Howdy. I type “howdy” a great deal more frequently than I say it.
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Why does every store I go into have “boogie-woogie santa claus” on its custom mix loop? That’s easily the fifth most embarrassing Christmas song.
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Obama asks moms to clap their elbows together. Previously I identified this motion as “weird turning situps,” ever the brilliant wordsmith, forgetting –and I can’t think why I’d want to forget such brilliant marketing– that at no point in the sequence does the woman sit up. She just does the horizontal chicken dance ad infinitumptious. Which is ironic, since chickens don’t have teeth. We will see that teeth are vitally important in this matter soon enough.
Note that this crummy, deteriorated, cropped gif file is a full 20 kilobyes bigger than the full flash animation, which uses jpeg-compressed frames. These fine advertisers UPGRADED to bring us superior quality of needless, inexplicable animation loops.
Get with the program, Home owners! First you gave that baby epilepsy and now you’ve ruined this citizen’s teeth. You’d better hop to it before a problem arises that has not yet been solved through use of a secret technique discovered by a mom in a different banner ad about awful teeth, or before Obama asks that mom to return to school.
Home owners versus teeth round 2. By now they’ve weirded out all their roommates, family members and hostages with their weird teeth (even if it IS good dental work for Alabama) and have taken to living in their cars. But does this guy REALLY know what he’s talking about?
Will Wright, inventor of Simcity, Simant, The Sims and Chlamydia, at his regular job often has no helpful advice for me. I don’t think that’s actually him but I always imagined he looked like that and would put himself in his own game for some reason. Either way, he’s on the town council and making me uncomfortable. Now I really AM in Creep City. “No no no, you do what you want, and I’ll complain if it isn’t what I would have done.” I feel like we’re married OOH GOTCH YA, marriage!
He used to have a beard, but he shaved it off
and gave it to this fellow, who was so happy he proceeded to launch several homemade fireworks he built in his shoes.
But hark! I hear the sound of another picture approaching.
Howdy is never a good sign.
“Dr.” Bennifer Ankle Wright, economist, lawyer, and actor, chief contributing editor of 20eh’s worldwide financial clowndown. The whole family was in on it. See the full story in my upcoming book, Oh oh ah uh oh, the Wright Stuff, coming swoon from Gorbo publications. Thank you and goodwelcome.
I need to get my priorities in order for a number of reasons. Case in point: ordering my priorities is not a priority.
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It’s too cold in here to use my computer today. I… I’m going to try to read a book…
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Here’s a long boring one (page entry, not a book. I wrote that up there later. I don’t even know I am going to write that yet), just like the good old days, if we insist on classifying the old days as good.
It had BETTER be free if there’s a 1 in 5 chance you won’t know. I’m guessing the oblivious Tyrannosaurus is still on the payroll somehow. And Tom Ridge as well. It is not worth noting that green was bad before but now is good, yet I did so anyhow. It IS worth noting that these things aren’t really free, apart from a seven day trial (which is about the same as American Online declaring itself a free service because it mailed out those little discs), and that every page of the site includes a small print disclaimer stating, in essence, that nothing it will tell you for that nonfreeness has any value and that it additionally will not be held responsible for its deceit and uselessness.
Don’t bother reading that. That’s not why it’s there. In summary, it’s not about helping you with your credit, it’s a resource for teachers and people who write about credit and need stuff to refer to. The responsibility-shirking slackers of the internet need not bother. Which makes me all the more curious as to why this was advertising on Galbadia Hotel, the video game/anime mp3 archive.
But what about the score? The only thing it said was free was the credit score! That is true. You can sign up, attempt to get your score, and forget about it. Which also works well, because you’ll be billed automatically as a “member” once the trial ends. Even if you remember to cancel, you’ll still be charged a dollar and the priceless hassle of calling a corporate toll-free number as a screw you processing fee. Although the sources the page the page I link to didn’t bother linking to suggests you can’t even SEE your score unless you give up the membership fee. They have to pay for their ads, after all. And Ben Stein has to eat. One assumes.
Yes, Ben Stein again! As I understand it, he was fired from his job at the New York Dispatch for this sort of thing, though you wouldn’t guess it by the pudgy smirk he has in all of these. He doesn’t even look human anymore. Gosh, he reminds me of someone…
What a greedy, selfish beanst. It can’t stand the idea that I’m complaining about someone else.
Ben Stein is almost a muppet. A wrinkly, Yoda style muppet. Except instead of teaching you about the force he tries to sell you a free midi-chlorian report, when everybody knows the only FREE midi-chlorian report is issued annually by the galactic gargonian skrimpfly flambarrrrrrRRRRRRRRRGH “wookieepedia” is awful!
He’s not even necessarily promoting the thing. He’s just smugging it up off to the side. I don’t know WHY he has to do this after appearing in promotions for both Direc TV AND Comcast, competing companies. Clearly, he wins either way. Next he’s going to show up in an ad promoting not clicking ads.
Look at that! He has a CLIP BOARD! In these days of high-tech doohickery, you can’t go wrong with a clipboard. That means he has important information! It’s not for you, though. I checked, the free trial does not grant you clip board access. Also, I hear that printing Ben Stein in bold across your pelvic zone is an integral component to many “abstinence only” education programs. At least, it couldn’t be less effective than whatever it is those actually consist of and get millions of dollars in government funding to continue failing at.
In fairness, I should say that Stein believes he was fired for criticizing the president, which seems unlikely to me, but I wouldn’t be terribly surprised because the exact same thing happened when the last guy was president and deliberately disappointing people. That doesn’t excuse such a termination, and I wish people with positions of influence would grow up and deal with their problems rather than lying and sniveling, but I already said I doubt that’s actually what happened. But regardless of whether Stein was fired over the stated “conflict of interest,” or whether even for that he should have been, what’s important is that he did/does IS scummy, which is all I meant to come here to whine about. This guy is NOT an economist but he wears the label of one even when doing jobs he would never have gotten were he an actual economist rather than some guy people recognize from movies, or failing that, other ads. He is not utilizing expert financial expertise here any more than Gary Coleman was, but he pretends that he is. Regardless of whether anybody falls for the act, it’s dishonest and misleading. He’s not shilling for Pepsi, which will merely destroy your teeth and give you diabetes, but if he was he at least wouldn’t do so with the words “sommelier and dietician” floating beside him.
Anyway, I still see the ads, Ben Stein is still a millionaire and he still doesn’t believe he is anything but the subject of a conspiracy in this.
In his official rebuttal (which you shouldn’t look at unless you feel a void in your life where The Spectator getting in your business and ordering you to subscribe to it may fit), among other things, Mr. Stein claims to have criticized Goldman Sachs back when that could have made a difference and also laments the amount of “sick people” online who get inordinately upset over his antics. Well, I never said he was an idiot. Not recently, I don’t think. However, he also insists early on that there is “avid scientific disagreement” regarding the origin of life in a way that implies Intelligent Design is one of the theories argued by actual scientists, which it isn’t, and then he spends the rest of the page complaining about “neo-Darwinists.” I don’t know what it means when you put “neo” in front of a group name beyond making whoever you’re referring to seem instantly and indefensibly crazy, so I can’t take it too seriously.
He also claims those who protest the freescore ads have confused it with “other companies that did not have FreeScore’s unblemished record with consumer protection agencies. (FreeScore has a perfect record.)” It’s one of the GOOD credit report scams! I didn’t know any of them had blemishes, actually. I thought they just tricked people legally and got away with it. Also, Freescore is a relatively young site and surely has plenty of blem-like items yet to isshue. One must additionally keep in mind that Benjamin wrote this while still officially involved with the Freescore company, so he had an obligation to defend it and follow its capitalization guidelines lest he be accused of integrity.
At any rate, freeScore makes no effort to distinguish itself from others which also claim to be free but really aren’t. Further, that header image on that page is inexcusably dorky. Is it a crime to be a dork? Perhaps it ought to be.
I am not a “Ben Stein hater left over from the Expelled days.” I was annoyed by him prior to then and found out about it while I was having a problem with his comcast ad that he didn’t seem to think anybody had a problem with. Yes, so, isn’t this all fascinating! Our research/archeology department continues to probe the situation.
I guarantee you this fat, blurry, needlessly animated-giffy baby is not dancing to nor in any way relevant to the news of your ad. In fact, now that I have saved it as a static png, the baby isn’t dancing at all.
Dancing is also the ultimate way to sell a service totally unrelated to dancing through a banner ad.
I’m only impressed when real people dance in unison, and even then it has to be a better dance than that. That is what I thought at first. But with persistence I was won over.
The upper torsos of drunken businessmen miming climbing ladders always puts me in the mood to graduate online in 13 months.
These Santa Clauses, I am sad to say, make less sense. Not because they fail to represent a dancer-demographic I identify with, and not because they’re, you know, dancing for absolutely no reason, but because they aren’t animated! Even before I saved them as PNG they weren’t! The Santas, while not too busy to go back to Santa school, obviously, could not spare time to compile additional frames of needless movement. They just stood still in that position, bound by the erroneously layered gray shadows so cruelly shackled to their ankles. Although the leftmost Claus is NOT chained, he IS missing a hand, which may yet complicate matters. The fanciful font took offense at the effeminate hand wave the santas dismissed it with and sought to make an example of one of the bold upstarts.
Uh oh, now we’re really changing it up. Ipod punks dancing in a lava lamp square. But dancing was not good business! A short time ago it only took 13 months to get a degree, and now it takes 24. That’s almost two years! At this rate I’ll never get my unaccredited diploma-mill certification in time to pretend to be a doctor at my ten year high school reunion so nobody knows I’m a loser who clicks banner ads that promise shortcuts they can’t possibly deliver all day!
Look at this! I’m only 90% a winner now! I cannot justify the effort and dedication it would take to follow this link and attempt to collect my fictional prize money if I’m not absolutely assured that I have won prior to realizing I had not entered any competition that the ad banner would know about. All the same, it’s nice to see the animated gifists of america have finally upgraded to Windows XP now that Windows 7 has been released.
The problems don’t end there. During our splendid recession some of the irrelevant dancers were laid off and replaced with creepy, self-scratching cowboy sillhouettes. Wasn’t the entire point of the neighborhood watch program specifically to keep these guys out of town? Now they’re trying to shut me up about my auto insurance rates. “Think You Pay Too Much? I reckon You oughtta Think again, pardner. Yer a long way from Alabama. Mind if I use your shower?”
This was all your fault, Moms! Obama Asked you to Return to School and you did weird turning sit-ups instead. Your course of action is not scratching the proverbial cowboy silhouette.
I think there was a nicer way you could have said that.
Tue’s day: I just realized I forgot to do the “alarm” color overlays as I did last time. Eh.
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page 34 of Aw Beans: A Beet Street High Seas Adventure Starring Lorna Doone and Dinty Moore
This one features some of the worst inking I’ve ever done. I’m really not getting any better at it. However, I am getting very good at wasting time/ink adding needless black shadow-lines that I have to remove after I scan the deal because it makes everything look burnt once it is converted from gray to black-and-white and actual color gradations are added. Whoopth.
The dimensions of that room and its relationship with the hallway continue to change. I grow weary of its rebellious ways and will tolerate them not much longer.
My scanner needs to be fixed/replaced, but this sort of thing hardly seems worth the trouble.
Why does the Red Robin need to ride around in a dirigible? Birds can fly on their own. Get to work, bird! More importantly, why is the passenger chamber an enormous, hollowed out hamburger? What is keeping the pieces together? Not a sense of unity inspired by strong leadership, definitely. I’ve seen that facial expression on an incompetent aviator before.
Here is a clearer view I found on the website for the crooked masterminds supposedly [ir]responsible. First of all, COKE BOTTLE PROPELLERS! More importantly, what business has this confessed commie flying the stars and stripes? American robins are not robins at all. They are thrushes. Therefore, one way or another this lofty Leninist is a feathery fraud. How could anybody trust it?
It’s bad enough that this treasonous pteranodon advocates factory bred livestock meat consumption, but using its product to construct your personal chariot is just decadent and probably more than a little bit gross.
Even the person who ordered that this television box be installed in the FLOOR thinks you’ve gone too far. I reckon.
Additionally, beef is one thing (or rather, many, many things whose constant production dooms our planet), but this egomaniacal erithacus has, in a move that surprises me less and less these days, sold out some of its other feathren…
“Clucks!” The chicken fingers are called “clucks!” They were good tasting chicken fingers, but if I at any point heard one CLUCK I might have felt the need to CHUCK. See also: actual chicken fingers.
But hey, what ho*: free refills on so. Da. I will deliberately abstain from soft drinks when I know I will be attending an appropriate dining facility so that I can better make use of such unlimited imbibement potential. Of course, for 2.39 I could probably buy half a case of the stuff and drink it at my leisure rather than all at once, and spare myself the carbonation sickness for the remainder of the evening, but this is one of few areas in which I am capable of “showing off” to others, and so I will take it, because I have a sad and empty life. This and eating the pickle chips that come with my french fries. In fact, if I don’t get any I will ask for some. I like pickles with my french fries. What I don’t like: morally mishapping plumed passerine poltroons.
You agree with me, don’t you?
*I am no ho.
Ha, I finally get people to look at this page and then I disappear for a week and a harf. Ha, I laugh at my own remarks that aren’t even jokes. You will believe there are still moderately expensive hotel rooms in this country without easily accessible internet. You will also believe that I never needed an excuse that good. Here, have a fox at war. Nevermind why, for the moment.
You may be pleased to know I actually had this done last Tuesday but couldn’t be bothered to make even as lazy an update as this out of it. Also, I only realized now after printing this out and giving it to a fellow that there was a big pink streak from where I had moved the edge of the tank bullet (that’s what the large shiny thing is) and forgot to fill in the vacated space. And then I fixed it and for the first time ever saved the little internet version COMPLETELY over the big version that I make prints from right just now. I can restore it from my flash drive duplicate, but it’s the botch that counts. Thankfully, that is not the most disgraceful thing I allowed to happen over the week-end and surrounding territories. That would have been a disappointment, I think. I always bring enough gaffes for everyone.
Some people insist on enjoying themselves anyway.
11-18-2009
I will be going to Chicago on Friday and returning to Not-Chicago on Monday. I suppose I should have told you sooner.
dopesdopesdopesdopesdopesdopesdopesdopesdopesdopesdopesdopesdopesdopesdopesdopesdopesdopes
Now, I’m sure this is a GOOD can opener, but one accomplishes that merely by carrying out its stated, titular function of opening cans. Once the cantents have been exposed to our cruel, food spoiling air, there isn’t a whole lot to distinguish the very best there ever can be throughout all time from the merely adequate for right now. For all I know THIS is the best can opener ever. It provides every bit as much evidence to support the claim.
My old can opener was not as good. Do you know why? You will in a moment, unless you stop reading right around here, and I can’t blame you since I’m talking about can openers. My old can opener was bad because one of its gears and the plastic coverings for its handles broke off. Thus, it could not be used to open cans. This new one passes that basic test. Therefore it is an engineering miracle?
That sounds like a yes. And so, even if this wonder can-opening can opener ceases to exist and another inherits the position of best in the world, there will never, can never be another best ever. Why don’t you think about that.
Nevermind. You don’t need to answer. Unless you were going to, in which event I am curious as to how you might respond, but I suspect you weren’t going to, and so you need not even bother not minding. You need not even submit to the brain wave-eating machine.
Does anybody actually do this? Or does my lack of a left side right hand indicate that I am not meant to understand?
I gather that it also helps to carry a stove burner on one’s head. Perhaps this is a heat-off/bacony squiggle-off, a challenge at last to our foul robotic overlords’ claim that they can do everything better than us. I lament that my head cannot attempt such acts of valiance. Maybe in its earlier days, but now it has a torso and limbs to support. The one in the example is young and reckless, with, it thinks, nothing to lose. An all too common and all too tragic situation. But there is hope! Do not curse your condition! It is only natural! Do not make the mistakes so many others have!
The full story is that Regis Philbin doesn’t think he has enough money yet despite nearly fifty years of paid television appearances, supposedly having been filmed more than any other person, as certified by an Irish beer brewing company that is one of few enduring cultural presences older than Regis. As for Kelly Ripa, she also has a funny name.
Much like last month, I soon will go somewhere that I need to prepare for and am horrible at preparing for. As far as I know I have no such place to travel to next month, which means I will be very unprepared.
Evidently Stop & Shop has further to go on its journey to not be Brand X than I thought. This doesn’t even come with RIP.
I say, what a GYP. Gyp, incidentally, I was surprised to learn does not have its origin in racism or prejudice.
The Guaranteed Value squad I thought for certain would win the blandness war. It found a way to make carrots less exciting. Isn’t it kind of neat that they come from the GROUND, growing out of a tiny little SEED? It would be if it didn’t take months to happen. Yef, that’s right, I’m on to you, CARROTs. Somebody finally had the courage to stand up to root vegetables. I know you’re in this with the beets. Soon I shall send my champions to destroy your stronghold.
We really are in trouble, aren’t we.
I thought this entry was longer than this. Whoopth. Does anyone have suggestions for lengthening it?
Nobody? Goodnight, then.
I should make another site update soon. I can’t wait to see if I do! I am physically incapable of waiting for that. And so I will do something else. I can’t wait to find out what that is. And so I must do something else. This system could be a problem.
000000000000000000000000000000000000
Gouache is a sort of paint that I thought about recently. I misspelled its name in a google box, though. For that I was punished with a page from “urbandictionary.com” which I would rather have not glimpsed the excerpt from. Why don’t the stupid BING.com ads latch on to that? The people in those ads say stuff about raccoons and Venice that are interesting or at the least informative, not gross-sounding names for gross-sounding body parts which as far as I can tell and am grateful for nobody actually refers to in such a way. Oh!
Dearest Microsoft: Me making fun of google does not mean I’m looking for a replacement. You of all respectable businesses should realize and be grateful that I won’t be swayed by a flashy bit of dumbed down competition over a few moments of weakness. And isn’t it enough, besides, that I use your dopey hard drive index search in Windows?
I don’t want a “decision engine.” I make my own decisions. Like when I decided not to use BING oh ho ho. I’m too tired to make this interesting but I want to complain about it today. I also want a quesadilla.
ME ROBOT. ME GIVE LIGHT. CLOCK NOT GIVE LIGHT. ONLY ME GIVE LIGHT. I PROTECT YOU FROM BUY CLOCK.
I don’t know that I would want this lamp. It has an interesting look to it, but if I imagine that the light source itself is the head of some being, staring downward, constantly. I’ll always feel like it’s judging me. You do not control my life, lamp!
Its arms seem capable of grasping things, such as pencils and receipt size pieces of paper, which fully justifies giving it arms. Despite these astounding innovations, the makers of robot desk lamp wisely assumed that might not be enough for some people and that they would soon be awash in lawsuits if they did not point out that paper and pencils are not included.
HEY, I bought this because I needed a lamp and a pencil AND a receipt size piece of paper like the picture on the box but now I only have a lamp! What the gives!
Certainly, I reckon it can hold things besides pencils and small pieces of paper. I reckon it could also hold a crayon and an envelope if that was the sort of thing you were into. At least that is what I reckon. I reckon you did not reckon on my championship reckoning skills.
I also just noticed that the description on the back of the box refers to the lamp with masculine pronouns like “him” and “his.” That amuses me, and I see no value in griping about it.
The Three Men and a Baby cast reunion held more surprises than anyone could have anticipated.
Have you ever thought “gosh, I wish EVERYTHING I saw seemed like it was through broken venetian blinds?”
After taking this picture, I found out without wishing to from people I came across without wishing to that supposedly Kanye “my first name is in pig latin” West wears glasses like this, which makes them marketable. I wish an emulated-beyond-reason celebrity would take up a seriously bizarre bit of fashion. No more of this wrong colored band aid business, I’m going to wear a propellor beanie or a cardboard Burger King crown in public.
SPEAKING of cardboard burger king crowns…
First of all, skulls again! But at least they sort of make sense in the context of hats. That’s about the only thing they can wear besides glasses. But more importantly, on the left: I can’t tell if this is a retro trendy throwback $20 Hot Topic Burger King crown, or a free one that a recent classy mall diner just forgot about. Or perhaps an actual king on a really tight budget mistakenly left it here.
Tah! KING GRAHAM! Liege of Daventry, lore’s most destitute fictional monarchy. Despite owning a magical treasure box that CREATES gold (and leads to massive inflation, but we’ll discuss that some other time), a magical shield that is impervious to all perils, and a magic mirror, that, one assumes, he can see his own reflection in, King Graham still dresses like the Men without Hats (despite having a hat; this may just be to prove that he also can’t read) and regularly incurs fatal abuse in really stupid ways without much resistance. Sure, he always comes back to life, but that is a skill also common among many digital heroes who aren’t kings. Additionally, it is my guess that through some means it will come about that Graham can’t win the game without his meat monarch crown, but he won’t realize that until much later.
It FIGURES King Graham is in league with dopes. But I tell you this: I download no roms from no dopes. I only went there for turbografx cd ISOs. The dopes were none the wise, much less wiser.
There is a reason nobody wears those anymore.
This is no good. I need my Tonies FULL TIME. Is that really so much to ask? I hardly think I am guilty of glut-tony.
Where have you been, Tony? I needed you here yesterday! Having to ship all your body parts separately in a magical monochrome analog tv set is not an excuse! You could put wheels on that thing!
Maybe tell me less?
I praise your intention to amend your commend, Luckas. On a side note, that poem is just so great. Were you even aware that EVERY DAY there is a child went forth?
You know, just the other day I was asking: WAS there a child went forth? There was : )
I’m surprised the dope can simultaneously press shift and nine or semicolon in order to produce the complicated smiley face symbol. Who spelled out “a dope” and loaded up my comment form for it? It really makes little sense. Yet somehow it has less sense than that. Perhaps I am betrayed.
Historical note: Half & Half was a real television show that people watched and also a coffee flavoring. It may also be other things.
You can HAVE the dope! O cyborg of the phallic nose and steel mustache.
Alright, guy. I wasn’t doubting you. I think you’re being a tad oversensitive, sir.
I was going to write something today about how all cereal mascots appear to be screaming, but I made sure to check if anybody else had, first. As things do sometimes turn out, somebody has, and only a bit over a month ago. This is not surprising; surely the level of maniacalness (“mania” itself is not a maniacal enough word, I’m afraid) that led me to suddenly realize this would do the same thing to others. The fact that I don’t purchase these cereals and have less than scant desire to, yet still noticed the overpowering craziness of their superfluous, excessively-shaded representatives must be a sign of something that I would be failing in my duties to not attempt to draw yet more attention to, even if the observation is not totally original.
Oh, Captain! This time he’s selling a product so shoddily produced and stale that no one less than Superman can break it apart.
I say “this time,” for Captain Crunch’s mental slide is nothing new. I have been documenting it for years, and have sadly become accustomed to it. However, I still ought to have paid more attention to the effect he was having on his shelf/ship-mates.
“Wendell,” the Cinnamon Toast Crunch chef is so out of control that his picture on the box actually had to be reduced in size to keep it from giving people heart attacks. This is not surprising; his guilt over murdering the other two chefs in the early 1990s, dropping them into the swirl-mixer vat and subsequently feeding the evidence to America can only have grown since then. Unlike himself; he seems shorter and more deformed than ever. He’s actually glowing from the quantities of artificial joy he has to inject merely to keep from sobbing.
Yes, yes, certainly, with online vagrants’ tendency to talk about trash from two decades ago forever and gravitate toward the most obvious, sociopathic and vulgar explanations for everything, I assume claiming “Wendel killed the other chefs” is nothing any more original* than noticing the perpetually gaping mouth spaces common to cereal box characters. I wouldn’t be surprised to find an old page of my own accusing such a thing. But maybe it’s so common because it’s true.
*Or it is, but only because I didn’t feel inclined to put a mention of rape in there. Everybody on the internet knows rape is hilarious!
The famous Trix rabbit pulled some strings, possibly the ones that hold up his eyebrows, and got two different demented expressions on shelves at the same time. He STILL can’t get the cereal he is forever in the proximity of enormous bowls of, and that would push anybody over the edge. Fifty years against a garish red background doesn’t help, either, as his neighbor would no doubt attest were he in a mental condition to do so.
The leprechaun looks like he’s attacking somebody with that giant, irresponsibly over-perspectiv’d spoon. It’s more like a catapult scoop than something a human would eat out of, much less a mythical demi-human a fraction of one’s size. And once again there is glowing with absence of apparent, appropriate light source. In this case it is not a result of stimulants from anything but that which is in the cereal. The marshmallows are now so toxic and explosive that they must be handled from a distance. I do believe Lucky is experiencing a recoil from… shooting it, I guess. Speaking of shooting, I suspect we are not incredibly far off from needing to put heroin into this stuff to keep kids as interested as our profit forecasts and/or psycho spokesmen require.
More red, more threatening loaded spoon attacks. The name of the cereal is even violent. The violence is indiscriminate, too, as the unfortunate positioning of that frog’s eyes combined with the direction its pupil-like-things are pointing in cannot possibly present any vision to the frog-like-creature but its own nose. At least look at me when you smack me, you brute! And… I don’t know what magical “IMMUNITY” Cocoa Rispies is supposed to grant me, but I doubt it’s immunity from the sight of its keepers’ cackling countenances.
I didn’t eat break-fast cereal at all for much of my life. It is only within the past few months that I resumed, and I only eat corn flakes and cheerios, the same things I used to. Even Corn Pops are too sweet for me. Don’t pop my flakes! There’s no sense to consuming that much sugar if it only makes me want to cover the stuff in salt. All the same, I’m sure the artificial nutritive value that gets pumped into these mystery morsels is better than none at all, as a look at the boxes for an equally sweet substance without it suggests:
THESE guys aren’t even happy. They’re ANGRY. They want me DEAD. It’s not enough that I kill myself by pouring coke into myself by the caseload. These fellows need results.
Toucan Sam tm is not quite evil yet, but with that red back there he eventually will be, and until then, as long as he has those GOLD LOOPS he doesn’t have to be. What fruit are those frightful sparklethings supposed to represent? Liberace?
This makes me feel like Count Chocula wants to eat ME. Or my blood. My chocolatey, chocolatey blood. This doesn’t even show the cereal. For all I know each box contains an actual miniature Count Chocola which will create untold chaos when released. Or worse, just his head. And Boo Berry? Why is that here at all? The only place I’ve ever seen Boo Berry mentioned is on “bring back boo berry!” online petitions. I guess it is good that people’s dedicated laziness is not always in vain and can actually get results, but is it fair to burden every shopper with the sight of this result?
Oh, and there on the left… Gosh, kids just aren’t excited about eating chocolate chip cookies for breakfast anymore! What now? RAINBOW SPRINKLES? That’s so crazy, it just might work. If it doesn’t, heroin.
This business philosophy is KILLING our children! The Crunch-o-Thon may welcome me, but it would be morally unconscionable for me to reciprocate. The very thought of encouraging children to engage in such activities so soon after gulping down so much dubious corn product, and with so many razor-edged crunch bits still fresh in their stomachs… oh! If I didn’t know of his cerebral breakdown, I would be sure the Captain was doing this on purpose. Oh, what a chilling thought! What if this was all…
an act?
Forget O-6 pay grade. The Captain has promoted himself to O-G.
I intend to do something strange this week-end. I am preparing for it. I am also doing a terrible job preparing for it.
Here, then, is some old junk from last November.
I hope she didn’t say it like that
Indeed he does! Verily, this picture of Carson Daly contains Carson Daly.
I’m glad you caught that.
Jeff, I’ve been saying that for YEARS. There MUST be a faster, shiftier way of getting powerful, sense-numbing drugs. Curse this narcotic bureaucracy!
Oh, excuse me. This is from November 70 million BCE. Or 1995.
Well, I’m sold.
I thought that said “never lose a potato.” As it stands, I don’t see how this will do a thing about potato loss.
JJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJ
I don’t know where the time’s going, but I hope it’s enjoying itself.
JJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJ -world’s greatest The Guardian Legend password
My eyes hurt.
A special message from Jay Piscopo among the comments.
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Page 33 (it’s below page 32) of this.
Hey, remember when I used to post a comic here? Well I don’t. Could you remind me what that was like?
The moral of this story: believe in yourself and you too might one day cause someone else a spinal injury
The page size limit affects me yet again. I do not think it is as obvious today as the previous time, though. The size was FINE when I was PLANNING the thing. It was only when I drew it and started thinking “maybe THIS should happen instead…” that problems arose. Problems often arouse themselves in this way.
Once this “story” is finished, I intend to use a different content-delivery method if I think of one that seems like I would be capable of working with it. I imagine the shift would be considered abrupt if I did it mid-action. Even though I apparently have no problem with taking month-long breaks mid action, ideally at the conclusion, when the next images are posted, the gap isn’t visually apparent. Surely it’s fun enough to track the color depth changes between pages.
I wanted to be like Hergé. As far as cramming lots of stuff into little spaces and having it not seem like I crammed it beyond reasonable protocols of crammage goes. I still do. I cannot. Look at this page. Or don’t, but I’m going to continue talking as if you’ve looked at it regardless of whether you have. FIVE rows of panels. I never even realized the pictures were smaller than usual here until a few years prior to now because the author was a master at what he did. Every little box gets my full attention, as if it’s all I see (ehhh, in the actual book, off the internet, at least). Not only are there lots of boxes, a lot happens into. Herge gets China invaded and occupied, and then the invasion gloated about in ONE PAGE. Maybe it’s a little bit racist, maybe Tintin’s survival throughout his numerous captivities is incredibly improbable, that these guys who start wars just because they feel like it will point guns at but not kill the one meddler who threatens them the most, but that’s beside the point that my drawings are incomprehensible. It’s beside the point of itself because the improbability doesn’t affect my desire to finish viewing the story nor my ability to enjoy it. That improbability is all around us and people are used to it. I need to realize that I can get away with some blatant improbabilities. I do, but most of the ones I set up are, at their roots, attempts to avoid other improbabilities that are easier for people to ignore. Or something like that. I feel asleep back when I used a form of “improbable” in the fourth consecutive sentence.
A few months ago, I started using a wallet. Also few months ago, but not as many as I was just talking about, I lost my wallet.
For those of you not in the nose, a wallet is a tiny little pouch that you put all your money and important articles into. It has to be very small and easy to not realize you don’t have. If you lose track of it, you might as well go to jail because you can’t do a flipping thing without it.
Tralala, lala, you can’t go anywhere or do anything because you dropped the brown square!
Why can’t I just go to any place and have people believe that I am who I say I am? Because people, in general, are moralless scumbuses who resent the species they were born into and will hesitate, because hesitation is only temporary, to dispatch ruin upon the existence of any other person. And that’s why I have cards that prove that only I’m me, unless somebody else gets the cards. So what happens if I drop them? Why would somebody who is essentially my neighbor, my co-resident of this town, possibly this block of houses, not return to me a thing which has my own address that is obviously close by? Near enough to walk to? For I walked to wherever I was when I lost the thing? Because people are unscrupulous fiends who wish death or worse on everyone who is not them. They surround themselves with fences and noisy machinery and awful lights all night to do everything possible to disrupt any serenity in their own in their section of the universe.
It made me mad, when I first reported the loss, and I would be asked “did you check your back pockets?” No, because I wouldn’t have to, because I couldn’t not feel anything I put into one at all times. In fact, I never use my back pockets. If I did, that would be a great place to have something nabbed from without me seeing, wouldn’t it! The sudden rush of relative comfort from no longer having a thing crammed back there might also temporarily disorient me to the extent that I failed to realize an important had just been nabbed from me for however long is necessary to allow the thief to get away and so justify my never using such uncomfortable-yet alert pockets.
There are plenty of alternative pocket security measures I have yet to investigate.
But all this assumes another person took my wallet. More likely it simply fell out of wherever it was and landed in a dark, forgotten trench or crevice of the earth, where no mortal humanoid would be likely to venture into, much less search through in search of something. This possibly occurred in my own house. Really, there is no end of places it could have gone.
This is the wallet I have now. I purchased it because I like the design and it is hard to drop something that has a chain without noticing. However, feel free to think this just means I’m in some sort of nerd gang. I’m determined to not be accepted by any social group.
The only place I could find with chain wallets on the day I bought this was a Spencer store, and this was the only wallet with a chain there that didn’t have a picture of a skull or skulls on it. I don’t like skulls. I like actual skulls, just lingering around, cackling at people, picking fights. I wouldn’t put up with that normally, but skulls don’t realize how pathetic they are and I find them more endearingly pitiful than irritatingly delusional. I can handle illustrated skulls in the context of full skeletons, when I want to see skeletons. I don’t want to be seeing skulls without skeletons every time I buy twix. And yes, this even holds true if the skull is bright pink against a green background. What really bothers me is that most of them don’t even have jaws. They have upper teeth but no lower teeth. Why have teeth at all, then? How is the organless heap of bones going to chew the food it has no biological necessity to eat or ability to process?
Skeletons get no respect. They don’t deserve it, either, but in the absence of that, let them keep their jaws.
Police find skeleton inn. You know skeletons are bad if it’s illegal just for them to rent out beds. As I touched upon in the previous image, one gets ZERO REST when skeletons are around. It’s a total scam. There are things women love in bed, and none of them are skeletons. All those skeletons are going to JAIL. You could make the argument that these are honest, law-abiding skeletons trying to run a business. I welcome you to make that argument and OUT yourself as a skeleton, so that I can call the police again and report skeletons on the internet. I can tell you my plan because skeletons are dumb like that.
When I purchased it, the wallet, the cashier asked me if I would like to give the store an email. I said I’d have to think about it, because I wasn’t really sure what I’d say beyond that I liked some of the wallets they had for sale that didn’t have “cute” skulls on them, and I thought this was adequately communicated by me purchasing one. And then the woman clarified that she meant I should give them my email address. Oh, all right. Two mere syllables could have saved us so much trouble. I would give up my mail code so I could be informed about upcoming sales and promotions. At Spencer Gifts. I considered this, and in so considering I assessed that in my life I have made a purchase at a Spencer store approximately once every twenty-six years of my life, and I currently own all the novelty items featuring nude senior citizens with intestinal disorders I expect to need for the foreseeable future, and so I gave them your e-mail address instead. Take that, skeleton.
When my brother Idaho lost one of his many lost wallets some years ago, he eventually received an assortment of oafy knick-knacks in the mail accompanied by this note.
My wallet had 300 dollars in it. I’m worried I’m going to get a cake with a stripper inside. Because I don’t like naked people in my food, and if it’s my money I’d rather have a big scone instead.
Truthfully, I like pies best, but when I considered making a picture of a giant pie several people assured me those were “unoriginal,” and the last thing I want is to eat like a hack.
I like these wallets. They remind me of dilapidated housing. It’s like carrying a shantytown in your pocket. Who’d want to get at any money or personal items that are kept inside something like this?
I knew it. They’re hoarding illegal library cards. Fookin’ prawns.