Archive for February, 2006
As most of you know, I work for a digital media delivery company here in Irving. As a member of the IS group, I get copied on every helpdesk ticket that’s submitted. Today we received the following:
The load is not correct. We only received the open combo and the late nights from MSSQL. We know that there was supposed to be a tremendous load last night, 749 orders tallied last night. Could you please look into this and let us know??? Thanks!!
As much as I’d like to help, providing this user with a “tremendous load” would probably fall under some sexual harassment rules or something. Besides, that should be something her husband is providing.
On top of that, she’s not my type.
On the first day of kindergarten, the teacher asks each student to count to 50. Some count as high as 30 or 40; others can’t get past 20. But Johnny counts up to 100 without any mistakes. When he tells his dad how well he did, his dad says, “That’s because you’re from Alabama, son.”
The next day, the teacher asks the students to recite the alphabet. Most can only make it halfway through without trouble, but Johnny rattles off the letters perfectly. When he brags to his dad about how he did, his dad explains again, “That’s because you’re from Alabama, son.”
The next day, after phys ed, the boys are taking showers, and Johnny notices that he is better endowed than anyone else. That night he boasts, “Dad, mine’s the biggest of anyone in my class. Is it because I’m from Alabama?”
“No, son,” explains his dad. “That’s because you’re 22.”
I was running late–as usual–and had just parked my car in my office’s garage. I was exiting the structure when I noticed that there were two older guys walking in front of me. They were carrying on a friendly sort of conversation and I tried my hardest not to listen in, as that got me into trouble the other day, if you’ll remember my previous post.
But I couldn’t help it.
One statement made by one of the guys really stood out:
“I went to Target the other day to see if they had any Hawaiian shirts, but they didn’t. I was really disappointed.”
So, there I was, sitting out front of the local Starbucks, looking over some papers from work and waiting for ‘Shank to get off so we could go enjoy some pizza. As I sat there, I diverted my attention from the pressing employment-related issues and towards the tanning place next door. As I admired–from a distance, and in retrospect, kind of creepily–the phyisical assets of one of the female employees. My observations were broken, however, when a customer came out of the tanning salon. Walking with a swish, I immediately pegged him as gay. His voice, as I eavesdropped on the cellphone conversation he was having, immediately confirmed it. For, you see, it was that particular gait guys gets in their voice when they’ve gone down on too many members of the same gender. And by “too many”, I mean “one”.
I was, I admit, enjoying listening in, as it provided a bit of entertainment to break the monotony of my work. The conversation was–for the most part–banal, except for one key interlude:
“So, I’m going to this party this weekend,” said the gay man, his lisp reaching stereotypical proportions, “and there’s going to be like two-thousand gay guys there.”
He paused for a moment, listening to the person on the other end of the line, before continuing, “Yeah, so I’m going to need a lot of Cialis.”
Ewww…
I don’t really care if you’re gay or not. Good for you, being yourself and what not. I just didn’t need to think about–and this is hard to admit (no pun intended)–two thousand flaming gay men running around with raging erections.
Fuck, I thought to myself. Must cleanse mind.
I looked around, settling back on the strangely attractive tanning salon girl. She was leaning on the counter, bending over.
Yeah, that did it.
These Star Wars cards are quite fetching.
Wayne, Wayne, Wayne…You still owe me $11.95 CDN for those horrid wings I consumed that cool August night at your eatery in Toronto.
But that’s not my gripe now. It seems that you’re starting to do a good job of tearing apart all that you did for hockey. And you’re a bastard for it. Coming off a year when there was no hockey, the NHL needs every positive little thing that it can get to really get fans into the game again. But no, you fucked it up. Your wife, Janet Jones, and your assistant over there at Phoenix, Rick Tocchet, seem to have gotten themselves involved in an illegal gambling ring, along with six so-far-unnamed NHL players.
“They weren’t gambling on hockey,” was your refrain to the press yesterday. So? They were still gambling on pro sports while they themselves were involved in pro sports. Seems like a conflict of interest there. What happens when someone comes up a little short and owes the bookies a couple hundred thousand? It’d be awfully tempting to throw a game here or there.
Where the fuck is your integrity? Especially when you implied you were unaware of it? But according to the New Jersey Star Ledger, citing law enforcement sources, you did know about it. And you didn’t–apparently–see a problem with it.
Fucktard.
Rick Mercer once did a “Talking to Americans” segment on This Hour Has 22 Minutes about how 80 percent of Canadians are retarded. I’m beginning to believe two things: 1) this is true and 2) you’re in that 80 percent.
So what’s going to happen now? Are you going to step down from your position as head coach of the Coyotes? Sell your share in the team? Become a waiter at Ruby Tuesday?
Please, God, let Wayne become a waiter at Ruby Tuesday. It’s been my dream for the Great One to offer me my choice of salad dressings for a long time now.
Wayne, do us all a favor (or favour, if you prefer) and step down. Make things right for hockey. Ensure that the Coyotes keep losing. Let them move back to Winnipeg.
I can only hope that this is all somehow related back to NHL Commissioner Gary Bettman, because I want his job. And the first thing I’m doing when I become Commissioner is un-retiring Gretzky’s #99 and moving the Coyotes back to Manitoba, where they belong.
Oh, and Wayne, I’m planning on being in Toronto next month…I’ll be by your restaurant to pick up my money. Make it an even $12 and just leave six toonies with the hostess.
The train was quite crowded, so the U.S. Marine walked its entire
length looking for a seat, but the only seat left was taken by a well-dressed, middle-aged French woman’s poodle.
The war-weary Marine asked, “Ma’am, may I have that seat?”
The French woman just sniffed and said to no one in particular,
“Americans are so rude. My little Fifi’s using that seat.”
The Marine walked the entire train again, but the only seat left was under that dog.
“Please, ma’am. May I sit down? I’m very tired.”
She snorted, “Not only are you Americans rude, you are also arrogant!”
This time the Marine didn’t say a word; he just picked up the little
dog, tossed it out the train window, and sat down.
The woman shrieked, “Someone must defend my honour! Put this American in his place!”
A British gentleman sitting nearby spoke up. “Sir, you Americans often seem to have a penchant for doing the wrong thing. You hold the fork in the wrong hand. You drive your autos on the wrong side of the road. And now, you’ve thrown the wrong bitch out the bloody window.