McSassy Packaging

Email Snippits

"Modesty and honesty go hand-in-hand in the realm of make believe and vicious lies."

"He's an Amazonian now, baby!"

"That's "tra-tra-tra trick bag" "

"here ya go, free PDF creation software:
http://www.pdfforge.org/products/pdfcreator"



Brought to you by...."A sad shell of a CD that may have had great potential, but ended up on the cold, hard, streets of Owensboro."

Bunny!! (And Not a Bunny).

Unknown Hinson

Unknown Hinson.

Tidbits of Email Discussions

“She put her crying son on the speaker phone?!”

“Bring on the rice puddin’, bitches!!”

“Nothing like shit in the ears and porn on the brain, I always say.”

Your Wallpaper Packaging Sucks!!

1. Co-worker goes to lunch
2. You save this image on their computer
3. You set this image as their wallpaper, making sure to choose STRETCH so that the image fills the screen
4. You turn off the screensaver
5. You check the box "auto-hide the taskbar" to hide the start button and clock
6. You choose to Hide desktop icons by removing the Show Desktop Icons check
7. You unplug their keyboard and mouse
8. You giggle when they return

In this Town: A Recurring Theme

In this town a new co-worker can become a new friend who can give you a toy turtle that was headed for the trash. The grateful turtle can live on your desk until you walk the block to the elementary school where your sister has been a teacher for a hundred years. You can ask the students there to give your new buddy a name, and they will, with many smiles and votes. The next time you return with “Shellee” a young student in the class will shyly tap you on the shoulder and hold up her tiny hand and slowly open it revealing a small pink turtle. She’ll practically whisper as she tells you the turtle is now yours, but it doesn’t have a name, but perhaps you could call it Lilly. And so, you will. On your next visit, you’ll bring the King of Rock N Roll in bendable-action-figure form, and though you’ll be surprised many of the kids recognize who he is, you’ll still get asked, “Where’s Shellee and Lilly?”

In this town, a couple of months might go by as you find yourself busy with work and your cool kid and visiting your mother in the hospital many times. So busy, in fact, that you might forget to bring Lilly on your next pizza day visit at the elementary school, even if you brought Shellee. As you’re trying to convince the kiddos that Lilly was busy helping you repair a computer, you’ll get another tap on the shoulder as you look down and see those same smiling and uncertain eyes. The same near-whisper will tell you that, “I have more turtles for you.” As you’re trying to ask “More?” as she runs to get them you’ll also be trying to explain why LG called it “Chocolate”.

In this town the receptionist at the school will, again, want to see what fun things you’ve brought today and you’ll wonder if she’s looking out the window as you line your toys up for a photo shoot. You’ll wonder to yourself what would a mugger think to come away from a scuffle with a handful of turtles, a tube of Chapstick, and a used tissue.

In this town your co-workers will share your excitement as you share your photos from your luncheon. In this town, one toy can turn into five and a realization will present that, sometimes, sharing is the only way to get past rough-thick skin and a shell that we all withdraw into from time-to-time.

March 19...what a shitty day in history.

Randy Rhoads

born December 6, 1956

died March 19, 1982

Andrew Wood

born January 8, 1966

died March 19, 1990

Workin' For The Weekend...My Ass.

There was a time when I semi-regularly followed up the weekly work schedule with a Friday night and all-day Saturday shift at this educational coal mine. And no, I am not a coal miner, because I don't have the kick ass hat with the light on it, but I am reminded of the song (Workin' In A Coal Mine) and the line "Lord, I am so tired. How long can this go on?" The answer to that question appears to be "To infinity and beyond." It's the "and beyond" part that scares the hell out of me. I work at an educational facility and to my knowledge, we do not shovel any coal around here. If we do, it is some secret industry that goes on while the rest of us trudge through our day like glassy-eyed zombies in comfortable shoes.

As I have ascended the ladder of suck-cess, the weekend thing doesn't happen as often as it used to back in the days when I had some degree of youth and energy zipping through my veins. This is what I would classify as a good thing. No one wants to drag their ass into the same shithole on the Shabbos. Some folks don't want to bowl on the Shabbos and I don't want to work a college class offered via interactive television for I am lazy.

I entered the day with the pre-conceived notion that the day would start in the shitter and likely never make it out of the bowl. Hopefully buoys were placed around the added lump, so the Ty-D Bol Man doesn't wreck his vessel on it. That would be bad news in every conceivable way, where shipwreck and shitwreck meet in one uncomfortable moment of fecality.

Here I sit.

I successfully convinced my carcass that in order to continue working at said workplace that I should indeed show up and do whatever it is that I do. At this late stage of the game, it's shrouded in mystery even to me. The first 120 minutes of class only seemed like a couple of hours, so time is just zipping by. Please make it stop before I soil myself and bring up some intestinal corn all in the name of unbridled excitement. Boredom could very well lead to those avenues of self-entertainment, but I hope that I don't get so bored that I feel the need to piss myself.

When the clock mercifully reached the designated break time, I gathered my pocket change and staggered to the vending machine to obtain a wonderful morning snack of Animal Crackers. Yes, the mid-morning snack of champions, Animal Crackers. Let's go to the YPS!! archives, shall we? Yes. We shall. Like the beer commercial used to say, "It doesn't get any better than this" and that's a damn shame. I chucked my change in exchange for the crackers shaped like wildlife creatures and as the corkscrew thingy slowly unwinded to let my snack of champions plummet to the pit below, it quickly became obvious that it was about time to rage against the machine. My animal snacks clung to the corkscrew and didn't take the plunge. Long story short, I was the one that got corkscrewed on the deal as I had to add more change to free my first pouch and hope I didn't get corkscrewed on the next bag, too. Thankfully, I didn't. It's not exactly a good day, but like Ice Cube, I didn't have to use my AK. I don't own a gun and I've never been to Alaska.

The upside to the Animal Cracker incident is that as I power-chewed my machine-gotten booty, I noticed a business card on the bulletin board advertising some business and service that isn't worthy of YPS!! mention. What nearly made me choke on my zebra-shaped cracker is the poor bastard's name at the bottom of the card.

Richard Glasscock.

He's got a dick at both ends of the name and life must have been hell in school. One can hope that he doesn't prefer to be called Dick, because that would just be filthy. Funny, but filthy. The joy was short-lived and it wasn't long before I went back to class to start typing the very bullshit that you are currently reading.

To fully celebrate St. Patrick's Day, eat some green eggs and ham, wash with some Irish Spring, listen to Thin Lizzy (the most important step in the process), and wear some of those funky ass sunglasses that Bono wears (the most dangerous step in the process as it may lead to getting your ass kicked if you wear them in public). The leprechaun says "WHOOPIE!!"

Et tu, YPS!!? You damn right.

Visit Orange Julius for a nifty beverage, go for pizza, or maybe have a salad, but regardless of your snack of choice...

Happy Ides of March from YPS!!

Chocolate Images: Again

Chocolate Images

Remember when YOU could fit in the back dash?
A secret collection: Plastic "sandwich swords"

A secret collection, II: Rings, made for good luck, out of straw wrappers. Sometimes we leave them behind for someone to find, sometimes we keep them.
The rock garden just outside the hospital.

Momma Bloggerific: Update

The Uncontrollable Urge To Yell Vulgarities (while skipping joyfully out the door)

Uncomfortable chairs have a way of bringing out the fidgety nature within. The hard molded plastic isn't conducive to a happy ass and an unhappy ass will spread the news to the rest of the body faster than Paul Revere with a full bladder and something to say. An unhappy ass will make the rest of the body so miserable that revolt is imminent and can break out before the next tick of the clock. I think that the only uprising that might happen now is my body falling to the floor in a heap. It's a miserable feeling when you so want to be somewhere else and something out of your control keeps you stationary. It must be similar to incarceration. I have to wonder what employees at jails think while on the job. It's the double whammy of being physically in a jail and being on the clock. Hopefully, they at least get a semi-comfortable chair to plop their ass in before putting the prisoners in choke-holds and what not before going home to watch Escape From Alcatraz, Stir Crazy, or other equally entertaining prison flicks.

Silence is something that I miss. From my first moments of the day until I'm well on my way to sleep, there is no escaping the sounds that engulf me. Sometimes it overloads the brain and it spills over to the soul. People talking about shit that I don't want to hear, lame music playing somewhere in the world, nature sounds, industrial noise, and the countless other things that suck up the silence and release it in an unpleasant nature.

The road stretches out of sight. It suggests a finite existence in an infinite world. One cannot understand what goes on past the line of sight. A parallel universe that lives and breathes just past the next rise. It exists without thinking past it's own particular valley. Everything is sealed off until someone takes enough initiative to jettison themselves through and beyond. The brave new world isn't all that different from the olde world charm.

Only God loves the plastic people and He won't let us melt them to a puddle of goo and recast them in our own image. Ain't that a pisser?

(I like Devo.)

Beats Me.

Candle In The Wind '07

Before someone accuses me of being a cold-hearted bastard, I would like to say that the following post isn't really about the passing of Anna Nicole Smith, but the way the media has handled it and shoved it up, down, in and out of every sensory orifice they can. Yes, I am a cold-hearted bastard with a history of poking fun at inappropriate topics, but dammit, I am trying to take the high road here.

As most of you know, Anna Nicole Smith died. God rest her soul. May her family and loved ones find peace in the world. I say that with a great deal of sincerity (for a change). However, I don't see how anyone in her family can possibly get a moment of peace when nearly every television channel is working overtime to beat that story to a fine powder. If a detached bastage such as myself can't get away from it, I can't imagine what it's like for the family to sit down for some television viewing to take their mind off of things and see the whole situation laid out before them.

At best, Anna Nicole was a C+ celebrity. Maybe a B- in light of her reality show, which seemed to be anything but reality. What little I saw of said show, I can't say that I saw anything vaguely resembling reality. If that is/was reality, then I want no part of the shit. Let's be realistic here. She did some modeling, she made headlines by going after some old dude's money, then it was that show, Trim Spa adverts, the death of her son and now that she's gone, it's full-blown Anna Mania.

I have to wonder why her passing warrants this much media coverage. Where the hell was everyone in the time period between the modeling and the TV show? The lost years, if you will. Were we all sitting on the edge of our respective seats waiting for her next move to make headlines? I doubt it. I think we found ways to survive. I think I could find a new way or two if the media would simply give me a chance, but they seem to think I need to know every detail about her final resting place, who sired her baby girl, who will get custody of the child, and that I give a shit about the lesser Howard Stern.

I don't.

Outside of the family, no one needs to know the details. Quite frankly, no one should even care, but I guess some folks do. That is certainly their prerogative (as discussed by Mr. Bobby Brown circa 1988). Otherwise, we wouldn't be perpetually be bombarded with breaking news of moment-to-moment updates. I suppose it is the same people that keep the tabloids in business, buy a shitpot of magazines, and view a lot of TV advertisements. Maybe they read a lot of blog commentary and perhaps they will venture over to...

YOUR PACKAGING SUCKS!!