Enter The Player...Exit Dignity

I will tell my son many years from now: "Boy, if you have to turn to VH1 for advice on women you might as well be gay."

So I was drowning a few brain cells in booze at the bar when I nearly gave up drinking because I though I was seeing things. It was a white guy, dressed like Morris Day and The Time floating in a pile of Cologne. He wore eye liner and had a cane, like the one from Back To The Future II minus the cool fist. He strode up to the bar and bought a drink, sitting at my table I was able to see an interesting dynamic. As this guy made his way up to the bar the women in the place had the same look on there face when I smell the shit cloud they call a breeze off the Chesapeake Bay.

He predictably made his rounds to each flock of females, who could see him coming a mile away immediately preparing counter measures for the oncoming advance. Undaunted like any good trench warfare soldier he stepped right in front of the gattling gun of insults and mockery.

Let's catalog the insults:

1. The Zoot suit riot was over.
2. Gay pipe cleaner.
3. A drink was "accidentally" dumped on him.
4. Someone asked him if she could borrow his mascara.

Oddly enough this guy was shocked that he was shot down horribly. I mean I've seen better batting averages in the Triple A Mexican Bush League. Then I realized someone had to have told this guy that this was what was working. I just hope that if this guy bought a book or something he kept a receipt.

Bitch You Crazy!

She Went From Unpresidental To Unconscionable

Like a Supermodel hitting 50, Hilary Clinton has not taken well to her attractiveness as a leader expiring like milk left out in the middle of death valley. Hilary Clinton has run the Democrats version of George W. Bush's electoral campaign. Overt racism, election tampering and character assassination. Though I have to give Bush credit, he never openly called for the assassination of a political rival.

Not long ago in a sure to be now infamous interview celebrated in Political Science classes as the most horrific blunder that saw the end of a powerful political career. In the interview I am speaking of, Hilary suggested she should stay in the race for the Democratic nomination because Barak Obama might be assassinated. It sounded like all but an overt call for someone to put the Democrats new golden child out of commission, she made the reference of RFK's assassination that eerily came across as foreshadowing. Of course this statement came right on the heels of Ted Kennedy's sad announcement of having a brain tumor.

So if utter damnation is your goal using Hilary Clinton as your moral compass and mentor for proper social etiquette is your primer.

While the immediate damage done will ensure Hilary does not get the nomination this time around I have a feeling the effects will be felt far into the future.

1. The Clinton's political clout is shot.
2. The Democratic party is badly fractured.
3. Women will not be taken seriously as a presidential candidate.
4. Lingering questions of racism within the Democratic Party.
5. The continued decline in reasonable, sane political discourse.
   

Does 50 Shots Equal Racism?

A short time ago a judge acquitted 3 New York cops in a murder trial over the shooting death of Sean Bell. Sean Bell case has been reffered to as the "Groom Shooting." As Mr. Bell was set to be married the day he was killed by police. The situation surrounding the shooting remains a complete mess and a mystery.

All we know is the following:

• Sean Bell and friends planned a last minute bachelor party at a strip club the day before his wedding.
• The strip club in question was under survelliance by the police for several illegal activities.
• This all went down in the wee hours of the morning.
• Sean Bell was shot to death in his car attempting to leave. The police fired 50 shots. 5 officers involved means each would average 10 shots a piece. However the majority of firing was down by three.

The Police claimed:

• One of Sean Bell's friends was drunk and started a fight in the club, which lead to an undercover officer being involved.
• One of Sean Bell's friends said "Get my gun."
• The undercover called for back up and others undercovers showed up.
• As the confrontation moved outside the police I.Ded themselves and drew guns, Bell and his friends split with Bell heading to his car possibly for a weapon.
• Bell got in his car and rammed a police car, unmarked, with an officer in it and began hauling ass down the street towards the undercovers.
• The undercovers unloaded on the car as it was a weapon threatening them. Bell had already rammed a cop car and showing his willingness to injure officers on the scene.

Sean Bell's Friends Claim:

• They were enjoying themselves when the undercovers pulled guns on them.
• The undercovers did not I.D themselves.
• The friends and Bell decide to run for it thinking its a hold up.
• No one said "Get my gun."
• Sean got in his car to escape the potential hold up.

Naturally its these claims that were highly debated in the media and in court. Public opinion over the matter was heated to say the least. The defense asked for a change of venue, a reasonalbe request as no one wants to hold a jury trial in a place that is so emotionally charged the jury will act on feeling not fact. That was denied. Instead the defense opted for a bench trial. The judge has a record of both ruling for and against police in cases like this and is a veteran of the bench.

The trial quickly became a he said she said event. The evidence could not show whether the officers murdered Sean Bell in cold blood or acted in self defense. The trial came down to the eye witnesses, the officers had good records and Sean's friends had checkered pasts with question motives in the eyes of the judge. The judge sided with the police in the case.

A lot of people were pissed off with the verdict. Al Sharpton said it should have been a jury trial, and several protesters said that the only way to have justice was a revolution....

Sigh...

First, the defense has the right to a bench trial. It happens to the tougher route to go as the judge is a trained legal authority and knows the law, fancy lawyering has difficulties with manipulating a judge. A jury is more easily swayed by emotional arguments and fancy legal manuevering.

Second, justice was served. While we do not like what the Court may rule based on laws and the burdens of proof the charges against the officers did not meet the standards and burdens.

In the end you have a tradgey as the police thought that they were being attacked while Mr. Bell thought he was escaping a potential hold up. Does the number of shots really matter either? Whether its 5 or 5000 Sean Bell remains dead and the circumstances surrounding his death will be heavily debated for sometime to come.

Monster Squad Dream

Staying up late last night writing about my zombie dream must have opened a can of worms somewhere in my subconscious because I had one hell of a dream last night. Remember that awesome movie Monster Squad from the 80s where it was a bunch of kids versus Dracula, the Wolf Man, Mummy, etc. Yeah well I had a less campy version of that as a dream with the kind of violence and terror that would make Bram Stoker shit his pants....

I was living in this town which had this large luxury outdoor mall and Cathedral right next to each other on the water. There was some sort of celebration going on and the community was happy. Except for the visitor we had, he was an old German man. He ignored everything around him and walked straight to me, he needed to see where some construction was taking place not far from the mall and cathedral. So I take him without question. When we get to this construction sight that was building some kind of huge sewer system deep into the ground we found everyone that was working their dead. The workers had their jugulars torn out, eyes missing, and were clawed up pretty good.

"Holy shit." I said suppressing the urge to vomit.

"Calm yourself its going to get worse." The old German man said handing me this weird cylinder that you held like a syringe. Looking at it contained six high powered silver tipped shotgun slug rounds.

As we examine the site we suddenly get rushed by these ghouls which are ape like but green, hairless and have this horribly contorted face. I am ready to fight but the old man stakes a bunch and then has a hidden pistol, more like a hand cannon, shot out of his sleeve and shots the last of them blowing them in half. We continued on.

I had no idea what were are searching for but it looks like whatever was there is gone. The old man swore and said we had to get back to the celebration. We made it back just as the sun was setting and some more ghouls attacked the celebration. We managed to fight them off as people took refuge in the mall and most in the Cathedral. Then the full moon came up.

"He comes, we have failed." The old German man said preparing. It knew I wouldn't see him again as he was getting ready to go out in a final fight.

For some reason I knew that vampires and werewolves would be showing up shortly. So I shouted for everyone to start putting up crosses and other wards.

"Ward the area Dracula is coming. Get all the crosses you can and take refuge." I shouted walking across the docks between the Cathedral. I walked inside the Cathedral after picking up a rosary for personal protection when a werewolf attacked the windows and tried to get in. A few men shot it, not killing it but slowing it down. As it feel through the windows I rushed up and punched it with the cylinder gun in the jaw. It had huge kick as the silver tipped slug shredded the face of the werewolf. The werewolf started to dissolve like it had been dipped in acid, and the people cheered and continued to set up defenses. I found my mother and put her in a safe part of the Cathedral before I headed home to pick up some personal crosses I had that I felt held special meaning and would give me a little extra umph in dealing with Dracula and his vampire retinue.

So I get home and pick up a few things and my crosses. One of them was a Jerusalem Cross that I wore around my neck. As I turn around from picking up my stuff, this girl who is supposed to be my girlfriend is there. Her face is completely pale and her eyes are all blacked out with dark vapors rising from them. Her voice was low and shrill as she spoke trying to break me mentally. I slammed one of the crosses into her face which caused it to fry like meat on the grill and she fled shrieking. I fought my way back to the Cathedral and I ran out of ammo for the weird gun I had. Entering the Cathedral I saw a bunch of criminals banding together to fight Dracula and I moved amongst the crowds who were praying, they looked up to smile at me as I gave them hope.

I watched the fight outside and it was insane. The criminals lost but they fucked up a lot of ghouls and fought savagely hand to hand until the larger vampires and Dracula appeared in the middle of their group Predator style and starting tearing them all in half. If I was going to fight this I needed weapons beyond men. So I started looking through the Cathedral and I came upon an old dusty room that held artifacts from one of the Crusades. I saw in the middle of the room a large standing cross you could carry it it looked just like the Jerusalem Cross I wore. Some reason I knew that was it and it was time to go to town on these assholes.

As I moved back through the Cathedral something weird happened. Everyone was partying again and doing things you shouldn't in a church. I told them that they would ruin the protective warding the holy grounds offered if they continued. I got outside and I saw Dracula and his vampires leading the party and having their servants give boat rides and serve booze. That is when I realized since Dracula couldn't get into a holy place he needed the people to basically party so much that they gave Dracula more power in following him and well fucking in a Cathedral is a good way to make it a less holy place.

I started a prayer and moved forward with the large cross. I got some of the people to knock off their bull crap and move inside. The rest had been hypnotized by the vampires. I looked up at the cross which had now transformed. It went from Jerusalem Cross to a standard one, expect it was made of iron and the sides of the cross looked like a war hammer. At the end of the pole the cross was on was a heavy iron end perfect for bludgeoning someone with, not that the war hammer end of the cross couldn't do that. I saw Dracula on top of the mall with his retinue of vampires laughing that they had won as everyone was starting to fall under his sway. I looked at my watch and it was now 10 AM but the land was still covered by unnatural darkness. I walked into few of Dracula and his vampires who hurled insults at me. I looked up at them and tapped the ground with the iron end of the cross. Behind them was subtle yet brilliant flash.

"Ah, I love Fireworks." Dracula said in that faggy Transylvania accent.

"No, it is the dawn." My voice boomed up to him in retort.

The unnatural darkness gave way and Dracula and his vampires fled. But his personal servant Renfield and ghouls remained. I threw Renfield's ass off the dock into the water, but this freakish man leaped out of water like a snake and tried to knife me. I parried his attacks.

"What other stupid toys did that Van Helsing give you." He said referring to the old man.

Now the rest of the ghouls formed up behind him and prepared to charge me down and deliver whatever fate the old man from had received at their hands.

"Thunder of God." I said as rumbling from the sky started as I invoked God. "Show your displeasure!"

That is when I slammed the war hammer part of the cross into the ground. Suddenly a great bolt struck the ground knocking Renfield and the ghouls over. What happened next freaked me out. From the war hammer a lake of fire shot out engulfing my foes. Angels made of fire arose from the flames and whooped the shit out of these assholes. They would grab a ghoul or Renfield and jam a flaming fist into their face where fire would go in their eyes, ears, mouth and immolate them.

After a few brief seconds of horror I waked amongst the ashes and found the old man's hand cannon which Renfield had on him. I checked it and holstered it waiting for Dracula to return.

That's when I woke up and wanted to get this written down before I forgot the dream. Don't ask me why I just thought it was cool.

Zombie Dream

Every once and a great while I will have a dream about zombies. Sometimes its about the zombie infection just starting, in full swing or about surviving in the aftermath of a full scale collapse of society. I have never been killed in these dreams or turned into a zombie. Usually it involves me fighting my way to safety, running my ass off to safety, defending some place, leading people to safety or establishing some sort of make shift fort to protect survivors and begin reclaiming the land for the living.

Needless to say its pretty cool.

Well a few nights ago I had a super realistic dream, one that once I woke up I thought everything had just happened....

It started out with me waking up for work. I didn't want to go in for some reason and walked down starts to have a late breakfast. The house was empty with all the windows and doors wide open, it was a nice day so I didn't think much of it. Then I walked closer to the TV which had a broadcast going non-stop about the infection. Zombie's were starting to show up and were steadily growing in number. That's when my feet picked up and moved on there own. I found myself in my basement going to my hunting gear. I picked out a basic kit. Two guns, ammo, rain gear, first aid some dry food I use for camping trips and a mess. All in all about 20 pounds of gear and supplies so I am light and ready to move.

Now instead of feeling like some punch clock nobody like I did at the start of my dream I felt a new sense of purpose. Survival. As I walked up stairs slowly, while loading my shotgun, my mind began stripping away all the useless crap I had become accustomed to. Now I was replacing it with a determination to live, the ability to kill and the courage to face the danger ahead and be numb to the horror I would see. As I returned upstairs weapon ready my mother and friend came running into the house screaming. I trained my gun on them, they weren't zombies however the folks behind them were.

"Hit the floor." I shouted and as they threw themselves to the floor I took out their zombie pursuers.

As they got back up they quickly filled me in on what was happening. The zombie outbreak during a riot when environmental protesters attacked a military convoy carrying some nasty biological agents they were trying to hide. The zombies were getting greater in numbers but we hadn't hit the "Oh Fuck They Are Everywhere!," threshold. We needed to leave while the leaving was good.

So we got some supplies together and prepared to go. However we lamented that my car was small not exactly something you use to ram the living dead out of the way. Just then a big flat bed truck pulled up into our drive way. It was some guy sent to Repo my car because since the zombies took out my bank I couldn't pay, at that point I should have know it was a dream. This fat motherfuckers truck was perfect to fit supplies on and steam roll anything that got in the way. My mother asked if we could ride his truck to safety but he said no that its our own problem in getting out of this mess. He just wanted my car. While my mother and friend protested I called for calm and allowed the man to go about his business.

As we waited zombies started approaching the house and my mother and friend grew worried. Once the Repo man had my car on the bed of his truck it was time to act. He walked up to him as he finished and shoved my shotgun under his chin. Terrified he pleaded with me as I walked him over to the grassy hill on the side of my house. He started to promise all shorts of shit just as I kicked him down the hill into the oncoming zombies. Busy with the shrieking Repo Man I had my mom and friend load up into the flat bed truck and we drove out running zombies down on our way to safety.

"Why did you let him put the car on the truck anyway?" My friend asked breaking the uncomfortable silence as we road through zombie country.

"You'll see." I replied one handing the wheel.

We got out to the country side away from the zombie hordes when the flat bed ran out of gas. I didn't have to look at my mom and friend and smiled to myself as I lowered the bed to roll my car off, with its full tank of gas. Out in the country side with little to no zombies my little car could come into its own. Good gas mileage would take us the rest of the way, where ever we were headed. I tossed my keys to my buddy who is a better driver anyway and told him to stay off the highways and away from any cities as I got into the back seat.

"What are you doing?" My mother asked.

"Riding shotgun." I said pumping the shotgun and chambering a new round.

We rode till night and found a house in the countryside that was empty but could be fortified and defended. Everything was locked down tight and for good measure I destroyed the stairs leading to the upstairs where we were sleeping. Getting back down required a ladder. So getting upstairs would be impossible. We listened to a battery operated radio as the power was out and ate from the food in the house preserving our rations. The news was predictable, zombies moving into the cities, police failing, the military was falling back to better defend and slow the zombies.

We talked about what happened and what we would do next. My first immediate plan was to get sleep and worry about the other shit later. I picked a room that looked a lot like mine and closed my eyes. The dead silence of the world filled my ears and beckoned me off into sleep.

That is where the dream ended.

So I woke up in the morning and everything was dead quiet and I was groggy from drinking the night before in real life so it felt like I was actually getting up to a new day of surviving in a zombified world. After two seconds of rubbing my eyes I came to the realization that it was a dream, a cool one but thankfully a dream.

Soldado De Fortuna: Getting "Porched"

A lot of meetings with new clients do not always happen in the office. In fact sometimes meeting in the office is almost impossible. It all depends on the client's lifestyle, job, means of transportation and comfort. For example if you have a client who runs a construction company, he or she is tied to that job. Fat chance there is enough time to meet with them outside of work. Not only that after work they are so tired they couldn't give a flying fuck if the President of the United States needed to see them. So you see them on the job since that is where your client is most of the time.

Well some clients like to meet at home. Meeting a client at their home is great because they have all the information you need there and a checkbook. Ideally you drive out there, present and close the deal or take on a new client.

To bad it doesn't always go down like that. Sometimes you will drive out to Butt-Fuck Nowhere and walk up to the house and ring the door bell no one every answers the door. The house is all dark or the blinds are drawn. The car may or may not be in the drive way. This is what we call getting "porched." It sound just as it is, the appointment chickens out and refuses to call to cancel or even worse decides to dick with you by having you drive out there for nothing. It happens a lot. People as a rule of thumb are incredible cowards, so much so they cannot find the courage to call an investment adviser to cancel a meeting. I have been porched and I have caught someone looking at me through their blinds trying to hide. When they were noticed, they quickly scurried away like a cockroach when the lights come on. Now losing your temper over this is pointless. But some advisers don't take kindly to being porched especially if they did their damnedest to confirm the appointment.

I know one adviser that took a bag of nails out with him on appointments. If someone who had porched him a couple of times did again after a certain number and he caught them hiding he would spread nails all down their driveway. Childish, but a good lesson. Act like an adult and no one will have anything to be mad about and act childish in return.

Another adviser I am friends with would keep a running list of those who porched her. She cleverly would wait till Mischief Night, the night before Halloween, and egg the houses of those who porched her.

My personal favorite that I use for pure embarrassment sake is calling up the person after being porched and when they answer claiming to be someone else I tell them I am from Publishers Clearing House with a check for them. They always flip and admit who they really are. That's when I tell them there is no check but and who I am, usually the person backtracks and starts making up excuses. I tell them there is no need but to remember in the future that no one likes being dicked around with and now they know.

There is something interesting that is a little more mature in my opinion being done. I have noticed several private boards for investment advisers that list the names of abusive porchers, who porch advisers left and right. These people are identified and black balled so to speak. Advisers know who they are and refuse to do business with them or contact them. Its fair to everyone because taking on a flake means compliance issues down the road and there is no law stating that I have to take someone's business. That is why it is called a financial practice, because your clients are hand picked by you just as much as they pick you over another adviser. Bad clients get fired, and bad prospects get tossed just the same.

-Grey Fox

The World With One Less Dog

For My Dog The Party Is Over.

Well while I was at work on Friday my mother took the dog to the Vet for me since she had a day off. It turned out the dog was basically a furry little Pinto. Everything that could pretty much be wrong was. I won't go into the details of the dogs maladies for our gentle readers out there would find it sad. After getting two opinions from qualified Vets it came time to make the call.

And it was my call to make.

One Vet argued for surgery to save the dog, which would have bought the do an extra 1 to 5 months tops. This Vet worked at a clinic where if they could rip out the owners heart to save the animal they would try it if pesky things like the law were in the way.

The other Vet gave us a no bullshit diagnosis, the kind of professional opinion few people have the balls to give. The dog was fucked, my terms, so the most humane thing to do would be to put her down...

So now back in my office I am listening to my mother who couldn't feel worse if the dog suddenly learned to talk and say "I love you." Now looking back on it was like being some head of state deliberating if some prisoner would face the ultimate punishment. Except this was no prisoner, it was a dog that had been in my life for 11+ years and I was deciding to put her down.

Obviously I had no real choice. It would have been selfish to prolong the dog's condition in a feeble attempt to hold on to her.

"It's best to put her down, it's my call on this one not your's. I am the bad guy today." I said hoping to lift the burden of responsibility my mother was feeling.

That was it. Shortly after that the dog ceased to be. My mother, friend and sister who owned the dog all felt bad. I've faced some tough situations so I have a thicker skin these days, this isn't some macho thing its just what I am. I would certainly prefer to have the dog still around, but that's a matter out of my hands.

So now there is a dog shaped hole in our lives and around the home I grew up in, to quote Stewie Griffin: "The dog is gone! Let's get a kitty!"

-Grey Fox