Regular readers will have read about my exploits this time last week, when sleep deprivation lead to the pimped out fridge, the mango incident and the Chilly Beans song.
Last week, I basically went shopping after being up for nearly 26 hours straight.
Guess what I did again this week?
You see, I suffer from regular, inexplicable bouts of insomnia. I feel perfectly fine, no stress or worries, but then my brain just refuses to switch off. I find myself lying awake in the middle of the day (I sleep days and get up at night), feeling obnoxiously awake.
Well, this week was a little different. For about a week I’ve felt like absolute crap. Constant headache, sore throat and cough. Yup, the bug Sunny had, made its way to me.
The result of this was that yesterday I got into bed, and slept for 16 hours straight. In fact, the only reason I got up was because I looked at the clock and thought: “Holy Shit! I’ve been asleep for 16 hours!”
Guess what happens when to get out of bed 9pm after sleeping for 16 hours?
You can’t sleep for shit afterwards, that’s what.
However, I’ve discovered the upside to this problem.
When you’re high as a kite from sleep deprivation, it makes grocery shopping MUCH more interesting.
You see, your body is running on sheer will-power. Your energy, concentration and ability to form a cogent thought have just gone bye-bye. You’re running on some sort of weird, whacked out cheapo ‘energy substitute’. The stuff that kept you awake and running as a caveman when those pesky raptors wouldn’t stop chasing you.
I’ve never done drugs, but I think this might be what it feels like.
Now I would like to point out that I don’t have an American Drivers license, so the more life-endangering parts of the shopping were handled by Sunny. (The driving, in other words).
Let’s just say that grocery shopping usually involves trudging around a supermarket, keeping track of prices and all out boredom.
Grocery shopping on 26 hours without sleep involves me saying to my Wife:
“What are you looking at me like that for? Haven’t you ever seen an English guy singing the words ‘Cheese on Toast’ to the tune of “Got my Mind Set on You” by George Harrison?”
Oh, one last thing:
Chicka chicka chicka chicka chickeeeeeeeeeeen! Chicka chicka chicka chicka chickeeeeeeeeen! - The shopping cart wobbly-wheel mantra (Used only when buying chicken.)
Tuesday, February 28, 2006
Sunday, February 26, 2006
Weirdos
From Davesdaily.com:
LEON, Iowa, Feb. 24 (UPI) -- An Iowa sex offender who belongs to a church that believes electricity is evil has asked a judge to exempt him from wearing an electronic monitor.
Scott Smith was given a short jail sentence and five years probation for molesting two teenage girls in 2003. At the time, he was a member of the Brotherhood of Christ and his wife and children still belong to the group.
At a hearing Thursday, Ron Livingston, leader of the Brotherhood, testified that the group believes literally that electricity can cause people to disobey God, the Des Moines Register reported. Livingston said an electronic monitor could harm Smith’s children.
Smith has been refusing to wear the monitor. Judge Sherm Phipps could order him sent to prison or could grant him an exemption.
A social worker testified that she believes Smith is unlikely to commit another crime.
WTF?
Some sick fucking wacko, who belongs to a weird religious cult is refusing to wear an electronic tag, because he believes that electricity makes people disobey God?
Listen, you child molesting prick! Don’t do the crime if you can’t do the crime!
You’re all concerned that this little electronic tag might offend your twisted, fucked up religious sensibilities? Afraid it might ‘make you evil’?
Well, fuck you.
I hate to tell you this, but MOLESTING UNDERAGE GIRLS IS EVIL! If this judge grants this weirdo an exemption, he should be thrown into the same padded room.
A child molester worried about an electronic tag?
I’d but two on him, just to make sure.
Oh, and fill his pockets with batteries.
LEON, Iowa, Feb. 24 (UPI) -- An Iowa sex offender who belongs to a church that believes electricity is evil has asked a judge to exempt him from wearing an electronic monitor.
Scott Smith was given a short jail sentence and five years probation for molesting two teenage girls in 2003. At the time, he was a member of the Brotherhood of Christ and his wife and children still belong to the group.
At a hearing Thursday, Ron Livingston, leader of the Brotherhood, testified that the group believes literally that electricity can cause people to disobey God, the Des Moines Register reported. Livingston said an electronic monitor could harm Smith’s children.
Smith has been refusing to wear the monitor. Judge Sherm Phipps could order him sent to prison or could grant him an exemption.
A social worker testified that she believes Smith is unlikely to commit another crime.
WTF?
Some sick fucking wacko, who belongs to a weird religious cult is refusing to wear an electronic tag, because he believes that electricity makes people disobey God?
Listen, you child molesting prick! Don’t do the crime if you can’t do the crime!
You’re all concerned that this little electronic tag might offend your twisted, fucked up religious sensibilities? Afraid it might ‘make you evil’?
Well, fuck you.
I hate to tell you this, but MOLESTING UNDERAGE GIRLS IS EVIL! If this judge grants this weirdo an exemption, he should be thrown into the same padded room.
A child molester worried about an electronic tag?
I’d but two on him, just to make sure.
Oh, and fill his pockets with batteries.
I dont feel so good.
I don’t feel so good today.
It turns out that the bug that Sunny had, the bug she gave to Frank, has finally broken down the walls of my frankly ‘superman-esque’ immune system, and is currently beating the shit out my body.
My anti-bodies, usually stamping out disease with no effort and an Arnie-like quip, are now running like the sissies they are.
Pussies.
It makes me wonder, though, who the hell decided pain and discomfort was a good idea?
You see, pain, apparently, is very useful. It lets you know you’d better pull that arm out of that fire right now, or that you’re body’s getting its ass kicked by microbes, so you’d better take it easy and let it heal itself.
But why PAIN, exactly?
If ‘intelligent design’ is real, it should be called ‘not very’ Intelligent Design’.
You see, pain comes along whether you can do anything about it or not. I mean, great, I picked up that pipe that I thought was room temperature, and it turned out to be 500 degrees Celsius. Thanks pain! Thank you for letting me know that I’d better drop it!
Now imagine I’m trapped in a burning building. Oh dear. I’m on fire, and this support beam across my chest means I can’t do anything about it:
“PAIN! PAIN! YOU’RE IN PAIN! YOU’RE ON FIRE AND TAKING DAMAGE!!!”
“Um, I know, pain. There’s not a lot I can do about it though, so can you go away, so I can die peacefully, and not screaming in agony?”
“SORRY, IT’S MY JOB! ANYWAY… PAIN! PAIN! OWWWWWW! THAT HURTS! THIS IS VERY BAD, YOU KNOW!”
“I know, but there’s nothing I can do about it! Shut the fuck up and go away!”
“I’M VERY USEFUL, YOU UNGRATEFUL PRICK!!! IF IT WASN’T FOR ME YOU’D BE COOING AT THE WEIRD LOOKING ORANGE STUFF THAT’S ALL OVER YOUR BODY! PAIN! PAIN! PAIN!”
“You mean, other than the fact I can see my skin charring? Look, we both know this is very bad, so can you just leave?”
“LA LA LA, NOT LISTENING!! PAIN! PAIN! PAIN!”
Then we come to the other kicker. There’s only so much pain a body can take before it passes out. Now, while this at first would seem to negate the above point, let me explain.
If we could turn pain on and off, if I trapped and set on fire, I could turn the pain off and prepare myself for the whole dying part. Instead, the last thing I experience before losing consciousness is agony beyond anything I’ve ever experienced.
But what if I’m not trapped? I’m on fire, but I’ve just managed to push that support beam off my chest:
“It’s 25 yards to the door! I can make it! Ok, I need a new face and have burns over 99% of my body, but I want to LIVE!”
“PAIN! PAIN! IT’S ME! PAIN!”
“I know, we’re probably going to get to know each other really well over the next year or so.”
“ANYWAY, YOU’VE TAKEN QUITE ENOUGH OF ME, I’M OFF!”
“Oh, so now you decide to leave.”
“WELL, NOT LEAVE, EXACTLY. I’VE BEEN AROUND SO LONG, YOU’RE BRAIN’S ABOUT TO SHUT DOWN FOR A BIT. YOU KNOW, A BIT OF A BREAK.”
“But the door’s right there! If I make it I’ll live! If I pass out now, I’ll be burned to a crisp!”
“SORRY PAL, I DON’T MAKE THE RULES! SLEEPY TIME NOW!”
“You complete and utter fuc…”
(Thud)
Nope, if intelligent design was real, you’d get the occasional jolt of pain, just to remind you of why you avoid dangerous things, but when you get sick, or you’re in pain and there’s nothing you can do about it, you’d hear:
“Bing-Bong…This is your central nervous system here. We apologize for the convenience, but whatever you’re doing is making your pain receptors go crazy. You may want to cease this activity, or suffer permanent damage. Thank you.”
There you go, nice and polite, gives you the message, and you could just call your Boss and say:
“Yeah, my central nervous system gave me a damage report this morning, apparently, I’m not feeling too well, so I’d better stay home for a couple days.”
Of course, what would be really nice is if you could get play-by-play, frontline reports on how the battle’s going for your anti-bodies. That’d be great. Like a war film.
(I apologize in advance if this post has got a crap load of spelling mistakes, run on sentences, or if I’ve over used commas even more than usual…I can’t be bothered proof reading today.)
It turns out that the bug that Sunny had, the bug she gave to Frank, has finally broken down the walls of my frankly ‘superman-esque’ immune system, and is currently beating the shit out my body.
My anti-bodies, usually stamping out disease with no effort and an Arnie-like quip, are now running like the sissies they are.
Pussies.
It makes me wonder, though, who the hell decided pain and discomfort was a good idea?
You see, pain, apparently, is very useful. It lets you know you’d better pull that arm out of that fire right now, or that you’re body’s getting its ass kicked by microbes, so you’d better take it easy and let it heal itself.
But why PAIN, exactly?
If ‘intelligent design’ is real, it should be called ‘not very’ Intelligent Design’.
You see, pain comes along whether you can do anything about it or not. I mean, great, I picked up that pipe that I thought was room temperature, and it turned out to be 500 degrees Celsius. Thanks pain! Thank you for letting me know that I’d better drop it!
Now imagine I’m trapped in a burning building. Oh dear. I’m on fire, and this support beam across my chest means I can’t do anything about it:
“PAIN! PAIN! YOU’RE IN PAIN! YOU’RE ON FIRE AND TAKING DAMAGE!!!”
“Um, I know, pain. There’s not a lot I can do about it though, so can you go away, so I can die peacefully, and not screaming in agony?”
“SORRY, IT’S MY JOB! ANYWAY… PAIN! PAIN! OWWWWWW! THAT HURTS! THIS IS VERY BAD, YOU KNOW!”
“I know, but there’s nothing I can do about it! Shut the fuck up and go away!”
“I’M VERY USEFUL, YOU UNGRATEFUL PRICK!!! IF IT WASN’T FOR ME YOU’D BE COOING AT THE WEIRD LOOKING ORANGE STUFF THAT’S ALL OVER YOUR BODY! PAIN! PAIN! PAIN!”
“You mean, other than the fact I can see my skin charring? Look, we both know this is very bad, so can you just leave?”
“LA LA LA, NOT LISTENING!! PAIN! PAIN! PAIN!”
Then we come to the other kicker. There’s only so much pain a body can take before it passes out. Now, while this at first would seem to negate the above point, let me explain.
If we could turn pain on and off, if I trapped and set on fire, I could turn the pain off and prepare myself for the whole dying part. Instead, the last thing I experience before losing consciousness is agony beyond anything I’ve ever experienced.
But what if I’m not trapped? I’m on fire, but I’ve just managed to push that support beam off my chest:
“It’s 25 yards to the door! I can make it! Ok, I need a new face and have burns over 99% of my body, but I want to LIVE!”
“PAIN! PAIN! IT’S ME! PAIN!”
“I know, we’re probably going to get to know each other really well over the next year or so.”
“ANYWAY, YOU’VE TAKEN QUITE ENOUGH OF ME, I’M OFF!”
“Oh, so now you decide to leave.”
“WELL, NOT LEAVE, EXACTLY. I’VE BEEN AROUND SO LONG, YOU’RE BRAIN’S ABOUT TO SHUT DOWN FOR A BIT. YOU KNOW, A BIT OF A BREAK.”
“But the door’s right there! If I make it I’ll live! If I pass out now, I’ll be burned to a crisp!”
“SORRY PAL, I DON’T MAKE THE RULES! SLEEPY TIME NOW!”
“You complete and utter fuc…”
(Thud)
Nope, if intelligent design was real, you’d get the occasional jolt of pain, just to remind you of why you avoid dangerous things, but when you get sick, or you’re in pain and there’s nothing you can do about it, you’d hear:
“Bing-Bong…This is your central nervous system here. We apologize for the convenience, but whatever you’re doing is making your pain receptors go crazy. You may want to cease this activity, or suffer permanent damage. Thank you.”
There you go, nice and polite, gives you the message, and you could just call your Boss and say:
“Yeah, my central nervous system gave me a damage report this morning, apparently, I’m not feeling too well, so I’d better stay home for a couple days.”
Of course, what would be really nice is if you could get play-by-play, frontline reports on how the battle’s going for your anti-bodies. That’d be great. Like a war film.
(I apologize in advance if this post has got a crap load of spelling mistakes, run on sentences, or if I’ve over used commas even more than usual…I can’t be bothered proof reading today.)
Saturday, February 25, 2006
Happy Birthday Sunny
I’ve written, in the recent past, about the perils and pitfalls of having your Birthday too close to Christmas. Basically, cheap-assed relatives doing the “I’ll just get you one big present.” Trick, which roughly translates as: “There is no fucking way I’m shelling out for a Birthday present so soon after Christmas, so I’ll create the illusion that I’m spending more on you for Christmas, so I can stiff you out of your Birthday Present.”
However, I’ve recently discovered something that is much, MUCH worse:
Having your birthday little over a month before your wife’s.
You see, I’m a horrible, horrible person to be around on my Birthday. It’s like at midnight I exchange minds with God for 24 hours:
“Lo, it iseth my Birthday! I Command that you obey me! Do things for me, or thou shalt call down upon thyself my terrible Wrath! I shall not be denied! Bring me Coffee! Go forth and cook me steak! Rubeth my back, or thou shalt regret it!”
In other words, I guilt trip everyone around me into waiting on me hand and foot. If I want coffee, I ask someone to make me some ‘Birthday Coffee’. I don’t want a backrub, I want a ‘Birthday Backrub’.
It’s passive-aggressiveness at its finest. You don’t need to cajole or be mean about it. You just turn to your significant other and say:
“My feet hurt. Would you give me a Birthday Foot Rub? Oh, wait. Would you be really, really nice and make me some Birthday Coffee and get me some Birthday Ice-Cream first?”
Basically, if you add the prefix ‘Birthday’ to anything you want, anyone who professes to love you is obliged, nay, COMPELLED to obey you.
This is all just a flowery way of saying that I turn into a complete asshole for 24 hours every birthday and make people do shit for me.
So why is it a bad thing that my Wife’s birthday is today, which just happens to be one month, two days after mine?
Well, basically she hasn’t had 6 months to forget what a pain in the ass I was.
This boils down to one word:
Payback.
Now, I could actually be really mean and tell her to sod off, but this has one major drawback. Refusal to obey a Birthday Command brings the whole system crashing down around my ears, and I don’t get my ’24 Hour Asshole License’ next year.
Yes, it might be pure evil, but it’s pure evil on the Honor System.
Anyway, I have to go. The missus has just asked how long I was going to be on the computer. Translation: “Get off the computer.”
‘Birthday-Favor’ Imminent.
How long is it to my Birthday again?
That’s right…a whole frickin’ year.
However, I’ve recently discovered something that is much, MUCH worse:
Having your birthday little over a month before your wife’s.
You see, I’m a horrible, horrible person to be around on my Birthday. It’s like at midnight I exchange minds with God for 24 hours:
“Lo, it iseth my Birthday! I Command that you obey me! Do things for me, or thou shalt call down upon thyself my terrible Wrath! I shall not be denied! Bring me Coffee! Go forth and cook me steak! Rubeth my back, or thou shalt regret it!”
In other words, I guilt trip everyone around me into waiting on me hand and foot. If I want coffee, I ask someone to make me some ‘Birthday Coffee’. I don’t want a backrub, I want a ‘Birthday Backrub’.
It’s passive-aggressiveness at its finest. You don’t need to cajole or be mean about it. You just turn to your significant other and say:
“My feet hurt. Would you give me a Birthday Foot Rub? Oh, wait. Would you be really, really nice and make me some Birthday Coffee and get me some Birthday Ice-Cream first?”
Basically, if you add the prefix ‘Birthday’ to anything you want, anyone who professes to love you is obliged, nay, COMPELLED to obey you.
This is all just a flowery way of saying that I turn into a complete asshole for 24 hours every birthday and make people do shit for me.
So why is it a bad thing that my Wife’s birthday is today, which just happens to be one month, two days after mine?
Well, basically she hasn’t had 6 months to forget what a pain in the ass I was.
This boils down to one word:
Payback.
Now, I could actually be really mean and tell her to sod off, but this has one major drawback. Refusal to obey a Birthday Command brings the whole system crashing down around my ears, and I don’t get my ’24 Hour Asshole License’ next year.
Yes, it might be pure evil, but it’s pure evil on the Honor System.
Anyway, I have to go. The missus has just asked how long I was going to be on the computer. Translation: “Get off the computer.”
‘Birthday-Favor’ Imminent.
How long is it to my Birthday again?
That’s right…a whole frickin’ year.
Happy Birthday Sunny!!!
I’ve written, in the recent past, about the perils and pitfalls of having your Birthday too close to Christmas. Basically, cheap-assed relatives doing the “I’ll just get you one big present.” Trick, which roughly translates as: “There is no fucking way I’m shelling out for a Birthday present so soon after Christmas, so I’ll create the illusion that I’m spending more on you for Christmas, so I can stiff you out of your Birthday Present.”
However, I’ve recently discovered something that is much, MUCH worse:
Having your birthday little over a month before your wife’s.
You see, I’m a horrible, horrible person to be around on my Birthday. It’s like at midnight I exchange minds with God for 24 hours:
“Lo, it iseth my Birthday! I Command that you obey me! Do things for me, or thou shalt call down upon thyself my terrible Wrath! I shall not be denied! Bring me Coffee! Go forth and cook me steak! Rubeth my back, or thou shalt regret it!”
In other words, I guilt trip everyone around me into waiting on me hand and foot. If I want coffee, I ask someone to make me some ‘Birthday Coffee’. I don’t want a backrub, I want a ‘Birthday Backrub’.
It’s passive-aggressiveness at its finest. You don’t need to cajole or be mean about it. You just turn to your significant other and say:
“My feet hurt. Would you give me a Birthday Foot Rub? Oh, wait. Would you be really, really nice and make me some Birthday Coffee and get me some Birthday Ice-Cream first?”
Basically, if you add the prefix ‘Birthday’ to anything you want, anyone who professes to love you is obliged, nay, COMPELLED to obey you.
This is all just a flowery way of saying that I turn into a complete asshole for 24 hours every birthday and make people do shit for me.
So why is it a bad thing that my Wife’s birthday is today, which just happens to be one month, two days after mine?
Well, basically she hasn’t had 6 months to forget what a pain in the ass I was.
This boils down to one word:
Payback.
Now, I could actually be really mean and tell her to sod off, but this has one major drawback. Refusal to obey a Birthday Command brings the whole system crashing down around my ears, and I don’t get my ’24 Hour Asshole License’ next year.
Yes, it might be pure evil, but it’s pure evil on the Honor System.
Anyway, I have to go. The missus has just asked how long I was going to be on the computer. Translation: “Get off the computer.”
‘Birthday-Favor’ Imminent.
How long is it to my Birthday again?
That’s right…a whole frickin’ year.
However, I’ve recently discovered something that is much, MUCH worse:
Having your birthday little over a month before your wife’s.
You see, I’m a horrible, horrible person to be around on my Birthday. It’s like at midnight I exchange minds with God for 24 hours:
“Lo, it iseth my Birthday! I Command that you obey me! Do things for me, or thou shalt call down upon thyself my terrible Wrath! I shall not be denied! Bring me Coffee! Go forth and cook me steak! Rubeth my back, or thou shalt regret it!”
In other words, I guilt trip everyone around me into waiting on me hand and foot. If I want coffee, I ask someone to make me some ‘Birthday Coffee’. I don’t want a backrub, I want a ‘Birthday Backrub’.
It’s passive-aggressiveness at its finest. You don’t need to cajole or be mean about it. You just turn to your significant other and say:
“My feet hurt. Would you give me a Birthday Foot Rub? Oh, wait. Would you be really, really nice and make me some Birthday Coffee and get me some Birthday Ice-Cream first?”
Basically, if you add the prefix ‘Birthday’ to anything you want, anyone who professes to love you is obliged, nay, COMPELLED to obey you.
This is all just a flowery way of saying that I turn into a complete asshole for 24 hours every birthday and make people do shit for me.
So why is it a bad thing that my Wife’s birthday is today, which just happens to be one month, two days after mine?
Well, basically she hasn’t had 6 months to forget what a pain in the ass I was.
This boils down to one word:
Payback.
Now, I could actually be really mean and tell her to sod off, but this has one major drawback. Refusal to obey a Birthday Command brings the whole system crashing down around my ears, and I don’t get my ’24 Hour Asshole License’ next year.
Yes, it might be pure evil, but it’s pure evil on the Honor System.
Anyway, I have to go. The missus has just asked how long I was going to be on the computer. Translation: “Get off the computer.”
‘Birthday-Favor’ Imminent.
How long is it to my Birthday again?
That’s right…a whole frickin’ year.
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