Who keeps a drill in the kitchen? Srsly.
The other day I was working on a new hires computer. He’s a nice enough guy, but his PC exploded twice and I had to fix it, which is admittedly, some bad luck on his part. The last time I was obligated to fix the PC, I joked that he’d must have been cursed by a band of gypsies, or maybe his cube was over an ancient Indian burial ground. Looking back, those were a poor choice of words. The guy’s a fucking Indian. A straight up turban wearing, bushy bearded, Temple-Of-Doom Indian. Instant regret aside, I debated explaining to him the movie myth of hauntings, but elected to just hurry up and fix his shit - I would have only dug my grave deeper. No time for love Dr. Jones.
The other night I played a game of Scategories. You have 2 minutes to name something that starts with a random letter, which is rolled on a huge dodecahedron die. One of the categories was “Name something in a kitchen.” And the letter was “D”. My host and friend named “Drill”. This prompted immediate outrage. “A fucking drill?! You’re kidding me!” I exclaimed in disbelief. He calmly gets up, goes to his kitchen, opens a drawer next to his stove, and produces the biggest fucking drill I’ve ever seen. He even fires it up for a second with an angry ‘whirrrrrr’. Sometimes, you just can’t win.
I recently purchased Rock Band, the game of simulated rock stardom, complete with cheap plastic instruments. Current band names that have made the cut: “Joe Chernobyl and the Meltdowns”, “Joe Meatloaf and the Leftovers”, and my personal favorite so far, “Captain Proctonaught and the Ass Brigade”. Runners up were: “I can’t believe I paid $180 bucks for this thing.”, “This will never get me laid.”, and “Fuck this, let’s go play D&D.”
I have a trip to Atlantic City planned in May, with some pals. So far, it’s looking promising. It’ll be a four night booze filled bender in a casino hotel as yet to be determined. This will have been my first real gambling trip. I’m optimistic that I can win enough loot to take a money bath, kind of like in Ducktales, when Scrooge McDuck swims in his huge money vault. Odds are that I’ll bust out in 1 hour, and have to sell my body to get back home. I'll be sure and pack my walkin' shoes.