This iconic scene of President Bartlett is some of the best, most eloquent anger I have ever heard. It also neatly sums up my anger at God, if God does indeed exist.
"You feckless thug." Well said, Mr. President. Well said.
Since their seems to be a nation-wide obsession with bathrooms these days (thanks North Carolina), I thought I'd get into the act.
You tell 'em sister.
Now, since I'm a teary-eyed liberal, my issue isn't with WHO is in the bathroom, but WHERE in the bathroom they are. Specifically, where they are in relation to ME. The scourge of the mens room are the middlers. These are people who, in a 3 stall or 3 urinal bathroom, immediately occupy the middle bodily-function repository.
Pee-catchers
Poo-catchers
Why? Why do they do this? I don't want someone right next to me, unless there is simply no avoiding it due to: bad timing, a busy stretch in the mens room, an outbreak of dysentery, etc. That means you, or in my reality, me, are forced to sit, or stand, right next to some person while you both handle your excretory business. Good effing times.
I assume they do this for one of the following reasons: no self-awareness (none, zero, nada), extreme loneliness where they cannot bear being more than 3ft from another human being under any circumstance (they'd be perfect for the International Space Station, although I admit I have no idea what bathroom horrors they have to deal with in zero-g), or perhaps they were dropped on their head as a child, or as an adult, or both.
So, I close with this handy graphic about proper urinal/stall spacing. I will be posting this from floor to ceiling where needed. Failure to follow this simple patter will result in my throwing a urinal cake into your briefcase while you're not looking. And now, the graphic.
Note - spacing is correct in the green circle, but hand placement is NOT CORRECT. Maintain proper grip at all times. Perhaps even aim :)
You know what the best cure for anger is? DANCE MUSIC!
Myself and some of the finest DJ's in the DMV region are spinning tonight at the Electric Maid in DC. It's an all ages/byob show. Music genres: breaks, house, electro, glitch, drum and bass, and more! Be there!!!!!!
Click on the link for more info. CLICK ON IT!!!!!!!
Due to last nights storm, most of the traffic lights are out in Fairfax County. For anyone who took drivers ed, this means all intersections default to 4 way stop rules.
You remember those rules, don't you?
Here's a refresher:
TAKE TURNS, YOU DUMB BASTARDS!
Of course in northern Virginia, it just means that the clueless moron drivers now rule the road even more than when the traffic lights are on.
By: Daryl "Email Marketing Guru for Really Reals" Northrop
My Cox cable price-lock is coming to an end. Oh dear. Dear oh dear. *Wrings hands* *Clutches Pearls* *Hyperventilates* *Wets self*
Luckily, the marketing pooptards at Cox have informed me of this! I clicked on their at, resplendent with chirpy, techy-looking, female eye-candy with smarty-glasses, and was presented with this fecal-oriented page:
Dear Cox: Just because I live in Fairfax County, don't assume I have, you know, "money."
Look closely now.....Where is the price? It's like a game show! "Click for the mystery price, or win a elderly goat!"
Well, I guess the value proposition here is this is a good demonstration on how NOT to do email marketing.
By: Daryl "Just run in to me, I like it. Yeah, do it harder baby" Northrop
Hello reader(s). This morning, for the SECOND TIME IN ONE WEEK, some mentally inert waste of oxygen spaced off at a stop light and rolled backwards into my front bumper. Good. Fucking. Times.
Luckily, an artist was present at each incident and was able to do a quick sketch of me:
Notice that when I am angry, my ears vanish. Weird, right?
Why? Why does this happen? How distracted/mentally deficient do you have to be in order to forget to keep you damn foot on the damn brake????
POP QUIZ: Identify the brake pedal in this mysterious jumble of automotive gadgetry:
Hint - it's NOT the skinny pedal.
And I end up asking myself "Why are Northern Virginia drivers so damn bad at driving?" Then, after nearly 20 seconds of Google-sleuthing, I found this!
AH HA!
Notice the left hand turn from the right hand lane maneuver on the cover. This is a Northern Virginia classic! I see this every single day. You're just not driving correctly unless you suspend every goddamned ounce of self awareness you have and just drive wherever the fuck you want. Bonus point if you are just plain suicidal.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go try to scrub the invisible fucking bullseye off the bumper of my super-tough Prius.
As you might know, spring is spranging all over the place here in the People's Democratic Republic of Northern Virginia. The means plants have having sex like crazy and spewing their love-pollen all over everything. Well, apparently my Prius is DEAD SEXY if you are a plant, that is.
It has been covered with tree spunk for about 2 weeks now. So I thought "Hey! Maybe I'll get the car washed and the local Car Scrubbery Center!"
Silly me. What was I thinking?
Car wash number one: out of order.
Car wash number two: overrun with customers, plus their payment box only accepts cash, except that it won't accept cash, so you have to go in and buy an authorization code.
*Thanks for all your hard work, Abdul Raheem! They aren't paying you enough, I'm sure.
So what's the big deal, you might ask? Let me tell you. There is a weird dichotomy in the car wash world between the "inner suburbs" and the "outer suburbs." In the inner suburbs, you have your choice between: Sketchy automated carwashes located at gas station that are either broken, or nearly broken. Or, you have to go to a car wash center where you have to get out of your car, pick your "wash package" (scented soap, unscented soap, lysol-bomb your interior, sing a lullaby to your tires, rub a goat on your dashboard, alphabetize your glove compartment, remove the banana from your tailpipe?). Ugh. Too many choices. Plus, 75 guys bum-rush your vehicle at the end to dry it off with hand towels. I have no idea if this involves an orgy of tipping or not. It's just too confusing. Too many options, too many people, plus I don't want to surrender my car and actually have to interact with other human beings in any way, ever. So there.
In the outer suburbs, you have lots of automated carwashes, and some car wash centers. So if you want to use an automated car wash like Zeus intended, then you actually have access to them!!!! Is that so damn hard, inner suburbs???
So in one of those weird reality-vortex's that open up periodically, it comes down to that in one of the wealthiest suburbs in the nation, it's difficult to get your car washed. It would be so much easier if there were some sort of mobile Bikini Carwash squad of attractive ladies that could just come to my condo and suds up the family truckster, but sadly the FASCIST PRUDES of the condo committee have label it VERBOTEN to wash your car in the parking lot.
(Im)Moral of the story: Strike a blow for freedom, ladies! Squeeze into that bikini, and come over to scrub my car!!!!
We all know how the 2 dimensional Mercator style map distorts the shape and scale of landmasses, right? (Just nod, you lazy morons. Pay attention for once in class, or else you'll only be able to do politics when you grow up, or be a crazed, drooling homeless person, whatever).
Well, underachievers, the problem is worse than we thought. This map, which cancels out all map distortion issues, shows the true geography of Fairfax County, Virginia (of which I am a proud resident of, because it's a rich, elitist county). We now know that Maine, Connecticut, Vermont, and New Hampshire are actually all completely encompassed within the southern portion of the county, near Clifton. So all you crusty northeastern Yankees, feel free to stop on by, you only live about 30 minutes from my house!
Found out a fun fact about the Commonwealth of Virginia. Wait. Commonwealth? Common-Wealth? Sounds like socialism to me. But we'll save that for another post.
Anyhow, back to the fun fact about Virginia. Many states have concealed weapons permit laws, meaning, you legally buy a handgun, apply for a concealed weapons permit, and then can carry the gun under your jacket, or in an ankle-holster, or under your mullet, or whatever. Right? Right. 2nd amendment, bishes! Here in the lovely land of Virginia, concealed weapons permits are pretty easy to get.
But what if getting one of those permits is just too much gosh darned work?! Virginia has a solution for that as well. For we are an....drum roll please.......OPEN CARRY STATE. "What is that?" you might be asking as you swill mango-tini's in your posh dwelling, you liberal elitist, you. The open carry laws stipulate that as long as you are: over 21, not a felon, and have most of your teeth (ok, made that one up), you can carry a pistol in a firearm on your hip, or slung over your shoulder, right out in the open, unconcealed, and this is perfectly ok and legal.
Yes, you read that right.
It is completely legal. In fact, it's encouraged here. (Ok, made that up as well, but it's not discouraged either.) So in that spirit, I am going to embrace my rights under the open-carry law, but with some style. Anybody can be a 9mm semi-automatic pistol. But I was thinking of going old school, like a BLUNDERBUSS! Hell yeah. I'm thinking something like this:
***Note to self: Grow massive beard.
And for the ladies, you can be uber-stylish and feminine with your open-carry blunderbuss-based outfit as well!
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***Massive beard not included, and not encouraged. Ew.
I'd like a time machine so I can kick Alexander Graham Bell right in the nads.
"Watson! Come here, I just got kicked in the junk by some very handsome man from the future!"
Yesterday and today I wanted to use my Cellular Radiophone to send "Text Message" to the ever-scintillating April. It was something really important like "Gimme a dollar" or "Did you smell that?" or "Is it Tuesday?" In any event, when I send a "Text Message" I expect it to travel through the ether, carried by the invisible telephone-gnomes of the Verizon Wireless Amazeballs Network of Speedfulness, and reassembled by the teeny little carpenter penguins that live in April's phone, so that she may read my missives of deep, and profound import.
Naturally, that did not happen. Apparently my phone now needs to be periodically turned off and then turned back on again to get the messages ejaculated into the ether. Glad Android is now starting to behave like every Microsoft PC operating system since Win95.
Looking forward to a healthy tan from basking in the rage.......
Friends, enemies, family, acquaintances, people I stalk, let me tell you something: Being Angry Daryl takes energy, especially the angry part. The gritting of teeth, the throbbing of neck and forehead veins, the angry rants, the vigorous typing, those all take energy. As we all know, better health leads to more energy, which leads to INCREASED ABILITY TO BRING THE ANGRY!!! Plus, my pants might fit better, so that's nice...
As some of you may have seen on my FaceBorg page, I have been stocking up on fruits and veggies, purchased a juicer, and have been gulping some uber-healthy fruit/veggies mixes. "Why, Daryl? Why are you doing such things?" you might be asking, if you gave a fuck about me, which you all do, because you love me, AND FEAR ME!
Ahem.
Anyhow, a few weeks ago, I was staying up too late on a school night, and watched the movie "Fat, Sick, and Nearly Dead." It's focusses on three regular people who take charge of their lives and health, and decide to give their bodies the proper nourishment we often lack due to the fast-food, shovel crap into your mouth type of culture we live in. Now, was I fat, sick, or nearly dead? No. But, I wasn't eating healthy or taking very good care of myself. I was eating too much, not getting nearly enough unprocessed fruits and veggies, and not getting any exercise. Changes needed to be made. Take a look at the trailer for the movie.
Back in December, I started going to a gym, using the treadmill and weights to get some of the "jiggle" out of my body. I liked to think I carried my weight well, but the truth is, I had gone soft, was getting a gut, and I am turning 40 in May. Fighting the battle of the bulge doesn't get any easier as you get older. I had no excuse other than my own laziness for not using the gym. It was free, it was 75 yards from my office, and it had everything I needed. So I started going 3 times a week, and it's helped quite a bit. Now, I can lift battleships. Ok, that's an exaggeration, but I do feel better, look better, and jiggle much less. Plus, it was an excuse to get a snazzy new pair of walking/running exercisey shoes.
Dead sexy legs! And yes, that's the shower in front of me.
And now, back to the juicing. The "Fat, Sick, and Nearly Dead" movie advocates adding natural blends of fruits and veggie juices to your diet as a way of getting the plant nutrients we need to be really healthy. The human body is designed to run on unprocessed/minimally processed plants and minimally processed meat. Modern food culture gives us way too much processed crap that is severely lacking in nutrients, but you knew that, didn't you? Just nod even if you are shocked by this statement. So, purchased a Breville Juicer, and a small truckload of fruits and veggies....
Boom.
Praise Cthulhu, that's a lot of fruits and veggies! Takes up 80% of the fridge!
Good god. Yet more fruit.
And now, the end product of juicing together 8 kale leaves, 8 swiss chard leaves, 1 cucumber, and 6 tangerines, you get The Green Elixir!
Behold! The power of the Sun! Yes, it tasted really green!
So this weekend, I am going to be adding a lot of juice to my diet, and seeing where this leads me. Probably to the bathroom, if Ted is to be believed, but what the hell does he know? Quite a lot, actually. In any event, I look forward to trying the recipe's from the Reboot website (nutritional guidance for those looking to do what the people in the Fat, Sick, and Nearly Dead movie did).
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