BRAINPAN LEAKAGE

NOTE: This blog entry has been edited. None of the original material was removed, however there have been comments added. You will find them italicized and within parentheses. For the record, I did remove my note of 1/19/11 instructing people to stop trying to engage me in pedantic pissing matches over the origin of duct tape just because they are humor impaired. I’m still instructing you all to not engage me in pedantic pissing matches whether you are humor impaired or not, so that hasn’t changed. However, I thought maybe I’d add some more to it… Here goes.

It seems that there is a sudden upsurge in searches for both Duct and Duck Tape. Per the search terms logged it would appear that there is a rather robust “duct/duck tape fetish” community out there. Wish I’d known before writing this particular entry. Probably would have been much funnier than just the serial killer and stupid people angle. At any rate, due to the enormous number of searches leading to this entry, I have been taking heat from some folks who want to point out to me the errors in this piece. It seems they didn’t get the satire. In at least one instance, said individual even elected to be especially nasty about it. For the record, the name/email address he/she entered remained intact. That was not my doing. Obviously it was aimed at me, but he/she missed.

So here you have it. The original blog intact with some added commentary to help the humor, satire, and parody impaired. You probably don’t know who you are, but trust me, we do.

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Have you ever wondered about duct tape?

I mean like wondering why it’s so popular with serial killers, kidnappers, and the like? At least, that’s how it is on TV. Oh, and just so we are all on the same page, no I’m not a serial killer. Nor am I a kidnapper. Never even played one on TV. Yeah, yeah, I know… I write fiction novels about them, but that’s different.

Also, just so we have our ducks in a row, we are talking about duct tape. Not duck tape. “Duck” tape doesn’t exist (Yes, actually, it does). Duct tape does. (Yes, actually, it does too.)

I have a friend (yeah, I know, amazing eh?) who worked in the music biz as a road manager. Her husband still does, and he handles cameras, lights, and all that jazz. Big deal stuff. They actually swear by “Gaffer Tape.” This stuff is great… You see, gaffer tape is kinda like duct tape on mega doses of steroids. In fact, it makes anything major league baseball players have been using to jack themselves up look like a placebo. Seriously. My friend has even noted that gaffer tape will hold someone on the side of a tour bus, at highway speeds, for at least 50 miles. She refuses to go into the exact details as to how she knows this, except to say that she has irrefutable anecdotal evidence. My guess is someone made her mad and she taped said individual to the side of the bus. She’s dangerous like that… In fact, she and E K get along really well, which is pretty scary.

She also tells me that it works great as a depilatory too – as long as you don’t mind losing the first three layers of skin along with the unwanted (or even wanted) hair. Good thing she’s never given a roll to E K, or I might be bald…

But, as usual, I digress…

The thing here is duct tape. It was originally designed to seal up duct work, hence the silver/grey color AND the name, duct tape. Makes sense all of a sudden, doesn’t it? I mean, “duck” tape was really kind of a WTF kind of name, dont’cha think? After all, what would a duck need with tape? Besides Donald, I mean. And, even though they make glue out of horses, and gelatin out of beef, it was really hard to fathom making tape out of ducks. (This part here, in bold, would be the joke. The part where it talks about making tape out of ducks. If you don’t find it funny, hey, no worries. I don’t hit them ALL out of the park, and we all have different sense of humor, as you will see below…)

So, anyway… I think maybe I need to run down to my basement and grab up a roll of duct tape to keep right here on the corner of my desk.

Why?

Because, like I said at the outset, it seems to be the prime choice for serial killers and kidnappers – not only as a restraint, but to keep their victims from screaming for help. Just slap a slice of the ol’ silver sticky stuff over the mouth and no sound escapes. Of course, these days if you happen to be a more fashion conscious criminal, designer colors are available, but I’m a purist. Just give me the silvery-grey stuff and I’m good.

But, I still haven’t answered your question, have I? I mean, why would I need duct tape on hand?

Exactly.

“Huh?” you grunt.

I need it for my hands. I figure if it works to “gag” victims, maybe I can tape my hands together so I won’t be able to get myself in trouble by answering stupid emails. (This would be yet another part of the joke. For, as you can plainly see from the comment thread below, I didn’t get out my roll of duck, duct, 100 mile per hour, gaffer, scotch, masking, packing, or any other tape soon enough.)

Of course, it might not work. I might need something stronger. Wonder if my friend has an extra roll of gaffer tape laying around… Something in a nice, yellow “caution” sort of color would be good…

More to come…

Murv

NOTE: In reality, Mister Arendt, who commented below, has the real story.  Apparently, however, he didn’t see the humor in my post since I revised history for my own uses. Regular readers here know when to take a post seriously – which isn’t often – so I can only assume he was new to the Leakage. For the whole story about DUCT/DUCK tape go to http://www.ideafinder.com/history/inventions/ducttape.htm

Mister Arendt’s Canadian counterpart didn’t see the humor either. I had once heard a rumor that Canadians, as a general rule, were the most polite people on the planet.  That has been my personal experience up until now…

At first glance one might think I am talking about a bygone birthday. In my case, it would definitely be a “reflection” because 30 has been shrinking in my rear-view mirror for quite some time. In fact, I’m relatively certain by this point it has disappeared over the horizon, because I have very little recollection of it, save for the “sexy nurse” singing telegram my wife sent me – not stripper mind you, it was a singing telegram.

And the reason it sticks out in my mind is that E K, in her infinite evilness, sent her to my place of employment for maximum embarrassment. She’s kinda like that, as I’m sure you’ve already surmised.

But, first glance isn’t what I am talking about today. I’m actually talking about -30- as in the editor’s symbol meaning “The End”… “Fin”… Over… That’s all she wrote… Stick a fork in it, I’m done.

Yes, the good ol’ -30- is a “symbol” that denotes to an editor that there a no more pages. The end has been reached. And, it is something I type at the end of every manuscript.

Now, in this day and age, you will find agents out there who are so full of themselves that they issue stringent guidelines about this practice. I actually read an agent’s submission guidelines and he had such a stick up his bung hole that he literally stated he would automatically reject anything with a -30- at the end because he “should be able to tell where the end was without any help. And, if he couldn’t, then you obviously don’t know how to write.“

I think this particular agent has control issues and was probably spanked too hard when he was a kid. Or, maybe his wife slaps him around and he doesn’t know how to cope with it. Who the hell really knows? All I can say is, dude, get over yourself. You probably need to be on anti-psychotics, but who am I to say. I’m not a doctor. I just write books for a living, so what do I know, especially when it comes to something like putting a 30 at the end of a manuscript?

But, I suppose you may wonder, “Why 30?”

Well, I have no clue. I seem to recall hearing the story once upon a time, but years and alcohol have relegated it to a filing cabinet I am unable to locate. Suffice it to say, I learned a long, long time ago, that I was supposed to put a -30-, or even a 30 in a circle, at the end of my copy before I turned it in. This was taught to me by Martha Ackmann, my Journalism teacher, about whom I have waxed nostalgic in the past.

Now, it is entirely possible that they don’t teach kids to do this anymore. I haven’t been in a Journalism class in nigh on to 26 years now. Things change… I know this. However, the fact remains that the -30- is something I not only learned, but it became so ingrained that it eventually morphed into a major part of my writing ritual. Without it, I feel unfinished. Incomplete. Without end.

Literally. And, yes, maybe even a bit literarily too.

Now, this is not to say that I write -30- at the end of my to-do list,  grocery list, or sappy love notes I leave for the Evil Redhead (which reminds me, I’m probably due to scribble one of those to stuff into her lunchbox…) However, at the end of any and all of my manuscripts, novelettes, short stories, articles, or any other writing project, I most definitely do. Once I have done that, I can move on to the next part of the ritual – a glass of scotch and a really good cigar while sitting on my porch swing.

But, now that the -30- is typed, the scotch is imbibed, and the cigar is nothing more than smoke & ashes, what happens?

Well, I’m afraid that’s a story for the next blog entry…

More to come…

Murv

-30-