He's Not Writing About Sports Again, Is He?

Only a tiny bit, I promise.
It came to my attention, indirectly, that the Philadelphia Eagles won an important game. If you're from Philly, it's pronounced "Dem Iggles." I say indirectly because that's the only way I'd hear about it. I was in a mall or slaughterhouse somewhere and my phone started making noises, telling me my friends were in a group chat. It got really annoying, as any more than one DING does. They appeared to be commenting on a game. Since it's cold, it was probably Dem Iggles. I could see the straining through the phone. I suggested fiber. Apparently they won. My friends probably had to change their shorts after that. It took me quite a while to wash out the flying bits of animal that were intercepted by my clothes.

The whole thing reminded me of a lovely, happy celebration I saw once. It should be on a billboard that says "Welcome to Philadelphia".

I think she's a cheerleader

I told you it would only be a little bit.

I lied. Here's a little bit more: people are making dog masks and wearing them, in support of Dem Iggles. We are a nation of morons.

• Fortunately for Hawaii, the incoming missile alert was false. Triggered by one mouse click, the entire state went into panic. While one click set it off, there was no Cancel click, so 30+ minutes of panic ensued until somebody figured it out. Is it remotely possible that the alert system is about as mature as Carrot Top? That no one knows where to go? That we need a $*#)ing incoming missile alert? grumble grumble grumble YAH.
• The employee who clicked must be the most hated and horribly embarrassed person in 50 states. He was reassigned because it was a 'mistake'.
• Remember the Good Old Days, when the missile threat was from Russia?
• To give you an idea of how serious Hawaii is about security, they posted a serious looking picture of a serious looking man in front of serious looking computer equipment. It all looked pretty serious.. especially the password on the Post-it note, attached to a screen. It's apparent that we should just surrender now.

It's bloody snowing again. I flash back to winters where we barely saw snow [sigh]. True to form, our 'annoying dusting', which was to show up late tonight, managed to rear its ugly head at least twelve hours in advance. To be fair, the forecasters said eight. So they were damn near correct, especially for them.

But wait!!!!  It will snow tomorrow morning very early.  4-6" forecast, maybe 1-2", depending on day of the week and who you ask, and if their dice are rigged.

As soon as I started grumbling, I remembered a very early adopter of this (alleged) blog, who is completely friggin' buried under snow in Kentucky. Kentucky is prepared for snow only a little more than Hawaii. The drunken lawn tractor races have been postponed for a while, which is a shame, as this is the official sport of Kentucky. The KKK is deliriously happy, as it's white all around. They expect to have a highway cleared. At some point. The locals may be expected to clear streets themselves, which may require chains on their lawn tractors, and worst of all, being sober while running them. The local police have sprung into inaction, triggering heart attacks, because they thought it was raining cocaine. Can you imagine... 8+ inches of cocaine all over the place? People would be so stoned they couldn't move. Which may not be a bad thing for Kentucky.

The Kentucky Tourist Board says Come to Kentucky-it's a great place to rest.
Because you can't go anywhere.

• Indiana, free of snow (temporarily), is the site of yet another ransomware attack. Hancock Health got stung, forcing the entire crew to go back to pencil and paper. Employees under 25 had to go for training, as none could operate a pencil.
• Hats off to Hancock, which got back up shortly after the infection. This is due to good backups. How did they get infected? The most likely culprit was some genius, who was 'forced' to click on a link. Ladies and gentlemen, there is no law that says you must click. Practice safe surfing. Remember the ThermionicEmissions motto: Just Don't Do It.

If you use the Chrome browser, or browsers based on Chrome, you'll want to make sure you're not using these extensions: Change HTTP Request Header, Nyoogle - Custom Logo for Google, Lite Bookmarks, or Stickies - Chrome's Post-it Notes. They were designed to allow Bad People<tm> to send Bad Commands to your browser. Uninstall NOW.

• Perhaps it's my advanced age, but I'm flummoxed at the new trend of kids eating Tide laundry pods. Whatever happened to live frogs? As best I can tell, this stuff is not a part of the Recommended Daily Allowance of food, plus it would appear to be bad for you. If you're going to do it, don't be a sissy and just drink some radiator unclogger or Drano. Besides - everybody knows Tide with Bleach tastes better.
• When I was a teen, we put M-80s in glass soda bottles (remember them?) and ran like hell. Good clean fun - not like these kids today.

Is your computer sluggish? Does it have a bad attitude? Do you wish it was faster? Get yourself a solid state drive (SSD). I use them and can attest to the speed boost. Buy the largest you can afford because data expands - especially porn. You can even buy a small one to put your operating system on, the your data on your existing drive. A larger one will allow you to just duplicate your existing drive - the SSD comes with directions. If the thought terrifies you or you fear reading, ask your local teenager or geek. Everybody knows a geek. They can be paid in money, Dunkin Donuts gift certificates, or sex.

• Today's oxymoron: delicious vegetable lasagna.

The New York Times reports that the Pentagon has suggested countering cyberattacks with a nuclear response. That sounds like a perfectly normal response. I don't want to come off as any kind of expert on cyberattacks or nuclear retaliation, but I was wondering if maybe we could get some really hot cybersecurity people to harden the systems and some really hot hackers to put on the offense. The NSA has demonstrated that it has 'goodies' planted in foreign networks. Ah, now that I think about it, if we can't bill Lockheed for it, the Pentagon doesn't want to hear about it.  But using the nuclear option will certainly assure us that they won't do it again.

• Apropos of nothing, Pornhub saw a 50% increase in traffic from Hawaii in minutes after the false alarm was rescinded. The internet (the world) runs on porn.

Today we ask the question "Is this the golden age of drag?"
Why we ask the question completely escapes me. Stay tuned for other escapeful questions.

• New Jersey is a great place. It's a town where law and order rules the day If you don't believe me, ask the guy in Hackensack, who got a ticket for jaywalking, right after he got hit by a truck. 

Whither Plumbing

Meanwhile, on this Martin Luther King holiday, I have tackled trash, drains, toilets, dishes, and occasionally, the dog.  I'm strangely pleased. Instead of a four page screed on Manual Labor being hispanic, I'm borderline tipsy with glee. Wait, make that joy.. glee is a little too gay for me.

For those of you keeping track of and guiltily enjoying some of my horror, we had a Plumbing Event a short while back. Let's say that we came to appreciate the little things in life, like a glass of water, flushing the toilet, and showering. After paying yet another ridiculous bill, allowing Roto Ranger to buy a new truck, we were allowed to shower again (whether we wanted to or not). New truck aside, I have only good things to say about Roto Ranger. Nice guys, great work, they left it much cleaner than they found it, and they were polite enough not to say anything after they saw Jimmy Hoffa's body, over in the corner.

A coupla days ago, someone flushed a toilet. This is a fairly normal occurrence, which normally gathers no notice. This time, however, the other toilet let out a house-shaking gurgling, as if Satan himself had taken residence in our pipes. As the toilet was still on its mount, I gingerly backed out of the bathroom, content to let the Dark One do whatever dark ones do in plumbing.

Unimpressed by my display of leaving him alone, Satan continued his work, by making the toilet overflow when I flushed it. I swore, when it was all over, I was going to bill him for all the Playboys and Vintage Guitar magazines that got ruined. Later, I was summoned to the torture chamber basement, where it was raining. Now it wasn't raining outside, so I used my Science Brain to deduce that it was only raining inside. This is why I get the Big Bucks. She had just showered, which must've had something to do with the rainfall (I told you I was good). She shouted out directions in the way only she can, which meant I only understood about half of what she said. This served only to annoy her, at which point I started to feel bad for Satan.

The rain seemed to be coming from a large diameter pipe that had the nerve not to be cloud-shaped. Fortunately for us, the water was coming down outside the pipe. Yes, it was still raining, but it wasn't from a burst pipe. In my life, it's always the little things.

Out of nowhere, I wondered if it had something to do with that little lever jigger that you use to keep the water from going down the drain if you want a bath. In a stunning display of bravery and confidence, my wife had removed it because it wouldn't shut all the way. Unfortunately, bravery didn't extend to putting the new one in. Apparently this way My Job, but I didn't know it until just that moment, in the basement rain. There was no transfer paperwork or customary thirty days' notice. The only problem was that I didn't see it come out and had no idea how it worked. I checked with the brand spanking new Master Plumber, who told me all I needed was to put back the screws. This went swimmingly, only causing a few trips up and down steps, and about thirty minutes of screaming at the parts. It still didn't work, which made the Master Plumber give up. A few adjustments later and I fixed it (he said proudly). If I were a real plumber, I would have charged her $550 for it, plus the off hours fee.

A day later, the basement sink got clogged. Satan had been a busy little bee. The Master Plumber got right on it, with her lotions and her potions, designed to blow a hole in the ... ummm... hole.  At that point, the Master Plumber handed things over to the Reluctant Apprentice and promptly retired, screaming about someone had better fix it or we'd have to take out a fourth mortgage to pay the real plumber. She was kind enough to leave me detailed instructions that only left out a few steps here and there. If you ever get bored, or get a clogged sink, pour baking soda on/in it, then some vinegar. It's like a mountain of an explosion that gets down there and cleans and shines your pipes to a mirror finish. One pot of boiling water and two plunges later, we were back in business.

I didn't expect or deserve a parade; it was my damn sink too. I told her maybe just a little kiss on the cheek and a high-pitched "You're my HERO!" Judging by the way she held the chainsaw in her hand, I was unlikely to get much of anything, except for bloody.

HALLELEUJAH, we had achieved pipes! Water flow. Dishes. Toilets flushing.
Just for fun I plunged a toilet, which flushed effortlessly.  The other one... well.. Satan was still in the house, making that horrible noise when the other toilet flushed. This time it sounded like an earthquake, with the toilet about to shoot across the room at any moment. Flying toilets are not in my job description, so I called the Plumbing Police and told them to bring a priest. He did his magic and blessed the place, stopping only long enough to ask if there were any good little children who wanted to be his special altar boys.

In other news, we're thinking of laying off the fiber.


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Apparently I typed too quickly.

The Demons of Stupidity came back for another exciting round.
After working 2 jobs, I had to go food shopping because I was OUT OF COFFEE. You understand the implications of this.

Let's say never send a man to do a woman's job.

She shops, which is good. She physically couldn't, so I did.
She wrote out a list, assuming I knew what she was talking about and where everything was. See where this is going?

First item, special cheese. I had to call and ask what this was.
Call cell phone: goes right to voicemail. sigh.
Call house phone: all circuits are busy.
WHAT?
All circuits are busy. Since when? It's 2018 - why can't I complete a phone call?
Plugged earphones into phone, so I could listen to music. The cord tied itself around the phone and every other object it could find. This is when one or the other wasn't falling out of an ear. I see people using earphones every day. Do I need a class for special earphone users? Does the valedictorian get his picture taken with President Nixon?

Have you ever seen somebody go completely MENTAL in a supermarket?
It was all I could do not to scream bloody murder. My day apparently wasn't going as well as I hoped. My phone helped by readjusting the volume to 'protect' me. This is almost as welcome as my car DINGING at me repeatedly when I take off my seatbelt. Seatbelt: the thing that holds your dead body in the car after the crash. The thing that gets caught and keeps the door from closing.

I was finally going to get my lemon Snapple.
Oops, I was prematurely optimistic, as I tend to be premature in general. No lemon Snapple except for diet. People who drink Diet Snapple also drink 2% milk. They eat two hoagies and a diet Snapple, because they're worried about their weight.
I think the store just stopped carrying it and is just screwing with their customers, telling them it will be on the shelf tomorrow. I would definitely do that. This is one of the many reasons I don't work in retail. One of the others is that customers who annoyed me (most of them) kept mysteriously developing burns on random parts of their bodies. They never found out how it happened.

How about some chocolate milk from the list?
Good luck finding chocolate milk. There is a wall with four separate doors, full of milk. But no chocolate milk. Oh wait - how about some lactose-free chocolate milk? Ummmmm..... no. Hmmmm.... 2%?  No serious person drinks 2% chocolate milk. Hey, there's another cold section with actual chocolate milk. Of course there is. And it's not chocolate milk, it's some bizarre chocolate drink-like substance, probably with no actual chocolate in it. Meanwhile, the phone is continuing to help me by adjusting the volume of the music, sometimes in the middle of a song. I'm singing out of tune with a song only I can hear in my head. I was very busy shopping, but it had something to do with chopping off heads and general indiscriminate maiming. My eyeballs are spinning like a slot machine. People were fleeing the general vicinity. Little children were crying. And I could find bags of lemons but no actual loose lemons. I'm told it's inappropriate to hurl bags of lemons over your head like some kind of 'special' superhero. Lemon Man - Lemon Man can! Am I digressing? You bet your car's blown fuse that keeps the interior lights from coming on, I'm digressing.

There are certain facts that are helpful to know.
The most relevant one, aside from letting someone ELSE do the shopping, is that you cannot buy real chocolate milk - only 2%. It's apparently been this way for a while. All this time I've been protesting getting screwed by two political parties that aren't different from each other, when I could be protesting something important - who the hell says I can't have real full fat-engorged chocolate milk? Who is 'protecting' me from chocolate milk? 2% milk is for people who think 2% is going to make the tiniest bit of difference in their lives. Like drinking it is going to make you look like a Victoria's Secret model. "Oh, I drink 2%. You can keep your real milk."

At this point, seven people move their carts directly in front of the milk, as if choreographed. There was chocolate milk back there, but I'd have to go through all seven of them, grab the chocolate milk, then pay and run to the car, hoping they wouldn't call the police. The irony here is that the police were down the street, at the convenience store (no, not the Dunkin Donuts).

Once home, I put away some groceries, after it being noted that everything I purchased was wrong, and I look slightly to my left. Where both huge halves of the sink are completely full and backed up from Satan knows where. All over again.

The wife reminded me that murder stubbornly continues to be illegal.

My hard-earned, small, just for me bonus?
It's going to the plumber.
Sometimes they like to torture me by letting me touch the money first. I get actual money and can feel its crispness, smell the fresh glory of the green. If I were a dog, I could smell the drug residue on it, as most money has drug residue on it. I can imagine what I'll do with it. Then the sink backs up, the money leaps out of my pocket, and if I don't pay the home improvement salesmen, they're threatening to send more of them around, especially during dinner.


Epilogue:
The job took my entire bonus, plus another ten percent, for good luck. I saw things that people should never see.