Archive for the 'Humor' Category
Most Awesome. Images. Ever.
(And like everything else on Flickr, they’re even better when you use Pic Lens to browse the hilarity.)
H/T: the incomparable Christie
So yesterday, after another taxing day in the uncomfortable world of semi-business attire, I returned to the castle and, like always, immediately changed clothes. I selected one of my favorite shirts, a sporty Cincy Reds shirt (with the 3/4 length raglan sleeves, natch).
After pulling the manly cotton over my weary head, I noticed a strong perfume-y odor. Initially I ignored it (men have a genetic knack for dismissing weird odors). But then one of my daughters jumped on my lap, gave me a hug, and said, “you smell like Mommy.”
Hrm. I put her down, and pulled the collar to my nostrils. SNIFFFFFFF… She was right, this was unmistakably the wife’s perfume.
“Honey, why does my REDS SHIRT smell like your perfume?”
“I dunno. I wore it when I took a nap,” she said.
“My REDS shirt?!?”
“Yeah, it was super comfortable. Nice and soft. I see why you’re always wearing that thing.”
“Okay, comfortable enough to sleep in, maybe. But did you have to girly it up with that offensive smell?” I asked.
“Oh, please. It’s just a sports jersey. I think you’re overreacting.”
Ah, ‘overreacting.’ I said to myself. I moved past her into the bathroom. “Pardon me, my love. I’ll be back in just a moment.”
“What are you DOING?!?” she exclaimed a few seconds later.
“Why, I’m rubbing your favorite hand towels under my armpits, dear,” I said. *rub*rub* “Wow. I see why you’re always using these.” *rub* “Nice and soft.”
You see, in today’s lesson we’ve learned that marriage is all about effective communication. Both parties understand each other now. (Of course, one of them slept on the couch after the lesson. But at least he was comfy in a 3/4-length raglan-sleeved Reds shirt.)
I wonder how well this went over back in the day? Perhaps it was effective. If so, this makes me re-think how we’re delivering documentation today. I’m wondering if we could get Eminem to rap out our developer reference information for our .NET development tools, or perhaps Amy Winehouse could inject some nostalgic R&B-flavored tunes into our desktop offerings…
Interesting idea, Bill. However, some would argue that Eminem and Winehouse actually possess some talent, where the makers of these videos only possess a certain level of, shall we say, sadism.
Oh, yes, it got worse after the DOS years, Bill. Much, much worse.
Over a recent weekend, my wife and I opened our home to an elderly relative of hers. The lovely lady, carrying the superior genes from my wife’s side of our union, enjoyed a few days of respite in our home.
Eager to prove I wasn’t totally useless, I made a pot full of theMonkey’s famous Red Sauce. I may not do many things well, but I can cook a good red sauce. The trick is to dice a half-pound of prosciutto so thin that it disintegrates into the bubbling, steamy tomato flesh, and then… well, I’d go on, but this isn’t a story about pasta sauce. I just thought that it was information that you might need to know later in the story.
One evening, expecting a large influx of relatives coming to visit, I looked at the rather large remainder of the sauce, resting quite comfortably in the fridge, the flavors getting better acquainted with every passing hour. Then inspiration struck. You know, I thought, the only thing that separates red sauce from salsa is cilantro, spicy peppers, and some sugar. Everyone likes salsa. Yes. I shall make salsa. I shall tread to the local grocer, and acquire the necessary items. I shall tell the grocer, “Excuse me sir, but I need some cilantro. And some spicy peppers.” What a captial idea! Which is exactly what I did.
At this point, dear readers, the habaneros enter into our story.
Or, as I shall refer to them from now on: Satan’s Insanity Peppers.
Now, I know what you’re thinking, all the possible anecdotes that could arise from someone working with hot peppers. But understand: no matter what you’re thinking about, no matter how terrible your imagination, no matter how many horror movies you’ve seen, nothing can prepare you for some of the details you’re about to encounter.
Trust me, it’s worse than you can possibly imagine.