BRAINPAN LEAKAGE

Someone is about to get a serious head stomping from The Evil Redhead, and for a change it’s not me.

Were I the impending “stompee” I’d be pretty concerned, because I’m willing to bet hard cash that no safe word known to man or E K will make her stop until she’s completely satisfied her blood lust.

But, allow me to back up just a second and explain…

You see, while her supreme evilness is perfectly willing to hand out a sound beating at the drop of a hat, there are certain times when she’s not just willing, she’s flat out chomping at the bit to hurt someone. Whenever this occurs it’s not just some random someone either. She usually has a target in mind. In point of fact, the target is always he who angered her to the point of the bloodlust in the first place. (I should point out that I said “he” because it always seems to be a male who pushes her over the edge.)

So, there we were the other day, getting ready to head out to the grocery store. It just so happened that it was a Friday. The O-spring was off from school due to teacher conferences so E K took one of her closely guarded and carefully doled out vacation days in order to spend time with family – that being the O-spring and me.

She had no more stuck her key into the ignition of the Evil Mobile than her cell phone began to chirp. She pulled it from her belt, perused the screen, then her face twisted into a perplexed mask. She flipped open the device and placed it against her ear.

“This is Kat,” she said.

After a brief pause she replied, “Oh, Hi Customer X, how are you?”

She listened for a moment and exchanged a few more pleasantries before getting down to business.

Now, I need to point out to you that E K takes her job as a Field Service Engineer very seriously. Her accounts and pet clients are extremely important to her and she is probably one of the most conscientious technicians out there, not to mention one of the best in the whole country, period. So, if anyone does anything to screw up one of her accounts, she turns into a redheaded Terminatrix.

I’ll be back… Faster pussycat, kill, kill! Hasta la vista, asshole… Yeah, the whole nine yards… Further proof that one should never piss off the E K unless a death wish is involved.

So, back to the story…

I watched her face as she listened to the customer on the other end of the line. With each passing second her expression became more and more drawn with a mix of incredulity and anger.

Finally she yelped, “He WHAT?”

Before I knew it she was snapping her fingers in front of my face and pointing to what she calls her “tin can” – a metal clipboard with a storage compartment for service tickets and the like.

Of course, not wanting to get beaten to death myself on this particular afternoon, I scrambled to hand it to her. She flipped it open, dug around, then provided the customer on the other end of the line with a phone number, all while apologizing profusely for someone else’s massive screwup. When all was done and she had bid the customer farewell, she sat in the driver’s seat with a frown on her face and fiery glare in her ice blue eyes.

Taking my life into my own hands I asked in a near whisper, “Something wrong?”

“When you pack my lunch on Monday morning,” she instructed with a hot grumble in her voice. “Make sure you also pack my black stiletto pumps – the really sharp ones. Also, a pair of vise grips, a baseball bat, a gag, a roll of duct tape, and a propane torch. Is that understood, lackey?”

“Yes ma’am,” I replied. “Mind if I ask why?”

Her anger seemed to be turning into a cold rage and I could see in her eyes that she was plotting someone’s demise.

My wife replied in a cold, even tone. “Apparently going-to-wish-he-were-dead-coworker gave one of my pet accounts a number for XYZ Printer Tech Support.”

“That’s a problem?” I asked sheepishly.

She growled. “It is when the number he gave them turns out to be a Phone Sex Service!“

All I could think of to say was, “Oh.”

She sat in silence for another minute, then started the Evil Mobile and backed out of the driveway. We were halfway to our intended destination when the Redhead turned to me and asked, “Lackey! Do you happen to know where the closest farm supply store is around here?”

“I think so, why?”

“Because I’ve decided the vise grips aren’t going to be quite enough for what I have planned. I’m going to need a sheep castrator too.”

Yep… Someone is gonna be havin’ a realllllly bad day, and it ain’t me… Just to make things easier for her, I think I’ll pack her stun gun too. And an extra roll of duct tape, just in case.

Oh, and if you are looking for a tech job, you might want to check the want ads the next day. E K is probably going to need a new co-worker…

A note of caution though – Make sure you don’t screw up, because she not only bought a sheep castrator at the farm supply, she also picked up the biggest damn cattle prod I’ve ever seen, and an entire case of batteries…

More to come…

Murv

I’ve never really been all about the video game stuff. I mean, after all, “PONG” was the biggie when I was a kid. In my teens things got really advanced and we had stuff like Asteroids. I actually used to be pretty damn good at Asteroids. I had a tactic of holding the thruster button down and spinning the little triangle shaped ship in a circle while blasting the holy hell out of the space debris that was barreling in on top of me. Kinda like that “death blossom” maneuver in the movie “The Last Starfighter”… Yeah, obscure movie reference, but you know me… Suffice it to say, back then my friends called me the “Han Solo” of Asteroids, because I could play for hours without getting blown up or even encased in carbonite, not that the latter was actually an option…

Even so, that’s pretty much where my “Video Game Wizard” career ended. The Who never wrote a song about me, even though I am now about half deaf and wear bifocals. A buddy of mine who filks wrote a song about me once, but it had more to do with my books than it did my ancient video game prowess…

Yeah, I’m chasing chickens again, aren’t I?  Oh well, you know how I am….

So, on to the real story here… As I’ve mentioned before, the O-spring has one of those hand held, Nintendo DS things. She also has an enormous number of cartridges that go along with it. Among her favorites are the pet hospital/trainer sort of things. She has several, and you can often find her running a grooming salon, doctoring zoo animals, or simply taking a dog for a walk, all via that noisy, pink, folding rectangle with all the buttons.

Now, one of the interesting things about these Nintendo DS dealies is that they have voice recognition. Yeah, you can talk to them. So, whenever the O-spring is training an animal we tend to hear her talking to the DS. Such was the case just the other night…

Her Supreme Evilness and I were taking a moment to veg and have a look at something on the toob. O-spring was parked on the couch and whatever it was we had elected to watch wasn’t to her fancy, therefore she had her nose buried in the DS. Via points, virtual money, or whatever it is that you do, she had obtained a new pet for her menagerie and she was endeavoring to train it to sit, roll over, etc via voice commands. During the commercials I would listen to her barking commands at the electronic pet, repeating them over and over while the stress level in her tone grew. It was obvious that her frustration was mounting.

Eventually, long about the third or fourth round of commercials, the munchkin let loose with one of her hallmark shrieks. You know, the 9 year old who’s lost her patience squeal. I continued rocking in my chair, but turned my head and asked her what was wrong.

“My bunny won’t do what I tell it to do!” she lamented.

“You’re trying to teach a rabbit to sit?” I asked.

She all but wailed, “Yes! But it won’t do it!”

“Well, honey,” I said. “Rabbits aren’t exactly the kind of pets you teach those kinds of tricks to.”

Now, one would think that this is the punch line of the story. I mean, the kid was trying to teach a virtual rabbit to sit and roll over. It’s bad enough when it’s a virtual dog, but come on, a rabbit?

But, as you are sure to have guessed by now, the Peter Cottontail factor isn’t the whole story. It’s part of it, but the real punchline is still coming…

The O-spring barked another string of “sits” at the pink rectangle, then once again let out a frustrated shriek.

“Honey,” I tried to soothe her. “I really think you picked the wrong kind of animal to train. Rabbits don’t respond to voice commands like dogs do.”

Without missing a beat, the kid wailed, “BUT IT DOES WHATEVER MOMMY TELLS IT TO DO!”

I can’t say as that I blame the damn thing. I mean, we are talking about The Evil Redhead here…

The problem is, I am now having some really bizarre nightmares…

The one that recurs constantly involves the Easter Bunny. E K has him strapped to a giant frying pan and she’s beating him with an oversized spatula while he screams, “Cadbury! My safe word is Cadbury!”

Don’t worry. It disturbs me too…

More to come…

Murv