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Questionable artwork and pedantic miscellany
August 13, 2010
By 1960 hunkerin’ was less common.

A moment of simons, please, for a beloved member of the bimshwel family

No, unfortunately.


Camera 3, akadaka the “good” digital camera, and its life partner, 2 gigabyte memory card of uncertain origin because it worked so well that I never needed to take it out and look it over and be reminded of those things, taken down six days into a fresh pair of batteries. Tragic, really.

As per the terms of its will or something, its remains were dropped to the deepest, least accessible point of the base of Sabbadoy Falls.

Appropriately enough, that’s precisely where it fell out of my pocket while I was pursuing my brother I-Clops up a foolish ascent because I hadn’t taken any pictures of him with it the whole week. I still haven’t, surprisingly.

Let’s relive some of the memories, shall we? (yes)

Fort Lauderdoodle, Florida. November 26, 2006

Litchfield, Connecticut. December 25, 2007

New York City, America. November 16, 2008

Mir Space Station, Space. February 19, 2010

Green Hill Zone, Michigan August 11, 2010

FinePix A500, whose name I only discovered by opening one of its pictures in Microsoft Notepad,
2006-2010

Farewell, fine fujifilm fellow. You will be replaced.

CAM-RA, the Everliving, continues to ever-live, taking moderately tiny, slightly blurry pictures it can only carry 36 of, by will of the wizard. It owes its astounding longevity to a diet high in buck choc and being too big to take some places and too inadequate for it to be worth bothering to take to such places. Not that it hasn’t tried; it runs away at least once a year. It never gets very far because I dropped it on a floor and broke its battery chamber six years ago. This additionally allows it to stay lost for extraordinary periods of time without anybody picking it up. It seemed like a mistake at the time.



September 18, 2009
Hot like fire, the people’s desire, M C Hammer’s gonna MAKE you retire

I have too many messages to write to people today.

5555555555555555555555555555555


I have decided, if they want to make a Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs movie, fine. I’ll deal with it. But I will have nothing to do with a Cloudy with a Chance of Porky’s 2.

earsearsearsearsearsearsearsearsearsearsearsears


What’s that? No! You’re fibbing! You’re having me on! You must be! I won’t… I can’t believe… No! I refuse!


BABY BUCK CHOC!!!

Walgreens Cafe W bakery. Fresh from the photo lab to you!

Yes, yes, I know! Stop judging me! I only smoke em for the fiber! Prior to my new health awareness, it was a fashion statement.

Hoppity hermaphrodillos, what’s the time?

I’d best go to the beach and jump so I can look at my watch! I’m so glad I eat these pills out of a box! I could never go to the beach and jump before I did, and thus I could never look at my watch, and I always missed Bodacious BBQs!

Never again!

My favorite part of candy is and has always been looking at it and admiring the craftmachineship involved in giving each object its distinct shape. And so I just HAVE to love 3-dees, because 3d is always better, and it’s a clever name, too. Even the sticker is astounded, and usually it takes nothing less than successful completion of first grade math worksheets to impress them.

WHOA BAN MICROSOFT SILVERLIGHT LETS ME TURN THE WINDOW SIDEWAYEEEZ!!!

It can also translate any script into cuneiform.



May 13, 2009
If I was a rabbit, I’d see a flower and grab it, and hold it to my little nose and sniff it while I play

The first thing to observe about 2 dollar buck choc is that it does indeed cost exactly two dollars. Years of deceptive advertising practices have made this seem to mysteriously come out cheaper than the $1.99 Symphony bar. Or perhaps this relates to the Buck Choc being fourteen ounces and the Symphony being four ounces, down from six ounces at the same price several weeks prior. But that is of minimal significance because I did not get to eat the Symphony bar. I decided to save the superior candy for later. When I had finished with the Buck Choc I placed the Symphony in my refrigeration unit, not realizing it would be another week before I had any appetite for anything remotely chocolately, by which point an unseen force had visited and abducted the item. I wish I had put the Buck Choc there first, because then not only would I have had less buck choc to eat later, this would undoubtedly be a good defense against future chocolate heists.

It was quickly pointed out to me that the company, Palmer, is the one responsible for much of the low quality seasonal candy which would have little chance of being purchased without some sort of gimmicky sense of urgency to appeal to someone other than that who would consume it. No kid with its parents’ dollars is going into a candy store and buying QuAX “the hollow milk flavored” The Yummy Ducky when there are Cadbury eggs available. Sadly, kids these days have little appreciation for molding expertise. Someone should tell them that most of Palmer’s Easter candy is kosher.
That anonym thing on the link is probably unnecessary, but I thrive on the unnecessary.


If you’ve ever received some of this at Halloween you know who to blame. The world makes just a tad more sense when you realize the same creative force came up with the idea to wrap budget Hanukkah gelt eight different ways throughout the year to keep kids from catching on as Buck Choc.


Although I must confess a bit of fondness for the 1960s design aesthetic on the individual pieces, this seems unlikely to be a conscious marketing decision and more probably a result of a product being introduced in the 1960s and Palmer never hiring anybody to update the packaging.

Much like the famous MILK DUDs, one of several hershey products no longer legally permitted but that allegedly were at one point to call themselves chocolate, reformulated to cut costs, because unlike symphony they weren’t big enough that two ounces could be brazenly chopped off and still leave something resembling a finished product, no legimitate claim of chocolate is made on the Buck Choc label, though “chocolaty” and of course “choc” are both present.

Which is fine with me since the difference between “choclate” and “chocolate flavored” is not quite so garish as I would have expected, ingredient-sounding wise. Because to me it is the “milk” which is most repulsive, so the more that is replaced with chemistry terminology the better I like it, just regarding the label. It only seems bad when your sole experience with non-chocolate comes in buck form. I have yet to taste this modern make of confection perpetrated by a company with any trace of a reputation to uphold. The fact that “doublecrisp” is evidently a registered trademark in the chocolate-not-mentioning field doesn’t mean anybody wants to rip it off.

Ordinarily I would not eat a thing I saw that looked that bad, with labelling that bad (another effect of firing your entire art staff in the 1960s is that whatever you produce in the future gets no art). But I just liked saying Buck Choc so much. It seemed so special, so otherworldy. Like it wanted to take me to a better place, both spiritually and in my own mind (those are different things, right?). Some people find Jesus, I found Buck Choc, despite its superior hiding skills. Jesus expects me to put 10 dollars in a basket in exchange for an hour in an arcane, depressing place. Buck Choc wants two dollars for Buck Choc. This concept was easier for me to grasp. Now older and wiser, I stick by the decision, reasoning that no god as just and all-knowing as the one told of in Catholic lore would allow Buck Choc to exist.

Day two:
Buck Choc is good for compulsive eaters because you can thoughtlessly bite at it for a long time without having to worry about replacing it. I had this next to me for several hours and didn’t even get past the 2. It will last much longer than a box of cheerios and tastes about the same. As the box. Although Cheerios have one eleventh the fat and contain actual nutritive ingredients, no official documentation is provided for the box. Also, there are some influential troublemakers who insist that cheerios thinks it is a drug. Nobody ever got addicted to Buck Choc.

A better comparison might be to a Hungry Man XXL dinner, a whole pound of sodium men (bucks) love. It’s possible they see the same chemist. They have many preservatives in common. Buck Choc is to candy what bagged black chicken nuggets at a Walgreens is to candy.


Day three:
Something is not right here. I must have eaten about half the bar yesterday. And yet observe that at this stage it is still almost as big as a dinosaur. But I can’t give up now. I’d be a buck chump. It is my destiny to be a buck champ.


Day four:
I forgot to take a picture of it before I started eating it. I believe I was down to the “last” nine squares, however. Rather a big step as it was now quite smaller than a bear. By this point it was down to about the size of a regular chocolate bar, only just big enough to poison a dragon with. But oh, ouch! What has caused my mysterious neck pain these past few days? There was only one major change in my life recently; choc it up to buck choc.


Day five:
Still not done. But there is less than there was. It has begun to collect dust.

And now it is done.
Arrr, somebody’s plundered me buck choc! You don’t need a telescope to see that. In fact, using a telescope at close range surely impedes your vision. Boya, has that recent largely publicized incident regarding modern day pirates, which actually have been making news for a couple of years, finally put a stop to twerps thinking themselves witty and clever by taking facetiously strong stances on the issue of pirates v ninjas? Ninjas are trained for battle. Pirates are just thugs on ships. I don’t see why there would be a question of which would “win in a fight.” You might as well put Zulu warriors against kids with spray paint or the Capital One ad vikings against actual vikings. A better contest would be which could survive longest on a diet consisting solely of Buck Choc and the Walgreens store brand Vitamin Water imitation the cashier, sensing I lived dangerously, asked me if I wanted to purchase, that a helpful sign informed me I would get free if the cashier forgot to mention it. Jeepers, thanks a lot, guy.

In summation, I ate Buck Choc and took pictures of it. In conclusion, this is the end.

Next time: the further adventures of Dude, da’ world’s most totally awesome chocolate transsexual Bunny.



May 5, 2009
Micromachines taking over the place, with real racing dragsters READY TO RACE

I just realized I had an earlier draft of the text of the entry following this one typed into this entry for a whole day. Now the whole world* knows I had thought of “chubby uncle” before “wacky college roommate,” before I realized the guy wasn’t very chubby and didn’t look all that much older than the young Spock. Think of all the ad revenue I lost!

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


Apparently Reese’s peanut butter candy bar is made with Reese’s peanut butter. You don’t want to know what the chocolate is made with. Because you don’t care.
I once attended a school in which Reese’s peanut butter cups were a common trinket of value used to motivate students, so to prepare them for the cigarette barter systems common at many of their potential future places of residence, and a single unit was always referred to as “a ree-seez.” That made me mad. Now that reese does indeed produce a product with no name, it still makes me mad because those crum bums were saying his name wrong. It is Reese, not Reesy! They also pronounced scythe as “skeeth.”


The question is: Am I worthy? This slogan was no accident; it’s printed on the unnecessary plastic bag the bucket had been placed within, also. Now, then, while I certainly would not eat something which had been declared unfit to occupy a bucket, I likewise am not filled with anticipation at the idea of food designated as just right for a bucket, a hop, skip and a gump away from food unfit to fill anything else.



Jack Links: the only raw chicken that’s convenience store room temperature plastic bag-worthy. When did this stuff get to Connecticut? I know in The South people are more in touch with their meat. They are open to the idea that these are parts from dead animals that are only dead because people killed them to eat them. That’s part of the fun for them. In the north-east, though, it’s all about deluding one’s self. Some people have convinced themselves that lobsters don’t feel pain (that is a seven page pdf article. Just so you know). They have convinced themselves, in fact, that fish isn’t meat at all. But there’s no denying what’s in this bag is a cause of suffering. Why not have it be yours? As to whether it’s actual “meat,” if it isn’t, that’s only a result of legal shenanigans, something like “oh, this contains greater than 30% beak and feather per gram, so THEREFORE…”. If you were to attempt to pass off something with no animal flesh in it as meat, if you were in the business of deception, wouldn’t you try harder than this to make it look palatable? This is an honest product. I think the point of taking a picture of the back of this, rather than the front, which bears merely a marketing approved photograph of what this stuff is supposed to look like, only at the rear do you get a hint of its true nature. This may also be the case if you have already eaten it. However, this picture didn’t come out particularly well so you can’t see the indistinct dark brown/black bits which float about unrestrained and affix themselves to the edges of the container. So thank me. A responsible web-log-keeper would have purchased the item, consumed it and documented the experience for the sake of journalism. However, I’m no journalist and I reserve the right to delude myself that this is something other than what is popularly, unfortunately, regarded as a “blog.” I’m not going to spend my own money on something weird just because

Oh dear. I’m almost out of toilet paper.



April 20, 2009
call up now to play cheezy rider, courtesy of cheezit baked chips

Am I supposed to dig a hole?

I always wanted to make my own brackets. I am so ill of using the prefabricated brackets between the P and \. I want my brackets to say something about ME! And I let it now be known that the best candy is not any of these things, but BUCK CHOC.



Note to fans of non-conventional marketing: eating BUCK CHOC every day will not help you become a Latin Heart-Throb. You’re more likely to resemble the fat green anthropomorph’d M&M. Supposedly the name is actually “Two Buck Choc” and is a reference to something, but I never considered the “$2” part of the title. I just thought it was a suggested retail price, always a touch of classiness to have irrevocably printed on the label. I didn’t even think it was a “real” brand, I thought it was just dollar store chocolate that walgreens brought in to fill space after it was determined “too” fancy to sell at the usual price but Christmas Tree Shop(s) wasn’t looking to expand into confectionery. And beside that, if read as it appears, the name is Two Dollar Buck Choc, which is about as eloquent as it is appetizing, dubious creepy model notwithstanding.

I am not of the opinion that we need kid friendly “cute” mucous characters. Although I don’t particularly find that one cute, and with such being the case I can not conceive of a reason for it to exist. It’s a dirty, ill-proportioned, unfashionable Shwreck McNugget, essentially. Unless you can guarantee me that actual shreks were slaughtered to produce such things I cannot endorse being friendly to them.

Now this creature, on the other hand and let me start again.

Now this creature, however… is just as bad. This is not an ideal mascot for teaching technique and coordination, as for to to hold any object would require pressing objects or its own “fingers” against its facial features, and that would just be uncomfortable, for both of us.

I consider that worse than the hamburger helper glove-shape-being because at no point when I saw it did I ever come up with a logical or hamburger-helping reason why it should be shaped like a glove. It just was, and was there. I never associated it with the act of grabbing, with being used as protection for an actual hand. It doesn’t have enough fingers, for one thing (that one thing being the estranged finger). The Arby’s oven mitt is similarly a matter of minimal concern because everybody hated it. My hate is fueled by love.


WAAAAGAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

 

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

I should post something new on Sunday. Even if I don’t do that it won’t change that I should have.

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

I imagine a game show titled “lowest bidder” in which only the player with the least amount of “dollars” at the end gets to keep them. I imagine this being horrible and painful to watch, yet incredibly popular.

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

I cough up a lot of mucus. I do not know why. I recently forced a particularly brutal cough and it was similar to the feeling one gets right after vomiting; a bit unpleasant yet incredibly relieving that the act is done. I have not vomited in years. I felt a brief bit of nostalgia. Something seems incredibly wrong with that.



Nobody I know has a website anymore

Mr. Sr. Mxy
Nowhere
Titash
pc72
Pickford
Gilhodes (bah you need a facebook account to see)
video game music database
pacific novelty
Green Lantern Head Trauma

i warned you about this
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