My brilliant invention!

I have finally created the thing that will help me to retire! This is the most brilliant thing that has ever existed! My family for generations will never have to work again. Are you ready for this? I'm almost certain that you will crap yourself when you hear what my idea is. I know you will because I crapped myself when I thought of it. I know what you are thinking. You are probably thinking that this guy craps himself all the time, it probably isn't the special of an idea. Well you sir or madam are a jerk and you can just bugger off.

So here is the idea. It is a talking bathroom floor. See whenever you pee on it, it talks. It can be made to say nice things like "Oops! You missed buddy, why don't you grab some TP and just wipe it up, nobody has to know!" Or it could even be programmed to say mean things like "Seriously, again? What is the toilet bowl even there for? Here I am just laying here on the floor, like a good tile should do and you just come along and whiz on me. Nice. How 'bout I wait until you hit the sack tonight and come lay a drizzle on you?"

I'm serious. Every mother, sister, and wife in the world will want one of these. Imagine if you could guilt your man into cleaning up his ring around the bowl. Invest in bathroom cleaning supply companies, because this one is a real winner!

Judge's Orders

So a few friends of mine enjoy the larping scene. If you aren't familiar, larp is live action role playing. Basically, we dress up like some characters, and play out a game. Admittedly, I have been fascinated with the entire role playing game scene since high school. When I was introduced to larping I nearly quit my job and changed my religion.

At any rate, that has all come to an end. I was out today enjoying a pleasant larp (as I like to call it), and apparently I went a little overboard. You see, my character is a half-orc that hates bathing and only eats meat. Honestly, that isn't too far from my own personality. I hate vegatables, and I am not fond of my tiny vinyl curtained rain prison. I say let the animals eat vegatables, I'll eat the animals, and get my veggies that way.

Anyway, so we started off in this park. I was playing my merry way around, testing out a spell that was taught to me by this old wizard (a crusty old dude name Jericho, I think he's actually insurance salesman). He wasn't supposed to teach me, as it might anger his diety, but who's really paying attention. Anyway, the spell was called "Infinite Rage," and its purpose was to drive the caster into an insane and uncontrollable rage so that he could overpower all his enemies.

So anyway, a bunch of punk jocks tripped by the park to show their thuggish charm to us by screaming obscenities at us. I've always enjoyed that. There is nothing more fun than a 30 year old being chased screaming from a park while pretending to be a half-orc and crying. But that's neither here nor there.

No today's little diddy is about how I've been court ordered not to LARP any more, as well as not to go to the courthouse anymore. So as we were chased from the park we made our way to the closest, and most fun place to larp, the parking lot of the city court. They've got this little columned corrider filled with statues that feels like something out of a medeival fantasy novel, just perfect. Anyway, in typical orc fashion I started peeing on the statues, and rubbing meat on them (I was in character after all).

Unfortunately, this bastard judge wandered out into the hallway on his cellphone. For the first few minutes he leaned against a column and blathered on about how he needed to get an alignment in his cadillac. I'm not sure if I just got too close, or if I got a little pee on him (or maybe meat), but he suddenly dropped the phone, scanned the area to see what, as he put it we "little weirdo's" were doing. If I hadn't gotten pee on him yet, I certainly did then. Honestly his sudden engagement with us caught me off guard.

Almost immediately he screamed assualt, and a very prickly faced man (I know because it got dangerously close to my ear after he dropped me to the ground) in a guard uniform began accosting me. All I could think was, didn't this just happen? Crap. I hate big people. Anyway, moments later I was wisked away, with a few of my supportive friends (the others shed the parts of their clothes that made them look like participants and ran for the street. Little bastards. They are totally getting peed on next time) joined me in the court room.

I tried to explain exactly what was going on but the judge wasn't really getting it. He kept calling it larding. It sort of made me angry. All I could think was..."Hulk smash." Then it hit me. It was time for "Infinite Rage." So, like any great orc sorcerer, I cast it and subsequently began smashing chairs, tables, and anything I could get my hands on. I am certain I had hit the judge at least twice with the court recording device before I was tased.

Anyway, cut to the chase. Judge's Order: "You sir are not a half-orc. You are however a borderline retard. You will not LARD again. I hereby order you to lose the orc clothing in a dumpster bathed in fire, and to forget that you ever heard the words infinite rage. I also hereby order that you do not step foot in this building or on this lot again. Now get the hell out of my court room."

So, anyway I have commited myself to a LARD free life. In the end though it worked out in my favor. I got a traffic ticket in the center of town yesterday. The cop said he'd need to see me in court in the morning. I said, "oh...sorry can't go." He said you better go. Good thing I had the judge's orders in my glove box. When I showed them, all he did was shake his head and walk away. Good times.

e-Cigarette Fun

Boredom overtook me today. I went to my favorite dive, a little Mexican joint that gives me intense stomach pains at least twice a year but services the best salsa. They have this little patio there that is half-way in the restaurant, and half-way outside. As I walked up, I saw the "No Smoking" signs everywhere. Now I should start by saying that I don't smoke. I should also say that I don't like to be told what to do. So I did what any other self-respecting, completely insane, anti-establishment, red-blooded American would do.

I marched myself down to Walgreen's and bought myself some e-Cigarettes, and a pack of old fashioned Marlboro Reds. I went right back to the restaurant, and went straight to the the attendant, showed him the e-Cigarette (if you aren't familiar this is a little electric stick that puts out water vapor, but looks and feels like a cigarette, as a fair warning it tasks like plastic and old metal, but apparently will satisfy a nicotine craving, though I wouldn't know since I don't crave nicotine).

I said "Can I smoke this here?"

His reply was, "As long as it isn't a real cigarette it is fine."

Teehee. So, I grabbed a table, right at the edge of the patio and lit up a Marlboro. Immediately the dirty looks started in from this ancient little dwarf of a woman. She started in with the over-dramatize coughing, and rubbing her eyes as if poisonous chlorine gas had suddenly filled the air. Then she did a few of the "uggghumm" throat clearing gestures, and nodded her head to the no smoking signs. "Choke on a taco," I said in response.

Looking severely shocked, she waved for a waiter. That was my queue to hide the Marlboro and whip out the electronic version. I immediately put on a slightly disappointed face, and puffed away at my fake stick, eyeing the electronic red glow coming from the end of it. She whispered something unintelligible into the ear of the waiter. He looked at me, and pointed to the sign. I looked back and held up the "Smoke-Anywhere Brand e-Cigarette" package.

He smiled, turned to her and said loudly, "It isn't real ma'am. Its just water vapor. It helps people quit smoking."

She looked utterly shocked. She protested. She demanded that she smelled smoke. The waiter told her it was in her head, and proceeded to ignore her. Bam. Out with the Marlboro. I smoked it down, coughing as I went (seriously, I'm not a smoker). I put the cigarette out on the corner of her plate, and left. I love Mexican places.

Please Fasten Your Safety Belts

So I was running to the cockpit this morning (did I tell you I was a pilot?) and the oddest series of events occurred. Mind you, I'm not usually one of those "the oddest thing happened on the way to work" sort of guys. In this case though, I'm certain its worth telling. So anyway, I boarded the plane and headed right to the cockpit, not really paying any attention to what people were saying to me. I was reaching for the cockpit door when I realized something very important. I am not a pilot (probably why I never told you I was). As I turned to the flight attendant who was wielding a tray of under-cooked food like a weapon, I because painfully aware of this fact.

She managed to hit me hard enough to knock me off my feet. Honestly, I'm still tasting soggy carrots and old fish. Moments later I was flipped over, handcuffed (not with real handcuffs, but one of those plastic zip ties). I have to admit those air marshal guys are seriously getting cheap. Not that I don't appreciate the occasional slam to the ground and zip tie, but it just seems that if you are going to protect the life of 100+ passengers, you'd spring for something made of a slightly more durable material. I digress.

The real point was how I wound up in this very odd situation. You see, for the moment I was absolutely convinced that I belonged in that cockpit. It was only when reaching for the door and the incident with the tray ninja that righted my mind. Not 20 minutes earlier I had been enjoying a sandwich at a local Denny's. Seeing that it was Denny's the food seemed to shoot straight through me, sending me screaming toward the restroom at a pace that I can only describe as somewhere between dire and desperate.

As I approached the restroom at my seriously overclocked pace, and flung the door forward I felt resistance. By that I mean my body continued forward, and the door did not. I hit the door with some force. So much force in fact that all of my clothes flew off my body in quite a ridiculous fashion. Unfortunately, the same happened to a poor gentleman on the other side of the door.

Fortunately (or really most unfortunately as the day would show), a waitress happened by and found us lying nearly naked on the floor (I was spared the embarrassment of losing my clinging white personal privacy shield). Being thoroughly embarrassed herself, she ignored the signs of what clothes belonged to whom, and began dressing us. I wound up with a nice navy jacket, and pilots cap, while the other gent ended up with jeans and over-sized sweater with a giant picture of Beavis (of the Beavis and Butt-Head fame).

Had he been awake for any of this he might have pointed out the issue. I on the other hand, was very much awake, but very confused. I walked to the mirror to compose myself, looked, and had no idea why I was dressed like a pilot. I reached into my coat pocket and found a little note about the flight I was supposed to be captaining. Crap. It was only 18 minutes out. So, I did what any good pilot would do, I grabbed a beer at the bar, and ran like a maniac to the airport.

I dashed past security, beer in hand screaming all the way that I was certain I didn't remember how to fly, but I was damn sure not going to let that keep me from safely delivering my passengers to Canada. I'm almost completely positive that the airport security was following me after that. By almost certain I mean I didn't bother turning around (since I might lose precious minutes), but I did hear some shouts of things like "stop or we will shoot you" and "sir, we need to see your papers!"

I ran to the gate next. The flight attendant there didn't even give me a second look. Just looked at the cap, nodded, and smiled as I ran past. I barreled over a flight attendant as I crossed the threshold of the plane. I think she started to say "sir, can I see your boarding..."

"Blah, blah, blah. I'm the pilot, get out of my way stewie." (or maybe its "flightie" or "attendie" now that we are a more politically correct society).

Fast forward to the tray into face and voila. Suddenly, from behind a taser shot, an uncomfortable feeling all over my everything, a knee to the back, and the zip tie. I knew at that moment this dream of being a pilot was not a reality.

I turned and asked with something of a slur (mostly because half my face was pressed into the floor), "How did you know I wasn't a pilot?"

The air marshal raised an eyebrow, got real close to my face and said "No pants."

I knew I forgot something. I guess next time I should just slow down and pay attention. Needless to say I've been asked not to be a guest at the airport anymore.