Category: Humour

Blog post from May Day 2005

So my fondest memory of the May Day Worker’s March yesterday was the effigy of Gordon Campbell, flanked by the effigies of two vultures. That was inspired. John and I ran up ahead to get a good look at the effigies; John opined “He’s stiffer in real life” whereas I contributed, “and the smile on the effigy is more genuine”. Full marks to the folks who did the work on that.

Came up with a good one yesterday. Patricia said, There is no I in Team, to which my immediate response was, and there’s no F in Way.

Blog post from July 2005

So Keith has been coughing and looking and feeling horrible, and last night around bed time he said, I’ll see if I feel like going in to work tomorrow. Paul and I both said, why don’t you call in sick NOW and then you can sleep in!

He sez, “I can do that?”

So he calls in sick. What I heard, “Hi, it’s Keith; feel like ratshit, so I won’t be coming in on Thursday.”

What he REALLY said was, “Hi, it’s Keith, I feel wretched, so I won’t be coming in on Thursday.”

Then I hear Paul say, in his proud voice, “Very professional!” at which point the top of my head caved in. I think I’m slowly going deaf…. it does run in the family.

Non compliance

This is a new device for people like me, non compliant CPAP users.  No thanks, even if I didn’t actually use it last night I’ll stick with the CPAP that hydrates the air.

I believe I wrote 1007 words yesterday, but my counter went a little bloopy, so maybe it was only half that.  Bhwa.

Skytrain tracks caught fire this morning, so things are going to be dripping with slow for the commute. Line’s shut between Joyce and Waterfront, what a cluster.

Back to the saltmines.  I am trying to get started on a chapter that needs way more research than I have the energy for right now.

More non-compliance, this time from the Mayor of Burnaby. Go Derek.

WHO launches a program to catch the next big outbreak.

This is the kind of news item that really fires up the mystery writer hiding under my sf writer.

DADBODS ARE A THING.  Full disclosure.  Long about a million years ago, I was walking through the CNE grounds with Lois and Ruth (erstwhile Sisses-in-Common-law) we saw a lovely young man of about 20 rocking chiselled everything.  I turned to the ladies and said, “I dunno ’bout you, but I just can’t find a man super attractive these days unless he’s got a tiny bit of a gut.”  They both turned to me and burst out laughing.

 

Success, or an approximation

So I’m off to get a CT scan of my unstable pelvis, and the tooth Dr. Katz fixed is now completely perfect in all respects, plus he ground just a smidge off a cuspid and now my mouth feels normal again.  The scan will be booked and they’ll call me, and then I back to see the bone doc about ten days after the scan to give them a chance to read it.

3.0 hours on the CPAP.  I feel very refreshed and not particularly in pain, which is pleasant.  No words yesterday.

I am ashamed to say I bailed on Paul last night, he wanted to go swimming, but I biked to and from the dentist and had a rather trying day in other respects, sitting in cold rooms waiting for doctors not being one of my oh doodie moments. Went to bed early, went to sleep early. For some reason the mask felt very comfortable last night, although I still took it off.  I think I was contemplating getting up and yelling at Buster since he was making so much frikkin’ noise.

Jeff is home, and Buster is much, much happier.  (With Margot, you can’t tell; her baseline temperament is so incredibly calm.) He is a daddy’s boy.

I did the math; if all the people who live in Vancouver, Victoria, Nanaimo, Kamloops, Kelowna, Abbotsford, White Rock and Chilliwack were homeless, that would still only be half as many as have been rendered homeless by the earthquake in Nepal.

Sometime in the next two hundred years Vancouver will get its own rumble. If it’s a megaquake it’ll be felt across Cascadia.  I’m starting to keep extra water on hand.

This sweet little piece of satire is from a filking buddy.

The worst slave trader.

Continued drug gang related violence (or so one supposes) in  Metro Vancouver.

Chipper sends me this hand flute playing virtuosity.

She also sends me this cute panoply of chordate behaviours.

I will endeavour mightily to get back on track today.  Except I have to do something for church.

Miles does it again

My filking buddy Andrew, who goes by Miles Vorkosigan on facebook, read or pretended to read a book that would allow you to write better horror.

The book made him facepalm.  So he decided to write a trashy horror novelists description of a facepalm, and then got carried away and did multiple versions.  I hope you enjoy this cascade of awful as much as I did, because I laughed until I sprang a rib.  Since I didn’t write this, copyright belongs to Andrew.

 

ABOMINATIONS OF HUMAN ENDEAVOUR: Before reading this book: “Face, meet palm.”

After reading this book:

My palm described a perfect arc as it rushed towards my face.

There was an audible CLAP as my palm struck my face.

I felt a sharp stab of pain, every bit as intense as the emotional pain I felt from reading this link, as I struck my own face with my palm.

Before my face even had time to brace for the impact, my palm was upon it.

My palm swished through the air and landed with a dull, sickening thud across my face.

It was like that legendary baseball game back in ’42, when Babe Ruth hit the winning run right out of the park–only instead of the final, inexorable crack of the bat hitting the ball, it was the final, inexorable crack of my palm meeting my face.

My palm struck my face with all the impact of a Mack Semi, having left Chicago heading east at 2:pm at 60 mph, colliding with a freight train that left Cleveland heading west at 1 p.m. travelling 80 mph.

Out there, in the darkness, something *watched* me facepalm myself.

My palm was out there at the end of my arm, mocking me. “Mi-yuls”, it seemed to say, “Here I am, Mi-yuls! And I’m coming to GET you! You know you lose control over me when you read something breathtakingly stupid enough—you always do. And now it’s party time. I’m coming for your face. And I’m hard. Hard and calloused from that workout this morning. And sweaty too. Get ready, Mi-yuls, for the mother of all facepalms!”

Once again…. this is Andrew’s, but really I think it belongs to the world.

Ow plus science

Welp, it’s official.  The xray came back and there’s something amiss amidships.  I see the doc March 3rd,  but I don’t think I’ll march forth.  It’s physio for me… likely.  Physio I can’t afford.  Man, I love being unemployed.

I find it absolutely hilarious that I got my first offer of sex in like I don’t know, a year? …. immediately after I informed my interlocutor that even if I was interested, I am not physically capable at the moment.  I’m not saying men are clueless, but they sure can concentrate on themselves and their needs to the extent that they become stone… fucking… deaf.  The little dears.  Reg will be Reg.

Since I’m never going to date again, I thought I’d take this list and whack it like a rhetorical piñata for a while.

1.  It all went fine until we got to the cat.  After that I don’t remember much, although I do remember waking up in the ambo and thinking “Holy fuck, I hope that’s not all MY blood.”

2.  This is a genuinely hilarious idea, and if I was a few years younger and dating a man with a sense of humour, I would totally go for it.

3.  I think I have sufficient costumery to cover this in style.

4.  Only if we’re doing it on Bowen Island; you end up at the labyrinth if you do this.

5.  This should only be done on a double date.  It will increase all of the fun. For variance, include kids from previous liaisons.

6.  Nah.  Fuckers would just assume the book was used and hate on the retail staff.  Do not do things which will make fuckers hate on the retail staff.

7.  I cannot think of anything which would bring irritation to the boil faster than this, but on the other hand it might be totally fun, except that every time I ever did this with a guy he ended up steering the story over to emergency blow jobs.

8.  Only if I have something that does the bending for me, otherwise it’s going to look like I got to the edge of my neighbour’s yard and gave up.

9.  A charming notion.

10.  Nope.  Trees are too small to hide this ass behind.  Van Dusen Gardens, mebbe.

11.  This could be genuine hilarious and memorable.  I’d start at the cruise ship dock and work my way through Gastown, Chinatown, and East Hastings.

12.  This is TOTES a fannish activity.  People have been doing this in sf fandom since the 30’s, possibly earlier.

13.  See, I’d REALLY HAVE TO TRUST HIM. This is how you end up in the newspapers, sisters.

14.  Only if I’m leaving hangar rash on every sport ute and noise kit vehicle in the parking lot.

15. Not with this pubic symphisis, but in your 20’s it’s a hoot.

16.  I have actually done this; with the right person it’s so funny you’ll be needing oxygen by the time it’s done.

17.  I gave away my superhero costume to Mary Crowell, but I have NO REGRETS.

18.  Had me and my imaginary sexytimefriend but the funds.

19.  Only with my mask…

20.  Only at Wreck Beach…..

ow

Katie and Alex came by to do laundry, eat pork stir fry which I had providentially cooked up that morning, and drink coffee, and Paul showed up to take me for a walk but was only too happy to take us all in his car, which involved much shovage and shrinkage on Katie’s part.

Somewhere in there the kitchen clock fell on my head and shattered, and I have a hummingbird egg on my head.  Getting hit by a clock when you’re 56 just seems a little too on the nose, doncha think?

So we 4 went to the Quay, and walking like my pelvic girdle done come apart, and grateful for the prop of the stroller, I got 2 k in, and then, joy of joys, Paul treated Katie and I to the sopa de tortilla at the Quay (best soup that isn’t phở for many miles).  Then I came home and I would have liked to have collapsed, but Alex was here so I sang to him and watched him career about in his Jolly Jumper (which was the reason the kitchen clock got dislodged, but oh well it’s still running although Jeff had to pull more glass out of it this morning.)

Church was okay.  The speaker had wonderful things to say about feeling like an odd person out, but a man in the congregation kept talking and it was hard to hear what was going on sometimes.  Also, the amount of tunage has dropped away to practically nothing, which is in my view somewhat farcical.  I didn’t hang about for the soup lunch.

The xray result should be back soon.  I have a note in to call the doc.

I have a rather troubling new symptom; the numb patch on the bottom of my foot more than doubled in size in the last twenty-four hours.  This is the first time the paresthesia has gotten significantly worse since my initial recovery from the L5-s1 injury, and what really cheeses me off is that I have been making a tremendous effort to get more flexibility happening and my symptoms get worse.  (I have been doing various exercises for my hips and back).  FML, as the kids say.

If I keep being this fragile I have no idea what will happen come May when I’m expected to do childcare several days a week.  I imagine I’ll adjust, but it’s a terrifying prospect that I might put my back out again.  Also, it’s by no means settled where this childcare will happen….

 

 

wa-ho

OMFGBWAHAHA.  NOT SAFE FOR WORK.  The noise this thing makes is a complete relief for grief and woe. TLDR: I wouldn’t want a device that sounds like a cross between a prop plane and a sewing machine anywhere near mah nethers.

I musta burnt 500 calories last night with the tossing and turning.  I wore the CPAP for 4 long and tedious hours and finally gave up, got up, peed, took another painkiller (I was in AGONY after the walk, and it hurt to roll over but I had to to get my back to hurt in different ways).  Got up at 9 and had to deal with the tedium of rumbly tummy after my sushi lunch yesterday. Crossing that restaurant off my list.

Katie and Alex are coming to record some songs, they should be here imminently.

 

The second worst thing about being a white liberal is that there are fewer and fewer people I can openly mock and pick on. The worst thing is knowing that there should not be ANYBODY in that category. If I really cared, I’d mend and not mock. I think that having hundreds of millions of people to hate, fear, mock, jeer and write bigoted laws for is part of the special appeal of social conservatism.

My response to an internet joke

Here’s the joke.

Ayn Rand, Rand Paul and Paul Ryan walk into a bar. The bartender serves them tainted alcohol because there are no regulations. They die.

Here’s my response:

 

No, no NO you’re telling it all wrong. Ayn Rand, Rand Paul and Paul Ryan walk into a bar owned by Thom Tillis. Ayn Rand never pays for a drink because, well, she never does, and Rand Paul left his wallet in the car so Paul Ryan, who’s generally considered the stupid one of the trio anyway, digs out his Amex and pays. The cocktail onions are contaminated, the glasses are filthy and the tabletop hasn’t been wiped down since Vietnam. Ayn Rand says “A is A. I need privately funded medical attention.” and keels over. The other two ignore her because hey bitches be crazy. Rand Paul says, “I’m considering changing my position,” and keels over. Paul Ryan takes a selfie with their corpses and goes on a book tour; there isn’t a microbe alive that doesn’t back away from him slow.

Did you ever get the feeling…

Batman and Dilbert are spying on ya?

That central Africa would like to drop out of the headlines for a while?

That Kim is Dead?

That I have the wrong hobbies?

That every time you think racism can’t stoop lower….

That you simply cannot have enough hats?

That the answer to this question is frustratingly obvious?

That even when the science is reported correctly, the language used to describe it is so 20th century centric that you want to smash the journalist into roadpaste?

Tonight I’m heading over to Mike’s place for music and mayhem of some description, hope it’s low key.

Robin Williams is funnier than me

But he sure inspires me.

My take for UUs:

  1. Well behaved dogs are welcome at service.
  2. You are obliged to believe in dinosaurs.
  3. Male, female, trans* and intersex, God created ’em; male, female, trans* and intersex, we ordain ’em.
  4. You don’t have to check your brains at the door, but we’d be obliged if you don’t snore.
  5. Stand as you are able.
  6. No church in the summer – God trusts you to play safe and have fun.
  7. Free cheese on Sunday.
  8. Unless you’re planning on sewing it yourself, we’re not so much with the pageantry.
  9. You don’t have to swim to participate in the Water Ceremony.
  10. No matter what you believe, there’s bound to be at least one other UU who agrees with you.

Room clean

Phase 1 of operation Garage Sale is now complete.

I have cleaned my room. I now have three boxes of papers to decruft and file (and, truth be told, mostly recycle) and then the really, really hard work comes, which is purging my clothes and shoes and costumery and craft stuff AND sorting papers for taxes, all of which is more emotionally draining than room cleaning, although it is less physical ’cause less bending. I’ll be setting up three staging areas in the house, for paper, clothes and items for the garage sale in September. Jeff is supportive but mildly dubious, as the dining room table looks like an outtake from Hoarders. He did yell a most unseemly “Holy shit!” when he saw my room yesterday. Blessings to the friends and family who have been supportive while I deal with my chaos issues and a big shout out to Renée S. for permanently loaning me a Nifty Nabber, which saved my back no end of grief yesterday. Hail Robaxacet.

The word of the day is Jalapeño.

Weigh in

I hadn’t weighed myself in a while, but my clothes were getting tighter, so I was delighted to see from the scale this morning that the weight I lost after I broke my shoulder has stayed off.  Now I’m getting ridiculous amounts of exercise, since I have to walk a minimum of 2 kilometres a day through terrain plus two sets of transit stairs just to get to work, so I expect the weight will stay off.  My hips and back are better; my knees and feet are shouting things ungodly at me.  I’m sleeping better and staying up later.

Jeff has commented that he’s getting interesting pings from various muscle groups now that he’s back exercising regularly with his new rowing machine.  One of these days I’ll check it out but I’m never wearing shoes when I’m downstairs…

Many hugs to Jeff for letting me borrow the car yesterday after my phone freaked out and I ended up being late getting out the door in consequence … I brought home some treats.

The family that ________s together…. 

In one of those bizarre coincidences, I mentioned the cave of Chauvet in my last homily, and until she broke her ankle, our speaker this Sunday was to be a woman taking as her text Werner Herzog’s unbelievably amazing Cave of Forgotten Dreams.  Since she can’t do it, we’re subbing in three church members talking about their creative paths, and I helped one of them since he was being put to it on short notice and he said he was feeling apprehensive and I gave him some advice.  He appeared happy to get it (my enthusiasm is a substitute for skill sometimes) and I await with pleasure how he will deal with the creative challenge of a minihom. So I would have enjoyed the booked homily and will definitely enjoy the substitute homily, and that’s pretty much how she goes at church.  Which reminds me, I should scare up a ride.

Benedict Cumberbatch will be taking on Hamlet in 2015, live somewhere in England.  Sigh.

Currently watching: Archer Vice (interesting, but no longer quite as funny), Rick and Morty (most recent show? the last two minutes took me to an unanticipated height of awesome), Justified (Boyd Crowder, how you do blow things up!), Downton Abbey, NCIS, NCIS Body Count, CSI, Person of Interest, Castle, plus the occasional Frontline and 60 Minutes.  I’ve pretty much given up on White Collar, mostly because those whackdoodles at Netflix don’t appear to want to stream it to my profile, and Jeff’s burned out on Burn Notice (ha!) although I still want to finish the show.  Person of Interest continues to be the show that Jeff and I are most likely to halt on the PVR so we can talk about the issues they are raising.  It’s a show that demands close attention and thought, and Root walked the dog Bear last episode.

Jeff is trying to get caught up on March Madness, otherwise known as the Squeaky Squeaky show from the sound of all those basketball shoes squeaking on those nice wood floors.

I wonder if two zone bus passes are available yet?  I’ll need one of those.  I do think longingly of getting a car, but I’ll be better off in at at least three ways without one.

Happy Friday to you all!  The port strike is over, although the drivers are still plenty choked.