C-Dog SMASH!

If anyone knows of a good day job that I could replace this one with, that'd be great. On Monday and Tuesday, the inane prattle of the people that actually deigned to show up at the office drove me equally as crazy as the brain-dead requests of those that rarely-or-never set foot in here. Today, my ire is compounded by the fact that Plans for Life Outside of The Day Job have been shot to hell and gone. The good news/bad news is that Mr. Marmalade is on like Donkey Kong, though the fact that opening night festivities figured heavily into the aforementioned Plans has somewhat dulled the lustre of my joy. I don't even get that to revel in.

So, my fuse is, to put it bluntly, short.

I, therefore, swear to St. Erasmus (AKA Elmo), patron saint of Ammunition and Ordnance, (seriously! I looked it up.) that I am going to rip shit up with extreme prejudice if the usual nonsense occurs around here. This includes, but is not limited to: my boss smoking in the conference room or kitchen and thinking he's being sneaky; the ass-clown who describes rolling out of bed at 11 and killing 3 and a half hours at the office as positively Sisyphean; further experiences of insane girl dating logic ("Well, I hope he's not getting too serious," "What would give you that idea?" "Nothing, I just hope he's not." "Nothing?" "No, I'm just worried about it." "Seriously? I'm going to remove your uterus using nothing but a FedEx envelope and my BARE FUCKING HANDS."); general laziness and shiftlessness. Unless I am the one partaking in said laziness and shiftlessness.

Also, St. Francis Xavier - whose name I took at Confirmation - is the patron saint of Argentinian pelota players. Why specifically Argentinian pelota players?

Seriously, on Monday I told people that I wished nothing but failure on my coworkers and I hoped that they were incapable of feeding their (doubtless spoiled/screeching/illegitimate) children. For those without children, I pray they are barren. Can guys be barren? Or do they have to be... something else. Whatever. That was Monday, it's now Wednesday, and life has become more screamingly irritating.

Anyway, that's why It's Still Football has been bereft of my writing, and why this space hasn't received the benefit of my wit either. Not that anyone is exactly on tenterhooks waiting for my next update.

This is the Jump.

Wikipedia at 12:30 AM

Okay, so my new plan is to seduce Zara Phillips, just to screw up the British Line of Succession. I guess we'd have to get married, but that's a price I'm willing to pay, to throw a Catholic monkey wrench into the British Monarchy. I have nothing against the British Monarchy, I just like causing trouble. I could go higher (she's 11th in line), but the next oldest lady-royal was born in 1988. That's a little young.

Anyway, I could've been Pope, but I can't be involved with the British Monarchy. Damn. In case you're curious, The first person skipped now is in position #23.

Additionally, Prince Philip is quite bizarre. I mean, I got that inclination from listening to Eddie Izzard, but, really... When Elizabeth shot down the idea of changing the House of Windsor to the House of Mountbatten (for that is his last name), he apparently said that he had "turned into an amoeba." Phil, you're using that word... I do not think it means what you think it means. Also, if he whacks the 465 people in front of him, and then Liz dies, hey! He gets to be King outright. That's kind of cool and recursive.

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Revisited: 4:02 PM. So, I wrote all that this morning, after telling Amy over IM that I didn't want to ask Wikipedia about something, because I knew I'd be on there for an eternity. If you're curious, the trail went like this:

Whig party -> something -> something -> assasinated presidents -> Line of succession -> Lines of succession in other countries (boring) -> Modern pretenders to thrones of wherever (cool!) -> Line of succession, British Monarchy -> Zara Phillips -> Prince Philip.

I also tried to figure out how this creepy vampire guy figures into the whole charade, and it apparently has something to do with James II's kid, who was born of James II and some Roman Catholic second wife lady. Oldest son (thanks, primogeniture), two protestant half-sisters (thanks, Church of England). It was really silly. PLUS, this guy's bloodline doesn't even work out correctly, because the family jumps to Henry Benedict Cardinal Stuart's second cousin from Italy, and then my brain breaks.

This is the Jump.

Brain Dump, Wednesday, 2:45 PM

Here's four six bullet points, comin' at'cha.

• Madame, please endeavor to wear a dress that covers your entire butt when coming into the cathedral. The fact that your coat contends with your dress for length is extremely distracting.
• I think I got an entire palm tree smeared on my head. But that's okay.
• A thing I noticed that I started doing, and now it makes me giggle: I've started blowing by panhandlers and survey-takers by saying "I'm sorry," and doing this hand wave thing. It's sort of morphed into this Obi-Wan, "These aren't the droids you're looking for," kind of thing. I think I want to focus on that, really workshop it.
• Joe (in regard your comment on the previous post): I haven't talked ad nauseum about the College of Cardinals? Dude, Benedict XVI is the coach, clearly. I have a roster on Excel that tells me where everybody is, because of course I import them into Madden and want to keep track of them. Notables: Paul Joseph Cardinal Pham Dinh Tung is a safety for the Ravens, Miloslav Cardinal Vlk won the Groza award and plays for the Bears, and Julius Cardinal Darmaatmadja is a WR/KR who is battling for the Heisman with Tyrell Sutton.
• Oh, also, I'm basically live-blogging my blog, as I'm not putting together any sort of coherent thought process today. (Re: Joe's comment a couple posts ago, which I'm pretty sure was just making fun of me.)
• You can't use punctuation in post labels.

That's all for now.

This is the Jump.