Saturday, April 30, 2005

The Best Lie I Ever Told

Like most people, I've told a lot of lies. There are the little ones, "Yes honey, it's totally her fault. I don't understand why she's being such a bitch." or "Yes, my name really is Turk Mannington." And then there are the larger ones, "You know, I could totally have caught that off a toilet seat. " and "Don't worry, it's not loaded." Some of these lies may have been unethical, some of them may have saved my life. And many of them got me laid. And that's okay.

But there's also the best lie I ever told. One St. Patrick's Day, a few years ago, I was walking across Boston Common with the lovely Mrs. Manion. And I walked into a tree. It was cold and windy, okay? As disappointed as I know you're going to be, I was sober on St. Paddy's day.

This tree had a broken branch right at face level, and sketched a very impressive and jagged cut for several inches across my left cheek. Although at the time it hurt like hell, I decided to make the cut work for me.

That Monday, I went into work and told people that I had been in a bar fight. Every time I told the story I made it more preposterous. By the end, I was swinging bar stools and getting tossed out plate glass windows. I figured someone would call me on it, but no one did. Pretty soon the rumors were even better than my versions. I particularly liked the one where I got roughed up by a member of the New England Patriots.

It had the result of making my coworkers fear me. And when you're a tech writer who constantly needs answers to complex questions, fear is an excellent motivator. I'd just slide into a developer's cube and say "So explain the object creation scripts to me." As usual, the developer would start to complain about being busy. Then I'd make a suggestion.

"Hey, why don't we talk about it after work over beers. I know a great bar is Southie. They just remodelled, too. You can meet my drinking buddies. Except for Carl. But he's going to make bail eventually. And that's a good thing. 'Cause I owe him for this!" And then I'd stroke the cut menacingly.

And then the developer would suddenly have lots of time to answer my questions! It was great. Of course, all good things must come to an end. Eventually the cut healed, and didn't even leave a scar. I was crushed.

I've thought about trying to recreate the cut, maybe with a houseplant, or something less painful than a tree, but so far all I've managed to do is piss off the local florist. I'm not giving up hope, though.

Friday, April 29, 2005

American Manion

Mrs. Manion is deeply upset that Constantine has been voted off American Idol and suspects that the voting is rigged. Mrs. Manion has also requested that I mention the following "She is a highly intelligent and well educated woman. Her interest in American Idol should not be taken as an indication that she is into things teenybopperish. Especially not by her fellow instructors at MIT. (Really!)"

With that out of the way, I'm going to be proposing my own show, based not-even-a-little on American Idol. We'll call it Manion Idol. In it, a select group of young men and women will attempt to demonstrate that they are really cool and should be allowed to hang out with me.
Manion Idol will consist of an 7 week program that will showcase the various traits and talents that I look for in a new buddy. Judging will be handled by me (Lance Manion), Mrs. Manion, and the monkey puppet. The monkey puppet will handle harsh criticisms that I am not comfortable giving.

After each week, the contenstant who does the worst will be fed to Sack of Garbage and Small Amount of Cat.

Week 1. Drinking Games
Contestants will engage in a three day bender involving the games Quarters, Three Man, Beer Die, and the Spring Break classic, "Chugging tequila until you puke." Winners will be judged on the total amount of alcohol consumed. Remember people, it's not how much you drink before you hurl, it's how much you drink after you hurl.

Week 2. Dick Jokes
Contestants will tell a variety of dick jokes. Winners will be judged on the quantity and quality of jokes told. The gold standard for dick jokes will be the following: "My dick is so big, it has its own dick. And my dick's dick is bigger than your dick."

Week 3. Who's l33t?
Contestants will play a variety of single and multiplayer video games. Winners will be chosen based on style, skill, and overall ability to 0wnz3r their opponents.

Week 4. Who Wants it the Most?
Contestants will demonstrate who is really willing to go that "extra mile" to win. Creativity, teamwork, and lingerie are encouraged. Male contestants are advised to skip the lingerie and go straight to a car dealership. If it doesn't have 200+ horses, don't bother. Winners will be chosen based on their ability to involve Mrs. Manion in the judging process.

Week 5. Nut Punching
Contestants will be punched repeatedly in the groin by the monkey puppet. I didn't really want this section, but the monkey puppet is insisting. Winners will be chosen based on a "last man standing" system.

Week 6. Taking the Fall
Contestants will be invited to join me on a multi-state crime spree. Winners will be chosen based on their ability to convince state and federal officials that it was all "their idea," and that I was an innocent hostage.

Week 7. Irish Drinking Songs

Contestants will perform a series of traditional Irish drinking songs, accompanied with traditional Irish drinks in the following manner.
  1. "Wild Rover" & Guinness
  2. "Irish Rover" & Jameson's Irish Whiskey"
  3. "All for Me Grog" & Harp
  4. "Wild Colonial Boy" & McCaffreys
  5. "Danny Boy" & all of the above
Winnners will be chosen based on the ability to become maudlin and weepy while performing Danny Boy. Bonus points for complaining about "The Troubles".

I'm getting ready to pitch my idea to the networks. I think this could be big. Like, Survivor big. I'm already accepting applications for contestants!

LM

Wednesday, April 27, 2005

Memories I'd like to erase

Everyone has treasured memories. Their first kiss. Learning to ride a bike. The charges being dismissed. Things like that. Of course, we also all have memories that we'd like to lose. Unfortunately, these are generally the same ones that your brain likes to trot out and show you every so often. And you still cringe like it was yesterday, even though it's actually been years since you were wedgied by nuns.

It's a vindictive organ, that brain.

In an effort to exorcise a few of my personal demons, I'm listing some of the memories I'd like to erase.

  • A drunk naked football player clutching his scrotum and screaming "Mixed nuts, Dougie! Mixed nuts!"
  • Salmonella opening up the proverbial tubes at both ends
  • Explaining to my parents how I managed to melt an entire dishrack
  • Crashing the following vehicles. Not all at once. (Who wants to go for a drive?):
  • '78 Chevy Malibu,
  • '84 Plymouth Colt,
  • '86 Toyota MR2,
  • '98 Acura Integra.
  • Crashing a riding lawn mower
  • Sinking a Jet-Ski, and the ensuing Coast Guard rescue
  • Passing out in a toy store (Hamley's for you Brits) and wiping out an entire display of teddy bears (incredibly, this incident was not drug or alcohol related)
  • Accidentally setting fire to the roof of the school library
  • Vomiting on Lloyds of London (okay, this one was alcohol related)
  • Falling over in an important meeting with IBM because my leg was asleep. Being unable to get back up. They thought I was having a seizure.

Yes, these were some good times. Especially for Dougie. But that's another story for another time.

LM

Tuesday, April 26, 2005

Volunteering To Be Stupid

On my way into work this morning, I was listening to the radio. Two things occurred to me

1. The vast majority of radio DJs have less brain activity than Terry Schiavo. I must tread carefully, here, because the esteemed Mr. Scoop is a DJ for Boston's home of Alternative Rock, WBCN. That said, if I hear another DJ talk in that smarmy ass voice about the zany morning crew, I'm going down there with a pitchfork to show them the pointy end of some serious zaniness.

And please, PLEASE, stop with the bad impressions. Yeah, that bad Schwarzenegger impression. You may be shocked to realize that it's been done. Repeatedly. Silly voices are not comedy gold. Dear God, I've coughed up phlegm with more entertainment value.

2. Clearly radio contests are capable of some form of mind control. Whenever there's any sort of contest, every idiot in the transmitting radius calls up. Even if they have no idea what's going on. Especially if they have no idea what's going on. It's great. If the question is "What's the title of Beck's first album." You're pretty much guaranteed that everybody who has never heard of Beck will rush the phones. Here's an idea. If you don't know the answer, don't call! And back to the DJs, why do you feel the need to play a bunch of wrong answers for us, the listeners? If I want to know a bunch of words that are not the title of Beck's first album, I'll go read a dictionary.

That should do it for the radio industry. Come back tomorrow when I take on debt restructuring in developing countries.

LM

PS. The title of Beck's first album is Mellow Gold. But I really didn't want a Britney Spears CD Prize Pack.

Monday, April 25, 2005

Blowin' It Up with da Slogan

So I was looking at my hit counter, and see we've broken the elusive triple digit barrier. I gotta say, I'm pretty psyched for that. It means I can stop padding the count with my refresh key.

But I've decided that Mercenary Words needs a slogan. Something that I can say as a tagline. Something that will look good on a T-shirt and make me krillions of dollars. I see that many people who use this template have little slogans underneath the title. I also note that the KittyBooBoo name generator does not have a slogan, thus they suck.

I contacted a marketing company, and after some negotiation with the monkey puppet, we've got the following candidates. And for the record, no I don't know where the puppet gets the poo from. And I'm not asking.

So, here we go, Mercenary Words Slogans and Catchphrases for '05

"For when you click Next Blog. Mercenary Words."

"The only blog not afraid to write 'titty bar' without asterisks."

"Bo Justice and a monkey puppet. Your fantasy come true."

"Because my record was expunged when I turned 18."

"More than a man, he's a Manion."

"By Royal Appointment to the court of Duke Rodney of Chumblebottom on Swivvensley."

"More coherent than you expected."

"Not yet proven to cause cancer in lemurs."

"Best viewed with a blood alcohol level of 1.5 or greater."

"Mercenary Words - Pimping the English language since 1989."

LM

Saturday, April 23, 2005

10 year reunion + high priced call girl = gay

So I've been challenged to relate a story from my tenth year reunion. By way of preface, in this politcally correct age, I am cool with homosexuality. Not a practicioner myself, but I really don't care if you, the reader, are. I support gay marriage and have plenty of gay friends. So neener neener. Let's begin -

I went to Colby College. It's one of those small liberal arts colleges in Maine. It was a great place and I highly recommend it. Anyway, while I was there, I knew a guy that we'll call Nat. Nat and I didn't have any classes together, but when your entire class only has 400 people in it, you get to know everybody.

Nat was the gayest acting man alive. He made Seigfreid and Roy look like Tango and Cash. Every gay stereotype was alive and well in Nat. He was one Streisand concert away from being on the cover of Out magazine.

Of couse, he belonged to the Colby Republicans, so maybe he had incentive to stay in the closet. I dunno. I didn't particularly care other than to think "Man, maybe he'd be happier if he came out."

Anyway, we graduate and I never hear from Nat again. No big deal. And ten years pass. The reunion comes up. And Nat arrives. He hasn't changed at all. Still pretty much a slightly gayer clone of Jack from Will and Grace. The only difference is now there's a stunning young woman in an beautiful evening gown hanging on his arm.

My first thought was "Man, I guess he really was straight. And apparently he's hung like a horse..."

And so we end up sitting at a table with Nat and date. And it rapidly becomes clear to everyone at the table that his date has never met him before tonight. Not only that, but she's bored to tears. We realize that Nat has brought in some hired talent. They stay for a few hours and drive home in separate cars.

I guess what I'm taking from this is that it was more important to Nat to appear straight, than it was to just be himself, whoever that is. I have no idea what the going rate for high priced call girls is, but I can't imagine this ran him less than a grand. And it wasn't even because he thought she was attactive, or to to sleep with her. It was because he thought we, the rest of his class, would be impressed.

I suppose I was impressed by the lengths he went to create an image that couldn't hold together for more than a few minutes. Either that or my gaydar is just completely shot.

Nat, if you're out there, embrace the gay, dude. Embrace the gay.

Friday, April 22, 2005

Sack of Garbage and Small Amount of Cat

At Mrs. Manion's behest, we have two cats. One I call Sack of Garbage. The other I call Small Amount of Cat.

Sack of Garbage - This a large cat. And yet with a tiny brain. I would call him Large Amount of Cat, were it not for his distressing habit of peeing all over the house. And yes, he's fixed, yes, we have tried whatever wonderful product solved your problem with little Tinkles McScamperfluff. Really. We've officially tried everything. And so Sack of Garbage is basically a large, highly mobile, urine sprinkler.

Small Amount of Cat - This is a small cat. She is less charming than Sack of Garbage. On the plus side, she's also vastly more continent. Her major down side is that she will fight tooth and nail (and she's got a lot of both) if you want to make her do something she doesn't want to do. I'd rather go toe to toe with a circular saw than force small amount of cat to take a pill.

Of course, we are torn with what to do. Weeeellll. One of us is torn. So it looks like Sack of Garbage is going to go back to the shelter from whence he came. And the we'll be looking for another kitty. Because we wouldn't want Small Amount of Cat to be lonely. I've offered to leave the TV on, but apparently Small Amount of Cat does not like daytime TV, and would rather hang ninja-like off the screen door. I suppose another cat is cheaper than a new screen door every few months. I'll let you know.

LM

Thursday, April 21, 2005

The Monkey Says Fuck You

I've come up with the perfect job negotiation tool. It is, of course, the monkey puppet. You're sitting in the office with your potential new boss. He says "I'm sorry, but 40k is the best we can do" Your monkey puppet turns and says "Your offer is pathetic. We want fifty! And four weeks of vacation! Fuck you!"

You then, can appear to be embarrassed by the monkey, but hey, your hands are tied. It's the monkey doing the negotiating. The great part is, there are no hard feelings later. You can apologize for the monkey being a hard bargainer and everone has a good laugh. Plus you get the raise and the vacation.

I can see your boss later saying, "Man, that monkey was tough! We had hoped to get you for 45, but he really held our feet to the fire. And when he started flinging poo! Man! But we're glad to have you."

Just remember to bring the monkey back when it's performance review time.

Wednesday, April 20, 2005

Deconstructing Spam OR "Br3@k W@llz with your M0nst3r C0ck!"

So I was cleaning out my spam filter, and in among the porn and Viagra offers, I saw one particular email that caught my eye. It was from Esther C Camshaft. Apparently Esther wants me to be able to remodel my house with a new and exciting tool.

I hadn't really thought about it, but who would want a M0nst3r C0ck capable of breaking walls? I already own a sledgehammer. And would it (the M0nst3r C0ck, not the sledgehammer) really help me score? I mean, I know if I had approached Mrs. Manion back in the day, whipped out a 27" crank and started knocking holes in the walls, she would have maced me until the cops came. And then they would have maced me some more. I'd end up on News of the Weird as "Penis Freak Destroys House." Again.

Even if the crank itself was a good thing, I doubt the wall breaking would be a real crowd pleaser. "Sorry, honey, I can't get in the mood until I shatter some drywall."

I'm all in favor of advertising, but please, Esther, let's think about the message we're sending.

Monday, April 18, 2005

Bo Justice

Many years ago, before fire was harnessed, before the rise of mammals, before I graduated from college, I knew a man.

No, scratch that. I knew a legend. I knew a force of nature. I knew the power of the cosmos. I knew Bo Justice.

Now I know you're thinking, "Lance. I know you were drinking with Mr. and Ms. Scoop this weekend. Is it possible that you're still under the effect of Messers. Daniels and Beam?"

And to that I say, "Hell, yeah! Let's go to a titty bar and light the place on fire!"

But before that, I need to speak about Bo Justice. It's been many years. In coming forward now, I feel not unlike a veteran of many battles in many wars. A man who has never spoken of the horrors he faced. Until one quiet night, he begins to speak. And the stories pour forth, unstoppably. And those who hear them bear the awesome responsbility of preserving those stories. Of preserving a life through time. A life in words.

Such was my time with Bo Justice.

Friday, April 15, 2005

Starlets with Microphones

I've been listening to an interesting spread of music today. Some old Robert Palmer, U2, Wu-Tang Clan, and a cover of Dancing With Myself by Jennifer Love Hewitt. Why is it that any moderately attractive teenybopper actress is contractually obligated to release an album? I mean, if the girl were a better singer than actress, the odds are she would have pursued that route to Fame and Fortune.

I'm sure that JLH, Lindsey Lohan, and Hillary Duff are wonderful people, but the whole thing reeks of a cynical attempt to cash in.

In conclusion, "Wu-Tang clan ain't nothing to f**k with!"

Wednesday, April 13, 2005

I got nothing

I've been trying to add something every day, more as an exercise in writing than anything else. Nonetheless, I've got nothing to add today. I suppose I could take the easy way out and post a link to the KittyBooBoo name generator, or something equally insipid, but I have too much respect for you, the reader, to take the easy way out.

Instead, I'm going to give you my thoughts on the various flavors of Diet Coke, ranked ordinally.

1. Diet Coke - the first and still the best

2. Lime Flavored Diet Coke - tastes like Diet Coke but with lime, see? But if I wanted lime, I'd go eat a lime or something. And how often do you think "Man, I really want a lime right now."

3. Vanilla Diet Coke - I'll drink this swill only when nothing else is available. And then I'll hate myself for it.

Come back tomorrow, when writing MD5 code documentation hasn't melted my brain into a cheesy and delicious fondue.

Monday, April 11, 2005

Weasels Redux!

Stop the presses! I've just learned that perhaps weasels are a better option after all. Faithful reader Backdoor Johnny Balls has pointed me to the following detailed information on the weasel spririt totem.

WEASEL
Weasels are very quick ground dwelling meat eaters. They are solitary night hunters, often killing more than they eat. Rodents and chickens are its favorite diet. Weasels are also known as ermine in cold regions and are related to ferrets, mink and polecats. The weasel is agile, hard-muscled and has a cunning, yet sometimes playful mind. They are stealthy, fierce and relentless hunters.
WEASEL MEDICINE
  • People who know weasel medicine have exceptional opportunity to learn powers of close observation. Searching out the meaning and cause of events, situations or problems is a positive trait of the weasel. Seeing beneath the surface of things enables the weasel spirit to contemplate deeper meanings. However, sometimes this trait can have a negative affect because seeing too deeply can be burden.

  • Weasel teaches us to trust our instincts to achieve higher awareness and quietly seek resolutions to problems.

  • The long, thin and lustrous body of the weasel allows it to move easily in small, narrow places. Part of the medicine of the weasel spirit is to help you find ways to negotiate through difficult, tight conditions.

  • As solitary hunters, the weasel relies on cunning, graceful and silent movements to move close to its prey. This medicine is a gift of patience,knowledge and peace.

  • Weasel often overestimates his abilities during the hunt and becomes vulnerable to counterattack and defeat. Walking with the weasel spirit teaches the power of discernment and modesty.

  • Weasel is a fierce, relentless and sometimes reckless warrior who is often saved by its great agility and speed.

  • As a fearless warrior, a weasel grabs the throat of its victim and quickly severs its arteries with sharp teeth and strong jaws - teaching those who seek the weasel to be less aggressive in relationships and show mercy in word and deed.

  • It is said the weasel is a loner who has no code of honor as they often kill more than they can eat and sometimes steal the food of others. This medicine teaches us not to be wasteful and careless of others feelings and to respect the rights and property of our neighbors.


Hmmm. Severing arteries.... No code of honor... Stealing from others... I think we have a winner here. And to be honest, the roach thing was making me nervous. I'd hate for people to think I was weird or something...

Spirit Totems

I was thinking about spirit totems the other day. Apparently these are part of a native american belief system. Based on shared characteristics, you choose an animal that will be your guide and advisor. With this knowledge, I went looking for a totem, and was surprised at the breadth of choices available to today's spirit totem shopper.

First off, I looked at the weasel. A reputable online guide to totems (that I found on Geocities, natch) described the weasel as follows: "Seeing beneath the surface for intent/meaning, developing clairaudience, ingenuity, paying attention to inner voice, keen, tricky, revenge, cunning, playful, observant" This description seemed charitable in the extreme. The weasel characterstics that I though I shared were "low slung, flexible morality, and razor sharp teeth." The tricky and revenge parts are cool, but I was hoping for more.

So I engaged in another period of self reflection. "Who am I?" I thought. "And would this process be enhanced by eating some sort of traditional fungus?" Eventually I noted the following defining traits:
  • Hard to kill (Trust me. You should see the scar on my throat.)
  • Eats whatever is available
  • Scuttles away whenever the light is turned on.
And so I've decided that my spirit totem shall be the cockroach. All hail the way of the cockroach. I'm not sure what the traditional headdress looks like, but I bet it involves antennae.

LM

Friday, April 08, 2005

Choosing a Theme Song

So I've decided that I need some theme music. All the important people (well okay, Darth Vader is the only one I can think of offhand) have their own theme music. It's how people know you're coming and what to expect when you arrive. Obviously I'll need to hire somebody to follow me with a high grade stereo and play the theme when appropriate. I considered getting an orchestra or something, but that would just be silly.

After a complex and lengthy winnowing process (Winnowing. It's an English major thing.) I've narrowed it down to the following candidates:

"Back in Black" AC/DC - It rocks, and it's a classic. People would hear it playing and immediately know that I'm a badass and probably wearing dark colors. Unfortunately, in the summer I like to wear Hawaiian shirts, so this could be a problem.

"Man, I Feel Like a Woman" Shania Twain - Because sometimes I feel... I just like to... {lengthy pause} Yeah, lets just forget I mentioned this one.

"The Movie" Aerosmith - It builds with a lurking bass line and then some kick ass guitar. It's an instrumental, like all your classic theme music. The only problem is that it has a Gaelic spoken word bit in the middle. As I speak no Gaelic, this presents a potential problem. Allow me to demonstrate:

Scene - A pub in rural Ireland. Grizzled farmers relax, wreathed in the earthy smoke of a peat fireplace.

Seamus, my theme music intern scurries in and sets up the speakers. Music builds and I make my entrance, walking purposefully up to the bar.

Manion - Hello barkeep, can I get a pint of lager?

The spoken word piece begins.

Barkeep - Aye. Here you go.

The spoken word piece continues.

Barkeep - Can I ask ye a question?

Manion - Certainly, my good man.

Barkeep - Why do ye have the wee bairn playing the song about how ye love buggering sheep? This isn't Scotland ye know....

So I'm going to continue looking for theme music. And an intern.

Wednesday, April 06, 2005

Taking Another Look at Rage

So I've been thinking about rage. Or wrath, as it's known to you deadly sin fans. I think it gets a bad rap, you know. We're all encouraged from a young age to be "nice" to each other. And as a result, we all bottle up the rage that we feel every day, for the little slights. For example, when Pete from Marketing takes your parking space. Instead of taking a tire iron and doing a little improvisational body work on Pete's car, we choke it down and say to ourselves "Oh, I guess Pete forgot. I'll just go park in the auxilliary lot over in Saskatchewan."

And then when Pete says "Hey, I thought I'd take a look at the Developer's Guide. Your rule syntax is all wrong. And there's typos everywhere. It looks like you just pounded your forehead on the keyboard." Instead of saying, "How's about I pound YOUR forehead with the keyboard, asshat!" We say, "Thank you! I always appreciate feedback."

No more. As part of my new Rage-Centered lifestyle, I'm going to allow my rage to express itself. When Pete comes back to tell me that we really should use the words "customer designed" rather than "customized", I'm going to thank him politely, and punch him repeatedly in the groin while making wild speculations about the level of his wife's fidelity. And I bet that when it's over, we'll both feel better. Well, maybe not Pete. He'll probably be curled on the ground, weeping quietly. But hey, I'll feel better, and isn't that what it's all about?

Tuesday, April 05, 2005

Flexor Joint

Yeah, it sounds like high grade marijuana, but it's actually a part of my car's exhaust. Specifically, it's the part that broke on Sunday, and will cost $800+labor to fix. I'm kind of annoyed. Actually, I'm a lot annoyed. If my street weren't more cratered than the surface of the moon, my flexor joint might have held together for another year or more. As it is, my car now sounds like something out of "The Fast and the Furious." I'd be happier if the price for that kick ass sound didn't mean my car was illegally pumping unfiltered exhaust right underneath the passenger compartment.

In conclusion "Yo, that joint was totally flexor! Foh shizzle, yo!"

LM
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