(I posted this on Steemit last week and just got the payout, so figured I’d put it up here. I shouldn’t have to warn you, but it’s pretty lewd.)
So we know that God has a plan for us all, but does anyone know what it is?
I might have a little insight here.
I figured this out while I was reminiscing about my short time in Amway. I remembered their old mantra that you would hear and say every time you or someone else was showing “The Plan”
Me – You – Six – Four – Two, Me – You – Six – Four – Two, Me – You – Six – Four – Two
So basically what you have to do is show the plan to six or seven hundred of your once closest friends and hope that six of them join up under you and stay in long enough to sign four of their friends up. You would hope that this was it, but those four have to each sign two more people up so that it looks something like this.
(Sure, it’s all legal, but so is dumping small amounts of chemicals in our rivers and lakes.)
Now everyone, except other Amway people, either hate your guts or pity you because you lost your fucking mind and joined Amway. Either way, you have to do this if you want to have a passive income. You have to work really hard for a while, then you just rest on your laurels while the money trickles in.
Sounds easy, right?
God thought it was.
Originally he was hanging out with his buddy, smoking weed and they were trying to figure out how they could have wealth without doing much work.
His buddy tells him to create a sim world with the 3D printer and spawn a couple of people to start a population, so he does. They figure the people will be so happy to be alive on this new world that they will surely offer some of what they have, and will pass it on to their kids, who will pass it on to their kids and so on, and so on.
But they don’t and shit goes a bit wonky for a while.
Then Abraham and Lot came along, and God recruited those simpletons.
And God saw that it was good.
He could tell that they would believe anything he told him, so he would whisper things to them. Usually, it was things that would get a population going and get some money flowing in, but sometimes he was an idiot.
Like the time he came home and smoked some fucking opium in his room and then saw Lot’s daughters looking all sultry and bored. The fucking guy yells, “You sluts should get your pops drunk and bang his old ass.”
(Yayyyy, Daddy’s home!)
Sometimes he’d come home fucked up on acid and get intensly weird. He told Abraham to kill his kid a few times when he was being a whiny bitch.
One time Abe almost did it, but God saw that he was serious and stopped him.
Phew! Dead babies aren’t going to be bringing folks to the light anytime soon.
Abe and Lot didn’t bring much to the fold, but after a bit of begatting, along came Moses. He was one handsome bastard, let me tell you, and smooth as fuck.
God could see that this hustlin’ cocksucker was going to get him paid, so he laid out a few guidelines, threw some thunder, clouds and fire pillars around and let him have his head. Fucking Moses made up the rest on his feet.
In no time, he was raking it in. Gold, brass, carbuncles; and he was burning up all kinds of critters. God sure did love the smell of burning flesh. It reminded him of when his grandfather used to debeak the chickens on the farm. You know, before the bank took it away.
Well, before you could say Stompin’ Tom Connors, the whole middle east was loaded with Jews, and they were all giving ten percent of their shit to Moses’ downline. Sure, everyone got a cut on the way up, but God was still making two points on everything coming through Moses and a few stragglers on Lot’s side.
And God saw that it was fucking great.
He could sit around and do fuck all now. He bought the Magnum Ferrari, a fucking nice Cessna, and most of Gary, Indiana. He even bought the mortgage on his parent’s house, booted them out and burned it down. That’ll teach those uppity cunts to call him lazy.
Keep spreading the good word, you crazy fuckers.
(How I picture a weekend in Youngstown)
Actually, it was Hubbard, but who ever heard of Hubbard, Ohio, except people from near Hubbard, Ohio.
Anyhow, it didn’t have anything to do with the town, as a long-haul trucker I didn’t get paid if the wheels aren’t turning. Also, there was the newly acquired head wound that I needed to get stitched up, but as any Canadian can tell you, you don’t go to a hospital in the US if you don’t have health insurance.
So my dilemma was that I had to get the load secured and back to Canada, where I wouldn’t have to pay to go to emergency. I figured that St. Catherines would be easier to get to with the truck than Niagara Falls, so this was my plan.
The warehouse guy came out and helped me chain down the rest of the load and I whipped over to the truck stop to weigh my axles.
They were out by a bit.
So I had to go back and get the load shifted ahead. By the time I got back to the truck stop, it was late afternoon and my head was pounding pretty bad. I also had to change my dressing and I was feeling really tired, so I thought I might grab a nap before heading north.
(I thought they just left their dead and wounded.)
I should back up a bit and mention that throughout this time I was in contact with my boss who was urging me to go to the hospital and use his credit card. While I was screwing around he sent another driver that was passing through near me to stop in and see how bad I was.
He showed up in the truck stop washroom while I was trying to change my bandages.
(It wasn’t this bloody, but close)
He said that Rudy was worried about me and asked if I needed help with the dressing. I said that I would really appreciate that as it is hard to work in the mirror.
He said that Rudy thought he could take me to the hospital and that he understood why after seeing my head. I guess the flap had crusted up pretty badly. He had the credit card and had already unhooked his trailer, so off we went to the hospital.
(It wasn’t quite this dramatic.)
When we got there we had to cross a picket line because the hospital was on strike. I wasn’t too worried about it until I saw the sign that said something about scab labor and my wound festering or something like that. Thanks, that’s fucking helpful.
When we got inside there was a lady doing the admitting, a pretty nurse, and a doctor from England. I guess they were the scabs. Oh well, lucky for me they were there.
(I sure do love pixabay.com)
When the doctor saw me, he was a little perturbed that I had waited ten hours to come in. I guess there was a bit of rust or dirt still in there and he had to cut away some of the edges that were no good, but he got it stitched up. While he was stitching me up he asked where I was from.
I told him and he stopped what he was doing and asked me what the hell was with people in Canada. I said I didn’t know what he meant and he explained that since he had been there he had met three Canadians before me. One was the nurse, one was an elderly man that had been in a car accident and broke his leg and just wanted a splint put on it. Then there was a teenaged boy that was in a hockey tournament that had his eye socket fractured in the game that just wanted to get back to the arena for the last game. He said, “What do you guys think, you’re made of steel or something?”
(Come on, these pictures are cute.)
I said, “No, what we’re not made of is money, and if we can make it four more hours we won’t be spending thousands of dollars here.”
He said that he thought I did this at work and when I replied that I had, he told me that it was all covered by worker’s compensation. I asked how much it would have cost and he figured about US$1200. Just to keep this face pretty.
(Like how I used red to give it that real wound look?)
All in all, it was an above average run. Oddly not the worst one I had ever been on, but definitely not the best. The way I look at it is that I saved the company $1200 by getting hurt on the job and I didn’t even get a raise.
P.S. While I was looking around I found this at http://fox8.com/2017/07/29/hubbard-ohio-factory-owner-says-she-has-jobs-but-few-sober-applicants/
If he’s going to MAGA, he should get the fuck to work.
(This was previously posted on Steemit, but I figured I could start posting things from there on here. I own it, right?)
(I don’t know where she plans on injecting that love.)
I had to spend eight hours in a fucking first aid course today. It was torturous. This is the ninth time I’ve taken level one first aid and that makes me sad, but you need to have it if you want to work. As far as first aid courses go, this one wasn’t too bad, and I met a cool, old feller in there and he only lives a few minutes from me, so hopefully I get a chance to hang out with him sometime. He’s over 70 and still working full-time, but thinks he might retire and work closer to home. I didn’t have the heart to tell him it’s not called retiring when you just switch employers.
While I was on https://pixabay.com/ looking for free first aid photos, I noticed some that seemed oddly out of place or just funny. Like this one and basically the rest of the ones I will post here.
(I wonder if this one shows up under WWE as well.)
Back to the story.
When the instructor told us about how you were supposed to act in a calm, reassuring manner when someone comes to you with a first aid emergency, I was reminded of a story from when I was in/near Youngstown Ohio in the late 90s.
You see, I was a long-haul trucker and was sent to this steel mill to pick up these huge rings that were going to some sort of wood product mill in Quebec to replace some roller type thing. They loaded them on me and I had to chain it down and go to a nearby truck stop to make sure the load was positioned properly, weight-wise.
I had a snipe that was bent a bit and I was having a hard time getting the boomer(bear trap) to snap, so I got the bent snipe out and did something I knew better than to do, but it was Friday and if I didn’t get the load weighed and positioned properly I would be sitting there until Monday.
For those of you that don’t know what I’m talking about with the securement, watch this video for the first couple of minutes. A snipe is a cheater bar and the thing he’s putting it on is a bear trap/boomer/binder.
When I decided to get on top of the snipe and put my entire weight on it, it spun and snapped back into my face.
( I knew Miss Piggy was going snap one day.)
When I woke up, I was laying on the concrete floor of the warehouse beside my glasses and ball cap with the newly dented peak.
I scrambled to get up and when I bent over to pick up my stuff, blood started
drippingpouring out onto the floor. I took notice and, with my body hunched a bit to keep from bleeding on myself, slowly made my way towards the part of the building that people were in.
When I got a bit closer to the main door, an employee saw me and started walking towards me. I asked him where the first aid was and he said he was a first aider and started stepping up his pace. I lifted my head up and when he looked at my head he got this freaked out look on his face and he started to turn away while yelling something like, but not limited to, “Oh my God, holy fuck. Your fucking head, man. Oh shit. Fuck.”
(This must be the Playboy mansion first aid attendant)
And then he was gone
Now I was getting scared. I picked up my pace and started to worry about when my adrenaline ran out and I succumbed to my severe head trauma. Very soon a heavier set man was running toward me and pulling on some rubber gloves. The shithead first aider was in tow with a first aid bag in his hands.
I started screaming as soon as I saw the gloves. It went something like this: “I’M AFRAID TO TOUCH MY HEAD! PLEASE HELP ME. I THINK MY BRAINS ARE COMING OUT OF MY SKULL.”
(Doubles as an ice dance pic as well.)
He was trying to get me into a chair against a wall full of papers tacked to corkboard, but I wanted nothing to do with slowing down. I knew that was when you were fucked. The way buddy screamed and ran away from me told me that I was running on nothing but instinct and luck. If I stopped, I would bleed out and slowly fade away. Or something like that. I was in fucking shock, how do I know what things mean?
He said that he was a first aid attendant and he needed me to calm down, but his tweaker looking sidekick was just staring at me with this horrified look and cringing, so I did what any person would do.
I looked him right in the eye and yelled in my deepest, gravelly baritone voice, “IS MY BRAIN SHOWING?”
(That’s what happens when you flip my Nana the bird.)
He said he couldn’t see it, but he would like to have a better look, so I sat down and he used his flashlight to look around. He said it looked like my skull had a fracture, but there was no brain showing.
While he was explaining things to me, I looked right at the other first aider and started yelling something about him being the worst medical person in the world and saying that if my head wasn’t split open I would beat him until he shit himself. He started to cry and then I stopped to collect myself and apologize, but he took off. Now the real first aid guy was looking at me disapprovingly and I apologized and told him what happened as he walked me to the first aid room to wash my wound out.
(How would this even happen?)
I told him to relay my sorrow to the other guy, but to understand that he is not someone who should be in that role. He agreed and started to call an ambulance, but I stopped him in his tracks. I explained that I needed to get my load secured and weighed before I did anything, so he handed me some waivers to sign, bandaged the flap of skin up off of my right eyebrow, and gave me a bag full of gauze pads and tape.
I was free!
There is a whole nother part of this, but I’m tired. I’ll get it up here soon.