ball of lightning [dot] com

She’s so fucked if she ever tries to run for president…

(Click to play)

West Virginia, West Virgina… what’s the difference?

Yeah… injuries to the groin’ll do that to ya…

From the sports equipment shipping portion of Wal-Mart’s website. (Our softball team apparently needs ASA certified bats. My corked shit won’t fly.)

Shipping time is from when the item leaves the warehouse to when it arrives at your door. See shipping time below.

The arrival date-range of each item is determined by adding the minimum of the processing time to the minimum of the shipping time and the maximum of the processing time to the maximum of the shipping time. For instance, if you bought a music CD that took 1 to 2 business days to process before shipping and you had it sent by Standard shipping (3 to 5 business days), the CD would arrive in 4 to 9 business days.

Ok. So we add the minimum processing time plus minimum shipping time… 1 + 3 = 4. That jives.

Maximum processing time plus maximum shipping time… 2 + 5 = 9?

Dammit.

I’m sure most of you have seen this already, but if you haven’t, enjoy…

On the way to a couple of doctors this afternoon, I got to listen to Connecticut radio for the first time in a while. Well– radio that’s not classic rock for the first time in a while. And after a few songs, “Boston” by Augustana came on on both KISS and KC101 within a span of like five minutes.

The real kicker is that not one, but both jockeys called it “new music from Augustana.” It’s not new. It’s been on my iPod since 11/29/05, like a month and a half after the album actually came out.

I wish they had a stock market for music. I wonder if I could make a killing. Probably not, but it’d be a lot more entertaining than blowing my money in the tech sector.

Per ESPN:

EORIA, Ariz. — David Wells revealed Sunday that he has been diagnosed with Type 2 diabetes, but he vows to beat the disease and he has already drastically changed his lifestyle in order to do so.

Wells, 43, told The San Diego Union Tribune that he was diagnosed with Type 2 diabetes two weeks ago.

“Obviously, this is a concern,” the left-hander told the newspaper. “But it’s beatable. And I’m going to beat it. It’s going to take some lifestyle changes. And I’m already making them.

“From the time I found out, I made changes. No more starches and sugar. No more rice, pasta, potatoes and white bread. No more fast food. I’ve cut out alcohol.”

“It’s something he’ll have to manage and something we’ll have to help him manage,” chief executive officer Sandy Alderson said Monday. “It’s not unprecedented by any means.”

Wells told The Union Tribune that he can have a glass of wine “now and then” but he doesn’t want his diabetes to get any worse.

“This is a major lifestyle change. I don’t want this going to Type 1 diabetes,” Wells told the newspaper.

Someone should probably inform David Wells that diabetes isn’t really– uh– curable. Oh wait a second, Wikipedia did that for him.

Diabetes mellitus is currently a chronic disease, without a cure, and medical emphasis must necessarily be on managing/avoiding possible short-term as well as long-term diabetes-related problems.

I’m also (and trust me, I’m not a doctor) fairly certain type II diabetes is a result of you being fat, David, and since one is born with Type I (some form of uncontrollable defect?), unless you can go back in time and skip your five daily orders of the Grand Slam at Denny’s and replace them with some form of gene therapy, that whole “turning into type I” thing ain’t happenin’ either.

My hosting provider recently built AWStats into my site, which allows me to check up on what keywords and/or search queries are used to get to my site. Some of the best from the last month or so…

“ten pin bowling slump killing team”
“my bowling ball get into the ditch”
“paper on what voluteering means to me”
“i can’t find fucking wii”
“brazil ball lightning”
“naked blond bimbo”
“lee majors gay rumors”
“iggy dog”
“hair ball bowling”
“michelle wie nipple”
“chem labs gone awry”
“excellent negotiators”
“pillsbury dough boy poops”
“648000 sex moves”
“why cant i get my mail”
“dp fuck”
“the rise and quotes of the ball lightning”
“what are items that are closer than they appear called?”

I’m so glad I could be of help to some of these people. Remember, I’m here to serve.

They (the National Weather Service) claims the “Ithaca Hole” (the idea that precipitation levels in the area are dragged down by topographical effects) doesn’t exist. It hasn’t been snowing here since like 8 o’clock, and apparently it’s a fucking blizzard in Torrington. If I can’t go home because of a snowstorm, it might as well be an ass-kicker of one. Damn. Alright, that weather-nerd rant aside, back to Sam Adams and basketball.

Going along with the “people at Cornell are fucked up theme,” I had this exchange Tuesday night with someone from an opposing intramural team. (Yeeeeeah, I bowl pretty much every day. Gotta rep the CCAMS (meteorology club) team.) Now, to provide background, I had never met this guy before, however, he had this neurotic approach to bowling (including taking thirty seconds just to aim) as well as meticulate scorekeeping. Oh, and he was an AEP major. Also, it is important to note that I had not spoken to him outside of “nice shot” or “thanks” the entire evening.

(I’m keeping score at the table when John Mayer comes on the jukebox. Ew. Vagina Face.)
Weird Guy: Wanna hear something funny?
Me: Uh… Ok?
Weird Guy: You know how John Mayer likes to get off?
Weird Guy: …
Weird Guy: …
Weird Guy: He urinates on girls.
(I turn to make some vague semblance of an “Are you fucking kidding me?” face– and not in the “Are you fucking kidding me? John Mayer likes to piss on girls too?! face, I mean the “Did you seriously just fucking whisper that in my ear?” face.)
Weird Guy: It’s true, my friend totally hooked up with him.
Weird Guy: …
Weird Guy: He has a bent dick too.
Me: (Trying to end conversation as quickly as possible.) That’s… uh… great.
Weird Guy: What you don’t believe me?! John! Tell him what I told you about John Mayer!
(An Asian, who I can only assume is John, buries his head in his hands.)