Who says there’s no free lunch?

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Like Stephen I haven’t written a column for a few weeks now. I had something lined up, but it’s not quite done yet so I’m turn to my usual ramblings.

Speaking of Stephen (Lunatic Ravings), I set up my sprinklers a month ago so that in itself proves I’m better than Stephen. But my time for columns has been limited because of major landscaping that I have planned this year. This is boring so I’ll just stop talking about it.

When I built the first version of TheWeirdcrap.com back in 2000 I had a very easy job (didn’t pay much), I rented an apartment, and my wife was in college, which left me with lots of free time. I work on TheWeirdcrap while I drank several beers each night.

Now things are much different.

A demanding job, a house, and two daughters who need and deserve attention. My time is limited and the fans of TheWeirdcrap have suffered without my presence.

Something had to be done!

So I devised a plan.

I could get a lot more done if I didn’t have a job, but we need the money to keep things going. After a great deal of research on get rich schemes and getting millions of dollars by helping someone from Uganda deposit legal funds in the USA, I stumbled upon a little thing called FMLA.

Turns out if you’re injured at work, they have to keep paying you while you get better. I could collect a paycheck while working on TheWeirdcrap.com!

Only problem is I have a desk job. At work, my office is a luxury space in the basement where I have nice basement window that gives me plenty of light when the gardener cuts the weeds. I share the space with a copy machine and stacks of paper documents.

I doubt a paper cut will get me family medical leave, no matter how deep it is. So the day before Labor Day weekend, I set my plan in motion.

I go into our break room Friday at 11:55, put a digital camera on a break-room table and get a packet of Burger King ketchup from my pocket and drop it on the floor, then stomp on it. The ketchup squirts and I put some on my Payless sneaker.

Careful not to hurt myself, I lie down on the floor, prop the foot with the ketchup on a chair, and get to moaning.

I prepared by watching porn flicks and took note of porn star moaning. I had it down to a science, only when they yell, “Ooooh, f*ck me ____!” I would say, “Ooooh, it hurts me!” Actually I got that line from one of the porn flicks.

So there I was, camera ready, so when someone walks in they can take a picture of me with the ketchup on my shoe.

I figured a back injury would be best. When California passed the Marijuana law, folks faked back injuries because it’s hard to pinpoint the problem. They say, “It hurts real bad doc, I need pain relief!” Then they get the dope.

So there I was, “Ooooh, ooooh, ow-ow-ow-ow, oooooweeeee! Oooooh, it hurts me! Yes, YES, YES!!!! Right there, right there, right there–OOOOOooooooowwwww!” This continued for twenty minutes…still no one comes to my rescue.

By twelve thirty I’m sick of yelling for help, and I get up.

I walk down the corridor, camera in hand, hopping on one foot to preserve the now dried ketchup. I can’t find one surface dweller! I can’t find anyone…anywhere!

Defeated, I go back to my cave and check email that I haven’t checked all week in fear I would be given a new project, and there it is, written in bold, “May 28th is a half day!”

I pack my stuff and head home.

And now you know!

Coming Next…I eat a bug!

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