A Call to Arms.

"A little rebellion now and then is a good thing. " - T. Jefferson

The conspiracy to depose my latest nemesis is proceeding forward quite nicely. Despite my early trepidation as to whether the members of my cohort would have the stomach for such dangerous and bloody work, I have gathered a sufficient number of comrades-in-arms to form a lean yet stout force to strike out against the draconian rule of my current foe, the vile and ill-met Chaplain of Estates.

For lo these past several weeks, my colleagues and I have been embattled and downtrodden by the machinations of this man who, for reasons incalculable, has achieved a position of some, albeit small stature and notoriety. He has been charged with the tutelage of the ancient and venerable traditions concerning proprietorship of things real and personal. Doctrines and tenets of this nature form the very core of the High Religion and are replete through all other fields of religious study. It is essential to myself and my associates that our education and understanding of these matters run deep and clear as the river waters which cascade from the peaks of my homeland. Unfortunately, under the direction of this neophyte, such is not the case.

The Chaplain is new to his position, having come from various temporary posts throughout the realm, where he performed various research and clerical functions. Born in the frontier which lies north of the Emerald City, where the mountains and tundra come together in a grandiose display of Mother Nature's finest craftsmanship, he was raised a bastard in the outer villages which surround the City of Roses. Despite his northern heritage, he bears a name reminiscent of his likely distant ancestors who rose from the Dark Continent, from which they were taken in bondage. Now several generations have passed and he has made good on the promises offered to all in Land of the Colonials.

From the outset of our association things have been somewhat tense. Having spent the majority of his own training before attending Seminary studying the art and craft of education, the Chaplain has deemed it worthwhile to dispense with the traditional mode of instruction practiced for decades in Seminaries throughout the Republic in favor of a newer, more organic and decidedly laissez-faire approach. This he believes will better serve our training and development in our march toward consecration into the Priesthood.

Initially intrigued and open to new formulas, I, along with my associates have found ourselves thrown into a vast pit of confusion, consternation and outright rage as a result of the Chaplain's ham-handed, ill-conceived and ineffectually executed plan. His lack of preparation and experienced are on blatant display daily through his frequent factual errors, misstatements of doctrine and obnoxious equivocation. The lack of clarity in his instruction is exponentially compounded by his deliberate failure to adequately address or respond to a student's query on a given topic or point of tuition. Never mind the steady stream of sophomoric missteps found in his written material, his obvious reliance on outside sources for aids in the conduction of our twice weekly session and the utter lack of personal work product.

In all honesty, if these complaints were the sounding of a struggling few, even including myself, I would simply chalk it up to the statistical deviation along the learning curve. That is not the case here, however. Without exception, every member of my company has been driven to the edge of madness and melancholia by the Chaplain's methods. When confronted individually and by the group, he simply dismissed our concerns that we were not being adequately prepared in this core curriculum. His disdain apparent, he simply added additional work which required the students teach each other, despite our clear lack of understanding and clarity of the subject matter.

After many weeks of grousing and rabid discontent, a suggestion was made to lodge a formal complaint against the Chaplain. Slowly the notion took hold. Soon, active discussions were had concerning the nature of a formal grievance, the ramifications of such action and the narrow likelihood of remedial action being taken by the powers that be. When it appeared there would be no one courageous enough to stand up for themselves and their brothers, a nucleus of actors pulled together by the sheer gravity of their collective will. The final event which pushed this cadre out of entropy and into a stage of critical mass came from a conversation I had with my sainted patriarch. Expressing my distress about the unwillingness of my compatriots to take the reins in hand and engage in some action which might affirmatively address the intolerable situation, he responded this was more often than not the case with people. When I sadly agreed to his wise observation, he asked in a rather off hand manner, "So are you a leader or not...?"

Several more days have since passed. With pen in hand, I have drafted the complaint and submitted it to the junta for revisions. I expect a concurrence by those members willing and ready to stand up and be heard early next week. At that point, I will submit our Statement of Distress to the Administration. Then I suspect, the fun will really begin.

Once more into the breach, my friends...

The Dirge

The Ranch had it's yearly roundup and rodeo recently and I was called to make the long trek back to attend. Great!! On top of everything they're throwing at me in Seminary, I've now got to head out overland to play rodeo-clown games with my bosses and colleagues. Like I've really got the time to spare.

The truth be told, these things are usually a pretty good time. Plus, the Honcho always picks up the tab(s). And he's a big fan of quality AND quantity. So sure, I'll take a long weekend back home, see some friends, have a good time...

Well, with all that's been going on at the Ranch this past month, especially my client load literally doubling overnight, I thought some levity would be a good idea. So I get an idea to write a little ditty I could use as a toast at the traditional Friday evening hoe-down. I kicked that idea around for a few days, and over the course of another week, came up with this.


Requiem for the New Guy
By Jacques Roux

There was a fine stronghold
Nestled in the Nor’west,
Who’s honor glowed brightly
With reputation the best.


It’s future was strong,
And full of big dreams.
The staff a stout cadre
Who worked as a team.


The causes were plenty
The revenue did flow.
Expansion was needed
The syndicate must grow.


The inquiry started
The net cast far and wide.
A person good hearted
With valor bona fide.


The applicants assembled
Not quite a brigade,
By audit the list dwindled
Reviewed by parade.


But finally a choice
A decision was made,
A man with experience
Did make the good grade.


A soul mate in arms
We thought we had found.
Too bad his defects
Were so dearly profound.


His staunch work ethic
Did prove to be lacking.
Deceit and inept
We sent him a-packing.


He failed to achieve
Our high, worthy standard.
Asleep on his feet
He frequently pandered.


Chicanery proved
His final undoing.
At once was removed
The lies were accruing.


Stern warnings were clear
Never darken our door,
Gross neglect and defect
We’d suffer no more.


Adieu and goodbye
Farwell and so long,
No tear will we cry
Now that you are gone.

-------
Unfortunately, the whole 'New Guy Affair', as it's come to be called, was far more vast, insidious and repugnant than I was previously aware. As a result, the troops were quite downtrodden and preoccupied, so the comedic payoff was not quite as great as I had hoped.

I should have known better anyway. The New Guy never was that funny to begin with...