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My fourth blog. Amazing yet disconcerting. Don't worry; this'll go away in a year or so. |
30DBC PROMPT: "Wow! In the discussions today our beloved Neva Prosperous Snow celebrating ![]() ![]() ![]() Hey campers! Remember what I said the other day about it being weird writing to your own prompt? I think the only thing weirder than that sometimes is writing to a prompt you've been mentioned in ![]() I think we're gonna have to be creative in launching an advertising campaign for the campground, for sure. I wouldn't be against a camping version of this borderline-obnoxious Six Flags commercial ![]() Of course, because we don't really have a budget, we're gonna have to staff and film this thing ourselves. Who's got the sweet camera? Or at least a decent smartphone that takes quality video? I'm nominating 30DBC Creator/Founder ![]() ![]() ![]() I don't really know what the rest of us would do though...but we'd have to include cutaway shots featuring: ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() And then, underneath a shot of Nell, Merle, Lyn's a Witchy Woman ![]() ![]() BCF PROMPT: "There is an error message on your laptop/computer that will not close after you visited a secret government website. What does it say? I am sure you can write an amusing story with this." Yup...another instance of The Man tryin' to hold us down; that's what it is. Although I've never personally been on The Darknet before, I've read a little about it and I've probably been to some other places of ill repute on the legit information superhighway (Do people still refer to the internet as that? ![]() ![]() But say one day, while running the numbers for Camp Bloggawhynotta's budget, I got sucked down a rabbit hole of videos by obscure 80's bands on YouTube (let's face it...I have a terrible attention span and serious procrastination issues, so it could happen). And suppose I played the following chain of songs: ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() But before I decided to go back to doing actual work, I'd shut down and go grab a sandwich...only, those five songs happened to unlock a secret government operative from the 80's, G.R.A.W.K., otherwise known as The Government of Russian/American Woryld Kontrol. Turns out there was some shady back-room dealings between President Reagan and Soviet General Secretary Mikhail Gorbachev toward the end of the Cold War that no one knew about, and since the internet wasn't really a thing back then, all the information was encrypted seven times over and passed through a generation only to languish in the supposed dead space of long-forgotten bands that barely amounted to much in their brief stay atop the pop culture radar. But I had to be slackin' and stumble across this...turns out they were gonna end the threat of nuclear war all together via a dance-off. The winner of Dance Fever with Denny Terrio ![]() ![]() Anyway, so I somehow unlocked the G.R.A.W.K. master mainframe, and now I can't get out of it. Every time I click on the little red X on the bottom left corner (it's a Soviet design thing, apparently), it just brings up the same message in another stacked and tiered dialogue box..."I must break you" ![]() I didn't know what to do, and as per typical me when I get into situations like this, I prefer not to tell anyone else until it's absolutely too late because I don't want to look like an incompetent troublemaker. I hopped on Lyn's workstation while she was out giving potential camping families the guided tour of the facilities, opened up iTunes, and used our corporate credit card to download the band America's entire catalog. I saved it to a flash drive and jammed it into the USB port of my system...thankfully late 70's/early 80's soft rock made by dudes who were probably smoother with the ladies than your dad was turned out to be just the thing to break free from the G.R.A.W.K. database of lame, anticlimactic peace-mongering the world was no doubt ill-prepared for. MUSICAL BREAK!! Because if this never happened, what kind of world would we be living in today? THE DAILY BOX SCORE: ![]() I'm gonna come off sounding like a jerk for saying this and I really don't mean to, but here goes: I don't think I have anyone I'd consider to be a "mentor", and if I did I don't think she'd be a woman. Wait, that last part sounds funny (and not in a "ha ha" kind of way)...would it be "I don't think he'd be a woman"? ![]() So I guess then I'll just answer this in vague terms...if someone I really respected wanted me to cover up some kind of scandal, I'd have to ask myself a few things. 1) How serious is it?; 2) Am I risking jail time?; 3) How bad am I gonna get dragged through the mud if this cover-up blows up on us?; and 4) What's in it for me? If the answer to #4 is "lots of money and total immunity", hell yeah! Count me in, my man! But what are we covering up? Lyn heard about my little adventure with G.R.A.W.K. because I was a moron and left Reese's peanut butter cup smudges on her mouse when I was using her computer to download the band America's catalog. And since I'm not yet qualified to be the director of IT at Camp Bloggawhynotta, we've got to somehow keep this on the down-low so as not to panic Merle and Nell. But how? I know...I'll conveniently spill my Mountain Dew on the router! Sure, we'll be without internet for however long it takes to drive over to town and pick up a new one, and while that's happening I'll pretend I'm looking into the "problem" from all angles, but what I'll really be doing is erasing the browsing history from all the computers and performing the tasks necessary so nobody's the wiser about G.R.A.W.K. except me and you. Sounds like a plan. The moral to this blog entry, folks: Always find a way to throw someone else's money at a bad situation. ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() But first, the setup: At school, the layout of the main building is kinda weird. The main staircases are on one side of the building, and the elevators are on the other side of the building (that side has stairs too, but they're the fire escape stairs and are kinda out of the way, as opposed to the big gaudy staircases on the other side). The elevators are ridiculously small...maybe they fit four average-sized people comfortably. I try to take the elevator as much as possible because I still can't do stairs well, and if I have a class on the second floor that's on the same side as the elevators, it makes sense (and I also hate having to waste steps). So I went over to the elevator today, and an older woman with a walker pressed the button and got in. She was talking to another woman...who proceeded to lean against the frame of the elevator to keep the door from closing, and continued their conversation. Mind you, these hallways are plenty big enough and lined with all sorts of chairs and couches, just for these kinds of occasions. So who does that? Who stands in the frame of an elevator to have a conversation? And of course, I'm a pussy and don't say anything...I just cough, clear my throat, shift my weight from one leg to the other a few times, roll my eyes, sigh, and get huffy, all in the name of avoiding confrontation with strange old ladies. And I know the ill leaner saw me...I made the mistake of making eye contact with her, and she still didn't move. I hope she felt like an a-hole when I stomped and stormed through the fire exit door, but it's usually the people who should most feel like an a-hole who never do. And yeah, I should've said something, but I don't know these people or their purpose on campus; for all I know one of them could've been a professor I haven't met yet, and that's a Hell I don't need to be making for myself the first week of classes. ![]() ![]() Well, I think that about covers everything. It better...I don't even wanna see what this word count looks like tonight. All I know is the text entry box slider is a hell of a lot smaller than it usually is by the time I get to this point in the entry. Damn. Oh well...hey, it's the weekend! Be safe and try to relax a little, if you're not already. Peace, workin' overtime, and GOODNIGHT NOW!! |