Get A Blog Guest Post By Snuggle Wasteland

Today I am thrilled to feature a guest post by Tracie at snugglewasteland.com. If you love irreverence, honesty and just plain old fabulous writing, Tracie is the gal for you.

Get a Blog

Have you ever been listening to someone yammer on so long you get kicked out of your Happy Place for loitering?

Have you ever found yourself nodding your head and throwing in pithy encouragers because you have no idea what they are saying?

“Really?”

 “Umm…Hmm…”

“I can’t believe it!”

Do you know anyone who always has whacky stuff happen but she can’t  tell anyone because it’s too crazy or embarrassing?

Have you been cornered by a new mom who can’t shut up about her baby’s latest accomplishments.

(Usually something like looking at his hand or making extra adorable poops.)

Friends, these people need to Get A Blog.

To my long suffering husband who needs to tell his side of the story and commiserate with like-minded sports fanatics and beer drinkers. 

Get A Blog!

To my friend with the douchecanoe husband who has been cheating on her for 10 + years. Your stories would guarantee outrage and comment frenzy. If you don’t blog about him I will.

Get A Blog!

To my FB “friend” (I’m using quotes here because I only have a vague idea as to who this person is IRL) who is infinitely amused by himself and has to post a new status update/promo for his book every 15 minutes.

Some people might actually enjoy your bad puns and over use of exclamation points.
Get A Blog!

To my co-worker who loves to cook and goes into detail about every gourmet creation.

Yes, you are wonderful.

I’m on a diet.

Get A Blog!

To my MIL who is so involved in her favorite grandchild’s life (not my kids, of course) that she has to brag to the rest of the family about each hockey goal/soccer game/report card/nocturnal emission.

I tuned you out 11 years ago.

Get A Blog!

Do you know anyone who needs to Get A Blog?

Corporate Tax Avoidance Syndrome: Signs, Symptoms and Causes.

Is There a Cure
for Corporate Tax Avoidance Syndrome?

Yes, Collective Outrage!

For a nice blood pressure spike, swing by PayUpNow.org and read the list of corporations beside GE that are not paying taxes.
Although for our purposes, I’m going to shine a light on GE.
In Jayne’s latest weekend recap posted at her wonderfully witty and informative site injaynesworld, Jayne smacks down GE for not paying any U.S.Taxes in 2009 and 2010.

But is Jayne being too tough on the poor GE billionaires? Paying taxes is so proletarian.

Why shouldn’t GE be able to keep every penny of their $14.2 billion profits they made in 2010 — $5.1 billion from its operations in the United States — and spread the wealth among their top 1% earning cronies? How else will they be able to keep making those monthly payments on their yachts and planes.

After reading Jayne’s post, I was so friggin angry that I had to comment. Then Jayne commented back and suggested that I publish my response in a blog post, which is the reason we are all here today — all three of us.

This is what I wrote (slightly edited for flow):

I was just watching a report on Caterpillar Corporation. The Caterpillar CEO is threatening to move the company out of Illinois because the state raised the state income tax by 2 1/2%, which could cost the state 23,000 jobs.

Despite the fact that…

“Caterpillar’s Profits for 2010 $2.7 BILLION, An increase of 202% from 2009.”

And the CEO is complaining about paying more taxes. WTF? No problem. The middle class can pick up the slack. We’ll cut back on luxury items like vegetables and eat Ketchup instead. After all, Ketchup is another food group.

The teachers will also help reduce the corporate tax burden when they lose their jobs due to cut backs. Then the schools can pack the kids into classrooms like cattle. Because that’s all we are. Dumb cattle that follow our politicians and corporate overlords to slaughter.

What is wrong with this country? Corporations barely pay anything in taxes, aren’t taxed when they take their business overseas, and are allowed to hide their money in off shore bank accounts. No wonder the country is broke.


Warning: To my Republican friends, the following is an angry commentary on the Republican tax cuts. There’s still time to look away. 

If the Republicans have their way, funding will be cut for programs such as meals on wheels, Planned Parenthood (they provide other medical services beside abortions), nutrition, Head Start, job training grants, and EPA regulations will be eliminated.

Me thinks the Republicans want to plunge the country into an even deeper recession to completely destroy the middle class in addition to Obama’s presidency.

Sadly, George Carlin was right. Corporations run the country. We’ll be going to the video tape shortly.

Life has changed forever. Employment has changed forever. The new reality is that folks have to survive on several part-time jobs with less pay and without benefits, which isn’t anything like friends with benefits.

How do you stop an enemy that not only produces the fabric of our society but sells the fabric, too? You don’t – 1984. Now I’m really depressed.

Now, to borrow Jayne’s words: Here’s a little bit about “The American Dream” from the genius of the late George Carlin.  Recorded in 2005, it’s even more timely today…

What say you about all the bulk in corporate bank accounts?
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Lord, I’m a Ramblin’ Woman.

I was interviewed by Karen at Blazing Minds. She has a great blogger interview series in addition to other engaging content that includes blogging tips, music & film reviews, memes, as well as Twitter tips. I receive daily updates by email, which helps me stay current on all Internet related news, i.e., cyber-threats, blog ads, iPad apps, etc.

Have a look-see and you’ll see the breadth (not bread) of fascinating articles available at Blazing Minds.

FYI, like the Tardis, Blazing Minds appears smaller on the outside. You know Who would know that, thus reminding me that I need to make a doctor’s appointment.

SURREAL PICTURE OF A BLAZING FIRE. 
(I require the use of a visual aid)

Blazing FireImage by Poe Tatum via Flickr

Blazing Minds – the ultimate all-you-can-eat buffet for your eyes. That’s why I keep coming back for more.

When you get a moment, please stop by and let me know if my ramblin’ was interesting or more like a case of diarrhea of the mouth. I can’t believe I spelled diarrhea right.

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Irony or Oy Vey What a Wrinkle.

Various antique irons.Image via Wikipedia

I follow the writing prompt of the day to irony and a wrinkled blouse that gets wedged against the ironing board that stands idly by lacking interest.

With each pressing moment, blouse increasingly reacts badly to the steam. She is a shriveling mess and does not respond well to the pressure.

Poor blouse, lying glued against the weary board. She cannot escape the fact that she lacks the constitution of cotton. She is a fake after all, a synthetic fiber mutt shipped in a box from China with other motley materialistic masses.

Blouse cannot handle the truth that she will never be like her cotton counterpart that performs somersaults in the dryer, finishing her routine with a perfect ten from the judge from Lintland.

Unlike synthetic blouse, cotton remains firm under pressure and can handle the heat, even after an ironic twist of the wrist leaves a wrinkle. Cotton does not falter. The wrinkles that line her back disappear from the rejuvenating steam iron spa. After the treatment, she is refreshed and hangs out in the bar with all the trendy clothes.

While bogus blouse, with creases embedded in her shoulders, gets tossed into a pile of rags. She is now fragments of her former self, crumpled and worn, a victim of the irony and hypocrisy of being wrinkle-free.

Writing prompt, irony, provided by Studio30Plus.

Irony – an outcome of events contrary to what was, or might have been, expected.
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A History of Jobs – Part 1

Phantom jobs linger in the fourth dimension of employment history, also known as job purgatory.

My first phantom job occurred at an ad agency and lasted as long as a pregnancy. During the final trimester, I spent my days practicing Lamaze breathing, while doing the doggy paddle in the deep end of the secretarial pool.

After several near drownings and a diagnosis of water on the knee, I escaped the secretarial pool and started my treacherous journey upstream, swimming against a choppy HR current stuffed with schools of pseudo glamour gal fish heads with pond silt on the brain.

A standard bottle of Wite-OutImage via Wikipedia
When I finally washed ashore onto the account executive shoreline, uh, er, department, I sat behind a desk with a Selectric Typewriter, now a rare artifact displayed in the Smithsonian Secretarial Museum.

In the pre tech dark ages, when computers were evil and only existed in movies, i.e., Hal in 2001: A Space Odyssey, the Selectric typewriter served office Cro-Magnon man’s needs, along with carbon paper, and Wite-Out/correction tape used to cover up mistakes, or unwanted wordage, before the invention of the delete key.

My assignment: to work for two account men, one, who was the son of Captain Kangaroo, the other just a son, although I could be wrong. After several hours of hacking away at the keys, I discovered that I couldn’t type, or rather hit the right keys under pressure.

I was a nervous type, with a penchant for puns, and made countless typos, which required copious amounts of Wite-Out that turned boring interoffice memos into works of art. My proclivity for mistypes, missed mistakes, and raised Braille lettered words layered with Wite-Out led to a meeting with Herr Human Resource Director, or the sour kraut, and resulted in my eventual dismissal.

I sat across from Herr HR Director in an elementary school size chair that stood two feet below the desk, and listened to Herr words float above my head, while staring at her knobby German knees.

“Ve have scheduled you for elimination,” she said.

“Is there anything I can do to change your mind?”

“Nothing. Ve’ve got nothing.”

Herr HR’s voice reminded me of Sergeant Schultz from Hogan’s Heroes.

“You’re dead. Dead. I tell you,” she screamed while rising from her chair, as if possessed by a demon, or not. It was irrelevant. All that mattered. I got the hint and left.

The door slammed behind me, echoing like a gunshot. “I’ve been hit,” I gasped, and slumped against an empty desk, once occupied by another victim of Herr HR’s firing squad, then I staggered down the hall, trying to stem the bleeding to my ego caused by the fatal shot. The pain of old and new puss bearing failures throbbed in my Id. For several weeks, my brain ached from the loss that left a black hole at the top of my resume.

I plugged the hole quickly by accepting a secretarial job in the A&R (Artist & Repertoire) Department of Columbia Records, working for Producer Paul Aktinson, lead guitarist of the 60s band The Zombies. More on that later.

This week’s Red Writ­ing Hood assign­ment: to write — fic­tion or non-fiction — about a time when you took a detour. Where had you intended to go and where did you end up?

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