Butter is the Only Thing Churning

Another day.

I am really regretting life. Sometimes when I wake up I wonder what was better, the streets or dealing with WECARE. WEHELL is a wretched hive of drones. There is no other way of putting it. They are all slaves on a slave ship, whose Captain is dead and the corpse-like crew is setting a course straight to Hell.

But it does look like they do need a computer technician to help them with their system logistics. SHIT! I wish I still had my company! This would be a great place to submit a proposal for system support and join the slave ship straight to mother fucking Hell. I’ll be the goddamn quartermaster! Yet, I'll be making a mint boys and girls.

That’s the problem with this life. Things change before you can capitalize on them. This is what slips through my mind as I get ready this morning. I have the first of several maneuvers today. I’m going to see my new therapist this afternoon. But remember, WEBLAIR has me for the entire day. My slave driver declares that I cannot leave their premises until 3:00PM, unless I get a doctor’s note. Guess what? I have a doctor’s note. Or I will have a doctor’s note. Ha ha ha haha!!

But watch WEDONTGIVEAFUCKINGSHIT, even if I play by THEIR rules they'll still fuck shit up and FTC me. Like I said, they’re looking for ways to FTC me and put me on the Fair Hearing trail out of here. Remember, this is all bullshit, just to make it seem that they are doing something for people. What they are really doing is trying to cast them off into the oblivion that they call SANCTION, which is basically three months without your benefits. WECARE is a vacuum cleaner whose bag is open. They suck up the people from the street to go through the system, and blown back out into the streets.

I get ready and head downstairs for my Breakfast/ Lunch. Paula is in the cafeteria, sitting with her Crows, when she sees me she waves excitedly. I wave back. She makes a face. Yes, I’m off to WECARE. She rejoins her friends. Lately, when I come home, every time she sees me she has to ask me if I’m coming back from WECARE and how glad she is that she does not have to go. That’s very good for you, Paula. The knuckleheads give me my breakfast/lunch with no problem and off I go for the Way and to FEGS WECARE.

It’s a dreary, rainy day and I have my poncho on as I stand before the WECARE building. I have to give this place a name. The entire building is a blight on the New York skyline. It’s as if some large cockroach mound had burst from the concrete and risen high into the air. Hmmmmm. I wonder. Roach Motel. I think I have a name for the FEGS building. It’s now christened the Roach Motel. Roaches pack in, and they have to stay in from 9:00 to 5:00. Ha ha ha haha!!

I head upstairs and into room 4C and sign in. My first instructor, babysitter, is there, Ms. Tee, and she checks me in, looking up into my face, she frowns and says: “Hobobob? Aren’t you still taking your tests?” I am amazed at her memory. I finished all that Ms. Tee. I’m just now waiting for my IPE to sign. “Why are you here so early?” I have a medical appointment this afternoon and I have to leave early. She nods. “Okay, have seat.” I do. Ms. Tee then gets up and goes over information covered the first day that I had come in. I am amazed. I’ve been here nearly a week and I’ve already learned how this place functions. Because I’ve heard all of this shit before, I nap. Really. I take a motherfucking nap until break time. At the break I eat my lunch and then head to the computer room where we are to report to at 10:45.

When I get there there is a mob scene right in front of the door. The urchin are riled up because they want to get on the Internet. The funny thing about the urchin is that they have no conception how to use a PC. The don’t even know that you have to turn on the monitor AND the system. They think the system is broken when it’s booting up and take it out on the system by either banging the keyboard or slamming the mouse down on the desk. All they know is that they have to get on the Internet. And once there, all they know how to do is click on web-links.

When Ms Tee came and opened the lab, these people actually ran into the room, climbing over each other like cockroaches trying to crawl through a crack. They pour into the lab, hopping behind systems... only ones that are already on, and if they get one that is turned off, they quickly report that the system is out of order. I like this, because I stroll in, sit down behind one of the systems that are turned off, and perform magic to these morons by just turning it on. I am considered a computer guru.

I surf the web, answering emails. My doctors are returning emails concerning my need for documen- tation. But what I’m doing is productive. It’s not Make Work or Killing Time. I’ve got to have a phrase for that. In fact I do. It comes from a prison term, coined in England in the 1400s, when the warden found prisoners just hanging around in the yard he put them on a long series of stationary bicycle frames and had them peddle for hours, turning a shared crankshaft the actuated a huge windmill. The warden called it: Churning Air.

At least I’m not Churning Air.

Hobobob