Self-Immolation and Diarrhea

My apologies once again for being a day late; we didn't get home from Edmonton until after 9pm last night, and I was too tired to come up with anything coherent after unloading the car.

I'm still at a loss for a good subject today, which is probably because I haven't had a good trip to Wal-Mart in a couple of weeks.  We tried out the new Costco northeast of CrossIron Mills last weekend, but it lacks the robust character that Wal-Mart exudes.  I almost feel like I have to dress up to go to Costco, whereas if I show up at Wal-Mart in nylons, a fur coat, and a pirate hat, while carrying a lightsaber, I'm one of the classiest people there.  Yes, Virginia, a good trip to Wal-Mart is like a good bowel movement (I've always wanted to use the phrase "Yes, Virginia" in a sentence).

There's still no real news worth my effort commenting on in the market; several earnings reports last week disappointed me, but no real surprises were had.

On a rageful note, last night's 60 Minutes was astonishing.  They interviewed public sector figures who looked straight into the camera and said they had cut their budgets to the bone -- that there was nothing further they could do to save money without badly disrupting service to the needy.  Oddly enough, they neglected to consider removing even a single penny from the 'payroll' portion of the budget.  When 99% of all government revenue goes to salaries, pensions, and benefits, it's hard to make a dent on the cost side by reducing the material aspects of the services it renders.  Funny how that works.

Unfortunately, 60 Minutes didn't even mention the fact that the average public sector worker makes over twice that of the average private sector worker, which makes me sorry to say that I have lost a considerable degree of respect for their journalism.  This is the first time I can remember that they've truly disappointed me.

Government budgets are actually one of the simplest things on earth. The sole source of revenue is taxation (in one form or another; i.e. royalties, user fees, inflation).  Thus, the entire equation is:

Total Tax Revenue - Cost of Government = ___________

Balancing the budget is a trivial exercise; unfortunately, because they have the ability to run deficits, they have no incentive to keep the outcome of the above equation to a positive value.

In business, if revenue decreases and cost does not decrease proportionally, bankruptcy eventually occurs.  In government, the currency becomes worthless.

Speaking of bowel movements, I am going to dust off a story from the Terry Archives.

About three and a half years ago, I was working in a small mining town called Elkford (pop. ~2,500) in southeastern British Columbia.

The primary entertainment venue in the town (aside from the time they bussed in strippers from Calgary to another location, which is a separate tale for another time) was a bar called "The Lamplighter".  Every Wednesday at this establishment was "Wing Night", and on that night they served 30 cent wings.  Thus, being able to recognize a good deal when I saw one, I religiously consumed 24 wings every Wednesday for 5 or 6 months.  One night in particular, however, I ate 24 hot wings -- normally I would mix a dozen of one flavor with a dozen of another, just to keep things interesting.

The next morning, I got up and went down to catch the bus to the mine, which usually came by my stop at 5:50am.  As it was early in 2007, winter was still in full force, and it was very cold and very snowy.  At 5:49am, as I stood  waiting for the bus, which I could see a few blocks away, I felt the faintest rumble in my abdomen that briefly made me think "I guess I could go back to my apartment and use the bathroom, because I can always drive my own car to the mine, but I'm confident I can make it to work."

The bus ride from my stop to the mine was typically 40 minutes.  About 10 minutes into our journey through the dark wilderness, disaster struck. The angry, disgruntled remains of the wings were battling my willpower to contain them internally like the scene in Aliens where Ripley fights the alien queen in the airlock with the power loader.

I immediately broke into a cold sweat, and I could hear my heart pounding in my ears.

I began to repeat a mantra in my head over and over again "Terry, crapping your pants on the bus is probably not in your best interest."

As time slowed down around me, I ran through scenarios in my head where I rationalized calmly asking the bus driver to pull over on the mountain road in sub-zero weather so I could run outside and end the suffering immediately.  However, this was not a decision to be taken lightly, lest I be known for the rest of my co-op term as "the guy who stopped the bus to take a dump in the snow at 6:15 in the morning".

So, with the mental discipline of a monk who is able to self-immolate without making a sound, I clenched as tight as they keep the gates at the US Embassy in Iraq, and counted down the remaining 30 minutes, second by second.

When the bus pulled into the parking lot at the mine, I broke into a full-sprint on my way to the washroom, and in full legs-in-the-air-like-Jeff-Daniels-in-Dumb-and-Dumber style, triumphantly relieved myself.

And that, kids, is why I no longer eat two dozen hot wings in one sitting.