family history, part one - old grandad
Hi. My name is Colt Barrington. Yes, that's right, Barrington. As in The Barringtons. With a capital "The".
As in The Barringtons of Barrington Industries International Incorporated, B3I for short (or BIII on the NYSE). Unless your some sort of mental case or social deviant you know the name. It's a legend in American corporate culture, like Ford or Morgan or that new school young geeky bastard Gates.
I am the grandson of Randolph Barrington. Yes him. The Randolph Barrington they made that movie about. It would have gotten a whole lot more publicity if that son of a bitch Scorsese and that shallow pretty boy bitch DiCaprio hadn't have made that stupid fucking movie about that other rich bastard. Fuck them.
Ah, who am I kidding, the movie wasn't all that great. I told that worthless toady of a director it was a mistake to cast Robert Downey Jr. in between rehab gigs, but did he listen? No. Look for it soon at your local video store.
So anyway, Randolph Barrington was my grandfather. He was a sorry rotten mean old bastard and a poor excuse for a human being. Because I'm family I can say this. If you or anyone else says anything similar, I know people who will come to your home while you sleep and cut your balls off. I mean it. So don't.
But he was stinking filthy rich. Old school rich, like a Kennedy but without wasting time on that political nonsense. He used to joke that he had more money than God because he threw a better party when my dad was born than God did when His Son was born. Except I don't think he was joking. So I guess it's also safe to say that my grandfather was not a religious man.
He was also not a political man. My grandfather didn't give squat about politics. He viewed politics the same way he viewed all interactions and relationships involving other people. It was strictly business, nothing more, nothing less. Just business, and it wasn't business unless there was something in it for him.
My grandfather's politics were the politics of business, the politics of profit. And his business began as Barrington Bolt and Fastener. My grandfather manufactured steel bolts, screws, nuts and other metal fastening devices.
His father, my great grandfather Rupert Barrington, ran a small hardware business in what would eventually become suburban Detroit. Following a year plus long steel workers strike around 1909, my great grandfather had difficulty getting the finished materials: nuts, bolts, nails, etc. for his hardware store. So he decided to start making them.
When my grandfather was sixteen he took over the family business following my great grandfather's untimely death in what was officially listed as an industrial accident. Quite unofficially, particularly for insurance and legal puposes, family legend describes the event as losing a drunken bet. Apparently no matter how great your boots are you cannot run across a large cauldron of molten steel even if you go very fast. All my great-grandmother, God rest her soul, had to bury was the charred top of a grey fedora.
Every year from the time I was that age until Old Grandad finally lost his ability to speak following the stroke he had in '87 almost all I heard at family gatherings was some berating belittling bellowing comment comparing his great life to my presumably worthless one:
"Wha'da'ya mean college? Look at me! I didn't need no fancy book learning!"
or "Wha'da'ya mean you don't have a job? When I was your age I was running an international corporation!"
or even "Whatsa matter you pussy, you some sorta faggot? You should be out there bangin'! By the time I was your age I had courted and bedded the daughters of seven world leaders!"
I told the old bastard I did number nine the night before. Old Grandad was so competitive he got completely worked up at the thought of being beaten by one of his descendents. It caused him to have his big stroke. He never spoke another word.
I lied.
Oh well. I felt a little bad but at least I succeeded where my parents had failed in finally shutting him up.
As in The Barringtons of Barrington Industries International Incorporated, B3I for short (or BIII on the NYSE). Unless your some sort of mental case or social deviant you know the name. It's a legend in American corporate culture, like Ford or Morgan or that new school young geeky bastard Gates.
I am the grandson of Randolph Barrington. Yes him. The Randolph Barrington they made that movie about. It would have gotten a whole lot more publicity if that son of a bitch Scorsese and that shallow pretty boy bitch DiCaprio hadn't have made that stupid fucking movie about that other rich bastard. Fuck them.
Ah, who am I kidding, the movie wasn't all that great. I told that worthless toady of a director it was a mistake to cast Robert Downey Jr. in between rehab gigs, but did he listen? No. Look for it soon at your local video store.
So anyway, Randolph Barrington was my grandfather. He was a sorry rotten mean old bastard and a poor excuse for a human being. Because I'm family I can say this. If you or anyone else says anything similar, I know people who will come to your home while you sleep and cut your balls off. I mean it. So don't.
But he was stinking filthy rich. Old school rich, like a Kennedy but without wasting time on that political nonsense. He used to joke that he had more money than God because he threw a better party when my dad was born than God did when His Son was born. Except I don't think he was joking. So I guess it's also safe to say that my grandfather was not a religious man.
He was also not a political man. My grandfather didn't give squat about politics. He viewed politics the same way he viewed all interactions and relationships involving other people. It was strictly business, nothing more, nothing less. Just business, and it wasn't business unless there was something in it for him.
My grandfather's politics were the politics of business, the politics of profit. And his business began as Barrington Bolt and Fastener. My grandfather manufactured steel bolts, screws, nuts and other metal fastening devices.
His father, my great grandfather Rupert Barrington, ran a small hardware business in what would eventually become suburban Detroit. Following a year plus long steel workers strike around 1909, my great grandfather had difficulty getting the finished materials: nuts, bolts, nails, etc. for his hardware store. So he decided to start making them.
When my grandfather was sixteen he took over the family business following my great grandfather's untimely death in what was officially listed as an industrial accident. Quite unofficially, particularly for insurance and legal puposes, family legend describes the event as losing a drunken bet. Apparently no matter how great your boots are you cannot run across a large cauldron of molten steel even if you go very fast. All my great-grandmother, God rest her soul, had to bury was the charred top of a grey fedora.
Every year from the time I was that age until Old Grandad finally lost his ability to speak following the stroke he had in '87 almost all I heard at family gatherings was some berating belittling bellowing comment comparing his great life to my presumably worthless one:
"Wha'da'ya mean college? Look at me! I didn't need no fancy book learning!"
or "Wha'da'ya mean you don't have a job? When I was your age I was running an international corporation!"
or even "Whatsa matter you pussy, you some sorta faggot? You should be out there bangin'! By the time I was your age I had courted and bedded the daughters of seven world leaders!"
I told the old bastard I did number nine the night before. Old Grandad was so competitive he got completely worked up at the thought of being beaten by one of his descendents. It caused him to have his big stroke. He never spoke another word.
I lied.
Oh well. I felt a little bad but at least I succeeded where my parents had failed in finally shutting him up.
posted by dr noyz @ 7:59 PM
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