Scratchy Glitter

Observations for the easily irritated.

Category: Conspiracy News

Look, Nick’s on TV!

–Rom said he thought Mark Wahlberg wasn’t yanking the chain hard enough, but then said, “Well, then he might choke the poor thing.” The poor thing in question has actually gotten somewhat bigger since then, so the ears don’t look so prominent, and the barbs on the tail had not yet developed. And no, I can’t move the video closer to the top of the post, and in fact, for all I know, it might not even play once I hit “Publish.”


–Trying to guess which people belong to which vehicle: The pickup with Browning Buckmark logo (designed by my brother-in-law!) and “REDNECK” across the back windshield? Probably the guy with the t-shirt that says “Her Buck” on it. Probably not the skinny guy with long blonde hair, Indiana Jones hat, and tie-dye Allman Brothers t-shirt, although I bet he’s a redneck also.

–A couple snuck in the back door of McDonald’s with food from somewhere else, including chips and drinks, and settled down to eat it at a back table. They even grabbed a bunch of McDonald’s napkins.

–Kids’ lives are filled with nagging. “Is that yours? No? Then don’t grab for it.” “Don’t do that, it’s gross.” After all, how else will you learn what’s gross? There might be another culture in which licking the condensation off the outside of your drink cup is perfectly acceptable.

A CAN OF BABY CORN WAS SIGHTED IN A CERTAIN PERSON’S LOCKER. THE CONSPIRACY LIVES ON IN MY ABSENCE. See ancient posts tagged “Conspiracy News” for details. Don’t know how to look those up? Neither do I.

Turn Me Loose!

…I’ve gotta have it my way, or no way at all! So it is, and so it shall be, to quote Patti Smith.

Yeah, I’m on vacation, and yeah, I’m drunk, as Nick so astutely noticed, since he’s all astute and stuff.

You gotta love when your husband comes in and says, “Well, you stepped in it.” Stepped in WHAT? I should know after all these years–a hairball. Remember the ongoing philosophical debate–which hairball is worse to step in, fresh and warm, or old and icy-cold?


“Hey now baby, get into my big black car…I just want to show you what my politics are.” Courtesy of Cream, and I think of it often in this electoral season.

Hey, how long has it been since we had a CONSPIRACY POST? Anyone remember the
Baby Corn?

OK, I just almost choked on my drink. This is NOT FUNNY. In fact, it’s kind of painful.

Anyway, I now announce that, considering the dearth of acceptable candidates, I unhesitatingly support A CAN OF CREAMED CORN for President. Any can will do.

I’ll write later if I think of something to say.


…Courtesy of the people at some laundry-product company. A woman SNIFFS THE CROTCH OF HER PANTS and says, “These pants have that yoga smell!” Um, that’s not what we call it. She then sniffs the area again after laundering and says, “Now I don’t smell like wet dog!” Um, that’s not what it smells like.

I Only Have 25 More Years To Live

…according to a life-expectancy calculator in Time magazine, which predicts my demise at the age of 84.2. But there’s so much I haven’t done! Most things, in fact.


A couple people have mentioned that I really should have expanded upon the list of various ant types previously posted. At the risk of encouraging you to expect actual effort from me…

–Argentine ants: Really? We don’t have enough of our own?

–Ghost ants: Obviously, the ghosts of ants we’ve previously killed.

–Cornfield ants: Equally obviously, in league with the Baby Corn.

–Pavement ants: Um, have all you ants noticed that there isn’t any pavement inside my house?

–Acrobat ants: What, swinging through the air? How about just hanging out with the pavement ants and leaving me alone?

–White footed ants: As Rom said, “Who would notice?”

–Little black ants: You know, that’s how I’d describe most of them, actually.

–Odorous house ants: Do they fragrance your home? That might be worthwhile.

–Crazy ants: Let’s think long and hard about what would constitute craziness in an ant. Not caring about the welfare of the Queen?

–Big headed ants: But what if they have big heads and white feet?

–…and other sweet eating ants. Sounds like something you’d put over ice cream.


Actually, it could have been told at any point between now and, well, about 1830 last Saturday. Nick was having trouble talking to me on the air because he was choking on a donut. You read that right. I can see the headline now. “AREA COP CHOKES TO DEATH ON DONUT. He died as he lived, sources say.”  Yes, I’ve been reading the Onion lately, why do you ask? Good artists borrow, great artists steal! (I borrowed that from Stephen Colbert, but I don’t know who he stole it from.)

User’s Guide 2.0

Brought to you by Redd’s Apple Ale–now in cans for my convenience! Ooh, the pull tab is red–how exciting! It’s not quite cold yet, but I’m carrying on bravely anyway. And I have a new can cozy, which I paid 99 of my own cents for, because the one I got from my stepdaughter (by saying, “Are you going to use this?”) is wearing out under the strain of too many cans of Diet 7-Up.

Yeah, I’m on vacation again, hence the apple ale.

It occurs to me that I can indeed offer useful information for new readers, by repeating/refreshing the old information. So here goes:


I like to say I invented the blog, which causes people to raise their eyebrows and edge away slowly. S.G.. was originally an e-mail sent out to a dozen or so co-workers beginning in 1990, when we were going through a stressful (made extra-stressful by bad management) transition time at work. You can find an account of that buried somewhere deep in the archives. I know I’m supposed to link to it, but I can’t figure out how to do that, which is something you’ll get used to after awhile. This publication was eventually transferred to the Internet, where it has a readership of, oh, about the same as it had back then.


You can, I’m pretty sure, click on these and get posts that feature the type of material you’re seeking (or the type you’re seeking to avoid, like if you’re sick of reading about Nick. I must caution you, however, that many posts fit into more than one category, so your avoidance may be incomplete.)

CRISIS IN PROGRESS: Stories of the bizarre and infuriating from the world of 911. The title derives from a button I saw at a truck stop, on the way to a mandatory training session. No, the session was not held at a truck stop. It would have been less boring if it had been.


I often forget to use this. Work-related misinformation.


They used to always keep things hush-hush, because “We don’t want rumors to get started”–unaware of the fact that THEY GET STARTED ANYWAY. Caution when perusing this section–sometimes I start them myself.


Material dealing with the aforementioned Nick the Beast, a member of the police department and licensed to tase and stuff. He started life as a dispatcher, and was so impressed with me when I trained him (an experience I have absolutely no memory of), that he set himself to befriending me by the time-tested method of Cornering & Pestering, and I’ve been making him pay for it ever since.

FANBASE FOLLIES: Material about you, the readers. Whether callous neglect or feverish up-sucking, my temperament is to believe in extremes, as R.E.M. says.

LET’S GET SERIOUS: Just what it says. I’m outraged, or at least indignant, about something, and you need to know.

MILDLY AMUSING ADVENTURES: My daily life outside of work, about which some people care, for some reason. I have many opinions, and you have to read them all here. Otherwise you’d never know, since I don’t talk.

SOCIAL PAGE: Again, just what it says. Reviews of any social event I’ve been invited to. These are few and far between.

STAB FROM THE PAST: Past history (um, what other kind is there?).

WORLD LEADER PRETEND: The title is another theft from R.E.M. What I’d do if I ruled the world.


In a world of countless conspiracy theories, I add my own. This one has the advantage of being completely made up. As World Leader, I battle my nemeses the Baby Corn (in the spring/summer) and the Dancing Union Suit (fall/winter), with the aid of my faithful companion, reader, and former co-worker the Foxy Lady, who actually came up with these entities.(Not only do I make stuff up, I steal a lot.)

I’m thinking of adding a new category, WATCH OUT–I’M DRUNK!, which is, again, self-explanatory, although that won’t stop me from attempting to explain it.

OK, tune in at sometime in the future for ACTUAL CONTENT! Although I can’t guarantee I won’t wander back here when I’ve finished this can of ale. Off to try nail-polishing under the influence–try this only at home!

The Imp of the Perverse Battles the Baby Corn

Pretty cool title, huh? They should give me a job just thinking up titles for stuff. This was a title for a superhero comic I thought up, which was stymied by my inability to draw.

The calendar on my computer says “You have 2 birthdays in the next 2 weeks.” Nonsense. I know I only get one birthday per year.

This is Emergency Telecommunicators Appreciation Week, or whatever its official name is, which I am not experiencing in person, because I’m on vacation, because Telco Week (Telco! it sounds like a laundry detergent) (or a superhero) falls during Holy Week, as it so often seems to do. Perhaps this is because we are like the voice of God to police officers. (Don’t raise that eyebrow at me, Nick, or I’ll smite you.) But perhaps another appellation would be more apt, as I saw on the Diary of a Mad Dispatcher Facebook page (go there! you’ll be glad you did!)–“911–The Voice in the Dark.” Creepy, huh? But that doesn’t really describe my colleagues on day shift, does it? Perhaps “911–The Voice in Your Head.”


My whole day was thrown off last week because the green turtleneck I’d planned to wear turned out to be dirty, so I had to wear my other turtleneck (the line it was drawn, the curse it was cast, I’d already planned on wearing a turtleneck and THERE WAS NO GOING BACK), which was purple, but the socks I had on were green to match the first turtleneck, and THERE WASN’T TIME TO CHANGE THEM OR I WOULD MISS THE BUS.


–Sign at McDonald’s: “Good Friday Special–$100 Egg and Cheese Biscuit.” Yes, I think paying $100 for a biscuit would be penitential. No, I did not avail myself of this special, because it would involve being awake before 10:30, and WHAT ARE YOU THINKING OF?

–A guy on a red scooter with his red jacket streaming out behind him like a cape. Another superhero–Red Scooter Man! His arch-nemesis–Yellow Scooter Man! (Rom, who is so ate up about safety that he bought a yellow scooter and wears yellow or orange when he’s on it, even though these are his least favorite colors). {let us all pause while I try to figure out how to punctuate a sentence fragment} Rom leads a double life–he also has a criminal identity, Dogbite McBride, and his Red Shirt Gang. Maybe I could write a comic book on this topic, too. I got a head full of ideas that are driving me insane! If you start me up, I’ll never stop, never never never stop–ahem.

Our next door neighbors are having an Easter party and setting off fireworks, which are intended, I suppose, to scare Jesus back into the tomb. Did you know that if he comes out of the tomb and sees his shadow, we’ll have 6 more weeks of winter?



Mardi Gras: The Great Beer Experiment

I am observing Fat Tuesday (remember the World Leader Edict–observing it the previous weekend doesn’t count) by staying safely at home and drinking my remaining 3 apple ales from my Valentine 6-pack. Let’s see what happens, shall we? Probably nothing, but you never know, I may go out in the front yard and raise hell. And then the police will be called. And I will say to them, “Do you know who I am??” and things will go downhill from there.


Still typing pretty fast.

I got my first smartphone, at long last, and it appears to be smarter than I am. It and I are still getting to know each other. There are many interesting things you can now do to a photograph. I understand the allure of Sepia (make things old-timey!) and Negative (make everything look creepy!) but not of Aqua. (“Hey, look we’re underwater!”?) And what exactly does Solarize mean? Posterize apparently means “make everything look like a bad 60-s era picture.” “Press button to rotate camera.” Why would I want to–oh no. It’s for the dreaded selfie. Look at that face. Now I see why I keep getting offered senior discounts I don’t even deserve yet. Hmm, I look better in Negative. Accentuate the negative. And why won’t it let me Solarize or Posterize myself? Anyway, earlier I took an adorable picture of Rom sleeping on the couch, resting his broken leg, with his faithful calico cat upon him. (My faithful black-and-white cat is not a lap cat, which I suppose is no more than I deserve, since I’m not a lap person.) (Speaking of which, a minor leg fracture takes 4-6 weeks to heal, which is a LONG  time to go without…oh, never mind.)


I have an hour to finish off these bottles before Rom gets back in here to make dinner. Won’t he be surprised? So that’s 1/2 hour for each. Time to get goal-directed.

I’m feeling a little blurry around the edges.

Did you know cats can tell if you’re drunk? It’s true.

This bottle cap didn’t want to come off, but I prevailed, with the help of a towel. Woman is a tool-using animal, at least when there is no man around to do it for her.

The cat (black and white) wants me to play with her. Can do! I just rustle some paper and she goes crazy. I don’t even need to get up. Which is a good thing.

I finally figured out (yesterday) how to cut open a packet of soy sauce with a scissors without spilling any! I am learning useful life skills. Maybe I’ll have them all mastered by the time I die.

25 minutes left to finish this bottle. I’d best get to it. Apple ale tastes really good. I hope I get strawberry ale for my birthday.

What should I do now? Listen to music? Rom has some of that New Orleans music (I forget what it’s called) but I don’t like that. Maybe my “More Cowbell” anthology, which has “Mississippi Queen” on it. But if I listen to music, I might forget to get the 3rd bottle, and we can’t have that.

I have the feeling this is like “Flowers for Algernon,” and I’ll get progressively stupider as this post proceeds. Don’t you love a drunk who keeps talking about how drunk they are? I guess it beats being a drunk who calls 911 and claims not to be drunk, as they usually do. Hey, I’m doing research, so I’ll understand my callers! Maybe I’ll call 911. It wouldn’t be the first time.

20 minutes left, have I finished a third of this bottle yet? I’m not good with math.

Have I reached a new low point yet? Remember, I warned you at the outset that this blog would be self-indulgent. Of course, so are they all. And of course, no one requires that you read it. Until I actually do rule the world, of course.

Speaking of which, Baby Corn has been sighted at the bottom of an order of Chinese food (not mine). It was lurking in the hope of going undetected. Its time will soon be here. Although it doesn’t seem like it, what with all this snow and stuff. Which I, like everyone, have had enough of.

8:16 and I’m not half done yet! Maybe speed-drinking would be a bad idea.

Dear FanBase, I am sorry that I post so seldom these days.

Drunk texting–a good idea? Or not?

I guess not. I just tried texting to a landline. The phone should have a “Go home, you’re drunk!” tone. Oh wait, I am home.

I am lucky there’s not a feature saying “Rate This Post.” I guess the comments section would cover that.

It is significantly more difficult to stand up now that it was the last time I tried it. But I managed it.

8:31! I’ve not even finished the 2nd bottle! I am a weenie girl, as a Certain Person would say. Oh wait, girls don’t have weenies.

I will just have to keep up my momentum through dinner, I suppose. Rom can’t blame me, since he gave me the 6-pack. Of which I am only drinking half, I hasten to remind you. At this time, I mean. I drank the other half on 2 previous occasions.

I seem to have lost momentum. Should I hit “Save This Post” and then go on Ebay? I can’t think of anything I need, but they probably have something.

Did you know that everything tastes great when you’re drunk? I can hardly wait for dinner.

Apple ale sounds like it wouldn’t have much alcohol, but that’s not true. At least not for a weenie girl such as myself.

Did you know women are the original pussies? It’s true.

I’m beginning to sound like Poor Richard’s Almanac. Or maybe like a writer of fortune cookies. Did you know that they’re written by professional writers, and not by Chinese fortune-tellers? Speaking of which, my fortune cookies last night said,

1. “You have executive ability.” Yeah, that’s why I’m not a supervisor, and

2. “Better caution at first than tears afterwards.” That’s true in so many situations. I can think of one right now. Where I wasn’t cautious, I mean.

Perhaps I should become a writer of fortune cookies. They certainly wouldn’t be any worse. I’ll look into it.

Time to get the last bottle! Wow!


Did you know that my house has lots of corners that it’s hard to get around?

This stuff tastes very good.

Rom will be here in 10 minutes. I have no hope I can finish this bottle before then, but I’ve opened it, so I’m committed to a course of action.

Feeling a little dizzy. By the time you read this, I may be dead.

I got up to pet the cat and almost tipped my chair over. But I didn’t, so there’s hope.

I have 3 bottle caps on my desk. For some reason, I keep forgetting to throw them away, although I do remember to dispose of the bottles.

OK, this property is now occupied by one guy with a broken leg and one drunk. It’s like the blind leading the naked (which is the title of a Violent Femmes album, lest you think I cleverly thought it up myself).

Did you know the Violent Femmes came from Milwaukee, like I did? Came from Milwaukee, I mean.

It’s 9:00! Rom will be wondering why I have the hiccups.

I have had 2 1/3 bottles so far. I wonder if Stewart/Colbert will be more or less funny in my current condition.

FanBase, I wish you were with me. This stuff is so good.

Rom is here! Time for an intermission…

By the way, did you know you don’t have 4 kidneys?

And I’m bumping into things?

The Conspiracy Never Sleeps


HEY FOXY! A man called us to say someone had thrown CORN into his daughter’s car. I guess this means that our Security Director has been lying down on the job. “Corn?! I prefer peas,” he says, licking his chops and falling back asleep.

Could I be more cryptic? All those who don’t understand, just go back, oh, 100 posts or so. Otherwise I’d have to be explaining myself all the time, and we can’t have that.

Don’t Try This At Home. I Mean It.

Mike Mills (REM)

Mike Mills (REM) (Photo credit: Andrew_D_Hurley)


You may remember M.M. because he was the operative (although not the mastermind) behind the Baby Corn Caper. Well, he’s done it again. Items were shoplifted from an area dollar store. The culprits got into their vehicle, and tried to run over the employee confronting them. (I always wonder what people are thinking when they do these things. “SHE’S KEEPING US FROM STEALING–SHE MUST DIE!!” ) But the intrepid, not to say foolhardy, M.M. witnessed this occurrence and phoned in valuable information so that we (by which I mean those who were actually working, Your Humble Narrator being out sick with a persistent headache) could update the officers! You know how we (and by this I mean myself as well this time) always tell people not to follow miscreants just because you have a cell phone? Well, Mike is a professional (and, um, my supervisor), and you’re not, so DON’T TRY THIS AT HOME! Or away from home, either.

–911 call overheard from across the room: “Well, if you hit a dog, the dog couldn’t have insurance, and of course a deer wouldn’t either, so there’s no need for a police report.” Although if the deer were to insist, we’d have to send a car.


What body wash do two out of–27? 30? just how short-staffed are we at the moment, anyway?–dispatchers use? P.J. and A.J. swear by Olay Age-Defying! We may be aging, but we’re definitely defiant! (In addition, I have an assortment of rose-scented body washes for special occasions, like my days off, which is about as special as my occasions get.) (How often do I have to tell you? You. Need. To. Know.)

Another reason we know that A.J. has exquisite taste is that she told me, “I don’t know if you’re an evil mastermind or a comedic genius.” YES, I’m fishing for compliments. Desperate, pathetic, etc.


I saw a (lengthy) list of Christmas TV specials. One feature was “Frosty Returns” (FROM THE GRAVE!). The list finished with “How to Survive Christmas,” on Dec. 26, at 2 a.m.


Spiders & Dead Bodies

Severe Mental Illness

Severe Mental Illness (Photo credit: homelesshub)

–That’s what Nick said our ridealong would consist of–“Nothing but spiders and dead bodies.” I’ll be staying in the squad car, then. Perhaps I’ll teach myself to drive.

I know one way not to drive–we received a report of a guy driving and sticking his arms out of the car windows. Oddly, this apparently caused him to swerve.

Speaking of vehicles, we also received a report of a stolen “Corn Pro” trailer. I’m guessing it was stolen by professional corn. And what would corn need a trailer for? I’m guessing it would be loaded with spiders and dead bodies. Dead corn bodies, one hopes. Baby corn bodies, and lots of them–after all, the growing season is over.

Theoretically, I am not insane. But we received a report (sensing a theme here?) from a woman who identified herself as “dangerously mentally ill.” She said, “I heard an ad on the radio for the dangerously mentally ill, and figured if I was going to be mentally ill, I might as well be dangerously mentally ill.” Seems like sound reasoning to me. She offered as proof of danger that she had shot someone in the arm, shot someone else in the elevator and dropped a bunch of guns in there, and had stabbed her husband previously, but never got in trouble for it. No evidence of any of these acts was found, but that’s where the “mentally ill” part comes in.


I didn’t say turn tricks. Calm down.

A certain beast, Nick by name, offered to obtain food for us tonight. On the way with same, he sent me a message, saying, “Check the cameras. Do you see me?” I’m not playing your silly game, I thought, so I just got up and opened the back door, but there was no one there. “Tell me what you see,” he insisted, so I grumpily got up again–after all, my food was being held hostage in the hands of a madman–and looked at the camera, reporting, with some irritation, that I still saw nothing. He responded, “That must mean I’m not there yet.” So, dear co-workers who were busier than I was at that moment (I was between car-vs.-deer accidents at the time), that is why I kept jumping up and down like a jack-in-the-box, which I understand is good for my health.

He came in, all eager to be praised for his cleverness, or smacked for his insolence–just generally desperate for attention of any kind –but he was sent empty away, because I’m never good at thinking up stuff on the spur of the moment.

My fortune cookie was an actual fortune! How often does that happen?:

–“You are about to receive a big compliment.”  I’m still waiting.

“Dead Spider Bodies”–a great name for a rock band!

May I just observe that, if one includes the words “dead bodies” in a blog post, some of the suggested illustrations are very disturbing.


Giant Spiders Flying Through the Air!

Fried spiders for sale at the market in Skuon,...

Fried spiders for sale at the market in Skuon, Cambodia (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

You can hardly wait to get to those, am I right? Right, Mike? And Kevin? And a Certain Person? But first…



–What doth it profit one to wear a cool black leather jacket, if one’s pants are on backwards? Luckily I realized it before I left the house, or I’d have had to correct it at the first restroom I encountered, and someone would see the pile of clothes on the floor of the stall and think I was changing into my superhero ensemble. My superpower? To predict when carpet will be installed at a business.


Turns out that I was one of the people who trained Nick as a dispatcher. (Maybe that’s why he left.) He remembers it vividly, describing it as an “uncomfortable ordeal,” but I don’t remember it at all. Presumably his claws and wings were clipped for training purposes.


You’d thought I’d forgotten about them, right? I was just allowing the suspense to build. And thank you, Mercenary Mike, for giving me the idea! Consider it revenge for your role in the baby corn conspiracy.

I don’t hate spiders, but I strongly prefer that they not be on or near me. And fall is the time when spiders have grown to be their largest and most noticeable. As you probably know, spiders can be blown about on silken threads by the wind. (It’s almost like they can fly!) You probably thought, as I did, that this only works for tiny baby spiders–spiderlings, as they are called. (Isn’t that cute? I think so.)

I was walking home from the $ General store down the street one fall day, when I felt something hit me in the head. I figured it was an acorn or something similar. I felt around, but didn’t discover anything. Got home, went in the bathroom, slung off my jacket, AND A RED SPIDER THE SIZE OF A QUARTER FLEW OFF AND LANDED ON THE WALL. (That’s pretty much the sentence that boldface type was designed for, don’t you think?) What did I do? What any fierce and fabulous female would, of course–ran and got my husband, who released our new houseguest back to the wild. Yes, A GIANT SPIDER. HAD BEEN ON MY BACK. THE WHOLE WAY HOME.


A freak accident, you say? Well, I was walking to work one fall day after that (maybe the same year–must have been a good year for spiders), and I saw, in front of me, A RED SPIDER THE SIZE OF A QUARTER SWINGING THROUGH THE AIR FROM A TREE BRANCH. Luckily, since I saw this one coming, I was able to avert disaster. Can you imagine if a giant spider had hitchhiked into Dispatch on me? Sure, we have nerves of steel, but still….


Today is National Slap an Annoying Co-Worker Day. (Who comes up with these things?) Sure, Nick and I are both off, frustrating any number of our colleagues, but Nick, if you’d stop by my house this evening, I’d be happy to slap you.


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