I was having difficulty choosing a new solid state drive but I think all my problems are solved.
The mistake most manufacturers make is assuming i want to put the drive into my computer. They do not guess that I want to tape it over my eyes and punch the air with both hands at the same time like The Question.
If you are not familiar with The Question, the important things you need to know are
1: he ain’t got no face.
2) he is an expert at saving time.
3; he won’t give in to what is wrong and we refuse to stand up for what is right!
4, his best friend Prof is controlled by two puppeteers, one for his head and body and one for his hands, so he can perform coordinated actions, similar to Rowlf the dog.
this person is actually named “Tot” but I call him PROF because that is what his mug says and it appears like this is extremely important.
5? the answer is murder!
6! if he goes to Germany he HAS to dress like a nerd
Anything else?
I probably will not link to this post there!
hello there. I have somehow ended up in a house without internet for the week. However, if I walk five minutes along the road and sit on a bench beside it with no homes in view I can get it just fine. Which sounds good but consider this regrettable thing that it has allowed me to post now instead of considering if is a good idea for six more days.
Graveyards are profoundly depressing in the respect (RESPECT I say) that even in death you will be defined by your personal monetary value, or what your family struggles to make its value appear to be. The people with the highest social rank have the biggest, most elaborate graves, even though they are no more dead than anyone else trapped in a box and hidden there. This is the grave yard near Yale university, which means it’s full of decorated military leaders, government officials, deans and professorial types. It’s no smarter or talenteder than any other cemetary, but it sure seeks to convince me that it is with these huge grey rocks. Oh mab I wish *I* had a huge grey rock! I’m so jealously reverent!
I have visited graveyards before. I always have a good time and a positive attitude.
The rich dead even have fences to keep out the poor dead.
I entered the cemetary because I was looking for a more efficient walk toward my apartment from destinations that seemed to lie in a direct line from it but that I always needed to take etch-a-sketch-esque-a-skesque routes to get to and from. The local google map showed that I could walk directly through the yard, but there was no door at the other end (it probably got dead and is buried in there somewhere), which I did not realize until I was at the place where it ought to have been, resulting in my taking a full graveyard tour and even longer to get back where I came from than usual. I should not complain for google misleading me as there is an underpass near my home that has been blocked due to “road work” for almost two years, and I regularly witness cars drive toward it and come back 30 seconds later, because, I assume, some electric direction system or another told these motorists they could go that way, because in theory it was unblocked at one point, and I find that amusing. The time I was almost arrested for being too close to the highway at a place I could walk to from my apartment, the police driver dropped me off at a place that I could not walk to because she didn’t realize the road was blocked, and it might be ascertained that she or her car lives in town.
If I have a grave I want it to have a practical function. Something that would have value to people who are still alive and have feelings. Maybe I can have a stone conveyor grave that will help people get out of the cemetary faster.
I don’t want a grave at all, but if I had the money to make a big stupid expensive grave I would want it to be as tacky as Falco’s. Something that people could laugh at in a miserable place like this that was deliberately laughable.
But I do not wish to have a grave. Don’t make me deal with your pets, don’t give me a sandwich with white goop on it, don’t identify me with “mister” or my middle name initial letter and think you’re endearing yourself to me, don’t toss unlabeled video links at me and expect me to click them, don’t bury me when I am dead unless you murdered me and are hiding the evidence. That’s just sensible. Consider this my will if you kill me before I write one.
Although if you want to be safe, rent a boat and go out to sea and toss the body overboard. Most likely the corpse will arrive at a shore far from the murder site long after you did it.
A parking space for a deceased’s automobile. That wooden obstruction is to keep a really dumb goat from escaping.
Bird, you’re too heavy! You are knocking that stone over! SHOW SOME RESPECT, BIRD! This is hello’d ground! That means it is fully saturated with greetings and doesn’t need your empty chatter. Do you know what will happen if you disrespect a wealthy dead person from two centuries ago who had lived in comfort among a repressed population of peasants? Somebody alive now will get really self-righteous about it for some reason!
Here lies Eli Whitney, famous for every street in town being named after him. He also invented the cotton gin, which helped inebriate cotton-picking slaves so they would temporarily forget that the effort-eliminating invention didn’t actually give them a break in any way. (note to self: look that up once you have regular internet access again to see if it’s historically valid (note to ross ice shelf: please thank ross for giving me a place to store my ice))
Rinkety dinkety graves for meeply folk. These may not even be secured in the ground. I think they are propped against the wall. These are the most interesting graves to me, though, because they are in all different shades of brown. Unlike eli the whitniest, their roaming undead spectres can’t afford to pay someone to clean off their demise mark once in a while.
Nobody is named Henrietta anymore. Whenever I see the name I immediately think of anthropomorphized farm animals. I can’t imagine anybody named Henrietta that isn’t a cow or a pig. Even this has a picture of a bird on it. The person got dead recently, in 2007 but seemed to have lived a long life, since 1916 and was appreciated enough to get this generous sized granite lump and so I think can handle such treatment from me, even if she wasn’t rich enough to get a fence.
I like this place because there is no pavement and it reminds me of the video game Hexen. This is one area that might actually resemble how the grave zone initially looked and doesn’t have any crass modernism mixed in. Of course Hexen is a video game about slaughtering undead wizards and wraiths (sadly, no skeletons) and I actually shouldn’t find anything comforting about that and in any event it was made in 1995. Even by video game standards that is only the equivelant of one century. But this does make something significant occur to me.
Suppose there was an undead uprising. For all the respect their retainers demand the dead themselves show little to us in rudely screeching when they see us and detaching their heads from their bodies to spit fireballs, or worse, keeping their heads and throwing bones at us. We should not bury them intact all close to each other! And we should be suspicious of anybody who defends their right to not be dismembered.
Also note there are ALWAYS imps present. I didn’t bury no imps. Who let this happen? We really should prohibit imps from entering cemetaries. Any imp that tries should be forced to present its papers. Obviously imps don’t carry paper around and aren’t licensed to exist anyhow. That should keep them out.
Let us see about Friday the 28. I have a wonderfully stupid reason for not doing it Thursday.
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October 25:
I haven’t been too busy to make a content upgrade. In anticipation of future busy-ness, however, and mindful of daylight saving’s time’s tendency to cause confusion I set my clock ahead one week last week.
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This should be called “Two Generic Humans and a Marionette I Don’t Recognize in Front of The Muppets.” It actually looks like they are deliberately working to keep muppets from being seen. I think it is important to distinguish “The Muppets” and just “Some Muppets.”
I will be the first, only person to bring up my classic livejournal interest, “People who resemble muppets” (somewhere between “people worse than me” and “old fashioned bingo apparatuses”), but at the time I had not considered the possibility that muppets might be deliberately designed to have people who would not otherwise resemble muppets resemble them.
I doubt this would be the worst thing to ever be done with muppets; rather I reckon nobody in charge has much cared for a while.
Likewise, I doubt this is the worst thing to have ever been done with diapers. I don’t think the worst thing to be done with diapers that I know about is the worst thing.
Yes those’d be the ones.
And this isn’t even the worst thing I know about with both “diaper” and “bros” in its file name.
This suggestion to have a second human with an ear pencil standing by standing is not so much because the ear pencil is essential to complete the job, but it’s good to have another person around to keep you from stabbing yourself with a screw driver (by stabbing you with the pencil first) after you put six screws through the metal frame to the wooden surface, realize one of the legs you attached prior to the screws is wobbly but only three of the screws will come out, and also that the table weighs about 80 pounds and you should have bought the cheap plastic one that was for sale at the actual art store you idiot. You’ll still be miserable but you’ll be too ashamed to exhibit the appropriate facial expression nor admit to the fact that there was an enormous hovering X publicizing your inadequacy moments before.
Well anyheap, now that I have had this table together for a week or deux it’s high time I replaced the deteorating box I’ve been using as chair furniture.
There we are! A much sturdier box. I shall need to teach it some manners, though. A properly polite box waits to be let in.
These are just the esteemed chaps to do it. MTV is associated above all else with thought and introspection which is clearly happening here.
if there’s anything I look for on an internet forum it’s SHOUTING.
Yeah! We’re the hip new generation on the scene! We wear plaid shirts and glasses and we’re LOUD! checkout our massive nostrils!
We eat
Jerk Nuts every days! We keep Scary Spice in our pockets! We hang out with mysterious druids!
Oh no! I said screamer, not-
Ohhhhhhhhhh nooooooooooooooooo
Everybody’s so irritable! I swear that I am working on many things. Some of them are even trivial enough to be pertinent to this website.
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december 25:
Aw naw, I forgot we were doing Christmitz again this year.
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All I want to do is eat, all day.
Healthy Way snacks! A healthy way is a good way to eat all day.
However, if you’re selling Jerky, Pringles and COMBOS you should NOT be allowed to use this logo.
The last time I bought combos was, according to my notes, January 2007. I have forgotten how I determined this. I’ve been putting off this dumb story for three years.
I purchased the COMBOS at a Walgreens. It was a mistake, but most of my Walgreens purchases are, and looking over the receipt afterward did lead me to a startling revelation: the Combos were actually on sale and I paid half as much as I thought I had, and most of the price had been the M&Ms I also purchased. But also, some items listed on the receipt were followed by an asterisk. I looked further down and redeemed the asterisk for knowledge that these items may be purchased with food stamps. Food stamps may be paid toward the purchase of COMBOS. Do not buy Combos with your food stamps. Food stamps are for food. Combos are not food. They are scarcely a snack. They are a science experiment. Considering that they already imply meat with the pepperoni pizza flavor, it would not be out of turn for Combose to develop a laboratory animal flavor.
I meant to scan the receipt and show it, but I didn’t, and then two weeks later I was getting mad at all the paper on my “desk” and that one especially bothered me because I could think of no reason why I had kept it, long since having consumed any mistakes I may have hoped to get petty refunds for. These are my struggles.
And then three months later, Friday, May foist, also 2007, also specifically documented, I found out that I qualified for food stamps. For some reason I was ashamed, even though they do make America stronger and white supremacy sites direct link to images I can change into pictures of Olmec and posterior-wiping cartoon frogs. I was ashamed, but then I realized I could buy soup. Anyway, time to get me some combos.
The strange power of combos is that as soon as you admit you eat them you feel really bad. Not as bad as you physically feel immediately after eating them, thankfully.
This NEVER happened. Not even ONE TIME. Was anybody fooled by this shot of a knife supposedly spreading the filling over, and somehow into the pretzeline tube? Even if that was physically possible they’d still make a robot do it. You’re more likely to find actual apple-based content in a box of Apple Jacks. You’d be more likely to find a jack in there. I used to like combos a lot when I was 11ish or so, but even then I couldn’t eat the default “cheddar” flavor. Something was never quite right there.
Combos do more harm than good. Consuming them has degenerated my motor skills to the extent that this is the best pertinent Street Fighter 2 screenshot I can stage even while controlling both players.
This one doesn’t count because it’s from one of the numerous forgotten early 1990s Street Fighter 2 spinoffs Capcom made to get out of having to make a definitive “3” in the series, Street Fighter II: Championship Obstetrician.
I’m not good at this game, either.
Also, when I referred to the Disney Robin Hood as “the movie that probably turned more kids of this generation gay than any other,” I had written that specifically to amuse myself and meant to remove it, I merely forgot to. I fully acknowledge that it doesn’t make sense. I could say it turned them “furry,” but that’s not generally regarded as a major social demographic and the word isn’t as funny to say people “turned” into it. This is worth acknowledging, also, because I tend to have a big problem when people get all homophobic or apparently so up in the general vicinity of my business and I don’t think I have established my position, to myself or anyone else clearly enough that AGHRRRRRRR I’VE BEEN CASHEWED
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speaking of backs…
OH NO! BAXTER STOCKMAN!
As for where I went,
“Safety” as in me not feeling compelled to search through the 514 pictures I took for sequential usable material, since I’m no good at that stuff these days.
There’s danger everywhere. And this wasn’t even “there;” I saw this near the train station after I got back to New Haven. Be vigilant!
There was a series of these but I assumed, erroneously, that they were blatant and stupid enough for somebody else online to have cataloged them already
Ooh, that thar be the golden gate bridge. I get it, I know where I am now. I must be in a hokey disaster movie.
Take the express to tasty! I think that’s what that says. I know it’s in San Francisco, but “take the express to teste” seems like it would be considered a bit crass. It is a city populated by real people, not tacky movie stereotypes. All the same I choose not to ponder the composition of the white fluid there.
No no, do not go there!
I’m pretty sure this is a JAIL.
Don’t you know, razor wire (which is a genericized trademark) is not for train stations…
Also, do not confuse the fence topping-material with barbed wire; barbed wire came to prominence as a way of deterring domesticated animals from leaving enclosures. Razor wire’s sole purpose is to maim humans.
Oh, OH. Excuse me for KNOWING stuff.
I’ll be brief: I don’t know how to be brief. Or I do know, I just routinely fail to be satisfied by remarks and explanations by myself that are not as informative as they could be or that don’t make use of all the available resources that seem reasonable to make use of. Even this does not prevent me from making inaccurate statements or saying things that I regret, and in fact when I do they are only worse due to the longwindedness that they are presented with. This is a continuing problem.
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I just received an invitation to join something called flixter. I thought it was just another stupid facebook thing and didn’t realize it had redirected me to some scam thing (rather than a totally valid, useless vacuum of misery) run by one “smileymedia” until it repeatedly rejected my fake telephone numbers and addresses. Ordinarily a service does not take the trouble to verify who actually lives at 99 Luftballoons, Dumpsteropolis, Arizoner. Obviously I know my own address and a valid organization would get the hint that I just didn’t want it to know. Only in the event that it had no other purpose other than to get these things would it have a mechanism in place that looks for names of actual places. On one of the submits it somehow pulled up my normal email address rather than the backup I had initially entered, and I suspect it may already be too late to totally unbind myself from the wretched thing. Peh.
Smiley Media. As soon as I saw that name I knew. Why would anybody distrust a company named after the international symbol of walmart and the third most revolting banner ad series after “lookit my ugly teeth” and “what state do you live in?”
Also, I have found some other pages complaining about sleazy flixter invitations, like just the normal ones that don’t have some other site hijacking involved. Flixter is creepy enough that harvesting social security numbers and such isn’t even necessary. The page writers tend to get some scummy message from a supposed employee saying that they aren’t sleazy or scummy soon afterward. Because it’s apparently easier to individually tell every person in the world that there is no problem than to fix the problem that there obviously is. I also encountered this a lot when I was researching web hosts. They like to lock people into longterm deals and hold domain names hostage when somebody tries to get out and nonsense like that. “Oh, gee, we can’t really be that bad if we’re personally addressing you in your very own comment form, can we?” That’s what being an entrepreneur is about. I think D. Trump is a magnificent scumbag, but at least he isn’t so pouty and insecure that he needs to assign a task force to look up everybody who complains about him on the internet and get in their business about it. I don’t even do that. Yet.
Forgive me if you’ve seen this already. As has been previously noted I sometimes forget that I’m allowed to show my own dumb pictures on my own dumb website. I have been too engaged with other matters recently to edit any of my recent long-form gripes into something resembling coherence, and that’s when I’m supposed to put these up instead. And then I started writing about this for an hour. Sure enough, I was too weak to make that make sense, so it is unfit for display, but I still need to tell of its existence to… no, I can’t even make something out of my excuse this time. I am well and truly out of… and this is the same thing. I can’t close it. There is no resolution to be made. Here, have some shift key dividers.
may 23
I think I need to reconsider what justifies a new, separate page entry.
may 21
Am I mistaken, or have we (collective United Statians) heard more from Dick Cheney in the first four months of the Obama administration than in the first two years of his own? Toward the middle of 2001, wasn’t his absence so absolute that it seemed plausible that he had gotten dead at some point following the inauguration? Is he now merely making up 16 months or so of metaphorical snow days? Can we yet rule out the possibility that he actually was dead during that time?
may 20, maybe
I don’t think I could have sanely survived ads for Night at the Museum movies without mute powers. Those are some embarrassing ads. The merry melody people used to make cartoons about supposed books which would cause mischief based on their titles and cover illustrations. They were only about six minutes long which is precisely as long as that sort of thing is tolerable for (though apparently seven minutes, I used to have this one on a vhs tape, the more prevalent version with the bell guy and some of the racism removed, which took out a solid minute of it)
And that’s when it’s good, or decent. I can take roughly three seconds of Guido Thinker. And even then I will only take them to the dumpster.
Revenge.
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Beets.
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Why is it such a big deal that Jay Leno is talking/has talked with The President this evening? Can’t Mr. Obama come on television anytime he wants and say anything he wants anyway he wants? It’s not Deal or no Deal, after all. That is both a unique privilege and responsibility.
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The first four pages (akadaka: the first “six” pages’ frames arranged into the actual number of pieces of paper they would fill in the unlikely as ever event I printed them out) of Aw Beans presents Energy Zone starring Nemitz who has Not Yet Appeared and Doesn’t do Much When it Shows Up reconfigured to be, it was my initial intention, less unsightly.
The writing isn’t any better, and it’s possibly worse in a couple places. Otherwise it just seems worse because it’s easier to accept that sort of thing when the pictures match. Also, as might be expected, I spent a month doing what a normal person would get done in a week, so I think I should do another page of the “real” story before returning to this.
Excuses below, comprised of the raving psychotic nuttiness I wish I was capable of actually working into a story. Aw naw!
Progress was fast enough at first that I thought it prudent to post a notice of my intent, on the side of the page there, a thing I would not normally do. I hate when people hype junk in advance. I, however, wasn’t hyping so much as trying to buy myself imaginary time from my imaginary need to provide regular page updates, and merely stating a willingness to do something does not, for me, constitute an “update,” even though by dictionary definition it does. And now, the boring part.
However, very soon afterward I ran into difficulties, one of which being my inability to stop myself from exerting effort for very long, and the other being a baffling momentary rise in demand for dopey pictures made by me unrelated to this. So much of what I do exists for no reason that when somebody specifically requests something, especially with dollars, any amount, I cannot ignore it.
Unfortunately, as a result of some pseudo-artistic “phase” (evidently I’m so cynical I can’t even use my own language without irony) I am going through, many of the images resemble opening cutscenes from gameboy advance games.
I have no idea what’s going on in the “are you keilphix kumquat?” frame. I wanted it to be interesting or odd but then realized the first interior picture should not be too odd, and everything is a mess. All I was sure of was that I did not want chess pieces in it. I meant to just make some quick temporary solution that i wouldn’t be annoyed to have wasted time on once I thought of something better.
One of the shamefully major obstacles, the reason i put the project out of my mind for two years was that the very first page included a chess board, with tiny little pieces drawn on it, in half the frames. So then I needed to trace that board, trace all the little pieces, figure out which pieces they are, and think of what they should be changed to since… even if this was about normal dopey american earth people I wouldn’t want them to be playing chess because I think chess is boring, but certainly it’s hard to have even the minimal “otherworldlyness” I am capable of if the fools play chess and on the very first page. alas. Adding a new first page before it only slightly reduces the trouble total.
And then on the third or fourth page, with the exchange between pog and the dopey lizard, I didn’t like that all. Both characters exhibited attitudes entirely inconsistent with what I have them doing later. My effort to soften that only further convoluted things.
Clothes on the floor beside a toilet in a public restroom? Ohhh, that’s not good. But in Grand Central Terminal Station, with places to be, I cannot pass up a free rest-room toilet booth, even when one of the more crazy-looking/smelling people I have encountered comes out right before I go in. Hey, if the toilet’s exterior is dry and its interior is devoid of colored matter, I see no need to pass judgment on any of its recent clients. I should have, but I could not have. I also think the two police officers should have been able to tell, that both fully clothed and bathed I was not the homeless, garment swapping vagrant they were looking for, but they could not. Sometimes things just don’t come together properly. Such as the logic of sternly, noisily ordering me to open the door before I was finished with the toilet and then getting indignant that my lower fastenings were less than secure. But see, if I had been beaten by society to the point that I was stealing clothes to change into in a bathroom, it is unlikely I would be able to legibly protest the unfair illogic of that, so I understand. I also felt bad for the megadork janitor who reported the vagrant to the police; he was afterward chastised for doing so, and while not yet homeless, he was, the same, too much of an awkward fretful ubernerd to adequately protest that while I was not necessarily a homeless vagrant, one most definitely had occupied the same space moments earlier.
You first. I had a pen and considered writing that here, but for all I knew the police had already been notified I was attempting to use another restroom, so I thought it better to be out as soon as I could be.
When the only person who will consider your argument is the stall wall in a toilet chamber of a combination Roy Rogers’-Nathan’s in Pennsylvania Plaza beneath the second of two enormous FOX NEWF banners, perhaps if you are not beyond reasoning you at least would appreciate some solitude. Really, I’m just impressed you were able to pluralize “similarity” without adding any apostrophes. I’m even willing to overlook your usage of { and } braces, just because you are aware of their existence.
Verily, this country could use some fixin'(s). I have occasionally wondered if this means the bar was invented by or at least had its invention attributed to somebody named fixin, or if there is more than one fixin and they are represented at the bar, and the ‘ is merely to draw attention to the lack of a G, suggesting that “fixing” is a noun of some sort. Because I need more real problems.
Gosh, I didn’t think I did, but you found such a distressed and clueless looking picture of Mr. President that now I have to really wonder about it! It does not ask WILL YOU REGRET VOTING AT SODA HEAD.COM?… The soda head is run by intelligent folks and they understand that such a question would invariably lead to sensible people not voting at all, with the resulting overabundance of “no” votes reflecting inaccurate data. If you believe that, you probably don’t realize I just made fun of you for writing on the wall in the bathroom.
Making your ads vertical doesn’t make me any less likely to put them on my page. Just so you know.
DOES OBAMA HAVE WHAT IT TAKES TO LEAD AMERICA? Hmmm, that’s a good one, that. While certainly I am free to answer yes or no, somehow your inclusion of a darkened American flag, big capital letters and a hard-hatted head perched upon an ASS A BUDGE sign makes me suspect that Obama does not, in fact, have what “it” takes to lead america. Most damning of all is the intense picture of Obama himself pointing at my neck (or in this case ear) in regard to the importance of a soda head poll. I am glad you brought this to my attention. See, I was going to wait until he’d actually led America for a while before I formed an opinion on how he was doing and going to some other website I’ve already expressed a dislike for to vote in a poll that affects nothing stating as much. This is the President, not Howie Do It. If I left my house to choose him over the other guy, I’ll get no cathartic release from doubting his ability at this point. Or so I thought!
It still greatly amuses me that to some people, the biggest potential Obama worry prior to the election was that he might eat arugula in the White House. He’s just so elite. He’s so elite he’s elitist. He may even be l33t like the tile ghostwriter mentioned above. ”j0 dooDz plz email me fisXal poliCy r0mz.” I wish Obama had been in the 2000 election so that joke would only sort of make no sense and be totally forgotten by now.
Get going! There is work to be done! Now is not the time to suddenly become aware of and dumbfounded by how stupid your nose looks.
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Merry Christmas. Here’s your doughnut. This and other stories soon/eventually/never.
It’s hard. Times are tough. When you’re gone for the better part of a week, what can remain but the worse part? Oh ho ho. That is the sort of introspective realization that takes five days.
Here’s a tip for you: providers of spectacularly adequate service in Fort Lauderdoodle love to tell you to give them tips. But here’s another: The best thing to do when you catch a cold is to stay awake all night and leave Florida for a part of the northern hemisphere with actual seasons.
The weather’s just been brutal down there.
I suggested that a race is not a strong central basis for a side view action game. In fact, as this was implemented in Sonic the Hedgehog 2, and only 2, I like it better than proper racing games.
Both heroes in the same large, fairly complex level, competing to see who can smash the most monitors, grab the most rings, keep the most rings, bop the most robots and reach the end first. While it’s no doubt momentarily amusing to see Bluto suddenly outpacing his foes by locating the secret pogo stick cache between the manure piles, Popeye: Rush For Spinach is otherwise totally boring because it was designed and programmed by
Parents Choice Award winners The Game Factory –That’s “factory” as in the industrial revolution’s mechanical workhouse for standardizing monotonous labour to produce uniform products more quickly– and not 1992 Sega Sonic Team. Why subsequent The Hedgehog games dropped that delightful versus mode in favor of “hold down right and jump occasionally” or “nothing” I have no idea. The “one player” two player mode was safe for a while, anyhow. In general I find myself confused by most immediately evident decisions made with a lot of intellectual properties these days / always. I should probably be more grateful for the lack of canonically bastardizing Ristar sequels than I typically have been.
Licensed video games, in general, have been fortified with irrational, uncharacteristic violence for the last twenty years. Finally we return to a personnage known for the punch-ups he gets into, therefore defying no logic to depict him engaging in more, and we make him race. How the storyline mode of Popeye: The Rescue of Dino and Hoppy keeps contriving situations in which the four protagonists just happen to end up trying to outrun each other and Wimpy willingly participating in any of them is kind of funny, but it doesn’t ever get exciting.
Congratulations, you made someone cry.
Not related:
Tyler Perry enters the pizza business.
In other news:
Good idea!
Oh no!
Fleeplezeep.
Motor-driven lawnmower-ing is annoying to be aware of and about as fundamentally justifiable as lawns in themselves, but weed-whacking can occasionally be tolerable if an observer pretends the object carried is actually a [rather loud] metal-detector. What are you doing! There is no treasure buried in my yard! You look silly! Obviously this is even better if the one who whacks weeds happens to be dressed like a space alien. They studied us from space but didn’t quite figure everything out! Comical misunderstandings! Alternately, the whackist might be a ghostbuster specializing in cricket ghosts.
Also, apparently “weed whacker” is a brand name and the device I speak of in its generic form is actually a string trimmer. Why didn’t I know that prior to now? And if my circumstances prevented me from encountering anyone who could clue me to my ignorance, surely I ought to have thought my whacky terminology was needlessly wacky.
Hey, I made a funny.
I dispute that the motion picture Mamma Mia will have me dancing in the aisles, if indeed that’s what the opinion-less sentence fragment is accusing. I have never “danc[ed] in the aisles” one time in my entire life. And were that to inexplicably attempt to change, it would surely fail, as none of the cinemaplexoids I see around here even have aisles. The possibility that this might merely suppress the urge until the next occasion on which I encountered an aisle, such as at a supermarket or Gilligan’s Aisle, at which point I would begin flubbaging about in a most embarrassing and ungraceful fashion, that is reason enough to never see the film. I do not need that in my life at this point.
BEST GAS. Do not be fooled by that impostor, GOOD GAS, and I needn’t acknowledge the shameful pretender DECENT GAS. The gas here is better than all gas elsewhere.
Appropriately, it is now open for gas. I tell you, business was slow at Best Gas before it started selling gas. People just didn’t get it.
From earlier: I will tell you something possibly interesting later.
Ehhh, no, apparently I have to go somewhere today, too, so I will not be telling you anything.
There is important business to tend at. Those people are lined up and this ad was filmed a week ago. Imagine how many are there now! I shall have to make many challenges.
Why is Speed Racer an American movie? We wouldn’t let Japan make an Underdog movie. I wish we would have!
Who even liked speed racer? I remember in the middle-90s knowing it was on television but not wanting to watch it. It was just some dork who drove a car, after all. It never seemed special enough for me to pay attention to. I thought the theme song was kind of funny but that was all. It was never on in the same place, either. I seem to recall it being on Mtv at some point, when Mtv was still experimenting with just what to have on instead of music television but hadn’t quite latched on to that whole “horrible” concept. Searches for “mtv speed racer” are expectedly useless, as MTV is primarily a black-hole vortex void of commercialism sponsored by commercialism, selling i-pods so people can hear the songs in i-pod ads, so of course mentioning it in the same context as anything which was expected to be popular by people who stood to profit from it in the past 15 years will get nothing but useless speculation, contests, tie-ins, and redundant preview clips in odd places. Why the helicopter is there a “MTV Movies Blog?” Why is there a “MTV Multiplayer” video game site? What is “mtv?” The name is meaningless.
Who gives a nosegay what some ubiquitous logo thinks about a category of electronic distraction it has no connection with? The M,T & V are only there so you know you’re not at IGN or TMZ or OBGYN or IHOP. (and oh, do I ever)
I looked just now at what’s on MTV, lucky number 160, the tv channel, the rumored origin of its second and third letters, and the box just says “Next.” And so I look in the box beside that and it also says “Next.” It’s just telling me to not even bother.
Above that is “MTV2,” with an impressive collection of Beavis and But-thead, who I can deal with in controlled doses, and only mention at all because I do believe MTV2 was originally created with the promise that viewers could watch MTV without seeing Beavis or Butthead. But
Yes, that will have to do. Maybe it’s the fact that I never knew anyone liked Speed Racer that makes me less pessimistic than usual about this movie. I can’t tell who’s being pandered to here. I know the movie people like to make cartoons “realistic,” because… they hate cartoons?, but Speed Racer is just a nerd in an automobile who occasionally beats up thugs. How can they mess that up? As expected, there’s a lot of unnecessary, expensive special effects, but the movists used that to put the cars in space or something instead of just boring old race-places. American film-makers actually took a cartoon premise and made it MORE outlandish and LESS realistic (that is; assuming Fat Albert coming out of a television set or seejee Bullwinkle walking around St. Louis or Newark or wherever are realistic). This could easily have been some dumb Nascar cash-in movie celebrating the worst things on the planet but it isn’t. I don’t know what it is. And the less I know the less I can say about it! Now I still have time to go do something productive, like leave inappropriate comments on message-forum-things.
See you in cyberspace.
I find it peculiar that the official Michael Jackson youtube page… that there is one, but also that it has “favorites,” but only fourteen, and one of them is Patton Oswalt talking about one of my own favorite topics, famous bowls. You know he called you “molesty,” right? (watch out, it’s noise and it’s thirty-five seconds) And yes, I recorded Oswargo’s entire set talking to dumb obe Conan. I used to do that. I actually still do that on rare occasions. Eeb, some people can get the actual video and audio fed directly to their computers, and in fact there are entire communities devoted to that, one of which I may have just linked to, and here’s stupid me in 2008 taking pictures of my screen and fixing a microphone under it. That’s like something someone’s grandmother would do. Which I say because I once read something someone wrote about some relative which my memory has interpreted as “grandmother” doing that and it was sort of depressing. I remember thinking “oh no, I do that too!” And now such a loverly anecdote it makes.
But anyway, does this mean Jackson is an Oswalt fan, or just that the person who runs the page is? I imagine when you get that job there are probably very strict guidelines as to what you can give the sacred bedazzler-glove endorsement to. Or maybe I’m looking at this the wrong way and Emjay just really likes the Famous Bowls. How much do we truly know about his eating habits, anyhow? I know he likes Taco Bell, which despite making absolutely no sense if you accept their food for what they say it is is operated by the same company as Kentucky Fried Chicken. Maybe the dancing lizard money wasn’t distilling the gravy and Taco Jacko became a Yum! Brands shill. (British people pronounce “tahco” as “tacko” so that rhymes because I’m technically European by Rob Schneider standards. Now we just need to find out what “jacko” means.)
I assume that’s the official Michael Jackson page because it’s “friends” with the Sony BMG page. I should never have had to type such an incredibly stupid sentence.
Also, it has comments disabled. An impostor would leave them on just to see how many “is this the real michael?”s it could collect. Those pages are made for attention, and it’s cheaper than buying a giraffe and a ferris wheel.
I know he looks funny, but there’s really no reason to disparage his masculinity like that. Or maybe I just ended up at a fake page for someone else and welcomed an opportunity to show excerpts from it which I’d already saved before the topic came up. The fact that it’s someone I’ve never heard of would only make any desperation inspired more lovably tragic if I loved tragedy. In fact, I’ve witnessed so many muffin-eaters transform into ducks that I’ve become numb. Yet this continues.
At important gatherings of magnitude significance it is good for one’s transportation to be stylish to match.
Wow, look at how fast we were going.
This is the place, I suppose. “Small Space” will reveal itself to be terrifyingly accurate.
Because of slightly vomitous colors and what appear to be very prominent inkroller lines, my pictures looked like they came out of a printer at Staples. Which they did. Nobody else’s did. Even the ones that did come out of printers. Due to all the wide areas of color, additionally, the stupid way I wrote names on them (which I ordinarily would not do, combined with my needless desire to do all feasible things in difficult ways creating an amateurish presentation) made the frames look strange, but I had no contact with the framer. Yes, so, you can see why they stuck most of my pictures in this dopey cubicle here where no one would presume to look unless they accidentally looked inside first, which I have to imagine few are inherently curious enough to do. Rather than in the main hall-type area or the eating room. The actual gallery room was out sick. By the roy, the person here is Jayred, a friend of my sister Seabass. Which is odd, because as far as I could discern she wasn’t here at all.
On this side, owned by the cubicle’s normal resident is artwork which it appears I either made or am in direct competition with.
This one, 44.Self Defense is the worst. This big blank section and it just says “umiliphus” on it. Who cares that it says umiliphus? If it’s not my real name, why is it there at all and why is it that big? I don’t know! I regretted it over two months ago! And it’s in a frame! I just look like the biggest conceited moronaff in the world. And the picture’s not even that good. That’s one of the pictures where I tried to use smooth shading with hard black outlines. Those ALWAYS look bad because I don’t know how to do it properly. And this one now looks worse than that.
This is the food table. As a result of the plates being covered, you can’t tell what’s on them. Lucky you. Additionally, blurriness caused by my hands twitching with excitement over the thought of free seltzer.
As a result of the cramped space and inexplicable attendee quantity, I could not get pictures of all things. I didn’t even get to explain to persons who ended up in my kickle cubicle out of simple space-time necessity their misconceptions about the visions upon the wall. Wearing the sweater-shirt is Alison Hummel, who luckily wasn’t offended when I asked if she had hurt her neck.
Back in the conference room turned stand and mumble inaudibly room, the culprits were instructed to stand against one wall, police line up style. While I will not doubt I have done something illegal throughout my involvement with this program, I thought I would at least get arrested and rape-searched first. I thought I had rights.
Some people took photographs of me, of “us,” but I don’t know what became of the results. I assume the camera-users’ employments require faster response time than whatever this is that I do for free does, so if the snapsh-… shots haven’t been used yet they probably won’t be. I have to imagine in the photographs that the person in my place comes across a tad jackassish beyond acceptable levels, because I could feel that my facial expressions weren’t working properly. I kept trying to raise an eyebrow but it just wasn’t happening. I was so preoccupied with doing that, I forgot to vary the expression and pose at all. Life is hard.
I put “us” in quotation marks back there because I probably said less than three sentences overall to the five artists I shared wall-space with. I didn’t feel like I was a “part” of anything with them. But that’s normal.
After the pictures some people asked questions. I remember few. My responses were suitably useless. The closest thing to “getting a laugh” occurred when I said I used to make horrible Garfield ripoff comics, possibly the only thing which was true. I wanted to take the opportunity to ask somebody “ahhhehahh yes, ahtist number three: why didn’t you add me on facebook?”, but I’ve found that the more ridiculous my questions are the more I sound like I’m serious, and at any rate I don’t need people coming here and thinking I use facebook and deeviant art.
The peculiar individual wearing a street urchin’s hat was a surprise, and really helped top off the Ellis Island feel of the area. Through unknowable circumstances I spent a single digit fraction of the two hours having things resembling conversations with that person, and on the whole it was one of the strangest non-painful experiences of my life. I gathered from the proceedings that he had seen this page, and numerous past pages which have occupied this space and/or been referred to by it. He brought an alarming number of questions about “dopes.” Of course, any number of questions about dopes is alarming, so it may have only been one. But there also were comments made regarding nemitzes and vaguely reptillian muffin-aficionados and there simply is no excuse for that. We both thought the room was needlessly warmth-saturated, but we also both were wearing coats indoors.
The visible woman near left either thinks it’s hilarious that I am taking pictures of the photographers or has quickly descended into manic delirium from cheese on sticks and weird trail mix…
There was some debate as to whether the green lumps were trix, peas, some sort of beans or meow mix. Nobody who tasted one survived.
Here brother Cochise takes notes on the art of pointing from the mysterious person. I say “mysterious person” not to be vague, for once, but because through the entire length of time he eluded anyone discovering his actual name. Quite mysterious! He seemed to me to have traveled an irrational distance to attend, and done it on a bus, at that. Combined with the interest in imp activity I could not deny that his was a life of great suffering, even if the restroom graffitists are less lazy where he comes from. I felt special to have met such an individual.
Due, perhaps, to the highly unusual nature of the event, I quickly forgot about my civil duty and did not produce nearly as many camera babies as I should have. Notably lacking from the collection is my late arrival mad-dome-getting brother Eeple filling out every remaining name card with nonsense, the mysterious person signing the guestbook as MEEPLESWORTH, and the two of them discussing the tendency for small children to only color sky in the upper inches of a drawing, with a 3/4 obscured sun hiding in a corner. I mean, those sound stupid if I just mention them without showing something.
Well there’s one, anyway. He is occupying one of two chairs available to non-employees.
A numerated list with work titles was provided to attendoys so they could identify what they were looking at. Beside each picture was a number corresponding to one beside a name on the list. Why this was considered easier than printing names rather than numbers besides the pictures themselves is just one of many reasons I would never be hired to do something like this.
A result of confusion and inaction by me and possibly other people, the official list of titles referred to my units as “Untitled.” I was graciously given the opportunity to write in the proper, stupid titles and have revised lists printed before guests arrived. Another oversight on my parts (those parts being eyes) left 41.”repent, sinners” as “repent, sinner.” That makes it seem like the dope, not the people being menaced by the dope, is the one sinning. And that’s ridiculous.
A couple of the stranger pictures got themselves sold that evening, not even the first official day. As it is necessary for them to remain in place until the date at which it is no longer necessary, the updated status was represented by red dots placed beside the frames. I just assumed they had converted to Hinduism or had a really bad game of Bingo. Because I’m a moron.
Nobody bought my ugly printouts, and I don’t blame them. I think management’s insistence on labeling mine “$50” may also have been a factor, but grapes, scary people sell tacky illegal mickey mouse prints at kiosks in the mall for twice that. A few gallerists with the power to alter the list asked me what price I’d prefer to charge and I said I was willing to haggle. That’s another problem of mine. I’ll complain about their price but I won’t come out and commit to a lesser value. Maybe I’ll go there tomorrow and try to change the prices. But then it will just look like I’m desperate to sell one. Or like I’m an exclusive TV offer that crosses out 49.95 and prints 19.95 next to it for a set of stainless steel tape dispensers only worth fifty cents. But wait! You also get the Hiyaguchi Magic Tongue Depressor, an eighty dollar value no one would ever actually pay totally free! I’m not even giving anybody an extra thing, aside from an unverifiable space wasting signature.
I once saw this whole awful pandery series of Looney Tunestm creatures dressed as various baseball teams and I don’t think one of them was priced at less than 500 smackeroos. That’s the sort of person who wants that. Somebody who says “smackeroos.” Maybe they don’t deserve to have that much money to spare, but I don’t necessarily want to think I appeal to their buying interests, either. It’s an ongoing internal struggle. I’d love to find somebody who got the New York Yankees one as a gift and say “look! they’re the Red Socks too! They’re only in it for the money! They have no integrity and aren’t actually doing anything entertaining! They have no reason to continue existing!” But then I’d either have to buy it myself or have had taken a picture of it, which I did not do, merely out of fear of the people running the store.
In addition to batheball, there were a surprising (because I’m so very naive) number of scenes based around the “these are REAL people on a film set!” awful theme. And Bugs Bunny is ALWAYS directing or hitting the home-run or in some way getting the better of someone else. So yesh, pretty much if you have a framed picture of Daffy Duck you probably got ripped off. It seems so obvious when you put it that way.
There were also baseball pictures which did not have official Looney Tunestm characters, which managed to be almost as bad. To be fair, this was in September, when base-ball season was going on, in full swing, if you will, be a moron. But I was talking about the Full Spectrum art show. Because I need to identify the elements in the meteorite I discovered.
Maybe I spent, and spend days working on things, but that’s only because I’m slow. And you wouldn’t pay me $50 to fill three days kicking a bucket really slowly along a driveway, would you? Abyssal Jeff Tell only charges $35 for 26.Tranquility, and you’d get the piece of paper he drew it on! 36.Wonder… is in color, without lines, and while it costs the full fifty, Jefet can’t just roll out another one. There is actual paint contained within the frame! I’m so ashamed. Almost as ashamed as I am of my awful signatures.
My most sellable picture, Stop the Violence, was mysteriously absent. How can we hope to stop the violence if the picture that says to do so is so cruelly and brutally suppressed? It just wanted to help.
GUWAAAAHHHHH! That was truly uncalled for.