A collection of old posts
Modesty
I see the way you people have been looking at me. I see your jaws drop with pure shock when you see how smoothly I maneuver my way through the grocery store, never once stopping to ask where the crème of tartar can be found. I see your eyes wide in disbelief at how cool I am when I return the “broken” fan to the Wal-Mart with only the minimal and necessary screaming at the cashier. But, you know what, I’m a pretty humble person, so I’m not going to talk about how fast and luxurious my ’97 Maxima is – all tricked out with custom indentations down the driver side – because I know that would just be rubbing it in. I won’t even begin to get into how shiny my head is or how my mom thinks I’m special. You know why? Modesty, that’s why. That’s right, even though I think it’s clear to everyone that I am, in fact, number one I refuse to put myself in front of others or think that I’m better than them – even if I am. You guys should be like me – have some modesty.
Searching for God
I have decided to search for God. I've given up with this "looking inward" crap. I've looked inside and he's just not there. Not there, I tell you! I figure this might be a long, arduous, and expensive journey; so, I'm open to donations. I'm probably going to need a lot of food, some good camping equipment (although I prefer to stay in a hotel if one is available), a knife, a couple of guns with ammo, a helicopter, a boat, a submarine, possibly a spaceship, a telescope, and some rope will probably come in handy. Not to mention cash. I'm going to need lots and lots of cash. If I find him, there's the whole trip back, which, as I mentioned, will require cash. I don't know if God is going to be able to pay for his travel or if I'll have to spot him - there's been a lot of people raising money for God so I figure he's probably going to be a little short. I'll probably start off someplace like Israel and then work in a spiral outward, but that's not final yet.I really believe that this is important because it seems that things are getting out of control here and, well, it seems like it's God's business that is at the bottom of it all. I mean, no one is sure whether we should or should not draw cartoons of God, nobody knows which people we can kill or not kill or if we're allowed to kill at all, and the whole eating meat and what kind of meat issues need to be settled once and for all. Not to mention the poverty, pestilence, and violence - he should really try to put an end to these. I mean, had he not started the whole thing I wouldn't even be bothering him, but, you know, it's kind of his fault so he really should step up to the plate and handle it. Oh well, if anyone wants to pitch in, maybe go along, just let me know.
Hurricane Katrina spawns widespread pooting
Days after the initial brute force of hurricane Katrina pounded the gulf coast the after effects are still being smelt. The human toll has been well documented, as well as the unprecedented destruction of personal property. but what has gone virtually unnoticed by America's mainstream media are the devastating effects of what has become widesprand and unabashed pooting. Even before the waters began to pour into New Orleans there were reports of small pockets of pooting going on somewhere near the rear of my home. These relatively minor instances of pooting went mostly undetected with only small complaints. But it wasn't long before these small rumblings began rippling forth from stagnant waters and working their way toward the much heavier populated areas of the house, specifically, the den and kitchen. When asked if I should have been more aware of the potential for the horrendous aftershocks that were to rock the kitchen I replied, "sure, you could say that. I mean, we ate a weird combination of fruit and pizza that evening. also, the Taco Bell I had for lunch probably made matters worse. But what was I to do?" Indeed, after nine consecutive hours of hurricane talk at work followed by a frightful and restless evening that culminated with a total loss of power to my house, options were limited. Later I was overheard pleading with my wife, "come on, let her pull my finger! there's virtually no entertainment and absolutely nothing to eat." At last report the pooting had subsided although all indications are that tonight may prove to be even more tremourous than the night before. For now, the people in this house are quietly staring at me and hoping for the best
I found out about wang's
I don't know about you, but when I hear the word "wang" I immediately think about a "pecker". As in the phrase, "I pulled out my wang." Or, "I don't want to see your wang." Or, "put your wang away and come with us." Well, you get the idea. But from now on, when I hear somebody say "wang" I'm going to think about cheap chinese food. Today I met Matt E. for lunch at Mr. Wang's chinese buffet. Matt was gracious enough to pick up most of the tab - thanks Matt, I'll include you on the lawsuit. Just kidding, your on a completely different lawsuit! I'm telling you, when you leave Mr. Wang's you can tell that you have just packed away a $6.00 meal! It was a regular cornucopia of unknown meat like substances - pink sticky meat, brown grainy meat, brown slimy meat, black meat, fried meat on a stick, and several dumplings filled with sausage ... I think. Ahhh, good food and good times. Why, I even ran into Larry "I used to do the news and now I'm the County Commissioner under investigation" Langford. We shared a laugh across the buffet from each other when I shouted "Mr. Langford!" and gave him the pretend pistol shot with my fingers. Good times, indeed. Now you must excuse me. Lunch at Mr. Wang's was only five hours ago and I still have some left in me. Now that's quality chinese!
ps - matt, i really did appreciate the lunch.
you could say that I'm kind of popular
Yeah, you could say that I'm kind of popular. Everybody knows my name, or at least my nickname. I'm Keith Cutcliffe, but all my friends just call me by my nom de rue, if you will. I like it. It's a good nickname that everyone remembers. I should know; I've had plenty. Early on I gave myself the moniker of Mr. Cool. I thought mr. cool really captured my essence - it didnt catch on so well. turns out that everybody, and i mean EVERYBODY, was more comfortable with "asshole". so it kind of stuck. it's not so bad. i mean, it's better than retard.
anyhow, lots of people call me asshole. Like the other day when I was buying cat food at the store. I dropped this bag in the checkout lane and this guy, somebody I dont even remember meeting, yelled "way to go, asshole!" Man, we all just laughed and laughed. I still dont know where I met that guy; it must have been a while back because people have been calling me asshole for a long time. The point is, he remembered me! Yes sir, I'd say 'ol asshole is a pretty popular guy.
I Read Good
Two pleasant looking young gentlemen were reclined on soft Italian leather lounge chairs at the local martini bar. Distinguished fellows, no doubt. Any one could see that these two were accomplished - dressed in the most fashionable of clothes, scented with subtle colognes, and their designer glasses lent to them an academic air. These two sophisticates were engaged in the most cherished and age-old past time of intellectuals the world over: one-upmanship. Well, as I listened I was amazed! Their conversation flowed with amazing ease over subjects as diverse as scuba diving in the Coral Sea to the molecular physics of outer space. The breadth and depth of their conversation only grew with each martini the young aristocrats drank. Why they hardly noticed the waitress’ low cut blouse, and they barely took time out to ogle the girls at the next table when their dates went to the bathroom. These two dapper Einsteins were at it for hours with this verbal jousting – one would jab with Voltaire and the other would counter and parry with Rousseau. I heard cacophonous laughter at the mere mention of “A Modest Proposal” followed by low and heated rumblings over the ethics of politics and income tax. Finally, with each convinced that they had out done the other, they rose from their chairs, patted the rumples from their corduroy pants, tapped out their pipes and said goodnight to the barkeep. As they passed I couldn’t resist the opportunity to tell them how impressed I was. So, with timid hesitation, I reached out and stopped the two. I said to them,” sorry, sirs, I wasn’t eavesdropping, but I couldn’t help hearing your most extraordinary conversation.” Both men smiled knowingly at each other and in my direction. I told them how impressed I was with their knowledge and asked how it was that they had come to be so learned. One replied to me that only through years of dedicated reading had they come to be so filled with wisdom. When I expressed an eagerness to follow in their footsteps they looked upon me with pity and explained that it required an extraordinary intellect to grasp the meanings of the books they had read. They said that while it was true that anyone could “read” the books, not just anyone could “understand” the books. With that the companions looked at each other again and, smiling, one said to the other “Yes, I read good.” To which the other replied, “no, WE read good.” With that the two gentlemen walked out into the street where they were run over by a bus.
REVISED: Attention Grocery Store Employees and Patrons
Because a couple of people (2) said that they needed a little "filler" info to understand this post I've decided to revise it. Although, I must say that perhaps Amy and Blake could be doing something better with their time, like buying massive amounts of ice cream with a piece of paper. See, the other day Blake was kind enough to let me stop and pickup a pizza on the way home (we carpool). Anyhow, I came out of the pizza place and put the pie in blake's truck. since blake was already in the pig getting some beer, i went on in to pick up a few needed items: coffee, ranch dressing, and something i can't remember. but it was only three things. anyhow, i end up in line behind this woman that has six cartons of ice cream. the cashier must have counted them five times - each time glancing at the cash register and then at some hand-written note on a piece of paper that the lady had given her. At one point the girl looks at the ice cream and says "3, 3, and 3. That's nine!" Holy fucking shit! I thought my brain was going to jump out of my eye socket and beat the hell out of this girl! There were clearly six cartons of ice cream. Anyhow, this led to a ridiculous amount of confusion that once settled allowed for the even more preposterous situation of the hand written note to take center stage. Apparently this woman had some "permission" to use this note to buy things. But what the fuck is some fifteen year old, slack-jawed kid that can't count gonna do about it? I mean, come on! This kid doesn't have the authority to just take a note in exchange for merchandise! I guess I could've switched lanes but I was already "committed" to this lane and had to see it through to the end - even though every second that passed just increased the murderous rage that was building inside of me. The whole time i'm there i'm picturing blake driving off drinking a beer and taking bites of my pizza! Thus, the requested background info which hardly makes the orginal worth reading.
Original Post Below
You should really know your numbers if you’re going to operate a cash-register. After spending about 15 minutes in the express lane of the piggly wiggly last night this point became especially clear. I mean, you don’t even need to know the alphabet so long as you can do basic matching. However, if you’re going to even attempt counting similar items and then ringing them all up at once it is absolutely necessary that you have a firm grasp on numbers. Also, if you’re going to buy things with anything other than cash, card, or check the express lane is probably not for you. And I’m not trying to single anybody out here, but it’s especially not for people making purchases with a hand-written note. You people, in particular, need to probably just go straight to the manager because I’m certain that’s where it’s going to end up. Well, that’s about it. Hope this helps clear up some of the confusion out there.
To Summarize:
1. Learn your numbers
2. Bartering needs to be done with the manager.
I see the way you people have been looking at me. I see your jaws drop with pure shock when you see how smoothly I maneuver my way through the grocery store, never once stopping to ask where the crème of tartar can be found. I see your eyes wide in disbelief at how cool I am when I return the “broken” fan to the Wal-Mart with only the minimal and necessary screaming at the cashier. But, you know what, I’m a pretty humble person, so I’m not going to talk about how fast and luxurious my ’97 Maxima is – all tricked out with custom indentations down the driver side – because I know that would just be rubbing it in. I won’t even begin to get into how shiny my head is or how my mom thinks I’m special. You know why? Modesty, that’s why. That’s right, even though I think it’s clear to everyone that I am, in fact, number one I refuse to put myself in front of others or think that I’m better than them – even if I am. You guys should be like me – have some modesty.
Searching for God
I have decided to search for God. I've given up with this "looking inward" crap. I've looked inside and he's just not there. Not there, I tell you! I figure this might be a long, arduous, and expensive journey; so, I'm open to donations. I'm probably going to need a lot of food, some good camping equipment (although I prefer to stay in a hotel if one is available), a knife, a couple of guns with ammo, a helicopter, a boat, a submarine, possibly a spaceship, a telescope, and some rope will probably come in handy. Not to mention cash. I'm going to need lots and lots of cash. If I find him, there's the whole trip back, which, as I mentioned, will require cash. I don't know if God is going to be able to pay for his travel or if I'll have to spot him - there's been a lot of people raising money for God so I figure he's probably going to be a little short. I'll probably start off someplace like Israel and then work in a spiral outward, but that's not final yet.I really believe that this is important because it seems that things are getting out of control here and, well, it seems like it's God's business that is at the bottom of it all. I mean, no one is sure whether we should or should not draw cartoons of God, nobody knows which people we can kill or not kill or if we're allowed to kill at all, and the whole eating meat and what kind of meat issues need to be settled once and for all. Not to mention the poverty, pestilence, and violence - he should really try to put an end to these. I mean, had he not started the whole thing I wouldn't even be bothering him, but, you know, it's kind of his fault so he really should step up to the plate and handle it. Oh well, if anyone wants to pitch in, maybe go along, just let me know.
Hurricane Katrina spawns widespread pooting
Days after the initial brute force of hurricane Katrina pounded the gulf coast the after effects are still being smelt. The human toll has been well documented, as well as the unprecedented destruction of personal property. but what has gone virtually unnoticed by America's mainstream media are the devastating effects of what has become widesprand and unabashed pooting. Even before the waters began to pour into New Orleans there were reports of small pockets of pooting going on somewhere near the rear of my home. These relatively minor instances of pooting went mostly undetected with only small complaints. But it wasn't long before these small rumblings began rippling forth from stagnant waters and working their way toward the much heavier populated areas of the house, specifically, the den and kitchen. When asked if I should have been more aware of the potential for the horrendous aftershocks that were to rock the kitchen I replied, "sure, you could say that. I mean, we ate a weird combination of fruit and pizza that evening. also, the Taco Bell I had for lunch probably made matters worse. But what was I to do?" Indeed, after nine consecutive hours of hurricane talk at work followed by a frightful and restless evening that culminated with a total loss of power to my house, options were limited. Later I was overheard pleading with my wife, "come on, let her pull my finger! there's virtually no entertainment and absolutely nothing to eat." At last report the pooting had subsided although all indications are that tonight may prove to be even more tremourous than the night before. For now, the people in this house are quietly staring at me and hoping for the best
I found out about wang's
I don't know about you, but when I hear the word "wang" I immediately think about a "pecker". As in the phrase, "I pulled out my wang." Or, "I don't want to see your wang." Or, "put your wang away and come with us." Well, you get the idea. But from now on, when I hear somebody say "wang" I'm going to think about cheap chinese food. Today I met Matt E. for lunch at Mr. Wang's chinese buffet. Matt was gracious enough to pick up most of the tab - thanks Matt, I'll include you on the lawsuit. Just kidding, your on a completely different lawsuit! I'm telling you, when you leave Mr. Wang's you can tell that you have just packed away a $6.00 meal! It was a regular cornucopia of unknown meat like substances - pink sticky meat, brown grainy meat, brown slimy meat, black meat, fried meat on a stick, and several dumplings filled with sausage ... I think. Ahhh, good food and good times. Why, I even ran into Larry "I used to do the news and now I'm the County Commissioner under investigation" Langford. We shared a laugh across the buffet from each other when I shouted "Mr. Langford!" and gave him the pretend pistol shot with my fingers. Good times, indeed. Now you must excuse me. Lunch at Mr. Wang's was only five hours ago and I still have some left in me. Now that's quality chinese!
ps - matt, i really did appreciate the lunch.
you could say that I'm kind of popular
Yeah, you could say that I'm kind of popular. Everybody knows my name, or at least my nickname. I'm Keith Cutcliffe, but all my friends just call me by my nom de rue, if you will. I like it. It's a good nickname that everyone remembers. I should know; I've had plenty. Early on I gave myself the moniker of Mr. Cool. I thought mr. cool really captured my essence - it didnt catch on so well. turns out that everybody, and i mean EVERYBODY, was more comfortable with "asshole". so it kind of stuck. it's not so bad. i mean, it's better than retard.
anyhow, lots of people call me asshole. Like the other day when I was buying cat food at the store. I dropped this bag in the checkout lane and this guy, somebody I dont even remember meeting, yelled "way to go, asshole!" Man, we all just laughed and laughed. I still dont know where I met that guy; it must have been a while back because people have been calling me asshole for a long time. The point is, he remembered me! Yes sir, I'd say 'ol asshole is a pretty popular guy.
I Read Good
Two pleasant looking young gentlemen were reclined on soft Italian leather lounge chairs at the local martini bar. Distinguished fellows, no doubt. Any one could see that these two were accomplished - dressed in the most fashionable of clothes, scented with subtle colognes, and their designer glasses lent to them an academic air. These two sophisticates were engaged in the most cherished and age-old past time of intellectuals the world over: one-upmanship. Well, as I listened I was amazed! Their conversation flowed with amazing ease over subjects as diverse as scuba diving in the Coral Sea to the molecular physics of outer space. The breadth and depth of their conversation only grew with each martini the young aristocrats drank. Why they hardly noticed the waitress’ low cut blouse, and they barely took time out to ogle the girls at the next table when their dates went to the bathroom. These two dapper Einsteins were at it for hours with this verbal jousting – one would jab with Voltaire and the other would counter and parry with Rousseau. I heard cacophonous laughter at the mere mention of “A Modest Proposal” followed by low and heated rumblings over the ethics of politics and income tax. Finally, with each convinced that they had out done the other, they rose from their chairs, patted the rumples from their corduroy pants, tapped out their pipes and said goodnight to the barkeep. As they passed I couldn’t resist the opportunity to tell them how impressed I was. So, with timid hesitation, I reached out and stopped the two. I said to them,” sorry, sirs, I wasn’t eavesdropping, but I couldn’t help hearing your most extraordinary conversation.” Both men smiled knowingly at each other and in my direction. I told them how impressed I was with their knowledge and asked how it was that they had come to be so learned. One replied to me that only through years of dedicated reading had they come to be so filled with wisdom. When I expressed an eagerness to follow in their footsteps they looked upon me with pity and explained that it required an extraordinary intellect to grasp the meanings of the books they had read. They said that while it was true that anyone could “read” the books, not just anyone could “understand” the books. With that the companions looked at each other again and, smiling, one said to the other “Yes, I read good.” To which the other replied, “no, WE read good.” With that the two gentlemen walked out into the street where they were run over by a bus.
REVISED: Attention Grocery Store Employees and Patrons
Because a couple of people (2) said that they needed a little "filler" info to understand this post I've decided to revise it. Although, I must say that perhaps Amy and Blake could be doing something better with their time, like buying massive amounts of ice cream with a piece of paper. See, the other day Blake was kind enough to let me stop and pickup a pizza on the way home (we carpool). Anyhow, I came out of the pizza place and put the pie in blake's truck. since blake was already in the pig getting some beer, i went on in to pick up a few needed items: coffee, ranch dressing, and something i can't remember. but it was only three things. anyhow, i end up in line behind this woman that has six cartons of ice cream. the cashier must have counted them five times - each time glancing at the cash register and then at some hand-written note on a piece of paper that the lady had given her. At one point the girl looks at the ice cream and says "3, 3, and 3. That's nine!" Holy fucking shit! I thought my brain was going to jump out of my eye socket and beat the hell out of this girl! There were clearly six cartons of ice cream. Anyhow, this led to a ridiculous amount of confusion that once settled allowed for the even more preposterous situation of the hand written note to take center stage. Apparently this woman had some "permission" to use this note to buy things. But what the fuck is some fifteen year old, slack-jawed kid that can't count gonna do about it? I mean, come on! This kid doesn't have the authority to just take a note in exchange for merchandise! I guess I could've switched lanes but I was already "committed" to this lane and had to see it through to the end - even though every second that passed just increased the murderous rage that was building inside of me. The whole time i'm there i'm picturing blake driving off drinking a beer and taking bites of my pizza! Thus, the requested background info which hardly makes the orginal worth reading.
Original Post Below
You should really know your numbers if you’re going to operate a cash-register. After spending about 15 minutes in the express lane of the piggly wiggly last night this point became especially clear. I mean, you don’t even need to know the alphabet so long as you can do basic matching. However, if you’re going to even attempt counting similar items and then ringing them all up at once it is absolutely necessary that you have a firm grasp on numbers. Also, if you’re going to buy things with anything other than cash, card, or check the express lane is probably not for you. And I’m not trying to single anybody out here, but it’s especially not for people making purchases with a hand-written note. You people, in particular, need to probably just go straight to the manager because I’m certain that’s where it’s going to end up. Well, that’s about it. Hope this helps clear up some of the confusion out there.
To Summarize:
1. Learn your numbers
2. Bartering needs to be done with the manager.
posted by sophisticated primate at
12:52 PM
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