Shitting on the steak knives

How awful is Katherine Kersten’s anti-anti-bullying boss column? This bad:

glowers

bellows

plummeting

blasts

tsunami-level intensity

crackpot, lawyers-full-employment scheme

phalanx

Civil rights lingo

scary statistics

our elites tend to be Europhiles

next to impossible to fire an incompetent employee, I’m told

On and one it goes, factless and opinion laden, loaded for bear and barely coherent.

On this side of the Atlantic, anti-bullying advocates tend to downplay the problems created by the fact that bullying is often in the eye of the beholder. It’s hard to deny, after all, that one man’s (or woman’s) rousing pep talk is another’s humiliating nightmare.

Not to fear, anti-bullying advocates say. At trial, expert testimony by one or more of our modern sages — physicians, psychologists, psychiatrists and psychotherapists — can establish whether a plaintiff has suffered compensable harm.

And that’s supposed to be reassuring?

Is every hard-nosed business owner in America destined to be chased into bankruptcy by bullying plaintiffs, lawyers and psychotherapists?

I’ve said this before, and I’ll say it again. That woman needs to watch Glengarry Glen Ross because she has no fucking clue how bad some bosses can be. Yes, GGR is fiction, but as a former union steward and career counselor, I can assure you that Mamet wasn’t making anything up. 

And Katie? It helps if you remember that Blake is being played by Alec Baldwin.

Blake: What’s the problem, pal?

Dave Moss: You -

Dave Moss: You’re such a hero, you’re so rich, how come you’re coming down here wasting your time with such a bunch of bums?

Blake: You see this watch? You see this watch?

Dave Moss: Yeah.

Blake: That watch costs more than your car. I made $970,000 last year. How much you make? You see pal, that’s who I am, and you’re nothing. Nice guy? I don’t give a shit. Good father? Fuck you! Go home and play with your kids. You wanna work here – close! You think this is abuse? You think this is abuse, you cocksucker? You can’t take this, how can you take the abuse you get on a sit? You don’t like it, leave.

Because in Katie’s perfect capitalist society, money is god and Jesus loves a closer.

Blake: You got leads. Mitch & Murray paid good money. Get their names to sell them. You can’t close the leads you’re given, you can’t close shit, *you are* shit, hit the bricks pal, and beat it, ’cause you are going *out*.

Shelley Levene: The leads are weak.

Blake: “The leads are weak.” The fucking leads are weak? You’re weak. I’ve been in this business fifteen years…

Dave Moss: What’s your name?

Blake: Fuck you. That’s my name.

[Moss laughs]

Blake: You know why, mister? ‘Cause you drove a Hyundai to get here tonight, I drove an eighty thousand dollar BMW. *That’s* my name. 

This isn’t abuse. This is a screenplay. How much uglier is it when the boss really knows you and works at getting under your skin. But mostly Kersten thinks you’re a fucking ignorant limp dicked cum slurping twat who cries for mommy when the boss is rude to your cottage cheese bearing ass. Katherine Kersten knows that twelve average Americans put on a jury will fall in love with the Hebe shyster every time and instead of listening to the evidence they’ll just fantasize about having his Jew babies before returning a one-trillion dollar judgment because soft-brained, sex-obsessed juries like round numbers.

American business couldn’t manage its way out of the rain. A disproportionate number of American supervisors and business leaders are raving psychopaths who are never wrong about anything and consistently surrounded by foocking idjits! ONLY A FUCKING PUSSY WOULD OBJECT TO THEIR BOSS TALKING ABOUT THEIR JERKWAD BONY-ASSED WAYS AND THE SLIMY TRAIL THEY LEAVE WHILE GOING TO AND FROM THE BATHROOM SO OFTEN YOU MUST HAVE A MEDICAL PROBLEM BECAUSE NORMAL FUCKING PEOPLE DON’T GO TO THE BATHROOM EVERY HOUR ON THE FUCKING HOUR YOU INCONTINENT PANTSWETTER! WHAT? DID YOU PICK UP SOME WEIRD VENEREAL DISEASE WHILE TROLLING FOR TEENAGED BOYS DOWN BY THE DOCKS? IS THAT WHO TAUGHT YOU TO WRITE NEWSPAPER COLUMNS LIKE A LITTLE FUCKING GIRL ON A SUGAR RUSH? OR WAS IT YOUR COCK FONDLING PEDERAST PRIEST DOWN AT ST. PEDOPHAELIA’S WHO MAKES YOU WRITE LIKE A SACCHARINE DOUCHE BAG?! DO YOU EVEN KNOW WHAT THE WORD CONJUGATE MEANS AND NO I DON’T MEAN WHEN YOUR HUSBAND GETS TO PORK YOU EVEN THOUGH HE’S DOING 5 TO 9 FOR EXPOSING HIMSELF TO KIDS AT THE CHARTER SCHOOLS! THIS NEWSPAPER USED TO HAVE WRITERS WHO WORKED HERE, INK STAINED WRETCHES WHO ABASED THEMSELVES FOR STORIES, WHO DRANK LIKE ZEBRA MUSSELS TO HELP THEM FORGET ALL THE SHITTY THINGS THEY DID FOR GOOD STORIES. NOW HEAVEN FUCKING HELP US WE HAVE GOOD FUCKING PROPER PEOPLE PRIMLY WRITING NASTY-ASSED INSINUATING THINGS ABOUT PEOPLE WHO HAVE THE DECENCY TO GET DRUNK WHEN THINGS GO INTO THE SHITTER. DID YOU EVEN KNOW THAT THIS NEWSPAPER IS BLEEDING MONEY OUT ITS ASS LIKE IT WAS SHIT? DID YOU KNOW THAT YOU ARE THE EBOLA? DO YOU KNOW WHAT A BOTTOM LINE IS OR ARE YOU TOO FUCKING BUSY FINGERING YOURSELF WHILE YOU EXCHANGE TURKISH BONDAGE PHOTOS BY EMAIL WITH SCOTT JOHNSON? HAVE YOU EVER ONCE ACTUALLY LEFT THIS BUILDING TO WRITE A FUCKING COLUMN, OR DO YOU DO YOUR BEST RNC TALKING POINTS REWRITES WHILE STOKED TO THE GILLS ON OUR FREE COFFEE? PUT. THAT COFFEE. DOWN. COFFEE’S FOR WRITERS ONLY! SECOND PLACE IS A SET OF STEAK KNIVES BUT YOU? YOU’RE FUCKING FIRED!!!

But Katherine would never sue. She’d just call up her friends at AVISTA and she’d have this abusive boss fired. 

No, wait. She already did that. Maybe it would help if she tried thinking of the abusive bosses as all being dirty stinking prayer rug kneeling foot washing in the bathroom sink Muslims.

Life is so much easier when you and your friends are in charge, n’est-ce pas? [obligatory Europhilia and no, that's not French for I jus sheet on your steak knives beetch.]

—•—

On the road for the holidays, back Monday or thereabouts. If you must drink, drive carefully, but if you’re sober, tailgate like a demon from hell, pass on the shoulder and keep laying on the horn.

Yes, I’m headed down towards Chicago. How did you guess?

And, before I leave: Nasser Kazeminy stuffed Norman’s turkey with Al Franken’s absentee ballots.

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