Tuesday, August 29, 2006

Socks, Bottle Tops and Poppycock

Alright y'all, here's what's what. I've about had it with this freaking weather and I'm about to let it loose in the Cranky Corner. But first I have a few things to get off my mind.

Old Coot Hits a New Low

Due entirely to the dismal weather and not one iota to my own unwillingness to go to bed at a reasonable hour, I was victimized by a plight once reserved for those who dress in the dark. Folks, I'm talking about mismatched socks. These socks weren't mismatched as in from two different packs of white socks. No, these sumbitches were NOWHERE NEAR CLOSE!

You'll find the hilariousness that was my foot apparel in the following picture. What you'll find to be even better is that I didn't notice until I got home from work, changed into my slippers, went upstairs to change into my running gear, and was replacing my slippers to go back downstairs. During the course of the day there must have been a dozen opportunities to notice my jackassery. Friends, Old Coot is old.



NOWHERE NEAR CLOSE!


Plight of the Nalgene Lid

My next cleansing of the blogular palate has to do with the recent Nalgene lid episode. Abbey, sorry but it was your blue bottle. I'm going to keep it in case I break a bottle but still have a good lid.

As you may recall, my dumbassery led to a melted Nalgene bottle lid last week. Having freed it from its infernal grave I thought I'd put out some photos for all to see. Note that the perfectly round hole is not for a straw, but where the heating element slowly made its way through the "unbreakable" plastic.



This shot was taken at the crime scene. The poor bastard never had a chance. Why must the good ones die so young? Why?




Coot's Cranky Corner


Alright, here's my effing rant. My apologies to Bizarro and perhaps BS/RN who may have heard this complaint at lunch today.

First of all, it's God Damn August here in the Berkshires but you wouldn't know it. Some people have already fired up their furnaces to escape the damp chill in the air. Eff that, I've got two solid months before I start dumping my checking account into the donation bin at Berkshire Gas. But that's neither here nor there. My complaint is with why we're having this terrible weather.

It's the damn hurricanes! The hurricanes are making it cold and drizzly, and it's bumming me out. "Wait Old Coot, what about the people losing their homes in these hurricanes? Don't you care about them?" you might hear someone ask.

Sure, I care about them but I didn't buy property directly in the path of an atmospheric Mack truck. I bought property in New England where the autumns are quaint and people sit on lawns at Tanglewood eating cheese and drinking wine. Then those same people stay the fuck in NYC for the months of January and February while we freeze our asses off.

Nobody's crying for me when I have to scrape my freaking windows every time I want to drive my car. Nobody's crying for me when my hand freezes to the damn mailbox while I try to send out the gas bill formerly known as my retirement plan. And certainly nobody's crying for me when the only thing stopping my nose from dripping onto my upper lip is the ice dam that's built up because my hands were too cold to take out from beneath the blanket, while I'm sitting in front of a fire watching TV. Nope, they're happily sitting in their lawn chairs down south drinking Coronas with lime, laughing at the unfortunate saps in the northeast. "A-hilt, hilt, hilt. Ya see dere, Clavin? Das why I live right here in da south. We don't got no kind of col' like dat down heah, huh Clavin."

So y'all down south can keep your warm winters, but don't be sending no cold, dreary bullshit up here. You can go on with that mess.


Over and Out,
Old Coot

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"Something inside of me just said 'Hey, wait a minute, I want to beat him.' and I just took off." -Pre