Joining the Proletariat
Hail, Comrades!
As our glorious leader has commanded (in this case our glorious leader being the IRS) I have taken gainful employment in the socially useful task of house painting! In addition to long hours in the sun ensuring protected shelter for the masses, I have achieved a great opportunity to spy and sabotage on those capitalist pigs who root amongst us! That, and I'm getting paid an unholy amount of money! er...
Right, enough revolutionary rhetoric. There's too much enthusiasm in communist writing styles, showing up mostly in politically correct exclamation points. "The Five Year Plan is Brilliant!" "The Germans are Burning Leningrad!" Actually, that last one might have been terror. It's hard to tell. The emotional range of the exclamation point is suprisingly vague. One of my favorite stories about World War II is during the seige of Leningrad, Stalin apparently went on a three day vodka bender and was found wondering the walls, muttering, "We've lost all Lenin gave us." This is almost as funny as when the Chinese asked Stalin if he would mind their interfering in Korea, and he said, "Don't come crying to me if the Americans kick you in the teeth." Ahh, dictators. Great folksy people. Although Mao is a pretty decent poet. Not the little red book mind you, although parts of that have a lot of punch. You know, the parts that send you to "re-education camps". I have a sneaking suspicion that's more like fat camp than any of us wants to know.
Wow, that was a digression. I'm all over the place tonight. The purpose of this blog is to announce that, somewhat foolishly, my boss has made me a manager. From what I can tell, this means more work and more pay, plus the hatred of my crew, if I do it the right way. Little does he know of my proletarian sympathies. I should have the place unionized by fall. I'm pulling a Hoffa, except the part where I get shot by my associates and buried under a stadium. No, actually, he's a good guy, just a little misguided about my abilities to run a successful painting crew.
I'm not sure what I'm going to do now that I have to actually work for a living. I have to adjust from my normal schedule of pretending to work for 8 hours a day and then cramming something productive into a half hour. I think my internet chess games might suffer, and I just got good.
Sigh. Necessity is enforcing me to honest labor.
I don't mind, actually, at all. It is finally warming up here, and today was gorgeous. The sky was blue, the air was warm, and the breeze was cool. There's little better up on a ladder than a gentle, cool breeze, a pleasure heightened by the fact that you could die at any moment by sneezing too hard. Oh yes, it has been done.
That's all, faithful readers. Pray for us sinners now and at our deaths.
Peace.
As our glorious leader has commanded (in this case our glorious leader being the IRS) I have taken gainful employment in the socially useful task of house painting! In addition to long hours in the sun ensuring protected shelter for the masses, I have achieved a great opportunity to spy and sabotage on those capitalist pigs who root amongst us! That, and I'm getting paid an unholy amount of money! er...
Right, enough revolutionary rhetoric. There's too much enthusiasm in communist writing styles, showing up mostly in politically correct exclamation points. "The Five Year Plan is Brilliant!" "The Germans are Burning Leningrad!" Actually, that last one might have been terror. It's hard to tell. The emotional range of the exclamation point is suprisingly vague. One of my favorite stories about World War II is during the seige of Leningrad, Stalin apparently went on a three day vodka bender and was found wondering the walls, muttering, "We've lost all Lenin gave us." This is almost as funny as when the Chinese asked Stalin if he would mind their interfering in Korea, and he said, "Don't come crying to me if the Americans kick you in the teeth." Ahh, dictators. Great folksy people. Although Mao is a pretty decent poet. Not the little red book mind you, although parts of that have a lot of punch. You know, the parts that send you to "re-education camps". I have a sneaking suspicion that's more like fat camp than any of us wants to know.
Wow, that was a digression. I'm all over the place tonight. The purpose of this blog is to announce that, somewhat foolishly, my boss has made me a manager. From what I can tell, this means more work and more pay, plus the hatred of my crew, if I do it the right way. Little does he know of my proletarian sympathies. I should have the place unionized by fall. I'm pulling a Hoffa, except the part where I get shot by my associates and buried under a stadium. No, actually, he's a good guy, just a little misguided about my abilities to run a successful painting crew.
I'm not sure what I'm going to do now that I have to actually work for a living. I have to adjust from my normal schedule of pretending to work for 8 hours a day and then cramming something productive into a half hour. I think my internet chess games might suffer, and I just got good.
Sigh. Necessity is enforcing me to honest labor.
I don't mind, actually, at all. It is finally warming up here, and today was gorgeous. The sky was blue, the air was warm, and the breeze was cool. There's little better up on a ladder than a gentle, cool breeze, a pleasure heightened by the fact that you could die at any moment by sneezing too hard. Oh yes, it has been done.
That's all, faithful readers. Pray for us sinners now and at our deaths.
Peace.
posted by Brian Wilkins at 8:51 PM
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