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Idea Graveyard

So, if I've ever said the words to you "I wrote a story once where..." I was most likely lying.

In my life, I have completed 5 stories. And I'm not likely to brag about any of them.

I have all these ideas that I think would make great stories. I just lack the skill and dedication required to actually successfully write them.

So why lie? Well, there was a time when I sorta wanted people to believe I was a multi-faceted person. So casually dropping the stories I had written in my past seemed like an awesome way to appear to be that, without actually doing any of the work.

And for that I apologize.

So please consult the following list, to see if, the story I described to you was ever actually completed or not.

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Brains...

Please allow me to point you at this amazing piece of sarcasm over at whitehouse.org.

As always, uncomfortably biting stuff.

Monkey Pile

The question is being asked all around the internet this morning. That question? How many 5-year olds could you take in a fight?

First appeared on this 2 + 2 Forum.

They have rules though:

  • You are in an enclosed area, roughly the size of a basketball court. There are no foreign objects.
  • You are not allowed to touch a wall.
  • When you are knocked unconscious, you lose. When they are all knocked unconscious, they lose. Once a kid is knocked unconscious, that kid is "out."
  • Somone wanting to see you fail get to choose the kids from a pool that is twice the size of your magic number. The pool will be 50/50 in terms of gender and will have no discernable abnormalities in terms of demographics, other than they are all healthy Americans.
  • The kids receive one day of training from hand-to-hand combat experts who will train them specifically to team up to take down one adult. You will receive one hour of "counter-tactics" training.
  • There is no protective padding for any combatant other than the standard-issue cup.
  • The kids are motivated enough to not get scared, regardless of the bloodshed. Even the very last one will give it his/her best to take you down.

I've added a poll to capture the results of such an important question. =P

Feelin' Groovy

So I happened upon a man publicly playing with himself today.

It was not in some dark alley or some seedy train underpass. But in broad daylight, 5pm smack in the middle of the main street of snooty downtown Evanston. In short, it's a ridiculously "good" part of town...

Up until now, me having spotted a man in a suit relieve himself in an alley in the Financial district downtown was the closest I had come to such behavior here in Chicago.

But at least the guy sneaking a #1 had both a possible excuse for his action, and the decency to turn away from most of the probable onlookers.

Not so for the man I saw today.

, for the full story, 100% penis pun free.


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The Long Dark

So, as you must know, the first season of Night Court is now available on DVD.

Upon hearing this, my initial thought was to expouse sarcastically for several web paragraphs about how necessary such a thing was.

Sadly, the longer I attempted this, the more I failed.

Eventually it dawned on me, that Night Court was quite simply superior to 95% of the TV on today.

This realization seems more interesting to talk out than any pithy remarks about John Larroquette's career arc

That realization being, we are currently in the entertainment dark ages.

And that the level of suitable entertainment has reached dangerously poor levels.

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Paycheck


I like dogs. I like them for a whole bunch of reasons.

This weekend, while I waiting to get my haircut by my (I own him) 80 year old Italian barber, I happened upon the following Popular Science Article. It's their second attempt to catalog the worst possible jobs, presumably, in America.

One job in particular caught my interest. And, indeed, was the source of a new reason I like dogs.

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On The Clock

So I got a new job recently. It's contract work, which means I'm paid by the hour.

More over, they let me, pretty much, work as much as I want, up to 50 hours a week.

Having the option of earning money, quite literally, at any time of the day has had some weird effects on me.

I began coming to work much earlier and leaving much later than I normally would have.

I found myself working, 10, 11 hour days, just cuz.

The allure of doing the math in my head of what each hour of my work earns me is so strangely seductive. Quite simply, I have become a workaholic.

And while, like all of my new interests, it will probably flit away harmlessly, it does sort of make me wonder about how easily captivated I can be by a simple change in the logistics of my "compensation".

Beyond my new obsession with selling my labor, I like everything else about my new job. Well, sorta my old job since they were the place I worked before the job I just quit. Got that? Cuz I ain't repeating it.

One of the things I enjoy is encountering people who still believe computer problems are hard. I have long missed the joy of having someone come to me with a problem they believe was hard, only to violently and abruptly solve it before them.

It's my version of chopping a cinderblock in twain and quite likely, just as pointless. But again, the point of that isn't to rid the world of cinderblocks, it's the look on the person's face who used to own the cinderblock, and who now is forced to question all of their preconceptions about all things molded from concrete.

In addition they have a stocked cabinet of food, which I eat. Also, the food in the cabinet is of exactly the naughty type which my wife never buys. Keebler Pecan Sandies make working later way more bearable.

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