I Am NOT The Man With Whom To Fuck

"Hey Big Guy...
tell us something about that latest trip to Shanghai."

Jeebus, where to begin.

Well, this year the cameraman that covered the player walkouts for the broadcaster is a slight Spaniard named Juan.

We usually stand together for about five minutes waiting for the players and the ATP Tournament Managers to arrive, then we walk out for introductions before start of play.

I'm usually there because we transition a semi-public area where high-end sponsors can stand and watch the behind-the-curtain pre-match ritual.
Part of the percs of being a title sponsor at a 1000-series ATP event...
It would be bad for some crazed fan to rush a player to get an autograph/selfie when the players have their war faces on...

So... while we wait, I usually shoot the breeze with CameraDude.
Except this year the usual CameraDude (Skippy) isn't there. Juan is the videojockey.

He is on headset with the Director in the TV Truck...

As we chat,  he gets the thousand-yard stare then he points the camera at my face.

I can tell he is getting some instruction from the director and it doesn't look like good news...
He keeps the camera on me as he relays the conversation.

Juan CameraDude: "uh...From the director I have a message."
Yours Truly: *raised eyebrow stare*
JCD: "He says that you are the big man but he can...-his words- kick your ass."
YT: "(scoff) I'm sure."
JCD: "He is saying this. Not me."
YT: "Players coming. We'll pick this up another time." I give the camera the forked-fingers to the eyes 'I'm watching you' gesture and we walk the players out to the floor.

This exchange escalated daily... Always started by Director via JCD.

JCD: "The Director...I'm sorry, he says to tell you he will be...opening the can of Whip Ass? on you.."
Points camera at me to get reaction.
YT: "Really. Well... tell him his won't be the first snot-nosed TV-dweeb ass I have kicked, but he can be the next."

And things escalated...

JCD: "Director- he wants to know if you are ready for your ass kicking."
YT: "This is getting tiresome... Tell him to bring a sandwich, a cold drink and a band-aid 'cause I'm going to be hungry and thirsty after I'm done whipping his ass."

Later...

JCD: "Director would like to know what kind of flowers your widow would like."
YT: "Tell him when we tangle, I'm gonna knock one of his lungs loose... I'll be on him like rust on a pump handle."

Now in the old days TV trucks were man-territory- very few of the fair sex were in the production vehicles or on the PL circuit. Now, there are women everywhere...And as some of my more colorful and creative comebacks are quite, uh... descriptive, I was a bit apprehensive to really rip into him, but after a little reflection, any woman in a TV truck has probably got some pretty thick skin and has probably heard some pretty bad stuff.

So, by the end of the week I had a great script running through my mind for our final confrontation...

JCD: "Uh, Sir. The Director. He says you are obviously the little girl, and he has won the war with you. He has lost all respect as he can insult you and you will not face him."
YT: "Hm." I address the camera directly- "Hey Director Man- I hope you wore your pretty pink panties today... After I do this walk-out, I'm coming out to the truck and I'm going to bitch-slap you silly, then knee-walk you to the middle of the broadcast compound, bend you over and have my way with you, and I'll sell your ass to any takers for 5 kuai a pop. You're going to fly back to Australia with a size 14 poop-chute and knot on your head so big it's gonna need it's own postal code."
JCD: "*speechless*" then  "In the truck, they are all laughing."
YT: "Laugh it up, ladies. I'm gonna tear into him like a stray dog into a restaurant dumpster." 

We do the final walk-out and I have a cold drink, then head out to TV Land.

TV Trucks aren't made for Ogres to pass through silently and stealthily, so I embrace my entrance.

I fill the doorway on my entrance... The guys on the back bench have a deer-in-the-headlights look.

YT: "Where is that piss-ant motherfucker who needs a mudhole stomped into his ass?"
One of the Back Benchers: "Oh shit... Someone better call 999."

The closest one half-heartedly points toward the front bench.
I stomp past them up to the front.

As I arrive, a long rally is just beginning, so no switching will be needed...

The three guys on the front bench look up and the two on the right point to the guy on the left.

Front Bench Guys: "He's the one who thinks he can kick your ass..."
YT: (*loudly cracks knuckles*) "I've been waiting all week for this... Are you ready, Little Man?"

Director stands up and faces me... I tower over him....
A long moment passes. The truck is deadly silent.
Finally we both break into a laugh and have a firm and hearty handshake and bro hug- 

YT: "Dude! Good to see you... Sorry I couldn't make it our earlier."
Director: "Absolutely... Glad you could make it out. Drinks tonight after we get back to the hotel?"
YT: "Absolutely... See you tonight."

The entire truck is agog.  Their hearts start beating again and are all grinning and breathing a sigh of relief.

The Director (Guy from Gearhouse) and I ran into each other at the hotel on the day before the tournament started and laid the groundwork for this... 

He had been playing it up inside the truck all week.

Most of the guys in the truck were at the bar that night- 

Guy had done a masterful job leading everyone on, and when I went out there they were absolutely certain that I was going to rend him into little Director bits...
We all played it perfectly.

Poor Juan, though...

He had to relay all the messages every day and he was absolutely sure I was going to take my anger out on him...

Not my best prank, as practical jokes go, but probably one of our most successful ones.

No one injured, no property damage, and some good old-fashioned trash talk...

Good times... Good times.

TBG - - ΜΟΛΩΝ ΛΑΒE

Honoring Commitments - Hurricane Matthew

Shit...

This is gonna hurt...

Re: post title?
Because I committed to be in Shanghai this week.
Because I take commitments seriously.
Because sometimes I'm a moron about things like that.

Hope the house neighborhood city is still there on Sunday...

TBG

Helpful Hints for Rio from The Czar

After I fired off a cry for help, The Czar (may his toenails never fester) comes through with a timely and accurate assist:

Dear Uncle Jay,
You’re right that the key word for traveling to Brazil is “don’t.” Of course, that makes it sound like you shouldn’t travel there at all; in reality, (1) you shouldn’t travel to South America at all and (2) the word don’t really applies to everything related to Brazil.

This actually is Rio. This may not be one of the Olympic sports, but that doesn’t mean you won’t see this at some venues.

Brazil is basically all the cut-throat lunacy of a Mexican pirate town plunked helpfully in the center of a sweltering jungle, featuring a river filled with creatures that have teeth the size of your aunt and the predilection to eat something her size with them. 

Another feature of Brazil is the fact you can drive about ten minutes in any direction (in theory, as there aren’t nearly enough roads) and find yourself in a stone-age culture equipped with blowguns and cell phones. They will not hesitate to use both. No, the Czar doesn’t mean “either,” he means “both”: they’ll gleefully put a dart in your neck while talking to their agent.

Brazilians, on the other hand, are great for parties. The Czar strongly recommends befriending a Brazilian if you like to eat, drink, roller skate, dance, and basically repeat this every hour until four or five in the morning. These people do not quit.

It has been decades since the Czar went to Rio, though, so let’s see what we remember. Your high school Spanish will be just as useful to you here as when you went to Cozumel, by which we mean totally useless. Brazilians, as you already know, speak Portuguese, not Spanish. Portuguese is an interesting language that’s half-Spanish and half-arrogance. It has a lot of shushing noises, which is linguistically interesting: since Brazilians spend about two-thirds of their day inebriated, they simply modified the spelling of their language to reflect drunken slurs.

Helpful phrases:
“These are not my drugs, therefore you can keep them.” — Não minhas drogas; portanto, você pode mantê-los.
“Waiter, my seafood is threatening me.” — Garçom, meu frutos do mar me ameaça.
“What can I drink that won’t kill me?” — O que eu posso beber que não vai me matar?
“If I drink this caipirinha, will I still have two kidneys in the morning?” — Se eu beber esta caipirinha, vai ainda tenho dois rins na parte da manhã?
“Get me on the next flight home.” — Quero que o próximo vôo do avião casa.
“No, I’m Canadian.” — Não, sou canadense

Don’t worry about pronouncing the Portuguese correctly: just read it loud and in a drunk voice. They won’t understand you, but that’s because they’re too hammered themselves. “Vamos roller skating,” they’ll say in sympathy. 

The Czar is also familiar with Brazilian cooking, being something of a grill-master himself. The Brazilian method of cooking is quite simple: subject thick cuts of meat—python?—to extremely high heat until the food is charred black on the outside and bloody raw in the middle. If you look carefully, you might find some medium-well fibers of meat between the two, but these will be utterly soaked in salt.

The heat is unbearable in Rio, but clothing is totally optional. Actually, the bigger and hairier you are, the less you want to wear. The Czar guesses for a mostly shaved Sasquatch guy your size, Jay, you should wear an eyepatch in place of a thong. Surprisingly, that won’t be the most surprising thing you’ll see someone wear.

Everyone talks about the gigantic statue of Jesus up on the hilltop, but what they don’t tell you is that, over the last 50 years or so, the statue has totally turned itself around so it looks away. It would be a Vatican-sized miracle, but no one admits it because it reflects nothing but shame on the city. Hey, if you had to gaze down on that mess, you’d at least squint.

Anywhere you go, look for the nearest exit and use it.

Fortunately, you’ll be traveling there with fiber optic cables, which is good because you can use them to strangle the hotel clerk when he arrives in the middle of the night to perform his customary turn down service and leave something minty on your pillow. Don’t worry about the body: murder is not only sanctioned there but positively encouraged. If the authorities ask, simply say what all Brazilians say and claim you thought he was a poor person. You’re off the hook, and you can just leave the body where it is. There will be no air-conditioning in your room anyway, and within moments his corpse will be swollen with bottle fly maggots, so dumping it won’t matter.

For the last 50 years or so, the Czar has become increasingly convinced that the Olympics are just a huge joke that we’re not getting…so the organizers are choosing even dumber locations each time. “Let’s pick a disease-infested pithole that’s corrupt, filthy hot, and has no transportation or clean lodging.” “How about Rio? Chicago said no.”

Well...
I do plan on going to the beach at least once...

Let's see if I can find that eyepatch/thong he's suggesting... To Amazon!
(How appropriate!)


Wow. That would look frightening trying to hold in all my dangly bits...

Here's something even MORE better! A steampunk eyepatch/monocle!
This might be the ticket- but...
If that thing isn't the size of a one-quart oilcan, I'll probably be causing a ruckus on the beach at Copacabana...

Stronger, Higher, Faster - forsooth!
TBG - - ΜΟΛΩΝ ΛΑΒE

Traffic Thoughts...

Out at lunchtime today to run an errand...
Got caught behind a old beater Buick that just positively screamed "Axe Murderer at Wheel".
(You know the type- Car hasn't been washed since 1987, faded "Mondale for President" bumperstrickers. Edges of all the windows are getting that  fogging from sun damage. Can't even describe how stereotypical the driver was- long unwashed hair, Coke-bottle glasses, wifebeater shirt.)

After following it awhile it seems I was mishearing it-  the shout was really "Paedophile!"

Say what you will about those depraved motherf'ers...
At least they slow down when the go through school zones.

TBG - - [exit, pursued by a bear]

Yesterday's News Cycle - San Bernardino

Before  11:00am PST
CNN:
Climate change!
Climate change,
Reparations!
FIFA!

11:00a PST
CNN:
Active shooter!
Active shooter!
Active shooter!
Active shooter!
ZOMG!

Twitter:
F'ing NRA!
Evil gun lobby!
Workplace violence!
Praying doesn't help - DO SOMETHING!!!1!11!

11:05
Democrats: Calls for drastic measures to curb gun violence, blaming Conservatives for giving access to guns to everyone from two-tooth hillbilly mouthbreathers to convicted Islamo-terrorists that are on the FBI/TSA no-fly list, including 500 rounds of free armor-piercing exploding cop-killer bullets for free.
Dem 2016 Candidates: Grandstanding with meaningful soundbites!
This isn't normal. WE MUST DO SOMETHING!

Conservatives: Thoughts and prayers for victims and families.
Also: Hey! Slow down! Let's let the situation get resolved before we start assigning blame.

CAIR: "Man, we hope the shooters have a normal American name like Smith or Jones."

11:15a - 6:00pm
CNN:
Active shooter! Live helicopter shot!
Active shooter!  Planned parenthood only a mile from shooting location!
Active shooter! Interview with talking head from Three Letter Agency!
Active shooter! Interview with retired officia from Random Government Agency!
Active shooter! Interview with talking head from a different Three Letter Agency!
Active shooter! Helicopter Live Feed!
Active shooter!  Planned parenthood STILL only a mile from shooting location!
Active shooter! Vehicle pursuit!
Shootout!
Uh Oh. - Syed R|zwan Far00k and Tashf33n M@lik - Hey! Look! Climate Change!
FIFA Scandal
Climate Change

Twitter:
F'ing gun owners!
Black Lives Matter!
F'ing politicians!
F'ing white mass murderers!
Columbine!
F'ing gun laws!
Aurora!
F'ing NRA!
Charleston!
F'ing GOP!
F'ing Angry White Guy Mass Killers!
(Shooter names released)
*crickets*
(clicky-click - twitter messages being deleted)

Thursday AM:
CNN:
"Motive Unclear"
"Workplace violence"
"Still under investigation."
PSA for Anchorit.gov (Anti child injury by furniture tipping initiative) - WTF?

CAIR:
"Don't blame entire group/subclass/religion for actions of one or two people."

NRA:
"Yeah, we said that last week. Hope it works out for you as well as it has for us."

Twitter:
DO SOMETHING!!!! YOU'RE NOT EVEN TRYING!!!11!
F'ing gun owners anyway!
F'ing NRA too!
F'ing politicians!
F'ing stupid Americans!
Make $$$ sitting at home in your underwear eating cheetos. Click this link.

**logout & close laptop**

Ghod, I've gotta get out of this office. The exposure to CNN and Twitter is killing me.
I think I'll go drink a big glass of tapwater and go breathe the air out on the balcony that overlooks the traffic circle at Diana Cazadora.
It's gotta be better than sitting in here...

TBG - - ΜΟΛΩΝ ΛΑΒE

One of Those Weeks

TBG - - ΜΟΛΩΝ ΛΑΒE

Kübler-Ross Would Be Appalled - The Five Stages of Blogging

5 stages- I haz it.
Especially after re-reading that last post. Gah.
______________________________________________________________

Denial
Upon seeing or experiencing some inanity or stupidity, the thought of "I cannot believe the AssHattery I am seeing here."

Anger
"This shit is so FUBAR I must blog about it! To the Keyboard!"

Bargaining
After several hundred keystrokes, a handful of Google searches, a wiki-wander or three, missing out on going to lunch with the new receptionist, and a deadline looming for getting that new contract done and submitted- you make promises:
"Just 2 more paragraphs. And a link to that picture on fark.com...
Then I'll get back to that proposal."

Depression
On first proofread:
"What the f... Did a third grader write this?
Nope- A third grader would have done a batter job.
Why do I even try? No one reads this shit anyway. Tam probably wrote about this weeks ago and probably did the job 10 times better."

Acceptance
Fuck it. (presses send)
Like I said- no one reads my shit anyway.
Who gives a shit. At least it's free ice cream.


TBG - - ΜΟΛΩΝ ΛΑΒE

Letters To People Unlikely To Respond: The Guy Behind Me On The Train

Dude.
I know you're pissed at her and all her drama. I know you're tired of her crap and her girlfriends, and her indecision and her inability to understand the phrase "Don't fucking call me anymore"
She also doesn't comprehend "Stop calling me", " I don't fucking want to talk to you" and the ever-popular "Quit fucking calling me, Bitch" and the 200 variations on these phrases I have been hearing repeated since Alexandria Va.
Let me offer you an alternative to these ineffective pleas you have been making.

Don't. Answer. The. Phone.

Turn that thing off, call block her, or just mute the ringer and put it away.

But if she calls and you answer, you're just asking for the drama to follow you around like an albatross.

Moron.