Thursday, January 30, 2014

Spam email of the week

Subject: save save me.Seeking help. ???????????????????

I'll see what I can do.

Major news event /
Major news events can make you famous/


Ummm, okay I guess.

Who can help me information translated into English and published in foreign television or newspaper or Internet or passed on to the Chinese President xi jinping.

Okay hold up, lemme get this straight. All you need is for someone to translate something into English and have it published/broadcast on international mediums OR given directly to Chinese President Xi Jinping? Pfft. I GOT THIS.

I gave you 100000 dollars /

You did? What did I do with it? I don't think you did, please send again, thnx.

Please give this letter translated into English/

No doubt, kid. Hit me off with the realness. I'm ready.

Save Save me.Seeking help.

This part says, "Save Save me. Seeking help." This is mad easy.

I come from China¾È¾ÈÎÒ¡£ÎÒÏÖÔÚÔÚ±±¾©ºÍÒÔÇ°ÔÚÌì½òÌÁ¹Á±»ÖйúÈË´óίԱ³¤Õŵ½­µÄ˽Éú×Ó[ÃúÉÐÀÏ°å´ó¸Å½Ð]¸ßÔ­µÄÈË24Сʱ¼à¿ØÅ°´ý.ÖйúÈË´óίԱ³¤Õŵ½­µÄ˽Éú×Ó¸ßԭָʾ±ðÈËÌìÌì¶ÔÎÒͶÂýÐÔ¶¾¡£Õŵ½­µÄ˽Éú×Ó¸ßÔ­¿ÉÒÔ¶¯ÓÃÕû¸ö»òÒ»°ëµÄ±±¾©È˺ÍÎÒÒÔÇ°ÔÚÌì½òÌÁ¹ÁÈ˶ÔÎÒ¼à¿Ø¡£Ï°¸ç¡£Öйú»¹Óз¨ÂÉÂð¡£Ï°¸ç¡£ÖйúÊDz»ÊDZä³ÉÕŵ½­Ë½Éú×Ӹ߼ҵÄ

Oh uh, this part is like, "I come from China and uh ... I just saw a bear ... a big ass bear. He uh ... (squinting) had a gun ... the bear did. He bout to kill me or whatever. Help."

¾È¾ÈÎÒ¡£ÎÒÀ´×ÔÖйú¡£ÎÒ½ÐÆëÒÔͬ¡£36ËêÁË¡£ÄС£ºÓÄÏÊ¡ÄÏÕÙÏØÈË¡£ÎÒµÄÉí·ÝÖ¤ºÅÊÇ412921197802041519¡¢ÎÒÏÖÔÚÔÚ±±¾©ºÍÎÒÒÔÇ°ÔÚÌì½òÌÁ¹Á±»ÃúÉÐÀÏ°å´ó¸Å½Ð¸ßÔ­µÄ¡¾Õŵ½­µÄ˽Éú×Ó¡¿ÈË24Сʱ¼à¿Ø¡£ËûµÄ¹«Ë¾ÔÚÌì½òºÓ±±ÇøÄÏ¿Ú·¡£Ëû¹«Ë¾µÄÃû×Ö

½ÐÃúÉС£ËüµÄµç»°ÊÇ15822536363¡¢26227640¡¢ËüµÄ³µºÅÊǽòkvv585¡¢ÎÒÏÖÔÚûÓÐÈκεÄÈËÉí×ÔÓÉ¡£ÎÒ±¨¾¯ÉÏ·ÃûÓÐÈκÎÈËÊÜÀí¡£ÇëÇóÊÀ½ç¸÷¹úÓÐÕýÒåµÄºÃÐÄÈ˾ȾÈÎÒ¡£°ÑÎÒËùдµÄ·¢±íÔÚÊÀ½ç¸÷¹ú±¨¿¯ÉÏ»òÔÚµçÊǪ́ÉÏÍøÉÏÆعâ»òת½»¸øÖйú¹ú¼ÒÖ÷ϯÏ

°½üƽ¡£ÎÒÏÖÔÚÔÚ±±¾©ºÍÎÒÒÔÇ°ÔÚÌÁ¹ÁÖ»ÒªÎÒÒ»³öÃÅ¡£¾Í»áÓÐÈ˸ú×Å¡£ÎÒ×ßµ½ÄÄÀï¡£¶¼ÓÐÈ˸úµ½ÄÄÀï¡£ÎÞÂÛÎÒ×öʲô¡£¶¼»áÓÐÈ˼à¿Ø¿´×Å¡£ÎÒÉϲÞËù²»µ½1·ÖÖÓ¡£¾ÍÓÐÈ˸ú½øÀ´¼à¿Ø¡£ÎÒÈ¥ÉÏ°àÏ°àµÄÕâһ·ÉÏ¡£¶¼»áÓÐÈ˸ú׿à¿ØÎÒ¡£¼à¿ØÎÒÓпªÕþ¸®¹«


"Turns out the bear is cool. Plus he can speak. Talkin' bout, he was sent to kill me at the behest of the rebels of Xi, but he had second thoughts when he saw my family. He said he doesn't like the rebels anymore and he wants to turn his life around. But also now we're in trouble cause the rebels gonna be after us. Help."

¼à¶½ÏÂÉú»î¡£¶øÇÒ±ØÐè°´ÕÕ±ðÈ˵ÄÒâ˼ȥÉú»î¡£ÔÚÕâÑùÏÂÈ¥¡£ÎҵIJ¡Çé»áÔ½À´Ô½ÑÏÖØ¡£ÎÒ»áËÀµôµÄ¡£ÕæµÄ¡£ÎÞÂÛÎÒµ½ÖйúÄÄÀï¡£Ëû¶¼ÅÉÈ˸úµ½ÄÄÀï¡£ËûÏëÒªÎÒµÄÃü¡£ËûûÓдòËã·ÅÎÒ×ß¡£ËûÏë¼à¿ØÎÒÒ»±²×Ó¡£ÏÖÔÚËû°ÑÎÒÕÛüOµÄ¿ìÒªËÀÁË¡£ÎÒÒÔ36ÁË¡£´ò

¹ýºÜ¶àµÄ¹¤×÷¡£´ÓÀ´Ã»ÓÐÓöµ½¹ýÕâÑùµÄÈç´Ë¿Ö²ÀÊÂÇé.ÈçÎÒ×öʲôΥ·¨µÄÊ¡£×ÔÓз¨ÂÉÀ´ÑϳÍÎÒ¡£ËûÓÐʲô×ʸñÒªÕÆ¿ØÎÒÉúËÀÒ»ÇС£ÇëÇóÄÄЩÓÐÕýÒåµÄºÃÐÄÈ˾ȾÈÎÒ¡£°ÑÎÒËùдµÄ·¢±íÔÚ±¨¿¯ÉÏ»òÔÚµçÊǪ́ÉÏÆعâ»ò½»¸øÖйú¹ú¼ÒÖ÷ϯϰ½üƽ¡£ÇëÇó°Â°ÍÂ

í×ÜͳӢ¹úÅ®»ÊÒÁÀöɯ°×¶þÊÀ»òÓ¢¹úÊ×Ï࿨÷Â×¼ÓÄôó×ܶ½Ô¼º²Ë¹¶Ù»ò×ÜÀí¹þçê°Ä´óÀûÑÇ×ܶ½²¼ÀµË¹»ò×ÜÀí°¢²©Ìغͽ¿ËÎĶí

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¾øÈËÐԲб©º§ÈË¿Ö²ÀµÄа¶ñ¼à¿Ø¡£ÈçÄÄλºÃÈËÓö¼û°Â°ÍÂí×Üͳ»òÃÀ¹úÒéÔ±¡£ÇëÇóÄú½«ÎÒдµÄÐÅÇë°Â°ÍÂí×Üͳ»òÒéÔ±ÏÈת½»¸øÖ

йú¹ú¼ÒÖ÷ϯϰ½üƽ¡£ÈçÄÄλºÃÈËÓö¼ûÓ¢¹úÅ®»ÊÒÁÀöɯ°×¶þÊÀ»òÓ¢¹úÊ×Ï࿨÷Âס£ÇëÅ®»ÊÒÁÀöɯ°×¶þÊÀ»ò¿¨Ã·Â×Ê×Ïà°ÑÎÒдµÄ

ת½»¸øÖйú¹ú¼ÒÖ÷ϯϰ½üƽ¡£ÈçÄÄλºÃÈËÓö¼û¼ÓÄôó×ܶ½Ô¼º²Ë¹¶Ù»ò×ÜÀí¹þçê¡¢Çë¼ÓÄôó×ܶ½Ô¼º²Ë¹¶Ù»ò×ÜÀí¹þçê°ÑÎÒËùдµ

Äת½»¸øÖйú¹ú¼ÒÖ÷ϯϰ½üƽ¡£ÈçÄÄλºÃÈËÓö¼û°Ä´óÀûÑÇ×ܶ½²¼ÀµË¹»ò×ÜÀí°¢²©Ìغͽ¿ËÎÄ¡£Çë°Ä´óÀûÑÇ×ܶ½²¼ÀµË¹»ò×ÜÀí°¢²©Ìغͽ¿ËÎĽ«ÎÒËùдµÄÐÅת½»¸øÖйú¹ú¼ÒÖ÷ϯϰ½üƽ¡£ÈçÄÄλÓÐÕýÒåµÄºÃÈËÓö¼û¶íÂÞ˹×ÜͳÆÕ¾©»ò·¨¹ú×Üͳ°ÂÀʵ»òµÂ¹ú×Üͳµ¤Äݶû.ÏĵÏÌØ»ò×ÜÀíĬ¿Ë¶û¡£ÇëÇó¶íÂÞ˹×ÜͳÆÕ¾©»ò·¨¹ú×Üͳ°ÂÀʵ»òµÂ¹ú×Üͳµ¤Äݶû.ÏĵÏÌØ»ò×ÜÀíĬ¿Ë¶û°ÑÎÒËùдµÄת½»¸øÖйú¹ú¼ÒÖ÷ϯϰ½üƽ¡£ÈçÄÄλºÃÈËÓö¼ų̂ÍåÂíÓ¢¾ÅÏÈ¡£ÇëÂíÓ¢¾ÅÏÈ°ÑÎÒдµÄת½»¸øÖйú¹ú¼ÒÖ÷ϯϰ½üƽ¡£Ï°½üƽÖ÷ϯ¡


Uh, this part is mostly like, the bear is growling and stuff. But then dude is like, "Hold up - how are we going to survive on the run? We need money! Please give lots of money to whoever is translating this joint and have him meet us in the wilderness. Here are our coordinates: 38 ... 106 ... 45? ... southwest longitude ... hang a louie ... yell 'Hootie hoo!' We be there."

Äê¶È11ÔÂ30ÈÕÖйúÈË´óίԱ³¤Õŵ½­ºÍËüµÄ˽Éú×Ó¸ßÔ­°ÑÎÒ¼à¿ØÔÚ±±¾©Êзą́Çø·¼ÐÇ·Éϵķ¼³ÇÔ°ÈýÇø19¶°µÚ¶þ²ãµØÏÂÊÒ893ºÅ·¿¼ä¡£Õŵ½­ºÍËüµÄ˽Éú×Ó¸ßԭָʾ·¿¶«ºÍסÔÚÕâÀïµÄ»ù±¾ÉÏËùÓеÄÈ˺ÍסÔÚÎÒ·¿¼äÉÏÃæµÄÈ˶ÔÎÒ¼à¿Ø¡£ÖйúÈË´óίÔ

±³¤Õŵ½­ºÍËüµÄ˽Éú×ÓÔÚÎҵķ¿¼ä×°ÁËÉãÏñÍ·¶ÔÎÒ24Сʱ¼à¿Ø


"Our allegiance is with Xi and we hope he remembers our great sacrifice. Please don't forget about the $$$ we're almost out of food and this bear is gonna eat me soon, peace."

Ãñ¡£ÇëÄú¾È¾ÈÎÒ¡£Ï°Ö÷ϯ¡£13021215531¡¢ÐÅÏ䣺qyt88@sina.cn QQ: 2833313508¡£¡£78966467¡£1312486382¡£ÎÒµÄÐÂÀË΢²©ÃûÊÇ£ºÇóÖú6¡£

"p.s. you can follow my plight on Twitter, @TheRealChineseGuy"

Tuesday, January 28, 2014

Dishwasher versus dish washer, a manly man’s perspective

I am a proud, domesticated man. I know my way around a washing machine. (By “a washing machine” I mean my washing machine. I do not know my way around other washing machines.) I know where to find virtually everything in Safeway, including canned coconut milk (ethnic foods), and I won’t hesitate to add feminine hygiene products to my cart if they’re on the list. I make homemade croutons (by toasting bread really hard). I wash dishes. My goodness do I wash dishes.

I’m not just domesticated in that I’m able to swallow my manly pride and do certain unenviable chores out of a sense of duty to my family. No, I embrace it. It defines me. I have opinions, gosh darn it.

I don’t put my whites in the dryer because they’re more apt to withhold stains. Instead I hang them on a clothes drying thingee, and if I’m feeling particularly domestic I will put said thingee in the backyard and watch the clothes blow gently in the breeze while I breath in pleasant wafts of fabric softener. (My whites are predominantly undershirt tank-tops affectionately referred to in pop culture as “wife beaters,” a phrase that somewhat ironically provides an interesting backdrop to the scene just described.) I will only buy our family’s particular brand of Greek yogurt at one specific store because I think the prices elsewhere are ludicrous. I believe no sane person should be expected to fold a fitted sheet and we should instead be allowed to crumple them up into a ball and tie them with a rubber band for storage.

But I withhold my strongest opinions for the act, as mentioned, I find myself doing most often: washing dishes.

More specifically, the dishwasher. There is an etiquette to the dishwasher, one that is frequently breached. I’m not talking about the act of loading the dishwasher, an art form in itself for which, alas, I don’t have the natural talent. (Although you can’t just maximize space by stacking dishes. You have to expose each dish to the water jets or what’s the point, you know?) I am referring to the level of rinsing a dish may require before placing it into the dishwasher.

Occasionally my wife, feeling bad for me, will volunteer to load the dishwasher after dinner. I will insist on doing it, however, since I know she will simply load the dishes as they are. Her level of rinsing is zero rinsing. (Don’t even get me started on her mind-boggling inability to soak.) I don’t even think she will scrape remnants into the garbage first, but will instead aggressively place the plate into the dishwasher as is and let the excess pasta fall where it may. No worries, the dishwasher will take of care of it! Guess what? IT WON’T.

You know who will take care of it? Me, the following morning, when I open the dishwasher only to reveal a bevy of crusted-up dishes that have not been sufficiently cleaned by the magical, scrubbing troll who resides in dishwashers because such a being does not exist.

Dishes must be pre-washed, and I am straight offended by commercials that suggest otherwise. “Use Palmolive dishwashing liquid to get out the toughest grease and stains (shows Pyrex dish with week’s old casserole-induced crust coming out like new).” ERRONEOUS. This isn’t fantasy-land, people. These dishes need some elbow grease.

Some may say I fall on the other extreme, that I pre-wash too well and thus nullify the intended purpose of the dishwasher. Well guess what? Guilty as charged.

Maybe I’ll live to see the day when dishwasher technology and that of its associated soaps will advance to the point where they can actually keep the promises they make on television. In the meantime, a dishwasher is a moderately convenient machine that adds an extra, albeit unnecessary level of clean to the hard work I already accomplished with my own two very manly hands. And let that be the final word on this issue.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some wife-beaters to soak in bleach.

This is the real "after" photo, CASCADE.

Note: This column appears in the 1/30 issue of The Glendale Star and the 1/31 issue of the Peoria Times.

Thursday, January 23, 2014

Spam email of the week

Subject: Your source in Volgograd and Sochi

I need one of those.

Dear Friends,
If you are interested to get a direct information from Volgograd, where awful tradegy had place some time ago, I would be glad to help along with my colleagues - photographers and writers. Will be glad to share a story and interview.

HOWDY FRIENDS! Remember that terrible bombing tragedy in Volgograd, Russia? Y'all wanna pay me and my buddies for coverage on that? Seriously I will be legitimately and genuinely happy to share stories and interviews about this otherwise awful tragedy. In my opinion, the awfulness of this tragedy is counterbalanced only by my happiness at reporting on it.

In the future, if you ever interested to have your source on Winter Olympic Games in Sochi, we will be glad to help as well.

Even if you're not ready for a source at the Winter Olympic Games in Sochi this year, please keep us in mind for when the Winter Olympic Games return to Sochi in the future, i.e. the year 4086.

Any other cooperation in other locations of Russia Federation can be discussed

Possibly your Arizona-based community weekly newspapers could use more coverage about various locations in the Russian Federation? Not telling you how to do your job, just assuming you'd like to sell some papers, is all. I've been to your websites and there is nothing about terrible international bombings. Just trying to fill a void.

In any case, we are sending you winter photograph from Volgograd as a little souvenir on this  new 2014 Year!




1) Uhhh, does this depict the bombing? If so, HAPPY NEW YEAR? If not, I don't know what this is, but maybe someone should call 911.

2) This souvenir will go wonderfully in my collection of "photos I did not ask to receive of Russian cities where terrible events took place." I am going to frame it and hang it next to my picture of Ivan the Terrible sacking Novgorod, which was paper-airplaned to me at the DMV by a drooling man back in '97.

3) This "photograph" looks like a painting. Are you guys on Instagram?

With my all best wishes,

Oleg


Thanks, Oleg! You really whet my pallet with this email. I just talked to my publisher aaaaaaand boom - you're our source for the Sochi Winter Olympics. Congrats! Your beat is bobsled. Deadline is yesterday LOL seriously though hand in your sh*t on time, is all I'm saying.

Facebook meme(s) of the day(s)



DANG BABY YOU ARE REALLY GOOD AT KNOWING THE DAYS OF THE WEEK

I DON'T KNOW WHAT DAY IT IS UNTIL I GET MY BABY MEME



LOL MONDAY IS THE WORST THIS BABY NAILED IT

THESE OVERALLS DON'T FIT AND I JUST CRAPPED MYSELF, ARE THINGS THAT HAPPEN ON MONDAY TO ALL OF US

BABY BE LIKE, WHY ARE WEEKS CYCLICAL, WAH! TALK TO COPERNICUS, OSHKOSH B'JOSH



THANKS BABY I FEEL BETTER ABOUT TUESDAY THAN I DID ABOUT MONDAY

YOU ARE ON THE BEACH THOUGH SO EASY FOR YOU TO SAY JERK BABY


WHAT IS YOUR DEAL GET A CLUE


GET OUT OF MY FACE YOU SMUG JERK I HAVE A LOT TO DO TODAY



DANG YOU BEEN AT THE BEACH ALL WEEK, SON? YOU A PIMP

YO I JUST REALIZED BABIES AIN'T EVEN WORK

THEY SHOULDN'T BE SO EMOTIONALLY INVESTED IN THE DAYS OF THE WEEK

WHY AM I EVEN LISTENING TO THESE DUMB BABIES, THEY DON'T KNOW JACK


WTF

LOL, LEARN HOW TO FINISH A MEME YA DUMB BABY

ALSO PRETTY SURE I COULD BEAT YOU IN A FIGHT

Tuesday, January 21, 2014

Alice in Wonderland (a.k.a. Albuquerque)

“Where’s Alice?”

That’s the question my wife asked me in a panic as we drove along Route 40 out of Albuquerque on our way home from an extended holiday vacation in Colorado. The Alice to whom she was referring was an “Alice in Wonderland” doll that nestled tightly in our daughter’s arms each night before her restless movements managed to release it from her clutches to the foot of the bed or, alas, the floor. For Christmas, said daughter had received dolls from the movie “Frozen,” which were currently occupying her time and which went a long way toward explaining her recent carelessness with Alice.

“How should I know?” I said.

My ignorance made me culpable, apparently, and it was decided by all the females in the vehicle that I must have let Alice fall out of the car while I was packing it BY MYSELF. I denied these accusations as the frantic car search continued, pointing out the many times I had saved babies—our daughters call their dolls babies—from tragic asphalt fates. I always search the perimeter of the vehicle for abandoned babies. Always. IT’S WHAT I DO.

The situation had reached emergency status. We had to call the hotel where we stayed the previous night, an awkward endeavor since I had just, in like the last 20 minutes, spoken to the manager there about the sleepless night we had endured on account of our loud and rude hotel room neighbors. The manager had comped our stay, and now we had to call back and exhaust that good will to alert all staff to be on the lookout for a doll from a really weird movie (which is also maybe a book or something, who knows).

Despite my profession of innocence, my wife was convinced Alice was dying a slow death in an Albuquerque hotel parking lot, and that is where she asked hotel staff to look.

But they found nothing.

We were about two hours from Phoenix when the light went on in my wife’s head that Alice had remained behind in the hotel bed. This was a revelation only to her, however, as I had asked repeatedly for confirmation while clearing out the hotel room that monkey was the only baby our daughter had cuddled that night. (Conversations like, “Are you sure monkey was the only baby she cuddled?” are totally normal when you’re a parent.) Of course, this did not mean my wife was at fault—never—but rather the stress of getting ready to leave was to blame, a stress to which I had added, apparently, so … my fault.

It should be mentioned that our daughter was barely concerned. Again, she had her “Frozen” babies, so she was straight. My wife, however, began tearing up as she described a scenario where Alice, poor Alice, was left abandoned, alone, bereft of a child’s love. When I was 24 I refused to cry at my grandmother’s funeral because I thought it would make me look soft, and here I was 11 years later on the verge of tears pondering the fate of an inanimate object. I honestly don’t know what’s happened to me.

When we arrived home I called the hotel back and left a message that was not returned. Undeterred, I called the next day and explained to the front desk what happened. I listened as the desk clerk, in an attempt to inform the head housekeeper of the situation, tried to say “Alice in Wonderland” in Spanish. Someone would call me back if they found anything.

My wife and I had mutually decided that it would be okay if one of the maids had adopted Alice for her daughter or granddaughter, and that was the exact scenario we conjured up in the event she went unfound. However, 10 minutes after I hung up with the desk clerk I received a call.

They found Alice. Or, as it was more accurately relayed to me, “Es Kenny? Si, we uh … how you say, has a doll, no?”

Overjoyed, I relayed to the head housekeeper my credit card number—this took 10 minutes—so Alice could be mailed back. Before hanging up, I said to the housekeeper, “And tell Alice I said, ‘I don’t care how you get here, just get here if you can,’” and she responded with deafening silence.

It’s apropos that the pleasant surprise of having our room comped was somewhat offset by a charge to return a stuffed doll. But the important thing is that Alice is back safe, snuggled tightly in loving arms.

Those would be my arms. Our daughter couldn’t care less.


Note: This column appears in the 1/23 issue of The Glendale Star and the 1/24 issue of the Peoria Times.

Thursday, January 16, 2014

Spam email of the week

Subject: Notice of appearance in court NR#6037

Notice to Appear,

Hereby you are notified that you have been scheduled to appear for your hearing that
will take place in the court of Washington in January 14, 2014 at 09:00 am.

Please bring all documents and witnesses relating to this case with you to Court on your hearing date.

The copy of the court notice is attached to this letter.
Please, read it thoroughly.

Note: If you do not attend the hearing the judge may hear the case in your absence.

Yours truly,
Ruth Smith
Clerk to the Court.


- - - - - - - - -

I travel to Washington, show up to local court Tuesday morning, barge through courtroom doors

Me: Sup, y'all, wasn't easy but I made it. Now who did the murder? Prolly dude o'er there (points to bailiff). Boom, solved. NEXT. J/k seriously though where do I sit?

Judge: Excuse me sir, but this is a court OF LAW. May I help you with something?

Me: Yeah, no doubt, no doubt. Just here to do my civic duty. Or, uh ... maybe I'm the one who did something illegal? Not sure. Got the email.

Judge: To what email are you referring?

Me: Right here, yo. (holds up printout of email) Reference number NR#6037 for dat ass.

Judge: That ... that means nothing. That is jibberish. Let me see that.

Me: Oh no doubt. (hands judge paper) FYI I couldn't open the attachment cause it was a zip file and those things are the WORST. Also, I was just thinking - it MIGHT be that I'm in the wrong Washington. Email wasn't especially clear. Ain't that right, "witness?" (points to man wearing jeans and a Stephon Marbury Suns jersey)

C-Dogg: Can I get a WIT-NESS? (cups hand to ear)

Me: YES, YA' CAN! (gives C-Dogg pound, hug) C-Dogg is my witness, your priestess.

Judge: This ... this paper you gave me is nothing. This is a spam email.

Me: Pfft. Wha? Naw.

Judge: YES. It is. The United States system of justice does not send out EMAILS to notify defendants and/or potential jury members of case hearings. We operate in conjunction with the United States Postal Service or, if need be, through the use of constables or law enforcement. We utilize taxpayer-funded services and do not risk losing communication because someone neglected to check their HOTMAIL account. I would say you should know better, but your appearance and general demeanor prove otherwise.

Me: Pfft, thanks, MOM. But also: (rolls eyes demonstratively) Where's Ruth?

C-Dogg: RUTH WHERE YOU AT HOMEGIRL?

Judge: Who in the heck is Ruth?

Me: The clerk of this court, yo. Ruth Smith. The one who sent the email. That's my GIRL.

Judge: Oh my goodness. There is no such person as Ruth Smith. You've been had, sir. Now please leave my courtroom immediately as we have actual cases to attend to.

Me: Why would somebody do this to me? What is the point? I had to miss four days of work for this, yo.

C-Dogg: HA. Ain't got no JOOOOOOOB.

Me: True, true. (gives C-Dogg pound, hug)

Judge: Good thing you're not under oath, or that would have been perjury. Now LEAVE.

Me: Y'all better not hear this case in my absence, yo! Imma get to the bottom of this, best belieee-dat.

C-Dogg: Yo I think I seen Ruth walk into the strip club before. We better check it out.

Me: No doubt, no doubt. (gives C-Dogg pound, hug)

Tuesday, January 14, 2014

Dad fails to charter unique code for unique girl

Last summer my wife told me to submit an application for our oldest daughter to attend a local charter school. I said, “What? She is like 3. Pretty sure we have some time.”

She said, “Your daughter is 4. And we don’t have a lot of time. There is a waiting list.”

“Is this one of those schools where there are yet-to-be-born children on the waiting list?”

“Probably.”

“Okay I will do it tomorrow. One question.”

“What?”

“What is a charter school?”

My wife delved into some explanation that did not necessarily serve as an answer to my question. So I looked online. According to Wikipedia, “a charter school is an alternative education system where a school receives public funding but operates independently.” So basically … I still don’t know. It sounds like a charter school is a school that has its cake and eats it, too, and also we pay for the cake.

Nevertheless, I filled out the application under the impression that the school would prefer a child who came from less than ordinary circumstances. How many applications can they read where a Caucasian child born to responsible parents is exhibiting typical behavior? BO-RING. You want a kid to be on the dang brochure, like, “See? We don’t discriminate.”

So yeah, I wrote about the adoption; about the litany of therapies; about all the stuff that provides daily challenges for us but may give us an advantage when it comes to stuff like this. There weren’t actually areas provided for this info, so I squeezed it in as I saw fit:

Current age: 4 (but she was nine months when we ADOPTED her. Drug exposed child, poor thing. We got her in therapy right away, which has been wonderful. Strong, resilient girl. Probably a result of her partial Mexican heritage.)

I clicked submit and waited for them to call me on the phone in the next 10 minutes to accept her sight unseen. Instead I received a generic email confirming my application and “thank you for applying, blah, blah, blah.”

Fast forward months later, and we were talking to our friends who also applied to the same school on behalf of their son. Unfortunately, he hadn’t been accepted, but earned a less than promising spot on the waiting list. I said, “Wait, how did you find out?” My buddy said, “I checked the website on the dates provided, like the confirmation email told me to.”

Oh. My wife looked at me lovingly.

I made a mental note to check the following day, but on that day the current school our daughter attends called me to say, “Hi, we have your daughter in the front office again and she’s been a bit difficult to control today and blah, blah, blah.”

It wasn’t until weeks later I remembered to check her application. When I finally did, I entered the “unique code” I was given in my confirmation email—in 2014, your child’s education and general future is determined by a combination of random numbers and capital letters that is sent to you online, just as the forefathers predicted. Their website said, “The code you entered is not in our system.”

Anyway, I guess what I’m trying to say is, our daughter won’t be going to a charter school, or at least that charter school, in part because I forgot to check her application status. We’re off to a good start here.
It’s too bad because I think she would have done well there. She really enjoys school and the discipline of a structured rout—hold on, sorry … her school is calling.

Note: This column appears in the 1/16 issue of The Glendale Star and the 1/17 issue of the Peoria Times.

Facebook meme of the day

IMMA KEEP THIS SNEEZE GOING BY SHARING IT WITH MY FRIENDS

LOL THAT NOSE BE SNEEZING OUT ITS MOUTH

I'M ALLERGIC TO GENERAL IGNORANCE

BULLSHIT IS A PROPER NOUN AND SHOULD BE CAPITALIZED

I'M ALLERGIC TO GENERAL IGNORANCE

"FOR BETTER SENTENCE STRUCTURE!! REPLACE A COMMA WITH TWO EXCLAMATION POINTS..." - ERNEST HEMINGBERG OR SOME SH*T

I'M ALLERGIC TO GENERAL IGNORANCE

THAT NOSE IS WEARING A HAT AND SHOES

ALSO I AM ALLERGIC TO FAKE PEOPLE

DANG YOU NEVER REALLY MET OUTKAST YOU FAKE LIAR PERSON, GREAT NOW I HAVE TO BUY ALLEGRA

THIS MEME WOULD BE A LITTLE MORE PROFESSIONAL IF THE NOSE GUY WAS CARRYING A BRIEFCASE

THEN HE CALLS INTO WORK LIKE, SORRY BOSS CAN'T COME IN, CAME DOWN WITH A CASE OF FAKE-ASS PEOPLE ALLERGIES

BOSS IS LIKE, WTF IS THAT EVEN REAL

THE BOSS IS LIKE A BIG TOE OR SOMETHING

ANYWAY PLEASE KEEP THIS FAKE SNEEZE GOING

FOR THE TROOPS

Thursday, January 09, 2014

Spam email of the week


(We couldn't resist.)


Subject: Federal Bureau of Investigation F B I

The subject of this email is that it’s from us, the Federal Bureau of Investigation, a.k.a. FBI. We are the FBI, the ones who sent this. Federal Bureau of Investigation. The FBI. We are the subject and the sender, an omnipresent force of investigative prowess. FBI. Us. We are the FBI. Not you. You are a gullible dumbass true American. We are the FBI.

 Anti-Terrorist And Monetary Crimes Division
FBI Headquarters, Washington, D.C.
Federal Bureau Of Investigation
J.Edgar Hoover Building
935 Pennsylvania Avenue, Nw Washington, D.C. 20535-0001
www.fbi.gov

In case you didn’t believe us, here are the deets. By the way, the Anti-Terrorist and Monetary Crimes Division are lumped together. Budget constraints, what can I tell ya’? Thanks, OBAMA. Anyway, it does work out well on those frequent occasions when a terrorist tries to use a fraudulent $20 bill at Safeway.

ATTENTION: BENEFICIARY

The FBI is not impersonal. We just prefer to get down to business.

This e-mail has been issued to you in order to Officially inform you that
we have completed an investigation on an International Payment in which was
issued to you by an International Lottery Company.

The International Lottery Company is a governing board of sorts that oversees all the world’s lotteries. Did you know Turkmenistan has a lottery? Part of the reason they are so poor is that no one there ever bothers to claim their Power Ball winnings.

With the help of our
newly developed technology (International Monitoring Network System) we
discovered that your e-mail address was automatically selected by an Online
Balloting System, this has legally won you the sum of $2.4million USD from
a Lottery Company outside the United States of America.

This is how things work. Legally. You just won all of Turkmenistan’s money. Aren’t you glad you signed up for email?

We have completed this investigation and you are hereby approved to receive
the winning prize as we have verified the entire transaction to be Safe and
100% risk free, due to the fact that the funds have been deposited with
IMF  you will be required to settle the following bills directly to the
Lottery Agent in-charge of this transaction whom is located in Cotonou,
Benin Republic.

No big deal but you’ll be required to send a small fee to a lottery agent—a thing—who lives in Cotonou, Benin Republic—a place? Don’t worry, this is all Safe with a capital S.

According to our discoveries, you were required to pay for
the following,

(1) Deposit Fee's ( IMF INTERNATIONAL CLEARANCE CERTIFICATE )

(3) Shipping Fee's ( This is the charge for shipping the Cashier's Check to
your home address)

The total amount for everything is $96.00 We have tried our possible best

to indicate that this $96.00 should be deducted from your winning prize but
we found out that the funds have already been deposited IMF and cannot be
accessed by anyone apart from you the winner, therefore you will be
required to pay the required fee's to the Agent in-charge of this
transaction

We really tried hard on your behalf to just have the $96 deducted from your winnings. We were all like, “C’moooooon! For Mike?” But dudes was like, “Hell to the no—we already deposited that shizz, IMF-style.” (This is all FBI security lingo.) Anyway, it’s just $96. I know that seems like a lot of shipping for a cashier’s check, but it’s one of those giant checks and it will be delivered personally by Ed McMahon, and it wasn’t exactly cheap to bring him back to life ($91).

In order to proceed with this transaction, you will be required to contact
the agent in-charge ( Mr. Ken Jackson   ) via e-mail. Kindly look below to
find appropriate contact information:

CONTACT AGENT NAME: Mr. Ken Jackson  *

*E-MAIL : kenjackson01@globomail.com
PHONE NUMBER: +22967758934

You will be required to e-mail him with the following information:


FULL NAME:

ADDRESS:
CITY:
STATE:
ZIP CODE:
DIRECT CONTACT NUMBER:
OCCUPATION:

Mr. Ken Jackson is in charge of the FBI. That is his home email address; our server is down here. (Again, thanks, OBAMA.) No worries though, this is all legit and perfectly normal. Besides, if we somehow fail to follow through with delivering your $2.4 million check, you can always report us to us.

Oh. You already did, huh?

(puts on FBI jacket)

Well then. 

(puts on sunglasses)

Big mistake.

(dramatically walks to car, "I" falls off back of FBI jacket to reveal a partial Chicago Bulls logo)

Tuesday, January 07, 2014

Caught in the Amazon jungle … of returns


Me: (opens email, first message reads “Details on your Amazon order FDS436578”) Babe? What did you order on Amazon?

Wife: Oh just some boots for the girls. Don’t worry though, they’re probably going back.

Me: What do you mean they’re probably going back? They haven’t even gotten here yet.

Wife: My mom is sending some boots for them. I want to see which ones I like better.

Me: Why is your default mechanism to buy it instead of just waiting?

Wife: Just … don’t question me, okay? I know what I’m doing.

Three days later, Amazon box of boots sits on chair where I usually sit at kitchen table

Me: BABE! What is going on with this box?

Wife: Oh, you can return it. I like the ones my mom sent better.

Me: I’m sorry, I can return it?

Wife: (makes puppy dog eyes)

Me: (forcefully grabs box) Gimmie this thing … where’s the computer? 

I go into office to use printer and execute return

Me: (yelling because wife is in different room, likely ordering another product that will soon be returned from her iPad) Babe? What is the reason for the return?

Wife: I don’t know … just say we don’t need it.

Me: If we use that reason, they charge us for return shipping.

Wife: Well, what are the other options?

Me: There are like 20 of them and I’m not screaming them all to you.

Wife: What about, “We like it, but we found something better and cheaper.”

Me: If we use that one then it prompts me to tell them where and at what price. How about this one: “Ordered by my wife after she asked my mother-in-law to ship the same exact thing except better and at no cost.”

Wife: Hardy har. Just say it doesn’t fit.

Me: This doesn’t feel ethical. What if the boot company alters its entire sizing chart to account for our feedback?

Wife: I don’t know … what should we do?

Me: Oh geez, I have things to do. I’m just choosing “doesn’t fit.” There. Now I need to go to confession. (prints return label)

Wife: (walks into office, looks at printer) Why is this printing in color? I NEED THAT INK FOR MY WORK STUFF!

Me: I told you, I can't figure out how to print in black and white from the computer for some reason.

Wife: Ugh! Do you know how expensive ink is?

Me: I do. And may I remind you that it was not my idea to order these boots in the first place.

Wife: It’s printing twice! What is happening?

Me: Amazon requires one return label on the box and one in the box. I know this because I find myself doing Amazon returns all the time.

Wife: Isn’t Amazon in Phoenix? Couldn’t you just drop this off to them like, before work or whatever instead of printing all this stuff out?

Me: I’m going to pretend that suggestion was not just made. Where’s the tape? I need to get this label on the box. (finds a roll of tape, grabs it)

Wife: Not my work tape!

Me: I can’t even right now.

One week later

Me: (opens email, first message reads “Return on Amazon order FDS436578 has been processed!”) Cool. (second message reads, “Details on your Amazon order PDC332876”) BABE!

Note: This column appears in the 1/9 issue of The Glendale Star and the 1/10 issue of the Peoria Times.

Thursday, January 02, 2014

Facebook meme(s) of the day






TAKE THAT POLITICIANS

DUMB POLITICIANS BE LIKE, "DERP DERP I'M SO STUPID AND DUMB WHERE DA PROSTITUTES AT"

ALIENS BE LIKE, "YOUR BUDGET IS FIXED, WE HAVE ANALLY PROBED NORTH KOREA AND DISCOVERED THEIR AGGRESSION IS BORN OF INSECURITY, WORLD PEACE HAS BEEN RESTORED"

MEANWHILE POLITICIANS BE LIKE, "JUST SENT THAT HOT-LOOKING ALIEN A PICTURE OF MY SCHLONGER"

THESE JOKES ARE TOPICAL

VOTE OR DIE ... FOR THE ALIENS - P DIDDY, 2016

HOLD UP I'M NOT FINISHED BLASTING POLITICIANS YET WITH BITING COMMENTARY


BOOM, ROASTED

NOT HAVING A GOOD YEAR SO FAR, POLITICIANS, WITH ALL THESE HILARIOUS MEMES AT YOUR EXPENSE

WHICH WIZARD OF OZ DUDE HAD NO TESTICLES

THINK IT WAS TOTO

THE WIZARD OF OZ MOVIE IS 75 YEARS OLD AND THE BOOK IS 114 YEARS OLD

THE SONG "IF I ONLY HAD SOME TESTICLES" IS ZERO YEARS OLD CAUSE IT DON'T EXIST

OTHER THAN THAT YO THIS IS MEME IS ON POINT

HOLD UP I AIN'T FINISHED

KNOCK KNOCK

YOU SAID WHO'S THERE

POLITICIANS

YOU SAID POLITICIANS WHO

POLITICIANS WHO AREN'T STUPID, TESTICLE-LESS JERKS - OOPS, THEY DON'T EXIST, NOBODY'S HERE FORGET IT

YOU HAVE TO PAY ME $1,000 IF YOU USE THAT JOKE, FYI