Wednesday, May 17, 2006

Pre-In-Law Wednesday Madness! No interest until 2012!

This is the pre-in-laws post.

Once they get here, there’s going to be little time and even less opportunity to visit here and bray like an ass for the Interwebs folk.

I better get while the gettin’s good. Time’s a wastin’. No time like the present. Better oatmeal than no meal.

Last weekend, oh boy, last weekend. Friday brought Mrs. Head and I to the casino for a triumphant re-taking of the 3/6 acreage. The peasants fled before my mighty hammer. They wept beneath the crushing onslaught of one who hasn’t tasted card battle in many months. I almost felt bad as they trudged off, their entire $40 in chips having met with a very sudden demise, one after the other. Just the thought brings wistful tears of joy. Weekend in the poker room is an amazing thing. Still. So much for that sharp decline in poker popularity.

2 hours, net +33BB’s. God, why can’t it always be like that?

Mothers Day ended the weekend on good note. Phone calls were made and no tears were shed, no arguments had, so we went and bought a car. ‘03 Audi A4 3.0 Quattro. It’s very cool.

However, it wasn’t all perfect. I came across another head on the Hydra of political correctness.

Twice this last weekend, it came up in the normal course of conversation that I’d been in the military. Twice, I heard, “Thank you for your service.” What a disingenuous load. I’m getting close, the next person may walk away to relate a heartbreaking tale of what life is like, post bitchslap. I almost blurted out, “Thanks for making an otherwise pleasant conversation completely awkward and asinine, you parroting fuck.” You can’t cuss out people you want to buy things from until after the sale or refusal to buy is complete. It’s just not good etiquette.

The correct response is, for those who are obviously not up to the task of coming up with it on their own, anything but that. Say fuck you. Ask what I did or how long I was in, if you must. Don’t mention or highlight the fact in any way. Go into a Holy Spirit filled seizure. If you are uncontrollably compelled by P.C. Tourettes to act, give me some money.

Just don’t say that. Don’t say anything. If someone is truly thankful it will show. And pull those goddamn idiotic magnetic support ribbons down, too. They’re like merit badges for retards.