A Universe where companies joined together and kept their original slogans. For example, if UPS and the Cleveland Steam Cooking Specialists joined forces in a big corporate merger (well, big in the sense that UPS is big), what would we get?
I’ll give you a little hint about their new advertising campaign:
Cleveland Steamers: What can Brown do for you?
I don’t want to be one to heckle a gift dog’s mouth, but I have to just this once.
I made a deal to get some speakers from a guy off of craigslist for free. And this was sweet, as the speakers are unique but pretty awesome (this guy made homemade speakers with a 6×9″ speaker and a 12″ woofer in each one, with a nice plywood box and cover). I hooked them up and they work great, they are loud and sound good.
When I went to this guys house to pick them up, his dog shuffled out of the kitchen to say hi to me. Now this dog was an older bulldog, with the classic bulldog gait/shuffle, and a hugely wide face. As he waddled up to me, I noticed that this was the canine version of dorkfish. His lower jaw stuck out about an inch and a half under his upper lip. He tried to sniff my hand, but his teeth hit first and I don’t think that he got close enough to actually smell me. I started looking around for corndogs to see if what I’ve heard is true, about DorkDog and CornDogs, but I didn’t see any.
And I feel bad. Mostly because there was no one with me to share in the ridiculous amount of under-jut that this dog had in his jaw, but also a little because I was inwardly making fun of the dog of the guy that was giving me some pretty sweet speakers.
I think I’m going to Hell.
I’m not surprised that no one is giving Seattle any type of credit to win the Superbowl. The Seahawks have been the butt of so many tired jokes that even I am starting to get annoyed by them, and I love tired jokes. And I would go on to say why the Seahawks have a chance to win (Shaun Alexander, Matt Hasselbeck, that Tatupu guy, etc), but I don’t know and don’t care enough to do the research. I’m not one of those guys that remembers all the plays of every game I’ve ever seen, and what kind of an effect they had on the rest of the season. I’m not one of those guys that plays fantasy football and talks trash to all my friends with the names of the players that I’ve got on my team. I think that professional sports are rather boring in the US. Why? Because the athletes get paid the same damn thing no matter what the outcome, until the playoffs/finals. That is the only time that they actually seem to care about winning.
Ok, so I’ve gotten a little bit off topic of what I originally wanted to post about, so I’ll make an abrupt left turn and get back on track (or on track for the first time, depending on how you look at it).
I’m impressed by the amount of merchandise that is being sold on the streets of downtown Seattle over the past two weeks.
There, I said it.
As I’ve been through and around downtown Seattle the last two weeks, I’ve seen a lot of makeshift T-shirt sales booths. By booths, I mean a piece of cardboard thrown on the ground with a bunch of shirts on it. I’m a little surprised, as I haven’t seen any Seahawks merchandise before these past two weeks for sale anywhere (I’m sure it’s out there, but it hasn’t been in the public eye as much). It has been an impressive display of entrepeneurship, as each section of cardboard that has been laid down on the sidewalk has had between 3 and 8 people rooting around through the shirts. Usually when that happens, the Seattle populace has an uncanny ability to ignore the impromptu street fair at all costs (even walking into traffic to pass the “sell zone”).
Of course, it doesn’t look like it will do any good, as it is currently 21-10 Pittsburgh with only 3:20 left. Bummer.
I made myself a wireless antenna last night, because my signal was weak, the internet was slow, and I was starting to twitch from lack of page response (it’s an affliction I have, if I have to wait for a page to load, I start to shiver. Then I start to twitch, and then the swearing starts. It is similar to Turrett’s Syndrome). And amazingly, this contraption made out of cardboard and tinfoil raised my signal from “Very Low” to “Very Good”. Now I can surf the pr0n…check my email so much quicker, it’s beautiful.
Someday I’ll take a picture of the one that I made, and post it for you to oogle.
There’s a hippy and a super genius sitting on a bench waiting for a bus.
The genius gets bored, leans over to the hippy and says, “Hey I’ll tell you what. I’ll ask you a question and if you don’t know the answer you have to give me five bucks. If you ask me a question and I don’t know the answer, I have to give you fifty bucks.”
The hippy says, “All right, man.”
The genius asks the hippy, “What is the Pythagorean Theorem?”
The hippy replies, “I don’t know,” and hands the genius five bucks.
“Okay,” the hippy says, “What has three legs going up a hill and four legs going down?”
The genius thinks real hard and finally gives up. He hands the hippy fifty bucks and then asks, “So what is the answer?”
The hippy says, “I don’t know,” and hands the genius five bucks.
Evidently I almost got someone fired today.
I didn’t mean too, I was just doing what I was told to do at work, and the consequences fell to him. Ok, here’s the story: part of my job is delivering stuff to clients. Since we have company vehicles, every now and then I need to fill them up with gas. The first time this happened, I used someone else’s code to fill up (the company credit cards require a user’s code to work, so that big brother can keep track of us), and then continued to use his code because no one ever told me any different.
Today, I ran into that guy, and he started telling me about how much crap he got into yesterday with the Three Wise Men (aka, those in charge). Supposably, he was about a hair’s breadth away from being fired for “stealing gas” on the company card (yes, the gas that I had bought for the company vehicle). Well, I let him know that I was the one that was using his code, and he went into a beautiful rant about the bosses that had reamed him out. It was amazing, I wish that I could have recorded it for posterity, but all I can remember now are phrases like “douchenozzle”, “fuck-taint”, and “shit for semen”.
After I left work, I got a call from one of the Three Wise Men, who tried to lay into me for using the other guy’s code. Of course, as soon as I saw where he was heading, I cut him off to let him know that no one gave me my own code, so how was I supposed to do anything else? Should I just sit in the van with on the side of the road until the Gas Fairy appeared?
It turns out that he had set up a code of my own, and then neglected to tell me about it. I think that he realized that he messed up, since he got real quiet and a little apologetic after it came to light that I didn’t know what code was my own.
The guantlet has been laid and/or thrown, whatever turns it on the most, and I have accepted. A pet story has been told by one of the Faithful* with the title of “Grossest. Pet Story. Ever.”, and I can’t let that stand without at least trying to top it. I’m not sure what it is about me, but just like I can’t see a basketball game without thinking that I could play in it, I can’t see people playing soccer without thinking that I could nutmeg every last one of them, and I can’t watch frisbee without getting all twitchy and psyched to play. I also need to at least try and top this story, so here goes:
Second. Grossest. Pet Story. Ever.
My dog likes the kitty roca. (I think that everyone knows where this story is going, but I’ll finish anyway. )
One day as I was walking my dog (he’s part Rottweiler and part whatever other dog he ate), he stopped to sniff at something in the sidewalk. Normally I can yank him away from these little treats before he gets to eat them, but this one just looked like a big misshapen stick. When I got a little closer, I saw that it was in fact a large and in charge piece of cat crap (I don’t want to meet the cat that laid that bad boy down, as it probably weighs more than I do. At the exact time that I realized that it was the infamous “roca”, my dog hoovered it all down. And I mean hoovered, I don’t think that he stopped to chew once he decided to eat.
Well, I chastised him for eating the crap, because that was about all I could do at that point in time, and I thought that was the end of it. Not so. About 4 days later, he suffered “Kitty Roca’s Revenge”. I walked him in the morning, and as he squatted over to grunt one out, it was like someone turned on the hose. Every time he squeezed, a voluminous amount of liquid shite came jetting out of his anus. And I mean voluminous, and I mean jetting. He probably crapped out about a nalgene’s worth of diarrhea in 8 seconds (the best 8 second ride I’ve seen in a while).
Now I’m standing next to him and the puddle of crap that he put in the neighbors yard with my hand in a plastic Fred Meyer’s bag…wondering how in the world I could even begin to clean that mess up. I looked around, looked back at the dog, looked around again, saw no one, and walked away.
Three days later, two or three craps a day, and he finally got over the explosive diarrhea. Most of the days, I managed to walk him in alleys or in ivy, where he made his puddle and I shamefully walked away. But once, I got caught. Before I could get across the way to the alley, he let loose on the neighbors yard again, right in front of the neighbors. Since my relationship with the neighbors wasn’t too great to begin with, I didn’t feel as though I could just let it go. So I got out my baggies, even though a squeegee would have been more help, and schlepped up as much as I could. Have you ever been 1mm’s worth of plastic away from steaming and streaming dog excrement? I’ll just say that it ain’t the best way to spend five minutes.
Ok, I realize that I may have been in the running for the First. Grossest. Pet Story. Ever. if the dog had let loose in the house, or on the bed, or in my mouth. But that just didn’t happen, and I’m trying to keep a modicum of reality in my posts so I won’t lie and say that it did.
But at least I tried.
*The Faithfull are those that actually read and comment on Sebbylite. Right now, there are three of them. Give yourself a pat on the back, and the next time I see you I’ll buy you a beer, or in Pooh’s case, a Zima.
