A posting for no reason

Last night I told a guildie I'd post something. This is it.

I don't have to go to the farm today. Which is cool, 'cause I was hoping we'd be finished moving grain by now, but we aren't. But it's still cool that I don't have to go to the farm today, because that means I can fuck off on my computer, except I can't, because Frontier Internet has been crashing every 10 minutes or so. I was afraid that the crash was something within my system, either the computer, the router, or the lines, but Frontier says that it is not.

But I don't have to go to the farm. Which is good, because I couldn't find my phone this morning, and I was looking around my room, across my desk, across my massive night stand, down the wall-side of my bed, in yesterdays pants, etc. My mom comes in, asks what I'm doing, I say, "I'm looking for my phone."

She says, "Is it in your pocket?"

This pisses me off, because it's a retarded question. Doubly so because the phone is in my pocket. Doubly-doubly so because my dad, the fuckhead, told her I found it in my pocket.


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My cousins in southeast Idaho went bow hunting for turkey last weekend. Saw nothing, heard nothing. I sent them this photo to make them feel better:

Attachment 7428

That photo was snapped less than two weeks ago, on October 3rd, and the turkeys are walking about 12 feet from my front door.

Speaking of photos, I snapped this out in redneck heaven the other day.

Attachment 7429

I think it's an unfortunate name for a brand of tires, but I could be wrong, maybe you could really rock a pair of tires with "KUMHO" written in white highlights.


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The fishermen are out in force on the Clearwater and Snake rivers. All the motel rooms are taken in my little town, and most of the campsites are taken, too. I don't see how a steelhead or a salmon survive this gauntlet.

The Dworshak Fish Hatchery in Ahsaka (a few miles from my house) has been changing the way it handles returning fish: They are actually harvesting the milt and the eggs from the returning steelhead in a way that doesn't kill the fish, then putting the steelhead (still alive) in a cooling tank and allowing them to rest for a day or so before bundling them into dark tankers and taking them back to the ocean. Believe it or not, there are workers within the steelhead hatchery business who are trained experts at jacking off male steelhead trout (the females just get an airgun up the eggchute.) Of course, they don't call it 'jacking off the fish', but the method does involve 'calming' the steelhead, which starts with a gentle electrocution and some touching, and then the applying of appropriate 'squeezing' techniques, and ... I'm sorry, but all of this politically correct redefining of job titles (like 'sanitation worker' and 'administrative assistant') does not change the fact that you are jerking a fish.

Anyway, the steelhead wake up from this dream and spend another few years doodling around in the ocean before heading up to spawn again. Somehow, this appeals to my anthropomorphization of fish, the idea that this steelhead sets out on an epic 300 mile journey to have hot sex, got captured by some ... fetish machine (run by aliens in protective masks and rubber suits) and then wakes up back in the ocean where he is ridiculed for trying to explain to his bros what happened to him. It's a beautiful mirror to all of the alien abduction butt-probe stories. I would love to be part of a steelhead 'Believer's Group', that get together at the bottom of Puget Sound to eat plankton and talk about what happened to them.

"I remember all these lights... And someone touching me. Then my brain exploded."


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Tom, my old workmate, sent me a video of Ted, the new IT director from the university where I worked, having a very difficult morning. The new director is not a 'new' person to the department - he's been there more than 20 years, I worked for him for more than 5 years, and Ted just worked his way up through the system, finally being promoted to the top job. He's seriously good friends with all of us, we're pleased he got the posting.

But he has this expensive Herman Miller Aeron office chair that he's proud of. It's an older, original American Made Aeron, and he can be such a princess about this chair. And this chair has a small space between the daedalean tilt mechanism and the bottom of the seat, and Tom chopped an onion into a paper bowl and put it in this space, along with a hidden GoPro in the director's bookshelf, and left it all overnight. And the video from the next morning is hysterical (especially when the director of finance comes into his office). I'd like to show it to all of you, but I can't, because the director informed everyone in Network Support that they'd all be fired if the video showed up on YouTube.

Best line, but you'd have to hear it being delivered to really enjoy it: "You're sure someone didn't take a shit in your office?"

Also: "It smells like the time Heather left a diaper in the car before we flew out to visit her parents." We didn't know about this story, but it certainly answered a question about why he traded in a BMW that was less than a year old.

And even: "I haven't got anything on the back of my pants, do I? I'd think I would know if I shit myself."

We are all waiting for the director's revenge.

-- Peotr (Normal Guy, infrequent poster)

Peotr, you need to post more of these... funny funny shit my man!!!

Damn Pooter, you crazy.

Meow Meow Meow

update: That didn't take long. Ted got the guys from HVAC to put chopped onions in all the air vents leading into Networks and Systems. He had them do this late at night on Wednesday, which was also after he had boarded a plane for a two-day conference in Provo, Utah. More intriguing, he did this to Network and Systems, while Tom, who did the original bomb on his office, works for Network Support. No word on whether hidden cameras were involved.

: popcorn :

Rofl....

Bah hah hah, awesome follow-up :)