Okay, so we were staying at the house my father-in-law and his girlfriend share in PA, right outside Philly. As I said before, it's all nicely outfitted with various antiques and such. Well, dear old dad decides that he doesn't like the way this clock is hanging on the wall.

I had noticed the clock earlier, it was fairly hard not to. It had a giant face on it, probably 12 inches or more, with a huge pendulum hanging from it. I mean, the pendulum alone was a good four feet long; about four inches across at the top, widening down to a bulb at the bottom that was nearly as big as the clock face. The clockface had a metal box on the backside, that I assume held the various gears, that was probably 5 or 6 inches on each side. It looked quite odd hanging on the wall, because there was no housing or design to the clock itself. It consisted simply of these three components and absolutely nothing else.

Apparently, the G/F and her teenage son had hung it on the wall, and Father-In-Law decided he thought it looked like crap. I don't generally agree with anything he says, but he was right. It was held onto the wall by two screws at the top corners of the box behind the clock face; anchored into the plaster or concrete or whatever the walls were. It hadn't been tightened down, so the clock hung at a down-facing angle, which meant the pendulum wouldn't swing right. So here's this disgusting clock barely hanging on the wall, and it doesn't even work.

So he asks me for help. I was cornered, I had no excuses (I was on vacation), so I was enlisted into service. He wants to take the screws out, rework the anchors, and screw it back in; so I agreed to hold the monstrosity while he was doing that. This was a mistake. I didn't realize it; but picture this thing, it's all fucking brass, and it's hanging about six feet high. I stand under it and try to maintain it's position while he starts removing the screws. The weight isn't that bad, maybe 45 or 50 pounds.

A couple minutes later, he's got the screws out, and I'm the only thing supporting the clock. I'm beginning to second guess my estimate, maybe this bastard weighs 60. As I'm standing next to it, holding it about shoulder height, I realize the ultimate stupidity of what we're doing. This clock looks stupid because it's a fucking grandfather clock without the giant wood cabinet. No wonder it's all hanging off balance, grandfather clocks don't hang, they're perched inside the cabinet so that the pendulum swings from a level platform.

"Hey, um. This thing looks like a grandfather clock without the box."
"Yeah, that's exactly what it is." Father in Law says this with a bit of pride, and I realize that I'm dealing with a dumbass. This clock will never work right in it's current state.
"So...maybe what you should do is build a housing for it, so that it doesn't hang, so much as it's supported by a shelf or...I don't know, a cabinet?" I try not to let the sarcasm come through, but the clock assembly is beginning to feel very heavy. I start to get mad. I'm sitting here trying to 'fix' something that is 1)not going to work because 2)what we're doing is not going to solve the problem and 3)this fucking thing is ugly anyways. Not to mention it's 4) fucking heavy, which makes this stupid solution not even worth the effort. It will not improve functionality or appearance, it will simply return the clock to its currently Ridiculous Clock status. The solution here is to put the goddamned grandfather clock into a fucking grandfather cabinet like it's supposed to motherfucking be. Why in the fuck would you remove such a heavy peice of shit from a functional design, only to hang it on your wall so that it looks like shit and works like shit and might as well be a big fucking 60lb peice of brass shit hanging on your living room wall? SHIT!

I tell him to unscrew the pendulum from the clock body itself, because it's really heavy. He does that and it's so heavy he almost drops it on the ground. We set the two peices down on the couch and I try to explain to him without slapping him around and calling him names that we probably need a more functional solution. I'm actually very good at this, as I routinely find myself diplomatically telling people at work that their ideas are stupid and wrong. He wants to stick to the Two Stupid Fucking Screws Idea, and I decide I don't give a shit about this Ridiculous Clock anyways. It's just not worth it.

I hope that damn thing falls off the wall and crushes him while he's home alone some day; and he bleeds out. What a fucking Ridiculous Clock.

Posted by: shank at 12:53 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
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The Wife and I flew up to PA for a family wedding. Since we were up that way, we decided to stay with her father and his girlfriend, who share a home right outside of Philadelphia. Neither of us had ever been to Philly, so we figured this would be a good opportunity to see the sights.

The city itself is actually quite nice. Lots of famous landmarks and interesteing architecture. Oh, and they give away free shit for no reason. They just give it the hell away. I guess it's for product review or brand recognition, but they'll drop these huge crates on the street corner, and people will get in line to take whatever they're giving out. When we were there, it was those Handi-Vac vaccuum sealers and they were handing them out by the twos. I was like "Sweet! Now I don't have to buy a wedding gift!"

We drove out of the city to this place called West Goshen Township. Apparently, PA is a commonweatlh, which means they do some pretty odd things like call towns townships, and make access to alcohol about as clumsy as possible. You can't buy beer anywhere except a bar or a beer warehouse. And you have to go to state-run liquor stores for wine and the hard stuff. Whatever. So this town where the girlfriend lives is really upper crust. The schools are expensive and manor-like, with fenced in manicured pastures around them. I've never seen so many private schools in such a small town.

Her house is very nice. It's small, but it's been tastefully maintained and updated. You know, they kept the cool stuff (original doors, floors, etc) and updated things like ladnscaping, added an A/V setup in the basement and a hot tub on the patio. Well, one of the things that they decided to keep 'period' were the plumbing fixtures. Don't get me wrong, these still looked nice, but the reason plumbing fixtures have changed is because the old shit is just not very user friendly.

She made this great dinner, and I had two portions. Needless to say, after that much beef tips and rice, any normal person has a serious poop on deck. So I go upstairs to the bathroom and briefly survey the scene. Toilet paper? Check. Clean toilet? Check. Then I step closer. The hole at the bottom of the toilet bowl is about as big as the hole in the middle of a Lifesaver. This antique peice is not going to be able to handle the 21st-Century assault that is about to come charging out of my ass. I decide to hold off. We're only here for one more night, and if I can hold my poo for another 24 or 36 hours, then I'll be good.

Seriously, there wasn't even a plunger handy. I go back downstairs and sit on the patio with everyone else, but all I can think about is this Impossible Toilet. I mean, how do they take a shit int his house? There isn't a reasonably sized toilet? Do they shit outside? I guess, maybe. As The Wife and I are sitting in bed, I decide to consult with her.

"Babe, I seriously have to take a dump; and this woman's toilets are a joke."
"What are you, stupid?"
"Seriously. Go look at her toilets, and come back and tell me how I'm supposed to shit 7 pounds of beef and rice into that thing without some serious power tools." I shove her out of bed and make her go check this out. She comes back, get's into bed and says, "Dude, I don't know what to tell you."
Well shit. I thought she would actually have an idea. She says, "Maybe you should go a little, and do multiple flushes?"
This does not satisfy me. I can tell that what I have inside me is a giant log, and I won't be able to cleave it with my sphincter. It's just too massive, too solidly organized.

I wake up in the morning, and the urge to shit is so intense it carves a look of obvious discomfort on my face. The Wife sees me and tells me I need to go take a shit before I hurt myself. I figure if I go now while everyone's still asleep, at least I can clean up any overflow without anyone noticing. I decide that I have to do what I have to do, and hike off to meet my fate.

I make another more thorough plunger check that is completely fruitless. These people must have turds like robin's eggs. I decide that my only option is to try and break this giant dump into peices, so there I am: hovering over a toilet, looking down through my legs and hoping I don't end up shitting all down the back of the toilet. I am completely disgusted at the sight of shit coming out of my own ass, but I have no choice.

The first barrage comes out the bomb bay with such force that I push so hard to pinch it off that my knees buckle and I damn near end up falling over. I look down in the bowl and see that my dump is practically choking the worlds tiniest crapper. My shit is actually laughing at me.

I hit the flusher and watch as the toilet begins to work it's ass off. The bowl is filling, and the higher it gets the wider my eyes become. Oh Lord, my shit water is going to be coming through the floor into the room below isn't it? The bowl is now just over half full and rising, and I'm pretty sure at this point we'll be leaving a day early. This bitch is not going to want me in her house after I get my poo all over it. At three quarters full, I'm already hobbling around the bathroom with my pants around my ankles, grabbing towels off their racks in preparation for a shit flood of biblical proportions.

Then it happens. There is a deep thunking noise like a bass drum, and my shit disappears down the hole. Success! Sweet God yes! The weight of the water must have squished it through the head of the needle. I repeat this process several times over, probably flushing three or four payloads down the toilet. About thirty minutes later I come out of the bathroom and The Wife is laughing at me. "What were you doing in there? Beating a drum?"

That was ridiculous. Speaking of which, remind me to tell you about the Ridiculous Clock. These people were all about frustrating housewares.

Posted by: shank at 06:22 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
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I am somewhere in the vicinity of West Chester, Pennsylvania.

I have been drinking all day, and I feel like a champion.

I am staying at The Wife's Father's Girlfriend's house (which is friend-of-a-friend-of-a-friend awkward for me); and it is way too nicely outfitted for a person of my drunkedness.

Remind me to ask you about the Impossible Toilet.

I have a rental car. I bought the retarded $20 insurance policy. Enterprise is going to cry when they see what I bring home next week.

Until then? Crickets...

Posted by: shank at 02:47 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
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Leaving in the morning for a prolonged (and past due) vacation; so blogging will be light.

Which of course is a retardedly redundant statement.

I just wish there was someone else I could share this blog with. Maybe even two someone else's would be nice.

Yeah, two. So i;ll be taking applications when I get back. You can post them in the comments, or just send them to the two emails on the sidebar over there that don't belong to me.

More importantly than a co-blogger, I need a co-spammer. Seriously, I'm despamming 20 or thirty comments a day on this bad biotch; and that shit is monotonous and sucky beyond belief. I'd punch a baby if it would keep spam away for a day, and then I would continue to punch that unfortunate little fucker every day just for ransom. I'd pay serious dough to hire someone to find spammers, fucking break into their houses, rip their nuts off, eat them, and shit them down their throats.

Oh fuck me, the goddamn local dumbass news channel has these 'meteorologists', and they just interrupted my fucking TV program to tell me there's a thunderstorm three counties away. Right at the good part of the show too.

You know what?

Fuck three counties away, alright! I'm watching my fucking nationally broadcast, live TV show; and I don't give a fuck what's going on out there in western bumfuck flyover country! They can kiss my ass!

Posted by: shank at 08:49 PM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
Post contains 252 words, total size 1 kb.