Archive for December, 2004

Elevator Chronicles: Part One

The following is an internal conversation that occurred while Walking into the elevator the other day:

(Step into elevator, push Lobby)

MIND: … I can’t believe how quick the final exam got here- I’m so not prepared at-

ABDOMEN: Yo man.

MIND: …all. Maybe if I rush I…

ABDOMEN: Dude.

MIND: …get home… read my notes- WHAT?

ABDOMEN: I’m noticing some discomfort.

MIND: Whatever- just take care of it, I’m freaking out.

ABDOMEN: Ok

(FLOOR 11)

EARS: Did you hear that?

MIND: Will you guys please shut up!

NOSE: I’m with ears on this one. Something’s up.

EARS: I told you.

EYES: Nope, all’s clear. Ear’s full of crap again.

EARS: Dude, whatever- who asked you?

NOSE: Ohhhhh MAN!

MIND: Shut Up- wait… ears, nose, abdomen…

(FLOOR 10)

MIND: Holy Crap! Abdomen- what did you do?

ABDOMEN: I took care of it. Ask the butt.

BUTT: Wha? What? I just finished my nap- we going home already?

MIND: What have you done?!?! We’re in an ELEVATOR!

BUTT: wait a second- looks like I might have fired one off.

FACE: Que the redness and sweat.

EYES: I’m serious guys, I think you’re over reacting- there’s nothing there.

MIND: Abdomen!

ABDOMEN: Well, maybe you should listen to me once in a while.

MIND: Dude you can’t go around just-

NOSE: Oh my LORD! Hands- can you give me some help here? Close me up!

LEGS: We’ll get us out of this! Let’s go boys! Hup Hup hup…

MIND: WAIT!

LEFT HAND: No one leaves here until I push the button!

RIGHT HAND: Control freak.

NOSE: A little help!

LEFT HAND: I said hold on!

NOSE: Well, SOMEone didn’t look so shy when he was picking me earlier.

EYES: Oh MY- we’re watering now- What the hell did you eat?

FEET: Um, it kinda feels like we’re slowing down.

EARS: Wait, so like some one is getting on? Freaking classic.

MIND: EVERYONE CALM DOWN- THIS IS AN EMERGENCY! GAAHHHH! WEERREEE STOPING!!!!

NIPPLES: We’re all gonna die!!!!!

(FLOOR 9) (ding)

To be continued…

Best of 2004 Volume “Whiskey Delta”

Originally Aired June 1, 2004

Making a Connection

For those loyal readers who have been keeping putting up with me over the last year, you know that I sometimes have a hard time making friends. i.e:

The Political Kid
The Bee Gee Fans

Well, now one of my posts has caught the eye of one Cassondra. She has taken issue with me concerning my strong dislike of Pit Bulls- otherwise known as Satans Poopy Pets. But far be it from me to leave an enemy lurking on the net- earlier tonight I (in usual Ed form) presented Cassondra with the olive branch via IM.

Who want to lay odds on how it went?

Ed: hey there sugar
Cassondra: well hello there
Ed: so it seems you feel strongly on about the subject
Cassondra: i suppose it does
Ed: pit bulls, that is
Cassondra: obviously smart ass
Ed: hey hey hey
Cassondra: seriously you are a waste of my time, why are you iming me?
Ed: well i thought we could make nice
Cassondra: and what made you think such a thing?
Ed: youre not making this easy
Cassondra: did you want something?
Ed: come on now, cassondra
Ed: all we want is to peacefully co-exist
Cassondra: how old are you?
Ed: you know- enjoy our time here on spaceship earth
Cassondra: yeah
Ed: im 27 but im really immature
Cassondra: oh ic
Cassondra: i’m looking at pictures, is that you with the beard?
Ed: oh yes. the cute one.
Cassondra: mmhmm
Ed: see?
Ed: how can you stay mad at him?
Cassondra: i find you close minded
Ed: close?
Ed: like really near?
Cassondra: CLOSED MINDED*
Ed: oooohhhhhh….
Cassondra: you are immature
Ed: yes, i believe we covered that.
Cassondra: so, why do you hate pit bulls
Ed: one bit me really hard
Ed: and shook me around
Cassondra: your so full of it
Ed: no, totally
Cassondra: can’t you be serious
Ed: i am very serious
Cassondra: i don’t believe you
Ed: i was volunteering for a drive to giveout immunization informaiton to low-income families
Cassondra: a german shepard attacked my brother but i don’t hate them
Ed: and at one house a pit bull came out and bit the crap out of me
Ed: it wasnt my brother
Ed: it was my leg
Cassondra: i’m just saying
Ed: what- my leg isnt important anymore?
Cassondra: any dog could have done that
Cassondra: it never was
Ed: i thought we were friends
Cassondra: not to me anyways
Cassondra: how does your wife deal with you?
Ed: a lot nicer than a pit bull i’ll tell you that
Cassondra: your an idiot
Ed: and thats why they all love me
Cassondra: they all as in who?
Ed: hey listen this has been fun, but i gotta go watch a movie with my non-pit bull wife
Ed: lets do this again
Cassondra: alright, talk to ya later [richard]head

Best of 2004 Volume 235E

Originally Aired April 8, 2004

Typical Couple Problems

So Heidi and I are at what experienced couples would call an impasse.

We don’t see eye to eye on a particular subject and I’m not sure how I feel about it. Now, I’m not calling it an argument for a few reasons. First, neither of us have intentional hurt the other’s feelings over it- and I respect the fact that she stands by her opinion, I just don’t like it. I dunno how many of our readers have had a similar discussion with their significant others, but let me tell you- don’t open this Pandora’s box unless you’re totally prepared to hear the answer.

Heidi says that if I were to become a flesh-eating zombie that she’d have no problem blowing my brains to kingdom come.

That’s just kind of hard to hear, you know? I mean I asked the question knowing full well that she’d be honest about it but I just don’t look at her the same now. I’d have a heck of a hard time putting her down if she was a zombie.

I don’t know how I could possible reconcile it. There she’d be- all cute and snuggly- my little bunny-bear, except she’d be the walking dead. She’d probably have a little bit of our neighbor hanging on her chin or something, and a touch of the crazy eye- but come on, she’d still be my wife. How could I take a shotgun or a shovel or something to the soulless shell that used to be my wife?

But of course, she says that she wouldn’t think twice. According to her, the moment she catches me feasting on the warm corpse of another human being the bonds of holy matrimony are effectively severed. I don’t know. It just seems cold.

When she says it there’s just this steely resolve in her eye, like she’s already counted the cost. I can tell you this- I wouldn’t do it. I couldn’t. I’d probably keep her locked up in the basement or something. Perhaps send her a neighborhood dog once and a while to keep her happy, but I’d never intentionally send her cute little lifeless body into the sweet hereafter. Maybe it’s a guy thing- we’re far more influenced by looks than women are.

A few times I’ve entertained the idea of letting her munch on a forearm or something in a attempt to join her in zombiedom, but it’s a bridge I don’t want to cross till I come to it. For now, I just have to live with a woman who is fully prepared to finish me off if and when the time comes.

If you can offer any helpful advice or insight, please do.

Best of 2004 Volume 792

Originally Aired January 7th 2004

Stupid White-Boy Comment #432

I used to think that if I was black I would like to be huge. Like a big old club bouncer at some blues place. With a deep scratchy Barry White kind of voice. Always makin’ obscure musical and historical references that only other older black people understood. And I’d get the newspaper every day from the same street-wise vendor, who would trade musical trivia questions or odd funk-sounding riddles just before we tapped fists in a cool, black secret-handshake sort of way. Plus, I’d know everyone in the whole city, and they’d all say “whaddup” as they passed by- and we’d exchange knowing glances. At my place I’d have all kinds of hard-to-find jazz recordings on vinyl, and a few black-and-white pics of me with people like Maya Angelou or Thelonious Monk.

Now I figure I’d just wanna be the smoothest man alive.

Christmas Litter for the Fridge

Nothing says “please kill me” like those photo Christmas cards. Every year I beg Heidi not to make me pose for one, and every year I lose.

For me, picking a location to take the picture has more to do with “what background will best hide my shame?” You have your basic poses too- each one has its own special place in the hell of lameness. Sooo…. for your reading pleasure, and so that I can dig the hole deeper with which to bury myself once Heidi reads this, I give you…

THE LIST OF PHOTO CHRISTMAS CARD CLASSIC EXAMPLES THAT SUCK:

  • Let’s All Cuddle Up in Front of the Fire! This one is the classic Wal-Mart card pose. There you are, with your dogs and presents and kids- all posing on the rug where you conceived them. Nice.

  • Look What My Wife Dressed Me In! I don’t have much to say about this one- just feel the shame dripping off it.
  • We Did This Last Minute So We’re All Lined Up Under A Dead Tree! That one stays up all year on my fridge- just so everyone sees how cool you are.
  • Hey Wow! We’re All Poking Out From Different Sides of a Tree! Ha ha- that’s great! How do you make your family look so gay? We have to try that!
  • Check It Out! We Dressed Our Dog/Cat Up For Christmas! Those are fascinating. How could someone who owns a pet hate them that much? Nothing says happy holidays like totally humiliating your closest companion!
  • Oh Look, We Took This when It was Summer Time! This is the one where everyone is in shorts, at the beach. Thanks- that’s just what I need to see when it’s 6 thousand degrees below zero and my car won’t start, jerkhole. Thanks for the condescending card. Die.

I just want to say it here, before you get yours:

I am so sorry. I really am.

If you can think of an alternative I could suggest to her, please leave it in the comments.

Morning Terrors

Hey you. Yeah- you.

I have a question for you.

Nahhh, nevermind. I’m not sure you’re ready for it. It’s pretty early.

Ooooo kaaaaayyy, fine. But you’re gonna be sorry.

What if…
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Best of 2004 Volume C

Originally Aired January 21, 2004

LOCAL WOMAN ATTEMPTS TO NAB PRESTIGIOUS AWARD

See, this story deserves so much more than just “Gas can, cigarette cause car explosion.” How can such a tiny blurb accompanied by a collection of pictures accurately depict such a riviting tale of heroicism and self sacrifice? It can’t. So our investigative reporting team here at EDANDHEIDI.com went down to the scene to interview this brave woman.

ED: For those just tuning in, this is Ed Adkins reporting for EDANDHEIDI.com on an incredible story unfolding in our own Reno, Nevada. I’m here with local heroine, Carol Wall, who I’m told earlier today was set to become the latest Nevadan to recieve the prestigous, “Darwin Award”. Now, I’ve got to speak up, since Mrs. Wall is now 90 percent deaf due to almost killing herself and three other people while attempting to light a cigarette today- a cigarette named “fame”.

Carol: (moderately charred) My car is on fire.

Ed: Now it says here that you are not actually retarded. Isn’t that true Mrs. Wall?

Carol: WHAT? Oh yes- I’m technically not retarded. At least not enough to recieve state funding.

Ed: Now, that is amazing. So you are telling me that earlier today, you put an uncovered gas can in the back of your tiny hatchback and then tried to light a cigarette- without the aid of mental retardation? Amazing.

Carol: Well, I always was a dreamer.

Ed: And to boot- you kept the windows up. I’m supprized you even had the mental ability to ignite your little gas-bomb. Any normal person would have succomb to asphyxiation. What kept you going?

Carol: It wasn’t easy, Mr. reporter man. A couple times I came real close to just takin a nap-

Ed: While driving?

Carol: You can’t take little things like that into account when you’re going for the gold, friend. My eyes were on the prize- that shiny Darwin thingy just a’ gleamin’ on my mantle.

Ed: Or the mantle of your next of kin, naturally. Woman you are an inspiration. Here’s to your next attempt at greatness. On location in Reno, this has been Ed Adkins with an exclusive segment of EDANDHEIDI. Back to the newsroom.

Special shout-out to Jerz & Mrs. Jerz for the article.

Best of 2004 Volume 2

Originally aired on January 25, 2005

BUTTERFLY DEFECT

Huuuuuunnnnngggghhhh“…nobody associated with making this movie can possibly emerge unscathed.” -Bob Longino, Atlanta Journal-Constitution.

I haven’t actually seen the movie, but I figured I might as well review it anyway.

First, take the title, “Butterfly Effect.” The same people who are going to walk away having enjoyed this movie are the ones who will utter an audible sound of astonishment when the movie spoon-feeds you the meaning of the title. That profound exposition alone will cause them to leave the theater content.

HuuuuuunnnnngggghhhhWhat I’ve garnered form the trailers? Looks like boy is in love with girl. Girl dies. Boy is a genetic freak who can turn back time by holding his breath and pushing like he’s majorly constipated. Eventually- BAM! Time turns back and she’s alive! *Psyche!* Splat- she’s dead. Again. Once more with the constipation. BAM. This time he has no arms. Huunnnnrrrgghhh!!! BAM! This time she’s a ho-bag. Huuhhhnnggghhhhhh- people outside the restroom are starting to think he’s giving birth- his nose is bleeding and all the veins are popping out of his head…. BAM!!! Whoa- now she’s that fat goth kid with the spiky hair, but by now he’s learned his lesson about playing with nature. Ashton settles for her in fat-goth-guy-form. At least he keeps his arms.

End of movie. You either (1) feel ashamed and used for having not only allowed the theater to do this to you, but also you paid them money, OR (2) you’re like “ooooohhh Butter-fly effect! OMG that makes sooooo much sense!” Either way you can’t stop thinking about how life could be if you could turn back time.

Best of 2004 Volume one

Originally aired December 15th, 2003
So it’s not really a 2004 post then, but it’s going to start this “best of” section anyway. I’m proud of it- it’s the first thing I did that made the rounds, as the kids say. I had sites in all kinds of languages linking to that bad boy- even dave barry- and it gave me the hope that some day, some one may read my site.

So here goes… and lemme know if you saw it before & didn’t know I made it…

HISTORY…as in Saddam’s vacation plans. Looking for news on the capture, go here.

Authorities were rather surprised, though, by his drastically altered appearance.

saddam's horrible disfigurement

Tony Pierce on ScreenSavers

Tony Pierce made it onto screen savers to promote his new book, How To Blog (which would make a pretty cool gift for any blogger you may know…) and his site, the busblog.

It’s exciting to see blogging gaining greater recognition as a medium. Along side that, it’s cool that busblog getting some exposure. If you haven’t checked out the site, zip over & poke around- it’s consistantly on. It’s a great mixture of cool, indignant, cocky and “hi mom.” Even the stuff where I’m like “Tony, you don’t know crap,” I still dig how he flows. His post earlier in the year on how to blog was one of the inspirations of my own satirical HTB post. (look out for the advanced list coming out soon.)

Before you check out the clip, I must mention my surprise that he has the voice of Keenen Ivory Wayans. I was expecting more of a Mario Van Peebles, but that’s cool.

Click on the picture to see the video in Spectacular ED O Vision.

Closer

I talked to an Oompa Loompa last night.

I asked him what his thoughts were on the remake of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. He said (excuse his french) that he was pissed that Tim Burton wasn’t using little people this time. He said it looked like it was going to be rather darker too. But he said he’s a sucker for Johhnny Depp and Tim Burton, so he’ll go see it anyway. I agreed. Bummer he couldn’t get a cameo, tho.

He asked what we were seeing.

Closer

His face got all happy like I just told him some really choice gossip. He leaned in and said, “oh yeah. That one’s really good. Dark, but good.”

He was right. It’s dark, sexy, funny, angry and sad. The writing had me too, there’s about one classic line every five minutes.

There was one snag- Jude Law leaves Natalie Portman for Julia Roberts. That requires a bit more suspension of disbelief than most of the special effects in Star Wars, but I shook it off eventually.

Anyway, go see it if you get the chance- ’cause Uncle Eddie recommends it.

SCREW THAT FAT BASTARD

Screw Santa.

Not because I’m all “we need to get rid of all the commercialism” (weenie voice). I’ve got a whole other reason.

Riddle me this batman:

If I have endure the mall,
if I have to brave the tidal wave of retards and jerkholes in the parking lot,
if I have to fight that red-eyed living-dead grandma for the last tickle-me-spongebob,
if I have to hit seven different stores for the right color Barbie H2,

if I have to find, purchase, hide, find again, wrap and place each present under the tree at 3AM,

Then why on earth should some imaginary fat troll get the credit?

Screw that crap. He does nothing. He just sits at some imaginary polar wonderland enjoying his elf-slave-labor and not dieting.

My kid is never hearing that crap from me. No way, no sir no how. We’re claiming the credit for each and every present under that frickin tree. Not him.

Why, every year do so many parents just throw away all the points they could score with their kids by claiming some strange man in red mysteriously decided to buy them gifts? Why set your kid up like that? Then later they get all bitter when they realize that 1. you lied and 2. The only way they can ever enjoy that magic again is to get on welfare.

So screw Santa and his pompous list
and the elves
and the reindeer
and the easter bunny
and the toothfairy
and the abominable snowman and the misfit toys.

Your mother and I got you that red rider b-b-gun sweetie. Because we love giving you stuff and we hope you love to do the same. And if you ever, EVER ever see some huge old tub O lard with a bunch of midgets trying to break in at 3AM on Christmas- you know how to use it.

NEW IM

In an ultra-drastic SURPRISE TURN OF EVENTS

I changed my AIM screen name.

The new one is sarcas O matic.

Cherish it. Use it wisely. It may just save your life someday.

HELLO, MAY I TALK TO MR. ADKINS? CLICK.

As if you needed another reason to be pissed.

They managed to slip one more in- just in time for 2005! Your CEL PHONE NUMBER will, in a few short weeks, end up in the grubby hands of joe telemarketer.

Throw that sucker on the do not call list now.

Thanks Jason from Warped Thoughts.

Update: John just alerted me to this MSNBC claim that the story was bogus and that it emerged as an urban myth via email.

Someone ought to tell the Jacksonville CBS affiliate.

How Not To Wake Up

Not the way to start your day.

Picture yourself as me this morning- if, of course, you can handle that much cool for a second. Your eyes have barely fluttered, you hardly remember the couple times Heidi got up to hit snooze. On second thought, wait- get out of bed with my wife.

Now it’s me. I was just entering a state that could be considered early human. There’s a thud- and a whole mess of thudding in the bathroom. Badoombudumduumboom. Silence.

“Honey?”

Heidi drops stuff now and then, and I usually call out to make sure she’s ok. She usually responds with a touch of irritation that she’s perfectly fine.

“Hon?” Nothing.

I hurdle the expanse between the bedroom and bathroom in nothing flat. Sheets haven’t fallen before I’m at the door, opening it up. “Honey are you-”

She’s sprawled out on the floor, the water is still on. I. Totally. FREAK. OUT.

“HONEEEY!” I have never been so terrified in my entire life.

“WHAT!?!” She pops her head up, irritated. As if I just woke her unnecessarily.

I begin bawling for a second. I’m not ready to wake up this way. I compose myself. “Did you pass out or what?”

“No, I… I was showering, it got too hot in here, I started to leave, and then I was dreaming… um.” She reassesses the situation. On the floor. Soaking wet. Sprawled out. Good time for a nap?

I sit down, nerves shot. “Yeah honey you fainted or something.” We hug and I help her up into our room.

I am now absolutely no good for the day. I think it’s fair to say I can skip my morning poop. You know, usually it’s Heidi that finds me passed out. Go figure.


Authors Note: Heidi is fine. Apparently pregnant women faint sometimes, and she miraculously missed anything that would hurt her. I, being the anal one, concocted a safety plan for future fainting.

Fear Your Television

Ever find yourself watching TV and you’re really into a show and then all the sudden you get embarrassed because of the commercials that are coming on?

Because you realize that you must fit into the demographics the advertiser is going for?

And it makes you sad?

There I’ll be- watching America’s Most Grizzly Construction Accidents- In Space! or something… minding my own bees wax. And then everything gets quiet… and I say to myself, “wait- wasn’t that like the sixth Viagra commercial in a row?”

CRAP!

“Get it off me! Get it off!”

So I never go to that channel again.

Heidi finds me curled up in the shower and is all, “honey, how come Spike TV, USA and FX are all blocked?”

“Hush it. You still have your Golden Girls reruns.”

It’s got me paranoid. It doesn’t stop there either. It seems I can’t let my guard down no matter what I’m watching.

Last night I’m watching some documentary on the royal family or something and Heidi hears me call out from the couch, “Honey- have you noticed any feminine dryness on me lately?”

I’m actually considering switching to PBS or reading. It’s that serious.

A Big Thanks in 2004

I want to take a minute to thank our loyal readers at EDADKINS.com for your support in 2004. The both of you have made what was supposed to be an informative way to keep in touch with family and friends become a complete drain on my productivity and fed my obsessive need for attention. Thank you.

Thank you for letting me slide for that crazy malfunction which left half of my blogroll exposed during the halftime show.

Thank you for so thoroughly searching me for WMDs. That tickled.

Thank you for believing me after that shady incident in Colorado which kept me off the blog for so many weeks. I think we’ve all been saved at least once by the patron saint of unwashed skivies, no?

Thank you, gentle readers. For it was you who grabbed my arm and suggested, perhaps it was time to stop those innocent sleepovers with little boys.

Thank you for looking past little things like the compromising infra-red videos that surfaced on the internet. Both myself, the midget and the various farm animals featured on it fought a long battle to suppress those tapes and move on with our careers.

Thanks for labeling anyone who failed to consider my religious movie a life-altering event a heretic. You made me a lot of money.

Oh, and my political propaganda movie was a total success thanks to you. Unfortunately, it probably initiated a reaction amongst moderates which helped tip the election the opposite direction, but at least I won big at Cannes!

Thank you for feverishly consuming anything I called Reality TV like it was smack. It saved me a ton of time on distractions like scripts and creative ideas.

By the way, I am still really embarrassed that my band started playing the wrong tune when I was on SNL. I promise, I hardly ever lip synch on the blog.

Thanks for letting me finally grow up. I couldn’t be your pop princess forever and you have to get used to me making my own decisions- and then having them annulled.

Thank you, thank you, thank you for not letting me marry any gay people. That was a close one!

And who could have guessed that my IPO would make me so stinking, filthy rich? I’m not going to splurge though- I’m saving up to buy the 2008 presidential election.

You have made 2004 an incredible success, and for that I will be forever grateful. We’ve laughed, we’ve cried and we’ve been caught reporting misleading news. I only have a few tiny requests for 2005:

  • Watch Scrubs and Arrested Development.

  • Start making more rock music.
  • No more trilogies and epics.
  • We need to get a bit smarter as a nation. Either learn something or shoot a dumb person.
  • Someone tell Snoop and Chappell to quit giving white kids cliché catchphrases. Nah, scratch that- I can live with that.
  • Encourage those who spread love and understanding. Let me make fun of them.

This year just might be so much fun we’ll poop our pants. Together.

HOW TO BLOG BY ED ADKINS

People are always telling me, “hey Ed, you’re not funny and your blog sucks.”

And to this i reply, “how to blog? I’m flattered you’d ask me- I guess I could give you some pointers. sure, take a seat while uncle ed spits his A-game.”

But it gets annoying, constantly having to repeat those golden nuggets of bloggery. So finally, once and for all, I present you “So You Want to Clog the Net: ED’s Blogging Manifesto.”

1. Move to Los Angeles.
No one wants to hear what went on in Craptown today. They don’t care about you, your dog or Otis the lovable town drunk. They care about LA though. Your blog could consist of a detailed rating of your morning dumps and as long as its called LA’s CRAPPIEST you’re gold.

2. Claim You Were Here First. About once a week, mention you’ve been blogging since like ‘92. Back when you had to hand code it into a calculator.

3. Polarize Your Political Stance. The particular stance is irrelevant. Just take your current one and move it ridiculously to the right or left. Great- now you have friends.

4. Comment Comment Comment. Commit yourself to at least 75 comments a day. Rotate winning phrases like “Nice Blog” or “UR FUNNY!” This is sure to win the love and respect of your fellow bloggers. Refrain from comments like “cheap chewable viagra!” and “HUGE online casino!”

5. Feel The Pressure. The web is a cruel mistress. She’s here for one reason and one only, friend: to suck out your very soul one entry at a time. It’s supposed to become something you hate to come home to. Something looming over your head and draining your creativity. You must understand, blog is not a pretty word.

6. Become A Celebrity. I wasn’t going to add this, but some people demand the easy route. Make it big and people will develop obsessive compulsive habits checking for your updates. The only problem is that chances are if you have maintained any reasonable amount of stardom you are illiterate. In that case, blah blah blah blah you aren’t reading this anyway.

7. You Could Try Working For Microsoft. While they do allow blogging and you’ll get great exposire, I suggest this with great caution. This is risky, as you now have a special place waiting in hell for you. Live it up while you have the chance.

8. Lie Lie Lie and Lie. Nothing puts people so sleep faster than the truth about you. Tell them you’re a playa. Tell them you’re the man. They read this crap because they want to become it- no one wants to become a middle aged divorcee father of two who manages a Mail Boxes Etc. They want to be super-pimp. Tell us about your day, super-pimp. And make it good.

9. When All Else Fails Join a Group. Bloggers like to visit the sites of people who share their interests. Take up a hobby like knitting, fan fiction, RPGs, parenting or being gay.

10. NEVER EVER EVER EVER EVER FORGET TO SAVE YOUR WOR

Get Back In the Kitchen And Make Me Some Coffee!

I realized today what my real position is within my company. It’s not the title they hired me as, no sir. It’s a position which I hope a few of you can sympathize, gentle readers.

You see, my office is right next to the break room. Inside said breakroom sits the coffee maker which brews your standard office cup-o-crap which all of us who have sold out to the man must condition ourselves to drink.

Like most of America, I nurse a rather obscene caffine addiction- so I know the score when it comes to refilling the pot. As Terry Tate says, “you kill the joe, you make some mo’.” But someone has found a way to defile that creed. They have perfected the art of leaving a half a cup in the carafe.

Almost every time I turn the corner to face the machine, I am confronted with a pot in this unholy condition. It stares back, mocking me in defiance- stealing my manhood. I make an entire pot, again, like so many times before- just for half a cup.

Shortly afterward I hear footsteps scampering to the pot and stealing away. I hurry around the corner to catch the culprit, but there’s nothing, nothing but a freshly violated carafe. That and a touch of laughter in the distance.

Which has made rather clear what my position is. I, gentle readers, am… (and let me tell you, it has taken a loooong time to admit)…
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