KHAAANNN!

I mean PAAARRRKERRR!

Poetry night in Azeroth

I had a little time on my hands during the RP event on Steamwheedle Cartel tonight, so I amused myself by making up dirty limericks. It's okay. I stayed in character.

I once knew a lass from Un'goro
Who was such an incredible whore-oh,
I went there every night
For her nethers so tight
'till she finally put me on /ignore-oh.

Thank you, I'll be here all week.

I took a picture of my wang.

Sometimes I'm so mature it just hurts.

Dell called me today.

DELL GUY:	Our records show that you bought a computer from us about a year ago.
TACO:	Yep.
DELL GUY:	Have you been happy with the machine?
TACO:	The machine, yes. Dell, no.
DELL GUY:	I'm sorry, why not?
TACO:	The machine has died twice due to a driver issue. There's no info on Dell's site about it, so I had to google for a solution. It wasn't hard to find info. The problem's apparently pretty widespread, and updated drivers have been available for more than a year, but Dell doesn't want to acknowledge the issue.
DELL GUY:	I'm sorry.
TACO:	Also, your finanicial services division harassed my wife so much about extra services, coverage, and insurance that she's vowed that we'll never buy another Dell no matter how cheap they are. We had to contact the Better Business Bureau to get you to leave us alone.
DELL GUY:	I'm sorry to hear that. So, would you like to renew your service agreement? As you know, that's a high end PC, and it can be expensive to repair. Unless you renew, you'll lose access to our coverage and our technical support.
TACO:	Didn't you hear me? Your support department pretends problems don't exist, and my wife will leave me if I give you more money.
DELL GUY:	Well, I, uh... I guess to save your marriage...

I hate it when nobody takes the bait.

Wifezilla called me today and asked me to stop by the grocery store on my way home. Target's right on my way, so I popped in and bought a couple of sodas, a case of beer, and the makings for Wifezilla's Awesome Nachos (TM).

As I was checking out, the cashier asked me if I was throwing a party. I told her, "No, it's my wife's birthday. Can I get a gift receipt?"

She didn't say a word, just printed a gift receipt out for me.

I gave it to Wifezilla when I got home. She asked me what it was for. I told her that if the jalapenos didn't fit she could return them.

Boobhism

A friend of mine was quite concerned over the fact that I no longer affiliate myself with any church. So to allay her fears regarding my immortal soul, I have founded the Boobhist church.

You may properly address me as The Boobha.

I'm told that a faith must have commandments. We really only have one:

1. I am the Boob thy Gland, which brought you out of Puberty. Thou shalt handle no organ before me.

For those of you who feel that you need some sort of creed to recite, I offer the following:

Your Boobs
Which art in thy sweater:
Handled be thy state.
Thy date be fun,
Thy bra undone,
But be back home by eleven.
Cop us this day
Our daily feel.
And forgive us our lame passes,
As we would totally forgive those who made lame passes against us.
But deliver us from celibacy.

Just wait until you see the communion ritual.

I'm even weird when I'm asleep.

Yeah, so I had a dream about my friend fett last night. That's right. Lowercase f. He's all e. e. cummings old school, bitches.

So in my dream, I was living in Clemson again, and fett dropped by to visit me since he had finished up his Ph.D. It turned out that he had been working on his advanced degree in piracy lo, these many years. He was on his way out of town to hit the brine, having bought a boat and everything.

The boat was awesome. It folded up all tiny for road travel, and then expanded out to a full sized monster when he needed it for booty on the high seas. It was like a grown up transformer.

Heh. "Booty."

So fett and I said our tearful good-byes, and then he left. And then we noticed that he had stolen my cell phone, along with my wife's, my sister's, and my father's.

The dream ended as my wife asked me who he was, and I told her, "The best god damn pirate you'll ever see."

I swear to God.

Who is that glorious bastard?

Taco is the farthest planet from the Sun (usually) and is by far the smallest.

orbit: 5,913,520,000 km (39.5 AU) from the Sun (average)
diameter: 9.144e-4 km
mass: 92.98 kg

In Roman mythology, Taco (Greek: Javacus Programicles) is one of the lesser gods, the patron of the cubicle. Our celestial friend probably received this name because he is so far from the sun that he rarely encounters other people.

Taco was discovered in 1974 by a fortunate accident. Calculations which later turned out to be in error had predicted a planet beyond Pluto, based on the motions of Uranus, Neptune, and Pluto. Not knowing of the error, Leon van Guggenheim at Chimerical Observatory in Wyoming did a careful sky survey which turned up Taco anyway.

After the discovery of Taco, it was quickly determined that he was too small to account for the discrepancies in the orbits of the other planets. The search for Planet XI continued but nothing was found. Nor is it likely that it ever will be: the discrepancies vanish if one accounts for the mass of all the McFarlane figures and soda cans on his desk (determined from the Voyager 2 encounter with his office furniture). There is no eleventh planet.

Taco is the only planet that has not been visited by a spacecraft. Even the Hubble Telescope can only resolve the largest features of his surface.

There are some who think that Taco would be better classified as a small asteroid or comet than a planet. Some consider him to be the weirdest-looking of the Kuiper Belt objects (also known as Trans-Neptunian Objects). There is considerable merit to the latter position, but historically, Taco has been classified as a planet, and he is likely to remain so.

Taco's orbit is highly eccentric. At times he is closer to the vending machine than his computer (as he was from noon to one o'clock).

The surface temperature on Taco varies between about 36 and 38 C (309 to 311 K). The warmer regions generally correspond to areas that appear to be plaid flannel in optical wavelengths.

Taco's composition is unknown, but his density indicates that he is probably a mixture of about 70% bullshit and 30% pizza. The bright areas of the surface seem to be covered with a heavyweight 50-50 cotton blend and smaller amounts of flannel, polyester, and mustard stains. The composition of the darker areas of Taco's surface is unknown, but may be due to primordial organic material or photochemical reactions driven by cosmic rays.

Taco can be seen with an amateur telescope, but it is not easy. There are several web sites that show the current position of Taco (and other planets) in the night sky, but much more detailed charts and careful observations over several months will be required to actually find him.

And trust us on this last bit: when you do find him, it's pretty anticlimactic.

Five Things

I really dig on Merlin's Lists of 5 Things and Coyote's recent listage has gotten me back in the mood for lovin'listin'. So I'm shamelessly copying the sexy fucker:

Five Things I Wish I'd Done But Didn't:

1. Embarrassed the guy who couldn't flush.
   

   At my old office, there was a guy on our floor who apparently suffered from some kind of congenital defect which prevented him from flushing. Every couple days you'd find a loosely coiled surprise, bobbing gently as it waited for you.
   

   It was like I always imagined Christmas would be if you were the kid who lit puppies on fire.
   

   I actually caught the fucker leaving the bathroom after packaging up his daily gift one day, and was sorely tempted to follow him all the way back to his office, and then stop him in his lobby, and loudly tell him, "Hey man... I saw that thing you left in the toilet... no, no, no... don't worry about it, I flushed it for you, man. But seriously... I'm concerned about your diet."
   

   Dear 2006 Taco: sometimes it's all about commitment to the bit. Keep your eye on the ball and follow through.
   
   

2. Bought the Torino.
   

   When my first car started to nickel and dime me to death, I donated it to charity and started shopping for a new ride. I found an old Gran Torino with a rebuilt engine being sold for a song and dance.
   

   Like any good nerd, I immediately had mental images of riding that awesome chunk of steel around town while blaring "Ride of the Valkyries" and "Dogs of War."
   

   In the end, I did the "responsible" thing and bought a sedan from Saturn.
   

   Dear 1999 Taco: I'm not talking to you.
   
   

3. Stayed enrolled in that fiction class.
   

   Despite the prerequisites listed in the course catalog, I did not have the background necessary to keep up with the class, and I didn't really feel like my writing was up to the level of the rest of the class. I really enjoyed the material though, so I hit the professor during his office hours to find out what I needed to do, and he gave me a reading list.
   

   The list was quite extensive, and I was starting up on that hellish semester every discipline has. You know the one: that couple of months where they try their damnedest to make you give up and change over to a degree in leisure skills.
   

   So I dropped myself from the class. I continued to attend, and I did all the background reading in my spare time, but I didn't turn in any assignments or take any tests, since I wasn't getting a grade. The professor was pissed, since I was the only one in the class actually interested in the material.
   

   Dear 1997 Taco: Your idealism is cute, but you probably wouldn't be struggling so hard to finish a damn short story 10 years later if you'd gotten some supervised practice in class.
   
   

4. Puked on the nurse's shoes.
   

   I caught a hellacious stomach virus one year. I've never been so sick. My supposed girlfriend at the time left me in a field to rot when she got tired of dealing with me, and a stranger took me to the urgent care place.
   

   We got to the urgent care place at 9:45am, but they didn't open until 10:00. One of the nurses was standing outside windexing the front door. I told her I was really sick and needed to vomit, and asked if I could go inside to use their facilities, but she wouldn't let me.
   

   That old familiar feeling reasserted itself right then, and for a moment I considered letting fly on her white orthopedic shoes, but instead, I filled the bushes by the sidewalk with chunky bile.
   

   Dear 1995 Taco: Bitch had it coming. Consider yourself Karma's agent (you'll think that's funny in 2005, I promise). Also, dude, seriously. Dump the bitch.
   
   

5. Carolyn.
   

   She was pretty, smart, and the guitarist for a band. I was convinced I was too big a nerd, and concerned over the delta of her awesomeness to mine, so I didn't pursue it when I should have.
   

   Dear 1993 Taco: when girls show you their piercings and insist on baking you birthday cakes, they're into you. Get your head out of your ass and say yes.
   
   
   

The Zen of Potty Humor

I'm a complex individual. Yin and yang. And wang.

When I was twelve, my classroom was in a mobile home. Not one of those fancy schmancy trailers kids get these days when their schools are overcrowded. An actual mobile home they rolled up onto the playground.

You didn't leave the classroom to go to the bathroom. You went into the little bathroom closet. The door was right there in the classroom. The whole class could hear when you flushed. And that pretty little blonde chick, Amy, sat right in front of the door.

I was so embarrassed that she'd hear me taking a piss that I always flushed and then immediately let fly while the toilet's gurgle drowned out the cheek-reddening sounds of my micturation. I mastered the art of silently pissing into the side of the bowl if I outlasted the flush.

It's a habit that's stuck with me. That was twenty years ago, and if I'm not paying attention, I still flush-piss automatically. Funny how that stuff works.

And yet, despite my outrageous urinary bashfulness, today, when it took our industrial strength office toilet three flushes to clear the damage I'd done to it, I felt an immense pride.

My new goal is four flushes.

Yin and yang, baby. And wang.