The Crapolla According to Fek'Lar

You know you're screwed when...

Google calls you to complain that you haven't used your computer lately.

You've stumbled onto another issue of The Crapolla, a journal written for software professionals. No not the managers; I mean the people who do the work.

This Crapolla is sponsored by...

In This Issue...

Ass Jokes, Crapware Jokes, and Airport Jokes, plus NO Diet Coke link! (Damn!)

What Grade Did You Get?

As you may remember, I'm an old fart. Recently, I needed to check into the HMO to have a hernia (hisnia?) repaired. My surgeon was a stone-faced Iranian. He's smart, serious, and damned good. But he wasn't going to be the only person in the OR.

In Pre-Op, I was joking around with the Nurses. I like Nurses, they do a lot of the heavy lifting. When you have three or four Nurses working to get you ready for surgery, it's comforting to see how well they work together. If they're acting like everything is routine, it helps put you at ease.

From my experience, people who work in hospitals love a good joke. But they can't joke around the patients because it can raise anxiety if the person on the gurney thinks the staff isn't taking the work seriously. But when I'm in for what I believe is a low-risk procedure, I like to toss out a few harmless jokes to let the staff know it's OK. During my colonoscopy, the staff and I were exchanging ass jokes until I was under. There was a lot of talk about the girth of the probe they were going to use, and did they find the biggest one for me?

My stone-faced surgeon checked in, and drew on my belly where the work was going to be done (so I didn't end up with a hysterectomy). He left and the rest of the surgical team streamed in. First, a very tall, extremely caucasian man walked in. I asked if he was going to be my gas-passer. He seemed taken aback.

"Ah, yeah, I guess so," he said.

I was fairly sure I had shaken him with my question. Wow, he really had that stick shoved way up his ass. I couldn't believe I was the first to ask this question.

Three more Doctors came in. Each introduced themselves. The third was an intern.

I asked the Doctor who seemed to be the most confident with herself, "What grade did you get in this operation?"

She fumbled for about 10 seconds and finally blurted out, "An A."

I chastised her on her delivery. The answer should have been immediate. After all, faking sincerity is 90% of medicine. I turned to the intern and told him to write that down, it was going to be on a test one day.

The Doctors were on my right. To my left was one of the Nurses I had been joking with, prepping me for the I.V. There was a slight, suppressed laugh from her. Just before she jabbed me with the needle, she said, "Little prick."

I turned to her and said, "Who are you calling Little Prick?"

The Doctors were in shock for about five seconds until the Nurse couldn't hold it in anymore, and busted out. The Docs, relieved that this was a gag, let go of their hangs ups and laughed.

It was my turn for surgery. The gas-passer gave me part of the Mickey as the gurney pulled out of my Pre-Op cubby. My hand started burning. I asked if this was revenge for the gas-passer remark.

I was being wheeled through the more industrial part of the hospital. No more pastel walls covered in inoffensive art. These walls were stainless steel, with huge metal sinks everywhere. I wondered if they slaughtered beef here at night and then hosed down the place in time for surgery during the day.

Once in the OR, I was asked to help the staff move me from the gurney to the table. My exercise for the day. The surgeon entered and the staff gathered around me. The surgeon spoke to every member of the surgical staff asking each questions about their area of responsibility. He had a command presence you want to see in your surgeon if you're awake in the OR. If this guy had lived a few thousand years ago, he could have been a field general in the army of the Persian Empire.

When he was satisfied the staff was ready, the surgeon said, "OK, let's get started."

I faded out about then and woke up in Post-Op. I was told things went even better than expected. I wouldn't need to stay over-night. In fact, I could go home as soon as I peed. I looked at the door to the bathroom across the ward and asked, "From here?"

The Flux Capacitor IOS App

I spotted this in the iTunes store. The Flux Capacitor is a crap app, in that it doesn't actually do anything. I mean, how could it? You can't get a phone up to 88 miles per hour on the AT&T network!

Missed your flight at Heathrow?

Ah... Heathrow!

My favorite airport in the whole world. It's like a great big shopping mall, and if you look carefully, you may find an airplane or two. There are shops in Heathrow that give out free samples. Free Baily's, free chocolate, free Jack Daniels. If you keep going back and forth, you can get plastered and wired for free, and then try to find your plane.

There is a "clean up" protocol in Heathrow. After almost all the planes are gone, they round up all the drunks who missed their flights, and they put them on a plane... to Ireland.

Ah... Heathrow!

This Issue's Headline submission to the National Daily World Enquiring Globe.

60 Years on The Throne Down The Drain!

The Queen Cracks a Smile at the Jubilee

Let's play, "Who said this?"

Heard in the halls of various software companies.

"I'm getting used to feeling stupid. It's really beginning to grow on me."

"Have you ever imagined a world without hypotheticals?"

"I kid you not, it's amazing how much the ability to take a dump will improve your morale."

"...bitching, kicking, and moaning."
"When did they get hired?"
"On my third day here."

"Nothing succeeds like excess!"

Excuse Me

I have to go put on a clean T-Shirt. Rocketman is coming to town.

Fek'Lar
They pay me to think. These are my thoughts. Do you think they are getting their money's worth?

Remember: The Crapolla contains my personal opinions. That's right they're mine, so get your own! And you kids get off my lawn!

Although written with the software professional in mind, my mind tends to wander all over the place, and I sometimes write about politics, mass stoopidity, dumb things I saw, and whatever else comes to mind.

From time to time, I use salty language, thus The Crapolla is not intended for children, or certain people from the Christian Right.

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EOJ

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