February 16, 2008
I just mailed off a wedding card... had a hell of a time trying to get them a gift. Macy's, Target, Sears... none of them had what I was looking for.
Why don't folks register with a liquor store?
February 03, 2008
Didn't sleep much last night. Not sure why, other than my brain never shut off. I'm not saying that it ever actually engaged... it was just stuck in the "ON" position.
Today, they're calling for rain. I type this as the sunlight blasts through my blinds. There are plenty of clouds in the sky, so there's a decent chance that it will happen later... it rained off and on for most of the night. Normally, that's relaxing...
I lay awake for long periods of time last night, just thinking. I'd been over to Eric's site, earlier, and he always seems to make folks think. Well, think and wonder. Whereas, I just tend to make folks wonder. Anyway, I was thinking about a post he had written about his dad and lessons he taught, and I got thinking of my childhood... and then my thoughts really started to wander.
While pondering lessons learned as a youngster, the rain falling steadily, I found myself thinking of the hog barn and the sows farrowing. And then the radio playing softly in the background, to keep the hogs at ease. The radio was set to WMAQ, 670 AM... and this was long before it became talk radio. It was still country at that time. "WMAQ is gonna make me rich!!!" They also played the White Sox games on air.
All night long, someone would be out in that barn, with the Statler Brothers, Dolly Parton, Crystal Gayle, Hank Williams, Johnny Cash, Willie Nelson and other country "greats" sharing the warm smells of fresh straw and newly hatched piglets. The last year we did this, I remember "Every Which Way but Loose" was a hit... Eddie Rabbitt.
Now I'm thinking of the rabbits that we used to raise. Both for meat and show. Ma used to do some serious butchering on some rabbits. She and my pa had fined tuned it, and when Pa passed away, it didn't slow her much. Skinning and butchering were an art form.
Same with ducks and chickens (I thought I'd blogged it before, but I can't find it)... you get her and my (third) cousin's ma together, and they were a force to be reckoned with. (Yeah, that's a preposition hanging there...) They'd have tiles, field tiles (which are round tubes), standing on end... that was to bleed them out. Cut a head off, stuff'em in a tile, cut a head off, stuff'em in a tile. Next thing you know, they'd have'em dunked (in boiling water) and plucked. Then cut and gut... washed out, bagged, and you've got chicken in the freezer. 'Twas an impressive sight...
Ma and a good friend of hers also set up another disassembly line, once those little piglets got older. CASTRATION. One held the little boar wannabe, while the other sliced, stitched, and disinfected. Luckily, there was no saving of the oysters. I remember listening to the squeals of the little bastards, and then, once they were put down to go on their way, the new barrows walking away like nothing had happened.
I thought I heard thunder, but I can't tell if that's a train, or if it really is one of the gods whimpering. (The gods aren't nearly as vocal, out here, as they are back home.) But the thunder gets me jamming on one of my all time favorite tunes. I've been listening to this album alot, lately. It's a great way to jumpstart your day.
Now Eddie Rabbit is back... and I'm stuck with his tune. It's not a bad song, but c'mon... jumping between Slayer and Rabbitt? Raining Rabbits...
What the hell was the point of this yammering??? Oh yeah, I didn't sleep much. Perhaps I'm a little delirious. I don't know.
Eddie Rabbitt. Slayer. My Ma... the Rabbit Slayer.
Thank you for attending this morning's services. Don't forget to pay me your tithes and offerings.
Cookies will do, too...
Second thought: Maybe the message of this post was, "Don't jack with my ma. You'll be cut up and in the freezer before you know you're dead."
And maybe not...
January 20, 2008
One of things that I hate about a shared laundry room is having to empty the lint traps of the dryers. Not that I hate emptying them after I use them, but before I use them. Especially when you find what looks like a small pet residing there. As I did this morning.
Seriously, not every week, but almost every other week, I find a trap packed with hair. It skeeves me out. I try to imagine that whoever used it just washed a dog blanket (from a severely shedding poodle), and didn't throw in the towel that they used while dethatching nether regions.
I may have an over active imagination, though. Seems that there's a perfectly good explanation for the woolen remains... actual clothing made from hair.
I feel a lot better now...
November 22, 2007
It's Thanksgiving Day, and most of us will soon be stuffed to the gills. Not really a good time for the traditional punch to the gut that our cousins like to do, but I'm sure it will be done. I'm also sure that one of my brothers, probably The Perfect One, will be walking around singing this tune. (I know that I have been since last night.) If you know the song, and the artist, you'll know why this pic seems appropriate. If not, well, you're in the dark.
I'm not going to tell you all of the things that you should be thankful for... if you need someone to tell you, then you're a frickin' idiot. But I will wish you and yours a very Happy Thanksgiving, and a safe weekend.
October 09, 2007
Well, there was that 45 hour day following MCCRES, and then that 38 hour day for Beloit Corp, but they don't count right now.
March 20, 2007
Since I've been down here, my aunt has been buying these Sweet & Salty Nut Granola Bars, by Nature Valley. Pictured is the peanut variety... you can get a closer look by clicking on the pic. Peanuts and granola dipped in a peanut butter coating. It says right there in the banner on the front of the box. These things rock... and there are four different varieties.
My favorite has been the cashew bars. Cashews just plain ol' fashioned kick ass, and mixed with granola and dipped in cashew butter (yes, cashew butter), you can't find much better. There's also an almond bar, dipped in, you guessed it, almond butter. I've had all four types of bars, and they were good, but the fourth type... well, I haven't bought them anymore. I can't bring myself to do it, after reading the box. Who the hell is going to intentionally purchase food that's been dipped in nut butter... mixed nut butter? Probably the sicko that sent me (click at your own risk) this video.
Anyway, despite having a decent product, I'm thinking that Nature Valley needs to do a bit of rewording...
January 31, 2007
I try folks. Seriously. I'm always trying to be the most help that I can be. It's not about recognition or any crap like that... I just like helping out. But when I'm asked for help, lend a hand, and have my efforts totally blown off? That hurts. Alot.
Not too long ago, there was a person who begged the blogosphere for help coming up with boy's names, as she had only considered girlie names for her baby. I proposed a tough, manly name, thinking that would do the trick. This was one of the folks I have met, and I was sure that my suggestion would be appreciated. So imagine my suprise, when I recently see another plea for help... naming the same baby. My feeling was crushed. At first, I was pretty gottdamned pissed, but after a few days, I only felt betrayed. My help was offered, and totally ignored.
What the fuck is wrong with naming your son Ruprecht? Huh? Hell, if I were to go out and buy a kid, I'd name them Ruprecht. Okay, maybe not if it were a girl... then I'd have to settle for Ruprechtina, or maybe Rupretia. Possibly even Rupretchen. Well... not so much Rupretchen. Too easy for other kids to poke fun.
Ruprecht. Say it aloud. Ru-Prekt Doesn't that name kick ass? You know, my youngest brother's name is a variation of Ruprecht. He'd have changed his name to Ruprecht long ago, but then he'd have to get the name changed on all of his work shirts. A big hassle, just to name yourself another variation of your name.
Ruprecht. A name fit for a king.
Ruprecht. Crusher of skulls.
Who wouldn't name their kid Ruprecht?
January 12, 2007
Fish and Chips
Those of us who know someone in the medical fields, especially ER or doctors' offices, have heard stories. You know... those stories. Seems that some folks like shoving things into places that they ought not really be, and have a bit of a time getting them out. Light bulbs, remotes, hot dogs, flashlights, small livestock... you name it, somebody has seen some strange potential in said object. Heard one the other day that's got me asking a million questions.
A nineteen year old woman goes into the doc's office complaining that she thinks something is growing inside her. Having already had five chillens, she knows it ain't a kid, and she's worried. After examination, it is determined that, yes, she do have something growing inside her, and it ain't a tumor, either. It is a tuber, however... and the damn thing has intertwined itself into places no potato plant should go. She had to undergo a hysterectomy...
What the hell is a spud doing there? Months before, she had inserted it as a birth control device. Never removing it, it sprouted eyes and they started growing throughout her. I had to ask if she was trying to come up with a "Fish and Chips" flavored tater... toss in a malt vinegar douche, and you're set.
But seriously, what is the thought behind a tater as birth control? Do sperm cells racing for eggs get distracted by the potato? "Mmmm... taters." If so, why not wrap a slice of turkey breast around it, so the little guys can have a Thanksgiving feast? Guaranteed that they fall asleep before they can ever do any harm...
Is it just supposed to act like a plug... blocking off the tubes? Why not use a drain plug, with the chain dangling? It'd do the same job, and provide a different sensation... and you could get the damn thing out.
This is assuming that it really happened... but still, what they hell is the thinking behind this? Is there some strange science to it?
September 28, 2006
Customer Service Rep: Hello. This is Steve, how may I help you? Uh huh... Oh, yes... I see. Okay, if you could give me your account number, I'll pull your information. Okay, let me read that back to you. 1234 567 8901 234. Is this correct? Okay... please hold while I access your account.Yeah... I'd lay money that this really goes on in some of these Customer Service Phone Centers. The bastards.
Steve leans back in his chair, and checks his fingernails. Seeing that they've gotten a little too long for a professional look, he opens his top drawer, extracts his clippers, and begins trimming. When finished, he picks up the phone again.
I'm terribly sorry, sir... our computer system is a bit slow today. Please bear with us...
Thanks for holding...
Steve grins to himself, and begins humming. "Mmmm Mmmmm Mmmm Mmmmm.... Mmmm Mmmmm Mmmmm Mmmm... Once there was this girl... who... wouldn't go acclaim and do the whirly dirly doo... Hey, Brian! Hey, man... do you know how that song goes? You know, that Dumb Crash Testers song."
Brian looks at him for a second, then realization hits him. "Oh, you mean the Crash Test Dummies song, Mmmm Mmmm Mmmm Mmmm?"
Steve: "Yeah, man. I don't know what comes after 'Whirly dirly doo.'"
Brian: "Whirly dirly doo? What the hell song are you singing?"
Steve sings it to him, Brian busts up laughing, then says, "Dude, you've got to be King Tard. That part of the song goes something like,
'Once there was this girl who
Wouldn't go and change with the girls in the change room
But when they finally made her
They saw birthmarks all over her body
She couldn't quite explain it
They'd always just been there
Mmm Mmm Mmm Mmm
Mmm Mmm Mmm Mmm.'
Heheheh... Whirly Dirly Doo.. what a frickin' moron!"
Steve grins sheepishly and then says, "Hey, I only listen to music... not lyrics. Hang on a second... I've got a call on hold."
Brian looks back at his cubicle. "Dude, so do I. It's been twenty minutes. I better get back to them."
Steve nods, then picks up the phone again.
Sir, are you sure you gave me the correct account number? I can't seem to find your account. Could you read that to me again?
Ah... 234... I'm sorry sir, I kept trying to enter 233. Heheheh... please hold while I try to access you account again. Thanks
Steve goes online, and starts playing this game. After another wasted fifteen minutes, he pulls up the account, and then picks up the phone again.
Okay, sir. I need to verify your information. Can I have your social, street address, and date of birth?
Thank you. Please hold while I verify...
"Hey, Brian... c'mere! Hahahah... this guy is getting pissed! Listen, and I'll take him off hold for a second..."
Brian listens, grins, and then says, "Is it even possible for one to do that to themselves? Damn... I swear I heard teeth breaking! You've got him good. You think he'll hang up?"
"Nah... I've got him where I want him. He hangs up, and he's got to go through this all over again..."
Steve shows Brian his high score on the game he'd been playing, and finally says, "Here we go... time to piss this guy off some more."
He picks up the phone....
I guess I don't need to tell you folks how I've been spending the week...
September 22, 2006
Me Be A Jerk
One of the cool things about working in the shop is meeting some of the folks that dealt with my uncle. Some pretty brilliant minds, there be. Inventors and entrepreneurs, and some guys that are just a blast with which to deal. Real characters.
I recently met one of the guys who had been tossing some business ideas to my uncle. Supposedly, my uncle had been seriously considering working with the guy. I don't believe that. While my uncle may have thought the ideas sound, I would bet money that he did not care for the guy. I can't stand him.
Perhaps it's just me, and maybe he's not really the way that I take him. I mean... I have discovered that I'm kind of a jerk.
There was a big party, awhile back (some of you may remember it), and my aunt took me along... a chance to meet some new folks and possibly get in line for some work with some of the business owners. Again, I had a pretty good time, with a couple of exceptions. One of them being the asshole who'd dump his beer in the pool, and the other, the guy to whom I refer above.
Now, I've got to be fair, and say right out, I've never met the guy. Not actually. See, everytime my aunt tried to introduce me, and explain that I was helping her with the business, the guy would turn his back on me. Three times he did this, like I was not even there. He wouldn't even look at me. I just laughed at him. Meantime, he's trying to convince my aunt to let him have copies of our build sheets, so he can line some assembly shop up. Thankfully, she doesn't trust him. She acted interested, and then left at the first chance she got.
Last night, at the bar with my cousin-in-law, I saw the guy. Of course, I was stupid enough to say something about "the big, fat, pile of shit who can't look anyone lower than him in the eye," and was again shushed. Apparently, that's not very nice. Maybe they're right.
I probably should have called him "Obese" instead of fat.
August 22, 2006
Air conditioner = none
Repair Work = Not until tomorrow... if then
Humidity = high
Current Temp = 90+
T1G = Freakin' Out
Update @ 7:35: Heading back to the shop for a couple of hours = Relief... temporary as it is.
August 17, 2006
Hymn Be T1G
I woke up with one of the hymns from my childhood stuck in my head. I can't get rid of it, so I thought maybe if I shared, it would leave me alone.
All hail the power of Jeebus’ Name! Let bloggers prostrate fall;I might be a little bit off, but I think it's close to something like that...
Bring forth the royal keg of beer, and crown him Lord of all.
Bring forth the royal keg of beer, and crown him Lord of all.
Let highborn hotties tune the lyre, and as they tune it, fall
Before That 1 Guy Who they all want, Aniston most of all.
Before That 1 Guy Who they all want, my Salma most of all.
Oh buy him many pints of ale, a trip to Hooters take;
A tall Guinness for him to drink, hot shrimp upon his plate.
A tall Guinness for him to drink, hot shrimp upon his plate.
August 07, 2006
N. C. (Fat Albert style)
We were invited to a suprise birthday party over the weekend. I wasn't looking forward to it too much, but I went anyway. Kinda glad I did... it was a pretty good time. And I was able to catch up on some drinking. (Don't wanna fall too far behind on that, you know.)
I was a little uneasy because there was going to be some big money there. I don't know why, but I feel a bit out of place at times. Yes, I do have a couple of friends that have some major ching, but you'd never know it. They have no airs. Some of these folks did. While they've got some money, they've got no class.
I went to toss away my plate, and noticed that the garbage can was full. And because it was full, someone had dumped their plate down the wall behind the garbage. Accidents happen, but from the splatter marks on the wall, it looked like someone had just thrown the plate at the receptacle. I got the hostess, and we cleaned it up.
A short time later, I watched some dumbass dump the last of his beer in the pool as he walked back to the cooler... which was right next to a sink. Pissed me off, it did. Later, he came back and did the same. I was floored.
Now, I'm a peaceful man when drinking. I've woke up with my face hurting (yeah it's killing you) from smiling so much. I hardly ever get mad. But that set me off. I wanted to beat the crap out of the guy.
Not wanting to cause too much trouble, I just made some loud comments, which got me shushed. "He's just that way... " Well he's just an asshole, says I. And being shushed didn't improve my mood. Thankfully, he didn't come back on by. I might have gotten stupid.
I don't know. Maybe I'm just too anal, but I don't think that you should treat someone's house that way when they've opened it up to you. Just because they say, "Make yourself at home," doesn't mean you can mess their shit up.
But then again... I may be wrong.
July 17, 2006
The Effects of The President's "Off Air" Comments
Guess what, America?!?!? We have a potty mouth for a President! That's just fucking great... who knew? And who the hell really cares? Obviously, it's a pretty big deal to some folks. Heheheh...
I've been going around reading some sites, and different news articles, and the President is about as evil as the head chopping fuck we just liberated from life. Some folks are calling for impeachment: though, I will say that most of them are tongue in cheek. Some folks aren't happy that he was talking while eating, and that he chews with his mouth open. The man is an embarassment to our country, some are saying, but those are the folks who always say that... no matter what he does. I won't provide links... all you have to do is check out this google search: Bush shit. You can read some brilliance there...
This is one reason that I don't do the political blogging. The battle between Right and Left can reach some ridiculous lows. Either side latching on to the smallest things, and riding them into the ground. Many of them don't matter, but it gives folks a chance to spew their crap and "change the world". Hey, if it feels good...
Perhaps the scariest thing to me is not the fact that our President actually swears. Or swore. No. In their eagerness to latch on to the foul barnyard curse, also known as "shit," the concerned folks missed the fact that Condi is going to be eliminated. Seriously. It's right there in their transcript:
"I think Condi is going to go pretty soon," Bush said.Fired? Assassinated? They both seem eager to get rid of her...
Blair replied: "Right, that's all that matters, it will take some time to get that together."
I also thought that some of these folks would be showing concern for the President's health problems. He's suffering from some severe constipation, and even discussed it with PM Blair:
"I just want some movement. Yesterday I didn't see much movement, " said Bush .What the hell did they serve for chow?
"It may be that it's impossible," Blair replied.
Instead, we'll concentrate on the swearing, and the impact that will have on our dealings with the rest of the world. Nevermind that our President may be assassinating our Secretary of State, or may possibly die from his bowels backing up, leaving an even more extreme potty mouth to take over as President...
Scary, people. Scary.
Hey, they do it, I can, too. And it's really quite fun!
And one more thing... This was a joke, and only a joke.
June 16, 2006
What Did We Learn Today #17
I'm taking a tutorial in Anatomy & Physiology. The head of a local medical program and friend found out about it. He offered to bring me into the school and let me do my lab work not with computer simulations and cats or pigs but working alongside his students on human cadavers.
Talk about focusing your studies, not only is it fascinating to be working on the real thing, there is also the realization that these people gave their remains up to help you study. Out of respect for them, every moment in study is centered in concentration... and fascination. And I am not one for squeamishness after years in an ER and on an ambulance.
Lunch at the Barbecue place was NOT a good idea.
Cross posted here
Another day, another woman fucking with my head
I got a haircut this afternoon. Actually, it'd be more accurate to say that I got sheared this afternoon. I found a good barber/stylist over a year ago and I've been going to them every since. It's always the same two people - a guy and a girl - and they both do an excellent job. The only real problem that I have is their accents. They're Asian and the first time the woman cut my hair, I could have sworn that she asked me, "You you use yell?" After repeating herself a half-dozen times, she finally got me to understand that she was asking me if I used (hair) gel. Oh. Ooops. So the accent can be a bit of a problem for me sometimes. That and the fact that they seem excessively interested in my life...
Where do you live? Across the street.
How long have you lived there? About a year and a half.
What do you do for a living? Software developer.
Do you like it? Yes, provided they let me do it without excessive meetings and corporate bullshit.
Are you hung like a horse? Yes.1
So the constant questions are kinda weird. I mean, I'm only in there for a 15 minute period so I can get my hair cut and that's it. No styling, highlights or anything like that. My mullet is stylish enough. Unfortunately, summers in Georgia are simply too hot for mullets, at least for a Damn Yankee like me. So today I decided to get a trim. Nothing major, just a trim. Less of a cut than usual, in fact. My usual routine is "short on the sides and cut the top as short as possible without it getting all spikey and shit."
Today was a disaster, though. First of all, the guy is wearing an arm brace and the usual woman is nowhere in sight. Instead, a new face strolls out of the back and begins making preparations. The dude tries to be helpful and explains to the new lady that they usually use the #3 clippers on my hair. I, however, have decided that #4 clippers are in order as I just want enough of a trim so that it looks a bit tidier. So the lady says, "Numba foe crippah arr over, right?" I nod. Sounds good to me. Because I know that the dude knows how my hair is usually cut and it never occurs to me to take this chick literally. So it's with some surprise that I watch in the mirror as she drags the Numba Foe crippahs across the top of my head. Time slows down as I watch a hefty clump of hair bounce off my shoulder and onto my lap. Some portion of my mind notes that my face has gone pale as I contemplate the first 10 seconds of her handiwork. I've got a reverse mohawk, for cryin' out loud. As she moves the clippers in for another attack, I duck away and explain what I really wanted. My fault, of course. The dude knows how I like my hair cut. The other chick knows how I like my hair cut. This chick just took my words at face value. Haha. Not a mistake anyone here makes, eh? Ahhh, well. I'm not totally bald and she did pull a decent haircut out of the initial wreckage.
As for me, I've learned my lesson: communication is the key to a healthy relationship. Oh, yes. It is.
1 - Okay, a seahorse.
(cross-posted at my regular hangout: Thunder And Roses)
June 06, 2006
Far be it from me to say it...
but after a fine dinner that included African beers and ciders with T1G, I can honestly say that I had no intention of adding to his strange Google-search hits with phrases such as "lesbian cat sisters" or anything even mentioning lesbian cats in general. Apparently, if one keeps putting in phrases such as "lesbian cats" or "cats" in general, google will index a site and add it into the search parameters. Heck, after more than 6 months my own site is still #3 for Pogie Bait Workshop, though I don't think I've ever mentioned lesbian cats.
Knowing how much T1G dislikes cats, let alone lesbian cats or lesbian cat sisters, it is probably best to just not write "lesbian cats" anymore on his particular webpage.
Instead, I shall regale you with another mention of the fine evening we had. I'm in Orlando on business and was forced to stay at Disney's Animal Kingdom Lodge. I figured this would be the best place to meet up and eat anyway, so T1G mercifully hopped in his auto and made the trip for a few hours of conversation. I'm a Disney buff, have been for a very long time and have stayed at several of the resorts on the property. I have to say the AK Lodge has set a new standard. It has no rivals.
From the detail of the lobby with its high grass and open beam textured ceilings, wood railings carved with leaping gazelles, cozy nooks with fireplaces (in Florida? yes), high backed, hand carved rocking chairs, and beautiful vistas looking out onto the grasslands, one can determine that this little hotel is a complete experience to itself.
But add to it the live giraffes, wildebeest, zebras, etc wandering about those grasslands and you have a theme park all its own, only in this one, you can find a comfortable bed for sleeping.
Within the dark, quiet lodge we managed to chow on some exceptionally fine food and try some new beverages. The African beer was okay though nothing to crave but the cider was dry and wonderful. Even better was wandering to a patio, sitting in one of those hand-carved rocking chairs and getting the chance to catch up with T1G. I'll allow the blogmaster to give a better review of the libations at his own pace.
Naturally, he wanted a little more excitement on the grasslands, perhaps a cheetah to mix it up with the gazelles, thinning the herd. The man does love his bloodsports. Let me just say I noted that they did not have any big cats prowling about, or big lesbian cats. Or big lesbian cat sisters.
Quote of the Day..
… you know, sometimes you just have to agree with Skippy… there is no arguing at all… you just read what he has written and nod your head…. like this, for instance…
Immediately upon seeing her, I suffer a blistering headache and tunnel vision. Suddenly, she becomes all that I can see. Jesus himself and all of his disciples could be playing nude volleyball in my living room, and I wouldn't notice until the next day when I would begin to wonder where all the sand came from.
… and on top of everything else, Jessica Alba wants brown boobies…. and the poor dear is being denied… oh, the humanity of it all…
... I'm sure T1G would agree....
... your humble servant, Eric..
June 04, 2006
How y'all doin'? T1G asked me to drop in once in a while too. I'm RSM of other places. Surely T1G is having fun down in Florida roasting in the sun and playing with the kitties, you know how he loves cats.
Meanwhile it's a lazy Sunday and I am kicked back on a friend's couch. I'm being adopted by cats myself. Normally skittish, these two little lesbian sister cats have come up close to lay up against me. I'd prefer a dog, but this is what my friends have at their house. We go with it.
I think the main reason we like animals is that they provide us with validation that we are good people. After all, small pets have inside their heads the knowledge that these big humans could potentially kill them at any point. When they get to the level that they trust you enough not to kill them and allow you to pet them, it makes it seem like you actually have a connection to the natural world. Even birds like me, so long as they are birds of prey.
But if this sweet little darling flexes her claws into my testicles one more time, we'll see just how much that trust in my benevolence was misplaced.
May 16, 2006
No Help Please
I used to work with a guy who had a habit of asking how to do something, and then, after a person would carefully explain the steps involved, he would go back to his job, look at it, and then go ask someone else how to do it. I don't know if it was worry over screwing up, or a way to kill time... hell, maybe even a bit of both... but it would piss off everyone around him. Especially when he would cut off an explanation with, "Well, so and so said to do it this way." There are many ways to do a job, and as long as it comes out right, it doesn't matter which way you choose. But once you started doing the job one way, it's best to finish it the same way.
Whether he meant it this way, or not, it was insulting. Some guys would fly into a rage when he asked them stuff, and then ignored what advice they offered. It didn't take too long, and guys started giving him advice on what to do to himself instead of how to do the job. Sad thing was, in the eleven years I worked there, he never stopped doing it. Never caught a clue. Some folks are just frickin' dense.
I was watching television at the bar last night, and they had "Deal or No Deal" playing. Over and between the conversations, we would catch bits and pieces of the show, and add our insightful commentary.
One of the contestants was a woman who had either a fiance or husband over in Iraq. He was a sergeant, but I'm not totally sure which branch. Army comes to mind, but I couldn't see any chevrons or read his nametags. Anyway, that's beside the point. Once she got so far into the show, they had it set up so that he could help her with her decisions via satellite. Pretty cool, I thought.
I wasn't paying much attention until the woman had only four cases, and hers, left, with the highest possible winnings being $500,000. Now, anyone who has seen the show knows that it is very, very seldom that a person wins the highest amount. It's usually safer to deal with their "banker." If you need an explanation of the rules, click the link above.
She was offered $128,000 for her case, and she turned it down. I didn't hear if she had asked her man what to do in that situation, but I did hear Howie Mandel say to her, after she asked her man which case to eliminate, "Why do you ask him questions, when you won't listen to what he says?" The sergeant told her to get rid of case 12. She looks at it, tells them to pull it, then stops them, and says to pull case 11. It was the $500,000 case, and the next offer from the banker dropped down to $44,000. This time when she asked the sergeant, she listened when he said to deal. She took the money and ran. It was a good call, as her case held only $10.
I know I may be over reacting, but it pissed me off. She asks for his input, and then shows everyone exactly how much that meant to her. On national frickin' television, no less. All I can think of is the guy I used to work with, and I think, "Run, Forrest! Run!!!" It's doubtful that it is ever going to end.
But maybe I'm just too cynical.
May 07, 2006
Goody Two Shoes
Found this over at Baboon Pirates. Though, I've got to say, how you can consider "From Dusk Til Dawn," or "Evil Dead" B-MOVIES is beyond me. Those are quality films... soon to be classics.
Gimme some sugar baby.
April 24, 2006
Animal Kingdom vs. T1G
There has been alliance made against me. Nothing too serious, but the little bastards are working hand in hand. Gophers and Hornets, Allies Looking to Avenge the Bees. Whodda thunk?
I've noticed a steady increase in the number of hornets swarming around the back of my house, but can't find a nest. I only find the gopher holes as I search the eaves and soffets. As I'm looking up, I step in depressions, nearly breaking my ankles. Crafty little jerks...
As I go to pop one of the little gopher critters with a pellet gun (I'm aiming out an open window), two hornets fly in the house... straight at me. They now reside in Hornet Valhalla, but the gopher is back in hiding. This an incredible display of teamwork.
Formidable foes... but they are soon to die. Their alliance broken and shattered upon my lawn and back patio.
April 07, 2006
The storms pass through, and the green shows even more. The drab colors of death associated with winter are being forced back into hiding, as the new leaves begin to push their way into life. The hills are showing colorful swatches of green, with white and purple blossoms of dogwoods splattered across the scene. In the trees, the faux grapes of wisteria are hanging, dispensing their fragrance as the smell of decay from last year's leaves is driven away.
It's springtime, here in the massive meth lab known as Missouri/Arkansas... a very beautiful thing. Spring, that is... I've yet to see a meth lab. Not really in a hurry to, either. I can't understand why someone does a drug because they have nothing else to do, but all it does is keep them awake for longer periods of time with still nothing to do. Methodists... they're funny peeps. Perhaps I'm missing something...
Anyway, it's spring. Time for the wretched serpents to uncoil, and wait in hiding for unsuspecting drunkards. Time for the swarms of flies and chiggers to attack... by the time the flaming spiders return to the July skies, folks just won't want to be outside much... the early pleasures of spring not appealing anymore.
But, Hey... it's beautiful as hell right now. (That is... if hell were really beautiful.) I guess that's what matters...
February 02, 2006
Interpetation is a beautiful thing. Music that sounds like crap to one, is another's release. Poetry that dulls one's mind, opens doorways to mind altering beauty for someone else...
Pictures, too, can be taken in entirely different ways. For instance, Ktreva has posted a picture of a cat, with the caption, "Kill'em all, Kitty!" Looking at the pic, I see a cat, taking up arms in the final battle of Armageddon, getting gutshot. Of course, it's tastefully done. No one has to see the feline innards trailing from the eviscerating wound, the blood spilled upon the ground.
But I wish we could... it would make that pic so much better.
January 27, 2006
I wish I knew exactly what is going on... it's been a funky week. And so far, the only thing gained by watching stupid movies (which are the best) and blasting the tunes is a noticable increase in my tinnitus. Can't really expect it, but maybe it'll be different today. Today is going to be an errand running day...
Going first to drop off a couple of dear friends for some reconstructive surgery, then it's off to the other side of town to pick up some more tinnitus feed... Static X brand, Korn supplements, and perhaps whatever frickin' brand looks appealling... I'm always in the market for new chow. Then maybe a trip to Gander Mountain so I can better converse with my new friends...
The other night, coming home late, I heard a couple of owls chatting back and forth. I stood listening for awhile, then brushed the snow and ice off the edge of my patio, took a seat, and joined in the conversation, cupping my hands and calling back. 'Twas an interesting talk, and I learned a few things, the least of which is that your ass will lose all feeling when sitting on ice cold concrete for 40 minutes...
You know, thinking about it now, screw the trip to the Mountain. Using a reed or plastic "call" to chat it up with them just seems dishonest.
January 23, 2006
I've discovered that I really am a fickle bastard. Never thought it would be, but it is.
You know that I was house-sitting for Ma this weekend. What I didn't mention was the fact that I not only was sitting house, but cats. Yes, you read that right. CATS.
"But you hate cats!"
No, I just can't stand them. Actually, should there be no more small cats upon the face of this earth, I would not weep. Not a tear. Well, if a certain two were gone, I might be a bit shook up...
My mother has two Rag doll cats. These cats think they are dogs... they were following me all over the place, just hanging out with me. She's had the oldest one for awhile now, and he's always been pretty cool, but she's got a "kitten" (this thing is bigger than most full grown cats) that's only a few months old, and was a riot. I've gotta admit... I really like that cat. Hell, I like them both.
After spending a couple of days with them being my buddies, I started to rethink this "I hate cats" view of mine. Perhaps they really ain't that bad, and I've been misguided, being a dog person and all. I found myself seeing cats in commercials and thinking, "Wow... that really is a pretty cat. The colorings are awesome!" I about made myself sick... That came to an end last night.
When I got home last night, I realized I was being duped. As I pulled up to the garage, I could smell the cat piss from the feral f*%ckers that run in our neighbourhood. That's with the windows UP, and still outside of the garage!!! When I got the car parked, and got out, my eyes were watering from the ammonia stench. Any good that my visit with those two cats had built up was gone in that moment.
I still like those two cats, and a fairly cool cat named Fred... maybe one or two more. But let me make it clear to you; the only cat blogging that's going to be done here is bitching about the worthless critters. And the only cat pics you will ever see will be of amusing roadkills...
'Course, that could change.
January 19, 2006
Accents On Business
I enjoy being able to visit with folks from different parts of the world. We're all a bit different... not everyone is as normal as I am. Views, cultures, chow... all vary, and all can be interesting. I really enjoy talking with old timers, and hearing how things were. That was probably my favorite part of my trip to England... not just hitting the pubs, but visiting with the older locals. You can learn alot if you keep your trap shut and let them talk.
While I enjoy hearing the different accents while I'm visiting, I can't deal with them when I'm doing business. It just drives me nuts.
The Sunday of Fritz Fest, I am rousted from a sound sleep by the ringing of the phone. Worried that it may be one of the bloggers who were planning on being there, I about broke my neck running for the phone. Not a blogger, but a nice gentleman who was able to make my two syllable last name sound something like: Dizheminary. Five syllables. Not a good start, not to mention my rage at being awakened early on a Sunday morning. Hey... 8:00 is early for me.
I was finally able to make out who he worked for, a credit card company, and my irritation grew as he kept trying to tell me what it was he needed. I don't hear the best to begin with, but when it sounds like you're chompin' on a shit sandwhich, I can't make out a damn thing. It wasn't long, and I was cutting him of yelling, "WHAT?" "WHAT ARE YOU TRYING TO SAY?" "WHAT?" Shortly after, he was yelling in exasperation. Heheheh... We eventually got everything straightened out, but I was pissed for quite awhile.
Why bring this up, now? I swear the same sonofamotherlessgoat just tried to call me again...
December 31, 2005
A Shiny New Year
I'm soon to be running out to party at Fritz's, but I've been feeling a bit off, so right now I'm hanging out with the best Gottdamned bartender from Timbuktu to Portland, Maine... or even Portland, Oregon. Yep, Lloyd. Lloyd and his words of wisdom...
You may not realize this, but "The Shining" is actually a great holiday movie for me. I didn't include it on my list of Christmas movies, but it does take place in December, around the middle of the month. However, I consider it a New Year's movie. Oh, I know... Jack's gone by then (or is he), and Wendy and Redrum are back to safety, but it still says "New Year's" to me.
WTF, you ask? The trigger is the picture and music at the end. "But the picture says 'July 4th Ball / 1921,' and the tune is 'Midnight, The Stars, And You.' How do you get 'New Year's' from that?" Bear with me, as I take you on a road less travelled. It might make all the difference...
First, the pic. It's black and white. This says "old." It's a picture of a ball, alongside pics of other galas. As I look at the pic, and hear the tune (which is a recording from 1932...), I think of Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers, as well as other stars of the black and white films. Most of the movies that we watched as I was growing up, had a holiday theme. For the better part of 8 years, we watched little television or movies, except around this time of year. So... I look at the picture, and see, in the background, Fred and Ginger, singing along to "Auld Lang Syne." The scene that seals the deal is when Jack is stalking through the halls, and follows the sounds of music towards the Gold Room... he comes to a hallway filled with balloons and strewn with confetti. New Years. I'm telling you, New Years...
Now, whenever I hear "Auld Lang Syne," I kinda chuckle to myself as I can hear Jack say, "Darling. Light, of my life. I'm not gonna hurt ya.... You didn't let me finish my sentence. I said, I'm not gonna hurt ya. I'm just gonna bash your brains in. I'm gonna bash 'em right the f#%k in. Ha, ha." Again, I'm aware that the closing music is Midnight, The Stars and You... "Auld Lang Syne" is the tune that should have been in there. I think it fits... Mr. Grady, Lloyd... Jack knows them. Even though he has forgotten, he hasn't forgotten.
In case you were wondering, I haven't forgotten, either. I've gotta get down to Fritz's.
Happy New Year to you all!
December 20, 2005
Sometimes, I hate this.
Clarity comes and goes. Fades in and out, like a mirage in the desert. Clouded thoughts roll across the plains of reason, blocking out all enlightenment. Anger the mantle beneath the crust of understanding, forcing the steam that feeds the clouds. Anger at what? Bah... it matters not. What matters is that anger is not a part of the core.
In the immediate world, focus is found, though elusive. The big picture, however, is hazy. A fargin' blur. Perhaps some transcendental Visine would clear this up... allow me to see over and through the clouds. I doubt it.
I live in a fog.
December 05, 2005
The Show Goes On
I can get so confused... I thought this show had been already running. For a long while. It just wasn't funny.
It must just be deja vu... Al Sharpton wants his own sitcom.
November 27, 2005
Today, an earthquake rocked southern Iran, flattening several villages, and unfortunately killing ten.
Yesterday, Iran's president suggested that our current administration be tried for war crimes.
Coincidence? I think not. Don't jack with the W.
November 22, 2005
Probably only funny to me, but I just read where Six Flags is being taken over by new owners.
I can't help but wonder if they don't try to take over 179 Flags over New York next. God knows they're for sale.
Are you trying to lose weight on your thighs, but seem to have no success at all? Here's a helpful tip, and it requires very little activity.
When laundering your colored unmentionables, carefully place the leg openings over the agitator. Now deposit t-shirts and jeans on top. Follow the regular directions for laundering.
After the wash, you'll notice that the leg openings are now about 2 1/2 to 3 times larger that usual. As a matter of fact, you could probably put them around your waist, if you are into wearing wet bungies. Don't worry, it won't last once they're dried, being reduced to roughly twice the usual size.
Now, when you wear them, you'll feel the roominess, and trick yourself into thinking you've done a great job at toning up.
Make sure you do this to BOTH legs... especially if you're a guy. Ruining only one leg will make you feel as if you're recovering from elephantitis.
Why especially the guys? Uh... it's a matter of junk and it's positioning. Just sayin'.
November 16, 2005
Normally, a day or two isn't anything to get worried about. But when you start getting into weeks, and months, that's not a good thing. It's downright scary. It affects your plans, both long and short term. Uncertainties reign supreme.
Awakening to a powdersugar dusting of snow this morning, I realized there's nothing to worry about. I found it funny that on the day of our first bit of snow, my heater kicked on for the first time. (No, I won't tell you what it was set at... you'll think me crazy.)
Yep, Winter is here...
November 03, 2005
When I first started this blog, I wasn't totally sure where I would go with it. I knew that I might occasionally rant, but I didn't want it to be just ranting. I wanted it to have an atmosphere... I wanted it to be a respite from things frustrating. A place to laugh and visit. As I told Phin when he was designing this new blog, "Think pub." Of course, he did a kick ass job... he took that and ran with it.
Those of you who know and have met me, probably have noticed that after a few toddies, my language gets kicked up a notch. The irreverence begins to show. People are afraid to stand too close to me, fearing the inevitable lightning bolt. I try to steer clear of that on this blog... it doesn't always work, but I try. I'd like to keep the place safe for the workplace, so I'm mindful of the language.
So imagine my suprise when I learned that my site has been banned from a fellow blogger's workplace. My blog! All the work at making this safe for folks to visit, and I've been banned! Just for being myself! I was in total shock, as the tears began to flow.
Oh, no, dear reader, they aren't tears of sorrow. No. These are tears of joy. You see, I've made it... I matter, albeit in a negative way. But still... I. Have. Arrived!!!
October 31, 2005
This, my friends, is perhaps the worst Halloween ever. Really.
Tomorrow, I will find myself trying to locate all the razor blades and needles that I so carefully stuffed into candy bars, not to mention digging out the punji pits and snares that I had set.
Little candy bandits never even stopped here...
I'd undo the flyswatter stakes, but they're set up close to the gas meter...
What Happens When One Backs Out Of An Offering
The Drinking Gods are not to be trifled with, a lesson I know, and should have learned long ago. However, I can be a bit thick at times...
I mentioned that since my liver was a little too beat up for the gods, I would offer up the liver of a hitchhiker... that was just a joke. Unfortunately, the gods were not amused.
I arrived at my destination Friday, ready to do my best to defend others from the demon Alcohol, but I did not make the offering I had promised. The Drinking Gods soon extracted their vengeance... in blood. I awoke with a nosebleed that would not stop.
From 11:30 am, 'til 9:00 pm, my nose bled off and on, with no more than ten minute respites. I tried almost everything to get it to stop, with no luck. I was also the recipient of some great suggestions, though my favorites were to shove a tampon up my nose, and to just let myself bleed out... not only would it LEAVE more ribs for the others, but I would be a great SOURCE of ribs should I perish. "Take... eat... these are my ribs..." heheheh....
Being the cruel bastards that they are, the Gods let my nose bleed steadily... until I got into the emergency room. There, it stopped within five minutes... the doctor wouldn't do anything because it wasn't bleeding anymore. Could I leave, though? No way in Hell... I got stuck waiting for two hours just for good measure.
Next time I make a statement about offering up a sacrifice, I'll make sure it has nothing to do with blood. I think I'll just raise my glass to the gods, and hope that offering will please them.
October 27, 2005
I'm about to set off on a pilgrimage... leaving in seconds, truth be told.
A journey to the far off mountains, where I, along with many others, will sacrifice my liver upon the altars of the Drinking Gods. Not a bacchanalian feast... well maybe. Not Samhain... though there are some very scary types showing. 'Tis a gathering of degenerates.
Methinks the gods will not accept my liver, so I plan on getting one from a hitchhiker along the way.
See ya folks soon...
October 22, 2005
Surving In A Public Restroom
I was over at One For The Road yesterday, and Richmond pointed out a flash cartoon about men's restrooms. Pretty damn funny, and spot on. As I was watching it, I was reminded of Anathematized posting a Urinal Quiz that someone had left in her comments. I was also reminded of a story...
When Tammi first moved to the area, she had no clue as to where anything was, so I took her to Rockford to show her the best stretch to get all of your necessities. I showed her where the mall was, the monster Wally World, Best Buy, and some of the big grocery stores. Then I took her over to State Street, where it seems there are a million restaurants, and we got a bite to eat.
Before we left the establishment, I decided that it would be best to hit the restroom. There was nobody behind us that I saw, so when I got to the urinal, junk at the ready, I was feaked out when I heard the door get blasted open. Now, I was already behind the little divider, so all was hidden. At first, I thought Tammi had kicked in the door as a joke, which may have been funny. I suppose. But with equipment already in place and ready to relieve, I was freaked out... until I saw this guy hurriedly walking through the door.
I do what most men do... I turned my attention back to the wall in front of me. I hear the hurried man stop and say something. He repeats it again, and it was something along the lines of "Now they're giving me too much credit." He was standing by the little kids' urinal, grinning. I ignored him. So he takes the urinal right next to me, and announces that "that water is cold," which, if you ladies are unfamiliar with the construction of urinals, was a joke about dangling into the water pooled at the bottom of the pisser.
By now, I'm trying to stare a hole through the tile on the wall. He stands there for a couple of seconds in silence, and I think that he may have gotten the message that he was in severe violation of bathroom etiquette. Nope. Not at all.
He noticed that I was wearing a Harley T-shirt, so he asks if I ride. Then he informs me that he works "for Harley Davidson. Well, actually, I work with them... we make parts for them." He asks what model I own. The whole time the weirdo is chatting, he's looking at me. THAT'S A FRICKIN' HUGE NO-NO! If, for some reason, you need to talk to someone at the urinal, you also should be trying to stare a hole through your section of wall... just above eye level. At least when talking to someone you don't know. Hell, a very brief EYE LEVEL glance while talking to friends is permitted.
By now, I'm no longer staring at the wall... I'm trying to finish up, but that's kinda difficult when in those conditions. I'm also making sure that his eyes don't dart below. Now, I'm guessing he's assumed we're friends because we made eye contact. So he grins, and starts chatting away... I don't even know all the crap that he was spouting... I just concerned myself with getting out as soon as I could.
Maybe I go a little overboard with my reactions... I don't know, but I don't think I'm the only guy that would have felt strange in a situation like this. I'm just trying to be pleasant and non-violent. I know of at least one of my friends who would have knocked the dude out.
"Don't talk to strangers" isn't just a safety rule for kids... it also applies to public bathroom survival.
October 20, 2005
I will proudly admit my fear of snakes. That's about the only thing that really scares me. Well, as far as things that I know for sure exist. Now if I were to see a ghost, or a Sasquatch (reward or not)... I can't promise that I wouldn't scream like the guy in the video clip that Phin found. I'd like to think not, but I haven't seen one, yet, have I?
One thing that I've never been really afraid of is spiders. Okay, I may be a little jumpy if a tarantula were to wander across my keyboard right now. But for the most part, they don't bother me. Their webs now... One strand really won't bug me, but a whole frickin' web... now that I hate.
As I was doing my chores around the house today, I had to run down into my basement to get my storm windows. My basement is a dirt cellar... with a low ceiling in the front half, a crawlspace on one side, and regular height ceiling in the back. It's a newer section. This is the area where I keep the storms. I can stand them up and keep them stored safely. When you come down the steps, you'll smack your melon if you ain't careful. And you don't dare try to stand up... the ceiling is only about five feet high at that point.
I haven't been down there all summer. Normally, I'll run down there a few times a month, but no need to do that this year. This makes it perfect for cobwebs and spiders. I'm talking sheets of webbing... like halloween decorations. And when you go down there for the first time, it's a guarantee that you're going to run into webbing.
As I was pulling the cobwebs off of me, I noticed the unusually large number of spider eggs down there. Usually, there are always a few... twenty to thirty tops. But this year's brought about a bountiful crop. There had to have been almost a hundred between the steps and the doorway to the back room, alone. There were a large number in the back room too, but I wasn't concerned with them. To go look at them meant walking through webbing... I'll pass. Oh, I'll spray it all later, but I didn't feel like pulling webs off of me for the next half hour. I just wanted my storms outside... that's all.
With all of the eggs down there, I started to feel like maybe I should keep an eye out for a giant spider, ala Arachnophobia. Heheh... maybe that's what's responsible for the knockin'....
October 13, 2005
Verily, I say unto thee... Holy Frickin' OW...
I drove to Lowden State Park on Tuesday, parked by the statue (The Eternal Indian... better known as Blackhawk), and walked down to the river. There's a long staircase one must descend to get there in one piece. It's definitely quicker to roll down the bluff, but decidedly more painful. Or so I thought.
Many moons ago, I could go down and up these steps with no problem or pain. Hell, I used to RUN up the steps. But now... I got winded going back up. And while I was a little sore yesterday, and tried to stretch out, today I'm thinking that one could set kindling on my calves, and I could start a fire. They're cramping constantly, so sitting at the computer for extended periods of time just isn't happening.
I've got another post I've been trying to work on, but I'm thinking that's going to be much later. Just trying to keep moving around. And once I'm done with that, I'm going back out to the park and going halfway down the stairs and back up in an attempt to stretch out properly.
I'm in shape alright... round.
October 10, 2005
Sometimes reading the Sitemeter stats for your blog can be pretty damn entertaining in itself. I don't normally check on it alot, but recently, I've checked fairly often. I've found some interesting things... at least, interesting to me. Just a few quickies:
German Google for wisdom+farewell: Farewell wisdom... yeah, that about fits. This isn't a common one, but I did find it funny. Especially after finding that this pic of me (don't click on it Lance) was found in a Swedish Google search for images of a "drunken idiot."
Then there are the 10-15 hits I get each day for different pics from Harvey's liberty at Pattaya Beach, Thailand. Seems most of them are for this one in particular.
Then of course there are the underwear pics... found here. I usually get a couple of hits each day for either pose.
Sitemeter is also a curiosity inspiring tool... I see different visitors each time I check it. Some are frequent, but never comment. Those that have a referring URL, I'll usually stop in to look around. Others, with the RSS feeds, will go without a visit because I have no clue who it was who stopped by.
And then there are some that just grab your attention. Click the location button of your sitemeter once. You'll get to see visitors from all over the globe. But some will keep coming back, piquing the curiosity once again. I've got one that shows up often... from Norway. Everything about referrer is unkown, except for the location... which is the only reason I know it's the same visitor, or computer. I'd just like to find out a bit about them, since they've been kind enough to visit me. Hopefully I didn't chase them off now.
Anyway, for an easy laugh, check your sitemeter... you'll be easily entertained, and it makes for great blog fodder in a pinch.
October 09, 2005
An Autumn Dance
Today, I took some back roads that I've never been on. Hell, I don't think many people go through those areas. This region is full of gently rolling hills, and these roads were following through some of the little valleys... and along the ridges.
As I topped one rise, I noticed a very large buzzard in the midst of what appeared to be hundreds, if not a thousand, small birds. They were swirling around in large, lazy circles. It was a beautiful dance, and before I knew it, I was almost at a complete stop. Just watching the scene, with fall colors as the backdrop.
Slowly nearing, I realized that the "birds" were just corn leaves, and bits of stalk. It was a very large dust devil, slowly crossing a cornfield. The buzzard riding on the vortex, gliding amongst the debris.
Buzzards are known for being ugly bastards... both in appearance, and in their function. It may be true, but I think it's just a matter of perception. When you get to watch them circling, it's a thing of beauty, ugly ass bastards or not.
I watched as the vortex and buzzard danced their way up the valley... five minutes well spent.
Trying hard to stay fairly positive this day. Reality can sometimes be a cruel and sadistic bitch. In helping a friend, I discover that chances of helping out on a much larger scale are next to nil. Hopes and possiblities are beaten senseless by the dominatrix... there is no safe word. A five hour session has left me crippled, and slightly depressed.
There's a fight coming, but my odds are fast dropping. Time, Reality's right hand man, is against me.
October 06, 2005
Scanning through some offbeat news, I found a few that I thought you may be interested in.
Right now, there seems to be a demand for USED endoscopes.
Four of the devices used to examine the human colon were lifted from a local hospital — at a total cost of nearly $104,000.Yes, it's bizarre, but what if those stolen aren't being sent overseas? What if they're staying right here, being used in some strange fetish. OR, had these endoscopes been used on celebrities?
Authorities say the theft is likely driven by a large overseas market for the devices.
"If you go on the Web and type in 'used endoscopes' or 'used colonoscopes,' you'll find dozens of suppliers selling used equipment," said State College police Detective Ralph Ralston. "It's kind of bizarre."
"See? Their shit really does stink!"
The alligator has some foreign competition at the top of the Everglades food chain, and the results of the struggle are horror-movie messy.If you didn't click on that link, do so... there's a picture. Jimbo may hate gators, but I hate snakes. Especially 13 ft long snakes!
A 13-foot Burmese python recently burst after it apparently tried to swallow a live, six-foot alligator whole, authorities said.
And looking at family matters, there's a creative attempt at patricide (okay... it was an accident), and a story that made me laugh, and pissed me off at the same time.
Two little kids, fighting, have the police step in. (Registration is required...) They were six. Fighting over a pacifier. A PACIFIER!
...It all started Monday afternoon, when a 6-year-old boy dropped a pacifier. Another 6-year-old boy picked it up and refused to give it back, allegedly prompting the first child to deliver a punch. Police said the boy with the pacifier then punched back.Unusual, indeed. In couple of ways. First, unusual is the fact that two young kids had the cops called on them. Second, is the pacifier.
Pawtucket Police Detective Donti Rosciti said one of the mothers called police, saying she wanted the fist fight documented because her son had three minor scratches on his face, and she didn't want his school accusing her of abuse.
A patrolman wrote up a report, then went to the home of the other child to speak with his parents, Rosciti said. He called the case very unusual...
Now, I may seem a bit judgemental. It's true, I haven't hatched any offspring, but if you ask me, this mother should be accused of abuse! Six years old, and your kiddie still needs a pacifier. Frickin' sad. I wonder if he washed it off in his sippy cup. (No offense intended, Eric.) My thought is you're setting your child up for countless beatin's by letting him suck on a binkie for six years.
He'll probably grow up to hate her, if not turn into a mama's boy. I know that's what happened with me....
October 03, 2005
Casting A Stone
Since I hit on the subject of food, and sins, let me cast a stone at myself. I sinned yesterday. Okay, it's probably safe to say that I sin all of the time. Something that happens on a regular basis hardly qualifies as news, but this is.
I threw away food. (hangs head in shame) No, I'm not going on another forty day fast. I ruined my food. That's all.
Here's a tip: be aware while seasoning your food. Keep in mind what you are adding, and how much.
Tabasco is a staple of mine. It is applied frequently, and liberally. My brothers and I demolish the six ounce bottles in a single sitting.
Dave's Insanity sauce is a pleasure. This stuff is nice and toasty warm. A few drops of this stuff applied to your chow adds a bit o flavor, and a lot of kick.
Dave's is NOT Tabasco... I know this. But yesterday I wasn't thinking so well.. I poured Insanity sauce all over my jambalaya, just as I would Tabasco. I realized my mistake, but decided to try it anyway. Farewell taste buds.
I managed to eat about 2/3 of my bowl, and then just had to say "Uncle," No mas, as well as a wide assortment of expletives. I ate and burned in silence. I refused to throw it away. But finally, I couldn't deal anymore. It got tossed.
I'm ashamed, but it's not just because I tossed away food that starving kids might've wanted. No, methinks if you served them this, they be in danger of spontaneous combustion.
I just can't believe I wasted hot sauce...
Cooking In Sin
When cooking, and a liquor or liqueor is called for, one usually uses a lesser name brand. Unless, of course, it's specifically called for... like the Guinness cake recipe (I believe that was at ArmyWifeToddlerMom's). It's an unspoken law... to do otherwise is considered a sin. Sometimes unforgivable. So imagine my horror when I saw that my beloved blog sis, Boudicca, defiantly asks, "Who Cares HOW It Gets There?" While I truly understand what point she was trying to make, I felt ill...
There are a couple of considerations. Price, taste, and, I suppose in Bou's defense, availability.
When I boil brats in beer, I don't use an expensive beer. Kinda pointless. The subtle flavors that set that beer apart from others will be lost. I use MGD or Miller Lite instead. The basic flavor that I'm hoping for will be there. However, when it comes time to consume those brats, I wash them down with a dark bier. Pure heaven.
For her recipe, Bou needs a shot of brandy. Her father, TGOO, mentions that one could use whisky. So she looks at a bottle of Laphroaig (a fine scotch), and considers it's use. TGOO must read her mind, because he tells her NOT to use that. Thankfully, she does not sin... she finds what was originally required. Cheap brandy.
Laphroaig - about $70+ (more in a year when the single malt availability is down)
Cheap brandy - about $10
Brandy is made from fruit juices... most of the time, grapes. It usually has a sweet taste, or a sweet quality. It would enhance the marmalade that she was going to baste her pork tenderloin with.
Whiskies are made from grains... usually the sweet tones are very subtle... excepting Southern or Beam. As Eric pointed out, Laphroaig is a very rich scotch... as they proudly proclaim on their label, "The most richly flavoured of all Scotch whiskies." One of the strongest flavours is it's smokiness. There is a bit of a sweet undertone, but I can't see that smokey flavour going well with the marmalade. I don't think it would work at all, even if it wasn't just plain wrong.
Of course, when it all comes down to it, you use what you have on hand. You might end up using your good stock for a meal if that's all you've got. Personally, I wouldn't do it. The good stuff is too hard for me to come by, the cheap is a close as a quick trip to a certain establishment.
And I haven't even mentioned that 'tis just bad juju to be wasting fine spirits. In some cases, it's a quick trip to Hell. And I'm not trying to be all weird... even many athiests won't use good booze in such manner. They won't say it, but they know, deep down, that the things that aren't really there will suddenly be! It's true!
All this talk has made me hungry and thirsty... I think I'll have myself a bit of jambalaya, some apple pie, and then I'll crack open the Laphroiag. Yeah, already. Jealous?
September 29, 2005
He Glows No More
Santa Claus is hurriedly looking for a replacement for Rudolph. 'Tis true! Rudolph has joined the choir invisible, with a little bit of help from the Danish Air Force. Claus has been compensated, and intends to replace Rudy (now bereft of life) by Christmas.
I wonder if governments can sue the Danes for harming their economies? I mean, parents may not spend any money on presents for the wee ones, using the excuse that, "Santa couldn't find us this year... because DENMARK KILLED RUDOLPH!"
Well, I'd do it if I had kids...
September 27, 2005
Would You Believe...
One of my favorite actors/characters growing up, I learned a bit more about the man. He had been a Marine. A DI, believe it or not.
In 1941, he dropped out of school to join the Marines. In Guadalcanal he survived the deadly blackwater fever and was returned to the States to become a drill instructor, acquiring the clipped delivery that served him well as a comedian.An early influence? Possibly. I do know that my sense of humor has a few roots in his dry delivery.
A drink raised to you, Don... say "hello" to Chesty, wherever you both may be.
September 24, 2005
Since I'm about to be unemployed, I've been entertaining the possiblity taking a trip on the bike. So I went to Mapquest to see about how far it might be, and get a few directions. I got more than I bargained for.
Once I set my destination, a map came up... but it was incomplete. So I tried it again. And again. And also again. Each time, it showed the same thing:
Katrina and Rita have been busy bitches... they've washed away the bottom of the US!
Fearing for my friends, blog siblings, and some of my favorite reads, I zoomed in to see where the carnage ended. There's a fellow blogger who is damn close to the cutoff:
Glad to see that he's okay, as I'm certain that Bloodspite is, and Army Wife, also. But I'm worried to death about the Florida and Georgia bloggers, not to mention my friends in Texas. Hope they haven't all been washed away.
BTW, can you figure out what my considered destination is?
September 21, 2005
Some Kids' Parents
I was reading through the news on Monday, and ran across an article about a parent threatening a coach for benching his son. His boy was five minutes late on the day of the game.
At first, I was really annoyed... I thought about blogging it, but thought to leave it alone. However, listening to some of the parents of kids around here, and members of a certain club, really brings it right back.
What the hell is up with us nowadays? Parents beat up other parents, coaches, and refs. They taunt kids from the other teams, and sometimes their own. If one is to believe all of them, the world is going to be chock full of superstars in the next couple of years. Their kids are the best on the team... can't win without them.
I hate to go back to the olden days when we all had to cross the prairie in covered wagons to play other schools, but I'm going to anyway. Even back then, there was a certain ugliness to organized sports, both relating to school, and little league baseball or football. There were always a few parents convinced that their kid was Gott in the flesh. But their numbers were very few. Most parents would cheer a great play, whether by their kid's team, or the opponents'. Whether their kid, or the kid fighting him for his spot on the team.
There was a respect, and a realization that these were kids... they were just learning. They needed to see good sportsmanship. Not only from their peers, but their parents as well. A parent's kid may not have played much, but an at bat or two, a couple of downs of football, and they were happy. They wished for more, but many understood that their child's skills were developing. It may take five years, or one, but he may bump someone out of a position later on.
Listen to many parents now... their kid is the star of the team. They don't know why the coach doesn't play them more... their kid would gladly bring himself down off the cross to save the game, then get back on it to save man's soul. If the game is lost, and their child didn't play the whole game, it's the coach's fault.
They get ugly, so I'm going to reply ugly. Childish, yes, but very satisfying.
Have you ever thought, Mr./Mrs. Booster Club member, that your kid just plain SUCKS? The little tub of goo isn't the starting quarterback because he can't move! He's only a pinch hitter because he fields the ball like a sloth! She's not playing basketball regularly because she couldn't guard a trash can!
No... I didn't think you'd ever consider it. Your little Jeebus Jrs. have the skills... you know. They have to have such superior skills because you need to relive your life through them. Everything you couldn't be, they will be. You say so.
Being a coach of a school team has to be the worst/best job out there. It's good because you can look back and see how you've helped to develop the kids, as both people and athletes.
But it's gotta be hard as hell because you have to be a politician. You need to play the good kids and win, so you can get to state, and earn some extra money for your school's program. At the same time, you have to keep in mind that you have to try to play every player, at one point or another, to keep them from being crushed... dejected.
And then, of course, there's the loudmouth parents, who's numbers seem to grow each year. It's too bad that a coach can't just pop an idiot parent in the teeth to shut them up. Win, and you're not so bad... but you still should have played their kid. Lose, and you're buried in an avalanche of criticism. And try to instill and enforce a little discipline? Hah.
I know you shouldn't really go off about something unless you've got a way to improve things, but I just get fed up with listening to this crap. How do we make it better? I really feel that it's too late. How positive is that?
I hope to gott that by the time I've got a bunch of little ones running around, I haven't turned into one of those I hate.
They'll build a bridge high,
For a rat of the trees,
In hopes to save lives
(Right now there's just three).
Spending almost two g's
On said cable span.
Hoping no squirrels be
By cars over ran.
"Some people in the town think this is nonsense and we should be spending money on people rather than squirrels ... but it's not," insisted the mayor.
No, it's nuts.
September 20, 2005
Dating Time Is Here
Okay, she didn't name any potential dates, but that's because she knows I'm bad with crowds... I don't want to deal with the media at this moment.
September 17, 2005
My company is sending a truck down to NOLA. The owner himself is driving the truck, followed by the plant manager and his mobile home. They'll be down there for about a week before heading back. I first thought this was a great idea.
The trip has been organized through the owner's church, and they sent out a letter asking for donations. Food, water, and tools for cleanup were the priorities. If food or water weren't donated in cases, they would be sent to a local food pantry. Monetary donations were to be made out to the church's Katrina Fund.
This is where I became uneasy... it's a Methodist church. And they're asking for money. Now, there is no way in hell that I'm going to support a group of religious tweakers. Begging for money to support their habit! They should be ashamed!
Of course, once I vocalized this, it was immediately pointed out that the Methodist denomination has nothing to do with methamphetamine. Not a thing. "No? What about methadone?" No. Turns out the "meth" in Methodist has nothing to do with drugs at all.
Huh... learn something new everyday. ;)
September 16, 2005
They are using chickens as a source of bio-diesel. Okay, more accurately, chicken fat is being used. So theoretically, cats could be used... probably should be used.
Roving gangs of feline vandals run rampant. It's time to thin them out. A great use for all those cats I see lying alongside the road. "Using bio-diesel to make more... roadkill." But you probably couldn't get a whole lot of fat from a feral cat. May need to use housecats.
Heheh... I just had a great idea for a blog carnival: Carnival of the Ex-Cats!
Realistically, why would you have to limit your fuel sources? Sure, cats would be great fuel... they work great on a campfire*. But why just use cats or chickens? Ever heard of "liposuction"? You could fuel your own car!
Urine batteries, and fat fueled cars... what a time to be alive.
*This was a joke. Only a joke. They usually get away before I can get them lit.
H/T to Samantha Burns.
October 03, 2004
Because I Have To Know
Stopped into the pub last night, and had some very intellectual conversation. Somehow, we got onto the subject of vomiting(hurling, yakking, evicting lunch, stomachus eruptus, vomitosis....) and wretching. I don't know how this subject comes up (hahaha), but it's always one of my favorites.
Someone mentioned something about coughing up a bad hairball. So of course, this gets me to wondering: what exactly is a "bad" hairball? So I ask. Blank looks. And a couple smirks (they know my mind kicked over a gear).
Do the bad hairballs lose their distinctive "ball" shape on contact with the floor? Is there a defect in the manufacturing of said hairball? (There were some other observations, but I've lost them)
Usually, important questions like these will spark some lively discussion, but not last night. At least not until I asked if "bad" hairballs run around with little knives, threatening all of the good hairballs, and stealing their hairball possessions. Bad hairballs are the ones who sell tiny little baggies of "stuff" to young hairballs. Believe it or not, I got a record amount of eyerolls. But nobody could tell me:
What is a bad hairball?