Elisabeth Sladen dead at age 63

Elisabeth Sladen died on April 19th, 2011. She was 63 years old and was taken from us far too soon. The British actress was best known for her role as Sarah Jane Smith in Doctor Who. She played Sarah Jane on a recurring basis during the Jon Pertwee and Tom Baker years of the show during the 1970's. She reprised her role several times over the course of the 80's and then again with the new series of Doctor Who opposite David Tennant.

Sarah Jane Smith is one of my all time favorite companions from the series. This is not unusual and you will see many posts on-line from other fans who feel the same way. Elisabeth Sladen made iconic the role of Who companion and many who think of the Doctor Who will always think of Tom Baker and Elisabeth Sladen.



From what little I have been able to learn over the Internet it sounds like she suffered a long battle with cancer that she kept very secret. I do not know what "long" means. Up until her death she was filming new episodes of her Doctor Who spin-off show - The Sarah Jane Adventures. She was (without question) battling cancer during this time period. But was she battling it longer than that? The world may never know. It is obvious that her condition was something very private to her and perhaps even in death she would not want her private medical history to be spread across the news.

Having said that there are millions of people who now morn her parting and as one of those fans I hope to learn more. We all grieve in different ways and some of us like to have a better understanding of what happened. How did she live her life in those final days? I think there is no question she lived it courageously until the very end.



The irony of her death is that I was just having a discussion the other day about why some people take the death of a celebrity so hard - such as Princess Diana or Micheal Jackson. I said that those people never truly knew that celebrity and while it was news it was certainly nothing to get too emotionally involved over. I must now eat my own words because I am taking the death of Sarah Jane very hard.

Sarah Jane Smith, you will be missed!

Customer Support Nightmare

I love my new Liquid Crystal Display High Definition Television. But as luck would have it, the LCD broke within the first two months of having it. No problem. It's not only under the 4 year Best Buy Warranty. It's still under the 1 year manufacture warranty. So I called Sony. It was a terrible experiance. I was so mad I hung up on the girl - and just called Best Buy. They were great. About a month later I got a letter from the Sony Customer Support VP. It was a generic letter asking me to rate their service and to email him if I couldn't give a score above 9 or 10 out of 10. This is my email for your reading pleasure...

Dear Mr. VP,

Thank you for the valued customer letter. We have been very happy with our Sony TV product and were very disappointed when the LCD screen went out only two months into the ownership of the television. My only serious complaint is with your telephone customer service. When I called the service line - the lady who took my call was unimaginably incompetent.

I understand that technical support troubleshooting requires your employees to run through the various standard scenarios in order to rule out all kinds of common problems with the television. But I made it very clear at the onset of the phone call that I had already ruled out all the common issues.

Yes - the TV was plugged in.
Yes - I checked all inputs for functionality
Yes - I unplugged and re-plugged in the television
Oh and by the way - the TV doesn't turn on in the same way as usual. The "Bravia" symbol no longer appears. Instead there is a slow bleed of black screen into white screen with no picture, sound, or access to the menu features. I think something is wrong with the LCD.

I told your customer service rep this in excruciating detail within the first 5 minutes of our conversation. Over the course of the next 1.5 hours she continued to ask me the "standard" by-the-book questions. Questions that I had already preemptively answered for her. This alone was not worthy of my frustration but every time I answered her questions or asked a question of her - she would pause and say "Please hold while I check my resources." I would then wait for approximately 5 minutes EACH time. This happened probably 8 times over the course of the conversation. A few times I spoke into the phone "Hello? Hello?" (wondering if I was on hold or if she was still on the line). Half the time she was still on the line and would respond. Which makes me wonder why she wasn't checking in more frequently with me? I assumed by "checking her resources" she meant going down her computer check-list. I mean - how long does it take to figure out that your next question to ask the customer is "Have you un-plugged and re-plugged in your television?"

By this time I was really becoming impatient. I then just assumed she was a trainee - new on the job. So I asked to speak to a supervisor. She asked me to please hold. This time the wait was a solid 5 minutes or more. When she came back on the line there was NO SUPERVISOR. She asked me to conduct another trouble shooting technique. I told her I didn't wish to speak to her anymore and again asked for a supervisor. She went away for another 5 minutes before coming back again. And AGAIN - NO SUPERVISOR. Only this time she offered to ship a brand new television to me, no questions asked! I said, "NO! I want to speak to a SUPERVISOR!" She put me on hold again for another 5 minutes! When she came back she again offered me a new TV. I said, "No - I don't want to talk to you anymore. I want to talk to your SUPERVISOR."

By this time, my wife had checked our receipt and reminded me that we had purchased a special 4 year warranty with Best Buy. My wife had already used her cell-phone to arrange a Geek-Squad appointment for me later that night.

When your customer service representative returned to the line with (AGAIN) NO SUPERVISOR. I told her, "You're lucky, tonight madam. You're lucky I'm tired of waiting. I wanted to talk to a supervisor to tell him that you are either incredibly inept, or your training is incredibly inept. I wanted to tell your supervisor that this is the WORST customer support call I have ever experienced. But I am tired of waiting and I am ready to deal directly with Best Buy. Thank God I purchased a 4 year extended warranty otherwise I would be at the mercy of you and your inept ways!

Unfortunately I did not get her name. I did not get her employee number. So I am sorry that this email cannot help you any more than to share with you my very terrible personal experience . If I wasn't so incredibly angry by this point, I probably would have thought to ask her name and employee number. But based on the experience, I suspect she would have refused to give it to me.

I hope this email can serve some positive purpose. I pray that if I ever am forced to deal with your customer service line again, that such problems with your staff will be resolved.

Thank you,
Cyber D

Pissed Off - Grab Bag

I was standing over the sink last night washing dishes. You know... doing my little part to help out around the house. After a long hard day of bringing home the bacon I also try to clean that same bacon grease out of the pan that night. Anyway, I'm standing over the sink and I get to the part I hate the most. And when I say hate - I really can't understate how vile this is to me. Revulsion is not too strong a word. Loath is actually pretty spot on! I LOATH WOODEN F-ING SPOONS! The shit that get's caked onto those things is like a bond created at an atomic level! I know why you ladies like the wooden spoons for cooking... they don't scratch the pan; they don't conduct heat, blah - blah - blah! But trying to scrub dried egg, dried soup, or any other food filth off of those bloody things is an exercise in futility. I have to resort to using my own damn finger nails and - if I may peel back the curtain just a bit on my own inner psychosis - touching the food stained remains of dirty dishes is the essence of repulsive to me!


How about those stupid ass travel industry counter attendants? Perhaps it’s because I travel so much for my work but I've run across my fair share of these sons a bitches. In fact I had one a few weeks ago down in SoTex. When I travel I keep a tight schedule so I have very little patience for the out of ordinary delay! Anyway, I'm turning in a rental car. It's the end of a VERY long day and my frazzled wife and kids are waiting outside. I hand over the keys for the lady to provide me a receipt for the rental. She starts to tap on her counter key-board. Clickity, clack, clack, clackity, click, click. She pauses for a moment and then goes at it again for about five freakin’ minutes. More Clickity, clack, clack and Clackity, click, click. She stops and frowns before continuing for another impressive sonata. Mind you, she doesn't say a damn thing to me, but I can tell there’s a problem. So I wait and wonder when she's going to admit it. It goes on, and on, and on... until another five minutes go by and I have to say something.

Me: "Is there a problem?"

Lady: "Well I'm having trouble getting our rental out of the hold status."

Me: "How can it be in a hold status, I just rented it?"

Lady: "Well I upgraded you yesterday and I meant to take it off of hold but I couldn't."

Me: "So what about today made you think it would magically work?"

Lady: "Well I guess I just have to call regional and have them do it."

Me: "Do I really need to be here for this."

Lady: "Well, I assume you need a receipt."

Me: "Fax it to me... goodbye."


I have one final story for you today, and this is the pièce de résistance, the coup de grâce if you will. Dear heavenly Lord I almost throttled the woman in front of me in line at my local WalMart last week. I did my best to pick the line that might clear the fastest. It was late and I wanted to get home. As luck would have it there was a middle aged lady in a snappy blue blazer with about twenty items, so I jumped in line behind her. Little did I know she would stop the check-out girl for EVERY DAMN ITEM to inform she had a coupon. But wait! It gets better. You see she didn't have a stack of coupons. She had a stack of magazines. She had to flip through each one, page by page, find the coupon, extend her arms over the counter, without relinquishing the damn coupon, have the checker zap it, before placing the magazine back in her stack. She did this EVERY time! I almost had a fucking aneurism right then and there. But WAIT! It gets even better! Finally the checker rang up the total and this smartly dressed lady pulls out her check book. At this point I am scrutinizing ever move she makes so the fact that she writes the stinking check like it's calligraphy for a wedding invitation forces me to curse her under my breath. She deftly hands over the pristinely written check to the checker only to have the WalMart data base DECLINE the method of payment!!! Wonderful! Whip out that credit card and be done with it, right? Oh no... She proceeds to write another check. The checker objects but the woman insists this is a different method of payment... after all... it's a different damn check!!!!! It is taking every ounce of restraint I have to not knock this woman's block off. The checker stupidly accepts the 2nd check only for it to be declined as well. No shit, Sherlock Holmes! So what does the woman do? She leaves her groceries at the counter and tells her that she will return later with payment.

Dear sweet heavenly baby Jesus! Save me from a damn stroke!

Simply Amazing!

The results of this play have not been altered through computer graphics. It's one of the most amazing series of laterals you'll ever see. I can't give kudos to the man who edited this thing together, man must he be an annoying douche bag. But it's worth watching!

Panic

I woke up this morning with the realization that I am about to board a five hour flight tomorrow from Cybertown, U.S.A. to Los Angeles with my wife, two sons who both have head colds, and my parents.

I myself have recently strained my left wrist for some unknown reason, although my doctor tells me it was from over-use... whatever that means. I'm checking two car seats, a double stroller, and enough bags of clothes, toys, and various miscellaneous items to stock a large department store!

I am insane.

News Report: One Happy Wizard

You can imagine my surprise when I turned on the news this morning to find that JKR has officially announced that the character of Albus Dumbledore was gay. My first thought was wow! My next thought was, wondering if Dumbledore's music collection included the great works of Abba and George Micheal.

I'd make an argument about how the character didn't need that clarification by the author but it is her character... so more power to you, JK.

Insecure - He Is Not

We're potty training Lil' Magnum right now. He just turned three last month and he's doing a really great job. Actually, I'm pleasantly surprised by how well it's going. The first week was a real struggle because we basically went from diapers to underwear overnight so he had to adjust quickly. But now he's "going potty" on a regular basis and we haven't had an accident in the last ten days.

Of course being in school has helped as well. His teachers are great about helping the kids who are in the middle of potty training. Additionally, the children that are further along in the process are a great influence on those that lag behind. However, I must admit that there is one unexpected side-effect to his being in school with a bunch of other kids who are all in the throws of their own individual potty training.

A few days ago my wife and I took my son to the bathroom because he needed to go "pee-pee". We did the regular routine of lifting the seat and taking off his shorts and underwear. But then the strangest thing happened. He grabbed himself with both hands, aimed for the toilet, let fly, and yelled at the top of his lungs:

"KA-BOOM!"

This completely unnerved my wife but made me laugh out load. His entire future flashed before my eyes and I saw my son standing on a keg in the middle of a college party with a bra on his head yelling those same words before unleashing upon a throng of other students.

I was yanked back to reality by Mrs. Cyber asking me if I had taught him that word. My response was, "No, but I wish I had."

What is wrong with me?

I'm often reminded of my child's innocent nature when he invariably throws down a phrase that makes my inner-junior-high-self chuckle. My son got some new toys for his 3rd birthday this weekend.

He has now reached the stage where he is no longer content to just bang a stick against a wall or roll balls across the floor. He is practicing pretend play so horses have to chase each other around the house and super heroes are always in the business of saving other toys from their troubles.

Yesterday his new Superman and Wonder Woman action figures were bravely swooping down onto the breakfast table and lifting a various assortment of wildlife animals onto their backs, saving them from a deadly fire!

In this particular case my son wanted to make it clear to me which animal belonged to each superhero. The following conversation ensued:

Lil' Magnum: We got to save the animals, Daddy!

Me: Okay, son. Which animals should we save first?

Lil' Magnum: This is Superman's Rhino, Daddy!

Me: Wow, Superman saved a rhinoceros. That's great!

Lil' Magnum: This is Wonder Woman's Beaver!

Me: (Very long pause attempting to hold back my hysteria) That's... great... son. I'm glad Wonder Woman saved her beaver.


I'm a terrible father.

A Chance Encounter with The Dick

I was in the campus bookstore with about eight coworkers when I noticed a famous former NFL star browsing the sweatshirts. Now you have to understand, I'm not one of those lucky types that always has a funny story about this famous person I saw at the airport or that famous person I bumped into at the coffee shop. I worked in LA for THREE MONTHS and never even saw a single famous person!

So you can imagine my giddy surprise of seeing another former NFL player after having met Roger Staubach a little over one year ago! This time it was none other than Eric Dickerson. What was so funny was that the four men in my group of coworkers were like moths to a flame. We drifted over in his direction almost immediately while the four ladies in the room were still focusing on the best cut of t-shirt and if the store had it in pink or baby-blue.

Us boys were later chided for paying homage to one of football's greats. I simply replied that my shameless pandering was not for me but for the bragging rights amongst my social circles... of which this blog is one!

So yeah, the encounter itself was awesome. I even managed to make him laugh by suggesting that he needed to put on a uniform and play for his former college team.

Good times... good times.

I mean Business Plan!

The year was 2003. The season was Fall. The class was a capstone course for my MBA called Entrepreneurial Strategy. We spent an entire semester creating a full blown business plan. And I don't mean that undergraduate bull-shit that passes for a business plan but is really just a glorified book report. I'm talking about identifying a new business concept, conducting research on the budgetary constraints and market forces surrounding that concept, developing a full blown Cash Flow Statement, Income Statement, and Balance Sheet on a five year projection for the proposed business, creating a marketing plan and sample materials for the business, calculating the potential financial yield for investors and then presenting our plan to a group of our peers and a panel of guest business professors.

This class was the Super Bowl of my MBA experience. It required countless hours of research and preparation, it caused knockd-down arguments between my project partner and me, and it required the courage of Hercules to know that your complete work would be on display to the entire MBA community. But it was by far and away... head and shoulders... unequivocally... the best experience in the program for me. I had the time of my life because we chose to do devise a business around the Collectible Card Game (CCG) industry.

The CCG industry is built on the backs of the millions of rabid sci-fi/fantasy geeks who knock down doors to purchase the latest incarnation of their favorite sci-fi/fantasy genres in game form, so that they can broaden and deepen their personal experience with said franchises. While other MBA hopefuls were presenting business plans about RFID technology, international banking, and venture capital markets, I was talking about a card game. Original content meets personal passion, my friends!

God bless the U.S.A.

Miss Teen South Carolina proves that beauty pageants are about more than just beauty!

My cyber-thoughts go out to the Japanese.

You can imagene these turn of events come as particularly devesating news to all Cybermen everywhere.

Earthquake Article

Gone and done it again

I have had a nasty habit of following TV shows that are really damn good only to result in their cancellation like Farscape, Angel, and Arrested Development just to name a few. Since I've joined Blockbuster Online, my latest trend is to pick up a show that has been out for some time, only to discover that they have ALREADY been canceled, or are in the final death throws of a cancellation. The two most recent being Firefly and Rome.

Well I've gone and done it again! For reasons to complicated to name here, I decided to try out this critically acclaimed series on HBO called Deadwood. The only thing I had heard about it was that it had a great deal of cursing. But I also heard it was pretty damn good. Both turned out to be true... in spades!

What a great show. I've only seen the first four episodes but I am hooked like a heroine junky with a trust fund! I love it so much that I went online today to see when Season 4 might be released on DVD, as I had already noticed the first three seasons were available. Of course the untimely cancellation of Rome should have been my first hint that I shouldn't take such things for granted. It is just now that I learned the show was canceled approximately one year ago.

In the immortal words of Al Swearengen.... "Fucking cocksuckers!" Once again, television executives disappoint me.

Celebrity Look Alike

I know that blog-country has been dying to know what I look like in real life. Like Superman, Batman, and other great heroes from history I must maintain my secret identity to protect the lives of those I hold most dear. But I recently came across this little bit of Internets fun. Perhaps this will scratch that itch for those that wonder about the real CyberD. And just so you know I'm not full of crap, I went ahead and threw in one of the more unfaltering of the 12 celebrity matches that came up.

Oops!

So I'm kickin' some ass and takin' some names at work all day on Friday. I had been on the phone to prospects, setting appointments, and generally feeling really good about my productive day. It was a good day and I was motivated to stay at my desk over my lunch break and work on a few things on my "honey-do" list. Call the baby-sitter, check on flights for Thanksgiving, pick my nose, etc. etc. I'm flying through my list with the same speed and accuracy I've been doing with my work.

Next Up: Check Delta Flights for Thanksgiving. I've got Delta skymiles that are about to expire next year and since I don't fly Delta anymore, I'm hoping to cash in on a little free-miles before I close the book on Delta all together. The only problem is they don't really fly much out of my local airport so I really need to speak with a representative. A Big problem I have with the internet is that companies don't like to just hand over their customer service number... go figure. I guess they either expect you to figure it out yourself on-line or just go away. Not a problem for me, I do a google search for Airline numbers and find a whole list.

Look right there! It's the Delta Domestic Number! Don't believe me? Try it for yourself.

1-800-221-1212

Just one word of caution. Don't get your 1's and your 2's mixed up. Like say for instance...

1-800-221-2121

I'm warning you! Don't believe me? Try it for yourself.

Me? I'm expecting a call from Information Technology and Human Resources within the week asking for my resignation!

The Birthday Bonanza Bash Buffet - Part 3

We kicked this thing off with a bang on my birthday and we're wrapping it up on Q's birthday so for your reading enjoyment we present to you this Birthday Adventure: The Radio-Phonic Version.

“Pull over! Mango break!”

“What? It’s my damn birthday! I’ll do what I want to!”

“CyberD!”

“Q, show them what you’ve got!”

“Los Policia, Los Policia!”

“How do you like them apples?”

“This must be heaven.”

“Jackpot.”

“It’s our birthday!”

“Wanna fly?”

“No thanks, I’m already soaring!”

“Fair enough,”

“FIESTA!”

“Come On!”

“Dude, they want you to insert one of your US citizen babies inside of the barmaid”.

“With pleasure!”

“You’re so lucky, CyberD!”

“You’re next!”

“My heroes!”

“Get in, boys, we’re going home!”

“Damn! I forgot my Mangos!”

Q's Love Affair with Ernest or The Tijuana Birthday Bonanza - Part 2

Q appeared hesitant at first and I must admit that seeing Q in his “birthday suit” (and me in mine) wasn’t something I would have ever expected to behold in my lifetime. I searched for some semblance of reason as I heard the barmaid’s muffled voice talking to, what I could only assume was a host of sexy senoritas on the other side of the door. As if reading each other’s minds, we blurted out, “It’s our birthday!” at the top of our lungs before ripping off our clothes. Q struggled with his socks as he spun around in a circle attempting to unleash the damn thing from his ankle, while I emptied the last vestiges of the Dos Equis still clutched in my right hand.

I looked over at the naked glistening body of Q and I was thankful that my drunken stooper would not allow me to remember this come tomorrow. Q’s sock still dangled off the end of his foot as he reached his hand out and offered me some of the before mentioned “party dust.”

“Wanna fly?” he asked me. “No thanks,” I responded, “I’m already soaring!” as I lifted my bottle in tribute to Q’s partying ways. “Fair enough,” Q responded before bending over and grabbing his wrinkled up leopard print thong underwear and strapped it onto his head like a king’s crown.

It was at that moment that the barmaid returned to the room followed by two very professional looking women. It was unexpected that they both reminded me of my Uncle Carl and unfortunate that they brought a burro into the room with them. They barely had the time to say a single word before Q and I had bolted from the brothel. The faint sound of their celebratory mantra, “FIESTA!” still lingered in my ears.

*******************************************************

We ran as fast as humanly possible to our rental car. CyberD tried to slide across the hood ala Dukes of Hazzard but his sweaty skin stuck to it the moment contact was made. There was no time for me to laugh, though I wanted to really hard. CyberD gathered himself and continued to his side of the car. CyberD turned the key but nothing happened. “Come On!” I screamed. He kept trying but nothing was happening.

By this time the gaggle of people had gathered around us. The two women and the donkey were there as well as CyberD’s barmaid. They told us to get out of the car immediately. Once we were standing, they yelled for one of us to pleasure the donkey. I was in shock and CyberD was extremely toasted. I leaned over to him and said “dude they want you to insert one of your US citizen babies inside of the barmaid”. CyberD immediately took a step forward and yelled, “With pleasure!”

The enforcement officials pulled out their guns and led CyberD to the donkey. He looked at me frantically. I told him that I might have misunderstood and shrugged my shoulders.

*****************************************************

Either the frosty spirits were getting to me or the local militia was leading me away from the kind-hearted barmaid and over to the flea-infested donkey. I could hear Q yell over the crowd, “You’re so lucky, CyberD!” I began to struggle as I feared the worst, but it was to no avail. “You’re next!” I spewed back at him. This surely would have been the end for both of us but little did we know, Q’s court ordered electronic ankle bracelet went off the minute we crossed the border. I had forgotten about that stint Q spent in the pen and was reminded of the time he got that giant tattoo of Jesus on his back while bunking with a tattoo artist named Leopold.

The sound of the chopper came out of nowhere as a sleek black helicopter emerged over the tree line. Q and I both knew that Airwolf had been decommissioned from the military back in the late 80’s. What we didn’t know was that it had since been employed by the local fuzz for just such an occasion. As the bird touched down, it sent the locals scattering in all directions. Q and I ran towards our salvation with one more surprise. As the cockpit opened it was none other than Jan Michael Vincent and Ernest Borgnine at the helm! “My heroes!” Q screamed like a little school girl.

“Get in, boys,” Ernest barked, “We’re going home!” We both dive into the chopper and strap ourselves in as it takes flight, leaving the forlorn donkey behind. I am exhausted from the entire experience and I slump into my seat with relief. Just as I begin to drift off I hear Q blurt out in frustration.

“Damn! I forgot my Mangos!”

Q's Mango Explosion or CyberD and Q's Birthday Trip to Tijuana!

Q promised me that the border patrol wouldn’t be a problem. If you don’t count the rectal exam I suppose he was telling the truth. They did search the car but luckily we had already taken all those flea infested puppies out of the trunk of the rental and dropped them off at the local Home Depot. They had a half-price sale going on wood-chippers. Nevertheless, my knuckles are white with fear… well, either fear or the lack of blood supply to my extremities from having Q’s head in my lap all the way from Los Angeles down Highway 5. Hearing the mariachi music out the window after crossing the border into Tijuana, Q pops his head up and screams at the top of his lungs, “Pull over! Mango break!”

I jerk the wheel hard and a storm of gravel and dust fly up from the back bumper as we come to a grinding halt next to a string of road-side vendors. An elderly man, weighing in at no more than 90lbs, hobbled over to the passenger side door with a handful of wooden marionettes. Q either didn’t see him or didn’t care. He swung the car door open wide, colliding with the geriatric merchant, sending him flying into a chicken coop. Feathers plumed into the air like a mushroom cloud over Hiroshima. I glare at Q as I get out of the car and walk over to the fruit stand selling 12 mangoes for one dollar. Q looks at me indignantly and says, “What? It’s my damn birthday! I’ll do what I want to!”

**********************************************************

I purchase 24 mangoes and head back the rental car. As I am walking back to the car I noticed that CyberD had hit an old man when he pulled over for fruit. I turn back to let him know what he had done but he is nowhere to be seen. I ask the shop keep where ‘mi amigo’ went and all I got was a blank stare. So I asked him louder. He pointed down the alley way behind his cart of tropical fruit.

I secure my mangoes in the cooler by getting rid of the empty Dos Equis bottles that CyberD had left. I headed down the dark and foul smelling path. Every once in a while I yell out “CyberD!” but I don’t get a response. I turned to look in one of the windows and there he was at the bar. I mosey in – attempt to get CyberD away from the bar, but he yells at me causing a scene – he then directs the bouncer to me. I quietly walk outside and get my ass kicked by three rather large tattooed gentlemen, while CyberD watched and laughed. Have I mentioned that CyberD is an angry drunk? Well, he is and he was enjoying this way too much.

*********************************************************

As I chat up the young barmaid and down another frosty beverage, I laugh at her jokes uproariously even though I don’t understand a word she says. At that very moment I notice that Q is getting his ass kicked by some thugs. I don’t know what he did to deserve it but it must have been something awful. Something tells me these men don’t like Mango. But perhaps they like that special “party dust” that Q was flashing around town in the San Diego strip clubs. I yell, “Q, show them what you’ve got!” He looks at me strangely through blood soaked eyes and he begins to feverishly unbutton his pants.

This only seems to anger them even more as they begin grabbing bar-stools and shatter them into pieces before picking up the wooden legs. I think fast and dive in front of them while flashing a plastic badge that Q got out of his cracker-jack box no more than thirty minutes ago. Luckily I insisted on keeping it because he was going to throw it out the window. I hate litter. I scream over Q’s tears, “Los Policia, Los Policia!” They drop the stick and turn to run but Q is fast and he chucks several full Dos Equis bottles at them. Q nails each one on the back of the head, knocking them out cold. Eat your heart out Nolan Ryan. I yell at Q for being so wasteful but he is on a roll now. He yells, “How do you like them apples?” as he does a victory dance around the bar that includes thrusting his pelvis into the air and performing what can only be described as an x-rated version of the funky chicken.

I suggest we make a run for it and for the first time in our lives Q agrees with me on something. We begin to exit the bar and head for the car but the barmaid cautions us. She points out the window and we see that our rental car has gotten the attention of the border patrol. The barmaid insists on helping us. I guess I made an impression. It looks like The D has still got it when it counts!

*********************************************************

With my limited Spanish speaking/understanding ability the barmaid says that it will be three thousand US dollars for the both of us. CyberD gladly agrees to her fee and follows her out the back door. I am stunned that he would part with that kind of cash so easily, but hey this is ‘Vacation’D. I hurry to catch up so that I don’t get lost again in the maze of alleyways and drunken street people, or as CyberD calls them ‘living urinals’. We come up to a building with a metal door. The woman knocks three times and a metal hatch opens up. The woman says something very quickly and the door opens. She signals for us to come inside, once again I am hesitant but I proceed anyway.

Once inside I notice a vast array of erotic toys and resin molds of men’s and women’s private parts. I look at CyberD and he looks at me. He starts to speak but I stop him, touching my fingers to his lips. I already knew what he was thinking. “This must be heaven.”

The woman leads us to a back room. She locks the door behind us and turns on the light. We were in a hotel like bedroom. I tap CyberD on the shoulder and tell him that I think the barmaid is a prostitute. He looks back at me and slurs, “Jackpot”.

To Be Continued...

Lovingly for Gyuss and Q

I was chatting with Q on the phone the other day and he revealed to me that he has a full length mirror on his bathroom door. This in and of itself is not a problem and I thought little of it. But then Q went on to confess that his biggest regret in life was strategically placing the mirror so that he can view himself in all his glory while doing the most unholy of acts on the crapper. This disturbed me greatly and I did not believe him at first.

Why in the name of all that is sweet and clean on this precious earth would anyone want to watch themselves in that most disgusting state? Q admitted that it was an innocent mistake and one he didn't realize he was making at the time. However there is still that lingering question in my mind as to why he never rectified the situation.

Picture this:

You finish a tasty meal of Beef Wellington and frito-chili-pie and decide that a delicious meal like this isn't complete until you've really made room for it in your lower intestines. You push away from the chair and head down the hall towards the "throne-room." As you prepare for the "slow burn" you grab a copy of the latest Texas Monthly and flip to the classifieds for a little light reading. At first you're engrossed in the delicate writing of Don Gaylord's article on Bluebonnets but inevitably nature demands your undivided attention. Your face turns serious and your toes curl as you grip the towel rack and marshal all you energy towards the singular event that occupies your every thought.

And it's in that moment of clenched anguish that you look up and lock eyes with your own reflection in the most gruesome, jaw-dropping, and horror-filled sight you have ever had the displeasure of seeing your own body performing.

That would quite literally shock the shit out of me. Perhaps that is the real reason why Q has never taken down that offense of a mirror.

*shudder*

Riding High

A recent article by the illustrious Q got me thinking about a now infamous experience he and I shared over the course of a lunch hour back in the year 2000 (please read the last phrase like that dude from the Conan O'Brien Show).

Q and I often went to grab a bite while he was working in my office. This particular time we took my Sa-Wank company car - a powder blue Ford Taurus, Ching! There is this little burger dive in an old part of town that we enjoyed visiting, only it had us roll through a moderately sketchy neighborhood.

This particular time we were headed back to campus and I slowly pulled up to a stop-sign next to a 7-eleven. As I did this I could see a young man riding a bicycle down the intersecting street. Instead of going through the intersection (where he would have had the right of way) he chose to cut across the 7-eleven lot, and in doing so slammed into the passenger side of my car! Q screamed like a six-year-old girl and dove his head into my lap as the man's body buckled in half, with arms and torso sprawling across the hood of my car and legs flailing against Q's window. His momentum (now displaced by the powder-blue sex-machine) rolled down the right side of the vehicle along with the bicycle, leaving a long scratches and a very unattractive streak from his tennis shoes.

I did what any mild mannered driver sitting at a dead freakin' stop would do. I pulled Q's head out of my crotch, yelled "son of a bitch!" and jumped out of my car. The guy had popped up from behind my back-right tire, his long blond mass of hair swishing from side to side in a disheveled mess. He was probably in his mid thirties, wore a sleeveless Iron Maiden t-shirt and cut-off blue jeans.

FYI - Cut off blue jeans are always a bad sign!

He rubbed his three day old stubble as he groaned and looked over at me. The following conversation ensued.

Me: What the hell do you think you're doing?

Blondie: Dude, I've never been hit by a car before.

Me: You mean you've never HIT a car before. I was at a dead stop, a-hole.

Blondie: Yeah, man... I'm sorry about that. You like came out of no-where.

Me: I was sitting at the stop sign. (By this time I've walked around the car and seen that he's knocked my side mirror completely off). Look at the damage to my car.

Blondie: Yeah, man.

Q: (to me) Do you think he's okay?

Me: Oh yeah, are you okay?

Blondie: Yeah, I think I'm okay. Thanks for asking (Keep in mind, he's bleeding all over the back of my car as he turns to pick up his busted bike and begins to walk away).

Me: Hold up, Tex. This is a company car. I've got to call the police and file a report.

Blondie: What?

Me: You need to stay here while I call the police.

Blondie: The cops?

Me: Yes.

Blondie: Yeah, I gotta go home and grab my wallet. I just live down the street but I'll be right back.

Me: Listen. You do what you want, but I'm calling the police. You say you're coming back... that's on you.

Blondie: Okay... see you in just a second.

I go into the 7-eleven and the clerk says, "Man, that guy is not coming back."

Me: Don't I know it.

Two weeks and $780 later I get the Taurus back as good as new. Message to the kids: Don't do drugs.