Been Working a Bit More Lately

Work has been picking up lately, which is not a bad thing, but at my place of employment we use a lot of paper.
Do you know what happens when you work with a lot of paper? You get a lot of paper cuts. I know, I know, you’re telling me pull my skirt up and grow a pair, and you are correct. I should either learn to prevent them, or stop whining like a toddler who had his favorite toy taken away, except there is one catch.

The office in which I work is located a larger building that houses many other offices and a warehouse. This means that on any given day I come into contact with surfaces that have had another fifty hands come into contact with them. The bathrooms open into the break room, as well as the door from the parking lot.

How many times have you cleaned the underside of your car door handle? Yeah, most people could add up all those times and come up with the staggering sum of zero.

Now, I’m not a germaphobe, but I don’t like the idea of getting sick due to some twenty-something asshole deciding that wiping her hands on her shirt makes them surgery-level clean and ready to grab every handle in the public space.

The other day I saw this individual leaving the break room with a plate of whatever was left in the fridge on a plate. I wanted no part of having any bugs that her bugger pickers had distributed amongst the devices, so I naturally made a bee line to the large vat of hand sanitizer after retrieving my vittles from the refrigerator. That’s when it happened. Christ, oh, Christ, had I made a bad decision. Unfortunately I was to find that this was only the first link in a chain made entirely of suffering.

After the initial application my hands felt like I had jabbed them into bags of loose needles. At the very same moment I felt each individual cut. It’s like they were all cutting again, building to a crescendo of face-cringing pain accompanied by my toddler whimperings. Tears started escaping my eyes, even though I had them crammed together as tightly as a bank vault door.

Did I go grab a paper towel? Nooooooooooooooooooo. That would be too much trouble, and quite womanly. I’m a man I wiped my eyes with my fingers. OOOOWWW- I NOW HAVE FUCKING ALCOHOL IN MY EYES! Yep, so very manly. Also so very blinding.

Do you know how tears taste salty? That’s because there’s salt in them. I washed the alcohol of the sanitizer off of my fingers with salt water. Paper cuts don’t like saltwater either.

At this point I decided at this point that a bathroom washout of all affected areas. I had finally made a smart decision. As it turns out: nope.

Door handles are so very hard to see when your eyes are full of lava. Luckily I have a curb feeler for just such an occasion. Most people call it a forehead.

Moral of the story: Hand sanitizer is more painful than any shot you can get for being sick.

I enjoy our conversations

I was watching Comedy Central the other night, and while enjoying a bit of standup from Amy Shumer, my brain decided that I had drank enough beer and that I should have an inner dialogue in the form of writing a comedy bit.
Now, I'm used to my brain doing this, but usually it decides that the shower is the appropriate venue for such action. This mostly angers me because I know I won't remember most of the jokes, and attempting to write them on the stall wall is generally just another lesson in erosion.
Another time is while I'm trying to get to sleep. My brain nags me with coming up with hilarious material just like a wife or girlfriend asking if the T.V. is off and the door is locked. "Shut up, brain," I'll say out loud. This seems like an unnecessary chore due to the fact that my brain had to come up with that very command, and should have just shuffled it around inside of itself instead of having virtually put it in the mail so that the message could be delivered to the ears and have the aural mail room boy deliver it to the room down the hall.
But I digress.
So, I'm watching Amy do her bit on the boob tube, and my brain kick starts the jokecycle. I must warn those that suffer motion sickness that you may be moved to seizures because of your head shaking back and forth while you read the following.

B= Brain
A= Andy

B- "Hey, if you had a one night stand, would you make her breakfast the next morning?"
A- "Why not, I mean if she's still hungry after everything I gave her the night before."
B- "Funny. I realize you've already given her the cream, but maybe she would like the rest of the doughnut?"
A- "Maybe it depends on the size of the girl."
B- "You know she doesn't have nut allergies! Hayo!"
A- "What if she's really skinny, like almost anorexic?"
B- "Just throw her some rice cakes and thank her for letting you 'rattle her bones'."
A- "So maybe the punchline is 'What are the nutritional requirements of a one night stand?"
B- "That was stupid. You're not good at this."
A- "Fuck you, brain. I'm going to get another beer."
B- "No- fuck you. I'm going to make you forget about the top stair on your way to bed tonight"

As you can guess, Brain won that little argument because it didn't actually tell me that last line. It just did it, that mother fucker.

Yep, my brain went there.

I and a co-worker were out in front of the building and watched a male urbanite youth walk down the sidewalk.
Freshly steam-ironed hat brim? Check. Wife beater? Check. Phone in ear talking jibberish and not paying the least little bit of attention to traffic? Check. Pants down to his buttcrack with underwear hanging out? Check. Untied shoes? Check.

So, I started thinking the things I always think when I see such stupidity. "What an idiot. He should be in someone's yard holding a lantern, etc, etc."
Then my brain decided that a left turn without a signal was in order.
"We need a gay serial rapist that preys on these dumbasses. That'll get 'em to pull up their pants."

Fuck you, split pins, I'll do it myself

Me and Cousin Luke bowled twice this weekend, and it seems I saved the best for last. Saturday I won the pin count by only two pins and apparently subconsiously I was not to have any of that. I finished off the eight and ninth frames with strikes. Luke said, "O.K., asshole, make it five in a row." Tenth frame comes up, Strike. Woohoo, got a turkey. "Neat," I thought. Next ball, Strike. "Wow," I thought, "four in a row." Last ball comes up, Strike. "HOLY SHIT!" It was close there for a while, Luke.

Omagawd

The Louisville Cardinals men's basketball team will be playing the UK wildcats this coming weekend in the final four. I hereby proactively apologize for idiots from my state doing stupid things while in the big easy this week.
I suggest that any doctor in New Orleans that has to put a cast on anyone this week ask the patient if they are a cards or cats fan and then give them the opposite color cast as a reminder that they are idiots.
Most of these people are some serious live-and-die by their team's performance type folks. A lot of them are "we" fans,even though most of them haven't seen the inside of a college classroom that wasn't on a half-time commercial, and that isn't good.
"We really beat the shit out of them, didn't we?"
Really? I didn't see your shit out there on the court, mother fucker.

Again, I'm sorry New Orleans. You have enough people acting retarded down there, and don't need the extra stupid that is the usual traveling fan.
Holy shit I'm glad the Ville isn't a destination party spot except for one day a year.

Let's Start a Riot, a Riot.

Five days of riots because some of our military men burned a bunch of trash, and in that trash were some Kurans, or Qurans, or whatever.
Last week I had to go pay my water bill because I would've been too late to mail it, and I don't have Internet access at home. While standing in line I was watching the TV they have on the wall that was airing CNN. It was on this day that the world learned of the burning of said books, and the riots that had just started. While in line I shook my head and exclaimed rather loudly, "Christ, people, it's just a goddamn book. Was it the last one? No? Then you can print more."
I'm kind of tired of mother fuckers seeking things to be offended about. I don't care if it's the Fox news crowd bitching about a so-called war on christianity or slummy assholes acting like slummy assholes and getting up in arms about someone pointing out that very fact.
How many of those rioting fuckheads in Awfuckitstan have full bellies? How many of them have solid rooves over their heads? How many of them could name the 10 commandments if asked, even though they're in this "holy book?" If they can't say yes to two out of three of these, then you have more shit to worry about than if somebody burns a book, especially considering that most of them would wipe their asses with a christian bible.
How many people have been killed over this bullshit? How many more will die because none of them can remember that thou shalt not kill?
It's a fucking book; that's all.Same as the christian bible. It's printed words on a page. If I burn an O.E.D., is Garrison Keillor going to issue a fatwa against me?
I think I'm going to call a press conference, and burn a bible, kuran, American flag, Afghan flag, a bikini and a burka. I'll top it off by throwing a John Deere hat, rainbow boa and a afro-covered basketball just so that everyone can get offended and then get on with life.

Goddamnit, how dumb are these mother fuckers?

I was working with a prof. at the local secondary high school here in the Ville that has two readings packets. He initially had titled them "Prof. Spunknugget's Hand Outs." Since that was not correct because we sell them on the shelves, and I didn't want to confuse the little mouth breathers from the get-go, I changed the title to "Developmental Writing I&II."
Shit- I'm leaving a huge piece of information out here. These two classes are Developmental Writing, as in, PRE-ENGLISH-ENGLISH-CLASSES. Not smart enough to get into college? Don't worry; for a mere 3 grand of tax dollar funded financial aid, we'll teach you the English that you should've been learning in the previous 12(or 13 or 14)years of tax payer funded school. Then you too can read and write three years below your age level.
O.K., so Professor Dickinhand doesn't like Developmental Writing on the cover because he doesn't want anyone in his class to feel shame. Whatever. I suggested new titles for his packs, thinking that they would instill a sense of ownership of the student over their education. Because they have to take 090 and then 091, I suggested "Strategies for Success in Composition," and "Continuing Success in Composition." Sweet, right? Well, it turns out to be not so much.
Here's the copy from Prof D's last email:

"Logical, but I would prefer a completely different name for one of them. Later. It is a small matter, but I also would prefer a shorter title."

Shorter? Your students need to read a shorter title? Do I have to learn to phonetically spell grunt noises? Moses in a moshpit, are these people really that dumb? Fuck it; I have your two new titles. "Quest for Fire" and "Clan of the Cave Bear." Eat a slow roasted cock with ass juice, mother fucker. I'm done teaching kindergarten.

It's easy- you just don't lead 'em so much

I got my first confirmed raccoon kill last night. It was in the crotch of the elm tree, and when I turned the flashlight on him, he turned as he got inquisitive and sat there looking at me.
You know how their eyes glow when the light is shined on them? Well, they make great targets. He fell like a turkey dropped from a helicopter onto the ground, bleeding from the head. Anyone want a coon-skin cap?
I don't think I'm going to have anymore raccoon troubles.
"Where's Rocky?" "He ain't commin'."
So to recap, that's 18 oppossum, and 1 raccoon. I'm fine with nature as long as it doesn't come near the house.

I'm not dead, just boring

Things have slowed down enough in the war department for me to send this telegram:

John Raymond thinks I want to move back to Charlotte. He's even said that there's a job offer and that all I need to do is shoot him a number.
Alright, John, here's your number: 140. That's my current bowling average. If I move to Atlanta Junior, I won't be able to drink, I mean, bowl almost every Saturday with someone who is just as pathetic of an excuse to call a bowler as I.

The next thing I'm sure he'll try to do is hook me up with someone as a draw to get me down there. Just because there's 480 miles between the Ville and his la-la land doesn't mean that the women are any more logical, or less of emotional train wrecks.

Maybe it's just the idea of living back in the town with no identity, and maybe it's the idea that I have a ton of family in the Ville that is keeping me here, or maybe it's the fact that I'll be forty this year and my giveadamner is broken. Whatever it is, I'm having a hard time seeing myself move (again)to Charlotte (again).

It would be great to be near the Yankee again, re-hashing stories that were absurdly boring and mostly retarded the first time they were told, and getting to see his kids on a regular basis, but that would be six or seven people I would be around versus leaving my brothers, not to mention the Pot Belly Republic, behind. Not to mention eating over at the Wolf's house.

I heard that the Corpsman was moving to North Carolina, but if you put that in the positives, I would have to argue. Have you smelled that man?

Oh well, I'll run some numbers and see what's up.

Kein Feugo Last Night

It was too cold for me to efficiently work in the yard, so I spent most of yesterday deciding if I was going to stop watching HBO long enough to make some raisin-black walnut cookies. Around 5PM I decided I would. Then, I realized I had no eggs. Not because I'm male, but because I up and forgot to get the mother fuckers while I was at the store getting everything else.
Instead of plopping my ass back in the chair, I decided to cut most of the wood I had in the basement, which is an excellent way to have firewood and listen to Bryson.
After several hours, I thought I'd catch the last episode of "Boardwalk Empire," as I rarely catch shows when they're first on due to people being over and having a fire.
I look at my watch, and it's 10:30. Boardwalk came on at ten. Well, shit. Back downstairs it is. I cut enough to make it pretty damn warm tonight.

In a separate note: This would be the best fishing boat ever. I want it.

Fuck Indiana. I mean it. And while I'm at it, fuck east enders too.

One of the bridges going from the Ville to Indiana is closed for repairs, which means that an extra 40 thousand cars get directed over the two. I65 (the best thing to come out of Indiana that didn't have Hefner staples across her midsection)is always backed up now, and so local traffic generally goes over the 2nd street bridge.
My co-worker and I decided to eat lunch at Famous Dave's Barbecue in Indiana instead of driving all the way out to Hurstborne Lane (remember that fun drive, Ted?) because it would take too long.
Long story short, on the way back, the traffic to even the 2nd street bridge was way backed up. Figuring that is was only temporary, I stayed in the lane I was in instead of getting back on to the slow ass 65.
We stayed in the same lane.
10 minutes went by.
20 minutes went by.
30 minutes went by.
Co-worker check his traffic app. Fatality wreck on the 2nd street bridge. Shit (yes I am selfish. Sorry for the departed's luck, but at this point it has been over thirty minutes since I ate. Trouble is soon to brew in the Kaiser's south end).
The bridge was closed, but expected to be open by three PM. Not bad, that's only an hour.
3PM rolls around, and an update on the bridge. Now hoping to have it open by four. Shit.
We got to an area where I could turn off the street, and then drove to a drug store where I was able to say goodbye to breakfast and what seemed like a gallon of urine.
I spent the next half-hour sitting in the parking lot having some water, eating goldfish crackers and staring at the non-moving traffic.

We returned to the office around five. Longest lunch break I've taken.

Found out today that the driver of a truck had a seizure, crossed the double yellow and plowed head-on into a car. Everyone had to be cut from their vehicles, and the driver of the car was pronounced dead at the scene.

If the fucking east ender's hadn't fought for the last ten years a road plan that was in place in 19 fucking 65, we would've had another bridge and much of the traffic wouldn't even need to go through downtown. That's what big money does; it purchases other peoples' lives.

It's alive! (unlike most of Ted's patients)

So, these last two days have had the coldest two evenings so far for which I have had a fire.
As the stove warms up, you can tell how hot the stove is getting do its voice. While warming, the stove tink-tink-tinks rather quickly. As it cools, the tinks are a slightly lower pitch, and occur less quickly. This is how I determine when to load in more wood, even if the outdoor heater is full of flame, because I don't want to have to react to the fire, I want it to do my bidding.
Last night I was drinking some beer, watching the first season of Northern Exposure, and generally trying to heat the outside when the urge hit. No, not to masturbate, but to drop the kids off at the pool. From the pain that struck, it was going to be less of a gentle wave good-bye than it was going to be an evacuation of everything from my neck to my belly button.
Due to the fact that there are some things even I won't do from my back porch, inside I went to begin my calisthenic movement (didn't Brahms compose that?). Twenty minutes later, I returned to the porch to find the fire almost out. I threw a couple of smaller pieces of ash in to get the flame up and prepare the stove for serious flamage. One piece rolled off to the right side and caught fire almost immediately. I went to the fridge to re-beer, and from inside the kitchen I heard a loud TUNK, followed a couple seconds later by TUNK-TUNK. Holy shit, what the fuck?
It turns out that the stove, while heating on one side, was still cooling on the other, and the temperature change had caused the stove to expand on one side, but contract on the other, and the stove shifted, or "walked" to the right.
"Oh shit! I have to move it back or it will separate from the flue!"

I knelt down and grabbed the legs of the stove in order to drag it back to the original spot. Did you know that even the legs of the stove get pretty hot?
You do now, and so do my missing fingerprints.

Hmm...

nothing of any importance happened yesterday. Today doesn't look too different.

Had a guffaw

This Amish guy sees a man in a tie drinking from his farm pond. He walks up to the guy and says in German, "Don't drink from the pond; horses and cattle shit in it."

The man wearing the tie stands up and says,"Buddy, I'm a Tea-partier and an American. I speak english. Now what did you say?"

The Amish man clears his throat and says in broken english, "Use both hands; you'll drink faster."

The reports of my demise have been greatly intoxicated

My seasonal passtime of splitting wood for the republic is now a second job, so I haven't had much time to do anything other than work and beat up on the Seawolf at the bowling alley.
Speaking of which, Wolf's son turned 21 last week, so we have an extra drunk at the PBR. We will need to change his title, as he hasn't cut my grass in a while, and is no longer a DD. You know what else he hasn't done? Bowl well. Like father, like son I guess.

In other news: I have to report to the courthouse on Thursday for jury duty for the federal 9th circuit court. Hopefully they don't dig too deep into my past, or I'll find myself on the other side of the railing in the courtroom.
I knew I held onto my "Cop Killer" t-shirt for a reason.

fucking jackass

This has been eating at me more and more.
There were plenty of open spots.

and the hits just keep on coming

From Reddit. Fucking so funny it's not really

150th Anniversary

Today, one hundred and fifty years ago, the Union army got its Manassas kicked by the confederates.

let the bloodbath begin...

Dear world; I fucking hate him too

Mitch Mcconnell has always been a right wing idealogue. He got Goldwater to come and campaign in Louisville when Mitchy was in college for Christ's sake.
I have been voting against him since I got my voter card.
Please don't blame me for my state's least favourite son.