Somewhere back in July I made some kind of minor misconfiguration as I hurriedly built the business machine for my company. The massive update (Kids, NEVER let your Gentoo box go 3 weeks without an update!) from two weeks ago demanded payment for my arrogance in ignoring that little misconfiguration. That box is now hosed until I have time to Do It Right ™. So now I’m on the back up machine that I built correctly.

I’m buried alive in work right now, don’t really have time to post this, but I’m pissed off. Yesterday on-board sound failure (really worried the motherboard was toast) on the back up machine had me looking at lots of sites online before I confirmed it was a hardware failure. I found the most irritating website I’ve seen in a long time. I’m not going to link it cause it’s got too much page rank already. But it is a Linux Forum ORGanization, if you get my meaning…

On there, they block part of each page with an ad. To get rid of it so you can read the forum post you would have to create an account and log in. I am loathe to create accounts online, I got millions of them that I almost never use and it’s a password headache as it is. This is not a social networking site, it’s a forum for people looking for solutions and hopefully people with informative answers. I’m looking for solutions to problems other people have already posted about and obviously I don’t have an answer. So I don’t have or want an account. And, since it’s me looking at it, if I really want to read the post I’ll view it in Lynx…

E.W.

Speaking of people with informative answers, there are some people out there, probably the ones who think these kind of places are for social networking, who post helpful answers like “Well, did you run alsaconf?” in reply to people who posted the error message they got from running alsaconf. These people also piss me off.

I get the call last night from the field to bring the Thing We Don’t Have On The Truck ™. Of course the call came just as I pulled up in the driveway coming back from the shop. So, I head out to the shop to get the Thing We Don’t Have On The Truck ™. Just as I get there, it starts to rain little balls of ice. By the time I get to the jobsite with the Thing We Don’t Have On The Truck ™ it is pouring rain, snow and ice.

I find the crew, and having made do without the Thing We Don’t Have On The Truck ™, finished with the project. Our main crew guy asks me, “Do you still wanna scrap the stuff we removed?”

Amazed by this question, which translates in my head to “Do you want some free money?” I say “Yes of course we scrap it.”

He says, “Then we need to put it on your truck, there’s no where to put it on mine. Besides you are going near the scrap yard on the way out in the morning.” And he tells me where the scrap yard is.

I find this whole conversation suspicious but can’t quite put my finger on why. So we put the 380 pound chunk of steel onto the back of my truck and I go to the house.

This morning I get up. It’s no longer snowing or icing. Just rain. Lots of rain. Knowing that I’m about to singlehandedly roll a 380 pound chunk of steel off the end of my truck, I want my boots and gloves. Unfortunately, said 380 pound chunk of steel is rolled up tight against my truck tool box, where my boots and gloves are.

I head off to the scrap yard. As I head toward the scales, I notice the big mud field down the other road and am glad the scales are the other way. I get on the scales and the guy comes out and informs me that I need to now drive back around and go down into the big mud field and toss the 380 pound chunk of steel at the pile beside the railroad track.

I plan my route carefully since I really don’t want my two wheel drive truck stuck in the mud. I aim for the high ground and thankfully I have traction. I stop my truck and try to step out on said high ground. My foot, along with my white tennis shoe disappears into the mud, about to my ankle. So… in for a penny they say… I get the rest of the way out of my truck and make my way to the tail gate, hoping my shoes come back up with my feet at each step.

I climb up into the bed of my truck and begin to chuck the smaller pieces of steel into the mud. The first two disappear completely. The next two seemed to be on top of something down in the mud. I notice that this causes a little spring to well up near the front of my truck. Reminds me of the opening credits of Beverly Hillbillies, only I ain’t gonna be getting rich today. Finally I amaze myself by being able to roll said 380 pound chunk of steel off my truck.

Now for my escape. I figure once I get started there will be no stopping in this mud. So I was going pretty fast when the back bumper of my truck hits the concrete barrier block on the side of the mud field. On the plus side, I can get to my boots now cause nothing in my truck is near the front of the bed.

My big fear is not the scrap I have made of the tail of my truck now. No my fear now is that I am stopped in the mud field. There may be no escape. I put the truck in gear and amazingly I can move forward. I can also see the concrete block now… I take a chance and stop since I don’t think I can get out by moving ahead. In reverse I spin the wheels. Only one way to go… forward. I hope there is a hole.

Turns out, there is a hole. The hard road that isn’t muddy on the other side of the tracks. The road that the guy meant for me to go down in the first place. So I get back on the scales, get paid and get out of there.

Next stop: the car wash. I get out of my muddy truck and put my money in the machine and proceed to wash my tennis shoes, and then with the leftover time the truck.

E.W.

As I write this I am in the laundromat washing my shoes. I just pulled them out of the dryer. One is completely dry. The other is soaked. I am pretty sure this is some kind of physical symmetry violation.

I have mentioned before the evil menace that is the unknown person I call The Design Guy. He is an especially evil madman who, by little tricks of broken design, is bent on slowly and methodically driving normal people (using myself as a benchmark of course) insane. Today I am going to talk about one of his evil designs: the standard coffee maker carafe.

What you say? You haven’t noticed anything wrong with the carafe? It is the hallmark of The Design Guy that he is insidious and subtle. Think about this for a minute, when you use one of those plastic tea pitchers you can pour liquid out of it at the rate of a gallon per second without spilling a drop. You could put out a fire with it and not spill any.

Try that with a coffee carafe. By the time you have your cup half full you’ll need to start another pot while you mop the floor. In fact, I can pee faster than I can pour coffee out of one of those. On a cool morning the coffee at the bottom of my cup has already gone icy by the time I get coffee to the top of the cup.

Here’s the thing, I don’t like coffee much. When I’m pouring coffee it is because I am:

A. Sleepy.

B. Cold.

C. In a hurry.

D. Need to crap.

E. Switching from type B to type A for the morning commute.

F. All of the above.

I am most definitely not having a sensuous, slow moment with the coffee. I’m not filming a remake of Nine and a Half Weeks or pretending to. If I want to do that, I’m probably not going to work and coffee breath is not exactly a good start for that anyway. No, I need my coffee to come out like a fire hose without dripping. And it’s the 21^st century, I know we have the technology.

E.W.

I’m also beginning to suspect that the coffee dribble cup I have (which amazingly only dribbles when I’m wearing a non-black shirt) is the work of The Design Guy.

Sung to the tune of Let It Snow:

Oh my stomach sure is upset
And the Tums just aren’t working
I really would like to fart
Let It Blow! Let It Blow! Let It Blow!

Update: Seems I got this wrong, the first part rhymed better per the Queen so it should be:

Oh my stomach sure is hurtin’
And the Tums  they aren’t a workin’
I really would like to fart
Let it Blow! Let it Blow! Let It Blow!

Are you the Sun, Moon or Stars?:

Evil got Asteroid 2010RF3328.

You are a small ball of dirty ice. Calling you mud would be inaccurate, you just aren’t that warm. Your existence has been long, boring and pointless. You will, however, go out in a blaze of glory when you crash down and ruin the morning for thousands. You are pretty much the reason asteroid rhymes with hemorrhoid.

What is your sexual color?

Evil got Plaid.

You are a color who’s only use is to make school girl skirts for perverts like you.

Which horse breed are you?

Evil got Glue.

You are the horse who causes loan sharks to get up early and break the legs of gamblers. Flies won’t land on you because you smell too bad. The stable keeper’s boy quit because of what you did in the stall.

What army job are you?

Evil got Derelict:

At your best you are Sargent Rizzo. As a midlevel leader you are Major Burns. You’d be safer with your back to the enemy, since your own troops are the ones most likely to shoot you. As a general you are George Custer. The best way for the army to put you to good use would be as ablative armor for a tank.

What era are you from?

Evil got B.C.:

The difference between you and a caveman is only language and mathematics. And that only makes you far more dangerous with a club.

What drink are you?

Evil got Mad Dog 20/20:

Yes, your best friends like to hang out in alleys and kick back on their sofas… er ok, pallets and watch the show. The show doesn’t have a name, but if it did they would call it “Say Yes to the Hooker.”

How girly are you?

Evil got Teamster:

Yes, you are girly in the sense that, technically, that girl you saw working the loading dock is physiologically a girl. You know, the one who flipped the fork lift over cause the idiot driver ran over her toes?

Which True Blood character are you?

Evil got “500 Server Error”:

There isn’t a character on that show nearly bad enough to match you. You make Russell seem likeable even when he’s holding someone’s spine. Sorry.

E.W.

I thought about using Buck Henry’s famous quote from Saturday Night Live about puppies for my secret passion, but there are too many dog lovers with big ass killer dogs around here for that and I don’t want to end up like Micheal Vick…

I often wonder when I see the results of these things on Facebook, if there is an option, and if there is, would it report it or not for people like me. Like the latest one “What kind of dog are you?” would I get:

Evil got Mangy, Flea Bitten, Nearly Rabid, Junkyard Dog.

You are the dog that can found inside double fences to keep people out. In fact you tend to keep them fairly back from the outer fence and the inner fence is for the poor bastard that has to feed you and even he doesn’t want to get that close. You love it when rats get inside the fence and you can eat them. Not because you can’t catch that occasional rabbit or cause there’s not enough dog food, you just like how the rat tastes. In short, you are a complete asshole.

Or “What kind of Mom are you?”:

Evil got Crack Whore.

You are the Mom who, if you got lucid for an hour or so, would sell your children to the highest bidder. You already sold the john who knocked you up. You’re sure that the migrant farmers who bought him are putting him to good use. The reason you’re not in prison is not that you’re street smart, but basically no cops really want to touch you.

Or “What kind of dessert are you?”:

Evil got Spotted Dick.

You might not be sweet or even appetizing but the “dick” part is spot on.

Or “How attractive are you?”:

Evil is -5% Attractive.

You are the kind of guy who can get in the inner fence with the junkyard dog and he’ll stay on the farthest corner because he’s afraid that whatever you have is worse than rabies. You probably like to buy the johns who don’t pay from the local pimp and resell them to migrant farm workers. The last time you got pulled over you told the cop to get back in his car and he did.

Or “Which Disney princess are you?”:

Evil got Snow-White’s Evil Stepmother Queen.

Evil Queen: “Mirror mirror upon the wall, tell me am I fairest of them all?”

Mirror: “Seriously?”

You live a life of leisure thanks to the contract with Lloyds of London that pays you to stay away from mirrored windows on the high rises downtown.

Or “What type of Kissing are you?”:

Evil got Manga Horror Kiss.

You are the poster child for banning manga from the Internet. Sadly for the rest of us, there seems to be no good way to ban actual people. We can only hope that you don’t end up in our cache.

E.W.

All right Mr. De Mille, I’m ready for my quiz. Are you?