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Just heard about this book, Pride and Prejudice and Zombies, which is something I’m definitely going to have to find and read.  Here’s the description from the back:

“It is a truth universally acknowledged that a zombie in possession of brains must be in want of more brains.” So begins Pride and Prejudice and Zombies, an expanded edition of the beloved Jane Austen novel featuring all-new scenes of bone-crunching zombie mayhem. As our story opens, a mysterious plague has fallen upon the quiet English village of Meryton—and the dead are returning to life! Feisty heroine Elizabeth Bennet is determined to wipe out the zombie menace, but she’s soon distracted by the arrival of the haughty and arrogant Mr. Darcy. What ensues is a delightful comedy of manners with plenty of civilized sparring between the two young lovers—and even more violent sparring on the blood-soaked battlefield as Elizabeth wages war against hordes of flesh-eating undead. Can she vanquish the spawn of Satan? And overcome the social prejudices of the class-conscious landed gentry? Complete with romance, heartbreak, swordfights, cannibalism, and thousands of rotting corpses, Pride and Prejudice and Zombies transforms a masterpiece of world literature into something you’d actually want to read.

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Today was communion Sunday (every first Sunday of the month is at our church). Typically it’s prepared by two deacons (who buy bread and juice and set up the dishes, etc.) and served by those two deacons, the pastor of the church, and his wife. Today was the first time one of our new deacons was signed up for communion – the more experienced deacon brought the juice and Robby, our Director of Children’s Ministry, was in charge of the bread.

There aren’t any rules – we’ve had some interesting communions (onion bread one time – a disaster, grape Kool-Aid another – a good chuckle). We (the deacons) are welcome to bring anything we want, from Matza bread (crackers) to french bread to white bread to pita bread, etc. Robby thought he’d save some time and get something neat – he found these little bread slice-shaped pieces of… bread. Cute, right? And bonus: no prep time.

Turns out, they were as hard as croutons. Turn up your volume and listen to this:

Jesus is crunchy

That noise? That’s a sanctuary full of people chomping on huge croutons.

I could NOT stop laughing. By the end of the crunching (about the time PASTOR says “Jesus is crunchy”) I was gasping and crying. I have never laughed this hard in church. I laughed so hard I couldn’t chew the crouton – so I’m crunching into the Pastor’s recitation of the meaning of the cup. When he finished that speech, he served my row – he hands me the tray and says, “something to wash it down with…”

No sooner than I get control of myself and begin pray – this is well into the passing out of the cups, does my husband lean over and say, “we should give a big slurp to go with the crunching.” Of course, I lose it again.

Robby’s new nickname: Captain Crunch. =)

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What a bizarre night we had last night!

We had friends over for dinner because Bethany just finished the last of her classwork for her master’s degree (congrats, Beth!). We were just about to sit down to eat when I remembered I had to take a phone number over to my neighbors’ house. I ran it over, and in the process heard a story about how Deb and Jim ended up with a rooster. A real, live, crowing rooster. Their daughter had, she thought thoughtfully, brought her mother a rooster for an early Mother’s Day gift. Because she’d always wanted one. We had a good laugh about what an odd gift it was, and at Deb – what was she gonna do with a rooster? (Besides, of course, name it “Dumplin”)

After dinner, I went upstairs to take a call (didn’t want to talk while friends were watching TV) from the Ridgeback Rescue (and, sadly, the dog we were hoping to adopt has been adopted). We’d finished running through her form questions and were just chatting when I went over to the window and looked out over the front yard. And there, in the street just in front of my house, was a rooster! It was running for all it was worth.

I told the lady I had to go catch a rooster (she laughed) and hung up really quickly. Ran down the stairs and over to the neighbors’. They were eating dinner and watching TV – didn’t know their rooster was on the lam. So, they threw coats and shoes on and Deb ran out the door with me. We looked silly, I’m sure, as we waved our arms and corralled the rooster between our houses up against our privacy fences. Jim stood on his porch laughing, and when Deb asked [shrieked] for help, he said, “It’s YOUR rooster!” She finally got Dumplin’ backed into a corner. The stupid rooster stuck his head in the fence and got stuck, butt out.

Deb yells to Jim, “What do I do?”
Jim yells back, “Grab it by the neck.”
“I can’t see its neck!”
“Grab it by the ass and drag it out, THEN grab its neck!”
“I don’t want to get pecked!”

She eventually gets ahold of the animal, then turns frantically back to Jim.

“What now?”
“Toss the damn thing over the fence!”

So she chucks the rooster over the 6-foot privacy fence and it clucks off into their yard. We all look at one another and burst out laughing. We make some jokes about how Dumplin’s gonna end up (as a dumplin?) and about how their daughter didn’t seem to know what she was talking about when she said that the rooster wouldn’t leave the yard if they put down corn for it to eat. After some good laughs, we all say goodnight and I head back in to hang with the company.

I told David et al about the rooster chase, and they laughed, saying they’d heard it for a few minutes before I came down the stairs to chase it. I asked why someone didn’t bother to tell the neighbors and David says, “I don’t know. They let their dog run around…”

I shook my head, and started to say something about why he should have said something to the neighbors. And then I heard clucking. Coming from the front of my house.

So I took off my socks (didn’t want to get them wet in the wet grass) and ran back over to Jim and Deb’s. Only this time, they’re in the backyard trying to figure out how the bird got out the first time. I knock and no one hears. Finally, desperate because the rooster’s running down the street really fast, I yell, “Jim! Deb!”

They come running out of their house, and so do some of our neighbors. And my company. Deb gives me a big bouquet of lilacs, then takes off down the street. I stood there for a few seconds wondering why and what to do with them, then laid them down and joined the chase. And a chase it WAS. Bethany and Deb were waving their hands and running it back toward the house when a car pulls up wanting to pass them on the street. The driver sees what’s going on and helpfully shouts, “Run straight at it!” So, we all do and the bird panics.

All this time, David has been trying to put together the crate we borrowed from Denise and were going to give back to her. He finally gets it together and we corner the rooster – but no one really wants to get pecked and he’s looking mean. The neighbor from across the street, who has usually had a few drinks, and takes much pride in his homosexuality and plays up stereotypes (lisps, hand-waving, strutting, “girlfriend!”ing, calls himself “Miss Ricky”), waltzes over. After seeing the hysteria and the bird jumping like mad trying to get up onto our porch and away from everyone, he walks straight up to the rooster and slaps it. It falls in a daze and he grabs it and tosses it into the crate, singing to himself, “Fag saves the day! Fag saves the day!”

After MUCH hilarity, joking, prancing (on the part of Miss Ricky), crooning to the rooster (Deb was trying to calm him down by talking to him through the crate), we all said goodnight for the last time and went into our houses.

It was so hysterically funny – we laughed so very hard. My stomach hurts today. =)

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I got a kick out of this:

After every flight, UPS pilots fill out a form, called a ‘gripe sheet’, which tells mechanics about problems with the aircraft. The mechanics correct the problems, document their repairs on the form, and then pilots review the gripe sheets before the next flight.

Never let it be said that ground crews lack a sense of humor. Here are some actual maintenance complaints submitted by UPS’s pilots (marked with a P) and the solutions recorded (marked with an S) by maintenance engineers.

By the way, UPS is the only major airline that has never, ever, had an accident.

P: Left inside main tire almost needs replacement.
S: Almost replaced left inside main tire.

P: Test flight OK, except auto-land very rough.
S: Auto-land not installed on this aircraft.

P: Something loose in cockpit.
S: Something tightened in cockpit.

P: Dead bugs on windshield.
S: Live bugs on back-order.

P: Autopilot in altitude-hold mode produces a 200 feet per minute descent
S: Cannot reproduce problem on ground.

P: Evidence of leak on right main landing gear.
S: Evidence removed.

P: DME volume unbelievably loud.
S: DME volume set to more believable level.

P: Friction locks cause throttle levers to stick.
S: That’s what friction locks are for.

P: IFF inoperative in OFF mode.
S: IFF always inoperative in OFF mode.

P: Suspected crack in windshield.
S: Suspect you’re right.

P: Number 3 engine missing.
S: Engine found on right wing after brief search.

P: Aircraft handles funny.
S: Aircraft warned to straighten up, fly right and be serious.

P: Target radar hums.
S: Reprogrammed target radar with lyrics.

P: Mouse in cockpit.
S: Cat installed.

And the best for last:

P: Noise coming from under instrument panel. Sounds like a midget pounding on something with a hammer.
S: Took hammer away from midget.

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Fact:  Goat fur is called hair.

Fact:  Goat hair grows at a rate of 3/4″ per month.

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Remember the coworker who thought my “binary” clock was a braille clock on first glance?  He wrote an article about it.  =)

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So, cousin Tim bought me a clock that displays a binary representation of time.  It was a great gift – cracked me up, and has been pretty fun.  I brought it into work after Christmas and have had to explain to just about everyone in the entire office what it is and how it works. 



It’s 09:40:54.  (yay, cameraphone!) 

Enter a coworker who is well-traveled and computer smart.  He picks up the clock and says, seriously, “Wow!  A braille clock!”

I cracked up – yeah, all blind people use dots of light to tell time.  They can see tthose much better than the LED numbers on a digital clock.

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In the line-up of Christmas activities at the office: the Christmas song rewriting contest.  One of my favorite entries:

“Working in the 1815 Wonderland”

Water tinkles, are you listening?
On the desk, puddles glistening.
A beautiful sight,
Though not watertight,
Working in the 1815 Wonderland.

Gone away is the good smell,
Here to stay is a new smell.
Popcorn in the makin’,
Or is it burnin’ bacon?
Working in the 1815 Wonderland.

In the hallway we can do some bowling,
And pretend this is the P.B.A.
She’ll say: did you break it?
We’ll say: No man,
But you can fix that pin,
Try the duct tape.

Later on, we’ll perspire,
As we roast like a fire,
Fans turned to “high,”
Minus twenty outside,
Working in the 1815 Wonderland.

In the basement we can play some foosball,
And pretend that we are 9 or 10.
We’ll have lots of fun, we happy foosers,
Until they need the space and move us again.

Working late, get a bad scare,
A stranger’s camping out in your chair.
An adventure a day, the [our company name] way,
Working in the 1815 Wonderland.

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Today’s a pretty stinking hilarious day at work.  An email string I just got:

A writes: 

This here delightful item might make a great holiday gift for or from you creative types: http://www.puttyworld.com/index.html

D writes: 

I looked at the website. Looks like you can fashion clothes out of it — like belts and stuff. Picture it: Mood underwear!!!!  J, I think we should invest in this one. We could make A KILLING with MoodPutty Undies!

J writes:

Agreed.  Two men pass a woman on the street.  One says, “That woman is HOT for me.”  The other asks, “How can you tell?”  The first one says, “Because her panties turned bright red when she looked at me!”

D writes back:

The second man responds: “Dude, you’d better check your color key. I think that’s the woman you stood up last week for drinks.”

J replies:

First one’s reply:  “Come to think of it, the bright red was in back…”

D responds:

The woman, still silently fuming about being stood up, thinks to herself, “What was WRONG with that other guy’s socks?”

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A conversation my coworker and I had today:

DD: in the 40s today
DD: kinda nice actually
DD: ahhhhhh
me: uggghhh
me: I’d much rather it be warmer.
DD: most folks would
DD: JR and i will have to run away together to an ice floe somewhere
DD: hang out with the polar bears…
me: I’ll send you postcards from hawaii
DD: we’ll send you photos of the snow angels we make.
me: I never understood what would possess grown people to lay down in the snow and wiggle.
me: first of all, the angels look like they’re wearing culottes.  those went out of style AGES ago.
me: secondly, it’s wet.
me: thirdly, it’s cold.
me: fourthly, the person on the ground is lying in a prone position – just ripe for assault or theft.
DD: mugged by a gang of penguins…
DD: really, i don’t think that there are many assaults and thefts on ice floes.
me: well, I suppose we could leave out point #4 in that case.
DD: and coulottes come and go
DD: i’m all about wearing what i like
DD: my snow angels have similar feelings about fashion
me: culottes should stay gone.
me: seriously – when I was a kid and did the snow angel thing (like, once), I actually scooped out the leg line.
DD: how funny!
me: had to fix it.
DD: and they didn’t medicate you then?
DD: ;-)
me: anyway, because you’re squirming so much, the head always ends up shaped funny.
DD: i tend not to do a whole lot of flailing
me: isn’t that the point?
DD: it’s not really a whole-body experience
me: yes, it is a whole-body experience – your whole body gets wet and numb from the snow!
DD: i mean, you only have to move your arms and legs
me: yeah, but try moving your ring finger without moving the others – things are connected!
DD: my head’s not connected to my legs
DD: or my arms
me: but it’s connected to your neckbone, which is connected to your…
me: didn’t you go to preschool?
me: didn’t you TEACH preschool?
DD: yes, but the fine points of flailing were never covered in my curriculum

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