Weekly Shocks' Blog


“I would tell you more, but I’ve already told you way too much.”

Oooooh. OOOOOOH. I love news drama. Especially when the drama is mysterious and strange and the players involved are incompetent hacks who love the spotlight and – bonus! – are regularly charged with the safety of hundreds of people 30,000 feet above the Earth.

So, not surprisingly, I’m following the developing freak show of the plane that overshot Minneapolis/St Paul by 150 miles last week with salivating interest and trembling hands, though the trembling hands could be the result of too many Diet Cokes and the excess saliva is probably due to the fact that I’m baking those Pillsbury cinnamon rolls with the iced frosting glaze of happiness – oh God, they’re so good – and my whole room smells like an autumn-y gingerbread house I want to stick my face in and devour in one bite. Nom nom nom. Still! The story is pretty tasty, too. I mean, the title of this blog post is a direct quotation from the saucy first officer regarding the manifest reasons why he and his dear, sweet captain missed a landmark as subtle as a major international airport and ignored radio calls from the ground for over an hour. Most news sources are predicting that these two ass-clowns simply fell asleep somewhere between their San Diego-Minneapolis jaunt, but frankly, most news sources are staffed by bored, cynical, lazy bums who need a swift kick in the rear. And that’s my job, isn’t it? Of course it is.

I’m guessing the whole incident was either a covert military operation against the Canadians (and “aboot” damn time, too) or, more likely, an alien abduction. And I bet most of you good folks agree with me. Right? Hell yeah, I’m right! You know what I’m talking about. That’s why I like you guys. You’re smart and sassy and see the hidden conspiracies everywhere. Good work, people.

(Wait, who the hell am I talking to? I need help.)

Incidentally, I’ve been to the Twin Cities on a couple of different occasions, and they really are a beautiful, criminally underrated place well worth visiting, except during their 11 month-long winters (Weekly Shocks’ Rule Number 543: “If the snow drifts in your cities are bigger than me, your iced-arctic hellhole I shall not see.”) or their three-week long summers when the temperature soars to 112 degrees and the humidity hovers around 105% and you watch helplessly while mosquitoes the size of your head hold you at gunpoint and drain your entire body of its blood supply. But other than those unseasonable times, it really is a lovely place. Book your flight now, and if your pilots get abducted by a second batch of aliens and you end up in Wisconsin (without your luggage, naturally), well, I hear that state’s quite nice, too. Enjoy!

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More Rubbish

Yes, yes, I am well aware of the fact that I’ve been a bit remiss on the substantive posts lately (and yes, I know that “substantive” is not a word one should ever use to accurately describe the contents of this blog).  However, I’ve been so gosh darn busy with my real life that I’m too exhausted to go back and fix the obvious and disgusting split infinitive in that last parenthetical phrase, let alone post something that isn’t complete crap. Oh, the weary life of a grad student with deadlines! Pity me.

OK, enough work-related caterwauling. Enjoy some random thoughts on recent rubbish. Hopefully it’ll hold you whiny bastards until King Dissertation is submitted (please don’t hit, only kidding, I love you all):

1) The last quasi-decent post I wrote vaguely referenced my return to the UK. Coming through EU immigration is always a treat for dirty foreigners like me. I always, always seem to end up in the queue filled with every petty criminal in the whole damn world along with their falsified passports, their forged visas, and their cocaine-filled anal balloons, and every single one of them is indignant and outraged when they’re denied entrance into the UK. It never fails. It’s either the Bellowing and Bellicose Criminal Queue or the March of the Idiots, in which every person is drunk/half-asleep/recovering from a lobotomy/huffing paint thinners. I generally don’t like policing people’s behavior too stridently, but seeing some of the idiocy that occurs while people are waiting in line for passport inspection kind of makes me wish the government would issue an IQ test before allowing passengers on planes. My favorite idiot in the sky story actually comes from a friend of mine who swears that, while at Heathrow patiently awaiting his criminal inspection and anal probe, a very annoyed, braincell-deficient young lady flounced into the queue and whined to her friend, “Oh my god. That other lady was such a bitch! Like, how was I supposed to know that the US isn’t in the EU?”

Oh, help.

2) I, of course, should not snicker too loudly at the moronic behavior of others, because yesterday, in a fit of rage and impatience (two emotions I generally don’t experience all that often, I must say, which I’m gonna go ahead and use as the sole excuse for the following mind-boggling inanity), I tore apart my room in a futile search for my keys before giving up, frustrated and sweaty, then slumped to the floor muttering a series of rather interesting and colorful curses I shan’t repeat here. A sharp pain in my bottom region reminded me that I had stored the keys in my back pocket fifteen minutes earlier. I deserved that pain-in-the-ass, quite frankly.

3) Speaking of pain-in-the-ass, King Dissertation is reaching his final stages. I’ve come up with all kinds of creative ways to avoid finishing him, mostly because he’s starting to send me into a series of nervous twitches every time I open up Microsoft Word and he stares up at me with his toothy, shit-eating grin. Bastard. Anyway, two days ago, I decided it would be a good time to rearrange my bedroom. Why not? I didn’t get very far, though, because my bed is heavier than a dead cow on a pogo stick, and I couldn’t move the damn thing more than two feet before my back decided to go on vacation and give out, leaving only a knife-like spasm in its stead. The spasm refused to help move the bed and he didn’t like the idea of going back to King Dissertation either, so we took a nap instead. I probably should have started out with that activity and avoided the whole mess to begin with. Oh well: live and learn.

Also, I only added that third little random item because I really, really like the phrase “heavier than a dead cow on a pogo stick.” And I think I actually made it up all by myself, too. Hooray! Wonder if I can somehow work that into King Dissertation. Hmmm….

And, finally, because I really do love you all, a present: chocolate-flavored puggle. Awww.

ChocPuggle