The two main workplaces in my life for over half my life were a restaurant kitchen (1%) and a newspaper newsroom (99%). There is nowhere to hide in either place. If you fucked up it was right there and everyone knew it. Blessedly, since both were high speed, high production environments, there was no time to dwell on mistakes -- just take your lumps and keep moving. And some of the mistakes, especially in newspapers, could be spectacular. When I started working at one paper, people still told of the time, years before in the turbulent 60s when the paper ran a P1 banner that was supposed to read, "Police spray student demonstrators with birdshot." The misspelling occurred on the final word. One of the papers in our group ran a classified ad: "Small room for runt." another ad proclaimed "50 percent off selected shits (shirts)." Readers asked if they should bring their shovels to the sale. Another paper ran a full page ad for a VW dealership in the 80s, supposedly touting the 1986 model year Volkswagen Rabbit. Oops. "Come in and see our new 1986 Rabbis," and to make the fuckup perfect, "Free Bagels with every test drive." One of our copy editors once wrote a P-1 teaser for the living section: "Salacious Salads." I myself was responsible for the headline, "Gumnan Robs Bank." Every 24 hours we would strive for perfection, fall short, and publish, though, to be fair, only rarely so egregiously short.
I've been in construction since I started nailing for my Dad at 11. Shit happens in construction, small mistakes almost daily and every now and then a leaning tower.
Today, I reached into a heater closet to hold a threaded pipe and somehow touched something that shocked the bejeebus out of me?My arm where it hit me is still pulsing. It zapped me good or bad and went straight up my arm, into my brain and then right down to my heart. My crew thought I was play acting until they saw the mark and my vein racing.
This is what I enjoy best, when I think about Trump-- I mean him loving Kim and Putin, yelling "Get 'im outta here!" in that mean voice, and also, never firing anybody face to face. I picture him on that show HIGHWAY THROUGH HELL, and being in charge, in a blizzard, and 2 mammoth semis have gone down the cliff. And he has to get them up TO SAVE HIS OWN LIFE. With the regulars watching and calling out advice.
The term "sheepfucking" is too easily thrown about, so it's become entirely meaningless. People on the left only call you a sheepfucker when they can't think of anything else- it proves you're winning the argument.
I just blame everything on my subordinates : ) J/K
The two main workplaces in my life for over half my life were a restaurant kitchen (1%) and a newspaper newsroom (99%). There is nowhere to hide in either place. If you fucked up it was right there and everyone knew it. Blessedly, since both were high speed, high production environments, there was no time to dwell on mistakes -- just take your lumps and keep moving. And some of the mistakes, especially in newspapers, could be spectacular. When I started working at one paper, people still told of the time, years before in the turbulent 60s when the paper ran a P1 banner that was supposed to read, "Police spray student demonstrators with birdshot." The misspelling occurred on the final word. One of the papers in our group ran a classified ad: "Small room for runt." another ad proclaimed "50 percent off selected shits (shirts)." Readers asked if they should bring their shovels to the sale. Another paper ran a full page ad for a VW dealership in the 80s, supposedly touting the 1986 model year Volkswagen Rabbit. Oops. "Come in and see our new 1986 Rabbis," and to make the fuckup perfect, "Free Bagels with every test drive." One of our copy editors once wrote a P-1 teaser for the living section: "Salacious Salads." I myself was responsible for the headline, "Gumnan Robs Bank." Every 24 hours we would strive for perfection, fall short, and publish, though, to be fair, only rarely so egregiously short.
I've been in construction since I started nailing for my Dad at 11. Shit happens in construction, small mistakes almost daily and every now and then a leaning tower.
Today, I reached into a heater closet to hold a threaded pipe and somehow touched something that shocked the bejeebus out of me?My arm where it hit me is still pulsing. It zapped me good or bad and went straight up my arm, into my brain and then right down to my heart. My crew thought I was play acting until they saw the mark and my vein racing.
That's too complicated. Can't I just deny that there is such a thing called sheepfucking and even if it did exist, it's totally legal and very cool?
And what if you're just helping the poor beastie over a fence with your kilt askew?
"Hey Shithead"
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This is what I enjoy best, when I think about Trump-- I mean him loving Kim and Putin, yelling "Get 'im outta here!" in that mean voice, and also, never firing anybody face to face. I picture him on that show HIGHWAY THROUGH HELL, and being in charge, in a blizzard, and 2 mammoth semis have gone down the cliff. And he has to get them up TO SAVE HIS OWN LIFE. With the regulars watching and calling out advice.
And they're going to die. And we could do it without dying. In China there is no other ending for them.
The term "sheepfucking" is too easily thrown about, so it's become entirely meaningless. People on the left only call you a sheepfucker when they can't think of anything else- it proves you're winning the argument.
!!!
"Kilt Askew?" Isn't that a Gaelic Breakfast Cereal? I think I saw it on a shelf at a local market when we were at Drumnadrochit.
Calistiphilia is in the DSM-V. Look that one up.
I've met some of them.
"...he thinks he's all that and a golf course or two."
That is brilliant!
I found it slightly odd that Politico referred to the word as "g--damn" every time.What, are they bloody fecking goddam evangelicals at Politico now?