Today was supposed to be a day off for me, but I was on call and spent a large portion of the day working on various emergencies.

    At one point I found myself on the phone with a Jewish accountant who was, of course, working today as well. We got to talking about the fact that it was a holiday (and that he would therefore be charged 1.5X normal rate for my assistance) and I idly speculated that Good Friday must be a strange holiday for him because while it has plenty of Christian iconography there is no marketing involved.

    The fellow, who I’ve known for many years, found the joke somewhat amusing, but I sensed that his chuckle was a little labored. He probably felt guilty for killing Jesus or something.

    I then proceeded to tell him I can’t understand how I’ve been given the day off but there’s no corresponding pile of crap in my way at the drug store.

    There are no “Good Friday” candies or stuffed animals. Not even a chocolate crucifix.

Which gave me an idea which I later broached in a conversation with my good friend, DaveCat..

    The idea? A chocolate crucifix with tiny Spam Jesus hanging from it!
It could even come with a little toothpick to stab into the side of tiny Spam Jesus after you’ve had him in your house for a few hours. Cherry liquor would then ooze out.

    And, late at night, as Good Friday draws to a close, your family could stand around, each of you with your own little spam Jesus, and eat them.

    All together, you cry, “Father! Why hast thou forsaken me!”
    *Chomp!*

    ’Course, I don’t think I’d actually be able to eat spam and chocolate in the same bite without vomiting, and Jesus probably wouldn’t want that.     Especially since the spam-Jesus-on-a-chocolate-crucifix probably qualifies as Eucharist. So I guess this wasn’t as good an idea as I thought. Its just bad mojo to vomit spam Jesus.

    On a bright morning early in the fall of 2007, I chanced upon this shopping cart while I was driving to work.
    His markings identified him to my experienced eyes as a member of a Crowley’s Value City wobble*.

    Probably the poor thing had been spooked by something, and quite possibly had been terrorized by a UBM.

    What was certain from the unsteady casters and thinning PVC of his torso was that this poor adolescent male was starving.
    I calmed him down by stroking his muzzle and quietly calling for assistance on aisle 12.

    Having gained his trust, I lead the fellow–whom I’d now taken to calling “Screechy” due to his lack of lubrication–to a meager store of food I’d kept in the trunk of my car for just such an occasion.

    Screechy greedily accepted the plastic deposit bottles and grew a bit more playful and alert.
    Since I was at work, and my company has no facilities adequate to house such a large cart safely, I called a local chapter of Cart Fancier’s to see if I couldn’t locate Screechy’s wobble immediately.

    Shortly, a pleasant Fancier named Martin informed me that the most likely home for Screechy was across the street at the Universal Mall Value City, where a very large wobble had been under a bit of stress lately due to impending closure of their native habitat for economic reasons.

    With current economic circumstances, loss of natural habitat is an increasingly disheartening problem for the Detroit area wobbles. And while I sympathized with the plight of such, it really is not my place to intervene in such matters. I choose, instead, to make my donations to preservation leagues such as Cart Fanciers and Pull Left!; only by pooling our resources can conservationists like myself hope to make a difference to the wobbles of carts like Screechy.

    So perhaps the wobble will someday die off, along with Screechy. But until then, his place is at home in Value City. So I carefully lead him across the Dequindre motorist thoroughfare and released him within cartsight of Value City. Here is my last photo of him as he spotted his friends and began to sprint homewards.

    Goodbye, Screechy. And good luck. I wonder how he’s doing now?

* A group of birds is a flock, a group of cows is a herd and a group of carts is a wobble. Look it up!

Laughing all day long has some cardiovascular attraction to it, I think it falls safely within the “too much of a good thing harms” truism construct.

It can cause disruption to one’s social network as those around you alternatingly attempt to assist you and silence you for reasons of self-preservation. It can confuse your companion animals (provided they are mammalian, like cats or dogs) and may trigger law enforcement intervention during sojourns outside of the workplace or home.

Physical affection would certainly be curtailed as well, since embracing another person while laughing loudly can cause ear damage to the huggee.

I suppose proper pacing could reduce the adverse affects, and scaling the laughter to an occasional chuckle through a s**t-eating grin may, indeed, be a wholly superior option.

Do whatever, I guess; but I, for one, will just smile enigmatically.

SafeTinspector
I have already performed one successful backup. This is primarily because I am a stud.
Secondarily, I used my studliness to examine the way the backup was being performed. Completely unaware of my stud-hood, the computer remained obstinate. I exposed my stud-like pectoral muscles and impressive scowl to the computer interface and it immediately collapsed into a form of supplication commonly known as a “curtsy”. This was followed by a data dump to a folder which I shared for its personal use.
Needless to say it thanked me and asked me please, sir, for another.

JM
I thought that it was your calf muscles that were studly!?!?!?

SafeTinspector
Ah! Little did you know that I begin each day with 60 push-ups.
I reserve the insane calves for only the most recalcitrant computer systems.