My friend, Brian, who always gets mad at me when I use fuck in my posts Instant Messaged me this afternoon and asked if I still have a job. Well, yes, I do. My boss returned to work today and didn't say anything about last Friday. I saw him in our Wednesday Inquisition Meeting (Where we discuss problems from last week and whether we're ready for next week. This meeting is a colossal waste of time and goes on forever. I really need to learn how to sleep with my eyes open.) and everything seemed normal. Maybe he's biding his time and will spring a surprise retirement party on me.
I had dinner Saturday with my friends Michael and Cindy at their house and regaled them with my tales of mismanagement. Since they both manage people they are amazed at what a jerk my manager is. Michael, who is the wine buyer at Greens in Atlanta (and he says his French wine business is down. Hmmm. Imagine that.), cannot comprehend how my manager is botching the negotiations on our project. Michael negotiates contracts for a living. Like me, he would call our Axis of Weasels' bluff.
Anyway, I figgered out my problem. My manager successfully changed me from Dilbert to Wally, but, every now and then, Dilbert pops back out and I say sumpin' stupid. Gotta fix that.
I don't know where Ralph Gizzip keeps getting these things, but he sent me the following picture to commemorate the anniversary of scaring the shit out of Elian Gonzalez and sending him back to live in a totalitarian state.
And where would we be without a little French bashing? A guy I used to work with sent me this poem.
Subject: A French Poem
Ralph Gizzip found the origin. It is here. And when you get there scroll up to see the French Army Special Ops training. In case you can't tell, it was lifted directly from Monty Python.
Who Stands Alone
Eleven thousand soldiers lay beneath the dirt and stone,
all buried on a distant land so far away from home.
For just a strip of dismal beach they paid a hero's price,
to save a foreign nation they all made the sacrifice.
And now the shores of Normandy are lined with blocks of white,
Americans who didn't turn from someone else's plight.
Eleven thousand reasons for the French to take our side,
but in the moment of our need, they chose to run and hide.
Chirac said every war means loss, perhaps for France that's true,
for they've lost every battle since the days of Waterloo.
Without a soldier worth a damn to be found in the region,
the French became the only land to need a Foreign Legion.
You French all say we're arrogant. Well hell, we've earned the right--
We saved your sorry nation when you lacked the guts to fight.
But now you've made a big mistake, and one that you'll regret;
you took sides with our enemies, and that we won't forget.
It wasn't just our citizens you spit on when you turned,
but every one of ours who fell the day the towers burned.
You spit upon our soldiers, on our pilots and Marines,
and now you'll get a little sense of just what payback means.
So keep your Paris fashions and your wine and your champagne,
and find some other market that will buy your aeroplanes.
And try to find somebody else to wear your French cologne,
for you're about to find out what it means to stand alone.
You see, you need us far more than we ever needed you.
America has better friends who know how to be true.
I'd rather stand with warriors who have the will and might,
than huddle in the dark with those whose only flag is white.
I'll take the Brits, the Aussies, the Israelis and the rest,
for when it comes to valor we have seen that they're the best.
We'll count on one another as we face a moment dire,
while you sit on the sideline with a sign "friendship for hire."
We'll win this war without you and we'll total up the cost,
and take it from your foreign aid, and then you'll feel the loss.
And when your nation starts to fall, well Frenchie, you can spare us,
just call the Germans for a hand, they know the way to Paris.
Too bad Matthew isn't trolling here anymore.
Posted by denny at April 23, 2003 08:38 PM Category: French Bashing