I'll Self Identify as Whatever You Need

...If the price is right

Image by Sabrina Young from Pixabay 

This is: A weekly column consisting of letters to my perspicacious progeny. I write letters to my grandkids and my great-grandkids — the Stickies — to advise them and haunt them after they become grups or I'm deleted.

Warning: This column is rated SSC — Sexy Seasoned Citizens — A Perusal by kids, callowyutes, or grups may result in a debilitating intersectional triggering. Viewing with a tablet or a monitor is highly recommended for maximum enjoyment.

Please Note: If ya click on an Amazon ad, thus opening a portal to Amazon, and buy anything, Lord Jeffrey will toss a few pence in my direction and you won't have to feel guilty about enjoying my work — well, hopefully — for free. Win/Win.  

About 

Glossary 

Erratically Appearing Hallucinatory Guest Star: Dana — A Gentlerreader

"Be yourself; everyone else is already taken." -Oscar Wilde

Dear (eventual) Grandstickies and Great-Grandstickies (and Gentlereaders),

Now that there will soon be a man person sitting behind the Resolute Desk in the Oval Office who has made a career self-identifying as whatever version of a  Depublican was needed to avoid working in the real world for almost fifty years, the thriving diversity industry will continue to do so for at least the next four years. 

I'd like to get a piece of the action. 

[You're assuming the Donald hasn't planted a bomb in that desk.]

Dana, please! Uncle Joe will heal the Republic... and the checks are in the mail. 

I've been thinking about starting a cult for years. There's good money to be made by an imaginative entrepreneur in the pseudo-religion business. However, there are significant downsides.

I assure myself that mine would be a gentle cult and that for a reasonable profit I would provide good, if somewhat vague, guidance to my flock. But then I think of the potential psychological damage that might result to my sheep if I were to be unmasked. 

And what if it turned out I was so good at my job that drop-dead gorgeous women — who under normal circumstances would normally be indifferent to me at best, repulsed at worst — were offering themselves to me on a plate?

Would my ethics triumph over my toxic masculinity?   

I'll wager there's a small but quite active circle of Hell reserved not only for cult leaders that were in it for the money and/or the power but also the ones that succumbed to temptation. A typical testosterone poisoned dude can rationalize almost any behavior.  

As for the crazy ones that actually believe their own shtick... Well, I'm content to leave it to God to sort them out. 

[Ahem. Isn't this supposed to be about you securing a foothold in the diversity industry?]

A valid point, Dana, thanks. I'm just excited. Perhaps I've found a way to relieve the financial pressure that my underfunded retirement is occasionally subject to — while doing as little actual/useful work as possible. 

Robin DiAngelo, "...is an American author, consultant, and facilitator working in the fields of critical discourse analysis and whiteness studies" according to Wikipedia.

"An expert is a B.S. artist at least 50 miles from home." -Edward John Mehlmauer, Jr. (my dad)

Ms. DiAngelo, professional white person, and bestselling author of White Fragility, Why It's So Hard for White People to Talk About Racism, is my hero. 

Last year she was paid $12,000 plus expenses by the University of Kentucky for a two-hour "Racial Justice Keynote and breakout session." 

I would've done it for $3,000/hr. and expenses. That's only fair because I don't have a Ph.D. in multicultural education and I'm not the author of anything remotely resembling her undoubtedly brilliant dissertation, "Whiteness in racial dialog: a discourse analysis." 

She also led a three-day workshop last year wherein four dozen administrators from the University of Connecticut studied anti-racism and picked up a cool 20k. 

 

Not having a Ph.D. in any field, not even an honorary one (although I am an ordained minister of the Universal Life Church) I thought there was no way I might have a chance to do my part to expose the systemic racism that runs amok in our benighted republic. 

BIG BUT...

The nation is hip-deep in Wokies and faux-Wokies.  

The Fedrl Gummit has been handing out grants and student loans like (expensive) candy for decades as globe-straddling corporations were simultaneously shifting manufacturing to all sorts of historically impoverished countries who thought they might enjoy air conditioning, bacon-cheeseburgers, and antibiotics as much as we do.

Traditionally, free-market economic policies have led to larger pies, and larger slices, for everyone. But nowadays no shortage of Deplorables are being served ever-smaller slices.

An ever-increasing bunch of woke college grads with less than world-class educations have taken on whatever work they can get and have declared their solidarity with the multitude of approved victim groups ranked by their alleged level of suffering (no Deplorables need apply).

The aforementioned globe-straddling corporations, instead of trying to figure out a way of balancing the needs of their fellow Citizens of the Republic against the need to turn a fair profit have become faux-Wokies because they're under attack from within and without by vociferous real Wokies. 

Solution? Pretend to be just woke enough to keep the money flowing (while renting Chinese slave labor) without alienating too many normal people and hope the Wokies gradually self-destruct or are marginalized. 

In the meantime, pledge to pursue diversity from the mailroom to the boardroom. 

As I've mentioned before, I occasionally find myself self-identifying as a beautiful African-American lesbian woman named Coco.

[Ooo-kay, I see what you're up to.]

Boards of Directors are notoriously top-heavy with Pasty Patriarchs. 

While I admit that my qualifications are somewhat thin, what I lack in experience is more than made up for by my willingness to say and do as I'm told — if the price is right. 

I'm also flexible. I'm willing to tweak my persona to meet HRs or a Chief Diversity Officers' specifications and dress the part. Hell, I'm willing to be the CDO — if the price is right.   

Any interested party should please contact me at: theflyoverlandcrank@gmail.com. 

Poppa loves you,
Have an OK day

[Hold it right there, Sparky. You have nothing to say about the riot at the Capital in the capital?]

Mercutio's famous line, A plague on both your houses! by which I mean both

Republicrats and Depublicans, springs immediately to mind.

On Wednesday, 1/6/20, Donald J.Trump spent about 75 minutes working a crowd into a lather. At the very end of his speech he said, "So we're (that's we are) going to walk down Pennsylvania Avenue... we're (that's we are) going to the Capital...", 

Followed by, "So let's (that's let us) walk down Pennsylvania Avenue." Followed by a few sentences of thank you, etc. 

He then went to the White House and watched the insanity unfold on TV. I hope he resigns, it's what a gentleperson would do. 

I'll probably have more to say next week. I'm going to wait and see how the left-wing backlash plays out. Facebook and Twitter, for example, are busy canceling conservatives of all stripes even as I write.    

Share this column, give me a thumb (up or in my eye), and/or access older columns below. If my work pleases you you can buy me some cheap coffee with PayPal or plastic.

If you do your Amazon shopping by using one of my Amazon ads as a portal to access Amazon, Lord Jeffrey will toss me a few pence if you buy anything.    

Feel free to comment/like/follow/cancel/troll me on Cranky's Facebook page.

Cranky don't tweet.

The State of the Zeitgeist

May you live in interesting times

                                                 Image by Pierre Blaché from Pixabay 

This is: A weekly column consisting of letters to my perspicacious progeny. I write letters to my grandkids and my great-grandkids — the Stickies — to advise them and haunt them after they become grups or I'm deleted.

Warning: This column is rated SSC — Sexy Seasoned Citizens — A Perusal by kids, callowyutes, or grups may result in a debilitating intersectional triggering. Viewing with a tablet or a monitor is highly recommended for maximum enjoyment.

Please Note: If ya click on an Amazon ad, thus opening a portal to Amazon, and buy anything, Lord Jeffrey will toss a few pence in my direction and you won't have to feel guilty about enjoying my work — well, hopefully — for free. Win/Win.  

About 

Glossary 

Erratically Appearing Hallucinatory Guest Star: Dana — A Gentlerreader

"My conservatism is fairly avant-garde, and it is a kind of rebuke to conformity." - Roger Scruton

Dear (eventual) Grandstickies and Great-Grandstickies (and Gentlereaders),

Once upon a time, there was a (self-styled) columnist who titled some of his columns The State of the Zeitgeist. 

He thought this would be a regular feature, that there would be, eventually, a whole series of columns of the same title helpfully followed by a number that would distinguish one from another. 

He only wrote three of them and at some point declared that the series would now be called May You Live In Interesting Times. He wrote a half dozen or so of those but then apparently had a mild stroke and forgot about the whole concept.

Feeling much better now, and being triggered by the approach of one of the Republic's more absurd traditions, the annual State of the Union Show, my faulty memory was jogged, research ensued, and like the blind man who peed into the wind, it all came back to me.

[A more refined writer would've used spit into the wind.]

Perhaps, Dana, but I'm striving for edgy. Edgy is cool. Edgy is how one goes viral. Edgy is...

[You're not, and never will be edgy. You're just... odd.]

In the land of the contrived controversy, allegedly cutting-edged, and deliberately downright disgusting, an odd, Neoneoconservative is the truly edgy one. 

[I guess that's one way to look at it, but... Hey, you've yet to explain exactly what a Neoneoconservative is, now that you mention it. ]

I'm working on it... Regardless, going forward, I shall combine my State of the Zeitgeist concept with my May You Live In Interesting Times concept.

[On behalf of a grateful world, I thank you. Have you alerted the media?]

Historically speaking, Zeitgeist is a concept that has meant different things to different people. A solid ten minutes of exhaustive research confirmed my notion that it's a word that originally referred to, as Wikipedia puts it, the "...spirit of the age. It refers to an invisible agent or force dominating the characteristics of a given epoch of world history."

Nowadays, it's often used the way I use it, much more narrowly, to describe a fad on steroids/the existential crisis of the moment/...because Trump/etc.  

Ironically, historians of the future may declare that the spirit of the age we're living through was an obsession with the crisis/fad of the moment fueled by the tireless efforts of the Purple Press who regard objectivity and perspective as quaint notions.

Anyways... Since I like the word for its own sake...

[Word lover!]

And since in the course of my exhaustive research I accidentally discovered that in German all nouns are capitalized, a convention I endorse and an obvious sign that God endorses my use of Creative Capitalization.       

[Huh?]      

I'm stickin' with: 

The State of the Zeitgeist

   May you live in interesting times

The upcoming State of the Union show has devolved into a State of the Zeitgeist extravaganza. 

The Constitution says that the president should, "from time to time," provide Congress with info about how things are going and make recommendations as to what sort of "measures" the people that we the people send to the Swamp should take to keep the Republic shipshape. 

Until Woodrow Wilson came along, this was usually accomplished by the Prez sending a written message that was read out loud in Congress. 

Wilson, who ironically regarded the Constitution as an outdated impediment that stood in the way of rule by well-meaning experts leading the Deplorables to the promised land, began the current tradition of addressing Congress in-person to promote his agenda.

...As opposed to Jefferson who thought that a president speechifying to the legislative branch was too much like a given monarch's "speech from the throne."   

Long story short, we now have The State of the Union Show, a carefully staged  "reality" show featuring seemingly endless applause/ignore lines, a handful of guest stars, live coverage chockablock with talking heads, and the anti-speech by the party not in control of the White House. 

[Applause/ignore lines?] 

If you and the Prez are of the same party you're supposed to jump up and applaud at all the scripted moments (I'll bet Nancie Antoinette will be sore for days). If not, you're supposed to sit and look like it's all you can do to keep from walking out.

Virtue signaling by wearing the right color outfit and/or sporting some sort of lapel pin or other forms of virtue advertising is not quite de rigueur but encouraged.

[Wait, why are you picking on Mrs. Pelosi?] 

Mostly because it's so easy. Anyway, now that I'm officially a Neoneoconservative it's almost my duty to pick on rich Progressives. And it's edgy. Mrs. Pelosi's net worth is $100,000,000 more or less.  

Of course, his Royal Orangeness is worth... Well, who knows. But it's a lot, right?

The current state of the State of the Union Show is a snapshot of the current State of the Zeitgeist here in our Republic -- all showbiz, all the time. 

Poppa loves you,

Have an OK day

Share this column, give me a thumb (up or in my eye), and/or access older columns below. If my work pleases you you can buy me some cheap coffee with PayPal or plastic.

If you do your Amazon shopping by using one of my Amazon ads as a portal to access Amazon, Lord Jeffrey will toss me a few pence if you buy anything.    

Feel free to comment/like/follow/cancel/troll me on Cranky's Facebook page.

Cranky don't tweet.  

   

He's Baaack

 A Random Randomensses Column

                                         Image by janeb13 from Pixabay

This is: A weekly column consisting of letters to my perspicacious progeny. I write letters to my grandkids and my great-grandkids — the Stickies — to advise them and haunt them after they become grups or I'm deleted.

Warning: This column is rated SSC — Sexy Seasoned Citizens — A Perusal by kids, callowyutes, or grups may result in a debilitating intersectional triggering. Viewing with a tablet or a monitor is highly recommended for maximum enjoyment.

Please Note: If ya click on an Amazon ad, thus opening a portal to Amazon, and buy anything, Lord Jeffrey will toss a few pence in my direction and you won't have to feel guilty about enjoying my work — well, hopefully — for free. Win/Win.  

About 

Glossary 

Erratically Appearing Hallucinatory Guest Star: Dana — A Gentlerreader

"Money is not the only answer, but it makes a difference." -Barack Obama 

Dear (eventual) Grandstickies and Great-Grandstickies (and Gentlereaders),

I'm a Gerard Baker fanboy. 

[Who?]

Gerard Baker? Former Editor-in-Chief of the Wall Street Journal? Now writes a weekly column for the paper called Free Expression? 

[Oh, right. I guess. Um, why?]

A lengthy quote from a recent column if it pleases the court, or even if it doesn't.

"There’s a larger point here about the rot in America’s institutional leadership that, in part at least, the Trump administration was elected to undo. In its largely celebratory coverage, the press is unwittingly emphasizing what this restoration represents: the triumph of its own class. It is highlighting how completely in lockstep the various elements of the new and old establishments now are: the media and tech platforms, the global corporate bossocracy, the vast, overfed Washington policy crowd, whose different characters pop in and out of government with a change of president without leaving a footprint on the receding sands of American leadership."

My emphasis, and my admiration. 

I'd also like to point out that if one is not familiar with the WSJ the quote above might come as a pleasant(?) surprise. Oh, and "global corporate bossocracy"? Yes, indeed. In an alternate universe, in which I was Mr. Baker's editor, I'd change it to "money-grubbing, faux Wokie, global corporate bossocracy." 

[Hmm. "...if one is not familiar"? I seem to remember you writing somewhere that you don't like using one as a gender-neutral indefinite pronoun...]

Show off. 

[That it sounded too snobby for American English, or words to that effect.]

Well now that the Intersectional Inquisition has ruled that one is supposed to use gender-neutral pronouns if at all possible, and since the words you and your are under house arrest for promoting individualism to the detriment of officially authorized collectives of victims, I'm playing it safe.

You may have noticed I've taken to writing him/her/them or he/she/they for the same reason. 

Psst... You didn't hear it from me, but I've heard that the word one is on double-secret probation till the Intersectional Inquisition decides on an official and acceptable all-purpose pronoun that won't trigger any-one.

Remember secular stagnation?

[No. Seeing as how church attendance appears to keep declining the phrase doesn't even make any sense. We seem to be suffering from religious stagnation, not secular stagnation.]

Your confusion is understandable, my imaginary friend. Secular stagnation is a term used by economists that refers to little or no economic growth. Secular is short for saeculum, which is Latin for long term.

[You One can always count on economists for clarity.]

Anyways, the phrase in question was oft-bandied about during the Obama administration. It referenced the fact that the recovery from the Great Recession was, historically speaking, notoriously tepid and that it remained so for eight years.

Finger-pointing commenced, and continues. 

Interestingly, the Orange One was able to get things fired up simply by lowering taxes and regulations. 

If not for the fact he offended the Gods with his unrestrained hubris — who as usual wildly overreacted and struck down not only the Donald but also many a mere mortal with plague — the Tweeter-in-Chief might still be in charge.

[Oft-bandied? Notoriously tepid? Unrestrained hubris?]

Cool, huh? Well, Uncle Joe is putting the (economic) band back together and the Republic is about to be blessed once again with a group of administrators top-heavy with academic and gummit backgrounds, mostly unsullied by jobs in the real world. 

God bless us. Every-one.  

[Wait a sec', who's back?]

No drama Obama, of course. You should pay more attention. 

He recently released the first book of a two-volume memoir detailing his years in the White House — not to be confused with his memoir about his life prior to politics... or his book The Audacity of Hope, subtitled, The Teachings of St. Barrack. 

[You made that up!]

Just the last part.  

He and the Missus struck a deal for $65,000,000 that included her memoirs, a book released in 2018. 

Cafeteria ladies everywhere briefly basked in her warm glow.  

They needed the dough. Imagine the cost of the upkeep on two homes (imagine the size of his honey-do jar!). There's the modest mansion in D.C ($8,000,000) and a cute little beach house ($12,000,000) in Maatha's Vineyard.

Fortunately, they both also signed a deal to develop projects for Netflix, although its value is classified. Hopefully, if they budget, it'll be enough to get by on. His pension is only $219,000 a year, but it comes with a lot of bennies. 

[And he'll eventually get Social Security, that'll help.] 

Anyway, for some reason, he's been popping up here, there, and even over there. I was worried that the rumors he had contracted Covid-19 and was hanging on by a thread in a secret Bulgarian sanitarium were true. 

[Why on Earth would you think that he...]

I couldn't think of any other reason why he would deny us his wisdom and not barnstorm for Uncle Joe while he was self-quarantining in his basement for the better part of the recent campaign due to his unfortunate co-morbidity (Oldus Dudeous). 

Poppa loves you,
Have an OK day

Share this column, give me a thumb (up or in my eye), and/or access older columns below. If my work pleases you you can buy me some cheap coffee with PayPal or plastic.

If you do your Amazon shopping by using one of my Amazon ads as a portal to access Amazon, Lord Jeffrey will toss me a few pence if you buy anything.    

Feel free to comment/like/follow/cancel/troll me on Cranky's Facebook page.

Cranky don't tweet.   

   

     

Christmas In Flyover Country, 2020

 A Mr. Cranky's neighborhood episode 

                                       Image by Nita Knott at pixy.org 

This is: A weekly column consisting of letters to my perspicacious progeny. I write letters to my grandkids and my great-grandkids — the Stickies — to advise them and haunt them after they become grups or I'm deleted.

Warning: This column is rated SSC — Sexy Seasoned Citizens — A Perusal by kids, callowyutes, or grups may result in a debilitating intersectional triggering. Viewing via tablet/monitor is highly recommended for maximum enjoyment.

Please Note: If ya click on an Amazon ad, thus opening a portal to Amazon, and buy anything, Lord Jeffrey will toss a few pence in my direction and you won't have to feel guilty about enjoying my work — well, hopefully — for free. Win/Win.  

About 

Glossary 

Erratically Appearing Hallucinatory Guest Star: Dana — A Gentlerreader

"Once again, we come to the Holiday Season, a deeply religious time that each of us observes, in his own way, by going to the mall of his choice." -Dave Berry

Dear (eventual) Grandstickies and Great-Grandstickies (and Gentlereaders),

Recently, when I swung open the door of my humble but comfortable chambers seeking relief from a certain telltale pressure men of a certain age are prone to with a frequency unimaginable to their distantly younger selves, I immediately noticed a strong, pleasant, familiar yet momentarily unidentifiable, smell. 

[Huh?]

I had to pee and some of the residents of Casa de Chaos had installed a REAL Christmas tree while I was busy reading, writing, and not doing any arithmetic in my humidity-monitored (I've got a gauge), no bathroom room.

I'm subject to dry skin when one of the oldest, still operating furnaces in Flyoverland is running which leads to excessive scratching and fever dreams if my cheap but effective humidifier isn't running on high.

[Fascinating.]     

We've been living in this large, drafty but mostly comfortable (the landlord doesn't like to fix things unless it becomes unavoidable) house for 13.5 years and have never had a real Christmas tree. 

As to artificial trees, it was discovered that an accidental embarrassment of riches had accumulated in the midst of the piles of kindling stored under the house over the years (our basement) and now the Stickies all have sparsely decorated Christmas trees in their bedrooms.

This serves to remind me that, once again, I've failed to purchase a Festivus Pole, it's probably all for the best. 

The traditional Airing of Grievances and demonstrations of Feats of Strength, while the Wuhan Flu is still ravaging the Republic might not be a good idea. 

I do like that smell though, although it feels like something is missing... and I'm not talking about the Advent calendar, that as usual I also didn't buy, in spite of the fact I loved Advent calendars when I was a kid.

[Do they even still make Advent calendars, grandpa?]

I'm sure they do, they must, right?... Wait a sec', I'll be right back. Unholy cow, how embarrassing. I, an admitted current events junkie, was unaware the making Advent calendars is a veritable industry. 

However, I no longer want one. 

I thought that Alyssa Milano might possibly be the anti-Christ but it turns out that it may be a man/woman/person named Katie Snooks who has apparently made unboxing the latest Love Honey Sex Toy Advent Calendar an annual tradition.  

I went a-googlin' and discovered that the Love Honey people have several competitors so if you're interested you should shop around before making a commitment. I'll be right back, I have to take a shower. 

[Man you're old.]   

I had hoped that there might be more Christmas lights hung in the hood this year for a couple of reasons. Alas, as usual, Christmas lights are few and far between.  

The number of homes that hung orange lights to celebrate Halloween ticked up slightly. A few people had actually started putting up outdoor Christmas decorations and lights prior to Halloween. 

It was probably plague defiance, but still... One house was actually decorated inside and outside by the day after Halloween.

[Have you been peering into windows again?]

That was just a nasty rumor, nothing was ever proven. I refer to the fact there's a fully decorated Christmas tree visible in a picture window.

[Tell us about the lights on display at Casa de Chaos.]

I must confess there aren't any. My daughter and son-in-law are, as usual, working their bums off and understandably lacking in energy and motivation. The firstborn Sticky now lives elsewhere and the rest of the tribe, all things considered, probably shouldn't be trusted on a ladder.  

[Well, what about...]

I'm a poster geezer for arthritis, ain't gonna happen. Did I mention we got a real tree this year? Very cool, but there's something missing... 

I ran into Picasso Man recently. He's still navigating the neighborhood, and our rustic sidewalks (does the phrase Ho Chi Minh trail suggest anything to you?), with a flimsy wheeled walker.

[Ho Chi what?]

Never mind. I complimented him, sincerely, on the full beard he's now sporting. He told me he just hates to shave. I also hate to shave but couldn't grow a respectable beard, or even a mustache, to save my life.

We agreed that Northern winters wouldn't be so bad if they didn't occur every single year. 

Also, that the large, endlessly bark-bark-barking dog that seems to spend most of its time, alone, in a small backyard,

And who was bark-bark-barking the entire time we were talk-talk-talking,

Deserves better masters than the dumpy and depressed looking couple living in the dumpy and depressed looking house with the small backyard. 

[Dogs have masters, cats have staff.]

When I returned home and was greeted by the smell of the real Christmas tree I figured out what was missing, bayberry candles. Does Glade, 99¢ at WallyWorld,  have a bayberry fragrance?

Evergreen and bayberry were what Christmas smelled like when I was a kid. 

Well... except for a couple of years when we had a hideous aluminum Christmas tree that you weren't supposed to hang lights on.

It was lit by a sort of spotlight that featured a spinning, four-color plastic wheel that revolved in front of a 1,000 watt light bulb that filled the house with the smell of plastic just about to melt.  

Poppa loves you,

Have an OK day

Share this column, give me a thumb (up or in my eye), and/or access older columns below. If my work pleases you you can buy me some cheap coffee with PayPal or plastic.

If you do your Amazon shopping by using one of my Amazon ads as a portal to access Amazon, Lord Jeffrey will toss me a few pence if you buy anything.    

Feel free to comment/like/follow/cancel/troll me on Cranky's Facebook page.

Cranky don't tweet.

Amazon

                                   Image by Gerd Altmann from Pixabay 

This is: A weekly column consisting of letters to my perspicacious progeny. I write letters to my grandkids and my great-grandkids — the Stickies — to advise them and haunt them after they become grups or I'm deleted.

Warning: This column is rated SSC — Sexy Seasoned Citizens — A Perusal by kids, callowyutes, or grups may result in a debilitating intersectional triggering. Viewing via tablet/monitor is highly recommended for maximum enjoyment.

Please Note: If ya click on an Amazon ad, thus opening a portal to Amazon, and buy anything, Lord Jeffrey will toss a few pence in my direction and you won't have to feel guilty about enjoying my work — well, hopefully — for free. Win/Win.  

About 

Glossary 

Erratically Appearing Hallucinatory Guest Star: Dana — A Gentlerreader

"I wonder which is more creepy: shopping at Amazon or using Facebook?"

                                                                                       -Harper Reed 

Dear (eventual) Grandstickies and Great-Grandstickies (and Gentlereaders),

[Clearly, this is an issue that needs to be addressed. Our reputation is on the line.]

Oh yeah? And what has led you to that conclusion?  

[All the negative emails and comments we would be getting if we had more readers.]

I'm not sure that makes sense... Regardless, I disagree. Once, inevitably, we have so many readers that I'll need a personal assistant, it won't/wouldn't be a...

In fact, accidentally upsetting my many many readers is the sort of problem I'd like to have.

[You don't think that selling your soul to Lord Jeffrey is a big deal?]

I don't think I sold my soul. I think I'm a cagey but ethical writer and capitalist in search of a fair profit for both me and mine. Permit me to explain. 

This column, what some philistines call a blog, is written and published via some free software called Blogger that is supplied by the Goog. Who enjoys attacking the soulless bas-tarrds that run the Goog — assuming that H. sapiens and not a machine are still in charge — more than I do?

[Bas-tarrds?] 

Pronounce with a French accent, heavily accent the second syllable. Anyways, you have to appreciate the irony involved in attacking the Goog with software supplied by the Goog.

[What's that got to do with Amazon?] 

I could also run the Goog's adverts, they're just as simple to set up. Install a bit of code and the Goog (or Lord Jeffrey) does the rest. This way I get to deny the Goog and myself a bit of revenue. My cup runneth over with smug self-righteousness.

[I repeat, what's that got to do with Amazon? What's that got to do with running Amazon advertisements?]

Having firmly established my ethical bona fides, I shall continue. 

Regardless of whether or not Lord Jeffrey is a modern-day robber baron, as some people believe, not unlike my personal favorite robber baron, Andrew Carnegie, he does a lot of good for a lot of people just by being himself. 

Andrew Carnegie provided thousands of jobs to the people of my hometown, Pittsburgh (with an h), Pennsylvania. More importantly, once he had his FU money he walked away from the game and spent the rest of life giving his money away. 

I know a guy that spent a lot of his childhood reading free books borrowed from his local Carnegie Library and a good deal of his time wandering around the Carnegie Museums of Pittsburgh. Unfortunately, he spent none of his time attending Carnegie Mellon University.          

[Again, what's this got to do with Amazon? Lord Jeffry hasn't retired and isn't giving (much of) his money away.]

As it happens, I know more than one person who happily works for Amazon. I don't know anyone that works for the Goog. Lord Jeffrey has generated a ton of jobs out here in Flyoverland for my fellow Deplorables. 

The Wokies, the Hilliam, the Goog and its minions, Uncle Joe, etcetero? — not so much. 

[Well yeah, but what about the working conditions? Everybody says that...]

Everybody huh? Well, most working stiffs don't enjoy working their ass off, no matter who signs the paychecks. 

However, any working stiff — with minimal skills to bring to the table — that lives in the real world and has real bills to pay and real kids to feed is grateful for steady work at a fair wage determined by the market and not some well-meaning Wokie unaware of the downsides of an economy run by central planners.

Listen, I've got a problem with Lord Jeff, and no shortage of other gazillionaires and their well-compensated minions, who don social justice cloaks while gleefully "disrupting" entire industries for fun and profit.

Is it too much to ask that they devote more of their vaunted energy and brainpower to considering what to do about all the disrupted former employees and disruption destroyed businesses? Not only by them but by the "mostly peaceful protestors" they often support, or have nothing to say about?

The Citizens of the Republic need more than giant container ships stuffed full of stuff made by Emperor Xi's subjects for all of us to survive and thrive. 

That said... 

Given that I crank out one of these at least vaguely clever and amusing little essays weekly and not only don't copyright 'em but encourage the world to pass 'em around and republish them wherever they please, I don't have a problem with pointing out to people that if they do their Amazon shopping by using one of my Amazon ads as a portal to Amazon so they don't have to feel guilty about reading my work for free and not buying me a coffee while simultaneously supporting the small American businesses that operate under the Amazon umbrella as well as the thousands of my fellow Deplorables that work for Amazon — particularly the ones I know personally, some of whom I'm related to, and one of whom resides in my fortified compound, Casa de Chaos.   

Now that's a sentence!

[Hoo-Boy...] 

THIS JUST IN! It was brought to my attention that my Amazon ads were not showing up via whatever medium a particular reader was accessing my column. Lord Jeffry assures me that his minions have made sure they are appearing on both the desktop and mobile editions. You will not see 'em if you subscribed to have them sent to you by email.  

Poppa loves you,
Have an OK day

Share this column, give me a thumb (up or in my eye), and/or access older columns below. If my work pleases you you can buy me some cheap coffee with PayPal or plastic.

If you do your Amazon shopping by using one of my Amazon ads as a portal to access Amazon, Lord Jeffrey will toss me a few pence if you buy anything.    

Feel free to comment/like/follow/cancel/troll me on Cranky's Facebook page.

Cranky don't tweet.     

   

Scott Adams

      This is not Scott Adams at work. Image by Tania Van den Berghen from Pixabay 

This is: A weekly column consisting of letters to my perspicacious progeny. I write letters to my grandkids and my great-grandkids — the Stickies — to advise them and haunt them after they become grups or I'm deleted.

Warning: This column is rated SSC — Sexy Seasoned Citizens — Perusal by kids, callowyutes, and/or grups may result in a debilitating intersectional triggering. Viewing via tablet/monitor is highly recommended for maximum enjoyment.

Please Note: If ya click on an Amazon ad, thus opening a portal to Amazon, and buy anything, Lord Jeffrey will toss a few pence in my direction and you won't have to feel guilty about enjoying my work — well, hopefully — for free. Win/Win.

About 

Glossary 

Erratically Appearing Hallucinatory Guest Star: Dana — A Gentlerreader

"I respectfully decline the invitation to join your hallucination." -Scott Adams

Dear (eventual) Grandstickies and Great-Grandstickies (and Gentlereaders),

The life of Scott Adams the cartoonist, the Dilbert dude, underwent a sea change in 2016 that you might not be aware of. 

Mr. Adam's, fortunately, was already comfortably seated on a relatively modest-sized pile of FU money when his cash flow river was... Well, it wasn't like one of those climate catastrophes you heard about in school wherein some river or other started flowing in the opposite direction.

However, his broad, rapidly flowing river was rapidly reduced to a humble creek when the Twitteratti and the Purple Press came after him with sharpened pitchforks and tiki torches.

In addition to his successful comic strip, Adams made/makes his dough in various ways, such as the sale of (good) books and merchandise. He was a very well-compensated corporate guest speaker. If you're familiar with his comic strip you'll appreciate the heavy-duty irony implicit in the preceding sentence.

Mr. Adams, who's undeniably smarter than the a-ver-age bear, predicted, on his blog, that the Donald would win the presidential election of 2016. That was his story and he stuck to it. Eventually, even the shell-shocked clerisy and pundocracy had to confront the fact most of 'em were wrong. 

Of course, the majority, most of whom never got over the 60s (even if they weren't actually there) immediately began doing what they do. They stepped up to selflessly do everything they could to save the Deplorables from themselves by doubling down on their commitment to turning the USA into a progressive utopia.

"Learn to code, you racist, fentanyl addled Believers and Gun Lovers. We assigned all your carbon generating jobs (and then some) to Chinese slaves. Move on, nothing to see here."

Since the last couple/three paragraphs should actually form the core of a whole other column, I better move on. Sorry, you know how I get. 

Anyways, Mr. Adams went out of his way to point out, repeatedly, that normally he doesn't even vote and that he wasn't endorsing Trump, or working to get him elected.

This didn't stop the Wokies from doing their best to burn him at the virtual stake. Heretics judged guilty by the Intersectional Inquisition must be silenced lest their sins, real or imagined, corrupt (or worse yet, trigger) the souls of the faithful  

Adams is a trained hypnotist and student of how the mind of the average H. sapien actually works as opposed to how he/she/they believe it works, and, how a person armed with this knowledge goes about persuading humans to do anything from buying a given brand of toothpaste to voting for a given politician.

He made it clear that the reason he thought the Donald would win was that he was the most highly-skilled natural-born persuader Adams had ever come across. 

[But he's such a... Well, you recently called Trump a narcissistic a-hole.]

I did indeed, Dana, and I haven't changed my mind. However, to get a handle on what Adams is talking about you need to have read his blog then, and/or watch his video blog on YouTube now, and/or read his books and/or the books of people he recommends.

The art and science of persuasion is a fascinating and complex subject but the point I wish to make with this particular column is twofold. Mr. Adams doesn't need your money and Mr. Adams is genuinely trying to help.

[You sound like a true fanboy.]

Sorta/kinda. However, for the sake of full disclosure, I have to point out that the Dilbert Dude has an exceptionally healthy ego, does tend to ramble in video blog/podcast (Coffee with Scott Adams), and is not as funny as he thinks he is. 

Also, lately, he's become obsessed with politics and his blog has become an extended group chat with his fans and enemies. He speaks, they type, he reacts, he speaks some more, they type some more, he reacts some more...

I miss his written blog wherein he made his points clearly, logically, and succinctly. Nowadays he performs for his "community." According to the experts, I should also build a community to be successful. 

Oh well, ain't gonna happen. The column stands or falls on its own. All power to the introverts! 

"Writers should be read, but neither seen nor heard." -Daphne du Maurier     

 

Mr. Adams still publishes Dilbert seven days a week but nowadays also video blogs seven days a week via Periscope/YouTube. 

[As opposed to an old crank that writes a weekly column?]

Keep it up and I'll start taking my meds again. Poof! you're outta here.

I don't always agree with him. He's become an unrepentant supporter of the Donald; I had to take a shower after I recently voted for the Orange one. But he's never hesitated to criticize Trump and he relentlessly pursues the truth down whatever gopher hole it takes him. 

[Gopher hole?]  

Well, everyone's using the phrase rabbit hole nowadays so I figured that...

Poppa loves you,
Have an OK day

Share this column, give me a thumb (up or in my eye), and/or access older columns below. If my work pleases you you can buy me some cheap coffee with PayPal or plastic.

If you do your Amazon shopping by using one of my Amazon ads as a portal to access Amazon, Lord Jeffrey will toss me a few pence if you buy anything.    

Feel free to comment/like/follow/cancel/troll me on Cranky's Facebook page.

Cranky don't tweet.