That spelling is wrong.

Hi! It's me. I've come bearing terrific news. Remember, yesterday, when you were sitting at your desk wishing you could have an approximately 10% alcohol drink without anyone noticing? Well, look:

Mmm.

Joose is the answer to your prayers, if you were praying for an alcoholic energy drink that tastes like it was made by the 13 year old who raided your liquor cabinet in the dark. I think, if you mix equal parts vodka, saliva, and tang, you'd get something similar to this beverage. I don't know where the energy parts come from, and I'm ok with that particular gap in my intellect.

Having said that, this crap isn't that awful. I mean, sure, it looks like your urine if you consumed nothing but carrot smoothies for 4 months straight, and smells like weirdly fermented fruit, but it's not that bad. Considering its alcohol content, you could do worse. Like drinking a meth addict's piss.

Extreme, right?

For whatever reason, I drank the enormous can (apparently it's 23.5 ounces - odd) in 20 minutes, and was then later confused that my motor skills were impaired because the caffeine content made me confuse sobriety with alertness. I crossed a lot of things off my to-do list whilst under the influence, and then put them back on the next day when I decided that eating all my clothes didn't really solve the problem of them being dirty.

From the person who voluntarily drinks things like Steel Reserve and Hurricane, I thought this tasted a little better. It was sweet which was a change from the taste of disappointment and loneliness I usually get while drinking hi-al beverages, and it's easy to feed to children due to its coloration. I'll have to sample the market a little more, but this gets a tentative thumbs up.

It also cures cancer, but then gives you another, more lethal kind. So, again, kind of a wash.

Seriously: urine, or energy/drunkey beverage? You make the call.

fake edit: I tried a SPARKS tonight, and it wasn't as tasty, nor as alcoholic, as the JOOSE. So, there you go. Both have a very strange orange color (to the point where they might be perfect duplicates and I'm just a loser who can't tell the difference) and a weird citrus-ey taste. Either beverage is guaranteed by the manufacturer to get any 8 year old drunk. So, if you've a misbehaving 'tween - hook 'em up. It's like an awesome sedative without the tired. So, mostly, you'll get a 12 year old in exchange who is willing to drag christmas decorations the 4.2 miles to your storage unit without cajoling or benefit of an automobile. Enjoy!

Don't dare judge my nutritional choices.

fan base

For the most part, there are approximately 4 people who read this regularly. I know this, and appreciate each one of you.

There is, however, some secondary traffic, from passerbys with time on their hands and odd search criteria on their brains. I get these statistics from google analytics (it'll be helpful to have these numbers on hand when negotiating my next contract) and thought I'd share some.

Search terms which brought traffic to the site:

-catwear anus (3 visits, not sure what the first one found that necessitated additional visits)
-computer people crap (2 visits - I'm registered as a crappy computer person)
-AAA memberships and telemarketing (1 visit)
-abf clubbing (1 visit @ 160bpm)
-biopsy for rash (1 visit - I'm not surprised there weren't more)
-dr quackstein (1 visit - no referral fee received)
-drool phlegm (1 visit - and really?)
-eli jaxon bear molestation (1 visit)
-lesbianexplosion (1 visit, 1 amazing word)
-spit phlegm in my face (1 visit, and yes, please)
-www.attractive-abs.com (1 visit - note to self, register domain name)
-somgf (1 visit)
-prison inmates (1 visit)
-hipaa in laymen's terms (1 visit, sic, and I'm pretty sure they didn't find what they were looking for on this site)

The internet is a wonderful place.

nice work if you can get it

So I'm still waiting for my car to be fixed. I am always interested in what sort of excuse people give, real or imagined, so I was very impressed by this service manager's explanation: Parts are scarce because the warehouses (I am inventing this - I don't know where parts like ignition cylinders come from if it isn't some blacksmith in a tiny shop in Ingolstadt) are allowing their inventories to dwindle due to the economy.

I like the explanation because it sounds really good. Except, the parts that would fall into this category aren't exactly optional. The market doesn't really dry up for these items. I can't start my car because there's no place for the key to go *but* I don't have much money so I'll just skip it. I'm fairly sure people will continue to vandalize and crash into one another's cars despite the state of the union.

My real concern is with my insurance company. And this may be a gross simplification, but here's my take:

I've paid an estimated $8100 in car insurance since I've been driving so that the insurance company will go halfsies on a $950 bill. Thanks, dicks.

I am also confused by the point of a 'deductible'. Isn't the point of insurance that they'll pay for shit I can't pay for? So why do I still need to pay for part of it? Their whole reason for existing is making money, because most people pay more in premiums than they need in claims. But there's a chance that I'll run over a disabled infant holding the Holy Grail in a crosswalk. I am not going to be able to cover that, so in this instance: thanks, insurance.

Is the deductible to discourage me from destroying my car on a bi-weekly basis? Because I'm pretty sure my premium would go up if that was the case. I guess I'm glad other professions don't work on these principles. My doctor did most of my surgery, but will require me to just go ahead and suture my chest cavity myself. Oh hey mailman, thanks for bringing my mail. what's that? i need to go to the post office and pick up the other half? oh. um, ok?

so....very....bitter.

WhereTF is Batman?

So here's how I found my car on Sunday morning. Apparently I had a minor stroke and left it outside with its windows down and- oh no I didn't put a hole in the door. Or rip out the ignition cylinder.
The windows were rolled down to varying degrees, the wipers were in the 12 o'clock position, and the manual was missing, along with my Maine EZ-Pass. Not exactly a king's ransom. The battery was also dead.

Having never been a victim of a crime before (excluding having 'my' Nintendo stolen by thieves who also relieved my parents of other inconsequential items like jewelry and gold ingots) I tried out a few different reactions before settling on depression, which I often do.

I'm not really all that upset that the car is damaged, although it is turning into a pain trying to get it fixed and coordinating the repair with the insurance company. I am upset that someone can have so little regard for me (or anyone else, for that matter). I am upset that there are no consequences for whomever did this. I am upset that they suck so badly at what they do they weren't able to steal the car. I am upset the police function only as a means for generating a report number, and not as any sort of investigative or preventative unit, though I would concede they have bigger fish to fry. I am upset I didn't notice anything going on. I am upset there's nothing I can do about it, and little I can do to prevent it from happening again.

I didn't really experience the feeling that nearly everyone I speak with mentions - the feeling of 'violation' that someone was in your car/home whatever. I'm mostly just continuously angry off that something I spend a fair amount of time/money/effort on is so quickly reduced to a 3500 lb paperweight. And I realize that the car will be fine once I get it back (eventually) and there are much greater tragedies happening in a lot of places. But the theft/vandalism seems like an apt metaphor - some people just don't give a shit about you or the things you care about. And they'll resort to whatever means they can to profit from you. I guess I lost some of my naivety, and it's more of a shock than I would have guessed.

can't do my 'job'

Was toiling away, diligently-like, when I received the following message.


Oh, you know what? I don't 'care'. You're a piece of 'garbage'. You just cost me like 2 'hours'. But I suppose none of that 'matters'. Want to 'kill' you. I also appreciate my options: 'OK dump all that work I just did' or 'stare at this box in disbelief indefinitely'.

Yes I'm dumb for not saving more frequently.

Contrast with the pleasant message from pandora:


Oh, you know what? I'm sorry too - I got a little impatient and may have clicked 44 times too quickly. Thanks for all you do, what with your entertaining me and rarely asking for anything in return. Good luck retrieving whatever information it is you need - I'm going to give you a break for a few hours. See you soon!

It's all about accountability.

haiku quintet

woeful umbrella
you protect nothing from rain
an embarrassment

shelter sought beneath
your spindly arms, thin fabric
i leave you broken

if you really made
a wet journey a dry walk
no one would hate you

mangled pathetic
Dickens wouldn't adopt you
bastard orphan trash

a Rihanna song
has not improved your function
and it's annoying

an open letter

Dear fellow gym patrons:

It is me, your humble companion in fitness, writing to ask the slightest of courtesies. Whilst exerting oneself to the fullest, as I am sure you do each and every trip to the gymnasium, it is expected that you may demand of your body some cooling. I trust your body produces, as does mine, a certain amount of moisture - perspiration if you will - that evaporates and takes with it some of the excess heat from that proud pantheon of athletic achievement known as your body. This perspiration has an odor to it, partially due to the presence of uric acid, and partially due to the fact that you naturally exude an air of rotten chicken fat and fermented baby shit. While I appreciate your efforts to rid yourself of this scent through showering (a truly noble, yet ultimately fruitless effort), please do not disrobe and do any of the following:

-strut through the common locker space clad only in your crocks, with nary a towel in sight.
-sit on the carpet. actually - don't sit anywhere.
-attempt any sort of conversation or discourse with me or any other patron of the fitness club.
-engage in any sort of pre-pubescent tomfoolery such as snapping your towel at your similarly geriatric compatriots. or me, for that matter.
-groom your hair (regardless of location on your body) prior to donning, at a minimum, undergarments.

I thank you in advance for your cooperation. No, I will not pick up your soap.