"Americans used to say where there's a will, there's a way. Nowadays, it's where there's a pill, there's a way out." - - Burnt Toast
Showing posts with label stupid tuesday. Show all posts
Showing posts with label stupid tuesday. Show all posts

Tuesday!

What is that? Just another day right? A rather mundane day isn't it? Tucked right in there between Monday the Heinous and Wednesday the Hump. I bet Tuesday feels left out because of its relative insignificance. Even Thursday gets props every now and then because it is "almost Friday!"

Poor poor Tuesday.

Would you believe that Tuesday is named for Mars, the Roman god of war? At least in the Latin based languages it is. Martes is Spanish for Tuesday . From Old English (and I ain't talking about that shitty malt liquor) it is derived from Tiw's Day, or Tiwaz or Tyr, a god of war and law. Such a strange name for what is a relatively and generally benign day of the week.

This makes me want to spice Tuesday up a little bit. Let's make war on something!

I made mention of the company refrigerator a day or so ago and anyone who has worked in an office setting knows the horrors of the kitchen fridge. These convenient cooling apparatuses are useful for storing beverages (or brebages: a joke only three people understand), food products and the occasional needle of heroin insulin. These communal boxes oftentimes are turned into impromptu science experiments as more and more food, some half-eaten, some not touched for eons, gets piled upon and piled upon by more food and before you know it the thing is a very much living and breathing creature. I am sure living in our fridge is a yet to be discovered antibiotic to fight the latest strains of flesh eating bacteria.

I looked in our refrigerator the other day ignoring the rampant decay and miscellaneous swollen bags of indescribable goo to find this oddity. . .


What kind of a society do we live in where there is a market for pre-prepared peanut butter and jelly sandwiches? What disturbs me most is not the fact that we have become so lazy we can't even slap together two pieces of bread to make one of the most satisfying creations of all time, but that in some far away factory there is a giant, humming whirligig sawing the crusts off these sandwiches. Are we that lazy?

Do you understand how much time and effort was put into the development, testing and eventual production of this gastronomic monstrosity? The cost is probably in the tens of millions of dollars from start to finish in labor and time costs, development studies, blind taste panels, measurement, weighing, and calculation, packaging, recipe formulation and in the end, a multi-million dollar rotating and vibrating knife to remove the proper amount of crusts from this sandwich. I feel for the person who sits at the bar at night telling his friends all about his day of watching this thing operate.

Do yourselves a favor America. Get off your fucking ass and do it yourself. While some things may be good for the economy, buying this garbage is not one of them. And since this thing has been living in the refrigerator for months, I think I will take it home and shoot it with a gun. It most certainly deserves a quick death as does its original idea. Thanks Smucker's, you fuckers!

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Tuesday's Zen. . .

We must model ourselves on Bodhidharma, who kept sitting till his buttocks grew rotten. We must have done with all words and letters, and attain truth itself. - Shinkichi Takahashi

If enlightenment is sitting until buttocks rot off, then one has achieved nothing at the cost of one's dirty ass. - Burnt Toast

Pass the Charmin please.

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Tuesday's Zen. . .

"The day is coming when a single carrot, freshly observed, will set off a revolution." -- Paul Cézanne

Carrot anyone?

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Shoulda Brought My Swimtrunks. . .

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Tuesday's Zen. . .

My New Year's Resolution is. . .well honestly, I don't have one. And who cares really!

Maybe this year I will engage in more positive thinking. Like I'm positive that today will be terrible great, I mean. See, it's easy.

Normally on a Tuesday I'd be ranting about some world injustice, some infraction against my sensibilities that I find unacceptable, but from now on I will hate tolerate ignorance as I never would have before.

Take for example the City of Jackson, Mississippi. Once deemed the "Bold New City" now it can be called, "The Place Where You Don't Need a License to Operate a City Vehicle." Or, proudly we can proclaim that Jackson is "The Place Where We Spend $84,000 on Bus Tires that No One Can Find." Or the two I like most, "Jackson: We Have 29 Missing Police Cruisers! and Jackson: Free Gas?? Lemme Get My Fa-Shizzle!"

Ah Jackson. Once a fair city of diversity. Now, a bloody war zone run by crooks and criminals, saturated with cronyism, nepotism and irresponsibility. A bloody joke. The people that are running this city are getting what they deserve, in spades. You wanted it, now's it yours. Run with it. Or run it into the ground, whichever comes first.

On a happier note, let's all give a slap on the back and a kind word to Greasywrench, who today faces his own confrontation, with the city of Long Beach, California. Good luck buddy, I know you'll do well!

From today's Zen Calender:

"Meditation is not a means to an end. It is both the means and the end." - Krishnamurti

Uh. What?

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Stupid Tuesday. . .The Electronic Edition. . .

I made a vow some weeks ago to save all of my ranting and raving for Tuesday instead of on Monday. Well, guess what? It's fucking Tuesday. With a vengeance.

It all started this morning. I was sitting on the toilet at 4:30 a.m. pondering the great dilemmas of the world when a giant cockroach sped across the bathmat causing me to leave out in mid-stream, with my bits flapping about wildly as I hatched my escape. For reasons unknown, cockroaches gravitate towards me as do comets towards the sun, and this roach chased me right out of the bathroom.

Yes, I'm terrified of cockroaches. For some people, it's snakes. Others, heights. On ocassion, the number 13. For me, it's roaches. I'd rather be falling through the sky inside a bag full of snakes on Friday the 13th than be anywhere, at any time, near a roach.

So, I did what any big puss would do, I found a can of Raid, hunted that scurrying, diabolical creature down and gave him a face full of hurt. This apparently had no real effect initially, other than to piss the thing off, sending it into hyperspace as he zoomed around the bathroom, then into my bedroom. Not the greatest of situations, but at least I could finish my business as the nerve gas put a slow end to him under my bed. I'd reluctantly deal with the corpse later.

I returned to my throne only to see the cockroach come wheeling around the corner, zig-zagging his way across the floor again. Again, at me. Again, cornered, naked and freaking the hell out. He finally crashed into the wall, flipped over on his back skittering about in the throes of chemical-induced death. Die you diesased vermin die!! DIE!!!!

Ugh. Fucking cockroaches.

Then I get to work only to realize that the power supply to my laptop (and lifeline) has kicked the proverbial bucket and no longer does what it is designed to do, which is keep me happy.

Now in my great stroke of good fortune, I have, trapped inside of my notebook, countless useful items and modicums of knowledge that I need on a daily basis, like clandestinely photographed pictures of Beatrice's butt and an entire collection of I Can Has Cheezeburger kitty cat pictures. Shit.

And to top it all off, in an effort to salvage some actual work-related data during the waning nano-seconds of the battery life, I tried printing a multi-page document on my Ricoh Aficio SP C210sf Multi-Function Document Center, which is technical parlance for big ol' piece of shit. This piece of crap is nothing more than a noisy irritant that takes forever to warm up after a print cycle and makes so much noise while printing, that I once saw the machine described on an eletronics forum as "a box full of wild animals who are trying to get out".

The box of wild animals made it to about page 4 before a series of bleeps and blips occured, that are not like the other random beeping and blipping which occurs during the operation of this device. I checked the error message and it cryptically informed me to install the OPC belt.

Well, what in hades it that? And how the hell could the one I installed at receipt of the machine have disappeared?

After my research, I find out that new OPC belts on the free and open market are far from free. More like $500 worth of free. Hell, I could buy a whole new printer for that amount of money. And I could certainly find one that doesn't sound like a bucketfull of drunk monkeys when I simply want to print a picture of a Cheezeburger kitty.

Or Beatrice's butt.

Stupid Tuesdays.

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Hooray For Monday. . .

I'm turning over a new leaf here at The Toast.

On Monday's, instead of making my eyes bleed with rage about some miniscule injustice, I will begin to post happy items for your enjoyment.

So enjoy this and sit back to wait for Tuesday. I can't stand Tuesdays. . .

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