Rattle me bones! (it’s a stupid video, watch out (or don’t watch at all))
That skeleton offers up to you ALL of its treasure, provided you do not rattle its bones. Is that really so much to ask? it is quite a generous offer. You can have your FILL! It makes but one request of you. And yet still we continue to rattle its bones. The world can learn a lot from that skeleton.
The poor thing’s disabled, for beet’s sake. First of all, it’s a skeleton. It was born without any skin or muscle mass. Also, it’s missing a leg and an eye. Skeletons don’t have eyes anyway, but this one’s eye space was apparently injured in combat badly enough that the skeleton covers the region out of personal shame.
an unusual property of the skeleton’s shame is the less it wants to be seen, the more apparent its presence becomes. It went to hide in the dark and its bones lit up, so that little could be seen except the bones. Is that fair?
See the way those cruel children laugh at the friendly undead seafarer! Do not blame yourself for your injury, skeleton! Accept your [lack of] body for what it is. I wonder if it only gives up its treasure because it has low self-esteem and thinks it has to do things like this to have friends.
Those kids are not your real friends, skeleton! They are only using you to further their own pirate careers (consider the striped shirt of the one on the left). I worry that someday they’ll push that skeleton too far… what’s this? A visitor?
a ratty hat, ratty eye patch, dessicated parrot corpse, and a pipe which presumably smells heavily of skeleton. So you can ultimately have your fill of absolute rubbish. About the only thing we can learn from that skeleton is what strategies to avoid when attempting to curry the favor of others.
You, sir, have a clear anti-skeleton bias and I have difficulty taking your opinion seriously. It is not for you to decide what possessions may be treasured by this excitable glowing bloodless mariner or its admirers. I suppose you also would disparage the captain’s dancing skills and the merit of the trumpet skeletons.
B) One’s dancing skills are necessarily impaired by being affixed to a ship’s wheel.
C) I would indeed dispute the merit of trumpet skeleton, on account of their lack of sufficient lung capacity (i.e. any at all) and labial equipment to operate said instruments. Not only that, it’s an easily avoidable situation under any circumstances, as a less woefully resourceful skeleton would simply take advantage of its natural accoutrements and strike its ribs in the manner of a mallet-based idiophone. Clearly this was a decidedly incompetent crew all around, even by the considerably lowered skeleton standards.
bones, you have something to add?
Is that all? I’m trying to defend your species and you waste my time with that?
the only thing dumber than a skeleton interrupting my business to get all up in my business and announce that it used the Medical Herb would be… oh, now who is it?
…would be using the Medical Herb on another skeleton! A backwards skeleton! Arrrrf not only was that stupid, it took up a lot more space and many more additional seconds! And I don’t necessarily need to see your creepy breathing gyrations, either! We established earlier that you don’t have lungs! what’s your point? I am busy here! Oh what’s this? Someone else is trying to get my attention now! Busy busy busy. I will finish reprimanding you later!
I REFUSE to view that photo!
What’s so great about the dumb old Medical Herb anyway?
ATIPHOGIHIOGHEGIHAAAAAAAAAAAANDONHISFARMHEHADSOMEDUCKSEIEIO The ultimate treachery! I thought skeletons were my friends but they have been turned against me. I assumed they were trying to excuse their recreational marijuana usage by claiming it was for “medical” purposes, but this bowtie shuckster would never advocate a personal enjoyment bringing measure of any kind for anyone but itself. It must be living in Oregon and working overtime to turn the now legalized leaf into a most unscrupulous sort of profit-making venture. Not only has it lied to these skeletons about the Herb’s ability to regenerate flesh, now I have to deal with undead potheads. What horror.
Speaking of horror
My favorite part about Rattle Me Bones is that it was rejected as a meme by the high meme council. Yes indeed people on the internet can make an obscene elitist bureaucracy out of ANYTHING. It has used the word “notable” to exclude something from a collection of haphazard trash. It thinks it’s wikipedia. And wikipedia itself thinks it’s something that it isn’t.
I have long claimed that what now conspicuously-label themselves as “memes” are manufactured and only persist because persons imagine they can leech popularity by exalting and imitating something they don’t legitimately care about, with only the insincerity and grabs for empty fame being organic or memetic, but I suspected I was just being spiteful. It is “good” to know there are actually people who consider themselves more qualified to judge memes than others, who control when one is in or out. From the looks of the header, “know your meme” actually is a registered trademark (and apparently Rattle Me Bones isn’t). Something that exists by endlessly remixing someone else’s material with someone else’s material, or even just exploiting someone else’s remix, is concerned I’m going to try and use its good name for my own profit. Or maybe it’s a joke. The good thing about the meme club is that it is consistently impossible to tell what is “supposed” to be stupid and what just is.
This makes me want to go to law school and torture myself for however many more years just so I can become a judge and throw out the case when Cheezburger, Inc tries to ruin somebody’s life in court. And then I’ll drown myself in pudding because I became a judge for a really stupid reason.
It is also “nice” to know that I could write a page about pine cones or dopes, have it be rejected (I would insist on that) from there but still evidently gain enough google traction that it shows up in image searches.
In my own case, I distinctly remember Rattle Me Bones and its trumpet skeletons from 1989 (one benefit to my age, I suppose) and don’t need an advisory board to tell me it is too stupid to talk about publicly. That’s the whole point.
Also good is that the lowest, most unspicable candidate for the meme-knowing board of directors is now a skeleton and likely ineligible for employment. Maybe 2013 can be different after ehhh
I would like to say we are both smart enough to know that isn’t how it works, but I also like using our intelligence disparity to show how awful the bow tie creature is. In fact, I don’t think things can get any dumber.
Well I would not go that far.
However, I am definitely going very far away.
Prior to then I should acknowledge my unconsulted collaborator, whose permission I did not seek to reuse his skeleton related comments or surround them with pictures of more skeletons, since I presumed he had better things to do.
It occurs to me that the children’s treasure map (which they apparently mistrustfully consult again after arriving at their apparent destination, as though to make absolutely certain that they have read things correctly, suggesting a similar dubiousness concerning its factual accuracy) curiously enough leads to a ship at sea, if admittedly not very far from the coast. The map also appears to be fairly old, which suggests that said ship has been there a while, and furthermore was considered even at the time it was drawn up to be a reasonably permanent fixture. I can only assume that the skellingtons were dumb enough to A) draw a map leading to a “treasure” aboard their ship, B) not realize that a ship is typically not a fixed geographical fixture, and C) fail to realize the importance of raising the anchor for proper navigation, thereby inadvertently assuring that their ship is a fixed geographical feature.
Furthermore, Käpt’n Klappermann would appear to be one of the infamous fraudulent “skeleton medalists” that have been decried on this site in the past. I can only assume that the medal in question is in fact
the bow tie fool’s “worst” place award, as strongly suggested by the styleless scapegrace’s apparently being in league with the boney blackguards.
Everything makes sense at last. In the respect that we all know that it makes no sense and is terribly stupid.
My next update will be about something we can all agree on: skeletons.
Apparently it is not funny to write about something that makes me depressed while I am depressed by it except from a potentially antagonistic perspective. I should find out who dislikes me and have them read this. Reading it may be sufficient to convert others.
I want to unfollow everybody who posts regularly on twitter, but then i would see nothing at all, in which event I might as well not go to the site, in which event there was no reason to dewatch anybody. To assist myself in making a decision, I continue going to twitter and being angry/depressed at garbage from the same people. It is almost never my preferred type of garbage. Would a momentary catharsis be worth terminating 10 friendships? That is not a factor; no friendship is sustained by that system. It could be said that twitter was beneficial for determining the lack of a friendship, but I don’t believe I can sustain any friendship in that system, and historical evidence has shown that I am capable of having friends under proper atmospheric conditions
How long before they notice? Maybe I should tell them. I don’t want to seem mean.
Well here it is, the big three oh-no i am so old that I refer to someone’s age as “the big,” by its individual digits and with the letter O instead of the number zero.
I have had a great amount of anxiety about aging. I was terrified of arriving at this age and utterly not relating to all the people I already didn’t relate to from within a slightly different age group. I was thinking it would be a relief to disappoint a narrower share of the advertisers, but evidently I am legally relevant to them for another four years. I don’t expect to have children, but I never expected to be one, either, much less still be one 30 years later. That statement has no meaning but doesn’t it look like it almost does?
This year, I anticipated in advance the automatic birthday notices I usually get from other websites. They are jealous of my relationship with bimshwel. Usually I get annoyed when they try to contact me, and I see that I have 6 new thoughtful and considered email messages in the morning on my birthdate! and it’s just stupid robots that send things without thinking and also send them to everybody and I’m not special. Since I had announced in advance that I thought they were coming, I was disappointed when they were late, and then relieved when they showed up.
By anticipating disappointment, I was disappointed when none came, and then I was not disappointed at all when I was finally disappointed.
I can appreciate these automated messages because unlike the reflex “happy birthday” that, usually, people with just as much regard for me as a person as Zophar cover my pages with on websites that disseminate the data without asking, there is no imagined social debt to pay to Zophar on his own birthday, a debt which would be much harder for me to repay because I feel an obligation to say something of substance, that would be personally pertinent to the person or robot, or nothing at all. Zophar would know I didn’t actually finish Lunar Eternal Blue by the vagueness of my message (messages are his domain, after eh)
I do not disclose the day, ordinarily, because I hate responding to the things almost as much as I hate writing them. “happy birthday” is not a logical statement, or a statement at all, and it confounds my literal mind.
what have I accomplished in all these years? I have written a few hundred of these website things, although I did that in 12 years. Theoretically I could have done twice as many through my full life, so I am horribly behind. I exclude the first six years, when I was of course in jail.
I believe I summed it up well enough in the 10th anniversary, when I said that nothing had happened worthy of commemorating and I abstained from using the word “anniversary,” as if we were married, but it is possible bimshwel is the closest I will ever come to emotional intimacy with anyone, and even it I hide things from.
WHAT YOU TALK ABOUT. YOU TELL ME ALL. I KNOW ALL EVENTUALLY. TELL ME NOW. I THOUGHT I SPECIAL YOU. I FIND OUT. NO HIDE FROM ME. I COME GET YOU. OOPS NO CAN DO. GET YOU LATER. TELL.
One person thinks I could make a book of it. One person who doesn’t feel strongly enough about this to not be anonymous. (I can’t think why somebody would keep their identity secret when saying something to me). I certainly do not mean to seem ungrateful for the anonymous approval; this way I can pretend up to three people independent of each other decided I was worthy of approval so long as nobody knew who was giving it.
These website things are not worth much, monetarily (my assumption about kickstarter is that I would only make people want to start kicking me), but they make me laugh, sometimes, and they have an emotional connection to me that no other writer’s material has. It is neat when I forget I wrote something and reread it, and more-so when I still can’t remember after I have reread it. It is like knowing somebody else who has the same problems and odd appreciations. Maybe that is pathetic, but pathetic is something I understand deeply. It is like I created a robot to be my friend, except it isn’t well enough made to be patentable, which keeps it humble, and it doesn’t necessarily like me, possibly because of the shoddy humility I cursed it with. It is much more discerning than Zophar.
I would encourage anybody who feels alone and misunderstood to create things which reflect that. Even if no one else appreciates them, get far enough into the future and maybe you will. I can, naturally, also look at some things I made and have unique insight into how awful they are, but that creates an opportunity to publicly shame them into somethings bearables, like that time with nemitz preludes.
I have been unusually behind on updates because I am attempting to graduate from this university during this semester. My college situation is a major digression point. There is no time to digress because I have stupid college garbage to do. I know; I spent half the day writing it and I really didn’t have time to do that.
And that seems to be all. I assumed I had been steadily documenting my thoughts for an explosion of self-realization and evaluation at the conclusion of my thirtieth trip around the year, but I do not feel any different then a week ago, or a year ago. My epiphany is as behind schedule as anything else is. I have to put off my identity disaster until May. How can I be happy about that?
By unloading it on someone else, perhaps. Possibly you. You don’t have to understand. You may be served better not to. You came here for some reason, and I’ll take it. My online art gallery is a chronological, and my facebook whatever-it-is a chronoridiculous journey through reminders of people that I no longer speak with, and in some cases never spoke with. My personal acquaintances are often questionable friends of siblings, who come and go by circumstances beyond my control or interest, as I often have as much in common with them as the people who pretend to be animal people from my online art galleries, except they are less open to the idea that anyone might find them peculiar and discomforting. I have been indifferent toward people and developed curious grudges through my entire 30 year series of consciousnesses, but after eight years of having to press a button to say who my “friends” are it is strange to realize “no, they aren’t,” but not surprising. Maybe that is “normal.” It should not be.
Here, however, as far as I can tell, I have been talking to the same person for over ten years, and I like having something consistent. Additionally, I swear this is more positive than the thing I didn’t quite post yesterday. Imagine how inspiring it would be tomorrow.
In other news, you may already owe somebody money.
I wrote something for march seventeenth. is march eighteenth now. probably better to wait, then. I don’t trust it.
Another inadvertent two week absence. My ability to pay attention to things has been waning, but by May I should either be back to some temporary regularity or have progressed to the next phase of irregularity. But for now, where were we?
That is understandable. I do not necessarily recognize me, either. I promise not to make you look at me. This website is for looking at things I have critical opinions of, but only when I can stand to look at them.
Something I always feel good about seeing, a doctor who looks to 1998 AOL email forwards for decoration inspiration.
No, there would not be peace, because those women would likely resent the roles they had gotten stuck in of having to do all the work, often work that nobody asked for but were feared to be silently expecting, and not get money or recognition for it.
I realize this sort of thing is a joke and not meant to be interpreted literally, but the people who write them, male or female, have no interest in peace. They think there is a “battle of The sexes” that, regardless of whether it can be won, must be “fought” forever, but primarily in trivial competitions that demean both sides, and they demand two “sides.” They never stop thinking men wearing dresses (or just underwear) and talking dogs are funny (hence the previous 20+ years of cinema comedy). They must always honk a car horn twice and knock on a door in a “shave and a haircut” rhythm. These are the millions who watch super bowls for the advertisements and may claim to “not like football” and think I will be fine with that explanation. Closeminded twits who are only impressionable when something is tacky.
For example, here is an advertisement advertising a real business that says “COVER YOUR ASSets.” See [or don’t, because my camera objected and refused to aim directly at it] it says ASS but then it says ets so it’s not REALLY saying “ass” even though “ass” is the implication, and it focuses on the posterior areas of the people in the photograph. If it had just said “asses” it would be deemed obscene by the uppity people in town, and even though it actuality does say and imply ASS, since it legally “doesn’t,” this satisfies morons, because their only objection to anything is one that they have learned. Since they learn primarily through advertising, such as this, or heavily sponsored garbage with the same values, they consider it oh ho ho just good fun. They never saw anybody be bothered by “assets” so they will not be bothered by assets, even though if “asses” legitimately bothered them, this ought to count as the exact same thing, for it very much intends to. You see? You shouldn’t! It makes no sense!
Consider the fact that this movie exists. I would rather not, even apart from the reason I am going to gripe about, but that makes it a more functional example.
If it was called “little fvckers” its name would have been changed long before this point and we would never have known that. If hypothetically it was called that anyway and advertised in every possible place where advertisements can survive, with that name, everybody involved would have been fined. However, since it is called “fockers,” it can use the exact same tacky non jokes as the previous 2 films in the series and instead of having to pay 300 thousand dollars it gets paid 300 million dollars. See? No! It’s ridiculous! Our censorship system is a sham that serves nobody and can’t even be bothered to pretend it does. All it does is empower and entertain morons who think “getting around it,” even if for no other reason to have gotten around it is the most noble act.
If almost swearing doesn’t hurt anybody, then neither does just swearing, but pretending there is a huge difference hurts my mind. There is no vulgarity Beetlejuice who you’re going to save us from by changing a letter but meaning the same thing. Likewise, having almost sworn is not an accomplishment in itself, worthy of recognition for any reason but to point out how stupid it is.
Here is another example. It is terrible. The photograph of it is terrible. Things are in accord, for the moment (although I am concerned about how opinionated my camera is getting).
It is the “words” yippie ki-yay mother russia” in transparent type over Hudson Hawk’s head and possibly a scarf.
I understand that somebody in the film movie called die hard says the line yuppie cayenne mother meet the fockers, at some point for some reason, but I don’t understand why I am supposed to accept this fabricated story that the line is a crucial part of American culture that everybody is familiar with and loves, when I’ve only ever heard reference to the phrase made by people on bad tv shows or in advertisements for other bad things, and these have outnumbered the amount of times I have encountered “yippie ky yay” sans mother or whatever in a sincere cowboy related context, which is a single time, in the opening to the 1989 tv show Hey Dude, but even that was only referencing the fact that cowboys supposedly said it, but nobody on the show was a cowboy.
A total of my experiences
yippie ki yay used sincerely: none
yippy keye yaya sisterhood in actual die hard movies: none
skippie pie ray used outside of die hard movies as reference to die hard movies: any at all which means too many.
and then an additional time when my roommate was watching godawful rubbish in the next room and some man whose life had no meaning contentedly spoke “welcome to the yipee ky yay post game show” because the new die hard movie had paid the post game show to be called that, but not to be called the “die hard sequel post game show.” or even the “that football game was 5 hours why are you going to spend another hour watching miserable twits wearing suits who weren’t playing talk about the football game you just watched? I at least am paid to be here what’s your excuse post game show.” The die hard people probably copyrighted the stupid phrase with the hope of getting royalties if anyone else says it but since nobody does unless the opposite case is in effect it went unnoticed.
Some years ago I inadvertently became aware of a critical review for Live Free or Die Hard, one of the previous die hard sequels, and the reviewer complained that since the movie was rated pg13 instead of R, Di Hardy (I assume that’s the main character’s name) only gets to say “gaza strippy ki yey-” and then gets conveniently cut off before he can say the rest, every single time. I want to complain that somebody is complaining about that asinine catchphrase that isn’t even good not being honored, but I also think implying profanity by interrupting it is pathetic. I also complain when I have to choose a complaint.
Anyway, CJ in the USA was X-Rated and that doesn’t mean it was good.
I remember yet another advertisement for one of the new computer Alvin + Chimpunks abominoids and at one point one of the things says “zippy kai yay mother-” and then is conveniently cut off by hitting a wall or a record scratch sound effect, maybe both. When you’re a cgi chipmunk every sound effect might as well be a record scratch and bumpable piece of scenery might as well be a button that plays a record scratch sound effect (because I don’t believe there is a record player on the set, nor even a computer generated 3d model of one). I’m supposed to think
Or how about the time when that titash ripoff from The Lion King keeps almost saying “ass” but then it turns into ahhhhhhh. I hate those “jokes for the parents” in films markerted at children. That’s so sleazy and lazy. Sleazy for adding vulgarity where it isn’t necessary, and lazy for writers not being able to find other ways of developing characters’ “rebellious” personalities now that they aren’t allowed to show people smoking anymore. I can understand doing the joke and moving on, but they always have to dwell on it. Ey ey wink wink did you see what I did? And people raised on that now think it is appropriate to respond with the smug monotone response “I see what you did there” in varying degrees of typed english. A joke, to these people, succeeds not because it is funny, but because they become aware that it is a joke. Congratulations on your humor attempt. But since bad movies can’t see who responds, these oafs say that to me, instead. It is like cool dude scumbag code for “i don’t think you’re funny but I am.” They render me sick!
I appreciate that it is more descriptive than responding with “fail,” like you’re MS-DOS. Not ready reading drive joke. Abort retry fail? I realize “fail” is not a new thing anymore, and I should be glad that nobody within my awareness still says “woot.” However, I did hear somebody boldly call out “yolo” but at nobody but in my presence at my questionable education facility, and I don’t even know what that one is supposed to mean other than “HELLO I KNOW WHAT INTERNET IS.” so we only lose a trendy degenerate memeword when another one replaces it, which means there is no net change. It is the same net as before and the grime of groupthought tackiness is steadily accumulating.
So now there is a poster that just says “popeye time yay mother russia” on it. I looked up this better version of the picture to make absolutely certain I hadn’t missed some hint as to the film’s title or any detail about it. I think I like the other one better because at least I could imagine a scarf which made the matter considerably more interesting, and also could hardly read the stupid letters on it. So we have a poster at a movie theater, advertising a movie, that doesn’t actually say what the movie’s name is. Just Yippie Ki-Yay®(c)all rights reserved [variable]. I don’t know what the significance of “Mother Russia” is; something to do with Eastern European nations and maternal figures, which are either completely irrelevant or only relevant so that they can serve as a truly wretched sound-alike for “mother feckur,” which means the script was written to match the tag-line, which isn’t even a good tagline, and I only know what film series it is alluding to at all on the technicality that I am painfully aware of things I resent. I wish I didn’t know, because whose-ever idea this was trusted that I would, and it’s a daft idea and I probably hate that person. The characters in the film (assuming there is one) still probably aren’t going to say “fvcker,” which is fine, because I get enough of that without trying, so if they did say it, that would not enrich my experience, but they have to tease at it in public either way for some reason. I am meant to be excited about this allusion to a catch phrase that means nothing to me.
So in summary, corny people expect peace, but they cannot manage any peace but a piece of
I was going to say a piece of toast. Toast is a mediocre thing that many people keep in their lives. However, anything that can survive as a piece is probably worth eradicating entirely.
Additionally, it is probably unfair of me to criticize the computer-made chipmunks, since their awfulness is consistent with that of the awful hand drawn chipmunks of the 1980s, which much like the Smurfs were awful even then, regularly includeded a the battle of the sexes as a major rot point and had their roots not in comic books but in the novelty song fad of the 1960s, which also appealed primarily to corny people, even if they had superior cover artwork.
I am not at all surprised to learn they were also the masterminds behind the Transportation Security Administration.