I should like to thank The Academy...

...for the second time in two weeks!!!

Yes. I adore Keith Olbermann. I have been watching Countdown for a considerable amount of time. It's smart, funny and relevant. More importantly, it ruffles the feathers of the Neo-Con Right. The Faux Newsers hate him. All the more validation that I am, indeed, a brilliant Rigellian. When the nutters on the Right hate something, I know I'm going down the correct path.

In a fit of boredom, I checked my Technorati profile this evening and discovered that I'm somehow linked to Olbermannwatch. For those of you unawares, Olbermannwatch is a little blog dedicated to ripping Keith Olbermann to shreds. It would be lulzy if it weren't so damn disturbing (to think someone spends their free time dissecting the commentary of a news anchor).

Anyhoooooo....Olbermannwatch has a special place for Keith fans. And a special name, too! We're called Olbyloons. When I say, "we," I mean...we, since I am now included! Included with the greats like Daily Kos!

Wow! Just wow!!!

So...thank you Olbermannwatch. Thank you for paying attention to my humble, little blog. It's been an esteemed pleasure contributing to the things which piss you off so greatly.

Men are from...?

Any surprise that Kodos walks around in a perpetual state of raised eyebrowage?

Two weeks ago, possibly three, Dock Ellis worked a rather elaborate gig for some big cheese and his Kozlowski style birthday party. No small affair for Raleigh. The entertainment for this private throw down was K C & The Sunshine band.

After the show, during strike, Dock meandered into the catering tent for grub since that is what sound guys do (scrounge for free food). He espied a virginal chocolate cake, snagged it and brought it home for us to feast upon. Given that Kodos is completely devoid of energy and entirely uninterested in housework, the cake has been festering in the fridge after picking at it for a week.

Today I noticed a shift in the cake. Not movement from mold (at least I didn't see any) but actual movement as in...someone is nibbling at the cake orts. I asked Dock about this since he has a long history of picking at old cake. Lo and behold, suspicions confirmed, Dock is still eating the three week old cake.

When feeling energetic, I dispose of anything over a week old. I do not care what it is. I live in fear of germs and food poisoning (having had an unfortunate incident with an Oscar Mayer hot dog when I was seven, never forgiving the Oscar Mayer meat products company and never touching their products since). Dock, on the other hand, disposes of old food by ingesting it.

Exactly how long should cake be permitted to fester in the fridge before a man decides the time has come for the cake to meet the trash?

The "Rest Stop in Raleigh" Haglet

Each time that commercial comes on tv, Dock Ellis screams and recoils when that horrible woman says, "rrrrrest stop in rrrrrally." Much like I do when I have to listen to Rita Cosby bark the news over the airwaves.

I explained (to Dock) the recent phenomenon of men searching Kodos world for pictures of her. And their continued assertions that she's hawt. Dock says, "How would they know? She's only on tv for two seconds at the most."

Ok men...you have your assignment. Explain to me how you can determine if the haglet is hottie. Also, if you don't care what she sounds like, is this an instance of not buying her dinner first (before tapping that ass)? If she made you spend time with her before doing the deed, would you take her to a noisy bar so you wouldn't have to listen to her destroy the English language? Could it be that testosterone blocks all things aurally offensive? If that is the case, and it does, why does Dock get so annoyed with me when I ask him to take out the garbage when he's horny?

I maintain...that is the most annoying commercial of all times. Those of us who live in Raleigh (RAH-LEE) find it very offensive, as well.

Rest-Stop in Raleigh

On 03 October 2006, I posted a rant about the horrid, vile, abhorrent Verizon Wireless commercial. This commercial features a nag who says, "rest-stop in rally" in the most offensive, nasally twang my poor ears have been assaulted with in years.

An interesting phenomenon is happening. I have noticed, courtesy of BlogFlux's Map Stats that there are a lot of folks searching for this commercial and landing in Kodos world (no complaints). Is there a particular reason why? Do others find this advertisement as aurally offensive as I do?

Rehab...The Latest Craze!

I think we have all encountered someone in our lives who has had problems with some substance or another. Perhaps some haven't...they are lucky and I am envious. For those of us who have had the privilege of being involved in some way, shape or form with an addict...there is no more frustrating relationship. The waters are entirely unnavigable. One never knows what to anticipate. Who, exactly, is going to show up to dinner tonight? What sort of tales are they going to spin? Which reality will be the reality du jour?

I have been following the story of Pedophile Emeritus, Mark Foley, since it broke late last week. I'm still a part-timer at work and need to fill my afternoons with something. News is something. At least it's not soap-operas or worse, Oprah-the-Anti-Christ.

Anyhow...I'm finding this trend, which is being widely reported so it should come as no surprise, of people seeking rehab a skosh alarming. And here is why...it denigrates the struggles of a true addict who is seeking help.

An...um...acquaitance, friend...hell...I have no idea what sort of relation he is to me, entered a treatment facility about a month ago. This news was passed along to me by his sister. I haven't heard from anyone since (re: my question mark post last month about having to deal with information dropped in your lap and left to rot) regarding progress, success and/or failure. It's frustrating, but not entirely surprising, either.

Reflecting on my involvement with this character, I had many mutual friends say, "Kodos...there is something off about this guy." The general consensus among the group was that he was actually quite smart but said and did an inordinate amount of stupid things. I mean stupid and not worth breaching confidences to go into further detail. Carrying on a simple conversation with him at times was challenging. For some reason, the usually keen, astute Kodos did not pick up on it. Knowing what I know now...it is as plain as the non-nose on my alien face. This guy is a user. A drunk. A sot. A sauce swiller. An alcoholic. And sick. Sick and in need of dire help (should any of this prove to be true. See what happens when you hang around addicts, you end up not knowing what to believe.).

The "whatever" goes into rehab. I sincerely hope he can clean his life up, get his shit together and move forward. I feel an enormous amount of something; sympathy, empathy for a middle aged man who has to spend the rest of his life dodging the sauce and the demon. However, he bought that fairly and squarely. That is his cross to bear. If he's a man, he will suck it up.

But back to the my ramblings about rehab. Why is it currently vogue for people to duck and dodge their responsibilities via a treatment program for substance abuse? Do these people actually have a problem or are they avoiding a most unpleasant reality?

I must say that my respect for celebrities and politicians, albeit virtually non-existent, wanes even further. Rehab is for people with substance abuse issues. Not "issues." Check yourself into a psychiatric hospital if you find your reality too cumbersome for digestion. Don't tie up valuable resources which may be much more suited to a different candidate because you're a damn coward or afraid of being labelled with some ailment that is not on a top ten list of trendy afflictions.

Raleigh

I live in Raleigh, NC. Repeat after me, "Raleigh." We pronounce Raleigh, RAH-LEE. Challenging, yes?

Few things grate on my nerves more than advertising that just cannot seem to understand or appreciate its demographic. I have heard commercials calling the City of Oaks, Raw-lee. It's not Raw-lee. It's RAH-LEE.

There is a dreadful ad for Verizon Wireless airing on television. I am not sure if it is an attempt at being cheeky, but one of the actors says, "A rest-stop in Raleigh?" She pronounces the name of the City of Oaks, "Rally," as in road rally, pep rally and the Nuremburg rally (not an endorsement).

Look...if you are going to peddle your wares in a specific market, please...please...please pronounce the name of the phucking city appropriately.

I live in Raleigh, NC. That's RAH-LEE, shit-wits.

~~~~~~

Dock loves when I send letters to people. I sent this a few minutes ago to the folks at Verizon:

I am not a customer and I do not plan on being one. The primary reason: YOU CANNOT PRONOUNCE THE NAME OF MY CITY CORRECTLY IN YOUR ADVERTISEMENTS (and inserted a copy of my blog post in the correspondence).

Very lulzy for us and that's all that really matters, anyhow.

George W. Bush Elementary...School (not logic)

Watching the news this afternoon, I learned that there is an actual George W. Bush Elementary School in Stockton, CA. Not to diminish the honor of naming public institutions after Presidents, but I do not think that naming a school after W is the wisest choice. Of all the great minds in modern day politics, Bush does not spring to mind for consideration. Not a "C" student. Rhodes Scholars, that I could support. Slacker who rides Daddy's coat-tails into institutions of higher learning...not really.

This has me thinking...

1. Do each of the students get a copy of, "My Pet Goat?"
2. Are students destined for a life of mediocre grades?
3. Is the school motto, "C is the key?"
4. Of The Far Side cartoon featured below.

Maybe I'm just being brittle and prejudiced (again).

Princess Sparkle Pony

Oh my! Oh goodness gracious me! I have the vapors! *dramatically fans herself before fainting*

Melanie found the most hilarious blog I have seen in ages! If you love Condoleezza Rice, if you love the Bush Administration...stay away. Otherwise, shimmy on over to Princess Sparkle Pony's Photo Blog. Be prepared to laugh your ass off.

The pictures are hysterical. The hairdo alert system...words would not do it justice.

/me falls over screaming and laughing

Nostalgiaholic

Ennui. Complete and total boredom with news has driven me to the cd rack. Dock and I have too many cds. Yes...you can have too many. So, with squinted eyeballs (because I'm not wearing my glasses), I scan the rack to find something to tap my tentacles to.

I yanked out something I haven't listened to in ages. My collection of Terri Clark cds. Surprise! Surprise! Kodos does like country music.

It's always fun listening to something you haven't listened to in years. It evokes fond memories (or maybe not so fond memories). This particular cd, Fearless, is reminding me of one trip I made to Atlanta about five years ago. Kate and I did not necessarily rock out to this, but it reminds me of cruising up I-85 in the foothills in South and North Carolina (Kings Mountain area). The sun was shining, I was singing (in tune and hitting all the notes) and felt rather liberated and free.

That is the way to live.

Thanks for sharing. No, really...thanks for sharing.

My boss made a statement to me a few years ago when I was whining about having to clean up someone else's crap. He said, "Do you think it is right to make the your problems the problems of others?" Phuck. How do you answer that? Really.

Since that day, when confronted with an issue I should much rather avoid, I will use that question as my litmus test to see if I am making the right decision. When is it appropriate for one to dump his problems on someone else? When does it cross the lines of decency in any relationship (work, friend, romantic or any other)?

Perhaps now is the time where I state, for the record, I am not mad. I am not upset. I am not frustrated. I am, however, a little confused, having an enormous load dropped in my lap. And...having no one to speak to about this load.

No need for details, really. They are actually quite boring an unnecessary. They are, however, keeping me awake at night now.

So...for the sake of the game, when you are fed information what do you do with it? Sometimes, the challenge lies solely in the digestion process, ensuring that you fully comprehend what has been shared with you. Sometimes, you can handle the situation without having to seek counsel of a friend, peer or authority figure. Sometimes, you cannot.

I find myself in the, "sometimes, you cannot" scenario. It sucks.

What does one do, upon learning a friend is in need, a friend is dealing with a struggle for their daily existence and you find yourself on the outside looking in? A request for my assistance had been made. The door, however, had been abruptly shut. Someone made their problems my problems. Any normal, rational person would say either get really angry or take the position of, "phuck off." I am not normal. I cannot do that.

So here I sit, at 04:08 on a Thursday morning, trying to develop my next action. The only thing I can really do is patiently await an outcome and accept it for whatever it will be. It's saddening, frustrating, disheartening and exhausting.

I suppose the only thing I can do is remember that statement from my boss and try to mold that into some form which I can handle. Someone else's problem has now become mine and I am helpless.

Then again, there is always the super-duper, handy-dandy denial box where I tuck away all of life's little annoyances and/or goat phucks which cannot or should not be presently addressed.

09.11.2001

It is personal. It is traumatic. While some of lost dear loved ones, others simply remained permanently scarred, to never heal. It is 09.11...one of the defining moments in history which, oddly enough, defies description.

Travelling far and wide, we all have our stories. We all felt the pain. We still do. It is far too surreal not to.

I started off the morning of 09.11 readying myself to go to work. I stood in my bathroom at the Crap House wondering whatever happened with the Chandra Levy case. Would Gary Condit ever get his due? The commute to work was uneventful. I do not even remember our grizzly production meeting. I remember my friend Russ, stopping by my office, propping himself between the door jambs and telling me about a freakish accident with a plane and one of the towers at the World Trade Center. I immediately tried to access CNN. I couldn't.

A flurry of activity rushed through the office as we scrambled to find one computer with access to CNN. If I recall correctly, there was only one. We stood, eerily silent, staring at the screen.

It is rare when a manufacturing plant grinds to a halt. One of the engineers fashioned an antenna from some scrap metal for our sole television in the building. The assembly line slowly filtered into the common room. Not a word was uttered.

I remember hearing about the Pentagon. I remember hearing about Flight 93. I remember watching the towers crumble like a house of cards. I remember hearing nothing.

My lunch pals, Jen, Glenn, Randy and I headed up to a local diner. Normally abuzz with chatter, there was yet, another, eerie silence over the room. Not even a peep from the kitchen. This silence lingered throughout the day, briefly interrupted by the ringing of a phone...trying to contact loved ones...regardless of locale. My sister lives in Falls Church, VA. Her husband works near the White House at the St Regis.

That evening, after doing nothing all day at work except staring off into space and smoking far too many cigarettes, I sat in the living room on the shitty sofa. I was fixed to the television. Dock was working and I was alone. I was so scared, so frightened, so overwhelmed, I had turned on every light in the house. I still do not know why. I remained that way for about a week.

I am blessed, having lost no one, not having to endure the grief of searching and aching for a relative or a friend. My suffering is limited. Yet it is real. I will never forget any of this, so etched in my mind like acid on glass. I have been profoundly, deeply altered. We all have.

Today is the day where your nationality does not matter. Today is the day where we, as humanity, mourn, pray, do whatever it is we need to do to cope.

I do not consider myself to be religious, holy, pious, G-d fearing. I have my faith. It is personal. My only way of conveying my feelings is by posting the Mourner's Kaddish. It is all that one needs to say.

Exalted and hallowed be His great Name. (Congregation responds: "Amen.")

Throughout the world which He has created according to His Will. May He establish His kingship, bring forth His redemption and hasten the coming of His Moshiach. (Cong: "Amen.")

In your lifetime and in your days and in the lifetime of the entire House of Israel, sword, famine and death shall cease from us and from the entire Jewish nation, speedily and soon, and say, Amen.

(Cong: "Amen. May His great Name be blessed forever and to all eternity, blessed.")

May His great Name be blessed forever and to all eternity. Blessed and praised, glorified, exalted and extolled, honored, adored and lauded be the Name of the Holy One, blessed be He. (Cong: "Amen.")

Beyond all the blessings, hymns, praises and consolations that are uttered in the world; and say, Amen. (Cong: "Amen.")

May there be abundant peace from heaven, and a good life for us and for all Israel; and say, Amen. (Cong: "Amen.")

He Who makes peace in His heavens, may He make peace for us and for all Israel; and say, Amen. (Cong: "Amen.")

Worst President Ever

Seriously. This has been debated.

According to an article written by Stephen Colbert in, America (The Book): A Citizen's Guide to Democracy Inaction, the worst American president is none other than Warren G Harding. The article is brief, so I shall repeat it word for word in the spirit of plagiarism and completely unoriginal thought.

Historians debate feverishly over who is the best president in American history. However, there is little disagreement over who was the worst. His name was Warren G Harding (1921-1923), and he sucked.

The reasons why he sucked are many and, to be truthful, have been widely catalogued in the annals of presidential history. So, with your indulgences, I'd like to focus instead on the intensity of his sucking.

Warren G Harding was a worthless piece of shit. Fuck him. His presidency was a taint, not just in the sense of a, "stain on the office," but literally a taint - the anatomical area between the anus and the testicles.

I hate Warren G Harding.

This morning, the fair Melanie sent Zillicious and me a link to an article in the Washington Post.

The Bush League
How low can he go?

By Gene Weingarten - Sunday, September 10, 2006; Page W40

We in the media are sometimes accused of letting liberal bias subtly slip into our writing and reporting. That accusation is calumny. We are dispassionate observers and seekers of truth. All we do is ask questions.

Today's question: Is George W. Bush the worst president in American history?

An examination of this issue requires that we first consider possible alternatives. Historians pretty much agree on the three leading contenders, to date.

Franklin Pierce (1853-57)

Pro: Cinematically handsome.
Con: Bad hair.

Pro: High-spirited.
Con: Those spirits were mostly distilled alcohol, taken straight, in quantities that could incapacitate a hippo. When president, Pierce actually was arrested after running over an old woman with his carriage, most likely while soused. Died of
cirrhosis.

Pro: Strong political convictions . . .
Con: . . . the strongest of which was about slavery. He thought it was swell. Pierce was elected because the Southern states thought he was the one Northerner they could trust, and he was. "Involuntary servitude is recognized by the Constitution," Pierce said, "and stands like any other admitted right."

Pro: Ambitiously, he wanted to annex Cuba . . .
Con: . . . because he wanted another slave state

Greatest achievement: History books reveal that, during the Pierce presidency, "the first perforated postage stamp was used."


James Buchanan (1857-61)

Pro: Had an expressive, entertaining face.
Con: A vision problem forced him to cock his head at an odd angle, so, in most surviving photos, Buchanan seems to be saying, "You lookin' at me? You want a piece of me?"

Pro: He thought slavery was wrong.
Con: He was too weak-willed to oppose it.

Pro: He didn't think the Southern states should secede.
Con: He was too weak-willed to oppose them.

Greatest achievement: Was such a dismally inept nonentity, with such a shameful legacy of nonfeasance during a period of grave crisis, that his party -- the Democrats -- splintered in disarray. This led to the election of Republican Abraham Lincoln. So in a sense, Buchanan single-handedly saved the nation.


Warren G. Harding (1921-23)

Pro: Handsome. Women had just won the right to vote, after an arduous struggle to be recognized as equals. Harding was chosen by his party on the theory that the ignorant little ninnies would go for the better-looking man.
Con: He was a moron.

Pro: He knew he was a moron. He could not believe it when he was nominated, asking his handlers if they were sure there was no one more qualified: "I am a man of limited talents."
Con: He dishonored the White House by having furtive sex with his mistress in a closet near the Oval Office. This was Clinton, without the charm or brains or ability.

Pro: He was not personally corrupt.
Con: Nearly everyone he appointed was corrupt. His friends exploited his dimwitted good nature, taking everything they could grab. His own father once told him, Warren, it's a good thing you weren't born a girl, because you can't say 'no.'"

Greatest achievement: Died in office.

SO WHAT ABOUT GEORGE W.? Can he take a rightful place among these dwarfs?

Consider some testimonials.

About the president acting unilaterally, without seeking advice or consent: "The incompetence of his administration [has not stopped] it from vigorously defending the president's sole authority to control the execution of the law."

About the president's response to crisis: "He acted with his usual strong determination, dogged stubbornness and confused insight."

About the president's mangling of the English language: "It reminds me of stale bean soup, of college yells, of dogs barking idiotically through endless nights. It is so bad that a sort of grandeur creeps into it . . . It is rumble and bumble. It is flap and doodle. It is balder and dash."

Okay, ready? The first two were by historians, about Pierce and Buchanan, respectively. The last was by H.L. Mencken, about Harding. If they sounded contemporary, you may have your answer.

'Tis yours to decide, folks. My vote, coming as no surprise to anyone, is for W. Or is it Cheney? Or Karl Rove?

Buchanan hails from Pennsylvania. I need to be kind to my fellow Commonwealther. The rest of the lot...their respective stamps on history are marginal. It is really George W Bush, King of the Goat Phuck, that deserves mad props here.

On Trust

Trust: something, perhaps, you discuss while sitting around with your girlfriends, drinking coffee, wine or whatever is readily available. Maybe it is one of those discussions that rears its head at the most inopportune times, like whilst out shopping, when you do not have the ability to fully pay attention to the words being exchanged. Or...maybe during this conversations, your ears are focusing on the discussion but the root of your discord is fighting your mind for the attention it feels it deserves, distracting you, depriving you from the messages you so desperately seek and need.

One thing that sucks about lulling about the house for days on end is the lack of distraction or better things to do. Certainly, one can pick up a book and read, turn on the television and have the eyes glaze over or dig around the garden...but the mind always races back to the very issue it is trying to reconcile. I am not so sure that it is a case of idée fixe or a case of one's dire need to make sense of a plaguing trouble, that nagging annoyance that will not loosen its grasp on the psyche.

I find myself in that weird time/space thingy where I have an unyielding issue which is defying resolution. No matter how hard I try to logic my way out of it, no matter hard I try to stuff it in the denial box, it keeps rearing its ugly head and taunting me.

I am simply unsure of people. I have been profoundly shaken by certain events in life which have me doubting everyone new I encounter, doggedly seeking the angle from which they are approaching me. Typically an optimist with regard to inter-personal relationships, I find myself behaving in a completely insufferable, cynical manner. This is not who am I. This is not who I want to be.

When people appear in your life, or reappear for whatever reason, what does one do? How are they sure of the sincerity? Or...is the onus really on the wounded party to heal, move forward and accept that the world is not so cruel as we are afraid of it being? How does one muster up the strength and courage to return one's former self? How does one find that sense of self that allows them the ability to accept new and different things? Or is this just another growing pain we experience as adults?

I am hoping, through verbalizing my inner turmoil and confusion, that I can make these mental aggravations take leave of my feeble mind, allowing me to regain focus on what really matters. Certainly not everyone we encounter has a hidden agenda? I should like to think not. I long to return to the days when I was naïve and accepting of anything new. As of today, I am nothing more than a xenophobe clinging to what I know to be true, real and genuine. It is a side of me I neither respect nor like.

Stealing Vonnegut

When I read, I prefer to read works by a specific author sequentially. It doesn't always work out for me, but I do like to see how authors progress.

Anyhooooo...I have finished Slaughterhouse-Five by Kurt Vonnegut. I meant to read this while I was in Sweden but alcohol derailed me. I had all but forgotten I had this book until a week ago. I read it. I love it. Kurt Vonnegut's writing style is amazing. He writes with a forked pen (as opposed to speaking with a forked tongue). Vonnegut is everything that everyone says he is. And more.

I had some time to kill this evening before a doctor's appointment. As is my ritual, I scooted up to Barnes & Noble to troll the aisles. I figured it was the golden opportunity for me to snap up another book or two. Much to my surprise, I could not find a single copy of a Vonnegut book on the shelves. Not in fiction. Not in classics. Before I dragged myself over to sci-fi, I found a clerk and asked, "what happened to Vonnegut?" How could a bookstore not have any Vonnegut in stock?

It turns out that there has been some rampant theft at the Barnes & Noble (hey...it is in Durham). Someone has been stealing all of the Vonnegut books. The situation is so dire, they relocated all copies of his books to a corner behind the cash registers.

Imagine...stealing books? Stealing Vonnegut? His demographic does not appeal to shop-lifters and petty larcenists, does it?

I snapped up one copy of Deadeye Dick and one copy of G-d Bless You, Mr Rosewater. Rosewater is first on my agenda, as Dock has not read Deadeye Dick (so he gets dibs by default).

At least I know how I will be spending the next two weeks, since working is not an option right now. Reading. Not thieving from the Barnes & Noble in Durham.

Mot du Jour

Banhammer ('ban-'ha-m&r)

Per the bible of argot, Urban Dictionary, Banhammer may be a noun or a verb. My preferred definitions are:

Function: Noun
1: Weapon wielded by mods to kill accounts

Function: Verb
1: To ban thousands of people because of cheating, spamming, hacking or just being plain dumb
2: to declare something uncool

Usage:

• "The mods threatened me with the banhammer if I continue to act like a douchebag."
• "I'm a troll and thus have been banhammered because I have nothing of value to contribute."

No, nothing is *actually* irritating me today.

Observation of the Century

Ok...maybe century is a bit melodramatic. Perhaps the month? The week? I read this today and it struck me as sad, funny and true.

"There seems to be an epidemic of intellectual laziness in the world - people looking though a telescope turned around backwards," RoyE.

Daytime Television

I have been at home with the yuck for the past two days. Yesterday, I was far too comatose and feverish to do much of anything other than sleep. Today I am merely feverish and thusly, must slog my way through work. Thank heavens I have a fantastic VPN connection which enables me to do so much needed work before the end of the Fiscal Year.

Each time I am stuck at home during the week, I am simply amazed by the amount of crap on television during the day. What does this say about our society and the people who are at home during the day watching this shit? The View is not quality television. Nor is Ellen. Even the Today Show is disappointing.

Is there not more to life than entertainment drivel? Are people that afraid of reading or watching the news? And why...if you have a 24 hour news channel, can the newsies not come up with more than three to four stories to talk about during the course of a given hour? Why is daytime news like Top 40 radio? The same shit over and over and over again.

I may be feverish. I may feel like complete hell. But I still have standards.

Things not to wear to a job interview...

Aaach!!! I almost forgot about this one....

The lovely, possessed, demonic Hedrick Building is not only home to the wonderful Purchasing Department for the Hospital but Human Resources, as well. We have lots of lovely folks drifting in and out of the building throughout the day. Some find this such a wonderful place, they bring their entire families (snotty, screaming children and all) with them when they come for applications, etc...

Yesterday I saw a vision so amazing and astounding, I was chortling as I exited the building and dragged my ass to the car (and had to explain myself to three passers-by). There was a woman standing at the guard desk wearing a t-shirt that said, "Let's just get this over with."

Now...that's what I would consider prime State employee material right there.

More Swedish Humour???

These are real street signs, my friends.

P is for Pussi

OK....some of you Mark Base readers may have already seen the "Pussi" post. In the spirit of the earlier mentioned, Spotted Dick...I, however, cannot resist adding my own (my deepest apologies, Mark).

One night, while out tying one on, Andy blurts out that he found Pussi in the local grocery in Sweden. The entire conversation stopped. He explains that one may actually procure Pussi in Sweden. You can imagine how riveted the group was. You can (almost) hear the uproarious laughter that ensued when Andy explained that Pussi is cat food. Even further hooting and howling ensued when Roowhip mentioned she had a can of it at home in her cupboard.

The following day, while slumming at the Hard Rock Cafe in Göteborg (Gothenburg for you knuckle dragging, non Swedish speaking lot), Pussi reappeared in conversation. I believe among Mark Base, Arvid, Janelle, Andy and I as we were standing outside, smoking cigarettes along Avenyn. While I was not very drunk...I do remember very little from this conversation...other than laughing my ass off and trying really hard not to snort in front of my new friends.

To cement the hilarity of this discovery, Magnus, Dock and I went to ICA Maxi two days later to stock up on cans of Pussi for our American friends. The three of us were doubled over in fits of laughter in the pet food aisle. Hooting, hollering, shamelessly carrying on and taking pictures. It is so funny that my otherwise reserved, Swede (Magnus) was unable to stand up and turned beet red from laughing so hard.

As Mark indicates on his website...insert your comments here.