Hear hear. :yesnod:

Sorry, Big V. It's a cruel fact of life that, the older we get, the more people we lose.

It sucks, man. :( :sadpace:

The last words my grandmother and I spoke to each other were "I love you." I can't begin to tell you how many times that fact gave some comfort.

Invaluable.

And now I'm a wet eyed drunk.

So sorry for your loss, V.

Tell the ones you love that you love them.

While ya can.

The cat.

It stole Polo Girl's long held family record for projectile vomit.

Well digested breakfast (kibble) and hairballs all over my bathroom. And a bit on the carpet nearby that I just vacced. Yes, it could have been so much worse -like in the huge tub of christmas lights it likes to nest on, or my bed with fresh linen last night.... but there was soooo much and sooo far, and on a Monday -my longest work day- and all over the toilet i cleaned thoroughly last night and the floor tile grout I scrubbed like a maniac this weekend....... and i have massive skin outbreaks from wearing rubber gloves so much this weekend, so the last thing i needed to do was put the motherfuckers back on and clean up cat chunder. I'mm'a shave that little git, I reckon

When I was playing janitor for awhile at Boeing they had thin cotton gloves I was told undertakers handed out to pallbearers. I'd wear them under the rubber gloves and it made a world of difference. Probably any thin fabric glove would work.

nope, but thanks for playing. The gloves I use actually have a cotton lining for that reason, but eventually sweat kicks in and irritation starts. Heat is a good part of the problem so adding layers is bad. I'm just allergic to cleaning. But at least this is just irritated eczema and not the fun hives from latex :) (They're not "rubber" gloves by the way, they're vinyl)

I have called everyone in my phone that owns a car. No one will give me a ride to the bar. I can't. I'm busy.

This is great.

I will now buttfuck everyone in my phone right in the goddamned mouth. Call me for help. I dare ya, I double dog dare ya, motherfucker. Aks me for help one mo goddamn again. Go ahead, aks me.

Fuck. You. All of ya. Miserable motherfuckers.

I'll just camp out in the Cellar. Where I'm loved and respected by all my true friends, Sexobon, TW, John Sellars, and Infinite Monkey.

I can't. I'm busy.

Dang.

Get in the line.

New hot shot salesman took my umbrella tonight. It's fucking pouring. He will pay dearly. Dearly.

Clink on the link in the quote and embiggen for some cheering up.

Damn fool kids, their mothers ought to tan their hides for playing in puddles and probably catch their death of pneumonia. http://cellar.org/2015/willy_nilly.gif

Our FIOS contract expired. They bumped our rates up about $10 to encourage us to sign a new one. They advertised huge Black Friday deals, so we were waiting for that before signing a new contract. Turns out the "sale" is a 29.33 percent increase in price over our last contract. That's a huge jump. $528 over the life of the contract.

This is a perfect example of pissing on you and telling you it's raining.

If you raise somebody's rates, don't call it a sale.

We have been with Verizon since 1992 and they are dead to me.

My wife is chatting with them now, trying to get a better deal.

When mine ran out in the early fall they pulled that $10 shit on me too after several go-rounds over a month I dropped a bunch of shit I didn't use and more and one of my set top boxes I only use once a year, knocking the bill back from $210 to $166 a month for phone, TV, and internet.

It still pisses me off that $34.97 of the bill is tacked on fees, taxes, and surcharges, their costs of doing business that they stick up my ass instead of paying out of profits like other businesses.

Beest dying before we got a chance to go through all the passwords. The FAFSA. Not being able to find the pictures from our last vacation in Rome. Finally hacking his account on the family laptop. Not being able to open the documents I need that seem to be there but are ghosts. not finding the Rome pictures there when I was sure it was the only place left so they must be there. Life. A new year without beest. Single-parenting the world's most difficult child. no beest. that sort of thing.