On the highway today, I saw a license plate that I thought said "MARK WTF". I laughed, wondering if that's what Mark's friends said to him when he bought that expensive SUV in this economy.
As I got closer, I saw that it actually said "MARX WYF". That's seems unlikely, as Jenny von Westphalen died in 1881. I guess it actually must have been a shortened form of what the driver really wanted to have on her license plate: "I'M MARRIED TO MARK SO STAY BACK YOU HUSSIES!" Unfortunately, those doggone license plate length limits and lack of punctuation made that message difficult to send. I just don't feel like the new plate packs the same wallop.
Abashing The Cat: Just as Wrong as it Sounds
Every so often I walk in on my roommate's cat straddling this rainbow feather duster we have laying around the house. You may not think a cat is capable of looking embarrassed, but you've probably never caught one doing that either. He looks up and meows something like the cat equivalent of "This isn't what it looks like! I was doing the Heimlich...I mean we were rearranging the furniture...I mean...ehh forget it" then we both feel awkward and we avoid making eye contact for the rest of the day.
When I'm Sixty Five
We got a new online 401k tracking system at work last week. I was looking over it and found that my retirement date is scheduled for 2050. I hope they develop flying cars by then so that I can be part of the first generation of old people to obstruct traffic in three dimensions.
Maybe four, even, if scientists get cracking on wormholes.
Maybe four, even, if scientists get cracking on wormholes.
New Design
We're trying out a new design here at the Flametroll. I'm sure you'll like it. If not, put a sock in it because I run this blog for my amusement not yours.
It's Kind of Gross Up There
I keep seeing this commercial for a place called Sybaris. It's a... uhh..."resort" for... umm... "romantic getaways." If that sounds sleazy, you haven't even seen the commercial.
I'll let you ponder that for a bit.
Recovered your sanity now? Cool. Anyway, I don't know if it was such a wise decision to name the place something that sounds so much like syphilis. Might as well call it "Gonorrh-otica". Or as my roommate suggested, "Herplex."
It turns out that Sybaris was a legendary Greek island of pleasure. So apparently it was named by an out of touch literature professor. Or maybe just an literature professor who's a total perv. I suspect that's a problem for a lot of them. I mean, they can see dozens of phallic symbols in a chapter of The Scarlet Letter when I wasn't even sure a lot of the chapters included so much as a plot.
Anyway, that's what's been on my mind lately. I guess that's why people have stopped asking.
I'll let you ponder that for a bit.
Recovered your sanity now? Cool. Anyway, I don't know if it was such a wise decision to name the place something that sounds so much like syphilis. Might as well call it "Gonorrh-otica". Or as my roommate suggested, "Herplex."
It turns out that Sybaris was a legendary Greek island of pleasure. So apparently it was named by an out of touch literature professor. Or maybe just an literature professor who's a total perv. I suspect that's a problem for a lot of them. I mean, they can see dozens of phallic symbols in a chapter of The Scarlet Letter when I wasn't even sure a lot of the chapters included so much as a plot.
Anyway, that's what's been on my mind lately. I guess that's why people have stopped asking.
Come On Get Down Chuck Up With the Sickness
I saw people vomit on back to back days this weekend.They say you should start a story off with a line that will catch people's attention. I think that should do it.
Yesterday, I was working a beer stand a Miller Park for the Brewers/White Sox game. If there's two towns whose fans know how to drink, it's Chicago and Milwaukee. For Yankee/Mets fans, drunkenness is mainly a means to increase their level of belligerence. For Philadelphians, it's not so much a drink as a projectile. For Brewers/Cubs/Sox fans, on the other hand, drinking beer is an end in itself.
Anyway, around the fourth inning, an usher...umm...ushered a girl over to a folding chair behind our stand. He said she wasn't feeling well and walked off. Almost immediately, the girl puked all over. I ran to get the usher, who didn't seem all that plussed. He called maintenance for a cleanup. The girl disappeared. I assume she was taken away from our beer stand so she wouldn't be a walking (or rather unsteadily sitting) anti-drunkenness PSA.
We sold four kegs of beer during the course of the game. With foam included, that turns out to produce a lot of runoff. It all goes down into a tank, which had to be emptied out once the game ended. So there I was, emptying what was probably a 40-gallon tank through a tiny hose into a 5 gallon bucket. I felt a little bit like Hercules, not in the god-like superhuman strength sense, but more in the endless dull repetitive task sense. Emptying the Augean bilge bucket.*
There was nowhere else to dump the bucket, so I took it into the nearest bathroom to empty it down the sink (gross, I know, but that's what they told me to do). On my way in, an usher warned me that I couldn't clean yet because there was still someone in there. I told him I was just going in to dump my bucket and he understood that I was not using a euphemism.
Inside the bathroom, I saw a pair of feet under the last stall in the row. I didn't think much of it, and went out to refill the bucket. I came in again and the feet were still there. By my fifth-ish time into the bathroom, the usher had apparently become concerned for the person still in the stall. Three police officers went in to check on the occupant.
An officer knocked on the stall door. "Are you ok in there?" No response. "Is everything ok?" No response. "This is the police. We're just here to make sure you're alright." No response. An officer went into the adjoining stall and looked over the divider.
There are a number of things I expected the officers to say right about then. "Do you want us to call the paramedics?" or "Sir please put your pants on." Something along those lines. Instead, what I heard will remain forever imbedded in my memory.
"Ma'am, are you aware that you're in a men's restroom?"
Oh yeah, I guess I should complete the story I promised you at the beginning of the post. I saw a guy by the side of the road throwing up next to his car this morning.
*"Bilge bucket" is a great word and I'm disappointed it's taken me five years to actually use it in a blog
