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Thursday, September 14, 2006

Things Zombie Hates Thursday, With Special Guest El Bastardo, In Absentia

Buy a tiger. Buy a monkey. Buy a ha ha.


1.) The View From My Back Door.

My new house doesn't have much of a yard - which is not really a big deal, since we're around the corner from a large and well-tended playground - but what little backyard it does have butts up against the house behind me's backyard.

So, every time I stroll into my kitchen, I am whacked in the face with this:


Wait, now, that doesn't quite do it justice. Let's try this again:

Jesus Jumped-Up Christ.

Please understand that the glowy orb thing you see is not some evidence of nuclear waste over was the reflection my flash made when I took the pics through the windows. Though judging by the state of the yard, they very well may have some nuclear waste over there. Maybe it's under all the tarps.


I'm not quite sure what these people think they're doing, but I can tell you that it's pissing me off.

Look, People That Live Behind Me. I can deal with your random bouts of domestic violence at 1 AM. In fact, I think it's sort of quaint. You may feel free to beat the snot out of each other in the wee hours of the morning all you want. I couldn't ask for anything more entertaining than getting to listen to you harpies screech at each other for whatever reason amidst the sounds of breaking glass and yowling cats.

I can deal with your dirty children tromping through my side yard and scaring the shit out of me at random intervals - because, after all, who expects to see filthy bug-eyed urchins lazing about on the other side of the dining room windows for no apparent reason? Well, except for me, that is, since it's happened so much this past week, I'm fucking used to it now.

But I can't deal with this Overwhelming Display of White Trash Paraphernalia.

I can't deal with the fact that you have recycling cans out there that are so old, they've been faded by the sun. And they aren't even full of recyclables. They're full of dead weeds.

I can't deal with your empty buckets and your decrepit plastic flowerpots and your stupid toy truck.

I shudder to think what might lie beneath those tarps.

And I don't know why you have all that chicken-wire hanging around out here, but if it's because you plan on getting some fucking chickens in the near future, I'm going to have to take steps. However, if you are planning to use that chicken-wire to make a coop for your godforsaken offspring, you have my blessings. As long as the coop padlocks. From the outside.

Further, while I appreciate your vague attempts at beautification by planting those pink whatevers over there by the fence, I must break it to you: it's not working.

I think that, however much it may pain you to hear this, the only thing that would make your backyard pretty is a firebomb.

Or maybe my size 9 firmly pushing your heads into the mud of that deranged excuse for a wooden planter you have loitering off to the left there.

Just sayin.'

2.) Interwebs Ads That Make Noise.

There are two kinds of these I have noticed:

The first is the noisy pop-up. I have a pop-up blocker on the home compy here that usually weeds them all out, but the work comps is less...protected. This means that once in a while, I'll be surfing along all minding my own business and then..."BLAH BLAH BLAH YOU HAVE BEEN SELECTED TO BLAH BLAH BLAH ENTER THIS CONTEST BLAH BLAH BLAH SUCK MY DICK AND BLAH BLAH BLAH HEY, SHOOT AT THIS ANIMATED YELLOW DUCKIE TO WIN A FREE DINNER AT CHILI'S."

Well, goddammit, I don't want a christing dinner at Chili's - free or otherwise. Two, I hate pop-ups. But pop-ups that SCREAM at me are about a bajillion times worse.

The second type is the noisy banner ad. You know, like the one that's trying to entice me to download a pack of smileys to enhance my IMing experience. Except whenever you mouse over the banner ad, it demonstrates the noises the various smileys make. "YOO HOO!!" "HEY, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?"

What am I doing? Trying to stave off the aneurysm this dumb banner ad is trying to force upon me. I have a hard enough time tolerating it when humans talk to me, let alone little cheerful animated smileys.

A long time ago, there was a commercial on the TeeVee that showed a man in his bathrobe getting a call from at telemarketer. Then we see him hailing a cab, boarding a plane, walking into an office full of cubicles and zoning in on the man that had called him and woken him up. He grabs the telemarketer's phone from him, who was apparently still speaking to the guy's phone back home, and the guy jumps up and down on it and demolishes it.

I would like to do something similar. I would like to track down every single person that is responsible for creating these banes of my existence - whether they wrote them, are a company that paid for them to be written, or just happen to have them on the site.

Then I want systematically sneak up on these people as they are engaged in some quiet computer activity. Perhaps writing an email to a loved one, or shopping, or whatever. I want to sneak up on them and then just start screaming random words by channelling my Inner Tourette's. "HEY HEY HEY! HEY! YOU HAVE BEEN SELECTED TO WIN MY FOOT UP YOUR ASS! CONGRATULATIONS. ALONG WITH MY FOOT UP YOUR ASS, YOU HAVE ALSO WON THE RIGHT TO SHUT THE FUCK UP FOREVER AND EVER." Wankers.

3.) Whoever Built This House.

Just a quick note to whatever madman built my house - was it really necessary for you to install all of the eletrical outlets upside down? Was it? And then, after you did that, did you have to go ahead and also install all the lightswitches upside down? Really?

Because it's driving me up a tree. And I'm kinda leery of heights. So let's agree to never do that again, okay? Not that it does me much good now, but it's the thought that counts.

PS - It's probably good I don't know where you live or who you are, because every time I go to plug something in only to find the outlet is upside down, I want to hit you with my fist. Repeatedly.


Whew, glad we got that sorted.

link | posted by Zombie at 8:12 PM |


Blogger Locke commented at 9:39 AM~  

Did you know that all the upsidedown outlets are only three (or four in the case of the light switches) small screws away from being right side up? Just sayin'.

Blogger Zombie commented at 9:55 AM~  

Oh no. See, while that might seem simple to you, I'd end up electrocuting myself somehow.

Trust me, it's been done.

It's much, much safer if I just sit back and gaze balefully at the things.

Blogger Locke commented at 10:09 AM~  

Too funny. In all seriousness, as long as you don't stick the screwdriver in the vertical outlet slots reserved for the flat prongs on your average plugs, there is virtually no way to electrocute yourself. Just pull the cover plate screws, then the outlets screws, rotate 180 degrees, reinstall screws.

Look at that, you're now a master light switch/power outlet orientator person.

Blogger Zombie commented at 12:51 PM~  

All right. I will give it a go.

But if I end up dead, I'm going to be awfully angry at you.

Just so you know.

Anonymous token commented at 3:55 PM~  

Jeez, Zombie! Did you move to the hood, too?

Anonymous Hunter commented at 4:01 PM~  

They're probably upsidedown because some genius who lived there before you decided to install new ones all by itself. Or, maybe, someone got evicted and did it to punish everyone who moved in after them....

Blogger Zombie commented at 9:27 PM~  

Token, naw. It's actually a pretty nice neighborhood, though I guess you wouldn't know it from the looks of the residence of Captain Wife Beater and His Cornucopia of White Trash over there.


I will just get a curtain to cover the window on my back door, and then I won't have to see it and I can pretend it doesn't exist.

I'm like a T-Rex like that. If the trash doesn't move, I don't know it's there.

Everything I ever needed to know about life, I learned from Jurassic Park.

Blogger Zombie commented at 9:31 PM~  

Hunter, I don't think it was a punishment. After all, I am probably the only neurotic person on earth that this would bother so much.

I do think, however, that whoever lived here before me was either colorblind or an idiot, as the inside of my living room closet is painted a color that I can only describe as 'electric baby blue.' This leads me to assume that, at some point, the rest of the living room was painted that same retarded abortion of a color.

And that's just disturbing.

Good thing the rent is cheap.

I win.

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