Stupid pictures
Stupid video games
Merely stupid
Yet somehow stupider
Not just stupid, but redundant too

One of the websites on the internet

Maybe I should put this list further down the page
A wholly needless, I expect, link back to the main page

Thursday, January 13, 2005
If you've got a heart then Gumbi's a part of you

I hope that colour is a result of yellow paint.

C is for cookie (and communism)

I have spent much time, perhaps too much, analyzing the sides of this argument. Are either of the statements written out of experience, or is it possible both are from the point of view of people who've seen what failing to heed the advice has done to others? It wasn't until I realized that whoever wrote the first also wrote the second that I truly understood. The person became a fool with substandard grammar and spelling skills despite much staying of skool, but by the same Chuck E Cheese token also grew cool enough to write on walls about it. The scribe is not suggesting a path in life, but merely listing the benefits and detriments of one. You might argue that nothing is more cool than avoiding skool altogether, but if you did that, you would not have access to the restrooms of one to make your case within.

When I said "serial," I meant "paralell." (below here, but since corrected) That might also be incorrect, but that's the one I meant. I wish to be incorrect in the correct way. Thank to all the people who didn't e-mail me about that, because I realized it myself. Not that anyone would, but now they haven't.

"Serial" is actually the second word in USB. The first is universal and the third is bus. I don't know what the gumbel that means as a whole, but that's not necessary. It doesn't have wheels, so they certainly can't go round and round allll through the town, and even less likely will do so "allll daayy lonng," like my kindelgalten art teacher alleged. That neither nearly rhymes nor matches the syllable count. Get it right.

It seems to me there's a great deal of excess baggery. I bought one thing in a store once (aren't you so proud of me?) and brought it to the attention of a cashier who attempted to place it in a bag before I made my escape. If I was capable of escorting it from its shelf to here, shouldn't that be thought of as my trial? My test? I have proven myself worthy to carry the object great distances! I do not require the chaperoneship of this white plastic receptacle!

One unfortunate effect of my brave standoff is that I do not now possess the bag to display. However, I did come across another bag, assumedly discarded by whoever had it before I found it discarded. That's what other people do with bags, and surely myself as well were I to accept one rather than find it.

I guess the bracelet once contained within here makes people aware that breasteses exist and also know not to share needles with them or something like that. What I don't understand is why the braceret would need to be in a bag. By the very means of their use, that being constriction of an arm, a thing [usually] connected to a hand, which carries bags, bracelets render such containers obsolete for purposes of their containment. Is the big fear that someone else might put it on their own arm before you put it on yours? Oh, and what of the foul, polluted air of the place of purchasing you acquired it in? It certainly won't be exposed to any of that while you wear it on an unsleeved region of yourself, will it. What we need is a bag which always surrounds the object, that doesn't need to be thrown away. Every time you use it, that crunkling sound will continually remind you of how safe your object is and also that you still have it. You may find yourself with a breast cancer awareness bracelet awareness bag.

The object I had meant to purchase, if you were wondering, and even if you weren't, was this:

I had wanted one ever since I saw it in the Read This! section of Wolfenstein 3-D.

Only the very display model of the one I encountered was accountable for, and the red shirted Star Trek extra rumored to do work in the vicinity did not rule out the possibility of it having been in the store since then. Instead I ended up with this one,

(note my invention in use), which although having less colors and no greater number of buttons, did have a higher price, so that's good for someone. In truth, I only came to have this after returning one of Logitech's grey objects, because it did not function. This one, contrary to the words of Read This!,

doesn't work either. Wait, that's not entirely true: It does work connected to other machines. Only mine has trouble. It's not a USB issue, or at least I assume that. Maybe I'm unfairly biased; having transfered the picture of the malfunctionary device over just such a cable. I'll probably be the first person in Circuit City history to ever ask if they have any paralell port controllers in stock. Or maybe one of those fancy red and black ones that plugs into the mouse.

Thursday, January 06, 2005
If you had a choice, life or duff, what would you choose?

I hear that there's a great deficiency regarding the number of United States soldiers needed to maintain "order" in their war zone, and that pretty much everyone who could be sent is already there or there again. I think it's high time the President deployed the Out of Control Teens to Iraq. For years, this nation's second most trusted day time talk show hosts have been sending Out of Control Teens to Boot Camp, and it's high time that boot training was put to some good use. If you send them to their homes, you know within a month they'll be pregnant or skipping school or thinkin' they all that again on a follow up show. If you send them to Iraq, they may never come back, whether they die or don't. Sounds like a plan.

Stop, you're confusing me.

By the method, this isn't “filler.” The space doesn't show up until it is filled. This is just a thing to occupy that space until I am prepared to display the next thing I wanted to put here.


As for the rumors that the alphabet member pictured here is actually a G, in the event of that, since such claims cannot gain promotion above rumor status, I would have no choice but to declare G to be for Great job making it look like a G.

Friday, December 31, 2004
Robots. Bring me those beans.

New year resolution: Don't break scanner.


Maybe I viewed this out of context, really out of context, but this is possibly the daftest journalism I've ever seen, even for Compuserve. I'm not saying, if you liked them before, you should no longer like celebrities (I've already done that), but merely try and understand that symphathy for these victims having to cancel their vacation plans because everyone who worked at the hotel drowned just seems a bit misplaced. I hate to think, whether international authorities experience a sudden surge in reports of petty livestock theft by an unidentified 600 year old arksmith or don't, that humanity is officially doomed.

it's hard to believe such ratism still exists in this country

Is it the creature action that's a problem, or the fact that it doesn't stop? I think it must surely be the creatures, since for years prestigious Nintendo Power magazine advocated the purchase of video games categorized as "comic action," and they'd never give bad advisement to move merchandise along.

I thought I saw Van Helsing years ago, but I found out it actually was David Lee Roth
Above that, note the phrase "also recommended" (Excuse me, I meant "ALSO RECOMMENDED"). That means at some point this was recommended. What's more, League of Extraordinary Gentlemen was recommended. I don't know what The Hellboy does, but I expect he doesn't have to, because many people will blame it on the hellboy anyway. Wow, I'm an idiot.
All right, I actually kind of wanted to see Van Helsing at first, just because it looked like Castelvania the Movie, which would doubtlessly disappoint me if it were called that. And then, hardly a week after this was in theaters, possibly even before, there was

Even Dracula will have no choice but to rehhhst innnn peace facing the wrath of a chokeslam
Van Helsing: the Video Game. And then I was very confused. No action has yet been taken.

Only 108 more days until Passover!, Saturday, December 25, 2004
Stay away from the grave in Garinham

Yes. And at the same time... no.

Guilty pleasure is a word-pair to designate an object or action which people shamefully derive joy from, such as cupcake eating or murder. Not long ago, What's New Compuserve had a list of "guilty pleasures" (which omitted itself only due to failing the pleasure requirement), and one of the items mentioned was "The Carpenters," which was a musical band from some decades ago that --I can only assume from their company on the list-- were the inspiration for *iN Synch. And then at some weird dinner gathering I regretfully attended --which I will not refer to further merely because one of the people present is thought to read this website, and I'll take what I can get-- one person, but not that one, got big laffs for volunteering to fetch a Carpenters cd album from his car vehicle. Maybe I'm a moron (definitely possible), but that hardly seems like the go-to embarrassing music preference reference (at least Hall and Oates still sounds funny even if you haven't heard of them). But then again, this might very well be because of my exposure through advertising and needless musical guests to recent music which is just so much worse. I'm hardly saying all new music is bad and all old music is better, because I consider, just from the choice selections chosen by people who were alive then, the big moneymakers back then to be just as bad or worse ("back then" being any year of the twentieth christian century prior to the theatrical release of Revenge of the Nerds, for a reason I have yet to come up with).

I remember, threes and threes of years ago, if my parents had other adult people around, every time I had a problem, I was given a song to go with it, rather than any help or consolation. I couldn't help being strange (like the people singing advice at me were normal or something), and people would generally need little provocation to have a laugh at my expense if they could be certain anyone else would join them (see also: every year of school before I became a hermit). "Why is everybody always picking on me?" I would call out, sincerely wishing to know. Apparently, Charlie Brown has the same problem. Except in that case instead of getting his kite stuck in a tree or not being able to kick a fuball, it's because the giant from Jack and the Beanstalk and his twin brother both smell smoke in the auditorium. That's the song, seriously. "He's gonna get caught, just you wait and see..." for what? What did he do? You made no attempt to link the smoke to his misdeeds. You were so concerned with getting to your repetitive in itself chorus part that you forgot to give the verse any substance. Alright, maybe in the second one, which combined with the first isn't as long as the chorus part which will be repeated maybe nine more times, CB "call[s] the english teacher daddio." Oh! Oh! CATCH HIM! ...Neehng. Is "daddio" like some kind of insult? The TV show hadn't even been made back then, so I doubt it. However, "Charlie Brown (pathetic saxaphone playing) Charlie Brown, (the exact same notes) he's a clown (yes) that Charlie Brown..." Astounding. You found two words that rhyme. Congratulations. You'd better keep saying them so I don't forget. I fully believe in stressing the need to catch rogue clowns, but either make a better song or don't use one, because this message is too important to be undermined by your sub-mediocre music and lyric writing capabilities.
So I: have stupid relatives laughing at my inability to desire to speak to them, ask my fateful question, have to hear a really worse rendition of that song, and only get more upset. I come to the conclusion that "everybody hates me!" Well, guess what, "nobody likes me, everybody hates me, I think I'll go and eat worms" is also a song (According to them. It didn't occur to me at any of these gatherings to test other phrases like "why bother wrapping a box with shirts in it" or "I don't, in fact remember you."). That's supposed to make me feel better? I have to eat stuff out of the ground, now? I also feel I should mention that years later when I did eat a worm, no one who was older than me seemed to approve. I hope I don't live to see them die, because these are the life lessons my eulogy is going to thank them for.

* Asterisk does not necessarily indicate actual footnote.

I saw my parents watching Vh1's top 40 music video show. I regularly disappoint them, so they thought they might as well return the favor. After all, as Santa Claus told Fred Flinstone on one fateful, anachronistic Christmas 65,000,000 years ago when Barney Rubble was denied Fruity Pebbles: "'tis the season to be sharing." Or something like that.

Music videos are so... lamo. So will I be if I continue saying 'lamo,' so I'll stop. Let me get this straightened, you have an opportunity to provide your own visions to your own sound and you only showed yourself making the sound? What's even the point beyond "I'm vain?" Vh1 must have felt similarly to myself, for it didn't bother showing any more than a few seconds. But then, how else are they going to have time to show people I've never heard of talking about the videos? I don't need to see the videos, they've done it for me. I only need a few seconds to get the general idea, and surely, since you're the experts, if you're only going to show a few seconds, you will show the very best few seconds, so if I form judgements based upon that it is your fault and not mine. Ehhh. I tell no lie that "number 3" was just some coked-up looking people in a studio. No, I wasn't aware that you used primarily electric guitars for the music. I would not have otherwise believed they made the noise. What? You have a drummer, too? Such a shockful innovation that is. Number two, which by it's placement must mean it was in some way better, was one woman using a stool playing a, and this will shock you, guitar. And then the screen flashed what looked to be some mangled misdirected political statement until its second was up. But perhaps I'm being a bit harsh. Sometimes things do happen. For instance, the shots of the band might not be in color. No no wait, number 4 is good. Mmmkay, you're lying on your bed and... you're singing. Great job. I wondered where that voice was coming from. Hey, now someone else is standing behind an ATM machine. I've never seen one of them before. Where do you get your inspiration? Always the innovator, at number 1, tracing paper animated Eminem walks into a building and fills out a voter registration card. That one should age well.

This doesn't follow directly from what I just said, und so I initiated a new paragraph. Say, can you speak with a moderate amount of rhythm? Can you point? Congratulations, you may already have made a rap video. Speaking of that, who are you? Really? Tell me again. I have a bad memory. Don't ever let me forget what your name is. Gee whillickers, that is quite a catchy 10 second tune stolen from someone else's song you've got there. It'd be simply mahvelous if I could hear that over and over without variation for the next four minutes. Gosh, look at the time. Don't you think you'd better roll your dubs on over to The Club to do some more pointing and name-reminding? That way not only do you get to show what kind of car you drive have driven for you, soon you can have sluts dancing behind you, as well. You may not even have to wait. It's just this idea I had, I don't think it's never been done before. "But wait, voice of Julia Child in the upcoming cartoon series!," I hear you saying. "They are not sluts, they are professional dignified hardly-dressed dancers!" First of all, that was supposed to be a secret. And second, typically "sluts" are thought of as as being people who "sell their bodies" for cash, and isn't this that? If you've received payment so your naked flesh could be a tacky, typical, nameless decoration, then congratulations, you may already be a ho'. Ho' is another word for slut. This concludes today's lesson.

No longer Chanukah, Sunday, December 19, 2004
Stork Chocolate Reisen Please, Mrs. Lang

You can tell a lot about magazines from their covers. Although I'm not and never would be a reader, I can discern easily from the cover pictures that being told you're GQ men of the year is really depressing. Geeks Quivering.

“How to Eat, Train, and Grow!” it says. My question: What exactly has this magazine been printing in every single other issue? What ever did people subscribe to a muscular, shirtless, man magazine for if this information has only been uncovered just now?

Because who's in more of a hurry than people who make quilts? Marie Claire, evidently, who seems to have had to leave right before I showed up.

This was not intentionally pictured, but it proclaims a person named Jude Law to be the sexliest man alive, and I guess people besides him need to know this. But what does that mean? They killed last year's guy?

I briefly glimpsed at the upper half of the TV Guide channel recently and to my horror saw John Henson. Not because he was in an ad for his own show, but instead because he was throwing to ads for other shows. Even though it'd be a generous estimate to claim even ten people saw this (ctrl+f search for "gertrude" and then scroll down a bit, I'm not bothering with that #a name nonsense today), I can't help but feel partially responsible. I'm not going to reread it, but I recall mentioning in there, toward the end of the second part, having watched and been bothered by a couple of other shows, and have additionally seen both of them since then liked them a bit more than the time when I wrote that (no, not the cartoons. After that). I always seem to make judgements at the wrong time. Is it possible, then, that Henson's show was also worth saving? Or has my ability to sense humor merely degenerated in the past year? It has, but I'm wondering if that was all it was.

I worry that I hate too much. Sometimes I feel like Hitler without the public approval and road plan. I hate a lot of things just based on their advertisements, and while I don't blame myself for them not doing their job, this might possibly make me miss something good some day. I doubt it, but it's possible. There's a new movie called Lemon Skittle's A Chain of Occurences Characterized by Misfortune and just seeing the logo and hearing the music I know the only reason this exists is to grink more money out of Haary Potworth fans. And they deserve it, sure, but they'll enjoy it too. However, do I have reason enough to hate it over? Certainly the name: I don't know who Zebedee Cricket is, but if it's a character in the story then I hate the writer, and if it is the writer then I hate the writer's attorney for insisting on that being in the title, which was quite long and pretensious enough already. You couldn't "just" call it A Series of Unfortunate Events or Persnickety Zipper's Series of Unfortunate Events or anything that would fit in a sentence, you absolutely need to get the name and the A in there just to make me mad.
But getting back to my point, if it could be said that I had and was at one, I hate the TV Guide channel. I once went to their website, and the only thing I couldn't find were actual channel listings, which I thought was the whole point of them existing. I did find out what I was missing by turning down the volume and not looking at the upper half of the screen on the television channel, though, and I didn't actually miss it.
Maybe I don't hate too much. Maybe that's all I ever did right. I produced unjustifiable complaints about many popular and beloved things this year, but never annoyed anyone enough to protest to me until I made known that flash cartoon (if you wanted it you could find it) which does none of that. True, there were other things on this page at the time, but I like blaming that one. Very soon after I shew that, Chris Elliot Fan in Tampa sent along a message bearing the constructive criticism "get a life" and saying nothing more (I couldn't even be spared a capital G). I considered requesting elaboration, questioning the life-possession status of a person who sends e-mail like that or even trying to be nice and then unwittingly saying something maximumly offensive like I always do to people I don't hate, but in the end only responded [that] "Sounds like a plan." You'll have to try harder than that to get a reaction out of me. I encourage you to do so. Some day this website will accidentally get popular and you'll regret not having taken preventative action.

My live-in region might not be as pleasant as it could be were I to make certain prolonged efforts, but at least we aren't at the Refillable Glade Plug In stage. I think there must certainly be a bigger problem to be dealt with if you have outlets permanently devoted to covering up smells. You don't want to get to a point when your first, and worse yet only thought at the presence of a foul scent is "the air freshener stopped working."
My favorite advertisement for this queer object shows a mouse running away from a cat (cutting edge, highly expensive imaging technology allows the computer generated visions to faithfully resemble the $15 felt puppets from The Mouse and the Motorcycle) and eventually the mouse dives into the tastefully decorated sand of the cat's litterbox (I should inform you that this is my favorite advertisement from a proving-my-point perspective only). The box is coincidentally placed immediately to the left of our hero, Refillable Glade Plug-in. Before soon the mouse re-emerges, no longer fearing death, and shoutily cries out a plea for someone to refill the Refillable Glade Plug-in. Because that's the problem, right? Hey, as long as you're over there, person whom the talking mouse is addressing, why don't you clean out the litter-box as well? In fact, if you do a general clean sweep around all your Refillable Glade Plug-ins, not only will you save yourself the effort to refill them, you might have an easier time getting rid of the MICE as well. Alternately, you could neither refill the plugin nor clean the litterbox, and hope your discriminating vermin eventually leave in disgust. That might seem in opposition to my initial message, but by now my only goal is to have you not buy Glade Plug-ins. Do I have such power?

Still Chanukah, somehow, Tuesday, December 14, 2004
Pow Pow Powerwheels Pow Pow Powerwheels

I saw an advertisement for the television program called The Real Gilligan's Island. Or rather, I glanced behind me as I was using the internet because of late I've been unable to get to it without others present, and they watch shows that stuff like that gets advertised during. I had been led to think that the objective of the setup was that the not-actors are supposed to actually escape from the island, as the fake group was scriptly forbidden to, but that is not so. I heard them talking about voting each other off. Specifically "I'm gonna vote my wife off!" which is probably the first time that's ever been said in a context in which such a thing is possible and not merely an unfunny Survivor reference. So the goal of the castaways' (a name which makes it sound more like they were thrown overboard by fellow passengers than anything else) is then, surely, to remain on the island. Exactly like Survivor, except... they actually have to dress like and adopt the names of characters from the real fake Gilligan's Island (Isle? which is it?). I suppose as long as we're suspending logic to believe that anyone would choose to remain in a place specifically chosen to create miserable conditions with as little company as possible, the company is reduced through voting, and also that I can see it all from my own home, we can believe they would do it while wearing red sweaters or captain hats. I presume, since this island is real, if I had my own boat I could go there and visit them. Not that I'd want to. Own a boat or visit them. I'd be too disappointed to learn that Alf had never shown up.

I'm trying to cut off use of these sound files. Truly, I am. But...
Blazing speed, on ice! Bobsledding, luge... the cool sports you love are back. And curling of course.
I like that it's not even imaginable to the people responsible for putting it on television that anyone might like curling. It's like they went and commissioned the event, set up the cameras and brought in a [most likely lied-to] audience only to realize, two thirds through the show... "Wait, you said curling? With a C? I thought you said hurling. I thought those guys were going to get out of the bobsled and competetively rhalph all over each other. Holy hitchhiking halibut, what are we going to do?" This is what they did. How do you go from spippling down a frozen waterslide at 40 miles-per-hour to scrubbing the ground in front of a big cookie and hoping it deems your custodial work clean enough for its greatness to glide over? Awkwardly.

Sometimes the only way for a futureless layabout like me to not be depressed is to be angry at things that have nothing to do with it (most times, actually). Right now I'm angry at hoodies. I'm so angry at them that I absolutely refuse to spell their name in unaltered letters. Hooded sweatshirts don't impress me, but I can coexist with them. Hoodies, however, need to be ground down and made into Kool Aid base. Unless you're some kind of ascetic monk or the grim reaper, you look like a murph wearing a hood garment because yours likely doesn't reach past your waist if it fits at all, ruining the aesthetic vertical balance so you just look like you forgot how to get dressed, but if you don't utilize the hood why have it there at all? It's like that part only came into being to inspire dumb nickanames for the unit as a whole. I think, what makes me the most peeved is that people use that name without questioning it. They don't even remember that the things used to not be called that. No one ever protests "hey, that's a stupid name, I'm not going to refer to it as that."
You know, I don't believe I ever even heard them referred to at all before they were known as hoodies. Fools only say it (if indeed anyone else says it) because they like the way it sounds. But then, they like the way their telephone alert noises sound, too. At least, in theory. Not once when one of those has gone off in my presence has the person type creature owning it ever not immediately tended to it like it was boiling cheese. Gosh, that must have been serious, what happened? Did your rabbi get geeked by go-gangers? Oh, you were just trying to shut the thing up so it aborts its KFC drive-through rendition of Who Let the Dogs Out. I see.

Unless there's some largely untapped tengu construction worker market I haven't heard about, this thing simply looks unweildly to me. Also, I've just learned that unweildly is properly spelled unweildy, but for some reason I find that pronounciation unweildly.

Amazing PENGUIN sez:
Good evening and welcome. I am Amazing PENGUIN. Aren't you just so amazed? What with my stylish upper-sixth-of-an-apple beret, my egg-shaped eyes, my bulkish, ursine legs and my oafly, entirely unwaddlelike walk, you can tell I am destined for greatness. Not even horrid jpeg compression or, dare I say it, Pink Pearl erasers can stop me! I need but slap the air and entire armies sneeze with modesty. Unfortunately, not everyone appreciates greatness. Even Yergo "The Chef" Willits, the jealous polar bear whom I once worked with during my early days making my fortune as Kid Cuisine mogul has joined the fight disparaging my good name. What he won't tell you is that Kid Cuisine was not only all my idea but my own secret recipe as well! I only hired him to play that role with myself posing as a mere spokesman because at the time it was unheard of for a penguin to enter the frozen food* business and besides, he owned a chef hat. Woe is me, for I am amazing!

Note: The above message does not represent the thoughts or words of Amazing PENGUIN, but, rather, Master Higgins in a penguin costume. At least no ducks are involved.

Hey, look at that!     Nevermind, you missed it.