Joshua Giraffe
was born in a zoo
he lived there too
for two years
and a half

The Garden of the Fragrant Forest

The only website at this URL

Recommended by Saddam Hussein


0
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
Too many
15
16
17
18
19
20
A wholly needless, I expect, link back to the main page

If today is Monday, July 26, 2004, how is the last date Monday, July 20?
Joel Schumacher should stick to maching schus

I'm Lovin' It: a story of justice and revolutionary fervour

Overture and soundtrack

Buh duh buh bah bah!
Market research has shown people like songs better when they have official information on which vocal noises are best to substitute the music with, and not have to waste precious scarce mental energies deciding on whether to use dums, dees, or bahs (Still, I can't help but think that left on my own I would have gone with "Bah" anyway). Additionally people are more likely to want to sing along with and therefore remember the song and brand name if it makes them recall another song they regard fondly, in this case, the popular Pepsi anthem "Bah buh buh bah bahh," which was every bit as pleasant and irreprehensible as this one is.


Scene1: Some chainsmoking Melro's Place looking man person enters bus holding bag with McDonald's logo on it.
His mouth does not move, saving its stamina for all the eating he'll be doing once he opens that single, mostly air filled prop bag, so he thought-projects a song, complete with background vocals.
What's the deal why the grins and eager faces? It's too early for the normal social graces!
I had to play that back about twenty times to figure out what was being said, and I still don't understand it. Hey, it's before 11:00, the only time of day during which Ronald McDonald long ago decreed I may eat egg products. How dare you smile at me! This is a sacred hour! Be miserable, everyone!


Scene2: Entirely pointless shot of psychotic bus driver [I think] who will murder someone by the end of the day.
Is it my smile, my look, or what I say? seeing as you're grimacing (how appropriate), look like a dork and don't say anything, I'll have to suggest it's the bag you're holding in addition to the white styrofoam cup destined to spread wetness the moment that bus starts moving again.
I used a bus for many years before I dropped out of school to become a drug dealer, and any one of my rational, civil, cordial and while we're at it not racist bus drivers would surely reprimand me if I brought anything bigger than a pop-tart on to one of the vessels. "Hey, don't bring that on here! 'No eating' is right beneath 'do not distract driver' and 'do not fool at the bus stop' on the rule sign! You want me to get fired? Wait, don't answer that. What? Too early for the normal social graces? Well alrighty then! Be as rude as you want and I will be psychotic and murder someone by the end of the day!"
Also note: extra who's convinced this can be his "big break."


Scene3: Back to the story! Vacantly staring, smiling moron beside unsuspecting nerd.
It should be noted that the whole time bag-man approaches, other passengers try to attract his attention by acting like total twits, because, adhering to the social grace embargo, they think this will make bag-man want to sit beside them and then additionally share some of his precious air. The only person who dare defy the anti-social grace graces is the dignified by comparison nerd here.


Scene4: Scuffle ensues. Tyrant nerd deposed. Messiah bag-man welcomed.
Hey!
Right. That nerd should hurry up and find hisself elsewhere so you can have a clear path to your new throne. Nerd: you're not nerded here! Ha ha ha ugh.


Scene6: No one helps nerd. Only television set has problem.
I'm not complaining, things are going my way.
Naturally. Things have probably been going your way on a bus since you were eight years old, haven't they. And likely they still will be when you're eighty and disgustingly obese, because once you get off that bus another less passive nerd is going to be making more money than and hopefully firing you, because instead of pointlessly dominating trivial situations and buying popularity with promises of cheap gifts, this nerd will have been getting things done and designing the necessary wider load carrying bus you'll be riding for the rest of your life, since the retirement age was raised to 97 years in 2018 and you've been buying those bags the whole time, miserable fat whore.


Scene7: True love! The real ending and nothing that happens later matters.
The moral of this story: McDonald's always makes your morning easier. Unless you're a nerd. Or have any concern with the kind of future you're giving yourself always making your morning easier with McDonald. Also note: Symbolic generic black person at back of bus. Knowing what I do regarding the people who work in the McDonald's casting department, I bet he or she's (you can't tell either, shut up) thinking right now: "Oh, HELL no! Oh no you dih-inn!" But they did!

This is where the magic happens.

1. My television set. It receieves more than 60 channels. However, about fifty-seven of them are all red static. Their ratings will reflect this, no doubt.

2. My signal obtaining mechanism. The only way to get manageable reception is to put the thing mostly out the window, and this clearly wasn't designed for that. First on, the big round thing, between 3 and 2 where applicable. I don't know what it does, but this makes positioning the whole deal extremely difficult, because it takes up extra room and frequently weighs the unit towards an undesirable location. There is a metal base which I suspect was intended to counteract this, but eventually it fell off because of my rage. I had rage against the device because of the big round thing which naturally only led to more rage because the metal thing kept off 50% of my potential rage at the round thing, which now, due to the unfilteredness of said rage is also broken. Still more calm, rational rage came about because rather than immediately react to its surroundings, the kwazy contraption had some knob which seemed to do nothing more than generate extra static in 10 of its 12 knobulae, meaning that every slight position change required a complete turn of the knob to make sure I didn't have to move it again. So that broke off, too, yes. Also did the pointed extendy "antennae" parts which you're likely more familiar with see breakage from my tactical assaults. For a while I could reattach them, but pretty soon they started falling through the open window, and there are only going to be so many times these things will wait for me to go out and find them. Before soon I stopped looking because the ends which I would affix them to became too deformed to be fit on. Anyway. Enough of two.

3. Pentel brand mechanical pencils. In addition to being faint unless I press so hard as to damage the paper, the lines lay down by these pencils also seem to shift in their positions, so I end up retracing, erasing, re-erasing, redrawing and re-re-erasing the same thing myriad times and it's just not productive. Additionally, the newer models get their marking thing extended by a button on the side, rather than at the back, which my technique was developed around. That's just annoying. All my Bics ran away when they saw what I did to the antenna machine. How dare they. If they ever come back I'll eat them.

4. Camoflauged microphone. It's clearly not designed to record television audio output, which is, as before, what I primarily use it for. It is less than a month in this place and as of this time undamaged.

5. This room back here. I can't store anything in there because the roof leaks and would soon destroy my treasures, my treasures all being things which anyone else would soon leave to be destroyed. Because they aren't in there, they are in here. And because they are in here, it's very hard to get over to and in that room to open and close the windows which for some dipthong reason regulate the temperature in this part that I'm in. There's a window behind me, but that faces away from the ocean, and even though the ocean has no trees, or more likely directly because of that it selfishly hogs all the wind in the summer. It does in the winter, too, but still the outside area is quite cold and of course I need the window open to use my broken antennae, don't I. Bonus: this vagrant wind also prevents me from being able to feel the rain, which I actually desire on occasion, so shut you.

6. My [first] scanner. It's broken.

7. Some terrible sculpture type thing I made three years ago. It is also broken.

8. My monitor. It's dim. Not quite broken.

9. A bedpost connector thing. I desire for it to be broken. It serves no helpful purpose, and it gets in my way. I have to constantly be leaning against it in some fashion, because the positions which avoid it are so painful and awkward that simple tasks become chorish. I'd like to utilize a heavy and/or sharp thing for to decimate it, but then I'll probably find out it's an antique object or some other such rubbish. Nevermind my potential need for years of reparative surgery, we get an extra $20 worth of "investment" points on a thing no one would ever buy from us.

10. Original disks, cartridges, packaging, manuals and receipts for all the video games I've downloaded.

That will be doing it for now. Good night and good noodles.

Monday, July 20, 2004

Avoid appearing foolishly optomistic by only drinking from plastic cups

I realize now that this next bloatful object is too big to not make a page out of. However, you've seen how much that level of effort has paid off recently, so why bother? I have other non-page related things to totally waste effort on. If you aren't related to me and didn't find this searching for "water proof bag for robots," you wouldn't be here if you weren't expecting to read many, many words. If I feel like making a proper page out of it, I will, with a disclaimer that most of it you've seen before, but by not having made that page I clearly indicate that I don't intend to ever truly do that. I didn't even make one of my world-famous half relevant accompanying 128x128 pixel images to go along with it. So. This. It's here if you want it.

Imported from a non-discount section of the store

I'm going to have to agree, and then additionally assume that Janet is the fat mustached one in the center, because that's a common law of aesthetics or something. Of course, it's very possible that with a talented makeup artist and fancy camera tricks Janet Jackson, who doesn't really matter, is every one of those fat people. Perhaps that is what the stickers are trying to tell me is of import. In summary, makeup and camera tricks matter, Janet Jackson doesn't (really).


Imagine you hold a senior position at the Nintendo corporation. Last year's profits fell a bit short of expectations (probably they didn't but remember we're imagining) so instead of making new games, since you're Nintendo, you re-release some old ones. And just because any creative people at the company were murdered years ago, you're calling the whole horatio the "Classic NES Series." But which games should be part of it? You have a few thousand of them to choose from, maybe about a hundred that anyone would consider buying. Legend of Zelda? People always liked that one, sure. Super Mario Brothers? You've re-released that before, but not yet in the exact same form on the Gameboy Advance. Yeah, go ahead, whore. HOWEVER...

This? NO. I... what... why... Who owns a Gameboy Advance that doesn't own any other electronic device ever made with a visual output, and what are the chances that person purchased the Gameboy Advance to play Pac-Man, and additionally is willing to pay $19.99 for it?! Plus tax?!?! Tell me who that is, and I will gather up thirteen-thousand pennies and buy that person a working Pac-Man arcade machine. Lacking sufficient internet social abilities to communicate with e-bay thugs I will build you one myself. This is ridiculous. Disregard for a moment the overexposure of Pac-Man, for this doesn't even truly qualify as a classic nes game, because even (again) by then it was on about 14 other systems. See. The first Amelican NES games were released in 1986. Pac-Man, being from 1980, was pretty much considered a "classic" game then, and it wasn't even on the NES at all until 1988. Funt, this thing here isn't even a direct port. I looked at the back of the Pac-Man box (I was already in the store so the situation was unsalvagable), and it's actually the slightly less colorful (1988) NES version of Pac-Man. Back in the day, some ones, notable Komani, looked at a NES port as an opportunity to fix what was annoying about the original version, such as the short levels in Contra or needing to press different buttons to operate the guns and missiles in Gradius (seriously, what were you thinking?). Namco or Atari or whoever didn't do anything with pacman but squeeze it into a smaller box and throw it in the back of a pickup truck. Now, someone has found that box and without looking inside stuffed it into much larger but differently shaped box, so that the smaller box is crushed on the sides but can see a lot of space in front of it inside the differently shaped box. This being a reference to the lower screen resolution yet far greater capabilities of the Game Boy Advance. Now that pickup truck is trying to drive into Canada and I work at the border and want to know why the box I see has such an unusual center of gravity. You know what, no more box analogies.

People might wonder, "I'm a moron, but why should I buy this Pacman when Namco's already released a cartridge for the same system that has Ms. Pacbeing plus other games on it in [nearer to] their original, intended forms?" Nintendo's response: "because it's not as good! buy it!" I had hoped that the nostalgia for technical limitations was confined to Sega Master System enthusiasts. Although... it is Pac-Man, so you're not losing much, I consider this whole thing principly similar to putting Wolfenstein 3D in the Classic SNES Series or DMX in the Classic Wal-Mart Series.
Unfortunately, there are probably enough weirdos who I hate who would buy this just for their personal Pac-Man museums to make it a success. In fact, I hope they do, for I find my words delicious.

I like that it has the E rating on it. "Is Pac-Man, after 24 years of unsuccessful attempts, going to finally succeed in poisoning the collective mind of Our Kids if I buy this?" If you've wondered that (you probably did, after that whole "I'm a moron bit" earlier), I advise you not to find out.

I tried to seek up what the other games in the "series" are, considering the possibility of enough decent, NES exclusives to excuse the accidental inclusion of Pac-Man, but the Nintendo website was no help whatsoever beyond telling me that Bomberman is also involved. If I was someone who said "go figure" this is where I would. By the way, it's not this


Bomberman, but rather


this one, which I didn't even know existed, let alone ever heard refered to as "classic." If there's a game that hasn't changed a tiddle in --since we're only considering non-numeraled, non-prefixed Bombermen-- four years, and we pretend my opinion matters, I'll take the one with a better disguise for its tedium. Also: if this game that hasn't changed is considered one of the greatest multiplayer experiences ever, I'll take the one which has that option, even though I don't have friends, just so I can win more easily.
But back to Nintendo, I imagine the logical next step would be the Tengen edition of Shinobi. Nintendo would resurrect a brand whom itself destroyed through legal manouevers (one which ironically held the console Pac-Man license before that happened) just to annoy me, I believe that, yes. All else beside 1987 Bomberman that I found from them was the website so stylish that I wanted to stab meine augen with a paper airplane until my vision was sufficiently distorted for me to not be able to discern which images were normal and which ones were monochrome and tinted as if they were colored with a single Crayola neon marker-pen. Did you get all that? No, don't go back for it. I realize that eventually my deliberate ignorance of and confusion at new video games will interfere with my ability to make interesting webpages concerning old ones. That may even have happened before I started. However, you can never claim I don't know Pac-Man. That would be like claiming I don't know bannisters or toilet paper at this point (and yes, I do know them, so disregard the rumors).

So. If many-billion dollar international corporations can demand any more money than 25 cents for to play Pac-Man, then I will continue to link to pages I made four years ago from another page that isn't even clearly marked, quite for free. If you have a problem with that, then I have a jar for you to wash.

I watched the Late Show on Thursday. The first guest was Hilary Duff. David Letterman didn't make fun of Duff's name, and even began telling Paul Schaffer about what a big star this Duff is. "She's a big star," David sez, in fact, and then lists many dubious exploits, just because everyone on his staff is too afraid to make him stop, lest they be brought before a camera and forced to speak with him. Paul agreed [with David], because he's paid to do that and for all that I know truthfully did. I didn't. And then I typed this, because I feel bad if I don't update this page very often.

I'm not convinced that Hilary Dufe is a big star, and here's why: I only ever knew what her name was because my sister used to watch the Disney Channel (I assume out of contempt for my presense) and it was inevitable that despite my most magnificent maneuvers I would take some exposure to it, but that was the only time I encountered the name. No where else was it known but in that chemically engineered contained environment. I know who James Gandalf Eenie is and I can't even receive the HBO Channel, and I know who Sara Jessika Parkay is despite the same reason. I even know that one of them is married to Matthewb Roderick, whom I would never willingly seek knowledge of. Still, I accept that I was fated to know about them. If someone were to tell another person while I was watching that those jopes I have just mentioned were big stars, I would accept it. I wouldn't like it, but I would accept it. However, anything I know about Duffalupagus is an unfortunate accident. If I was normal and had moved to a house besides this one several years ago as I'm told normal people do, I would not know who Hilary Doof is, and since only normal people like big stars just for being big stars, Hilarrly Doff therefore is not one of them.

See. This new movie which I won't name just now, her excuse for being on that show I was watching, is, as far as me or normal me are aware, Hey Punk Are You Duff-e-Nuff's first theatrical appearance. If it wasn't, we had no reason to remember another. Now, the mustachoied bowler-clad Olson twinS also didn't have their first national theater release thing that I knew about until this year. However, they'd been sending that exact same movie straight to video since their parents first told them to at least ten years ago. This Duff dope couldn't have been doing such a thing for more than three. Ehhh. In conclusion, I've put worse things here, and I will again. Make me stop!

Tuesday, July 13, 2004

You cannot stop me with just a paramecium!


They seem almost proud of it.
Also: The clouds. Any moment they may send forth a deluge of diaper advertisement test fluid.


Why did I even make that page? Why didn't anyone tell me about this?!
Babelfish, your scoundrelcity is unmatched.

Bah.

I've possibly mentioned this topic before. I remember subjects I've complained about, but my mind can't distinguish between ones I've uploaded and ones I haven't. At any rate, you've surely forgotten or not have read that page.

Ehhh. I heard a while ago and then again more recently about babies growing up "smarter" as a result of being made to listen to classical music during the years before they develop the ability to turn it off.
As well as I believe that if violent television makes kids violent then stupid television must surely be making them stupid, it is merely the non presence of stupid music which would not cause them to become stupider. We live in an age where the absense of stupid is mistaken for intelligence so often that it has given up correcting people and begun charging money for autographs.
What's anyone learning from singing about scratch, scratching me back (me back itches and I have some kind of accent), row row rowing their boat, (Spend your life in servitude, but in the end it doesn't matter, so you may as well have swam for the shore, but it's too late you've already woken up, ha ha ha) or the pop-going of a weasel (don't give weasels recording contracts)? All you're doing is keeping the babies from thinking about other things. Things like "how can I get out of this cage?" or "seriously, what's with all the ducks? who can I see about redecorating this dump?" The fact, although they'll never admit it to themselves, is that most parents prefer dumb babies, because they themselves were dumb babies, and a smart baby won't grow up to appreciate someone who was a dumb baby.

As long as this is an imageless update, I feel I should inform you of something: by holding your mouse object over an image, you will bring forth the title comment. Most people aren't aware of that, indeedily because 98% of websites don't bother with it. However, I am a master botherer. Pretty much every picture I've used since the third archive page has one that isn't some idiot random thing I thought was funny on its own two years ago but wasn't, so don't pretend you haven't accidentally seen one by now. Forsooth, I could append the hide-words to the visible ones, but it's more fun when you can't see it coming. Certainly, it's less fun than it could potentially have been when I need to tell you about it, but sometimes that's the only way.
They used to be alt comments, but then I used netscape 6 once and they didn't show up because the people who made it are dopes (they forgot version 5, didn't they?) so I use title now instead. Although legendary European folk hero Steve Van Pelt once addressed a delegation of Netscape users "Knock it off already, you're not cool," it is a lot less likely to suddenly be found to have gone retarded one day if you like pornographic/tripod.com sites or know someone who does. Right. What was I talking about? Oh, yes: how listening to stupid songs makes children stupid. Didn't I finish?


why is there never a 'maybe' option?  Why must I make all the decisions around heeyah?
If I am to be fully dedicated to my idility, how am I supposed to keep selecting yes? Do be sensible, Compuserve!

Sunday, July 04, 2004

Only in America will people say that like it's a good thing

I hate Michael Moore. Although I generally can tolerate legendary leftists slightly more than regendary republicans, this guy is a real see you next Tuesday. Why do I hate Michael Moore? Because he likes to make movies which people think they're smart after seeing, or having seen someone who saw one.
I haven't seen it. You know I enjoy talking about movies much more when I know less about them. White Chicks I'd love to have discussed a week ago, then I heard that Keenen Ivory Wayans wrote it, as opposed to the two who appear in it. "he's one of the funny Wayanses, right?," I thought. "My complaints about the absurdity, inprobability, phony reactions and racist double-standards are surely addressed by characters in it," I assured me. And people hated it. Dodgeball, whose funniest line, judging by its presence in every promo, was the you-got-me-straight-trippin'-boo-ingly unfunny "nobody makes me bleed my own blood-- nobody" would certainly be doomed to failure, and thus my comments would be considered trite and typical. And people loved that movie. With these examples in mind, I really could not pre-judge Farenheit 911, und so I must reserve my anger for people who aren't angry at it. All I'm willing to say at this moment is that the action guitar music in its ads might seem kind of neat, but it doesn't match up to that of the tv series on which the film was based, and that additionally 'twas outrageous to not even consider having William Shatner reprise his role.
Anyway.
Anyone who's watched political pundits argue knows that nothing can come of that. What accomplishes even less? Openminded non-pundits agreeing with each other, and enlightening each other of new scandalous things to agree on. I have a family of them, and sometimes they'll have friends who also agree. I could avoid them easily enough if I knew in advance, but if it's planned, I'm never told. I'll linger in the vicinity because my brother Imphis tells really stupid stories whenever other people are around. I can't stay in one place, so at the very moment I'm furthest away from the stairs, people start whining about the president. I get it. He's stupid or evil. No one who's as dumb as the popular opinion of George Bush indicates could possibly be as evil the same opinion also delights in indicating. Pick one! If he's evil then you're stupid for falling for his stupid act. But I understand there has been sinistry, whether he knew it or not.
Why then, must the subject go back to the election, who's alleged rigging was totally beyond his wicked grasp or realm of understanding? You can't "steal" an election on a black gauntlet or mittenful of uncounted cards. Whatever conspiracy may have existed, if it was contained to one town of confused elderly people in one state, then you can't claim any clear majority opinion on an alternate result, either. There'd still be division and resentment among the populacione. The electoral college system is silly. That's a decent argument. But if you're going to say that, also saying "but we should have won...!" doesn't make it any less silly.
I want to be able to believe that people chose a specific president and were ignored. I want to hear about kindergarten classes building paper chains from votes in Vermont, Necco making wafers out of them in Idaho, crooked pizzeria owners in Hawaii arranging for chads to be secretly stuffed into Rip Taylor's suitcase, river boat gamblers using bags of them to top coconut glazed doughnuts in Delaware, electronic voting machines in Alabama disguising themselves as Bad Dudes arcade cabinets; convince me that the sleazery matters.
One story that's come up more than once lately tells of how people heard that no one who was black-skinned in Florida was permitted to vote. I heard that there weren't enough invalidated Gore votes to have made a difference. But that's all I heard. I don't remember who I heard it from or when. I also "heard" that two recounts did happen and proved nothing. If votes were counted a second time because the first time went wrong, and then it goes "wrong" again, and then a third time it's "right," then you've found a majority in your favor a minority of the times.

Can you believe I researched none of that?


Maybe there's something wrong with me (one that's relevant, I mean), but it seems to me that I've been given insufficient information to make this decision. I've been asked to decide who is most meritorious in a certain area in connection to the display of lingerie. Important people depend on me to put forth a decree. Shouldn't this display which I am meant to judge, then, be visible? Not that I look forward to seeing such a thing, but how do I know they're even modeling it? They certainly aren't wearing it on their heads. Now, if the question was: "who's the most annoyed looking right now," likely due to always being photographed while changing clothes, then I could answer, but as I have not been asked I shall not.


That lobster-resembling creature is a traitor. Behold the gleeful manner in which it points out the secret hiding place of its brother and sister lobster-type-things. And for what? The chance that it might be spared? Its picture on the sign? Fame and fortune? As the sign below that one so eloquently states, "NO." Oh Grebin, it's worse than I thought. I think that red savage is Bud. Lobsters aren't fish, so how could one represent a fish market were it not the master of the whole operation? That beast has betrayed not just its kin, but the whole ocean. And Pasta Fair? Is that supposed to entice me? I can imagine a typical after dinner exchange:
How was the pasta?
Fair.
"Great Food at Great Prices" is in quotation marks. No one is being quoted, so it must be meant ironically. Someone who has very nice handwriting (but not necessarily hands) has defaced the sign with those words. I'll bet it was Bud. Why so bad, Bud?


Did I miss something? How many types of clean are there? If you can't get it Zest-fully clean, don't think I won't know. Don't dip my garments in chocolate pudding and tell me you're being unique and about how that's the "new clean." I would not appreciate that.

Captain Crunch really needs to take advantage of his rank and start exercising some authority. It's one thing to ACCIDENTALLY make only Crunch berries and then to ACCIDENTALLY put them in boxes and then ACCIDENTALLY have specific labels printed for these boxes. Actually, that's several things. But at least it made sense for there to be crunchberries. As much sense as was made for those yellow non-berry crunch-objects to be there, anyway. However...

Why are they Captain Crunch's donuts?  When do they become MY donuts?
This is unacceptable.
The Captain ought to find out who filled these boxes with doughnuts and take some action immediately. Writing 'oops!' on the box isn't going to rake the leaves this time. Yes, yes, I see your new airbrush artwork. But that's not enough! There's a problem when you have a cereal box filled with doughnuts and aren't legally permitted to refer to them as 'chocolate.' I imagine "choco" is a compound not unlike McDonald's' sinister "taste of maple syrup." Come to think of it, they aren't doughnuts, either. They're donuts. Not even crunch-donuts. Choco Donuts. Are these things made from chocobo meat? Although I made a comment regarding his privileges earlier, I don't believe, that as a naval commodore, Captain Crunch is authorized to order that such a slaughter take place. Unfortunately, the captain isn't talking, and the quakers are very loyal.

Here, because one person wanted to see it (which is a whole lot more than I usually get requesting things) is a script for the play-type-thing I've mentioned a few times. It's in a .zip and then .rtf format (free webspace providers are weird like that) and has many seemingly random tabs, Although I apparently converted it to html format, in addition to dialogue that has been omitted and inconsistency differentiating narration from non-narration (both of these things mein fault), the chances say you won't be able to make any sense of it, if indeed you can get it to load at all.
You are in my domain now.
If all has gone according to plan, and you've actually decided to read that and not given up at any point, the last word you'll see is time, followed by an exclamation point. If that's not at the end, tell it to get on over there.

When I have been, the question I've been asked the most is how long I was taken to write it. My response suggests a few days, with occasional edits when necessary. Obviously they only ask because it looks terribly rushed, but I warn against judging a work by the amount of time elapsed during its development. I started the Pac in Time page 8 months before I finished and that was worse.
Also, I have been informed of fear among the general populace that I may have felt obligated to, quote, "throw in some Velveeta so that the common man will eat it." This is not the case. I don't expect that man to eat it. However, I will not be eating it, either.

Nearing the end of this month, I still haven't done a thing to fix any of the bad situations I thought I'd make done with this month, and have indeed brought about more. I'm not going to mention when I think I'll fix them anymore, because the more I do of that, the more I have to do of this. I have better things to do. Or at least I would prefer you to think that I do.



First of all, it should be BOGOF. BOGOF, as in: BOGOF, your presence vexes me. And next, if you need to explain your abbreviation with the very words you are abbreviating, why bother at all? Some Violence Fight fan at Stop 'n Shop just wanted a big sign with BOGO written on it. This is treachery and deceit. I shall have none of it! If I could discern which product those small letters beneath the EE refered to and I had taken one, I would not take a second! Nosireeweeble.

Wednesday, June 23, 2004

If a doctor gave me three weeks to live I'd hide them some place safe.

Dannon Frusion combines yogurt, which has milk in it, with more milk. If it's not maximumly disgusting, at least, I think, seeing the stylishly shaped to hide how small they are bottles, that it's not something worthy to be exchanged for anything worthy of being called a breakfast. Let's see, big stack of pancakes, or gogurt ripoff in a weird bottle? Although, now that I recall what I know of it, Gogurt is not by default drinkable, but using it in this example does make my choice slightly easier.
Still, there recently came to be seen a strange man standing on a sidewalk screaming out "Trade in your boring breakfast for a Dannon Frusion!" Obviously, he's hungry, but doesn't know what to do, because he's poor (I'd hate to think a well off person would take the job) and can't afford food. All he has is a big crate of Dannon Frusion, and he's hoping people will be willing to barter away actual food items just to get their hands on a relatively new product (because they're dopes). Unfortunately, since he's tired from running to the audition --his being poor and not able to afford a car-- when the strange man says "Frusion," he breathes heavily and just sounds like he's saying "fruit" and has a problem. "Trade in your boring breakfast for a Dannon Fruit-*hhuh!*" Not surprisingly, no one's interested. They can buy fruit anywhere, why risk dealing with some strange man who has a problem on the sidewalk? He gets desperate and, seeing someone with a corn muffin pass too close, he lunges forward saying "gimme that and try this fruit-*tzzhh*! The would-have-been muffin eater, fearing for life itself after such an ambush by a man with a problem, has no choice but to accept the offer. Crazier still, instead of getting fruit in return, is received a vial of melted yogurt. "Oh well," thinks muffin eater, "some people have problems."

Another fine product I'd never buy, Ortho-tricyclen is a birth control pill. It is a pill for woman who want to not get pregnant but without all that protection from venereal diseases business. Now that such a thing as Orthotricyclen exists these woman dance about in a mystical forest while an unseen voice sings "there she goes... there she goes again!" I tried to figure out this song. As is undeniably apparent, 95% of songs I don't want to hear are in some way about love. I would assume this one also is, except the singer sounds rather feminine. Not that I have a particular problem with a woman loving another women; I grant all lovers opportunity to disgust me equally. However, as of this time a woman cannot impregnate another, so that sort of love song is not appropriate to the product. So why use it, then? As the product is a birth control pill, there will be no pregnancy, and no fear of pregnancy, and thus no early pregnancy tests. How does an early pregnancy test work? "There she goes..." and in the case of someone such as this person, "there she goes again!"


From: angelslio@cu.kiev.ua (Horace Bgheffn)
To: volcabbage®cs.com (Theresa Utoldauy)

VIAGRA is a prrescription drug uuseed to treat errecctille diffficulties. Millions of meen hhave foundd that VIAGGRA is a great waay tto treeat ttheeir errectille dyssfunction (EED)).

First of all, thank you for informing me of this.
The only problem is that these millions of meen, one such as is Horace Bgheffn, find they can't steady their hands to type properly after swallowing a few pills. But how can they compose their informative e-mail in advance if they don't know what the product VIAGGRA does? Keep in mind, this e-mail comes from the Ukraine, a former Soviet republic in which scientific methods are perhaps not what they should be. To avoid side effects, maybe they should test this stuff on women. Women like me, Theresa Utolduay.


I can't get over this game. Its title reminds me of a 1940s comic book. I've never read one, but I've heard they have titles like that.
From RC Comics it's True Crime! SEE what HAPPENS when people don't obey the LAW. Now they have to PAY.
You will believe every sentence can end with an exclamation point!
Bat-Man can't save you; he's too busy dealing with fake crime in some other comic and it will be another thirty years before anyone assumes an interpromotional crossover might be profitable!
Featuring unparralelled grittiness and realism, because these shocking full color shockers were compiled before the formation of the Comics Code Authority! I guess the concerned parents of Amelica aren't entertained by REAL STORIES OF HUMAN SUFFERING!

Only the truest of the true crimes shall be depicted herein! Including pages of marketing schemes that are true crimes in themselves! At newsstands now! Assuming those still exist and haven't been entirely taken over by body-building magazines!

THE CRIME JUST GOT TRUER!


Skipper sez:
Hellooo, travelerrzzz and frienddzzz, I am Pikepik, the mosquito. Just kidding, I'm Skipper! And, I'm better than Barbie! How so? Barbie's been a teacher, a nuclear physicist, and a rodeo clown. What I'm trying to say is that all Barbie does is get fired from jobs. Me, I'm too smart to get employed in the first place! (although I am a doctor) Barbie may live in a Malibu Dreamhouse, but my Dumpster Deluxe is quite real and hardly a figment of dozeful imagination! I heard that the world renowned and not bankrupt now programmers called Hi-Tech Expressions made two smash hit holiday classic Super NES games for Barbie, and so what I say! Need I remind you which of us is named after the captain from Gilligan's Island? That would be none other than I! Some people make fun of me because I skip all the time, but I can do heaps more than that. I can also hop, jump and prance. Kid Sister Stacie? Let us not even speak of such an one. Stacie is brave but not very astute. With but a turn of my hand I shall bring the legions under my command and lay the infidel's head before my master, John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt.

Skipper MD

Note: The above message might necessarily represent the thoughts or words of Skipper, but I can't remember which

What's that over there?    Oh, that.