F-bombs

Boss: hey Frank.
Frank: hey.

Boss: Frank.. Frankie, F-man.. F-bomb. Can I call you F-bomb?

Frank: No.

Boss: I'm gonna call you F-bomb.



Boss: Okay I won't call you F-bomb. Except, once every now and then I'm going to throw it down and you'll be annoyed, but because we had this conversation you'll laugh and be a little bit okay with it until you think more about it deep down then you're really just going to hate me more and more every time I call you that. So seriously don't worry I won't call you F-bomb.

Frank. Um, ok. Thanks Boss.

Boss: Great. See you later F-bomb.

Flawed Fiction

Just watched the recent move “9”. Very frustrated in the plot. Let me see if can sum it up for myself:
Scientist invents intelligent machine. Machine is used to make more war machines. Machine turns on humanity, goes all Terminator/Matrix. Scientist makes nine sock puppets, puts nine different 'parts of his soul' into sock puppets. Before he dies and the last sock puppet awakens the Scientist ends up with the freaking On Switch for The Machine. Ninth sock puppet wakes up. Finds key. Plugs it back into the broken Machine. Machine wakes up starts mission over again. Sucks in 5 of the 9 sock puppet's essence. Ninth puppet grabs On Switch. Blows up The Machine with it. The 5 dead sock puppet 'soul pieces' vaporize happily into the air.
Uh. So. As far as I understand it, the world is not left in a better place. Nothing really changes. How did the Scientist end up with the On Switch to The Machine? If he had it, and the machine wasn't working (which is implied since the re-acquaintance with the On Switch brings The Machine back to life), why did he keep working on the sock puppets? So many plot holes for something so visually interesting. It wouldn't take much to spin it into an encompassing, cohesive idea but no attention was paid to that. So much potential, wasted. Alas.

More dreams

We were at a house, long used and recently abandoned by friends/relatives. A group of us were there, headed up my current boss's boss. It was afternoon, I had places to be that evening/the next day.
Somehow the call was made to clear out the house, prep it for sale/rental etc. I protested that there wasn't enough time in the day to get it done but the bigboss went through with it anyway
cut to: scenes of a group of people trying to clear out a desperately full house. All I remember was there was a portable vinyl record player so we had old music to listen to in part of the house while we worked.
Sub-plot arises: Somehow or other the city/country we live in has come under attack by it's nearest neighbor. Sending troops down one town at a time, through planned roads and intersections There has been noted that a covert survey team of foreigners has been spotted, scouting the roads the day before each assault. Rumor has spread a description of this scouting team, and they appear to go un-contested about their business (don't ask me, it's a dream).
As the clamoring cleanout continues (hell yeah I just did that), I notice three people at the road outside. Pointing, taking notes, and snapping photos. Immediately assume it's the 'scouts' and that we're awfully close to being the next target. My urgency hastens and I warn everyone, but business goes about as usual.
Night falls, long after I had intended to be home with my family. Inevitably the foreign assault begins. Troops with guns come storming down the road. We maybe find a temporary hiding spot in the house but are obviously trapped with an unknown future. Will we be captured/killed? Will we put up resistance? What exactly is going on? Only thing on my mind is "I have to get back to my wife and kid."
That's about when I woke. Just a dream with a combo of work-anxiety, don't-want-to-be-here-running-out-of-time anxiety, and a dash of did-Tom-Clancy-write-this-script anxiety?
All for you, uncensored, unedited, no regard to good writing conventions. Maybe I'll merge this dream with my Zombie-Apocalypse dream from before and we'll really have something.

Nearly sober ramble

The nothingness is palatable. I want to write something interesting. Just to feel the keys of the keyboard sink under my fingers for more than the length of an email, or the span of a tweet. I feel like I have nothing to say. All just complaining. Wanton commentary on the day to day goings on. Frustrated at work, grumpy at home. No one wants to hear it. We all have our complaining to do, and listen to others complain just isn't very interesting.
I'm getting to my co workers I can feel it. Unleashing at the same few targets for no good reason. Ok a few good reasons. But it's not getting very far. Staying positive is much more successful in the long haul. Bring people with you, rather than dump them on the ground and try to make it on your own. Almost every day I tell myself that. Then someone does something counterproductive or downright pointless and I go at em guns blazing. Deserve it? Maybe. Helping the greater good by doing it? Not really. Helping my own future? Doubtful.
Maybe it's just winter coming near, but all I really want to do is hibernate, not do anything. Can't seem to think straight, clear thoughts don't come often. Escaping the allure of mind-altering substances is a must, but they do work wonders when you want them to. Beer is an excellent tool for shutting down an active mind. Me and my kind, stop drinkin for a day or two and we're ready to conquer the world. We outperform the nermals every day in a one-drink-short-of-a-hangover haze. Add the instant clarity, energy, and boredom of sobriety; it could be earth shaking.
Enough rambling for one day. Not much to say, but going through the motions is good. Can't be an athlete without the practice. And one of the reasons I bought this dell was for the keyboard.