Everything sucks.

Don’t believe me? Read this.

http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20080621/ap_on_re_us/out_of_control

A third of the country is underwater and tomatoes will make you vomit your own poop. Man, it’s high-time to get the hell out of here.

(Voice of Satan): “You can’t afford to fill your gas tank, and you will sit for days at the airport with not so much as a bottle of water, because security will take it away from you. But go ahead and try to leave. Kill time by shopping at that shitty overpriced bookstore that only sells People magazines and Tony Robbins motivational cassettes. Hungry? Have a six-dollar muffin! There is no escape! Bwahahahahahaha!”

I put a gallon of gas in the car last week. Payday was still 10 days away so I only had five bucks. As I went to put the gas cap back on, I accidentally made eye contact with another guy who was fueling up.

“This used to be a good place to buy gas,” he sighed. We exchanged a look that’s usually reserved for the funeral of a distant relative — dejected resignation. “It’s really sad, but what are you going to do?”

You know that bumper sticker, “Grass, Gas, or Ass. No One Rides For Free”? You know things have gotten bad when you’re sitting behind that guy in traffic and instead of thinking, “douchebag,” you’re thinking, “Well, that makes sense. What do his friends expect? That he’s going to just drive them all over town willy nilly? Buncha freeloaders.”

Eight years ago, when that guy went to pick up his date, the girl would receive a long lecture from her father on the order of, “I don’t want you seeing that boy. He’s no good. He has no respect for anybody, and he obviously doesn’t respect you.”

Now the girl’s dad’s saying, “That kid has a good head on his shoulders. Excellent business sense. I think he’s a keeper. See if you can talk him down to a handy. He’s going places.”

One of those ginormous monster SUVs cut me off in traffic the other day, setting off one of the most artistic, eloquent, and deeply-rooted-in-high-school-economics barrages of obscenity I’ve ever mustered. The gist was something like, “You selfish fucker! It’s bad enough you can’t use your turn signal, but you’re driving one of those unnecessary, wasteful machines that’s increasing the demand and lowering the supply, thus driving up the price! Cocksucker!”

Then I saw the “Iraq veteran” sticker on his bumper and shrugged. “Well, at least he fought for it.”

I think Iraqi war veterans should get free gas for life and it should be paid for out of the personal bank accounts of key Bush administration members.

I suppose the upcoming election should make me hopeful, but none of the candidates are using the words “George W. Bush” and “guillotine” in the same sentence yet.

(Note to Secret Service: I’M ONLY KIDDING! I have deep philosophical convictions against killing people, whether the killing is legally sanctioned by the fall of a gavel or otherwise. It’s just that “guillotine” was less ambiguous than “the stocks” because stocks can refer to those things sold on Wall Street, which a presidential candidate might actually mention, but what I really would have meant are those two boards where you put the prisoner’s head and hands through and lock him in, so the general public has the opportunity to walk by and shout curses at him, throw rotten eggs and salmonella tomatoes, or give him a good swift kick in the ass. That would be more fun anyway, come to think of it. Right there on the National Mall, in the shadow of the Washington Monument, or maybe over by the reflecting pool near the Vietnam War Memorial. Poetic, indeed, but see how many more words that took? Suffice it to say, if that happened I’d sit on the tarmac for up to a full week to take my vacation to D.C. Besides, they have pandas at the National Zoo, and my daughter would just love that. The point is, I do NOT actually wish the president death or even permanent disablement. I just want to give him a titty twister.)

Even when Bush leaves office it won’t be the last we’ve heard of him. Traditionally, every president gets his memoir published. It’s just too bad the title, “If I Did It, Here’s What Happened,” is already taken.

Sorry if all that sounds bitter. I’m trying to look at the bright side of it all, and here’s what I’ve come up with:

Four dollars a gallon is just a free-market solution to global warming. Recent reports my father-in-law claimed to have heard on the news show that Americans have collectively reduced their travel by some 40 billion miles.

Come back, polar bears! Everything’s going to work out!

Why hasn’t the White House and Fox News started sharing this wonderful new perspective on things? Why isn’t there a sign on every gas pump explaining this, like the signs at IKEA that explain that they only hire a handful of unhelpful assholes so they can keep prices low?

My guess is for the neo-cons and oil companies to take on that perspective, they’d have to acknowledge that global warming exists.

Here’s another ray of optimism for you: I wouldn’t be surprised to find out people are starting to find their proverbial last straw broken. For a lot of people, it’s starting to feel like they’re just going to work to buy gas so they can go back to work. Once that feeling catches on and spreads like a virus, people will quit going, and when their boss calls to see where they are, the reasons are going to sound absurd.

Like, out of the almost 300 million people living in America today, at least one guy really liked tomatoes. Like, that was his way of treating himself for working so hard — every Sunday, he would sit down with a ripe, red, round, succulent, juicy tomato and he would savor it. It wasn’t much, but it was the thing that kept him going.

And a couple weeks ago he went to the store and, “What the fuck do you mean there’s no tomatoes today!? Why do I even bother! Fuck it! I’m staying home! You got any tomato seeds?”

And after three days of no one at the office hearing from him, his boss called.

“Oh, no. I’m fine. I just decided to stay home and work in my garden. Yeah, forever. Should be a pretty good crop. All organic. Hey listen, do you have any butter you can trade me? I’ve fallen way behind in my churning.”

And that’s how we’ll all become Amish again, but we’ll be the most technologically advanced Amish people the world has ever seen. You’ll spend four hours churning butter to take to the guy who shod your mule, but before you ride your bicycle all the way over there, you’ll text him to make sure he’s home.

That actually excites me — like we’ll renew our vows with ole Mother Earth.

(This is why you don’t mix metaphors, kids. See that last sentence, I have us married to our mother. Yuck.)

I’m taking up a couple new hobbies in preparation for this new technoprimitive society. Today, I started my garden. For now, it is but a lonely, potted jalapeño pepper plant, but I have dreams of expanding so it takes up my whole back yard and has a miniature golf course through the middle of it, so I can pick and play.

If only I hadn’t started so late in the season.

Also, I intend to start practicing with a boomerang so I can hunt small game. Why not a rifle? Because in a pinch, I don’t know how to make bullets. But I have a pretty good idea how to make sandpaper. Plus, I’m pretty sure the game warden’s not checking for boomerang hunting licenses. I’ll have to check, but I’m pretty sure the guy at Cabela’s is going to answer me with a weird look when I ask to buy one. So there’s, like, $20 I just saved, which will keep me going back to work for half a week.

Todd Merriman is a standup comedian. He lives just outside Austin, TX, with his daughter Ava and his babymama Erin. Todd will be opening for Brian Posehn (Just Shoot Me, Mr. Show, Comedians of Comedy) at Cap City Comedy Club in Austin, TX, on Aug. 7, 8 and 9. Call (512) 467-2333 for details.

Oops, I forgot to assign the correct author on this. This is Casey’s story, not mine. Corrected now.

You know it’s a good party when everyone shows up to work the next day and nobody except the base commander really knows what happened.

This was one of those times.

The Air Force had determined my Dad had spent enough time at Misawa AFB, Japan, and gave orders for him and our family to return stateside. As usual, there was the attached, unspoken order that my father would throw a party for everyone he served with on base.

Turns out that this was quite a few people.

So the night of the party comes around, and people start showing up.

And then more people.

And then even MORE people.

At 11pm, the party began running low on beer, so people started raiding the liquor cabinets. By midnight, that was all gone as well.

But the party wasn’t over, as nobody wanted to go home. So someone suggested they find more alcohol. But who would accept a bunch of drunks at 1am into their home?

Luckily, as the drunks were piling into their cars, my older brother, who was fifteen at the time, was able to kick them out of the driver’s seat and take over. So a bunch of drunks, doing 25mph make it from one side of the base to the other side where the officers lived. Then everyone unloads, and staggers up to the lawn of one house, sitting off by itself.

They begin to sing the little white mouse song. Those that still had beers in their hands rattled and tapped them accordingly.

After they were done, the front porch light comes on, and out steps a man. An older man. A man whom I remember my father once introducing as THE Base Colonel.

He stares everyone down, sweeping from left to right and back at the faces being presented to him.

He then smiles, and invites them all in for shots.

After another hour of doing shots with the highest ranking officer on base, it was determined that the XO should join in on the fun.

So they stagger through the woods behind the base colonel’s home, by this point us kids are holding the majority of the party goers up simply so they can walk, and arrive at the front porch of the XO. They begin singing the little white mouse. The XO steps out side, and is about to berate everyone, when he sees the Colonel.

He then invites everyone in, reluctantly.

After almost knocking over their fish tank, and several book shelves, it was determined that it was time to call it a night, and everyone loaded up back into their cars and went home.

The next day, my Dad asked us what happened. He didn’t believe us when we told him.
In fact, he didn’t believe us until the XO asked him to never, ever bring drunk people to serenade his house at 3am again.

Ever.

One day, back when I was still enlisted, I returned from leave to discover a new NCO in our office. For purposes of this site, I will call him SSG Figurine.

The first thing I noticed is about him is that he sat apart from all of the other soldiers in the room, and just kind of watched us. Is was kind of disconcerting. Occasionally, he would jot something down in a notebook. But even when he was writing, his attention would remain on us as we went about our work.

It was like he was the Jane Goodall of PSYOP troopers. Which, when you consider,the mentality of the average soldier, is a surprisingly good analogy.

So after a few days of this, I started asking questions. What’s the deal with the new guy? Does he actually do anything? Why is he taking notes on us?

Nobody had any real idea. Officially, he was a new senior illustrator for the Product Development Detachment that I worked in. But no-one ever saw him go near a computer, or draw anything. Rumors where beginning to circulate that he was a CID plant. (For non-Army that’s Criminal Investigation. Internal affairs for the Army. Speculation began to spread about who he was investigating, and for what.

If anyone attempted to speak directly with SSG Figurine he would be polite, but would pretty evade or ignore any questions about his previous units, or anything related to our job. And no one was allowed anywhere near his notebook.

After about a week of this he took to wandering around the office. He’d look over your shoulder while you were working, and ask odd questions. Sometimes he’d take notes off of what you told him.

“What are you working on today Specialist?”

“I’m making a poster for the anti-mine campaign in Mozambique.”

“I see.” scribble “And why are you using that photograph?”

“Ummm…because it’s a picture of the kind of landmine that is being used over there.”

“I see” scribble scribble “So what do you think about SGT German?”

“What? The guy in Headquarters?”

“Yeah him.” scribble

“Ummm he’s okay I guess. Why are you writing this down?”

“No reason. Just mind your own business Specialist.” scribble scribble

So as you can imagine after about a month everybody was really skitish about him. Some people were downright terrified of him.

And right when everybody was at their most paranoid, there was some kind of meeting with all of the E-5’s on up, at company headquarters. And SSG Figurines strange conduct was brought up, along the idea that he was a CID plant.

“Oh, I’m not CID” he revealed. “I was just bored, and had a notebook.”

Since the last IT was so popular, and because I got sent more, here’s another bunch of things that IT personnel should probably not do. If this keeps up I’ll have to add a whole new category for these.

(Submitted by Andrew McColl)

• Must not conceal prawns in the bosses office pot plant.
• Shouldn’t tell the Exec Dean that I think the boss is off playing golf.
• Not a good idea to commit the entire unit to a new project whilst pretending to be the boss at the Tech-Contacts Christmas lunch, even if he would.
• Shouldn’t move all of my Colleagues office furniture 2 inches to the left whilst they’re on leave.
• Then blame the cleaners for it.
• Should not paint the office of colleagues a soothing shade of pink whilst they’re away.
• I should not sell office furniture that is the property of the university, even if I am a graduate.
• Throwing equipment down the stairs because it “Shits Me” is not an acceptable support policy.
• Nor is throwing staff members down the stairs because they are old and irritating.
• Nor is throwing colleagues down the stairs because they are whiney bitches.
• If I’m going to have a fridge in my office I must clean it, at least once.
• Using Ratsak to prevent the post grads from stealing my milk is not permitted.
• Calling the Vice Chancellor “Dazza” probably isn’t a good idea.
• Nuding up and then climbing Winthrop Tower with a Deer rifle would be considered bad form.
• As is releasing crocodiles in the Japanese reflecting pond, even baby ones.
• Super-gluing the bosses office door lock will not stop him coming to work.
• Taking all but one of the screws out of the bosses desk is funny, but dangerous.
• Downloading porn using the bosses IP address will probably get me fired.
• Telling my office mates girlfriend about his casual bonk isn’t a great idea.
• Asking for a pay rise because I’m the only one that does “any fucking work ’round here” doesn’t show team spirit.
• Asking the Dean what she does around here may be a “career defining moment”.
• Selling the Tertiary Entrance Italian exam for 50 bucks a pop will probably get me sent to jail.
• Trolling the Students accounts for Porn may not be a breach of their terms of use but its still inappropriate.
• Especially if I keep the porn.
• Asking students to “prove it” when they say they’ll do anything if I’ll help them is not appropriate.
• Nor is dropping the Windows 95 Install CDs down a lift shaft, no matter how shit it is.
• Dropping PCs in puddles, even accidentally, is not a great idea.
• Submitting a letter of resignation on the bosses behalf will probably get me fired. Unless I can stop HR calling him for four weeks.
• Taking unattended baggage onto Riley oval and shooting it just in case it’s a bomb is not university policy.
• Suggesting that “greasing my palm” will get things done quicker is not appropriate.
• Nor is pointing out that six-packs are the way to my heart especially after taking 4 days to get to the job.
• Mapping the Organization Free zones within the Faculty probably isn’t a great idea.
• Putting stones inside the boss’s hubcaps could be very amusing until it became a career defining moment.
• Explaining to the Marketing Officer the role of marketing people according to the Dilbertverse is tactless.
• As is suggesting to the Executive Officer that they “Sit over there and look decorative” whilst I fix their computer.
• Suggesting that Admin. Staff should know how to use a computer before being hired is not in keeping with the Universities diversity policy.
• Probably shouldn’t call the Chair of the Academic Board “our Den”.
• Suggesting that clients call me back “when they have a clue” is not appropriate.
• Placing a Paypal logo on my email will get me fired. I am apparently already well paid.
• Screaming “You go to hell, you go to hell and you die” at colleagues may not be seen as amusing.
• Using the trouble ticket system to assign all the Nigerian email spam to the Lab Supervisor won’t win me any friends.
• Sharpening the edge of my Logitech cordless keyboard and using it to behead the male peacock will get me in trouble with the RSPCA, the Faculty and no doubt other fucking tree hugging hippy freaks.
• Throwing staff members down the stairs would not serve as an example to others.
• Announcing “Word” after everything the boss says won’t endear me to him.
• Having an empty wine rack in my office, as a hint, is not appropriate.
• Asking if someone has kept the box that their computer came in is never the right response.
• Claiming I’m too drunk to come and fix someone’s computer will not lead to a long term career path.
• As will claiming “I’m too hung over to care”.
• As will suggesting they find someone who “Gives a Fuck.”
• A “Free Coke” bottle cap does not entitle me take my free coke from the entrails of a vending machine, with a fire axe.
• Throwing empty stubbies at people as they walk past my office door is not appropriate, especially before the sun is over the yard arm.
• Using my computer trolley as a skateboard is a breach of Worksafe WA policy.
• “Kill everyone in the room.” Is an unfortunate turn of phrase to use when instructing casual staff / work experience kids.
• Encouraging students to help me tilt the vending machines to obtain “Free Stuff” is not acceptable behavior for UWA staff members.
• Nor is dropping vending machines on students, even the really irritating ones.
• Ripping the hard drive from a laptop and then announcing that it will “trouble you no more” Zen Master style probably won’t generate a lot of repeat business.
• Leaving shopping trolleys in the boss’s office is bloody funny. But wrong.
• Being seriously hung over on a Tuesday is not in keeping with the UWA Staff ethos. Even if I was drinking to try and forget the previous Monday.
• I am not allowed to barricade myself into my office. Even if the rest of the unit has already done so in theirs.
• Playing Bullshit Bingo in the Monday morning meeting, whilst amusing and team spirit building will not endear me to the boss.
• Kicking other IT staff in the testicles until they bring back my Nortons CD may not be prudent.
• Shouldn’t greet new staff with, “Welcome to the meat-grinder, Cherry.”
• I should not try to persuade my colleagues to kill our supervisor because we have an “Outbreak Scenario”
• Asking my colleague when he’s going to do some work this year is not conducive to good workplace relations.
• Nor is telling my customers that I don’t know anything about PCs and advising that they’ll have to speak to the aforementioned colleague.
• Apparently its wrong to tell Central Office that they’re paying a shit load for me and that they shouldn’t waste my time.

Claymation Zombies!

As an American, one thing I have gotten used to is the fact that people in England always want to copy us. They started by copying our democratic system of government, and then moved on to TV shows. Soon programs like The Weakest Link, The Office, and Dr. Who had been seized, and translated out of their native tongue and into what they like to call “The Queens English”. Its just like our English, except that its spelled funny, they cuss wrong, and use proper grammar.

Well now they’ve gone an Anglo-morphed my list.

Here is the result, as transcribed by one of their medics.

(Submitted by Stitch)

1. Not allowed to phone out for pizza while on exercise.
2. Not allowed to sell moonshine.
3. Not allowed to feign bleeding during a drugs test.
4. My corps badge is the Rod of Aesclepius, not “the SnakeStick.”
5. Not allowed to run a book on racing the very same cockroaches we don’t officially have!
6. Not allowed to invent medical conditions.
7. Not allowed to sneak back in under the barbed wire at three in the morning.
8. Not allowed to start a gay bar on the camp. This applies in conjunction with #2
9. If I am gonna be mistaken for a guy, must not get caught “sneaking” into the women’s accommodation.
10. See 9: When caught, “I’m a lesbian trapped in a man’s body” is not a reasonable defence.
11. Not allowed a mohawk.
12. Not authorized to issue “beer tokens.”
13. Not mine: Not allowed to head-butt vending machines, even if it did steal a pound.
14. Not allowed to play “human bowling.”
15. Medicine balls are not appropriate equipment for playing dodgeball.
16. A live adder is not appropriate equipment for playing dodgeball.
17. Not mine: Must not leave a still running while away on exercise…BOOM!
18. “How the fuck do you even tie your shoes?” is not motivational.
19. Not allowed to get in fights in town.
20. Not allowed to practice medicine “off the books.”
21. If your disease sounds strange and Stitch diagnosed it you’re probably being had! (See Skippy #213)
22. Not allowed to play companies off one another.
23. Not authorized to administer “mob justice.”
24. See 23: Even for something sickening.
25. Not authorized to administer military discipline.
26. Not authorized to promote teddy bears above my own rank.
27. Not allowed to leave a teddy bear on sentry.
28. Must not show up to a staff parade dressed as a ninja turtle.
29. Must not show up to a staff parade dressed as a drag queen.
30. Must not show up to a staff parade in nothing but my boots and a hat.
31. Must not sneak prostitutes onto the base.
32. Rubbing the inside of a respirator with Deep Heat is evil.
33. Rubbing my face with baking soda before entering the respirator test chamber is cheating!
34. Not mine: Must not receive fellatio from a resuscitation doll.
35. Mine: Must not be the first person to train on said doll.
36. Not allowed to get anything pierced.
37. Not allowed a facial tattoo.
38. APC’s are not for taking a girlfriend in.
39. The night medic should refrain from turning drinks “Irish”, even if she’s freezing her arse off!
40. Not allowed to do “funny shit” with tritium paint.

Also, I like the word Anglo-morph. Anglo-morph sounds like it should be a monster that Godzilla would fight. A giant very polite city crushing monstrosity, with bad teeth. It’s probably looking for tea. I hear they like tea.

Like a 300 foot tall Eddie Izzard with atomic fire breath.

Um, I’ll stop now.

So the other day my wife sent me the following link: NSFW

Go ahead an take a look, I’ll wait.

Ready? Good.

Now this nice lady has gone and made a list of the things that she doesn’t like to see in porn. And since I kind of have a thing about lists, I thought I would help her out, by making my own list.

Things That Skippy Doesn’t Want To See In Porn

1. Marilyn Monroe (Before you say anything, bear in mind she’s been dead for around thirty years)
2. Andy Dick
3. Any of the Muppets
4. Weasels
5. A Pterodactyl
6. Clowns (Even though you could get 20 of them in the back seat of a tiny car)
7. Daleks
8. My Grandparents
9. Any form of Lol-speak
10. Limericks, iambic pentameter, or haiku
11. Non-Euclidean Geometry
12. Product Placements
13. Fan-fic
14. Subliminal Advertising
15. Festive citrus, a female wash pot, or females sharing a cup