Boomer Net

Our nation is bracing itself as the baby boomer generation dodders into retirement. Industry analysts have been calculating the stress this generation will inflict on our health care system and eventually our cemeteries. But I don't think we're considering the real problem. What about the stress on the interweb?



My mother recently sent an email to my son and me. I noticed that she had the wrong email address for my son.

me:	“Has Grammy ever sent you an email?”
son:	“What? What do you mean?”
me:	“I mean, since you've had your email address, has she ever sent you an email?”
son:	“Dad, I've had my email address for 2 years. I emailed her as soon as I got it. So she could put it in her address book.”
me:	“Right. And since that time, has she ever sent you an email?”
son:	“Dad, that's crazy. Wait. Oh my god.”
me:	“Say it...”
son:	“You know, I've never gotten an email from her.”
me:	“For 2 years.”
son:	“Why?”
me:	“She had the wrong email address in her address book.”
son:	“2 years? Didn't she get a delivery error or something?”
me:	“I'm sure she did.”
son:	“But she never knew what it was or did anything about it?”
me:	“Right.”
son:	“WOW!”

Our boomers also suffer from hearing loss. Tragically, they're unable to hear phrases like:

"DO NOT SEND ME EMAIL FORWARDS AND OR JOKE EMAILS!"

Go ahead and try it. Scream it, if you like. They still won't hear (listen to) you.
Even worse, they won't ever understand simple email etiquette. For example, if you must forward an email to someone, please have the courtesy to trim the chaff, maybe even personalize the message. I had the pleasure of receiving this email from my father-in-law:

with a staggering amount of chaff.



How many terabytes of bandwidth is consumed by boomer email traffic alone? How much disk space is wasted on the same WMV file depicting a monkey falling off of a branch after smelling his own finger? I'm treated to this gem (and many others) about once a year.

Password Madness

I'm usually OK dealing with stupid people. Laughing at their misfortune seems to help. But, I find it really annoying when they make my life difficult.



Like any self-respecting paranoid geek, I proudly employ secure passwords whenever possible. My passwords have:

• 10 or more characters.


• letters (uppercase and lowercase), numbers, AND "special" characters.


• no words or personal information.

Oh, and I use different passwords for each of my accounts.


Recently, I tried to change my passwords for my bank, electric company, and prescription drug provider. They each had their own restrictions.






I like (a phrase, which here means, "I don't like") that they further define "special" characters. No '~', '@', '=', or ':'?


My prescription drug provider assumes their users know what "special" characters are. Oh, and they can't allow their clients to use those crazy spaces.







My electric company explicitly defines the allowable characters, but in my opinion, it is too restrictive.







They also have a nice undocumented restriction (yeah! my favorite). They don't allow passwords greater than 10 characters. They don't tell the user that until they try. I'm sure that doesn't annoy anyone.



As a software developer, I can't think of a reason to restrict a user's password. Maybe the developers were concerned about SQL Injection, which is noble, but why should the user suffer? Why restrict the password maximum length? Is disk space really that precious? Make the database column unrealistically large and forget about it.

Having to lump the developers at SourceForge.net into this short-bus-web-developer category really cuts deep. I feel like I've lost my geek innocence.







It's worse than the time I realized that Hackers wasn't a documentary.

World Wide Asshole

Over a year ago I published an article about the sweet demise of my childhood bully. I know you probably think I'm sick in the head, and I am. But luckily, I have someone to blame.

Writing that article was a cathartic experience for me, and to this day, rereading it lifts my spirits.

I noticed that the visitor count on my blog was steadily rising. I thought this was kind of odd. Sites usually become more popular because they produce compelling content at regular and frequent intervals. Then I realized that the majority of my hits were coming from Google Image Search. People who searched for an image of an "asshole" were rewarded with David Fleming's high school yearbook photo. Awesome.

Warning: Unless you're a Goatse fan, you may want to edit your Google search preferences and the set SafeSearch Filtering to Moderate before you perform this search.

Over the past 6 months I've been watching Mr. Fleming's Google Asshole Index rise. When I first started checking (Yes, I was checking regularly. Shut up.), he appeared on about third page. I got more and more excited whenever his Asshole Index afforded him a higher result position. It was kind of like watching the ball drop on New Year's Eve, or refreshing the Olsen Twins legal age countdown page.





When he finally broke into the top ten, I just couldn't contain myself. I had to let someone know. It feels good knowing that people all over the world associate "asshole" with "David Fleming".

God Is Love

I was treated to this inspiring bumper sticker on my drive home from work.

SIN-KILLS
THE WAGES OF SIN IS DEATH
ARE YOU SAVED?

Ummm...I could just feel the warmth of God's love embrace my soul.

Yup, I'm still an atheist. Sharing heaven with this guy would be hell.

I Hate People: part 4, The Trash Fairies Get Creative

Why does this keep happening to me?

There haven't been any notable trash events on the sidewalk in front of our house in recent weeks.

Maybe that's because the Trash Fairies moved their base of operations to the alley behind our house.

What is their motivation?

Why do they need to lynch a bag of trash?

Why do they do this stuff near me?

Haircut Hazzards

I hate getting my hair cut.

It's the people. You might not know this, but getting a haircut is incredibly social. Shoot me. I don't want to be social.

I go to a barber in Camp Hill, that employs 8 to 10 barbers. A wonderful selection, right? Not really. Most of them are talkers. There must be a prerequisite to graduating from the barber academy, a course entitled "The Essentials of Smalltalk : making conversation out of nothing."

I hate smalltalk.

Oh please waste my time and interrupt my inner-quiet by talking to me about the safest topic you can think of. No really, I love forging temporary friendships with strangers as we completely agree about something that is really boring. I cherish the wake of ten-minute-friendships that litter my past.

I had to try several before I found one that didn't talk to me. Switching to a new barber within the same shop is very awkward. Barbers remember their customers. When I return for another trim, all of the barbers I sampled in the past look at me expectantly as I pick a barber I haven't tried.

The perfect barber can cut my hair in less than ten minutes and only utter two words, 'hello' and 'thanks'. Ideally a barber should be able to figure out my hairstyle by LOOKING AT MY HAIR. I want something just like what you're seeing, but SHORTER. But this is never the case.

"Buzzed up the sides with a number three and about half an inch off of the top. Keep the sideburns at their current length." That usually works for me. But there are always fuck-ups. Sometimes I forget to say the last part about my sideburns, which always results in the barber completely removing them. Great. Ice Ice Baby. Sometimes the barber bulks at the buzz-number I've selected; informing me that my hair will look silly if they cut it that close. I struggle to hide my incredulity. How can they not have standards for these things?! Afraid of what might happen, I usually tell them to use their best judgment, which works to my advantage about half the time.

Even when I find a barber that works for me, it never lasts. I enjoy a few months of talk-free bliss, until the barber thinks that we're friends, friendly, or something horrible like that. That's when I start hearing details of his personal life, what he did over the weekend, and all about his World Of Warcraft characters.

My search for a new barber starts with my next visit.

Unsupervised Halloween

I took the kids out for trick-or-treat last night.

The experience was typical. The community involvement covered the wide spectrum.

1. misanthrope -- no lights on; leave us alone



2. bucket -- a bucket of candy on the porch; this always works because kids will only take one piece of candy



3. heart beat -- real people handing out candy; slightly more involved than a bucket



4. normal -- lots of Halloween decorations and scary music; real people handing out the candy and actually attempting to interact with kids



5. Martha Stewart -- full-on Halloween party including: tent housing two picnic tables and chairs; picnic-type foods: hot-dogs and condiments, chips, and drinks (hot chocolate, juice boxes, water, and soda); music, decorations, and fancy lighting

There was one house that didn't really fit in. A few yoots set up shop in the their parent's garage. Strobe lights and industrial music set the mood. Just as the trick-or-treaters entered the garage, one of the teens would surprise them from behind with a real circular saw. It's unmistakable metallic whine was easy to hear over the blaring music. Yes, it had a blade. I guess they thought that the safety shield would be enough. One of the other yoots demonstrated his pyrotechnic prowess by creating a flamethrower using a lighter and a can of Static Guard.

Scary.

I Hate People: part 3, The Trash Fairy Strikes Back

Back in the day I wrote about the trash fairies visiting my sidewalk.

2006.10.16, 9:55PM: Two guys wearing coats that were inappropriately large/warm for 50 degree weather were hanging out in front of my house. The suspects were making noise, smoking cigarettes, and oh, smashing a mountain bike.

Path #1: Call the police and describe to the dispatcher the scene unfolding in front of me as I peer through the curtains. By the time the police cruiser is deployed to the crime scene, the loiterers are long gone. The police officer and I share awkward glances as we stare at the lump of metal that used to be a bicycle.

Path #2: Finish watching the end of Heroes.

Both paths lead to: JC cleans up bike parts from the sidewalk.

Hibernate's New Clothes

Ever since it's inception, Hibernate has been touted as the savior of the database centric application. Its Object-Relational mapping defined externally to the application code was going to eliminate thousands of lines of code for doing Create, Read, Update, and Delete (CRUD) database activities. Every press article I've ever read has nothing but good things to say about Hibernate. If you as a developer are not using Hibernate, there must be something wrong with you.

There's a fairy tale written by Hans Christian Anderson entitled The Emperor's New Clothes. In a nutshell, the story is about two smooth talking tailors who convince the Emperor that the invisible clothes they have made for him are the most exquisite in all of the kingdom. The tailors added that anyone who couldn't see how remarkable the clothes were was obviously a fool. Not wanting to be thought a fool the Emperor "dons" the clothing, and strolls through town completely naked. All of the townsfolk, not wanting to be thought fools either, praise the craftsmanship of the clothing. Only a single boy in the kingdom has the courage to say that the Emperor is not wearing any clothes.

Well, I just have this to say, "Hibernate, put some clothes on!"

I had another run-in with Hibernate the other day. I was working with a very simply database model.



I was using Hibernate to do the normal CRUD operations. Until I tried to do something fancy.

I wanted to insert a new Item and a new ItemType at the same time. I know what you're thinking, "That's Crazy!". Hibernate thought I was crazy too. It complained of a foreign key constraint violation. I spent two days trying to solve this problem, thinking the whole time how much easier it would be to use JDBC.

I solicited SweetTea’s help. He suggested that I set the cascade attribute on the many-to-one relationship to "none". That didn’t fix the problem. He also suggested that I re-fetch the new ItemType after I inserted it. That didn’t fix the problem either. Sorry, SweetTea. Your two years of Hibernate experience aren’t enough for this problem.

So, I checked online, and I found lots of tutorials/reviews written by enamored Hibernate fan-boys. Saying things like:

"Hibernate is simply the greatest object-relational mapping tool available for Java. I wrote an order application in just a few lines of code. I can’t imagine how hard it would have been to use straight JDBC."

Really? I can. It’s not that hard. I’m sure I can do a crazy two table insert in less than two days.

Thankfully, DeviousBard saved the day. Whoosh! After he was finished laughing at me for having to work with Hibernate, he dug in and started tweaking the Hibernate configuration files. Between us, DeviousBard and I have about 20 years of Java experience, but we must be complete idiots. We were pretty much changing settings randomly, and getting unexpected results.

• Lazy initialization Errors


• Batch Update Exceptions


• Class Cast Exceptions


• OMG Hibernate Sucks Exceptions

A few hours later, DeviousBard noticed something that appeared to be completely unrelated. A few lines above my troubled code, I was fetching an object by ID from one of the tables that I was attempting to insert into. The object was not found, and Hibernate simply returned null. Not a problem. Right? Wrong! This was the problem. Our best guess is that because the fetch was done within the same transactional context as the insert, Hibernate attempted to perform some sort of CRUD activity on the null object. By simply removing the seemingly unrelated code, my code suddenly started working. Shoot me.

I’m usually interested in knowing why and how things work. Usually when I start using a new API, I dig into the source, and have a look around. I have no interest in Hibernate internals. It’s like trying to figure out why a turd stinks.

I think I’m gonna write an Eclipse plugin called "WakeUp". Its sole purpose is to convert a Hibernate configuration file and the associated Java code back into POJO's that use JDBC. Then maybe, when everyone else in the Java world is willing to admit that Hibernate has no clothes, I can become a millionaire by selling the product that brings them back to reality.

Schadenfreude

When I was a kid, between the ages of 10 to 18, I had a bully who conveniently lived three houses down from me.

My mom liked to say, "People like that always cook their own goose."

I never believed her. It's hard for a kid to think that way especially when you're in a headlock.

mom:	“Where is your Halloween candy?”
me:	“Yeah, um, David Fleming stole it.”
mom:	“People like that always cook their own goose.”
me:	“Right, but I still don't have my Halloween candy or my dignity.”
mom:	“Here, take some of your sister's candy. She won't mind.”
mom:	“Where is your new bike?”
me:	“Yeah, um, David Fleming stole it.”
mom:	“People like that always cook their own goose.”
me:	“Right, but I still don't have my bike or my dignity.”
mom:	“Here, use your sister's bike. She won't mind.”

So, you can imagine my glee when I heard the news that a cop shot and killed David Fleming.

"It's my life and I'll do what I want!" -- you certainly did...until the policeman shot you.

Good call, Mom!

The goose is cooked. Cooking time? 36 years.

Car Show Daycare

I was helping my kids' school raise money by parking cars for one of the numerous car shows in our town. This car show, "Corvettes at Carlisle", was one of the bigger ones, drawing about 65,000 visitors.

My shift started at 6:00AM on Saturday. Even though the show didn't officially open until 7:00AM, people arrived early.

A man was parking his truck just as I was starting my shift. At about 8:30AM, his anti-theft alarm starting going off. It was annoying, so we went to the truck to try to figure out how to turn the alarm off. That's when we noticed what had set the alarm off. The man's 8-year-old daughter had opened the door from the inside.

She was asleep when Mr. Responsible left her, so she was a little confused. We babysat her while she eagerly awaited her father's return. About 30 minutes later the man returned to his truck.

The man thought it was OK to leave his 8-year-old daughter alone for 3 hours at an event with 65,000 people.

guy #1: "Hey, we've got our apartment. We ripped up the floors, pipes, wiring, and having everything completely redone."

guy #2: "You're renting, right?"

guy #1: "Yeah."

I don't feel so bad now for letting my kids explore the world of books.

A Beautiful Spring Lunch

It was beautiful spring day. I thought I'd eat outside during my lunch break. After all, the building that houses my office provides a wonderful outside dining area. It's a brick patio with picnic tables, shade trees, and, oh right, smoke. Tons of secondhand smoke.

This is just in from the Department of This is Completely Logical so Shut Up: The entire and only outside dining area is a designated smoking area.

Great I'll enjoy my turkey-on-wheat sandwich with a side of hydrogen cyanide please. And maybe some heart disease.

<TheFamilyGuy>

It was worse than that time Rob Schneider was the host at Red Robin.
me:	“Yeah, ah, party of five. Non-smoking.”
Rob:	“OK. Name?”
me:	“Mann. How long is the...”
Rob:	“Mr. Mann! The Mannerator.”
me:	“Right. How long...”
Rob:	“Man-o-lan-a-ding-dong!”
me:	“...is the wait?”
Rob:	“The Sandman. Wants to know how long the wait is. Can't hold up the Mann family.”
me:	“Alright kids, we're goin' to McDonalds.”
Rob:	“Micky-Dees! The Manolition-Mann. Takin' the kids to McDonalds.”

</TheFamilyGuy>

The Little League Season from Hell

This is turning out to be a spectacular Little League season. Here is list of reasons in no particular order:

1. We have a wonderful sponsor...but you know all about them.


2. We have one experienced coach. There are two assistant coaches, me (the village idiot) and another guy.


3. We have one experienced pitcher. This is a problem in Little League because there are all kinds of rules about how much a kid can pitch in one week. The token "stacked" team has eight experienced pitchers.


4. So far there has been a lot of cheating. In the first two games, the stacked team used an illegal bat (a softball bat -- larger sweet spot and larger barrel) and two illegal pitchers (too old). They don't have to cheat against our team to win. They just have show up.


5. We are by far the weakest team in the league. I'll be surprised if we win a single game.


6. The father of one of our players was arrested for downloading child pornography. He's lookin' at 10 years of prison time. The neat part? He's out on bail right now and he likes to show up at the games. That kind of puts a damper our team's cheering section.

ENT Doctor Part 2

I had to visit the ENT doctor again.

This visit was much less painful. No deep probing this time. Just a quick look at my nose again.

In the "I-shit-you-not" category:

doctor:	“You know, the problem isn't with your nose.”
He surface probed my nose with a very bright flashlight
me:	“OK, what's the problem?”
doctor:	“It's your tongue. It's unusually large. When you sleep, it flops back and obstructs your airway. If we just cut your tongue out, you wouldn't have a problem.”
me (in my head):	“OK. That's something most people can joke about...but not a surgeon.”
me:	“My wife would like that.”
The silent nurse gave me an awkward glance.
doctor:	“You know, I have this idea. I know it would work, I just don't have a way of making it happen. If you stick your tongue in front of your bottom teeth like this...”
He then demonstrated the tongue placement, until it appeared as though he was packing chewing tobacco between his lip and gum.
doctor:	“You thee? Ith you thtick it out there, it won't obthruct your airway.”
me:	“That...doesn't seem...realistic.”
doctor:	“This is my idea. You know how you can get a tiny hole pierced in the tip of your tongue? Kids these days are doing it all the time.”
me (in my head):	“Oh. Then it must be a good idea.”
doctor:	“I'd install a tiny hook below your front teeth. At night, you'd hitch your pierced tongue to the hook. Thith will keep your tongue outh of the way.”
me (in my head):	“...Just say something...that way you can get out of here faster...”
me:	“...Did you patent your idea?”
doctor:	“No. I don't have the time or the means.”
me (in my head):	“Yeah...you're spending too much time being crazy.”
me:	“Good luck with that.”

ENT Doctor

Just another chapter in the never ending snoring saga.

I visited an Ear Nose & Throat doctor to see if there is any way they can increase the airflow through my nose and throat, thus rendering the awesome CCRAP useless.

The doctor sprayed something in my nose and then left me alone with a tissue for 5 minutes. This disgusting spray is used to "open you up so we can see what's going on in there." As I waited I didn't really think about what he might have meant.

He returned with a nurse, but made like she wasn't there. I wondered why she was there. I stared at her, thinking that might help. I was hoping she might look at me and give me some indication, like "I'm here to mop up the blood/mucus/vomit after the doctor is finished with you." I got nothin'. To make matters worse, she was holding something behind her back. I started to get a sinking feeling.

The doctor nodded to the nurse and she finally revealed what she was hiding. She handed a the doctor a black shiny cylinder that was about the size of a flashlight. A 12" long, 1/4" diameter black flexible tube extended from the bottom of the device. Yup, something bad was about to happen. He moved in for the kill.

doctor:	“OK, let's have a look see.”
He held my head firmly against the head rest with his left hand while he wielded the Implement of Infinite Pain and Sorrow with his right hand.
doctor:	“Just relax...”
me (in my head):	“Not relaxing! Not relaxing!”
doctor:	“...and we'll see what's going on up there. I'm just gonna stick this here...”
me (in my head):	“OH MY GOD! What the hell are you doing to me!?”
At this point I lurched away from him. He responded by pressing harder against my head with his hand.
doctor:	“No No. You can't move.”
me:	“Right.”
He proceeded to navigate my nasal passage with his Implement of Infinite Pain and Sorrow. Meanwhile, on the receiving team, I was glazed in a cold sweat. The pain was phenomenal. And I knew that if I responded at all to the pain, it would only get worse.
He had all of these little tricks to get his probe past certain parts of my airway.
doctor:	“OK make the sound like 'eeeee'.”
me:	“whimper ... eeeee”
doctor:	“excellent, now I want you to breathe in through your nose as hard as you can.”
me:	“sniff....whimper...”
doctor:	“great, now press your tongue hard against the top of your mouth.”
It was then that I realized just how far he'd ...err...explored. I felt the Implement of Infinite Pain and Sorrow touch the side of my airway about 2" below my mouth. I responded my pushing even more sweat out of every gland I had.
doctor:	“Wonderful. I've seen enough.”
me (in my head):	“Really? Nothing more? You don't want scrape a mucus sample from one of my lungs while you're down there?”
He backed the Implement of Infinite Pain and Sorrow out with amazing speed. He scraped in weird places here and there, but I was numb to the pain by now.
I exhaled.
doctor:	“OK. It looks like you have two options. We can perform an operation using electrocauterization to remove some excess tissue from the back of your throat. Oh, and we'd remove your uvula during that procedure.”
me:	“Electrocauterization. That's burning my flesh with electricity?”
doctor:	“Yes. That way there is no bleeding.”
me:	“That sounds painful.”
doctor:	“Yes, it's very painful. And this type of operation has a 50%-60% success rate.”
me:	“OK.”
doctor:	“...That's not very good.”
me (in my head):	“What about me says 'dumb-ass' to you?”
doctor:	“The other procedure is a little more complex, but it has a 85%-90% success rate.”
me (in my head):	“More complex than burning my flesh with high voltage electricity. This should be good.”
doctor:	“It involves moving your entire jaw forward.”
me:	“That doesn't sound very complex.”
me (in my head):	“Doctor's don't get sarcasm.”
doctor:	“Well...it's an eight hour operation in which we break your upper and lower jaw bones and reconstruct them. Your jaw will then be wired shut for several weeks after operation.”
me:	“K. Ouch.”
doctor:	“So, we'll need to give this some thought.”
me (in my head):	“Thanks...because I was just about to order two of each operation.”

I'd rather just snore for the rest of my life and risk dying in my sleep.

White Sponsorship : Update #2

It was Opening Day for our local Little League baseball teams. A player from the very first White C****e sponsored team, who is now an upstanding member of White C****e himself, was there to accept a plaque on behalf of the "Men's Club." Why? The league wanted to honor them for lynching minorities sponsoring local Little League teams since the league was established in 1947. Yey. They even let him throw the first pitch. This story will not die.

In related news: A reliable source/friend gave me some information. She actually knew two members of the "Men's Club." She told me that they are in fact white supremacists and enjoy the occasional cross burning.

White Sponsorship : Update

It was field maintenance day for my son's Little League. Lots of the coaches and parents showed up to help get the fields ready for the season. This was the perfect time to investigate further into dealings of the sponsor for my son's team.

I saw two guys having a private discussion. I've seen these guys before. They have been involved with the Little League for at least 7 years. And I was pretty sure they both have lived in this town for their entire lives. Surely they know something.

me:	“So, what's deal with the White C****e club.”
Mr. Defensive:	“What do you mean?”
me:	“I just wanna know more about them. No one seems to know very much.”
Mr. Defensive:	“They're a great sponsor. That's all you need to know. They've been sponsoring local sports programs for like 50 years.”
me:	“Great. So their money is green. What color is their membership?”
me (in my head):	“Nice and subtle. Good job.”
Mr. Scary:	“You wanna know if they're a white supremacy group?”
me (in my head):	“Wow...I wasn't ready to get to the point that quickly.”
me:	“uh...yeah.”
Mr. Defensive:	“Look. It isn't like they are going around lynching people. They may have started that way, but that's not what they are about.”
me:	“OK. I called the borough office and asked about them.”
they both laughed briefly
Mr. Scary:	“What did they say?”
me:	“Hardly anything. Just that they're a men's club. And that they haven't caused any trouble.”
Mr. Defensive:	“See? They are just a men's club.”
me:	“Yes. But I...”
Mr. Scary:	“Look. Let me give you some advice.”
me (in my head):	“Oh great. I love unsolicited advice.”
Mr. Scary:	“If you are ever invited to the White C****e Club, they'll offer you two ashtrays, a white one and a black one. Take the white ashtray.”
me (in my head):	“Cool. I'll just asked one of my racist friends for an invite.”
me:	“...But I don't smoke.”
Mr. Defensive:	“Just take the white ashtray.”
me (in my head):	“Don't say anything. Don't say anything.”
me:	“We couldn't have asked for more beautiful weather today.”

I'm less trustworthy than a Muslim

Please don't trust me. Chances are -- I don't trust you.

Why? There are so many reasons. Ummmm...how about...war. Here is a list of all of the wars started by those distrustful Atheists.

White Sponsorship

My son received his team assignment for Little League baseball. The team is sponsored by the ¹ club.

I'm a little concerned. I asked around about them, but very few people knew anything about them. One person, the head of the local Little League, said it was a club for white supremacists. Interesting. My son is playing for Hitler's army.

One guy's word isn't good enough for me. So, I checked on the inter-web. Nothing. There is not a single website containing any information about them. That's strange. What kind of business/club would have no information about themselves available in the inter-web?

The next day I called the borough administration office for my home town. I'm not a quitter.

woman #1:	“Borough administration office. How can I help you?”
me:	“Hi. I was wondering if you could help me track down some information about a local business or organization?”
woman #1:	“We sure can. What is the business name?”
me:	“It's the club.”
woman #1:	“...What kind of information were you looking for?”
filter catch:	“Are they a bunch of racists?”
me:	“They're the sponsor of my son's baseball team, and I just want to know a little more about them.”
woman #1:	“I'm sorry. I can't help you with that.”
filter catch:	“No you can't because they'll burn your house down.”
me:	“Is there someone else there I can speak to about this?”
woman #1:	“Just give me a moment. I'll find someone to help you.”
(muffled sounds -- as she holds her hand over the receiver.)
woman #2:	“Sir? You how can I help you?”
filter catch:	“Sure, just act like the first woman told you nothing.”
me:	“I'm looking for any information you might have about the club.”
woman #2:	“They're a service organization sir. They do charitable things for the community.”
filter catch:	“Charitable things like...I don't know...rid our town of minorities?”
me:	“OK. Who's in this club?”
woman #2:	“They have an exclusive membership. You have to be sponsored by a member to become a member.”
filter catch:	“It also helps if you have a shaved head and spider web tattoo on your elbow.”
me:	“Do you have any other information?”
woman #2:	“They're a service organization sir. They do charitable things for the community.”
me:	“Right, you said that already. Do you have any other information?”
woman #2:	“...We haven't had any complaints about them... What were you interested in?”
filter catch:	“No? No complaints about lynchings?”
me:	“Anything. I have a name, an address, and brief generic description of what they do. Can I call them?”
(awkward silence)
woman #2:	“...ah...You...can do that.”
me:	“...OK, thanks for your help.”
woman #2:	“You're welcome.”

Weird.

The uniforms haven't been delivered yet. I wonder if we'll get white hoods instead of hats.

¹ Yes. I'm a total coward and don't like burning crosses on my front lawn. I will say that the name of the club contains the word "White" and the name of a 2D shape with only one edge.

I Hate Lawyers

OK. I know I'm wrong to say that. I guess I'm supposed to say "I hate The System."

This person could possibly win a lawsuit with a payout of $40,000 per bug bite.