Me, talk about sports? How radical! And yet, the Olympics are sports like no other sport. Except the sports that are in the Olympics. Or something. Anyway, blah blah, let's discuss.

I think I said this two years ago, but hell, I'm nothing if not predictable. )
Well, ladies and gentlemen and other things that read this, it's another year divisible by four, and you know what that means: Februarys, now with 3.6% more Feb! Olympic thingamajiggers, now with a billion percent more China! But most of all it means an election year for We The People. And that means campaigning. And mudslinging. And baby kissing. And commercials. And ham. Well, maybe no ham. Shame, that.

There's a lot of talk about who's the right candidate for president. Democrats, Republicans, Independents... Hell, there's even a Nazi candidate out there. We haven't had a good Nazi in power in... well, forever, I suppose. There are no good Nazis. But that's beside the point. The real point is, everyone should stop wasting all this time and vote for me. Why, you might ask? What do I have to offer that makes me a better choice than any other candidate? I asked this question four years ago, but I was still underage to run. But now, my time has come. Join me, and we shall make this nation great once more!

This is where it goes south. And you know you want to come with me on this trip. Note also that no serious political discussion occurs here, so if you're looking for intellectual stimulation, hit the 'Page Down' button now. )
Instead of commenting on today's holiday of choice, I'm going to jabber about last night's Olympic programme.

Read more... )
Sometimes, work has poor form.

Imagine, if you will, an office. Any office will do. And, like most offices, it on occasion needs supplies, such that they might be acquired from a stockroom downstairs. Sometimes the stockroom can send up someone to bring stock to you; other times, it must be done from the office's end, which means sending someone downstairs with a cart, getting the supplies, and coming back upstairs.

I AM HANZ, AND THIS IS FRANZ, AND WE ARE HERE TO PUMP *clap* YOU UP! Usually, this "someone" is me, because I am a stunning example of manliness and testosterone just waiting to be exploited. And if you're laughing at that, then you would be correct in doing so. See this picture? This picture is totally not me. Nonetheless, I usually have nothing better to do, and a little walking and exercise does me well, so I go. Borrow mail cart, go downstairs, get some boxes, come back up, and voila.

So what happens when I'm not there?

The answer, I've discovered, is not "someone else does it". The answer is "we'll wait as long as it takes for him to get back and then make him do it and tell him to rush it for good measure."

Ooooooookay then. Fine, fine. I'll play your game, because I am such a swirling hunk of machismo that this does not faze me. Until I realize that it's still early and there are no mail carts available yet. Hmmmm. Even my incredibly ripped physique is not capable of carrying several full boxes of supplies up to the office. So I ask for someone to help out.

Let's just say that was one of the least positively-received questions I have ever asked, ever. Ever ever. Let's also say that despite that, I did acquire all the necessary materials, because my biggest muscle is not my twenty-five-inch quads, but rather the gray mushy stuff in my skull. It's all in the engineering, baby.

My only justification is that I'll be gone for two weeks after this, and I have a big box of chocolates on my desk and 12 14 17 21 bottles of booze that I most certainly am not sharing with anyone here. Mine! My preciouses!

The Meme Of Fours. Yes, I Am A Tool. Shut Up. )
Previously, I had been a tool (no surprise there) and opened the forum for The Random Rant Meme. Sixteen of you asked for rants on various topics. My rants are quick and dirty, much like me.

Rants below. With profanity. And stupidity. What more did you expect? )
This one involves real hard work. That's rough, but for you, my dear viewers and readers and haters and the jerks in Pod Six, I'll take the plunge. Special thanks to [livejournal.com profile] afterwards, from whom I took this.


The Random Rant Meme
1. Comment with any subject that you would like me to rant on, with possible (read: definite) swearing involved. Any subject - I don't even have to agree with it. (Shouldn't be too hard- I disagree with everything.)
2. Watch my journal for your rant. (I'm thinking Friday. Maybe Monday, if I get a lot.)
3. Post this in your own journal, so that you may rant for others.
I am not a sports fan. This is a given. Not everyone is cut out to follow intense media-generated rivalries between random assortments of people who represent a given geographical region that most likely is not even their own. Not everyone has the stamina to sit for hours in a stadium watching the classic rules-hindered battles between men and women. Not everyone thinks that $500 for Super Bowl tickets is a pretty good deal.

I am not everyone. My personal sport of choice would be ping-pong, but that's a narrative for another day.
Why? )
Aye, tis that most hellish of days, April 15th. On this day the IRS wreaks bloody havoc upon all the poor and innocent, draining them of their precious funds and taunting them with the mocking laughter of invulnerability.

Hates them we does, taxinses!

And so, several thousand dollars later, I plan on celebrating my newfound poverty with a drink. Oh Tanqueray, why art thou not a precious deductible?

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