back in the day: ‘rant’ Category

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white socks

Tuesday, September 21st, 2010

Well Monkey Keys, I started my new job. If you haven’t heard, I’m like some big shot consultant now. I guess that should technically mean I know what I’m doing, but it sure does not. My first day was last Monday the 13th of September. I got to fly from my make shift hovel in Raleigh to Chicago Illinois. I packed all my big boy clothes and my laptop and took off for adventure in the amazing year nine hundred billion. I’m a true adult now!

Only I forgot black socks. I mean, for cripes sakes. How many different cloths does a guy have to remember?

1) Am I nude? Yes. Put on pants.
2) Does the term “No shirt, no shoes, no service” apply? Yes. Put on shoes and shirt.
3) Are your dress socks white? …drat.

So I’m in Raleigh at 4:30 in the AM without black socks for my first day of work at a prestigious consulting firm, and I think to myself, “You truly are retarded.” I seriously don’t know how I made it through puberty sometimes. I figure for most of my adolescence I simply wasn’t dressed up. That probably aided in my survival.

Well, no time to panic thought I. So I headed off for the airport in my finest yellow tie and white socks. You’ve got to wear a tie to your first day of work after all; it makes a good impression. I contemplated stopping at a Wal-Mart on my way to the airport, only I don’t know Raleigh at all.

You see, Monkey Keys, I actually just moved to Raleigh the very NIGHT I was to sleep for four hours and fly to my new job.

“Wait Dylan, are you seriously telling me you moved to a city and then flew out four hours later to start your first day of work?”

Yeah, that’s about the size of it, Sum Up Key.

“Seriously, what the hell is wrong with you?”

It’s probably a vitamin C deficiency, but who knows for sure. If you’ve never packed for your life before packing for a trip in the same night, I strongly suggest you do it. It is the kind of exhilaration you can normally only imagine someone with extreme vitamin C deficiency doing. The only real side effect is you may forget one of the three articles of cloths you need on your first day of work across the country.

Back to the morning. I was lost in Raleigh trying to find socks and an airport. I also conveniently forgot the “departure” time and the “boarding” time for airplanes differs. In Dylan time logic, a time of 6:40 am on an airline ticket means getting to the airport at 6:35 am leaves more than enough time to eat a sandwich, bask in some solar rays, buy new socks and make the flight. Apparently real people often try to get to the airport HOURS before departure. I know, they’re nuts right?

I’ll save you the angst of wondering if I made the flight or not and let you know I might have. I considered the clock at 5:50 am, and decided locating a store to buy socks would probably take 12 minutes. Frankly, I was too tired to devote 12 minutes to this task, so I let it be.

This is literally the only reason I didn’t go shopping at the time.

At any rate, I suppose my sleepytired brain is the smart one, because I walked up to my terminal during final boarding. Hey, any landing you can walk away from right?

The next thing I learned that day is everyone wants tips in big cities. I don’t understand this entirely, but apparently people in big cities don’t do ANYTHING themselves and instead feel it prudent to pay others small sums of money for things they didn’t want done.

A prime example of this is the shuttle bus used to get us fine North Carolinians to the car rental place. You see, the car rental places are a fortnight from the airport, so a bus comes to take you there, simple enough. Only when the bus arrives, the driver veritably leaps from the bus and makes a mad dash toward your luggage. No, he’s not trying to steal it. That’s for the best since he won’t find any socks to go with the pretty pants inside anyway. He just wants to lift the stuff into the bus. The reason being, if he helps you with the luggage, he expects a tip.

Call me old fashioned, or cheap, or poorly dressed, but I have this notion of tips being a reward for a job done better than expected. Big city jobs like bellboys, elevator operators and bathroom attendances don’t do a freaking thing. Jobs that expect tips on the basis of their existence annoy me.

I think back to my days as a sales person on the floors of Toys R Us. I was offered tips if I personally stuffed a Power Wheels Silverado in the back of a Pinto, or scoured the stockroom for a Barbie dress we didn’t have out front. You know, busting my ass because I was in a good mood. I was then instructed by corporate policy to refuse said tips. Poor Dylan. In contrast, some supreme douche that squirts soap on my hands simply because he beat me to the dispenser deserves nothing but a kick to the crotch. I suppose that’s the vitamin C deficiency talking though. Drink your OJ, Kid Keys!

Anyway, needless to say I stiffed the bus guy. I suppose karma ghost will give me a heart attack at 32 in retaliation. All is fair in socks and war. I managed to get my rental car which was a Kia Soul. This was not my picking. It was literally the last one left.

If you are currently contemplating the purchase of a Kia Soul, I would suggest you rather buy a pair of black socks. They will be infinitely handier than the Kia.

I made it to my new place of work and only got lost on campus for ten minutes or so. It was time for the moment of meeting. First impressions are everything according to the Bene Gesserit, and far be it from me to disagree. Luckily I was a #1 Stun’a in my sweet digs. My new boss found it instantly purposeful to promote me to a level in-between CEO of the company and crash test dummy. I was honored.

Shortly thereafter he laughed at my socks.

So what is the moral of this whole story? Probably nothing, but if you found some deeper meaning then more power to you. Be sure to write an English or Psychology report on it for extra credit. Now I didn’t even have time to get to how much I hate the new versions of old Windows software on my new work laptop, but I’ll let my art speak for itself. Goodnight my Monkey Keys.

Posted in my life, rant | 2 Comments »

If you had to redo elementary school now…

Thursday, July 15th, 2010

Yo, Monkey Keys. It’s the middle of summer, so for some reason I’m thinking about school. Most notably, I’m contemplating the very birth of all things school that most of us try in vein to blot out of our memories forever just because we weren’t picked first for foursquare.

I think our pampered little adult brains take elementary school for granted. How many times have you heard parents utter phrases like, “Oh, they don’t know how easy they have it now,” and “Wait until they have to handle the real world” to their little tykes in training after they have a hard day of math? Well I’ve got news for the so called “professionals” of this country; you’d handle it much worse.

Imagine having to be in your seat when a bell rings. Screw your baby fed meanderings about the coffee pot. There’s a bell, and your butt is sat down when it rings. Your Pavlovian response sure as hell better be set to learn when it goes off. The boss will immediately order the removal of one of the 30 books you were forced to carry home the night before. All the IcyHot patches in the world wouldn’t stop your arthritic back from spasming against the cold plastic chair after that one.

Yes, PLASTIC! No, you can not complain to maintenance your thousand dollar, ergonomically correct, cheek-cushion polymer laced butt hammock is slightly too low. You’re getting a one size fits every fat kid plastic hand me down that is likely CONNECTED to your desk. Oh, and if the earsplitting sound of those desks scraping on the ground gets to be unbearable for you, you can defile some tennis balls and stick them on the ends of the chair in your free time.

Look, it’s time for math. The boss just told you to flip to some page in the book, but you, for some mythical reason, are the ONLY person in the class that didn’t even glean a single number from the page you’re now suppose to be reading over. Boss is going to ask questions about it in 30 seconds. You’re panicking already aren’t you?

It would have been perfectly acceptable to ask what the page number was had you only done it before the deafening silence of 30 heads reading set in. Admitting you were lost now would only serve to admit your guilt of not listening and wasting the last 20 seconds. The most logical choice is to look frantically at every one of your neighbor’s books and try to see what page they’re on. You’ll probably only be able to see some big picture of a pie chart though, so during the remainder of your reading time you’ll just hopelessly flip through the 500 page behemoth praying to find it.

Then you don’t, time’s up and the boss calls on you in front of 30 of your closest colleagues. I have a knot in my belly just thinking about it! When is the last time you had to stand up in a meeting of 30 people at work and admit to them and your boss you didn’t have the slightest clue what was going on? If the above happened in a freakishly easy grownup work meeting, you wouldn’t run the risk of getting called on, and you could go right back to playing minesweeper and daydreaming about being an action movie star wielding twin golden-plated Berettas.

I won’t even finish the story about getting called upon in class because I know most of you already wet your grownup pajamas in terror of it. I don’t blame you. Elementary school was probably the greatest challenge you’ve ever overcome. It’s natural to have blocked it all out. Have you blocked out gym class too?

Oh yes you sadly overweight American. There was a time you HAD to exercise. “Oh, maybe I’ll run a mile on my treadmill while watching Oprah tomorrow.” WRONG! You’ll move that sad sack of a gut this second because it’s gym class time. Not only that, you’re going to have to be picked last for the kickball team by the two guys in the class you despise the most. The one that ultimately does will do so with a great flourish of moans and discontented sighs just to let your colleagues know how deeply he disapproves of having your pointless butter feet on his finely honed team. Everyone else will laugh at you because of this.

Just try, for a second, to imagine anything close to this happening in your current cubical kingdom. Every single human around you there is so deathly afraid of being sued for sending you even a glance that isn’t warm and fuzzy that the worst you’ll get from a disapproving coworker is no invite to lunch at Dominos. Granted, if you COMPLETELY suck you’ll get fired after a few years, but this is only gym class. No one is fired in gym class.

The initial humiliation of being picked last is just that. Next you have to deal with losing the game for half of your colleagues. The enemy team captain will be pitching the rubber ball of death toward you because the hugest jackass is always the pitcher. Most likely he’ll say something snide before he does so too, like “Everyone move it! Bad kicker afoot!”

“Afoot? You really think a 4th grade vocab would go with that?”

Hey, it’s MY story, Factual Error Key. So the pitcher rolls the ball your way and you summon every ounce of courage to charge it and kick. It’s amazing how good that stupid team captain is though, and somehow he knew exactly where it was going. He catches the ball for out one, and then pegs two teammates for a triple. His whole team cheers, your whole team boos, and your team captain pegs you in the face with the kickball so hard you fall over. The gym teacher doesn’t notice though because he’s been flirting with your boss the whole time.

Don’t cry though soldier. You still have so much of the day left. Lunch is coming up, and you have the awesome choice between a warm sandwich that’s been fermenting in your desk for four hours and cafeteria surprise that’s been fermenting in the high school basement for four years. I’d pick the former because you’ll probably get a CapriSun or a Jellooze to quaff. That is, as long as the school board doesn’t crack the whip down on this ONE vestige of freedom you get all freaking day!

Did I mention the lunch room/gym always smells like rotting eggs? I have no clue why. Well, I could go on but all this talk about food is making me peckish.

“Wow, Dylan. Your childhood must have been horrific with such stories of survival. How did you ever make it through?”

Oh, you misunderstand me, Reporter Key. I was going over YOUR childhood. Mine was fine. I was the jackass team captain. Ahh, the good old days…

Picked Last

Posted in rant | 2 Comments »

going that extra mile sucks

Thursday, April 22nd, 2010

Welcome to the migrated site, Monkey Keys!  You’ll probably note it looks very similar to the old site. This was intentionally done because I am lazy. I plan on making some big updates to the layout in order to stay extra super competitive, but I’ll worry about that when my motivation goes from super to super duper (Sargent Savage GI Joe style).

I could start gushing about how awesome it is to have my own domain and whatnot, but who cares.  Instead, I want to focus on my near total inability to do one step in any random activity. This step I have lovingly named the “cinchpin” step.

Most any undertaking has a series of steps to get it done. For instance, making a new LEGO King’s Castle Siege (set 7094) generally involves:

1) Finding a sharp object to cut the invulnerable, Kevlar and titanium laced bags the pieces come in.

2) Dumping everything into an indiscernible pile on the carpet.

3) Finding all the parts to the castle guards and the dragons and building them first.

4) Play “whoops, I sporked the dragon” with the brave knight guy wielding the proportionately improbable, one-handed battle axe for three hours.

5) Give up on building the set and leave the pieces unfortunately close to the bottom of the stairs so your mother can step in them and fully understand the meaning of LEGO’s acronym “Lethal Edged Gouging Object.”

Now, you’re probably thinking the same thing I am.  These are some pretty simple steps.  Why would you go an omit one?

Well, therein lies the glory of the cinchpin step.  This step is generally found very early on in the order of operations, is surprisingly easy to accomplish, and is quite necessary to finish the activity.  However, it also almost always requires moving physically or undoing a step that is already finished. In my above example, the cinchpin is finding the sharp object. Invariably, if given the task to build the LEGO, I would sit down with my box and remove the individual bags of pieces.  At this point I would be sitting down, and thus, my butt is committed. The knives are normally in the kitchen, and that is nearly ten feet away. That’s where my brain thinks the fatal thought, “Do I really need a knife to open these bags?  Isn’t that what teeth, nails and screaming are for?”

So I attempt to open the bags.  I don’t, of course, because those things are absurd.  I think they’re chemically altered to survive the lethal edges of the pieces contained within. After about 20 minutes of tooth decay on the side of the bags, I suddenly feel stupid for not having just gotten the knife.  It would have taken one of those 20 minutes, and then I would be done in a heartbeat.  Generally this realization does nothing but aggravate the problem. In realizing my wasted time, I suddenly have to prove my method can, and will, work. This leads to several chipped teeth, claw-marks in the wall, and a blacklisting for all future LEGO products.

Just yesterday I experienced two such cinchpin situations.  One was just prior to my beddy-bye.  I wanted to put my iPod on sleep mode and listen to some lullabies. However, I had already turned the light off and could not actually see the iPod dock.  Cinchpin step one would have been to drag myself out of bed and shed some light on the situation. Dylan step one ended up being a mad fumble in the dark with the iPod for the little raised docking node. I managed to nearly knock over a lamp and scratch my hand significantly on the bed-stand before getting the thing docked two minutes later.

Then while moving this very blog I had another cinchpin moment. One step required ftp-ing a bunch of wordpress files to my server. Instead of taking the two seconds to install an ftp service and properly configure it with my hosting provider, I decided to upload every file individually. “How many can there possibly be?” thought I.  Apparently a lot.

So why leave the cinchpin out? I think it has something to do with our preconceived notion of what a task requires. At a certain point, we believe all our ducks are in a row and it is time to start. When something requires extra effort that wasn’t counted on, and we think that extra effort isn’t needed, the step is omitted. The longer it is omitted, the more we’re committed to the initial plan.

I’d like to say I plan on doing my cinchpins from now on, but honestly, now that I’ve named them, I’m more annoyed than ever at the things. I mean, who are they to dictate weather or not I can build my freaking LEGO? Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some wasp nests to remove of.

Posted in lesson lesson, rant | 1 Comment »

tech bites (pt. 3)

Sunday, February 7th, 2010

It’s amazing how awful you can feel after four hours of sleep, Monkey Keys. Sure my PC was still in pieces all over the drawing room floor, but that didn’t stop me from finishing game night. The loaner PC I had been forced to use only served as a reminder of how imperative it was that I revive my poor lost computer.

January 26, 2010: Hour 44

The workday was a miserable mess. My discombobulated head floated about the office searching for a mental pillow. My failure was nibbling behind my ear with too much incisor to be considered pleasant. The boot disk, the last vestige of hope I had for detonating this insipid house, had failed. It seemed I would be forced to format the entire drive and lose everything.

“Never.”

Excuse me?

“Come on, Dylan old buddy. This is YOU you’re talking about. Never say die, fight to the end, something something cliché! Are you seriously going to let a little house in the middle of the highway stop you from saving all your stuff?”

But I’ve tried everything, Motivation Key.

“Did Winston Churchill say he had tried everything when Reagan told him of the Death Star? Never. When the Spanish told him the earth was flat, did Isaac Newton gravitate to the bar? Never. Did Brittany Spears stop singing when she got fat? Did dinosaurs stop scaring after meteor-ed flat? Did Lou Gehrig stop playing because he corked his bat?”

Never!

“You can say that again. Now go out there and DESTROY HUGEPOS!”

I will, and thank you, Motivational Key!

January 27, 2010: Hour 78

As motivated as I was, there was nothing I could do until Wednesday. Work and life kept me from even attempting to dislodge HUGEPOS. This was probably for the better as HUGEPOS and Fred were still honeymooning, and no one wants to see that.

I went back to the drawing board. Why were these commands not working? There must be a REASON HUGEPOS was blinking repeatedly at me with the brain damaged look of its own offspring conceived with Fred.

I recalled reading earlier about how my hard drives were too newfangled for HUGEPOS to understand them. Several folks had said there was an update for HUGEPOS so it could learn how to read my hard drives. Perhaps, if I could upgrade HUGEPOS, I could then make another wrecking ball disk and blast the house in the middle of the highway to pieces.

January 27, 2010: Hour 79

Upgrading most software requires simply downloading a small patch. It normally takes about 30 seconds. If you’re updating a HUGEPOS (Norton, Windows, Steam, etc.) you are forced to use a BIGGER POS proprietary update utility. This inevitably will get lost on its search through the internet, and won’t find a thing. It was therefore no surprise at all when I clicked the HUGEPOS update button and…

“It blinked repeatedly at you with the brain damaged look of the paint huffing inventor of Symantec Update?” You guessed it, Quick to Quip Key. Norton’s website had a link to download an updated uninstall tool as well. Clicking on this resulted in… well… I’m sure you can guess.

If I was going to update HUGEPOS, I’d have to find the update files on some random blog or forum.

January 27, 2010: Hour 80

It was starting to look like a hopeless pursuit. I scoured forum after forum only to find dead links that had been abandoned years ago. HUGEPOS was nearly lost to the annals of forgettable software. People had moved on. There were newer, even more worthless Norton products to vent about. My little house problem had been forgotten. Then I found the most beautiful blog I’ve ever seen. It didn’t have a flashy background, and it had no pretty banner. My salvation came in the form of a white background with black Chinese text simply called Gary’s Glog.

I don’t know who Gary is, but I would like to shake his hand. He had the two files I needed to update HUGEPOS when nobody else did. I am not fluent in Chinese, but I have to assume his blog entry on that day in 2008 read something similar to the following:

I’ve finally fixed GIANTTURD! I had to update it first, which proved to be a nearly impossible task. If anyone two years from now falls victim to this same insidious trap, there’s no WAY they’re going to find these two files. I am therefore going to post them on my blog, and ensure they stay there until the end of time to help pay it forward.

Heed my warning people of the internet; do NOT under ANY circumstances install GIANTTURD. If you can’t read Chinese, go find someone to translate this page for you before doing anything that would build an obnoxious sandcastle on the beach between you and the surf. Good luck, and may the force be with you.

- Gary

If only I had followed Gary’s advice, all of this could have been avoided. I installed the two updates without a problem in less than a minute. I then made my wrecking ball floppy disk with my borrowed USB floppy drive.

I gingerly plugged the floppy to my battered PC. This was my last chance. If this disk failed, my PC would be doomed. I took a deep breath, and powered the machine on.

It blinked… once. Then I could see the house in the middle of the highway before me. HUGEPOS smiled in the window. That happiness suddenly turned to fear. It turned to terror. I was in the middle of the highway in an M1 Abrams tank. I was grinning ear to ear.

HUGEPOS screamed and ran to the kitchen.

“Fred, Dylan’s found a way in! He’s going to kill us all!” Fred’s vision darted to the front window and my incoming armor.

“Quick, darling. head out the back! I’ll hold off this loser!” HUGEPOS kissed Fred, and ran for the back door. Fred grabbed his M72 LAW and kicked down the front door. “Hey pig! You think you can get through this house? Smoke you!” He loosed his rocket, but my depleted uranium armor easily deflected it. His cheap plastic computer case, on the other hand, did not offer him the same protection from my tank. A moment later, there was a crater where Fred once stood.

HUGEPOS ran out the back.

“Hey, Dylan!” she called over the house. “It looks like I’m gonna make it away! I’m gonna spread this same terror to the next unsuspecting sap, and there ain’t a thing you can do!”

“Maybe not, but I can.” HUGEPOS whirled around in time to see Gary’s menacing glare. His jian was raised high above his head in killing position. “I couldn’t kill you two years ago, but you’re not getting away this time!”

“Gary, NO!” HUGEPOS screamed. The protest was a short one. A moment later, HUGEPOS fell lifeless to the ground.

Gary sprang atop my tank and turned to me with a smile.

“I guess this is it,” He said looking back to the little house in the middle of the highway.

“It sure is…” I fired one high explosive round from the tank’s cannon. The little house shattered into flaming splinters that showered the air like stars on a clear night. As the smoke and debris dissipated, I could see ahead of me. The path was clear. My stuff was safe.

My PC booted into Windows for the first time in four days. It was over.

January 27, 2010: Epilogue

I don’t think I’ve ever uninstalled software that quickly after booting, Monkey Keys. I made sure every last shred of HUGEPOS was properly purged. Never again will a Norton product grace my hard drive. One 30 second Google later and I found five more free programs that would do the exact same thing. These were all made within the last few years.

“There’s one thing that still bother’s me, Dylan.” What’s that, Scooby Key?

“Couldn’t you have just booted with a Windows CD and done a system restore?” I blinked repeatedly at the Monkey Key…

Posted in rant, saga | 3 Comments »

tech bites (pt. 2)

Friday, January 29th, 2010

It’s amazing how great you can feel after ten hours of sleep, Monkey Keys. Sure my PC was in pieces all over the drawing room floor, but I was sleep privileged. Better yet, soon I’d be at work where my colleagues could undoubtedly find me a disk.

January 25, 2010: Hour 21

I was able to procure several floppies, and I announced I would be leaving at lunch to further troubleshoot. The clock was ticking. That very night I had a scheduled Team Fortress Two event with many of these same co-workers. My very reputation as a techie was at stake. I felt confident though. After all, I had brought an ancient Fintstone era PC back from the brink of death the night before. Surely the destruction of this stupid little house in the middle of the highway would be child’s play in comparison.

“You should be careful, Dylan. Arrogance breads bad karma.” Your FACE breads bad karma, Mystic Key.

January 25, 2010: Hour 25

Ancient tech in hand, I approached Fred. Surgical equipment lay strewn about the operation site from the night before. He still booted fine, and I was even able to install HUGEPOS on him with no incident.

See, I told you this would be easy.

“Karma…”

I popped disk one into the drive and went to format it. For the non techs, this is a way of writing an instruction manual on a new disk for the computer to read. Computers are like trained monkeys sans the fez. As such, they have no clue what to do when given something fresh out of a store wrapper. They generally try to eat it. So I was explaining to Fred the disk would need to hold a wrecking ball capable of destroying a little house in the middle of the highway between me and my stuff.

I very gently tapped Fred on his shoulder twice and tried to tell this to him. He blinked repeatedly at me with the brain damaged look of the majority share holder at Norton.

“Oooooo, sounds kinda like…” You shut your font, Taunt Key!

January 25, 2010: Hour 26

I’m sure I was audible by aliens thus far unreached by the SETI project when I screamed in Fred’s face. I set about the usual vein troubleshooting. Maybe a different disk would work? Do I just need to reseat the drive? Are my BIOS settings correct? Is there something wrong with the floppy drivers?

Fred laughed at each of my ideas to find any rational explanation behind his sudden inability to do the one basic function I needed. Out of desperation, I tried running HUGEPOS to put the wrecking ball on an unformatted disk. HUGEPOS joined in Fred’s laughter. Then Fred asked HUGEPOS on a date, and HUGEPOS agreed.

The two decided the movies were rather cliché for their first time out, so instead they went to the park. It was cold, of course. The deep freeze didn’t matter though. Whenever HUGEPOS gazed longingly into Fred’s eyes, there was magic.

The two had a lovely dinner at a small, family owned Italian place. Fred had the lasagna since it was the only thing on the menu he could actually pronounce. HUGEPOS called him out on this, and the two started laughing. It was at that moment that Fred wondered if he was in love.

It was only the first date, but they had so much in common. They were nearly the same age. They both hated doing their job. They both loved blinking repeatedly at me with the brain damaged look of any woman who would willingly marry anyone on the HUGEPOS staff.

Fred was taking a huge risk here, but he had to say something. He swallowed a bit of sourdough bread, and boldly cleared his throat. HUGEPOS looked up in anticipation.

“Windows was unable to complete the format.”

I took out my José Canseco bat and swung with the force of a thousand suns into the side of Fred. Bits of motherboard and case showered the room in a techno glitter. He coughed out a blue screen once, and then there was silence.

January 25, 2010: Hour 28

“You KILLED Fred!?” Alright, relax, Humanitarian Key. I was only imagining. In reality I gave up and wrote part one of this story. The only thing I hadn’t tried was using an entirely different floppy drive, and there was no way I’d find anyone with that. I was doomed.

Or was I?

In the midst of writing part one, I received a text from one of the Team Fortress Keys. He had a USB floppy drive I could try! I was running out of time, but told him I would stop by his house when he got home to pick it up. If this didn’t work, I would be forced to play on his old PC and suffer the humiliation.

January 25, 2010: Hour 30

With an hour to go, and a new floppy drive in my hands, I powered up my laptop. This was going to work. A few clicks later, and my laptop was formatting a floppy disk. I gave Fred a quick kick for good measure. He had it coming… karma.

HUGEPOS even cooperated by properly making its wrecking ball. I was elated. All I needed to do was plug the USB floppy drive into my new PC and run the boot disk. I’d make Team Fortress 2. I’d be a hero!

I raced to my PC and virtually slammed the drive in the back. That little house was going to get it now. I was going to atom smash it into oblivion forever. The machine booted into the disk. I selected the wrecking ball. Adios house! I hit enter.

It blinked repeatedly at me with the brain damaged look of the tattered remnants of my sanity. The house remained, and I’m fairly confident HUGEPOS and Fred were celebrating their honeymoon inside.

I could have dropkicked the monitor I suppose. I did the next best thing. I went to my friend’s house to play on his old PC. Mine remained dead, and I had failed.

Posted in rant, saga | 1 Comment »

tech bites (pt. 1)

Monday, January 25th, 2010

What an awesome play on words to start off the new year, Monkey Keys! It has been nearly forever, and I have no one to blame but myself. You have my solemn promise, though, that I shall always update eventually, because I love you. Like all emotionally abusive relationships where you keep crawling back for more, I will continue to give you just enough assurance where you’ll stay with me instead of going to the twice as attractive, better listening blog about floral arrangements. Eat THAT FloralCraftResource.com.

“That was beautiful, Dylan.” Thanks, Fatty Key. You should go on a diet.

“I… ok…” So, where was I? For those Keys who aren’t aware, in reality I am a computer guy. I know, I don’t get it either. I spend all my working hours trying to get stupid combinations of 1’s and 0’s to talk to each other in some language other than projectile vomit. This normally requires quite a few cuss words and objects capable of taking a tumultuous thrashing.

Suffice it to say, by the time my weekend rolls around I am plagued and comatose of working with machines. That is precisely why my latest endeavor with my personal PC was so flipping annoying. I remember it as if it were yesterday…

January 24, 2010: Hour 0

It all started as I was setting up my PC from a recent LAN party. I had purchased a new hard drive several weeks prior because of an ominous clicking noise my computer had taken to emitting. I feared the hard drive may soon crash. (For the non-tech reader, this means I lose all my photos and e-mails. Yes that can happen, and no I will not back up your files.) Because I was being extra proactive, I purchased this new hard drive with the intent of moving all my files to it. Thus, all my precious stuff would be safe from the failing hardware.

Since I was extra motivated that day, I decided to go forward with the copy. I spent several minutes searching online for the best tool to clone one’s hard drive for free. My search landed me on an older Norton product, Ghost 2003 (henceforth known as ‘Highly Unreliable Gamble Effectively Purged Own System’ or HUGEPOS).

HUGEPOS is relatively straightforward. You’re asked to select a source and a destination hard drive. Then you click a little clone button, and the software reboots and copies one drive to another. In theory.

In really, HUGEPOS does the exact opposite of what it is supposed to do and DESIMATES both hard drives. Here’s how it goes down in non-computer terms.

HUGEPOS rebooted my computer and then made itself a house. This house is right in the middle of the highway between me and my stuff. Because this house is there, I can’t get to any of my stuff without first bulldozing through the house. The house is suppose to go away as soon as my stuff is all nice and copied. The problem here is my stuff did not copy because HUGEPOS is a huge POS.

My stuff did not copy because HUGEPOS was too old and did not understand what my newfangled hard drive was. So, instead of copying my hard drive, or moving its stupid house off the road, it blinked at me with the brain damaged look of a computer programmer who I hit repeatedly with a bat for inventing HUGEPOS.

January 24, 2010: Hour 1

At first I didn’t realized the massive trouble I was in. Oh sure, HUGEPOS didn’t actually do its job, but I was unaware of this whole “house in the road” situation. So I did what any good techie would do and rebooted my computer again. Instead of booting to Windows like a good PC, I was presented with the black and white letters of HUGEPOS asking to try the copy again. I told it no. It blinked repeatedly at me with the brain damaged look of the project leader who oversaw the creation of HUGEPOS.

No matter, thought I. I’ll simply reboot again and quit out of HUGEPOS before it starts. This proved impossible. Now I was nervous.

I sprang into action on my spare laptop and Googled the issue. I found many people had this issue with HUGEPOS. Apparently it was common for Norton products in general to be huge worthless pos’s. There was a solution; According to Norton themselves, if I broke into a window on this house in the middle of the highway, I could sneak through a back door and get to my stuff.

So, I broke into the window and snuck into the house. Inside, there was a startling sight; I saw HUGEPOS blinking repeatedly with the brain damaged look of the marketing executive who thought a picture of a PC’s ghost should inspire confidence in the product not killing your PC.

January 24, 2010: Hour 3

Now things were getting desperate. This ridiculous house in the middle of the highway was NOT moving. I had tried every way of bypassing it with the computer alone. The next step, according to dedicated forum crawlers, was to use a boot disk. Yes, that’s right, a floppy disk. You know, one of those things that no computer or laptop has had a drive for since 1999. They’re small, square, and vaguely resemble something I want to heave across the room. Apparently, if I made this disk it would act like a wrecking ball against this stupid house in the middle of the highway between me and my stuff. There was a problem though.

I had no floppy drive on my PC. So I tried to make a boot CD instead. To do this at all, I had to install HUGEPOS on my laptop.

January 24, 2010: Hour 5

After finally getting a working version of HUGEPOS downloaded and installed again, I entered the boot disk utility. This had an option to make a bootable CD. Hallelujah! I set to work making one right away …only… what is this? It asks me to insert a floppy disk. Well that did confuse me since I was under the impression we were making CDs here.

I checked online.

“Oh yes,” says the forums. “The option to make a bootable CD requires a floppy.” I stared at the laptop screen, blinking repeatedly with the brain damaged look of someone who just read “The option to create a bootable CD requires a floppy.”

January 24, 2010: Hour 6

It had become apparent to me I NEEDED a floppy drive to make this boot disk to get rid of this stupid house in the middle of the highway between me and my stuff. I had one option; on my old PC that had been mostly dead for years sat a neglected floppy drive. I could not hook this up to my laptop, since laptops and PC components are racist against one another. I could not hook this to my poor disheveled PC since I was unable to boot into Windows to make the disk. My only option was to resurrect my old PC. I had to bring my old PC back to life in order to make a wrecking ball boot disk to destroy the stupid house sitting in the middle of the highway between me and my stuff.

I hit the power button on my old PC. It did not turn on.

January 24, 2010: Hour 9

It’s funny how angry you can get at inanimate things when they seem to be “winning.” Here I was nine hours into my repair efforts (which, I will remind you, were all started by trying to PREVENT this type of thing from happening) and nothing was working. My new PC, my old PC and my laptop all seemed to be laughing at me and pointing their twisted RAM in my direction.

“HAHAHAHAHA, U c@n’ts f1x d3m Pr0b13mZ!!! ZOMG L0LZZZZZZZZZ!”

Shut up, PC. I made you what you are, and I can destroy you.

“NOPE! Iz @11r3dy the DEAD!”

The blasted thing was right. It was right until I finally isolated the last problem, and the old girl sprang to life. I had brought my old PC back online! Now I just needed to install HUGEPOS for a THIRD time and make a boot disk!

Disk… that’s when it dawned on me. I had no disks.

I could have cried I suppose. I did the next best thing. At 9:00 PM eastern standard time, I went to sleep.

Posted in rant, saga | 3 Comments »

this gentleman is so rude

Saturday, November 21st, 2009

I try to be a very courteous gentleman, Monkey Keys. I was brought up to say please and thank you, hold the door and all that jazz. I’m starting to wonder if the whole shebang isn’t counterproductive though. It’s almost as if the chivalrous niceties of the 50’s have become awkward rituals preserved by a dying breed and rejected by the new self-reliant and ever suspicious denizens of the 00’s.

Perhaps the issue lies in how old our values of courtesy really are. Modern ideas mostly stem from the middle ages when chivalry became a buzzword used in PowerPoints by entrepreneuring young capitalists. Basically, there were these dudes over in Arabia around 500 AD who were loyal and courteous knights. They did it so everyone would know how amazingly awesome they were. I mean, come on. It’s simple to be a jackass with mad skills. Mad skills generally beg to be flaunted in a most jackasstic way. But to have bo staff skills and nunchuck skills while at the same time holding the door open for ladies? That’s basically a super power.

So, these really nice Arab guys were walking around picking up all the European chicks. The European knights were all, “whaaaaat?” so they followed suit. Ironically, most of these “chivalrous” Europeans went on to slaughter the Arabs (with as much courtesy as possible) during the Crusades.

Later on, a bunch people who became rich when their parents stole things during the Crusades decided to enroll in aristocratic courts. They were taught all manner of manners such as how to properly address rampant bread famine amongst the peasant population. These manners were later written down in the Courtesy Book so every one of the three literate people of the time could learn which fork to start a meal with.

This was all well and good back in the day. Let’s take the classic door hold. A knight would ride up at full speed before a lady and dropkick the door asunder for her. This was a necessity. The lady was so puffed out due to 70 layers of corset and dress she was physically unable to open the door.

Now let’s take the same situation today. Could there be a more complicated move that yields less happiness? You saunter up to a door with someone behind. If you’re too far ahead of them and hold the door, they suddenly feel as though time has slowed to a crawl. Every agonizing nanosecond that passes, they are forcing you to expend your energy for their sake. They feel compelled to totter up at this weird half-walk half-run pace that resembles a limping jackrabbit. While they’re still a tad too far away they’ll reach out with a free arm in a vein gesture to show how committed they are to relieving you of your Atlas duty. By the time they finally grab the door, they only have energy to mutter/sigh a weak “thanks.”

What if the door opens inward? Then it’s an even bigger mess. You can hurry though ahead of the person and do a spin move to pin the door against the wall while still standing in the person’s way. Alternatively, you can try to extend an arm through the door in front of you and use mad tricep fulcrum action to pin the door open for the person. Either way, you end up looking ridiculous, and the person going through the door feels embarrassed and hurries by.

Then there are always the few people who take OFFENCE to your helping them as if by holding a door you are decreeing to the world this person is incapable of helping themselves in even the most trivial of life’s challenges. They may say nothing at all, or reply with a snooty “I’ve got it.”

The rarest outcome is the desired one; somehow timing your arrival at a door perfectly with another party and easily pulling it aside as they stride in. Car doors are the most obvious candidates for this to work, but even here you must be wary. In a parking lot it is neigh impossible to beat a person to their door without sprinting there ahead of them. If you do make it ahead, you’re pinned against another car while they pass resulting in an awkward butt-shimmy dance.

“Come on, Dylan. Holding the door for people is just common courtesy. What if their arms are full of groceries?”

Your best bet, Oddly Situational Key, is to strike up a casual conversation with this grocery carrier, and ask her to dinner. You can take her on no less than three dates and share jollies about each other’s past. Soon, you will reach a level of social contentment with her that transcends the usual awkwardness associated with strangers helping each other. At this point, ask her back to her place. There you can safely hold the door for her while she enters.

“…Dylan, I think you’re missing the point entirely.”

YOU’RE OUT OF ORDER! Holding the door isn’t the only time courtesy can be discourteous. How about waiting for everyone to be seated before starting a meal? Sure, this sounds great on paper. In practice you run into all types of insanity. You may be sitting there all calm and collected in the face of glorious food when suddenly one of your comrades starts to devour everything before him. He may notice you have not started yet, and then he feels super awkward and guilty for being a terrible person. Now he has to sulk the entire dinner, and will end up drawing a bath in his own tears as he relives the moment all night. All this just so the last person to the table can trumpet, “Oh, just go ahead and start before it gets cold.”

Picking up objects someone else drops is a move of pure havoc as well. Inevitably, both parties involved go in for the kill. This can result in headbutting, unintentional squats, loss in balance, or an accidental romantic relationship.

“So what’s your solution, Negative Ninny? If everyone started running around slamming doors in their neighbor’s face so they can get to dinner first and finish before anyone else has even picked up their dropped mail, would the world suddenly be filled with daffodils and happy honey?”

You paint a rosy Bob Ross, Satirically Tragic Key. Like I said in my lead, I think courtesy is important. I also think it requires some finesse. Realize it can be just as obnoxious to hold the door for someone who is 30 paces behind you as it is to slam it in their face. If a host gives you a blessing to start eating, don’t be obstinate in your procrastination. Be sure to actually call your headbutt romance, but wait a few days beforehand. It’s the little intricacies that help preserve courtesy for the next generation.

“So what’s your take on picking up the bill at dinner?”

Not even gonna go there, Running Joke Key.

Posted in rant | 2 Comments »

some things are better left unsung

Thursday, November 12th, 2009

Happy random Thursday, Monkey Keys. So, whilst randomly perusing the interwebs today, I came across an article on overly-hyped time-sink popularity contest website digg.com. It was some idiot’s standard list of what he deemed the stupidest lyrics of all time. Topping the list was one of my favorite songs ever made, Champagne Supernova by incoherently stoned English band Oasis. The author cited “slowly walking down the hall, faster than a cannon ball” as being contradictive, and thus, one of the twelve worst lyrics EVER sung. Seriously armchair Ebert? Apparently you haven’t listened to the popular music made in the past ever.

This got me thinking; I’M some idiot too. Why can’t I have a list of unforgivable songs? So I began to mentally list songs I hate. Unfortunately, that list is in the thousands. So, in the interest of me not developing carpal tunnel and being forced to sue my keyboard manufacturer for lost wages and mental anguish, I decided I had to narrow it down. Monkey Keys, I present to you:

Dylan’s 6 songs that WILL cause people to enter a murderous rage and bludgeon bystanders with extreme prejudice.

Complicated – Avril Lavigne
I challenge the Monkey Keys of the world to make sense of this awesomely bad song. Ok, so I get Avril is dating a guy who acts like every other guy. He’s DIFFERENT around his male friends (oh NO! ) She’s a little confused though since she’s under the impression the guy acts against his nature when he’s with the guys. HAHAHAHAHA, no Avril. He acts messed up and weird around YOU. That dude you hate? Yeah, that’s who he really is.

That aside though, Avril quickly drops the whole premise of her song for a more rhetorical bit.
Why’d you have to go and make things so complicated?
I see the way you’re actin’ like you’re somebody else
Gets me frustrated
Life’s like this you,
You fall and you crawl and you break
And you take what you get, and you turn it into
Honestly, you promised me
I’m never gonna find you fake it
No no no

Huh? I fall and I break in life? Possibly. I mean life is a constant struggle for social, economical and romantic peace of mind. What the HECK does it have to do with this dude who acts proper around his firends though. And what do you mean I promised you you’re never gonna find me fake it? Is English even your first language?

Gives You Hell – All American Rejects
Hope it gives you hell
Hope it gives you hell
Hope it gives you hell
Hope it gives you hell
Hope it gives you hell
Hope it gives you hell
Hope it gives you hell
Hope it gives you hell
If you find a man that’s worth a damn and treats you well
Then he’s a fool, your just as well, hope it gives you hell
Hope it gives you hell
Hope it gives you hell
Hope it gives you hell
Hope it gives you hell
Hope it gives you hell
If you find a man that’s worth a damn and treats you well
Then he’s a fool, your just as well, hope it gives you hell
With that sad sad look that you wear so well
Hope it gives you hell
Hope it gives you hell
Hope it gives you hell
Hope it gives you hell
If you find a man that’s worth a damn and treats you well
hope it gives you hell
Hope it gives you hell
Hope it gives you hell
Hope it gives you hell
Hope it gives you hell
When you hear this song and sing along oh you’ll never tell
Then you’re the fool, I’m just as well
Hope it gives you hell
When you hear this song I hope that it will give you hell
You can sing along I hope that it will treat you well

Thank me for saving you three minutes and thirty three seconds of the above separated by rubbish. (Yes, that is the actual amount of times they utter their supper witty lyric.)

I got the feeling – Black eyed Peas
Man, I’m feeling down. That tonight’s gonna be a good night! Really, Black Eyed Peas? It is? That tonight’s gonna be a good night! Well, if you say so. I think I feel better already! That tonight’s gonna be a good night! Yeah… you said that already. I’m happy it’s going to be because… That tonight’s gonna be a good night! Ok, seriously. I was all ready to have a good night, but now… That tonight’s gonna be a good night! Shut up already! That tonight’s gonna be a good night! DUDE, I am SO going to give you an actual black eye! That tonight’s gonna be a good night! Scratch that, I’m going to tear your arm off and beat you with it until you die if you say that one more… That tonight’s gonna be a good night!

If You Seek Amy – Brittany Spears
First of all, what is Brittany even doing making music anymore? Second of all, what was she on that spawned this rot of the damned? Her intro sounds like a bubble headed ode to Mr. Roboto. La la la lala la la la! And if you make it through that you’re treated with her attempt to be street!

Oh baby baby have you seen Amy tonight?
Is she in the bathroom? Is she smokin up outside? Ouuh
Oh baby baby does she take a piece of lime
For the drink that I’ma buy her
Do you know just what she likes so?
Oh oh tell me have you seen her
Cuz I’m so-oh oh
I can’t get her out of my brain
I just wanna go to the party she gon’ go
Can somebody take me home?
Ha ha he he ha ha ho

If anyone finds Amy, tell her to run for her life. Brittany is on the prowl.

London Bridge – Fergie
Producer: You know what we need, crappy underpaid music writers?
Crappy underpaid music writers (in unison): What?
Producer: We need a remake of a nursery rhyme. But not just ANY remake. We need a remake that only brain damaged teen girls will enjoy.
Crappy underpaid music writers(the fat one eying a doughnut): How about Ring around the Rosie?
Producer: You’re fired. Next idea?
Crappy underpaid music writers (the one who’s always looked down on, but tonight’s gonna be a good night for him): What about London Bridge is Falling Down?
Producer: Hmmm, that’s pretty good. It’s sufficiently vague, kinda edgy. All we need to do is come up with a way to make it sufficiently retarded.
Crappy underpaid music writers (the one who is going to ride the coattails): First, let’s get the worst artist EVER to sing it. Fergie. Then we start the song with all these “AWWWWW SNAP”s. Fergie will be so blown away by the AWESOMENESS of the phrase “Aww Snap” she’ll be BOUND to proclaim her awesomeness in a truly stupid way. Probably something like,

When I come to the club, step aside
(Oh snap!)
Part the seas, don’t be havin? me in the line
(Oh snap!)
V.I.P. ?cause you know I gotta shine
(Oh snap!)
I’m Fergie Ferg and me love you long time

Producer: YOU’RE PROMOTED TO LORD OF THE AGENCY!
Crappy underpaid music writers (the one who’s always looked down on, but tonight’s NOT gonna be a good night for him): YOU LIED TO ME, BLACK EYED PEAS!

My Humps – Black Eyed Peas AGAIN
Honestly, I wanted to come up with something witty for this, but it is SUCH a bad song, I was rendered unconscious by just READING the lyrics. Good luck with just the first few bars…

What you gon’ do with all that junk?
All that junk inside your trunk?
I’ma get, get, get, get, you drunk,
Get you love drunk off my hump.
My hump, my hump, my hump, my hump, my hump,
My hump, my hump, my hump, my lovely little lumps (Check it out)
I drive these brothers crazy,
I do it on the daily,
They treat me really nicely,
They buy me all these ices.
Dolce & Gabbana,
Fendi and NaDonna
Karan, they be sharin’
All their money got me wearin’ fly…

AHHHHHHHHHHHH, I can’t do it anymore! Driving a railroad spike into my head sounds better than this! HOW COULD SOMETHING LIKE THIS HAPPEN! And someone likes it? LIKES IT! If I find you… you Neanderthals of musical taste, I’m going to grab the NEAREST tire iron I can find and…

The staff of Obfucational Hazard apologizes for the abrupt end of this rant. Our lawyers advised us that Dylan’s murderous shouting could result in lawsuits from the elderly and confused. To preserve your innocence, we will continue the blog at the end of this childish display. We hope that this sad dislike for the musical genius that is The Black Eyed Peas won’t stop you from reading Obfuscational Hazard in the future. Thank you for your cooperation. -OH

…and you’ll need the jaws of life just to SIT DOWN AGAIN!

Whew, I feel better after that. By the way, if you like anything by Black Eyed Peas, we are now nemeses.


Posted in rant | 3 Comments »

mr. Dylan goes to kindergarten

Saturday, September 26th, 2009

Robert Fulghum claims all he really needs to know he learned in kindergarten, Monkey Keys. I assume he means you learn how to hide your Legos behind the piano so the PM kids won’t break them down. Of course they always end up finding your stash and taking it for themselves. Maybe that was the ultimate lesson?

I learned a better lesson in second grade when I called a girl butthead for kicking me off the slide. Slander can send you to the hoosegow. That or a crying girl gets whatever she wants. Or perhaps, more generically, charisma wins over reason.

All good lessons, but interestingly, all taught by my peers. I started contemplating common lessons taught to kindergarteners by our authority figures today. They often sound good in theory, but end up a confusing mess for us later in life.

How about, ‘Don’t take candy from a stranger?’ That’s all fine and dandy until someone brings in candy and is told, ‘Don’t bring in candy unless you have enough for everyone.’ Pardon me Miss Bipolar, but I don’t know where Snotty Timmy was keeping that bag of M&Ms before he came in. For all we know it served as his personal spittoon for peanut shells and Skoal. So my head reeled with confusion until today when a young lady offers me candy on my way into work. Is this a good witch, or a bad witch? She didn’t try slipping me some poppy seeds, but she sure didn’t float in on a pink water balloon either.

I turned the candy down only to discover later she had been working for the United Way and was trying to promote the start of their campaign. In sticking with Kindergarten, I may have inadvertently doomed thousands of kids.

How about ‘Wait your turn?’ This is one that needed a caveat. Sure, it makes sense while waiting to ride the Raptor or checking out at Wal-Mart, but try it when merging onto the autobahn. Better yet, think about it while waiting behind someone else who is trying it when merging onto the autobahn. This rule has the potential to cause homicidal outbursts. What if you were in a Graduate-like situation, and Elaine is getting married off. Do you wait your turn? If you do I can guarantee Simon and Garfunkel ain’t got your back. Then you’re stuck listening to Green Day, alone, on the bus

‘Don’t talk with food in your mouth?’ Tell that to Jimmy Stewart while he’s addressing congress. You don’t talk for 23 hours nonstop without a Hot Pocket or two. What if he had followed this rule? The Boy Rangers would have been so disappointed. The very foundation of youth patriotism would have been destroyed. Why, I’d postulate the entire fabric of the country would unravel in social discord. Way to disobey Jimmy!

“Dylan, may I cut in?”

Of course, Courteous Key.

“If I could offer an observation, your arguments are flimsy at best. While every rule has moments when it would be better to disobey, the majority of the time there is a good reason to uphold them.”

What!? You would side with the teacher?

“Huh? No I was simply saying tha-“

TEACHER’S PET! TEACHER’S PET!

“Is this really necessary?”

Hey, if you love teacher so much, why dontcha MARRY her?

“I’m already happily married to Oppressive Key.”

Alright, I can see I’m preaching to those who fell along the road here. All I have to say is Robert Fulghum should rethink his theory. Kindergarten lessons? Ha! Everything I really need to know I learned from the Dukes of Hazard.

“You can’t be serious!”

Of course I am, Oppressive Key. You two make an adorable couple by the way. The Dukes taught me valuable life lessons like police can’t follow you across the county line. Every town has a fat man trying to undermine your moonshine operation. You can break as many laws as you want with no repercussion whatsoever as long as you help save the day. You have a hot cousin. Dodge Chargers have better suspension than an ocean of Tempur-Pedic® mattresses. This is compelling stuff I use every day!

“Well Dylan, all the pieces seem to be falling into place. But there is still one thing that is troubling me…”

Alright, go ahead, Inspector Clouseau Key.

“What did Jimmy Steward do during that filibuster when he had to take a pee?”

…I…well that is to say… Hmm…

Posted in rant | 1 Comment »

so why haven’t I come back already?

Wednesday, September 16th, 2009

I’m completely disappointed in myself, Monkey Keys. There is seriously no excuse for my shoddy behavior up to this point. I can honestly say I’m ashamed, and I’m sorry to you for being so disgraceful. I can only hope I finally get my act together this year and finally travel back in time to meet myself.

I mean, seriously? It’s been two decades now, and I’ve yet to make any attempt to come back in time and give myself a jumping high-five? This is simply inexcusable. I vowed at the primal age of five to one day demonstrate time dilation to myself with an hourglass of pudding. So what’s going on, Upper Gravity Well? For your sake, Doc better have taken you on a trip to bring Deloreans back from the dead.

So let’s give me the benefit of the doubt. Maybe getting Johnny Delorean acquitted of his moon sugar charges was my doing as part of a three tiered process to save the stainless steel chariots. If that were the case, I’m sure I gave baby Dylan some sweet stock tips on my way back though the wormhole. Elder Dylan’s penmanship is pretty dodgy though. Chances are, my parents thought the acronyms and numbers were doctor’s orders to force feed me pie. Now I’m broke and addicted to rhubarb. Thanks future self.

And what’s with not bringing me any genetic enhancement chips? At the very least you could have given me super strength, or the ability to turn into horseradish. Did you think I don’t know about the horseradish famine of ’17? We could have been heroes, me!

“Dylan, calm down! You must realize the inherent dangers of time travel. One wrong Johnny Be Good and you could chaos theory yourself out of existence. In fact, what if you came back in time already, changed some minute thing, and made it so you’ll die before you can go back in time to meet yourself?” An impossibility, Henri Poincaré Key. If I came back in time, it must have always been. The very act of me going back in time has already been affected by different reality me going back in time. I’m just super bummed pre-time travel me doesn’t even get a t-shirt out of it. I’ll bet they make some sick shirts in the future; all cotton beasts without those stupid itchy tags. You would think we as a society would have transcended shirts with tags by now.

“Dylan, have you considered the possibility time travel itself is an impossibility and just will never be?” …Alright, that’s it, Chronology Protection Conjecture Key. I vow to make my first time travel destination right behind you a second before you wrote that blasphemy so I can slap the stupid out of you. You’d best get ready!

“Uh… nothing slapped me.”

Well there’s only one explanation.

“I’m right?”

Nope. Time travel me has come from a time where violence is abolished. Our people are a strong and proud breed, yet gentile as a soothing spring rain. We rule only with the love in our hearts. One day, we hope to spread this example across all galaxies and end the suffering of the universe. We are but one species. We stand alone in this endeavor, but united under the banner of a unified earth, we shall see nothing but victory!

“That’s just ridiculous. I mean, humans are inher-OUCH! Why did you slap me!?”

Oops. Guess there’s just a twenty second delay when exiting the gravity well. Say hi to me for me, and tell me I want to see me right away.

“Ok. Hey, future you brought me a tagless T.”

Oh, sweet! Did I bring me one?

“Nope. You said you could only afford one shirt in this economy.”

…I hate me.

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