Worst Warning Sign Ever

Sign outside a local contruction site: CAUTION—LASER IN USE
Shouldn’t a warning sign make you not want to go in? ‘Cause I saw that, and I started looking for an open door. I wanna see that goddamned laser. Who wouldn’t?
I wonder what other, equally ineffective, signs they had up. Maybe a WATCH FOR FALLING BEER sign, or one that reads WARNING: BOOBIES.
 

UPDATE (11/10): Heh. Got drunk last night, memory is a bit hazy. Woke up this morning to find the sign on my wall. Must've gone out and stolen it in the middle of the night. Ah, I feel like a kid again.

He was a baaad mother-(shut your mouth)

Augh! Isaac Hayes just died. What? How the hell did that happen?
That means that pretty much all the cool in the world (except, you know, for what resides in my own body) is gone.
Wasn’t Isaac Hayes too cool to die? I mean, seriously, you’d think Death would walk in and Isaac would go, “Hey, baby, don’t wreck the groove, dig?”
“But I’ve come to take you to the other side,” Death would say, somewhat nonplussed by his total lack of fear.
“Just have a seat while I dim the lights, baby. Care for a drink?”
“I really shouldn’t…” but Isaac would put Hot Buttered Soul on his record player, and the cool would overwhelm it, “well, okay…maybe just one…”
And a couple hours later, Death would walk out of the house empty-handed with a big smile. Death’s driver would say, “Ummm…so where’s this guy we came for?”
“Whoah,” Death would say, “step off a brother, a’ight? He’s cool.” And then Death would go off to bother, say, Andy Dick.
The man has great personal significance for me beyond just being super-cool. He was a huge part of my courtship with Rhonda. She had never listened to him before. At the time, she was a big fan of Stealing Beauty, which has one of the best soundtracks ever, and we used to listen to it while we were out driving. It features a song called “2-Wicky” by a band named Hoover, which samples “Walk On By” very heavily. I told her the origin of the sample, and later played Hot Buttered Soul for her, and she loved the record, and...well, let’s just say that LOTS of sex was had with that record playing in the background, okay? So, everybody thinks of sex when they listen to Isaac Hayes, but maybe I think of a little more sex than most.
Speakin’ of which, I’m gonna put Hot Buttered Soul on right now, and when that’s over, I’m gonna watch Shaft (which, of course, I own on DVD...I mean, come on). And maybe later I’ll go hang out with Mama’s cat, who is pretty much Hayes’ avatar amongst the common folk.

Walk on by, walk on by,
Make believe that you don’t see the tears
Just let me grieve in private
‘Cause each time I see you
I break down and cry
And walk on by

I just can’t get over losing you
So if I seem broken and blue
Walk on by

 So long, brother.

Oh How I Hate

I’m still adjusting to having to drive to work every day. I’m used to waking up at Time X, spending Time Y getting ready, and then leaving at Time Z. Everything has to happen a little earlier now. Only about five minutes earlier, but for a creature of habit like myself, those are five big minutes, and I’ve been late a couple of times since the move because of them.
I was a few minutes late today, but not because of this. No, today I left the house on time. Unfortunately, the streets were full of Ohio drivers this morning. I had to wait forever while the first one worked up the courage to turn left across Eighth Street. Then I got stuck behind one on Seventh Avenue, stridently driving five mph below an already unreasonably low speed limit. I cut over onto Sixth Avenue to get away from him, only to find a third Ohio driver waiting for me there, who managed to make us miss a makeable light at Sixteenth Street. Then there was a fourth ahead of me at the light on Twentieth Street and Fifth Avenue, who apparently either didn’t realize that the light had changed, or saw it but wasn’t sure what the significance of a green light where a red light had been moments before might be.
I try not to have too much hate in my heart, brothers and sisters, because it isn’t good for me; but I can’t not hate Ohio drivers. It is beyond my strength. Ohio drivers are the worst drivers in the whole country, and I say this as a person who has wide experience of driving styles from across our great nation.
I’ve been saying this for years, ever since I actually lived in Ohio in the late 90s. Some Ohio drivers are better than others, but even those are still just the best of a bad lot, and when they cross state lines they automatically become the worst drivers on the road. People from Ohio (especially men) tend to take offense when this fact is brought up, which I guess should surprise no one. Every man wants to believe that he’s a good driver, just like he wants to believe that he’s a competent lover, or that he has an engaging sense of humor. He continues to believe these things about himself in spite of mountains of evidence to the contrary. And since some of my readers are from Ohio, let me apologize for my frankness right now and offer some constructive criticism.
“Well, Rick,” you may be saying, “I’m from Ohio, but I would like to develop the skills required to not make other drivers crazy in neighboring states. I would like someday to be welcome in another state.  Any other state, anywhere, ever. Can you give me some tips on areas I should be trying to improve?” Well, if you’ve got an Ohio driver’s license, then you have two principal problems while driving:
First, you do everything wrong.
Second, you do it verrrrrrrrry slowly.
But, the first step towards recovery is admitting you have a problem. Good luck! If there’s anything else I can do to help, just let me know.