Ok, this is weird.
Today I’ve been getting hits for “Shuffling Squirrel” and “mucsle squirrel” which presumably is “muscle squirrel” mistyped.
People, they’re on the move and we have to be ready.
Since I don’t have a defense plan on file for a shuffling squirrel attack I’m going to default to zombie uprising contingency #4.
Battlestations people, this is not a drill.
Writing a short story is a bitch. Especially a funny one.
I’m not sure I’ve ever read anything this funny:
It starts with this.
Anne V - 01:01pm Sep 9, 1999 PDT (# 1318 of 1332) Okay - I know how to take meat away from a dog. How do I take a dog away from meat? This is not, unfortunately, a joke.
Ladies and Gentlemen I present to you…
Happy November peeps o/
I posted the link to Small Dead Animals in the previous post before having followed it, so confident I was in the awesomitude of anyone who uses the word “Ass Clamp”.
But then I clicked through and saw: Message from the Wife of an Oil Rig Worker
Brought to you of course by genius commenter Cuddle Party Boner Rampage (hey, we report, you decide) from a thread over at
Didn’t lose power.
Woke up and someone had plowed my driveway, which is now cleaner than it was before it started snowing.
Looks like it should probably be made out of… oh I don’t know, 4130 Steel.
Let’s mount it on the miter saw table with a 12″ cutoff blade.
…and start cutting.
Too bad it stopped glowing in the time it took me to get to the camera.
Ok, well not too bad for the first slice. It did take about a half hour though.
Rather amazing what a 12″ blade spinning at that rate will do to a piece of steel, to say nothing of the sacrificial plywood base.
Hmm… looks neat, but it would slice your fingers in half with the burrs all around the outside. Gotta take care of that. Let me grab that old file and a cigar and retire to the porch to smooth this out…
Well that took an awfully long time. Still though, you can run your thumb across any surface safely now, so that’s something.
Hmm… customer wanted a bevel. Not sure how to do that. perhaps a grinder? Yeah, but I can’t really freehand it. Hmm… I’ll need. Ah! Hackish but it’ll work…
Another 2 hours on the front porch with a file to smooth out the rough-grinding into a proper bevel.
There we go. Still ugly as home made sin. Can’t present it like that.
Buffing wheels and compound? nope.
Well, I’ve gotta clean it up before I do anything to it anyway. Might as well put a 40 grit disc on the orbital and take a whack at it.
Hey!
Not half bad.
Of course in my excitement I delivered it without having taken the final final picture.
Well I was looking for a youtube of the Beastie Boys “Just a test” but the only form it’s on there is in these horrid “remixes” consisting of a sample of heavily sampled jersey boy techno crap over the top of the original track.
You people gotta stop doing this shit on your fischer price 4 tracks. People who post remixes to youtube all suck.
All of you.
But anyway, this is just a test.
So here I am, working from home today.
I’m spending my lunch break in the basement, doing finishing on my first commissioned machining job: A full sized steel guillotine blade.
For lunch itself I’m eating a large bit of epoisses on a baguette, my second favorite of delicacies, both of which were introduced to me by someone who introduced me to a rather decadent array of deliciousness.
Yes, my job appears to be coming to an end.
But all things considered?
My life could probably be worse.
This is some serious shit. There’s something to aspire to in here that I can’t quite put my finger on.
Found at I Have Seen The Whole Of The Internet which was in turn found at my source of all things worth seeing on teh innert00bz, Lee Ann’s place.
And I’m not afraid to admit it. When something so blindingly obvious comes along and demands you recognize, acknowledge and accept that reality is simply not what you think or have thunked for your whole life, you’d bloody well better pay attention.
So no.
Nothing strange has ever happened to me.
I’m far more normal than I’ve ever given myself credit for.
Jorge is a model employee.
My life has been simple and my family supportive to the point of being nearly mundane.
And, ladies and gentlemen…
I’m at the point where I’m seriously considering buying the electronics and coding up my own mp3 player front end.
Why is it that there are no reasonable playlist management tools ON the players themselves? On any of them. Sure, there are some basic “add to quicklist” type things. But nothing actually lets me noodle with track sequences and the like.
Meh.
So I’ve got other things going on. Exciting mad scientisty things.
But a couple of them involve Christmas presents so I can’t post them here yet. Once that’s passed I’ll be taking a wall down so I can ship posts out a whole new door.
More later. For now, I’ve got to get downstairs to the machine shop to work on my first commissioned job.
*squee*
<3 Satchel :)
waste my time.
Do.
Not.
Waste.
My.
Time.
I do PLENTY of that on my own.
to wit:
I just came back from today’s lunch retrieval mission, ending up with three slices of Papa John’s “Pizza”. When referring to Papa John’s, Pizza Hut, Domino’s, Little Caesars or anything from Chicago the word is to be capitalized and quoted
“Pizza”
This is because the only two connections with the homonym are the spelling and the sound.
That stuff isn’t pizza. It’s “Pizza”.
So I’m 2/3 of the way through my Papa John’s “Pizza” and I can already hear the soap-box anarchists in my intestines calling for open revolt.
The reason I’m eating this…stuff (which I concede is actually about as tasty as it is cheap) is that I walked in to a sandwich shop (well, sandwich “Shoppe”, but that’s a whole other story.)
There was a line. There’s always a line. The place is quite popular, and new. There’s someone standing off to the side strumming an acoustic guitar singing the blues (and not doing a half-bad job for working in ye olde shoppe.)
Anyway it’s raining today, so I walked in and, after perusing the menu on the wall across the room, I approached the end of the line, while queuing up to order lunch.
A cute little black woman with a delightful smile rushed up and handed me a menu while inhaling.
“Ok,sohereshowitworksyoupickasandwichfromtheleftandourlistoftoppi…”
I held up my hand, closed my eyes and smiled, and with what’s historically been a wonderfully disarming chuckle, started…
“It’s ok. You don’t have to go through all that. I’ve been here before. Thank you though.”
Then she made a mistake.
“GREAT! Well, if you’vebbeenherebeforeyouknowaboutourwonderfulselectionofsignat…”
I turned around at about “…youknowabout…” and walked out.
