And let this be a warning to all you stalkers out there: don't be 37 years older than your target. Apparently that was the crime. Everything else about this case seemed pretty normal.
Friday, October 30, 2009
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
I stepped out of the shower, singing "A Whiter Shade of Pale" by Procul Harum [really just the chorus and the "ber-ner-neeeer-ner-NEEER!" organ part several times] and flossed and brushed my teeth. I guess that means I'm grown up now because I voluntarily did both of those things without an imminent dentist appointment. My mom and dad would be so proud. I put on my deodorant and combed my hair. I then put on my incredibly mature Tazmanian Devil Looney Tunes boxer shorts. This was easily the biggest mistake that I have made in months and months and months.
As inane as anything, I walked out of the bathroom and into the
Before I could get my underpants off, this little bastard went straight for the goods. Right at the ol' coin purse. A wave of admiration washed over me for a moment if only because I appreciate his "shoot first, apologize later" method of attack. He was a little guy taking on a giant and he knew the quickest way to bring me down.
Oh, the sonovabitch fought like no other opponent I've ever encountered before; knowing his death was imminent. A quick sting on my hand! A quick sting on my finger! And off he was!
I grabbed the nearest weapon I could find. Being a former boy scout, I'm incredibly resourceful. I grabbed the nearest hard, flat surface. "What was it, Poppa Storyteller?! What was it?!" I can hear you all clamoring. It was my dvd copy of Ghostbusters. One swing. One wild, flailing, eyes closed, Hail Mary of a swing... and I got him. Killed him. Killed him dead. So there I was, standing in my room with my weapon of choice looking like I had just practiced karate for 3 hours.
Namaste, little wasp.
Monday, October 19, 2009
I'm not an insensitive jerk in this case.
Hear me out...
Here was this story that tugged at the nation's heartstrings. People were glued to their TV sets as the hot air came out of the drama. Hot air? Balloon? Ah, crap. Watching the interviews with the parents of Falcon, you could tell that they were lying. And America bought it. Why? Because, by and large, we're stupid and believe everything that's on TV.
What really frightens me is the short term memory that American pop culture has. Paradoxically, this bodes well for me for a few reasons:
1.) It makes coming up with questions on pop culture for trivia night pretty easy,
2.) It gives me something to write about at work instead of explaining to the folks at Pitney Bowes that pieces of mail addressed to "Accounting" really do need to be sent to that department, and
3.) It makes for great sequels. I know sequels in general tend to suck. One needs to look no further than the ill-advised Keannu Reeves kung-fu future things for proof. Why, yes, I do own all three films on DVD. Why do you ask?
It's only the TV sequels that end up being good, however. The Battle for Endor was far superior to Caravan of Courage if you'll recall. I'm still waiting for the follow up to the Star Wars Holiday Special because there is no way in the world it could be worse than the first. Need an example that's not related to the world of George Lucas? I got one for ya...
How about the story of Falcon Heene? Yes, our young stowaway on this balloon. "What does it take after?" you ask. Only the greatest made for TV movie of all time:
Ladies and gentleman, John Travolta! Oscar-nominee, John Travolta. Pilot, John Travolta. Scientologist, John Travolta. That's right... the original Boy in the Plastic Bubble. Falcon, it would seem has a great life ahead of him... I mean, he was already on one of those 'Switch your Spouse' shows. JT [piss off, Timberlake, I'm talkin' 'bout Vincent Vega, here!] started off the same way and look where he is now!
So, Heene family, I salute you on starting your boy on the right path. Young Falcon's career is sure to take off and soar to the kinds of heights that only those with the thetans the likes the star of Look Who's Talking, Too could attain. Go, young Falcon! You are free to dream and rise higher than the eagles. For a short time, we Americans were the wind beneath your wings. We watched your sequel: The Boy in the Plastic Bubble 2: Falcon's Flight and I hope I get to see what part three brings.
I believe I can fly. Go ahead... Inspire R. Kelly again, young Falcon. We've earned it.
Friday, October 16, 2009
As I was semi-legally downloading songs for tomorrow's Crawford-Woodward wedding while working at McFadden's for trivia night, I noticed a small glitch in one of my tracks. The song in question? None other than "Funkytown" by Lipps, Inc. The song sucks, granted, but I'm not getting paid to listen to music. I'm not getting paid at all. I'm there to make people get on the dancefloor and shake their ass... and not the proverbial one either. This song, from what I've been told, is one of the ways to do it. All them cougars on the prowl at a wedding? This song is like their battle cry.
I tried to load the song onto my Itunes and met with error after error. I thought that the third time would be a charm. I was wrong. I got a little rainbow spinny wheel [this is where I'd insert a GIF if I cared enough to] indicating that it was processing...
But nothing happened. After 20 minutes, I got a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach that this may be it for my 12000 songs, many of which I had not yet backed up onto my external hard drive. So I did what any man would do. I swore very loudly and stayed up til 4:45 this morning uninstalling and then reinstalling some software and programs on my Mac that are neither designed to be uninstalled nor reinstalled.
And with great success.
So, dear readers who may be attending Lori and Aaron's wedding tomorrow, FEAR NOT! There will be dancing. There will be "Funkytown". There will be people who probably aren't me making sweet, sweet love afterwards. You're welcome.
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Seriously. When was the last time you saw a rhythmic gymnast in the Olympics from The Emerald Isle? Better yet, when was the last time you watched rhythmic gymnastics in the Olympics? Better still, did you even know that rhythmic gymnastics was a sport? If you didn't then I feel bad for you. Why? 'Cause chicks do crazy shit like what's pictured to the right. They give out gold medals for these kinds of things, people. All the women competitors of rhythmic gymnastics are champions in my book. Also, it's one of two sports (women's volleyball being the other) where I don't feel the least bit guilty for watching in the nude.
It was long about the first "Some-some-some-I-some-I-murda..." when my brown hooded sweatshirt got the best of me; it's zipper easing its way down my already sweaty chest. That's 'cause I'm perpetually out of shape and Tennessee is perpetually at 751% humidity. I took a leap of faith to continue running, continue dancing, and adjusting the zipper on my hooded sweatshirt... Right about then is when I ended up face first and covered in dirt on the corner of McMahan Ave and Gallatin Pike watching traffic roll right on by me.
I was very humbly reminded that we(e) Irish are designed to stick to Riverdancin'. As soon as our upper bodies are engaged in an athletic endeavor, we fall flat.
Friday, October 9, 2009
Thursday, October 8, 2009
Sure, I could go to the Better Business Bureau with this. Sure, I could raise hell with my local news outlet. Sure, I could go put some dog poop in a paper bag, set it on your doorstep, light it on fire, ring the bell, and then run away. Hell, that last thing just sounds like fun and I might do it anyway. But none of those will probably be as effective as sending you a letter and posting this on the internet.
Stephen P Bohn
Friday, October 2, 2009
She seemed perfectly nice at first. Well dressed. Professional. Probably makes six figures. Thinks the world of John and Kate Gosselin really does matter. Nothing terribly offensive about her. 'Cept maybe the last thing. Then again, Colby Pitts liked that John and Kate Plus 8 show and I think he's super awesome.
Melissa enters my cube, stage left.
Me: Hi! What can I do for you?
Melissa: Well.. Is this human resources?
Me: In a manner of speaking, yes. We work with HR. Is there something I can help you with?
Melissa: Well, I'm looking for an employee. Her name is Geetha. She works in IT. She's supposed to help me with my BlackBerry.
Me: Sure, I can point you in the right direction. Lemme look her up. [Goes into my Outlook Address book and find Geetha's location in about 4 seconds. Very difficult, I know].
Melissa: [Slightly embarrassed] Well, I coulda done that!
Me: Hey, no problem at all...
Melissa: Can we call her just so I can be sure I can find her?
Me: Yeah. [Dials number on speaker phone]
Geetha: Hi, this is Geetha.
Me: Hi, Geetha, this is Stephen in the ERC, and I've got an employee that's looking for you.
Geetha: Oh, is it Melissa?
Melissa: [Goes from zero to bitch in .13 seconds] YEAH.
Geetha: Okay, I'm on the first floor of the 618 building, right when you walk in the main entrance, on the right.
Melissa: WHERE IS THAT?
Geetha: On the first floor of the 618 building. Where are you?
Melissa: WHERE IS THAT?
Geetha: Melissa, it's on the first floor of the 618 building. Go out the front door of 648, turn left, go to the next building and there it is.
Melissa: WHAT FLOOR ARE YOU ON?!
[By this point in time the entire office has stood up from their cubicles and is looking in my direction like I've just told this woman that I've killed her cat, Mr. Fluffer Mittens. I hadn't.]
Geetha: [Becoming increasingly perturbed with Melissa] Well, there's only one floor in the 618 building, so I'd say... First?
Melissa: YOU'RE NOT EVEN IN THIS BUILDING?
Geetha: Nooo... I sent you that in an email.
Me: [Entirely amused but is now leaning back in my chair holding onto my iPhone for dear life 'cause I know what's coming]
Melissa: [Throws BlackBerry with surprising force against my desk causing it to shatter into several pieces. Proceeds to pick up receiver of my desk phone and slam it down.]
Me: Well... Umm...
Melissa: [Still yelling] THIS IS THE MOST RETARDED THING EVER! WELL, NOW WHO DO I SEE ABOUT GETTING A NEW BLACKBERRY?!
Me: I dunno... Geetha, maybe?
Melissa: [Picks up pieces of BlackBerry and storms out]
As I was writing this entry, Melissa came back and apologized. Too late, lady. The words have been set and I'm too lazy to backspace.