Screed

If you’re looking for serious and informative stuff, scroll on down past this post. Consider yourself warned.

I’m sitting here at work in the remnants of a Nyquil-induced fog, typing this as I wait for my tea (Earl Grey – and no, I don’t watch fucking Star Trek) to finish brewing. My wife felt properly and rightfully guilty about leaving me home alone when I got sick, so I’ve invoked the “Manly Right of Whining”, and am taking full advantage of the situation. I’m at work because my boss isn’t. She’s in training all day, and I can’t see wasting a perfectly good sick day actually being sick when I don’t have to. Besides, for work-related reasons I won’t go into here, nobody is allowed to get sick or take vacation this August.

So I shall ramble. If you’ve gotten this far, you saw the first line about ‘serious and informative stuff’, which means that I have stuff ready to post ahead of time. It’s true! I have several things in-progress at any one time. Which means two things: One, I respect the folks who visit my blog and care about being (or at least attempting to be) worth your time. Unlike this idiot, who wanders from gimmick (scabby biscuit) to gimmick (Dear Mushy), desperately trying to hide the fact that he’s got nothing to say, albeit in an entertaining way.

…and Two: because... I forget now. Never mind.


Q: What’s the difference between a porcupine and a luxury car?

A: The porcupine has it’s pricks on the outside.


I was reminded of this yesterday on the commute home. Stuck in bumper-to-bumper traffic behind some clown in a Lincoln, who insisted on keeping two car lengths behind the car in front of him, which meant a constant stream of cars kept merging into the space in front of him, so he kept braking to maintain his distance, ad infinitum…

Asshole.

The ultimate commuter car is a tank. I want one. Since I can’t afford one, I’m considering the mounting of a couple of full-scale model Sidewinder Missiles on my truck. One facing forward, and one facing back. I shall redefine the term: aggressive driver.

On the way to work this morning I saw the first eruption of political vote-for-me signs. Soon they’ll be spreading like herpes across the landscape. People with certain names shouldn’t run for office. This particular one read “Vote for Puller”. Imagine that, a politician who’s offering a reacharound. That’s almost painfully honest, but I bet he’s still lying.

A woman at work was telling me that her kid brought home two baby chicks at the end of school. They were class pets or something. I asked her if she was going to fatten ‘em up for Christmas dinner. She said she couldn’t because her kid was already too attached to them. I suggested naming them “Original” and “Extra Crispy”. That would give the kid a clue about what chickens are for.

John went to a Halloween party last year as a Bukakke star. Or was that Kabuki? Either way, it involved way too much white makeup.

Do like I do, tie a string around your waist and go as the Equator. Unless you go to Mike and Sue’s this year, because I did it last year and that would be gauche.

Here’s a costume idea for Paul. Yeah, it’s pointless. Isn’t that kinda the idea? (I stole the link from here)

Bill, is that you? Sick bastard. Funny, but sick.

But is it too early to think about Halloween? It’s still August, for pete’s sake. Not if you've decided, like I have, to live life on “department store” time. So now is when I start dealing with Halloween, next week I’ll get into Thanksgiving, and right around Labor Day I’ll begin with the Christmas stuff. Ho fucking Ho. In fact, I may just say screw the whole timing thing and leave my holiday decorations up all year round, like some clueless fucks in my neighborhood. If this were my universe, the blinking light-encrusted elf would fall from the roof into the kiddie pool and electrocute his lazy ass while he lounges in it trying to beat the summer heat.

And finally (“about time”, shut up Tim), to Stevie: Yes, I want one of those hats. I’ve gone to their site, and they don’t offer them for sale dammit. For those too lazy to click on the link, it’s a company that manufactures artificial insemination supplies and sells breeding semen. Tell me you wouldn’t want one of those (hat, not semen), just for the entertainment value. And how does Stevie know about these?

A gentleman never tattles on a lady, so there.

Is it time to go home yet?