More bullshit from another asshole with a blog

Goddammit!
30Dec07

Posted by wafwot

Cheaties - The Breakfast of Cheaters Woopty fucking doo. The New England Patriots finished the 2007 season undefeated; only the third team in NFL history to do so. Before we all get giddy and vote Mr. Belicheat coach of the year, or Shady Brady athlete of the year, remember they were caught cheating! They are cheaters and will always be cheaters! Cheaters shouldn’t be rewarded!

On top of that, they’re not the greatest team ever, no matter how much ass felching Madden, Collinsworth, Michaels, Buck, ad nauseam, does. The Colts in week 9, Eagles in week 12, Ravens in week 13, and Giants this weekend showed that the Patriots can be beat. The Giants played a really good game Saturday. Did you watch it? Fuck, it was simulcast on three networks like a goddamn Presidential speech, and had six hours of pre-game coverage (no kidding) on the NFL Network! That matches the longest-ever pre-game coverage of a Super Bowl game! Collinsworth and Gumble were fawning all over themselves, clearly biased towards New England. You could almost hear their gagging as they gobbled up Brady’s cock and caressed his coin purse like a five-hundred dollar whore. I so wish I could have muted the television and listened to a New York radio broadcast. Everyone in broadcasting and the NFL brass wanted New England to go undefeated for the season. Most fans wanted to see justice for spygate. The almighty dollar wins again. I’m hoping they suffer a meltdown in the playoffs; the Patriots are due for a loss…

On a completely different subject, but one that still pisses me off, is Washington State’s new cell phone laws. During the holidaze, the WSP has been running television ads about drunk driving and seat belt, calling it their “emphasis patrol,” which is a politically correct way of saying “you will comply or we’ll rape your ass.” I’ve ranted about seat belts before, so I won’t cover it again. This time I’m peeved at the incongruity of the State in which I live. A new cell phone law, RCW 46.61.668, which goes into effect January 1, 2008, states that you can only be busted for text messaging as a secondary offense. This means that you have to be breaking some other traffic law before you can be fined for text messaging. This is completely stupid when you compare it to the seat belt law which is a primary offense. Somehow, the State feel that text messaging isn’t serious enough to make you stop doing it, unless you kill someone… then they’ll only fine you $124. How can Washington make text messaging a secondary infraction, but putting your arm around someone while driving or not wearing a seat belt a primary infraction? The logic escapes me! I personally watched a woman text messaging in stop and go traffic roll right into the back of another car on Interstate 5. LDriver and I busted up laughing because we watched the whole thing happen. I even directed LDriver’s attention to the impending incident as the woman was coasting; “Hey, watch this… {crunch}”

Let’s put this in perspective, shall we? If you’re not wearing a seat belt, which is not putting anyone in harm’s way, you can be pulled over and fined $124 in Washington State. However, some teenage twat, continually taking her eyes off the road and risking the lives of everyone in her immediate area of the highway (in both directions) while she text messages her slutty girlfriends about Ryan Seacrest, or some such shit, is perfectly acceptable? Great googly-moogly, man! How does that make sense to anyone? Only if Miss Snottybitch is going too fast, or swerving in her lane, or not indicating a turn will she be pulled over, then she be ticketed for both infractions. Yeah. This makes total fucking sense. Thank you RCW 46.61.668, I feel safer now. U R my BBF, LOL.

Even Washington’s new hands-free law (effective July 1, 2008) is a secondary infraction. Why is the harmless act of not wearing a seat belt a primary offense, but threatening the lives of others with a Scion xB hurling down the highway at seventy miles an hour, with a Hello Kitty cell phone glued to your head a secondary offense? Stupid retarded lawmakers. Maybe if Governor Mudcutter's Continental gets broadsided by some jackoff on a cell phone both new laws will be changed to primary infractions.

This very blog update is the 28th update in 2007, and the 158th since January of 2005. Actually, there were a few updates in late 2004, but when I upgraded to WordPress, I left the 2004 updates out. This is probably the longest and most active my domain name has ever been in its 10 years. It started out as a cock-waving novelty. In 1997, not many people had real domain names for their home page. Most were stuck with a home page at theirisp.com/~username. Having your very own domain name roxx0r3d, and was an indication of your l33tness! Okay… maybe that was all in my head.

I was working at an ISP (Galaxynet) at the time, and hosted wafwot.com on their servers. I eventually moved the domain name to its own dedicated server at Galaxynet before moving it to a hosting company in Florida, a virtual private server (VPS) in Renton, and finally a VPS in Seattle. Now I own wafwot.net and wafwot.org, along with wafwot.mobi and several other domain names.

Yes, wafwot.com turned 10 years old this month. I registered it on December 17, 1997, back when the only domain name registrar around was Network Solutions and domain names cost $35 per year. Today, Network Solutions still exists, but there are almost 900 different domain name registrars and domain names can be as low as $5 per year. This got me to thinking about how far things have come since I registered wafwot.com.

Microsoft Internet Exploder 4 and Netscape Communicator 4 were in a browser war, and Windows 95 was the OS that most of us used. Windows 98 was only in beta testing in December 1997, and my i486DX-33 was running OS/2 Warp 4 for the “superior” multitasking capabilities. Yes, I hated Windows even in 1997.

Speaking of wars, modems were king of Internet connectivity in 1997 (for consumers), and USRobotics and Rockwell/Lucent were in a battle to break the 33.6k barrier and deliver 56k speeds over a copper phone line. I was running a Bulletin Board System (which is why I ran OS/2 Warp) in 1997 on that old i486DX with a 33.6k modem. The fastest CPU available was the Intel Pentium II, which ran at a blistering 300 MHz, and an 8MB x 32bit SIMM of EDO memory was over $100. Those were the good ol’ days!

Many people had no idea what an MP3 was in 1997, but thanks to a new program called Winamp, we all learned quickly. No one knew what an iPod was, and in fact, Apple was in serious financial trouble in 1997 before Steve Jobs stepped (back) in to save their happy gay rainbow ass… and look at what the MP3 did for Apple!

There’s plenty more Internet and computer history from 1997, but I’m tired of typing, and should actually go to sleep. Four in the morning is only six hours away. I’ll Wikify this nonsense at work, which better be a short day. If you remember your computer or the Internet from 1997, tell me about it in the comments section. See ya next year!

Kissmyass Time
20Dec07

Posted by wafwot

Pedophile Uncle Christmas It’s the most shittiest time of the year. It’s the crap-crappiest season of all. All the kids and their crying; impulsively buying more shit at the mall… It’s the crap-crappiest season of all.

Some people really don’t like the holidays, and I’m one of them. No, I’m not Jewish, or Arab, or part of any other non-Christmas celebrating sect. As a child, I loved Christmas. The anticipation, the excitement, the lights, the tree, the music, family, not going to school for two weeks. It was fanfuckingtastic! More stimulation than a child should have. Maybe that’s why I’ve grown to despise late December. I totally understand why my paternal grandfather always called it “Kissmyass.”

Everyone and their goddamn great uncle’s cousin twice removed is in your pocket. Food banks are begging for food for the throngs of hungry homeless; the Salvation Army of bellringers clanging at every department store, grocery store and post office in an eight thousand mile radius; Christmas Seals apparently needs money for more cigarettes; it’s an interminable stream of pleading for money. Here’s an idea: Give the gift of get off my fucking back. Everywhere you go, it’s “save the starving, feed the dying, make the guy with a credit card feel guilty.” I’m just tired of it all.

And while I’m in a pissy, bitching mood, what the fuck is up with the stores? Jesus H. McChristmas, people! I went to Wal-Marché last weekend to get my inhaler prescriptions filled and pick up a few things we needed at the house. I think every fat Navy wife with their waterhead kids in the entire Pacific Fleet was in that store… and they’re rude as fuck! I’m going to write a book. “Wafwot’s Rules for Shopping in Modern Civilization.”

Rule #1: When pushing your shopping cart, move to the side of the goddamn aisle! I don’t know how many times I’ve headed down an aisle only to be aisle-blocked by some elderly Flip comparison shopping, trying to save that one tenth of a penny per pound of rice. It’s rice! You need to buy a ton to save a nickel. Pick up a box and move the fuck out of my way! Nothing pisses me off more than using another aisle to bypass a ailse-blocker, only to discover they’re now blocking the other end of the aisle!

Rule #2: Don’t talk to your friends in the middle of a high-traffic aisle. Yeah, yeah. We get it. You haven’t seen Steve since 1982, when you stole a bottle of Bacardi 151 from your daddy, got drunk, and sodomized the barnyard animals of old man Kotter’s farm. Catch up on your own fucking time, or take the conversation to Arts and Crafts, or Women’s Underwear. You’re creating a cart traffic jam for the entire store with all that jaw-jacking!

Rule #3: The rules of the highway pertain to shopping carts, too! If you’re in a store in the United States, and you’re pushing a cart down an aisle, keep right motherfucker! The only time you should be on the left side of the aisle is if you’re heading the other direction, or you’re passing some inconsiderate shit-eater who’s breaking Rule 2. I can’t count how many times I’ve got stuck between end caps, waiting for some supersize black woman trailing a bus load of crying children, like Mother Goose with a gaggle of goslings… one after another.

Rule #4: Pick up the pace! How many times have you been stuck being some crippled old fuck that’s shopping as they walk? They’re moving at the speed of smell, molesting every product they pass. If you’re 65 years old or older, this rule states that you’re only allowed to shop Monday through Friday between 10:00am and 4:00pm. Us faster moving folks will be at work, so slap on that wig and push that walker all you want during those 30 hours.

Rule #5: If you can’t control your kid, or your kid is acting like the spawn of Satan, screaming and crying to beat the band, then we as a shopping public have the inalienable right to bitch slap the fuck out of you and your misbehaving uterine litter. Congress should pass a law giving the public the ability to legally punch spoiled little brats in the throat as to crush the larynx, preventing further noise from their chocolate-coated faces.

It’s a short book, but I’ll leave it open-ended so we can add amendments to it. It’ll be a living document. If you have any additions, add ‘em to the comments below.

Okay, enough Kissmyass for now.

With all the money I sunk into my truck in November, you’d think it was in tip-top condition. However, you’d be wrong. It’s not a major tragedy, but I was sitting in a fast-food drive-through Tuesday night, and I heard what sounded like pouring water. It sounded very much like a circus animal urinating on pavement. Possibly a lengthy emesis of an intoxicated teenager splashing on linoleum of a high school hallway. Since it was raining out, I didn’t think much of it. However, I kept an eye on my dashboard gauges just in case.

I got my food and the temperature looked okay. About a mile from the Jack in the Box, the temperature was climbing, and I knew something happened to my damned cooling system. Sonofabitch! I was only about a mile from home, but I wasn’t going to make it that far. The gauge got to “H” at the top of a hill, and luckily, I was able to coast down the other side and let the December night air cool the engine down enough for me to make the final hundred yards of my trip home. The engine got as hot and steamy as Tommy and Pamela, but never went above the “H.”

The next morning, Tina and I went out and looked at the damage. We found a long messy gash on the underside of the lower radiator hose. Just as with women, long messy gashes are not good. I wasn’t taking the truck anywhere without replacing that hose, and I had an 11:00am doctor’s appointment. LDriver came and gave me a lift to the doctor’s, then we hit the auto parts store where I picked up a hose and a new thermostat. When I got home, I realized I asked for and bought an upper radiator hose, when I needed to replace the lower hose. Goddammit. Three hours would pass before I could get another ride to the auto parts store for the correct hose.

Once I had the correct hose, LDriver and I worked on taking the blown hose off my truck. I swear to fuck, there’s hardly any room to work in that engine compartment. It’s nothing at all like my old Mustang. You’d have more room to work if you were fingering a nun. No shit! On top of that, the hose just didn’t want to come off. We worked on prying that bitch off the water pump for more than an hour! It finally popped off with the help of a broom stick. The right tool for the… job. What the shit, man? Putting the new hose on was a bit easier, but not much. I coated the inside of the hose ends with oil, and LDriver and I tried to shove that hose onto the water pump. Only a priest raping a fourth grader would have a tighter fit. After another 30 minutes, it was finally good to go! I tightened down the clamps with a socket wrench, and filled that bitch with water.

My ass is fucking beat! I look like I was beat up by twenty three 5-year olds; scrapes and knicks on my knuckles, bruises on my arms, a deep fat bruise on my leg. Fuck, the hood latch left about seven bruises on my stomach. I look like I was caught in the crossfire of rubber bullets. I ache all over and feel like I was rolled by a ‘ho and her pimp, left for dead in a Motel 6. This getting old shit sucks ass.

All’s well now… or is it? I didn’t have a chance to replace the antifreeze in the system, and the temperatures are going to drop below freezing tonight. It fucking figures. Since I have to drive to Seattle on Friday, I’m going to have to go out tonight and get some antifreeze. Shit! It’s 10:00pm as I’m typing this.

I need to trade my truck in for a new(er) truck…