Hello everyone. Yet again you come to me in droves with the deep philosophical question, “what should I do this weekend?” As always, I deliver. This week I give you four choices, one more golden nugget of fun than usual. I then, like a locust, disappear, not to be heard from again for six days (some locusts actually go underground for 13 to 17 years, but you get the point).
Compared to the other writers of TLO, I’m not very visible. I’m not a stand-up comedian like Spence, an unprofessional librarian like Marisa (which are all the rage at the moment), or own a media empire like Patrick. I’m like Howard Hughes without the success or syphilis.
I guess seeing me is like witnessing ball lightning or the Lochness Monster, except for the fact that you wouldn’t care if you saw me. This tells me that I need to open a new chapter in the life of Adam.
First, I need a suit that says “I own this room.” Second…….well, I don’t have a “second.” I guess that’s my problem. I don’t know where to go after the suit. Oh well, if you need me, I’ll be at my house, in a suit, owning the room.
It has been an exciting week here at the Lost Ogle complex. You might have read earlier this week that we “survived a distributed denial of service attack (DDoS).” Except we didn’t. Since I am the Ogle mole INSIDE the Lost Ogle, I will give you the real story. Sorry, it’s not as exciting as the cover-up.
Basically, we got hit with the Millennium Bug, also known as Y2K. Yes, I know it’s 2014. This reflects on TLO as a whole, not only our equipment. Stay with me for a moment.
As you have read in this and past stories, I refer to our headquarters as “The Lost Ogle compound” or “complex.” Looks are everything now days, even in descriptions. We use these phrases to sound more important. Not everyone has a “dark tower,” a Devon Tower or Golden Dome to wear with pride. It is a “fake it till you make it” attitude.
The problem is we never made it. Our complex is nothing more than a sheet metal contraption behind the Hungry Frog Restaurant on 10th Street. We pay them for electricity that we pump in through a duct-taped orange extension cord. The one advantage of this building is after heavy winds we get to rebuild it into any shape we want.
By now you probably guessed we don’t use the best equipment. Our setup is three Commodore 64 computers rigged to use 28.8k dial-up Internet. We hoard “1000 Hours Free” America Online discs and use them with a weirdly converted disc drive. We were upgrading to Commodore 128’s, but Patrick lost all our funds through last year’s Bitcoin crash. He said “I’m not a hosting / server / IT guy,” he also isn’t a Warren Buffet.
So last Friday right before I stamped my timecard to clock out, yes we have one of those, we were alerted that something is wrong with the site. Our “alarm” is when our Commodores begin to make that “bad sound.” Well, with our terrible equipment and sloth-speed Internet, Y2K finally reached us and ripped us a new one.
We decided to create a PR front that was less embarrassing than the actual story. Since our machines were fried, we visited the library to use Wikipedia. We found this DDoS thing and ran with it. For now are borrowing a PC with Windows 95 from a friend. We are really enjoying the pinball games and Weezer’s “Buddy Holly” video that comes with this operating system. We hope to upgrade to this soon.
So why did I blow the whistle on the cover-up? Since I was the last person to touch the Commodores before this went down, Patrick’s taking it out of my paycheck. With my current budget, I can’t afford to lose $17.45. This is my rebellion.
Here is your Friday Night in the Big Town.
Guess what? I’ve been ruining your weekends for a full year now! Sucks to be you! On Friday, July 12, 2013, an Oklahoma City Q-list celebrity was born. To be clear, I am referring to me.
I introduced you to Steve Stone, Your Favorite Hypnotist, who we know is the real deal because he’s from New Orleans. I also jinxed Team USA to the runner-up position in the World Cup of Softball. As you can see, my power is strong, but I have no idea how to wield it.
I have learned many things as the FNITBT writer. Some sweet Lost Ogle commenters made it clear that I am an “asshat.” I have also broken multiple stories about Patrick, such as his involvement with the Illuminati and his burning of the Lost Ogle compound over Emily Sutton.
I look forward to providing more sights and sounds for your weekends as well as Lost Ogle dirt. Thank you for voting me “Favorite Lost Ogle Writer.”
Note: There has never been a “Favorite Lost Ogle Writer” poll.
This is your Friday Night in the Big Town.
Hello America, today is your 238th birthday and you don’t look a day over 45. The Botox revolution is amazing. I’m always impressed that the colors in your red, white and blue mascara never run.
Luckily for many, this year’s Independence Day lands on a Friday, allowing a larger than average infusion of celebratory alcohol. Unluckily, laboratory rats have repeatedly proven that combining explosives and alcohol will result in many Americans attending work on Monday with fewer fingers.
The U.S. plays hard on the 4th, and when you make omelets in war….you break eggs….and fool me once….dammit, I don’t remember the quotes. All I’m saying is America will have less fingers Monday because we party without abandon.
Our get togethers are beautiful events. We light the sky with the emotion, awe and wonder of a James Lankford tweet. Well maybe not. It’s amazing how Lankford can pull at your heartstrings and send your mind into a philosophical tizzy in 140 characters or less.
I feel for him though, being a redhead with the skin tone of a dead fish belly like Lankford. Neither of us will get out to watch the fireworks because the bright lights of the explosions will give us sunburns. We live a rough life.
If only we lived back in the day before fireworks. America used to celebrate on July 3rd by building pyramids with barrels and lighting them on fire. Who knew that once fireworks were the safe alternative?
Here you go Rep. Lankford, a fireworks display safe for our skin.
Here’s your Friday Night in the Big Town.
Ok, it’s over. We’re done and it’s time to pack it all up. With the recent news of Emily Sutton’s engagement, this blog is no longer viable. The Lost Ogle is based on two things: Patrick’s wooing of Emily, and state fair pictures. No institution can stand on only one pillar, and that includes this once mighty blog.
Today I visited the TLO complex to get an advance on my paycheck. I walked in to see Patrick throwing gasoline everywhere like Walter White and Jesse at the laundry facility after Gus Fring died in “Breaking Bad”. He was screaming in tongues, but I was able to make out “Feel free to take all the pens. They don’t need pens in hell!”
Well, I took the pens. I also saved the oil portrait Patrick commissioned of himself that was hanging above his fancy Herman Miller desk chair in his office. Patrick instructed the artist to copy this, but use his own face. The best type of blackmail is the kind that provides you with a retirement pension.
It’s been great writing for The Lost Ogle. The doors this blog has opened for my career are no different than those from being a Wal-Mart door greeter, and I receive fewer benefits, which is really saying something. We will meet again if this blog is up next Friday, so here’s your (possibly last) Friday Night in the Big Town.
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