Salty Power!!!

Fast food is a gift to the populous. As lunch breaks get shorter due to long lines, over-stuffed elevators, last minute phone calls and the ever annoying boss/client that always has to have something done by 11:59, a quick corn enriched dollar menu burger can be a lifesaver. The side starch is pretty much standard at most fast food joints, fries, french to be exact. There is a plethora of different styles in the manner in which the fries are sliced, deep fried, battered in some cases, laced with milk (I'm looking at you, Ray Kroc disciples)  and salted. The one consistent ingredient in just about any and all fast food items in different fast food locations is salt. Salt is the basis for the standard, non-hippie, anti-Jamba Juice, not-so Natural Foods, regular, time constrained American diet.

Sure we can eat healthy and some of us do. It costs a little more in some cases, but we know the consequences of a poor diet. Sometimes it takes longer to prepare, but we know that with a little love, food is superb. Eating healthy has far greater benefits to any fast food item, yet we still eat at fast food restaurants, if you can even call it a restaurant. A more fitting term would be a fast "processed and manufactured corn product distribution center".

For those of us 17 people who watched "Food Inc.", we know that pretty much everything processed is made from corn and that Monsanto is the "Waterboy" proverbial devil. So why do we spend our hard earned pennies on processed food and eating out at fast food restaurants? The answer is that we all want that one in a million, rare moment. We all want to be struck by lightning. Admit it, being on the news to tell the reporter how the experience was, would be an entertaining experience, assuming you would survive. You know that salt water is more conductive than non-salted water, so eating loads of fast food makes you more of a target during a lightning storm. Here's a proposition to our fossil fuel energy crisis, issue out a highly conductive chair rigged to a lightning rod on the roof of your house.

Naturally, the chair would be in your living room, so you could watch the latest episodes of "Real housewives of Sheboygan." The lightning rod on your roof would be shaped in the form of the Democratic Republic of Congo, since Zeus loves to strike near Kifuka the most. A freaking huge capacitor would then be wired to your chair and inline to your electrical power meter so you can turn the meter backwards and get credit from the local electrical utility company. As a catalyst to my completely original power solution, I feel that Americans (myself included) would definitely be on the forefront of a power generation revolution.

The customer is always right....in some cases.... occasionally.

As I drink a horrific substitute for Guinness...blue mountain thermally activated scratch & sniff Coors Light, I remember a job I did today. The job was to work on a printer for an office with a....let's just say a celestially positioned ranking military officer. For those unable to infer correctly with my mindset, the Hollywood walk of fame has a ton of them on the ground, this guy wears one on his collar.

I go into the office with a spectacular attitude, loving life, living in weather of perfection and confident in my technical and social abilities. I have a conversation with my technical escort into the area and begin working on the machine. I understand the issue and work diligently to resolve it. As I'm working, one of the employees within the same office began gawking about taking bets on if the machine will work correctly after I work on it. I continue working diligently to resolve the issue and the same office employee starts to joke about the company that I am currently representing and the level of expertise required to turn a screwdriver and replace parts.

I am significantly, unequivocally, undeniably, quite discernibly human. At this point in hearing this moron's mockery, I am quite furious and am at a point of domestic verbal abuse of this troglodyte. I, being the consummate professional that I am, hold my personal feelings back and simply ignore the idiosyncrasy of the moron stuck behind a desk all day. I finish the job and leave, without uttering any sentiment of feeling, even though my mind was on the verge of explosion in trying to retain the morally demeaning comments I felt that I should share with the individual.

The moral of the story is, if you are a desk jockey and feel the need to demean service people that work in your office on occasion, I love you. What, are you confused? Yes, I utterly love you. I mean this in the most compassionate way possible, without actually giving you a ring and asking you to marry me. I love you because every time you turn your head to look at that clock tick time by the millisecond, I am outside enjoying the weather as I cruise to the next temporary workplace. Being a field type of person, I get to enjoy different surroundings, stop by the beach for some fresh air whenever I feel like it, have a coffee that isn't prepared the same way, EVERYDAY, and I don't have to sit at a desk, wondering what to do to pretend like I'm busy so as to show that I am a needed employee. I love the fact that you are miserable and I am happy. I understand that some people are extremely happy with working at a desk all day. These are also the same people that do not demean other people and are well respected within the office.

"Me think you no can fix 'da widget. Me think me is smarter 'dan you." The troglodyte muttered to the widget repairman.

"I understand that you have a complacent state of mind in your position of data entry. Your mockeries of my technical expertise in widget fluid dynamics are quite the impressive showing of intellect on your behalf. I am socially and intelligently unequal to a primordial being such as yourself and express my deepest apologies for not being able to compromise with dynamic conversation that can stimulate your mind." The widget repairman stated.

"Me was gonna fix 'da widget me self, but me can no feegur out how to open 'da door to ghet to 'da widget. I bet you no not know 'dat the world be on turtles.." the caveman said.

PS - Thank you Stephen Hawking.

"Einsane"

Running through my morning motion of printing jobs for the day, I noticed a white & blackish cylinder-esque form atop of a book. Some call it feces, dung, defecates, poop, waste, excrement, turds, kiddies, two-zies, colon cannonballs, butt dribbles or even lawn sausage. Nonetheless, a gecko dropped....well, droppings on one of my books. This wasn't the first time it did it's thing atop this book, as a matter of fact, just about every other day I find crap in the same spot.

I have to admit that I could possibly be insane, but the sheer fact that I am aware of this possibility negates any possibility that I am indeed, truly insane. Every time I clean off the turdburglar's secret tracks, they always reappear a couple days later, yet I always expect them to appear somewhere else. For those unaware, Einstein's definition of insanity is repeating the same actions over & over, expecting a different reaction or outcome. I'll take Einstein's word over anything else, any day. Well, except hair advice, yet I could possibly be quite the attraction when I walk around in public. I might even be featured in "People of Walmart" one day. I could only hope to strive for so much.

Back on track, so to speak, why does this little car insurance salesperson, always drop his kids off at the same pool every time? I quested and ventured upon a path of knowledge into the inner workings of a gecko. The information took many years to acquire and build a case upon, so to publish it as an authority for the world to see. Luckily, all I had to do was hit (CTRL-T) and do a Google search. Tabs are just awesome by the way. I don't know what I'd do without them. I do actually, I would just open another window.

Apparently, accordingly to slogecko.com, Leopard geckos like to use a "defacatorium, meaning they poop in the same spot, often in one corner of the cage." My paraphrasing techniques understand this as, "geckos poop in the same spot because they like to claim the property as their own and do not ever wish to use someone else's restroom, due to thoughts of uncleanliness and unknown cleaning patterns of said host."

This, or geckos are just Einstein insane, hereby known as "Einsane". They poop in the same spot, expecting that the poop will convert into a rocket ship and transport them to their home planet of Geicopolis. Everyone on Geicopolis speaks with a Kiwi accent. I said Kiwi, because the New Zealand All Blacks just simply rock, like AC/DC, referencing the well-known Aussie character, Crocodile Dundee, would just be mediocre, or Hall & Oates.

Human "neigh"-ture

On my way home from work today, I realized that I have a ton of junk on my to-do list. Knowing this, I also succumb to the fact that I have no motivation to get started or stay focused if I do start something. I always say to myself, "alright, after I close out the books for the day, I'll do ___, then start on ____ afterwards." I find myself easily distracted by family, video games, checking my daily net locations and picking up the acoustic for a few jamming chords and make up slop that I totally rock out to. I have a theory why I procrastinate & lose focus so freaking much.

"Elmer, why is the grass so much greener on the other side of the fence?" said BB.

"Well BB, the gwass is gweener because you can't have it," Elmer replied.

"But I can just go over there and play instead of in our yard, right?" BB probed.

"Dangit BB, we got too much stuff to do in our own yawd. We gotta cut the gwass, wake the weaves, pwepawe fiwewood fow tonight & catch wabbits." Elmer paused in disbelief...

BB glared at Elmer and slowly stretched one leg over the fence. Elmer slowly reached for his rifle and pulled his hat out of his side pant pocket. Elmer placed the hat upon his bald, gleaming head and began to immediately stutter.

"Aaaa-budee-a-budii-ah-buhdiii-dat's all folks!"

Oops, wrong toon, see what I mean about losing focus. I'll get back to the story.......some......other....time.....

Vowel vowel & consonant consonant

Meliss & I were discussing potential baby names for our fourth kid today. It seems to me, that first name / middle name mixtures sound more "flowing" if the first letters are either both vowels, or both consonants. For example, Anya Cecilia was a potential name, but it didn't seem to have any rhythmic flow, if you know what I mean. Take another potential name, Anya Elizabeth, which rolls off the tongue with so much more finesse. A boy name we (I) discussed was Cailan Ramsey. I only then realized that his initials would be C.R.S. I dunno about most people, but I see CRS, then relate it to the acronym for, "can't remember sh*t".

"Hi, please write your initials, here, here & here, to agree to terms of your mortgage, Mr. Sicat," said the broker.

"Sure thing," Cailan responded, as he initialed all the required lines.

"Sir, I didn't realize your middle initial started with an "r". You know that makes your initials the same as the acronym for can't remember sh*t. Ahahahahahahahaha!!"

"I went through childhood and everyone teased me about that. I used to get picked on by EVERYONE. Are you making fun of me??? I made a vow in my ninja training to dismember anyone who made fun of me furthermore. You shall taste the wind of my blade upon your soul for mocking me!" Cailan boasted as he swiped his cold steel blade upon the broker's.........

Sorry, got carried away there.  >_<

Finally decided to get in on the action of, well, I dunno.

I was doing my nightly net surfing of sites I frequent and decided to finally get in on the blogosphere. I have no idea what compelled me, other than an intriguing notion that someone would actually give a rat's sphincter about my common thoughts. I always thought that my thought process was different, but I have come to realize, that most people really quite are naturally, they just don't seem to show the "darker" side of their thoughts in public. Well, I'm here, now what?