Scratchy Glitter

Observations for the easily irritated.

Tag: Baby Corn

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.

Break On Through to the Other Side


Stinky (Photo credit: mrapplegate)

Well, I’d been contemplating continuing The Storied Origins of Central Dispatch, but thinking, does anyone really care at this point? Most of my current colleagues weren’t around then, and maybe those who were would rather forget about it. (Anyone who knows me at all well knows that I’m prone to brooding. “And sulking! Don’t forget the sulking!” I imagine Rom saying.) Then I noticed the blog had a new comment. Odd, I thought–it’s someone I don’t know. Odder still–she’s commenting on a very old post. Idly, I glanced at the Bar Graph o’Stats at the top of the page. Now, normally when I hover over it, it says something like 14 people visited the site, as it did last night. 20-23 on a good day. Today it said 174. That can’t be right, I thought, and switched over to the real-time display. And it wasn’t right. It was up to 343. By mid-afternoon, it was 350. I checked a few minutes ago, and it’s 363. So  I’m now literally an Overnight Success! Canada, the United Kingdom, Ireland, Australia, and Finland all represented! I extend an over-enthusiastic welcome to all of you. I’m feeling positively giddy, and wish I could give all of you a big hug! (“Don’t! I’ll shoot if I have to!” says Nick, who is feeling a bit giddy himself, having gotten a perfect score on his firearms qualification.) World domination is becoming more and more feasible! At the risk of wasting more of your time, I encourage you to explore the archives, which will enable you to make sense (well, more sense, anyway) of what I’m talking about here, since this blog doesn’t have a “topic” in the normally-understood sense.

I’m feeling too scatterbrained to offer any type of sustained content right now, but instead of just dissolving into a puddle of autistic inertia,  how about if I give you some scattered observations:

–What could be better than sending an officer to investigate a subject dancing in the street wearing a cape? The officer wearily sent me a message, “Last week it was Batman.” Batman, na na na na, etc.

Oh, and how about a game? Let’s play Street Name Challenge:

Often a 911 caller, asked if they know the name of a suspect, will say, “I only know him by the street name of–” fill in the blank–Punkinhead, Puddin Tane, Stinky, etc. Now, it is a general rule that you don’t get to choose your own street name–at least, I assume that no one would willingly be called Stinky. (Although, since people get tattoos saying Thug Life, you can’t be sure–I never thought being a thug was an actual aspiration. I figured thugging was just something you blundered into, kind of like my career in government service.) I know I’d rather be called Cobra Rose (a name I actually use in a couple of online groups) than Powder Fresh. But anyway, in the spirit of Eminem calling himself Slim Shady (or calling himself Eminem, for that matter), or Rabecca calling herself Foxy Lady, I hereby, by the authority vested in me as World Leader, allow any of you to choose your own street name! Let us know what you pick! Make it as self-aggrandizing as you like–hey, we’re all anonymous here! I promise to call you by it if you’re a recurring character here, unless I come up with something I like better. (This is known as the Blog Owner’s Prerogative. Eventually, every person on earth will have a blog, so this will be a democracy. That is, unless the BabyCorn/UnionSuit Conspiracy gets underway.) (By the way, the cans of baby corn deployed against me were Dynasty brand. Think of it! A dynasty of baby corn! OK, don’t think of it. But don’t say you weren’t warned.)


Unscheduled Meeting

baby corn and spinach stir-fry

baby corn and spinach stir-fry (Photo credit: World to Table)

I hadn’t planned to post tonight. In fact, I should be balancing my checkbook right now. But you know how a parent will tell a child, “I’ll give you something to cry about!”? Well, someone has given me something to write about.

I had spent a quiet evening on county dispatch. I was left in peace, and was even able to forget about The Conspiracy for awhile. Third shift came in, and I chatted with various tolerable co-workers and friends I only see at work. I clocked out, observing, as always, a moment of silence for the 2 people the automated timekeeping system allowed the City to lay off. (And our timekeeping has been accurate and trouble-free since then, right? RIGHT?) I went to my locker to put away (or put up, as people in this part of the world say instead) my headset and the fuzzy vest I wear to protect myself from the ravages of my viciously air-conditioned workplace. I opened my locker door. And was attacked by baby corn.

You might not fully comprehend the enormity of that occurrence, so let me put it to you this way–I WAS ATTACKED BY BABY CORN! (Better?) And not just a single tiny ear–an army of baby corn, 3 squadrons, to be exact, in full metal jackets. They jumped on me when I opened the locker door. One, in its kamikaze haste, landed on my foot. What if I’d been wearing sandals? It could have broken my toe, and left me unable to walk to work.

I will have to confer with Foxy about this, although I hesitate to do so, as I know she’ll be horrified. And I may as well reveal the nature of Nick’s secret mission now. He is learning certain…skills, let us say. Techniques which will prove invaluable when he returns and the interrogations begin. I think we can narrow down our suspicions pretty quickly. Whoever smuggled these Trojan-horse tin cans in had access to the building. This leaves out officers and deputies, such as the King of the Hill (who I think is related to the Burger King and the Pizza King.) (Officers and deputies like to think we have to let them in, but they’re wrong.) And the infiltrating ears were not lurking in my locker when I started my shift, so I suspect third shift. And men cannot enter the women’s locker room, so that narrows it down a bit. And I have a Certain Person in mind, but let’s just keep everyone in suspense, shall we? For now, just know that I survived the assassination attempt, and no one will be moving up in seniority anytime soon. This meeting is now adjourned.

Delusions of Grandeur and Moral Ambiguity

Conspiracy Cat ~ Friday the Thirteenth

Conspiracy Cat ~ Friday the Thirteenth (Photo credit: Viewminder)

You may be wondering why I called you all here today. Unaccustomed as I am to public speaking, I must ask you all to sit down and shut up, so I don’t have to raise my voice. Nick won’t let anyone leave until I’m done talking, so cease your unseemly eyeing of the exits.

You recall my talk of The Conspiracy yesterday. I devoted much thought today as to who might be behind it. The answer is so obvious I can’t believe I hadn’t thought of it sooner. In this connection, I invite to the podium RaBecca Jo. Her importance to our enterprise cannot be overestimated. It was she who first alerted me to the danger, although its full extent has only recently been suspected. She has prepared a series of drawings to illustrate my presentation. We hope this will make the threat clear to you, although much as yet remains unknown. And you all know Nick here. You might think that such a beast is best kept on a chain or in a cage, but he is implacably opposed to the Conspiracy and all its manifestations, as a threat to the rule of law and good order. I am honored that he has agreed to join me at last. He is fully trained to take any necessary action, and I suspect he never sleeps.

RaBecca, the first illustration, please? {A picture of a dancing union suit is placed on the overhead projector.} This union suit was originally seen in a Rural King ad (and still is seen every fall–watch for it!). You will note that its pose makes it appear to be dancing. RaBecca saw this ad by the side of the road once, being blown by the wind, making it actually dance! She immediately recognized its malevolent powers. Which brings us to our second illustration–{a picture of baby corn, with curly hair and wearing sunglasses}. Most of you have seen baby corn. Admit it–do you not find it creepy? RaBecca once found it TAPED TO THE DOOR HANDLE ON HER CAR! Obviously, esoteric powers are at work here. And obviously, they are up to no good. Remember my account of the mischief wrought last night? Remember I said that drivers were too stupid to treat a stuck traffic light as a four-way stop? Well, what else did I say was stupid, in that very paragraph? That’s right, zombies! The Baby Corn and the Union Suit were attempting to create zombie traffic jams! And now I’ve received word that power is out in German Township! The Baby Corn/Union Suit coalition–Lords of Misrule, they might be called–are still sabotaging our infrastructure. They will attack our extrastructure next. Their goal is world domination.

Did I just hear someone say, “I thought your goal was world domination!”? Nick, take that person outside and–well, I won’t tell you how to do your job. The rest of you, consider The Conspiracy and what you can do to stop it. As I said, much remains unknown. RaBecca and I are uncertain of the exact relationship between the Baby Corn and the Union Suit. It is known that the Baby Corn is active in the spring and summer, and the Union Suit takes over in the fall and winter. Are they allies, or rivals? We must attempt to find out more, or we’ll all be dancing to the Union Suit’s tune. I’m not sure what tune that is, but I suspect “Funky Town.” You can dance if you want to? If the Lords of Misrule have their way, we’ll be dancing whether we want to or not!

I think Nick is finished now, so you all may now leave. No, I’m not taking questions.

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