Howdy. I do not have local electricity at the moment! This prevents my computomatic from from participating in many tasks. While I borrow the electricity of others I foolishly neglected to bring my mouse, which prevents me from doing everything else!
==============================

Last.fm is yet another one of those websites with a stupid name that exists soley to collect personally identifiable information about users for the purpose of directing advertisements at them. Information which people gladly give up because it’s easier to get popular by liking stuff that already exists than by making your own stuff. So once I realized this site wasn’t getting me anywhere, I waited five years and got my own last.fm page. Naturally I can’t excell at last.fm either because the only stuff I like is stuff that nobody I like likes.

This then causes stuff that I don’t even like to like me.
Anyway last.fm is pertinent to whatever we decide is music. I considered putting a little gizmo from last.fm on this my page here which would show you whatever thing I had listened to most recently that lasty had agreed to acknowledge. However, as much as I’d love to impose my obtuse musical tastes on every person in the universe, it wouldn’t do ANYbody much good to know I was listening to “Stage 3” by “Sakamoto, Takenouchi, Fujio.” Fortunately, I am a compulsive wreck and it turns out that I enjoy having a sorted list of the noises I choose to hear. This also now means I will deliberately not listen to a specific piece by someone if I’ve statistically listened too often, if the site cannot count it at all due it being in an incompatible sound format, or I just don’t know who made it, and thus cannot label the file appropriately. So then I spend a considerable amount of time seeking out accurate titles and author data, and then reseeking them when I suddenly decide what I have “seems” wrong. It’s the most work I put into anything that nobody cares about if we exclude the webpage I wrote about Pac in Time.

Since the site content is largely determined by users, it takes on a few negative wikipedia similarities, such as asinine edit-revert battles and inconsequential gags interpreted as canonical fact.

Meanwhile, any of the 71,270 or so purported listeners who end up at this page will see this inexplicable fragment of your petty argument in the absence of actual information. Do you know what an accomplishment it is to make the site’s-point-missing totalitarian bonehead whose entire music collection is credited simply to “nintendo,” including an inestimable number of tracks named “Title Theme” seem sensible by comparison? (I think that you do not)

As it wasn’t fashionable to acknowledge video game staffs in 1987, Castlevania therefore contained joke credits. That the composer is listed as “James Banana” in the joke credits does not mean the real composer uses that as an alias or was ever actually known as that to anybody. After initially getting ornery at the intro line there I considered it may have been inserted facetiously and that I should feel bad for composing such an elaborate complaint without an alias, but a visit to the Videogame Music Database website, where I get most of my compulsion feeding data –my dealer, in effect–, reveals a lively argument over whether James Banana is an “alias” or a collaborative “unit.”

How can I trust you if you won’t even face me, coward!


If James Banana gets to be a unit then Green Stranger should be a module, Cafebar Read can be a cafe bar and Christopher Bee is a hatrack. The only unit I have time for is Unit 7 in my first grade math book because it has clocks in it.

I am going to keep talking about this.

By the presented logic, the game’s data must have formed over millions of years through a natural geotechnical process, because there are no artists or programmers in the credits at all, because the credits are 100% FAKE. In the breakthrough interview where Yamashita revealed that she didn’t create the ubiquitous “Vampire Killer” theme (maybe you should take a minute to let that sink in before continuing) and only seemed to have implied so in the past because like a normal person she doesn’t know what the “titles” of any video game music is, the inquisitor wastes time asking why she is credited as Jimmy Bans. Asks this before anything else, in fact.

The PROPER question would be “why aren’t you credited at all?” Or “why are you credited as James Banana when nobody else on the Konami staff was afforded a precious joke name? Was that a stipulation in your contract, that you get first pick of all the non-acknowledgement? Who do you think you ARE, anyway? Oh right, James Banana.” It appears that most of Yamashita’s online correspondence with Americans is from people trying to find out which specific songs she made, just so they can tag their mp3s properly because the only people I have anything in common with are embarrassing nerds.

NO YOU CANNOT BE MY FRIEND

Artists who collaborate on a project are different than either of them credited separately, and often just from themselves.

Jun Chikuma seems to be jealous of herself. Although to be fair the regular one did the music for Faxanadu whereas Chiki enjoys continual success rearranging the same 10 note tune in endless Bomberman titles. Both of these examples leave me surprised that the composer can play a flute. Perhaps she just likes to pose with it.

Faxanadu, incibiddly, has the only game music that I can play on my verizon telephone.

Yes I’ve been using computers for 18 years why do you ask?

I don’t mind last.fm converting my romanized japanese names into fancy symbols, but I don’t appreciate the green splat icon showing up every time I play one of these, telling the imaginary world that looks at my page that I have “misspelled” someone’s name. They actually expect me to go through my entire collection and replace “noriyuki iwadare” with some characters that I cannot type and that I cannot read. I have no concept of what means, even if it’s directly beside While there appear to be two Kenji Yamamotos whose names are spelt differently in their native print, that hardly justifies splotching rotten tomatoes all over my play-lists.

These two clearly have it in for me today.

De-dei-de-de-deih dat’s all, folks!

Next week I will post weird pictures to distract from the boring stuff I type about.

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Dumb dragons that nobody is afraid of. Why do they not protect their obvious snouts? And what’s the point of being a dragon at all if you need a sword? I mean, in the event they were smart enough to hold the pointy end facing out. Or an ORB, for that matter. Dragons love their stupid orbs. Unless that’s the crystal coconut, I’m unimpressed. And that brings me to another topic:

Come to think of it, I’m still unimpressed.

This was screened in my home once, eleven years ago. Do you remember when this sort of thing looked impressive? Neither do I. These days people make stuff like this alone as personal projects, but there was a time when it was made by professionals in France and licensed by the Japanese to be sold to Americans. It was an animated series that I could easily find out the entire length and broadcast success of, but there are some particles of knowledge that I prefer leaving to the pre-/early internet fog of past pop-culture vagueness. As far as I’d like to think, only one episode ever aired, which I came across on cable or whatnot, laughed at the very idea of, and promptly removed from my sight. After the cancellation, the producers cut together a bunch of episodes to form a single semi-coherent narrative. Not to try and make back some of their investment so much as punish me for my bold, childish hubris.

If you didn’t know this was associated with Donkey Kong, what would you think it was? (don’t watch it, I’ll just barely explain it) The first three songs possibly pertain to some storyline or another, but by this point nobody’s sure. In an earlier song, the fore creature, Captain Scurvy, sings about wanting to steal the Crystal Coconut from Donkey Kong. This has no possible relevance to anything. Scurvy has by this point failed to acquire the coconut and gone back out to sea, because this isn’t really a film, only some random episodes with no direct continuity. So forty minutes in there’s just some dumb pirate croc singing about booty while a camera pans around his chronically understaffed ship for no reason. My guess is they realized they can’t sail this thing with just three people and they’re doomed to die at sea, so they slipped into highly delusional states, unable to cope with reality. There may be additional reasons to lose one’s coping capabilities while within that version of reality. After this sequence the view cuts to some totally different booted scalous lump in a totally different place doing a totally different thing. My mother took special displeasure at the fact that the lizardoids had nipples. I think shortly after this she demanded that the tape be switched off. We were certain it had been three hours but Amazon.corn insists the total running length is just under one-and-a-half.

Although Amazon also displays a five star rating, so maybe I ought to be suspicious. I meep, that’s only half the stars that Who’s Your Caddy? got.

Oh yes

“Oh yes” was an artifact of something else I started to write there but ultimately removed. However, when I found it just now, left and forgotten, I decided I approved of its presence.

The song was introduced to me through my less eld brother, who one day appeared (he was a sorcerer) singing parts of it and the other songs. HE had been influenced by a friend, who we’ll call “Erik,” that being his name, who in addition to singing these songs in public, sent to an approximately random assortment of people he knew an email message –equally explicable as the loosely related series of animations or his fascination with them– which referenced several of the songs, chief among which being “the booty booty.”

Though chief among the references on the whole were local inside jokes that couldn’t possibly make any sense to you. Finally we have something in common!

After listening to the song I accepted this as the title. I had to listen to it, because we apparently needed to rent this movie, because everybody in town was terribly afraid of Erik and did anything possible to appease his demands, or at the very least understand them. He was much like his romanticized Viking namesakes, except instead of burning down our house he and an accomplice just broke into it while we were away and stole a bag of frozen peas.

The song is posted in youtube with this bootastic title, also (where it is identified as “song #4.” I have not actually reviewed the program in full to make my song or minute counts) It was not until I read some recently posted comment that I realized it’s actually, in all probability, SUPPOSED to be “Booty Boogie;” a boogie being a dance, and a sort of thing a person can be said to “do.” It will surely go down in misery as the most intellectually stimulating thing I ever read in a youtube comment. Why did this never occur to me? Why did it seem so perfectly acceptable (considering the context) for the pirates to be saying “booty booty” that I never for a moment wondered if maybe they were saying something else (apart from the actor pronouncing “boogie” as if it was pronounced “boo ghee”)? More importantly, why am I thinking about this now? Why did I ever think about it enough that I remember what I used to think?

I’m glad we got that out of the way before I had time to chastise myself for bringing it up.

Google is confident that I can boo ghee even if it requires the question be changed.

So, to recrap: I was afraid to let anybody see me playing E V O on an emulator, but other parties had no shame about bringing

this into my home. Why, then, a decade later, am I the only person with ready access to plus lingering shame for both?

I think that’s twice as bad as being either.

Also at this time I declare an indefinite moratorium on the wordish “booty” appearing in this here web location.

how did this take hours to do?, Not Being Cool | How to lose a guy in (5) days | !

Also, my internet is still awful. Transmission of necessary data is decreasingly possible.

=======================================================

In my mind, “my name is earl” and the show about the guy who moves to stuckeyville and buys a bowling alley had merged and I suspected I was best off keeping them that way. Then a few weeks later I remembered the second show was titled “Ed” and I became depressed.

=======================================================

I forgot completely that bimshwel’s birthday was on the eleven of may. This is probably for the best. It is only nine years old but the sooner it gets used to people not remembering its birthday, the better for it, I think. That also allows me to more easily forget the date permanently, thus averting such awkwardness in the future. This is good in additional ways because I have also not yet permanently forgotten that I specifically chose the 11 because that was the same day my Spam luncheon meat book informed me that Spam luncheon meat was invented on. That sort of thing was important to me ten years ago. I said nine up there but the first year didn’t count. Most people can’t at such an early age. On to more urgent business:

I’m tired of nemitz pretending its name is just “mitz.” It is LYING to you. I can’t stand it. It thinks putting “mitz” into a fancy serifed font makes that factual and official. Guess what, iditwit! Your name isn’t just mitz! In French I might if I understood it say “tu ne mitz pas.” (more accurate would be “tu n’est mitz pas” but it doesn’t look like it should be, does it! (and most accurate would be “tu n’es pas mitz” but I didn’t know that)) I use the informal tu instead of vous not because we’re friends or but because I outrank you. It also does not mean that there are tu nemitzes.

For some baffling reason evidence that there isn’t even one nemitz yet eludes me.

Ne indicates that the statement is negative. As the negativity has already been established it would surely be redundant for pas to also indicate negativity so that must just mean that nemitz is not my father, and so I shan’t be honoring it in June. Its absense on a counterpart occasion in May also proves that nemitz is not my mother, although it possibly then is my older brother, who doesn’t find such arbitrarily declared holidays worth his time. But at least HE has a job and some marketable talents. Nemitz is a worthless layabout with no skills and just as many excuses for not paying homage in buffet form to the being that gave it life. ME. I am your mother, nemitz. How DARE you.

Mitz. MITZ. Do you think you’re Odo of Metz? Odo is a dumb enough name for you to think is good. Incidorkally, Odo is the earliest known to wikipedia architect born north of the alps.

Come now, do you honestly think that helps?

Understand! I’m not mad because you’re getting the better of me! I’m mad because you aren’t but you think you are! And now I will talk about something else!

I have nothing to say to you.

TOO PROUD!

dorks, elpse, how did this take hours to do?, NEMITZ | How to lose a guy in (4) days | !

I suppose this is part three of a series. A year ago I would have stayed up all night making sure they were all in one post. Ha ha, I was such a loser then. Now I have 600 watchers on Fur Affinity. I am hot stuff. That’s almost half as many as the guy who draws popular cartoon characters on toilets. By the way, he thinks your fetishes are weird.

Donkey Kong’s trouble with premature gravity reminded me of another ad type from past years, the “game” that orders me to do some misanthropic act which I should never do in the hope of earning a reward which has no possible connection to the deed. There is probably a proper retrospective of them somewhere. Me not looking for that and inevitably having a problem with it will help ensure there is no part four.

There was one, though, that instructed me to “SLAP SANTAS BELLY! YOU LOSE!!!!!!” Whenever “I” “lost,” the creature representing me, and I know it’s me because it says “you” on it, was flung forward, apparently painfully, for no reason. That’s not important, I suppose. What matters is that I LOST at SOMETHING and therefore my pride is impugned and I am an inferior being. I must play until I WIN. I don’t particularly need a ringtone because I prefer my device in vibrate mode but after watching that animation I have become strangely opposed to the idea of vibration. “Participation required.” It doesn’t even imply that my participation is required to win the prize. My participation just IS required. It’s like Stations of the Cross when I was in Catholic School. Nobody knows why it happens or who it benefits or who demands that it happens.

Or even WHEN, apparently. You’ll never see it coming. It’s like Bat-Man. All we knew for certain was that we couldn’t go home until 3 pm instead of 2:30. We all had these corny books from the 1960s with these illustrations of kids carrying grocery bags while the priest’s posse inched around the room ringing creepy bells while others took their time taking turns standing at a podium giving verbosely worded and completely emotionless accounts of Jesus having a lousy day. It took at least an hour, and happened three or four times roundabout this point of the year. If you didn’t go to Catholic school then you’re probably exactly as confused and bored reading my vague allusions to it as I was living through it.

Anyway

Slap Santa’s intestinal shell or be physically abused! Clearly there is some sado-masochism thing going on. Much like with how fun Christmas should be, Santa and Jesus have differing opinions on the merits of being assailed with polearm weaponry by way of pre-ordained destiny (and it is arguable whose got the better video game) and when Santa doesn’t get his precious pain he inflicts it. That explanation would almost amuse me, except there is no animated object that appears to be flinging the character that I remind you is “you” who is me. It is propelled entirely by the shame of losing this strange contest to the rival Santa’s team. I assume if I actually participated in the ad-game the other character would eventually be punished, and… how did I get myself into this? This goes against so many of my personal principles.

Obviously this one doesn’t even have the rival santa which either means I misremembered or somebody thought this idea was good enough to rip off. What kind of a world do we live in where I have to hope my mind isn’t working properly?

…………………………………………………………………………………..!

Oh, jolly good. Except this is a totally different santa-slapping apparatus.

Santa Claus has fallen on hard times I guess. Yukon Cornelius yuknionized the elves and they demanded Mr. Claus’ resignation. He has no choice but to sell his slappable image to any and all buyers.

Hey kids, set Santa’s head on fire! He’s in no financial position to tell you not to! He spent all his money on

Too many people spent way too long painting these.


But how many watchers does it have?

*I* don't even want to read all this, Boot Club, how did this take hours to do? | How to lose a guy in (4) days | !

I am departing to purchase a new chair. Ideally, improved comfort will allow me to more efficiently craft excuses for this page here.

==================================================

Eh I suppose officially THIS is what I posted last week by now.

===================================================

I probably owe you a tremendous explanation for the thing I posted last week. So there’s nothing new.

====================================================

I’m tired of strawberries sleeping on the job. I use my most potent magic…!

You may thank me whenever it suits you.

My guess is that Great Value brand does not expect to be held to this guarantee, for no legal definition of “Berrylicious” exists. If I call the telephone number and complain that the cereal was not berrylicious enough my claim cannot be challenged and I may be entitled to a large cash award. They think if they use a big enough asterisk I’ll be intimidated and assume they have footnote protection, which obviously means that they do not! Fiddlesticks, this comes from Wal*Mart, which even has an asterisk in its name! My victory is assured!

Even better, I bought these while they were on sale.

Mweeheehwaharhoheefhophewherghork

Alas, my material wealth has not brought happiness.

My life has meaning again!

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I get exposed to all sorts of fascinating intellectual concepts when I use my parents’ kitchen table to work on art projects that I hate. Things like TVGuide’s 25 Greatest TV Characters of All Time. Because calling it The Establishment’s Arbitrary Quantity of Ubiquitous TV Dads on Shows that Made a lot of Money From the Last 40-or-so Years seems less authoritative.

===============================

All the digital cameras I want to buy have unsightly abrasions cut into them to allow noise to flow in and out of the camera to pick up audio while recording video. I don’t understand why they can’t just use a series of lines instead of dots or one line or something that doesn’t remind me of skin disease. Or simply not have them at all because I just want to take still pictures anyhow [but don’t want a camera from 2005 because they didn’t come in green back then].

I suppose I can cover the spot with tape, but I’ve been carrying around a camera with tape on it for six years and if I bought a new one and still put tape on it I would have to explain why and if I primarily bought the thing because of its appearance this would seem like a silly move apart from that.

=============================

Hey, ten days without an update!

but fortunately for you I have undocumented gender issues and am reluctant to publicly self-identify as one, thus even strict adherence to the instructions would not succeed in getting me gone. But ten days, I think that is a record for me. A pity my record player broke in 1997 or so. I assure I would have thought I have thought that was quite funny in 1997.

On that note: yeah, great that you sell these. What the florian helmberger am I supposed to play these on? Am I just supposed to keep these around because they make me look sophisticated? And what kind of a degenerative society has a definition of sophistication which only requires that I own something from the 1970s? Why don’t I hang up a re-elect Ford poster and switch out my computer for a Magnavox Odyssey and my bathtub for a Pontiac Grand Am? I shall I cancel Gabe Kaplan’s parole from under my bed and have fresh asbestos insulation installed. Then I will be respected.

Burst me bagpipes, I haven’t gone back far enough! I’ll need to get a Tennis for Two machine and separate but equal sputniks and a six pack of Cherry Polio. Now that this is out of the way we can move on to more important matters.

I fear that this guy may be shattering windas deliberately because he enjoys the act of replacing them so much. He’s less excited by the destruction aspect of it… who has the TIME, really? Thankfully, there are many opportunities to break windows which you might not be aware of.

My favorite error is when I drag objects to the task bar. Windows hates that SO much. It can tell what I want to do, and Microsoft is all about assuming it knows what I want and hiding options it thinks I don’t, but in this one situation… NO, it’s not having ANY of that. It strongly objects to this protocol breach. It cannot STAND that I have tried to do this. In fact we haven’t been on speaking terms for a while.

A shame, since it was always at its core the excuse we both needed to compare our exotic hat collections.

ehhh

As you may be aware, I traveled Out West two months ago. I purchased sunglasses specially for the occasion. At a CVS.

I also purchased an x-treme toothbrush.

At the sun glass spinny display object were mirrored surfaces to observe the sight of one’s self wearing the sun-spectacles. However, since people are vain idiots or presumed to be vain idiots, the mirrors are “slimming” and thus I could not find a set of glass that did not make my head look narrow and there’s a certain width that I expect sunglasses to cover and these now were only as wide as my narrow head. I had to take all the candidates over to the makeup counter mirror and test them there (makeup counter not shown because somebody dared me to not take a picture of it and also because the Stop & Shop I actually took the last picture at didn’t have a makeup counter). I tried many options. While all this was going on the people passing around me probably wondered why I was so conceited to need the big mirror, and if I was so concerned about my appearance why I was wearing sweatpants.
I was wearing sweatpants because I had just taken all of my decent clothes to be washed at the world’s scariest laundromat.

Excuse me, I meant

When did we get to Arkansas?

However, now I cannot locate my sunglasses.

What do YOU want? Not my sweatpants, evidently. Even though I have lots of pants but only one set of sunglasses. Well I DID but now I have NONE and this monster thinks it’s entitled to smile at me on such an occasion or ever?

Nemitz… why does it live? Nemitz = MAXIMUM SCUMBAG. This summer Nemitz IS Captain Crumbum. nemitz, you have big trouble coming your way in the form of me coming your way.

Nemitz is a hobo. Nemitz is a bozo. Nemitz is a yo-yo. Nemitz is the logo for “oh no.” Nemitz should GO the way of the dodo. Nemitz’s academic scores are so-so. Nemitz has similar views on ethics as Hojo from Final Fantasy 7. Hojo is also the only hotel nemitz will stay at which makes travel arrangements difficult since most of those went out of business.

Deservedly so, though.

How ever did nemitz become such a scumbag? I do not understand how that happened. That thing should know enough to NOT be nemitz. Nemitz is an incorrigible, indefensible scoundrel. There is NO EXCUSE for IT doing what IT does. I refuse to corrige such things. I cannot stand idly by while nemitz is tolerated. In fact, nemitz has consistently ranked in the top ten scoundrel index since I first invented the index a moment ago.

I previously thought nemitz had gotten happy by thinking about itself being happy. But it is also possible that it was sad until it realized I could see it. Neither of these are good situations. NEMITZ. I need it gone! I need that outta here.

I heard nemitz stole a Volvo. Nemitz’s favorite songs are Kokomo, Row Row Row Your Boat and anything by Bono*. I wonder if elpse realizes that nemitz’s favorite Double Dragon character is Abobo. Nemitz has rigged elections in Togo. Nemitz is a variety bucket of things that sound like “hobo.”

I want to hire nemitz just so i can fire it. It should go to jail forever and become a burden of the tax-payers. See how long they put up with that.
Urf. Nemitz. I’ll put that thing on a conveyor belt and keep punching it back as it comes forward. I’ll throw a tenement at nemitz. I’ll throw 700 tennis balls and a Tengen cartridge at nemitz.

Nemitz doesn’t realize Duck Maze was not made by Tengen. Of course I’ll probably discover that nemitz likes ducks and mazes, anyhow.

However, only the mouse shall escape!

NO ONE ESCAPES.

_{*Bono of the U2 band and not Sonny Bono because Nemitz deliberately mispronounces things to irritate people which is of course a no-no}

Evidently I was not done wednessing and missed my imaginary deadline again. Neither of us was surprised.

===========================================================

Wednesday: I did so much wednessing yesterday that I had no time to update this website. If only I’d known it was just Tuesday then. Whoopth.

===========================================================

Do you remember when I said I am one of the most boring people in the world? No, of course not; it was so boring it could not possibly be remembered.

===========================================================

After overwhelming public demand, which I ignored, here is my own incest story:

Once upon a time Hansel and Gretel lived together in a house in the forest. The end.

===========================================================

Treat a child as though he’s already the person he’s capable of becoming. I thought, that makes sense. I wish more parents and producers of fictional and/or ostensibly educational media would acquire such an attitude. Stop condescending to your target audience’s basest comprehension and maybe they won’t insist on eating fruit snacks named after their favorite brand of farm machinery. Show them some respect.

However…

I don’t think the proper place for this message is the inside of a public restroom. Nor the outside, for that matter. “You may only be twelve years old, but yer a MAN to ME.”

And so I propose we train our children to become killing machines.

I wasn’t intimidated until you clenched your fists.

Thankfully there is an entire section in some stores devoted to the purpose. America must be the greatest country in the world to have invented the plastic helmet aisle. The only thing stealthier than a ninja is a shiny one that clunks a lot. The plastic helmet and assorted armaments aisle, ah yes. Unlike normal munitions, which have a history of exploding when fired upon themselves, these just deform and produce toxic fumes. So they’re safe. And they’re discreet about it. Apart from being brightly colored and shiny and clunkity, I mean.

I had been under the impression that one of the factors in the effectiveness of terminators was that nobody could tell they were murderous cyborgs, because they disguised themselves as humans, but realistically, I suppose when you’re a nigh indestructible machination of death it doesn’t much matter how well you conceal yourself among the puny frail beings it is your goal to eliminate. A human disguised as a cyborg makes a lot more sense.

Incidentally, despite nearly eight years of more or less regular updates I still apparently type things, “cut” them to paste elsewhere and then forget to do that, but not to ‘save’ the document I cut them out from. In this case of jokes about predators-of-children, however, it may merely have been an intervention by the decency fairy. However, it’s not an effective defense, because I sometimes remember what I wrote the first time, and in any event I’m getting this stuff from all sides:

Well I’m certainly not going to PAY you for my FREE incest pics, regardless of how mature and responsible they are. I’m also not interested in incest content that does not depict interfamiliar dealings. It seems wrong somehow.

At LAST, the sequel to

As usual, George Lucas makes us wait and doesn’t give us quite what we expected.

Also, as long as you’re here, with all this confusion about, don’t forget to wash the hand part of your hand.

(Blue plastic arrows appear courtesy of the Fisher Price acupuncture kit) We’ve seen the sort of visitors this area attracts. I really think the maintainers of the facility could stand to discriminate against demons, though.

Go on, gyit. Don’t give me that face. You know you’re not supposed to be here. You’re not washing off that glowy green stuff in MY sink.

how did this take hours to do?, popular with the robots, scrollneldos | How to lose a guy in (2) days | !

AXE ARMOR. Now that is something I can use. You can never know when you’ll meet a lumberjack with a loose grip or an angry dwarf who mistakes you for a kobold.

However, I don’t know that I necessarily require “messy look paste.”

WHATEVER.

I could use this. OR I could just not take showers. I’m not surprised by this; pre-faded clothing has been available for rather a few years now. I’m merely disappointed. Maybe we’ll be able to buy pre-dented cars and pre-virused computers someday (if you don’t count when Windows ME was around, ha ha eh). With the cars, at least, it will be the first move in the history of the automotive industry not pandering to the arbitrary affluent perfection-obsessed slimeballs who would keelhaul you and consider a score settled for scuffing a square centimeter of paint that nobody else on the planet could possibly care about. When regal local joint Royal Printing does that to my artwork and the staff just shrug and “um” at me, I get mad because it took them three hours and I had to pay them a dollar for each item, and my vengeance probably won’t go much further than me talking trash about their business that seems to do well enough regardless of what I think of it.
What I NEED is ARMOR ARMOR. To protect me from

Treet? No, something far more deadly…

DEADLY ARMOR! Who even needs weapons when the armor ITSELF is DEADLY?

You are obsolete! Swords are SUPPOSED to be deadly! Nobody expects

DEADLY ARMOR! I ain’t afraid a no sword no mo.

Kee kee keeeeee! You’ve not seen the last of meeeeee!

I’m not even afraid of LETHAL ARMOR now. Despite my research team’s findings that lethal and deadly are synonyms, the fact that deadly armor requires neither weapons nor heads to do me in is quite frightening. Lethal armor was too complacent. It was NOT PREPARED for another dangerous form of protection on the block, and thus it was bewildered. Plus off-guard. Armor, GUARDING is what you DO, even when you’re NOT lethal/deadly. You know what the problem is? I think you’re YELLA.

Oh, uh oh. Somebody’s sensitive, huh? Who’s this new friend of yours you’ve brought in? Am I supposed to be afraid of this guy? He’s not wearing armor at all! Nor much of anything, for that matter. Although he DOES have a cape. A baby-excrement-green and jaundice-flesh colored cape. He rubbed that green on [by] himself, judging by the hands. So just because you’re friends with a sick naked unwashed executioner who smears his human-skin-made accouterments in human waste bye.

I said I was going! Don’t pretend it was your idea!

We shall continue this later.

Or maybe we won’t.

Anyway, typing a phrase I find personally amusing in capital letters over and over again does not necessarily force anyone else to find it funny. I have much more interesting and substance-ful things to talk about.

SMEDLEY SNORKEL!

========================================

I am one of the most boring people in the world.

===========================================

I think I will be witnessing that dragon movie tonight after all. It had a month to get out of theaters but it’s still showing through the week. What else could it be waiting for but me? The last full length cartoon I saw in a theater, if you don’t count Star Wars: Attack of the Clones was Pokemon: The First Movie. This would have to be more coherent than that, I think. For one thing, its title lacks a colon.

Above everything else I’ll finally know if this person on a horrible website who considered one of my asinine aliases a name worth dropping meant it as an insult or not.

==========================================

Howdy. I will see about Wednesday.

No? How is Thursday, then?

I can’t access bimshwel.com at the moment, so that means I can’t… oh, hey, what do you know. Dee, I wish I’d noticed that sooner. Well maybe I’ll write something tomorrow, then!

=============================================

On the subject of corporate attempts to de-evolve internet video, here are some more ads I’ve seen while dealing with that. Yep.

“Double pits to chesty,” which is about the worst name I’ve ever seen for anything, and also

This, I don’t understand. Always in the capital letters, like it’s important or a thing otherwise worth being said. Clearly, none of these elaborate constructions do anything but fall apart as they are being pushed into a river. Why would anybody participate or watch this? Much less for free? Why work to build something that just breaks? This is like something that only drunken morons would watch, yet Red Bull has no alcohol in it. The company has patented a liquid stupidity with no intoxicating effects that it can market to kids without pretending it isn’t. Like the beverage equivalent of Christian rock: all the shoddy lack of merit as before with a side of self-righteousness. This self righteousness has not, to my knowledge, been put into use by anybody, but I know they’re thinking it.

Well at least the kids aren’t drinking beer, right? But they’re still drinking rubbish just because it’s popular and coming together in great amounts to accomplish nothing. And a generous portion of them smoke cigarettes, anyhow. That is, assuming the copious quantities of discarded red bull cans and cigarettes outside on the ground at every local concert venue I’ve visited can be traced in some way to the professional loiterers in attendance. Maybe those things just grow in parking lots.

And these fluggity things, it’s not as if they are all that INTERESTING to watch break; I’ve been seeing related advertisements for a few years and for all I know it’s been the same footage every time, because it’s just the same thing happening over and over. It’s like any athletic competition, except it’s not athletic or competitive. It’s just morons pushing heaps of wheels and papier mache into water, and, I presume, leaving it there.
Supposedly there are judges who rate things and the objects are required to be made of “environmentally friendly materials.” Well I still don’t like it! My remarks to the contrary of the data I just supposed were secondary to my main point that I dislike the advertisements and the impression they give me of the thing they are promoting. And twenty [or so] years of America Idahhhhhhh in my business haven’t convinced me that the presence of judges proves that garish freaks are committing entertainment.

I’m not above posting a dreadful image and telling you how dreadful it is, but nobody will be paying me for the privilege of recapping it later and I’m not pretending I think what I do is about anything but myself. Ooh there’s not even a joke on that one, that must mean I’m serious!

If I said that nobody would care because any idiot can say that, and I’d literally be any idiot. I strive to be the main idiot, and I am serious.

But I am feeling better now.

And Survivor, that’s been on even longer. Nobody has ever die ed on the show yet. EVERYbody has survived. Which is true to the name, but it is misleading. That would be like coming to Madison Connecticut and taking a picture of a random crowd of people and captioning it “the insufferable vainglorious wanker.”

 


That suggests the caption only applies to one of them, and the chances are I won’t even be in the picture, since I’m a psychotic introvert in addition to my other qualities.

You have to be the center of attention, don’t you!

You know where to find me, guy. And also orange hats.

Incidootally, I can’t find any information on Jacques Pepin that mentions this product nor any information on this product that mentions Jacques Pepin. Nowhere does he seem to be called just “Chef” Pepin and I imagine he would spell his last name with a diacritic over the E. However, I expect this to promptly stop being relevant to my existence the instant I activate the “publish” function to indicate that I am finished writing this. So watch out.

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.

candy allsorts, how did this take hours to do?, skeletons | How to lose a guy in (3) days | !

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After eating food off of one, it is not polite to leave your plate wherever you happened to be at the time, for someone else to get. Unless, that is, you place a used, crumpled paper towel on it. This shows that you are concerned about cleanliness. It additionally serves to make non-visible whatever food you did not consume, thus rendering the task of rinse-scraping that food off the plate unnecessary. You get a gold pinecone if the food was of a moist variety likely to dry and cause the paper towel to stick to the plate. Then it can stay there forever.

This cupboard runs out of board before I run out of cups.
Look at these. Some of them haven’t been used for years. And new ones keep showing up.

What is this? What could you possibly drink out of this and be satisfied with the amount you have received?

Who’s juicing oranges? Who in this house ever has? We don’t even have oranges. When we have oranges, they get eaten. We do, however, have a gallon jug of store-purchased orange juice in the refrigeration chamber which was bought in anticipation of the previous being fully emptied, so it’s not as if we’re waiting for our stock to run out before we start making our own. I took the juice thing out of here and put it in a drawer where bigger, weirder kitchen tools that aren’t cups but are hard to fit with the cups go. The next time I put cups away the juice thing had returned to its former spot.

The last time I put cups away I accidentally let one drop and it had the gall to break. After cleaning up the glass and blood I was at least glad to know that there’d be one extra space next time. Which brings us to the present.

I’ve never seen this before in my life. Anyone would think we run some sort of British country club here, but in fact there is only one resident who drinks tea regularly, and he drinks it out of coffee mugs.

Ehh, that won’t be necessary.

I wasn’t talking about you anyway, birdo.

Which does not mean you can stay.

By the haybale, if you know what computer program I went quite out of my way to download and get pictures of these things from, I think you’ll find me very cooperative where minor blackmail demands are concerned. Nobody needs to know I acquired Microsoft Bob in 2009 by my own free will just to harass the stupid mascots.

The only things I find shocking about coffee are that people want it, constantly, believe they need it, will pay any amount of dollars you charge them for it, and that this is engaged in by allegedly respectable people, some of them admitted fools, who laugh at kids for wasting money on Pokemon cards, High School Musicals, Tamagotchis, cigarettes and licorice. The kids these days, with their licorice and macaroons and marzipan. I’m tired.

I seem to have erred.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Somehow, saying “thank you” actually thanks a person. That has long mystified me. If you are as confused as I am by this and want to deprive the expression of any grattitude a thankee might potentially receive from it, you should consider, as I have done lately, prefixing “thank you” with “I.” So easily transformed is “I do so appreciate you enriching my life with your deeds!” into “our committee has decreed your action adequate to merit this brief personal notice” that it scarcely seems such a transformation is possible. And even though I included the word “appreciate” in the more effective hypothetical thank, I have discovered that actually saying “I appreciate” something is worse and less human than either thank form. “I appreciate it” always seems like it will be or should be followed with “but…” and a positivity negating agent. It is like hearing of a humorous situation and remarking “that’s funny.” You might as well not acknowledge it at all!

On a related note, when I hear of a humourous situation I generally do not acknowledge it at all. Even when I consider them to be that. I would feel incredibly foolish to suddenly resort to the petty vice of “lol” after eleven years of avoiding it, but I also can’t ever bring myself to type “ha ha ha ha” in anything but an ironic or vindictive sense. The same sense one speaks “ha ha ha ha” in.

Such as: Ha ha ha ha! “Daze” is a funny way of saying “days!” You are so perceptive! Such a clever play this is on the common, non-awkward phrase that everybody uses, “working days” (such as in the context “I do work on days that are my working days”). The very thought that people who do works are so drained of enthusiasm that they appear to be “dazed…” oh, I cannot handle it! How has nobody made this association before? The connection seems so obvious! And I see also that you have placed a familiar symbol in your header where the popular ‘O’ vowel would have gone… it appears to be a clock, which, ha ha! reminds us that we dislike our working “daze,” to the extent that the passage of time seems not to occur, and we do so anxiously look to our clocks for assurance that the passage of time indeed does occur!


Yo ho ho! You have analyzed and dismissed a comic strip! One would think there’d be countless blog entries, if not entire blogsites devoted entirely to this purpose, and yet! Yours is a wit unmatched! All creations of purported entertainment should be required by law (more like LAWL) to obtain your approval first!
One two, buckle me shoe (although I do not wear shoes and my shoe alternative employs no similar manual fastening device)! You have diverted attention from your unoriginality and general lack of merit by drawing additional attention to it, thereby subverting logic itself and proving yourself a true genius and a boon to the cool realm! Rampant mediocrity is totally splendiferoso if the person responsible for it is aware of it, rather than a sign of degeneration and reprehensibility in today’s society! Dude.

Fibonacci number! And now you have confounded the issue by introducing so many irrelevant elements that your initial lamoness is forgotten! It is for the likes of you that we risk our lives in high-tech cyber combat on a day by daily basis! Jolly gould shobe, by jobe! Now please, by all means, continue with the boring part you already wrote before you decided to fall back on your confoundment gag again after failing to make the boring part more interesting!

It just seems weird to represent actual laughter with. And the popular alternative “I had to laugh at this” comes through as insincere and excessively formal. I already laughed, if indeed I did. I probably stopped before I began wondering what to say. Even in actual mouth conversation I tend to suppress mirthful outbursts. How can I tell people I don’t hate them? People are less likely to notice you aren’t laughing if you follow up someone else’s funny thing with your own funny thing. And so my only available path of action is to attempt to top everyone else’s jokes, always, forever, which is a thing that is not actually possible. And if it was people would resent it. Fortunately, it is plenty resentable anyway. I ought to know: I have sent it many times.

Ehhh… not your best work!

how did this take hours to do? | How to lose a guy in (10) days | !

The votes have been counted and the people have spoken, if we understand “speech” to mean the minimal blackening of selected regions on paper sheets:

By decreel of 5,419 versus 4,987 opinion units, Madison will not be getting a new library. Better luck next time, Scranty! It may yet be seen how the unavailability of red ink pens in addition to instructions to fill ovals rather than make check marks within squares affected the validity of would-be yes votes.
In retrospect, the plan to renovate the library into a dinkity model was perhaps misguided. How was anybody going to fit in there?

Bimshwel.com/index.php would, however, like to congratulate

Jerry Espenson on making partner at the law firm of Crane Poole and Schmidt. We were with you all the way, Jerry!
Additionally we extend the heartiest, most nutritious of welcomes to

president-elect Oprah Winfrey. We loves ya, Opey!

Finally, in perhaps the biggest news of all, it brings us great joy to herald the arrival of

Mobil Mart’s new breakfast burrito. It’s about time you guys replaced that thing! It was starting to get an attitude. If there is nothing else, I would very much like to get back to poking what I presume with my complete lack of anatomical competence is a swollen superior deep cervical lymph gland, which may indicate syphilis. Good night and good mandible.

I hate this sort of thing. The police shouldn’t have to come get you. They shouldn’t be endangering themselves to remove you from an incorrigible force of nature you knew was coming. Even if your miserable inebriation shanty is spared from destruction, inevitably some people are going to be in serious trouble elsewhere and state employees will have to waste time checking on others who insisted on being jackasses for no reason. You couldn’t not drink beer at a little table for a few hours? Is it that important to you? I don’t know what it’s like to live in hurricane country, constantly being warned about weather which will probably not affect me too terribly, but I wouldn’t get that attitude about it. And suppose you do have to leave your rideout hideout: how are you expecting to save yourself in the brief window between 50 and 55 miles per hour? I have to give my odds to the hurricane over the drunk driver. Aye yi yeep.

Umf, I want to go back in time to when I was less mad.

No, not far enough.

Obviously, this picture is a joke, but to some degree it is, if not dehumanizing, definitely dedignifying. Yeb, this stuff is going to happen when women apply for public offices in this age of public perversion. What bothers me is that I found this used by a clear Palin supporter. This is not the way to promote your preferred leader. And don’t even tell me “hey, that’s why she just wants to be vice president, dude” and don’t call me dude. Well if she doesn’t matter, don’t vote for her and also give votes to someone who does, by your definition, matter, but that you aren’t paying attention to.
And don’t insist on bragging about her “executive” experience like it means something, with “executive experience” being something that our current president had heaps more of in a more populous state. But he was never vice president, ehhh? Former Maryland governor Spiro Agnew was, though. But he wasn’t an outsider! What the umbrella is an outsider? Can you be experienced from the outside? And now we don’t even remember what we’re talking about. The fact is that vice presidents do matter, are more “inside” than anyone else, gubernatorial tenures don’t make them infallible and if all you have left is “MILF” then you really don’t have much. You just look like a dumb oaf, and I don’t take advice from them unless they threaten to beat me up and not on the internet. And this was in August, before Palpal made “lipstick” her core platform. I hate lipstick. It’s superfluous and gross. There, I said it. For the sake of humanity I hope I have greatly misunderstood all this, but for the sake of this website entry I hope I haven’t. It was hard.

The rapid priority shifting is probably, in the realm of trivial comments, worse than a thoughtless, unrelated remark about pigs by your opponent. Yet it’s totally consistent with the political tricks I’ve been seeing since I started paying attention to them. How is anyone still fooled by this frivolity? It’s tiring.

I can’t think of a more belittling title that someone would attempt as a compliment than MILF. Certainly, Palin does not call herself MILF (although I wouldn’t be too surprised, sadly), nor would any salaried employee of anything officially related to the political goings on. But if the first thing that comes to the mind of you, a heteronotgayal man, is “she is a mother and I would like-a to fack her,” and you tell people this, then you can’t seriously say you respect her as a person or a decision maker, can you? I don’t think MILF has been in common use long enough to distance itself from the full weight of its original meaning the way “suck” has from unsatisfactory fellatio.¹

If I must talk about this, I further state my problem with the Hillary Clinton comparisons. Policies aside, –and that’s what you want, right?– Hillary Clinton had been plotting to be president for the last eight years, if not longer. Sarah Palin was just picked by some guy not even a few weeks ago, and for a lesser position. Maybe it’s nice, but suggesting she’s made any breakthrough with that is equivalent to announcing that figs may be plucked from thistles or that Gene Simmons’ head may be plucked from his own rectal cavity.

I hereby swear to never attempt another “head up arse” joke unless provoked.

Ehhh, to be the first woman vice president entirely as the result of a hastily conceived pandering attempt by a legion of creeps would be less than noble. It seems more like a desperate scheme than a uh long-term, devoted scheme. A more appropriate comparison would be to fellow vice president nominee Geraldine Ferraro, although she had to put up with an additional month of public scrutiny after being chosen. And… this is totally boring.

I refuse to be a political blog. I’d rather browse an 80 page thread on a “metal” forum than a political blog. I’d rather argue the merits of meat with a kitty cat. I am not a “dem” in a “panic.” I’m just disappointed how many people are unable or unwilling to learn from their mistakes.

¹And I hope it never does! But I know it will. “Suck” I have seen compared to geek and moron, but those were already innocuous when I first heard them. Suck, while apparently owing its negative form to the early 1970s, entered major, wide-spread usage in my lifetime, championed by noted literary critics Butthead and Beavis, and I’ve always thought of it an ugly word. It sounds ugly. I shan’t use it. Milf, while abbreviated, doesn’t sound ugly but it reminds me of suck and that’s enough. I remember I saw esteemed comic figure Garfield use it once, maybe about 1994ish, remarking, quote, “the Mondays sucked,” and I was appalled. Back then being appalled by Garfield was fairly new to me. Milf also reminds me of yiff, and now that reminds me of Garfield. How is that fair?