Apple Bamboo
We recently hosted a quasi-invited guest. (She sort of invited herself. It was a Thanksgiving kind of thing.) We took this person downtown for shopping, out to dinner and put her up for the night. But this guest wasn’t alone. She was possessed of an uninvited interloper. It was an iPhone.
Introducing the “bamboo” sound.
DA-DA DA-DA DINT DA! Thwap!
The sound was a lot like that coffee commercial jingle only a lot more woody, with a strong, robust finish. It was like Juan Valdez had chugged too much tequila and was getting jiggy on the marimbas.
DA-DA DA-DA DINT DA! Thwap!
That sound haunts me. It chases me in my dreams, where it is the size of the Death Star and I’m running but making no progress. “The rebel base will be in range in 15 minutes.” Only, in this dream, there was no Luke Skywalker to eject a torpedo pulse into a tiny little hole and save the day. The floating space-suited black helmet dudes fired that sucker and blew me and my planet up. And guess what? The sound the Death Star beam made? It was the iPhone bamboo.
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Little Victories
Sweet, sweet victory. And no one can take that away. Not even to open it. Just try. I dare you.
Hey kids. It has been some time since I last wrote about the quintessential American existential gripe, right? So today’s post offers two short bits of recent news about little victories I enjoyed, and yes, one of them is about driving.
Celebrate the little victories in life because if you wait for the big ones, it may be a long, long wait.
–Tom B. Taker
Offered herein are a pair of true stories where yours truly came out on top, no matter how thinly sliced the margin may have been. And both stories feature some small element of chance and odd elements of coincidence, enough so that my mind couldn’t help but notice.
So strap yourself in for this strange and peculiar journey to the winner’s lane. Don’t worry, I promise I handle it like everything else in life, in a very calm and mature manner.
Our first story finds me driving down the street as innocent as Bambi playing in the pure driven snow…
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Phones in Restaurants: Call Hating
Press *42 for my fist in your face.
Oops. Once upon a time someone told me I’m supposed to swallow my violent tendencies. I no longer remember who that was. Oh well, must not have been anyone important.
Oh. I see I just failed. Let’s try this again.
Hey, everybody! I’ve got a great idea on how to handle to chum-bucket assholes with phones in restaurants!
There. Is that better?
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My iPad Prayer (3rd generation)
Click to enlarge and view on original source.
As a former altar boy (reformed) I know how to pray. And I’m not above resorting to such tactics when the need is great. Like when I want revenge on my boss. You know what they say: “There are no atheists in shitholes.”
On my blog I claim to be many things, it’s true. But I’ve never claimed to be mature. E-v-a-r. I dare you to go back and painstakingly re-read every word I’ve ever written. I think you’ll find this claim to be born out. There will be nary a word about the mythical beast known as my maturity. Neener, neener and in yo face!
Ahem.
Where was I? Oh yeah. What could it possibly be that would motivate me to pray? Read on!
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Shouts from the Abyss 
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