After the Storm

Yep, we had another storm. Bone Machine and I had some grub (coffee and steak & eggs for me) at the local Bob Evans on Saturday. During our visit, Bone Machine gave the play-by-play of the cloud formations. We left our tips and as we paid the little lady at the counter, we noticed the clouds were getting darker. As we stepped out the door toward the car, we heard a voice from the sky announcing the forecast. We made our way across town as the shit began to hit, trying to get some photos with a cell phone. Within a few blocks from the house, the pooring rain turned to hail and began to cover the pavement as the curse words covered the car's interior.

It didn't last long and we proceeded to bi-monthly fun of blowing shit up. In the Xbox 360.

But between Mother Nature's storm and the one we whipped up within Halo's Forge, I did manage to grab a photo I liked.

Here she am, cropped & edited.

yet another sign of the impending apocalypse

I was minding my own business as I tend to do in the workplace. It's generally easier that way because mingling will just lead to trouble and questions. Answer one question correctly and/or favorably and you're marked for death and susceptible for additional questions. Nothing good can come from it.

As I was wandering aimlessly and simultaneously minding my own business (which we established right out of the gate), a co-worker entered my no fly zone (which has nothing to do with a zipper, button, or any other contraption) and asked if I could help her identify a song. Considering the musical tastes of most co-workers, I was inclined to say "If you listen to that lame ass shit that everyone else enjoys, I probably can't or won't help you." Being not so feisty today, I met her halfway and suggested that she give me what she knew.

"...Make a joke and I will sigh
And you will laugh and I will cry..."

I instantly knew that I knew it, but I could not believe that one of my co-workers was coming to me quoting lines from a Black Sabbath song. I had to go through a few more lines to assure accuracy and confirm that it was Paranoid. I was pleased as punch that someone within this shithole would even know the lines of a Sabbath song, even if it wasn't a personal favorite like Hole In The Sky, Megalomania, Hand Of Doom, and a shitpot of other tunes. Considering what I have to work with (literally and figuratively), I would settle for "I am Iron Man" and Paranoid is a notch or two above that one.

Long story short, she was asking for the song ID so that she could play it in the class that she teaches tomorrow, which adds additional glitter to the gold. In the moment of shock and awe, I told her that I keep the first eight Black Sabbath discs in my office at all times and could easily hook her up in order to wake folks up to the magic that is Black Sabbath. The irony is that I was listening to them just yesterday and there was still a biography atop my desk about the lads from Birmingham.

I wish I could say that the rest of the day lived up to the coolness of that very moment, but that would make me a liar. Other than some kind soul bringing chocolate long johns to the staff meeting at 8am, the rest of the day was moment after moment of me shaking my head in disbelief.

Anonymous co-worker: Do you work a class tonight?

Senor Bone: No, I have no other place to go so I'm just sitting in this classroom waiting for the dancing girls with loose morals and skimpy clothing to arrive or the Mayan calendar to expire...whichever happens first. Most days I would take either option, but today, I think I might prefer the calendar option. It seems like less trouble in the long run.

Although a more accurate answer would be that I left office early to put an end to his asinine conversation which apparently followed me down the hall. I'm not sure why my personal schedule is so interesting to this jackass, but I get asked that same question damn near daily and the answer is always the same. If I didn't have to be here, champ, I likely wouldn't be here.

In addition to that, we got a box of coasters with our new building printed on a ceramic tile and a non-skid backing. The secretary directed my attention to the box o' coasters and asked what I thought about them. Having been pegged as a wiseass years ago, I said "These are really nice bathroom tiles for the new building." I give answers like this in hopes that people will eventually give up on asking me questions altogether. It hasn't happened yet.

weekend shi(f)t

Help! I'm being held captive by the workplace. It's not fair and it's not right, but it is what it is and it is bullshit. While my co-workers went trotting home after their obligatory 37.5 hour work week, some of us were left behind. It's like a dress rehearsal for the rapture or something. I've got to change my evil ways and I've got to find a form of employment that doesn't involve me spending 62-ish hours in the workplace for the same salary if I was fortunate enough to merely clock in at 37.5. There's really no point in bitching about it, but I will do it anyway. It's what I do. I bitch, therefore I am. I work with a few too...both male and female.


To add insult to injury, they apparently drop the temperature when the blue-bloods aren't here in order to conserve funds for gala balls (make yer own joke) and the like. Of course, I didn't think about this when I was choosing the formal wear for the day--a Rolling Stones t-shirt, because I was enjoying the hell out of Gimme Shelter (as I always do) on the morning drive. For the 45 minute lunch break, I briefly considered heading home to correct this fashion faux pas with a sweatshirt. I decided that I'd rather just put on the leather jacket and save the gasoline. The other idea was to syphon some go-go juice from the vehicular device and set myself ablaze. Thus taking care of the chill in the air and reducing the work day considerably. I guess the downside is the flaking of charred flesh getting ground into the carpet. Not that it would necessarily be my problem at that point.


It's hard to believe that this is the same building that was all abuzz when they screened The Wizard Of Oz a few weeks ago, complete with a few folks in costume. It was about as abuzz as a library in Kentucky can get, which is to say that it was actually more of a barely audible murmur with some dude dressed up in aluminum foil pretending to be tin. The sole purpose in mentioning this event is to tell the story of how I walked up to the head honcho of the library and with no trace of comedy, I asked her at what point I should show up in my flying monkey costume. I think her reaction could best be described as "bamboozled." Although she did manage to work up a semi-uncomfortable chuckle and I wondered if she thought I was going to really jump over the rail in said costume. Maybe next year. It was just another example of me fucking with people. The cool part is that after telling the office manager the story, I found a flying monkey figure on my desk the following Monday. It fits in nicely with the feng shui of my classy ass office.


When this blessed event broke for lunch, I retreated to my office to enjoy the lunch of champions--a peanut butter sandwich (sans that jelly bullshit), a pouch of Funyuns, and some Crystal Light cherry-pomegranate (a/k/a "Coagulated Crystal Light" as that is what it looks like before becoming fully mixed) mix intermingled with some fresh water fountain product. I thought the office would be somewhat tranquil without the usual office banter and shit-talk that goes on during normal business hours. Of course, this was not to be. That would make too much sense and hell's bells, it might make me happy.


I can only hope that I didn't shriek when I opened the office door and saw the co-worker with the office next to mine digging through the break room snacks like a raccoon coming off of a 30-day fast. To say that this person and I are complete and total polar opposites is an understatement and a half. I often say that he is the bright ray of sunshine and I am the storm cloud. With only a wall separating our offices, it should be pouring rain in between. At least it was too late for his patented "Good MOR-ning!" greeting and I think he was too busy with shoving wavy potato chips into his mouth to speak. I was more than okay with the lack of greeting and responded in kind by simply walking into my office to do up my eats and hang out with the Smoking Donkey.


So wherever you are, be thankful that you're not here. If you're not wherever you are, be thankful that you're not there either. In keeping with the theme set by the fashion mentioned in paragraph #2, I will add that I really like this version of the song and I really just needed a reason to add that link to the post. It serves no purpose other than it kicks ass and it's floating through my head at this very moment.


Peace out, motherscratchers.


(Quote of the day - "I'm running around like a douche without a bag.")















Buddha, Bugs, and the blue flying monkey.

50th Wedding Anniversary

Many thanks to the Rolling Pin Pastry Shop for a beautiful and tasty cake!


This is us. Me, the sibs, and the guests of honor.


______________________
Whew! I'm beat, but it was all worth it! SO worth it.

We had a pretty darn successful party I think. The sibs were a big help and I really think everyone had a good time, including Mom & Dad. We had a really good size turnout. We didn't do anything fancy, our goal was to get as many people together as possible for cake, punch and a few finger foods...and a good time. We had music, OLD family photos projected on a screen and lots of of them.

Happy Anniversary, Mom & Dad! Love ya!

_______

PS The Gcast player to the left has a "technology isn't for everyone" audio post of one of the guests attempting to RSVP. No editing was done except to remove her last name.

Sponge...in a world of human wreckage

SPONGE
Phoenix Hill Tavern
Louisville, Kentucky
March 14, 2009

By Any Means Necessary.

Just the other morning (Monday, if I'm not inaccurate), I was trying to break and enter my way into a package of Gillette Mach 3 razor blades (sans scissors, I might add, which have been MIA since the ice storm bullshit) and I thought to myself "This is some serious packaging that sucks!! Someone should invent a forum to expose those products that make a person say 'Your packaging sucks!!' It would be the best ever."

Thanks be to God that I found this very site to curse, complain, bitch, whine, and gripe about this example of packaging that really sucks. Otherwise, I would just be pissing in the wind and considering the level of indifference hanging over this muhfuggah lately, I may very well be doing just that very thing. The upside is that we've got one of those windy-ass, click your red heels together and proclaim that "There's no place like home" kind of days brewing in this here Bluegrass state. A stout and righteous piss stream could very well reach the plains states with a good tail wind to enhance the flow. Look out, Kansas. I'm aiming at you.

So while I was chiseling my way into the damn razor blades in slow and deliberate fashion with a set of tweezers, I felt like I was that guy on Escape From Alcatraz trying to get my way through the wall. Hell's bells, it might have actually been easier to cut through concrete over this variation on the old blister pack. Desperate times call for desperate measures as my implement of choice was a device used to tweeze rather than cut through some hellacious plastic wrap from the colon of Hell itself. If only I'd ordered something from Ronco prior to the midnight deadline, I could have scored a set of ginsu knives that would no doubt laugh at the mere Gillette Mach 3 packaging before slicing through a brick and bringing it all home by dicing up some tomatoes. It's a real show-stopper.

Sure, a smart man would have saved the time and effort and just sought out another pair of scissors and cut that bitch seven ways from Sunday. However, the challenge was thrown down and I rarely, if ever, take the easy way out because that would be, well, that would be easy and I'm not happy unless I'm pissed off. With this line of thinking, I should be shooting sunbeams out of my ass and pissing rainbows. Look out Kansas, I'm aiming a rainbow at you people and I am the man with a giant silver nut...on his desk.

Fret not, I'm mostly harmless.

Really.

Once the challenge was issued, I was hell-bent on tweezing my way into the razor blades and mow down my two-day stubble like busters gang. Looking back, I might have also saved time by using the tweezers to pluck each and every beard follicle, but that seemed rather painful. While we're looking back, I could have possibly used one of those razors to help gain entrance into the treasure chest, but they were tucked away safely in packaging that sucks.

There is no stunning climax to this story, unless someone in the reading audience is without pants. If that is indeed the case, I say you'd best mop up when you're done. This is a family establishment and we've got health codes to uphold in this beotch. Not to mention that we don't want to slip, fall, and break a hip on your good time. That would be an uncomfortable situation for all parties involved, including the one with the afterglow smoke.

Even though it lacks a big O (or two or three...), I will say that at the very least that it does have a happy ending. I finally tweezed my way to victory and removed the razors from this prime example of packaging that sucks. Do you think anyone noticed and complimented my close shave and the effort it took to achieve? Oh hell no. Pissing in the wind, I tell you.

Next time, I'm using dynamite.

By the way, Gillette...

Your

Packaging

Sucks!!

Within a Few Years

You never really know about life. I mean, not really. Oh, you can plot and plan and hope and pray/prey, but I haven't seen many solid gold guarantees. Have you?

Before you know it, you can go from having your aunt pose you in a photo scamming somebody else's icing with all the bestest stuffed buddies a boy could ask for, to...playing in a box. It's not like you had to, by that time, you WANTED to play in that box. That box was FUN. That box was a fort and a spaceship and a castle, all rolled up in one. One time that box was a car with a rumble seat! When it came to playing in a box, you weren't messing around (watch it, filthy people, watch it!)!

But then, somewhere along the way, you'd mess up. Yep, you'd make that one false move that everyone seemed to be waiting for. That's right, you'd think you were being cute, or that maybe nobody was watching at all. Oh, but they were, and how! You thought you'd just whip out the Monkeyboy Face, put it away, and all would be said and done. But oh no, they saw, and for years you'd be poked and prodded and encouraged to "make that monkey face." Dammit! You'd say to yourself. WHY oh why had you ever done it?!?

The latest addition to Disgraceland...

It's a big silver nut.