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  • February Is Hamster Month…

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    In the movie, Close Encounters Of The Third Kind, the character who is the translator for the French scientist has himself a eureka moment, then says to everyone in the room, “Before I got paid to speak French, I was a cartographer…”

    As many of you are probably well aware – and even if you are, I’m going to tell you again – I have a tendency to paraphrase that quote, saying, “Before I got paid to write books, I was a computer and printer technician…”

    And, it’s true. I was. I never had occasion to uncover any salient points that would tell us where the Extraterrestrials were going to land, as did the French speaking cartographer, but I did happen to make a few folks lives a bit easier by fixing their computer equipment.

    But, that really has nothing to do with hamsters now, does it? Keep reading. Eventually it will make sense. Convoluted in many ways, but sense nonetheless. During the 25+ year span of my Electronics Fix-It-Guy career, I spent a decade with a company called T&W Typewriter and Computer Repair. And, no… The W didn’t stand for “Womputer”. It was the owner’s name. But, moving right along… We had this receptionist, dispatcher, girl Friday – actually, she liked to be called Administrative Goddess. And, that was okay, because she really was. Phyllis was the glue that held the crew together, and she was a good buddy. You see, Phyllis had just as warped a sense of humor – if not more so – than me.

    I know. Hard to believe, but it’s true. Anyway, Phyllis and I used to toss incredibly bizarre humor back and forth like snowballs. One liners. Clippings out of magazines. Fake ransom notes. Post its. And drawings. One of the things we had in the back of our shop was a dry erase board. We used it for things like parts order lists, reminders, etc. But, as the years wore on, it was replaced by fax order forms and the like. Not wanting to see it go to waste, I began drawing bizarre cartoons on it. Parodies of life around T&W, be it a weird service call or something that happened over the weekend.

    Throughout the years there were things like a caricature of my buddy and fellow Tech, Chris, running bare-butted through the woods with a lantern – something we had convinced him (for a few minutes) that he had done while blind drunk on a company float trip the previous weekend. Or, caricatures of myself and another tech, Mike, portrayed as “Beavisish and Buttheadish” looking characters complaining about a PITA (pain in the ass) customer. However, among the longest running in the way of a “series” of toons and by far one of the most popular with our crew, were the ongoing adventures of “Merp The Tech Hamster”…

    “Merp” was born of many things coming together in one place purely at random. Phyllis having a fascination with hamsters. A friend of mine calling me “Merp” all the time. My reputation for being able to MacGyver practically anything, as well as having all sorts of useless knowledge rolling around in my head that would often come out for no reason other than a mnemonic trigger. Back then they would sometimes call me “Cliff Clavin,” (Cheers) even though what I was spouting was truly factual. These days many of my friends call me “Ducky” (NCIS)… But, I digress…

    “Merp The Tech Hamster” and his sidekick “Ex-Marine Biologist Turned Supermodel, Buffy Bighair” had a great run as a tongue-in-cheek cartoon adorning the dry erase board. Two to three times each week a new panel would go up, regaling the staff with their adventures battling their evil nemesis, “Doctor Shirley Knot” (aka Phyllis).

    Then, one day, the hamster ran away… Wait… no… that was The Pretender… But seriously, then, one day, I left T&W for what were greener pastures, moneywise. Phyllis and I remained friends for a while, although we have lost touch over the years. But, at that point in time after spending a decade in one place, it was a fairly emotional exit. But, as happens with repair companies, I had occasion to call T&W on a regular basis to give them a referral for something the new outfit wasn’t authorized to work on, or to order a part, or to trade tech support. During one of those calls Phyllis mentioned that she and the others really missed the “Merp The Tech Hamster” cartoons.

    And so, Sharpie in hand and FAX machine nearby, I set about tempering the loss with paper versions of the dry erase board saga. Recently, while going through some old files I happened upon a folder which contained 8 original “Merp The Tech Hamster” cartoons. While some of them contain inside jokes, I will attempt to explain them as best I can. However, with there being 8 official blogging days for Brainpan Leakage in the month of February – not to mention that I am in the middle of a deadline and could use some easy blogs for a few weeks – I thought I’d declare it Hamster Month.

    While an untold number of these “toons” are lost due to the impermanence of dry erase boards, and my own neglect, these 8 still remain. I hope you enjoy them as much as Phyllis did…

    Image Copyright © M. R. Sellars – As you can see, each of these is labeled “To Phyllis” since I was faxing them to her each week. The themes would vary, largely depending upon what was happening at the time. I cannot say for certain, but I think this is possibly one of the first – if not THE first – paper toon I faxed. There I – Merp the Tech Hamster – sit at my repair bench, working on a printer, soldering iron in one paw, screwdriver in the other, complete with my compTIA A+ certification certificate hanging on the wall.

    More to come…

    Murv

  • Murv The Purv…

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    Continued from: Enhanced Husband Torture Techniques…

    Part 2 of 2…

    Return with us now to the thrilling days of a Christmas past – When last we left our intrepid blogger, he had asked his wife – the evilest of all evil redheads, Queen Eebil Kat – what manner of offering she demanded be left beneath the sacred scratching post tree on Eebil Katsmas Eve. Her  demand was, of course, for nothing less than “Cool Socks”. Unbeknown to our lovable curmudgeon, Queen Eebil Kat was hatching a sinister plan which would place him in serious peril – a peril she would use for her personal amusement while she laughed and filed her nails…

    katshoozOkay… Everyone all caught up? Good. Let’s get on with this, because it’s painful for me to even think about.

    So, I was feeling pretty good with this. “Cool Socks”. Definitely couldn’t be that hard. I’d been in the sock room before, so I knew what generally constituted cool in her eyes. I also knew her shoe size, so if the socks were for some reason classified by actual sizes, I could cross reference it somewhere.

    I was all good. I’d already ordered up another gift she had made noises about throughout the year, so the socks were going to be the perfect distraction. Truth is, I was more than good. I was flat out golden.

    Then, as they say, the hangin’ day came round… (Who is they? Mason Proffit, of course…)

    At any rate, I cleared a bit of my schedule one day so that I could run to the store. Now, I didn’t imagine it would take long for me to obtain the sacred socks, but just to be on the safe side, since it WAS the Christmas (aka Katsmas) season after all, I scheduled myself the whole late morning and early afternoon to accomplish said task.

    Now, something you need to understand about me is this: I absolutely hate shopping. Despise it. Seriously. I am one of those folks who knows exactly what he is after, goes to get it at the least busy time of day he can find, then zips in and right back out of the store, avoiding all unnecessary contact with insane shoppers that he can. The only – and I mean ONLY time I enjoy shopping is when I take E K to a nice store and do the whole “Pretty Woman” thing with her.

    1. Because she is, in point of fact, pretty. EXTREMELY pretty. (Wayyyyyy prettier than Julia Roberts if you ask me.)
    2. Because I get to sit in one place and watch. Not much crowd dodging involved. Life is good. E K gets new pretty clothes, I get to relax and watch a hottie trying on said clothes. The only thing that would make it better is a cooler full of beer.

    Unfortunately this particular spree did not fall into the “E K / Pretty Woman” category. It did, however, fall into the “must obtain offering for the Eebil Queen” category. And, I’m all about making sure The Evil One is placated, lest I end up whimpering in the back of a closet with a variety of size 7 woman’s shoe prints all up and down my torso.

    So, with my schedule cleared, off to the mall I went.

    Not being a regular shopper for women’s wear, I wandered aimlessly through a couple of the stores at Northwest Plaza. Up the escalator I went. Down the escalator I went. Wander, wander, wander… Dodge, dodge, dodge… Up, down… Down, up… Wander some more.

    Then I frowned really hard. Why? Because I found no cool socks. In fact, the only socks I managed to find were mens tube socks, six in a bag, your choice, black or white.

    Definitely not cool.

    So, with my shoulders starting to slump, I started again through the mall and decided to bite the bullet. I would go into one of the high dollar department stores. I don’t want to name it here, but let’s just say the first half of the name is a kind of pickle and the second half rhymes with “cards”.

    We had played pretty woman here before, so surely they, of all stores, would have “cool socks” befitting of Queen Eebil Kat.

    Pissed Off Old LadyI did the up, down, wander around thing a bit more. Then, like the point of a shovel striking a buried chest, I rounded a corner and found, yes, you guessed it, socks. But, that wasn’t all. As I made a beeline toward this treasure trove of offerings for my Evil Queen, I met what you might call resistance. You see, just as pirates buried dead dudes with their treasure chests, apparently big, fancy stores bury dead, angry salesladies with their socks. Before I had made it two steps into the department, the departed souls of one of them popped right up in my face. With the path to my prize blocked, I immediately took evasive action and tried to sidestep her. Well, apparently the angry spirits of dead old salesladies are pretty nimble, because I didn’t make it an inch before she was right there barring my way. I tried feinting to one side and then shifting to the other, but it was like she could read my mind. I simply wasn’t getting in.

    I stopped and stood there for a moment, while the sales zombie looked me over, then she opened her mouth. I started to back up, fearing that she was going to try to eat my brain, but instead she simply barked with unmistakable disdain, “Can I help you?!”

    You could just tell by the way she said it that she had to have been a redhead before all the color drained out of her.

    “Socks,” I said. “I need to by some socks.”

    “Mens apparel is downstairs,” she growled.

    “They aren’t for me,” I replied.

    She eyed me with suspicion then demanded, “Who are they for?”

    “My wife.”

    “Your wife?” She didn’t sound as though she believed me.

    I couldn’t help myself. I was starting to get a bit impatient so I blurted, “Did I stutter?”

    “Don’t be a smartass or I’ll eat your face!” she hissed in return.

    “Yes ma’am.”

    Continuing with her interrogation she spat, “Why are you buying socks for your wife?”

    “A Katsma… I mean Christmas present.”

    “Present? Socks?” There was absolutely no mistaking the fact that she didn’t believe me at all this time.

    “Yeah, she said she wanted some cool socks.”

    “Cool socks? What do you mean, cool socks?”

    “You know. Socks with interesting patterns. Argyle. That sort of thing.”

    “Yeah, right,” she mumbled, standing there working her jaw and smacking her lips. I imagine she was trying to get an errant bit of brains from the last poor schmuck dislodged from her false teeth. She looked me over in silence twice more, then stepped aside. “These are all the socks we have.”

    “Thank you,” I said, slipping past her to inspect the rows of polka dotted, striped, argyled, fuzzy, and otherwise “cool” feminine foot coverings.

    Now, not having an absolute inventory of the sock room floating around in my head, it took me a bit to make a decision on a few pairs of the sacred socks. Obviously I wanted my offering to the Evil Queen to be perfect, especially with it being Katsmas and all. My task, however, was not made any easier by the fact that the Zombie Sales Lady Jackal didn’t stray from my side. She just kept following me up and down the aisles, never less than a half dozen inches away as she shuffled along, grunting and wheezing. I have to admit, not only was it psychologically disconcerting, but I almost succumbed to the Ben Gay and Polygrip fumes that were wafting around me in thick clouds.

    Finally, I chose some especially cool socks for my dear and lovely. Before I could even start toward the register, Zombie lady snatched them out of my hands and demanded, “Cash or charge?”

    “Visa…” I mumbled, extracting the plastic money from my wallet.

    “You want these gift wrapped?” she spat, wobbling off to the register stand.

    “No. I can handle that,” I replied.

    “Uh-huh,” she grunted. “I thought so, you pervert.”

    By the time I arrived at my truck, mall security, the local police, and a SWAT team had surrounded it. I was taken into to custody and spent several grueling hours trying to answer questions about sock fetishism.

    But, that wasn’t the scary part. When they finally turned on the overhead lights in the interview room, who do you think I saw? Yeah… E K sitting in the corner, giggling to herself in a very satisfied way, all the while painting her nails.

    I’m no longer allowed within 100 feet of the women’s sock aisle in any department store in the United States. I can hang out in the lingerie all I want, but if I go near the socks I end up getting tackled by security. These days I have to shop for my offerings to Queen Eebil Kat online. Even so, my guess is all those sites are tracking my IP address just to be sure I don’t do anything perverted.

    More to come…

    Murv