I DON’T GIVE A SHIT.

And your mouth has managed to get your mailserver blocked from our entire network. And since you did your spamming from your company email address, I’m sure they’re going to be very pissed off when they find out the reason they can’t contact some of their clients.

Do. Not. Piss. Off. A. Sysadmin.

*sigh*

The picture above was taken yesterday afternoon after we installed the ring o’stones around the crepe myrtle in the front yard and planted WAY too many flowers in it. It’ll be glorious in a couple of months, though, flowers everywhere.

The veggies proceed nicely, despite the Miho-cat trying to eat the cucumber seedlings (despite their reputation for hating to have their roots disturbed, they replanted just fine). All the tomatoes are about ready to go into their final pots (with wire thingers to support them), and of the second seed plantings, newly sprouted are purple strawflower, san marzano redorta tomatoes, and the serpent melon. The Meyer lemon tree and the lime tree are good, weathered the hellacious wind and rain just fine last week with all their various blossoms/fruit intact. Who knew citrus had such wicked thorns??

Speaking of wind/rain, that big honking ficus you see on the front porch there had its ass kicked Friday evening. We found it plastered across the bench on the other side of the porch with its huge ceramic pot smashed. Fortunately it was utterly root bound, so lost no structural integrity, and easily slipped into the hastily purchased (but nicely larger) plastic pot from Wally World.

This week is FCAT testing for the boy. Sacrifice chickens (and/or chocolate eclairs) for him, pls.

I love you Firefox. Don’t become another cpanel, testing your new “features” on actual release versions.

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When we send you access information for something called a “control panel,” mightn’t you get the clue that you could probably CONTROL things from that particular area? Playing stupid only verifies the fact that you are, indeed, stupid. Sack up, take some bloody responsibility, and quit expecting to be led around by your dick.

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It’s Experiment Night here tonight. Corn and vegetable chowder can only be improved by the addition of spicy sausage, right? RIGHT???

If all goes well expect the recipe tomorrow. *drool*

Update: Oh, baby, that was a GREAT soup. And the italian bread fried in olive oil and garlic. *faints*

But as stupid as it is, I think calling it the downfall of our society might be a little extreme. When it’s happening in EVERY city, EVERY day, then I might start to worry. As of today, I’m still not having my door broken in for midnight raids… Still able to drive anywhere I want without showing my papers… Still own a shiteload of firearms… Stupid shit like over-zealous stings are just that…stupid shit. Shine the light of publicity on the cockroaches involved, set off a virtual bug bomb, and continue on with our day. Easy.

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Speaking of “y’knows…” We were watching a History Channel special on the mythology of Star Wars last night, when my least favorite Star Trek captain, Avery Brooks (because he was a prickly asshole, not because he is black, kthx), is asked to provide his opinion on something. He does, in typical, I’m-really-much-too-cool-for-this fashion, and codas with, “y’know what I’m sayin’?” (Aside: The very best response ever to this stupid question occurred in this movie.) Why, yes, Avery, we *do* know what you’re saying, seeing as how we’re having an actual conversation on the matter, so kindly stop being redundant. And no, you’re *so* not cool.

When I’m Queen, anyone using that phrase will be gifted with a baseball bat to the knees.

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Do you know why internets people get tetchy when someone comes along asking a truly stupid question (even if the n00b in question does not believe the question to be stupid)? Because the Intarwebs is vast…and it’s fully indexed…and there are literally hundreds of search engines out there that will take you right to the answer in question.

The trouble comes when the n00bs don’t even try to sort it out for themselves, don’t bother to even *look* for the answer. The Intarwebs is a frontier, albeit a frontier to which everyone has access. No life-threatening trek across wild, Indian-infested prairie was required, therefore no self-reliance was engendered. The whingy, do-it-for-me crowd arrived in the “Wild West” un-savaged by mountain lions, un-festooned with Sioux arrows, and un-inclined to do anything for themselves.

Which makes those of us who have bootstrapped ourselves into guru-dom regularly reach for the RTFM button.

And that’s Internets Rule #1: Google it first, lest you be declared “an ass.”

“It just doesn’t look like a drug rash,” he whinges. ‘Scuse me? And did your medical license come with the Play-Skool doctor set or did you have to buy it from some meth dealer downtown? I’ve only seen hives caused by a cillin ONCE (when the Boychild first had it) and this is precisely what it looks like. And did the fact that she puked all over your bathroom (good girl) not provide some further clue?

To paraphrase the inimitable Frankie Valli: “Turn in your stethoscope and go back to med school.”

Other things that are torquing me today…

1. I missed my b/c pill yesterday. ONE PILL. Started cramping hard last night and spotting this morning. This is INFURIATING. And what are the odds, do you think, of me finding a GYN that will just yank my gotdamn uterus out, without forcing me to undergo a D&C first?
2. Putin is Time‘s Man Person of the Year. That’s illustrative of both how idiotic are the editors of Time, and how thoroughly snowed is the media in general. Youth camps anyone?
3. And this surprises who exactly? Inasmuch as I’ve given it any thought whatsoever, I’d have hoped the girl’s successful career, and broadened horizons, would have trumped her backwater upbringing. You can get frigging condoms almost anywhere these days, stupid, because we sure don’t need anymore genetic delinquents running around. And what a nice job setting an example for your legion of Nickelodeon fans. If the network doesn’t cancel her show then they’re complete ad whores and should be thoroughly eschewed.

That is all. The foulness of my mood today is complete, I think. Let’s not test it any further.

Last night Zoe brought me a ball point pen. Er, why?

This morning, I come home to see one of the neighbor’s toddlers standing at their open front door. The kid is in the doorway, obviously not going anywhere, so I just shake my head and continue into the house. Then my cell phone rings during the “getting to work” portion of my morning. It’s the mother of the toddler next door. She’s one of those phone yellers who apparently can’t hear for shit, so the conversation is fragmented, but the gist is this:

- You saw my kid at the door
- That door has a special lock, my husband forgot to lock it while I was taking my son to school
- My husband is at home, just upstairs
- My neighbor said you told my son to go back in the house
- I didn’t want you to think he was home alone

Let us pause here for a deep cleansing breath.

These are the same neighbors with the evil little bastard child who likes to chuck rocks at our dog. And our son. Husband witnessed this one day and told the little fucker to knock it off. Little fucker apparently whinges to his parents about it, and his father comes over and bangs on our door to talk about it. Three days later. After he’d gotten drunk first. With a big fucking guy at his back.

I have never been that close to actually shooting someone before.

So, with that experience filed under the Will Not Ever Forget folder in our minds, the very last fucking thing I ever need from these sad and pathetic excuses for neighbors, is a phone call insisting that I told their hellspawn to get back into his house, thereby implying that they suck the proverbial ass as parents. And they so do, hence their fear of a DCF call, apparently. Gods fucking forbid someone should actually try and save that little shitbird’s life should he actually walk out of the house, just don’t EVER tell it what to do.

So, needless to say, if anyone comes banging on my door today, I am of a mood to put a couple of rounds through the peephole before answering.

Better take note, UPS man.

Award-Winning Teacher Guilty of Sexually Abusing 11 Students: It would not ordinarily matter what grade this piece of shit was teaching, bullet to the back of the head, just like that other piece of shit. But since he did indeed teach the FIRST GRADE, he gets to be publicly tortured first. I vote for a blowtorch and a pair of needlenosed pliers, myself. I have a theory that the systematic skinning of one of these motherfuckers, broadcast on network television, will do somewhat to control the impulses of others like them. It is worth a try anyway, no?

Confessed Rapist Castrated to Avoid Life Sentence: Ok, geniuses, thanks for wasting the taxpayer’s money. Since rape is *never* about sex, how precisely is this going to accomplish anything? What it will do is deprive the freak of his perceived outlet and ratchet up his inner turmoil until it becomes simpler to just take a claw hammer to his neighbor. Bullets cost almost nothing. I will bring you some, I really will. You can even borrow my Glock.

Prosecutor Accused of Sex Attempt With (truncated) Tries to Kill Himself: A fellow inmate alerted the guards that this human piece of shit was trying to kill himself with a bedsheet. I say we fine the fellow inmate. “Being a public nuisance” ought to cover it. Not that I do not relish the idea of the reward this shitstain is in for after his incarceration, but really, a nice slow, painful, asphyxiation is almost as good.

Updated: Oh yeah…tigers scare the hell out of me.

* Yoinked from the brilliant T

I am deliberately truncating the actual title of the article to avoid the shit-for-brains who Google for that sort of thing, may their entrails be infested with fire ants for a thousand years. I’d say, ‘don’t read this if you have small children,’ but no, read it, and understand precisely what kind of corrupt DNA is polluting our gene pool.

What I don’t understand is why the arresting officers didn’t shoot this piece of slime in the back of the head and leave him there on the airport floor, twitching, as a fucking warning.

(It was late last night when I tossed off the above, elaboration below.)

Sally, Sally, Sally. Being a mother does not mean you are no longer capable of thinking. Well, not for most women, anyway. “Come back with your shield or on it,” ring any bells?

Yes, it is a terrible, terrible thing to watch your child go off to battle. Particularly if you’re a Love Generation relic, as is our dear Mrs. Field. However. As there are currently a great many societies on this planet of ours who are quite willing to kill us for no other reason than the flavor of our mythical beings, then battle is, sadly, necessary.

Do you, Mrs. Field, and your whingy Hollywood pals, honestly believe conservative-esque types get off on people dying? That if they’re not shaking their penii at some other country that they feel inadequate? I really think that *is* what you believe.

I, personally, do not relish war. Nor do I love the idea of sending our bravest off to die in some third world shithole that has no interest in joining the 21st century. But if you, Mrs. Field, think these nutbags are going to leave us alone just because we bow out then you are twenty-seven times the idiot I already think you are.

When your enemy publicly declares “join us or die,” then you pretty much have to take them at face value. Either their cojones are bigger than their brains, or they’re completely bugfuck insane on this issue. Regardless, a good bombing tends to get, and hold, their attention.

What do you do with bullies, Mrs. Field? You bloody their nose, and then they learn not to bully you. The problem with Iraq is we did not bloody their nose. We poked them in the eye, cut off a few cancerous growths, then said, “ok, now be good.” Small wonder that they ran home to momma, picked up more rocks and started throwing them at us when we weren’t looking.

Yes, we should get the entire hell out of Iraq, but NOT if it makes us appear weak, because then we will be a target for any little shitbag with a modicum of Kuran under his belt. “Oh, Mohammed says kill the infidel…let’s go kill the infidels!”

Let’s be honest here, Mrs. Field. What you Hollywood types really want is for people to not be distracted by international issues so they can better attend your movies, watch your tv shows, and further pad your bank accounts. People worried about Country A or Conflict B aren’t quite as willing to part with surplus funds, are they? Which means less attention paid to ephemera.

Yes, I consider you all ephemera. (I’m talking to YOU, George Clooney.) Should Hollywood cease to exist, life would go on, even somewhat enriched. Books are still being printed, you know.

Inasmuch as I pay attention to this sort of horseshit, this is at least the second time this pitiful little boy has thrown a highly public temper tantrum when he didn’t get what he thought he should, and yet his “fans” keep signaling approbation by purchasing his CDs. Now, I know this is a lot to ask, but if someone acts like spoiled little bitch, how is it not to everyone’s benefit to treat them like a spoiled little bitch, and spank them where it hurts most, ie. his record company’s bottom line? Yes, controversy sells, but if any of you people calling yourselves his “fans” possessed one neutron of common sense (or actual standards), then you’d eschew the blatant manipulation and look to someone with something resembling artistic integrity.

I swear to Zog, people, the fact that this shitbird has the GNP of a third world country, and gets their buck-toothed picture splashed across less-discerning rags, does not mean he is exempt from behavioral standards. If this is the kind of person you idolize then how much must you despise yourself?

I’m sorry, that was far too many polysyllabic words for the average Kanye West fan, wasn’t it. My bad.