Tales from the Dorkside

ADT. A nonstop gaggle of geeks.

They were supposed to show up on Saturday at 11am for an alarm system installation. Then the sales office changed it to 12pm at the last minute. So why is my doorbell ringing at 9:52?

It's Alarm Clown claiming that the office told him installation was to take place at 10am. Should I turn this guy away and wait another 3 weeks for the install, or bite the bullet and get it over with? I opt for the latter.

Now I'm decked out like the creature from the black lagoon, groggily showing Alarm Clown where everything should be installed. We descend into the basement where he explains that he needs to run a phone line from my utility room to the box outside. So I ask if he wants me to move my belongings out of the way first. His response: "Well, er...you can. I mean, if I break anything I'm not gonna be held responsible."

My ass.

By the time my grogged-up brain latches on to the fact that Alarm Clown is a card-carrying clod, he's already drilling a hole in my wall. And by drilling, I mean the sound your tooth makes when the dentist hits a bad spot. This choad's first love OBVIOUSLY wasn't carpentry. But after two hours of thuds and groans, Alarm Clown proudly proclaims his work is done.

My ass.

This dweebhole is trying to leave without finishing the job. I may LOOK like a swamp creature but dude, come on...

Me: "Wait, what about my lamp module?"
Alarm Clown: "You were supposed to get a lamp module??"
Me: "Um, YEAH."
Alarm Clown: "Oh. Well, let me go and get one of those out of the truck. I'll be right back."

Ten minutes later he's almost audi-5 AGAIN.

Me: "Wait, what about my smoke detector?"
Alarm Clown: "Who told you that you were supposed to get one of those??"
Me: "The salesman??"
Alarm Clown: "Can I see your contract again?
Me: "It's right here."
Alarm Clown: "You see, this is why I hate the salesmen - I can't read this! The guy needs to go back to school and learn how to write."

The lameness is overwhelming.

Suffice it to say that the alarm is installed but I've got two big gouges in my wall to show for it. And had I not waylaid this fool on his way out, I would have been stuck with half a functioning security system. Will this parade of circus performers ever cease?!

The New Christmas

At least half a dozen times in the past five days, the following conversation has taken place...

Them: "Hey, what're you gonna be for Halloween?"
Me: "Um, nothing?"
Them: "What the hell is wrong with you?"

Dude, when did Halloween become so frickin serious?

I'll admit, I loved it when I was a kid. But nowadays it's looked at as some kind of government mandated celebration. I know grown adults who lose their everlovin MINDS whenever the last week of October rolls around. But I just don't see any reason to get my knickers all knotted over a plastic ass jack o'lantern and a pound of bite size Raisinets.

So why are fools throwing up the sign of the cross when I tell them I'm not getting dressed up? Is this the new Christmas? Are any halls getting decked? Any chestnuts roasting on an open fire? No.

So unless somebody decides to hand me $100 to blow on some Raggedy Ann costume? Come Halloween, I'm going as nothing.

Bah, humbug.

What's On Your Plate

"Vanity" license plates - no longer for the lame.

I spotted this little gem on the ass end of a Dodge Ram:

UBN RAMD

Wait, a dude in a pickup wins the award for vehicular wit?? Never thought I'd see the day.

Eastern Motors, Part Deux

For those who haven't visited or resided in the DC area within the last 6 months or so...

This post won't make any sense.

But for those who have kumbaya, you must have spotted that shameless, low-budget, homemade Eastern Motors commercial, right? You haven't??

Like to hear it, here it go:

At Eastern Motors...Motors,
Your job's your credit...credit.
At Eastern Motors...Motors,
Your job's your credit...credit.

Fords, Hondas, Chevys, Beemers and minivans,
Over 600 cars, trucks, SUVs - are you listenin' man?

Let Eastern Motors,
Put you in a car today.
Let Eastern Motors,
Finance it all the way.

Unfortunately, these lyrics don't do the ad justice unless you hear the beat that runs behind them. But suffice it to say that once you get this little ditty stuck in your head? IT WILL NOT DIE.

Which is exactly why I was singing the godforsaken song to myself this morning while I was getting dressed. My cat kept shooting me cockeyed looks in the hopes that I would shove a sock in it. But instead, I ended up penning a new version in HER honor:

At Eastern Motors...Motors,
Your cat's your credit...credit.
At Eastern Motors...Motors,
Your cat's your credit...credit.

Lions, tigers, leopards, pumas and kitty cats,
Over 600 breeds, mutts, in-betweens - better get on that.

Let Eastern Motors,
Put you with a cat today.
Let Eastern Motors,
Furball it all the way.

She now hates me.

I Was Here FIRST

Juveniles.

When did they start issuing drivers licenses to five year olds?

From the Mouths of Moving Men

As reported by one of the movers this weekend...

"This guy and his wife are moving into a new house. She's talking non-stop, nagging about where to put everything. After awhile you can tell the guy has had it with her mouth.

She asks him what he thinks they should store in one of the closets. The husband says, 'I don't know, honey. Why don't you go in there and see how big it is?'"

So she walks in. And he locks the door behind her.

Saying, 'That's the best place for her right now.'"

You Get an A for Effort

Think of all the stories he gets to tell his grandkids.

Mexican Man, Disguised as Car Seat, Accosted at U.S. Border
From collegehumour

Po-Po Got Punk'd

So what, you're driving a squad car. And...??!

This morning's run-in with an agent of law enforcement has caused me to draw the following conclusion: There are way too many pansies hiding behind a badge these days.

Not casting aspersions on REAL cops, here. But the dude below is a total lady and deserves to get called out for it.

So I'm heading onto the GW Parkway and in front of me is a Park Police officer in his big, bad squad car. For purposes of this tale, we'll refer to him as "Young Miss."

Anywho, Young Miss and I are headed towards our merge point. The ramp we're taking merges with traffic from the left side rather than the right. Fortunately there's not much traffic to merge with this morning, yet for some reason Young Miss is taking his sweet ass time to actually get on the parkway. And since I plan to be at work BEFORE the day is over, I decide to go ahead and change lanes anyway. But I don't want to be an ass about it, so I get over again to clear a space for Young Miss and his fancy cop car.

Now we're both on the parkway: I'm in the right-most lane and Young Miss is to my left. I'm thinking everything is copacetic so I accelerate within the posted speed limit. But just as I'm about to pass the pansy, Young Miss turns on his siren and starts yelling at me. WTF?!?

No flashing lights. No orders to pull over. Just a pissed off little lass that doesn't wanna get left behind.

So I decelerate until we're window to window. The broad is STILL glaring, throwing up his hands and looking generally irate. What was he expecting, the red carpet and an invitation to haul his hack onto the damn highway?!?

All this drama because I got over before you did?? Just grab your binky and toddle off to pre-K, will ya?

Time Lies

A man died and went to heaven.

As he stood in front of St. Peter at the Pearly Gates, he saw a huge wall of clocks behind him.

He asked, "What are all those clocks?"

St. Peter answered, "Those are Lie-Clocks. Everyone on earth has a Lie-Clock. Every time you lie, the hands on your clock will move."

"Oh," said the man, "And whose clock is that?"

"That's Mother Teresa's. The hands have never moved, indicating that she never told a lie."

"Incredible." said the man. "Whose clock is that one?"

St. Peter responded, "That's Abraham Lincoln's clock. The hands have moved twice, telling us that Abe told only two lies in his entire life."

Then the man had a thought, "Wait, where is President Bush's clock?"

"Bush's clock is in Jesus' office. He's using it as a ceiling fan."

Mo'cricket Update

His ass is grass.

I went back to the house yesterday and blasted on a fool with a can of Raid.

Now I just need somebody to dispose of that fugly carcass.

Mo' Money...Mo'crickets

The dude knows where I live.

In two weeks, I'll be fleeing my moron infested, one bedroom crackerbox in favor of a three level townhome. Which means you won't find a giddier son-of-a-somebody on the face of the earth. Hootie hoo!!!

Okay, quit gloating and make with the story.

Obviously the worst part of a move is the move. Which means I have to put some kind of relocation plan into action. I'll move all the portable stuff until the 15th when the movers show up to haul everything else. So far, everything has been running according to plan. I've been lugging assloads of crap from the old apartment to the new place relatively swiftly and it looks like I'll be done in record time. Until my run-in with THE SPAWN OF SATAN in my basement, yesterday.

(So maybe "spawn of satan" is a little overblown. But this sucker is my arch nemesis so I can refer to him however I want.)

Anyway, there's this "utility room" in the basement that houses the washer/dryer and various other pipes and conduits. I've been in this room several times before and it was nothing to write home about. No leprechauns in attendance, no wraiths hovering about, everything was pretty much as it should be. But then yesterday I'm in there moving stuff around, slamming a few doors - hey, it's MY house. After about five minutes or so my reconnaissance mission is complete, so I start to head out. I take a step towards the doorway when this ginormous, striped, spindly leg emerges from underneath a baseboard...

...followed by another leg...

...and another leg...

...then a fourth one...

OMFG. It's a hugest ass mo'cricket that I've ever seen. Jeebus help me, I will frickin die right now!!!!

Obviously "mo'cricket" isn't the scientific name for this imp from hell, but I heard that somewhere once and it's stuck with me ever since. Basically what you've got is a cross between the world's gangliest, striped spider and the biggest, meanest cricket alive. This monster is so huge that it has THIGHS. There's just no excuse for the existence of an insect this massive, terrifying or downright evil.

And this fricker can plot like a mofo. When he came at me in the basement, he wasn't on some aimless stroll. This dude was pissed as hell that I was clanging around in HIS utility room and came out to crack some heads.

Again, OMFG.

Dude takes a few, sinister steps towards me. Then he pauses to plan his next move. He sees I'm to his left, yet he takes a right...is my life spared?? Oh, hell naw. This bastard has plans for my ass:

Mo'cricket: [to himself] "Wait, if the wench is over there then why the hell am I over here...??"

He busts a u-turn. Now the dude is facing me!!!

Mo'cricket: [to me] "All right ho, you about to learn what happens when fools don't stay the hell outta my laundry room..."

Then he hops towards me. And that's all she wrote before I lost my damn mind.

I start screaming like somebody's whooping my ass and hurl myself through the laundry room doorway. I am positive my new neighbors can hear the melee by now, but I could honestly care less. This dude is trying to KILL me!

I'm finally out of the utility room with the door slammed shut behind me. Once I'm safely on the second floor, mo'cricket decides to pull back the troops. I get no more sightings of him before I leave for the night, but I know his ass is down there. The dude now owns my laundry room so now what am I gonna do - beat my clothes against a rock?!

Of course I've gotta go back there tonight but this time I've got a can of Raid and an attitude. Ain't no damned arachnid gonna keep me out of my own house. Unless this dude plans to start putting in on the rent? His spindly tukkus is TOAST.

James Can Kiss It

Forget all this; just gimme two tin cans and a string.

High-speed internet. A relatively recent but hardly cutting-edge technological advent. I've had the service for at least four years and I was hardly the first to jump on the bandwagon. So you'd think that these big, telecommunications conglomerates would have something figured out by now, right? No you wouldn't.

James Earl Jones has been peddling DSL since the Mayflower docked. Yet it's 2005 and these fools don't have clue the first.

I ordered my DSL sometime last week. But I get an order confirmation that says my service won't be activated until 10/19. Wait, it takes three whole weeks just to turn this joker on?? I'm moving on 10/15 and there is no way that I'm going without an internet connection for an entire 96 hours.

So I ring up Verizon. After a solid, 15 minute hold I finally get in touch with the DSL tech reps. Nice, calm, "knowledgeable" bunch of folks that should be able to solve my woes ASAP, right? Whatthehellever.

After going through their "What's your 10 digit phone number, starting with your area code first" song and dance, I explain my problem to DSL Guy: I'm paying for a service that Verizon refuses to activate for an eon. DSL Guy apologizes and explains that my activation date is "set in stone" and cannot be changed. He claims that the process to register my DSL modem on the Verizon server is "long" and "complicated." It also involves lots of "testing."

Sorry, still not hearing a rational explanation for a three week activation wait, jackdaw.

DSL Guy offers to make NO amends. Until I inform him that my DSL account is crucial to my ability to work from home and that I'd be totally willing to take my business elsewhere. Lo and behold, DSL Guy suddenly ponies up "complimentary dial-up" service in an attempt to extinguish the flames of my building fury.

He then transfers me to Billing Fool who keeps me on hold for another 10 minutes before she realizes that (at 10:30 on a Wednesday morning) I am at work. Therefore, I can't go through the process of setting up a "manual registration for complimentary dial-up" with her over the phone.

I'm not even a customer yet, but James Earl Jones needs to bend over and kiss my black ass, pronto.