Holy
crap in a Bundt pan...
Due to the
recent well-publicized shortage of
amateur websites produced by assholes who consider themselves to be
clever, I
have been called into action. My name is Jeff Kay, and I’m an
Ugly American living
on the cusp of a mid-life crisis, near Scranton, PA. And I’m here to
serve, baby.
The
State of My Fat Ass A journal of
sorts, updated every once in a while.
--
After Toney and I finally stopped laughing at the big retarded woman on
the bumper cars (Wheeee!) at Knoebels on Tuesday, we had a
conversation about dating services. Yes, you read that correctly....
Toney actually brought it up, and she had a really good point.
On the millions of TV and radio ads for services like eHarmony that we
hear every day, they always mention a free "compatibility
test." This is presumably used to match you up with a person who
has the same interests as you. Blah, blah, blah.
Toney contends that our relationship works so well, at least in part,
because of a shared interest in such things as cruel mockery. And most
people, she believes, won't admit to that particular darkened corner of
their personality -- especially when trying to attract a mate. She
doubts that they even attempt to measure it, and this reveals a huge
flaw in the system.
Because, you see, we believe that sarcasm and a penchant for ridicule
are just as valid as any of the morefancy-pantscharacter
traits, such as compassion and caring. I mean, seriously.
Can any of you shed some light on this for us? Do you have experience
with a dating service, and if so, do they gauge the more socially
unacceptable side of human personality? Because if they don't,
they're completely missing the boat....
And we see an opening for a business opportunity. Good afternoon,
thanks for calling ePrick!
-- A couple of weeks ago a California-based bigshot at work asked me for
local airport and hotel information. He said he was planning a quick
visit to our office, on his way back from a meeting in Toronto, and
needed my help. I gave him everything he asked for, and that was that.
He never told me the dates of his proposed visit, and not another words
was said about it.
Needless to say, I'm paranoid. In his first email he mentioned that he
would fly in on a Wednesday night, tour our facility and meet with
people on Thursday, then take a late flight back to LAX Thursday night.
But which Thursday?? That's the 64 oz. question. Sweet sainted
mother of Cesar Geronimo, I'm gonna be blind-sided here!
So, last Thursday morning, very early, I
called both hotels I'd suggested to him, and asked if he was registered.
Then I repeated the exercise this morning. And I feel like Cannon now,
doing investigative work and waddling from room to room. It's a sad
state of affairs.
-- I overheard two people talking at work yesterday about a person they
know who reportedly has a secret recipe for cornbread. WTS?? What's the
point of keeping recipes secret, unless you own a restaurant or
something? Seriously, what's it all about?? Do you know anyone who does
this, and is it, as I suspect, a desperate plea for attention? Help me
out, people.
-- As mentioned, I've been buying-up, slowly but surely, all the
kick-ass British reissues of the Boomtown Rats catalog. The sound is
awesome, the liner notes are hilarious, there's a heaping helping of
bonus tracks, and the price is right. It's enough to make an aging
hipster weep straight into his Trouser Presses.
Anyway, my old vinyl copy of one of their more obscure albums had a
small skip in it, that was long forgotten until I started playing the
CD. I'm not exaggerating when I say that I hadn't heard the thing in
over twenty years, but when I popped the reissue into my player the
other day I actually anticipated the skip.
It wasn't an actual memory, I don't believe, it was something primal, from way down deep.
My body tensed at the spot where the skip should occur, then I had to go
back and figure out why.
Freaky, man.
-- For no relevant reason whatsoever, here's another selection from the
massive Surf Report sound library. This one dates from the Atlanta
years, aka the late 1990's. It's a heartwarming number called "Who
Cut The Cheese?" And since we're at it, this is racing legend
"Emerson Fitapaldi" calling into Christopher Rude's old
morning radio show, at 96 Rock.
Toney to me, during the Atlanta years: "You're being ruined
by Beavis and Butthead, the Jerky Boys, and Christopher Rude."
-- Now I'm going to turn this bastard over to Buck, and go to work....
My paranoia is causing me worry that the bigshot may have registered
under a fake name, like Mel Sharples or somesuch.
--
After Toney and I finally stopped laughing at the big retarded woman on
the bumper cars (Wheeee!) at Knoebels on Tuesday, we had a
conversation about dating services. Yes, you read that correctly....
Toney actually brought it up, and she had a really good point.