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Thread: The funny RL observations and anecdotes thread RPG omnibus

  1. #401
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    OK, I could have made it very plain by saying how I think about it, maybe using some hand gestures.

    So, I make a fist with my RH, and say "this our 'take-away' number, that we're subtracting, called the subtrahend, but that's not important."

    Now, with my index finger in the LH I point to the top of my fist and say, "I'm call this our 'index number,' the very top number of our subtrahend. So, it's 13 in our example, right?"

    Now, I say, "When we take away our whole number to be subtracted, we're taking all of that number away."

    I lower my RH and leave my index finger pointing where it was in mid-air.

    "But now we've lost our index, and we need that back, so we're just going to add it back in while leaving the lower numbers gone."

    I think that's the best way I could explain it in person.

    I don't think that would have been patronizing or "mansplaining" or whatever, just a clear visualization.

    Plus, I get to use the word "subtrahend," which I was happy to remember correctly. Really not a word you get to use every day.

    ETA Oh, I should have pointed out, so to speak, to her, that the managers when assigning routes to fill up this "spots" on the floor did it wrong and we in fact comfortably have room for 39 vehicles in that section of the warehouse, not 38. So the spreadsheet warriors got it wrong, as well.
    Last edited by Jizzelbin; 25 Jul 2019 at 10:52 PM.

  2. #402
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    Oh yeah, I learned a few day's ago that a ewe or even a lamb's vagina is remarkably similar to a real human one.

    As NatalieDee put it, "it has meat flaps and everything."

    /////////

    Anyway, enough about that.

    Oh, the other way to demonstrate the counting "problem" — it amounts to the same, but it's an alternate explanation and is easier to say in a few words. The minuend represents the upper bound. So, continue one past to count the number of "holes" or "places" in your group.

    Probably that's the more traditional approach, and is how places in an array in CS are often denoted, where the index is zero. You can just say the terminal spot is (n + 1).

    That was very frustrating to not be able to explain it in the heat of the moment, especially while not trying to be a jerk.

    ANYWAY, that was a good chance to introspect a bit and think about better ways to explain shit.

  3. #403
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    Quote Originally posted by Jizzelbin View post
    Amazon has not, to my knowledge, "sacrificed" even ONE person with knowledge of high-school mathematics, let alone any form of ability in scheduling and shortest-path algorithms, in order to provide some idea of direction at any given delivery unit.
    Actually, I think I just convinced myself this is true, considering their allocation of space in the warehouse and the "off-by-one" type of error typical of people who aren't used to counting, but rely on arithmetic functions blindly.

    So, yes, it doesn't affect the total "body count" (i.e., number of vehicles included in each wave of traffic — my own term, thank you very much), but it affects (yes, I know, people like that would probably say something insane and idiotic like "impacts") the potential of each staging effort. When the capacity is significantly larger for larger vehicles...well, it's more important.

    It's important enough that the "safety margin" of accounting for accounting errors or counting errors should probably be eliminated.

    Although, it's probably true that the expense of training outweighs the +1 error.

    I doubt it, though.
    Last edited by Jizzelbin; 27 Jul 2019 at 07:27 PM. Reason: del an aside about Excel

  4. #404
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    Yeah, so I guess sometime last week I did both.

    I was trying to explain to one of our floor-level supervisors what the best way to explain it is, and tried out my hand-gesture technique. Meh.

    Then maybe the same day or thereabouts I walked up to the break room after having a smoke, with my dry-erase marker in hand and said to that same guy, "Hey, where's a whiteboard around here?"

    Yeah, my people tried to get me to write on the roll-down projection screen. I gave them the finger, everyone laughed.

    No, I found a small corner of a whiteboard and "proved" the fact by using summation notation.

    I'm not going to do the LaTeX codes, but [big sigma], upper bound=23, lower bound, n=13. So, go through one more step (i.e., lower bound n=13-12=1, upper bound = 23-12=11, summation is (n-12)), well, whatever.

    It's still there, with my result, alongside some horrid cartoon.

    And, yes, the next day, "Hey, John, are you going to give us a math lesson today?"

    It's all in fun, and I'm not great at maths or logics, but I think I might have "broken the seal" in terms of saying more than I should have.

    Eh, we're all still tight, and I didn't mansplain or anything.

    I like my little team of coworkers: we're all like, "Dude, look at that guy go!" and "John, honey, you ain't take that VTO?"

    Oh, anyway, so the "fencepost problem" is solved as it has always been, so maybe some of the managerial errors can be handled by me and my team. I just have to remind them that spot 23 on drivelane 2 is not needed, so put it against the bottom wall.
    Last edited by Jizzelbin; 02 Aug 2019 at 12:35 PM.

  5. #405
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    Jesus fucking christ.

    Fucking un fucking believable.

    Surely, because of water damage to the clubhouse, the pool and clubhouse is temporarily closed.

    And yet, when I try to access the clubhouse via the fob, to add money to my laundry card, with that cunt Jacqui inside the property manager's office (it really should be reserved for actual people, not animals like her), I'm denied access.

    Well, I guess my best move was to leave, kicking over the orange pylon and return back to two loads of laundry which will never be dried.

    I would fuck her in the ass with a goddamned knife.

    For fun.

    She should have come running to suck my dick or open the door, the amount I pay her, that bleeding, clotted cunt of a shit pile.

    Yeah.

    Fuck.

    Well, PC-7 epoxy sounds about right for her.

    What kind of property management company allows its reserves to get so low?

    Yep. Pass the savings right on to me.

    You motherfucking cornholing sack of sandblasted shit.

    Shit. Bitch.

  6. #406
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    Well, I gave the infamous "Frank" a lift, basically down the street near where I was going anyway, from work. A bunch of us elected to leave work early because of lack of stuff to do.

    Goddamned, there really isn't any place to put a passenger in my car, which the amount of books, CDs, tapes, extra jackets and shirts, empty coffee cups, and all that.

    For some reason he started off a conversation about how he was diagnosed as bipolar when he was about forty.

    Not sure why he wanted to share that particular bit information. Maybe he thinks I'm crazy or something. In fact, no, I'm just an unusually-well-groomed slob and suffer from chronic "don't-give-a-fuck-itis." Although I do work hard at things that interest me, like music, some computer shit, and improving my knowledge of dead languages and bits of theoretical information sciences. It just happens to leave a wake of messy desks and unfiled papers all around permanently.

    Anyway, that was kind of fun, I guess, being able to help somebody out with a lift.

    AND the burger of the week at my bar is a winner: beef burger, with corned beef, sauerkraut, thousand-island dressing. Actually it wasn't quite the best, kind of messy, but I now no longer have to eat anything today, so problem solved.

  7. #407
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    What a fucking day.

    First, our immediate managers and supervisors have gone off the rail. Scanning each and every person in and out for breaks. One more symptom of micromanagement. Our team doesn't actually require any oversight, since we're fucking good.

    Second, my phone has completely died, beyond all hope of doing factory resets. It's possible I could flash the android OS, but in a fucking stupid joke, every single reputable bit of PC software is written for Windows or MacOS. No Linux. I'm not going to make a virtual machine with Win10 just to do some stupid shit.

    It is a fucking PITA shopping for a new unlocked CDMA phone: I really don't want to inspect nerd details on Amazon or Walmart. It is a hassle.

    AND THIRD, I was 0.1 mile from home, stopped by the grocery store for some beer, and noticed the bartender gave me back someone else's debit card. Same bank.

    So, I drove back in rush hour.

    Oh, well, I've got five free beers coming to me next time I come in, which was a nice way of resolving the situation.

    I really don't need or want to drink any more beer, but I do need to wait until rush hour is a bit over, and also check e-mail and stuff.

    Fucking A.

  8. #408
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    Fuck my life. Fuck it right in the ass.

    You know what the icing on today's cake is?

    This gal Nat___ie, apparently she's in constant text contact with this other guy at work.

    You know, that's beneath me to get upset that she doesn't have time to text me back in a dog's age, but apparently she's got all the time in the world for this chooch.

    No, it's beneath me.

    I don't own her, she doesn't owe me anything, but still, I was the one who had the balls to take her out for hours of good conversation, and didn't ask for anything in return.

    No, I'm not upset.

    It's just the icing on the cake after two shit weeks.

    So be it! I was pretty sure she didn't want to fuck me.

    That's cool. I mean, I like screwing, but I also like playing chess, so...

    Just the way it is.

  9. #409
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    No, it's not anything to do with "plenty of fish in the sea."

    It's the concrete realization of disloyalty: it's like a little contract game among peers.

    "You do this, I do that." Shake hands and come out swinging, or a handshake deal over selling some goods.

    The fact that two people are of mutually-compatible genders (call it whatever, man-woman, or who knows what the kids are calling it these days — whatever arrangement for potential jollies, it doesn't matter), is really immaterial.

    It's more when you look in someone's eyes, and he or she back, and so on, and there's a feeling of trust or obligation.

    Even among pretty disreputable people, the least I've ever gotten back is "Fuck you, get the fuck out of here."

    In the past.

    Not so, these days. Not when there's such asynchrony in messaging.

    So, yes, I think she owes me at least as much as some really shady or untrustworthy people, for breaking that contract. "I'm just too busy, so that's the way it is, champ."

    And, yes, I think I owe others just as much. Some crappy kid bumming cigarettes on the street: even just a shrug of the shoulders is enough. Or if one is truly busy or occupied in some mental or physical task, walking down the street or wherever, the gesture or visage conveys as much, a la "Don't fuck with me, no time."

    So, that's it.

    I did send her a last text saying, in essence, "I know you're super-mega-ultra busy, and I'm not unprolix in text, but just let me know if you don't want to be friends."

    Not quite in those words: I tarted it up a bit.

    So, in my own way, whether she replies or doesn't, I already have my answer.

    If she doesn't want to be friends with me, that's absolutely OK. I'm not an easy person to get along with, most times, and that's fine.

    If she does, that's fine, too, although I'd have to think about if I want to be associated with her kind of person.

    Either way, for me, that's the end of it.

  10. #410
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    OK, here's the final "Deep Thoughts":

    By making this performative speech act (think of speech acts like "I now pronounce you husband and wife," is one of the canonical examples, or christening a ship, things like that), I've actually created an end to the spectacle.

    So, it's over, and all it took was one speech act of a particular kind.

    The continuations, while perhaps amusing, especially to the parties involved, are irrelevant to the performance of the speech act.

  11. #411
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    Ah.

    Twas written on his tombstone, "That car that parked in front of my carport whilst they were doingst launderings against my will shallt have been dealt with by two minutes of my car alarmest blowing the fiercest of trumpets, and the presence of the master appears in robes saying "Fuck you!"."

    Silly words they hear not.

    And so the master retreated, with a second tactical LED light focused upon hisseth car from high, balanced from the kitcheneth window, forthwith to discourageth the wayward car-dudeths.

  12. #412
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    But still the lamps remain, and the words of the pestilent cry out "Why?" and "What?"

    And the words of the master remain firm as his robes: "Fuck you! That's why!"

    And it was good.

    Probably until tomorrow morning when the master's windshield gets smashed in. Therefore the master keeps a couple of high-intensity bulbs on the master's car. Or else the master is going to go apeshit,

    Or, the master will eat some more flamin' hot cheetos in his robes and hope it just blows over.

  13. #413
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    And still the words of the master remain, among the (literal!) "Woo-hoo!" of those people in the apartment complex next door.

    Judas priest.

    Literal "woo--hoos,"

    Nope. Not in my neighborhood.

    Also, pro-tip, put your ear-plugs in before using the marine air horn.

    Holy shit it's loud.

    I might have said that before.

    But it's worth repeating.

  14. #414
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    And the master sayeth unto thee and thine, that a thick curtain shall hangeth over the spot lights so as to disguise the behindeth comingeths and goings of the master, so as to be like a backlighteth and such

    Yeah, so what I'm saying is I kept the LEDs pointed at my careth and put a light-proof screen behind them so that shadoweth shall not appeareth unto like teratological enormities like when going to take the pisseth or whatever.

    Whatever.

    It's pretty sweet.

    I suppose it's sort of like making a fort out of pillows as an adult, except I really don't want to shoot someone with 0.12 shot multiple times.

  15. #415
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    I mean, I do, but (i) stay the fuck off my property and out of my way and (ii) shut the hell up.

    And then there's no problems, is there?

    Hippies.

  16. #416
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    Oh, and besides the recent unpleasantness, I should share my one good thing I realized about myself today.

    Actually, I'll probably be known by strangers and coworkers as the guy who says "Yo <whatsyerface>! What's the <blahblah> on the <whatsit>?"

    Or whatever. The <whosit> on <cheezit> covering <blah> <whogivesashit>.

    Yes.

    John, beloved father of either some or none, who was not afraid to say "Yo! What the fuck is that shit doing over there?"

  17. #417
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    I suppose I'll translate the above into human speech.

    Some shit-nugget thought he can just park in front of the laundry room door directly across from me, partly blocking my car.

    I was wearing a bathrobe and nothing else, eating some flaming hot Cheetos, but it kind of bothered me, so I set my car alarm off from my front porch, and when the cracker asshole was like "Hunh, what?" I had only one word. "Fuck you!" And again, "What's the problem?" "Fuck you!"


    I might have said some other words, but there was no significant variation.



    ////

    And, as for today's, well, that's just an observation. I don't actually know if I have any children. I doubt it, but it's possible. But, indeed, I will be best remembered as the guy who says, "Yo! <insert name>! We good here?"

    That's it.

    ///ETA Oh, yeah, I set a second "tactical" LED flashlight trained at my carport. For I suspect my list of enemies is not shrinking, and I think shining a bright light into areas of vulnerability is not a bad idea. Costs me nothing — I think the electrical cost per month is in the pennies, if that much. Yes, I already had the lights, and still have a spare for inside the car for changing tires or such.
    Last edited by Jizzelbin; 24 Aug 2019 at 10:16 PM.

  18. #418
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    Fuck you, you fucking cunt "property manager."

    There is no fucking way talking with you in person and "asking" for permission to enter the condo clubhouse to recharge my laundry card is worth it.

    Face like a deflated football, voice like a belt sander.

    No.

    No fucking way.

    Yeah, it'd take five minutes, but it'd take ten years off my life just listening to that bitch.

    Fucking ass bitch, the fucking repairs were supposed to have been done by late August.

    I think my best option is to get real fucking drunk and angry and pound on MY fucking clubhouse door, and not stop until she opens the fucking door.

    Worthless fucking cunt.

    ETA Just show up in my "laundering clothes" — unbuttoned filthy white collared shirt, swim trunks, and barefeet, and just sit there with a basket of laundry until she wises up.

    How can someone like that actually

    Fuck it, I'm going up there right now, as described.

    ////

    OK. Apparently if you beat on the door like the goddamned police, she will open the door. "Oh, I see you're not wearing any shoes!" "That's right."

    She didn't blink an eye at my shirt being completely unbuttoned, from vent to sternum.

    What a retard. "Oh, well, you know, we say two to three weeks, but you know how contractors' schedules...."

    Fuck you, lady, it's your fucking job to know how to deal with contractors, especially when it's not your money.
    Last edited by Jizzelbin; 30 Aug 2019 at 02:10 PM.

  19. #419
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    Oh, here's a happier little FRLO&A observation.

    For weeks now I've been "rehearsing" if I get called on to lead this stupid Agile-style chant in the morning.

    Normally a manager would do it, but we don't have any managers who know how to manage people. Just sort of spreadsheet warriors without any soft skills.

    Yeah, so, I just chill my team out by pretending to surveil them evenly, then say "let's start out a little medium," then count in on the offbeats and do a common-time thing.

    Blah blah I can say some stuff or whatever, who cares, then say I'm going to count them off, "like this, we do a few first, one...two....one, two, three, HITIT!" Repeat as needed.

    Then, just like regular, when I want the final count, give them the sign with my head and LH and go "one, two, three, HIT-IT!"

    How the hell could somebody become a manager of a small, close-knit team with no ability to relate on a basic, human and humane level with his or her staff?

    We had that for almost a year, and now we have some cunt reading off a placard of what "stretches" we're supposedly supposed to do.

  20. #420
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    Goddamned fucking shit.

    There are still people in my crew who think that, for example, spots 13 through 23, inclusive on both ends, yields ten vehicles. Which it does not.

    Jesus fucking christ. Stop fucking up my shit.

    At this point it's beyond me demonstrating how or why that is eleven vehicles: it's more like just "trust me, it's fucking eleven, use your fucking fingers to count if you want, I don't give a fuck, just we're on to the next wave, so move your ass, get out of my way, and just do what I fucking tell you, you goddamned fucking rtards."

  21. #421
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    Well, one nice thing about having my weekend start on Friday is that I can fuck with my dumbass fucking HOA who doesn't have (i) jack and (ii) shit together.

    Yeah, I'm not going to do the whole story about this one, but it'd been, I guess you could say grandfathered in, from, well, decades ago, about my particular street that there's "no parking" along the curb.

    Yeah, I understand about in front of the mailbox. That's fine, that's always the way.

    So, supposedly about two or three months ago some piece of turd got a bug up his ass about this, and...

    I don't the have the energy to type it all out, but it involves stencils and white paint and "No Parking" (in caps) and one of my neighbors, whoever it is is a fucking genius angel, taking black paint and erasing....

    It's been going on for weeks, just the masked eraser, and then some shmo coming around in a golf cart like at seven am and redoing it.

    Oh, so, anyway, yeah, one of my longtime nextdoorsnikehs, she and I sometimes just fuck around and deliberately park in the "no parking."

    I don't know why. Just silent protest. We both own our own fucking carport spots, but it's just ridiculous to sit by while our duly elected board does jack and shit. Bunch of fucking bums.

    ETA Oh, and it's ridiculous because, not just because it's ridiculous, but it's also ridiculous because anyone who's ever been alive since...I don't know, like forever, has personally seen a hook and ladder firetruck, with the guy in the back with the steering wheel and all that, they'll fucking turn around in a spot one of those gay little Eurocars can. Trust me. Those guys are fucking good, so, once those fucking homos on the board fucking amend shit the next meeting, this fucking bullshit is dead in the water. Stricken from the record.

    That is not all, but that's enough for now.
    Last edited by Jizzelbin; 06 Sep 2019 at 02:22 PM.

  22. #422
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    All right, I'm about cheesed off about the tendonitis in my LH between fingers two and three.

    The worst thing is I did it to myself. NB: this was like six months ago or more.

    What's worse than that? I did it to myself by playing that stupid-ass fucking Chopin prélude, the G major, by doggedly insisting on using a fingering that, while reasonable, wasn't suited for my approach.

    What's worse than that?

    Well, I don't know. Biting into a hot dog and finding a vein in it.

    How the fuck should I know.

    But, I am really liking gorilla-taping those two fingers together every workday.

    Hey, two fingers is indeed the gentleman's limit.

  23. #423
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    Oh yeah, can't leave out my best news yes, today.

    Actually, it's not that bad, and I knew I'd be denied for a credit line from my bank, BUT along with the usual reasons (blah blah debt income whatever, all that):

    SERIOUSLY, THIS IS AWESOME:

    SERIOUS DELIQUENCY, AND DEROGATORY PUBLIC RECORD
    Yeah, I know it's not that good, and fuck Eliot Spitzer, and whatever, but that's probably the coolest thing that has ever been written about me, and ever will.

    That's like Cagney or George Raft or Al Capone or something.

    I Love It!

    I'm keeping this letter and might do have it framed.

  24. #424
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    That is the goddamned second motherfuckeringest time in ninety minutes I have spilled whiskey on myself.

    No shit.

    Fuck it.

    I'm just sitting here naked with my terrycloth bathrobe underneath me and a handful of towels at the ready.

    You believe that shit?

    Trust me, I've been drinkiing on my own a long ass time.

    I blame that extra-tasty cran-rasberry juice I bought: drinking's not supposed to taste all good and shit, it's supposed to hurt you!

  25. #425
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    Oh, and I suppose I should cap off the day with some maudlin stuff (no, don't lecture me about spelling, I know exactly what it is).

    Yeah, I was just half asleep at my desk, sort of with my head down like how junkies get that so-called rosette from nodding off with fags in their mouths.

    I don't know, whatever — I'm sure it's in some movies and certainly in some beat-era novels.

    OK. So I was just fantasizing about when one of our team-mates, let's call her Désirée (actuallly that is her name, but let's pretend I'm not pretending) is off to another shit job somewhere.

    I was just thinking about what a big hug I'd give her and tell her into her ear "If there's anything....anything....you need help with, I will find a way."

    No, we're not sexually partners, just pretty close co-workers for a number of months.

    It's going to be bad when she leaves — I know she's a lot closer like with Facebook and shit with a few other coworkers, so I just hope I get my chance to give her a big-ass hug. She knows we're all good, but I just want to have a chance to say goodbye like I know she wants. We're all right, but I want to send her off proper.

    ETA Oh, while I was napping sitting at my desk, I found this old safety vest from like a year ago. I'm really too lazy to take the hexadecimal codes I sharpied on the back and see if it's just an XOR encryption or what....judging by the sub-literate French scrawl on the front and the crude emulation of the band "Black Flag"'s on the lapel, I'm pretty sure that's an XOR encyrption saying something like "My manager eats her ass babies and so do you."

    Something stupid like that, but I don't feel like decyphering it. I might have hidden the XOR key or mask somewhere in sharpie on it, and I know I can solve it by hand, but I don't really care.

    So, I'm going to give a little gift to this like 19-year old kid on my team who's going off to do electrical engineering soon and just throw it on the front room table where we all clock in and like "Yo! What the fuck is this shit? I dare you to wear it!"

    Ah.

    Good times.

    EETA Actually, I'll probably just toss it on the table and say, "Hey, what's that, like hexadecimal or some shit?" IIRC it really decodes to something super-offensve, so I don't want to get too close to the offending garment.

    Damn, shit, the French on the front....uhhhh.....never mind, I don't speak French.

    They can't prove anything, those goddamned Germans and British.
    Last edited by Jizzelbin; 06 Sep 2019 at 10:50 PM.

  26. #426
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    Uh, yeah, like my grandfather had some French blood and they just kept it. I think they were from Wisconsin or somehing.

    Nope, they were all like Methodists or Unitarians or something. Oh yeah, Salvataion Army? That's like Mormon or something, right?

    I don't know. I took Spanish in high school, but it was like the teacher didn't know.

    So, I don't remember....what's that? non hablo español si bueno. Yeah, I don't recuerdo.

  27. #427
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    All right. That's too exhausting. I can't possibly keep that up IRL.

    It's not just my last name, it's too many people. Yeah, I can fake a stupid yankee schoolboy French I guess but I've already pulled the plug so dozens of people already know I understand their filthy jokes about how big their wives' cunts are and how tight that bitch's ass is.

    Yeah, once you laugh once, the game's over.

    Shit.

  28. #428
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    No thank you. I'm just going to stick to hollering "putain merde" out of my window every time a Triscuit misses my putain chie foute merde putasse mouth where dieu fait-il connasse eh it's I am proud to be an goddamned motherfuck shit whore American.

  29. #429
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    Oh.

    I thought this would be funny or amusing, but IRL it's kind of a PITA to type out.

    I don't know how to do the short version: I guess the very short version was some cornholer was tailgating me.

    AND I ADD for no reason. No place to pass, and I'm just following the persons up front at an appropriate distance.

    This is one person who should not have been operating a vehicle:

    I could and did see well more than two-hundred meters ahead that, while I'm not going to waste space and screw up the traffic pattern by being deiberately "pokey," but apparently this moron couldn't see that good.

    So, I got some good laughs at myself by engaging the rear brakelights while accelerating like a champ through this set of (very mild) curves.

    Eh, never mind, I'm getting board.

    Oh, let me pretend to be a teacher: don't fucking do shit unless you know what is ahead in the road.

    I'm not convinced these people ever learned to drive in the first place.

    I'm no Dale Andretti Jr or whatever myself, but at least I'm fucking aware of things three or four hundred meters ahead of me. And if I'm not, that's my fault, and I take the ultimate consequence.

    I'm very sorry if I'm a bad man, but just drive off the road and kill yourself, you morons.

    Sorry to say it, but operating a heavy, powerful machine is fucking serious.

    If you can't do it, and you're too impoverished to live in a city, I'm sorry, honey. You just can't do it.

    No two ways about it.

  30. #430
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    Oh, so yeah, I can't even remember.

    This fucking cunt in some shitty beginner-for-Baby-Boomers-Benz, thinks he or she is like the road warrior Mad Max or whatever.

    Fine.

    Trust me, that is perfectly fine with me: if you've got the lane, and you can take it, go ahead. I don't particularly want to race you.

    Go for it.

    In fact, I don't even see a problem with that: if you can do it, and your machine can, I'm not going to stand in your way,

    No, it was a whole confluence of bullshit, and I can't remember.

    I'm pretty sure somebody did my favorite trick of following a supposedly defective driver to his or her house and sat out front, except it was me.

    Which is bullshit.

    Anyway, that's why I have LED lights on my carport and some other stuff.

    Some people, man.

    Like, look three hundred meters ahead, you bint! Look where the next controlled signal is, cornboy! Look how many car-lengths I am behind the preceding automobile!

    I'm the first to say I'm not a smartest man, but JHFC, if you're operating heavy equipment, maybe take a look ahead.

    Fucking idiots.

    Excuse my language, but they are.

  31. #431
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    Well, I'm just going to say the best recourse is to engage your rear brakelights while accelerating at the speed of traffic.

    This is not "brakechecking," which I understand to be engaging one's brakes unexpectedly.

    Obviously, terribly dangerous, and if I were on a "traffic jury," I'd say completely inappropriate.

    But, downshifting and the like is, IMHO, a perfectly reasonable way to maintain speed.

    Provided the defectives can see twenty yards in front of them.

    There are very few surprises driving on a highway.

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    Actually, it's kind of pathetic how few teuetonic "cars" or even USA huge trucks can overtake me in my Camry XLE V6. Maybe it's just because my vehicle is slow-slung to the ground, has regular alignment tests, fresh tires, and a driver who knows what the fuck he's doing.

    Actually, I'm not a great driver, but I know how to take the motherfucking corners, and even stupid shit every fourteen-year-old knows, like how to gain speed out of a corner.

    More importantly, I don't shit my pants when somebody up the lane brakes for (i) unexpected encumbrance (ii) perfectly expected, but impredictable traffic control signal.

    Jeez Louise.

    How can you call yourself a driver and not be prepared for every and I mean EVERY thing in the road?

    Yeah, sure, sometimes some fucking elk or a deer. Can't do much about that.

    But you best believe I can anticipate a goddamned red light or four, same as it's always been, or an errant bicyclist or pedestrian.

    Don't they teach these people anything? Except how to be public menaces, even if inadvertently?


  33. #433
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    Oh, so I guess I summarize the last few posts.

    No, I can't really pretend I don't speak French: it's not just all the Africans from the earlier shift, but the crazy Franco-American linguist professor who blabbed all over "ZOMG it's so good!" and took no opportunity to avoid speaking to my in that language.

    No, I don't take any pride in that, I just know the language from little kid stuff to adult kid stuff, plus, just academic stuff, which doesn't IMHO have too much to do with the language.

    AND, I don't understand how people drive like maniacs on a three-lane highway.

    Freeways/thruways? Yeah, sure.

    I don't usually agree with the latter, but I understand it.

    Not on a two-three lane highway with multiple controlled signals. Complete idiocy.

  34. #434
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    Quote Originally posted by Jizzelbin View post
    Well, I'm just going to say the best recourse is to engage your rear brakelights while accelerating at the speed of traffic.

    This is not "brakechecking," which I understand to be engaging one's brakes unexpectedly.

    Obviously, terribly dangerous, and if I were on a "traffic jury," I'd say completely inappropriate.
    Just to clarify, actually engaging the brakes as in "brakechecking" is about the stupidest stunt I can think of.

    That's not what I was talking about.

    And I'm not just CYA about "haha some joke."

    But, on many vehcles, including my own, it's entirely possible to continue at the regular rate of speed, and even accelerate when appropriate, while having the rear brake lights actuated.

    That is not "brake-checking," IMHO, anymore than downshifting to a lower gear to macth the traffic one sees, say, two-hundred yards above.

    Why would a "close-follower" not have observed the same road or traffic conditions?

    I don't know, and I don't care.

    Just shitty drivers who are probably cornholing some kidnapped boys in their front seat.

    Don't know, don't care, just don't do your pervert shit on my fucking roads.

    Assholes.

  35. #435
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    Well. I don't know.

    I did about three racks from the continuous 14.1 straight pool configuration. The head ball thrown randomly, as well as the cue ball, of course.

    Got some, learned a few things.

    Main thing I learned is that I can finally just nail any given ball if it's a gimme, even with my shit eyesight. Just, take the cue, and just ram it down the pocket. I guess I always knew that. I also confirmed my suspicion that predicting even simple combination shots, especially with a cluster of three or more is, well, not really worth it.

    I also saw one of the best looking broads in one of those form-fitting dresses .... what was she doing? She was playing fucking pinball. On my second or third game she was texting on her phone right in front of the house cues, so I got to say "I'm going to reach around, honey," and she said "It's no problem, you're fine."

    The dialogue is not unusual — I call everybody "honey" or whatever.

    But DAMN. That was a good looking woman.

    She filled out that dress good.

    What was I talking about?

    Eh, I don't remember. I don't care.

    I prefer to only remember the highlight of the day: the rest of it was pretty crappy. A few bright spots, but mostly just the lesson I learned is that "tightly packed" really is not just good for tuna or sardines.

  36. #436
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    Yeah, this sounds stupid, but believe it or not I think I shoot better pool when there's a nice looking broad beside me.

    Don't tell me about hyphenation rules about compound adjectives or whatever: believe you me, I heard it and done it all before. I don't want some nickel and dime bullshit.

    Doesn't matter.

    Just, my only point is, when you're within two feet of a real nice woman, somehow...it just happens.

    Those smooth position plays where you land the cue ball within two inches of where you expected, or some slam-bam, pocket it and do the next, because that's the way the table reads.

    I'm not a very good player, and I can only just barely hold my own with the ladies, but trust me, it's such a nice feeling to actually play the table instead of just doing what it takes to win.

    It's IME not that hard to take down some people on shitty tables using house cues and crap balls.

    Comes down to luck and balls, most of the time, IME.

    I like surgically extracting every single motherfucking ball and every shot. Call pocket. Ball in hand? Meh, whatever, in the kitchen. That doesn't matter.

    I fucking hate eight-ball.

  37. #437
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    Oh, my new year's resolution, though, is to stop literally dropping the cue ball (because I foul so much) or the head ball on the table.

    Yes, I know you don't do that because of maybe cracking the slate, and you'd never do that during play.

    More importantly, it's a distracting noise to other people doing whatever other people do, and it's obnoxious.

    Not intended to be, but you're not going to hear any of that from me.

    I'll still hit hard for a stop shot or try to get some draw on the cue ball (not going to happen on these crap felts and with my crap stroke), but I think that's the way it's going to be from now on.

  38. #438
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    Yes, I lived up to my resolution today.

    To me, there is no finer sound than a soft stroke, and the target ball dropping gently into a coin-op table's pocket.

    I think I did three racks, my usual practice routine (head ball, cue ball, wherever, and fourteen balls racked), and I saw the craziest shit I've ever seen.

    I think it was the four ball, after trying a nice combination shot to break up this cluster.

    I shit you not, the damned purple fucking ball was about a centimeter from the pocket, and it had so much side English on it, it just spun on its own vertical axis for what must have been a good ten seconds. Five or ten seconds. Whichever, it was a real fucking long time to watch waiting to see if it would drop. It did not.

    Yeah, I know, fascinating story. Got a couple of good short-banks and one long-bank in, but I don't consider those good percentage shots on shitty felt and house cues and balls with a bunch of shit on them: I mean, each of those were naturals, like pretty normal shots you'd try in a game, but to me that's not playing pool, that's like rolling the dice. Too much luck.

    It is, to me, one of the most pleasant sounds and feelings, though, when, as happens increasingly often, a softer impact yields a dropped ball and a good position for the next shot.

    Yeah, sure, hard contact and balls in place gets the job done, but it's not very pleasing to me, aesthetically.

    I conclude my lesson from today is that my stroke just plain kind of sucks: bridge positions (I only use three: closed-loop, rail, and arched over in-the-way balls, and, no, I don't know if those are official terms, but who cares).

    I need better stroke control on the many many times my cueball is against the rail, or when I have to go high over some bullshit in my way.

    Probably just eat more Wheaties or something.

    At least I know what the problem is.

    Fascinating, I'm sure.

  39. #439
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    Oh, I did have one funny one from today.

    So, like I doubled down on a bet if a certain number of cars would show up for their routes. Nice kid, probably like 18-19 or something, is going to start studying electrical engineering later this month. Doesn't know shit, but he's young: he didn't know what I meant when I said "double or nothing, seventh car doesn't show for the 1115 run."

    No, we were only betting a company scrip that's only redeemable for some store-branded horseshit. Like most people who haven't got fired, I've accumulated quite a few of those.

    Oh, anyway.

    So, he didn't show today, but I'd already done my super-secret XOR encrypted message and had it in the pocket of my work safety vest. So, I was like, "Yo, if J____ isn't here, that means who wants ten swag bucks?"

    Of course Ra___sha is one of my main buddies. And she was all like "What is this voodoo DaVinci Code, it's like a Devil's message!"

    No shit. Yeah, she was joking around, but we were all just waiting to get the show started and I'm like "You never figure it out: J____ couldn't figure it out if he tried." She's like "Well, I don't know, he's a pretty smart little dude."

    Me: "Yeah, but I'm smarter."

    This other guy: "Yeah? Then what are you doing here and he's not!"

    That earned the only time I've ever said the word "touché" in my life.

    Yeah, the other guy's also a long-timer, and a super-nerd, so it was all in good fun.

  40. #440
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    I'm a terrible person: yes, I'm still mooning over this woman at work (not the more recent one, but my old reliable).

    No, I'm not creeping on her, and the few times we interact it's just chill: she knows I tried my hand with her, and we seem to just be fine with that. Didn't work, whatever. I don't know the reason, and I don't really care. That's her business, and there's no problems whatsoever.

    But she is one hell of a nice little lady: I kid you not, it just makes me happy to see her on the few days our paths intersect. Just really makes my day.

    //////////

    Oh, about the women in form-fitting dresses: yeah, I've been noticing, that must be like the new "autumn look" or something.

    I mean, they've always been around, that style of dress, but it must be some kind of fashion trend, because I'm seeing it quite a bit lately.

    Even on women who are a little bit....no, I'm not going there....I'll just say it's pretty nice, both in theory and in practice.

    For once, something popular that I don't reflexively despise.

    ///////////////

    Oh, and while I'm glad I added full overdraft protection to my credit union accounts, it's really something that should be used with extreme caution. It's more or less a lazy way to do a super-expensive payday loan, provided one isn't disciplined enough.

    Well, I consider that I paid a few hundred bucks to learn that lesson, and that was money well spent, since I clearly needed the lesson.

    I'm pretty darned frugal, but I can be a real idiot about money. Or, more likely, not be blowing cash on vile habits like chain-smoking cigarettes. The books and my beloved clutch pencils, notebooks, erasers? Yeah, that's OK.

    Grr.

  41. #441
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    ETA Oh, yeah, about pool playing: yes, it's funny, but I found all it took was just a tiny bit of attention to smoothing out my stroke. Like just a tiny little switch and a bit of extra attention.

    I think I had one of the quietest, most precise racks today. I got jammed up, as is usual when you don't break the 14-ball rack (but, really, really, there is no reason I can see that I can jam the head ball down and not rely on the residual force from the cueball to break up the big cluster. I know if I try to use follow or "top English" I'll often end up fouling the cue ball, but .... well, I don't know.

    I think I could probably justify paying somebody for some lessons. You know, like, what, twenty bucks for ... an hour? Probably more like half-hour or forty-five. Don't know what the going rate is.

    There's is so much shit to learn about this stupid game, and while I'm great at teaching myself, some things I'm just not getting, and while playing off some randos at the bar is often instructive, it's pretty rare to find somebody who has the enthusiasm and knowledge of the game and who isn't just some face who's trying to be a hotshot.

    To be continued.

    //////////////

    Also, judas priest, I mean, I think the Astra platinum double-edged razor blades are nice, but holy hell, do not just start hacking at your face if you're in a hurry. or hungover.

    It looks like I got in a bar fight or some woman clawed at my face with her fingernails.

    I wouldn't be surprised if some of the multiple cuts I gave myself didn't leave some permanent scars.

    Yes, I am glad I did not pull the trigger on an actual straight razor: considering I still have imprecise moments with a safety razor, that's probably a good thing.

    And, I think I can get as close a shave with a safety razor as a razor without the guard — the blades are certainly sharp enough, even just fresh out of the little wax paper coverings, and no stropping the blades or any of that. What is one double-edged blade, like six cents or so?
    Last edited by Jizzelbin; 13 Sep 2019 at 01:16 AM.

  42. #442
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    Jesus fucking priest fucking christ.

    Goddamned fucking christ shit fucking rain.

    Me, who fucking has been walking on goddamnned city streets since whenever.

    Judas fucking priest, I almost stepped out in front of a fucking line of traffic today, just willy nilly, sober as a judge.

    Yeah, I mean fucking A, why people don't have their headlights on is a fucking mystery to me, but it still...well, it didn't take the breath out of me, exactly, just sort of an apologetic handwave while I immediately immediately moved back to the curb.

    Am I superstititious? Well, riddle me this, the first thing I did after further impeding traffic was give the sign of the cross on myself.

    No, I don't know why. Just seemed like the thing to do.

  43. #443
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    But I will say that I kind of enjoy knowing that everyone in town driving a white, unmarked panel van likely comes from my warehouse and probably recognizes first my car and then me.

    Not that I know every driver personally, but if they've been through my warehouse, they've seen me. Humping carts or fucking around with flex drivers, or whatever.

    So, if it's an unmarked white panel van, and they see my car or me through the windshield, you can be damned sure they know who I am, because they've seen me, talked to me, etc.

    That's kind of a nice bit of feeling.

  44. #444
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    I am not sure it's such a good idea to associate with colorful, but dubious characters.

    On the one hand, some of them shoot a pretty good game of pool.

    On the other hand, it's 99.99% a pile of bullshit.

    It's not worth it playing pool with people who are....what's a polite word...well, let's just say they have their own world and they live in it.

    Also, Alice is a shitty temp bartender, and I hope they get someone better who's more used to the clientele. I mean, she pours good, and has an OK memory.

    She could end up being a good substitute bartender, but I just don't like having to deal with her. She's fair, honest, and never gave me a bad shake once she got the "news" that she doesn't have to shake me down every time, because I go there every day after work, for over a year.

    Oh, to tie it all together, maybe I just don't like change, even smaller ones, and I learned it's irritating to willingly engage in social activities with people who are not quite fitting into the categories I recognize and adhere to.

    Yeah, I suppose that's it.

    It sounds like I'm being a jerk, and I probably am, but I just don't like being irritated.

  45. #445
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    Oh.

    I guess the lesson I learned today is that sometimes (meaning: always or most times) not to try to get too much knowledge of random peoples' interior worlds (courtesy Georges Bataille).

    Because it can be fucking crazy in there.

    IOW, sometimes it is better to just let the crazies sort themselves out.

    Sounds harsh, but it's reasonable when you consider how many interesting people you meet and get to know over time, and just gravitate towards: they always have something, ways of speech, common knowledge. I'm not saying these people "out of category" are "out of play," but for me it's no good.

    Some people....yeah, rarely, I've been accused of being eccentric in my own way, but not in the way that "if you crack that guy's head open you'd find a nest of scorpions inside an elephant's dream."

    So, that's bad, and I should work on being more empathetic, even when it seems hardly possible.

    Just "being nice" or "playing along" doesn't quite cut it for me: I should have some more ability to put myself in these unfortunates' shoes.

    Not as a thought-exercise, but it might help me to better categorize some of these people.

    QED, or whatever.
    Last edited by Jizzelbin; 16 Sep 2019 at 07:07 PM.

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    Eh.

    So the PM flex team apparently has some dude who has some difficulties. I don't know what, like Tourette's or something.

    Yeah, har-de-fucking-har. I mean like some pretty pronounced compulsions like saying "Blah" or I can't remember what his favorite is this week.

    I think I might be an evil person, but he has some kind of handler, like I think they call it a "job coach" or something.

    I have ... never? Well, hardly ever... Well never? I never have thought about fondling some woman's teats as

    No, never.

    OK, hardly ever.

    It's almost driving me nuts, and I'm ....

    never mind. She's actually not that memorable, to me, and she's likely paired off. For me that's a deal-breaker.

    I don't know, kind of cute, dumpy, brunette woman whom I could probably convince to go do some crimes with.

    Nah.

    I could probably convince her I was challenged in some ways and get her to take me home with her.

    No. I've already tried the "But I'm an idiot!" excuse a few times on ths job, and it didn't take.

  47. #447
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    And, yes, the form-fitting slinky dresses has got to be a "thing" this season.

    Afuckingmen.

    I've seen too many women wearing them for it to be a coincidence.

    And it is, excuse my language, absofuckinglutely OK.

    It's also "body-positive," I suppose. It certainly leaves no folds uncovered. And bigger gals can and do wear these nowadays, and it's just fine.

  48. #448
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    No, I think I've started down the path of compulsive gambling.

    About ridiculous things.

    First all my stupid side bets for company scrip about "You know, if the last vehicle shows up, I'll give you ten," and then doubling down.

    Second in playing pool, also side bets: "If you make the eight in the corner without scratching the cueball, I'll buy you a beer."

    I don't know what that's about.

    Maybe some way to make things more interesting.

    It's pretty stupid, though.

    I suppose the stakes are low, and my estimations are sometimes accurate, so it's not a terrible burden.

    Except to my psyche when I invariably count short or fall short on my predictions.

    Also, it's not necessarily the kind of image or reputation I want to give of myself to the general public.

    No, I'm cutting that shit out.

  49. #449
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    I'm wondering how much of the gane (of pool) is deterministic in nature.

    Quite a lot of it.

    So, let's say ten or even three percent is "accident" or "just happens that way" or "the balls roll funny for everybody sometimes, kid, I told you that."

    No.

    I don't want to bet on some specific shots, I want to see the long money. Amortized, worst-case, long-run. Give me the upper bound and estimate the likelihood according to a function of some kind of polynomials.

    I don't know the physics of the game, and, I don't really care. Really big shit or really small shit, I don't care about. All I care about is if the ball sinks and if I called it.

    I see it every motherfucking day, well, 5/7ths of the week, sometimes more.

    OTOH this is not a dealer's rake of the pot. AFAIC, this is every player for himself.

    Too much luck.

    It's still not a sucker's game, IME. Even putting the cueball against that right spot of the table that some asshole didn't spill their drink on the other night: that's enough, that's a good bet. Getting the right cue from the rack of house cues. Slowing down your roll when you see that a bartender is approaching from twenty meters SSE with a tray full of drinks for some hen party.

    But, judas priest, there is still an awful amount of blind luck in this game.

    I did this twice times today. Just, literally, a quarter of a centimeter from the pocket, in both cases. Yes, if I jumped on the floor, the ball would have dropped.

    It took almost 100% of my discipline to not just jump up in place and get it to drop.

    Not once.

    Two times.

    That wouldn't have helped: the slates are pretty heavy, and the joists under the floor are fine.

    No, I'm not going to do an ASCII diagram, but twice.

    It's a magic box, son, and I got to have some more.

  50. #450
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    At least I'm not a Redskins fan!

    Lots of trouble wth them recently: I wouldn't go near sports gambling unless I'm the one playing. At least then I have someone to blame besides some random juiced-up players.

    I'd rather put the weight on me.

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