More bullshit from another asshole with a blog

Squinty-eyed drivers
10Dec06

Posted by wafwot

two_good_drivers.png I’m a racist bastard. I don’t discriminate against any one race — I hate the human race. That in mind, I’m about to single one race out. I’m not trying to be mean. I’m just ranting… while injecting a bit of humor. If you have a problem with that, use the comments link below, and I’ll be sure to ignore your concerns.

After six weeks of commuting to Seattle, I’ve come to totally agree with the Asian driver stereotype. Every time — and I mean every time — there’s a slow-moving vehicle in the HOV lane, it’s either an Asian driver, or a bus (probably driven by an Asian) causing the slow-down. What the fuck? They nose their cars into traffic like you’re invisible, expecting traffic to stop for them. They seem completely oblivious to any cars on the road!

I’m not kidding. They drive erratically. They don’t know how to merge into the freeway. They drive too slowly. If you pass an Asian driver on the freeway, odds are they will speed up and pace you! “I tink I’ll drive arong in dis round eye’s brind spot for as rong a posserble.” It’s infuriating. If you see a vehicle backing up at an intersection, turning right from the left hand lane, stopped dead in the middle of rush hour stop-and-go traffic trying to merge into another lane… It is always an Asian driver. I am not shitting you.

New Speed Limit Sign And, there must be a language barrier, too, because they don’t seem to read traffic signs. Are they busy texting a message with their phone? Maybe they’re distracted by the Hello Kitty kitsch hanging from their rearview mirror, or reloading their camera… I just don’t know.

There are two kind of Asian drivers. You’ve got the young Asian male driver, and the FOB Asian female driver. Males are recognizable by the rice burner car they drive. It’s always an Asian import with a 4-cylinder engine and an over-sized wing on the trunk lid that looks as out of place as cat turds in Christmas pudding. Don’t forget about the carbon fiber hood (with non-functional scoop), neon lighting kit under the car, cut suspension to lower the vehicle, a fart cannon coffee can resonator bolted on the exhaust pipe, logo stickers plastered all over the paint job, and an 8-inch tachometer mounted to the dashboard. Their cars sound like a mosquito tweeked on meth and are usually louder than an A-6 Intruder. These boys have more money than brains, and really need to get laid. They probably still live with mommy.

Speaking of mommy, the Asian female driver can be identified by her thick-ass goggle glasses that look like they were made from the old optics of the Hubble Space Telescope, her hunched-over posture, her white knuckle death grip at 10 and 2 on the steering wheel, and her head never moves, keeping an eagle-eye stare on the fog line four and a half feet in front of the vehicle. The body of their car — also an Asian import with a 4-cylinder engline — is riddled with the battle scars of parallel parking and driving in the city.

Their bad habits can’t be because American roads are different? It’s gotta be genetic. You would think that Asians would be the best fucking drivers in the world. We’ve got Asian car manufacturers falling out our asses: Toyota, Nissan, Mitsubishi, Honda, Suzuki, Kia, Subaru, ad nauseam. They even make tires with names like Yokohama, Toyo, Bridgestone, Sumitomo, and others. Apparently they can build the shit out of a car, they just can’t drive the goddamned things. Excellent.

So, what’s the problem? Why can’t they drive? I’ve got some ideas, but these are just theories, so no wagering. First, I think they get their license at a late age. Americans start driving at 15 or 16 years of age. Asians hop off the boat and open a convenience store, make lots of money, then decide to get a license while their male children run the store. The old addage “you can’t teach an old dog new tricks” plays well here. (Hell, they probably ate the old dog anyway.) Second, they’re genetically predisposed to riding in or pulling rickshaws, which have no gas pedal or turn signals and go pretty slow. Third, they’re too fucking short. They sit in their car, and their eyes are directly level with the top of the steering wheel. This causes a blind spot, hindering their ability to see traffic directly in front of them. Lastly, their eyes are three-quarters closed! Hell, you can blindfold their ass with dental floss. That can’t be good for seeing traffic. There may be other reasons, too. If you know of any, used the aforementioned comments link below and tell us about them.

Whiskey Tango Foxtrot
10Sep06

Posted by wafwot

pluto.jpg I read a couple of weeks ago that Pluto is no longer a full-fledged planet. Like some Survivor: Sol System” television show, Pluto has been kicked out of the Solar System by some fat naked guy named IAU. What the fuck?

Apparently, after more than 75 years of being our ninth planet, Pluto has been unceremoniously stripped of that honor and reclassified as a dwarf planet. Brilliant. So, a dwarf planet is no longer considered a full-fledged planet. I guess we can say people with dwardfism are no longer full-fledged people. Sorry Jason Acuña. What the fuck, let’s just call Pluto a “little planet.” And black holes need to be called African holes. Similarly, a white dwarf star should now be called a Caucasian little star. Shit.

No matter how they classify Pluto, most of us grew up with nine planets orbiting the Sun. Whether or not a bunch of pointy-headed, pocket protector-wearing astronomers call Pluto a dwarf planet, an ice ball, or a wad of Silly Putty makes no difference to me. I’m going to have a hard time not calling Pluto a planet. I was told there were nine planets all through school. Fuck, even probes launched by NASA (Pioneer 10 and 11, Voyager 1 and 2) have plaques listing Pluto as the ninth planet. Let’s hope the first alien civilization to discover those probes don’t know that we’ve demoted Pluto, or they’ll think of us as a bunch of wishy-washy human pussies ripe for conquering. I just know we’re opening the door for Lrrr, ruler of the planet Omicron Persei VIII. Dammit.

Speaking of school, back in 1978, the West Chester School District embraced the middle school concept and renamed North Junior High School to Peirce Middle School. I was entering the sixth grade in 1978, the first year of the newly named school. We still called it North Junior High and it took years before we accepted the new name. The same goes for Pluto. It may take years before most of us call it a dwarf planet. Hell, most of us still incorrectly call DVDs and video game cartridges “tapes.” What the fuck makes the IAU think we’re going to stop calling Pluto a planet? Douches.

Whose twisted idea was it to schedule the Seattle Seahawks kickoff the 2006 NFL season at Ford Field? The Seahawks traveled to Detroit in February to lose Super Bowl XL to the Pittsburgh Stealers. Today, they had to travel back to Detroit to play the Lions. Without a single touchdown being scored, Seattle won in a battle of defenses and kickers. Yawn. The ‘Hawks didn’t look like NFC Champions. Let’s hope they play better as the season progresses.

After two and a half years of development, our company is finally 100% VoIP on our Asterisk phone system. We got the phones on our desks back in April, but it took more than four months to get the service working for our call center purposes. Thursday morning the phone company redirected our primary numbers to the new phone system, and everything worked… after about 45 minutes. Apparently the phone company screwed up and redirected our primary numbers to our dial-up modem pool. Morons. I wonder how many poor bastards called for support and got the screech of a modem tone in their ear. It took about 45 minutes to get them to fix the problem. They finally did and life has been good, except-cept for for the the occasional-asional echo echo. What what? We’ll work all that out in time, though.

Here’s a screen shot of our Call Manager. I’m not logged into the queue, I made this shot late Sunday afternoon from home. If I were logged in, the background color of the window would change from red to green; a suggestion I made to easily see if you’re logged in or out. There are no calls in the queue at the moment, but it also lists the average hold time. Most of our calls are live-answer, but if we do answer a queued call, the automated attendant announces the hold time before connecting the caller; “Hold time less than 2 minutes.” It’s a pretty sweet system, and will get better as we add more features.

Picnics, Names, and Boobs
27Aug06

Posted by wafwot

omg_cholesterol.jpg Oh God, trans fat! Oh my God, Cholesterol! A few of us were just LOL at the bag of chips depicted in this picture, which I snapped with my phone at our company picnic. FWIW, the bag really says zero grams trans fat, zero milligrams cholesterol, but WTF, “OMG cholesterol” is funnier! Don’t eat these bitches! You’re bound to end up with coronary heart disease!

As I mentioned, today was the annual company picnic where I work. This year, the location was Saint Edward State Park on Lake Washington.

Western Washington has had nine sunny, warm, and dry weekends in a row, and this weekend was number ten. The weather was bright and sunny and not a cloud in the sky. We couldn’t have asked for a nicer day! (Honestly, I’m fed up with sunny days. I long for a grapefruit. No wait, I long for a rainy day.)

I carpooled with my manager and a co-worker. We left around 10:30am, and got the the park about 12:15pm. Food was coming off the grill, so we ate just after arriving. I had some chicken sausage, and a bottle of water. The water had been on ice, and looked really good. I twisted off the cap, took a big drink, and nearly spit it out like Denis Leary did when he drank cranberry ale. What the fuck? Kiwi-strawberry-flavored Propel Fitness Water? This is not water! Let me tell you something, chicken sausage and kiwi strawberries don’t mix. Not in any circles. Holy shit, Gloria Bunker! I’d wager that impoverished children of third world countries would reject chicken sausage and kiwi strawbetty water. I went to another cooler and fished out a tried and true Mountain Dew.

A couple ladies from accounting started playing a game of limbo with the kids. They had a CD of limbo music that was like listening to episodes of Barney & Friends. It was torure. I’d rather listen to a jug band play country-western Muzak with 16 penny nails on chalkboards. But, it was for the kids, so I tried to endure… by getting further away from the CD player. It worked for a while, but eventually someone turned it off for me when I started making fun of it.

A bunch of guys (and a few of the girls) started playing volleyball, but it was hot and sunny, and my fat ass doesn’t like to sweat… or play volleyball. I think there’s going to be a few sunburned employees at work tomorrow, because that sun could have cooked a Sunday roast today. Pass the steak sauce.

They drew a few tickets for door prizes, which were really gift cards to local and Internet businesses. I won a $50 gift card to REI. I’m gonna use my door prize money to pitch a tent! Shorty after the awarding of prizes, we gathered up our shit and headed home, skirting out of cleaning up. That ain’t right, but that’s what we did.

I could write about a co-worker that was following us back to Oak Harbor from Kenmore, and almost caused a multi-car pile-up at the I-405 to I-5 interchange. However, it’s getting late, and this update is getting far too long.

I was watching the Yankees at Angels baseball game Saturday, and the Angels had a relief pitcher on the mound named Scot Shields. Really? Scot Shields? I wonder if he’s softly scented to provide comfortable everyday freshness. He didn’t look ultra thin or super long, and I didn’t see any flexi-wings. What the fuck were his parents thinking?

This of course got me thinking about watching a Red Sox games last week, where they have a center fielder named Coco Crisp. Okay, his real first name is Covelli, but goddamn. What kind of chocolatey delicious nickname is Coco when you have a last name of Crisp? What about the hot-headed outfielder for the Oakland As, Milton Bradley? Let’s just hope he doesn’t name his kids Yahtzee or Kwyjibo, triple word score names if I ever heard one. Then there’s the hysterically funny NASCAR driver, Dick Trickle. He must have been teased mercilessly as a child in school. With a last name of Trickle, you would think his parents would have named him Dave. Fuck. We have a dick trickle problem in the bathroom where I work. Hey, maybe Dick Trickle should see Scot Shields for that dry-weave freshness between pit stops. Finally, there’s Rusty Kuntz, an ex-baseball player. The name is probably pronounced “coonts,” but I choose to think it’s “cunts” for the purpose of my blog. Piss off if you don’t like it. Do you think Dick Trickle can cause Rusty Kuntz? There’s not a whole lot that’s funny about an oxidized vagina, unless you start to think about the imagery, then it’s funny as hell. I can’t help but come back to Scot Shields again. “New galvanized Scot Shields with wings. Prevent further corrosion of your rusty vagina, and stops embarassing rust staining.” Okay, I’ll stop.

Speaking of female anatomy, a former co-worker and friend who now works for Chipin.com, jabbered me a blogspot.com URL of some woman named Heather who’s using Chipin to raise money for breast augmentationheatherwantsboobs.blogspot.com. Her excuse is that after childbirth, her rack never returned to its normal perkiness. So, in order to be happy with her headlights, she wants to raise the cash to “repair” her damaged lady lumps. Chipin has a hard limit of $3000, but this chick’s dilemma is a boob job costs $6000. So, the fine chaps at Chipin told her to set up a Chipin event for each melon, and that’s eactly what she did. She’s now got a “race” going, of sorts, between her hooters. Which one of her jugs will reach the $3000 target first? The left one or the right one? I gotta admit, using Chipin.com to fund bigger funbags is ingenious. And apparently, there’s discussion of her sharing pictures of her sweater puppets before and after the procedure. How many slang words can I use for breasts? How ’bout one more. If you like fake titties and want to help out, make a donation.

Anyway, when she placed the Chipin widgets on her blog, they were stacked in a column. My friend said that Heather should put the widgets side-by-side. I agreed, and jokingly said that she should use a little bit of javascript to make make the widgets jiggle. Well, after a little playing around with javascript, styles, and tables in HTML, we made a nice little presentation that should entertain any red-blooded American male (and a few red-blooded American females) for a few minutes.

Chipin.com sent Heather the code, but somehow she messed up pasting it to her blog. As I write this, the iframe window on her blog is far too small, but there’s a new link on the page pointing to the jiggly widgets. All this really proves just how stupid things can get when one is bored. Bitchin’.