GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #920: ALAKWOPIQERNWV POINEVFWOIN BNPSE

 dsfnboijsfnbnpwofpwnopreeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeebipm wnoirngdjfnb sdfngpajnckasvvsnlkj kjdfjds hjsdb sdj vboasdkf l ijvbovdfiuvbdfoi bkjdfkbv hjjzch  gs nmfvhjd df vadfv daf dfvh dchj adfkv a dfu addsfkadf jhas adfs jch uadscbauvbuch sudj cadsjc adsc sd sdhc ac djsdcc df=elonfuckingmusk lkafenv sipufvnpwfnipn osiafnavpc uifsbno sdfibvsidfsbjm onl.

sdfjion vjopoijnpm tuvfuhhicbhbcgcdgvdjgkighfdnjxccbhdvhgfhvbj b vbhsbdv chisdf bhsdvchjdfhvhfdkv csjgeneralbuttnakedkdfjhsrfh vjhbfvdf jksgfkjvhsfdbhjdfsvjhdbjdfsjv bdsv javdfsjvjhdsv sdfvdajs .

jgviuponiufiufwugbbb  vsabdf kj hs hf hsjarewubh skfev kjrewj hk corporate greed anefvioqnfrwiouevinciudw ibusbefivbuw eriubvo wbiejnfv iewrbgiowserbiiowb iobwoerf oiwm ivweriuvewri iuuerbviweribufiouwrebvusdfvbadsiocbq adsoubcuvbcoiuuafbvquycbeqrv uoqwrejfvdwon jowonrfnjip dfvn,jlk;sd : Butt Montana, Esq.

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #880: GODDAMMIT

 

LOOK WHAT YOU MADE ME DO! GAZE UPON THE HORROR YOU HAVE WROUGHT! No one had the courage to stop me, and now Butt Montana, Esquire is happening. For good or ill. And it's your fault.

Goddammit. What have I done?!

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #875: BUTT MONTANA, ESQUIRE

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OK, that was pretty lazy of me, but I was strapped for time tonight. By the way, there is still time to stop me from writing Butt Montana, Esquire. But that time is running out . . .

I could have been lazier. I could have used this to add to my word count today, but did I? Nope!

All right, for something a little more substantive I discovered today, my first Friday back at work, that during the last 90 minutes of this shift a supervisor plays US history trivia with my colleagues. I knew the answer to each and every question, but due to the nature of my work I couldn't answer them quickly enough. Except one. Would you care to know the question?

What US vice-president fought a duel with Alexander Hamilton?

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!! No one at work knows of my appreciation for Aaron Burr.

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #874: BITCHFEST

 Last night's GF column was probably very confusing for the people who didn't read the previous one. At any rate, tonight's is going to be me in bitchfest mode. Apologies in advance.

A few weeks ago I got a letter from the State of IL Drivers Services. It's the one I get every four years for my license renewal. When you get the same letter several times over the course of twenty-ish years you tend not to read it. You tend, instead, to put it aside for when you're ready to get the deed done.

For me that time was today. As I sat at a train crossing, waiting, I decided to read it because I hate doing nothing, and I'll read just about anything. There was a time I had the ingredients of Head and Shoulders memorized from toilet reading. So I read the letter, surprised to discover that the two forms of ID needed are different this time, and I would have had both forms if I hadn't taken my credit cards out of my wallet to remove the temptation to use them. (IL needs one for proof of signature.)

Not only that but nearly all of the DMV locations in my area now require appointments instead of just being able to walk in. That infuriated me because I have one week left to get my license renewed, and I had doubts that I would be able to get an appointment today. My only days off are Sundays and Thursdays. The DMV might be open on Sundays in an alternate universe where we don't have religion, but that is not *this* universe.

(Yes, I realize that if I'd read the letter sooner I would not be in this situation. I would argue that the reasonable thing would have been for IL to put, in big bold letters at the top of their missive, ATTENTION: THERE HAVE BEEN CHANGES TO OUR REQUIREMENTS. PLEASE READ THIS LETTER CAREFULLY. I shit you not, the letter has been identical for decades. I don't think the font even changed.)

To get an appointment I had to either call the number or go online. Whenever I can skip a phone call, I will do so. According to the website I was eligible to renew online! Which would have been great if it was actually true. But as I had, indeed, read the letter, I knew I had a vision test I had to take, and people who need to take those aren't allowed to renew online.

So I fucking called the phone number. And what was the first automated message I got? You can skip the phone call and do everything online! Ho-ho. And then it continued to give me all sorts of information I don't--or ever will-need. I'll have something else to say about that in a moment.

I got through to a person in a timely fashion, be still my beating heart. I asked for any appointments in Lombard today. Nothing. Call back tomor--

"That's impossible," I said. "How about Schaumburg?"

Nothing. Call back tomor--

"That's impossible. How about Addison?"

Nothing. Call back tomor--

Someone wasn't listening or didn't understand the definition of the word I was using. "That's impossible." Just to see if that word would catch on finally. I usually hate repeating myself, but I occasionally make an exception. "How about Westchester?"

"Are you 65 or older?"

Finally, a different response. Still not what I was looking for, but at least we're on a different part of the script now. "I'll be 47 this time next week."

You have to be a senior citizen for Westchester.

I accepted failure. "Is there anything in Lombard for next Thursday?"

Nothing.

"Schaumburg?"

Wide open.

So I got an appointment next week on a day I was hoping to do nothing that was necessary. Just stuff I wanted to do. It's not often I get my birthday off from work. Except my job at Call One. You got a free extra day off on your birthday there.

As if that wasn't enough of a fuckalizing fuckaloo I'm also running low on painkillers. Since my spinal injection didn't happen last week, I'm still in constant pain. I requested the refill last week when they canceled the procedure. I'm required by my insurance to use CVS (unless I want to pay full price for my meds, which is an effective form of corporate blackmail), but CVS has told me that these pills are on national back order. Which is a lie. As I've been through this before, it's on national back order for CVS and CVS alone. I called Walgreens to see if they had my pills. They did, but I was warned that supplies are limited. They can accommodate me if my prescription is only for 45 pills, which it is. I called the clinic and tried to get them to send the prescription over to Walgreens before they run out.

The doctor won't do it until he's done with his patients for the day. Fuck me.

By the way, I called Walgreens twice. One for fact-finding, one to see if my prescription arrived. Both times I had to weather their automated system. Can you guess what it started with? Whatever you're calling for, you can do it online! Which I would do because as someone who has worked jobs done via phone since 2007, I fucking hate talking on the phone. I wasn't a big fan of it before 2007, either.

The automated system also suggested that I skip talking to a person and do whatever I needed to do by, unfortunately, using said automated system. Which I would do IF I DIDN'T NEED TO TALK TO A FUCKING LIVING HUMAN GODDAM BEING.

I can't stress this enough: as someone who is literally on the phone for eight hours a day, I notice a lot of trends with IVRs. When someone is on the phone, chances are they need to talk to a person. I'm sure there are a few people in the world who hear this shit and go, "Oh, that's right! I can do this online!" But a majority of people need to speak with a person, and they need to speak with them ASAP. So giving everyone who calls in a massive infodump without giving them the option to skip it is inhuman. I would venture to say that it's cruel, too. It's bad enough that corporations are too big to care, but they feel the need to be cruel when it's completely unnecessary?

Stop with the info dumps. Or if you insist on having them, at the very least give us the option to skip it. Almost all of us are calling you because we *can't* do what we need to do online. Can't. Not won't. CAN'T. Dare I say, impossible? It would also be helpful if each option could be explained in less than three seconds by the AI robot you're using.

I swear to you I'm not a senior citizen, and I'm not yelling at a cloud. I'm raging against the machine?

In the interest of fairness I should say that Walgreens finally got my prescription. Just in time. My pills are waiting for me. I'll have to get them tomorrow, though. I have one pill left. I'll have to save it for when I get to work tomorrow. Talking on a phone for eight hours also requires sitting down for eight hours, and that's hell on my back. My new bed is pretty comfortable, so if I get myself in the right position I don't feel too much pain.

All right. I think I got that out of my system. I feel like I'm forgetting something, though. Oh yeah! BUTT MONTANA, ESQUIRE!

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #873: THIS FUCKING LIFE IS WHAT I'M ALL ABOUT

 To be read to this song.

Unlike in previous years I actually *did* start working out again on Sunday. For the first time in maybe 8-9, I think? It was hard remember the workout that I used to do every other day for two decades, but I managed to get the important shit down. I had to cut some leg stuff because of my bad foot. However, I tried to keep the lunges. They don't seem to impact my bad foot, although my good foot is pretty awkward because of the two missing toes.

Much to my delight I found that I was a lot more flexible than I'd expected. I can reach past my toes to my wrist. Unfortunately I can't get my feet behind my head like I used to. Maybe that will change with more workouts. But by the end of my Butt Montana, Esquire, I realized that I felt really fucking good. I felt proud of myself, which doesn't happen often. I knew the next day would suck, but in that moment I didn't care.

Yeah, the next day *did* suck, and it was hard to move, but I'd forgotten that the soreness the day after is kind of pleasant at times. The next workout was scheduled for Tuesday, and I knew that I wouldn't be recovered by then. I'd forgotten that I used to start exercise regimes on Thursdays, which gave me extra time to recover before my Sunday workout. It turned out not to matter. The Butt Montana, Esquire, was a bit more difficult than the first one had been, but I got through it and felt even better.

The next Butt Montana, Esquire, is scheduled for tomorrow. I feel good about it. The soreness took itself down a bunch of notches. It's still there, but after yesterday I'm more confident about the next attempt at working out.

I know I'm probably imagining things, but I think I'm seeing my muscle definition coming back. Already I can see my bicep roll again when I flex, and I have dimples at my shoulders again. Although my stomach muscles seem to be pushing my fat out a bit now. It wasn't doing that before. Weird.

I wish you could have seen me just ten years ago. I had fuckin' guns, man. Now I have skinny arms. My legs have also gotten skinny, especially the left one due to the brace, but there's nothing I can do about that. Soon I might be able to get my FOID card for the guns I'm gonna have. And I'm not gonna conceal-carry, either. I just might go full Mac from Sunny.

Yeah, the loose Butt Montana, Esquire, around my waist will probably never go away, but it would be nice to be in shape-ish again. Maybe I'll even crack 200 lbs, which I've never done as an adult. The lightest I've ever been is 205.

I'll never be able to say, "Just look at my glutes, what a perfect butt," as I have Nobuttatal, but that's OK. I'm feeling a li'l too optimistic, anyway. We'll see if I keep it up. Weird to be saying that about something not having to do with erections, but there you go.

For extra credit, check this out.

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #872: A CRY FOR HELP

 I need your help. I find myself in a terrible situation where I have no means of escape or survival unless I do something I really, really don't want to do. All too often I find myself consumed with something I shouldn't be, and all too often I indulge myself, making more work for me to complete for a possibly nonexistent person or people.

It's plagued me for nearly a week, but my thoughts turn constantly to this thing. I find a phrase encroaching upon my mind all the time, sometimes a whisper, sometimes a shout. But it's always there, sneaking into my speech, tormenting me when I'm trying to sleep.

I can't stop myself. Someone is going to need to stop me.

You must stop me.

YOU MUST STOP ME!

Please stop me from writing Butt Montana, Esquire.

It started out as a joke about Butte, MT, but I was high, and thoughts turned to Beavis and Butt-Head. The next thing I know my mind is screaming at me: BUTT MONTANA, ESQUIRE! YOU MUST WRITE IT!

My plate is full enough as it is. I have no idea how I'm going to fit writing Butt Montana, Esquire (or shout I go with Esq.?), into my schedule. I can think of maybe five people who might want to read something like that, but am I really going to go out of my way to write a short book, probably Kindle-only, and release it for such a small audience?

Yeah. Yeah, I would. And I probably will. Unless you send help immediately.

Operators are standing by . . . in another reality where I have gobs of money to pay them. You know how to get ahold of me. You can stop me. You must stop me.

Because when I get like this, the idea usually takes over my entire existence eventually unless I write it as quickly as possible. Do you really want me to ditch out on all my other projects and dedicate myself full time to Butt Montana, Esquire?

He didn't start out as a lawyer. It was originally Butt Montana, MD. But (heh) then I thought maybe he was Butt Montana, Private Eye. Father Butt Montana, Exorcist to the Stars? Captain Butt Montana of the Sex Boat?

See what I mean? I've already put waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay too much thought into this. There's no way I'm not writing Butt Montana, Esquire, right? Unless you can stop me.

Only you can stop me. Please. Before it's too late.

I've already started thinking he might be a series character. Fuck's sake, please don't let me go down this rabbit hole. He's had full fucking adventures in my head already.

Don't let me write it. Don't let me write BUTT MONTANA, ESQUIRE!

Just so we're on the same page, yes, I have started some light research. In that research I discovered that people who live in Butte, MT, are called "Butte Rats." Unless you live out there, there's no way you knew that. Why would you? But knowing that enriches your life. It's certainly enriched mine.

Have you heard Butt Montana, Esquire, whispering to you yet? Not to worry, you will.