07/29/2004: "Somebody Told Me"
I woke up about 20 minutes ago. Except that right now it's 12:50 PM (July 28th), and this entry won't be posted until sometime late-late tonight/tomorrow. But anyway, I woke up from this crazy dream where I was some sort of terrorist nationalist and I was dispensing to my terrorist naitonalist ranks little tiny boxes of oatmeal.
And when I say tiny boxes I mean like less than a cubic inch, and when I say oatmeal, I mean cyanide-oatmeal. We had somehow figured that were we discovered with legitimate cyanide pills, bad things would happen, so we had to disguise them. In my infinate wisdom, we did this by making them look like food.
Then I woke up, and got more creeped out, because I got to thinking: How easy would it be to make a tiny quantity of cyanide-oatmeal, and then go and like put it in those hotel continental breakfast things?! Or like just drop one or two pieces into someones bowl or something?! I don't think I'll ever be able to eat... oatmeal again. Well fucking fuck. I never ate oatmeal in the first place. Problem solved. Lesson Learned: Don't eat oatmeal, you could die, because that quaker oats bastard is out to get us all. You can just tell, with his stupid hat, and that evil grin he always wears... I don't trust him. Neither should you.
I sneezed the other day, and came to a horrific realization of how incredibly poor my posture is. You know how your entire body kinda convulses when you sneeze? Well mine did that, as usual, except this was imidiately followed by two sickening pops. After recoiling from the sneeze I had to sit and wonder what the hell just happened. I realized then that it was my hips. My sneeze had popped both my hips back into alignment... and it hurt like hell.
Not that this is going to get me to reform my slouching ways, it was just kinda weird and painful. That's all.
Speaking of sneezes, two facts lead me to another horrific conclusion. I read somewhere that sneezes cause the fluids in your body to be expelled at a rate of approximatly 90 miles per hour. I am also told that a sneeze posesses approximatly one tenth (1/10) of the energy that is involved in the typical orgasm.
90... times 10... you do the math. *cringes*
I have a question for all you people with Xangas: Can you cash in your E-Props? You know, like chips at a casino or something? Because that would be kick ass. Or some kind of rewards program... but then again, no, that would suck. Why? Because it would reward the people with the most xanga-reading friends, thus perpetuating this horrific cycle.
Thank god E-Props are worth JACK SHIT; [COMMENT ONLY, BITCHES]
Jeff Foxworthy and "Blue Collar Comedy" in general do nothing for me. If anything they just piss me off. The aim was: Wow, working class men can say clever and intelligent things just as well, if not better than rich people with movie contracts. The actual result was: Hey, rednecks are really as moronic as we all thought. "Oh ha ha. We're funny! We're poor! No one gives a shit! Oh ha ha!"
Have you noticed how I've completely given up on segues between points? Entries now resemble a typical conversation with an ADD kid who hasn't taken his meds in like 36 hours, and might also be hopped up on speed. and heroin. Mep.
They finally started letting me work the store by myself this week. That means I get to listen to whatever radio station I want to. And that means classic rock. Queen came on, there was massive rocking out. David Bowie came on as I was closing, which was neat. And yesterday, as I'm taking out the trash... Stairway To Heaven. And that song is long as fuck, so I got the entire place shut down before it was over. I hit the lights when it ended... coulda been a scene out of a movie.
Speaking of random crap that happens at work:
Yesterday this crazy lady comes in, and the first thing she does is hand me some hangers.
"I brought you some hangers"
"Thanks... can I help you?"
"I need to use your phone. Sometimes you guys let me use the phone. It's long distance, but I have a card so it's ok can I use the phone?"
"...", I hand her the phone "sure..."
So she goes in the back for a while, I kept an eye on her to make sure she didn't go all clepto on me, which is pretty fuckin' hard when all your merchandising is wrapped in celophane. She came back after about 8 minutes.
She hands me the phone "Yeah thanks."
"Did you get who you needed?"
"No, I think someone's following me around tapping my phone. It's always busy then I hear this click noise."
"ummm. OK. Come again."
And I was helping a customer at the time, and she gave me a look, and I gave her a look, and we both just kinda snickered. What the hell was phone lady's deal?! I mean I'm pretty sure she's just crazy and derranged, but what if she isn't? Perhaps she is Randolf Sivotral, whom I mentioned in my entry [Playground Love], who was the American spy who cracked the code of the SSMDS. From the letter I assumed he was a man, and that he was going to die.
But it's very possible he was a woman working under a code name, and that with her dying breath, she dragged herself into some bionic soviet clinic doing illigal research. They took her in for dead, and gave her all robot parts, just to test the new OS. She awoke from her operation, memory blanked, with no memory of her former life as an American spy. The only thing she could do was run away. And since that dark day in 1983, she's been convinced the soviet scientists are still after here, tapping her phone and such.
Or so my observations have indicated. I really want her to come back, so I can ask her all kinds of strange questions about the Cold War and robots.
Does the Dodge Magnum piss anyone else off? Because I hate it. The commercial starts off with some pretty looking sports car coming down a winding stretch, motor roaring. 'OK, I'm thinking, this is cool.' Then suddenly this giant, ugly piece of crap pulls up next to the sports car. 'WTF?!^^' The the ugly thing owns the sports car in a race. See Dodge just wasn't thinking here. You've got me who like fast cars, and then you've got men who like powerful cars. This commercial has a beautiful sports car getting owned, so you've lost the first group. And the Dodge Magnum doesn't have nearly the raw power of something like a real pickup truck, so you've lost the second group.
The conclusion I came to was this one: The Dodge Magnum can be likened to Anime Porn. See both anime and pornography are novel in their own rights, much like beauty and power are cool separately, but when you mix them it's just stupid and lame; Even then though, people will still run the fuck out to buy ugly cars and crappy porn, so why do I even bother...
I found this online video game, Ragnarok Online. It's the deal where it's like the entire 'world' in cyber space. You get to go questing and have a unique character, and can get killed by other unique characters. I started reading into it and got really excited. I always envisioned myself as something like a Mage, with cool magic powers and wisdom and stuff. So I start downloading the game. Come to find out it's 650 MB. A fucking lot that is. So I go and download it in pieces, 10 65 MB sections. I click on the first one when it was done, and the computer gets all "What the fuck is this?! I can't open it, I don't know how!"
And so I sat back and thought: Damn Tom, that was close. You were one installation away from becoming a computer game nerd. I mean the fact that I seriously considered installing this, and made an effort to, made me feel better about deleting the entire 'Ragnarok' file after renaming it 'People In Online Games Are Sad'. So that was my narrow brush with massive geekdom.
I took some notes while I was at work:
Doesn't the 'White House | Black Market' lable seem sort of racist to anyone else? I mean maybe I'm splitting hairs here, but sheesh. What a dumb thing to name your clothing.
Terrorism pisses me off. All this smoke and mirrors crap, it's people who can't wage wars the Old School Way. You see in the olden days, you couldn't just put some C4 in your shoe and drive an airplane into another building. No no, it was much more civilized.
First you had a very fulfilling but lacking childhood,
or you were dirt poor with abusive parents.
Next, you started out as a promising young politician.
Then you addoped a doctrine of central beliefs.
Finally, you twisted that said doctrine into a horrific policy of death and destruction and you're already president of your crappy little country, so no one could stop you.
Then all you had to do was invade Poland, and you were home free.
[NOTE: If I invaded it, I'd rename Poland 'Pole-Land'. The extra vowel and hyphen would subdue the masses, and my authority would become absolute.]
We've also got this really weird closet at my work. It's big and empty except for two things. A rolly chair, and a hallogen light tapped to the wall. I have no idea what it's for, but I keep hoping the floor will open up and I'll fall down a tube into the Batcave.
And we've got this poster at work for how you should have your pillows refurbished. Except they call it "cleaning, fluffing, sanitizing, and deoderizing". Let's just say I'm convinced they throw out your old one, and just buy you a new one. But the really weird thing is that the pillow on the poster looks a lot like the Fluffy Puff Marshmallow from Homestar Runner.
My days are only getting longer.
I leave for Washington D.C. on the 31st, and return on the 6th. And have the rest of the week off from work. I'll probably blog on the 7th, and it will include notes about our nation's capitol/capital, I've no clue which is correct, and letters from homeless children, telling me to quit my job.
Cowboys don't drive magnums
We shoot at Dodge (Daimler-Chrylster) product managers with them.