That’s Miss Tinkertrain to you

Sorry for leaving you all high and dry for the last few days because I know just as well as you do that you need your daily dose of Reverend Doctor Cyndi almost as much as she needs her daily dose of Jaegermeister because it doubles as cough medicine and doesn’t taste much better…that, and it helps her get to that special place of understanding that makes dealing with all of you and your drama a lot more easy to swallow, not unlike Jaegermeister which of course is best when mixed with a shot of Whiplash, which is kind of like Red Bull but tastes a little better because Red Bull has a unique taste, and I think that taste is derived from a red bull’s ass. On the other hand, Whiplash is way cheaper because it can be shot from a gun and is, apparently, only available at the home bar of which I was at on Saturday night and had a wonderful time as always enjoying three dollar bombs.

I’m sure I can go on and on about the virtue of three dollar bombs at Chaoz, and I probably will at some point in the future, but that time is not now, so I digress.

As for this post, we will be talking once again about Ozzy and how he relates to all of our everyday lives…either that or how Ozzy relates in no way to our daily lives. I’m sure the answer to that deep question is somewhere between the two, so now you know and have been forewarned that this just might be yet another time when Reverend Doctor Cyndi goes off on one of her nonsensical trips that leave us all confused about how Ozzy got dragged into this one, yet again.

Today’s story begins pretty much where we left off last time and if you don’t remember when that was, you’re not alone because neither do I, so let’s just skip past a week ago Friday because I had a bad day then when Wells Fucking Fargo put a hold on my paycheck that I deposited the week before, resulting in me having to take time out of my busy day to try and get their mess straightened out, of which nobody (and by nobody, I mean Tanisha at the call center, the girl who spoke English as a second language, and the other one who I’m not going to pick on because I think she was retarded…or maybe just looked like it) had a straight answer for anything except what the computer was telling them and they aren’t permitted to think for themselves because not only is it policy, but also because that would require thought that was more than their little brains could handle.

Anyway, I’d love to spend more time discussing the retards who work at the bank but that’s just a sign of the times and essentially was so last week and Wells fucking Fargo finally made things right after they took their sweet ass time correcting this problem of mine which really wasn’t mine because it was actually a problem of Bob’s or more importantly Bob’s problem because somebody else wrote him a bad check which caused him to be overdrawn and therefore his bank wouldn’t honor the check and I still have no idea what the FDIC actually does because aren’t they some kind of insurance company that’s tied into the not-at-all-Federal Reserve?

All of these questions led to a very in depth study into how the banking system in this country works and after a few hours of google searches, I was able to conclude the the banking system simply doesn’t work at all because it is way too big and as we all know, the bigger it is, the harder it falls, but somehow there are a shitload of bureaucrats out there that are worried about keeping their jobs so they can provide for their retarded children and their wives who are social climbers and are cheating on them because there is always somebody else who is doing better in life than the loser husband that they have and maybe she’ll actually find that guy but in the meantime she is content with cheating on you with a guy who makes a few dollars more and then she gets knocked up and tells you that she’s pregnant and you’re left wondering how the hell this happened because she and I haven’t had sex in six years, but then before you know it, it’s 9 months later and the baby is born and you now have to spend your time explaining to others how much you love your baby and how it’s totally yours even though the baby looks kind of Asian and neither you or your wife are.
Trust me, it happens all the time.

Of course you can always tell people that you adopted your baby from Korea and people will probably believe you because they now think you’re a great person because you are giving some poor down-trodden Korean orphan a better life in America and you’re like some kind of super parent who deserves the highest of accolades because you have chosen to expand your family because there’s always more love to go around and you can positively impact the life of that child by removing him from those nasty Koreans who we conquered way back in 1953, supposedly, but that was just a ruse to take their babies and make them build us Hyundais which used to be real shit and sold solely on the virtue of their warrantees but now are actually pretty dependable cars that people who are bad drivers buy because they’re too cheap to pony up the extra money for a Corolla, in which at least you’d now have a little bit of status because you bought a Toyota which is of course the American Dream.

If y’all haven’t figured it out by now, owning Japanese products is the American Dream and I used to know several rednecks in the Deep South that would agree because that was the entire reason for that whole ” War of Northern Aggression” thing in which some people are still bitter about because those few years completely destroyed the dream of really, really cheap labor and that whole flag thing is more about heritage than it ever was about hating people just because they look different but nobody seems to see it that way anymore because all of those southern people that I know now wouldn’t be caught dead driving a car from GM or Ford because those cars have poor quality because they are made by workers who belong to the Union and that just sounds, well, bad, to the southerners because the Union screwed them 150 years ago which is why they don’t kowtow to the unions down there anymore and have thrown the General Motors out in favor of working for General Kai-shek who is actually Chinese and not Korean but is of little consequence because the Chinese look similar to the Koreans and they pretty much own one of the Koreas, so that whole war thing was kind of in vain because it was really just a conflict and I can see why uncle Gord was pretty pissed off about it…it’s like saying he killed those zipperheads for nothing…did he?

I don’t think that he did and will contend that the whole Korean Conflict should probably be forgotten because if we fuggetaboutit then we can rewrite history and nobody wants to spend any time remembering the Forgotten War of which it is now, because most of those guys are now dead, like uncle Gord, who was deeply scarred from his experience and consequently died many years ago and went out holding his cock, which I was unlucky enough to witness, almost to say screw all of you, including but not limited to the only family he had left, leaving his small fortune to Catholic Charities which is one of the most evil organizations in the whole world although it’s disguised as a good thing because one of the ways they make a lot of money is by redistributing babies to people who have enough money to pay them.

Is anybody else seeing how wrong this is, right about now? Kind of like that new kid that showed up, and you have to now support, so you don’t look like a complete asshole because you married a woman who is a whore who got knocked up by someone else because you’re just a meal ticket with an inadequate penis that shoots blanks. I hope you’re happy driving your Hyundai but please get out of my way…signed, the minivan behind you…yeah, you see me, move it. The speed limit says 55 but we all know that it’s really 80.

In conclusion, what goes around, comes around and it’s called karma, so try and be a good person although it’ll probably not get you any bonus points with my colleagues without faces…that’s what they’ve told me.

Right about now, your probably asking what Ozzy has to do with this and again, the answer is: ABSOLUTELY NOTHING!

You just spent more time wanting to know about Ozzy and I wasted a few more minutes of yours because I know you have superfluous time on your hands and that is the crux of my work here on earth.

I promise that the next entry to this misadventure will have something to do with Ozzy. There are eleven songs on the NO MORE TEARS album, and by my count, we’ve covered four or them. If we subscribe to common core, there might be 7 more coming and maybe even more if my day job sends me back up to Rockturd and the HPB outlet has another album I can buy for two bucks. You have been forewarned!!!

With Love,
Reverend Doctor Cyndi

Happy Fucking Thanksgiving

As we all might remember, I really don’t consider myself to be a really big fan, but I was just listening to some more Ozzy this morning. (I know, I know, power chord, power chord here we go…again)
Right about now, if you’re thinking that this is going to be another long and rambling post about Ozzy, you might be right but I’ll contend that you’re wrong because this just might have something to do with Ozzy but you won’t know that until you follow along with this Crazy Train of thought and neither of those songs were the song that touched me so much this morning which was actually late last night but I’ve been burning the candle on both ends lately and one day seems to run into another which leaves me with very little free time, and now that I have just a little free time because it’s a holiday, I’m taking a few moments to waste some of your time, because I’m pretty sure that you have plenty.

It’s not like you’re cooking the turkey because I know you’re not because that’s your mother’s contribution to the day and speaking of her, please say hello to your mother for me.

That being said, if you happen to run into Mark Wahlburg today, please don’t tell him that I was making fun of him and stole his line. I’ve heard that he doesn’t like it when people do that and I think that we’re all in agreement on the fact that the last place you want to be is on Mark Wahlberg’s shit list and I’m not talking about the one you’re thinking of because I’m sure I wasn’t the only one who saw The Happening, and I don’t know about you, but I was really pissed when I wasted 2 hours of my life that I’ll never get back while waiting for, at the very least, something to happen during that pile of shit. Instead I’m talking about his other shit list…remember when Marky-Mark was mad at Andy Samberg even though nobody remembers who he was because aside from those digital shorts he did on SNL and that steaming pile of crap, Hot Rod. I think we’ve all forgotten about that guy.
Who the fuck is Andy Samberg anyway?

That’s exactly the point I wasn’t really trying to make here because sometimes I go off on strange tangents that have nothing to do with the real meat and potatoes of the story which is of course what Thanksgiving is all about, and I can’t believe you all didn’t catch that earlier because it just isn’t Thanksgiving without turkey and some potatoes and pumpkin pie which seems to be all the rage but I still find it hard to find anyone who actually likes pumpkin pie but nevertheless, the pumpkin industry keeps trying to cram it down our throats even though no one likes it…kind of like Andy Samberg.

While most of the rest of us stand here, scratching our heads on that one, there probably is at least one person out there that actually likes him and that someone is probably his mother, so if you see Mrs. Samberg today, say hello to her for me.

Thanksgiving is all about family and we should all give thanks for our mothers because without them, you wouldn’t have a family and that is what Thanksgiving is all about; either that or it’s about drinking too much so at least spending time with people you may or may not be related to, is at the very least, bearable…that, and football and shopping, but we’ll discuss that in another post because this one is about Ozzy and turkey.

But what does Ozzy have to do with Thanksgiving, you ask?

Right about this time in our twisted holiday tale, you’re probably thinking: ahh, shit, she did it again but now that you have invested all this time, you should probably keep on reading because there just might be a real nugget of wisdom somewhere in here. When I say nugget of wisdom, I mean that’s exactly what it is because finding anything of value in this tale is kind of like finding gold, in that it’s rare, and not the type of thing you just see lying around, so keep your eyes open because it’s coming sooner or later, maybe.

If you all recall, Ozzy once sang a song about his mama and how he was coming home or something like that. Now, I don’t know Ozzy’s mother but I can only guess that she is a wonderful woman and we all owe her our gratitude for giving us Ozzy because he has given us so much food for thought, which should be pretty obvious by now. So there’s just one more thing to be thankful for, so if you see Ozzy’s mama, say hello to her for me.

Let’s all take a moment of quiet reflection that I’m going to just wind up talking through anyway and give thanks for all of our mothers. If you’re anything like me, you should consider yourself to be very lucky because you have two mothers and maybe even a mother-in-law or two too. If you’re a little confused at this point in time, you’re not alone because I’ve been confused about how that happened because my two mothers are not lesbians, not that there would be anything wrong with that.

I have two mothers because I’m adopted and that tends to complicate things, as one of them is very much my “real” mother as she has taken care of me all my life and the other one is real only in the sense that she is a real piece of work. The other one, or as some would call her, my birth mother, because she was the one that shot me out of her snatch, doesn’t seem to think that event alone is enough for her to call herself a mother and had once told me that my mother “was the one who brought me home from the hospital.” It was only my dumbfounded state at that time, which stopped me from administering the much deserved punch in the mouth that she deserved. I have not spoken with her since but I did send her an email to wish her a happy Thanksgiving but it was so loaded with F-bombs that I doubt she’ll respond because she is a lowlife and a miserable excuse for a human being. In any event, if you see her today, while I feel sorry for you to be subjected to that, please ruin her fucking Thanksgiving and say hello to my mother for me.

There is no need to say hello to my real mom because all of her loved ones, including yours truly, are with her today celebrating the holiday. She didn’t cook today because everyone’s getting older and it’s just a hassle, so we went to Butterfield instead, and it was probably for the best because they put on quite a spread. I highly doubt that my incubator had as nice of a time as I did because there’s no way she was at the country club which is really really nice because it’s a private equity club and the high cost of membership really keeps out the riffraff if you know what I mean.

If you don’t know what I mean, I’d really rather not explain it to you, because it’ll just fly over your head because what is normal activity for Reverend Doctor Cyndi, is probably anything but normal for you. Please don’t think that just because you weren’t at the club today, you’re riffraff because I didn’t say you were, nor would I say that either…at least I wouldn’t say it to your face. The truth is, I don’t even know you, so how could I form an opinion about you?

See how that works. I hate to burst your bubble but the whole world does not revolve around you. There are people in this world who don’t know you and probably couldn’t care less that they don’t know you. Lucky for you, Reverend Doctor Cyndi is not one of those people and she does care about you and wants to help you become a better person…either that or she wants to help you get out of her way because you’re slowing down forward progress and now you know why that minivan behind you is riding your ass, so step on it, green means go.

As this Thanksgiving day comes to a close, it would behoove you to reflect on the lesson that I’m doing a really piss-poor job at teaching, if you can call it that because I’m almost ashamed to put my name on it, but then again, there’s got to be some name attached to it and that’s got, yet again, ABSOLUTELY NOTHING TO DO WITH OZZY.

Perhaps the lessons learned from Ozzy are not that good and Reverend Doctor Cyndi needs to go back up to Rockturd and visit the Half Price Books Outlet and see what else she can find for two bucks. One never knows what they’re going to find there and maybe if we’re lucky we’ll find Bark at the Moon or something. If I remember correctly, they did have it on vinyl, but since Dodge stopped putting record players in their minivans, that wouldn’t do me any good.

Sometimes I manage to confuse even myself and if you’re not then good for you. Reverend Doctor Cyndi is here to help all of you become better human beings…when I say all of you, that means all of you; even Mark Samberg and Andy Wahlberg.

I’m going to wrap this up now because it’s probably enough mental torture for one day so we should all give thanks that I know when to say when. Besides that, there are plenty more lessons we can learn from Ozzy and we’ll just have to wait until tomorrow for them…or maybe the next day. I have to get up early because the stores open at 5:00 am and there’s probably some good deals out there on a bunch of crap I don’t need.

Until then, have a good night, and sweet dreams. Sleep soundly knowing that Reverend Doctor Cyndi has got the night watch covered because she is hyper-vigilant, just as most adoptees are. She doesn’t sleep well and never dreams anymore because most dreams eventually get shattered and we all remember that the last Reverend Doctor who had a dream, got shot; which is exactly why I she doesn’t do it anymore.

Have a Happy Fucking Thanksgiving Everyone!