Thursday, December 31, 2009

The 2009 Top 10

Holy Shit. I almost forgot.

These were the top ten bowel movements (personal) of the year 2009.

10. April 11 -- 6:44 PM
9. June 29 -- 5:40 AM
8. August 25 -- 4:50 PM
7. August 25 -- 5:37 PM
6. December 2 -- 6:33 AM
5. January 2 -- 6:04 PM
4. December 19 -- 3:38 AM
3. December 21 -- 3:19 PM
2. December 29 -- 7:11 PM
1. May 14 -- 5:55 AM.

Thanks. I thought you'd be wondering. Remember this for future betting: December is a month of rich foods.

2009 and whatnot....

Well, as the Gooseneck so kindly reminded, I've not sat down to put pen to paper for this blogamathing in any meaningful way in a little while. Time gets short for retail people this time of year. Twelve-hour workdays working with the public during the holidays ain't conducive to a gregarious and multitudinous level of blogamaposting.

I dunno. The holidays are rough. I enjoy them, what time I get to spend actually holidaying. It's just the nature of the beast, I guess. When people have asked, lately, how my Christmas was, I answer honestly: Short. Work 12-13 hours on Christmas Eve. Get up at 7 Christmas morning to wrap presents, spend the day with the family, and get up the next morning to get back to the grind. I don't know if there's a biblical law forbidding my getting two days off in a row during November & December, but it happened once, and that's one more time than I can remember it happening in years past.

Enough bitching. If there's a part of 2009 that I'd like to close the door on it's the holidays....

All things considered, it wasn't a bad year. Worked a bunch. Did some school. Got to hang out with friends and family. Read a few books, watched a few movies. There were things I'd have liked to have done, a little more time I'd have liked to have had. But all things considered, I can't bitch too much. There have been a couple years in the past five that I've really wanted to slam the door on and run from screaming. This is not one of those years. Maybe it's a small victory, but it's a victory nonetheless.

Resolutions? There are the usual ones. I'm going stop eating so much fast food. Going to lose a little bit of weight. Going to read a little more--that one's been on my mind. As recently as four years ago, I mowed through 70 books in a year. This year, I'd put the number at 15...18 out the outside, and that's been the case for a couple or three years.

Mostly though, I'd like to stop taking everything so fucking seriously. I used to feel like I could laugh anything off, and that's not where I've been for two or three years. Funny that it's got much the same time frame as the book thing. Correlation, Watson? Seems like that one's a textbook answer.

Anyway. We'll see you botards over in Twenty-Ten....Y'all have a good New Year!

Friday, December 25, 2009

A Christmas Post

Just wanted to pop onto the blogamathing and wish any and everybody reading a Very Merry Christmas. I hope it's restful, refreshing and everything you need and wish it to be.

Me? I managed a nice nine hours of sleep last night, waking somewhere around 8:15 or so this morning, startled at first that I'd overslept. There's not much in this world like realizing that not only do you not have to go to work, but it's also Christmas. Even at 32, I feel like that, and I hope I never lose that.

Still, the working life in retail being what it is over the Christmas holiday, it left me needing to sit down and finish the wrapping & bagging of the stuff I'd gotten for the folks, sister and brother-in-law. Another holiday viewing of Christmas Vacation later, and I made the lunch-time journey over to the folks' house.

The sister & brother-in-law made the journey up toward Riceville shortly thereafter, after spending Christmas morning with the brother-in-law's family. There are kids on that side of the family, and thus Santa makes a visit that way.

As an aside, I don't think Santa visits my house. Unless it's during the year to steal my beer and make a mess of my laundry situation. If Santa's anything like me, it's nice to know that he builds up a year's worth of jollies by messing with people over the course of the year.

Next year will be interesting for sister and brother-in-law I mean. They've got a bundle of joy on the way. This time next year, my Christmas post will contain what will be one of what will be many references to my being an Uncle Tom.

We exchanged gifts. Got myself a new pair of tennis shoes, which is nice, considering I was a couple weeks away from having to staple rubber bands onto copies of the Guinness Book of World Records. McGyver, I ain't.

I'm sure McGyver would have better luck with the remote control helicopter I got for Christmas, too. Apparently, Air Wolf, I ain't, either.

Anyway. Just wanted to take a minute to say howdy, and tell you fine folks Merry Christmas. Take it easy, and we'll see you on the flip side...

Thursday, December 24, 2009

Christmas Eve

Morning, folks. Just up a little early to finish preparing a couple Christmas gifts for a couple folks at the job. Just wanted to take a minute, before the big day gets here, to wish you guys...the ones I know, and the ones I don't, a Very Merry Christmas. I hope it is everything you need it to be, and more.

I posted this five years ago, and I think the advice in it still rings true. With apologies for another re-run (botardism runs strong during the Christmas season), I post this partly in warning. Currently, Santa Claus is somewhere over Southeast Asia. I'll be watching the Santa Tracker with an extremely wary eye.

Merry Christmas to you and yours....and we'll see you on the other side....

It's 9:30 on Christmas Eve, and right now, NORAD's Santa Claus radar has the jolly old elf somewhere over South America...

I'm going to bed soon. I think I'm going to drink some of the spiked egg nog, and chase it with a Benadryl or two. I don't want that fat man to catch me anywhere near awake.

See, I caught Santa one year. I used my mental powers, and my ninja training. I set a trap for him. You know the a better Santa trap and the world will beat your ass to the door. Or something like that.

The trap? It was fly (I learned that word on TV). It was diesel-powered, and it ran on 1.21 gigawatts of electrosol, or something. I can't explain it well, because I'm inept in my ability to explain things technical. Suffice it to say this: think of a cross between one of those glue-based mouse traps, a helicopter, and Eskimo Ingenuity, and you're almost there.

Santa fell into my trap. At 12:14 on Christmas morning, in 1992. Santa has a weakness for Swiss Cake Rolls. I caught him. He was screaming in some language I didn't know. Considering the jaunty sneer and the swaggering swivel of his hips, I assumed that it was Elvish

I could only wonder at my achievement. How many millions of people had tried and failed to catch St. Nicholas? I stared at the man in red, and could barely begin to think of the acclaim, the public adoration.

Sadly, I could barely begin to think of the money. The Knoxville Zoo told me they'd pay me $20 if I could deliver the jolly old elf. I know that, because I called and asked how much a jolly old elf would bring me...they answered with a snort (which, at the time I took for excitement, but realize now was something more mocking) "twenty dollars."

But I was counting my chickens before they hatched (which, coincidentally, was plan B, to put Santa under a heat lamp and see what emerges). I managed to hold St. Nick for all of 28 minutes. He's a wily old elf. He knows how to think his way around a corner (or outside the box, as it were). In the future, I'll know that Santa's got a helluva bunch of good stuff in his Batman-style utility belt. I think it was the acid that freed him, though I'll never be sure. I was momentarily knocked silly by one one of his deadly accurate Santarangs.

I gained my senses enough to try once again to subdue St. Nick. I've watched my share of pro wrestling in my life (and probably your share, too). But don't let anybody fool you. Thousands of hours spent studying the career of Bret "the Hitman" Hart is no match for Santa's rolling snowball Kung Fu. And let me say, Santa Claus knows his way around a choke hold.

When he was done beating me senseless, he tied me to the hearth with the stockings, which hadn't been hung by the chimney with enough care for Santa. I was left for Commissioner Gordon and the rest of the Gotham City police to find in the morning.

Most damning? Santa has connections. He told me, as he laid a finger inside his nose (Clement Moore had that one wrong), but before up the chimney he arose: "Young Thomas: because of you transgression against me, you will never be able to enter the Kingdom of Heaven!" That, in a word, sucks.

I've done my best in the decade since to atone. I've twice made a pilgrimage to the North Pole to offer thanks for my life, and to do whatever Santa wants me to do, so as to make up. (FYI: The North Pole thing is bunk, a story made up to throw off Santa's enemies....Santa's workshop is actually in Iceland, inside a volcano, where he and his elves and reindeer are protected by Magma Monsters and Lava Loons.)

I feel like I'm making progress. I am cautiously optimistic that, over time, he'll forgive me. I hope, anyway. The problem is that an immortal elf like Santa shouldn't have any problems holding a grudge for a long, long time.

But mostly, he tells me in no uncertain terms to go away, and to leave him be.

So, I'm doing all I can to make him happy, in that respect. Which means I'll have been asleep for several hours by the time Santa makes his pass by my house.....

And let me pass a word of warning on to you, as well: You'd do well to do the same. Don't do anything to draw his wrath. As if eternal damnation of the soul to Alabama (it's where Hell is, just south of Tuscaloosa) isn't enough, he's got heat vision and no problem with using it to burn off and instantly cauterize fingers. Also, I've got a permanent crick in my neck and an intense aversion to pointy hats that I'll carry with me forever, for my troubles.

You do the same, and you too, can have a Very Merry Christmas.

Sunday, December 20, 2009

ReRun: A Christmas Letter

Sometimes it wows me that I've kept this little blogamathing going for seven years. This, in and of itself, shows that I am generally short of attention span, and pretty easily impressed to boot.

Anyway, I wrote this booger back in December of 2002, when I was a scant 25 years old, still with 88% hair coverage on the top of my head:

Dear Superman:

This is what I want for Christmas.

The power to blow things up with my mind.

If this is too broad a thing to ask for, what I want then is the power to blow cars up with my mind.

Superman, if you could only do something about all these people that are driving (licensed by the state, apparently) then I would be ever so grateful.

Or maybe, you could give me some kind of radio signalling device. It would override the signal in their car whenever I pointed my transmitter at the offending car. One second, they'd be listening to "Pleasant Valley Sunday," and the next I would be talking (perhaps screaming) at them through their car's own speakers! Maybe they'd think that I was you, Superman. Maybe then they would listen.

Why is it, Superman, that every Friday every Bedouin Camel-Trader or Amish Vegetable Caravan or simply the Dirt Farmer Tractor Brigade has to be out on the roads--the ones that I drive on--and in my way? Couldn't you just simply designate Wednesday as Get Out and Drive Really Dangerously Day? And then Thursday would be Slowpoke Thursday?

For Christmas, Superman, instead of my previous list (mailed to you care of President George W. Bush in September of this year (2002), in which I asked for a Q-Bert Game, a kitten, that Dukes of Hazzard car you've owed me since 1983 and a mallet), I ask only for vengeance.

Although the point could be made that sweet vengeance could be obtained with a mallet.

I hope you have a good Christmas, Superman. I'll live a Swiss Cake Roll and a Coke out under the tree for you, and a bunch of carrots for your reindeers.
I love you, Superman.

Your buddy,
Big Stupid Tommy

As then, now, and always, my grasp of all things theological is tenuous, at best.

Sunday Thoughts....

The first thing I want to say is this: My brain deserves a terrible, stabby death. For the love of all that is good an holy! This is likely my last day off without (much) oblication until the second week of 2010, and it decides to wake up and think about the Justice League of America at 5:28 in the morning?

Honestly. The rest of me, my spleen, liver and the arches of my feet included, DO NOT CARE how the Justice League of America sets up the monitor duty schedules, and how they handle days off and whatnot.

Wandering through a Sunday where I've actually managed to get the Big Stupid Tommy Compound looking like a sane person lives in it. Dishes done, clothes picked up. I've even gotten books straightened and the bed made. I'm an honest-to-God grownup this morning.

I'll say this, this chilly Sunday morning: I'm slightly jealous of you folks who got snow. Slightly. Pictures like this are kinda why. It's a world of yellows, browns and grays around SE Tennessee this morning. We sit an hour-or-so west and south of the line of demarcation between eight inches of snow on the ground and merely a shit-ton of rain. I like the stories heard from co-workers at other locations north and east of here, where one side of some counties received six, eight and ten inches of snow, while the other side of the county got flurries and cold rain.

I'd kinda like to see a good snow up close, again.

Still, there are blessings in all things. Drivers around here go shitbrained when the wind blows sideways. Don't think I'd want to navigate the byways of McMinn County with 8 inches of snow covering things up....

I did watch Christmas Vacation again this morning. I would like to take a quick minutes to list my favorite lines:

7.) Can I refill your eggnog for you? Get you something to eat? Drive you out to the middle of nowhere and leave you for dead?

6.) Clark: 'Tis the season to be merry.
Mary: That's my name.
Clark: No shit.

5.) Todd: Hey Griswold. Where do you think you're gonna put a tree that big?
Clark: Bend over and I'll show you.
Todd: You've got a lot of nerve talking to me like that Griswold.
Clark: I wasn't talking to you.

4.) Eddie: I don't know if I oughta go sailin' down no hill with nothin' between the ground and my brains but a piece of government plastic.
Clark: Do you really think it matters, Eddie?

3.) Ellen: Oh Aunt Bethany, you shouldn't have done that.
Aunt Bethany: Oh dear, did I break wind?

2.) Eddie: Shitter was full!

1.) Clark: If I woke up tomorrow with my head sewn to the carpet, I wouldn't be more surprised than I am now.

Friday, December 18, 2009

Fairytale of New York

I dig it.

Wednesday, December 16, 2009

Highlighting Yet Another Difference between Tommy and President Obama

In volume 18 of an irregular series by yours, truly: I have happened upon yet another difference between your old pal Tommy and President Barack Obama.

Today, I had to put my truck in for a little work to be done. Nothing serious. Just a little bit of stuff that needs to be done for me not to go crashing to bridges, abutments, pedestrians, livestock or other cars. I am currently waiting for them to call to say that they're done. It is backing up my plans for the day, which did not previously include watching Paris Hilton on the Ellen Degeneres show.

By contrast, President Obama has most of his maintenance done for him, long before it become an issue. You don't want to see the President making news because the limousine he's riding had worn brakes and rear-ended the Oscar Meyer Weiner during the Washington DC Christmas parade (because never having seen it, this is how I imagine the Washington Christmas Parade goes at the end: The Oscar Meyer Wiener, the President's Limo and Santa Claus bringing up the rear).

And the president probably puts Paris Hilton on Ellen on Tivo. Because he's busy during the day, one would imagine. And a busy man needs to be able to fast forward through commercials during Ellen (and Jeopardy and WWE Monday Night Raw, which I'm sure the President watches, as well).

Monday, December 14, 2009

Links, and whatnot....

In a oh so surprising bit on ineptitude on my part, I neglected to save my previous links from the template changeover. I've put up what I can remember...if I've left you off, it is an oversight, and I apologize. Drop a link in the comment section, and we'll fix this junk.

Another Test

Well, after six years, I've changed my template. Turns out the inability to link to my individual posts are a product of using a template Blogger discontinued as a regular choice around the Athens, Greece Olympics.

Just trying out the new template. May change a few other things up. Just trying...

Things You Shouldn't Care About

Things You Shouldn't Care About

Just a Fantasy Football Update. After succeeding for three or four years in not playing multiple fantasy football teams, I've ended up with three teams this year. Now is the time I will report out on their success (or, lack of, in one case).

I'll speak first of my Dad's work league (Football Knights), which I joined at the last minute, because they needed an even number of teams to draft, the draft coming one day before the Titans/Steelers game that started the season. This team, The Slobberknockers, managed to pick up Adrian Peterson, DeAngelo Williams and Thomas Jones with its first three picks, mostly owing to the small league size (6 teams) It also features Marques Colston, Phillip Rivers (drafted eighth round or so), and Week 3 Waiver Wire pickup Wes Welker. This league actually began its playoffs this week, I sat out this round owing to that I locked first place throughout the playoffs three weeks ago, finishing the regular season at 10-3.

This league is interesting, team in particular (Jabberwocky) has been an effort in futility...I'd thought the owner had quit the league, but he'd been changing players out, and ended up having the worst injury and performance luck I've seen in years. Jabberwocky ended up the six-seed in a league where all teams make the playoffs, finishing with a record of 1 win, 12 losses. They play the 3 seed, who lost a final regular season game to drop into the third place slot (losing to the team that took over the 2nd slot, and who took the bye this week). This team (The Warrior), who dealt me 1 of my 3 losses this season, is currently losing their playoff game to that 1-12 team. Each has one player going tonight...

Things to think about: The 2 seed (Stronghold) in the league is the team I lost my other 2 games to, this year. Also, next week, I'll play my Dad's team (Butt Kicker), and he takes theses losses personally.


The Work League (I Like Cupcakes), in which I'm playing with those folks from the job. I found myself entering the last week of the regular season in a second place tie.

A team I've had to work on, since I missed the live draft owing to (begorrah!) a date, I had to work with a team made from my pre-rankings, which wasn't all that bad, just not exactly what I wanted. Injury problems (McNabb, and a couple other small ones) hurt my team (Athens Midgetcrushers) early in the season, as well as one particular pesky week, where I forgot to take out a couple of players on a bye week. At the end of week 6, I was sitting second from last with a 2-4 record.

I then reeled off six straight wins, alternating between Donovan McNabb and Matt Schaub (paying attention mostly to the pass defense the Texans were playing each week). And then there's a little guy named Chris Johnson, who runs faster than I can think.

This was our last week of regular season. Four teams make the playoffs. Here are the standings:

*1. The Pelts 9-4-0 .692 1400.22 W-2 8 23
2. Bodes Bros 8-5-0 .615 1587.11 W-3 2 10
3. Athens Midgetcrushers 8-5-0 .615 1495.23 L-1 5 15
4. DaBadabooms 7-6-0 .538 1454.88 W-2 6 21
5. Fighting Armadillos 7-6-0 .538 1429.00 L-2 4 11
6. KansasCityCrew 5-8-0 .385 1373.73 W-1 7 36
7. smackdown 5-8-0 .385 1186.70 L-4 3 10
8. ravenskiller 3-10-0 .231 1320.05 L-3 1 17

One team could not be knocked out of the playoffs. The Pelts has held on to first much of the year (sharing, or sole possession). His point total ranks somewhere in the bottom half, but somehow, through luck or design (or a little of both), Ben managed to beat his opponents by 5 & 10 points every week. I would like to note that 2 of Ben's four losses came to yours, truly. This week was also not Ben's week. He is currently losing to DaBadabooms, themselves seeking to secure a playoff spot. It's not looking optimistic for tonight. Unless Frank Gore can score 41 points for Mr. Pelton, it looks like Ben is in the playoffs, but will likely fall to a 3 seed.


I found myself, after a loss last week (Schaub's Shoulder killed me and my bid for a seventh straight win) tied in second with my grocery manager Jeff (Bodes Bros). Jeff's team's been a point machine all year, but with Chris Johnson surging, and Schaub and Andre Johnson having occasional very solid weeks, I've averaged 145 points a week, and am currently sitting with the second most points in the league, to Jeff (we have identical win-loss records).

Jeff and I are both winning. Jeff scoring some 106.66 points. Meanwhile, I've ridden Brandon Marshall's record-breaking performance, along with Andre Johsnon, Chris Johnson and double-digit performances from three defensive guys and Ricky Williams to an eye-popping 195.85 points. I would have lamented not playing Matt Schaub, who ended up with a couple fantasy points more than Donovan McNabb, if Jeff's team weren't playing Larry Fitzgerald and Karlos Dansby tonight. Of note, though is that Jeff's opponent (The Fighting Armadillos) has a couple players going tonight as well. And while I don't often expect a Tight End or a Wide Receiver to impact a game with a swing of 20 points, stranger things have happened...

If the season ended today, I would find myself the 2 seed in the 4-team playoff, playing The Pelts.

The bugaboo is DaBadaBooms. That's my boss's team. And his team's beaten mine twice this year. Losses to his team bookend my six-game win streak. Still, the upside for me there is that Peyton Manning might end up resting some over the next several weeks. Other than that, he's just got a tremendously consistent team. Nobody breaks out a huge game, but nobody bottoms out at zero, either.


Lastly, I'll speak on my Dynasty League I joined. I was invited by my buddy Eric, when a league owner passed away in the spring. I paid my entry fee. And I'm getting my ass kicked. The team (which was called Judo Chop, which I promptly renamed Notoriously Stupid), had a few holes. Honestly. Who knew Boomer Esiason had retired?

Actually, it's not all bad. I've not been blown out. I just tend to lose games by five and ten points across the board. I am winning this week, however. This is the last week of the regular season there, as well. I stand to finish the season 4-9-1.

That tie was the first in the five year history of that Dynasty League. The current first place team (The Bulkamaniacs) and I finished with identical scores of 101.85 in week 6.


Fantasy football. Gotta love it. I sit here and write 19 paragraphs (or go to work on Monday and crow about beating somebody) like I've actually accomplished something myself....

God Bless America.

Saturday, December 12, 2009



Top 50 Flick Linkage....



Animal is a role model.

Tuesday, December 08, 2009

Chapter MMMCCLXXX: Tiger Woods, y'all

Chapter MMMCCLXXX: Tiger Woods, y'all

A Brief Statement on Tiger Woods:

I don't care about Tiger Woods. Much. Not much more than it takes to write a short post about it.

First, I don't play golf. If you do, more power to you. I get frustrated trying to change the batteries in my Tivo Remote. I'd imagine spoiling a walk chasing a ball carrying a bag full of potential murder weapons wouldn't be conducive to a day wellspent.

The sex thing? I dunno. Maybe I'm different. For one, I don't tend to look to athletes or television stars or Ted Nugent at all to raise my children or provide me with a moral compass. And for two? Long ago, I came to the realization that grown ups have sex, and really, the only sex life that should really concern me is my own (and my partner's, by extension). I don't care how many women Tiger Woods has in however many ports of call. I'd always assumed that, yeah, he probably did have women at every town the PGA stopped in. I don't know if it's a good thing or a bad thing, or even if it's a thing at all: I'd be more surprised if he didn't have beautiful women in every town.

Well, maybe I'd be surprised if the women were all 400 pound linewomen in that semi-pro football league that started a couple years back. That might be surprising.

Or if the women were corpses. That might be really bothersome. But at least then, I'd turn up the radio instead of turning the channel. If it came out that they caught Tiger Woods out in the graveyard digging up bodies and dipping his wick? Yeah, I'd be all over that mess. More for the grotesque humor than the thrill of necrophilia. But then, there are days that my idea of funny is probably something best kept to myself, lest I want to spend a weekend or two at the nut hut.

Or if the women were actually bears. I do enjoy that scene in Super Troopers. And that would be surprising.

Or Tigers. For some reason, the idea of young master Woods dying in the Tiger cage with his pants down is amusing to me.

But, again, that's one of those thoughts that probably kept me out of the really good schools.

At the end of the day, and at the end of this post, I've used up all my concern for this Tiger Woods mess and his previously burgeoning sex life. I will now return to worrying about my own.

And worrying is probably the most perfect word for it, too....

Sunday, December 06, 2009

Why My Army of Giraffes Failed

Why My Army of Giraffes Failed

Hindsight being what it is, it should have been an easy decision to make. The money, manpower, effort and irreplaceable time put into this project could well have been spent toward something more worthwhile. But, I am young, yet. A spry 32. There is time, and there is time. Every lesson I've ever learned, I've learned by making a mistake (i.e. wear underwear to all job interviews and check the zipper twice).

Here now, are a few thoughts on why the effort was utter folly:
  • There is little capacity for abstract thought within the above-average giraffe, let alone the average giraffe. I will not mention the below average giraffes, as they are quite haughty about such things.
  • Giraffes are tremendously proud, even haughty beasts, considering their inability to think in any form other than what God gave them in the form of instinct. They will not do as told.
  • Even after all these years, I am not sure they understand what I'm saying to them. I admit that I may have mistaken indifference for wise stoicism.
  • The social structure, bred into them by God his own self, is prohibitive when it comes to creating a large scale army. Generally speaking, the giraffe will stick to a herd not much larger than 10 or 12. Our efforts at organiziation into companies and platoons was semi-successful at best.
  • The females were the more easily organized of the two sexes.
  • We severely underestimated gestation time for a pregnant giraffe. While our plans for reinforcement were always along the lines of "buy more giraffes," it would have been helpful if our armies were at least 50% self-sustaining. A giraffe will carry a calf for nearly 16 months. Not only is this prohibitive in terms of having part of your army on the shelf for gestation...these beasts are horribly ill-tempered when pregnant.
  • Giraffe spit is truly disgusting. Viscous, would be a good word. We learned this the hard way, in our dealings with pregnant giraffes.
  • Giraffe spit is truly disgusting, but an ineffective weapon. In three different large scale tests, it tends simply to antagonize those it is directed toward. It is a shame we are no longer allowed in Virginia.
  • Giraffes are particularly ineffective fighting ninjas, pirates and highlanders.
  • Giraffes, generally, cannot navigate power lines effectively.
  • Giraffes eat a ridiculous amount. It is important to note that the closure of has been very much a key factor in our decision to end Project: Death Giraffe. That said, the cost of brown sugar alone should have been a mitigating factor.
  • Giraffes drink a ridiculous amount. Efforts of stealth become difficult when having to house an army of herbivores near a large, clean body of water. The number of local residents we've had to dispatch, and the sheer number of personal watercraft and pontoon boats confiscated off the Hiwassee River have simply become too difficult to explain in a satisfactory matter.
  • Generally speaking, people are surprised, but unsatisfied with receiving personal watercraft and pontoon boats as Christmas presents, especially those living in urban environments.
  • Giraffes will not drink beer or soda. Initially this was seen as an advantage, but as the aforementioned stealth factored into the equation, it became necessary to find alternate means of hydration.
  • Giraffes will drink Gatorade in moderation. Giraffes especially enjoyed the Fierce Flavors (not grape). The relative inability to find Fierce Melon Gatorade became an issue of morale and personal safety in late 2007.
  • Giraffes are terribly stubborn, for a beast born without the capacity for thought.
  • Giraffes are ineffective for long term use as a battering ram.
  • Giraffe urine is horrible, but again, tended simply to antagonize enemies, rather than incapacitating them. Plus, the cost of rain coats for human staff was difficult to accept.
  • Giraffe uniforms, even with capes, are unwieldy.
  • Giraffes do not like wearing clothes.
  • Giraffes do not like wearing capes.
  • Giraffes do not like wearing socks.
  • Giraffes do not like wearing boots.
  • Giraffes do not like wearing tennis shoes.
  • Giraffes were not averse to wearing shoes with open toes and lifts. I believe there is merit to the stiletto heel idea, but in practice, there were entirely too many broken giraffe ankles to justify the cost of buying an entire Filipino plant to clothe.
  • Warehousing costs for thousands of pallets of giraffe high-heels will continue to be a concern for years to to come.
  • Giraffes cannot read directions.
  • Giraffes do not require much sleep, which was at first seen as an advantage. But unless there are commanders there to direct the efforts of a giraffe army, the amount of infomercial-hawked merchandise delivered to headquarters becomes very much a liability.
  • Giraffes are easily swayed by sales pitches. We have still not ascertained exactly what giraffes will do with Ron Popeil's chicken rotissiere, or with several thousand copies of Girls Gone Wild.
  • Warehousing of Girls Gone Wild DVD's will continue to be a concern for years to come.
  • Giraffes, in the words colloquial, cannot carry a tune in a bucket. I consider the Giraffe Army Chorus and Marching Band to be the most glaring and abject failure of my life.
  • The warehousing of various woodwind and brass instruments modified to fit the necks of the giraffes will be a concern for years to come.
  • Giraffes cannot handle firearms, in any shape form or fashion. To say their dislike of the noise is understatement of the most extreme kind. I am afraid the result of our demonstration of mortar capabilities will be the talk of legend, in this area of the world, for years to come.
  • Operation Earplug/Machine gun turret was unsuccessful.
  • Giraffes did not hold well to our attempts to modify their hide & fur into a traditional camouflage pattern.
  • Camouflage Tarpaulins were marginally successful, but we found that the bungee cords holding them in place would often get on tree limb, sign posts, hooks of bungee cords on other giraffes.

Wednesday, December 02, 2009

You Full Moon People Suck...

You Full Moon People Suck....

Working retail, without even looking up at the sky, I can judge when we're close to a full moon. If only for all the gobshites that get restless, and feel like they need to wander out into the cold December night to hit the store for asparagus, panty hose and Little Debble Strawberry Shortcake rolls some two minutes before we're supposed to close.