Granny Mercedes Airbag

Granny hits an Mercedes with her handbag and triggers the Airbag

What the hell is wrong with you people?

Ok, so, I'm over to Orlo and Jojo's yesterday to do the giftmas thing, right? And over dinner, I start having aural hallucinations, possibly brought on by Turkey Fever (dinner was sublime, it was so damn good) or maybe Devilled Egg Syndrome. I hear not one, but two people say that Jojo's sister Zuzu is being cheated on by her (in?)significant other.

I assumed these were hallucinations because while she is pretty (blue eyes, blonde hair, tall for a girl and somewhat athletic in body shape, I mean seriously, she's a friggin hottie), smart (she's a fucking RN, RN's are by default smarter than me, and that makes them damn geniuses), and you know, happens to be the mother of his daughter, he is abrasive, physically unattractive, and somewhat of a criminal, the way he works the welfare system (He's crippled, and collects benefits by not marrying Zuzu though they've been together over a decade).

Apparently he's come to believe all of the revolting shit he's said to Zuzu over the years. I've witnessed some of his put-downs to her in the past, and chalked it up to nerves or stress, although it always made my skin crawl. I've recently learned that what I bore witness to was merely the tip of the iceberg, and apparently he's waged a one-man psy-ops campaign against her for years.

And all I can assume (assuming that is true) is that he is so insecure in his feelings for her, and his own self-worth, that he needs to tear her down so she won't 'realize she's too good for him' and leave. Something that wouldn't have happened for a reason that wouldn't have been true, if he hadn't torn her down.

I had a great deal of respect for him in the past. He has worked and struggled all his life against odds I've never faced, (I can use my legs, my hands work pretty good too.) and seemed to do well enough. But if what people say is true, and he respects himself so little that he has to degrade the mother of his child to make her think he's 'all she deserves', and, you know, really isn't supporting himself, given the whole 'working the system' thing... Well, if he has so little respect for himself that all that is true, and now he's straying, why should I respect him again?

I don't know how much of this is true, but it comes from people that have always been straight with me, and is corroborated by my own observations from the past. Right now it's a damningly credible rumor. If I were a judge, I'd sign a search warrant based on this.

If I were him, I'd watch my ass.

Edit: forgot to add the 'important' part.

'Men' (and I use the term loosely) WTF? What is your damage? Are you all this stupid? Are you never satisfied? Is anything ever enough?

Dr. Nate prescribes the following:

You will burn a CD-ROM with the following songs (or load them into your MP3 player): Simple Man, Don't Need It All (the Seger tune, Beautiful Loser may also be the title), and listen to them while you sleep. You will have another CD with 'I Can't Get No Satisfaction' on it. During your waking hours, this song will play every five minutes, and send electric shocks to your genitals on the choruses, and anytime that you hum or sing along, or tap your feet. Do this for the next 85 years. Then die childless. I'll raise the next generation to treat women with the respect and LOYALTY they deserve.


Addendum--
I'd like to note for the record that I have been cheated on myself, and I've seen men get cheated on by their women, and in every single case I've witnessed it was always the same. Things went sour in the relationship for whatever reason, and the women basically started their next relationship before ending the first one. In my own case I'm assuming that 'went sour' refers to me wising up and 'running out of money to "loan" '. Apparently there's a large sub-strain of women who belive that being in a relationship is more important than being true to the one they're in. I'll let one of you prescribe a treatment for your own...

So this is x-mas

Morning sleepyheads! (And shame on you if you read this before like, 10am!! Why aren't you doing the family thing?!?)

I, of course, am at work (but don't feel too sorry for me, I'm getting about $35 and hour for being here, today AND tomorrow), so it's kind of a 'meh' day for me. Possibly even a 'feh', day, but that may be a tad excessive. Right now I'm seeing a very pretty sunrise over the 'Alcoholic Chamber' (our nickname for the high noise testing lab on campus (the Anechoic Chamber)), and am one of the very few people on campus.

After work I'm heading over to Orlo and Jojo's for a few hours, and then back home. I might like x-mas more if I didn't have to work every damn one of them, and got to enjoy spending a day with friends or family instead of drudging away at work (for any amount of money). I have very few x-mas memories to speak of. Seems like the few I do have all revolve around Orlo and Jojo too.

They're pretty much my best friends. I've known Orlo since he was Little Orlo, a mere lad of 11 summers. He, his older brother OG!!, and their friends Log, Mugg, Grog, Tonga, and a few other non-tribal types used to hang out at my place and play RPGs back when I worked at the shitty cable trap company I used to work for. That was when the Tribe formed, actually. Jojo I've known since she was just betty( the Tribe's name for any non-tribal random woman (though she was an older girl-child actually)), whom Orlo fleashed one day lo these many years ago at the shitty cable trap company.

(I'd like to pause and marvel at the fact that I have created such a useful word as 'fleashed'. Talk about serendopity!!)

(Ugh, my coffee's gone cold.)

I've been there through their whole relationship. Been a sounding board, shoulder to cry on, sympathetic ear, to both of them for as long as they've been around. I've been lucky enough to have the perspective of being a friend to both, and knowing both of them well enough to know how good they are for each other, and being close enough to help them through the rough spots when they had fear and doubt. I've heard that fear and doubt, when it came, from both sides, and been able to communicate it without saying it directly to the other, to let them both see past it and keep hold of the reasons for loving each other, without betraying their trust. That's a gift I'd been given by a much greater power than myself, and it's been a pleasure to use that gift to help them both.

I couldn't have asked for a better present, but they found one anyway. They're married now, and have Lojo. The 'little sister I never had' and my best friend. I'm an uncle. All I need now is about 8-12 more hours in a day, and 3-4 more days in the week, and a few billion dollars, so I can properly spoil my nephew and any others, or nieces, that come along.

Kieth Olbermann is my new hero

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vmtwbOh_oYM

Should his body ever be found after he is disappearend and executed in secret by the polistazi of this nation, I hope it is enshrined with or near the body of the First American, Benjamin Franklin, because two such kindred spirits would find great solace in each other's company.

Ok, so, I'm damn funny.

http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19979987&postID=116673116007966423&isPopup=true

Read it and spray milk out yer nostrils.

Shooting Stars

"Nafli!! Wake up!!" Small hands shook her roughly. Groaning, Nafli fought her way out of heavy sleep, and blinked in the glare of the small desk lamp Nala had switched on.

"What? What is it?! Another injury?" Nala pulled her upright, and Nafli realized her sister was not excited in a bad way, but in a good one.

"No, something wonderful!! They survived!!" Nafli could see that her sister was grinning. It looked so out of place, she felt a rising surge of panic. Had she gone mad from the heat?

"Who survived?" she asked cautiously.

"The ark-builders! They survived!!"

Nafli shook her head. "That's impossible. The flare-"

"It didn't hit them!! They've had the ship in the deepest part of Earth's shadow, the umbra, since construction began! Everyone assumed they were destroyed because the satellites all were! They sent a signal to New Washington an hour ago, and word has spread through the radio nets and just reached us a few minutes ago! Everyone's celebrating!! Get up you silly girl!! Get up and dance with me!!" Nala kissed her on the forehead, and turned to pick up the sari Nafli had tossed on her dresser. She turned and started draging Nafli out of bed while simultaneously trying to dress her.

"All right, all right, I'm coming! But not in that! It's filthy! Go on and I'll follow."

Nala stuck her tongue out at her, and both shared a laugh. Nala turned to the door, and over her shoulder said: "You know Roger is sure to be there. Do you want to borrow some jewelry, and clothes?"

She rolled her eyes, "Out, you!!" 'And yet...' "Wait, maybe..."

Grinning, Nala paused, her left hand on the doorframe, and a satisfied smile on her face. She had been throwing Roger, the dapper American engineer-turned-hydroponics-genius who led the effort to feed the community, at her sister for two months now without apparent success. She'd been puzzled at Nafli's reluctance, but this hesitation brought the suspicion home. Like so many others, her little sister had seen no point to living for a future that wouldn't exist. Satisfied that she'd been right all along, she waited for a question she already knew every word of. "Maybe the locket?", she slyly suggested. Nafli nodded, eagerly. "Does that mean you want to raid my closet for something properly slutty to expose it lying between your boobs in?" Nala flinched, expecting a pillow.

Nafli grinned, almost fiercely. No pillow came forth. "Yes. Yes I think I will." And she laughed at the expression on her sister's face. "Don't look so surprised, eldest sister. Do you really think the rest of us learned nothing from your conquest? The Purinji sisters are not going to end up spinsters visiting the sperm banks to do our 'reproductive duty to the race'. What few men are around are going to us first, the rest can have what we leave them. And Roger is...a very good choice."

Nala blushed, but only a little. Of the 750-odd residents of New Kal Kuta, over 500 were women of childbearing age. That had made for some savage competition concerning the available marriagable men. Nala had set her sights on Baram Djimittisva, easily the best-looking, richest, most well-educated (an honest-to-goodness surgeon, no less), and well-regarded young man in the settlement. And she'd pulled up every stop to do it. He'd gone native, adopting Western dress, so she had too, with a vengeance. Plenty of Western clothing had been salvaged from stores, homes, and the like, and much of it sat unwanted in the storage buildings by people more interested in protection from the sun than fashion sense. So she'd gone 'shopping', and amassed what amounted to the best 'ho' wardrobe anyone could imagine.

The talking had started immediately, but when Baram noticed her, all bets were off. They'd had a whirlwind courtship, only four months (Baram hadn't gone THAT native!) and had wedded three weeks ago. A lot of other girls had gone 'shopping' since then, but Nala had made it known to her sisters that she may have been a little 'overzealous' in her collection, and acquired items better sized to them than her. Three of the four sisters old enough to date had found ways to thank her, as man after man fell to the huntresses of the Purinji 'tribe'... all but Nafli. But now, thanks to the likely mostly dead geniuses at NASA picking a shady spot to build the 'ark', perhaps Nafli too would 'take down a buck'. She smirked at the idiom. The local video store's contents had been mostly intact, and apparently the former residents of Baffin Island had strongly favored rustic themed movies. The whole community of mostly Indian and Bangladeshi expatriates was rapidly becoming full-on rednecks, much to the amusement of the few orginial inhabitants who remained.

Nafli got up, shrugged out of her nightshirt, and into a robe. Nala mentally congratulated herself on finding the push-up bras. Everyone was getting thinner on the short rations, and such an advantage as these silly things conferred was a welcome one. She stepped aside for Nafli, and walked to her own room, now shared with Baram until the digging of their new home was finished. She loved her family, but couldn't wait for the move, it would be the official stamp of womanhood. She chuckled, 'Maybe I haven't gone that native!', she thought. She strode to the now-infamous closet, and swung the doors open. Being the eldest sister had definitely had its perks, especially when her father was head of the building crews. The walk-in closet he had had made for her in exchange for various favors to the workers who'd done it was a magnificent birthday present in a world where cramped lack of prviacy had become the norm.

And she had stuffed it with an arsenal of 'Western femininity': tight-fitting bluejeans, low-cut, midriff-baring blouses, shoes beyond number (though a few more wouldn't hurt, she noted, frowning slightly as she always did when inspecting her shoe supply), and of course, the 'silks'. They weren't really silk, not most of them, but they felt just as good, and when she considered the effect they had on men, she knew they were far more valuable.

The closet alone marked her as a wealthy woman. What was in it made her wealth obscene. 'Nafli was right, the other women would get what was left behind by the Purinji sisters. Men were so easy to control, just push the right buttons, and they do whatever you want them to. Baram had been a self-styled playboy, using his own assets to keep many women interested. He'd never stood a chance.'

"Good thing too. I'd hate to have seen some other guy get you. Was I really that easy to get?"

Nala jumped and shrieked softly. A warm hand touched her left shoulder in time with the words. She turned to see Bar-bar standing there, grinning.

"Was I doing it again?!" she put her hands over her treacherous mouth. Sometimes she thought she must have the damned Tourette's Syndrome. Her thoughts would just spill out of her mouth unbidden. Thankfully it was mostly when she was alone, and someone would walk in on it and only get a little. "How much did you hear?" She blushed, furiously this time.

"Yes, my love, you were. I heard only enough to make me certain that we are absolutely perfect for each other." He leaned in conspiratorially, "To be honest, you've pretty much always done it, at least always around me. Maybe I push the right buttons on you? Like this one, maybe?" He pushed a button.

"Mmm-aybeee. Aah, stop it you wicked man!! My sister will be here-"

"In about fifteen minutes, if she's really your sister, and really headed for the showers. Plenty of time for a short celebration of our own. If we get lucky enough, we can name the baby Nafli or Roger to celebrate. It is Roger, isn't it?" Bar hadn't stopped what he'd been doing, and appeared to be done talking, because he'd begun kissing her, and damned if he wasn't good at that too.

Nala nodded, gasping slightly. The next few minutes passed very pleasantly indeed... and then they both went to the shower room together to share a stall. She told Nafli to go help herself when they met in the anteroom, and realised that the giggle she'd stifled must've been inspired by her salacious husband when she winked (apparently back) at him.

"Don't fool around too much in the shower or you'll miss the party!", Nafli chided, expertly ducking the towel Nala lobbed at her. "See you soon!", she called over her shoulder.

* * *

Shooting Star

So, I've been working on this, and I think it's ok now. It's not the first end-of-the-world fic I've written, but it seems better than the previous one, so that's good. And since it's tucked on page two where no one will see it, I'm moving it up front by reposting it...

Sometime in the Near Now?


Nafli bowed her head and wept silently as another bright line drew itself across the uncomfortably bright night sky. She was almost surprised that she still had tears left to shed. Then again, mourning was the new Thing To Do. Not much else held any meaning. Hope itself was being mourned by a people who had lost everything but hope previously. And, as always, there was no time for it. A shadow fell across her blurred vision. Mehti Sanjuraasvadi, her brother's wife's uncle, was hobbling toward her. She could see he was suffering from overexposure.

She still remembered the proud American president, the Democrat that the world had rejoiced America's choice of in 2008, standing with nervous hands, papers rattling in their trembling grasp, as he read from a prepared statement, made by the amazing NASA scientists. It had been fifteen years ago, almost to the day, but she, like everyone else who'd been a schoolchild that day, and all those who followed them, had learned it and memorized it. Even now, years after America was little but a memory and a few scattered people.

"Brothers and sisters of the human race, I come before you here in the United Nations to speak about something that threatens us all. I do not speak of terror used as a political tool, as my predecessor did. I speak of something far worse, something that cares not for our politics, our race, our differences of religion. Something that will kill us all without mercy, without remorse, and that we cannot ignore.

Scientists at NASA, and others whom they have consulted with around the globe, have proven conclusively that the sun's energy output is increasing, and that if it does not stop or reverse this trend soon, the entire earth will become uninhabitable, and we will all die. Their data is being delivered by couriers to institutes of higher learning around the globe as I speak, so you may verify our findings for yourselves. Our scientists' best estimate for total extermination of human life is thiry-seven years, assuming catastrophic die-outs and mass-migrations.

As of right now, I am issuing a moratorium to all auto manufacturers that forbids the production of any vehicle that cannot meet emission standards set by the Kyoto Treaty. Further, all American energy plants have been instructed to meets these emission standards in one month or shut down until they can. Martial law will be declared anywhere in the United States where civil or other unrest results from this. A new department of the EPA, the Emissions Control Board, has been given police powers, access to National Guard units, and full authority to enforce these standards.

Our entire industry is going to be re-directed to combatting this threat in a two-pronged attack. Firstly, our astronauts will be erecting and expanding a vast Mylar shield between the earth and the sun to reduce the amount of energy reaching earth. This shield will be neccessarily fragile, and therefore can only be considered a temporary solution. The second part of the plan is construction of an 'ark', of sorts, to carry an as-yet-undetermined number of selected colonists to Cygni 66, where the Hubble telescope has detected a moon that may well be habitable orbiting a gas giant there.

While I cannot tell you how many or who will be allowed to go, I can tell you for certain that anyone who interferes with either mission will be considered at war with us, and dealt with as expediently as possible. Since a 'nuclear winter' can only help us in the short-term, which appears to be all we have left, we will begin with nuclear weapons, and then throw in anything else we need to finish the job, should it become neccessary. That is the only warning this government shall issue in the matter.

God save us all."

Any thought of the president's words being a bluff evaporated two day later, along with Riyadh, Beijing, Tehran, Pyongyang, and Moscow. The Russian's missiles apparently had fallen into disrepair after so long without maintenance, and of the dozen China sent at America, only the one aimed at Denver, Colorado had gotten through the Americans suprisingly effective missile shield. The American counter-strike reduced China's population to a point where their oil consumption would never again be a thing to worry about. And the world realized that the Americans were not joking. The French carrier group in the Red Sea was vaporized a day later, and the French sabre stopped rattling entirely.

The world was a much darker place now, demographically speaking. It just wasn't a safe planet, in 2028, to be white on anymore, and it was getting worse. Even with petroleum usage at an all-time low, now that supplying it was so difficult and dangerous, the temperature just kept going up. Of course, now that the sun's output was so harsh, only the most deeply pigmented people could withstand it long in the former 'temperate' zones, and even in the sub-polar regions, it wasn't safe to go out with a thick coating of aloe extract.

Her nose wrinkled at the all-too familiar smell, as she brought it to mind. The plants were grown everywhere now, so critical they were to survival, even more important than food, and used as such after the aloe was extracted. Thin, bitter soup, flavored with anything and everything. Crops were grown under roofs now, with panels of anything that would stop the worst of the sun's rays protecting them from scorching death. She missed rice most of all, but it had gone nearly extinct as the conditions needed for it to grown in vanished from nature, and the hydroponically grown stuff was so expensive now that she'd have to work for a year to save the credits for one meal of it just for herself.

It wasn't resentment that made the world an unsafe place for whites, though to be sure there was plenty of that to be had, even though when all was said and done, their profligate waste of oil had ended up not mattering. It was their failure, their vulnerability, worse, the exposed lie of their invulnerability, that rankled. The American wizards of technology, inventors and doers, in all the movies, they saved the world.

Her family had sailed on a cargo vessel to Canada from Kol Kata, along with hundreds of others, to claim lands owned by the dead: dead and dessicated. That was, perhaps, the oddest thing about the whole surreal journey to Baffin Island. She had expected a reek of death when they reached America, but there was only a lingering pall of smoke. Occasionally a body would be found, caked to the bottom of a tub, in a bathroom littered with now dried and dead fungi, but even then, in the best possible conditions, hardly ever even a lingering scent. 'Just a faint mustiness', she remembered Nala telling her, the time her oldest sister had found a body once.

The vast cyclonic storms that earlier in the century had been called hurricanes, and had grown out of scope or imagining, had wrought devastation in waves upon the shores of every continent, and toppled skyscrapers hundreds of miles inland. But then, with the seas nearly choked to impassibility by a new strain of algae that was somehow resisting the sun's stronger rays, and worse, trapping the water beneath it, the moisture that drove those storms dissapeared. In the wake of the storms, deserts began to spread almost overday. Desert encroachments once measures in miles per year were now measured in miles per week. The entire ecosystem was collapsing.

She shook her head to clear her jumbled thoughts, and turned back to her duties. "Perhaps", the new 'American' president had said, "we can build another one in time." She examined Mehti's burns. They were bad enough, without being too bad. She nodded, and he shot her a grateful look, and hobbled to the entrance to the underground warren of hastily-dug rooms that sheltered the 750 people under her care. She frowned at his retreating back. They'd been slightly over subsistence until recently, able to contribute to the Great Plans the Americans had started. Now, with morale devastated, accidents, overexposures, and suicides had reduced them to below subsistence. She had mentioned this to her superiors, and inquired about any forthcoming assistance from Central. Their looks had said enough. Attrition would have to balance their ledgers.

Another line of fire crossed the sky from the terminator, ending almost halfway across the sky. This time, she murmured a short prayer from the Bhodisaatva, as she watched. She wondered from which group came this one. Had he been constructing the solar shield, or the colony/escape ship? Both had been destroyed by the huge flare that had so recently killed hope. Reports were that it had set much of Eurasia ablaze. Those were rather spotty now, as the flare had wiped out most of the satellites as well.

So... I got home from work last night, and there was a little brown box on my doorstep. It was the right size and shape to be a bunch of DVDs, and I started fretting that maybe someone had used my credit card to order a bunch of GGW porn, so it was with some hesitation anticipation that I reached down and turned it over to see the return address.

It was not from GGW. After the initial disappointment wore off, I noted it WAS from Highlander and Super-Fiancee. It was, it must be, it could ONLY be, the legendary Mystery Gift of Epic Coolness hinted at in their blogs!

So I tore that bad boy open lickety-split (and now in addition to thanking them for their most excellent gift, I also need to thank them for affording me the opportunity to say lickety-split) and found within, a t-shirt. Not just ANY t-shirt mind you, THIS t-shirt was in one of my favorite colors, green, AND embossed with the logo of a furniture store featuring unfinished furniture named, apprpriately enough (since the store is located in Arizona) Unpainted Arizona.

Damn right!! The cool points on this gift not only topped me off, they spilled over and made a mess on the ground.

While those of you who get it chuckle and nod, the rest of you can go Google 'Raising Arizona' and figure it out. The internet is being a saucy little bitch at the moment and haughtily refusing to allow me to hotlink anything, so I hates it.

But we all know I'll be back...

Things and Stuff

Bear with me, not sure where I'm going, but it might be a fun trip. Or not. Run!!

So, lately it's been exceptionally blah for me. Working 3p-11p Tues-Fri REALLY puts a wet blanket on one's social life, let me tell you. Especially when you work Monday 7a-3p, so you only get a stunted pseudo-weekend instead of the real thing. I've said more to my goldfish (which despite all my inadequacies as a caregiver is still stubbornly clinging to life in a bowl on my kitchen table) in a purely social setting than I have to any humans this week. #2 on that list is my potted plant.

Yeah. So I got that going for me, which is kinda sad and pathetic.

For those carrying a morbid fascination about it, my diabetes management is in some kind of limbo. All of my prescriptions were not being renewed, apparently I missed a doctor's appointment. So I went in to see him, and he didn't renew any of them, so, I guess, I got better? I heard that shit was like luggage and never went away, but maybe I'm special. Or maybe his diagnosis was incorrect, and I'm no longer symptomatic, who knows?

So, a co-worker came in and shot the shit for a few, and we got onto the topic of frivolous litigation, so now I have a direction to point this barge in...

Locally, a motorcyclist just got fifteen years for his part in a fatal crash of a state trooper, who was attempting to chase him (the cyclist on a motorcycle, mind you) in an SUV. Let me repeat that for emphasis: a state trooper driving an SUV died in a wreck while chasing a guy on a motorcycle. Now, I know what you're thinking: 'Let's give that cop a Darwin Award!'. Uh-uh, sorry, too late for that, he'd already bred and had a kid or two. The gene pool is already polluted with his stupidity. So we're down one on the scorecard already. The speeding motorist is now starting a ridiculously unjust fifteen year sentence for speeding. So we're down 0-2. Now, to my knowledge, it hasn't happened yet, but it's only a matter of time before this disqualified Darwin winner's wife sues the city, county, and state for a fat stack of long green (or negotiates a settlement). And she'll win, widows with children whose husbands died in the line of duty stupidity are nothing if not sympathetic for juries to see. So the final score will be 0-3, humanity losing to stupidity yet again.

Look, I'm all for law and order. I like 'tha police', they keep the bad people from taking my shit and killing me. But they're as human, and therefore as prone to stupidity, as you or I are. The cop was stupid to give chase. He had a radio. Motorcycles are fast, yes, but I've yet to hear of one that can outrun a radio. The motorcyclist did not kill him; his own sense of self-importance did. The laws of physics did. I have to assume that the only reason the motorcyclist was 'caught' at all is because he turned back after the crash or turned himself in. Either of those two actions is all he needed to do to absolve himself of any wrongdoing in the cop's death. At most, he deserved a speeding ticket. Fifteen years is an obscenity.

So I guess I need to add that cop's name to the list of graves I need to defile. Once I get around to starting that list. That ought to make for some interesting reading. They say the best revenge is living well, or at least outliving your enemies, or perhaps they say both (seems to me that 'they' talk a lot of shit, and some of it is hopelessly self-contradictory too). For me the best revenge is taking a long ripe shit on your enemies' tombstones. Too bad I've not yet had the opportunity to do so. My enemies keep breathing, curse their lungs.

Oh well, moving right along...

Peter Boyle died yesterday. That sucks immense horse-monkey dong. The litany of dead famous people that I liked is getting depressingly long, while the list of famous dead people I never liked remains depressingly short. Well-conditioned, perfectly healthy Phil Hartman is dead (shot by his loony bitch-whore wife), and Michael Moore hasn't keeled over from heart disease yet. Peter Boyle dies of fucking cancer, and Bon Jovi is doing fucking TV now, because stinking up an entire decade of pop music wasn't enough. Lucille Ball, Patsy Cline, Janice Joplin, Fred Gwynne, John Lennon, George Harrisson, Rodney FUCKING Dangerfield... all dead. Courtney Love, Britney Spears, Tommy Lee, Oprah Winfrey, Star Harris, all the damned Hollywood Scientologists, OJ Simpson, and Ted 'Touch of Death' McGinley... all still kicking.

I've said it before, I'll say it now, I'm sure to reiterate it in the future: there is no gravity, this planet just sucks.

I'm having flashback from this Friday...

... and unlike at The Oral Report it's not a good thing when I do it.

It all began in Reno... no, wait, that's something else, something far, far better.

It all began on Wednesday, when I got sick enough of having my internet connection drop out for no reason for 15-30 minutes at a time to call tech support. I jumped through their hoops, and the CSR determined that I should replace my aging cable modem. Fine, I vowed, 'I'll do that...on Friday.' Five words that would trigger a personal apocalypse.

Thursday went by. MY internet connection was flaky, but hope loomed on the horizon. Tomorrow was Friday. Friday I had off this week, to attend a holiday party thrown by my brother Lions. I was looking forward to it, and since I had some party-related errands to run, left the house at 2:30 to head for the cable company's local office, armed with directions from a CSR (I'll just call him Beelzebub later, for clarity's sake) I called earlier in the day.

That conversation I found a tad frustrating. Had I but known then what I was dealing with, the whole rest of the day might have gone differently. For all I know the entire course of my life has been forever altered by that day. I called for one simple thing: directions to the nearest cable office, as I knew the one I had been aware of had first moved and then been closed. So Beelzebub takes my call, and proceeds to get sufficient information to process my rather simple request. I was savvy enough to head off further attempts to 'troubleshoot' my issue. Modems can't be replaced over the phone. I know that, and I didn't even need to get certified to learn it. So he looks up the nearest office in his little database, and offers to provide me with MapQuest directions to get there. Which was nice.

But I've used MQ before, and I know that sometimes their names for roads aren't the names the locals use, so I asked him to just give me the address, and I'd do the MQ myself. 'Oh, noooo', he pleaded, 'I can tell you the directions, they're very easy!'

Fool me, I let him talk me out of doing my own MQ. And his father (you know, Satan?) laughed.

I get to the first 'complicated part of the directions, getting off the highway, and onto side roads. And it turns out (I find out hours later) that he told me to go the wrong way. Left instead of right. So I proceeded to wander fruitlessly on side roads for TWO DAMN HOURS, because I HAD to have that new modem, because I REFUSE to live without broadband.

Finally, it is 4:30pm, and Beelzebub had already cheerfully informed me that their office closed at 5pm sharp, so I knew the situation was getting desperate. So, I did it.

I admitted to myself that I was lost.

I pulled into a gas station.

I left my vehicle.

I went inside.

I...

(oh the shame of it!)

...I asked for directions.

From a woman.

And that is when I found out that I was in the wrong city.

I managed not to stroke out, and retreated to my car, muttering death threats against CSR#2, and his family. And then I proceeded to turn the air inside my car a deep shade of blue. It was now 4:55pm, I had no chance of restoring my internet tonight, and in one hour I would be expected to be your typical Falstaffian 'jolly fat guy' at the party.

So I drove into town, went to a drug store to get an appropriate gag gift for our bizarre traditional gift exchange, which is hard to describe, but always a hoot. Present secured, I then went across the parking lot to a novelty burger shop where they make burgers out of strange animals like ostriches (frickin' DELICIOUS, tastes like beef, chews like turkey, less cholesterol and fat than anything that doesn't have roots), buffaloes, and thankfully, because I wanted to be at least partially responsible for the death of something beautiful or majestic, elk.

It may have just been my mind, but that elk tasted like CSR#2's blood, and the blood of his children, to me. I savored every morsel. Then, partially restored to good spirits by an offering of blood, I set out to do my social duty.

And realized, after coming up to the host's former address, that he had moved during the year, and I no longer knew his new address. Looking down at the passenger seat, I saw that I also did not have my address book handy.

So, you know, I didn't go to the party. My upstairs neighbor managed to get me to watch a comedy DVD up a stand-up comic ventriloquist (the one who works with Walter the old fart, the Mexican guy on a stick, and the crazy monkey puppet), and that settle my hash a LITTLE, but I still needed to wash down that hate-death-murder-kill-kill-kill impulse with a lotta alcohol.

Not exactly a banner day off for me.

There is a happy ending though. With a few stiff shots in me, I called the cable company that night, and informed the that they would be dropping off my new modem Saturday morning. Which they did. Maybe it was something in my tone of voice...

The rest of the weekend went ok.