I consolidated the stories about Fred.


...long live, Hill Blocks View. I miss writing. But the thought of one more round of "welcome backs", or obsessing over stats, or thinking of the clever response to a comment, or the obligation to read everyone else's blog... not so much. So I'll try and write. No pressure. If you feel the need to respond, you can email me. I like email. flipaul@yahoo.com

Monday, March 31, 2014

They're Building An Evil Empire!

I am sorry for the part that I might have inadvertently played in the downfall of human civilization and the end of life as we know it. I didn't know. Nobody knew. They seemed so harmless. And now it may be too late.
   I didn't realize that the end was upon us, even as it happened. I blithely marched over the precipice. I participated in the great armageddon. I encouraged others to join. I indoctrinated my children. I swallowed the propaganda, hook line and sinker.
   And things were great… at first. My children were entertained. I was thrilled, they weren't watching TV or playing video games. Sure it was a little pricey, but nothing too bad. And then things took a turn for the painful. They started to bite. And it seems that they were multiplying. Where there was once several big ones there was now a dozen tiny ones. And they have extremely sharp teeth. Soon the kids demanded more, and now I can barely afford my mortgage.
   My house is now a war zone. It's no longer safe. They have infested my bed, my shower, the fridge, the car. It's impossible to do laundry without finding a handful, and they are particularly fond of carpet. Where they hide and inflict maximum damage. 
   All day long, I pick up the blasted things. From sunup to sunset, I pluck them from their hiding places. How in the name of God, can they replicate so fast? Within an arms reach at any point, I could literally find dozens. They pour out of the cracks in the couch, they are in my pockets, they are taking over. I know it's only a matter of time before I lose the battle and and they are the only things left.
   It's too late for me, but you can save yourself. Don't believe that everything is awesome. It isn't awesome. The Lego Movie is a gateway. An evil, evil gateway. And Legos aren't colorful children's playthings. They are demons from the very pits of hell, and are taking over the world, one vile block at a time.

Monday, March 24, 2014

The Most Accurate GPS Ever.

Hello? Is this the ACME Crap Shack customer service line?
Yes it is. How may I help you?
Good. Yes, well, I recently purchased the World's Most Accurate GPS device from you.
Yes, isn't it wonderful?
NO! Are you kidding me?! It's a piece of crap, and I want to return it. AND I want a full refund.
I'm sorry to hear that. Why don't you tell me what the problem is.
It doesn't work.
Again, I'm sorry to hear that. Has it led you astray?
It didn't do anything, because it doesn't DO anything.
Oh, I'm sorry. Have you accidentally taken a wrong turn and driven off the planet?
What?! No! That's ridiculous.
But, sir that is the only possible way the World's Most Accurate GPS could possible fail to accurately locate your position.
Your product couldn't locate it's ass with both hands. Because, once again, your product doesn't do anything.
Sir, that is not true. The Worlds Most Accurate GPS failure rate is four in six billion. Those are astounding odds. Far and away the most accurate GPS system ever invented.
ARE YOU INSANE?! It doesn't do anything.
Perhaps, you assembled it incorrectly.
Do you have the location indicator correctly oriented to the global location area?
I followed the directions exactly.
Well then, I don't see what the problem is.
Do you even know what a GPS is supposed to do?
Well, most of the GPSs on the market use a series of satellites to triangulate your position.
Ours accurately locates your position with NO satellites. And it doesn't need electricity.
It doesn't need batteries or satellites because it doesn't do anything.
Sir. You are being unreasonable. Look at your device. Does it, or does it not accurately represent your current location?
No. It does not.
Sir? Really?
Alright, it does. But not really. It's not what I expected.
Sir, I hardly think that you buying a product with preconceived notions and our product not living up to those random benchmarks is reason for a refund.
But all the other GPSs on market accurately pinpoint your location and then provide you with directions on how to get to another location.
Sir, we didn't promise direction assistance.
But your GPS isn't very precise.
Again, we did not promise, pin point precision. Our only selling point was unerring accuracy.
Look, I just want my money back.
Sir, you have not given me any reason to give you a refund. Even by your own account your GPS is accurate.
A reason? You want a reason?! I'll give you a reason. Because your so-called GPS is nothing more than a miniature globe hanging from my rear view mirror, with a red arrow with the words "You Are Here" printed on it, attached to the globe by a piece of wire.  
But sir, you are here on the Earth. The World's Most Accurate GPS is absolutely correct.
Oh whatever, keep my $50. It's worth it, just to not have this conversation anymore. I feel like I'm in hell.
Well if you ever do find yourself there, give me a call, because then the World's Most Accurate GPS would be incorrect, and you would be eligible for a full refund.

Late breaking update: the boys at Beer for the Shower wrote another book, (I know; they're addicted,) and here is a nifty link, or ad, or something. The best use of 99¢ since, ever.

I'd better get a beer out of this, dammit!

Or a shower. Wink, wink, nudge, nudge.

Friday, March 14, 2014

I Don't Know If I'm Getting Older Or If The Doctors Are Getting Younger.

Hey dude, what's uOH MY GOD, YOU'RE BLEEDING!
I know. I just got back from the doctor. I had a rash, and he treated it for me.
TREATED IT?! It looks like he ran a cheese grater over your arm and then rubbed dirt on it.
That's exactly it. You must be a patient of Doctor Toddler as well.
Not likely. There's no way I would go to your Doctor Mengele.
His methods might be a little unorthodox, but he gets results.
Results?! Like the time he took out your molars with a ball peen hammer?
I admit, that hurt a lot. BUT, I don't have problem with impacted wisdom teeth anymore.
Yeah, and you still eat your steaks through a straw.
Every cure has side effects.
And how about that vasectomy?
It was a bloodless, non invasive, in-patient office visit.
He and his "intern" kicked you in the crotch for thirty minutes. 
Everybody is a little sore afterwards... 
You sat on frozen peas for six months. 
AND. You had another kid, you idiot. It didn't even work.
There are no guarantees in science.
There kinda are. I guarantee you'll hit the floor if you throw yourself at it. Gravity is automatic.
You make it seem like I am the first guy to have a kid after a vasectomy.
No. Just the first one to let his "doctor," and I use the word loosely, play soccer with his testicles.
You live and you learn.
You're going to be learning about this one for another eighteen years. Are you sure he's even a doctor?
Well, he does have a stethoscope and a white lab coat.
Those are not qualifications. Doctors have to go to medical school, not just a supply closet.
And he's very persuasive. And bossy. 
So is my wife. And I don't go to her for my medical emergencies. 
Of course not, that would be silly. 
She would probably dispense better medical advice than Doctor Toddler. What kind of name is that anyways? Toddler. French? Russian? Thai? What?
I'm pretty sure it's just regular old American.
Really? The only time I've heard toddler in American English, is referring to a child.
Yeah, that's it.
Your doctor is a child?
Yup. Practically a baby. Five or something.
That would explain the odd remedies. What? Is he a genius? Some kind of Doogie Howser? 
Nah, he's more of your basic kindergartner, kind of an idiot, really. 
Then why in the world are you going to him?
Because, he said I have tons of cooties, and the best way to fight cooties, was to drink LOTS of beer. As much as I want! I finally found a doctor that says I should drink more, instead of less. So I might have another kid or two, and I might lose a little blood now and then, but I don't care, I'm half drunk all the time anyway. Yeah, swollen testicles suck, but it's a small price to pay for unlimited, prescribed beer. I've never been so happy in all my life.
That is the stupidest thing I have ever… all the beer you want? …heard… um, do you know if he is accepting new patients?

Monday, March 3, 2014

Welcome To The Flipside.

For some reason or another I had been hearing about these high end clubs and bottle service a lot lately. I didn't realize that bottle service was even a thing. Bottles of booze starting off at $1000? Man, what a racket! I need to get me some of that cash.
   So I installed a strobe light and a mini fridge in my kids playhouse in the back yard, and opened Flipside, my own high end, ultra-exclusive nightclub. I floated a rumor on twitter that Miley Cyrus was seen canoodling with Justin Beiber (is that MilTin or BeiRus?) at Flipside, and before you know it I had A-Listers lining up outside Flipside's tiny plastic door, to get into the hottest club on the planet. They didn't seem to mind that the bathroom was a coffee can or that bottle service consisted of Safeway Generic Vodka. I handed out glow sticks and played bad 80's music off of my iPhone.
   Everybody was happy. The A-Listers were partying sans paparazzi, and I was making money hand over fist. Then things began to take a turn for the dark, as professional party people started making the short thirteen hour journey from Hollywood to Flipside for a night of revelry. Tara Reid, Paris Hilton, and the Kardashians, started showing up at all hours of the night, sneaking into my cool little club and telling people that they had done blow with the owner and had slept with the bartender. Which obviously upset my wife a little bit, since I am in fact both. Plus my kids were getting tired of their playhouse smelling like vomit, boob glitter and cigarette smoke. So I shut down Flipside.
   But it was too late. I already had a Lindsay Lohan problem. She moved in, even though the club closed and now I have spent my entire fortune trying to get rid of her. I find her sleeping on my couch, in the shower, under the kid's beds. She borrows my kids bikes to ride down to the liquor store and then comes back without the bike, she uses all our hot water and eats all of our breakfast cereals. I lock her out and the next morning find her draped over the toilet. For some reason, known only to her, she keeps shaving our cats.
   I am at a loss. Restraining orders have no effect on her. New age healers and shaman take my money and give me trite cliche's and useless crystals, to which she is apparently immune. Exterminators run in fear. All I can hope at this point is that somewhere, somebody opens up the new "it" club and she relocates. Please, in the name of all that is good and holy, open up a club, I beg you.