You Know That Feeling?

The one where you feel like you have no control over anything? Yeah, that one. I'm like that all the time. Yet another day at work where I don't get anything I need to do done, and instead I spend my entire day trying to fix other people's fuck-ups.

At least I had a couple of minutes to have lunch with Oarah, who just started a blog. Check it out. It's bloggy.

Now, gentle reader, let's get back on subject. I--oh Jesus! What now. Don't do that. Put that down. Shit. Back to work.

Isaiah 57:21

Update: Finally got around to it. Added both Oarah and Keith to my sidebar. Enjoy.

So Where Have I Been?

Truth be told, gentle reader, I have spent the last week on a faith journey. I have traveled the inner recesses of my soul in an attempt to discover the TRUTH. I stand before you today a changed man. No longer am I an infamous (note the dripping sarcasm on that word), agnostic internet personality, I am now a man of God.

These websites will help you understand my new dogma:

I believe that alien abductions can be prevented by oscillating fans, crow bars, and salt.

I believe that Jesus Christ has tried to return to us, riding in a UFO, and the government has covered it up to avoid the destruction of capitalism.

I believe that invisible CIA agents are the #1 cause of car accidents

I believe the lesbian mafia is bent on taking over the government.

I believe that the moon is populated by hundreds of Friedrich Nietzsches.

I believe I am a god with amnesia who is currently suffering a migraine because according to the ancient religion of the Mayans I am shifting from 2 stranded DNA to 12 stranded DNA.

I believe that mankind's selfishness is killing off the last living dinosaurs: Amazing Prehistoric Dogs! (They're practically invisible!)

I believe exorcisms can be performed with nothing but a "no demon allowed" graphic.

I believe that if I help this guy he'll give me a free ring that will make me immortal.

I believe children are the future.

I believe that many of the people on the internet belong here...

I've Been A Bad Boy

But the warden says he'll let me have a whole hour of internet access tomorrow! See you then.

Oldie But Goody

In honor of Talk Like A Pirate Day, I give you the best pirate joke, ever:

I was sitting in a bar last night, drinking my Captain Morgan on the rocks, when an old man walked in. Well, walked is a bad description. He more like hobbled in. He sat down and I began to look him over.

His hobble was caused by the fact that his right leg was in fact made out of a wooden peg. He ordered a drink and had to clasp it in his left hand, because his right had been replaced with a steel hook, and he looked around the room with his one eye, the other having been covered with a black patch bearing a skull and cross bones.

I had to ask, "Excuse me, sir. Sorry to bother you, but, well, are you a pirate?"

"Aye!" he responded, "That I be."

"You mean 'Yes I am'," I said, "Nevermind. If you don't mind my asking, how did you lose your leg?"

"Well, lad," he snarled, "I was on me ship, the Saucy Sue when I was tossed inta Davie Jones's Locker by a wave. A'fore I could even make it back aboard, this great beast come out of the deep and had me leg fer dinner. Aye!"

"Wow," I said, "And how did you lose your hand?"

"Aah," he replied, "I was so angry at losin' me leg, that I spent a year searchin' fer the beast what done it. I got 'im, too. But when me crew pulled him aboard ship, he freed himself and with one snap of his mighty jaws he had me hand ta foller me leg. Aye."

"Jeez! One last question. What happened to your eye?"

"You see lad," he smiled, "I was in the crows nest watchin' the horizon, when a great seagull flew by and took a shite. I got a great heap o' seagull shite right in me eye."

"And the seagull shit blinded you?" I asked incredulously.

"Well," he said sheepishly as he looked around the bar, "it was me first day with the hook."

I'm Still Really Broken Up

I still can't believe he's really gone*. His music has touched so many for so long, that, when he passed away, I wasn't sure what I was going to do.

Then I found it.

The Wesley Willis Song Generator (Scroll to the bottom). Now his powerful music and lyrics can live on even though he's dead. Here's a little song he wrote posthumously for me.

KOTWF
by Wesley Willis

KOTWF is excellent.
You can really jam harder like a magicist.
I like KOTWF a lot.
KOTWF is excellent.

KOTWF!!!
KOTWF!!!
KOTWF!!!
KOTWF!!!

You really whoop the horse's ass.
You are a kick-ass star.
KOTWF is excellent.
You are the kick-ass king.

KOTWF!!!
KOTWF!!!
KOTWF!!!
KOTWF!!!

KOTWF really whoops a camel's ass.
KOTWF really whoops a camel's ass.
You can really rock your ass off.
You really whoop the horse's ass.

Rock over London,
Rock on Chicago.

Carquest - you're welcome.

*Yes, I am also sad that Johnny Cash died, but that's not nearly as funny.

Mourning

Can't believe the news today. I could close my eyes and make it go away.

Johnny Cash, Dead at 71.

John Ritter, Dead at 54.

They will be missed.

Would it be in bad taste to play "Ring of Fire" at the memorial service?

Math Sux

I spent all day today tracking down 1 (one) little mathematically glitch in an Excel spreadsheet. Well actually, it was one (1) little mathematically glitch in 4 (four) Excel spreadsheets. And each spreadsheet contains approximately (carry the two(2)) 8000 (eight-thousand) individual pieces of information for a whopping total of 32,000 (thirty-two-thousand) pieces of data that had to be compared and contrasted across four (4) worksheets to try and find one (I) little error.

Nine (IX) hours later, I have honed in on the issue, but I still have not actually discovered the glitch itself. The prospect of spending tomorrow in much the same vein as today leads me to ask the eternal question:

"Who's going to miss 368 tons (seven-hundred-thirty-six-thousand pounds) of material anyway?"

My Boss

I share an office with my boss.

My boss is a 64 year old man whose mind climbed on a bus back in 1967 and only occasionally sends postcards with witty phrases on them like "The Weather is Here, Wish You Were Beautiful" and "Having a Great Time in Amsterdam. Signed, Your Brain on Drugs."

My boss thinks that I am the best thing since sliced bread, but also thinks that sliced bread was invented last Thursday.

My boss is slightly senile, but thinks he is the wittiest person this side of the Mason-Dixon line.

My boss feels that it is his duty to impart all of his knowledge to me before he retires next year.

My boss is soft-spoken and mumbles, but still imparts his knowledge to me in the form of a rambling story whenever the mood strikes him regardless of how busy I seem to be. In fact, I have been working my ass off nonstop for 8 hours now, and he has been flapping his ancient jowls nonstop for just as long. The worst part is that his stories are at least partially audience participation so I have to lend half an ear to him the whole time that he talks so that I know what he is saying.

My boss has caused me to get approximately 1/4 of the work done today that I should have.

My boss has me hotter than a freshly fucked fox in a forest fire right now.

My boss is still talking while I type this.

My boss won't shut up.

An Email Conversation With a Concerned Elitist

From: A Friend
To: KOTWF
Sent: Monday, September 08, 2003 3:47 PM
Subject: Fucking Coworkers

People are just a bunch of freaks. I swear 80% of the population should be shipped out of this country.

Starting with the idiots I work with.

From: KOTWF
To: A Friend
Sent: Monday, September 08, 2003 3:56 PM
Subject: Re: Fucking Coworkers

I couldn't agree with you more.

You know, it used to be that stupidity was a capital crime, and the sentence was self-imposed. Stupid people just died. It was the way of things.

Along comes modern society with its ludicrous ideas like "helping the weak and stupid," and "Everyone has a right to breed like fucking rabbits whether they can afford to or not" and "High infant mortality rates are bad," and the next thing you know humans are getting progressively stupidyer and dummmer.

Eye thinc dumm peepel shood be shaught.

Pea Impersonators Revealed
From the Spit-In-The-Bucket, Tennessee Post

The world of axioms was dealt a near fatal blow Monday when Jebediah Smith, a local farmer, began harvesting his crop.

“I thought something was awful funny when I noticed that there pea plant was being pulled all the way down to the dirt. I picked the pod and had to get my boy Jeremiah and my girl Jemima to come help me lift it into the wagon. I cut it open and found this!” Smith said as he gestured proudly toward a cantaloupe sitting on the trailer behind his John Deere.

Further investigation revealed that in addition to the melon, the pod also contained a caper, a cashew, three very little pigs, and only one lonesome snow pea. This reporter has no choice but to conclude that, whatever the world may bring, things in a pod will never be the same, or similar, again.

When asked to comment on the sweeping changes that his bizarre find is going to have on the world of trite phrases, Smith had this to say, “It don’t bother me. I avoid cliches like the plague.”

But the real question in this, as in all of life's experiences, is, has Smith learned anything from his strange experience? “Yeah! Next year, I’m planting corn.”

Finally Got Off My Ass

You may notice a couple new links over on the sidebar. Something Awful and Nature's Milk. These are both sites that I have been enjoying regularly for some time now, but I've been too lazy to make the change to my template.

Punctuality ain't my strong suit.

What Am I Supposed to Fantasize About Now?

When asked if her clean Mouseketeers image had been changed by the kiss Spears told CNN, “I think I’m still clean living. I mean I don’t go home and have orgies or anything like that.”

Thanks for the link, Frank.

By the way, the picture accompanying the article is a GREAT stillshot.

Call an Exorcist!

It was my friend John's bachelor party this weekend. We did typical bachelor party stuff, you know, steak, beer, whiskey, naked girls pressing their gyrating hips in your general direction as you try to keep your eyes, mouth, and cocktail out of crab-jumping-range. In any event, we finally found ourselves sobering up at a 24 hour greasy spoon called the Mountaineer Family Restaurant. While we were enjoying our burnt eggs and cold coffee, a thickly accented and somewhat twangy voice called out, "I just ate a whole pack of Rolaids, you think I'm gonna be okay?"

We, of course, ignored the voice. Certainly the strange, slightly hypochondriacal question was not be directed at us. Again, "Hey! I said I just ate a whole pack of Rolaids, you think I'm gonna be okay?" We turn slowly and see, at the next table, a HUGE blonde, quite intoxicated, staring right at us with a quizzical look on her face. "Uhm," says my friend, "I think you'll probably be fine."

"You sure," she says, "I ate a whole roll, like, twelve or somethin'."

"Yes, you may be a little dehydrated, though. I'd drink plenty of water. Maybe even some Gatorade."

"Are you a doctor?" She asked.

"No!" I suddenly chirp up, "But he did stay in a Holiday Inn Express last night!" I'm always eager to use that joke. Everyone started laughing but her.

"Oh," She says, "So where are you from?"

"Oh, I'm from in town." my friend says.

She turned to me suddenly, "Why the fuck did you lie to me, you asshole?"

"I didn't lie. It was a joke."

"Well I didn't think is was very fucking funny, lying to me like that. You see that guy over there?" she asked, "He was making fun of me when I first walked in. He said that he would whip out his dick and show it to me, but that he couldn't take me home because his car said "fat hos don't go" so I said to him that I didn't think that I was fat but even if I was, baby fat is where it's at. And he couldn't handle a night with me. One night with Mama would kill him. He'd wake up in the morning and say, 'what the hell happened last night' and I'd say 'you were with Mama, bitch!' That's what I'd say." Then, as if nothing worse could happen, she turned to the "bitch" in question and said, while gesturing at us, "hey, asshole, you can say all you want now, my friends are here and they'll kick your fucking ass out in the parking lot, so you just talk all you want, my body guards will take care of you!"

"Fuck" I said. "We're all going to die."

Then, she says, "Well, I gotta go home to my boyfriend. God I hate that son of a bitch. We've been together eight years, he's the father of my children, and if we were married I'd have to divorce him cause I hate him."

"But you still live with him," I said.

"Yeah," she said, "Gotta have somebody to watch the kids while I'm out drinking. Well, I gotta get home to my kids."

"It's probably almost their bedtime, isn't it?" I asked, dripping sarcasm.

"What time is it?"

"4:00 am"

"Yeah, it's almost their bedtime."

"How old are they?"

"One's Six months and one's two years old."

"Give them a kiss goodnight for me," I said.

Yes, she really did talk like that. And yes, I love my town.