VOLUME XX - The Most Interesting Volume of The Archives in the World and Other Tales

VOLUME XX - The Most Interesting Volume of The Archives in the World and Other Tales

c. July 15, 2011 Anno Domini

Sometimes I wish I could draw proficiently.  Mostly because it would amuse me to have a picture of Optimus Prime sitting behind a dungeon master screen and telling Bumblebee, Rachet and Grimlock, "Autobots, roll for initiative! 

c. July 30, 2011, Anno Domini

I was recently stuck at a stop light next to a damsel driving a Scion tC.  I thought about rolling down my window and asking her, "Nice Scion, but wouldn't you rather bear my scion?" Merely for comical effect, of course.  I didn't actually say it because rather than find it amusing, she would have most likely gone into an apoplectic road rage and run my tiny Hyundai off of Polk Street 

c. August 21, 2011 Anno Domini

Last week, I wore my trademark red hat and my David Tyree jersey to the preseason game between the New York Football Giants and the Carolina Panthers.  For some reason, I parked in a garage on East Trade Street eight blocks away from the stadium.  After the game, a random drunk guy followed me half the way back to the car telling me my hat looked like a hat a rabbi would wear and yelling, "RABBI TYREEEEEEEEE!"  He asked me to be his rabbi, and I told him I couldn't because I wasn't a rabbi.  He asked if I had ever certified any food as kosher so they could put a K on the label, and I told him I wasn't qualified to do that because I wasn't a rabbi and was not, in fact, Jewish at all.  He said he wasn't Jewish either, because his mother wasn't.  I didn't ask if his father was, seeing as how it was none of my business.  Due to his frequently yelling, "RABBI TYREEEEEEEEE!," several people were looking at him as if he were a bit odd and giving him a wide berth.  I was very happy to see him stop following me to turn into a parking garage after four blocks.  I was also happy I had parked four blocks away from him, because I wasn't looking forward to him following me all the way back to Pineville and yelling , "RABBI TYREEEEEEEEE!," the whole time.  I never did tell him that in addition to not being a rabbi I wasn't David Tyree either.  I wonder if he figured that out on his own. 

c. August 26, 2011 Anno Domini

The process I typically use to make a student loan payment is as follows:

1. Spent eight minutes attempting and failing to log into salliemae.com because I forgot my username and/or password

2. Click the password reset button

3. Immediately remember the answers to both randomly selected security questions without even a modicum of difficulty

4. Wait two minutes for an e-mail from Sallie Mae indicating my password has been reset

5. Abandon all hope of ever receiving the aforementioned e-mail

6. Wait a few days

7. Check my e-mail, see a message from Sallie Mae indicating my password has been reset and remember I never did get around to making this month's payment

8. Smack head

9. Make payment

By a miraculous stroke of luck, I managed to remember that my password was REDACTED and log in successfully on the first attempt for the first time in 14 months today.  Of course, now that I have a hot streak going, I never have to log in again.  I might do it next month anyway just to prove to myself that I can.

c. September 1, 2011 Anno Domini

One would think that with Borders going out of business and trying to get rid of their wares the staff would be tempted to slack off as far as shelving books in the proper sections is concerned, but no.  I found a book entitled "New Tax Law Simplified" right where it belongs today.  In the fantasy section. 

c. September 1, 2011 Anno Domini

Snakes Breaking the Plane!  That's right.  Samuel L. Jackson is so awesome I named my fantasy football team after one of his movies despite the fact that he has one fewer touchdown pass as an NFL quarterback than John Beck.  In defense of Mr. Jackson's quarterbacking skills, it may be a few months before Mr. Beck pulls two ahead of him. 

c. September 8, 2011 Anno Domini

Many years ago, when disputes between men were settled by crossing blades,  certain knaves, blackguards and rabble made a point of visiting their foes' weaponsmiths to demand intelligence such as types of blades their enemies used, the blades' lengths and weights and the alloys used in the production of the blades.  Forearmed with such knowledge, those blighters were able to initiate duels with their more honorable nemeses having seized a significant tactical advantage.  To address this issue, a wise and just ruler issued a decree prohibiting weaponsmiths from disclosing information pertaining to their customers and the swords they purchased.  This decree was known as the Anelace, Gauche and Rapier Information Portability and Accountabilty Act, or colloquially, AGRIPAA.

c. September 18, 2011 Anno Domini

I won a gnome in my disc golf league last week.  Generally, the winner of the gnome keeps it for a week, brings it back to the league and makes a speech about the gnome's adventures before bestowing it unto the next winner.  Things were a bit disorganized this week and the league members dispersed before a proper gnome-bestowing ceremony could occur, so I ended up not making the following speech:

It has been an honor to have the gnome as a guest for the past week, but I feel like our time together has been entirely too short.  There were so many things I wanted to do with him but wasn’t able to get to.  We never traveled together to the beautiful city of Nome, Alaska.  We never played musical instruments together and kept time with a metronome.  There was no time to take a math class and learn about the binomial theorem or to study scientific nomenclature.  Much to my dismay, we never read to each other from the Necronomicon or the works of Noam Chomsky.  Perhaps worst of all, we never watched old baseball highlights from the careers of Hideo Nomo and Nomar Garciaparra.  My advice to whoever wins the gnome this week is to cherish your time with him.  The gnome will be gone before you know it.  It isn’t his fault.  He was just born to be a nomad.

c. September 18, 2011 Anno Domini

Mario: Not you again, Toa--- What?  You're not Toad!  It's a pleasure to meet you m'lady, err, your highness, err, princess?
Princess:  Princess is fine.  Teehee.  Thank you so much for rescuing me from that repugnant, reptilian ruler!
Mario: You mean that distasteful, diabolical despot?
Princess: That malevolent, monstrous monarch!
Mario: That terrible terrapin tyrant?
Princess:  That pestilent Pleurodira potentate!
Mario:  Hmm... we are both talking about Bowser, right?
Princess: Bowser?  Who is that?  I was referring to King Koopa
Mario: King Koopa?
Princess: King Koopa.  Big, ugly turtle.  Breathes fire.  You just drowned him in that pool of lava.
Mario: That was Bowser.
Princess: I think I would know who kidnapped me.
Mario: Are you sure Bowser didn't drop you on your head while he was kidnapping you?  You seem to have gone a little daft, Princess Peach.
Princess: Peach? Peach?  My name is Princess Toadstool!
Mario: So let me get this straight.  You're Princess Toadstool.  King Koopa kidnapped you, Bowser kidnapped Princess Peach?  I hope I don't have to rescue her manservant from seven different castles before I find her too.
Princess: It doesn't matter, Mario.  You rescued me.  You're my hero.  You're so dashing!
Mario: Me?  Dashing?  I'm not even moving, let alone walking while holding the B button!
Princess: *groans* *smacks forehead*
Princess: I think I liked it better before you rescued me.
Princess: *dives into lava* *searches for King Koopa* *or Bowser* *or that frog boss from SMB2* *anyone except Mario, really*

c. September 28, 2011 Anno Domini

An n-entendre, where n is a non-negative integer:

Q: Why did Lando cross the empire?
A: To get to the other side

c. October 4, 2011 Anno Domini

An explanation of September 28's n-entendre:

‎"Crossing the empire" could refer to moving from one side of the territory belonging to the Galactic Empire to the other, or it could mean angering of Emperor Palpatine, Darth Vader, et. al., to confuse the same parties or to betray (as in double-cross) them. "The other side" could mean the region on the opposite side of the empire's territory from Bespin, the opposite side of the rebellion (i.e. the Rebel Alliance) or the opposite side of the Force. If you're feeling particularly cheeky, "the other side" could even mean Lando's chef prepared two sides of bantha (because they don't have beef in the Star Wars universe) for the dinner at which Han Solo was frozen in carbonite and Lando ate one, but Darth Vader had the other frozen in carbonite and sent to Jabba along with Han. The first side of bantha was so delicious that Lando felt compelled to cross the empire to get to the other one, thaw it out and feast upon it.

If "Cross the empire" has four possible meanings and "the other side" has four, then there are sixteen (16) possible interpretations of the question and answer above. I dare say all sixteen (16) are semantically meaningful (although perhaps George Lucas would only consider twelve (12) to be canonical). That makes it a hexadeci-entendre, Q.E.D. I am the king of entendres.

c. October 13, 2011 Anno Domini

At the social security office, I saw a woman in her late forties or early fifties wearing a Mr. Peabody shirt.  I couldn't resist complimenting her taste by telling her, "Mr. Peabody?  Awesome!"  She replied, "You know who he is?!?!!?!?!?!?!?!," as if I were some ignorant child.  She was rather polite aside from failing to respect my venerable age and gave me a coupon worth up to 20 percent off a single item at a nearby clothing shop owned by her brother-in-law.  I checked out the store's web site and determined said coupon could be worth up to at least $200 USD.  Sadly, they don't sell Mr. Peabody shirts. 

c. October 16, 2011 Anno Domini

If I were running for elective office, I would have an autodialer call potential voters several times betwixt the hours of 2 a.m. and 5 a.m. over the course of a month with recorded messages urging people to vote for my opponent.  Then, I would run on a "not disrupting my constituents' REM cycles" platform and be guaranteed to win. 

c. October 26, 2011 Anno Domini

You have to respect a band that performs a full set of their own orignal music, thanks the audience, runs off the stage and returns a few minutes later to perform eight Ramones covers as an encore.

Between the opening act and Shonen Knife's performance, a random fellow said his friend wanted to know my name, so I told him it was Jonathan.  I should have told him it was Mr. Roberts, but I was in too good of a mood to be as difficult as I normally am.  After the show, his friend told me the reason she wanted to know my name is that she and her boss had a bet on what the name of the guy wearing the red hat was.  If my name had been Barry, her boss would have won.  If my name had been Ira, she would have won.  I asked why they thought my name would be either Barry or Ira.  She said it was because I looked like a man named Ira Glass, who she described as "the biggest bad-ss in the world."  I asked, "Even moreso than Samuel L. Jackson?"  She stopped to think for a moment, replied affirmatively and told me I would know who he was when I got old and started listening to NPR.  I told her I was already old, but she doubted me.  I suggested she and her boss break the tie on their name bet by guessing my age.  She guessed 25, her boss guessed 26 and her husband joined in and guessed 32.  I laughed at her and her boss, told them I was 30 and reveled in her admission that I was older than she.  I said since they were still tied, they could take turns trying to guess my social security number.  The boss said the joke was on me because he had already stolen my wallet and looked at my social security card.  I was tempted to tell him the joke was on him because I keep a fake social security card, with the number 555-55-5555 on it, in my wallet to fool would-be pickpocketing identity thieves and those who cheat on bets, but I didn't.  He never did explain why he thought my name would be Barry.  I was wearing my pimp suit, not a San Francisco Giants jersey, and I certainly don't look very roided up.

During the above conversation, a random woman literally fell over herself to tell me how wonderful my hat was.  She tripped over a sign whilst approaching me, tore a hole in her pants and skinned her knee.  After recovering, she successfully walked the remaining distance and initiated a conversation about how wonderful my hat was.  I told her the story about the girl at the movie theater who said I was "sooooooooo hot" and that she loved my hat.  When I got to the part about how I told the girl it was all the hat, not me, and the girl agreed after I took my hat off, the woman said, "No, it's not all the hat.  It's also the suit and the tie."  She added the parenthetical phrase, "(because it certainly isn't anything inherent about you, Mr. Roberts)" but didn't speak it aloud.  I apologized for causing her to ruin her pants and skin her knee by wearing such a pimpalicious hat, but she said she tripped because she was drunk and accepted full responsiblity for the consequences of her intoxication.  I think she was right, because if she had been sober she would have known that I am already aware of how wonderful my hat is and did not need her to inform me.  I remained fully sober and managed not to injure myself attempting to inform Ritsuko (Shonen Knife's bassist) of how dreamy she is because I'm sure she already knows exactly how dreamy she is without any input on the subject from me.  Huzzah for abstention from intoxicating liquors.

I also met a mother who was wearing an Err hat and brought her daughter to see Shonen Knife.  She said she saw them several years ago.  She also mentioned that she didn't know who the Mooninites were and wanted to wear her Meatwad hat, but her children wanted her to wear the Err hat.  I filled her in on the Mooninites as a girl I met at the concert looked up a picture of them on her phone and told the mother that her children's friends would definitely consider her to be the cool mom for wearing an Err hat.  She politely informed me that she was the cool mom for taking her daughter to see Shonen Knife, and I admitted that trumped Err.

Atsuko, Shonen Knife's original drummer, was running their merchandise table.  I was happy to see her there, but she may think I am a thief.  I purchased a few items before the performance started and accidentally scooped two tote bags a price tag off the display on the table along with my merchandise and walked away.  I didn't realize what I had done until I started trying to put everything into my pockets and realized there was no way everything was going to fit due to the excess items.  I promptly returned everything, and Atsuko-san was very polite about it, but I'm sure I still looked like a thief.  After the show, I purchased a few posters and joked with her that I wasn't going to steal anything else.  She said she liked my hat (but managed to remain upright!  Let that be a lesson to tipsy women everywhere), so I stuck it on her head.  It went well with her glasses and looked better on her than on me,  but she returned it and graciously signed my poster.  I'm not sure about how many people recognized her, but she was awesome.

They performed in Brooklyn on Sunday night, and I had been in the NYC area for a wedding until Sunday morning.  If I had been thinking things through, I would have stayed there an extra day and taken Wednesday night off from work so I could have seen Shonen Knife in Brooklyn, flew back to Charlotte on Monday, driven to Durham to see them last night and raced to Atlanta to see them tonight.  It would have been worth it.

c. October 27, 2011 Anno Domini

Things I ponder whilst waiting in line at Gamestop:

How many times per day does that girl at the register get asked, "Do you sell belts that you can clip a Wii remote into like Captain N did with his NES controller?"

Instead of asking her, I examined the Wii accessories section myself and determined that Gamestop does not sell any such thing.  Someone needs to get on that.

c. December 10, 2011 Anno Domini

As I was walking to the train station in Flushing, New York today, I passed an outdoor vegetable stand.  A woman purchased a tomato and accidentally dropped it.  The tomato rolled into the street.  I used my uncannily fast reflexes to dash into the street and pick it up  before a careless, inattentive driver was able to run over it.  I returned it to the lady without either myself or the tomato incurring so much as a scratch, and she thanked me kindly.  I assume she was planning to wash the tomato prior to consumption, even if it hadn't rolled in the street.

c. January 7, 2012 Anno Domini

Customers who bought items in my recent history also bought...

The Joker TM Gloves Adult Costume Accessory

Men's Dress Vest & NeckTie Emerald Green Striped Vertical Stripes Design Set for Suit or Tuxedo

The Joker Hair Spray

The Joker Make Up Kit TM Costume Accessory

It seems to me that someone from Amazon, from whom the preceding list was obtained, is a joker, because my recent history does not include anything Batman-themed or a buzzer ring.

c. January 19, 2012 Anno Domini

I have a legendary collection of neckties.  I am too lazy to count them, but I estimate they number between thirty-five (35*) and forty-five (45).  Unfortunately, I do not have an equally legendary method of necktie storage.  They are, in fact, stored quite mundanely.  Ideally, I would rectify this by procuring a tie rack in the form of a hydra statue with one head (and, naturally, one neck) for each necktie I own.  Upon each hydra neck, one of my ties would be worn.  I realize no precedent for such a polycephallically prolific hydra exists in history, mythology or the complete unabridged works ofGygax, et. al., but that presents no obstacle.  The major obstacles are my lack of talent as a sculptor, my lack of talent sculptor acquaintainces and the likely to be legendary cost of commissioning such a grand work.  If I can become fabulously wealthy between now and November, I may communicate my desire to a few artisans at the Rennaissance Festival and try to reach an agreement with one.

* The original version of this entry, as posted at http://www.facebook.com contained a typographical error.  Thank you much much to the esteemed Mr. Jacob Collins for alerting us to our failure to meet our usual high orthographic and typographical standards.  In addition to correcting the error here, we have severely chastised ourselves.  Future occurrences will result in self-imposed revocations of blogging privileges.

c. January 27, 2012 Anno Domini

I took the light rail uptown to see Madama Butterfly today.  Unfortunately, the train was experiencing some sort of technical difficulties between the I-485/South Blvd station, so I ended up having to take a bus from there to the Arrowood station.  Despite the delay involved in waiting for an extra bus to be dispatched to I-485/South Blvd and and the havoc the train's technical diffiuculties wreaked on the schedule, I arrived at my destination in a timely manner.

My trip back passed without incident until the Sharon Rd West station, at which point the following conversation occurred:

Random Inebriated Woman: Sorry, but my friends are making me take a poll.  When you check out girls' -sses, do you notice their panty lines?

Me: I'm too clumsy to walk and chew gum at the same time.  Do you really think I could manage to walk and check out a woman at the same time?

Random Inebriated Woman: Well, if you did.

Me:  I wouldn't be looking for it.  Most women's panties are really none of my business.

Random Inebriated Woman: Wow.  You're a really nice guy *extends hand, as if to shake*

c. January 31, 2012 Anno Domini

B-gg-r this.  I'm switching to Google Plus.  Facebook apparently prohibits the use of commas in users' names, thereby preventing me from entering, "Jonathan Roberts, OBE" as my username.  Entering "Jonathan Roberts OBE" is permitted, but results in "Jonathan Roberts Obe" being displayed.  Entering "Jonathan Roberts O.B.E." results in an error message stating the name entered contains too many periods.  Mr. Zuckerberg would probably correct this issue in three shakes of a lamb's tail if Lizzy knighted him,  but in that event I would seek to distance myself from the Order rather than representing myself as a member on the internet.

VOLUME XIX - Tampering With My Bread or That's What They're Calling It These Days and Other Tales

c. May 1, 2011 Anno Domini

Apparently I can't sit in my new chair whilst using my XBox or playing Munchkin because it has a warning label stating, "Use this product as a task/working chair, NOT as a wheel chair, game chair or object for other purposes."  (Bolding mine).  Fortunately, my plan all along was to use the chair with my computer, and I hardly ever play PC games because my old monitor tinted everything red and it made it hard to see properly.

Of course, the downside is that  I can't watch monster truck rally videos on YouTube all day because, although I paid for the whole seat, the warning label also states, "DON'T sit on the edge!"

c. June 3, 2011 Anno Domini

Dramatis Personae:
Jonathan Roberts, a thirty year old single male
Random Woman, a random woman
Jonathan Roberts' Internal Monologue, a veritable font of wisdom

Scene: Aisle four.  Jonathan Roberts is putting his groceries onto the conveyor belt.  Random Woman has just impertinently removed a loaf of bread from Jonathan Roberts' cart and placed it on the conveyor belt, as if to assist him.

Random Woman: Don't forget anything.  She'll just make you comeright  back and get it.
Jonathan Roberts: She?  I'm single and live alone.  I don't have to worry about that sort of thing.
Random Woman: But you'll still have to come back.
Jonathan Roberts' Internal Monologue: But it will be of my own volition, dog gone it!

c. June 12, 2011, Anno Domini

If you wear a stylish, vintage 70's suit to the grocery store, make a purchase and request $40 USD in cash back, but moronically leave without your cash, walk out of the store, drive away, return to the store, tell the cashier you forgot your cash and politely request to be united with it no one will say they don't remember you being in store earlier.

The unfortunate part of wearing such a suit is that various ladies always want to be photographed next to it, and then you have to be in the photograph with them because (although they don't really want you in the picture) they only way for them to be photographed with the suit but without you is for you to take the suit off to allow it to be photographed, and no one wants to see that.

c. June 13, 2011, Anno Domini

I recently purchased The Countess of Pembroke's Arcadia, by Sir Philip Sidney from http://www.amazon.com.  Like the fool I am, I declined to first read the description of the book, assuming the edition I purchased was of a modern variety and would include innovations such as standardised orthography and the use of the character "s" instead of an integral sign.  When the book arrived, I opened it and found it to be a high-fidelity reproduction of an edition published in 1590 A.D.  So far, every "s"I have even come across was represented by an integral sign, with the exception of two such characters adjacent to each other represented by "ß"!  Sir Philip also tends to use "u" and "v" interchangeably and sometimes puts an accent mark over a vowel to indicate that it should be followed by "m" or "n" instead of actually writing "m" or "n" after the vowel, or maybe such practices were employed purely through the prerogative of the printer.  Of course, I wouldn't blame the printer for the inconsistent spelling.  In one sentence, Sir Philip writes, "Now, it is done onelie for you, onely to you," spelling the word "only" once as "onelie" and once as "onely."  Despite my enjoyment of the book so far, it does make me want to construct a time machine to send a legion of editors back to the sixteenth century.  In the interest of fairness, I must say Sir Philip's spelling is more readable than most people's text messages and he doesn't use arabic numerals (like everyone other than me these days) or roman numerals (like Boyz II Men) in place of words.

c. June 19, 2011 Anno Domini

At 6:15 a.m., I got out of work and attempted to start my car.  It didn't work.  I attempted to open the hood to investigate, but that didn't work either.  Seeing as how my contingency plan for my car not starting consists of opening the hood, staring at the engine for a bit, hope the battery just needs a bit of a charge and ask a co-worker to help me jump start it... the failure of the hood to open was problematic.  I ended up calling a tow truck and killing time by walking several laps around the pond behind my workplace until the sidewalk got too full of dog-walkers.  After the dog-walkers took over, I went back to my car.  I won't lie and say it didn't feel as if I had been waiting interminably for the tow truck by that point but in reality it had only been about twenty minutes.  An uninformed observer, however, could be forgiven for thinking I had left my car sitting in the parking lot for at least a decade, because a large cobb webbe, extending from the outermost tip of the driver's side mirror to a point on the window, had formed (as such things are wont to appear in old abandoned houses in cheesy movies.)  Logically, I must conclude that either my life is a satire of such cheesy movies or the Spider Queen of Menzoberranzan Herself (that chaotic evil taffeta punk) despatched one of her minions to play a cruel joke on me.  Due to the lack of tumbleweeds blowing through the parking lot and the failure of my beard to grow to a comically absurd length, my money is on the latter.

c. June 27, 2011 Anno Domini

Last week, I was driving Bella around and she asked if I was speeding, because if I was speeding that would make me a bad citizen.  I told her I was not speeding and that I was a very good citizen because I picked up some litter in a park a few days prior and threw it away.  Bella totally burst my bubble by saying picking up litter and throwing it way made me a bad citizen because it increased the size of landfills and someday the whole Earth would be full of landfills because of people picking up litter and throwing it away.  I can't win.  :( 

c. July 3, 2011 Anno Domini

I don't know anything about ancient Greek except what the letters look like, so I can't rightly say whether or not Sophocles used an ellipsis or other such indication of a pause in the original, but the following, taken from Paul Roche's translation of Sophocles' "Oedipus the King," is the best use of a dramatic pause in the history of drama:

Messenger: Can you tell me please, good sirs, where is the palace of King Oedipus, or better, where's the king?
Chorus: This is his palace, sir, and he's within.  This lady is his wife and mother . . . of his children.

c. July 7, 2011 Anno Domini

Not that I condone (or would ever attempt) online dating, but once, I got the idea into my head that in order for all to be right with the world, http://www.carbon14.com needed to be the address of a geeky science nerd dating site.  I took a look at it, but it turned out to be all about an art gallery in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.  I most definitely wasn't planning to register and use the site to find a geeky science nerd lady or anything, but it was still a huge disappointment.

VOLIUME XVIII - My First Derivative With the Ladies Is Not a Continuous Function and Other Tales

c. January 9, 2011 Anno Domini

Work is like XBox, and by that I mean...

Burnout equals Crash Mode.

Or maybe I mean I'm over one-hundred (100) hours into Oblivion and the end is not yet in sight.

Or I mean I would most likely be asked to reduce the number of hours I dedicate to it if I were ever to, ahem, become romantically involved.

I am sure there are other similarities.

c. January 17, 2011 Anno Domini

Me: What does my bumper look like?
Driver Behind Me: What?
Me: What country are you from?
Driver Behind Me What?
Me: "What" ain't no country I ever heard of! They speak English in "What"?
Driver Behind Me: What?
Me: English! Do you speak it?
Driver Behind Me: Yes!
Me: Then you know what I'm saying.
Driver Behind Me: Yes...
Me: Describe what my bumper looks like!
Driver Behind Me: What?
Me: Say "what" again. Say "what" again! I dare you! I double-dare you! Say "what" one more time!
Driver Behind Me: Its gray.
Me: Go on!
Driver Behind Me : It has bumper stickers on it.
Me: Does it look like a tilt-a-whirl at the county fair?
Driver Behind Me: What?
Me: *shoots Driver Behind Me in the shoulder*  Does it look like a tilt-a-whirl?
Driver Behind Me: No!
Me: Then why'd you try to ride it like a tilt-a-whirl?
Driver Behind Me: I didn't!
Me: Yes, you did! Yes, you did! You tried to ride it. And my bumper don't like to be ridden by anybody except Mrs. Wallace.  You read the Bible?
Driver Behind Me: Yes.
Me: Well, there's this passage I've got memorized, sort of fits the occasion. Ezekiel 25:17? "The path of the righteous man is beset on all sides by the iniquities of the selfish and the tyranny of evil men. Blessed is he who in the name of charity and good will shepherds the weak through the valley of darkness, for he is truly his brother's keeper and the finder of lost children. And I will strike down upon thee with great vengeance and furious anger those who attempt to poison and destroy my brothers! And you will know my name is the Lord  when I lay my vengeance upon thee!"

c. January 28, 2011 Anno Domini

Pick up lines are lame.  Real ladies' men know how to use a pick-up parabola or, when dealing with a very special lady, a pick-up sine wave.

c. February 3, 2011 Anno Domini

If you share my initials and last name, your e-mail address is jdrobertsx@gmail.com where x is a two-digit number and you are e-mailing yourself a photograph of yourself/your girlfriend/your mom/some random dame bent over in front of a brown leather couch wearing nothing but a pink, black and white thong you might want to proofread the e-mail address to be sure you inserted x between jdroberts and @gmail.com before you click send.

Also, if I send you a reply stating, "I believe I received this e-mail in error," a reply (sans derriere) from you, praising my gift for understatement, would not go unappreciated.

c. February 6, 2011 Anno Domini

Like most children, I had every adult I knew during my youth telling me not to do things such as drinking, smoking, taking candy from strangers and crossing the street without looking both ways first.  At a very young age, before any of my peers, I figured out that adults understood the rebellious nature of adolescents; ergo they really wanted us to do all that stuff and only told us not to because they knew we would disobey.  Resultingly, I never played hooky, blew off my homework or went to the kind of parties where teenagers play spin the bottle instead of Dungeons and Dragons and watch R-rated movies instead of Star Trek: the Next Generation.  I even put my coat on every time I went outsider during the winter, obstensibly to avoid catching my death of cold, and flaunted it as if to say, "I'm on to you old people.  You can't fool me.  The jig is up."  That was my subtle way of sticking it to the man.  My  insouciance eventually became a habit, and to this day I still have never ridden my bike at night without wearing bright clothing, worn socks with holes in them or hit on 17.

c. February 9, 2011 Anno Domini

I took a certain eight-year old to Burger King today.  She went to the soda fountain, filled her cup with regular Coca-Cola, turned to me and said, "Ahhhh, the joys of  being non-diabetic."

c. February 19, 2011 Anno Domini

A while back, I somehow managed to get the tube from my insulin pump tangled up whilst taking off my pants after a long day at work and ripped the infusion site out.  A geyser of blood spurted out, like when Uma Thurman cut the dudes' arms off in Kill Bill and it kept trickling for five minutes afterwards despite the application of pressure directly to the wound.  Admittedly, I had taken my pants off with a certain "I'm done with a serious day at work and am emphatically taking off my serious work pants to change into something leisurely" attitude but the amount of blood that gushed out was still in no way proportional to the (lack of) trauma.  It left an epic blood stain, which I attempted (but epically failed to) remove from the carpet.  I covered it with a rug, explained the whole incident to my mother and apologized the day I moved out of my parents house.  I must have pressed ABACABB before taking off my pants.

Today, my infusion site was brutally torn from my body by my harness riding up on me whilst I was careening down a zipline (for the first time in my life) at Warp 7.  A lesser man would have screamed in pain and then tried to play it off like he was just screaming in excitement at zooming around at Warp 7, but I merely winced.  After botching the landing by fallling directly on my buttocks (sort of a theme today, actually), I inspected the damage, which by all reasonable expectations should have been gruesome, and there was not a single drop of blood.  Just like the Super Nintendo version of Mortal Kombat.

c. March 3, 2011 Anno Domini

I was driving home this morning on a road with a speed limit of 45 miles per hour (mph), but only moving at 35 mph because the car in front of me (and presumably the car in front of it, et. al.) was only moving at 35 mph.  Rush hour traffic is like that.  The car behind me was also moving at 35 mph and seemed to be trying to lock a tractor beam onto my rear bumper while the driver gesticulated wildly in an attempt to encourage me to speed up for one second so I could close the distance to the car in front of me and then immediately slow back down to 35 mph.  Eventually he tired of my failure to submit to his demands, sped up, crossed a double yellow line to pass me and had to immediately slam on his brakes as the light ahead of us turned red and traffic came to a standstill.  I laughed and called him the third derivative of position with respect to time.

c. March 8, 2011 Anno Domini

I visited the house of a friend, who has two cats, for a friendly game of Munchkin last night.  He has two cats, and I am highly allergic to both of them.  He was a gracious host and took all the necessary precautions such as covering the couch with a blanket to shield be from the offending allergens and not having the cats actually in the room, but cats being what they are, one of them eventually made its way into our social gathering.  I immediately felt its arrival in my trachea, rather than saw it, and developed severe nasal congestion.  Whether the blasted thing sensed my weakness and made a point of exacerbating the situation or not (I suspect it did), the damage was done.  The first thing I did when I got home was to strip buck naked (sorry about the mental image there) and throw everything I had been wearing except my glasses into the laundry but I still experienced a moderate nasal drip all night and feel an itch in my lungs even now.

The point is, if ever someone hires you to separate me from this mortal coil you will have no need to employ the traditional tricks of the trade.  No need to corner me in a dark alley with a gang of thugs on my way home from the tavern, poison my food at a formal banquet so I fall dramatically face-first into my bowl of soup or engage in any other sort of cloak and daggery (unless the cloak is covered in cat fur).  Just break into my house, let a horde of common housecats rampage around for an hour or two and the odds are I'll be asphyxiated by morning.


c. April 1, 2011 Anno Domini

I named my character on Dragon Age: Origins "Mr. Roberts" so all the other characters in the game would call me Mr. Roberts like people should do in real life.  To my dismay, the maximum name length was too short so I couldn't input a name including any honorifics such as "The Eminent Mr. Roberts" or "Mr. Roberts, OBE"

c. April 5, 2011 Anno Domini

I truly sympathize with people who face a drive home from work exceeding one hour in duration (as opposed to my usual 12 minute commute).  It took me 47 minutes just to get from the parking lot of my workplace to the intersection of Ballantyne Commons Parkway and Lancaster Highway, a distance of 1.1 miles¹.  As such, my average speed during that portion of my oddysey was 1.4 miles per hour (mph), which is 35 times the speed of a Giant African Land Snail².
An officer of the law was directing traffic at the intersection despite there being no accident and no fallen trees or other large debris in the intersection and the traffic light being fully operational.  It was probably for the best through, because people are basically animals who have no regard for things such as the interests of their fellow man or the stability of society during a crisis.  I could definitely envision people going all Lord of the Flies and speeding through the intersection at 35 times the speed of a Giant African Land Snail regardless of what color the light was and leaving us poor blighters waiting to turn onto Lancaster stuck indefinitely until the weakest-willed amongst us broke down and resorted to cannibalism.  Fortunately it never came to that.


The final 2.7 miles of my arduous journey went much more quickly, as I covered the distance without incident in a mere 24 minutes at an average speed of 6.75 mph (or, as I was measuring it, 168.75 Giant African Land Snail Paces Per Hour) but I would probably still be waiting at the entrance to my apartment complex with my turn signal on if some charitable soul hadn't stopped to let me turn in.  I don't know how you people who have to deal with that sort of nonsense regularly handle it.

¹http://www.mapquest.com/
²http://www.petsnails.co.uk/faq.html

c. April 6, 2011 Anno Domini

After work today, I went out for breakfast.  The restaurant had a sign with, "Don't forget to smile!," written on it amongst drawing of flowers and peace signs.  The first three times I looked at the sign, I thought it stated, "Don't forget to smite!"  I was about to ask my waitress if the establishment's clientele included a large number of paladins and lawful good clerics  but realized at the last second that the sign said "smile" and not "smite."  Thanks to that timely epiphany, I managed to avoid making a level 20 fool of myself, as opposed to the mere level 17 fool I usually make of myself whenever I speak to strange women.
c. April 28, 2011 Anno Domini

At 1:53 a.m. on April 28 ,2011, in the Harris Teeter parking lot, a lady and gentleman, who were both under the influence of alcohol, approached me and requested I settle a minor theological debate.  Betwixt the two of them, they were carrying a 12-pack of Corona and nothing else.  Before I could offer my opinion on the question they posed, the gentleman told me he liked my tie (the red 8-bit tie from http://www.thinkgeek.com/, for those who care to know), and the lady told me, "Your tie is so awesome."  I thanked them and politely weighed in on their debate, as requested.  The lady declared victory and thanked me for unwittingly supporting her position.  At this point, I shoud have fled because, although she would have chased me, I could have at least outrun her because she was carrying the beer.  Alas, I remained because they seemed polite and the gentleman actually seemed to want to discuss the issue in further depth.


Before the gentleman was able to articulate his thoughts, the lady began opening the 12-pack and offered me a drink.  I told her I could not accept, as I do not imbibe, but she said she wanted to give me something and since beer was all she had purchased she would just give me money to go into Harris Teeter and buy whatever I wanted.  Whilst she sorted through her purse searching for hard currency, the gentleman naively protested that her offer was rude because I was wearing a suit and therefore obviously didn't need money.  He said his name was Jonathan and offered a shake of his hand.  I, thinking perhaps this reasonable fellow could be of assistance in convincing his daft companion to leave me be, told him my name was also Jonathan and accepted the handshake.

In short order, I became the lady's new favourite Jonathan.  She told me her name was Brittany and said she wanted to hug me.  I forced her to settle for a handshake and told her I have a friend named Brittany but she moved to Ohio and that made me sad.  She continued digging through her purse with the hand that wasn't shaking my hand and promised she would never move to Ohio.  I asked her, "Do you have anything against Ohio?"  She replied, "Yes.  It's Ohio."  "Grrr.  My friend Brittany is from Ohio," I retorted, and she asked what I wanted from Harris Teeter.  I told her I didn't really need anything, partially because I'm not enough of a cad to take advantage of a drunk lady like that but also partially because I have an aversion to been seen exchanging cash with strange women in empty parking lots at 2 a.m. and also because I wasn't quick-witted enough to come up with a winning hand in that "what random combination of three items from the grocery store would really freak out the cashier (or the random drunk lady in the parking lot)" game.

From the rest of the conversation, I can only deduce that the deleterious effects of alcohol on the language-processing centers of the brain caused Brittany (the drunk lady, not my friend in Ohio) to erroneously believe I said I wanted a "rapacious damsel throwing herself at me" from Harris Teeter.  She said she wanted to date me and asked for my business card.  I told her I didn't have one.  She said she wanted me to be a part of her lift and asked for my telephone number.  Jonathan (the drunk gentleman, not me) said, "I'm not dating her.  You should give her your number and go for it."  She voiced agreement, an awkward silence ensued, and the other Jonathan broke it by telling Brittany I wasn't taking her seriously because she was too excited.  Brittany insisted she was serious, and another awkward silence ensured.  Jonathan attempted to bring the conversation full-circle (that punk, he should have known that is my fallback conversational technique) and telling me, "My family raised me Catholic, or at least tried to."  Brittany told him I was Jewish, and I told her I was actually Catholic but that she shouldn't feel too bad because many people have mistakenly assumed I was Jewish.  Finally, Brittany stopped shaking my hand, let go of it, said to me, "You're Catholic?  I'm good.  Never mind," and flounced away.


It is a dog gone good thing I obtained new shoelaces for my black shoes today, because I had been considering adding my red hat and red belt to the red shoes if I had to wear them again today and if I had done that, I probably would have had to chew my own hand off to get away from her.

VOLUME XVII - My Attempt to Impress the Lovely Ms. Sandiego and Other Tales

c. September 10, 2010 Anno Domini

Captain's Log, (exact stardate unknown)

According to http://www.google.com/instant, Google Instant saves users between two and five seconds per search and would save 11 hours per second if every man, woman and child used it for every web search. Note that Google doesn't claim Google Instant would save 11 man-hours (although this would make sense and is what they want you to think), but 11 actual hours per second. Saving more time per second than actually passes by results in a negative net passage of time, which would lead to a temporal vortex. The temporal vortex caused by a discrepancy on the magnitude of 39,599 seconds per second would destroy the Earth, and seeing as how we are still here the only logical conclusion is that the Googleuminati created Google Instant so they could harness this excess time somehow and have managed to succeed. That leads to the question of what the Googleuminati intend to do with all that time on their hands. I suspect they are using the time they accrue (which amounts to almost one full year for every month the rest of us experience) to conduct advanced research in death ray technology. Before we know it, they will mount the Google Instant Actualizing Nicola Tesla (GIANT) Death Ray on the clandestine lunar base they secretly built in 2007 A.D. with the help of their reptilian overlords from Alpha Draconis, aim it at Terra and start making unreasonable and unseemly demands.

Fortunately, there is one way we can fight the Googleuminati's latest conspiracy: waste all the time they are saving before they can harness it. Open up your web browser, go to the Google home page and procrastinate. Procrastinate. PROCRASTINATE!!!! The two to five seconds you waste could be the two to five seconds that save us from the GIANT Death Ray. It's your moral duty.

c. September 11, 2010 Anno Domini

Awesome Things Mega Man Can Do But You Can't

1. Save the world by using his mega blaster to foil Dr. Wily's fiendish plans for world domination

2. Wear a "welcome to the gun show" shirt without looking like a douche

c. September 14, 2010 Anno Domini

I ate lunch at Subway today, and some mindless song was on the radio. About halfway through my meal, the radio abruptly cut out for seven seconds. I immediately scrunched up my shoulders, clenched my jaw and crinkled my brow. Within two seconds I was thinking, "Where is the infernal electronic simulation of a banshee's keening wail," because everyone knows a radio abruptly cutting out is a harbinger of doom. First, a cacophonous screeeeeeeeeech assaults the senses (yes, all five of them somehow), and then an announcer informs the populace of an impending tornado, flash flood or Communist nuclear strike, or announces that the next song will be (name withheld)'s* latest single. As it turned out, the Emergency Broadcast system wasn't warning anyone to hide the women and children or even conducting a test. Subway's speakers were just on the fritz. Five seconds into the silence, I became intellectually aware of this fact but I still braced myself aurally on the next four or five occurences. Just as I began to ignore the silences, Kool and the Gang came on and I started taking notice again, but only because Kool and the Gang deserves better than to be interrupted several times by faulty audio equipment.

c. September 17, 2010 Anno Domini

Obi-Wan Kenobi: These are not the droids you are looking for.

Stormtrooper 1: These are not the droids I am looking for, but I still need to inspect their passports and document their serial numbers on a Droid Visa Request Form. They're not carrying any liquids, are they?

Obi-Wan: But they are not the droids you are looking for!

ST1: Of course they are not, but I still need to complete the paperwork. It's protocol.

Stormtrooper 2: Lord Vader is a real stickler about paperwork, see.

ST1: We have to fill out a Droid Visa Request Form for each droid entering the spaceport and submit it in triplicate to the...

Obi-Wan: Blast the form! Can't you just let me through and make up any old serial number later? These are obviously not the droids you are looking for.

ST1: Not on my life, sir!

ST2: We would still need to get the signatures of the droids, which are not the droids we are looking for, on the Droid Visa Request Forms.

Obi-Wan: Can't you just let me through, make up fake serial numbers later and FORGE THEIR SIGNATURES?

ST2: What kind of scum do you think we are? Forging an official Imperial document is a very serious crime.

ST1: I daresay it would be even more heinous than not documenting the serial numbers of the droids we are not looking for.

ST2: I'm afraid I have to arrest you now for suggesting it, but I'll let your friend there keep your droids because they are not the droids we are looking for.

Obi-Wan: *condescendingly over-enunciating* Now just wait a minute. We all know these are not the droids you are looking for and I'm in a terrible rush to get off this wretched planet before anyone realizes that I'm the Jedi master who trained Anakin Skywalker so I can rescue a major figure in the leadership of the Rebel Alliance from the evil clutches of Darth Vader on the Death Star. Why don't I just slip you a few credits and be on my way without wasting any time on your stinking paperwork?

ST2: Attempting to bribe a representative of the Empire? Well, I never!

Luke Skywalker: Look over there! I think I see the droids you are looking for!

ST1 & ST2: *turn their backs on Obi-Wan, et. al. to peer off in the direction indicated by Luke*

Luke: Quick, Ben! Before they figure out my ruse.

Obi-Wan: About freaking time, young Skywalker.

Luke: Good luck finding those droids you are looking for, suckers!

c. September 22, 2010 Anno Domini

I almost died today driving into Waxhaw. While I was stopped at the red light at the railroad tracks on NC-16 South, a truck crossed the tracks in the opposite lane towing a trailer with two massive, rolled up bales of hay and one bale fell out. This was no ordinary bale of hay. It was twelve (12) feet tall and about the size of my car. If it had hit a bump in the road and bounced the wrong way, I would no longer be amongst the living and I would have been furious because I just paid the car off last week. Fortunately, it just bounced along the road a bit without crossing the center line and came to a rest right on the tracks. Some good samaritan cyclist, who could have easily swerved around the mother of all hay bales without a second glance stopped and moved it out of the way before a train came along and obliterated it.

c. September 27, 2010 Anno Domini

Because my job is highly sedentary, I make an effort to use the stairs whenever possible to at least get a little exercise. The building in which I work is only three stories high so even if I use the stairs and the beginning and end of my shift and on my lunch break it's still merely eight stories of stairs in all but every bit counts. The temptation to use the elevator is usually not significant, but lately I find myself giving in because they started playing a lot of Miles Davis and John Coltrane in there. Most of it is from Kind of Blue or Giant Steps, both of whic h I obviously own and could listen to in their entirety any time I wanted at home but I still end up in the elevator, drawn by the siren song of 15-20 second snippets of So What.

c. October 5, 2010 Anno Domini

I had some errands to take care of today before I move, and my mother asked me to pick up some green beans for her whilst I was out, so I picked up some green beans from Harris Teeter. She didn't specifically ask me to pay for them, so I didn't. Actually, I shouldn't blame that on my mother. She raised me better than to be a shoplifter. What really happened was that I went into Harris Teeter absentmindedly medidating on how I am going to keep my fantasy football team, Domingo Gigante, undefeated with LeSean McCoy out and Shonn Greene being Shonn Greene next week. Thusly, I was running the green bean mission on mental autopilot all the way up until I had the beans on the passenger seat of my car (with no receipt) and the key in the ignition. At no point in the interim did any Harris Teeter employee interrupt my reverie and ask why the bloody blazes I was walking out the door brazenly holding a package of green beans and making no effort at stealth or concealment. Once I became consciously aware of my misdeed, morality dictated I make reparations so I snuck the green beans back into the store with as much stealth as a fellow wearing a conspicuously bright red dress shirt and hoping desperately not to be noticed could muster and went through the checkout.

Upon further reflection, it would have been a lot easier to leave the green beans in the car, pay for an identical package at the self-scan checkout and conveniently "forget" to take them with me... but that would have been really awkward if a helpful Harris Teeter employee noticed my forgetfulness and helpfully told me I was leaving my paid-for purchase behind.

c. October 20, 2010 Anno Domini

Eight Year Old Girl: Everything in there is blue. No offense but... ... ... I'm a girl.

Me: Yeah?

Eight Year Old Girl: You could put some girly stuff in there

Me: Why would I do that? There aren't any girls living here

Eight Year Old Girl: You could get a wife, you know

Later, in the fitness center, I ran into an older couple I had met there last night. Another guy was lifting weights, and while I was on the treadmill the lady of the couple said to me, in a scandalized tone of voice, "Ese hombre tiene cinco mujeres." I replied, "Y yo no tengo ni una," and for some reason she thought that was FREAKING hilarious.

c. November 3, 2010 Anno Domini

Dear Those Who Roll Their Eyes When I Tell Them, "When I Was Your Age...,"

I checked my mail after work today and found a letter from the American Association of Retired Persons (AARP) beseeching me to renew my membership. Not that I actually have a membership to renew, but I think it speaks volumes that such an eminent authority on elderliness considers me qualified. Of course, when I was your age their organization was still officially known as the AARC, and the C stood for cavepersons.

Sincerely,

J.D. Roberts

c. November 18, 2010 Anno Domini

Lady: Has anyone ever told you you're very attractive?

Gentleman: Electromagnetically or gravitationally?

Lady: Neither. You emanate the strong nuclear force.

Gentleman: How would you know? I'm not in the habit of allowing women to get close enough to me for that to affect them.

Lady: You're right. I was just meson* with you.

* pun intended

c. December 11, 2010 Anno Domini

Mr. Peabody: Sherman, please set the Wayback Machine to 1200 B.C. The subject of today's lesson is the Trojan War.

Sherman: Sure thing, Mr. Peabody!

Mr. Peabody: The Greeks besieged the city of Troy because Paris, a Trojan prince, kidnapped Helen of Troy, the King of Sparta's wife.

Sherman: If Helen was the King of Sparta's wife, why wasn't her name Helen of Sparta?

Mr. Peabody: Quiet, you. We'll be joining the Greeks in the tenth year of the war. Odysseus, the most cunning of the Greeks, is discussing strategy with the King of Sparta.

Mr. Peabody and Sherman: *travel to 1200 B.C.*

Odysseus: One more attack by the Trojans and we're toast. The men are all too sick to fight.

Meneleus: Isn't there anything we can do?

Odysseus: With this flu outbreak? We're done for. If only the Trojans were sick too... but they're safe in the comfort of their own homes while we're stuck outside their walls.

Mr. Peabody: If I may, I believe I have an idea that may be of some use. *whisper whisper whisper*

Odysseus: So we build a wooden horse, get all the men to cough and sneeze all over it and tell the Trojans it's a gift?

Meneleus: And then they get sick too?

Mr. Peabody: Precisely

Odysseus: Once the Trojans are sick too, that will level the playing field. We'll win the war and I'll be back home in Ithaca in no time!

Mr. Peabody: Well, Sherman... it's time to go. Say good bye to Odysseus.

Sherman: Good bye, Odysseus!

Mr. Peabody and Sherman: *return to the present*

Mr. Peabody: So you see Sherman, using the Trojan Horse, the Greeks infected the Trojans with the virus and won the Trojan War.

Sherman: Golly, Mr. Peabody. Your idea really helped the Greeks.

Mr. Peabody: Of course it did, boy. Haven't you ever read the Ill-iad?

c. December 23, 2010 Anno Domini

I purchased a 64 fluid ounce bottle of up&up brand moisturizing hand soap from Target yesterday, and the label on the back states:

Directions: Use up&upTM moisturizing hand soap to wash hands as you would use any liquid hand soap.

Upon reading that, I laughed uproariously. Either someone at Target has a sense of humor nearly as delightful as mine or they are really intent on capturing the growing "People who generally know how to wash their hands but are easily flummoxed by an unfamiliar brand of soap" demographic.

c. January 3, 2011 Anno Domini

Sometimes, I like to sit in the cafe at Borders with a cup of tea and a collection of H.P. Lovecraft stories waiting for someone to approach and ask about what I'm reading so I can say, "Some of his stories are cult classics." So far, no one has taken the bait.