The GB Diaries: Days of Future Dip

 

100 too many Reese's Peanut Butter Cups, time for on-the-job nap!!!

 


He just keeps going and going and going...

 
   I could easily go on-and-on and make an endless journal about the GB dealings, but I'd bore my readers to death.  Needless to say, he's like a cross between a Down Syndrome Were-Pug and a pile of runny aardvark scat if the beast got into the onion patch (who, incidentally, also has Down Syndrome, and dysentery, and Asperger's, and Type 700 Diabetes).  This will be likely my last post on the matter-at-hand, lest I prattle on-and-on.  It's likely I won't work forever with this Whirlwind of Fail, so I'll just go from Days 10 through 14 and call it done.

Actual Pug with Down Syndrome

 An interesting fact was that to fix a workstation or server, his approach was two-fold.  Initially, years ago, he'd "bounce piggles" which pretty much was a Unix command to check processes on a series of integral parts and "kill" the self-replicating ones.  The result was as if in Windows you CTRL-ALT-DEL and brought-up Task Manger, killed Internet Explorer, in which case Windows would give a pop-up, "Internet Explorer stopped unexpectedly.  Opening where you left-off."  Windows is nice that way, as is the system we're working on.  This, however, never solved an issue.  Killing IE doesn't fix your mouse problem.  GB could not fathom the correlation.  His second (and now primary and sole) method of fixing any problem is to reboot it.  This is accomplished by another shop (to give them credibility it seems, as it's an easy command to enter).  This is a brute-force method (well suited for GB) and will work 50% of the time, depending on the main issue at-hand.  The mouse, in this case, is connected to the graphics card.  If there's a mouse problem, resetting the whole computer may indeed fix the mouse issue by resetting and powering off/on ALL of the computer.  Overkill but it often works (unless the mouse is unplugged, of course) to which point he'll reboot 6 or 7 more times, taking hours to fix a simple problem.

   If, indeed the reboot does actually work, he'll smugly be proud of himself, and eat about 10 Reese's Peanut Butter Cups.  If he fails, he'll console himself with 10 Reese's Peanut Butter Cups.  He'll eat approximately 40 to 100 in a shift, but he'll hide them in clandestine, under the keyboard, open and ready-to-go, or he'll put them from a hidden compartment in his carry-bag into his pocket and proudly saunter into a dark room with the lights off and eat them very quickly, then carefully fold the wrappers as tight as possible and burry them in the trash can so no one can see.  Seriously, he'll eat at least 40 full-sized Cups. 

 

I think the reason he hides the fact he's eating a village's worth of them is because his wife has put him on a diet.  She packs for him a sensible meal (to include a little dessert, which he eats, throwing away the fruits and vegetables).  He'll then eat whatever potluck the crew brings in.  He'll eat about 4 or 5 helpings of that, though he brings nothing in for them to contribute, then he'll order food if they get it from an outside source as well. 

  All in all, he'll eat 8 Thanksgiving-sized meals in a shift and then ass-blasts the restroom's stall 3 like a beach-boardwalk airbrush-artist who just found out his wife of 10 years was cheating on him, and he has way too much brown paint in his inventory, and way too much Mad Dog 20/20 in his gut, and little Jimmy wants a pretty rainbow shirt, and guess what, Jimmy...  You're getting a shitbow, and so are the on-lookers, and so is the manager of the pizza place next door, and the sidewalk, and the cars passing by, as he turns his air-compressor to 11 and God-be-damned once his shift is over, and likely quite soon when the cops come, there'll be hell to pay.  Oh yes.  And then the Ice Weasels come while you're trapped under that toboggan, and little Jimmy will never be the same again once he gets a hold of the bastard who banged his wife and he goes to Big Jim's Pawn on the south-side and buys that Colt 45 and starts singing, "I'm Back in the High-Life again!" before it all goes dark.




I like pooping!


  Ahem.  I think I went somewhere.. Sorry.  I'm okay, really. 

Me, The Mastermind Blogger of Eeeeeevil!

  On Day 10 GB had multi-breakfasts, which is standard.  He had his packed breakfast, full-on, then ordered it from when the kids went to order-out and bring it back to the work-center.  He then went to the snack fund area and had more breakfasts.  If there was ever a fast, it was most definitely broken that day!  I'd say at this point, followed by 12 Reese's Cups he was topped-off, the 12 Cups a faux-vertebrae inside his throat like a giraffe.  Later on, he was typing furiously though nothing was happening, giving his typical "I just moved a piano across the room" "Whew!" exclamation when his console died.  Took 3 hours to restore.  I suspect he deleted himself.  Later in the day, he was asked about a software upgrade that's been on the forefront for a year but he told the manager he knew nothing of it.  Amazing, actually.  I'm not even mad!  He broke into a squirrel ballad involving small-critter sounds for 30 minutes loudly.  The crew asked him to stop but he couldn't seem to manage that, then he farted so hard he broke his own chair and fell out of its remains.  Finally, for the rest of the shift, he worked on trying to fix a non-existent comm-port which I actually found entertaining.  He did this by rebooting the comm-server repeatedly to no avail.  He usually announces this by saying, "ReeeeEEEEEE... boooot!"  I made a song about this, sung to the tune of the Hokey-Pokey Dance:

I'm gon-nnnna bing-badda-bounce,

Gonna bounce-badda-bing.

Gonna re-boot, re-boot, bounce-badda-bing.

Come to work, then I do my thing.

I re-boot, re-boot, bounce-badda-bing.

 

Re-boot, scoot, and don't forget to poot.

Re-boot, re-boot, bounce-badda-bing

I went to work once, and forgot to poot.

Now my britches are full of coots MaGoot!

 

I went to work once, I went to work twice

I deleted lots of files to make the servers nice.

I deleted home files on the root directory

Now I have a great big doom catastrophe!

 

I eat all the Cups, I eat all the food,

I don't leave none because I'm f***n' rude.

I have to take a poot but I wanna eat more too.

Toilet floor candy lined up against my boot!

 

I snot-rocket left, I snot-rocket right.

I snotted on the boss because it feels so nice.

Boogers on the wall, boogers on the floor

Boogers on my dirty shirt cuz' I don't care anymore.

 

Chew tobacco now, chew tobacco how?

Chewy chewy chew I shove in my mouth.

Have to spit mah' chew, have to spit some goo.

I'll spit on the floor indoors 'cuz that's just what I do.

 

Be.. cause.. I..

 

Bing-badda-bounce, gonna bounce-badda-bing

Gonna re-boot, re-boot bounce badda-bing

Just got here to work, so now I'm gonna ping.

Re-boot, re-boot, re-boot gosh darn everything!

 

Whew!

Day 11 consisted of him spitting indoors at the turnstile on the floor.  His snot-rocketeering involves pressing one nostril tightly, closing it, then exhaling, allowing massive amounts of raw, unfiltered snot to shoot forth in delight everywhere.  He does this on a regular basis.  Often, it gets all over himself, which he's fine with, as well as anyone nearby.  Women and children are not safe.  Today, inside the turnstile foyer, he did this on the floor, then spit his chew-tobacco maw-load as well onto the tile.  I suspect he did this again later as he was going to the bathroom, I used the urinal 15 minutes later and on the way, the floor had a wad of chew and spit and another puddle-trail of snot in large doses.  Pleasant. 

 

The magical snot-rocket as performed by a "reh' ta'ard".

 

 

He explained to me that he had made wine himself on the knowledge that I had made my first batch last year from my colonial Catawba grape vineyard in my side yard.  It's a meager vineyard but I can produce a gallon of good, clean wine from it.  My first batch ended up tart because I did not add sugar during the final bottling and I wasn't aware I was supposed to do that with the particular Bordeaux yeast and grape combination I had.  I'll know better next time, but some like tart wine and it goes well with dark chocolate just fine.  Comes off more like a cranberry-wine but not bad for a first go.  Anyway, he claimed he made his own wine by putting a bunch of grapes in a bucket and letting it sit, uncovered for 3 months.  No yeast was added, it just rot there.  This is not the process of making wine as after a few days it needs to be filtered and racked into an initial, air-tight container to avoid wild-bacteria and bugs from getting into it, and to clean the sediment off.  Racking continues, leaving the dregs (about an inch or two) each time until the wine settles and is clear (after about 4 months in an aged oak barrel).  During that first few days, it's vital to keep it covered though.  GB did not.  He drank a bunch of it a few months in and got serious food poisoning and had to go to the hospital, pushing aside the scum-cap with a ladle and drank deeply of the shit-water he made.  Idiot.  I suspect after he got out of the hospital he tried some more.

 

 

He also beat himself with his own baseball cap oddly in the face for 5 minutes.  I found that intriguing like some self-flagellating Catholic in the medieval days.  I accept his self-punishment. 

He did a dance later on like a cat with a piece of tape stuck to its rear foot, shaking it off, then hit the table and smashed several console monitors, knocking them hither-nither.  God help us.

 

 

The next day he ran directly into the paper shredder for some reason like a Three Stooges episode and knocked it over loudly (there is no other way to do things with GB at the helm) and made a royal mess as the shredder is 4 feet tall (same height as him, and width).  Perhaps he thought it was a mirage of himself, or a Doppelganger?  He then mangled the vacuum like a pedophile at a Boy Scout Jamboree to fix things, but it ended up looking like a Class1 felony.  Later on he punched himself squarely in the face in the similar Catholic self-punishment for an amazing 15 seconds, landing impressive blows to the jaw leaving marks.  This was quite interesting and I was engrossed that he did not knock himself out.  Like a cartoon character from the 1940's he shook his face noisily each time to "shake it off" I guess.  Amazing.  The crew had left cupcakes from the night previously and there was about 12 left in a box. 

 

 

   He ate all of them, no lie.  He did this in secrecy, waiting until no one was supposedly looking, then ate each one in two bites.  He'd pretend not to be interested in them each time, circling the box, tilting his head like the RCA dog, then walk away, then return, looking at it, then turning-off again, waiting for no one to look, then he'd snag one or two and gobble them as fast as he could, like everything he eats, not savoring it, just getting it "in" his gut as if he's in under water and the cupcake is oxygen. 

  Well, that's about it for The GB Diaries: Tales from the Dip.  I don't hate the fellow, as some people might surmise.  I do not.  I just find him an abomination and a curiosity like a circus side-show freak.  He has no consideration for what is proper on a social level as you've read.  He has his own sense of sneakiness by eating in clandestine, and in my opinion, arrogance against his wife and society.  I can't see how it comforts him.  It seems he eats sweets in defiance but not man enough to do it in plain sight like some undercover scavenger. 

 

 

 

When Ally Sheedy does it, it's hot.  When GB does it, it's not.

 

 

  His consistent lying, the only thing you can rely upon with him, is seemingly from a long, seeded life full of deceit and badgering.  I do not badger him, nor pick on him in any way (except, indirectly in this forum he wouldn't read anyway, as it's merely a truthful outlet for myself).  All my comments are generally honest and correct and accurate.  If they seem cruel, it's not, it's only that he betrays himself with his own actions. 

 

 

 

 

  What set me off was that he mangled live animals and fed them near-dead to neighbor's dogs, and that is the most psychopathic thing I've ever heard of.  He claimed in the past to capture animals and shave them in his living room with clippers and let them go because they were trespassing in his front yard.  At best, it's torturous for the animal to endure, as I'm sure he's not sure-handed on a shaving.  At worst, it's a felony charge, or he's lying.  He claimed he followed bobcat's tracks back to a cave and killed it with his bare hands because he "didn't want it around".  I suspect another lie, like everything he does.  He destroyed data-flow the other day, but told no one. 

 

Rankin Bass's Gollum from the original animated Hobbit.

 

  I mentioned he should man-up and admit it as the crew was desperate in trying to find out what was wrong, but he just hid sheepishly and lied about that too.  He has no honor, probably from his speech impediment country-Alabama slang/mumble/slur.  An easy target I do not attack.  I do not hate GB.  I merely pity him, and his family, and all who know him and endure his filth, his lies, and his unprofessional lack of quality.  What do you do when evil resorts to a demand of pity such as Gollum?  I will not throw the first stone, he is already buried.

 

 

 

Out.