Category Archives: Stupid Human Tricks
From my Inbox today, a solution to the debt crisis in the United States:
From: DR KEN OMA [mailto:email@example.com]
Sent: Monday, August 20, 2012 5:47 AM
YOUR FUNDS $2.5M USD HAVE PACKAGE IN THE BOX AND THE AGENT HAVE LEFT WITH YOUR PACKAGE SINCE THREE DAYS NOW.HE MISPLACE YOUR ADDRESS.SEND IT TO HIM NOW IN USA,YOUR NAME PHONE AND ADDRESS.DO NOT LET HIM KNOW THE PACKAGE CONTAIN FUNDS.
Contact Person :Robert Carloni
DR KEN OMA
This message has been scanned for viruses and dangerous content by MailScanner, and is believed to be clean.
Note the original message was sent to ‘undisclosed-recipients’….I’m guessing millions of people in America are due $2.5M each, so carry the 2, add the .5, and yup…it’s trillions of dollars out there waiting to be claimed.
Now, if everyone would just follow my example, as evidenced in my reply……..
Yes, send money to:
The White House
Attn: President Barack Obama
1600 Pennsylvania Avenue W
Washington, DC 20500
Our country is deeply in debt, and I’d like to think my donation of $2.5M will help.
A Patriotic Citizen
UPDATE – After the above merriment, I got this reply and my reply to the reply is posted below…the..reply…
From: DIPLOMATROBERT CARLONI [mailto:firstname.lastname@example.org]
Sent: Monday, August 20, 2012 8:56 AM
Subject: RE: XXXX
I WANT TO INFORM YOU THAT YESTERDAY,I ARRIVE IN USA AFTER THE LAST DELIVER I HAVE IN INDIA ,SO THEY DEMAND THE US CUSTOM CERTIFICATE,BEFORE I WILL ALLOW TO PASS THE NEW YORK AIRPORT WITH YOUR PACKAGE.
I ASK THEM,THEY SAID THAT YOU HAVE TO GET THE US CUSTOM CERTIFICATE,FROM THE PACKAGE ORIGIN AS THE US LAW FOR ANY PARCEL/PACKAGE THAT IS COME IN TO USA.
I CALLED THE COMPANY DR KEN OMA AND THEY SAID THAT IT WILL COST YOU THE SUM OF $250.
SO YOU HAVE TO MAKE THE CONTACT AS SOON AS POSSIBLE TO THE COMPANY NOW AND ASK THEM HOW IT WILL BE DONE AND HOW YOU WILL SEND IT TO THEM.
CONTACT DR KEN OMA AS FELLOW:AND ASK HIM HOW TO SEND HIM THE $250 AS SOON AS POSSIBLE TO GET THE DOCUMENTS FROM THE ORIGIN
DR KEN OMA
AND ANYTHING YOU ARE DOING NOW,I WILL LIKE YOU TO DO EVERYTHING URGENT.SINCE I AM IN THE AIRPORT NOW WITH CUSTOM.
DIPLOMATIC ROBERT CARLONI
CALL ME +15163236968
Wow…stuck in the airport? That’s too bad. I hear there’s a nice Starbucks in there now, though.
I once went to an airport Starbucks, but it was so far from my gate I almost missed my plane before getting my caramel-machiatto-triple-latte. It would have made a bad day much worse.
Please make contact with the local office of the FBI (they’re in the phone book) – that stands for Federal Budget Infusion – as I have already arranged for a representative to meet with you.
I haven’t heard back from my diplomatic courier friend. I can only assume he’s lost in the airport somewhere.
Hope he was able to find the Starbucks at least.
I was leaving the restaurant after having lunch with my best friend the other day when a woman, who had followed us out the door laden with to-go bags, stood in the surface-of-the-sun midday heat of Texas trying to juggle the bags with one hand and her purse with another.
I started to get in my car when I noticed she was in some distress.
“Can you help me?” she asked.
I shut the car door and walked over to her.
“I can’t find my keys. Can you just pull my purse open and stick your hand in there and see if you can find them?” she asked, the sweat pouring off her brow (and mine now, we had after all been in the sun for 30 seconds).
I did as she asked finding the keys immediately and all the while wondering what the hell she was thinking.
I’m no thief, but if I were I could in that moment have reached into her purse and taken her wallet and her keys and been gone in an instant.
I’m so jaded.
I’m also stupid, because it wasn’t until after I got in and started my car that I remembered something. The same something that made a total stranger feel comfortable letting another total stranger rummage through her purse.
The table we’d passed on the way out, with eight cops sitting there eating lunch.
This is just one more reason I can’t be a criminal. I got no game.
And Then There Was The Time I Was Witness To Spontaneous Combustion, But That Was After I’d Ruined The New Carpet
My baby girl and her husband have finally bought their first home. It took them eight long years, but come August 3rd , they’ll be homeowners.
August 5th, they’ve organized an army of friends and family to descend upon the house and paint every room. After years of being a rental property, let’s just say it really, really needs some TLC in the paint department.
My hubby and I are part of the army, so this naturally brought up discussions of our first time.
Not that first time.
Our first time painting a room.
My hubby, who as a child learned to paint from his construction-worker grandfather, talked about the beautiful finishes, the satin sheen on the walls and the small amount of clean-up involved – which in those days was a big deal because paint was often oil-based and damn-near impossible to clean off without industrial-grade solvents.
I talked about the fire.
All eyes turned to me in surprise when I said paint and fire in the same sentence.
I was 14 and my bestie was the same age. She and her little brother and mom had moved into our townhome complex the previous fall and by springtime her mother had promised she could paint a red and black checkerboard pattern on her wall…after the white carpet was installed.
What was the woman thinking?
Naturally my bestie enlisted my help and when I arrived that morning I found the checkerboard pattern had been neatly penciled all along one wall and all the furniture neatly stacked and covered on the other.
I took off my shoes, but in retrospect leaving my socks on was probably a bad idea.
Bestie poured black paint in one tray and red in the other. I took the red and proceeded to paint squares marked with an “R” in the middle, and bestie painted the ones marked “B” with her black paint.
After a little while we decided to stop and get something to eat. We set our trays on the floor and I stepped back to admire the work…right into a tray of red paint.
Hopping around on one foot only made the paint splatter so part of the room looked like a crime scene in a matter of minutes.
Covering up the walls was no biggie since we were painting anyway, but the carpet…
Red paint on white carpet.
Yeah, no amount of Resolve is gonna get that shit out.
In the end, we wound up strategically placing her bed at an odd angle in the center-ish part of the room and telling her mom that’s the way she wanted it.
Thank heavens her mother bought that story, and apparently never cleaned under the bed.
When we were done the checkerboard pattern looked pretty cool to a teenager, and we dutifully cleaned up all the paint brushes and disposed of the paint cans..and when I say we disposed of the paint cans I mean we put them on the back porch and covered them with the canvas drop cloth we’d been using to protect the carpet – unsuccessfully as it turns out.
About a week later I went back to bestie’s house and immediately upon entering the front door I noticed a smoky haze.
At first, I thought it was the pasta she was making for her baby brother, but closer inspection revealed the drop cloth on the back porch was on fire for no apparent reason.
An hour later and I’d had my first lesson on spontaneous combustion from a hunky firefighter in full gear.
That was just one of many adventures that she and I had and managed to keep from her mother and mine none involving fire…at least not that I remember…
….steal someone else’s pithy commentary, because it is so funny and so apt
I give you – Cirque de Squirrelle! <<<that’s the stolen commentary
And after you catch your breath and dry your eyes…a show of hands – how many of you are ordering this thing right now?
Besides me, of course.
They’re trying to kill us.
Or, more specifically – me.
They’re trying to kill me, only I don’t think black duck really has his heart into it. He just seems to take orders from white duck.
And white duck is a total wiseguy.
And, yes, I’ve decided these two are male.
Sexist? Probably. But I’m betting no female ducks would try to kill me just because I forgot the crackers……again.
And that’s what happened last weekend.
We went to the marina and spent a lovely 150 degree day out on the boiling waters of the lake.
After many hours of baking in the sun, sweating like a whore in church on Sunday, I cried “uncle” and we headed back to the dock.
This is where it gets weird.
We hadn’t seen the ducks that day. The last time we’d seen them I had forgotten the crackers, but they were all like, “Quack, quack, quack” as they swam away, which I could only interpret as “No biggie – we’ll get some next time.”
We had, however, seen a definite increase in mallard duck presence. Duck turf wars being what they are, I presumed that white duck and black duck had lost the battle and had taken up residence elsewhere.
I was wrong.
Not only was I wrong, I was unprepared for the sudden return of black duck and white duck and their excruciatingly loud demand for
They waited, the sneaky bastids, until the boat was on the lift and I was preparing to step off onto the rail and then down on the dock before suddenly appearing out of nowhere onto the lift’s pontoon directly beneath me, squawking at the top of their little mob-duck lungs and scaring the absolute bejabbers out of me.
Their covert attack apparently achieved the desired effect as I swayed forward and backward like some completely blitzed gymnast, certain the fall onto the heavy metal structure below would put holes in my body that juuuuuuuuuusst might be inconsistent with a pain-free, bloodless existence.
My husband missed this life-and-death struggle and didn’t take notice of me until I was finally able to grab the dock’s support pole and slide/spin around it like a stripper, landing with a thud on the dock.
“What are you doing?” He asked, an eyebrow raised.
Ever cool, I replied, “Practicing.”
“Oh. Okay. You ready to go?” He asked, gathering up the last of our things and putting them in the cart.
“Yeah, sure.” I replied, now breathless and shaking a little, I followed him down the walkway.
Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed that black duck and white duck were following us in the water…their little duck bodies gliding silently across the surface.
I swear they were laughing.
*Note to self: Next time, bring crackers….*
Yeah, it’s Friday!
Unless you’re somewhere in Nepal or something and it’s Saturday.
In which case it’s definitely not Friday.
I think I’m causing a time/space continuum vortex-thingy in my head.
But, whatever, here where I am it’s Friday!
And, this week my weekend started today. Which is Friday, unless you are in Nepal and it’s Saturday and it’s a normal weekend…only I won’t be here (in Nepal) on Monday.
But, wait…in Nepal I’m never here on Monday, right? Because it’s Sunday for me.
Holy schnikees…where’s the Tylenol?
Here – look at this while I put my brain back in my head:
I have nothing to say, nothing to wax poetic or blog poetic or whatever poetic about today.
I know, hard to believe I can’t bloviate on something or wax on something or something on something.
So, you tell me about you in the comments…go ahead, no one reads this blog except the two of us.
And, for inspiration….