I like baseball's concept of 'inherited runners'. Basically, it means that if a relief pitcher enters the game mid-inning, with runners on base, those runners are the departing pitcher's responsibility. If they score, they're tacked onto that guy's ERA, not the new guy's -- regardless of how terribly the new guy does. He can give up a home run, plunk batters with errant fastballs, or run amok on the mound with his glove down his pants and his jock strap on his head. No matter -- the guys on base are tied to the pitcher who put them there.


I think we need that sort of assignment of responsibility in other areas of life. At the office, for instance. If the guy who had my job before me didn't bother to document anything and wrote a bunch of crappy code -- and, he did -- then it's only fair that he should get his pay docked when the system starts falling apart. It's 'inherited obfuscation', and it's high time we treated it as such.


Or how about in the world of romance? Let's say you catch somebody on the rebound, coming out of a bad relationship. Shouldn't it be the ex that gets shut down in the sack for the next six months because your partner has 'been hurt before'? It wasn't you doing the hurting; why should you be shackled with the ill effects of 'inherited assholery'? It's just not right!


There's something patently unfair about being forced to grow up without the benefits of butlers and maids and Swedish masseuses, just because your parents couldn't manage to string together a few million dollars before having you. Heaven knows I've suffered from this sort of 'inherited insufficient fundage', and I'm pretty damned sick of it. Thirty-five years is long enough to be punished for the sorry state of someone else's bank account. Where's the justice?


Man, this is beautiful! There's always a good explanation with this system -- anytime I'm being a pain in the ass, I can whip out excuses like 'Not my fault -- blame inherited assbaggery,' or 'Sorry -- it's inherited incompetence,' or even 'I can't help it -- it's inherited Jell-O-slathered exhibitionism; now piss off!'


Ah, yes. This is gonna get me out of all sorts of trouble. I can even use it right here. If you didn't like this entry, it's no big deal -- I can't be blamed any more. Just chalk it up to 'inherited illiterate nonsensery'. Nothing I can do about it. I'm standing on the shoulders of the cluetarded mouth-breathing bastards that have come before me. You can't fight genetics!