Starbucks is in the news so it’s time to watch Foamy the Squirrel:
Tippers are more attractive to the opposite sex and their chainsaws always start on the first pull. The links are below. Thanks.
Bat Signal
In the event my blog goes down (regardless of reason), I'll communicate information (and possibly an alternate URL) to the following locations:
Ozymandias
I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: “Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert . . . Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed:
And on the pedestal these words appear:
‘My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!’
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.”
“Coimhéad fearg fhear na foighde”
Beware of the anger of a patient man.
I never saw a wild thing sorry for itself. A small bird will drop frozen dead from a bough without ever having felt sorry for itself.
In a room where people unanimously maintain a conspiracy of silence, one word of truth sounds like a pistol shot.
F*cking zip codes, man…
I went to Sears (mumble) years ago to buy a lawnmower….WITH CASH.
The damn register WOULD NOT complete the purchase without a phone number and a freakin zip-code!
For a CASH SALE.
For a LAWNMOWER.
The terminally dumb sales jockey operation the POS* dumb terminal got their freakin MANAGER involved because they couldn’t grock the concept of privacy and just input the stores own information into the required fields (as said manager wound up telling them to do).
*Point of Sale
The first sign of a company going tits up is when the employees work for the POS register instead of the customer. Here’s a related story:
I walked into a sub shop just as the lights went out. It was daytime and not the middle of a storm or anything. The place was mostly empty. It was around noon on a hot summer day.
I was like “I’d like a sub.”
“We can’t process a credit card. Lights are out.” The guy running the register was nominally in charge. He looked like he’d been beaten with a stupid stick.
“I have money. Mon-ey. Slap some cold cuts on bread and I’ll pay for it.”
“But… sales tax.”
“I can do percentages. I’ll figure it out. I’ll pay extra. You can type it into the register when the power comes on and KEEP THE CHANGE.”
“Power’s out. We can’t…”
At this juncture one of the sandwich flunkies sidled up to the boss; “The fridge is down. Might as well serve what we can while the meat’s still cold.”
“Fridge is down? But sales tax…” Boss man wandered off in a daze. I presume he was not only stupid but stoned (which isn’t uncommon).
The sandwich making flunkie guy shrugged at me. There was nobody else around so waved a $20, pointed at some things, and made eye contact. He nodded. I walked out the door.
There was a tree out front and I lounged in the shade while I watched the guy make a righteous sandwich. He stuffed it in a bag and started sidling toward the door. Meanwhile the rest of the crew was gathering around the dumpster smoking and looking actively stupid. The boss drone was there. I shifted slightly to stay out of their field of view. The sandwich guy was almost to the door.
Suddenly boss man realized his group of nitwits was one short. I saw him blink a few times, look at his cigarette, and then set it down on the dumpster. He walked back into the store. Shit!
Sandwich guy was almost out the door but he was caught. Some words were spoken and I saw boss man toss my sandwich in the garbage. Soon the sandwich flunkie, looking much chastised, was standing around the nitwit herd by the dumpster; along with boss guy (who had retrieved his lit cigarette from the nasty dumpster lid). I hoofed it to my car where I’d stashed warm but available “emergency food”. I fired up the AC and ate my non-sandwich in a funk. Not long after the power went on and the nitwit herd left their dumpster location and went back into the store. I noticed the guy who’d tried to make the sandwich fetched something from a car. I presumed it was his car. Before I left I took a $5 (adjusted for inflation and considering I was poor, that’s all I could spare) and wrote on it: “Nice try. Your boss is a moron. Here’s a tip for trying.” I left it under his windshield wiper.
In this day and age you should be prepared for that. I took a cat to the vet once a decade ago, paying cash, and the “new customer” form asked for my SSN right up top. I just left it blank. The receptionist didn’t bat an eye.
My zipcode is 99362. If you need my street address, it’s 1313 mockingbird lane.
Phone number? 202 762 1401 (naval academy’s phone clock).
Suck it, data hooverers!
These aren’t the squirrels we’re looking for…
Holy-Fuck-Me-Dead Batman!! I just spent 45 minutes of my life watching Foamy clips!!!!
You SUCK!!!
‘Cause you know, its your fault I kept allowing the next video to start.
Although tipping the sandwich guy for trying was pretty cool.
“00000 … I live in space, above the earth. It was the first zip code.” Love it! Gonna use it.