Dude and Dude: 16 Terabytes

“Speaking of debt, dude …”

“So help me, dude, you bring up that ‘B’ stuff again, I’m dumpin’ a whole hive on you!”

Sheesh, dude, what a don’t bee you’re buzzin’ out to be. I got a completely different question.”

“Um … yeah?”

“What’s number 9 coal?”

“You’re askin’ me, dude? The last time I heard ’bout coal was when Mom threatened to fill my Christmas stocking with it!”

“Sixteen tons of it, dude?”

“In a stocking? Where you gettin’ all this?”

“It’s an old song some of OC’s buddies ‘ve been singin’. Somethin’ ’bout broke coal miners, sounds like.”

“What? This one? Man, that’s so, like, twentieth century!

Nineteenth, even.”

“If ever a song needed updatin’ …”

“And you’re gonna do it?”

“As a matter of fact, dude …”

“What’s that music I hear all of a sudden?”

“A dude’s gotta have somethin’ to sing to, dude. Weeelll …

Wait, dude!”

“Wait why?

“I gotta dig out my earplugs, dude!”

“Philistine. Weeeell …

I was born one day with the sun in a cloud,
I picked up my laptop and I went underground.
I defragged sixteen terabytes of data so fine,
The sysadmin said (
heh) never mind.

Y’load sixteen terabytes and what do you get?
Another year obsolete and deeper in debt.
Saint Peter don’t ya call me, keep me outa the yard;
I owe my soul to my credit card.

“Hey, dude, my verse!”

“So where are my earplugs, dude?”

“Weeeeelll …

They call me an engineer but this is the rest,
Casey Jones I ain’t ’cause I’m a-chained to a desk.
But with a mouse and a keyboard baby …

“A mouse and a keyboard, dude? That’s almost as bad as the coal! Not to mention this desk-chainin’ business …”

“When did you start writin’ for Rollin’ Stone, dude? Fine, I’ll change it.”

But with a bluetooth an’ an iPad baby I’m way cool,
Give me plenty of RAM, I’m a hackin’ fool.

Y’load sixteen terabytes and what do you get?
Another year obsolete and deeper in debt.
Saint Peter don’t ya call me, ’cause then I’ll be alone;
All my friends are in the Dilbert Zone.

“Right, dude, you had your chance. Weeell …

Now some say the universe was made by a hand;
But I say the universe was made outa sand.
With instant messaging and email and the internet bill,
If Linux don’t get ya, then Windows will.”

HEY!! I’ve seen Mac OS do some pretty strange things, dude!

Y’load sixteen terabytes and what do you get?
Another year obsolete and deeper in debt.
Saint Peter don’t ya call me ’cause I cain’t go:
I ooooooo
…. ackackackACK! Dude! No fair ticklin’!

“Well, dude, ya want me to resist temptation, y’shouldn’t make silly poses like that.”

“Dude, rather than beatin’ on me, why don’t ya join me?”

“Oh, OK, dude …”

I ooooooooooowe my so …oh oh oh oh oh oooul …
To the online stooooore.

“Dum dum de dum doo de li dum.”



With sincerest apologies to Tennessee Ernie Ford.

Dude and Dude: Credit Billity

“Hey dude!”


“How do you pronounce the ‘B’ in debt?”

“‘B’ as in ‘bounce’, dude? So help me, if you bounce a check …”

“Bounce a what?

“A check, dude.”

“I don’t care where he’s from, dude. I ain’t gonna try ‘n bounce him. You think I could throw a fly out of a bar?”

“Not a dude Czech, dude! A bank check!”

“One of those paper thingies? They don’t bounce, dude. Not even if you ball ’em up do they make a ball. You even know what one looks like? I thought you paid for all your stuff online, like I do.”

“Whatever you do, dude, remember, we gotta look after our credit ratings.”

No, dude. I won’t.”


“I won’t be part of your spam schemes, dude. You want some dude to write your ‘You’ve won 1 million pounds in Welsh Lotto‘ comeons, you’ll have to get somebody else. Or do ’em yourself.”

“Dude, what are you smokin’?!? I ain’t doin’ no spam schemes!”

“But didn’t you just say that we gotta be lookin’ after our credit raidings?

“Oh fer … Dude, that’s gotta be …”

“‘B’ is right, dude. You ain’t answered my question yet. How do you pronounce the ‘B’ in ‘debt’?”

“You don’t, dude. The ‘B’ is silent.”

“It’s not an ‘N’, dude, it’s a ‘B’! An’ I wanna know what it’s there for!”

“To remind certain dudes of my acquaintance that they’re gonna get stung if they don’t pay their bills. Dude.”

“Ow …”


She: “Toast and juice?”

He: “Yes, please, that’s about all the food I can face this morning. You’re OK with this?”

She: “Why shouldn’t I be?”

He: “Well, you have been under a bit of stress lately. Trying to do too many things at once. I wouldn’t want you to get all flummoxed and put the juice in the toaster.”

She: “That would be a shocking experience, wouldn’t it? Not to worry, sweetheart, I know you like your juice chilled. Not toasted.”

He: “Thank you, love, that’s a relie … Stop!!


He: “Put .. the .. jalapenos .. back!

Dude and Dude Do “The Potluck”

“Dude! Ya gotta see this!”


Food fight!

“Where? Who?”

“Right here! OC and Quilly! Picnic and snack stuff! They’re givin’ each other the … um … they’re talkin’ ’bout fingers!

“Nice save, dude.”

“Wonder which one’s tellin’ the truth?”



“Look. The dude’s restin’ up for next basketball season. Probably on his own private island or somethin’. Y’think he’s gonna take five seconds of his time to let anyone try to tell him ’bout this horsemeat?”

“Nah, probably not. But … horsemeat?

“Dude, that potluck thing was hours ago. It’s dead by now. Instead of floggin’ it, we should probably cook it.”

Ewwww, dude! Not kosher!

Potluck ~ The Non-Fiction Version

Okay, if you’ve read what He Said They Said,
here is what She Says They Really Said:

She: “You may have the car today, I’m not going anywhere. I finished my grocery shopping yester– … Crap!”

He: “What did you forget?”

She: “And after I’d already gone back to the market once yesterday and told Nina that I had a bone to pick with her, ’cause she’d let me check out without reminding me to pick up, um …”

He: “What did you forget?”

She: “She didn’t know either.”

He: “That was yesterday. What did you forget today?”

She: “Sunday’s potluck. They want finger food.”

He: “Finger food!” He crossed his arms and hid his hands. “I’m not going to church on Sunday!”

She:  “What do you mean, you’re not going?  You just spent a good chunk of yesterday afternoon with Don and Terry practicing special music.  What do you plan to tell them?”

He: “I don’t think I’ll have to tell Terry anything.  Don can still sing if we’re having finger food, but Terry won’t be able to play the organ and I won’t be able to play my trumpet!”

She: “Honey, the congregation likes your trumpet enough that I don’t think you’ll have to worry about your fingers.”

He: “Oh, OK then, you’d better take the car and get to the store. Stalking the neighborhood with a cleaver isn’t the best thing for our reputation.”

She:  “You realize I am going to share this conversation at church don’t you?”

He:  “Good, maybe it will spoil their appetites and they’ll leave my fingers alone!”