In my head... In my head... In my head...

Odd stuff. All of a sudden my brain is playing "The Battle of Endor, Part 1" from the Return of the Jedi soundtrack. And when my brain plays a song, it's almost like I'm hearing it on headphones. Which is kind of cool, but I try to avoid it because I can't turn it off.


I have come to the conclusion that I really do like my job. Because in between the customers that irritate ME, the time is filled by me irritating THEM.

Canada Delenda Est!

Built upon a foundation of misinterpretation and non-understanding, the Brain Monkeys and I fully support the Shape-Changing (Optionally)-Armored Divine Monkey Initiative.


Did you ever notice that "Cosmopolitan" has more cleavage shots than "Maxim"???

Wow... Just wow...

Now that I'm back up to my usual 2x-24-ounce Mountain Dew level of caffeination, I've reread my last blog. And... damn. Must remember to blog before breakfast more often. That was just EVIL.

Here's another shocking admission, which some of you (all, what, 6 of you?) already know. I used to be a Democrap. From second through eighth grade I believed every word my liberal mother told me. Republicans wanted to enslave the lower classes and wage endless war, yada yada yada. It wasn't until I was 16 or so that she informed me that she was once a card-carrying member of the American Communist Party. But that's not when or why I became a Republican.

It was at the Governor's School. A place I now know to be a bastion of liberal brainwashing. It was there that I saw the effect that liberal propaganda had on once-promising minds. Where I learned that a Demon-crat controlled foreign policy could very well have had us all saluting a red flag with a hammer-and-sickle on it. Where I saw preferential treatment given to immigrants just because.
It made my stomach get sick and my mind get well. To a certain degree, anyway.

You may have noticed that I rarely, if ever, use the proper name of the Democratic party. I prefer to call them Democraps or Demon-crats. Because they have very little to do with democracy. Do the majority of Americans want wussy toilets? Do the majority of Americans want to have their cars outlawed? Do the majority of Americans give a fuck about endangered species? Do the majority of Americans want their assets taxed to oblivion, leaving them dependent on the government that stole their money in the first place? Do the majority of Americans want to lose their jobs to unchecked immigration? Do the majority of Americans want to just sit back and let the ragheads bring over invisible weapons of terror? Do the majority of Americans want to let foreigners dictate our foreign policy?

I think any sane, rational human being would have to answer "no" to all of those. A demon-crat would not. That is why I consider anyone who truly buys into the democrappy mindset to be sub-human. Because humanity is based on intelligence. That's what separates us from monkeys. And anyone who believes a word that rolls off of any demon-crat's forked tongue has no discernible intellect.

Boredom is the mother of invention.

I'm bored. Which is not such a bad state to be in, considering the other states of being in which I could exist right now. I'd rather be bored than painfully angry. "Painfully angry" is my name for the state that some customers put me in, where I tense up my neck and clench my jaw because they're so stupid it hurts to be near them but I need my job so I have to repress the urge to slap them. I had one woman in here tonight who was so dumb I actually had to put my hands in my pockets because they were involuntarily balling into fists.

But now, thankfully, I'm just bored. The kind of boredom that motivates me to do things like "Tidy"-ing my web template.


I've had this odd pain in my chest for days now. It woke me up on Friday and hasn't gone away. If it were a blood clot or an aneurysm I'd probably be dead now, so I'm crediting it to a respiratory infection inflaming the pleural sac, which I've had before.

It hurts to breathe too deeply, so I don't. And Sealab 2021 nearly killed me last night.
"Murphy: Until we find the thief, I am declaring Martian law!
Sparks: Um, I think it's 'martial' law.
Murphy: Silence! Under Martian law, w- ... what are my powers, exactly?
Sparks: Under martial law, you could suspend habeas corpus, empower a Posse Comitatus, an -
Murphy: That's crap. Mars is wild, untamed! I'm forming a cadre of Martian Knights, charged with enforcing Martian law!
...
Murphy: I dub thee... (knights Marco with the bat) Sir Phobos, Knight of Mars, Beater of Ass.
...
Murphy: Under Martian law, doctors and other wizards are forbidden! (to Marco) Nice swing, Sir Phobos.
Marco: The key is to hit really hard. With the bat."

I wish all the free anonymizing proxy servers weren't so bloody slow. I won't pay for one, because it will become useless on the next "upgrade" of our backroom server. Oh well.

Have I ever mentioned how much I hate the Super Bowl? It's a total waste of a Sunday night. All the networks that don't have the Stupid Bowl choose not to waste their good programming. So those of us who don't enjoy watching large sweaty men running around in tight uniforms get a night of sub-par programming. (And that, by the way, is why I can't fathom the average man's fascination with football.)

If Superman had landed in Germany, and had been raised by loving, nurturing parents who just happened by virtue of geography to be fanatical Nazis, would Superman be a Super-Nazi? Or are his super-morals genetic?

The digital recorder strikes again.

"New AOL, version 8-point-My Balls!"

"There's just something about new pants. Mmmm..."

"The problem with ice cream on wooden sticks is that wooden sticks taste a lot like wood."

"If Bob, the guy in the 'Enzyte' commercials, has such a huge penis, why doesn't he have a prettier wife?"

"Idea for a profitable new invention: A continuous water heater. Like a long pipe wrapped in huge heating coils. It would look like a regular water heater, except on its side. It would be hideously wasteful, but you'd never need to get out of the shower. A better idea might be to stop taking Kramer-style showers, but that's not happening anytime soon."

Fascinating stats.

Do I know anyone who uses a Mac? I think that "pinging Weblogs.com" might be attracting random visits. Then they see that I'm a reprehensible human being and they go away.

I still have some free PyrAds impressions from signing up for Blogger Pro, too... Hmm...

Yep, definitely need to change the title to something deceptive. Like "Free Porn Blog" or something.

I can have a "favicon" now! Hoorj!

Clean slate.

I have a theory that assholes are naturally attracted to the job of tractor-trailer driver. We need to kill all the tractor-trailer drivers and start over with a batch of nice people and see if it's the job that makes them assholes or if the previous batch were assholes to begin with. I could be wrong, but we'll never know until we kill all the current asshole drivers.

And the sink will run red...

My brain tried to escape through my nose again. It's so bored it's trying to go find something fun to do without me.

On a totally unrelated topic, we need to build more railroads and then ban the tractor-trailer altogether. I'm sure I've said that before, but it bears repeating.

Sunday malaise

I never got in the habit of using my digital recorder on my cell phone until only recently. I really shouldn't have started. Because there are some Kipish ideas that should be lost to the ether, and they would be lost before I could post them even if I had Internet at home. Not anymore. And now that I have them in an ageless digital format, it just seems wrong to erase them...

"It takes the Power Rangers like a frigging minute to morph. Why not kill them while they're morphing? Unless they have some kind of shield that only takes effect while they morph, in which case, why don't they use that shield all the time since they've been shown to be defeatable in morphed form."

"If someone were to invent an energy weapon, would it be more or less marketable if they called it a 'Death Ray'?"

"Interesting show concept: 'Captain Bastard!' Or maybe 'Captain Asshole!'"

"Emeril is great and all, but who in the holy fuck makes homemade ginger ale? There's like a hundred kinds of store-bought ginger ale. And he made it to use in an alcoholic beverage. If you're serving an alcoholic drink based on ginger ale, you're probably not the type to make your own."

"What this town needs is a good butcher shop."

"We need to fly a stealth bomber mission over Toronto and drop leaflets that say 'Be glad we're just dropping leaflets.'"

Maybe you DO get what you pay for.

Blogger support restored the List before I had a chance to. Good on ya, mates.

Think about this for a minute: A good portion of the money you use, assuming you are in or near my age group (which you probably are, if you're reading this), is older than you are. And the money you handle every day has almost certainly been handled by one or more people who are dead now.
Just a cheerful thought from the brain monkeys. They say "hi!"

Grown out of proportion...

You'd think that with Dateline and 20/20 and all the other sensationalist "newsertainment" shows harping on the so-called obesity epidemic, it would be easier to find pants in my size.

Death of a thousand paper cuts.

The tiny annoyances are piling up at an alarming rate. First, I couldn't wish the snow away. ("Reality is that which, when you stop believing in it, doesn't go away." - Philip K. Dick) Then I noticed a hole in my favorite pants. Then I have to fight my way out of my parking lot because I live in a crater. Then I get to work and have to park stupidly far from the store because Captain Assface out here with the snowplow is just doing an absolutely supercalifragilisticexpialicrappy job.
And now I find when I go to make an addition to the List that it has disappeared. It has been replaced in the generated HTML with two line breaks, and in the archive all I see is "[BigBody]". It worked fine BEFORE I gave them money to make my site better. Now it's broken. Fortunately I have a backup, so I'll put it back up tomorrow, assuming I remember to load it on my PenDrive.


On a lighter note, I had a slightly less offensive idea about controlling the elderly menace. If we can't imprison or kill them, at the very least they should have their own checkout lines, and they should be banned from the normal peoples' checkouts. If we can universally enforce this idea, we may be able to STOP enforcing it after a year or two. Because if old people are required to always wait behind other old people, eventually the annoyances will dwindle, like hobbling back out for a forgotten item, or having a coupon for everything, or disputing a $.25 overcharge, or writing a check for a total under $5. And that's all I really want. A little discipline. Make them behave like real people.

It's NOT going to snow.

It's NOT. It's NOT NOT NOT. NO SNOW. I refuse to believe in it until I see it. And hopefully, that will keep it away.

Terms and Conditions

Everything has T's&C's. Even if you CHOOSE not to read them, or to remember them. You'll find that virtually every store has brochures full of policies at their front desk, or signs by the door or the checkout, or terms enclosed in the package. Every service you use, every non-food item you buy has some kind of terms.

And the word "warranty" does not mean "instant replacement any time you want", it means "repair if the product has a verifiable and replicatable error or defect."

And you can't expect stores to carry every part for every product they've ever sold. Going into a Radio Shack looking for parts for a 7 year old multitester is just like going to Sears looking for replacement slats for a 93 year old washboard. And try getting parts at Wal-Mart or Target for ANYTHING they sell.

And these are not new ideas. These are things I knew before I had a job in retail. Hell, these are things I knew when I was twelve.

FYI

I've just added bStats to the page. If this bothers you, deny access to stats.blogger.com. If you don't know how to deny access to an IP or FQDN, then you're not concerned enough about privacy for this to matter to you, so ignore this.

OK, so it kind of works. I sent that at 12:48. And it didn't auto-publish like it was supposed to. And it erased the apostrophe in "you'll." So there are bugs in the system yet. I think I'll just stick with my digital recorder.

Is it safe???

Blog by email... If this works, youll really see some weirdness next time I go out drinking. __________________________________________________ Do you Yahoo!? Yahoo! Mail Plus - Powerful. Affordable. Sign up now. http://mailplus.yahoo.com

I can put titles on my posts now!

I have a love-hate relationship with modern medicine... I love the fact that I can now get Claritin without having to waste time at the stupid doctor's office surrounded by disgusting sick people. Nevermind the fact that Claritin might not be the best thing for my problem. That's irrelevant.

What I hate is what Claritin does to me mentally. Because Claritin D 24-hour is basically the antihistamine Claritin, plus 240 mg. of time-release Sudafed. Having a continuous moderate level of stimulant in my blood makes me a slightly different person. Basically, I have to fight the urge to be nice to people. Because intellectually, I know that's wrong. That's not who I am, that's not how I treat people. I will not let this processed artificial sunshine erase the Evil which I feel is it my duty to affect upon the world.

Ah, bananas.

Welcome to Things and Stuff 2.0!

Sometimes, my Mom is terribly cool. I asked her for a WebCertificate, which is basically a Debit Mastercard without a bank account or physical card. I wanted to upgrade to Blog*Spot Plus so I could have FTP access and no ads on this site. I expected her to give me the small WebCertificate, which is $50. Instead, she sends me a bit more. A bit more meaning enough to also upgrade to Blogger Pro and have some left over for a little shopping.

Hoorj!

My mom can be a really awesome person sometimes... I now have Blogger Pro and Blog*Spot Plus for at least a year.

Retards. RETARDS. I HATE RETARDS!
Why does every sub-average in-duh-vidual in Virginia want to come and ask ME questions?



And GOD DAMMIT, KEIM rhymes with "time" not with "team"!!!
Everyone knows how much I hate foreigners, and I hate foreign languages, but I have at least some degree of respect for people's last names, even if they're foreign.
I just got a call asking for Chris Keem. I decided long ago that I don't want to talk to anyone who can't pronounce my name, so I simply said "Nope, there's nobody named Keem here."

Now, people with stupid first names I have no sympathy for. I don't care if Laquesha Boneeta Syretia Jones is named after an African princess, it's still a stupid name. (And it's hypothetical, but not far from some of the outlandish ones I've seen...)
And names that sound normal but look dumb are just as bad. If your name is Q'aibbnn and pronounced "Kevin" your parents should be executed by TRASH COMPACTOR.

I knew there was something else I wanted to post about...

Departing Illinois governor George Ryan should have everyone close to him murdered brutally.

It's perfectly OK to call someone older than yourself a "punk."

Blogger is flipping out again. It makes me want to make a little hike for Pyra Labs in San Francisco with my buddies Reginald Heinrich Bimmler, Ron Vibbentrop, Norman McGoering, and Dickie Hilter.

The bowling alley in P'Burg has a control computer system that is really quite impressive. Deceptively powerful for its Apple-II-class graphics. And as I was bowling, totally wasted, I came to resent its power over us. I labeled it our "electronic overlord."

And then I started ranting really good. I said "I reject the dictates of our electronic overlord!"
And later, "I want to be overlord of the bowling alley!"

And I was informed just a short time ago that my last comment, about my aspirations of bowling domination, carried from our lane, Lane 4, at the far north end of the bowling alley, to at least the snack bar, just shy of the far south end.
Yes, I have a well-above-average ability to project my voice. Which I apparently, unbeknownst to myself until now, tend to use when I get drunk.

And people said those drama classes would never pay off.

A few months ago I swore I would never IM under the influence again. I changed my mind.
(Andy, if you happen to have saved a copy of our conversation, let me know.)

Geoff kindly reminded me that I have a voice memo recorder on my phone. Thanks, Geoff. I would have totally lost these stunning ideas if I hadn't recorded them...

"We need to build two artificial moons up above the regular moon so that once in a while there will be a big, shiny smiley face in the sky when there's a new or half moon."

"A video store would be an excellent starting point for world domination."

"The mailman should have a speaker on top of his truck like the ice-cream man."

Mandatory institutionalization at 60. That should be the law. We must band together to fight the elderly menace.

Windows Media Player 9.0 IS a good thing. I'm surprised. It loads faster and doesn't look as dumb.

So-called "Secret Shoppers" should all be rounded up and shot. Barring that, they should at least be forced to get REAL jobs.

Today was laundry day. I also cleaned my place (I don't know what to call it exactly, it's sort of a semi-apartment) up until the last possible minute and then showered immediately before work. So I left my house smelling like Dial body wash, Old Spice Red Zone antiperspirant, All brand laundry detergent, Febreze Clean Wash laundry treatment, Downy fabric softener, Snuggle dryer sheets, and potpourri-scented Lysol with Fabric Refresher.

When I clean my toilet, I CLEAN my toilet. I even pour half a bottle of bleach in the tank. Every time. Because I'm weird that way. And when I opened my tank, I saw something that made me happy. My toilet is older than my parents. The date code cast into the ceramic says, if I remember correctly, May 30 1956. My parents were both born in 1962. (I was born when they were 18.)
This makes me happy, because it means I have a real toilet. Made before the EPA pussified the plumbing industry. It's not legal to buy or sell good toilets anymore. When it breaks, they'll have to put in a 1.6 gallon piece of Demon-crat mandated crap. I hate the EPA.

"Well, only one in two million people has what we call the 'evil gene.' [Holds up a card showing DNA.] Hitler had it, Walt Disney had it, and Freddy Quimby has it." - Dr. Julius Hibbert

I have the "recessive evil gene." It just makes me WANT to be as evil as Hitler. I don't have enough motivation to actually kill anyone, or rob people, or enter politics. But I think about those things a lot.

Windows Media player 9.0 is out. I don't know if that's a good thing or not. We shall see...

There is a difference between being smart and being educated. I've known some very well-educated idiots.

I think they should outlaw gum. There's nothing in the constitution that says people have a right to chew gum. And it's regulated by the FDA. So we could get rid of gum altogether.

If you pay by check, be prepared for a hassle. Everyone who works at a company that accepts checks hates checks, they just don't want to admit it. Personally, I don't see how they ever became popular. Somehow, somewhere, some slimy lobbyists got together and made it legal for people to start dispensing I.O.U.s en masse.

I don't understand how people can carry a checkbook and yet not have 2 forms of I.D. Personally, I have my driver's license on my person at all times. In addition, I have my Social Security card, my Voter Registration card, and my Sam's Club photo member ID, all of which are acceptable at my store as secondary IDs for a check. But I don't use checks because I hate them.

In California, you can be arrested if you can't present a driver's license or state ID to any law enforcement official upon command. It may seem fascist, but I see the wisdom inherent in the law.

I fear I may be a bit premature, but it may be time to announce the triumphant return of the old Blog of Kip. The one where I post thought and ideas, not the one where I post events and whining. You know why? Because I've decided to buy a microwave. This may seem kind of odd, but it's very significant to me. It's my way of accepting my current lifestyle as one that may be self-sustainable. Because it means that I've detached myself from the place and the way I used to live. And that's good.

It takes odd things to make me happy. I wish I had some kind of hobby or something. Like Geoff over here, who is absolutely thrilled by the new magnesium-plated gweebo flange (or whatever in the hell he's rambling about) that he can get for his nitro racer.


If you've ever worked in retail, and you're caucasian, you may have noticed something. And it's going to sound racist. But I have found that black people, black women especially, will single out one white guy and do everything they can to waste that man's time. It's as if they are using their off-hours to do whatever they can to thwart the success of those they perceive as being their oppressors. Thing is, I haven't oppressed anyone lately. Have you?

I am beginning to miss the Christmas season. There were things to do, which is tolerable even though most of those things had to do with catering to complete idiots. Because it's preferable to this state of ineffable boredom. (I love the word ineffable. It sounds so much smarter than "unspeakable.")

And here's a short little ditty I like to call "The Cheerful Megalomaniac":
(Sung to the Coca-Cola jingle.)

I'd like to teach the world to sing
A song of mis-e-ry.
I'd like to con-quer e-ve-ry-one,
And make them bow to me.

I think we need to bring back brick phones. Big buttons, loud speaker, big as a cordless or bigger. But they should have the polyphonic ringers and color screens of the current crop of phones.
I'd buy one.

On that same topic, there should be phones with multiple modes. I want a CDMA/ WCDMA/ TDMA/ GSM/ FDMA/ PDC/ iDEN/ TACS/ ETACS/ JDC/ NMT/ AMPS/ NAMPS phone (I didn't make any of those up) that operates at 400/ 700/ 800/ 850/ 900/ 1400/ 1800/ 1900 MHz (and I didn't pick any of those at random). In other words, I want an octuple-band triskaidekatuple-mode phone.
(OK, I may have skipped certain standards and included what could be considered subsets. I was in a hurry and I like the word "triskaidekatuple" [which probably isn't a real word, but who cares?].)


There is in fact a word for the female version of a misogynist. The word is "misandrist." I thought you should know.

Oh, for the love of Bob! It's true! Don't chew Altoids!

Left turns are the root of all evil. It should be possible to get anywhere you want to go by only turning right.


I have never met anyone named "Bertha" who was worth knowing.

Before I go, here's one: Wouldn't it be neat to be able to sneeze, REALLY sneeze, on command?

I miss having internet at home. I spend time here at work just so I can surf. Isn't that sad?

Attention: This blog is not QUITE the same as a diary. A diary is something in which to write your innermost thoughts and fears and defeats and personal attacks and love interests and dreams and other-such-sentimental-bullshit and then tuck it under your bed for nobody to see. A blog is different. It's like a one-sided conversation on topics of my choice. Something I allow people to read for the purpose of gaining insight into my personality and my attitudes.

For example: If I had some personal problem with somebody at work, or somebody I went to school with (so very long ago...) or some member of my family, I wouldn't post it here for all to see. That's among the stuff I continue to keep bottled up. SERENITY NOW! -- If I post here about one of those people it's with the expectation that they see it.
If I have some kind of mental problem I would only share with a pee-sychiatrist (ob. Animaniacs ref.), I wouldn't post it here. -- If I post here about it, it's because I want people to know why I'm about to go Postal. (No, don't worry, not just yet.) I freely admit things like the fact that I inherited certain quirks in my brain chemistry that make me more prone to sociopathic tendencies and possibly schizophrenia. But I'm not going to post the names of the voices in my head, because they'd rather I didn't. :-)
If I had some kind of medical problem I would want kept under doctor-patient confidentiality, I wouldn't post it here. If I post here about a medical problem, it's because I want to rant about it but I don't want to complain about it out loud. That's what old people do. So if I have a nosebleed or a cold sore or a foot problem or something, I'll whine about it here. But if I think I'm dying of something, nobody will know until I'm out cold on the floor at the Shack. Or if I don't come in for a day without giving notice. I'll only do that if I'm severely ill or if I go crazy and drive off in some random direction like I very nearly did last June.

In short, read it if you want, don't read it if you don't. But don't feel that there's something inherently unethical or immoral or disrespectful about reading this page, because it's here for a reason.

Anyway, my life is settling down a bit from the upheaval it underwent the last few months, so this page will very likely return to the type of content it used to have in abundance. Less whining, less personal crap, more of the great Kipish ideas and quotes.
I'd better go home now...

I need a mission statement for this website...

"To rant where nobody is required to listen, to avoid ranting to those who would rather not hear."

See that "Archives" link at the top of the page body? That's where to read the good ideas I had before the restraint lobe of my brain exploded last November.

They may very well have fixed it. We'll see...

Well, for whoever ventures into the archives to read this, I'm about ready to abandon Blogger. Their technical support is nonexistent, and the problem is clearly on their end. I went to the unofficial Blogger Users group on Yahoo, and I'm not the only one having this exact problem. But nobody at Blogger cares, because we're not paying them. If you're going to run an ad-supported service and you realize it's not profitable, you stop offering it. You don't let it decay into uselessness. That's just dishonest and evil.

Every doctor I've been to has said no caffeine for me after 5 PM if I want a reasonable night's sleep. Oh well. The siren song of the nectar of the gods, sweet wonderful Mountain Dew, is too much to resist.

I've already mentioned my ideas about testing immigrants for conversational English. Now I think speech therapy should be part of the elementary school curriculum. I think that the government should enforce a single accent or lack thereof on everyone.

Last night I got a call on my cell phone. I think it was probably a wrong number, but I couldn't be certain because all I could hear the woman say was "eesa nan pone." I tried to get her to speak more clearly, because it was clearly not the fault of my Sprint PCS™ phone. But after saying "eesa nan pone" a few more times, she hung up. Clearly she was surprised by my inability to understand her made-up space language.

If this doesn't post I'm going to be very upset.

So it's 2003. Big deal. I stopped celebrating the new year after the Y2K disappointment. No meltdowns, no explosions, no nothing. Since then, New Year's Eve has been just another night, notable only for the lack of good TV programming. Although this year Cartoon Network came through with an Adult Swim marathon, so I got to see some of my favorite shows of all time on a Tuesday rather than a Sunday. Yay. (Can you sense my overwhelming enthusiasm? No? Because it's not overwhelming. It's not even regular whelming.)

Armageddon is late, and I'm getting annoyed.