Meet the Windows XP install program lonely arrow. You can meet it because it is a person, with feelings, fears, wants and needs, just like you. Must we anthropomorphisize all things? I feel bad about not needing this thing’s help. That’s it’s only purpose, its only aspiration in life, the thing it has devoted its entire existence to being ready for, and I don’t even give it a chance to prove itself. Worse, its only friend, the baby arrow, decided it would be more popular if it got in with the green square arrow’s crowd instead. There is no one to comfort the help arrow in dealing with its unfortunate spinal condition caused from spending so much time awkwardly bent over inside that little circle. I almost want to cry.
I will persevere, though. A lot of people have it worse than I do but don’t lose their heads over it. They still might want to attach a string, though, just in case.
I think feet as the O letters is pushing the gimmick, a bit. Some members of the logo lobby seem to think that any object can be used to substitute any vowel. If anything, this is Giigle, which it isn’t, which means it’s nothing.
On the subject of Michael Jackson tributes two months after his death still suddenly and inexplicably turning up in places where they never would have had the man lived to 180 years of age, I can at least understand them, to some extent. He was a near-mythic figure, most people know who he was, and he did plenty of things they liked. He did things they didn’t like… even if you don’t see validity in the molestation charges, it’s hard to not see some level of unusual weirdness that the guy could have and ought to have controlled, acknowledged or challenged people to accept, but that only became most apparent AFTER his greatest hits, unless we count Moonwalker. It’s easy to keep the various Jackson editions separate in one’s mind for denial purposes.
Anyway, fine, you like Michael Jackson when he’s dead. Billy Mays, however, I don’t understand. He was just an oaf who talked kind of loud and abrasively. He had nothing to do with the creation of any of the junk he helped (apparently) sell. I thought at first people were just honoring him as a joke, but there are those on the internet who sincerely found their lives less full with that guy in the ground. Research into the accusation that these people also enjoyed the movie Watchmen and expected to enjoy Snakes on a Plane has yet proved inconclusive, because I don’t actually want to talk to any of the people I thinking of or learn anything about them.
The Friends and Company, a restaurant, and its unappetizing hot dog sign. Maybe it’s the total lack of detail, maybe it’s the bright primary colors, maybe it’s the too-small hotdog roll, maybe it’s the fact that this is near Friends and Company, but I never want a hot dog LESS than when I see this. Perhaps that is the point, though, since as far as I am aware hot dogs are not served within Friends & Company, and so it can only benefit from making the thought of eating one seem unpleasant.
Or so I once thought; upon re-evaluation the day after writing that, I discovered this makes me not want to eat anything.
I cut from whatever direction I WANT. You cannot change my ways. Brainwashing and sending out the baby scissors to plead YOUR closeminded agenda is despicable. The baby will be spared, but you may just have sealed your own fate, and I will not be there to deperforate your way to freedom.
Well excyoooooooooz me!
Indexed search is an annoying thing. I could have used that ten years ago, when the real search was slow, but I finally own a computer in which the search isn’t slow anymore and I get this nonsense. Fuh. It was dealt with easily enough by various people, apparently. I wish Microsoft would make it more clear all the great and useful things its operating system is capable of doing. I shouldn’t have to type nutty things into google and hope some nerd spent a year changing every value in the system registry to see what happens and came across a solution (I will use Hotbot next time).
That didn’t work when I tried it, though. I will figure something out. Maybe index mode will surprise me with effectiveness.
I’m certain Macos has its benefits, but they aren’t of benefit to me, and I don’t feel like searching for them and possibly not finding them, besides. I have used some version of Windows for fourteen years. It does everything I need it to. I know how it works. I’m not hurting anyone with it. All my programs run in it (xp, anyhow). Provided I don’t share the computer with anyone else and the hard drive is adequately sized, the only problems I have are with third party software and the occasional entirely functional thing that Microsoft created but broke between versions or decided not to let me use for some reason, most likely to appease the ever growing amount of easily impressed, more easily confused whiners who have a hyperconniption if there’s ever more than one option presented to them, who will otherwise buy Apple systems and tell me I should, too. I’m not here to talk about this. Don’t make me talk about this. I haven’t researched it. I’ve merely gotten angry at it. I am here to talk about this:
I will NOT be screened for approval by dopes! dopes, I know. And I know I want no dopes.
This is NOT GOOD. In fact, it is quite bad. I might even call it terrible. What’s that? …Yes, it seems I would. Dah, dope! It is not permitted to be here, and yet… there it is. One way or another, it’s destination dumpster. Being slightly less creepy in appearance and corporate sponsorship than the wrinkled orange thing above you does not necessarily qualify you for existence, dope. The dope is qualified for few things outside the jurisdiction of my rage.
“THE” dope. It thinks it’s the only dope in the world! Such blasphemous arrogance and hubris! I WISH it was the only dope, but it isn’t. And if I could obtain wish fulfillment, I’d wish for NO DOPES, anyhow. I believe this can be accomplished in our lifetimes.
Here, for the first time performing together anywhere, the Karate Kid, Harry Potter and Michael Moore!… Cripes, I’m going to bed. Except I can’t because I just woke up. Everybody is in my business this week. There will be no proper site updates until each and every person who is in it that shouldn’t be gets out from within my business. Why don’t you instead go to the most boring seaside restarauraurant in the world and not eat anything for approximately two-thousand hours and get nauseous from heat and rage, all the while knowing there is business to tend to? And when you’re done with that, please, by all means, hop on over to Harbor Health for a series of meetings with the world’s dumbest clinicians because your brain is broken and legally that means you have to meet with people who have advanced degrees in dumbness every once in a while so you can tell them about the things which bother you that aren’t them.
page 32… or perhaps it is more like 31-and-a-half, of this. The stupid comic. It is still not what I want, but I like to think it is better than it was. I am fully aware that the curtains I previously showed from outside the room don’t correspond at all with the ones I have been showing from inside it recently. I’m pretty sure I covered this in the last page’s excuse.
It is hard to accept that aside from their respective brief ventures outward, the red and green creatures have been in that room for a year now.
I forgot that page 31a needed fixing. I will get to that right around the time I do so. Page 4 needs fixing, too. Most pages need fixing. We must do what we can to control the stray page population.
After eating food off of one, it is not polite to leave your plate wherever you happened to be at the time, for someone else to get. Unless, that is, you place a used, crumpled paper towel on it. This shows that you are concerned about cleanliness. It additionally serves to make non-visible whatever food you did not consume, thus rendering the task of rinse-scraping that food off the plate unnecessary. You get a gold pinecone if the food was of a moist variety likely to dry and cause the paper towel to stick to the plate. Then it can stay there forever.
This cupboard runs out of board before I run out of cups.
Look at these. Some of them haven’t been used for years. And new ones keep showing up.
What is this? What could you possibly drink out of this and be satisfied with the amount you have received?
Who’s juicing oranges? Who in this house ever has? We don’t even have oranges. When we have oranges, they get eaten. We do, however, have a gallon jug of store-purchased orange juice in the refrigeration chamber which was bought in anticipation of the previous being fully emptied, so it’s not as if we’re waiting for our stock to run out before we start making our own. I took the juice thing out of here and put it in a drawer where bigger, weirder kitchen tools that aren’t cups but are hard to fit with the cups go. The next time I put cups away the juice thing had returned to its former spot.
The last time I put cups away I accidentally let one drop and it had the gall to break. After cleaning up the glass and blood I was at least glad to know that there’d be one extra space next time. Which brings us to the present.
I’ve never seen this before in my life. Anyone would think we run some sort of British country club here, but in fact there is only one resident who drinks tea regularly, and he drinks it out of coffee mugs.
Ehh, that won’t be necessary.
I wasn’t talking about you anyway, birdo.
Which does not mean you can stay.
By the haybale, if you know what computer program I went quite out of my way to download and get pictures of these things from, I think you’ll find me very cooperative where minor blackmail demands are concerned. Nobody needs to know I acquired Microsoft Bob in 2009 by my own free will just to harass the stupid mascots.
The only things I find shocking about coffee are that people want it, constantly, believe they need it, will pay any amount of dollars you charge them for it, and that this is engaged in by allegedly respectable people, some of them admitted fools, who laugh at kids for wasting money on Pokemon cards, High School Musicals, Tamagotchis, cigarettes and licorice. The kids these days, with their licorice and macaroons and marzipan. I’m tired.
Watchmen on DVD, featuring an additional 24 hours of never-before-seen footage! When I watched those men in a theater, indeed my greatest complaint was that the film had used its time too efficiently. We need to pad this out, yo.
I like this new “wheelchair access” symbol. It has action lines. Much like Wheelchair Mario, it really emphasizes handi-CAPABLE. It also communicates “look here, sonny. I have to use my ARMS to move these WHEELS, and THAT’S why I can’t open the door.” Although the old one looks like it wants to punch somebody, I don’t reckon it would be a very effective punch from that starting position.
I don’t know why people complain about their Department(s) of Motor Vehicles. The floating, misshapen smiley face in the corner puts me completely at ease and cures all my worries. Although I do begin to think perhaps that is a character flaw of mine.
Which is not to say my sense of alarm has dulled to a sirloin tip:
Maybe I’ve been on the internet too long, but I find something intensely upsetting about somebody having brown fluid dripped on itself and also being jaw-detachingly ecstatic about that happening, and then this getting the unconcerned, “inoffensive” label “muddy.”
I didn’t realize what site I was at.
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 freeasterisk ipod? Just because I feel like it?
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.