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I’ve spent all day packing my house. I have no funny for you today.

Here is a bunch of fun stuff other people have created.

More Cowbell

Hadron Collider Web-cam

Parking Garage

Gaming Geek Site (Courtesy of ShadowCat)

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Seven years after the shit hit the fan, I’m still sifting through the “Never Forget” bulletins. It’s occurred to me that I may never truly wrap my mind around what happened to the victims of 9/11 and their families. My heart goes out to them, and to another group deeply affected by that darkest day in our nation’s history, those who have perhaps been most forgotten, who’s sacrifice may seem trivial, but who have lost something nonetheless.

I’m talking about people whose birthdays are on September 11. That just has to suck.

Imagine it’s September 11, 2001. You’re a young man, just turning 21. About 11 a.m. the phone rings.

“Oh, hi Mom… Yeah, I see it on TV right now. I’ve been watching it all morning… They canceled classes today so, I mean, at least there’s something. For the first time ever I haven’t been stuck in school on my…. What’s that? Yeah, I agree. Terrible, absolutely horrific. Buzz Kill City. I think I might have to turn this off, maybe take a nap, get my mind off things, you know, before tonight… Yeah, it does make me think our time here is short. That’s why, you know, carpe diem — gotta live it up while you can, especially when you turn… What? Yes, mom, I love you, too…. Is there anything else you want to say?…. Oh, dad wants to talk to me. OK….

“Hi Dad… Yeah, I saw that. Terrible, absolutely horrif– Yes. Yes… I couldn’t agree with you more. This truly is a day to remember. What could possibly be more memorable than these grisly events unfolding before our eyes on television, these ghastly occurrences involving people we’ve never met in a city we’ve never been to?… Yes, if memory serves, Cousin Doris, whom I’ve met once, does live in New York, but I think she’s just outside Ithaca, more upstate, not so much downtown Manhattan where this horrendous catastrophe is occurring on this very day of September 11… Oh? Well, yeah, if you want to call and check on Cousin Doris, you should go ahead and do that. Thanks for calling.”

You put the phone down and begin to process, perhaps for the first time in your life, that your birthday is now and forever just another day. In light of the day’s news, even your parents can forge– Wait, the phone’s ringing!

“Hello? Oh, hi Dad!.. Why are you sorry?… What did you forget to say?… Oh. Yeah, I love you, too. No, it’s not weird, it’s just… No, don’t worry that you don’t say it enough. You don’t have to tell me. I know… OK, bye.”

Man, fuck Mom and Dad! It’s not like you’re a little kid anymore. You don’t need cakes and clowns and shit. You’re a man. You’re going out for copious amounts of alcohol tonight with your buddies. As a Virgo, you were always the youngest kid in your class and you’re the last of your social circle to enjoy this rite of passage into adulthood. Your friends know what day it is. They won’t let you down. The phone rings again.

“Hello?”

“Happy birthday, dude.”

“Thanks, man.”

“Are you seeing this shit on TV?”

“Yeah, it’s terrible. Absolutely horrific.”

“Yeah, so uh… You still wanna go out tonight?”

“Yeah?”

“Oh, ’cause me and Dave were thinking, there probably won’t be that many girls out, so maybe we should, like, reschedule and stuff.”

“Reschedule? No way! I requested tomorrow off from work, and I had to do that two months ago. We’re going out!”

And several hours later, you’re at a bar with your friends. You’ve got the whole place to yourself except for that old guy in the corner who’s working a crossword puzzle. You knew you’d be drinking heavily, but just to get everyone to loosen up and smile, you had to plow through three or four Jager-bombs first. And you felt a little awkward saying “bomb” to the bartender. Dude was right, not a girl in the place, but who cares? You’re with your buddies and you’re finally having a good time. You guys are laughing and carrying on and getting a little loud. The old guy looks up from his crossword puzzle.

“Why don’t you show some respect? Assholes!”

Flash forward to two days ago. You’re sick of the dark spectre of terrorism overshadowing your day. And you’re sick of feeling guilty about being sick of it. You tell your buddy this. He’s not sympathetic.

“Dude, not everything is about you!”

“No, not everything is about me, but I used to have one day! One fucking day a year that was mine and those fucking assholes had to go and hijack some planes and turn this country upside down on my fucking day! And I’m never going to get my fucking day back, because every year when my day rolls around everyone’s all bummed out and shit! My day is everyone else’s day!”

“I know what you’re going through, man. I mean, my birthday is on Veteran’s Day.”

“No! No! Fuck you! No! That is not even the same fucking thing! No one gives a shit about your day! No one even knows what it means! Veteran’s Day — What the fuck is that?”

“It commemorates Germany’s surrender from World War II.”

“World War I, asshole!”

“Oh right, because they signed the armistice on the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month of the eleventh year.”

“No, not the eleventh year, dipshit. World War I didn’t end until 1918 or something like that. See, you don’t even know what it means and it’s your day! And every year you got the day off school for it!”

“But I don’t get my birthday cards until the 12th, because the post office is closed. Maybe you should consider celebrating on a different day.”

“No, fuck you. And fuck Osama Bin Laden! It’s my day!… And who put these goddamn skyscraper-shaped candles on my cake!”

This blog is in memory of my friend Kent’s birthday, which is actually on September 9th, and I forgot.

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So I was just about to finish packing up my basement when I realized that I hadn’t put a post together last night.

And so here is the purchasing department list.

(Submitted by Nadia)

1. You are not allowed to bring in a cape for a buyer.

2. Even if your boss was the one to call him Captain Stupid.

3. You are not allowed to sing with headphones in.

4. You are not allowed to sing with only one headphone in.

5. You are not allowed to sing off key.

6. you are not allowed to sing.

7. You are not allowed to take home samples of 190 proof alcohol.

8. No chatting online.

9. No emailing.

10. No bypassing filters.

11. No Internet use at all.

12. No laughing.

13. No listening in on when your boss insults people.

14. No Laughing when the buyer calls the VP of IT saying it’s a computer error when he just forgot his password.

15. Not allowed to tease the VP for not answering the buyer’s phone calls anymore.

16. Not allowed to eat quinoa for breakfast at 7am.

17. Not allowed to bring in last nights dinner for breakfast.

18. Not allowed to eat weird food for breakfast.

19. Don’t annoy the boss… he will take your scheduled vacation days away.

20. Don’t laugh at him in front of his superiors when he threatens this.

21. Don’t mock him when he asks if you got your vacation in writing about him not having it in writing to take it away.

22. Don’t mock the boss in general.

23. Don’t ever have rubber bands on your desk.

24. Don’t give shoot them at the boss even though he started it.

25. Don’t throw staplers at your boss… he’s not that coordinated.

26. Don’t mock the buyer when he can’t staple a stack of papers so you have to do it for him.

27. Don’t tell the buyer his daughter is a tard for dating the guy she is and that you happen to know from high school.

28. Don’t say “I told you so” when it ends poorly.

29. Don’t tell your boss he happens to have the same last name as your biological father.

30. Don’t tell the factory crew who already call him your daddy/uncle.

31. Don’t take the toys they get as gifts to hit them with.

32. Don’t flip the buyers screen upside down.. he can’t fix it.

33. Don’t try to skip meetings the buyer will be in with you… you will just have to train him later. Even though he sat in the meeting with you and asked more questions.

34. Refusing to teach the buyer how to change the ring tone on his cell is not an option.

35. Same goes for reading text messages.

36. And again for checking the voice mail.

37. You are not allowed to laugh hysterically when your coworkers devour last nights screw-up, horrid tasting dinner.

38. You are not allowed to talk to the buyer… he can’t work and talk at the same time.

39. You are not to make complex spreadsheets your boss can’t figure out.

40. Even if what he asked for was that complex.

41. No laughing when you boss goes on a rampage about your coworkers that can’t do their job right.

42. No asking to take the buyer’s job since you did it a lot better when he was out, even though you are not trained.

43. No streaming music.

44. No lying about the music being temporarily downloaded from a channel and not actually streaming.

45. No going to the ultra exclusive RnD parties without bring back food to feed your boss.

46. No making fun of the QC Director the 5th time you caught him sleeping at his desk.

47. No hoarding tissue boxes in your desk.

48. No stealing pure powdered caffeine.

49. You are not allowed to go by your birth name if your boss changed it and it caught on.

50. You are not allowed to change your boss’ name or any coworker’s name in retaliation.

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So the other day me and a coworker went to grab lunch from Panda Express. As we were getting into line he said, “It’s too bad they don’t use real panda.”

Which got me to thinking.

A Panda is a big herbivore with a large amount of body fat.  They would probably taste delicious.

Of course, there are a few ethical issues with eating them, what with them being endangered and all.  Not to mention the whole mess of legal issues that would result.

But then I had another thought.  Cloning.

Science has already managed to successfully clone animals.  Cloned animals do not contribute to the bio-diversity of the species, so eating them shouldn’t cause any issues.  And as I understand it, the big drawback to clones is that due to some protein sequencing thingy in the cells the clone has a much shorter lifespan than the original.  Essentially they only have as much natural lifespan as the original gene-donor had left.  For animals being raised for food this would hardly be an issue.

From an environmental standpoint this could turn out to be a windfall.  A portion of the profits could probably be used to further panda-research and zoo facilities.  From the point of view of a restaurant serving panda, helping to fund them would just be good PR.  So in the long run it could easily be set up to benefit the panda species as a whole.

From a business standpoint I think this is an idea that could really take off.  There’s a certain percentage of people that will want to eat panda, simply because it’s endangered and probably expensive.  Bear in mind that there are people who will pay top dollar for raw poisonous fish, wine made with snakes, and coffee that has been pooped out of a civet.

For the curious, a civet is a small cat-mongoosey kind of critter from Africa that lives in trees, eats roots and berries, and can evidently poop coffee.

And panda could just be the start.  The are entire menus of tasty endangered animals that cloning technology could bring to the table.  You could easily create a venue that is like a cross between a Brazilian steakhouse and a World Wildlife Fund banquet gone horribly horribly awry.

Right in the lobby there could be a tank full of black footed ferrets.  With little rubber bands on their paws.

Now I imagine if such a restaurant was to open, Peta would have a royal cow over it.  Which means that they would protest it.  Which is just free advertising.  Besides, have you ever seen a Peta protest?  They put attractive college coeds, dressed in skimpy animal costumes, into cages.  Surrounding the customers with scantily clad young women rarely hurts a business, and there are several restaurants that make it a central theme to the decor.

Hell, I would advertise the protests just to get more customers to show up.

“Tonight we have Parmesan crusted sea lion rib-eye, dwarf lemur in a Bearnaise sauce, and several angry drama majors with daddy issues dressed as sexy pumas.”

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So a few weeks ago me and my wife went out to Gen Con. I got to meet a bunch of people who worked in the table-top game industry, and I spent way too much money on new toys.  I even got a few leads on getting a publisher for that North Pole Zombie game I made.

All-in-all it was a pretty decent trip.

But during the trip there, things went horribly awry.

First we were late getting on the road.  No big deal in and of itself, stuff came up at work, and I stayed for a few extra hours to help out, because I like to be helpful. (Stop sniggering.)

So I was late in getting home, which meant I was late in getting on the road. Not a problem, as I was letting my wife drive. She likes to drive fast. Which is fortunate because we were taking I-90 through Chicago.

If you’ve never driven on I-90 around Chicago the most important thing to remember is that people there like to drive fast. If you try driving the speed limit, you will probably cause an accident. Plus old ladies will pass you and call you names.

So my wife is driving and we had just gotten through Chicago, pretty much keeping up with the traffic around us when we see blue and red lights in the rear view mirror. Great, we were being pulled over.

No big deal. I was thinking, it’ll just be a traffic ticket. In fact it would be my wife’s first traffic ticket so I was really not too worried. We’ll just mail the fine in once we get home.

Well it turns out that they have a funny law in Illinois. If you get pulled over for speeding they take your license.

I don’t mean that they cancel it. My wife can still legally drive. I mean that they take the driver’s license card with them once they leave. Once you pay the fine or go to court they give it back. And most of the time the police officer won’t take your license, so they’ll just have you sign for the ticket. But it is an option if they so choose.

Of course, if you don’t want to lose your license on the spot because, for instance, you are leaving the state and need to use it as ID, well they have a few solutions for that too. One is that you can get a bond card from your insurance company. Basically it’s like a mini-credit card, that you give over to the cop instead of your license. We had never heard of such a thing, so naturally we didn’t have one.

The other option was that we hand the police officer cash on the spot.

I learned that these were the options, because the police officer explained this to my wife and I. Repeatedly.

“I’m going to take your license as a bond, until you pay the fine or go to court.”
“But I need my license for ID.”
“Well then you need to pay the 95 dollar fine in full right now, cash only, exact change please.”
And then the officer gave us pretty much the same look that my ferrets give us when we’re eating ice cream.
The look that says, “Hey I want that. Gimmie. Plus I plan to poop in your shoe later.”

The officer, by repeating key parts of the previous conversation made it plain that we were either going to hand over a big wad of cash or my wife’s license.

So basically a cop from a small town outside of Chicago kept us on the side of the road, and shook us down. I had no idea that stuff like this was even legal in America any more. And it turns out that we didn’t have exact change, so we offered to pay 100 dollars, and let them keep the change. It turns out it’s not legal to overpay. I’m sure that this is someone’s idea of keeping the police honest. Which is laughable when they are allowed to demand cash on the spot. Since we couldn’t pay the exact way that they wanted, they took my wife’s license and sent us on our way.

And because we had to get back onto the highway from the shoulder we missed our exit, which was even more unfortunate that it sounds, because we did not notice it.

By the time we realized that that we must have missed our turn, we had wound up in what the movie Deliverance has taught me to be “Banjo Country”.

“Maybe we should pull over and ask if we missed our turn.” My wife suggested.

“Are you crazy? What if the guy we ask thinks I have a pretty mouth? I’ll get gang-raped to death, and you’ll be dragged off into the woods to be some hill-billy’s mistress. Let’s just keep driving until we run out of gas.”

Side note: this is also why I will never own a canoe.

Eventually we did find our way back to the highway we wanted. But we missed the next turn too.

And the next one.

And the next one as well.

So what should have been a three hour trip tops, turned into a six hour extravaganza.

Once we arrived in Indianapolis the fun didn’t stop however. You see we had a hotel room fairly far away from the convention. This way, we could get a nicer room, fairly cheap. It did mean that we would need to find parking closer to the site the next morning.

The next morning, we discovered something interesting about Indianapolis. They don’t seem to like the idea of people parking their cars. There were a few parking garages, but they were all full. After about 45 minutes of driving around downtown we tried the local sports stadium. I figured that had a great big empty parking lot, and would probably have some sort of paid parking available if there wasn’t a game going on. So I drove up found a spot and went into the gift shop/ticket to ask if I was allowed to stay there for the day.

The only employee present was a little dottering old man. Imagine if Joe Lieberman and Droopy Dog had an illegitimate child together. He appeared to be sorting through some paperwork, while waiting to see if he could collect the “Hellfish Bonanza”.

“Excuse me sir,” I began, “do you know if I am allowed to park in the lot out there?”
“What are you here for?”
“I’m here for the convention two blocks over.”

His eyes narrowed. His fists clenched. His jowls shook with tiny old-guy rage.

“NO! YOU CAN’T!”

“Alright, thanks anyways, do you know any places nearby where I could?”

“YOU CAN’T PARK HERE!”

“I got it. I’ll leave. But do you know-”

“I TOLD THEM THEY COULDN’T PARK HERE!”

“Right so I-”

“NO PARKING FOR THE CONVENTION!”

He then waggled his finger at me in an authoritative and dismissing way.

“Okay! I’m leaving. Calm down.”

He cocked his head, and gave me a puzzled look, as if he was working through a very difficult word problem.

After a few seconds of intense concentration, his eyes lit up, as if after a taxing mental journey he had arrived at the perfect solution to our problem.

“YOU CAN’T PARK HERE!”

And with that, we left.

We did eventually find a parking garage, quite a distance away, that had room for us. And only charged twelve dollars for all day parking.

And so we went to the convention, hung out, had fun, and later that night went back to the parking garage.

It was locked up.

There weren’t any signs listing hours or anything. No reasonable way to notify customers that there was a deadline to pick their car back up. But there was a giant metal gate keeping us out.

“No problem,” I thought, “We’ll just catch a cab back to our room, and then pick our car up tomorrow. We might have to pay extra or something, but this won’t be a big deal.”

And so we take a cab, and come back the next morning. It’s still locked up. And now we’re standing next to a parking garage with all of our stuff, and no way to get to our car. And I came to a realization. A parking garage that is closed on Saturday, is probably not going to be open on Sunday either. Which means that I will not be able to get my car back until Monday. Which is when I am supposed to be back at work.

Fortunately there was a number on the garage that we could call if we had an issue. Turns out that people who don’t open their parking garage on Saturday aren’t big on answering the phone either. But the helpful answering machine message did let me know that they would be back on Monday.

Eventually, I discovered that the smaller, human-scaled doors on the garage where still unlocked, even though the larger automotive scaled doors weren’t. So at the very least, I could head upstairs and put our baggage into the trunk, so that we didn’t have to carry it around all weekend.

While I was in there heading for my vehicle I ran into another driver.

“Is that your wife outside with a suitcase?” He asked.

I thought about how all things car-related had been going for me this weekend. And then I thought about my wife. Specifically, I thought about how good she is at keeping her temper when she has been under a lot of stress and frustration. I thought again about how things had been going this weekend.

“Maybe.” I answered, preparing to throw my backpack at him and run away.

“She said you were stuck in here. I have a pass card that will open the gate. I can meet you down there and let you out.”

Next year I’m going to fly.

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So there I was, in Iraq, getting ready to go on a mission. Now, before a unit moves out, they usually meet up about an hour early for briefings which cover the route of march, order of movement, recent operations in the area, evacuation and contact procedures, etc. But the briefings never get started on time, so usually we’re just there waiting around in the vehicles. Usually, this is the perfect time to go over your own gear and make sure your truck is definitely good to go.

This night was unusual because the route commander was especially late.

So, there we were, just sitting around with nothing to do.

It should also be understood by those non-military types that certain job specialties, and especially their holders, are considered… weird. PSYOP, if you haven’t guessed from Skippy’s stories, is one of those. Another one that comes to most people’s minds is EOD, Explosive Ordnance Disposal, my job. Basically, we VOLUNTEER to work with explosives. While we are trained for so much more, the Army uses us as a bomb squad.

We’re the guys that get angry, count to ten, calmly ask what kind of car you drive and if it’s parked outside, and then usually get whatever we want. Basically, people think (know?) we’re crazy. We’re the type of people that it’s bad to have bored…. Maybe Skippy could edit here to corroborate this idea. (And now a word from our sponsor?)

corroboration from skippy- You may have heard the phrase “Idle hands are the Devils tools”? Have you ever seen a trencher? It’s basically a bulldozer but instead of a plow, it has a giant chainsaw. If idle hands are the Devil’s tools, then idle EOD is the Devil’s trencher. Being piloted by ferret. On methamphetamines.

Anyways, there we were, inside our very large  JERRV truck, with nothing to do. It was chow time, and our staging area was right across from the mess hall, within full view of the line going in. Our Team Leader, a Staff Sergeant, or an E-6 for those of military but not Army savvy, was outside, his back against the truck and this is important, talking to a friend of his.

I look over at my co-Team Member, who was driving that night while I was in the back in the gunner’s seat. “Brandon,” I say “what would you give me to do an Irish jig on the roof of this truck?”

Yes, we use first names when “in the truck”, basically when no one of higher rank can hear to get mad; calling people by their rank and last name falls under customs and courtesy, and some people of higher rank get really bent up about that kind of thing.

Brandon then reaches into his pocket and pulls out a dollar. “I found a dollar,” he said, holding it out.

“Done and done,” I say, snatching his dollar. I climbed out of the gunner hatch, and begin doing am Irish jig. I wasn’t very far into it, when I saw a shadowy figure separate from the chow line and make a bee line for us.

Now, for anyone that has never met one, Sergeants Major, or any military E-9 (as high as an enlisted man can get) have a certain kind walk when they are perturbed. Only THEY can do this, as I’ve never seen ANY impression come even close. Maybe they teach it in the Sergeant Major’s academy. Again, I might need corroboration from our military writers (another word from our fabulous sponsors!)

Corroboration from skippy- You know how in the Jaws movies, there’s the part where the cello music starts picking up and the shark is now moving directly towards the helpless and delicious marine biologist/nocturnal skinny-dipper/comedically chubby kid? You can see the fin, and it’s cutting through the water, as the monster opens it’s mouth to bite the victim in half. That’s how a ticked off senior NCO walks. Except with feet, instead of awesome John Williams music.

This particular shadow was doing just that walk, so I knew he was a Sergeant Major, and annoyed. What else to do? It was obvious that he was annoyed with ME, and hiding it would have only made it worse.

So, I REALLY got into my dance, adding twirls and little hops and everything. He storms up to my TL, who you may remember, had his back against the truck, and therefore to me.  He then does the whole Army point with all four fingers of one and says, “Sergeant, before I speak, put your cover  on and stand at parade rest! You,” here he turned to my TL’s friend and pointed at her. “Put your Gawt-Damn eye pro on!”

For the non-military readers “cover” is Army for “hat”.  “Eye pro” is Army for “Eye Protection”.  And “Parade Rest” is Army for “Brace yourself, here it comes!”

He turned back to the TL. “Now, tell me why in the f*** this soldier” he pointed up at me, now also at parade rest and rather fortunately with a cover and eye pro on, “is DANCING on top of this gawt-damn truck?!”

His voice was starting to crescendo. It had probably been a good while since he had issued a really GOOD ass-chewing. “Why does he not have three points of contact ?! Why….”

His voice trailed off as he noticed that both myself and the TL had very obvious EOD letters on our left arms, proclaiming to the world not to trust us with their daughters, but their lives were safe with us. It was like he had switched a button in his head that turned him from screaming maniac to Uncle Bob instantly.

“Shee-it, Son,” he put a hand on the TL’s shoulder. “You boys got that stressful job. You pick up that shee-it from the roadsides and take it apart, don’t’cha?  Shee-it, I know y’all are just blowin’ off some steam, just don’t let it go too far. Make sure he don’t fall.” then he turned and sauntered back to the chow line.

I was back inside the truck in record time. The TL took a minute to climb in. When he did, he just sighed. It took him a minute to speak. Finally, he said, “At least life is interesting.” And that’s the last I ever heard about the subject.

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Blah blah it’s Monday, blah blah, new list, blah generic smart-assed comment.

(Submitted by Chooses to Remain Nameless)

The “PHARMACY LIST”

1) When making a service call, I may not refer to the Un-interruptible Power Source as the “Zed-PM.” It confuses the tech support staff.

2) I also can’t call it the “Power Battery.”

3) Even though we ARE haunted (I just can’t prove it), I am not authorized to contract with local psychics to exorcise our computer-haunting ghost(s)…

4) When there is talk of “trouble-shooting” some equipment, it does NOT involve 9mm, or any live ammo for that matter.

5) Talking to the computers will not make them go faster.

6) Beating on them only makes them go faster sometimes.

7) Even if you’re using something dull like a counting spatula, playing that “game” where you spread your hand and try to stab the table in between your fingers? It still hurts if you miss….

8) I may not play “frisbee” with the dozens of leftover birth control compacts from the Health Department’s stock (they usually give out a year’s supply at a time, and patients don’t want all 12 compacts)

9) If a printer is scheduled to be replaced, I may not take it home with me the night before and use it for target-practice.

10) I may not swear in Chinese (even made-up Chinese) when faced with a stressful situation.

11) Doing the Ric Flair strut and yelling “WOOOOO!” after fixing an insurance rejection may only be done sparingly!

12) “Tuning up the band” (See Shawn Michaels, the WWE Wrestler) BEFORE fixing an insurance rejection – ditto.

13) When someone says “I have a strange question”, the answer “That’s OK, I’m a strange PERSON!” is best reserved for people you know.

14) Even if I DO hear sirens in the distance, I may not rip open my shirt Superman-style and jump out the drive-thru window to save the day.

15) A bonfire out back is NOT an acceptable way to destroy old pharmacy records.

16) I may not use “dry ice” to chill my drinks, especially when I’m at Drop-Off waiting on a customer!

17) I may not play “lazer tag” with the telexon unit.

18) I MAY use the telexon to practice proper trigger-finger placement, but it annoys my coworkers when I do so while humming the James Bond theme.

19) I may not roll heavy boxes of labels from the storage area, downstairs to the stockroom, when the stairs have OTHER things on them.

20) …Even if I yell “PLINKO!” when I do it.

21) I may not follow the lead of Dr. Hawkeye Pierce and drink my beverage of choice from the graduated cylinders.

22) When mixing 2 ointments into a compound, I may NOT borrow my boss’ electric mixer he uses on his protein shakes.

23) I am NOT Doctor Cox…

24) I may not refer to the new hires as “newbie,” “Barbie,” or other nicknames.

25) New hires are not “fresh meat”.

26) “Abandon all hope ye who enter” is NOT an acceptable way to greet staff coming in for a new shift.

27) Neither is “run while you can!”.

28) Even though we REALLY want new flat-screen monitors, I may not gain access to the roof and “accidentally” drop all of the old monitors off of there….

29) Grunting “over there” and pointing in the general direction of a shelf with 200 different bottles on it is NOT a helpful enough answer when a new tech asks me where a medicine is located.

30) In the event of a catastrophic plumbing emergency like a large water pipe bursting, humming the “Mario Brothers” theme while trying to find a red or green cap should NOT be my first priority.

31) Carrying a samurai sword on your back and threatening to invoke Islamic law (IE, chop someone’s hands off) is not the most politically-correct way to deter shoplifting.

32) When a helium balloon gets loose and is stuck on the ceiling, there are better ways of dealing with it than trying to pop it by “shooting” the cap of an oral syringe at it.

33) Goose-stepping, doing the Nazi salute, and ranting in faux German is not an appropriate way to try to explain how “Loss Prevention” works, when newbies ask.

34) ESPECIALLY when LP due for a visit at any moment…

35) I may not answer the doctor’s line by pretending to chew a carrot and saying, “Ehhhh…what’s up, Doc?”

36) Or by breaking out into Bugs Bunny’s “What’s up Doc?” song.

37) I may not jury rig a cell phone jammer and deploy it in the store (ESPECIALLY at the drive-thru). Because SOMEONE’S gonna be the first person the FCC brings charges against for doing it…

38) Large chef’s hats are not in the dress code – even if I only wear it when I’m adding FlavoRx to a medicine.

39) I may not falsely claim Scottish ancestry in order to get away with wearing a kilt at work.

40) If handed a bill I suspect is counterfeit, I need to use the currency-checking pen on it. NOT pretend to examine it by going over it with my electronic Sonic Screwdriver toy.

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I just got home from work (11:30 PM), the garbage disposal has backed up, and I managed to get covered by the worlds biggest spiderweb.

So I have nothing to put up today, so take a look at these sites that Donny went and found for you. He’s kind of turning into some sort of Internet stuff bloodhound.

Bad Translation

Surprise Bear

Um….Bad Dog?

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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.

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So I spotted this quote from a site that is linked to here.

Let’s see. I’ve been online now for well over a year, and received a whopping 1 comment for any of my articles.

So what I want everyone to do is to go to his site and leave a comment.

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