Shock the monkey

Lightning shot out of my ears when Wife imparted this dandy bit of information to me while I was at work Wednesday.

Allow me to dial this latest tale of woe back a notch. Since mid-December, our power company SRP (I think it stands for Slow Responding Pricks, because when our power goes out we receive the same message: "We're working on it, delays may reach until ... oh hell, you don't have power so none of your clocks will work and time is meaningless to ya - when we finish our six packs and decide to move off our barstools we'll look into your problem) was tearing up the streets inside our little Phoenix commune. Open trenches large enough to hide troops of angry hobbits lined our streets, and our front yard became the designated parking lot for their rigs and equipment. By the way, when a machine has a warning pasted in bold red and black letters on the front that states "For qualified personnel only," it really means that jack ass homeowners, like yours truly, shouldn't go tweaking with it after the homeboys call it a day and head home. All this work was so they could update the electric lines that ran under the street. Silly me, not seeing any work over the past few weeks, I assumed these schmucks were done. I should have known better, they work for a utility company, nothing is ever done, it's always in a perpetual state of progressive futching (you'll have look that word up in your Melissa-to-English dictionary, folks).

Flash to this week. Basking in the glow of UNLV landing a seven seed in the NCAA Tournament, I had a lovely date planned for the Friday morning game. In nothing but my Runnin' Rebels hat and lucky boxers, my ass would be perched on our leather couch and I'd be screaming "Rebels!" until my lungs bled and my throat blistered.

SRP foiled all that because they hate me.

Some lacky left a sign on our door yesterday stating that they'd have to shut down electricity to our commune - some 30-40 houses - as SRP replaces the old electric line. Guess what time they are replacing said line. Well, let me put it this way, I'm pretty sure he left the sign on the door because he knew if I met the dude face to face I'd rip his arms out of his sockets and spank his ass with his hands.

That's right, they are shutting down the power from 9 a.m. to 11 a.m. - and if the math is right, that's the same time as the UNLV-Georgia Tech tourney game. It's only the biggest game for us Rebel fans in 15 years, but obvioiusly the jerkoffs at SRP must be University of Nevada, Reno fans (too bad they'll be one and done come Friday night). That's the only reason for them screwing me over.

I've learned to adapt and overcome such haters in life. I consulted with Phoenix Valley bar afficionado and fellow drinking buddy Marc on where I could sit and watch a basketball game at 9 a.m., and to his credit he pointed me in the direction of Uncle Charlies just up the street. The fact that he was willing to help was much appreciated, especially since: 1. I planned to do a shot for each three pointer made by the Rebs and he'd miss that fun because he has to work that morning; 2. His Northern Arizona University Lumberjacks barely sniffed the tournament this year, succombing to some school called Weber State (when did Weber become part of the United States?); and 3. UNLV crushed NAU 93-43 in December (that's a 40 point difference if you're scoring at home).

Of course, this could be retribution for that loss and Uncle Charlies is really a gay bathhouse. If that's the case, maybe I can get the SRP guys a gift certificate to the joint for stealing two hours of my electricty. It's the least I could do.