10.31.2007

The Octopus: Best Animal Ever

So, I was just thinking about the octopus and why it's so fucking great. First of all, it lives in the water, which means it has three sexy dimensions of movement all the time. Second of all, it never has to worry about getting a date, because of all the Japanese schoolgirls. Perhaps best of all, it makes a really sexy logo. I think you'll agree with me when I say that the octopus is better than getting your whole US RDA of riboflavin.

Case One: The Octopus Is A Water Ninja
Squid, which is another name for pointy octopus, have long been written about in tales of the kraken and Penthouse Letters as the sexiest pirate-killing machine ever. In the following letter, Barney Ludlow of Reese, VA writes to Hustler about his life-changing experience with the octopus:

Dear Porn Magazine People:

i totaly had an octopus here and i loved every minute of it. i was all like come on and she came over. her tentacles were sexy. i had sex with them. then she let me write this letter to you before she squeezed my neck so hard my head poped off. as u read this my body is full of all the baby octopus eggs she shit down my neck and now my corpse is next to her forever at the bottom of the ocean.

Anonymous

Also, octopodes change color faster than any other animal ever. Once, an octopus changed color in front of a chameleon, and the chameleon started crying it was so fucking beautiful. The reason nobody ever remembers if the correct plural is octopi, octopuses, or octopodes is because when you see a group of octopen coming after you it's too late to do anything but shit your pants.

Case Two: The Octopus Comes From Space

Back when mankind lived in tiny holes in the ground, the Octos Legion landed on Earth as part of Directive 16506. The original settlers decided that Earth would be an appropriate breeding ground for tasty mammals they could send to their legions fighting the great intergalactic war against the black holes. They put special octopus chemicals in humans that caused humans to bury their dead, not knowing that graveyards are actually a complex system of chutes that send bodies down into the Great Deep for the Octos to freeze-dry, lightly season, and then fire into space to feed the ever growing Octos horde. This is why octopi cry when we cremate our dead and why all tales about digging up graves are complete fucking lies.

Case Three: The Swimsuit Competition

The buffalo does not look good in a swimsuit, and when asked what one thing she would do to change the world, she just took a dump on the ground, because she is just a big dumb animal.

The swan has a penis, and wore a one-piece, and therefore was complete crap. When asked about the importance of public transportation, she turned back into Zeus and flew off to go rape some Greek women.

The sunflower looked okay in a bathing suit, but not totally hot. The announcer asked what the sunflower thinks will happen in the fast-paced world of technology, and the sunflower said that mankind will launch a vicious assault to wipe out all comets everywhere.

The octopus made my pants feel tight. When the announcer started to ask a question, the octopus popped his head off and laid a thousand of her squirming young in his chest cavity.

Winner: Octopus

Valium Vacation

McCarran Airport, 8:30 PM

Upon hearing that my flight is going to be delayed for two more hours, I decide to take a little trip down Hazy Lane. A nice, grandmotherly lady with half of a scarf hanging from her crochet hooks looks at me strangely until I tell her they're vitamins. Five million strong and growing, bitch.

When the fog clears, I'm apparently at my destination. Something is wrong. This doesn't look like LAX. A polite child from Singapore tells me I'm in Topeka, Kansas. His parents don't understand English.

Dollar Cinema, 3 PM

Started watching Bridges of Madison County with the wife. Knew it was going to be horrible, so I pull one of my smooth moves- I casually slip a pill into a handful of malted milk balls, swallow the batch, and prepare to trank through the film.

Later, as I'm watching a businessman get dressed over where I'm inexplicably sitting on a closed theater toilet, I hear a gasp from the next stall. It's the same Thai child. I patiently explain to him about the bees and... erm, the bees.

The Rat Race, 8 AM

It is far too early for a meeting. Confident that I can glean all the information I can from my inbox, I feign a yawn and pop one of my nice-makers. Or so I thought. I manage to miss the meeting anyways after the laxatives kick in. My new office nickname is "Thunderdome". I don't know what this means.

Christmas Party With The In-Laws, 5:45 PM

All the appropriate greetings have been made, but there's literally no room free of screaming children and people I don't like. This one's a two-fer, and so I adjust my medication accordingly.

For some reason, all the thank-you letters make mention of my "hilarious Andy Rooney impression" as well as many thanks for helping people prepare their taxes for the following year.

Home, Saturday Morning

Today is one of those days where you make face time with your children, so I decide to choke down one of Daddy's Little Helpers. It takes a little while to settle in, so I toss in a couple extra to help even things out.

When the pills wear off, I stand up with the rest of the audience at my son's graduation and applaud. His valedictorian speech makes mention of all the things that have influenced him seriously in his life. Apparently he takes my role for granted, because he doesn't mention it at all.

My Meds Turn 23

Over the years, I've apparently put a ton of chemicals in my system- the count of nontrivial medications has just turned 23 with the change from Ambien to Rozerem. Mind you, that's because the weekend was crazy insane.

See, my doctor doesn't want me to stay on the Ambien for longer than a few months, due to some excuse about it being habit-forming (personally, I just enjoy the zombie state and massive retrograde amnesia). People have a tendency to try and keep me from being inherently awesome, so we sat around for a while, and after I beat him at poker, he prescribed me amitriptyline as revenge.

Amitriptyline is a tricyclic antidepressant with off-label use as a treatment for insomnia. It came in little green pills that smelled like absinthe, so I figured, what the heck, let's go for it.

Bad idea.

The next morning was like death. Nausea, restlessness, and almost passing out every three seconds. After some educational time in the ER, I learned something important: let your doctor win. Otherwise, they try to kill you. They have the secret powers and a huge list of drugs that will Officially Mess You Up Bad.

So, yesterday, I went in to apologize, and in a show of magnanimity (spurred, likely, by my completely contrived humility - I've seen people being humble before, I know how to fake it) he gave me some of this Rozerem stuff. Which, apparently, is made of tiny leprechauns, sent into the Iraq of your brain and told to find the WMD's. Except they actually find them, and the WMD's are the part of the brain that makes you go to sleep. No feeling doped, no giggling for hours while 'watching' a still life portrait, no forgetting who's sleeping next to you or waking up wearing nothing but a white sheet in the middle of downtown Vegas. Actually, I think I've been gypped.

Anyways, I popped this magical wonder drug with half an Ambien last night, and them leprechauns done rushed in and molested my sleepy switch all good. I woke up about eleventy billion times, but I do that anyways when I'm not heavily sedated. I still don't remember falling asleep, but that tends to be the boring part anyways. Yay for Rozerem. Yay for pills. I love America.


10.30.2007

Five Ways To Save Cash During The Subprime Meltdown

Okay. You're broke. That beautiful $250k home you were stupid enough to finance on a balloon loan suddenly inflated to several grand a month because you were too eager to get into the master bedroom so you could box the compass with your girlfriend. Suddenly, the payments on your Z350 seem to be cutting into your valuable 'paying the bills' budget, and you are royally screwed (and not on all 32 principal points on the compass, but that was one hell of a weekend, wasn't it?). Don't worry. I've got a couple tips for you to help you get past this conundrum.

  1. Become a nudist. There goes your clothing budget, as well as your washing-the-clothes budget and air conditioning expenses. This is quite possibly the biggest savings you can account for, and you and your girlfriend should totally post pictures.
  2. Cut cable, but not the internet. I mean, let's face it, cable is crap. Television is crap in general. You can get all the entertainment you could ever want from browsing websites, and you might as well just bookmark me now, because I feed on your fucking clicks and you'd better read everything I've ever written and everything I ever will write.
  3. Movie tickets are $7.50 apiece plus gas; a DVD is $14; a trip to the brothel is upwards of $150. A fifth of cheap vodka, on the other hand, is $10, and you'll have so much fun you won't even remember it because it was just that awesome.
  4. Have children? Of course you do, she just hasn't told you yet. She's planning on naming it North By Northwest, if you get my drift. You should consider selling them- but not into white slavery, screw that crap. A healthy infant liver runs upwards of $2000 in the right markets. Shop smart.
  5. Instead of expensive drugs like cocaine and MDMA, you should consider cheaper alternatives, like Clorox and Ajax. I'm serious when I tell you that these under-the-sink recreationals will seriously fuck you up.
Using these tips as well as the other tips I've posted in earlier entries, your days of financial worry are nearing the end. Take advantage of your time, because when the repossession goes through, honestly, what else do you have?

10.27.2007

The New And Improved Reboot

Name
reboot - restart the operating system

Synopsis
/usr/sbin/reboot [-vsn] [boot_arguments]

Description
The reboot command is a drunken UNIX 
utility that likes to hit the kernel,
making the kernel cry and eventually shut
down (don't worry, eventually it gets
back up). Thanks to the mighty powers of Richard
M. Stallman, there are now more boot
arguments than ever for the reboot utility to
give you control of exactly when your system
reboots.

Options
The following options are supported:

-v Verbose description of every single
system that shuts down and how it feels
about it. The -d option is deprecated in
favor of reboot -v > dump_file.
Note that some utilities hate you
and will express vocally how much.

-s Shoryuken. Can also be activated
through the following command line:
/bin/down /bin/down-forward
/bin/forward /sbin/high-punch.
This is basically the same thing as a
shutdown; your kernel will not be able
to recover without help.

-n Avoid calling the police, the kernel's
parents, or the mass media. Really.
Stop crying. I'll make it all better.

Operands

The following boot_argument strings are supported:

NOW The only boot argument anybody ever
really uses. Shuts your system down now.
The curl -O jobs you forgot were
running will leave useless binary fragments
across your system until you run
/bin/hoover --really-no-really.

later
Reboots your system at some point
in time in the future. A daemon retrieves
single bytes from /dev/random until
a null byte (\0) is reached.

at_the_whim_of_an_intelligent_yet_cruel_ai
Will only reboot your system when
it detects, via fuzzy logic, one or
more of the following: backup programs,
pornographic AVIs, nice -20 jobs.

when_you_least_expect_it
Reboots when you least expect it.
Ranges between utime and the end of the
UNIX epoch, when the Great Administrators
rise from their sunken cities and
consume the world with madness.

tomorrow
Reboots your system immediately,
then changes your wallpaper to depict
the entire EFF giving you the finger.

Of Late I Dream Of Mary

I dream about darkness every night, but apparently I interpret that darkness as different things; shades of visceral red and secret knowledge that swallow everything. Sometimes it's a monstrously fantastic nightmare, or dreams of a hazy afterlife suspended in translucent green gel, or a drastic war to keep a secret energy source safe from an alien species composed entirely of mathematical concepts*.

Mostly I dream about sorting stuff, which is actually pretty weird. The dream has no beginning or end; instead, there are thousands of multicolored objects in front of me shaped sort of like bloated nerve cells, and I draw upon a vast category of knowledge to make minute alterations to their location in a cathartic display of sortitude. I never knew I had such a jiggle-bob** for putting useless things in their place (except you guys, har har). It's probably the beginning of an uncomfortable fetish.

Seriously, though, I get a pretty big rush from dreams like that, and it's better than having sex while doing drugs and playing rock and roll***. It's more like something that feels completely and totally right, like I've finally found my place in the world, and it's doing something we normally pay immigrants pathetic wages for. Except, you know, more complex. And sexier. Because it involves me.


* Actual dreams I have had. Suck it, lamers.

** Totally awesome word I just made up.

*** I am totally better than you and this requires serious walk-and-chew-gum concentration powers.

10.25.2007

Best Poster Evar

This is quite possibly the most awesome poster I've ever seen. That dog should be immortalized for its sheer awesomeness.



10.24.2007

So You Wanna Get With Me

Who wouldn't? I'm like the distilled essence of everything you ever dreamed about. You'll appreciate my limitless intelligence and fantastic wit, which I will graciously use to emotionally destroy everyone you have even a mild dislike for; I'll rejoice in your susceptibility to chloroform and date rape drugs.

Be warned, once you're awesome as me you've got to set up some standards to weed out the rabble. Here are a couple of standards you might want to double-check yourself against:

  1. Complete lack of venereal disease. Infertility is a bonus.
  2. Relatively clean.
  3. Must have bad reflexes.
Got all that? Good. Here are a couple instructional pointers: Make sure you've eaten at least one meal before the date. Try not to be curious about the bottle and rag. If you find out that at some point you've fallen asleep, it's my fault- whirlwind trips to first-rate restaurants, new release movies, and trendy parks can make any girl tired. The appropriate thing to do is leave me all your money, then drive your car home. Unless you own a BMW, in which case the appropriate thing to do is drive my car home.


10.23.2007

Still American

Remember when we actually were proud to be citizens?

We've forgotten how to make war profitable. WWI culminated in the kind of richesse that brought about the Roaring Twenties, which quickly led to conspicuous consumption and the Great Depression. Hoover and FDR took their stabs at our waning economy, but it was WWII- and the selfless thriftiness of American citizens- that brought us to the point where the Happy Days 50's became a more cautious era of exuberance.

We used to be proud of our country. We still want to be proud of our country. The beginning of the War in Iraq, despite some apprehension, met with tremendous approval; however, our inability to do anything without tripping over our own shoelaces have led us to a sad and pathetic time in American history.

After WWII, we tried to mitigate the damage we'd done with the atom bomb by bringing Henry Ford's assembly line technology to the Japanese; they quickly superceded us and became the world leaders of inventory control, being able to assemble cars pretty much on demand. Whither our economic spurs to Iraq? Corporate America is too busy trying to make money off America's massive defense budget to do anything. I can guarantee that if we gave the Iraqi citizens modern technology and economic windfalls that they'd be far less interested in blowing us up and much more interested in bringing their own economy up to par.

And now, you can't go to a user driven website without seeing someone mention that when they travel to foreign countries, they travel under the guise of Canadians. Fuck you, traitors. For fucking shame. I'm proud to be an American when we're the indomitable belle of the ball, and I'm still proud to be part of one nation under God, even when we're dealing with the fallout from an unimaginably global faux pas. Just because we have to suffer through the shame that results from greed doesn't mean we shouldn't take responsibility for a government that is supposed to be of the people, for the people.

You Kids And Your Sudokuban

I don't particularly know what causes the Japanese to come up with boring mental exercises like Sudoku and Sokoban, but they're dull. Horribly dull. I hate that Sokoban is part of NetHack, and I hate that I can't even buy booze without seeing like ninety Sudoku books at the cash register. It's putting numbers in a grid, folks; I can write a Ruby program that does it for me, therefore making it a pointless exercise. (Yes, I know the Angband Borg exists, but it's a total wuss.)

And everybody's saying that Sudoku can stave off the horrible demon of Alzheimer's. I'm sure that if you spend all your time watching television then that's a worthwhile concern; however, I'm pretty sure that if you use your brain for roguelikes or hateblogging or stalking people then you're pretty much ahead of the game anyways. Just say no.

10.22.2007

Our Square Black Hearts

Dear Fans:

We screwed up. 

We know we like, totally invented the whole console RPG idea, and then we reinvented it, and at some point in the 90's pretty much everyone who had ever been beaten up on a playground pretty much worshipped our name. But there have been a few affronts that, in all good conscience, we should be tarred and feathered for having introduced to the world. This letter will cover our mistakes in the Final Fantasy series, because honestly, we don't have room on this letter to apologize for total abortions like SaGa Frontier. With that in mind, we hope you will accept this blanket apology for:

  • Not releasing Final Fantasy V in the United States until after you grew up and had a job and couldn't sit at home and play through an entire RPG anymore.
  • Making the White Mage from FFI look so much like a chick. Apparently, we've caused quite a bit of bi-curiosity now that people realize that they lusted over something which totally turned into a man as soon as you got the Rat Tail.
  • That one cave in FFI? The one where all your characters get poisoned and die repeatedly? We're actually not sorry about that one. You gotta toughen up. We made a man of you. And the White Mage.
  • Palom and Porom in FFIV. We are totally sorry we put those shitheads in the game, but you should thank us for the fact that they turn to stone a mere hour after they are introduced (that is, if you're the fucking FFIV master, like me). We would be sorry about how completely worthless Edward was, but you all got a kick out of the 'spoony bard' thing, so natch.
  • Terra's outfit in FFVI, where she looked like the mutant offspring of Rainbow Brite and a Treasure Troll. We know you didn't get much masturbation fodder off of that, but honestly, we were still dealing with the fallout from the White Mage thing.
  • Those worthless pieces of shit, Gau and Relm. Look, in a game like FFVI, not *everyone* can have the awesome powers. Locke didn't, but then again, we've never once written a worthwhile Thief. I mean, Strago could pretty much kill things with one hit, Sabin was basically Guile from Street Fighter II, and Cyan's Sword Tech was so fucking pimp that the guy who came up with it spent three hours in the men's room right after he told everyone about it. We don't apologize for teasing you with Leo, because we're just cruel like that.
  • Yuffie and Cait Sith, enough said. We are really sorry about that one. Also, the whole sequence where you're inside of Cloud's head and you realize he's basically a character from My So Called Life.
  • FFVIII and FFIX. In their entirety. Although we're pretty sure you don't remember anything about FFIX except that there was a black mage.
  • We're sorry that Tidus was basically Olivia Newton John with a soccer ball.
  • We've killed the idiot responsible for FFXI. We know we really, really messed up. However, some jerkoffs think it's the best MMO ever invented, so to them we'd like to say: Hello, mister stupid head! You should call up your fairy dumbparents and talk to them about moron!
  • (I haven't played XII. But I hear Square should apologize for that too.)
Now that all of that unpleasant business is past, we'd like to tell you we're going to make another Tactics game so we can be all pimp again. Thank you very much. Please continue to buy our games.

Love,
Square

Friends Don't Let Friends Get Cloned

I am so totally right. Blood tests are a total conspiracy. Your doctor orders you to get blood tests done, they take a few vials of your people juice, and then they test them.

Some of them.

The rest are sent to Google for cloning.

You see, Google has all of your personal information, and they want fully functioning copies of you to use as philanthropic drones and marketing research subjects.

It all makes sense now, doesn't it?

Blood Thieving Bastards

My doctor announced to us that he finally had my medical history - something which confused me, because I originally thought that he was writing me prescriptions based upon what has happened to me, not because I walked in and told him to give me some pills. Oh, the missed opportunities.

Now, my pertinent medical history starts with trying to quit smoking and ends up sounding like the blurb for Fear And Loathing In Las Vegas. At the beginning of all of this, I had to go to the phlebotomist to get my BMP and liver testing done. I didn't think anything weird about this, because I previously loved getting my blood taken. I always got good results, I liked watching them stick a needle in my arm and sucking out my magic juice, and my veins are just really freaking cool because I'm better than you.

Unfortunately, the medication I was on then messed with my head, and so right as I was giddily waiting to see my human fluid get extracted, I passed out. That's pretty much the end of them treating you like an adult, when this happens - they dump you in a dark room to lie around for four hours before they send the worst possible nurse in to draw your blood. Like I said last paragraph, I have fantastic veins. You can see them from space. Of course, this nurse had to poke me four times to get a flow, and I could feel the needle scraping around inside my juice tubes. All of a sudden, something I'd treated as magical and fun throughout my childhood was now an invasive and annoying experience.

So, my new doctor wants me to get a ton of tests done. I go to the facility, lightheaded from anxiety and fasting, and sit in the waiting room watching Big Pharma drone on and on from the waiting room TVs (active seniors, outdoors in the sunset in beautiful pastures. Lunesta may cause you to vomit every five seconds and forget huge chunks of your evening). They call me back, I march back, throw out my arm, and look away, doing anything I can not to have to get tossed in the cellar for the rest of the afternoon.

Guy was a fucking pro. He tapped me like it was date rape. If I wasn't completely sure they were just going to make up test results and use the samples try to clone me, I'd be enjoying it again. 

10.18.2007

Mediocre Uses For Super Powers And The Total Power Trip I'd Still Be Getting

Flight
  • I would get my New York cheesecakes from New York, my Philly cheesesteaks from Philadelphia, and my turkey from Turkey. Assuming that they have any turkeys there.
  • If I could fly in a sitting-down position, I'd pretend I was driving an invisible car whenever I needed to go anywhere. I bet people would get a big kick out of me looking like I was gonna crash into them, then flying over their car.
  • I would never use my front door. With the ability to fly up to my office, that gives me more opportunities for using razor wire and turrets as lawn decorations.

Poison Immunity
  • The best drinking contest ever. I can imagine sending like six frat boys to the hospital with cirrhosis.
  • Beehive soccer. Of course, that would only work if I had pain immunity or steel skin or something like that.
  • Look, customs - no balloon! HA!
Energy Blast
  • I would be an exterminator. For target practice.
  • If Einsteinian calculations remain true, then energy blasts are a totally awesome way to lose weight while impressing the neighbors.
  • I'd finally get one over on those sneaky carnies. BAM! I got your pyramid of bottles right here (motions to floor, sings Na Na Na Na, etc).
  • I'd get rid of my microwave so I could have more counter space. No, seriously. That would be awesome.
Telepathy
  • Rock-Paper-Scissors tournament champion, baby.
  • I could also get rid of my telephone/instant messaging client.
  • I could shop used car lots WITHOUT FEAR! BAHAHAHA!
  • What's that you say, Miss Cleo? Nothing!? Well, I've got something I foresee in YOUR future. Prepare to receive some absurdist and/or disturbing mental imagery. For the next six hours. HA!
Teleportation
  • Hide and seek/peek-a-boo with children would be totally awesome. Plus, I'd probably completely screw up their developmental perception of reality.
  • Teleporting out of my clothes now officially the hottest thing ever.
  • "Dude, didn't I just meet you down the hallway? That is like, the weirdest thing ever..."
  • If I could rearrange the alphabet, I'd put you and I together. Like this. Wait, let me try that again, I meant to keep my clothes on. Where are you going?
X-Ray Vision
  • ZAP. Aw, did I give you radiation poisoning?
  • Witness, as I tally the refractive index of diffusion through an atomic crystalline lattice! I can see DNA! Does it not amaze you?
  • Being able to see that I am about to run out of cheese dip without opening the fridge.

Phrases That Should Be Slang For Something Dirty

  • Helicopter Ride
  • East Bound And Down
  • Willie Mays
  • A Journey To The Center Of The Earth
  • Professional Curling
  • Dance Dance Concupiscence
  • Fetal Alcohol Syndrome
  • Wookie

10.17.2007

Comfort Not Applicable

Oh, Joolz.

Nobody wants to have sex in a tent. I mean, why? Just... why? Is it the soothing sound of vermin crawling all willy-nilly right outside the door of your cramped little temporary boudoir? Is it knowing that maybe, just maybe, there's a bear watching?

I may not be able to offer an unbiased opinion, since both sex and nature rank right up there with snorting crushed glass on my list. I don't get the concept of wanting to bang out a contract with somebody in the bathroom of an airplane, for that matter. Whatever happened to people wanting to snuff the smurf in, you know, physically conducive locations? Places where two people might actually fit? Places without rocks?

Of course, I know your first argument will probably be something along the lines of wanting to change up your sex life. Personally, I think playing around with sex merely lengthens the duration of something that's pretty darn boring in the first place. There's the whole rush, true, which is why people continue to copulate and the world population soars, but there's drastically little you can do while actually performing the act. I mean, you can watch TV, talk on the phone, or recite all the swear words you know, but unless you have a particularly permissive partner, you can't:

  • Play the piano
  • Go make yourself a sandwich
  • Practice your golf swing
  • Look for porn on the internet
  • Memorize the Bill of Rights
  • Plunder graves
  • Purchase illicit chemicals and insufflate them
  • Complete a magazine survey to determine whether or not you're a closet homosexual
In fact, most of the suggestions you see out of people trying to get more bang for their buck include such timeless offerings as: roleplaying, which is stupid without a dice bag; positional variations, which actually make sense but don't really change the tab A - slot B functionality (much); and BDSM, which is an excuse to buy more clothing and a way to get your SO into D&D. And, of course, there's having sex in unusual and uncomfortable locations, like tents, walk-in freezers, and on a moving skateboard. None of which actually sound like any fun whatsoever, more like something you do when you've got the motive but need to improvise.

Also, I am now never ever going camping with you.

I Am Going To Rub Leopard All Over My Naked Body

We pre-ordered Leopard today, which is officially the first credit card purchase we've made since making the financial decisions that will slowly make me very, very rich (after which, I'll bury the woman in the backyard and fulfill my secret desire of having two macs). Along with this order, we also picked up the new iLife suite, which will allow us to make trendy movies involving us using our macs.

This Leopard thing is making me tremendously aroused. I'm serious. It's like Apple tapped in to my Y chromosome and extracted the DNA to sweet, sweet code. I mean, check out this feature list:

  • Mail now officially does everything I use Thunderbird for, with the side effects of not taking an hour to load, not slowing down all my other apps, and making my groin all tingly.
  • Ruby and Python bridges to Cocoa means that I can officially just dream up some crazy shit one night while hammered out of my mind and implement it. Never mind waking up the next morning and realizing that I just wrote a very convoluted forkbomb.
  • Parental Controls means that I can finally stem the horrible tide of Digimon my boy insists on watching over and over.
  • iCal sharing means that I can finally schedule events with my millions of friends! Except I hate all my friends, none of us use iCal, and none of us do anything except chat online and send each other cheesecake shots of our ex-girlfriends.
  • Cover Flow in the Finder has just turned a massive archive of porn into a beautiful, slick archive of porn.
  • Background video in iChat sounds like it would only be fun for two seconds, except in reality I foresee using it to stream movies with groups of friends. The internet is keeping me safe from movie theaters and the idiots that use them! Thank Apple.
  • Safari now has every feature a real web browser should have except native keywords, which makes me want to cry. I have so many search keywords in Firefox that the link export once blew up a thumbdrive.
  • TERMINAL HAS THE TABS NOW. REPEAT, TERMINAL NO LONGER MAKES EXPOSE USELESS.
Oh, Leopard, you sexy thing you. I can't wait for next Friday.

10.16.2007

The Sweet Smell Of Rejection

Dear [Teleolurian]:

Thank you for submitting your resume and subsequently meeting with us here at [HighPayingJob.com]. We have reviewed the merits and qualifications you have discussed with us thoroughly, and believe that you are indeed qualified for the position of [demiurge].

We have been fortunate in having a high number of applicants, and believe that another candidate is a better fit for the needs of the department. However, we would like to offer a few perceptions we noted to aid you should you choose to seek employment with another company. Not with us. We will never accept an application from you again, and at this moment Kathy from HR is filling out a restraining order that will require you to stay at least five hundred feet from her, her family, her pets, her home, and our offices throughout all perpetuity.

It was a decidedly favorable tactic to show up early for the interview; however, showing up an hour early so you would have time to seduce our intern receptionist in the ladies' restroom may not have been the best exercise of your judgment.

During your interview, you pointed out that your resume includes your qualifications as 'Best Dad Ever', which we assumed to have been penned by your son. Even though this proud achievement is not necessarily pertinent to the position you applied for, we were stunned to find that, upon calling the number you gave as your son's, we were treated to a half-hour lecture about your abusive behaviour and frequent intoxication. Your son also gave us insight into several psychological issues you are reputed to have, which was rather bizarre, because he is only six years old. We thought this was a prank of some sort until we found that googling your name turns up several medical tests for mental diseases ranging from schizophrenia and bipolar mania to the oddly named 'hyperegomaniacal delusion disorder'.

Perhaps pertaining to this disorder are a few of the claims we have on your resume, including your previous employment at the city zoo, where you claimed to have been a 'breeding specialist' with the task of 'shaming the larger animals by the sight of your massive genitalia'. Upon performing a background check, we have discovered that you were fired for an undisclosed discretion from your job as a zoo guide, but apparently nobody knows the reason, as the person who issued your discharge papers apparently felt the need to commit suicide by purchasing several throwing knives from a local martial arts supplies store, lying on the ground outside their apartment, and 'throwing them at the sky until they punctured several vital organs', as detailed on the police report. To be honest, we find this entire situation rather creepy, and did not use this reference as a factor while considering your employment opportunities.

You also have the rather unique honor, as per your resume, as being the leader of the local 'Pink Movement', the suicide cult which accounted for nearly seven hundred deaths in the community in the last year alone. While we appreciate your effectiveness as a manager and leader of people, we have our doubts as to whether you would be capable of using this skill in a way that would prove beneficial to our corporation.

Finally, it has come to our attention that your rather impressive education history, while apparently completely valid, may have caused the famed nervous breakdown which caused Professor [oldguy] to quit his original research and sign himself into [city] asylum. It is noted that the professor was performing sociological research on various habits of peoples broken down by their personal economic status, which was being funded privately by, among others, our company. Given the long and interesting background check you have so kindly burdened us with, we are afraid that our personal rejection of your employment application stems from your involvement in this situation, which lost our company several million dollars. We understand that there is nothing to verify this claim, but given what else we know about you, we find it extremely likely.

May your future employment prospects fare well,
[soon to be dead guy]

F You Too

It appears that Joolz' little girl, Justine, is getting bad grades. Now, I've been around to witness this action. The problem is that Justine is so disillusioned with the actual world - and by "actual world" I mean "everything except hanging out with friends and being totally wicked" - that she doesn't even hear mom telling her to go upstairs and do her homework so she doesn't end up forced to test whale feces for a living, or something. Seriously - from what it sounds like, her grades are bad enough to bar her from employment in a brothel.

Luckily, Joolz has the support of the most brilliant and attractive blogger in the entire world to help her out. The secret to solving any problem ever, as we see in every single episode of House MD, is to assume the problem is lupus and then do a differential diagnosis. Let's get cracking, folks. Everyone (except Justine) will be graded on this.

Lupus: If Justine is complaining of fever, malaise, fatigue, and joint pain, she may be suffering from lupus. Or, you know, any other disease ever. I mean, chances are, she's pregnant. Because, as everyone knows, being pregnant is totally bitchin'. If she *is* pregnant, I suggest you counsel her sternly, but under no circumstances should you ask her who the father is. Because, you know. Don't mess with him. I'm sure he's too busy blogging or being married or asian or something to have to deal with a baby. Just sell it or something.

Differential Diagnosis Symptoms: I own a lot of scrubs, so therefore I'm completely qualified to give accurate and prompt medical advice. First of all, since Justine has two X chromosomes, it may just be that she's stupid. I have witnessed the patient complaining about all sorts of imaginary problems; also, she's coming of age, which means you need to worry about her Aunt Flo falling off the roof, not to mention her being way too busy having sex with total strangers (who just happen to be totally punk rock) to understand her geography and orthography and such. Also, I'm pretty sure I heard her scream something about having a headache or hangover or something like that from upstairs, which is a sign of Lupus.

Lupus Again: Lupus is a chronic autoimmune disease with no known cure, which means that the only way to treat it is through magic. Common side effects of lupus include receiving spam emails for C1@li5, playing World of Warcraft, and being a total tease. Of course, the World of Warcraft thing may actually be a symptom of another problem entirely...

Being A Fucking Geek: World of Warcraft, an expensive drug sold by Blizzard Pharmaceuticals, is highly addictive and has several worrying side effects. At least 3% of test patients exhibited the following symptoms: playing the fuck out of World of Warcraft, not doing anything apart from playing the fuck out of World of Warcraft, referring to all clergymen as "level 50 pallys", and not calling me back the morning after a torrid night of passion. Do not stop taking World of Warcraft immediately. Contact your physician and they will inform you how to taper off of the drug. Once you're off the WoW, your study habits should slowly improve, unless...

Innate Stupidity: Don't worry, Joolz. Stupidity is an atavistic trait, which means that Justine may have picked it up from a toilet seat. You can check for it by knowing the traits, which include characteristic walking into walls repeatedly, saying 'Duh' often, and not knowing how much to charge for a Cleveland Steamer. Stupidity is currently corrected through electroshock therapy.

That's pretty much it. I'm tapped. Hopefully, with these nuggets of completely true knowledge, you will be able to cope with a difficult situation and eventually live a seminormal life.

So, You've Decided To Kill Yourself

Good for you. You've shirked off the horrible responsibility of living and decided to take your sniveling ass out of the genepool with a bottle of Tylenol IVs. However, just like when you went to the McDonalds' around the corner on a blind date to meet the girl of your dreams just to find out that it was a cruel joke and meanwhile your house burned down because you left your toaster on, there are a few things you should take care of beforehand, or else your entire afterlife could be spent regretting that you didn't manage to do everything you needed to do.

  1. Make sure your toaster, oven, back massager, electric blanket, and radio are off. Television is okay.
  2. Spellcheck your suicide letter. Nothing is more embarrassing than realizing that you told everyone you ever loved that you are about to 'comit suicide'.
  3. Your loved ones, especially the hot ones, are going to need some sort of comfort to deal with your tragic death. And by comfort, I mean my phone number.
  4. Those are Tylenol IVs, right? Because you can take like six bottles of normal Tylenol and absolutely nothing will happen. I once had a girlfriend that would take a bottle of Tylenol whenever she saw me, probably out of a fear that she wasn't hot enough. She never died. However, she did cry herself to sleep every night except for when I was out of town.
  5. Make sure your underwear is clean. Seriously. Coroners have a hard enough job.
  6. Did you make sure to go to the bathroom before your overdose? Did you?
  7. Tylenol FOUR, stupid. I'm telling you, you're going to wake up with a bad taste in your mouth and absolutely no hangover at all if you go with that over-the-counter stuff.
  8. Are you sure that's every hot girl you know of? What about the neighbor you watch undressing through her wide-open bedroom window every night at 7:15? She might not be able to deal. You know, with her not having a drooling, overweight audience next door. Make sure you give her details on how to contact me. Hey- selflessness is part of my nature.
  9. Do you have flowers in your room? Go watch a movie involving suicide. EVERYONE who commits suicide, EVER, has flowers nearby. I think flowers subconsciously cause people to kill themselves, in a ruthless attempt to herd mankind and use their wastes as fertilizer for the brutal florid overlords. Get some flowers.
  10. You idiot. Look- drink a fifth of gin and then tilt a vending machine over onto your foot. Trust me, your doctor will give you the right pills to overdose on. I'll wait. You wuss.

The Revenge Of Ambien

TheWife: So, I was putting the sheets in the laundry and looked down and there was a press-on black pinkie nail with a skull and crossbone on it. Very strange thing to find in the laundry room.
Teleolurian: That sounds interesting.
Teleolurian: Sort of like maybe I should get checked for amnesia. Also, VD.

10.12.2007

Take Two Of These

Why do bra ads always need to be pornographic?

I mean, I get it. You get more people to look at your ads. You sell more. Not having breasts myself, I can't say whether or not it helps to be able to see someone else's in the underwear. And let's face it, nobody really complains that there's boobies around.

But I've never seen some male model in underwear and thought, wow. Look at that guy's junk. I totally need a pair of those boxers. And if you're gonna try and sell on some poor girl's self-image problems, why not go the full monty and show some before and after with those double-padded bras?

Look, girls. You meet a guy. After whatever your personal courting time is, be it one hour or one year, the compatibility alarm dings or your ovary clock hits daylight savings time or [insert pointless metaphor here] or whatever, and you go home for a rousing game of Truth or Sex. Do you really think it matters what you look like by this point? The visual index is pretty much unimportant after the first glance. You're not gonna miss out on the Bow-Chicka unless you're a bow-wow, if you get my drift.

And trust me, if all systems are go, how many of you lie back in post-coital exhaustion and think, well. That was fifty dollars well spent. I mean, I think that all the time, but it's not the bra I'm paying for.

Part Of The Family

Reading Joolz' recent posts reminds me why I'm not working with Mike. Mike works at a very large internet apparel company whose name rhymes with Zappo's, and they work very hard to make you feel like part of a big, utopian corporate family.

I hate family. I don't talk to my family, I am horribly confused about what to do around my wife's family, and if the place where I work doesn't want me to go bugnuts at the very mention of me being a part of theirs then I'd better be working for the fucking mafia. The way I see it, all the time companies spend coming up with little get-togethers and team builders to bring people closer together can be used for something much more important- supporting my raging drug habit so I have something to be grateful for.

Where did team-building exercises come from? Well, let's say you work at the most obvious sort of establishment you can possibly work at here in Las Vegas (not the fucking brothels, losers). Let me tell you, working at a corporate casino is the epitome of living your life in total fear. You are reminded how little you mean to the company every day. They have reduced the concept of a pay raise to that of a beautiful insult; they will literally tell you the average pay raise percentage per year and give you less out of spite. The reason they do this is because the corporate casinos could care less how much you bust your ass for them; they care about something called seniority, which is business-ese for "rewarding the people who don't work enough to hate their jobs after ten years".

One day long ago, during the Golden Age of Corporate Fear, your best option was to work for a huge corporation, because people needed benefits to survive. At some point, a company tried a team building exercise which nobody liked, then asked each employee to say how much they gained. Each employee, afraid of losing their lifelines, painted the whole process with glowing praise, and this result was written down as Law in the annals of business history.

Let me tell you something. After three years of being told how expendable I was as a person, I quit my job on the spot and got a job at a small company with zero benefits and paychecks which sometimes disappeared when the business was going through rough patches. I was paid more than I'd ever made previously in my life just because I knew Perl. I never met more than four people who worked outside of the programming department and company rules were that non-programmers had to treat us like gods among men and harbingers of ill fate. I'm sure it sucked for everybody else, but when you're literally being paid to go across the street to the bar and get smashed for six hours straight before coming back and cranking out an application (projected time was always about twenty times how long it took to actually write it), you cease caring about other people. You cease even acknowledging other people have names. And if someone has the audacity to address you by name when they are far beneath your station, you start to do some pretty crazy things. Like inventing team-building exercises to punish them.

Mommy Dearest

Dear Josh:

I hear you're moving back in with mom. Good for you. Once you get past the shame of the situation (which I hear increases with age, and let's face it - you're not getting any younger), you'll realize that a zero-rent situation is probably one of the best things you can face in the current bombing housing market.

That being said, there are doubtless changes that will have to be made to your lifestyle. Gone are the days when you can sit on the couch in your dadundadaas watching The Rock beat up John Cena (or whatever horrible uterus vomit they show on WWE nowadays). Not because your mother hasn't seen you in your underwear, obviously, but because it's no secret how hugely aroused you get when watching teh wrestle.










Things You SacrificeThings You Get Instead
Eating filthy fast foodCrusts cut off your sandwiches
Sex with an actual personFree internet
Staying Up All Night Watching CableStaying Up All Night In Your Room
Coming home late and slamming your door with the satisfaction of a homeownerComing home late and tiptoeing into your room
Crazy people next doorHearing your parents have sweaty old-people sex
Your own bathroomNever running out of shampoo
FreedomAdvice
A long bus ride to workAn even longer bus ride to work, complete with a bus stop in a really bad neighborhood where people cook meth right out in the open
Inviting friends over whenever you wantMeth

10.08.2007

Vegas House Parties


You really should visit this site

10.05.2007

Travelers Guide: Las Vegas, Part I

At A Glance

Las Vegas is the jewel of the desert, an oasis of pulse-racing gambling and random sexual encounters with people who have only recently become women. Founded in 1946 by mayor-for-life Frank Sinatra, it is the second birthplace of Elvis and the holy site where his followers believe his Second Coming will occur. It is known as the birthplace of late night diners, and the place where 'all the buildings light up and there's real purty womens'.

Districts

Las Vegas Greater Metropolitan Area is actually much, much larger than the tiny actual town of Las Vegas. Around it are several county-designated townships with extremely generic names and completely different personalities, though unlike Phoenix, you won't be able to tell when you've left one area and entered another. Here is a quick rundown:

PARADISE - If you think you are in Las Vegas, you are probably here. Paradise is a catch-all category for Las Vegas. Look for: silly attempts to look like a bigger city.

ARDEN - Some people are afraid of North Las Vegas, but still want to buy drugs. Arden is the place to do it. Just wait until after dark and approach anyone riding a bicycle. Most people from Arden are dumber than bricks, so you can't use 'street slang', most of which is completely different in Vegas anyways. Exception: All slang for methamphetamine is accepted. If nobody knows what you are talking about, you will end up with methamphetamine. Sometimes, you will receive methamphetamine when the cashier at 7-11 runs out of quarters.

ENTERPRISE - Enterprise is a banged up, shitty area of town known for its cheap government housing tracts, bizarre strip-mall businesses that cannot possibly receive more than one customer a year yet still manage to stay open, and the subsection of Mexican immigrants who angrily yell at you if they cannot understand you.

WINCHESTER - Winchester is where people live when they want to feel like they live in Las Vegas, except they want to live in an actual apartment and not some outrageously expensive condo. You can walk to at least three major casinos from any point in Winchester, and can see one from every window in your shitty apartment. Scary old men stalk the apartment grounds after dark, looking for ripe virgins to take back to their studios. This is the area of town with the most lower-middle-class new citizens, and therefore is the area of town where people won't shoot you for waving hello on the sidewalk. ATMs in Winchester still give $10 bills.

NORTH LAS VEGAS - North Las Vegas is completely different than anywhere else in "Vegas". Everyone who lives here will fucking kill you. The policemen do not get out of their cars, ever, but will tell you where the best drug havens are if you ask them politely. Gas stations sell chinese food which is actually made of cleverly molded tumors from dead cancer patients. It is possible to disappear between your front door and your doorstep. The appropriate response, when you hear gunfire, is to learn how to ignore the sound of gunfire. The Mexicans that live here are extremely nice, but will rip you off if you look like you don't understand the word 'drogas'. If you buy drugs at random on the street, you will likely receive bits of wax.

INDIAN SPRINGS - Named exactly the same as another place in Nevada, and is therefore very confusing. Indian Springs the far-away place is named after a Paiute slinky and is the location of a prison. Indian Springs actually-Las-Vegas, apparently also called Eastland Heights, is a part of North Las Vegas that suddenly became a desirable location to live. The land is dirt cheap, the houses are big, and one of your neighbors shoots porn in the backyard. Mexicans in Indian Springs are affluent. You can trace their ancestry simply by looking at the little family decal and the Mexican state name (i.e. Sinaloa) on the back of their SUVs. Some of the little family drawings will trace a family all the way back to the Aztecs.

HENDERSON - Henderson is not a part of Las Vegas, nor is it a city. Nobody actually lives here. There are never any cars here. On the occasion you actually do meet someone who claims to be a resident, they will be rubbing sticks together trying to light a cigarette or perhaps hunting for their dinner with a particularly sharp stick. The city center is about a block from the edge of Henderson, and is immaculate and architecturally inspiring. Bars in Henderson are always empty, but the extremely hot bartender girls will tell you where to find drugs. Only one bar in Henderson is allowed to do Flaming Dr. Peppers, and nobody knows where it is.

LAS VEGAS - A very small area full of casinos that you will never set foot in, except accidentally. Everything is owned by the mob. All of the restaurants are excellent. All of the casinos are named after their non-corporate, crime-family owners. You are safer here than in any other part of Las Vegas, even the rich parts. The streets are one-way. It is against the law to mention the mob, unless you are a member of the mob. One out of three people you see here is.

GREEN VALLEY - Green Valley is where people move when they want to look more affluent than other people, but aren't really. Teenage mothers with tattoos march their aryan children like ducklings across lush gated communities. The drugs are especially good here. You can get high just by finding a strip mall late at night, walking behind it, looking for an open door, and inhaling deeply. Everyone swims in clean apartment pools. Apartment offices have fax machines, exercise equipment, and gold-rimmed glory holes which are manned 24 hours a day. All apartment complexes are extremely competitive, because all the poor people want to live there and there's a fucking airport right outside your window.

SEVEN HILLS - Seven Hills is where people from Green Valley move when they want to look more affluent than other people in Green Valley. Twentysomething mothers with tattoos drive their elementary school children to soccer practice in hulking vans. Everyone is required to visit Starbucks twice daily. There are roads in Seven Hills which actually go on forever, and where you may see your older self driving in the other direction. To get drugs in Seven Hills, you must visit a hospital and know the prescription name of your drugs; however, you must not show any actual physical signs of ailment. There is one OB/GYN in Seven Hills. He is an extremely busy man.

SPRING VALLEY - Spring Valley is where people move when they accidentally move to Green Valley, then realize that everyone there is a complete fucktard. Some streets are extremely nice and suburban; others look like the results of disastrous riots. You can choose any ethnic cuisine in the world and find five restaurants that serve it within two blocks of your home. Police will randomly patrol your street, just to be nice; however, this only happens on the nice streets (every other street). If you want drugs in Spring Valley, you buy them from another township. Nobody on the nice streets understands the concept of race, because Mexicans that live on the nice streets are either rich or fifth-generation Americans. Nobody on the bad streets understands the concept of race, because they are all newly immigrated from Mexico.

SUMMERLIN - Summerlin is where rich Mormons live. There are no Mexicans in Summerlin. Nobody in Summerlin can name an illegal drug other than marijuana or valium, because they all get religious highs at the LDS temple, though the LDS temple is on the other side of the city. Children are issued cellphones upon birth. Every other block is actually a park. There are no streetlights; instead, every intersection is a roundabout.

SUNSET - Sunset is where you live if you are either poor and Mormon, or don't know where Summerlin is. Everyone owns a horse ranch. You can get drugs simply by walking to your nearest low budget housing unit and looking for men who dress like they still think it's the eighties, especially if they are dripping Jheri Curl. Unlike all other areas of Las Vegas, no prostitutes live here. Nobody even knows what a prostitute is. People who live in Sunset think the town is even smaller than it actually is; they think of 'bad areas of town' in terms of avenues within Sunset.

RHODES RANCH - Rhodes Ranch, Rancho Circle, and Spanish Trail are where the mafia actually lives. You will never find any of these areas unless someone who lives in town tells you where they are. The exception is Rhodes Ranch, which always has about nine thousand Porsches waiting at the gate to get in. These cars are backed up all the way down Durango Avenue. The Mexicans who live here are in the Mafia, and you do not fuck with them. If you want drugs, you have them muled in from Colombia. Prostitutes are equally easy to find; all houses come with guest rooms which are fully stocked with prostitutes and beer. You must wear Hawaiian shirts everywhere, even to the shower. The first rule of Rhodes Ranch/Rancho Circle/Spanish Trail is you do not talk about Rhodes Ranch/Rancho Circle/Spanish Trail.