Your not realizing you require con doms until reaching this petroleum station frequented by
You know I’m all business!
Yes I know this is a short entry. I’ve been having problems lately.
‘ey, gimme a break!
Forget it! I’ve seen what grows from that stuff! Those worms are as good as dead!
I told you I had problems!
seriously I thought that said “July 14″ the last time I looked, which would make a July 20 update mildly punctual in my mind. What have I been doing all this time?
================================
Mxy’s famous Bizarre Webcomic now has a proper website! It is at last possible to start at the beginning rather than press “previous 10″ 97 times on the livejournal page (or just press it 47 times to find the cbz of the first 400 strips) This is a good thing, I think. Well it might be bad if you were reserving your judgment of it until you could see it from the beginning, asserting that the only reason you didn’t like it was because it didn’t make sense to you, certain that it would make sense if you could do that. Howdy, I never learned how to give compliments. I do like that comic strip, though.
who is much more reserved and merely suffers from advertisement tourette syndrome. I think you two might get along, though, since you both seem to write post script in the same foreign language.
Do you think this place is really selling mattresses for one dollar? Or maybe just that specific photograph of a mattress used on the sign is for sale? No no, I definitely see a mattress propped against the glass, there. So if it was for sale for a dollar, do you reckon it would be a mattress at all worth having? Anybody selling a mattress that cheap is one step removed from deliberately disposing of it. In fact, this is easier because YOU take it, and then it’s YOUR problem, and you even paid for the privilege. There’s probably a dead body stuffed inside it. My operative in the field, the famed botanist Vance May informs me this location once housed a most Primo Pizza. Your business is really in the proverbial dumpster if a joint that sells mattresses for one dollar, asterisk or otherwise is not only turning a better profit than you but this is enough so that it can force you out. This is the NEW Dollar Haven. There’s another one of these somewhere. They are branching out. Soon they will be ever. First our primo pizzas, next it will be our perfect parties and our feminine barns of dresses. What can we use to combat this mattresss-marking down menace?
99 CENT POWER! Do you feel it? Do you feel it?!?!
We can only ignore this problem for so long
yet I don’t want to have to stock up again so soon because I still have plenty of rubber spiders and confused computer ladies in undersized clothing left and I don’t get the discount unless I buy them all together. Dilemmas!
I thought you would sympathize with my cheapness!
Some mysterious person requested names of video games I stole pictures out of, and so this time they were Star Tropics and Corn Buster and you should play neither. I don’t know who the blue suit guy with the A on his mask is.
======================================================================================
Somebody recently gave me a compliment to the effect that the stuff I write here now is an improvement over what I used to because it tends to be more focused and less about jumping around between unrelated items I felt like mentioning.
Mmmm, tastes like sox! The packaging purports this to be the “official ice cream of the Boston Red Sox,” The Boston Red Sox being a professional baseball team. I know you don’t use ice cream while playing the game, and you don’t do it while training to play the game… Obviously, everybody uses steroids these days, but they still need to moderate their diet and exercise regularly, two habits which ice cream considers strictly against its principles.
The official severed, plucked, preservatized, frozen, reheated chicken wing of professional Futbol at least has protein in it. All the teams can agree on that, it seems. And while there is always, for it exists outside time, the official pizza of Nascar, Nascar is the only “sport” of the bunch that is done while sitting down, which is conducive to pizza eating.
Ha ba, I used to think that page was long.
Despite millenia of accumulated knowledge, many mysteries yet remain in this world. For example:
Why does this box of corn flakes have a recipe for Rice Crispies treats printed inside it in Spanish?
“Oops,” facebook? You’re used by millions of “people” every day and sell more ads than an xbox game with a flat surface in it, and the best you can do when something goes wrong is say “oops?” You could at least tell me that imbecile yella animal on the left had something to do with it. I would accept that. I wouldn’t FORGIVE it, but I would better understand how things came to be this way.
Meet Robert Pattinson, the world’s most photogenic hobo. He seems a bad choice for a calendar, though, as I get the impression he has no idea what year it is, much less the specific day. I assume this guy is an actor in one of those vampire movies, since for one reason or another men who look dirty are good at distracting tweenfidels from horrible scripts. Yeah, guy, the bow tie isn’t…
I know it’s about teenagers, but this seems like a bad time to get casual with the language.
Headshot: it’s like getting your brains blown out with bullets! What’s next, curb-stomp brand fruit snacks? Why, that’s about as appetizing as construction equipment and building material.
You shouldn’t eat snacks all the time, anyhow.
How about some rusted tow truck soup?
Or perhaps this, the only soup that you risk having eat you first.
Is this commercialization and masculine/feminization of every possible thing necessary or truly desirable, o supermarket?
I used to think it was pretty neat that I could have fruit snacks with numbers on them and canned soupoid substances containing things shaped like sharks, and look how I turned out. A gender-dysphoric, anti-corporate whiner who hates to buy unnecessary things. And nevermind.
I expect to have a thing for Saturday. I expected it Thursday, but I know not to really expect something until the third day I expect it.
Here are some notes I wrote to remind me what to work on when I wake up. I thought you might be interested in them, too, so you can also work on it.
clean up pumpkin
adjust fallen box
NUMBER HERE more clear
mip frame coat shadow and yellow feet
better line than “away for repairs?”
point frame bigger kumq
NO frame leftover paste erroes
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
“Purging sexual predators from facebook and myspace, that story is next, at 6.”
Wasn’t that supposed to have happened four years ago? By this point I think myspace IS a sexual predator. It was already a functioning operating system predator and the hunt can only stay exciting for so long.
JJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJ
This Tiger Woods billboard would be creepy even if he wasn’t the subject of a popular and prolific adultery scandal. Also: my biggest problem with wrist watches was always that they were uncomfortable and hard to not constantly think about when I had one on. Making the device bulkier and insisting that I restrain my applicable thumb with it seems apart from the solution.
According to this page, the Heuer Taggers discontinued the ad before I ever saw it, which makes me suspect that the Branford Jewelers had to pay a sizable royalty to use this picture and can’t afford to buy one with somebody else on it. They can’t afford this because nobody wanted to buy the creepy leero humpfiend giant time piece that you wrap around your hand. I’m not saying that it’s absolutely credible that every single woman who suddenly a month ago remembered Tiger Woods did a sex with them once is being truthful, but other people might, if they would otherwise be fickle enough to buy a largely obsolete piece of technology that’s not even sold on the basis of its function just because some guy who does stuff to a ball got paid to wear one the wrong way.
The rough weather we’ve had lately and the exaggerated lighting of the photograph used on the sign not matching very well the natural sunlight around it make Mr. Woods look like a different professional athlete, and that only worsens matters, I think. At least, I thought that at first, but the plausibility of a tabloid story accusing Don Flamenco of having sixteen mistresses is decidedly less, never even mind the likelihood that these classy ladies might voluntarily come forward and say “yeah, I did ‘im. You wanna make something of it?”
This reminds of a kid named Gary that I went to [special] school with. Actually, it reminds me of Ryan, but it was Gary who actually said the thing I was thinking of. When he felt he was challenged he would always accuse “are you starting with me?” and in the same class was a kid named Ryan who was likely to respond “you wanna make something of it?” Ironically, despite Ryan being my nemesis and Gary being my friend, Gary was the one who got a copy of WURM: Journey to the Center of the Earth for his birthday because I saw it in Nintendo power and thought that I would enjoy a game about making some lady run around in a cave kicking things and so would other people. My other choice was Earthworm Jim but it cost about 40 dollars more and my mother didn’t want to pay for it but the only things I liked were video games. And the course of the world was forever altered.
The watch-maker folk, Tag Heuer, by the pie, is not to be confused with Taghor, the dwarf warrior you who joins your huddle of adventurers on floor 5 in Eye of the Beholder. Seriously, that’s not even close. I can’t believe you, sometimes.
Don’t try and change the subject. I said I was serious, now.
Well alright. We can discuss this matter some other time.
WILL YOU LET IT DIE, MAN!
A few months ago, I started using a wallet. Also few months ago, but not as many as I was just talking about, I lost my wallet.
For those of you not in the nose, a wallet is a tiny little pouch that you put all your money and important articles into. It has to be very small and easy to not realize you don’t have. If you lose track of it, you might as well go to jail because you can’t do a flipping thing without it.
Tralala, lala, you can’t go anywhere or do anything because you dropped the brown square!
Why can’t I just go to any place and have people believe that I am who I say I am? Because people, in general, are moralless scumbuses who resent the species they were born into and will hesitate, because hesitation is only temporary, to dispatch ruin upon the existence of any other person. And that’s why I have cards that prove that only I’m me, unless somebody else gets the cards. So what happens if I drop them? Why would somebody who is essentially my neighbor, my co-resident of this town, possibly this block of houses, not return to me a thing which has my own address that is obviously close by? Near enough to walk to? For I walked to wherever I was when I lost the thing? Because people are unscrupulous fiends who wish death or worse on everyone who is not them. They surround themselves with fences and noisy machinery and awful lights all night to do everything possible to disrupt any serenity in their own in their section of the universe.
It made me mad, when I first reported the loss, and I would be asked “did you check your back pockets?” No, because I wouldn’t have to, because I couldn’t not feel anything I put into one at all times. In fact, I never use my back pockets. If I did, that would be a great place to have something nabbed from without me seeing, wouldn’t it! The sudden rush of relative comfort from no longer having a thing crammed back there might also temporarily disorient me to the extent that I failed to realize an important had just been nabbed from me for however long is necessary to allow the thief to get away and so justify my never using such uncomfortable-yet alert pockets.
There are plenty of alternative pocket security measures I have yet to investigate.
But all this assumes another person took my wallet. More likely it simply fell out of wherever it was and landed in a dark, forgotten trench or crevice of the earth, where no mortal humanoid would be likely to venture into, much less search through in search of something. This possibly occurred in my own house. Really, there is no end of places it could have gone.
This is the wallet I have now. I purchased it because I like the design and it is hard to drop something that has a chain without noticing. However, feel free to think this just means I’m in some sort of nerd gang. I’m determined to not be accepted by any social group.
The only place I could find with chain wallets on the day I bought this was a Spencer store, and this was the only wallet with a chain there that didn’t have a picture of a skull or skulls on it. I don’t like skulls. I like actual skulls, just lingering around, cackling at people, picking fights. I wouldn’t put up with that normally, but skulls don’t realize how pathetic they are and I find them more endearingly pitiful than irritatingly delusional. I can handle illustrated skulls in the context of full skeletons, when I want to see skeletons. I don’t want to be seeing skulls without skeletons every time I buy twix. And yes, this even holds true if the skull is bright pink against a green background. What really bothers me is that most of them don’t even have jaws. They have upper teeth but no lower teeth. Why have teeth at all, then? How is the organless heap of bones going to chew the food it has no biological necessity to eat or ability to process?
Skeletons get no respect. They don’t deserve it, either, but in the absence of that, let them keep their jaws.
Police find skeleton inn. You know skeletons are bad if it’s illegal just for them to rent out beds. As I touched upon in the previous image, one gets ZERO REST when skeletons are around. It’s a total scam. There are things women love in bed, and none of them are skeletons. All those skeletons are going to JAIL. You could make the argument that these are honest, law-abiding skeletons trying to run a business. I welcome you to make that argument and OUT yourself as a skeleton, so that I can call the police again and report skeletons on the internet. I can tell you my plan because skeletons are dumb like that.
When I purchased it, the wallet, the cashier asked me if I would like to give the store an email. I said I’d have to think about it, because I wasn’t really sure what I’d say beyond that I liked some of the wallets they had for sale that didn’t have “cute” skulls on them, and I thought this was adequately communicated by me purchasing one. And then the woman clarified that she meant I should give them my email address. Oh, all right. Two mere syllables could have saved us so much trouble. I would give up my mail code so I could be informed about upcoming sales and promotions. At Spencer Gifts. I considered this, and in so considering I assessed that in my life I have made a purchase at a Spencer store approximately once every twenty-six years of my life, and I currently own all the novelty items featuring nude senior citizens with intestinal disorders I expect to need for the foreseeable future, and so I gave them your e-mail address instead. Take that, skeleton.
When my brother Idaho lost one of his many lost wallets some years ago, he eventually received an assortment of oafy knick-knacks in the mail accompanied by this note.
My wallet had 300 dollars in it. I’m worried I’m going to get a cake with a stripper inside. Because I don’t like naked people in my food, and if it’s my money I’d rather have a big scone instead.
Truthfully, I like pies best, but when I considered making a picture of a giant pie several people assured me those were “unoriginal,” and the last thing I want is to eat like a hack.
I like these wallets. They remind me of dilapidated housing. It’s like carrying a shantytown in your pocket. Who’d want to get at any money or personal items that are kept inside something like this?
I knew it. They’re hoarding illegal library cards. Fookin’ prawns.
I have too many messages to write to people today.
5555555555555555555555555555555
I have decided, if they want to make a Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs movie, fine. I’ll deal with it. But I will have nothing to do with a Cloudy with a Chance of Porky’s 2.
earsearsearsearsearsearsearsearsearsearsearsears
What’s that? No! You’re fibbing! You’re having me on! You must be! I won’t… I can’t believe… No! I refuse!
BABY BUCK CHOC!!!
Walgreens Cafe W bakery. Fresh from the photo lab to you!
Yes, yes, I know! Stop judging me! I only smoke em for the fiber! Prior to my new health awareness, it was a fashion statement.
Hoppity hermaphrodillos, what’s the time?
Never again!
My favorite part of candy is and has always been looking at it and admiring the craftmachineship involved in giving each object its distinct shape. And so I just HAVE to love 3-dees, because 3d is always better, and it’s a clever name, too. Even the sticker is astounded, and usually it takes nothing less than successful completion of first grade math worksheets to impress them.
WHOA BAN MICROSOFT SILVERLIGHT LETS ME TURN THE WINDOW SIDEWAYEEEZ!!!
It can also translate any script into cuneiform.
The first thing to observe about 2 dollar buck choc is that it does indeed cost exactly two dollars. Years of deceptive advertising practices have made this seem to mysteriously come out cheaper than the $1.99 Symphony bar. Or perhaps this relates to the Buck Choc being fourteen ounces and the Symphony being four ounces, down from six ounces at the same price several weeks prior. But that is of minimal significance because I did not get to eat the Symphony bar. I decided to save the superior candy for later. When I had finished with the Buck Choc I placed the Symphony in my refrigeration unit, not realizing it would be another week before I had any appetite for anything remotely chocolately, by which point an unseen force had visited and abducted the item. I wish I had put the Buck Choc there first, because then not only would I have had less buck choc to eat later, this would undoubtedly be a good defense against future chocolate heists.
It was quickly pointed out to me that the company, Palmer, is the one responsible for much of the low quality seasonal candy which would have little chance of being purchased without some sort of gimmicky sense of urgency to appeal to someone other than that who would consume it. No kid with its parents’ dollars is going into a candy store and buying QuAX “the hollow milk flavored” The Yummy Ducky when there are Cadbury eggs available. Sadly, kids these days have little appreciation for molding expertise. Someone should tell them that most of Palmer’s Easter candy is kosher.
That anonym thing on the link is probably unnecessary, but I thrive on the unnecessary.
If you’ve ever received some of this at Halloween you know who to blame. The world makes just a tad more sense when you realize the same creative force came up with the idea to wrap budget Hanukkah gelt eight different ways throughout the year to keep kids from catching on as Buck Choc.
Although I must confess a bit of fondness for the 1960s design aesthetic on the individual pieces, this seems unlikely to be a conscious marketing decision and more probably a result of a product being introduced in the 1960s and Palmer never hiring anybody to update the packaging.
Much like the famous MILK DUDs, one of several hershey products no longer legally permitted but that allegedly were at one point to call themselves chocolate, reformulated to cut costs, because unlike symphony they weren’t big enough that two ounces could be brazenly chopped off and still leave something resembling a finished product, no legimitate claim of chocolate is made on the Buck Choc label, though “chocolaty” and of course “choc” are both present.
Which is fine with me since the difference between “choclate” and “chocolate flavored” is not quite so garish as I would have expected, ingredient-sounding wise. Because to me it is the “milk” which is most repulsive, so the more that is replaced with chemistry terminology the better I like it, just regarding the label. It only seems bad when your sole experience with non-chocolate comes in buck form. I have yet to taste this modern make of confection perpetrated by a company with any trace of a reputation to uphold. The fact that “doublecrisp” is evidently a registered trademark in the chocolate-not-mentioning field doesn’t mean anybody wants to rip it off.
Ordinarily I would not eat a thing I saw that looked that bad, with labelling that bad (another effect of firing your entire art staff in the 1960s is that whatever you produce in the future gets no art). But I just liked saying Buck Choc so much. It seemed so special, so otherworldy. Like it wanted to take me to a better place, both spiritually and in my own mind (those are different things, right?). Some people find Jesus, I found Buck Choc, despite its superior hiding skills. Jesus expects me to put 10 dollars in a basket in exchange for an hour in an arcane, depressing place. Buck Choc wants two dollars for Buck Choc. This concept was easier for me to grasp. Now older and wiser, I stick by the decision, reasoning that no god as just and all-knowing as the one told of in Catholic lore would allow Buck Choc to exist.
Day two:
Buck Choc is good for compulsive eaters because you can thoughtlessly bite at it for a long time without having to worry about replacing it. I had this next to me for several hours and didn’t even get past the 2. It will last much longer than a box of cheerios and tastes about the same. As the box. Although Cheerios have one eleventh the fat and contain actual nutritive ingredients, no official documentation is provided for the box. Also, there are some influential troublemakers who insist that cheerios thinks it is a drug. Nobody ever got addicted to Buck Choc.
A better comparison might be to a Hungry Man XXL dinner, a whole pound of sodium men (bucks) love. It’s possible they see the same chemist. They have many preservatives in common. Buck Choc is to candy what bagged black chicken nuggets at a Walgreens is to candy.
Day three:
Something is not right here. I must have eaten about half the bar yesterday. And yet observe that at this stage it is still almost as big as a dinosaur. But I can’t give up now. I’d be a buck chump. It is my destiny to be a buck champ.
Day four:
I forgot to take a picture of it before I started eating it. I believe I was down to the “last” nine squares, however. Rather a big step as it was now quite smaller than a bear. By this point it was down to about the size of a regular chocolate bar, only just big enough to poison a dragon with. But oh, ouch! What has caused my mysterious neck pain these past few days? There was only one major change in my life recently; choc it up to buck choc.
Day five:
Still not done. But there is less than there was. It has begun to collect dust.
And now it is done.
Arrr, somebody’s plundered me buck choc! You don’t need a telescope to see that. In fact, using a telescope at close range surely impedes your vision. Boya, has that recent largely publicized incident regarding modern day pirates, which actually have been making news for a couple of years, finally put a stop to twerps thinking themselves witty and clever by taking facetiously strong stances on the issue of pirates v ninjas? Ninjas are trained for battle. Pirates are just thugs on ships. I don’t see why there would be a question of which would “win in a fight.” You might as well put Zulu warriors against kids with spray paint or the Capital One ad vikings against actual vikings. A better contest would be which could survive longest on a diet consisting solely of Buck Choc and the Walgreens store brand Vitamin Water imitation the cashier, sensing I lived dangerously, asked me if I wanted to purchase, that a helpful sign informed me I would get free if the cashier forgot to mention it. Jeepers, thanks a lot, guy.
In summation, I ate Buck Choc and took pictures of it. In conclusion, this is the end.
Next time: the further adventures of Dude, da’ world’s most totally awesome chocolate transsexual Bunny.
“Zak Efron… is he one of the Jonas Brothers?” - an actual thought I had. Is my senility escalating or is that merely a logical conclusion?
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
I realize this page update is late, but I had to go to church.
“Church” being the name of my new fancy toilet. Excuse me, did you really think I was done posting pictures taken inside restrooms? This is a task that is bigger than any of us. If we really want to make progress, we should all be doing it. But I’m not about to start making decrees. I never fancied myself a leader.
Now there’s a the work of an authoritative figure. But I think you might be missing some key consonants up there. Possibly punctuation, as well. And how about a “please?” If you please. I’m sure somebody somewhere would be willing to trade you an S for one of your surplus Ls.
Is this necessary? I suggest to you that it is not. That’s right, you read it on bimshwel first: sometimes internet advertising is less than tasteful. I’m sure this has been an eye-opening revelation for you. Also less than tasteful: barf.
If it’s “updating their myspace pages” then I think I can pass. If they were actually my friends and actually wanted me to know something, they would tell me and I would not have to visit my space at all. I realize this material is weak, I have to unload the rest of the myspace stuff now so I don’t fall further behind in hoarding twitter jokes.
I’ve come far enough to know that even if a nonsentient domain hyphen title wanted to be my friend, if it was that one it would be time for me to give up life. But sometimes myspace people change their names for the purpose of some joke and I am well accustomed to not getting other people’s subtle jokes on the internet, so I retained a scant amount of optimism, a full year after every person I’ve ever met switched to Face Book to do the exact same non-things, except they couldn’t embed java applets, fifty youtube videos and translucent animated gif butterflies, which was fine with me.
What kind of a friends invite others to watch cnn over the internet? Meaningless, in-name-only facebook friends. Friends with as much weight behind them as that utterly unnecessary RSVP in there. Why can’t we get a new word for that, or merely spell it “ahresveepy?” That’s all people think of it as. Or we could write out “confirm your attendance,” what we actually mean, what is much more clear than empty, precocious misused abbreviated French. There is no sensible reason to prolong a tradition like this. I won’t even accept that on an invitation to a birth-day party (yes, I got one once). It’s outright offensive regarding some mopey facebook non-party non-gathering to do some thing that I could do just as easily by connecting to any station on my television system without stating my intention to do so. Get out from my business s’il vous plait (and even if vous don’t).
It is one thing to be vulgar, and it is one more thing to take Thumbelina’s name in vain, but my e-mail robots sure are getting abusive. It was nothing less than cruel to exploit my well known interest in arranging a Chernobyl summer getaway to get me to read the message. And then it dared reference 83, the suspected year of the Battle of Mons Graupius, in which 10000 of my irregular Caledonian forebears were slaughtered by more disciplined Roman forces despite greatly outnumbering them. Yeah, it’s still too soon, Lagory Corter! Why can’t you be more like my best buddy ol’ pal Ruby? (I call him Ruby instead of Rubert now because we are chums)
Evidently Chef Boiardi’s head was placed on a label at that position so that poltergeist gauntlets could force it to play a flute much too large for it in an advertisement for the Great American Can Sale at the store “Big Y.” Note that even though the store is called Big Y we don’t actually know. Much less the details regarding the flute debacle. It was a disgrace ones who could help tended not to notice, alas, what with that heathen can of Folger’s Crystals hoisting that flag whose name it has so disparaged, whose traditional moral values it has worked so tirelessly to twist and corrupt:
There’s a reason Folger doesn’t appear on his own cans! The scamp! Don’t you know there are kids who watch that stuff! Do you know what happens when kids drink coffee? They look precocious, that’s what! The best part of waking up is not 5 year olds who can memorize stuff in my cup!
Anyway, back to church. Tonight is the Saint Nunzio and Blessed Associates annual gold chain awareness Ziti Dinner.
Note to event planning committee staff member persons: toilets do not make good dinner tables.
I was busy on Sunday. Nobody’s sure what I did the last two days. Not this, evidently.
===================================================
Is the exclusive McGraw fragrance truly popular or did Walmart just only order one bottle? And why is it in a box? First wine, now this. Is that some Real America market rule that all “sophisticated” items must come in boxes?
Feminine Arousal Fluid also comes from a box. “And so will you” is the official slogan, I hear.
I reckon these are equally compelling reading material.
I dare suggest that is the absolute worst mood to teach peace in.
Other development:
My inability to recall the exact context in which I saw and saved this is rather stressful, I must say.
I just realized [three months ago] that there are people who were borned IN the 1970S who aren’t thirty years old yet. That astounds me for some reason. All my life, the disco decade had seemed totally beyond accessibility and yet for some time now I have shared a first digit with people who experienced part of it. That gives me at least four more years before I’m totally outdated.
What’s the deal with Jim Carrey being in movies where he has magical powers or is enchanted in some way? First he couldn’t lie, and now he can’t say no. And remember that time he found the magic theater mask that made him turn into rubber, and then a few years later he just went full God? And I definitely recall reports roundabout the turn of the century of Mr. Carrey “becoming” Andy Kaufman, a task simply not possible within any realm of logic as the non-wizardly mortals among us who are logical know it. All this, despite being, according to popular wisdom, dumber than dumb, which, with such unchecked powers, would only make him more dangerous. Somebody needs to watch this guy.
Well, you are kind of in the Bat-Mobile. Also, I imagine your driving becomes conspicuously erratic while you’re writing in your notebook. Tearing off each note as you write it seems to me like it could only make your trail easier to follow.
E-cards are SUPPOSED to be free. Does anyone pay for them? Does anyone even still use them? I don’t think I’ve received one in eight years. To put that in perspective, there are actually people who give me greeting cards.
It seems to me that the first rule is the best value. I’m not entirely sure on the math but the nine additional rules seem to only get you about 2.4 times as much weight loss. Which is still pretty good, but man, do I really have time for 10 whole rules? Especially if I’m an idiot? Idiot seems so much more serious and harsh than dummy.
I bet I’m smart enough to not take dares from stupid banner ads.
Seriously, why should I even bother if it’s so hard that the guy in the picture got zero percent correct? And it’s harsh in its reprimands: the notification occupies an entire screen. I don’t know if I can handle that much abuse. The man is so ashamed he dare not look directly at the monitor for fear it might read the regret and take the opportunity to dispatch more wrath. you know the thing is a sadistic machine, for it persists in its persecution despite not being plugged in. My intelligence may not be that of a supreme machine but I know enough to not enter into a wager with one.
Murder yellow teeth: the worst kind of yellow teeth!
Why don’t the Secret Dentists want me to know about Teeth Whitening, the only hero believed to be a match for the Murder Yellow Teeth in combat? My life could be in danger! What’s in this for those dentists? Do they work for the Dumb Test 12000 master computer? Is this a plot to keep people from correcting teeth yellowness so that malevolent machination can make fun of them? We cannot afford to show weakness! We must get ourselves in contact with the mysterious anonymous individual who sponsored this awareness! We must band together! We must
I COMPUTER! I MAKE LINK! I TRICK YOU INTO THINK YOU HAVE CHANCE! NO HAVE CHANCE ACTUALLY! YOU NO MATCH MY TEST ME SMART! YOU DUMB NO DO TEST GOOD CAN! COMPUTER WIN MAXIMUM ALWAYS! BEEP BOOP BLIP BLOOP BOP, I SAY! ALSO WHY YOU GOT SUCH YELLOW TEETH?
them`s fightin` woids:
September 6, 2010A knock in the sock sez:
Perhaps you two should have worked something out beforehand instead of expecting the...
September 6, 2010
Mxy sez:
My opinion of you has improved now that you’ve revealed not knowing what the letters ALF stand...
September 4, 2010
Frubaklop sez:
Perhaps Moraff studies should major in me.
September 4, 2010
A kick in the pants sez:
Perhaps you should have majored in Moraff studies.
September 4, 2010
Frubaklop sez:
One who diaps: You don’t know what I know! Peezer: Is your job any easier? Mxy: It shows...
September 4, 2010
A diaper sez:
Diaping ain’t easy, you know.