Comments made toward my 2015 summary:
of course I celebrated the same way I always do, with an evening at the theatre.
I think it goes without saying that I am quite depressed!
SHUT YOUR BEAK, BIRD!
2015 in pictures
Ordinarily I post this on the last night of the year. This time I did it on the first night of the next year to give people the chance to recover from my explosive shop rite reporting. Undoubtedly future historians will regard that as the story which defined 2015 so the literal definition of the overall year was less urgent. Nonetheless it must be delivered.
january
february
March
April
may
june
july
august
september
October
November
December
Usually I would say that is everything that happened that year, but I concede that nothing happened at all in a few of those months, and I wish that yet less had happened than that!
Excuse me shouldn’t there be a spoiler alert in that ad? You have already told me that Frosty survives the first movie! Imagine watching Star Wars if you knew in advance that the Empire was going to Strike Back.
Everyone’s favorite snowman. I think that’s supposed to be Frosty also. But now that you mention it, I don’t know a whole lot of snow-men.
Ones that are eligible to be my favorite, I mean. Between this and the
creepy cartoon frog “Kandoo” that wipes itself in front of your children we as a nation have enough uninvited smilers sharing this space with us.
Okay buddy the facial expression was actually beside the point and in fact you are making this worse.
Back to snow-men, I used to not like them at all, but then I found out that Battletoads hated them and I decided they might be doing something right. Kandoo of course grew up to be a battle toad.
For favorite snowman I did consider Parson Brown, but I remembered I was only pretending that was who it was.
The only other one that comes immediately to my mind is Bad Mr. Frosty, presumably of no relation to regular “Mr. Frosty is my father” Frosty. But he is no good and is not my favorite. He is almost as bad as a bad-tle toad, despite them declaring genocide on his species. He is a traitor through and through. My source informs me that Bad Mr. Frosty’s buttons and facial features are made not from coal but from leftover Shop Rite logo pieces.
You know, those old stories about Santa Claus giving coal to naughty children are a lie. Coal was a valuable commodity in days of yore. You couldn’t heat your cold Victorian hovel without it. Shop Rite pieces are only good for bad. They will burn your house down without generating any warmth. Fire is a neutral force of nature, but the Shop Rite logo means to harm you, have no doubt. Consider that only the “hop ri” part of the logo is underlined. It deliberately omits S t and e just as an affront to notorious video game artist Ste Pickford. When Shop Rite is around nobody else is allowed to spell their name weird.
Or perhaps it holds a grudge since Ste-drawn Kuros was, historically, the first person to ever get kicked out of a Shop Rite.
part 1 of this investigative series on shop rite
part 3 and I’m not saying that twice
Hey ya’ll, it’s me, boo berry. so I wanna tell you about my cereal? It’s like MADE with boo berries, even though I AM Boo Berry? uh-huhhhhh… yeahhh….. just picture this, ok, like, I’m a GHOST, though, uhkay. I like, ate this stuff, for a long time? And now I’m DEAD????!?!? SOOOOOOOOO….. but trust me, it’s GOOD?????!?!? Like REALLY good????????? like better than FRANKENBERRY even??? If I EAT this stuff where does it GO idk lol XD Check it out, my body is see-through, but not my mouth, even though my mouth is a HOLE. Anyway, this is the perfect cereal for halloween, so like… no seriously that was last week? my bad lol. And these are fruit roll-ups BASED on the cereal? Blowin’ my mind, dude. I guess the fruit in question is uh cereal. Or boo berries I guess. Hey speaking of ROLLING UP… heh heh heh. You can just call me Doobie-rry heh heh. Hey where do you think boo berries come from? Are they also, like, the ghosts of berries? But if you like, made the berry ghosts come out of the berry bodies when you ate the berries, what happens when you eat the GHOST berries? Do they have like GHOST ghost berries? You’re seriously freaking me out, man! I gotta get out of here.
I will watch the newest Star Wars film, but I will not watch any trailers for it, however hard or frequently ABC World News tries to trick me into receiving promotion for it immediately before Jeopardy by pretending ads for their parent company’s other properties count as World News. And if during the film I hear the words “viceroy,” “senate” or “files,” as in “only a jedi could have erased those files,” I shall plug my ears during dialog and imagine my own story.
And above all, have FUN.
There is much more to say about this image! I will work hard to keep myself from doing so!
Nonetheless, that bowl has shown no intention of ending. In honor of this, I continue my annual tradition of not going to Olive Garden.
And I say that as somebody who has agreed to go to Chip’s Pub, the restaurant with this menu, on numerous occasions. It is not as if I have standards. Honestly I can’t be waiting around for that bowl to end all day.
This is beside the point, but I was certain I put this on a page years ago, since it is important to me, but I could not find it, even though I posted a different complaint on the topic after realizing it:
At the conclusion of the Disney Aladdin animated feature film, the short fat nameless man rhetorically asks “am I sultan or am I sultan?” In fact, he may be unsure because he isn’t sultan: Jaffar is the sultan. Jafar used the Genie’s power to become so earlier. Nobody ever unwished Jaffar from being sultan. Likewise, Aladdin is really a prince.
Even lurking creepily
and without fingernails, he is a prince, and therefore outranks the jobless dwarf who formerly was sultan, and does not need any rule changed, nor to wish to be made a prince again. The inbreeding that led to his nailless fingers suggests legitimate royal ancestry, besides. And ironically, Aladdin no longer needs to be a prince to marry Jasmine anyway since her way-too-old-to-have-a-teenage-daughter-father is no longer sultan. The genie is just trying to con Aladdin into making a non-wish to make up for the earlier free wish he accidentally granted, because the rules are all in his mind and he cannot mentally handle an inaccurate wish-count, but he can’t admit it because nobody believes he REALLY suffers that badly and could easily stop if he wanted to, and would even point to the earlier event as “proof.” Judgemental privileged non-immortal scumbags.
We never find out the blue genie’s name, either. After Jaffar wishes to be a genie, he continues to be known as Jafar. Unless the blue one was actually named “Genie” prior to becoming one, this doesn’t make sense, and it is rather dehumanizing for the people around him to continue referring to him exclusively as his race. It is like my father watching dumb vote-off shows and referring to the deeds of “the black guy.” Perhaps the genie forgot his old name after “ten thousand years.” But not the weird rules he made up that no other being has the power to hold him to. And after being freed, he legally no longer is a genie, since Jafar, merely through wishing to be a genie, was automatically imprisoned. Prisoner status is inextricably tied to genie status. A freed genie is a geNO. One can still grant wishes, but only if you wish for pizza rolls.
Thankfully, you don’t have to wish for indigestion!
Following from there:
In this morning’s New Haven Register newspaper can be discovered another triumph of my print-ready-file-sending intuition! The painting I am exhibiting was not finished/started at the time when I registered, so instead of that, for my designated 300×300 pixel representation I sent a segment of Cholesteronslaught, one of my historically least hated pictures.
Come see my sickly-colored amorphous blobs at city-wide open studios in New Haven next week-end!
Continued there.
Mum, Peepaw, I know you don’t want to hear this, but… I’m Amy Schumer. Thank you, Ment Weekly magazine at my doctor’s office (oddly enough not in the waiting room), for giving me the strength to come out. Now I am Schuming up a schume-storm over schmere.
And thank you, doctor office pamphlets, for letting me know that other depressed people are happy and photogenic, just like me.
Although in 2015, I think it is disgraceful that we have seven Saw movies, four iPhone 6es, 700 colors of Gatorade, but still only two types of diabetes. If you elect me, Amy Schumer, for comptroller, I pledge we will have Eight different Diabeti by the end of my term.
I finally did it! For the first time since 2012, the cap is BACK ON my ancient tube of Utrecht Ultramarine Blue.
So see you in 2018, Winton Naples Yellow Hue.
What I like best about oil paint: it does not mind if I am a slob. To use acrylic paint I would need “discipline” or “some idea what I was doing.” I have had the same oil tubes since 2010, and they still dispense functional pigment goop, whereas my acrylic tubes dry out completely after two uses on average, since a single mishandled re-capping can destroy it by the time I take the thing out again. Of course the oil paint costs six times as much and is probably giving me respiratory diseases, but I get to die doing something I would love if I were better at it.
This is where the tragic happens this time around.
The painting is an urk in progress.
I thought it was pretty sad until I looked back to 2011 and remembered where the last tragic happened.
Although that seemed to work. Maybe I have gone soft. Maybe I need more lethal paint and less ergonomically reasonable, department of sanitationable conditions.
This is continued roundabout there.
Gosh I hope Stephen Colbert is going to do a totally unremarkable dork wearing suit at desk with a house band and celebrity guests show so I do not make myself watch it. I do not have time to want to. I do not want to drop everything at 11:30pm to deal with it five minutes later! And my internet is too wimpy to let me watch it later. It had better be bad bad bad.
The Kentucky Fried chicken company is evidently banking on the negative reception to its latest line of Colonels, just glad to be worthy of comment. Subway must heard about it and figured “we can do better.” In other news, Ronald McDonald has just joined Isis.
With that in mind, I retract my remarks from seven years ago regarding Jared Fogle; as a twenty-five year old I was probably too old to be spied on by him.
Likewise, referring to Fogle as a harmless former pornography mogul was erroneous on my part.
Why is a regular baseball hat considered fashionable outside of sporting contexts, but I never see any non-baseball-players casually wearing the reinforced plastic version? This is much better defense if somebody throws a pine cone at you trying to knock off your stupid hat.
Caitlin Jenner not getting 100% universal respect for a conspicuously public and expensive makeover, there is a tragedy worth taking to the streets over. I have my own jennder issues, and maybe I am sensitive about it, but I acknowledge that it is STRANGE and that there are things to laugh at there. Fribbity boppity everybody with a tv show was laughing at the guy’s ridiculous surgery before he announced he was a woman. Do not pretend you were behind this issue all the way if you weren’t, and do not pretend you are behind this issue now if a mangling of superficial body properties is a requirement for you to accept somebody’s mental state.
Also, this was originally midway through an uncomfortably large digression in that entry about the deaths of celebrities. Hopefully it will be slightly easier to read without this conspicuously not-relevant portion in it!
May 11 was once again bimshwel’s birthday. That is somewhat confusing since I have lately taken to allowing myself to be called bimshwel, and that is not my birth-day. I sold mine to cover ransom expenses. However, it was very close to mother’s day, and I am like this website’s mother. It gave me no honor on my day, and when I waited for its day, I decided it should also wait, hence a post on May 12. But then I could not find the pictures I needed, so I pushed it back to May 13. However, on May 13 I need to issue an education presentation on the subject of dopes at the debut of the world famous “Jess and Ian Show” (featuring Ian of Joey and Ian: Gettin’ Dead fame) in New Haven, so I brought this post back to May 12. All this time travel is wearing me out.
Legally, the website is thirteen years old. I remember when I turned 13, in 1996. The nintendo 64 ehhhntertainment system was just being released, and I became almost instantly disillusioned with and bored by 3d, and it never let up in the years since, thereby thoroughly cutting me off from about the only interest I up to that point shared with people my own age, concurrent with video games becoming the PRIMARY bonding medium for those people. And they act as if video games prior to the point when I started hating exist only as meritless kitsch to use in obnoxious breakfast cereal advertisements. I took a picture of some tacky “retro” pixel art being used to sell some surely appetizing packaged ingredient formation in a 7-11 a year ago and just now spent an hour searching for it, with no results. What misery! How could you treat your own mother like that! I would send you to your room, but I decided being vicariously lived-through by an abusive parent is punishment enough.