Tuesday, July 25, 2006
I have a New Cell Number
I've contacted some of you via other methods, but I'm going to blast it out here too.
I'm not going to put my number here on the internet (there's some scary people on here), but if I haven't gotten you the number by some other means, mail me and I will give you the new one.
I plan on the tedious process of calling most people in my directory and getting you the new number that way too.
The new number won't supplant the old until about the end of the week or so. I will still leave the old number active for a while to catch the stragglers.
If you've never had my number and would like it, there will be a short application process that will involve whiskey and a golden calf. (Note: the calf is the lower part of a woman's leg. Not a cow, sicko.)
I'm not going to put my number here on the internet (there's some scary people on here), but if I haven't gotten you the number by some other means, mail me and I will give you the new one.
I plan on the tedious process of calling most people in my directory and getting you the new number that way too.
The new number won't supplant the old until about the end of the week or so. I will still leave the old number active for a while to catch the stragglers.
If you've never had my number and would like it, there will be a short application process that will involve whiskey and a golden calf. (Note: the calf is the lower part of a woman's leg. Not a cow, sicko.)
Tuesday, July 11, 2006
Really, aren't we all Q's clients?
So I was out drinking with Q last night. (Many stories seem to start that way.)
Despite the fact we are both childish, we were doing that thing that adults tend to do too much: talk about our jobs.
Q works with developmentally disabled folk in a caretaker-type capacity. She goes to a home, and she hangs out and takes care of them.
The technical, politically correct, buzz word for those in her care is "clients" as opposed to....well insert your own insensitive thing to say about the poor souls here. Or even lambs as Q often calls them (and me, which makes me wonder of her opinion of my intelligence and or sanity).
You might imagine the stories are...colorful to say the least. And Q is not what we would call quiet. No, you can hear here awesome laugh and frank talk of buhginas echoing all around the Brio (nee Bacchus) patio with no problem whatsoever.
So I got to thinking, what if someone came in and heard her talking about clients, and did not know that was a soft word for "patients" or whatever? What if they thought her clients were what one would typically think of as clients, like she was a consultant of some type? Could you imagine the mental picture painted if only bits of the conversation were overheard?
So, Jenkins and I were going over no-load mutual funds, when he just dropped to the ground started moaning and shit himself...a lot. I didn't care for cleaning that up, but the roasted duck appetizers were quite jaunty.
So there we were, talking about 401k options, when we decided that my clients were hot and needed to be hosed down. Well, right in the middle of talking about IRA-based plans and squirting the bastards, one of them rips into the corn field and screams when he drops his money. I had to take off after him, and restrain him. But, we did salvage his money--and put it in penny stocks.
We were diversifying portfolios when a client started humping my shoulder and screaming his own mother's name. Wait. That actually does happen in business meetings.
By way of disclaimer I will state that Q breaks many laws (often with me as an unwitting accomplice), but she respects her clients privacy, and never gives names or anything.
Despite the fact we are both childish, we were doing that thing that adults tend to do too much: talk about our jobs.
Q works with developmentally disabled folk in a caretaker-type capacity. She goes to a home, and she hangs out and takes care of them.
The technical, politically correct, buzz word for those in her care is "clients" as opposed to....well insert your own insensitive thing to say about the poor souls here. Or even lambs as Q often calls them (and me, which makes me wonder of her opinion of my intelligence and or sanity).
You might imagine the stories are...colorful to say the least. And Q is not what we would call quiet. No, you can hear here awesome laugh and frank talk of buhginas echoing all around the Brio (nee Bacchus) patio with no problem whatsoever.
So I got to thinking, what if someone came in and heard her talking about clients, and did not know that was a soft word for "patients" or whatever? What if they thought her clients were what one would typically think of as clients, like she was a consultant of some type? Could you imagine the mental picture painted if only bits of the conversation were overheard?
So, Jenkins and I were going over no-load mutual funds, when he just dropped to the ground started moaning and shit himself...a lot. I didn't care for cleaning that up, but the roasted duck appetizers were quite jaunty.
So there we were, talking about 401k options, when we decided that my clients were hot and needed to be hosed down. Well, right in the middle of talking about IRA-based plans and squirting the bastards, one of them rips into the corn field and screams when he drops his money. I had to take off after him, and restrain him. But, we did salvage his money--and put it in penny stocks.
We were diversifying portfolios when a client started humping my shoulder and screaming his own mother's name. Wait. That actually does happen in business meetings.
By way of disclaimer I will state that Q breaks many laws (often with me as an unwitting accomplice), but she respects her clients privacy, and never gives names or anything.
Safe = Sexy?
Sex sells. Beer commercials know this. Certain men's de-stinkifying sprays parody this to hilarious results. And there are several other lifestyle products that say folks will fuck the living shit out of you if use their products. But there are limits to credibility.
I was dumbfounded when I saw an AIG auto insurance commercial that had a guy go unnoticed by his hot neighbor lady...but he gets AIG auto insurance and winds up marrying her (or at least shacking up). And they even did the trick they do in bad teen movies: take the model and make him ugly by putting - GASP! - glasses on him, only to reveal his face unencumbered by the horrible spectacles later, thus hottening him. (I'm glad Tina Fey doesn't take fashion cures from insurance commercials.)
Well we'll see how it goes. I've been driving around until very recently without insurance (they make you get insured before you can pick your car up from impound - don't ask). And my prescription is pretty minor, so i can go without my glasses. Let the fucking of me begin ladies (and more convincing trannys)!
I was dumbfounded when I saw an AIG auto insurance commercial that had a guy go unnoticed by his hot neighbor lady...but he gets AIG auto insurance and winds up marrying her (or at least shacking up). And they even did the trick they do in bad teen movies: take the model and make him ugly by putting - GASP! - glasses on him, only to reveal his face unencumbered by the horrible spectacles later, thus hottening him. (I'm glad Tina Fey doesn't take fashion cures from insurance commercials.)
Well we'll see how it goes. I've been driving around until very recently without insurance (they make you get insured before you can pick your car up from impound - don't ask). And my prescription is pretty minor, so i can go without my glasses. Let the fucking of me begin ladies (and more convincing trannys)!
Monday, July 10, 2006
Superman is a dick!
if you don't believe me, see for yourself!
Man comics used to be even more stupid than they are now-a-days!
Man comics used to be even more stupid than they are now-a-days!
