It’s time to peruse my spam folder for gems of information. Most comments were alleged to be in response to three posts: “A Modicum Of Diversion, Flat Earth Day, It Seemed Longer.”
There were too many to list them all. As always they followed similar themes. Were from the same sources.
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There were a couple of terrific run-on sentences. I may not be in the best of shape for a seventy-one year old male, but I don’t have pregnancy stretch marks. There was another spam ad for dark spot cream. Something else I didn’t need. Thanks Canadian Pharmaceutical enterprises. If that’s who you really represented? Don’t call me, I’ll call you.
I was formerly a communications technician for a regional telecommunications company. Ever-changing regulations, tech and corporate speak–revenge came in the form of “new” repair accounting codes. Found these while cleaning out the attic.
CODES RELATED TO PHONE 1
9991X———————–Phone 1—Lost Tickets
USE THIS CODE WHEN MARS IS IN RETROGRADE. PLANETARY ALIGNMENT IS CONTRAINDICATED. THIS CODE WILL BE FORTHCOMING FROM GUI AND PREVIOUS TO THE ROLLOUT OF CLAPTRAP. ORDER AN EXTRACTOR LOCALLY FROM SUPPLY CHANNELS.
9992X———————–Phone 1—“Stale” Tickets
DIAGNOSTIC TICKETS WHICH HAVE GONE THROUGH PUTREFACTION FROM IMPROPER DIAGNOSTICATION. CLOSE OUT ATTEMPTS RESULT IN A FLASHING “TILT” DISPLAY ON THE HANDHELD. CAUTION MUST BE EXERCISED TO PREVENT INFESTATION OF INFINITESIMAL ELECTRONIC CYBER MITES.
6666X———————–Phone 1—Unnecessary Tickets
USED ONLY WHEN FIELD PERSONNEL EXPERIENCE BEFUDDLEMENT AND CONSTERNATION FROM PREVIOUSLY HELD ASSUMPTIONS, THAT IN THE UNIVERSAL ORDER, PHONE 1 PROBLEMS HAVE A RELEVANCY THAT IS NO LONGER WEIGHTED AND MAY BE SOMEWHAT AMORPHOUS. INQUIRIES SHOULD BE REFERRED TO THE DEPT. OF OBSCURITY AND OBLIQUENESS, HEREAFTER DESIGNATED AS DOODOO.
Did you ever have too much junk lying about? In the garage. In the attic. In the backyard storage shed.
Add corona virus to the mix, and the following happens. “Sorry, we’re not accepting residential items at this time.” Thank goodness for neighbors and networking.
Down two vacuum cleaners, a spare couch, a coffee table, night stand, and two end tables. My nice neighbor across the street took some smaller items for her church’s rummage sale.
Someone is coming for the table in the breakfast nook, and four chairs. She is also taking the chest freezer from the garage. She happens to be the real estate person that sold our house. Kudos to her on several levels.
The pile of “junk” is slowly being whittled down.
He, or maybe she, clung to my car’s hood this morning, as I made my way to the Doctor’s clinic, early this morning.
His/her coloration was almost black. My car is dark gray, so it was to blend into the background.
I first noticed the wayward lizard at the first stop sign. My diminutive hero survived centrifugal forces around the first corner. Winds buffeted his tiny body as speed increased to 35 mph in the straightaway. At the intersection of the county main road, I lost track of Mr. Lizard.
It was distracting to watch the lizard and traffic at the same time. I wished him/her well. Anole lizards had strong survival instincts. This one had the tip of its tail missing. Possibly, it ran off, as I waited for traffic to clear at the intersection.
How could this random collection of thumps, whacks, scrapes, be best described? A flock of demented woodpeckers? An army platoon marching out-of-step? Movie stunt training school? A group of clumsy clog dancers? A basement under a bowling alley?
Staying home today may have been a mistake. A group of roofers are working on my house. With the cacophony, It’s difficult to concentrate on anything. The last time roofers worked for me was at a different location–and, I worked during the day.
Satellite television just went out–as I expected. Daytime TV was a wasteland anyway. My dog barked as the strangers descended on our home at seven this morning. He’s calmed down since. Someone could come crashing through what’s left of my roof at any moment. I may be insane before this is over.
Will there ever be an end to acronyms?
I seriously doubt it, as long as social media exists in its various forms.
What in the world was FOMO? FOMO was short for, “Fear Of Missing Out.” Missing out on what?
Missing out on latest trendy things on social media.
I’ve coined a new one. FOTMA, “Fear Of Too Many Acronyms.”
What was Radeon Software? It needed to be updated.
Why did I have it? Why was it needed? What did it do for me? Where did it come from?
When it came to technology, I was a mere trained monkey. Bossed around by edicts from technological gadgets.
Could I ignore this latest update? There were a lot of questions, tht was for sure.
Where did the answers lie? At Google. Google knew everything.
“Max’s old bed is so tattered and torn, I’m ashamed for anyone to see it,” Said my wife.
That was how Max got his new bed, yesterday at the gigantic membership club store. It’s tan and dark brown.
“Do you think Max will care, one way or the other?” I asked.
“I don’t know Dear,” She answered.
Max wasn’t impressed in the least. He slept on the floor last night. Once, he slept near the new bed. He is getting closer, which is progress. It doesn’t yet have familiar smells, like the old one.
I should have known better. Last Wednesday I went to the home improvement big-box store. Both bathtub drain inserts were corroded beyond cleaning.
Why couldn’t I change them out myself? What could go wrong?
What could go wrong? I couldn’t believe you said that. With your past history.
The center part the wrench was supposed to turn counter-clockwise for extraction broke off immediately. If it was corroded outside it was probably corroded inside.
I’d been warned. The plumber will be out next Wednesday afternoon. Another lesson learned. At least I only broke one of the two drains.
My wife would not mind me relating this incident. She tells it herself on occasion.
She learned how to make Greek pastries from one of our neighbors. Baklava mastered, and was quite good.
Wanting to share her expertise with another neighbor across the street, she presented a portion of the delectable pastry. Anne, not her real name, took the first bite. She looked around to observe reactions of other partakers
“Wow, that’s spicy. Was baklava supposed to be spicy?” To my wife’s chagrin, she’d mistakenly switched cinnamon for ground cayenne pepper. They came similarly packaged, and being a scratch cook, she hadn’t paid attention to quantities.