I expect to have a thing for Saturday. I expected it Thursday, but I know not to really expect something until the third day I expect it.
Here are some notes I wrote to remind me what to work on when I wake up. I thought you might be interested in them, too, so you can also work on it.
clean up pumpkin
adjust fallen box
NUMBER HERE more clear
mip frame coat shadow and yellow feet
better line than “away for repairs?”
point frame bigger kumq
NO frame leftover paste erroes
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
“Purging sexual predators from facebook and myspace, that story is next, at 6.”
Wasn’t that supposed to have happened four years ago? By this point I think myspace IS a sexual predator. It was already a functioning operating system predator and the hunt can only stay exciting for so long.
JJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJ
This Tiger Woods billboard would be creepy even if he wasn’t the subject of a popular and prolific adultery scandal. Also: my biggest problem with wrist watches was always that they were uncomfortable and hard to not constantly think about when I had one on. Making the device bulkier and insisting that I restrain my applicable thumb with it seems apart from the solution.
According to this page, the Heuer Taggers discontinued the ad before I ever saw it, which makes me suspect that the Branford Jewelers had to pay a sizable royalty to use this picture and can’t afford to buy one with somebody else on it. They can’t afford this because nobody wanted to buy the creepy leero humpfiend giant time piece that you wrap around your hand. I’m not saying that it’s absolutely credible that every single woman who suddenly a month ago remembered Tiger Woods did a sex with them once is being truthful, but other people might, if they would otherwise be fickle enough to buy a largely obsolete piece of technology that’s not even sold on the basis of its function just because some guy who does stuff to a ball got paid to wear one the wrong way.
The rough weather we’ve had lately and the exaggerated lighting of the photograph used on the sign not matching very well the natural sunlight around it make Mr. Woods look like a different professional athlete, and that only worsens matters, I think. At least, I thought that at first, but the plausibility of a tabloid story accusing Don Flamenco of having sixteen mistresses is decidedly less, never even mind the likelihood that these classy ladies might voluntarily come forward and say “yeah, I did ‘im. You wanna make something of it?”
This reminds of a kid named Gary that I went to [special] school with. Actually, it reminds me of Ryan, but it was Gary who actually said the thing I was thinking of. When he felt he was challenged he would always accuse “are you starting with me?” and in the same class was a kid named Ryan who was likely to respond “you wanna make something of it?” Ironically, despite Ryan being my nemesis and Gary being my friend, Gary was the one who got a copy of WURM: Journey to the Center of the Earth for his birthday because I saw it in Nintendo power and thought that I would enjoy a game about making some lady run around in a cave kicking things and so would other people. My other choice was Earthworm Jim but it cost about 40 dollars more and my mother didn’t want to pay for it but the only things I liked were video games. And the course of the world was forever altered.
The watch-maker folk, Tag Heuer, by the pie, is not to be confused with Taghor, the dwarf warrior you who joins your huddle of adventurers on floor 5 in Eye of the Beholder. Seriously, that’s not even close. I can’t believe you, sometimes.
Don’t try and change the subject. I said I was serious, now.
Well alright. We can discuss this matter some other time.
WILL YOU LET IT DIE, MAN!
A few months ago, I started using a wallet. Also few months ago, but not as many as I was just talking about, I lost my wallet.
For those of you not in the nose, a wallet is a tiny little pouch that you put all your money and important articles into. It has to be very small and easy to not realize you don’t have. If you lose track of it, you might as well go to jail because you can’t do a flipping thing without it.
Tralala, lala, you can’t go anywhere or do anything because you dropped the brown square!
Why can’t I just go to any place and have people believe that I am who I say I am? Because people, in general, are moralless scumbuses who resent the species they were born into and will hesitate, because hesitation is only temporary, to dispatch ruin upon the existence of any other person. And that’s why I have cards that prove that only I’m me, unless somebody else gets the cards. So what happens if I drop them? Why would somebody who is essentially my neighbor, my co-resident of this town, possibly this block of houses, not return to me a thing which has my own address that is obviously close by? Near enough to walk to? For I walked to wherever I was when I lost the thing? Because people are unscrupulous fiends who wish death or worse on everyone who is not them. They surround themselves with fences and noisy machinery and awful lights all night to do everything possible to disrupt any serenity in their own in their section of the universe.
It made me mad, when I first reported the loss, and I would be asked “did you check your back pockets?” No, because I wouldn’t have to, because I couldn’t not feel anything I put into one at all times. In fact, I never use my back pockets. If I did, that would be a great place to have something nabbed from without me seeing, wouldn’t it! The sudden rush of relative comfort from no longer having a thing crammed back there might also temporarily disorient me to the extent that I failed to realize an important had just been nabbed from me for however long is necessary to allow the thief to get away and so justify my never using such uncomfortable-yet alert pockets.
There are plenty of alternative pocket security measures I have yet to investigate.
But all this assumes another person took my wallet. More likely it simply fell out of wherever it was and landed in a dark, forgotten trench or crevice of the earth, where no mortal humanoid would be likely to venture into, much less search through in search of something. This possibly occurred in my own house. Really, there is no end of places it could have gone.
This is the wallet I have now. I purchased it because I like the design and it is hard to drop something that has a chain without noticing. However, feel free to think this just means I’m in some sort of nerd gang. I’m determined to not be accepted by any social group.
The only place I could find with chain wallets on the day I bought this was a Spencer store, and this was the only wallet with a chain there that didn’t have a picture of a skull or skulls on it. I don’t like skulls. I like actual skulls, just lingering around, cackling at people, picking fights. I wouldn’t put up with that normally, but skulls don’t realize how pathetic they are and I find them more endearingly pitiful than irritatingly delusional. I can handle illustrated skulls in the context of full skeletons, when I want to see skeletons. I don’t want to be seeing skulls without skeletons every time I buy twix. And yes, this even holds true if the skull is bright pink against a green background. What really bothers me is that most of them don’t even have jaws. They have upper teeth but no lower teeth. Why have teeth at all, then? How is the organless heap of bones going to chew the food it has no biological necessity to eat or ability to process?
Skeletons get no respect. They don’t deserve it, either, but in the absence of that, let them keep their jaws.
Police find skeleton inn. You know skeletons are bad if it’s illegal just for them to rent out beds. As I touched upon in the previous image, one gets ZERO REST when skeletons are around. It’s a total scam. There are things women love in bed, and none of them are skeletons. All those skeletons are going to JAIL. You could make the argument that these are honest, law-abiding skeletons trying to run a business. I welcome you to make that argument and OUT yourself as a skeleton, so that I can call the police again and report skeletons on the internet. I can tell you my plan because skeletons are dumb like that.
When I purchased it, the wallet, the cashier asked me if I would like to give the store an email. I said I’d have to think about it, because I wasn’t really sure what I’d say beyond that I liked some of the wallets they had for sale that didn’t have “cute” skulls on them, and I thought this was adequately communicated by me purchasing one. And then the woman clarified that she meant I should give them my email address. Oh, all right. Two mere syllables could have saved us so much trouble. I would give up my mail code so I could be informed about upcoming sales and promotions. At Spencer Gifts. I considered this, and in so considering I assessed that in my life I have made a purchase at a Spencer store approximately once every twenty-six years of my life, and I currently own all the novelty items featuring nude senior citizens with intestinal disorders I expect to need for the foreseeable future, and so I gave them your e-mail address instead. Take that, skeleton.
When my brother Idaho lost one of his many lost wallets some years ago, he eventually received an assortment of oafy knick-knacks in the mail accompanied by this note.
My wallet had 300 dollars in it. I’m worried I’m going to get a cake with a stripper inside. Because I don’t like naked people in my food, and if it’s my money I’d rather have a big scone instead.
Truthfully, I like pies best, but when I considered making a picture of a giant pie several people assured me those were “unoriginal,” and the last thing I want is to eat like a hack.
I like these wallets. They remind me of dilapidated housing. It’s like carrying a shantytown in your pocket. Who’d want to get at any money or personal items that are kept inside something like this?
I knew it. They’re hoarding illegal library cards. Fookin’ prawns.
I have too many messages to write to people today.
5555555555555555555555555555555
I have decided, if they want to make a Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs movie, fine. I’ll deal with it. But I will have nothing to do with a Cloudy with a Chance of Porky’s 2.
earsearsearsearsearsearsearsearsearsearsearsears
What’s that? No! You’re fibbing! You’re having me on! You must be! I won’t… I can’t believe… No! I refuse!
BABY BUCK CHOC!!!
Walgreens Cafe W bakery. Fresh from the photo lab to you!
Yes, yes, I know! Stop judging me! I only smoke em for the fiber! Prior to my new health awareness, it was a fashion statement.
Hoppity hermaphrodillos, what’s the time?
Never again!
My favorite part of candy is and has always been looking at it and admiring the craftmachineship involved in giving each object its distinct shape. And so I just HAVE to love 3-dees, because 3d is always better, and it’s a clever name, too. Even the sticker is astounded, and usually it takes nothing less than successful completion of first grade math worksheets to impress them.
WHOA BAN MICROSOFT SILVERLIGHT LETS ME TURN THE WINDOW SIDEWAYEEEZ!!!
It can also translate any script into cuneiform.
The first thing to observe about 2 dollar buck choc is that it does indeed cost exactly two dollars. Years of deceptive advertising practices have made this seem to mysteriously come out cheaper than the $1.99 Symphony bar. Or perhaps this relates to the Buck Choc being fourteen ounces and the Symphony being four ounces, down from six ounces at the same price several weeks prior. But that is of minimal significance because I did not get to eat the Symphony bar. I decided to save the superior candy for later. When I had finished with the Buck Choc I placed the Symphony in my refrigeration unit, not realizing it would be another week before I had any appetite for anything remotely chocolately, by which point an unseen force had visited and abducted the item. I wish I had put the Buck Choc there first, because then not only would I have had less buck choc to eat later, this would undoubtedly be a good defense against future chocolate heists.
It was quickly pointed out to me that the company, Palmer, is the one responsible for much of the low quality seasonal candy which would have little chance of being purchased without some sort of gimmicky sense of urgency to appeal to someone other than that who would consume it. No kid with its parents’ dollars is going into a candy store and buying QuAX “the hollow milk flavored” The Yummy Ducky when there are Cadbury eggs available. Sadly, kids these days have little appreciation for molding expertise. Someone should tell them that most of Palmer’s Easter candy is kosher.
That anonym thing on the link is probably unnecessary, but I thrive on the unnecessary.
If you’ve ever received some of this at Halloween you know who to blame. The world makes just a tad more sense when you realize the same creative force came up with the idea to wrap budget Hanukkah gelt eight different ways throughout the year to keep kids from catching on as Buck Choc.
Although I must confess a bit of fondness for the 1960s design aesthetic on the individual pieces, this seems unlikely to be a conscious marketing decision and more probably a result of a product being introduced in the 1960s and Palmer never hiring anybody to update the packaging.
Much like the famous MILK DUDs, one of several hershey products no longer legally permitted but that allegedly were at one point to call themselves chocolate, reformulated to cut costs, because unlike symphony they weren’t big enough that two ounces could be brazenly chopped off and still leave something resembling a finished product, no legimitate claim of chocolate is made on the Buck Choc label, though “chocolaty” and of course “choc” are both present.
Which is fine with me since the difference between “choclate” and “chocolate flavored” is not quite so garish as I would have expected, ingredient-sounding wise. Because to me it is the “milk” which is most repulsive, so the more that is replaced with chemistry terminology the better I like it, just regarding the label. It only seems bad when your sole experience with non-chocolate comes in buck form. I have yet to taste this modern make of confection perpetrated by a company with any trace of a reputation to uphold. The fact that “doublecrisp” is evidently a registered trademark in the chocolate-not-mentioning field doesn’t mean anybody wants to rip it off.
Ordinarily I would not eat a thing I saw that looked that bad, with labelling that bad (another effect of firing your entire art staff in the 1960s is that whatever you produce in the future gets no art). But I just liked saying Buck Choc so much. It seemed so special, so otherworldy. Like it wanted to take me to a better place, both spiritually and in my own mind (those are different things, right?). Some people find Jesus, I found Buck Choc, despite its superior hiding skills. Jesus expects me to put 10 dollars in a basket in exchange for an hour in an arcane, depressing place. Buck Choc wants two dollars for Buck Choc. This concept was easier for me to grasp. Now older and wiser, I stick by the decision, reasoning that no god as just and all-knowing as the one told of in Catholic lore would allow Buck Choc to exist.
Day two:
Buck Choc is good for compulsive eaters because you can thoughtlessly bite at it for a long time without having to worry about replacing it. I had this next to me for several hours and didn’t even get past the 2. It will last much longer than a box of cheerios and tastes about the same. As the box. Although Cheerios have one eleventh the fat and contain actual nutritive ingredients, no official documentation is provided for the box. Also, there are some influential troublemakers who insist that cheerios thinks it is a drug. Nobody ever got addicted to Buck Choc.
A better comparison might be to a Hungry Man XXL dinner, a whole pound of sodium men (bucks) love. It’s possible they see the same chemist. They have many preservatives in common. Buck Choc is to candy what bagged black chicken nuggets at a Walgreens is to candy.
Day three:
Something is not right here. I must have eaten about half the bar yesterday. And yet observe that at this stage it is still almost as big as a dinosaur. But I can’t give up now. I’d be a buck chump. It is my destiny to be a buck champ.
Day four:
I forgot to take a picture of it before I started eating it. I believe I was down to the “last” nine squares, however. Rather a big step as it was now quite smaller than a bear. By this point it was down to about the size of a regular chocolate bar, only just big enough to poison a dragon with. But oh, ouch! What has caused my mysterious neck pain these past few days? There was only one major change in my life recently; choc it up to buck choc.
Day five:
Still not done. But there is less than there was. It has begun to collect dust.
And now it is done.
Arrr, somebody’s plundered me buck choc! You don’t need a telescope to see that. In fact, using a telescope at close range surely impedes your vision. Boya, has that recent largely publicized incident regarding modern day pirates, which actually have been making news for a couple of years, finally put a stop to twerps thinking themselves witty and clever by taking facetiously strong stances on the issue of pirates v ninjas? Ninjas are trained for battle. Pirates are just thugs on ships. I don’t see why there would be a question of which would “win in a fight.” You might as well put Zulu warriors against kids with spray paint or the Capital One ad vikings against actual vikings. A better contest would be which could survive longest on a diet consisting solely of Buck Choc and the Walgreens store brand Vitamin Water imitation the cashier, sensing I lived dangerously, asked me if I wanted to purchase, that a helpful sign informed me I would get free if the cashier forgot to mention it. Jeepers, thanks a lot, guy.
In summation, I ate Buck Choc and took pictures of it. In conclusion, this is the end.
Next time: the further adventures of Dude, da’ world’s most totally awesome chocolate transsexual Bunny.
“Zak Efron… is he one of the Jonas Brothers?” – an actual thought I had. Is my senility escalating or is that merely a logical conclusion?
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
I realize this page update is late, but I had to go to church.
“Church” being the name of my new fancy toilet. Excuse me, did you really think I was done posting pictures taken inside restrooms? This is a task that is bigger than any of us. If we really want to make progress, we should all be doing it. But I’m not about to start making decrees. I never fancied myself a leader.
Now there’s a the work of an authoritative figure. But I think you might be missing some key consonants up there. Possibly punctuation, as well. And how about a “please?” If you please. I’m sure somebody somewhere would be willing to trade you an S for one of your surplus Ls.
Is this necessary? I suggest to you that it is not. That’s right, you read it on bimshwel first: sometimes internet advertising is less than tasteful. I’m sure this has been an eye-opening revelation for you. Also less than tasteful: barf.
If it’s “updating their myspace pages” then I think I can pass. If they were actually my friends and actually wanted me to know something, they would tell me and I would not have to visit my space at all. I realize this material is weak, I have to unload the rest of the myspace stuff now so I don’t fall further behind in hoarding twitter jokes.
I’ve come far enough to know that even if a nonsentient domain hyphen title wanted to be my friend, if it was that one it would be time for me to give up life. But sometimes myspace people change their names for the purpose of some joke and I am well accustomed to not getting other people’s subtle jokes on the internet, so I retained a scant amount of optimism, a full year after every person I’ve ever met switched to Face Book to do the exact same non-things, except they couldn’t embed java applets, fifty youtube videos and translucent animated gif butterflies, which was fine with me.
What kind of a friends invite others to watch cnn over the internet? Meaningless, in-name-only facebook friends. Friends with as much weight behind them as that utterly unnecessary RSVP in there. Why can’t we get a new word for that, or merely spell it “ahresveepy?” That’s all people think of it as. Or we could write out “confirm your attendance,” what we actually mean, what is much more clear than empty, precocious misused abbreviated French. There is no sensible reason to prolong a tradition like this. I won’t even accept that on an invitation to a birth-day party (yes, I got one once). It’s outright offensive regarding some mopey facebook non-party non-gathering to do some thing that I could do just as easily by connecting to any station on my television system without stating my intention to do so. Get out from my business s’il vous plait (and even if vous don’t).
It is one thing to be vulgar, and it is one more thing to take Thumbelina’s name in vain, but my e-mail robots sure are getting abusive. It was nothing less than cruel to exploit my well known interest in arranging a Chernobyl summer getaway to get me to read the message. And then it dared reference 83, the suspected year of the Battle of Mons Graupius, in which 10000 of my irregular Caledonian forebears were slaughtered by more disciplined Roman forces despite greatly outnumbering them. Yeah, it’s still too soon, Lagory Corter! Why can’t you be more like my best buddy ol’ pal Ruby? (I call him Ruby instead of Rubert now because we are chums)
Evidently Chef Boiardi’s head was placed on a label at that position so that poltergeist gauntlets could force it to play a flute much too large for it in an advertisement for the Great American Can Sale at the store “Big Y.” Note that even though the store is called Big Y we don’t actually know. Much less the details regarding the flute debacle. It was a disgrace ones who could help tended not to notice, alas, what with that heathen can of Folger’s Crystals hoisting that flag whose name it has so disparaged, whose traditional moral values it has worked so tirelessly to twist and corrupt:
There’s a reason Folger doesn’t appear on his own cans! The scamp! Don’t you know there are kids who watch that stuff! Do you know what happens when kids drink coffee? They look precocious, that’s what! The best part of waking up is not 5 year olds who can memorize stuff in my cup!
Anyway, back to church. Tonight is the Saint Nunzio and Blessed Associates annual gold chain awareness Ziti Dinner.
Note to event planning committee staff member persons: toilets do not make good dinner tables.
I was busy on Sunday. Nobody’s sure what I did the last two days. Not this, evidently.
===================================================
Is the exclusive McGraw fragrance truly popular or did Walmart just only order one bottle? And why is it in a box? First wine, now this. Is that some Real America market rule that all “sophisticated” items must come in boxes?
Feminine Arousal Fluid also comes from a box. “And so will you” is the official slogan, I hear.
I reckon these are equally compelling reading material.
I dare suggest that is the absolute worst mood to teach peace in.
Other development:
My inability to recall the exact context in which I saw and saved this is rather stressful, I must say.
I just realized [three months ago] that there are people who were borned IN the 1970S who aren’t thirty years old yet. That astounds me for some reason. All my life, the disco decade had seemed totally beyond accessibility and yet for some time now I have shared a first digit with people who experienced part of it. That gives me at least four more years before I’m totally outdated.
What’s the deal with Jim Carrey being in movies where he has magical powers or is enchanted in some way? First he couldn’t lie, and now he can’t say no. And remember that time he found the magic theater mask that made him turn into rubber, and then a few years later he just went full God? And I definitely recall reports roundabout the turn of the century of Mr. Carrey “becoming” Andy Kaufman, a task simply not possible within any realm of logic as the non-wizardly mortals among us who are logical know it. All this, despite being, according to popular wisdom, dumber than dumb, which, with such unchecked powers, would only make him more dangerous. Somebody needs to watch this guy.
Well, you are kind of in the Bat-Mobile. Also, I imagine your driving becomes conspicuously erratic while you’re writing in your notebook. Tearing off each note as you write it seems to me like it could only make your trail easier to follow.
E-cards are SUPPOSED to be free. Does anyone pay for them? Does anyone even still use them? I don’t think I’ve received one in eight years. To put that in perspective, there are actually people who give me greeting cards.
It seems to me that the first rule is the best value. I’m not entirely sure on the math but the nine additional rules seem to only get you about 2.4 times as much weight loss. Which is still pretty good, but man, do I really have time for 10 whole rules? Especially if I’m an idiot? Idiot seems so much more serious and harsh than dummy.
I bet I’m smart enough to not take dares from stupid banner ads.
Seriously, why should I even bother if it’s so hard that the guy in the picture got zero percent correct? And it’s harsh in its reprimands: the notification occupies an entire screen. I don’t know if I can handle that much abuse. The man is so ashamed he dare not look directly at the monitor for fear it might read the regret and take the opportunity to dispatch more wrath. you know the thing is a sadistic machine, for it persists in its persecution despite not being plugged in. My intelligence may not be that of a supreme machine but I know enough to not enter into a wager with one.
Murder yellow teeth: the worst kind of yellow teeth!
Why don’t the Secret Dentists want me to know about Teeth Whitening, the only hero believed to be a match for the Murder Yellow Teeth in combat? My life could be in danger! What’s in this for those dentists? Do they work for the Dumb Test 12000 master computer? Is this a plot to keep people from correcting teeth yellowness so that malevolent machination can make fun of them? We cannot afford to show weakness! We must get ourselves in contact with the mysterious anonymous individual who sponsored this awareness! We must band together! We must
I COMPUTER! I MAKE LINK! I TRICK YOU INTO THINK YOU HAVE CHANCE! NO HAVE CHANCE ACTUALLY! YOU NO MATCH MY TEST ME SMART! YOU DUMB NO DO TEST GOOD CAN! COMPUTER WIN MAXIMUM ALWAYS! BEEP BOOP BLIP BLOOP BOP, I SAY! ALSO WHY YOU GOT SUCH YELLOW TEETH?
Pazuzu.
I like writing about junk I see in stores because I can stop and resume at any point. I can feature one item and be done with it. And so here are four.
As if the documented incident in which he ordered the production of choco donuts
was not adequate, here now is further proof that Captain Crunch is senile. First: I refer you to the image above. I assume his ability to wear his hat behind his eyes is a result of an accident at sea and more likely a contributing factor to than a result of the senility itself. Second, he has ordered himself to crunchatize himself. Even if we accept that “crunchatize” is a thing which can be done, which should be done, and that his Crunchness simply thinks aloud, it is a bit alarming that he feels the need to address himself so formally, and while saluting, possibly at a mirror. Also, I fear crunchatization is an irreversible process. Shouldn’t a senior, veteran officer like the captain delegate this responsibility to an expendable subordinate but who additionally is more likely to be able to handle it? I don’t mean to be callous, but in the military the proper functioning of the whole takes precedence over the needs of individuals. Living with a botched crunchatization is probably better than serving in Iraq forever anyway.
If you have worms in your diapers, even blatantly inaccurate worms, there are bigger problems going on than wetness. Even if they are low-priced worm diapers. Also, you might want to consider clothing to go over the diaper. Just a thought. Stop & Shop is not the furry art pile.
Your ignorant and hateful misconceptions about their lifestyle are uncalled for all the same.
But yes, unless your child is an Orca Stacker you should be able to fit proper clothing onto it.
Barney [and friends]’s television program and related productions can be described by many words, but scholastic ought not to be one of them. Maybe “doporific” or “lobotomaniacal” or “dumbelievable” or whatever word you might describe my invoking of this fifteen year old line of protest with. Also, the way they draw Barney’s mouth is totally wrong. And how did Barney get that cord around his fat head? And that sailboat probably shouldn’t be as big as the barn unless it’s a 16th century sea-going vessel or some such thing. And if it is, having crossed the boundaries of time and logic presumably as our protagonist has, the passengers’ behaviour upon disembarking to find native inhabitants the likes of Barney will surely be sub-decorum in nature. Bipedal pacifist dinosaurs with undeveloped reading skills are some of the most desirable slaves around. Fight back, Barney! Don’t let them steal your precious flaps!
It is a surprisingly effective offense with a surprisingly offensive effect.
Oh, and firefox 3, I don’t need this animated in my tab-table while I’m looking at other pages, thank you.
Yoderhunt.
How deep does WHAT go? And why is that man frowning? Do I have to stay overnight? I swear I don’t know how that got there!
Why is this the first result? It’s scandalous! People looking for information on cowabunga may not have time to seek out a second link!
You know what impresses no one? Saying “bling” at all, much less as a verb form of a fake noun derived from a fake verb. Yes, bling actually refers to bright light reflecting off of complicated jewelry. To bling one’s car one need merely drive past me when I’m in a restaurant and facing a window. All the time! I’m sick of it!
It sure is! And it sure was! Remember when everybody watched Heist? I almost did but luckily I saw this page that said it was the next big thing, so I decided to wait until it was the current big thing. I like big things when they are big.
You failed to remove all the multi-colored squares before your opponent. Crystal Tokyo is doomed.
Actually, I can’t even do that right.
No, really?
My problem isn’t the reporting of this story, just the wording, like “hey, guess what we just found out that you haven’t suspected since ever!” In factual, if this story hadn’t just been broken I would have gone on assuming it had been lying in pieces beside the end-table since early 2004 or earlier. You know, how every two months a new “study” completes claiming to have proven that eating lard out of a bucket makes people fat. “Oh, thank me, thank me! Look at this magnificent knowledge I have bestowed upon you!” like you’re Mr. Wizard enlightening the world to the wonders of potato-powered time-pieces. I get enough of that attitude from Microsoft Windows.
Guess wha: You’re supposed to recover from errors! Supposed? No, you’re not supposed to have errors at all! Certainly not serious errors. When you charge money for something and force it onto every compatible computer for sale in the entire nation that should be your way of saying that you’ve looked for errors and rectified them! And if the product’s scope is so grand that this is impossible, but you have provided functions which fix inconceivable errors as they occur, don’t get all braggy about it. Windows.
In other news, Michael Clarke Duncan: his name was ALMOST Michael Dunk Clarkin. I’m glad my name isn’t Dunk.
Whenever I hear about Amy Winehouse I always think of Amy Grindhouse and then I wonder if she has a gun-leg.
Everybody knows it’s the grindhouse gases causing global warming. Either that or steamy goings on at Wisteria Lane.
Do you want to know a great way to fully creep people out so they never talk to you again? I will tell you. If a mutual shaking of hands is initiated, continue it forever. This is even better if the other person leaned forward to be involved. I should disclaim, however, that you only ought to do this to people that you wish to never have talk to you again.
I don’t know why anyone’s surprised that Hillary Clinton still has not admitted her lack of winningness in regards to the democrat-presidential-candidate nomination.
It took her a year to even admit she was in the ‘race,’ after everyone told me she was, and then at some point she announced that she would announce she was doing it later.
I’m sure it’s a massive improvement over lunchables (what wouldn’t be?), but i still vow to call Oscar Mayer Deli Creations sandwich in-a-box. Go ahead, ask me what this is a picture of. I will not respond, because I can’t hear you. This plan needs work. I’d send it back to the drawing board had my plan to acquire a drawing board not also been sent back to it. I have some rough particle-board eh board resting on and partially hanging over a potentially K-Mart desk someone else was planning to throw away.
Also, I spent several minutes looking for a picture I might have taken of my television showing an ad for Oscar Mayer Deli Creations. Apparently it’s very important to me that you get a 512×384 blurry picture of that with lines going through it.
I am terribly bothered by a name like Gamefly when its competition is the Gametap.
I have to like that Game-trouser-fastening-section slogan, though. Why even bother printing it anywhere? It’s useless. It’d be like if you had a store named food bag and its slogan was ‘ready to put food in bag.’ Ulk, you never listen.
The reason scout leaders are creepy is because these days creepy men are the only ones with Survival skills. On that topic, is it odd if I like Dwight Schrute the character but find Rainn Wilson himself kind of off-putting?
People shouldn’t say “no pun intended” …ever, less when they intend puns. Ooh, apparently Mr. Maddox has scooped me by some days. Potatar, four updates a year and one of them has to bite in on my bumble beef. What am I supposed to do, only post eleven gripelets today?
Why is there half and half but no third, third and third? I demand smaller fractions in the coffee flavorings I don’t use in the coffee I don’t drink!
Maybe my ears wouldn’t be deaf if you’d not let stuff keep falling on them.
When did detroit become dee-troit?
If heroin is a lethal drug to be dealing with, shouldn’t even an amount ingested which does not kill someone still be considered an overdose?
Revenge is a dish best served in a styrofoam tray. If you don’t have one, a plastic Darth Vader mask will suffice.
Every kiss begins with K. But so does every kumquat.
It’s not us versus them. It is me versus a wide assortment of thems.
I say, old fruit, will your chum be along soon? It really is getting on for time. This fellow, is he a reliable sort, what?
Oh, jolly good.
Oh, gee, shanksh for the head-ups too late to stop me from reading the ending! I might as well not even watch now! Imdb staff really ought to change the screening policy!
Zounds! And I’d never have guessed his secret identity, but now I’ve been denied the opportunity to try altogether!
Is anyone still fooled by these? With dithered title-bar colors and a windows 95 logo? Windows 95 couldn’t even do the title-bar color shifting! That was Windows 98! Oh ho! And my critique is not finished! Hey, the last computer I had which ran typically in 256 color mode wouldn’t have been able to fit this ad on its screen at all, much less connect directly to the internet, because that was in 1994, in a yet earlier version of Windows, and this sort of sinistry wasn’t yet so common that people no longer thought to be disgusted by it! And real message boxes certainly don’t jump around! Arrrgh! This ad is utterly illogical! Everything about it is stupid and thoughtless! Why is my winning designated by an angry red x-circle? And shouldn’t the visitor after 999,999 be the winner? Why is there a maximize button on this ad? Doesn’t anyone pay attention to their craft? Is this the job you get if you don’t?
Sprite comics sold out! I’m only surprised this didn’t happen sooner. We’ve been getting ads intentionally designed to resemble cheap, hacky flash cartoons for years. I find it peculiar that the designer of this used the Sonic Hedgehog 2 first level as backdrop but Sonic Advance character images. I presume the older graphics were instantly obvious as more inventive and appealing, yet it was generally accepted that the post megadrive gangle-legged Sonic characters are 300% whorier than the originals (in any conceivable sense I may have meant that), and thus better suited for selling dopey telephones that they, as stupid naked animals would never be in position to purchase, much less afford. In fact I have it on good authority that at any sign of modern technology their first instinct is to assume a ball shape and bash themselves against it until it explodes. Surely they resent having such disablingly enormous heads as to make such tiny little telephones entirely dysfunctional. Cantinflas, even at sensible proportions they’d be out of luck with their ears in such ridiculous places. And you can forget about “texting” (please) with those giant Disney World gloves.
As for why this pair are out of scale with their surroundings, rather than referring back to the previous item’s point that the people who design internet ads surely have histories of indolent failure, this probably just happened incidentally and wasn’t expected to be noticed by anyone. I noticed! Ha ha!
Coward! Who told you my one weakness is having it suggested that my name is Phineas? I was so upset that I fell down a staircase and re-broke my leg! You win this round, shrubswine! As soon as I have my surgery I will also have my revenge!
Ehhh.
I once read a book (you’re surprised, I know), “Possible Side Effects,” wrote by some person who worked in advertising, which he didn’t seem to regret at all. It was sort of an annoying book because none of the stories had endings and very few were funny. You might wonder what my problem was with it then, and that is simply that I resent my competition.
Augusten Burroughs is good at setting up stories that either don’t happen or that he doesn’t tell. Part of the problem, my problem, may be that when I read a book I expect continuity, plot and relevance, not biographical website entries which don’t exist for any especial reason. Because I can get those for free. Also, the chapters did not refer to each other’s events, even though themes and “characters” recurred. That would be fine if the tales were almost-told in chronological order (rather than chronoridiculous order) or at least datemarked, but they aren’t. It’s frustrating. If the book was as funny as the back cover insisted it was I wouldn’t mind the pointlessness of it all. Oh, how I minded!
On an occasion which occurred prior to me reading that book, I witnessed a play about something or other. I found it mildly amusing, but I ended up resenting it because the entire time I heard some loof nearly choking to death behind me, constantly, presumably attempting to laugh. And then afterwards I heard the producing folk going on and on about how it was the greatest script they ever sawed and how they knew they had to stage it immediately. This, naturally, makes me suspicious of anyone who reads what I write. No! Stop! Why are you here? This is bad! If you like it you’re stupid! Leave me here to die alone!
But anywaw, at one point the writer of the book was hired by the Junior Mint company to write an advertisement which would bring consumers across what the businessites had labeled “the mint threshold.” Supposedly people would eat Junior Mints during films, in theaters, but rarely at any other time in any other place. As someone who has done that, I must say that the idea is still almost right. Every so frequently I’ll crave Junior Mints unexpectedly yet specifically, but I will get tired of them easily and mysteriously. This also has little to do with their tendency to merge together inside the box before I’m ready to deal with them. Yes, it’s possible I’ll want them when I buy them, but by the time of the first opportunity I have to eat them I may no longer want to. When the urge returns, I will have surely stepped on the box or left it in such a place where though I could not have stepped on it, its contents will have melted from heat/spite. I cannot put the box in a refrigerator because someone else without my astounding powers of candy self-restraint will eat the things immediately and probably not like them too much. And I don’t even mean another resident. Crimbims off the street just walk into my home and steal candy out of my refrigerator. Mine is a tragic, stupid existence.
This happens just about every time I try and eat Junior Mints. They are so mushy and decrepit, you might as well call them senior mints. Ha ha, ugh, dishonor to ancestors.
I shouldn’t have to perform surgery to get at my candy!…………?
I thought this all would be a lot more interesting. You deserve an apology. Is it not such a shame then, that I’m not going to grant you one? This is probably better than talking about legs again.
NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
Only Superman can save me now!
Eh, close enough. Thank youf, Superboy! Your quick thinking has saved the day! Yes, that will do. You go off and have a good time with your friends now and buy Mon-El a milkshake for me. I’ll clean up here. The legs cannot hurt anyone anymore.
OH SNAW! THE CRUEL WICKED LARVAE OF THE LEGS SEEK REVENGE ON BEHALF OF THEIR SLAIN QUEEN, WHILE SUPERBOY AND THE OTHER LEGION MEMEBERS HAVE A SWINGIN’ OLD TIME DOWN AT THE SOCK HOP! IS THIS THE END FOR OUR HERO, THAT BEING ME?
No! Apparently I’m some foolish yella animal! This will not do! My only chance is to wear the leggings into submission! If someone is reading this it will mean that I have failed.
This is that which wasn’t good enough for last time. Now there is none left. Yet still I do hunger.
Why are meals with vegetables and meat always named after the meat portion? If something is named after a non-meat, vegetable lasagne, for instance, you can usually assume safely that there is no meat in it. Is it really fair, then, that, if I want a chicken sandwich it still might have vegetables or worse on it? Mayonnaise is not meat or vegetable, and it is also not good at all. It is worse than both, yet harder to get away from once it finds me. It hides, it exempts iitself from The Menu, and it changes its name sometimes. It can say it’s ranch dressing, but I know the truth.
I hate when people imitating music with their voices interpret all notes as the syllable “bom.” And in comics it’s always “dum de dum” I don’t do that! Dehs, rorms, mahms and youihhhs must be utilized to get the most from one’s vocal capabilities.
I keep my bases covered to protect them from airstrikes.
It was an unhealthy relationship. We ate lots of bacon and drank Clorox together.
I’m often amazed at the tolerance some people have for themselves.
Pudding is made of puppies!
Ohhh me and my big font.
If nothing else, I want to provide an amusing autopsy. THERE’s a job where you’re set for life. And death. Urg.
I have much sympathy for people whose upbringing doesn’t allow them to get the amusement I do from corn with a k.
I refuse to call rappish recordings “hip hop” until they start incorporating more rabbits or kangaroos. Even then, I still will not listen to “the Kangaroo Hop.” I’ve just looked and evidently there’s more than one “The Kangaroo Hop.” I hate both. If you could make beer with kangaroo hops, I probably wouldn’t drink it. Hops in general are bad news.
I hate when someone on television sees another person aiming a gun and says “what, you’re gonna shoot me? Go on, shoot me!” No one would really say that, and no one with a gun would really not shoot upon hearing that. If I said that, I would be shot. I may be shot anyway.
When I see sports coverage, it’s no exaggeration to say that if these people had been showing me the exact same “guy throwing ball at other guy” footage for the past 20 years, I wouldn’t know it. How much cheaper would film equipment be if there wasn’t so much used exclusively for filming hours and hours of identical movements? Each day?
I remember when i first started hearing about Dame Cook I hated him. Then I didnt hate him for a while. Now (I reckon this was from May 2006 or thereabouts) he’s doing talk show tours again and I hate him again. Pretty much anyone who goes on television and mentions “myspace” just to get a cheap pop from the audience probably needs to be punched in the nose, or at least sternly poked.
Hey, myspace: Making things harder for people who don’t rape isn’t going to stop rapes. Just as limiting program capabilities and making all documentation condescending didn’t stop dumb people from breaking their computers or pirating software. You only make worthy users hate you. You might argue that with limited program capabilities one would actually need to be smarter to pirate software, but go to one of those websites and tell me whoever made it isn’t a complete degenerate moron. I dare say a hacker’s hacking skill is inversely proportional to one’s abilities in all other areas of existence. You might similarly argue that there is no such thing as a noble MySpace user. That is a problem: in most people the gland that makes desire to want a myspace account is genetically tied to being dumb enough to get raped through the internet tubes.
The only thing that will stop dumb kids from getting raped is those kids getting less dumb. But instead of educating them you just hassle them about their age to swat legal liabilities off yourself. If they can have been hearing about people getting abducted over internet relationships for years and still think they’ve found “true love” within a couple trivial exchanges and fake pictures, then they must be idiots. Fools need to realize that even in the best, rarest circumstances the results will be horribly bad.
Unfortunately, the Concerned Parents of America force MySpace to do something. They leave it no choice. It, itself knows the changes cannot possibly help. It realizes it will come to a point where the only thing it can do is write up confusing “agreements” which no one will ever read, like every other maker of products people hurt themselves with.
unusable rubbish:
I’m not impressed that you can play an instrument if you choose bad music to play on it. I refuse to clap for some whiny guitar dork on a stool who just moans at me. I don’t even clap for music I like. It’s probably not normal to applaud a television set anyhow. Not that a whole lot of music I like comes through it, but if some did, I would not congratulate it. Times are tough.
Bare Nakedladies are like the Canadian Smash Mouth.
Acupuncture is too weak. We need stabyoupuncture.
They might be giants: are they or aren’t they? Why do we still not know?! They’ve been making annoying songs for I’m told over twenty years and we don’t know how tall they are yet.
The plight of the post-madonna is largely ignored in this country
Why “soccer moms?” Everyone needs a beating for saying that. I will not recommend “sock-her moms” because most of the fools who use that phrase are men and people usually don’t follow my advice.
Why hasn’t anyone ever tried to make a really big cupcake?
We don’t hear enough about self-deprecating failures. I don’t give a boot if Hidey Kloom used to be ugly or if Justin Timbermcdaniel doesn’t have to “try” to have a hit song. What about the people who still are ugly, what about the people who try every single day and never get acknowledged? Famous persons’ lack of effort and past minor issues don’t make me like them any better. I may find a way to like them less if they keep bragging about it.
That thing cats do to clean themselves is really gross.
I hate those oranges that are so soft that it’s impossible to deskin them without squeezing lots of wet stuff out of them, and then by the time I go to eat it, most of the juice has escaped captivity. What are those called… you know, the green and brown ones. I hate those.
Why should I buy now while supplies last? If it’s going to sell out anyway, why do they care whether I have one or don’t?
I know toilet paper like I know the back of my hand. But which hand side is the back?
The best place for men to pick up women is the moon.
Gold fish do not want peace; they believe they are the master race
When I see most white people, I want to hit them. When I see most black people, I’m afraid they’ll hit me. It’s a balanced system.
Critics love movies in which people get married or violate their wedding vows.
You need certification to teach as a teacher, but anyone is permitted to spread misinformation. Or so I hear.
The only time I’m ever likely to cite “it’s in my blood” is if I get sick from mercury poisoning.
Have you ever noticed how much often sounds like “dolphin?” Can you imagine if every time someone meant often it came out as “dolphin?” Crazy. Why yes, I dolphin go to the bakery. Here in Detroit, we dolphin blame black people for our problems. Myspace users dolphin engage in child molestation. Even when near-sleep I knew this was terribly retarded and not all that likely to produce usable material. This is, however, the closest I’ve yet come to figuring out why people started saying “off-ten” about ten years ago.