Baboon Pirates

Scribbles and Scrawls from an unrepentant swashbuckling primate.

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Location: Texas, United States

Wednesday, July 30, 2014

Unclear On The Concept

Shaking My Head...

Just got the second call in as many days from an Irate Citizen who's madder than a wet hen.

Turns out they're being evicted from their apartment.  They're trying to prove all sorts of malfeasance, mopery & dopery on the part of the landlord, but in the end the conversation keeps coming down to this:

El Cap: "So, if I understand what you're telling me, you haven't actually paid any rent in 5 months, and you have a notice to quit the premises by Friday?"

IC: "Yeah!  Can they do that?  How can they just toss me out on the street?"

El Cap: "Well, evidently they're doing just that.  Have you filed for housing assistance?"

IC: "Nah, it's too much hassle to do all that paperwork.  Can't you refer me to someone who'll pay my rent?"

El Cap: "Sure!  No problem.  Would you like a bushel of unicorn farts with some fairy dust sprinkled on it while I'm at it?"

OK, I didn't really say that last line.

But I sure was thinking it...

The Pants Are A Lie

Disappointment, Thy Name Is Khaki Pleats.

Well, dammit...

Once again, I'm on the torture wheel of weight loss, and I thought I was making some serious progress.

Turns out I was just wearing the wrong pants...

You get to know your own trousers pretty well, and when I pulled on a pair and they weren't staying up on my hips without a belt, I was pretty chuffed.

See,  I thought I was putting on the "tight" trousers.  The ones that I rarely wear for fear of a seat blowout should I sit too vigorously.

Nope, turns out they were the usual goin'-to-work pants that tend to fit a bit more loosely.

*Sigh*   No way to get around it, this is gonna take some time...

Monday, July 28, 2014

Termination With Extreme Prejudice

Welcome To The Dark Side...

One of the down sides to living a life of pack-rattery and depression is that occasionally one of your more promising projects gets set aside, and eventually entombed in the ever-growing pile of crap that accumulates.

Every so often, though, you get a bug up your ass and start power-shoveling through the detritus and unearthing items long thought lost to the ages.

My nephew Sammy earned himself some money last week helping Unca Cap by doing some fetch & carry and getting a lot of crap moved out of the home TV room/office.  You can see the back wall and at least 30 square foot of floor now.

One of the items unearthed was the gutted shell of an D-cell aluminum flashlight.  This shell, with appropriate innard replacement, has the potential to become a device that when attached to the Ruger 22/45 autoloader, would render the discharge of a projectile from a attention-grabbing *POP* to a much more discreet *clink*.

Of course, to build such a thing would be illegal, so I will not be doing so.  Really.  You can trust me on this...

What to use it on?

I'm gonna whack my neighbor's cat.

Seriously.  I hate that damn thing.  It's a semi-feral flea-bitten beast that seems to be constantly pregnant, and is a bit too canny to fall for the tuna can in the cage trap.

I like cats in general, but this mangy critter has been pumping out litters of kittens for several years, filling up the neighborhood with its brood.  It also hangs out in my backyard and shits everywhere.

The critter is looking lumpier than usual, so I suppose it's about to drop another load.  I suppose I ought to let it get the latest batch weaned before I do the deed, but Miss Mange needs to get her affairs in order...


Friday, July 25, 2014

Tha Roof! Tha Roof! Tha Roof Is On FIRE!!

We Don't Need No Water, Let The M0therF#%ker Burn
BURN, M0therF#%ker BURN!!"

I had to detour on the drive home yesterday...

Upon arrival in the subdivision, I was blocked by a sea of emergency vehicles and flashing lights, as the local fire crews worked to put out a house fire 2 blocks from my humble home.

Fortunately, no one was injured.  It gutted the house, though.  This morning a huge pile of burned furniture and debris was stacked out on the driveway, and you could see through the burned out garage almost to the other side of the house.

I didn't count the trucks, but a neighbor said there was 5 big rigs, a few smaller vehicles and even a crew from a local incorporated village.  Local gossip says the huge turnout was due to initial reports of an elderly person and/or disabled child trapped in the house, but that turned out to not be the case.

I'll grab a pic or two this evening, if I can do it without being ghoulish. I'm sure they're just about sick of rubberneckers at this point...

Tuesday, July 22, 2014

The Drink Not Taken

What Good's A Pirate Without Any Rum??

I've been excavating my home office this week, trying to gain some headway on the incessant creep of stuff that threatens to turn me from a casual collector of odd items into one of those hoarders you see on the reality TV.

One of the boxes unearthed was the case of Maker's Mark I bought back in February of 2013, when the distillers threatened to cut the proof from 90 to 84.

Out of a dozen bottles, there's still 7 remaining, plus the one I got as an Xmas gift from Festus, and a partial that's been on the nightstand for months & months.

Let's face it...  I just don't drink like I used to.  I can't even remember the last time I've had a beer.

I don't know if it's an unconscious attempt to live healthier, or what.  God knows I don't restrict my diet in other ways...

I dunno.  Maybe the thrill is gone.  I still like the idea of quaffing a few drinks, but the thought of getting intoxicated is just a non-starter.

Damn, I'm getting boring in my old age.

Monday, July 21, 2014

Jack Knows You're High...

"Just Maintain, Man... Maintain!!!"

It appears that Jack In The Box is making a push for the late night stoner munchie dollar...

I honestly didn't think I'd see stoner culture make a push into mainstream advertising for a few more years yet, but they are a West Coast chain, and that part of the world is awash in medical marijohoonie and pseudo-legal dispensaries.

They've got the "Hella Hungry?" late night food ads, aimed at the kiddie krowd.  The collection of Jack's Munchie Meals are aimed smack-dab at the "I'm so high I can't decide on what to eat, so give me one of everything" consumer.

Even their kitchen crew t-shirts & slogans are hinting at pot culture:


"Twist up a number" or "twist up a minnow" are some old terms for rolling a doobie.

Well, more power to 'em.  If you can make a buck off of the weed-addled brains of the local skater/surfer crowd, at least you're keeping them from bothering me at the Whataburger.

Don't know if this campaign translates all that well in Texas, though.  Maybe I'm just getting old...

Wednesday, July 16, 2014

@$$Hole Chair Designer Must Die!!!

Honestly, A Wooden Stump Would Be More Comfortable.

Got a mini-rant here...

This came about after watching almost 40 guys suffer through a two-hour meeting in torture devices approved and supplied by The Man.

I can deal with a plain metal or plastic chair.  Even for hours at a time. 

A chair that actively conspires to injure you, though??

Here are the culprits:




These type of armchairs are all too common in meeting rooms and waiting rooms across the nation.  I have no doubt they were designed by some 28"-waisted genetic freak who also hated fat people.

Seriously, if you've got a waistline over 40", or a size 16 or up in the wimmen's clothes,  this chair is pure torture to even get into, much less sit in for any length of time.

I can't think this was an accident.  By turning those arm rests inwards instead of out speaks to a desire to gouge deep chunks in large thighs, cutting off circulation and promoting blood clots.

I'd love to meet the designer.  I'd have to introduce the sides of his legs to Mr. Machete... 

Monday, July 14, 2014

The Gender-Neutral Microphone

Stories From Swamp City

Some stories you just can't believe, even if you're standing there watching it play out...

Let's rewind a bit.

Last Thursday, I was out on business for The Man, meeting at a regularly scheduled gathering of community volunteers and doing my bit to provide some technical chops should the gathering need my expertise.

Now, this is a group that, while they tend towards activism, it's a low-key sort.  You don't get a lot of fire-breathers and torch & pitchfork types.  There's not a lot of overlap into the more fringe-y political segment of the volunteer crowd.

Every so often, though, a ringer slips through...

During a public comment session, there's a representative from a group that provides aid & counseling to some sort of perpetually imperiled minority group.  I think it was the Left-handed Astigmatic Lesbians of Former Crown Colonies, or something like that.

Since there's more than a few oldsters and those with diminished hearing about, these meetings require speakers to use a microphone, both for clarity and so the recording secretary can get everything into the minutes.

Well, take a guess what happens when a standard Shure microphone gets handed to a hardcore lesbian...
 
You can tell she hates holding it.  She's got that two fingertips & thumb pinch on it, minimizing contact like it's covered in oppressive patriarchal goo. 
 
There's some trouble getting her understood.  It's a big room, and she's holding the mike at arm's length and it's not picking up her voice. 
 
Finally, the guy on the sound board keys in and says "Ma'am, you need to hold the mike closer, please."
 
Her reply?  "I'm just not comfortable holding this...this... THING that close to my lips!" 
 
I shit you not, friends & neighbors...
 
We try to swap out for the #2 mike.  No go.  It's apparently an uncircumcised version of the same phallic symbol.

She's joined by one of her womynist co-empowerers, and there's some agitated back & forth about which one's going to grab the bull by the horns, so to speak, and get their message to the masses.

Eventually the sound guy comes to the rescue with a radio mike.  It's apparently a gender-neutral non hetero-normative bit of amplification gear.  At any rate, the business end is closer in size to a clitoris than a dickhead.

I'll have to keep my eyes peeled for one of these antiques.  If you squint hard enough, it kind of looks like a vajayjay...