When I leak out of the market
That’s all dirty wet
Got you all infect
Got them sick corona spikes
That make you cough and sweat
Got you all infect
And you know we come through
To throw the whole world in
Got you all infect
So throw a mask up on your face
And don’t go out or in
Got you all infect
A long time ago, my mother had an appointment in a government office. She went to the office and approached the secretary that she had “an appointment with someone on Team 3, with someone named Rick, or something like that”. She said she wasn’t sure about the name, but it was something like “Rick”, but it was definitely with someone on Team 3 (there were six “teams” in the office with two or three people per team).
The secretary said she wasn’t familiar with an employee in the office named Rick. My mother reiterated that she wasn’t certain it was Rick. The secretary then proceeded to spend 20 minutes searching for someone named Rick.
Eventually, another employee walked by, and the secretary flagged her down and asked her if she new someone named Rick (my mother chimed in with “or something that like that, on Team 3”), and the other employee said there was a guy on Team 3 named Eric.
The secretary said “oh, ehhhhhh-rick”. Needless to say, my mother was not amused. 🤦 ¬_¬
Another time, my mother went to a farmer’s market with a few family members, specifically, with her—give me a second—her cousin’s aunt, the aunt’s husband, and their two daughters. Her cousin’s aunt and uncle-in-law didn’t grow up in North America, so they had accents, but their daughters grew up here, so they spoke English just fine.
At one booth, he asked the vendor how much the strawberries were, but with his accent, it sounded like “estrawberries” (it’s pretty common for non-native English speakers to precede words that start with an ‘s’ followed by a consonant with an ‘e’).
The vendor then spent a few minutes pretending to not understand what he was asking about. This one wasn’t stupid like the secretary was, this one was just a racist prick. 😒
Many years ago (I think I’m now old enough that this is no longer an understatement :-\), I was home one night after school and had nothing to do. My mother was out, at her dart league, and my sister and her friend were downstairs watching TV. I was in university at the time, but I had no outstanding school work that night and couldn’t think of anything to do. I was completely bored. I’ve always had a lot to do, but for some reason, I just couldn’t think of anything specific to do in that moment, at least nothing that I could easily start doing right away.
Despite not being diagnosed with it, I definitely have (and likely always had ADHD) and find it excruciatingly frustrating to sit still and do nothing. I need constant stimulation. It got pretty bad that night. I swear I felt actual, physical pain from the boredom. At one point, I was squirming on my bed and writhing in agony (looking back, it might have been what they call in the Autism community, “stimming”).
I decided to get something to eat. I went down to the second floor and looked through the fridge for something. I don’t think I was specifically hungry, but I just needed to do something, anything. I ended up grabbing an orange, a tangerine, and a grapefruit (I like citrus).
On the way back up the stairs, I continued keeping myself busy by playing ball with the orange, throwing it up in the air, then bringing my hand down fast from above it to catch it with a hard thwack. I got back to my room and sat on the bed and continued throwing the orange up and catching it, increasing the speed at which I would smack-catch it.
Then, on one throw, I didn’t quite close my fingers fast enough, and instead of catching the orange, I ended up hitting it, hard. The orange came towards me, propelled by the hard hit from my hand. It flew downward in the blink of an eye and before I knew it, it had taken up residence square in my crotch.
Needles to say, I keeled over, once again writhing in agony, squirming in physical pain, but this time, not from boredom, but from the likelihood of being unable to bear children anymore. I wriggled around for a while, waiting anxiously for the pain to subside, but it took its sweet time.
Then I started laughing.
I was thankful that it wasn’t the grapefruit.
It started to rain while my window was open, and my Orange Pi that runs my web-server and hosts this blog was behind the window. When I noticed, I blurted out (most of) the following poem:
Aye aye aye!
My Orange Pi
Has gotten wet,
But should be dry
Why oh why‽
It’s gonna die
I will not lie,
I’m gonna cry
I can’t be shy,
I have to try
To make it dry
So it can fly.
(It’s fine; it’s just a little soggy, it’s still good, it’s still good.)
- INT. MILITARY BASE
- CAPTAIN GOODWIN sits at her desk using her computer, a new-email notification sound CHIMES and she CLICKS her mouse.
- Her face widens and she jumps up excitedly running to DR. RUTLEDGE’s office.
- Dr. Rutledge! Dr. Rutledge!
- Yes? What is it? What’s happened‽
- Captain Goodwin grabs his arm and hurries him back to her desk. She points to the screen sharply.
- He was right. Captain Stevens changed our reality!
- What are you talking about?
- I just checked my email. Look at the message I got this morning.
- Dr. Rutledge looks at the screen with a dubious expresion, briefly changing to one of surprise, then back to one of sullen capitulation.
- No, that’s not what you think. The virtualized guest system simply leaked out into the host system. We’ll have to fix that, but it’s only a bug, nothing more.
- But look at the timestamp, the message was sent this morning!
- No, that’s the message timestamp. Look at the timestamp on the mail server. It was sent a minute ago.
- Goodwin’s hopeful expression fades as she sees where Rutledge points.
- I’m sorry captain, but like I said, the source code maybe a powerful tool, but it is essentially just virtual-reality. He cannot change the real world, let alone alter the past.
- If you would please begin the memory wipe now…
- Rutledge heads back to his office. Goodwin lingers a moment longer, blinking, then TAPS a few keys. A computerized voice ANNOUNCES that the wipe has begun.
- Goodwin heads out the door and closes it behind her.
- CUT TO BLACK.
- COMPUTER (V.O.)
- Memory wipe complete. Ready for next mission.
- THE END
Thanks to John August for the screenplay CSS.
The radio hosts this morning were discussing Valentine’s day. The male asked listeners what women want these days and the female commented that he has been married for 16 years and still doesn’t know.
I called in to tell them that she misunderstood his question. He was not asking the general (and pointless) questions what do women want?, he was asking specifically what women want these days, as in 2012. For example:
- Are women still happy with flowers and candy, or do they want an iPad instead?
- Are they satisfied with a romantic dinner anymore, or do they prefer a cruise?
- Can you still get away with buying them a new mop, or do they expect a Dyson?
Possibly seen on IRC:
I just started playing meatboy.
I’ve seen that; it looks interesting.
Yeah, it’s okay, but it reminds me a lot of that ninja game N.
* Bobert has joined #offtopic
In fact, it’s basically just a colored N.
* Bobert has quit IRC (racist jerks)
I think it’s because you said “colored N”.
Oh, lol. Good thing I didn’t say “black and white meatboy”.
Ha, yeah, good thing.