Someone lend me $350

GOOD MORNING PITTSFIELD, MASS (said like Robin Williams in Good Morning Vietnam)!!!

If anyone was so inclined to read last night's entry, you'll know I was up late Hard Blogging last night. I also lost another $350 to my laptop in a post-blog Solitaire binge. I think I need help.

As I lay in my bed this morning listening to the radio personalities on PYX106 talking about whatever they were talking about, I started to hear the sound of a truck backing up. The beeping got progressively louder and I assumed the truck is getting closer. After about half an hour, I started to get annoyed with this a$$hole who probably left his truck in reverse while he went home to eat breakfast. Then, during a brief moment of silence on the radio it occured to me that it wasn't a truck backing up, it was my roommate's alarm clock. Now, he's in Arizona on a house-hunting trip so it's not like he's being lazy this morning, he's not even there to shut the damn thing off. So despite my best intentions to not go into his room when he's not there (or really any time for that matter), I had to venture in to shut that freaking thing off.

Here's where things got complicated...

I sauntered up to the alarm clock ready to push the switch over to not only stop the current beeping, but also to prevent it from waking me up at the a$$ crack of dawn all weekend. But this was no ordinary alarm clock; turning off the alarm needing a series of button presses, passwords, a decoder ring, wi-fi access, two forms of government ID and a valid credit card (for authentication purposes only). Fear not, I was able to turn that mother out.

And if you're reading this JD, my tone is hilarity not annoyance. It made a good story, I'm not complaining.

And speaking of ineptitude, let me e-bust on HECOW a little. I told him yesterday that I had been thinking about it, and now's the time. This guy is not only not a weekend warrior, but he's more of a March-Madness-Basketball-Tourney-at-Work Warrior. And he's now recovering from his annual sprained ankle. To watch him crutch his ass around, you'd think both legs and an arm had been amputated. And to make it even better, the best recovery solution he's come up with is to sit around in his own filth. And to kick all of us healthy people in the nuts, the bastard gets in-plant parking (for people here at work, we know how coveted an in-plant parking pass is), which I can only assume will be milked for all it's worth.

Well, that's it. Apparently I had a lot to say since my midnight blogging binge last night.

P.S. To my e-stalker, I found yarn fibers near my e-mailbox. You're so busted.

Yours truly,
Old Coot