The Bad, No More

Apologies to anyone following this series.  There was much more to tell, but I can no longer tell it.  In a single weekend, I have alienated everyone in my life simply for being myself.  Enough.

I am John Doe.  I work.  That's it.

Goodbye.

The Bad, Part 3

Prologue

There are too many stories to tell.  As my business mentors used to call it, I keep going off to Abilene when I try and write about the band.  One story leads to another, which leads to another.  Before you know it, you’re in Abilene.  Shit!  We were supposed to go to Albuquerque.

The Bad, Part 3

Two albums.  Both were professional and both were uniquely ours.  Steve and I were both coming into our comfort zones with producing music versus being produced.  Since we lived so far away from each other, we were limited to weekends we could schedule in order to keep working on making new music.  In the meantime, we both had recording equipment at hand and were amped up at the opportunity to produce music.  It didn’t take too long before Steve and I began working with other musicians.

There were a few characters in Wondertucky that I spent time with.  There was a feller everyone called Topper.  He was an incredibly talented drummer, but we were never really able to get anything together.  There was another feller named Randy.  He had a beautiful song idea and I had a recording studio in my basement.  We made, “Awoke From A Dream” nearly seamlessly.  There was what we fondly refer to as, “The Mysterious Three”.  One of The Three is the younger brother of my dear friend Jason.  These young and talented musicians ended up in my basement, and I had the honor of recording two of their songs.  As their songs didn’t have lyrics, The Bad filled in the blanks.

While I was recording with artists local to where I lived, Steve was working with artists local to him.  When we were recording our first album, we utilized a track that Steve and Dylan had made years before The Bad.  The song, “That’s Not What Life’s About” features Steve as the lead singer.  I laid in background harmony.  I remember thinking to myself at the time that I was about to be fired as lead singer - it is still one of my favorite tracks.  Of course, those fears were unfounded, but years later they began to surface again.

I had been doing spot recordings, but Steve had become the member of another band – and I thought that might be it for my music career. Steve:

“Patrick was a natural born drummer. Not many people with this particular condition can go long without playing their instrument. He recently picked up a digital drum set and was jamming with a couple of friends. He wanted me to come over with my guitar (Frankenstein) and see how my style fit in with the guys. There was a lead singer, Scotty B and a Rhythm guitarist, Ryan S (whose parents owned the basement we were jamming in). They also had a bass player, who was just learning how to play. We played through a couple songs, but there wasn’t really any magic. The guy playing bass needed to take off and I asked them if I could jam some bass while they played. 

Something just clicked when I played bass in this band. We were like 4 totally different people who created songs with such originality that I was hooked. Now that I lived on my own, and had a band who all lived locally, we could practice every day if we wanted to. We started hanging out all the time and pretty soon we had a huge entourage. We started filming ourselves at every practice just to try and find ways to get better. Scotty B was meant to be a star and I thought, finally I have a band that I can put together a live show with. 

In the meantime, Tim and I were still committed to keep recording together as The Bad. However, due to the fact that he had a recording studio in his basement, he started branching off as well. He started producing a local guitarist/town drunk named Randy and another young band. He also started performing way more due to the popularity of Karaoke. Getting up in front of people and singing is what Tim was born to do, but now he could sing, play multiple instruments & produce. 

Things with my band, unofficially titled “Unexpected Jam” had reached a zenith. We had planned a huge party, where we were going to make our first big show. Pat and I rented the equipment we needed for the sound stage and we got to setting everything up. It’s not easy for first timers to wire together everything needed for a great live show, but we did our best and we started doing some sound checks. Not five minutes go by and the cops are already there. Ryan’s dad was a retired police officer, so we didn’t get a ticket or anything, but we started to think, how are we going to pull off this live show, if we can’t even get through one song without the pigs showing up. 

The day of the party was a complete wash. I mean it rained buckets on our dreams. This singular event completely took the wind out of our sails. The band didn’t completely fall apart, but we stopped practicing at Ryan’s and soon hanging out together became more about anything other than the music we were going to make. Fortunately I still had “The Bad.”

Fortunately for me, I still had “The Bad” too.  Steve and I both ended up in the same place via different roads.  I was doing production work, but wasn’t participating much as a musician.  Steve was meshing with a live band, but the drama involved with bands caused the usual break-up of so many great bands.

When the dust settled, we all ended up back with each other.

Come Together

Steve:

“Much of the productions on this album where done by each of the members of The Bad separately. This was a type of fracturing of the band, but it also created some amazing results. Tim with 3 recordings done in his studio. Me with 3 recordings that I did at the apartment with Pat. And Dylan with Manhiki Island. We could hardly call ourselves much of a band, but then as things were going from bad to worse with my band/living situation, Dylan pulled a diamond out of his ass.

 Pat and I had set up a small walk-in closet as a micro studio. This was problematic in many ways, but surprisingly we ended up recording a lot more stuff that ever before. Scotty B’s problems had basically forced him to leave. We were determined to wait it out to see if maybe when he came back, the magic would still be there. There was definitely magic, but it came from a riff that Ryan had been jamming at practices on and off for the last couple months. We had always intended to develop some lyrics for Scotty on the song, but when we ended up recording it, Scotty was already gone.

 One night when we were all hanging out at our apartment, Dylan showed up. Instead of letting him socialize, I tossed him right in the closet. I wanted to see if he could contribute a track to our song, which now had a rhythm track, lead guitar, bass guitar and a tribal drum that Patrick played. Dylan set the keyboard on “Pan Flute” and rocked the joint. His playing took that song and brought it to a level that our previous music couldn’t even touch. It was magic and since it gave our band new hope, we called it, “New Life”.

 I did “New Life”, the music for “The Last Among Us”, “Never Pure”, “When the Soldiers Come”, and the music for “Tribal Dance” in that closet and despite its small size, I really have some fond memories of recording there. This basically ends the story of “Unexpected Jam” after Scotty decided that he was going to be staying in Florida. Ryan had been scheming to leave also, but never told us about it. He packed up and boom, he was gone too. I have lost my band and Pat and I just couldn’t hold it together.

 I moved back in with my parents and Pat moved to Virginia. This is when Tim and I started finishing off some more tracks together. We put the finishing touches on “The Last Among Us” and “Tribal Dance”. We also recorded another track arranged by Rob called, “The Great Boat in the Sky” (based on the directions to get to Tim’s house from mine). We started to think about putting all these various tracks that we had all done separately on one new album for The Bad. If people thought the last album was a little overly diverse, than this one was going to kick them in 4th grader.”

I love the way Steve puts things.  By distance and circumstances The Bad splintered apart, yet somehow managed to come back together and reform.  Well, not “reform”…

“Tribal Dance” is unique.  It features many different influences and styles.  Yet, when I listen to it, I hear a common thread within the range of songs.  I hear The Bad in the songs I made.  I hear The Bad in the songs Steve made.  I hear The Bad in the songs Dylan made.  Still, the songs I love most are the ones we all made together.

The Bad, Continuing

Musical geniuses?

More of The Bad to come soon.  Promise.

The Bad, Interlude

My computer went belly-up on me while I was working on The Bad, Part 3. Now that I’m up and running again, enjoy this moment from our reunion while I try and get the next installment written.

The Bad, Part 2

Prologue

Lately, I’ve found it difficult to write about politics as I have done with this site for more than eight years.  While passionate about it, I find myself lacking a voice in the arena.  This particular series offers me the opportunity to tell a story that you’ve not heard from anyone else.

I’ve been personally writing about The Bad over the course of a great many years.  Not too terribly long ago, I asked Steve and Dylan to send me their memories of our adventures.  Thankfully, they obliged my request thereby allowing me to honor them properly.

The Bad, Part 2

Gathering of the Three

Being the lead singer of The Bad redefined me fundamentally.  Strangely, I had no idea I would be so changed when it was happening.  This is something I had dreamed about for the majority of my life.  When we started recording, I was nearly numb with excitement.  Yet, the idea of an actual album still seemed incomprehensible.  We only had a couple songs written, and I was a newborn baby as compared to the guys I was working with.

When it came down to it, it took each of us to step up when we were needed, and I think we all did so in fine order.  So, all of the sudden: we have an album.  Now what?

We made our efforts to get people listening to our music.  I was selling CDs to every friend, coworker, neighbor and stranger alike.  Dylan was able to utilize some of our tracks for independent films he was scoring.  Because of this, my name is listed in the scrolling end credits of “The World's First B+ Movie!”  We also managed to get played on the radio, and I even convinced the local bar owner to put a copy in his jukebox.  None of it really mattered because an independent album with no distribution channel had no chance for traction.

Since it was obvious that there was to be no profit in this endeavor, Steve and I had to decide whether we were going to keep making music regardless.  It was a pretty easy choice to make: we were having a lot of fun writing music together and were now going to throw ourselves into the arena of trying to record it ourselves while maintaining the quality level Dylan’s production savvy brought us on the first album.

Steve:

“This left me with one choice. I had to learn how to produce music myself. The only problem was I needed some fucking money if I was going to get the equipment necessary to put together a decent sounding recording. Our first album lost so much money (mostly failed marketing costs) that I was already in hock, but thanks to the magic of credit cards and eBay I was able to slowly put together a used Fostex 8-track (reel to reel) and mixing board. I had a couple of cheap effects processors and a kick ass compressor that I never really understood how to use.

Tim and I wanted to make a blues rock album and the first song we did was “Always Bet on Black”. I got the whole thing programmed into the sequencer (keyboard drums, bass, and guitar) and I even got Dylan to play some blues piano. The problem was, I had a room at my parent’s house that was literally becoming crammed full with equipment. It was becoming clear that we weren’t going to be able to record the vocals there. So we packaged up the reel-to-reel in the back of Dylan’s car and headed off to the basement once again. Having an isolation booth for singers is more important that just getting a clean sound. It lets you get into character, without feeling like your being stared at like a circus freak.

We ended up doing three recordings like that, including “Buzz on Blues” and “Out of Sight”. They were satisfactory in the sense that they were all blues rock songs that sounded like they belonged together on an album, but I still hadn’t achieved my goal of being independent of Dylan and his (much nicer) studio. His interests had shifted radically and my little bedroom was no place to record an album. Besides, we couldn’t drink or smoke in my parent’s house. Things seemed to stall for a while and that’s when Tim pulled off a minor miracle.

Yes, JP and I wrote the lyrics on bar tabs

The song “Rollin’” was written by a work friend of Tim’s named JP - a nice guy who I had met at several parties, but never imagined him a poet. Tim put together an arrangement for this song with a percussive guitar element and it was just magic. It was perfect for my style of guitar and we recorded a version of it on Tim’s 4-track that was really good. I decided to bring the studio equipment up to Tim’s house because he lived in a house with a basement and there we were free to work in an environment that we were comfortable in.

Partially inspired by the pseudo live sound of “That’s Not What Life’s About” we recorded “Rollin’” and it was the first time we had put down anything totally by ourselves that had the magic of our earlier recordings. It was like the wall opened and Tim totally revamped his basement to make it into a studio where we could record. We went on to do “Another Day Passes” (with a stellar loop arrangement by the very gay Rob Willson), “Land of Freedom”, “Here to Me”, and “Halloween ’79”.

At work, my boss/friend Steve had left to pursue other interests (as well as my sister), so I was handling all the network administration, PC maintenance, Internet development, catalog design, and ad materials. This left me in a pretty good position financially (along with a booming Cartooniverse.com). I decided to invest in a digital 16-Track that would basically allow me to bring a recording studio where ever I wanted. So Tim had the 8-track analog studio at his house and I had the 16 track at mine. In order to test everything out I recorded two songs by myself “The Skies of Mars are Red” and “Fortunes Only Son”.

Dylan was doing a bit of dance music around this time and one night we got slaughtered over at his house and he recorded a tripped out industrial song called “Give in to You”. This was nothing like anything on our album, but the song was strangely compelling, so I asked him if I could put it on the album. He agreed and a short time after that, the whole band was together and we recorded the equally strange “You’ll Never Have it Again”. These two songs didn’t really belong on this album, but it was the beginning of our desire to experiment with our music beyond what was commercially identifiable.

A second album is born

The idea behind the two dice on the cover was that they would be two 4s since this album was recorded on an 8-track. But that was not really that important, we just wanted Rob to model the dice (that’s right, he’s also a 3D savant) and we would put together the layout for the album, which was going to be titled “Rollin’”. We were ready to get this project completed and Dylan came through with a great bid for the CDs. He worked at printing company now and knew how shave pennies. Now we just had to wait.

I’m not sure what happened, but for some reason the CDs took forever to get to us. It was like weeks (maybe even a month) we waited for the albums to come back. There was always some excuse for why they weren’t ready and I could feel my blood squirting angrily through my chest pump. But then just like that they were finished and the album was great. If Tim and I were like Lennon & McCartney, Dylan and I were quickly becoming Mozart and Salieri.

At the time people speculated about which album they liked better. The common consensus seemed to be that the first album was produced better and sounded more like a cohesive whole. But there were some songs on this album that people seemed to like more than anything we’d done before. Since “The Bad” and “Rollin’” were our only two real albums (meaning, we sent them out to get replicated commercially and tried to promote ourselves) my thoughts looking back is that the two albums are apples and oranges. The first one is a slick ride in a limo, and “Rollin’” is like bouncing around the beach in dune buggy.

Tim and I had produced an album. It couldn’t have been done without the help and guidance of Dylan, and it wouldn’t have been the same without the lyrics of Rob Willson and Jim Parr. We weren’t sure what marketing would work for this album, so we just started giving them away almost like business cards.”

Stylistically, “Rollin’” was much more eclectic than its predecessor, but it was an incredibly important step in our development as writers, performers and producers.  We were evolving our sound from a very technically produced and structured one to a looser, more acoustic and more organic sound.  Steve and I were expanding our abilities to play new instruments we thought were key to a specific sound we wanted.

One thing was for absolute certain: I was having the time of my life.  Setting up the 8-track studio in my basement and learning how to properly record with it was lots of work, and I loved every moment of it.  Writing and recording original music can be long and tedious work, and I loved every moment of it.  I was no longer dreaming of being a recording artist.  I was doing it.

The Bad, Part 1

Prologue

“My son calls me Daddy, my wife calls me Sweetie.  You can feel free to call me anything you like.”

Mr. and Mrs. The Bad

An older brother recently indicated a need to disclose his feelings publicly.  I encourage him to take the initiative of setting up his own free blog site and venting his hatred there.  Here, I now intend to tell the story of how my entire existence was redefined by music, and again by love.

The Bad, Part 1

Understand from the start that this story would read significantly differently if another were to tell it.  I am fortunate enough to have the written word of others involved, and I hope that they will read this piece and know how much they meant to me at the time, as well as how much they mean to me now.

Bad Boys

Suffice it to say that I was never the popular kid in school.  Typically, when someone is known yet not popular, the definition of “notorious” or “infamous” is assigned.  I’m not entirely convinced that I was either of those, but I was most certainly known and usually avoided.  I was the unstable one.  I had been institutionalized.  After that, people were less inclined to shit all over me.

When I went away to my first year of college, I realized that I had no notoriety on campus.  I had finally shed twelve years of reputation and could literally be anyone I wanted to be.  I did so, and for the first time in my life I felt as though I was in control of my own image and destiny.  I explored my love for writing in ways I never dared to attempt before.  I responded to critics without reserve, and feared no reprisals.  In a nutshell, I came out of my nutshell.

Being new to standing up for myself, I alienated as many as I befriended, and found myself again on an island of sorts.  For the sake of change, I left the university for one much smaller and in a different region of the country.  In retrospect, leaving a state university for a small, private and religious university was probably not the best idea in the world.  Regardless, I ventured on to campus more grizzled than one year before and more confident in myself to be by myself.

Then, I met a girl.

I went into my second year of college at a new school with a new way of presenting myself in another blank-canvass setting.  The Thoughtful Loner would slowly walk the grounds of the small Midwestern campus, and usually could be spotted sitting beneath a tree in the Common Area jotting down oddities in his notebook.  At this point, I had figured that I was best suited to keep to myself if I was to accomplish anything.  Then, a shadow fell upon me below the big oak tree.

Robyn, a girl I had noticed on campus, had decided to favor me with her attention.  She was curious about what I was writing and I was curious why such a pretty girl would even notice me sitting there.  Romance ensued.  With the confidence gained from my new-found love interest, I began writing an editorial column for the school newspaper.  I also was allowed to host a program on the school’s radio station, regardless of the fact that I was not attending any broadcasting courses.  I called it “Floyd’s Groovydom Palace”, and would haul my collection of compact discs to the broadcast booth so I could play the music that moved me most.  This is why I publish under the copyright of “F.G.P. Entertainment”.

In High School, inspired by the “None Of The Above” concept from the movie “Brewster’s Millions”, I attempted a similar campaign for student council.  It didn't work.  In my second year of college, I tried it again.  The residence hall in which I lived had an election for Hall President.  This was a position for the Popularist Elitistata.  I ran an unfunded and unendorsed campaign for the position from my dorm room.  Few knew me directly, but everyone knew my words from the school paper and the radio show, as well as the campaign flyers I made sure were everywhere you looked when you were on campus.  I never expected to win the campaign, so I was a bit taken back when I found out I would be the new Hall President.  This was my first popularity contest I had ever won, and I had done so without actually being popular.

With an “etcetera, etcetera”, I will dispense with the nuts and bolts of why I only remained on campus for one semester.  Put simply, I was more interested in my passionate love interest, my political position, my radio show, and my editorial column than I was in my course load.  As such, I left my college career at one-point-five years.

Robyn and I kept the flame burning, so while I began working menial sales jobs back home, she completed the second semester of the school year.  She then transferred to a well-known university in Milwaukee, Wisconsin and I moved there to be with her.  When I left home, I literally had nothing more than my car, wardrobe and bed.  I rented a room with the only money I had, and dived into the job market.

More “etcetera, etcetera”.  I had been making decent money in a job as a professional fundraiser for a little over a year when shit fell apart.  Robyn chose to leave me, and moved out while I was at work.  I ceased to function for a couple weeks after that.  I made a try at school again, and did a pretty decent job at a Milwaukee area technical college.  Just the same, I was drowning in loneliness and regret from Robyn’s sudden, yet understandable departure from my life.

I upended.  I swallowed all of my pride and asked my parents if I could come home.  Of course, they accommodated without question.  Before I knew it, I was back in my hometown and seeing old friends with whom I had only contacted in a tertiary sense of my daily life.  Homecoming felt surprisingly good, and I was enrolled in a new technical school that presented more options to my evolving sales sensibilities.

Then, I met a girl.

After the collapse of my life and love in Wisconsin, I sought and found refuge with friends and acquaintances of old.  In truth, the use of the plural in the word “friends” is an overstatement.  My one tried and true friend, Jim, opened his door and his heart to my sorrows and offered his support and solace as only a true friend can.  I was welcomed at Jim’s place any time I needed, and I needed it frequently.

Tammy was an unexpected circumstance.  She was friends with both Jim and his older brother for quite some time.  She was also friends with Steve and Dylan, two musicians who had been recording music during and since High School, and whom I had occasion to acquaint.  Over the course of years, the paths of our lives had intersected, culminating in a, “holy cow, you know all the people I know” sort of meeting the woman I would first marry.

This new relationship with Tammy brought about wider exposure to Steve and Dylan, and the wonderful music they already knew how to make.  We were already friendly and I had a burning desire to be part of making music.  It didn't take too long before I was working myself on a daily basis to play the guitar.  I had already found musical accolade from the new media of the time known as Karaoke.  I knew that if I could pair playing an instrument with my ability and desire to sing, I could find myself performing as I always had fantasized.

Yes, Dylan's holding a golf club

Steve:

“When I was getting out of college in 1998, I was working a good job and the internet bubble was growing like Mt. St. Helens.  My job as a web page designer put me right at the forefront of a new and huge business, and I even had my own web portal, “Cartooniverse”.  Things were going great professionally and my side music project was just about to be taken to the next level.

 During the last couple of years I had been jamming on and off with my buddy Tim. He lived in a tiny little apartment, which was referred to as “The Perch”. We’d been jamming on and off for the past couple years and had written a handful of songs. Although I had given up on recording music for a living years earlier, having Tim’s fresh enthusiasm for playing reignited the fire in my heart. In the past I've had a musical relationship with my buddy Dylan, who before he joined the dark side, was actually an up and coming music producer. One night while we were talking/drinking we started discussing the possibility of him producing an album for Tim and I, based on the music that we were writing. Dylan and Tim were old friends, so we called up Tim (who had moved all the way up north to Wonder Lake) and pitched the idea of putting together a real rock album. Tim was sold and we agreed to record an album that night. We also agreed to not party while recording, so that things wouldn't get too messy. However, we all learned that production is always messy.

The first few songs were finished in pretty straight order. “Don’t Take a chance, Sometimes You Win, People will Say…”, but we finally hit a road block when we recorded a piano ballad that Dylan wrote called “If Only I Could”. A great song and idea, but it wasn't the same type of song that Tim and I had wrote for the album, so it was our biggest challenge because it had to be produced differently than the rest of our songs.

Bad Brothers

The session for our last recording, “New Day” was at hand and I showed up at Dylan’s with Tim and there was no Dylan. So we waited until he came speeding up the road like a pickled psycho. His shirt was torn off and our music was blasting out of his car speakers. We hit the basement and we broke our rule. Drinking like pigs like only the three of us could.

We ARE the party, honey!

Anyways, with the songs nearly finished, I still needed to record my guitar solo. I’ve been informed that the limo is waiting upstairs and we need this one finished so we can go out and celebrate our album being completed. With standards and practices being thrown out the window, I winged a blues solo together. Although I can’t remember what happened that night, I’ll always remember the great joy we had at completing this huge project. Too bad the worst wasn't over yet.

Getting an album recorded is an insane endeavor, but getting an album into CD format wasn’t something you could just click a mouse and have done. There are rounds of mastering, CD jacket design, UPC codes and an enormous amount of goblin shit that musicians today have built into a template wizard on their PC.

Either way, as the executive producer of this project I was going to have to find a way to pay for it all and when I sent the project out with Dylan he informed me that the costs were going to be about twice what we he quoted me. This was a straw that snapped between us and it crippled the project because I knew I didn't have the resources. I called Tim freaking out and decided to abandon doing the CD.”

So here I was: we had completed all recording sessions.  We had completed all mixing.  We had completed all of the album art.  All of our work had been completed, and all that needed to be done was to produce the physical product.  That’s when Steve called me freaking out.  I insisted that all production material be sent to me and I would find a means of publication.  This was my fucking dream, and I wasn't about to let it die on the vine.

Steve:

“Fortunately, Tim responded by getting the chips aligned in the production to get the project brought in on budget. If it hadn't have been for this, I don’t know if we would have actually released the record.  In a way it was fitting that we all had such an important role to play because it really was a labor of love. With the conflict behind us we finished up the deal. Dylan and I fight like tigers, but we are also quick to forgive and when the records got delivered we truly knew we had something special. This was our contribution to the musical universe of Rock & Roll and the results were joyous.”

Still got it

The self-titled album, “The Bad” made no money.  None of the artists were discovered for their talents.  To this day, people tell me that they enjoy a specific song from this album, and the song is always different.  My dear friends and I recorded an album of music that spoke to everyone.  Even now, when I listen to it, I can hardly believe it was really me.

This was no accident.  The music had heart because we were more than friends.  We were brothers.  I have lots of brothers: some related by family, others related by blood, but none could ever come close to the brotherhood I feel for my Brothers In Arms:

Photo from the only live performance of The Bad

Other Refinement: Who Am I?

As of yesterday, someone signing their comments as my older brother made some fairly disparaging remarks about me.  Normally, shitty comments from anonymous entries get about 15 seconds of attention and are summarily forgotten.  However, this was different: this person might actually be one of my older brothers.  This person called my professional integrity and intellect into question as well as my personal life and behavior.

First and foremost, I will acknowledge that the intent of these remarks achieved the assumed desired result: yes, my feelings have been bruised.  Congratulations.

I do not intend to defend myself from these comments.  My intentions include some lambasting of these comments, but mostly I would like to inform those interested about the person they disparage.  So, let’s dive in:

“You are a denegerate and functional alcoholic.”

If the intent was to call me a degenerate, then this person might want to review their spell-check procedures.  Regardless, let’s examine the claim for a moment.  To be a degenerate is to be someone who has previously been upstanding and has diminished in the quality of character that they once were.  Any person who knew me prior to being a father would argue the exact opposite.  Quite frankly, no older brother of mine has seen me in person since my son was three months old.  My older brothers have nearly no idea who I am.  As to the alcoholic thing – I’m pretty sure those people go to meetings.  Please refer to me as a drunk if you want to be accurate.

“Regardless of your political views- you are a mental midget. I have proof.”

So, it seems clear that my older brother has misplaced his English 101 textbook, but has proof of my intellectual deficits.  Bravo.  Feel free to submit your proof (documents in crayon will not be accepted) and we can evaluate the veracity of your claim.

“You insult all professional sales people with your foolishness. Your lack of professional credentials is noted and offensive.”

You know what I find offensive?  I know this guy who became President of a company simply because his name was the same as his father.  Is being a company President a professional credential?  Perhaps … if that company didn’t get sold for parts as it was no longer viable under the leadership of its President.

And now, a little about me:

When I began my studies in electronics, I worked part-time for a very small firm.  When graduation time rolled around, I and one other employee – one who had worked there longer and was receiving a larger degree than I – were in contention for a full-time position with that firm.  They chose me.  Not because of my name.  They chose me because my professional credentials speak for themselves.  They chose me because my foolishness is part of what my customers like about me.  I’m a human being – not some jerkass who would publicly deride his own brother for reasons not yet apparent to me.

“Kindly go back to your area of " expertise" … “Which ever is easier”

Again, I must marvel at the grammatical skills of the one who denigrates my professionalism.  That aside: gee whiz – do you think I’d like to be working in both my field of expertise as well as my pay grade versus what I am doing now to keep my family fed?

While these comments were written with the grammatical skill of a third grade problem child, they still hurt.  They hurt because they were unprovoked.  They hurt because they probably come from an actual older brother of mine.  They hurt because I bust my nuts every day to provide for my family, and this person who hasn’t seen or spoken to me in years chose this public forum to express his discontent.

So, this brings us to the meat of it all: who am I?  I’m lots of characters.  Over the years I have been TheBad, author of this site and fiery comments regarding all things political (albeit less now than in years before parenthood).  Daily, I am Daddy to a beautiful and well-natured boy with a learning disability.  Sure, it’s not as sexy a story as a super-professional sales-douche who leaves his wife and three daughters – but it’s what is.  Daily, I am also husband to a wonderful wife with a physical disability.  Daily, I am also an employee of a major corporation.

However, these are all the things I do – not who I am.  None of my siblings know this – they don’t associate with me.  My parents know to a certain degree the person I am, but I don’t think they quite understand it.  My close friends know who I am.  My wife knows who I am.  I am a song and dance man.  I am a performer.  Unfortunately for me, this takes a back seat to being a father and provider, but is still quintessentially who I am.

I have been writing and commenting under the handle “TheBad” for years because it is the name of the band that I was in – a band that helped change my music dream into my music reality.  I am a singer.  I am a songwriter.  I live for a stage, microphone and audience.  It is why I have always found success in sales: I am naturally inclined to perform.

A brother of mine years estranged would still know that his youngest brother feels deeper than most.  A personal attack such as this would cause him to cry.  As such, I would like to thank him.  The next time I have a microphone and am singing something melancholy, I will have a personal reference which will help the performance.

I might be any or all the things you have called me.  Yet, I cannot change who I am.  I can only affect the things that I do.  Daily, the things I do are rarely things I do for myself.  I do them for my wife and my son.  I do these things freely and without grudge because I love my family more than I love anything else – including being the song and dance man I was born to be.

My son calls me Daddy and my wife calls me Sweetie.  You can feel free to call me whatever you like.

Strategery

Since the end of George W. Bush’s second term in office, I have heard about and read about all the strategies for the Republican Party. These pontifications grew louder and more pronounced after each loss to our current SCOAMF. I’m sick of it all.

There was simply no strategy necessary for this past election. It was a simple as this: point to Obama and repeat the word, “failure”. In all the strategizing, all the polling, all the excrement involved in a campaign, this simple thing was lost among the intelligentsia running the supposed party of conservatives.

What we needed in 2008, and needed even more in 2012 was a conservative candidate. What we ran against the evil of socialism were two candidates who were utterly incapable of articulating the conservative message, let alone stand upon a conservative record. Now, in the wake of an incomprehensible loss to one of the most radical leftists to hold the office of President of the United States, the din of strategy again reverberates throughout conservative circles.

I have a really simple set of guidelines for you all. This is the only strategy necessary.

1) Call leftism a failure. Call this philosophy for what it is every single chance available. Highlight the fact that this philosophy has never succeeded in the history of humanity.

2) Do not fear the media-darling candidate. This applies to both leftists as well as the Republican candidate whom the left favors during the primaries. Recall that John McCain and Mitt Romney were both recipients of very favorable media until their nominations. Call these candidates out for what they are: tools of a leftist propaganda machine.  Any time the media likes a Republican, you should run like hell from this person.

3) Do not capitulate. The left does not, yet the right is expected to do so. Draw a clear line in the sand and be prepared to defend it regardless of the media coverage.

Conservatives pine for the “Ronald Reagan” of our time. The problem is that most do not recall how negatively Reagan was received by the press. If you think that media coverage of George W. Bush was bad, think again. Reagan’s was the worst ever in his re-election bid. It was documented as the most negative coverage of a Presidential candidate, and he won all but DC and Minnesota.

Enough “strategery”, a term not coined by former President Bush. Just honestly stand by our Constitution. The rest should easily fall into place.

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Other Refinement: Polite Revenge

I normally do not begrudge anyone’s religion. I feel that people should be able to worship whatever they want as much as people should be able to worship absolutely nothing; the caveat being that I tend to begrudge a religion that instructs followers to kill people.

Below begrudged falls annoyed. Some religions require their followers to come to your home uninvited and unannounced in an attempt to convince you to do the same to others. I don’t begrudge this, but it can be annoying. In the past, I have mostly been polite but short with people like this. Leave it to my wife to come up with the perfect solution to two problems.

She was outside when the religious solicitors showed up to our home. She noticed that they did not cross over from the sidewalk to our property, and being well-read and educated knew why. They politely spoke for a few minutes before they got to the main subject: permission to come on our property and save our souls. The response was worth sharing:

“I know that your religion requires consent from the man of the house. He’s not here right now. However, my neighbor over there is home, and he goes to church.”

This could be the last time a neighbor crosses us.

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Other Refinement: Worst. Gingerbread. House. Ever.

I have been in a professional sales environment for the better part of the past twenty years. Anyone who has been in a sales environment knows that salespeople are primarily crazy by nature. The better we are and the longer we do it, the crazier we become (for those that don’t know or understand the nature of salespeople, allow me to be the one that informs you that it’s because of you that we are crazy).

Anyhoo, I’ve been working with a sales team in a sales room for the past four years now. As is common within sales rooms, there is a bit of healthy competition with which companies prefer their sales teams participate. Every now and then, you get the right group of people on your team coupled with the perfect competition. This post is either that exact scenario, or the exact opposite (depending on how crazy you are).

So, each sales team was furnished a store-bought Gingerbread House. As to be expected, many went over-the-top with their excellence in construction and addition of creative elements. My team went the other way:

While we didn’t win the popular vote, I guarantee every single employee remembered our entry.

P.S. If any corporate management-types see this, I’d like to implore them to consider the possibility that some of us would rather spend their time selling than doing arts and crafts. I know – crazy…

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Who’s The Biggest Douche In The Universe?

You might have been before, bitch. Not anymore.

Honorary for life, perhaps. Not anymore.

Oh Jesus! Go away, snatch.

“Uh … uhm … that would be me.”

Exactamundo!

The speech from Obama tonight, strangely timed to break into a highly rated prime-time football game, made me physically ill. First and foremost, let’s get this out of the way: where in the blue fuck does this President get off quoting scripture? Anyone that knows me knows that I am not religious, and the only thing that enrages me more than an actual Christian throwing religion at a tragedy is someone like our Douche-Nozzle-In-Chief doing so.

I call horseshit. This President and his party’s attitude towards Christians have been nothing short of contemptuous one-hundred percent of the time. How dare you, sir? After that lead-in, the ears of those who know not to buy this brand of bullshit perked up. Having the unfortunate experience of paying attention to our Asshole-In-Chief, I know to watch the first sentence and everything after the word, “but”. Allow me to illustrate. After the platitudes came this:

“But we, as a nation, we are left with some hard questions.”

Asshole. After more platitudes, his next paragraph begins:

“And we know we can’t do this by ourselves.”

Asshole. How can you be so shameless as to exploit this tragedy to promote more government? Should I construe the above sentence to mean anything else? Next:

“And in that way, we come to realize that we bear a responsibility for every child because we’re counting on everybody else to help look after ours; that we’re all parents; that they’re all our children. This is our first task — caring for our children.”

ASSHOLE! You know how “everybody else” could have helped look after these kids? If “everybody else” wasn’t unarmed you useless douche. Besides, if we are talking about “our” first task as a Federal entity, that is decidedly NOT anything other than protecting us from enemies abroad. Of course, after all this, he goes for the throat:

“And by that measure, can we truly say, as a nation, that we are meeting our obligations?”

Failure of a nation, says The Biggest Douche In The Universe. We all know this is predication of stricter gun laws, yet The Douche fails to recognize that gun laws have created this problem. The current laws on the books did not stop this tragedy. If there were stricter laws in place, this still would have happened. The douchiest money shot:

“We’re not doing enough. And we will have to change.”

That’s right, ass-much. Work in that campaign slogan, you sleaze. I’m so pissed I can barely see straight. I’m writing this late Sunday night, and not much from the opinion world is out yet, but I certainly hope I am not the only one who calls out this for the travesty that it is.

Exploit the death of children for a political agenda? Yes, apparently, he can.

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Hamas Cease-Fire For Kids

I hate Jews!

I have these rockets. I’m going to shoot them at those Jews.

-poof-

Hey, that’s not fair!

Those bottle rockets were cute. Here’s a little message to convince you to stop shooting them at us.

Not fair!

We warned you to cut it out. Here’s some more.

This is so not fair! We’re out of rockets!

Hey guys, stop it – this isn’t fair!

You guys want some more rockets?

I have a bunch more for you.

Yes! I hate Jews!

Expect this to continue until the United States wakes the hell up and elects leadership that recognizes evil for what it is. Contrary to the images above, this isn’t child’s play.

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The War On Women

*** UPDATE ***

I was quite surprised to find a major surge in pageviews on this site. This comes primarily from an online forum. There were some other threads on other sites too, but the main topic revolved around the highly successful Chris Muir and his comic Day By Day. The suggestion was that Chris Muir stole the article below for a recent comic and did not attribute credit.

Puh-lease.

Just because I am one of only a few who transcribed the names and salaries versus using a screen capture of the information doesn't mean that Chris Muir is mining otherwise unknown opinion sites for content. Perhaps some liberal morons out there might consider the possibility that, even though Google returns this article high on return, we both found the same irony in the story.

I can guarantee you all that my email to him tonight will be the very first he is aware of my existence.

*** END OF UPDATE ***

Always abundant with useful content, Doug Ross points us to a screen cap at Moonbattery highlighting the union thugs whom have sunk an iconic American company and the products that we have come to assume would always be around. Allow me to transcribe from the website capture:

Top Ten Highest Paid Leaders 

Frank Hurt; President; $262,654
David Durkee; Secretary-Treasurer; $244,396
Joseph Thibodeau; Exec Vice President; $218,989
Steve Bertelli; Vice President; $198,062
Michael Konesko; Vice President; $184,287
Arthur Montminy; Vice President; $175,505
Anthony Johnson; Vice President; $167,433
Robert Oakley; Vice President; $167,265
Randy Roark; Vice President; $166,849
Sean Kelly; Vice President; $161,789

Aren’t the rich, capitalist-pig conservatives supposed to be the ones waging a war on women? These top-ten earners in the AFL-CIO-affiliated union seem to have something in common, don’t they? No women. One wonders how many of the 18,500 job victims were women. Certainly none of them were at the top of the union that chose to destroy the company that employed them.

War on women indeed. Make no mistake: this is the intent of the left. As more become unemployed, more become dependent upon the government elite to provide their every sustenance, thus solidifying permanent power. While I am still stupefied by the re-election of the worst failure of an American President in modern history, I must hold hope that Americans will wake the hell up and realize the nonsense they are being fed.

The people who convinced you that conservatives are waging a war on women are among the same overpaid men listed above that just sacked a company named “Hostess”.

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Unsure

Over the course of this 2012 campaign, I had occasion to disagree with Reliapundit of The Astute Bloggers regarding Mitt Romney’s chances as a candidate against Barack Obama. I believed during the primary process that conservatives needed a candidate that drew a sharp ideological contrast with the incumbent. My belief at the time was that there were other candidates who fit the bill more than Mitt Romney.

As I reflect upon Obama’s dismal record and disgraceful fingerprints upon the Accomplice Media-Ignored scandals of Fast and Furious and Benghazi, I am stupefied that this election would have been close, let alone resulting in re-election. Mickey Mouse should have been able to beat Obama on his record. I wonder whether I was correct in my assumptions back in the primaries, or if this thing was unwinnable from the get-go.

Never a Romney fan, I honestly have to admit that I was impressed with the way he ran his campaign in an overall sense. My one major complaint in his debate performances is that he refused to use stronger terminology to illustrate the failure of Obama’s policies. In the aftermath of this election, one must wonder if the debate strategy of “playing defense” in the second and third debates was a major mistake. I know it drove me to drink.

Six of one, half-dozen of the other

While I have this nagging feeling that I (among many others) was right during the primaries that Mitt Romney would not be conservative enough to win the election, I also have this sick feeling as I view the election results and wonder what in the bloody hell happened to the United States. Any thoughts from all of my reader out there? Did we nominate the wrong candidate, or has the country finally slipped past the point-of-no-return socialism? If it’s the latter, where will we – and the rest of the world – turn when a strong, free society is needed?

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... ahem ... In Other News...

Break out the Ben Gay

New Star Wars trilogy? Original cast?

...election? What election?

Go Ahead, Come After Me

The highly-regarded, ever-thoughtful Bill Maher has made an incredibly intelligent argument on behalf of his preferred candidate:

“If you’re thinking about voting for Mitt Romney, I would like to make this one plea: black people know who you are and they will come after you.”

Yes, this well-thought argument for the incumbent gave me pause … then I passed gas. Certainly, an idiotic notion such as this deserves little attention – yet, it has garnered commentary across the political blogosphere. While we don’t hold our collective breath for a condemnation from the NAACP or the Congressional Black Caucus, we should concentrate on the message this sends to all progressives disillusioned by the fall of their messiah.

How many instances of violence by progressive Americans against conservative Americans will result from such a statement? We may never know, as the Accomplice Media will refuse to report such events. For the self-proclaimed arbiters of civility in politics to remain silent after such a blatant call for violence from Maher is beyond pathetic.

My concern is not for myself, but rather for others. As for me, I live in Arizona where the Second Amendment is alive and well. My father was a Marine officer. He began teaching me how to fire handguns and shotguns at a very early age. By my teen years, I could fire any caliber weapon with sharpshooter accuracy…

…and I am always armed.

Don’t mess with the groom

The photo above is of me and my Best Man at my wedding in 2009. Yes, these weapons are real, and yes, they are loaded. So, to those who might follow Maher’s words, regardless of race, color, creed or gender confusion, ask yourself: do you really want to take the chance that the person you “come after” is someone like me? I’m not an aberration – there are many like me. Before you darken my door, before you vandalize my vehicle, before you urinate on my yard sign, ask yourself: if he was armed at his wedding, would he be armed right now?

Go ahead: come after me.

War Slogans

Remember the Maine

The Maine went asunder on the 15th of February 1898. She was protecting United States interests during the Cuban revolt against Spain when she succumbed to her injuries. Of the 165 souls from her crew whom were buried at Arlington, only 62 were identified. 19 more rest in Key West and the sea kept nine for herself.

Anti-war, pop-culture leftists will tell you that this was an inside job. Rather than believe that the United States should respond to an attack on The Maine, leftists insisted that there was a conspiracy to influence popular opinion by the likes of William Randolph Hearst and Joseph Pulitzer against Spain. These leftist narratives were created in usual leftist fashion: after the fact. The American leftist will tell you that, “Remember the Maine, to Hell with Spain!” was the slogan that took us into the Spanish-American war. It wasn’t. It was the attack and sinking of The Maine, and a Republican President McKinley that took us to war against our aggressors.

Mount Suribachi

February, 1945: five United States Marines and one Navy corpsman raised the United States flag on Mount Suribachi. This photo has become iconic, taken during the Battle of Iwo Jima which claimed half the lives of those photographed. A democrat was President at the time, and anti-war, pop-culture leftists had no problem at all with war. Neither did conservatives – this was the right thing to do.

Give Peace A Chance

The anti-war, pop-culture leftists always forget that the only President of the United States who used an atomic bomb against an enemy was a democrat. Not the Meanie Republican Warmongers, but a democrat, and the anti-warites had no problem with this. Neither did conservatives – this was the right thing to do.

Alas, I digress … following The Atomic Bomb Dropping War Monger President Truman, a Republican named Eisenhower had Americans giving their lives in service to a war effort in Korea. We were fighting the Communist horde from China, and anti-war, pop-culture leftists wondered aloud why we would fight this battle.  Their complaining brought us to what has been brazenly called a “draw”, and the Korean Peninsula causes us problems to this day due to the lack of testicular fortitude to complete the job.

If you believe anti-war, pop-culture leftists, the Vietnam conflict didn’t exist prior to Full Metal Jacket, Platoon, or Apocalypse Now. I’ll spare the history lesson, but suffice it to say that well before Oliver Stone’s memory, communist China was engaging the French before the United States engaged in World War I. The French quit fighting before 1955.

After Truman, there was Kennedy – who cannot be faulted for being a war monger because a leftist nutbag killed him (see Oliver Stone for a myriad of theories of why it had to have been a right-wing conspiracy instead of a crazed leftist). After Kennedy, it was Lyndon Johnson and the war effort in Vietnam was significantly escalated. Breaking character, leftists actually turned on Johnson, who decided not to even bother running for re-election.

Enter Nixon, for whom all blame rests prior to George W. Bush.

Bush Lied, People Died

Unadulterated excrement, yet effective, this war slogan was repeated much like a Buddhist chant. By design, it allowed entry for the most radical leftist ideology ever to be charged with the duties of this nation.

War slogans are part of our national existence. They have been used for reasons both honorable and otherwise. While I could cite President Obama’s semi-slogan, “War of Necessity” when describing the debacle in Afghanistan, it doesn’t carry the weight of its predecessors as he hasn’t the interest or idea of why we were there – only that it was a political distinction he could utilize to ascend to power.

Tuesday next week, we can throw a miserable failure out of office. The reasons to pink-slip Obama are long and growing longer by the day. What I have yet to see is the war slogan to seal the deal. We need one. “Fire the bum” works fine for me, but I doubt that it works in the context we seek.

Sure, I could easily exit with something kitschy and used like, “Keep The Change”, but I know that a slogan today needs to be more. Whether conservative, libertarian or liberal, we must all come to our senses and recognize that we, as Americans, reject what equates to Soviet socialism. Never again should we allow ourselves to be consumed with the cult of personality. We stand united and proclaim:

“We are strong; we are resilient; we are American”

No complacency: get your butts out to your polling place on November 6. We generously gave the leftist ideology an opportunity to prove their worth. Honestly, do you really feel that they have? If not, vote against every democrat on your ticket. If there is no candidate in opposition, write yourself (or anyone else) in. Those in the democrat party require a message from Americans. Without lube.

Tuesday, we begin to set things right. I’m confident of this because we are Americans. We are strong. We are resilient.

Article updated to correct error

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Other Refinement: The Jersey Bet Again

Rest assured that there will be no Jersey Bet photos from today's game, as I'm not entirely certain I've ever met a Panther fan. Anyway ...

Click to enlarge his shame

Unlike the last one, this co-worker plays the Bears again. I expect I'll have two sets of this person touting Bears paraphernalia.

Accomplice Media, Three Years Later

Back in September of 2009, I first began to use the term, “Accomplice Media”. It is a term which I certainly cannot take credit in coining, yet one I find seldom used by others. Never in the history of this country has this term been more apt than now. I’m so pissed I can barely see straight.

Back when I first used the term here on this site, I discussed an infuriation of the day, being the media cover-fire for John Edwards and the first sex scandal I can remember in which the media found no interest. Since then, I have used the term on a variety of subject matter ranging the spectrum of political and societal elements. None of those subjects have mattered as much as the subjects of today.

Fast and Furious should have been enough. The Accomplice Media managed to keep details of this deadly political plan under the radar for a very long time, and when they were forced to discuss the matter, they managed to change the conversation from, “this was a cynical political ploy to bolster anti-Second Amendment support” to, “this was a covert operation that didn’t work as intended”. In a word: excrement.

The Accomplice Media was successful in their insertion of the word, “botched”. The general American public ate it from their spoon without comprehending that the only thing that was botched was the fact that the Obama administration got caught red-handed. There was nothing botched on the operational side. This went just as they intended: American guns went to Mexico and killed people. That was the whole idea: get people killed so that they could further mute our Second Amendment rights. As usual, the Accomplice Media changed the meaning, called it an Oopsie-La-La, and the story died.

Now there’s Benghazi. As with Fast and Furious, another matter of American deaths resulting from this administration, the tragedy in Libya has been well covered by many talented conservative writers. There’s nothing I can add to either subject. Simply, the Obama administration is interested only in the politics and optics of the situation and is more often than not trying to create a political advantage on the corpses of American lives.

So, here we are again and as more information comes out about Obama’s direct culpability with the deaths of Americans, the Accomplice Media continues to talk about anything but. Through social media such as political websites large and small, as well as the tremendous influence from Twitter (I might have to finally break down and check that out), the issue has been forced in a much more timely manner but is still largely ignored.

Election Day is Tuesday next week. Accomplice Polling aside, I am seeing most political polling still very close. While I hope that this is only because of the Accomplice Media trying their level best to keep the conversation going, I fear that it might be coming in this close. I fear that we will not have a President-Elect come November 7. If the polls are correct, I am inclined to blame the Accomplice Media for their sick obsession with this President, as the alternative is too horrific to consider.

Quite frankly, if the election results are anything other than a resemblance to 1984 when the Accomplice Media of the day set records with negative coverage of the incumbent, yet were rebuked with an electoral routing, I will be asking the question, “was this because of the Accomplice Media, or has our society degraded this far?”

Here’s to hoping that question doesn’t need to be asked, let alone answered.

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Other Refinement: The Jersey Bet

If you’re new to the site, I have been a die-hard Chicago Bears fan since I can remember. I claim the good fortune to say that I was in attendance at Super Bowl XX. I owned The Super Bowl Shuffle on Beta (younger readers asking themselves, “what the hell is Beta?” should research magnetic media).

One of the more enjoyable aspects of the office in which I work is that we have a diverse group of football fans. During football season, team jerseys across the spectrum are worn with pride. Smack talk can be heard in the break room and in the smoker’s exile on a regular basis. As such, some of us occasionally enter into a wager.

So, I made a wager with the boss. I bet him that my beloved Chicago Bears would beat his highly-hyped team. I won’t say which team, but I will tell you that the team’s initials are Dallas Cowboys. The loser of the wager would have to wear the winner’s jersey.

Smuggled from a secure location

Sometimes, life is good.