The tradition continues

'Twas the night before Christmas, and all ‘round the ‘tute
The dimwits were sleeping, the sight is not cute.
The restraints were hung by the chimney with care,
It’s for their own safety and general welfare;

The misfits were locked in their dormitory with beds,
They’re really no more than slow-thinking pinheads;
And Mrs Kfred in her 'kerchief, and I in my cap,
Had just settled down for a long winter's nap,
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.

I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick.
He’d be the one to visit our mentally sick.
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called the dimwits by name;
"Now, Freako! now, Gummo! and Dickie the Peap!
Wake up you slow whacko’s; you need no more sleep!

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof,
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
He knew of these idiots I suffer each day,
He couldn’t believe I had chosen to stay.

As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound.
He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot;
Some brand new straightjackets he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack.
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
Replacing old tethers with an all knowing smirk,
He knew the great burden I constantly bear,
Sometimes I think, "I’m in a giant daycare,"

"Now Kfred," he boomed, “Don’t Worry, Don’t fuss,
All people have seen them aboard the short bus,
Most readers know they are all mental midgets,
Their collective IQ is but one single digit”,

And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose;
He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.

But I heard him exclaim, 'ere he drove out of sight,
“I’m glad I’m not you:  None of those idiots seem right!”

(with profuse apologies to Clement Clarke Moore)

"And with no time left on the clock, our final score will be: Good Guys 1, Idiot Developer 0"

Oh, it's done alright.  Finished.  Finito.  Game Over. You lose.  What a great Christmas present.

I and my  fellow plaintiffs received word yesterday that the State Court of Appeals had released their decision:  The decision of judgment in our favor in Superior Court against the idiot developer of the ongoing lawsuit has been affirmed!  We win!  After a small victory earlier, I had developed an attitude that, though I was always confident we would prevail, the justice system is certainly slow in how it goes about affirming so.  

Now, Mr. Bright Guy has always told anyone that would listen to him that he was right and that he would prevail on all counts.  The COA obviously didn't agree and ripped apart his case by including a description of his arguments as "nonsensical" and referring to the CCR's as "certainly... not a model of clarity".  I guess this would best be described as "overplaying one's hand".  

Now, I and my fellow plaintiffs are revved up.  The bastard still owes us over $75K.  And, of course, it will be a fight to get it which will only benefit Shifty, our lawyer.  At this point, however, I don't really care.  The money has been long gone and forgotten.  I am still surviving and I know I won't get all of our money back, but, we certainly are going to get some of it.  And it feels good. Really good.  

   

Have you ever felt like you have been somewhere before?

Interestingly, my previous post detailing the wayward travels of the little miser in search of cheap liquor drew nary a protest or whimper. Technology has indicated  that due to the viewing/stalking habits of Whisky Magellan, he has not visited here, yet.  As a result, I make this one prediction with 100% certainty: he will protest, vehemently, my description of his route and purpose and, of course, attempt to cast me in some type of unfavorable light. The guarantee can be assured by the time/date stamp attached to his comment.  Wait for it, it's coming.  That, our dear 2 loyal readers, can be taken  to the bank.

Yesterday, I worked with my supervisor in Dilbertland and had a great day. My direct supervisor is not only my boss, he is my friend, mentor, pal, and all-around-good guy. It's rare to work for a boss that you really like as a person. Oh sure, we have all had bosses that we "get along" with, but, this guy is different. He is supportive, helpful, and yet, no pushover. When I screw-up, he points out my error, suggests how I can do something differently, and makes it a teachable moment. When I want to bitch and whine, he listens, consoles, give me the company line first, then usually agrees with me that, "yeah, I don't agree with it either, but, this is how you can do it and still make everyone happy". I like that. No job is perfect, but you have got to like what you do; I like what I do. And it is a lot easier when you work for someone with whom you implicitly trust.  He did commit one act yesterday that I found a bit odd, however.  We took a client to lunch and had a great meeting.  Business is good, the client is happy, the possibility for more business is wide open, and the future is very bright.  All good things.  At the end of lunch, the bill was set on the table by the waitress and she breezed off.  Normal company policy is that the "senior" level person buys lunch, but the conversation continued and he wasn't reaching for the tab. Realizing that we had to leave for our next afternoon appointment, I pulled out my card, had it processed by the waitress, bid the client to have a Happy Holiday, and were out of there. As we got in the car, he said, "Did you notice how I had a case of short- arms there?   My expenses are over this month and I still have 2 weeks to finish".  I told him that was fine, I understood and had no qualms about paying as he approves my expenses anyway, plus, I get airline miles along the way.   "Hey, before we make the next stop", he asks, "is there a state liquor store around here?  I like this particular tequila and I can save .90  a bottle here versus the state I live in.  I have checked all of the states I have visited this month and, so far, it's cheapest here. "

I already have an order in for an updated satellite image.

You have got to give me Something

Through the marvels of technology, my recent hiatus from the nonsense, stupidity, and outright lunacy mentioned and displayed here on a semi-regular basis was exposed yesterday, when I received a text (YES, TEXT!) message from Giacommo, my former assistant and Trustee here at FTI exhorting me to at least contribute something/anything as he was losing his bearings in life and needed some guidance.  Yes, it is a heavy burden I shoulder, but I am wiling to do so in order to further the young lad's career.  Due to time constraints today, I am only able to share a limited sampling:

• The accompanying photo is an actual satellite image  of the path of one, D. the Peap, as he continues his quest in order to find the cheapest liquor in the Western United States.  Irish Whiskey for $42 a bottle in Minnesota?  I'll take 2.  Hold it, what?  I can get the same thing for $39.99 in Nevada.  How many hours does it take to get there?  A demo special in North Dakota?  Mrs. P, saddle up.  We're headed for Fargo.  

  

  path of attempted and complete liquor purchases by D., the Peap

  EDITOR"S NOTE:  in the interests of complete disclosure, I did request the short-armed one to pick me up a bottle of Gran Marnier should he find one at a competitive price, but alas, I know I am going to pay through the ass for it once he arrives back home.  

I will have an updated subject list in the coming days, but there it is.  Even when the chronicling is missing, the result is the same.