A Reading from the Book of Manion

nd so it came to pass in the land of Penetrode, that a tester of QA created a program. The program compiled and it was good in the eyes of the tester. The program would forbid the tribe of QA from using the Microsoft Notepad. And the tester did send the program forth that she might confirm that Penetrode Enterprise was working in accordance with the strictures set forth by the tribe of Development.

The tester's faith was sorely tested when the program went forth, for the Notepad paid it no heed, and ran freely upon the land, taking notes and such. Much was the wailing of the tribe of developers when the tester cried "Bug!" and "Showstopper!"

Sorely vexed were the developers, for the program was small, and appeared correct. Many were the options they considered, yet denied were they all, for the Notepad ran unhindered.

After three hours and minutes thirty, the tester made a suggestion. "Shall we not seek the help of the most high Lance Manion? For did he not write the book from which we create our programs?"

And the developers waxed most wroth. "No," said they. "For this problem is beyond his ken. It is not given to the writer of words to know these secrets. The problem must be one of dlls. Or possibly kernel interaction. Service Packs maybe? Did you write this on a Japanese machine?"

But the tester had faith, and approached the Manion. "Manion most Lance-tastic, willst thou gaze upon the program and make known to us the flaw?"

And the Manion gazed upon the tester and was pleased by her faith. "Bring unto me the program that I may better understand it."

The tester did bring the program and an offering of Diet Coke. Manion was mightily pleased by the offering, and looked closely upon the program. Thirty seconds later he sent forth the tester to assemble all of the tribes of engineering, including development, QA, and professional services. When the tribes were assembled, Manion did lift the program on high. And Manion did point out that there is an 'a' in the second half of the word Notepad.

And the tester did correct her spelling, and the plague of Notepad was lifted from Penetrode. Cancelled was the bug, and much was the feasting that followed.

This is the word of the Manion.

LM

Live Fire Manion

So for Father's Day I went trap shooting with my father. It's kind of like skeet shooting. You get a shotgun and machines in two little huts fling 3-inch wide orange clay frisbees out into space. You get two shots, one at each frisbee. It sounds hard. In reality, it's even harder. However, the experience taught me the following life lessons:

Loading your shotgun with five shells and emptying the magazine at a fleeing frisbee (and still missing) will get you chastised by the operators of the range.

Missing repeatedly, followed by charging out onto the range and smashing the still intact frisbee with the butt of your shotgun will get you threated with ejection.

Running up to the clay throwing hut, sticking the barrel of your shotgun in the little window and shooting the clay thrower repeatedly at point blank range while screaming "Dodge this you bastard!" will actually get you thrown out.

My shoulder is still bruised technicolor from the recoil, but it was fun.

LM

A Journey of Personal Discovery

So I went to the Mens room today. This in itself is not an unusual event. I go on a healthy and regular basis. But today as I was standing in front of the urinal, I noticed something. I was unable to locate the fly hole of my boxers. Without the fly hole, the magical pants weasel remains caged in the prison of my shorts. And I can't pee without causing what the commercials refer to as "personal wetness" At least I think that's what they're referring to.

Anyway, there was no cause for immediate alarm. Sometimes the flyhole shifts a little to the left or right. So I started searching. Nada. What about up? Okay, maybe down? Absolutely nothing.

Well, not nothing if you know what I mean, but this isn't a story about the size of my junk. Which is huge. Seriously. Porn-star like. A behemoth of schlong-osity. Just saying.

Anyway, while this is going one, a lawyer from the firm next door took up position at the urninal next to me. He stared fixedly ahead as I continued my search, as I brought both hands to bear, muttering things like "What the hell? It has to be here somewhere!" If you ever want to make a fellow rest room user uncomfortable, start talking to your crotch region when he's standing next to you. His gaze on the wall was so intense I expected the tile to crack. He left in a real hurry without washing his hands.

Still, my search came up empty. And things were beginning to reach critical mass. Finally I grabbed the waist band and pulled it down. And saw the label of my boxers. Yes, I had put my shorts on backwards this morning.

I'm not saying that I should get more sleep, but it's not what I'd call a good sign.

I thought about going into a stall, uh, reversing polarity, but decided against it. I kind of like the extra snugness up front.

Just thought I'd share.

LM

Quelle Surprise!

So one of the many visitors to Mercenary Words, one Tor Kristensen, has shared with me that there is in fact a thriving French gangsta rap scene. So I went out and downloaded "Eclater un type des assedics" by Akhenaton. It's interesting. I'd have expected French gangsta rap to make frequent reference to the Bordeaux market. Sort of a "Latour be frontin, stone cold oakin,' the grapes be chillin' but he be chokin'" something to that effect.

In fact, the example that I found was primarily about putting a beatdown on the welfare office.

Here's a sample lyric -

You do not have a blue left leg
You are not entitled to welfare
And your right testicle is heavier than the left

Nary a brie reference out there! That testicle thing is kind of disturbing, though. Not sure what that's about.

Unfortunately, now I have a mental image of a public service announcement in France - I see images of guys falling over because the "boys" have gotten out of whack. "Don't let testical imbalance happen to you. Get checked today!"

All I know is the first thing I do when I get home is teabagging the scale. I don't want to fall victim to "Testicle imbalance - the silent killer"

LM