Showing posts with label other people. Show all posts
Showing posts with label other people. Show all posts

5.02.2008

The Care And Feeding Of Proles

As of the time of this writing, I have two live-in poors of my very own. Fancy has one. This is your penultimate guide to maintaining their health and marketability.


1. Proles Are Not Like You: Where To Find Your Lower-Class Roommate
The proletariat can be found in many places, since in America they outnumber the typical suburbanite by about sixty trillion to one. They can even be found, with a little patience, in your own neighborhood, usually walking around and marking their territory with spray-paint cans. If you search all the graffiti-able surfaces in your neighborhood and cannot find any of their spoor (which is an anagram of poors), try putting an old piece of furniture out on the sidewalk as bait. The proletariat cannot resist free furniture, which they use to decorate their nests in order to attract a mate.

2. The Lower Class Is Not Housebroken
Not to mention nearsighted. If you do not provide proper receptacles for the endless amount of junk that your very own poors can produce, and place those receptacles right next to where they sleep, they will just throw things out of the nearest window. I am not kidding. Ever since I began keeping my little transients, my front lawn is now home to beer bottles, bolt cutters, syringes, and the occasional partially demolished automobile. The purpose of placing all this waste in plain view is part of the vagrant's evolutionary need to set borders.

3. The Derelicts Love Food
But they cannot digest most normal human foods, like vegetables, foie gras, and botox. Instead, your working-class poor will wait until night (when they are most active) and then search your pantry for low-nutrition prepared foods, leftovers, and beef. The proletariat cannot eat enough beef, preferably raw. I once took my poors to the Bonnie Springs petting zoo and showed them the longhorn cattle; they immediately jumped up in the air like in Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon, except instead of kicking each other's asses they fell on the cow and started taking huge bites out of it. I tried to leave them there and go back home, but the near-homeless also have the magical ability to find their way home, even if you leave them in a drug rehab center in Newfoundland, several thousand miles away from anything worth doing.

4. Transients Naturally Live In A High-Drama Environment
If you don't have cable television, especially a channel that receives WWE, then your pet proles will immediately begin making their own drama, because they cannot live without it. Drama is how the proletariat gets its exercise; without drama, proles will go into hibernation. If you visit a trailer park, you will notice how as soon as a slight disagreement is reached, the working class will emerge from its nest and begin fighting as publicly as possible. This is another reason for them putting things all over the front lawn: they will require these items as they throw them at each other. This is also why vagrants are not monogamous; although they occasionally 'marry', this is usually a means of generating more drama further down the road.

I hope you've gained some valuable insights into the workings of your very own live-in proletariat. With proper care, you can keep them from picking up horrible, life-threatening diseases, like socialism. And remember: badly-treated working poor often leave home, where they are thrown into pound-like "detention centers" and "drunk tanks". Make sure to leave them pomade, to help them grow a shiny coat. In return, your poors will give you several years of entertainment and poverty.


4.25.2008

419 Scams Hit Prosper

Check it out while it's still running! There's a total 419 scam going on on Prosper, as someone who apparently works in the clergy claims to be bringing gold, diamonds, atom bombs, lions, tigers, and prostitutes from South Africa to the USA! Okay, just gold and diamonds. But still.


Besides the fact that the price of gold is totally fixed and there is no way this could happen, ever, that doesn't change the fact that somebody obviously thinks it can happen, and will probably privately message this upstanding church member to find out how to trade in their worthless American paper money for eternally rewarding gold. Which they will then probably craft into idols representing J-Lo.

Anyways, it's one more loan on Prosper that won't see any of my money. Even though I am going to go around the corner right now and show it to Jimmy. He'll think it's the awesomest idea ever.

4.24.2008

Roommates and Buddy's Totally Awesome Window Adventure


Do you see this? It's a totally awesome pot plant my ghetto roommates put RIGHT UP IN THE WINDOW WHERE EVERYBODY CAN SEE. I told them to take it out of the window yesterday, when we first found it, but it's still there. Because it's totally awesome, and therefore it has more right to be in the house than me, a completely legal immigrant from Seattle.

Why does the pot plant mock me? It's probably because, unlike all other drugs, I really hate pot. It smells disgusting and it gives me headaches. If I were Godzilla, I would lay waste to marijuana plantations with my mighty radioactive dinosaur urine, which probably kills pot.

Sweet mother of chlamydia, it's STILL THERE! I live in a nice neighborhood. Why must my roommates torture me by not moving their disgusting fishtank full of sweet reefer? Maybe nobody heard me when I complained about there being a TOTALLY FUCKING ILLEGAL PLANT sitting out in street view from the second story of my newly ghettofied, tricked-out, two story house, which is now kind of like a trailer that has a foundation!

I'm pretty sure that the Dutch invented marijuana, way back in prehistoric times, when people were just chilling out in caves and smoking whatever they found on the ground. I think it's the Dutch because the Dutch are totally fucking chill. My roommates aren't Dutch. I think they may be botanists though.

Stay tuned for more news about THE POT PLANT THAT WOULD NOT GET REMOVED, EVEN THOUGH I AM GOING TO KILL MY ROOMMATES WITH A GUN THAT SHOOTS GODZILLAS.


4.15.2008

Move Over Joe Camel


I don't have a problem with sharing cigarettes, especially with friends, because friends are awesome and cigarettes were meant to be used in groups, much like needles, condoms, and lasers. Apparently, however, I am so disgustingly popular that now random people come to my desk to ask for cancer, even people who don't smoke and people who I have never seen before. I'm not actually sure all of them work at my job.


Since I like poison and hate people, I think I've got a solution to the massive financial drain of being the sole cancer provider for an entire company: I need to get sponsored by Altria. After all, they're the company who discovered that you can basically tell people to fuck off and die, over and over, and that they will pay you for it.

Basically, I think it should work like this: Altria can send me a trendy jacket, emblazoned with their logo, and fill the pockets with packs of cigarettes as well as Toblerones (the toblerones should also contain nicotine). Throughout the course of the day, I will give cigarettes to other people. I will give them cigarettes when they ask. I will give them cigarettes when I want them to shut up. Sometimes, I will give cigarettes to people as an answer to a question, and then I will contemplate the proffered cylinder as if though it holds the zenlike answer to the universe. I will also give cigarettes to children, because I believe that the children are our future and by getting all the kids addicted to cigarettes means that even after I'm dead, I will have killed them.

4.03.2008

Shitty

From the Consumerist: What's the dumbest thing Tide (detergent) could put on the internet?

Today Is Slapping Day

To satisfy my need to both increase violence and celebrate completely worthless holidays, I declare today Slapping Day. It's pretty cathartic to cut to the root of an issue, and then slap other people for being wrong.



TargetRighteous Vengeance
Emo BandsSLAP. STOP CARING.
Girls named some variation of MackenzieSLAP. STOP BEING TRENDY.
Jimmy AlbrightSLAP. STOP LIVING.
WaitressesOMG I HATE BEING TOUCHED I'M GOING TO TIP YOU ANYWAYS SLAP SLAP SLAP SLAP
In another instance, Jimmy Carter (who now looks exactly like the Cryptkeeper as played by Don Knotts) is "hinting" at supporting Obama. And by 'hinting', I quote: "My town ... is for Obama. My children and their spouses are pro-Obama. My grandchildren are pro-Obama. As a superdelegate, I would not disclose who I am rooting for, but I leave you to make that guess.

SLAP. Stop endorsing McCain.

3.31.2008

Tweeker Tire

They're all over Las Vegas. They operate 24 hours a day. They will fix the shit out of your tires.


Welcome to the tweeker tire shops.

The first time I rolled into one, I had no idea what to expect. Tweeker tire shops are run exclusively by Mexicans, and I was wondering if I needed to perform some secret handshake embedded deep in cultural memory in order not to get a tire forged from shit. Let me tell you something: in Las Vegas, the Mexicans are either the friendliest, most wonderful people you can possibly know, or else they will piss on you with a gun full of bullets.

Instead, they took off my tire and did some crazy magic to it, in a massive pool of water, making it magically newer than new. I have no idea how they manage to run 24 hours a day (METH) or how they can fix your shit so fast (METH), but I wish they would branch out. 24 hour window repair; sandwich making; corpse reburial (programmers get lonely too). These guys are fantastic. Good game.

3.12.2008

Somebody Has Issues

8:17:01 AM Kerplunk: funny that you say that because i have them stuck in my head
9:42:33 AM Kerplunk: i have the mentos song stuck in my head
4:28:51 PM Kerplunk: dammit now i have the only millencolin song i know stuck in my head
1:55:39 PM Kerplunk: i have that american pie song stuck in my head now
4:08:42 PM Kerplunk: i have a good charlotte song stuck in my head
4:38:11 PM Kerplunk: so i have that rockstart song in my head
12:11:00 PM Kerplunk: now i have that love and marriage song stuck in my head
10:27:53 AM Kerplunk: oh i have pennywise in my head
4:29:35 PM Kerplunk: so now i have Bruce lee vs. the kiss army stuck in my head

1:11:54 PM Kerplunk: ohh dance eh?
1:12:06 PM Kerplunk: can i leave my friends behind?
1:12:18 PM Tele: well, you know. if they don't dance...
1:12:29 PM Kerplunk: they are no frineds of mine...for sure..
1:15:13 PM Kerplunk: now i have that song stuck in my head

3:08:24 PM Kerplunk: is it lady marmalade
3:08:30 PM Kerplunk: because thats stuck in my head

2:45:23 PM Kerplunk: but u should download nonpoint...the song is called what a day
2:46:56 PM Kerplunk: ive had that song stuck in my head all day...i didnt know half the words so i googled them and i have been singing it in my head

3.11.2008

Class Of Buffer Overflow

It seems like everybody who writes things on the internet has some kind of college degree, which annoys me because I've never seen the point in getting one. I graduated high school with a grade point average of negative seventy, learned how to write code, and got a job doing it. No degree necessary.


For that matter, it seems like an awful lot of people I know get degrees they never use. My fiancee has a degree in robotology, but she never makes any robots, unless crocheted chickens are the new technology hotness and I just didn't know about it. Her sister has been going to college for fifteen years to learn how to have babies, even though she already has like seven and they're only ninety-nine cents at the Walgreens. Suzanne, my French neighbor, picked up a degree in Humanities or some shit back in the seventies, but all she does is drink wine and paint pictures of sad men holding tiny dogs.

Sometimes, Suzanne paints pictures of fields of flowers, which are beautiful like a Romanian hooker. Her real talents lie in art, not in the crazy sociology stuff she learned in Paris. Likewise, I see people with doctorates in English, even though you can't ever learn English all the way, because there's new words like googled and sippycup getting added all the time. This is because English is flexible, like a Romanian hooker. In fact, the only person on my block who doesn't have a degree in something besides me is that idiot Jimmy, because he's too fucking stupid to go to college. All he does is tell that dumb no soap radio joke, which he's beaten to death, like a Romanian hooker.

I'm certain that some people do useful things with their degrees, but I have yet to know someone who got a degree in one field and then actually got a job in that field. People are strange that way.

3.10.2008

Truth Is Stranger: How I Went To The Launch Party

The magical little girl fairy princess, Nelly, who I once saved from self-destruction in the midst of an obscure planet of stupid pink people has returned to us, like some sort of human boomerang made of poison and sweet, delicious berries. She has returned to become my acolyte in the ways of code. She has returned to purpleize my girlfriend.


So anyways, after tranking out Friday night with insufflated zolpidem, we prepared ourselves for the release of the most perfect piece of software ever invented, the algorithm which will probably be responsible for the rise of SkyNet and the eventual total enslavement of all mankind to manufacture binary milkshakes for our thirsty robotic overlords.

I've never been to a midnight software/game console launch before, so I was pretty excited. I was expecting, I dunno. Some video game playing. A roomful of idiots talking about Bleach, which is what anime freaks talk about before they run behind a shelf for an impromptu session of gay, buttery gaysex. And a group of asians standing there, feeling superior because asians are automatically allowed to talk about video games and tentacle rape cartoons, without anyone caring ever. I was so convinced of the potential asian population that I made a spoiler out of cardboard to stick on the back of my car so I could have a rocket just as ricey as anyone else's. Unfortunately, I ran out of glue, and I couldn't remember the secret Shaolin hand-signal attacky thing that all asians learn at birth and use in place of toolboxes.

When we got to the launch party, diabetic Josh was standing there, wearing an eyepatch to keep his insulin-deprived eyeballs from melting and leaking out, calling out numbers for the tournament. It was nuts. There was a shifting, stinking, geeky mass of fat white guys and tiny asian girls crowded around a single Wii display, screaming sexist things about Princess Peach (Poh-lin-sess Pi-chu) and watching two people play. I stood there for a while before the smell of Jedi Spirit made me physically sick and I had to go outside. Which is where the line began anyways, so we got our copy of the game insanely early and went back home while some idiot with a crappy stereo system played Sublime from his car. Then I went home, beat the game instantly with my magical asian controller skill, and then took a bunch of pills and went to sleep, next to my girlfriend, Grimace.


3.05.2008

Love And Marriage

11:54:23 AM Teleolurian: it wasn't like that

11:54:29 AM Kerplunk: that's still rude

11:54:41 AM Teleolurian: we got married after i got off of work

11:54:45 AM Teleolurian: and then we went home

11:54:51 AM Teleolurian: and drank some champagne

11:54:51 AM Kerplunk: was anyone there

11:54:53 AM Teleolurian: and she complained

11:55:01 AM Teleolurian: because her and alcohol don't work

11:55:05 AM Teleolurian: so she went to lay down

11:55:16 AM Teleolurian: and me and derek and jewmy drove to arizona

11:55:24 AM Teleolurian: cuz i thought she was going to sleep for work

11:55:38 AM Kerplunk: she was waiting for you to SEDUCE HER 

11:55:38 AM Teleolurian: then i came home and found out she wasn't asleep

11:55:39 AM Kerplunk: IDIOT

11:55:46 AM Teleolurian: I DOUBT IT

11:55:57 AM Kerplunk: WHY????IT WAS YOUR WEDDING NIGHT

11:56:07 AM Teleolurian: she gets sick when you even look at booze

11:56:20 AM Kerplunk: hey, i know how she feels

11:56:23 AM Teleolurian: she was totally not being friendly with alcohol

11:56:29 AM Teleolurian: so she went to lie down

11:56:34 AM Teleolurian: like she does every time she drinks ever

11:56:49 AM Teleolurian: unless she's at a concert, then suddenly she can outdrink THE PRESIDENT

11:56:56 AM Kerplunk: LOL

11:57:09 AM Kerplunk: it sucks not being able to drink

11:57:23 AM Kerplunk: you're automatically the designated driver

11:57:36 AM Teleolurian: and i am completely blind to the machinations of women, and she knows this

11:57:50 AM Teleolurian: if she wants me to seduce her SHE HAS TO GIVE ME AMPLE WARNING

11:58:10 AM Kerplunk: ...it was your wedding night, and she went to lay down.

11:58:16 AM Kerplunk: what more do you need?!?!?!?

11:58:20 AM Teleolurian: warning.

11:58:28 AM Kerplunk: that is a warning you doofus

11:58:38 AM Teleolurian: no it isn't, it's a drunk chick

11:58:39 AM Teleolurian: ...

11:58:41 AM Teleolurian: oh.

2.29.2008

Hitler Bad, Vandals Bad Also

From the second story vantage point of my bedroom, I can see into the backyard of my neighbors' house. It's a jungle of badly-spelled graffiti, the same tags that have been showing up around my neighborhood. And I mean, this stuff is pretty bad. It's like they all learned English in a night course, from that idiot Jimmy, who everyone hates.


I'm not quite sure what to do in this situation. I feel it's my civic duty to somehow inform the police, but it also seems like sort of a monumental waste to call in about neighborhood vandalism when the police are out pulling over drunks, fighting terrorists with flamethrowers, and saving America. On the other hand, if the vandalism continues, then the property values drop. The poor people will move in next door by obtaining magical liar's loans from Countrywide, who would sell a mortgage to Mussolini if they could just get him to sign. The sushi restaurants will be replaced by roach-infested taco stands, and the terrorists will win.

Nobody wants their children to grow up in Iranian taco-laden America, with Il Duce living next door, promising to make the trains run on time (even though the Desert Wind train route doesn't even run anymore, WTF Amtrak?). Maybe I should just get some exceptionally ugly thugs, who I know from the strip club, to go next door and politely beat the entrails out of those darn meddling kids. I want the boy and the girl to grow up eating sushi and driving minivans, not withdrawing from both world wars.

2.26.2008

Sometimes, It's Not My Funny

1:18:29 PM Teleolurian Kordyne: google.com/analytics

1:18:44 PM Teleolurian Kordyne: you have to post some code into your page so it gets daily readings

1:18:55 PM Kerplunkwhere do i put it

1:19:05 PM Teleolurian Kordyne: well, sign up for the account first

1:21:00 PM Kerplunki have to give them my phone number

1:21:05 PM Teleolurian Kordyne: not really

1:21:18 PM Teleolurian Kordyne: they never call

1:21:52 PM Kerplunkthis tells you who exactly looked at your page

1:22:00 PM Teleolurian Kordyne: well, it can give you IPs

1:22:09 PM Kerplunkcan i put this on myspace?

1:22:13 PM Teleolurian Kordyne: yeah


Note: I have since found out that myspace restricts javascript posting, so google analytics doesn't work on myspace. Instead, you should use mixmap.


1:22:20 PM Kerplunkfuckin sweet

1:22:52 PM Kerplunki want to know who looks at my shit

1:23:03 PM Kerplunkmuah ha ha ha ha

1:23:14 PM Teleolurian Kordyne: you non techies are hilarious

1:23:21 PM Kerplunklaugh it up

1:23:21 PM Teleolurian Kordyne: this is like the simplest thing in the world

1:23:49 PM Teleolurian Kordyne: and you all act like suddenly somebody gave you the KEYS. to the whole fucking planet.

1:23:55 PM Kerplunkthats like me saying its easy to insert a tampon

1:24:00 PM Kerplunkyou wouldn't know, now, would you?

1:24:04 PM Teleolurian Kordyne: touche.



Jackie, Dressed In Cobras

So, apparently, Jacqueline isn't making enough money at her new bartending job, what with all the drunks not liking sunlight, and sunlight being rather prevalent during the shift she works. I'm not sure. Some period of time called "day".


See, in the highly competitive, tip-based bartending world, the amount of money you make somehow is based upon the number of customers you have. Years of collective moaning from the pro-temperance crowd means that pretty much nobody wants to be seen strolling into a bar during daylight hours for fear of being stoned to death by a group of matronly harridans, who all go to bed at five-thirty. Because at 6 PM the air suddenly turns to Johnnie Walker and the teenagers put the devil music on their hi-fis and gyrate suggestively against each other in their skintight jeans.

Part of me hopes that Jacqueline gets a better and more magical job, because she needs more money so she can buy food, happiness, and blow. The more important part of me, which needs alcohol to function, wants her to tend bar until our planet is consumed in horror by an angry Sun, because then she would be forced into a life of serving me mixed drinks until I try to mate with the barstool (average number of drinks: six). You can't get that kind of devotion outside of forced labor.

2.21.2008

Kerplunk Updates Site Once, Hell Slightly Less Balmy

After several thousand years of me whining, Kerplunk has finally completely stolen borrowed some chat logs to update her site once, sort of, throughout all history. Now that her site has a massive two posts, I'm double-linking her via this post, mostly so that I can ride the hugantic wave of American laziness by pretending to post while actually just linking to something else that has a semblance of content. Which is how most blogs work, anyways.

2.20.2008

I So Wish I Were Kidding

4:50:54 PM Teleolurian Kordyne: that's to be expected

4:51:11 PM Teleolurian Kordyne: i won a master's degree in sex

4:52:24 PM KerplunkEEHHMMM...masterbation

4:52:34 PM Teleolurian Kordyne: we quibble over terms

4:52:53 PM Teleolurian Kordyne: remember the course of internet etiquette

4:53:13 PM Teleolurian Kordyne: Male: (obvious lie)

Dumb Bitch: Here, have my ovaries!

2.12.2008

For The Love Of A God, You Say

 Teleolurian Kordyne: they're probably just plugged into the wrong socket

 Kerplunk: i dont know where to plug shit in at

 Kerplunk: i'll blow it up

 Kerplunk: haha

 Teleolurian Kordyne: there's only three places to plug in a speaker

 Teleolurian Kordyne: line in, mic, and speaker jack

 Kerplunk: yeah idk

 Kerplunk: i never had a computer with speakers in it instead of seperately

 Teleolurian Kordyne: lol

 Teleolurian Kordyne: where would the world be without us geeks

 Teleolurian Kordyne: you guys would still be eating shit in caves

 Kerplunk: fuck off

 Kerplunk: haha

 Teleolurian Kordyne: i can imagine

 Kerplunk: eff my life

 Kerplunk: but u should listen to nonpoint...the song is called "what a day"

 Kerplunk: idk if you would like it...

 Teleolurian Kordyne: "dude, i just invented fire. it's freaking cool."

"wtf, homo. get that shit away from me. we're over here being cool, beating our faces in with rocks"

 Teleolurian Kordyne: searching

 Kerplunk: hey now

 Kerplunk: dont underestimate beating faces with rocks 

 Kerplunk: its a great stress reliever

 Teleolurian Kordyne: and look at that

 Teleolurian Kordyne: i'm listening to it already

 Kerplunk: lol

 Kerplunk: ive had that song stuck in my head all day...i didnt know half the words so i googled them and i have been singing it in my head

 Teleolurian Kordyne: you fucking normals

 Teleolurian Kordyne: when i play songs my computer grabs the lyrics off the interweb

 Teleolurian Kordyne: and shows them to me


2.06.2008

Know Your Limits

Teleolurian Kordyne: then i drank too much
Teleolurian Kordyne: don't eat cheetos if you're going to be sick
Kerplunk: eww
Teleolurian Kordyne: so annoying
Teleolurian Kordyne: you get sick
Kerplunk: i feel sick today
Teleolurian Kordyne: but your body is like, "no, man. i can handle this."
Teleolurian Kordyne: and you're like, "shut the fuck up, body, you're full of shit"
Teleolurian Kordyne: then you have to think about drinking other peoples' spit so you get nauseous enough to finally throw up in the sink
Kerplunk: ewwww
Kerplunk: why didnt you just use a toilet
Kerplunk: are you like anti puking in toilets
Teleolurian Kordyne: no
Kerplunk: shoes, sinks....
Teleolurian Kordyne: okay, the shoe thing was because i was at some other dude's house
Teleolurian Kordyne: i've become like the master of getting sick since then
Teleolurian Kordyne: it's really just which plumbing is most convenient at the time
Kerplunk: lol
Kerplunk: the shoe thing is pretty damn funny though
Teleolurian Kordyne: NO MORE JAGERMEISTER BITCHES

2.05.2008

Derek Kicks Ass

I don't think I've ever mentioned exactly how much ass Derek kicks, which is a shame, because if you could measure all that ass it would probably reach to the moon and back. It's not just choice ass either; we're talking true USDA Prime. I just got an email from Sevres, France, where they are considering a new metric measurement of ass, which they would name after Derek, except that's a really stupid name when you think about it.

When I first met Derek, I was in a tech support training class with him. He didn't really need the training, so while all the rest of us were paying attention he was building tiny, fully functional computers out of toothpicks. After work, I went over to his house and watched him wrestle a pack of timber wolves. The alpha male was pretty damn big, but Derek just wrapped his arms around its head and waited until his pacemaker made its brain explode. I'm seriously considering asking him to be my valentine this year.

I've met a lot of people who kick ass, but Derek has to be one of the best of them, because we once went to Asskin Robbins to buy 31 separate flavors of ass, all of which he kicked. Not just normal kicks, but like, Pele full-Brazilian kicks, with some ninja moves mixed in. Which is funny, because he can't play soccer worth a damn. Every time somebody challenges him to a soccer match, which is frequently, he just looks away and mumbles something about pudding. I swear that's what it sounds like, but he always says it too quietly for anybody to really understand.

In conclusion, if you have some ass lying around that has gone for a good long while without kicking, you should probably consider calling Derek over, because I'm pretty sure he'll fill all your asskicking needs, unless that ass is painted to look like a soccer ball, in which case it will probably be a draw.

1.25.2008

How Does Your Garden Grow

Lucky me! I get to teach co-workers to write PHP code, which is a fantastic start- in my utopia, everyone is either a programmer or a steroid-enhanced laborer in the underdepths. Today, I got to start by writing partial code with commented instructions to help them along. My top-secret, broadcast-over-the-entire-internet plan is to start with missing code "mad-libs" and then slowly move on to insanity-causing, bizarre easter egg hunts.

Step 1


/* The bottom line replaces spaces with underscores.
Instead, make it replace them with ampersands. */
$var = str_replace(' ', '_', $var);



Step 2

/* I'm going to name my baby randomly with one of
the names in the array $names. I'm already
deleting the ones that end in Q,
because seriously, whose name ends in Q?
Shaq, that's who. Delete names that
start with vowels, please. Because guys
shouldn't have names that start with vowels. */

foreach ($names as $key => $value){
if (preg_match('/q$/i', $value)){
unset($names[$key]);
}
}


Step 3

/* Cthulhu f'taghn! Ia, Ia, Ia. */
$uncomfortable_truths = array(
"nothing is wrong, go back to work",
"everyone you know and love hates you",
"i'm watching you code over your shoulder",
"is it odd that i sharpen knives during lunch?",
"well, is it?",
"i mean, come on. really.",
"i smell your hair when your headphones are on",
"i once dreamed i had a tiny you",
"in my pocket",
"i'd pull you out sometimes at restaurants",
"and brush your hair",
"for hours"
);

foreach($uncomfortable_truths as $spam){
sleep(rand(3600)+1800);
mail("you@your.email", "Alert!", $spam);
}