WTF is up with the Internet?

21 05 2015

cross eyes

Lately the internet is off the hook. Like it just started talking to me again out of the blue. Somehow on one of these 150 windows I have open, a video started playing itself.  What does it care if I’m in the public library or Hank is trying to sleep? Then, while I’m trying to shut it up desperately, a pop-up decides to take over the entire screen and hold it ransom.  There seems to be no way to stop it, short of throwing it against a wall with force. There is no little X. I just have to wait while this thing loads, and Hank wakes up grumpily or the librarian starts pounding her foot like a mad bull and snorts.

I don’t know how I’m supposed to get everything in the entire universe done on this pathetic torture device that is clearly going downhill fast. I can’t believe this thing actually has a camera pointing at me that could be free entertainment for the domestic spies.  Well, this stuff ain’t free boys. I mean this stuff on the blog is free, but this stuff not on the blog isn’t free. So stop watching videos on my windows because these pop-ups take hella time to load when you use all my RAM stealing my only way of earning a living. Bloody hell.


Big Hair + Big Beard = Big Style

13 08 2013
bearded one-page-0

Meet Hank. His hair is massive, and he’s got style for days.

Did you know that big man hair is back? I mean really big. “What died on your head?” big. I saw on the Tony awards that big man hair is really big in New York, so it’s only a matter of time now before the rest of the country is inundated with beard/hair combos that could hide whole families of lost squirrels, etc. We at badapple salute big-haired guys like our own trailblazer Hank. Who cares if they call you the Unabomber, honey? I certainly don’t!

You know, not every man can get away with this much hair in his life, but those who do are the envy of us all.

The doctor said I am a very emotional person, honey

18 12 2012

The doctor said I am a very emotional person.

Understand, she was testing my tender arm nerves with little electric shocks on Frankensteinian equipment.  It seemed perfectly reasonable to me to be sweating in spite of that anti-anxiety pill.

No, she said, people even sleep through the tests.  Really?  It felt like she was sending telegraphs from my funny bone to each of my fingers and all the little towns in between.  I’d rather be pricked by pins any day than to have her play on my nerves again like they were bio-electric guitar strings.  I’m not some robot motherboard ready for a bionic re-wire.  Determined, I finished the tests and dragged my singed nerves home.

Whatever I learned about my arms that day, and they turned out to be in better shape than expected, what I learned about myself is this: According to the doctor, and she should know because she zaps people’s nerves all the time, I am an exceptionally emotional person.  Oh my god!  That explains so much!

All this time, I’ve wondered why me?  Why I have to be me, that is, and such a bad apple?  Why, for example, why do multiple question marks at the end of sentences leave me a twitching mess?   That kind of thing.

I’ve always figured it was because I’m a redheaded freak, which is disorienting enough.  After all, for me irate IS normal.   But now I learn, well into midlife dear reader, that all along these espresso-strength emotions I assumed everyone had are really actually concentrated inside of me in a need-to-add-water proportion.

Sure, I had my suspicions, but it’s official now, the doctor said.  I am a very emotional person.   Do you hear that, Hank?

Got BARF? Blogger Afflicted by Realworld Facts Syndrome

13 12 2008

Has the real world afflicted your Bloggerness?  I myself have a raging case of BARF, aka Blogger Afflicted by Realworld Facts.  My blogger equilibrium has been ruined for months now, and I’m so sorry.   It really sucks to have to try to get a blogger groove going again after all my previous BARFing around earlier this fiscal year. 

Bloody hell, it’s like three steps forward three miles back, have you noticed?  And it’s all the fault of those greedy gas executives.  Okay, maybe I can’t claim a direct line between my inability to post with the price of gasoline, but it does explain my obsession with attempting to level my transportation spending by genetically manipulating old Hank over there. 

Not that I have the time to feed self and horsecraft anymore, or the money.  I for one find it exceedingly exorbitant to house body, soul and Hank/horse-hybrid in a Left Coast locale.  Why, life has become downright untenable out here Cal-lee-for-niy-aye Way.  

That’s why I plan to freeze myself and Hank-horse over there, here and now, in the prime of life (for me anyway – Hank’s another story).  Imagine the wonder when we awake un-aged, woman and centaur, in a kinder, more evolved future. What do you think? Want to make it a group date?

I’ll try to keep posting more before my date with The Big Freeze (just in time for the holidays!). Because BARF must be conquered one post at a time.