What is the real story?

Sometimes I write parts of little stories to keep me creative (creative = freak) One of these stories is one that I made up, and kind of like. One of these things is a real occurrence. It might be difficult to guess which is which, but I leave it to you. Which one happened, and which did I fabricate?

I was angry. The reasons didn't matter. Mad. Burning with the intensity of the white hot desert sun. The kind of anger that can drive a person to do despicable deeds. I was on the road. Captain of my vehicle, Captain of my destiny. Seething. I am stuck at a red light. Radio blaring loud music. Fist tight on the wheel. Jaw set. Eyes straight ahead. Burning. Suddenly, a voice next to me. Why would anyone ask me for directions at a time like this. Why don't I own a gun? Down the music goes. "What?" Looking over at the woman in the SUV next to me."Are you angry?" She asked a second time. Do I know you? This is a red light. I am now confused, and maybe angrier. "Yup." I fire back sharply like the sound of a metal car antennae slapping bare skin. "What's the matter? Why are you angry?" I can feel the light about to turn green. Why is all I can think. Why would someone ask me this? "I don't want to talk about it, but thanks."

It was cold. Colder than sticking your hand in a bucket full of ice water and salt. If you have never tried that, it is cold. Having misplaced my pants, I was walking outside in only my flip flops and an ascot. The ascot didn’t offer much protection from the cold. My goal was to get back to the heated water of the hot tub as soon as possible. That is why I took this little short cut. Well, at the time it seemed like a short cut. I didn’t realize how far the drop really was. From up there, it didn’t seem so bad. Turns out the big pile of what I thought was soft, fluffy snow was actually a thin layer of snow on top of an old car. The windshield was a slippery place to land. I will tell you, I didn’t think I could make a dent that big in a car and walk away from it, but that is exactly what I did. I wasn’t going to hang around and wait for the owner of the house to come out and see the damage I had just done to his automobile. Nor did I want any difficult questions about why I was in the hot tub or where had the ascot come from. It is my ascot and my business, that is the way I see it, loosing my pants and warming up in a strangers hot tub were merely side effects of a much bigger and more serious situation. The ascot, however, just made sense.

Telekinesis

If you don't recognize, and you better recognize, this is a scene from x-men 2. Magneto extracted metal from that poor guard shmuck. The metal came out of his blood as...dust? And Magneto, using his mutant powers, formed the dust into metal marbles that shot all around breaking up his plastic prison cell. Then, he flattened one of the marbles out and stepped onto it and flew through the air with the other 2 marbles orbiting him. I looked for a picture of him flying over that giant void on a flat marble, but I couldn't find it. Does this mean that, if there is metal involved, Magneto can lift anything? Say there was an immovable object that was in the way, he could just throw some bbs under it and move it out of the way? Weight and size of an object don't matter as long as there is something metal underneath it?

While trying to figure out the limits of Magneto's powers, it occurred to me that similar powers existed in Jedi's. They seemed to be able to lift anything with only the power of their minds. They don't even need marbles. This is a picture of Yoda lifting Luke's X-wing out of the swamp. Yoda should have left it there. "Get this is what you do. A crappy parking spot you have chosen. If the Force you cannot use, a winch or some ropes and pulleys you should invest in."

After thinking this scene through in my head, I remembered something important. Something I am shocked I have only now just remembered. The dialogs in this scene, which I have cut from another internweb site and will paste here for you now:

LUKE: (panting heavily)
I can't. It's too big.

YODA: Size matters not. Look at me. Judge me by my size, do you? Hm? Mmmm.

How did I not remember this before? How did I not laugh about this before? Size matters not? Only a guy with a Yoda would say size matters not.

Time to say goodbye.

It's almost moving day here. Tomorrow is the big day. Most of my toys and office supplies are packed. I am leaving the cube farm in the new building for an office in the old building. Cube farm is an over statement, this is more of a cube patch. Calling this a farm is an insult to farms. I am not going to miss the half mile walk from my truck to my desk every morning. I am not going to miss the half mile trek out either. Nor will I miss the mile round trip at lunch. I am not going to miss my five foot high faux walls or my modular furniture. I won't miss having to sneak my soda back to my desk after lunch, sodas are free to come and go how they please in the old building. I am not going to miss the stain on the carpet where I spilled some frosting. I don't think I will miss all the noise that comes into a cube. There is not much about my current set up I am gonna miss. In the men's room of the new building, I will have to turn the faucet on for myself, it will not turn on automagically. Likewise, I will have to flush the toilet for myself. Hopefully that I flush the toilet when I am done using it will start a needed trend, even a revolution in men's room care. Probably not, but I can dream. I will miss the smell of the day in the men's room over here. I know that is disgusting, but it is a new adventure everytime I go in there. Incidentally, today it smells like evil. You might not have known that had a smell, but it does. I will not miss the automatic flushing toilets and sinks. Maybe flushing the toilet instead of depending on a machine to do it for me can be part of my weight loss plan? I will miss the excitement of the half bird half rat critter in the ceilings of the new building. I can only hope the Braats find their way over to the old building. I will miss having a perfect place to hide cigarettes, even though I don't smoke. I will miss seeing the Erics on the occasions anyone plays darts on a break. That about tears it with stuff I will miss. Nothing else comes rushing to mind. Just like that, the new place is out, the old place is in. Good riddance new place. I wonder if the new tenant to my former cube will be able to figure out what that stuff is on the wall? I am not gonna tell the new tenant what it is. It's my little secret, think of it as a gift, if you will. I wonder if the new owner will appreciate my modifications? Maybe I shouldn't talk about them, nevermind. In short, from now on, these blogs will be written in a hard walled office. Maybe they will finally start making sense.

UPDATE: Now the men's room smells like evil mixed with a lite chef's salad... And maybe a little bit of the musty odor from the inside of a mountain man's boot. If there was a vortex in there that opened up to a landfill in an alternant reality, well, lets just say that would explain some things.

Danish Ninjas

I feel sad for Danish people. They can't be Ninjas. Not like Canadian Ninjas are really revered the world over, but at least if you are Canadian, you can aspire to grow up and be a Ninja. Danish people everywhere, rise up! Set fire to your clogs, that's right, the wooden shoes that let everyone for miles away know that you are coming, and become Ninjas!

I wonder if the Danish SWAT team (I say The because I am sure in Danishland they only have the one SWAT team. I am pretty sure they don't allow guns in the country. As well I believe drugs and hookers are legal....which leaves zero reason to break the law.) Anyways, I wonder if the Danish SWAT team is really called SWAT? Maybe it is called SCAT. Special Clothing and Tactics. Or maybe it is just called SSAT, or STASS. (special shoes and tactics & special tactics and special shoes respectively) Anyway, I bet whatever the SWAT team is named there, they don't use clogs or bad guys would hear em coming.