'Scuse me?

"The connection was refused when attempting to contact Gut Rumbles."

Wellllll....
WHAT DA FUCK FOR?!???!!?

Let me guess.
It's the "universal" conspiracy that I've dealt with forever.
Seeing as how I ain't been abe to read Rob for a Beatle-week, now we hafta play this shitstain game.
Is that it, Mr. (mo'fackin') Computer?

Or, do you just want yer ass kicked?

These things can be done, ya know.

Sincerely, the way my life has been lately, what with all this intense shit I can't do much about, I'm just looking for something, anything really, that I can control, can manipulate into submission, be it a person's neckbone or your increasingly frustrating and worthless ass.

Or, maybe this is just God gettin' His jollies with me again.
He does do this kinda shit on a depressingly regular basis.

Or....
I have been waiting for something... an excuse?... a reason, as if I'd ever have a real one?... something to give me the balls to call Rob.
I've had his home number for about two years.
It's right in my cell, with "Acidman" as the name.
(See, I sent him my number right about the same time I found his and stuck it in my phone. That way, if he did ever call, I know who it was. Now do ya see what I mean about "being ready for a thing causes it never to happen?" I say that ALL the time and it's TRUE.)

Anyway...
If I can't get there one goddamned way, it WILL be the other.

Every other time I've been "about" to call him, he does a post about how much he hates the phone, cell phones in particular, and ijits who call him on them and drive him nuts and shit, so I've not done it.

Til now.

Got Cat's number in there too, actually.

Or, maybe, it IS this stupid machine in front of me.
Lately it, along with my car, has developed certain "idiosyncracies" as it were, that are slowly adding to the pressure.
Just to go on record, they're doing this in that slow, insidious way that usually culminates into a blow-out-type reaction after a looong while, usually over something utterly stupid and unrelated.
Like...
throwing pasture gates around for hours.
Shit like that.

Anyway...
the computer will NOT simply shut off, no matter that the "shut down" circle is "checked", nor by ctl., alt. delete.
Either way, ANY way, ya do it, it restarts immediately.

I couldn't, last night, get updates on either Adaware or Spybot S&D and it also gave me some kind "runtime" bullshit about Mozilla.

I forget what it whined at me about the Spybot update.
Adaware just sat there and the tower thing on the floor got silent.
Had to get rid of it with ctl., alt, delete.

There's a coupla other things, but I can't remember them, probably due to the fact that I try so hard to ignore them in the first place, lest I go ballistic.

Same with "Christopher", the Firebird.
It's Christopher because I am beyond convinced this ve-hickle is Christine's bastard son.
Sumbitch has got to have an as yet unlocated DICK on it somewhere, the way it acts half the time.
I love him but he drives me capital-N, capital-UTS: NUTS, just like those other thangs with winkies typically do.
Or, one of 'em, mostly, anyway.
*grin*

Anyhoo, with the car, it's the headlights having to be "stuck" up giving the car the appearance of Groucho Marks, lacking only the cigar, which, believe me, I've thought about installing with duct tape, to complete the imagery.
Also, the right turn signal doesn't work. I can do it manually during the day, when the lights are off, but, at night, it's always on and yesterday, when some dipshit was pissin' me off, I discovered that the horn is not working either.
So, I hadda scream "BEEEEEEEP!!!!!" out the fuckin' window...

*lmao*

No, not really, but I did have the thought of installing this mouthy freakin' parrot of mine on the driver's side door, like Fred Flintstone did, to use him as a "warning device".
Then, I realized how much more personally satisfying it'll be to be like Robert DeNiro in Taxi Drvier screaming out the window, instead.

Lucky for Murph, huh?

Anyway....
Now I hafta walk away from my non-connecting-to-Gut Rumbles, piece of shit computer and get into my non-turn-signal-havin', no horn havin', possessed Firebird and go get the shit to do my nails.
Yeah.
I get to drive 3 miles to spend $5 so that I can sit here all day, removing and replacing nailtips and scraping away at them forever so I can go to work tonight and not hafta keep tacking them down.

What fun.

'Course, right now, breathing is a chore, too.

Oh, and soy protein.
Where do ya get that?
Is it bugs, or plants?
I know soybeans.
And, I know bugs are pure protein, so this is giving me an unsettling mind-movie.
*giggle*
Ew.
I just thought of what else is "pure protein".

Yeah.
That's just what he needs.
His winkie anywhere near my teeth right now.

Riiiight.

(*rotflmfao, now*)

Jesus...

How did I get from Gut Rumbles to Eric's.....

Oh.
I know.

My computer started this by BEING a dick and I brought it back round to Eric's, so that must mean I'm done now, huh?

Well, good.

I gotta go to the stupid store.

Peace
(What a concept)

UPDATE 3.5 seconds later....
I can get to Gut Rumbles, now.
That must mean that one of those "theories" of mine was right, because, as soon as you expose a machination, the perp quits having fun doin' it and so, it ends.
Now... which one of them was it?
Hasta be either that universal conspiracy that I've dealt with forever to drive me completely insane, or God, which I'm starting to suspect may be the same thing, 'cause this pooter ain't healed itself, nor do I expect my car to have.
Know what I mean?
(If ya do, by the way... SEEK HELP IMMEDIATELY, for your own good and all.)

Posted by: Stevie at 01:39 PM

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Posted by: Mad Mikey at July 29, 2005 06:29 PM (xGZ+b)

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