obfuscational hazard

They call me the workin’ man, Monkey Keys! Ok, so nobody actually calls me that. It is still going to be my excuse for going AWOL for like a decade. How is everyone doing?

“Fine. We’ve actually transcended necessitating your imagination to sustain our existence. We are now one with the cosmos, and intellectually, your superior.”

Pfff, as if I care, Creepy Borg Key. I’m still the ruler of the only cosmos that matters. The {Insert pun utilizing cosmos in most hilarious way} COSMOS! TRIPLE DOG BURN! Damn, that was a good one even by my standards.

“So what have you been doing besides NOT writing jokes with your time?”

That was snide, Snide Key. I have been flying around the country pretty much every always. Man, are my arms tired!

“Seriously? I refuse to believe that was ever actually used as whimsical pose, and if it was, I will dedicate my transcendent existence to murdering he who first plagued mankind with its utterance.”

What’s more upsetting? Me uttering a joke that was stale circa court jesters, or you going all Inygo Montoya on said joke’s inventor?

“I…”

That was rhetorical, Evil Bill S. Preston Key. Enough wasting my time. I needed to get this prelude post out about some of the adventures I’ll be telling. You see, as is often the case with an extended walkabout, I’ve encountered stuff I want to explore in greater detail with my make-believe readership.

Like I said back in the day, I’m a consultant now. The first stage of explaining to you how messed up my life is requires breaking down the etymology of the word “consultant”.

Consultant was a word first coined in ancient Rome. One of Rome’s wisest rulers, Nero, was practicing his fiddle one day when a great fire erupted. Nero was quick to call IX I I, but nobody answered because, as we all know, Rome was still utilizing WiMAX. So Nero jumped into the flames and bravely fought them by beating them with slaves. Suddenly, Nero saw the source of the great fire. In the center of town, there he stood… THE DEVIL!

You see the Devil crossed the Black Sea from Georgia, looking for a soul to steal. And he bet a fiddle of gold against Nero’s Rome because he liked to make that kind of deal. Nero knew to save the day he’d have to play and play real hot, but someone had to stay and fight the flames, so Keys let me tell you what!

Our great lord N, he turned to a friend and said, “I need your help to fight the blaze.” Friend said, “N, this fire I’ll mend just so long as I get paid.”

Nero rison up your bow and play the best you ever did, ‘Cos the Devil’s dropped by from Georgia, and remixed his song again. And as you play some dude you hired will contract out your work, but if he fails you’ll look like the jerk…

So Nero whooped the devil because that dude sucks pretty bad, and turned to his hired help to see that he’d been had. His friend said, “Nero you never sell out the work you want done right. We’ll make 100 PowerPoints and escape into the night!”

And Nero was all, “FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU…”

The term “consultant” was formed shortly thereafter. Its meaning can be derived by dissecting the word into its three base words.

Con – Persuade (someone) to do or believe something, typically by use of a deception.
Salt – a mineral known to shorten the life expectancy of small insects considerably
Ant – a small insect.

Clearly, by dissecting the origin of the word, we discover the true meaning for the word consultant. He is one who fools insects into buying something that will kill them. Consultants are hired for the same reason they were in Nero’s day: to do the work you’re too lazy or cheap to do. The only problem is said consulting firm is probably lazier and cheaper than you’ll ever aspire to be, and by the time they’re done burning your Rome, you’ll be the one history remembers as a monster.

Poor Nero.

“I am 85% certain you are misinformed on the history of this matter.”

Alright No Fun Key, I need to break you out of this lame state, and I think the only proper way to do that is with a series of posts clearly explaining to you how I am correct.

“Your track record is lacking in empirical evidence that would lead me to believe you’ll follow through with such a task.”

Perhaps, but I have to try. So, without further adieu, I must away to my writing desk.

Holy Carolina, Monkey Keys! I’m posting, and that is no small feat when you’re unemployed, let me tell you what.

“Wait, you’re unemployed now?”

Yeah, shucks howdy, Out of the Loop Key. I haven’t been writing anything down, so let me give you the short short Mel Brooks version of what has happened since early February.

February 8, 2010: I didn’t post.

February 9, 2010: In an epic dual, I defeated Mothera and saved Tokyo.

February 10, 2010: The boss of Tokyo gave me the key to the universe and I used it to go on adventures.

February 11, 2010: March 12, 2010 – Adventures! And some light cabbage eating.

March 12, 2010: My last day at my old job. I left because the adventures were so much better than working.

March 13, 2010 – March 13, 2054: In an accidental fit of joy, I jumped through the space/time continuum and bash my head on 2054. Luckily they invented a drug that helps your headache in that time, and I only experienced constipation, diarrhea, dizziness, gas, headache, heartburn, nausea and stomach pain as a result.

March 14, 2010 – April 7, 2010: I squandered my winnings from Tokyo Slam 2010 on penny stocks that all went bankrupt within seconds. The boss of Tokyo takes back my key to the universe because he misplaced his.

April 7, 2010: I packed my car with a few absolutely necessary items like my 40 inch TV, and drove to Washington DC.

April 8, 2010: I didn’t post.

April 9, 2010: I got lost on foot in downtown DC, and, fearing for my life, used my $500 Google phone to ask a nice homeless person if he can identify where we are on the map.

April 10, 2010: I made it to North Carolina, didn’t post, and passed out for a week an a half.

April 21, 2010: I am introduced to my new rival blog which infuriates me with its goodness. With renewed vengeance, I vow to update.

April 21, 2010 (11am): I wrote “Holy Carolina, Monkey Keys! I’m posting, and that is no small feat when you’re unemployed, let me tell you what.” Then one of the Monkey Keys said, ““Wait, you’re unemployed now?”” So I have to go into this Mel Brooks short explanation that ends up being quite long…

“Whoa, I think you can skip this part.”

This is where it gets good, Skip Ahead Key! I suppose I see your point though. In an effort to compete with my rival blog, I intend to start getting a few things done around here at ObHaz.

If I don’t, feel free to shank me.

Merry Christmas, Monkey Keys! Sleepy St. Nick needs a break. Here’s to many a nap and a jolly good turducken this joyous day. The rest of the staff and I wish you all a good government mandated day off from work!

NOTE: Phillip from accounting would like to mention he, in fact, does NOT wish any of the readers a Merry Christmas. Phillip is a huge jerk and we all hate him. No, seriously, this guy is awful. We’re going to fire him the first of the year for a younger, hotter intern. Don’t let him know though, we wouldn’t want to spoil his Christmas. -OH

It’s odd the things that stick with me, Monkey Keys. I recall, vividly, being chased by a teenager on a ride on lawnmower through a church forest when I was eight. I remember designing a board game with a good friend that involved chicken knights and moose warriors getting cybernetic enhancements (patent still pending). Today I remember something a good English teacher taught me my sophomore year of college about writing emotion.

Emotion, she taught, should never have to be spelled out for the reader. Saying something akin to “Billy was happy” is the writer’s equivalent of a laugh track. It’s weak, and someone in the audience invariably comments on how horribly contrived the weakness’s setup was. A reader shouldn’t need to be told how a person is feeling. The emotion is self evident in the person’s actions, words and the surrounding situation. If done correctly, the reader is the one who walks away feeling exactly what the character feels.

We were tasked with demonstrating the concept in an exercise. My own example is lost to the recesses of my brain. One can imagine how compelling it must have been with an impact like that. A girl in my class, however, wrote something I did not forget. It was a brief story. Even so, I’ll fail to do it justice.

An elderly woman is being thrown a birthday party by her family. Her children and their children are playing and talking amongst themselves. The apartment is soiled with dollar-store streamers and confetti. She sits, alone, at a card table with a cardboard party cone perched atop her curled white hair. A grocery store, sugar-free cake sits with a single candle to her front. Someone mentions it’s time to sing the song and open the gifts. Perhaps it was one of her daughters’ husbands?

A CD of a band she doesn’t know; no CD player to play it in anyway. A gift certificate to a restaurant in the city. Maybe she can eat there if she visits. The children eat cake first and return to their games. She gingerly picks up a knife.

“Let me help you with that, Mom.” A small, lopsided, piece is presented to her on a paper plate covered in cartoon balloons. She picks some up with a plastic fork, but halfway to her mouth it drops in her lap. She’s looking at it in silence. Her daughter has answered a phone call and laughs to the voice on the other side.

“Look at the time! We have to get going. It was good to see you again mom.” The procession exists slightly faster than it entered. Alone, she picks the crumbs from her lap. They don’t taste right. She looks through welting eyes at the discarded cordless phone tossed amongst some streamers. It’s too far away to pick up. No one would answer anyway. There’s probably next year.

Happy December, Monkey Keys. Your warlord Dylan Marino here to spread some holiday cheer.

“You mean Christmas cheer, Dylan.” Thank you, Corrections Key. I too hate that holiday bupkis. Call out whatever holiday you’re actually celebrating, and steal the kidney of whoever takes offense. This IS the season of giving after all. Someone with end-stage renal disease will thank you.

We’re coming into then end of 2008, and I can honestly say I’ve tried everything I wanted to this year. Well, no I didn’t go skydiving. If any Keys are interested, please e-mail me and we’ll make it an ’09 initiative. I managed to mess up most of what I tried in an assortment of hilarity. (In hindsight, perhaps it’s best I didn’t attempt skydiving this year…) It was one of those years where I would not have been surprised if Ed Harris revealed my life was a TV show, and we were getting sweet ratings. Which reminds me, Ed, if you’re in charge here I’d better be getting back pay for seasons 1-24.

Despite the “Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride” effect this year has had though, I feel very satisfied. Nothing is the way I imagined it, but at least I went there. I think with every stupid chance comes a certain level of respect for oneself. You wake up the next day in your bed and realize you battled a T-1000 the night before. Yeah, without Arnold it was a slaughter, but still! When you grabbed that shotty off the table and hit him in the face, you won over the admiration of bloodthirsty six-year-olds nationwide. The patron saint of satire, Mark Twain, once said, “Why do you sit there looking like an envelope without any address on it?” I’ll let you Keys figure out how that applies since I’m much too lazy. It’s been a crazy year, ok?

I’d like to remind the neigh-sayers of something though; remember Keys, no matter how down you get, it could always be a crap-ton worse. You COULD be the overweight mother of 7 in the Scooby-Doo muu muu being busted on COPS for distribution of heroin to minors. Yeah, go on and thank you lucky stars. Stop thinking about the Mark Twain thing while you’re at it.

So as we go into 2009, keep trying everything you think you shouldn’t. Brains are fairly stupid as a general rule. If you find yourself kicking an idea around for longer than a week, it deserves some respect. It may not come to fruition, but it most certainly won’t if you rest on your laurels.

That was my preachy bit for the night. I would like to reiterate before we leave though that it is currently the 11th of December. If you’re Christian, or a capitalist American, that means Christmas is 14 days away. Don’t expect a post on the 26th, and start getting wicked pumped if for some reason you’re not.

Warlord over and out.

Self sufficiency is the keystone of narcissism, Monkey Keys. People who become too reliant on themselves start to come to the rationalization they don’t need anyone else. Perhaps there is an air of truth to the idea. Once you’ve conquered feeding, clothing and sheltering yourself, what good is another survivor? They’re just going to tap into your key resources causing you to work even harder for the same end. Heaven forbid they aren’t a good shot. Then, when the zombies finally do break through your carefully planned fortifications, they’ll be wasting bullets as well. As you’re both being torn asunder by the ravenous jaws of the undead, I can guarantee you the thought of having gone it alone will sound appealing.

“Zombies are make-believe Dylan.” You will be sadly mistaken one day, Unpreparedness Key. A year ago, the thought of making it on my own was frightening and unprecedented to me. I was unable to fold laundry in a way that that didn’t make me look homeless. I never cleaned a room in the house. Sometimes my shoulder made a weird popping sound, and I had no idea why. Food was often a hodgepodge of ketchup, bread and ramen noodles. (Ok, in hindsight the last statement is still true.)

As time passed, and I went through an awesome montage scene, I got better. I learned the intricacies of life and found better ways to do things. It wasn’t long before I was confident in myself. On my own, I could get through anything life threw. I learned not to make a molehill out of an atom-bomb, and I knew that I would always figure something out. I was the highlander, and any who opposed me would greet my katana with wide-eyed horror before the end. Perhaps that’s why everything started to taste so sour.

The fact of it was, I had become complacent with life. I found a way to make it work. I mistook wandering my neighborhood for traveling the world. When I finally got free of the Matrix, I realized a year of my life had crept by in the span of a girl’s wink. Then I realized I couldn’t have freed myself. I had needed someone else after all.

I believe if you’re not scared every day you aren’t living life right. There should always be a horde of zombies to fight through. If you’re able to fend them off yourself, it’s time to kick the barricade down and make a run for the chopper. You’ll find Keys to help you along the way. They won’t all be good shots, but they may be able to read the Russian on the Ural you try to hotwire. As you’re being airlifted from the infested city you called a home, one will be flying and one will be holding you up. Suddenly, being a good shot won’t be necessary anymore. You’ll all land together in the beautiful countryside. The greatest thing happens when you realize all you’re doing is tapping into their key resources, and causing them to work even harder for the same end. You’re holding them back, and they don’t care.

I’m not out yet, Monkey Keys. I’m making a run for it though, and I want to say thank you. Thank you for waking me up, for covering my escape and for inevitably being there when I land. Thank you, because I can’t do this on my own, and I’ll do my best to repay the favor.

Good morning Monkey Keys. I just had a dream that was so cool, and so vivid, I’m devoting a post to it rather that putting it in the log. Opening scene; mild mannered Dylan Marino living in New York City.

I was on my way to work at a new IT job I had acquired in NYC. My view panned down from a pink morning sky to me in the back of a cab. I was busily studying a book of Unix commands as we rolled through the crowded streets. We make it to my building at length. Externally, it’s a behemoth of a skyscraper. It’s an older model though, one of those mostly red brick-ish ones that is more representative of housing than a business. Soon, I’m at my desk talking to the new boss. I can’t remember what exactly he’s talking about, because it’s interrupted fairly quickly by Will Smith crashing through the window to my right. This is Will Smith super hero edition as his character Hancock, only competent and sober. An odd crab monster had thrown will into my office. I hardly had time to look up before, in mid tumble, his hand grabbed my shoulder, and the two of us went careening out what I would guesstimate to be the elevendy billionth story of the building.

At breakneck speeds, Will shot off straight into the air. I was handling it fairly well, and only screaming bloody murder a little. That was until I realised I was being carried by Will Smith (who I did, in fact, refer to as will smith for the duration of the dream.)

“Holy crap, Will Smith!” I shouted as we hit the upper ionosphere.

“Yep, it’s me,” He responded with a sigh. “Sorry I had to drag you into this, but my hand slipped”

“Well,” I shouted as we started dive bombing the earth again, “I’m pretty ok with it as long as you don’t spike me into the ground.” The earth was approaching horrifyingly quickly, and suddenly I saw the lobster creature pop into view.

“One sec…” Will said as he raised his arm behind his head. With one thunderous punch, the lobster was sent flying out to sea. We floated momentarily in the air. “Well,” Will said, “I suppose I should get you back to work.” At this point, I believe a man has one of two choices to make.

A: Go back to work and live a life of meaningless mediocrity; more than likely culminating in a midlife crisis at 45. Turning to booze, women and fast cars; spending your life savings on a casino pyramid scheme in Reno, Nevada. Ending up a penniless drunk on a park bench. Being waken up by kindly officer McDonald; only his tone is anything but kindly this time. This time, he’s taking you in, because he’s had enough of seeing your drunken arse on the curb stink’in up the flow’ers. His job ain’t the bloomin’ janitor o’ the city. Getting out of jail to realize everything started going wrong the second you didn’t become a superhero.

B: Become a superhero.

“Will,” I said, “Nuts to that. Let’s head back to my pad and chill a bit.” How or why he took the bait, I’ll never know. The next scene, however, was the two of us in my decisively straight apartment. (I use “straight” to describe the shape of my apartment, not the sexual orientation of its layout. However, the apartment was very straight in its sexuality as well. Will and I were just sharing some laughs, so don’t get any bad ideas Dirty Thoughts Key.) For whatever reason my apartment was something in the order of 5′ X 37′. All my furniture was against one wall, and a small kitchen, paintings and my TV were against the other.

I don’t rightly recall what Will and I were talking about. After a while though, it came up that Will was sick of being a superhero.

“Well, I would love to be a superhero!” I excitedly remarked.

“Nah, you don’t really, Dylan. I mean, it’s always some giant lobster trying to eat your skull, or a galactic hornet swarm all stinging up in your face.”

“…and the admiration of the entire world when you’re done!” I chimed in.

“I’m not saying it isn’t nice at times. You know what though? Maybe you can see for yourself. I can give you half of my power, and we can go around together for a bit.” I needed no second invitation. Will held his hands out and transferred some power to me. No sooner was this done than some weird ape looking beast slapped through my window.

“Ugule gron gurgle,” says the ape.

“Oh Crap!” says the Dylan.

“Figures…” says the Will. The monster proceeded to hurl a sofa at my face. My girly shriek wasn’t enough to stop it, but apparently my left arm was. When I opened my eyes again, I was holding the sofa in the air with one hand.

“Uh Uh Groblemogu!” Yelled the ape. It jumped straight at me, but Will caught it in mid air and fell through the wall. The two of them rolled right into an elevator shaft and plummeted downward. I did what anyone with superpowers would do. I jumped in after.

With a series of quick little wall kicks, I descended the elevator shaft. At the bottom where there should have been a floor, I found another gaping hole. In that were Will and the beast. The beast was slightly more dead than I had remembered it. So were the subway tracks the pair had fallen through.

“Will, the tracks…” I managed to get out before we both heard a train coming.

“Put these on,” Will said as he threw me a pair of roller skates. The tracks were elevated off the ground by about five feet. Beneath them was another set of tracks. (It’s an odd setup for a subway, but it’s my dream so just deal.) The pair’s crash had caused a hole nearly 25 feet long in the track. “Ok, follow me.”

The two of us skated toward the train on the service tracks below. “Dylan,” Will said as he skidded to a halt. “I’ll go first. Now when the train comes, I’ll grab hold of the front and carry it over the hole. You have to grab the back. Got it?” The train was about 13 seconds away. What choice did I have? I got it.

I crouched at the ready as Will grabbed the roaring engine flying overhead. He went tearing down the track with it right to the chasm. I winced as the weight of the train hit his arms, but without so much as a dip, he carried the thing to the other side and let go. Then, it was my turn.

The end of the train came thundering toward me. With a deep breath, I threw my arms up and grabbed the thing. My hands dug into the metal, and I was off. The wind was biting my face as the train and I rocketed toward what should have been doom for us both. I braced for the sudden weight of the train. Even with my super strength, the thing was heavy. I felt my body sink a few inches. Not good enough. A few inches would cause the back of the train to tear into the tracks and derail the whole thing. Mustering a second wind, I let out a howl and pushed the thing back up just as we hit the other side. I let go, and the train sailed on into the night.

Moments later, Will and I were back on the surface. “You did good back there kid,” he said with a smile. I was still catching my breath, but was happy to have earned his acceptance. “Come on, I want to show you something.” Will took flight, and I instinctively followed.

Flying over NYC was simply awesome. It was dusk now, and as we went higher and higher the meandering traffic below became a blur. We flew out over the bay, past some aging industrial sights. At length, we came to a tremendously tall building. We flew a few feet from its exterior wall and went straight up. Higher and higher we went, until I looked down and actually became scared. I couldn’t see anything below. If I suddenly couldn’t fly, I would die in a horrific long fall. The top of the building was only ten feet away, but I suddenly felt myself grow weak. Scared for my life, I grabbed the building side.

“Dylan, get up here!” Will called from the top.

“Well… um, I don’t think I can fly anymore!” I panted sliding back a few inches. I began breathing faster as I looked down.

“You already made it here Dylan! What makes you think you can’t fly the last ten feet?”

“I don’t know, it was just getting hard, and I realized how far there was to fall…” Will just smiled.

“Dylan, let go of the wall.” I was almost in tears, but I did as the man said. I began to fall. Ten feet into it, I snapped to attention and began to hover. I shook my head hard, and drifted to the rooftop. “See, you just have to know you can.” I sniffled once, and looked back down to where we had come from. “Besides, I would never let you fall. That is my job you know?” I let out a halfhearted chuckle.

“Will,” I said after I regained composure. “Is it scary… knowing there isn’t anyone to save you?” Will didn’t answer my question. He just stared off at the sunset. The sun was creeping behind the cityscape now. As high as we were, there were still buildings in the distance towering over us.

“This building we’re on is where I grew up.” Will said gazing off. “It was a terrible neighborhood. We were always getting robbed. Somehow, my mom and I got by. But one day…” Will trailed off. “She was killed, Dylan. After I got my powers, I realized it wasn’t about me at all. It’s all about them.” Will gestured out over the city. “I can help myself. Those people can’t.” He turned to me with a deathly serious stare. “If you’re going to do this, that’s what you have to understand. I could make you even more powerful, but I would become normal, and you would have to do this alone. You would have no one to turn to.” I stared back for a moment.

“Will… what will you do?”

“You know, I always wanted to do something in IT?” The two of us laughed. “I guess we should be getting you back to work.” With that, Will took to the skies, and I followed. I tried to fully grasp what Will was saying, but it seemed beyond me. He was beyond me. How he had gotten his powers, why he did what he did, it was all a mystery. It wasn’t important though. It was all in a past I would never be a part of.

We landed back in my office to a cornucopia of activity. Police were rushing around, and as everyone saw us float in, a great cheer went up.

“I guess you should greet your people,” Will said with a smile. “Think about what I said, and if you really want this.”

“I will…” People began rushing around me. There was only one thing for it. I started flying through the office. I looked down over flabbergasted people, many from my childhood.

“Coming through,” I said smiling. “I’m learning to fly here.” I soared out through the hole in the wall, and off into the night.