The Inaudible Cabinet of Indifferent Breakfast Burritos

The first website designed by a female gynecologist

I just couldn't be bothered to spell out ''ablished.''

Certain death
I'm not going to bother putting links to the other 22 here. You can find them yourself.

A wholly needless, I expect, link back to the main page

Monday, February 16, 2004
Why won't anyone tell me what azfincktor says?
I heard the Milkshake "song" again. It turns out to be by Kelis [milk]Shaikh Mohammed, but I'm comfortable calling her The Baja Woman until anyone can give me a reason to believe I'll not laugh at the memory of her two years from now. There was no superfluous stereotype black man this time. I guess that was a special one time only treat. Lucky me, with my rare opportunities and whatnot. I was just fortunate to hear the song again. Another thing different, I heard and understood the words. What words they were, individually, the assemblages of letters which made them up, anyway. I'm a long way from comprehension. I'm so far away from comprehension, I'd get there faster if I turned around and walked the other way. That's how far from comprehension I am.
My milkshake brings all the boys to the yard...
Alright, fine I'll give you that. While I've never known milkshake as anything other than milkshake, the undeniable fact is that pretty much any noun that exists can have lewd connotations read into it if you say it with a creepy enough voice. Bannister, alarm clock, toilet paper, I've tried them all. Yes, I've said those words. About the only ones that don't work are the words for the objects actually involved. But that's good, because, one: I don't want to hear them, and three: those words are reserved for internet advertising, and how could we sell our gonorrhea medications if we couldn't blatantly say what regions they affect?
Their life is better than yours...
Now we have a problem. Yours does not rhyme with yard. It's not even close. Actually, it is close, and that's precisely why they can't be even imagined to rhyme. Lock, box? I'll allow that. Shoe, food? Unfortunately, yes. Pizza, eatcha? This isn't hard, people! And yet... Yard, yours? The way a near-rhyme works is that the second word, which does not rhyme, is said in such a deceitful way that it sounds like it does. However, if you say yours like yard... it is yard! In this pleasant hummable ditty, there's nothing present that I can allow myself to call a verse, and this repeated part is said at least seven times in its entirety. When there can't be more than five distinct lines in the whole song, take the time to make them rhyme! Look there, I wasn't even trying, and I only said that once! As I was saying, yours and yard don't even work out as near-rhymes. I don't even need to finish. But...
Damn right, it's better than yours
Oh, such language!
If yard wasn't supposed to rhyme with the other yours, then it should have rhymed with this one. No. And what's this "it's" now? It is. What is? Don't you mean they are? We're talking about "the boys"' lives, aren't we? Lives, not life. Even if you said life, which you did, that's wrong as well. Unless they're all conjoined brothers with shared organs... no, even then, it should be possible to kill them individually.
I'll teach you, but I'll have to charge...
Teach me what? Teach me what? Where the yard is? You said so yourself that your milkshake brings "the boys" there. Even if it doesn't bring me, I can still follow it. And once I get there, you can't charge me, because you haven't taught me. The milkshake has taught me, independent of your command, and we had not made any prior agreement as to monetary compensation, the milkshake and I. Even if we had, again, the milkshake, and not you, would be charging me. Wuh... wha... you'd teach me how to make my own milkshake? Hey, I could fill out any McDonald's application and find out for free. I have no problem with that. I don't need to go again, I don't need any McRecommendation. In the end my milkshake might not be of boy-bringing calibre, but I don't want them in my yard anyway.

Sometimes I look at what's here and wish to know, who is responsible for this?! Then I am depressed, because I knew it was me even before I asked. I only asked it because I thought I would come up with some profound thought-provoking answer, but this is just sad. People who act sad on their websites are just sad. But what can I say about them if they are sad already? Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

You wanted stars, all stars, CBS gives you stars. From the Lord of the Rings, it's Gollum! Gollum, everybody.
I do this for free, you know.

Four days after Groundhog Day, February 06, 2004

I'd like to go to a French restaurant and order a Faberge Egg.

Despite having plenty of room for proper syntax yet still disregarding it, you're quite correct. I am rather irritated at your mention of genital, yes. No, I don't need the answers. I'm more than certain I'm correct.
I realize I said last time (if you haven't noticed, these entries are in reversed chronological order) that there was no point in being vague, but my main intent was to communicate not "oops, try again," but that the subject of condom-preventable ailments is going to irk me regardless of how you bring it up. So stop.

Here are some pictures that aren't all that related. After taking them, I thought I should wait before putting them here because I might think of better comments. Nope.

Sure, pal.

That is a frightening intellect to strength ratio on display here.

This is such an odd placement, I'm almost surprised I didn't put it there.

Here's a rarely photographed scene: It's the secret laboratory where new obscene gestures are developed. The scientists dress this way so as not to be found out, for their laboratory is, after all, a secret.

Mediocrebowl Monday, February 2, 2004
R goonies good enough?

Attention all Bimshwel mirrorers!

Please replace your copy of advanced.jpg with the new, nonstretched, better quality one. When it comes to improving quality, I'm always ready to do it in a way that doesn't matter.

It's tenpeeyem. Do you know where your deodorant is? Huzzah and kudos to the spendid folks at Right Guard for trivializing the lives of all those children who went missing back in the 1980s. Maybe if the natural processes which they were helpless to stop but chose not to cover up had not been so foul people would have worked harder to find them. Although not things I'd let near me, I assume surely by now the milk cartons have anti-perspirant labels printed on the sides. "have you seen me?" No, because Right Guard goes on clear!

There's also some hair cutting device currently being sold which plays on the same phrase. Now that I've thought of it, I don't really know what it's original purpose was. It's been unfunnily and irrelevently parodied so many times (even before internet), no one remembers what it was about, and it's impossible to find out. So no one can say whether these advertisers are being the least bit clever, but please understand that if they were at all, it certainly was to the least.

In the library of the educational organization which I occasionally attend, there are a few books, and internet computers. Their internet is better than my internet. Even though the labels on every monitor clearly state that word processing is meant to be done elsewhere and programs should not be downloaded, the person next to me has been instant messenging for quite some time. Since that sounds so much like word processing, I think an investigation is in order, even if it reveals the wrong violation. A quick glance reveals "aww it didnt werk i wanted to showu the beer bongpics." It's always surprising to see such skillful eloquence demonstrated by an actual person. I needed to look back several times to make sure I'd even reproduced it properly, never mind with any decent speed. We can't all be good at everything, I suppose.

More scannery. This will probably come in smaller amounts from now on, because then I can pretend it's more, and besides that I really don't think I have 48 of these worth showing. Even this here now is only stuff I intentionally passed over the last two times I did this.

Friday, January 23, 2004

Even if they were my long-time adversaries, I wouldn't eat soup made from mutated turtles.

I hate eye-pod advertisements. First of all, just the name sounds like some sort of potentially earth conquering otherwordly alien force, which people definitely should not be paying to bring into their homes. Once the pods hatch, you'll use your extra fifteen minutes of freedom to thank me for my advice.
In a blatant rip-off of a series of promotions for Target stores which I also hated, we get these sillouhette dopes dancing about with massive retardity, and we hear music I would hate them for liking even if they weren't seizuring to it. Be that as it may, I still wish they would stop. Even though the people are rendered in complete darkness, just their general shapes tell me that they are dressed awfully trashily. The only thing that isn't black are some wires leading from the person's earal area to some object they are carrying. Obviously, it isn't working, because I can hear the really, really stupid music just fine. Even if I couldn't, if I saw someone dancing like that to apparent silence, especially apparent silence, why I'd... I'd... probably write about it here.

When I was away, one thing I didn't miss were stupid ads. There's one now where a car, just some stupid car drives on a street while the 5th whiniest, awfulest, pretensious band I've ever heard asks me if I realize that I have the most beatiful face. I guess they really wanted an answer, because they asked me about seventeen times in two hours. Big Fish, from what I can gather is the unofficial Forrest Gump 2, also waited for me to get back. This guy agrees to take some job without pay just to be told the name of some woman he saw once. That was all I needed to hate him for eternity. And then he sees her again, like coming out of a Duncan Doughnuts or something, and shouts "Ah wheel marreh yew!" I can't even... just die. It's not like if I found out his name, I could track him down and murder him, so why does he think he'd get anywhere starting a relationship that the other person would need to agree to first? I guess he has some magical adventures, too. Between Helly Pothuh and the dopes I live with finding Matilda on cable every weekend, magical adventures can lick my cat.

Even though they seem to have stopped for now, I'd also like to complain about the movie called as Teacher's Pet. Well, I'm going to anyway. It seems the ugly Disney animation style has been traded in for the repulsive Cartoon Network animation style because the production is based on an existing series I've thankfully never heard of which looks like that. Although this prevents Disney from pretending the whole deal was their idea, it does give them an excuse to say award winning a few more times than usual in the place of original. They also like to point out that it's a "musical comedy." I only recall at this moment two other movies which went out of their ways to inform me they were comedies in such a manner. One was another Disney movie, and the other was Striptease. This is about a badly drawn dog who wants to become a human boy. And the dog does. Yes. Also involved somehow are the voice of Nathan Lane and a bird with a navel (I guess it's a mammal). Additionally, the dog rides a skateboard and wears a stupid hat. Oh, my download is finished. Never mention this entry to me.

Wednesday, January 21, 2004

There's more to being smart than being smart-er than people on Wheel of Fortune.

You've already made it my problem, why be vague? That actually bothers me more. That's like typing an obscenity with asterisks. You still like to swear, and you're a dork, too. Who is this call being made to? I'll bet she rings up every one of her remaining friends whenever this happens to tell them. Look at those flowers. If their condition is not a result of all the disease in the air, they surely killed themselves because our hero likes to talk to them, too. You just want the whole world to know about your venereal problem, don't you. Yeh, that's what it is. Sure, you can look up the word. You might go out and buy a whole book about it. But talking to a doctor in private... that would be embarrassing! Even more than nakedly rubbing against 37 men you've never met before in a single evening, right? Stupid whore.


That I'd rather stay in an unheated house in Connecticut beside my unshuttable upstairs window during the middle of January than frup on down to Florida must tell you something. It must. Otherwise, it will be punished.


If you had told me yesterday, I wouldn't have believed it possible to injure my own neck merely by forcefully excreting something from my nasal passages. I learn something new everyday, but rarely anything useful. You might think information to prevent hurting one's self quite useful, but remember that I didn't believe you when you hypothetically told me that. Really, why should I? I'm always imagining you saying stupid stuff like that, and it's almost never true. You do not have a reputation for honesty within my mind.

Sattorday, January 10, 2004

Gertrude is its own reward

Not long ago, I visited the theatre. Movie theatre. I went out to the pictures, as the kids like to say. I arrived really early. So early that you might think I was just too late to get into a previous showing of the film, but rather than go all the way back to my hovel, I'd just wait for the next airtime in another room which would soon be displaying the same movih. You're very good at this. The pre-advertisement advertisements had already begun. Every other slide was Cat in the Hat related. Were you aware that The Cat's two friends are named Things 2 and 1? That's the sort of thing that, if I didn't know already, it was only because I didn't want to know. Also, about 30000 tons of pink paint were used to paint the houses in the production. Astounding. I'm astounded that we can blow up national monuments, we can make elves wage war with orcs, we can land on a meteor and destroy it before it hits earth, but our mighty computers can't recolor and duplicate a couple of stationary background objects that needn't even be a certain color which people aren't looking at anyway (rather, I reckon they'll have their eyes covered). Some large assortment of money folk truly believed this would be the most popular rapid sequencing of slightly different images ever. Contracts were signed. Long-term contracts. I think the last television spot I saw for it was on January 2, like a month after the last interest. Although I'm still seeing [the exact same] ads for Bad Santa, I'm told some people actually liked that, and it was also nominated for a golden global award. You know, the No-One-Will-Care-About-This-Award-in-Two-Months award. I'm prepared to not care as soon as you'd like, but for the time being its helping me berate The Cat in The Hat. I'd go further, but I only saw the screen for about 20 seconds every two minutes since I had gotten into the habit of leaving through the behind-the-screen exit and walking in through the front entrance every time I saw it mentioned. I did it about twelve times, making sure to show my ticket to the ticket looker every time. I missed out on many many fun facts, half of them as I previously implied were entirely unrelated to the Cat in the Hat. "Theater advertising works. You just read this ad. Point proven." No... because I didn't read your telephone number, and if I had I wouldn't have remembered it, and if I had, I wouldn't have called you with any sensible business proposal.
And now that I think of it... they could write that I just read the ad and if I hadn't, I'd never know. Trickery! Trickery!

Movie Math had clearly moved on to the second grade, since our last meeting, because now it was asking me what the number of Footloose movies minus the number of Look Who's Talking movies equalled. That's right, subtraction. I was afraid. I was again wrong, thinking for certain Footloose must have had some kind of intentionally forgotten series of cash-in sequels to have even been included in the problem, but in reality there were none (or maybe this is all a ruse to make people further forget them), and the problem resulted in a negative number. I felt betrayed. I almost started to cry. I had to leave again.
Because another Cat in the Hat slide had just moved in.

Did you know... asked if I knew that John Henson from Spike TV's the John Henson Project had hosted E!'s Talk Soup for some amount of years. Yeh, he'd better hope I knew that. Otherwise, what could possibly drive me to watch any program created specifically for the network that brought us not only the Kelsey Grammar cartoon, but Pameluh Anderson's as well? A better question, did I know... John Henson (that's the ventriloquist dummy looking guy on the left) had a show on Spike TV? It turns out the ad came prematurely; the show hasn't even debuted yet. It's only just a Project, after all. I actually know when it will be on, haven't seen advertisements for it (besides the... one I just mentioned), and don't hate John Henson, so maybe I'll try watching it at least once. I hope he's not one of those people who's absolutely repulsive when he isn't being continually interrupted by Pimpbot 5000 or Christmas with the Klan. (Talk Soup was at its best when it was showing clips that didn't belong there). This new show is on Spike Channel, after all, whose sole claim is being the first such thing "for men" (a group of which, I might add, Pamela Christian Anderson isn't even a member) I always thought of WE or Oxygen or whatever as a thing to be laughed and pointed at, not directly competed with or even ripped off.
When I saw him last, John seemed eager to talk about recent advancements in the field of basketball and the pleasing physical appearance of the non-man guest who had just left. This was on Late Late Craig Kiborn Show, who admittedly, also likes to talk about those things. I suppose that's not wrong but... really obvious transvestites with shocking secrets, out-of-control teens at bootcamp and a Thanksgiving dinner which no one expected to be used for eating are a lot funnier. I'm just hoping that being at Man Zone hasn't changed Henson for the worster, at least as far as me appeal is concerned (because me matters to me). He even sounded different, with a slightly deeper voice than I remembered, almost as if Spike had held him down and shoved his tonsils back in. I find it somewhat ironic that John should end up talking to Kilborn, who may very well, in his flight from The Daily Show to a less enjoyable to watch yet more lucrative spot at CBS, have inspired not-Jim Henson to sign a contract with ABC, leave the soup show, and not be seen for four years. However, the only other hosts who have been known to welcome such a guest are Bill Maher and Space Ghost, neither of whom still have shows, and one I've been informed isn't even real.

I really hope it's not a "musical guest" show.

Monday, January 12, 2004

"Oops I Did it Again..." that doesn't sound sincere at all.

Well, that could have gone better. (For the sake of continuity I temporarily versed the reverse chronological order)

The show opens with random scenes of stuff like skateboarding and surfboarding and motorcycleboarding with the show's logo worked in somehow while some unseen rapper type fellow says without irony stuff like Johnny's back and Johnny's comin' and Johnny gon gitcha. Oh, I'm going to love this show. Eventually John Henson appears, before a background made up of actual physical objects. I guess when your set consists of more than a chair and a blue-screen, you need a lot more people to run things, and if you happen to turn on a microphone near them, well then you get all the obnoxiousness of a studio audience without needing to convince one it would be worth their time showing up. Jonathan is wearing a sweatshirty kind of garment with a basketball team or something's symbol on it, which I surprisingly didn't recognize. At least it had sleeves. He starts off by saying that if I knew him at all, it was from Talk Soup, since he hasn't done anything since then, unlike the other three who had hosted it. Yep. He says this is a completely different show than the broth made from the bones of speech. He then confirms this with several crew members, ones who frequented sketches on the other show, but this isn't unimplicitly pointed out. Alas, tis a joke only (and the only subtle moment in the entire program); the whole thing really is very different. Because the people who only tuned into your new show because they liked your old show want to see something completely dissimilar to it, I guess. I could deal with and possibly appreciate that, if it were the result of intelligent, creative decisions, and not a himperial edict to male things up and talk about Porn 'n Beer a lot. Perhaps the one whose Project it is isn't in a position to be taking chances, but there were a few moments where I really felt like I was watching a dumbed down X-Show (which incidentally, I only know from clips shown of it on the Talk Soup).

The "could I kick his ass?" segment gave John an opportunity to talk about how he'd like to fight Ed Burns. Not really to make jokes at his expense, just express a general disgust for the man. Possibly I could have gotten behind this if I had any idea who Ed Burns is but... nope. John also asks "so... could I kick his ass?" a bunch of times to waste... time, and also to reinforce the strict, rigid sectioning of a 21 minute show with five commercial breaks.

I sense Salgorps approaching the vicinity so I quickly switch to the... Spanish station. I'd rather have people with a quick glance think I'm crazy than a Spike TV watcher. Univision or Telemundo is showing a bunch of aluminium-foil suited people on a huge Monopoly board. That was pretty funny. When I felt safe, I switched back to Boy Town. A segment is just ending which apparently took place in a public restroom. That was surely the most low and depraved or original and promising part of the whole episode. Likely I'll never know, but ask me fifty years from this one and I'll likely swear it involved in some way a metal top-hat with legs. I'll curse my less old self for not recognizing such brilliant writing when I saw it.

At least there weren't any musical guests. It was only half an hour, but that didn't stop Chappelle's Show from airing for the attending audience pre-taped segments of guys just standing around imitating a song from their album to consume valuable content space. So... if I had to make the choice, I'd take a couple more jokes I'd heard before over that. But just for that three minutes.

It wasn't nearly bad enough to judge from just one viewing. It could get better. However, I watched Mad-TV for around four years thinking all the while "it looks like it's going to get better it will get better it's getting betterNo..." because I couldn't move on. Perhaps 'tis time to move on. I mean, I have multiple pop-up ads and a banner whose positioning I can only describe as nomadic, and I don't even get to pretend to post WaReZ and order people to vote for me. Time to go. Ha ha, no. I probably won't.

I don't even need to make excuses for abandoning someone I hated so long to see again, since I'll be next week at the appointed time in an unspecified location in Florida at my cousin's wedding. I hate Florida, and I hate weddings. I hate my cousin. Did you know it's cheaper to take a car a-tousand-plus miles over a-day-and-a-harf than to just be allowed 18 inches of space they weren't going to use anyway on a faster, more convenient, more efficient aircraft?

Thursday, January 01, 2004

What matters is not whether you win or lose, but the meaning devoid cliches you use to excuse yourself after losing the game

I am not fond of 2003. I will admit I at least think this website is better than it was a year ago, but not half-way through last year. My favorite page was the one about Widget --possibly due to an e-mail I received in response to it which for the moment I seem to have misplaced-- and everything after that was kind of boring and went on for too long.
In other areas, I have not made much more progress. Both of my brothers, one older and another not older, were at parties last night. This means that at some point during my life, I forgot to do the thing which gets one invited to parties.
I wanted to be invited to a party. I wouldn't go; I couldn't have been more than 11 years old the last time I went to a thing accurately called "party," and that was only because of school rules (SCHOOL RULES!) prohibiting the exclusion of single persons (shunning an entire gendereal portion of the class was perfectly acceptable, however). At these parties I'd give to a person I knew absolutely nothing about a gift my mother purchased, and then I'd eat cake if it didn't look too vanilla-ish. Most of these outings were at a local bowling place which provided free hotdogs to children's birthday parties. If they weren't free, I hope they were at least discounted, because I wouldn't eat them. And then we'd... bowl. I can't remember ever liking to do that, either. You roll a large ball and then it knocks over abstract objects or it doesn't, someone will keep score so that the impression is given that skill is involved. You'd also have to wear stupid looking shoes for a reason that I to this day don't accept as truth. Those parties were terrible, but I did always get a bag of candy afterwards. "Adult" parties don't seem like any more or less fun, but I doubt they give out bags of candy. Their bags probably have empty beer cans or condoms or terrible music albums or tax forms in them. I'm not interested. Still, it would be nice to know, for once, that I stayed inside and typed things because that's what I chose to do.

Not just parties, but numerous trivial, insignificant aspects of my situation I was not pleased with on yesterday. Rather than make an effort to improve them, I decided to go outside and attack a wall with a garden tool, as I usually do. This time, however, whatever I had hit the wall with broke into numerous pieces after the impact, and then I was angry about that. I was so angry, I even walked across someone else's lawn. Usually, I'd be afraid of being seen, but this time, aw ban, I wasn't. I eventually came to stop behind the garage of someone I hated. I hate all my neighbors. I once again felt the need to attack, but lacking a suitable garden tool, I kicked it instead. I know better than to punch something, fingers are important. Toes aren't, so much. However, I did discover that their capacities for pain are in closer proximity than their potential for usefullness. I do believe I heard something fall over within the structure, so that was satisfying. I limped back to my dwelling and then half-cried, half-evilly laughed for about ten minutes.    Eventually, I went downstairs and watched The Dentist 2, a sequel, of all things, to a retarded movie about a dentist who kills people. And here I thought he'd just be repairing people's teeth, making polite conversation and charging money after saying not to eat anything for a few hours. Why wasn't this film called The Violent Dentist (2)? I didn't pick it out. My parents, I don't think I mentioned this week that I live with them, but I do. They like to buy a bunch of dvds as christmas presents and then rent more to watch instead and return late. Late enough that the price is about the same as copies purchased, without the worry of them being watched again. It ended sometime after 12:00. I knew it would, but I didn't do anything about it. I missed the countdown, the ball descending, the lynching, the bake-off, the cat-smearing and sometimes Y, but I didn't really miss any of it.

I didn't feel like opening my window for reception, so I set my television to NBC (that, however, I cannot justify). A guy called Tom Jones sang a boring, repetitive song and then some rich upper-class thespians pretending to be homeless thugs collectively known as "Stomp" came out and banged garbage can lids for a few minutes. I've come too far to start lying now. Jay Leno thanked the guests I didn't see and then I realized something: However mediocre my day was, it couldn't have been worse than those of the Tonight Show's California audience, pretending to celebrate the eastern time zone's new year with not only Carrot Top, but Ross, the underachieving intern as well (he's been an intern for what, three years?) I didn't even have to applaud for them, and I got to see Conan O'Brien afterwards. Also, I still have some gummy bears left. I wonder if there's a The Dentist 3. I'd probably watch it.

Wednesday, December 31, 2003

I'm the FA O'Shwarz Friendship Tree! Thanks for coming to play with me!

I heard the milkshake song. I guess there is one. I wouldn't have thought this special or worth mentioning, but I was told in advance quite frankfully that I had not only already heard it, but loved it as well. Curse these amnesia storylines! The "song..." it wasn't that great. In fact, it wasn't any great. A simple repeating fake-drumbeat with some words that I confess my volume was set too low for them to be discernable, but I suspect I haven't missed much. Occasionally, the token fat black man pretending he's about to go jogging barked out square-dance calls or something to the audience. The singer, as I recall it, some curiously tan Scandinavian looking misshapen creature wearing a couple of fan-belts, looked like she just got done taping a "my grandmother dresses too sexy!" episode of Jerry Springer. For all these things I've said though, I really am impressed at Macarena for having another hit. This is a really stupid entry to end the year with.

No one gave me any calendars this year, December 29, 2003
Winter 2004: Danny DeVito IS The Lorax!

Here's something I've had lying around a while. I was going to make a page out of it. I didn't. So... I'm putting it here instead. I don't understand my process either.

I can't stand Danny De Vito. “Total Recall” is one of my favorite films of all time, not just because I get to see Arnold Shwarzaneggar wearing a towel-turban (quoth one website whose name I have long forgotten, “towel turbans rule the school!”), but also because Danny Devito's character is savagely murdered within the first twenty minutes. Why can't all of his appearances be like that?

That mildly to extremely sleazy Brooklyn accented fat midget character that he ALWAYS PLAYS does not deserve all the non-murderee exposure it gets. There's just something about smug, irritating movie scripts that entices people to hire this jope. He was in a film version of a Roald Dahl book, for rice cake! Roald Dahl books would be great if they didn't have such smug, irritating, entirely DeVito-esque heroes getting undeserved revenge on more interesting villains. This is a bad example, for I speak of Matilda (ugly, ugly name) in which DeVito plays a villainous character, and is not interesting. Additionally, he narrates the story, just because he loves his own voice that much. He also loves really, really awful songs from the 1960s, perhaps to punish the movie for having parts in which his voice is not heard.

Have you ever read The Twits? I'll take by your silence (well, I certainly can't hear you) that you haven't. It's about two old people who play mean spirited tricks on each other and eat children and all sorts of maddoxy things that are a joy to read about. Then midway through the book, Roald (a name which sounds even more weird on its own) decides “this book is too good. I'd better put some monkeys in it,” and he does. So these monkeys, who are named Mugwump's Children, Mugwump's Wife and Mugwump (possibly not in that order) enlist the entire garbleflasting cast of Bambi to glue The Twits' furniture to the ceiling. So the poor Twits (is this guy great with names, or what?), not finding such a thing any more plausible than I do, deduce that they themselves are on the ceiling, so then they stand on their heads to reorient themselves and end up crushing their skulls in and dying horribly and violently in the process. It being more or less a children's book, I would've been satisfied with that ending. So then Roald Dahl sez “no, they stood on their heads and shrank.” Huh? Duh-duh-duh-doy? Alright, so maybe the monkeys came over and ate the Diminut-Twits. “No, you fool! They just shrank! They were not eaten!” And then the book is over. As long as they've only been shrunken, I say there ought to be a sequel in which they capture and torture Stuart Little or Chinese water-torture The Mouse and the Motorcycle or some such thing. But that will never happen. Not just because Roald Dahl wrote neither of those books, but also because he is dead. However, Danny DeVito still lives.

Not long before I posted this, but shortly after I wrote most of it, this stupid promotion for D-reck TV comes on in which, ever so humbly, they have someone read off a fan-letter they've been sent, which they couldn't have made up at all. But it's not just anyone reading the letter, it's a celebrity, and if you've ever seen celebrity Jeopardy, this means they get to act in such a way that would get them edited out of a real episode of Jeopardy and replaced with 1/3 of a Growing Pains episode. And so our celebrities read the real (wink) letters in a really annoying, scriptedly spontaneous way. Danny DeVito is one of them. He says something about being told that you can't get decent reception with a satellite dish, and that such a statement is lies. Or one lie, anyway. Afterwards, he calls out to no one visible "Did I capture the guy's anger?" You see, he's talking to the crew. They're such a lazy, unqualified bunch that they didn't turn off the cameras, do any retakes, or edit out the parts which took place after they forgot to turn off the cameras. And this is supposed to make me want to order a satellite dish or something. No, this makes me want to buy a Teevoh, so I can record shows and have cut out retarded ads like the one I've just described.
Another one in the same series shows some twunk named Andy Garcia who... has done something, I'm sure. Maybe he was on Celebrity Mole 2. He reads something like "Direc TV isn't great, it isn't greater than great, it isn't greater than greatest, my mom." I really think the crew should have edited that one. Andee's comment to the letter writer is "I think I'm gonna have you write my next review!" Then the "crew" laughs. Not because that's a funny comment (it isn't). They're laughing because Andy Garcia must truly be a moron, if he's been hiring people to write reviews for him, and they're still all negative. And to think I'm doing this for free.

The Last Monday of the Yeeah, December 29, 2003

If you have been fibbing, you will be punished

I'll bet Reed didn't read this page

I should have expected the first site to link to mine would be one I'd never heard of. Actually, this probably doesn't count, since the link was gone in a week, and it quoted me as "Cupcake" from something I said elsewhere on a subject totally unrelated to anything here, something, in fact, only kind of related to the subject it was related to, which is less noticable when my sentence is left unfinished. I'm not being vague right now to be secretive, it's just that I myself am bored by it. I think it was something about nsm files for nesticle emulator, (which I still claim is the best NES emulator for reasons I don't feel like nerding (I use Nnnesterj for the games it refuses to run)), and how you can speed up the boring parts or convince someone you're really good at hammerin' harry (at least, as soon as someone who is records itself completing that). The effect is even better than how the Official Mario Paint Players Guide insists you can trick someone into thinking you're playing Dr. Mario. Because that's why I paid $60+ for a SNES cartridge and an uncooperative device which was never intended to operate one: to trick someone into thinking I'm playing a game I don't even like. I'm just happy to have a reason. Right, so NSMs are better. Also, you just see the game, and not the dork playing it, as I've heard is the case with Pixelsurgeon's other link.

From the looks of Reed's report, the dork in question is none other than me, "cupcake," but that's not the case at all, as any of the sixty or so people who came here from that link must have figured out eventually. My url seems to have been placed out of link-compulsion and nothing else. It's probably only due to strict doctor's orders that any nouns at pixelsurgeon appear in plain text at all. LINK-FU IS A DISEASE.

A whole bunch of people, a seemingly perfect random sampling, whether confused or curious seem to have independently decided never to come here again. Not that I really want to be associated with any dope who'd thoughtlessly click the word cupcake, knowing as I do that there's stuff like this around. I additionally must question if the sort who'd be looking at a site like pixelsurgeon at all would posess any potential to appreciate what I do here (if indeed it is appreciable). I had always thought I was making this for me and the 100% hypothetical People Like Me, and me has never spent any amount of time at "portal" sites, except for when a fallen romsite redirects to one (if only I had clicked the ad-banner when I had the chance!). Why yes, thank you PositiveAdjectiveSearch. I'd be quite satisfied to click on a vague category instead of the specific object I was looking for while you secretly inject my browser with semi-automatic disguised porn links. I like it even better when they "can't find the page [I was] looking for" but tell me to "hold on" while I'm redirected to the main page where they also won't find it.

This Pixelsurgeon is a different kind of portal site, yes, but prior to the internet I only knew portals as glowing blue pathways to Dimension-X, and I have yet to find an internet portal which leads there, so they are all alike in that aspect. Just that whole epidemic of random stuff to link to, with the hope, not so much that people will like, just that they too will link to it from their insipid livejournals, say where they got the link from, and link back to the first linker. OMG check this out. I saw this on slashdot the other day etc etc ecch. I find looking at portal-sites like being part of someone's e-mail forward list, except no one actually needs to acknowledge my existence for me to not want to read it. Again, I generally know what I want, and it's not a surprise. I certainly don't want to find myself with more sites to look at. I've never said to myself "gosh golly gee, I really need to be wasting time on the internet more. Maybe these nice folks can tell me how."

I hate you, pixelsurgeon. I hope you accidentally leave a ball-peen hammer in one of your pixels and then there is enough complaining of your brutal and negligent malpractice to force your resignation and subsequent life-in-hiding. Your gray and green stylesheet fixed-width layout negative space non-negotiable monochrome stencil logo for maximum t-shirt compatibility with orange julius font sicken me. Thank you for your time and consideration in this matter.

Evil Creepy Filene's Mascot sez:
Open us up and take out our brains! Then discard our worthless bodies like common trash. Throw us away as if we were boxes without faces! We live our lives to be abused and made refuse by you! We won't try to run away. As if that were possible with these uncomfortable high-heeled shoes or enourmous heads! The wicked Kuros easily captured and enslaved our entire village, so now we have nothing to exist for but your cruel and petty ceremonies! Only more suffering and eventual death await us, and we look forward to it! It's the most wonderful time of the year!

Mutant Gift Boxes
Note: the above message does not necessarily represent the thoughts or words of Evil Creepy Filene's Mascot. I'm hoping they don't think.

Near   Also near but in a notably opposite direction.

Copyright 2001, 2002, 2003 and whatever year we're in now by pressing ctrl+c. Copywrong 2004 by selecting copy from the edit menu.