A wholly needless, I expect, link to the main page.
I do want to wake up one morning breastless.
A confession that tries to justify the crime but fails.
Not long ago, I came across a Wikipedia brand article regarding the website I've most attempted to rip-off, Zeroes Unlimited. (note: if you're not familiar with that, don't bother reading the rest of this because you'll just think I'm a moron. Unless you want to think that and didn't already.)
It seems somewhat unnecessary, to me, to have an online description of a thing which can be viewed in its entirety, also online, for free. I understand that now. But before I did, like, not a great quantity of weeks ago, I actually attempted to make my own contribution to the entry.
What Wikipedia is -and I'll tell you because no one told me- is an internet based wish-to-be encyclopedia, whose entire content is submitted by users, and then edited or deleted by other users. For your convenience, it always provides more links than you could possibly click on to make sure you spend as much time as possible not finding what you were looking for. I already knew it this time, so my concern was with wicci's desire to be entirely objective in its views. With that in mind, but only partially, I changed the following
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'Dungeons of the Unforgiven, a first person RPG made by "MoraffWare" in which you fight rainbow-coloured garbage cans and "Lesdidian Warriors".
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Into this. Forgive me if you can, as I dwell above ground.
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Dungeons of the Unforgiven, HOTTEST SVGA EVER!!, a first person RPG made by "MoraffWare" in which you fight rainbow-coloured garbage cans and "Lesdidian Warriors". Despite the manic file_id.dizific fervor with which the "masterpiece" was released and the proceeding wave of paralyzing humility which toppled the software empires of all competitors, Moraffware does not now publically acknowledge Dungeons of the Unforgiven, but will still sell it to you at its 1993 price if you ask nicely.
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Trying to be funny, I guess. I don't give adequate thought to stuff that I come up with while online, which accounts for a lot of the junk here recently. Or ever. Unforgiven (as the hypothetical kids might call it) having, of the six zeroes presented, the shortest description, I felt, due to my weak-link coauthorship of the original full-length dissertation five years ago, a personal obligation to elaborate. It wasn't until, as usual, I'd turned off the internet and initiated sleep-attempt that I realized my horrible error. Sarcasm, however badly done, is, I suppose, not technically truthful. Further, to analyze the sarcasm results in an opinionated viewpoint being had in regards to Moraffware. The whole thing will probably be removed (It just was, with the not-at-all-ironic comment of "non-neutral BS"), including my primary and intended factual contribution, that of the game not being spoken of, but still sold by its maker as if it was new. And even that is an insult, for it suggests that the game's lack of merit should rightly see it discounted, all the more so if that deficiency is acknowledged by the people who caused it. Lieuing in that space, all then I could say is that Moraff is still in business. And... who would give a dope that I wrote that, really? And then I realized: It is impossible to discuss these games in a way that is at all interesting to read without berating them. If someone were to put forth with sincerity "why should I care to read a page about Dungeons of the Unforgiven if you say it's not good?" I would probably wake up, since no one would ever ask that. But if someone did, it would be hard for me to explain without being opinionated. Right, what I said four sentences ago. Pay attention!
To even try to be fair to the games makes the website seem dull, official and corporate by association to that fairness, which is actually, then, not fair at all. They're called "zeroes," for rice cake! That means, on a a scale from 1 to anything, they are less than the device is capable of measuring. You wouldn't say "Zeroes Unlimited deals largely with video games that are bad but maybe they aren't" unless you have some kind of problem with it or just some kind of problem. We're talking about Pyro II versus The Firemen, not Roe versus Wade.
I do not say there should be no article, just that it should not describe the content if it must do so in that way.
The very idea of taking an unbiased perspective on the subjects of the videogames which were only mentioned at all for the purposes of insulting and being biased against seems itself an insult.
You're saying, in effect, "oh yes, this website is funny because it acknowledges the alleged faults of these things, these things which I will now list. Isn't that so marvellously droll and gay?," and I've already woken up. Anyone who would think to seek out the wickly article already knows what ZU is (and anyone who's read this far knows what I just abbreviated). Anyone who didn't would have been directed to website itself first (as I did, fool).
Note this other excerpt, both written and edited by people other than me.
The description of this edit is NPOV, which either stands for Neutral Point Of View or Nemesis Pickles Offend Volcabbage.
Really, I'm glad someone's standing up for Megacrap –it does, after all, feature some of my favorite NSF music– but this edit is not so unlike the romhack, really, in certain aspects. I wouldn't be surprised if the edit was conceived by Bryan himself. He always struck me as the sort to leave his name misspelled.
I just like to imagine that this man's name is Poncho. And I suppose, since you suggested it, that, in the event of an emergency, I could only call one Poncho to aid the situation, knowing of no others I would choose this one.
Or maybe he really is wearing that stylish garbage-bag to denote emergency. "Help, my modeling career is going nowhere!" I seek to help by raising public Poncho awareness.
People who live in glass houses shouldn't live in glass houses. Maybe i'm an idiot, and maybe I am for another reason if not the preceding, but it seems to me that it is such. I searched for that on the google, between quotation marks and only saw it once, so legally it's not unoriginal for me to proclaim that. However, there are numerous "joke" variants on the glass house situation, such as how persons living within them should not have ugly furniture or purchase wall-paper. While I suppose those are true, I think I still win by asserting that one should not live in such a place at all. It should be one's own right to own ugly furniture. It seems like logical, non-joke advice, to me. Unless one is a mime or plant, but mimes do not exist, and plants are not known for choosing the sorts of houses they find themselves in. Also, the issue has not yet been addressed regarding the opacity of the glass. A lot of glass is mostly transparent, but some of it is also mirrored. Sometimes it is completely mirrored and not transparent at all. Not only would that be confusing, but think of all the additional backwards 'S'es you risk exposing yourself to. Ehhh!, no, no! Do not think about that!
Yes, that's your update for today. Look at that, you don't even get a divider between this and the stupid "new page" notice, because I'm going to delete the notice at some point, and the divider will be unnecessary, but if I remove it I'll either have to shift the dividers above it or disrupt the system. Is that what you want? Disrupture?
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Sunday, September 25, 2005 |
On the world 8 intro Kirby no longer makes a mad face
Yorick, I saw the stupidest thing on television last Thursday. No, not the series premier of Joey. Was that on? I didn't hear about it. Ehhh, that was the night the Thatnight Show with Jay Leno was sponsored exclusively by the Chevrolet motor car company and its new "HHR." No, don't worry, that didn't mean your precious ads were lost in exchange for some on-air plugs. Rather, that meant extra ads in addition to on-air plugs. I did not see the beginning (oh, poor me), because I had Nightline on. But then that ended abruptly at 12:05am, and I guess that Jiminy Kimmel lurgen has Thursdays off to watch NBC's revolutionary advances in whoritude, and I guess my set still won't pick up CBS.
So while I missed the first two regularly scheduled commercial breaks, it did not seem to me that anyone in them knew how the car, which was the subject, was any improvement over previous automobiles, other than having a name which nobody knows. While the scoundrels on display, to their credit, went not fifteen seconds without mentioning "HHR," never once did one explain what the letters HHR actually abbeviated. I imagine it's something like Ha Ha, Retards, or Heil Hitler & Revenue. The advertisements had two formidable battle forms: The main ad, the "plot" portion, and the sub-ads, the commercial breaks from the commercial breaks.
The sub-ads were presented as if they were submitted by entrants to a contest, except I've never heard of the contest, and I've been tolerating the second half of the Tonight Show on Thursdays for the last two months. It is my belief that the contest never existed.
In the main ad, a diverse, open-minded board of directors which also doesn't exist pretends to be judging the fake contest entries. If it was a real contest, then fine, more people for me to track down and dump margarine on.
And hey, here's another: in through a conveniently placed door enters professional pretend-to-be-confused-so-if-it's-not-funny-I-can-act-like-it-wasn't-a-joke doofus Andy Dick shows up and says something that makes me want to stab him with a sharpened beet. His off-the-wall zaniness is supposed to provide a contrast to the board-folk. I love that someone who can walk within 300 feet of a corporate executive without being shot, and also had a two shows on MTV can be made out to be a counter-culture, anti-establishment figure. Oh, he was arrested once, so he's CONTROVERSIAL! He'll even make a joke about that to remind everyone during the pimp-muh-ride part. What? Yes.
A couple of men pretending to be Rastafarian or something pull an incredibly ordinary looking car into a service garage or something and make stupid enhancements, such as planting actual pine trees in it instead of a pine-scent air-freshener. That part was almost funny, but thankfully Andy managed to use his own name as a punchline about eight times during this, so I was distracted from any potential entertainment. You're really going to Dick that car out, right? Really get the essence of Dick all up in that HHR, right? Just slather it with Dick, why don't you. Oyyee, I get it. Your clan's noble cognomen is the same as a crude word one can't normally say during advertisements. I wish he would change his name to "Andy Fucksandwich" and get it over with. I'm truly sick of those dipwhistles at the Federal Communications Commission (though their letters at least mean something) pretending stuff like that doesn't count, so why not take it as far as it will go and force them to admit their obsolescence.* Muih. Next Mr. Fucksandwich spends about thirty seconds rapping with the mechanics, but it felt like thirty lengths of ten seconds, since all they said was "H-H-R is quite a car" and danced awkwardly as they said it. I'm glad I have this excuse for having watched it.
*"obsoleteness" is actually the correct word, but that just sounds like I don't know the word "obsolescence."
This wasn't an earnest attempt to be entertaining. This is was a test to see if people would put up with ads that long. A test to see if they wouldn't realize they're being made fun of, and turn it off. It was considered unthinkable (granted, by a close-minded nation continually misled by the CIA, Central Intelligence Agency) when ABC (American Broadcasting Company) network decided to have 40 seconds of advertising per half hour instead of 30. They tried to fool people by having two breaks of 20 instead of one break of 30, and I guess it worked. I fear that by the time Conan O'Brien, who hasn't scared me away yet, takes over the show he's going to take over, if he lives, it will be completely indebted to and wholly sponsored by this garbanzo. Rather than a single program broken by a variety of ads, it will be a single ad broken by incoherent program fragments.
In the end, the free car went to a guy who owned both a field of corn to spell HHR in and a helicopter to aerially view it with. He couldn't possibly have afforded the time or money to just buy his own HHR. This reminds of a contest Nintendo Power magazine held back when Mario Paint was new. Readers were challenged invited to make the nicest thing they could in the game. That's it. Imagine the shock of these 3rd-and-4th graders reading a magazine written by 1st-and-2nd graders when they find they got beaten by a 40 year old man who hooked up two VCRs and a CD-player to a Super-Nes and made weird 16-color music videos (as in: more than one) to Steely Dan or Simon and Garfunkle or whoever was popular in 1992. I'm sure he really needed the dream date with Kirk Cameron or whatever the prize was. My intent is not to imply that the HHR contest, were it real, had an equivelant outcome, only that it reminded me of this one.
That's an interesting concept, though (assuming the contest is not fake, in which case I am offended and scared): Promise one person one free thing, and 800 idiots will spend their own money to give free advertising to a company with enough of its own to buy all the non-network adspace of an hour program. And all the runners-up got in return was the opportunity to rerecord the footage that they shot at their own expense when it came on the television, because there's always some clause like "Gorbocorp retains ownership of all submitted materials and will not return tapes even if we don't use them ha ha" and arrrrgh, I want this entry to end.
Can critics really not stop raving? Have they tried to stop? Why do they not seek treatment?
Also, I might seem insensitve in regards to recent disastery but keep in mind: I've been insensitive about every disaster I've mentioned since this website's first existence. I'm so bad at making friends and distant from my family cultists, I have yet to be deeply affected by a death. Truly, I am a horrid, hateful being. The good news: I'm probably next.
No, I'm not right beside to the ocean. Rather, I'm down a hill from it. If I'm not taken out by hurricane (and they do come around here occasionally) flood or wind damage, that giant cartoon arrow hovering above the splotch of color representing the area near my home is looking pretty sharp and giant from down here.
First organized to suffer in the New Orleans convention center and Super-dome, gradually portions of this portion of the city's surviving poor people was shipped to the Houston Astro-dome as more buses felt like it. But now another hurricane draws near, possibly threatening inland Texas (where Houston is, you morf), and I wonder: if the hurricanes continue, do we risk running out of domes? Considering the damage already done to the Super-dome, I doubt domes of less-than super status will adequately withstand the spice force 5 winds, and at some point the Astro-dome will return to space. Additionally, the Russia-donated Cosmo-dome faces the definite possibility of being pecked to death and eaten by birds while searching for its parents.
The problem with hurricanes is that they're unpredictable. I've seen them on the weather maps, and one
will make a quarter-rotation across the same area of ocean about 80 times, and then I think it's not going anywhere, but I see the same map a few hours later and the thing is still only turning part way but is much closer to land! It's like when Yogi bear would hide in a bush, move towards the picnic basket when no one was looking, and then suddenly stop when someone turned around. What we need to do is appoint someone to just stare at weather maps all day so the hurricanes don't try anything. It won't be too hard; the hurricane is in the bush that's colored a lighter shade of green than the others. Hurricanes are so boring, unfunny and formulaic. And their animation is horrible, too. Domes deserve better!
Don't stop pledging to a flag because this includes the word "god." Stop pledging to a flag because a flag is a stupid thing to pledge to. I've heard that something other than "God" or nothing at all occupied that space prior to imagined threats of communism subversion at all levels, but if people were dumb enough to believe that such a change would save them then, they're dumb enough to think unchanging that will unsave them now, even if not from communism, but rather gods themselves.* And they're not going to get any less dumb, if they insist that kids pledge to a flag at all.
I was made to pledge a few times back in the bad old days, and I had no idea what the words meant. I thought "plejallegions" was one word and "wichistands" were middle-eastern nations populated by malevolent magic using women who wore pointy hats. I thought "indivisible" was just other people mispronouncing "invisible." I did not know what a republic was, let alone the republic, nor that I was also plejallegioncing to it, in addition to the flag. I hardly think I would have been able to focus on professional pseudo-educational worksheet mascot B.B. Bunny's magical journey through the land of numbers-less-than-ten if I had any remote grasp of the magnitude significance of the blood-oath I uttered each morning.
The pause after "America" suggests a period, but looking at the actual words it is clear that the complete quasi-prayer is a single [incredibly peculiar] sentence. The whole thing was stupid for a class of children ignorant to its meaning to be saying, not just the parts beneath a god. Don't think by removing that one word you'll please more people than you offend or stop stupid kids from shooting each other.
I can tell you that it wasn't pledge of allegiance: special deityship edition that made some other kid's mother spread lies about me at the parent teacher conferences because she wanted her kid to be friends with Michael Antolino instead of me. That was the communists.
*I imagine, were this a sensible fear, a fine prank would to spraypaint "GOD" across someone else's car wind-shield, so that anyone who cleaned it off would be damned for eternity.
Ha ha, you're going to hell!
Oooh, you scamp! Why I outta...!
Say, what's this?
To help with my twice-deleted nervous breakdowns regarding absense of online room for me to shove more junk into, no less an authority than my sister, ghost-writer of the internet's finest Popeye-pages, graciously donated her section of our joint compuserve account to the cause. I'm sure she'd be thrilled if I told her.
The reason I've not come up with much non-whiny webloggish content the last few months is at last revealed, and it's not any more good! Nor is it complete. Maybe I'll complete it. As far along as it is, I've spent perhaps a few day's worth of hours but across more days than that just getting it on the internet and making sure it's all there each time, so if I may please be quite finished doing that, I might have some time to actually improve the content quality. The problem isn't that I have low standards: I merely fail to meet my high standards.
What I've been doing is actually LESS impressive than the stupid Doom-edit I mentioned more than once but less than thrice before, but slightly more likely to be completed in my life time if I exclusively tended to one or the other. Also, it is viewable by a percentage of the reclusive loser population greater than 3.
You may find it to be a bit poorly written and drawn for your tastes, but hopefully you won't.
By virtue of having no sound, it is far improved from the incomplete flash cartoon I thought was good before I uploaded it and only received one comment regarding which was an insult last year.
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Sunday, September 18, 2005 |
Mommy, you smell different
Why are arbitrary celebrities so annoyed by deceitful tabloids? Only idiots buy those things. And only super idiots think they don't make stuff up. Thus these famous gorks acknowledge that they depend on the patronage of super idiots to remain famous. Gasp gasp! Oh, how I'm wronged! There outta be a law against tabloids printing lies! The fools won't buy my line of erotic edible toilet paper if they think I'm dating Marquis di Gorgonzola! That's probably correct, as well. They have standards for their false gods, after all. But why would you be concerned what someone so gullible, fickle and worthless thought about you unless that person's stupidity was your primary source of income?
They complain about their family members reading those things too. Oh yeah, my mom saw that and she called me! Can you imagine? Congratulations, your family is as dumb as you are. The only reason you don't believe the story about you snorting the crack-cocaine and flirtaciously throwing a doughnut at Anthony Daniels is because you don't remember doing it. Hoik, you probably did do it, you stupid coked-up kookaburra. And people wouldn't give you money to buy drugs if they knew you were actually planning to use them, would they! And to think they were so proud of you for doing your own stunts! Yeah, no, I didn't use a stunt double, because I wanted to inconvenience the underpaid extras and crew members as much as possible with additional takes caused by my inexperience. I also wanted to ensure that all action scenes were simple and unimpressive. I felt it was important that my fans know it was really me out there, just so they wouldn't think the movie about a woman who fends off an army of terrorists merely by kicking them a lot was unrealistsic.
Hey, quiet down, you. This is my page.
I also hear you have an album coming out. Despite already having enough money to retire to Jupiter with, not writing your own songs or singing all that much better than anyone else does. Maybe you'd like to...?
Oh, I couldn't. What? Forced, unenthusiastic applause to encourage me to do the thing we'd planned in advance and that I actually suggested? Alright, I'll moan about three seconds of it and then get applause again.
I'd love to know how the skirt you have to manually and frequently pull over your arse is in any way comfortable or clothing. However, instead of asking that I'll just stare at you and make creepy lecherous remarks. If a man guest or on-camera audience member from a writers'-night-off segment shows up wearing pants half that short, I will sarcastically thank him for dressing for the show.
I have a scar on the underside of my right leg due to sitting with my bare left anorexia-sharpened knee pressed against it for eight hours a day.
They tell me you have a joke for us? Every time you're on the show you always bring a joke...
Yeah, I saw it on the internet and had my publicist read it to me, but I'll pretend I came up with it myself, even though it's still not that funny.
Do you want to stand up for this?
Please! That way I can get applause twice for doing something entirely unimpressive again!
Ladies and gentlemen, the comedy stylings of guest # 1! Even though actual stand-up comics don't tell that sort of joke!
What's the difference between an alligator and an egg-salad sandwich? Take away his credit card!
Wow, that must have been really awkward to watch. I'm glad I'm too self-centered and oblivious to be able to form any idea of what it's like to be someone else seeing me.
You brought a clip. You want to set this up for us?
Uhhh, I don't know what clip it is. Oh, it was the same clip that's in all the ads, and that I brought to every other show I've been on. Who'da thunk it? Those ads, by the way, will be on twice as much as usual during this show, because the movie company knows I'm a guest tonight.
Hey, come on and sign the motorcycle. We're auctioning it on E-Bay and making a big show of being really helpful, even though in the end, surviving victims of whatever disaster it was this time will only end up getting the money of the single highest bidder, a month after they needed it most, which will amount to less than your flight and hotel expenses for this appearance. And then three years from now said highest bidder can resell the thing for more money and keep it.
What? All I have to do is write my name in ineligible script on a big metal thing and I can make believe I'm a great person? Hooray!
Folks! We'll be right back with comedian Arrogant-moron-who-regrets-getting-married-and-offers-ignorant-solutions-to-complex-societal-issues!
You could be doing worse things than reading this page.
It's what beer drinkers drink when they're not drinking beer: O'Doulth!
Hey, how about water? How about orange juice? How about Sani-Cola? That actually is green. NO, GOT TO TASTE LIKE BEER! ONLY LIKE TASTE OF BEER! WISH COULD EAT FOOD TASTE LIKE BEER!
I do so love to fill space, but this is the biggest picture I could find. Since the background is indistinct, however, I can pretend it's one larger picture of several bottles.
The best part is that it doesn't even totally lack alcohol, just mostly. There's too little to get you drunk, yet just enough, if you're allergic to alcohol, to make you sneeze or something, I guess. Some weirdo from a beer review webpage was complaining about something like that when I saved this picture four months ago. You'd have to be weird to post a beer review, I suspect.
I can only believe the sole appeal of beer is getting one's self too intoxicated to remember that one's self desired to become intoxicated, and you can make yourself sneeze fairly easily by inserting any number of (but one will do) long thin objects into either side of your nose, and that's probably why the last time I saw this near beer advertised was in 1993.
when life gives you lemons, make lemonade
That's stupid advice, because "lemon" refers to a piece of property which operates at a level below its promised capacity, yet real lemonade, at least any which would be worth making, is made out of lemons which have nothing wrong with them. Unless you're planning to sell lemon lemonade, but I don't even want to talk about that kind of foolish nonsense today. Beside that, also you need other stuff besides lemons to make lemonade. Yoink, I don't even really like lemonade that much. You expect me to fiddle with nearly inedible fruit to make something I don't even especially enjoy? As long as I'm pretending to have unspecified items in addition to the lemons, why can't I make iced tea instead? No, florf that. I'll pretend I already have a pitcher of iced tea, and not even have to make it. 'Ey, why must it momentarily possess sentience to find itself in a pitcher? I'm not sharing; I'll drink it out of a crystal bucket, and then it won't be as likely to spill. Maybe later I'll sell the bucket, and with the money pay someone else to do something with the lemons. I'm too busy for this silliness these days.
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Sunday, some date in September, 2005 |
Your pop-up program is ready to run
i thought this was interesting, not because I'm a senior citizen and fondly remember all of the government's patronizing attempts to indirectly give me orders, but because owls can fly and shouldn't need to obey traffic safety laws if they're flying. I don't think an owl who can't fly and is afraid of rain is going to survive long in the wild. I know the owl is afraid of rain, for, unless it's an early prototype, that umbrella predates Mary Poppins technology, so it's not a compensatory tool. The only other possible application for that implement would to shield against the falling inaccurately rendered traffic signal, which wouldn't work. That owl is doomed.
Bob Denver's death took me by surprise. I thought he'd been dead for years. Twice, actually. First when I heard his name, and then again when I realized I had been thinking of someone else. Oh, the old guy from Gilligan's Island, not the slightly less old guy from the airplane crash. I thought they were both dead. I guess I probably should have brought a present instead of turning the hose on him while shouting "begone foul vengeful spirit" at his birthday party last year, then.
This reminds me, I really hate that "leaving on a jet-plane" song, even if the flying-machine that killed one of the Deutschendorfs was much smaller than the jet type. The primary rhyme consists of that there, and then [I] "don't know when I'll be back again. Plane does not rhyme with again! The words only rhyme if you became deaf halfway through learning to read. Sometimes people pronounce "again" as if it does rhyme with "plane," but the person who I heard sing this song did not! If that was part of a little-known second verse I could not-excuse it to a lesser extent, but it's said more than once! According to one of those horribly arranged song lyric websites, since no one's ever bothered playing the full song for me, the same repeated part also rhymes "me" with "me" and "go" with "go." And stupid people went along with it, as if those words didn't have to rhyme. Not even as if the song was good despite that, but like the people of whom I speak were so dumb they would just accept anything they were given without questioning it. And that was in 1967, a time generally known for people not accepting stuff (wars, birth control, sterile needles, baths...). Even today they probably don't realize that doesn't rhyme. Why do any songs bother rhyming, then? If they did not, then, at least, I could roll my dubs on over to someplace other than the club. Is rhyming just an artificial leg leaned on by mediocre lyric writers who can't handle more than thirty possible line-enders? Excuse me, but if I say "I regard you as my concubine," I'll actually have to come up with something to follow it with. But if I just say "you are my girl," I can then say "you rock my world" and just as many people will buy my album and only listen to one song on it!
Fool! You could also say "Watch out for wizards" because no one will challenge your rhymes. How am I supposed to deal with this?
Why do people make fun of Richard Simmons not quite admitting to doing gayness?
it's not as if, were he to come out and say "Oh, all right, ya got me, I'm a hohhh-mohhh!," he'd be any less annoying. If anything were changed, the new openness would be more irritating because there are so many admitted television gaymakers with approximately the same act. It's also certainly not like visibly non-gay fitness– or really any people described as being– "guru"s are more likable.
A "snooze" button is a device built in to most modern alarm-emitting clocks which causes the clock to fall asleep for a few minutes and start again, so that the human can lie annoyed briefly, start to sleep again, and then be interrupted while entering a restful state rather than while already within it, thus ending up more tired than if the human had just gotten up at the first noise. The sort of technological ingenuity that is uniquely Amelican.
Almost recently, I heard there was an alarm clock built to move itself so that people could not press a "snooze" button.
But I wonder: Would it be cheaper and less work than inventing an entirely new function to merely build an alarming clock without a snooze button? Would it be a cheaper solution for a person willing to acknowledge that they have a problem with this to place their normal alarm in a place where it cannot be reached? Yes, it would. That would make much more sense. However, since the snooze feature itself does not make sense, you see why that cannot be so. Next year there will probably be sleep insurance. You pay a firm $200 a month to not wake you up. If they decide to hold their yak-calling competition on your roof, they'll pay you back, for the whole month! Even if there was only one incident! Sounds like a great deal.
Alarms. On this subject, has a car alarm ever been triggered by an actual theft attempt? If so, did the theft proceed unhibited because everyone who heard the alarm just assumed a mosquito landed on the roadcraft? I heard a car alarm today. After about a minute, rather than call some police, I started counting the individual noises. I also withdrew and protruded my stomachal area for each number, just because I'm weird. It would also be kind of weird if I told you that. I got up to 114ish and lost my place, because the numbers take longer to think with more digits. Then another two minutes went by and the alarm stopped. I assume someone's obtained itself a new car now.
A bit after that I heard another, perhaps the same one (possibly voiding the previous sentence), and I was more effective in my counting, reaching 235 before one of us stopped.
My favorite car alarms are the ones that make lots of different sounds, because they're harder to ignore after extended minutes. Only don't let your car get stolen near an arcade, because if you hear it you might just assume someone won at Skeeball.
My computer with the internet powers went and got itself broken. I lost some things, but not as much as usual. That will happen later. Away from internet I don't think about writing things as much so there are only two when by now there should have been three. Oh the well. There was something else I was doing which is further porked up now, because these Gateway Community College cheese graters won't let me install an ftp thingulus (to their
credit, I suppose), and there are a lot of pictures to do with what I had mentioned at the beginning of this sentence. If I had known there would be this many onion pieces left, I would have had some with each bowl of soup instead of dumping them all in the last one. I like you onions, but not in that way.
Gawrsh, I hope there wasn't any massive, unprecedented-in-the-modern-era-in-this-country humanitarian crisis while I was away. Then my stupid internet problem would seem trivial and my complaining selfish by comparison.
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