Holidays!

Howdy.
Well, as much as the title may say it all, I still feel like I have to expand my line of thought in here. Yes, I know. That doesn't make any sense. Then again, in my current state of mind, relief and hungover, well, I can't be held accountable for any nonsense fit I may experience. Anyhow, allow me to develop.
Relief is rather obvious, since if you have been reading this blog, you should by now know I had a rather shitty end of month at work. Holidays are exactly what I needed. Late night talks with whiskey bottles in the companies of friends, presents, the warm and fuzzy feeling one gets from being reunited with one's family after a long separation... I don't need to pitch it to yall, do I? ;)
As for the hangovering (yeah, I'm making up words. Because I can.), well, we had a christmas party on Thursday night with the office guys. I know the most cunning of you are already wondering how I can still be hungover from a binging on Thursday night when it's Saturday today. To those I say, it was a really nice drinking session we had. And truth be told, I haven't recuperated my lost hours of sleep. Plus, the utter lack of decent kebabs in this country has deprived my stomach of the necessary amount of fat required to properly absorb the alcohol.
That was a long sentence, which I'm glad I didn't have to say out loud.
Anyhow, back on topic. I shall leave my country of adoption to temporarily return to the land that was gifted with the immense honor of hosting my coming into this world. Yes, I just said that. As you can imagine, my being away from home will seriously reduce my abilities to come expose my random thoughts to your unprotected brains.
In light of these reflexions, I gathered myself into a committee, and unanimously I decided on the following. To those I won't see this fall, guys, take good care of you, merry Xmas and happy new year. Watch out for any racoons. Especially ones carrying lightsabers.
To the munchkin that went overseas, I hope your holidays with the other side of the family is going well. I miss your ramblings.
To the owner of my favorite pet shop, a mighty hug to you and the old branch. Best of things to yall.
To my broeder and his better half, keep the coconut spirit up for this coming year and the rest. May your dwarve's beards always grow. We shall see each other in '09, count on that.
To TC, keep the storm coming!
And finally to those I'll have the pleasure to see, wait for meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!
Over and out.
Votre Blatte.

Saturday, sweet Saturday..

I can't even begin to describe how much I had waited for this Saturday. The first day after a rather taxing and distressing week, the first day that can actually start off whenever I please to wake up, the first day where I don't to enact moronic commands from moronic bastards... Don't get me started.
Anyhow, let it be known throughout the realms that today has been a thoroughly unproductive day. I am pleased.
On today's blogging menu, I'd like to direct your attention away from my mindless chatter and onward to this little thing I've discovered today while reading VGCats. 'Tis called Geist Panik, and without further ado, I command thee to click on yonder link: http://www.geist-panik.com/
Now, the mind must yield to the demands of the flesh.
I must feed.

Fuming Blatte

Today has been a pretty effed-up day.
I can't get into the details, because I'm under the effects of both a contractual NDA and my own character.
Suffice to say that in my job we have some activities that are value-adding, and other that are not. Or not that much. As some of you may know, we in sales are measured against a revenue target. Or we should be. Anyhow, given the economical situation and all that jazz, things aren't as bright as one could expect right now.
And, go figure, my beloved manager asked us to spend the whole morning on non value-adding activities, for the sake of him looking good in front of his management. When we tried to argue that we'd be better off spending time trying to get some revenue in, the answer was something along the line of "Anyway, you ain't gonna make it today, so... *shrugs*".
Although I can't deny the truth in that, does that mean I should lie down and fucking die? Does being unable to attain the target that was fixed for me warrant my spending my valuable time on pointless activities, using inaccurate data? Should I start walking around without pants on account that I'll be cold anyway?
I read back what I just wrote, and it seems rather like me bitching pointlessly so I'll stop right here. But still... allow me this final little consolation...
WHAT THE FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK???!!!111oneoneeleven
There.
I feel slightly better now.

Sweet, sweet tomorrow.

Or is it?
It's been nagging at me these past few days. Or rather, what has been nagging at me is what people say about how to consider tomorrow, and the way I feel about it. Basically, I hear two ways of behaving towards tomorrow. The first one is to always expect it, and the second one is simply not to give a good goddamn about it. Now, while both have their appeal, I find that I can't quite subscribe to one or the other.
While I would tend to be more attracted to the latter, I still can't help but look forward to the next day, hoping it'll bring wonders and all that jazz. Of course, I'm exaggerating a bit, but you get the point.
I suppose somewhere in the middle is where I fit in. Or maybe I don't fit in, in which case I might as well stop worrying and go about my business.
Anyhow, enough brainers for now. I have some house chores to do.
Yes, I live an exciting life on Sundays.

The Blatte.

Racoons with lightsabers

Yes. Yes, you read well. Today's post shall discuss the grave threat posed by racoons wielding lightsabers.
Before we go any further, let's go for a bit of history.
As you know, the Clone Wars lead to the downfall of the Jedis and the rise of the Empire. Palpatine, being the evil bastard that he was, ordered his scientists to conceive a breed of super soldiers, to use as his elite guard. Not that he had any serious enemy to fear at the time, but well, tyrants are paranoid. That's the main drawback to ruling with an iron fist a whole Empire.
Anyhow, let's not stray from our story. Darth Vader, out of boredom, took to supervising the creation process. Several months of hard work and the deaths of several scientists (Vader was "displeased") later, the geneticists team finally pronounced their task complete.
They had created a humanoid lifeform, which had surprisingly developped a furry tail. It seems that the outcome of mixing cells from wookies and Bobba Fett wasn't that predictable. When Vader was presented with the result, his initial displeasure turned into utter satisfaction when the specimen tore off the head of the nearest scientist and maimed a couple more. The poor thing even went for Vader himself, but a quick Force choke was enough to immobilize it. What the Sith hadn't foreseen was that his victim was sensitive to the Force and would try to fight back.
Of course, Vader being the most potent Force user in the Galaxy after Palpatine (and even that's not proven to this date), he had no trouble making the newborn creature yield. Remembering his childhood in Tatouine and the little beasts he used to toy with, he named the creature "Racoon". Afterwards he made sure the Racoons knew what their name referred to, thus humiliating them even further.

He ordered the remaining scientists to create a host of Racoons, and thus proceeded to training them in the dark arts of the Force. The casualty list was heavy. Out of the two thousands Racoons he trained, only twelve remained. Those twelve Vader presented to the Emperor. Palpatine ordered them to fight two squadrons of Stormtroopers. He was disappointed when Vader didn't object, as the fight was set up as much to assert the Racoons true strength as to hurt Vader's feelings. The last of Vader's humanity was rather fond of the Racoons, truth be told.

Imagine the Dark Emperor's surprise when the Racoons took their lightsabers out of their belts and started slicing through the Stormtroopers like a hot knife in an ice cream. Disbelieving his eyes, Palpatine lowered himself to the bloodstained arena. He summoned his own lightsaber, and swiftly attacked the next Racoon. After a few blows were exchanged, he knew his servant had brought him the perfect tool for his personal guard.

The Emperor handpicked six Racoons and garbed them in red capes that hid they furry legs and tails, for he didn't like their appearance. The remaining six were ordered to proceed to cryogenical ships and sent in outer space to conquer new worlds for the Empire. Darth Vader finalized their training and gave them further knowledge of the ways of the Force.

Two of these Racoons arrived, an undetermined time later, to a blue planet with a natural satellite, both orbiting around a yellow star. The first one crashed on top of a couple T-rex that were quietly dismembering a fallen diplodocus, and caused an ice age. A couple millenia later, the second one landed in what is now the Mediterranean sea. He was welcomed as a God by the Atlantean society, which was the most advanced human civilisation of these times. He quickly reached for the Force, and felt the Jedis from afar. For the first time of his life, he was free to do as he pleased. So he decided to enslave the puny humans.

That was done rather fast, what with the Dark side of the Force. Once this was done, he began to relax himself, and decided it was high time to give rein to the natural urges of his species. Of course, he tried to lay with human females, but it was disappointing for him, as they were too frail and hairless for him. The slaves suffered greatly from his displeasure, untill one of them mentioned the legend of the Ice Age.

The Racoon understood what was behind that, and immediately went in search of his fallen comrade, praying it was a female one. He landed in the North Pole and sensed a being asleep under the ice. Using the Force to locate it, he thawed the ice with his lightsaber, nearly exhausting the battery in the process. He was delighted to see that the being was a Racoon as well, and a female at that!

So he woke her up with the Force, but his delight was short-lived. He found out that his kin had slumbered too long in her Force-induced coma, and while the body still lived, the mind was dead to the world.

After a short debate with himself, he gave in to his urges and discarded their clothes. He went about his business, but while the body of his partner reacted to... stimulating, when he was done he was shamed. Still, he went back to Atlantis with the other Racoon in his arms.

For several years life went on, untill someday the female Racoon gave birth to four cubs. As he tested their abilities, the male Racoon found that they had no sense of the Force within them. He tried and tried, but to no avail. In his rage, he destroyed Atlantis and sunk the whole continent.

The cubs escaped, and procreated on what is now known as the European continent, and over the centuries the species dwindled, both in sentience and size.

But be wary, as the Force is still in them, and we never knew what happened to their genitors... Racoons with Lightsabers are the real threat.

Superheroes and the like

I recently read a friend's blog, who mentionned Superman. So, I've been wondering something about that dude. Since everything in that guy is "super duper", everything we can see, at least, why oh why does he wear his underwear atop his trousers? Although it's thighs, more like.
Not that I expect any kind of answer, mind. Just needed to get it out of mine system.
Now that it's done, well... I kinda find myself at a loss, really. I know it's old news now, but I can't seem to get over Marvel killing Captain America. Admittedly, he was way too old for his own good, but why not let him fade into the night, instead of killing him? I mean, it's not like Marvel ever respected the passage of time... The son of Reed and Jane Richards managed to stay three years old for about 5 of our years, and then all of a sudden grew up to being roughly 18. Not to mention Spidey's various tribulations, time-wise.
That's why I don't read comics anymore. That and cross-overs. Whoever invented that was a devious genius, and should probably be the target of a swathe of anger from readers all around the world. Although the sales exec probably rever him and sacrifice young readers to his glory, in some lost, dark publication company's basement.
Fortunately, the good folks at Vertigo have enough good taste to produce satisfying products. I'm a huge fan of 100 Bullets, and of course titles like Preacher are always good to read.
Anyhow, enough geeking out for tonight.
Cheerio!

Kittens, cocktail and baloon-lightsabers...

... do not make up for an easy morning.
Seriously.
Last night I had a couple friends over at my place. The previous night I had gone to a party that actually was more of a "sit down and drink beer for hours while trying to nail down the meaning of life and the universe" evening than truly a party... and drinking only beer for hours at a time doesn't sit with me very well. So, to get to the point of that looooooooooong-ass sentence, we stroke a deal to make some cocktails.
And so it was that yesterday afternoon I scoured the city to find myself a good shaker. Which I eventually did, after a visit to my own personnal Huggy Bear. Then I spent 40€ in various juices, a bottle of gin and a bottle of Martini. My friends were supposed to buy some whiskey and some vodka but nooooooooooooo, they had to forget about it. As is usually the case it was too late to buy more booze when they got here. Anyhow, I had to make do with gin and the fruit juices I had, right?
Well, you'd be surprised to know how very much drinkable pear juice, orange juice, gin and a splash of whiskey is. Also, I discovered that as disgusting as it sounds, white martini and coke (the drink, not the psychotropic alcaloid that kills so many people) is actually very tasty if properly dosed. Emphasis on the "IF".
The drinks induced a baloon swordfight that left us out of breath from laughter, as you could imagine. There are some pictures of this, which some of you might get to see. I know I will use my censoring right on some of them, though.
The most sharp-minded of my readers will have noticed the presence of kitties in the title of this post. Well, as for that... suffice to say that kitties ARE evil, no matter what their slaves try to tell you. Yes, you read correctly. Most so-called domesticated cats actually have domesticated their legal owners. Spend enough time around one of them and you shall see.
Anyhow, I have to be off, due to some pear juice bottle that had the nasty idea of being empty.
Cheerio!

Small Blatte

Hey guys,

Just a little Blatte tonight.
Gotta say mood ain’t at its brightest tonight. Probably because of tomorrow… Tomorrow, the super-manager and his cohort of underlings come to visit my department, so well, all hands, battle station, and stand at attention, soldier!
I hate that.
Lousy freaking day, during which my immediate manager will probably grovel in front of the super-boss (I should perhaps put a capital…) and maybe perform a couple sessions of oral sex. It disgusts me, that kind of day where you spend more day representing than doing actual work.
Then again, it might just be my temper showing again. And quite frankly, I’m not to fussy about taking my business suit out of the closet, where it’s been playing with the coats ever since I arrived here.
I’ll tell you about it tomorrow, if I survive that long, that is.

LaBlatte.

Petite Blatte

Salut les amis,

Une petite Blatte comme ça en passant.
J'avoue que l'humeur n'est pas au beau fixe aujourd'hui. Probablement à cause de la journée de demain... Demain, le super-managueur et sa pétrachiée de subalternes viennent nous visiter, alors bon, branle-bas de combat, tout le monde au garde-à-vous, le doigt sur la couture du pantalon.
Ca me gaaaaaaaaave!!
Saloperie de journée pourrie, pendant laquelle mon boss va très certainement baisser son froc devant son patron, voire peut-être pratiquer une petite fellation ou deux. Ca me débecte, ce genre de journée à base de revue de quéquette permanente.
Enfin, si ça se trouve, c'est juste mon sale caractère qui remonte à la surface. Et puis, franchement, ça me saoule d'être obligé de ressortir mon costard du placard où il joue avec les mites depuis que je suis arrivé.
Je vous dirai comment ça s'est passé demain soir, enfin si je survis jusque là.

Votre Blatte.

Lost in Booze Blatte

Heya

Today's post will be in English, to make up for those previous posts I haven't translated, and prolly won't... out of pure lazyness.

Anyhow, I'll try to make this one quick, since i have a heavy drinkin' night ahead of me. I'm tagging along a bunch of German guys for drinks tonight, as you probably guessed from the title.

I've been trying to decide what I was going to talk about in here today, and quite frankly, I dunno. One could always touch on the matters of impending doom in the world, what with the Russian going "screw yall" in Eastern Europe, I spose... but international politics isn't something I'm good at. I'm not really clear on whatever they want to achieve there, to be honest. Probably more power, as it always seems to be the case. I don't really see the attraction of seeking power, myself. I spose I must lack ambition, or something.

Probably means I'll end up being a subordinate at some point, if I don't go "eat shit and die" on whatever company employs me and go start my own.

Speaking of companies, and being pissed off, I recently was asked by my management to actually lie on the effin' reporting they have us make every week.

"Reporting"... as a friend of mine recently pointed out to me, it seems like a very childish thing to do, when you're out of the sales game. When you're in there, though, it's more of a Holy-freaking-Grail thing. That's one of the two words your higher-ups will have in their mouth. The other one, obviously, will be "target".

While I'm glad I took up my current job in sales (it took me to Ireland, and so far I love it here), I don't think I'll stay there more than a year... Too much nonsense going on there. And it's not really a company matter.

No, the real problem lies in the way things work in sales. While I love selling, meeting new people, discussing stuff, convincing the guy you're talking to, I am appalled by the amount of pointless meetings, reporting and all kind of administrative bullshit involved in the job.

Well, well... it seems I did find something to write about, hehe.

Hope you enjoy reading those little posts as much as I enjoy writing them, by the way.

Cheers,

LaBlatte.

Blatte Architect!

Heya,

Just a quick post for tonight. Before I go to bed, I'd advise you guys go admire the wonders of my architecture, and test your own wit!
http://FantasticContraption.com/?designId=872820
I reckon you'll be hooked up in no time.

Cheerio
La Blatte.

Blatte Architecte

Juste comme ça en passant avant d'aller dormir, je vous invite à aller admirer les résultats de mon architecture, et à tester vos capacités!!
http://FantasticContraption.com/?designId=872820
Allez-y mes ptits loupiots, ça devrait vous plaire.

Sic Transit Gloria Mundi

Deuxième Blatte: Haine et vacances (enfin surtout haine)

Salutations!



J'avoue que cela fait quelques temps que je n'ai pas mis mes pieds virtuels sur ce blog. D'abord une semaine de vacances m'ont tenu éloigné, et lorsque j'ai écrit la première tentative de deuxième blatte, mon réseau m'a fait perdre l'intégralité de mon billet... Argh! J'avoue avoir été dégoûté.

Mais bon, me voilà de retour pour de nouvelles aventures, comme on dit dans les BDs de bas étages et les Rubriques A Brac. Comment? Vous ne connaissez point les Rubriques A Brac et les aventures du commissaire Bourrel et de son acolyte Charolles? Je vous renvoie donc dans votre bibliothèque de quartier pour que vous harceliez le fonctionnaire de service. Passons.

J'ai du mal à communiquer avec les gens du coin. En effet, ils semblent, lorsqu'ils parlent, consommer une substance chaude et passablement désagréable au palais. Cela me semble être la seule explication à leur habitude de déformer les syllabes, tant et si bien que par moment, j'ai l'impression de ne pas parler la langue de Shakespeare. Cependant, ce qui me console, c'est que leur corréligionnaires en Irlandoisie affirment eux-mêmes avoir des difficultés à absorber l'accent de Cork. Je me dis donc que, si j'arrive un jour à comprendre sans problème ces gens, je serais prêt à affronter n'importe quel accent étrange dans cette langue.

Sinon, en dehors de ça, la vie est plutôt belle en ce moment. Je suis enfin sorti des difficultés inhérentes à l'obtention d'un PPS Number. Le PPS Number est une sorte de numéro de Sécurité Sociale, à ceci près qu'il est nécéssaire pour absolument tout et n'importe quoi. En effet, impossible de louer un appart', acheter une voiture, ou être payé sans surtaxe de 40% sans lui...

Ce qui m'amène à réfléchir à la similitude entre les administrations du monde entier. Qui n'a jamais été dans une file d'attente à un guichet quelconque, et pris d'une haine soudaine pour le nabot de l'autre côté du guichet qui à 11h45 vous dit: "Désolé, monsieur, ce guichet est fermé" alors que ça fait 2 heures que vous attendez? Ou bien pour la créature ressemblant vaguement à une femme sous sa graisse et ses trois tonnes de maquillage, vous savez, celle qui vous dit après quelques heures de queue, "Ah mais monsieur, je peux rien faire pour vous, vous n'avez pas le formulaire X ou Y?" Alors que ce putain de formulaire, vous l'avez envoyé trois jours plus tôt?!!!

Reconnaissez que la seule réponse logique serait de défoncer la vitre en plexiglass qui les séparent du reste de la population, de tamponner à mort leur tronche de rat et de jeter leur dépouille dans la rivière. (soit dit en passant, cette vitre renforcée est probablement là pour éviter ce que je viens de décrire)

Jusqu'à il y a peu de temps, je luttais encore pour ne pas laisser mon mauvais caractère prendre le dessus, quand soudain, j'ai eu un éclair de lucidité. Il y a une autre solution! Il suffit de prendre leur place! Et soudainement, à vous le bonheur de faire chier le reste du monde, de regarder les humains suffisamment naïfs pour s'attendre à ce que vous fassiez votre travail efficacement et rapidement comme le reste du monde doit le faire, et leur dire avec un regard de bovin sous Valium: "Oulaaa, vous savez... ça prend du temps, tout ça...". Finalement, l'administration réserve à ceux d'entre nous qui y vont des trésors, pourvu que vous soyiez suffisamment pervers et vicieux pour aimer emmerder le monde à longueur de journée.

Moi qui croyais naïvement que la France avait le monopole de ce genre de petit humanoïde administratif, j'ai subi un retour à la réalité assez violent... Ajoutez à tous ces facteurs de haine potentielle l'accent du bled, et vous avez un cocktail assez explosif. Enfin bon, j'en suis sorti, après 5 semaine de violence.

Pour m'en remettre, je pense que je vais aller m'offrir un verre.

Cheers
Votre Blatte.

Première Blatte: Cork (EV)

OK, I'll say this once. Every time I write something in French, I'll post a translation under the French title, translated except for the word Blatte. Blatte means something rather close to a cockroach. Don't ask again, I won't tell you.
A'ight, let's get to it.

"Alright, since I've started this thing, let's start now.
Don't go thinking I'm going to spill my guts just like this. Eventually those will apear, but frankly, I don't open up that much easily.
So well, for starters I'll tell you about Cork, Ireland. After all, this is the BlatteMan in Cork's blog.
The first thing that comes to mind when I think of Cork is that I don't know more aptly named city.For those of you who are doubting, or simply wondering what the hell I am ranting about, I'll direct your attention to two simple facts. You English-speaking guys all know what a cork is (if you don't, http://www.freedigitalphotos.net/image/s_cork2.jpg is your friend). Second fact is the sheer quantity of bars and pubs per square kilometre in this little city. Just astonishing. I have no statistics, of course, so you'll just have to take my word for it. Or come here and see for yourself, in which case do come and say hi to yours truly.
The second thing is the smallness of the town. I spent most of my life in Paris or its suburbs, and I'm always surprised to see that in a five-minute walk I can get from a rather modern neighbourhood to a 60's-style suburban landscape, all the while staying within the city borders.
The thrid thing is a bit silly. I'm talking about a huge wave of happiness at the thought of my living about three minutes from a Burger King. It probably seem weird to those of you living in a country where the BKs haven't been tracked and terminated like dangerous beasts. Those of my readers (O the arrogance, the fools expects more than one person!) who grew up in France and drop everything and run to the nearest BK whenever they're abroad will understand.
Anyhow, I'll leave you at it and go grab something to eat now... *dreams of a Dark Whooper*

Tally Ho!"

Première Blatte: Cork

Bon, bah puisque j'ai lancé cette chose, autant commencer de suite.
N'allez pas vous imaginer que je vais mettre mes tripes sur la table hophophop comme ça. A terme, y'en aura un bout, mais bon, c'est pas franchement le genre de la maison.
Alors bon, pour commencer en beauté, je vais vous raconter Cork. Après tout, ceci est le blog du BlatteMan à Cork.
La première chose qui me vient à l'esprit quand je parle de Cork, c'est que je ne connais aucune ville qui soit mieux nommée que celle-là. Pour ceux qui doutent, ou ceux qui se demandent dans quel délire je suis parti, j'attire votre attention sur deux faits tout simples. Premièrement, "cork" en anglais, ça veut dire "bouchon". D'autre part, la quantité de bars dans le centre de cette petite ville est tout simplement effarante. Je n'ai point de statistiques à vous fournir, alors il faudra que vous me croyiez sur parole. Ou que vous veniez vérifier par vous-même, auquel cas passez me dire bonjour!
La deuxième chose, c'est que cette ville est franchement toute petite. J'ai passé la majeure partie de ma vie dans Paris ou sa banlieue, et je suis toujours étonné de voir qu'en cinq minutes de marche je peux passer d'un quartier relativement moderne à un paysage de banlieue des années 60, respirant l'échec social comme disent les gens bien-pensants.
La troisième chose, c'est tout bête, mais c'est une immense vague de bonheur à l'idée que je vis à trois minutes de marche d'un Burger King. Ca semblerait probablement étrange à ceux d'entre vous qui vivent dans un pays où les BKs n'ont pas été chassés et exterminés comme des bêtes dangereuses. Ceux de mes lecteurs (Ho l'arrogant, il espèrent plus d'une personne!) qui ont grandi en France et se jettent sur le BK le plus proche quand ils sont à l'étranger me comprendront.

Bref, sur ces bonnes paroles, je vais vous laisser et aller me nourrir... *rêve d'un Dark Whooper*

Sic Transit Gloria Mundi, Amen.

Premiere

Heya,

This is the very first entry in the blog of the BlatteMan!!
I bid you welcome in that particular area of the Net, and hope you'll find whatever I'll write here interesting.
Cheers,
La Blatte

Oh, one last thing: I'm liable to write either in English or in French, so I guess I'll translate... or I'll be lazy and I won't. In which case ask.