Whiskey. Tango. Foxtrot.

That "thud" you may have heard last night was the sound of me falling off the couch after hearing Bill Bennett share his ideas about reducing the crime rate. I mean, like, holy Toledo and Sheboygan. He went on to put the cherry on top of his little crap sundae when he tried to qualify his remarks as a thought experiment about public policy. Come on, Billy-boy, you are not Jonathan Smith, so don't try any of this "A Modest Proposal" jazz.

Not only was his oral offal offensive, it was just plain stupid. Ol' Buffalo Bill has a radio show. Let me repeat that: Bill Bennett opened his mouth and let the dumb things come out on the radio. Brother Billy Joe Bob must have taken the train to Stupid Town that day, if he thought he could say such abhorrent, repugnant, inflammatory things without being called on it. And then, for poor old persecuted Billy-Willy to take umbrage at people who dared mention his name and the "R" word in the same breath, that's just, well, that's.......(hold on, let me get the thesaurus)...........Bennett-ian.

I So Stoopid

So I fixed the broken links in the "Links" section. You're welcome. It's not like I'm supposed to know HTML or anything, like I've done any web development befo.....oh, crap.

Workin' in a coal mine, Goin' down, down, down...

You know you're tired when you put your spoon in your Mountain Dew and your straw in your soup. It's lunchtime, but my brain thinks it's sleeptime. I've got mandatory 58-hour weeks at my job from now 'til Oct. 14, but you can bet that only about 20 or so hours a week are going to resemble productive work. Not because I'm out to stick it to the Man, or anything lame and deluded like that, but because I'm friggin' TIRED. I left my cube at close to 9 last night, and I was back again at 8am.

Oh yeah, October 14. The end of my contract for NASA. I'm definitely going to miss working in this place. Sure, it's a sh*ty little shared cube and all, but I've got a coffee pot and a window. Well, I'll get to keep the coffee pot, anyways. Until I have to sell it to support my food-and-shelter habit, that is. You see, my crappy little Mom-n-Pop home office doesn't have the money to keep me around on overhead, and they don't have any other contracts for me to work on. So, October 14 is, in effect, my layoff date. Scott Adams could have had some really great Dilbert material if he had listened in on the meeting in which the layoff news was announced. My manager kept saying "This is not a layoff." Sorry, your Jedi mind trick has no effect on me!

Soup's gone now. Mountain Dew supplies almost depleted. Situation: Full, and slightly caffeinated. Time to look busy...

FRIST PO5T!!! W00T!!!

Sorry, always wanted to do that. Ahem.

So after months of deriding blogs and bloggers, I've joined the queue for hell and started my own lil' corner of the b----sphere. And here you are, reading it. As long as you're here, let's get the introductions out of the way. Yes, I called this joint "Lair of the Dorkfish". Yes, my id is "Spikey Dorkfish". You can call me "Spike", if that makes this more bearable for you. Speaking of bearable, I need to go refill on that mahogany-colored, saporous beverage, that near-holy elixir that sustains me and, dare I say it, may be capable of quickening me from the dead, COFFEE. Catch ya later.