Oxford English Dictionary adds new word! Here's the new entry & definition. We at Nerds4Words are always interested in new words introduced into our language each day.


DIRTY HOSEBAG - n. (dur-tee hoez-bag)

1. A term of contempt for a female of ill-repute or questionable morality, often used by an angry pimp when addressing one of his prostitutes, and often accompanied by a "bitch-slap." 2. The part of a pre-bagless vaccuum cleaner that collects dirt, dust and hair from vaccuuming. Syn. skeez, slut, ho, beeatch, skank or hoochiemama.  ¶ 11:42 AM 25 comments

  fwd: fwd: fwd: For sale: Rare Book!!!

I’m selling a rare, 1^st edition autographed copy of J$ Rage-ohol Poetry - don't be jackin' it!, an edition which has been in my family over 15 months! This book is in VERY excellent condition, and it has an inscription from J$ himself!!

$ scholars on The Antique Roadshow said this extremely rare book is worth anywhere from $1,500 to $43,000, depending on condition. I’m only asking $4.50 because I need the cash, so you could make some real money on this. Must see to believe!!!

See what the critics wrote on Amazon:

This volume is a must for any aficionado of neo-classical ghetto poetry. J$ originally published this work himself, using his meager savings from recycling aluminum cans in the ghettos of 1980’s Houston. Rage-ohol is in its seventh printing now and has been translated into 2 different languages. The anthology is considered to be the pinnacle of J$’s career as a poet. J$ is considered one of the thought leaders, if not the definitive voice, of the ghetto cracker movement in contemporary poetry.

Most of the 15 Americans who read poetry are only familiar with the second edition of Rage-ohol, and are unaware of the significant differences between it and the original rhymes. Most important of these was the substitution of “Flowers and streams and shit” for “Work is for jerks.” “Work is for jerks” was removed from the second printing because the powerful Turkish-American lobby threatened to have the book banned at universities and grade schools if the inflammatory line ”Only a Turk enjoys being at work” were printed. In response, J$’s editor convinced him to draft something less controversial and with broader appeal as a replacement. Many $ scholars assert that J$ did not put his heart and soul into “Flowers and streams and shit.” J$ has never commented on the issue asside from his trademark phrase, “Cracker, please!”   ¶ 8:27 PM 1 comments

  Work is for Jerks In honor of my blooming unemployment and nouveau-slacker, grad student mystique, here's an old poem I wrote years back about how working sucks and how work is for jerks. It was a response to my friend Greg-o's poem "School is for Fools" and strangely seems to have forsaw the phrase that inspired the name of this blog, "Words are for Nerds." Please know that I am not a Turkaphobe, I brought the Turks into it only because of one reason - Turk rhymes with work.

WORK IS FOR JERKS
by J$

Work is for jerks,
only jerks like to work,
only a Turk enjoys being at work.

I asked about work,
and he offered a smirk.
He said, "I like to lurk
behind bookcases, Dirk."
"It may seem like a quirk,
but it's not - I'm just shirking my work."

Captain Kirk liked his work,
but he was a jerk,
and that guy on Scrubs called Turk,
but most go berzerk
when they think of their work.

Though it offer a perk,
I still hate my work,
whether a temp or a clerk,
it all stinks, 'cuz it's work.

(c) J$ Rage-ohol Poetry - don't be jackin' it!  ¶ 1:55 PM 0 comments

  Also for sale: my gun
Well, I'm selling my gun. Didn't want to, but apparently it isn't okay to have this gun inside city limits. My housing association isn't too pleased with me having it in the backyard, either. You can see by the picture that it's a real beauty. I keep it nicely cleaned and oiled - looking brand new. By the way, those are some of my Eastern European cousins over for a visit from Alibemizuzakabekhistan. They sure got a kick out of it, shooting stuff and all. Oh well. I'm selling it on Craig's list, and also on Ebay, but I thought I'd give you guys the first shot (ha ha) at it. It's fun to shoot stuff with, and you can even sit down while you are doing your shooting, which is nice and relaxing. It's a fun way to spend an afternoon outdoors, just sitting there, shooting stuff a lot.

I'm asking $40, but I'm sure I'll have to go down on my price some to actually move the thing. The shipping costs are a real bitch, though, as the USPS has told me that it will cost somewhere around $4500 to disassemble it, box it up and ship it first class. If I could convince them to let me send it book rate, I could save half of that - but so far they are being pretty picky about what counts as a "book."

Well, send me an offer. You can contact me at home, on my cell phone, on my pager, on my other cell phone, on my email, on my instant messenger, on my blog, on my fax machine, by homing pigeon, via wireless ephone, by text message, by satellite faxomatic electronic walkie-talkie, by regular mail, by skywriting, by a little note tied to a javelin, or you can just come by the house. J$  ¶ 9:30 PM 2 comments

  For Sale: Curtains
I am selling a set of lace curtains that I inherited from my great great aunt Mathilda. It was all she had in this world (besides her rattan chair that she left to my brother) and she wanted me to have it. Now I'm willing to sell it to you for $240 or best offer. My brother got over $30 for the chair, bless her soul.
I still remember how the morning sun would stream through these holey curtains and we would angrily "pity the fool" that thought it made sense to put holes in something that was supposed to block out light. Needless to say, these would make great cheese cloth, or could be cut into doilies. Lots of doilies.
Please call me if you'd like to swing by and check them out. If I'm not home, they are the ones I'm using as a car cover on the 1979 Camaro out back. Heck, while you are here, make me an offer on any parts you need for a 1977-1979 Camaro.  ¶ 7:26 PM 0 comments

  The perfect bait This last week I sold some fairly unattractive bedside tables that we’d picked up from my in-laws. Nobody in the family wanted them, but because they were ‘free’, we were obliged to accept them. There's another blog I could do on life with a packrat, but not today. So I promptly put an ad on craigslist. I wasn’t really all that hopeful that anybody would pay $50 for the pair, but I was hopeful nonetheless.

Surprise, surprise! Within 2 minutes of posting the ad, I had 5 people interested in coming to see them. All women, many of whom use cute background wallpaper on their emails. Pink butterflies, precious moments figures, crap like that.

So I thought to myself, “ Self, if you were a bachelor, you could be on to something here.” I think I may have stumbled upon the perfect way to setup chance meetings with available women. Of course, it doesn’t do me any good, but I still enjoy the thrill of discovery. In fact, if you’re reading this, chances are you’re married. You should stop reading immediately and go do something productive. For every body else, read on.

In the case of the ugly bedside tables, a reasonably attractive woman in her 30’s and the woman’s mother turned up first. We immediately fell into a conversation about the weather, furniture, cragislist, etc. It could easily have morphed into a friendship of some sort, but I wasn’t really motivated. Had I been single and desperate (as I often was when I was single), it would have been a different prospect altogether. Not exactly the trophy catch, especially with Mom standing there, but then I hadn’t really been trying.

With a little tweaking, it seems to me you could bring almost any type of woman (or man) to your door). All you need is the right item to sell. Ugly tables obviously won’t bring 25-year-old playmates, but I’m sure something else will. And it need not be something currently taking up space in your garage—there’s no reason you can’t head over to The Pottery Barn and pick up whatever you think you need, and then turn right around and resell it.

A few examples to illustrate—

1. Celine Dion collection—posters, signed albums, imprint of her enormous nose perhaps. This could go a lot of directions. You can’t be too picky about age, and you could get some rather large interested buyers, but they’re likely to be eager for a date.
2. A really cute, small, overpriced house. You need some money to pull this off, and you have to make it cute enough and small enough to weed out the couples. However, you can use the house’s style to finely tune respondents to your taste. You could go artsy, modern, town & country, or even country farmhouse (for you Elly May Clampett fans out there). For the younger audience, try posting rentals instead of “for sale”.
3. Jewelry. Must be accompanied by a sentimental vignette about how a fictitious girlfriend cruelly dumped you. As with the house ploy, the type of jewelry is key in bringing in the right game. Watch out for jailbait if you sell some Hello Kitty earrings, and watch out for 50-year old divorcés if you’re selling modern silver chokers.
4. Red VW Cabrio. Enough said. You might get some interested gay men, but I say, be open-minded! Give it a whirl if he’s good looking. How far wrong could you go?
5. Puppies!! And you’ll have fun with this even if nothing happens with the ladies. You could go with a pure breed, but that gets expensive. I’d find some really cute mutts, and then make up a story about the mother getting run over by a police car or something. No real woman can refuse a puppy. Then again, a lot of guys are likely to turn up, too. Comments on how to discourage couples and guys would be appreciated.
6. The Feminine Mystique, 1^st edition, signed by Betty Friedan. Have you lost your ever-loving mind? Do you want some hippie with bushy armpits riding the bus to your house, to look at a book and lecture you on the evils of men? This is not part of the plan. If you fell for this one, perhaps you should stick to match.com.

  ¶ 12:34 PM 2 comments

  "Cracker!"
"I said give it up!"  ¶ 10:48 PM 1 comments

  Nerds For Words Nerds For Words

Whitey, pleeeeeeeeeease!!  ¶ 7:43 PM 0 comments

  Dear Whitey... Dear Whitey:

We've reviewed your letter of interest and our notes from your phone call, and we believe that, if anything, your qualifications and temperament mandate you for a post of V.P. or higher. You are NOT just some corporate life form or suburban robot. No sir. However, we only have a "dead albatross" position available currently, and no V.P. jobs will open up until either Mr. Creasepants or Mr. Jujubee die suddenly. I know they are both in their 80's, but don't get your hopes up. We offer our execs an INCREDIBLE health plan. Thanks again for your interest.

Sincerely,
Mr. Teabag
Human Resources  ¶ 10:36 AM 0 comments

  Re: Job Posting

To whom it may concern:

I am interested in the “albatross—dead” position you recently advertised. I have the excellent work history you seek. Sadly I am unable to provide many professional references, as most of the organizations I have worked for previously are now defunct. I am looking for a robust company in most any industry, preferably one with a lax alcohol/drug policy.

I am above all considered a token of luck to an enterprise, which makes me an ideal candidate for this position. I am known for being irrascible and slow to adopt new ideas. I am persistent in reiterating my own views. I typically meet or exceed my vacation and sick day allowances. I am not afraid to say the “wrong thing” or do something that's not "PC". I improve the morale of my employer’s organization through such methods as dutifully forwarding all amusing emails I receive to large groups of people, telling long stories to break the monotony of Friday afternoon meetings, etc.

I think we may have a real fit. I do not have a resume, but will be happy to describe my history during a phone call. Please contact me at your earliest convenience.

Best regards,

“Whitey” LaMonte  ¶ 10:08 AM 1 comments

  Albatross Wanted (Preferably Dead)
Fast growing company with unfocused business plan, seeking career minded individual with same. Must have impecable credentials, history of success and willingness to tie up with a company without either. Please send resume and coverletter with a self addressed stamped envlope to 1235 Highland Park Drive, Richmond, VA 25222.  ¶ 9:42 AM 0 comments

  The Ken Archetype I shaved off a weeks’ growth of facial hair today. I’m on the weekly schedule now not because it looks good, but because it’s easy and it doesn't matter what I look like. While shaving, I was reminded a little of Ken, who probably also stopped shaving because of the effort involved. Ken didn’t look good with facial hair either, but he had stopped shaving entirely. In fact, Ken looked a lot like St. Nick. Except that he didn’t have toys for little children, didn’t wear red, was skinny, and wasn’t particularly jolly. He drove around a nine hundred year-old Subaru instead of a sleigh, and Austin bears almost no resemblance to the North Pole. So, Ken’s beard looked a lot like Santa’s.

This is relevant because I feel a sort of gravitational force pulling me towards Ken’s way of being. It’s gradual, but it’s always there. It’s more than the beard. It’s the whole attitude towards appearance, my aging Subaru, and perhaps also my expectations for the future. It’ll be thirty more years before I can really play the part with panache, but I’m off to a good start.

Ken was my landlord for two years. I lived in Austin with my sister, in a rental house that’s now in a very chic part of town. At the time, it was an ok place to live, and when Ken and his business partner, the silent and invisible Robert, bought it the area was strictly a rental neighborhood. Lots of homes built right after WWII that could be cute, but that needed a couple of decades of work to catch them up on all the deterioration. The yards were landscaped with weeds that had grown in stature until they were trees; still trash, but so large that nobody wanted to mess with removing them.

Ken was not a great landlord to rent from. Ken raised our rent $200 twice, forcing us out of the house the second time. He never fixed anything. Most annoyingly, when the washing machine destroyed itself in a spray of water and electrical arcing, he said that the washer and dryer were only extras and not actually covered in the lease. Whole sections of the linoleum floor in the kitchen had come loose, but we kept the loose squares in the kitchen. They slid easily over the tiles that the glue still held in place, and you sort of skated across the kitchen if you stepped on a loose one just right.

There was no consideration at all of the paint the house desperately needed or plugging the gaping cracks around the windows and doors. The cold air rushed out in the summer and came back in in January and February, like the snowbird that Ken should have been. My sister and I never complained, though. We were both slovenly, and we housed pets that were more or less feral in the house. If it was Ken’s fault the outside of the house looked like a flophouse (and Ken one of the semi-homeless residents), we had turned the interior into a communal zoo. The wild fluctuations in temperature and the intermittent appliances were very low on our list of concerns, so long as the building itself held together.

All that being said, Ken was a good guy. He was quiet and reserved but friendly. He would roll up unannounced in his ancient wagon, and then come inside and talk for a while before doing whatever it was he made the trip to do. He was always up on current events in Austin and the legal implications of them, as the events that interested him typically involved the ‘new’ Austin people with money coming in and displacing the poorer, earthier ‘old’ Austin people. He once noticed a poster of a Frida Kahlo painting in my sister’s room and gave me a lengthy dissertation on her life and the meaning of that painting, with all the necessary side references to Diego Rivera. He was friendly and confident with my sister’s dog, who weighed in at 110 lbs but looked much bigger because of her thick coat and who barked ferociously at everyone who came to the door. In short, Ken was a welcome guest even though, as a landlord, he didn’t treat us well.

What interests me about Ken is that he was obviously capable of so much more than maintaining a dozen rent houses. I would bet he had a couple of degrees to his credit and a respectable library of books he’d read. He could have cleaned up a bit, put on a suit, and passed for almost anything. So why was he content with such a humble existence? Was he content? It is entirely possible that he and Robert casually bought a couple of rent houses, Robert financing them and Ken doing the actual work, and gradually the business became Ken’s occupation. He did it for a couple of years, and then turned around to find all the other doors had quietly closed on him while he was re-roofing a house. I don’t really know how Ken became Ken, but I’m fairly certain the 20-year old he once was had held aspirations that the 55-year old not yet realized and will never realize. I hope that the 55-year old has written off some of those aspirations as unworthy of the effort or empty goals, but I doubt they can all be dismissed so easily.

I said that we liked Ken, but I also feel a certain kinship with him in our business acumen. In 2000, after Ken and Robert jacked our rent up to the point where we couldn’t justify staying, they sold that house and all their other real estate in Austin. They had been in the market for a long time and had made respectable money on all their properties. They decided it was time to claim their winnings and get out. As Ken put it, “We’ve had our cake, and we’re not sticking around for ice cream.” That might have been a saying in the dim corner of England where he hailed from. Almost immediately after they sold everything, Austin real estate shot skyward in the biggest real estate boom the city’s ever experienced. God bless you, Ken, but we're just not lucky.  ¶ 10:14 AM 0 comments

  The Adventures of Tiny and Little Dik-dik
Episode 1: Roid Rage

Tiny, that harmless milquetoast of a man, noticed he wasn't so tiny anymore. It was puzzling because he couldn't remember doing anything to make himself get so "swole." He never lifted weights. He'd been eating his usual diet of roasted meats and sausages and cheese, and the only new delicacy that he'd been enjoying was a delicious frosty chocolate milk shake that his sidekick, Dik-dik, made for him each night after dinner.

What was more troubling, Tiny found himself awash in strange, new powerful emotions. For instance, instead of being mildly upset when his electicity bill was $150.00 instead of the usual $110.00, Tiny launched into an epic temper tantrum in which he virutally destroyed the whole apartment. He tore the doors off the entertainment center and sent them crashing through the living room drywall. He broke all the remote controls in half, then he broke his cell phone in half. He kicked over the coffee table and swung the lamp around like a baseball bat, and then took a big stack of plates from the pantry and threw them out the window at his neighbor who was out walking his dog. Luckily he didn't hurt anyone, and it was fortuitous that Little Dik-dik was out getting his weekly pedicure.

The strange thing was, when Tiny finally calmed down, he noticed that he actually wasn't that mad about it, and that it was perfectly reasonable during the summer months to have a larger electricity bill. It seemed that something was really wrong, but his enormous swollen oversized cranium was making it harder and harder for him to figure these kinds of things out.

A few minutes later, Little Dik-dik came in, carrying a potted plant and the day's newspaper. He trotted over, dropped the plant and paper that he was carrying in a sack with his mouth, and looked at Tiny. He then said, "Hey, Tiny - I'm not making anymore milkshakes for you... My friend Lippy said that he would show me a magic ingredient that would work wonders for you, so I agreed - he suggested that I put this ingredient into a milkshake for you. But you liked it so much, I kept making them every night for the last month. I ran out of the magic ingredient yesterday, and went by Lippy's today for some more and he told me I shouldn't have been giving you so much, and that he wan't giving me any more. I asked him what it was and he said it was..."

"Cocaine."

Tune in next week to find another clue to the mystery of Tiny's mysterious roid rage and his burgeoning coke addiction! Also, learn the secret of the strange talking Dik-dik!  ¶ 12:29 PM 1 comments

  An Empty Echo in the Halls of Justice

“I know you’ve been sworn in, and I have read your complaints.” Thus opened pretty much every episode of The People’s Court, with Doug Llewelyn, Rusty the Bailiff, and of course the Very Honorable Judge Joseph Wapner. The Big W placed a lot of emphasis on have, as if the complainants would have a reasonable expectation that nobody gives a damn about their pidly issues. Judge Wapner was the man who would patiently listen to people’s lame excuse for a case, and then hand down a sensible verdict that didn’t matter anyway because the show paid for damages and court expenses regardless of the outcome.

I just want to say, where have all the heroes gone? Where is the new generation’s knight in black robes? Who will dispense justice to current residents of trailer parks where landlords fail to provide necessary repairs, users of laundrmats where machines eat your quarters, and law-abiding homeowners whose neighbor’s dog craps in their yard?

Nowhere, that’s where. Judge Wapner has retired, and nobody can replace him. Judge Judy tried and failed, and now there’s a gaping void in daytime television. Who will bring meaning to the periods between ads for drunk-driving defense attorneys, lawyers who will get you every dollar you have coming for your pain and suffering, medicare-reimbursable appliances and vehicles, second rate automobile services, and of course ITT Technical Institute?

I realize this may read like an obituary, but I believe The Big W is still with us. He should be about 87 years old now. He probably roams around an apartment in a Miami retirement community, carrying his gavel and yelling for Rusty to bring him the evidence. My heart goes out.  ¶ 11:31 AM 0 comments

  You can't always get what you want Good morning. Its Monday and I'm about to dig back in. I hope you guys start writing more, because your posts are a lot funnier than mine.  ¶ 7:51 AM 0 comments

  Come to the Light It is always startling to hear that a $3 trillion dollar segment of our economy has learned how to make people (even recalcitrants) enjoy spending money. I don't reckon consumer indulgence on "non-durable" goods would amount to $3 trillion if everyone hated it as much as I do.

So as an antidote to the slippery slope that will ultimately lead my dear friend to the Mall of America or the Galleria I want to tell about a big time on the old town of Columbus.

My brother and his wife are due to have a baby in 5 weeks, my sister had one 6 weeks ago, and my good friend Frank had a baby girl Monday. We took the confluence of auspicious beginnings as an opportuity to explore the funner side of gift giving. Julie handled the dirty work of buyin plain white "onesies" and fabric paints. A few days later, Julie and I stayed up until 12:30 AM (that is late for people with 1 year olds) stenciling our love and affection onto plain white cotton. I don't know how much it cost to make and can't bring myself to care. What I revel in is that the latest night Julie and I have had in months was "making" gifts for our loved ones.

Oh, and by the way, you get homemade jams and jellies from us for Christmas.  ¶ 8:19 AM 0 comments

  You Can't Miss This Sale

I went shopping today to find a birthday gift for my wife. Shopping is something I hate, and I’m not overly fond of the consumer-orgy that gift giving has become. Yes, that’s right, I’m a grinchy old man in disguise. I’m not a whole lot of fun to be around come Christmas. I don’t have anything original to say on the topic, just the usual complaint to lodge—I should be able to tell somebody that I love them without having to spend a certain amount on them. So it was with a heavy heart that I started my expedition to Target, and then onward to a strip mall filled with all the finer chain stores.

I was surprised to actually enjoy the event. I have to confess that getting in the car and driving to a couple of stores, meditating on what my wife enjoys and what her hobbies are, and deciding whether or not she’d like some of the things they had for sale was a positive experience. It made me think of all the acts of kindness she’s done for me lately and all the thought she puts into birthdays and Christmas. It gave me some time to tune out other concerns and focus on why I love her and want to make her happy, and why she makes me happy.

I still feel like a fish being reeled in every time I go to a big-box retailer, and I still prefer Thanksgiving to Christmas because I think Wal-mart and Halmark have successfully stolen Christmas from Baby Jesus. However, I’m willing to concede that gift shopping and gift giving are useful in maintaining relationships with loved ones.

I will resume my usual tirades against shopping and consumerism tomorrow.   ¶ 3:45 PM 1 comments

  Funny email It is interesting when people use their work email to post some sort of message, it supposedly acting as an epitaph to their email. Well, I actually saw a funny one yesterday that went like this.

"No trees were killed in the sending of this email, but a large number of electrons were terribly inconvenienced."  ¶ 7:51 AM 0 comments

  My Wife Nerds For Words
Julie. She liked the ode to cow poem, but I'm afraid she is a little concerned about our mental well being. It can't be helped.. the people in the lab coats did it to us.

I am thinking that I am going to try to write something on here everyday, with a view towards getting better at writing. You probably won't get much poetry out of me... or really much of interest for that matter. But it ocurred to me that our names aren't on here, so I too will share a Jill story

JILL - Kill
While resting oh so comfortably on an air mattress and sleeping bag, it became clear to me that my roommate for the night was primarily nocturnal. Her circadian rhythms aside, my host had been gracious enough to hang a ball from the table by using a piece of ribbon.
Cats, by the way, are not gracious. They are spasmodic. They move slowly and then suddenly dart around in spastic bursts that defy relaxation. I would just about be to sleep and Jill would attack the swaying ball, scaring my semi-conscious self back to full awakeness. It made for a long night.  ¶ 7:48 AM 0 comments

  Ode to Cow

I, too, feel the need to legitimize my presence here at Words4Nerds by taking a more literary direction with my posts. Therefore, I have decided to offer this little poem, seen here on the Internet for the first time, which I wrote many years ago either in a drunken stupor or a fit of rage, I can't remember which.

It's about cows. It's called:

Ode to Cow

O, cow, larger than sow
not Gwyneth Paltrow
never inclined to say meow
just moo, and take a bow

Squirting udder, 2 percent fat
the rest is 98% at that
which the remainder great
is 100 minus 98

Chewing now cud, then grass
what's that smell from out your (hoof)
flatulent bossy, gaseous hose
smelly experiment, here our tax money goes

Lemon meringue cow pie
whipped cream on top, Guy
had a slice and died
or so the saying goes, "E.S.A.D."

Cow, cow, cows all
large and fat with plastic eyeball
tipped over by hoodlums from the couch
landed on nostril, ouch

O, cow, vein stopper
die and become my Whopper
$1.10 a pound for the 70% lean
$1.45 for the 90% scene  ¶ 10:13 AM 0 comments

  Thanks for including me So it began by lining up all the schoolchildren along the gym wall by height. Jim was selected as the captain of the "shirts", and Ted was chosen as captain of the "skins". On the far right of the line was young Charles, waiting to be chosen from amongst the least coordinated of the short people. Charles knew that his friend Ted wouldn't leave him hanging, but was also afraid that Ted would hesitate, remembering how Charles's pale skin reacted to being exposed to the sun. Would he allow his friend to languish in unselected hell or would he risk the chance that he would be the proximal cause of his poor pale friend's skin blistering in the mock sunlight of the gym lights? Or worse yet, risk the early onset of cataracts caused by the irridescent glow from Charles' fish-belly-white skin?

Stay tuned.  ¶ 9:33 AM 1 comments

  To set a more literary tone for myself, I want to post a narrative I started a couple of weeks ago. I also want to think of one or two more people who might post once a week or so. Any ideas? Well, here's my uplifting story about cat feces:

A Tribute to Princess Jill

The cat crapped in the sink. I don’t know what made her regard the disposal as a subsitutue for her litterbox. It was a stroke of pet genius, really, considering I never succeeded in teaching her anything before that. The smell was godawful. The pooh had probably been sitting there a couple of days while we were gone, getting nice and festy in the dampness of the sink. I did the only thing I could think of, which was to run some water and turn on the disposal. Then I cut up a lemon and ground it up, too, and sprayed the whole works with lemon-scented bleach for good measure.

Princess Jill crapped in the sink. That was her special way of telling me I’d pissed her off, that I had wronged her and she wasn’t going to just let it go. I rescued the cat from a life of abandonment in urban Austin 7 years ago, and it’s been about six years since I started to regret it. I provide a home for her and what little affection and attention the Princess allows humans to bestow upon her. The Princess has no appreciation for these facts. She onle knows that I left her alone for a week, and for that the appropriate punishment is a sink full of cat shit. I wish she would hurry up and die, but I probably have 7 or 8 more years of cat ownership to look forward to.   ¶ 3:50 PM 1 comments

  Blogtaskic I, too, spend quite a bit of free time staring at this box, ruining my eyes and rotting my brain. But the colors are nice. Right now I'm trying to bid on some wooden preschool puzzles for Holly on EBAY, but I haven't bought anything on there in so long I forgot my password and my login name, so I'm pretty much back to square one. What is your take on EBAY? Do you use it frequently? Have you had any good or bad experiences on there? Are you indifferent to it altogether? Also, does EBAY make you feel happy inside, or does it anger you to the point of wanting to go live in a shack in Montana and grow a 2-foot beard and talk to the squirrels?  ¶ 12:06 PM 0 comments

  Same Old Spam I got nothing new and creative to write, but the machine wants a posting from me. Since I spend 5 or 6 hours every day staring into the machine, I'm starting to think maybe I need to do what it tells me to do.
Is the machine the new Idiot Box? It certainly seems to have the same magical power to captivate attention and hang on like a mighty tick, sucking consciousness out of me. If so, perhaps this posting can be a tribute to the power of the computer. Not a power for good. A power for sucking whole days in and leaving me the residue-- the five minutes I spend getting up to go to the toilet, the 20 minutes I spend on lunch, and the 3 or 4 hours when the machine latches on to Robyn for a while and I can go do something else. Powerful indeed, but beneficient? No.
So what I'm saying is, please post something on here from time to time and see what I might have posted. Listen to the machine! Let it have just a little of your time (at first). Think of some other people who might be willing to read and write once in a while. Commentary, fiction, humor, elegies, whatever.  ¶ 9:55 AM 0 comments