Category Archives: WTF
Courtesy of gizoogle.net (Warning: Mature Language Ahead…)
Usually any dreams I have fade away quickly afta I wake up. But dis one has straight-up stuck wit mah crazy ass fo’ whatever reason.
Andrea n’ I is stayin up in a hotel. It’s a pretty ill place yo, but not like tha Waldorf. Maybe a Hilton. I aint talkin’ bout chicken n’ gravy biatch. Thin is like two floors directly above us, Kelly Clarkson is stayin up in tha same stupid-ass hotel. And EVERYBODY knows it cuz there be a ton of gangstas up there hopin ta catch a glimpse. So our crazy-ass asses figure, what tha fuck tha hell, we’ll go check it up since everyone else is.
Kelly’s crew apparently anticipated all this, cuz there was displays n’ a sort of mini-exhibit all bout her muthafuckin ass. And all tha gangstas was millin around checkin it all out. Da displays was all laid up kind of up in chronological order of her game. Most gangstas was down all up in tha end gawkin at all tha freshly smoked up shiznit n’ readin lil plaques bout how tha fuck her ass came up wit her joints dat everyone hears on tha radio n’ TV. A few gangstas was up in tha middle. But Andrea n’ I was tha only gangstas all up in tha other end where her early shiznit was. I remember sayin ta Andrea, “Her freshly smoked up shiznit is phat yo, but I just straight-up gots nuff props fo’her original gangsta joints tha best.”
Lo n’ behold, Kelly Clarkson was standin up in earshot when I holla’d dat n’ strutted over n’ holla’d somethang ta tha effect dat her ass was surprised ta hear some muthafucka say that and it was refreshin ta hear some muthafucka whoz ass didn’t just want tha freshly smoked up n’ sickest fuckin. Clarkson holla’d, “I hit dat shizzle just as hard on em projects as I do wit mah current ones, so it’s frustratin when gangstas just forget bout them.” Of course I straight-up agreed wit her muthafuckin ass.
I’m a funky-ass bit blurry on how tha fuck it happened afta dat yo, but at least fo’ tha time being, our crazy-ass asses was now up in Kelly’s “circle” n’ our crazy-ass asses was headed somewhere ta do somethang, probably phat. At tha straight-up least our crazy-ass asses was goin ta git ta ride up in her limo, muthafucka! So our crazy-ass asses git on tha elevator ta head down ta tha lobby n’ leave fo’ wherever our crazy-ass asses is going. But as our crazy-ass asses was gettin on tha elevator, a elderly biatch was tryin ta git on but tha doors fuckin started ta close before her ass could step on tha elevator. Bein tha kind ass I’m shizzle Kelly Clarkson is, her ass reached ta hold tha door open fo’ tha oldschool biatch.
Da elevator was one of em fancy glass elevators dat rides along tha outside of a funky-ass buildin so you can git a awe inspirin view of tha skyline, which I remember as bein generic enough not ta be familiar ta mah dirty ass. It wasn’t crowded yo, but you could tell dat wit our next occupant, we’d be inclined ta tell every last muthafuckin muthafucka whoz ass came next ta wait fo’ tha next one, rather than pack our asses all in.
I wanna say tha oldschool biatch had a strutter. At any rate, her ass was movin at a glacial pace. Kelly Clarkson continued ta hold open tha door yo, but tha longer her ass held it, tha mo’ determined tha door was ta close. Biatch tried ta push tha door open, kinda up in frustration n’ kinda ta protect tha oldschool biatch from gettin trapped by tha ever persistent doors. Right then tha elevator door slid back all up in it’s hidin place n’ exposed tha ground below. Biatch slipped and disrocked up.
Everyone instantly screamed, n’ it seemed like our crazy-ass asses all took a instinctizzle step back not knowin fo’ a brief instant if tha whole elevator was goin ta fall. Half a funky-ass beat later when I realized tha floor beneath mah feet was still solid, I dove fo’ tha opening.
Kelly had grabbed a hold of a shitload of tha machinery under tha elevator, n’ held on tightly wit her feet danglin up in empty space. All I could peep was rowz of hotel room windows growin eva smalla until they eventually kicked it wit a parkin lot some 20 stories below.
As her ass hung there her ass wasn’t lookin up at mah dirty ass. I hollered ta her, “Kelly, I’m here, muthafucka! Grab mah hand!” Still without lookin up her ass reached up a hand. Y’all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! At first I couldn’t reach her at all. I slid a funky-ass bit further over tha edge, not wantin ta plunge our asses both ta our dirtnap when her weight was added ta mine. I grasped her hand yo, but it was all oily from tha machine work her ass clung too n’ slipped. Y’all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! ”Hold on!” I shouted.
I done cooked up tha freshest lunge I could n’ our crazy-ass asses clasped each other’s wrists. I then was able ta git mah other hand around her forearm n’ pulled her up. I remember thankin her ass was lighter than I thought her ass would be. Dope fo’ both of our asses I guess.
As I pulled her up her ass was able ta git her footin on a big-ass gear underneath where tha door used ta be. But it was one of em gears dat looked like if it engaged it would just pulverize anythang dat kicked it wit its teeth. I could tell by tha look on her grill her ass had tha same stupid-ass thought I did so wit one last tug, her ass was back up in tha elevator.
Guess what, muthafucka! Biatch looked bout how tha fuck you would expect every last muthafuckin muthafucka ta look afta her ass almost plummeted from a elevator. Biatch was visibly frazzled, oil covered n’ wind blown. I aint talkin’ bout chicken n’ gravy biatch. Our thugged-out asses all exited tha elevator ta tha 20th-ish floor lobby where I guided her ta a cold-ass lil chair ta collect her muthafuckin ass.
Now at dis point I woke up. I can only assume dat Andrea n’ I was later invited ta do all sortz of def celebritizzle shiznit n’ become Kelly Clarkson’s freshly smoked up besties.
Usually any dreams I have fade away quickly after I wake up. But this one has really stuck with me for whatever reason.
Andrea and I are staying in a hotel. It’s a pretty nice place, but not like the Waldorf. Maybe a Hilton. Thing is like two floors directly above us, Kelly Clarkson is staying in the same hotel. And EVERYBODY knows it because there is a ton of people up there hoping to catch a glimpse. So we figure, what the hell, we’ll go check it out since everyone else is.
Kelly’s crew apparently anticipated all this, because there were displays and a sort of mini-exhibit all about her. And all the people were milling around checking it all out. The displays were all laid out kind of in chronological order of her career. Most people were down at the end gawking at all the new stuff and reading little plaques about how she came up with her songs that everyone hears on the radio and TV. A few people were in the middle. But Andrea and I were the only people at the other end where her early stuff was. I remember saying to Andrea, “Her new stuff is good, but I just really like her original songs the best.”
Lo and behold, Kelly Clarkson was standing in earshot when I said that and walked over and said something to the effect that she was surprised to hear someone say that and it was refreshing to hear somebody who didn’t just want the new and latest. Clarkson said, “I worked just as hard on those projects as I do with my current ones, so it’s frustrating when people just forget about them.” Of course I totally agreed with her.
I’m a bit blurry on how it happened after that, but at least for the time being, we were now in Kelly’s “circle” and we were headed somewhere to do something, probably awesome. At the very least we were going to get to ride in her limo! So we get on the elevator to head down to the lobby and leave for wherever we are going. But as we were getting on the elevator, an elderly woman was trying to get on but the doors began to close before she could step on the elevator. Being the kind soul I’m sure Kelly Clarkson is, she reached to hold the door open for the old woman.
The elevator was one of those fancy glass elevators that rides along the outside of a building so you can get an awe inspiring view of the skyline, which I remember as being generic enough not to be familiar to me. It wasn’t crowded, but you could tell that with our next occupant, we’d be inclined to tell anyone who came next to wait for the next one, rather than pack us all in.
I want to say the old woman had a walker. At any rate, she was moving at a glacial pace. Kelly Clarkson continued to hold open the door, but the longer she held it, the more determined the door was to close. She tried to push the door open, partly in frustration and partly to protect the old woman from getting trapped by the ever persistent doors. Right then the elevator door slid back through it’s hiding place and exposed the ground below. She slipped and disappeared.
Everyone instantly screamed, and it seemed like we all took an instinctive step back not knowing for a brief instant if the whole elevator was going to fall. Half a beat later when I realized the floor beneath my feet was still solid, I dove for the opening.
Kelly had grabbed a hold of some of the machinery under the elevator, and held on tightly with her feet dangling in empty space. All I could see was rows of hotel room windows growing ever smaller until they eventually met a parking lot some 20 stories below.
As she hung there she wasn’t looking up at me. I hollered to her, “Kelly, I’m here! Grab my hand!” Still without looking up she reached out a hand. At first I couldn’t reach her at all. I slid a bit further over the edge, not wanting to plunge us both to our death when her weight was added to mine. I grasped her hand, but it was all oily from the machine work she clung too and slipped. “Hold on!” I shouted.
I made the biggest lunge I could and we clasped each other’s wrists. I then was able to get my other hand around her forearm and pulled her up. I remember thinking she was lighter than I thought she would be. Good for both of us I guess.
As I pulled her up she was able to get her footing on a large gear underneath where the door used to be. But it was one of those gears that looked like if it engaged it would just pulverize anything that met its teeth. I could tell by the look on her face she had the same thought I did so with one last tug, she was back in the elevator.
She looked about how you would expect anyone to look after she almost plummeted from an elevator. She was visibly frazzled, oil covered and wind blown. We all exited the elevator to the 20th-ish floor lobby where I guided her to a chair to collect herself.
Now at this point I woke up. I can only assume that Andrea and I were later invited to do all sorts of cool celebrity stuff and become Kelly Clarkson’s new besties.
So I’m mowing the yard the other day. I’m on my last couple passes, and I go to turn around and the mower doesn’t budge. I push down on the handle to try to get the front wheels off the ground so I can pivot, and nuthin. Upon breif investigation, the handle was moving up and down, but it had now become independent from the mower deck! $(*&#! So awkwardly pulling the mower across the lawn to finish the last couple swatches I finish the job.
Back to the garage with the mangled machine reveals the full story.
The giant rust hole above is where the bracket for the handle attaches to. This mower isn’t that old. We bought it in 2007 I believe when we moved to the house in Ogden. So let this be a lesson to you. Clean out all those old clippings that get matted up on the deck on the inside. If I had done that regularly this probably never would have happened.
So the problem now was, grass grows, I can’t cut it. I can either get a new push mower for $130 or so at Wal-Mart, or get a riding mower. Which I SERIOUSLY contemplated. I’ve wanted one for a while and this seemed like the perfect excuse. But I went with cheap-bastard option 3: fix this one.
So I looked around my scraps to see what I could come up with. I’ll warn you this is almost one of the most redneck fixes I’ve ever done. So with some scrap metal and $3 worth of hardware from the hardware store I had a game plane.
Quick aside: WTF is the deal with prices on nuts and bolts!? I went to pick up the stuff I need and nuts bolts and washers ranged anywhere in price from 10 cents to 18 cents APIECE! We aren’t talking major hardware here. Just 1/4 nuts and bolts… I have since started savaging old stuff for all the fasteners I find.
I wish I had a welder… and had a clue how to weld. But nevertheless, I attached the new metal to the deck of the mower. Now I have a new surface to attach the handle to.
And now the new bracket is attached. We’ll see if it is solid enough to hold up to the rigors of mowing my divot filled yard.
So far it made it through one full mowing of the yard. Felt pretty solid. But the rust is pretty extensive in that area, and I fear it’s not long before it happens again.
But for now, the yard looks good. I always liked a nice yard, and even if it’s just weeds, I love the look of a freshly cut even lawn. Like a lush green carpet laid out for your house. It can almost make an ugly house like mine look good. Almost.
There’s just something about fixing something that makes me feel invincible. Other people might have spent hundreds of dollars on a new mower had this happened. And I threw something together and it worked.
Fixing stuff like this isn’t a matter of skill… the Frankenstein appearance of my solution should tell you that much. It’s just about coming up with an idea in your head and saying, “Well it probably won’t work, but I’ll try it anyway.“
This was posted on our website at work. The article it was posted on was “Royals wrap up road trip with 6-3 win at Cleveland”
It’s worth a chuckle. Even more fun if you read it out loud.
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Found this on a site I was browsing this morning. I am pasting it here verbatim other than changing the links so they don’t take you anywhere.
Just reading through I thought it was hilarious. The sad thing is, if nobody were falling for this stuff, they wouldn’t be doing it. So somebody must be clicking on this crap! WHO? WHO ARE THESE PEOPLE?
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I knew someone growing up that always insisted that they, I or anyone could be just as good as anyone else given the right amount of effort and practice. I rather, postulated that some are naturally gifted with certian talents and that neither she, I or anyone else would EVER be as good as them given equal amounts of effort and practice.
I submit to the court exhibit A: A 5 year old drummer
This kid has already surpassed my skills as a drummer. I’m not terrible, I’m not good. I’m probably smack dab in the middle of the bell curve. Lil’ Johnah there has a bright future ahead of him, because with plenty of practice he could potentially be the most phenomenal percussionist the world has ever seen. Me? Well if I practice long and hard enough, I could surely be good enough to be a professional drummer. But I don’t know anyone who in their right mind would consider me a phenom.
I don’t want to short effort and ethic for achieving goals. That’s not what this is about. But just to lay to rest an old argument that we aren’t all created QUITE equal. You have some God given abilities somewhere that others don’t. Find ’em and use ’em! Mine just happen to be in Mario Kart. Haha!