His Bowel Did Sway and Gurgle
This is a story about Bob. Bob was an elephant of a man.
He flew into Columbus from California for a meeting and his bowels did sway and gurgle.
Back in those days, our office only had one bathroom and its walls reverberated with even the tiniest trickle of liquid dribbling in the bowl. The small room was like a giant sieve and sound and smell alike were not confined within its 80s décor walls.
Bob called for a break and asked for directions to the bathroom.
The wretched sound of the release of his intestines nearly coincided with the slamming of the door.
The entire office heard his agony. He was beyond the point of hiding his shame.
And like standing on the beach and seeing a tsunami in the distance, everyone within earshot knew that there would soon be a wave of putrid, ass death crashing through the office that none could escape.
The smell caused the doorknob to dissolve and the receptionist melted like the Nazis at the end of Raiders of the Lost Ark.
Holly was in the back office and was far enough away that she was only made blind by the smell. She lit a coffee scented candle that had three years’ worth of dust on it. In her haste, she forgot to remove the plastic wrapping on top. The combined smell of ½ digested airplane food, melting plastic and burning coffee dust finished the rest of us off. We all died.
Bob returned to the meeting several minutes later and we continued without saying a word.
He flew into Columbus from California for a meeting and his bowels did sway and gurgle.
Back in those days, our office only had one bathroom and its walls reverberated with even the tiniest trickle of liquid dribbling in the bowl. The small room was like a giant sieve and sound and smell alike were not confined within its 80s décor walls.
Bob called for a break and asked for directions to the bathroom.
The wretched sound of the release of his intestines nearly coincided with the slamming of the door.
The entire office heard his agony. He was beyond the point of hiding his shame.
And like standing on the beach and seeing a tsunami in the distance, everyone within earshot knew that there would soon be a wave of putrid, ass death crashing through the office that none could escape.
The smell caused the doorknob to dissolve and the receptionist melted like the Nazis at the end of Raiders of the Lost Ark.
Holly was in the back office and was far enough away that she was only made blind by the smell. She lit a coffee scented candle that had three years’ worth of dust on it. In her haste, she forgot to remove the plastic wrapping on top. The combined smell of ½ digested airplane food, melting plastic and burning coffee dust finished the rest of us off. We all died.
Bob returned to the meeting several minutes later and we continued without saying a word.
Homestar Helps
The Homestar Runner characters let my co-workers know what kind of day I'm having.
Not sure what it means if I am having a Marzipan day.
The First and Probably Last HolyJuan Caption Contest
Please caption the following photo. Leave your caption in the comments The winner gets an official HolyJuan refrigerator magnet. (Not sold in stores.)
My Reddit Secret Santa Gifts!
If you are not aware of Reddit, you should be. Reddit has a Secret Santa gift exchange where strangers exchange gifts in the spirit of the season.
My gift arrived today! Keegan brought it to my desk and he helped take photos for the unboxing.
It's here!
Keegan let me borrow his knife
Brown paper! Just what I always wanted!
A wrapped box. And the color of the wrapping paper matches my eyes exactly!
OK, not exactly.
More boxes inside the first box.
First up, a bottle of Tentacle Grape soda.
Next is a moustache mug from Modern Madness.
I've finally made it to puberty!
Bacon Flavored Popcorn! What will those crazy scientists think of next?
Extremely cool! A 30th anniversary Pac-Man Moleskine!!
And finally, Jack Daniels and Kahlua Coffees!
My Secret Santa, who chose to remain secret, did such a great job picking out gifts for me. I think my favorite is the Pac-Man Moleskine. Here are some close-ups.
Here's everything together.
Thanks Secret Santa! I hope you got some good stuff, too!
My gift arrived today! Keegan brought it to my desk and he helped take photos for the unboxing.
It's here!
Keegan let me borrow his knife
Brown paper! Just what I always wanted!
A wrapped box. And the color of the wrapping paper matches my eyes exactly!
OK, not exactly.
More boxes inside the first box.
First up, a bottle of Tentacle Grape soda.
Next is a moustache mug from Modern Madness.
I've finally made it to puberty!
Bacon Flavored Popcorn! What will those crazy scientists think of next?
Extremely cool! A 30th anniversary Pac-Man Moleskine!!
And finally, Jack Daniels and Kahlua Coffees!
My Secret Santa, who chose to remain secret, did such a great job picking out gifts for me. I think my favorite is the Pac-Man Moleskine. Here are some close-ups.
Here's everything together.
Thanks Secret Santa! I hope you got some good stuff, too!
Thanks
When all the ones are carried and the columns added up, I really am a prick. I love me. I really do. I have bad feeling that I would be shoving my wife and kids out of the way to the last parachute so that I could carry their memory on from the luxury of some life insurance paid beach.
But what keeps me loving me is the people that feed my ego. And that is you. So I owe you a bit of thanks for reading HolyJuan on a once a year basis when you remember that I actually exist.
When I thought for a few hours last night that my site was deleted and that I would have to piece together the backups and the old files that are on the bottom of the hard drive, I didn’t despair for one minute. Mainly because I know that I need you as much as you really don’t need me. And I can live with that.
Let’s continue as if this never happened.
But what keeps me loving me is the people that feed my ego. And that is you. So I owe you a bit of thanks for reading HolyJuan on a once a year basis when you remember that I actually exist.
When I thought for a few hours last night that my site was deleted and that I would have to piece together the backups and the old files that are on the bottom of the hard drive, I didn’t despair for one minute. Mainly because I know that I need you as much as you really don’t need me. And I can live with that.
Let’s continue as if this never happened.
A Trip to Florida is a Trip
I had to fly down to Florida for work. I went with Matt. He’s traveled more than anyone I know and he’s really good at it. I got to the airport at 6:00am, about an hour early. He got there about five minutes before the plan loaded. See, I told you he was good.
Because it was a small plane, anyone that had a larger than small carry-on bag had it tagged and then stowed under the plane. My bag was small. Matt’s bag was not small enough. It was tagged and left to be stowed.
The plane had one seat along one side and two seats on the other. Matt and I were on the single seat side. The plane was taking a long time after loading to get going. Ticket lady kept coming on and then leaving the plane.
Finally, the ticket taker lady came on the plane and announced that “due to the rain, certain equipment was going to have to be used for the flight.” Because of this, the plane was overweight and five people were going to have to get off. They immediately offered a $400 voucher, but we were in Ohio and the plane was going to Florida so there were no takers. The ticket lady said that she was going to pull the last five people that bought their tickets.
Matt and I were number four and five respectively.
Inside at the counter, we were standing around with a couple that had just been married and were heading down to Florida for a cruise that was departing later that day. The fifth person was a girl that weighed about 80 pounds. Back on the plane there was a woman across the isle from me that could have taken the place of all three of them. Matt suggested that next time they should utilize a scale.
The newlywed couple was about one more problem away from a panic. Their cruise was boarding later that afternoon and they needed a flight out pronto. The ticket lady said, “Why did you wait until today to fly out?” The girl smiled and said something nice. Matt and I both quietly made rude remarks about the ticket lady’s lack of compassion. There was another flight in thirty minutes to LaGuardia and then a 10:30am to Miami. We were all relieved.
It was then the girl realized that her ID was in the carry-on bag that had been taken at the last minute and stowed as we boarded. Matt’s carry-on was taken as well. Neither had been returned and the plane was pulling away from the gate. She asked if she would need her ID in LaGuardia. The ticket lady assured us that we wouldn’t have to go though security again. Then she followed up with, “Why did you put your ID in your bag?” You could see cute, recently glowing girl begin to scowl. I think we all assume that when we carry-on a bag we are going to carry it off as well. We were told that the carry-on bags (that were stowed away) and checked bags would all be waiting at Miami.
We got on the next flight.
Holy fuck.
I’ve been on flights where there have been moments of turbulence. I’ve been on flights were there have been spans of turbulence. This plane flew like a washer on spin cycle with three too many pairs of jeans in it all the whole way to New York. It was miserable.
When we landed in LaGuardia, we happened to hear the married couple stop an agent and ask them about the next gate. The next gate was in a different concourse and we would have to go through security again. Nice. The poor girl about lost it. We walked off while she was pleading her situation.
As it turned out, they ran into someone helpful. The employee had walked her through security where she had to fill out “I don’t have ID” paperwork which is usually reserved for Libertarians and assholes from the internet. I guess I just could have said Libertarians there.
The flight from LaGuardia to Miami was just as bad if not worst for the first 50% of the trip. Matt was green. I was green with red dots. If one person on that flight would have even gagged, the whole flight would have erupted in an orgy of vomit.
No one puked and by South Carolina the flight smoothed out.
We landed.
In Miami, Matt and I went to the baggage customer service desk. The guy at the desk loves his job. I assume he was a mortgage broker 18 months ago and because he can no longer fuck people over there, he got hired by the airlines. He asked for the ticket stub of the bag that was supposed to be carry-on, but was stowed. There was no stub because Matt never got one. The ex-broker said that there HAD to be a stub. Matt explained that the woman only put a red tag on the bag and that there was no other stub or stub like identification. The guy scanned his screen, inhaled most the air in the building right before he let out a huge sigh and said that our bags would be at XX baggage claim.
The bags were at XX baggage claim. We saw the 80 pound girl and wished her the best.
We were in Miami for about 24 hours until our trip back.
Our trip back was fine.
As we were leaving the Columbus airport, we saw the ticket lady again. Not in person but on the wall where they post the photos of the team member who receive awards. Hers was for Customer Service.
We laughed loud enough for most people in the Max and Erma’s bar to stop and stare.
Because it was a small plane, anyone that had a larger than small carry-on bag had it tagged and then stowed under the plane. My bag was small. Matt’s bag was not small enough. It was tagged and left to be stowed.
The plane had one seat along one side and two seats on the other. Matt and I were on the single seat side. The plane was taking a long time after loading to get going. Ticket lady kept coming on and then leaving the plane.
Finally, the ticket taker lady came on the plane and announced that “due to the rain, certain equipment was going to have to be used for the flight.” Because of this, the plane was overweight and five people were going to have to get off. They immediately offered a $400 voucher, but we were in Ohio and the plane was going to Florida so there were no takers. The ticket lady said that she was going to pull the last five people that bought their tickets.
Matt and I were number four and five respectively.
Inside at the counter, we were standing around with a couple that had just been married and were heading down to Florida for a cruise that was departing later that day. The fifth person was a girl that weighed about 80 pounds. Back on the plane there was a woman across the isle from me that could have taken the place of all three of them. Matt suggested that next time they should utilize a scale.
The newlywed couple was about one more problem away from a panic. Their cruise was boarding later that afternoon and they needed a flight out pronto. The ticket lady said, “Why did you wait until today to fly out?” The girl smiled and said something nice. Matt and I both quietly made rude remarks about the ticket lady’s lack of compassion. There was another flight in thirty minutes to LaGuardia and then a 10:30am to Miami. We were all relieved.
It was then the girl realized that her ID was in the carry-on bag that had been taken at the last minute and stowed as we boarded. Matt’s carry-on was taken as well. Neither had been returned and the plane was pulling away from the gate. She asked if she would need her ID in LaGuardia. The ticket lady assured us that we wouldn’t have to go though security again. Then she followed up with, “Why did you put your ID in your bag?” You could see cute, recently glowing girl begin to scowl. I think we all assume that when we carry-on a bag we are going to carry it off as well. We were told that the carry-on bags (that were stowed away) and checked bags would all be waiting at Miami.
We got on the next flight.
Holy fuck.
I’ve been on flights where there have been moments of turbulence. I’ve been on flights were there have been spans of turbulence. This plane flew like a washer on spin cycle with three too many pairs of jeans in it all the whole way to New York. It was miserable.
When we landed in LaGuardia, we happened to hear the married couple stop an agent and ask them about the next gate. The next gate was in a different concourse and we would have to go through security again. Nice. The poor girl about lost it. We walked off while she was pleading her situation.
As it turned out, they ran into someone helpful. The employee had walked her through security where she had to fill out “I don’t have ID” paperwork which is usually reserved for Libertarians and assholes from the internet. I guess I just could have said Libertarians there.
The flight from LaGuardia to Miami was just as bad if not worst for the first 50% of the trip. Matt was green. I was green with red dots. If one person on that flight would have even gagged, the whole flight would have erupted in an orgy of vomit.
No one puked and by South Carolina the flight smoothed out.
We landed.
In Miami, Matt and I went to the baggage customer service desk. The guy at the desk loves his job. I assume he was a mortgage broker 18 months ago and because he can no longer fuck people over there, he got hired by the airlines. He asked for the ticket stub of the bag that was supposed to be carry-on, but was stowed. There was no stub because Matt never got one. The ex-broker said that there HAD to be a stub. Matt explained that the woman only put a red tag on the bag and that there was no other stub or stub like identification. The guy scanned his screen, inhaled most the air in the building right before he let out a huge sigh and said that our bags would be at XX baggage claim.
The bags were at XX baggage claim. We saw the 80 pound girl and wished her the best.
We were in Miami for about 24 hours until our trip back.
Our trip back was fine.
As we were leaving the Columbus airport, we saw the ticket lady again. Not in person but on the wall where they post the photos of the team member who receive awards. Hers was for Customer Service.
We laughed loud enough for most people in the Max and Erma’s bar to stop and stare.
Spam Comments
I have the ability to monitor my comments for spam. The system is automated and catches about 95% of it. Of the other 5%, it's usually someone scoping the site to see if the owner lets those 5% through.
Recently, there have been a number of broken English comments that are trying to sound normal. This one takes the cake, "I give birth to read a few of the articles on your website trendy, and I definitely like your tastefulness of blogging. I added it to my favorites net stage roster and resolve be checking assist soon. Divert contain out of order my site as highly and let me conscious what you think. Thanks."
I really wonder what that translates back to in his native language.
Recently, there have been a number of broken English comments that are trying to sound normal. This one takes the cake, "I give birth to read a few of the articles on your website trendy, and I definitely like your tastefulness of blogging. I added it to my favorites net stage roster and resolve be checking assist soon. Divert contain out of order my site as highly and let me conscious what you think. Thanks."
I really wonder what that translates back to in his native language.
Fushigi Ball and Their Shitty Web Site
You want to cancel your Fushigi Ball order? Read on.
When I was a kid, I wanted a big plastic fort that my dad though was stupid. I never forgave him. Now my kid wants a stupid plastic ball and there is no way in hell I am going to buy it for him…
But Miss Sally will.
Miss Sally went to the Fushigi Ball web site. To place an order for the ball, you enter in all your information including your credit card number on the first screen. After hitting submit, another screen comes up asking if you would like to order additional balls.
No.
Another screen comes up asking if you want to order mini-balls.
NO.
Another screen pops up asking if you want to order something else.
NO NO NO NO!
But my this time, Miss Sally thought she was caught in a loop and so she hit “yes” just so she could get to the confirmation screen and cancel it there.
As soon as she hit “yes” a screen came up that said, “ORDER PROCESSED.” There was no confirmation screen. There was no way for her to see that shipping and handling on this was going to be almost $20.
As soon as she saw her mistake, she looked around for an e-mail address. There was none.
There was a phone number, but when she called, they said they would be out of the office until Monday.
She called Monday morning and the phones were busy with what I assume were pissed off people. I called up until noon and the phone were still busy.
I did some research and found they had tentatively billed our account. Luckily there was a phone number.
The number is (write this down) 800-765-2994.
I called the number and it was to Idea Village.
I pressed the right numbers to ask a question about my order. A real person answered. They were very nice. I said we didn’t like how the Fushigi Ball website snuck in charges and didn’t provide for a confirmation screen.
She took care of the problem immediately and credited my account. Wow. Thanks Idea Village.
In short… don’t buy from fushigiball.com.
If you did, don’t try to call their shitty number. Call Idea Village direct at 800-765-2994.
When I was a kid, I wanted a big plastic fort that my dad though was stupid. I never forgave him. Now my kid wants a stupid plastic ball and there is no way in hell I am going to buy it for him…
But Miss Sally will.
Miss Sally went to the Fushigi Ball web site. To place an order for the ball, you enter in all your information including your credit card number on the first screen. After hitting submit, another screen comes up asking if you would like to order additional balls.
No.
Another screen comes up asking if you want to order mini-balls.
NO.
Another screen pops up asking if you want to order something else.
NO NO NO NO!
But my this time, Miss Sally thought she was caught in a loop and so she hit “yes” just so she could get to the confirmation screen and cancel it there.
As soon as she hit “yes” a screen came up that said, “ORDER PROCESSED.” There was no confirmation screen. There was no way for her to see that shipping and handling on this was going to be almost $20.
As soon as she saw her mistake, she looked around for an e-mail address. There was none.
There was a phone number, but when she called, they said they would be out of the office until Monday.
She called Monday morning and the phones were busy with what I assume were pissed off people. I called up until noon and the phone were still busy.
I did some research and found they had tentatively billed our account. Luckily there was a phone number.
The number is (write this down) 800-765-2994.
I called the number and it was to Idea Village.
I pressed the right numbers to ask a question about my order. A real person answered. They were very nice. I said we didn’t like how the Fushigi Ball website snuck in charges and didn’t provide for a confirmation screen.
She took care of the problem immediately and credited my account. Wow. Thanks Idea Village.
In short… don’t buy from fushigiball.com.
If you did, don’t try to call their shitty number. Call Idea Village direct at 800-765-2994.
Facebook Redacting
I am on reddit.com a good bit and one popular way that people post stuff from Facebook is to take a screen shot and block out the names and faces using some Photoshop or MS Paint method.
I though it was curious all the varied ways it was done so I've collected a few samples.
BLACK BOX REDACTION
This is one of the most common. Neat black boxes over both profile photo and name.
BLACK MARKER
This method is a bit sloppier, but accomplishes the task. In the same family is the black marker, but leaving the profile photo showing.
BLACK REDACTION AND MARKER COMBO WITH TITLES
I think with this method, the user starts with the black redaction box and then has trouble covering up all the text, so they drop down to the brush tool. As a bonus, the user included titles so that we could tell who was saying what, seeing as that you can't once all the names and faces are blocked out.
WHITE REDACTED BOX LAST NAME ONLY
The cousin of the BLACK REDACTED BOX
WHITE MARKER 50/50 FACES
The user felt obligated to hide the identity of some faces, some names, but left some names and faces visible. Very sloppy.
PIXELATED
This is a very clean method. The faces are hidden, but you can make a connection of who is saying what as you scan down the photo.
STATIC
I like this one.
RED REDACTION WITH TINY FACE REDACTION
This one is very detailed because instead of just blocking out the whole profile, they just hid a little of the guy's face.
BLUR
I assume this is the smudge tool. Dies a good job of masking without being obnoxious.
COLOR COORDINATED REDACTION
With multiple people in the comments, this person used color coordination to distinguish who said what. Very clean. Good work.
PINK AND RED SPRAY PAINT
This is definitely a MS Paint job. Sloppy, but they tried to color coordinate.
PINK BLUE AND SOME WHITE TOO
Hard to tell what is going on here. Did the poster try to suggest that the pink person is a girl and the blue is a boy? In addition, the white redacting over the names is very sloppy.
WHAT THE FUCK
I'm not sure what to think here.
BONUS
I was poking around for some others and there is a whole section of failblog.com that features these called Failbook.
I saw this neat one over there with color frames
I though it was curious all the varied ways it was done so I've collected a few samples.
BLACK BOX REDACTION
This is one of the most common. Neat black boxes over both profile photo and name.
BLACK MARKER
This method is a bit sloppier, but accomplishes the task. In the same family is the black marker, but leaving the profile photo showing.
BLACK REDACTION AND MARKER COMBO WITH TITLES
I think with this method, the user starts with the black redaction box and then has trouble covering up all the text, so they drop down to the brush tool. As a bonus, the user included titles so that we could tell who was saying what, seeing as that you can't once all the names and faces are blocked out.
WHITE REDACTED BOX LAST NAME ONLY
The cousin of the BLACK REDACTED BOX
WHITE MARKER 50/50 FACES
The user felt obligated to hide the identity of some faces, some names, but left some names and faces visible. Very sloppy.
PIXELATED
This is a very clean method. The faces are hidden, but you can make a connection of who is saying what as you scan down the photo.
STATIC
I like this one.
RED REDACTION WITH TINY FACE REDACTION
This one is very detailed because instead of just blocking out the whole profile, they just hid a little of the guy's face.
BLUR
I assume this is the smudge tool. Dies a good job of masking without being obnoxious.
COLOR COORDINATED REDACTION
With multiple people in the comments, this person used color coordination to distinguish who said what. Very clean. Good work.
PINK AND RED SPRAY PAINT
This is definitely a MS Paint job. Sloppy, but they tried to color coordinate.
PINK BLUE AND SOME WHITE TOO
Hard to tell what is going on here. Did the poster try to suggest that the pink person is a girl and the blue is a boy? In addition, the white redacting over the names is very sloppy.
WHAT THE FUCK
I'm not sure what to think here.
BONUS
I was poking around for some others and there is a whole section of failblog.com that features these called Failbook.
I saw this neat one over there with color frames
Ass Needs TLC
A note found outside a bar/restaurant in Columbus:
I'm really wondering how this note got to the place in the parking lot. I see three scenarios:
Scenario 1 - The Unlucky Lucky Person
Person A sees Person B in a bar. Person A makes nice with Person B and Person A gives Person B their number. One the way to their car, Person B accidentally drops the number and the love connection is not made.
Scenario 2 - The Unlucky Person
Person A sees Person B in a bar. Person A thinks Person B would be interested in giving their ass some TLC. Person A hands over the note and Person B takes the first opportunity they have to drop it in the parking lot.
Scenario 3 - The Unlucky Idiot
Person A is desperate to hook up with anything that can read cursive. Person A writes their information down on many sheets of paper and leaves them all over central Ohio in a sad attempt to get laid.
BUT WAIT - I see a fourth scenario
Scenario 4 - The Bored HolyJuan
Guy can't find content for his website, so he makes up stories, takes photos of random shit and posts it on his website.
I'm really wondering how this note got to the place in the parking lot. I see three scenarios:
Scenario 1 - The Unlucky Lucky Person
Person A sees Person B in a bar. Person A makes nice with Person B and Person A gives Person B their number. One the way to their car, Person B accidentally drops the number and the love connection is not made.
Scenario 2 - The Unlucky Person
Person A sees Person B in a bar. Person A thinks Person B would be interested in giving their ass some TLC. Person A hands over the note and Person B takes the first opportunity they have to drop it in the parking lot.
Scenario 3 - The Unlucky Idiot
Person A is desperate to hook up with anything that can read cursive. Person A writes their information down on many sheets of paper and leaves them all over central Ohio in a sad attempt to get laid.
BUT WAIT - I see a fourth scenario
Scenario 4 - The Bored HolyJuan
Guy can't find content for his website, so he makes up stories, takes photos of random shit and posts it on his website.
The Unfortunate Tank Top
I'm a fan of tank tops. Most the time. Sadly, this gentleman, seen at a local bar, didn't realize that his shirt made it look like he was wearing a tank top.
Rodney from Russia
Rodney was at our offices for business yesterday. We wrapped up late in the day and he stuck around for dinner and drinks. We finished dinner at the Digger & Finch and then went to another bar for drinks.
As we sat down, the waitress asked what we were up to. I immediately jumped in and said that we had a client in town from Russia and that he didn’t speak English. Rodney immediately took his cue and gave a two thumbs up. I said we worked at Chase and that Rodney’s translator went home sick. We said he only knew the word “beer.” The Rodney turned to the waitress and said, “Beer!” and gave the thumbs up.
For the rest of our time there when the waitress would come back and sit with us, we would point to stuff in the bar and say, “How do you say that in your language?” and Rodney would make up some word.
We kept emphasizing that he couldn’t under stand what we were saying and we would say terrible things to his face and he’d just smile and give the thumbs up. I was trying to get the waitress to say awful things, but she was too nice.
Next time I get to be from Slovakia.
As we sat down, the waitress asked what we were up to. I immediately jumped in and said that we had a client in town from Russia and that he didn’t speak English. Rodney immediately took his cue and gave a two thumbs up. I said we worked at Chase and that Rodney’s translator went home sick. We said he only knew the word “beer.” The Rodney turned to the waitress and said, “Beer!” and gave the thumbs up.
For the rest of our time there when the waitress would come back and sit with us, we would point to stuff in the bar and say, “How do you say that in your language?” and Rodney would make up some word.
We kept emphasizing that he couldn’t under stand what we were saying and we would say terrible things to his face and he’d just smile and give the thumbs up. I was trying to get the waitress to say awful things, but she was too nice.
Next time I get to be from Slovakia.
A Closer Look at the Tilted Kilt
Since I left my previous job, I have really been missing my good friend Erik. We decided that we would grab a beer and catch up on life. (OK, now that I’ve laid down that line of bullshit, let’s get to the good stuff.) We decided to go to the new Tilted Kilt that opened up near Polaris.
The Tilted Kilt is like a Scottish Hooters with less of the flesh colored panty hose and more “one job away from being a stripper” skin showing.
I arrived (late) and found Erik at their secondary bar. There is a large bar with a shit load of beers on tap and then in front of that is a long bar with stools on either side. For a Tuesday night it was pretty busy.
Erik and I spoke for about fifteen minutes. Well, Erik talked and I was practically staring at the boobs on all the girls. The Tilted Kilt costume is a bra with a tiny white top tied in a knot and a very small skirt. There were more tattoos on hips and shoulders than at Hilliard Davidson High School. Even girls that did not have ample boobs spilling out would tie their knot a little tighter to make a happy valley.
After fifteen minutes, Erik and I realized that a server had not stopped by. We waited about two minutes more and low and behold three girls showed up. They introduced themselves and took our beer order. We continued to talk. For about ten more minutes. Then the beers showed up. This was really helping my liver.
We talked and drank. I finished my beer off first and our waitress noticed I was empty right before I was and put in an order for another beer. I also asked for a menu because I wanted to try their wings. A menu appeared!
Now, the Tilted Kilt has some weird thing going on. It doesn’t seem like your waitress brings your beer or food. It’s like they have beer and food runners. The problem is that the runner must have been new, because five minutes later she have my beer to the guy at the other end of the bar. I wouldn’t have noticed except that the guy next to me said, “Hey, she just gave your beer to that guy.” They quickly remedied the situation and I got my beer.
Then our waitress was kidnapped and taken off to a distant land. A small boy in a small village was sent off on a quest to rescue her. Over time he gained experience and weapons training. In the end, as a now brave young man, he defeated the kidnappers and was able to rescue our waitress.
The waitress reappeared about thirty minutes later to find two very thirsty boys. She took our beer order and I asked for the Kilt Burner Wings. She asked if fries were OK with that. I said I didn’t want fries. She said, what about chips? They come with it. I said I didn’t want chips. She said, what about cottage cheese. I said, Ok, give me the cottage cheese. She then went off to be chatty with a few better looking guys.
Out beers came out in about five minutes and my wings arrived in about ten.
The wings were great. A hot, buttery garlic sauce. No breaded coating. Cooked perfect. They really hit the spot. And fuck yeah cottage cheese goes with wings.
Erik and I are old and we decided to call it a night. We got our checks and my $9 wings were now $11 because of a side I really didn’t want. I asked the waitress about it and she said she was sorry and that she thought the side came with the wings. She took care of it very quickly and we were off.
My opinion is this… the place just opened up and they are going to have some hiccups with the service. But waiting thirty minutes to get back to someone after you have given them a menu is terrible. I hope they improve. I think I will need to do further testing.
And holy shit the girls are pretty. And there is a whole lot of flesh to stare at for those of you who can appreciate the human form. You sickos who are looking to get your jollies can stay away. This is a refined restaurant for the educated man who takes an hour to drink beer and likes to decide what pantone color the server’s “Hello Kitty” tattoo is.
The Tilted Kilt is like a Scottish Hooters with less of the flesh colored panty hose and more “one job away from being a stripper” skin showing.
I arrived (late) and found Erik at their secondary bar. There is a large bar with a shit load of beers on tap and then in front of that is a long bar with stools on either side. For a Tuesday night it was pretty busy.
Erik and I spoke for about fifteen minutes. Well, Erik talked and I was practically staring at the boobs on all the girls. The Tilted Kilt costume is a bra with a tiny white top tied in a knot and a very small skirt. There were more tattoos on hips and shoulders than at Hilliard Davidson High School. Even girls that did not have ample boobs spilling out would tie their knot a little tighter to make a happy valley.
After fifteen minutes, Erik and I realized that a server had not stopped by. We waited about two minutes more and low and behold three girls showed up. They introduced themselves and took our beer order. We continued to talk. For about ten more minutes. Then the beers showed up. This was really helping my liver.
We talked and drank. I finished my beer off first and our waitress noticed I was empty right before I was and put in an order for another beer. I also asked for a menu because I wanted to try their wings. A menu appeared!
Now, the Tilted Kilt has some weird thing going on. It doesn’t seem like your waitress brings your beer or food. It’s like they have beer and food runners. The problem is that the runner must have been new, because five minutes later she have my beer to the guy at the other end of the bar. I wouldn’t have noticed except that the guy next to me said, “Hey, she just gave your beer to that guy.” They quickly remedied the situation and I got my beer.
Then our waitress was kidnapped and taken off to a distant land. A small boy in a small village was sent off on a quest to rescue her. Over time he gained experience and weapons training. In the end, as a now brave young man, he defeated the kidnappers and was able to rescue our waitress.
The waitress reappeared about thirty minutes later to find two very thirsty boys. She took our beer order and I asked for the Kilt Burner Wings. She asked if fries were OK with that. I said I didn’t want fries. She said, what about chips? They come with it. I said I didn’t want chips. She said, what about cottage cheese. I said, Ok, give me the cottage cheese. She then went off to be chatty with a few better looking guys.
Out beers came out in about five minutes and my wings arrived in about ten.
The wings were great. A hot, buttery garlic sauce. No breaded coating. Cooked perfect. They really hit the spot. And fuck yeah cottage cheese goes with wings.
Erik and I are old and we decided to call it a night. We got our checks and my $9 wings were now $11 because of a side I really didn’t want. I asked the waitress about it and she said she was sorry and that she thought the side came with the wings. She took care of it very quickly and we were off.
My opinion is this… the place just opened up and they are going to have some hiccups with the service. But waiting thirty minutes to get back to someone after you have given them a menu is terrible. I hope they improve. I think I will need to do further testing.
And holy shit the girls are pretty. And there is a whole lot of flesh to stare at for those of you who can appreciate the human form. You sickos who are looking to get your jollies can stay away. This is a refined restaurant for the educated man who takes an hour to drink beer and likes to decide what pantone color the server’s “Hello Kitty” tattoo is.
There is a line
I was out of town at a trade show recently and Al and I were having drinks with Rodney. We sat at the corner of the bar with Rodney playing the corner man. As is with most our conversations, it wandered all over the map, from industry stuff to music. If you know Al, you know that he loves music. He knows music and he appreciates it. And if you know me, you know that I suck at music.
As we were discussing music, I shared with Rodney that Al has his love of music and I have the music that you hear at Skully’s on Thursdays. Somewhere in between all of the music that Al loves and the music I love is a line. And I said the goal is to find what music lives on that line. The music we both appreciate. I said, I can’t think of any music that lives on that line.
And Allen said, “What about David Byrne?”
I said, Hey! David Byrne is on the line!
And Allen said, “What about Yo La Tengo?”
And I said, Yo La Tengo is on the line!
And given that we were two for two I said, what about Ben Folds?
Allen said, Ben Folds is not on the line.
Well, at least we still have David Byrne.
As we were discussing music, I shared with Rodney that Al has his love of music and I have the music that you hear at Skully’s on Thursdays. Somewhere in between all of the music that Al loves and the music I love is a line. And I said the goal is to find what music lives on that line. The music we both appreciate. I said, I can’t think of any music that lives on that line.
And Allen said, “What about David Byrne?”
I said, Hey! David Byrne is on the line!
And Allen said, “What about Yo La Tengo?”
And I said, Yo La Tengo is on the line!
And given that we were two for two I said, what about Ben Folds?
Allen said, Ben Folds is not on the line.
Well, at least we still have David Byrne.
Michael Robinette
RUSHVILLE: Michael Lee Robinette, 62, of Rushville, Ohio, died peacefully in his sleep, Sunday, November 21, 2010 at his residence.
Mike was born January 18, 1948 in Columbus, Ohio, the son of the late Darwin Lee and Thelma Lucille Bliss Robinette.
Mike was a 1966 graduate of Whitehall Yearling High School, entered the U.S. Army and served four years in Germany. After leaving the service, Mike attended The Ohio State University.
During his life time, Mike was employed by Lancaster Glass, Meijer, and Cardinal Health before managing the family owned Baskins Robbins 31 Ice Cream Store for many years.
Mike is survived by his three sisters, Peggy (James) DeJarnatt, Nan (Ralph) VanGundy and Jill (Kelly) Adams; his two brothers, Paul (Jennifer) Robinette and Jon (Lauren) Robinette; and many nieces, nephews, and friends that he loved dearly.
A celebration of life will be held from 2-4 p.m. Sunday, November 28, 2010 at the home of Jill and Kelly Adams, 758 Schadel Dr. N.W., Lancaster, Ohio 43130. In lieu of flowers, cards only, please.
Bope-Thomas Funeral Home in Somerset is entrusted with the arrangements.
EDITOR'S NOTE: Mike was my manager at Baskin Robbins back in the late 80s. His parents owned the place, but he was the one I had the most contact with. I was completely surprised by his passing and am sad that I only last saw him three years ago at his father's memorial service.
Mike was extremely interesting, but I was too young to understand why. He had a lot of life experience that he tried to share, but I wasn't able to fully grasp what he was trying to relate.
Mike was in the Army in Germany and he told me about one of his jobs recording empty airwaves. He's sit for hours in a room, recording silence. He said on several occasions, he went a bit stir crazy and would yell at the recorder, "No one is ever going to listen to this!"
Back in the day, Mike loved the Amiga computer. He would talk about how great it was and that PCs and Macs were cookie cutter wanna be systems. I still remember the day he showed me my first "guru meditation error." He'd play Hunt for Red October for hours.
Mike LOVED to innocently pit the workers against each other. Not in a mean spirited way, but he loved to start shit and then slowly back away and watch the fireworks.
Mike was the manager in my Quart Percentage story from last year.
Mike has a piece of crap car that sat out back behind the building mostly abandoned. On certain nights we would use his hood to climb up on to the building and then, after we were done drinking, to jump back off. He'd would be pissed that someone(s) were jumping up and down on his hood at night. I have to assume that he knew it was us.
Years passed and I'd stop in at the Baskin Robbins when I was back in town. Mike would come out and say hello and ask how life was. I moved on and they tore down the Baskin Robbins and Mike moved on to other things.
Farewell, Mike.
Mike was born January 18, 1948 in Columbus, Ohio, the son of the late Darwin Lee and Thelma Lucille Bliss Robinette.
Mike was a 1966 graduate of Whitehall Yearling High School, entered the U.S. Army and served four years in Germany. After leaving the service, Mike attended The Ohio State University.
During his life time, Mike was employed by Lancaster Glass, Meijer, and Cardinal Health before managing the family owned Baskins Robbins 31 Ice Cream Store for many years.
Mike is survived by his three sisters, Peggy (James) DeJarnatt, Nan (Ralph) VanGundy and Jill (Kelly) Adams; his two brothers, Paul (Jennifer) Robinette and Jon (Lauren) Robinette; and many nieces, nephews, and friends that he loved dearly.
A celebration of life will be held from 2-4 p.m. Sunday, November 28, 2010 at the home of Jill and Kelly Adams, 758 Schadel Dr. N.W., Lancaster, Ohio 43130. In lieu of flowers, cards only, please.
Bope-Thomas Funeral Home in Somerset is entrusted with the arrangements.
EDITOR'S NOTE: Mike was my manager at Baskin Robbins back in the late 80s. His parents owned the place, but he was the one I had the most contact with. I was completely surprised by his passing and am sad that I only last saw him three years ago at his father's memorial service.
Mike was extremely interesting, but I was too young to understand why. He had a lot of life experience that he tried to share, but I wasn't able to fully grasp what he was trying to relate.
Mike was in the Army in Germany and he told me about one of his jobs recording empty airwaves. He's sit for hours in a room, recording silence. He said on several occasions, he went a bit stir crazy and would yell at the recorder, "No one is ever going to listen to this!"
Back in the day, Mike loved the Amiga computer. He would talk about how great it was and that PCs and Macs were cookie cutter wanna be systems. I still remember the day he showed me my first "guru meditation error." He'd play Hunt for Red October for hours.
Mike LOVED to innocently pit the workers against each other. Not in a mean spirited way, but he loved to start shit and then slowly back away and watch the fireworks.
Mike was the manager in my Quart Percentage story from last year.
Mike has a piece of crap car that sat out back behind the building mostly abandoned. On certain nights we would use his hood to climb up on to the building and then, after we were done drinking, to jump back off. He'd would be pissed that someone(s) were jumping up and down on his hood at night. I have to assume that he knew it was us.
Years passed and I'd stop in at the Baskin Robbins when I was back in town. Mike would come out and say hello and ask how life was. I moved on and they tore down the Baskin Robbins and Mike moved on to other things.
Farewell, Mike.
Coincidence
I'm not sure if you remember the Guess How Much Money is in the Bag contest, but the winner of the contest was some guy named John from North Carolina.
As it turns out, John and I are in the same industry and I saw him at a trade show in Florida.
That's fucked up.
What's not fucked up is a girl punching me in the face.
As it turns out, John and I are in the same industry and I saw him at a trade show in Florida.
That's fucked up.
What's not fucked up is a girl punching me in the face.
Don't be a lame ass turd
Listen. You've basically been a turd your whole life. You don't care for anyone but yourself.
Well, fucker, it's time to care about a cause.
No, not cancer.
I'm talking about Off, Off, Off Broadway. I'm talking about Mad Labs.
Mad Labs needs money. They are a bunch of poor acting fucks who think that someday they might make it as big as me. This money might help to cure them of that fantasy.
Go here and join their cause: http://www.causes.com/causes/476165-madlab?m=9e4cc0c7&recruiter_id=22026465
And yes, your person information will be used to sneak children out of China.
Well, fucker, it's time to care about a cause.
No, not cancer.
I'm talking about Off, Off, Off Broadway. I'm talking about Mad Labs.
Mad Labs needs money. They are a bunch of poor acting fucks who think that someday they might make it as big as me. This money might help to cure them of that fantasy.
Go here and join their cause: http://www.causes.com/causes/476165-madlab?m=9e4cc0c7&recruiter_id=22026465
And yes, your person information will be used to sneak children out of China.
Return Envelope Surprise
On one of my last days at my old job, I was offered a look at one of our postage paid return envelopes that had been delivered back to our offices. Normally this envelope would be filled with very, very boring stuff.
Here is the envelope. Looks like the sender is a supporter of stopping breast cancer.
Here's the back. Puppy and kitten stickers!
And inside...
Good old American porn.
I have done similar things with obnoxious mailings from credit card companies, except normally I just take the stuff out of one credit card application and switch it with the stuff from another. This was genius.
And it was real porn. I just arranged the pages so the really good stuff was face down. And I did not get excited by the content. I just had to go pee right afterwards.
Here is the envelope. Looks like the sender is a supporter of stopping breast cancer.
Here's the back. Puppy and kitten stickers!
And inside...
Good old American porn.
I have done similar things with obnoxious mailings from credit card companies, except normally I just take the stuff out of one credit card application and switch it with the stuff from another. This was genius.
And it was real porn. I just arranged the pages so the really good stuff was face down. And I did not get excited by the content. I just had to go pee right afterwards.
Fuck1ng Pa$$word
At my previous place of employment, our credit card system required you to change your password every three months. Because I only accessed my credit card program once a month, it seem like I was changing it all the time. This made me very angry every time I had to think of a new password. Because I was accessing the program so infrequently, I would have to write the password down. So every third time I would cross off the old password and write the new password down.
Button Weed follow up
It turns out that there really is something called Buttonweed: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Diodia
Button Weed
Call me a liar, but it's true... I don't smoke weed. It makes my hands feel big and my head thrums with every heartbeat. I just don't like it. I prefer a safer alternative, like alcohol. But I have some friends that like weed. This is a story about one time when my friend smoked button weed.
We had gone to Cleveland to visit friends. While there at my buddy's apartment, a few of his friends popped by. We were getting ready to head out to a concert/bar, when one of the chicks asked if anyone wanted to smoke some weed. A few did, so they stepped out back.
When they were done, we headed out to the show and then to a bar. All throughout the night, my stoned friend said nothing. He was really, really stoned. Once we were finally at the bar, I asked him when he was going to start speaking again. He said as soon as he remembered what vowels were. The next morning we questioned him as to why he was so stoned. He said that he didn't know and that it must have been the button weed.
I don't know about you, but I am not wise to the different kinds of weed out there. I know you can roll it or smoke it out of a pipe, but that's the extent of my knowledge. When he said "button weed" I assumed it was some type of potent, compressed weed that was in the shape of a button. A fabricated, easy to use portion that you might drop in a pipe or bong. An easy size to sell and transport. (This is starting to sound like a commercial.)
For the past two years, at times when people started talking about weed, I would bring up my friend and his experience with button weed. For some reason, button weed must be a Cleveland thing because no one had heard of it.
Last week found us back up in Cleveland for a less exciting trip. But the story about my friend being stoned came up again and the phrase button weed was mentioned. I remarked that the button weed must be a very regional drug because no one else had heard of it. My friends looked at me as if I was crazy. I explained what I thought button weed was... little, potent, button sized, compressed.
My friends laughed and laughed.
As it turns out, button weed was not used to describe what the weed was but rather what the girl kept it in: the little plastic bag that extra jacket buttons come in. She kept her weed in that bag and there were still some buttons in it with the weed. Button weed.
I'm an idiot.
We had gone to Cleveland to visit friends. While there at my buddy's apartment, a few of his friends popped by. We were getting ready to head out to a concert/bar, when one of the chicks asked if anyone wanted to smoke some weed. A few did, so they stepped out back.
When they were done, we headed out to the show and then to a bar. All throughout the night, my stoned friend said nothing. He was really, really stoned. Once we were finally at the bar, I asked him when he was going to start speaking again. He said as soon as he remembered what vowels were. The next morning we questioned him as to why he was so stoned. He said that he didn't know and that it must have been the button weed.
I don't know about you, but I am not wise to the different kinds of weed out there. I know you can roll it or smoke it out of a pipe, but that's the extent of my knowledge. When he said "button weed" I assumed it was some type of potent, compressed weed that was in the shape of a button. A fabricated, easy to use portion that you might drop in a pipe or bong. An easy size to sell and transport. (This is starting to sound like a commercial.)
For the past two years, at times when people started talking about weed, I would bring up my friend and his experience with button weed. For some reason, button weed must be a Cleveland thing because no one had heard of it.
Last week found us back up in Cleveland for a less exciting trip. But the story about my friend being stoned came up again and the phrase button weed was mentioned. I remarked that the button weed must be a very regional drug because no one else had heard of it. My friends looked at me as if I was crazy. I explained what I thought button weed was... little, potent, button sized, compressed.
My friends laughed and laughed.
As it turns out, button weed was not used to describe what the weed was but rather what the girl kept it in: the little plastic bag that extra jacket buttons come in. She kept her weed in that bag and there were still some buttons in it with the weed. Button weed.
I'm an idiot.
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