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I'm reading a history book.
I'm sitting in my living room, reading a history book.
I haven't done this in years, and it's great.
However, I forgot what the slick combination of being alone and immersing oneself in the world of historical truth (albeit of a leftist bent) does to my sanity.
I go completely apeshit.
I stopped reading for at least a half hour so that I could engage in a genocidal war with the ants. They are fleeing the rain, you see, trying their best to find safe haven and warmth and dryness in my kitchen. They are coming up through the concrete floor which, cosmetically damaged in the Northridge earthquake of 1994, has developed a crack large enough to be traversed.
Not on my bloody fucking watch.
I pursued them, following one specific ant. This ant's name is Lucky. He's not lucky. He's dead. I killed him with bug spray, as well as a few hundred of his brethren. They were trying to consume a pool of dried koolaid that had massed on the floor of the kitchen. Like a crew of gatherers in some children's version of a Real-Time-Strategy game, they gathered around the sticky puddle of solid sugar, each ones head pointed inward towards their salvation.
And then I came from the heavens, spraying Prallethrin and Lambda Cyhalothrin scented death all over Lucky and his kin.
I sprayed them a lot, and they stopped bothering me with their incessant living. (It bugged me. Hah, hah, deadpan.)
And then karma took hold of the situation and I had to flee the kitchen due to the reek of the aforementioned pesticides.
This is what landed me in my living room, History book firmly planted on the table. I lasted ten minuted before I started to get hungry. And then I went a little crazy.
Me: "I want you in my belly!"
I announced this with determination and finality. A declaration to the heavens that their chosen was ready to be fed.
Me: "Now!"
The ambrosia did not fall out of the sky. Which was good, because it would only have made me cranky. I had been thinking of consuming the box of Better Cheddars that languished, uneaten, in my pantry. Ambrosia is no replacement for Better Cheddars.
I tiptoed into the kitchen, trying to not disturb the ghosts of the ants I had so recently, and ruthlessly, murdered with chemical warfare. The smell of the pesticides made me a little giddy.
I started skipping out of the kitchen to nomnom my Better Cheddars. The skipping could have been caused by my excitement at being able to eat the perfect food (in that moment), or it could have been the pesticides.
Regardless, I skipped. Ten feet. And then sat down and wrote this, instead of continuing to read my History book. Current Mood:  calm Current Music: Raindrops. It's raining in LA! |
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This came up at work when discussing nicknames with Herpe.
My new Pirate Name:
Crotch-Beard
That is all. Current Mood:  crazy Current Music: Patton Oswalt - Werewolves and Lollipops |
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I have a standing personal rule regarding my entertainment dollar. Wanna hear it? Here it goes:
"If I spend any money on entertainment, I need to spend at least as much time enjoying the product of my entertainment as it took me to generate the money necessary to purchase it."
- Me
This is very similar to the standing rule of Goth Clubs. Wanna hear it? Here it goes:
"You need to spend at least as much time at the club reading dark poetry/looking sad/dancing with a mirror as it took to put on all of your makeup and angst-gear."
-NPR Goth
The quotes are so you can copy and paste that wherever you want. Go ahead. It's not copyrighted.
It's usually pretty easy to make this work. Events like Coachella, or trips to Disneyland can sometimes stretch this standard to the limits, but for the most part it's a fairly good rule.
Video games, depending on how close to release they are purchased, range between $15-$60.
Movies take a few hours to watch, so a $15 price tag isn't bad. Even if drinks and choc-tacos bring the price into the mid $20s that's still a good deal. (Dates and friends pay for themselves, so don't even bring that up.)
Concerts in LA are extremely reasonable when audited under this standard. From the Hotel Cafe in the low end, which rarely breaks $10, to the Orpheum in the high end, where I've only spent $30, the price of admission was reasonable when the duration of the show was taken into consideration.
Video game systems end up costing fractions of cents when the purchase price is amortized throughout the life of the system for all of it's uses. (Playing video games, watching streaming content from the internet on a gigantic TV, playing DVDs, etc.) The same theory above applies to computers.
Looking through my budget, though, I have found one item that does not abide by this standard in any shape or form. My car. Between my Car-mortgage, insurance costs and the price of gasoline, my vehicle actually costs me more to upkeep than the use I get out of it. And since I purchased this monstrosity, rather than leasing it like I would have in the past, I am locked into the purchase for a few more years. At least I can console myself with knowing that by keeping the car longer I am contributing less of a carbon footprint than if I bought another car. (That just adds the production of the new car onto a pre-existing carbon footprint, essentially doubling, tripling, or (multiply the number of new cars I've owned times the basic carbon footprint value) my mark on the world.
I guess I could use more CFCs to make up the difference. Those are still available, though from the look of it, cans of spraypaint will not meet my standard for entertainment spending.
Damn. Current Mood:  cranky Current Music: Battles - Prismism |
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Road Trip, Part I: The Early Preparation and Arrival of Yours Truly into the Land of Dry Heat and Motor-pool Hotties Thursday, June 12, 2008, 9:00 PM Los Angeles time Flight time, t-minus 10 hours, and counting My plans for the evening include a meal of some sort, a midnight showing of “The Happening” and then some packing before engaging in a light nap at home prior to zipping to the airport to make my 7 AM flight. Here’s how these plans went awry. I was harassed and cajoled by Mr. and Mrs. Porn King into an evening of debauchery and libations at the local Claim Jumpers, a villainous hangout visited only by the most treacherous of the Chatsworth/Northridge underworld. At the time of our arrival the dive is populated by a rowdy mix of reprobate sports-fan and last-call-awaiting barfly that makes visits to Claim Jumpers, at the least, a buffet of people-watching to which even the most ravenous student of human nature would have to make multiple trips. Mr. and Mrs. Porn King were, as usual, extremely pleased with the novelty of mixing with such low and base peoples as myself and the interminable el_pinko_grande, but were unable to muster the fortitude to endure our presence any longer than it took to consume their prole-meals. Thus they relieved themselves of our presence at their earliest quaint-filled convenience. The Interminable el_pinko_grande and I then made way to my Mountain Lair of Solitude so that I could make use of the twilight in assembling my various steamer-trunks and luggage for the impending flight. Spending the hours intervening the food and our planned picture-show in such a mundane effort was a fortuitous decision, as the distillation of time later made packing prior to my flight nearly impossible. Also, the ever-hilarious “Family Guy” was received in my HD Oscilloscope, thus keeping the Interminable el_pinko_grande from running amok in my parlor of Expensive and Irreplaceable Late-Twentieth-Century Sundries. From my Mountain Lair of Solitude, we ventured back into the maw of the Northridge sprawl, hearts heavy with the anticipation of lively incompetence we were no doubt to be exposed. Sadly, our plans were thwarted by my newest and most diabolical enemy, the Movie-Fone, which lied when it, in full confidence, spoke of a midnight showing of “The Happening”. Not to be deterred, the Interminable el_pinko_grande and I ventured forth throughout the wilds of the North-West San Fernando Valley in search of a theater capable of meeting our needs. This search, unfortunately for the entirety of all-mankind, was to prove fruitless. When all options had been exhausted I began to fume in that manner that indicates I shall soon become not a mere man, but a creature whose flesh is naught but Destruction and Woe. In the midst of my transformative rage I began throwing horseless-carriages and their passengers about as if they were empty tins of snuff. My lack of concern for the trappings of humanity were apparent to all who witnessed the piling of broken people and possessions in the picture-show parking lot. My intent to set the property ablaze was a spectacle of wanton destruction the likes of which only the Kaiser has matched, and even then only in his most hedonistic cases of ether-poisoning. Thankfully, the Interminable el_pinko_grande kept a cooler head and less mutable form than I, suggesting that, instead of producing gross property damage, we instead make way post-haste to the midnight showing of “The Incredible Hulk” which was assuredly playing at the selfsame theaters we had been mislead to believe would show “The Happening”. I quickly returned to my normal stature and even-tempered demeanor (all the better to fit into my own horseless-carriage, of which I had failed to douse in gasoline and lighter-fluid) and with little fanfare we were able to watch the 1:00 AM picture-show with little delay. Both the Interminable el_pinko_grande and I groused at the mere existence of “The Incredible Hulk” which we took as an affront to the competently produced and exquisitely acted “The Hulk” produced by Ang Lee not two years prior. Pleasantly, I would say, our misgivings were for naught. The latest movie in the Marvel lineup is more a continuation of the story, with the entirety of the Hulk’s back-story being told in the beginning credits. It was a bold move this time around, but allowed for more detail to be put into the action and capabilities of the Hulk. This film was by no means a work of art, but it was a fun summer blockbuster, and it was certainly a great deal smarter than last summer’s “Transformers”. Friday, June 13th 3:30 AM Los Angeles time Flight time, t-minus 4 hours, and counting After the film I released the indomitable el_pinko_grande into the deep brush near his underpass-hovel in the middle of the wilds of Porter Ranch, where he skittered off fitfully to nest amongst the stacks of discarded Netflix envelopes that make up his home. After a quick drive home I was able resume packing my steamer-trunks with the necessities required for a multi-day overland adventure. Unfortunately, my planning for the evening had been lackluster, at best; I had been hoping to have time to get in a few hours of sleep after packing, but by this time it was almost 5 AM. My flying caravan was tasked to leave at 7:30 AM, and despite my dreadfully important contributions to the world (i.e. being me), I doubted they would delay their leaving so that I could get a few hours shut-eye. With an exaggerated sigh, I transported myself to the Golden and Shining Burbank Airport. Ahh, Burbank airport, I cannot sing your praises enough. Inexpensive multi-day parking, short security lines, international flights, and frequently bevies of attractive young women (and presumably men, though I always forget to remember those) dazedly roaming your walkways looking for caffeine and departure gates. Of all the airports I’ve had the privilege to lodge myself in times of travel; Burbank Airport is my near favorite. (Chicago airport is still number one for me since, in the early days they had free Wi-Fi and a Steak Escape, two items that are both irreproachable.) Friday, June 13, 5:45 AM Los Angeles time Flight time, t-minus 2 hours, and counting (The rest of this travel log will be typed as a standard narrative, as I do not possess the stamina to translate it into whatever the hell I was doing above. I’d look up the proper term, but I’m writing this on a plane. I’ll be lucky enough to remember to upload it when I do get net access, much less edit it for correctness.) I arrived early enough to the airport to nest in the waiting area near my departure gate, my electronics arrayed out around me like an impenetrable shield against conversation. It worked, allowing me to prepare myself for a flight that would no doubt be deadened by my inevitable in-flight nap. Or so I thought. My inevitable in-flight nap was not to be, as due to my being chincy and not springing the extra $10 for a business flight boarding pass, I was not able to be picky about my seat. I did what I hate doing most on Southwest airlines, and had to take an aisle seat. Not only that, but the man in the seat next to me was about six foot fifty, and assembled from building materials that gave nothing when jostled or pressed. He had a wingspan of nearly three full feet, and being made of concrete and rebar, his presence forced me to scrunch into a position that did not allow for sustained rest. In fact, being that the flight from Burbank to Phoenix is a mere hour in length, I managed to grab little more than twenty minutes of shut-eye in between epically struggling to not touch my neighbors and to keep my watchmans-cap pulled stoutly over both my ears and eyes. Friday, June 13, 9:30 AM Phoenix time Phoenix airport was a reminder of the type of wilderness I was about to enter; the women possessed haircuts that I thought dead more than thirty years ago. Large hair, unsustainable in cities like Los Angeles and San Francisco, where aqua-net is a controlled substance. Much like the dinosaurs of old, hair-dos that require ten pounds of chlorofluorocarbons to be released into the atmosphere just to sustain their superstructure should have died out once nature made it clear they were unsustainable. But not in Phoenix. No, in Phoenix the large hair-do seems to be the purview of women in their mid to late forties, make-up applied in such a fashion as to obscure true skin tone and texture and lure men of the same age into thinking that there is tread left to the asphalt of the woman’s nethers to match the ferocity of said men’s Viagra-enhanced erections. And this, I knew, was just a portent, a minor cue as to what I should expect from the denizens of eastern Texas, an unexplored land into which I would shortly be venturing. I digress, though, from the important facts at hand; in Phoenix I not only witnessed the expected – that is, the gigantic hair-dos on the women and the cowboy outfits on the men – but I also saw something that will stay with me forever: The Sweetest Mullet I’ve Ever Seen. My camera was stowed much too securely in my carry-on case for me to reach it before this vision of mullety-goodness floated out of my view down a people-mover, and would be out of my life forever. I wish I could graciously share with you, my public, the wonderment I felt as I stood there in the middle of the airport thoroughfare, slack-jawed and enraptured at the perfection of the mullet that stood before me. But all I can do is give the barest of descriptions of this creature, this beast that haunts my dreams even to this day: The creature was female, that much was easily decipherable by the way she dangled an unlit cigarette from her mouth, the paper of the tobacco product adhered to the chapped flesh of her lip as she trundled past on the mighty treads of the airport conveyor-belt. This perfection of form had absolutely no definition in her figure, being built like a stove-pipe and uniformly circumferenced at all points of measure from hip to shoulder. Her flip-flopped feet would have no doubt been slapping on the floor with a resounding echo, had she only been moving under and power of her own. He legs, the creamy color and consistency of cottage cheese, were visible nearly all the way to her untanned hips due to the expertly chosen pair of short-shorts she had specifically worn to the airport. Her chamois-top with spaghetti straps sunken far enough into fleshy, slumping shoulders that they gave her the appearance of going strapless, clung to every rounded curve of her ineffably shapeless torso. But the mullet… Oh, the mullet; it was amazing. Her hair was a dirty-red, practically a flaming beacon of sweetness that naturally drew the eye to the entire package before settling on the beast itself, the glory that was perched atop her head like a distillation of pure Americana. The Mullet was long, swinging down to the middle of her back at least. Where most Mullet wearers turn the ravaged split-ends at the back of their mullet into a rat-tail, she let hers flow free, with a carefree attitude that defines the age old adage, “Business in the front, Party in the back.” And the front was even better. Although this woman had obviously not done a thing to assemble herself for a day of travel in the presence of hundreds of fellow humans, she had applied enough gel to the front of her mullet to make her look like a child whose mother got overzealous after their first haircut. Spiked and gently teased into a semblance of carefully planned-out nonchalance, the front of this woman’s haircut made her entire appearance into a statement of contradictions that will likely never be possible outside of a carnival He-She. I remember nothing after the mullet except getting onto my transfer flight from Phoenix Arizona to El Paso Texas. Other than a mild sadness at not getting to partake of my traditional mid-transfer, overpriced airport beer, the trip through Phoenix was uneventful. The flight from Phoenix to El Paso, however, was not. Again, I boarded late in the process. Luckily, due to my propensity for grabbing the first available seat between people approximately my size, I was able to ensconce myself with a quiet, WASPish older woman and an attractive Latina (I assume) girl. The WASPish woman was dreadfully polite and refrained from involving herself in anything with anybody. She was great. The Latina (I assume) girl was feverishly talking on her cell phone in Portuguese, and was very animated. When the Captain announced that it was time to turn off phones, she hung up on her call, lowered the phone to crotch level and rotated her body so no one, aisle side or next to her, could see what she was doing. From where I was I could hear her typing away at text message for the duration of the flight. I think she was saving them up in memory because when the plane landed and the captain announced that phones could be turned on again, she started just held the phone in front of her face (still at an angle unviewable by people in the aisle) and white-knuckled the phone for a minute. Then she turned it back on and began making declarations into it in Portuguese again. I think she may have been attractive, but I never saw her face, due to both her secretive nature and my desire to try and get some shut-eye. I netted about Thirty more minutes of sleep on this flight, somewhat mitigated by my curiosity for the Latina (I think) girl.
Road Trip, Part II coming soon. Alsom Editing! Current Mood:  determined Current Music: Battles, Album 1 |
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Stumpy: Hey, Papa Feo, I need to leave early today. I'll do whatever, just I gotta go early.
Papa Feo: Well, you know the standard price for leaving early, right?
Stumpy: Man, why it gotta be all gay and shit? Can't I just bring you my girlfriend and let you fuck her?
Papa Feo: Well, I'd prefer that, but I need payment up front.
Me: Wait, can we go Family Style on her?
Stumpy: Choo-Choo, man, hell yeah!Current Mood:  sore Current Music: Ted Leo & the Pharmacists - Bridges, Squares |
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It seems to be the season for getting one's wisdom teeth removed, and I find myself in good company. the-dij has tales of oxycodone to curl your hair! (And I agree.)
My oral surgeon really liked admonishing me about getting my wisdom teeth out so late in life. On multiple occasions he made a wry face and said "This would have been easier ten years ago." I'm sure you're right, Mr. Smarty surgeon, but did I have the money ten years ago to take care of this? No! My parents would have had to pay for it. And that wouldn't have been fair to them, now would it?
Definitely the highlight of the whole occasion of getting my mouth cut into was the nurses. I was at a loss for words when my doctor walked me into the surgery-room and I was greeted by a bevy of attractive, multi-ethnic beauties, all wearing scrubs of various colors. It was great! I just grinned stupidly as they strapped me down, stuck me with needles and attached monitoring equipment to me. About the time they were locking my arm with the IV attached, the doctor stuck a breather-device on my nose and lied, "Here's some oxygen to help you breathe easier." My response, after a few deep breaths from the device stuck to my nose and a moment or two to get used to the sound of my own heartbeat on the monitors, was "Wow, this oxygen is really good."
The reason for my stupid comment about the oxygen was that I was trying to be funny. He had previously told me they'd be giving me nitrous prior to injecting the sleep drugs, so remembering this, I wanted him to KNOW I knew he was lying to me. Sadly, immediately after I got through with my comment about how delicious the oxygen was, all I remember was looking down at my arm (with the IV) noticing they had it locked against a brace, presumably to keep me from dislodging the IV, before I completely lost consciousness.
It was pretty cool. One second I was wondering whether I'd even be able to muster the force to tear the IV from my own arm, then next thing I know I'm just regaining consciousness and I'm panicked, PANICKED! that there's something in my mouth.
Me: Mom, there's something in my mouth!
My Mom: You don't need to talk, honey.
Me: They put something in my mouth!
My Mom: You're waking up, you'll be fine.
Me: My mouth tastes like blood! And there's something in it!
My Mom: Shh, you'll be fine, we can't understand you.
Hottie Nurse: Let's get you into a wheelchair.
Me: Yes, Pretty Lady.
And then I went home and slept for three days. That's the best part.
Nov. 9th, 2007 @ 06:31 pm
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| » Saitin cometh. Srsly |
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So, like, the Santa Ana winds are picking up again; No big surprise, as this is the traditional time of year that God once again tries to wipe the Blight-That-Is the Northridge/Chatsworth urban sprawl off the map. Driving in from Pasadena early this morning (probably around 5:00 AM or so) the gale-force winds (39-45mph) attempted to dislodge my trusty Saturn from the road with such strident effort that on multiple occasions my bespectacled co-pilot, the ever interminable el_pinko_grande exclaimed through a cloud of pomade, "We're in a tight bind!" White knuckled at the helm of my precious Old Girl, a 2005 Saturn Ion Redline with all the trimmings, I calmly intoned through gritted teeth, "There's a good boy, El Libertario, no mere low pressure zone will down two explorers as intrepid as we. Now keep your attention focused on the Nav Markers, lest we follow these satanic gusts... Into Hell!" A solitary bead of cold sweat trailed down my brow, the only indication that I too was not completely secure in the safety of the Old Girls' vacuum gaskets.
Despite a few tense moments when the Old Girl drifted into oncoming traffic
we made it to Cave Manse 1 with little drama to speak of.
Cut to this morning. I'm out and about doing all the cosmopolitan things I do before I'm fully awake on the weekends and I see not one... Not two... But three trees uprooted, their dirty fingers of water-finding aimed naughtily towards traffic in a tawdry display of their inability to keep themselves decently ensconced within the Earth. Actually, one of the uprooted trees on Tampa looked to have snapped at the base, and was taking up both lanes of the side of the street it inhabited with it's death throws.
In the parking lot of the Winnetka 20 a lamp post had fallen over, staving in the lights on one side and spraying the parking lot around the impact with a half-moon of broken glass and sundered metal. The most impressive part of this lamps final moments was not the destruction it caused to itself in it's fall (although that was pretty impressive) but the speed with which it was cleaned up. Not a half hour after I witnessed the 40' pole's point of collapse, it was all cleaned up except for some warning tape and some remaining shards of powdered glass debris.
I only hope my own death will leave as little impact.
Except I'm fairly sure the three tons of TNT I'm saving up will at least leave a crater. My will states my death has to be posted to Youtube, so I'll make sure someone posts it here.
Cut to Tonight. It was dusk, and the sun was completely obscured by the mountains ringing the San Fernando Valley as I drove down the 118 to the Urban Sprawl that is Porter Ranch. It was that happy point between dusk and night when there's still enough light to see by but everything is suffused in a quiet blue glow that seems to calm everything.
Everything except the angry dark strip of sky hanging immediately over the Northridge/Porter Ranch area, roiling and grasping like the very hand of God trying to claw his way out of a meat-hell and get back to the heavens. It was spectacular. In the few minutes of clear visibility I could actually watch the Santa Anas dragging the collected sediment of the summer months out of the Santa Ana pass and drag it through the San Fernando Valley towards Los Angeles. I imagine it looks something like this:
If you have allergies and will be anywhere near the San Fernando Valley in the next few days, I pity you. I really do. Godspeed.
Oh, and this is apparently what happens when you drive a big-rig in the kind of weather we've been having:
Oct. 21st, 2007 @ 07:27 pm
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| » More LOLCat Bible! |
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So like, Job. Because it's Frikkin hilarious in the original text, and even more so when translated into Moon man. I mean LOLCat.
LOLCat bible: Job
Prowlog
1 In teh land of Uz wuz a man calded Job. Teh man wuz goodz, afraid of teh Ceiling Cat and evilz.2 Teh man hadz seven sunz and tree doters,3 And lots of sheepz and camlez and rinoceruseses and servnts, srsly.4 His sunz tok turns mading cookies, and they all eated them.5 And Job wuz liek "Oh noes! Wut if cookies were sin? Gota prey, just in cased."
Furst Tess
5 Teh ayngles wented to seez Ceiling Cat, and Saitin wented 2.6 Ceiling Cat axt Saitin, "Wher u wuz?" Saitin saied "Oh, hai. I'z wuz in ur earth, woking up and down uponz it."7 Teh Ceiling Cat sayd "Has u seen mai servnt Job? He can has cheezburger cuz he laiks me."
8 "No wai!" sed Saitin.9 "U just plyin favrits.10 If u take his cheezburgers, he no laiks u no moar."
11 Then teh Ceiling Cat sed "Okai, u can take his bukkit, but no hurtzing Job hissef." And then Saitin went awai.
12 Wun day Jobes' sunz and doters were eateding cookies at teh oldest wuns hoose,13 And a mans cam to told Job a mesege. "Ur donkzeys and moo cows was eateding grass"14 And thens teh servnts was atacked by some dudez and ur naminals was stoldz by them and only i got wai."
15 And then anotter mans cam to told Job a diffrant mesege. He sed "Teh Ceiling Cat maids fyr fall from teh skys and it burnded ur sheepz and more servnts and only i got awai."
16 And thens a more diffranter mans cam to told Job a mesege. "Sum Chaldean dudez took ur rinoceroseseses and killd moar servnts and only i got wai."
17 And then 1 moar mans cam to told Job a mesege.18 "Ur sunz howse feld over and skishded evryones. Sry."
19 Then Job got upt and shaved and was liek "Gota prey now."
20 "Teh Ceiling Cat giv me cheezburger, teh Ceiling Cat takded mah cheezburger awai. I stil laiks teh Ceiling Cat."
21 And teh Ceiling Cat sed "I winz!!"
Oct. 21st, 2007 @ 07:24 pm
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| » Srsly, teh end is near. |
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Linked to me by the Ever Left el_pinko_grande.
Someone translated the bible into LOLCat speak. It's obscene. But in a good way, like porn.
LOLCat bible Wiki!
Excerpt from Revelation 4: [LINK!]
1. So, then I seez a big open heaven door. An teh invisible trumpet voice sez "C'mere. I noes whatz comin. Let me show you it."
2. Then, surprize Ghostee-entry! An I seez a dood on a fancy heaven chair.
3. The dood looked liek a shiny orange statchoo. An therr wuz a bootiful rainbow too.
4. All around teh fancy chair wuz lots moar littler fancy chairz wif old doodz on em. Teh doodz has white clothez and shiny crownz all on therr old headz.
5. Then therr wuz skeery lightninz and funderz an therr wuz 7 bukkits. Teh bukkits iz teh 7 kittehs of teh Ceiling Cat. Srsly.
6. Oh, also, therr wuz lotz of glass on teh floor.
Therr wuz 4 aminuls wif all eyez everwherr.
7. Therr wuz a lion wif all eyez an a big cow wif all eyez an a dood wif all eyes an a eagul wif all eyez.
8. All them aminuls has 6 wingz an has all eyez everwherr. An all teh time they r sayin "Teh Ceiling Cat is so leet. Srsly."
9. An then, when teh aminuls sez stuff,
10. All teh old doodz fall down an worshipz teh orange statchoo dood. They takez off therr crownz an sez:
11. "Yr teh leetest, Ceiling Cat,
You can has glory an honor an power,
Cuz you pwn everthing
An you totally made em an stuff.
Srsly."
Oct. 10th, 2007 @ 09:30 pm
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| » The Boss |
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It's my day off. I'm at home, finishing Internet, when I get a call by my boss a half past closing.
Me: Hey, it's me. Are you on fire?*
Big M: What? No. I'm locked in the office.
Me: That's almost on fire. How'd you get locked in the office?
Big M: I forgot my car keys at home.
Me: How'd you get to the office in the first place?
Big M: I used my spare keys.
Me: And Papa Feo locked you in because you used your spare keys?
Big M: No, I left my spare keys in my car, and the office key is with my spare.
Me: [Silently contemplating stealing and selling the bosses car.]
Big M: Are you home?
Me: ... Yeah.
Big M: Are you busy?
Me: [sigh] Not really. I'm waiting for the evening to begin. Big Plans. Concerts. Far away in LA.
Big M: Oh. Do you have time to come and let me out?
Me: The keys to both your car and the office are in your car?
Big M: Yeah. I left them there so I wouldn't get them locked in the office.
Me: That makes a lot of sense.
Big M: So like, Ten Minutes? I just gotta finish up.
Me: I don't want to know what you have to finish. I'll be there in fifteen.
* "Are you on Fire?" is my customary question to a caller when I feel that their call is interrupting something they should know better than to interrupt. Significant Others calling while I'm at work just to say "I love you," family members calling while I'm at work or with a significant other to remind me to call them back, drug dealers calling EVER to tell me I still owe them money. All of these people are greeted with "Are you on fire?" to signify the level of distress I require them to be in to be interrupting whatever I may be doing. I have a new one now; Employers calling after hours for ANY REASON WHATSOEVER shall be met with the same question.
Aug. 28th, 2007 @ 07:17 pm
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| » Luchador! |
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Stumpy (the New Kid) approaches me today, completely out of the blue. Here's how the conversation went.
Stumpy: Hey man. How much you weigh?
Me: [I tell him]*
Stumpy: Hey, I weigh forty more pounds than you.
Me: [Silence]
Stumpy: Wanna wrestle?
Me: [Without hesitation] What, like Vikings?
Stumpy: Hey, I don't know about that. You think I could lift you over my head?
Me: Try after hours?
Stumpy: I would throw you so far. All the way over there. [He points thirty feet away.]
Me: You might want to reconsider that, man: I grab stuff. I might take some of you with me.
Stumpy: [He holds his mewbs protectively.] Yeah, that might not work, then.
Me: [I laugh, trotting off in a random direction that supposedly holds work] Lucha Libre!
Stumpy: Hey, why you gotta go making fun of my culture?
*150 lbs
Aug. 21st, 2007 @ 03:15 pm
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| » Happy Valentines day honey, I got you an abortion! |
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Conversation between myself and a co-worker today:
Me: Hey, did Goku (Names changed to protect the identities of those involved) leave early yesterday?
Papa Feo: Heheh.
Me: I don't remember him being around for the last half of the day.
Papa Feo: Yeah. He had to go take his girlfriend to the doctor. (Pantomimes sticking a vacuum cleaner to his crotch, ends pantomime with a loud "pop" made with his tongue.)
Me: 'eh?
Papa Feo: Goku gave his girl an abortion for Valentines day. Romantic, huh? He told me she was on the pill but it can be nullified by taking a lot of anti-biotics, which she had been due to illness.
Me: Or due to not taking the pill.
Papa Feo: Uh, yeah. Goku said, "I don't want a baby to come out all gruhhhh," and he made a 'tard face.
Me: Classy.
Papa Feo: Yeah, now get this. He also said, "Plus, when we go our separate ways, I don't want to have to follow her wherever she goes because she's got my kid." What a dingbat.
Me: Thank god for him this is a blue state.
Papa Feo: Morning After Pills for everyone!
Feb. 15th, 2007 @ 12:10 pm
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| » Bad Purchase |
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These Suck.
Philips HE591 Surround Sound Earbuds
I bought them yesterday and I can’t get the damn things to stay in my ear. Maybe my ear canal is just too large after so many years of leaving bananas in my ears. Or maybe the concept of ear buds that only fit in the ear due to polyethylene corks is impractical… I think I’m going to go back to Best Buy, complain to them about the inferiority of their selection, and then accept that they won’t exchange a used product that I blatantly haven’t cleaned off.
Also, and this is important, the sound sucks. The Highs are muted and the bass is lackluster at best, considering the buds sit directly in the ear canal. (Or at least they should; did I mention that I can’t get these to fully sit in my ears?) Anyway, I hate them. They’re fucking assholes and I hope they get raped by a shit-crusted hobo at the bottom of a box of used porno and condoms in our garage.
Also, the case is useless. I liked it in the packaging, and it might work for somebody not me, but it's too cumbersome to handle effectively and it takes too long to put away the earbuds. Frequently, I need to pop the buds from my ears and stuff them into a pocket in fairly short measure. This case does not allow for that. So far it has only aided me in cramming the earbud and accompanying cords in a tangled-jumble into my pocket.
I’m thinking of these, simply because I like the idea of being completely isolated from my co-workers. Also, it’s only $10 more than the set above, and those suck ass.
Philips SHN2500/37 Noise Canceling Earbud
At the same time, I miss my old Sony wrap-around earbuds which gave up the ghost recently due to manglage on my part. They looked terrible, but the NEVER EVER fell off my ears. They were perfect in that regard. Also, the sound was spectacular for a simple $9.99 set of earphones that came out in the early years of the Ipod.
Oct. 24th, 2006 @ 11:51 am
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| » Restaurants of Our Lives: Episode 1 |
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Restaurants of Our Lives: Episode 1
Tuesday, October 10th 2006
The Setup:
Eatery: Lucky Devil’s
Eating companion: el_pinko_grande
Time: 7 PM
My visit to Lucky Devil’s was intended to be an abrupt eat-n-run due to the eminent start time of The Departed at the Mann’s Chinese in Hollywood. This timing was impacted slightly due to the atrocious parking conditions In Hollywood-proper… Well, atrocious for those of us who are allergic to paying for parking. Which I am. Regardless, el_pinko_grande and I eventually decided to use a parking garage close to Lucky Devil’s (On Cherokee itself, I think) that had rates in the range of $2 every 2 hours. Very modest, and it didn’t cause me to break out in hives, so I was happy.
This place ranks at 8.5 on the Hipster meter. (Hipster ranking goes to 11, with the Viper room ranking at 12.) There’s brushed aluminum and wood laminate everywhere, and nary a straight line to be seen in the entire architectural façade. The counter, which opens grandly onto the floor-to-ceiling plate window which rent the soft white underbelly of Hollywood Boulevard asunder to expose it’s entrails and effluvia for our dining enjoyment, was some sort of marble construct. All I know is that it was not travertine. The view from the counter was significantly more interesting than the Discovery Channel, which was playing on their multitude of flat-panel TVs. I very much doubt they were going to change the station when Myth Busters eventually came on. (This is wholly unsubstantiated conjecture.)
The clientele at Lucky Devil’s was standard Hollywood faire. Immediately behind us at the counter was what looked like some greasy wannabe Hollywood business-type, talking bullshit with a homeless tattoo-clad lesbian and her lipstick bedecked companion. Their sexual preference is, of course, conjecture. But they all talked way too faggy to be straight.
The menu didn’t have any Trappiste beer like I had been mislead into expecting, but I was lucky enough to try their St. Bernard, a cidery-tasting brew with a hefty alcohol content. Since Lucky Devil’s is of the Restaurant Mentality of bringing the alcohol before the food, I downed the majority of it before my meal came and had a healthy buzz to carry me through my food tasting. (Lightweight? Yeah, and my wallet appreciated it.)
Ahh, the Food. I ordered the Kobe burger in a rush, at el_pinko_grande's behest, as his description of the burger left no argument as to it’s superiority amongst it’s breed. I tried the Swiss cheese on the burger, again deferring to the suggestion of my more experienced companion, although I’m interested in going back and trying the Chedder. I chose the side salad, rather than the fries as accompaniment to the burger, as is my way. Maybe this was the alcohol talking, but this was quite possibly the best burger I’ve ever had in a restaurant. It wasn’t exactly the most flavorful or lusty of burgers but it was the most consistent through and through. It also didn’t suffer from that “prefab” feeling that most restaurant burgers have. The burger itself wasn’t humongous; It was, in fact, the perfect size for a burger being consumed with a beer and a side salad. It filled me up to just about maximum comfort level without tipping the canoe and knocking me into the rapids of bloating. This was important since after eating, we needed to make our way to the theater about a half-mile away, and we needed to do it quickly to avoid being late.
So we got to the theater about half an hour late. The decision wasn’t long in coming to forgo the movie and just head back home after a brief visit to Beard Papas, a small confectionary in the Americanized-Asian style located right next door to the theater. They have these crème-puffs which are practically perfect in all their crème-puff ways; fresh pastry, manually stuffed with a mild (again, in the Americanized-Asian bakery sort of way) crème whose flavor is actually aided by the light dusting of powdered sugar over the top. I bought a half-dozen. And this weird Chocolate Frondue thingy that resembled a small soufflé but ruptured a warm, bland chocolate filling when I stabbed it with a plastic fork. It wasn’t bad, but considering how decedant it looked, I was expecting a stronger blast of chocolate-o-rama flavor instead of the corn-starchy warm paste that came out. It was still good, it just sat heavily atop the burger I had so recently shoveled down my gullet, and didn’t do anything to complement the meal. Like dance with me when nobody else would, or hold my hand and tell me I’m pretty.
Anyway, that was the evening. Other than an episode or two of Veronica Mars, the evening passed uneventfully.
Oh, and the reason we went to see The Departed is because the Inscrutable Von Wang lied to us about the Dresden Dolls performing at the Henry Fonda theater. Bastard.
Oct. 16th, 2006 @ 12:55 pm
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| » Stolen, From friends. (Part 2) |
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| You Are 52% Cynical | 
Yes, you are cynical, but more than anything, you're a realist.
You see what's screwed up in the world, but you also take time to remember what's right. |
Sep. 1st, 2006 @ 04:31 pm
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| » (No Subject) |
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Yup. I stole this from friends.
Yay! According to the Religious Right, I'm Hitler!
Feb. 16th, 2006 @ 08:45 pm
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| » (No Subject) |
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 Oh Great Cthulhu!I have been an extremely sedulous devotee this year. In November, I exposed ![[info]](http://stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif) waldige_welt to soul-rending horrors (250 points). In July, I rescued the_dij from being sacrificed (-200 points). Last week, I burnt my copy of the Necronomicon (-75 points). In May, I recruited melchoir as a new cultist (30 points). In June, I bombed a cultist gathering (-100 points). In April, I wore an Elder Sign (-10 points). In short, I have been very bad (-105 points) and deserve to be flayed alive. Your humble and obedient servant, mono_blanco
Submit your own plea to Cthulhu!
Dec. 7th, 2005 @ 02:55 pm
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| » Bleh. All the Heros. |
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 | You scored as Marv. You are Marv.
You are very strong and somewhat of an outcast. You never take kindness for granted and would do anything for those who are good to you. Though you are strong and able to easily scare others, you often second guess yourself. Make sure to stay around those who know and accept you and try not to end up in prison for one of your admirable vengeance crusades.
Marv | | 53% | Hartigan | | 38% | Dwight | | 33% | Nancy | | 33% | Becky | | 33% | Gail | | 28% | Jackie Boy | | 23% | Shellie | | 20% | Yellow bastard. | | 10% | </td>
Which Sin City character are you (new version)?
created with QuizFarm.com |
Sep. 23rd, 2005 @ 03:48 pm
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| » Alk-ee-hol. |
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I've been tapped to participate in tonight's festivities, wherein Crimsonratt and some of his closest get wet-dog drunk on dangerous combinations of mixed drinks and beer. My Old Lady has volunteered to come along, ostensibly to drive my drunk-ass home and keep me from pressing ham at 90 mph down the 118. (This is much safer as a passenger... And no, this isn't a story for another time.)
Her real reason, of course, is to keep Julie, newly-wed wife of Guang (proprietor of the Guangpound, the location of our most debauched drinking rituals and many a game-night) from realizing what a schlub he is when he's drunk off his ass and trying to make sweet-sweet vinyl love to a 6 foot tall blue punching-bag/phallic-symbol. (What are the chances this would happen three times in a week.)
Well, my Old Lady is almost done with her pre-drinking repast of 2 hot dogs and a can of pepsi. That's our cue to exeunt. If I'm conscious by the time we get back from the Guangpound, I'll post something incoherent for your amusement.
Oh, I'll also be recording the whole evening, so hopefully there will be SOMETHING amusing to listen to when I get some time to do some sound editing.
Aug. 23rd, 2005 @ 06:57 pm
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| » Survey 'o' Rama! |
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1. Go here.
2. Pass it on.
( my answers )
Aug. 19th, 2005 @ 06:13 pm
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mono_blanco's journal
