It seems only a moment ago I was posting here... Oh, wait, I was.
Since I've posted twice in such a short amount of time, it's only fair to warn you this entry comes in sequence of the previous entry. It's only fair that I warn you and let you read it first. Go on, I'll wait.
No point in telling me you'll read it later, I won't go anywhere until you do.
At this point, I'll assume you've read it thoroughly, or at least that you have a rough idea of what it was about. I'll go on, then.
So I went over the e-mail again and found out Fay Korgasm's address. Mighty useful, should I want to send them a letter or a post card asking who they were and what were they trying to send me. But then I thought of going over my banking records and found out what exactly might I have ordered from Seattle. With that in mind, I dug up what I thought was most likely to be Fay's e-mail address, and asked if they were trying to confirm my home address. When Fay did indeed confirm my suspicion, they produced my correct and full address, and said the package had been sent in the morning. So, first and foremost, thank you very much, Fay, which is not your real name, and which I've concealed only so I wouldn't speak unduly ill of you the previous entry.
Now let's go over this one more time, shall we? The USPS sent me an e-mail on the afternoon of the day in which morning they had shipped the package trying to confirm my address, and supplied an incomplete address, whereas the shipper had indeed sent the package to the correct one? Working rather well, aren't we?
On another note, my poll wielded results, three, to be exact, and a clear winner, by absolute majority, Electrocution. The runner-ups, Impaling and Beheading, aren't really mutually exclusive either. So here's what I propose: Find ye a sharp rod of iron or copper no less than two centimeters wide nor wider than five centimeters wide and about 1.8 meters long. This rod shall thou coat in water based lubricant. Ye shall avoid scilicon based or oil based lubricants, superior though they might be for some usages, for these conduct less well. Poke ye the taylor's bottom with the pointy end of thine rod and lift it high in the air, and the taylor, by gravity, shall slide down the shaft and become impaled as the sharp end emerges, likely from his chest or back. At this point, attach thee one jumper cable to each end of the rod and said cables to the high voltage source of your liking, the common power line being a suitable favourite. After the taylor on the spit is sufficently roasted, lof off his head with thine favoured piece of cuttlery, though I shall warn thee: it may take a while if you elect the fruit knife, whereas the popular cleaver might deliver a swifter execution.
That said, my coat is now in the hands of a seamstress, a very trusty seamstress, but definitely not a Seamstress. See, the capitalisation thing matters here, just like de difference in spam and Spam. I trust her needle is much sharper than her tongue, although her tongue is really of little concern to me, provided her needle is sharp and nimble enough. Also, as the lining job was so botched, the whole fabric has to be replaced. We're going with lead colour real satin this time, no cheap nylon "acetinate" crap. Heavy fabric FTW!!1!!ONE
Pax vobiscum atque vale.
ArabianShark has been blogging most intesnively as of late. I might need a brake. Or not...
Well done!
And I thought I had it bad...
Looks like I've started at the middle. Might be a side effect of the tear in the space time continuum which is prone to engulf us all and send us hurtling into chrono-spatial chaos. Don't be alarmed.
So I'm fairly sure most of my readers are even slightly aware of the Postal Service I have in this wretched country I'm strugling to flee. It's the sort of Postal Service who won't grant you the right to not recieve undesired publicity to the point your mailbox bursts (meaning you have to acquire said right elsewhere). It's the sort of Postal Service who'll pretend to have tried to deliver your package to your doorstep at 11:35 AM on a Friday, then announce your failed delivery might be reatempted at your discretion or you might want to pick up said package at (one of) your local Post Office(s, assuming you can find out which one) from 5:00 PM onwards, even though you might be sweating it until 7:00 PM, when (all of) your local Post Office(s) will have closed for the day. It's the sort of Postal Service who'll make you walk (or drive) for nearly 10 bloody miles to find what they'll assign as (one of) your local Post Office(s), despite the very handy one just around the corner. It's the... well, you get the point. I thought I had it bad.
So today I got this e-mail from a sender I didn't recognise, and frankly, by the looks of it, at first glance I thought this was another invitation to "World Blowjob Day" that had managed to circumvent the spam filter, but, upon a closer look, turned out to be the United States (presumably of America) Postal Service. Seeing as I am not an American, have never lived in America, haven't been to that side of the Atlantic in oh say some five years or so and haven't been to the US this century, it caught me by surprise. Turns out someone by the name of Fay Korgasm (not really, but I saw this somewhere and thought it was somewhat amusing... no? Never mind...) or something just as helpful has sent a package for me, so the USPS needs to confirm the "Shipping to" address. Right off the bat they tell me that, should the address be incorrect, I should contact the shipper. Furthermore, the package is schedulled to be sent today. I'm guessing there's a safe chance the package has, indeed been sent. Indulge me in the math of it. I got the e-mail at about 9:20 PM, local time. With the time difference, I imagine it would have been sent at about 4:20 PM EST or 1:20 PM PST or somewhere in between, I suppose. Now doesn't this make you feel as though the package might have already been sent? I, for one, thought packages were expedited in the morning of the day they're schedulled for shipping, yet they contact me in the early to mid afternoon. Furthermore, there is nothing even slightly similar to a shipper's contact, just the name. Who the hell is Fay Korgasm? I've never seen a Fay Korgasm in my life. How do I get ahold of a Fay Korgasm to tell him/her/it that they left out some of my address?
Well done, US Postal Service. Is this what it means to "go Postal", then? That was a fun game...
Pax vobiscum atque vale.
ArabianShark is hoping - hoping! - to still be able to recieve this item. Yet I shudder to think of the tarrifs alone...
Looks like I've started at the middle. Might be a side effect of the tear in the space time continuum which is prone to engulf us all and send us hurtling into chrono-spatial chaos. Don't be alarmed.
So I'm fairly sure most of my readers are even slightly aware of the Postal Service I have in this wretched country I'm strugling to flee. It's the sort of Postal Service who won't grant you the right to not recieve undesired publicity to the point your mailbox bursts (meaning you have to acquire said right elsewhere). It's the sort of Postal Service who'll pretend to have tried to deliver your package to your doorstep at 11:35 AM on a Friday, then announce your failed delivery might be reatempted at your discretion or you might want to pick up said package at (one of) your local Post Office(s, assuming you can find out which one) from 5:00 PM onwards, even though you might be sweating it until 7:00 PM, when (all of) your local Post Office(s) will have closed for the day. It's the sort of Postal Service who'll make you walk (or drive) for nearly 10 bloody miles to find what they'll assign as (one of) your local Post Office(s), despite the very handy one just around the corner. It's the... well, you get the point. I thought I had it bad.
So today I got this e-mail from a sender I didn't recognise, and frankly, by the looks of it, at first glance I thought this was another invitation to "World Blowjob Day" that had managed to circumvent the spam filter, but, upon a closer look, turned out to be the United States (presumably of America) Postal Service. Seeing as I am not an American, have never lived in America, haven't been to that side of the Atlantic in oh say some five years or so and haven't been to the US this century, it caught me by surprise. Turns out someone by the name of Fay Korgasm (not really, but I saw this somewhere and thought it was somewhat amusing... no? Never mind...) or something just as helpful has sent a package for me, so the USPS needs to confirm the "Shipping to" address. Right off the bat they tell me that, should the address be incorrect, I should contact the shipper. Furthermore, the package is schedulled to be sent today. I'm guessing there's a safe chance the package has, indeed been sent. Indulge me in the math of it. I got the e-mail at about 9:20 PM, local time. With the time difference, I imagine it would have been sent at about 4:20 PM EST or 1:20 PM PST or somewhere in between, I suppose. Now doesn't this make you feel as though the package might have already been sent? I, for one, thought packages were expedited in the morning of the day they're schedulled for shipping, yet they contact me in the early to mid afternoon. Furthermore, there is nothing even slightly similar to a shipper's contact, just the name. Who the hell is Fay Korgasm? I've never seen a Fay Korgasm in my life. How do I get ahold of a Fay Korgasm to tell him/her/it that they left out some of my address?
Well done, US Postal Service. Is this what it means to "go Postal", then? That was a fun game...
Pax vobiscum atque vale.
ArabianShark is hoping - hoping! - to still be able to recieve this item. Yet I shudder to think of the tarrifs alone...
Uhhhh...?
Placeholder for favourite (non-religious, please) interjection, it seems like ages since I've last been here. I can't help to feel some measure of clearvoyance was in place then, as I set the expiry date for the poll that accompanied my last post to a rather long time. At any rate, an update is much overdue. I'll keep the bricklaying down, so we don't end up with an all-mighty wall of text.
I just got a blender. You see, ever since I moved to the place I live now I haven't really done a lot of cooking (however, only as of late have I become proficient at cooking entire, conventional meals and more complex main courses, such as noodles and tuna casserole), so I have been able to do well enough without one, but now that's changed, I've been looking for the best milkshake recepie (and I don't mean "non-dairy gum based beverage", such as what you actually get under the misleading title of "shake" at nearly every fast food joint but Krusty Burger). So far, I can't figure out why this young lady would put so much ice on hers. It really doesn't seem to add to the shake, and I'd very much appreciate if someone could explain this to me. Is there some fundamental difference between "shake" and "smoothie" that I don't get?
No, actuall, this should be in the previous paragraph. Do adjust your set. Scroll down a line so it seems there is no change in paragraph. So far I've found out some ready-bought gelatin is an interesting addition. I'm yet to try with powdered geltatin. Could work well...
The hour has changed, the days are getting longer and even this rainy spell we've had for a few days seems to be at an end. The inexorable news approach. Warmth is coming. Flee! South, preferably. Someone said Australia?
I don't think I'll ever quite grasp why it is that some movies take four bloody months to come from the civilised world to this wretched land where fate accursed me with birth, whereas others take but weeks. You'd expect that, after months of longing, said movies would be well recieved, but no; instead, you get overgrown, overage children paying to shriek in disgust at the most revered elements of Pantomine, uttering poorly borrowed mannerisms at the least suited times. And they charge you to wittness this.
Pax vobiscum atque vale.
ArabianShark has just been able to resist the urge of impulse buying an Exotic Shorthair Pesian, cute and fluffy though it was. I want a standard, longhair Persian, me.
I just got a blender. You see, ever since I moved to the place I live now I haven't really done a lot of cooking (however, only as of late have I become proficient at cooking entire, conventional meals and more complex main courses, such as noodles and tuna casserole), so I have been able to do well enough without one, but now that's changed, I've been looking for the best milkshake recepie (and I don't mean "non-dairy gum based beverage", such as what you actually get under the misleading title of "shake" at nearly every fast food joint but Krusty Burger). So far, I can't figure out why this young lady would put so much ice on hers. It really doesn't seem to add to the shake, and I'd very much appreciate if someone could explain this to me. Is there some fundamental difference between "shake" and "smoothie" that I don't get?
No, actuall, this should be in the previous paragraph. Do adjust your set. Scroll down a line so it seems there is no change in paragraph. So far I've found out some ready-bought gelatin is an interesting addition. I'm yet to try with powdered geltatin. Could work well...
The hour has changed, the days are getting longer and even this rainy spell we've had for a few days seems to be at an end. The inexorable news approach. Warmth is coming. Flee! South, preferably. Someone said Australia?
I don't think I'll ever quite grasp why it is that some movies take four bloody months to come from the civilised world to this wretched land where fate accursed me with birth, whereas others take but weeks. You'd expect that, after months of longing, said movies would be well recieved, but no; instead, you get overgrown, overage children paying to shriek in disgust at the most revered elements of Pantomine, uttering poorly borrowed mannerisms at the least suited times. And they charge you to wittness this.
Pax vobiscum atque vale.
ArabianShark has just been able to resist the urge of impulse buying an Exotic Shorthair Pesian, cute and fluffy though it was. I want a standard, longhair Persian, me.
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