They Wax Their Underarms?

According to my trusty indoor thermometer, it's sixty three outside. That's 6.547 British degrees, and in Canada, that's Bikini Weather.

Since my house lags the weather by at least twelve hours, it's pretty cold inside. It's so cold....
HOW COLD IS IT?
It's so cold, the neighbors told me to shut my windows: I'm letting all the cold air outside.

• Hi, my name is Stan. I quit smoking with Chantix. Yes, I killed my wife and children, but I quit smoking!

My toilet's dirty.
Not like that.
It's got dirt on it.
Yes it's cleaned often, thank you.
It's got real dirt on it.
It's not like I went out and rolled in the dirt then came in and drank from the...
Oh.

• There are two kinds of people: a hole has appeared in your plane...

1. you try to figure out how to remain alive
2. you pull out your phone and start taking video

Beyond Death Tip: if your plane is failing to fly, in terms of it rushing at the ground, write out whatever you have to say to whomever and swallow it. It is likely the note will survive and the autopsy will reveal it. You know... if there's enough of you found to autopsy.

• ok, try this one: a fight breaks out in a tiny fast food joint...

1. you duck the punches and flee
2. you pull out your phone and start taking video

• a man is on the bridge you're crossing, looking like he's going to jump...

1. you call the police
2. you pull out your phone and start taking video
3. you drive by and helpfully yell, "JUMP!"

Penn State University has banned its near-century-old outdoor recreation club from going outside because it is too dangerous out in the wilderness. I have a theory (don't I always?): when Stupid gathers, it eventually hits critical mass and explodes spectacularly. So stay away from colleges and universities.

• There is something going on with Ed Begley, Jr. We all know him as an actor and environmental champion. As one watches Really Bad TV, going back farther and farther, into black and white, one sees Ed Begley, Jr. a lot. Ed doesn't seem to age much. He's got that speech thing going. How can a 'young' Ed Begley, Jr., appear in Dragnet, then on a documentary about solar powering his house, looking just slightly older.
• Is Ed Begley, Jr. Satan? 
• Don't tell me I'm the only one who noticed this...

I think it's time we put aside this opioid nonsense and do something useful: cure my wife, who is buy-polar.

• I discovered yesterday, to my shock, that women's pants pockets are largely ornamental. If I didn't know this, what else don't I know?

I'm usually the last one to post this crap. Please don't think less of me.

• The other day, the man for whom the sun shines, Bono Kanye West, said he loves Donald Trump. The 'music' industry went into Immediate Meltdown Mode<tm>, proclaiming #KanyeIsDone.  Here's the report from Hollywood Hospital:
• JayZ and Beyonce have their own rooms while their wings are being built, pictures of the Obamas decorating their walls
• Rob Reiner never moved out of his suites
• Barbara Streisand broke a leg in the mad rush to move to Canada
• the Hollywood Hazmat Team was called out to an awards show, when 90% of attendees simply got a (different) blank look and fell over. As a precaution, all awards shows have been put on indefinite hold
• you could see Whoopee Goldberg momentarily turn into a reptilian
• Meryl Streep and Jennifer Lawrence held hands and fainted, blaming the NRA
• 50 cent devalued to 25 cent
• President Trump hailed the statement, referring to Kanye as 'my very good rap friend'.
• Kim Kardashian asked, "Who's Trump?"
• Sometimes it's fun to sit back and watch the world burn.

It's not a particularly good time to be funny and living in Britain.

A fella by the handle of Count Dankula received an 800lb fine for posting video of his pug making a nazi salute.

A teen from Liverpool was was found guilty of "sending an offensive message" after she posted rap lyrics by Snap Dogg on her Instagram page, as a tribute to a 13 year old boy who died in a traffic accident. BOOM: eight weeks community service and a 500lb fine. Never mind that the lyrics were incomprehensible, it's the principle. I would reproduce them here if there were any chance that this blog is read in England.

Any claim to freedom of speech in England is dead. Now would be a pretty good time to nip this issue before it gets worse. And it will get worse.

In the US, we're free to have our pugs perform nazi salutes while rapping about the best way to offend minorities. People would laugh at us, for other reasons, but we could do it.  I'm kidding: the SJWs would have a fit until we changed the lyrics to 'offending crackers'. We don't have censorship by law - we have censorship by SJW.  We have met the enemy and it is US.

• Work just sent me a voluntary survey to fill out. Now.

There is a Pupperoni on my bed.
The dog is sleeping late today, after keeping the wife up all night, teaching her new tricks.
I hope these two things are related.

• While out, I heard a remake of The Bay City Rollers' "Saturday Night." It was every bit as stupid as the original, but lacking in originality. I haven't been so thrilled about a remake since "Endless Love."

I mentioned that I'm a voluntary agoraphobe: I don't leave my house, not because I can't, but because Stupid People and Stupid Stuff happens when I do. There were errands to be run. I was elected to run them. When I say elected, I mean the wife told me to pick up some things. This is a mixed blessing, as when I do this, it costs considerably less than when she does this. Unfortunately, she's the expert.

Being an occasionally nice guy, I picked her up something for lunch. No, not some sushi from the convenience store... a sandwich from the convenience store.  Yes, I've run million dollar networks, but I hate those automated ordering screens. They're evil and you have to guess which category your food is hidden behind. Well, let's see... paninis are definitely not behind frozen drinks. Or are they? Since the wife is the expert, it didn't seem strange that I couldn't find my choice. This caused me to do what everybody hates most: ask a question of the friendly staff.  I've seen people pull their own hair out and leave the store, rather than ask an employee. The employee helpfully let me know what I wanted just went off the menu and won't be carried anymore.

I snickered an evil snicker. The poor fellow had no idea what was going on and openly wished he were somewhere else. Anywhere but near me. I get that a lot.

You're not paranoid if they really are out to get you.
And they are. Or he is. You can't see him and neither can I. Or at least I don't recognize him. He's the guy who follows us around, noting what we buy. When we leave the store, he gives the list to the manager, who immediately stops carrying whatever we bought. The thing that sounds crazy (really? only one thing?) is that it's not just one store... it's all of them.

Having located the substitution for the item they stopped carrying just for me, I noticed it had several items I did not want, to the extent that I sometimes launch them when at pricey restaurants. The evil display will allow me to customize the sandwich, but we have a fundamental difference in the definition of customize. To most of civilized society (and my neighborhood), customize means add or subtract things. To this store, customize means change the kind of cheese on the sandwich. I don't like cheese. But there's no way to remove it. I really don't like tomatoes. Not an option to remove it. Perhaps I'd be better off with a frozen drink.

I stood in line to pay, right in back of the lady who has a card with a chip in it. She pulled out prematurely, voiding the transaction. Then she hit CREDIT instead of DEBIT.  If this lady has a driver's license, she's about the make the convenience store a drive-thru.

Manning the register is a very cheerful lady. Very cheerful. The kind of cheerful that makes you want to harpoon her. The problem here is that I live in a No Harpoon State, which kinda torpedoes that. Hey.. torpedoes!  The cashier is singing, chatting, and jumping up and down, like some sort of crack addict with an actual job. Or a meth head... I always get those two mixed up. To make things more entertaining, she's blessing people, like Pope Crack. She told one lady to enjoy the beautiful weather God has provided for us. I have no problem with any of this, with the exception of the VOLUME. I just want to know, when the storm starts later today, if she's still going to be thanking God for the beautiful weather. Or blaming him, perhaps.

Have a blessed day, readers.

• Ren was Marshall's cat. He was incredibly long and lean, weighing 19lbs. He drove us up a tree, almost blowing up the house by jumping on the stove and turning the gas on. Eventually he stopped trying to kill us. His heart gave out one day, about two years ago. Every now and then I think about him. I miss the little bastard.

It turns out Elvis was a huge fan of Monty Python's Holy Grail. He would sit there and watch it with his posse, constantly quoting the movie outside. While playing ball, he broke a finger. He said it was just a flesh wound.  I'd pay for footage of this.

• I feel bad that I haven't brought you any good news in IT (no I don't), so here you are: hackers need just about a minute to turn your hotel room key card into a master key for common hotel door locks. So before you go to your room, check your laptop and sex doll at the counter.

Google did a redesign on Gmail that will enhance privacy (from everyone but Google). Here are details. There are some decent improvements, but not all are available right now.






Depression has been described in any number of ways. One particularly good one is an elephant sitting on your chest. Walking though molasses.

The slightest movement is very difficult. It can physically hurt. You burst out crying for little or no apparent reason. There is no joy in anything, including the things you love most. You might sit there at work, staring, unable to work. Or doing your work is too much. You sigh because there's nothing on tv and you had to wade through mud to change the channel. Getting out of bed becomes insurmountable. When you do get out, you desperately want to go back. You don't feel like eating.

Does any of this sound familiar?
Ask your doctor about it.
See someone.*
Talk to someone you know with depression.
Maybe you're more comfortable with a priest or minister or pastor.
You don't HAVE TO feel like this. It's not normal. It's validating and liberating to hear it. You can be helped. Wouldn't it be nice to get to just miserable?

And if you want to hurt yourself or others (more than normal), get to the hospital now. They will keep you safe.



* often the first visit is free. Your insurance should cover it. Cash fees can be negotiated. There may be city or county resources, plus crisis phone lines.