A very special message for those of you who have been concerned about Bug the Goat's absence:
The truth about Bug must come out. For about a year now, he's been addicted to goat painkillers, on top of reoccurring bouts with alcohol. He checked himself into the Betty Ford rehab clinic several months ago, which is why he hasn't been around. He feels he needed to come clean with his fans and with himself to fully recover. Things have been going quite well, other than for a few fits of psychotic rage and some tiny little relapses now and then. With your help and prayers, he will be back again on the blarf soon, spouting more words of goaty wisdom, albiet with a severly damaged goat liver.
--Bug's Publicist
best wishes to Bug (p.s. get off the drugs, you stupid, hollow-horned ruminant)
since Bug should be just fine in due time, all of you Bug-Lovers can now go and have a nice, cold Genny Cream Ale and relax.
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and in less touchy news:
the evil Nokia 6230
some long-time callers may have noticed that i recently had to change my voice mail message. this is because my Nokia 6230 crapped out again, and while waiting for a warranty replacement, i had to forward all calls to my business cell phone. that meant re-directing all of my calls from the regular phone to the biz phone by way of a new voice mail message. that pissed me off to have to do that, since i'd been using the same message for over 5 years. i still remember recording that message--i was standing on the sidewalk behind Pritchard Dodge in Ithaca on a warm, sunny day with traffic wizzing by. *sigh* so much for sentimentality. it goes in the toilet when technology rots out from beneath you.
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and now another snazzy story about me being annoyed:
i was at walmart the other day. it was fricking busy, and as usual, out of 20 check-outs, there were about 5 that were open. i picked the one with the shortest line, which, of course, will take the longest time to get through according to Murphy's law. i watched other shoppers get into other lines, wait, pay, and leave while i stood there long enough to grow stubble. obviously, i wasn't going to leave my line in fear that i'd end up stuck in the slowest line somewhere else (once you've been cursed with the slow line, it follows you, even to the express lane.) when i got to the front of the line, i discovered an exceptionally courteous cashier, an older white guy in his 50's or so, painstakingly counting change and making delightful small talk with customers.
now before you call me an asshole, let me say that i love people like that.
but not at freaking walmart.
i'd rather have a fat lady named Deb in a blue apron say to me "welcome-to-walmart-$23.87-here's-your-goddamn-change-thank-you" because that's what we know & love about walmart. walmart cashiers should not be slow & steady guys like this who count out the change to the exact penny & stuff. god bless him, but he belongs at Ye Olde Time Hardware Store or something, or at least at the door saying hello. come to think of it, i haven't seen walmart greeters lately--are they extinct? did walmart decide that paying some old man minimum wage to greet people was not cost effective? did it force them to raise the price on a gallon-size jar of pickles by another penny? good heavens.
and more importantly, can you buy Genny Cream Ale at walmart?
walmart sez: hurry up, damn you
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and on the JobFront:
as you might expect, when on The Job, you have to be The Man.
you have to call the shots.
you have to put people in their place when necessary.
you have to make life-altering decisions for dipshits that can't handle it on their own.
and this was the mindset i was in one day recently when my dad called me on the cell phone. i think i had just gotten done writing a ticket to a deserving idiot driver, or told someone to hang it in their ass (in a nice way) because it needed to be said, and that's when dad called. he mentioned he and mom were going to go out to dinner and i was invited. did i have any ideas of where to eat, and about what time would i be out of work? i thought, yes, dad, i do know where i want to eat and why don't you call me later and i'll tell you when and where we're going and--WHOOOooHHH, back up the bus. did i just almost tell dad what to do? that does not happen. my dad is by no means a prick or an asshole, but still, his sons don't tell him what to do, so i had an odd juxtaposition of The Man telling The Big Man what to do. whoops. glad i cought myself before i dissed my dad. sometimes even The Man has to answer to somebody.
