July 3rd, 2007

Barth Gimble facepalms

cash/credit only, no personal checks

It is patently embarrassing to stand in a long convenience store line with your daily caffeine, juice and breakfast in hands, only to reach the counter, place everything up, check your wallet and find no cash and no credit card. It's a reasonable bet the card is up on my computer keyboard, as I was making a purchase last night (hel-lo sci-fi pulp cover prints) and still can't remember the new number after a full year of having it in my possession, so every time I have to make an online order, I have to trot the card out and stare at it. And apparently, remembering to put it back in my wallet afterwards is a patently impossible task because it involves the rare gift of thinking.

It's incredibly humiliating to look up and say "I'm sorry, but I just realized I can't pay for this today." I've never had to endure this before. Sometimes I've been 75 cents short, you know, an experience which, while slightly embarrassing, is one that can be easily fixed by putting an item back (or by having the regular cashier take pity on you and say "Go ahead, take it, I know you'll pay us back tomorrow.") But for an entire Breakfast of Champeens order, which involves milk and tea and juice and oatmeal, well, I don't expect anybody to pony up that kind of cash for me. I slunk out of the place, dejected and defeated and -- most importantly -- without any form of beverage-related stimulant for the day.

Now I've got to find a covered cup so I can make free tea in the office, at least, and drink it in the bay. Half the reason why I purchase the large sized tea in the morning is just for the cup.

Oh, hell. I've mentioned this already to someone regarding an entirely different problem, but the way this day has been going, you might as well just place me in the Sheriff J.T. Dawg mascot suit and parade me around the amusement park all day. That's all I'd ask for, besides water breaks every 10 minutes.
Typewriter Guy

gee, unca sam, how come folks ain't votin like they used to?


I HATE PARTISAN POLITICS.

Go ahead. Just try to defend it. Please.

Try to explain to me why a bunch of schoolyard babies taking sides and flinging crap at each other is a great way to run a country.

Try to convince me that it's good that we have this "If you ain't for us, you're agin us" mentality which drives people to vandalize private property and hate their neighbors.

Tell me that it's really beneficial to have the ability to castigate and demonize one person for lying under oath because you don't like him, but that when someone you like lies under oath, it's okay and he should be freed and to hell with anyone who thinks otherwise.

And while you're at it, piss on this electric fence.

I wish I could run for President. I wouldn't be old enough in '08, but you can bet your bottom dollar that if we haven't been reduced to rubble and glass and these games are still happening in 2012, I'll be all over it like a donkey eating a waffle.

I'd base my platform on the time-honored nihilistic philosophies of Groucho Marx, using such platitudes as "Whatever it is, I'm against it" and "If someone is caught taking graft and I don't get my share, I'll line 'em up against the wall and pop goes the weasel!" I would run attack ads against myself, as well as ads that feature nothing but puppies and kittens and American flags.

When queried on my lack of experience, my response will be "That's never stopped anyone yet." In answering debate questions, I would invoke the words of 80s power ballads to make my points. "When it comes to my views on domestic policy, I think Steve Perry said it best when he said that they say that the road is no place to start a family."

I will openly state that I will make political decisions based on which public interest group sends me the most money. Oh, sure, it's illegal, but again it's never stopped anyone yet. Might as well just get it out into the open rather than hide behind a cloak of self-righteous indignation. I will appoint cats to my cabinet. Mr. Whiskers here will be my Secretary of State, and while he lacks the political finesse of Henry Kissinger, he certainly is a cute widdo feller who I know will just charm the pants off any foreign ambassadors he has to negotiate with. I will sign the bill that makes "More Rock, Less Talk" the law of the land.

I want to make a mockery out of everything those polarized blowhards and their faux-noble attitudes consider sacrosanct. Not just because it's worth a few laffs and every election has a comedian or eighty who try to do this, but simply because ANYTHING is better than this mess we've got, and frankly, this is far more personally satisfying than Refusing To Vote or Voting None Of The Above.
Better Off Dead - Charles in Snow

(and now, your-- er, my Moment of Duh)

I actually had picked up my credit card today this morning. It just got stashed in my Field Guide to Monsters notebook and not in the wallet like a good card, which is why I didn't feel it when I did my pocket pat-down-n-search at the convenience store.

Well, at least this means I'm gonna be able to grab some food on the way home today!
Tom Lehrer is Smug

Rusty needs to work a little harder if he wants to pass this grade.

In my previous Doctor Who post, nathanw just commented:
We're 3 for 3 of season finales with nigh-infinite armies of hostile robots. Keep your eyes open for next year's robots of choice.
Yes! How astute! Rusty has demonstrated that he can indeed write cliffhangers that involve a nigh-infinite army of hostile robots.

What else can Rusty write?
  1. Humongous crowds looking up at things in awe and surprise
  2. Slightly less-humongous crowds running and screaming in terror as shit blows up around them (slightly less because we're on a budget, don't you know)
  3. Campy villians who love to prance about and cackle maniacally
  4. Touching montages of small clusters of people, friends or families, all huddled around their individual television sets or monitors, watching and waiting
  5. Touching montages of the same clusters of people happily embracing or otherwise celebrating survival of some sort
    Though we will concede Rusty a small creative victory for writing one scene in which those small clusters of people get zotted out of existence instead. But that's a rare occurrence.
All right, but what can't Rusty write?
  1. Women
  2. Resolutions
  3. Well.
This concludes the lesson for today. This may be on the test.