b e e f e n c h i l a d a d o t c o m

I ran into a former co-worker in the parking lot of Home Depot this afternoon. we exchanged pleasantries (as he is one of the few former co-workers of mine I actually like) and he filed me in on what life at my old job is like. The short answer: even shittier than it had been when I left, and almost exactly as shitty as I had foreseen it would get by this point in time.

The insane harpy they stuck me in a cubicle with has apparently gotten even more insane and harpy-like, making everyone's life a living hell. Management is still incapable of deaing with any situation regarding personnel (these are the same folks who are scared shitless of being sued if they discipline people who behave badly, but do not see the liability issues of telling women who complain about being called "stupid, useless women" by older, misogynistic coworkers that they should buck up and respect the cultural and generation background of the men who say such things), and almost no work is getting done.

The situation I described above was a large part of why I was so miserable at that job, and why I am so goddamned happy to be unemployed now. The work wasn't difficult or overly stressful, but the work environment was simply intolerable. I am only sorry that while cleaning old files off my computer last week, I deleted the documentation about my nasty cubicle mate that I was going to use as the basis for a) a formal complaint to corporate HR and b) a nice little lawsuit if the situation wasn't resolved in house; I could've forwarded it to a few folks still there who might have put it to good use.

I am finding that my worst day unemployed has beaten my best day employed at any point over the past five years. This is making me think VERY hard about forsaking dreams of life as a patent attorney and consider dreams of life as whatever kind of attorney that any government agency who will have me needs. After all, no matter what you do for a living, it is better to be not at work than at work...

beefenchilada dot com is hooking you the hell up for 2005- just look at all the rockity content we have coming up for you in the immediate to not-too-distant future:

1. I'll be attending the 2005 International Consumer Electronics Show here in Vegas next week on behalf of anyone actually reading this thing. Look for the occasional report of way-cool shit in the way of consumer electronics...but expect many more stories of dork-ass convention attendees.

Guys attending this show and Comdex (especially the latter) are notorious in Vegas for a) being dorks and b) using the trip as an excuse to spend their nerd-earned dollars on gambling (which they should avoid, as they are math nerds and know the stats better than to play) or women (which normally avoid them). Anything I hear from these lamers will be posted for your amusement- including questions (and my kick-ass answers thereto) such as:

"How do I get to the Olympic Garden from here?",
"Where is the nearest legal brothel?", or
"What pick-up lines work best on the barmaids at Quark's?"

2. Starting sometime early next year, beefenchilada dot com will play host to a new site chronicling life inside a casino...as seen through the eyes of a professional craps dealer and misanthrope. That reality show shit you didn't bother to watch on TV was completely bogus- what we'll have for you is the REAL Vegas. Not only will we have stories, there will also be COMICS drawn by Jean-Paul of Hungry Boy fame! Details as things start to come together...

3. Here's a recipe for you from my archives. I developed this recipe because my wife wanted to drink an apple martini but I refuse to allow any of those candy-ass flavored schnapps (e.g., anything made by DeKuyper) in our home. Berentzen apfelkorn is a not overly sweet liquer from Germany- check it out.

Beefenchilada's Non-Chicktastic Apple Martinis:

-Three parts decent vodka (I use Luksosowa as it is fairly cheap, but Skyy or something similar will work as well. NB: If you drink vodka what comes out of plastic, you deserve that hangover that it always gives you).

-1 Part Berentzen

-Honey

-Apple

Fill shaker with ice. Add maybe 1 tablespoon of honey (one or two squirts of the plastic bear) over ice. Add alcohol. Shake vigorously, strain into chilled martini glass. Garnish with thin wedge of apple.

Notes: The honey does not go into solution well at all- especially given it's poured over ice. Still, it gives a nice sweetness around the edge of the palate that nicely pulls the drink together; it's somewhat analogous to shaking a touch of scotch with one's ice and pouring it out prior to making martinis. I understand that berentzen makes a sour apple schapps now, too. That's fine...if you're a tard. If this is not sufficiently sweet for you, change the ratio of vodka: Berentzen to 2:1. If this is still not sweet enough, hand over your fake ID, missy.

Actually, as far as holidays go, that was a good'un. No fistfights, puking, or severe mental distress. Besides, I learned many useful things, including:

1. Somebody at Dreyer's thought this was a good name for a product. I was walking by the freezer section with Kobuster on the 24th and saw it. I thought it was a joke, and then I thought that maybe it was only striking me as horribly wrong because I am an infantile dumbass. I wonder if it is good as the discontinued-but-delicious Skid Mark Crunch flavor...

2. If you want to make glögg but only have ground cardamom (or simply don't want to spend the 14 bucks per bottle those filthy bastards down at the supermarket charge for the pods), a suitable arrangement can be had by using a permanent goldtone coffee filter for mulling. In fact, here is my kickass recipe- clip n' save for next year!

Beefenchilada’s Holiday Glögg (Makes Two Batches)
• Two 750 mL bottles cheap-ass dry red wine (we're talking screw-cap wino shit, folks)
• Two 750 mL bottles cheap-ass ruby port (of a substatantially similar quality as dry red wine, supra)
• One 750 mL bottle cheap-ass vodka (I would go one step up from the plastic bottle variety)
• Two cups sugar
• Orange Peel, Cinnamon, Cloves, Cardamom (Find a mulling spice blend with the first three(many contain allspice, as well). Otherwise, try peel, of 2 oranges, 4-6 sticks cinnamon, three dozen cloves, and either two dozen cardamom seeds or 1 tablespoon of ground cardamom

Add one bottle of each wine (save the bottles for later) plus half the vodka to a nonreactive heating vessel (I prefer the good ol’ crockpot/slow cooker). Place one half of the spices in a reusable coffee filter basket (the gold tone ones work fine), and suspend this in the alcohol mixture (hanging the basket on a wooden spoon across the top of the crock pot works well). Heat slowly.

Carmelize one half of the sugar over medium-high heat. Pour into pot and enjoy loud noises. Continue heating on very low heat (“Keep Warm” setting on slow cooker will do) until carmelized sugar dissolves and enough of aromatics in spices suffuse in the drink so that it no longer tastes like the completely cheap-ass wino swill from which you made it. Serve warm, and bottle remainder in the empty wine bottles you saved in earlier step. Repeat process next day, because you’ll have drank all you made rather quickly.

3. Next year, we're going to have a YOU RUINED CHRISTMAS prize. We decided to convert this classic motto of dysfunctional family gatherings into a compliment and/or statement of accomplishment or (e.g.: "Nice ham: way to ruin Christmas, you bastard" or "I'm finished with setting the table, and I believe it totally ruins Christmas"). A small trophy of Jesus crying or something along those lines will be just the ticket.

4. I FINALLY got my copy of Rogue to Riches back, and can now give the origin of "I hope elephants crap on his lawn." Thanks again, Mr. Boswell.



5. Neither of the people who read this site could top Krusty's story about his various voluminous and disfigured kin, so I am keeping the prize. Well, I didn't actually buy the prize yet. But it's going to be booze. For me. Because I am keeping it.

On several occasions before, during, and after my last final, folks within earshot have heard me say "I hope elephants crap on his lawn" when referring to the prof who taught the Worst. Class. Ever. A couple of folks thought it was funny; however, it's not my line. The quote comes from an issue of REID FLEMING: WORLD'S TOUGHEST MILKMAN, written long ago by David Boswell.

Since I got lots of blank stares every time I said the aforementioned line concerning real property and pachyderm feces, I thought it would be a good idea to scan the panel from whence it came and slap it up here. Of course, I thought it would be proper to seek permission from the copyright holder first.

This idea, as so many good'uns do, came to me after coming home from a contemplative gathering of my friends spent meditating on our shared trials and triumphs. Now, casual observers would have pegged this event as three fat guys sucking down Guinness at breakneck speeds while hurling profanities at each other over the course of several hours, but you get the drift.

So, a drunken e-mail goes off to Mr. Boswell in which I (aside from vainly attempting to heap praise without sounding like a total fanboy) asked for permission to post his copyrighted works.

Several hours later, I am nursing a surprisingly minor hangover; I check my inbox and what do you know- Mr. Boswell was kind enough to grant permission for me to use his artwork on my site. What a swell guy; thanks, and happy holidays, Mr. Boswell. The rest of you bastards should send me money so I can buy some of his artwork.

So where is the panel? I loaned my only copy of Rogue to Riches to an acquaintance, so have nothing to show until I get it back from the guy. What a reet am I. I'll post soon.

If you aren't familiar with Reid, You really should click on the link above and check him out. In fact, the National Library and Archives of Canada have an entire episode of Reid Fleming online here.

Most young boys spend a period of their childhood wanting to be a comic book hero when they grow up. I decided I wanted to be Reid Fleming when I grow up when I was 14...and the older I get, the more I want to be like Reid. This has caused considerable damage to my liver and my career, but that's a small price to pay.

Having spent the day studying for my "Worst. Class. Ever." final, I have nothing to show but an a heart full of even more profound hatred of said course than before, a head full of worthless knowledge and a belly full of an excellent meal (gracias to classmate who hosted study session, put up with our dumb-ass questions, and cooked a rockin' dinner for us). All in all, 1 out of 3 ain't bad.

It is time to put up another Hungry Boy classic by Pee-wee.

In the interest of full disclosure:
- I have a toddler.
- I think he's fairly rad.
- There's a website out there with pics of him for the relatives.
- I admit that my wife and I used a picture of him for our Chanukamas card.

But this is pushing the goddamned envelope.

I did not explore in depth. I looked at the front page for about five seconds. But I'm still standing by my initial diagnosis, which is: Dude- step away from the interweb machine, put your daughter in daycare, and see if you can talk your doctor into prescribing you a daily diet of several handfuls of selective serotonin-reuptake inhibitors.

OK, you twisted, overeducated freak; let me give you some friendly advice:

This and this are EXCEPTIONS TO HEARSAY.

Clear enough? Good; keep up with me here; this one is a little trickier:

THESE ARE NOT HEARSAY, JACKASS. See where it says "A statement is not hearsay if--"?

I don't care what it was called back when you were in law school. I couldn't give a rat's ass about your widely-recognized term of art. If you are writing a modern Evidence casebook and you keep calling 801(d) shit "exceptions to hearsay," then you deserve to be beaten to death by your students...with their Emmanuel outlines, no less.

Back in my previous life, I was a chemist. Even though career options and salaries for chemists in this area were (and, 3½ years later, still are) sufficiently sucktastic to induce me to sign up for four years of studying law at night, there are things I really dig about chemistry (and science in general).

One of those things is that scientists unambiguously and concisely identify what they are talking about. That's because there is a name for everything (OK, some common names overlap, but if you know something's binomial nomenclature or IUPAC name, you can uniquely identify that organism or chemical from all others in the known Universe). Not a lot of confusion going on there.

Law profs may talk about striving for unambiguity, but some of them sure as hell ain't walking the walk. I think some science classes in undergrad might have helped, but most of them apparently majored in philosophy and poli.sci. So, they end up being a group of people who spent four years in college, at least three working on postsecondary education, and possibly even another year or two on their LLM, but the vast majority therein apparently can't dissect a frog, add small numbers together without a calculator, or (I can't swear to this, but I have strong suspicions) explain how rain works.

Yeah, I spent an hour yesterday tearing my hair out, trying to figure out what the hell I wasn't getting about hearsay.

Yeah, I was so pissed about wasting my time that I didn't even get an ego stroke when I realized that the correct answer was "the author is wrong and Beefenchilada is right."

Yeah, I just got out of my final.

Yeah, I'm drinking. What's your point?

So here are some random things I have learned over the past several days:

1. If faced with a question of unfair prejudice v. probative value, jump up and down and holler "Old Chief!"...and then go slam your head in your car door three or four times for being such a lawtard.

2. The reason the feds were so cranky over telling me how to fill out my background check papers is because they are used to people from my school doing it in a totally incompetent manner. Judging from the reaction from the very nice lady at la officina de los federales when my classmate and I turned our papers in, the fact that we're able to completely and correctly fill out forms makes us wunderkinder in comparison to our peers. Hey, I love working for people who have low expectations of me- they are almost never disappointed, and occasionally pleasantly surprised.

3. Speaking of background checks, they move on those things quick. My three references and the missus all received calls yesterday. Then again, the questions were not exactly hard. The asked everyone who they called the same questions:

"do you swear Beefenchilada's not a:
a. criminal;
b. anarchist:
c. sandinista, or
d. someone who thinks McDonald's hamburgers taste like masking tape?"

Actually, those questions were written by Berke Breathed and appeared in an old Bloom County cartoon. People told me what the actual questions were- I forget, but they were substantially similar.

(Yeah; I know it would've been funnier to use the actual comic strip than to quote it, but if you think I am going to actively court copyright infringement this late in the game, then you are even dumber than I am.)

4. You will probably not have a weirder family moment this holiday than the one my long-lost pal Krusty had wih his (and if you do, e-mail it to me; I will publish the best entries and declare a winner who will receive some truly de minimis prize (in addition to my admiration, which is not only the greatest thing to which you can aspire, but also isn't includable in gross income, thereby not messing with your taxes as a prize of a car or bag of krugerrands would)). I haven't gotten Krusty's permission to reprint, so I am heavily paraphrasing and changing details to protect the heavy and the disfigured:

My cousin (whom I have not seen in a while) flew into town for a funeral and decided to do a spontaneous drop-in visit on me. So, I am awakened at 10:30 am by her and her husband banging on the door. Now, she's always been a big girl, but has bounced up to about 350 since I saw her last- I was somewhat taken aback and didn't do too good a job of hiding it.

However,the kicker was her husband- I knew he'd recently had surgery for a problem with one of his eyes, but was surprised to see him in an eyepatch...and even more surprised when shortly after the "how are you doing"-type pleasantries they both asked if I wanted to see his lost eye. LOST EYE. I am still not 100% sure what they meant, but I am convinced it had something to do with gazing in his newly-empty eye socket. I declined. They seemed disappointed and left soon thereafter

If you have a better story than this, let me know. I am turning on the "Comments" function so you may post your stories. If you prefer, you may mail them directly to me- the link to e-mail me is in the toolbar on the left.

Back to the joys of exceptions to hearsay.

So I am studying for my Evidence final today and it occurs to me that there is a potentially funny hypothetical that could be written concerning several of the federal rules and a one-legged crack whore. I put down my Emanuel's outline and start typing out a rough sketch for this potential piece of humor. And then the little voice in my head (not the one who says "another three shots of whiskey isn't going to kill you," but the one who says "well, now you've had those three shots and are acting like an idiot; you might as well make your shame complete and go throw up on something) says loud enough to make my eardrums burst:

"FUNNY HYPOTHETICAL? EVIDENCE HUMOR? JESUS CHRIST, YOU SUCK! WAY TO ACT LIKE A LAW STUDENT- PLEASE KILL YOURSELF NOW."

To be fair, I could justifiably claim that I am at diminished capacity due to two sleepless nights with a sick toddler. But, the honest truth is that law school makes you a complete loser. If I were in better shape (or at least more limber) I would kick my own ass...

Spent most of today filling out paperwork for an externship I will be doing next semester. Externships are like internships- you work for course credit instead of pay. I guess they are called "externships" instead of "internships" because law schools just have to show off how different they are from other academic programs. Dorks.

Anyhow, the one I will be doing is with . I spent over five hours today doing the research required to fill out STANDARD FORM 85: QUESTIONNAIRE FOR NON-SENSITIVE POSITIONS. I had to provide my addresses for the past ten years, and list all employment for either the past five years. I also have to account for each break in employment by entering UNEMPLOYED in the listing, providing dates, and giving the contact information of a person who can vouch for the fact that I was indeed unemployed.

On the other hand, this has been great practice for filling out bar exam applications, and I even got to talk to several old friends with whom I have not been in contact for ages - the desire to let people know "Hey, the FBI might be calling you soon to talk about me; just wanted to give you a heads-up" turns out to be a great motivator to reach out and touch someone. On the other hand, the paranoiac in me is screaming "WAY TO GIVE THEM A CRIB SHEET TO VERIFY WHETHER THEIR SECRET FILES ARE INDEED CORRECT, YOU IDIOT."

Still, I am almost curious as to what information one would have to provide for a "sensitive position." But not really. In fact, I am afraid to ask.

Today is the 55th birthday of America's greatest living national treasure: actor, composer, and recording artist:

Tom Waits. Happy Birthday, Tom.

If you haven't done so yet, check out his latest. Not quite as good as Mule Variations, but a damned fine album.

Oh, and it's my youngest brother's birthday, too. Happy birthday, Jim.

Oh- I think some other stuff happened on this day once, too.

OK, it's time for a quiz. The worst thing about being a parent is...


A) The lack of sleep.

B) Constantly being bombarded with drool, vomit, urine, and feces for first 1-18 years.

C) Having to lock up your porn, booze, and firearms.

D) The knowledge that the sweet little tyke who melted your black, icy heart the first time he said “da-da” will grow up to be the surly teen who says “fuck you, dad" before getting drunk on his mother’s hairspray, sneaking out, and wrapping your new red convertible around a telephone pole on his way to go knock up that really homely chick with the missing fingers he met in high school shop class.

E) Childrens’ TV Shows.


The answer, of course, is “E.”

Now, you might be of the opinion that TV is unhealthy for children, and they should be forbidden from watching it at all. If so, you are probably

i) childless and therefore do not know what the hell you’re talking about so keep your goddamned opinion to yourself and/or

ii) some pinko intellectual psychology major, in which case, your opinion does not matter since your name is on a governmental list and within the next six months, you and yours will find yourselves interned at a Federal Re-Education Camp somewhere in the Sonoran Desert. Remember, They think They have a Mandate this time....

On the other hand, you might be one of those people who lets your TV raise your kids for you. If so, I say “good job, and keep up the great work." My kid is going to have an easy time standing out from the crowd if said crowd consists of your little mouth-breathers what can’t read or write at grade level. In fact, you might want to consider investing in a TiVo- just think of all the stuff you could get done if your kids had 40 straight hours of programming to look at instead of bothering you.

All TV shows designed for kids are annoying as hell; that’s to be expected. The ones I want to write about today are the ones that (in addition to be annoying,) are CREEPY AND WRONG. We’re talking about the ones that leave me feeling disturbed.

Exhibit A: Teletubbies
We all remember when overt insane bigot and (suspected) self-hating, covert sac-wrangler Jerry Falwell started ranting about how the giant purple mutant retard with the speech impediment and red purse on this show was gay. This show creeps me out not because of the gay giant mutant retard with a speech impediment, but because this show is about giant mutant retards with speech impediments.

I suspect that toddlers love this show for the same reason many adults love Jerry Springer: they like to feel smarter than and generally superior to folks they see on TV. I actually let my kid watch this in moderation, because it is infinitely less creepy and wrong than some of the stuff out there. Which leads us to:

Exhibit B: The Wiggles
I can’t tell if these four color-coordinated tweekers are flamboyantly gay or just Australian, and to be honest, I don’t have a problem with either (OK, that’s a lie; Australians give me the heebie-jeebies). My problem with the Wiggles (and their nasty compatriots, including this Village People also-ran what runs around with a feather dildo) is that they are obviously horrible preverts and/or melstors of some variety. I’m not sure for what “wiggling” is supposed to be a euphemism, but I do know I don’t want it taking place around my son.

Here is a picture of the Wiggles preparing to sodomize a dolphin. Look at the poor animal’s face- doesn’t it appear to be screaming “HEELLLP!”? Of course it does. I don’t allow my son to watch this show, and have written my senator asking him to declare war on both Australia and the Disney Channel for conspiring to warp the children of America.

Exhibit C: Boohbah
This is the single most creepy and wrong thing on TV. Ever. I saw this for about five minutes once...but only because I was too paralyzed with fear and disbelief to reach for the remote. The woman what came up with the idea for Teletubbies apparently decided that a show about giant mutant retards with speech impediments only provided 28% of the Recommended Daily Allowance of Creepy and Wrong that British children need, and tried to correct this. According to the show’s website:

“The Boohbahs, five magical atoms of power, light and fun travel in their Boohball around the world, from child to child. Fifteen countries are visited throughout the changing title sequence.

The Boohbahs represent the imaginative power and light which allows children to control the screen action by the use of the magic word “Boohbah”, and send presents into an imaginary Storyworld for the Storypeople - Grandmamma, Grandpappa, Mrs Lady, Mr Man, Brother and Sister, Auntie and Little Dog Fido to play with and make a story in partnership with them. We hear the children intervening in the screen action by the sound of their blowing and their use of the word “Boohbah”. This motivates the action and moves the story along.”

I call bullshit on that. This show is about five multi-colored dancing scrota interspersed with sped-up video footage of children around the world gyrating and contorting themselves into inappropriate positions. I can’t begin to fathom what is wrong with the mind of the woman who came up with this and the Teletubbies. Of course, because it is of British origin, PBS slavishly broadcasts it into your living room. It is time to throw off the yoke of English oppression- and more to the point, time to stop giving PBS money.

So what is a parent to do? Easy- teach your child from an early age what values are important to you. I do this by sitting my boy on my lap once or twice a week to watch DivXs of old Ren & Stimpy cartoons on the computer. I am already looking forward to the day when he gets sent home for calling the first teacher who can’t answer his questions a “fat, bloated eediot.”

So I saw that Rolling Stone magazine came out with its list of the 500 Greatest Rock Songs Ever. Now, when one thinks of "Greatest Song of All Time," one expects to see "Stairway to Heaven" or any of maybe ten other songs that always wind up in the top slot of these stupid lists. This is not because any of these songs is the greatest rock song ever (although at least a case can be made for each one...especially if sufficient bonghits are involved), but because that's the kind of songs that wind up on these lists; no big deal.

Rolling Stone decided they had to prove once and for all that they are STILL the voice for useless white people who once blew their folks' hard-earned by being hippies for six months in 1969 (by which time all the REAL hippies had been doing it long enough so that these poser-ass boomers felt could buy their love beads at the local strip mall). So, whose song do they put at the top of the list? Mr. "Adenoidal Loser From Duluth" himself: Bob Dylan.

People, let me make this real clear: BOB DYLAN IS TO ROCK WHAT KIM-JONG IL IS TO TALL, ATTRACTIVE, AND DEBONAIR. I'm not saying that you are a totally filthy lamer if you like him (well, you are, but that's not the point), but my 18-month old son banging on the tile floor in my kitchen with a couple of pot lids is infinitely more rock and roll (although arguably less talented) than Bob Dylan.

OK, Maybe RS felt obligated to put "Like a Rolling Stone" at the top of their list. However, if you feel that their choice of #1 rock song ever isn't proof enough that said publication is really nothing but propaganda for a certain variety of (rapidly) aging, useless and spoiled middle-class white people who used to be useless and spoiled middle-class white kids that occasionally tries to make its target audience feel relevant by writing what said audience's own useless and spoiled middle-class white kids might be listening to (assuming they suck as much as their parents did at that age), here's all the additional evidence you need: only one song out of the 500 they listed was by P-Funk OR contributors thereto.

Grapeshot stumbled across this whilst trudging through a Target somewhere in the Sacto. metropolitan area. This is why a good Scout always brings a camera.



.

Q: What do the following have in common?
-Memorizing the elements of the tort of Conversion as a fear-addled 1L
-"Battle of the Forms" under UCC Section 2-207
-The Rule Against Perpetuities
-The finer points of renvoi and other fun Conflicts of Law Principles
-Exceptions to the Hearsay Rule

A: I would rather have spent the past semester studying ANY OR ALL OF THE ABOVE WHILE BEING REPEATEDLY PUNCHED IN THE BALLS BY A CRACK-ADDLED MIDGET TIJUANA WHORE than have taken Business Organizations.

For you non-law types, the items listed in the question (supra) probably do not have much meaning. However, if you can't extrapolate from the answer that said items must suck pretty bad, then you are a retard and should step away from the interweb machine before you CLICK HERE TO WIN or send your bank account number to the son of the former Prime Minister of Nigeria.

You may ask "why do you hate Biz Orgs so much?" Well, let's work our way through the possible reasons:

1. "Do you hate the Prof?"- A very good question, and for classes I hate, the answer is usually "yes." Not so here. The prof is seemingly a good egg. Not snotty, fairly friendly, and doesn't drone endlessly. Also, I hear that he is actually capable of comprehending mathematical concepts beyond addition and subtraction of numbers larger than 2. Most law profs seem to have spent their undergrad years avoiding anything beyond English or Poli. Sci. classes, so I look upon this as a positive character trait in his favor.

2. "Is the subject material boring?"- Hell yeah, but that isn't enough to make me hate this class as much as I do. This is law school, and for every "dude, this is cool shit" class I've had, there have been three that are like mainlining Nyquil (only without the rad Nyquil drunkenness). BUT...the casebook is pretty bad, even by case book standards. I'd say you're getting warmer...

3. "Do your classmates make it horrible?"- Of course they do. They're law students, and most law students routinely violate the laws of fluid dynamics by simultaneously sucking and blowing. You are getting warmer yet...

4. "Gee, is it some freaky-ass synergistic combination of some or all of the above, creating an experience that is at least three orders of magnitude worse than the sum of its parts?"- BINGO! Pat yourself on the ass and say something flattering about your fat, unloved self.

What it comes down to is that this has seemed like a semester-long ego stroke/circlejerk for the yutzes that have their undergrad degrees in business. I really don't give a fuck about business; if I had, I might have bothered to take some business classes way back in college. About once a night in this class (well, the nights I have shown up, anyway), I have been convinced that at least one of the B-School wannabes is going to drop their pants and start masturbating in glee. They think this shit is profound. So does the prof. I don't blame him- he teaches and publishes in this area, so he probably should think it's profound...but I wish he wouldn't encourage the B-tards in the class. They don't know enough to understand why it's profound, but they know enough to get the prof lecturing on a level that is above my biz-challenged classmates and me.

Also, even though 99% of cases I have read in law school are fairly dreadful reading, there is usually at least some vague point of interest that can be taken therefrom. The only thing I have taken from the few cases I have been able to force myself to read in Biz. Orgs. this semester is that maybe I should re-think my position that while capitalism may or may not suck, it is still by far the best thing going. This class has pretty much been nothing more than which asshole with money gets to screw the other asshole with money. I've had classes pretty much dedicated to the preservation of rich peoples' wealth, and didn't get all socialist under the collar about it. Then again, those classes were about screwing The Man out of his cut or making sure that some dying sonofoabitch was able to effectively write his grandson out of the will because the kid is gay or voted Democrat or whatever (said hypothetical S.O.B. rates as vermin in my book, but it IS Grandpa's money, and he should be able to do with it as his hateful, bigoted old ass sees fit). Biz Orgs, on the other hand, is about which of two equally useless and/or horrible people wins...and I don't give a shit about either of them.

I'll be glad to pull any grade better than a YOU SUCK AND GET TO TAKE IT AGAIN, DUMBASS in this class. This is one bar course I would have rather had to learn from the good folks at Bar/Bri.