Elderly Man Assaulted by Area Web Designer

Well, I don't know if I can top the reaction I got from the moth story, but I gotta keep at it so bear with me...

So I'm at the grocery store in Carlsbad. The lines are long and a new checkstand opens up in front of me. I am the first in line and I see the old guy jack a woman for the #2 spot. Dick move but whatever. As the Checker begins scanning my items, he notices that are not registering in the scanner. Immediately I hear the hemming and hawing from the coot behind me (who just moved up about 6 spots when the new lane opened). The Checker says, "Hmm, this is weird" and the old guy starts with the yelling. "Hey! What's going on?! That thing broken?? Are you doing it right?" The checker doesn't look up, just laughs nervously and continues to troubleshoot the problem. The old guy continues to badger the Checker and eventually demands a discount for being made to wait (about 30 seconds at this point). After a failed attempt at an organized protest for a discount by this old prick, (I love it when people try to involve me in their ridiculous 1940s soup line riot. This is not a union meeting and we're not flipping over displays or lighting anything on fire over this. Shut the fuck up.) the Checker opens a new checkstand and moves all my items.

The guy was really pissing me off, but I factored in that old people are on fixed incomes and he probably took the bus to get there. I've been dependent on public transit and it's no life of luxury. Every penny and second counts. For this reason, I did not turn around and tell him that if he shouted one more thing over my shoulder, I was going to bitch-slap an old man in front of several witnesses and I wasn't super-comfortable being "that guy". I like to keep my senior abuse private.

As I was getting into my truck, I watched him climb into a brand spakin' new Bentley Continental GTC. I probably would have made the news, but I really should have slapped him.

The Rebirth of Mothra

Our front door is located in the eastern wing of our palatial estate. Unfortunately, that is also where the waste bin province for the surrounding residents is located. Price you pay to live on the bay. Because of this, the house fly count skyrockets when the spring comes around and the trash heats up to what I can only guess smells like pan seared filet mignon to a fly. We have tried to combat the problem with fly strips in the past, but the wife found something a little more proactive recently in the form of a AA battery powered fly swatter. It's basically a battery charged tennis racquet for zapping flies. I know this sounds like a glamorous activity, but I assure you, it is not. Diving over couches, swinging an electrified racquet around like a blindfolded kid going at a pinata is a great way to pull a hamstring. Whatever, it was funny, we took pictures and laughed.

Until later that evening....

About an hour after Jenny went to bed, the dog and I were camped on the couch, eating wheat thins and deeply engrossed in a particularly riveting episode of Street Patrol, when something flew into the room. We both noticed it at the same time because when it flew past the light, the room briefly went dark. At first I was convinced a condor had gotten out of the San Diego Zoo and made it's way into our living room. In a flash I was on my feet, bug racquet in hand and we were in "the shit" as they said in Vietnam. Oliver was providing ground fire while I set up for the big aerial strike. The target was misidentified as a bird- upon further inspection it was clear we were dealing with some kind of prehistoric moth. It was bouncing off the walls and the buzzing of it's wings filled the room. I activated the bug zapper and went in.

The first couple swings were a miss, but by the time the fight made it into the kitchen, I connected and sparks flew. The popping sound of the zapper was barely audible over the barking, but it was clear that the beast had taken damage. I expected it to fall lifelessly to the floor as so many flies had done earlier that evening, but this was proving to be quite a bit more challenging than we had expected. Defiantly, it darted around the kitchen ceiling, buzzing and smacking against the lights. Everyone involved was probably cursing that this point. Eventually, I was able to pin it into the corner next to the refrigerator and delivered another death strike. The zapper sparked and the moth buzzed, but did not fall. I immediately started dictating a letter to the people of the bug zapper manufacturer, calling for a larger battery model for cases such as this. 2 AAs just seemed to enrage him. The 3rd strike was critical. It was not fatal, but sent the moth spiraling into the sink. I had momentarily stolen the gift of flight, however it continued to buzz around and bounce off the sides of the sink. The idea of activating the garbage disposal was briefly considered, but It was concluded that grinding this thing up would be pretty gross and there needed to be an extraction. I quickly grabbed the kitchen tongs and secured it by it's hulking carapace. The beating of it's wings vibrated through the tongs as I made my way to the front door.

The moth appeared to regain the ability to fly as I hurled it into the night. Oliver and I crashed back into the couch with a collective sigh of relief. It was over. The beast was slain. Well, not slain but electrocuted multiple times with a AA powered badminton racquet then thrown over a fence. That's my version of what happened. This is likely the moth's...

So I see this light and i'm like, sweet. I head toward it and this fucking attack dog goes bat shit, barking like a goddamn mental patient. THEN, this not-so-bright looking shirtless dude wielding some kinda electrified squash ball racquet comes out of nowhere and starts swingin at me with it! He's yelling, the dog's barking, shit's getting knocked over and all i'm doing is trying to find the door so i can get the fuck out of there. As soon as i get my bearings this asswipe hits me with another 200 volts and the next thing i know i'm in the fucking sink and I cant take off! He's looking at me like I just stuck my dick in his mashed potatoes, grabs me with these giant metal clamps, carries me outside and chucks me into a fucking gate. All i wanted to do was check out a light and they go jihad on me. Worst night ever.

Carpeted Stairs... of Death!

When I signed up for a Myspace account, I quickly realized the developers built in a handy feature that lets you rank which friends you like best via the "Top Eight". These are the select friends that show up on your homepage. This allows the user to bypass all the little social graces we have learned as adults and topspins you right back onto the elementary school dodgeball court, picking out the kids you think are the least likely to cry when drilled in the face with an under-inflated utility ball. Only this time, you have to pick the adults who WILL cry if not added to the Almighty Top Eight. While I appreciated the social networking aspect of MySpace, I did not enjoy the friend ranking system. So I filled my top friends with bands that I figured I would probably never meet, thereby sidestepping the uncomfortable conversation with Mike Ness, explaining that I didn't put the bands in any order and that Social D is just as important as Bad Religion.

In doing so, I opened myself up to a cavalcade of "musicians" that go through these band's friend lists and add everyone in an attempt to get people to listen to their crappy music. "Like Pennywise??, You'll love us! We're the next up and coming grindcore band from the infamous seedy underbelly of Big Timber, Montana!".

These requests are normally chuckled at and deleted, but on occasion, I am so baffled at the photo they chose as their profile picture, I have to go to their page and figure out if it's a joke. Sometimes it is. Sometimes it is not. While I can understand that living on a farm in Iowa will probably gimp a high school kid's sense of what's rebellious or punk, I am consistently amazed at what they attempt to pass off as such.

I wish I wouldn't have deleted them in the past as I would have quite the collection to post here, but the gem I got today is worth it. I wont list this kid's MySpace page in case he's really as angry as he'd like you to think he is. Enjoy.

In a world where pixels aren't the only things that get... DEAD.

So there I was, staring at the back of the bank robber's legs. I quickly assessed the situation. In an instant I had a plan and without hesitation, I gyroed my legs around and landed on my feet. Before the robber had I chance to react, I delivered a powerful spin kick, connecting with his left temple and knocking him out cold. As his lifeless body dropped to the earth like a sack of potatoes, I scooped the hysterical pregnant woman from his arms and set her safely aside. This attracted the attention of the second robber who had been preoccupied with the teller. As he spun to face me, the sawed off shotgun he was holding wheeled around as well. Before he could squeeze a shot off, I managed to snatch a paper weight off the account manager's desk and hurled it, meeting him square between the eyes. His eyes rolled back and he dropped the shotgun, but did not go down. As I lept over the chairs in the waiting area like a hungry jungle cat, I could see he was regaining his composure. I imagine his vision came back into focus just in time to see the whites of my eyes as I sent us sailing over the bank counter. The robber grunted as we slammed into the floor of the teller's station. Before he could lift his arms to defend himself, I delivered 4 devastating elbows that left him motionless. The tellers gasped at the crack of his nose on the 3rd blow as stray twenty dollar bills floated to the floor. I made sure everyone was alright before attempting to call the police. When I flipped my phone open, I could see the screen had been shattered in the mayhem.

Long-story-short, I cracked the screen on my phone and cannot send or receive texts until i get it fixed. That part is true.

update 4/9: fixed.