(no subject)
Humm. Another day, another dollar. Or so the saying goes. Even so, it's time for my next big post. We'll have to label this something spectacular. Like..
"Eric's Trip To The St. Pete Times!"
Yeah. That sounds really exciting, dunnit? Well, i'll be sure to make it real short so you all can enjoy today's ranting without having to read through alot of text.
Anyways, I headed over to my friend Eugene's house to spend the night. I already knew what I was getting myself into, since i'd done it a few times before, but it seemed that tonight was going to be a cross somewhere between the Twilight Zone and Mystery Science Theater 2000.
To make a longer story a tad shorter, I lugged my computer all the way over to Eugene's house around 3 o'clock so I could 'borrow' his DSL, basically shortening the waiting time i'd have to wait to download this 1.2 gig file i'm downloading (for those of you that wanna know what it is, send me an IM. Nosy little bastards.). Even so, my efforts were in vein. With the download hitting 400+ Kb/s, my sister has to break the flow and ask me to bring it home so she can 'check her e-mail'. God forbid.
Here's the interesting part: until about a week ago, she's suddenly wanting to use the computer all the time. She walks in from wherever she is, and she asks to use the computer.
Eric: "Why?"
Her: "To check my e-mail."
And then when I check to see if she's done, she's rarely ever checking her e-mail. It's generally some stupid-ass website that probably doesn't even pertain to her in any way, shape, or form. Half the time, they're hospital websites. She wants to be a nurse, but if she wants to be a nurse, there're much easier ways to get your foot in the door. Like volunteering. Gawd.
Back onto the topic at hand. We leave around 1:10, and take the twenty minute drive to the place. Apparently we arrived early, so we sat in the bed of his truck and talked about anything that came to mind. In this case, it became the origin of Mario. You know.. the plumber? From Nintendo? Good. That oughta refresh your memory.
Even so, the discussion was half-way productive, and so when the truck arrived to drop off everyone's bundles, we got ours into the truck and drove off. However, before that was probably the oddest thirty minutes of my life. There's nothing like sitting around, tying up papers, listening to these ugly women, old enough to be my mother, talking about how rich their sex lives are. They must spend a good bundle on paper bags, if that's the case. No wonder they work at a newspaper place at 1:30 in the morning. "Need to make sure Bob's got a new pack by the time I get home tonight. He won't have sex with me without one. It's so odd, but atleast we're having sex like when we first got married and I was actually hot."
It's kind of sad to sit back and wonder just where the heck their lives went wrong, and when God came down and smote them with the ugly stick. No-one's sure, but I guess I can't say much. I'm not much to look at, either.
Anyways, we drove by McDonald's on the start of the route so we could eat some food before going out for our super-happy-fun four hour paper route. He got a value meal, and I just got a quarter pounder. Which, by the way, wasn't too bad. Maybe because the discussion had gone back to the origin of Donkey Kong this time, and I hadn't been concentrating on how crappy McDonald's food is.
Even so, we got on with the route. It was the same old dull, boring routine i've gotten used to. Go up to the box, pop in these little things that're about the same size as a quarter (two of them), and then open the box. Then, you take out what's left, write down how many there were in the box, check how many you need to put IN the box, then close the door. All of this is done, amazingly, within the span of about thirty seconds to a minute, depending on how difficult. Apparently, like pickle jars, newspaper boxes come with a difficulty rating. If it's got three stars, you need to have the feat 'Master Newspaper Boy', and have a high Fortitude. If you succeed, the Dungeonmaster proceeds to tell you to put in the papers. If your knee slips and the door on the box closes, you need to throw a Will save to make sure your hand doesn't get caught in the door. Something like that. I lost my Dungeonmaster's Handbook.
Also, apparently, no-one told me about the couple of boxes infested with spiders, fire ants, and an all-star cast of poisonous creatures only big enough to crawl through the cracks and crevices found on a newspaper box to get inside and make their home. Yes. I hate spiders with a passion, so when I open the box (luckily it was illuminated with the headlights of the truck), I noticed that there had to be atleast a billion in there, all waiting for me to stick my tasty morsel of a hand inside to grab the old papers in there. I swear to God, it was the longest minute of my life. Ever see those movies where James Bond has to be really careful, his hand movements precise, or else he'd trip the alarm? Well, this was similar. Except, I was risking a trip to the hospital and a possibly painful death.. and for the sake that some fucking old people in these backwater neighborhoods get their newspapers. Bastards.
After three and a half hours of this tedious, time-consuming process, we finally got to go home. In which I returned to my humble abode and promptly passed out on my bed and went to sleep.
And thus ends my rant-slash-adventure for the day. Tune in next week for when I travel to Mexico. Not really.
"Eric's Trip To The St. Pete Times!"
Yeah. That sounds really exciting, dunnit? Well, i'll be sure to make it real short so you all can enjoy today's ranting without having to read through alot of text.
Anyways, I headed over to my friend Eugene's house to spend the night. I already knew what I was getting myself into, since i'd done it a few times before, but it seemed that tonight was going to be a cross somewhere between the Twilight Zone and Mystery Science Theater 2000.
To make a longer story a tad shorter, I lugged my computer all the way over to Eugene's house around 3 o'clock so I could 'borrow' his DSL, basically shortening the waiting time i'd have to wait to download this 1.2 gig file i'm downloading (for those of you that wanna know what it is, send me an IM. Nosy little bastards.). Even so, my efforts were in vein. With the download hitting 400+ Kb/s, my sister has to break the flow and ask me to bring it home so she can 'check her e-mail'. God forbid.
Here's the interesting part: until about a week ago, she's suddenly wanting to use the computer all the time. She walks in from wherever she is, and she asks to use the computer.
Eric: "Why?"
Her: "To check my e-mail."
And then when I check to see if she's done, she's rarely ever checking her e-mail. It's generally some stupid-ass website that probably doesn't even pertain to her in any way, shape, or form. Half the time, they're hospital websites. She wants to be a nurse, but if she wants to be a nurse, there're much easier ways to get your foot in the door. Like volunteering. Gawd.
Back onto the topic at hand. We leave around 1:10, and take the twenty minute drive to the place. Apparently we arrived early, so we sat in the bed of his truck and talked about anything that came to mind. In this case, it became the origin of Mario. You know.. the plumber? From Nintendo? Good. That oughta refresh your memory.
Even so, the discussion was half-way productive, and so when the truck arrived to drop off everyone's bundles, we got ours into the truck and drove off. However, before that was probably the oddest thirty minutes of my life. There's nothing like sitting around, tying up papers, listening to these ugly women, old enough to be my mother, talking about how rich their sex lives are. They must spend a good bundle on paper bags, if that's the case. No wonder they work at a newspaper place at 1:30 in the morning. "Need to make sure Bob's got a new pack by the time I get home tonight. He won't have sex with me without one. It's so odd, but atleast we're having sex like when we first got married and I was actually hot."
It's kind of sad to sit back and wonder just where the heck their lives went wrong, and when God came down and smote them with the ugly stick. No-one's sure, but I guess I can't say much. I'm not much to look at, either.
Anyways, we drove by McDonald's on the start of the route so we could eat some food before going out for our super-happy-fun four hour paper route. He got a value meal, and I just got a quarter pounder. Which, by the way, wasn't too bad. Maybe because the discussion had gone back to the origin of Donkey Kong this time, and I hadn't been concentrating on how crappy McDonald's food is.
Even so, we got on with the route. It was the same old dull, boring routine i've gotten used to. Go up to the box, pop in these little things that're about the same size as a quarter (two of them), and then open the box. Then, you take out what's left, write down how many there were in the box, check how many you need to put IN the box, then close the door. All of this is done, amazingly, within the span of about thirty seconds to a minute, depending on how difficult. Apparently, like pickle jars, newspaper boxes come with a difficulty rating. If it's got three stars, you need to have the feat 'Master Newspaper Boy', and have a high Fortitude. If you succeed, the Dungeonmaster proceeds to tell you to put in the papers. If your knee slips and the door on the box closes, you need to throw a Will save to make sure your hand doesn't get caught in the door. Something like that. I lost my Dungeonmaster's Handbook.
Also, apparently, no-one told me about the couple of boxes infested with spiders, fire ants, and an all-star cast of poisonous creatures only big enough to crawl through the cracks and crevices found on a newspaper box to get inside and make their home. Yes. I hate spiders with a passion, so when I open the box (luckily it was illuminated with the headlights of the truck), I noticed that there had to be atleast a billion in there, all waiting for me to stick my tasty morsel of a hand inside to grab the old papers in there. I swear to God, it was the longest minute of my life. Ever see those movies where James Bond has to be really careful, his hand movements precise, or else he'd trip the alarm? Well, this was similar. Except, I was risking a trip to the hospital and a possibly painful death.. and for the sake that some fucking old people in these backwater neighborhoods get their newspapers. Bastards.
After three and a half hours of this tedious, time-consuming process, we finally got to go home. In which I returned to my humble abode and promptly passed out on my bed and went to sleep.
And thus ends my rant-slash-adventure for the day. Tune in next week for when I travel to Mexico. Not really.