I EAT BEETS
(disclaimer: I do not eat beets)
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I thought it would be funny if I acted crazy and posted a psychotic rambling thing of obsessive details. I forget that this often comes across as legitimate crazy.
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Latest development: automated birth-day greetings from message forums I haven’t used in months that I’m not particularly active with when I do use them still aren’t cutting it. Robots, alas, still haven’t learned to love. Do they think I don’t know what they say about me when I’m not around? Do they think I don’t know who’s always trying to undermine my sanity by filling up my error box with broken links I fixed years ago?
If I said such a thing I’d only appear in silhouette, too. Years ago I wrote something to the effect that I did not understand why people abbreviated “Patrick” regarding this particular occasion. The full truth of the matter is that I hate it a lot. I hate the sound, I hate the look, I hate the needless informality that serves no purpose other than to be more hatable. I additionally hate all beef patties, I hate rice paddies, I hate Patti Mayonnaise, I hate pat-a-cake, I hate patios, and I only just kind of like Pad Thai. Patamon gets a special pass because it claims to be a “mokvwap,” which apparently I discovered (or at least invented the word for) without realizing.
Although This one is pushing my limit. And now that I think of it, I discovered dopes, too, and things only got worse after that.
That one at the top– who put it there? It clearly did not climb up there because it seems unaware that it is there. It also seems unaware that it is wearing a scarf. Why would it wear that? If it was capable of sensing cold there are other things it could wear before a ridiculous scarf became necessary. And the one in the middle — it thinks it’s so introspective, with its fingers all clasped up. It thinks it is smarter than other dopes! Guess what, dope: you’re still a dope! You’re just as dumb! You actually seem dumber because of your shallow attempt to appear smart. Who put a cape on it? Who created a dope-sized cape?! And why? Is this a means to distinguish it from the scarf dope? What would be the point? They’re both dopes. And the third one, it can’t read! Obviously! There is an arrow pointing this out, and were the dope not oblivious to all and also was able to read, it would know this. It has no comprehension of anything it sees. Yet it smiles. Why does it try to fool us? If you took the book from it, the thing would continue smiling. Who gave it the book? Was this just a bad book, or is there a person who truly has so little appreciation for literature as to render a work unfit for further distribution by letting a dope near it? Why have these specific, unusual fashion accessories also been targeted? What sinister, conniving, cowardly, unscrupulous fascist could possibly
Please don’t come over here.
On a final note, I have just the strength remaining before passing out from side effects of my Futile Rage Syndrome medication to observe that the bow tie creature’s once small and unintimidating ears have somehow expanded (though it still has no nose) to become the size dopes’ ears used to be , that position vacated as said dopes’ ears themselves inexplicably grew in size. I suppose it’s not worth asking whose fault that is. Not without arranging to have myself temporarily locked in a room lacking sharp edges first.
Revenge.
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Beets.
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Why is it such a big deal that Jay Leno is talking/has talked with The President this evening? Can’t Mr. Obama come on television anytime he wants and say anything he wants anyway he wants? It’s not Deal or no Deal, after all. That is both a unique privilege and responsibility.
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The first four pages (akadaka: the first “six” pages’ frames arranged into the actual number of pieces of paper they would fill in the unlikely as ever event I printed them out) of Aw Beans presents Energy Zone starring Nemitz who has Not Yet Appeared and Doesn’t do Much When it Shows Up reconfigured to be, it was my initial intention, less unsightly.
The writing isn’t any better, and it’s possibly worse in a couple places. Otherwise it just seems worse because it’s easier to accept that sort of thing when the pictures match. Also, as might be expected, I spent a month doing what a normal person would get done in a week, so I think I should do another page of the “real” story before returning to this.
Excuses below, comprised of the raving psychotic nuttiness I wish I was capable of actually working into a story. Aw naw!
Progress was fast enough at first that I thought it prudent to post a notice of my intent, on the side of the page there, a thing I would not normally do. I hate when people hype junk in advance. I, however, wasn’t hyping so much as trying to buy myself imaginary time from my imaginary need to provide regular page updates, and merely stating a willingness to do something does not, for me, constitute an “update,” even though by dictionary definition it does. And now, the boring part.
However, very soon afterward I ran into difficulties, one of which being my inability to stop myself from exerting effort for very long, and the other being a baffling momentary rise in demand for dopey pictures made by me unrelated to this. So much of what I do exists for no reason that when somebody specifically requests something, especially with dollars, any amount, I cannot ignore it.
Unfortunately, as a result of some pseudo-artistic “phase” (evidently I’m so cynical I can’t even use my own language without irony) I am going through, many of the images resemble opening cutscenes from gameboy advance games.
I have no idea what’s going on in the “are you keilphix kumquat?” frame. I wanted it to be interesting or odd but then realized the first interior picture should not be too odd, and everything is a mess. All I was sure of was that I did not want chess pieces in it. I meant to just make some quick temporary solution that i wouldn’t be annoyed to have wasted time on once I thought of something better.
One of the shamefully major obstacles, the reason i put the project out of my mind for two years was that the very first page included a chess board, with tiny little pieces drawn on it, in half the frames. So then I needed to trace that board, trace all the little pieces, figure out which pieces they are, and think of what they should be changed to since… even if this was about normal dopey american earth people I wouldn’t want them to be playing chess because I think chess is boring, but certainly it’s hard to have even the minimal “otherworldlyness” I am capable of if the fools play chess and on the very first page. alas. Adding a new first page before it only slightly reduces the trouble total.
And then on the third or fourth page, with the exchange between pog and the dopey lizard, I didn’t like that all. Both characters exhibited attitudes entirely inconsistent with what I have them doing later. My effort to soften that only further convoluted things.
The comedy central channel keeps running promopes for its ROAFT of Lawrence Cable Gentleman. I thought I had a slanderous thing written about him that would be important to get in before a heavily advertised insult show, regardless of whether I intend to watch it (I don’t!), but it’s evidently pretty basic. If it was complete and had a point I suppose I would have put it here already.
People think Dan Whitney is insincere and phony not because he appears in movies, bad movies, as Larry The Cable Guy, but because he’s Larry The Cable Guy as whatever the character in the movie is. They just don’t realize it. It’s like when you have the cast of Tiny Toon Adventures AS the cast of Star Wars, or the cast of Muppet Babies AS the cast of Star Wars, or the unendurably enduring cast of The Simpson AS the cast of Star Wars AS the cast of Monopoly*. It just seems less than valid. The flanlike Family Guyites actually had a full length “movie” that was somehow for sale where they were the cast of Star Wars. And Larry’s not making fun of bad movies, either. He’s just making bad movies. I have to think this may lead to serious psychological problems, for him, if it hasn’t already. He must know the movies are bad, and maybe he thinks
*the unsettling corporate synergy of the Robot Chicken Star Wars Episode Part 2 eludes inclusion in this sentence due to not making use of a specific nonexistent “cast.”
And if he did drop all the fat points, these non-typical results legally required to be presented as non-typical results were supported by an additional incentive of getting paid heaps of dollars to appear in the ad for the product. Us proles without personal trainers to keep us on the program and make sure we also eat
Oh, I see. I forgot that Chowder Pot III, my favorite least favorite local restaurant, now offers call ahead seating. I just hope a pot will be enough. You may want the Chowder Cauldron, Mr. Guy.
I already eat my own food! I’m not going to pay you dollars to let me continue doing that! My own food. Yes, I imagine obesity is rarely a concern among the section of the populace that sustains itself by stealing pies off of window sills. Haaa ehhh. I think these things only ever required people to buy special food so that at some point the requirement could be dropped and made to seem like a special privilege.
I try not to insult overweight people as a group (really!). Fats are one of the precious remaining groups about whom cruel jokes are socially acceptable forms of discrimination, along with nerds, gays and hill folk. Which possibly explains how they’re so easy to get laughs with. However, it is my personal goal to make every task as difficult as possible for myself. I only hope this is as hard for you to read.
But! I eat many horrible things and owe my scale stability mainly to an overactive metabolic processing system. I expect one day soon it is just going to stop and i’ll look like a mancubus within a month.
And it only gets worse from there. You may be surprised to learn that there are worse things than living in hell and being regularly gunned down by little men in green suits and your co-residents. You could be so out of shape that you can’t lift your otherwise incredibly useful metal, handless arms to swat a dope off your head.
Do you get the impression I didn’t draw that with the expectation that I would be showing it to anyone? Or does the rest of this entry rule that out?
If you have a ridiculous neck that makes you look dumb, there’s nothing smart about a big collar that’s just as ridiculous. If anything, you look twice as dumb. The best thing about this creature is that two people can strangle it at once.
Look at that idiot! It’s almost smiling even though I have challenged it with threats and insults.
G’dahh! I’ll punch it off the screen. Hold on to your paper, for bandage purposes. You’ll look like a mummy when I’m finished. Since mummies are also not allowed, you will be ordered off the premises. I think it is actually rather benevolent of me to use that on you right off the roll.
Don’t you point that at me! What is that thing FOR? I’ll yank it off! You don’t deserve it! I will strangle you again with it, fool. I will cut it off and put it in a box and you can come get it when I’ve forgiven you. You have FAILED as a monster. You aren’t scary and you can’t win fights. Punishment. Those brown pointy things are probably pieces of plastic you stuck to your head because you’re conceited and pathetic. And yet I suffer to think of how stupid you’d look without them.
Oh? OH? You’re fortunate I choose to address you at all! Beast. You should know that you have no right to stand up for your rights. Oh, and by the way that green frame doesn’t match this background at all. I don’t think it would match any background. It’s far too bright. That was your worst idea. Why do you even think you deserve a frame? You’re not special! Nobody would hang you on their wall in anything but the most literal medieval sense!
Is there a frame there? No frame! And you have no proof that is my wall. I may be borrowing it.
Thur
Is that what it has gotten to? Meat loaf dreams? Meat loaf dreams that transition into Wolfenstein dreams? How dull have I become?
Wednes
Argued with the cat. Was disgusted by its attitude.
Tuesday
I spent some time in an abandoned garage. I found the darkness welcoming, as well as the absence of Gameshow Network/Stupid Model Show Channel voices murmuring incoherently from below. I would have stayed longer but I had neglected to bring an object to assist in disposing of my nasal fluid residue, and was not yet open to the idea of using my clothing for wetness absorption. That I would have to be coerced into minutes later.
I tried lying down in the grass. I had already slipped and fallen while trying to throw a brick at a vacant resident’s pretentious yard pine tree and decided I should at least take advantage of my new position. It was not good. The grass is sharp because people cut it all the time with [inexcusably loud] machines. They only stop and leave when the grass gives up and stops growing in late November. So demoralized is the grass that it does not regain the confidence to grow again until Spring, but by then property owners have returned to cut it some more. I don’t like dirt anyway. Still, the experience was bearable enough that it may be worth trying near a place more visible to non-“association” citizens. Most people will ignore or not even see a body, but eventually someone will investigate and discover it is not dead. I will be interested to see how somebody reacts to this sort of thing. I’m guessing it will be with disappointment, both at the lameness of the prank and the lack of revelation of hidden tv cameras. No no, I just did it because my life is otherwise meaningless, yet I remain too sensible to expose my immediate acquaintances to the repercussions of violent crimes. My fear will be the last thing to go. Try again next week.
Monday, the nine:
I was outside my home, in the rain, trying to burn off some of my shame. I must have been particularly invested in the idea because as I reached the end of the road (it is a long road) I had to stop and lean against a sign and wait for my respiratory guild to reach an interim agreement. Usually I can merely slow down or stop. Unfortunately, this was not a stop sign, so I looked out of place. A car which had recently passed me stopped in the near distance and eventually hooked around and came toward me again. The driver asked if I was all right. I responded that I was a bit depressed, but this was only audible as an indistinct mumbling. I don’t think I’ve been all right in my entire life. Has anyone? A better query would have been if I was right enough for the immediate situation and I was. The violent coughing up of phlegm is actually a standard part of this routine. The next question, “do you want me to call somebody?” I responded to more voluminously, saying not to do so. Was I sure? I was. If there was anyone nearby worth talking to I would have stayed inside and done that. We parted with “you look like you’re going to pass out” and “it would be for the best,” once again not terribly audibly. It was the closest I had come to having a conversation in days. I wish I was capable of doing something so hard that I lost consciousness. It’s much better for getting attention and closer to some sort of productivity than a grief nap. I would just lie down in the road but that would be dishonest, and uncomfortable, besides.
Still, all in all the experience was a magnificent improvement over the last time I travelled in day-light and was seen, when I spoke instead to a duo of police officers who had been called forth with reports of “someone walking around in a daze.” I was not aware prior to then that it was a crime to find the clouds and scraggly tree branches more interesting than asphalt. Ehhh, I can not fault the mystery coward(s) for not recognizing me; they only live here for four months of the year.
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Cliff edges continue to be sources of great danger.
Oh schnozzle, is this another entry about that Fallon bloke? Hooray for us!
Do feel free to just look at the pictures and imagine what the tiny little letters are going on about.
Yeeah, I saw’d Jimmy Fallon, doing his things on the television show. Some stuff worked, some didn’t. Some stuff seemed to work that I hated a lot. And verily there were curtains and bands and suits and desks and clips. But one thing stood out to me as particularly indicative of why I should not continue watching the program, and it surprisingly had nothing to do with the frequent bits of product placement. I could give a bushel of Del Monte brand canned beets that the three items Mr. Fallon invited three audience members to lick in exchange for ten dollars across fifteen minutes in a showbituary with no other aspect called “Lick it for Ten” were properly identified by the gorky announcer. Really, it’s no worse than the Price is Right, which I also could never watch on a normal basis for reasons completely unrelated to its commercial cooperation (for example, were you aware that it is a game show about guessing how much stuff costs?). That junk’s only going to get more prevalent if we don’t want commercial breaks to get even longer. Somehow. I don’t know what is keeping television from going back to being entirely written by the sponsors. Not “integrity,” certainly. Anyway, that was the first show. The second was better. Still not great, but I don’t want it to be great because I don’t want to want to watch this. I just want it to be so unremarkable that I won’t remark upon it again.
But! My justification for bringing up this topic. On the Friday show there was a food preparation segment and it ended with Mr. Fallon having constructed an edible object. It has been my understanding that the whole point of cooking bits on these shows was that everything went wrong and that it was fun to see how they could go wrong, in contrast to the typical outcome of the chef guest’s own television programs (naturally, there’s no reason to speak on tv to a chef who has no tv show). More basely, it is fun to play around with food. I don’t like seeing edible items get wasted, but realistically one must assume that regardless of outcome most of that stuff is getting thrown away as garbage whatever happens.
But that’s the best kind!
Curiously, one of the promotional ads that appeared prior to the show’s daybew depicted just such a mistakeful occasion. The woman on the left, who the nbc.com file name informs me is the domestic cyborg 215_RACHAELRAY_001, has a run-in with a wizard who magically transforms her into a flaming stunt-person who is too embarrassed to face the camera. No such sorcerial chicanery took place on the actual broadcast, alast. And despite the goggles not even a simple Family Double Dare physical challenge dared break out. Just a couple affluent goofs clinging classes together while watched by millions of pitiful proles.
Although I mentioned not being bothered [more than I usually am] by the sponsors, I couldn’t help but notice that when I looked up the internet version to get the illegal pictures that it was accompanied by full-screen Subway Restaurants ads with a banner aftertaste and Jimmy actually spoke “subway eat fresh” before he bit into the thing he was biting into (and then he pimped his own website). A joke, perhaps, but the best joke for a situation is never a current marketing slogan for a product roughly equivalent to the object you see before you. Earlier in the week Craig Ferguson, who I have been watching again because I felt about about the way I dismissed him two weeks ago even though there is no logical reason that I should since it’s just a dumb tv show that has no feelings, had his own needless chef guest who prepared little hamburgers and I am certain that at no point did it as much as occur to Mr. Ferguson to state “I’m lovin’ it!” or some other related meat-mash market mumbling.
Everyone knows the Scottish hate the British. Truly tragic, because, as a helpful person reminded me, Scotland is part of Great Britain.
I have no problem with the idea of cooperation, and if put into such a position I would also likely attempt to follow the foodmaster’s instructions, just because I do so hate trouble (Not even complimentary popomatic bubbles can change that). But I would never be given a show like this! But if the world broke and I was, and I still wasn’t willing to mess stuff up just to amuse people, I would at least look over the items on the table during the preceding commercial “break” and try to think of some stuff to say about it, secure in my knowledge that watching people make food is kind of boring, and upsetting in additional ways for people who will not have any part in consuming it. I suppose I really do owe it to them to sabotage the situation, even at the risk of having a man dressed like a buccaneer yell at me. And beside all that I have to imagine that not quite having his expectations met by a culinary amateur is less of an insult to a legitimate chef de cuisine (I’m assuming) like Mario Batali than is comparing his work to a Subway product.
Wow, it seems like every three days I realize I haven’t updated this thing in three days these days.
I don’t remember why I wrote this.
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Watchmen are OVER!
It is necessary for this line to be in the preview [of the film known as Watchmen], not because it’s just plain great writing, but any film which includes a breakup or disassociation of any sort must denote this in the preview. Who can forget “I’m Spiderman no longer!“? Not I! And I really thought he was done being Spiderman, too, just as certain as I always am that America’s most ubiquitous magazine adorners really won’t find comedic romance by the end after the tragic events of one-minute-thirty-seconds. Hang up those phones! Cry on those benches! Drive your car at night! Yell “wait!” at a person who will not wait! You’ve had it this time!
As with any preview, the faults of Watchmen’s rest largely with whoever made the preview, and it was not my intention to take in any of it. But as it is necessary for me to procure the interest of another person when I wish to see a film, I had to be aware enough to say “there! That’s what it is!”
It does, though, bring to attention that the characters depicted in the film are The Watchmen. When I went through the comicoid a year or so ago1, it became apparent that all the characters were intentionally avoiding referring to the gang as “the watchmen.” Like that wasn’t their name at all, and the story was only called “Watchmen,” not even with a “the,” because comics always sell better if they have “man” or “men” in their titles. Perhaps it was believed that this one was well done enough that when people realized it wasn’t a proper -Man story they wouldn’t mind. And maybe “Watchmen” was their name, but the writer was trying to make a point by not saying it, possibly with the intention of distancing his story from any further Man-related misconceptions. He’s kind of a weirdo. “Who watches the watchmen” appears in the backgrounds a lot, but it is never pointed out who, if anyone, that specifically refers to. Of course one assumes it refers to the heroes, but it could just as easily be crazy person graffiti that means nothing. I don’t have the right sort of intelligence to be offended over such a subtle change, but yes, verily, it was odd hearing the people be called “the watchmen.” This entry should be over but it isn’t.
1 Thankfully prior to my knowing a film was being made, but it is not integral to my story that you believe this
I do think a great opportunity was missed to have Late Show announcer Alan Kalter portray Walter the hobo,
Look! Another one!
but in the end that will not be what makes me come away from the film disappointed. A lot of these things I like or sort of like up until the end and then I get bothered because nothing ever happened to make me truly enjoy them. If something had, and just as likely if it hadn’t, an abrupt, vague, pessimistic, miserable ending made sure I left upset. There Will be Blood, Capote, Pan’s Labyrinth, Waking Life, The Wrestler, The Wrestler, The Wrestler, I don’t ever want to see any of them again. I’m sick of smart people recommending this joy poison to the world. I don’t have a lot left. Is there really no middle ground between cringely sappiness and losing faith in humanity? I found out after seeing the sickening “7 pounds” that it supposedly was “bad” but it didn’t seem to me all that much worse from some of the “good” movies getting every star from the same people. Evidently the misery factor transcends quality.
Soooo… at least Watchmen has some neat visual effects. Even if its flashback plot progression and character motives are as underexplained as Slumdog Millionaire’s, and I expect they are, I will already understand what’s supposed to be happening because books let you stay on a page until it makes sense. Therefore I will not be eternally backlogged mentally, trying to figure out what I missed while I was trying to figure out what just happened. What are those kids selling? Did they steal that stuff? How long is that train ride? Why is Salim so angry when he gets to be 1980s Michael Jackson?
Yes, Slumnaire Milliondog is also based on a book, but that wasn’t a comic book. I like me some pictures. To recap: I didn’t want you to get the impression that my ability to appreciate intellectually complicated works was under-developed so I told you I get held up by cartoons in little boxes.
I mentioned, on a previewous occasion, seeing a different watchmen preview. but that was back in July or thereabouts. At that point I was just mesmerized to see stuff, and figured that I knew the story anyhow so there wasn’t an issue of anything being “spoiled,” and I would still have half a year to forget anything important. At this, the week of its release, however, with televisual advertisements and actors floating about talking over the things (“my character is a member of the watchmen!”), I understand that the trouble is as great as ever, even if it’s not the story that gets spoiled. There are many things which can be spoiled. Like eggs. I realize the irony of talking about spoiling and then linking to a page from the thing that’s mostly words. Sure do.
Here is my ironic let-down ending.
Clothes on the floor beside a toilet in a public restroom? Ohhh, that’s not good. But in Grand Central Terminal Station, with places to be, I cannot pass up a free rest-room toilet booth, even when one of the more crazy-looking/smelling people I have encountered comes out right before I go in. Hey, if the toilet’s exterior is dry and its interior is devoid of colored matter, I see no need to pass judgment on any of its recent clients. I should have, but I could not have. I also think the two police officers should have been able to tell, that both fully clothed and bathed I was not the homeless, garment swapping vagrant they were looking for, but they could not. Sometimes things just don’t come together properly. Such as the logic of sternly, noisily ordering me to open the door before I was finished with the toilet and then getting indignant that my lower fastenings were less than secure. But see, if I had been beaten by society to the point that I was stealing clothes to change into in a bathroom, it is unlikely I would be able to legibly protest the unfair illogic of that, so I understand. I also felt bad for the megadork janitor who reported the vagrant to the police; he was afterward chastised for doing so, and while not yet homeless, he was, the same, too much of an awkward fretful ubernerd to adequately protest that while I was not necessarily a homeless vagrant, one most definitely had occupied the same space moments earlier.
You first. I had a pen and considered writing that here, but for all I knew the police had already been notified I was attempting to use another restroom, so I thought it better to be out as soon as I could be.
When the only person who will consider your argument is the stall wall in a toilet chamber of a combination Roy Rogers’-Nathan’s in Pennsylvania Plaza beneath the second of two enormous FOX NEWF banners, perhaps if you are not beyond reasoning you at least would appreciate some solitude. Really, I’m just impressed you were able to pluralize “similarity” without adding any apostrophes. I’m even willing to overlook your usage of { and } braces, just because you are aware of their existence.
Verily, this country could use some fixin'(s). I have occasionally wondered if this means the bar was invented by or at least had its invention attributed to somebody named fixin, or if there is more than one fixin and they are represented at the bar, and the ‘ is merely to draw attention to the lack of a G, suggesting that “fixing” is a noun of some sort. Because I need more real problems.
Gosh, I didn’t think I did, but you found such a distressed and clueless looking picture of Mr. President that now I have to really wonder about it! It does not ask WILL YOU REGRET VOTING AT SODA HEAD.COM?… The soda head is run by intelligent folks and they understand that such a question would invariably lead to sensible people not voting at all, with the resulting overabundance of “no” votes reflecting inaccurate data. If you believe that, you probably don’t realize I just made fun of you for writing on the wall in the bathroom.
Making your ads vertical doesn’t make me any less likely to put them on my page. Just so you know.
DOES OBAMA HAVE WHAT IT TAKES TO LEAD AMERICA? Hmmm, that’s a good one, that. While certainly I am free to answer yes or no, somehow your inclusion of a darkened American flag, big capital letters and a hard-hatted head perched upon an ASS A BUDGE sign makes me suspect that Obama does not, in fact, have what “it” takes to lead america. Most damning of all is the intense picture of Obama himself pointing at my neck (or in this case ear) in regard to the importance of a soda head poll. I am glad you brought this to my attention. See, I was going to wait until he’d actually led America for a while before I formed an opinion on how he was doing and going to some other website I’ve already expressed a dislike for to vote in a poll that affects nothing stating as much. This is the President, not Howie Do It. If I left my house to choose him over the other guy, I’ll get no cathartic release from doubting his ability at this point. Or so I thought!
It still greatly amuses me that to some people, the biggest potential Obama worry prior to the election was that he might eat arugula in the White House. He’s just so elite. He’s so elite he’s elitist. He may even be l33t like the tile ghostwriter mentioned above. ”j0 dooDz plz email me fisXal poliCy r0mz.” I wish Obama had been in the 2000 election so that joke would only sort of make no sense and be totally forgotten by now.
The Tonight Show W/ J. Leno, January 19 2009: Jimmy Fallon films his own head for “webisodes” despite multple stable professionally operated official NBC cameras already filming him better. It should be noted that he said “webisode” at least seven times so it is safe to assume he has reviewed the terminology and found nothing wrong with it.
You, world, never got me to say “podcast” or “blog,” I suspect webisode will meet a similar fate. Specifically: everyone else disregards my protests because my opinion actually has no bearing on anything.
Look, he has the preview thing open despite not being able to view it. Decadence!
Do we really need two annoying, internet video dependent desk show hosts who call themselves “Jimmy?” Can’t one be James or Seamus? At least the two Craigs agreed to work in shifts and only one insisted on “Craiggers.”
Do we also truly require more videos of just immobile heads in little boxes saying stuff at us? Is anybody really so entranced by mouths? I put up with that during my first half in King’s Quest V and Faxanadu, but shouldn’t we have made some progress since then? All we’ve succeeded in doing is making the heads larger and needlessly better animated. I’m weak of mouths.
Of course I wasn’t expecting to be “friends” with somebody named GPSHyphenFitness, but I get so few “friend” notices, even junkety ones, that I always look over their pages with the slightest, most naive hope that maybe this ambiguously named entity I’ve never heard of really does want to be me best pal. Perhaps, even if it is a robot, it is just as lost and confused as I am. And maybe I really did in fact know a bunch of Russian live-journal users and I just forgot about it. But anyway, whatever disappointment I deserve for my foolishness, it ought not to come in the form of this human fragment yelling at me about fitness the instant that section of the page finally shows up. If you want to sell me on fitness but really just don’t have the space to pan out, at least show me an arm or something. All this proves is that your clothing is starting to merge the frame.
If he doesn’t want me to see his Slim Goodbody suit, he should have worn something else.
Hello.
Hey hey, somehow Jay Leno mentioned “you got married since the last time you were here,” sending Jimmy into a totally spontaneous rehearsed bit about the crazy characters you meet at weddings! Which required him to stand up and walk across the stage several times as different people his mimicry skills were inadequate to distinguish. When this was done Mr. Leno asked if Mr. Fallon intended to deliver a nightly monologue, and yes! Jimmy does! He also stood up again, to give an example, and got bonus applause for standing up, and then proceeded to say much the same sort of things as in his pre-plotted interview. Only while standing.
How does Fallon expect to stand out after two hours of talk shows on his own channel, nevermind with more and more viewers straying from nbc anyhow, when he’s still relying on the same phony setups in his own guest appearances? He also mentioned that he plans to have a personal band and I’m past the point where I wonder if he’ll have a desk. How long before he acquaints himself with Electric Lincoln?
Jimmmmmy has said on several occasions that the band is called “The Roots.” Like this matters (although it is a better name than Toby). I’ve seen bands on these shows and they all do the same stuff: noisily waste time with varying degrees of tolerability. Mr. Ferguson forgoes one (though probably only for budget reasons), and while it does deprive him of a consistent on-set target for abuse, I don’t see why this necessarily needs to be a musician beside a bunch of other musicians who don’t get to say anything. Regarding strictly music-related matters, disregarding its necessity, as a home viewer I can’t tell the difference between live music and the other kind. As an in-studio audience member, however, I preferred the pre-recorded music because it wasn’t as loud.
Jimmy again, with Conan O’Brien, standing again, reading off a little card again. This occurred the night I was in the audience. It’s hard enough to pay attention to the designated chat space when you can see the whole room, why did they have to bring out a guy I had written annoyed things about before I had posted them? How am I expected to appreciate the parts that went well when it is necessary for the waiting website entry’s completion that I maintain a contrary attitude until then? Do you even think? Jim only said “webisode” once, though, so maybe there is hope yet.
Regardless, prior to then I assembled this totally unnecessary, overbloated sega cd-looking animated gif of Jay Leno tossing water on Mr. Fallon. After about the thirtieth time I watched it I started to feel bad about talking trash about Fallon, even though the act only happened once and Jimmily poutily swiped the mug off the desk afterward, almost hitting somebody with it. But maybe if I find film of every person who sort of bothers me suffering misfortune and I watch it a lot I will become a less complaintive person overall.
Be aware, however, that the dope is not a “person.”
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I spend a massive amount of time making things which have no purpose. Some of them I don’t even put here.
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Ohhhhhhhhhhh busybusybusy.
I recently reported being astounded by the classiness of a McDonald’s restroom relative to my lowest possible expectations. However, my moderate-to-high opinion did not extend to some of the food items offered.
While I try to be as good an anti-meat advocate as I am capable without appearing hypocritical, and I applaud Big Mick’s support of the cause, I think there are good enough meat substitutes that we need not endanger the lives of America’s origami chicken supply. One could almost think this is intentionally being done to be counter-productive. SABOTAGE!
No, sir, I assure you that I quite intend to pay for that question mark in full.
This is at Denny’s place, but look! Automatic soap with manual-operation sink. Let me tell you, there is no more pleasant sensation than going to wash your hands and grasping a slimy faucet handle. Knowing that it’s “only” soap makes surprisingly little difference. Also observe that the soap dispensers come in pairs, suggesting that you should goop up both hands simultaneously, further reducing the likelihood of getting water without dripping ooze on the control mechanism or touching pre-oozed sludge.
Yet elsewhere: even the hand-drying machines are automatic these days. Because if there’s one natural resource we’re exhausting our supply of and need to take every precaution to preserve, it’s exhaust. Don’t bogart the hot air, man! (let us ignore, for a moment, the electricity required to generate the hot air, because otherwise I have nothing, and in such a context my use of words like “bogart” will seem particularly regrettable). If it turns out these were primarily invented for my convenience, I suggest, as a potential next step in their design upgrades, to have the things actually turn on when I put my hands in the area that the warmed oxygen is intended to come out of.
But I guess it takes a long time to get here from the fortress. What else are you hiding, JAke?
Oh. Well in that case, carry on. Nobody needs to know about this.
Mysterious!
Somebody in Pittsburgh who seems to have access to a type writer –I assume it is the ghost of Frank Gorshin, as he supposedly came from Pittsburgh and ghosts often possess antiquated composition equipment– considers me a thing which the internet tells me refers to a beggar-type person who attempts to maintain an air of refinement in spite of that (I accept such a critique from the owner of a bowler hat). Essentially, a parasite on society (maybe he thinks I ripped off his laugh?). I must say it’s nice to have written correspondence with like-minded people. Even ones to whom I cannot actually write back due to their lacking return-addresses, possibly as a result of being non-corporeal beings with no need for a specific place of dwelling. That’s probably, actually, for the better, as I often struggle to reply at messages, and this saves me the trouble of writing most of a response, getting stuck, and forgetting about it until it passes from relevance. Schnorrin’ ain’t easy, as they (some people, surely) say, so I appreciate my phantom menace helping me out in such a way. This is also the closest item I received to a valentine card.
Ehhh, if I do not include the imaginary face book toilet paper granted unto me by an imaginary face book friend. And I do, but only in my mind. It needs to be wiped occasionally. For example, the thought which caused the previous sentence would have benefited, I now realize.
The sudden twitching of my right-side, more efficient eye’s lid, and subsequent revelation that the only treatment is surgically removing muscles from it or killing them with botox are things I find incredibly worrisome. Yet thinking about it makes me laugh uncontrollably. The fact that a recommendation to get more sleep is the primary alternative, when I already sleep too much to be accused of having responsibilities makes it more “hilarious.” This is unrelated to me not updating the website.
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Do not take love advice from Pepe Lepew. Or anyone who spells out their accent.
Oh those banner ad people. They never know what they’re talking about. Why do I let them upset me so? It’s certainly not as if this is an official “canonical” work of the Wib animation department meant to be regarded alongside masterworks of plausible wackiness such as Space Jam and Looney Tunes Back in Action. This was just made in three minutes by whatever poor schmuck was assigned the task.
Yes, yes. This is what I need.
Even better. I love it. You took some cartoon character from the 1930s who has to live in a dumpster due to its abhorrent stench and gave it a big fancy apartment and a tacky modern telephone to send text messages to another character who hates him but now not only doesn’t but in fact has gone so far as to intentionally set off his white paint fetish. (I didn’t get a picture of that. I can tell you’re disappointed.)
Here are the reasons Pepo Lepo was supposedly funny: everybody in the world was afraid of him. The cat was particularly afraid of him. He was too dumb and confident to notice.
Perhaps you are of the opinion that in these days of increased awareness of and sensitivity to jokes about both cultural differences and sexual predators, it’s not really “funny” to have a bad smelling Frenchman chasing around and forcibly fondling a non-consenting female, is it. Even though they’re cartoon animals (which scarcely resemble their real life counterparts. A white-faced skunk? Seriously?). However, if you take that away, all that’s left is another smug squinting supersleaze sending trite messages through a telephone to a vapid swooning ditz-deluxe and we have plenty of those already. We certainly don’t need to be reaching back 70 years to find a suitable couple only to utterly disregard the primary reasons they were interesting. Even our most distinguished masturbatory webcomic authors know there’s nothing funny about pairing those two, as we now have them, with each other. If you want to have demographic appeal, Pepe has to live in an apartment with three lovesick cats and totally ignore them.
Even if we get past all that, still remains the underlying message that the most romantic thing you can possibly do at valentime is to type sentence fragments at the object of your affection. I may be a eunuch but even if I can see that’s not an act that proves anyone’s devotion to anything other than the stupid phone itself. At least… it might if you have fat, round inadequately numerous cartoon fingers, but it is my understanding that the target consumer typically does not.
They have the right number of fat fingers, anyway.
Wow, matching mail in rebates? We really are soul mates!
Worst of all, as former MCI pitch-creatures the merry melodists’ loyalties should rightly lie with The Other Telephone Company, Verizon. Who is Michael Jordan going to call on his yellow cartoon phone now? It’s one thing to toss their character traits in a trash compactor, but how can I respect fictional animals who are bought so easily? I cannot tolerate such an attack on our most sacred American institution, the corporate sponsorship.
True enough, Peppy did not appear in the MCI ads, and it seems reasonable to assume factions may develop among the various characters, but if mortal enemies Tweetypie and Sylvesterpie can both agree that 5 Cent Sundays is the bee’s knees, surely another cat and a skunk that can’t tell a cat from a skunk shouldn’t be too hard to sell on it. Yes, yes, 10 years have elapsed, and 5 Cent Sundays is an utterly obsolete calling plan, plus probably not that good to have begun with, but these aren’t characters who are renowned for their ability to review circumstances and change their foolish, antisocial behaviors accordingly.
Or are they? Maybe I should be glad that for once it’s not an old tiresome gag being rehashed. That one’s relationship with another has improved. Maybe things really are changing, and for the better. Why, just last week I went to a McDonald’s with a relatively nice bathroom.
They even varied the fake marble texture on alternating tiles. Things might just be looking up.
Still, for the time being I prefer to remain as far below them as possible.
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At least this many.
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How many more of these can I fit in here?
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LATER…
11 pm-ish:
That was an educational experience. I don’t know if it was worth $60 in train fare, 10 hours of time and reaffirm-ment of my own insignificance, but the whole point of education is to learn things you did not previously know.
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Anybody coming to this site for the first time should strongly consider not trying to read this entry.
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Unless something goes wrong (and it has every right to) I will be visiting the Late Night With Conan O’Brien program during one of its final exhibitions on Wednesday. I applied for tickets, not expecting to even be acknowledged, and so did not consider the various factors that would keep me from enjoying a multi-hour event in an environment I cannot intermittently excuse myself from and where somebody will check my belongings before I go in.
(Alas, this is a long one.)
Aw naw!
nemitz y elpse: whither be they now?
There. They are in a sketchy grey void right now. I hope this helpse.
Back in the old days I would upload these in groups of twelve. There are only four today, but they occupy roughly three times as much space on the screen.
Look at how you’ve dismayed the poor fool! How could anyone be so cruel?
Here’s someone with manners. Oh, please, don’t let me hold you up. By all means, tend to your pumpkin. Stupid animal. Who would call that thing?
You know what, I’d rather not know.
This is called an impasse.
This is called a scene from a CBC presentation of a presumably redubbed film known only as L’Impasse, whose English title, if applicable, I have been unable to determine, due in part to Carlito’s Way also being retitled “L’Impasse” when translated to Canadian. It is a documentary about Lambert, a high ranking unjammer of printers. Sony obtained the rights to a video game early on, but due to the film’s poor box office performance, which surprised everyone, through a highly unusual set of circumstances Lambert was changed into an anthropomorphous sheep trying to make it big in a rock band for the Playstation adaptation. There’s your scoop, then. Cherish it, for you may not get another.
Fortunately, I remembered that I had this character hate puns in time to save myself from a remotely satisfying resolution to the script alteration I felt it necessary to make.
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So that Pope today is ordering a recently recommunicated bishop, Richard Williamson, to hurry up and acknowledge that the world war II natsees did indeed employ gas chambers.
Why do people doubt quote unquote The Holocaust? Nobody doubts The Alamo or the Bay of Pigs, unfortunate war events of lesser scale but with names which would presumably be more easily denied. There aren’t people in Japan who doubt there was an attack on Pearl Harbor. And this guy is British and born in 1940; he doesn’t even have a disgraced relative or mortally wounded national identity to cover for. He’s just a racist anti-semitic conspiracy frootlooper. Even if he suddenly and inexplicably changes one belief he’s held for over twenty years it won’t change the others. Williamson claims he is not anti-Semitic because he is open to the possibility of Jews who render themselves worth not hating by giving up being Jews, and besides, he attacks communists and Freemasons, too.
Bishop Williamson was intially excommunicated for being, along with some buddies, made bishop by an arch-bishop, Marcel Lefebvre who, in essence, disagreed with what the newer Popes were saying, just in regards to church stuff. His new club, the Society of Saint Pius X (which I initially mistook for an algebraic equation), was of the opinion that The Church just wasn’t being churchy enough. It wasn’t angry enough at non-Catholics, its new mass services weren’t arcane and redundant enough, it was no longer strictly asserting that every passage of The Bible was an absolutely historically accurate account of a thing that really happened (unlike the “Holocaust”). The Second Vatican Council members were just a gang of easy-going liberal hippies. And this was in 1970. The Holy Seedoo we know today is a decadent, prancing, umbrella-drink sipping version of that.
But the real trouble was only after eighteen or so years of disagreeing with The Pope, doing things without The Pope’s permission and not apologizing to The Pope, this Lefebvre person ordered some new Bishops in June instead of May. That’s all it was! (ehhh, as far as I can tell) Which might just prove his point about the challenge level, I suppose.
So then, despite all this, Mr. New Pope Benedict Ixvy un-ex-communicated the bastard bishops, without checking to see what sort of nutty things some may have been up to since not stopping in 1988. Things which I would not be surprised to discover included writing website urls next to toilets.
So was Cats.