April 1st, 2003

flavored with age

So much trouble over a little ball

White Sox Opening Day was yesterday. The Good Guys got blanked by the KC Royals, 3-0, which is a hell of a way to start the season; the only consolation I can take is that the pitcher who beat us was some cipher named Runelvys Hernandez and, yes, his first name is pronounced the way you think it is. I plan on writing a poignant children's book called "Run, Elvis!".

I'm taking Friday off from work to go to the home opener (the Sox have opened on the road for the last 14 years, which I think is a major league record, further cementing our status as second-class citizens in the baseball world); we're going early and, weather permitting, will do some hardcore tailgating before the game. It's against the lowly Detroit Tigers, so I'm hopeful for at least a chance of victory. It's really amazing that my mood in general can turn on such simple things as a change in the weather or the start of baseball season. I think this is a sign that as I get older and more mature, I become increasingly retarded.

By the way, I noticed yesterday that while my beloved Sox were getting blanked by the weak-ass Royals, the hated Cubs were running roughshod all over the hapless Mets. I predicted to a friend that this spoiled any hopes that the Cub-crazy local media would pay any attention at all to the fact that the Sox even played a game. Sure enough, the har-dee-har-har front-page headline of the tabloid rag Sun-Times: "CUBS IN FIRST PLACE!"
flavored with age

We must break the Chene

Today (as decreed by our Maximum Leader and American's Greatest Writer, Neal Pollack)is MAKE FUN OF THE CHENEYS DAY. In protest of the Vice-President's ham-handed attempt to subvert the law of the land and silence the voices of satire over at WhiteHouse.org, every man, woman, man-child, woman-child and child-child in America is urged to mock Dick and Lynne Cheney on their website today. Participate, won't you?

My own humble entry can be found on my website, here.
flavored with age

Eye of the typist

What? We gots to work overtime on the GM presentation? I ain't got time for that jibba jabba! I gots to have tiki drinks in the suburbs! I can't spend no time preparing cross-referenced die punch maintenance records tonight!

Hey woman! Hey woman! Why don't you get me an assistant to do this nonsense? I'm a real man! You need to quit giving projects to that punk-ass HR generalist and bring them to a real man!

What? What you say, paper-pushin' champion? You didn't get my memo on new leave-time codes for the toolmakers? I'll beat you like a dog, a dog!

A six P.M. deadline? It's 5:30 now! A challenge? I reject your challenge, 'cause it is no challenge, but I'd happy to proof your blueprints one more time!

You tryin' to mess with me, chump? You askin' me to work through lunch? I'm gonna bust you up! I'm gonna torture you! I'm gonna crucify you real bad! I'm gonna make you dead meat! My prediction for your request to borrow my three-hole punch is PAIN!

Did what? Jokin'? Hell, yes, I know what day it is! April first. What? No, I don't hate you. I pity the April fool.

I got no trainer.  All I got is me.
flavored with age

It was only ink...I think!

manningkrull just got his first tattoo, and it looks pretty sweet in the early stages. I've been thinking, with summer coming, of getting my next piece (which would be my tenth); the last one I got was quite a while ago and I'm getting itchy to proceed with my MASTER PLAN TO COVER MY BODY WITH CRYPTIC LITTLE SYMBOLS.

However, my plan is being stalled by two considerations: first, the fact that I'm a broke-ass motherfucker, and second, the fact that my next tat might be the big backpiece I've wanted to get. Why is that a problem? Well, first of all, it'll cost me a god-awful amount of money. And second of all, it's a quotation from the Q'uran, and I wonder if right now is the best time to be getting that, what with the whole country having gone nuts and all. I trust my tattooist implicity, and I don't think she'd refuse to do it or anything; in fact, I'm sure she'd do a great job. And it's not like anyone would really be able to see it; it'll be on my back, after all, and I'm not in the habit of walking around shirtless, out of respect for the aesthetic sensibilities of others. So my misgivings are probably completely unfounded, and it really all comes down to the money. Maybe I can get a couple of the smaller ones this summer and save up for the big backpiece next year, when things will have settled down a bit (hopefully).

As a bonus, I hereby present the two lamest pieces of flash tattoo art I have ever seen.

1. A scorpion with its pincers full of eyeballs

2. An evil clown holding a dripping, bloody knife and getting fellated by a naked chick, as seen through a window
flavored with age

Dipshit watch

Some wingnut in Tucson has put up a a website where he posts photos of anti-war protestors, apparently in hopes of getting them fired from their jobs, according to this article.

Of course, this is just another neo-nationalist making an ass of himself, and not really worth making a big deal about (personally, I think it's really a trial lawyer in disguise, because anyone who got fired from their job for protesting the war would have a rather tight little lawsuit to unleash). But I'm fascinated by the name of the person who wrote the article: INGER SANDAL.

Inger Sandal. Man.