I need to ask you guys about something super-important. I think I’ve discovered a conspiracy. Two times during the past month or so I’ve been pumping gas into my ludicrous little wind-up car, and noticed (way too late) that it’s 93 octane going in. I know I punched the 87 button, but it’s somehow leaped all the way across 89, and settled on 93. Expensive-ass 93… I think these electronic pumps are programmed to switch grades for every fifth or sixth user, or whatever. Like a Philadelphia voting boof.
The frustrating thing? I’ve shared this earth-shaking discovery with a few people, and they always just say, “Huh, that’s weird.” But there’s a hint of “you punched the wrong button, dumbass” in their demeanor. Know what I mean? And that infuriates me. I know how to operate a gas pump, dicklips. I’ve been doing it since the Carter administration. Man, I’m getting fired up.
I think I’m going to call Alex Jones. He’ll believe me. He strikes me as a very level-headed gentleman.
In any case, do you folks have anything on this? Have you noticed it happening? ‘Cause it is! Oh, it’s happening. If you’re not careful, you’ll find yourself pumping Lamborghini fuel into your Ford Fiesta or whatever. It’s a scandal! This could extend all the way to self check-outs at the grocery store. Maybe they’re redirecting Ticonderoga tomatoes to Tayback Beauties, or somesuch? Admittedly, I’m not up on the latest tomato lingo.
But I’d like to get your thoughts on this. Has it happened to you? Let’s investigate this bastard.
A few nights ago the oldest boy called me at work, and asked if I would stop at McDonald’s on my way home and get him two McDoubles. I’m not sure what a McDouble is, but told him no problem. However, I reminded him that it’ll take me 40 minutes. So, don’t be asleep.
And when I got here around midnight… he was completely out. I made a half-assed attempt to wake him, but he was in pretty deep. Grrr…. I put the sack on the kitchen counter, sent him a text message that said something like “I got these burgers for you. What the hell?” and continued with my evening.
The next morning I got up, looked at my phone, and there was a text from him. It was from 4:06 am, and it said, “Thanks for getting those burgers. They were good.” What the? I went downstairs, and asked Toney where he was. Still in bed, she told me.
So, he got up in the middle of the night, came downstairs and ate two cold hours-old hamburgers, and crawled back under the covers? Nothing should surprise me at this late date, but I found that to be a bit odd.
I’m sad to report that my desktop computer is dying. It’s very old, still running Windows Vista. At this point it won’t connect to certain websites, like Facebook. It’s also crashing and freezing… I don’t think you’re supposed to keep them for twelve years, right? But, until the last couple of months, it performed like a champion. I get a little attached to things, like computers and cars and houses. My parents, on the other hand, get attached to nothing. They just rent a dumpster, fill that bad-boy with precious memories, and keep on going. I always feel like I’m going through some kind of low-grade breakup whenever I have to make those kinds of changes.
Plus, how much does a new desktop cost? Like $800? Even more? What am I, Ted Turner? Hey, maybe I’ll rob a bank? That seems like a good option.
In any case… do you get attached to cars, gadgets, houses, apartments, etc.? Or are you like my folks, and just walk away? When I take a computer out of service, I feel like I’m being disloyal to an old friend, or something. Is that weird?
I have to go now. I have more, lots more. But I live in a vortex of chaos. It’s like I’m writing these updates in a Greyhound bus terminal. Sweet sainted mother of Eddy Grant!
I’ll see you guys again on Monday.
Have a great weekend!