Dark, dark, darkity dark dark dark comedy.....

When  I see this in my inbox:

I just laugh and laugh!

Maximum aggravation - listening to a first date.

By: Daryl

Last Wednesday, my illustrious co-blogger, Ted, she-mailed me and asked if April and I wanted to join him and Ian at the Nat's game. DISCLAIMER - Ted and Ian are not a couple. Ted is not into guys. Not that there's anything wrong with that. Plus, Ian's rather handsome. Ahem.

Anyway, we sit down in our very nice seats, provided by the internet/TV/Web/factory of liberalism, and as the crowd fills in around us, I notice a man and a woman talking in the seats behind us. It soon  becomes clear that they are on a date. A first date.

The horror. From their conversation, re-imagined below for you amusement, I envisioned that they looked something like this.

Or maybe this:

Ok, I may be getting a bit carried away. But, they yammered through most of the baseball game, and dammit if they weren't just perfect for each other!!! And by "perfect" I mean "mind-numbingly vapid and shallow." Below is an ever-so-fictionalized example of their conversation.

Him "I like listening to music when I work out. Do you like the musics?"

Her "Um, gosh, yes, I sure do like the music sounds. It comes out of my ipod thingy."

Him "Cool. Hey, do you know what else I like?"

Her "What?"

Him "Air. I love air. Do you like air? And do you use it to breathe?"

************HEAD EXPLODES*******************

So, ladies, gentlemen, and zombies, I know that first dates are a necessary evil (like proctologists, but not as fun). But really, please don't inflict them on the rest of us.

Spelling and grammar...

...are important!

Grinding, ongoing annoyance: My father thinks all his stuff is collectible and worth a krazillion billion dollars

Christ.

Let me be clear (to quote that muslim/socialist/atheist/capitalist guy in the White House) - I love my father. There. I said it. He's a great guy in a Clint Eastwood-in-Gran Torino-but-not-as-psychotically-violent-way. But like you and I (well, more like you. I'm fucking perfect.), he has flaws. Lots. And some of his flaws have flaws. Basically, has a Flawcety McFlawster.

But, to review, I love him.

Here is a sappy-assed picture to further drive this point home.

(not really my father and I, just something off the google image smeller)

Awwww.....
 
You see, dear reader(s?) - my father hangs on to crap, chotchkies, momento's, trinkets, and all manner of old crap, in the fantasy/delusion that one day he will find that his toy car from 1977 is worth $900 million dollars. But, according to the cruel capitalist dominatrix that is Ebay, it's actually worth $1.53 + $9.00 shipping.

I have tried to explain this to him. However, he is 82. Apparently when you are 82, you generate a fact-proof shield that deflects all information that conflicts with your pre-ordained view that your dust-laden junk is worth a pile a cash. Me- "But Dearest Father, the Ebay machine says your book of collectible stamps from the 1940's is worth $8, so that's all you will get for it." Father - "Ok, son, start the bidding at $497.00! Will be richer than Croesus" Me- "Yes, father."

So what am I looking into selling for him now? His "collectible" old 78rpm records from god-knows-when-ago. He sent me some price information guides from 1991 (yes, 1991. You remember - Bush was President and we were invading Iraq. *rimshot* HAMMERTIME!)

Pics of the misery for your miseryfication.

Oh it gets better. Yep - date on the newspaper: 1991.

But who knows? After he sends me his hand-written list of records, there could be one gem in there worth nearly TENS of dollars.

I love my father.

This was not a big deal

Panic. Freak out. Shit yourselves.

There was a geological event today in a state near here. And then NOTHING ELSE HAPPENED.

Except for every idiot decided that they should try to drive home at once. What should be a 10 minute drive from my office to my work took two goddamn hours because every idiot me included decided to GET ON ALL THE ROADS WITH ALL THE CARS AND DRIVE EVERYWHERE except that in DC you really shouldn't block the box, which I know sounds like some sort of a lesbian thing, but apparently has to do with traffic, and so one fuckwitted FedEx truck driver and one other brain-sledged zombie of a WMATA bus driver can completely fuck an intersection for fifteen minutes because THEY are more important than YOU and you can go fuck yourself apparently.

Earthquake happens. Our office semi-loses power which was weird. So I went to the gym because I can't make teevee with no internets or electricity.

Nothing else happened.

Then I showered, went back to my dark office, and decided to go home.

And then nothing else happened.

And then it took me two hours to get home.

Wherein nothing else happened.

Do you watch cable teevee news at all? And how they go on and on and on with no actual details for four hours while holding on that same vanity cam of the Potomac river? Yeah.

WTOP radio is worse than that. Because there are no hot anchorettes to look at or vanity cams to look at in case Osama or The Gays or whatever it is that causes earthquakes decide to cause another earthquake and then we can all see it live on the teevee together and sing about it later, for America, hooray.

Anyway, on the non-stop talking orgasm of panic and tight edits that is WTOP they were saying that THE FEDERAL GOVERNMENT might be closed tomorrow.

I'll let you read that sentence again.

Sure, why the fuck not?

This town is like your crazy neurotic chain-smoking aunt. ONE little disruption to her day and EVERYBODYGOESCRAZYOMGWTFBBQLOLROTFL.

Glad that blizzard season is just around the corner. Cause we sure can handle that one easily, no problem.

Ted. Ted? TED!

I miss you, baby. Come back to me.

Outrage of the Day: Customer-In-Training? Seriously? Jerks.

Have you seen this in your local super-market?

What the hell is this? Customer in training? Really? Are we new to capitalism, and exchanging money for goods and services? Yes, please train children from a young age all about this, because THEY WOULD CLEARLY NEVER PICK IT UP FROM OUR PERVASIVELY SHOPPING ORIENTED SOCIETY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!11!!1!!!ONEWONWONWONONE!!!11!3-2=1

Plus, oh, I don't know, people get hungry and might like to not starve, so I'm pretty sure they would find the building full of food that can be purchased with real American cash dollars!

Ahem.

So, super-markets, kindly spare us the rolling obscenity that is the g_ddamned shopper-in-training carts.

Thank you, assholes.

Animals

Until this store starts selling these (pre-sewed together, of course), I don't want a Stress Donkey or Stress Efalant.

It's the little things :: Just one link

Attention (mostly) (Republican) Members of Congress (hahaha "members"):

I have one simple message to you if your Official Congressional Weekly Email Newsletter To Constituents does *not* have a simple "unsubscribe" button: Fuck. You.

I know that as an Official Suit-Wearing Member Of Congress, you're exempt from most provisions of the CAN-SPAM law (and let me tell you how awesome that is in my actual day job where I'm paid to know things about the internet and politics), but there is literally no excuse to not incude an unsubscribe button.

It's lazy. It shows a disrespect for your audience. And if you're using even the shittiest of blaster CRMs, it's an easy thing to add.

So how about that credit downgrade and crashing markets, eh?

Outrage of the day: WARNING: HIPSTER PROXIMITY ALARM!

Whilst loitering at a swank Clarendon coffee-hole. The following nerve-gratingly trendy trendster strolled in.
Yep, a hipster.
So, this whole trend is what, 5 or 6 years old now, at least? Budda on a fucking goat, when will this trend stop? WHEN?

Skinny jeans, womens blouses, scarves, dorky glasses. GET OFF MY LAWN YOU G-DDAMN KIDS!!!

Pick a different trend: dress like a NASA engineer from the early 60's, or the Amish. Whatever.

To recap: Hipsters fucking annoy me.

Gimme a dollar, because I'm a blogg-ar

As an  impressionable lad just off the boat from Iowa, I was fortunate enough to land a research assistant job at a small Democratic political consulting firm. They specialized in all things bloggy, related to blogs, blog-like, and as you might have guessed, blogs.

One of the democratic operatives that worked there announced to no one in particular one day "Bloggers are the modern day version of the shoe-shine boy." Now, in context, the blogging-consulting done that this firm revolved around influencing bloggers, paying people to blog certain ways about certain people and certain issues, and making money from blogging. Which leads me to my angry question:

WHEN ARE WE GOING TO GET TO MONETIZE THIS BLOG AND MAKE BIG MONEY??? CO-WRITER TED, ANSWER THIS QUESTION! ANSWER MEEEEEEEEE!

Salesforce + Firefox + Windows XP = Fuck me? No! Fuck you!

I have a cube job. Aren't all you people jealous out the ass? Sure you are.

In my aforementioned cube job, I have to use Salesforce to do a significant part of my job. For those who do not know what Salesforce is, it's a contact, sales, lead tracking, case managing monolithic, black-hole, borg of a program.

So there I am, cube jobbing away happily and start to use Salesforce through Firefox on my windows box at work. Then, the lock ups begin. The browser locks when I try to attach a file to an email. The computer locks when I try to convert an MS Word doc to a PDF. My heart locks up as rage-hormones flood in telling me to murder everyone in a 30 mile radius.

This futtbuckery continues for another hour and half as I vainly try to do, you know, 'work.' It's at this point that I give up, put in my earbuds, and crank up KMFDM until I don't care any more.

Nothing like a cascade of technical failures to turn an afternoon into a swamp of rage-soaked swamp of inefficiency.

It's the little things :: Driving in the District

Daryl's tailgating post got me thinking about driving around DC. Which I do from time to time.

Apparently to most DC pedestrians, the BIG RED HAND means "casually saunter in, around, near, and maybe eventually across the crosswalk." Nevermind the oncoming traffic, turning cars, bikes, double-parked DCwater contractor trucks fucking everything up, and the occasional Cop on a Segway (!?) also in the intersection at the time.

No, really. Go right ahead. Take your time. That BIG RED HAND doesn't apply to you at all. Because you're special. You tell that yourself every morning after your Lifetime-movie sponsoring fiber cereal forces your bowels clear and you're ready to go out and attack the day.

Outrage of the Day - the idiot driving behind me.

Today was a day for goddamn tailgaters. The prime example is the goat-felcher that tailgated me the last three blocks home, so he could shave off 3 seconds of drive-time. He lives in the townhome complex across the street from my condo complex. Hell, the same dog-humping condo/townhome extruder machine probably pooped out our buildings on the same damn day back in 1987 (Praise Reagan).

Glad you got home in time to get a jump on giving your dachshund its bikini wax, you clown.

Regular Features

Like any half-assed blog on the web-o-sphere, we'll need some regular features to keep our pathetic legion of "followers" and "readers" distracted from the doldrums that are their pathetic daily HFCS-fed (burp) lives.

Ideas:

• Outrage Of The Day (the one thing that most makes you want to scream into a pillow before you go to bed. No, not like that, though. That's a different blog. Ew, April. Really. Leave that off the interent, for our sake. Kthxbai.)
• Today's Five Annoyances (Five [5] things that make you just the slightest big angrier as the day wears on.)
• Fuck Me? No! Fuck You! (Wherein we talk about the Tea party.)
• Really, Donkey? (Sort of like "Really with Seth and Amy" but it's directed at chickenshit things we wish "liberals" or "progressives" or whatever word we use to call ourselves that Rush Limbaugh hasn't taken away from us because we let him [deep breath] didn't do because it hurts what we believe in more than helps.

What else? Come on, internet. Let's Get Angry!

This is a blog about why I am angry....

My amigos Ted and Beth came up with the genius suggestion that I start a blog about why I am angry. SO I DID! DON'T LIKE IT? THEN SUCK IT!