Damaging my calm

My life is like a trippy David Lynch movie these days. Rehearsals for my upcoming stint at the Bay Area Gated Community Poetry Group keep getting interrupted by all these RIFs I have to deal with. Did you ever even try reading a list of 7000 names, let alone rationalizing one? It friggin blows.

Yeah, sure. I shouldn't bitch because I get to keep my job. And I'll be the first to admit that things haven't gone so well under my reign. Now these new Board guys have been crawling up my ass like you wouldn't believe.

Here's the thrashing I had to sit through the other day from these frigtards. Pissed me off no end because it made me late for my Pilates class.

"Jonathan, shut up for once in your life and let's do the numbers:

Shareholder value? Billions gone. Poof! Scooter has lost so much that he's taken up Copenhagen chewing tobacco. You thought he was a prick before this shit? Now he spits chaw all over the ice at his hockey games and gets in a weekly fist fight with one of the opposing chiptards. He's the only guy we've ever seen walking around the EBC with a chew cup. And he has this annoying habit of spitting right after he says the word "Jonathan."

Job creation. We don't buy this shit that this negative index number is simply reflective of the economy. Ten thousand families are on the street due to your complete failure, Jonathan. You think they give a rat's ass about your freetard rationalizations?


Financial performance. Don't tell us that Wall Street just doesn't get it right now. Did you ever even hear of Goodwill Impairment before we came along. I didn't think so.

Now, some of you look at this and are calling for me to step down. Not so fast. I've got the following speech memorized from my buddy, Illinois Governor Blagojevich:

"I’ve got this thing, and it’s fucking golden. And I’m just not giving it up for fucking nothing. I’m not going to do it. And I can always use it. I can parachute me there."

Crush, Kill, Destroy!

This week we launched our full frontal attack on that cowboy David Hitz and his litigious frigtard company with Amber Road.

The marketing folks came to me with all kinds of proposed value propositions for Amber Road. But being the big thinker I am, I rejected all of them and scrawled this down on a Peet's napkin:

Got NetApp? Sun storage appliances make their shit obsolete.

We have the advantage here. It's not time to be nice.

Heads up, Hombre Hitz, there's a stampede a 'comin! You been milking your customers like cattle for far too long and now they's a gonna trample your sorry ass on the way to Sunnyville.

My Staff is No Longer "Preclear"

Someone sent me this MP3 recording of Mike Daisy telling the supposed truth about L. Ron Hubbard and Scientology. I have to tell you this is all bunk!

My recent disclosure about my being a Scientologist has rippled throughout the company and beyond. After the word was out, many of my staff came seeking counsel. How can we learn more, Jonathan?

So I brought in an audit team to my fortified wing in Santa Clara. I knew there would be some heavy personal disclosures coming out of this, so security was tight with Blackwater guards, mandatory strip searches, and doors enhanced with soundproof materials.

My audit team took great notes, and man, you would not believe the Mommie Dearest type trauma shit someone like Anil has crawling around in his darkest Id places. Absolutely mortifying.

But now, the team is unified in a common path of personal discovery, FreeTard Economics, and corporate retransformation.

Look out Wall Street! We are one with the path as laid out before us by Scientology bigwig Emperor Klaaktu. It worked wonders for him on Rigel VII after the Economic Collapse of the Third Age and the subsequent purging of War-Mongering Republitoids to the Red Planet of Schtuuupthidium.

We will not let the petty Earthbound laws of economics stand in our way any longer!

Video: Ponytail Goes Open Source

In this video, Steve Gillmor interviews another fake Jonathan Schwartz. Favorite quote: "I don't see Ballmer open sourcing a ponytail."

This is understandable, as Ballmer is too busy Open Clouding at the moment.

Transparency is for people who aren't full of shit

My corporate blog is all about transparency. I say what I think. People comment and it gets posted.

Sometimes what they say is not very nice. It gets posted anyway. That is my promise to you.

Given this public, Polly Pureheart stance, wouldn't I be a real hypocrite if I decided that I wasn't going to post comments from people I just don't like? And to go further, wouldn't this heavy-handed, backwoods form of censorship just fall apart if said unliked person just signed their comment with a different friggin name?

Gosh, I wish I would have considered that. Guess I'm not as smart as people think I am. Then again, maybe I'm just full of shit and I'm getting called on it.

Spinal Net Tap

It has been while since I blogged about our countersuit against Net App and that cowboy David Hitz. And it seems only fitting that my attack dog is Michael Dillon, Great Great Grandson of Matt Dillon himself.

I'll spare you the legal mumbo-jumbo, but, in a preliminary ruling this week, NetApp pretty much got bitch-slapped. In Dillon's words, this ruling "further strengthen our position that the processors, network interface and systems management software used across NetApp's product line infringe Sun's patents."

I'm not going to be nice here. After all, these frigtards started this fight. We are going to win and we are going to get back royalties on every friggin penny they ever made.

Hey, Hitz--it's time you saddle up for the Participation Age! Bend over and get ready for a round robin, you brokeback, meathead motherfucker!

JAVA Bank: You've Got a Friend in the Business

You read the papers--things are really friggin tight in this economy. Want a business loan? Fat chance. There's no loan to be had at any interest rate. And, as I've learned the hard way, RIFFing people actually costs you money while crippling your ability to do business. Who knew?

That's why today I'm announcing the JAVA Bank. Despite my best efforts, we've had $6 Billion laying around here since I took over. And no matter what I do, I just can't seem to turn it into enough profit that would interest you enough to speculate on our dogshit stock.

Yes, we are loaning money, and at rates that will curl your hair. Need a loan to carry you through payroll and pay off suppliers until gravy accounts cough up? We're the guys for you.

And there will be no foreclosures. You will pay or we will kill you.

Nice, huh? Don't know why I didn't come up with this earlier. Come to think of it, maybe I should also charge your relatives a dollar per hour just to keep your miserable ass alive.

Kramer: My guys are flowing, Jerry!

As I sit and watch the Jerry Seinfeld & Bill Gates ads about nothing, I stir in my seat and marvel at their effectiveness. I mean, it was so obvious--the best way to dispel the incredible perception of mediocrity that is Vista is to not talk about Vista at all.

Which brings me to today's topic. We are busy negotiating with Michael (Cosmo Kramer) Richards to do a Sun-is-not-that-bad campaign.

Why Kramer? George's proposal left us a little flat and that bitch Elaine wouldn't even return my calls. Like her career is doing so good? Yeah right.

You can look forward to these ads soon in this space. Well, at least the puppet storyboards anyway.

Freedonia Meets Scientology

My recent foray into live Twitter posting has been a revelation--Just like my company preaches, here on the Net I can be truly Free, Open, and engaged in the Participation Age without censorship.

Information wants to be free. So does my Real Story.

In that spirit, I feel liberated enough to tell you, my dear readers, what has perhaps been the biggest secret in the history of the Fortune 500...

I am a Scientologist.

Now, this might sound a bit crazy, but hang on a sec and let me explain myself. It all started back in school at Wesleyan University. My girlfriend at the time was really into the shit, and well, she was smoking hot so I kept an open mind, if you know what I mean.

Oddly enough, she liked me to read the L. Ron Hubbard stuff to her in bed. In fact, it made her really horny. (By the way, this will work on normal women if you read Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil to them.)

So I went along, and after a time, it all started to make sense to me. And after we went our separate ways, I dabbled with some Auditing and wound up as a regular church-goer.

And there you go. The Truth is out now and I promise to tell you more about my beliefs in future posts. It is the will of Scientology bigwig Emperor Klaaktu of Rigel VII.

So the next time you hear me talk about contrarian theories of Techno-Freebased Economics, perhaps you'll understand where I'm coming from just a little bit better.

Down but not out

So, the Corporate Blog (COB) has been pretty sparse lately, to the point where some of you are speculating about my remaining tenure at Sun.

Well, I am happy to report that my lack of postings has nothing to do with my being in deep doo-doo with the board or anything. Actually, it has to do with my health.

You know that unnamed health condition that Steve Jobs has that made him look like Leonard Nimoy on stage? Yeah, I have the same shit.

But at least my hair isn't falling out.

And I'm not looking for your sympathy. My shaman healer says the negative energies will all clear up as soon as we get a Democrat in the White House.

I know it's a horse race at this point, but please think about me when you go to the voting booth, ok?

Ode to Fake Steven Pauly Jobs

I really miss the Secret Diary of Steve Jobs. Real Dan's new stuff just doesn't have that Mount Olympus venom that I used to look forward to every day.

So with that, I borrowed one of my favorite tomes from Mark Twain and read it to my Bay Area Gated Community poetry group.

Ode to Fake Steven Pauly Jobs

And did Fake Steven sicken,
And did Fake Steven die?
Or did the Dude turn chicken?
And did Mac faithful cry?

No; such was not the fate of
Fake Steven Pauly Jobs;
Though sad hearts round him thickened,
'Twas not from sickness' shots.

No whooping-cough did rack his frame,
Nor measles drear, with spots;
Not these impaired the sacred name
Of Fake Steven Pauly Jobs.

Despised love struck not with woe
That head of curly knots,
Nor stomach troubles laid him low,
Fake Steven Pauly Jobs.

O no. Then list with tearful eye,
Whilst I his fate do tell.
His blog did from this cold world fly,
When book sales they did smell.

They got him out and emptied him;
Alas it was too late;
Fake spirit gone to sport aloft
In the realms of the good and great.

Back in the Saddle

I am happy to announce that I'm back at the blogger desk and ready to keep you up to date here with my uncensored thoughts. With business tanking like it is, the constant eternal sunshine that I have to put out on my corporate blog is giving me migraines.

But before I start dishing the dirt, I guess I should explain why I went away for so long. The long and short of it is that I was just plain afraid of getting fired.

The board was putting the hints out, you know? Little shit like, "Oh Jonathan, we don't care what you do with the stock moniker or that your reverse split business, but Christ, what is the fucking deal with that secret diary shit?"

OK, so I caved. So sue me.

Thing is, I had a revelation this 4th of July. Sun stock was tanking so rapidly I thought it was going to go back to the price we had before the reverse split. I even polished up my resume thinking the board was going to shitcan me for sure.

But it didn't happen. Fact is, these dumbfucks think I'm the only thing that can save the company from this dogshit economy.

The mind boggles. Then again, even George Bush got a second term.