Congratulations to the big guy, the other #05 Top DUmmie of 2012!
This is Omaha Steve’s second appearance as a winner of the Top Dummies, he having attained #03 Top DUmmie of 2011 last year. Dropping from third to fifth place in a single year can hardly be considered a setback though, as the competition for the top spots was tougher this year than last, and as we will see, the big guy actually exceeded last year’s performance.
Actually, his rare showing in the awards is not reflective of the big guy’s popularity among decent and civilized people, as he’s been a favorite of primitive-watchers for years. One recalls fondly how LibraryLady at our old home used to highlight his antics quite often back during the earlier part of this century.
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The big guy’s 56 years old, give or take a few months either way, lives in Bellevue, Nebraska, a bedroom suburb of Omaha, married to poor dear long-suffering Marta, has a couple of adult daughters and one adult son. He’s been married to the sour dour Marta for 35 years and has one granddaughter, the apple of his eye.
Omaha Steve has been on the city payroll for years and years and years, for the longest time as a seasonal laborer for the parks and cemetery departments, and it wasn’t until just a few years ago that he finally attained permanent employment status, working for the water-and-sewer department.
The big guy’s pretty big; I’m not a good estimator of weights, but it seems to me he’s bigger even than the Las Vegas Leviathan ever was at the height of his own glory, more than a quarter-ton. His shirts could serve as pup-tents for Cub Scouts…..half a dozen of them.
Because of his incredible bulk, the big guy had trouble squeezing in-and-out of manholes, and ostensibly suffered some sort of workplace injury rendering him incapable of working in that job, and so he was transferred to a lower, lesser-paying position with the police department this year, where he currently is.
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The big guy fought his transfer tooth-and-nail, as he didn’t want another job; he wanted aboard the disability gravy train. Just before his transfer from the sewer-works to the police department, he made one last-ditch attempt to avoid it by lighting campfires on Skins’s island supporting some obscure mummified cop-killer in Philadelphia, hoping that’d make the Omaha police not want him.
The cops just laughed, and yanked him aboard anyway.
However, Omaha Steve hasn’t given up yet; this, from
a primitive Christmas Carol, in which the hippywife primitive Mrs. Alfred Packer is visited by the Ghost of Christmas Present, franksolich:
…..Mrs. Alfred Packer and franksolich were now soaring westward, finally coming down in front of a home in suburban Omaha, wherein lived the big guy and his wife Marta.
It was Christmas Eve there too, and the big guy’s children were there, sitting around the dining room table as Omaha Steve showed them something, three screws.
“These are from my chair at my desk at the Omaha police department,†the big guy explained. “I took them out this afternoon, and then when I go back to work the day after Christmas, I’ll sit down and come crashing to the floor, hurting my back.
“Fat city,†the big guy roared; “a six-figure sum as settlement for having been hurt by defective property, and a life-time ride on the disability gravy-train.â€
You see, the big guy is one of those dreamers--we all know of at least one in real life--who yearns for the Big Rock Candy Mountain, the free ride for life. He’s spent more time and energy chasing that rainbow than he’s spent working. In fact, if he’d worked at work as long and hard as he’s worked at trying to get a free ride, by now he’d surely be mayor of Omaha, if not more.
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One isn’t sure why the big guy supposes himself “entitled†to a free ride, but imagines it’s the consequences of an over-indulgent mother and too-lenient father; he expects to be treated like a
maharaji and scornfully declines to take on the responsibilities of manhood.
People are expected to give him things because…..well, he’s him, Omaha Steve.
What other reason’s needed?
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Lest one think decent and civilized people have no tender feelings for the big guy, it needs pointed out that when his mother died last August, members here expressed their heartfelt and sincere condolences for her:
“the big guy’s mother diesâ€
http://www.conservativecave.com/index.php/topic,76290.0It needs pointed out that this thread here garnered more “views†and kind “comments†than did the big guy’s sad announcement in a campfire on Skins’s island.
And it would be superfluous to point out that conservativecave is much much smaller than Skins’s island, with far fewer members--yet we cared more than his own fellow primitives.
After the way the primitives treated the memory of Chief S itting Bull, the bird-smacking stoned red-faced primitive “Redstone,†the Greatest Primitive Ever (essentially, by ignoring his demise and instead mournfully commemorating a couple of other utterly worthless deceased primitives), one thinks it’s high time Omaha Steve got the message--people on “the other side†care more about him than his own does.
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It is however compassion tempered with common sense, as shown here:
“open letter to Omaha Steveâ€
http://www.conservativecave.com/index.php/topic,78848.0One has no doubt poor dear Marta--and perhaps even the kids--secretly thanked franksolich for such straight talk to their
paterfamilias, saying things they’ve always wanted to say themselves.
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Finally, franksolich is compelled to express his true sentiments about the big guy, sentiments with which other decent and civilized people might, or might not, agree. I’ve always had a personal interest in Omaha Steve, because of a rare bond, both of us having been born and raised in Nebraska.
Being a native Nebraskan’s a rare and cherished thing; after all, despite the geographic enormity of the state, there’s not many of us. The rest of the country, decent and civilized people and primitives alike, is 99.5% of the whole country; we few are what’s left over.
The big guy at times embarrasses his fellow Nebraskan franksolich, and I wish he’d cut it out, giving non-Nebraskans the wrong impressions about what Nebraskans are, and what makes Nebraskans a special breed.
Only yesterday, Christmas Eve, the big guy lit this campfire on Skins’s island:
Omaha Steve (34,254 posts) Mon Dec 24, 2012, 06:50 PM
1st Xmas without mom, 2 sick with tummy virus, Jr had to put his dog to sleep, etc
Vomit-inducing stomach virus a gut check throughout Midlands: http://www.omaha.com/arti...1221/LIVEWELL01/712219934
Mom always made Christmas special until the last few years. She past away in August. The last present she picked out for me last year sits on the fireplace hearth.
I was having a hard time getting in the swing. Picking out presents didn't have the usual joy. Christmas songs on the radio and watching our annual selection of Christmas videos has helped.
I volunteered to work Christmas Day for the first time in years so a single parent could be with her kids.
We changed our family get together when 2 different households got the virus. This is the first year ever it has just been Marta and I on Christmas Eve.
Jr. had to put his Mocha down late last week. No choice. She was a beagle. She is on their Christmas card.
“a Christmas card from the weeping neckbeardâ€
http://www.conservativecave.com/index.php/topic,82071.0.htmlDamn, I wish he’d cut out all this self-pity stuff, this “feel sorry for poor me“ garbage.
It makes the rest of we Nebraskans look bad.
So it’s his first Christmas without his mother; Omaha Steve’s a big boy now, and should’ve learned long ago how to deal with loss and grief. The big guy had his mother
forty years longer than franksolich did (franksolich’s mother died at the age of 54 years, when I was 18 years old).
Even at that young and green age, I don’t recall ever wanting pity because I lost my mother; I recall rather more that I constantly rejoiced in that I’d had such a remarkable woman for a mother, and thanked God for her.
Bah humbug.
So some are ill in the family; it’s that season, and random chance favors that happening. We all get sick at one time or another, and sometimes we get sick during inopportune times such as a holiday. Shit happens. One simply accepts, adapts, and moves on; it’s not the end of the world, and if managed well, it interferes only mildly with other plans.
Bah humbug.
So the big guy’s going to work Christmas Day “for the first time in years†so that someone could spend it with their children. The usual primitive habit of attributing noble acts to rather mundane motives.
The big guy wants to spend the holiday with his offspring, but can’t, and as he’s not doing anything else anyway, is willing to work. And he probably gets double pay for it. There’s no nobility, no sacrifice, in it.
Bah humbug.
So finally, the son’s family dog had to be let go from this time and place; of course it’s very sad. But it is not given that pets live forever, any more than people are. And the time of their leaving pays no heed at all to the calendar, or to our personal convenience.
Bah humbug.
