Frenchy's Rant

Received this lawyer’s cease and desist e-mail today from Gobbler’s Knob, the home of Punxsutawney Phil, the little bastard (ooops) that saw his stupid shadow and delayed my riding season by six weeks.

Dear Mr. Rant,

It has come to our attention that you have made several threatening remarks on your quaint (and not very widely read) little blog towards our client, the Sage of Sages, Prognosticator of Prognosticators, and Weather Prophet Extrordianire – Punxsutawney Phil. We are aware your blog is only read by the so-called Faithful Fifteen, however your hateful threats and heinous comments have hurt the feelings of our fortuitously fragile, furry little forecaster.

Yes, it is true that Phil has seen his shadow six out of the last ten years. With the advent of intense media coverage and super bright television lights, it’s nearly impossible for Phil to NOT see his shadow. In any case, Phil cares not a whit for your so-called riding season, he calls his shadows as he sees ’em.

It has been said that some are weather-wise, some are otherwise. You, sir, are most assuredly otherwise. We therefore demand that you cease all mentions of Punxsutawney Phil, whether it be as a “rat“; a “little punk“; a “big chicken” or especially “Phil the Pecker-head” on your barely browsed blog.

If we do not receive the assurances requested herewithin within fourteen days, we shall have no choice but to roust Phil again, and re-inquire about shadow sightings, purposely postponing your precious riding season another six weeks.

Very Truly Yours;

PUTZ, RUMPOLE & DOUCHEWITZ LTD.
Gobbler’s Knob, PA

All I can say is, thanks for the e mail guys, it’s good to know others besides the Faithful Fifteen are reading! Don’t worry Phil, you little buck-toothed bastard, you’ll hear from me soon!

Ever get completely bored? Not “Ho-hum, what time is lunch?” bored. No. I’m talking, “I hit the end of the Internet, now what the hell am I going to do?” bored. Today was that type of day. With a complete set day and twelve additional hours before the show, I ran out of things to read/see/do early.

So, I decided to perform an experiment.

I took an orange traffic cone, and attached a sign to it. The sign read “DO NOT MOVE -Mgmt.” I placed this orange cone in the middle of a busy hallway, with forklifts shuttling pallets and worker scurrying back and forth all day.

I wanted to see what would happen. That’s how bored I was. Everyone that encountered the cone walked or drove around it, without question.

Amazingly enough, the cone stayed put for the whole day. I’d be willing to bet that cone will still be there in a week or two, making me think that -Mgmt. are a pretty scary bunch. What they say goes, apparently.

I have no idea what I am going to do to relieve tomorrow’s boredom, maybe find a couple of cats to light on fire.

I’ve been through a bit of a drought in the last few weeks. Nothing incredibly interesting or funny has happened lately. Nobody wants to read about my big time couch shopping adventure, I’m pretty sure. Part of the lull is the season. Right now is the long and dreary stage of winter that drags and drags on… Sure there are a few teaser days where it gets warm, but then BOOM! Another five inches of snow falls. Yeah, Phil the Peckerhead was right, six more weeks of winter… Kinda has a way of killing the creativity.

What can you do?

I came up with one idea. I thought about outsourcing my blog on slow days. You know, hiring an off-shore blogger to do the work, trying to keep things interesting for the faithful fifteen or so blog readers that I have amassed.

I can picture it now, in one of the lulls I could make a quick call to a foreign country and have my secret off-shore assistant provide some material. I used a few translation sites on the web to translate the beginning of my little rant about Chatty Urinal Nutters, just to get a feel for how an off-shore ghost blogger might write:

Regards and to methods of the Rant of Frenchy.

Is it I? Or this of the place not better of the urinal only when the end begins the conversation? Might I to see the circumstance around the device of the water if I kept cool, or level in the cross-beam, but in the urinal? Is it this is new “at the place” the end to work like the friend?

Yeah, maybe not….

All I can say is the season of the trip for motorcycle cannot arrive most rapidly.

Is it me? Or is the urinal just not the best place to start a conversation? I could see standing around the water cooler, or even at a bar, but the urinal? Is this the new “in” place to make a friend?

What the hell would possess some stranger to sidle up next to someone they don’t know, drop trou and start chatting? Maybe they think of the urinal as a logical extension of the water cooler or the bar, who knows? Do they walk in and say, “Hey, there’s some guy with his dick in hand! He’s not going anywhere for a while, I bet he’d LOVE to hear about my morning commute!”

Yeah, great, that’s nice, but honestly, idle chit-chat is NOT WHAT I’M IN HERE FOR, FOOL! I don’t go busting into the stall on people to get to know them a little better, I expect the same courtesy to be extended to me as I go about my business. Why do the nutters of the world always seem to seek me out?

I don’t even know what to say about those people that make their living in a bathroom offering a towel after you wash your hands. That’s a whole other blog to write.

Chatty psychos in the bathroom are annoying, for certain. But I guess it proves the old saying it’s better to be pissed off than pissed on.

I’ve been a frequent flier for at least a decade now. In that decade, I have made some observations about the general types of people that travel. Here is my list:

The Business Douche:

This guy is always in a hurry and always on his cell phone. You can immediately spot the business douche by the retarded looking headset he has permanently attached to his ear. Usually he’ll have a huge suitcase that he’ll gladly roll right over your foot in an effort to get to his First Class Ass into his First Class Seat. His carry on luggage is normally so large that it won’t fit in the overhead, to which he’ll stop his cell phone conversation long enough to inform the flight attendant that “I can’t believe this, it ALWAYS fits!” The only good thing about sitting next to an idiot like this is as soon as he loses cell phone service, he immediately opens his laptop to work on a PowerPoint presentation, and won’t even acknowledge your presence.

Mommy and FrankenBaby:

Harried looking and tired, this poor woman looks terrified as her kid cries and screams and kicks throughout the entire flight. Playing Peek-A-Boo doesn’t help, giving the kid juice doesn’t help, so she resorts to playing a Barney DVD at top volume to entertain the little monster. If it’s a long flight, the kid will invariably fill a few diapers with incredibly stinky goo. Mommy, having taken leave of her senses long ago, will think nothing of changing little Junior’s shit filled diaper in the seat next to her. The only good thing about sitting next to this dynamic duo is once the flight lands, you’ll never have to see either of them again.

The Rookie:

This person has never left their home town before in their life. Two traits make Rookies easily identifiable. First, the mountain of luggage trailing behind them. And Second, they live under the fantasy that planes always leave and arrive exactly on time. A delay is something that the airline must be doing to them personally, because they HAVE TO GET TO THE BUFFET IN ORLANDO BY FOUR PM!! Many of them wear their plane tickets in a ridiculous looking holder around their neck. They’ll slam on their brakes while you walk behind them as they try to figure out if they are in line for security or for the bathroom. They will show their photo ID to anyone and everyone, even a janitor. Rookies will also try really hard to start a conversation, enlightening you with great detail exactly where they are going away to. The good thing about these people is one flight a year is a lot for them, so it’s rare to see them again. The bad thing is there are a LOT of rookies out there.

The Sist-ahs:

These wonderful people are usually a trio of Rookies, on their way to “Ant Maggie’s hawse” or Vegas. They usually reek of cheap perfume and/or alcohol. They’d love nothing more than to chain smoke the whole flight, and think five bucks for a beer is reasonable. They are loud and annoying, and almost invariably talk the whole flight, their raspy sandpaper-like voices ruining any chance for sleep. The good thing (for their sake) is that murder in the air is still a felony.

The Flight Simulator:

This idiot is a subset of all the other idiots. He knows exactly what the pilot is doing in the cockpit, and why. He’ll tell why and how and when the plane will turn, current altitude and speed predictions, and why we left the gate fifteen minutes late, though he’s never actually flown anything other than a paper airplane in his life. He knows the seat configuration of a Boeing 767-500 and how it difffers from the 400 series. The good thing about this guy…. well.. nothing really.

The Aromaniac:

This guy usually eats a half gallon of beans, eggs and drinks lots of warm milk, just to share with the whole plane what the insides of his intestines smell like. Easily recognizable by his snicker, he’ll sneak ’em out until someone nearly dies. He’s disappointed if he doesn’t get some kind of reaction from his efforts. The best thing about this guy is…. it’s FUNNY!!!! (Not that I know firsthand…..)

The Nymphomanic Stripper:

Doesn’t happen. Ever. Period. They must drive everywhere, because they sure don’t get on planes. So much for the friendly skies!

And finally…

Gigantic Girth-o-man:

This is the worst person to get stuck next to on a long flight. Not talking about a “big” person, or even a “pretty fat” person… I am talking about one of those freaks of nature you normally would only see on Jerry Springer. An obese mound of human flesh that not only spills over the armrest, but into your lap. This rotund lard pile should, by all rights, be forced to purchase two seats, or in extreme cases, an entire row. Sweaty, foul smelling and all around disgusting, there is nowhere for you to go once you are entombed in your eighteen inch seat. The best thing about this person is you could most likely feed him FrankenBaby, and possibly the Sist-ahs.