John Furie Zacharias
having a bad day in a strange place
Thunderstorms Anywhere

Thunderstorms in the Imajica



 The different ways I don't like you 
 in a list that may never become organized
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JfZ making a mess of the web
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Saturday, December 27, 2003
Sucks to live in China


You could get fucked by the PROC guvmint

Let's see ... there's the communism thing. 

Then there's the fact that you probably have the same name as one hundred thousand other people in your country.

Standing in front of military tanks in Tianamen Square has been done.

But, reading this headline from the AP news really caught my eye:
Mass-orgy leads to jail for life



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Thursday, December 25, 2003
We have ways of making you understand


With love, to my favorite Hillsborough County Sheriff's Deputy

I found a nifty little thing to add to the web warez list.  It's a user-defined glossary of terms.  Yup.  You see, there has been some confusion around here lately and I found a way to clear things up.

For example, what do you think of when you hear or read the following words:

Spinner
FWB
Porn Star
Saltine
Boo
FFFreak


Welp, those are words that describe people.  And no, they're not the latest racial slurs or anything ... except maybe Saltine, which I have been called before. They're just frickin' slang.  So now when I find myself using an archaic or slang term, I can point you to the newly created Thunderstorms in the Imajica glossary.

We get to play with a  new web warez toy for a new year.  If you have some terms you'd like added to the glossary, use the comment function below.  Have some fun.  But remember, you'll have to look up regular words like perseverate in the regular dictionary, just like I did once.

Oh, and Merry Frickin' Christmas.



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Monday, December 22, 2003
Dances with Stumps goes brown


That's a suicidally orange wife beater he's wearing

Congratulations to Dances with Stumps for passing his Brown Belt in Karate.  That's pretty impressive.

Then again, I think I'm pretty impressed with anyone that can ambulate without artificial assistance at this point.  Will my own knee be
stronger, faster and better with 2 metal plates and 6 screws in my leg?



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Wednesday, December 17, 2003
I am a meat popsicle


All-you-can-eat Donner BBQ, if you don't mind picking metal staples out of your teeth


It's actually true what some of you already have been thinking about me.  As Bruce Willis says in The 5th Element, "I am a meat popsicle".

This is my first blog entry since before Thanksgiving last month.  Disregard any date/time info on the blog entries until the middle of the month.  I'm going to play catch-up for a little while.  It's only been a day or two since I could take sitting in front of the PC for any length of time.  I just got back from a doctor's appointment today (17th) where the nurse unceremoniously yanked out the happy little metal staples in my leg.  I counted just about forty of them. 

Then the doc checked out my slab of meat, or leg, if you prefer, and put in two little stitches where he had cut a drainage hole that hadn't stopped bleeding after two weeks.  He told me that since I was such a smart ass all of the time, I could wait a week or so and cut out my own stitches, if I wanted.  I had to fill out an update form this morning, which I thought was silly since I had just been in his office only six days ago.  So, to answer his question of "Has anything changed since your last visit?", I replied, "I've shaved" to see if he actually reads his own little forms.

The surgeon, Dr. Mitchell, really has been pretty cool with me about this whole deal, though.  He described the condition of my leg and knee after the surgery as "trying to prop back up a crushed bag of saltine crackers". 

He knows I don't have any frickin' medical insurance, so he's been letting me take a few short cuts along the way.  He discharged me out of the hospital after surgery a day earlier than normal.  He hasn't padded my experience with any extra, unnecessary procedures or appointments.  He showed me some exercises that I'd have paid a physical therapist to instruct me on, and so forth.

While I'm not supposed to put any weight on the knee or leg whatsoever for many weeks to come, I am now allowed to get vertical, sit in a chair or bounce around the house using my happy, happy walker.  It's a cool collapsible walker that I bought for my mom's hip rehab almost two years ago.  It folds up and can be tossed in the back of the truck.  I even zip-tied a handy-dandy white rubbermaid container to the front of it so I can easily take stuff with me as I hobble about aimlessly around the house. 

I was hoping the doctor would give me a little bell or squeeze horn I could attach to my walker today, but he was fresh out.  I would have settled for a pair of cute little sparkling handlebar tassles, but I think you need major medical insurance for those kinds of amenities.



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Tuesday, November 25, 2003
Spy Kids 3-D: Game Over


I'm blue, I'm cute, and I can bug your office
Today, I went on a virtual tour of the CIA compound with everyone's little buddy, Ginger Bear.  While I grew up with Yogi Bear and Boo-boo, now kids in grades K through 5 can hang out with Ginger at the CIA.

Yogi and Boo-boo did steal pic-a-nic baskets, but Ginger also seems cutely sneaky.  First, she's not supposed to leave Marta's cubicle but decides to go on an adventure around the CIA compound anyway.

Snooping in her friend Marta's appointment book, Ginger thinks, "Hmm, Marta is going to be out of the office on business most of today. Maybe I can take a little tour by myself and get back before she does".  And so, off we go.

First, Ginger wanders outside to the Memorial Garden.  It's the most zen peaceful place of the three memorial areas at the CIA, and the most recently built.  The other two -- the OSS memorial and the CIA memorial wall -- are more traditional.  Ginger Bear doesn't go into much detail about these memorials.   Instead, she comments on how big the fish are in the memorial garden's pond, how big the statue is at the OSS memorial and how very many stars the are on the CIA memorial.

Ginger tell us, "Because of the secret work we do, not everyone's name is listed in the Book of Honor".  The book of honor is bound with Moroccan goat skin, but if you're a CIA agent that disagrees with the Cheney-Bush administration, your name could end up in every newspaper in the world

In light of all the recent problems between the intelligence community and Dubya's administration, I had to laugh out when little Ginger bear described the DCI portrait gallery:

"This is the DCI Portrait Gallery . What's a DCI? Well, DCI stands for Director of Central Intelligence. When you have been around here as long as I have, you know what this stuff means! Well, each one of these men was head of the CIA and the IC, or the Intelligence Community. The DCI helps the President and other leaders by providing them with information or intelligence about the world to help them make decisions on how to lead our country."

I guess the DCI only helps the President if the President hears what he wants to hear, right Ginger?

I think Ginger has had enough fun with truth and politics at this point and heads over to the nifty Cold War Exhibit at the CIA.  She opines, "There are some really neat spy things here and they actually belong to one person. He has even more at home. I wonder if his mom gets mad about all the stuff in his room?

Oddly enough, most of the exhibits at the CIA's Cold War Exhibit are on loan from Mr. H. Keith Melton, a south-Florida businessman who owns 25 McDonalds fast food restaurants.  Melton is also an author of such titles as "The Spy's Guide: Office Espionage: How to Bug a Meeting, Booby-Trap Your Briefcase, Infiltrate the Competition, and More".  Melton is a pretty interesting guy.  Check out how he recently participated in Spy Fest 2003.

If you just wanted a stupid McJob, I think it would really suck to have Melton as your employer.  This guy would know the number of french fries you ate on your lunch break, for god's sake.  Ginger doesn't care though.  She stopped into the CIA cafeteria, which at this point in her adventure seems to me to be the frickin' climax of her little CIA tour as she eats a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

You might need all the brain food you can stuff into your fat pie hole with both fists to figure out the next stop on Ginger Bear's adventure.  On the way back to Marta's office cubicle, she checks out the Kryptos statue.  Then, it's time to head over to the new CIA headquarters building atrium where they have some nifty models of U.S. spy planes.  Yup.  That's what you really saw in the Black Rock Desert, in Nevada, when you thought you were seeing UFOs, stoned out of your fucking mind at Burning Man that one year. 

Ginger Bear could have told you that.  Other than snooping, lying, thwarting security, and sneaking around the CIA, Ginger Bear is a good little blue bear.  She doesn't do drugs and see UFOs like you, you stupid pothead.  Then again, who would believe me if I told them I saw a little blue bear standing on the seal of the CIA today?


 
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