Government Investigations

Government investigations are constantly going on, which sounds good, until you realize they don't do a damned thing, except investigate and piss off money. I have a solution:

Don't investigate anything. If a politician, or bureaucrat needs investigating, just place a few hundred certified taxpayers along the reflecting pond at the Washington monument, give them each a baseball bat and allow them to let their conscience be their guide when the suspected party is forced to walk by everyone with a bat. I have a feeling many problems will end overnight.

Pondering

Today was one of those days of pondering. I pondered about the job, my life, the weather, my new legal obligations, family, friends, food, scotch and just about anything that crossed my mind. In spite of my thorough examination of various subjects, the point I've reached is where I am right now. Nothing really important to write about and a dull, numb brain that was baked on low, until tender.

Speaking of food, I think I'll go heat up some leftover pork chops and open a can of Trappey's Navy beans. Nothing can go wrong with either and the onions I'll add to the beans will make them even better.

While We're On the Subject

We weren't, but it will drag you into reading further.

I'd say a tremendous percentage of my adult personal time was spent in a port-a-can. Not that I enjoy such things, but in the construction field, it's what's available and much better than wandering off into the woods. They're hot in the summer, cold in the winter, terrible to use if they're not cleaned regularly and usually have graffiti.

The graffiti is usually crude, but if the port-a-can is around electricians, the graffiti is clever. My favorite probably was written by an electrician:

"Kirk to Spock. No sign of intelligent life. Kirk out."

I bet you're wondering what brought on these thoughts. I have no idea, but I need to end this post with at least one story:

Years ago, we were working on widening a section of the interstate. We had a temporary field office and a port-a-can. The can was for all the workers, so I bumped the service to twice a week.

One morning, I went into the can right before I opened the field office. Sometime late the evening before, it was serviced and was now spotless. I thought to myself: "That's good. If I get an urge, the can will be clean."

After I shook out the crews, made my rounds and had another cup of coffee, the urge hit. Not just a little urge; an urge that demanded my immediate response.

I pulled up next to the port-a-can, opened the door and was amazed at what I found: Somebody must have exploded. There was crap everywhere. It was on the seat, the floor and up to eye level on the walls. Not only was it a terrible sight to behold, the stench was overwhelming.

I made a mad dash to my truck and managed to make it to a McDonald's before I too exploded.

I called the port-a-can company and asked for it to be cleaned as soon as possible. The young lady that I was speaking to remarked: "We just cleaned it."

I replied: "I think somebody had to have exploded."  and described what I observed.

A long pause followed. She eventually told me she would send out someone immediately.

So, I've finally managed to tell a story about a port-a-can. Is this important? No, but I did get your attention.

Aren't They Special?

Congressional staffers, with the waive of the magic wand of the Office of Personnel Management, will get special healthcare in violation of the law passed by Congress.

Like hell. If so, they don't need to wander away from the bastion of Washington, the District of Corruption. Most taxpayers won't be nice. I'm thinking I'll spit on the first one brave  stupid enough to proclaim they're part of the deliberate effort to piss on those that pay their salary.

Heat Index

The temperature today was 93 and the heat index was 105. Translated to the real world, it was too hot for man, or beast and I had to spend 11 hours in the hot, humid air.

I'm burnt out and wondering if it's time to say "no more". It's a younger man's game and I'm not young any longer.

Maybe I can't get a job as a geriatric gigolos, or a Walmart greeter....as long as there's air conditioning.