Things Sarah and I find at the store, Part Two

Should have posted these back when they were relevant, but there were a lot of shiny objects nearby, and well, you know how that goes.

Anyway, with the economic downturn, Santa apparently had to take on a second job as a fireman, but then things took a turn for the better when he signed a free agent contract with the 1974 New England Patriots.

Meanwhile, in other countries, they have their own special versions of Santa. In Ireland, Seamus O'Claus comes to the homes of good little boys and girls bearing gifts of golden coins, and for the naughty children, he brings severe beatings from his shamrock-laden whoopass stick. In Sub-Saharan Africa, Kwanzaa Claus has become somewhat of an outcast, shunned by a population that has realized that Kwanzaa is just some American bullshit some dude came up with in the sixties, and filled with bitterness from the much more Christmassy Black Santa being way more popular than he is.

Anyway, I must say that all of this commercialism surrounding Christmas is horrible, we should get back to the roots of the holiday season, and we should all take this time to get right with God.

Mmm, now that's some tasty, tasty God.

THE DAY AFTER THE BLIZZARD OF THE CENTURY OF THE DECADE OF THE DAY

(NOTE: May not be actual image from 2009 Oklahoma blizzard)

So for the last week or so, the dudes with ties who tell us what's going to happen with the weather (mostly The Weather Channel, Gary England and this other dude who a guy in the break room was saying got kicked out of school and just has the job because his dad owns the station, or something else weird like that) never could get their stories straight regarding the weather Thursday. (Christmas Eve, duh) First, it was rain on Wednesday, followed by a slight chance of snow. Then, we were totally getting a white Christmas, maybe. THEN, it was something like a sixty percent chance of rain on both days. Then, it was "oh hey, we're totally gonna get some snow Thursday, right on." But then, some time in the morning, right before we were headed off to gay-work, it had changed into:

So yeah, with ominous warnings fresh in our minds and promises of six to eight inches of snow on out TVs and radios, we headed off to work like the damned fools that we are. And God, who has no use for damned fools and has tried to do me in on several occasions, decided that we could fuck right off, ripped open the sky, and dumped fourteen inches on us. Of snow. Coming at us at a sixty freaking miles of hour, like little daggers from hell, which is what it might as well have been. Of course, with States of Emergency being declared, roads getting so piled up with snow, ice, abandoned vehicles, and hordes of the screaming undead* that every highway in the state had been shut down, and only complete idiots even attempting to leave their homes, my workplace stayed the hell open, only letting the out-of-town folks go around 1:30 or so, by which time it was already damn near unthinkable that they'd actually get to where they came from. In fact, I had to stay there, pacing around a mostly customer-free store, cursing every living relative of Sam Walton (peace be upon Him) until 5:30 in the PM, and the store stayed open for possibly as long as two more hours after that. Yeah, those bloodsucking bastards just had to squeeze out the profit equivalent of a really slow, late-month Tuesday, even while this was happening about twenty feet from my front door:


By this time, my car was a total loss as far as getting home was concerned, and I had to get a ride from another dude whose car was pretty much unburied, despite being almost right next to mine. After a harrowing trip home that involved some shithole in one of those giant pickup trucks whose four wheel drive capability apparently gives them magical ice-driving capabilities passing us going about fifty and walking the last half-mile or so, because my street was a wreck and I didn't want to strand the dude over here, I got home. Eventually, I thawed out and took pictures. Here are some of them now:

In addition to death and destruction, this storm apparently had the ability to turn people into Eskimos and dudes from Chicago who were getting punched in the face by The Invisible Man.

Them feets is buried, yo.

Snow drift against one of the buildings here. Coming from a flat place such as I do, I had a lot of instances of "oh daaaaang, look how high that one drift is - Oh wait, that house is on a hill."

The view down my street. This is AFTER the snow plows came through.

The winds we got were strong enough to rip one of the window shutters right off the side of my building...

But where it landed was almost completely free of snow or ice, despite nothing being there but the neighbor dude's motorcycle. Christmas miracle?

Meanwhile, across town in a place where toys are apparently Us, Sarah's truck remained where it had been abandoned the day before, with a good three feet of snow serving as a big middle finger to us all. This was the only snow drift in the entire parking lot, almost as if the forces of nature were conspiring specifically against us.

Eventually, it was freed, after we shoveled away enough snow for me to lift the truck over my head and throw it to safety.*

Back home, Dusty held a silent vigil for our safe return.

But we returned, and all was well. But I have to warn you - Yellow snow DOES NOT taste like lemons. Don't ask me how I know that. Just... don't.

That's about all I have to report for now, at least until I figure out how in the hell I'm supposed to get to work tomorrow. So until next time:

FEAR THE SNOSQUITO

*that part might not have actually happened

BLIZZARD OF THE CENTURY OF THE DECADE OF THE DAY

More news, notes, and photos from the planet Hoth coming tomorrow.

I'm dreaming of a white Christmas

Issued by The National Weather Service
Oklahoma City, OK
4:17 am CST, Thu., Dec. 24, 2009

... WINTER STORM WARNING NOW IN EFFECT UNTIL 10 PM CST THIS EVENING...

THE WINTER STORM WARNING IS NOW IN EFFECT UNTIL 10 PM CST THIS EVENING.

* TIMING: ALL OF TODAY AND THIS EVENING

* MAIN IMPACT: HEAVY SNOW AND STRONG WINDS. NEAR BLIZZARD CONDITIONS AT TIMES. SNOWFALL WILL AVERAGE 4 TO 8 INCHES... BUT SOUTHERN OKLAHOMA MAY RECEIVE 8 TO 11 INCHES... GENERALLY BETWEEN LAWTON AND PAULS VALLEY.

* OTHER IMPACTS: THE CHANGE FROM RAIN TO SNOW WILL BE DELAYED THIS MORNING IN CENTRAL AND NORTH CENTRAL OKLAHOMA... INCLUDING OKLAHOMA CITY... GUTHRIE... STILLWATER... AND PONCA CITY. A MIX OF FREEZING RAIN AND SLEET... POSSIBLY HEAVY AT TIMES... WILL CREATE VERY SLICK AND HAZARDOUS CONDITIONS BY MIDDAY. HEAVY SNOW IS THEN EXPECTED DURING THE AFTERNOON.

PRECAUTIONARY/PREPAREDNESS ACTIONS...

A WINTER STORM WARNING MEANS SIGNIFICANT AMOUNTS OF SNOW... SLEET... AND ICE ARE EXPECTED OR OCCURRING. STRONG WINDS WILL ALSO REDUCE VISIBILITY TO NEAR ZERO AT TIMES... WHICH CAN BE DISORIENTING. THIS WILL MAKE TRAVEL VERY HAZARDOUS OR IMPOSSIBLE. THIS IS A LIFE THREATENING STORM.

Keyboard Cat

Is at the keyboard.

So I had this dream...

No, not THAT dream...

So last night, I'm all crashed out hard asleep, and I start having this dream. Now, I don't remember the beginning or middle parts, but they're not in any way pertinent to this story I'm about to unfold here, so I'm not too worried about that. What I can remember is that it was one of those crazy, twisted dreams that takes you down some winding road of unrelated events that all seem perfectly related to each other, because it's a dream, and everything in dreams makes sense. Like the ones where you're eating spaghetti with Morgan Freeman or whatever, and you somehow end up fighting a dragon with a railgun in a totally different time and place about ten minutes later, and it all somehow makes perfectly fine damn sense. You know, that kind of dream. But once again, that's not the part of the story that matters.

So anyway, somehow, I end up playing outside linebacker for the Chicago Bears. And it's in an actual, by-god NFL game, but for some reason, it's being held in what I'm pretty sure was a high school gymnasium, like on a basketball court and everything. Don't ask me why - It was a dream. It was apparently taking place this year, because I totally remember that Hunter Hillenmeyer was lined up in the middle, indicating that Brian Urlacher was all arm-crippled off to the side somewhere. It might be the only time someone's dream of NFL glory has in any way involved Hunter Hilenmeyer. But I digress. I can't remember who we were playing, but I'm assuming it was the Vikings, because I remember that the other team had a really good running back that I was all nervous about having to go up against. And sure enough, the one play that happens in this game, they hand off to that dude. And he's all heading outside to my left, and I manage to come over from the opposite side of the play, put a big hit on him, wrap him up in textbook fashion, and drop him with a perfect form tackle, and all this is crazy, because when I actually played in high school, I only played offense, because I couldn't tackle for shit. But I made the tackle, dammit, and the fame and glory were mine.

Or they might have been mine, had I not woke up like immediately following the play.

Imagine this, but in a high school gym, and from the perspective of the dude next to this dude.
And possibly involving Morgan Freeman and some dragons.

You see, back in real-life, three-dimensional world, where I work at Walmart and don't fight that big, gold wolf-dude from Power Rangers with a sword that shoots tornadoes or whatever other kinds of crazy crap happens when I'm in brain-screensaver mode, I was still all crashed out hard, and Sarah was in a similar state about a foot away. And at that final, intense moment where I laid the hit on the dude I'm assuming was Adrian Peterson... Well... I kind of, sort of, in a way... laid a half-speed, from-a-laying-down-position version of the same hit... on her. I fucking tackled my girlfriend while she slept . Like imagine a sleeping dude laying on his side who just kind of lurches forward and lays some bizarre sort of clubbing blow on a woman sleeping right next to him. That's basically what happened. At the moment of impact, I woke up instantly, frozen in horror, realizing that I just unknowingly used my special lady friend as some sort of twisted tackling dummy, and fortunately for me, she never actually woke up to realize what had happened and just sort of went "mmmmmm" and kept right on sleeping. Thinking as quickly as anyone who had just committed domestic violence in his sleep could think, I just held my arm there where it came down, like it was just a thing I meant to do - Like I wanted to get all snuggled up, but I wanted to get all snuggled up RIGHT NOW, GODDAMMIT, so instead of just scooting over and draping my arm over her, I kind of jumped over (flopped, really) and gave her a big hammering forearm of the same kind that Big John Studd might have given to Hulk Hogan. In hindsight, I'm just glad that I wasn't laying a few inches further away in a couple of directions, or I'd be not typing this right now from one of those computers they don't let you use when you've been thrown in jail for forearming a sleeping woman in the throat.

Anyway, I've never really been into the whole dream-interpretation thing, but somehow, deep down, I think this all really means that it's time to fire Lovie Smith.

Well, that's a load off my mind

Taken today in Lexington, OK:



This might seem silly to you heathens out there, but the healing powers of The Lord are well-known:



Meanwhile, on a less cheerful note, we also drove past this one today, just outside of Ada:



Now, don't pay attention to what the words say, because that's not the focus here. Or, if you're way into The Lord, by all means pay attention, but then focus elsewhere once you're done reading. WHAT IN THE NAME OF CRAP IS WRONG WITH THOSE HANDS? They're like some sort of awful, twisted claw-hands.



I mean, just look at that. Look at it. Can you do that with your hands? No, because you don't have claw-hands. But you know who does? Scorponok.



WE HAVE TO SAVE JESUS FROM SCORPONOK BEFORE IT'S TOO LATE

Past, present, future websitery

Hi. You might not remember me. I run a website. This one, actually. Crazy. I don't think anyone actually comes here anymore, but to the seven or eight of you who still do, I'm sorry I haven't done anything on here lately. I mean, I'm sure the internet is ablaze with furor about updates on the health and quantity of my aquarium fish, but updates regarding anything else have been sparse lately. As in maybe two in the last six years or so. Sorry, my bad. On the other hand, I suppose you can't complain, because aside from the one or two people who sent me five bucks back in 2004, (thanks dudes~) it's not like you're paying for this or anything. But you see, that's the thing: I AM paying for this thing. I pay like thirty bucks every three months for this, (actually, about 45, when I forget and pay on the fourth month...) and lately, I really haven't been giving myself my money's worth.



And the course this website has taken is, by any standard, absolutely retarded. It started off in 1998 as a free 10-megabyte Geocities page , (which I eventually outgrew, and with visions of taking the internet by storm with my musings on Mr. T and the newest GWAR album or whatever, I signed up with ChamberGates abandoned Geocities or Tripod or whoever I was using at the time, and Websurfnicaragua.com was born. Looking back, I wonder what would have happened if the internet's shopping capabilities hadn't gotten me fully exposed to Sacred Reich's back catalog around that time. Thinking about the way smaller size of my CD collection at the time, there's a chance this could have been named something like "www.thistoiletearth.com" or "www.selftitledsuicidaltendenciesalbum.com" now, or something else along those lines. In retrospect, I should have just registered something like "sextits.com," and made it a blank page full or banner advertisements, and I probably would have spent 2006 through 2008 typing this crap from a mansion in Hawaii, instead of a leaky shithole on Eufaula Street. Live and learn. But anyway, what was I talking about? Oh yeah -



I started this thing as a free website that I updated constantly, then turned it into a paid-for website that I never update at all. And to make matters worse, it's now mostly just a placeholder for this here blogger.com blog-type page, which is actually something that you don't fucking have to pay for. So I pay 120 bucks a year to put a fancy address on a free-ass blog that I don't even use. This makes no goddamn sense. But to make it make even less sense, I actually have been typing crap for the internet - on someone else's dang blog. You see, I was disturbed at how Chicago Bears-centric that this website had been getting, so when Raven Mack or Mike Dikk or whoever it was got all "hey, who wants to type up hopefully-amusing stuff about your chosen NFL team," I was all "okay, sure," and have spent the last year or so as somewhere between the first and third best Chicago Bears contributor to Armchair Linebacker. I think we've only got about ten teams covered now, but the Falcons dude plays it too straight and the Patriots dude is an absolute homo, so I would ask you, the gentle reader, if you'd like to try your hand at that sort of thing, but I'm too low on the totem pole to make that sort of decision, and if I know the internet, it's full of people who want to write things but suck at it, so not to be impolite, but screw y'all.



So I got a free website, started paying for it, stopped updating it, then started updating someone else's crap. What sort of maniac does this? Holy crap. So yeah, I now fully announce my intention to actually do some crap around here. What it will actually be is a whole 'nother question, and I'll figure out something eventually. Maybe something about how the country of Japan and jazz music need to be eliminated, or a 15,000 word essay on how the Maniac Cop films have changed my life. Who knows. I know every other time I get ~BIG PLANS~ for this thing, I tend to get hit with at least eight months or typist's block, as shown by this website title image thingy I was going to use in 2008, but just never got around to redesigning the site, and is now being seen for the first time ever in public:



Hopefully, this time, it'll be different and I can come up with something amusing. As some sort of empty gesture to fool my mind into thinking that I'll actually update a website that belongs to me from time to time, I just signed up for a Twitter account, and if you sign up as a follower, you'll get a tweet every ten months when something drops. I also went ahead and got a personal type one, and if I've learned anything from Facebook and Myspace, it's that I'll probably never, ever touch it again, but you an go ahead and follow it if you want to. I'm not gonna say what it is, because you internet types scare me, and I've already had to protect it, because I got two porn spam followers I had to delete within ten seconds of creating the account. It frightens me deeply to think of what the unprotected website one is going to get. Especially considering that back when I still had my web statistics turned on, it turned out that most of the people who come here from search engines show up looking for incest photos or something else along those lines. And it's funny to think about, because I'm sure this very post will get at least one person searching for that sort of thing. So to that guy - YOU ARE MESSED UP, DUDE. But yeah, to anyone else who wants my real Twitter account, (which I'm assuming will be my mom and maybe two or three other people) just ask me for it somewhere other than this website, or you might be able to find it on there searching first and last name. (and it's under the actual FIRST name, and not the middle one) Anyone else who doesn't know my real name or can't contact me through other means, be it phone, email, other internet social type crap, or just coming up to me going "dude, what's your username" can probably fuck off. Not saying that you ALL can fuck off; just the vast majority of you. You internet people are usually terrible.



Summing up, I haven't been updating, that's weird, I've been doing some stuff at Armchair Linebacker, I'm hoping to do stuff on here, I got a website twitter thingy you can follow, I got a personal Twitter thingy that most of y'all need to stay the hell away from, and you've probably spent like five minutes reading a post essentially about nothing. Wow. I feel kind of bad now. Here's a dollar: