KK's Korner

I often talk about my commute to and from work. I usually spend more than two hours round-trip each workday in the vehicle, so I guess it makes sense I’d have a thing or three to say about other motorists. Today is no exception.

I’m a big believer in the right lane being for slower driver and the left lane being for faster drivers. But I also have to ask how fast is “too fast” for even the left lane? One of the primary roadways I drive is a state highway. Some stretches of this road go through some residential/business areas while other stretches are more ideal for going faster. The speed limit is 45. Now as I said, I usually stay in the right lane, but when there’s traffic it really doesn’t matter what lane you’re in. Now even though I don’t consider myself a fast/aggressive driver, there are times when I speed on certain stretches of this road. One stretch I’ll often go 65; it’s a non-business area and the flow of traffic often kicks it up a notch.

But when does “fast” become “too fast”?

There are times when I’ll be going 20+ miles over the speed limit and there will still be people going well above that rate of speed. And the thing is, in about 15 seconds you’re going to be introduced to traffic backups anyway. What’s the point?

Sometimes no matter how fast you are going it’s just not fast enough.

So now instead of hiring crazy people from some “works” program to do the basic maintenance around the workplace building, the boss is now hiring high school students from another “works” program.

In an unrelated story, kkk does not leave anything of value in his office.

Might as well celebrate all the freedoms we still have. Smoke ‘em if you got ‘em. Oh, wait…

And let’s not talk about fireworks.

What started as a battle over fireworks shows led to a sweeping legal victory Friday for environmentalists that could stymie a wide range of events needing city permits, from the Rock ’n’ Roll Marathon to birthday parties held at parks.

“According to the strictest interpretation of this, jumpy-jumps and everything else would be subject to environmental review if this ruling stands,” said lawyer Robert Howard, who represented the La Jolla Community Fireworks Foundation in the case. “It’s a breathtaking ruling.”

Superior Court Judge Linda Quinn said La Jolla’s annual Fourth of July fireworks show requires evaluation under the California Environmental Quality Act, or CEQA.

The case, filed by the Coastal Environmental Rights Foundation in Encinitas, targeted San Diego’s approval of the La Jolla event but eventually drew in a broad swath of city permits. San Diego officials said they issue about 400 special-events permits annually, along with up to 20,000 park-use permits for smaller-scale gatherings — most of which would now need environmental assessment.

“San Diego issues thousands of these simple park-use permits over the counter with the only consideration being space, just as other cities do across the state,” said City Attorney Jan Goldsmith. “Existing law has never been interpreted to require a CEQA review for this. … This decision opens the door to absurd results. This is the reason appellate courts exist and we plan to ask for their help.”

Even before the judge’s ruling was finalized, Chula Vista officials on Thursday pulled the plug on their July Fourth show in the face of funding shortfalls and environmental challenges.

The future of La Jolla’s event was fuzzy Friday. Organizers likely can’t complete the time-intensive and costly CEQA analysis by July 4, but Howard said he would ask the court to allow this year’s event while the case is appealed.

I’m not a huge fireworks fan, but this is just dumb.

Land of the free, indeed.

So yesterday I mentioned Mrs. kkk and I traveled out of state. Whenever we plan a trip across state lines, we often rent a car. We only own one car, and I want that vehicle to last as long as possible, so I’ll pay a bit more to put the mileage hit on a vehicle other than mine. Additionally, if for whatever reason we get into an accident, I’d rather have it happen to a car that I do not use to commute back and forth to work.

Why am I typing this? Because my car rental place of choice is Avis. I can’t help but give this company a ringing endorsement. Unlike other car rental companies (coughEnterprisecough), they really know how to pamper a customer with such luxuries as actually having the vehicle that was reserved well in advance available at the proper time and not blaming the economy for a lack of vehicles in stock.

So earlier today Mrs. kkk and I left my mother’s house, which is located out of state. The better half and I arrived Friday and left Saturday. How was the visit?

Mom/father-in-law + Jesus talk = me sitting there with my hand over my mouth giving “concentrating” look that doesn’t fool anyone. (I really wish there were more pictures to stare at along the wall.)

Now I don’t have a terrible relationship with mom, but I don’t really consider us to be close. Guess that’s what happens sometimes when you raise a latch-key kid. Sometimes I have to laugh because we live about 10 minutes away from Mrs. kkk’s parents, and the better half’s relationship with her mother is the exact opposite of my arrangement. Then again, my mom isn’t a raving lunatic like my mother-in-law can be at times. But then again, each lady also has her good points. Funny how two different childhood upbringings can bring those crazy kids together. Even funnier is how despite having two different backgrounds Mrs. kkk and I complement each other’s deficiencies when it comes to views on family.

I basically don’t give a rat’s ass about family. Mrs. kkk is extremely close to a number of her kinfolk.

But then again, the better have has shown me that buying gifts for a niece or nephew can be a rewarding experience. In turn, I have set Mrs. kkk straight in a number of situations where blind loyalty to a family member isn’t the best option to keep your sanity.

So as the years go by, I have become more and more of a believe in things happening for a reason.

The latest example of this took place earlier today. After Bella chewed through the answering machine line this morning, Mrs. kkk realized there were some unheard messages on the Comcast voice service that we never check. Why did these phone messages end up on the Comcast answering machine thingy that we can check online instead of turning up on our landline answering machine? Don’t know. Don’t care.

Anyway, the better half took a listen to these message from as far back as 2005, and there were two message for me that were left in ’06. During this time in my life, I was looking for another job so I could leave my current shit-hole workplace at that time. Two of these phone messages were for job interview requests. Now had I gotten an offer at one of these places, I may not be where I am today. Who knows if either of these two jobs would have panned out? Who knows if those two positions are still around? (Thanks HUSSEIN RECESSIONlolz.)

Allah truly works in mysterious ways.

Well, if the drying machine decided to call it a career at the kkk Manor.

There could have been a lot worse times of the year for the dryer to do so, what with the Fourth of July sales that are just around the corner. Eleven years, three moves and two states later: peace out.

Not bad for a $500 set.

I have a question for those that cut-off big rigs — y’all realize those vehicles can’t break as quickly as cars, right? And if your vehicle and the big rig are to get into a collision, I’m putting my money on the big rig each time.

Now if you want your family to cash in on your life insurance policy, then by all means go for it.

Normally I’m a Campbell’s Chunky soup type of person, but I swear Progresso’s Chickarina is worse than crack.

Seriously, it has all the perfect ingredients. A chicken-ey broth, chicken chunks, meatballs and little round noodles.

I’ve got the goodness of chicken noodle soup, an additional meatball flavor every other spoonful or so and “noodles” that do not require slurping or the collateral splash damage one gets from a noodle falling back into the soup.

Good stuff.

And now is time for that one day out of the year where I reflect on the 14 years of knowing the better half — 8 in sin, 6 in not as much sin. That’s 40 percent of my life, and like debt-to-GDP, this ratio will just keep on growing.

What are we doing today? Hell if I know. Probably go out and watch the fourth Pirates of the Caribbean movie. Yeah, we’re high-rollers. But you should have seen how weak-kneed and googly-eyed she got when earlier this week she asked, “What are you planning for Saturday?” and my response was, “You didn’t say anything about that when we went over this month’s budget.”

You don’t say this shit after the first fortnight of a courtship. God help me should I ever become available on the open market.

So earlier today we had a cookout for the father-in-law. The crack-whore sister-in-law and the crack-whore niece-in-law didnt show up, so everybody had a good time.

The highlight of the event was when my 15-year-old nephew scolded his father (my brother-in-law) for getting a new gun and says that if someone breaks into your house you should leave and call the police. The brother-in-law’s “WTF” look and subsequent response just made my week, and it’s only Sunday.

Oh these next few years with the government-schooled kid and his redneckish father are going to be great.

So yesterday I went to stock up on my Covington shirts at the nearby Sears. Because Sears had these shirts on sale and giving out a $25 gift card for every $50 spent, I figured why wait until Black Friday to stock up on my work shirts?

I’m a real fashion follower. I probably now have about 30 of these shirts in my closet. They are loose. They are comfortable. They are cheap (when on sale). They are durable enough for me.

So I went to Sears and got my shirts (among a few other clothing items). I then went to the cashier, who then tried (multiple times) pimping a Sears card. Not only that, she asked if I wanted to donate to some organization. She also asked if I wanted to take part in some other promotion, but by this time I was zoning out and saying stuff like, “Well I just like getting ripped off.”

But I’m not mad. In fact, I feel bad for department store cashiers having to pimp store credit cards and all sorts of other junk onto customers rather than just focusing on a cash transaction. Kind of a bummer when these stores operate first as credit agencies rather than places where goods are simply purchased.

Guess it’s just another example of gettin’ all corporationy.

InventHelp has the best end-of-ad disclaimer, basically saying “Your idea is probably stupid and will be a huge waste of everybody’s time.”

Don’t believe me? Peep this:

Actually, InventHelp has helped me out in the past. Last year at work some guy claimed he had this device that would change the way we collect and store energy. This had absolutely nothing to do with my job (some a-hole transferred him over to me to get rid of him), and I couldn’t get this loon to go away, so I told him to contact InventHelp. Gave the phone number and everything.

Guess that’s why there’s that end-of-ad disclaimer.

So last night the better half and I stopped at Wal-Mart. Surprisingly, there wasn’t much to report back; it was a fairly normal excursion. I do have to mention that why in the hell do people twice my size wear clothes several sizes smaller than I do. It boggles the mind sometimes.

But I have a better story from last night. Before Wal-Mart, the better half and I went to the mall. Mrs. kkk had to drop off her wedding band/ring at the jeweler for re-sizing because it was getting too big for her finger. She was CRYING when she left the store because she was going to be ring-less for 7-10 days.

Women are crazy.

So there is a Facebook poll popping up on my wall asking, “What is your favorite hot dog condiment?”

Here are the results so far. Ketchup: 105, Mustard: 85.

What the hell is wrong with this country?

So the other day, Mrs. kkk and I were at Sam’s Club. While there, I saw some guy with an Insane Clown Possee tattoo on the back of his neck.

I’m not sure what’s worse. The actual tattoo or me knowing what the tattoo means.

Question: what’s better than answering a ringing telephone with, “Who ‘dis?” (Don’t know what I’m talking about? Go watch “Boys in the Hood.)

Answer: it’s the telemarketer still delivering his sales pitch without hesitation.

Cold-blooded.

So I got the thinking.

What is the most useful class I took in either high school or in college?

Please note I’m not talking about “class I enjoyed” or “class I learned a bunch of nonsense that has nothing to do with my role in the real world.” I have to be using the skills acquired in that class to help pay my mortgage.

Let’s think about college. Well that was a big waste of time. I guess a desktop publishing class or news writing class could be put down in this instance, but I haven’t been anywhere near the communications field for more than three years. Now one can say I still benefitted from learning the baiscs of PageMaker or Quark. One can also say I was trained in writing and story-telling, but this could be debated — especially after reading some of the stuff I post at this place.

High school? I took a bunch of general classes, but I must say the typing class I had during my junior year has done more for me than any other course I can think of. Not much has changed with the keyboard since then, and I ALWAYS benefit from being able to type 75+ words per minute.

With that said, I still haven’t mastered the numbers row.

Little Annoyance #8947 that will eventually set me off the deep end: That little “creep up” motorists do at a red light.

Seriously, where does this extra space come from? I’m not talking about backups at a red light in which some motorists can turn on red and the line moves up by a few cars. I’m also not talking about when a motorist creeps up a bit at a stoplight in hopes of setting off the green-light trigger. I’m talking about that steady, inching up that sometimes happens at red light.

I refuse to move forward in these situations unless I have at least one full car length to move. And then my movement is swift and just; not this tentative “creeping.”

Sorry, but that’s how I, err, roll.

About a week or so ago I made a remark about how I don’t donate money to organizations. (See the comments section.)

Well that lasted long.

Last night I saw this news story and my blood pressure boiled.

A Carrick woman and her two sons have been evicted and the house they lived in has been condemned after police found more than 40 neglected cats inside the home.

I sent $100 to Animal Friends. And you can, too by clicking here. Any little amount helps. You don’t want to be a bigger tightwad than me, do you?

Please note I didn’t reveal my amount donated to thump my chest or anything like that. I just believe if you are going to ask others to donate that you better provide full disclosure. I have a few hundred dollars available in my “pissing around” money envelope, and I decided to send some to Animal Friends. Hey, times are tough in the HUSSEIN RECESSION, so every little bit helps.

Oh, and if you donate to the Red Cross, you are supporting the gutter trash that caused all this to happen. Why these people aren’t being put down or sent out into the woods to fend for themselves is beyond me. Maybe that’s why I’m not in any position of authority in this world.

So that’s where my missing load of laundry was all of last week.

It was in the … washing machine.

*sniffs contents inside appliance*

And it’s going to stay in the washing machine for another load. Blech.

If I could trade places with anyone in this world it would be Justice Anthony Kennedy. Oh the power I would wield.

You got four patriotic defenders of freedom on the High Court. You also have four communists that would rather wipe their collective ass with the Constitution than rule by this document. Then you have Anthony Kennedy, whose decision often makes or breaks a Supreme Court case.

Screw being the president — that’s a 4-8 year gig.

When you’re a Supreme Court justice, you’re a Supreme Court justice for life.

You know, with the whole Anthony’s Weiner escapade, along with that other dope from NY who posed shirtless, it makes me giddy to think about what future political “scandals” will be like. Who said what on some message board back in 1995; it’s going to be great. Hell, my electronic footprint is one of the main reasons I will never even think about running for public office. Well that and the fact I’m completely unelectable.

It’s been several years now and I have to come out of the closet with this announcement. I’ve been living a lie all this time and now I must come clean.

My name is kkktookmybabyaway, and I … eat prunes.

You heard me.

And I eat prunes because I like them. It’s not that I have any pooping problems or some other bowel-related issues (at least not with this particular instance).

My pro-prune philosophy wasn’t always this way. For years I avoided these disgusting-looking things like the plague. All slimey and gross. And then there was that stigma of only old people eating them. I don’t want no old-people food. I’m young and hip. I’m not going to break a hip. So for years I just pretended prunes didn’t exist — you know, like homeless people.

Then one day I was shopping with the better half and I came accross this package titled, “Pitted Plums.” I asked Mrs. kkk what these things were. She said they were prunes. I got confused, and then she added, “Prunes ARE plums, you idiot.”

Really?

I like plums.

So I decided what the hell and bought a small container of these things. And You know what? They weren’t half-bad. Ever since then I get the Sam’s Club 1000 lbs bag and proudly bring it along with me in the SUV-sized shopping cart as I go elsewhere in the story.

Well, OK. That last part was a bit of a lie. I try to have other products cover it up, but the casher always knows my secret.

So there you have it. Now the question I’m sure you are thinking right now is, “But do you drink prune juice?”

Let’s not get crazy now. Some things are going to have to wait until I’m in senior years.

Brevity is the soul of wit, but oftentimes you need more than 140 characters. That’s why I’m not a Twitter…er.

Then again, maybe I’m just old. After all, when I fell in love with email there were people out there that preferred hand-written letters and other older forms of communications.

Look, I post a bunch of short entries. But I don’t want to be restricted by 140 freakin’ characters. That’s why what passes for a Twitter account I use is primarily just a links dumping ground. Well that and a place to stalk one other person.

Does Twitter have its purpose? Sure. I don’t like texting, but I’ll do it maybe once or twice a year. I can see the use in instant/short electronic communication, but it’s just not for me.

Still though, I have to wonder if social media is going to go by the way of a fad or will is this stuff here to stay? And if it’s here to stay, what will these methods of communication evolve into? Well that’s enough looking into the future for now.

My message to the humidity, as quoted by the immortal Loc Dog…

“Break Yo’ Self.”

And thank Allah for the break in humidity. The office feet smell was making me sick.

So yesterday someone rang the workplace’s front doorbell. It was some kid (oh God did I just say that — he was n college at the very least).

Anyway, he was applying to a job opening that my boss posted on Craig’s List, something I knew nothing about.

Now showing up unannounced looking for a job: Good.

Showing up wearing a PITTSBURGH PENGUINS COLLARED SHIRT, SHORTS and NIKES: Bad.

If this was a job for some crazy person to mop the floor, that’s one thing. (We’ve had three of them since December, including one of them returning for two days.) This is supposedly for a somewhat professional position.

And while I’m at it, why do people say, “I need a job” during the interview? God, even I never do this and foot-in-mouth is a freakin’ reflex with me.

Of course, having said all this, this guy will probably get the job. Not that I will know when it actually happens.

Besides, at this place I wear shorts in the summer and sweatpants in the winter. It’s not like a dress code is heavily scrutinized here.

First 90+ degree day of the year and already the workplace building has the smell of feet to it. And people wonder why I keep my office door closed and the de-humidifier on.

Have I mentioned that I also despise open-toed shoes? This is one of the reasons why.

And here’s why I don’t bother with donating to people-related causes.

A relative of my sister-in-law gets items from a food bank. Now I’m unfamiliar with a food bank’s protocol when it comes to giving away grub, but apparently this place gives people pre-packaged item bundles.

After this relative of my sister-in-law gets her care package, she then proceeds to give just about all of it away to people around her. How do I know this? Because the relative of my sister-in-law gets a bunch of this stuff, who then passes it along to some other relatives, who then pass it along to my sister-in-law, who then pass it along to my in-laws, who then pass it along to Mrs. kkk.

Yes, we have food bank items in our fruit cellar.

Now why don’t we turn these items in back to the food bank? Too lazy. Hey, if it’s the food bank’s policy to do this ass-backwards giving, then I’m not going to encourage this protocol. Besides, I’ll just end up with the food again in a few weeks.

Any big surprise that I primarily donate to animal shelters?

Shoe shopping with a chick. What, like I’m going to be saying anything positive about this?

You know, it’s not the actual shopping for work shoes that makes me want to kill. It’s being asked my opinion on certain items when all parties involved know full well what the answer is going to be that results in this scowl.

Mrs. kkk knows I don’t like open-toed shoes, yet she continues to ask if if I like this pair or that pair. I guess I should be glad she finally got around to actually getting some shoes; after nearly ONE MONTH of looking.

At least she doesn’t collect purses or other chick stuff.

By the way, I have several different pairs of sneakers — high tops for the winter and jeans, lower tops for the summer and shorts. Then there is my cross-trainer/running shoes I use when exercising. Not only do I have a pair of each of these currently in rotation, but I also have at least one pair of each in the closet ready to go once these shoes decide to call it a career. And if you didn’t know by now, I got all of these on the last two Black Friday sales at Kohl’s. Yeah, I’m a picky one.

There are also my black and brown shoes I wear with my Docker outfits and my ultra swank dress shoes. No clue when these are going to get replaced.

So this was the scene outside my office earlier today.

Yeah.

So I’ve had this part-time co-worker working on my project for two years. For lack of better term, I call her the assistant. She’s supposed to do what I tell her — at least in theory.

Well now the assistant is looking to get more hours at work, which means she is working with other projects headed up by other co-workers. I knew this was going to be a disaster right from the get-go, and damn sometimes I wish I wasn’t so spot-on in my predictions.

While I appear to be quite the asshole in life, I consider myself to be a rather laid-back fellow. There’s a reason the assistant works part-time, and I don’t really care when she comes and goes. I really don’t care about what she does regarding her job so long as it gets done. Whenever I want something done a specific way, I let her know. Otherwise, I don’t give a rat’s ass — so long as my boss is happy. Truthfully, I couldn’t do this job without her and I never have a problem answering any questions she may have about whatever.

Now my co-workers, on the other hand…

These people have been doing things a certain way for decades, and there’s no changing this. When I learned the assistant was going to work with these ladies, I knew this was a match between the Immovable Object vs. the Irresistible Force. And the funny thing is, from what I heard, most of the friction is taking place over the stupidest shit. I actually worked with these co-workers on a few things in the past, and I knew firsthand that the assistant wouldn’t be a good fit. Hell, I wasn’t a good fit. That’s why I don’t deal with these people unless the boss tells me to. There’s a time to do things your way and there’s a time to shut up and do what you’re told. Sadly, the assistant is unable to do the latter. On one hand, her … unique way of doing things is a plus. On the other hand, it could be a catastrophe if you are working with people set in their ways.

When I spoke with the boss today, she told me that the assistant’s fate rests in my hands. In other words, I was the only thing keeping her employed with us. Wow.

The power.

It’s like my real-life ban-hammer.

Even I decided to get rid of her, God only knows what will show up at the front door come interview day. Besides, I’d have no clue when trying to figure out the assistant’s system to doing shit. And frankly, I wouldn’t care enough to try and decipher everything.

So I just downloaded the latest version of Firefox.

Come on, guys. This looks like shit.

My urge to switch to another browser is getting stronger and strong by the minute.

I’m not the biggest fan of government regulations, but I would support a law forcing any motorist that causes an accident that results in a backup to pay for a tank of fuel for every motorist affected by said backup.

And how was your work commute this morning?

What was normally a one-hour drive turned into two because some assclown got into an accident on one of the interstates. And from what I heard on the radio there were two other accidents that were backing up traffic in the region.

The police and EMT crews earned their paychecks today.

I’ve been driving this route for almost seven years, and this was probably the second-worst I have ever seen traffic. Please note I am not including traffic jams that are the result of inclement weather. I don’t count those.

So I saw this article dealing with things that will make me feel old. Feel free to click on the link if you want. It’s a bunch of things like showing a picture of the person who was the infant on Nirvana’s “Nevermind” album or posting the cover of TV Guide from 20 years ago.

Now while the Nirvana album cover had me do a double-take, none of these images really made me go, “woah.”

But those kids President Bush was with on September 11, 2001? They are in high school and will be off to college soon. Dang.

There has rarely been a starker juxtaposition of evil and innocence than the moment President George W. Bush received the news about 9/11 while reading The Pet Goat with second-graders in Sarasota, Fla.

Seven-year-olds can’t understand what Islamic terrorism is all about. But they know when an adult’s face is telling them something is wrong — and none of the students sitting in Sandra Kay Daniels’ class at Emma E. Booker Elementary School that morning can forget the devastating change in Bush’s expression when White House chief of staff Andrew Card whispered the terrible news of the al-Qaeda attack. Lazaro Dubrocq’s heart started racing because he assumed they were all in trouble — with no less than the Commander in Chief — but he wasn’t sure why. “In a heartbeat, he leaned back and he looked flabbergasted, shocked, horrified,” recalls Dubrocq, now 17. “I was baffled. I mean, did we read something wrong? Was he mad or disappointed in us?”

Similar fears started running through Mariah Williams’ head. “I don’t remember the story we were reading — was it about pigs?” says Williams, 16. “But I’ll always remember watching his face turn red. He got really serious all of a sudden. But I was clueless. I was just 7. I’m just glad he didn’t get up and leave, because then I would have been more scared and confused.” Chantal Guerrero, 16, agrees. Even today, she’s grateful that Bush regained his composure and stayed with the students until The Pet Goat was finished. “I think the President was trying to keep us from finding out,” says Guerrero, “so we all wouldn’t freak out.”

Even if that didn’t happen, it’s apparent that the sharing of that terrifying Tuesday with Bush has affected those students in the decade since — and, they say, it made the news of al-Qaeda leader Osama bin Laden’s killing by U.S. commandos on May 1 all the more meaningful. Dubrocq, now a junior at Riverview High School in Sarasota, doubts that he would be a student in the rigorous international-baccalaureate program if he hadn’t been with the President as one of history’s most infamous global events unfolded. “Because of that,” he says, “I came to realize as I grew up that the world is a much bigger place and that there are differing opinions about us out there, not all of them good.”

Guerrero, today a junior at the Sarasota Military Academy, believes the experience “has since given us all a better understanding of the situation, sort of made us take it all more seriously. At that age, I couldn’t understand how anyone could take innocent lives that way. And I still of course can’t. But today I can problem-solve it all a lot better, maybe better than other kids because I was kind of part of it.” Williams, also a junior at the military academy, says those moments spent with Bush conferred on the kids a sort of historical authority as they grew up. “Today, when we talk about 9/11 in class and you hear kids make mistakes about what happened with the President that day, I can tell them they’re wrong,” she says, “because I was there.”

When the children’s story was done, Bush left for the school’s library, where he discussed the New York City, Washington and Pennsylvania nightmare with aides, reporters and another group of students waiting for him. Back in the classroom, Daniels brought in a television and turned on the first bewildering images of the Twin Towers in flames and smoke. At that point, the kids started connecting the dots. “It was pretty scary,” says Williams, “and I remember thinking, So that’s why the President looked so mad.”

Dubrocq got mad himself. “But I had to wait a few years before I could digest what had really happened and why they attacked us,” he says. “I, of course, grew up to have nothing but contempt for Osama bin Laden.” Yet he adds the episode “motivated me to get a better handle on the world and to want to help improve the world.” It also made Dubrocq, who wants to study international business, more aware of his multinational roots — he’s French and Cuban on his father’s side and Spanish and Mexican on his mother’s. Not surprisingly, he also wants to learn other languages, like Chinese and, in an echo of his 9/11 memories, perhaps even Arabic.

Williams says she also hated bin Laden more as she grew up and gained a better appreciation of how fanatics had changed her world on 9/11. “All that just because he wanted to control everybody in the world, control how we think and what we do,” she says. Williams doesn’t plan to pursue a military career — she wants to be a veterinarian — but the military-academy student was impressed by the Navy Seal raid in Pakistan that killed bin Laden: “I was shocked. I thought after 10 years, they’d never find him. But what the SEALs did, it, like, gives me even more respect for that kind of training.”

Guerrero, in fact, may as well be part of that training. She also plans a civilian life — she hopes to study art and musical theater — but she’s a Junior ROTC member and part of her school’s state champion Raiders team, which competes against other academies in contests like rope-bridge races, map navigation and marksmanship. In other words, the same sort of skills the Seal commandos have to master. She admits to feeling an added rush when she woke up to Monday morning’s news: the Seals’ operation, she says, “was very, very cool.”

More than cool, Guerrero adds, it was also “so reassuring, after a whole decade of being scared about these things.” Most of all, it “brought back a flood of memories” of their tragic morning with a President — memories that prove kids can carry a lot heavier stuff in those plastic backpacks than adults often realize.

And to think at one time I thought fax machines were the bees knees in communication. Now I hate these !@#$% things.

Makes me wonder what technology I use today will be consider outdated 10 years from now.

So last night I went on what I thought was a normal grocery store trip. Silly me.

On my way to the store, I stopped by a local gas station to put air in my car’s tires. As I was doing my thing at the air machine, I noticed that there was a police car at one of the gas pumps. Upon further review, I saw that several policemen were surrounding a car and two youths were handcuffed.

Then came the best part. I saw the K-9 unit.

The officer was “playing” with the black lab in a patch of grass by me and getting the pooch “fired up.” The dog was then brought up to the car and the dog stared humping the front passenger door. Guess that’s where the drugs were hidden.

I will watch 28 minutes of a 30-minute Cops-based reality show just to get to the 2 minutes with the K-9 unit going batshit over some perp hiding in the woods or buidling. God bless police dogs.

So I’m thinking deep today.

Are you better off at this time in your life than your parents were?

Finance-wise I’d have to say the better half and I are better off. I’m not quite sure how much my parents earned at this time in their lives, and I’m not going to bother finding out how much $1 back in the 1960s/1970s would be worth today. I’m going with the “better off” claim here because Mrs. kkk and I work full time. I’m also going with the “better off” claim because I don’t think I’ll be making child-support payment for two wives and five kids over the next 20+ years.

Life-wise I’ve got the old man’s genes, but I’m aware of my lunacy so I have a leg up in this category.

You always hear people worrying about the future generation and if the current standard of living will improve or not for today’s kids. Well, except for the Muslim Wookie Fucker declaring a jihad on the health-care system, I don’t see why the next generation can’t succeed. I think the better half and I have done OK. Then again, the only kids we have are those with four legs and a tail. I’m sure a crumb-snatcher or two would make me rethink my life’s priorities. But then again God help me if Mrs. kkk squirted out a kid 10+ years ago.

You know, sometimes I think back to my time in high school and college and wonder to myself what would have happened if I actually had sex with some femme fatales instead of “chickening out.” What if I got one of these easy lays knocked up? What if I had to become a father? Those kids would be in high school RIGHT NOW. Now that’s a scary thought.

So I have had the 55″ LED television for several months, and while I love the high definition programming, there is one thing I have found myself doing more and more. When there’s a television program that includes an audience — a sporting event, for example — I tend to focus more on the people in the crowd rather than the main attraction on camera. Is that person in the third row picking her nose? What are those two guys talking about? Boy, that person looks BORED.

Sometimes these voyeur excursions are more entertaining to watch than what’s actually center-stage.

And it’s not just people. Sometimes I will pause the television to look at background details I normally would have missed in a television show or movie. Hey, that flier posted on the bulletin board actually says something. Let’s see if I can see the title to the book that person is reading in the background.

It’s like my new obsession. Thank God I have a DVR to skip through the commercials in order to save time.

And for the second time in a week I was on the phone with the wonderful Port Authority of Allegheny County. I thought budget shortfalls were supposed to keep these menaces off the road. This time the fine employee almost caused a serious accident … with me.

I mentioned earlier about witnessing a rogue bus driver, and now I got to experience firsthand the wonders of government employees.

I was driving in Pittsburgh en route to pick up the better half. Because I was a few blocks away from picking up Mrs. kkk, I got in the right lane. The right lane is the most undesirable stretch of road in this area because oftentimes a delivery truck will be illegally parked. If a delivery truck is not in the way, then mass transit vehicles clog up the lane. And then there are the intersections that have vehicles wanting to turn right but can’t because of a backup. I’m not saying these obstacles drive up my blood pressure by 50 points; these are just reasons I stay away from the right lane while driving in Pittsburgh.

As I said before, I was a few blocks away from picking up the better half. When this happens I get into the right lane. Well, my prediction came true. I was at an intersection with a vehicle trying to turn right but was unable to do so thanks to a backup. Meh. It’s not the end of the world. I was expecting to miss out on the green light, but in the grand scheme of things it’s not that big a deal.

When the vehicle in front of me had room to turn right I started to move forward. Suddenly the bus behind me sped up and went around us in the center lane. “OK,” I thought to myself. “Guess the dude’s in a hurry.” I thought it was a little petty but whatever.

Then the doucebag went back into the right lane, causing me to slam on my breaks.

Now it’s on.

I blared on my horn, gave this asshole the one-finger salute and screamed a few choice words. As I passed him, he returned the favor. And good times were had by all. The funny thing is I was on the phone with Mrs. kkk while I was at the intersection and she heard me in real time as the bus driver nearly slammed into me. That must have been a fun experience.

So will this phone call do anything about the union whore that put my life in danger? Fuck no. I think next time I’m just going to let the shit-dick hit my car and sue the ever-loving hell out of the city for allowing these fuckwits to drive on the road.

God I hate the Port Authority. Cut all its funding for what I care.

A few days ago I mentioned that the workplace boiler decided to call it a career.

Ever since then, the boss has had these guys in installing a new boiler. Now these workers aren’t the most articulate people in the neighborhood. In fact, they have quite the potty mouth. And we can all hear them.

This morning the boss to Head Boiler Install Guy: “We can hear you up here.” The Boiler Install Guy replied, “We’re trying to keep the profanities down.”

“Trying”?

So earlier this week I reported a Port Authority bus driver. My anti-union crusade against the working man continues.

Here’s what happened. Every workday morning, I drive Mrs. kkk into Pittsburgh and drop her off. I then drive off to my workplace. There is this one intersection that has a no turn on red sign. Now I have seen Port Authority drivers turn on red, but it really never bothered me. I figured it was easier for buses to make their wide turns when there wasn’t any oncoming traffic. And because there are two turning lanes, I didn’t have to worry about the bus clipping me should we both turn when the light is green.

Well this time around the bus made its turn on red when oncoming traffic was still turning onto the road we were waiting to turn onto. This bus driver next to me deliberately made his turn while our light was still red and almost collided with two cars that had no recourse other than to slam on their breaks.

I took down the location, time and bus number. I even got a physical description of the bus driver and called the Port Authority hot-line. I’m sure this union-laden group will do everything in its power to get this rogue driver off the streets.

Yeah.

So my work office is a bit … old.

There’s not air conditioning and the radiator hasn’t worked since I started there in 2008. Now it takes quite a temperature drop for me to be cold, but typing is difficult when I can’t feel my fingers. For the first few years I grinned and beared it, but last year I broke down and bought a $42 space heater. It just seemed a much cheaper alternative than having someone come and fix or replace the radiator. Actually, I had told the boss about this issue for years but nothing ever got done. Whatever. I’ll just buy my own heater and life will go on.

Now when I bought this heater I was ridiculed by several co-workers. I have no idea why. Why am I talking about this now? Well, last week the workplace’s boiler died.Basically, it’s adios to heat in this building for the rest of the spring/summer. And we just experience a rare May cold spell that actually made the office building … cold.

So to all my co-workers who mocked me for buying a $42 space heater this winter because my piece-of-shit office radiator was, well, a piece of shit: now that that building boiler just assumed the ever-lowering room temperature…

So the assistant at work has decided to be a coupon shopper. Naturally, she asked fro my help.

Week One: Epic Fail.

She spent $117. I spent $48 and got more stuff.

Much to learn she still has.

Actually, the big problem was she just gets whatever she wants when she wants it. And that is why she fails. To give you an example of what I saw on her grocery receipt, I spent less on two bottles of laundry detergent than she spent on a box of microwave popcorn. And she’s the one who bitches about money being tight.

I guess I should clarify something. For me, “coaching/support” means saying, “It’s not my money; I don’t care what you do with it.”

It was funny hearing her excuses, “I only like this particular brand … I don’t have enough space to stockpile items.” Look, you have a choice to buy something at regular retail or not. The real challenge is disciplining yourself so you don’t get something just because you want it right then and right now.

Last night the better half and I went to Outback Steakhouse; I was there for the first time. Meh. Actually, this year Mrs. kkk and I have been eating better so I just had some grilled chicken dish. It’s food. I eat it. The end. Actually, this was the second time this month we ate out. The first time was when went to the pseudo-Blue Collar comedy concert and had dinner at the Spaghetti Warehouse. Of course, I actually had a small dish of Ravioli instead of some 5,000-calorie dish. Other than these two instances, I can’t remember the last time we ate out, so I guess that’s good.

But why am I writing about this? Because this white trash family across from us were bitching abut their food. Now whenever this sort of thing transpires, I try to listen in for my own amusement. Problem was the place was packed and couldn’t make out what exactly happened. But once again it got me the thinking if the welfare trash that throw an absolute fit at a restaurant because the steak is too over/under-cooked have the same demanding culinary tastes at home. Like when the hotdog explodes in the microwave or when the chicken pot pie is freezing in one section and boiling in another, do they beat their kids because there isn’t a waitress to harass?

The boyfriend/husband wore sunglasses the entire time, and they took the rest of the food home with them. Guess the grub couldn’t have been THAT bad. And of course they left a huge mess at their table and didn’t leave a tip. You know, if I ever owned a restaurant I’d make it so that I approve who gets to be serviced. I see you and know you’ll be throwing a shit fit because there wouldn’t be enough ice cubes in your beverage glass — keep on walking.

While driving through Pittsburgh earlier today, I noted that the NRA people are starting to come in — it’s not everyday I see multiple Texas and Wyoming plates on my home home from work. I also noted that the college students from the University of Pittsburgh, among other schools, are starting to move out.

Things are looking better already.

A note to my fellow Yinzer motorists. With this weekend’s NRA convention coming up, there will be a lot of out-of-towners unfamiliar with our local road ways. A word of advice: Be careful who you give the finger to for the next couple of days.

For all of you who have seen this posted on your Facebook news feed or forwarded to your inbox and went, “Awwww…”

…You do realize that the cat either either going, “What the hell is this?” or trying to figure out a way to kill the dolphin.

And that’s why cats rule.

*Yes, I know dolphins aren’t fish.

So last night the better half and I went to the “Blue Collar Minus Ron White” concert at the Consol Energy Center. Now we got the tickets in January, and I knew we were getting floor seats for this. However, yesterday I got a call at work from Mrs. kkk informing me that this show was going to be taped for some CMT special.

And we’re eight rows up.

For someone who just LOVES to have his picture taken, words can’t begin to describe my excitement.

When we got to the venue, I noted that there were some signs notifying the crowd that this concert was going to be recorded for a DVD, and not too far away I saw some camera crew interviewing concert-goers. Now when you do something like this, a person being videotaped has to sign a consent form. I dodged that bullet.

And then we got to our seats.

We were not eight rows from the front, as Mrs. kkk originally told me. There were two groups of floor seats. We were in the first row of the second group. Right behind the camera man who was shooting the “main stage” shot.

Oh, did I mention he turned around RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME to take shots of the crowd?

Yep.

So unless my mug does not go over well with the focus groups, I have a very strong feeling that I’ll be included on this DVD.

Happy. Happy. Joy. Joy.

So over the last few weeks I have seen a number of fancy TV ads by Michigan pimping itself as a business/tourist attraction.

Save on the productions costs and just air the following message: “Michigan: It’s Not All Detroit.”