Which reminds me of my old friend Mark. I don’t know what Mark is doing for a living right now, but he used to be a building design engineer, a professional driver, a rally judge, and on the executive of the Mini association back before the Mini had a renaissance. He lost his gig as a rally driver when he ruled a team had won because they crossed the finish line first even though they did it on their roof, not on their wheels; the association thought he could use a little “time out.”
Mark is the man Calvin from Calvin and Hobbes grew up to become.
What he really should be is a professional talkshow guest. He has more outrageous stories than your whole bookcase even if it has a complete collection of Baron Munchausen, and as his sister once said to me, the most annoying thing about them is that they’re all true. The one about using a giant pine tree as a slingshot to shoot his friend through a third-story window, nearly causing a fatal cardiac infarction in said friend’s mother, who was in the room, making the bed at the time? True. The one about betting kids a quarter they wouldn’t jump into a hole in the ice he made with an axe in the middle of the Canadian winter? True (best four dollars of entertainment I ever spent, he said). The one about the guy vansurfing and getting slingshotted right off the top of the van by a “welcome rally competitors” banner hung across Main Street? True. The one about the Lambo that’s too long to tell here but awesome? True, and you can ask the police of Washington and Oregon about that, though it’s best to have a lawyer with you when you do.
But the best Mark story dates back to the time nearly 20 years ago, when Macs were new and Nexts were yet to be, and a Maccer had to virtually razorwire his cubicle to protect the Sacred Box. Mark was, you may imagine, something of a prankster, as well as quite possessive; he set up a “fail-proof” defence system. Did it fail? Well, yes and no, depending on whether you think getting woken up at 2 in the morning is a failure or a win.
It is 2am.
The phone rings.
It is a coworker, gibbering desperately, “I’m sorry, I’M SORRY OKAY? HOW DO I TURN IT OFF?”
What had Mark done? Simply set his computer so that, unless while shutting it down you entered a particular key sequence, it would warn you with “Don’t do that, Dave” then go dark for a few seconds, then come back to life and say, “I told you not to do that, Dave.” Over. And Over. And Over.
raincoaster 
At 1.30am I often feel inappropriately sentimental. And reading this at this time of the day reminds me of just why I come here so often.
Awww, thanks. For stories about Mark? He’ll be thrilled!
in my efforts to bring you all things cephalopod and cthulu oriented on the internet i bring you
Regretsy’s Eye of the Beholder entry. this one you can actually buy.
Nice! Thanks.
I found instructions on how to make an octo-hoodie and may get doing that in time for Northern Voice. Haven’t posted any tentacles lately; I’d better get on that.
Great story, and perfect expression on that cat’s face.
hahahahahaha…..
I keep meaning to post Mark stories; there’s enough for a whole separate blog (which I need like a hole in the head) but this week I’m not only still getting over the Death Flu of Deathness, I have a nasty internal infection which the doctors seem to think does NOT demand my incarceration in a cushy hospital where people bring me junket and lukewarm tea, but instead demands rancid vegetal concoctions mixed up in a blender alternating with organic beer, but not enough to be any fun. Posting will be spotty until I either get well or get good and drunk, which on this stuff is probably never.