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

Been trying to keep busy today – working on a laptop for a customer, hanging up laundry when possible, cooking dinner, upgrading the kernels on the two remaining Linux boxes I have online, that sort of thing.

But it’s been at the back of my mind constantly today, and it just now slapped me in the face full force.

Father’s Day.&#160 And yet another one without my son.

Fuck you, Stephanie Dawn Stewart.

The Linux Experiment&#153 is just about over.&#160

Apparently, there are never enough client slots available for the maybe&#160 four-to-five apps I want to run at any one time.

Windows, as much as I hate it, never did this.

Stand by…

UPDATE:&#160 Just as a point of clarification, I’ve got a quad AMD A8-5600K 3-point-something CPU with 16 gigs of RAM – and, even though I devote 50% to a Windows virtual machine, I should have enough to run Firefox, plus open an explorer window, command prompt, and the text editor on which I’m writing this, with at least a little bit left over.

And Linux is telling me I don’t have the capacity?!?!?!

Fuck that.

Okay, so while prepping to go out Saturday, Mrs. Venomous & I are catching Police Academy&#160 on Comedy Central.

And they’re at the scene where Chief is doing the burglar coming out of the house exercise, and it’s Tackleberry’s turn.

And, as Cthulhu is my witness, this is what I hear coming out of the tube:

“DROP THE STEREO YOU G*****N ASS(silence)…”

Now, this I don’t get.

They let “GD” pass, but bleeped the “hole” part of “asshole”?

(sigh)

Denizens, we’re once again praying for the Outer Northern Rim&#153, as Oklahoma City is going through another series of tornadoes.&#160 (Moore is near there, too, so extra prayers will be needed.)

That is an order.&#160 Thatisall&#153.

(sigh)

[SCENE:&#160 Deep inside that sector of the Fifth Intergalatic Realm&#153 known as the Southern Command.&#160 Slow pan to a point about 140 degrees from the opening shot.

We then see a spatial displacement come into view.&#160 The translucent shimmer becomes the faint outlines of an image, which then coalesces into an oversized, seemingly-upside-down Klingon Bird-of-Prey.

Cut to:&#160 the bridge of the recently repaired ISS Pegasus, which has just decloaked someplace it was not previously known to be.]

VENOMOUS:&#160 And that’s a problem, Narrator?

KORRIOTH:&#160 Well, we usually file a flight plan with someone, y’know.

VENOMOUS:&#160 Look, Bumpy, when I go on vacation, I don’t give a shit if anyone&#160 know where I’m gonna be…

K’HADIBAK’H:&#160 Uh, guys…

KORRIOTH:&#160 …you know, so a certain Black Helicopter Fleet&#153 isn’t tempted to engage in…

[At that very moment, the bridge is rocked violently, back & forth.&#160 Cut to previous external view, and the Bird-of-Prey is now surrounded by what seems to be four Husnock warships, each taking turns firing on Pegasus.

Cut back to Pegasus’&#160 bridge.]

KORRIOTH:&#160 …target practice.

K’HADIBAK’H:&#160 Four warships, Admiral.&#160 IDs… [Kha double-checks his board] …it’s the Black Helicopter Fleet&#153, sir.

T-BONE McMANX:&#160 Admiral, we’re being hailed.

VENOMOUS (with a very&#160 annoyed look on his face):&#160 (sigh) On screen.

[On the viewscreen, space is replaced by a very familiar image.]

VENOMOUS:&#160 Supreme General Rayegun.

RAYEGUN:&#160 What did I tell you about coming through the Southern Command&#153 without proper permittage-ery?

VENOMOUS:&#160 And what did I tell you about the Southern Command&#153 being part of my&#160 Realm&#153?

[The Supreme General of the Realm&#153 renders what could only be described as a smart-assed smirk.]

RAYEGUN:&#160 Damned straight, Narrator.

VENOMOUS:&#160 I do&#160 hope you’re enjoying your new toys, General.&#160 Figures you’d hog ’em all and not share…

RAYEGUN:&#160 Funny you should mention that…

[Cut to external view.&#160 Yet another spatial displacement shimmers & coalesces into a fifth Husnock battlecruiser.

Cut back to Pegasus’&#160 viewscreen.

RAYEGUN:&#160 Meet your new flagship, Admiral – ISS Vengeance.

[It’s a Realm&#153 first:&#160 Admiral Darth Venomous…is speechless.]

RAYEGUN:&#160 What did I tell you, Korrioth?

KORRIOTH:&#160 Five hundred credits on their way, General.

VENOMOUS:&#160 Wait.&#160 You had a bet&#160 on this…?

[Rayegun & Korrioth look away & adopt feral grins as we fade to black…]

—

IN THE SOUTHERN COMMAND – She had been christened Excelsior II.

That was before I got it out on Texas State Highway 130.&#160 (For the Uninitiated&#153, that’s the Austin-to-San Antonio toll road, where the speed limits run up to 85.&#160 Not that anyone ever observes them…heh…heh…heh…)

This car makes the original Excelsior&#160 feel like driving my old Cavalier.

Damn.&#160 Just, damn.&#160

Those of you who have read me for any&#160 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.&#160 Go ahead.&#160 Click it.&#160 I effin’ dare&#160 you.

And turn it up.&#160 Waaaaaay&#160 up.&#160 &#160 )

That’s right, sportz fanz:&#160 It’s vacation time for His Rudeness&#153.&#160 A chance to Get Away From It All&#153, as it were.

This year, Mrs. Venomous & I are traveling Purt’Near&#153 to the Southern Command, “down aroun’ San Antone”, as the Doobie Brothers are wont to say.&#160 Mrs. Venomous wants to see the Alamo.

MRS. VENOMOUS:&#160 Along with other&#160 stuff…right, sweetie…???

VENOMOUS:&#160

Vicar, General – you guys have the conn.&#160 General…when you’re done chlorinating the gene pool of Twinkie-hating union goons down there in the Southern Command&#153, could I borrow another squadron of those black helicopters…?&#160

(This one will stay on top all day.&#160 Look below for new posts – today only.

And HDD – I don’t wanna hear it, okay?&#160 I already know what you think of all this.&#160 This is more for me than for anyone else.)

—

(ED. NOTE:&#160 The following originally appeared in this space a couple of years ago.&#160 (Don’t bother clicking the link – it’s not there anymore, thanks to Internet America and their piss-poor bookkeeping.)&#160 I’m reprinting it now, with appropriate tweaks.

I do love you, son.&#160 I realize your mother and grandparents will try mightily to persuade you that I don’t – but I do, very much.&#160 Someday – hopefully – I’ll get to tell you to your face.)

As most of you have probably figured out by now, this is my boy – or, as Denizen David Hartung has called him, “Spatula II” “Darth Viper”.

Hmmmm.&#160 “Prince Darth Viper”.&#160 Kinda has a ring to it. (grin)

(Side note:&#160 Certain excuses-for-humans in East Texas still&#160 don’t know how I got ahold of this picture.&#160 Bet it’d be a shock to them to know that some of their “friends” aren’t quite&#160 as reliable as they’d thought… (snicker))

Anyway, today’s his 11th birthday.&#160 It’s the latest in a series of birthdays I’ll never get to see.

It occurs to me that I need to again tell you guys what eventually happened with his (*hack, spit*) mother (*hack, spit*) not allowing me to see him.&#160 (Yes, I realize you’ve probably heard it all before – humor me, okay?)

That was resolved, and not necessarily for my benefit, either – but at the very least, neither will she&#160 benefit.&#160 In fact, if you get down to brass tacks about the whole thing, the real loser here is Skip himself.&#160 Anyway, here’s the story:

The divorce was granted October 17th, 2003.&#160 A visitation schedule had already been negotiated and agreed to – in fact, I’ve blogged on that already.

Picking the story up from there:&#160 I started making the specified trips to Greenville, Texas, for the purposes of collecting Skip for his agreed-to visitation with me.&#160 Collected evidence that I was there and everything.

Naturally, She Who Can’t Be Tasked To Obey Court Orders&#153 refused to show.

So I took my evidence and filed a criminal complaint against her.&#160 What is not commonly known is that it’s a criminal offense to interfere with child custody rights in Texas.&#160 It’s what they call a “state jail felony”, lodged right in there between a Class A misdemeanor and a 3rd-degree felony.

And, had the District Attorney of Hopkins County, TX, had the balls to pursue the complaint, things could have gotten very&#160 bad for our favorite fat-assed bitch.&#160 You tell me&#160 what school district would’ve wanted to consciously hire a convicted felon?

But – as I had partially expected and fully feared – the good ol’ boy network in Sulphur Springs kicked in.&#160 The district attorney not only sat on his hands regarding the case, but I strongly suspect he tipped off Steffi’s excuse-for-an-attorney about it.

Said excuse-for-an-attorney began to harass me concerning an obscure concept called a “transistion scheme”.&#160 Theoretically, because of the so-called “estrangement” between me and my son, they wanted to get him “used” to having me around again gradually, in stages.

Of course, they failed to point out that: a) Her Doublewide Assness caused&#160 any “estrangement”, and b) during the two times in 2003 this trollop was gracious enough to let me see him, he sure as Hell™ didn’t look&#160 “estranged” from me.

But something else&#160 they failed to do…is incorporate the words “transition scheme” in the final divorce decree.&#160 As a result, what was&#160 in there were dates specific and time periods specific when I was entitled to have my boy.

Dates and times specific which they ignored without fear of penalty whatsoever, as they had the district attorney in their back pocket.

Eventually, however, the evidence mounted to the point where they had to do something, else the DA would have no choice but to prosecute, lest someone in the media take note and launch an investigation (and yes, I was beginning to contact media types for just this purpose).

I was served in February with papers requesting that the judge in the original case modify the visitation schedule to include the words “transition scheme” and start with the gradual shit again.&#160 In other words, Denizens – she wanted a do-over.

I hired an attorney in Sulphur Springs (who, thank Gawd&#153, was more competent than the loon I’d had previously), paid him another&#160 year’s bonus, and got him to work.&#160 We filed a counterclaim accusing her of contempt of court by failing to abide by the letter of the original agreement.

They countered with the only thing they could’ve – and the thing I was hoping they wouldn’t:&#160 A contempt charge of their own for failure to pay support.

See, this loon I’d hired previously had assured me that the court would set up a garnishment schedule for the child support.&#160 Naturally – maybe this is the good ol’ boy system, or just sheer incompetence on their part – the court never set it up.

As a result, Steffi the Doublewide Bitch Supreme never got a penny from me.&#160 So yes – they had a case.&#160 Marginally.&#160 But it was&#160 a case, by the letter of the law.

This put me in the position of very likely being found in contempt of court, put on probation, forced to check in with a probation officer every month (and pay a $40 fee for the “privilege”)…and, were I to miss checking in or paying the fee by so much as one day, a warrant could be issued for my arrest.

By this time, I’m making plans to marry the Lady Spatula and possibly move to Miami.&#160 Therefore, I can’t have this hanging over my head.&#160 And I’ll be damned&#160 if I was going to let Her Bitchiness control me in this fashion.

With that in mind, my attorney recommended – and I was forced to agree – to deploy what I call the “nuclear option”.&#160 It’s so-called because it’s the option no one wants to see deployed, since it blows up everything.

The option:&#160 Complete termination of all parental rights to Skip.&#160 Meaning, I would no longer have any say in his upbringing, nor rights to see him any more…nor would I owe any child support, back or future.

My attorney explained it this way:&#160 All that it amounts to is just a sheet of paper.&#160 And whether I had rights to my son or not, Her Doublewideness would have him most of the time, and she & her family would constantly be poisoning his mind against me.&#160 This way, the bitch would lose her control over my life – and, after a few years, if he wanted to seek me out, she would be powerless to stop him, and I could then tell him my&#160 side of the story.

I deliberated for about half a nanosecond.

“Do it”, I said.

Termination – which the aforementioned loon in Forney, TX said I couldn’t possibly&#160 get – was granted March 30th, 2004.

So that’s it, guys.&#160 The bitch finally accomplished her objective – she forcibly extracted me from his life.

And it’s gotten to the point where I can’t even send him presents or cards any longer.&#160 They have become so fucking small-minded that Her Doublewideness’ fat-assed son-of-a-bitch daddy is even refusing to accept the presents I send to him.&#160 (UPDATE:&#160 Well, not him anymore.&#160 Seems the fat-ass’ heart finally finished rotting from within, and he died of a heart attack in 2011.&#160 File that&#160 one under “Good riddance”.)

(Most of them, anyway.&#160 I don’t get the rejection notices from Wally World like I used to, but who’s to say that the bastards over there don’t take what I send and just throw it in the trash?&#160 It would&#160 be just like them, if one thinks about it.)

No doubt the lot of ’em will lie to my son like they usually do and say that I don’t even care about him enough to send him so much as a card.&#160 It’s what I’ve come to expect from a bunch of country hick-asses who were willing to lie to a judge and violate other Texas laws to get such a simple thing as a divorce.

Enjoy him now, O Fat-Assed One.&#160 You’ll have a helluva&#160 lot to answer for down the road – and not just with him when he grows up, either.

Chew on that&#160 for a while, bitch.

(UPDATE:&#160 It has been pointed out to me by our beloved Vicar that this could be interpreted as a threat against Her Fat-Assedness.

Therefore, let me take pains to point out – the bimboid has nothing to be worried about from me.&#160 I’ll not be lifting a finger to bring any sort of harm to her.

What I’m referring to is this:&#160 God has been watching what you’re doing, Lard-ass, and I tend to doubt your manuevering in this whole mess has left Him very much impressed.&#160 You’ll ultimately have to answer to Him, not me.

Don’t get me wrong – I’ll have to answer for things I’ve done, too.&#160 On the other hand, I’m not the one pretending I’m as pure as the wind-driven snow in all this, am I?)

Anyway, happy birthday, Skip.&#160 I’m sorry you didn’t get a chance to enjoy the presents I’ve tried to send you.&#160 Someday – when they can’t dictate to you where you can go and whom you can meet – I’ll get to at least give you some of them.

Always remember son – I love you.&#160 And I will, forever.

I may not post as much as I used to…

OZY McCOOL:&#160 May&#160 not?

KORRIOTH:&#160 (snort!)

MERLIN:&#160

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&#153, I had moved into a nice little one-bedroom apartment in the Sleepy Little Town&#153 of Rockwall, TX.&#160 (Steffi, of course, had a key.&#160 That’s foreshadowing.&#160 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.&#160 And, as fate would also have it, no replacement was available.&#160 Ergo, I would have to work a double shift.&#160 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.&#160 (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.&#160 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.&#160 This was 1430 hours.

Fast forward to 1800 hours.&#160 I received a call from Fiancee Unit&#153, 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.&#160 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.&#160 Had I realized at the time that this was a Huge Honkin’ Red Flag O’ Doom&#153 as to her general dependability, I’d have never married the bitch.&#160 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.&#160 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.&#160 Friday was the day of the service, and we started off for the chapel not having had time for a proper breakfast.&#160 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.&#160 Particular emphasis on the ad nauseam – I posted a pic that I’m sure a couple of you saw.&#160 (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.&#160 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.&#160 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.&#160 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.&#160 Ten.&#160 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:&#160 I have a pretty damned hellacious wife.&#160 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&#153 Headquarters to Southern Command – come in, please.

Southern Command, do you copy?

[SCENE:&#160 Deep space.&#160 His Rudeness, Lord Darth Venomous is on his way back from a (ahem) personal errand…]

VENOMOUS:&#160 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:&#160 Comprehension & cognizant thinking aren’t your strong suits, are they, dickweed?&#160 (looks offstage, as the Narrator drops to the floor with a very&#160 hollow sound)&#160 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.&#160 He opens a channel.]

VENOMOUS:&#160 Excelsior, Venomous.

KORRIOTH (over speaker):&#160 Korriorh, Admiral.&#160 Stellar cartography update for you, sir.

VENOMOUS:&#160 Very good, Kor, shoot it through.

[He touches a few more switches and opens a separate channel to receive the download.&#160 After five minutes, the download completes and the software channel closes.

At that very moment, everything goes dark as Excelsior&#160 loses power & drops out of warp.

Lord Venomous sits there, non-plussed.]

VENOMOUS:&#160 No, Narrator, just wondering what to do when I get back.

[Get back, m’lord?]

VENOMOUS:&#160 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…….

Something.

Or, nothing at all happened that was historically significant.

Unless you’re a Trivial Pursuit junkie addict.

Or brushing up on your upcoming appearance on Jeopardy.

ThatIsAll&#153

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.