My Crazed Aunty Disnar

I feel the need to talk about my aunt. I had a dream about her today (it ended in me and my parents having a feint race to see if I could outsmart them on a bicycle; they were in the car).



Well, I've only met her once a few years back (and have never met her husband), so it's hard to say that she was crazed based on my own observation, but word around the family is that she's a little "on the sunny side of life," if you know what I mean.

She currently lives in not-quite-northern Arizona in Skunk Heights. On this "farm," aside from skunks of every imaginable shape and size, she has a big box shed where she has a redundant production facility. Why redundant?


All the conveyor belts work, some machining machines machine imaginary parts, large amounts of electricity are consumed...but nothing is ever produced. It is said that she spent so much on the mystery production facility, she can't afford to buy materials to make whatever she was hoping to produce with it.

According to Family Lore Volume 0004, she was either hoping to produce mechanical skunks to rob banks, or small, infantry-like tanks (think: cyborgs) to take over the world with, or massive amounts of potato peelers for unknown reasons. I've only seen bad-quality pictures of the facility from the outside. It has windows, and you can see a machine machining some imaginary part through one of them.



She was her dad's favorite child (her dad was a Christian satanist; troubling, isn't it?). She would get the others in trouble for something she did, like interrupt their 5-player baseball games (and if they tried to do something about it, it was a beating). This molded her into a ...well, she lives in Skunk Heights (really). That should tell you, right there.


Once, she stole some tools from me and my dad; we had agreed to sell them to her for around $400. When I was younger, money was tight. It still is, but back then, it was "I can't buy this $2 slingshot because it will bankrupt us" tight. It taught me some important things, such as "When I fall into some money, I'll do something nice and buy the family some food instead of the football I've been wanting! I'll continue to play with these pom-poms until I get the money to buy the football, I won't be damaged!"

Though I did not know it at the time, that was a very good, sacrificial thing to do. Of course, I was stupid, and I'd buy ...steak...you know what? That's why I hate expensive steak (such as T-bone). I recall buying it one time, and I would have been able to buy a lot more if I had just gotten the steak one below it. And it all tasted the same. And I could have STILL gotten the football!


...anyway...she took the tools, and when my dad contacted her later that night, she was hawing about it. He taught her how to make gravy...and she betrayed him.



But he knew all about Disnar...he grew up with her, at least, and the Family Lore Volume 8690 warned all about her. She was on the front page right next to "Crazy Uncle Kelly" (who was on the second page). Though, I'm not so sure Crazy Uncle Kelly exists. Aunt Disnar did teach me one life lesson: it doesn't matter how much stuff you have if you buy it on credit. Then you're eventually going to hit rock bottom and be trapped.


My dad recounted to me a story about him and his new friend. They were kids. He said they'd been pals for about a week, and his friend was over at his house. It was one of those "lay-in-a-field-and-watch-clouds-and-ponder-if-you'll-be-friends-forever" friendships, he said.

Disnar got a section of garden hose and threatened to beat his friend until he said he'd go see what the smell of death under the house was. He called her bluff, and she beat him 4 or 5 times about the shoulders and back, at which point he scrambled under the house. Shortly thereafter, he found out what the smell was; it was a dead dog he had to drag out.

As he was dragging it out, she began beating him again. He ran off saying "I NEVER WANNA SEE YOU AGAIN KEV'S DAD!" My dad developed an eye twitch.


Then, there was my dad's favored chair. He called it Sand, and it was his pal. He would come home every single day from school and sit in it for at least 20 minutes. He said that "it fit him like a glove shaped like a chair." It was the only semblance of hope in his troubled world.

One day, as he was rounding the corner to go sit in Sand, his saw his sister, Disnar. She was holding a match. She proceeded to throw the match on Sand, who in turn burst into flames. She had soaked Sand in gasoline so he'd burn faster, and my dad had to put it out with the garden hose. He said that he was never quite able to get the image out of his head, and shortly after, Sand was thrown away.



Apparently, my aunt Desnee really has some bad things to say about Disnar. I'll have to strike up a conversation with her about it. Also, Disnar used to act like a dog when in stores. She would get on all fours and bark and everything, even attempt to sniff people's crotches. True story. The one thing she lacked, apparently, was a leash. My parents both had dismal childhoods.

I wonder how my children's childhoods will be.

Crass Words and TMI

Editor's note: this post contains minor language used in an explanatory manner, describing an event that occurred today in which I used foul language but was unaware that it was, indeed, foul (I still don't necessarily grasp its foulness). If you are easily offended, get off of the Internet. Please. Save yourself some heartache, girl-friend. Go polish your nails.


The morning started out great. I got to sleep early and, as always, I got up in the middle of the night. I Here is the festering, maggot-infested tag of Things I Hate hate that, and it does not happen unless I get to sleep early.

The sun was shining (OK, it wasn't, but clouds to me is sunshine!), and it was one of those charmed days where you can almost hear extravagant background music set to whatever you're doing. It was chilly and, oh, you know the tale.


My Grandmother called and said she couldn't make it to church due to "explosive blasts of air emanating from the mouths of her husband and his uncle." She informed me that they do not cover their mouths when these blasts of air manifest. They are called sneezes. This would be my undoing.

After that, I updated her on what happened that morning with Popoe. He had escaped twice due to other people, and each time I had to capture him.

"Yeah...you know those two kittens that need their balls cut off?" I asked. She laughed. "Well, yeah, Kev. What about them?"

My mom began frantically waving at me. I continued, unabated.

"Well, you know Popoe? He's the one who REALLY needs his balls cut off!" She laughed again. "OK, yeah?"

My mom walked over. "Kev! That's crass!" I looked at my mom concernedly, not knowing what in the world crass could mean, and continued.

"Well, he escaped, and..." I told her the story. We chatted for a while, then I hung up. I then learned the definition of "crass." I had previously learned the term "crude" from a friend on the internet, whose name I will not divulge for fear of retaliation. They're more or less the same, I'd come to find out. I wondered at how such a basic household term could be considered improper.

I considered it more [easy] to say "balls" than "testicles." Testicles to me always seemed worse than "balls." Like saying "You've got some mustard on your brain-cover" versus saying "You've got some mustard on your face." Testicles is just too long a word. It's not necessarily that we curse in Latin at my house, it's just that we use words such as these that are easier to say.

Regardless, I now know I should say "testicles."




We then went to church. Dad decided we'd try a new route, and we didn't need directions. We were set to arrive at 10:25. We got there at 10:45. We walked up just to hear the bell ringing "It's time for church!" in its special way. I didn't know it was that loud from the outside. The door was locked again, but after banging on it for a few minutes, the lock just opened. I'm thinking about changing that lock, actually, if it'll open that easily. I'll do that this Wednesday.

[Pastor's thinking, "Oh, no he won't! I'll change his locks if he does that!" I recently learned Pastor is reading my blog. The shame of it! Now each time I speak of Metroid and/or Samus Aran, I'll exacerbate my nerdy video game image. Oh, also...excuse for a Samus/Metroid tag.]


...anyway, after the service (in which I drew a hand successfully! With ink and paper!), I mingled with the other attendees. Once most were gone, I wandered into the sermon room to see what all the fuss was about. A group of 5 were in there talking- the Justice, the Hitman, Mr. dataDyne, Don Pianta (he's still waay too tall), and Mr. Bruckner. I think it was Mr. Bruckner, at least. He's still leading the singing.

I wasn't too sure what they were talking about, but I was very comfortable in the back of the room supporting my face on the chair in front of me. I was considering taking a nap. It seemed as if Hitman had asked a question, and, magically, they all assembled to hear the answer. It was like the Wizard of Oz but with men. And no ruby slippers. Did I mention most of them were balding?

Then the Justice distributed papers on the subject from seemingly nowhere! They weren't made of plastic, but they sure were fantastic! Magical, poof out of dust! The Justice walked back near where I was (I was 10 feet right of the entrance to the sermon room), and closed the door. He walked back. I wondered why I didn't get any papers, and why there were only enough for those gathered. Then it hit me. They were having a BORED MEETING, as Pastor calls it!

I sidled out of there with haste. I don't know if pastor saw me or not, but I didn't want him to discover me when they were halfway through talking about the surprise Christmas gifts they'd be buying me with the church funds. Once back in the fellowship hall, as I deem it, I talked a bit with the pastor's wife, the Mrs. Support Justice.

My mom said, "Hey Kev, did you tell anyone about Grandma?" "No, what do you mean?" "That they were out sick?"

"Oh, yeah," I turned to the Support. "She's out today because her husband and his uncle don't cover their mouths whenever they sneeze, and-" I began, but my mom gave me that look again. "Keeev, you don't need to tell her that!" "Oh, I don't?" I asked, clueless, as pastor's wife put her hand up and said "TMI." We all got a laugh out of it, and my naivety was once more put on display for all the room to see.


I was alright with it, though. Perhaps it is a bad thing to say that someone doesn't cover their mouth when they sneeze, but I don't consider it bad (as long as they stay home!). I mean, I tend to read the book of Job and get all depressed and start mumbling about how my strength isn't as the strength of stones and my skin is not brass and stuff when I get sick.

It's something I can't change (Job is my "what's happening to me isn't so bad but I can still relate and be depressed" book), and I don't go to church and tell people to let the day in which I was born perish and the night in which they determined I was a boy also perish. I suppose it is sort of private, I just don't think so. It seemed perfectly honest; it appears I have a lot to learn yet.



This post is longer than I had hoped; some day I'll develop the ability to leave things unsaid that need not saying. Like this entire line. Ah well. It was rife with embarrassing information, and even had a bright red line at the top, so that should make up for its length. Actually...let me edit it and see if I can make it shorter.


That's [a little] better. I've got things to do tomorrow, so off to sleep I go.

People Give the Weirdest Wedding Gifts

My parents' wedding was a month or so ago at this point. I cannot fathom how radically my views have changed since then. I thought marriage was a fun thing, with women in white, white dresses and carrying flowers and everyone functioning perfectly for one person: the bright, shining Bride, who is above all and through all in her presence. A wedding wonderland.

But no, it's awkward, horrifically embarrassing for anyone who's inept at semi-formality (case-in-point, my dad), and somehow they are as stressful as something can be before breaking the sound barrier.

The strangest thing about our wedding (I call it "our" wedding) was this one gift. What's the weirdest gift you ever received? A friendship bracelet? A personalized clock? A visit from a dying friend in a hospital ("It really means a lot to me that you were dying and left the hospital to visit me!")? A lesson in shaving from your dad? A lesson in ...makeup application from your mom? "The talk?"

How about a chamberpot set? No? Never got one of those?

Never?


Are you sure?


Check again.

Remember real hard.

No?


If you can believe it, some local yokel (my affectionate nickname for idiot; local is not necessarily an operative word in the sentence meaning) gave us a chamberpot set. I couldn't believe it. What were they thinking? Who gives someone a chamberpot set? For their wedding? How is a chamberpot set an aid to a happily-ever-after?

I opt not to disclose the gift-givers' name. You can thank me profusely at a point in the future.

Here is a picture. The plastic rings and sheets around it was the packaging.


Now, I measured the cups, and they hold precisely 8.8 ounces. They weigh around 8.4 ounces.

I suppose you place the main chamberpot, the "master pot," in a central location in your home, then bring each of the individual chamberpots- "stylishly," I suppose, made to look as unto glass-type canisters- to the master pot and ...empty their contents.

I have heard of "antique" designs, such as cobblestone paths and wee lit'l "Victorian" cabinet handles, and I've heard of "antique" techniques of doing things, such as using a brick oven or (supposedly) heating your home with wishes (a widely-practiced form of faith-worship by the pagan Indian Wannano-tdie tribe which died out not surprisingly), but I've never heard of such an antique, classical idea as using chamberpots.

I simply refuse to use them! It's, frankly, very unhygienic, and to judge a book by its cover, I think it would be VERY uncomfortable. Additionally, if you have one in each room, there's an extremely low chance of someone actually going to a sink to wash their hands.

So, I'll be throwing them out or I may bury them wrathfully. On top of everything else, they gave us 6, but we only need 4. What? Is one for the kitchen and one for the car?

Jerks.

Last of my Kind(red)

Well, my Granny, God bless her, had four children under the name of her husband (Stewartsky) so that she could continue the line. Not all of them continued successful, though (the only other, my Aunt Desnee, had girls). Now...I am the only one left who can continue the Stewartsky name. According to my Dad, at least. He's...he's never wrong. I'll ask my Granny. She's always right! So would you trust someone who's never wrong, or always right?


The ONLY other one who could do it- at least locally, as we have lost contact with the other half of our name- is my uncle Inderb. Certainly, he has many juniors running around he doesn't even know about and many more which he will never know about. But they don't have his name.

My brother is infertile. So it is up to me to continue the family line.


Yet I had a thought as I woke up today.

What if I marry someone who is in the same predicament? Every time she visits her sister, her sister's adorable children stare up into her eyes and say, "Aunty, your genes are the only reason we're so awesome; our Daddy's a moron who thinks we mean jeans. But we don't have the crown jewel: the name. The name! Avenge ye us woman!"

Yes, her...nephews and nieces (I do not know a word relating to nephew and niece as "sibling" relates to brothers and sisters?), would definitely talk to her like that. Mine? I DON'T HAVE ANY AND NEVER WILL. Oh, I wish I did, or I wish I could have the hope of having them, but no, no, no.

So actually, my predicament is worse than hers.

But she's got a lot of pressure from her dad who thinks we should do a movie-star wedding in which we both keep our names. I call the firstborn son, he objects. Stubborn old man. I hope he dies soon. I mean, working through disagreements like adults is productive. Then I have an important decision to make.

Typically, I should think of my wife's needs before my own. Then again, traditionally, I would take the name and kill his hopes and dreams. If I had a sister, I wouldn't expect her to keep the family name. So he has no right to have those hopes and dreams. He should have had another child, just like my parents should. I'm only having three kids at the most. Two girls, and the last one can be whichever. And uh, my wife can have as many as she wants, too, I guess. One will definitely be named Sarah, and the other I'll possibly name Kriket.

Our second option would be for us to adopt. But obviously we both have impressive gene pools...as her slightly-creepy nieces and nephews pointed out earlier. So I suppose they'd rather have more slightly-menacing cousins than a number of stupid cousins who merely have their birthright name.


So now, when I begin dating someone, I'm going to ask her dad if he's alright with me pursuing her. So, I need to ask him these questions at that point. Think of it this way: would you rather just meet some guy your daughter's been dating, or someone who sits down with you and discusses how he intends to marry her? After putting years and years and years into someone's life, that being your daughter's, you'd have to be overwhelmed with joy. At least your wife would be. Grandchildren. And once I have her parents on my side, nothing will be able to stop me! Hahahahahaha!



...anyways, you see, I want to be able to tell our kids, "yeah, I told her two weeks into dating her that I would be pursuing her to marry her, and I told her dad a week before that. She just...she just looked at me. Then I lorded the fact that her dad said I could over her like she already agreed."

As the years go by, the responses would change. First it'd be like, "OK yeah." Then it'd be "WOW, Cinderella didn't even have that much warning!" and then it'd be "Damn Dad, I just haven't had any boys practically proposing to me in that fashion. Maybe they don't intent to marry me?"

In which case I'll smile a sly smile, knowing that my plan had worked all along. All my years of conniving and plotting. "Well, ask him if he intends to marry you," I'll say. Later she'll run crying into my arms. "He said he couldn't take the responsibility," she'll rail. Hehehe. I told her the rules.

No dating until you're married, and then only if your husband is OK with it.

Camcorder Conundrum: Kev Destroys his Mind

OK, so my parents' wedding was recently. As you may know, my Great Grandmothers' death celebration was also recent, and our Sony (model TRV-138, if memory serves) Hi8 died. It got stepped on then hit with a hammer to unjam it. What?

We had to make due with my digital camera, which pulled through like a champ. Thanks digital camera! You pulled through like a champ! Give yourself a pat on the back. Champ.


As for my parents' wedding, we borrowed my dearest Aunt Desnee's camcorder (thanks!), a Sony DVD model. After recordering the...OK, recordering is not a word, folks. After recording the "behind-the-scenes" stuff, I "disced" the ceremony and the receiving line (where everyone hugged my Mom). (And my Dad). (He was there, too, I think).

Now, since the DVDs can only hold 30 minutes (20 minutes for short play and 60 minutes for long play), I had to record on three DVDs. Yikes. I'm "discovering"...get it, discovering? DVD humor, folks. Laugh, man! "Hah hah" like that! LAUGH!




Here, I'll take occasion to admit that I thought MiniDV was a 3" DVD disc. Here I thought that there were cameras which used full-sized DVDs, and those were the DVD cameras. How on earth, I don't know. I'm not stupid or anything. I think it was the ads with the miniature DVD (MiniDV sounds like a miniature DVD!) and camera inside a womb with the fetus holding the disc. That was definitely it. Or maybe it was a barbie doll holding the disc. I think barbie should have been capitalized. Barbie. Yep. Well, we'll get that in editing. Like men.

Anyways, I'm discovering how difficult it is to edit the DVDs. DVD humor again. You missed it, didn't you?

You'd think it would be easy and streamlined, right? Just rip them to the computer, edit by selecting scenes, then click "burn." Or, even just compile all three discs (as they'd all fit on a single full-sized DVD!). Simple. But no.

It turns out that the DVD cameras record in "DVDese," but most editing software (like the editing software I already have) only knows "MiniDVese." I'm going to have to download a freak Hulk-type software (it's normal EDIT Banner one minute, then RAAAW! PROCESS AND RENDER! Hulk the next) to edit them. But my real problem? Ohh, the length of taping. I tell you what, if they had DVDs which recorded for 60 minutes, I'd be all over a DVD camcorder.

I would play with it and hug it and tell it I like it and put it under my pillow and make it breakfast in bed (with orange juice!!!) then hallow it in the Drawer of Hallowed Things Kev Likes. The hallow from the other hallowed objects rubs off on the non-hallowed object, much like a "little leaven leaveneth the loaf." I have no idea where the hell the hallow came from, but it's been hallowing everything in that hallow drawer for years. I need to start an official list of hallowed games, paddles and memory cards.



...anyway, I figure I have two choices in the camcorder market. But first, the qualifiers: it has to have Sony's Nightshot Plus or equivalent. That's big for me because I want to be able to film things at night. I'd live with it if I weren't already spoiled silly, but the Nightshot contains too much raw awenem. This leaves me with, to my knowledge, only Sony camcorders.


Sony's line features the DCR-DVD108. It is my DVD camera of choice, not to be confused with my general camera of choice, and it has a $350 price tag. After experiencing taping the wedding on three discs when I could have used 1 DV tape, I am apprehensive. I have another wedding to tape shortly- which most likely will be twice as long- and I do not want to fumble around with 2 or 3 DVDs.


As for my MiniDV camera of choice, the Sony DCR-HC38 fits the bill. It has a $300 price tag, and it is...one up from the entry level, and has 40x zoom (the aforementioned DVD camcorder also has 40x zoom). But with the camera shake, 40x zoom would only be useful in very rare instances. You'd have to have a tripod for sure.

My current thoughts are that we should get a MiniDV camcorder. The biggest reason is that they allow for 60 minutes in the higher quality (and you can buy 80 minute tapes), where DVDs only allow 30. That's a sad thing for DVDs. Just the fact that I could have caught EVERYTHING- from behind-the-scenes stuff to ceremony to receiving line- on one MiniDV instead of 3 DVDs makes me sad and angry. It makes me want to, I don't know...fling something at a tree. Maybe I should stop using that banana and coconut hand lotion...and I should avoid bananas.

If I did get a MiniDV camcorder, I think I'd have to buy an external hard drive to edit and backup (though, everything changes when you actually work with the product). Apparently, each little tape is 11 GB. That's bigger than a double-sided DVD! And I really wanted to type "double-sided sticky tape," as...when else do you use the precursor "double-sided?"
I am not much for external, spinning, hard discs. They freak me out. I think...you can transfer straight to DVD...then edit that 2 or 3 GB file. Who knows, like I said, it all changes when you actually work with the thing.


Now that I've decided I want a MiniDV camcorder, I need it by Halloween (filming a non-holiday-related spoof show), as I don't have time to send it back to an online store if it doesn't work...so Walmart is the only brick-and-mortar franchise without the 15% restocking fee. I don't mean to sound greedy, but those restocking fees are of the Devil hisself!

Walmart only sells the DCR-DVD108 and the DCR-HC28. The HC28 is basically the HC38, but it's a step lower with 20x zoom as opposed to 40x zoom. I'll have to make a...gasp...compromise! It's also $50 less, and that's a whole battery or shoulder strap or something, and believe me, the battery they provide is rarely enough...so it isn't too much of a compromise. I'm planning to someday go camping with my Dad in the dark woods. I'll need plenty of camcorder battery life for that, as I'm certain we'll run into stick figures and stuff and a blaring witch and get lost and both die.


Now that I've got that cleared up (I've also heard that the DVD format is going to fold, and MiniDV will outlive it or something?), I STILL have to deal with these accursed, filthy DVDs from the wedding. I'm going to download a Hulk-type video editor, and use the 30-day trial. I...I may end up buying it. No need to refuse trial to me! HAHH HAHAH AH SUCKERS!!!

[NEXT POST]

My Laptop and guarding it and how I can do better.

My brother.

Oh, what can I say about him. I know what I'll do. I'll lament about how horrible his cooking (and eating) habits are.


He has a messy way of cooking, and every single day of his life he eats the same thing. A type of macaroni and cheese with added Pizza ingredients (ham, pepperoni, mushrooms, tomato sauce, and others). He does not stir it when he cooks it over high heat, so it burns very badly, and I have to clean it. I'm pretty sure I've complained about it before.

He completes his horrible mess by leaving the dish in his room for a week with two cups of leftover "noodle vomit" until it condenses into a cheesecake-like brick of stinking, occasionally moldy mess. If I attempt to make him clean either the bowl or the pan by, y'know, not cleaning it so he eventually has to, he breaks down crying.


Don't siblings like that make you angry? It reminds me of my Dad's Worst Sister, Aunt Punface. You just can't help but make up zany puns when you're around her, usually about her face. Typically...they're not so much puns but insults. Regardless, that's her nickname. They used to play baseball together when they were young, and she would take the outfield. She'd get the ball and not take it in. Then when they got mad, she'd tell their dad, and they'd get in trouble. They had a belt-and-switch dad who beat them regularly and practiced witchcraft, so trouble was bad.

His parents had four children, and only two turned out alright; my Aunt Desnee, and my Dad. The other one, my Uncle Inderb, is currently living on an Indian war veteran camp doing marijuana with the Indian war veterans. That is his...occupation. I've never spoken to him, as far as I can remember...yet I've seen him naked. Funny world we live in, isn't it?


Anyways, back to my brother. Cheese all over the floor. The living room floor. Ohoho, it is horrible. It makes me sad. It is unfair. You'd think that, when making macaroni and cheese, you wouldn't be able to spill pre-grated cheese all over the place. I would morally allow block cheese to be spilled while being grated, but how hard is it to hit the pan when you have shredded cheese? Not hard at all if you're a careless slob, apparently! Dammit!

Then there's the ham he leaves all over the place. He thinks it's cute to give the animals scraps as he cooks, just like my Dad (do fathers always pass on bad manners?). Yet, I only give them scraps if they eat them. That's the difference between me and them. It ends in the animals eating them and them not laying on the floor to ebb grease.

Anyways, what's my point? Somehow, a month or so ago, I found my laptop's CD drive was nonfunctional. "Oh, Samus' visor!" I exclaimed, as I felt my heart compact. By the way, that's more a "scared" expression than a "damn" expression. 70% scared, 30% damn.


After crying for several minutes, I decided to take the CD out. It was...Command and Conquer: Generals, I think. That is, I know. I have a memory, after all.


My CD drive had been acting funny for weeks prior. It kept- for no reason- ejecting itself. Now, I don't know about you, but I do not appreciate having my computer do things I do not approve of it doing. Because...the next step is murdering me in my sleep. It's happened before. Just search for "computer killed me in my sleep," and see how many results come up! Almost 1.8 million people dead because of disobedient, murderous computers. I will not be a statistic.


I took the CD out, only to discover a piece of cheese lodged in the CD drive, pushing against the CD, stopping it from spinning. Aha, I thought. I have no idea how he managed to stand over my laptop and grate cheese into it...but he did it. After I removed the piece of cheese, it worked flawlessly, and did not eject sporadically any more! VICTORY!


Except that...recently, my SD card drive stopped working. That is not good at all. Upon further inspection, there was...chocolate inside my card drive. I have absolutely no idea how. Chocolate isn't even that popular around here! Drat! How could it be! After I removed the chocolate, the drive worked fine.


Then, I discovered the reason that certain keys on my keyboard get jammed. Apparently, things get underneath them. Things that I don't have any idea how they got under there. Pieces of plastic, mostly. From where? I do not know. God knows.

On Sunday, we stopped by a Walmart, and...my Mom got a glue gun.

Today, I found a drop of hot glue lodged under a laptop key.


So, to strike back, I'm going to get a laptop case as soon as possible to stop these relentless attacks before something serious happens. If a drop of hot glue can travel 15 feet and wedge itself into a closed laptop, then weasel its way under a key...I fear to think of what else could do the same. Plus, I need somewhere to put my mouse, now that I have one. Then I can take my laptop with me places and get robbed. Let's see how long it takes me to acquire one, shall we?