Want to hold up a bank in Latin?
"Catapultam habeo. Nisi pecuniam omnem mihi dabis, ad caput tuum saxum immane mittam."
(I have a catapult. Give me all the money, or I will fling an enormous rock at your head.)

NW Natural Gas is employed by geniuses..

GENIUSES!

Super geniuses who are grown in modern laboratories, and birthed from the age of science and reason. Carefully cultivated from the NW Natural bunker located in Sioux City Iowa, they are subconsciously force fed all the information they need to learn a la A Clockwork Orange. Once weaned from their habitat, and properly nourished on foods enriched with vitamins and minerals, they are armed with the the most up to date technology. No amount of money is spared for their streamlined instruments of customer service wonder. Here now is a transcript documented at precisely 2:12 post meridian, September twenty seventh. Ironclad proof that only the elite of the elite are hand picked, and rigorously prepared for their task at hand. Let's listen in.

Rep: Thank you for calling NW Natural, my name is Debbie, how may I help you?

Me: Hi Debbie, this is Dave.. I, uhh, well. I'm not too sure what's the matter, but my only piece of gas equipment is my water heater, and my water isn't heating...

Rep: Huh...

Me: Yeah, I went downstairs and tried to light the pilot light, but it wouldn't catch. So, I was just checking to see if everything's okay with my account?

Rep: Okay! Can I have your home address?

Me: Sure, it's **** SE **th Avenue.

Rep: Okay... this'll be just a minute.. my systems running slow.

Me: Sure, take your time.

....

....

....

Me: *cough*

....

....

....

Rep: Okay... well.. looks like we had a request to turn off service today by... a David? Was that you?

Me: Me? Ummm..... nooooooo....

Rep: Well, it says here that David called in last week to cancel service... and that you're moving to 16th Avenue?

Me: ...umm.... no.

Rep: Huh...

Me: Huh...

Rep: So, you're not moving to 16th avenue?

Me: Not unless you know something I don't.

Rep: *Laughs uncomfortably* well... then I'll just get someone to turn your service back on.

Me: That'd be awesome, thanks!

Rep: *Type type type* This will be just one minute *type type type*

Me: Uh huh...

Rep: *Type type type*

Me: ....

Rep: *Type type type* (pause) *type type type*

Me: *quietly scratching nuts*

Rep: So... umm... do you know any David?

Me: Excuse me? You mean besides myself?

Rep: Yeah, like a neighbor...

Me: Ummmm... maybe my next door neighbor.

Rep: *Suspicious intonation* Hmmm... this is all very strange.. and what would their address be?

Me: Are you asking me to look?

Rep: No, I just thought since they're your neighbor you would know.

Me: My girlfriend might know, but I couldn't tell you.

Rep: Hmmm... and you do live at **** SE **th Avenue, correct?

Me: Right.

Rep: Okay, well, you should be all set. The guy will be there in the next few hours.

Me: "The guy"? Okay.. will he be here before seven?

Rep: Shouldn't be a problem. I'm not sure how many gas leaks he has, but it shouldn't be a problem.

Me: Well, okay.. I guess that'll do it.

Rep: Well, I really appreciate your patience Mr. Couseu. I'm not sure how this happened, but I'll tell you it doesn't very often.

Me: Excuse me?

Rep: What's that?

Me: Umm... I'm David Biastock....

Rep: Oh! Hah! Hahahahah! Looks like I found who was supposed to have their gas turned off!

Me: ....that's.... good..?

Rep: Yeah, you're fine Mr. Biastock. Just hang tight and the guy will be there in... well, in the next few hours to turn your gas back on.

Me: Okay... well... thanks for all your help....

So, just to clarify in case my point was lost somewhere, these are the people that are in control of highly explosive materials. Highly explosive materials that are coursing through your house right now. These are the monkies clambering underneath your floorboards with a flashlight and a lit cigarette trying to find your gas leak. And here I sit... waiting for someone to visit someone elses house to turn on gas that's already on...

Well shite...

I had written this huge apologetic post, and then accidently closed my browser. In a nutshell, here's what you missed:

Dirty Line Dancin'
My submersion into geeky hobbies.
How Animal Crossing has stolen away what little social life I ever had to begin with.
My observations on intellectuals who have entertained a half a semester of philosophy and think they know everything.
Blatant obsession with Adult Swim.
And lastly, artistic acts of vandalism.

Unfortunately, I don't have time to expound on any of this at the moment, but stay tuned! There's more to come after these messages from our sponsor.

Ooookaaay... so 'bout that caption contest... (Heh... heheheh...) Well, looks like I'm smokin' that cigarette. In all honesty, I've given it a week and I no longer have any hope that netcomments has gone anywhere but tits up. I'll still keep checking back with them, and if I can salvage the comments I will.

As a peace offering, I give you a picture of Charleton Heston making out with a monkey.

So, yesterday I was talking to Brandon on the phone, and he made a passing comment that reminded me about a previous post he had made. In short, his property management had kindly asked him to stop going to and from the mail room in his robe and boxers. Now, I've played resident in many a shared living habitat, and this sort of behaviour was a fairly normal occurance so I decided to probe a little deeper. As it turns out, the robe that Brandon owns is the same piece of history that he's had since he was eight years old. Further investigation led me to find that the majority of his underwear consists of boxers without the handy button fly. Now, for those of you who are having difficulties painting your own mental image of a twenty three year old man in an eight year old's robe.... I have saved you the time, and produced my own depiction...

I call it... flapping in the breeze