Big Brother Is Watching

Hope everyone had a pleasant Turkey Day. Of course, that only applies to us Yanks living here in the good ol’ U.S. For the rest of you foreigners, you have another name for Thanksgiving…… I believe you call it “Thursday”.

Anyway, to the point of this post.

As I’ve said many times, I do 90 percent of my blogging while at work, instead of working. I guess if I were a decent sort, I would balance this by doing 90 percent of my work while I was at home, but somehow that never seems to happen.

Anyway, the Gestapo that I work for run something called Websense on our work computers. Websense is a wonderful bit of software that analyzes any website that a user happens to go to, and determines if it is “work appropriate”. If it ISN’T, then it prevents you from going there. You get nothing, nada, zip. And without even the common damn courtesy of a reach around.

Why am I bringing this up?

Because, it appears that Websense has finally started to catch up with my Blogging.

About 2 weeks ago, it started with Being Brazen. When I tried to read her blog here at work, I was surprised to see the dreaded Websense screen pop up with the pleasant words “The website you are attempting to reach is deemed as a personal blogging site and is prohibited.”

I thought that mighty strange, since I was still able to get to the other 30 or so blogs that I try to read at least once a week.

Then on Wednesday of last week, the hammer REALLY came down.

I now appear to be filtered from about 1/3 of the sites that I used to be able to access without any issues. Goodbye, Dr. Zibbs, Final Girl, and at least 10 others. And just when I thought we were starting to develop a meaningful relationship, too… :(

Anyway, I’m not sure why I have yet to be stopped from reading ALL my blogs, but I have no doubt that within the next few weeks, more and more of you will be blocked from me. Even more disheartening, I fully expect to be blocked even from Slydesblog before long.

So, what does that mean?

Really, not too much. I will just have to tear myself away from playing Left For Dead 2 a few nights a week to get my blogging done. I usually find the time to visit you all no more than once, sometimes twice a week anyway, so hopefully I won’t miss out on what you all have to say too much.

It kinda blows, but I know the world needs me too much to abandon you all. I’m a giver like that.

I just wanted to let you all know that, if I seem to have been coming around your way less than usual lately, that’s probably why.

Unless you happen to be Earl. I don’t go there anymore because his site just plain sucks.

Sometimes, Listening Is Important

Sometimes when I am listening to someone, my mind wanders, and I find myself zoning in and out of the conversation, only half listening to it, even if it's a conversation I should be paying my full attention to.

Case in point:

The following is an actual phone conversation I had with my friend Rose yesterday....

Me: Hey, what's up?

Rose: Nothing good. I had the WORST day yesterday.

Me: Why, what happened?

Rose: While I was driving to work yesterday morning, I had a car accident.

Me: Shit. Are you Ok?

Rose: Yeah, just a little banged up, but I'm basically ok.

Me: What happened?

Rose: Well, like I said, I was driving to work, and I hit some Black guys.

Me: Holy Shit!

Rose: Yeah, it sucks, but I have just a little car damage, so no biggie.

Me: No biggie? Is everyone Ok?

Rose: Yeah, I told you I'm fine.

Me: But what about the others?

Rose: What others? I was alone in the car.

Me: You're being a little cold. How many where there?

Rose: How many of what? What the fuck are you talking about?

Me: What am I talking about? What the fuck are YOU talking about? You just told me you ran over some black guys! How many? Are they hurt?

Rose: You're a jackass. I said that my car hit some BLACK ICE, you fucking idiot... not Black Guys.

Me: Uhhhhh. Oh. Ok.

Rose: You really need to listen better when people are talking to you.

Me: I agree. So, the black guys are ok then?

Rose: -Click-

Ok, my last line was just me being a prick....

P.S. I really hope those black guys are ok.....

Truthful edit: Yeah, I cheated alittle bit today. Long Time readers might remember that this is actually a re-print of a post i put up about 4 years ago. The friend mentioned in this post is going through a rough time right now, and is probably going to have a pretty shitty holiday this year. This re-post is my small way to show her that i'm thinking good thoughts her way this morning.....

Chachi Prefers Rear Entries

A friend passed this on to me last night (and no, it wasnt herpes). Its a Youtube video and i think it's pretty damn funny. Any time someone can make a romantic song about sticking my wee-wee somewhere it doesnt belong, i'm usually on board with it.

Plus, people often say that i look like Scott Baio. I guess i should take that as a compliment, but i can't help but feel like people thinking Scott Baio looks like ME is a much bigger compliment to Scott Baio than it is to me. After all, I became famous from hosting a world-class blog, and being incredibly good-looking. The only reason Chachi is famous is because he used to yell "Sit on it!" to Jenny Piccalo.

What the Hell was i talking about again?

Oh yeah, this video. It's funny. Watch it.

Love In An Elevator

So, I got locked in an elevator last week.

I was at work, and it was towards the end of the day. I was on our basement level, and needed to go back up to the first floor.

Being the sneaky bastard that i am, i never want to wait for the slow-as-fuck regular elevators in my building, so i always hit the call button for the speedy freight elevator. I've been doing this for years.

I probably shouldn't have done it last week.

I knew i was in trouble as soon as the doors closed.

I cant explain it, but they closed..... funny.

Listen, Ive been in this building for 15 years now and one of the ONLY things I've learned in all that time is how the elevators close, and trust me, this time the doors closed funny.

But, not thinking too much of it, i pressed "1".

Nothing.

Then i pressed "1" again. And again. Followed quickly by panicked presses of "2" "3" and "4".

Still nothing.

After a minute or so, i tried to pry open the door to the emergency phone, but it was either stuck, or just wielded shut.

So, i stood there for a minute, thinking about my situation.

It was late in the day, most people had gone home already, i had no cell phone, and no one in the world knew i was down in the basement.

It's amazing how fast your mind can go into panic mode in a situation like that.

Fortunately, my superior intellect took charge, and i remembered that aside from being the hottest hunk ever to walk the planet, i also happen to possess the body of a Greek God.

I wedged my fingers into the door seams and began to pry the doors apart for all they were worth. The doors were indeed heavy mother fuckers, but fortunately for me, my massive biceps are even HEAVIER mother fuckers.

After about 5 minutes, i was able to pry the doors open enough to shimmy myself out.

The scary thing is, for the last minute or so, when i really began to think that i wasn't going to be able to get the doors open, the thing that kept running through my mind was the story shown in the video below.



The video was all over Youtube a few years ago. It shows the true story of one poor schlub who, while working one Friday night in 1999, decided to use the elevator in his building in NYC to go downstairs to take a smoke break. He got stuck and stayed in that elevator for 41 hours, until a security guard let him out Monday morning.

I remember years ago when i watched this surveillance camera video of the ordeal, i got the chills, thinking, "Holy shit, what if that happened to me?". I'm not claustrophobic or anything, but i DO believe that 41 hours in an elevator would have sent me to the loony bin.

Plus, if that had been me, I'm pretty sure the world would now have video footage of me masturbating in an elevator.

p.s. Sorry I've been AWOL for the past week. I took a few days off from work and, as you all know, when I'm not working, I'm not blogging. Sorry, but that's just how it is. I love you all, but not QUITE as much as World of Warcraft.

I'm A Magic Man

So, we survived yet another Mini-Me birthday party this past weekend.

As I mentioned last week, this year we hired a magician.

Unfortunately, he did NOT come dressed as Doug Henning (that would have been aces).

He was dressed all in black, which I guess was to make him look mystical. He actually looked a little like Jimmy Smits.

Anyway, he came in looking all mysterious, and he set up his gadgets, and sound system (apparently magic needs a soundtrack).

All was going ok until his CD started to skip, and he was forced to put on some easy listening music. Nothing kills that Magic-Buzz like hearing a skipping CD while the magician pretends for the first 30 seconds like he planned it that way.

After the sound malfunction, things seemed to once more be on track. The 20 young-uns in attendance seemed right-pleased with the parade of magic knots, and color-changing handkerchiefs that they were awash with for the next 20 minutes or so.

It was all going pretty well, actually….

…until he tried to set my house on fire.

At one point in the show, I see the dude take out a squeeze bottle of lighter fluid. At first, I thought it was mustard. I thought, “Hey, maybe he wants to make a sandwich”.

Then he pulled out two burnt-looking batons, and my genius-level intellect started to put two and two together.

He proceeded to spray lighter fluid on the batons, then quickly set them ablaze.

Then he started to juggle them and throw them really high in the air.

The dude was in my fucking LIVING ROOM!!

Some of the flames were literally licking my ceiling, as he continued to throw them around with seemingly juvenile glee.

I was about to put down my video camera and calmly instruct him in front of the little ones to “X-NAY on the UCKING-FAY IRE-FAY!”, but before I could, Mini-Me, who is deathly afraid of loud noises, started yelling “Stop it! You’re gonna set off our fire alarm!”

He got the hint.

After his pyromancer act, he managed to get back on track and do some pretty impressive tricks. Then he closed off his set by producing two rabbits and some doves.

The kiddies ate it all up, and to top things off, not one of them (the animals OR kids) shit on the floor.

If I can BEAR to view it again, I may have to put the whole arson-filled episode up on Youtube and link it for ya’ll to enjoy.

In the end, all that matters is that Mini-Me was on cloud 9, and felt like King Shit for the day.

All in all, a good day indeed.

Slyde’s Pet Peeve # 7 – The Pop-In

Oooooooh, I am primed and ready to BLOW over this one, folks.

I cannot fucking STAND it when people just assume they can ring my bell unannounced to just stop in and say “Hi!”

It drives me fucking batty, and right now I am suffering from a chronic offender.

My son plays with this little girl around the block from us. Let’s call her “Lulu”. I don’t know WHY the Hell I’m using a fake name… it’s not like Little Lulu is ever going to come here and read this shit, but whatever.

Lulu’s parents (Mr. Lulu and Mrs. Lulu) are nice enough people. A little weird for my tastes, but nice enough. The kids go to school together, had T-ball together, and enjoy each other’s company enough that I am routinely thrown into the presence of the Lulu clan.

Anyway, sometime over the summer, I began to notice a disturbing trend. Anytime that the Lulu’s would walk past my home, they would feel the need to stop, ring the bell, and say “Hi”. They would do this every time they walked past the house.

Every. Fucking. Time.

Towards the end of the Summer, it was happening 2-3 times a week.

11am on a Sunday morning. 8 o’clock at night. Dinner time. It really didn’t seem to make any fucking difference to the Lulu’s. If they saw my house, they felt a pop-in was warranted.

It used to drive me FUCKING livid!

It had gotten so bad that I finally wanted to tell them off, but Friz held me back, not wanting me to make a scene, since our kids were good friends, and the Lulu’s are basically decent enough folk.

But c’mon, people! Get a fucking clue! If you ring my bell, and ask me “Hey, what’s going on?”, and I reply “We’ll, we’re actually having dinner”, shouldn’t you have the fucking COMMON SENSE to say “Oh, I’m sorry. Enjoy your dinner, we’ll come back another time”.

No, not the Lulu’s. I can’t even count the number of summer nights where I was forced to sit on the porch for 15 minutes, bullshitting with these people about ABSOLUTELY FUCKING NOTHING, while my dinner was getting cold.

Near the end of the summer, they must have FINALLY gotten the hint that I wasn’t enjoying their company. The pop-ins started to drop off dramatically, finally ending completely around Labor Day.

Until this week.

After severing pretty much ALL ties with them, we were FORCED to get together with the Lulu’s this past weekend, when the kids decided that they all wanted to Trick or Treat together this year (Little Lulu is actually present in the pictures in my last post).

It went uneventfully enough. The kids had a good time, and I kept the small talk to a minimum, lest these people would once again think that I wanted to be their buddy.

Hey, guess what the Lulu’s did to me the next day, ON SUNDAY FUCKING MORNING?

If you DIDN’T guess “They rang my doorbell for another fucking pop-in”, then you are pretty stupid, because that’s exactly what they fucking did.

So, now I feel like I’m back to square one with the Lulu’s.

I swear that if the Perfect Storm of Pop-ins begins anew, I will seriously break someone’s damn arm.

Do oblivious neighbors do this kind of shit to anyone else?

A Busy Weekend Indeed

As the title suggests, this was certainly a jam-packed weekend.

Saturday, of course, was Halloween. Mini-Me, following in his daddy’s darker tendencies, decided to be the “scariest” thing he could come up with.

What he came up with, was the Zombie Doctor.


I had a lot of time to think about it this weekend, and I’m still not clear on what exactly a Zombie Doctor is.

Is it a doctor that was once human, but has been bitten by the undead and now has been transformed into a zombie, forever cursed with having to prowl the night looking for brains, dressed up like an extra from General Hospital?

Or, is he a zombie who, being the philanthropic sort, decided to devote his life to the treatment and betterment of his fellow undead, slaving away for years at zombie medical school until he earned his degree to practice medicine?

Alas, we may never know.

Also important to note from the picture above.... somehow, I CONTINUE to be as hot as ever. How do I do it?


In this picture we once again have Zombie Houser, MD, along with the catlike Friz, who also decided to dress up this year. Note the bloody knife Mini-Me is carrying. Apparently not “scary” enough, he demanded I buy him the bloody knife. It’s encased in plastic, and when you tip it upside down, blood drips down the blade.

Where were these cool fake weapons of dismemberment when I was a kid?


Here is Mini-Me with his posse. Note that the group is almost all female. Chip off the ol’ block, that one is.

To continue the celebratory weekend, on Sunday Mini-Me turned 7. He FLIPPED over his Zhu-Zhu gift (have I mentioned to you today that you rock, Shania?), and generally had a great day.

Not to be outdone, NEXT weekend we are having 20 kids over for his REAL birthday party. We hired a magician, and between HIM and 20 crazy kids running all around my house, I fully expect to be in need of some form of inebriation by noon or so. I will take pictures, I promise.

So, how was YOUR Halloween?