Swakhammer in Normal entries

Facebook does, or has been doing, this share your memories thing where they take something you posted on the same date and show it to you and ask if you wanna repost. Most of you net-wise sophisticates know this, as do most of you shut in savants. I’ve been using it, when appropriate, or, I try, when the thing still exists. I occasionally get OD links as memories.

I don’t know if it was always like this or windows ten note-pad and office 360 are smart ass programs, but the diary back up? All the fucking code is there, all the code and none of the line breaks. Ever since the First OD crash, like 2000, I wrote in word and backed up the doc before posting. Or I thought I did. I couldn’t find the “memory” facebook had broken linked. So I went, maybe for the first time, to the OD generated diary backup. Weird thing is I couldn’t find it there either.

There’s a lot of shit in my archives and in the diary back-up, just not that particular POS. It’s like sifting through flotsam and Jetsam for a flag pin you dropped in Lake Michigan in 2011. Whatever value it has is sentimental but not in the priceless sentimental pile of sentimental, more like the bargain bin. So if you are sifting through debris it becomes a point of pride and no longer about the object itself.

I try hard not to think about all the meaningless megabytes of nonsense I save, except that I save them so that I can look back if the need strikes. I backed up the diary because it had all the notes, by and far the best thing on Ramblings From Oregon.

I’ve been watching the third season of Orange is the new Black. I remember writing about the three months that the sherrif had opened up the old womens prison wing in the old court house building, a wing that shared a courtyard with us and whose northern facing windows, barred as they were still were see through, pointed directly at our south facing windows. I gently reminded the sherrif about federal statues prohibiting juvenile and adult offenders from being within sight and sound. He had a political axe to grind about prison space but was kind enough to reply directly to me “Who the fuck are you again?”

Someone should have got in trouble but they didn’t. The sherrif didn’t make re-election but there were lots of reasons for that. There was this female guard over there, I think her name was Officer Swakhammer, which is almost as ludicrous as my nickname, officer brickshithouse. She was built like a … swakhammer. Heh, she was built like my doodles of women when I was in the sixth grade, Huge tits, a wasp waist, and hips and thighs built for cracking walnuts. To quote Jimmy Carter “I had lust in my heart”.

That entry, if I knew where to look, ranks a bit higher on the sentimental scale. I don’t think I ever posted it on facebook, which, to it’s credit, if credit can be used at all in regards to facebook, the memories are time stamped. I have over 36,650 saved entries plus at least as much that were never posted online. The event occurred back when 14.4 k modems were the newest thing and 386 computers hadn’t yet hit the shelves, so I wrote the entry or entries some decade after that hot, illegal, swakhammer summer.

If I were ever to give advice to young men about women, you know, as a punishment, I’d stammer things about attraction but adamantly suggest to be careful with women who carry guns.