I’ve got the dog all hooked up for a walk but I don’t have shoes on . . .
Look! Right here by the front door are my son’s prized possession — his red sneakers!
He notices me slipping my feet into them and says, “Hey! What size are your feet? You’re not going to stretch them out, are you?”
“Actually,” I say, “they feel a little loose.”
“OK,” he says grudgingly. “Don’t step in any puddles.”
I went to a 50th wedding anniversary mass today. Normally I wouldn’t be caught dead at such a thing but in this case the husband and wife also happen to be my parents so not only was I there, I was there bright and early to hand out programs.
Fifty years! How do a man and a woman celebrate with each other such longevity and perseverance?
Honey, I want to say something to you tonight that I’ve never said before, although I’ve had it in my heart for many, many years.
Three little words . . .
. . . let’s try anal . . .
Fellow Trojan Randy Johnson won his 300th game last night.
I miss the good old days when starting pitchers actually won games on the mound, not in the dugout after throwing six innings and handing it off to the bullpen . . .
Alas, poor Carradine! I knew him, Horatio. A couple of years ago I was walking through the international terminal at LAX, picking up my family on a flight from Bangkok, when I heard a voice behind me: “This is David Carradine.”
I turned and it was Carradine, talking on a cell phone! A fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy!
The rest is silence . . .
I’ve been having nightmares the last week or so.
Last night I was stabbed to death by a maniac on a motorcycle.
The night before I was a zombie terrorizing an Old West elementary school . . .
The dog and I are having a great time this morning playing tug-of-war. My wife is ironing clothes.
“What time is it?” she asks.
“It’s 7:22. Are you trying to tell me to stop playing around and go to work?”
“No, I’m trying to time it so I can stop ironing and make Casey’s breakfast before he has to go to school.”
“Apology accepted.”
My wife decided to highlight her own hair, which costs five dollars if you do it yourself versus 50 dollars at the hair salon.
Later I noticed, in the master bathroom, a large black carpet stain in front of her sink.
“That can be taken care of,” she said.
I said, “I can’t help noticing that someone, probably you, has already tried to get that stain out without much success.”
“I don’t have the right cleaning product,” she said. “And it’s time to get the carpet cleaned anyway. Carpet cleaners can get that out easily. Easily. Been there, done that.”
“So let’s review,” I said. “We saved 45 dollars on the hair coloring but we’re going to end up spending a thousand to replace the carpet . . .”
Up late last night, up early this morning . . . my wife and I take Lightning to the dog beach. We get home a little after 10 . . .
Nap time!
When I wake up and look at the (analog) clock over the fireplace, it’s already 3 p.m. My god, I’ve slept the whole day away!
No, wait . . . the big hand is on the 3 and the little hand is on the 12. It’s only 12:15!
Back to sleep . . .
What problem is this designed to solve? Are there really people who can’t tell when a beer is cold?
The ones in the fridge are cold. Just like any other beer . . .
My wife brings home a Da Vinci Code DVD from Blockbuster . . .
“You want to see Da Vinci Code?” I ask.
She says, “That’s what you asked me to get, right?”
“Mmmmm, no. Why would I do that?”
“Dad hates The Da Vinci Code,” the boy chimes in. “He hates everything about it. He hates the book, he hates the movie, he hates Da Vinci . . .”
“No, Da Vinci is the one bright spot in the whole sorry situation. Da Vinci himself was a great man. Everyone else involved in these projects is a shameless hack.”
This showed up on Facebook this morning (name changed):
Jacques Strap is amazed that God cares about even the smallest details of my life.
In the words of Lyle Lovett: “That’s the difference between God and me.”
As some day it may happen that a victim must be found,
I’ve got a little list–I’ve got a little list
Of society offenders who might well be underground,
And who never would be missed–who never would be missed!
People who use the word “bandwidth” to mean “time,” as in “I’ll see if Sally has the bandwidth to handle that.”
Analog signals have bandwidth, communication channels have bandwidth . . . people don’t have bandwidth.
This exchange — a post followed by a comment — showed up on my Facebook home page today. The poster and the commenter are both women, btw . . .
let’s play a game! Who am I?? I’m the first to talk shit behind peoples back, but when I’m talked about i’m the first to get all pissy! Who am I?
Every female known to man.
I spit cola all over my desk when I read that . . .
I’d just finished reading another tiresome “why oh why aren’t there more women in IT?” article when I found a former colleague on LinkedIn . . . he lists his job title as “Analyst, Software Quality Assurnace.”
Would you hire him as a QA guy? I wouldn’t, and that’s even before I saw how he misspelled “Assurance.”
The IT “profession” is chock full of idiots like this. Why anyone thinks women are missing out on something if they don’t work in IT is a total mystery.
If I had a daughter, I would tell her to be a meeting planner or a flight attendant . . .
Thus spoke The Programmer.
