Turds

Turds

Folks, I'm tireder than shit. To borrow a phrase from my old pal Larry Gunter. I've now worked 9 days straight, and averaged 11 hours a day doing it. I've been called everything but a white woman by a higher-up. My apartment looks like a crazy person lives here: The table next to my desk is a mishmash of criss-crossing wires, dirty clothes and an odd number of dirty spoons sitting in a drinking glass.

Apparently, I've decided that yogurt is indeed a pleasing snack.

Very pleasing.

It occurs to me, he said, referring to the second sentence of this post, which isn't necessarily a sentence so much as a fragment constructed mainly from infinitves and colloquialisms, that I don't know if Larry Gunter is alive or dead. Larry was a good guy, but I lost touch. And Larry didn't lead the healthiest lifestyle. Could be dead. But he didn't lead an unhealthy one, either. So he could be alive. Could be dead. Possibly eaten by a bear, which would have little bearing on whether he was healthy or not.

Larry liked NASCAR. A lot. He told me he cried when he heard Dale Earnhardt died. He had a #3 license plate on the front of his Ford Aerostar. I always wondered if The Intimidator would appreciate that.

Larry also liked flipping people off. Not as an everyday thing. But he enjoyed the humor of a good birdie finger.

Who doesn't?

Assholes, that's who.

Tired? Tired.

Brain don't work right.

Not that I do that well when I'm awake and fully rested.

But it certainly doesn't do well right now.

I don't own an ironing board.

Anyway. I wanted to post a link here. The headline reads: "Sniffing out roto's turds so your teams won't stink."

What a world we live in. Glorious, ain't it? God Bless America.

You know, part of me enjoys it.

Part of me is the bespectacled, grinning, gargoyle face of Jeff Goldblum lecturing Richard Attenborough: You were so worried about whether or not you could, you didn't stop to think if you could.

Turds in a headline. A figurative word for "pieces of shit."

Because you can't use the phrase "pieces of shit" in a headline. Who the fuck made that rule? You can say turds, but you can't say "pieces of shit."

Anyway. Chaos theory, indeed. In a black jacket. I really think it would have been a different movie if Andrew Dice Clay had played the role of Dr. Ian Malcolm.
Want to improve a boring movie? Just imagine Andrew Dice Clay playing a role.

Ian died in the book, did you know that? Ian Malcolm dies in the book Jurassic Park. At least, that's what I infer from the government of Costa Rica (was it Costa Rica?) refusing to let the coffin of Ian Malcolm leave.

And then he's back alive again, for the second book. God Bless Michael Crichton and his powers of resurrection.

Unless Ian Malcolm just carried a coffin with him. Or perhaps slept in it. During the day. Which would have made for a different movie, I think.

I'd watch this movie. Twice. Jurassic Park IV: Vampire vs. Tyrannosaur.

It all reminds me of a joke I heard the other day. It wasn't new. There aren't many new jokes. But I hadn't heard it in a while. I won't tell it to you because I'd only fuck it up. But it ends with the lawyer talking about "Who do you think invented chaos?"

Vampire vs. Tyrannosaur. That's chaos.

But nothing like this table next to my desk. What the fuck? There are socks, wires, a VCR and paper for my printer. There's an empty bottle of Sam Adams Winter Ale. Empty. And a glass with 5 spoons in it. Spoons that I used to eat yogurt. Strawberry and Strawberry/Banana Yogurt.

I mentioned the yogurt before. That was foreshadowing. Ham handed, yes. But foreshadowing nonetheless. I'm a foreshadowing sumbitch.

I am what I am. I'm Popeye the Sailor Man.