entry054 - Guy, I'm Gonna Break That Cell Phone Over Your Dopey Head.

I understand completely. Honest, I really do.

You're on the train. You didn't bring Oprah's latest Book Club offering, your ipod mix of Ted Nugent's best live performances, or important immigration documents to pore over and keep yourself occupied.
You're bored.
Maybe there's "important" "work" that needs to be done and you can't say "no" to your "boss" for fear that your .025% raise that was promised in eighteen months will be reduced to .023% - should they give you anything - if every minute detail isn't covered in an anal and almost absurd manner.
Maybe you're at the movies, and you're a fucking dickhead. Understandable, I guess.
Perhaps you spent 70-80 dollars (US) on a ticket to a Broadway show and you just need a light source because you just have to read the Playbill to find the names of the songs while the fucking show is already in fucking progress. Nevermind that the song is on right fucking now...what name did they give it???

You could also be walking, biking, driving, standing in an elevator, ordering lunch at a pizza shop. Even pushing your kid on a swing. And the urge to discuss the sociological equivalent of a pig asshole with another nobody just like you will suddenly burst forth like a crop of retard blossoming and ripe for harvest on Moron Family Farms.

I understand completely. Honest, I really do.

Stop with the fucking cell phones. We're done now.
(And I know this is about as timely as Kevin McCarthy's speech at the end of Body Snatchers, but be that as it may...)
I mean, I know telling people to stop with the cell phones seems like telling fish to stop with the gills.
But is it?
Granted it's nice to have a means of communication with you in times of emergency or urgent need for information. But up until about 30 years or so ago, the world was without wireless phones. gasp.
Fortunes were made, lost. News was disseminated, ignored. International commerce and communication went off without too much of a hitch, sparked all manor of global furor and paranoia. Your friend's mother was still a bitch, Brian was still an asshole for not betting on [insert the name of your favorite local sports team here].
And all this without a single goofy gangsta rap ringtone blasting out the calm and silence of the unsuspecting American public.
No clickety clacks during an otherwise peaceful dump at work.
No Goddamned stupid banter during all hours of all days...that is, within earshot of people who wouldn't care for your words if they guaranteed endless fifty dollar bills and unlimited refills with every drink purchase.

Stop with the fucking cell phones. Seriously, enough.
I spend money - good, well-earned money - to read/sleep/quietly rock during my commute, to watch a movie, to enjoy a show with my girlfriend, to have a flipping pleasant flipping meal.
(Programming Note: I've said "fucking" too flipping much already.)
And odds are good that you did as well, if you're in the vicinity of my schlubby ass. This is the time you pick to find out if your cousin's dog made a breakthrough in group therapy today. THIS is the place you choose to await word that your neighbor just went under the knife to get her uterus stapled. You paid MONEY to interrupt yourself (and OTHERS) from fun...and for what???

I guess I don't understand. Honestly, I really. Do. Not.

I visited a friend who was sitting Shiva for her grandmother last week, and I happened to walk into into her aunt's house as a Rabbi was delivering a prayer. Noticing this, I reached into my pocket in hopes that I shut my phone off without displaying it to the bereaved. (I recently purchased a new phone, and the vibration does dick to alert me of anything.) Sure enough, during a quiet part of Schlomo's set, the room fills with the sound of Billy Joel's "Pressure" blasting forth from my khakis.
Needless to say, I was mortified.
Wait.
Needless to say? Obviously, I needed to say something. Well, maybe not me specifically; I didn't need to say, but someone needs to say something. Otherwise, some jamoke reading this out there somewhere would wonder what the big deal was.
It was inappropriate, jamoke.

I WISH I COULD WISH YOU CELL PHONE CREEPS TEN TIMES THE MORTIFICATION I FELT THAT DAY EVERY TIME YOU WHIP OUT YOUR DIGIDILDOS FOR A MASTURBATORY JAUNT BEFORE THE COURT OF PUBLIC PRIVACY.

It can wait. It can ALWAYS wait. And if it can't wait, leave. Gather your things, ask people to step aside, and get lost already. Our annoyance trumps your inconvenience. Disappear.

And if I was running a movie theater, I would seriously consider a cell phone ban. No stupid commercial from a wireless provider is going to help this.
That's like asking cigarette companies to put out ads against smoking, expecting them to be effective. WHOOPS.
A dummy flicker about the calls involved in making other dummy flickers is about as useful to reducing calls and texts during a movie as a phone charger built into every seat in the theater.
Block the signal, offer a holding station for patrons, throw people out. Something.
Getting a call during a film? There is nothing you can do with the info you might get, except leave. And if you're prepared to leave during a movie when you have such info, you should not have come at all.
Please leave the inconsiderate interruptions in movies to the professionals: Black People.

You Understand? Honestly, you really should.

Restaurants should throw you out like you lit up three cigars and blew the smoke into a toddler's crotch. Which isn't to say kids should be in a restaurant anyway. But one horseshit peeve at a time.

If you're driving and your hand is glued to your face whilst your spouse spouts grocery lists, I'm pulling you over, you're going to jail.
I'm taking your license, you're a reckless driver no better than a drunk one.
I'm making it safe for others to drive, you can pull over or use a hands-free thing, this is not complicated.
No, I don't want to put lives and sanities in danger so you can use airtime in a wholly feckless manner. I vote no.

Speaking of votes...As I looked back on my notes on this on the way home, some goof jabbers away on his blackberry doing whatever. I've made reference to smoking twice now, and you know what? How is the noise pollution that is your annoying flipping cell phone any different from blowing a cloud of smoke in my face? (Besides the whole cancer thing, of course...) Someone get that Bloomberg guy on the phone. Let's restrict some more civil frivolities! Make it your fifth-term campaign promise or something! After All, So Goes New York.....so goes.....DE VURLD!!!

I humbly digress.
It took me a while to get a direction for this aggression, and now I don't know where else to go with this. I am so bothered. We've talked about this before. I've written so much already but only scratched the surface. Have not talked out your annoying ringtones, the god-awful pixel collages that pass for pics presently, the mess that is the man who needs his blinking Bluetooth blighting his bulging ear all bloody day... I guess we'll have to start out small.

Please stop with the fucking cell phones.
Stop using it without regard for others.
Stop using it in an inappropriate and/or unsafe manner.
If you choose to use responsibly, or if it's an emergency, you'll do it away from other people. Easy as that.
If you can't do that, expect me speaking up and asking you very politely to be polite. I don't want to let it go unchecked anymore. This shit stops when I'm around.

It's completely understandable. Honestly, it really is.
Hang up the fucking phone and listen to what I'm telling you.




"...Are you crazy, you big idiot? Look! You fools! You're in danger! Can't you see? They're after you! They're after all of us! Our wives, our children, everyone! They're here already! You're next!"

- excerpt, Kevin McCarthy's speech at the end of Invasion of the Body Snatchers.

An Obligatory Pig Virus Entry

How it Happened:
A Mexican had sex with a Pig. (I'm assuming Male Mexican/Female Pig, a) because a man having sex with a male pig is weird; and b) because only a man would be weird enough to contemplate pig sex, let alone act on his "wanton desires.")

Why it Happened:
Louise was asking for it. Louise the Pig. She was asking for it. To be sexed by a man. A Mexican Man.

When it Happened:
During the heat wave that happened over the last couple of weeks.
Evidently, it was too hot to work, but not too hot to fuck. A Pig.

Where it Happened:
This may come as a surprise or a twist of sorts...New Mexico.
The initial report got confused, and they have been sticking to the wrong story ever since.
And no offense, but doesn't it sound more plausible that a thing like this starts in a place like Mexico?

Possible Lasting US Socioeconomic Effects:
As of the last time I bothered to check it out, the U.S. of A. had about a hundred or so cases.
I'll give you double, we'll call it 200. I'm fair like that.
There are 300 million people in this country.

200/300,000,000=Swine Flu SARS+Avian Flu+West Nile Virus=Quit Cha Bitch In.

Symptoms: Flu

Remedies: See Remedies for Flu

Bacon:
Eat it. It's the only way to prove to these porcine terrorists that we're too crazy to give a shit about their biological warfare. We're silly like that.

entry053 - This Is the Business I've Chosen? (Or, Clari-Sina Explains It All)

Last Night, I was invited to the social event of the season.
A Mr. Green invited me over to eat Cookie Puss for his birthday.
The event was well-attended, and I think I may have had something to do with Granny Green's untimely departure (seeing as it happened right after my arrival), but it seemed a good time was had by all.

A conversation ensued between my closest friends, our better halves, and the new kid on the block, and somehow the conversation moved over into everyone trying once again to figure out what exactly I do for a living.
Not that this is a sore subject for me or anything, but I honestly have a hard time explaining to people whatever the fuck it is I do.

I was compared to the guy from the Seinfeld knockoff played by the guy from Serving Sara with the pill addiction. How no one really knew or understood what he did for a living.
Also, what with all the downtime I appear to have, there is this nasty rumor going around that I don't do much of anything. I wouldn't even dignify such a flagrant prevarication by acknowledging it, if not for the fact that I just acknowledged it. Twice.

I like telling people the story of the V.P. in charge of this department when I was hired who told me that he had been "in this business" for twenty-plus years, and he still could not explain to people on Wall Street what it is he does. He just tells people he is On the Street.
Well, that certainly is not enough for my people. And it isn't enough for me, either.

I find it easier to simply invent jobs and titles for myself, rather than get into details and suffer the indignity of people I know/care nothing about getting it wrong.

Some of my more popular areas of expertise include
-Model Stock-Car Designer
-Curator of a Factory's Museum Area (Factories have included The Nabisco Factory on Rt. 208, The Lea & Perrin's "Factory" in Fair Lawn, and The [pasta factory that sits beside the broadway RR Station] Factory in Fair Lawn
-HVAC Repairman's Apprentice
-HGTV Senior Intern
-Mayor of Buftar, N.C.

All good, but I want you all to know, once and for all, what it is that I do. And I hope it doesn't put you to sleep.

Here's a brief (RE: not brief) tutorial on what I do for Ridge Clearing and Outsourcing Solutions, a wholly-owned subsidiary of Broadridge Financial Solutions (I'll try to fill in analogies where I see fit):

So we begin with a trade, which is a purchase or sale of stock by someone. Easy Enough. Buy Sell, Buy Sell...Funny Money, Boo-BAH!
Right.

There are some people in this country that are not content with trading in the United States alone.
They want to trade stocks and bonds in the United Kingdom, in Australia, all around the globe, wherever there is a dollar/euro/peso/rupee to be made. Okay.

The problem is, it is fucking expensive to do that. There are all sorts of rules and regulations and taxes and fees and nonsense to go through to just have a trading account in one foreign country.
Some countries even require guarantees of a certain amount of money in the account at all times for an international customer.
In short, trading in an international market is a pain in the meaty balls for the average trader.

So it's easier for a guy like you or me that has his eyes abroad to go to a brokerage (AKA stock-trading company place) for their international needs. It's easier for a bigger company to pay for and hold onto multiple international accounts, seeing as they'll pool the foreign trades of all their customers into the accounts.
Like buying insurance rather than paying for an accident with lottery tickets.
Bad Analogy.
Some brokerages are big, but they may not have the resources/connections/don't give a shit enough to open these accounts. Heck, they may not be big enough to handle much of anything and turn a profit in the process.

Here's where Ridge comes in. Ridge says we have the accounts, we have the resources, we have what you need to keep your customers. Sign up with us, we'll let you trade whatever wherever, charge you accordingly, you can keep and grow your business.

Instead of the brokerage going to the meat market for steak, the fish market for shrimp, the fabric shop for poplin, and the general store for chewing tobaccy and pomade, they take you to Walmart, your one-stop shop. It may not be as high-quality as the individual shops. But it has everything.
Decent Analogy.
So us fools in the International Department, we have clients. These clients give us trades that they want to do. We put these trades into the market.

Now, thing of it is, the way we see things, it isn't exactly someone ringing me up at the end of the aisle in the supermarket, done deal. Nope.

The entity our client is looking to buy or sell stocks and bonds from is called the counterparty.
We have to go out to the market and say:
"WE ARE BUYING/SELLING THIS MUCH OF THIS STOCK FROM THIS COUNTERPARTY IN THIS MARKET (COUNTRY). THEIR ACCOUNT INFO IS BLAH BLAH BLAH."
These jamokes have to do the same thing for the other side of the trade.
So if we're buying 100 shares of No Shower Inc. for 100 Euros in France from Counterparty XYZ, this XYZ character has to instruct the market that they are selling 100 No Shower Inc. to us vs 100 Euros.

More often than not, these instructions don't match for whatever reason: the counterparty has a new account number we don't know about, they know the trade for a different amount of shares, money, or a different currency altogether, the date we arrange for the trade to settle (the buy/sell to take place) is not matched, etc. A whole bunch of shit can go down.

That's what we do. We put the shit out, We get the shit settled, We settle and facilitate international trades for our clients.

So to put it simply, we help Cookie Puss land on Earth after his long trip from the planet Birthday, and we make sure he arrives in time for the party.
Amazing Analogy.

I hope this explains nothing.

"...we now consider this matter closed."

Pursuant and further to Article 52 on this site, Amazon refunded my money, let me keep the one plate, plate, and bowl, and gave me 5 Amazon Dollars to spend with as I please.

*Sigh* It's over. I feel so helpless. So underwhelmed. So useless now.
All I'll have is my memories and all the comments I left here and here. I was stuck on stupid during this entire conundrum. Eh.

It's over now. For now.

entry052 - What If I Wish to Eat More Than Once?

I'm not sure if you can tell from my previous writings that I am a very smart shopper.
I like finding deals on things, and I don't mind buying ahead of time if the price is right.
That's Number One.
Number two is my mother has always liked the idea of square plates. Do not ask me why or for what reason, she'll go to a restaurant, see the meal served on a square dish, and reminisce about the one time we had square dishes.
Then we have to tell her she never had them, so there's nothing to reminisce about.
And she spends the rest of the evening locked in the men's room of the restaurant weeping.
It's never fun.

I like going to the The Consumerist website. On a daily basis. I read about some horror stories, find out how to better my shopping/saving/business experiences, etc. They do this thing called "Morning Deals," where they just link dump a bunch of Holy Shit sales on items that people can actually use: cameras, computers, home items,... And that was Number Three.

As you can probably guess Number Four by now, imagine my surprise when I see 12 glass square plates available for $2.99 from Amazon on the Morning Deals for March 16.
Wow.
I even took it a step further, I noticed that they had the same deal on matching salad/dessert plates and bowls.
All square, all $2.99 for 12, all ordered by me.

I suppose I should have seen Number Five coming when I placed an order for thirty-six pieces of glassware, and the shipping cost more than the plates.

Number Five: I get the order, and in the box was one dinner plate, one salad/dessert plate, and one bowl. Happy Mother's Day! Enjoy dinner...by yourself! So I go to the consumerist, Amazon, etc. to see what the deal is. And I'm not the only screwee. So I wrote the following comment in response to the posting related to this on The Consumerist slash the goofiness of all parties involved (you may file this as Number Six):
---
I'm in the boat with yous guys, ordered one of each box of 12 (dinner plates, salad plates, bowls), and got a fancy "dinner for one" setting. Note/FYI - It was offered by Bealls [a deptartment store chain in Florida selling through Amazon] at 2.99 for a box of 12 on the day of the deal, and now Amazon offers it directly from themselves at the price of 30-40 bucks.

I spoke to Amazon first, seeing that a lot of people got nowhere with Bealls (RE Seller Feedback), and Muriel P. from Amazon advised me of the following:
1) If the item is in stock (it was at the time), the seller is obligated to fulfill the order as per their agreement with Amazon.
2) I should work with the seller to see if they would be willing to provide a refund (assuming the item was NOT in stock, which it wasn't).
3) I can file an A to Z claim.

I spoke to Frederick (or Derek?-he provided me with his extension, regardless) at Bealls. I asked if he could assist me with an Amazon order, and I provided him the number.
I asked him to acknowledge that
a) My order form clearly stated "box of 12" for each (HE DID)
b) I should have received 12 of each (HE DID)
c) The 12-pc sets that I ordered were in-stock (HE DID)
It was then that I told him that I received one of each, that I already spoke with Amazon, and they advised me that you are required to fill my order as per your agreement.
He suddenly remembered a management directive regarding these particular items-he was advised to direct customers to Amazon to file an AtoZ claim.
What?
The conversation went around in a couple of circles, but what it boiled down to was I paid for 12, I was promised 12, they acknowledge 12, I get 1, Tough Go Get a Refund.
Problem is, I want what I ordered. I'm silly like that.
I was advised to either go back to Amazon and file a claim (which he acknowledged would only lead to a refund of money...), or to contact his supervisor Monday. So I guess I'll have to speak with Teresa Monday morning.

Called Amazon back, and Adolfo Q. had "never heard of this before (ie seller pretty much refusing to fulfill an order, which is essentially what is happening)".
AtoZ claims hurt the seller's credibility and ratings within Amazon, and apparently I can specifically request that the order be fulfilled rather than simply get a refund. That should not be a problem since the item is in stock, right? Evidently, the concern has been noted on my account and Adolfo insists that the matter will be investigated.

Should I speak to the seller's management before I file the AtoZ claim? How is this not a clear example of someone screwing up and covering up rather than acknowledging and correcting amicably? [I am filing the complaint before Monday, FYI]

And if I could say one more thing - and I mean no disrespect whatsoever - I find consumerist's response to this surprisingly ho-hum.
I follow this site on a daily basis (sometimes more than once a day), and I understand that posting a Morning Deal isn't a whole-hearted guarantee that everything is a.o.k. I enjoy me some morning deals, but I am always wary of everything all the time (guess the BS detector should have gone off on a set of 12 plates for 3 bucks?)

But for a group dedicated to smartening up the average consumer to post a link to a good deal and then go "Oh, gee, look at that, lots of luck" when it explodes...maybe look into this, provide us with some contacts? Point us in the right direction when everyone - EVERYONE - who took this deal is calling shenanigans? Maybe...check-up and confirm that these deals are deals and not..."shenaniganses?" I'm sorry if this is misdirected frustration over the ordeal, but I would rather not get so obviously screwed unless I was enjoying it or getting paid handsomely for it...and neither seems to be happening at the moment.

33 Plates and bowls, please.
---
I know it is somewhat asinine, but I want the plates I paid for. I paid, they took the money. Give me the plates already. Do not care who made what mistake. We agreed to terms, you are renegging. Change your mind, or I will file formal complaints with everyone, everywhere. I ain't fuckin' around.
[I spose I'll keep you posted. heh.]

Talkin' 'Bout 'Tocks, Issue Two: Level Three and Misguided Sexual Euphemisms

So I received a letter some time ago, indicating that since I was working for who I'm working for, and since I'm not allowed to do who-knows-what, that I am NOT allowed to post about or recommend stocks of any kind.
That's not why I stopped. I was just bored and had nothing good to write.
And then this technology company Level 3 Communications comes along...
---
I was looking at the stock thing and thinking about giving it the highest rating I have ever bestowed upon something like this: One Thumb Up....IN THE CLOUDS!

I was about three hours into attempting to get a good shot of my thumb up in the air with some clean-looking clouds in the background with my camera when I suddenly became overwhelmed with this troubling worrisome worry.

After "doing some research," (thanks to my esteemed colleagues on this site, I know now what this phrase truly means to investmenters like me) I came to the startling realization that this company had little or nothing to do with pornography.

I guess I can take some of the blame - not all, maybe about 11% or so - for this misunderstanding.

You see, about six weeks ago, I asked this girl that I met at the laundromat out on a date. We went to The Hut (aka Pizza Hut, you old farts:-), and it was after the breadasticks and before the Supreme Pan Pizza that I asked her to take "our relationship" to "the next level".

She was playing coy, and asked me what the Hell I was talking about.

Now, I mistakenly told her the 3rd level. I was corrected the following week by my grandfather that the correct terminology is 3rd base, but since I don't follow soccer AT ALL, I guess I had no idea really.

Cut to three weeks ago, and me happening upon Level 3 (LVLT)...WOW! Here was something I could sink my teeth into. Destiny had brought us together, and I invested about seventeen thousand dollars. But again, I made the same mistake and thought this was somehow related to the "horizontal mambo", if you catch my drift.

Low and behold, this company is related to technology, and not the self-gratifying kind. If that's the kind of company you want to invest in, be my guest.

Just don't expect to take it to any level or base or whatever it is when they get the field goal.

entry051 - How the Whole Nazi Thing (Possibly) Got Started

Apologies in Advance.

FADE IN

INT. DIE BIER-SAAL DES GAG-EINSTELLUNG, A BEER HALL IN BERLIN - NIGHT (SEPTEMBER, 1919)

In a corner of the massive hall, four GERMAN SOLDIERS, all with blond hair, blue eyes, tall and in their mid to late 20s, decked out in their tattered military overcoats, are at various stages of various steins of beer. They are singing the song 99 LUFTBALLOONS as a barbershop quartet from Germany might, despite the fact that song will not become popular in the country for another 64 years or so.
A young, short and sickly-thin ANGRY-LOOKING SOLDIER, similarly dressed, enters the beer hall, locates the four at the other end, and finds a seat between the two closest to him. The four wrap up the song and "get down to business," so to speak.

SOLDIER #1
Excellent. We may begin.

They huddle up, as The Angry-Looking One begins to whisper in German to the other four, with strong body language and a determined look in his eye. The whispers are rather loud. He delivers his final facial expression and hand gesture, and the group erupts into drunken laughter, except for SOLDIER #4. He laughs along because everyone else is.

SOLDIER #2
HAHAHAAAAAHAAA! THE RABBI COMES BACK
THE NEXT DAY WITH 50 RABBIS! OUTSTANDING!

SOLDIER #3
Exceptional work, Herr HITLER.

A Thunderbolt crashes, and Lightening lights the hall's windows.

HITLER
Thank You, Thank JEW!

The group erupts into laughter once again, except Soldier #4 does not. The rest notice him.

SOLDIER #1
What's the matter, Herr Anton Drexler, founder of
the German Workers' Party, the organization
which will eventually BECOME the NAZI PARTY?

A brief pause. Thunder and Lightening.

DREXLER
I don't know...the joke's funny. Don't get me wrong,
Herr Hitler. I just think the delivery...I don't know.
It seems like you're saying these things about Jews
like it's a matter of fact or something.

HITLER
(jokingly)
Well, I suppose there is some degree of truth to every
joke, am I right?

The group pauses and collectively gasps.

SOLDIER #2
You mean the Jews are REALLY THAT BAD?

SOLDIERS
(together)
My God! That's Terrible! How can this be?

HITLER
Guys, please. Please. These are just jokes.
Guys...ACHTUNG, BABIES!!!
(pause)
I thought the point of the club would be to
tell cute ethnic jokes and make out and stuff...

DREXLER
What?

HITLER
You know, tell ethnic jokes and stuff...

DREXLER
Fine. But I was thinking...It might be a good
idea for us to perhaps showcase your jokes
to a wider audience. Maybe tour a few beer
halls, expand our group a little bit. Get some
exposure, at the very least.

SOLDIER #3
Yeah, maybe our love for making fun of
Jewish people can unite this rag-tag
country of ours!

SOLDIERS
YEAH!!!

SOLDIER #1
We should wear armbands! You know, so
people'll recognize us, and they'll say "hey
whoa, look at those guys, what's with the
armbands, those are cool...I want an
armband like that!

SOLDIERS
YEAH!!!

SOLDIER #3
(aside, to SOLDIER #2)
Hey, Verner. You think the Polaks might like
Hitler's irreverant brand of humor?

SOLDIER #2
(to SOLDIER #3)
Dunno, Jeff. But if we cram it down the
French's throats, Europe is sure to get it!
If only to succomb to the trend!

HITLER
Hold up. You think the Jews will mind if we
continually roast them like this?

A long pause.

SOLDIER #1
They have to have a sense of humor about things.

SOLDIER #2
And if they don't, and this thing does get as popular
as we hope it will...maybe we can give them something
to wear on them so that people will know they're dealing
with people without a sense of humor about these things.
But they definitely can never wear the armband in the
name of der humor. FAIR?

SOLDIERS
YEAH!!! FAIR!!!

DREXLER
Hmmm.....ROASTING the Jews?

HITLER
WAIT-

FADE TO BLACK.

And to All a Good Plight.

Christmas Eve.

My manager had a small bottle of Courvoisier he wanted to get rid of.
My director, she was gifted a bottle of Bacardi Orange.

Since we had no small cups, John (the manager) went up to the medical department and collected some small clear disposable plastic cups labeled URINE COLLECTION CONTAINER.

I had the shot of the cognac, I had a couple tall shots of the rum straight up, I mix another couple tall shots into some coke.

I have had nothing to eat, because I'm invited to what I'm told is an elaborate fish dinner that evening.
Well, I had some crackers.

I'm drunk at work, I'm out at 3, I have a Very Merry Christmas.
And I wonder where Muhammad was while they were handing out holidays up in the clouds

I Have Two Notes I Wrote Down There, They Came to Me I Know Not Where [From]

Note the First
"No man is a match against an Irish accent. Unless it's the kind of Irish accent that's so murky it can only be understood by full-blown alchies and leprechauns."

Note the Second
"I was getting out of the train. There was a woman directly in front of me doing the same. While behind her, she stopped and bent over, and we were positioned in such a way that she could have easily received my seed should I have been sufficiently startled enough to deliver said seed.
I wonder if anyone I know was conceived in such a fashion?"

I also have a list of albums that were referred to me by A.V. Club's Best of 2008 list (some quick likes include Beach House - Devotion, Helio Sequence - Keep Your Eyes Ahead, and Black Mountain - In The Future, etc.), a list of shows that I wanted to see complete with cost and location for each (in addition to their runs), a list of goofy gifts for Keely this Christmas (ie - $10 Chili's gift Certificate, turtleneck with built-in scarf, "really nice socks", rocket skates/sled), and several crossed-off shopping lists (everything from bagel bites and chacho dip to cherry pie filling and veggie pot stickers).

Not that you care, or anything.

entry050 - Three Reasons to Hold Off on the Morning Duke

Like sands through the hourglass, so are the days of our lives.

In other words, I poop like clockwork.

One in the morning. It happens just after I wake and just before I shower.
One before bed.
One during the day if I had a multigrain something or other for my morning repast.
But I thought of three reasons last week after extensive research (ie I rushed out of the house for work before taking my first shit of the day) why one should push off the pushing out until after they get to work.

(editor's note: That is, if you can hold it. If you're sliding into first, and you feel something burst, don't take my advice.
Otherwise:)

1) "Waiting for Reinforcements" = More Volume = Sense of Accomplishment = Better Day Overall
I don't know about you, but the first one tends to be more a reflex or a jump-start of your digestive system in the morning than an actual, god's-honest bloomin' dumpion. You wait about 45 minutes, the equivalent of an average one-way commute, and I can almost (or never) guarantee a poop of exponentially larger scope.
Think about the pride you'll feel after seeing something of that magnitude expelled wherefrom it came. And that pride will pour over into non-turd activities at work.
Shit, you'll be CEO after a couple of years of great days like that. Trust in that.

2) Pumping the Brown at Work Costs Someone Else Money. Money That YOU Get.
They pay you for your time. The first plop du jour takes time (always). Therefore, you have effectively forced your company to pay for you to take a shit. Feel better about your place at the corporate ladder? I know I did. Especially after I realized that members of senior management in my company tend to spend a good half an hour to forty-five minutes with their ankles keeping their pants from the floor.

3) It Gives You a Chance to Practice Qadaahul Haajah in Real-Life Situations.
Not that I knew this already, but apparently there are rules that need to be followed when a devout member of my chosen people - the Islamic people - decide to squat and make the nasty peanut butter.
Now you might be asking yourself why you would want to bother with this, and I would tell you that you are a fucking moron, because it's obvious.
You would be practicing the rules of a very private act set up by the religion of a very large and wealthy group of human beings. Imagine how impressed your clients from Dubai will be when you walk them into the toilet for their sandy deposits and you say, out loud, just before you get into the stall:
In the name of Allah, O Allah! I seek refuge with You from all offensive and wicked things. (actual rule)

Congratulations, Mister President. You just solved terrorism.
And it's all thanks to me. Your best friend, and the new President.
Why the new President?
I waited all this time while I was the VP for you to finally realize that I made you.
And that I could un-make you. With my bare hands.

And then I do.

Anyway, don't shit before you leap. Captain's Orders.