Therapeutic Verbal Bitch Slapping   I call him Suicide Steve.   Suicide Steve is not someone who is likely to commit suicide as much as he is someone who should commit suicide. Jack Kevorkian would do Suicide Steve a world of good. Suicide Steve (or "Suicide" for short) is an envy driven Luddite that works night shift at a hotel in my area. Since we both work the same shift in neighboring hotels, Suicide calls me every once in a while to advise me that one of the following earth shaking events is bound to occur in the next thirty days: The economy will crash leaving everyone in the United States dead or at least wishing that they were dead. Britney Spears will get another record contract just because she is a girl with nice breasts. Bill Gates will take all of the money on the planet and stash it into his private safe leaving all of the rest of us without money. This will cause the economy to crash leaving everyone in the United States dead or at least wishing that they were dead. Bill Gates will marry Britney Spears and buy Britney Spears a record label of her very own. This combination of events will make Bill Gates take all of the money on the planet and stash it into his private safe. Hence, the economy will crash leaving everyone in the United States dead or at least wishing that they were dead. Every time he calls me and starts whining that others make more money than he does, I conduct a verbal bitch slapping that helps him to remember why he shouldn't call me too often. I believe that I may have inadvertently invented a new form of treatment known as "Therapeutic Verbal Bitch Slapping." The recipients of this new therapy may not get many benefits from it but, then again, it wasn't made to make them feel better. I use it to keep me from going postal.   Anyway... Back to Suicide and his antics.   While I had heard of envious people that claim that others get success purely by luck, I never really believed that a person could actually believe this line of horse-shit. And who'd've thought that I would actually MEET someone espousing this view.   As you can guess, Suicide is indeed one of these people.   SUICIDE STEVE AND THERAPEUTIC VERBAL BITCH SLAPPING SESSION #42 -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- ME: Thank you for calling Hotel Du Jour, my name is Frank. How may I help you?   SUICIDE STEVE: Hey, man, guess what?   ME: Hi, Suici... I mean, Steve. Um, What should I be guessing about? Wait, I know... Bill Gates will take all of the money on the planet and stash it into his private safe leaving all of the rest of us without money. This will cause the economy to crash leaving everyone in the United States dead or at least wishing that they were dead.   SUICIDE STEVE: No, come on. Really, that was last month.   ME: Why didn't it happen? Why didn't Bill Gates take all of our money? Was it possible that you were wrong?   SUICIDE STEVE: No, I wasn't wrong, it's just going to take Gates more time to build a safe large enough to hold all of that money. He wasn't thinking too clearly when he came up with the plan.   ME: Yeah, it couldn't have been that if he HAD taken all of the money, he wouldn't have been able to keep us from bartering our way out of it. No that couldn't possibly have been the issue...   SUICIDE STEVE: Of course not, who barters these days? It's all done with money now, when the money goes, we all die...   ME: But that's not the reason you called, right?   SUICIDE STEVE: Yeah, that's right.   ME: (After an embarrassingly long pause) And...   SUICIDE STEVE: And what?   ME: And you called because...   SUICIDE STEVE: Oh yeah. I was just reading this newspaper that said that Katie Couric and Michael Jordan make too much money.   ME: OK, so...   SUICIDE STEVE: Well, see? It's not just me saying this, it's the paper!   ME: OK, and...   SUICIDE STEVE: Well, you always say that I'm an idiot for thinking that these guys make too much money, now I've found someone in the paper saying the same thing.   ME: Yes, I see. So...   SUICIDE STEVE: What do you mean, "so?" So it just proves that I am right. These guys ARE making too much money.   ME: OK. Let's see. The paper also said that it was going to be a clear day today. There's half a foot of snow on the ground.   SUICIDE STEVE: What? What does that have to do with anything?   ME: Well, if the paper said that it was not going to snow, then it simply MUST be true! That is not snow on the ground, the sky is not cloudy, and Michael Jordan makes too much money. Hell, one-legged antelopes are predicted to fly out of George Bush's left eye-socket any time now, and if it's printed in the paper, it's true! One time I read an excerpt in the paper from a Stephen King novel, since it was printed in the paper, it must have stopped being fiction!   SUICIDE STEVE: No, that's not the same thing. You're a jerk.   ME: OK, I'm a jerk. You win. You're right. It's not an opinion, it is fact. There's no possible way that what you read in this morning's paper is wrong. There's no arguing the point any longer.   SUICIDE STEVE: It says that Britney Spears made a whole bunch of money last year for just trotting around the country and showing off her tits...   ME: Yes, Britney Spears makes too much money, the paper says so.   SUICIDE STEVE: No, really, she DOES make too much money, it says so right here.   ME: Yes, I know. It's in the paper, there is no arguing the point.   SUICIDE STEVE: Come on, quit patronizing me.   ME: What? This is what you want, isn't it?   SUICIDE STEVE: Well, I AM right, the paper says so.   ME: Exactly, you win.   SUICIDE STEVE: Why are you being such a jerk?   ME: What do you want me to say?   SUICIDE STEVE: I don't know, I want you to say what you really think.   ME: Fine, Steve, you live in a world of hateful envy.   SUICIDE STEVE: What do you mean?   ME: Come on, we go through this every damned month. You know what I mean.   SUICIDE STEVE: No, I'm not the only one that says this! The paper says it, too!   ME: Fine, if I understand you correctly, this is how you see it. There are a number of people in the world and each of these people has been assigned a slot on a giant goddamned wheel of fortune. This wheel of fortune is kept in a vault under a mountain and is owned by people that have done nothing more than inherit their wealth. The Kennedys, the Rockefellers, and other assorted wealthy playboys sit in front of this wheel and determine who is and who is NOT going to become successful... "The wheel spins once and, voila, Bill Gates wakes up one morning with an entire thirty-something billion-dollar company lying at his feet. Bill Gates had literally nothing to do with his fortune. He made no savvy purchases, he made no marketing decisions, he was responsible for absolutely nothing except being a member of The Lucky Few... "OK, the wheel spins again and suddenly Michael Jordan has millions of dollars. Jordan plays no better basketball that Steve does. Skill and drive and timing have absolutely NOTHING to do with Jordan's success, he just got LUCKY. Had the odds been in Steve's favor, Steve would have been the one leaping through the air making slam-dunks from quarter court just like Michael Jordan does. Yes, Steve is only five eleven and Steve is in crappy physical shape, Steve is 50 years old, and Steve has no desire to play basketball but other than that, he is exactly the same as Michael Jordan and deserves the same level of success... "Finally, the Britney Spears' number comes up and, bam! She's a superstar. It's not the fact that she has been performing since she was a little kid that has made her become a star. It's not the fact that she actually went through the motions of putting together a demo that has anything to do with her success. It's not the fact that she is willing to go out and tour like a madman that makes her successful. No, it is just that her time has come and fate has smiled upon her. Period. Is that right?   SUICIDE STEVE: Well...   ME: Are you going to tell me that the ONLY difference between you and Britney Spears is the fact that she is lucky and you are NOT? That her talent plays NO ROLE in her success? That if the wheel had determined that a blind, paraplegic platypus that could not carry a tune in a bucket was to be the next Britney Spears, then that is EXACTLY what would HAVE happened?   SUICIDE STEVE: Well, Britney does have nice tits...   ME: What? FINE! If you paid to have implants, you would be saying that THEN you'd be the SAME AS BRITNEY SPEARS?!?! That, other than just pure chance, there would be absolutely NO REASON for her to be more successful than YOU?!?!?   SUICIDE STEVE: Well... (long pause) Yes... That's what I believe.   ME: WHAT!?!?! Jesus, if I actually believed something that ridiculous, then I would have to find the tallest building on the planet and jump off! After I landed, the note pinned to my shirt would request that the ambulance crew cart my corpse back up to the top of the building and throw me off eight more times just for good measure. If you really believe that, you need to pop yourself in the head with a thirty-ot-six! Hell, if you believe that, what's to keep you from ending it right now?!?!   SUICIDE STEVE: Well, to tell the truth, I may be the next one whose number comes up. If I killed myself, I might wind up missing my success.   ME: Jesus... Do you buy lotto tickets?   SUICIDE STEVE: No.   ME: ...but you still expect to win the lottery. At least lotto winners make the effort to BUY the ticket. Let me guess, actually BUYING the lotto ticket was just luck, TOO?!?!.   SUICIDE STEVE: Well, yeah. I'm not lucky enough to have money to buy lotto tickets.   ME: Yeah, but you're lucky enough to have cigarette money...   SUICIDE STEVE: Hey, it's not MY fault I smoke...   ME: You're an asshole. Do the world a favor and end it now.   SUICIDE STEVE: I am not lucky enough to own a gun, or I would....   ME: Christ. If I go out and BUY THE GUN FOR YOU, WILL YOU SHOOT YOURSELF?!?! I swear to God that I will go out and buy a friggin' gun if you promise to air-condition your own brain! Just say the word...   SUICIDE STEVE: (dial tone)   The saddest aspect of this conversation is NOT that I am a licensed psychiatric technician. The saddest fact is that this conversation is essentially true.   Maybe I should start a charity drive. How about the Bullets for Steve Foundation?