The Continuation of Whining

So I'm sitting here in Ohio, a place distinguished only by the presence of The Mom, and things are just peachy.

Well, no they're not. Mr. Bigglesworth was up all night coding, and he's pretty damned cranky. He's also not finished coding. Which means we're not finished testing--haven't started, actually. Which means that hanging over the happy occasion of the meeting of Me and The Mom will be the ghastly spectre of imminent testing, and the even ghastlier and considerably more stinky spectre of impending code failure, because that's what happens when we here at Greedy Internet Gaming Pirates, Inc., do testing--we experience code failure.

The hotel--the very town, actually--is a shrine to Middle American dumpage. Mind you, I have no problem whatever with those of you who actually live in Middle America, and I don't even actually consider you Middle Americans, because obviously you're of some superior form if you're reading this and haven't gone off to burn Democrats at the stake or crucify cheerleaders for their demonically short skirts. But this town--a Middle American suburb of a Middle American city that I do not need to identify--is...uhm...well, let's see. There's an interstate exit. There's...there's...there's an interstate exit. Jesus, I can't even write about this. The highlight of the last twelve hours is that I got a new lighter to throw away when I get back to the airport. It has cow spots on it.

I'm stifled by it all. I'm gonna go meet The Mom, which will eclipse anything else that will happen to me here, west of Appalachia, and when I come back, I'm gonna beat the crap out of Mr. Bigglesworth in a real satisfying, East-Coast sorta way. That'll make us all feel better, won't it?