for their own. Content only with satisfying the basic urge to cause hate and discontent in all others who wish to satisfy their own needs to provide sustenance for life as we know it, they are to be avoided at all cost…and yet, they can not be avoided at any cost.

Yes, I am talking about that scoundrelly scourge: THE SUPERMARKET ASSHAT!!!

These are the Biological Life Forms that, having passed the object of their desire in the shopping aisle, see a herd of fellow shoppers coming the other way intent only on getting by them, they shove their cart diagonally across the aisle between the strategically stacked cases of water on one side and the 14 foot high display of Ho-Hos on the other, while sauntering back the way they came, sans cart, at a snails pace to look at the brand choices of Macaroni and Cheese.

Additionally, seeing that they have caused a backup of turnpike proportions, they methodically look at the list of ingredients in each box before deciding that “Nah, I don’t feel like Macaroni and Cheese.” But then they discover the  Macaroni and Cheese derivative: Macaroni Pinwheels and Cheese and, understandably and predictably, they must check the list of ingredients of each box of these culinary masterpieces…

A sub-species of the SUPERMARKET ASSHAT, is the MATRIARCH variant. This version selects the extremely large plastic toy car appendage attached to a standard shopping cart, thereby quadrupling their “Cart Footprint”. These MATRIARCHS are often accompanied by their young, thereby making the collective gathering a virtual asteroid belt of obstacles from aisle 13 clear over to the meat counter. The MATRIARCH uses her young as “Area Denial” weapons as well as unguided munitions, otherwise known as dumb bombs.

An example of area denial is the classic “Shaniqua, Go get some bread,” wherein Shaniqua goes next door and holds up the World Domination Liquor Store, steals all the money and a pack of smokes… Upon returning, we are subjected to Matriarchal Unintelligible Speech, that may or may not be the English language, decrying Shaniqua’s poor choices in bread. And Shaniqua is sent off again. Now all this time, MATRIARCH LaTwanda is taking up the entire soda aisle and stating that her offspring would not be able to find her if she moved the 2 feet required to clear the aisle. (Personally I find that hard to believe when someone is the size, shape and weight of, oh, I don’t know…A FRIGGIN’ HARBOR BOUY ???!!!) Further requests to have her move her fat ass out of the way are met with something that sounds like “I’ll cut choo, sucka!!!”

The dumb bombs are even more devastating to my physical and mental well being than the genus “Area Denial”… The dumb bombs are for the most part adolescent and younger ASSHATS (with a few weak and dying males [pussy whipped husbands and old men] thrown in for good measure) who, once released from their restraints, free fall to cause devastation and mayhem in the broadest possible area… The term that comes to mind is IDIOT CARPET BOMBING. They have no idea of any specific target, the idea is cause panic, pain and economic ruin on as grand a scale as possible. The little bastards get into everything and, like Genghis Kahn, leave nothing but scorched earth in their wake. The only sound other than the screams of panic from the terrified civilian casualties is the MATRIARCH’S screeching “Aqui !! Hector, Pablo, Hey-Zeus, Juan, Rickardo,  Aqui!!  AY WEY !! AY WEY!!”

Then having survived the carnage of acquiring the still edible supplies for the apocalyptic journey known as life, you fight your way to the last obstacle to freedom, also known as the checkout line. Now there are two choices to be made:

1) Purgatory (the “Self Checkout Line”) or

2) Hell, Damnation and Eternal Torment (the “regular” check stand)

Each of these choices has their own brand of agony to be endured.

Purgatory is full of mechanical voices telling you to do things you already know how to do:

“Scan your first item…”

Nah, just to be difficult, I was going to scan my eighth item first, you piece of shit!!!

“Place item in bag and scan next item…”

Hey, Cracker, where the hell is the bag I put my 50 pound bag of dog food in?

“55 gallon drum of cheap rotgut vodka distilled from municipal garbage. Summoning Management to check your I.D. Current wait is 14.385 hours…please wait.”

Or you can take your chances with the Cashier who is supposedly “alive” and the box-person who is supposedly NOT BRAIN DEAD… and of course neither are as advertised.

That is why you have a gallon of milk, 2 cantaloupes, 3 gatorades and 5 pounds of coffee in one (!!) piece of shit plastic bag, stacked on top of:

a) your bread

b) your eggs

c) a dozen donuts that were absolutely perfect when you put them on the conveyor belt

d) all of the above

If you are extremely lucky, have a karma score of at least 10,000 you have earned a chance to go to the BONUS ROUND (going home) once you have survived the old biddy in front of you:

a) balancing her check book.

b) stating that she has 43 cents in her saddle bag…somewhere

c) asking for 263 rain checks for things that were on sale LAST WEEK

d) noticing at the last minute that she has forgotten her Orgasmic Organic Orange juice with 500% of the maximum daily requirement of fiber, Spanish Fly, Ginseng and the patent pending Bowel-B-Gone herbal supplements and needs the bagger to get it otherwise she will regale everyone with how great her bowels move since she started drinking it…

e) all of the above

Having made it out of the check out isle, broken and humbled by the weekly hunting/gathering mission, you are allowed to run the gauntlet of morons, Muldoon’s, bone heads and Richard Petty / John Force wannabes who are holding tryouts for the World Domination Demolition Derby Cup brought to you by Bondo King, the body filler endorsed by Clank, Bang and Thud – The Peep Boys and their nationwide network of Shotgun Parts Changers and Bondoleros.

As I was writing this Cecily, came in to drag me off to –where else- the grocery store, stating “You Promised!!!”

Dear, that was 3 years ago…

“You’re still going!!!”

Isn’t there a statute of limitations on promises to go to the store?

“Yes, seven years.”

So I only have to go for another 4 years? Whoo Hoo !!!

“Yes, but I am sure you will once again say or promise anything when I fix you a drink, put some Mott The Hoople on the stereo, change into something a little more comfortable, and then-“

Wait!!! You said you can change into something a little more comfortable, and what can be more comfortable than my fuzzy slippers that you threw away.  So you can change into my fuzzy slippers? That’s amazing!!!

“No, I meant—“

I have GOT to see this!!! Go ahead, change into my fuzzy slippers. I DOUBLE DOG DARE YOU!!!

“Gawd. Damnit. Troy.”

Oh, come on if you can’t do it just—-

Meanwhile, In A Galaxy Far Far Away…

“Luke!!! There has been a disturbance in The Force!!! It was as if one utter moron was silenced with a brick to the head. Ah well, no biggie…”

.

Let’s see I have been in the professional Automotive gig since I’ve been 19 years old. Since I am chasing down 52 years old, or there abouts, I just MAY have some small insight as to what the hell I am doing and where Automotive has been and how far down the tubes  it is headed…

Lets face it, my early years in Automotive were basically horrific. I saw ( and did ) things that would cause me now  to want to  exterminate with extreme prejudice the perpetrators. The 6-7 years of my insanity before leaving San Diego were also extremely hard on my employers, customers, family and me… But all those experiences have tempered the steel of my resolve. I know more now because of my own failures and watching some truly, supremely, talented individuals; both in management and those that had to work for a living.

I guess the number one problem,  as I see it, in the current era of Automotive, is the proliferation of accountants.

What’s that you ask? Accountants? Why, yes, in my opinion, they are as bad as electing lawyers to be our “representatives” in government. Let me explain…

The “Door Rate” at the World Domination MotorCar Corp franchise as run by the Phyllis Diller Auto Group, is $105 per hour. That means that standard mechanical labor is billed at $105 per hour before any discounts.

“Wow!! That’s quite a bit of money!!!” you may think, and, yeah, it is.

I wish I saw 50% of that like I used to… You see back in the days of the “Old Days” a tech with 5 years of GOOD experience ( trust me, there are a gazillion levels under “good” to have to wade through ) demanded, and got, 50% of the labor and 10% of the parts of any repairs he made.  So, say, Tech Jim does a “tune up” ( 8 spark plugs, distributer points, condenser, adjust the carb, scope the engine, change the oil and filter, rotate the tires, check and adjust the brakes, top off all the fluids and give the car a good look over and test drive) for 69.95 ( yeah, honest to God, that’s what it used to be ). Jim is paid $2.95 ( 10% of $29.50 – the parts cost to the customer) and roughly $ 20.00 for his labor ( 50% of the remaining as his labor ). Figuring Jim is a pretty good tech, he can finish this up in about an hour and a quarter (1.25 hours).

2.95 + 20.00 = 22.95

22.95 /1.25 =  18.36

$18.36 becomes Jim’s effective wage per hour.

$ 18.36 is not a bad hourly wage for 30 years ago…

Lets do the math “now”

Tech Jim is working on a “blue car”, he is going to do a full inspection of the vehicle, rotate the tires, check and adjust the brakes, change the oil and filter, top off all the fluids and disassemble the lower right dash to inspect the cabin air filter. The cost to the customer is $69.95. For this service he is paid 4/10s of of a hour at $15.00 per hour. He has to send a “parts request” to parts for his oil and filter. He has to stand in line to get his parts pulled, instead of “self-serving” his parts off the shelf. He has to wait in line to have his oil pumped to his station instead of having an oil dispensing reel at his rack. His customer was promised 40 minutes from time of write up to time of departure. Since the Service Writer ( the one who PROMISED a 40 minute go time instead of a more realistic 2 hours  ”just in case” )  took 4 minutes to write the vehicle up and the lot attendant took 6 minutes to park the car, have a smoke, play grab ass, and then finally hang up the keys, the technician has -0- time to get an estimate to the customer using the 1/4 time system which states that any additional needed repairs MUST be presented to the customer with 1/4 of the time estimate of the repairs. ( 40 minute estimate for repair X  ”1/4 Time” =10 minutes ) So in a mad rush to not be punished for “HIS” failure to get an estimate for wiper blades and air filter, Jim frantically begs for prices from a parts department that really is not ever graded by how well or how poorly they service their biggest ( and most captive) customer, the Service Department, before running to try and find his Service Writer who is on his cell phone…. Bottom line: Jim stresses more and is under more pressure. He completes the job, runs the vehicle through the car wash and delivers it 10 minutes late. The customer is pissed, his car is “late”, his estimate arrived too late for Jim to slap on wiper blades and an air filter in the allotted time. (Both are “no labor” operations, btw…) And for all this pain, Jim is paid $6.00 Start to finish Jim spent 50 minutes on this job (including the air filter and wiper blades, given to the customer to appease them). So Jim’s effective wage for this hour of stress and scrambling comes out to $ 7.20 an hour….

Hmmmm…..

Ya know I don’t think the consultants and accountants who dream this shit up have taken a wage hit like we, the guys who actually have to DO this work have. And by the way, our tools have quintupled in price. We are forced to pay for uniform maintenance ( even when we wash our own ), guys with 30 years experience who do not know how to diagnose cars are still working here,  I have been THE front end guy for over 5 years and yet I am still not World Domination Certified…because they don’t offer the classes I need to become certified.

Yeah, maybe to YOU it sounds like sniveling and whining…

But, hey, why don”t you come down here and try it every day for a while?

Why is it I have to reverse engineer this stuff so I can make repairs, be a computer analyst, generate reports to the factory, have to fix company tools (that other morons break) so I can do my job, keep other people’s promises of when cars will be done, give my time and expertise away to people who “buy a lot of parts from us” ( wait, I am supposed to give away my knowledge, the knowledge I had to bleed to acquire, just so YOU can look like a fucking hero to your customer? ) and on top of all that be reviled for ME (????) having the balls to charge $105 an hour??? I always want to get in their faces and say “Look around, you complete piece of shit, it ain’t ME charging you $105 an hour!!!! I get $10 if I’m lucky, asshole…”

Oh, and another thing, be sure to listen to those God Damned Talking Heads on TV who tell you to inflate the tires on your car to what it says on the sidewall of the tire. Yeah, you know the label that says “Max inflation at 1480lbs Load 48PSI”

Hey guys, lets look at this and apply just a bit of common sense.

MAX INFLATION MEANS JUST THAT!!!! Don’t do it!! Check the owner’s manual or the sticker on the door jamb for the inflation for YOUR car. Because really those damn tires fit more than just a 82 Honda Accord.

“Why does it say it, then?”  5920lbs ? Really? 4 tires with a max load of 1480 = 5920lbs of load capability. Ok, a 2011 Honda Accord has a curb weight of 3300 -3600 lbs (Curb weight is the total weight of a vehicle with standard equipment, all necessary operating consumables (e.g. motor oil and coolant), a full tank of fuel, and not loaded with either passengers or cargo.) So figure 2 adults and 150lbs of luggage = 550lbs.  Ok all up we are at 3850-4150lbbs – that’s about 3/4 of a TON below the max load as stamped on your tires. So explain to me again why you need the MAX PRESSURES???????????

Jesus, if a lawyer appears on TV  and even opens his mouth, you have to sit through 10 minutes of “this does not constitute legal advice” but if some fucking idiot on “HorsePower enough to put out the sun, TV” tells you that “I like 440 psi in my tires”  and some kid blows the wheels clean off his car and dies, it’s always “Fucking Mechanics” because we have turned into a society of “IT’S NOT MY FAULT!!!!”….

Sorry I gotta quit before I get REALLY pissed.

NOTE: Please be Patient as background music loads. Thank You!!

“Welcome back to 118th Service Drive Olympics. I’m Bob Rowdy.”

“Coming up, we are going to have a special report from our automotive reporter and NTSB crash analyst Trick Dipstick. But first, as promised, we will be bringing you the complete coverage of the Service Writer Pentathlon.”

“As you may or may not know, due to the shortage of REAL Service Drive Professionals, there has been only one entrant to the annual Service Drive Pentathlon this year: Mr.Zeke Northern.”

“Northern, an expatriate of Stupid-Dumbshit Corners, Mississippi, comes into these games with 18 years experience riding around on his brother’s coat tails. He is proudly wearing his “I’m a Stupid-Dumbshit” t-shirt in recognition of his twin cities hometown, Stupid-Dumbshit Corners, Mississippi. We tried to interview him for background on this event, and, by the way, this is the first time only one Service Writer has been entered in the Pentathlon, but he could not tear himself away from rebuilding his hybrid Edsel-Saab 99 long enough to answer our questions.”

“First in our Pentathlon coverage is the Service Write-Up. Let’s watch and listen as he comes up to our “Customer” with his greeting…”

“Hello, is this your car? Gee, they certainly don’t make big enough cars for fat bastards like you, do they? I see you are here for 47 vehicle recalls involving completely disassembling your car, ordering thousands of parts, test driving it for 5000 miles to make sure we did it right and then selling you a bunch of things that don’t need doing and all the while ignoring the technician’s recommendations for safety related repairs, is that correct? Good, sign here. Are you going to wait for that? Fine, I will come to see you in the waiting room in a couple weeks… NEXT!!”

Later that same day…

“As you have seen earlier, Zeke Northern has shattered the World Record and a Parts Counterman’s leg with that amazing  Car Battery Shot Put effort that seems to have cost him a back injury… Folks I have seen some serious injuries both from the effort on the Car Battery Shot Put as well as acid soaked spectators. Just another risk involved in this most difficult occupation. For more on this, let’s head down to the field where our Field Technical Specialist, Dick Deltoid, is with Zeke. Dick?”

“Thanks Bob Rowdy, I’m Dick Deltoid, here with noted Stupid-Dumbshit native, Zeke Northern. Tell us, Zeke, what happened out there?”

“Well, I had to get into the right mindset during the Car Battery Shot Put. I thought of all the times I had tried to make other people do my job for me because I really do not know my job all that well, despite my over riding arrogance of thinking I know my job all that well… So not knowing my job all that well I put all my frustration of not knowing what the hell I am doing into a supreme effort, and, well, it cost me a back spasm which propelled me into a frustration induce rage of supreme effort including uncontrolled rage over no one respecting me for not being a humble idiot with no value what so ever and then being singled out as a complete A-Hole. I think that alone allowed me to exceed even my best previous record of dumbass mediocrity…”

“Well, there you have it. A largely unintelligible college educated philosophical babble. Back to you in the booth, Bob.”

“Uhhh, yeah. Thanks for that totally useless, stupid interview, of Totally Useless and Stupid Zeke Northern, Bob Rowdy. And now we move on to the last event: Storying out a work order!!”

“On your screen now is the story of our very own Alignment God Emeritus, Troy Donson. You will see that Troy has written 3 pages of extremely concise and very technical explanations of the repairs made to a World Domination MotorCar Corp.  Artillery. “

“The Artillery (as you know, named because it accelerates like it was shot out of a cannon, only to blow up 26 miles later…) had been brought in for a severe pull to the right. Troy, being the exceedingly gifted Alignment God of the Valley, had used all his considerable experience to make repairs, that he did not get paid for, and then test drove for 25 miles (see above) to ensure that the vehicle was in Tippy Top form.  Being the only Sentient Being in the shop, he has fully documented all his repairs and has turned in his paperwork for editing to Customer Speak by Zeke.”

“A hush comes over the crowd. We are waiting as Zeke carefully reviews the documents. Finally, it looks like he is ready to make his move… Folks, look at that!!! He has made his move straight to the “DELETE” key, deleting the entire story!!! I can not believe this!! He has deleted the work of the Alignment God!!! The crowd is going wild!! Chairs are being ripped from their bolted down stanchions and thrown at everyone nearby. Coolant jug bombs are going off by the hundred. Lot attendants, feeding off the distraction, are off smoking in the non-smoking area. Oh wait, that’s pretty much normal…”

“And look at that, Zeke Northern is typing in his own story, oblivious to the Kaos, oblivious to the rioting and looting, oblivious to the shouting of Tony GoHeavily shouting “Man, that’s fucked up!!!”. “

“What’s it say? Get this Scotty, get this!! Oh the humanity!!! He has changed the 3 page, well reasoned and insightful technical dissertation into – I don’t believe this – ‘All readings in green’. Oh my God. Forgive him, Lord, he knows not what the fuck he is doing!!!”

“And as the studio bursts into flames and the rioting increases to levels never before seen by this reporter, we say ‘so long!’ from Crankshaft Bearing Memorial Stadium. Good Night and for God’s sake, somebody kill the lights so they don’t find us in here…”

I am ever and ever constantly amazed at the variety of “Life Forms” that are available from which to choose our new hires…

Take our newest addition to the Service Drive :  Zeke Northern.

Zeke Northern has a Doctorate in Household Anthropology from Slippery Slope University, did his undergrad work at Giggle Tech, and his practical book learnin’ at Southern Illinois University, Home of the Flying Nimnods.

Zeke’s Doctoral Thesis showed the evolution of the original “Phonician Blinds” which were made of boulders and required 500 slaves hauling on ropes made of reeds to open and close them to either let light into or block light from the interior of the caves in which they resided. He, in a truly dull and terribly uninspired narrative, traces the history from inception to the eventual loss of the technology due to the Great Sumerian Beer Bong Uprising of 432 BC. He also details the rediscovery of the  ”Phonician Blinds” in 1732 Venice, Italy, where upon they replaced the system of heavy ropes and boulders with twine and genuine imitation plastic and changed the name to “Vitto Buggatti’s Original Venetian Blinds”. Also detailed is how Vitto was caught up in a Mob “Protection Racket” and was made to “sleep with the fishes” when he refused to sell out. The story babbles on for at least another 49 pages until Ron Popeil finally starts selling them in infomercials for $9.99…isn’t that AMAZING??!!!

Anyway, to hear the locally based, debased, freebased and otherwise overpaid Supreme Allied Management tell it, this “man” is the greatest thing since the Ronco Pocket Fisherman.

Folks, I happen to, well, DISRESPECTFULLY disagree…

So far this Mensa candidate has run down a service writer with a Cyon Ex Bee,  admitted that “I don’t know what I am doing here, but I am hoping for the best…” and worst of all decided, in his infinite lack of wisdom, to add his own brand of “Sorely Lacking In Automotive Intelligence” comments  to a work order after I have written a superlative story of love, loss and “you’re gonna die if you keep driving this thing!!!”

His explanation was that I was “mis-leading the customer” by using proper automotive terminology.

WTF??!!!

This from a guy who is told ” the guy should stop driving this until he get the rims matched up. I mean he can drive it, but it will handle kinda squirrelly…” and then, in a moment of sheer genius, decides he knows more than a 32 year veteran of  warfare on the Automotive Front and tells the customer “Park it or you will most assuredly DIE in a flaming conflagration, will be shown on the TV shows DESTROYED IN SECONDS and PEOPLE WHO DID NOT LISTEN TO ZEKE NORTHERN AND DIED and all your friends will point fingers at your charred remains and snicker.”

Yeah they sure do know how to pick ‘em, eh?

And another thing:

HEY, NEW GUY!!!! WHERE”S MY TEN BUCKS????!!!!!!

Not terribly “Happy” right at the moment for a variety of reasons…

Missed my oldest daughter’s birthday bash at a non-fictional “large suburban roller skating rink”.  This was a real let down for me because I rarely get to see my kids. It is even rarer that one of them lets me know of an EVENT and then even rarerer (yes, I know, deal…) that I am actually invited to partake in the festivities.

So of course something happened to screw it all to hell and gone.

October at the World Domination MotorCar Corporation’s Peoria, AZ franchise owned and operated by the infamous Phyllis Diller Auto Group (owners of the Pro Underwater Hockey Team, The Albuquerque Jizz) is “Everyone gets a chance to win Cash and Fabulous Prizes month, except for Troy.”

Yes, it seems like the accountant’s panties are in a bunch, their erasers are wearing thin and someone mysteriously left the freakin’ lead out of their pencils. Thus it is up to me to make everyone else a butt-load of money.

I guess no one told them that we are in a huge recession and that people are only going to spend money on the essentials – Nitrogen filled tires, 50,000 watt stereos, quad screen DVD systems for their Corobbas, key fobs made of 100% pure Unobtanium, and the newest, latest and greatest system known to mankind: the Romco Automated Drive-By Shooting System which integrates seamlessly into your back up camera which, BTW, you got installed because you people are too damned lazy to turn around and LOOK WHERE YOU ARE GOING!!!!! That’s right folks, why roll the window down to “bust a cap” in that guy’s ass? Why suffer heat stroke when you can enjoy air conditioned comfort and “Spray and Pray” with your bad ass 9mm while controlling the action with the optional joystick and laser guidance system?

Anyway, Trick Dipstick in his finite wisdom is running a SCAM promotion to push alignments. I was asked to “come in a few Saturdays this next month” to get the much-hinted-at TIDAL WAVE OF WORK (which, of course, is also the name of my new band) done which will benefit me in the ‘ol paycheck-ola…

So getting to work this first day of the  SCAM promotion, I stayed at work for 10 hours and performed 5 full alignments ( 2 of which were after 5pm – did I mention the store closed at 5pm ? ) and 1 “somebody else got paid a gazillion dollars to do some work on this car, but you are only gonna get 29 cents to do a full four wheel alignment – because we say so, that’s why” job. On a “good” day I can (and have) performed 15-25 alignments in the same time frame. This on the day I wanted to see my daughter out in the hinterlands of the braided armpit hair capital of the world, Mesa AZ. By the time I got home it was just too late for me to shower, drive across town and try to be awake for the festivities.

I was pretty much obliterated because I also was being asked (required) to please (you value your life? you had better comply) stop at the store (there should be a “People of Fry’s Marketplace” website) and pick up (wait in line for 30 minutes with a useless “take a number” ticket only to be told “Ah hell, we don’t even use those, thing’s been broken for 3 months…” a pound each of Potato Salad, Onion Rings, Cheesy Potato Wedges, and an 8 Piece Fried Chicken bag, on my way home after work.

There was a warning label on the bag that said: “Make sure all bathrooms and exits are clearly marked, please use gas masks at the first signs of light headedness. Other common side effects include nervousness, insomnia, skin rash, hives, fever, intense burning or stabbing pain caused by irritation of or damage to a nerve, peeling skin, red blotches or blisters all over the skin with findings of death of blood vessels, loss of appetite, nausea, dizziness, irregular, hard or rapid heartbeat, headache, muscle spasms and (my personal favorite) rare reports of Tourette’s syndrome” !!!! This last because of statements like “Jesus Christ, I am dying in here!!! What the F*ck did they put in this???!!!!! If I can ever stand up with out drizzling again, I am going to kill all of you, you rotten Mother F*ckers!!!!!!!!”

The obliteration occurs because:

A) I have worked in 105+ degree heat for the 6th day in a row and I am just a plain tired 51 year OLD man

B) Why am I working this hard and two adult men feeding off me are not even trying to find work?

C) I really want to see my daughter, so of course something will destroy my chances

D) Everyone else get a “bonus” for just doing the job they were hired to do, I get the “Work harder and you will get more alignments done and your paycheck will go up” as everyone else packs up and leaves for the day leaving me alone with my alignments and 2 dozen very vocal crickets…

E) The new Service Drive Lackey is a complete pinhead who is gonna get himself kilt if he ever debases another of my work order stories ever again.

F) My cell phone died (we’re thinking suicide, but waiting on the Coroner’s report) and I am tired of borrowing other people’s phones and having to switch SIMM cards to just to make a freakin’ phone call!!!!

And on top of all this, and to try and make the world at large realize my pain, my shop is just a microcosm  of the world at large:

Exxon Valdez

Jesus Valdez

Leader of the Free World

OUR FEARLESS LEADER (aka The New Guy)

We got him for 37 cereal box tops and $27.50 postage and handling, so he qualifies as a “free” leader…

“I hate to bring the debauchery down a notch or two, but will everyone please set your YooHoos down and take your seats so we can get to the items on our current agenda?” asked Little Daddy solicitously.

The squeaking of voices and clinking of the assorted sizes of YooHoo containers being set down soon diminished as the assorted assemblage of Free Jasons took their seats at Kindergarten desks arranged in tiers around the perimeter of the Not-So-Great Hall of The Fraternal Worldly Order Of Free Jasons. Seeing that all had assumed their rightful positions according to rank and seniority, Little Daddy Jason Chamberlains spoke thusly:

“Brothers, I move that we dispense with the formal roll call and move right to items 1 through 6 as outlined in the High Holy Book of Policies and Procedures. Seconded?”

“Seconded!!” muttered a rather YooHoo besotted Mike Keller, who then tipped over giggling. Since he did not have far to fall, being vertically challenged as all Free Jasons are, he wallowed happily upon the ground, completely unhurt.

After much whispered squeaking about how “some people can hold their YooHoo much better than others” and “You should have seen him when they served Moxie at the Christmas party 2 years ago!! We never thought we would get his ass out of that damned chandelier!!!”, the motion to get down to business was carried unanimously. Returning to his sheet music stand (adjusted to the lowest position possible, of course) Little Daddy Jason Chamberlains addressed the assemblage.

“Brothers, the time has come to order new Polo Shirts. We have an offer to buy a large quantity of adult medium sized shirts. These can be acquired at a substantial savings over the cost of the child sizes we usually buy. I am assured that repeated washing in hot water will shrink them down to our normal standard of having the shoulder seams reach our elbows… The only other option would be to stick to our current supplier of Garanimals…”

And on it went, a fairly normal meeting of Little Men with Little Problems being dealt with with Little Imagination…until a great commotion was heard at the back of the hallway.

“HEY IN THERE!!! Tell this clown out here to either get out of my way or face my Shiv!!”

Only the iron will, discipline and resolve of the assembled Free Jasons kept them from scurrying for cover in whatever hiding places were available.

Instead, they huddled together in a puppy pile and screamed like little girls.

Finally, Mike Keller, with false courage bolstered by his copious intake of YooHoo, approached the door and, climbing up on a step stool looked out the peephole…

“It’s OK everyone!!” Mike said over his shoulder at the cowering assemblage. “It’s only Niles Porkannoy.”

Turning back to the peep hole, he yelled through the door “Niles, what brings you to our hall?”

Niles Porkannoy, disciple to Mike Keller’s alter ego WARRANTY MAN, yelled through the door “Look, I know your clown here says ‘You must be no taller than this to enter The Hall Of The Fraternal Worldly Order Of Free Jasons’, but I must address all of you concerning a matter of utmost importance! The fate of the entire world hangs in the balance!!!”

Mike turned and studied the writhing mass of humanity,  searching for Little Daddy Jason Chamberlains. Making eye contact, Little Daddy nodded firmly.

Turning back to the door, Mike Keller squeaked ominously “First a promise, Niles, that you swear you will never reveal what you see or hear tonight to anyone. That you will forever keep all our secrets and deliberations locked within you, so help you God!!”

“So help me God, Keller, if you don’t open this damned door and get this painted plywood  clown out of my way, I will call your mom and tell her you have been hitting the YooHoo again!!!”

Suitably threatened, Mike gave way, opening the door and blithely stepping under the clown’s raised hand with inches to spare. With the sounds of the assembly untangling itself and returning to their seats in the background, Mike greeted his protégé and moved the plywood guardian out of the doorway. Ducking, lest he brain himself on the 5′ 6″ doorway, Niles duck walked into the hallway and addressed not only Mike Keller, but all the Free Jasons.

“Gentlemen, I have little time so you will pardon both the unseemly intrusion and brevity in which I must reveal a deadly threat, not only to The Fraternal Worldly Order Of Free Jasons but, also, to The World Domination MotorCar Corporation!!! As you all know, I have been pushing for a new kind of Warranty Death Squad. In plain terms and band of roving Warranty Thugs with a “license to kill”. The time for arguing is past.”

A not so great murmur erupted at the audacity of this young upstart, this uninvited guest, daring to usurp the athouritay of the somewhat Honorable Little Daddy and issue a call to arms against an, as of yet, unnamed enemy.

“A threat unlike any ever known before has arisen. The Phyllis Diller Auto Group has appointed a new General Manager who has vowed to clean up operations!!”

A gasp from all assembled arouse.

A single voice cried out “You mean – ?”

“Yes, Yes, YES!!! If he succeeds…” Niles continued in a hushed tone, “If he succeeds, each and everyone one of us…would be…DOWNSIZED!!!”

Pandemonium erupted as squeals and squeaks of outrage rebounded off the walls. Cooler heads soon prevailed and an orderly line formed up in front of the armory where pitch forks, torches and the other accouterments of a rioting mob were passed out. Soon, formed into ranks, the assembly of Free Jasons soon assumed the look of what could be only be described as rejects from the Lollipop Guild #2357.

A voice was soon heard rising above the fray, “Tell us, Niles!!! Tell us who we go to war with! For if we are downsized any more we shall be visible only to those mad scientists working on the CERN collider!!

“I only know his name. I over heard it by accident. When I went to confirm it, the one who blurted it out died a horrible death. His body was found in a ditch. The coroner’s report said he was stuffed full of carrots and had been run over repeatedly by a mountain bike…”

“His NAME!!! Give us his name!!!!!”

“He goes by the name…” Niles paused, shuddering, his tall sinewy frame vibrating, his Dockers tightly accentuating his long muscular legs, both attached to a firm, yet ample and yielding, rear end, before saying “His name is…DARK TAUER !!!”

to be continued