A language of their own

J and I developed our own language while working together. The purpose was mainly to be able to still swear expressively via IM without being fired. To keep this blog NC-17, and hopefully to prevent it from being filtered too harshly, I'll retain most of our acronyms. So expect to see plenty of creative spellings of sht, fck, azz, pr0n0grafy, secks, and h3ll. Clearly we would fool only the most retarded filter, but as neither of us have been fired yet, it appears to be working. For now.

I also wish to take this opportunity to introduce the single greatest phrase ever coined by my father, which is "fckstick". I have gotten more mileage out of that word than Larry the Cable Guy has with the phrase "git 'er done". So feel free to add this word to your vocabulary - I'm certain he would feel honored.

Under control?

There is a person in my office, let's just call him Corky, who uses this completely and utterly retarded 2-word question: "under control?" I mean, to the point that the Smurfs would even say, enough already!! And it isn't something with a nice segue, either. A lot of the time it's almost used as a greeting, you know, where normal people might say "hello". And no matter who he asks, the answer is invariably "yes".

I finally figured out WHY he does this. Corky is: lazy, socially inept, and gifted in the art of looking busy (he's also got some other crazy stuff going on, which I'll cover on a different day). This little phrase is his way of cornering people into giving him the green light to screw off at work, since if everything is "under control", then they can't possibly be waiting for anything from him. It's rather ingenious, really. So, I make it my personal mission to poke holes in this little scheme.

I absolutly refuse to answer this insane pseudo-question with a "yes". I'll either say no, or request to know which area in my life specifically he'd like to know is truly "under control". And the best part is - IT'S WORKING!! My replies are met with either the wet, fishlike noise of his lips working while his brain struggles to catch up, or a look so full of confusion and social angst that I feel like I'm at prom again. Either way, it makes me feel warm inside.

The email that started it all

Here it is. My review from the annual Mud Bogs near my home town in WI.

We're in a field, approximately as secluded as the site for the Minnesota Renaissance Festival. There are two 100 yard 'lanes' of dirt being disked by a tractor (like a big garden tiller). Once disked, these two lanes are watered down to make mud (about a foot of it). Modified pickup trucks, Broncos, and even some cars are raced along these mud lanes. The local fire department is on site (to wash off the cars - I am not making this up! They would probably also attempt to put out a burning car, but mainly their purpose is cosmetic) and there is also a small fleet of EMT's in case someone chokes on a plug of Skoal. There are of course: country music and porta-potties. I literally expected Yosemite Sam to start firing his revolvers into the air to kick the whole thing off, but instead we all stood while the national anthem was played over the loudspeakers. Thankfully I did not see any cowboy hats. But there were plenty of pickup trucks, 4-wheelers, and baseball caps advertising local bars. They even had the Red/Yellow/Green light to start them off, and there was a woman calling the races over a loudspeaker. Some of the trucks had mud paddle tires (purpose: toss more mud at the crowd), and some of them were running on nitrous (purpose: ensure all accidents are fatal) (OK, it IS cool to see a truck skipping over mud at 50 - 60 MPH). One of the drivers had no arms, but he was driving his truck with his one prosthetic arm (I am NOT kidding!! He was steering with a suicide (Brodie) knob). And to end a final comedic ending, I managed to become a genuine redneck by actually sunburning my neck, foehead, and even the PART IN MY HAIR!!