At GNC the store, you need to specially ask for a health supplement that is not candy. Everything in here is kool aid/nesquik drink mix, undersized baby ruth bars or magically nastier jolly-ranchers. If you are legitimately concerned about your nutrition you should eat actual food. You would feel better and still have money left over to spend on real candy. Even if you paid somebody to make it for you it would probably cost less. GNC means “General Nutrition Center” but the sort of nutrition offered is rather bizarre.
I realize these are called “supplements,” which means they are meant to be used in addition to a normal diet, but captain crunch claims it is part of a complete breakfast. I am inclined to believe most people do not use these in that way because they get drawn in by mentions in this sort of publication, and also it is easier to laugh at the idea of people being reasonable if they are not.
Dr. Dan CNN BVD is way too enthusiastic about red yeast rice
If you knew me in middle school, you know I will put anything in my body if a bunch of guys with big shoulders and a token little guy who has rich parents tell me to do it while they laugh at me. Now things are different; I require them to have white jackets on.
Or blue ones, sir, please, whatever you want.
Hey did you know that GNC delivers for FREE? no probably not because if you were paying attention to financial matters you would notice that you just paid $25 for a little bottle of rice. You can buy a 60 pound barrel of rice for that money. It would not be RED, of course, but if you starve yourself effectively enough you may be able to cough up some blood on to it.
Somebody at some point in the management chain is certain I will magically steal their recipe for yeast rice with my camera, so the employee on the job had to task of suggesting that I not take pictures of the product, even though I think it would have done a better service to their business if they had stopped me from taking the first picture. In any event this was probably the least de-humanizing “do not take pictures of our property” demand I had experienced.
I am sure you are curious: the most de-humanizing “do not take pictures of our property” demand was when I was friendless, drenched in some rather unreasonable rain, cold, lost and hopelessly behind on school assignments that I could not tend to for another whole day of wasteful anxiety, in an apparently affluent and therefore more entitled to make visitors hate themselves section of London, amidst my ill-ehhhed Paris visit of July 2013. Scorned by the rich, dry, well-fed scumbags with no regard for
no please I have had enough red yeast rice I am feeling better now please!
Anyway I started to type that story for here and it was surprisingly depressing!
In fact most things related to my French experiments were depressing. Sometimes I worked harder than was required or likely to be appreciated to make them so.
1 I dwell in an apartment with my two brothers whom I rarely see. I am sad and ridiculous.
2 My friends and I, together we never talk on the telephone. They think I am boring.
3 The American men watch the French films, but they do not understand. They eat always.
4 The American women prepare dinner for the men. They (females) are unhappy.
The firefox spellchecker, unaware that I had switched from English, insisting that every word was wrong, may have had a subconscious inferiority effect on me. If forced to talk about myself I was unwilling to present a false impression of my existence. And it got sadder than that since one of the brothers left right away, to be replaced by slightly less trustworthy sorts and the other was barely around to sort out the replacement, whom I imagined it was not my position to criticize since I had not invited him in there, and if I had he would have been my GUEST and yet less deserving! So when actual depressing things happened to me in France or as a direct result of me going there I ought to have been prepared to explain, but the more depressing fact was that I failed to pick up any of the language in two years beyond the ability to read a few words that pertained directly to depressing aspects of my then home life and they had little resemblance to the circumstances of my later depressing outside of home life.
I wonder if I wrote things like that because I wanted to make people concerned so they would ask how I was doing.
It was always upsetting to find out they just dropped in to see what condition my toilet was in.
A series of more overt outbursts recently on the internet, the sort I avoided at people for on Livejournal 10 years ago made me realize no, I do not want most people to ask how I am doing. It will be unpleasant unless I am doing better, and when I am doing better I will feel less bad about not being asked. The problem solves itself!
I have an idea. I will change the subject.
Here is a depressing fountain.
I will have to try again later!
Fortunately I at least have mildly consistent internet access.
Last time I mentioned some gay stuff.
Was it truly news? Indeed a few years ago I referred to a creature holding my old camera (and to date the only camera I’ve had that would allow me to take a picture in the dark) as a “gay wizard,” but I never identified it as me. And I still haven’t!
The line about “odd fondness” from the previous notice I wanted to redact; I don’t like the idea of people thinking I’m even capable of an odd urge for anything, imaginary or otherwise. I wanted to prove it was possible, that odd focuses didn’t have to rule everything. Anyway, back in the past, even after one note’s worth of caveated gayness I already doubted that I was in a good situation, as the one which followed it exhibits, somewhat more mopily, after what interval I cannot guess:
2009, 2010 or thereabouts
At last I understand. I don’t like it, but I understand it. It seems like such a waste of time, and like such an easy thing for one person to take more seriously than the other. “Sweet nothings.” I always hated that phrase. Meaningless statements that do nothing more than reaffirm a person’s validity to itself. That sort of thing shouldn’t be necessary. I tried to keep myself from soliciting it. Yet once I started getting something that resembled it I felt entitled to it, and worthless when it was cut off. And why? Since I never deserved it to begin with, short of the other person coming to its senses I don’t know what changed. Apparently now I need someone to say nice things to me and create the impression that they are meant, and fairly regularly.
I do not want to need this. It makes me feel psychotic. It makes me want to interrogate this other person as to why it is “avoiding” me, and once you’ve shown that you’re suspicious you can never yourself be trusted again, I don’t think. And the truth is that I’ve been suspicious of just about every “friend” I’ve ever had. This one just hurts more, and so I feel more desperate to take actions I will regret. This is not good. I have actual problems that are already hard to solve. Saying “I cannot solve this problem because somebody won’t return my calls even though obviously he’s around because I see him leaving comments on other people’s pages who do they think they are,” is not a proper way of handling them.
Love? I do not want to love this person. We both have more important things to do, and I don’t think he thinks he’s gay. I don’t think I am but over purely semantic disagreements. English is a stupid language that is hard to learn because it uses one word to mean a bunch of things. “Sex” can refer to simply biological characteristics but also to an act that I find repulsive, and thus I avoid both of the word’s uses, as well as any word which contains it.
“*hugs*” That was new to me. I thought that was a special thing. It isn’t. Everybody gives *hugs* to everyone else. I only wanted to give *hugs* to one person. I only want *hugs* from a person I would actually like to hug.
I understand that if a person who made you, I, me, feel like the best thing in existence suddenly appears to feel differently, how morale can suffer. However, I am old (26 years at that point) to be experiencing this for the first time. I have no resistance to it. Howeverer, I am also too sensible to convert this into aggression against others, and I’m too optimistic that I’ve misunderstood to challenge the person who is making me feel this way, and so I have no proper release for this raging lamentation.
In a way, it was all I had. Loving another was not a thing I expected to happen, and I don’t expect it to happen again. I acknowledge it is possible, but when it happened it was highly unusual. It was like tripping over the tip of a complete dinosaur skeleton buried in the ground when I walked outside to get my [household’s] mail. I don’t think there are many complete dinosaur skeletons still buried anywhere, much less right underneath the surface in a densely populated area below sea level. I can currently not remember what it was that drove me forward just a year ago, before I had known the good part. And I get little enough done as it is.
I can’t hate him. Writing this I still believe I have possibly misunderstood. Even if I haven’t, and it’s true, I know he suffers a lot. A lot of pain, a lot of sickness, a lot of misjudging, a lot of psychotic people on the internet (some like me, some not so much). I know that I have little to offer beyond awkwardness and neediness. I thought he was comfortable with that. I felt welcome. I felt needed. I don’t know that I can forget that unless it happens again. Although this recent thought of mine suggests that the acceptance and approval, and above all the special position of note were in part imagined by me and not deliberately made to seem that way by the fellow, I enjoyed the delusion. It was real-er to me than some blurry 3-d movie might ever be.
He did some things I thought were questionable, and he gave some justifications that I found questionable, but I could usually get my mind around them. I like to think I am not a proud person, but I suppose I am. However, this pride is easily melted.
The love is nice while it lasts, but devastating when it’s done, much like “food” from Taco Bell. Any amateur dietician will tell you should not eat the taco bell stuff. Popular consensus is that Taco Bell is bad while love is good.
There are a lot of lonely people out there. I’m glad there are people who will listen to them, but they should not let it go this far. We want very desperately to be loved, and will misinterpret anything we can. I’ve seen this before, but this is my first time from the inside.
it’s sort of like that 2004 King Kong movie, where the gorilla loves the tiny little human even though there’s no possible way they can consumate the relationship, and the human has to act like she loves the gorilla because the script tells her to. So at this point, I’m already far enough up the empire state building that falling off will kill me, but I am determined to do more damage when I fall than I currently would. Also, I just remembered that I’m only a regular sized gorilla that can’t finish college and that nobody really cares about one way or another.
By here I clearly have realized that I am writing a personal disaster memoir. Still a solid year before the dumb pony mishaps. Most of my haps are mishaps. It has lost all attempts to be amusing, though what I followed it with might still be sort of interesting for the truly perverse, and I don’t even say “raging lamentation” again. Fortunately I’m not desperate enough for their interest today to seek it, and so I shall cut it off here. Ideally it won’t be seen again.
I received a few messages of support after last time; I very much appreciate those, but I hope it did not appear that I was depressed! I was, but due to an accumulation of a number of factors, and this whole thing just happened to have resurfaced, it came to find me in the midst of them during November, two months after I had been glad it was “done” before my classes started, and at one moment the thought struck me that I absolutely had to get this stuff out “now,” but it’s nothing at all new. Yet I’d like to leave as much of it in 2011 as possible. I had three rather stressful classes, and the one easy class, introduction to theatre, which late into the semester required me to read the text of Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, which is astoundingly not actually about that. Rather it tells of a disabled, ambiguously gay introvert surrounded by people with funny names and who won’t talk to his becancered father and who can’t be with the person he loves. In fact it’s worse than that, since the the “friend” Skipper kills himself over the gayness, and in the film version, which won’t acknowledge that gayness exists since it was made in the 1950s (which was kind of the point of the play, that these people are marginalized and made to feel ashamed, but rhubarbrhubarbcatroof), Skeepah is simply an all-around failure, and I couldn’t decide which of the pair I had more in common with, but somebody’s dead and it’s either me or my fault. I’m awful.
In fact the object of my afflictions is still alive, thankfully…I may have inadvertently implied that he wasn’t when I said I never had an opportunity to say how I felt; the issue there was that he always had a remarkable way of not getting messages, or setting things up so that he could say he hadn’t.
Even when we were on good terms too often I’d be talking to him -not even “away”- in a message thing and then he’d disappear, and then reappear the next day and be unaware of everything I’d said. Even if I’d just said “hello,” that kind of thing gets draining after a while. And he doesn’t read his email, so the only way to make absolutely sure he sees something is to post it in some sort of public space where
Oh that’s no good. But the automatically generated notice at least is totally tactful and reasonable, in the usual vein, o lucrative memetrepeneurial art site.
I still do not hate him. I wish I could! If he called me today I would become ludicrously cordial and probably back down considerably from any unpleasant things I typed here, which was a theme brought up in The Sound of Music, another film I watched while upset. (I wonder if my choice viewing material isn’t my real problem; I also caught myself sympathizing with King Arthur and Enry bloody Iggins (Judas as well but I don’t think he was supposed to have been in love with Jesus at any point)). Hating would be much easier. To have no doubt, to be confident I had done the right thing, or the rightest thing which was at the time feasible. I am moreso than I was but I never totally conquered it. Reliving being “blocked,” like right now, by going to his page to take a picture of the block notice, and also seeing who else he’s been talking to since it first arrived, isn’t helping.
Still I’m grateful for the anger sometimes, and hindsight now leaving me thus rather than sad. It makes getting over the situation (or absolutely not getting over it but coexisting with it without hating myself as much as I have potential to) easier. I’d hate to look back and see stuff I’d did that was awful and that I regretted. Which I know because I spent the first half of this year doing it! So next time I will resume attempting to be interesting, unless something else stupid happens.
This is most distressing!
Wednesday the 29: I have a headache
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Monday the 27: In my previous life I was a piece of string.
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Friday in the AM: It is potentially contrary to my own interests to give out cards with this url on them in a place congregated by some of the people who do the stuff I’m complaining about in it. However, I don’t actually expect anyone to read this. I certainly didn’t.
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Wednesday in the AM: Part of the ceiling in my apartment just collapsed. So if I don’t update this thing this week, it’s because I’ve been crushed and ceiling-murdered and not because I’m attending some frivolous gathering in Pittsburgh.
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Fur-affinity, I mention that a lot. It is a website that I post my silly drawings on. It is designed to provide a place for egotistical people with no imaginations to draw boring humans based on themselves who happen to have tails and animal heads standing around doing absolutely nothing. I already meet several criteria and they are generously working to bring me up to no standards. All the same I get more attention there than other parts of the internet. My comfort level with it varies; I feel less welcome than I did a year ago (writing stuff like this probably doesn’t help), but I’m not thumbing my nose at it entirely like I was four years ago. Once non-affiners learn about it, they can make a fuss over the website’s explicit content. I don’t like it either but in all honesty I’ve been having the unprompted, unwelcome sexual fetishism of other folks shoved at me my entire life. Ads for doritos, ads for telephones, ads for terrible movies, ads for cars mostly in ads. It is a classic unquestioned fact that this is a prime selling point of a fair quantity of products that are largely unrelated to naked dealings. Doritos in fact seem like they ought to have the opposite effect. Doritos ought to repel all potential company.
Including Reggie Wedgie, but only because this would violate his exclusive contract with Generico McDollarstorito brand.
I think one of the reasons the risky business business and the talk show show so so irked me is that I have long taken issue with underpant exhibitionism in general.
I hate “cute” words for underpants. Under-panting of this sort only exists to restrain the perspiration and any accompanying negativeness of the traditionally least ventilated place on a clothed person, and covering it with such a small object only makes it less ventilated. The reason it does not get ventilated is because that is in addition the part excrement[s] (also incredibly not cute) come out of and few people take the time to thoroughly scrub down everything that touched it after it’s left. They scrape paper against it! It’s horrible. Why draw attention to it with garish colors?
This is also the only section of a humanoid in which three or more large independent units converge, and the friction heat generated by standard bipedal locomotion cannot be understated when one equips winter layers. One essentially cooks one’s own pelvic intersection by walking. I find nothing enticing about the thought of the thing we use to contain this. Imagine if you found a discarded cow intestine that had been rotting in a desert for a day. And then imagine you put it in a bag and carried it around with you. Why would you do that? And why do you call the bag “Finkledy?”
On a more easily arguable note, I hate the use of pluralization to refer to what is obviously a single object. An underwear triangle is not a “those” or a “these.” It is a that.
The furry junk, I’m allowed to screen out the inarguable pornography (so long as the uploader has properly tagged it), but I can’t do anything about the incorrigible bonanza of nearly naked triangle-clad beasts doing absolutely nothing. Triangles are jerks.
This is not a nearly naked triangle-clad beast, but it’s almost worse and will likely lead to that anyhow.
Even if I had conventionally normal inclinations where physical contact with other beings was concerned this would bother me. Wouldn’t it? Perhaps I am wrong. Maybe I’m in denial about all this.
Facebook seems to be trying to tell me that I am sex.
Sex: ALL OF IT
Prior to such a revelation I’d have been surprised to find this outside my apartment.
*(don’t type that in the comments here. It will get eaten and porn doesn’t taste good)
And yet it is not enough. I must have more power!
More and more power!
ABCDEast and west, going on a POWER QUEST
I must exceed the incredible power of Norton and Sandy Duncan!
Feed me power food!
Feed me ULTRA power food!
You FOOL! Give that to me!
At last! Aw haw haw ha hwah uh!
What are you getting at, fiend? How dare you appear before me in such a powerful pose!
No!!! Natural human reproductive inclinations! My one weakness!
If only… I had not acted in such haste…
I’m not surprised that this place was raided by police. Only because it was for selling stolen goods and not for stuffing dead bodies inside mattresses. That at least explains how they were able to sell the things for one dollar.
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Hey, Thursday the 16, how are you feeling today?
Well you’ll just have to wait some more, thursday!
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Now that I have time to attempt to make nice things I am too cold to do that. I have, however, stopped cracking my knuckles, in case you didn’t notice.
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I ought to preface this with the comical sound effect “nsfw”.
This means “not safe for work.” Evidently goofing off while on salaried time is permissible as long as there aren’t any nipples involved. Unfortunately, if you are in a field of work like bullfighter, broken glass juggler or piranha plant farmer which is inherently unsafe anyhow, you should be warned about using your on-the-job internet for this. People who do not work may not look under any circumstances.
Personally, I have to disagree with the necessity of this sort of notification, at least for the specific context of what I’m doing here. If anything, you’ll find it repulsive enough to turn away sooner than you ordinarily would and maybe actually get something done. And so:
I’ve been asked at least 0 times if various characters that I have been rumored to draw pictures of are male or female. My answer is usually “no” but in actuality I leave people to determine whatever suits them best, in the absence of any hard (ha uh) evidence one way or another way because this is important to them? I have in possession a picture, that at last proves that elpse, the green imp, is…
really ugly. We don’t learn anything new about nemitz. Just as cooperative as usual. Don’t you know, nemitz only associates with ducks and toilets.
This seems to be from an anonymous group picture drawing session, but I think I know who did the first one; I only know one person who draws hands like that who would also dare to draw a dumb nemitz. I’ll be more specific some other occasion.
Or maybe just the next time I get googly curious about meeplesworth, which is associated with ever more prestigious topics.
My initial suspicion was that this person provided a link to explain what the creature was and whoever added the second character hadn’t actually any idea what it was. Almost certainly for the best.
What I’m curious about is the third party who saw the picture and identified the depicted parties collectively as “bimshwel.” I didn’t think anybody associated these dumb imps with the website I pay for, (apart from their current presence in the main page’s header, but nobody comes to the main page) rather than the sites I use for free and post pictures of these on. Such as, for example, the last time I ended up there. I don’t even call them “bimshwel.” I’m not complaining, though; I’d never have found it at all if nobody had cared to drop one of my obsessive google keywords somewhere on the page and it was just about the best laugh I had the whole day I found this. I catalog and rate all my laughs because I am a miserable person.
You could argue that the challenger isn’t supposed to be an elpse at all due to the wrong horns and uncharacteristic scrotum-like object beneath the neck and the grotesque nipply fat-sacs about the chest region and you’d have a very solid argument. Congratulations.
I spoke briefly with the artist and he informed me
He denied any knowledge of the second creature, only submitting that he thought it was supposed to be a cow. Well for all we know it’s actually an eagle.
My hope, however, is that it’s The Skinny Cow.
That’s the only anthropomopized cow in the history of illustration to not have a horrendous, prominent pink udder so… well now it has… hey, wait a minute!
ARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRBOLOADING
You’re so proud of yourself, aren’t you!
seriously I thought that said “July 14” the last time I looked, which would make a July 20 update mildly punctual in my mind. What have I been doing all this time?
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Mxy’s famous Bizarre Webcomic now has a proper website! It is at last possible to start at the beginning rather than press “previous 10” 97 times on the livejournal page (or just press it 47 times to find the cbz of the first 400 strips) This is a good thing, I think. Well it might be bad if you were reserving your judgment of it until you could see it from the beginning, asserting that the only reason you didn’t like it was because it didn’t make sense to you, certain that it would make sense if you could do that. Howdy, I never learned how to give compliments. I do like that comic strip, though.
who is much more reserved and merely suffers from advertisement tourette syndrome. I think you two might get along, though, since you both seem to write post script in the same foreign language.
Do you think this place is really selling mattresses for one dollar? Or maybe just that specific photograph of a mattress used on the sign is for sale? No no, I definitely see a mattress propped against the glass, there. So if it was for sale for a dollar, do you reckon it would be a mattress at all worth having? Anybody selling a mattress that cheap is one step removed from deliberately disposing of it. In fact, this is easier because YOU take it, and then it’s YOUR problem, and you even paid for the privilege. There’s probably a dead body stuffed inside it. My operative in the field, the famed botanist Vance May informs me this location once housed a most Primo Pizza. Your business is really in the proverbial dumpster if a joint that sells mattresses for one dollar, asterisk or otherwise is not only turning a better profit than you but this is enough so that it can force you out. This is the NEW Dollar Haven. There’s another one of these somewhere. They are branching out. Soon they will be everywhere. First our primo pizzas, next it will be our perfect parties and our feminine barns of dresses. What can we use to combat this mattress-marking down menace?
99 CENT POWER! Do you feel it? Do you feel it?!?!
We can only ignore this problem for so long
yet I don’t want to have to stock up again so soon because I still have plenty of rubber spiders and confused computer ladies in undersized clothing left and I don’t get the discount unless I buy them all together. Dilemmas!
I thought you would sympathize with my cheapness!
Some mysterious person requested names of video games I stole pictures out of, and so this time they were Star Tropics and Corn Buster and you should play neither. I don’t know who the blue suit guy with the A on his mask is.
I’m sick, ill, infirm, putrescent of “what happens in vegas stays in vegas.” First of all, Las Vegas is horrible. Second, it has billions of money so it doesn’t need you hyping it by paraphrasing its tourism slogan all the time. Thoid, that’s not even the line. It’s “what happens here, stays here.“ Figure it out! Grah! I know that and I hate that! Why don’t you, you people who say that? Oh, and there’s some dumb movie coming out called “What happens in Vegas.” No! Incomplete sentence, inaccurate reference, stupid everything! I want to punch Vegas in the nose.
There’s one, anyway. Super!
(Except “vegas” actually means something like “fertile valleys” and those lack noses so my struggle must continue).
I wish stupid ads and Elvis songs and country music awards plus all applicable broadcast signals would stay in Vegas. We should build a steel dome around it. It would be like the world’s largest tin-foil helmet, except made of steel. You can’t legally grind up and smoke some leaves to give yourself a bit of the unconditional euphoria life has denied you, but you can give $3000 to some dipe-wipe because you lost… not even lost, just didn’t win a five second card game, and live the rest of your life surrounded by popular media suggesting you must have had a grand old good time.
Perhaps tonight’s edition of Lewis Black’s Root of all Evil featuring Las Vegas versus The Human Body even though that makes no sense will address my issues. It never does, but if I tell you it won’t then it will for the first time just to make me look stupid. It seems unaware that I make myself look stupid!
It does make me mad, though. The commentary rarely extends beyond the accepted common knowledge aspects of the topics, which we’ve already been hearing jokes about, in some instances, for over ten years.
And yet, I’m actually still seeing that awful Christmas Enzyte ad. Like right now, projected on the backs of my eyelids when I blink. But I also saw it on the tv yesterday, and at 8:30pm, when I venture to assume normal people could see it. Who, at this point, is paying for the ad, and who, at this point, is paying for the product? Sometimes I think it’s me who’s paying for this. Nothing makes sense. I believe it was the great poet Lanny Poffo who once said ARRRRRRHGHGJGHGJH NOISE LAWNMOWERS AND CHAINSAWS GO BACK TO CAPISTRANO AND TAKE YOUR DECADENT DIRTY MACHINES WITH YOU, YOU SMIRKING SILENCE PIRATES!
I’m glad somebody is taking action at last!
Even if it is in a fifty year old comic book I can’t read!
Don’t let it happen again.
Need more data.
Now that the Enzite ads have ceased (I guess when I wrote that their en was in zyte), replacement ads must immediately appear, and comparisons with the old 2:30pm Colbert Report re-run commercial break shall be inevitable. Will the new hold up? Will it bring honor to the Enzute legacy?
What inspiration will today’s challenger bring? And, how will the Iron Chef fight back? The heat will be on!
No! Not ugly and creepy and fake-whistly enough! I don’t want no second-rate insincere grinning scamming megagoon!
I am not attempting something resembling hyperbole with “scamming,” this truly is quite worse aside from not making me think of peenuthes, but now that I’ve thought of how I haven’t thought of that, I have thought of it, so cashcall is still bad for that. And… that guy’s naked, after all. At least gobgammed Bob kept his clothes on.
But ehhh!
Enzait would probably only repeatedly charge you for the useless pills it would give you and not take back in a month, but for $2525, the apparent minimum which can be borrowed from Cashcall, it demands 42 monthly payments of $216.55! Over nine thousand dollars! The annual percentage rate is 99.25, so by the end of the first year you’ve pretty much paid what you’ve borrowed, but then you have to keep paying for 2.5 more years! Or something. And you don’t even get any fake pills! It’s so bad, Gary Coleman himself apparently had to back out of the deal before I found out! And he’ll sell anything! It would seem.
Residents of states beside California which have not specifically forbidden the likes of Cashcall (Iowa, Massachusetts, Nevada, New York, New Jersey and West Virginia) can borrow as little as $1500, but have to pay a $500 loan fee rather than the usual and still kind of ridiculous $75. And if you need $1500 with such urgency you’d take it at 141.42% interest or whatever for one year you probably can’t realistically afford to be paying $500 fees. The thing I read which attempted to explain “APR” to me mostly used figures between 9 and 10 percent so I must assume this is absurd.
Cashcall must be pretty bad for the casino crooks to bite their thumbs at it. Or perhaps they simply can’t stand the fool-from-money-parting competition. Whatever the case for the Nevada exemption, that likely won’t stop Cashcall from being advertised there, if Iowa and Canada have taught us anything. We could learn a lot from Canada.
Who’s watching basic cable television in the afternoon on a week-day but desperate and unemployed / confused and elderly people, right? They’re lost to the world, anyway. You might as well grab whatever they have left and rescue them from their emotionally exhausting cycles of optimism and grim realizations, and send them straight into comfortable routines of grimness. If you put this ad on at night you’d potentially risk someone not blinded by despair seeing it. You’d also have to pay more money and CashCall is more into the getting money side of things. Aye yi yi. When did I start saying “aye yi yi?” Am I going to start saying “aye caramba,” too? Can cowabunga be far behind?
This isn’t clever in the remotest sense, but it is still the most coherent digital communication I have executed in a month.
Alas, in looking over a cashcall recruiting ad which was in search of new employees, presumably to replace whoever was the most recent to quit from fear of constant angry post-cashcall calls, I was redirected to and therefore went to careerbuilder.com, which I said four and a harf years ago I’d never do. I just thought you should know that if I make an unaccredited vow of minimal significance I might momentarily breach it unintentionally a long time after that. For my penance I have to look at the page I said that on and attempt to read standard weight text against an animated background.
Cashcall.com is like the only website I know of that doesn’t work unless you type the www first. I’m sure that must mean something. I just don’t know what. And they like it that way.
“CashCall Watch” defends the Cash Call in a limited capacity by saying how much worse some things called paydoy loans are with interest and disclosure and such. Those I only know about from my junk e-mail and robot comments. Definitely a titanium support beam of responsibility and stability to prop your argument against. It’s a bit like defending cancer by comparing it to AIDS, isn’t it? Or maybe like defending White Chicks by comparing it to The Hot Chick.*
I don’t know how to help people who lose their jobs, or still have their jobs but just can’t afford things because everything costs more because the people selling them are selling less and charging more, because unlike their customers they lack the self discipline to not buy seventy gold toilets, cowards. I forgot what my point was.
Look at this, I just came here to show you a dumb picture and somehow that turned into another huge whiny complaint about something I don’t understand and can’t fix. I imagine you can imagine how this affects personal interactions. It is at least better to complain about something you don’t understand than to accept money from it, theh.
*according to the Wikipedia, Rob Schneider “was the first Asian-American to be a cast member” on some Saturday evening television programme, because his grandmother was from Phillipines-land, and I suspect he added that and related distinctions to the article himself. If he has a problem with me having a problem with that he is welcome to take out a defensive blubbering full page rebuttal ad in Variety which I’ll never see.
addendum: Well that was some self-indulgent rubbish, wasn’t it! I think my point was that I’m not trying to fool anyone (not anymore, certainly), I just like using different names. Mmmf. Ehhh.
I tried to make a list of all the zany aliases I’ve used on the internet (nevermind why), but then I started fussing over the standard which denotes something as an “alias” and not merely a name I registered for some reason. Obviously, one I made 50 posts with counts, and something which I only used to get at member-exclusive research data (comic torrents) doesn’t, but what about something that left three posts before venturing onward or that I just thoughtlessly typed into some hobo’s weblog for a single comment’s purposes? There were some which I remembered thinking of but couldn’t be certain I had used for anything, and told myself I would have to run searches on them to identify their statuses. And then I started to get sad. And then I had to look up whether “statuses” was a valid plural form, and I’m still not sure that it is. It’s not easy being whoever I am.
The tentastic list, pending revision:
alamince bisquiskis
cupcake oremitz
ears macinstrudel/eels macinstrudel
elfibrax
evil mittens
freepfop frupidor
frimbip frudrulpus
gilgwarfpisc
glufobix
jennifer talia (sigh)
kesglarbix
kuzard kunglegorp
lelelunflurng
lenguid elpmrip
lenswot
molfarm duvalier
oglethorpe marinara delirium
olmec templebury II, thaddeus wilhelm
poncharillo
quilfip unidar earvanbib glinkob
rarlofax
rinslid
roneldo
squong
transfestunerix
ubernerd
umiliphus
volcabbage
yimpinkilp
Only 29? I’m disappointed. I would explain some, but then I’d have to explain all of them, and you don’t need that in your life. I know, I already typed and read it. I have observed that a disproportionate number of the names end in “x.” This doesn’t even include
anabealix, lerix fargeptrix, ottisferasuttix and vristax. Perhaps I sold fake crotch steroids in a past life.
What is important is that none of them at all resemble the name I have to sign documents with. I wish my name was Santiago. Or Agatha. Santiago Agatha Fogerty.
By the beyond, John Fogerty… that guy is so fogerty, I can’t even stand it. He is the most fogerty person I can think of. I do not name this instance of my hypothetical self in honor of him.
I have been alerted by a crack-dealing pirate that the creepy awful ads I complained about last time were left and forgotten about because at the time, the perpetrators were on trial for everything and would eventually end up too convicted to care that the remainder of the ad time they purchased might be seasonably inappropriate. I confess the last one I saw was about a week before I finally posted my complaint, but… the indictment happened in 2006. Those yarps knew they’d been found out, they knew there was no escape for over a year. They continued selling boxes of dust-clumps to insecure morons, not just giving them a product that didn’t work, but charging them multiple times for it, and refusing to stop when any part of the scheme was complained about. And the ads proceeded unopposed for more than a month after the trial began, despite that by then it was clear everything in them was nonsense.
Every step of everything is creepy. That whole companies can be built around swindling people into buying stuff that does nothing, nevermind that. Next you’ll tell me my car doesn’t really need 30-inch diameter giant gold wheels. But just the company name, “Berkeley Nutraceuticals…” First of awf, there already are enough dumb companies with “Berkeley” in their names. It’s not like that sounds good or anything. There’s a Whitney Avenue that goes through New Haven and every business on or near it has a “Whitney” in its name (plus more than a few Elis), and Berkeley is in California, so I imagine there are a couple thousand I don’t hear about. And whaaa? Nutraceuticals? That’s offensively stupid and meaningless. There is absolutely nothing to like here. It’s implied itself to be both a drug and nutritious (or nutratious, I suppose) without outright saying either. Worst of all, it’s reminded me of neuticles, which I’d rather not ever think about.
Although I must give the user who allegedly is inventor Gregg Miller credit for threatening to delete wikipedia. That’s the sort of warning that really takes galls. ? No, not sound right. It fills the space but doesn’t do what I want it to.
Ehhh, but still, the fact that those Enzyte advertisements were allowed to get made regardless of lies and near-lies is highly upsetting. They are BAD ADS. I assume now that judgement has been made the ads will at last end, but that’s not enough. As far as me is concerned, the actor who portrayed “Bob,” the voiceoverer and especially the midi wizard who invented those cheap whistles should all go to jail. Maybe not for as long as Steve Warshak, but definitely for a few hours. Or maybe Maury Povich can send them to boot-camp. I didn’t buy any pills, so those are the people who I have a problem with.
That junk’s been around for years. How did it take so long to stop? The first person who ate one of those powder bullets had to know it didn’t do the job. It wasn’t just Enzyte, either. There was, is, an extensive line of useless, randomly named nutraceuticals (some of which I haven’t even had to put in my comment filter yet), all making the exact same claims. Including Ogoplex. In addition to sounding like someone Asterix would hang around with (and Asterix is usually a good judge of character), it’s just fun to say. Ogoplex ogoplex ogoplex ogoplex.
Why does somebody in Canada want to know if Ogoplex is for sale in Philippine? If you’re planning that big a trip just to up your opposite-end-of-arsenal, you might as well invest in ground up tiger ovaries or whatever it is these days.
Oh, all right. That’s fair. No one would write a phony review with his real name™ would he?
Even if the company that makes them gets put out of business, finally, half the internet will still be devoted into trying to trick people into clicking on their names. To think, even if junk e-mail links did precisely as they said, without stealing your credit card, kicking your dog and knocking over your jenga, you’d still, at best, end up with a bottle of sand skittles. It’s like those letters I get from the “Domain Registry of America” trying to trick me into paying three times the current cost to transfer my domain to them. People complain, people report it to whatever one reports things to, but the bums are still in business doing exactly as they did before. Except for in Canada. Those poor Canadians, they can’t get Ogoplex either.
That is some wretched whistling, though. Even the pc richards whistles are more convincing than that. By the wuh, do not be decieved by the rumors that company was foundeded in 1907 as “P.C. Richard and Son” and always has been called that. All through my yufe scary deep voiced men (not the ones heard here) on the radio sang some incomprehensible phrase and followed it with “…at PC Richards!, (reep beep bee-beep biew)” and never once implied that Richards had a son. And then for a while I could have sworn Richards had been ousted in favor of “good old good olds[mobile] guys,” because I was never attentive enough to pay attention to what they were selling. Eventually Richard returned and then he had a son, which I assume he traded in his S for. I actually thought his name was Richards, and things weren’t at a store, but at Richards himself, wherever he happened to be at the time.
This is the end.