So, I do IT-related work, right? Occasionally, I have to deal with people who, far back into their past, might have brushed up against a punch card on their way to a high-powered meeting determining the fate of nations, and now consider this (relatively) ancient experience a good reason to make absurd statements regarding the nature of modern software, hardware, wireless systems, coffee makers, etc.

On almost every instance, the person in question has not just been wrong, they have been so very, painfully wrong, that their assumptive wrongness has actually created new, tangible problems in whatever system they felt the need to comment upon. Also, they seem to enjoy CC'ing their pronouncements to random people in the global corporate address book. This makes my inevitable replies that much more enjoyable.

Here's the email the moron in question sent to one of my co-workers responsible for maintaining a calendar I created in the public folders on MS exchange:

"(Poor lady who has to deal with me),

This folder is misplaced. All Public Folders is set up to contain only mail and post items, not calendars. Thus, I cannot open this calendar alongside my other calendars. And, after clicking on the link you provided, there is no way to add the Outlook calendar to Internet Explorer's favorites. The obvious solution is to get with whoever administers the public folders and arrange to publish calendar items as well as mail and post items in All Public Folders (and all of the other folders to which the Hanford Schedule Calendar is subordinate). If this can be done, we would all be able to view and event print this calendar.

Regards,

(Asshole who doesn't know what he's talking about)

+1 (703) 000-0000"

Interesting side-note; this douchebag feels the need to insert a +1 in front of every phone number in every scenario (when referencing them in proposals, or technical manuals, or websites). I posited that people other than himself may indeed be used to the Ma Bell style of making fucking phone calls, and are perfectly capable of dialing a "1" if the number isn't in their fucking area. It's not exactly a new concept, is it? But I digress...



Being the bright fellow that I am, I immediately realized that this was a personal attack against my own l337 admining skillz. Since he felt the need to CC about a dozen other people besides the poor lady who was the original recipient, I decided to take my time and pen the perfect reply. Before sending it, though, I sent this email to my cadre of fellow nerds to garner some editing assistance.



"I’m gonna assume Mr. Asshole's comments are directed toward me in an antagonistic manner. Here is the response I’m considering sending:

“Asshole,
Nice try, but no.
Your copious knowledge of Exchange and the nuances of the mystical realm of public folders is truly astonishing. I am humbled by your sage yet stern advice. Would that they made any sort of sense beyond the knee-jerk reaction of a person used to spitting out words that, on first glance appear to make a certain sort of sense, but on closer inspection are realized to be utter dross, how useful they could have been!

Here’s the real problem, as opposed to the imaginary, non-existent problem: You didn’t have permission to view the calendar.

Here’s the real solution, as opposed to the unhelpful and authoritarian-sounding solution: I added you.

Huzzah and other such niceties!

Cheers,
--HK_Newbie”

Needless to say, it was widely regarded as genius and approved to be sent right away. I copied, I pasted, I CC'd the same people that the knowledge-less asshole did in his email, and stuck his name in the "To:" field. Then I hit send.

This was about 4 days ago, and I haven't heard back from either him or the others I copied. All-in-All, I'd say it was a successful and entirely professional response.


--HK_Newbie

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Alright, Assholes*. Let's get a few things straight:

1. Deleting items from your "My Documents" folder will not make your computer run faster. Nor will deleting items from your desktop. Nor in the root of your fucking filesystem (that, in fact, has a tendency to make your computer not work at all). Stop doing it. I don't know who began this myth, but I know who perpetuates it, and I hate them.

2. My name is not Brian. I don't know where you got that idea, but please, look at my badge hanging around my chest. In big black friendly letters you will see the proper noun "RYAN". I'll give you a few guesses as to whose name that is.

3. The majority of my day will be spent doing important things; like looking at digg or fark or listening to music or reading papers which will increase my knowledge of things that interest me. Coincidentally, the things that interest me will usually result in Good Things Happening To You (like me building a clean room next to the server room for Hard Disk recovery or learning De Bruijin sequences to brute force the combination lock of your car when you forget your keys). Do yourself a favor and stop asking me to move tables or lift heavy boxes when it looks like "All i'm doing is reading a website and taking notes in my big black book" (direct quote).

4. If we're at a bar, and you start making out with me, expect me to kiss back. If you then decide you're done, please politely pull back and indicate as such; Do not just punch me in the chest and tell me to "get the fuck off". Because I will get off, and go far away (i.e. the next bar). When you find me 10 minutes later and repeat the same kiss/flip out scenario, I will determine that my St. Patty's Day is officially over and ride the metro home.

*The assholes in question include, but are not limited to, cow-orkers, chicks-in-bars, and random executive-type people on the street.


--HK_Newbie
(BTW, I'm digging quite a few bands now: "Explosions in the Sky", "And You Will Know Us By The Trail Of The Dead", "The Notwist", and "Ms. Jones Soda". Go forth and download.)

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Quote "BOOOOOoRRRRRRIIIIIIIING!!!!!!"




So, How DOES one turn an excellent opportunity for violence and mayhem on a massive scale into an exercise in coma-inducing, slow-motion, poorly-acted, and surprisingly homo-erotic cinema?


Easy, children! You just slow everything down to a bloody crawl and each 2 minute fight scene turns into a 20 minute artsy-fartsy snooze-fest. Then you attempt to introduce a pseudo-political backstory which is performed at about the same pace as the fighting and with the same verisimilitude.

Sigh...I really had high hopes for this movie too. The trailer was freaking entertaining: what with the hot chick dancing, and the sword-arm fat guy, and the heads rolling, and the screaming "THIS IS SPARTA!!!"

The hot chick dancing ended up being kind of stupid (though she did have great tits, a gorgeous body, and a beautiful face; she did not have NEARLY enough screen time to make it worthwhile, and her dancing looked like she was spasming from severe epileptic episodes). Sword-arm fat guy had all of one minute of screen time, but his potential awesomeness was through the freaking roof. Seriously, they should have a spin off movie (with no slo-mo sequences PLEASE!) where all he does is walk around Greece slicing off heads with his sword arms and drinking wine by the barrel. In the end, he gets with hot dancing chick and they give birth to a litter hot dancing chicks with congenital sword-arms. I'm practically salivating in (morbid and disturbing) sexually aroused glee.

By the way, the dude with the spear...his wife...while hot, has what I've heard called "national geographic nipples." That is, if she's not careful, she could inadvertently poke eyes out with her super-extendo-nips. Ewwwwwww. Gross.

--HK_Newbie

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Before my head explodes from this raging hang-over I have this fine, frigid morning, I'd like to post something I feel appropriately summarizes my recent female-related experiences:


(HINT: Click on the picture so you can read the text!)
And a list of the most commonly used excuses when I ask any remotely attractive chick out (is there some secret forum for excuses women use when they don't want to think of something even slightly believable--Jane, fill me in please):


"I'm doing my laundry tonight. And the next night. And the next."

"I have a...hair...appointment" (There's usually a minute-long pause between each ellipses. That's a full minute of disgust directed my way, baby! But hey, it's eye contact!)

"My restraining order against you hasn't expired yet" (Typically followed by a routine pepper-spraying. Actually, I'm slowly becoming immune to the typical capiscum solution, so you (this is a generic "you" referencing the entire female gender) might want to consider switching pepper-spray types every so often)


Ah, yes. I'm a player.

--HK_Newbie

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Actually, The urinals posted above are far better in design than the ones I'm referring to (the funnel shape is a genius fucking idea, why don't more public bathrooms have this model?). But I can't stand the idea of people looking at me while I do my "business", so this picture is quite accurate in portraying the level of discomfort I feel when, after I finish a good pee, I look down at my pant legs and see hundreds of atomized droplets of urine clinging to my spill-proof khakis like so many mountain climbers on a sheer cliff-face (Mental note: come up with better metaphors in the future).


The problem lies in the design of those ubiquitous white enameled urinals that we've grown so familiar with: they basically require one to piss onto a flat surface from just scant inches away from the point of origination, so to speak. If the muzzle velocity of the stream exiting the urethra exceeds a certain pressure, then there's a significant amount of splash-back. The majority of this so-called splash-back ends up, as previously mentioned, coating the legs of my khakis a very recognizable shade of yellow dots. The only way to eliminate this possibility is to reduce the exiting stream to a pressure below (>) the critical point where splash back is inevitable. I believe this a coefficient of the surface tension of urine; a value I do not feel like determining for obvious reasons. Suffice it to say that the desired pressure for minimizing embarrassing splash-back accidents is somewhere between not actually peeing and accidentally pissing on your shoes.


In other words, just use the fucking toilet.

--HK_Newbie

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Answer: VERY




Don't even ask me how I found this...some knowledge can only be gained at the cost of some of one's sanity.

--HK_Newbie

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