Local time where you're at. ("Where you're at"?)

Those of you who have read me for any  length of time – well, you probably knew it was coming all along, didn’t you? – but you know damned well what this is.

For now, click the link.  Go ahead.  Click it.  I effin’ dare  you.

And turn it up.  Waaaaaay  up.    )

That’s right, sportz fanz:  It’s vacation time for His Rudeness™.  A chance to Get Away From It All™, as it were.

This year, Mrs. Venomous & I are traveling Purt’Near™ to the Southern Command, “down aroun’ San Antone”, as the Doobie Brothers are wont to say.  Mrs. Venomous wants to see the Alamo.

MRS. VENOMOUS:  Along with other  stuff…right, sweetie…???

VENOMOUS: 

Vicar, General – you guys have the conn.  General…when you’re done chlorinating the gene pool of Twinkie-hating union goons down there in the Southern Command™, could I borrow another squadron of those black helicopters…? 

(This one will stay on top all day.  Look below for new posts – today only.

And HDD – I don’t wanna hear it, okay?  I already know what you think of all this.  This is more for me than for anyone else.)

—

(ED. NOTE:  The following originally appeared in this space a couple of years ago.  (Don’t bother clicking the link – it’s not there anymore, thanks to Internet America and their piss-poor bookkeeping.)  I’m reprinting it now, with appropriate tweaks.

I do love you, son.  I realize your mother and grandparents will try mightily to persuade you that I don’t – but I do, very much.  Someday – hopefully – I’ll get to tell you to your face.)

I may not post as much as I used to…

OZY McCOOL:  May  not?

KORRIOTH:  (snort!)

MERLIN: 

Ever’body’s gotta be a comic, don’t they? (sigh)

…but I sure as hell don’t neglect to post this.

Ten.

Story for you guys from nearly 15 years ago.

I had just proposed to Her Doublewideness not too long previous, and in preparation for the Wedding To End All Weddings™, I had moved into a nice little one-bedroom apartment in the Sleepy Little Town™ of Rockwall, TX.  (Steffi, of course, had a key.  That’s foreshadowing.  Remember it.)

At the time, I was working two jobs – an eight-to-fiver in an office, and a dispatching job on the weekends for the courier company I’d worked days for previously.

As fate would have it, my graveyard relief at the dispatching job this one Sunday night phoned in sick.  And, as fate would also have it, no replacement was available.  Ergo, I would have to work a double shift.  And also ergo (grin), I would be forced to work my eight-to-fiver on zero sleep.

Not a lot of fun.

Anyway, I phoned my then-fiancee, let her know the situation, and kindly asked her if she could come from Sulphur Springs, grab a change of clothes out of the apartment, and come to dispatch to drop them off.  (At the time, I was in a t-shirt & jeans, my apartment was thirty minutes away, and an hour to my eight-to-fiver from there.  No way could I have made it there and back – hence, the call for help to the fiancee. This is also foreshadowing. Remember it.)

Fiancee hemmed & hawed, but eventually agreed that yes, she could do this for the guy she was ultimately going to spend the rest of her life with.  This was 1430 hours.

Fast forward to 1800 hours.  I received a call from Fiancee Unit™, ostensibly apologetic, whereupon she said that she had to go to “church”, and couldn’t come down.

Long story short, I subsequently had to call my eight-to-fiver, report in “sick”, and went home after work to sleep until afternoon.  Didn’t hurt my standing there, but Mondays were a hellaciously busy day at that particular company, and it didn’t help my cause any.

Now, at the time of Doublewide Fiancee’s refusal, I figured “okay, one-off, no biggie, not a hill I want to die on”, and ignored the sickening feeling in the pit of my stomach.  Had I realized at the time that this was a Huge Honkin’ Red Flag O’ Doom™ as to her general dependability, I’d have never married the bitch.  I’d have told her the minute she failed to come through for me, “Okay, sweetie, just drop off the key next time you see me, and have a nice life”.

Should’ve taught me not to ignore the sickening feeling.  But hell – what do I know, hm?

I tell you this story, Denizens, to compare & contrast something that happened to me in San Diego last year at the mum-in-law’s funeral.  Friday was the day of the service, and we started off for the chapel not having had time for a proper breakfast.  So we grabbed a couple hot dogs each on the way.

After the funeral was the reception, whereupon there was fried chicken, pizza, mac ‘n cheese, Chinese, etc, etc, ad infinitum, ad nauseam.  Particular emphasis on the ad nauseam – I posted a pic that I’m sure a couple of you saw.  (Yes, that’s exactly how I was feeling at the time.)

Get back to our lodging for the week, and I’m…well, let’s just say I’ve had better days, mkay?

So here I am in the can.  Doubled over in pain, and without going into TMI mode, Pepto’s not going to be of any help.

I’m still in my Sunday-go-to-meeting clothes, and I’m overheating.  I need to get into a t-shirt & shorts pretty quickly, but I’m not in any condition to venture out from the can at that moment in time.  So I send a text to Mrs. Venomous – “Honey, I need you to get me a t-shirt & my shorts, okay?”

Five minutes go by.  Ten.  Fifteen.

I’m starting to wonder just where the hell she is, when a thought from the Lord (and He’s the only one who could have put this thought there at the time) comes, unbidden, into my head.

“Have faith in your wife”.

Not three seconds later comes a knock on the door – “Honey???”

She slides the clothing under the door, I’m in t-shirt & shorts not too long thereafter, and all turns out well; the day is officially saved.

The point of all this:  I have a pretty damned hellacious wife.  She’s got my back.

JUST LIKE YOU SHOULD HAVE ALL THOSE YEARS AGO, STEFFI, YOU STUPID-ASSED BIMBO!

Mrs. Venomous – I love you.

Realm™ Headquarters to Southern Command – come in, please.

Southern Command, do you copy?

[SCENE:  Deep space.  His Rudeness, Lord Darth Venomous is on his way back from a (ahem) personal errand...]

VENOMOUS:  I don’t think I like the tone of your “voice”, Narrator.

[And just what were you doing out of pocket for so long, (sarc) my liege????? (/sarc) (As if we didn't...gakkkkk...akkkkk)]

VENOMOUS:  Comprehension & cognizant thinking aren’t your strong suits, are they, dickweed?  (looks offstage, as the Narrator drops to the floor with a very  hollow sound)  Awright, Understudy, your turn.

[...from a personal errand, and is traveling in his personal courier, the Scorpion-class Excelsior.

A blinking console light catches the Admiral's attention.  He opens a channel.]

VENOMOUS:  Excelsior, Venomous.

KORRIOTH (over speaker):  Korriorh, Admiral.  Stellar cartography update for you, sir.

VENOMOUS:  Very good, Kor, shoot it through.

[He touches a few more switches and opens a separate channel to receive the download.  After five minutes, the download completes and the software channel closes.

At that very moment, everything goes dark as Excelsior  loses power & drops out of warp.

Lord Venomous sits there, non-plussed.]

VENOMOUS:  No, Narrator, just wondering what to do when I get back.

[Get back, m'lord?]

VENOMOUS:  Whether to Force-choke the p’tahk, or use my lightsaber to cut out one of his hearts.

—

Ever had an Ubuntu kernel update hose your system, Denizens?

That’s three days I’ll never get back.

Sigh.

On this day in history,

Someone said, did, was doing, or was about to do…….

I’m getting awfully damned good at re-doing my Linux box. (sigh)

Given my workload and schedule nowadays, it’s looking more and more like this is going to become a weekend blog.

If that.

[SCENE:  Still in the F'book Nexus.  Lord Darth Venomous is still on a rampage - only now, instead of bodies being dropped via Force-choke, only heads & various limbs are falling, the result of being severed by a whirling dervish of a purple lightsaber.

The blazing blade has come to rest mere inches from the last surviving soul in the vicinity - a Klingon who, ironically, bears a striking resemblence to former shipyardmaster Commander K'tinghe.

A fact that is not lost on His Rudeness.]

VENOMOUS (pointing blade at K’tinghe):  I should’ve known you were involved in this, you vile p’tahk!  How many limbs do you want to lose before I take your head?!?!?!

K’TINGHE (terrified):  M’lord…please…please, m’lord, I—

VENOMOUS:  YOU ARE GOING TO FIX MY SHIP SUCH THAT IT DOES NOT BREAK AGAIN, OR I WILL LAY WASTE TO THIS ENVIRONMENT AND YOU AND YOUR ENTIRE HOUSE WITH IT, DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?!?!?!?!

K’TINGHE (terrified:  (ulp!) Uh, I—

VENOMOUS:  Nexus!!!  Transport me, this Klingon bastard, and the best ship’s computer system you have back to Pegasus!!!  DO IT NOW!!!!!

[A bright light appears and expands to engulf both His Rudeness and K'Tinghe.  As it fills the screen, we cut to...

SCENE:  The bridge of Pegasus  Lieutenant Commander Ozymandias McCool is briefing General Korrioth on repairs to the ship.]

OZY McCOOL:  Not the best news, General. Probably another week or so to bring the main core online. Has anyone notified the Admiral yet?

[At that precise moment, the bridge doors part, and in walks Venomous, with K'Tinghe in tow.]

VENOMOUS:  Ozy, I believe you’ll find the answer to all our difficulties in the main cargo bay.

[Ozy & Korrioth gape wide-eyed at the Klingon, who had previously been thought to have suffered Venomous' purple blade.  Korrioth, as usual, regains his composure first.]

KORRIOTH (nodding):  Very well, Admiral.  Come along, Ozy.  [They proceed out.]

VENOMOUS (grabbing K’Tinghe by his familial sash):  Now, you effin’ coward, we’re gonna go help them – and then  you get to beg for your life again like you did last time…!!! [He drags the frightened Klingon off the bridge towards Engineering.]

—

Okay, guys, the Big Box™ is back up and running – a 3.6 non-name-brand system board running Ubuntu 10.04.4 64-bit (and the requisite Win7 virtual machine for employing Outlook) with 16 gigs of RAM (and a brand new 2TB drive) out of Mrs. Venomous’ old Acer case.  (The old Big Box™ and its eight gigs have been redeployed as the work machine.)

We’ll see how long this lasts.  It had better (casts a menacing look towards K’Tinghe)…

In all the hubbub surrounding my suddenly unreliable machine, Bambi’s Civil-War wish with his pathetic attempt at a gun-grab, the ball dropping ‘n all that…

…has anyone noticed that Supreme General Rayegun is now officially one year closer to senility?

(There.  Happy now? (r, d & g)) 

Denizens…uh…it’s Mrs. Venomous’ birthday.

Can someone hide me for the next 72 hours? (running, ducking, gnashing teeth)

[SCENE:  Realm™ spacedock.  Previously ready to resume her travels, ISS Pegasus  floats, adrift (save for the artificial moorings securing her), mostly powerless.

Cut to the bridge, where General Korrioth busies himself attempting to fix the latest computer crash.  In walks engineer Ozymandias McCool with padd in hand.]

KORRIOTH:  Ah, there you are, McCool.  Report, please.

[McCool is rather taken aback - he's not used to this cordiality from the Klingon-Vulcan hybrid - but does an admirable job of recovery.]

OZY McCOOL:  Not the best news, General.  Probably another week or so to bring the main core online.  Has anyone notified the Admiral yet?

KORRIOTH (grinning wolfishly):  Oh, he knows, Commander.  He knows…

[Cut to SCENE:  Inside the Facebook energy ribbon from the original "Death" series.  From an empty view, two humans, a Klingon, a Romulan and several Bynars & Jawas crash to the floor, lifeless.

Pan the camera to a hooded figure, both arms outstreched, both hands making a Force-choke gesture.

The figure slowly moves his hands to his hood and removes it, revealing Lord Darth Venomous, whose agitated countenance includes a pair of dazzlingly bright purple eyes.]

VENOMOUS:  Does anybody else  want to try and say it’s not their fault?!?!?!

—

Okay, guys, the Big Box™ is down again – and yes, it’s because the 2TB (that’s “terabyte” to you in the Church of the SubTarded™) has crashed once again.

PFW benediction on hold until further notice – but be advised that I’m invoking Executive Fiat™ one last time.  (For details, just look below the banner.)

ThatIsAll™.

…uh…crappy goo…ear…uhhhhhh…

(plop!)

{Cross-posted from the Southern Command HQ notification system}

Okay all you Southern Command constituents, it’s that time of year to make preparations for the annual New Year’s Day tradition of black-eyed peas.

Here’s a good recipe for the peas.

Now remember, the tradition is

The practice of eating black-eyed peas for luck is generally believed to date back to the Civil War. At first planted as food for livestock, and later a food staple for slaves in the South, the fields of black-eyed peas were ignored as Sherman’s troops destroyed or stole other crops, thereby giving the humble, but nourishing, black-eyed pea an important role as a major food source for surviving Confederates.

Today, the tradition of eating black-eyed peas for the New Year has evolved into a number of variations and embellishments of the luck and prosperity theme including:

•Served with greens (collards, mustard or turnip greens, which varies regionally), the peas represent coins and the greens represent paper money. In some areas cabbage is used in place of the greens.

•Cornbread, often served with black-eyed peas and greens, represents gold.

And finally, some things to remember whilst you go about your celebrating:

•For the best chance of luck every day in the year ahead, one must eat at least 365 black-eyed peas on New Year’s Day.

•Black-eyed peas eaten with stewed tomatoes represent wealth and health.

•In some areas, actual values are assigned with the black-eyed peas representing pennies or up to a dollar each and the greens representing anywhere from one to a thousand dollars.

•Adding a shiny penny or dime to the pot just before serving is another tradition practiced by some. When served, the person whose bowl contains the penny or dime receives the best luck for the New Year, unless of course, the recipient swallows the coin, which would be a rather unlucky way to start off the year.

The catch to all of these superstitious traditions is that the black-eyed peas are the essential element and eating only the greens without the peas, for example, will not do the trick.

ThatIsAll™

And enjoy your celebration responsibly. You are hereby ordered to return to duty promptly on January 2nd. Do I make myself clear, soldier?

Yes? Then DISMISSED!™