All a man needs out of life is a place to sit ‘n’ spit in the fire.

Category: Humor (Page 3 of 3)

Stories, snippets, and observations that crack me up.

Solution to Cheetos Orange Fingers

Patent #10298498 – Method for the Consumption of Crunchy Cheetos to Avoid Orange Finger Syndrome.

done it. They say that necessity is the mother of invention. Well this
one is a mother indeed. Eureka! I jumped, I danced, I rejoiced. Never
again shall I have orange fingers from eating Cheetos brand corn puffs.

Chopsticks, my friends, chopsticks.

it’s only the crunchy ones for me. None of that poofy nonesense. Real
men eat crunchy style Cheetos which, curiously enough, go well with a
rum and coke (lime, not lemon… perhaps another patent opportunity?)

I’ll make millions, I tell you. Millions.

Stupid Argonauts, I should’ve staffed the vessel with women

I dismounted my bike, grabbed a couple of dollars from my bike bag,
and started into the bakery. Coming up the sidewalk were four
young attractive women. A man walking into the bakery ahead of me,
stopped short, arching his back and his head at an awkward angle as he
gawked. I almost walked into him. I cleared my throat, "Ahem, con
permiso." I shook my head, wasn’t that the damnedest thing. He should’ve
taken a picture. It would have lasted longer.

I made my way to
the line in the panadería. It was just after eight o’clock in the
morning, the busiest time. The line was long, the bakery crowded. I
tried to get there earlier, but sometimes, you just can’t get out the

The young women, stepped into the bakery, chatting loudly,
giggling, carrying on. They were noticeable because they were all
dressed in filmy, revealing, noodle strap dresses, high heels, and an
unusual amount of makeup for so early in the morning. There were indeed
hot, and they were about to unleash their wiles on a bakery full of old
weak men. Poor devils.

bakery came to a complete
stand-still. It was like a television freeze frame, ala TJ Hooker. A
fifty-ish short balding man walking toward where I stood, muttered to
his friend, "… e gusta el lechón con gandules." I didn’t hear the
first part… Me, te (you), if it was a question or what… but the
point was clear. "Pork and pigeon peas" go well together in a sexual
way. The innuendo was unmistakable, and I tried to contain a smirk.
a Puerto Rican can say he likes pork meat and pigeon peas in a way that
connotes sex. I mused on comical variations, taking liberty, but
couldn’t push it to hyperbole in Spanish. I like marshmellows in my
coffee. I like ketchup on my burger. I like little toys with my happy
meal. And slowly, with feeling… I like salty… deep fried… artery
clogging, pork rinds mashed into gigantic mounds of green bananas.
Nope, just cannot push it far enough. Everything sounded sexual in

shook my head to myself, and watched the funny time warp
within the bakery. The women were standing directly behind me
in line, carrying on, obviously excited by the eyes burrowing holes in
their flimsy clothing. I had a good vantage point to observe the
leering, as I was directly in its line of site, and despite being clad
a bright red spandex skin suit, bike helmet, and
sunglasses, was completely invisible. I was a camouflaged nature
photographer, dressed in bright orange, invisible to the color-blind
wild beasts. It was absurd. It was hilarious. I continued to watch the
reactions from behind my bright blue lenses, the population of older
men visually undressing the
women with their unabashed desires and their longing gazes. These
have not even the tiniest slice of shame, their decorum thinly dressed
in colorful food metaphors.

I asked Esteban for a dozen eggs. "Esteban, I don’t have an egg carton today, do you think you could rig me something up?"

"Sure," he said as he proceeded to put the eggs in a paper bag.

"Um, do you think you could put them in a cardboard container? I’m on my bicycle. They’ll surely break in a paper bag."

"Oh, sorry, he proceeded to break down one of the cardboard trays used to deliver the eggs, and put it inside a plastic bag."

do you think you could put some plastic wrap around it. They’ll surely
fall out. Sorry for the bother. Next time I’ll be sure to bring my

"No bother, really. Service is why we are here." And he handed me five eggs crudely wrapped in plastic.

I wanted – Um, nevermind, good day." I wasn’t going to get my twelve
eggs today. The sirens had conspired with the gods to keep me from my

The Sweet Nuanced Tones of Fuck

I installed all fresh shiny brand
new super gooey-licisous software on this server today. The new OS and
tools weren’t the hard part, it’s the migration of all
the old data, the interesting easter-egg hunt of new features
masquerading as error messages, and the cursing. Ahhh, it wouldn’t be a
software upgrade without the cursing… sigh, I’ll look back fondly on
this one day and remember the cursing, for it was rich indeed.

"Son, in my day, we knew what voice activation was."

was the subtle nuanced language that only system admins knew how to
speak… that and the sound of the keyboard being impact-hammered into
oblivion. Pure poetry…

*sniff* brings a tear to my eye. I need a pint, I’m feeling in a bit o’ a brood.

Unintended Consquences of the Proliferation of Security Cameras.

Just think of all the potential presidential candidates that would be disqualified for being nose-pickers.

Worker on phone with headquarters

"We can’t support that candidate, sir. He was caught on a Walmart security camera rooting around in his nose."

"No, we couldn’t supress it. CNN’s already got copies. You think Ford’s
stumbling was bad… Sir, we’re going to have to dump him. Inviable
candidate. Need to find someone with shorter softer nose hairs and less
mucus buildup."

"We will start looking for a clean nose right away. There’s
nothing more important in a presidential candidate than naturally clean
nasal passages."

Who Will Serve My Latte?

From an email conversation with my friend, Laura Golden, about The Latte Manifesto a forthcoming book about culture or lack thereof in Silicon Valley

Or, what do I do about the problem of de-latte-ization in the affluent urban centers?

Hey, here’s an idea!! Let’s use gene therapy to make apes smarter and use
them as domestic servants. Hmm, never mind, need opposable thumbs to serve
coffee, probably would spill. They would revolt, wipe out humans, and take
over the earth? What are you smoking, it would never happen.

We could get Mexican’s, they’d be cheaper. But then every damn politician
that came along would threaten to deport them all for stealing good jobs
away from Americans. Course by then, they’d be TECH jobs, because you’d
need to be a PERL/JAVA/PHP/C++ programmer to operated the web-enabled 5 GHz
Pentium 5(tm) espresso machine and to keep out the 31337 L337 hackers using
Zombie IRC chat servers to Denial of Service attack Starbucks Inc.

We could use robots? Wouldn’t be cheaper or more efficient… probaby would
spill more coffee and cost a lot more, but hell you could put it on the web
and track it… little coffee cam, clip together the funniest spills and
sell the tv rights. Or maybe you could order your drink remotely and then
pick it up… cold. Hmm, too stupid? This is America, I don’t think so

What about 16 year old high school students? That used to work pretty well.
People complained that they were rude and hadn’t a clue about how to serve
coffee, but they at least did the job, and worked cheap? How about them?
What, you say? Too busy anyway rolling in IPO money and they have coffee
makers in their ferraris? Nevermind.

So where are we left? Well, I’m glad you asked that. You see the
problem of de-latte-ization in the affluent urban centers is one that I have
sworn to combat. I’ve been a strong proponate of education and school
vouchers. It is only through education that we can make a difference.

Contorted for the Sake of Music

Well, we’ve been in Puerto Rico for almost 3 years now. I wonder if
should change the title of this website to say, "What is Jim up to?" I
first created it so that people (parents and friends) would know where I was. "Where" isn’t as big a deal anymore. "What" is more interesting at least.

I’ve been consumed with work mostly. Business is going okay… we’re
running out of money, and things look grim. I believe the long term
prospect is very good, but we have to pull off some miracles between
now and then. Blah blah blah. Working hard, not doing much else,

Being obsessive about classical music. There’s this great radio
program called Performance Today on National Public Radio. In Puerto
Rico, it’s broadcast on a dinky little university radio transmitter. I
could only pick it up in the car. It’s a two hour program, and so I
never quite got to listen to very much of it. I sometimes would pull up
to an appointment and sit in the car for five or ten minutes while I
finished the piece like savoring a nice slice of pie. You always hate
to rush it.

It always nagged me, tugged on my self… not a waking moment passed
without thinking of a way to hear all of Performance Today. Their
commentary, music from around the world, and history lessons are so
valuable that even missing a single day is devastating. How to get that
program recorded, I pondered.

Okay, first things first. Reception is terrible at our house. I
tried small antennas, stringing them around the house, contorting and
balancing them trying to find a sweet spot. Sigh, no avail after a few
days of fighting, the static still ruined my listening experience.

Meanwhile, I had set up a special program in Linux to record it
digitally every day while I was out. At least I could record the
program, but it still sounded crappy. Since it was in digital format, I
tried cleaning out the pops and static with a little program. It
worked, albeit not as well as I would have hoped. The "cleaned" signal
was decidedly flatter than the original. No pops, but the experience of
sitting in a concert hall just wasn’t there. It still bugged me.

Bring in the big guns. I stomped off to Radio Shack one weekend to
buy a rooftop antenna. I picked up a nice big one on clearance for 40
bucks. Not bad. Bought mounting hardware, wire, grounding kit etc.,
loaded it up and motored home. Since I am impatient, and I didn’t have
time to install it on the roof, I stood it up in the back yard, strung
the coax cable through the window and connected it up. I asked Laura to
listen in the computer room to see how the music sounded while I stood
in the back yard holding this contraption over my head. "How’s it sound


"Okay, now?"


"Better-fine, or better still bad."

"I don’t know, what do you consider good enough?"

I fiddled a bit more

"Oh, stop there, it sounds the best."

Groan. There I was with this thing high above my head contorted,
leaning trying to avoid the trees. I placed it down best I could
pointed it roughly in the same direction as before and went inside to
hear for myself.

"Hey that sounds pretty good. I’ll leave it like that for a while."

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