A cynical asshole is a special breed of person. You likely know the type if you're not one yourself. A true cynic distrusts everything new they see or hear, they're intolerant to new ideas, and they're pessimistic about everything. They're not skeptics. That's a positive trait. They're the downers of the group whose self-righteousness tends to bring everyone else down, too.
No matter how backward you think your state is...
Whatever it was that Karl Rove and George Bush did—and there are plenty of possibilities, ranging from Iraq to gays to religion—they massively alienated an entire generation of voters. Sure, they managed to squeak out a couple of presidential victories, but they did it at the cost of losing millions of voters who will probably never fully return.
So you really, really want to get me something nice for my birthday?
You are 24105 days old.
Which is 3443 weeks and 4 days.
In other words, that's 792.04 months.
People send you shit like this on your birthday (tomorrow)
Remember when high school counselors gave "aptitude tests" to determine what we should study in college. To find those careers for which we're best suited. Seemed like a good idea at the time.
Perhaps we should do something similar for the little criminals-to-be. A CRIME IQ if you will. A combination of tests and counseling would attempt to determine what sort of crime a young person might realistically aspire too.
For example, if you're gonna hack government databases or penetrate financial networks, you'll want to be very strong in math and computer skills. Others will want to aim no higher than boosting cars or sticking up convenience stores. The chubby president of the Debate Club might have to give up his dream of becoming a cat burglar.
Another series of tests could determine a student's CTI (Confinement Tolerance Index). If you're a sure bet for getting busted and unlikely to last more than a month or two in the slammer, best to know that at the beginning of your criminal career.
Mom was a farm girl. Dad was a city boy. The war was over and they met in St. Louis. I was born in 1948 in Poplar Bluff, Missouri, and grew up in Kennett (about an hour to the south). Dad was a “radio announcer” and mom worked for the “welfare department.” Job titles that –like my youth–vanished years ago.
A little piece of shrapnel from the Baby Boom, I watched a lot of TV. In the early 50′s I sat two feet from the Motorola, staring at the Indian-head test pattern until the afternoon programming got underway. The spirit of Norman Rockwell hovered over me through a near-perfect childhood.
The Beatles released I WANT TO HOLD YOUR HAND in the US just after Christmas in 1963 and it a very big deal by February of ’64. Hard to imagine a better time to be a high school sophomore. We weren’t paying much attention to Viet Nam, yet.
By the time I started college in the fall of 1966, getting and keeping a draft deferment was top of mind. I quickly switched my major from Business to Theater. Guys were coming back from Viet Nam and bringing good drugs and great music and protesting was catching on, even in the Midwest.
I was part of the first draft lottery and drew number 210, just low enough to be dangerous. Following graduation in 1970, I goofed off all summer before –at my father’s suggestion– entering law school at the University of Missouri-Kansas City. I attended classes and kept my deferment until Nixon froze the draft (in December of 1970) at lottery number 195. I quit law school the following week, just before finals.
In the spring of 1971, I went to work for the U.S. Postal Service as a Postal Inspector. After three months of training in D.C. I was sent to Pendleton, Oregon, where I audited small post offices in Oregon and Washington. I counted stamps and money orders for almost a year and investigated exploded rural mail boxes (a federal crime). Like law school, not what I had in mind.
In early ’72 I returned to the Midwest and hung around Memphis for a few months before returning to Kennett in early summer. In July, I started working at KBOA on the overnight shift and found my true calling. For the next dozen years I spun records and MC’d the Little Miss Christmas Belle Pageant.
In March, 1973, I met Barb at Tommy’s North-End Cafe and fell in love. We dated for six years and married in 1978.
In June, 1984, we moved to Jefferson City, Missouri, to work for Learfield Communications, retiring in 2012 where I handled affiliate relations for the company’s various radio networks until the late '90s when I began annoying management and co-workers about "that Internet thing."
- University of Stay Out of Vietnam2013
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