When I got here this morning, I greeted one of my coworkers with a, "Good morning!" She responded saying, "Happy Friday," and I said, "And it is a happy one, isn't it?"
What fools were we.
Today is easily the worst day of work ever. I have had two of the messiest, most difficult critical incidents (that's what I work with) ever, and on top of that, our company's redesign is hugely flawed, and we're really feeling those flaws in our call organization today. From 9:30-11, I had three very stressful issues freaking me out with force.
Now I'm not an easily stressed person. It takes a lot to shake me up. But this week has me completely fried. Thankfully I only have a three day week next week, but that still might be difficult. Here's what I believe I need to make it through to next weekend:
-Breakfast in bed at least once, preferably twice.
-A couple good foreign films (oddly the most comforting cinema around)
-Tea party.
-Up to, but no more than, three hours in a library or book store.
-A walk around the lakes or anywhere with fresh air and colored leaves.
-Many good naps.
-Lots of classical music.
At least my brain's not on fire, right?
9.29.2006
I Respect You, Car
Much too often when we're driving do we get stuck behind the putzes. They're going five mph under the limit, and they don't know they're pissing everybody off. Usually I get frustrated at these drivers, but today I recited this little ditty to myself to help me deal with it:
I respect your speed, car. You don't care that other people want to go faster and speed by you in disgust. They're the jerks, not you. You're calm and composed. You, madam, are the queen of the road.
And then I was really really happy when she took the next exit.
I respect your speed, car. You don't care that other people want to go faster and speed by you in disgust. They're the jerks, not you. You're calm and composed. You, madam, are the queen of the road.
And then I was really really happy when she took the next exit.
9.28.2006
The Return of Funny
I predict October will be the least funny month of my existence. It will be cold, and the cold isn't funny; it might be darker more often, and that's really not funny; and Halloween isn't funny at all. We've got 31 of the blandest days to look forward to, people. Hooray.
There are a few other unfunny months that were in the running, but I don't think they'll hold a candle to October 2006. There was September 2001, the first month of college, when I could laugh with no one, but that was merely the absence of funny, not its severe decline. Then there was January 2005, in which I lost my first fantasy football league. And let's not forget October 1997, the year of my freshman homecoming disaster.
Looks like all these non-funnies happen in the bleak months of the year. So basically we're screwed til next April. Until then,
There are a few other unfunny months that were in the running, but I don't think they'll hold a candle to October 2006. There was September 2001, the first month of college, when I could laugh with no one, but that was merely the absence of funny, not its severe decline. Then there was January 2005, in which I lost my first fantasy football league. And let's not forget October 1997, the year of my freshman homecoming disaster.
Looks like all these non-funnies happen in the bleak months of the year. So basically we're screwed til next April. Until then,
My Worst Nightmare
Last night I had the most terrifying dream I've ever had. What could be so scary, you ask? An art exhibit. I'm not talking "Night Gallery" here but actual museum art.
In my dream I went to see a Silence of the Lambs art exhibit, or so it was called. I walked through a door and entered a very large room with art on all the walls. The room was completely silent, and no one else was there. All the art works were portraits in pencil, and the all vaguely resembled Hannibal Lector, though I thought they were all different people.
That was it. And I was horrified. I was too scared to go back to sleep. But I did anyway.
In my dream I went to see a Silence of the Lambs art exhibit, or so it was called. I walked through a door and entered a very large room with art on all the walls. The room was completely silent, and no one else was there. All the art works were portraits in pencil, and the all vaguely resembled Hannibal Lector, though I thought they were all different people.
That was it. And I was horrified. I was too scared to go back to sleep. But I did anyway.
9.27.2006
Connie Chung
Remember when Connie Chung was a big deal? She was a superstar anchor on CNN, had her own interview hour called The Connie Chung Interview (I think), and then there was A Connie Chung Christmas, but now she's gone. She got pregnant and disappeared. How does that happen?
Part of my interest is that Connie Chung is a funny name, and part of my interest is that it's so bizarre. It belongs on Unsolved Mysteries. Famous anchorwoman suddenly vanishes from the face of the earth. Makes me think no famous anchorwomen are safe. Katie Couric, watch out.
Part of my interest is that Connie Chung is a funny name, and part of my interest is that it's so bizarre. It belongs on Unsolved Mysteries. Famous anchorwoman suddenly vanishes from the face of the earth. Makes me think no famous anchorwomen are safe. Katie Couric, watch out.
9.26.2006
The Mind of Jeshurun
I don't know if any of read Jess's blog, but his latest entry is definitely a fun read. Jess is a pretty creative guy, so he's got a lot of enjoyable ideas on that blog of his.
So this entry is a myth about the creation of alcohol. Myths have always intrigued me but not because I'm interested in the stories. I love them because I always wonder how big the gods are. Like with Promoetheus, the god who brought fire to man, I imagine this 200-ft-tall giant jumping off a cloud and handing a giant torch to a dirty, thick-bearded caveman. Of course the caveman is too small to carry it, so he inadvertently burns his village down. In Jess's story, I imagined this giant Hugh with a giant goblet full of booze just pouring his goblet out on everyone while they stand below with their mouths open. But too much comes down and destroys their civilization and washes them out to sea. That's probably what happened to Atlantis.
Anyway, gods are big, and if I ever met one, I think I'd be really intimidated. And then I'd be crushed like an ant.
So this entry is a myth about the creation of alcohol. Myths have always intrigued me but not because I'm interested in the stories. I love them because I always wonder how big the gods are. Like with Promoetheus, the god who brought fire to man, I imagine this 200-ft-tall giant jumping off a cloud and handing a giant torch to a dirty, thick-bearded caveman. Of course the caveman is too small to carry it, so he inadvertently burns his village down. In Jess's story, I imagined this giant Hugh with a giant goblet full of booze just pouring his goblet out on everyone while they stand below with their mouths open. But too much comes down and destroys their civilization and washes them out to sea. That's probably what happened to Atlantis.
Anyway, gods are big, and if I ever met one, I think I'd be really intimidated. And then I'd be crushed like an ant.
9.25.2006
Behind a Truck
Today I am very tired. I feel like my brain disappeared. Or maybe it got heavier. Either way, I can't think and don't want to.
On my drive to work, I got behind a truck. I was too tired to change lanes, so I just stuck it out, despite the fact that the truck could only go 30-40 miles per hour. It was a strange experience, to go that slow and not get frustrated. And then when the truck changed lanes, I felt sad. I didn't want to go faster, but I had to. Kind of like I didn't want to get out of bed, but I had to. Perhaps today I'm behind a metaphorical truck?
I don't care that this entry sucks.
On my drive to work, I got behind a truck. I was too tired to change lanes, so I just stuck it out, despite the fact that the truck could only go 30-40 miles per hour. It was a strange experience, to go that slow and not get frustrated. And then when the truck changed lanes, I felt sad. I didn't want to go faster, but I had to. Kind of like I didn't want to get out of bed, but I had to. Perhaps today I'm behind a metaphorical truck?
I don't care that this entry sucks.
9.23.2006
3 Days Later
My apartment still smells like the falafel I made three whole days ago. This is not right. They sound-proofed the place so I don't hear the airplanes, but that shouldn't make it smell-proofed too. Sure, I could open the windows, but then it'll get cold and I'll hear the airplanes again. There's no solution. I'm doomed.
But seriously now, can anybody explain to me why my apartment clings to its smells for so long? This hasn't happened anywhere else I've lived. Maybe it's just the weatherstripping is better here.
But seriously now, can anybody explain to me why my apartment clings to its smells for so long? This hasn't happened anywhere else I've lived. Maybe it's just the weatherstripping is better here.
9.22.2006
Giraffe Hunting
Does anybody ever go giraffe hunting? It seems insanely cruel, which is why I wonder that I've never heard the hippies complain about it. Elephants seem like they don't take poaching that seriously, like it's just a natural part of the elephant life, but with giraffes it seems like a seriously terrible thing to do. What human being would kill a giraffe?
On the other hand, what would keep people from killing giraffes? Their necks? I guess it may make the carcasses a little difficult to move. Maybe their spots camoflauge them really well, and the poachers just can't find them.
No, I think I figured it out. Giraffes are immortal. Think about it. When was the last time you saw a dead giraffe? Never! I did a google image search (one of my new favorite pasttimes) for "dead giraffe," and all that came up were pictures of living giraffes. And then there was this one:
On the other hand, what would keep people from killing giraffes? Their necks? I guess it may make the carcasses a little difficult to move. Maybe their spots camoflauge them really well, and the poachers just can't find them.
No, I think I figured it out. Giraffes are immortal. Think about it. When was the last time you saw a dead giraffe? Never! I did a google image search (one of my new favorite pasttimes) for "dead giraffe," and all that came up were pictures of living giraffes. And then there was this one:
I'm Just Here for the Free Cake
This actually happened.
There is cake on the table near my pod at work. Some stranger comes up and helps himself to it.
STRANGER: Good morning!
MY COWORKER: Yeah, it's Friday!
STRANGER: This cake looks delicious.
MY COWORKER: It is. I love cheesecake.
STRANGER: Whose birthday is it?
MY COWORKER: Lisa's.
STRANGER: Tell her I say happy birthday when she gets back.
MY COWORKER: Wait, who are you?
STRANGER: I'm Dan.
MY COWORKER: Do you work here?
STRANGER: Not as such.
MY COWORKER: What are you doing here?
STRANGER: I'm in town for the weekend from Toronto, and I heard you had some free cake.
MY COWORKER: How did you get in here?
MY OTHER COWORKER: Cut him some slack, there's plenty of cake.
STRANGER: Thanks.
MY COWORKER: You should leave.
STRANGER: I can't.
MY COWORKER: Why not?
STRANGER: I'm still eating my cake.
Silence
STRANGER: (with mouth full of cake) This weather sure sucks, huh?
There is cake on the table near my pod at work. Some stranger comes up and helps himself to it.
STRANGER: Good morning!
MY COWORKER: Yeah, it's Friday!
STRANGER: This cake looks delicious.
MY COWORKER: It is. I love cheesecake.
STRANGER: Whose birthday is it?
MY COWORKER: Lisa's.
STRANGER: Tell her I say happy birthday when she gets back.
MY COWORKER: Wait, who are you?
STRANGER: I'm Dan.
MY COWORKER: Do you work here?
STRANGER: Not as such.
MY COWORKER: What are you doing here?
STRANGER: I'm in town for the weekend from Toronto, and I heard you had some free cake.
MY COWORKER: How did you get in here?
MY OTHER COWORKER: Cut him some slack, there's plenty of cake.
STRANGER: Thanks.
MY COWORKER: You should leave.
STRANGER: I can't.
MY COWORKER: Why not?
STRANGER: I'm still eating my cake.
Silence
STRANGER: (with mouth full of cake) This weather sure sucks, huh?
Cat on Phone
I don't know why I found this. I just did a google image search for "cat on phone," and this is what it showed me. I was actually surprised by the very small number of pictures of real cats holding phones. This was the only one. Am I the only person who thinks that's weird?
I like this one cuz the cat has one paw over the talking end, like he has to say something to someone in the room. The way he's looking at the camera, he's like, "Hey photographer, it's for you." Either that or, "Look at me, I'm on the phone!" and then back to the phone call, "What's that you say Mr. Sugarbottom?"
I like this one cuz the cat has one paw over the talking end, like he has to say something to someone in the room. The way he's looking at the camera, he's like, "Hey photographer, it's for you." Either that or, "Look at me, I'm on the phone!" and then back to the phone call, "What's that you say Mr. Sugarbottom?"
A Network of Nonsense
Yesterday I got a little toy astronaut for a gift. But this isn't a story about how I got, it's a story about what happened afterwards.
This astronaut comes from a company called Ticomix, and there's a website printed on the astronaut for me to check out. So I checked it out. I half-expected it to be some corporate comic book ("Ticomix" = "Ty Comics"?). I mean, the astronaut carries a wrench and has claws; maybe that's his superpower? Failing that, I figured it had to be some sort of pharmaceutical product. I was wrong on both counts.
Ticomix is in all probability a ghost company or a money-laundering front. Their slogan is "A network of solutions," which is exactly like saying, "We don't do anything." If they actually do something, most of the people who work there probably don't know what it is. Things they "do" include "data conversions" and "technical system evaluation," and one of their products is called "gismo." Not making this up. I almost wish they would at least pretend they were a real company, but that wouldn't be as entertaining.
The astronaut is part of a program they have that simulates Apollo 13. Like they make people play Houston and try to get the astronauts back home alive. It looks like work groups or schools go to wherever-this-place-is and Ticomix throws them in a room and says, "You have 10 hours before your astronauts die. Good luck." It's supposed to be a learning experience. And it costs $250, which supposedly saves you $450. I'm sorry, but if I'm spending $250, I am saving nothing. They better give everybody a puppy for that kind of entry fee. A space puppy, actually.
They have a customer quote on their website from the Rock Valley Federal Credit Union that says, "You and your staff have done a wonderful job and I look forward to our ongoing relationship." This is the kind of thing you say to a janitor. Or a mob boss. But I think that devalues what janitors and mob bosses do for our society.
This astronaut toy is seriously making my day, though.
This astronaut comes from a company called Ticomix, and there's a website printed on the astronaut for me to check out. So I checked it out. I half-expected it to be some corporate comic book ("Ticomix" = "Ty Comics"?). I mean, the astronaut carries a wrench and has claws; maybe that's his superpower? Failing that, I figured it had to be some sort of pharmaceutical product. I was wrong on both counts.
Ticomix is in all probability a ghost company or a money-laundering front. Their slogan is "A network of solutions," which is exactly like saying, "We don't do anything." If they actually do something, most of the people who work there probably don't know what it is. Things they "do" include "data conversions" and "technical system evaluation," and one of their products is called "gismo." Not making this up. I almost wish they would at least pretend they were a real company, but that wouldn't be as entertaining.
The astronaut is part of a program they have that simulates Apollo 13. Like they make people play Houston and try to get the astronauts back home alive. It looks like work groups or schools go to wherever-this-place-is and Ticomix throws them in a room and says, "You have 10 hours before your astronauts die. Good luck." It's supposed to be a learning experience. And it costs $250, which supposedly saves you $450. I'm sorry, but if I'm spending $250, I am saving nothing. They better give everybody a puppy for that kind of entry fee. A space puppy, actually.
They have a customer quote on their website from the Rock Valley Federal Credit Union that says, "You and your staff have done a wonderful job and I look forward to our ongoing relationship." This is the kind of thing you say to a janitor. Or a mob boss. But I think that devalues what janitors and mob bosses do for our society.
This astronaut toy is seriously making my day, though.
9.20.2006
An Ode to Montana
O, Montana, fair land of...something,
I don't really know what you're about,
but who does, I guess.
I think you have some mountains,
Maybe on your western side;
I assume that's what makes the border
Between you and Idaho.
How is Idaho, by the way?
I remember that I used to think
Mt. St. Helens was part of your land
Because your capital is Helena,
But now I realize I was mistaken,
Though I would probably like you more
If you had some volcanoes.
I don't even know where Helena is,
Come to think of it,
But I'm not that surprised.
I wonder if anybody lives there.
I just looked it up: 25 thousand.
There are more people in Richfield,
But there might be fewer in Wyoming.
I'll give you that, Montana.
You're better than Wyoming.
I don't really know what you're about,
but who does, I guess.
I think you have some mountains,
Maybe on your western side;
I assume that's what makes the border
Between you and Idaho.
How is Idaho, by the way?
I remember that I used to think
Mt. St. Helens was part of your land
Because your capital is Helena,
But now I realize I was mistaken,
Though I would probably like you more
If you had some volcanoes.
I don't even know where Helena is,
Come to think of it,
But I'm not that surprised.
I wonder if anybody lives there.
I just looked it up: 25 thousand.
There are more people in Richfield,
But there might be fewer in Wyoming.
I'll give you that, Montana.
You're better than Wyoming.
9.18.2006
Socks are Complicated
In Madison there's this homeless guy who if you give him money, he'll tell you a joke. Great guy. He once told me this joke:
HE: Do your socks have holes in them?
ME: Um...no.
HE: Then how'd you get them on?
I didn't laugh, or maybe I laughed politely. I don't remember. Either way, that joke was not funny. Plus I lied. My socks have tons of holes in them.
I imagine two possible variations on this joke.
HE: Do your socks have holes in them?
ME: Yes.
HE: Oh.
Or...
HE: Do your socks have holes in them?
ME: Yeah, tons.
HE: Me too, man.
ME: It's a hard life.
HE: You bet it is.
I would have laughed much more at either of those. Great guy, though.
HE: Do your socks have holes in them?
ME: Um...no.
HE: Then how'd you get them on?
I didn't laugh, or maybe I laughed politely. I don't remember. Either way, that joke was not funny. Plus I lied. My socks have tons of holes in them.
I imagine two possible variations on this joke.
HE: Do your socks have holes in them?
ME: Yes.
HE: Oh.
Or...
HE: Do your socks have holes in them?
ME: Yeah, tons.
HE: Me too, man.
ME: It's a hard life.
HE: You bet it is.
I would have laughed much more at either of those. Great guy, though.
9.16.2006
Dear Diary
Went for a bike ride today. Saw at least one interesting sight. A woman was taking her two dogs for a walk, only one of them was in a stroller. A sheltie. I half-expected the dog to be on top of a baby because, really, who puts a dog in a stroller? No baby, though.
Butt got really sore.
Sincerely,
Ben
Butt got really sore.
Sincerely,
Ben
9.14.2006
The Manitoban Invasion
I've seen a lot of Manitoba license plates on cars lately. I average at least one a week, maybe two. I see more of these than Wisconsin license plates it seems. At first I was pleasantly surprised at the novelty, then I was fascinated by their continued appearance, and now I'm very much afraid.
We can safely assume that the number of Manitobans I've encountered is only a sample of the number actually in Minnesota. I would estimate that my sightings account for only 5% of all Manitobans within our state bounds, meaning that there could be as many as 500 Manitobans here to threaten our peace and security.
As this map demonstrates, Manitoba is using Minnesota as a staging ground for an all-out invasion of our entire country.
Unless we can stop this menace soon, we face an inevitable destruction the likes of which we've never seen. Imagine a United States dominated by central Canadians. Imagine your worst nightmare multiplied by ten thousand. That's what we're heading for. I suggest we move to Mexico while we still can.
We can safely assume that the number of Manitobans I've encountered is only a sample of the number actually in Minnesota. I would estimate that my sightings account for only 5% of all Manitobans within our state bounds, meaning that there could be as many as 500 Manitobans here to threaten our peace and security.
As this map demonstrates, Manitoba is using Minnesota as a staging ground for an all-out invasion of our entire country.
Unless we can stop this menace soon, we face an inevitable destruction the likes of which we've never seen. Imagine a United States dominated by central Canadians. Imagine your worst nightmare multiplied by ten thousand. That's what we're heading for. I suggest we move to Mexico while we still can.
9.12.2006
Qwerty
I am now absolutely convinced that the "qwerty" style keyboard is actually some elaborate code system. Whoever invented it arranged the letters in a particular way so that you have to learn a custom-tailored typing method, but these diabolical geniuses arranged the letters in such a way that if you move your hands to different places on the keyboard, you would be able to type out some kind of Nazi code.
I have yet to discover what the hand placement for the code is, and I'm afraid that without the original encoded message to translate, I won't be able to figure it out. So we are almost definitely in the hands of some clandestine, evil organization that is operating right beneath our noses, and there is nothing we can do about it.
I have yet to discover what the hand placement for the code is, and I'm afraid that without the original encoded message to translate, I won't be able to figure it out. So we are almost definitely in the hands of some clandestine, evil organization that is operating right beneath our noses, and there is nothing we can do about it.
9.11.2006
The Food Chain
Inspired by my brief philosophical venture on "the source of all our troubles," I bring you...
The Food Chain
Let's discuss. We begin on the right with "fungus." This "fungus" is the initial source of all human unhappiness and dissatisfaction in that it is ugly and probably smells bad. You can find "fungi" in abundance in the American South, Canada, Africa, and Eastern Europe.
The chain moves from there to "poop," also known as "feces." How does "fungus" bring us to "feces"? It begins with the fungus' constant rumination on itself as the root cause of all human misery, and ends when that thought process naturally brings us to a pile of poop. As the arrow suggests then, the fungus eats the feces. Or maybe it's the feces eats the fungus. I don't remember. Something gets consumed, though. It'd be gross if somebody was eating poop.
In step three, we encounter "mouse" and "corn," the treacherous twin brothers of the food chain. They tend to deceive their simple predecessors "fungus" and "feces" with riddles and mind games. It's often a cruel battle of wits that mouse and corn rarely lose. This stage usually ends with the feces being absorbed through the mouse's skin or corn's husk, contributing to a stronger, more fearsome duo.
Stage four, also known as the Apocalpyse Stage of the food chain, happens when "mouse" and "corn" have become massive beyond belief. At this point the sun spawns "firecat," a supernatural animal of uncanny power and speed. Firecat battles mouse and corn in the far reaches of space, often across many galaxies. The battle can last as long as 50 billion years, depending on the weather. If firecat wins, it eats both mouse and corn in triumph, thus giving the food chain its title of "food chain." Historical note: in all the previous cylces of the food chain, firecat has never lost.
We begin again with the ensuing death of the firecat. The firecat cannot live very long after the epic space battle with mouse and corn because it gets very bored. Observers tend to get bored as well. The transition from firecat to fungus has therefore never been documented.
Let's discuss. We begin on the right with "fungus." This "fungus" is the initial source of all human unhappiness and dissatisfaction in that it is ugly and probably smells bad. You can find "fungi" in abundance in the American South, Canada, Africa, and Eastern Europe.
The chain moves from there to "poop," also known as "feces." How does "fungus" bring us to "feces"? It begins with the fungus' constant rumination on itself as the root cause of all human misery, and ends when that thought process naturally brings us to a pile of poop. As the arrow suggests then, the fungus eats the feces. Or maybe it's the feces eats the fungus. I don't remember. Something gets consumed, though. It'd be gross if somebody was eating poop.
In step three, we encounter "mouse" and "corn," the treacherous twin brothers of the food chain. They tend to deceive their simple predecessors "fungus" and "feces" with riddles and mind games. It's often a cruel battle of wits that mouse and corn rarely lose. This stage usually ends with the feces being absorbed through the mouse's skin or corn's husk, contributing to a stronger, more fearsome duo.
Stage four, also known as the Apocalpyse Stage of the food chain, happens when "mouse" and "corn" have become massive beyond belief. At this point the sun spawns "firecat," a supernatural animal of uncanny power and speed. Firecat battles mouse and corn in the far reaches of space, often across many galaxies. The battle can last as long as 50 billion years, depending on the weather. If firecat wins, it eats both mouse and corn in triumph, thus giving the food chain its title of "food chain." Historical note: in all the previous cylces of the food chain, firecat has never lost.
We begin again with the ensuing death of the firecat. The firecat cannot live very long after the epic space battle with mouse and corn because it gets very bored. Observers tend to get bored as well. The transition from firecat to fungus has therefore never been documented.
Angry
Where the HECK are my M&Ms! I had a candy dish on my desk FULL of M&Ms not FIVE MINUTES AGO, and now they're GONE! I am TEED OFF. Somebody better buy me some more M&Ms or I am going to BURN THIS BUILDING DOWN.
No, I will NOT take Skittles! What kind of joke is this? Skittles? I think it's pretty clear from my hissy fit that I demand the delight of milk chocate that melts in your mouth not in your hand, not some stupid chewy fruit CRAP. GET THE HECK AWAY FROM ME!
Do you people even remember what happened on 9/11? This is why the terrorists attacked us: because we have unlimited access to M&Ms. Are you going to defend the terrorists and let my M&Ms remain stolen? I WILL NOT STAND FOR THIS! NEVER FORGET!
That's it. I'm getting the flamethrower. If my M&Ms aren't melting in my mouth in three GOSH-DARNED seconds, they'll be melting in your charred and burning hand. So help me, I tried to avoid incinerating you, but you had to be a terrorist about it.
No, I will NOT take Skittles! What kind of joke is this? Skittles? I think it's pretty clear from my hissy fit that I demand the delight of milk chocate that melts in your mouth not in your hand, not some stupid chewy fruit CRAP. GET THE HECK AWAY FROM ME!
Do you people even remember what happened on 9/11? This is why the terrorists attacked us: because we have unlimited access to M&Ms. Are you going to defend the terrorists and let my M&Ms remain stolen? I WILL NOT STAND FOR THIS! NEVER FORGET!
That's it. I'm getting the flamethrower. If my M&Ms aren't melting in my mouth in three GOSH-DARNED seconds, they'll be melting in your charred and burning hand. So help me, I tried to avoid incinerating you, but you had to be a terrorist about it.
9.08.2006
How an Ostrich Lives
I've noticed a couple "controversies" afflicting our "world" these past couple days. I'm pretty sure you all expect I don't care, and you're right, so in the interests of not caring, here's my two cents on the issues of our hour.
Tony Blair's resignation: I like this idea. We've had to deal with a tall British ninny long enough. It's time we cycled in the fat British blowhard. Vive la France!
The Facebook Privacy Scandal: Um, can't their friends see all that stuff on their profiles anyway? My suggestion to the paranoid facebookers out there: take about 30 minutes out of your day to chill out, breathe deep, and OH MY GOD WHO IS THAT AT YOUR WINDOW?!?!?!!
American Idol in Minneapolis: Maybe that's why I haven't had any problems with traffic this week.
Who Gets the Leftover Pizza?: I don't care what Dan says, that pizza was mine.
Tony Blair's resignation: I like this idea. We've had to deal with a tall British ninny long enough. It's time we cycled in the fat British blowhard. Vive la France!
The Facebook Privacy Scandal: Um, can't their friends see all that stuff on their profiles anyway? My suggestion to the paranoid facebookers out there: take about 30 minutes out of your day to chill out, breathe deep, and OH MY GOD WHO IS THAT AT YOUR WINDOW?!?!?!!
American Idol in Minneapolis: Maybe that's why I haven't had any problems with traffic this week.
Who Gets the Leftover Pizza?: I don't care what Dan says, that pizza was mine.
9.07.2006
The Rumors of My Death Have Been Greatly Exaggerated
I don't post for six days--not even a week--and people start to think I'm dead. Well, I'm sorry to disappoint you, but I'm still alive. Contrary to what you might think, the human body can survive for up to six weeks without water (I think) and up to eight months without food (that's just a guess), so I would assume that someone could go somewhere around 600 BILLION YEARS without the internet.
Now I suggest you look at the last six days in this light: had I posted, it would have been nothing like the vintage Ben you've come to expect from me. The quality of those posts would have ranged somewhere around the humor level of Garfield or Boy George. You're better off this way.
Now I suggest you look at the last six days in this light: had I posted, it would have been nothing like the vintage Ben you've come to expect from me. The quality of those posts would have ranged somewhere around the humor level of Garfield or Boy George. You're better off this way.
9.01.2006
Three Hours To Kill
Author's note: This is much longer than I expected it to be and much less funny than usual, so you don't need to read the whole thing.
Ben, assassin, walks along a street, enjoying the afternoon sun on a day in which he presumes he doesn't have to kill anybody. But then he gets bored and decides to go on a mission to...kill three hours.
Hour One: Two O'clock
He could already sense his first target and knew it must be nearby. He knew it would be an easy kill too, as Two O'clock tended to be in public places with its guard down. Ben scanned the streets around him, and then he caught sight of it across the street from him, strolling and whistling like there wasn't a care in the world. Ben crossed the street at the next crosswalk, careful not to draw attention to himself, and gradually snuck up behind Two. When they passed by an alleyway, Ben grabbed him by the back of his collar and threw him next to a dumpster.
"Your time's up, Two O'clock," Ben growled.
"No, please! I have money! Here, take it all!" Two pleaded.
"Not this time."
Ben drew his gun and fired two shots at the hour. Two collapsed by the side of the dumpster, and Ben disappeared out the back of the alley.
Hour Two: Three O'clock
Ben figured Two's brother Three might be a little more elusive. Three preferred the solace of obscure and shadowy locales where he wasn't noticed. Unfortunately for him, Ben knew the ins and outs of his gang well enough to extract some information.
A few kids had just finished a game of basketball and a local street court. They stood to the side, gathering their things, and chatting about the game to wrap up. Ben recognized two of Three's thugs, the cousins Three O'Five and Three O'Six. As Ben strolled up to them, they recognized him too and took off running. Ben ran after them, chasing them around corners and through the neighborhood. O'Five eventually lost one of his shoes, which he never finished tying, and Ben caught up to him. He shoved him onto the ground and held him there with his foot on his chest.
"Where's your boss?" Ben demanded.
O'Five spat at Ben's face. "Go to hell."
Ben pressed harder with his foot and O'Five yelled. "You're gonna tell me what I want to know."
"My cousin's gonna get to him before you do."
"I'm gonna find your cousin and kill him if you don't tell where I can find Three O'Clock."
O'Five whimpered. "You wouldn't."
Ben pulled out his gun. "Maybe I'll just kill you instead."
"OK, I'll tell you where he is! Apple Blossom Park, he plays chess with the old people."
Ben lifted his foot up, and O'Five ran off. Ben didn't expect O'Five to tell him the truth, so he decided he could follow him to his target. He caught a taxi and trailed O'Five from a distance.
Sure enough, O'Five ended up at Apple Blossom Park and went straight to the chess boards. Ben got out of the taxi and paid the driver with an ample tip. He walked stealthily over the shuffleboard courts but directed his attention to O'Five and the chess player he whispered to. When he saw the chess player get up and excuse himself from the game, Ben drew his gun and fired into the crowd. Three and his henchman ran off while everyone else ducked down to the ground.
Ben ran after his targets, and lucky for him Three O'Clock couldn't make a fast getaway. Ben nailed him once in the back, and he fell face forward onto the street. O'Five kept running but turned back when he saw his boss go down. Ben walked up slowly, and when he was close enough for a point blank shot, he put one in O'Five's leg.
Hour Three: Four O'Clock
Four O'Clock was the king of them all. Some unoriginal members of the gang called him the Godfather, but it was more accurate to call him the Grandfather. He was the oldest of the bunch, and he practically lived out of the family's watch shop. So Ben knew where to find him, he just needed to figure out how to take him out.
The best way to approach--the only way--was in plain view through the front door. Ben made his presence known, and he kept his hands in plain view for the bodyguards. They patted him down at the entrance and, finding no weapons, let him in.
The Grandfather sat at a table in the middle of the store as if he was expecting Ben. "Sit," he invited.
Ben accepted the invitation but kept a sinister look on his face.
"You've come a long way, today, Benno."
"It's all part of the day's work."
"Do you know why I let you in here?"
"No."
"I am most displeased at your treatment of my family. I am not one to take this sort of treatment lightly."
"What are you saying?"
"Don't worry, you're perfectly safe. I don't kill people in my shop. Consider this a warning."
"Do you know why I came here?"
Four laughed. "Don't patronize me. Either you cease immediately your vendetta against us, or you face the consequences. Do you hear me?"
Ben slid his watch off his wrist. "My dad bought this watch here twenty years ago, I believe."
"Yes, I remember your father."
"And your goons killed him twelve years ago."
"I was sorry to do it, but considering the state of his affairs, it was unavoidable."
"You can take the watch back. I won't be needing it." And with that Ben stood up.
"I've spoken my peace. I hope our next meeting is more under more felicitous circumstances."
"I doubt it," Ben said under his breath.
Ben left the store and walked across the street. Behind him in the shop, the watches clicked away the few remaining seconds before five o'clock. When they reached five, one of them stopped. Ben's watch. The building exploded. Ben smirked and kept walking.
Ben, assassin, walks along a street, enjoying the afternoon sun on a day in which he presumes he doesn't have to kill anybody. But then he gets bored and decides to go on a mission to...kill three hours.
Hour One: Two O'clock
He could already sense his first target and knew it must be nearby. He knew it would be an easy kill too, as Two O'clock tended to be in public places with its guard down. Ben scanned the streets around him, and then he caught sight of it across the street from him, strolling and whistling like there wasn't a care in the world. Ben crossed the street at the next crosswalk, careful not to draw attention to himself, and gradually snuck up behind Two. When they passed by an alleyway, Ben grabbed him by the back of his collar and threw him next to a dumpster.
"Your time's up, Two O'clock," Ben growled.
"No, please! I have money! Here, take it all!" Two pleaded.
"Not this time."
Ben drew his gun and fired two shots at the hour. Two collapsed by the side of the dumpster, and Ben disappeared out the back of the alley.
Hour Two: Three O'clock
Ben figured Two's brother Three might be a little more elusive. Three preferred the solace of obscure and shadowy locales where he wasn't noticed. Unfortunately for him, Ben knew the ins and outs of his gang well enough to extract some information.
A few kids had just finished a game of basketball and a local street court. They stood to the side, gathering their things, and chatting about the game to wrap up. Ben recognized two of Three's thugs, the cousins Three O'Five and Three O'Six. As Ben strolled up to them, they recognized him too and took off running. Ben ran after them, chasing them around corners and through the neighborhood. O'Five eventually lost one of his shoes, which he never finished tying, and Ben caught up to him. He shoved him onto the ground and held him there with his foot on his chest.
"Where's your boss?" Ben demanded.
O'Five spat at Ben's face. "Go to hell."
Ben pressed harder with his foot and O'Five yelled. "You're gonna tell me what I want to know."
"My cousin's gonna get to him before you do."
"I'm gonna find your cousin and kill him if you don't tell where I can find Three O'Clock."
O'Five whimpered. "You wouldn't."
Ben pulled out his gun. "Maybe I'll just kill you instead."
"OK, I'll tell you where he is! Apple Blossom Park, he plays chess with the old people."
Ben lifted his foot up, and O'Five ran off. Ben didn't expect O'Five to tell him the truth, so he decided he could follow him to his target. He caught a taxi and trailed O'Five from a distance.
Sure enough, O'Five ended up at Apple Blossom Park and went straight to the chess boards. Ben got out of the taxi and paid the driver with an ample tip. He walked stealthily over the shuffleboard courts but directed his attention to O'Five and the chess player he whispered to. When he saw the chess player get up and excuse himself from the game, Ben drew his gun and fired into the crowd. Three and his henchman ran off while everyone else ducked down to the ground.
Ben ran after his targets, and lucky for him Three O'Clock couldn't make a fast getaway. Ben nailed him once in the back, and he fell face forward onto the street. O'Five kept running but turned back when he saw his boss go down. Ben walked up slowly, and when he was close enough for a point blank shot, he put one in O'Five's leg.
Hour Three: Four O'Clock
Four O'Clock was the king of them all. Some unoriginal members of the gang called him the Godfather, but it was more accurate to call him the Grandfather. He was the oldest of the bunch, and he practically lived out of the family's watch shop. So Ben knew where to find him, he just needed to figure out how to take him out.
The best way to approach--the only way--was in plain view through the front door. Ben made his presence known, and he kept his hands in plain view for the bodyguards. They patted him down at the entrance and, finding no weapons, let him in.
The Grandfather sat at a table in the middle of the store as if he was expecting Ben. "Sit," he invited.
Ben accepted the invitation but kept a sinister look on his face.
"You've come a long way, today, Benno."
"It's all part of the day's work."
"Do you know why I let you in here?"
"No."
"I am most displeased at your treatment of my family. I am not one to take this sort of treatment lightly."
"What are you saying?"
"Don't worry, you're perfectly safe. I don't kill people in my shop. Consider this a warning."
"Do you know why I came here?"
Four laughed. "Don't patronize me. Either you cease immediately your vendetta against us, or you face the consequences. Do you hear me?"
Ben slid his watch off his wrist. "My dad bought this watch here twenty years ago, I believe."
"Yes, I remember your father."
"And your goons killed him twelve years ago."
"I was sorry to do it, but considering the state of his affairs, it was unavoidable."
"You can take the watch back. I won't be needing it." And with that Ben stood up.
"I've spoken my peace. I hope our next meeting is more under more felicitous circumstances."
"I doubt it," Ben said under his breath.
Ben left the store and walked across the street. Behind him in the shop, the watches clicked away the few remaining seconds before five o'clock. When they reached five, one of them stopped. Ben's watch. The building exploded. Ben smirked and kept walking.
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