Effluvia Crap from Memepool:

• Bikini Masterpiece Theatre
• A dork who lives in an airplane
• Military intelligence, available to the public
• Funny cat freak-out videos
• Too much spare time, Part I
• Too much spare time, Part II

Boss Rudy!

"You watch your mouth, punk, or I'll stick that computer up your ass."

The men's room where I work is a cramped, stinking little room, holding an amazing three stalls and one urinal. You almost have to stand sideways to use the middle stall, but they managed to cram 'em all in there.

Anyway, there seems to be a group of guys who take shifts or something to make sure one of them is always sitting down and foulingthe air. The other day I decided I would have no more of it and would use shame to bring this foul and constant practice to an end.

"Oh ho, what are you doing in there?" I bellowed when I noticed the reek and the shoes under the door, "slaughtering a goat? It smells like low tide in here! You been eatin' dirt again?"

Okay, I didn't actually say those things, but I think them every day. Honest.

For insurance purposes I had to drive Sonya's car to work today. This necessitated doing the car move around this morning.

My car was parked overnight in a relatively rare (on our stretch of Magazine, anyway) metered spot, so my plan was to back it up into a nonmetered spot before putting the top down on the Louisiana Badass (the Wife's convertible) and driving to work. I got my key's out to move my car...

...but since I was driving Sonya's car I had Sonya's keys. Sonya ain't got no key to my car.

Huff.

So I went back upstairs, got my keys, backed up my car, and then (so the Wife wouldn't be stuck at home) took my keys back upstairs and left with Sonya's keys. Remember, now, there's two flights of stairs between me and the parking lot and the humidity was somewhere up around 90%, and I was running a little late for work. I was soaked, absolutely douched with sweat by the time I plopped down in the driver's seat. I let the air conditioner rip for about two minutes before putting the top down, whereupon my glasses fogged up solid and I had to drive, slow with my head out the window, before they would defrost.

I made it to work before I realized the security card and ID I'm required to have on me at my job were in my car's glove compartment.

So today I'm wearing a temporary ID tag and following people through doors, trying to keep a low profile.

I was proud of myself at lunch, though. I had to go the insurance place, the bank and get some lunch in about forty-five minutes. I did it, too. The acceleration of the Louisiana Badass made it all possible.

On the way home yesterday I was going to get some dinner. I wanted a burger, and I figured Sonya (who likes burgers but rarely) would like a BLT.

I stopped at three - count 'em, three - different places and none of 'em would make a BLT. Every one of the places would do chili cheese fries, or baked potatoes, or breakfast, but no one would make a BLT.

I asked.

"Do you have BLTs on the menu?"

"Nope."

"Well, could you make one special?"

"You ain't from around here, are you?"

"Bacon, bread, lettuce, tomato? I've got mayonnaise at home."

"How 'bout a drink?"

It was the B part of BLT that tripped these places up. Amazingly, they had no bacon on the premises. Even though they had breakfast. It was all very strange. We ended up eating po' boys from the Balcony.

I was listening to the New Orleans police scanner online this afternoon. Some woman had had thousands and thousands of dollars worth of electronics stolen from her house - computer, stereos, TVs. All this was dutifully reported over the radio.

A little bit later a cop came on and said, "ah, she says all this stuff is rental electronics. She's calling the rental company to get serial numbers and stuff."

You could hear police all over town roll their eyes and shake their heads.

Who do you think's gonna win that Survivor show tonight? My money's on Rudy.

"I wiped my ass with a hundred-dollar bill. Felt good."

The Saints released 1,400 seats to their home opener on Labor Day weekend today. To my surprise, the game was already sold out. The Wife is going tomorrow to get us some tickets, 'cause I really want to go. So does she. Besides, I think "Sold Out," in relation to the Superdome, means less than three-thousand tickets left.

And even if we don't get tickets, you know, if it's sold out it will be on TV, right? And that's good too.

Addendum: Richard won. Do you believe that shit? Incredible.