BRAINPAN LEAKAGE

As kids – and even as adults – we develop fascinations with things. Among the romanticized things for which folks develop an attachment – Pirates.

I mean, look at the facts. We could go back to all of the old Errol Flynn movies… Skip forward to the movie Yellow Beard… Skip into the here and now with the Pirates of the Caribbean franchise… And I’m not even going to mention the romance novels involving one-eyed, cutlass waving, buff scalawags. Why? Because I haven’t read any of them – the cover art was more than enough to scare me away.

However, in this day and age, even with the PotC franchise and the like, there are a different breed of pirates out there, and I’m not talking about the Somalis. I’m talking about the chuckleheads who steal from others and then profit from it. This is a big thing with music, movies, and even books. Take, for instance, a recent facebook status update from my wife, The Evil Redhead herself:

But you know what? As angry as that makes me, there are other pirates out there. The kind that steal from folks who have websites. I’m not talking necessarily about the folks who borrow a picture or two. I think we’ve all done that, and I am the first to admit that I might have a generic photo embedded in my blog to which I don’t own the rights because I found it somewhere and couldn’t figure out to whom said rights actually belonged. That’s why I have a disclaimer saying that if you see a pic on my site that belongs to you and you don’t want me using it, just say the word. I’ll make it go away. Or give you credit and a link if that’s what you prefer.

However, that’s not the Internet thievery I mean. I’m talking about when someone HOTLINKS to an image on your site to embed it in their blog, or website. Basically, they are just too damned lazy to download it themselves, or they don’t want to waste their own bandwidth. Nope… They’d rather link off to your site and run your meter, because that way it comes out of YOUR pocket, not theirs.

And after all, the Internet isn’t just “public domain” it’s out and out free, right? Yeah… I think we all saw how well that worked for Little Miss “Honestly Monica” now didn’t we?

So, whenever I fall victim to this bandwidth theft, and I find out, I do something about it. Now, mind you, I COULD do something incredibly crass and obnoxious, like bitch at the person in their comments section, or replace the hotlinked item with some really wicked, bad, nasty porn, but that’s just not my style. I’d rather replace the item with something that will make the offender think – hopefully. It doesn’t always work, but hey, why not pose an ethical question so that a lesson can be learned… (Can you spot the picture I swapped out on my server? Bet you can…)

Click Photo To Enlarge

Note – I went ahead and blurred out the name, content, and picture of the offender, primarily because after about 6 hours someone finally pointed out to him that he’d been caught and he removed the hotlink. However, please don’t get the impression that I think he is now a fine, upstanding Internet citizen – There was no apology forthcoming, either on his blog, or even in a private email.

Of course, having studied a boatload of different religions, and knowing his from the bio on his blog, as I understand it I’m not the one due the apology. God is.

Hopefully he will address this at his next confession. I’d sure hate for him to end up in Hell all because he kyped bandwidth to display a picture of a coffee cup…

However, just in case God is reading my blog – I mean even the Supreme Being needs a chuckle every now and then, doesn’t she? –  Anywho, if God is reading, maybe she could go ahead and put a bug in the Priest’s ear – since it was a coffee cup picture and all, don’t be too hard on the guy. I’m thinking two Hail Caffeineas and an Our Peaberry oughta cover it…

More to come…

Murv

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…

Okay… 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.

I 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