It’s nice to have internet again after about 2 weeks without. I don’t want to badmouth any internet “provider” or anything, but the outfit whose name somehow reminds one of “Fish-net” doesn’t have a fucking clue how to do business. They did some upgrade or something which caused my ‘net to stop working, then sent out a tech to try to tell me my computer wasn’t working right (I guess my neighbor’s laptop wasn’t either then, you dumb fucks), oh, and they came on a Sunday afternoon to not fix it, after lying to me that they had called me on Friday to reschedule the Friday visit (no calls, phone was working fine). Of course I had to pay a 10-month cancellation fee (I’ll protest, to no avail, I’m sure) or else upgrade and sign a new 2 year thing. Nope, sorry. Oh, and by the way, FUCK you, Fish-net.
So I have a local thing now. I have more antennas on my roof than the county sheriff has on his SUV. I was telling the installer for the new provider (no contract needed, thank goodness, and no install charge) that I’d like to do away with cable or satellite TV completely also. He said he had an old-fashioned antenna that picked up some local channels and nothing else, and I mentioned then that I wanted to do that, but we couldn’t have the old type of antennas on our roof.
“Why not,” he asked, “you’ve got every other kind up. I’d just put one up. It’s better to ask forgiveness than permission.”
I busted out laughing: “You must be married,” I said.
The following are scrapings from my brain lately or old ideas that have been laying up on the top of the fridge in scraps of paper.
Call me a prick. No, seriously, do. Now that we’ve got that out of the way:
There was a grubby-looking, older-than-dirt guy who got out of his immaculate-looking convertible the other day at work and proceeded to beep his door locks closed, yup, with the top down. Two beeps. Maybe I should give him credit that the second one might’ve been because he realized what he’d done. No, fuck that.
First of all, just about any modern car (I think), has the capability of having the “beeps” disabled. You have to put the key in a certain position, click the driver’s seat belt 43 times in a minute or some shit, and, like magic, no more beeps. So he’s a nerd.
More importantly, though, just because you can afford a convertible doesn’t mean you should drive one. Convertibles are for hot, young, preferably female drivers, not, decrepit, homely old men. Yes I’m an ageist aging man, an elitist driver of a banged up Japanese rustbucket; sue me. Sure, the car looks good, but, since any occupants of the car are so visible, it’s the job of the people in it to make it look good also. I mean, the guy could wear high heels, and the shoes themselves would look good, and raise his ass in the air, but his feet wouldn’t look all that great and I’m pretty sure his ass would still be dumpy and flat. Same with the hot car; doesn’t look good on him.
Michael Douglas recently claimed that he got oral cancer from (something like) “not to be too specific, but I got it from performing cunnilingus.” Well, that seems pretty specific to me. Ohhhh, I get it–the particular pussy that he ate would be being too specific. (Ick, Zeta, you rancid old skank).
One day, when there was nothing else to read at break time, I came across a pic of RuPaul in the Star magazine. Now, I’m pretty sure that he’s quite secure in what he is, that “not looking girly” is not a priority for him, but if it ever for some reason were, he would do best to wear a dress and a wig. Because RuPaul in a suit with a bald head, and I guess some makeup, is one of the most feminine looking people I’ve ever seen. Not that there’s anything wrong with that.
Someone found a T-rex tooth in the tail of a plant-eating hadrosaur (duck-billed dino) recently. They assume it was cuz of a missed meal. However, I have it on good authority that it was during rough interspecies “dino-doggy-sex” that the tooth got stuck. Instead of the human “Pull my hair, I’m almost there!”, it was “Bite my tail, I’m fixin’ ta wail!!”
I hate those commercials with Steven Dorff in them about smokeless cigarettes. “Hi, this is Steven Dorff, and I have a really off-putting voice and attitude.” I just checked the spelling of his name; apparently he does Blu-Cig commercials even though he has emphysema, at age 40. Might wanta lay off any vices. Or what the fuck, I suppose.
Speaking of ads, I’m also not so sure of the Viagra ones. I guess when they have the cowboy fixing some problem, then coming home with his horses in his trailer and his Viagra in his jacket, there’s a lit house, a curtain moving, but no one in the window. I suppose, after the success of Brokeback Mountain, they’re trying to keep it open as to who he’s going to use the Viagra on. I still think I have some Viagra package around somewhere, from when I used to have sex that involved having another person in the room. I believe it had a picture of a couple on the cover, then a lone guy on the other end of the cover or inside, then another lone guy around the back. Yeah, that’s right, around the back.
I will get rid of Dish TV when my 2 years is up for that, and probably try to just get SpongeBob and whatnot from Hulu or Netflix or something, and go ahead and put up the big antenna for local weather and some football. I just think it’s asinine for all of us to spend so much on phones, internet, and TV. Which (the subject of my entertainment future) isn’t all that interesting to you, I wouldn’t think, but I wanted to mention Mr. Squarepants. It seems that some study was done that says that kids who watch Spongebob do less well on tests than people that don’t. Now, if you genuinely think that Spongebob is bad for your kids, I’m not here to judge, but, if you refrain from watching Spongey because you believe that study, I feel bad for you. Of course, scientists, kids did poorly on tests immediately after watching Sponge and friends (which is how I understand they did the study). You know what? After leaving one of the first 3 Star Wars movies (from back when Star Wars movies were good), dead sober, I imagined myself driving a “land speeder”, or whatever the hell their hover-convertible was called. I couldn’t have done well on a test right then either. Sponge Bob, the cartoon, is sweet, funny, full of raw silliness and mostly good morals and good morality lessons, shows the effects of a good attitude and friendship on situations, and is just an all-around goodhearted, funny show that I treasure every moment of watching with my daughter. And laughing about the show sometimes with the neighbors over the campfire.
Relationship-abuse, wife-beating, whatever it may be, is of course not funny. But, both parties being dead for quite a few years, the end of this snippet of an affidavit, a lawyer speaking to the Mrs. of a deceased couple, some long-gone relatives of mine, about the abuse she’d suffered, does have a little levity, I believe:
Q: What did the doctor say is wrong with your vertabrae?
Q: Do you recall how it got cracked?
A: I know.
Q: When was this?
A: Back in January.
Q: Why don’t you describe for me how it was that you remember being knocked on the floor?
A: Because that’s what he’s like.
Q: I guess I want you to tell me what happened that day that you got knocked on the floor.
A: That’s when I poured the chocolate milk on his head.
Like I say, beatings aren’t funny. The fact that you could read between the lines of the whole transcript that they both drank a fair amount, that she had to walk to work when he could have taken her, also are not funny. But the chocolate milk on the head, that was a nice touch, I’d say. He died first, I believe, so hopefully she had a couple peaceful years before she died, plus they were getting divorced, I guess.
Lastly: I don’t get a lot of comments, which is fine. When I do get them, it’s fine also. So far I haven’t got too many troll comments. The beauty of having your own website is that you can delete things, right? But, I just wanted to mention that, if you can think of nothing else to say in a comment, a simple “I masturbate to your blog” is always appropriate and appreciated. I don’t want to know what it is about it, necessarily, that brings this behavior on, I just want to be properly appreciated. Here’s a one-hit wonder to help you and your fellow Viagra-appreciater(s), from 1989, from Grayson Hugh, “Talk It Over In Bed:”