ehhh

As you may be aware, I traveled Out West two months ago. I purchased sunglasses specially for the occasion. At a CVS.

I also purchased an x-treme toothbrush.

At the sun glass spinny display object were mirrored surfaces to observe the sight of one’s self wearing the sun-spectacles. However, since people are vain idiots or presumed to be vain idiots, the mirrors are “slimming” and thus I could not find a set of glass that did not make my head look narrow and there’s a certain width that I expect sunglasses to cover and these now were only as wide as my narrow head. I had to take all the candidates over to the makeup counter mirror and test them there (makeup counter not shown because somebody dared me to not take a picture of it and also because the Stop & Shop I actually took the last picture at didn’t have a makeup counter). I tried many options. While all this was going on the people passing around me probably wondered why I was so conceited to need the big mirror, and if I was so concerned about my appearance why I was wearing sweatpants.
I was wearing sweatpants because I had just taken all of my decent clothes to be washed at the world’s scariest laundromat.

Excuse me, I meant

When did we get to Arkansas?

However, now I cannot locate my sunglasses.

What do YOU want? Not my sweatpants, evidently. Even though I have lots of pants but only one set of sunglasses. Well I DID but now I have NONE and this monster thinks it’s entitled to smile at me on such an occasion or ever?

Nemitz… why does it live? Nemitz = MAXIMUM SCUMBAG. This summer Nemitz IS Captain Crumbum. nemitz, you have big trouble coming your way in the form of me coming your way.

Nemitz is a hobo. Nemitz is a bozo. Nemitz is a yo-yo. Nemitz is the logo for “oh no.” Nemitz should GO the way of the dodo. Nemitz’s academic scores are so-so. Nemitz has similar views on ethics as Hojo from Final Fantasy 7. Hojo is also the only hotel nemitz will stay at which makes travel arrangements difficult since most of those went out of business.

Deservedly so, though.

How ever did nemitz become such a scumbag? I do not understand how that happened. That thing should know enough to NOT be nemitz. Nemitz is an incorrigible, indefensible scoundrel. There is NO EXCUSE for IT doing what IT does. I refuse to corrige such things. I cannot stand idly by while nemitz is tolerated. In fact, nemitz has consistently ranked in the top ten scoundrel index since I first invented the index a moment ago.

I previously thought nemitz had gotten happy by thinking about itself being happy. But it is also possible that it was sad until it realized I could see it. Neither of these are good situations. NEMITZ. I need it gone! I need that outta here.

I heard nemitz stole a Volvo. Nemitz’s favorite songs are Kokomo, Row Row Row Your Boat and anything by Bono*. I wonder if elpse realizes that nemitz’s favorite Double Dragon character is Abobo. Nemitz has rigged elections in Togo. Nemitz is a variety bucket of things that sound like “hobo.”

I want to hire nemitz just so i can fire it. It should go to jail forever and become a burden of the tax-payers. See how long they put up with that.
Urf. Nemitz. I’ll put that thing on a conveyor belt and keep punching it back as it comes forward. I’ll throw a tenement at nemitz. I’ll throw 700 tennis balls and a Tengen cartridge at nemitz.

Nemitz doesn’t realize Duck Maze was not made by Tengen. Of course I’ll probably discover that nemitz likes ducks and mazes, anyhow.

However, only the mouse shall escape!

NO ONE ESCAPES.

_{*Bono of the U2 band and not Sonny Bono because Nemitz deliberately mispronounces things to irritate people which is of course a no-no}

You agree with me that 1 am is way too late for the idiots a block over from me to be blasting corny music all over the place, don’t you?

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Dear loyal bimshwel customers: I’m deadHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH APRULFOOOOUHAGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHG I’VE BEEN SHOT

HA HA NO I HAVEN’T!GOTCHA THAT TIME AYPRALLL FOOOOOOOOHHHHHHNOOOOO I’VE BEEN SHOT AGAIN!

NOPE NOT REALLY! HA HA HA HOOOGOSH DEAR FLOOPITY I’VE LAUGHED SO HARD I’VE CAUSED MYSELF MORTAL INJURY NO I HAVEN’T

HA HA HA HO NOW IS THE TIME WHEN I LAUGH NO IT ISN’t YES IT IS HA HA HA H

And now I am sad.
YES INDEEDNO NOT REALLY

 
 

I am not sure what is going on here. It may be a while before I do.

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I have so many messages to write to people, but all I want to do is make love to you. I mean… something else, right? At any rate, whatever it is isn’t productive.

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People who get gifts love to type out detailed descriptions of their gifts. The very idea strikes me as being very tiring. Almost as tiring as it is to read such lists. At least the junk I put here I don’t realize is tiring until I’ve already invested too much into it to not finish it.

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Why should I be impressed by any “future” that still includes manually adjusted neck ties? Where are the giant robot helmets and gauntlets? Where are the silver wetsuits as normal clothing? How about magnetic boots that magically hold your body completely steady and horizontal when you walk up a wall? The only astounding thing on display here is an electric crane that holds what appears to be a chalkboard eraser. Next they should invent a computer that automatically replaces the paper in my typewriter. Or just holds the paper up so that I can grab it and replace it myself. What? You’re kidding!

Well. And as for Conan

he has to be Archie AND Ozark Ike, so I can excuse one dopey endorsement deal.

ONE I said. Yeep. You were off television, for what, three months? Conan, sometimes you just need to take a break.

Like, whatever, man. Why’s Conan talking to THIS rube ovah heeyah?

Wuh whoa! I just realized I’M on tv, too! Woooooo yeah! I got my fake-retro prefaded Ghostbusters shirt and my RED SWEATPANTS on camera! Muh- muh- muh- METAL! Ninja surviiiiiiiiiive!

Eh. I suppose that’s better than KILLING me…

You know what, I hate ninjas.

Ninjas have gone soft. I remember when being a ninja MEANT somehing. A long time ago, in the glory days of ninja. Specifically, the 1980s. When to stop the shadowy killing machine of the east took nothing less than a…

AHHHH, BIRDS! BIRDS! GET THEM AWAY FROM ME! ABBBBBAAAAAAA!!!

Slap Susan Boyle! This ad makes me really sad. And I didn’t even watch the Susan Boyle video(s). Do you have any idea how hard that was? They were the cat’s meow, as I hear it.

Here, on May 25, it’s five of the top ten videos. Big deal, Miss Susie can sing nice. People do that all the time. People do that on junkety tv “talent” competitions aller the times. I can’t confirm that they do anything else these days. Sure, it’s harder than randomly placing high pitched noises over the words of daytime talk shows, per the terms of number six on our countdown, Jimmy Kimmel’s “unncecessary censorship,” which by the way his staff does every single week and never puts any more or any effort into, but really, what’s the big idealio? Because Ms. Boyle doesn’t meet your orange, tight-skinned tv standard of “beauty” you assume I assume she’s a terrible singer, and therefore I should be shocked and mesmerized when she isn’t? And once you’re over her, I should want to simulate bringing bodily harm to the woman? Without even having to be promised a free^asterisk ipod? Just because I feel like it?

You got it, dude!

I somehow, without trying, heard that this lady was one of two or so megafinalists… The ads for these shows are invariably stuffed with people juggling trees, sculpting sphynxes out of cornmeal, metamorphizing into butterflies, eating manwiches through their noses, and yet “it” always comes down to a couple bozos who can move their mouths good. But it is not the fault of the singers themselves that the international council of lousy vote-off shows has screwy standards.

Which is not to say they are entirely without fault in life, certainly.

You know… forget purging the orange juliots who just sing, if we must. With enough orchestration and background dancers any creatively stillborn barbado bope can potentially be entertaining. I would be relatively fine if They could do these variety shows without the judges. We always need a high council of loud-mouthed morons with questionable, pro-trash values there commenting on our behalf and wasting program time. It’s like those youtube videos with the stupid pop-up text during the clips. That’s better than when people edit big stupid caps lock Arial letters into the actual video, and I believe it can be disabled. Our task force has yet to devise the technology to disable Sharon Osbourne.

This explains so much.

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I just saw what this site’s rss feed looks like. You have my condolences. I cannot function without them.

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May 29:
I will mention Mad TV again. My mentioning this could not be too much worse than this entry’s original content regarding Ben Stein.
But that show, I’m not sad to see it go. I’m sad that I didn’t go. That I never was able to give it up. I did, for about three weeks, but then I watched it again and then the final show was the next one so I had to watch that one too, even though it was kind of bad. So many better things to watch, so many better non-watching things to do. Why did I return? What was I expecting? Why can’t I accomplish anything? Why would I take 80 pictures in one day, half of them of my television screen, approximately none of which I will do anything with? Why would I eat so many raisins that I felt ill?

Even when the show was good, was it ever that great? Great enough that if it was bad next time that the positive experience outweighed the negative? Great enough that I could confidently assume that it would not be bad next time? (yes, briefly, in 2005. This tapered off right about the time I started writing about it, requiring me to rebut myself, several times, and by now I am sadly quite used to being the butt of a but (and I should not have said that) )
Was I ever able to share it with one person who didn’t think less of me as a result of it? At least the indifference / scolding I got when I told people I watched Conan O’Brien had to face off against memories of presentations that I often sincerely enjoyed, and with some amount of consistency. Even when he was appearing in ads for Budweiser and the Milk Growers of America and encouraging the participation of an audience it increasingly seemed as if he had just a bit of contempt for I never quite felt dirty.

Yes, I only extracted this from a longer, worse, Mad TV eulogy I’m too indifferent to finish because it mentions Mr. O’Brien and I don’t want to risk having to reword that one part in the event he does something catastrophic on his new show that requires me to distinguish the old one from it. If he does something great it will be easier to delete this part.

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Ben Stein is not an economist. He’s just some guy from tv. Some guy from tv who fits the stereotypical perception of what a smart person looks like. Some guy from tv who had a game show about giving away his money. Would you trust an economist who gave away his money and/or a career to Jimmy Kimmel? He may have majored in economics at Columbia University, but he does not work in the field of economics, and by his own admission has not done that since the Lyndon Johnson administration, and he hated it. That doesn’t necessarily mean he was bad at it, but it certainly might. I’m sure he knows a lot of stuff, but I don’t reckon what he learned in 1960eh is 100% relevant to the financial issues us peons deal with these days, all the less so when it is filtered through a co-endorsement deal for the very worst provider of an outmoded method of television signal delivery* that he shares with Shaquille “I love em I don’t leave em I got a vysectomy and now I can’t breed ‘em and I was also Kazaam the rapping genie” O’Neal.
You can call Ben Stein an actor/writer/lawyer/game show host, but don’t just say “economist” and not offer any justification. Please?

Also, this is beside the point, but Ben Stein blames the theory of evolution for The Holocaust. Because, supposedly, scientists researched evolution and scientists also invented gas chambers. This idea almost certainly appeals to people who get offended when guns are blamed for murders and accidental killings done with guns. That’s a tenuous thread of logic.
Bad. Bad science. I don’t know where Ben Stein thinks tv cameras and glasses came from. “Science” is in fact a very vague word and you can attribute to it just about anything. You can even type it in capital letters with an exclamation point at the end and get an instant fanbase on the internet. It’s like the new “69″ except it’s actually a reference to a dopey song from over twenty five years ago. In that respect, I suppose, Ben Stein is older than science and knows what’s best for it. Who am I to talk about science, after all? I’m no economist.

I don’t need to go into this much because Ben Stein bothered me long before I knew that he had actual beliefs and opinions, and what they were. I always thought his screen persona was annoying, and discovering that this is actually his true self makes it easier for me to deal with; he hasn’t expended the creative energy necessary to create a character, or even what passes for one in a time when each and every creative person grew up surrounded by half+ century-old infallible merchandising icons who will not step aside for any reason (perhaps Ben aspires to be one?). He’s not trying that hard. He is naturally annoying. He thinks he’s so boring that anything consciously idiotic he does (rapping about how he dislikes Al Gore) or says (such as “cleareyes is awwwwsome”) while being boring is automatically funny, but it isn’t. He thinks that wearing a black business suit and Teddy Ruxpin shoes makes a statement, and it does. That statement is “somebody needs to throw a muffin at me.”

Don’t watch the video attached to that last link. There are plenty of things I could suggest to “you” to watch that would be better than that. I just had to prove that it happened. But at about four minutes, twenty seconds he starts with the “mo-fo” talk and then he tells some really awkward rap-thing about Al Gore not inventing the internet that he had to write on three different pieces of paper for some reason, that he couldn’t be irked to memorize despite it being short and basic and sort of terrible. Jon Stewart appears to be laughing, but there are different types of laughter and many of them are not good. This wasn’t quite as bad as it seemed to me when I first watched it (compare the dates and it seems probable that the memory of this interview in part inspired that other thing I wrote that I linked to somewhere in here), but it’s far from good.

If the best grime you can scrub up on a presidential candidate approaching an election, the bit that you save for last, is that he made some exaggerating statement totally irrelevant to his candidacy then you have misplaced priorities and I don’t trust you to do things for the right reasons. And Gore did help with the internet. He did not create it, he did not develop the technology, but he very much helped to ensure that it would be used, that it would be useful. In comtrast to Comcast, Ben Stein’s current president, which pretends it owns the internet from time to time.

What THEY forgot is that every generation has its REBEL! Of course in this situation it’s the Pat Boone generation.
I can just imagine Ben Stein saying to himself in a Ben Stein voice how hilarious he himself would look while dressed like AC DC. But in actuality it’s just embarrassing. I can see him and Lorne Michaels forming a comedy team that’s just them.

*I personally don’t find anything special about the current incarnation of satellite television, but I believe it has greater potential that it just won’t allow me to use due to arbitrary legal trash, yet I can see that changing. Cable service, on the other hangnail, relies on actual physical cables, going from your home to someplace else, and if you decide you don’t like the people who own the cables you have to get the things removed and then have a whole new set of cables put in, in the event you want to risk more cables. Or something like that. Most people won’t bother with that; it’s hassle enough getting the stuff installed to begin with, and cable companies use that knowledge against their own customers. But then satellite things are also such a way; I still need to have cords going from my television machine to the dinkity plastic thing that I don’t own stuck to my house. But it would be easier to wrap that up and send it back, and by the wuh I would if I was paying for it and the only person who used it.

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.

I still cling to the delusion that my page is only officially ugly once I start embedding video clips on it.

Do they love me, or my frogger? A question for the ages, which we all may find reason to ask ourselves at key points in our lives.

The frog from Frogger, presumably also named “Frogger,” escapes from the publicity and hype surrounding the smash megahit video game “Frogger” by playing Frogger. A secret copy of Frogger, no less. If anybody would be expected to own one, it’d be that frog, right? Thus we are introduced to a world of intense inner conflict and private, shameful obsessions. “It’s a challenge, rribbit,” laments Frogger.

Additionally, there is something altogether unsettling about an anthropormit frog wearing several layers of coatery but no pants asking if people love his “frogger.” It must be noted that the one who speaks “ladies first,” presumably a lady, only lacks shoes, as far as standard gendereal clothing prescriptions are concerned. I suspect a gay orgy took place. By the way, you’re all invited to my ninth birthday party, 3pm this Saturday at the highway McDonald’s. I’ll have to ask my mom which side.

It may be argued that many configurations of legs and hind regions preclude the applying of the standard run of presized leg-wrappings, but not merely drooping fabric, and in that case I don’t understand why they can’t all wear drooping fabric. Surely it is more prudent to violate non-applicable human dress style norms than to wear nothing at all, itself also rather a violation.

You do not count because you are an imbecile.
Odd fashion and dumb lizards aside I still prefer the troubled, introspective frogger to

the rubber frogger,

the douchey frogger

and the scary frogger.

This will be all the more so if it is revealed to me that the three non-preferred froggers are in actuality a single ultra powerful non-preferred frogger.

I assure you I have enough problematic frogs in my life already.

They demand our nation’s supply of gummy worms as tribute.

Our children may be at risk if we disobey.

Yet, alas, it is nothing new. Frogs have had it in for us for millions of years. Is there anyone who can stop them?

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!! h

nope, Not Being Cool | How to lose a guy in (2) days | !

Please don’t tell me that here, in this darkened cinemaplexus corridor, five months ago, is a poster hyping an Alvin and the Chipmunks production coming to theatres. Don’t tell me, I already know what it is. I was there and took a picture of it.

“They’re back & bigger than ever Christmas.” This must be a sequel to

I thought that looked pretty bad, too.

Ehhh, it’s not worth getting angry anymore. Things I hate are going to keep getting made. Old things I hate will keep being made into new things I hate, old things I like will keep getting made into new things I hate. It cannot be helped. It doesn’t need help. All I can do is hope it’s usually the first category, as it is on this occasion. Do as you like with the c h i p m u n kays. I don’t even know if what I just did there was accurate representation of the spelling section of their theme song, and I won’t bother checking up on that. They don’t deserve it. Go ahead and out-of-touch-white-people-gangstah them up. See what it gets you. Give them sponsor-provided communication devices with

Bling brand slipcovers. It won’t make a difference. As long as we’re here, is it worse that someone could call plastic beads “bling,” wrap them around a little telephone, and charge money for them, or that the beads appear to be entirely sold out?

When I liked Underdog I hated the Chipmunks. I resented that they were the chipmunks even though Chip and Munk Dale were older and better. This was before they were the Rescue Rangers, back when they didn’t speak proper English and did hit each other a lot. Ah, the good old days before my petty biases. Yes, so, anything I hated before I became petty must have been hated for a reason. My only specific memory of The Chipmunks is that in one episode Alvin had a harmonica, was really obsessed with it, saying “my harr^monica!” a whole bunch of times, and I hate harmonicas too. It’s like a kazoo with undue respect.

There was also “The Alvin Show,” which “The Chipmunks” itself was a soulless trendy remake of, but The Alvin Show was still pretty bad, probably. If this movie wasn’t set to be released today (”Christmas” evidently meaning “some point in December”) I’d surely force myself to find out more about it. I’m glad I’m not going to. The 1960s was the worst decade for animation since the next one.

What’s really scary is that there are countless successful to moderately popular cartoons from the birth of cinema onward totally inapplicable to realistic environments, modern themes and assinine wisecrack culture that have never had live-space feature films made in the fogged-up-mirror image of, and we now know that it doesn’t matter who, if anyone, remembers them nor who, if anyone, initially watched them. The public outcries condemning the unanimous mediocrity of all previous such movies also does not matter. Betty Boop, Yogi Bear, The Mighty Heroes, Speed Buggy, Around the World in 80 Dreams, Stop the Smoggies, The Three Robonic Stooges… all of these are candidates to have fabulously funded, massively marketed, twit targeted and totally travestal movies made from them. When those are done, oh ho, there’s still The Shirt Tales, Moby Dick and Mighty Mightor, The Blue Racer, Rainbow Brite and the Shoprite Can Cans (including beets) to be raped beyond recognition. It will be unclear which were horrible to begin with. (hint: I only mentioned ones that were horrible to begin with)

Some of them will have sequels. All will have sequels initially planned. I hope they’ll have the decency to wait for that murder* I mentioned before making the Ren and Stimpy movie. Even if it’s totally true to the original it will be nauseating. More likely, though, it will be worse.

*five months ago, this was originally part of a considerably longer second tangent about me hating the Underdog movie in which I must have made some comment about me being murdered. I’m glad I survived.

Also, these are the only clips I’ve found from the English version of this program, posted by someone who only posts short excerpt clips of people transforming into animals, occasionally animals back into people, and tags them all TF because apparently this is popular enough viewing material that it needs a special abbreviation. So let me re-iterate: the only reason fat hobo Carlos is on the internet is because Stonebeet Shadowbuffalo’s friends get off on seeing this man become a bull. I don’t know that factually, but it’s been my experience that if something on the internet doesn’t make sense then someone’s probably rubbing out to it. Am I unjustified in being creeped up by that?

I don’t even know what aspect of this does the job; I assumed it had something to do with people’s clothing falling off the misshapen forms and or the tendency for it to even disappear altogether, but Carlos, to his credit, keeps his big red Hawaiian suspenderpants on through it all.

These are special dishes small children are intended to eat out of, because… well, you know how they are.

The dark lord of the Sith is popular with the Dora crowd. The fact that just such a mask assisted a man’s life support for several decades without replacement proves that they are manufactured with sterility and clenliness in mind, so why not eat off of one?

I shouldn’t be surprised. Even the Please Be Offended Rabbit, the biggest fudnuddling scumcylinder in all of merchandising pretends to not be evil to sell more junk.

It occurs to me now that I’ve never seen the actual, regular series Darth Vader eat. He probably has to take all nutrients intravenously. That product up there would depress him greatly, and not even because it simulates eating his face off. But wow, you know, I could really go for some face right now.

Face Total, which even includes ears and eyebrows. Additionally, it’s much easier than eating twenty one bowls of Face corn flakes.

Why does baby clothing have words on it? Babies can’t read! Unless they’re Baby Geniuses. And if they are you should just get rid of them before they become Baby Geniuses 2. Or uh 3.

You’re probably right, person who made a ridiculous, unverifiable claim, never posted before or again and whose avatar doesn’t work.

You’re probably right that it will be well behaved enough to not openly criticize its predecessors. What that has to do with cats being able to fly making you be what your name is I’ve spent enough time looking at your other posts to know not to bother trying to figure out.

But ehhh, why does it matter what babies wear at all? Within a day it will be covered with brown-green slop whatever it is.

This, ingeniously, is already slop green, and additionally simulates having insects crawl all over your en-sloppened bundle of slop.
I wish people wouldn’t dress babies in… dresses. I’ve never once seen one wear something like this without having its diaper clearly visible 70% of the time. They don’t care what they’re wearing, and neither do the parents who rarely incorporate the garment’s style into their baby-carrying plan, and I don’t want to see diapers, so stop it! On the whole, very few of my senses wish to detect diapers.

The path to becoming a gloating male supremacist starts in the womb. That’s probably printed on the back as if it’s a good thing.
Am I reading needless implications into what is simply a joke? Possibly, except it’s a joke you (the imagined buyer) didn’t think of, that you bought at a store, and that you forced upon another human being who can neither comprehend nor opt out of the joke. And you never one time doubted the virtue of your actions. I hate you! As long you’re an imagined buyer I’ll further imagine that my approval is very important to you.

Which brings us to GOLD DIGGER!
Children are never too young to wear derogatory labels for, essentially, prostitutes on their clothing. Or rather, children are never too young for their parent-like-units to prescribe the label for them. Ehhh? Oh. This is for dogs. Yes, I see, what with the rubber bones off at the right and the word DOG not at the right. It’s still stupid. It may even be stupider. Dogs don’t usually wear clothing at all, correcty? Yes. Good. Just so we understand each other. If they did wear clothing, it wouldn’t be because they wanted to convince us what insufferable molbols they are. That rabbit is still naked, right?

I don’t know which one to beat up first. The left for starting this or the right for following and being proud of that plus its previous crimes. One thing certain is that this preposterous pair do not deserve such elegant fingers.

Off the chain? You’d be OFF MY FRIEND LIST if you were on it and I was the sort of person who considered that an acceptable way of communicating disapproval. I don’t adhere to latest trends anyway, but I certainly don’t trust stupid smiling partially dressed animal people to tell me what those are!
As for the bow tie beanoid, that thing is ECSTATIC. It’s so proud to be wearing a head chain and a bow tie. As long as it can wear the bow tie it will do whatever it thinks is popular. That twit is just a crony. That’s all. It has no real talents. it uses its sychophantic skills to obtain positions of relative power and tries to get laws enacted about stupid things like bow ties. It has information… it knows things (despite being a thing which lacks a nose)… It knows bombs are being sent, and by whom, but it keeps quiet just because its bow tie seems to be respected. It demands not only that any possible sub ordinates wear bow ties, but that the bow ties be smaller than its own. Trust me, I saw its diary.

The bow tie beast could never survive in the wild. It has no natural defenses with which to fight back and no legs with which to evade peril altogether. All it has is big arms. Although the grimp does evidently have opposing thumbs, the thing can’t make and use tools; it is a tool. If it invited me to its birth-day party I would give it a one of these. I’m not just some stupid animal so I’d do it properly.

I have pages and pages of this.