Baboon Pirates

Scribbles and Scrawls from an unrepentant swashbuckling primate.

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Location: Texas, United States

Sunday, April 30, 2006

Back Home!

Next Time, I'm Renting A Car For The Trip...

Wow. Made it home alive. No more sudden attacks of Spontaneous Cadillacious Combustion. Even have a few beers left in the cooler.

Gimme a bit of time to decompress and inquire into fire insurance, then I'll recap the Austin Blogmeet. It was all that and a bag of charcoal briquets. Oh, streaming hordes of cocaine-crazed chipmunks, too.

Blodgers, if you want a CD with all the Blogfest photos I took over the weekend, send me an email with your snailmail addy to: baboonpirates2 -AT- gmail -DOT- com. It might take a week or two, but I'll get 'em burned and mailed out.

Oh, Eric? Don't look now, but there's a little black bug on your shirt, and he looks hungry...

Friday, April 28, 2006

Comment Spam! I Got Comment Spam!!

Ahhh... Finally, I'm A True Blogger...

Checked my email this morning to find this wonderful message:

The Second Amendment means nothing outside of hunting.

Our forefathers gave us that right to fend off a military takeover in the U.S. - by either the left or the right.

Apparently, since most gun owners are far right they didn't see fit to fight the far right takeover so here we are. On the verge of martial law.

You'll imitate your German counterparts of 70 years ago. You'll allow them to take away any weapon that gives you parity with the military. You know you barely made a peep when the Brady Bill took away your assault rifles, which is what you'll need to effectively combat troops.

What a bunch of cowards, and what a sore disgrace you are to our forefathers who gave their blood for the likes of you.

In Jesus' Glorious and Holy name,
Dean Berry -- Real American
(Link & email addy redacted, he ain't gettin' traffic from me...)

Now, normally, I'd just think this was a random driveby from someone who'd been hitting the Jesus Juice a bit hard, but the comment in no way matches the post it was left on, so I'm thinking we've got some Grade-Z spammage!

Now... to just delete it, or to go do some creative editing???

Wednesday, April 26, 2006

Sweet! My Hotel Bill Got Paid!

Well, Mostly Paid, Anyway!

I got to fretting over that big stack of Lotto tix that have been banging around in my desk drawer. I haven't checked the numbers in weeks & weeks, and they expire after 180 days. I sorted 'em out, and they went all the way back to last November!

I don't buy 'em for every drawing, just when the jackpot gets in "Buy a baseball team" territory. Still, after adding up all the $2, $3, and $5 winners, (plus the one 4-match biggie!) it came to $149! Almost enough to pay for the blogfest lodging.

Of course, the REAL math lesson is that what I *paid* for the tickets versus what I won from the tickets would have equaled the hotel room, the gas, the booze, the meals...

Yeah, yeah, I know what you're gonna say... "Lotto is the special tax for people who don't know statistics." Don't even go there. Let it go, or I'll be forced to lecture you on discretionary income, opportunity costs, subjective value, marginal utility, and other fun topics.

Ropes & Rocks

Or, Throwing Yourself At The Ground And Missing

Eric at Straight White Guy has a couple of posts up that zipped me back in time about 20 years. He's writing about rock climbing, and how much thinner he was back in the day! Ain't that da bleedin' troot!

I used to spend summer breaks as a Boy Scout camp staffer, specializing in the goofy shit that they now call "extreme" sports. Though I settled into mostly doing black powder rifle instruction, the Adventure crew were all cross-trained in each other's areas. In case one of us got snakebit or fell off a cliff, the others could step in and cover your program, 'cause "the show must go on!"

Rock climbing and rappelling was a coveted slot on the Adventure roster. Many was the afternoon where we'd shoo off the "grubbies" (the young Scouts, who always seemed to acquire a thin layer of dirt that persisted in spite of swimming and showers) and we'd head to the rock wall to do some damage to ourselves.

This was before the days of fancy buckle-in harnesses. We were tying Swiss seats out of yards and yards of thick webbing, and if there was a safety helmet on site, I never saw it. No one wore gloves, except for a guy named Duane, who we dubbed "Ladyfingers". Most times we just looked for the hardest way up the rock, then threw ourselves off it, trusting on the belay and the 1/2" climbing rope. I think the Euro folks call rappelling "abseiling". We called it a shitload of fun! Later in the summer, we advanced to "Aussie-style" rappelling, where you go down the wall face-first.

Fast forward to college, and the time I took an ROTC intro course for my PE credit. It consisted of two weekly classroom sessions and a Saturday a.m. lab session where the ROTC cadets abused us in numerous ways.

The cadets kept warning us of "Pass/Fail" day, and how scared we should be. Many of the other frosh were pretty nervous, but I'd been tipped off by an RA in my dorm.

Pass/Fail Day was a trip to the rappelling tower. To pass, you had to make a successful rappel, preferably from the top. The tower was a triangular beast with a staircase on the interior, with a low wall, a high wall and a helicopter skid up top. Maybe 60 foot high, perhaps a little taller for the 'copter skid. I think the cadet instuctor twigged to the fact I was ahead of the game when I had my seat tied and the 'biner attached while most of the class were still unrolling their webbing. He didn't say anything, just tugged on the 'biner a couple of times, eyeballed my knots, and pointed me to the tower.

When I got to the top, one of the cadets was already in full on Drill Instructor mode, giving his best R. Lee Ermey imitation. While he's barking about his fail rate to those of us up there, I'm buckling the helmet, getting the rope around the figure 8, and leaning backwards off the high wall. He turned to spew some invective to some kid from Hall 14, I yelled "On Rappel!", and as soon as I got the "On Belay" reply, WHOOSH! I'm off the wall. I wish I could describe the look on that cadet's face when he leaned out and saw me falling. He thought he was watching his career leap off that tower!

I tried as hard as I could to make it to the ground in one leap, but the gear wasn't what I was used to, and I swung into the wall about 20 feet off the deck, kicking off and zipping the rest of the way down.

Yeah, I caught some shit for it. It was worth it, though! They let me rappel off the 'copter skid! No wall, just a quick slide down.

I can still do it. I remember the knots, the gear and the procedures. I just need a thicker rope...

Tuesday, April 25, 2006

Cooler Than You!

OK, Maybe Not That Cool...

Bought a new cooler today. All my ice-chest type coolers seem to disappear on me. I think the neighbors are swiping them from the garage in the dead of night. Either that, or they've been pulled into the junk vortex that is currently dominating the garage.

This one's a new type for me, the collapsible fabric cooler. I don't think it'll hold the heat out very well, but what the hell. Ice is cheap, and this one has wheels and a pull handle.

I'll carry a jungle mix of beer, water, sodas, ice and maybe a surprise or two. It's supposedly good for 72 cans, though I doubt that includes ice in the cubic footage calculations. I also need to figure out how to lash my folding chair to it to make a truly mobile party experience.

I'm looking for my pirate flag and a way to fly it to mark our territory at the Lick Friday night. Maybe 50 foot of rope and a shitload of helium balloons. I'll keep you posted as to details.

Monday, April 24, 2006

Another Throwaway Blogpost...

'Cause It's All I Got Time For...

You're Seth Gecko, you bastard.
Fun at the Titty Twister.

Which B-Movie Badass Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla

Will This Affect My Final Grade?

Sigh... I Suspected As Much...

You Are 80% Evil

You are very evil. And you're too evil to care.
Those who love you probably also fear you. A lot.

Sunday, April 23, 2006

BlogFest Change Of Plans

Economics Rears Its Ugly Head

Relax, relax, I'm still going... It's just that I can't play Gunny Claus this trip. Last summer's blogmeet I was able to supply all the ammo anyone wanted to shoot for just about my entire arsenal.

This go-round, things are a bit tighter, financially. After figuring the hotel, gas, etc., the only boomsticks I can supply unlimited ammo for are the .22s and the 8mm Mauser.

I'll still have a good portion of the armory with me. You'll just need to feed 'em yourself. So, if you wanna shoot a .357 Magnum, a .45 six-shooter, a .45 automatic, or a 12 gauge 'boomstick', drop by Wal-Mart and grab a box of shells. Generic "white box" .45 Auto and .357 Mag run $10-13 per 50 rounds, .45 Long Colt (for the cowboy six-shooter) runs about $20/50 rds, and 12 ga. can be dirt cheap, if you buy skeet loads. Maybe $3-4 for a box of 25. Buckshot is a bit more!

All this assumes we're going to Red's, where the motto seems to be "If you can shoulder it, you can shoot it." If we go elsewhere, they may not let you fire the shotty from the regular lanes.

I will have some full-power buckshot loads on hand. Anyone willing to one-hand my 'shorty shotty' gets a free go!

ManCamp Unveiled!

Wives Nationwide Pause For Mutual Shudder

Val Prieto of Babalu Blog and Steve H. of Hog On Ice got a nice writeup in the Miami Herald today. Val's "ManCamp" is unveiled for the general public to see!

Here's Val & Steve BBQing some shrimp in ManCamp.

Needless to say, I'm envious as hell. My back yard's only suitable for squirrels to gather in, really. Damn place is like a jungle unless you're out there every day with a flamethrower to keep the tropical foliage burned back.

Now, if I could just figure out how to convert a window unit A/C into double duty as a charcoal grill/smoker, I'd be well on my way to making my bedroom into a passable rendition of ManCamp!

Go check it out!

Saturday, April 22, 2006

Stocking Up For The Blogfest

Y'all Are Gonna Enjoy These!

Just got back from the licka sto'. Bought the basics for about a gallon of Key Lime Pie shooters. I still need to get the ice, half & half and some fresh limes, but that'll wait until I get to Austin. Gotta have some excuse to go to Central Market!

Bleah! It's about 97 zillion degrees outside. I had to sit in traffic for longer than I needed. That damn I-10 construction just keeps dragging in and on and on...

Also picked up some Bombay Sapphire gin & some tonic water. I hope I've got some lime juice in the fridge. A gin & tonic with lime is just what I need to decompress & cool down.

Bought an entire double sleeve of plastic shot glasses for the shooters. Smallest package available. There's gotta be 200 of 'em in there. I foresee the patio balcony of the Holiday Inn becoming strewn with these before the end of the weekend.

OK, gotta go make a drink. More later.

Friday, April 21, 2006

Lying MotherF#(%@*$!!!

The Booze & Wood Pulp Industries Bought Another Victory

FDA Rejects Medical Marijuana

Got cancer? AIDS? Glaucoma? Just about any terminal illness?

Be ready to spend the rest of your short-ass life in agonizing pain, nausea and misery, courtesy of the FDA.

Filthy corrupted assholes. This was NOT a scientific decision.

Damn, I need a bonghit right about now.

Thursday, April 20, 2006

Things To Do In Austin When You're Drunk

Rifle Practice From The UT Tower Is NOT Recommended...

(Crossposted at blown-eyed blodgers)

Shoe & Christina were kind enough to give over the keys to the 2006 Texas BlodgerFest site so's I could speak a piece. Normally Baboon Pirates tend to mark any new territory so they feel at home. Y'know, fling some poo, drink up all the rum, maybe run off with the silverware. That site still has that new blog smell, so I was on my best behavior!

Austin's been a 3rd Texas home to me over the years. My favorite-est aunt & uncle live there, and my Dad had a house up near Justin & Lamar for some years, eventually turning it over to my sister before she got hitched and moved out to Kyle, TX.

I've found some baboonalicious things to do in Austin over the years, and I'm gonna share 'em with you!

Best Free Show - The Congress Street Bats - Every night at dusk, about a gazillion Mexican free-tailed bats come swarming out from under the bridge and go flapping off into the sunset in search of their nightly feast of 10,000 to 30,000 pounds of mo-skeeters and other insects. Don't miss the bat-hat vendors!

Best Breakfast - The Omelettry - Located at Burnet & 49th, The Omelettry will serve up omelets as big as your head, and some wondrous gingerbread pancakes ("Prozac on a Plate"). Get there early, or plan to wait, it gets crowded. They'll pour you some coffee while you wait for your table, though!

Best Non-Alcoholic Drink - Lemonade at Player's - Player's (which better still be open at MLK & Guadalupe!) serves up a pretty decent burger, but the real draw is the lemonade. I've never had better, anywhere. They must use lemons fertilized with crack cocaine or something. I've driven 50 miles out of my way for some of this sweet nectar!

Best Hole In The Wall - The Hole In The Wall - It was shut down for a while, but Austin's smallest live music venue is back up and running! I can't count the times I lugged amps & drum kits in and out of here back in my roadie days. It's on Guadalupe (The Drag!) across from UT campus. If you pass the Jack In The Box, you've gone too far!

Best French Fries - Hyde Park Bar & Grill - Good sammiches, great fries, and a nice cozy little neighborhood eatery. Worth seeking out. 4206 Duval St

Best Grocery Store - Central Market - This is where God shops when he's throwing a bash. You need it? They've probably got it. From demiglace to dill weed, it's a gourmet's paradise. A better beer & wine selection than almost any licka sto'. Two locations in Austin.

Best Bookstore - Book People - Largest Bookstore in Texas! These folks carry such a wide selection, you think you're in the Library of Congress, only with price tags. The price tags ain't cheap, but if you're looking for that obscure mystery series you read back in 1978, it's probably on the shelf. Makes the selection at Barnes & Noble & Borders look like the paperback rack at the drug store. 6th & Lamar

Best Music Selection - Waterloo Records Second verse, same as the first. Great independent music store, with knowledgable, non-snooty help. 6th & Lamar (across the street from Book People)

Best Tequila Drink - Mexican Martini at The Tavern - You're never too far from 12th and Lamar! Ask for a dirty Mexican martini. It's basically a margarita with a dash of olive brine (for the salt!) served in a HUGE martini glass. They also leave the martini shaker, so you really get a drink & a half. Worth every penny, but after 4 of 'em, best call a cab!

See y'all around town!

Wednesday, April 19, 2006

No More Mr. Nice Guy!

There's Gold In Them Thar Whines!

Dayummm... Pitch a bitch that slips a burr under someone else's saddle, and look at that big-ass spike in drive-by lookie-loos when the dust starts to kick up!

I'm gonna have to get pissy more often...

Bwahahahaaaa!!! Just kidding. It's not like I'm trying to get paid for this or anything.

5 Word Movie Reviews

'Cause That's All I Have Time For...

Into The Blue - Never trust a coke whore.

Capote - New York Literati are assholes.

Pride & Prejudice - Someone PLEASE bitchslap Lydia Bennett.

Derailed - Figured it out halfway through.

Blogfest BBQ

Where The Elite & Discrete Greet & Eat Meat

OK, some details are here, but here's the complete skinny on the Friday evening hoedown at this spring's Texas Blown-Eyed No-Hippie-Havin'-But-Otherwise-All-Inclusive Naughty-Bits-Wavin'-In-The-Breeze Blodger Thingamabob.

We've got reservations for the Blodger crew at The Salt Lick for 40 bloggers at 7:30 pm on Friday April 28th.

Map and directions are here.

Menu and prices are here.

THE SALT LICK IS CASH ONLY!!! BRING A WAD OF GREENBACKS!! They do have an ATM onsite, and I'll kickstart a shylock biz for the evening at 1000% interest, compounded hourly. I'll need your firstborn for collateral, though.

We ought to try to head out that way late Friday afternoon whenever the mood strikes us, then tailgate until everyone gets there. They'll only hold our reservation for 15 minutes, so when 7:30 strikes, we gotta head inside. If you show up late, we'll try to save a few seats.

Speaking of tailgating... You can bring a cooler/ice chest into the parking lot and inside the Salt Lick, but liquor bottles are verboten. Be VERY discreet if ya gotta have yourself some likker drinks. All the traffic-control guys are off-duty sheriffs!

Spread the word, guys. No one's managed to empty out their smokers yet, but this crew could just maybe do it...

Tuesday, April 18, 2006

Tricks Of The Trade

FSM Knows I've Heard Most Of These...

Mostly Cajun has a great post up about the special selling terms you'll see at gun shows or from trade magazines and/or online gun auctions. I often wonder why some gun dealers aren't held in the same high regard we reserve for personal injury attorneys and used car salesmen...

Here's a few of my favorites from his post...

Stock has the usual dings - yeah, and face of the moon has the usual dings too.

The wood has a warm hue - because it was in a fire.

Locks up solid - this gun is rusted shut.

Bore is shiny - none of that nasty rifling remains to spoil the smoothness of this bore.

Unissued - even the soldiers of the third-world country they came from refused to carry them.

Has a strong action - translation: “You’ll need a couple of friends to get the bolt on this rust bucket open”.

Double heat treated - this was also in a fire.

Free floating barrel - the screws that hold the barrel in are missing.

Go check out the rest!

Oh, gotta add a few of my own... (based on actual experiences)

Heirloom Quality - "I loved my grandpappy so much I must ask $600 for his old clapped-out single shot 20 gauge shotgun."

Custom Finish - "That ol' Winchester Model 97 trench broom with ordnance stamps and heat shield was just gathering dust. Looks purty with that new Armalloy finish, don't it?"

As Seen On TV! - "OK, so you'll never find a magazine for it, but damn, didn't Don Johnson pop some bad guys on Miami Vice with a Bren Ten just like this one! Only $1200 if you pay cash!"

Extremely Rare! - "Recall? I don't know nothing 'bout no recall on this here Vector 9mm!"

The Ears Are MINE!!!

No Mothers Allowed Near The Bunny!

Bought myself a chocolate bunny this morning. On sale at half-price at the Walgreens. Solid bunny, too, none of this hollow rabbit BS!! Kinda funny how you reach a certain age, and chocolate bunnies no longer mysteriously appear on Easter morning...

Mom always exacted a toll before we kids could start our individual celebrations of Jesus's resurrection via overconsumption of sugary treats. She always managed to pluck the ears of the bunnies. Even when Dad would get her her own chocolate rabbit, she'd eat the ears off of ours.

Once when I was in college, I received an easter care package. Got some marshmallow Peeps, some jellybeans & malted milk eggs, and of course a chocolate bunny. The ears had been pre-removed, of course, along with a generous portion of the head. Guess the toll increases to cover postage.

Well, this rabbit's mine! And by the way, Mom?? I ATE THE EARS FIRST!!! HAHAHAHAHAAAA!!!!

UPDATE: Though I tried to resist the urge, I have just consumed the entire 6 ounce rabbit. I now have enough sugar in my bloodstream that my blood's the consistency of maple syrup, and can give a vampire immediate sugar-shock. I think my brain is buzzing at such a rate I can bend spoons with my mind...

I haven't even opened the Cadbury Egg yet... someone stop me...

UPDATE #2: Gahhh! Too late!!! Easter Bunny's got my soul! Easter Bunny's got my soulllll!!!!!!

Sunday, April 16, 2006

Buy A Gun Day 2006

More Like "Complete A Gun" Day!

Couldn't quite come up with the cash this year for a Buy A Gun Day purchase. See, I've been spending my disposable income bringing my K31 up to match-quality standards. Well, that and my tax "refund" is going to pay the IRS for my past sins. Here's a tip. NEVER cash in a 401k early. The tax penalty, she is a bitch...

Anyway, for a $100 rifle, $110 worth of scope, mount & rings, and $75 worth of gunsmithing to attach the mount, and I've got a rifle that'll shoot as well as a $1500 custom job. Oh, that's with surplus ammo, mind you...

I went out early Saturday morning (B.A.G. day, of course!) to get the scopes set up properly. In addition to the K31, I brought along my SKS. I'd added a gas-tube scope mount and red dot scope to it about a year ago, and for one reason or another never took it out to the range to get it dialed in.

Usually I go out shooting with Zibig and the Cisco Kid, but this was a business trip, not a pleasure jaunt, and I needed to do this one solo. I started off with the SKS, but after 20 rounds and none hitting on the paper, I realized the wiggly scope mount needed shimming, and I needed to pull the receiver cover. I'd tried a receiver cover scope mount earlier, but didn't like the way it blocked the stripper clip loading slot. Unfortunately, I can't remember what I did with the original cover, and the scope mount cover blocks the rear sight, making sighting in a scope a matter of by guess and by gosh. So, back in the closet goes the SKS for another year, unless I find the old cover! Fortunately, the K31 made up for the lack of success with the SKS.

Everything you need for a good day at the range! Rifles, ammo, and a big honkin' Super Gonzo Gulp!

Here's the scope mounted on the K31. It's a Bushnell 4x Widefield. The adjusting turret blocks the loading port, so I can't use the stripper clips, but it doesn't affect ejection. Since the magazine ejects easily, loading is no problem.

For a scope mounted on the left side of the receiver, you'd think the initial grouping would be on the left. In this case, the initial 3 shot group was way off to the right, about 5 inches! So begins the slow process of shoot a group, dial the scope, shoot a group, dial the scope!

Here's the slow march of progress...

Before long, though, we had a winner! Check out this ragged hole! That's a 20 round group, btw. OK, a bit of overkill just for sighting in, but I was having such a blast (literally!) I had to burn through a second box of ammo!

I've said it before, and I'll say it again! Go get yourself a K31!

"The Last Supper"

More Items From The Vault

Amazing what you find rooting around in old hard drives. Came across this pic of "The Last Supper", the infamous bachelor party of the "AndyChrist" way back in the dawn of time.

Andy was soon to be married, so we took him out and got him suitably loaded beforehand. Of course, Andy being Andy, we couldn't just go to any titty bar. Oh, no. We had to go to Britches & Bloomers, Arlington's only lesbian bar.

I'm not sure quite what the usual patrons thought of us invading their domain in order to bless the union of two heterosexuals, but they went along with it. Rumor has it there's a couple of pictures of Andy standing in frozen delight as two Lipstick Lesbians used him as a cat-scratching post, but you know how those ugly rumors get started!

Lot of history in that picture. I'm in it, Andy (with the silver halo) is naturally in it, as are Rockhauler, the Limey Bastard, Alvis, and one or two others I've mentioned here in the blog.

Heh. The "AndyChrist" and his 12 disciples. That'll take you back. (OK, I know there's 14 in the picture. We have no idea who the dude on the far left is. He just kinda joined in.)

Saturday, April 15, 2006

Rude Awakenings

Next Time, I'm Hiring A Vampire Yard Crew

There's a bandy-legged Hispanic man outside my window with a leaf blower. It's before 9 am on a Saturday, fer guacamole's sake. Since I can't legally shoot the man, I'll blog about it instead.

Bastards. I told 'em, "No corte el grasso en el fin de semana!" That's supposed to mean don't mow the yard on the weekends, but I got "C"s in Spanish, so I'm not surprised the message didn't take. Why can't they manage to make it here on weekday mornings, when I'm already at work?

Sigh. Well, I'm up. Might as well go scrub out the BBQ grill for the family Easter cookout tomorrow. It'll help preserve my pissy mood to get covered with soot & grease before the crack of noon.

Friday, April 14, 2006

T-Minus Two Weeks!

You People Better Not Puss Out On This!

Two weeks until the Texas Blodger Bash in Austin. I'm definitely jazzed about it, but I'm getting that uneasy trepidatious feeling, too.

Seems to me there was a lot more fanfare and whoop-te-dos leading up to the previous Jawja Blodger events, and also the earlier Texas Blogfests. This one's been really low key, as far as I can tell. We've already got people dropping out, which is inevitable, I suppose. I'm kinda bummed Kurt's not coming. I was going to distract he & his wife with gifts of hard cider, then abscond with his Sable-coated Wigglehound.

It concerns me that so many rooms went unreserved, too. I mean, we got 40 people on the "I'm gonna be there" list, and only... what... 10? live close enough that they can crash at home. So, there's a whole lotta attendees that I guess will be sleeping under the Congress St. bridge with the 1.2 million Mexican freetailed bats. Mind the guano, guys. You'll never get it off that suede jacket...

I can't say I'm entirely thrilled about the free-form schedule. I know better than to try and wrangle 30+ bloggers into anything more structured than "Be in this town on these dates", but I was really looking forward to some serious face time in one location, punctuated by the occasional meal/sleep break. Having everyone depart for random locations in the Austin area kinda defeats the purpose of gathering bloggers together, doncha think?

There's talk of going shooting, which I'm all OK with. Shoe wants to go to Eeyore's Birthday, which I just can't abide. Ever see the South Park episode where Cartman has to invade the hippie music festival? Story of my life, dude. Life imitates art. No effin' way I can deal with that much concentrated liberalism and patchouli oil.

I'll have my portable bar with me. I think I'll be stocking the makings for gin & tonics, Key Lime Pies, maybe some scotch and some rum. Maybe bourbon. Hard to say what I'll be in the mood for when I'm loading up the Caddy.

Sigh. Guess we'll just play it by ear. A little shootin', a little drinkin', a little gripin'. Heh. Sounds just like a normal weekend at home...

Oh, yeah. One more thing. Had a dream the other night where I was out with a group of people and helped toast a really huge doobie full of really great weed. I apparently enjoyed myself immensely, and was able to rationalize my behavior somehow. Dreams never involve random urinalysis, so... if you happen to bring along the wacky tobacky, do NOT allow me indulge, no matter how well I debate the unlikely statistics of being called to pee in a cup out of a pool of 22,000+ employees. Just. Say. No. Thanks!

They F#&% You At The Drive-Thru!!

And Now For Something Completely Different...

Uncovered a mystery the other day. Didja ever slide into a drive-thru for a quick meal, place your order, pay, and then have the attendant ask you to drive around front, and they'd bring your order right out?

It's happened to me fairly frequently, especially when I place an order for something that'll take a while to prepare. I try to always order something unusual, so they'll make it fresh, and I won't get a burger or chikwich that's been baking under a heatlamp. If you've got 5 cars behind you, and 3 of 'em just want a drink, it makes sense for you to clear out of the way so they can empty out the drive-thru lane.

Recently, I've been asked to pull around to the front even when there's no one behind me. It always irked me a little. What does it matter where I am if I'm not holding up the line? Besides, if I'm there by the window I can keep an eye on the knuckleheads inside. More then once, after they swipe my debit card through the reader machine, I've caught them laying my card out on the counter in easy reach of any in-store customer.

I finally found out why they ask you to move. Turns out they're on the clock. Their Corporate Overlords track how long it takes for a car to place an order, and how long it takes that car to leave the window, supposedly after completing the transaction. Stores are graded on how low they can get their wait time.

So, in order to fudge the numbers, even though your order won't take that long when you're there alone, if they can get you to clear the lane, it shows up as a 15-30 second transaction. This helps to offset the 5-10 minute wait times they get when they're getting slammed.

Now that I know it's all about the $$$$s, I'm gonna start demanding freebies. You want my help jiggering your numbers? I want a free piece o' cheesecake! Hell, throw in a large order of onion rings, and I might even forget to email this blogpost to your Corporate Overlords!

Heheheh... play this right, I'll eat for free everywhere!!

Thursday, April 13, 2006

Damn, Y'all Are Touchy!

Buncha Pantywaists and Thumbsuckers!

Jeez... One little episode of Crapblogging, and y'all stay away in droves.

No shit, there was about a 30% drop in daily visits following the episode of the Phantom Shitter. Might be a fluke, but I've had people contract a case of the vapors before over stuff I've written.

Well, I can't let the die-hard regulars go unrewarded. As a token of my esteem, here's a custom-excreted message for you, lovingly rendered in rubber dogshit.


Wednesday, April 12, 2006

Be Sure Your Sin Will Find You Out!

A Blast From The Past

Amazing what a little rooting around in the Google archives will dig up. Got to poking around for my old Usenet posts in the pre-blog days. Yes, that's what some of us did for amusement way back when.

I was nowhere near as prolific a poster back then, but I still turned out the occasional trifle. This one was from either alt.slack or alt.tasteless. Coulda been crossposted, I s'pose.

I'd completely forgotten that I wrote the silly thing...

In article <3FX8XA4.3BAXx76@yXXXX.XXX>, REDACTED

>>> There is one and only one original source for "666 - The Number of the Beast," and that is the fucking bible. Whatever stupid opinion you may have about the fucking bible, the fact is that it is the only original source of "666 - The Number of the Beast." ANYBODY who talks about it is either getting it from that one source or from someone who ultimately gets it from that source, and it doesn't originate anywhere else.<<<

In article <3FX8Xx4.3BAXXX@yXXXX.XXX>, El Capitan

Well, if you were to dig a little deeper and read the ancient writings of the Roman scholar Anus Maximus Syphiliticus, you would know that the origin for 666 was actually conceived by John (soon to become St. John the Divine, based on his sudden conversion to women's togas, bad makeup and ingesting dogshit) on a trip to Rome.

John and his crew were known to frequent the brothel of Nippilia Roseacea, located at DCLXVI Appian Way, Palatine Hill, Rome. John, to his great dismay, had attracted the attentions of Aemilia Posteria Baloonica, the heftiest whore Rome had seen since the days of Hannibal's ladder & elephant rental service for bachelor parties.

John would frequently get plowed on Falernian wine, and wake up pressed between the mammariae giganticii of Aemilia, whom he began referring to as "Bestia Obesia", or "Fat Beast". The Beast would mark him with her initials written in squid ink on his forehead while he slept, forcing him to have to pay for her unwanted services the following morning, hence, the "Mark of the Beast".

Soon, John's comrades began to kid him about visiting the brothel, and the Via Appia address of DCLXVI (inlaid in an understated yet unbelieveably obscene wall mural mosaic outside the brothel gates) became known as "The Number of the Beast."

Many years later, John began to experience flashbacks and hallucinations brought on by PCSD (Post-Crucifixion Stress Disorder) and conjured up visions of "Bestia Obesia", which made their way into his Revelations.

And that's the way it happened.

El Capitanus Megaschlongicus

Tuesday, April 11, 2006

The Phantom Shitter

Crapblogging Kings? Hell, These Guys Are Amateurs.

Recently, several bloggers of some renown have made an effort to claim the crown of the King of the Crapbloggers. Let me just say the race is far from won. I have not yet begun to fight. Hell, I've yet to even crawl into the ring, truth be told.

Up to now, I've avoided serious competitive Crapblogging because IMHO tales like those are far better suited for telling around a campfire, preferably while well-lubricated by 5 or 6 ounces of quality bourbon. Also, most of my best ones are a product of my summer camp years, and most of those stories won't be told in this forum.

I'll spare one of my summer camp tales, though. Written as a bastardization of "Casey At The Bat", it tells the tale of the mysterious "Phantom Shitter", who left his calling card all over the state.

Shitter In The Camp
by El Capitan

The summer air was crisp and clean for the campers that fine day,
The camp latrines were freshly 'limed, no foul stench did waft away.

Not enchiladas nor Turkey Surprise could taint the deep latrines,
The maintenance crew, that happy few, had toiled behind the scenes.

E'en giant Galoopa, The BumbleButt, failed to rend the air,
With his turds the size of cabbages that brought us such despair.

The Camp Directors smiled with relief and heaved a hefty sigh,
A camp free of plumbing ills was a camp that's clean and dry!
How could they have known the Phantom Shitter's Poo Debut was nigh?

A new commissioner joined the staff, his late arrival a surprise,
His bona fides were highly lauded, we'd landed quite a prize!

In daylight's eye the upright fellow was both capable and stable,
In the dark, alas, a change occured, the kind as found in fable!
And Jekyll-like the man lurked out, intent on laying cable!

By scant moonlight the Phantom Shitter went out upon his rounds,
Dawn's early light revealed the sight of steaming fecal mounds!

"Upon my soul!" yelled Director "Guy", his voice an angry roar.
"Some nasty punk has defecated outside my cabin door!"

In the mess hall that very day, the excited rumors flew!
"Had you heard that someone went and left a pile o' poo?"

Both Rockhauler and El Capitan were noted pranksters of a sort
But neither had ever considered leaving turds behind for sport!

"What genius! What panache!" they thought. The Shitter was admired!
He must join our band of River Pirates, and we'll be much inspired.
We could use a hand in laying pranks, ere we end up getting fired!

A buttloaf here, a turdlet there, the Shitter's tally was increasing,
With each successful Colon-missile strike, there showed no signs of ceasing.

On one or two occasions there appeared a pretender to the Crown,
But they lacked the skill to Shit & Run, and always got shut down.

One feat set our hero apart from the rest of the ragged band,
The Phantom Shitter could, fast as lightning, take a dump upon command.

His technique was flawless, polished by years of hidden dumping
The flawless disrobing squat, the Mighty Push and then the pants-yank jumping!

Some say t'was Tantric discipline that gave this rectal control,
Those of us that were boon companions knew the scar upon his soul,

T'was a lifetime ailment of the gut that left turds constantly on tap,
Indeed, he wished for a miracle to dry up the stream of crap.

The Phantom Shitter soldiered on the rest of that hot summer,
Leaving gobs of gooey poo near the smarter and the dumber.

Dumbest yet was the big Galoopa, the yokel of massive size,
He swore he'd catch the Phantom Shitter, due to his eagle eyes.

His eagle eyes were more like orbs of cheap imported junk.
The Phantom Shitter filled a can, then left it 'neath his bunk.

A gallon can, half-filled with poo, lay under Galoopa's bed.
Such was his hygiene, the nasty boor, that naught was ever said.

Two weeks went by, the poo moldered and dried, the flies they came & went,
Never once did Galoopa notice the can of shit inside his tent.

So shaken was the Phantom Shitter by that crude display of stank,
He felt he had to quit the game, lest he lose his lofty rank.

Oh, somewhere in this favored land the latrines are dark & deep,
The toilet paper's in abundance, and Lysol is very cheap.
And, somewhere men are crapping, safe behind a bathroom door,

but there is no joy in Texas -- The Phantom Shitter is no more!

Professional Gherkin Jerkin'

Your Tax Dollars At Work

Submitted an informational brochure to the Powers That Be for editorial approval. It's the 4th time I've had to go back and do revisions. Not due to any lack of copywriting ability on my part, mind you. It's just that every time it goes up the ladder, a different person gets their rat claws on it, and insists on several "crucial" changes.

Naturally, what one person sees as crucial, the others see as superfluous. Then, they get all PO'ed when their change doesn't survive the other's vetting process. So, instead of walking over to the other Power That Is and fighting a private turf battle, I get chosen to deliver the message.

This has gone on for a week now. I have better things to do with my time. Taking naps and repeated self-abuse come to mind.

I don't give a damn what they say. I am NOT sending this thing over to Legal for their seal of approval. It's just a brochure, for Pete's sake. We can't even afford to have this thing printed in color. Hell, if we didn't have a two-sided Xerox machine, I'd be gluing two sheets of paper back to back before folding it into a brochure.

Monday, April 10, 2006

Illegal Immigrants!!!

Betcha They Got No Green Card!!

Saw an interesting sight on the way back from my sister's place outside of Austin. I'd gone the Bastrop/Smithville/Flatonia route so I could stop off at the 7-11 in Smithville to feed my Slurpee addiction. Amazingly enough, both the Coke and Cherry flavors were up and running, so I got my preferred Cherry Coke Slurpee.

I head out of Smithville towards Flatonia and the I-10 interchange, and 12 miles south of town, I see this ugly spud swoop outta the sky and land next to the road.

Thought it was some kind of mutated buzzard at first, but it wasn't. It quickly dashed into the underbrush, slipping through a fence easily. I just assumed one of the exotic game ranchers in the area had one of their imported fowl wander off.

Saw another one a few miles south, though. This one was flapping around over head, and didn't look anything like a buzzard from underneath. Same long skinny legs and white neck.

Got home and did a little research on the web, and it turns out the mystery bird is called a Crested Caracara. It's a Central and South American bird that's been slowly migrating up into the United States. Where I spotted those two is near the extreme end of their known range, so these birds were a couple of avian pioneers.

They still crossed the border illegally, though. No doubt they'll have a nest full of younguns, then start sending dead lizards, snakes and rodents back down to family in Mexico via Western Union...

Worst. Tradition. EVER!!!

I'd Rather Hear Fingernails On A Chalkboard

So, I'm sitting down last night to get my weekly dose of the Sopranos on HBO. Kind of a slow start to the season, I'm thinking. Maybe I'm just not into dream sequences and hospital dramas.

This week's episode revolved around the wedding of one of Johnny Sac's daughters. When the time for the wedding reception arrived, I waited to see if they would be civilized and polite, or continue to perpetrate one of the most revolting "traditions" that's developed in American weddings.

I was severely disappointed to see that yes, indeed, on what for many people is the most important day in their lives, the bovine bride choose to celebrate the occasion by smearing wedding cake all over the groom's face.

Words really don't describe the depths of my white-hot burning hatred towards this "tradition". Yes, marriages are a joyful occasion. Doesn't mean we slip a whoopee cushion under old Aunt Mildred, or drop a little LSD into the champagne punch just to liven things up. The bride and groom are supposed to feed each other a bite of cake to symbolize their commitment to provide for each other.

If you're willing to smear cake & icing all over the person you've just promised to love, HONOR!!! & cherish in front of all your relatives, it just doesn't bode well for the rest of the marriage, IMHO. It's inappropriate, undignified, shows a fundamental lack of respect, and is just a tacky and classless thing to do.

So, Mrs. El Capitan, wherever you may be, I'm putting you on notice! You want seafoam green cummerbunds and ties on the groomsmen to match the bridesmaids dresses? Fine. Insist on inviting your Yankee kinfolk? I can deal with it. However.... Slam a piece of wedding cake across my face, and I. WILL. WALK!! Next stop, the courthouse for an immediate annulment. Just see if I'm bluffing.

Sunday, April 09, 2006

If I Reincarnated As A Beer...

Yet Another Silly Web Quiz


(66% dark & bitter, 66% working class, 66% genuine)

Okay, we all know Guinness is the best possible score on any "What Kind Of Beer Are You" test, so you can just go on and pat yourself on the back now. Like the world's most famous brew, you're genuine, you've got good taste, and you're sophisticated. What else can I say, except congratulations?

If your friends didn't score the same way, get ready for them to say: Guinness is too heavy; it's an acquired taste; it's too serious--and they probably think those things about you at times. But just brush 'em off. Everybody knows Guinness is the best. Cheers.

The If You Were A Beer Test on Ok Cupid.

Found at MacBean Gene's place.

Saturday, April 08, 2006

Road Trip!

Test Run For The BlogFest!

I'm getting ready to head towards Austin in about an hour. There's a little monkey out that way who's having his very first birthday party this afternoon.
Gotta go pick up a rifle at the gunsmith, grab some breakfast, then I'm off on down the highway.

Should be back tonight, but who knows. I might try my hand at babysitting and let my sister and BIL escape and decompress after the party.

Here's the birthday boy! If he's anything like his uncle, he's going after the dog treats, not the baby snacks! Lookit them toofies! Like a little crocodile, he is!

Friday, April 07, 2006

Blockades & Embargoes

More Tales Of Juvenile Knuckleheadery

I jumped over to Dax's blog last night, and saw Yabu's post on blockading a road, Burmese-fashion. It sounded awfully familiar...

Back in the day, when boys were boys and didn't spend all day parked in front of an Xbox, we used to amuse ourselves by finding unusual and distinctly different ways of getting into trouble. Usually trouble appeared after hours of diligent exploring on bikes, or by 15 minutes of being where we were not supposed to be.

Back around the odometer flip from '79 to '80, my family lived in an apartment complex out in far west Houston. Nowadays, Houston stretches another 15 miles west, but back then when you crossed Eldridge Rd. heading west on Memorial Drive, you were out in the fargin' sticks.

Dad had just taken a job in Houston, which got us out of our 3 year exile in the Frozen Wasteland up north, and back into the arms of Sweet Mother Texas. Rather than wait to find a house, we pulled up stakes, hitched the wagons and looked for the first available place to live. Dad got us into a 2 story townhouse in a mixed complex, about 1/2 townhouses & 1/2 flats.

It was my first experience in an apartment complex, and I didn't see the problems that Mom always griped about. I had a swimming pool a block away, there was no lack of kids about, and there was little development in the area, leaving lots of woods and creeks and a nearby bayou to explore.

There was a cemetery across the road, a little church in some dense woods across the creek, and very few streetlights. Here is where our adventure begins.

I was out goofing around with my new buddy Heckyll one afternoon, and we decided to go nosing about the cemetery. We were sure if we could make it to their dumping area unseen, we'd find everything from empty coffins to random thighbones and maybe even a skull or two. The cemetery staff had little truck with snot-nosed youngsters, though, and diligently enforced their no-trespassing policy. We would therefore have to be all sneaky in our visitation.

We camo'ed up in our sneakin'-around gear, stashed our bikes under the bridge, then crept along the muddy creekbed crossing Memorial until we were deep inside the cemetery's boundaries. We then popped up over the gully and low-crawled until we were inside their brushline. Half an hour's careful progress got us behind the motor pool area where they kept the backhoes and landscaping equipment. Behind *that* was the dumping area. It was a florist's dream. Piles of plastic flowerpots, mounds of styrofoam crosses, wreaths and vases. Years and years of floral arrangements that had graced a gravetop met their final end here in the dump once they'd wilted and dried out.

Unfortunately, there were no used coffins, bones, or anything interesting. Just piles of flower pots and moldering floral arrangements.

Not being ones to admit defeat, we conjured up possible uses for 2000 6" plastic flower pots. Nothing immediately came to mind, but never ones to squander the moment, we stacked as many as we could, and departed the same way we came in.

Now, two kids on bikes with approximately 75 flower pots each are gonna attract attention, no matter how nonchalant you are. So, we stashed them in the woods behind the little Episcopalian church, then promptly forgot about them.

Several weeks later, Heckyll and I are out late in the evening with Barney and Champ and Stumpy and a few others playing bike tag, and the game eventually lead some us over the creek bridge to the church parking lot. There's trails through the woods behind the church, but they're not good for bikes, especially after dark. Champ takes a header after running over a log, but instead of landing with a thud, he hits with a cracking sound.

"Hey, what's with all these pots?" he asks. Oh, my! We'd re-discovered our stash!

It was a hot muggy night, so we took a break to cool down, and naturally the conversation revolved around what to do with all those pots. Champ and Barney had to go home about then, which was good. Both had guilty consciences, and could never keep secrets. Stumpy, Hekyll and I were already on the road to hooliganism, and knew how to keep our mouths shut.

Since Stumpy and I were WWII buffs, it was quickly decided that we really needed to install a set of dragon's teeth across Memorial drive. We didn't have 1/2 ton concrete pyramids, but we did have 150 plastic pots.

We sat and observed traffic for a while. Past 10 pm on a summer weeknight, there would maybe be one or two cars every 5 minutes. We picked a spot not visible from the nearest stoplight, and just around a blind curve from the opposite direction.

With 50 pots apiece, we each had a goal to lay two staggered rows completely across 4 lanes of roadway. We figured we could get the pots laid and be back in the shrubbery before the stoplight changed.

The light changed, one lone car ambled by, and we dashed out and began planting our pots. It went quickly, and before long, we had them all laid down, covering about 5 feet deep and 4 lanes wide. There was about a foot of pavement left clear on either side, where the road shoulders dipped into deep drainage ditches.

Back we went into the woods to await whatever happened next. Our bikes were on the far side of the woods, and it was a short dash through the trails to get there. We knew those woods like you know your own buttcheeks. Damn good thing, too, as our first and only victim approached.

As Flying Spaghetti Monster is my witness, all we expected to happen was for someone to have to stop and clear the pots off the road while we gave a good jeer from the treeline before scampering away. Being a kid, however, means doing plenty of dumbass stunts where you have no idea of the potential consequences.

We heard the whine of the engine long before we saw the car. Something small, fast and foreign was coming hard. About the time we started trading uneasy glances, a brand-spankin' new Datsun 280-ZX comes barreling around the blind curve, and locks up the brakes when the driver sees the pots.

This is before ABS was common, mind you, and the evening fog made for some slick pavement. Looking like it was in slow motion, the Z-car drifted into the lines of plastic pots, bumped and jounced over the first rank, then popped up the nose high enough so that the frame came down solidly on the rear staggered rows. This had the effect of removing the tires from the pavement just long enough (before the pots collapsed) to send the car sliding towards the drainage ditch.

No sooner had the car squished itself hubcap deep into the muck of the ditch bottom and come to a mud-plowing halt before we were racing headlong through the woods towards the bicycles. Behind us we heard the car door slam and a VERY pissed off man screaming "YOU GODDAMNED FUCKING KIDS!!!!"

We made it home unseen by anyone, but for weeks afterward, you could see a black Z-Car prowling around the area as the driver gave any kid on a bike the Evil Eye.

Thursday, April 06, 2006

Success!!! Mostly, Anyway!

Finally, I Get A Big Chunk O' My Life Back!

Came home yesterday to find a big brown box waiting for me on the doorstep. Nothing like spending a wad of cash on electronics and having UPS just leave it sitting outside in full view of the street.

Inside the box was the external hard drive kit I'd dithered about buying since last year. For those with long memories, you'll recall my G4 iMac bit the big one over the 2005 holidays, and it's been sitting idle ever since. Apple techs fingered either a bad drive or bad RAM as the likely culprits.

Plenty of things I couldn't access... Baby pictures of little Sammy. Passwords, weblinks, recipes and 1000's of words of prose, pontifications, plus perfectly puerile poetry. Pictures and email addresses and phone numbers to everyone I've ever met in my life, all neatly tucked away in Excel files rendered inaccessible by the crash.

Then, there's the music. 17+ gigabytes of tunes, collected since .mp3 became a viable format. I'm not one of those people who go around with headphones permanently attached, but when I need a dose of music, I really NEED a dose of music. It's not unknown for me to go 10-12 days without launching iTunes, then one day I'll fire it up, put on the headphones, and surf my collection for several hours.

It's been like sailing without a rudder since the iMac cratered. The new G5 iMac has been great, but it's a blank slate until you fill it up. Fortunately, my friends Zibig, Zippo and Andy have helped keep my head above water, and contributed what they could to keep me from losing it completely. Games, music and feeelthy movies. What more does a guy need?

It took most of an hour to carefully pry apart the iMac and gut it like a pumpkin. There was enough dust and cat fur inside to weave a rug, and this was in spite of my diligent efforts to keep the vents clear back when it was operating.

I finally got the hard drive free, and installed it into the external kit. Plugged in the drive, Firewire cord is attached, hit the power button...

Bingo! I now have two drives on the desktop, both labeled 'Macintosh HD'. Pause for a moment to give fervent thanks to the Flying Spaghetti Monster for reaching down and caressing the hard drive with His Noodly Appendage. I'll sacrifice a couple of cans of Chef Boyardee spaghetti & meatballs as burnt offerings this weekend!

Renamed the old drive, then made a digital beeline for the Excel files. Once they were pulled over to the new drive, I went for the family pics, then my writing projects, then the music. I'll get everything pulled over eventually, then format the old drive.

It's not all skittles and beer at this point. None of the import functions seem to be functioning. Most of the music and pics will now have to be imported a small laborious batch at a time. Re-arranging, renaming and re-equalizing 17 gigs of music files will take several months, to say the least. Still, compared with losing everything, it's a very small price to pay.

Finally, there's the question of what to do with the G4 iMac carcass. In theory, all I should need is a couple of fresh sticks of RAM, a new drive, (or reinstall the old one, and buy a new one for backups) and if I can remember how to fit it all back together, it should be good to go.

Or, I could just part it out on eBay. G4 iMac logic boards look to be selling for $200. Superdrive DVD-Rs for $30, LCD panel for about a C-note. Heck, I could buy a gun on Buy A Gun Day with all that cash!!

Wednesday, April 05, 2006


Son Of A F#&%!^& B!T(#!!!

I knew I shoulda gone out for lunch today. That way, I'd still have a project to work on this afternoon, instead of finishing it earlier. Now I'm busy contemplating my navel and looking for other ways to avoid terminal boredom.

I got to thinking about a blogpost I wanna write just before the blogfest at the end of this month. Deals with expectations vs. reality. What you get vs. what you see. I try not to misrepresent myself here, but there's a variety of topics I just don't cover. Most times they're just not relevant to the discussion at hand. To my knowledge, though, I've never refused to answer anyone's direct question, though I may ask to change to a non-public venue. I'm also maintaining that thin veneer of deniability separating meatspace from the blogosphere, just in case The Man twigs to what I'm up to.

There was a smidgen of chatter along the "You ain't telling everything" theme following the last large blogmeet, though I'm not sure whether it was accusatory or just commentary. It's been hovering in the back of my mind ever since. I don't mind if you think I'm an asshole, but I don't want you thinking I'm bullshitting about anything.

OK, I'm rambling. Long story short, I was just sitting here judging (among other things) how closely my little cartoon avatar matched the real meatspace face I've got. Not too far off. It gets the receding hairline, the 'stache/goatee thingamabob I've had on my face for 10 years now. The earring's on the wrong ear, but I was looking into a mirror when I made the avatar, so it's technically correct as a mirror image.

However, I haven't worn the earring in months. Not allowed here in the Realm of The Man. Not on males, anyway.

Boredom being what it is, I got to wondering if the hole had closed up yet. Punched it myself with a sewing needle back in '86, so it's always been much smaller than the ones punched via the gunslingers in the shopping malls.

Hmmmm... No earrings handy. Not gonna use a thumbtack. OK, howzabout a straightened-out paper clip? We got some small ones here!

Lube it up with some Purell sanitizer... Deep breath... Insert firmly!!

(See title of this blogpost for reaction)

Yup, hole's still there. Didn't even bleed!

I'll try to remember to put in the earring prior to the blogfest. FSM knows you might not be able to spot me in a crowd without it.

***Must... maintain... straight... face.... Bite Lip bitelipbitelip...***


Xylophagous Bastards!!

What's Next? Carnivorous Squirrels??

Termites. It hadda be termites.

I'd suspected for some time there were some verminous troublemakers lurking under the house. The swarm of little winged "ants" last spring might have tipped me off. Well, that and the lintel post in the doorway to the TV room being gnawed upon until it looked like one of those sugar wafer cookies sans the creme filling. Found out that cheery bit of good news when the drywall was stripped off the doorway in preparation for installing some pocket doors.

So far it looks like they've confined their assault to the TV room, which was an add-on to the house back around the time Nixon was not yet a crook. They've swarmed into the main bathroom, though, and I fear they've built a colony on that side of the house.

Dammit. I'd planned on living here for quite a spell. I'm not sure I want to put up with tenting the house and doing a full-scale fumigation. When things reach that stage, you're better off calling in an arsonist and collecting on the insurance.

The Orkin guy will be out early next week to plant those dildo-looking devices around the perimeter, and do some spot-spraying.

Hmmph. Wonder if I can breed cockroaches that feed on termites? I bet I'd make a boatload of cash, right up to the point where the roaches mutated on their own, and took on the feeding habits of mosquitoes...

Tuesday, April 04, 2006

Buncha Savages 'Round Here...

The 'Selfish Asshole' Genetic Marker Is Common Hereabouts

OK, not only have I made several pleas for people to not leave the water cooler bottle empty, I even stood up during a staff meeting and volunteered to replace the bottle in the cooler whenever it's needed.

My office is just a few steps from the breakroom, and I'd much rather have someone come ask me to refill it instead of going in there and finding it empty. Heck, I even let people know they could call me when they got back to their desk, just so the folks on the opposite end of the floor didn't have to go out of their way (unlike me) to let someone know the bottle needed swapping out.

I really don't mind doing it. You think my pleas for cooperation have had any effect?

Hell, no. F'ing assholes. I walk in there today, it's bone dry. Not even a drip out of the nozzle. 3rd time in two weeks I've found it that way.

It's not just the pinhead who drains it, either. It's every single person that goes in there, sees it empty, and says nothing and does nothing.

Just for the record, 95% of the people on this floor are hard-core Yellow Dog Democrats. Liberal to the core. Oh, yeah, they just loooove to help out their fellow man. Not a selfish bone in their bodies.


Stuff To Buy Before The TX Blogfest

Too Much Is Never Enough

OK, bought some rifle ammo for the newly-glassed Swiss shooter, a box of .45s for the Vaquero and I've got enough 8mm to let everyone in the hotel shoot the Mauser.

What else do I need...

Cooler on wheels for easy traveling
Mixings for Key Lime Pie shooters
Strongbow Cider for Kurt's wife
Box each .45ACP, .357 Mag and .38 SPL
Shotgun ammo?
Extra batteries for digital camera
painkillers and alka-seltzer
"Georgia Blows Bulldogs" Welcome To Texas! t-shirt
business cards with email addys and blog URL
bail money

What else?

Sunday, April 02, 2006

Nine Went Out, None Came Back

We Got Completely Ass-Raped By Ay-rabs

Tonight was our long-awaited final mission in the 2005 Ghost Recon Stealth Tournament. The SOG crew went in to kick ass and take names, and we performed flawlessly at the start. Our good fortune was not to continue, however.

After completing the initial recon into the terrorist camp, we were sent to secure a nuclear device from a crew of desperate Islamo-bastards. Unfortunately, we had to go into a city, and it's just pretty freakin' hard to be stealthy when you're surrounded by steel and concrete.

One by one we all caught a bullet, or a grenade blast punched our ticket in a permanent fashion. Out of 100 possible points, we got 50 for completing Part 1, then -5 for each dead SOGgy, for a whopping 5 points at the end. Hell yeah! We didn't go negative!! Woohooo!

The following pictures are an "artistic recreation" since I was kinda busy in-game and didn't take any screenshots. Still, it captures the essence of our struggle.

The brave team ready for action!

Hooo-Rah! Kill those mofos!

Fuck, we're all dead! Sneaky Bastards!

Excedrin Headache #7.62 x 39

This was probably the last of the Alpha Squad Tournaments. It's also likely to be the swan song of SOG. Ghost Recon is way obsolete now, and no more editions are foreseen for PC or Mac platforms.

Blogroll Update #245

Except For The .png Files, Which I Completely Forgot...

OK, it's been changed/updated/corrected/purged/whatever.

If you're no longer on it, ya probably should have linked me now and then. I ain't no flippin' charity.