“Oh what a tangled web we weave, when we practice to deceive.”

(TIME FOR ANOTHER SONOROUS BLAST DIRECT FROM THE L-STREET POWER STATION, WHILE HIS BELOVED PORTA-JOHNS CONTINUE TO GUSH RAW SEWAGE INTO THE RESERVE CHANNEL.)

Even though it wasn’t my so-called “silly MAC,” and the memory-chips weren’t ordered by me — as always, anything that goes wrong is MY fault (sorry, “foult”). As always, it’s our ISP.

Dell was offering one-gig memory-chips to fit Linda’s laptop, so since her laptop has two slots, I suggested two one-gig chips.
Which gives her two gigs versus my piddling 1.2. Well, we can’t have that! Time to buy that non-running ‘59 Chevy, or custom carbon-fiber wheels at $8,000 for the LHMB, to show off to the neighbors (“Woops; another golfball!”).
So Linda orders two one-gig chips from Dell online; they merrily charge our Visa-account 256 smackaroos; and the memory-chips get handed over to DHL for delivery.
Linda tracks the shipment, which was supposed to be delivered last week.
The package comes up “delivered,” but nothing here.
“I know what is happening,” Linda says. “The courier is loading 89 bazilyun packages into his van, then in one fell swoop scans them all as ‘delivered,’ yet never makes it to West Bloomfield.”
And so the package is returned to the depot and scanned as “undelivered.”
HMMMMMMMMNNNNNNNN.......... “Delivered” yet “undelivered.”
“Must be our ISP,” I say. “That’s what the Bluster-King would claim.”
“Yep, our ISP got in there at DHL and erroneously rendered that ‘delivered’ message; and/or if I didn’t have that ‘silly-MAC,’ Linda wouldn’t be needing additional memory.”
Yessirree Bobby, my so-called “silly MAC” is mucking up the Internet.
I need to toss that silly boat-anchor in Canandaigua Lake and use Linda’s PC at 512 k, and back down to Internet-Explorer and XP like a good boy.
Hourglass-city. “Please wait while Windoze cogitates the value of Pi; OOOOOOOOOOOHHMMMMM........”
“Did you look on the porch?” a minion at DHL asks. That question has been asked at least six times.
“How come ya got it back in the depot scanned as ‘undelivered?’”
“Don’t trouble me with sweet reason, lady. I have a college-degree; majored in engineering.”
“Because it was mis-delivered to 2465 State Route 65. (The plot thickens........ “Oh what a tangled web we weave, when we practice to deceive.”)
“Again, how come ya got it back in the depot scanned as ‘undelivered?’”
Around-and-around we go. Four phonecalls from them so far; and who knows how many from our end.
“I think we just oughta declare it lost.”
“Don’t use DHL,” Linda e-mailed Dell. “Next time just hand it over to the Post-Office.”
But we all know it’s my so-called “silly MAC;” or is it our ISP: you tell me, Boobie.

My macho blowhard brother-in-Boston (“Boobie,” “the almighty Bluster-King”) works at the L-Street Power Station, next to the Reserve Channel of Boston-Harbor. Among his management responsibilities are the Porta-Johns kept on-hand for contractors. We say he’s the Porta-John manager, and that his Porta-John holding tanks were shot through by al-Qaeda terrorists, due to his not properly guarding them, so they are now gushing raw sewage into Boston-Harbor.

RE: “silly MAC........” All my siblings use PCs, but I use a MAC, so am therefore reprehensible.

RE: “Foult......” For years my brother-in-Delaware and I have been having an argument about the spelling of “Foulk” Road. When we moved there in 1957 it was spelled “F-a-u-l-k.” He noisily insists it’s always been spelled with an “O.”

“Linda” is my wife.

RE: “Non-running ‘59 Chevy......” —My macho blowhard brother-in-Boston has a classic 1971 454-SS Chevelle that is currently not running. It cost him $55,000.

RE: “Custom carbon-fiber wheels” are custom motorcycle wheels made from carbon-fiber: a lot lighter than cast-aluminum or cast magnesium, but incredibly expensive — essentially a racing application. My macho blowhard brother-in-Boston bought megabuck custom-wheels (actually not carbon-fiber) for his Harley.

RE: “Woops; another golfball!” —My macho blowhard brother-in-Boston lives next to a golf-course, so that his back yard gets regularly showered with golfballs.

“LHMB” is my 2003 Honda 600-cc CBR/RR motorcycle. Seeing a picture of it, my sister-in-Floridy declared “Lord-Have-Mercy;” and my loudmouthed brother-in-Boston, a macho Harley-guy, seeing it was yellow, pronounced it a “Banana.” So LHMB equals Lord-Have-Mercy-Banana.

RE: “Must be our ISP!” ISP equals Internet-Service-Provider; in our case RoadRunner via the cable. Last July my macho, blowhard brother-from-Boston visited, and set up a wireless Internet connection to my router. His Internet reception was spotty, so he loudly blamed our Internet-Service-Provider (ISP). Now anything untoward is due to my ISP.

RE: “Majored in engineering.....” —My loudmouthed macho brother-from-Boston was trained as an engineer, and claims superiority. I majored in History, so am therefore inferior.

RE: “Back down to Internet-Explorer and XP like a good boy.........” —I use Firefox (browser) and OS-X which make me reprehensible. (Even Windoze Vista is reprehensible.) I also use Colgate toothpaste instead of Crest. And my cars are all Japanese (“I can still see that oily, black pillar-of-smoke TOWERING above that ship”).

RE: “Just hand it over to the Post-Office.........” —My wife works part-time at the Post-Office. Post-Office shipping woulda cost less, and been more reliable. The package woulda ended up in our mailbox.