The Foundation

Bed of Roses

While pretty, I am best viewed from afar.

Greetings and Salutations!

For some strange reason I decided to overhaul this blog instead of just trashing it. Originally, my plan was to delete the thing and end this voyage and abandon any dear readers that I may have collected along the way. Readers which I am certain have moved onwards and upwards and have forgotten about an alleged narcissicist with  tendencies for degeneracy on scales that can only be measured with “epic” as a qualifying adjective. But I ditched the plan. I have no reason why I have done so – I was having a bastardly bastard of a time coming up with things that I felt were relevant enough to write about (and we all see where that went…). And beyond explaining what has happened it the eon that I have been away, I find myself wondering if I will have material beyond a few days, maybe weeks.

Now, things have changed. I have moved on to a new chapter in my novel existence (see what I did there?), and wonder if the coming experiences will rate sharing with others. It is not that I feel that my life has become or will become boring…that is not something that I believe is possible for me. What is at issue is that I have been avoiding – the collapse of The Foundation. Yes, the collapse of the what was the single most beneficial asset to Samurai City. From beginning to end, the tale is one that I am sure would amuse, horrify, and possible bring about several more indictments; it may be told on various turns of your humble narrator’s new adventure, but do not plan on it (for any of you that care, for those of you that do not…pick a finger). The fall of the Creator of the Thunderdome is a tale wrought the joy, sadness, treachery, and ultimately, a tragedy of Greek literary tradition. But our Foundation life was not a bed of roses, this way is better for us (snicker). Needless to say, instead of focusing my empire on “charity,” I decided to go back to the University. A career in psychology/psychiatry seemed like a new and exciting path for Dear Xavier, so I packed up my office, and traded my ledgers for textbooks.

We all press the lever for food.

The road back to academia was an interesting and treacherous one. I found myself immersed in a culture of students that were significantly younger than me. Now, I am not unused to being around young people, but typically I am bossing the younger people around like some self-important autocrat. However, they younger people are now my peers and colleagues. I am now faced with having to remind myself that these are people with opinions that I owe the same consideration and respect that I would give my fellow Generation Xer’s or some junk (which is not necessarily all that much). Still, the journey has been pleasant, despite learning that I still can count mathematics as an area that I am lacking in superiority. I have also learned that psychologists are an incredibly interesting lot of people.

 

I think the best part of the journey that led to my literary hiatus was  that I got to avoid discussing the 2016 election. I also have to struggle to refrain from speaking of the result of that train wreck. 2016 will always represent where three to four decades of dismantling public education will lead. I cannot even bring myself to watch the news anymore. However, this is not a bad thing because I can avoid local news stories that have not gone away (I get it, the Thunderdome and Arboretum would make an excellent public park and demonstrate good will to Samurai City after the unfortunate turn of events that may have involved the Foundation! I said I was thinking about it assholes!).

These are not real babies.

In addition to avoiding the election, I was able to rediscover a few old interests. Namely, photography. I have turned into one of those people that is an unabashed and unashamed iPhonographer. See that shit? I even used tend-iLanguage to talk about my old/new thing. I am not sure why it all started. I mean, it could have been when I was taking naughty innocent pictures of various sex acts statues. It could have been when I got the idea to take a bunch of babies used for teaching how to not abuse babies and arranged them into neat photos. Whenever it was that it started, it started and now it is a thing. One thing that does not bother me about my journey into iPhotography (I am addicted, maybe?) is that I cannot take selfies. It bothers me that I had to type “selfies” multiple times to discuss this, but it was unavoidable. You see, dear readers, it seems that my arms are in fact too short for me to take a decent self-image. No, it is not an angle thing. No, it is not an inability to frame an image. My arms or too fucking small to take one, and I refuse to use one of those horrid sticks. Instead, I have to request that others take pictures of me, and aside from my secretary, I trust the photographer responsible for the image of me featured above (and one other). Other people will make my head to big or get my fat side or get too much forehead or not tell me what do in the picture so I do not look like a hideous fool. This is why images of myself tend to be a year old, maybe two.

What does any of this have to do with me? Loser!

When people quit smoking, or retire, or elect a dangerous Ferengi that had ear reduction surgery to public office, they tend to remember the date that the deed was undertaken. People remember import, significant, life-changing events. So, it would seem to reason (to me) that I would remember what date the doors to the Thunderdome closed leaving the looming structure abandoned in heart of downtown Samurai City. But, I do not. Which is a little disconcerting to me now. I mean, the amount of litigation alone would probably warrant a course in some law school…but I guess when you leave the minutia to attorneys and sycophants and spokespeople one does not have to be concerned with dates and outcomes. It sounds terrible, but other than maybe having to pay for the demolition of some property, the outcome does not really effect me. And is that not the American way? What does not effect me, should not concern me…right? Is that not the direction our species is headed? I believe you should all be concerned that someone such as myself is questioning the humanity of humanity. I mean, my idea of helping the less fortunate involved elephant stampedes parades, and alleged forced substandard-wage labor in apple orchards. I am not saying that I was bad person (just horribly misunderstood), but friends, I am just saying consider whom is writing this and the implications.

Lately, I have found myself having Dante running through my head: “In that part of the book of my memory before which little can be read, there is a heading, which says: ‘Incipit vita nova: Here begins the new life’.” It seems that I am headed into a new life – I admit to being eager and horrified.

Friday Night with Charlotte

Last week was quite a week. It started with scandal and ended with an ugly attempt to discredit The Foundation. The scandal was a bit of ugliness involving The Foundation’s war elephants. While it seems that the issue should have been over quickly and with a few payouts here and there, that was not to be. Fortunately, I had a fun night out with Charlotte the Friday before the treacherous attempt to ruin your beloved charitable organization.

I could go on and detail the incidents that led to the horrors of the weekend, but instead, I have decided to go the honest route and provide the transcript of a local news programs morning interview of yours truly.

Bert Berterson: “Good morning. I’m Bert Berterson appearing on this special edition of ‘Samurai City Saturday Morning’ with local mogul, Xavier Rothe…”

Me: “Mogul?! What the fuck did you call me? I am not a snowy lump on a ski slope! Nor am I some brandy sipping curmudgeon sitting by some fireplace in some cavernous, drafty, Victorian mansion. I am a humble orchard operator and general all around nice guy. I am really tired of your slander and libel. You really need to get over that camera incident with Manthony.”

B.B: “No, that is not the issue. True, there have been ‘incidents,” but they aren’t what this interview is about. We are here to discuss the elephant rampage that you and your associates with The Rothechilde Foundation are responsible for causing, avoiding, and admitting no responsibility.

Me: “Berty darling, that is exactly what I am talking about! Okay, so unfortunate things may have happened. People may or may not have been allegedly had the misfortune of standing where an elephant may have been walking. Whatever the case, there is no need to start throwing around faulty, unproven allegations that could result in a hefty lawsuit or potential burying in a shallow grave in Nevada or somewhere.”

B.B: “Did, did you just threaten to kill me and bury me in Nevada?”

Me: “I have done no such thing! I was merely stating things that could happen to a person. I have never gone to Nevada. The sand would destroy my wardrode, I believe. Speaking of which, I have been experimenting with adding color to my wardrobe…”

B.B: “Let’s not get off topic, Mr. Rothechilde, Xavier, may I call you Xavier?

Me: “I would not if I did not want to get ‘punished’ severely.”

B.B.  “Ahem. Before we begin, let’s refresh your memory. Ronald, roll the footage please.”

At this moment, a clip was played that showed a large group of people hanging about Downtown Samurai City. In the background, the Foundation Thunderdome stood majestically in the background. In the foreground, more people. Then the clip cut over to the ass-biscuit that I was currently being tormented by in this interview. Mr. Berterson was interviewing people who were “Occupying Samurai City.” Yes, the wave of civil unrest and general unhappiness of the populist poor had spread to Samurai City and the occupiers were occupying various areas of the city. This was exactly why we at the Foundation came up with the idea to have the war elephants. The occupiers had not come as far as the Thunderdome, but a group of counter-occupiers had begun to head in our direction. These counter occupiers were those who supported the one percent or something like that. Berterson interviewed a few of them as well. Approximately two minutes into the clip, a wave of people could be seen coming toward the camera. In the background, the image and sounds of a herd of elephants rapidly approached the news crew. Fleeing to a safe area (who knew there was a safe place from a herd of stampeding elephants?), the camera still recorded, Berty-baby’s panicked reporting in the background:

Bert: “This is Bert Berterson! A herd of elephants is now rampaging in downtown Samurai City! People are running everywhere as complete and total pandemonium has erupted! Oh my God! An elephant just tossed a police car into the side of the bank! This, this is terrible! Absolutely terrible! Hey! Someone grab that little girl! What the hell are you talking about? You do it! I’m Bert Berterson! I’m not getting stepped on by a freaking elephant! What the hell?! Is that elephant wearing a monocle and a tophat? My God the police have shot the elephant in the tophat! Tophat elephant is down! Holy shit! That elephant has that old lady by the neck! Wait, wait…the elephant has gently set her down. People we have a miracle, the elephant just set her…Shit! He kicked her! The elephant kicked her! Oh my…oh my…she’s, she’s barely moving. Paramedics are trying to help her. Okay, she’s giving the thumbs up. What? Headed where? Oh shit! Run! Ruuunnn!!!

And the clip ended there. To be honest, I was very upset by that footage. There was not one mention or shot of Sister Constance and the nun-wranglers coming in, taking down the rest of the pachyderms with tranquilizers and getting them safely back to the Thunderdome. Two elephants were slaughtered by the man on that tragic day. The monocle and top hat have been turned into monuments in the arboretum.

B.B: “Now, Mr. Rothechilde, clearly you could see what a tragic series of…hey! Are you texting?”

Me: “Yes, you were boring me with that biased video footage. There was no mention of the nuns and their success at bringing this unpleasantness to an end. Not to mention you subjected me to having to witness the brutal slaying of the vainglorious Lord Phant, a pachyderm of distinguished character and with obviously superior fashion sense. I was consulting our legal team to be sure that my comments will not be taken out of context and that the video delay is sufficient for Foundation security personnel to edit out any sensitive information before this hits the airwaves.”

B.B: “What?!”

Blue Boy?

Me: “You know, like they do on awards programs to filter out the potty mouths. Anyway, about fashion. As I believe we were discussing briefly earlier I have been experimenting with making changes to my wardrobe. I have been adding color. Unfortunately, I do not have a picture of me in the lavender and purple, or gold-brown-black, but I do have a picture of me in blue. Ronald, show the clip, please. As you can see, instead of my trademark black and white two-piece combination, I am sporting a stylish three-piece suit. I even have on a blue tie. Blue! And took a picture that I did not insist be made black and white or some sort of old-timey sepia look. Eventually, I will have some photos of me in the other color schemes soon, and I may come back to your program to discuss them again at that time. However, thank you for the interview, it has been a pleasant…”

B.B: “Excuse me, sir! I tell Ronald what to do around here, and we weren’t discussing fashion. We’re here to talk about your reckless unleashing of elephants on our fair city and what exactly you plan on doing about it! You have some things to answer for sir!”

Me: “I do no appreciate your tone, little man. Now see here, if it were not for those stupid one percenters parading about in their diamonds and smelly perfumes, the elephants would not have gotten upset and that misfortune would never have occurred. The elephants were simply a part of a parade that The Foundation was sponsoring in support of the “Occupy Samurai City if You Want, But Stay the Fuck Away from the Thunderdome” rally. As you can see the rally was a success, the Thunderdome is untouched and still stands as a glorious symbol of compassion and beauty. And we are not even going to sue the city over our beloved Lord Phant. Although it has caused Sister Constance a great deal of sorrow. We had to give her an extended vacation, pay raise, and purchase a new elephant, monocle, and top hat to alleviate her lust for revenge.”

B.B: “Are you saying that the life of that elephant is worth more than the hundreds of people that were injured in carnage laid out by your elephant horde? Are you seriously equating humanity with lower animals?!”

Me: “Well, hypothetically, my statement would appear to be putting elephants above the rest of humanity, but then who needs to be splitting hairs here? Besides, no people were killed, and only a few were maimed or otherwise seriously injured. Further, the occupation business was horribly bad for the already weakened economy. Those people should have been out working and those one percent counter-protesters should have been out subjugating masses or otherwise managing some means of economic oppression. The fact is, those protesters were in all likelihood unemployed; do we need to show the world on the national news that we are a nation of corpulent, unemployed people? No sir! No, I say! If our impoverished looked like those pot-bellied Ethiopians, then maybe we would have something to bitch about. However, we are a corpulent nation that sits on couches and and gets to watch seventy-seven different versions of ‘Law & Order.”

B.B: “Mr. Rothechilde! That is completely reprehensible! Do you even hear yourself? Listen, the Vice President of The Rothechilde Foundation has even come out and said that mistakes were made…”

Me: “Yes! Mistakes were made. Many mistakes! Chief among them was letting that bastard out of the dunge…er, basement during the protests. Had he remained sedated and properly confined, our efforts to fix this bit of unpleasantness could have come to an end much sooner, and I would already be enjoying the adulation of the citizenry of this fair city instead of sitting here and subjecting myself to this horrid interview from a man with the fashion sense of a Mogwai.”

B.B: “What are you talking about?!”

Me: “Your suit is terrible. I know a guy, let me help you, baby.”

B.B: “You’re obviously out of touch. With me and the citizens of Samurai City. They don’t love you, no one loves…”

You are very welcome

Me: “Oh my! I ought to shoot you right in your ugly face! You smug son of a…excuse, what is it? Yes, I understand. Excuse me, that gentleman was one of our attorneys, he suggested, and smartly I should add, that by ‘shoot you right in your ugly face’ that I actually meant “write you a sternly worded note of disapproval, perhaps an email cc’d to your station’s management. As for the love thing, surely you are mistaken For example, take a look at this lovely bit of art; Ronald, show the picture please.”

B.B: “Now see here! Ronald is not one of your lackeys…”

Me: “Obviously, the artist appreciates me and felt that I was worthy of being immortalized in one of her brilliant creations. And then there is Sister Constance. For a nun, she really does go out of her way to accommodate my eccentricities (I am ignoring your lackey comment, by the way. Manthony with surely discuss that with you.) Then, and not the least, there is my personal secretary, whom does me an innumerable amount of service in great variety, and makes sure that I can function on a daily basis. And Charlotte! Dear Charlotte! Why just last night, we went out to a local titty bar…”

B.B: “You can’t say that on public television and this has nothing to do with the elephant incident.”

Me: “I believe I did just say that, and this has everything to do with the elephants. There is nothing better to ease the pain of a deceased elephant friend and huge publicity hit like going out to see some boobs. And this was a great night. There was s lady there named Suzie Malone. She did some classy burlesque dance, magic tricks, and she swallowed a sword. Man, that gave me ideas, I tell you! She even danced around with fire. Fire! Strapped around her waist and in the shape of hand fans she danced with fire. I even had my picture taken with her. It is a topless picture. I am not topless, she is, or else I would have brought it to show. I am not opposed to showing the boobs on television; I just do not want to share them with you.”

B.B: “That is all well and good, sir. But what does any of this have to do with the damage you have brought and the poor people that are suffering because of your mistake?”

Me: “You just really want to beat a dead elephant. Man. Fine. While it is unfortunate that a few people may have received a bump or two because of a few rambunctious elephants, we are not a bank, mortgage company, or publicly traded corporation with stockholders to rape and pillage. The government will not bail us out like they did the people who the occupiers are bitching about (is that what they are bitching about? or is it Obamacare, Afghanistan, gay marriage, or Rick Santorum’s tranny porn stash?). No, as always in these trying time The Rothechilde Foundation will rebuild the damaged property. We have already purchased some of the more severely damaged property and found locations for business owners to rebuild and relocate. We have even offered to allow these business to use the Foundation’s contractors for repair and construction and infrastructure at prices that are much lower than the local business clowns. We are hiring many of the disgruntled occupiers for this Samurai City Reconstruction, and all of this will benefit the local economy. Lord Phant did not perish in vain.”

B.B: “It sounds like all you are doing is making a selfishly greedy cash grab and attempt to increase your personal stake and interest here!”

Me: “And is that not the American Way? Thank you, Samurai City and good day. This is Xavier A. S. Rothechilde, signing out.”

B.B: “Hey!”

And the screen goes black…

Note: Mr. Rothechilde has always reveled in, and proudly proclaimed his status as being a hack writer. If you disapprove of the ending, then you were not paying attention to the original disclaimer. No refunds or apologies should be expected and none will be made.

Sincerely,

Rothechilde Foundation and Trust Legal

“…Cry ‘Havoc!’ and Let Slip the Elephants of War…” (Part II: The Discussion)

If you recall from part one, The Foundation was in the process of introducing war elephants to our holdings. If you do not recall this, or if you did not read the last post: Shame on You! I am not going to spend more time delivering back story elements; nary a clever flashback or past montage to set the mood.

Anyway…I had come to the decision that The Rothechilde Foundation was in danger of usurpation of some sort due to the successful assault on social programs by the State of Michigan. Governor Snyder and his minions are on the verge of stamping out the last vestiges of dedicated labor in the state, forcing them into poverty, stealing their homes, and probably sending them in our direction for relief since they were now jobless and only had the memories of state relief to keep them warm and their hunger sated. This could not be allowed to happen; our coiffures have been clever managed to provide us with maximum tax relief while allowing for minimum of fund spent on actual programs. We are a right and proper charity.

And now we were faced with a potential menace to rival the Ten Plagues of Egypt: if the newly impoverished all started to come to us for aid, the Foundation would have to spend more to provide such aid. Whether this is our purpose or not, this is not how the wealthy are supposed to behave. When we band together to get our wishes through media manipulation of the uniformed electorate of the United States, we do so as a unit. If they are making a massive cash grab in this State, then they are supposed to be making we Board members party to the grabbing. However, they have become traitors to the cause and we now understand that we stand alone! It was time for the Foundation to take action and this action was to be discussed at the emergency meeting that I was about to attend. I walked into The Foundation Thunderdome and headed for my office. It was early, but I was not surprised to see that my secretary had already made it there before me:

Secretary: Good morning, Mr. Rothechilde. I wasn’t expecting you to bring your ass into the office until the last week of August.

Me: I am not sure what you are trying to say. And you had better not swear at me, I will be forced to fire you…

Secretary: Sh! It’s okay, Mr. Cranky Pants; there’s coffee in your office and the rest of the board is on the way here. The Vice President is already here and he wad going to make coffee and take refreshments into the meeting…

Me: Did you just shush me? Why is Smeagol distributing food?! That is highly inappropriate! He could be trying to poison us…

Secretary: It’s okay, your new bodyguard maxed him and replaced the snacks. She’s in the boardroom and the Vice President is somewhere crying and washing his eyes out. Now be a big boy and go get ready to play President-boy.

Me: You are fired.

Secretary: Thank you, I think 10% is an appropriate amount for a raise, and the extra 2 weeks of vacation were unnecessary, but very welcome! I’m going to start planning now!

Me: You are lucky that I cannot run this place without you.

Secretary: Yeah, yeah…now go on. If you would have come in a half hour ago, we could have had a quickie. Now, I have to wait.

With that said, I headed to the board room, greeted M, my bodyguard and got a cup of coffee and a very large pastry that was covered with cheese and a doughnut. M, cleared her throat and eyed me disapprovingly so I added a cup of fruit to my breakfast. Then I told her that I would work it off later, this was not the time for watching calories, I needed to have all of the comfort foods I could grab to deal with the impending crisis. I had just taken a seat when the other members entered the room. The Vice President was the last to arrive, with his red, watery eyes and wearing his workout gear.

Board Secretary: What the fuck, dude? Not only is that not proper attire, but those shorts look like they are made for a toddler!

Charlotte: Ew! Is that your sack peeking out of there? Look, this is not 1974, Kareem, get some longer shorts…or wrap a table cloth around yourself.

Ethermagus: Your chair is too close to the MonitorChair. I can feel your hideous, malformed body through my technology down here in the TechCenter.

Vice President: This is all her fault! She maced me! My suit is covered in mace, and all I had to wear was what was in my gym bag.

Me: Ms. Secretary, could you bring in a Regulation Thunderdome Gym Suit for, Smeagol? His near nakedness is making us ill.

Secretary: I’ll bring it right in.

Manthony: You maced the Vice President?

M: (nods)

Charlotte: With actual Mace?

M: (nods).

VP Smeagol: And if I wouldn’t have fallen, she was going to hit me with that thing!

M: (holds up Medieval Mace, menaces Vice President, smiles)

Manthony: Damn!

Charlotte: That is wonderful! I’m sorry I missed that…

As the Vice President put on the suit, we all settled with our refreshments and were prepared to call the meeting to order. As soon as we were greeted by Sister Constance and Professor Z, the meeting began.

Me: Esteemed board members, please forgive my calling you all back earlier from your summer endeavors, but this is a matter that needs immediate attention. If you have been following the current political developments in our beloved America, you have noticed that a war has been declared on the wealthy. At first, it seemed that President Obama was the aggressor, now it seems that our own wealthy brethren and sistren have turned on us; the neutrality of wealth-shielding charitable organizations is no longer.

Board Secretary: I knew this was coming, we should have made that one percent increase in services to our clients and community…

Smeagol: I was right! Liberal yap-yap smarm, smarm…

Me: Let the record reflect that the Vice President’s comments will often be reduced to onamonapia for ease in transcription of the minutes, as much of what he says will be irrelevant.

Smeagol: I…nevermind.

Charlotte: Precisely.

Manthony: Okay, I hate to ruin the fun, but back to this war.

Me: No, the danger is that we are now attacked from both sides. We were not paying enough attention when the initial salvos from our wealthy former allies came from the banks and that mortgage debacle. However, now our wealthy former compatriots are aiming to hit the poor right where it counts, in addition to raping NPR, the National Endowment for the Arts, and anything else of culture significance to the people. Look, it was already an issue for the poor to have jobs. In our beloved State of Michigan, industry cured that ill and ran away to foreign nations and outsourced to India.

Manthony: You know, if people need jobs that bad, they should consider moving to India…

Me: Ahem! As I was saying, industry fled, and the unemployed came for donations. Now, the rich are complaining that poor still have too much and want to take their appliances and minimal comforts from them. I maintain that we cannot afford to buy refrigerators to keep their damn food fresh as the pundits now believe should be the case! War is on the horizon; horrible war on The Foundation from the poor and the wealthy. The middle class will do nothing and continue to bitch, we are through the looking glass here, people!

Charlotte: I assume that we are going to be needing weapons and more koalas and alligators; I see that the Sister and the Professor have joined the proceedings.

Me: No. This is not about koalas…

Professor Z: No, it’s not. This is about lasers! Multiple lasers, ones that will sear a path through all of our foes and make sure that we are well-defended, as well as provide potential offensive capabilities should need be.

Sister Constance: Then why am I here? My crew has just relocated the koalas; I still don’t see why they have to be put on permanent patrols in the arboretum. Fortunately, they have stopped attacking visitors. If I’m here to discuss the new property acquisitions…

Me: Now hold it, I have been building up to this.

At this point, I pushed a button near my chair and a curtain to the left moved, revealing a model of an elephant habitat. The habit included twenty-fve elephants. It was a wondrous creation! The model plants were actually live, everything was living, except for the model elephants. One thing that was new to me was a model of a Victorian home located in what would be the southwest corner of the habitat. Perhaps, I did not notice it before, but I am sure that it was not there. I would notice this. Since M had not felt the need to remove the object, I assumed it was safe and left it. Eventually, the prankster would get tired of my ignoring the house and speak up. I proceeded with the presentation.

Me: What you see here is a plan for the new War Elephant habitat for the Thunderdome. I have come to the conclusion that a herd of twenty-five war elephants will serve to protect us from our enemies, both old and new. They will also provide an effective means for a preemptive strike if needed.

Manthony: Okay, I think I see where this may be going. But before we get the elephants, shouldn’t we have troops? And, didn’t you say that there are twenty-five elephants?

Charlotte: Yeah, what gives? There are only twenty-three elephants; that’s cool, though. Twenty-three is good.

Board Secretary: Well, which is it? Twenty-three or twenty-five? This is going into the minutes and I really don’t care to edit them later.

I turned and looked at the model; there were indeed only twenty-three elephants. How did I miss that?

Me: Okay, there are supposed to be twenty-five! The plan called for twenty-five elephants! You see, in order to protect ourselves, a herd of rampaging war elephants was to be our secret weapon. The elephants could trample the poor and the wealthy alike! Symbolically, it would have both truth and irony; the truth of the Republican stomp-downs on the poor and the irony of their being crushed by their own icon. Now, now it is not the same…

Charlotte: Sh, it’s okay…

Me: Did you just shush me?

Charlotte: Listen, twenty-three is very good. You can still have as much carnage with twenty-three elephants as you can with twenty-five. Just put twenty-three in the minutes, and we’re all good.

Seagol: What are you talking about?! Carnagae? War elephants?

Professor Z: Laser-guided war elephants? That could be an interesting idea, but how do we get them back once they’ve been launched?

Charlotte: Oh my god! The elephants don’t have lasers. There are no lasers. I see where this is going: a mass trampling. The elephants run amok, tons of property damage, we get them back under control, and all is good.

Manthony: This idea may have some potential. Let’s hear some more.

Board Secretary: As the main public relations contact and creator of propaganda, I have to say that I draw the line at direct, purposeful attacks on anyone. We’d be doomed. I don’t we could pull that off, we’d have to relocate to some third world country with limited or no extradition treaties, like Canada.

Smeagol: Finally! Someone agrees with me!

Charlotte: Hey, shut up! No one agrees with you. Ever. This is your last warning. Look, we can fake an accidental trampling at some public event, say, at a parade or something. Fuck man, they faked that moon landing shit and people are still buying it.

Me: And that is exactly what I mean, well said! We simply wait for a parade, maybe a protest that will attract counter-protesters. The elephants get excited by some strange hippie’s patchouli or right-winger’s Christian recitations, and they run amok!

Professor Z: This is not a practical weapon. The elephants will be too unpredictable. The whole thing sounds too disorganized.

Ethermagus: I have not spoken for a bit. I was taking this all in and believe that the ensuing chaos is what is the best part of the plan.

Sister Constance: Hail Eris!

Manthony and Ethermagus: What did you just say?

Me: Exactly. The elephant’s rampage will cause much damage, maiming, and potential death. However, the collateral damage is acceptable in scope: not too much, not too little.

Professor Z: And how do we regain control of the elephants?

Sister Constance: Now?

Me: Yes.

Sister Constance: The elephants will be controlled similarly to the koalas. Mega-doses of Valium and other assorted treats. And by the way, there are twenty-five elephants in total…

Me: I knew I had twenty-five. You are responsible for that monstrosity in the corner of the habit as well, I presume?

Sister Constance: Oh hush, it’s okay?

Me: Why is everyone shushing me today?!

Charlotte: Technically, that was a “hush.”

Board Secretary: I recorded it as a “hush.”

Smeagol: This is getting way out of…argh!

Charlotte (putting tazer away): I told him that was his last warning.

Sister Constance: As I was saying, the habit is designed to comfortably house the twenty-three war elephants. In the Victorian mansion here to the southwest (as it is the best temperature for the elephants) house Lord and Lady Phant. (She opens the mansion) As you can see, they are clothed in the best of finery, including the Lord’s dashing top hat and clever monocle.

Professor Z:

Sister Constance: Well, the whole thing has a certain classiness, and the Lord and the Lady will present just enough class stress among the elephants that will prove beneficial as a catalyst to fuel a bit of plebeian rage to vent during operations.

Ethermagus: Excellent! I like the mansion idea, it is a smart home.

Me: And that, ladies and gentlemen hopefully I have not only demonstrated need and purpose for our war elephants, but I also hope that you will all see why it is indeed necessary to purchase the old train station, historic or not, to provide adequate land for the elephant habitat. We will also, more than likely, need to purchase all property surrounding it. This will dislocate approximately one thousand residents.

Charlotte: As program director, I recommend moving them to one of our low-rent housing facilities and offer them free rent for two years, after the two years, we charge them for rent. We also allow them to come and see the elephants free of charge for life, provided they come during public visitation times.

Me: With that, let us vote.

And with that vote, all in favor of the war elephants (save one abstention, the Vice President was still “napping”), the Foundation began its latest quest…

“…Cry ‘Havoc!’ and Let Slip the Elephants of War…” (Part I: Historical Background Notes)

The current Governor of Michigan is named Rick Snyder. His campaign was based on him being “one tough nerd.” However, after he began his budget proposals and what have you, it was learned that this man is no friend to labor. However, most surprisingly, he paradoxically began an assault on the education system of our state. One would think that a nerd would be all about education and being the impetus for the creation of a monolithic apparatus of Nerd-dom, but he seems to be just the opposite.  Instead of thinking of the children being educated, the Snydmeister began to “fix” the system by devising ways to rid the State of qualified staff in what he claims are measures designed to fix the economy of the state of Michigan.

For those of you who understand that Michigan is both not in Canada and not comprised only of a large crime bucket called Detroit, Michigan used to be a powerhouse of industry. We really do not care what anyone thinks to the contrary; we invented the car, the assembly line, labor unions, and Rhythm & Blues. On the other hand, we did give Ted Nugent and Gerald Ford to the world, but who is perfect for fuck’s sake? But I digress… For some reason, a few years back, the auto industry, Hell, industry in general, just took off and abandoned us. What was left in the wake was a horde of unemployed people that had been educated to work in the factories and really not possessing many skills beyond that.

To save the state, the medical industry began a subtle takeover. Met by the technology sector, they combined to create a new economic force to save Michigan. However, since most people in the state were not prepared to be employed in this industry, those areas of economic power began to hire foreigners to the state and the rest of Michigan’s residents began engaging in a weird “migrant-laborer” type lifestyle of moving to another state, then moving back to Michigan a bit later. This is known as the “Black Hole of Michigan Syndrome.” All Michiganders attempt to flee the borders, but due to being born in the environment (or living in it for five years), the run-a-ways return. This is not genetic, rather it is a result of microchips installed in every resident at birth by the Michigan Militias in case that resident is needed to fight in the Great Michigan Rebellion or the Canadian Re-Unification (we are all still pissed off about that whole Toledo War business. Sure the Upper Peninsula is cool, but we could have had that real estate and Toledo).

If that was not enough, the unemployment led to other businesses fleeing as where once was a money-hole of middle class laborers to buy all sorts of stuff (mostly guns, flannel, and stuff to go “Up North” with) there was now a frightened, angry mass of armed, unemployed people with a thirst for the blood (and a little hungry, as most had gotten pretty fat from too much fast food, meat, and not exercising save for Deer Hunting Season). The Governor who started this craziness was a fat tyrant by the name of John Engler. Engler was a weird, fat man who once had a Lieutenant whose name is a synonym for “dead penis.” After greedily serving more than two terms destroying the middle class, he pushed term limits for future Governors, got said limits and left office.

He was replaced by a reformed Canadian by the name of Jennifer Granholm. At some time in her life, she crawled through the Windsor Tunnel and pretended to be a Detroiter. Not being able to survive the harsh climate of Detroit (she is no Kwame Kilpatrick or Coleman Young) she moved about the state, befriended the Candian-like Yoopers, and became the leader of the Mitten with the Stag jumping into Wisconsin. However, Granny could not stop the sinking of the USS Bob Seger, and the businesses began to flee with the ex-King (but now more corpulent) of the State. She did what she could, but the economy still began to take a plunge into Hell. Her two terms coming to an end, she left an open seat for the taking.

Enter the World’s Toughest Nerd, Rick Snyder. Keeping in fine tradition of uneducated voting, the residents of Michigan voted for him (probably because his voice is more nasal than any other Michigander, so he is more Michigan than the rest of us) despite the fact that he apparently has a reputation for sending jobs overseas. He quickly began to fix the economy by attempting to dismantle unions and take money from the already impoverished state schools. The rest of Michigan got fed up and started circulating petitions to get rid of this nerd. It has not been working very well, however these angry flannel-clad deer stalkers are still pretty pissed…and tenacious.

And this is where The Foundation and the preparations for this new era of odd began. As a public service non-profit organization, this governor’s assault on the public services provided by the state could be a big problem. With the state making cuts, people would begin to demand more from us. While the Conservative agenda would have you believe that private charities enjoy giving out dough to the needy, the reality is that we are here to provide a pretty face and tax write off for the wealthy. We cannot fulfill our own goals when we are forced to cough up more money to people because the state wants to give tax relief to small businesses and big corporate monoliths. A war is brewing on the horizon: the state is going to begin asking us to do more charity and the needy will begin asking for more help. I for one did not believe that The Foundation is prepared for this potential invasion. An emergency meeting of the Board was called, ending our vacations. We needed a plan of defense.

At that meeting, we introduced a new proposal: The War Elephant.

To be continued…

Busy, Busy, Busy…

I hate being so caught up with my daily drudgery that I do not get to pay proper attention to blog or my friends’ blogs. Fortunately, this Thursday signals the beginning of a slight vacation and I will get to pay proper attention to my subscriptions and write more often.

For a few years, The Rothechilde Foundation has bestowed much generosity on a local elementary school. For five years, to be exact (maybe six?). Whatever the case, the group of fifth graders at this school had their “graduation” (which has to be placed in quotes or substituted with “celebration” in order to appease the Department of Education Bureaucrats) and I was fortunate enought to attend. This group is one of two very special groups to me: this group because they were all kindergarteners when The Foundation began working with the school and the other group is next year’s fifth graders, who were all pre-schoolers at the time.

I did not expect to be moved at all by this occasion. In fact, I had not even planned to attend. However, I was reminded that my coal black heart does hold a modicum of sentimentality and I attended the ceremony. The students were surprised to see me enter the gymnasium and all proceeded to run up and invade my space with their grubby hands and personal space violating hugs. “Mr. Rothechilde! Mr. Rothechilde! Thank you for coming! Will you sit up with us?” Of course, I could not do that, but I did sit in the front row (against my better judgement) and watched the proceedings.

The children were all dressed nicely for the occasion and were especially well-behaved. Who knows? Knowing that they were all about to get the fuck up out that joint may have spurred them to show some self-discipline. After a welcome from the principal, and an annoying speech from a local Middle School administrator (who stands about three feet tall, drives a hummer, and needs sixty kicks to the groin), one of the students approached the podium and whispered something to the principal of this elementary school. Soon, I discovered the misdoings afoot:

Principal: “Mr. Rothechilde, the students would like you to say a few words to them. They have grown to love and respect you and really want to hear something from you on this, their day.”

Hmm…me give an unprepared speech? Charlotte would approve. Madame Secretary would insist on writing a quick draft with a two minute time limit. Smeagol would be tazed to keep him silent, undoubtedly traumatizing a gym full of children and parents with his spasms and yelps. Manthony would have gotten the Hell out of that place, there was no air and it was roughly one hundred degrees with the fan blowing on me.

So, what the Hell, I approached the podium, and delivered this address, then hugged a few youngsters and then left the gym. With that as a precedent, I will write my words, hug my secretary, and leave WordPress for the night.

My Words to the Munchlings

“Parents, teachers and staff, and most importantly, future sixth grade students, I find it humbling to be standing here before you in this outrageous heat to celebrate the passing of these youngsters on to the next phase of their education. It seems like just a few minutes ago that I walked into this building for the first time and answered a billion questions from your kindergarten brains about my wondrous head of locks and penchant for black suits. However, it was not a few minutes ago, and you all have grown much in character and much in brain. As you leave this building for the last time and venture to the next stage of academia, remember that nothing is being given to you. What you want, you have to take. From your education, to future employment, the world is definitely not an ally of convenience. No, what you wish for success can only come from your blood, sweat and tears…then the world will gladly share her bounty with you. Remember, the system is no longer educating you for factory labor; it is now grooming you for poverty, ignorance and prison through cutting those important programs such as art, music, math, and science. You have to conquer the system. It is time to rise to the occasion, grab your rifle of enlightenment, and seek knowledge everywhere and anywhere you can. Take their theories and generate new ones, take their history and make it stories of truth, take their lack of compassion and shove it down their throats with a loving wooden spoon! Indeed the planet is yours to inherit, and now is the time for you to do so. I will miss you all terribly, and it breaks my heart to see you all go. However, it will be good to see you progress and I am sure our paths will cross in this life again. Take care and be well.”

Welcome to the Sanitarium?

This is a short post designed as a Public Service Announcement from the Executive Board of Directors of the Rothechilde Foundation from the Desk of Xavier A. S. Rothechilde, President of the Rothechilde Foundation.

What in the Hell was that all about. Really. This is the last time that I trust an intern to open a blog entry for me. “Make it a short salutation,” I said. “Keep it neat and clean,” I said. And instead, I get that horrible introductory yibber-yabber dog nuts that is outrageously pretension, even for myself.

But I have gone way beyond the intention of brevity for this posting. Basically, I wanted to make you aware of a new addition to my blog. Sister Constance, or Arabella, or whomever she claims she may be will appear from time to time to add her two cents to the world.

Treat her kindly, she is a vicious and vengeful Gemini.

I’m nervous.

So… Mr. Rothechilde was kind enough to let me post on his blog as a contributor. Oddly enough I didn’t have to submit any nudes or do anything otherwise unseemly! Why anyone would want me to post anything is beyond me. I don’t have a large amount of self esteem, but at the same time I’m totally vain. Vainglorious! I forgot I wanted to use that word from now on.

Anyway, I’m not doing any sort of “tell me about yourself” nonsense, because I find that annoying and stifling.  So here’s a poem. Don’t ask me what it’s about, because I’m sure as hell not explaining it. Poems are whatever you want them to be about. I posted this and a couple others on my Facebook as notes, but no one seemed to read them. If they DID read them, they didn’t comment. I didn’t expect much. Most everyone I know there is either related (and therefore lacking in good taste, breeding, intelligence, and caring about things like this), or completely self absorbed/only into funny things I post.  So, why the hell don’t I just shut up and post the fucking poem for god’s sake?

Consequences of Your Distraction

Our friendship is a one way street, and I’m putting up a roadblock.
Your attention is on the radio, and what you can glean from the lyrics
So you weren’t looking
At the signs.
You duck out of the weather reports and the self important traffic to give me a smile.
That’s all you have time for.
I do not have neon parts.
Nor am I willing to direct traffic naked.
Your loss is no one’s gain, because no one would understand anyway.
No one else speaks FRENCH
And neither do you, nor I, but we pretended.
In reality you stammer and stutter
Are very SHORT.
You sit on a pillow while driving, thinking your brain makes up for lack of height.
I wasn’t willing to be a backseat driver, more like a passenger.
You’re still listening to the radio.
I’ll wait for this song to end.

Who Cares About Organizations? We Have Pissy Pants Plants to Cultivate!

This particular board meeting was particularly boring. Smeagol, our not-esteemed Vice President was in the middle of discussing the status of our maintenance staff. It seems that all of them, from custodians to handyfolk to groundskeepers had decided to organize and threatened to strike if we did not recognize their union and a few other demands. Personally, I had stopped listening to his blathering; a few states in the union have already illustrated the uselessness of organized labor and decided that eliminating them would be the next best attack on the middle class.

Why should the Foundation be any different? I understand they are not civil employees like those the states have started to assault (while smartly avoiding any reductions to those that govern), but the Rothechilde Foundation should be innovative. It is only a matter of time before corporate America follows the lead of state governments and I intend to set precedent rather than use them as defense.

I was ready to call for a lunch recess when the meeting was blessed with a frantic interruption from Sister Constance:

Sister Constance: “We have been violated!”

Vice President: “Excuse me, but we are trying to dis…”

Sister Constance: “Shut it! Or I will…”

Me: “Okay, everyone relax. What seems to be the problem? As this seems to be most pertinent, I will allow the breech of protocol. I assume this is agreed without needing a vote as the only objection is sure to come from the boring Vice President.”

Smeagol: “Hey..!”

Everyone Else: “Agreed.”

Me: “Now, Sister Constance, what seems to be the issue?”

Sister Constance: “Yesterday, all was well in the arboretum, it smell lovely and the koalas and alligators were content. Today, it smells like pee pants! The koalas are distressed and the ‘gators are cranky. We can’t have an arboretum that smells of pee pants!”

Charlotte: “Manthony, didn’t you just have some new plants delivered to the Thunderdome?”

Manthony: “I don’t know what you are talking about.”

Madame Secretary: “Wait, I seem to recall receiving an appointment confirmation from some landsc…”

Manthony: “Shh! Maybe she is smelling mossy hobos?”

Vice-President: “Mossy hobos?”

Manthony: “Yeah, dey unwashed asses grew some moss cuz dey so dirty. Dat moss is camouflage and shit, so you think they plants and not people.”

Vice-President: “Outrageous! How can you be so insensitive?!”

Me: “Indeed! These mossy, malodorous cretins should have never gotten into the Thunderdome, particularly the arboretum! Why did the alligators not eat them or koalas maim them!” This, this is potentially serious. I knew I should have carried a larger pistol today…”

Charlotte, Sister Constance, Smeagol: “What?! That’s terrible!”

I was obviously surprised by the strangeness of that chorus. I was not alone in noticing this, and the equally observant, still outraged and now angry Charlotte spoke up:

Charlotte: “You bastard!!! I ought to taze you to death for making me have an outraged outburst with the Vice President! That’s low. Anyway, we’ll deal with that later; this anti-hobo propaganda of yours is rather disturbing to me. Personally, I like hobos and object to any mistreatment of them be they mossy or not.”

Sister Constance: “The critters are meant to add beauty to the Thunderdome while punishing violators (punishing the evil would probably eliminate most of this board, Mr. Rothechilde…) of its splendor, not to attack hobos. They are allowed free passage. Besides, they could be managed cheaply with cigarettes, sandwiches, and vodka.”

Vice-President: “You two are sick! That is NOT what I meant. I find your attitude toward the homeless disgusting.”

Charlotte: “Well, if they are living in the arboretum, they are technically not homeless.”

Manthony: “…and there ain’t no boxcars up in there, so they ain’t hobos either.”

Me: “They still can be hobos, trains are not a requirement. I check the Alpha Hearse for hobos all of the time.”

Madame Secretary: “No matter what they may be, they should not inhabit the arboretum unsanctioned, at least not without contributing to the expense of their inhabitation.”

Me: “Well, we could arm the hobos, provided they did not turn on us, employees, or ‘legal’ visitors. That would allow them to pay for their upkeep.”

Charlotte: “Upkeep?! Upkeep?! These are humans we are talking about, they deserve respect! Asshole, they are not pets to be kept.”

Me: “My bad. They could pay for their room and board.”

Madame Secretary: “Much better. And that is acceptable. I’ll draft a labor agreement immediately.”

Sister Constance: “This is ridiculous! There is a disgusting piss-plant stinking up the fucking arboretum and I want it out! Why in the Hell are we discussing imaginary hobos?”

Me: “Damn, swearing nuns are hot!”

Charlotte: ” Hell yeah…”

Manthony: “Look, da new flowers make a good toxin. It will paralyze a fool, then make him wet hisself like a baby.”

Us: “Eww!”

Madame Sectetary: “How is that beneficial?”

Manthony: “Hell, I jus’ thought it was cool. An’ I needed space to cultivate my plants, so I stashed ’em next to the marigolds. Rabbits even hate dat shit, so I figured it was kosher.”

Me: “Well it is certainly not a cheeseburger or pork, but not necessarily kosher. What if the board authorizes the construction of a green house for ‘research horticulture and botany?'”

Manthony: “Dat’ll work!”

Sister Constance: “I don’t care, just get the pissy pants plants out of the arboretum main.”

Charlotte: ” You’ve been watching too much Harry Potter, nunsy; you’re starting to sound British. Does that count as a motion and second?”

Madame Secretary: “I would say it does…”

Smeagol: “Wait! We need to discuss this! Besides, we were supposed to be discussing whether to accept the terms of the maintenance staff and their desire to unionize. We have abandoned the who point of what we were discussing and moved on to nonesense.”

Manthony: “Point of Order! A motion has been made and seconded; the Vice-President is out of line! Besides, protecting our shizzle is always on topic, boyee.”

Me: “Mr. Treasurer is correct, the Vice President will shut the fuck up! Besides, if we fire them all before they unionize, we can fire them. If they come near the Thunderdome we can sue them, have them arrested, or shoot them in self-defense. Now, all in favor of building a new greenhouse for research purposes, say ‘Aye.'”

And with that, the Foundation Thunderdome began the process of building a new research facility to explore the joys of potentially toxic, stinky plants. It seems that the workers would have to wait once again to have their day. They should be fortunate our distraction allowed us to avoid firing them for one more day. That is exactly how the lower classes need to live their days…waiting and happy for any crumb they can get; this is the home of the American Dream, no?

About Time

Greetings and Salutations! At long last, I have suitably completed another page. And so ends a horrid bit of cognitive torment and now I can start to write in earnest. And read in earnest. And “Frank and Ernest.” (If you do not get that, some of us will hum a couple of bars of “The Girl from Ipanema” until you finish Googling…)

What I am babbling on about is that I have completed the page that provides details on The Rothechilde Foundation. I have been struggling to add enough content so that I would feel comfortable showing it to the world, and now, I have done so. I am pleased. Now, I can go off to sleep and get ready for another long day.

The First Post

This is always the most difficult thing for me to write: the first of anything. In the past, if I found myself having a similar stumbling block, I would resort to leaving some post containing random videos, or numerous photos with obnoxious comments. However, today, this post…there seems to be something else that is called for.

For those of you who do not know me, allow me to introduce myself. I am Xavier S. Rothechilde. The “S” stands for whatever I choose to have it stand for at any particular time. I am the esteemed owner of Rothechilde Orchards, a business I inherited from my parents. The orchard is very large and contains the most delicious varieties of apples and cherries that a person could ever taste. This year is a momentous year for the orchards; a vineyard is being planted so that the world can taste the wonders produced from the soil about Rothechilde Estates in a miraculously intoxicating, liquid brew.

When not enjoying my time about the Estates, I can typically be found roaming the Samurai City, home of The Rothechilde Foundation. The Foundation is a charitable organization with the mission of promoting economic development and promoting community building. A champion of the underprivileged,  The Rothechilde Foundation has been a guiding beacon to the citizenry of Samurai City through technological innovation, providing sources of income, defending the privilege of the privileged, and assisting the scientific community through various means of research and development. While it has been said that The Foundation is a merely a front to shelter the Rothechilde fortune from taxation from an unscrupulous government that seeks to rob the Rothechilde family blind, this is most certainly not the case. A team of legal experts have successfully proven so and will present relevant documentation upon subpoena.

While we are on the subject of clearing myths, it should also be mentioned that while I, your dear Xavier, have been known to enjoy a taste of absinthe from time to time, as well as the occasional sexual dalliance, I AM NOT A DEVIANT! At least not in the traditional sense. You see, deviance is in the eye of the deviated… Besides, why else would someone create a smartphone capable of storing tons of porn on it unless you were meant to view it during boring board meetings our inane bar conversations.

I do have a taste for firearms and martial arts.

When not seen driving one of the fleet of Foundation Hummers, I love to tool about in my Alfa Romeo that I paid a great deal to have tricked out to look like a hearse. But that reminds me, the Hummers (not the blow jobs, although if you are offering…). Many have criticized The Foundation’s use of what seems to be gas guzzling destroyers of the environment as counterproductive to our mission of clean cities and community building. However, this could not be further from the truth. In actuality, when we fill the massive tanks of our military mock-ups, we save trips to the gas station, hence saving gas. Additionally, more of our Hummers on the streets means fewer of the typical hoopties that you may see around…which is pleasing aesthetically.

In the next few days, this blog will have updates and additions that will make you more familiar with the Foundation. In fact, a whole page is dedicated to the esteemed people who make The Rothechilde Foundation such a valuable community asset.

In addition to my life as a gad-a-bout, Orchard owner, and charity guru, I can be heard playing classic goth tunes on Darkside Radio. You can read more about us on yet another page, soon to come. And with that, dear reader, this experiment as a first true blog entry has come to an end. Hopefully, I have made you a little curious; curious enough to stick around to read when things get truly interesting around here.