|4:19 PM|
People that disable the right mouse button functionality on their websites should be shot. Maybe in the leg. There are other functions of that menu besides "save image as..." you fucking dipshit.
I was browsing a page about titanium, and it brought up the interesting point that titanium burns in both oxygen and nitrogen. "Burns in nitrogen?" I thought. "How fascinating! I must learn more, but I wish to open it in a different window!". My youthful enthusiasm for learning, the love of the pursuit of scientific knowledge, all DASHED, in an instant, by their rightclick protection. Cocksuckers, their page doesn't even have that many images.
What the fuck am I doing here. |4:24 PM|
Man, I goofed up last night. I was supposed to eat dinner with my folks, and I was waiting for Portal to call me back after she was off of work, but I fell asleep. Dammit. Need to get my sleep schedule under some kind of real control. I'm getting better, but it's still not there. Hopefully the drug increases will work.
I'm trying to figure out what to get my father for father's day. I love my dad, but I hate that I am obligated to purchase him a gift on an entirely artificial holiday. It's like being made to feel guilty that I purchased a generic brand of orange juice instead of Minute Maid, pretty much because Minute Maid said so.
Hallmark can kiss the front of my car at 70, possibly 85 miles an hour. I want to purchase a gift from a company that isn't making any extra money by making people feel guilty about buying shit for people. I might give my dad a box of graham crackers. That's a gift that will last as long as a card, and would be appreciated more. Man, graham crackers would be tasty right now.
The real reason I'm posting this is that I wanted to share this gem of a trouble ticket problem description.
This is a printer,fax and scan machine that's does not fax. The Fax# 36861 and it's plugged up to jack number is now RR3-C279. We need to get this faxed fixed and have it all serviced
I spend a lot of my time decoding the crazy moonman language in which my trouble tickets are often written, and this one is a fine example. Another feature of this ticket is the demand that the printer be "serviced". Often customers will ask that among other things, the printer have the magical servicing process performed. Cleaning? Replacement? Waving a magic wand? People who ask for "service" almost always don't know what they want. It's another way of just saying "Just...just make it work!"
Here are some work-safe images X-rays of horrid accidents.
Note I left on a car last night |4:29 PM|
Dear Sir or Madam,
A lesser person would have had your car towed. Aren't you glad that I am above such acts?
Please repay this favor by never parking here again.
P.S. Here is a picture of a rocketship.
These comments work. Probably. ->
(0) comments
Monday, June 14, 2004
Oooh. Naked people. |11:37 AM|
Portal and I were going back to her apartment after the play last night, Wendy's combos in hand, when ancient instincts and senses awoke inside of me. Thousands of years of recent evolution had made me capable of detecting something very important, with clear survival skill impact. Bare tits in my immediate vicinity. I said out loud to Portal, as she was unlocking the door, "Hey, those people are naked!" This is not to say I'm one of those tit-obssesed cavemen, whose only vocabulary consists of the word "WOOOO!" while gesturing with beer. But unexpected nudity is a strange surprise, and the excitement is not so much sexual, but of seeing something you should not.
Protip: When it is dark outside, and the lights are on inside, you will not be able to see through your window. Do not assume this means that the window is just as opaque-seeming from the other side. Especially when you are naked, and brushing your teeth.
She turned to look across the apartment complex, to where a neighbor was perfoming various acts of hygiene wearing only a small thong, in a brightly lit apartment, with the shades wide open. We entered Portal's apartment and peered through the mini-blinds in the most suspicious way possible. Me: "Think we should tell them?" Portal: "Yeah, at the very least it'll be an excuse to meet the new neighbors."
She began to leave, when I said "Wait a second..." and then went back to leering through the shades. After the expected and corrective jab was delivered to my ribs, Portal approached the apartment and knocked on the door. I debated going out onto the porch so that I would be clearly seen eating a hamburger and waving by the naked woman, when it was pointed out just how visible she was. I debated for too long, and Portal came back. She'd let the boyfriend know. I ran to the bedroom, hoping for some kind of comic scene of robe-throwing on and hasty shade pulling. I pulled back the shades, just as the robed woman was approaching her own window, and...just as Portal turned on the bedroom lights.
For the time it takes for the brain to send the "HIDE YOU DUMB BASTARD" signal, I was lit up and visible to the once-naked-now-robed woman, peering through shades, and I might as well have written "VOYEURISTIC PERVERT" in neon on the window.
In conclusion, unexpected breasts can liven up any dinner. Even if the drive through fucks up your order.
The problem with explaining things to my Ma |12:31 AM|
I could be honest with my mother, that I haven't called her back because I was too sick, too depressed, and too busy to really deal with spending time with the family. But this answer, though honest, would not end the conversation. Instead, it would prolong it, into a tortuous ordeal of Salem-esque questioning.
"Why are you depressed?" "Are you going to kill yourself? "Are you gay?" "Did you break up with Portal?" "Did you kill someone?" "Are you sure you aren't gay?"
I'm not exaggerating, these are actual past questions. Along with "Are you drinking too much" and "Are you gambling too much". The questions sound far funnier when I quote them, because I'm in the horrid habit of imitating my mother in only the most shrill tone of voice. Now, I love my mother. And she loves me, and these questions are her way of showing she cares. However, due to this kind of "attention" I now have nearly unlimited patience for nagging.
Portal was amazed that I never, ever complained or accused her of being naggy. She expected it to come up at some point, since even in her own opinion she could be a little insistent. Seeing as I had a graduate degree in being pestered, she was simply outgunned. In the rock throwing fight that is "gentle reminders", my mom is an atomic weapon.
Some random thoughts that don't deserve their own post. |12:00 AM|
While alternating between a Wendy's Frosty and a large rootbeer:
Cecil: *BEEEEEELLLLCH* Portal: Lovely. Cecil: Is this turning you on? Cecil: (In a poor imitation of Portal's voice) "OH YES, PLEASE RAVAGE ME YOU HEAVENLY SLOB!"
I've renamed the trouble ticket queue at work. It is no longer the Printer-Tech queue. It is now the Pantheon Of Agony.
Just saw the last night of Ladee Leroy's play here in town. Damn good stuff, and as a compliment, emotionally draining. I hope her career takes off even more, she's a nice funny lady. The set this time was more elaborate and impressive. I think I prefer the old set though, if only because it had my name and web address spray painted on one of the walls.
