I disapprove of image results for “culture vulture” when I specifically specify “vulture culture.” I am not interested in one vulture with artistic sensibilities and appreciation for a stereotyped and elitist definition of what culture is. I want to know about the whole communities of vultures, what they’re doing, how they think, regardless of whether the two words making up what this is called happen to rhyme. I speak of two entirely different concepts and think google should be ashamed that its software is so easily confused between such things.

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

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

I don’t know how to make transparent pngs. Baw.

If you’ve ever wondered how, specifically, I get away with being called “disabled,” rather than just being a socially inept, hard to please weirdo, one aspect of it relates to spending three hours making tiny, intricate changes and corrections at the 8-x pixel magnification level to cartoon fingers, wheelbarrows, big Ks and construction helmets which I will ultimately discard. That is why, despite years of unemployment and free housing accommodations I never turned out any screenplays or operas. And you’re welcome, by the way.

At this point the challenge is resisting the need to place yellow and grey stripes on the support platform or trying to make it resemble a steel beam. Neither of these are necessary or have been requested, yet it seems a waste not to.

My fingernails are so worn out from scraping cat food off things cat food needs to be scraped from that I have difficulty opening soda cans. This could be a good thing if it prevented me from opening soda cans entirely, but it is but an inconvenience, and thus only serves to annoy me before I get at the soda anyhow. Similar, surely, to how not having a twitterly page doesn’t stop me from sharing useless information of that nature. Fiddle-dee-doo, people from tv acting like poorly spelled nonsense with no context on the internet is something new. I used to get somebody’s twitter updates on my live-journal friend-like-imaginary-internet-acquaintance page maybe about two years ago and I never knew what they were about because they were always in response to someone else’s twitties, and when I did bother to look into the matters, they were themselves responding to other things I had not read. And these were, I ought to point out, the twit-spaces of non-decadent, relatively humble people I consider mentally competent. I am told these days that the official Twittist mascot is Ashton Kutcher, who I best know from ads for bad movies and probably bad products that assume he is a person I best know. I realize that’s a weak dismissal; I only came here to show that dumb picture up there. I quite assure you I have written and lost track of as much long winded kutcher-themed kommentary as any other topic I have some sort of problem with. Don’t make this harder than it needs to be. I already did.