Thursday, April 26, 2007

I didn't know this could happen.

Well, consider hell frozen over. Comcast actually showed up for the appointment today. Dude never figured out what was wrong but through swapping out splitters, blowing on all the connections, and going through 3 new cable modems he finally got me connected (the cable modem I had connected was a week old). That is not to say it was working when he left, only that all the lights were flashing. It turns out that even internally they keep people on hold for eternity. So he was trying to call in to make sure that they had the correct MAC address for me and juggling over to call his other appointments to say he would be late (not me getting the call this time bitches! [not that the last guy called to say he would be late, he just didn't show]) he finally got connected to internal tech support. It was a surprisingly short phone call considering he had been on hold 30 minutes. He just verified the MAC addy they had then hung up. I was still not getting access, so he told me to try again later and then call tech support. Great job! Turns out (shout out, Barry!) he knew what he was talking about and I just had to call them and have them activate my MAC addy again. Why? Don't fucking know, but I do know I have home net again and it is good.

What is not good is that my wireless is still on the fritz. But I will rock the direct connect until Empire can work his magic and then I will repay him with beer. Of course, last night when he and Da Bruiser were without water I put a down payment on the service with water. I swear they have the worst landlord I have witnessed. Dude is a syphilitic donkey felcher.

Oh, and the tech's advice on the cable TV problems was a gem. Seeing as the tech actually showed up the cable decided to work. It's funny, the only channels I have trouble with are the ones I want to watch. On my many calls to Comcast I have checked the other channels and have determined that it is mainly my favorite channels that are out. Most notably 62 (Cartoon Network) and 68 (Comedy Central). But 63 (don't fucking know, as I don't watch this channel) through 66 (AMC) has nary a problem coming in [there is no channel 67, dunno why. maybe it hold some spiritual significance to the shamans that control the inner cabals of cable numerology. or maybe they are just fucktards. actually, now that I think about it I believe 67 was the SciFi channel back in the day and they have left its old post vacant the these past 6 years. that reinforces my fucktard theory some.]! If I flip on the TV in the morning before work these channels will often come on, but not at night when I actually want to watch television. Anyway, his response to my cable TV problem was to tighten the coax and then "If it happens again, call and tell them you need a new box and they will send one out to you." I love it. So, we're assuming that I can count on them to send somebody else out with a new cable box? I wouldn't trust them to carry out a hit on a quadriplegic four year old abandoned in the desert in a wheelchair equipped with Lojak and a remote self destruct. And a half starved mountain lion. And a sack full of pissed off cobras that had been shaken then hit with a stick. And a tactical nuke. You get my point.

Whilst waiting for said tech to reach my domicile I decided to do some much needed cleaning. The floors of my bathroom and kitchen had not been graced with a mop for a very long time and showed the lack. So I break out the mop and bucket and get to work. The bathroom takes some time but get done. A slight hiccup in my plan occurs when I'm mopping the kitchen. I mop so hard that the mop bends in the middle! The fucking piece of shit bends in half in the middle of fucking mopping in front of the stove! I own(ed) one of those mop models that have the handle halfway down for the purported purpose of squeezing out the mop head. It turns out this handle just serves as a handy weak point for the forces on the mop, creating a focal point for the shaft to bend around. If it is not bad enough that I am forced to bend way over, in effect straight up scrubbing the floor, the little metal piece that runs down the inside of the mop from handle to head is now loose. This causes the head to partially detach. Now I am forced to mop hunched over pressing the mop on the floor whilst having to pull up on the handle to keep the head from falling out, but not pulling so hard that the mop head goes into full wring out mode. It was isometric exercise cleaning!

Oh, I tried the two buck chuck last night. Good value, that.

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Wednesday, April 25, 2007

FYYFF

OK. I get it. You fucking have a goddamn ankle biter and think that you and your progeny are God's gift to Candler Park. Well, fuck you you fucking fuck. You are not special. You do not get to traipse down the wrong side of the path with impunity. I know the other bitch on the correct side of the path saw me. Fucking bitch looked me straight in the eyes and didn't even chide you to move over. I understand that you want to walk right next to your postpartum compatriot and discuss the latest innovations in SUV technology that will keep you from having to interact with your child but fucking interrupt your conversation for 20 goddamn seconds. [Editors note: quite a few C-bombs were dropped in the next sentence and it was removed for those with weak constitutions] I'm trying to get some exercise here because I'm reaching behemoth status and do not like it. I need you to get the fuck out of my way so I can keep my heart rate up. Despite what you may think I do not relish the prospect of taking my non-mountainbike off road to avoid smacking you right in your ugly face. I do not look forward to possibly striking a rock and pitching face forward onto the deck or at best losing momentum directly before an upgrade. In short, fuck you. In long, fuck you you fucking fuck.

Yes, I would not be so full of vitriol if they were MILFs and worth a little eyecandyage.

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Continuing on in the vein of disapprobation I would once again like to address the issue of Comcast's customer service. Yesterday for the second time their tech did not show at my abode. I don't have service on the channels I want to watch and I don't have internet service. I can get all the We and Golf Channel that I want, but there is no Comedy Central, Cartoon Network, or (most importantly) fresh pornographic materials of various mediums. Where am I going to get my fill of coprophilic midget stump fucking? Or, better yet, Adult Swim? Really, the only reason I have a TV is for sports and late night comedy. And the only reason for the internet is to fulfill the tenets of my hedonistic lifestyle.

I call on my way to work after the miss the second appointment and the CSR tells me she is contacting dispatch to get an ETA. I'm at work, bitch! An ETA does me no fucking good. Unless you can tell me he can travel back in time I'm boned. So they reschedule for tomorrow and we will see if this peon in a truck shows up. If not, I will be more than a tad peeved and will actually have to go full on asshole to the person who picks up the phone. You've never seen asshole done right unless you've seen my asshole (maybe that came out wrong....nope, I like it).

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BTW, cashew butter and strawberry rhubarb jam sandwiches are most superior. Especially with a nice big glass of organic milk. Far be it from me to get granola up in this bitch, but organic milk does taste better. It is just, for lack of a better term, milkier and more pleasing to the palate. Damn, now I want brownies.

I must have looked like a real duck squeezer checking out from Trader Joe's. I bought all natural chewing gum, organic oranges, organic milk, and tofu. TO-FUCKING-FU! Wait, that sounds like a pretty interesting martial arts discipline. Back to the matter at hand. I'm ashamed to admit it but I bought tofu for the first time in my life. It must have been the hot and sour soup I had for lunch influencing me. I also had Alton Brown haunting the back of my mind and will have to look up some of his tofu recipes. I guess every time I open the fridge I am going to have a stare down with the tofu wondering when I will use it. Next time bring my custom to Trader Joe's it will be a truly meatacular experience.

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Really, those stroller pushing bitches are gonna really push me over the edge one day and one of them is going to get clotheslined. It strikes me that if I start giving in to my impulses and whims I am going to need a very good lawyer.

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Thursday, April 12, 2007

An open letter to those bitches...

An open letter to those stroller pushing bitches:

Ladies,

When the six of you are taking your morning constitutional with your spawn please try and be courteous to those around you. Just because you have managed to procreate does not make you special and unique. Procreation is accomplished solely by unskilled labor and I doubt you have ever contributed in society as a whole. You do not get to ignore the rules of polite society. When you stop and decide to do an impromptu cardio session please pull off to the side of the trail. Do not just clump five of you together and have one other blocking the other side of trail leading this tae-bo testimonial. The small space you left between the strollers was big enough for a jogger to get through easily but I am on a bicycle. It is not like you do not notice me coming as I am fat and winded and making about as much noise as a the average beached whale (never mind the visual similitude). My bike has not yet gotten its yearly service and numerous parts are squeaking and rattling. In short, I am about as unobtrusive as a marching band on meth with raging diarrhea. If I blow through the gap at anything less than a minimum speed you will descend upon me like the band of harpies you truly are claiming that I am endangering your nestlings. So, next time you decide to break off from your stroller pushing to have a step class please adhere to the rules of the road or I will be forced to castigate you in person after crushing at least one of those ankle biters under the wheels of my velocipede.

Sincerely,

The Mayor

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Wednesday, April 11, 2007

Last night I shat a solid gold tarantula

I was lying in bed this morning trying to come up with a statement that would garner the attention of everybody in a group while you skirted on the periphery. Perhaps it is an expansion of my recent obsession with overheardinnewyork.com but I'm not sure. It could be that I was in that particular fugue state of not quite consciousness and a midget in footie pajamas wearing a cape saying "so I shat a solid gold tarantula" is the kind of thing that sticks with you.

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Well, looks like I am going to the Thrashers game. Kuro pulled the trigger on buying some tickets and was counting on me being in. I initially recoiled from the price tag but now I have reconsidered. It is more than worth the price to be a part of history. I saw this team win for the first time at home and went to many, many games their first season. I want to be there as they make their first postseason appearance. I would really like to see Mellanby get his name finally on Lord Stanley's cup and off the top of the list of active players who have never won. In addition, I have not made it to a single game this season and this would make it the first season I hadn't gone and I would not like to break my streak.

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Last night at work I spent 20 minutes making a ransom note. There is a little pink bunny that is nicknamed "the tender bunny" and is supposed to assuage your feelings when your employees screw you over. JB had hijacked the bunny and was taking it to whatever station he happened to be in and was a little obsessed. JEE thought he was getting a little too attached and wanted to hide the tender bunny. I suggested the ransom note because there was a stack of old Sports Illustrated magazines in the break room that was very old and I was feeling crafty. We formed a cabal and three of us sat down with scissors and a couple mags each and went to town. My children made some mistakes so I couldn't focus on goofing off at work and had to actually had to put out some fires and well.....work. Regardless the resulting note was a thing of beauty despite being cobbled together at the last minute.

I came into the office today to a lot of suspicion. I don't know why everybody suspected me (heh)! A fair amount of people came over to give me "mad props" and tell me "you so silly" or "you so stupid". I have hope for forcing a sense of humor on this department yet.

Update: I didn't know this at first but apparently JB turned this department upside and found where tender bunny was hidden and now has it is protective custody. Future shenanigans to follow.

Monday, April 09, 2007

Sprung

Some fancy type people have guest soap and guest towels in their bathroom. Recent events have forced me put my own spin on this procedure. I keep a nice roll of TP in the bathroom closet and pull it out for personal use. Let the masses use the sandpaper with the thickness of onion skin that is on my TP dispenser.

If you are wondering why I have nonpremium TP at all I will let you know that it was a gift. I was without the precious paper and a visitor to my abode brought a four pack of this convenience store special to tide me over. My aversion to this abrasive and structurally unsound paper is well known (except to the gifter of course). I naturally went the next day and procured some quality lavatory paper but am stuck with the remainder of the subpar quad pack.

It is not to say that the lesser paper has no uses. For example, the temperature changes lately have caused me to have nosebleeds and the complete lack of absorbency makes it perfect for nose tampons. Another plus is that Loki does not view it as a toy on the wall as the paper tears too easily for it to be a fun game of "pull all the paper off the roll and watch Sham bluster". But this means the subordinate privy paper will last even longer. I guess I just have to hope that somebody ticks me off to the degree that I am forced to TP their house.

Unfortunately the only person I am fueding with is a local homeless lady. Every time she spies me through the window at Limerick she flicks me off. It all goes back to about 4 years ago when I was walking up to my old apartment and she asks for some change for some food and I (duh) decline to contribute. Fast forward twenty minutes when I am back in my civvies and walking back to the laundromat and we pass each other in the alleyway. She is opening an (ice cold) fotie and I am opening a water. We both walk about ten paces then turn around and stare at the other person. I snort a quick laugh and turn on my heel to return to the land of laundry. She has not approached me for money since and I laugh almost every time I see her drunkenly stumbling through the Highlands.

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We also have the other panhandling all stars. There is middle-aged-white-guy-in-a-plaid-shirt-who-ran-out-of-gas-and-needs-money-to-get-to-his-mother's-house and bedsheets man. Matt once contributed to the gasoline cause and I later explained to him that this guy tried the exact same thing to me the week before. I will give dude credit for hitting me up two days in a row and looking embarrassed when I called him on it. I am considering asking him why he doesn't invest in a gas can. Maybe that would make the scam look less spontaneous. Whereas bedsheets man is a guy who wraps himself in bed linens in lieu of clothing. Well, there may be clothing under there but I'm sure as hell not checking. I will give both of these guys props for constantly updating their respective wardrobes/linen closets.

In the street personality but not panhandler category we have the harbinger of spring that is bicycle shorts man. This dapper gentleman stands on the corner of Ponce and Highland brandishing a cane while sporting bicycle shorts. He always wears bicycle shorts to highlight the fact that God saw fit to bequeath him some serious junk. He is normally found on the corner of Ponce and Highland during rush hour but I have seen him in the Publix and occasionally strolling the streets.

Spring also brings us Braves baseball and it looks like they might have a team this year. So with a rousing "Fuck the Mets" I declare this season that it is on. This will also be the first year that the Thrashers made the postseason and will be facing the Rangers. Since they are also from New York I will declare "Fuck the Rangers" and wish them ill. I hope the pollen messes with their heads. The only tickets that were available for the Saturday game were 80 smackeroos and I'm not bankrolled to spend that much on a sporting event. If the mighty Thrashers overcome the Rangers I will have to be quicker on the draw and try to get playoff tickets more in my price range.