BRAINPAN LEAKAGE

I’ve got a question…

Do any of you know what the statute of limitations is on produce thievery? I only ask because I think I must be in some kind of serious trouble. Especially if the sins of the parents are visited upon the offspring.

I know, doesn’t make much sense, does it? Well, maybe I can explain.

You see, my parents were Murvel Sellars Sr. and Sonja Sellars. Now, I realize those names are in no way synonymous with Bonnie & Clyde, but bear with me, because I think the Federales could be kicking down my door at any moment and I want to make sure the world hears this story before “the man” shuts me up…

Wayyyyyy, wayyyy back when… And, I say wayyyy, wayyyy back because it was when I was a kid, so you know it has to have been a long time ago (think 40 plus years.)

Anywho, way back when, my parents and their friends, would go out camping and such. Of course, we kids would come along too. We’d cook over the campfire, hike, and do all sorts of relaxing, fun, camping things. Well, it wasn’t unusual for us to camp within a short distance – maybe nearby, maybe even a couple of miles – of farmland. Said farmland would often times be planted with sweet corn.

I think maybe you can see where I’m headed here?

Well, I suppose some of you city folks might not… So, by way of explanation, we were occasionally known to “raid a corn field.” As in, go out in the middle of the night and help ourselves to a dozen or so ears of fresh sweet corn right out of the field, under cover of darkness… Clandestine Cob Coppage…  Kernel Kleptomania… Golden Grain Grabbage…  Starch Stealing… you get the idea…

From there we would often boil, roast, grill, and even BBQ the ill gotten gains. Now, I need to point out that this wasn’t a nightly occurence by any stretch, but hey, it happened a time or two during the summer months.

And now, I think that thievery has come back to haunt me. SWAT teams and such will probably be surrounding my house and launching tear gas in through the windows very soon.

Why would I think that?

Well, like I said, my parents were Murvel Sellars Sr. and Sonja Sellars… And, I’m Murvel Sellars Jr.

Still not understanding? Well, I don’t blame you… So, here’s the kernel of the story:

I checked my site logs the other day and discovered that Murvel and Sonja  Sellars are being searched out on the internet. Of course, the searches have lead the Federales straight to me, because my parents are both deceased and I don’t exactly hide out in the shadows if you know what I mean.

And, what makes me think it’s the Federales? Easy… I tracked the IP address right back to the offices of the US Department of Agriculture in Fort Collins, Colorado.

As I recall, that was some pretty good corn. Not worth prison time, but still pretty good.

Wonder if I should just call my attorney and turn myself in. Shucks, maybe I can butter someone up and work out a sweet deal…

More to come…

Murv

The stretch of the “Information Superhighway” that runs through Missouri is riddled with potholes, and I managed to find a really big one. I wasn’t looking for it… Well, not on purpose. I was simply trying to merge into the center lane. Not even the fast lane mind you, just the center lane, and whomp, there it was. I big ol’ information pothole with Missouri State Government written all over it. I don’t know why, but I didn’t even try to put on the brakes. I just kept on going and fell right into the gaping abyss with countless other poor bastards (and bastardettes) who make the Show-Me state their home.

Now, in defense of the “Big MO,” I have to admit that it lived up to its motto. By that I mean it showed me – in spades – why people in other parts of the country think we are a bunch of barefoot cousin marryin’, nose-pickin’, backward idiots who can’t keep up. You see, it seems our very own government is the model upon which this assumption is based, and I hate to say it, but if I was on the outside looking in I would surmise the very same thing.

Allow me to explain…

Those of you who follow my exploits on Facebook are probably already aware that I have been lamenting some issues with renewing my license plates. This should be a relatively easy task, right? Well, sort of. If you’ve read some of my previous blogs you might remember my story about renewing my Driver’s License. In a nutshell, the majority of the licensing offices in our state are actually commodities. By that, I mean they are privately owned and the permit to own and run one of these establishments was obtained by back-scratching a political candidate. Fair enough. Corruption runs rampant everywhere, why not here? The thing is, these privately owned offices tend to employ some of the rudest people on the planet. (For more detailed accounting of what I mean see It Ain’t Rocket Science…)

For that very reason, and those outlined in the referenced blog entry, I make it a point to avoid going to the licensing office unless my hair is on fire and no one else is around to help me put it out. But, let’s get back to the latest gargantuan pothole…

Missouri, like many – if not all – other states offers the ability to renew your license plates online. Please make note, I said offers. As I discovered, offering this service and actually providing it are two different things. My journey toward said enlightenment, and the resulting plummet toward the bottom of the abyss, began innocently enough. I received my notice, procured my inspections and personal property tax receipts, then surfed over to the site and attempted to renew my plates. Everything was fine right up until I hit continue. It seems the system was unable to verify the fact that I had paid my 2009 Saint Louis County Personal Property Taxes on my vehicle. (For those of you unfamiliar with such, in Missouri we are taxed on EVERYTHING. Think I’m kidding? Live here for a year and find out.)

I tried again. Then again. I waited a day and tried again. For a week I tried daily to renew my plates, but to no avail as I always received the very same error message.

This is when I discovered, and ultimately fell into, the gaping maw of the pothole from hell. What follows here are the email exchanges I had with both the Sate of Missouri and the Assessor’s Office for Saint Louis County. Per the notices on the bottom of their emails I am technically violating some obscure law by making these transcripts public. I guess we’ll see if SWAT surrounds my house and starts tossing teargas through the windows.

(Rather than retype the messages here I am simply providing the images – click on each to enlarge…)

My Email To The County Assessor

The Assessor’s Reply

Me Email To The State

The State’s Reply

My Reply To The State

The State’s Reply To My Reply

My Query To The Assessor Complete With Forwarded Email From The State Attached.

The Final Reply

And there you have it. A pothole the size of Rhode Island, right here in the middle of Missouri’s stretch of the information superhighway. Let’s completely ignore the fact that it is obvious that neither the State nor the County have any clue whatsoever how their own system works. That’s not at all surprising. Instead, simply look at the disparity in the technology.

Using the account number and license plate number – something that you type into the online renewal site – I can pull up my paid personal property tax receipt on the screen. 2 seconds, all done. HOWEVER, it appears that the State is incapable of doing so. Apparently they have to have a CD-ROM sent to them monthly, which then must be copied into their database.

I have to wonder exactly how much all that is costing taxpayers…

Just in case the State – or County, for that matter – happens across this blog, I’d like to let them in on a secret. As it happens, I know at least a half dozen kids at my daughter’s elementary school who can write them a few lines of code and redirect the necessary ports on their routers to make this all seamless, instantaneous, and probably even more secure than it is at present. No CD’s necessary. No extra work. Fewer annoyed and frustrated Missourians.

What’s more, they’d probably do it for a pizza and a juice box. Just think of all the money you could save.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to pack a lunch so I can go stand in line all day at the license office. I’d probably better take a handful of Valium too. That way I might be able to refrain from bitch slapping any of the idiots behind the counter…

More to come…

Murv