Friday, October 31, 2008

That's funny...

I don't recall 'Night-Time Bimbo Barbie' being a popular costume for the girls when I was of trick-or-treating age...


I understand that Moms might tend to be a little bit more into dressing up to walk their kiddos around and/or hand out candies, but a... uh, 'perky', dolled up, high-heel, mini-skirt & sexy mesh hose wearin' Little Red Riding Hood?


It's ok. You've been married for awhile and had a few kiddos - great. If you need oil, deep exhalations and three friends to squeeeeeze you into your old cheerleading uniform, well, it just might be time to hang it up before you kill somebody with a explosively projected uniform patch. And tell your boobies to stop staring at me.

oh yeah

Your little pooch is precious in his/her little outfit... and pooping in my yard. Well, you do have a bag right there in your hands, right?

as well as

Kid, you're almost taller than I am. Time to hang it up, go to a party and hit on the girls, like everyone else your age. Think about it, you'll thank me later.

Thursday, October 30, 2008


A clip, by way of Theo.

Thaaat's gotta suck...

I like this clip for a number of reasons (besides the obvious).

Yes basically, the mortar is a pretty simple weapon... to fire. If you want accuracy with it, well that's another thing, but just getting it to go 'boom' is really pretty simple. Make sure the safeties are removed from the round, drop it in the tube, it falls to the bottom and hits the firing pin and - well, the rest just kind of comes naturally.


If you're the type to skip out on aiming stakes & sights and go by the tried and true 'spray and pray' method, well, you're probably also the type to take a pass on cleaning out the bore every now and then.

Mortar barrels have been known to get dirty, just like rifles and definitely not like that floozy showing off too much ankle three hovels down from your own.

When barrels get dirty, rounds can (will) get caught up in the tube. When rounds get caught up in the tube, I'd imagine that more likely than not they're not going to explode in the barrel (the explosion in the barrel comes from the propellants attached to the rear of the round), but all that pressure's got to go somewhere. (This is that same pressure that shoots the round up to the neighborhood of 3000 meters.) If the pressure can't go up, it'll go down and probably either find that faulty and/or loose firing pin or it'll definitely find that barrel failure that you didn't see upon inspection of your weapon. Dumbass.

The fact that the video existed to post up for posterity leads me to belive that the round didn't spew shrapnel all over the place turning the guys into meaty man-chunks (to include the camera man and his camera), but, Inshallah, the failure of the tube was enough to ensure that all in the immediate vicinity had a Very Bad (read: slow & terminal) Day. Further viewing of the clip shows the barrel failure (flash at the bottom), resulting in it getting some air time (lovin' it!), suggesting that the round was almost definitely stuck in the barrel and the ass end of the tube was hopefully embedded in the tender bits of nearby schmucks. If not the bits of the tube in the bits of the guys, I'm sure the sand bags, base plate, rocks and other assorted items were moving fast enough to make things interesting...

Tuesday, October 28, 2008

I got one of those letters the other day, letting me know that I was now eligible for a new phone.

Shoot, I'm still getting used to this last one.

I've had exactly four cell phones, kinda sorta. My first phone lasted about two months before going kaput, got it swapped out for another of the same model. I had that phone for about... forever, long enough that I don't remember exactly when I got it, just that it was sometime around '98 or '99. Still have it, and it still works. Looks good too, on account of there's the equivalent of about three years that it wasn't used, packed up in storage or at my folks' house while I was away on deployments.

Heh, I remember when I discovered that it had texting capabilities a couple of years back, when I got a wrong number 'booty text'.

ME: Sweet! Booty text!

ME: Holy crap, this thing has text!

CRICKETS: *sigh*

ME (typing): s-u-r-e... i... b-r-i-n-g... k-y... y-o-u... b-r-i-n-g... w-a-i-t... u-r-e... n-o-t...
a... d-u-d-e... ?

Never did get a response, guess it wasn't meant to be...

Anyways, I got a wild hair a couple of years back and got a new phone. One of those fancy ones, with a camera, music ringy thingies, games, and all kinds of stuff. That one lasted about a month before it disappeared.

So, after a short debate about just going back to old faithful, I wound up with another fancy new phone. This phone (the one I'm currently using) has most of the new stuff that comes with phones nowadays, but I realized the other day that about the only thing that I use it for besides calling (gasp!), is keeping a list of Stuff I Gotta Do.

I'm a big fan of lists.

Pretty sure this started in school, writing lists of everything, and it was something that carried over to the Corps. I have my own system, separating things that I have to do, stuff I have to buy, items of interest, and the like. With notes, you don't have to try to remember every little detail, just jot it down and there ya go. I used to have a bunch of note cards, and just grab one as the old one got all items crossed off, or disappeared.

I was always losing those darn things.

I was afraid to keep 'em in my wallet, because with my luck, I'd lose my wallet and all of my personal crap in it. Besides, I had a ton of cards, and if it was important enough to remember, it'd eventually make it back onto another list. That's not to say that it'd get done pronto, just that it had a better chance than before. I was likewise a little leery of putting my lists on a phone, but I figured I had that thing with me even more than my wallet, so mebbe I had a better chance of holding onto it.

As an example, one of those things recently was Find The Holster.

During the work-up to Iraq, I went out and bought my own high-speed low-drag Hollywood-sexy thigh holster. I knew that any crap we'd get issued would be just that -crap- and once I got the impression that higher wouldn't have too many objections to us getting our own stuff as long as it fit some regs, I went ahead and picked one up before they could change their minds. Naturally, as it turned out, there weren't enough m9s to go around, and once I issued them out to guys who needed 'em more than me, I read the writing on the wall and realized that I wasn't even going to get one (sad face), I gave one of my guys the holster to use in Iraq. He remembered to give it back at the end of the deployment, only somewhat worse for the wear, and that was about the last time I saw it, stuffing it down to the bottom of my seabag.

So, down in the garage in my storage space / pile o' military crap, there lies my old seabag. Standing it up and opening the flaps was a trip through memory lane. A faint whiff of stale man stanck, left over Iraqi dust, some uniform items that I doubt I'll ever fit into again, and assorted odds and ends. There was a nifty little map case with a bunch of pockets that I'd long ago forgot about, one of which included a list card. One side had a bunch of Marines' names and where they needed to go (medical, dental, admin, etc), schedules for issued gear turn in, flight schedules, and what looked suspiciously like a list of bars and strip clubs (ah, good times). Flipping it over, I looked at the other side to view my personal list of stuff to buy or do, and had a good chuckle.




Friday, October 24, 2008


via OLD NFO and Snigs.

Scribbling kind of fits, actually, when you think about my method of blogging. For the overwhelming majority of the time posts just kinda come to me at the keyboard and I bang 'em out as they pop up. My posts are occasionally a bit messy, tending to wander outside of the lines, but hopefully giving you somewhat of a picture of what's going on in my noggin'.

Now, over on the port side there are a whole buncha (technical phrase, 'buncha') good writers. I thought I might use this opportunity to call out a few new (to this blog) good ones. Consider each link as a representation of a violently self-administered headsmack for not linking them earlier.

Bob G.

M.& C. Byrne


The Captain

Still thinking 'bout the last one (hey, what do you expect from a blogger that takes the name of Murphy?).

Of course, the rules, originally from here.

  • Each Superior Scribbler must in turn pass The Award on to 5 most-deserving Bloggy Friends.
  • Each Superior Scribbler must link to the author & the name of the blog from whom he/she has received The Award.
  • Each Superior Scribbler must display The Award on his/her blog, and link to This Post, which explains The Award.
  • Each Blogger who wins The Superior Scribbler Award must visit this post and add his/her name to the Mr. Linky List. That way, we'll be able to keep up-to-date on everyone who receives This Prestigious Honor!
  • Each Superior Scribbler must post these rules on his/her blog.

Wednesday, October 22, 2008

My Almost Near (Sorta) Brush With SumDood

Something that happened a short while back in Murphyland...

*brrrring... brrrrring....*

Big City Emergency Services, what is your name?

Uh... Murphy. (I was expecting the 'PD, Fire, or EMS question'.)

Ok Sir, do you need Police, Fire, or EMS?


Police, ma'am.

Allrighty Sir, and what do you need to report tonight?

Gun shots down the street at what looks like... the Peaceful Meadows Apartments Complex, ma'am.

Another interesting evening, indeed.

Every city has areas that are... well, not the best. Generally, I make it a personal rule to avoid said areas, but on occasion you just can't because, well, they come to you, wherever you happen to be. Before I get too much further, I should mention that no, I wasn't in any immediate danger (hence me taking time to call 911), but gun shots is something that I heard somewhere that law enforcement types might be kind of interested in hearing about.

Conversation went fairly quick after that, I told the lady that there had been gun shots in the apartment complex down the street - no, I wasn't involved, just in the vicinity, minding my own business and - nope, didn't actually see Sumdood fighting or running about, shooting or afterwards, running away. I suppose I coulda offered to help look around, but she probably would've strongly discouraged that and besides, I hear that Sumdood's an elusive and sneaky li'l bugger. She confirmed stuff like safety, names (mine, the roads, and apartment complex) and locations (of same), and promised that the local PD would be along shortly. Po-po, ho!

About 30 seconds after hanging up and re-examining the area, I got an incoming call.

'Iiif you think I'm sexy, aaand you want my-'


(I really should change that ring tone...)

Yeah, I'm calling in regards to the shots fired report.
[male voice, PD radio and vehicle engine sounds in background]


Well, I'm en route to your location, and I want to know... where's the gun?

(I really didn't like the sound of this because the thought had occurred to me that technically, I was 'a man with a gun'. Hmm, how do I respond to the Officer... 'the one on my hip or the one that's been shoot-' no, that's like begging for additional rapid orifice creation, and I don't want any of that...)

No idea Sir, I'm just in the area, see and-

You sure it's not just you what been poppin' off a few rounds?

(What the Hell? Visions of some dispatcher fumble-fingering my name into the 'shooter' line instead of 'reporting party' whilst sucking down the last Dr Pepper flavored ice-cube (mmm, delicious) were definitely flying through my brain housing group right about then...)


Listen buddy, I know you always got a gun, and I-

It was about at this point where he lost control of his 'cop voice' and started to chuckle.


Yeah man *chortle* what's going on? I saw your name when the call dropped so I thought I'd give you a holler and see if'n you were ok and give you some shit... whassup, bro?

Dude... Ok, I admit it, you had me going there, but still, choke on a bacon-flavored donut, m'kay?


Cop buddies, sheesh.

Monday, October 20, 2008

I'm Starting To Like This Endless Political... Stuff

I just realized something.

The never-ending campaigning, stupid voter tricks, completely unbiased *cough* journalism has taken the usual impact off of something that I find increasingly annoying, year after year.

I have yet to hear any sort of cutsey shopping countdown untill 'Bah Humbug' Day.

That pleases me, very much.

Inter-Office Tactics, Techniques, and Procedures

This is probably what would happen on day #2 of any Typical Office Job held by Murphy. Probably a good reason why I don't work a Typical Office Job...

Wednesday, October 15, 2008


Best thing about this pic.... is wondering about the poor bastard is who got issued this guy's 'secondary' mask next...

I was reminded about the gas chamber, of all things, while I was at the reception this weekend.

Work with me here, this is just the way my noggin' works...

The very first thing you do when you get your mask is test it. Sure, it's been inspected... right-o, that's nice n' all, but I like to make sure. You do this by pulling it out from the mask carrier and place the mask up to your face. That's test no 1. No use going further if you have a size XXL mug and a XXS mask. Helps if you can actually see through the eye lenses, as well. Uh... if it's new (to you), might want to check for lingering CS fumes and/or puke (bonus).

Then you go about the process of pulling the restraining straps over to the back of your head (test no. b). Imagine the suckage if you were to get to the chamber with the requisite NBC instructor crazy-as-hell (from years of fumes), only to find that the straps rip as soon as you start messing around with 'em. Not Cool.

Next thing you do is what we call don and clear (test 'ee'). This is the part where you you check to make sure that you can empty the mask's interior should any fumes get on the inside. This is also very important because there's not even a question about it, in the chamber you will get gas on the inside of the mask.

One of the last things you do is, while the mask is on and apparently working properly, to bend over at the waist and shake yer head around like the big green weenie of doom was fast approaching and all you could do was to shake your head in anticipation. This is to simulate vigorous activity. Kind of depends on the instructor, but you usually get some sort of level of vigorous activity (PT, mosh pit, beat down, etc) in the chamber, so making sure that your mask is adjusted well is also one of life's Important Things.

Now, what does this have to do with wedding receptions, you ask?

It's a pretty good example of advanced preparation for a known future event.


Ladies, when it comes time to plan for a wedding and more importantly (duh) your outfit, it might be a wise course of action to, you know, throw on that dress once before wearing it (out in public). Mebbe even move around a bit, in the comfort of your own place, or something. Ill fitting dresses just might result in frequent adjustments that look alot like you're feeling yourself up on the dance floor / buffet table / dinner table / outer hall / bar / etc. It's always a nice 'touch' if your girlfriend is aware enough to cover your assets when they unexpectedly try to come out to say 'hi' just as ole Murphy's walking through the door.


I didn't know whether to look for a beer or a lap dance...

Not that I mind, of course, and I'm pretty sure that it didn't bother Gramps one bit, but we deserve some sort of warning for that kinda of thing, you know? Heck, we have significant others that are just waiting to kick everybodys ass when the inevitable happens. Take a wild guess on whos ass is gonna be first in line for the ass-kickin'... Sheesh!

Oh, and to the classy lady that decided to do the limbo... in what looked like a wide belt of all things.... facing the tables...


Friday, October 10, 2008

Do I Get Danger Pay For This?

Yup, going to a wedding.

Unfortunately, the above pic was nixed as a potential wedding gift. Thought it was kind of funny, myself...

My last opportunity of squirming out of going was likewise nixed by the doc's verdict today. Been feeling kind of 'bleh' the past few days, I was kind of pulling for strep, but alas, the ole crusher-of-hopes informed me that it was the end stages of the crud that's been going around pretty much everybody this time of year. He gave me some meds and the all clear for travel.


No, I'm not (completely) serious about the above. There are in fact a few things that a regular guy like myself can get into when it comes to weddings. As a single guy, it's an excellent place to take a date. Seeing extended family you haven't seen in awhile is always good, meeting new family is cool, too. Free food is great. Free drink is even better, when it comes to seeing folks that can't handle their alcohol... trying to handle their alcohol (there's always one).

Kind of got me thinking about some good advice I learned in my earlier days, re: weddings.

Whether or not there's an invite for my namesake, it's a good bet he's gonna show up at some point in the festivities.

'Country' can be an interesting theme for a wedding.

'Police response' is almost always not a good theme for a wedding.

If you're single, might want to think about taking a date. If you don't have a date and you're wearing the Blues, you'll find a date at the wedding. Hopefully, she's not married...

Leave no keg behind.

Just because your marching orders from the bride the evening before included not allowing the groom to get sloppy drunk didn't mean that you had a free pass. Now you have a hangover. Here's a straw, suck it up.

Good luck sentiments from strippers is ok; good luck sentiments from strippers written with permanent marker all over the groom's face and body is not.

When it comes time for the sword arch and the 'Welcome to the Corps' pat on the ass (for the bride- heck, for the groom too, if they're into that kind of thing...) might want to establish if the brides tail bone is fully healed from that car accident awhile back...

Thursday, October 9, 2008

That's Gotta Suck

Stove Shoots Woman, Story At 11.

Hmm, I knew that me and stoves are a dangerous combination...

I've even heard of attack journalism before, but I think this is getting out of hand. Whod've thought that you can now also think of newspapers as a deadly (eek!) weapon? Hopefully, this incident will lead to studies, resolutions, safety measures, and laws for 'common sense' journalism.

Doing The Mostest With The Leastest

By the time grunts actually get set free to go out looking for that which needs blowin' up and those that need blowin' away, they are the friggin' Yodas of Adapt & Improvise. This is due to a traumatically ingrained memory of having next to nuthin', throughout most (if not all) training.

'Butta-Butta Jam, anyone?'

The inevitable result of this are a near constant tendency to use items for other than their originally intended use. Some of the more well known items might be things like;

crazy string as a trip-wire detector.

entrenching tools used as ass-props whilst 'dropping bombs'.

zip-ties for damn near everything.

skivvy-shirt sleeves as emergency t.p.

remote-control trucks as a c4 delivery devices.

flash-bangs for wayward local national drivers.

shelter-halves used for Hummer tires' traction in mud (good times).

vacant mortar base-plate holes as recliners and as personal *ahem* 'drop zones'.

MRE shells as barf bags, wound covers, and storage bags.

Of course, nearly all of the above can, has been, and will be used for practical jokes of one sort or the other, but that's like noting that the sun is bright or the sky is blue. With the short above list in mind, a pic.

Neat lookin' (actual technical phrase) aircraft abandoned outside Camp Cupcake.

Anyone venture to guess what the above was used for, during my time?

1) Source for spare parts and as a training aid for the '04 Iraqi Air Force.

2) Reference point when travelling through the Area of Operations.

3) Prime real estate for a morning constitutional.

You get three guesses, and the first two don't count.

Wednesday, October 8, 2008

Humps, Tender Tootsies, and Comfort Is King

I've tried to explain my love/hate/hate relationships with humps to some friends and family, with varying success.

'What's the big deal?', some think, 'it's just walking around with a pack... kinda like hiking, or something'.

Or something...

I try to explain it by suggesting they find someone roughly 1/2 of their own body weight. Have that person hop on your back, or boost them up so they can kneel on your shoulders. They are now your pack. Have them hang so that they inflict maximum pain and discontent on your lower back, upper back, baby got back, neck, everywhere else, and generally make life as miserable as possible. Go out and find some hills - now 'hike' for say, 10 miles. For added fun, break out into a run every once in a while. Bonus points for having your friend talk trash about how fat and nasty you are throughout the hump- er, sorry - 'hike'.

That's more-or-less the level of fun in boot camp. In your unit, it gets even more fun, due to the added weight from ammo (rifle and mortar), crew-served weapons components, bodily dragging the snivelers, etc.

Early on in my Corps life, humps weren't too bad. As I both aged and gained a bit of rank, I found that they sucked more, but I still didn't have any issues keeping up (physically, that is. Mentally, sometimes I felt like a whiny little turd). Even when I was away from the guys so as to attend a school/class (and therefore missing some of the shorter humps in the interim), when I would rejoin the unit, well, it sucked quite a bit but I still got through it. Getting notice that one memorable welcome back to the platoon involved SAPI plates and full combat load in addition to the regular gear was a bit of a gut check, I admit...

One thing that always helped me out was foot care.

This is a pretty big deal in training, and even more so deployed. As a Pfc, I would take note of boot brands that worked, and those that didn't. Foot powder always. I would always pack additional pairs of clean socks and change socks every time that an opportunity presented itself. I would roll the tops of my boot socks, as to avoid them slipping down and bunching up in the boots (don't care how it looks, if it's comfy and works, I'll do it).

Might want to make a note of that last sentence...

Another thing about picking up rank, is the fact that it's just a given that you take care of your Marines. Like I've mentioned before, while mission accomplishment is always first, troop welfare is always a close second. During breaks (both for rest and of bodies), the Corpsmen, many of the Staff NCOs, and Officers are all constantly on their feet, checking on their Marines. This pretty much mandated to me that as a Sergeant, I would also be on my feet, from start to finish of the hump. Every hump. There was always canteens to fill, feet to inspect, and stragglers to be threatened (with the infamous 'silver-bullet') during the breaks, so there was progressively less and less time to take care of my own footsies. Take a wild guess as to what started next...

I started getting some nasty foot issues.

Never really had any problems with blisters before I picked up Corporal, but afterwards -man!- I started getting some doozies. We're talking blisters that leaked (not dripped) when I couldn't take it anymore and popped 'em, blood-filled blisters that covered a fist-sized space on the bottoms of (both) my feet, and boots that eventually conformed to the shape of my blistered feet to the point where I couldn't even wear flip-flops to the shower, I had to put back on those stanky-assed boots.

Good training, huh.

After one particularly hellacious hump, I had some extra time to spend with Lovely. Upon seeing me hobble through the front door, she suggested some treatment for my tender tootsies. I gingerly took off my boots, peeled off my what-was-shortly-before-new, clean-socks, and whistled. My feet were... grody.

A brief word, re: my Lovely.

Lovely Love has a foot fetish like you wouldn't believe.

Hold on, that didn't sound right...

My Love looooves her some foot massages. Loves 'em. If you offered her a choice between a foot rub and chocolate-covered strawberries dipped in wine, sprinkled with crack and served on a tight-bodied cabana boy named Raul (¡Ole!), -let's be honest, here- she might think about it, but she'd choose the foot rub, every time.

If 'Raul' ever figured out how to do foot rubs, I'm totally screwed...

Lovely has all kinds of foot-oriented stuff. Lotions, oils, comfy footwear, foot-care tools, nail paints, the list o' crap goes on about as long as everything else does re: the ladies. Allow me a moment to grab some sack and thank every deity known and imagined for making me a dude... Ok, good.

One look at what passed for my feet convinced her that this was a moment for her portable Orgasmo-Ped 3000. This contraption was a sort of small tub that you filled with water, plugged in and apparently were immediately whisked off to the heights of... somewhere. The fact that she allowed me to use her nearly-most prized possession should indicate either that she really loved me or that she still had her uses for me - possibly even both.

So I sat down on the couch and stuck my feet in the thing. She filled it with hot water, flipped the switch, and I watched as the water started... buzzing(?) bubbling (?). The ridges on the bottom felt ok, I guess. It was relaxing, but I couldn't help but feel kind of guilty at the fact that apparently it didn't do nearly as much for me as it did for her.

Eventually, she got up and went to go grab some towels for when my feet were done. When she placed the towels on the armrests, she asked if perhaps I wanted a sandwich or something.

I love this woman.

We continued our conversation while she made herself busy in the kitchen and I dried and inspected my feet. Looked kinda shriveled, felt a bit better than before, probably just needed some additional airing out and they'd be fine. I shuffled over to the kitchen to wash my hands and for some strange reason she started to laugh at me!

See, as I was sitting on the couch, just after I finished drying off my feet, I noticed a pair of old slippers.

They were comfy. I wore them. The thought process was completely natural to me.

The fact that they were a pretty yellow color and had little duckies on them had no significance to me.

They were comfy.

Saturday, October 4, 2008

Got Zen?

"I started target shooting several years ago, because I wanted to learn more about my work. Now, I find it relaxing. You have to be so mindful of safety when your shooting, it concentrates the mind wonderfully. In the far East, some Zen practitioners use archery, I use a little Browning 22."

Can I get an Amen... for Zen? (Ha!)


It's funny, the whole zen as shooting concept, but something that I (try not to) think I understand...

Friday, October 3, 2008

Linky Love?

After logging onto Sitemeter, a quick impression of Keanu: "Whoa!"

Who linked to me back on the 29th? With that amount of traffic, you'd think that I'd have posted hot, freaky nekkid pics of me and Salma Hayek, or something.

Don't worry Salmita, those pics are safe with me...

edit: I suppose thanks are in order to my still-anonymous Stumble-buddy. Funny, I can't seem to find the page from their site, but the site-meter traffic suggests that someone got a kick out of this post.

If I Ruled The World...

I had a thought, recently.

Don't act too surprised, reader(s), they happen on occasion.

What we really need, when it comes to politics, politicians, and most people in general, is something like this.

Work with me here...

I propose that any time a politician lies, fudges the facts, makes dumb remarks, distorts figures, avoids the question etc etc ad friggin' nauseum, he, she, and/or it should get a good n' solid jolt - you know, to help them get back on track. They're always all miked up anyways, adding a coupla extra wires wouldn't be terribly complicated, and I'm sure there'd be plenty of volunteers to help with the equipment and administration.

Just imagine,

"Ah did not have sex with- *crrackcrrackcrrackcrrack!* ...Ungh!"

For more current events, I think it might be a good idea to institute a 'Zap List', or that is to say a list of words, suggestions, or situations in which the Taser of Doom would be wielded with gleeful abandon. I propose the following;

Any mention of;


Universal... anything.

Bail out.

"The One".

Any time;

Senator Biden opens his mouth (preemptive measure).

A musician, actor, or TV hosts spews their views ($$$, fake boobies, and inflated ego are no protection from my Taser of Doom...).

A politician answers a yes or no question with anything other than... wait for it... 'Yes' or 'No' (Friggin' amazing concept, that one...).

A politician opens his cake hole without sufficient knowledge of the question (Muahahaha....)

A politician makes dumb jokes (bombing other nations, shooting at other candidates, corner stores with funny accented folk, etc).

Any news updates showing (jolt for the news 'journalists' and all hands in the clip);

Whenever Obama fans cry and/or show their 'O face'.

Creepy Obama's-gonna-save-the-world music.

Fashion critiques on friggin' shoes. Shoes.

To be fair, I might consider credit on future taser avoidance as a result of someone being honest for once [chuckle]. Hell I'd declare a temporary (3o minutes, say) moratorium for anyone that might actually say, 'You know, I don't know, but I'll find out'.

Thoughts or suggestions are nice, but 'tase yourself' probably won't be taken into consideration...

I Just Killed The Internet...


False alarm, folks. Also, I just figured out this whole 'screen shot' thing, so yay me. I tell ya, every day on the 'net is an adventure when you have the computeristical saavy like I do.

[no ninjas or googles were harmed in the creation of this blog post]