Marvtimus Prime

Big Dawg came over to my desk to show off his newest toy. It's a Marvin the Martian USB Flash Drive, and it is WONDERFUL.

We giggled like a couple of little girls for much longer than I would care to admit. I confess the phrase "He's so CUTE!" was squee'd, but I won't say who did it.

Now you may wonder... USB? How do you plug him in? Well, his head comes off. That's right, you decapitate Marvin, and then the USB stick is right there and you plug his torso in. Cute AND disturbing, all at the same time. Much like life itself.

Anyway, I noticed that Marvin's head was just about the right size for...



Looks like he's ready to deploy that Illudium Q-36 Explosive Space Modulator with extreme prejudice.

Where's the kaboom? I got your kaboom right here, pal.

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This Is Not A Real Post

It's just 4 random sillies. The last one is my favorite (you might need to click into it to read it). Enjoy!

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More Toys

On a perfectly normal unremarkable morning, I wandered over to my desk and found an offering waiting for me. This happens much more often than you might expect.



Although usually people don't leave petroleum products for me. That's a new one.

I unpacked the goodies inside and...



P-Ziddy loves me. Or he's trying to kill me and I just haven't figured out his method yet.

Transformers! And some Star Wars figurines! Even a Batman! Very nice... although one of the figures didn't survive the decade in a box as well as the others...



"That's OK," P-Ziddy explained. "They make a blue pill for that."

Rather than medicate the figurine, I've decided to just rename him "Droopy." It's simpler that way.

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Regrets... I've Had A Few

It was A.M. in the office, and everybody was avoiding their email. Of course, that only works for a few minutes before the morning's priorities come and find you. Usually I get hit with reality's blunt push before I even make it to my desk, but this time I got to be the messenger! It was a nice change-up.

I approached my victim. "K-too, Cowboy says he needs to talk to you today. He wants to get a start on Project Wossname."

K-too's eyes widened. Project Wossname is a big and tedious one. Plus, K-too misread me, thinking there was some kind of urgency behind my words. His mind instantly went to "worst case scenario". "What?!? He doesn't want that done today, does he?"

P-Ziddy put on his best poker face. "I think so, yeah."

As K-too started to panic noisily, I contradicted 'Zid. "No, he doesn't." K-too relaxed.

Then I realized what P-Ziddy had been playing at. "NUTS!"

P-Ziddy shook his head sadly at me. "You should have played along! We could have made him cry."

I put my head in my hands. "Gah... that would have been glorious."

Big Dawg grinned. "This is what a life of regret looks like."

Fast forward a bit.

The four of us went to lunch that day, wandering through the mean streets of Downtown. Between a couple of the tall buildings, the "wind tunnel" effect was so strong that we could see people being knocked nearly off their feet. "No thanks," said Big Dawg. He turned to cross at the intersection rather than go down that street.

"I'm not gonna fight that wind," he said.

"Well," I offered, "You could go that way, tie a string around my foot and fly me like a kite."

Big Dawg grinned ear to ear. "I kinda want to do that now."

"But you CAN'T!", I shouted. I even pointed at him dramatically, hamming it up as best I could. "We're already halfway across this intersection, so your chance is GONE, baby GONE!"

Big Dawg made a sad face. I grinned. "This is what a life of regret looks like."

I believe I could fly, if only Big Dawg was bold enough to reach for his dreams. And some string.

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Now I Need A Snack

P-Ziddy saw this during his lunch break one day (Downtown Tulsa).



Scooby-Doo, where are you?

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Thwack!

We were digging through some old stuff, and found a smallish whiteboard that was my wife's back before we got married.

"I remember this thing," she said. "I had it in school, but it's pretty useless now."

"Let me take it to work," I said. "It might be helpful to have, and if it's not I'll throw it away from there." All were in agreement.

I showed up at work with the old whiteboard under my arm. LadyPatsFan and P-Ziddy were the first to see. "What's that?"

"It's just something to slap P-Ziddy with," I said. LadyPatsFan's eyes nearly bugged out of her head. "Really?!? Can I use it?!?"

Without waiting for an answer, she grabbed the whiteboard from me and took a swing. P-Ziddy just barely got his shoulder up to deflect the blow. THWACK!

Big Dawg popped around the corner in an instant. "I just heard P-Ziddy get hit with something. I want a turn."

THWACK!

K-Too jumped up. "Are we hitting P-Ziddy with things? Sweet!" THWACK!

Eventually I wandered over to my desk, empty-handed. The thwacking noises continued for some time. When they finally died down, LadyPatsFan showed up at my desk with a dinner-plate sized shard of whiteboard. "That was awesome! Are you sure you don't want a turn?"

"No, that's OK. I have to drive later."

"Your loss."

I visited P-Ziddy's crumpled form. "Sorry about that," I said. "I had no idea it would get out of hand."

P-Ziddy mumbled angrily at me. "I will... burn you... forever..."

I'll need to find some flame-retardant underwear before he's able to walk again.

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But I Got A Good Haircut

I got my hair cut last week. At the place I use, they always have me sign in. When they are done, the lady who cut my hair initials it. I never knew why until this most recent visit.

The phone rang. I heard bits of the conversation. "She did what? Well, I'm sorry ma'am. Who was it that cut your hair?" There was a long-ish pause and the lady made a confused face. "Really? Uh... OK. I'll check."

She hung up and announced to the room at large, "That customer says the lady who cut her hair was old and heavy-set."

Here I should mention an important detail. Every person cutting hair was a lady. None were older than 30. None were even the slightest bit overweight.

"Did you get her name?" The ladies descended on the list. They found where the offended customer had signed in. "Who cut her hair?" "It was Stacy!"

Across from me, the shortest, youngest, and thinnest of the hair-cutters looked up in horror. She was so small I could fold her up and put her in my pocket. "What?!?"

"Hey Stacy, apparently you're old and fat!" "No! I'm only 21!" "Are those dog years?" "No!" "Those jeans must be REALLY slimming!"

Stacy made mock slapping gestures at all of them. All of us guys getting haircuts exchanged glances. This was dangerous territory. The ladies were having fun, but if a male were to make a joke here it could end very badly. Silently, we all nodded to each other. Mutual ignorance and shared deafness were our only chance.

As I paid my bill, the lady made a comment about Stacy. "She's the most petite of all of us, isn't she?"

Desperation hit like a hammer. I pointed randomly. "Look! A thing!"

I ran for it while she was distracted.

My hair looks awesome this week, and as an added bonus, I got out alive.

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