Archive for February, 2010
So while Buck is busy concentrating on self-abuse with new-found technophilic lust for all things Droid, I thought I would take this opportunity to share with you my recently discovered insight on aging, broccoli flatulence, and health foods in general.
To start, I am no mere wisp of a man.
My physique could better be described as ‘robust’.
I am neither lamenting nor bragging, just speaking plainly.
I do not enjoy vegetables. I am a carnivore. (insert apologies to Jersey here)
I mean really, what is the point of salad? The only way it tastes good is when you dump all the creamy, oily, crunchy, bacony crap all over the top of it to add enough flavor to make it palatable, at which point it has turned the corner of counterproductive and straight into less healthy for you than your typical bacon cheeseburger, which is much more satisfying.
And really, what are we buying here with all this low-fat, low-carb, no-taste, aspertame tainted shit flavored garbage?
Ok fine, longer life. YAY!
We aren’t adding years to ‘beginning’ are we…where we could play all day long in the sweaty blissful ignorance of the child.
Nor are we adding time to the exploringly playful teenage years where new experiences, potential for fun and mischief, and chances at fulfilling the promises of a mis-spent youth are around every corner, with little or no major consequence (there are always exceptions, but you get the point, and I digress).
How about added time to the period commonly thought of as our ‘prime’, early 20’s to early 30’s?
No added years there either.
Not even so much as an extra minute added to the time where us men have allotted segments set aside for our mid-life crisis red convertable sports car diversions to avoid time spent with our women while they suffer through their own version of mid-life crisis, aka Mental Pause.
(Ladies….feel free to lambaste me in the comment section for my typically male insensitivities.)
It is interesting how those two times seem to coincide…
So all this healthy eating has only one place left to add time doesnt it….yeah….the end.
The time we are all dreading anyway. The time where our bones creak, our mind wanders, and we have to ask perfect strangers to wipe our asses. The time where we can no longer earn a wage nor get out and enjoy the things we have worked so hard for and have lived longer to see.
What the fuck is the point?
I get to live longer so I can experience the joy that is alzheimers?, rather than taste the fruits of my labor when they are ripe for the plucking?
I get to spend my old and decrepit years wasting away in a nursing home, no family to visit me, all my friends having died plesantly young, eating tastless food I cant chew, rolling around in my wheelchair because my joints hurt so bad its no fun to walk?
no sex cause I cant make ” ‘lil jimmy ” stand at attention long enough to spit, and the wrinkly old bags around me cant be folded in half anymore without popping a hip out of joint…although dentures means ‘smoothies’…so there is that…
sounds fucking delightful doesnt it…
I think we are being brainwashed by the Government, Aliens, Oprah, and the IOC into thinking that good food makes us live longer so we can live long enough to be sucked dry by ‘The Man’ in our waning years.
…I cant say I have put much thought into this theory yet, as it developed earlier this morning on the shitter….but give it time…I will work out all the kinks and you will see…
Although there is the lighthearted side of slowly losing ones mind.
There are the obvious benefits of say…being able to sleep in church without anyone so much as batting an eye.
The 11% senior citizens discounts at the local hardware store.
The free roll of toilet paper on Seniors Wednesday at the grocery.
The double bonus of both not having to shovel your driveway, AND laying a guilt trip on your grandchildren to do it for “your old grandad”.
I was out on an appointment tracking down wires, testing data connections and otherwise generally lurking around in the building of an assisted living complex, when I needed to get into a tenants room to test her interwebs jack connection.
I knocked on the door and identified myself as being a repairman from the local computer company and I heard her scurry to the door, yell “whats the password” and try to stifle an uncontrollable giggle from just behind the door.
I yelled “Peanuts” and heard her giggle some more before she opened the door to let me in.
She was tickled pink, and I got a smile out of the deal…although on the down side I had to indroduce myself like 12 times within the next 20 minutes, and hear, “…well my names Marge, how very nice to meet you young man. My, arent you handsome.”
The worst part of the deal….she had no cookies. Apparently she had had her “stove priviledges” suspended after a minor incident involving a post roast, some smoke, and a “teensy little ‘ol fire”.
I agreed with her, it was very unfair.
Sucks to be me I guess.
I am making a point here, getting old sucks, I dont think anyone will disagree with that, not the old, not the young.
Sure there are some advantages and some situations where getting old is a blessing, just like there is some people that can smoke for 60 years and get neither cancer nor emphysema, but its certainly the exception, not the rule, and mostly it just sucks.
Why are we forcing ourselves to do things we dislike now, so we can live longer into the years that are the least pleasant?
I am taking a stand. I am making a “Shortest Month of the Year” resolution.
For the entire rest of this month of Feb. I am taking a vow.
A vow to eat all things bacon, chocolate, and noodley.
I will have Mt. Dew over my sugar frosted flakes every morning, drink Whole milk, and have 6 sunny-side-up eggs with buttered toast…for every morning meal.
I am going to restrict the color of my food during lunch to only those things that come in shades of “golden brown deep fried goodness”.
For supper…I am going to eat huge quantities of barely cooked meat, covered in creamy rich sauces, saddled with baked potatoes slathered with sour-cream, chives, and crumbled bits of bacon.
I am going to have chocolate syrup covered popcorn over my ice cream for a snack sometime around 10pm, although I will brush my teeth before I go to bed because there is no excuse for a dirty mouth.
I may have a few extra lbs to deal with in the end, but that is the price I am willing to pay for not living long enough to catch Alzheimers from some contagious old person.
I think we should all stand together and take a vow to validate the current world view of our country as gluttonous greedy overweight pompous bastards who drive huge cars and wear huge pants!
Are you with me people!!!!
ALL TOGETHER NOW…..EAT DRINK AND BE MERRY, FUCK TOMORROW!!!!!
…well at least for the rest of February anyway
Thanks for reading…and please tip your beertenders…
Since our resident Stunt Blogger, Nuthin, is hard at work on a new blogging event, I’ll take a few moments to go ahead and post a useless little update that I don’t mind getting lost in the shuffle.
My first inclination this morning was to take a picture of my Droid using its fancy pants built-in camera, but then the technical challenges got too overwhelming. It wasn’t a matter of not having enough mirrors; it was more a matter of the convoluted contortions and too many body parts getting in the way. So, I Googled myself a pic instead. I mean, that’s not really cheating if you consider the fact that the Android software is being overseen by Google, right?
Anyhow … this Droid ROCKS!!!! Sorry, but there are simply no two ways about it. I’ve been in regular contact with a dear friend of mine who is — believe it or not — a semi-domesticated marsupial, and when I’ve relayed to him some of the things I’d been reading about the Moto Droid he has regularly smirked and said things along the lines of, “You just go right ahead and believe what you want …”
Well, it’s in my hot little hands now and after a few days of keeping the battery on the verge of melting all I can say is: “WOW!”
This thing is, perhaps arguably, the coolest invention since the LFL (the Lingerie Football League)
Those who have claimed this device to be a potential iPhone killer were not far off the mark. Quite frankly, the Android OS (operating system) is orders of magnitude superior to the Apple OS. But that’s one of the major potential benefits of Open Source software (although, I think it’s safe to say that Sun’s “Open Office” product was a complete debacle!)
But alas, I’m already digressing …
After having lived with TWO lemons over the course of the past — shit, what’s it been. over 3 years now? — it is refreshingto have something that the inverse Love versus Hate relationship is equally as intense. To put it simply, I do not believe I have been this excited about an electronic device … ever! This includes the totally badass media player I picked up just before the Spousal Unit and I went to Jamaica for our belated honeymoon.
As I understand it, the Google phone (Nexus One) is supposed to be a fantastic device, but dudes, come on … it’s an HTC product! I’d rather felch a dead animal on the side of the road during rush hour than ever own anything manufactured by HTC.
Okay, that might have been a bit of a stretch, but it’s all beside the point anyhow: I’m here to giggle and blather about my happy little phone!
If the iPhone once epitomized the concept of a Smart Phone, then the Droid is the True Genius of the litter.
I’ve seen people bitch about the “industrial” look and feel, but that’s what it’s ALL ABOUT, morons!
Droid … THINK ABOUT, you idiot denziens of iPhone fluffage. Droid … as in an android … a @#%$ing ROBOT, okay?
Of course, some of them might be the really creepy anime types that are so into everything Japanese that they’re even into those new-fangled life-like sex robots the Japanese are becoming so infamous over.
Funny how Apple seems to attract the most childishly hysteric adherents and devotees … of course, look at what a spazzy little bitch Steve Jobs is …
But anyhow, I’m not here to denigrate Apple: the marriage of Motorola and Google took care of that!
(Possum, my friend, I do envy your Zippo app, but I already have a collection of real Zippo lighters)
(yeah, that’s the first app a friend of mine has that I was not able to locate for my new phone)
Okay, I hate this faux king phone now.
All of the Faux King’s horses and all of the Faux King’s men could not put Humpty Dumpty back together again.
Alright, I’m over the whole Zippoapp thing now. The only purpose of that app was to demonstrate how sensitive the iPhone is. Well, I tend to find sensitive men are real pussies, so put that in your crack pipe and smoke it, ok?
So, I get the whole, “we have over 100,000 apps to your, what? 20,000 or so?” I have to ask, how many of those 100,000+ apps are worth a damn? How many of them are so poorly written that they cause stability issues with your previous little Apple device? Heck, I was listening to my dad this morning talking about how he had to uninstall all of the apps he has purchased / downloaded since he got his iPhone last September. Yeah, lock-ups happen, plain and simple. It sure must be a pain in the ass not being able to remove your battery, huh?
Oh, speaking of removable batteries, it’s pretty cool being able to buy replacement batteries for my Droid … and for UNDER $20 (US) a piece! As a longboarderwho loves to listen to music while I’m cruising the roads, it will be nice this summer to simply pop out a dying battery and replace it with a freshly recharged one.
The screen, apart from the Droid’s impressive display resolution of 854×480 pixels (compared to the antiquated 480×320-display on the iPhone),is also exceptionally durable. I defy you to try this with your iPhone, Palm Pre or Crackberry whatever!
I definitely dig the slide-out keyboard. Some of the docile, bleating sheep of the Apple devotees denigrate it, but that’s because they’ve not grown accustomed to QWERTY keyboards. Hey,when iPhoners go to landscape mode, your “virtual keyboard” suddenly takes up a big piece of real estate, doesn’t it?
And here’s the part that killed me, folks …
When I opened the package containing my Droid, there was this return envelope:
Yeah, get that … not only do they want me to send back that detestable P.O.S. Touch Pro, but they intend that return to somehow help victims of domestic violence? How ironic is THAT?!?!?! The fact that this phone didn’t INSTIGATE any domestic violence in my house is a miracle (well, if you don’t take into account the fact that the Spousal Unit isn’t playfully referred to as “a six foot tal Scandinavian she-devil” for nothing).
Well, looks like our stunt blogger Nuthin beat me to the punch. Take a few minutes to go check out his latest blogging … it’s simply delicious!
CHOW DOWN, HOGS!
and until next time …
… and don’t forget to leave a comment because …
Sorry about the intensely verbose purge yesterday but I really had a lot of pent up frustration, and to have finally found release??? Come on! Can you really blame me?
All the same, from what I’ve been reading this morning, it does appear that I’ll be enjoying one mighty nifty piece of technology. So far, the only two “professional” opinion gripes about the Droid are: 1) the fact you can’t do the two finger / multi-point screen thing to zoom in or out (and the 2.1 release rolling out any day now fixes that); and 2) not quite as many apps, which is merely a function of time. Apart from that — and I direct this to each and every one of my friends who own iPhones and have been playful enough to tease me about the awesomeness of your device while mine sent me to the fringes of total psychosis —
My phone is better than your phone!
Can your iPhone control your television / DVR?
If, perchance, you have my cell number, would you please shoot me a message w/ your phone number to my new gMail account? (BuckWezr) Cool, thanks! I created the Gmail account in anticipation of the new phone. With the Droid being driven by the Android operating system from Google, it only goes without saying that it quickly links up to anything else I have directly tied-in with Google. And I don’t have to install any retarded iTunes software to get my device up and running and fully sync’d. In fact, I don’t even have to connect it to my PC for anything other than to feed the battery.
Enough about the new phone, though …
Let’s have a little talk about honesty, shall we?
Actually, on second thought, let’s not.
Sometimes the blunt truth is just a little bit more than we really want to know about.
I mean, take this for example …
Is the brutal honesty of the message really of any consequence here? Unless you’re an exhibitionist, hopelessly drunk, or are otherwise deviant , you’re not going to be doing your business on that can!
However … some “dirty little secrets” are sort of fun to share with a select few …
Of course, this is something that HAS been known to not end so well …
Meanwhile, there will always be things that none of really care to know …
Yeah, seriously … not something ANYBODY wants to find out about.
Some things aren’t necessarily bad things, but they definitely don’t belong in the casually public domain …that’s WalMart for ya!
I appreciate the girl’s enthusiasm, though!
And let’s face it, there ARE far worse things one can wear in public …
That’s just one of those moments where we are confronted with yet another dreaded memory that will scar our brains for life. As we all know, unless we’re lucky enough to be smitten with dementia, Alzheimer’s or amnesia, we’re stuck with these accidental images in life. There is no denying …
and as if that weren’t far enough down the rabbit hole, there are those who sometimes accomplish the unimaginable …
If you chose to NOT click to enlarge, I truly do understand …
Here’s a treat to help you recover from that last eye sore:
You’re right, I owe you something a tad more soothing than that, don’t I?
So, I had a good time hanging out with my aunt and uncle last night. As the Spousal Unit and I were debating whether or not we were ready to leave Spanky’s, my uncle walks through the door. Well, seeings how that was the first time coming out to play in that particular litter box, there was no chance of us leaving him there alone!
And we had to introduce him to our many friends at our beloved pub …
But let’s save that for another blogging for some other time …
So, what else did this weekend hold in store for me? Apart from what packing we have done and the beginning of the move across town, of course. I can only hope that the “weather event” headed to our region on Thursday does not bring another major dumping of snow!
Ah, who cares about the weather … did you hear about the recent row in West Yorkshire over the town council’s decision to rename a renowned landmark? Yeah, they took down the old sign which read “Tickle Cock Bridge” and replaced it with one that read “Tittle Cott.” Yeah, I know … how gay is THAT?
Well, the elder citizens of that fair town raised holy hell and saw to it that its original, and they say rightful, name was restored earlier this week.
Seems the goodly folks of the United Kingdom have enjoyed a long history of scrounging up risque and otherwise entertaining names for many of their towns and landmarks …
Shetland and Orkney both have towns name “Twatt” …
Sandy Balls is the name of a resort of sorts in Hampshire, England; the name dates back to Henry VIII
You have Fingringhoe in Essex, England … an alleyway by the name of Back Passage in London … there’s Shitterton in Dorset, England and Fanny Hands Lane in Lincolnshire, England.
But wait, there’s more! You also have …
Cockshoot Close, Oxfordshire, England
Funbag Drive, Watford, England
Fanny Avenue, Derbyshire, England
Beaver Close, Surrey, England
Dick Court, Lanarkshire, Scotland
Felch Square, Powys, Wales
Lickfold, West Sussex, England
Rimswell, East Riding of Yorkshire, England
Spanker Lane, Nether Heage, Derbyshire
Cocknmouth Close, West End, Surrey
Friars’ Entry, Oxford, Oxfordshire, England
Butt Hole Road, Conisbrough, South Yorkshire
Cockermouth, Allerdale, Cumbria
Fine Bush Lane, Ruislip
Ladygate Lane, Ruislip
Hornyold Road, Malvern, Worcestershire, England
Crotch Crescent, Marston, Oxford, England
Cumming Court, Pitville, Gloucestershire, England
The PC police are gonna have their hands full in that part of the world!
Well, I guess I best get back to packing this house. Hopefully we can sneak out to catch Oren’s last set at Bluemont Winery later this afternoon.
Until next time …
You may recall my c-Net styled review of the HTC Touch Pro; if not, I highly encourage you to take a few minutes to hop over to that page and read it now.
Assuming you have the time. Which, if such is not the case, then I really don’t understand why you visit this site in the first place. I mean, verbosity is our thing; it’s what we do! To say that we, in the writing of our bloggings here, are anything other than overly verbose would not only be redundant and senseless, it would be downright unnecessary and devoid of wit.
Oh, you’re one of those that are just here for the pictures, aren’t you???
Silly maggot …
Ok, are the rest of you back from reading the review?
Yum, yum … you can just taste the bile, can’t ya?
Well, that was was November 5th, a mere 64 days after I’d acquired that fetid work of the underworld. The adventure had only just begun …
It is now late February and I have continued to endure this … this …
the non-profane eludes me at this moment
I am still the “proud” owner of this little marvel and it still is — lucky me — my primary communication device, of the portable electronic variety, of course. I have, though, attempted to change that on more than one occasion. I guess I should probably address the matter of why it is that it has taken me so many months to finally change my fate:
I visited the local purveyor of Verizon phones at a franchise storefront here in town several weeks after I’d made the fateful mistake of committing to this “smart” phone. My first visit saw me dealing with the younger gentleman that Ron, the owner, has in his employ. I forget his name at the moment, but I walked in, introduced myself and set my phone on the counter.
He furrowed his brow a little and asked, “First gen Touch Pro?”
“Uh … yeah.”
I chuckled, “And as if that weren’t bad enough, this was the ‘upgrade’ to my previous phone which was a first gen Chocolate.”
“Seriously?”, he asked.
“Yeah … am I not just the luckiest dog on the porch?”
We proceeded to talk for a brief few minutes before he said that I really needed to talk to the boss-man. It took me a few days to carve out the time to make it back to the store in the hopes that his boss, Ron, was there. Because the Spousal Unit and Ron have a history, I tend to drag her along with me on these visits. I mean, what can it hurt, right?
We returned a few days later …
I opened the door for my lady and as I followed her in I put on a big smile on my face and nodded, “Heya Ron! How’s things?”
He smiled back, “Goin’ good, man! How have you guys been?”
In total Matrix / Neo style, I mentally dodged the small-talk bullet and cut to the chase: “Dude, I really … desperately and seriously … need your help.”
He shot me a surprised look; not surprising given the opening lob of drama, “Well, we’ll see what I can do. What’s the problem?”
“This,” I said in a playful attempt at feigned anger as I slammed The Brick on the counter.
“Oh,” he said, seemingly unaware that this device was any different than any other PDA / Smart Phone in his inventory, “and what seems to be the problem with it?”
As it turns out, the explanation I gave was actually the germination phase of what would eventually become the cNet styled blogging about this same device that I linked you to earlier. To say that he was a little taken back would be an understatement, but he did laugh with me along the way a few times. The Spousal Unit, however, seemed a tad exasperated at times. Seems my occasional outbursts of manic energy are a touch uncomfortable for her sometimes. I hope it’s not that I embarrass her; that’d be sort of a bummer.
But we don’t have time for such musings this morning. I have a house I need to finish packing and a move I need to make the final arrangements for.
At the end of our pleadings he intimated that he was powerless to do a thing. He did, however, explain that if we took it to a corporate store they would most likely just declare my unit defective and give me a replacement model.
I smiled, as this was my desired outcome.
Ron shook his head, and not in the affirmative, “No, I mean they’ll send you the same model.”
“Oh no,” I blurted out, “No, no, no, no, NO! Dude, that will not do!”
He shrugged his shoulders in a way that I would soon suspect was a calculated and learned trait possibly passed down through corporate sales training sessions at Verizon.
. . .
We all shook hands and said our goodbyes. Seeings how we frequent the same watering hole it only makes sense to keep things on the up and up. And besides, Ron’s actually a hell of a nice guy.
As we drove away I resumed my irritable ramblings.
“Oh my god, what is it with me? Will foul luck and misery follow me all the days of my life?”
.. and …
“Are you shitting me? I cannot believe I am stuck with yet another piece of shit phone for two years!”
… and it continued along similar lines …
Being the fearless, 6 foot tall Scandinavian woman that she is, the wife interrupted me at one point, “If you can handle keeping it long enough, maybe they’ll discontinue it and you’ll get an upgrade to whatever replaces that one.”
I stopped and nodded at the obvious wisdom of her rhetorical question. The image of the two Monty Python-ish cartoon characters from the semi-recent Guinness commercials popped into my head as I blurted out one simple word in a poor Irish accent: “Brilliant!”
Later that evening I visited the Verizon Wireless website. I had been there several days earlier and there were scant few customer reviews on my particular phone (HTC Touch Pro, just in case you forgot). Now there were suddenly hundreds of them! Evidently, there were a whole buttload of those pending approval / moderation and someone must have just clicked on “release/approve all.”
I dare say I cannot ever recall seeing a lower customer rating than what I was staring at. The fact that I did NOT grab any screen captures ticks me off! It was absolute pandemonium! Apart from the rare comment / review by a customer who had obviously just crawled out of a cave and left these comments the same day they purchased this phone, the rest was one angry, vitriolic response after another.
This served as the watering phase of the aforementioned germination process that ultimately blossomed into the blogging that was my own review of the HTC Touch Pro (linked above).
If it was named T H C instead, I’d like to think that all of this would at least make a little more sense …
Anyhow … I came back to the Verizon Wireless website some days later to grab some of the fresh vitriol to use as fodder for my own blogging.
But it was all gone! All references, except for the most benign tech support issues, were completely purged from the site! Not a single customer review. Not a single link to a Discontinued Model, which was still their habit.
Nossir, this sucker just up and disappeared like a thief in the night!
Several months pass and, man, have I got to tell ya … it has been downright nightmarish dealing with this damnable device.
One thing that I will say to its benefit is the fact that it is amazingly durable! My take on this being an effectual weapon was spot on!
Hey, don’t be hatin’ … if you were paying the insurance and you KNEW that you were — some how, some way — getting that thing eventually replaced because it was not only a lemon of a product as a whole, but your particular unit was clearly defective beyond that … yeah, you tell ME you wouldn’t occasionally fling that thing across the room or into a cement wall!
But anyhow …
Along comes February, and the insane back-to-back blizzards! While visitations of the various beasts of the snow migration were a wonderful distraction, everybody around me was growing increasingly impatient with the same words constantly bursting from my lips multiple times an hour: “I hate this fucking phone!”
I printed a copy of the blogging I’d done about the Touch Pro, grabbed it, jumped in the truck and made our way across town to once again beg of Ron’s mercies. I handed him the print out and said, “After I leave and you’ve got some dead time on your hands, you ought to give this a read; I think it’ll give you a decent laugh.”
He nodded as he glanced at it. “So, how can I help you two today?”
“Dude, is there anybody that you can call at corporate to put in a good word for us as a preferred customer?”
He shot me a look that almost hinted of, Whatchu talkin’ bout, Willis?
“Dude, after more than ten years as customers and my wife’s insistence that we primarily deal with you? I think that just about makes anyone in my shoes a preferred customer.”
“No,” her interrupted, “no, that wasn’t it at all.”
“So,” I said with an exasperated sigh, “there’s nothing you can do, not even put in a call on our behalf?”
“Naw,” he said as he shook his head and shrugged his shoulders, “that’s really something that just has to go through corporate.”
We clarified which locations closest to us qualified as “corporate.” He suggested that I go to the one in Ashburn as he’d had some really pleasant dealings with some of the staff there.
As we shook hands and said our goodbyes he added, “Good luck, man. You may have to press the matter pretty hard if you want anything more than an in-kind replacement.”
“If those assholes want to keep my business — and I assure you, our monthly bill is more than ample — then they better do something more than offer me another Touch Pro or even the Pro2. I’d rather step back down to a simple flip-phone, demand a refund for the wasted monthly data-plan charges, and give that to my son until my contract is up and just go get an iPhone.”
He nodded sympathetically as he tapped on the print-out I’d handed him earlier, “And I promise to give this a read! See ya at Spanky’s some time, alright?”
“I look forward to it,” I said with a smile, “you know where to find to me!”
He chuckled, “By that stupid video golf game!”
“Yes,” I smiled even bigger, “the claws of the monkey that is that adult video crack machine are dug deeply into my soul.”
Some days later I reached my absolute and final boiling point with this phone. This time it was a solo venture. Being as irritable and as driven as a I was to finally get this situation resolved, regardless of the outcome, I thought it was best if I didn’t have my wife’s sensibilities and her distaste for public confrontation to interfere with the divine mission which was mine to undertake.
As I pulled in to the parking lot of the strip center within which the corporate Verizon Wireless was located, I took a deep breath and closed my eyes for a brief moment. Politeness, directness and calm were the order of the day. All the same, visions of a massive pyre and Viking warriors chanting at the tops of their lungs filled my mind.
I opened my eyes quickly so as to not drift too far astray with in imaginations.
As I walked into the store, I was greeted by two young ladies seated at small receptionist station-like stations. The younger one shot me a broad smile and the lady who actually greeted me directly seemed to not be having a great start to her day. She asked tersely but politely, “How may I help you, sir?”
“I really need to talk to somebody about this phone.” I gently set it on the counter in front of her.
The younger lady, to her left, leaned over and asked as she curled her nose, “Touch Pro?”
My left eyelid twitched a few times, “Yeah,” I said as politely as I could, “seems like you’re familiar with it.”
She shook her head back and forth as she raised her hand and with a smile said, “I’m not even getting started.”
I turned my attention to the lady who was waiting to assist me and went on to try and describe why this thing was not only a defective unit, but possibly the most evil thing to have cursed humanity in centuries.
She finally interrupted me, “I’m sorry, sir. You’re going to need to talk to someone in tech. Someone will call your name in a few minutes.”
As I stepped aside it suddenly occurred to me that this woman had probably pressed some sort of panic button to inform the manager on duty that a possibly irate customer was in the building. If they had a special, emergency-use-only button for the potential “postal” types, I’d imagined that that was the once she chose to press instead.
I took another slow, deep breath to once again regain my focus.
And I made the mistake of closing my eyes again …
A young man’s voice brought me back to the store / present reality, “Good morning, sir!”
I blinked my eyes a few times to shake the images out of the frontal lobe. “And a good morning to you, dude. Are you the tech guy that I’m waiting to talk with about this … this … phone.”
He shook his head, “Oh, nossir, I work with the Fios side of things here. I’d overheard you say you were in the process of moving … ?”
With a grin and a nod I cut him off, “Actually, we’re very, very happy Fios customers and — lucky me — the place we’re moving to is already wired for Fios.”
Alex — I believe that was his name, but it might have been Adam — continued to chat for a few minutes about some of the really cool new features and upgrades that Fios had recently began to roll out. As we were talking I heard my name being called from behind me, albit slightly mispronounced as usual.
It’s a stupidly simple Hungarian name, I’m surprised it gets mangled as often as it does.
Anyhow … as I turned around, I was somewhat disappointed to have gone from dealing with such a pleasant, broad smiled young man to being greeted by a perfect sour-puss of a mildly effeminate young man. Seated to his left was a young black man who, as I would learn, was recently employed by Flextronics and was under the tutelage of my fussy little tech support representative.
“My name is Shea, what seems to be the problem with your phone?”
I went on to re-explain to him the same things I had been enumerating to the young lady I was first greeted by. He was perfectly disinterested in hearing me out and continually interrupted me. The third time he interrupted he simply said, “Sir, if you would like me to take a look at it, it sounds like it easily qualifies for a replacement.”
“I realize that, Shea. I am fully and unquestionably aware that this particular unit is defective. Have you worked here for very long?”
He nodded, responding in the affirmative.
“And you are familiar with this phone,” I tapped on it a little less than gently, “the infamous HTC Touch Pro?”
He nodded his head in agreement again, “Yessir, we stopped carrying that model last fall and HTC stopped manufacturing it shortly after that.”
“I appreciate the history lesson, but surely you’re aware of what an epic failure this … this … thing was and still is?!?!”
Once again, I was confronted with a look and a tone that was chock full of red flags that had the words “bull shit” written all over them. It does not take a PhD in psychology or any of the other behavioral sciences to tell when someone is patently lying to you.
And it was impossible to ignore the fact that it was done in the same trained, rehearsed demeanor that I had encountered with other Verizon employees over the years.
“Sir, if you would let me take a look at your phone I can at least determine if this unit is defective and, if so, we can have it replaced with a new or refurbished one.”
I blinked a few times before asking, “Are you shitting me?” It was the first time I’d let a hint of my own frustration or irritation show.
“That’s all your warranty covers, sir.”
“Yeah, and I not only pay $45 a month for a data service plan that does me absolutely no good, I also pay another $5 per month for the protection / replacement plan thing. Hell, I’d almost rather downgrade back to a stupid clam shell phone than put up with this … this …”
He interrupted me again, “Do you have an old phone in a drawer at your house?”
“Excuse me?” as I tried to figure out how he knew about the veritable black holes we call “drawers” in our kitchen.
“I can see what Verizon can do in the way of a refund and you can go back to using an old phone until your contract is up in May.”
I was on the verge of losing it; and dealing with this prancing little priss of a man across the counter was not making matters any better. “Look, Shea, we’re obviously having some communication issues here … is your manager or supervisor here in the store this morning? I really need to talk to somebody who is capable of making decisions. If I can’t get around having this … this … DETESTABLE THING replaced by pretty much anything other than another anything from HTC … then I may as well just say ‘screw it all’ and go get myself an iPhone.”
I sighed as I tried to look him square in the eyes, “Please?”
I say “try” because he averted the direct eye contact; that pansy.
Shea turned around and stepped through the door to take the matter up with the manager.
It was at this point that I got better acquainted with the young black man who was working under Shea’s wing yesterday morning. He was a perfectly pleasant guy and, as it turns out, he’s worked with a close friend of my family for quite some time (at Pohanka Lexus).
Several minutes later a short, another black gentleman about my age, perhaps a few years older, stepped out through the doorway and introduced himself. He looked as if he was possibly from Kenya or another African country, and carried a slight accent to match. His name was Jack.
Jack calmly and patiently allowed me to once again re-tell my tales of frustration and woe. He finally said, “Well, if we can show that this is a defective unit we can have Verizon send you a replacement or a refurbished one if there are no new ones left in stock.”
I stood there silently, flabbergasted beyond words.
“Sir,” I pleaded as I stared into his eyes, “I really need some help!”
It immediately occurred to me how that could have easily been taken an entirely different way by him or anybody else witnessing this exchange.
“What would you have me do?” Jack inquired.
“This thing is a freaking lemon, sir! All I want is relief from this insufferable piece of shit! Anything that does not have the name HTC on it would probably do; I’m dead serious.”
“For free?” he asked.
“Yes,” I nodded wildly, “of course for free! I’ve been dealing with the most miserable, unusable, frustrating phone ever conceived by man or demon for 6 months now, and I pay an extra $45 dollars month for data services and internet access for a phone that does me no good! Come on, Jack … I really need your help.”
“But we cannot give you a phone, sir. If you would like, I can see if we can reset your contract and you can get a new phone that way.”
I nodded towards the business phone immediately beside us, “Could you please just call someone at Verizon and put in a preferred customer request or something? We’ve been loyal customers for over 10 years now, and all I want is just be free from this hideous phone.”
Jack picked up the phone and started dialing. As he was logging in to the call center, he got past the point of typing in my account number and password. It was at this point that I learned about a balance due of proportions I was not prepared to confront.
“EIGHT HUNDRED DOLLARS?”, I burst out, “Are you kidding me?”
“Yes sir,” Jack said quietly, “I noticed that as I was looking at your account before I came out to speak with you; until you get that paid up you will not be able to talk to anybody at Verizon about this problem, even if you just wanted it fixed.”
I spent the next half hour or more with the extremely pleasant young lady whom I met at the beginning of my visit to the store. She and I went through the last couple months of detailed statements, one account at a time. Suffice it to say that some command decisions were made at this point regarding a number of things and a number of services were blocked.
But I digress …
Once we were all paid up, I was finally put back on the phone with Verizon. After a short exchange the lady I was speaking to informed me that we first had to transfer my call over to tech support. After being on hold for a few moments, a very pleasant, soothing voice greeted me, “Good afternoon, my name is Lauren, how may help you today?”
I proceeded to, yet again, detail my tales of woe. When I finally paused she jumped in, “Sir, before we can do anything I first have to confirm that this unit is defective and is something more than just a ROM or other software upgrade.”
“Don’t you realize what a perfectly useless, miserable piece of crap this thing is?”
“I can only imagine, sir, but we have to prove it’s defective before we can do a thing.”
My shoulders fell and I sighed, “I understand that; I’m just beyond frustrated with this whole debacle of a phone.”
“I appreciate that sir. Are you willing to erase everything on your phone now?”
“Do you use ActiveSync to back up your phone?”
“Oh, that! Hell no … that was just the beginning of my troubles 6 months ago. I never got that software to install properly.”
She proceeded to inform me that our only solution was for me to head home and she would have a set of links awaiting me via email. I was to email her to let her know I was ready to have Lauren walk me through a number of things over the phone. I finally got home, frustrated beyond belief that I was leaving the store empty handed.
Between my email to Lauren and her return call to me, I went ahead and started installing the latest version of ActiveSync. While waiting for the call, I then went ahead and launched the program to go ahead and do the back-up myself. I mean, hey … I’m technically adept, right?
Well, as it turns out, ActiveSync decided to synchronize with my local copy of Outlook, a new installation with no contacts, no appointments, no nothing on it … and, as fate would have it, the default setting was to give preference to the data in Outlook rather than what was on the phone.
Did you notice the past tense reference there?
Yeah, I lost my entire contacts list as well as a few other items of lesser importance.
A few moments later Lauren calls me back on my wife’s phone, just as she promised she would. As it turns out, she was skipping her lunch break to try and get things resolved for me.
After almost an hour of fiddling around, installing various software upgrades and settings changes, Lauren sighed an almost happy sounding sigh and said, “Okay, sir … your phone is definitely defective! Now I can finally talk with you about your options.”
“It’s about time!”
“While I was waiting to hear back from you earlier I went ahead and briefed my supervisor about your situation.”
“Thank you,” I said quite enthusiastically.
“And he gave me some options, so bear with me, okay?”
“Yes ma’am,” I said with a huge smile.
“Okay,” she paused, “I think I already know the answer to the first one; we can ship you a new HTC Touch Pro tomorrow morning.”
“Are you @#$%ing with me?” I exclaimed!
“I kinda thought that might be your answer,” I could swear she was stifling a chuckle as she hurried along to option number next, “which brings us to option number two: we can downgrade you to a regular phone and refund a month’s worth of the data plan charges.”
“Okay,” I said calmly, expecting the next option to be more appealing.
“Would you be interested in that, sir?”
“Well, perhaps as a last resort. Is there an option number third?”
“Yes sir,” she said, “there is. My supervisor also said that you can upgrade to any device you would like for the one year contract price.”
“And what exactly does that mean?”
“It depends on which Smart Phone you are interested in. If you were to get any phone you wanted from Verizon, which one would it be?”
“Well, The Droid, of course.”
“I take it you’re not referring to the HTC model.”
“Correct, my dear … the Motorola Droid. If I never see another anything from HTC for the rest of my life I will not be disappointed.”
She gently asked, “So, you would like the Motorola Droid?”
“Of course! Sounds like that’s the only thing out there that begins to hold a candle to the iPhone.”
“Okay, my supervisor said you can upgrade to one at the one year contract price.”
“And what does that mean to me, Lauren?”
She hesitated a little and then answered, “The one year contract price for the Droid is $369 with a $100 rebate.”
“So, they want me to pay them another $269 to be free from this piece of crap phone?”
“Uh,” she hesitated again, “would you be interested if I could get him to approve the two year price?”
“Which is how much?”
“That’s $299 with a $100 mail-in rebate, sir.”
“Wow,” I said, clearly dejected, “that’s something I’m going to have to think about, Lauren. I mean, I was sold an absolute lemon here and now I’m being told that my options are to live with a replacement lemon, go back to the relative stone age, or pay even more of my hard earned money for the type of device I expected when I ponied up a bunch of money 6 months ago.”
“I understand, sir,” she said with a lot of empathy in her voice, “it’s probably easiest to contact me through the email address we were using earlier this afternoon.”
“Alrighty then,” I sighed, “We have some errands that we have to run and I’ll think more about it and will get back with you before the end of the day.”
“I look forward to it, sir.” and we hung up.
As it turned out, the events of the day and the allure of a quick couple rounds of Golden Tee kept me from getting back to my computer until later that evening.
The next morning I shot Lauren an email thanking her for all of her time and her kindness. I expressed my frustration in being offered a “solution” that was no better than what any schmuck walking in off the streets would get. In fact, I told her that I felt the options given were downright insulting, but again assured her that it was not her I was frustrated with, but Verizon. I also made it a point to say that she could feel free to forward my email to her supervisor, or preferably someone above him.
Later in the morning I received an email from Lauren thanking me for the kind words.
As my friend, Fuku, and I finished our round of Golden Tee, the rest of the Friday Happy Hour crew was showing up. I looked down at my watch and it was just a little after 5:35. Well, I thought to myself, Lauren’s off for the day. I guess Verizon’s content to lose another customer.
As Oren and Fern started playing their first set of the Friday happy hour, my freshly reset phone lit up with an incoming call. The screen read “Unknown Caller”, but the area code looked familiar. It was the same one that Lauren had called me from earlier in the day.
I picked up my phone and as I made my way out of the pub I looked at Billy and said, “Tell the guys to give me a couple minutes before we start, I need to take this call.”
I tapped the Answer key, “Hello, this is Tom.”
A familiar voice greeted me, “Good afternoon, sir, this is Lauren from Verizon Wireless, we spoke yesterday.”
“Why yes it is, and how are you doing this afternoon?”
“Uggghh, it’s been one of those days; I was supposed to be out of here a while ago but I wanted to give you a quick call before I left for the day.”
“Oh, okay, that’s cool! What’s up?”
“Well, as you requested, I forwarded your email to my supervisors and a little while ago my boss came to my desk to tell me that he had read it and told me to go ahead and send you a Droid first thing Monday morning.”
I was slightly taken aback, “The Motorola unit?”
“Yes sir, I didn’t think you would be very interested in the other one.”
“Holy smokes, Lauren … you are my hero!”
She laughed and said, “Well, I don’t know about that, but I did want to call you before I left work for the day to let you know that there was a good outcome from all of this.” She went on to explain that she had to come in Saturday to get some other matters taken care of and assured me that she would also get everything processed so the new phone would be ready to ship first thing Monday morning.
The smile on my face stayed there until I fell asleep many hours later.
So, there ya have it. It’s been a long, wild ride these past 6 months, and what did I learn in the process? Well, for starters, no more sight-unseen purchases. From now on, when it comes to electronic devices, I want to handle the device and use it before making any decisions. I also intend to do much more homework in the future as well. Had I spent some time doing a little research, it would have been readily apparent that the early generation products from HTC have been notoriously slow. Of course, with the underlying operating system being a Microsoft product, how surprising is that?
Hopefully the next two years will be pleasant ones, at least as far as smart phone usage is concerned.
Check it out! The dude is getting a Droid!
Now it’s time to get back to packing this house for next weekend’s move!
If you really think I’m the sort that recognizes Valentine’s Day as a legit observance … well … are you really serious?
Yeah, the scrawny, awkward, big nosed, Dumbo-eared kid that almost never received a single voluntary Valentine’s Day card from a girl is going to be stoked about stirring up all those childhood memories once a year.
Yeah … right.
All the same … I was a goodly husband and allowed the Spousal Unit to sleep in without the obligatory weekend morning routine that goes something along the lines of: “Guess who woke me up and told me you wanted to play?”
Aren’t I a great guy?
Actually, my snoring and generalized grouchiness found me in the guest room bed and as I started to wish myself a happy Valentine’s Day I was plagued by a story my mother told me when I was a little boy …
. . .
So, I crawled out of bed, tip-toed downstairs and kicked the dog a few times. The good news is, she’d already been heavily abused by a psychopathic girlfriend when she was a puppy, so I figure there’s really not a lot to feel guilty about. I mean, it’s all she really knows so what’s the difference?
And here’s the real kicker for me …the biggest, loudest, most obnoxious “animal rights advocates” that I know are pro abortion. Has the irony of that ever crossed you as “funny”?
Ah, irony … where would be with out?
So anyhow, back to this morning. As is my Sunday morning habit, I snuck out of the house to grab a cup of coffee and then swung by the crack house downtown. My tranny “friend”, Pat, was — needless to say — sorely displeased that I didn’t bring him, ‘er I mean, “her” … kinda … damn, WHAT EVER ….
I failed to bring a card, and I was empty handed, not even a small clutch of flowers …
This was not a good moment at the local crack house for Buck …
Like I should have been surprised. [sigh]
I swung by the crack house last week to tidy up the place a bit and and to do a little painting. Let’s face it, crack houses are not known as being the paramount of interior design. Some say it’s because crack whores and trannies are vile, slovenly people, but I say the people who claim such things are just being ignorant.
But that’s neither here nor there … I was nice enough to do something good for the local crack addicts and Pat took it as a personal affront …
Pat can really be a violent little bitch sometimes, lemme tell ya.
. . .
So, as I surfed the internet this morning to find something really thoughtful to send to my wife as an email link (you know the routine, “honey, if we weren’t so broke and if I weren’t such a stubborn pig who refuses to cow-tow to this nonsensical farce of a tradition, this is what I would have bought for you …”
You guys ever try that? It might not get you a steak and a beejer, but you really should give it a try some time.
Just make sure you’re not sending them links to things like vacuum cleaners, informercial diet “secrets” or blow-up dolls. I’ve tried all three and let me tell ya … things went better for me this morning at the local crack house.
This morning, however, I found something so profoundly wondermous that I had to share it with the world. I hope Mama-Buck doesn’t feel the least bit cheapened by me sharing this with all of you before I even show it to her …
This morning, though … I discovered that I actually DO love chocolate!
You see, back when I was a wee kid, I’d purchased a massive 2 lb bag of chocolate chips at the Commissary (the equivalent of a grocery store on a military base) late one afternoon and tucked them in a my book bag to munch on the next day at school. As it turns out, I ate the entire bag, mostly during the afternoon. While on the school bus ride home, my stomach began to let me know that I had just made a mistake that it was going to make sure I remembered for the rest of my life.
While on the bus ride home, I turned about 20 shades of increasingly pale white as well as an overwhelming urge to vomit while the opposite end of the digestive tract was fighting back an intense yearning to explode as well. Somehow, I made it to the end of the bus ride, I even made it a half block from the bus stop to a small common area behind by house. As I approached the gate into our back yard, the nausea and dizziness overcame me and I immediately doubled over and began projectile vomiting in a manner that I had never known and could only pray that I would never experience again …
Of course, I was still too young to know anything about what was to come a mere decade or so later when I discovered the joys of what is sometimes referred to as “binge drinking”, but alas, I digress.
The rest of that afternoon and evening was spent in a nauseated stupor, mostly seated on the toilet so my body could violently discharge the massive amounts of chocolate that had passed too far earlier in the day to be evacuated orally.
All this to say that I was a HUGE non-fan of chocolate for many, many years to come …
Ah, yes … chocolate!
How I love thee … let me count the ways …
Come on … tell me this is not the coolest use of chocolate … ever!!!!
Oh … YES!
And it doesn’t necessarily have to be fashioned into pieces of clothing and the like. Oh, no … sometimes au nautural ain’t so bad either!
I must admit there are times when chocolate just doesn’t cut it for me.
Are you familiar with the mighty mealworm? Staple diet for pet lizards and other captive animals …
There’s some sicko out west who got the “great” idea to explore the wonderful world of chocolate delicacies and stumbled upon something that I, personally, consider to be an epic failure …
Remember our friends, the mighty mealworms? Yeah, a guy by the name of Larry Peterman decided covering those [faux curse] with chocolate somehow turn them from vomit inducing to delectable.
Seriously … you can drop by his website, HOTLIX and check out his entire line of candies and confections that mostly feature bizarre and perfectly distasteful insects in the center.
In the meantime, check out this sampling of “treats” …
Yeah, my sentiments, exactly!
But anyhow …
As I continued my search for “I love you so much I’d buy you this if I weren’t such a cheap turd” pretend presents, I got distracted thinking about how much I miss my Koi pond as well as aquariums in general. As the caffeine settled in, it occurred to me: why not try and combine the best of BOTH worlds???
Mama Buck said, “Uh … yeah. Not a chance.”
. . .
A little while later she was on her laptop, Facebook on one browser tab, and some online store in another. She called me over to point out what SHE thinks would have been the perfect gift for me to give …
It was at this moment that I was suddenly translated back to a crucial moment of my early childhood … even though it was many, many years later before I fully appreciated the gravity of this one little phrase the freakish little girl down the street once shared with me …
Isn’t that how it is, though?
Well, perhaps “stranded” borders on being a bit of misnomer. The Spousal Unit and I had told ourselves that we were going to stay home Wednesday when the blizzard proper was at its zenith. She had a wonderfully aromatic pot of pasta sauce slowly cooking on the stove and I was bundled up on the couch, goofing around online with a few friends and getting ready to catch up some stuff we have on our perpetually filled-to-capacity DVR.
Besides, bucket loads of snow and 50 mph winds really don’t make for the best driving conditions ever known to man.
Such things don’t seem to bother my buddy, Shimmay.
Around 6pm or so he starts text messaging both of our phones. “You guys coming out to putt tonight?”
My reply: “We have a 48 foot snow drift at the end of our driveway; not digging out in this much wind.”
Moments later the Spousal Unit gets a message from Shimmay: “I’ll be there in 25 minutes to pick you guys up.”
So much for a quiet nice at la casa del Buck …
But who am I to turn down an adventure on night like this, right???
And quite the adventure it turned out to be. I dare say Shimmay had the biggest challenges keeping his happy face on; not only did his beloved Washington Caps lose to a bunch of drunken bastards from Canadia, we had a couple of interesting characters already playing on “our” GT machine upon arrival. The round table behind the playing area was loaded with almost a dozen recently departed Budweiser’s, several loaded ash trays, a few packs of cigarettes, a c0uple Starbuck’s gift cards (that’s what most of us here in town use for Golden Tee identification purposes) and various other personal effects. Not meaning to make the pub sound unkempt, but they were seriously under-staffed and damned near packed to capacity.
The denziens of Leesburg had been trapped for days on end, some on unplowed roads and without electricity for much of that time. Spanky’s, as it turns out, was not only the ONLY place in town open that night, there was not a single day in the midst of these historic back-to-back blizzards where Spanky’s failed to open its doors for business. Word of this evidently spread wide across the county and it was THE destination of anyone stupid enough to be on the road that night.
And before you even start wondering if the owner is some sort of an evil ogre, I need to point out that he — at the onset of both storms — called his staff and told them to stay home, stay warm and stay safe.
Bartenders don’t roll like that, though. Not when bartenders like ours are dealing with a drinking community like THIS!
But back to the two guys at our beloved Golden Tee machine …
With most garden variety non-regulars, this would not be a problem; especially when it’s only 2 or 3 players. Most times, asking if one (or two) of us can jump in causes most players to defer and pass the table to us at the end of their game. In some cases, though, they do invite me/us to play and that is usually a one time event.
Except when the “outsider(s)” happen to be really good players. But that’s another blog for another time … when it comes to the dredges of GT, most competitively minded people really don’t enjoy being trounced by 20 strokes and more. It’s downright humiliating and I don’t mind being the Giver of said humiliation; it almost always results in them walking away and opening the machine for me and the rest of my friends to play. BUT … you might want to know that I do so in a very polite, gentlemanly manner. That’s just who I am and, therefore, how I naturally behave as a result.
Wednesday, however, was not one of the nights where the machine was going to be easily relinquished. Instead of garden variety outsiders, we had two familiar faces from our recent past to contend with. One being a very recent addition to the mix and the other a sometimes notorious figure from my semi-recent past, as well as Shimmay’s.
His name is Jason.
Many people just don’t quite get Jason, which is a shame. To keep it short, there are two sides to this young man. There’s the Good Jason (the sober guy), and then, when things have piled up in his life and he’s overwhelmed, he hits the bottle with reckless abandon giving rise to Evil Jason.
And nobody likes to be around Evil Jason.
There are those with whom he argues with almost anything said in a viciously combative manner. For reasons I won’t expound upon here, the chemistry that particular evening brought out that very side of Evil Jason that night and Shimmay was the party towards which EJ’s combativeness was directed. Fortunately for me, Jason doesn’t play that way with me. I think our history goes back far enough and on a personal enough of a level that there’s some odd modicum of respect between the two of us.
But anyhow …
As if having a two-out-of-three sheets to the wind Evil Jason on our hands weren’t bad enough, his new best-buddy and GT opponent du jour was a 6’8″, square-jawed, behemoth of a young man we had dubbed — for obvious reasons — Yetti.
We met the Yetti — who would later be re-dubbed “lil B” — during the previous storm less than a week earlier. He works for the postal service yet lives in a town almost an hour from his office here in Leesburg. When major snow storms or ice storms are in the forecast, he will usually stay at a hotel just around the corner from Spanky’s and take advantage of not having to drive. Let’s just say that he is a very loud, albeit wonderfully pleasant, and insanely distractable human being when he dives headlong into the fire water.
After several beers he turns into a freak of a social butterfly and this, as you might imagine, is NOT conducive to a well paced game of Golden Tee. In fact, when playing with people who are orders of magnitude lessor of a player AND you’re having to repeatedly call them back to the table to take their turn, it can get more than mildly irritating.
After a brief exchange in private, Evil Jason decided he was going to go ahead and call it a night. Unfortunately, lil B was now in the mood to start ordering everybody rounds of shots … and was clearly still in the mood to play more GT. We humored the Yetti for one more game but I dare say I may have put a bit of a wrinkle in our budding potential friendship by dealing him OUT of the next game while he was off taking a bathroom break. When he returned I pointed out that it had taken almost an HOUR AND A HALF to play the previous round (thanks to his terrier-like propensity towards terminal distractability) and that the 3 of us really needed to pick up the pace if we were going to get home at a decent hour.
He took it like a goodly hearted dude … and, I’m sad to say, said “decent hour” never quite materialized.
But we played pretty well once the pace actually picked up! :o)
HOWEVER … the combination of Mama-Buck not having to worry about staying in a safe-to-drive condition, the shots purchased for us through the evening, and the wonders of having an empty tummy prior to epic moments of imbibing, saw her eventually reach a place where she pulled me aside, and in a dead serious tone exclaimed, “I THINK SOMEONE SLIPPED SOMETHING INTO ONE OF MY DRINKS!”
There is a very, very weird couple that has been visiting our fair little pub of late, and they really creep me out more than your run-of-the-mill oddball at a bar. As I got to thinking about it, though, there would be no plausible explanation for slipping my girl a Mickey as they had no angle to capitalize on something like that.
As we got to talking more, it became increasingly clear that her sense were being assaulted by a barrage of subatomic anomalies of some sort and was, therefore, clinically not sober. She started chugging a bunch of water and ordered some fries and well before the end of that particular round of Golden Tee, she was feeling kinda, somewhat, sorta grounded again.
I qualified so heavily because as Shimmay drove us home a little later she had him stop the vehicle on more than one occasion claiming to have just seen a snow frog hopping across the snow and ice covered streets.
In fact, she was so insistent, even the next morning, that I guess she must’ve seen a couple mice or some other small animals dashing across the road, disoriented by the wind and blowing snow.
. . .
As I mentioned in a recent blog post, I am the newest member of SharkBait Productions as well as the Recovery Channel®. Mikey Rez is currently working on a faux’cumentary of the Blizzards of 2010. Here’s an exclusive sneak preview of a rough draft or a proposed narrative for a voice over of the opening moments of a film that may, or may not, be about the recent Snowpocalypse, the target rich environment that our town has been for any would-be snow shark hunters, or have any relation to the resulting snowcano that was deposited in our fair town this past week …
(your thoughts on the following piece are encouraged and would be warmly welcomed)
. . .
North America has been gripped by a series of weather events of historic proportions. Unless you’ve been living in a cave or, perhaps, a self-induced coma, it is impossible for you not to be aware of this.
But then again, there’s surely at least one reason why you are watching …
The Recovery Channel
As our solar system spins and wobbles its way through its light years long orbit through the Milky Way, it crosses through regions of intense quantum instability. These thin, unstable ribbons of subatomic debris interfere with our atmosphere in a manner similar to the way in which photons from our own warming star, the Sun, interact with our ionosphere and atmosphere.
In essence giving us the quantum equivalent of an aurora borealis event.
Unlike the benign light shows generated by the polar auroras, these quantum disturbances affect not only the weather patterns of our planet, but the psyche of most life forms that inhabit it.
One of the most unstable manifestations is known as a QAGE (pronounced “cage”): a Quantum Alignment Glacial Event.
The surface of our planet is encased in an infinitely thin skin of subatomic energy. Under normal conditions this thin veil eludes observation and is not given even a single thought.
However, when Earth collides with one of these ribbons of subatomic debris — the tail-like remnants of a deceased black hole — pockets within this thin skin of energy react and sets into motion the spontaneous creation of anti-matter.
Should this process last for more than 7 picoseconds – a picosecond being a mere one trillionth, or one millionth of one millionth of a second – quantum volcanic eruptions tend to occur.
And thus the otherwise infertile ground gives birth to a QAGE.
Loudoun County Virginia was witness to one such event during the second blizzard of 2010. In its wake, a flaccid quantum volcano that some of the local recovery refugees dubbed …
We were there to film the historic ascent to the summit of this freakish quantum phenomenon that has less probability of occurring than a convention of Gay Jewish Muslims for Christ.
. . .
… stay tuned.
Seriously … Mikey Rez has already filmed the ascent, put together various interviews with locals, at least one sherpa and more. Tune in to The Recovery Channel and find out more …
Until then …
Mornin’, sports fans!
… tis I, is your benevolent and goodly overlord.
How is everybody this fine day?
If you, like me, are in the mid-Atlantic … all I am going to say is “Wow!”
Okay, I honestly intended for “Wow!” to be all I was going to say, but WOW WOW WOW WOW WOW!!!! …
and I understand that the past week or more has been completely focused on these back–to-back blizzards, but this just insane! And no, these are not just large, heavy snowfall events. This is two back-to-back, bonifide blizzards!
The National Weather Service issued a bulletin about an hour ago telling people that they ARE to stay off of the roads. The city of Baltimore has initiated Phase III of their snow plan … only emergency vehicles are allowed on the roads. Period. Intense snow fall and winds of 40 miles per hour make for some rather hideous conditions.
My ex wife recently tossed a friendly jab my way, telling me to suck it up because they get this all the time up in Maine. While I will agree that these types of intense wintertime weather events are more common up there, I dare say that they are not quite accustomed to this!
I could be wrong …
but let’s just move along …
Before we do get about the business of moving along … the following was — and I am CRAPPIN’ YOU NEGATIVE … one of the paragraphs (verbatim) from the National Weather Service alert that was issued for our region at 11:34am:
“People are encouraged not to panic… but to simply stay inside… enjoy your favorite indoor activities… and ride this storm out… the hazardous conditions will be improving later this evening.”
You know what the means, don’t you?
Tis time to actually write instead just pumping out another one of those finished-in-fifteen-minutes picto-blogs!
But first, I would like to have a little chitchat with some of you about blog etiquette.
Or, not to put too fine a point on it: blog reading etiquette.
Before we get too deeply entrenched in that subject, though, I want to start off by saying THANK YOU!
If you have visited us more than once, I double that order of gratitude.
If you are amongst those who regularly visit this place, I am sincerely honored that you’ve been entertained enough to want to come back with any frequency.
Good stuff, I tell ya!
As you’ve probably noticed, I am not the only one who blogs here. At present, the regular writing staff is a tad Spartan, to say the very least.
Before the council of writers gets too large and the silly insecurities of the “what about me?” sort enter the picture …
I want to give some really huge props to our “stunt blogger”, Nuthin!
We are fortunate that such a gifted and entertainingly clever person has chosen to park some of his linguistic creations on this dark, humble, virtually uncharted little corner of “teh interwebs.”
I still don’t have actual profile pages for the site Authors and Admins (nor for the Council of Doom, but that will come in time)
So, where were we?
A big ol’ butt load of thanks to our readers!
Here, how about I make you a steak?
Okay, back to the subject of blog etiquette …
We, as “authors”, do what we do because we enjoy it.
Plain and simple.
It is fun to do this blogging stuff and I have to believe that I am laughing infinitely harder than most any of you are. I write stuff that is fun to come back and read later. Due to the completely spontaneous, “stream of consciousness” nature of the vast majority of my blogging, I hardly remember many of the details of what I’ve written, so this is really an entertaining process for me.
Sadly, it is painfully obvious – sometimes unbearably so – that I do not proof-read what I post, no less go through any sort of editorial process.
Something I like to refer to as …
But my point being, it’s when I come back days or weeks later that I’ll finally do proof reading (if any) and sometimes a little editorial work. Although, I must say that when it comes to my true projectile blogging posts, I really don’t like doing much in the way of editorializing my original process. I mean, hey … if it struck me as important enough to blurt it out, then it very well has a purpose — however miniscule — and is hopefully resolved by the end of the story.
And even that’s not intentional most of the time … which is what make projectile blogging so daggone fun. At least for me.
But anyhow … I guess you’ve probably noticed that I really like those “so last decade” smilies, huh?
Dude, they taste just like chicken!!!
I really need to contain my A.D.D.-like tendencies today, sorry …
. . .
On to matters of Blogging Etiquette …
(if you will)
As detailed on my “FOK!” page, the intent here is not to point the Finger of Authority at you and make you feel scolded. That would be patronizing, and nobody wants that!
Except you, so shut it!
My point being — and I understand the whole matter of feeling like a finger is being pointed makes that a poor choice of words — we really get a big charge out of interacting with our beloved audience. Especially those of you who choose to Register as member-residents of the Wonderful World of Buck!
he’s the parallel universe alter of Billy Mays, and he dies in that universe too …
You really don’t want Billy Haze storming in here like a cocaine-induced manic jackhammer and start pummeling you about the virtues of becoming a registered user on this site. Just feel free to register. It makes commenting and interacting more enjoyable … and it very well may be the start of a quest that results in you getting sucked into this whole cerebral black hole known as blog writing!
If you like to tell stories or make people laugh in a clever, well delivered manner, blogging really is worthy of your attention.
And when that day comes, you too will understand this whole aspect of interaction.
Even heckling and a throwing of the proverbial elbow of jest is warmly welcomed.
Without getting all geeky and checking on server logs, we really have absolutely no clue whether anyone has stopped by. Now … should you happen upon a blog post that’s really a train wreck of failure, then perhaps the silence that only a cricket could wish for would be in order.
The point is, have a heart, leave a comment if you make it all the way to the end of a blog.
Don’t make me break out the anal invading hyenas from hell …
(and, as it turns out, this species — Hyena Semper-sodomus — is actually a marsupial. So much for that whole idea that the marsupial is a calm, bashful and predominately harmless species. The Tazmanian Devil, for example …
About the only thing worse that the hyena semper-sodomus … even worse than the Tasmanian Devil — especially an angry she-devil, doubly so when mating season approaches — is an animal thought to be extinct for centuries now.
And it is no matter of coincidence that I am making mention of marsupials here …
the Snow Devil!
I know, I know … it bears a STRIKING resemblance to the Snow Possum.
That’s only fitting when ya think about it, though. I mean, dude … they’re both marsupials! Much in the same way that certain of the King snake species can bear a striking resemblance to teh Coral snake, the devil’s in the details.
But we’re getting a little bit off track here, aren’t we?
Our job as writers is to write … and due to the fact that there’s no binding obligation or moral imperative that we do so, it’s not a job whatsoever; but I’ve already covered the whole “we do it for the joy of blogging” nonsense.
We don’t get paid … I have absolutely zero aspirations of every hosting any click-thru ads to raise a little cash …
even if it is for a worthy cause … say, I dunno … alcohol research!
This is a purely casual endeavor done for the love of the LULZ …
We do it for our own ROR …
All we ask is that you quit being such a selfish, miserly, tightfisted, lurker and show our writers a little love, will ya?
Okay, let’s just pretend that you’re here for no other reason than morbid curiosity …
Unlike real life … where, if you happen to stumble across the police investigating a horrid, unthinkable crime scene … here, in BucksWorld, you’re actually EXPECTED to find a way to get into the background of whatever the forensic photographer is photographing and ham it up with a big grin or funny face.
SRSLY!(go ahead, click on the image … you should be familiar with the routine by now … Click to Enlarge! huhu … that’s what she said!!
Anyhow … even IF you’re here out of sheer morbid curiosity, you’re still expected to make your presence known.
Otherwise … it’s considered lurking …
and quite frankly …
… and it’s just downright creepy!
Okay, I think that about covers it for today, kiddies.
In case you somehow missed it … and this is the abbreviated version for those even lowlier souls: the folks that simply scroll through to see the pics.
STOP RIGHT THERE!
If you’re the type that just scrolls through for the pics, this is an important announcement for you:
Leave a comment!
And that, my friends, is one ballsy white boy!!!!!!… now scroll on down and leave a comment …
The terms “snowpocolypse” and “snowmageddon” have quickly become over-used, and for good reason … we’re still digging out of 3 FEET of this stuff and now they’re calling for upwards of another2 feet tonight. It’s hard to not talk or write about it, though, as this is quickly becoming an historic event. This weekend we toppled the all-time record for a single snowfall: the previous record was 28 inches set back in 1922.
We slammed that one with a full 34.5″ inches Saturday.
With today’s snowfall it seems that we’ll be surpassing the all-time single season total accumulation by a WIDE margin.
. . .
So, Mikey Rez and I got to talking a while back and in the course of our conversation the subject of making documentaries came up. At that point, Larry (the Snowshark), was a local phenomenon. The only documented sighting being the Shack (the “tiki bar” behind Spanky’s). As we bantered about the sorts of documentaries that could be done which might involve the lives and times of any of the regulars or barflies, we stumbled across the perfect name for our production company:
The Recovery Channel
Your world … the morning after.
Personally, I really liked that one! In fact, I dare say I was not alone.
I mention this because the first documentary is most likely going to involve the Snowpocolypse and the plague of snow beasts we’ve already had to survive.
For years now the mysterious migrations of the snow shark have confounded biologists. Where do they come from, where are they going, how did they get here and — most importantly — WHY?
Fortunately for the world of science, I am the resident ambassador to the secretive land of the sub-atomic beer vortices. Here … or should I say, “there” … lies a world in which the laws of quantum physics reign supreme … where the impossible is possible, where that which seems unseemly is instead not, but instead rather seemalbe … a world where it is actually possible to eff the ineffable …
It is from this place where the manifestation of localized gravity storms arises.
But we’re getting ahead of ourselves, aren’t we?
My point being: the purpose behind the migrations of the snow sharks is — thanks to the wonders of subatomic beer physics — painfully clear to see. Being the opportunistic predators that they are, they are simply following the migrations of ….
the snow seal:
Which is, as it turns out, the snow shark’s favorite dish!
In fact, it’s a staple part of their diet and they will die within months without it.
Unfortunately for those of us in Leesburg, there’s something else on the snow shark’s desired menu …
Yeah, that’s right … Larry is specifically after Mikey Rez. For reasons I am not at liberty to discuss, there’s something special about Mikey …
Ok, you locals can knock it off … we know his mother was rather fond of that way of introducing him to her friends as “spatial” …
But as we were …
There’s something special about Mikey’s anatomy that makes him a delicacy in the world of snow sharks. Without snow cow here to save us (he was arrested and our lawyer has instructed me to not discuss any of the details of his arrest nor the charges that may, or not, be filed in the coming hours) … we have only ourselves to rely upon.
We have to work as a team and make sure that the Rez is not caught by the snow shark.
What you may not know is that, without Mikey Rez, the very cosmic fiber that holds this town together will come unwound and all hell will break loose.
And this is of importance to you too, dear reader … should the demons be loosed, the cloud of doom and chaos that comes with it will spread via my fingertips — through this keyboard — and into your screen …
And ultimately into your mind …
Believe it or not, Mikey Rez is the Laughing Buddha of this generation.
He’s a Magic Negro …
… and the Pied Piper …
all wrapped into one.
As such, it is vital to our survival that we protect our Rez.
. . .
Snow sharks, however, are currently the least of our worries.
Right now, even at this very moment, I have Mikey on a 24 hour a day watch. What I cannot do, however, is protect the rest of the fair citizens of this strange and wondrous little town.
I say that because the magnitude of the coming storm makes it inevitable that snowanimals which have remained hidden for centuries are certain to make an appearance in the coming hours and days to come.
Be afraid, my friends …
Be very, very afraid.
I’m serious too, dudes! Have you ever encountered the stripped snow possum?
That’s one badass marsupial that you do NOT want to tangle with.
In much the same way that garlic can be used to ward off certain evil spirits, and a crucufix can be used to ward off vampires, there’s a very special talisman that can keep you safe from the ravages of the snow possum …
And for the very special, stupidly low price of four easy payments of $39.99, you too can own your very own ” ‘Snowpossum Be Gone’ Magic Talisman and Soap Dispenser!”
Not available in stores anywhere!
. . .
Of course, if you’re a real cheapshit, you’re always welcome to give THIS a try …
Good luck with that …
. . .
All of the stress surrounding the coming storm has been rough on my nerves. In short, they’re beyond frayed. So much so that I’m starting to have some pretty intense stress dreams and nightmares.
Last night, after a long — way too long — afternoon of imbibing and Golden Tee, I finally fell asleep, albeit a very light and tosssy-turny sort of a sleep.
And as I drifted off into the dark black haze of the unknowing, the darkness swiftly became increasingly brighter until the entire universe around me was sopping in a bright, intense white blaze.
Without knowing how (isn’t that dreams almost ALWAYS go????) I found myself seated in a large front-loader sort of a rig.
I was plowing a path across a frozen lake and as I drove I grinned a large, smug grin, knowing for certain that my efforts to blaze a path to the tent city of drunken ice fishermen would surely land me in their good graces.
And when it comes to ice fishermen, there’s only one thing in greater supply than ice:
As I pushed my way through the blizzard conditions and mounds of snow-drift, I heard a strange, albeit vaguely familiar, sound. It was a rumble, yet the distinct sound of something very, very large was crackling beneath me.
Before the thoughts could form themselves into words, all hell broke loose …
Suddenly, everything was silent except for the screams of abject terror within. I was instantly plunged into a suffocating sea of unimaginable cold and pain.
Lucky for me, I was wearing my magical thermal undies!
What, you may ask, are magic thermal undies …
and what makes them so magical?
Upon being completely immersed in waters colder than 55 degrees, you are instantly transported to the closest shoreline.
Granted, that was a rather nifty benefit, but as I sat there on the shore attempting to regain my composure I couldn’t help but notice the denziens of the ice fishing tent city, hundreds of yards even further away.
As I sighed in frustration, knowing that my precious, golden nectar was no longer within reach, a little snow gnome walked along my side and snickered an evil little, Leprechaun-like snicker.
I snorted angrily, “What the hell are you laughing at, you little snow turd?”
SnowGnome: “Why,” he cackled, “your naivete, of course!”
Confused, I blinked my eyes a few times, remaining confusedly silent.
The SnowGnome loosened his belt, reached around into the back of his pants — so deep that I feared he might be attempting to give one of his internal organs a massage — and a moment later pulled his hand back up with a pair binoculars.
He pushed them towards me, still grinning maniacally.
“And what the hell,” I asked, “am I supposed to do with that?”
SnowGnome: “Take them, you fool … take them and look across the icy waters, just beyond what should have been your watery grave!”
“You mean the ice fishing camp?”
He shook his head in irritation and barked, “Take and look, silly mortal FOOL!”
I was too cold to start a fight with this little imp of a demon so I took the looking glass and focused my eyes on the camp hundreds of yards away, in the midst if the frozen waters.
As I focused, I was surprised at what I saw …
Those weren’t drunken fishermen!
This could only be the lost clan of Up-Helly-Aa Vikings!
This particular Viking clan, or so legend has it, went into a frightful fit one journey when it was discovered by the crew that the captain had not packed enough alcoholic provisions.
Upon learning that their daily ration of warming swill had run out, a mutiny ensued.
The crew set their longboat afire and sank to the frozen depths with her.
I looked again, convinced that what I had just seen could not be.
Focusing more towards the blazing fire which seemed to be at the center of the camp, I continued to chase away the thoughts of shock and disbelief.
I turned my attention to the SnowGnome and asked in a whisper, “I thought the Ice Vikings went down with their ship?”
With a cackle he answered, “They did, they did!!! But Loki, their patron demi-god of alcoholic mishaps, snatched their souls and have kept them hidden from Valhalla ever since.”
He paused, grinning in that but wait, there’s more” sort of way.
“Every once in a while Loki will stir the skies with his finger and cause monstrous snow events like the blizzard plaguing your people now. It is during these times that the Ice Vikings are released from their icy lair to wreak havoc amongst the pansy-ass citizens of your modern world.”
I stared at him in silence, confused.
“Even your own god,” he snarled, “is sorely disappointed with the effeminate ways of your people.”
As I tried to make sense of his slurred speech and strange words, I was suddenly overcome by a blinding white-out of snow and wind.
The wind suddenly stopped and I was enveloped in complete and utter silence.
All I could hear was my own breath and, it almost seemed, the beating of my own heart.
Suddenly, I felt a sharp pain in my left foot.
I snapped my attention from that which can almost be considered not worthy of consideration and looked down at my leg …
To my shock and horror, I saw the most terrifying snowanimal ever known …
Just as I noticed the first hint of blood, the Croc evidently sensed the tension in my muscles …
As he rolled his eyes back into his head: Oh holy dear mother of Bob, I silently cried out to myself, this bastard’s going into a death roll,
I’m a goner!
At just that moment — from out of nowhere — a man jumped onto the back of the Snow-Croc, wedging his hands between the tip of the jaw and its snout, and he — in an instant — wrestled the beast away from my barely torn flesh.
“CRIKEY, MATE! That was a CLOSE one!”
My eyes blinked in complete and utter confusion once again. The only thing that amazed me more than the fact that I was sitting face to face with Steve Irwin was the fact that the edge of the lake had melted slightly and the Snow-Croc went from being a stealthy white beast to — somehow — about five shades of green.
I shook my head and the only words that came to mind instantly blurted out of my mouth, “How’d he turn so green so quickly?”
“Oh,” Stevo laughed, “this’ns a Sheila ya see?”
I shrugged my shoulders, still perfectly confused.
“Ya see,” he grinned maniacally, “if ya stick yer thumb up the bum of a female snow croc, she’ll turn completely docile right away and — for reasons nobody rightly understands — she’ll turn a silly shade of green too.”
I blinked a few more times.
Steve blurted out again, “In’t that Uh’MAZIN?!?!?
“I mean, look at her …
“Whe’s a real beaut, is’nt she?
“I love these animals …”
I finally spoke up, “You have your thumb inside of her asshole?”
“Yeah,” he smiled innocently, “she really enjoys it!”
I blinked again … confused.
Steve broke the silence: “Wanna have a go at it?”
. . .
. . . to be continued …
Did you watch the Super Bowl yesterday? OMB, there was that little piece on the Budweiser horse and the bull, following them from childhood on up … ?
DUDE … that was SNOW COW!
But you probably knew that already …
. . .
As *I* expected, it was a damn fine game. As much as I nodded in deference to those who said they believed it was going to be a Colts blow-out, there is no denying the fact that the Saints DO have a strong defense, and when their offense is in “explosive mode” … well, look out!
And as it turns out, it was a clutch play by the defense that make it a lights out event for Mr. Peyton and his MORE than respectable Indianapolis Colts.
Kudos on a game well played, gentleMEN!
Did you catch the theme of the ads from last night?
As you know, the Super Bowl is more about the advertisements than it is the game any more.
But to try and stay on point …
It was clear, to me at least, the a very blunt message was being sent to the American man as a collective whole:
Men … quit being such a bunch of pussies!
That’s right, America … we need to take our masculinity back. For several decades we’ve suffered the slings and arrows of political correctness and hysteric, overly “liberated” female extremists who have been downright psychopathic in their efforts to strip our society of its masculinity.
Give me a break, dude … a fag is a fag, and I’m not talking about Brit slang for cigarette.
If it tries to look like a woman and act like a woman, yet it has a penis … it’s queer, plain as that.
Hetero men these days are expected to grow up to either become emasculated pet husbands or timid little bachelors who are to be quiet and take whatever is handed to them without question.
I’m sorry, but that’s just not right.
Tell ME that this commercial doesn’t say it all …
Men, put your pants back on, okay? I don’t know about you, but I am NOT settling for some stupid car (granted, that actually is a really fun car … one of my best friends owns one and I’m more than a little impressed!)
BUT ANYHOW …
Quite frankly, we cow-tow to too much.
Not saying that any of the things that guy mentioned are horrible … but only in the appropriate setting rather than as a general rule.
Granted, some things must remain the way it has always been.
Let’s say your wife or girlfriend asks you, “Does this make me look fat?”
I don’t care if it makes she look like the result of a genetically engineered cross between a jellyfish and a human, you NEVER answer that one in the affirmative.
Now that I have every overly liberated woman on the planet pissed off, let’s dive out of harms way and enjoy a rittle ROR!
Unquestionably one of my favorite commercials last night!
Come on, you know that that was:
Alright, I’ve still got 3 feet of snow to deal with … and now they’re calling for another foot or more starting tomorrow.
Seriously, this IS the Snowpocolypse!
Until next time …
PEACE OFF, FAUX CURSE!
Oh … my … freaking … BOB!
So much for the brilliant idea of driving across town to bring one of my servers online. I’ll try that trip to the office some other time; the roads are downright treacherous!
Treacherous, I say!
So, we’re quickly approaching “storm of the century” status. The measurements I took a couple hours ago averaged roughly 27 inches and I dare say we’ve seen no less than another 2 inches ever since. And they’re calling for up to another foot now that the storm has stalled over the D.C. area!
. . .
My animals are not the smartest that ever lived, they proved as much today!
Sparky, my Jack Russell, decided she was going to follow me when I attempted to drive across town earlier. I had no idea until I got home 20 minutes or so later. She was a couple blocks from the house following in the tracks left by my truck. To her it must have felt like traversing a major glacial crevace!
All the same, it was funny as all get-out seeing her try to run away from the truck as I came lumbering back up the hill through the neighborhood.
Mr. Floyd, our bigass white tomcat thought he’d get a bit adventurous too. I let him and Sparky out at the same time this morning and sort of forgot about them while I extricating the truck from its snowy grave.
Floyd, as is his habit, started his first outing of the day by dashing across the porch and jumping onto the fence, using the guard rail on the porch as a halfway point to propel himself off of.
He then made the perfectly less than advisable decision to jump off his narrow 6 foot tall perch onto what he thought was terra firma.
Nothing could be further from the truth!
He eventually made his way to the door on the back deck about an hour later! LOL
Bear in mind, we’re talking over two feet of snow and significantly deeper drifts!
Both of those buggers were lucky to have lived. With a Nor’easter of biblical proportions like the one we’re buried in now comes the inevitable visitations of the snow sharks …
But this isn’t just any snow storm …
As I made my up the hill here in the neighborhood I saw a small white figure out of the corner of my eye. In total Steve Irwin style I jumped out of the truck and started digging into the snow bank. Thank god I had my camera!
The last time I saw a snow turtle was in 1979 … and I was as high as giraffe pussy that night.
Same night I was introduced to the snow frog.
It’s probably no coincidence that this plague of snow frogs we’re experiencing comes on the heels of an evening whereupon I drank entirely too much beer and ate far too much chili.
Here’s just the ones that I pulled off the windshield of my truck this morning:
This storm is so intense that we’ve seen the return of the greater Loudoun glacier! So, maybe that whole thing I had about global warming a few weeks ago was just an inconvenient joke.
Some of the rarer species of snow animals only come out when the accumulation totals are 20 inches and more. Today we are witnessing some species that were previous thought extinct.
Shortly before sunrise I was assaulted and later violated by the greater Loudoun mountain snowrilla …
Believe it or not, the Snow Joey is actually the marsupial equivalent of the hyena. While I was being humiliated and emotionally scared for life by the snowrilla, a pair of snow Joeys stood guard and just cackled like the foul beasts they are …
And the biggest risk of all is the single deadliest animal in the snow kingdom.
Don’t venture out into this stuff today if you don’t have to. When this snow gets this deep, the risk of attack becomes almost inevitable.
Yes, sports fans … the snow snake.
What is amazing about the snow snake is that it is the deadliest snake on Earth. What makes that amazing is the fact that they have no fangs, no venom, and they do not constrict their prey like the python and constrictor species.
Yet they are the deadliest snake on Earth …
Typically, snow snakes dine on the pygmy snow monkey …
If you’ve never tried them before, you must! They taste great, not too filling, and goes perfect with cheap beer and peanuts! I prefer them sushimi style, but they fry up really well too.
. . .
With light snow falls of several inches or less, snow snakes pose little to no threat. As the depth increases so too does the risk of attack.…
Hey cool, Jay Bizzle and Eh’mi just showed up. Big balls those two, made it all the way up the hill without an attack. Must’ve been the smell of bacon that lead them up the hill.
I dare say Spanky’s is about the only place in the entire county that’s open today and it sounds like we’re following Jay Bizzle and his bride out for round two.
Well, folks … I guess I best take a quick shower and strap on the snow boots.
. . .
You’re probably wondering how it is that the snow snake can be the deadliest snake on Earth if it can’t bite and doesn’t constrict, huh?
It crawls up your ass and freezes you to death.
True story, but that’ll have to wait for some other blog some other time.
Stay warm, sports fans!
And don’t go out on the roads unless you HAVE to.
Or if you’re headed out to Spanky’s. We’ll check in again later!
Well, sports fans … we’re at the halfway point of the storm and the total snow fall is already well over 2 feet! This is nucking futs, I tell ya … downright futher nucking MUTTS! In case you haven’t heard, the mid Atlantic region is getting slammed by a Nor’easter of historic proportions; literally. According to the weather man on channel 4, we still have some pretty heavy bands of snow that we need to brace ourselves for.
It was something else listening to the events of last night unfold. There were people there who worked for various state agencies. One was a guy from Winchester who decided to stay at a local hotel. His explanation being that our town was preferable to is own if he was going to have to be snowed-in for the weekend. Hard to argue that logic …
The Spousal Unit, after one of her MANY telephone calls that interrupted our game of Golden Tee, came up to me and said, “Omigawd, honey!!!!”
She went on to explain that a guy from some government agency came to the fire house that he volunteers at and said to put everyone on alert because it looks like the storm is going to stall and accumulations could get as high as 64 inches.
I am crapping you negative!!!!
Well, I signed on to one of my workstations at the office this morning only to discover that we lost power over night. So, rather than sitting here snagging photos from the week and blogging, I’m now headed out to clear the snow off the truck and head to work to fix the problem.
Oh, and I want to know who threw the cocaine into the snow monkey enclosure!!! They’ve escaped and all hell has broken loose.
I’ll be back to report on the Snowpocolypse here shortly.
Until then, always remember …
START Buck’s INTRO:
How’day, all …
We’re cool like that.
Ok, you’re back!
. . . drum roll please! . . .
Ladies and gentlemen …
Boys and girls …
Children of all ages!!!
Allow me to present to you my dear and personal friend:
Some of you know may him as “Jay Bizzle”; most of you probably have absolutely no idea who he is.
And that’s okay; we don’t expect you to remember everything. I mean, let’s face it … some of you are highly afflicted members of the “A.D.D. FOR LIF … oh wow, check out the kitty” club …
and some of you are just hopeless slackie pot-heads …
hell, some of you don’t even actually read these posts in their entirety. Like a mentally challenged child in the waiting room of the free clinic, you’re just interested in the pictures; and that’s ok!
But anyhow …
Jay Bizzle is a good friend of mine. He’s a charter member of the annual tuna expedition to the Outer Banks (my local friends and long time readers know to what I refer). A while back I invited him to consider becoming a contributor to this little corner we all share here in the deepest, darkest dredges of cybespace, and last night he actually took me up on my offer!
So, all riff-raff and ego-stroking aside … grab your favorite beverage of choice … kick off your shoes … take a load of them dogs and let’s enjoy a few meanderings from my good friend, Jay Bizzle!
//END Buck’s INTRO
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Reading is Fun’Demental
When the Miz Biz is not yelling at me, I love to read. And I love to read just about anything from cereal boxes to road signs. I’ve come across a few items I’d like to share with Buck and his world. All the voices in my head have had their “B” hits so they are clam and will allow me to share.
With out further adieu …
I want to blame snow cow for some reason. With all the snow we have had this season, I don’t think anybody in our area lost their car. However some of us did lose our spleen from to much time at the Spanks.While we’re talking of cars…
Shake your head ruefully please.
Reminds me of the movie M.A.S.H. when the jeep driver kept saying. “G D ARMY” and in the end pipes out “G D ARMY JEEP”
…Lets stick with the cars.
Item Three …
Now ya gotta laff at that … I mean, that’s just brilliant!!! Why was SHE working at Hooters? Personally I think her chest looks like two aspirins on an Ironing board.
Sorry Jodee, but you got PUNKED!!
Item Four …still kinda dealing with cars…
Some things you just can’t make up. Booze makes people do strange things, eh? If you haven’t done so, go back and read the whole article! In the end some kids were losing their minds in the court room. If I would have been there — even at my age, and I ain’t no spring chicken — I would have acted like a 12th grader too.
“A Stettler man tried to eat his underwear in the hope that the cotton fabric would absorb alcohol before he took a breathalyzer test, provincial court heard this week.
David Zurfluh was subsequently acquitted of a charge of impaired driving because he blew a .08, the legal limit.
But the testimony broke up people in Judge David MacNaughton?s provincial court here Thursday afternoon.
Mr. Zurfluh was collared by RCMP Const. Bill Robinson after he ran from his vehicle, which had been seen weaving down the highway.
While sitting in the back of the patrol car, Mr. Zurfluh tried to eat his shorts, Const. Robinson told the court.
Mr. Zurfluh said he ripped the crotch out of his shorts, stuffed the fabric in his mouth, then spit it out.
A class of law students from William E. Hay Composite High, in court as observers, was removed by the teacher when testimony enlivened the proceedings. The Grade 11 and 12 students had difficulty maintaining composure.
“People were leaving the courtroom with tears in their eyes, trying not to laugh,” said RCMP Const. Peter McFarlane.”
reprinted from an article by D’Arcy Rickard, “The Red Deer Advocate”, Red Deer, Alberta, Canada:
Item Five …Away from the cars, finally..
What, did Homer fake his death? Or was HendelBergenHeinzel spelled wrong?
…lets move on …
Item Six …
A BIG burrito!!!! HONEY GET MY GLASSES!!!!! I THINK I SMELL SOMETHING!!!!!
Unbelievable, isn’t it?
Item Se7en …don’t worry, we’re coming to a close …
Reminds me of the term “colder than a witches tit in a brass bra”.
Metal suspension and holders?? Are they sagging THAT bad??
Lock with keys …
BUCK git ur hands off Miz Biz’s BOOBS!!!!
I hope you have enjoyed. Feel free to buy me as much beer as you want and I’ll stalk you forever.
Stinky finger and all.
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Cuz that’s how we roll. This website is for entertainment purposes only!
If you don’t leave a comment …
The hyenas from hell WILL sodomize you!
Good day to you kind citizens of Bucks Werld, and a happy February to all!
It has been awhile since I have had anything worth writing about, and I doubt today will be any different but I will try anyway.
The nerd herd here at the office has unexplainably lost all of its pretty womanly talent (receptionists) and now us dorks are manning the front office until they return, and its glaringly obvious why we don’t do this job every day, we suck at it.
We have no people skills, we have failed to adapt in socially acceptable ways to everyday situations, which is why most of us are slightly weird, mentally gangly loser’s anydamnway.
It’s a good thing that this company’s public representation is the nice ladies that are the face of the front office, otherwise we would go bankrupt.
We tend to turn the music up loud and throw things at each other while screaming expletives and making crude drawings on the white boards until we can find some poor loser fellow employee whose left their computer unlocked so we can put a semi-nude picture of David Hasselhoff holding/molesting puppies as their desktop background.
I’ve seen zoo chimpanzees show more decorum while flinging poo at each other.
Speaking of poo flinging, and animals in general…
This whole recent “snow animals” direction that Buck has taken up with seems to reside a little too close to beastiality than I would prefer to live, so I am not going to comment on his: whale/pig/cow/glove/elephant/shark/fist/kangaroo/frog, menagerie of unhealthy obsessional delusions for the moment, but I do reserve the right to hold judgment at a later date. (at which time I may enlist the help of our fair and unbiased readership to attempt to hold him accountable for the “things that have been seen, cannot be UNseen.” effect. )
Moving on before I incur the wrath of Buck…
Well Christmas came and went, New Years came and went, hell even janularry came and went and now 1/12th of 2KX is gone and I have nothing to show for it other than a few dozen empty 6 pack containers of Guinness and a pair of skis that are one full ski short of being a pair of skis.
I still have both the poles though, so while I’m screaming down the hill on one ski, throwing empty bottles of beer at the little ski-monkey kids, I can whack the ones I miss with my poles.
Skiing is fun as hell dude.
Living in the great white north as I do, there are two things we have no shortage of here…snow and beer. ( I will not include fat women in this short list because that would be more than two things, and I typed the word two already so I can’t go back and change it now)
The snow is awesome cause it make the lakes freeze solid so we can fish without our boats sinking (we have old boats). This is known as “drunken frozen lake fishing”, and we tow the boats right out on the lake and drill holes through the ice and drunkenly try to cast our lures into the holes we drilled.
We never catch more than a buzz, but we sure have fun doing it. When we are drunk enough we pull the boats back off the lake and drag them through the city streets (after lighting them afire of course).
(I heart Guinness)
(our boat was slightly smaller than this, though the fire just just as spectacular, expecially at about 45mph)
I suppose this is why our boats normally sink during the summer, “drunken unfrozen lake fishing”, season (I understand they have this new thing out for putting under your boat, it has wheels or something, weird). This might explain why our relationship with the local authorities might be a little strained (it’s usually their boats we borrow while they are out driving their little cop cars around, ok that was only one time, long memories those cops).
(true story…)( tank de laud for the statue of limitations, and the Marine Corps taking me away from the area for awhile)
The only down side is when we are done drinking we have to pick up all the empty beer bottles and cans cause normally in the summer we can just fillem with water and watch em sink to the bottom of the lake, but frozen water don’t sink, so our beer cans float on top of the ice and we have to pick em up and put em in the back of the neighbors truck.
Believe it or not this is a better method of fishing than our former and more explosive method.
(better being relative of course)
I have nearly worn out my Christmas gift of BuckyBalls making intricate shapes and spheres and helixical pointless do-dads. My coworkers have also taken a liking to my balls and ask to play with them quite often. The down side to this is that I work with mostly men, and the girls I DO work with seem disinterested. So I don’t share them as often as I would like.
Meow its time for a signature section of mine called…
Nuthin’s Vogon Poetry Corner
Today I would like to share with you a little gem that I havn’t written yet, so I had better start.
…and here it is!!
Senility is Bliss
roses are red
tacos are pink
I saw my gran nekkid
now I need a shrink
Water is blue
fire is red
I dont understand
how grandpas not dead
mustard is yellow
lettuce is green
you cannot unsee
what has been seen
Salt is to sprinkle
pepper to grind
I bet grandpas thankful
hes almost blind
Gran struts proud nekkid
says shes in her prime
Gran doesnt care
**takes deep bow**
OK people I has to go, work is over and it’s time for supper, and I shant be late.
Talk at cha later!