24 October 2005

Beep, Beep, Beep

Way back in the filmy past, I used to have one of those thingies on my bed-side table that would go “Beep. Beep, Beep” at ungodly hours of the morning; something to do with work apparently. Eventually, through virtual toil and more importantly, acquiring sufficient dirt on the board members, I was promoted to upper management. Now I arise at the crack of noon, and greet the dawning of each day by rolling away from the window and going back to sleep.

It took the beepy thing out back, stuffed its mouth full of holy wafers, drove a stake through its heart, then set it on fire. I was fairly confident that it had shuffled off this mortal coil.

That is, until this morning. “Beep, beep, beep…” I took the hammer that I keep under my pillow (for just such an emergency) and rigorously bashed the bedside table, alas, to no avail.

It turns out that some men are working on the train tracks, and it’s the back-up warning from a D-8 Cat that I was hearing.

Now, I actually like the train tracks being close to the house. I sleep through its passage, and every once in a while it slows down enough (mysteriously greased tracks) for my goons to unload some of the choicer bits of cargo.

Furthermore, it plays an essential role in gene pool filtration. Every so often, some hillbillidiot will decide that the crossing guards do not imply to him and insists that his bitchin’ Camaro takes the lead in the tango with a 1500 tonne freight train.

But none of this matters today. These bastards are disturbing my beauty sleep and there aren’t any good cartoons on yet.

And that's the way I likes it.