I Have Looked Into The Abyss

Whereas brother DeDurkheim is banished to Siberia, well not really but far enough from where I live that I never actually see him, brother Attaturk and I live and work in the same part of fly-over country and occasionally actually see one another face-to-face. If that is what you call it. Now I don't think this is unfair given that Attaturk makes so many self-effacing references to his self-gratifying lifestyle, but I think I know now why...

I haven't been to his new home, recently Attaturk moved his place of residence, it is far enough away from my home that it might be some time before I venture out there. Why did he move from the old place. Had to be he is a defendant in a nuicance suit. If his residence had turned into the petry dish that is his office, his neighbors had to have forced him to move, or a judge did. Hog lagoon dirty. As Attaturk would say, Sweet Jeebus!

I walk into his office to talk in hushed voices (so that we wouldn't be identified as the uber-bloggers we are...well at least as Mr. 100,000 hits a day...) about news. He asks me if I've seen his most recent riff on Norm Coleman, invites me to take his chair, I sit down, look down at the keyboard and wish I had medical gloves. To explain what resides solely, and I mean solely on his keyboard might make a proctologist ill. I am sure I saw several stray nose hairs stuck in various places on his keyboard. Stuck I say because after asking him what the hell was all over his keyboard, he picked it up, turned it upside down, and shook it violently while what he called his morning toast fell in thousands of pieces to the floor. That wasn't just this morning's toast let me tell you. A little coagulant and he had tomorrow's breakfast, and maybe the next three days as well.

And the nose hairs were still there. Then he sets the keyboard aside and using his hand as a scraper makes a neat pile out of the "crumbs" that lived under the keyboard and pushes them into his other hand. A huge pile, big enough to count a day's worth of points or whatever method these diets use to measure carbs.

You don't want to know what lives on the table, the computer, the wrist pad/rest. He must think that washing hands is unnecessary, that the "good" bacteria beat-up the "bad" bacteria, because that thing had stains and shades of colors they can't duplicate in a laboratory.

I asked whether they have a decontamination shower in his office. Alas, no, so I had to spend the next ten minutes washing my hands, scraping my fingernails, and otherwise disinfecting in the manner of the most deliberate surgical nurse. But I did live to tell.

Ode to Attaturk? Nope, Eau De Attaturk.

ATTATURK RESPONDS:

This is a monstrous calumny. Champollion has insulted my honor because I am a computer geek and a loyal America Loving good-deed doer, and not a frenchified evildoer!

Are there crumbs underneath my keyboard?

Guilty...but who amongst us, that lives upon their computer does not love toast? And who does not love to eat toast next to their computer? We have serious work to do. And admittedly, toast can be crummy, but it is just doing what Ba'al commands it to do.

Does Champollion not like toast? What fully red-blooded American, ladies and gentlemen, doesn't like toast?

I'll tell you who...a Frenchified one. What isn't crummy around keyboards? Snails my friends, and frogs. Champollion's keyboard is pristine, no crumbs, no coffee stains, nothing. Some might say, too clean. I think you catch my meaning.

The hairs are simply a lie, those are decorative frills.

Have I spilled some coffee on my wrist rest? Yes, Yes, I have. Many times admittedly. But would you throw a wrist rest away if it had saved your life? I think not.

Three years ago, I was minding my own business when I was brutally and savagely attacked by RNC strongman Ken Mehlman. He came after me for criticising Dear Leaders policy as well as biking shorts.

Mehlman approached me with a shiv he had fashioned out of a Gilligan's Island Collectors Plate. My only available weapon was my wrist rest, freshly doused in that afternoon's Diet Royal Crown Cola. The adreniline rush that one gets from self preservation was tremendous and I was able to slap Mehlman sensible and then immobile with my deft and well-placed wallops.

That wrist wrest saved my life, so its staying.

Frenchman, always trying to stir up trouble!