1/1/98 - A Rainy Day

Lying rotten thieving rat-bastard sons of bitches. Skunk-ass fraudulent motherf- Oh, hey there! Welcome to Pinback's Web Central. I was just sitting here ruminating and stewing about a rather unfortunate business deal to which I've recently been a party. I'll be sure to fill you in on the details, but before I complain about that, I've got several other things to complain about. And I'm not talking about the kind of stream-of-consciousness complaining that some people tend to indulge in, I'm talking about good, old fashioned, finely structured and carefully crafted bitching.

I'm also not talking about the whining and moaning that goes on at most family dinner tables around this time of year. This is an amazing phenomenon that I've noticed over the past few years. You all know how I like to turn regular occurrences into a game, to make the normal meaningless drudgery of everyday life a tad more tolerable, so here's yet another fun game to play at family gatherings: Time how long it takes for the dinner conversation to turn to terminal diseases contracted by other friends or family members that aren't around. If you can make it past the appetizers, consider it a moral victory. Normally this practice seems to hit its peak right as the mashed potatoes are being passed around. "Have some potatoes," a loved-one will kindly offer, "which reminds me, did you know that dear Aunt Judy has either cancer or leukemia or leprosy or has broken every bone in her frail little body and is not expected to live longer than it takes us to wolf down this lovely glazed ham?"

"No!" will chime in another. "But at least her pancreas and kidneys haven't liquified like poor old Mr. Gruder across the street!" Then everyone will pause for a moment to put on their best fake frowny-face to pretend that they care. Then everyone will eat more ham.

But pardon me, that's not what I came to talk about. Now, onto more pressing complaining.

It all started as I was sitting in my living room watching television, wondering what the heck I was going to do with my life now that my career and social life had been left a shambles. I mean, this webpage is great, and it's one of the most important things in my life, but let's face it, it's not gonna put food on the table or chewed up plastic mice in my cats' mouths. I'm looking into getting some sponsorship, so that's something to get excited about, but since the only people that I know actually read this page are the other people writing on it, my advertising rates are less than stellar.

About the time that my eyes were starting to glaze over like a ham, and I had forgotten what show I was watching to begin with, a commercial for some soft drink came on. To avoid any legal complications, I'll change the name of the actual soft drink for the purposes of this column. So here were these four young go-getters energetically slamming down big green bottles full of "Fountain Goo" (not the real name), when the message of the ad became clear to me. Do what you want! Get out there and chase your dreams! Don't let anyone or anything stop you! And drink lots of yellow, sickeningly sweet carbonated garbage that tastes like moose wee-wee (not the real name either).

I began to think again about how much I missed Las Vegas, and how much I wanted to go back. It all seemed like a far away dream, until I saw this commercial, which stirred in me such a fire that I burst forth from my easy chair and tripped over a beer can. Then, after I composed myself, I vowed out loud that I would, in fact, go back to Vegas. More and more, it seemed like the thing to do, and the right time to do it. I wouldn't have to quit my job, since I didn't have one. All my friends and family had either moved away or were in the process of moving away. I'd come back to Maryland to remember what it was like, and now I'd remembered, so I felt no emotional need to stay any longer. I was ready!

The only problem was, since I stopped earning a regular income, the only thing I've been able to afford to buy are those little packets of powdered "cheez" that come with macaroni and "cheez" dinner boxes, which I sprinkle on Meow Mix to make it (the Meow Mix) a bit more palatable. Needless to say, funding a country-wide trip to a new life was going to be a bit problematic.

Around two A.M. the next morning, I awoke from my sleep and shot straight up in bed. You know how when you're desperately searching for a solution to some persistent problem, but you just can't get it, sometimes the answer will come to you in your sleep? Well, that's not what happened here, I just needed to take a wizz. However, you know how sometimes the answer will come to you while you're taking a wizz? Well, all of a sudden, it came to me in a flashback.

There I was, five years ago, sitting in the finely appointed main conference room of one of my many ex-employers, and these friendly men in nice suits were telling me how I needed to think about my future. "You don't want to end up like some old bum with no money and liquified kidneys, do you?" they warned. "No, sir!" I cheerfully and enthusiastically replied.

"Well, then just fill out these forms, and we'll be sure to take money out of your paycheck every week!"

"Uhhh. But-"

"Oh yeah, and we'll save it for you and give it back to you later. Sorry, this is my first day."

Aha! Money for my future! What a mature, responsible thing to do! So I signed up to have these men start filching from my hard-earned income every week, and stick it into something called a "401(k) plan". I asked them what happened to plans 401(a) through 401(j), at which point they made a "shh" sign with their fingers, then pulled their suit coats aside to reveal handguns. So I didn't pursue the matter.

Anyway, they explained that the great thing about the 401(k) plan was that I wouldn't have to pay any taxes on the money until I took it back out. What a wonderful invention! Instead of paying $50 a week in taxes on the money, if I waited long enough, I could just pay a billion dollars in taxes all at once at the end! How very convenient! Sign me up!

One thing I want to stress to you is that if you ever plan on having flashbacks, try not to have them while you're in the middle of taking a wizz. Especially if you're a male. I don't want to get too graphic, but after I came back to reality, the bathroom looked as if some young go-getter had spilled an entire bottle of Fountain Goo on the floor.

But I didn't care, for I now had the solution to all my problems. Money for my future. Well, I said that five years ago, and back then, this was my future, wasn't it? Time to take advantage of all that past maturity and responsibility and blow it all on a whim!

I called the 401(k) people right up that morning, and said, "How do I get my money?" They said they would mail me the necessary paperwork, but I was having none of that. I wanted it now, dammit. Those kids in the commercial wouldn't have waited for any paperwork to show up in the mail, would they? I don't think so. So I took one last bite of Meow Mix Au Gratin Powder, hopped in my car and sped over to their offices.

"Gimme gimme gimme!" I professionally explained. They gave me a load of paperwork to fill out, which I vigorously blew right through, then forcefully thrust back at them. The nice paperwork thrustee lady took the stack of papers, checked to make sure I had filled in all of the required information, then smiled and told me that they should have the check mailed out to me within three business days. Victory was mine!

Just as I reached for the shiny glass front door of the office, she shouted over the length of the room, "You are, of course, aware that there is a substantial penalty for early withdrawal?"

Friends, I won't bore you with the sordid details. Suffice it to say that they mean "substantial" as in, "the atmosphere contains a substantial amount of air". Lying rotten thieving rat-bastard sons of bitches. I almost cancelled the deal when I saw the vast sums of cash that I'd be giving up to these swindlers. But, like getting halfway through a wizz, there was no turning back.

I received a check for around $6000 a few days later. I immediately took it to my bank, cashed it, and closed out my short-lived account. I then took $2000 and bought a laptop (which I'm typing this column into right now) and a $100 phone card from 7-11, so I can continue to keep PWC up while I head across the country to my new home.

I've still got several things to clear up here, so I won't officially be taking off for a couple of weeks, but I wanted you all to know what was going on. Hopefully, you can get as excited about this trip as I am. Be sure to send your letters of support, or any spare cash you happen to have lying around. Both would be appreciated.

I'm not sure how long it will take me to get where I'm going. I'm not sure what I'm going to do when I get there. All I am sure about is that I need this. And I can't wait.

Stay tuned.

Pinback's Web Central

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