Category: Humor

Since we painted our master bathroom last autumn, I’ve been meaning to recaulk around the tub. It’s starting to break down and show its age. Not that the mold spores mind. They’ve found a good home and some tasty latex upon which to feast. But I’ve meant to recaulk this tub since about spring, but I haven’t had quite the stretch of time to devote to it. Several hours at least, non-stop, to devote to the project. How could I find the time, when Civilization III called?

But since I had a personal day on Christmas Eve, I had a long block of time available. Particularly since I could not leave the house until the FedEx truck delivered Heather’s Christmas gift (which is another story entirely). So I got into the bathroom and began removing the existing caulk. I think a previous owner just applied a layer of latex caulk over an existing layer of silicone caulk when it came time for him/her to do the deed. So it took me almost five hours of intermittent scraping, cursing, and swearing to get all of it off. Once I got the old caulk off, it was a breeze to apply a new ring of caulk.

So although I was reluctant to perform this much-needed household maintenance, I’m still proud to have done it. But why is it that the casual conversations end when people ask me how my holidays were and I answer:

“I spent Christmas Eve in the bathtub with a razor blade and wondered if I really wanted to go through with it.”

This evening, I proved my contemporary nature to impress my wife by participating in a faddish flash mob.

Tonight, at 5:24 pm, I joined a group of strangers whom I have never met before, and we came together on Interstate 270 just north of Dougherty Ferry Road in St. Louis County, and together we stopped our cars for no reason and sat there listening to the radio.

After two minutes of immobility, for no reason whatsoever, we started driving again.

I am hep, dig?

The Dead Ale Wives Watchtower takes you into the inner sanctum of Dungeons and Dragons and shows you how Dungeons and Dragons is leading the children of America deeper and deeper into the occult.

(Link seen on Fark.)

As part of the “engagement” curriculum in my Honors English I class in high school, the teacher roped us into a discussion of the short story “The Scarlet Ibis“. However, instead of extensive discussions of the white patriarchal hegemony’s oppression of the differently-abled which a true “college prep” curriculum would have enjoyed, we got to do a mock trial that prosecuted the narrator of the story in Doodle’s death.

I got to play the defendant, which sucked because my public-defender quality lawyer didn’t object enough. The prosecutor kept pulling out information from within the story that only the defendant would know. As a seasoned veteran of many Dungeons and Dragons campaigns, I knew how to expose “player knowledge” from “character knowledge” in other players while masking my own exploitation of this systemic flaw. So, to make a short story long, the defendant was convicted.

So what’s my point? (Ahh….here…it….comes….) That although the Internet has made cheating easier, as early as seventeen years ago, public schools were formally teaching

Play Jurism

(Ahhhhh…..compulsion….relieved……)

Both Heather and I have come down with acute cases of apotheosis. Symptoms include pantheon inclusions and raging delusions of grandeur. Unfortunately, there is no known cure.