Archive for the Uncategorized Category

Auditing The Aggregator, Examining Buzzfeed’s DIY Advice

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , on April 11, 2013 by Colin Walker

If you’re on the internet, you probably know about Buzzfeed. If you don’t, I’m surprised as all hell that you even found my site and am genuinely wondering how you get through your day without seeing infants covered in french bulldogs, or counting down the 20 absolute best, OF ALL TIME Game of Thrones memes.

impin-aint-easy-tryion-meme This one is my favorite.

Buzzfeed is a pop culture aggregator, meaning that it grabs (or has submitted to it) various bits of pop culture related nonsense from around the web. It’s like the Huffington post, except instead of news, it’s wedding DJ fails, and as far as I can tell, Buzzfeed doesn’t want to take away my firearms.

Lately, Buzzfeed seems to be trying to branch out, adding numerous topics and subcategories, attempting to be everything to everyone without really being a news site. I stumbled on their DIY section the other day and saw an article: 20 Simple Tricks To Make Spring Cleaning So Much Easier . I read though it and cried bullshit on so many entries I decided to write an article, breaking down every one of these tips and grading them from 1-10. So, here we go, aggregating an aggregator who probably aggregated the tips from another aggregator.

scanners4 I find it hard to believe that this is the fist time I’ve used this image.

1. Use a dustpan to fill up a bucket for mopping.

enhanced-buzz-23073-1363194741-16Classy.

I suppose this works, so you’ll get at least some points. When I was locked up, I remember we used to get a bunch of those empty Cup o’ Noodles cups, bust the bottoms out of them and force them together, connect them to the sink and do something kind of like this so we could bill up large containers with water. But, you know what the difference was? We were in fucking prison.  Out in the free world there are hoses, sink sprayer, utility sinks, bathtubs and even showers. People who do this build Rube Goldbergs to wash their own feet. 3/10.

2. Clean Your Toilet With Coke.

enhanced-buzz-19231-1363127809-1 Thursday was burrito night, Today is Friday.

Do you know how much bleach is per gallon? It’s like a buck. Do you know how much Coke is per gallon? Way fucking more. Do you know what the number 1 bathroom cleaners mostly use as an ingredient? Bleach. (Or ammonia, mix them together for hilarious results!*) So, not only does this cost more, it looks gross as well. I know Coke is great for getting alkali deposits off of battery terminals, but let’s stop there, shall we? Fuck, I can’t even look at that anymore. 1/10

*Do NOT do this.

3. Use A Lemon To Get Rid Of Water Stains

enhanced-buzz-23729-1363201732-27 “What do you mean what the fuck am I doing? Zesting the shower handle guard…DUH!”

Ok, I’m sure this works. The citric acids will break down the base deposits and, magic time! No more spots! It will also leave a residue and possibly some membrane behind. Wal-mart sells these wipes like, 20 to a can that will do the same thing in one swoop. But maybe you’re on that environmental shit, and you don’t want to use those. You’ll still wind up using a paper towel to go behind and buff off all that residue, and because you’re one of those hemp bracelet wearing motherfuckers, I’ll bet the paper towels you have are those silly-ass brown ones. Damn.

l And take that stupid fucking necklace off.

4/10

4. Dryer Sheets Will Remove Buildup From Glass

enhanced-buzz-23595-1363201764-3

Maybe they will. But you know what else will? Those cleaner you’re supposed to have under the sink. Why did you walk all the way to the laundry room? 4/10

5.Keep your Cleaning Supplies Neat With A Tension Rod

enhanced-buzz-11061-1363191738-5 Ooooh, is dat some Goo Gone in the corner? I love that shit.

This is actually a great idea, so it will get some points. But, I gotta ask, if you’ve got all this stuff, WHY HAVE WE BEEN MUCKING ABOUT WITH COKE, DRYER SHEETS AND LEMONS? 8/10

6. Meet Your New BFF, The Magic Eraser

enhanced-buzz-23789-1363201546-1 My favorite gay janitor OF ALL TIME,

These things are the truth. they are absolutely great. But is this really advice? Seems more like product placement. -1 for that. Also, -1 for using ‘BFF’. 8/10

7. Get Fur Off Of Carpet Or Furniture With A Window Squeegee

enhanced-buzz-23809-1363201796-12 “Honey, this is the absolute last time I shave your mother’s back.”

In 1860, Daniel Hess invented the first vacuum cleaner. It was as big as a train. Leaps and bounds have been made in the design of these machine since then. Currently, there are even models that fit inside of a closet, and are specifically designed to handle human and animal hair. These devices also prevent your wife from crying after coming home and finding you doing this, saying that she ‘should have listened to her mother.’ 0/10

8. Use Coarse Salt To Clean Cast Iron

enhanced-buzz-24016-1363202225-9 Needs more pig stomach

This works great, but what’s not mentioned in the article is that you need to apply a thin layer of oil afterward, or your cast iron pan will turn into a rusty piece of metal. 5/10

9.Towel + Broom + A Way To Clean Hard To Reach Places

enhanced-buzz-24318-1363202189-4 Like a condom on an afro.

Um, yeah, I guess? But, you could always grow up and, oh, I dunno…

4f2ad41f13e69 LNV361_full SMF11829GGB_1_1 instead. 4/10

10. Clean Screens With Coffee Filters

enhanced-buzz-24016-1363202058-7 Also, get a new goddamn TV. The last Aiwa product I owned was a walkman.

I’m almost convinced at this point that this article was originally titled: Using Shit That Was Never Meant To Clean Shit, To Clean Said Shit And Thereby Laughing In The Face Of God. So, sure, fuck it, if this works, go ahead and do it. If you need me, I’ll be outside using my wife’s panties to wax my car. 9/10, cause, just, why not at this point?

11. Get all The Grossness Out Of Your Keyboard With A Toothbrush And Cotton Swabs

enhanced-buzz-13125-1363197568-2 *hurk*

Oh, oh hell no. Okay, look–do you know how long it’s been since Microsoft Made and sold that white keyboard? It’s been a long fucking time. Apple makes white keyboards now, but they’re coated, not porous. But, I don’t blame you for not having a Mac. You’re not an asshole, that’s good in my book. But seriously, you can buy a nice, new black keyboard for $11 at Best Buy. Do that. Now. 1/10

12. Don’t Miss The Tiny Spots, Like On Window And Sliding Door Frames

enhanced-buzz-9052-1363191845-20

Hey, when you’re cleaning, don’t forget to clean. Also, when having heterosexual intercourse, the penis goes in the vagina. I am now a certified DIY columnist. 3/10

13. Make Everything In your Fridge Organized And Easily Accessible

enhanced-buzz-24202-1363202021-10 Fuck you, I won’t do what ya tell me.

I agree with the actual entry, but this is the pic that accompanied it. You ever see the inside of a fridge door? There are places for all that stuff. And it’s not taking up valuable real estate that could be used for, I dunno, food? 2/10

14. Store Condiments In Egg Carton To Prevent Spills

enhanced-buzz-22326-1363201901-2 Not a bad idea, as long as you switch them out if they get funky. I am now envious of Alton Brown’s fabulous variety of mustard. 9/10

15. Fold Shirts Vertically To Maximize Space And Visibility

enhanced-buzz-23937-1363201853-0 That looks great! I’m sure it will look just as great when you remove four or five shirts from one of those tight rows! Oh, no, wait, it will go to shit. 3/10

16. Properly Fold A Fitted Sheet

enhanced-buzz-28508-1363196004-4

Black. Fucking. Magic. 10/10

17. De-pill Your Clothes With A Razor And Some Tape

enhanced-buzz-21192-1363187117-1

I have no Idea if this works or not, but it looks sound. 7/10

18. Vacuum Seal Bulky Clothes And Blankets For Storage

enhanced-buzz-13996-1363200026-3

This is another win. It also works with hookers if you have a deep freeze. 10/10

19. Use The Hangar Trick To Get Rid Of Clothes You Don’t Wear Anymore

enhanced-buzz-13230-1363196885-10

Caption:  Hang all your clothes so your hangers face backward. When you wear something, turn the hanger around. After a year, if something is still on a backward hanger, give it away.

This could very well work. I don’t know, I have a wife who looks after things like this because she has to be seen in public with me. If something of mine gets old, or she doesn’t like it, it disappears, and I get some new clothes. I’d like to add something, though, if you have a t-shirt that says, ‘Wassssuuuppp!’, or ‘2 legit 2 quit’, or if that shit has a dragon on it? Throw that shit out.  7/10

20. And The Best Possible Advice, Drink While You Clean!

enhanced-buzz-13745-1363198144-11 I shit you not, this was number 20. Here’s the caption: You know how sometimes you come home after a few drinks and have a strange, overwhelming urge to clean everything? Channel that feeling. The best part is when you wake up the next day and are genuinely surprised and delighted at how clean everything is.

Okay, who has that fucking feeling? I want to meet that person. They can come over any time. I’ll buy their beer. Also, if you routinely drink so much that you can’t remember what happened the night before, your chances favor finding a dead animal in your living room far more than finding it clean.  0/10

So, that’s it. And what’s the score? 98/200. So, most of this list is bullshit. And you can’t argue. This was all very scientific.

Pull Your Card

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , on April 9, 2013 by Colin Walker

A cool thing happened when I attended a birthday party for a friend of my wife’s. There was a guy there, A dude I hope to take  Haganah/ Krav Maga lessons from. He and I got to talking about shooting, and I asked him how good a shot he was. He didn’t answer, just pulled a card out of his wallet.

km-history11 Some ol’ Krav Maga shit. Thank god for the junk protectors.

“This is what I can do from thirty feet with a pistol.” he said simply.

I thought this was brilliant. There is no end to the shit talking that goes on when people hang around, talking about how good of a shot they are. The solution is, just carry around a small bit of proof in your wallet! Let the dick contests end! (or begin, depending on how you look at it.)

So, here’s what you do: Whatever center-fire pistol caliber you shoot, (.22lr doesn’t count, as they are was more easy to operate accurately) set up a board with a bunch of cards on it. Take one shot at ten of them, then five or ten each on the rest (depending on your ammo situation). Take your best results, and there you have it, an instant end to bullshit.

Here are mine:

2013-04-09 19.20.09  2013-04-09 19.19.44

Those are my best from thirty feet with a janky Taurus compact .45. I know some of you all shoot, show me what you can do.

Unibroue Terrible And Samuel Smith Organic Apricot: A Hazy, Sweet, Mahogany Smack Down

Posted in Spirit Guide, Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , , , on September 6, 2012 by Colin Walker

 Spirit Guide

Well, I sure went off the rails with my posting schedule, didn’t I? Yeah, well, that happens. There was only one perfect person born on this earth, ever, and his name was Arnold Paupington, of Spelthorne, Surrey. No one really knows much about him though, as perfect people have a tendency to be woefully fucking boring.

 How boring? No search results boring.

To err is human, and to throw your posting schedule out the window is how The Codpiece gets down. So, let’s break back into it, shall we? Starting off with a big, dark, Canuk that just don’t give a damn.

   Head’s so damn big it uses a large dog bed for a pillow.

Unibroue Terrible

I’ve never trusted the Canadians. You want it out there? Fine, it’s out there. I know that all of you have been wondering about my position regarding my northern neighbors for a while now, so BAM, there it is. Some who know me will say, ‘But Coddy, your paternal grandfather was French Canadian.’ I will then call you a freaky-ass stalker, because I hardly tell anybody that. You need to get the hell out of my family tree–seriously. And I’ve never even met my paternal grandfather, so there. Not to try and start in on a sob story, but there dude ran out on my grandmother before my father had even drawn breath into his partially territoriality handicapped lungs. There’s also the fact that the Canadians in general are just too damn quiet. I know what that means. I used to be that guy when I was a teenager. I used to stay up in my room for hours, and they’d never hear a peep out of me. You know what I was up to?

Almost satanic levels of mischief, that’s what.

 Pictured: What I believe to be a Canadian greeting card.

So when I heard about Unibroue, a Quebec-based brewery that opened in 1990 with the intention of becoming the first brewery in North America no faithfully mimic the Belgian style of brewing beer, I was more than skeptical. I got down right scared. And then I got armed.

 Because like I said, Canadians are fucking crazy, that’s why.

I bought a bottle of their ‘Terrible’ offering from The Wooden Keg as part of my birthday ‘Here, honey, please drink yourself to death’ present. I mean, I had to buy it, right? Look at that bottle. There’s really nothing on it save for a silver strip with the word ‘Terrible’ cut out of it. Intriguing, to say the least. I poured it and took that picture up there. There was some serious head right off the bat, even with a careful down the glass slow pour. That, indeed, is a characteristic of a Belgian Trappist-style beer. I raised my eyebrow, then the glass.

And my distrust of Canadians was instantly reinforced. “See!” I shouted, much to the distress of my wife and our teenage daughter. “You see that!? You can’t trust a goddamn one of them! This isn’t terrible at all! This is fantastic!”

 And then I just kind of rocked the fuck out for a while.

This beer is straight-up great. It’s almost as good as SKULLSPLITTER , and it shares a lot of the same traits. It appears to be black coming out of the bottle, but when held up to the light, it has a definite mahogany hue. There is a rich malty-ness with distinct fruit overtones and a barely there smoky finish. It really gets on your tongue and does a dance. And it’s not some kind of low-rent boiler room jig, either. This smooth maple leaf motherfucker waltzes, gliding across your tongue like some kind of be-pinstriped ballroom dancer.

Any kind of strongly flavored grilled meat would complement this brew tremendously, although food is by no means necessary to enjoy this beer. One could simply lean back in a favored chair, resting their feet on the naked minority of their choosing, smoking a fine cigar, and a good night would be guaranteed.

So, there you have it. I’ve been won over by a Canadian. That’s one out of thirty four and a half million. And I’ve got my fucking eye on the rest of them.

TASTE:  Elegant, complex, and powerful. Like the space shuttle in a dress.

DRINKABILITY: This is a fantastic sipping beer, but you could always be a heathen and chug it. Try not to throw up on the Dave Matthews poster you still have hanging in the man cave in your basement, though.

A.B.V.: %10.5

 COST: $12/1pt.9oz.

HANGOVER RATING: I wouldn’t go past three bombers of this.

 Source

Samuel Smith’s Organic Apricot Ale

I’ll let you all in on a little secret. I’m not really all that fond of Samuel Smith beers. The browns and porters fall flat, in my opinion, being kind of mundane and unremarkable. It’s why I don’t do reviews on them, or reviews on beers that I’m just kind of uninspired by all together. Because opening up an article and seeing the word ‘Meh’, followed by this picture:

Is a waste of both of our times.

But hey, you know what Samuel Smith can do right? Fruit beer! Damn right, Coddy’s preferred summertime libation jackpunched by an old English brew house. I’ve had all of them, but on the same night I tried ‘Terrible’, I got to try what I believe to be the best one for the first time.

Samuel Smith’s Organic Apricot is everything a fruit beer should be, and then some. First off, if you don’t like apricot, stay the hell away, because they sure didn’t go easy on it. The apricot here is far more prevalent then in the offerings from Pyrimid, Sea Dog, or Dogfishead. These apricots kick in your door, sit on your sofa, and demand chips.

 Apricots.

There is a thickness to this beer that is actually quite pleasant. I can’t stand that sort of thing in a berry beer, but here it just sort of works. Perhaps it’s because apricots (unless fresh or dehydrated) are usually served with some kind of syrup, and my mouth has no trouble at all with the associated viscosity.

This is absolutely wonderful, and if you were to put it in your face hole with something, I would suggest plain high quality cheesecake.

TASTE:  FUCKING APRICOTS

DRINKABILITY: Too damn easy. You could put yourself in the hole pretty quick with this, and have fun doing it.

A.B.V.: %5.1

 COST: $7/1pt.9oz.

HANGOVER RATING: Gotta be careful with something this sweet. ‘Wine Crushing Headfuck’ isn’t just a great band name, you know.

And then…

Samuel’s Sunsetter: The Apricot At The Threshold

Now, those of you that read this blog regularly know that I like to do this retarded thing with food where I smash two things or more together and try and see if I can survive/enjoy it. 

It was only a matter of time before I did this with beer, and you damn well knew it.  So what happens when you have roughly equal amounts of these two beers sitting in your fridge? Do you do the responsible, acceptable thing and pour a small glass of one, then the other? Not if you’re me, you wouldn’t. Hell, this glass holds sixteen ounces. I’m not wasting them.

It would be really easy to sit there on the other end of the internet and say: “Coddy, I coulda told, ya, man, that’s gonna be a bad idea. Brew Masters worked for countless hours on the formulation and manufacture of those two beers, and you just can’t go playing god and splicing their delicious beer genes together like that, bro.”

Well, then you’d be a smug asshole with no sense of adventure. You would also be woefully wrong.

Because this combination is awesome.  Smoked peaches? A complex symphony of taste over a simple beat of sweetness? A thick, yet refreshing body?

Yes.

Yes.

Yes.

In related news, I am now a minor beer deity. Go forth, child, go forth and conquer! 

This Lady Is The Most Daring Racist I’ve Ever Seen

Posted in Uncategorized on November 28, 2011 by Colin Walker

http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=i47HoiM0Au8#!

(WordPress used to let me upload videos for free. Not anymore. Maybe go watch the video and come back? PROTIP: clicking your mouse wheel on the link will open the video in a new tab. Sad fucking panda.)

This woman here. Wow. Everybody either knows someone, or has someone in their family who is racist. It’s unfortunate, but it’s a part of life. Normally our acquaintances and family members keep this to themselves. Sure, they’ll spout off about the ‘Darkies’, or about how they don’t trust the guy at the convenience store because he’s an ‘A-rab’ to you, but out in public they’ll keep their mouths shut.

Not this lady. Holy shit.

I don’t know what’s worse, her using that baby as a shield, (because I’m pretty sure she’d get her ass whipped if the kid wasn’t on her lap), or that she has a kid in the fist place. What a truly horrible bitch.

Go back to Si-fucking-nig-rgragua, indeed.

New Blog

Posted in Uncategorized on November 26, 2011 by Colin Walker

I’ve decided to start a new blog for my more ‘serious’ writing. There’s nothing really there yet, so don’t break your neck getting there. (You can break your neck navigating the internet, I’ve seen it happen.) The address is: http://corpsedance.org/

It’s got it’s own domain and everything. Oh, I’m fancy now. I’ll also post it in the blogroll in the right hand part of the page.

I won’t forget you, I mean, anymore than I do already. There’s still beer to drink and cars to destroy and inventive ways to kill myself with food, so don’t lose heart.

Halloween Beer Battle Royal

Posted in Uncategorized on October 31, 2011 by Colin Walker

Halloween is my favorite holiday. And, no, before you ask, I don’t go around with black nails and lipstick, referring to myself as Lord Azagthoth, Viscount of the Whorey Abyss. It ain’t about that.

Haloween is a great excuse to act like an ass, and dress any stupid (or slutty—ladies) way you like. It’s the one day a year that I can dress up like a sexy centaur, tearing around drunk, and no one will say a thing about it. Also, if you’re aiming to kill a bunch of college student stereotypes, there is absolutely no better day to do it! I got dibs on the token black kid, because I’ve got some stuff I want to do later, so I kinda gotta jet out early.

 Of course you’re on the track team.

Keeping with the Halloween theme, I’ve got two spoooooooooky beer reviews for you! (I’m sorry. There is absolutely nothing spooky about these beers. I am just an asshole.)

 Clipper City Brewing Company, High Seas, Mutiny Fleet, The Great Pumpkin

Well. Something is obviously wrong when your beer has this many names. This almost sounds like they handed naming responsibilities over to a seven year-old boy with a nautical complex and said ‘make it awesome’. Incidentally, my beer would have been named ‘Colonel Matrix Brewing Company, Rambo Fucking Explosive Arrows, Caged Heat, Imperial Storm Trooper Stout.’

 Uh…Thanks, Google Images?

Clipper City is made in Baltimore, which means that to me, they’re pretty much a local brewery. And while I would like nothing more than to give a boost (however small), to that broke down, fumbling city’s economy, I just can’t. If this is getting a little tl;dr for you, I’ll sum it up in four words:

This beer is shit.

 “What the fuck…?”

Honestly, it’s like somebody took a pumpkin pie spice pack and dropped it in a Molson XXX, then farted in the bottle and handed it to me. I don’t know what I ever did to these people, but it was serious. They hate me so much right now. The foul, obvious alcohol taste is so strong that it seems to attach itself to the very ‘thickness’ of this beer, turning what would’ve otherwise been a ‘full bodied’ experience into feeling like I just drank some pumpkin Jell-o shooters before they had a chance to set.

Avoid it. Avoid it at all costs.

I would normally give a food pairing suggestion here, but seeing as the only people that I can imagine drinking this beer and enjoying it would be the most vile residents of hell, might I suggest sipping whilst gnawing on the wing joint of the angel you’ve just slain?

 “It’s also delicious with the shrieking souls of helpless children.”

Taste: I believe I’ve been over this already.

 

Drinkablity: Fuck. You.

 

ABV: 8%, which is not bad, actually.

Cost: $5.50/22oz. And it’s not even worth that.

 

Hangover Rating: Filling out this field would mean that I drank more than one of these. While I’m not the smartest man in the world, I am no masochist.

Shipyard Brewing Company, Smashed Pumpkin

My mother, who dropped my daughter back by my house yesterday after a visit, said six of the most wonderful words to me: ‘I’ve got a beer for you’. That’s how awesome moms do. This is what she handed me.

I’d like to take a minute here to speak on the old ‘Don’t Judge a Book by it’s Cover’ axiom. Mostly, it’s complete bullshit. You can do that effectively almost all of the time. Yes, you have your exceptions, and that’s why the axiom exists in the first place, but really—fuck that tired old chestnut.

Take a look at these bottles for a second:

Shipyard’s label is classy. Its got gold foil stamping, uses a more subdued color scheme, and a thicker stock. Clipper City’s label looks like it was designed by an out of work cartoonist with a meth habit.

And the same excellence that went into the label speaks to the quality of this beer. It’s how a pumpkin beer should taste. Nice medium body, a little lighter on the cinnamon than on the nutmeg, there’s even some vanilla lurking back there. Drinking this is like swallowing great gulps of autumn and getting drunk in return. For those of you that haven’t been paying attention, that means there is no down side.

And what I just said about getting you drunk? Wow. It will totally do just that. It’s got a 1 % better ABV than Clipper City Nightmare, and it manages it without making me think that I’m drinking out of a Green Man’s toilet.

  “Do NOT go in there.”

Drink this with some glazed ham and yams. And don’t give me none of your flim-flams and jim-jams.

Taste: 9/10 I’m sure there is a way to make this marginally better, but I’m no brewer, and I have no idea what it is.

Drinkability: It’s only slightly thick, like a autumn/winter beer should be. No problem.

 

ABV: 9%

 

Cost: Here is where it hurts. $10/22oz.

 

Hangover Rating: Only drank one, I’m sorry to say.

There you have it. Have a happy Halloween, and if you hear any screams coming from my house, that’s just a party I’m having. Indefinitely. Don’t call anyone. It’s over when it’s over.

Skullcandy

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , on October 11, 2011 by Colin Walker

The pen looked sturdy enough to pierce the goofy bastard’s skull, Max thought. It was one of those thick, black jobs with the gold accents that you screwed apart when you ran out of ink. It took cartridges. His dad had given him a pen like that once.

His dad had told him that it was an ‘astronaut’ pen, and that it could write upside down. Max didn’t know why an astronaut would need a pen. He had seen pictures and videos of the shuttle cockpit, and the place was lousy with computers. Why write with a pen if you had a computer? A personal letter, maybe? Was there mail in space? Max thought not. He doubted the USPS had included ‘meteor showers’ in their ‘rain, snow, sleet, or hail’ shuck and jive. Max had a vision of an astronaut sliding open a window in the space shuttle, (He didn’t think the windows on the space shuttle opened, but made an exception for this scenario) and just tossing out a letter. The letter was addressed and stamped, and fluttered away toward Earth. Max didn’t know if the letter would actually need a stamp in that situation, and who was to say the USA would be delivering the space mail anyway? Weren’t there Russians up there, too? What if–

“Did you hear what I said, Venton?” The goofy bastard asked.

“Sir?” Max said, shocked out of his daydream.

“That’s what I thought.” the goofy bastard said, shaking his head. Goofy’s name was Aadros Wilheimand. He was the 3rd shift floor supervisor. Aadros had been giving Max the proverbial business when Max had focused on the gold cap of the pen in his pocket and just kind of…zoned out.

“I’m sorry, what was it?”

“I said, it’s fucking dangerous!” Aadros yelled, slapping the clipboard on the  back end of Max’s forklift for emphasis. Max jumped.

“Dangerous? W-W-What?” Max stammered.

Aadros took the bottom of the clipboard and ran it up Max’s chest, getting behind the earbuds that were hanging from a cord Max had threaded through his collar. With a flick of his thick wrist, Aadros sent the buds flying in front of Max’s face.

“The headphones!” The big man shouted. “The god damn headphones! You can’t drive a lift with fucking headphones in your ears! It’s against OSHA regs, not to mention stupid.”

Max thought Aadros was the stupid one. He had a roach climbing up his left arm right now, and he didn’t even know it. And that thing with the headphones and the clipboard? What the hell was that? Those buds had cost him thirty bucks at Wally-World, and while that might not mean shit to a floor super like Aadros, it was…

“Almost all the guys wear earplugs.” Max said. It was out of his mouth so fast he couldn’t believe he said it.

“Earplugs Max, earplugs. Not fucking headphones. You can still hear with earplugs in. That noise you’ve got blasting through those things…” He lifted one of the little speakers off of Max’s chest and put it close to his own ear. He used his left hand, and the cockroach on his arm seemed unperturbed by the movement. It just adjusted and kept on truckin’ up Aadros’ arm, its carapace catching the light and turning it into an oil-sheen spectacle. Aadros made a face, an ugly mug that showed exactly what he thought of Max’s music. “You can’t hear nothin’. Head’s all full of screamin’ an’ shit. Sounds like someone’s bein’ murdered.”

Max looked at the pen again. He thought that he could see his face reflected in the gold there. He looked at the roach and felt sick.

“Aren’t you…?” Max asked, pointing to Aadros’ arm.

The big man looked, but the roach had scuttled around to the other side, and he didn’t see it. “Aren’t I what?” He asked, flapping his arms. Max couldn’t see if the roach flew off or not. There were…

“Aren’t you going to do anything about the noise?” He asked. He was trying not to look the floor super in the face, trying to look at the ceiling, but that was only a little better.

“The machines are loud Max. You know that. Also, earplugs! That’s what they’re for! To plug your ears?”

Max smirked and took a step back. he was getting aggravated, and he knew it. But, Aadros was screwing with him, right? Had to be. He had to know that the earplugs didn’t do anything for those noises. Cut right through the cheap Chinese pieces of trash like a laser through a mirror. Fuck. No, that’s not right, He meant…

Aadros’  heel came down, and there it was again.

Max belched. It tasted like old pennies and bad cheese. He held his hands out in front of him, his palms facing the big man.

That. That. I mean, I’m not so much worried about them–whatever. I know that times are tough. It’s probably not your call. Times are tough for me too, I get it. But that sound…” Max smiled and shook his head. there was no humor in it.

“Uh-huh.” Aadros said. And there was no humor in that, either. “You know, I’ve been getting complaints. Not just about the headphones.”

“I’ve got eyes don’t I? They don’t let you drive a lift without you being able to see, do they? ”

“Max, people have been saying that sometimes you just sit on the lift and stare at the floor, sometimes for fifteen minutes. I can’t have that. I’ve got shit that needs moved, I can’t…”

He kept talking, but just then Cheryl pulled the pallet jack behind him, and all Max could hear was the sound, like small wet bones snapping, like abbesses popping through callused skin under pressure. Under the wheels, with her feet keeping time.

The roach had made its way to Aadros’ collar. It started to crawl up his neck.

The sound was fading now, but it was the same. Always the same. Under the wheels of his lift, all night long.

Aadros was still talking, and it was funny. It was a funny ol’ thing that he could have a roach crawling right over his left ear like that, and not even bother to brush it off. It was funny how the noise didn’t keep Aadros awake when he was supposed to be sleeping, or fill his dreams with its all-encompassing wall of idiot sound.

Or maybe it wasn’t.

Maybe it wasn’t funny at all.

Max grabbed Aadros’ shirt with his left hand and pulled the big man towards him. He plucked the pen from the manager’s pocket and followed through with the motion until his arm was fully extended. He plunged the pen into Aadros’ skull, impaling the roach as he went.

Blood and yellow fluid leaked from around the pen. The supervisor convulsed, fell, hit the floor, crushing the undulating carpet of bugs as he crashed down. He shuddered, feet jittering, and the sound was like underwater maracas.

“Do you hear it now?” Max asked.

Cheryl turned and saw Aadros on the floor, shaking. She began to scream.

More noise. Max thought. He inserted his earbuds.

He thought of his father.

The roaches were everywhere. Covering the floor, climbing the walls. Sometimes, they fell from the ceiling.

He was standing on the lawn, standing where his father had told him to stand.

Once, he saw a particularly fat, shiny, roach get caught in Janice’s hair. Janice worked in shipping.

His father, running around the house, screaming. The blue kerosene can held high.

Janice never noticed. Max had walked away.

His father, screaming, “I’ve got you now, you sons of bitches!” Screaming about the locusts.

Aadros’ foot still twitched, still caused death beneath it. Max was glad he had his headphones in.

Max had never seen a locust. Never a one.

Max walked to the back of the lift and unbuckled the propane tank. He twisted the valve to ‘off’, then used his box cutter to sever the gas line.

The house had looked like a jack-o-lantern as it burned.

Max pulled out his Zippo and lit it in front of the severed end of the hose. He turned on the gas. Flame shot out of the end. Blue and pure.

Max walked. The hose was starting to melt, but that was okay. He didn’t mind. He began to sing.

Sometimes, a song was the best thing.