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This Is My First Real Monday Morning In Over Twelve Years.

A lanyard is a cord or strap worn around the neck, shoulder, or wrist to carry such items as keys or identification cards. In the military, lanyards were used to fire an artillery piece or arm the fuze mechanism on an air-dropped bomb by pulling out a cotter pin (thereby starting the arming delay) when it leaves the aircraft. Aboard a ship, it may refer to a piece of rigging used to secure or lower objects. Lanyards of various color combinations and braid patterns are worn on the shoulders of uniforms to denote the wearer's qualification or regimental affiliation. In horse regiments, lanyards were worn on the left, enabling a rider to pull a whistle from the left tunic pocket and maintain communication with his troop. Members of the British Royal Artillery wear a lanyard which originally held a key for adjusting the fuzes of explosive shells.



More Than A Few Days Late, and Several Dollars Short. An Ode To Andrew W.

In my past life before my past life, I worked at a place called FCP Technologies and we were, in the plainest of terms, the help desk to help desks. When something went wrong with your shit, you called your help desk. When the problem extended beyond their technical expertise, they would call us. Presuming of course, they bought this ridiculously expensive support contract beforehand. But you'd be connected with the software or hardware engineer best suited for your particular problem and with very -- VERY -- few exceptions, the buck stopped with us. Those few exceptions of course would usually bring us to the vendors themselves -- Microsoft, Novell, Compaq/HP, and of course my beloved Banyan.



Inquiring Minds Want To Know: What's With Punching The Fucking Timeclock Again?

Well, it's a one-two-three punch kind of answer. First punch, the ankle. Which of course I broke late in June of last year, right in the middle of the calendar year. Now without going on some The-Affordable-Care-Act-Ain't-Really-Fucking-Affordable-At-All rant, suffice to say that our annual max-out-of pocket limits skyrocketed from $1,500 to $5,000 per year. As one might imagine, an emergency room visit, an orthopedic surgery, and several weeks of physiotherapy quickly launched to and beyond that ceiling. Unfortunately, there was the post-operative infection which required further intervention and unfortunately that wasn't discovered until January of this year, and unfortunately that means the annual out max-out-of pocket limit had rolled over. So that second orthopedic surgery, along with the PICC line procedure ($4,500 for that motherfucker alone!) and six weeks of IV antibiotics once again punched us up to the $5k limit before April Fools Day. So in short order, ye olde ankle racked up a hair over $10,000 in medical bills, *after* insurance. Also, for scale, here's the length of the PICC line which delivered those antibiotics directly to my heart at fucking point blank range. Good times, right?



Insert Your Favorite Weekend Joke Here.



It's Weird Genuinely Looking Forward To Weekend Again.

And then that feeling of dread when they're over, like when you were a kid making a snow fort on some blusterty winter Sunday, only to remember you have a book report due the next day. This is certainly going to take some getting used to, especially when The Boss lady has four weeks of vacation per year, and I only have one. But ya gotta start somewhere, I suppose.



Hummmmmp Daaaay.

One strong memory from my childhood is when my two brothers -- and my cousin Todd who would spend a few weeks with us each year -- painted the family house. The earliest memory I have is the house being light blue, and then my parents decided to paint it light green. In fact, the garage is still painted that color, only with a dark green door. I was just a little kid at the time so I wasn't allowed to go up the ladders, but I remember my brothers (and cousin) climbing way the fuck up into those peaks, shimmying up the ladder one slow cautious step at a time, with a paint brush in one hand and a bucket of paint in the other. And they were what, maybe 15 years old? Try that shit these days and you'll have DSS banging down your door.



It's Weird Appreciating Fridays Again So... TGIF Muthafuckas!

Halloween is upon us, and with it we see all the standard Halloween decorations and symbols – Jack O' Lanterns, scarecrows, etc. Did you ever wonder where these symbols come from? Halloween as we know it today bears little resemblance to either of the Roman harvest festivals it is loosely based on – the feast of Pomona and the festival of Parentalia. Pomona celebrated the apple harvest, while Parentalia honored and placated the deceased spirits of the ancestors.



Insert Your Favorite Weekend Joke Here.



Mondays Eat Moose Cock, AMIRITE?

So my favorite local craft brewery took a shit this past weekend, so that kind of sucks.



Wow, I Dug This bad Boy Up From A Nineteen Year Old Archived ALT.TASTELESS post.

"I lived in China for a couple extended periods of time, and the subject of executions, being near and dear to my cold, right-wing heart, was of particular interest to me because the local execution grounds were right next to the facility I was building.



I Fucking Hate Cheap Motherfuckers. Also Being A Social Adult Eats Cock

So this past Saturday night was the last night at our local brewhouse, which was closing down. Now I'm a trivia junkie and this weekly trivia has been a staple for Team Ernie for the last two years or so, so I'm really going to miss it. But for the last night there were about seven or eight of us sitting around a table before trivia started, and The Boss Lady and I decided to order a pizza. And for delivery, of course, because how fucking lazy am I? The pizza parlor is literally across the street, so I actually tip some guy $5 on a $20 pizza just to walk a fucking pizza across the street because I'm too fucking lazy to be bothered to go get my own greasebomb. But I digress. Pizza shows up and I eat three slices and The Boss Lady eats two, leaving three slices of pepperoni extra cheese left.



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