Posts Tagged ‘trash’

Come On, Comcast!

Tuesday, February 28th, 2012

You are just coming home from work. It’s been a long day. You’re tuckered out. All you want is a beer. You reach into your mail box to find a bill, another bill, and something stamped with “IMPORTANT INFORMATION ENCLOSED” from your internet service provider. Your mind races! Could this be another bill? Did they not receive my last payment? Am I being cut off? Did they trace my IP from that torrent of classic Simpsons episodes I was hypothetically downloading? Did they – oh it’s just leaflet advertising their package TV/internet/phone deals. Just like the last letter.

Now imagine this happens every two weeks. Plus, they leave pamphlets in front of your apartment building. Also, they stick them on top of your mailbox, just in case you missed the last 5 “deals.” And you can see more “HOT DEALS!” taped to the wall as you exit your apartment. Once every September, they even slip a few ads under your door, like some sort of early-bird, uncaring Secret Santa.

Comcast, it’s annoying. Plus, by marking everything you send as “important,” then nothing you send is of any greater importance than anything else. Except the bill you make me pay for your services, which is often sent in an envelope with no markings. Well, how do you enjoy it?

Every mailer I have received in the last few months.

More images & a cat pic after the jump!

That Bag Full of Darts We Released Into the Sky

Monday, November 1st, 2010

There was a thick sheet of ice covering the entire yard, which shimmered in what little sunlight there was on this mostly overcast afternoon. Tristan lay on his back, groaning. I stood on the rock path, dumbfounded. Tyler just looked up.

Fifteen minutes ago, we found a helium tank outside Tyler’s bedroom. It must have been left from some gathering his parent’s had organized a few weeks back. The tank was about a quarter full, but the balloons had been used up. Tristan, Tyler, and I stood around the tank, our mental synapses firing. The obvious conclusion was to fill a big, black garbage bag full of helium and bring it outside with us. Tristan handled the tank and tied the knot tight. The bag o’ helium bounced and bobbed in his hands as we stepped out the sliding glass doors.

We made our way to Tyler’s Jetta. Tyler was familiar with navigating his frozen front yard, so he took a few steps over the ice sheet to the walking path. I took little baby steps. Tristan was unprepared and slipped on an incline; the bag o’ helium slipped from his hands. Tristan laid on the iced-over lawn, watching as the bag rose 20 feet and got stuck in a tree. Being conscious about the environment, Tyler decided that we had to get the bag down before it killed a dozen birds. We tried swatting at the bloated bag with a broom, but we only managed to graze the bag slightly. We needed another solution.

Inside Tyler’s bedroom were all sorts of weapons. He has knives in a small display case. He had katanas hanging on his wall, from when his father would visit his home in Japan. On his desk, Tyler had a blowgun and a bag of darts. Naturally, we grabbed the blowgun. Really now, who would pass up an opportunity that might actually require a blowgun?

We moved carefully back out to the tree. The hope was to puncture the bag, causing it to deflate, gently lowering it back down to Earth. However, we hit a snag. The darts were heavy enough to puncture the bag, but not strong enough to pass through – so any hole produced by the needle was plugged by the flight at the end of the dart.  In a few minutes time, we were looking at a big, black garbage bag full of helium and darts. I loaded the blowgun, took a mighty breath – the cold air stinging my lungs – then fired the fastest dart I could. This managed to blow through one side of the bag, only to get stuck in the other. At least we had a hole.

I believe the working theory at this point was that the darts would weigh the bag down. With that theory in mind, we once again began swatting at the bag with a broom. The broom finally connected with the bag, sending it sailing out from under the tree. Our theory was immediately proven wrong when the bag kept getting higher and higher. And higher.

We jumped into Tyler’s Jetta and began to tail the bag, which was becoming a black dot in the sky. We lost the bag over the high school. We promptly forgot about the entire event and went on with our lives.

This is how we released a garbage bag full of darts into the sky. Hopefully nothing was killed.