You might have thought that while I was away I would have taken some opportunities to finish long not-finished web-site-things without any imaginary immediate deadlines or maybe even get something important done.
Well that’s what I thought. Perhaps you know me better than I do.
Which is not to say I had a particularly rollicking time not getting anything done, either. I have forgotten how to rollick.
When I hear swimsuit legally-more-respectable-than-straight-up-pornography models interviewed needlessly on television or any other applicable medium in which their voices are recorded, they occasionally comment upon how, ha ha, no, that picture there, the swim-flesh-obscurement triangles no one would ever swim while sort-of wearing were not fabric but in fact painted directly to the skin!
And so I wonder why, if we’re painting the things into existence, should we do it in the same stupid configuration as before? Instead of little impractical triangles fastened by string, how about large round supper dishes? If we must remain nautically themed, I do suggest an old-timey sea diving out-fit (unless Scooby Doo is scheduled to appear, in which case that might not be the best choice). Why not paint the lady a big hat with fruit on it? Why not have swirly patterns branching off from the woman’s spine? Why not give her scales? Why not paint the entire human into the picture and not even hire one? Why not paint a volcano or a crystal jungle or a pianoforte made entirely of porcupines instead?
Good point! Me not need know! Me just like boobs ‘n beer!
It is worth noting that though this ad is blamed on 1990, I remember the slogan quite well despite being seven years old for most of that year and in no condition to be consuming the product. Also, surprisingly, this particular ad itself is blatantly non-misogynistic and I’m sure the Budweiser legacy department appreciates me finally placing it into such a context.
Not because it’s ignorant or annoying, I hope. What then permits being memorable in advertising? An annoying catch-phrase? An annoying jingle-tune? An annoying licensed+edited song by someone famous? Annoying pandery imagery? An annoying smart-arp mascot? I think we need new words so that we can more easily differentiate between ought to be remembered, able to be remembered and that for which nothing less than a lobotomy will ever get you restful sleep again.
Sure, I’d love for your giant pill to puke powder onto my pelvis. What took you so long?
Also, there are two “funny” yupetube videos of dorks recording themselves watching this ad, and neither comments on the fact that an enormous Dr. Mario capsule is fantasizing about vomiting cocaine onto their glowing crotchal regions. I mean first of all, that’s a terrible waste of money right there. You spent all those greater american dollars getting the stuff just to smear it on your mystery spot? Even if it’s ground up tiger horn China’s foremost black-market charlatan sorcerers agree you don’t use it that way. You could smear anything there and get pretty much the same effect. Marketers need to learn to properly represent their product.
If Lipozene can help me become a creepily drawn robot fighting robot machine, it should be evident from the simulation.
But I was in the midst of another digression. I thought upon a limerick and I thought upon a riddle, I started on a story but I stopped it in the middle.
Over the centuries, rhino horns have been carved into ceremonial cups, as well as buttons, belt buckles, hair pins, and paperweights.
I understand that The West owes much of its extravagant ways to the production and use of Chinese imports, but I had sort of hoped specialty belt-buckles for scum-buzzles was a uniquely American tradition. Can’t I have civic pride in anything? Also, oh, gee, the wind keeps scattering my paper around. I can’t decide whether I should close the window or kill a giant animal so I can chop off part of its nose.
But what do I know? Ask a reputed expert on the matter. What else aren’t you telling me, Josh?
More colored pictures than previously. Possibly you’ve seen these all before, and I still intend to discuss with myself certain items in more detail at a later date. So excyoooooooose me!
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I think I hurt many people. I do not want to hurt people anymore. Perhaps I can hurt fictional non-people instead.
Begawn! No, seriously, get out of here. I’ll show you what this makes me think of.
And it draws a sneer from me!
When I see you coming, I can either hit you or run away. Which would you prefer? My only items are bludgeoning instruments. It seems too late to offend you into not showing up by spelling your name incorrectly. You’d probably forgive me anyway.
It is not good to see me! Not for you! I insult you always!
How do you know? How are you telling me? Why are you telling me? Do you think I can help you? I had nothing to do with this! Do you think I would help you?
That was a quick recovery. I bet you don’t even remember that you used to be a potato. So happy, so fast. And how could you NOT see that branch? Blinded by muffingluttony.
And what’s that trying to enter my sight on the right?
ARRRRRRRGHNot allowed! Someone follow that thing! When it lands, confiscate its wings and bow tie. I’m not dealing with this today.
But ugh, that lizard. Maybe if it grew some teeth it could eat something besides muffins.
Don’t tell me that! I don’t need your advice! I bet that awful Life Water ad was your idea. I’ve noticed you also have a tendency to appear in front of empty white void anti-backgrounds. That stupid gargoyle thing next to you probably has better ideas, and all they do is squat on buildings all day. You’re looking especially badly drawn right just now. Oh wow, you’re so enthusiastic about your cupcake statement. I just noticed it ends in an exclamation point. It’s really not that important!
I’ve been naming your shortcomings all day, and you just noticed that? Even unreferenced frogs look down on you, and you’re taller! Stupid naked beast. Don’t just stand around and pout about it! Wear clothing if not doing so bothers you so much. And it’d better be real clothing, and not just boots or a scarf or a stupid bow tie.
That’s it. I’m going. No one deserves this.
I’m tired of all the people with their light-blue houses and hired machinery! How is there any plant left around here that still needs to be chain-sawed? What would be audacious or stupid enough to grow here?
And evidently that’s not enough, because here comes an intentionally ugly, blatantly wasteful 1950s car in fact accurately described as a “jalopy” that’s even louder! A backup plan, I suppose.
I’m tired, tired tired. Not just of this section of this town, but I mean this section of the continent in general. Every house is white or blue, and every mailbox has a boat or a beach or a beach with boats painted on it if it has anything painted on it. Every wall-hung painting is of a ship or a boat. You’re right down the road from the ocean, and I see you walking back from there every day! You have real boats! If you have the freedom to decorate as you please, why not depict things which you don’t see every day of your life? Like armadillos or the Taj Mahal or Mexicans not employed by you? Have you no imagination? It’s just like how nobody likes theoretically artistic recreations of large boots, barbed wire and dead cow skulls more than in Texas. People are obsessed with the shape of Texas. Don’t you see that every time you watch a weather forecast or visit a public building? Or is that just something city folk do?
I’m fed up and starved down of N’ England, so I will be spending the next week far away from Connecticut, far to the east. Yes, the far east (but not the down east). All the far way east to the Cape Cod. To a place which embodies everything I’m sick of here (It’s named after a fish, for frog’s sake), just without the personal accompaniments and machinations I’m not sick of, the things I maintain my few remnants of sanity with. The biggest difference seems to be, at least according to the giggle images machine, that every home has a complimentary lighthouse growing next to it. Maybe I’ll get to eat in more restaurants shaped like boats* which make no accommodation or preparation for any patron who doesn’t want lobster or clam chowder. I made sure I would be staying in a rented house, too, so I could feel like a hypocrite for decrying the decry-worthy scoundrels who come here in the summer and think they own it, polluting it with their noise and ever increasing number of fences, despite utterly gweepsing out the instant the temperature drops below 70 degrees fahrenheugen. Thankfully, the grass-cutting club continues to return through November.
If you’re wearing a coat, it’s too cold to cut the grass! Also, if the grass has become yellow through any natural process unrelated to my own natural processes forming a loving union with gravity.
I don’t understand driving in a car for half ever to reach a place that looks just like Madison and that we still need to drive long distances from to get to any specific destinations which are still all 19th century / nautically themed. I’ve exceeded my fill of dopey restaurants in which the only non-chowder soup is “cheese onion.” Tugboat Inn = Guilford Mooring 6 hours’ drive from my home. I do not like either of those places.
It is unusual to eat inside a boat and all, but that doesn’t affect the flavor of the food much. I’m tired of places judging me for only wanting appetizers, specifically chicken fingers, and not even having good chicken fingers. I can understand them not knowing their way around a quesadilla… and I’m sure they’re glad to have my support. I had to get a quesadilla because they didn’t have chicken fingers at all. Or maybe they did, but only for “li’l sailors” or “young trappers” or “subservient cabin boys for long voyages” or whatever embarrassing thing they happen to call special children orders. I really ought to know better than to not like the flesh of the same small, helpless, murdered animal in my mouth as you.
But I’m digressing, and AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHJ I’VE BEEN PUNCHED IN THE NOSE!
In the event I’m incorrect in assuming my mother no longer watches this page, I should add that, at least today, I’m not criticizing the trip[s] [them]sel[ves]. Just Maine [and places like it] thinking [they’re] great. It’s nothing against you. It’s something against [someone else].
Have you noticed that when I complain about other people’s comedy it always ends up really unfunny itself and I can’t get rid of it for five days? Gosh, I hope not.
Oh dear. Ohhhhh dear.
Whowhat? Male Female? You mean like Big Momma (of Big Momma’s House fame)? Or just Relationships between males and females? Drat it all, I wanted to be surprised! I was under the assumption that the human race had ceased procreating. But you have spoiled that for me, once again. I wish I lived in a world where every movie, tv show and ad for automobile insurance had a predictable and improbable romance angle in it so I wouldn’t need to look forward to them like this.
Interestingly, or maybe not, on the series Martin, uh Martin is also said to have portrayed a talk show host. I’m not going to stretch for some irony that isn’t here (though I like to imagine Martin conducting interviews entirely by shouting), I just think it’s kind of dumb. Is this simply coincidence or does Martin Lawrence find something especially fascinating about talk show hosts? And if so, what? Is he a fan of big, pointless desks and bending his neck at unnatural angles to speak with people, while others watch and are not permitted to participate or leave? I remember, relatively recently, a program appeared simply titled Talk Show with Spike Feresten. Like just “Talk Show.” Is it spoofing the medium? Is it bucking the tropes? No, it’s just another generic white* man with a funny name behind a big desk talking to people selling junk I don’t want, occasionally airing pre-taped, seriously lousy video segments intended to be interpreted as comedic. Because the true problem with this kind of show was that there weren’t enough of them.
*well he is, even if Martin isn’t.
Really, the only apparent thing the slightest bit unusual is the fact that it airs at 12 am on Saturday, or Sunday, I suppose. Even if it looked more interesting than it does I probably wouldn’t watch it then, but fortunately it doesn’t. Its signature bit seems to be “comedy for stoners,” which is as lazy and unsatisfying as you could possibly imagine it might be. I saw it once, when I was curious as to what this curious new entry on my channel list was, and remember thinking “gosh, that was totally lazy and unsatisfying.” And today I watched several of them with my internet, all for you, bimshwel, and they still are. I just wish a wikipedia editor would make a comprehensive and utterly unnecessary, never proofread list of them all.
I admit the title “extreme hitlers” sounds interesting (as you know, historically Adolf Hitler’s policies were rather reserved and rational). Alas, I could not find it online, but I have full faith in the production crew that they could make it boring and tiresome 10 seconds into its magical minute. I have seen “electric lincoln” (you should not) and verily it belongs on the internet. In fact, “lemon party,” in which old men take off their clothing and go all gropey on one another after drinking kool aid, I’m told is based on some memely internet non-joke I’ve never heard of before now and hope I never do again, and therefore it doesn’t have to be funny.
A look at the full list suggest that obese, elderly or otherwise “unattractive” men wearing triangularly shaped scraps of clothing seem to be a common theme at the talkshow show, not surprisingly (why start now? (OOOH ZZAP!)).
I used to think my tendency to create pictures of shiny hairless imp-people lacking sextual identification was a result of a brain disorder, but maybe it’s secretly a very stupid protest against someone else’s. A lot of someone elses. SOCIETY IS BREAKING MY BRAIN WITH ITS GRUBBY GROIN EXTRAVANDANZAS. I would design a bumper sticker that says “don’t let crotch be your comedy crutch” if I didn’t think people who buy bumper stickers were the sort of people who enable this perverse pelvic perpetuation.
Yes, so, apparently all the show’s bits are lazy and I shouldn’t pick on that one. Not that youtube users are always the best arbiters of quality, but I have quite enough doubt in the aspects of my life which matter, so whether I’ve misjudged a program which could at best be kind of good due to its entire basis and format being dull and unoriginal shouldn’t AAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH I’VE BEEN SHOT!
So why am I telling you? Why did I waste the last hour fretting about minor details of this pointless description of a pointless thing? I thought we were done with this. How could you do this to me? I could have watched two Talkshow shows in that time and been just as miserable with less effort. I think I just liked my Hitler joke, and also that I could make one without angry lawyers sending me letters about it.
I’m not bitter, there just happen to be a lot of things which remind me of that.
My problem isn’t the reporting of this story, just the wording, like “hey, guess what we just found out that you haven’t suspected since ever!” In factual, if this story hadn’t just been broken I would have gone on assuming it had been lying in pieces beside the end-table since early 2004 or earlier. You know, how every two months a new “study” completes claiming to have proven that eating lard out of a bucket makes people fat. “Oh, thank me, thank me! Look at this magnificent knowledge I have bestowed upon you!” like you’re Mr. Wizard enlightening the world to the wonders of potato-powered time-pieces. I get enough of that attitude from Microsoft Windows.
Guess wha: You’re supposed to recover from errors! Supposed? No, you’re not supposed to have errors at all! Certainly not serious errors. When you charge money for something and force it onto every compatible computer for sale in the entire nation that should be your way of saying that you’ve looked for errors and rectified them! And if the product’s scope is so grand that this is impossible, but you have provided functions which fix inconceivable errors as they occur, don’t get all braggy about it. Windows.
In other news, Michael Clarke Duncan: his name was ALMOST Michael Dunk Clarkin. I’m glad my name isn’t Dunk.
Whenever I hear about Amy Winehouse I always think of Amy Grindhouse and then I wonder if she has a gun-leg.
Everybody knows it’s the grindhouse gases causing global warming. Either that or steamy goings on at Wisteria Lane.
Do you want to know a great way to fully creep people out so they never talk to you again? I will tell you. If a mutual shaking of hands is initiated, continue it forever. This is even better if the other person leaned forward to be involved. I should disclaim, however, that you only ought to do this to people that you wish to never have talk to you again.
I used to want to be a cartoonist, but the thought of me ever getting to a point where I had to be satisfied with that quality of output and that often made me want to die. I also surely lack the life experience to meet the annual golf-gag quota.
I remember back when all the characters, who hadn’t aged physically or mentally in ever, in an attempt to show that they had the vaguest connection with reality, started getting computers and making jokes that only made sense if you had neither an idea of how to use one nor any reason to have one. The moral of the story was always that you were better off reading a newspaper or using a typewriter, and you’d save money, too! Then a few years later Science Watch on The Local News discovered computers could do one new thing, at which point it was revealed that you were also better off listening to The Radio (no doubt further advances made since whenever I wrote and misplaced this have been thoroughly trounced by reference to the existence of marvelous television). Oh oh oh, I’ll never forget that Hi and Lois patriarch’s smug, half closed eyes fixed upon his big white booklet of horizontal black lines as he lerds it over his archetypally hip-yet-defeated developmentally stunted 40-year-old dwarf-offspring at the other edge of the frame whose internet browser is just so slow. No point is made in that comic so well as when it’s delivered by a character walk-posing or at least facing away from the problem. “Well I’ve solved this! There be no need to linger and have my proclamation questioned. I need regard it no further.” This is very much the trite domestic equivalent of “It’s a shame I won’t get to see you die! Ha ha ha!” except totally boring and without idealism personified escaping the death trap once left unattended. I do at least like some ambition in my monotony.
Ugh beans. Hi and Lois have just got it all figured out. I’ve seen similar frustrations brought up in regards to They’ll do it Every Time but mercifully I was spared from ever having a local news-paper which printed that. What’s important is that being disgusted by newspaper comics is a fairly consistent phenomenon among people aware of newspaper comics.
I remember more specifically that case of the mother character from For Better or For Worse (a title with the mathematical quantity of zero) struggling to open a box containing a cd-rom for a word processing computer program after one of her supposedly computer savvy children lures her from her typewriter and attempts to show her a better way to type-write. In the event you purchase a computer that lacks a typing receiver pre-installed, a computer which, by the way, you’d never find in a computer store, which is the only way a comic strip family would ever acquire one, and you purchased Microsoft Word on a CD, and your kids have been running it off the cd instead of installing it, then it is they who are dumb, and not necessarily all things which have been invented since your birth. Anyway, at the strip’s epic conclusion the mother has still not experienced success in opening the CD box and goes back to the typewriter and the end Heathcliff. No doubt this was based on the author’s own personal experience, not being able to open a CD box, which evidently takes longer to learn the arcane technique of than to draw and pen-trace a bunch of little boxes illustrating the failure. And now I have described it in many words.
I don’t know why anyone’s surprised that Hillary Clinton still has not admitted her lack of winningness in regards to the democrat-presidential-candidate nomination.
It took her a year to even admit she was in the ‘race,’ after everyone told me she was, and then at some point she announced that she would announce she was doing it later.
I’m sure it’s a massive improvement over lunchables (what wouldn’t be?), but i still vow to call Oscar Mayer Deli Creations sandwich in-a-box. Go ahead, ask me what this is a picture of. I will not respond, because I can’t hear you. This plan needs work. I’d send it back to the drawing board had my plan to acquire a drawing board not also been sent back to it. I have some rough particle-board eh board resting on and partially hanging over a potentially K-Mart desk someone else was planning to throw away.
Also, I spent several minutes looking for a picture I might have taken of my television showing an ad for Oscar Mayer Deli Creations. Apparently it’s very important to me that you get a 512×384 blurry picture of that with lines going through it.
I am terribly bothered by a name like Gamefly when its competition is the Gametap.
I have to like that Game-trouser-fastening-section slogan, though. Why even bother printing it anywhere? It’s useless. It’d be like if you had a store named food bag and its slogan was ‘ready to put food in bag.’ Ulk, you never listen.
The reason scout leaders are creepy is because these days creepy men are the only ones with Survival skills. On that topic, is it odd if I like Dwight Schrute the character but find Rainn Wilson himself kind of off-putting?
People shouldn’t say “no pun intended” …ever, less when they intend puns. Ooh, apparently Mr. Maddox has scooped me by some days. Potatar, four updates a year and one of them has to bite in on my bumble beef. What am I supposed to do, only post eleven gripelets today?
Why is there half and half but no third, third and third? I demand smaller fractions in the coffee flavorings I don’t use in the coffee I don’t drink!
Maybe my ears wouldn’t be deaf if you’d not let stuff keep falling on them.
When did detroit become dee-troit?
If heroin is a lethal drug to be dealing with, shouldn’t even an amount ingested which does not kill someone still be considered an overdose?
Revenge is a dish best served in a styrofoam tray. If you don’t have one, a plastic Darth Vader mask will suffice.
Every kiss begins with K. But so does every kumquat.
It’s not us versus them. It is me versus a wide assortment of thems.
I’m just saying that unless the show is looking to find a canine companion for this guy, I don’t really see the point.
It’s certainly not like most dogs are concerned with being thought of as better than other dogs, American or otherwise. Should we risk trying to make them? A dog with an ego isn’t going to be satisfied eating the contents of a can you dumped on the floor. They’re going to at least start demanding crystal goblets like the Fancy Feast cat, and we’re going to have a real crisis in our midst. You’ll have to flag down that chuck wagon yourself.
They might even care if there are pictures of dogs on the food you buy for them.
You can bet they won’t be satisfied sharing homes with dummies any longer.
Not without some serious changes.
They’re not going to put up with this anymore, either.
Though they might still let you help if you’re polite about it.