another reason why we hate nickelback

"The frontman of a popular Canadian rock group had a blood-alcohol level nearly twice the legal limit when he was pulled over two years ago on suspicion of driving drunk, the RCMP claim.

Nickelback's Chad Kroeger allegedly had 140 milligrams of alcohol per 100 millilitres of blood when he was stopped by RCMP in the Vancouver suburb of Surrey. The legal limit is 80 milligrams per 100 millilitres.

The judge's written overview of the circumstances of the case states that Kroeger - whose real name is Chad Turton - was stopped by police after midnight on June 22, 2006, after an officer saw a Lamborghini going "well over 160 kilometres an hour.''

When Kroeger stopped for police, an officer noted he had red, glossy eyes and a red, flushed face. He allegedly handed over his credit card when the officer asked for his driver's license."



The above story is yet another reason why we here at a-cube hate chad kroeger and all things Nickelback. Nevermind the fact that his overall persona makes you nauseous and his music/voice/lack of talent makes you want to rip your ears off everytime you are subjected to it.

I know it's been awhile since I've posted, but I think this is a good way to kick things off again.

Down with Chad Kroeger and Nickelback! I want to live in a world where bad singers aren't able to make awful music, make poor choices regarding their facial hair, and endanger others with their irresponsible drinking and driving habits.

Who's with me?

Sorry, We're BUSY.

K. Myers mentioned to me a few days ago that we hadn't updated in a few... months... but it happens. I mean, we're sitting at desks, in front of computers, sometimes we forget about... this isn't turning into a good fabrication so... I apologize.

Ahem. WHOLE GRAIN POP TARTS.

I tried some of my roommates and my refined pallet is still up in the air. They tasted a little bit like cardboard, however, I prefered them to Cheese Danish Pop Tarts. It's just too "healthy". If I was going for health, would I really being eating anything with the words "brown sugar cinnamon" stamped on the box? This is largely part of America's problem with figuring out the Next Big Thing, it leads to thing like Diet Bread, bluetooth ear pieces, and Whole Grain Pop Tarts. Yes, I do rank all of these things in the very same catagory.

Still, no luck on finding the Grape ones. This is what it feels like to be an adult.

Apologies and Humor (Doug returns!)

First and foremost, I would like to apologize for my complete and total lack of contribution in the recent months. I suck, I'm sorry. My excuse basically boils down to two reasons. A lack of material (which I recently realized isn't entirely true) to blog about, and moving to and from Florida pretty much consumed me.

The being said, allow me to broach the topic of hidden humor. Yes, hidden humor. There will be days when your cube will seem about as funny as the inside of your coffin. Never fear, there is hidden humor to carry you through the day. I discovered the hidden humor at my work place and it has truly made the grind more bearable.

For me the hidden humor is in my coworkers. I never realized how absolutely close this place is to a three ring circus until i moved back from florida and decided to talk to them more.

THOMAS JEFFERSON: a forty something black male that is the biggest dirtbag in the world. Granted, he is a nice guy - genuine and what not. However I cannot get past the fact that he is involved in at least four serious relationships with women. He lives with one, Kim, and spends his free time at one of the other three homes. He actually has them scheduled and timed so there is virtually no chance of any of them suspecting him of cheating. Two or three nights a week a different woman will come around to bring us food or coffee at work! Sometimes at really ungodly hours and by food i don't mean McD's, i mean hand cooked meals with desserts, usually whole pies or cakes. These women are completely enthralled by Jefferson! It amazes me how well he does it.

BILL: A raging alcoholic. This normally would be something for people to be concerned about but not on the railroad. Bill comes to work buzzed and by 3 or 4am he's tanked! But not sloppy frat boy tanked. No, Bill is fully functional, however he goes from normal to full on jovial in the times of consumption. The friendliest guy you'll ever meet. And he can sing but only when blitzed! Which brings up...

ROME(aka bojangles): Rome is supposed to be on methodone. Sometimes he is and some times...well, he isnt. Again, blatant drug addiction is generally something to bring about concern. Not so much in this case. Besides, when Bill starts to sing, Rome starts to "dance." Now use your imaginations. A singing alcoholic and a dancing crackhead performing in the middle of the night for a bunch of sleep deprived workers. It's really quite a site. Rome dances like a marrionette with loose strings. Classic.

Also, there's the railroad sports that take place semi weekly. Events include: "hammer toss"-a mix of shot put, bowling and horse shoes in which two to three employees line up and throw two 10lb sledge hammers down the platform like a bowling ball. Points are given for distance and proximity to obstacles. Bonus points for sparks and noise.

"Shoe Gnomes"- a cruel game. Basically, there's this guy Arnette that habitually falls asleep with one shoe off. Each night, one person is picked to hide the shoe somewhere in plain view in the building ( which is about the size of a smaller strip mall). The winner is chosen on the last night of the week and determined by how long it took Arnette to find his shoe.

"Cart Stuntin'"-we a have a few shooping carts from area super markets that we simply tie to the back of the buggy and pull around the shop. While someone does "tricks" on the cart they are scored on complexity and over all stupidity.

Soon I'll have some pictures and videos of the railroad sports to post.

One other thing one of my coworkers is extremely into table tennis (ping pong). Apparently thats what he does to stay in shape.

I'll pause so you can take a moment to fully appreciate the concept of ping pong as exercise

Got it?

Good.

Anyway, Big Al says that the table tennis olympic qualifiers are being held in Philadelphia this year! If any of you could find out the date, time, and place that would be great, since i couldn't get that information out of him. I would loooove to see some of the world's best qualify for Olympic dreams! Anyone who wants to come please do so as i think this could be a one in a life time opportunity!

-Doug

Epson Inkjet School of SHUT THE HELL UP!!!

By Ryan B.
Guest Contributor

I really don't have time to blog right now, but I'm fired up.

My office recently moved to a larger, more corporatey building. Along with the move came a new cubicle. I got shafted.

Why did I get shafted, you ask? No, it's not because I'm furthest away from the window. It's not because no one sits on either side of me and I'm bored all day. It's not because I sit directly across from a conference room and therefore cannot spend my life on Facebook.

I got shafted because my cube is RIGHT NEXT to the freaking most ANNOYING PRINTER EVER. My cube is literally TOUCHING this printer. And the icing on the cake? I DON'T EVEN HAVE ACCESS TO PRINT TO THIS DAMN PRINTER. THE PRINTER I CAN PRINT ON IS ACROSS THE FREAKING ROOM.

Now, after a few days I got used to the sounds of endless print jobs spewing out of the damn thing. In fact, the sounds are kind of relaxing. It's like when I lived in North Philly and I got used to the traffic noises, sirens, and the sounds of drunken frat boys peeing off of the roof next door at 4 a.m. It helped me fall asleep.

But no, it's not the sound of the printer that ticks me off. It's the fact that the damn thing breaks all the freakin time, and whoever's print job it is assumes that I know what's wrong with the damn thing just because I sit next to it. If I had a freakin penny for every time someone said "Hey Ryan, what's wrong with this printer??" or "Why isn't this working?" or "How do I load paper into tray 2?" I WOULD BE FREAKING RICH. Tray 2??? I CAN'T EVEN PRINT TO THE DAMN THING, DON'T TALK TO ME ABOUT TRAYS.

Seriously, do I look like a printer technician? Am I a professional mechanic of print technology? Apparently I'm wearing an effing jumpsuit and toolbelt, complete with a wrench and various ink cartridges. Apparently I have a stash of freaking legal paper in my desk, and a framed diploma from the EPSON INKJET SCHOOL OF PRINTING. Apparently I did not go to school for communication or studio art. Apparently I went to freaking trade school or some shit. I went to effing Devry or Kathering Gibbs school, you know those schools you see commercials for during The Price is Right?? Apparently I freaking work at KINKO's!!!!!!

UUUUUGGGGHHHHHH. Ok. Breathe. Wow I feel better.

DAMMIT.

OK, I feel like I should have been reporting on this for the past 8 months or so, but the saga just keeps continuing and my fury is raging this morning.

I HAVE A MOUSE IN MY APARTMENT THAT WON'T DIE.

We've had him I believe since April. At first, Dana and I would be sitting on our couch and then out of the corner of my eye I'd see a fast movement. I'd look to where I thought I saw the blur, and nothing would be there.

"What the hell was that?" I said.
"What?" Dana asked.
"Um, well, I think I saw something," I mumbled, "I don't know. Maybe it was a mouse."

And then we wouldn't see anything for weeks, maybe months. And that's how it went on. Sometimes we'd see a blur out of the corner of our eyes, but we'd never actually see it.

Then one day, we were both in the kitchen and I was rummaging for something in our pantry when I heard Dana scream. I turned around quickly to see that bastard squeeze himself under the refrigerator. DAMN YOU, MOUSE, AND YOUR TINY BONELESS BODY!!! I have a method that I use when I think I have the mouse trapped. I bust out a whole bunch of VHS tapes and try and block him in. This has actually never worked, but it's my default because I always panic and don't know what to do. Anyway, the mouse ended up under our stove and he probably disappeared through a pipe in the wall.

Then one day, I had just gotten up and as soon as I walked out of the bedroom, Dana said she saw the mouse dash into our sun room. I immediately grabbed my VHS tapes. SUCKER. Where the hell is he going now. He's trapped! Or so I thought.

"WHERE THE HELL DID HE GO?" I fumed. "WHERE CAN HE POSSIBLY GO IN OUR SUN ROOM?"

Well, we have 4 radiators in our apartment that look similar to the one pictured (minus the cat, though I wish we had a cat...that's another story). Since mice can pretty much squish their bodies into nothing, he probably hopped into the radiator or dashed under some insignificant hole somewhere. Foiled again.

We've set up more traps, WITH PEANUT BUTTER, and he's still avoiding them. It's like he's taunting us, because now he doesn't just come out at night like a stupid mouse should, being nocturnal and all, but he comes out IN THE MIDDLE OF THE DAY. And I've found out where his little getaway hole is. We have a gap between the floor and the pipe with the knob (see above) which he's slipping in and out of. I know this because I saw the bastard run into it. And that's another thing, he's not even running along walls anymore. I SAW HIM RUN STRAIGHT TO THE HOLE. He knows what he's doing.

Just this morning, I saw him on my stove top. He dashed into the space between the stove top and the dials. ASS. I'm livid. I don't know what to do. I don't want to bring poison into my apartment, but he's leaving me with no other choice. UHG. I wish we had a cat, because that bitch of a mouse would be DEAD like 8 months ago.

Anyone have any suggestions? I've had it.

The List (A Birthday Update)...

In addition to a box of Cinnamon Roll Pop Tarts, I also received a box of Barbie as Island Princess Pop Tarts. Officially, they are "IslandBerry" flavored (but really, they're just an aptly renamed WildBerry). Gosh, what I wouldn't give to be a Princess on whatever island produces Islandberries and stuffs them into PopTarts. Then, I could wear that much makeup and prance around with my hideous pink crown and... Oh, sigh.

* * * * * ranking for the "printed fun" figures on the crust. See below.

ATTENTION: This is huge.

To all you a-cubers - i feel it important to recongize the 24th birthday of the one and only Ashleigh, who, by the way, is now famous thanks to facebook event listings.

A good time was had by all at the Dogfish Head Ale House in VA, on saturday dec 8. Never mind the fact that we had to wait about an hour and a half for a table. Dinner was enjoyed over several rounds of Connect Four, Ashleigh got some kick ass gifts, and she loved every second of it (as did her guests).

HAPPY BIRTHDAY ASHLEIGH.
you are totes legit.

ps - refer to andrew for a version of ashleigh's bday song, "Pug in the Club." it's soon to be a birthday classic everywhere. totes.