Well I thought that sending everyone to some guys blog to leave comments would be funny. But he evidently shut comments off.
So that was just a waste of time. Sorry about that.
Next time I’ll check to see if the comments are turned on before I send everyone running amok into someone else’s site.
It’s been a while since I last posted anything. I’d like to give you all a good reason, but I just don’t have one. Football season is starting, and keeping up with the NFL and Fantasy Football has kept me busy.
I have various little witty sayings that I have picked up over the years, such as when someone drops something I’ll say, “Just throw that anywhere.” Or when I have a situation handled and someone mentions to me to be prepared to handle said situation I’ll say: “I’m on it, like flies to the things flies fly to.”
One of my sayings when leaving to go somewhere is “Let’s head out like a fetus.”
My 9 year old son came up with one the other day that had me in stitches (on the inside)
We were going into my brother’s house and my son, the great mimic that he is, said “let’s head out like a fetus”, I explained to him that we were heading in, so that saying wasn’t accurate, so without missing a beat he says, “we’ll then, let’s head in like a gay man.”
Here’s a few new one’s that I’ve added to my stand-up routine,
1. I can’t do the two guy one girl three-way. I’m always afraid of crossing swords, and that’s just a little too gay for me. So, much to my chagrin, I’ve realized that means no more Letter “H-ing” midgets, the dicks still touch somewhere in the middle.
2. Did you know that every year there are over a million battered women in the United States? And to think, I’ve been eating mine plain all this time.
3. I have this cousin who is always in trouble with the law. He had to get a waiver to even enlist in the military, then was thrown out in AIT for pissing hot. I see him every Christmas and at family reunions (when he’s not incarcerated or I’m not deployed). Every time I see him he has a new scheme or less than savory money-making endeavor that he is trying out. This last family reunion he shows up with a bunch of new tattoos, and tells me that he’s tattooing for a living now, and working part time for a loan shark. As he’s leaving the reunion I say, “bye, and stay out of trouble, and if you can’t stay out of trouble I have a great idea for your next tattoo: “HIV Positive” right above your asshole, might help you out next time you’re in the joint”.
So I spotted this quote from a site that is linked to here.
So what I want everyone to do is to go to his site and leave a comment.
Here are several things, that may be of interest, since I have not posted much lately, and am so tired, that I have no clue if any of it is interesting or entertaining, so I am loading up the blog shotgun and hopefully I’ll hit something.
We’ll start with where I have been.
Some of you may be wondering where the hell I have been. I’ll keep the answer/excuse short.
For the last couple months I have been working as a security guard for a local outdoor mall, in Austin, Texas, in the summer, during a drought and record heat, on various schedules that change from day to day. It is draining to say the least. It’s an easy job, but draining.
I also just started a new job doing phone support, and have been talking to local haunted houses, trying to decide which one I will work at.
The woman and I have also been looking for a place to move to, so that has eaten most of the spare time. We have to get out of this apartment. We have had a toilet that will randomly overflow for a couple of years now, in spite of numerous attempts by the landlord to get it fixed. But worst of all, are the upstairs neighbors.
The Upstairs Neighbors
They are a family of four; Dad, extremely large mom, extremely large teen aged daughter, and a three or four year old daughter. They are the noisiest people I have ever lived under. I am not sure they ever sleep, and if they do it is for about thirty minutes at an hour or so after dawn.
When they first moved in, they moved in after midnight as the dad had a night job and it was the only time they could do it. Sure it was annoying, but I understand. You got to move when you can move. But it seemed to take them a long time to move in. Somehow they were always banging things, dropping things, sliding things, and generally stomping around, and it has gone on for about two years.
I like to compare them to klutzes that enjoy rearranging their extensive bowling ball collection.
And you can hear every step they take. I am convinced they are part sasquatch, and I have almost injured myself several times when speaking to them in person, by trying to keep from saying, “gooney goo goo” to them. (Sorry for those of you that don’t get the reference, just watch this clip from “Raw” by Eddie Murphy and you will understand).
Fortunately, they are gone now, as the apartment management made them move to another apartment after years of complaints from us. We did not want to make them move, we just wanted them to settle down enough so we would not have to worry about our ceiling caving in. They even told us that the apartment management had informed them that if there was one more complaint they would make them move. So they came to talk to us.
We discussed the noise, how much of it, and how often. I even told them it sounded like they never stopped moving in, and even dropped the bowling ball collection analogy too. They tried to say that it was the little girl. Which I might buy, but the noise is all day, first thing in the morning and late into the evening, often til two or three AM that all this noise happened. So, I doubt it was all the toddler.
As they were leaving, my girlfriend overheard the mother tell the three or four year old that this was all her fault.
But they said they would stop, and they did. For one day.
We put up with the noise, not wanting to get them kicked out. So we resorted to the classic, banging on the walls and pounding the ceiling with a stick. All this did was irritate them and they would pound back.
Even so, we were not going to say anything, until they did something so profoundly stupid, we had to say something.
One day they were on a real tear, upstairs, and I banged on the ceiling, matching them, thump for thump. Then I get a knock on my door. It wasn’t the neighbors, but the Sheriff. He said that they had complained about the banging on the ceiling. I told him, that I was trying to get them to shut up, and invited him in for a listen, since they did not have the sense to settle down after calling the cops for my noise. He agreed with me and went and spoke to them about it, but that was the last straw, I wrote the apartment management and told them they needed to go.
Anyways they are gone, and I am working at another job, back on the phones doing support, and working security on the weekends. But at least I am getting a tad more sleep.
All this is why I have not written in a while as I am exhausted.
Oh well, on with the post I wanted to write.
They’ll Let Anyone Drive a School Bus.
While at work, I was talking to my best friend from childhood on the phone and we discussed an event that we still have a hard time believing actually happened.
When we were in middle school, the bus driver seemed to not like me much. I do not remember what asshatery I had done to deserve it, but at one point, he decided that I would have to sit in the front seat of the bus for the rest of the school year.
His name was Mr. Johns. Mr. Johns was a large man who should have his picture in the dictionary next to the word, “sweaty.” Sitting that close to him was not exactly pleasant on the olfactory senses, if you catch my drift. If not, I am sure there is still some of that odor drifting around somewhere, and eventually you may encounter it.
One day, my best friend, Ray, is sitting up front with me, as the bus traveled down the road towards school. At one point, Mr. Johns, turns to me, and says, “Mike, I want to show you something, so pay attention.”
“See that? That’s the emergency break. Let me show you how it works.”
He then pulled the brake and the bus came to an almost immediate stop from the thirty or forty miles an hour we had been doing. There were books everywhere, and I think everyone on the bus ended up flipping over their seats and landing in the seat in front of them.
It seemed weird, maybe even a bit crazy.
Then Mr. Johns continued, “That’s what I want you to do if something ever happens to me while driving this bus, like if I get shot or something. You stop the bus and let everyone out.”
He then removed the brake and took us to school.
For the last twenty five or so years since, Ray and I have yet to figure out what the hell that was all about. The next school year, we had a different bus driver. We have no clue what happened to Mr. Johns, but we assumed he got shot, or maybe had a heart attack from all the weight and the sweating he did. More than likely, he just got a job somewhere else, but we prefer to think he got shot.
We have no idea why someone would shoot him, but at least knowing that someone was really after him, makes the story make a bit more sense. Although, we still can’t figure out what he did, and who he pissed off so much that he didn’t even feel safe while driving a bus load of children around.
Another thing that has come up at work, is my new favorite song, that I have turned my coworkers on to.
My New Favorite Song
The video is ok, but it is the song I love, it is just catchy and wrong in all the right ways.
“Lotion” by the Greens Keepers
And finally, one other piece of awesomeness that I just could not leave out.
Click Here For Awesomeness
So one of my favorite authors decided to voice his opinions on a social issue that has been thrust into the spotlight for the past several years.
Orson Scott Card on gay marriage.
He treats this issue with all of the care, dignity, and respect that you would expect from one of the more skilled authors currently alive today.
And by care, dignity, and respect I mean he poured a giant bucket of crazy all over a page. And then danced around it widdershins. Naked, while covered in blue paint.
I’m going to address some of his more, for lack of a better word, fanciful claims.
He claims that this signals the end of democracy, that by ruling in favor of gay marriage the courts are over-ruling popular vote.
California and Massachusetts had ruling that anti-gay marriage laws violated their state constitutions. Neither state has been able to get an amendment through to change the constitution to ban such marriage. Sounds to me like this “majority” doesn’t mind gay marriage so much.
He also goes on to claim that it’s absurd for the definition of marriage to be changed, when it has historically meant one thing only throughout human history. Which is true.
Unless you count the Middle East. And Asia. And North America before the Europeans showed up. Or you know, the Mormons.
Because I’m sure no one could find any way that the Mormon’s marriages have worked differently than the majority of society, at any point in their history.
(BTW Mr. Card is a Mormon, for the record.)
He then goes on to bring up the slippery slope argument, by showing how bad legalized abortion has turned out. Y’know other that the reduction in human suffering, and nationwide drop in crime.
“At first, it was only early abortions; within a few years, though, any abortion up to the killing of a viable baby in mid-birth was made legal.”
I suspect that the problem here is that me and Mr. Card are defining abortion slightly differently. I’m going with the definitions as laid down by modern medicine, and he’s decided to run with the popular “Shit someone made up” theory.
He also complains that the courts have banned free speech over the issue. Specifically that people are not allowed to pray outside of these clinics.
To describe the behavior of anti-abortion activists as “prayer” seems like a slight distortion of actual events to me. And by slight distortion I mean it’s a great big pile of fertilizer. Which will then be taken home, mixed with diesel fuel, and then returned to the clinic. Trying to threaten, coerce, and scare people into doing what you want isn’t acceptable in our society, no matter how many nice words you dress it up in to feel better about yourself for essentially being a low-life that likes to pick fights with pregnant women.
I could tell you all that I love toasting marshmallows. And I could make a giant wooden letter “t” to stand for the word toasting and symbolize my love. And then I could tell you that I wish to share this symbol of marshmallowy goodness with the nice black family down the street.
But if I stuck that letter t in their yard and lit it on fire, I don’t think anyone would question my subsequent arrest. No matter how many damn marshmallows I brought.
So I guess where I am going with this rant is the following:
When it comes to sci-fi, Orson Scott Card is an awesome fiction author. But when it comes to social issues, he’s still an awesome fiction author.
I’m going to Gen Con this year. And I’m probably going to spend a ridiculous amount on games. And Dave Rodriguez of ShadowGirls has graciously allowed me to sell t-shirts out of his booth there. So if you are planning on attending stop by and buy something. I’ll even be signing books. I haven’t actually work on any books per se, but if you show up with one I’ll sign it.
It’s Monday, and we have another, fairly large, batch of things not to do, courtesy of the IT industry.
(Submitted by Warlock)
Once again, it’s that time where I come up with a vague excuse why I don’t have something more interesting for you to read, and show you a bunch of things that other people made.
So without further ado (or any, for that matter) here is a bunch of stuff that Donny found on the internet.
What is that scent you’re wearing?
Well it’s been a rough week, and none of my regular contributers have submitted anything. Send them angry email until they repent. Stalk them at their place of work. Crucify them upon the Tree of Woe. They shall pay for this transgression, and the coin shall be the anguished tears of those that they love most! All shall be swept away on a tide of blood, despair, and waffles.
But to be fair, these will be some awesome waffles.
Um yeah, anyhow….
In the meantime, please enjoy this joke sent in by Michael Grafton.
An old gunnery sergeant is at a civilian affair, in full uniform, when a cute young thing comes up to him.
“Why are you so serious?”
“War is a serious business, Ma’am.”
“Well, you need to loosen up. When was the last time you made love?”
“1955 ma’am.”
“1955! Well, I think its time to get you back in the saddle and get you straightened out.”
So they go to a back room and “loosen up” a couple times.
Afterward, she sighs and rests her head on his chest. “You sure haven’t forgotten anything since that last time…”
“Well, ma’am, I should hope not. Its only 2130 now…”
Vaden’s post yesterday reminded me of this particular story.
A long long time ago, back when I was an E-2 at Ft. Bragg, I was in a detachment with a young woman who I will refer to as Specialist Awesome.
Specialist Awesome was pretty much the definition of fearless. It didn’t matter who or what confronted her, she didn’t get flustered, or embarrassed, and she certainly never backed down from a challenge.
So one day my unit had a room inspection. Now this was before the nice new barracks that we received right before the inflatable sheep story.
The barracks that we lived in at the time looked like somebody had purchased a crack house, attacked it with a sledgehammer, and then let things go downhill from there.
One feature of these barracks was random nails sticking out of nearly every wall. I’m guessing at some point a soldier needed to hang something up, and the nails had just never come down. I hung a curtain from a few of these, to make some privacy. Some soldiers used them for hanging pictures, or speakers. Many used them for storage, by stringing shaving kits, or various pieces of equipment off of them.
Well Specialist Awesome, being like many other soldiers, hung stuff on the nails in her room too.
So during the room inspection the Commander and the SGT Major were both in her room, and everything seemed to check out. Just as they were wrapping up, however, the Commander noticed something that Specialist Awesome had hung up on a nail: an economy-sized package of Trojan brand condoms.
A strip of them was hanging out of the side, like some sort of amorous ammo belt.
The Commander got an impish look on his face, and turned to Specialist Awesome.
“So Specialist,” he began with that tone that officers use when they are screwing with an enlisted trooper, “Would you care to explain to the SGT Major and me what those are?” he finished, pointing at the rubbers.
Without a twitch, no trace of a blush, and looking him right in the eye while at the position of attention, Specialist Awesome answered him.
“Sir! Those are condoms. They are a form of barrier contraception. They are so I do not get pregnant when I fuck, SIR!”
Then she cocked one eyebrow at him, as if to say “Is that all you got?”
The Commander, decided that that was indeed all he had, turned bright red, mumbled something about her room passing inspection, and quickly exited the room.
The SGT Major followed him out, giving the distinct appearance of a man trying desperately not to choke to death on his own mustache.
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