The Infantile Rich

I once made a prediction that Bruce Rauner would be elected governor of Illinois, and that it would it suck.

Well, Bruce Rauner, billionaire vulture capitalist, North Shore dweeb, son of a successful patent attorney, never had a fucking hard day in his whole fucking pampered privileged life, has been having an on-air temper tantrum with political commercials for the past month. For those of you that don't care, Illinois is facing a budget crisis, because Rauner isn't getting his way.

Big surprise, considering, unlike Scott Walker, Rauner does not have a compliant, obsequious, groveling legislature to grease the rails for him.

Rauner accuses Illinois government of being corrupt. Yeah, duh. But what he doesn't seem to grasp is that the source of corruption comes from monied toads such as himself and his rich cronies. He would like to blame the unions, but considering union workers constitute less than 10% of the workplace economy, that doesn't seem to wash.

As for corruption, a sturdy moral compass would be a good start. Rauner claims to be on the side of right action, but seeing as actions speak louder than words, and seeing as Rauner cheated on his first wife, I don't see how he can make any claim to being honorable.

But you know, Rauner is just the symptom, and not the disease. The disease is the asshole niche.

When a person is pampered, coddled, catered to, spoiled rotten, bowed and scraped to by sycophants and butthole lickers, been allowed to privatize the gains and socialize the losses, they become delusional, they become infantile.

I'm not saying all rich people are infantile, but a damn large percentage is.

Case in point. There is a well-married woman at the college who puts pottery to be bisqued on the wetware shelf with these little signs that say "Fragile! Handle with care!" As if her precious shit is going to be maltreated by ham-handed oafs and inferiors. Being the egalitarian that I am, I treat her stuff the same as everyone else's, which is, carefully. And it pisses the living shit out of me whenever I see those signs. I have to resist the temptation to fuck them up.

Case in point. A fucker in a BMW races down the Jane Addams expressway, barely missing cars, and speeding at dangerous speeds, probably because "he can". The beautiful thing about this incident was he had to cut through lanes of traffic to get to the manual tollbooth, and at the last second a beat to shit POS junk truck cut him off and forced him to slam on the brakes so hard his vehicle shuddered and his tires smoked.

My thought on that incident was, "There is a God, and his name Fred Sanford"!

Case in point. This morning, dropping stuff off at the post office, I had the misfortune to get some rich bitch that pulled up in Mercedes sportscar behind me. She was in a oh-so-desperate hurry to get on with her important - more important than anyone else's - affairs, and tried to push her way through the line.

"Sorry!" she attempted.
"No, you're not." I observed, blocking her progress.

She made an exasperated sound and threw her mail at the clerk, leaving in a huff. Or a minute and huff.

"What are going to do with that mail?" I asked the clerk. "Oh, I'm going to do my job", the clerk replied, "even though I'd like to do something else with it."

I was raised to be polite, considerate, and courteous. I've even had one ex-girlfriend tell me I was too polite. What she really meant was she didn't think I was assertive enough. But the thing I noticed was she wanted to me assertive as in be a rude asshole so we would get faster service/not have to wait/be treated better than anybody else.

I'm not an asshole. If I am going to be an asshole, I'm going to be an anti-asshole asshole.