The following was inspired by this post.
While I was growing up--and there's a strong case to be made that I haven't yet grown up at all--I lived about half a block away from a butcher shop. It was a sagging brick building, with very few windows and a circular asphalt driveway that I loved to go around and around on with my bicycle.
My parents referred to the shop as the "Meat Locker," and it was a place where, for a time, some of the best bratwursts on the face of the planet were produced.
The Meat Locker held a great deal of fascination for me during my formative years. Occasionally, the smell of assorted meats being smoked would waft along on the wind to our yard, and set my mouth to drooling. Other times, I'd watch as a big truck would pull up to the building and begin emptying large drums of animal entrails, presumably to become Alpo and Science Diet sometime in the near future.
Adding to the fascination, the Meat Locker was located about 30 yards from a sinkhole, a geologic depression that for years local inhabitants illegally used to dispose of any number of household items. Naturally, a dangerous dumping ground like that enticed curious youngsters from blocks around.
Well, one day, I was playing around the sinkhole with my neighbor friend, Benji. We were throwing rocks at a dead cat floating in the sinkhole when we became aware of a bleating noise coming from the Meat Locker. Curious, we approached the building's livestock pen, where we discovered an adult and a baby goat.
For about an hour, Benji and I petted the goats and fed them grass we plucked from around the sinkhole. We even liked to think we had taught them the trick of standing upright when they leaned against the gate with their hooves while we fed them. Yes sir, we were little animal tamers.
About the time Benji and I were about to name our new goat friends, a door opened towards the back of the pen, and a man in a blood-stained apron entered and herded the elder goat into the building. The door closed, and about a minute or so later a lightly-muffled gunshot-like report reverberated off the walls.
It was one of those moments in life where you're absolutely certain you're learning some sort of important lesson, but darn it if you can't quite figure out what it is. As we stood there, Benji and I, with tufts of grass clenched in our little hands, while the baby goat bleated frantically and lonely in front of us, I was fairly certain there was a lesson about life and death unfolding right there, and I was trying my very best to sort it all out.
Just when I was about to settle on the life lesson of "In Life There Is Loss," the blood-stained apron guy came back into the pen and herded the baby goat into the building. A moment later, the same gunshot-like report pierced the air.
And then it was all quiet. Utterly, painfully, eerily quiet.
Benji and I returned to the sinkhole, where we played for awhile longer before heading home, and all the while I played the goat incident over and over in my head, trying to figure out some sort of life lesson. Finally, that evening, it dawned on me:
"Man, it sucks to be a goat."
Right now, I'm reading "Under The Banner of Heaven," by Jon Krakauer. It's a real-life crime novel that explores the 1984 Lafferty murders but, more generally, it sheds light on the disgusting practices of fundamentalist Mormon polygamists. Seriously, these people are sick and twisted. Their stunning abuses of women, children and welfare system is enough to make me scream.
Ahhhhh, fundamentalist religious belief. It can lead to the bombing of a church full of blacks by the KKK. It can lead to pedophiles raping 12 year old girls in the name of God. And, oh yeah, it can lead to a string of bombings in the U.K., killing 40+ people.
I'm not an atheist or agnostic. If anything, I tend to believe in my own personal variation of what God may be. You can call it "God Lite," I guess. One-sixth the sin of those established religions! But, man, the day I think I hear a voice in my head telling me to do God's work is the day I put a gun to my head and pull the trigger, so I can speak to God directly, cutting out that annoying middleman in my head.
Anyway, I'm enjoying the book, even though it makes me think along lines such as those expounded upon in the preceding paragraph.
You ever feel as if your job is conspiring to slowly kill you?
You ever come into work one day, look at your list of responsibilities, realize you're almost hopelessly behind on every one of them, and then further realize that the only way you could have hoped to have been caught up on everything would have required 14+ workdays, taking work home, foresaking every semblance of a personal life, and basically sacrificing yourself on the alter of unrealistic increased productivity?
And then you think to yourself: "Self, why are you doing this to yourself? Look around for other work, self. Comb through the want ads, peruse Monster.com, look everywhere!"
And then do you find yourself responding to yourself by saying: "Look, self, the number of job offerings in my field in this particular geography are rather limited, and I do apply for every opportunity that presents itself. Thing is, I have a house payment to think about, and food to think about, so I can't just throw caution to the wind and walk out the work door in the foolish hope that a job will just land at my feet, so I'm kind of stuck here until something comes along."
And then my self says: "So, you're kind of a slave."
And I respond to self: "Well, I'm getting paid."
And self says: "Okay, you're a paid slave. Good luck with that."
Why, yes, my week is going terribly. Why do you ask?
I'm going to quickly fisk a spam I just received, because I can, and because Fisking Spam would be a great name for a rock band.
Dear sir/ma.
So, it's either addressed to the sirs of this world, or his mother.
stevekabwe121@netscape.net
I wish the best in life for you and your family, and I hope you will receive this mail in good spirit and respond quickly with ultmost secrecy and confidentiality.
I'm all about secrecy and confidentiality, so I'll only post this spam on my blog once. That's it. I promise.
I got your address through my professional relationship in discharging my duties for my government.
Cool.
My name is COL. Steve john Kabwe and I was the chief of security and operations for former president (sani abacha of nigeria).
A Nigerian named Steve?
Please protect this mail for the safety of my life and that of my family to avoid us being ortured or killed by his left behind secret agents.
Consider your e-mail protected! Except for it appearing on my blog, I mean. Sorry about that. Left behind secret agents? But. . . but. . . what about Nigeria's famous "No Agent Left Behind" initiative? What happened to that?
Please i humbly beg you from the bottom of my heart to listen very carefully, the situation in my country is very critical and chaos, uproar and hostilities had brought the country to its knees and from intelligent report the center cannot hold anymore for former president sani abacha and his government.
The situation is so dire, in fact, that rambling, incoherent, run-on sentences have become rampant! That settles it, I must assist Col. Steve John Kabwe with whatever it is he requires of me!
The intense pressure from united states, united nations, international community and west African peace keeping to [Ecomog] had made him [fomer president sani abacha] before he died as gone on exile and also pressure to face war crime charges against humanity.
Wow. Abacha's not just facing war crime charges, he's facing war crime charges against HUMANITY! They dropped the charges of war crimes against bovines and war crimes against simians, apparently. As an aside, Ecomog sounds like some sort of organic-grown coffee. Enjoy a hot cup of Ecomog today. Mmmm, mmmm. . . Ecomog.
Listen very carefully, you know my country nigeria is very rich with crude oil, and with my position as former chief of security and operations I have accumulated so much crude oil which I had sold to generate close to $32 Million over the years and it is this fund that I want to move to you for safe keeping.
It's a good thing he managed to sell that crude oil, because all those horded barrels made it impossible to park his car in the garage. Also, notice that he apparently accumulated all that oil thanks to his position as FORMER chief of security and operations.
The fund are in boxes in dollar denomination and it would be sent you through diplomatic courier service with your name as the beneficiary within few days. Please would you do me a favour to receive this fund for me? Else the government in power will seize the fund and plunder it.
Dude, you have $32 million in DOLLAR denominations? WTF? Ever heard of a $100 bill? I love the polite language in the second sentence: Please would you do me a favour. Well, since he said "please," I guess I feel obligated.
If you are capable and know that you will truly and honestly help me, write me now, time is no more on my side. I will give you 30% of the fund and I will come to your country to take my part. Extend a friendly hand and help me.
I don't know, man, all those boxes of $1 bills might raise a few eyebrows around the neighborhood. Wait, I'll just say they're full of grass clippings. Yeah, that's the ticket.
Please bear in mind that this fund is not a looted or stolen money but rather a hard earned money generated.
Yeah, that he earned through embezzlement, if I read him correctly above, but maybe that's considered okay in Nigeria. I'm not familiar with Nigerian culture, so I don't know for certain.
Pls if you are willing to help kindly forward to me your personal detail to enable me reach you this includes.
1. Your full names
Ryan Carroll (shut up) Rhodes. Come to think of it, I don't have any other full names other than that, although I used to pretend my name was Zakron StarThruster, of the planet "Groktavia," but that was more of a childhood thing. Okay, that last part I made up completely, because I wanted to take your mind off my middle name.
2. Your residential address
Yeeeaaaahhhh, I don't think so. I hardly know you, Steve. $32 million in $1 bills is a lot of money and all that, but I think I'll hold on to my small scrap of my anonymity for now.
3. Your occupation
Managing Editor, IBM eServer Magazine - zSeries Edition
4. Premable about yourself (marital status)
Steve, Steve, Steve. You're going about this all wrong. Try eHarmony.com.
5. your phone number and fax number
Again, Steve, I have to decline.
I urgently await your reply via my this address:
stevekabwe121@netscape.net
Yours Sincerly,
Col. Steve Kabwe
Good luck to you, Col. Steve. Good luck to you.
Dark Knight. Heath Ledger. Batman. The Joker. Dark Knight. Heath Ledger. Batman. The Joker. Dark Knight. Heath Ledger. Batman. The Joker.
