1. Instead of showering, borrow some of your kid’s Mr Bubble and take a bath. Then, when it dawns on you that you’re stewing in a compote of your own filth, giggle at the fact that you convinced yourself a bubble bath would cheer you up.
2. In place of your usual baggy cargo shorts, put on shorter, tighter athletic shorts. Re-acquaint yourself with your upper thighs. Also, if you have a mesh tank top, put that on. Unless you’re a Catholic, in which case mesh might be a sin. So try a fun t-shirt or a tunic, instead.
3. Drink 6 Absolut Bloody Marys with real horseradish, a bit of beef stock, and clam juice. Shout nasty things at the TV weatherperson.
4. Repeat step 3.
5. Repeat steps 3 and 4—but direct your shouting at any car that dares drive up your street. If you have access to a hose, aim it an passersby.
6. Pass out on the chaise lounge and wake up early Wednesday morning when the sprinklers go off.
Dude, if West Hollywood had a trailer park, the residents’ association would definitely vote to admit you…
Sounds like a plan.
Except for the clam juice part.
BLECHHHH!
Talk about a Tuesday morning… digging around, looking for a bug, I found two new ones.
All in code I wrote.
And it’s supposed to go into production in 7 days.
TW: million15, yeah, that’s how much it would have cost.
Every time I drank clam juice, I wondered, “What part of the clam is the juice?”
That’s when I stopped drinking clam juice.
I thought we were over the hooker thread..
Sounds awfully tempting. But in lieu of passerbys I’d be limited to having to spray some lowly construction workers armed with portable drills, saws, and now even a bulldozer.
“A Surefire Recipe for Dispensing with the Tuesday Morning Doldrums” – an unauthorized autobiography by J. Goldstein.
I hope the TV weather person you’re shouting nasty things at isn’t Janice Dean because she’s so fiiine.
Wearing a mesh top around the house and yard may certainly perk up my neighbors, but I doubt it would do much for me.
And it’s supposed to go into production in 7 days.
Look on the bright side, RC: you found it. Not 15,000 customers all on the first day. All at the same time.
Not to mention, my children may be permanently scarred.
iwurkin in #3
#for nex
I wasn’t clear enough. I didn’t find the bug I was looking for; I’m still looking for it. I found two other bugs.
A joke for Tuesday morning, stolen…..er, borrowed from Strategypage.com:
Hello Sen. Kennedy
After numerous rounds of “We don’t know if Osama is still alive,” Osama himself decided to send Ted Kennedy a note in his own handwriting to let him know he was still in the game.
Kennedy opened the note, which appeared to contain a single line of coded message: 370HSSV-0773H.
Kennedy was baffled, so he sent it to John Kerry. Kerry and his aides had no clue either, so they sent it to the FBI. No one could solve it at the FBI, so it went to the CIA, then to the NSA. With no clue as to its meaning, the FBI finally asked Marine Corps Intelligence for help.
Within a few seconds, the Marines cabled back with this reply: “Tell Kennedy he is holding the message upside down.”
1. Wave to Mrs D as she jogs up the street as i come home from work. Seeing she went the whole 6 mile route last time, it’s probably a good thing she didn’t wait for me… I’ll go to the gym later.
2. Mow the lawn (gotta keep up with the neighbor. His lawn that looked better than mine even before he mowed it.) It’s going to rain tomorrow.
3. Contemplate hitting the gym to lift weights. Call it even, had to dump about 15 bags of lawn clippings. That’s enough weight for today.
4. Take shower while Mrs D makes dinner.
5. Eat dinner. Curry rice, another good one.
6. Have a few beers with Mrs D while she watches some of her Japanese TV drama. Despite (or because of) the beer, I’m still mostly following this murder mystery.
No mesh tops or tight shorts. No spraying the neighbor with a hose (he was a pretty good amateur boxer – do I seem suicidal?) No phone calls from work that some server has melted down. Boring can be good.
Is that True Man Compote?
After 18 Bloodys, I would end up sleeping in the gutter and not give a damn….
“After 18 Bloodys, I would end up sleeping in the gutter and not give a damn…. “
na, hap pen at siux
Jeff <del>Samsa</del> Goldstein woke after a night of fitful dreams to find that he had been transformed into a giant Armadillo…
Hmmmm.
Personally I’m in favor of Linguine with White Clam Sauce.
Yum!
Except for youse bastards that uses canned clams! WTF!!? Who in their right fucking mind uses canned fucking clams? Just get off your fat ass and go buy a couple pounds of fresh littleneck clams for God’s sake.
Every time I go somewhere and get served Linguine with Fucking White Fucking Canned Fucking Clams Fucking Sauce it makes me want to go all Goodfellas on the poor hapless bastards.
What? You need a Flavor Bat to give you a clue?
And don’t over fucking cook the clams either. Remember to reserve the clam juice and don’t fucking throw away all of the pasta water either!
I swear. The number of recipes I’ve seen that talks about al-fucking-dente pasta and then throws in canned fucking clams.
Don’t make me hurt you!
Aim higher. The worst the Vogons can do to you—other than destroying your planet—is read poetry to you.
…you bag of pickled cow anuses.