Mission control, this is…Twisty… hard drive…fried…coffee machine…dead…roof leaking in 3 places from insane midsummer deluge…limping in on impulse power…over
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You are reading I Blame The Patriarchy, the patriarchy-blaming blog that advances the radical feminist views of Twisty Faster, a gentleman farmer and spinster aunt eating dinner in Austin, Texas.
I Blame The Patriarchy is intended for advanced patriarchy-blamers. It is not a feminist primer. See Patriarchy-Blaming the Twisty Way for details.
"I couldn't get Twisty's point. It was so longwinded." -- The Blogosphere
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Coffee…machine….DEAD???
NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!
new hard drive - what a pain, but doable
coffee machine - horrible when you discover it first thing in the morning
roof leaking - now that is a real nightmare, expensive, life changing (have you taken a vacation lately? Good, because you won’t be able to again any time soon), and just try to find a good roofer. arf.
just don’t lead the borg home
I canna du it Captin, she canne tak no moore of dis! She’ll blouw!
Bones! Can. You. Do. Anything?!
Dammit Jim, I’m a doctor, not an engineer!
Spock? Surely. You. Must …
I am sorry Captain, it is simply not logical to run a crew of a ship without caffiene.
Damn that green-blooded Vulcan logic Jim, but he’s right!
No. Bones. We. Must. Push. On. We. Can. Not. Fail!
Keptin, ve are getting veports of de quew revolting due to de lack of coffee.
Well, you wear this dress and these heels all the time and see how you feel, not to mention this damn thing in your ear … and then have no coffee? And honestly, guys, would it KILL you to have another woman on the bridge, possibly one the Captain HASN’T slept with … just don’t make her green, that seems to be his weakness.
Uhura. You. Too?
*cue ’shuf’ of turbo-lift doors as tribbles and caffiene-deprived zombie-cremman No.4 (who was nowhere to be found earlier, when Kirk, Spock and Bones and him had been intending to beam down, for some strange reason) shuffles in, moaning and grasping for Kirk*
NO.O.O.O.O.O.O.O.O.O.O!.!.!.!
It’s going around. It’s a bad time to be a spinster aunt, I think. My car blew its head gasket. My espresso machine has a leaking gasket (after 13 years of uncomplaining service) and probably can’t be fixed. The threads on the headset and front fork of my bike are stripped and unrepairable. Last week I had to replace the tires, pedals, and rear brakes on the bike my lovely ex-wife so kindly is letting me use. My laptop was assigned to someone else (someone younger and cheaper to employ, my sources tell me) and so I don’t have a computer at home any more. And there’s nothing leaking that I can find but somehow everything in my house that’s not in the kitchen or my bedroom is growing layers of mold: the guitar, the accordion, all the books, the leather trenchcoat, all the fabric in my sewing room, everything. Including, which pleases me a little, the briefcase thingy I had to surrender with the laptop.
Oh, and my iPod is doing these weird skippy things at the beginning of every song.