Clever Little Bastard, Aren't You

Found this really cool utility for androids called Macrodroid.
It's akin to a programming tool, where you can program the phone to do anything it can do without your input. "If wireless goes down, speak Wireless Down" or "If Aunt Poopypants calls, send to voicemail". Great app.

HINT: you probably don't want to tell the phone to do something when the battery is charged, lest you sit in a quiet room, blogging, and the phone says, "DONE CHARGING."  It's going to take the rest of the week to get my blood pressure back to normal, plus several wash cycles for my poopypants.




Short Music Review: Stone Temple Pilots
This is their first album post the unfortunately dead Scott Weiland.
It's good.
Their new singer does a pretty good Scott Weiland. A very good Scott Weiland. You won't confuse the two, especially as you can't get both of them in the same room, but he was chosen for a reason (like I was on the committee). If you like the original STP, you'll like this album, period. It's got their trademark dynamics, slight left turns, and stellar musicianship. They've done well- buy it.

Also: original Chicago is so good... the current Chicago is more like New Jersey.

• there is a twitter account for Microsoft Security. I desperately want to let them know they're an oxymoron, but that's trolling and trolling is bad, m'kay?

Dear lefty

• Nora Nipples, of North Norwich, asks what are your New Years resolutions?
• Staying awake.

If I didn't hate having my picture taken, I'd produce a great video like Poltergeist, only funnier and sadder. My kitchen sink is fairly standard issue, looking pretty much as a sink should. I noticed that when you put a pot in there, you can no longer wash anything. While this is a great way to get out of doing the dishes, I am rather frequently reminded about them by someone who isn't the dog.

When dishwashing time finally arrives, I don the breathing mask, scuba tanks, and one of those rubber suits (not the fun ones). But this is where the fun starts... first there's water in the sink. Why? Because we have a drain that's a drain in name only. It's called a drain. It's supposed to drain water. And this is where the problem is: the water doesn't drain. I frequently check the infernal device to make sure it's not clogged (it's never clogged). I just like hitting my head against the wall a lot. So I curse at it, slam it down a few times, and it starts to perform the only function for which it exists (you had ONE JOB). Maybe you have to prime the pump...

Immediately, something falls into the sink. Last time it was a new bottle of pepper. Drenched the whole thing, pepper NFG. It is only fitting that something in the drying rack leaps out and plummets to the floor, stopping only to play a short classical piece in midair. When I wash a fork and place it in the rack, it leaps back into the sink, like it was my mother telling me IT ISN'T CLEAN - wash it again (small wonder I spend so much time in therapy). Then it's time to remove the soda cans. What - you don't have soda cans in your sink? You probably don't have a chainsaw in your bathroom either, you sick bastard. While this is going on, a bottle of something else falls into the sink, jumps back out, and hits me on the nose. Yes, I could use a little cosmetic surgery, but I don't need it pointed out by a kitchen implement, thank you.

At this point, I'm less happy than I was the rest of the day. In fact, some of the things that launched themselves into the sink are now airborne, heading to the other side of the kitchen with a huge THUD or SHATTER. This is me, not the poltergeist family.

You cannot fully appreciate the complexity and negative emotion involved in washing those thermal drink cups, even if you see my video. They hide after use, showing up a week or so later in the sink (or the trunk or in Cleveland). There's inevitably a small ring around the bottom that my scrubbie won't scrub. Soak it, says Wife. So I soak it for a day or six, go back in to wash, and it's still there. The poltergeist family is wetting their shorts at this point. We bought this frightening-looking utensil to get down inside and scrape the munge off the bottom. If the scrubbing action fails, it doubles as a flamethrower. Naturally, neither option works (although I met a lot of nice firemen).  It also turns out that if you shoot it with anything larger than a .22, it ricochets and you learn to dance quickly. Ever helpful, Wife tells me to soak it, then suggests going out to get some of those fizzy denture cleaners.

I have to draw the line somewhere, and this is precisely where:
WE SHOULD NOT HAVE TO BUY DENTURE FIZZIES TO CLEAN A THERMAL MUG (I added a DAMMIT for effect). I have the satisfaction of knowing I'm correct as using the mower has also failed and the cup also goes whizzing across the room. This is why they let me wash dishes by myself... even the dog won't come near. The poltergeists are now on the floor in spasms of laughter, the previously dried dishes are in midair, performing the Intermission Ballet portion of Swan Lake, the dog is cowering under the sofa, and Wife just sits there, shaking her head and visiting her Happy Place.

So how was YOUR holiday?

• When I'm really mad, I can get really loud. Wife was talking to the neighbor, who told her to tell me to calm down - it's not good for my health. He heard me ranting.
• I felt much better, having received that sage advice from a paranoid schizophrenic anorexic with legally-owned automatic weapons, renting the place from a 439 year old life form from Neptune who complains to the city the moment a leaf from our tree hits the ground. Sure beats therapy.

Welcome to ZOMBIE HOUSE

I still have no idea how the zombie thing became so popular, but I'll use it....
My house has zombies. Not just one zombie... several.

We have zombie trash: I throw something away and the next day, it's shredded across the floor or bed.

We have zombie dishes: I wash 2 sinks full and the next day they're back and dirty again. Two people live in the house. Two.

We have zombie rug dirt: I clean and vacuum, and the next day, it's a mess again; usually stuffed animal stuffing.

We have zombie chores: I take out the trash and mow. Within a week, I have to take out the trash and mow again. Zombies, I tell you!



My laptop is also besieged by the Poltergeist Family. You can never see them and you can't see them fomenting mayhem, but you notice the effect immediately.

I type a paragraph, find a mistake, and put the cursor in place to fix it. In the time it takes me to look down, the cursor has jumped to the next paragraph and I'm typing something that makes no sense into the middle of something else (NO, this is NOT how I normally put the blog together). I'm trying to communicate with the Poltergeists to ask if we can make a deal. Maybe they can type for me. Or do a few paragraphs. Or do the f-ing dishes.

I suspect they also mix letters around. I look over a sentence and find 'teh', 'CHarlie', and 'Good morIn the next segment ning." To not blame the Geists would be to admit I'm a dyslexic, typing-impaired, second letter capitalizing fool of a blogger. At least I don't tell people I'm a writer.

• It came as quite a surprise to learn we don't have a dog. Since we didn't post her on Faceyspaces, she doesn't exist.
• a relative got one of those rodent breed dogs and splashed her all over Faceyspaces, thus she had a new dog. We have to do it the old fashioned way - take her visiting.

You think your job is bad?
Try a job with our friends at the TSA.
If they catch someone smuggling drugs internally, there's a process...
As the suspect gets ready to expel the packages, they sit on a special toilet. Yes, all toilets are special, but this one is very special. It's specifically built for a purpose. The suspect expels the packages with whatever else was in his intestines, and the entire output goes to a see-through container. Mind you, the subject is up on a throne, performing for a bunch of TSA agents.

Here's where the fun comes in... the TSA person puts his hands into these rubber gloves that go through the container, like one of those things to hold premature babies or stuff from another planet. He holds a hose inside and washes everything down until the packages are the only thing left: these go to the lab.

What a shitty job.

• What would happen if you showed up to play golf, dressed in normal looking clothes?

Dear lefty

• What the hell is an auld lang syne?
• a farming implement used for inseminating chickens.

Watching one of those nature shows where the announcer has a British accent (so you know it's accurate), they featured a rattlesnake and a squirrel. The squirrel watches the snake, gets closer, and starts chucking things at the snake. Back on Earth this is called suicide, and will earn you a nice place for a few days, with locked doors, bad food, and interesting people.

My dog, on one of her leisurely strolls through the neighborhood, caught a mouse. When not mousing, she guards the yard against birds and squirrels. We keep explaining to her that dogs cannot climb trees after squirrels, but she continues to climb trees (like Rob Reiner after a sandwich).



Speaking of drugs, there are all sorts of human drugs given to dogs. Prozac has been given for a while, as have Alzheimer meds. There is now a drug for anxious dogs that goes into a bottle and is spread throughout the room, like an air freshener (or a fart). So not only are you drugging the dog for behavioral problems, you're getting it up your nose too. Hey, maybe it'll calm your anxieties too.

• In Ireland, if you carry untaxed cigarettes in your car, your car can be seized. If you carry untaxed Viagra, your....

It turns out that among the many things you aren't allowed to put on your lawn are a tank, rocket launchers (aimed at a neighbor), an unregistered car, naked ladies, a statue of a Dunkin Donuts extra large coffee, an actual carburetor from a 1974 Nova, and an eternal bonfire. Don't ask how I know.

Speaking of carburetors, a lot of people think electronic ignition was a great leap forward from distributors. It wasn't. The manufacturers had to get rid of distributors because they could no longer tell you to retard the spark. It drove the Social Justice Warriors insane, as if that were a feat.

I was watching Queen at Wembly the other day. There were an awful lot of people in that stadium.  I wondered what I'd do if pigs could fly and I wound up on that stage. Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young performed at Woodstock and said something like "This is our 2nd gig and we're scared shitless."

Soooooo.... let's go to Wembly, where I somehow appeared onstage:

Hey man - how ya doin?

Wow, there sure are a lot of people here ... they tell me 100,000. Could you give me a few minutes to change my shorts?

Hey! It's so great to be here in... [looks down at paper] WEMBLY!  [mad cheering]

Your headache pills are great! Back home we have a stadium called asparagus.

I'm Crosby, Stills, and Nash.  They're Young.

So what are your names?

I didn't know there were 100,000 people in England.

Where are the Whales I keep hearing about?

If you all sing along, it'll be like a big rock concert.

The Flying Spaghetti Monster