See? Imagery. And also, buy a bottle of bourbon and a bottle of rye with the excuse of doing A-B comparisons of Old Fashioned cocktails, drink like 6 and come away with the opinion that your favorite between the two is Luxardo cherries.

The key to a good stand-up routine? Imagery. And crowd-work.

Stop being a boomer and teach like a man.

So…

I inherited my grandmother’s house. I’m a heterosexual bachelor, I don’t give a shit about decoration, so the automotive tools and 3D printing detritus, house cat, and electronics shit from about waist down are mine, the artwork and curtains and shit at chest level and above are still my grandmother’s.

Included in this is one of those “one large frame full of a bunch of individual family photos” things that ceased to be manufactured during Dubya’s first term. In it is a picture of a bunch of relatives of mine hanging out in a back yard, the last of whom died last month, a black and white photo of my father when he was 7, a dageurrotype of my great grandfather’s first wedding…

And a polaroid of me, age 2, scrote ass naked, riding Bradley. Who the fuck is Bradley. So, while I was a fetus, my family went to a state fair. My father decided to stop at the carnie section to play ring toss. My hilariously pregnant 5 foot tall mother wanted to play too. So Dad gave her a fistful of rings. And she got one. As my dad tells it, the second my mama cheered, that carnie took the rest of those rings from my father, chucked them in a different, empty basket presumably to inspect them to make sure they are in fact smaller than the neck of the bottles, and begrudgingly told her to pick out one of the hilariously huge stuffed animals on display, and she picked a life-size tiger. On the way back out of the fair, my family walked past a National guard exhibit, including several tanks and armored vehicles. My grandmother, the idiot that decided to carpet my bathroom, noticed the sign next to a particularly large tank-like machine said “Bradley Fighting Vehicle” and she said “Oh how cute, they named it.” And lo the 6 foot long polyester tiger was named Bradley.

Three years later, I got out of a bath tub, and before some toddler sized tighty-whiteys happened I mounted that very tiger like a horse, which amused my father enough to go get the family Instamatic. My grandmother ended up owning the resulting photograph, time makes corpses of us all, I inherited my grandmother’s estate to include a 37 year old picture of my own dick.

So when I build my drinks cabinet intended to go on that wall, and pull down that photo collage and give it to my parents, one of whom was the photographer of several of those family photos, am I going to be arrested for trafficking child porn?

Probably, in Trump’s America.

Same mental disorder, different CEO?

Okay look, I’m old, I’m inadequate, and I’m drunk. But I’m also a millennial, and I was a flight instructor at the age of 23. I pray to whatever god actually exists instead of Jesus for the unceremonious deletion of every soul that doesn’t give young folks a chance to learn, grow and actualize themselves. Because I am so inordinately sick of being written off due to the year in which my parents fucked that I’ve got room on the docket to be pissed off when you do it to cohorts other than mine.

It is our responsibility to teach the kids, to let them learn, to let them fuck up in order to learn some more, so that they can become the actual adults someday. And it hurts my mind, soul and dick that I’m apparently the only human on earth not excessively lead-addled to realize that. And bitch I’ve washed my hands in 100LL. It’s blue and feels cold at any temperature.

If there’s one thing I’m going to teach you commie retards before I’m banned outright from this platform, it’s that you treat your students with at least the benefit of the doubt if you can’t manage genuine respect. Believe it or not, they’re real people living real lives that are different than your own. Things that are obvious to you aren’t to them because their lives led them to be curious about a different set of things than you did. And if you find yourself in the role of “teacher”, almost always your path led you to expertise sooner than your students. Sooner. Not Younger. I can tell you that, having served as a flight instructor at 23 mostly teaching men in their 50’s.

You think you’re the senior in a field? You think it’s your job to reign superior over your juniors? Think again. Because it’s your job to sit in the right seat as a kid twice your age sits in the Captain’s seat and fails to use the rudder correctly, because falling off a bike is how you learn how to ride. You have to let them slam the plane into the runway, because how the hell else are they going to learn?

Anyone with more experience expressing contempt for those with less experience for having shown up later: FUCK YOUR FUNERAL. Die unmourned.

I don’t fucking know man. Choose your own damnation: Go with a commercial package like LastPass and have your data sold exfiltrated by elite dark-web h4xx0rz, or go with an open source package like KeePass that has been forked by 40 different communists who cannot be made to agree to what extent Stalin and/or Maos shit didn’t stink. I’m running KeePassGY because random fucking letters I guess.

The more alcohol I drink, the less mildly I’m infuriated.

I have a bigger yet more basic problem:

I haven’t seen software documentation aimed at users since Windows 3.1.

Early 90’s Microsoft software came with a softcover tome about how it worked. Those white books with the blue banners? If you’re over 35 you know what I mean, the ones nobody read so the entire fucking industry culture stopped trying to write that kind of thing at all.

Linux Mint’s documentation is almost entirely a teen’s livejournal entry about how it’s totally not a phase and how daddy Ubuntu just doesn’t understand our vibe, man. Seriously, go to linuxmint.com and look at their Documentation session, it’s 80% grievance airing.

Do you know what I did today? I physically gave up on Meshcore. I put every LoRa node I owned in a box, complete with the batteries and antennas and shit I owned in a cardboard box, and hauled them to a Ford dealership to give to a fellow Ham, because Meshcore’s website documents the message packet protocol, but not what a room server is.

So KeePass is one of those things that exists as a system of forks, I use two different forks on x86 Linux and ARM-Android. They assume I’m going to access one cloud-based file from everywhere, when I sync files locally, which…

Okay, interrupting one drunken inappropriately misogynistic rant for another drunken inappropriately misogynistic rant: It is for all intents and purposes fucking impossible to use Android. I’ve got a Pixel 10, the dirtfucking may-god-force-him-to-watch-the-murder-rape-of-his-family-especially-his-kids salesman sold me a vendor locked phone, and, modern Android is a total woman of an operating system. It doesn’t do things you want it to do and won’t explain why. Like browse it’s own fucking file system. If you’ve got a database file and it’s associated keyfile stored in ~/Documents/Passwords that you want to open with KeePass…Go back to your bedroom at your mom’s house and pull your dick there, perv! I’m not doing that because my mama didn’t raise no hussy!

In conclusion, may everyone who knows a programming language including me have their genitals repeatedly burned out eternally in hell for our crimes against our fellow human. Amen.

Yeah but you didn’t waste the allotted time on it which is the main purpose of college.

I’m running KeePass2 Android on my phone. It didn’t allow me to take a screenshot. Good for it.

Reminds me of how Will Smith’s character in I, Robot eats pie.

Bullshit. I’m an American, do you know how much corn we have?

So by the logic of about half the English teachers I know, you didn’t read it hard enough. I’ll let you try again to improve your grade.

Each application is using the save dialog from whatever graphics API it was made in. GTK, qt, some tK ones are still kicking around…

The rest of their head is either snout or ear.

Yeah. He lived to the ripe old age of 18. Had a long, happy life playing in all the boxes he could ever want.

The tabby of diligence.

I was more meaning the psychology of…having any reaction to it other than “what the nasal fuck is this?”

Can other things like fine sand refract rainbows?