Tuesday, January 30, 2007

In which Tommy unmuddies his mind

In which Tommy unmuddies his mind...

What the hell kind of world do we live in where The UnCouth Sloth's last post came sooner than my last one?

Good to have you back on the Sloth page, even if it's just a one shot.


Today (and really, the last couple of days) was just one of those days where everything I touched turned to shit. I couldn't touch anything with out breaking it and/or dropping it and/or knocking it over. I was tripping over my tongue all day. Every attempt I made at being funny/witty/whateverthefuck just made me look and feel stupid. If you asked me a question today, I answered it wrongly, and if you were looking to me to help fix a problem, I only made it worse.

It was one of those days where I did everything I could, and the effort just sucked. You have days like that, don't you? Don't you?!?!? Some days you get the bear, some days it gets you?

On those days, you just suck it up.

Last rule of thumb on those days:

Try not to fart, 'less you want to excuse yourself to a fresh wipe and a new pair of underwear.


Just a couple of links.

Here's Online Onslaught's Royal Rumble by the Numbers.

Just my views on the matches: Hardys/MNM was decent enough, and though I'd never thought I'd have wished for it, a revived tag-team picture would be really, really cool right about now. It'd be the best thing for MNM, neither of whom are really worth much in singles matches.

The ECW title match was bullshit, but that's par for the course with the WWE version of ECW. How the blue hell can an ECW match end in a countout? Bullshit.

(As an aside, in a perfect world, if you're so intent on making ECW the curtain jerk promotion, why not open the whole show with something like a RVD/C.M. Punk match, or the like? Really get the show started with a bang? Or would that underline the general lack of ability in the other performers in singles matches on the show, like Lashley, Test or Batista?)

The Smackdown title match wasn't bad, and I keep getting higher and higher on Ken Kennedy. I don't know that he'll ever pull off a workrate classic, but he's better on the stick than most.

Umaga and Cena was good, for what it was. Cena always goes, and I don't know why I hate him like I do, but it's there, same as my undying hatred of the otherwise tasteless and inoffensive califlower. It goes straight to my core, and there's little I can do to unmake it.

I enjoyed the Rumble match. A little paint-by-numbers, but on the whole, it was very satisfying. And I thought the last ten minutes with Undertaker and Shawn was just about as entertaining an end to a Rumble in several years...maybe since Davey Boy Smith and Shawn 11 or 12 years ago.

Which to me underlines part of the problem...Shawn and Undertaker, in 2007, are who's carrying the Royal Rumble? If you'd have told me in 1997 that those two would have done it again 10 years later, I'd have been weeping for the future.

Still, those two know how to tell a story, maybe better than anybody currently in the business.

On the whole, I liked the show. I think in the scheme of things, it'll be just an average show, but average is better than a lot of what the WWE has offered in recent months and years.


How much do I love my TiVo? Mythbusters was one of those shows I just caught if I flipped by it? Now I watch religiously. Because my TiVo thought I'd like it.

Plus? An episode of Jeopardy takes about 15 minutes to watch, once you take out Alex talking and interviewing the guests.


I'm writing, in spurts. I'm in a weird adolescent girl phase where I'm not comfortable letting people see the stuff that I write. I scream "It's personal" and stuff it under my bed when I'm done writing it.

But there is work coming. Probably everybody who read lost interest. But hopefully I can get people to read it, once I feel alright posting it.

Sunday, January 28, 2007

Royal Rumble

Royal Rumble

Hey, a wrasslin' post! Ain't posted one of these in a while.

My favorite pay-per-view of the year's coming up in 20 hours or so. Heading down to Chattaboogie to watch it and drink a beer or two at the Buffalo Wild Wings.

Why do I like the Rumble? There's a couple of reasons.

There's a part of me that's still a mark for the "sport" of wrestling. There's a great degree of the suspension of disbelief going on here, with the pro wrasslin'. But there's something in me that really enjoys the competitive aspect of it. I'm one of the weird ones who enjoys the things like tournaments and round-robins. Granted, the "sport" is merely the framework for the soap operas, and I think it's kinda like admiring a house for its foundation.

But I can dig a foundation.

And anyway, with a battle royale, such as the Royal Rumble, with the "every man for himself" mentality, with a few exceptions, you're pretty much down to the bare-bones, competitve aspect of it. It's one of the few times in a year where I can really luxuriate in that belief suspension, for a whole hour or so.

Also, with that, there's still unexpected things that'll happen during the match. Usually. You don't know who's going to end up eliminating who, and you don't know what kind of spot you're going to see all the time.

You're going to see something that you don't see every day. Which, in today's WWE, is pretty rare.

Also, I can appreciate a good coordinated clusterfuck of a match. And that's what the Royal Rumble is. A coordinated clusterfuck. Mastered chaos.

Who do I think will win? The way the story's being built, you gotta think that the two biggest candidates are Shawn Michaels and The Undertaker. And if those are the choices, considering that the show's in Shawn Michaels' home down, you gotta go with the Undertaker.

If I've been taught anything by the WWF/WWE, especially in the Monday Night Raw era, is that Vince McMahon has the weirdest hardon for screwing a guy in his home town in front of a national audience. Especially if you're not homegrown, but even if you are.

Bret Hart lost more often than not if the WWF went to Calgary (or anywhere in Canada).

Booker T will lose in Houston.

Ric Flair will lose in Charlotte, Atlanta AND Minneapolis.

And Shawn Michaels, who's just been the homer of homers for Vince McMahon for very nearly 20 years, will not win the Royal Rumble. I think it's Taker's to lose.

What's that mean for Wrestlemania and Raw? I dunno. I'm thinking John Cena's slated to continue his Superman act. He'll beat Umaga, despite being injured.

For me, it's the perfect opportunity to set up some kind of badass ladder schmozz, or something to that effect, come Wrestlemania. Instead of a MOney in the Bank ladder match, throw Michaels, Cena, Edge, Orton, Umaga and some other soul into the ladder match. Or throw an Elination Chamber dance for the belt.

I don't know, though. My gut says, for tomorrow, that all title holders retain, MNM beats the Hardys in their match, and Undertaker wins the Rumble.

(Same predictions that I've seen a lot of places. I reckon all that I can says is that "I concur.")

Friday, January 26, 2007

Sweep the Leg

Sweep the Leg

Looks like I'm gonna be watching Karate Kid.

Tuesday, January 23, 2007

This is a test

This is a test

Test post. If you can see this, you get one free bag of buttwhuppin.

Eh. Fuck This

Eh. Fuck This

Fucking blogger. I get an error message any time I try to post. Maybe it'll be cleared up by morning.

More thoughts on the State of the Union Address

More Thoughts on the State of the Union address

It occurs to me, as I wrote the title to the post, that the correct title should be "thoughts on the address" rather than "Thoughts on the state of the union."

See, the latter should instead by the title to President Bush's speech.

It's 9:04, and the sound has either gone out on my teevee, or on the C-Span feed.

Damn, that picture really is clear.

I think of that fucking Tom Clancy novel every time the State of the Union address comes around. I haven't watched the news. Which cabinet member got to stay behind, in case Osama decides to blow the capitol to kingdom come?

Do you think the Supreme Court Justices like getting to wear their robes? Do you think any of them wore blue jeans underneath?

I'd wear shorts.

I wouldn't come nekkid, though. You gotta have respect.

Dammit. It's 9:06. Where the hell is the President?

Chapter 2456: In Which I Write Thoughts on the State of the Union While I Watch It

Chapter 2456: In Which I Write Thoughts on the State of the Union Address While I Watch it

Hi. Your old pal BSTommy here. I'm not going to live blog the whole thing. But I've spend much of the night writing, and I've still got the "energy" in my hands. So, I'm going to watch the State of the Union Address, and give you my thoughts as I watch it.

In the interest of full disclosure, I was given a bottle of Jack Daniels for Christmas. I haven't broken it open until tonight. No reason why, except that I generally stick to beer. Still, I've opened it tonight, and I'm now on my second drink of the evening.

In the interest of further disclosure: I am at my house. I am wearing a grey t-shirt, green pair of sleep pants, and a pair of Socks. By Hanes. Also, a pair of underwear, boxers, by Fruit of the Loom.

In the interest of even further disclosure: my middle name is "Earl."


Thoughts at 8:58: Damn, I think my picture from C-Span is clearer than any other channel on my cable. That's really weird.

Also, speaker Pelosi and Veep Cheney are telling the Escort group to leave. I wonder just how many hands are shaken on the night of the State of the Union address. Do you think it's more, per capita, than any other night of the year?

Monday, January 22, 2007

Mr. Kennedy

Mr. Kennedy

Today, I was very pleased by the thought of Ted Kennedy walking through his house in a bathrobe, eating canned cat food directly from the can, using a Frito's Scoop corn chip, and enjoying the repast greatly.

When confronted with the fact that the Senator is, in fact, eating cat food, he simply tears the label from the can, tells an aid to "dispose of this" and continues his mid-afternoon snack.

Don't know why I thought of it, but it made me smile.

Sunday, January 21, 2007

Sunday Morning ReRun

Sunday Morning ReRun

I actually wrote today.


For a couple of hours. Felt good. Felt like I got something down. In theory, I've got 5 mornings off in the next seven days. I hope to get started on the serialized novel things I've got going again.

I have to start every sentence, though, regarding my personal life with the phrase "In theory." Circumstances don't often cooperate. Bear with me.

Anyway. Here's a re-run. Came up on a search string earlier this morning. I'd forgotten it. From February 2005:

Chris had a story about an excursion to the grocery store, where he managed to get in line behind the worst possible customer.
That's me, too. In the sense that every now and then, I seem to find the checkout line with the biggest possible wait caused by the most idiotic possible person. It's Harvey Pekar's luck, and when it comes to the grocery, I have it.

My personal pet peeve is still the self-check lane. I'm a surgical strike shopper. I know what I want, and I don't want to hang around the store waiting to pay. I've decided that the self-check lane is a good idea, in theory.

However, the thing rarely works right. I have to stand there with purchases while some slackjaw comes to give me change for a five. Or, all the manned checkouts are full, and the self-check lane is filled with some piece of crap who has a cart and a half worth of groceries, but lives in the year 1967 and hasn't quite figured out the "bar code." Or you get behind the piece of shit who has 29 little bitty containers of lip gloss, and is taking roughly a week and a half to scan each one.

And...there's only one store in my town right now that has a self-check lane. And it's not really a self check lane. You scan your items. But the store has the scanner set, a lot of the time, so that things won't ring up unless the person at the station supervising the self-check lanes okays the purchase. So you don't get to buy your economy size bag of pork rinds unless the person at the counter says it's okay, which essentially takes twice the amount of time it would if you'd just gone to the manned checkout.

So, you're stuck in the manned lines.

My psychosis about the checkout lines are the customers. The ones who just don't understand how the conveyor belt works. You know, the little line that you put your purchases on so that the checker has easy access to them?

Say you're buying a couple of things (gallon of milk, a dozen eggs, and a car battery). The person in front of you is also buying a couple of things (three packs of baseball cards and a giant bottle of hand lotion). You know, that car battery's getting kind of heavy. You want to set it on the conveyor.

The but person in line in front of you has their stuff on the conveyor, but they aren't letting their purchases ride the conveyor to the front of the line. Instead, they've got their hand in front of their goods, letting them slide along the belt. We've had electric eyes for years now. Just let your stuff go, and before it goes tumbling into the lap of the checker, the electric eye will catch your giant bottle of Jergens and stop the progress of the belt.

Meanwhile, I won't have to give myself a hernia holding onto my car battery so that it doesn't crush your purchases.

That's the grocery store gripe.

I got off on a small rant there on the grocery.

What I wanted to write about was the experience I had at a local fast food eatery this past weekend.

I was helping my Dad fix the roof above their carport (he bought some old tin roofing off a fellow who'd torn down a barn, and Dad's putting the tin above the carport, but below the deck above...it'll channel the rainwater better, and give squirrels less of a place to make hidey-holes). Before we started, he asked if I wanted breakfast. He'd pay if I'd run into town to buy.

He wanted, specifically, 2 sausage and egg biscuits from McDonald's. Got orders from everybody, and off I wandered into town to find McDonald's.

I live in a small town. About 12,000 people or so.

Every one of them was at McDonald's. In the drive thru.

After consulting, everyone was still adamant about McDonald's biscuits. The eggs are better, apparently.

Since the drive thru line stretched from here all the way to your home town, I wandered inside. The line was long, but not 15 cars long. McDonald's has an inexplicable draw on this town. It's ALWAYS busy. I think it's the brain control drugs in their food.

I'm immune. I have no brain.

I go into the restaurant behind a guy in a blue flannel jacket. He gets into the same line I do, right in front of me. We're both there the same amount of time.

Now, I know exactly what I want. I'm picking up for a few people. I've got my order in my head, even before I come in the door.

We wait in line for four or five minutes. Not long, really. But long enough if you're standing in line at the fast food restaurant.

We're there. Doing nothing but staring up at the big menu on the wall, the one with all the food and the corresponding prices. For five minutes. I could decide what I want for my next 19 meals in five minutes.

We finally get up to the counter.

"Can I help you?" the girl asks.

"Uhh...Let me think," the guy says. And he does. For a long time. He doesn't say anything.

Suddenly, I'm in Sinbad's standup act.

I wish I'd had a slapjack. Or a sockful of nickels. I think I'd have been well within my rights to have put the guy out for a while. You get a time out. Rejoin humanity when you know how to act socially.

I made eye contact with the counter person, as the guy pondered "Breakfast Burrito" or "Sausage Griddle." She was wishing for a slapjack, too.

But then, aren't we all?

Luckily, the next register became free. The fellow in that line asked me to go ahead, because he hadn't decided. Nice fellow. I might have slapjacked him, too.

But that's because I don't know how to act socially, either.

By the time I got my six biscuits, the guy I'd been in line behind was just finishing ordering what he'd wanted, and paying. As I was leaving, we made eye contact, and he gave me a friendly nod, and his expression, smiling with raised eyebrows, still confuses me.

I don't know what that eyebrow raise meant.

It could have meant "Wow, that was quick! Good job."

Or, it could have meant "It was a pleasure sharing the McDonald's experience with you. I truly am lovin' it!"

Or even "Hey! You look familiar! Like a really heavy Neil Patrick Harris!"

But thinking back, and knowing the annoyance he'd put me through, I like to think that somewhere in the recesses of whatever passes for a brain in this human rain delay's head, as he smiles and nods at me:

"Hey! I can breathe air through my mouth and my nose! That's astonishing!"

Because I'm sure that's what people who annoy me think about.

Wow. This was a long post.

Friday, January 19, 2007

Post #2453: The Wrath of Khan

Post #2453: The Wrath of Khan

Look at this video. Look!

This is very much like my job. Everything this guy does, I do at some point during the week. Sometimes multiple times in a day.

Actually, of the four or five dozen different things that guy does, I think I could successfully accomplish two of them. And that's if you count "spraying your hands with an aerosol canister" and "smiling an exhausted/exasperated smile" as things he does.

In other news: Had a day off today. Checked out the movie Children of Men. If you get the chance, check it out. Very fun, well-thought-through flick. I was very pleased.

Also saw that Pan's Labyrinth had made it down to Knoxville. I'll try to check it out this week. I'm not swayed often by simple poster art, but when I saw the poster art online somewhere, probably on Aint It Cool, I decided that I really wanted to see the flick. Plus, even when he's making fluff, Guillermo del Toro makes fun movies. And this one doesn't look like fluff.

Thursday, January 18, 2007

Notes from a Thursday Morning

Notes from a Thursday Morning

Four years ago, on this date, I wrote on the pages of this blog: "If I were an animal, I'd be a koala. A giant, pissed off koala."

I still agree very much with this assessment, although I think I'd have to consider the possibility of becoming giant lemur with x-ray vision.


A note from Gunny: He works with Larry Gunter's brother. It is now my belief that Larry Gunter is alive and well, and most likely has not eaten by a bear. Which is good for Larry, I reckon. However, I can't say that without a touch of disappointment. How many people do you know that have been eaten by bears? Up until Gunny's e-mail, that number of people in my life was at "possibly one."

I blame Gunny for that, my not being able to say that anymore.


Yesterday was the worst day off ever. In fact, since I ended up working 9 hours of it at my job, I would say that it wasn't technically a day off at all.

There's gotta be a better way.

I think I'm gonna try my hand at winning the lottery.


Because I've worked so much, I've not had time to take care of the little chores. I think I talked earlier about how my home looks like a crazy hermit lives there. I've cleaned a lot of it up last night and this morning. It struck me in the midst of cleaning my sloppy shit up, that I could very well clean too much, thus sending me back into the strata of "crazy person." So I stopped dousing everything in rubbing alcohol and stopped screaming "No Germs!"

Mostly I did that last part because the neighbors and the fire department asked me to.


Also, I've neglected the laundry situation. I'll rectify that one today. I'm at that point where I need to wash underwear or buy more. I'd thought about fashioning a makeshift pair out of paper towels and duct tape, but the thought of having to peel duct tape off a sensitive area I'd accidentally stuck duct tape to made me scream/laugh in abject horror.

Especially after I tested just how badly it hurts. The fire department asked me to stop doing this, too, right after they said that they weren't the people to call for such an incident.

Live and learn.

Wednesday, January 17, 2007


Monday, January 15, 2007



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.

Saturday, January 13, 2007

Little Things

Little Things

I just laughed myself damn near silly at this. One of those great laughs, where you just feel tons better about life in general afterward....

Found it here by going here.

Thursday, January 11, 2007

Thoughts on a Thursday

Thoughts on a Thursday

You know that New Year's Resolution, where I wasn't going to work so much?

Well, the world's said "fuck all" to that.


TiVo? As awesome as I thought. Does it make me a dork that I TiVo Jeopardy? How about that I keep score? In a notebook marked "Jeopardy?"

The great thing is that Jeopardy now takes all of 15 minutes to watch, once you edit out the player introductions, the commercials, the interview segment after the first commercial break and Alex Trebek pontificating before Final Jeopardy.

Also great? Tonight's "My Name is Earl" and "Office." Without commercials.

And the TiVo remembers to record these things. I forget things like that. It's why I'd be a bad parent. I can't remember that my Name is Earl comes on every Thursday. How can I be expected to remember that I left my hypothetical toddler lounging in three inches of water in the bathtub?

Yep. TiVo.

Wednesday, January 10, 2007



This is what happens when you drop a stereo speaker onto a glass top dining table.

Dammit.  Dammit to Hell.

Monday, January 08, 2007

A few random thoughts....

A few random thoughts....

Watched the WWE's New Year's Revolution pay-per-view last night with the brother-in-law. Not a bad show, though the fact that Chris Masters and Kenny Dykstra were given wins over Carlito and the Nature Boy respectively is a pain in the ass.

I will say this. You can head here to see the aftermath of Triple H's injury during the Degeneration X tag match with Edge and Randy Orton. It was one of those things where you could see something was wrong instantly--there was no reason for Triple H to sell a knee injury. My respect for Shawn Michaels grew a little more when he took charge of the direction of the match after that. I don't know how close the actual finish was to the planned finish (I would say that it wasn't how it was planned), but it got to the finish point by Shawn Michaels steering it in that direction.


I was 3/4 this weekend in my football picks. I thought Dallas was going to go over Seattle. Came close.


There are medical issues at work involving higher ups. It's looking like another week of working like a crazy person. Posting may be sporadic. I'll be writing, but I may not come too near the internet. Too much of a distraction.

Sunday, January 07, 2007

One more

One more

Capt. Monterey Jack.

I'd forgotten this one.

"Shoe Tying is not for sissies, okay? But wearing glasses is, so that guy's a sissy!"

Another Classic

Another Classic

I wanted to post this one, too. Sometimes I forget why I say things I do. Every now and then, I'll catch myself doing something really stupid, and I'll ask "What'm I doin?" I picked it up from Lyle and Emmett.



This is a favorite from The State:

Today's Funny

Today's Funny

I heard a variation of this one yesterday. Hadn't heard it in a while. The statute of limitations had passed (that, or I'd forgotten the joke altogether), so I laughed again:

A nun walks into a liquor store and asks the clerk to sell her a fifth of whiskey. The clerk, a good Catholic boy, recognizes the nun from his days at parochial school and says, “Oh, Sister, I could ever sell alcohol to you – you are the bride of God!”

The nun smiles and says “Don’t worry, my son, this whiskey is for Mother Superior’s constipation.” The clerk thinks about this for a few seconds and decides that, because it is for a noble cause, he can sell her the whiskey.

Later that day the clerk is on his break and decides to take a walk through a nearby park. To his surprise he sees the same nun, empty bottle of whisky on the bench next to her and obviously intoxicated.

The clerk snapped at the nun, saying, “Sister, shame on you for lying to me!”

The nun looked up, smiled, and said “My son, I did not lie to you…when the Mother Superior sees me, she's gonna shit!”

Saturday, January 06, 2007

The Adventure Continues....

The Adventure Continues....

In which our hero, Motivation Q. Irons asked to be moved prior to eating his cellmate.

"If you don't move me from this cell, I'll do something drastic."

"Motivation, please leave me alone. I want to watch television."

"Move me, or move him. That's all I ask. If you don't..."

"If I don't, you'll what?"

"I'll...I'll eat him!"

"No you won't. Go away."

"I'll show you."

Friday, January 05, 2007



Um momento há, eu farted, e soou como se meu butt me fazia uma pergunta do truque, talvez tentando conduzir-me em uma armadilha da mente.

Eu ouso não responder. Verdadeiramente, responder a tal pergunta seria a primeira etapa na estrada à loucura.

Eu espero somente que mesmo considerando tal pergunta, eu não afrouxe demasiado meu aperto já tenuous neste (ou qualquer outro) realidade.

Obrigado, e a noite boa.



We created a game at work today. And by we, I mean I. And by a game, I mean "a means by which I might amuse myself other than work, mostly by picking one person almost at random and annoying them with nonsensical questions."

The game, played very simply, was to ask one co-worker about dinosaurs. All day.

I never did get an exact count. But I think we managed to get a good 15 folks to play along most of the day. Even a couple of customers.

Favorite question: "Who would win in a fight, a tyrannosaur, or seven gorillas?"


"If we still had brontosaurus around, do you think we'd use them for public transit? And if so, how much would a ticket cost?"



I like to call this bit of news "The Unbelievably and Absolutely Authentic and True Story of Motivation Q. Irons, the Imprisoned Cannibal With the Desire and Drive to Take the Power of Others by Eating Their Hearts but a Dreadfully Woeful Grasp of Basic Human Anatomy."

"I ate his heart."

"No you didn't."

"Yes, I did."

"No, you didn't. This is the heart. Here in the center. It's fully intact. You ate a piece of lung, looks like."

"Hmm. Tasted like heart."

"It all tastes like heart, you simpleton."

Thursday, January 04, 2007



I meant to post the next part of the story this morning. I finished up at the folks' house this morning, on their computer. I was there watering the dogs and pulling some of my crap out of their basement, and I ended up sitting for a couple hours writing on their computer. It's quieter out there.

Anyway. I wanted to e-mail it to myself, but forgot. I'm a fucktard, and most of you know that at this point. So, it should be up tomorrow.

In the meantime, amuse yourself with this little gem of a game. I've never had a flash game irritate me yet keep me coming back for me. My personal best was a zen-like state where I managed to keep the ball aloft for 48 seconds.

Monday, January 01, 2007



I added and updated a couple of links on the sidebar.

Newscoma's moved to newer digs. Please direct your attentions accordingly.

I added Galactically Stupid, because I was amused, and overcome by elves carrying ball peen hammers.

And I added another Stephen Silver to my blogroll.

This Stephen Silver has been on my blogroll for quite a while...he's a Twins fan, a movie geek and quite the astute political observer...and a good read to boot. Check his blog out if you haven't yet.

This Stephen Silver is a character designer who did work on the Clerks cartoon, among others. A very interesting blog that I just happened upon looking at the blogroll of somebody who linked here when they hit "next blog" on the blogger page, I reckon. I add his blog because I was amused, overcome by elves with the hammers and because I like little things like people having the same name.

Here's What I Look Like

Here's What I Look Like

It's the beginning of 2007, and I figure I ought to do something I don't often do here on the pages of the blog.

I don't often post pictures of myself. Mostly because there aren't many that exist. I'm an elusive fellow, and I've been known to clobber the hell out of those foolish enough to try to steal my soul with their image-capturing contrapulations.

But here is a picture of yours, truly. In it, I am caught in a moment of grooming, as I smooth my troublesome eyebrows with my gigantic hands.

Photobucket - Video and Image Hosting

2007 Status Report

2007 Status Report

Thus far, some 21.5 into the New Year, all I have report is that 2007 tastes very much like 2006. Which is not an entirely bad thing. If you like Circus Peanuts.

Another Re-Run

Another Re-Run

Of everything I wrote in 2006, this was probably my favorite. I even ended up submitting it to a couple of places, to little avail, though that's not a done deal yet.

The First Bumblebee of Spring

It's been a rainy couple of days around these parts. Lightning. Thunder. Scattered Damnations. Hail. It's springtime, so we expect such things around these parts, though it's seemed excessive these last couple of nights...honestly, sometimes I gotta wonder how far off we are from Dennis Quaid and Jake Gyllenhall tromping through my yard in snowshoes.

But in betwixt the monsoons yesterday, I wandered to lunch at a local fast food eatery to grab myself a sammich. I did this because I do love sammiches so.

It was one of those type places where you pay at the one window, and pick your food up at the second. At this particular eatery, there's a space where a car can fit while one car in front is getting food, and the car behind is paying. I was in that space.

It being a nice day, in between the showers, I had the windows down, enjoying the day.

When I notice, all of a sudden, that I have a passenger. An uninvited passenger.
A bumblebee.

And this bumblebee, he wanders in my passenger window. He flies right up to me, buzzes around me for a second. Gives me a study. After a very short study, he must decide that I cannot be used for food, procreation, or nesting, so he turns back toward the passenger area. In retrospect, I think he did this more to intimidate me than anything.

Now, I don't have a problem with bees, necessarily. With bees, I'm very much a live and let live person. I'll leave them alone, and they leave me alone. I've gotten stung a couple of times, but to be frank, I've crushed a few (and swatted a few with a badminton racquet, but that's a story for another time), and on the whole, we get along fine on this little blue marble of ours.

My problem, if I do have one, is that my version of live and let live, and a bumblebee's, do not often fall within the same defining parameters. As such, I admit to becoming concerned when a bee wanders into my car, and becomes confounded by the confusion that is "glass windows." See, the bee is nature's drunk uncle. He's the guy who hasn't held a job for long, who now sponges off of relatives and gets a disability check for his bad back. And like a drunk uncle, a bee produces a sticky substance now and then, the only difference being you can bottle and sell the sticky substances bees produce.

And most like that drunk uncle, a bee is apt to fly off the handle, hurling stingers at whomever falls into his line of sight first.

Now, I'm not one to talk about another species. After all, I can't make a nest by boring into a tree or a side of a house with my teeth. I can't defy physics and fly, and my multi-faceted eyes are not recognized by science as such. There are a great many things that a bumblebee has or can do that I cannot, and I applaud them for it.

But Dang! All I'm asking for is a little of that appreciation in response. A little reciprocation, if you will. I understand that bees can't produce glass windows (yet), but a little patience and understanding with such things as it comes to us human beings would go a long, long way.

If I were to one day save a genie's life (and I'm banking on this as a major factor in my retirement plans, down the road), and as a result, he grant me but one wish, I would have to consider carefully, but that one wish would probably come from one of two directions. The first being that bees and other stinging insects gain an instinctive understanding (and patience regarding) glass windows. How many times have you seen a bee (or wasp...I might have to include wasps in this conversation) fly into a window, become confounded and go from calm-blue-sky to Let's-Sting-Tommy-In-The-Eye Angry in a heartbeat?

I think if I could get that wish granted, where bees get a little patience regarding the windows, it would be cool. I think most of us are aware when a bee flies in the window, and starts bouncing off a clear surface. It's one of life's little moments. I think the drunkest drunk, the craziest Charles Bukowski, would have what you call "a moment of clarity." But, with the new "patient" bee, I think all the bee would have to do would be bounce against the window a couple of times, and then give us an agreed upon signal (I'm thinking "Shave and a Hair Cut, Two Bits" with the wings), and we agree to help the buggers out.

Without the all the painful stinging.

The second option, were I granted but one wish from a genie or religious figure, is simply a variation on the first: in it, I ask that bees and wasps gain some manner of "phasing" ability, where the bee might be able to simply arrange his or her molecules so that they pass through solid objects like windows without the hassle of having to knock against the sumbitch, thus becoming "Sting-Tommy-to-Death" angry.

This of course raises the question of how a bee might somehow confuse a window with something else, like a breastbone or a leg...and how there's nothing to keep a bee from phasing through a human. What's to keep them from phasing through a person, and then stinging them inside the lungs, or maybe on the lining of the stomach? If I ever do meet this genie, I'm thinking the first option much more preferable to the second...in fact, so much so that a boatload of money might be preferable even to the second option.

But I've wandered way off course here.

So, I'm there, waiting to pick up my food when this bee flies into my window. I get distracted, waiting for the bee to crawl or fly out. You can't drive while doing this. For one thing, you aren't watching the road, and you might crash into the side of McDonald's, and I doubt that they'll come out and sing "I'm lovin' it" when you do that.

Also, if you move the truck and its relative position in the air, you might further confuse the already muddled bee, and he might decide that the quickest way out of the truck and/or only recourse is through the leg of your shorts, where he finds no exit, only genitals.

So, I sat there waiting for the bee to leave. He finally did leave, after a couple of seconds, out the way he came. He didn't do so before the McDonald's drive-thru attendant looked out the window to see just where in the blue fuck I was.

I explained, as I pulled up to the window to collect my Quarter Pounder w/Cheese, that there was a bee in my truck. She seemed a little annoyed, instead of surprised. To tell you the truth, even though it was no fault of hers, I kinda wanted an apology. At the very least, I'd have liked a little sympathy, or perhaps a little appreciation at just how brave I was, just to keep driving after nearly getting stung to death by a bee.

I didn't go through the whole thought process of wishing bees could phase through solid objects, or the bit about where I was afraid that the bee would climb up my pants and sting me on the ballsack, because that's not the sort of thing a grunt on the drive-thru needs to hear.

That's the sort of story you save for management, or perhaps a maitre'd at one of your finer restaurants.

Anyway. That's how I know it's spring. A bumblebee flew in the window of my truck.

Also, because the calendar said it started a month ago.

I have no way to close this post, except to say that while it doesn't surprise me that "sumbitch" doesn't show up on blogger's spellcheck, it amused me that "genitals" doesn't...blogger suggests that you replace "genitals" with "gentiles."

Sounds like a conspiracy to me.