Consumer Alert:
Rorschach wants your eggs.
I’m glad I never had a way to obtain normal comic books on a regular basis during the years one typically goes through a phase like that. I’d have hated to have found out I was a comic book nerd, and I doubt I could have afforded it, besides. Still, if I had a bunch of those they’d be more likely to get themselves re-read than the collection I accumulated over what appears to be a considerable period in which I regularly purchased Weekly World News. If you’ve seen one final warning from Billy Graham, you’ve seen them all. Most people associate the Weekly World News with Bat-Boy if they associate it with anything, but when I was buying it there was a red hot Lost Dead Sea Scroll craze going on.
It (becoming/understanding I was a nerd) probably wouldn’t have happened anyway and I’d have been turned off them and ended up much as I was (just down some dollars), because as I saw from my uncle’s collection, most of them were made to fill a quota and just weren’t good and they never stopped coming. I’m content for now to let some other slob read them and decide which ones from decades ago are worth distributing illegally buying somewhere or something. Although even that can get suspect results. I can’t tell if Robert Crumb’s popularity is a joke on me or a joke on him. I will abort this topic before I do something resembling what I did last time. Fash that was horrible. Even for me that was bad. It’s like I took that thing terrible I wrote about Mad-TV and took it to a ho’ nubba levuh.
ARRRRRRGH!! It was all a plot by Danny Devito to get mentioned on my stupid website again!
Like a lot of lazy shows these days, Late Night with Conan O’Brien has been soliciting audience submissions. Somehow my write-up of this has become more embarrassing than the personal embarrassment it was originally intended to focus upon, but twelve years and nine months from now I might be reminded of and want to read this again or link to it and so I will leave it alone.
I’ll spare myself the detail writing, but in the end Mr. O’Brien wanted viewers to send ideas and suggestions at the “Late Night Underground” website as to what he should do to bring down a stuffed raccoon wearing a jet-pack which had recently been flying in circles and screeching in the studio. Because seriously, what are you going to do about that? They don’t teach you that in talk show school. Eh, but when he says “ideas and suggestions,” what he actually wants are scribblings and drawings and elaborate paintings of himself doing the thing because those are the things he gives attention to on the program.
Conan thinks he’s Maddox, but Maddox only asked for pictures once and he gave people a couple days to come up with them. The raccoon was the third such solicitation from Late Night in a year-and-a-half and the second in three months. I like to think those things are done with now, but things I like to think are usually made up.
This image is therefore the property of “NBC Universal,” but I don’t think it knows that, because NBC Vivendi Universal doesn’t want it. I am being quite infringeful having this on my page, even though I made it. I think the Universe has bigger problems to worry about than a certain Capt’n does, but you know, a cease and give up letter from General Electric would constitute proof that somebody at some level of its employment saw this.
In the glass, they weren’t supposed to be ice cubes, but they looked like they were supposed to be ice cubes, so they became ice cubes.
I’m torn, ripped, shredded between admitting this is an ugly picture and protesting that it’s better than the ones which ultimately were displayed, and that were displayed in such a way as to suggest that’s all there were. No! They were not!
This took a bit under or over five hours, but that’s fast for me, and a lot of it was probably redundant anyway. This was not seen on the program, or any of the program’s websites, or acknowledged in any way beyond an automatic notification e-mail that you get even if you try to email them a virus (still more than I ever got from Maddox), but it did prove that I can do something fairly quickly if adequate motivation (eeg: being mentioned on television by someone I’ve watched for ten years) is provided. On the fire escape of artistic relevance, this is probably a step above drawing things eating sandwiches and half a step below painting sad clown portraits. I am not satisfied!
You’re probably thinking, you’ve probably thought, long before now “yeah, I guess your pictures are pretty good for someone who primarily writes junk, but you aren’t nearly good in a legitimate artistic sense, and you’re probably past your prime so it’s only going to get worse, and you’d be a better writer if you didn’t waste time on other things you’re clearly not suited for” and… I don’t have anything to say to that. You really know how to hurt people.
I think I thought if I spent time trying to make it actually look like Conan it would take too long. Ha ha ha? Yes, so, not only did it take plenty long, all I have to show for it is that awful picture I’d rather not look at/know other people are looking at. I thought, half asleep and paralyzed with really weak greed, that the bizarre nature of this thing would free it from the common “art class project on the internet” stigma and finally get Conan’s attention, but it is in fact an ugly pointless picture. And I STILL lost to paint.exe stick figures. Worst of all, all through that week in February, even after typing the part before this, I still secretly (from myself?) believed there was a chance it would be used. I typed this, here, now, before the week was finished, and would have told you if I’d posted it that my thing would not be shown. And I think I secretly SECRETLY thought THAT would cause fate to try and spite me by giving me what I wanted. I have very little respect for fate, apparently.
I’m surprised they [the Conan people] didn’t call off the search after getting letters complaining about promoting the abuse of animals (assuming anyone writes letters to tv shows these days). Although this is the show that for a long time paid actors with electric prodding devices to pretend to shock a man in a bear suit to keep the bear from diddling its point of diddling, the bear has long since become a solo act. A solo solo act. I hate my life.
One of the pieces which did make air and wasn’t a heartless scribble but still kind of sickly looking was a scene involving a helicopter assaulting the cord suspending the raccoon. Conan liked this idea, said he liked it, and attempted to launch little toy helicopters at the raccoon. There is at the moment video of this bit but that site is horrible and there are better things you can watch on the internet, even just about Conan, but eh. I like the one with the honey.
You can see, if you look at the user comments on the specified Late Night show web-site object, and you shouldn’t, and I won’t even link to it because I’m afraid despite what I said earlier, that a great deal of people suggested solutions involving radio controlled helicopters. I don’t know why, but they did. I have to assume a couple even submitted those ideas properly. How many people suggested poisoning the raccoon’s drink? As far as I know, just me. Because it’s a stupid idea. But it’s an ORIGINAL stupid idea!
Also, about the comments: anyone who reads the body of the original message sees that ideas are supposed to be sent to the linked e-mail address, yet both times the announcements got well over a thousand public responses,
generally hashing and rehashing each other’s ideas in Dilbert list form, often involving Chuck Norris or the afore mentioned “masturbating bear.” Maybe it’s for the best that there’s no official, bold-faced addendum stating “remember, send your ideas in e-mail, not the comment form; legally we can’t claim ownership of comments, and if we don’t claim ownership then everybody can sue us and we can’t sue them and our position in the sue hierarchy is important to us” to keep out impulsive psychopaths (rather than paranoid rule-reading psychopathics who remember everything forever, like me), but the attitude still bothers me.
This whole thought “don’t worry boss, we’ll get enough in the e-mail that we can disregard any legitimate creativity which may have manifested itself elsewhere or come from someone whose email client is set up with a weird name…” I don’t like it. And then, of course, the idea that even the stuff they do look at is plentiful enough that they can toss aside 94% of it that has no other reason to exist. Those people wasted their time and possible effort for no fleepsing reason, on your request, never even knowing if an actual human being ever saw what they did, and it means nothing to you! That time amounts to no more than a couple minutes in most cases, but, oh… I don’t know. It just seems rude.
Also questionable, is that though the website is all like “oooh, we’re the Late Night Underground, yeah! We do what we want! We don’t take no guff from the man,” the e-mail address it demands sacrifices be sent to is @ nbc.com. It’s all totally phony. It’s like The Captain’s Blog, except instead of Captain Morgan it’s Aaron Bleyeart. He does various things related to the show, but he also seems to handle its websites. Someone that I assume was him but maybe wasn’t but probably was recently added a link to the underground site from the manatee site in the form of his enormous disembodied grinning soulless head. Otay, no one’s coming to see you, Aaron. The entries that aren’t mentioned on television and don’t have Conan in them are only slightly more popular than mine, and mine aren’t. You know there’s a chance people are helpless egomaniacs if they design major site graphics with pictures of themselves. I remember there was a website called “web pages that suck” which complained about poor web design, but the site itself was covered with this stupid bespectacled 50ish white haired man who thought he was the best person in the world, talking about how things sucked on the web all the time, and it was impossible to take any of his advice seriously, which is why I still put light text on dark backgrounds. I’ve only seen two people good enough to do this properly, and one wasn’t you. You don’t even know me! Don’t get that attitude, like anybody who comes to your site is automatically less than you. I want to wallop that guy. I should make a page called “Websites Called Web Pages That Suck Which Disappoint.” And then kill myself because I don’t need to be doing that. These days it has a picture of a baby. The only thing uglier than crazy men making crazy faces are babies.
The manatee site is an example of what happens when the NBC internet department does provide an exhibition for user sent material, but this is long enough already and besides I didn’t get on to that either.
But this did! above this text, not below it.
This here, another one from me, took considerably less time and came about around Thursday and got as much attention as anything else I did. Although it’s not as ugly as my previous, it’s probably even more shameful. And yet I made it and can’t do anything else with it than show you, to whom it should have no significance. The next time the subject came up, Conan produced a bunch of pictures of just himself cutting the cord in various ways (once again already addressed by the helicopter comments), suggesting that such an unimaginative outcome was the magnificent consensus among viewers. No! Some viewers wanted you to create balls of flame with your mind! I want to die.
I remember thinking, while the bit was progressing “wow, the viewer suggestions are much worse tonight! Mine has to be in there!”
My problem is that in my mind everything is a competition. That shouldn’t be a problem; scientific progress, the betterment of our lives as humans (at least it sometimes seems that way) comes frequently from one group of persons trying to outdo another. Except I’ve never won anything in my life except a kite that I never even got to use. But why should I care if Conan held up my picture? He’s not going to come visit me. And if he doesn’t, who ELSE is going to care that I drew him in a chariot racing down a vinegar volcano? Yeah, hokay, then I can say “Conan held up my picture! I’m special!” But I’m the only person I know who watches Late Night or anything. I could say that anyway. Whenever I mention something I’m interested in without saying I’m interested in it people always laugh or don’t care. Care care care I hate that word. I am going to say flimmb instead.
Why spend hours, few or many, on something I made no one flimmbs about when I can have them not flimmb just as easily by playing with my roms? Hey, I can show you a picture I already made, just because I felt like it, and tell you Conan held THAT up.
The show has artists. Conan wouldn’t say to them
I complain about the America Idol and its associates, and I’m not done, but at least rejects get rejected personally. Some of them, anyway. I have to assume there’s a primary audition to make sure you’re potentially whiny and bad-song-unhatey enough to be chosen or embarrassing enough to raise publicity for the show. And it’s not too bad when we’re talking about five second clips of cats falling off porches or men getting hit by tennis balls in the ear, but NBC, Comedy Central, Myspace, et everyone are expecting something resembling professional quality output. They want production values. And they want it when they say they want it. If Dimension Pictures can’t dress a couple people up like Borat and Paris Hilton for less than 20 million dollars, how does anyone get away with making these demands? I’m mad, and I didn’t spend very long or even stand to win anything. I find the principle frustrating. What happened to raffles? At least he’s a gentleman thug. (I just spent yet one more hour tossing things about in search of what I was going to scan to accompany and possibly explain that statement. Pretend you saw it and were mildly disappointed or confused.)
I need an editor.
Hey, just one stupid comic page this time! (plus the second half of the previous, just because I like making people scroll vertically) Someone told me I might have more friends if I tried that instead of waiting a long time to finish three pages. Although this still took a long time.
Indeed, though there’s just the one page and with very simplified backgrounds, my nemitses, it’s still been a month since the last. I did do a bit of work on the backgrounds, and the fact that I ended up removing them anyway should give you an idea of just how hard I was having to work at it. Sometimes things just don’t go the way they seem they should. Also, no one will jump on your hand if you ask.
I did use some of the time to give rudimentary coloring jobs to- rudimentary. I love saying rudimentary. I must think that makes me look sooo smart. But at any rate you know I’m never satisfied with rudimentary so naturally you can’t see that yet so whatever it was is just as white as before.
You might be surprised to find out how few people are willing to jump on your hand. Well, I was. One seemed just about offended that I would request such a thing. Crimps, all you have to do is step on it. I’m not asking you to lick it (I know full well we can’t even lick it no more). I don’t even want that. How often do I ask anyone for anything? Saying I’m doing it for “research” doesn’t help, either. Although that is completely true, that it’s research. I know a standard sized human would hurt me, but I need to know how much because I can probably downgrade it in my mind to find out how much some purple muppet, probably weighing less and better insulated would hurt dumb old nemitz.
ALSO: for some reason it really bothered me that I had to remove this “gag.” I have a vast archive of wrong things that just had to go, but unknown forces led to me typing junk about this one.
I planned the viewpoint change wrong, and it’s still wrong, and I couldn’t put this there anywhere without having to explain why it wasn’t in subsequent backgrounds, and by the time that part of the room is visible again this is no longer hypothetically potentially funny in my mind to see there. I guess I’ll have to save this one for the movie! Ha h-sob sob sob sob sob sob sob sob.
Although given that the angle is still wrong and my main reason for not just starting the page from that side, NEMITZ being at the front, doesn’t really matter because nemitz ends up isolated at the left, the “start” of the frame anyway, plus awkward, at the point when it is meant to be least conspicuous; when its hand-like-thing is landed upon. If I’d just gone with a normal side-view I could put in my stupid elbow drop scene in frame one and get those fools out of the way in time for stupid nemitz to get bopped in frame three. I told you I’m bad at backgrounds. But I couldn’t do that because the switch would be so abrupt from the previous view, even though the turning of the imaginary page would likely excuse this. Oh, trouble!
Bat-Man wants your eggs.
Now that the Enzite ads have ceased (I guess when I wrote that their en was in zyte), replacement ads must immediately appear, and comparisons with the old 2:30pm Colbert Report re-run commercial break shall be inevitable. Will the new hold up? Will it bring honor to the Enzute legacy?
What inspiration will today’s challenger bring? And, how will the Iron Chef fight back? The heat will be on!
No! Not ugly and creepy and fake-whistly enough! I don’t want no second-rate insincere grinning scamming megagoon!
I am not attempting something resembling hyperbole with “scamming,” this truly is quite worse aside from not making me think of peenuthes, but now that I’ve thought of how I haven’t thought of that, I have thought of it, so cashcall is still bad for that. And… that guy’s naked, after all. At least gobgammed Bob kept his clothes on.
But ehhh!
Enzait would probably only repeatedly charge you for the useless pills it would give you and not take back in a month, but for $2525, the apparent minimum which can be borrowed from Cashcall, it demands 42 monthly payments of $216.55! Over nine thousand dollars! The annual percentage rate is 99.25, so by the end of the first year you’ve pretty much paid what you’ve borrowed, but then you have to keep paying for 2.5 more years! Or something. And you don’t even get any fake pills! It’s so bad, Gary Coleman himself apparently had to back out of the deal before I found out! And he’ll sell anything! It would seem.
Residents of states beside California which have not specifically forbidden the likes of Cashcall (Iowa, Massachusetts, Nevada, New York, New Jersey and West Virginia) can borrow as little as $1500, but have to pay a $500 loan fee rather than the usual and still kind of ridiculous $75. And if you need $1500 with such urgency you’d take it at 141.42% interest or whatever for one year you probably can’t realistically afford to be paying $500 fees. The thing I read which attempted to explain “APR” to me mostly used figures between 9 and 10 percent so I must assume this is absurd.
Cashcall must be pretty bad for the casino crooks to bite their thumbs at it. Or perhaps they simply can’t stand the fool-from-money-parting competition. Whatever the case for the Nevada exemption, that likely won’t stop Cashcall from being advertised there, if Iowa and Canada have taught us anything. We could learn a lot from Canada.
Who’s watching basic cable television in the afternoon on a week-day but desperate and unemployed / confused and elderly people, right? They’re lost to the world, anyway. You might as well grab whatever they have left and rescue them from their emotionally exhausting cycles of optimism and grim realizations, and send them straight into comfortable routines of grimness. If you put this ad on at night you’d potentially risk someone not blinded by despair seeing it. You’d also have to pay more money and CashCall is more into the getting money side of things. Aye yi yi. When did I start saying “aye yi yi?” Am I going to start saying “aye caramba,” too? Can cowabunga be far behind?
This isn’t clever in the remotest sense, but it is still the most coherent digital communication I have executed in a month.
Alas, in looking over a cashcall recruiting ad which was in search of new employees, presumably to replace whoever was the most recent to quit from fear of constant angry post-cashcall calls, I was redirected to and therefore went to careerbuilder.com, which I said four and a harf years ago I’d never do. I just thought you should know that if I make an unaccredited vow of minimal significance I might momentarily breach it unintentionally a long time after that. For my penance I have to look at the page I said that on and attempt to read standard weight text against an animated background.
Cashcall.com is like the only website I know of that doesn’t work unless you type the www first. I’m sure that must mean something. I just don’t know what. And they like it that way.
“CashCall Watch” defends the Cash Call in a limited capacity by saying how much worse some things called paydoy loans are with interest and disclosure and such. Those I only know about from my junk e-mail and robot comments. Definitely a titanium support beam of responsibility and stability to prop your argument against. It’s a bit like defending cancer by comparing it to AIDS, isn’t it? Or maybe like defending White Chicks by comparing it to The Hot Chick.*
I don’t know how to help people who lose their jobs, or still have their jobs but just can’t afford things because everything costs more because the people selling them are selling less and charging more, because unlike their customers they lack the self discipline to not buy seventy gold toilets, cowards. I forgot what my point was.
Look at this, I just came here to show you a dumb picture and somehow that turned into another huge whiny complaint about something I don’t understand and can’t fix. I imagine you can imagine how this affects personal interactions. It is at least better to complain about something you don’t understand than to accept money from it, theh.
*according to the Wikipedia, Rob Schneider “was the first Asian-American to be a cast member” on some Saturday evening television programme, because his grandmother was from Phillipines-land, and I suspect he added that and related distinctions to the article himself. If he has a problem with me having a problem with that he is welcome to take out a defensive blubbering full page rebuttal ad in Variety which I’ll never see.
Happy birthday!
Surely someone’s birth-date occurred today.
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This web-location has not been very professional recently. If it does not improve soon I may have to take my business elsewhere.
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That movie “Smart People” makes me mad. I haven’t seen it and I won’t see it because it makes me mad. And not even because the name is “Smart People.” Like they’re saying I’m dumb if I don’t see it. I am not so easily tricked! That movie thinks it and its people are so smart! With their dull emotionless non-joke self-centered whiny people I beat that movie up! Sarah Jessica Parker is creepy. Her eyes are too small and her nose is too big. If she wasn’t one of those people I’m automatically supposed to like it would still bother me but I wouldn’t feel so compelled to say so. Not that such a thing is a reason to not watch movies but ahhh and this cannot get longer without me thinking about it and I don’t want to. That hasn’t been getting good results lately. Good pumpkins.
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This webpage has a reason to exist.
I would like to report that some unknown vagrant recently abused my horses by feeding them bananas.
I need to know. If I answer incorrectly the kidnappers swear they’ll rub a gluestick on my head and attach a banana there and bring in a horse. I’m not even sure if they can do that.
And this news article is full of lies.
Theater carnies don’t need to raise popcorn prices to stay in business. They “need” to raise popcorn prices to maintain the same ridiculous profit slope they’ve had going since they first shouldn’t have. That article tries to make these bozoinks seem like heroes for fighting to save my popcorn. Yeeh, you’ll pay “whatever it takes to get popcorn planted,” because whatever that takes will still end up being less than what you charge for it, you redenbastid.
I don’t read the Los Angeles Times. I don’t read the any times. I don’t have time for times because I get so mad about things written in them that it takes me six greedeen hours to assemble my rage into incomprehensible messes like you see before you. Someone else must have found that link and told me about it. But ehhh:
A ridiculous increase, sure, assuming absolutely no fabrication and projecting have taken place, but that’s still two dollars for ten pounds (in other words: the approximate opposite of the current US-UK exchange rate). I know there’s transportation, storage and disgusting fake butter which makes the entire purchase inedible not included in that cost, but how does one dollar for five pounds become five dollars for… I can’t even tell. I was going to say “half a pound” but I think that’s mostly the non-recyclable wax-paper container. Popcorn doesn’t weigh very much at all. I don’t know the exact figures, but they probably get like five-thousand bags of popcorn from one pound of the hard brown things and, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but some of them don’t even pop.
These kookaburras wouldn’t have told you two years ago that they were paying one dollar for ten pounds. At that rate, we ought to have been getting complimentary popcorn.
So charge twenty dollars, you pith. This scrum-bum admits his business practices are deceitful. I doubt he invented this practice, but I also doubt he ever questioned it. Maybe tickets would cost $20, but it would be obvious to everyone they wouldn’t need to. That also suggests popcorn only costs 2-3 times what it ought to. Maybe they should close the six thousand three hundred big loud expensive wasteful movie display systems they can’t afford and just sell popcorn since that’s clearly so much easier to overcharge for.
Gargoyles, you know why tickets don’t cost 20 dollars yet? Because if prices don’t rise at a steady incline we don’t get to name a new HIGHEST GROSSING MOVIE OF ALL TIME which may not necessarily be the same as the HIGHEST OPENING WEEKEND OF ALL TIME! every fiddling year, putting THE MOVIES back on THE FRONT PAGE.
The price of pop-corn in theaters hasn’t a thing to do with the cost of actual corn. Ehhh, unless you’d have me believe the raisinet and soda crops are getting replaced with ethanol fodder, too, because that can’t be had for less than four dollars most places, either. “Beverages provided by coca cola” my beanbag. Beverages provided by my dollars. Ooh dis. That stupid line is the only thing I remember about the pre-preview rule rundown. Which is unfortunate, because that means I yell at the screen, don’t turn off my telephone and make my garbage into stylish hats instead of disposing of it in the indicated garbage can. When will I learn?
This plan gets put on hold until the time comes to convince consumers they should buy their air.
So despite its intended message, the article admits that the kernels are popped harder than they used to be so they expand more, filling more space, requiring a lesser quantity of corn to fill the container. And yet prices did not go down when less corn was used! It has also recently been revealed to me that in some cases it is not corn at all but
the shrunken heads of white-haired bearded men, which I guess are cheaper to obtain? I don’t want to eat that!
Even with such an admission that article is still a parcel of porridge, because tickets around here don’t cost seven dollars. They cost seven dollars and fifty cents. Ha, ha! Oh, and after 6 pm, they are ten dollars. I could buy 50 chicken nuggets for that! Maybe I will. No no, not nuggets. I will get popcorn chicken. That costs less than real popcorn, and birds have to be murdered to get that, and those ate corn. All the cruelty and irony would overload my brain and I’d fall under a coma for three years/ever during which I wouldn’t have to worry about these things.
Regal regal regal. In the event you can’t tell from the poster pimping the immenent hostile occupation by SHREK THE THIRD (because you’ve undergone therapy to block it from your mind), I took this picture over a year ago. Who’da thunk popcorn cost SEVEN DOLLARS before my wallet was getting bites taken out of it? Verily, the 7 dollar order is a moderately decadent bucket you could probably wear as a helmet in the event you were blind and not in serious need of protection, but the 5.50 purchase is a standard sized paper bag (with wax coating). If greater corn economics were a concern, the three sizes would have more disparity between them to encourage the buying of less popcorn for more money. Instead, you get to thinking
Whoa, thanksh a bunch there! That means for some time it will continue to be only seven dollars! Let the good times roll! I mean pop! Deeeeeeee!
URRRRGH! I just imagine the smug, smirky face he said that with. The prices will HAVE to go up. They have no choice in the matter. Modern movie theaters aren’t bloated, inefficient wastes of space, they just don’t charge enough for popcorn.
You could sell a big glump of ad-time prior to all movies, set up to resemble a sub-Entertainment Tonight glib-fest which goes behind the scenes of imminent releases that have already gone out of previews and that will soon be inescapable during television commercial breaks! And you could give that ad its own commercial breaks so I forget it’s all just one big ad and possibly think you’re doing me a favor by bringing it to me! “And now back to the big ad!” Thank you so much! Yes yes, and after that you can show actual normal preview ads anyway! Huh? I mean, like, Hwuh? You already do that? And you still don’t make enough money to fund your twelve ludicrous theater rooms that I don’t think I’ve ever seen filled to capacity? Howzat now? You could always blame dvds and big television sets, and hope I don’t realize those existed six years ago when you cut down the great deku tree to build this place. Ehhh, it’s probably my fault for hiding a bottle of water in one of my big coat pockets instead of paying you three dollars for an eternally plastic water bottle I’d be just as likely to vomit into as drink out of.
Concession sales are a theater’s lifeblood, accounting for as much as 45% of profits at the nation’s largest chains. Popcorn offers one of the biggest returns on investment for exhibitors, because the unpopped kernels used to make an entire bucket of popcorn cost just a few pennies.
What monstrous, unscrupulous fiend would allow this disgusting sequence of events to take place?
I could cry.
This problem is bigger than popcorn, naturally: it’s not being replaced with crops that aren’t corn and demand less pesticides, just other kinds of corn, for ethanol, which I’ve never seen a reasonable person suggest is a good idea. Also, that article links to more articles. I don’t want to read them; you saw what the first one did to me. Essentially, it doesn’t matter how much better ethanol is than gasoline because coal is used to make the ethanol, and coal is worse than gasoline, and we can’t put the coal mines out of business because then we won’t get to say it’s a miracle when all the miners get trapped but look like they’re going to survive but then don’t. The only real difference is that there’s more stupid corn getting grown and more dipstipple republican gooselivers getting to collect money while pretending they give a bunkbed what happens when they’re dead. I’m sure if you do the research it all goes back to Jesus not liking gays. It always does.
I hope we run out of popcorn. I can live without it, you can live without it. The only people who seem to need it are the graboopis selling it like Leonardo DiCaprio smuggled it out of Africa. I don’t think he did!
Fake butter on movie theater popcorn: have you tasted this? Well you probably will because it’s just that horrible that it will never go away. It wouldn’t have come into use at all if some twipe in a focus group didn’t say in sentence fragments which will appear between quotation marks in marketing for it “Can’t taste the difference! Same great taste!” I’m not talking about margarine or the poisonous diacetyl in the microwave rubbish. Whatever this is, it’s worse than that, except that I don’t necessarily know the smell of it can kill me.
Anytime something cheaper and less good gets invented it tries to take over. Like when all the lime candy started turning into “apple.” Or whatever happened that allowed the largest pizza chain in the world to have originated in Kansas and the second largest Michigan. For some reason, you’re not allowed to expand unless you make tasteless slab cheese orange sauce cardboard crust ellipses of dread. I can’t stand it. The previous invention of microwaving technology left the theaters safe, and for all I know gave them yet another excuse to raise their prices once the ability to pop corn properly in a domestic environment had been bred out of common folk.
And this time the theaterbies thought
Microwave popcorn, I don’t like it, I won’t pay for it, and I won’t feel inclined to eat it, but if I mistakingly eat a piece, I can chew and swallow it. THIS I had to force down with water. I couldn’t even taste the corn itself, just its otherworldly coating, like I’d drank a cup, or rather a vial of it. I don’t remember the flavor, just thinking at the time that it tasted really orange. Not like the fruit, just the color. It tasted like something orange that should not be orange. Like if a dorito was made entirely out of its preservation dust but was also wet. I’ve never tasted styrofoam, but I imagine if I had and it was orange and a liquid it would have the same effect when poured over once palatable snack products.
I had to blow my nose at several points during the production I was screening, and I was suddenly very repulsed by the smell of the restroom soap on my fingers, and for some reason it reminded me of the tiny bit of turned popcorn gel I had just ingested and the burning, ringing sensation it left within my nasal passages. Perhaps they come from the same source. They definitely both emerged via the same pump-action goop distribution method. It actually made the sound “goop” when it was dispensed. That is one popcorn related omonaontonpaiea I could do without. I thought right then and there how glad I was that the other person was getting popcorn and I wasn’t, but a couple minutes later I had forgotten and was both surprised and grateful when without being prompted at all he offered me a chance to partake of his mysterious possession (this was the same person I shared that dangerous pizza with two weeks later. He may be trying to destroy me). I should have known better when he said “I’m probably not going to finish this.” And I ate one (1) popped corn unit, and for one brief shining moment I felt less than dead. What was it? My recent re-examination of the picture above, which I only took because I thought it a bit odd to bring popcorn into a restroom, is the first opportunity I’ve had to really look at it, and aside from the fact that it appears to be glowing I can’t make out any unusual poperties.
This was like something they’d give to the army. This was like something invented by dow chemical in the 1950s that no one on the consumer end knows causes cancer yet. This was like a failed 80s cost-reducing experiment I’d have to read about on the internet because it happened so long ago and was abolished so quickly that most people old enough to know about it have forgotten. This was like something people would film themselves dropping Mentos into. Like an hour later, still preoccupied with the popcorn I thought to myself that it could not possibly have been as bad as I imagined it was, and also that I really did want some popcorn, and took two pieces instead of one. I actually gagged. The only time I usually gag is when I try to eat something my mother likes. I shouldn’t gag on snacks. The whole point of snacks is that they taste so good I’d rather eat them than nutritious vegetarian brodinger. Did somebody replace the butter with yellow triaminic? That’s almost orange, I suppose.
Hey, if I see this guy eating cold pork chops after passing out drunk and waking up in his personal bowling alley and I become envious, that’s not good.
Here, the MadTV rips off public domain artwork web comics in which generic looking people say things they look like they should not be saying. And not especially well. The internet is better for this because it has no restriction on content –not just profanity-wise, but also Rupert Murdoch ideology poisoning; Mad TV will never suggest President Bush is anything worse than a lovable befuddled scamp– and material can be delivered rapidly. If you don’t like one, zippidee-doo, clickety clibbledy, there’s another! The sequence this came from took about thirty seconds to display, including a graphic announcing what it was, and it led into a commercial break at its closing.
The main thing television people have going over a single pseudo cartoonist is that they can, without embedding a big ugly rectangle or redirecting me to another page, employ motion and sound, and in this case they do neither because all they’re doing is ripping off and they seek to do no better, like that guy who copies other people’s mediocre mass marketable misanthropic merchandising morons plus whatever else and puts them on his own tacky overpriced Hot Topic dumpster destinators (though he’s supposedly a phillionaire and Mad TV’s lack of a budget is legendary).
Ehhh, the only thing worse than bringing legitimacy to the please-be-offended rabbit’s rubbish through buying it is making your own.
Also, instead of giving the clip art segment any sort of a name to be known by, like “Jerk City” or “Hi and Lois”, M. Tiv just calls it “fun with clipart,” so you know exactly what’s coming. Mad TV has no respect for its audience, and never lets them not know what’s coming. I tell you all these things because I trust you to have the sense to not watch television like this. I’d suggest you be glad I don’t watch professional wrestling anymore, but I should have to work harder than that to impress you, shouldn’t I?
Mad TV does not rip off well, in general. When it started trying to rip off Saturday Null’s cartoon segments, in particular the ones which themselves ripped off actual cartoons, it did that poorly also. In part because rather than trust some writers to work with what really just passes for an animation studio and deliver cartoons at occasional intervals, Mad TV had a production assistant download a bootleg copy of Macromedia Flash 5 and toss some virtual popsicle stick puppets together the week they needed it* because they saw on the internet that it’s possible to get by with less. The mad also does poorly creating royalty-free music for song parodies and having child actors pretend to cry over things actual kids would just sort of stare at in disbelief and dubbing ridiculous applause over the sudden appearance of recurring characters who were already hyped before the ads. It makes me mad. It should be Mad TV, not Mad ME, am I right? I’ve already reserved that for the letters I get from addresses containing ME that make me mad.
*true! Probably. Also, as a bonus for seeking out my asterisk before completing that sentence, I’ll tell you: do not look at that link.
It should have occurred to me that most of the audience reactions are faked; –not just prompted responses to light up signs, but 100% Harry and the Hendersons-issue absentee spectator laugh track– but it didn’t really sink into my mind muck until a show aired during the writer strike, comprised entirely of pre-taped material that was originally intended to appear between stage sketches or perhaps not be used at all. That’s sleazy enough, but somehow these all had laughter and spontaneous applause in them, which means the fox people either brought in an audience to look at a screen, or there was no audience. They just think I’m that dumb I won’t realize the show that’s usually meant to be funny is still meant to be funny if I don’t hear invisible ghosts guffawing the whole time, and that I don’t know there’s a strike going on. Whatever benefit this served the network, to have an “ALL NEW!” Mad TV in the midst of a very obvious writer walkout which had already seen three months of reruns was pointless because once the new guild contract was made, it was another six weeks after the three “new” episoids before the simple sketch show could return to air, because in addition to whatever else, its entire backup sketch arsenal needed to be replaced, having already been used on nights when no reasonable person would have expected to see it. If November buffoonery would have seemed “dated” by March, it was dated in February, too.
And those weren’t even full episodes. They had “classic” sketches filling space, too. I mean, what is this, Season 5? Oh snapadoodle. I want to go to sleep.
I’ve been watching Thundarr the Barbarian, too, but if I have complaints about that they generally don’t involve apathetic imitation of the internet.
Ah gomp, I’m turning into Emu-Lmao!
Secret Talents of the Stars: In which you, and not a mob-like groupthinking majority which didn’t get many choices anyway, but you, it is you who decides who stays, and who shouldn’t quit their day jobs!
Danny Bonaduce? I’m shocked. I’m shocked because he doesn’t HAVE a day job. He’s Danny Bonaduce on dumb shows like this full time. I doubt my mother even remembers the guy was on Der Partridge Family*, and she’s the only person I know who knows what that is, so the photograph is particularly helpful. “Remember? He was a child actor once! You like those! He was cute or something!”
Also, great Photo-Shop work, guys. I can’t even tell. Beanbiebklar, I bet he would have posed for this actual picture. I’m not about to look up the full list of dopey things he’s done just because somebody with sunglasses tossed a nickel at his box to wake him up, but I doubt he’s above squatting on a prop unicycle while wearing Michael Stipe’s wardrobe from What’s the Frequency, Kenneth? Hey, why is it always day jobs which should not be quit? I’d rather hang on to a position I start at 2 pm than 6 am. I know that’s a really stupid Andy Rooney of an issue to bring up, I’m just trying to distract myself from thinking about R.E.M. so I don’t digress into complaining about that instead.
I’ll save hopefully someone some time here and say that no, The Duce cannot “make it” as a circus performer, because actual circus performers, the ones worth watching, train their entire lives to be circus performers and will probably be crippled or kidnapped or recruited by the Bat-Man before they’re half as old as Danny here. Yes, a show with him on it will be an embarrassing farce. I sure hope you didn’t hear that here first.
In admittedly, supposedly scripted program news, now Jay Leno, who I still don’t hate, is doing something known by indescribably inventive name of “zootube*,” in which the he shows animal clips downloaded from youtube, a thing you could, by the way, do yourself. It’s essentially America’s Funniest Home Videos with slightly less obnoxious host commentary and no possibility of the filmers winning anything or being credited in any way. How can television hope to compete with the internet if it relies on the internet for material? By targeting people who don’t use the internet, logically, but how long can that last? Until they die? It is also worth noting that the nbc youtube “channel” has a habit of uploading clips of Jay Leno youtube bits. It is worth noting, but not necessarily dwelling on, and so I shan’t.
Using others’ amateur material between program breaks created for the purpose of collecting advertising revenue is not as bad as soliciting user submissions specifically for this purpose, though, but I’ll talk about that next time if I don’t talk about R.E.M. making me mad instead. Stupid Danny Bonaduce reminding me of REM in that picture he wasn’t really in.
It’s one thing to take junk off of video sites I was unlikely to seek out myself and assume was decent enough to commit forty seconds and several clicks to, but Geico ads? That’s just pathetic. I mean that the act of ripping them off is pathetic, not that they are pathetic in themselves (they are, that’s just not what I meant). Ehhh, unless you’d suggest The
By the bah, the man there who looks ashamed is an Amelica Pop Idol jetsam, because the Tonight Show has a deal with that show (and Geico almost certainly sponsors both shows). As a result of the deal, fired contestants appear here once they are fired from there but they do not sing. I would be thankful they did not sing if it was for any reason other than that they are contractually forbidden to sing, because the Idol company actually still owns them and still plans to sell albums “by” them and there’s really nothing being decided by the “competition” and everything you’ve ever been told is a lie. Ayprul fooo-ull! Whores.
‘They’ tell me say NBC is having financial difficulties, but I don’t immediately pick up on that because what Zippity Kimmel does on ABC is even worse. But I’ll talk about that the time after that time after next time. I should get a “blog” or something.
Why did I buy Life Water?
Because some oaf at this table took the last lemon-lime Foxon Park, that’s why.
But where, where was I put into such a traumatic situation?
C & C PIZZA
A Taste of New Haven.
And now,
A warning to consumers:
Do not go to C & C PIZZA, A Taste of New Haven. It’s more like a taste of Florida or whatever part of England I was at in 1989 when I got that pizza with scrambled eggs on it. Even for Madison (the town of me) I regarded the pizza I consumed as unpleasant. Also, there’s one garbage can and it is behind the service counter. Evidently I’m the only person in this town who generates refuse I’d rather not make someone else handle. I stumbled about in the little square of space dividing the outside from the in and I see Guy behind counter reach a hand out to get at what I’m holding, which suggests to me that this happens a lot but nothing changes because whoever’s in charge likes it that way. I suppose what the man did was nicer than let me walk around in a circle and go back to my table twelve feet away, yet something still feels incredibly wrong to me about blowing my nose on a napkin and then giving the result to someone.
It looks safe, but it is actually quite dangerous. This time I was lucky. The other person present agreed to take home the four slices which remained at the end. Otherwise I probably would have forced myself to eat them, and combined with the Life Water it might have killed me. Or someone else.
This television set is airing “Showbiz Tonight.” I have several problems with that. The first: there is a television set on in a restaurant. Second, it is airing “Showbiz Tonight.” But let me be specific. Hey, I don’t need your permission! I shall be specific! The program is Showbiz Tonight, but now is not night at all! According to CAM-RA I took this picture at 10:30 am. CAM-RA is behind by an hour, but that would make the actual time 11:30 am, and nevermind that I should not be awake at such a time of day; even if I should, Showbiz Tonight ought not to be a part of that. I consider it nothing less than a criminal act to impose night showbiz on unsuspecting diurnalists.
Also problematic: there was a discernible boot-print on the cushionoid beneath this television set, which suggests whoever operates it has lost the remote control and is standing on a seating place while wearing dirt-acquainted boots to turn the device on and presumably off at some point. Or maybe this was meant to be a hint to me. Suggesting that I ought to stand up and turn the thing off myself. Ah, hem. It seems obvious now, but in the moment there was no time to think. It was kill or be killed. It was do or die. It was Glen or Glenda. You have to understand, it was dog eat dog out there in here. In my panicked state, eating C&C pizza seemed a step above cannibalism so I did that instead. Luckily, there are three other tables in the whole place so I doubt this will bother anyone.
I wouldn’t sit over there anyway, as the only thing worse than an unstoppable voice going on and on about Justin Timberlin “drop[ping] trow” because Madonna said so and then people asking Justin to tell them that is my not being able to see where the voice is coming from. Especially when it’s a three-way split screen hydra of voices debating the details. I need to know which animatronic bust I agree with and whose to look for on the cover of the insider tell-all book I will hide behind other tell-all books the next time I’m in what technically is a book section at Target. ORLANDO BLOOM IS NOT GAY! I WILL DESTROY YOUR LIFE!
Who even says showbiz? The only people who call movies and such “showbiz” are people who call circuses “the big top;” salaried hack writers and the occasional redemption-ticket arcade game designer who hate their lives. I remember seeing the phrase “big top” used in a shockingly not disgusted Nintendo Power review of Arrow the Acro-bah and not knowing what it meant. And then I went out to Tommy K’s video and rented it anyway (I never rented Big Top Pee-Wee, thankfully). And now you’re out of business, ha ha. Fourteen years later, because you couldn’t compete with the internet or whatever and I actually find it depressing. That’s showbiz.
Oddly enough, Tommy’s Tanning still 100% in operation.
By the wuh, Tommy K should not be confused with his fellow North Branford Hamburger Hill Tommy, of Tommy Gun Choppers, which, yes, still sells cigars. Presumably, whatever wonderfully pleasant things choppers are, as well.
Showbiz. People who say showbiz. They are the same sort of people who invented the terminology “baby-boomers” or just unprotestingly allow themselves to be called that. Humans should not ever say “boom” unless describing a loud noise, but even then it should not be done in such a way as to attempt imitation of the noise. I also have very specific rules pertaining to the use of “baby” but I’ll save that topic for the newsletter.
I don’t know what’s in “Life Water,” but whatever it is it’s also in Imoxicillan, akadoko “the pink stuff.” My first experience with “vitamin enhanced water beverages” was seeing discarded Vitamin Water bottles constantly fallen, defeated, in the parking abyss outside Gateway Community College. Vitamin Water: It’s Baby-Makin’ Fuel.
I wondered what would draw people to an imbibable with such an unsettling name.
“Juice” sounds nutritious and decent tasting, “soda” sounds a bit empty but not disgusting. “Vitamin Water” sounds like how an alcoholic in denial describes the contents of a liquor bottle to a small child.
“Kool” Aid at least admits it’s something not quite natural, possibly made from cigarettes, and Sunny Delight‘s name is adequately Orwellian that sensible people know to keep away. Combined with the appearance, Vitamin Water just makes the stuff seem like there’s something wrong with it, but for some reason only to me! Water is clear, vitamins are clear, why is this goop pink? Something horrible must have happened to make this name obviously no longer applicable, but in the absence of any other identifier you no longer know what it is. And then that white and black big bland font label, it looks like something somebody would drink on an episode of Roseanne. Except on that show it would be peanut butter and bacon water.
But anywaw, this is not vitamin water. This is Life Water, which is even vaguer, creepier and lyingier. This is not water that brings forth life. You cannot revive Benjamin Franklin with it. This is not magic potion. Do not drink this if your red heart-count is low. Sure, it claims to have “100%” Vitamin C if you only drink 8 ounces of the contents, but so does a bowl of Froot Loops. Would you drink a bottle of Froot Loops? If it tasted like medicine? It is worth noting that I wasn’t aware of the “serving” tomfoolery, despite my past scuffles with it, and probably gave myself haemochromatosis by taking in 250% vitamin C within a single day. Yesh, I drank it all. This was just tolerable enough for me to not cry when tasting it so I had to finish it. I know, at least, that humans have the power to process it. I wouldn’t want to dump it out a window and poison some poor stray armadillo.
I should have known just by the awfulness of the associated advertisement –featuring yet another tired, exhausted lamo parodoy to the zombie dance from Michael Jackson’s Thriller, with the sequence being additionally creepy in a way that I guess zombies just couldn’t manage– that the drink would be bad. However, I did not associate the ad with the fluid until I tasted it and realized it was awful and suddenly remembered that the Sobe company typically represents itself with a lizard and there recently was a horrible ad with lizards in it which may or may not have featured a bottled substance instead of car insurance irrelevant to the primary horribleness.
White backgrounds are bad news. Computer generated characters are bad news. People dancing for no reason are bad news. Advertisements are bad news. Advertisements which think they are cleverly spoofing something are worse news. When you put all that bad news together, I wish you hadn’t. I should not forget to mention, this wasn’t but some effortless robotchickeny meme-enabled jerkwork on the internet; this cost many dollars to make and millions more just to debut, I’m told, during some major sporting event or another earlier this year. This is how our masters talk to us now.
If you had asked me in 1993 if I thought allegations of molesty behavior against Michael Jackson would affect his ability to license out his music for awful unfunny over-budgeted ripoffs, I would have asked you what “molest” meant. I was ten years old, I didn’t need that in my life. If you had asked me the same question in 2003, I probably would have pointed out to you that it hadn’t much mattered in the decade leading up to then. You ask dumb questions.
Ehhh.
I once read a book (you’re surprised, I know), “Possible Side Effects,” wrote by some person who worked in advertising, which he didn’t seem to regret at all. It was sort of an annoying book because none of the stories had endings and very few were funny. You might wonder what my problem was with it then, and that is simply that I resent my competition.
Augusten Burroughs is good at setting up stories that either don’t happen or that he doesn’t tell. Part of the problem, my problem, may be that when I read a book I expect continuity, plot and relevance, not biographical website entries which don’t exist for any especial reason. Because I can get those for free. Also, the chapters did not refer to each other’s events, even though themes and “characters” recurred. That would be fine if the tales were almost-told in chronological order (rather than chronoridiculous order) or at least datemarked, but they aren’t. It’s frustrating. If the book was as funny as the back cover insisted it was I wouldn’t mind the pointlessness of it all. Oh, how I minded!
On an occasion which occurred prior to me reading that book, I witnessed a play about something or other. I found it mildly amusing, but I ended up resenting it because the entire time I heard some loof nearly choking to death behind me, constantly, presumably attempting to laugh. And then afterwards I heard the producing folk going on and on about how it was the greatest script they ever sawed and how they knew they had to stage it immediately. This, naturally, makes me suspicious of anyone who reads what I write. No! Stop! Why are you here? This is bad! If you like it you’re stupid! Leave me here to die alone!
But anywaw, at one point the writer of the book was hired by the Junior Mint company to write an advertisement which would bring consumers across what the businessites had labeled “the mint threshold.” Supposedly people would eat Junior Mints during films, in theaters, but rarely at any other time in any other place. As someone who has done that, I must say that the idea is still almost right. Every so frequently I’ll crave Junior Mints unexpectedly yet specifically, but I will get tired of them easily and mysteriously. This also has little to do with their tendency to merge together inside the box before I’m ready to deal with them. Yes, it’s possible I’ll want them when I buy them, but by the time of the first opportunity I have to eat them I may no longer want to. When the urge returns, I will have surely stepped on the box or left it in such a place where though I could not have stepped on it, its contents will have melted from heat/spite. I cannot put the box in a refrigerator because someone else without my astounding powers of candy self-restraint will eat the things immediately and probably not like them too much. And I don’t even mean another resident. Crimbims off the street just walk into my home and steal candy out of my refrigerator. Mine is a tragic, stupid existence.
This happens just about every time I try and eat Junior Mints. They are so mushy and decrepit, you might as well call them senior mints. Ha ha, ugh, dishonor to ancestors.
I shouldn’t have to perform surgery to get at my candy!…………?
I thought this all would be a lot more interesting. You deserve an apology. Is it not such a shame then, that I’m not going to grant you one? This is probably better than talking about legs again.
NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
Only Superman can save me now!
Eh, close enough. Thank youf, Superboy! Your quick thinking has saved the day! Yes, that will do. You go off and have a good time with your friends now and buy Mon-El a milkshake for me. I’ll clean up here. The legs cannot hurt anyone anymore.
OH SNAW! THE CRUEL WICKED LARVAE OF THE LEGS SEEK REVENGE ON BEHALF OF THEIR SLAIN QUEEN, WHILE SUPERBOY AND THE OTHER LEGION MEMEBERS HAVE A SWINGIN’ OLD TIME DOWN AT THE SOCK HOP! IS THIS THE END FOR OUR HERO, THAT BEING ME?
No! Apparently I’m some foolish yella animal! This will not do! My only chance is to wear the leggings into submission! If someone is reading this it will mean that I have failed.
Hello.
And the previous…
And the rest… (are here on Gilligan’s Isle)
There are a couple undeveloped ideas here, all of them minor, and after two months they probably aren’t getting developed so there’s no sense in fussing over them further.
By now I have forgotten what happens next, so surely you can imagine how enthused I am to look at the next layout and see how many needless, ill-defined objects I have already sentenced myself to making space for and drawing properly in the finished version.
ARRRRRRRRRRRGH! No one is safe!
I don’t see why parents don’t just grind up some Centrum Silver over a week-old cake to feed their incorrigible seedlings. That’s what this is; stale dessert with slaughterbreed livestock growth hormones injected in it. At least there’s a chance of finding an actual organic ingredient in a cake. I know regular cereal is kind of bland; I mean, it’s no chocolate crunchy tube for milk-sippin’ fun, but on the plus side it’s not totally disgusting. When’s the last time “FREE CLOCK” got a kid to buy anything? Oooh, but it’s a pirate clock!
Could you have the elephant turn just a couple more degrees to the right, please? Just with the name and all, you know. This doesn’t make me think of coffee beans, this makes me hope the elephant hasn’t been eating beans.
. . . . . . As long as this is going to be one of those entries,
I know you’re a melt risk, frosty, but without any self generated body-heat a pair of pants won’t kill you. You’re a snowman, after all, and men wear pants. Or trousers, I suppose, that being what someone who wears a top hat would say.
Jerry’s a notorious nudist, and not even coming at me down a hill, and couldn’t get away with that sort of thing. Although you could reasonably suggest Jerry is merely taking a fashion cue from his frequent accomplice, grey diaper mouse, considering that Jerry is making no effort to escape from Tom and seems quite gleeful at the thought of things to come, the plot is likely more sinister. Might there be brown gold in Tom’s future? And I’ve gone too far. Yet the going goes on.
 |
This stupid gargoyle with strap-on wings can vomit fire and still wasn’t mighty enough to fight off the forces of front-cover coccyxality concealment while Nintendo of America was on the case. |
Not that this solves… alright, you know, you’re really not helping, Mr. Arremer. If it was up to me you’d be wearing a barrel. Gwah, I can’t believe the game with the glistening, snarling, squatting naked body-builder unaffiliated with the WWF on the box wasn’t a big seller.
But as I was saying, sometimes a John Ashcroft job isn’t enough. It is the subject’s behaviour which must be modified. Either that or we get Garry Shandling a narrower chair.
And this! I find this video highly alarming. For the sake of simple decorum my animated gif takes an off-angle (a more developed decorum would dictate that I not use animated gifs at all), but I think you can see what’s going on. The man is a living geometry problem.
I don’t even want “G. Love” in a state near me.
…I think I need another week.