Rocks threaten me
Severed on February 8, 2026.
The rocks were threatening me again. The round ones were the worst. Their jagged corners worn down by centuries of glacial action, the black, twisted desires in their stony hearts growing with each year entombed beneath that ice, they now lived for only one thing: Leaping from the ground when I least expected it and cracking my skull wide open. These rocks were forged in fire yet no fire could kill them now. They were vulnerable to only one thing: My own rage at their existence made manifest—and my new rock hammer.
And so, I spent all of Tuesday and much of Wednesday smashing every rock I could find in my back yard into tiny, jagged pebbles. Most of those rocks I caught completely unaware, and so pulverized them without any resistance. But a few proved rather stubborn, and one of the igneous little fiends did suddenly hurl himself from the ground at my forehead. The only thing that saved me was that titanium-bismuth metal plate I had surgically installed in my forehead back in ’96 after that dwarf-tossing accident.
Ahem. Onto another topic.
I always liked Iomega Zip drives. I liked 5¼″ floppies. Big, black, floppy things, they were! I even liked the older eight-inchers. Yet those floppy disks had nothin‘ on the original 4′8½″ floppies from the 1800s. While the rest of the world has moved on to harder and harder disks, American railroads remain firmly wedded to that ancient standard. And that is a good thing.