BRAINPAN LEAKAGE

I’m not a big fan of lying. I was raised better than that.

One of the things my father always impressed upon me was that an individual has nothing in this world but his / her word. Therefore, if that word is worthless, that person truly has nothing at all.

Now, of course, there is certainly the old “circumvent the truth to save someone’s feelings” sort of thing. That’s not what I’m talking about. I mean flat out subterfuge. And, I should also note that this is not to say that I haven’t fallen off the truth wagon slightly. Just about everyone does at some point in their lives, no matter how honest they are. But, I  owned up to my mistake, which was minor but still enough to not be all that good. Afterward, I climbed back on the truth train and re-valued my word.

Now, I’m sure this sounds a bit funny coming from a guy who gets paid to lie. I mean, after all, what do fiction authors do for a living? That’s right, we make sh*t up. We tell lies about people who don’t even exist, all for the express purpose of making a buck. Well… The buck is kinda the ultimate goal, but we don’t really make too many of them to be perfectly honest. We do, however, entertain folks and most days that’s enough.

Rumor is I’m pretty good at it, where text is concerned. In person, apparently I have a “tell.” At least, that’s what E K says. I think it’s probably just because she’s the QB of the WFU and therefore knows everything already. I’m sure it has something to do with the red hair…

But, I’m sort of digressing, as is my usual M. O… Therefore, let’s move right along and talk about BLAM. Now, BLAM is something you might never have heard about outside the pages of a comic book (onomatopoeia and all that). And, I should also not that I am not now, nor will I ever be, referring to myself as “your old pal Vince.” So, rest assured, BLAM is not a revolutionary cleaner, solvent, chamois, or cheap plastic chopping utensil. No, BLAM is “Blog Spam.” Again, you may have never heard this term before, so I feel compelled to point out that I just made it up.

But, that’s not the point…

You see, Brainpan Leakage, like any other blog, is often the victim of SPAM in the comments section. I combat this on two levels. The first is a background filter that catches about 99% of it and stuffs it into the BLAM can. The second is that I require moderator approval on comments to my blog, therefore until I’ve read it and see that it’s not BLAM, it doesn’t show up online.

But, this doesn’t keep the BLAMMERS from trying, and in recent months they’ve decided to take a cue from the Email Spammers “subject line subterfuge” and start lying a whole lot. The thing is, they aren’t very good at it. So, today, I thought maybe I’d share a couple of my favorites. The IP’s, emails, and URL’s have been blocked out not for anyone’s protection, but because I have no desire to let them use my blog as a backlink…

(Click images to enlarge)

I just dunno… I think if you REALLY respected my work you wouldn’t be trying to sell my readers “cipro without a prescription.” But, that’s just MY opinion…

Okay, so obviously I missed something in my own blog. What the hell does being a Buddhist have to do with a crazed redhead chasing dogs around with a stiletto heeled shoe?

Define a “long time”… And no, I don’t want to purchase anything through your amazon store, thank you very much.

You run a couple of blogs on how to not be a victim of a serial killer/rapist – identity thief – sociopath? Must be hurting for content, eh? One question: Why does your URL have something to do with pet pedigrees?

LINUX? Really? I need to check my tags. Oh, and thanks, but I’ve already had my roof replaced.

There are similar blogs about the red cross running a blood drive at a Sci-Fi con? Wow. Must be a more popular topic than I thought. No sleeping pills for me, thanks. All I need is a generic Zyrtec…

There are actually plenty more from whence these came. I had trouble picking the examples to be perfectly honest. But, there you go. All in a day’s BLAM…

And, the moral of this story? If you’re going to try to blow smoke up my ass, then… well… umm… Don’t. But(t) if you insist on trying, at least put some thought into it…

More to come…

Murv

It all started with a horrible, bone-chilling shriek.

Now, you need to understand, this wasn’t an “OMG I’m frightened,” sort of shriek. This was an “OMG You Are Going To Die A Horrible Death And My Hand!” sort of shriek. However, at no point during said shrill scream (not to be confused with Brill Cream) was my name even uttered. And, since it was The Evil One doing the screeching, I wasn’t exactly sure what could possibly be going on – I mean, after all, whenever she lets out a high pitched wail such I was hearing, it usually involved me being in for a beating.

But, before we get to real reason behind the fact that I had a 5′ 4″ tall,  severely pissed-off, redheaded banshee standing in my living room, I should probably fill you in on a basic fact of life around here at Evil Kat Central…

Rule #2 ½ – You just don’t mess with EKay’s shoes if you know what’s good for you…

I mean yeah, obviously you clean them up if she steps in something.  That goes without saying. Although, if you happen to forget, she will in fact say it. Repeatedly, and – very loudly to be sure – until you have seen to the task and the results meet with her strict approval.

Honestly, you’d be amazed at what you can do with a bottle of resolve and a tin of saddle soap when you have to. I know I was. Seriously.

As a matter of fact, I’ve actually become extremely proficient at removing my own blood from her pumps. Of course, that’s more a case of  her stepping ON someone, as opposed to IN something. But, the former is pretty much a daily occurrence and done on purpose, whereas the latter is normally an accidental sort of thing. Unless, of course, she’s in one of those “moods” and steps in something just to have the pleasure of making you clean it off her shoes.  But, you get the idea.  You have to make sure you keep them spotless, polish them when necessary, bring them to her when she demands it, put them on her feet, take them off of her feet, put them away when she’s finished with them, and all the other stuff that go along with the proper care and maintenance of Her Supreme Evilness’ shoe collection.

And, we mustn’t forget – you must prostrate yourself before her and kiss her shoes when she orders you to do so. Obedience to the redhead  can save you from getting stepped on. Well… not really, but she doesn’t stomp quite as hard as she would otherwise.

Seriously.

But, even with all of that, you have to remember that you don’t mess with her shoes, be they blue suede, black leather, brown leather, red patent leather, white, blue, fuchsia, purple, ad infinitum… Pumps, sandals, boots, espadrilles, wedges, heels, flats, Mary Janes, cross trainers, ad nauseum…

Get the picture?

Don’t mess with the woman’s shoes. And, when I say you don’t mess with them, you definitely don’t roll around on the floor chewing on them. Any of them. But, most especially not her high heels.

I learned this in spades that blustery autumn evening…

At this point I am sure you are probably wondering why in the world I would be rolling around on the floor chewing on EKay’s shoes. Well, actually, were I ordered to do so it would probably be in my best interest to comply. However, we have already established that messing with her shoes is a bad thing, so obviously I wasn’t rolling around on the floor gnawing on her pumps. That would only serve to get me in trouble. So, just keep reading. In theory this will all make sense, but bear in mind that I am writing it early on a Sunday morning, so I make no guarantees…

Now, as I’ve noted in the past, E K no longer wears high heels to work on a daily basis. They’ve been relegated to special occasions, date nights, and when she is in a mood to inflict damage on someone. However, there was a time, in our younger days, when my petite dynamo of a wife not only lugged her 40 pound tool case AND an armload of parts up three flights of stairs in order to repair a printer– she did it in skirts and heels. Of course, I later found out that she would arrive at a service call, strike a pose, and all of the men present would be falling all over themselves to “carry her books” so to speak. She probably still does this on occasion even without the spikes and gams on display, but these days, even though she still has more than the necessary looks to pull that off, she actually doesn’t have much patience for drooling, untrained males. Therefore, she would much rather just carry the stuff herself.

But I digress…

The point is, she used to wear heels to work, and being the fashion plate she is, she had them in various styles, colors, heel heights, etc. Because, obviously she couldn’t wear the same pair of shoes twice in the same week. That would be… well… bordering on criminal.

So, anyway, back to that scream…

I was in the kitchen as usual, preparing dinner for Her Highness, when I heard the front door open, and the click-clack of high-heels against the hardwood. This was, of course, a sure sign that the redhead was home and I’d damn well better get her evening drink delivered to her post haste, and then see to it that the dinner I had been preparing appeared on the table shortly afterward. However, before I could even begin to mix the evening aperitif for The Evil One, I heard the bloodcurdling shriek…

More to come…

Murv

To be continued in: Lethal, But Fashionable…