All day long at work, I am Santa Claus. Or, more accurately, Bitter Claus. I enter credits. I reign money down upon undeserving corporations like rain comes down on Seattle. I go down people’s virtual chimneys and leave the present of credit in their email boxes. Even though most of these corps are naughty, I deliver something nice. Credit passes hands, and I am the delivery boy. Except unlike Santa, I deliver 265 days a year (Bitter Clause doesn’t work weekends, fools) instead of one. Since I am so practiced at giving credit, and you know what they say, you gotta give credit where credit is due, I am going to give credit to some other people, places and things today.
I’d like to give a credit all my bosses, teachers, civic leaders, government authority, wanna be mentors, etc. for thinking it was okay to boss me around, or tell me what to do. This helped me come to the bitter conclusion that I am don’t heart authority. Thanks for making me realize how to be bitter in so many ways.
Here’s a credit to the media. I’d like to thank them for their endless search for the “truth” no matter how over the top, unnecessary, or unwatchable it is. Your obsessive need to report about the biggest idiots to the smallest crimes lead you to report all things bitter. Ebola, local murders, national murders, mainstream murders, bad weather storms, government laws, tax raises, street awareness, car accidents, crimes against humanity and worst of all crimes against my interest. It’s because of these things, that I avoid you.
I’d like to give credit to every mosquito that bit me, every ant that annoyed me, every bee stung me, every invisible spider web that made me look like a mental patient, every mouse that wandered our pantry, every bird that woke me up in the early morning and every bear that ate me at night for helping me not like nature. I don’t come in your forest, don’t come in my house.
I’d like to credit sports, for teaching me about team selfishness. Basketball taught me the fundamentals, like how to be a ball hog, how to dribble a lot between my legs, how to take the ill-advised contested three and how to look at the stat sheet instead of the final score. I give credit to baseball for teaching to swing for the fences, instead of getting on base, that three strikes and you’re out. I’d like to credit soccer for teaching me how to be bored, whether it was being a goalie or watching it or paint dry. I’d also like to thank all those sports for my bad knees, bad shoulder, bad back, and lack of riches they didn’t provide me while missing being a pro by this much.
I’d like to credit restaurants for teaching how quickly I can get full. A little soda, a lot of appetizers and some really big eyes have made for some very good looking leftovers, a cramped stomach, and pants that need some hemming and a button that can be easily unloosed.
I’d like to credit phones for teaching me how to react just like Pavlov’s dog every time I hear a ring. (I’m talking like a caveman now.) Phone ring, must answer. Caller ID say number might be friend, it telemarketer. It might be day off, but answer call in case it emergency and it just boss asking to work extra shift. It might be 2 in morning, but answer call, cause might be emergency, just parents calling from Hawaii, forgot time change.
I’d like to credit traffic for teaching me the most inefficient way to get home, how to waste the most gas possible, and a more efficient may to spread rage. If you are angry at work or home, you can only affect a few, but if you rage in traffic, you are a mobile rage transporter.
I’d like to credit my elementary school cafeteria for teaching me how to fight for the first spot in line, my high school cafeteria for teaching me to fight with other kids, and my college cafeteria for showing me how to fight with food.
I’d like to credit Walmart for teaching other people how to fight for a $99 TV that is already broken, for teaching me how to only open two of the 24 registers, how to stuff as much stuff in the aisles so there is only enough room for zero people to walk in them, and how to appreciate Target so much.
I’d like to credit all my followers for…following me where ever I go. In the grocery store, in my car, at home. It’s all a little creepy. Can you just not? Okay, I gotta go.
I know this sounds like a farewell speech. No, I’m not dying. Unfortunately for you, and fortunately for me, I’m not going away. Not now, not next week, maybe in a couple of weeks, but after that, never! Until never seems like too much work.
Remember to visit the Weblog Award Page and help me meet my goal of second place finish in the 2015 Weblog of the Year. Voting ends this Sunday, March 22nd at 10 pm EST so if you don’t want that Boring Science Website to win again, vote for me. IF YOU VOTE FOR ME, YOU WILL GET EXTRA CREDIT.
Bitter Extra Credit Ben