Kicked Square-In-The-Nuts: "Winstar World Championship Series"Alt: "Fuck You! Good Customer Service is What I SAY IT IS!!!"

Jonny made his triumphant return to The Bigtop yesterday, destined to be crowned King of all Temporary Structures. But it was not to be. Jonny was card dead and then played badly late. In hindsight, Jonny wishes he had sold his entry chip and hit the vibrant cash games, but he did not find the feeding frenzy for last-minute entries that many expected, so to his seat he went. No real hands of note, although Jonny was a little surprised by his bust-out hand. Jonny had not played a hand in several orbits - totally card dead. With the blinds at 600-1200 with a 100 ante, Jonny decides to pick up a pot and moves in for T9700 (8x BB, M=3.5) from middle position with Qh-8h. Surely they have been paying attention and will give me credit for a big hand, right? I get a fairly quick call from the SB, who had been playing pretty solid so far. Oops. She's got a big hand. It takes about a third of her stack to call. She shows K-10. WTF? Perhaps Jonny should have announced "I haven't played a hand in several orbits and I'm not really critically short-stacked". Whatever - she made a good call and busted Jonny.

But that is not the point of today's lecture, children. Jonny is more concerned today with the overall customer service disposition that permeates that long-storied Aluminum-and-Vinyl Empire. Surprisingly, Jonny is very mellow today and not in the mood to unleash a vitriolic (wink), profanity-and-insult-laden spew-tyrade-shitstorm-armageddon on those unsuspecting folks at Winstar. Let's face it kids - it would be like taking a tree branch to Simple Jack. They ain't gonna understand why they are taking a beating. But you folks at Winstar Muh-muh-muh-make Jonny want to BLOW HIS FUCKING HEAD OFF!

In the earlier Winstar post, I mentioned something to the effect of "It's not your normal $60 weekday tournament - ACT LIKE IT!". Well, true to form, the initial day of the inaugural "The River" tournament was executed with the same amateurish brio and mentally-challenged (don't wanna offend the retards) flair as any other Winstar tournament. I'm sure there were numerous meetings with Management and Staff leading up to this event. I envision it going something like this...

BIG CHIEF: (no racial pun intended, right?) "Okay Team, Winstar World Casino has endeavored to execute the largest Big Buy-In tournament ever seen outside of the World Series of Poker in Las Vegas. Are we ready?"

MINIONS: (in unison) "Meh. Yeah, sure, I guess. Hey, is this going to take long? I was supposed to go on break five minutes ago."

Seriously, folks. Did ANY preparation go into the "poker" execution of this event? As best Jonny could tell, it was the normal $60/$110 weeknight donkament, just with bright lights and cameras and a fancy deep-voice announcer-guy that was reading from a script that no one bothered to proof-read. It took him the first eight levels to figure out how long the levels were and when the breaks were, even though that information was projected on the Jumbotron the whole time.

"TDA Rules? What's TDA?". That was the response when Jonny asked his dealer what the rule was regarding killing a hand when a player was not at their seat. He explained that the Winstar Rule was that your hand was dead if you were not in your seat when you were dealt your first card. I asked "Then why even bother to deal that player into the hand?". To his credit, he was very polite about it and offered to call the Floor over to verify that this was indeed the case. A Floorman came over and verified that yes, indeed, your hand was dead if you were not there to receive your first card, but that the player is dealt a complete hand regardless. Um, okay. No biggie. Except that less than 10 minutes later at an adjacent table a different floorman made the CORRECT T.D.A. ruling, which is, of course, that players must be "at their seat" when the last card is dealt (which goes to the player on the button).

Yes, folks, Jonny gets it. "Who gives a shit exactly when the hand is dead, and how often does it really matter? Either the player is there or he isn't." But this example is Winstar ignorance and complacency in a microcosm. This is the simplest of all tournament rules, yet they can't get it right, and they can't even get it consistently wrong.

Now call me a stickler for details, but how hard would it have been to have a Dealer/Floorperson meeting, hand everyone a copy of TDA rules, and go through it line-by-line. Ask questions, get answers. Propose scenarios and challenge everyone to rule correctly. "COME ON NOW Jonny - we've got cigarettes that need smokin' and asses than need grabbin'. We don't need no stinkin' rules meeting. It's only a THREE MILLION DOLLAR tournament."

Better yet, let's be visionary....hold that meeting MONTHS ago, since this event has been in the works since February or March Then guess what? You could practice those rules when you hold a tournament almost EVERY FUCKING DAY OF THE WEEK for months. Then your dealers will know the rules, your floorpeople will know the rules, and (SHOCKINGLY!) they might even make consistent rulings and not look like total idiots as they argue over a rule in front of players. Seriously - if you have been doing the same thing every day for several years, shouldn't you AT LEAST be able to do it consistently?

So at one point Jonny went and asked for a copy of the rules. Of course, Jonny didn't want nor need a copy of the rules. He was looking for another reason to bitch (No. Really?), because he felt certain that Winstar could not provide a written copy of the rules, which incidentally were supposed to be attached to the affidavit every player signed agreeing to abide by the rules. Much to Jonny's surprise (and disappointment, because the spew cannon was locked and loaded), they produced a copy. They had to dig through a box, but they came up with a copy of their rules, which was copied from the current T.D.A. rules, verbatim. I guess actually crediting the TDA for the document costs 50 cents to license or something, but it was TDA nonetheless.

Now here come the normal caveats. There are some at Winstar that DO want to improve and work hard to do so. I witnessed a shift-change dealer meeting one time at Winstar - Floorman Manny was conducting the meeting. I stopped to listen-in as I returned from the soda machine, and Manny was posing different scenarios to the dealers and challenging them to come up with the correct answer. One question revolved around a third player's options in a No Limit game when one player had raised and then a subsequent player had raised all-in, but the reraise did not constitute a complete raise. If the third player wants to min-raise, what is the min-raise amount? Fuck, Jonny doesn't know! And Jonny doubts it will ever come up. But I salute Manny for having passion for his job and for asking such questions in order to challenge his dealers to THINK and to understand the rules of poker so thoroughly. Sadly, most of the dealers couldn't even hear Manny's question over the unmistakable roar of a mass circle-jerk involving the majority of the dealers. Remember those opening scenes from Hill Street Blues? Exactly.

And the desire for excellence exists in some of the dealers, of course, as well. I'm not trying to cup his balls or anything, but one dealer that I consider a friend was at my table during yesterday's debacle, and the guy was flawless. Ok, maybe I'm cupping his balls a little because he reads Jonny's bullshit, but whatever - fucker ain't payin' Jonnys bills. But it's obvious that ignorance, complacency, and incorrect rules/procedures are not a matter POLICY at Winstar, because some of these folks do it right. Some of them DON'T cut the deck until they have pulled in the antes and the pot is right. Some of them DON'T immediately count down a stack when a player moves all-in and instead wait for another player to ask for a count. Some of them DON'T recap the action for that dumbfuck that wasn't paying attention, and some of them DO sit there silently when asked "How much is in the pot?" in a No Limit game. Minor details, granted, but again, if you are going to do it, why not do it right? More importantly, some of them DON'T constantly fuck up pots, DON'T constantly fuck up making change, DON'T fuck up the antes and then stare at the pot with that clueless look when they don't know who forgot to ante, DON'T fuck up the deal, DON'T fuck up the tournament, and DON'T fuck up Jonny's life in general.

Jonny has been lucky enough to play in lots and lots of poker tournaments. He has participated in many tournaments directed by guys like Jack McClelland and Jimmy Sommerfield and Jack Effel. Funny - somehow the dealers in those tournaments ALL seem to know the rules inside-out and backward-to-forward. Usually a player question about rules is met by the dealer reciting the rule verbatim and then politely offering to call the floor for a confirmation/ruling. Why? Because those Directors strive for excellence and demand it of their subordinates. Hell, Jimmy is a "traveling" tournament director, yet he manages to whip a tournament crew he has never worked with into fine form in time for the tournaments he visits.

Another parallel - when Bellagio holds their $500 daily tournaments (yes, I know the Dailys are $1k now) - chump change by Bellagio standards - guess what? They follow TDA rules to the letter. They issue penalties for exposed hands. The dealer simply announces "all in" and doesn't make a move toward the stack unless asked to do so. They move players from the big blind to worst position. Why? Because those are the rules, and rather than pretend to follow a standard set of rules and then just make-it-up-as-they-go, they practice their job CORRECTLY, CONSISTENTLY, EVERY DAY. Then, when a $25,000 buy-in tournament comes around, they are a finely-tuned machine. But I bet they still have dealer/floor meetings where grab-ass is discouraged.

Okay, so here's the lead-up to the Cherry on the Pie from Winstar yesterday. A player was moved to my table from a broken table. His seat falls between the button and the small blind, so by TDA rules he has to sit out a hand. The dealer deals him out, and I think, "Cool - this guy knows the rules." The new player sees that he doesn't have a hand, so he doesn't sit down and instead makes a phone call. No worries, right? Except that when it's time for the next hand, there is confusion over where the button goes. The dealer tries to give the new player the button, because all he can remember from some prior circle-jerk is that a new player can "us-us-us-assume any position". Others argue that the button needs to pass the new player, which is the correct rule. The floor is called over and the good times begin. First the Floor asks the dealer why he didn't deal the new player in the last hand. He says "he was milling around and never sat down". The Floor then accuses the player of trying to "dodge his blind" and scolds him. The player responds that he was standing behind his seat, saw that he didn't get a hand, so he made a phone call. So what does the Floor do? Well, rather than figuring out that there isn't any problem and simply moving the button past the new player, he tells the new player that he either has to "post" (like a cash game), or that he has to sit out until the big blind comes back around to him? WTF? That simply makes no sense. Obviously a seat-of-the-pants response by the Floorman, who happens to be the Big Man In Charge of all their tournaments. I guess he figured that if he made a ruling with enough authority in his voice no one would question him. A guy at a neighboring table tried to correct the Floorman, and the Floor basically told the guy the to STFU and that he would let him know when he needed help running a tournament. I've got news for you Fatman, YOU NEED HELP RUNNING A TOURNAMENT!

The best part came a little later. A player from another table hears us discussing how clueless the Floor is, and comes over and says that he was headed to the restroom after the incident and overheard the Floorman telling his colleagues "It doesn't matter WHAT the rule is. What I say GOES!" Nice.

Why not just get the deep-voice guy to make an announcement...(insert Michael Buffer voice here)...

"Attention Players and Dealers! Welcome to the Winstar World Championship Series hosted by the World-Famous Winstar World Casino!. We are excited that you have all paid $2,100 to come play here today. Now you can all GO FUCK YOURSELVES!!! Shuffle up and Deal!"

Get it? The staff at Bellagio is excellent because Jack McClelland is a professional and demands excellence. The attitude is pervasive through the other TD's, the floor staff, and the dealers. The staff at Winstar sucks worse than any other poker staff in this history of Poker AND Suckage because that is the leadership that drives them. Jonny feels very confident that all this place needs is leadership that GIVES A FUCK.

Solution? Actually got one this time. Bring in a professional. I tell people frequently that Winstar could learn a lot from Cherokee in Tulsa. I can't speak for how that room was run before they held their first major tournament, but I suspect it was a lot better than Winstar, because a sincere attitude of good customer service is pervasive up there. I am also confident that they would run excellent tournaments on their own without outside help. But instead, when they started running larger tournaments, they called up Jimmy Sommerfield and brought him in the run the show. Result? Excellence. At all levels. Like I said - Cherokee would probably be excellent without Jimmy's help, because those guys sincerely give a fuck and they work hard to do the right things. It's without question the best poker room in the South. But they understood the importance of having experienced, professional management of their tournaments and acted accordingly.

Winstar is broken. Badly. But they'll continue to get all the action because, well, players have no other option. The businesses in the USSR had people lined up for BLOCKS trying to get their products/services. But that doesn't mean Winstar can't improve. They just don't give a flying fuck.

This post is already way too long, but a few another notes.

1) All of the Mega-Satellites had 30-minute levels and a break every four levels, or two hours. Cool. The "Main Event" has 40-minute levels, but rather than (slightly) modify the structure to give a break every three levels (magically, still every two hours!), they left it at four levels, and players were instead forced to wait 2:40 between breaks, and then the breaks were only 10 minutes. Genius. Heaven forbid that a $2,100 tournament runs past 9:00 p.m. Sorry - I know - "What you say GOES", so I'll be a good little customer and shut the fuck up.

2) $2000 + $100. No food comps. But hey, we've got hot dogs for sale right in the tournament room for $3.00! Yeah, I know, I'm going to shut up and go fuck myself now. I played in a $200+20 or +25 in the past at Winstar, and the hot dogs were FREE!! I guess Big Chief Counting Beans back in the Corporate HQ Teepee realized that they could save like seventeen dollars if they didn't give away food. Does Winstar have one of those programs where employees can suggest innovations, and if the idea is implemented they get a bonus? If so, sign me up, and then I'll propose that if you want to save money, KEEP THE FUCKING POKER ROOM WARMER THAN 47 DEGREES! Seriously. I had dreamed up a bit where I was going to show up at The River in an arctic snow suit, complete with boots, goggles, and a huge faux-furry ring around the hood. But actually executing a bit takes effort - dreaming them up don't cost nuthin.

3) Of course, you realize that no matter what, Winstar wins, right? Last night, they had THIRTY-FOUR cash games running. That's on a Sunday night, which is usually dead. It doesn't matter - they have a monopoly, and they know that IF YOU PITCH IT, THEY WILL COME. I hope I am alive to see the day when the oil runs out, and Texas needs the money, and the Texas Legislature passes a bill authorizing gaming. There will be immediate smoke signals sent out all over the Toothless People's Republic of Oklahoma, and particularly along the borders. "Shape up guys, competition is coming." Oh, sweet, sweet competition. But until then, Winstar will continue to be a second-rate (being generous) casino running third-rate tournaments. At present, their only "competition", which is just across the Crystal Meth Border on the other major highway out of Dallas, doesn't even own a tournament clock! Choctaw uses one of those digital kitchen timers, so I guess Winstar considers themselves as the innovators among the shitty Indian casinos tapping the money tree of Texas poker players.

Jonny out. Babyarm.

Kicked Square-In-The-Nuts:"Winstar World Casino" Thursday $550 Freezeout

Jonny played in Winstar's $500+50 today. 61 players. Same shitty Winstar structure. Dealers were fucking horrible, and between dealers fucking everything up, maddening noise from all directions, and idiot clowndick players, I was tilting beyond belief, even though I hadn't hardly played a hand for a while at the time. Seriously - where do they get these retard dealers that they stick in the tournaments? It's not like it's a $60 nightly tournament - it was $550 - get some dealers that can run a table without making repeated stupid mistakes, and then giving me attitude when I correct them until they finally figured out that they had indeed made a mistake. Your job consists of the most basic of math, making a little change, and distribution of cards. How do you manage to fuck that up?

Plus I was sitting at the table in the back corner, so I got to contend with the noisy ice machine/soda fountain and those same water-headed dealers playing the Superbowl of Grabass in the nearby break room, with the door open, of course. Then I'm also right next to the board where they post the table rotations, so there is constant bickering over who goes on break next and who pushes into where next. In one hand our dealer stopped-down the entire table (in the middle of a hand where there had already been an all-in and a call) to argue with the same dealers and a floorman over when her next break was. We each paid $550 to play this tournament, you ignorant CUNT. At least have the common courtesy to finish the hand you are on before going to war over your next break. Trust me, that game of Grabass has legs - it will still be going when your break finally comes - you're not going to miss it.

I had complimented their dealers to a few people recently because I had seen tons of good dealing in cash games, but I guess they stick the good dealers in the cash games, and especially in the higher limit games, and dump the retards in the tournaments. But for the record, yes, Winstar has some excellent dealers. I just didn't see a single fucking one of them today.

And why is yelling at the top of your lungs considered the defacto standard for professional communication between the folks that work in this poker room? Call me an elitist, but I prefer to enjoy my game of poker without the constant screaming across the room. It's called a walkie-talkie. It's the latest rage - You should check it out. If you can afford to build a gigantic facade out front to hide the fact that the Crown Jewel of your Gaming Empire is a goddamn tent, you can afford a better communication system.

And the players are fucking morons too. Half of them obviously learned how to play poker on the Travel Channel, but they haven't figured out that the cameras aren't rolling on them right at the moment. Vince Van Patten and/or Norman Chad are not going to later do the voice-over on your performance, Assclown. Check, bet, or fold Fuckhole. They act like every single decision is agonizing, and if you bet into them or raise them, they feel obligated to stare you down for at least 15 seconds before they fold. Just fucking fold so we can play the next hand, Cocksucker. And by the way, I can't tell shit from your eyes, so lose the sunglasses, okay? I'm sure the Clowndick factor will be even worse next week when the stakes are much higher.

Anyhow, I got knocked out 13th. My friend Grunkzzz made the final table (congrats!) and got 7th, but he was pissed about how bad the players and dealers were also. I REALLY don't want to play the Main Event this week. Maybe I'll be in a better mood on Sunday.

The only notable hand was late in the tournament - two tables left. It is folded to me in the SB, and I am short-stacked and move in with 9h7s. The BB insta-calls with Ad6c, and she has me covered by just 200. I flop a 9, she's pissed, but the board proceeds to go runner-runner to a Q-high straight (on the board). I say "Sweet! Chop it up!". I didn't notice that there were four hearts on the board, and that I had the only heart. I REALLY didn't notice that the four hearts on the board were 8-10-J-Q, so my 9h made a straight-flush. The table couldn't tell if I was being a dick when I said "chop it up" or if I was really that fucking stupid. Yes, I was tired and tilted and can't read a fucking board.

Anyway, FUCK Winstar, FUCK Winstar's dealers (excluding the good ones), FUCK Winstar's players, FUCK any and all Vinyl Goddamn Casinos, and FUCK and the entire Toothless Republic of Oklahoma. I think that covers most of it.

Jonny out, Bitches!

Come On Now!!!:Raiders of the Lost Ark: Part IV

What the hell was Jonny thinking? Hmmmm.....let me see, a Geriatric Swashbuckling Archaeologist Scouring Peru for Clues to an Ancient Alien Invasion. Sounds like an AWESOME premise! Sign me up!

Yeah, they got me. Jonny spent $9.25 and three hours of his life that he'll never get back on this piece of shit.

I guess it just proves that the American Public (Jonny included) really IS that fucking stupid. First they gave us Shriveled-But-Still-All-Veiny-And-Roided-Up Rocky Balboa. Gross!!! Hey - it could happen! A 60-year-old dude COULD kick the shit out of a professional boxer 30 years his junior, right?

I guess everyone thought that Sly looked so good in that one that they quickly followed it up with another sequel in the Rambo series. Or maybe it was because so many dumbasses paid to go see "Rocky VI: That's Not My Cup - Those Are My DEPENDS" that it grossed about $125 million versus a cost of $24 million to make. This time the old fuck is back running around the jungle and killing gooks in hand-to-hand combat. Maybe all of the humidity and sweat covered up his problems with incontinence. At least he had the decency to hire a body-double half his age to do alot of his stunts. This little gem of Senior Citizen Action Hero Cinema made a profit of about $50 million, so sadly we're likely to see more of this shit. PLEASE people, stop paying for this shit, and eventually they'll stop making it.

But sadly, not yet. Alas, the final leg of our Triple-Crown-of-Action-Heros-That-Sometimes-Accidentally-Shit-Their-Pants-During-Filming hit theaters yesterday, and I'm sure it will make a killing too, spawning more of these horribly saddening works. In case you're wondering, the original Raiders of the Lost Ark was released TWENTY-SEVEN years ago. And it was GREATNESS. Why do they insist on fucking up such a great franchise with scenes of an old man climbing into a refrigerator to avoid a nuclear blast (because a good-ole fridge can survive a direct nuclear strike that obliterates everything else in sight), and then doing some horrifying slapstick physical comedy with some CGI gophers when he climbs out of the fridge that was blown miles across the desert. And then they have to revive Marion Ravenwood, also from the first Indy, who is now even fatter and more tore-up than he is, to come back and bust Indy's balls. Wow, there is NOTHING like two sexagenarians rekindling an old flame to make me throw up in my mouth. It just gets worse and worse as the story goes on, until the aliens kill all of the Russians or suck them into the giant flying saucer for some anal probing, but Indy and his crew miraculously escape just in time (SHOCKING! - Never saw THAT ending coming!) to witness the majestic alien departure from the top of the ridge. Are you FUCKING SERIOUS??? Aliens??? How the fuck does an archaeologist find ALIENS while exploring ancient ruins in the mountains of South America? Oh wait, here comes the credits with the cool Raiders theme song. At least Indy's theme song is still good, but while they were busy fucking up everything else about Raiders of the Lost Ark, why didn't they just go ahead and sodomize the theme song - maybe a new rendition by Lil Jon with a nice Techno beat.

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So Jonny is wondering - What's next? Since making retread sequels of old action flicks using the original cast seems to be all the rage, how about we dig up Christopher Reeve and spring Margot Kidder from the mental hospital long enough to make one more Superman sequel?

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Or maybe reunite Burt Reynolds and Sally Field for one more Smokey and the Bandit.

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Or maybe Ned Beatty can squeal like a pig for us one more time, just for old-time's sake.

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Wait! I've got it! Let's get Andy Griffith and Aunt Bea back together for some hot octogenarian PORN!!!

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Jonny out, bitches! ♥ Love you long time!

"Economic Stimulus" = More Tax for Jonny, More Consumption for YouPart II:Why Jonny Sits on His Ass Instead of Working.

In Part I of this article Jonny discussed his views on the current "Economic Stimulus" program and what a smelly Red-Radio-Flyer-with-Wooden-Rails-and-All-Terrain-Tires WAGON-LOAD of SHIT it is.

Part II is a continuation of that line of thought, geared more toward Jonny's general fucking disdain and loathing of our tax system and what he does to beat it.

Same credits go to WestonPoker.com / BigStack.com as in Part I of this article. Thanks to T3 for providing the forum and to the other guys for providing their thought-provoking comments/input/feedback.

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Here's the deal: Without question, the U.S. tax system is one of the biggest weights hanging around the neck of the U.S. economy. Why? Because it DISCOURAGES many Americans from working, from creating jobs, and from innovating.

"But WAIT Jonny - I call Bullshit!", you exclaim. "Hard work, innovation, and entrepreneurship are the values at the very CORE of the American Dream. What ever do you mean?"

Well, that's the view of most civilians in the business world. By "civilians" I mean the masses that work for The Man - those that earn their living as an employee rather than as an employer. It's also the opinion of many wide-eyed, would-be entrepreneurs that, while toiling for The Man, from the safe and comfy confines of their shitty little cubicle, dream of "going out on their own". Why? Because they simply don't realize what an ass-fucking(1) they have coming to them if they DO start a business AND they are lucky enough to actually be successful at it.

"Please elaborate, Jonny", you plead, like a child begging Grandpa to tell another old-man story. "What awful villain is going to ass-fuck you, Jonny?"

Well, it's this guy named Sam that we're worried about. You know who I'm talking about - he's most visible in March and April standing on the median outside of various Liberty Tax Preparation locations along with that French cunt "Statue of Liberty". He wears a ridiculous red, white, and blue outfit like a really creepy clown with a FUCKED UP hat. No, not Cheddar, he's the short one dressed like a midget-clown or a leprechaun. Sam is tall. You know who I mean - THAT GUY.

"I still don't understand Jonny. Why would the nice man in the funny outfit and hat want to harm you?"

Well, no one knows it, but that creepy clown is Jonny's "Silent Partner". Let me illustrate:

Let's pretend that Jonny had a great Crown-induced idea and wanted to start a new business:

1) First, Jonny would have to invest a tremendous amount of his time and effort working toward starting his new venture.

2) At the same time, Jonny would have to invest a large chunk of money as start-up capital. The money would either have to come from Jonny's pockets, or he would have to borrow it. Either way, it's coming out of Jonny's ass if things don't go well - he's at risk of losing 100% (or more) of the money he sinks into this thing.

3) Next, Jonny busts his ass to first get the business to a point where it can survive, and then perhaps he might even be lucky enough to reach a point where the business is making a little money. Jonny breathes a big sigh of relief. His investment of time, effort, and money is still FAR from secure, but at least it's looking like success is a slightly possible outcome. Jonny decides he is ready to draw his first paycheck, representing a little fruit from his efforts, so he can take Mrs. Jonny out for a nice dinner to thank her for putting up with all of the long hours, hard work, and financial sacrifices.

4) Well, word seems to travel faster than the rumor of a SWAT raid in the Dallas underground poker community, and Jonny's silent partner (that creepy bastard in the FUCKED UP hat) somehow makes a bee-line from the nearest strip center, and he manages to arrive before Jonny has even written out that check. And guess what? He's got his hand out, looking for his share. Sammy and his cousin from the State of Texas get:

a) 15.3% of every dollar Jonny makes in Social Security and Medicare taxes
b) 2.7% of every dollar in State Unemployment tax
c) 0.9% of every dollar in Federal Unemployment tax

So far Creepy Clown has skimmed Jonny for almost 19 cents out of every dollar, and Jonny gets 81 cents. Damn! A 19% rake is STEEP. It's not "State Lottery Steep", but it's still high. Okay, that's something Jonny can learn to live with. 19% for all of the privileges and protections that this country affords Jonny is probably worth it, even though they could really run a lot leaner and give us a rake reduction.

NOT SO MUCH. That 19% goes to pay for entitlements to other people. Other "citizens". In other words, Jonny hasn't BEGUN to pay for his "country".

Then comes the income tax. Most years, one of two things will happen - either Jonny is already in a high marginal bracket and paying either 28% or 33% on every incremental dollar, or he's subject to AMT and paying 26% or 28% of EVERY dollar.

So now Creepy is getting between 45% and 52% of every dollar Jonny makes. Somehow, me and Ass-Clown Guy are EQUAL partners, even though Jonny is the one doing ALL of the work and taking ALL of the risk. You probably originally thought that Jonny's choice of the "ass-fuck" metaphor was a little extreme - are you coming around?

But wait, it gets better. As Jonny's income increases, he gradually gets more-fucked (or "deeper-fucked", or "worse-fucked"? - Jonny isn't sure how to express the different degrees of ass-fucked-ness). His ability to take normal deductions and credits disappears. Itemized deductions (like mortgage interest and property taxes on Jonny's Cardboard Box Estates homestead, as well as sales tax and other expenses)? GONE. Personal exemptions ($3,400 per person in your household for 2007)? GONE. Child tax credit? FORGET IT. IRA deduction? NOPE. "Mr. Jonny, sir, you don't get to deduct stuff that normal folks do because you are one of those evil 'rich' people".

And an "Economic Stimulus Payment" or "Rebate"? - ROFLMGDMFAO!!! "Mr. Jonny, sir, those go to people who DESERVE them, not to you evil people that work hard, take risks, and sometimes make a lot of money."

And I haven't scratched the surface of the possibility that there are corporate taxes on profits before they get to Jonny. That's a different post for a different day.

Oh yeah, and Jonny also hasn't discussed the possibility that these various tax rates go even higher after the next election, since our big, fat, bloated, morbidly-obese government is broker than broke and has to recover that deficit somehow. And don't forget that Medicare and Social Security are already insolvent relative to their respective obligations and rapidly spiraling toward complete bankruptcy. Who do you think will be expected to bear the additional tax load? Since everyone's vote counts the same, and there are more "commoners" than "aristocrats", guess who gets the shitty end of this deal? Yep, it's a party in Jonny's ass and everyone's cummin'!

Okay, Jonny will bring all of this tangentiality(2) (just for you Waldo - love you!) back on topic, as if he were winding down an epic Lynyrd Skynyrd guitar solo and trying to somehow relate it back to the original melody. Why is our tax system detrimental to our economy? Because it makes it more compelling for people like Jonny to sit on their ever-growing ass than to get up, mix in a salad, and go back to work at making this country great.

So, as teased in the header of this article, how does Jonny beat the tax system? If you were hoping for some glowing shit-nugget of tax-evasion strategy, sorry. Jonny beats the Tax Man by NOT MAKING MONEY. Simple. The less money you make, the less you owe in taxes. Follow my lead - sit on your ass, get drunk, complain, and save on your tax bill. The less you do, the better off you are - it's as American as Apple Pie. Brilliant!

WHY THE FUCK would Jonny expend his time and effort and risk his money on a new business venture, so that IF Jonny's new business idea does succeed, he gets to share the fruits of his labor 50/50 (or worse) with some leaching fuck in a creepy clown costume?

Simply put, it's a huge DISINCENTIVE to entrepreneurs, innovators, and other would-be job-creators. If the chains were lifted, Jonny would gladly get up, start an enterprise, start creating jobs for civilians again, and generally start contributing to the overall wealth, gross domestic product, and standard of living for the good old U.S.A. But Jonny has a shock collar around his neck, and he has to be REALLY determined to get out of the yard before he's going to make a break for it. Actually, it's more like those collars in The Running Man - like a shock collar, except they blow your fucking head off. Pink mist, baby!

Usually Jonny likes to just bitch without offering any real solutions to his problems, because if all the problems were solved Jonny wouldn't be able to bitch. But Jonny is confident in his ability to find something else to bitch about, so he will release a little turd of wisdom regarding this bitch-fodder.

ELIMINATE THE MARGINAL RATES AND THE PHASE-OUT OF DEDUCTIONS AND CREDITS. At present, Jonny does his best to MINIMIZE his taxable income so that he doesn't get double-donged by higher marginal tax brackets and reduced deductions. How American is THAT? Am I fulfilling my destiny as a patriotic American by sitting on my ass, drinking heavily, and making as LITTLE money as possible? Maybe I was stoned and misunderstood my teacher the day we covered "The American Dream" in Dallas public school, but Marcus Aurelius had a dream that was Rome, Proximo, and THIS IS NOT IT!

However, if the C-4 Shock Collars of marginal tax brackets and deduction/credit phase-out were eliminated, and Jonny knew that he would pay the same percentage of tax whether he made $20,000 or $10,000,000, even Jonny's lazy ass would shoot for the high end.

Seems simple, huh? So go get it done - I'm timing you!

Jonny out, bitches! ♥ Love you long time!

(1) Jonny apologizes for all of the negative connotations he associates with anal sex in this article. Jonny has nothing against anal. For that matter, Jonny is conceptually cool with anal regardless of the gender of the pitcher and the catcher - Jonny is of the opinion of "Hey, whatever floats your boat!". Jonny hopes that he did not offend anyone by portraying anal as such a violent, vile act. What he meant to say is that Uncle Sam likes to perpetrate "non-consensual, forced, prison-style anal RAPE", but this post is uber-long and Jonny doesn't have the energy to go back and rewrite the entire article to sound more politically correct for the readers that like sweet, consensual, gentle, loving anal sex.

(2) Even my spell-checker choked on this word. I RULE!

"Economic Stimulus" = More Tax for Jonny, More Consumption for YouPart I:So You Got a Check? Good for You!Now Go Fuck Yourself.

Note: Some of this post was derived from content Jonny originally posted on WestonPoker.com / BigStack.com. Jonny thanks the good folks at WestonPoker.com / BigStack.com for providing a forum for Jonny to hone and sharpen his bitterness and hatred, and Jonny also thanks all of the contributing users at WestonPoker.com / BigStack.com for providing their thought-provoking input.

---

So, recently you received your "Economic Stimulus" payment from our benevolent government, or you expect to receive it soon. How exciting! So, tell Jonny, how do you intend to spend it? Jonny is dying to know! It's kind of like when your grandma gives you a gift card for your birthday, and you are obligated to call her and tell her what wonderful stuff you bought with it. Same here. Jonny deserves to know what you bought with HIS MONEY!

It's great to know that our budget surplus is so great and that our national coffers are so fat that we can afford to just GIVE money to our citizens. Notice I didn't say "GIVE BACK". I just said "GIVE". "Give back" would imply that the money went back to those who contributed it. Not so much.

Sadly, Jonny won't be receiving any stimulation from Uncle Sam. Why? Well kids, Jonny did some BAD things during his lifetime. Namely, he busted his ass for many years - working long hours, starting businesses, creating jobs for the fine citizens of the USA, and generally contributing to the Gross Domestic Product and overall well-being and standard of living of this great country. But far worse, at the same time, Jonny made the conscious choice NOT to consume every penny (or more) that he managed to generate, and as a result he still has a few bucks laying around. Jonny knows it is shameful, and he humbly accepts his punishment. In return for his many years of hard work and diligent saving and investing, Jonny gets to pay out the ass in taxes, and then instead of getting hand release, sex-in-mouth, or other stimulation from Mother Liberty, he gets to watch his tax dollars handed out to those who are more likely to "stimulate the economy" - Namely, those who are consumption-centric GOOD Americans and will take the one-time government handout and piss it away as quickly as possible, to the benefit of our nation's largest retailers and other companies.

This is the most short-sighted, ignorant, politically-motivated bullshit Jonny can fathom. But at the same time, it is GENIUS! Try to imagine the Stimulus as loaves of bread being handed out by an ancient ruler to the starving peasants of his kingdom. It doesn't cost the King much - he collects enough Tribute from his subjects to cover the cost of the bread, and relative to the King's overall budget it's a drop-in-the-bucket. It appeases the starving, desperate citizens, and perhaps prevents them from revolting against his leadership, thereby lengthening his reign and increasing the likelihood that they will not choose to replace him as their ruler. But it also wins favor with the wealthy Bakers in the kingdom, who profited from the huge one-time order for bread. Further, all of the farmers and other suppliers that do business with the bakers are thrilled for the influx of business too. Even further, all of the investors and bankers that back the bakers and their suppliers also get a taste of the wealth. So the King has managed to win favor with the lower echelon of his kingdom AND with a portion of the upper echelon by simply redistributing the wealth from the group that did not benefit from his program to those that did, and there are WAY more that benefitted than did not.

To call this is a "Rebate" is bullshit. Sure, a lot of the folks that will benefit from this program did pay some taxes. Many paid less than they will receive, and some paid nothing at all. But if there is money to throw around, shouldn't it go to those that paid MORE, not to those who paid less (or nothing). Of course not, because those folks are likely to save/invest that money. That would be BAD!

And to call it "Economic Stimulus" is even more of a leap. Here's a novel idea: If you want to stimulate the economy, place the incentives in the hands of those that have the ability to provide a sustained, long-term impact on the economy by investing, starting businesses, creating jobs, and contributing to the overall well-being of the USA. Giving cash to someone who will scurry down to Wal-Mart and spend it on a new plasma TV, Guitar Hero III, or new rims for his truck is NOT going to help our GDP. It will help the coffers of the bakers, and to a lesser extent their suppliers and investors, but once the dust kicked up by peasants shuffling for falling loaves of bread has settled, nothing has changed.

So enjoy spending my money, fuckholes. The least you can do is buy Jonny a little thank-you gift. Crown is always a good idea, but if you got $1,200 or more, Jonny expects at least 750ml of a nice single-malt. If you got more than $2,100, keep your money and get a vasectomy and stop having so many kids.

Jonny out, you leaches.

Coming Soon:

Part II: Why Jonny sits on his ass and writes these blogs instead of contributing to the wealth of our country.

Fun with Business Reply Mail

This one doesn't really need much explanation, and it really isn't very funny, so I guess this one is another Kick Square-In-The-Nuts. Jonny has a couple of vehicles manufactured by Infiniti Motors, and apparently they want to make sure that Jonny continues to buy his cars from Infiniti. Further, they hope to achieve said result by sending Jonny marketing materials in the mail. Truthfully, Jonny has been very pleased with his Infiniti's and would likely but another one. It's another topic for another day, but the Jonny-Mobile (an Infiniti Q45) is now about 12 years old and approaching 180,000 miles. Still running strong despite Jonny's best efforts at abuse and neglect. You high-brow Nissan guys are okay in Jonny's book.

So over the weekend I get a packet in the mail about the Infiniti QX56. It's their biggest SUV - a tricked-up version of Nissan's most gaudy SUV - the Armada. Jonny could not possibly describe it as well as John Pearly Huffman did on TheCarConnection.com, so he will instead quote Mr. Huffman here:

"There's something about Infiniti's new QX56 that seems unseemly. It's not that it's bigger than every other SUV (it isn't - though it's mighty big) but that it has apparently been designed to celebrate its own gigantism so brazenly. This is the SUV as hussy. It's the sport-ute equivalent of a hefty woman in a tube top, vinyl miniskirt, thigh-high boots and too much makeup."

Sounds sexy, right?

But seriously, why bother to send me information in the mail about Infiniti's latest vehicle? Who the hell buys a car based upon unsolicited information he/she receives via snail-mail about a particular vehicle? Especially a vehicle that costs in excess of $55,000 (MSRP)? Let's temporarily suspend the minor details about gas approaching $4.00 per gallon and the fact that no one in their right mind would buy an SUV these days - especially THIS monstrosity that gets 12, that's TWELVE miles per gallon. If I WERE going to spend $55-60k on a vehicle, do they REALLY think that the little postcard they send me in the mail is going to sway my purchase decision? Really? As I said in my note to the marketing think-tank at Infiniti/Nissan, if I'm interested in spending bucks like that on a car, I'm likely to go to one of their fine dealerships, or at least check out their automobile offerings on the Internet Machine. Even Jonny's old ass is not going to pursue a $60k purchase decision via snail mail. I was tempted to tug their chain a little and actually request "more information on the all-new Infiniti QX", but all that would do is generate more paper that Jonny would have to throw away, and it would not teach the desired lesson nor send the desired message. Instead, I decided to send them my own polite little message (on their dime, as always) about how stupid their marketing is. I think I made my point, but did so very diplomatically and ended it with the ever-so-sweet graphic heart and "Love you long time!"

I cannot see any point in mailings like these, except that someone has a vested interest in keeping the United States Postal Service in business (yet another "another topic for another day") by distributing this worthless, pointless shit-mail. So I spent another 30 cents or so of Infiniti's money to let them know how I felt. Maybe they'll see the light and realize that by wasting 30 cents, they got the full impact of Jonny's wisdom and may save hundreds of thousands by NOT sending out their next snail-mail/shit-mail campaign.





That is all. Jonny out, bitches!

Kicked Square-In-The-Nuts:Self-Service Checkout LinesPart II: The Solution

Part II of this series will focus on my solution to the problem of forced servitude and human slavery imposed by the retail self-service checkout line.

Sadly, Jonny has come to realize that bitching to a mega-retailer, or any mega-company for that matter, is an exercise in futility. The representative to whom you complain may feign interest in your concerns and sympathy for your plight, and they may even fabricate a response along the lines of "We are working to improve that" or "I agree with you and I will absolutely pass your comments along to upper management". But they don't, and they won't. Frankly, they don't give a shit about you or your opinions. They have thousands upon thousands of customers, and in their opinion you can pound your stupid concerns straight up your ass.

In my case, if I get pissed enough about the check-out situation and demand to speak to a "manager", I'm going to get some fat guy wearing a necktie that barely reaches his sternum who will patronize me with statements similar to those above, and then he will proceed to tell me how much he appreciates Jonny's honest feedback and how much they value Jonny's business and blah-blah-fucking-blah. In reality, he just wants to get me to leave as soon as possible so that he can go back to playing Freecell and getting handsy with the teenage help. And if I threaten with "I'll never shop here again" or "I'll take my business elsewhere", do you think he gives a fuck? Nope. Especially since all of his competitors do the same shit. They will trade customers back and forth, and as long as no one is doing a better job than anyone else, they will all share equally in this zero-sum game. Nothing is going to change, and all I'm going to do is make myself even MORE bitter and pissed off by attempting to convince Mr. Manager that his system sucks and that he needs more $6.00/hour teenagers.

So instead of twisting myself up bitching to people who don't care, I execute covert operations in the hope that the retailers will eventually see the error of their ways. Most likely they will not catch on and nothing will change, but at least I get the satisfaction of knowing that I "stuck it to the fat guy in the tiny tie".

Now, I'm not advocating that you steal any merchandise from the store. That would be wrong, right? Instead, rationalize it like I do: They are making more money by reducing their workforce and at the same time they are stealing my labor without fairly compensating me for my time when I am forced to scan and bag my own groceries. Generally, a person making close to Minimum Wage is not going to be terribly diligent about their job, so how diligent am I expected to be when I am working for FREE? Exactly!

So I might accidently overlook a few items and forget to scan them. Hey - Give me a break! They don't pay me enough to do this job diligently, plus I didn't get proper training as a grocery checker-outer. Or when an item doesn't scan, or it's an item without a UPC like produce, or for whatever reason I have to look up an item on their computer, I might accidentally pick the wrong item. And by a miraculous coincidence, the incorrectly-selected item might always cost significantly less than the actual item. Oops! Did I make a mistake? I'm sorry - I am new at this job, and during my training the manager was more interested in grabbing my ass than teaching me how to properly handle the precious assets of the store. If you pay me more, I promise I'll pay more attention and do a better job. Until then, I'm going to do what all low-wage workers do - I'm going to fuck up a lot, usually for my own benefit.

And if all else fails and they confront me with all of the mistakes I'm making while working as an unpaid, untrained employee, I'll just blame it on their REAL employee. After all, he's the one who is apparently doing all of the work. Those arrogant fucks have the nerve to print "Your Cashier was Skippy" on my receipt, so it must be Skippy's fault that I paid less for my groceries than I should have, right?

Jonny has grown tired of this topic, so Jonny out, bitches!

Kicked Square-In-The-Nuts:Self-Service Checkout Lines

Recently Jonny has been kicked square-in-the-nuts by that horrible mutation of technology-gone-wrong known as "self-checkout". These horrible technological abominations are most common in grocery stores and Wal-Mart-style superstores, but I have also found these in my local Home Depot. I'm sure they exist elsewhere, but Jonny doesn't get out much. I'm not leaving the house to buy something that I can get handed to me on my doorstep (or better yet, just left on my doorstep so I don't have to answer the door) by that man in the funny brown shorts that drives the big brown truck. In my opinion, the greatest accomplishment of the Internet is that it allows me to live my life while interacting with as few stupid people as possible. But that's a topic for another day.

Jonny is a big fan of automation, but not if it means that computers and machines save work for SOMEONE ELSE while creating MORE work for ME. In other words, these fucking machines are NOT automation at all. Nothing is any more automated than it was in the customary retail check-out process, except perhaps the handling of cash and change by the machine, although tonight I fed a $20 into the machine and Skippy, Grand Master of the Self Checkout System, handed me my change. Anyway, these devices are not an advancement by technology, but instead clever trickery by some mischievous badger at the store to get me to perform THEIR labor and save THEIR money. FUCK THAT!!!

Seriously, when did it become MY FUCKING JOB to ring up my purchases and bag my own goddamn groceries? Last time I checked, I don't get a W-2 from any of the stores where I shop. I checked my receipt very carefully, and no where do I see an "Employee Discount" or a "DIY Discount" for doing their job for them. So basically they have replaced a teenager making $6.00 per hour with my old ass making $0.00 per hour.

There are times when these contraptions are useful. During dayparts when the stores are busy enough to have plenty of conventional (i.e. employee-operated) checkout lines open, these self-serve gizmos serve as four (or more) extra Express Lanes. If I just stopped at the store to grab a handful of items, I can usually get out of there quicker if I swallow my pride and do my own grunt work. Cool. I'm fine with that. I don't mind being my own bitch if it will allow me to embark on the rest of my life a little quicker rather than spend it basking in the fluorescent glow of some tilt-wall retail hellhole while taking in all of the latest headlines about what crazy shit Britney did this week or about Brad Pitt's bitch squatting out another squid. Jonny apologizes if his gossip is not up to date.

Unfortunately, that's not usually the case - at least not when I visit the store. The retailers seem enamored with the concept of FORCING me to use these evil machines by significantly reducing (or completely eliminating) the number of conventional checkout lines open during slower parts of their business day. I frequently hit the store during their slower hours to just pick up a few items. Sometimes it's picking up a few supplies to make Mrs. Jonny a nice adult beverage at the end of a long day or week. Sometimes it's just a bag of pet food, or a case of water, or something that the Jonny household is out of. Such was the case tonight - Kitty Jonny was out of food and I had a few minutes to kill before my Chinese take-out order was ready.

So I roll up to the front of the store carrying Kitty Jonny's dinner / breakfast / lunch and two bags of late night munchies for myself (damn those impulse purchases). It's a little after 9:00 on Friday night, and the local Kroger isn't a hotbed of consumer activity, but there were a fair number of folk doing their consumption business. There is ONE, exactly ONE FUCKING LINE open. By "Line" I mean the conventional type. That line is out of the question, as I survey three SUV-size carts full of rations tended by three SUV-size bitches waiting to be serviced. So I roll over to the Self-Serve area and hope for the best. Not so much.

Theoretically, I am the next in line. Unfortunately, every store that has these goddamn machines refuses to set up an actual "line" or any sort of queuing mechanism for waiting patrons, so it seems like I invariably get fucked in the line selection/sequencing process. It's like a big public men's room with two entrances and lines at both doors for the same set of urinals - there is no good mechanism for determining who gets to piss next. Everyone tries to be the next guy to reach the open urinal without making eye contact with any of his fellow trough-goers. If I stand right in the middle, seeming to broadcast to the retail world "Hey, I get the next station that opens up", it never fails that some douchebag comes and stands on one side of me or the other, basically disallowing my assertion and claiming his half of the stations for himself in the name of Ferdinand and Isabella. "That Fuckin' Guy" is the reason why I don't carry a gun into the grocery store most of the time. Sooner or later I'm going to twist off on That Fuckin' Guy, and the outcome may not be deemed as a justified use of deadly force. So instead I usually just give him that "What the fuck?" look, including the requisite Italian-style hand gestures - he appears to understand my position, but he never seems to give up his claim.

So tonight is no different - my claim to the entire set of self-serve stations is not recognized by the United Nations or the European Union, so I end up moving to one side, where seemingly I am next in line for one of the two stations. Except that one of these stations is "down", and the women currently standing at that station are, in actuality, waiting for the NEXT station, which is the one station on this side that is not "down". I thought the whole point of replacing humans with machines is that the machines don't call in sick, don't have bad days, and generally don't fuck up the works. Not so much.

Anyway, the woman using the single remaining functioning station on my side of Gilligan's Island also has an SUV-size cart full of shit. Apparently she saw the long lines at the single fucking open conventional register and had the brilliant idea of trying to take her monstrous load through the self-serve line. Nice try, bitch. Leave the heavy lifting to the Professionals - they get $6.00/hour for a REASON. During what seemed like an eternity, I watched this dunce try to figure out how to get the machine to understand everything she wished to purchase while she paused periodically to scream at her two little bastard children that were tearing shit up over in the magazine section. Note to self - invest in Private Incarceration Firms - the prison business is only going to get better and better as this generation of shithead parents cranks out the next generation of double-shithead kids.

I thought I was finally going to twist off as I watched her try to scan a big frosted birthday-style sheet cake inside the typical grocery store plastic cake packing. The label was on top of the box, and she kept trying to figure out how to flip the cake over to scan it without ruining the cake inside the box. Dear God, PLEASE, KILL ME NOW!!! Finally, like the Vatican during the Holocaust, Skippy finally acknowledged the plight of this ignorant cunt and took his Telxon over and scanned the cake for her. Somewhere during this fiasco, Skippy told me that the "down" station was now "up" - I tried to use it, but it still wasn't working, so I told Skippy, and he copped an attitude like I was too stupid to use his precious system. I'm sorry Skippy, you'll have to forgive me - I didn't score very highly on the "Touch the big square on the screen" section of the SAT. At that point I began touching the "Start" button as quickly as I could while the machine beeped/screamed in protest. Skippy came over and tried it, because I guess he thought that HIM pressing "Start" was WAY better than me pushing it. Fuck you Skippy. You're about 10 IQ points away from being that "special" kid that pushes the carts out to the old ladies' cars. Oh wait, they phased out that job too.

Eventually the stupid whore hogging the single working station left, and the women in front of me scanned and paid for their wine, and then Jonny finally got to ring up his three items, pay for them, and go on his merry way. If my Chinese food is cold I'm gonna KICK SOME ASS! Or maybe I'll just microwave my food.

This post is already WAY too long and no one is going to read it, so I'm going to cut it off here and resume tomorrow with Part II. If anyone actually comments on this, I fully expect the comments to be "TL;DR" (too long, didn't read) and "Cliff's Notes please". Like you actually have something better to do. No, just like I have time to write this shit, you have time to read it!

Jonny out for now, bitches.

More Fun with Credit Cards

For a much more creative and much more elaborate credit card prank than Jonny's amateur attempts at humor, check out what THIS guy did. Keep clicking through the links at the end of the page - his thought process and his experiment gets wilder and wilder, and his results get more hilarious as he goes.


Part I:

http://www.zug.com/pranks/credit/

Part II:

http://www.zug.com/pranks/credit_card/

This was my favorite one:





Greatness!

Fun with Credit Card Companies

Like you, Jonny is annoyed with all of the unsolicited credit card offers I receive in the mail. I have one credit card, and I have had it since 1996. So you would think that the Capital One's and the WAMU's of the world would eventually figure out that I have never responded to one of their offers, and that they are wasting their money and our mutual time sending me this shit? But since they don't appear to be listening, I decided to try to have a little fun with them. If I have to waste my time sifting through their shit and destroying it whenever it arrives in the mail, I might as well waste a little more of their time (and a few more cents of their money) and see if I can entertain myself in the process.

I stole the idea from the guys over at BigStack.com / WestonPoker.com. As time goes on I'm sure I'll come up with more creative and funnier ways to fuck with them, but here's v1.0.

This particular offer pissed Jonny off more than most, because they sent it in an oversized brown envelope and even inserted a sheet of bubble wrap, presumably to make this particular piece of shit-mail seem larger, thicker, and therefore more important(?). Or maybe they were worried that the documents would be damaged in transit and therefore needed packing material to make sure that they arrive safely. Regardless, I wrote them a courteous note on the bubble wrap in which I thanked them for the free entertainment. We all love popping bubble wrap, right? Then I stuffed it all back in their prepaid envelope and shipped it off to them in the mail (on their dime, of course).

I have a couple more such pieces of shit-mail on my desk and I'm trying to think of what to do for v2.0. Any ideas are welcome. Just keep in mind that my intent is just to give some poor slob working in a mailroom somewhere a giggle, and at the same time to piss off the stuffed-shirt that reigns over his miserable life. The point is that I'm not trying to rebel against The Man, create social/civil unrest, or attract the interest of the BATF or FBI. This ain't Fight Club kids. I doubt anyone other than the mail guy will ever see my handiwork, but I had fun with it.