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Now with 35% less unnecessary statistics cited

This is a ten. The tab's thirteen! Wise man says, never pay full price for a late pizza.
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Thursday, June 17, 2004
"No way -- Sergeant Pepper," she says, as if I'd handed her a vial of AIDS vaccine. "I love this."

big news: (hence the font)
If it was creepy one week ago, to talk about the Olsen siblings creepily, then it isn't any less so now. That they're old enough to become legal guardians and enlist in the army doesn't make a difference and no one should pretend it does, because I'm not fooled, so it is them who look foolish. Also: If you're on television and doing this for comedic effect, you're failing, so stop.

I think my life may be in danger.

I'd only before had bad dreams about this happening. Please... someone, anyone... push 2p button!

One of my favorite advertisements from 2003 that I didn't mention here, and then wrote something about and forgot and just refound right now was for Dr. Scholl. Dr. Scholl, the esteemed physician who let us know that it was in our best interest to gel, to be gellin'.
We see a group of Friends/Grammy-Awards/E! channel type people standing around.
Dorkish voiceover: "Are you gellin' yet?"
Dork: "I'm gellin' like a felon."
Other Dork: "Aw, you can tellin' (huh?) how much I'm gellin'."
Fourdork: "I'm gellin', want some melons?"
One of the dorks from before: "Yo, I'm like Ma-gellan I'm so gellin.'"
Two other dorks in unision: "NICE."
These people have no reason to live, and they aren't even short. So then the group is approached by another person, who, overhearing their attempted conversation, deduces he's accidentally been teleported into an alternate dimension in which people who talk about gellin' are good to associate yourself with, and he's so dumbfounded and confused he tries to communicate with them. "I'm gelling...," he says somewhat uneasily (as if holding back vomit due to how repulsive they are.) "You're not gellin'. You're SO not gellin'," he is promptly rejected with. Oh no, he's not good enough to be in your FOOT DISORDER club, right? And proper incorporation of verbs as present participles is so out. (you might argue that as these are also called imperfect participles it is not out of order to use them imperfectly, but I am having to disagree) My theory: The group shuns outsiders, not wishing to grow, because the more people involved, the quicker they run out of things that rhyme with gellin', and then what will they do? Actually say what the product does?! Oh, the very thought of such a thing!
In a sequel to that incident, because the characters are so interesting and not vapid that we want to see more of them, one of the gellers is in a car (I hope its one of them, I'd hate to think there are more) and is struck by another. Unfortunately, he survives, and is even calm about the incident. The person who's vehicle hit the other, seeing the calmness realizes "you must be gellin'." "LIKE A FELON" is the response, this dork being elated to see someone who doesn't know that line's been used already. Later, this was edit-changed to "you must be gellin'." "LIKE MAGELLAN!" which has also been used before, when Scholl, the good doctor, at last realized that a felon is not something that people should strive to be gellin' like. Instead, they ought to aspire to gel in a way reminiscent of the foam rubber dinosaur from Eureak's Castle. Sure, pal.

Still in circulation, Pepto Bismol proves that it's possible to be tasteful when dealing with the subject of rectal instability. Further, Pepto Bismol proves that they choose not to acknowledge that possibility.
A group of insignificant office people are seen standing around not doing anything and probably getting paid for that. Suddenly, an unseen man who sounds like he's either fat and bald or British recites the following lyrical masterwork:
Nausea, heartburn, indigestion, upset stomach, DIAHREHHIA. Then the office mopes move their mouths while other disembodied voices cry out Yay! Pepto Bismol. I guess that's a song or something. There's even a dance to go along with it. Every time the guy says "diahrehhia" the people clutch a certain part of themselves. Thank you, I was not aware where it comes out. I really needed that explained to me. And then, I swear, they turn their backs to the camera and start fanning about their hands in that general vicinity. I feel so educated.

Ehhhnfortunately, with recent difficulties, 'twas not for me possible to concentrate on the subject of the villainry of compuserve, so there has been being another month of that. When I sought new internet, I consulted a thing called the isplist, but I will add an the L and call it the lisplist, just because I can't think of any deragotary comment to make about it and so amuse me just now.
I saw one lisp that was 8.95 per month (even though list said it was 7.95) that gives unlimited internet, 50 megabytes of space (I liked that) and up to 50 e-mail addresses (I couldn't stand the thought of having to explain going to an e-mail website, waiting, logging in, and then saving important things from the file menu to anyone, let alone someone with the power to bring me over and make me do it at any time). I'm sure there's something wrong with it, but finding out what is part of the adventure. I made my nomination, and then came a response, a prepared response, lying in wait, ready to strike no matter what I said, so sure of itself that it could counter any opening move I might make. "What about that Sbc Yahoo?" ARRRRGH. At the moment I heard those words, I feared either something just as bad as we've had or a compromise half as good as either. I should explain, Sbc used to be called Snet, Southern New England Telephone. Then they had some telephones in other places and so changed the letters and I don't know what they stand for now. Yahoo is a website that despite having a really stupid name (or just as likely because of it) somehow found itself among the most popular on the entire internet, and I don't even know what it does. So then these two mystifying companies started a mysterious internet service and put baffling advertising on television and the person to whom I was speaking saw one and misunderstood it. But me, not quite grasping the situation, responded thus "I think that's at least 19 dollars per month" "that's what we're paying now!" I had fallen into the trap! "And something something you can still use the telephone." That turned out to be dsl specific, and regardless of who you pay too much to use that dsl, but I didn't know this just then because I was and am an idiot, and I could not make reply. Fahrtastic, I thought. We're getting threatening notes from collection agencies for $15 fees and face the prospect of more of the same corporate garbanzo beans except with a feeping telephone ringing. I say, internet-made businesses with the money to advertise on television only got that money by habitually ripping people off. Whether they're foolish investors or naive customers doesn't make a difference by the point that the poster children for mandatory abortion are singing terribly about E-Bay to the tune of songs I already hated. Here's a tip that will never reach you, Eebei: Talking about the all money I'll save buying things I want is in dedicated contradiction to your other claim of all the money I'll gain selling things that nobody wants.
Ehhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh fortunately, I discovered in time the truth about the Yawhores. Unfortunately, I'm still using Compuserve. One good thing, I suppose, is that Compuserve always keeps me up to date on all the important news that matters.

Everyone? I see no need to pursue the issue further.
You know what, I hope Jennifer Dopez does stay in this marriage, just so I don't have to hear about the next one.

Additionally, I hope she is pregnant. I hope she has fat obnoxious daughter children who spend all her money, and can't get any for themselves, because no one buys the album it's almost inevitable one of them will be granted. The fat obnoxious factor won't be to blame, just the fat. Who wants an album by a fat woman, anyway? Everyone whose job it is to pretend they can recognize talent knows it cannot find room to manifest itself in a fat woman.

I just realised something really stupid: on certain pages the link to the regrettable entries from 2001, (and that's the only kind) also known as "more of that sort of thing," "zeroth" and "Banjo Yedderbean" has been pointing to the archive page i had before i split it into several sections, like over a year ago. For some reason I never deleted that and began typing its filename, 'therest' instead of 'yeoldetwelve.' For all one of me who knows what I'm talking about and was bothered by this, that I have now corrected it should please me. Also, there was some unreadable whitish text on page 12, but if I can't learn to live with fonts of other colors, well then I pity me.

Monday, June 07, 2004

Don't Think Geek. I hate geeks.

At last, a replacement monitor is in my grasp!

but where is it going?

I have now returned to my home city and resumed communication with Refurbishotron. Is it not fitting, then, that the screen which I now gaze upon is also formerly another's property? No, it is. And about time, too, I say. You know what I had to do for those fourteen days? Read books. It was simply dreadful, I tell you.
When I sought the new device, I only would insist that the it not be of Hewlett Packardly origin. This turned out to be an irrelevant decree, since they'd never sell anything in my price range, but in the pasts when I was more foolish and more rangey, their wares have repeatedly displeased me. For instance: The monitor which I just had to replace. It's one of those businesses that preys on fools, designing things to fail, so that customers need be perpetually dependent on their services, warranties and insufficient repairs (I don't consider a broken computer that returns a week later without my data to be "fixed"). Although this refers primarily to cpus and printers, as the monitor which took ill had actually served far weller than I've given it credit for, and I only thought it hadn't because I know others which worked longer, I still consider the joining of the Hewletts and Packards to be a corporation of dishonorable totebags. And this new entry to my list which actually does not physically exist was before, for whatever reason I beseech the world to supply, a certain seejee cartoon character I've mentioned on this page a few times started showing up on Hewlett Packard ads and display units.
I wouldn't type such a harangue at the other machine, because it is also a Hewlett Packard product (that being the one which left and returned without my data), indeed the one originally meant to accompany the fallen monitor, and I suspect it deals treachery. This new monitor, which is actually not new, is slightly dim, but I don't suppose it's killing my eyes any faster than one of those liquid crystal fiends would, and additionally at sixty-five dollars US before tax, the price is quite truly one-tenth some of the fancier members of that ooh-pretty-i'll-take-this-one cult (still, I suppose if you're susceptible to that it's better than getting an i-Mac). Yikes, those remind me of the giant Gameboy at Toys 'R' Us, except with less chance of a program run through one to reset itself every two minutes.
I always wanted that giant Gameboy. I don't know why, since being fixed in one place rapes and murders the sole reason for tolerating the system's inferior capabilities, doesn't it.

The selling place which most displeased me was one Compusa, at whom, if I will recall, several years to the previous (but 2 x several years after I had desired the giant Gameboy) an employed had assured me that Windows ME was the last operating system Microsoft would tag and release into the wild for a long time. As I am not used to detecting asterisks in speech, I failed to notice the footnote which read "*long time being two months, longer than the average lifespans of many species of insect," so I felt like quite the fribble when Windows XP made itself known some time later. More recently, this Compusa had on display a simple cheap model I would have for my own, but was found to not be in the stock after our attendant spent a few minutes tracking down der manager in much the same way my merry band had spent a few minutes tracking down the attendant. Why I could not be allowed to purchase the display unit if there were no more, and thus no point to the further advertising of until there were yes more was not to be known by me that day. Or others.

This is very minor and insignificant, (unlike everything else) but a while back (approximately one-hundred and sixty-two days ago) I stated that some video type thing on some website involving the exhibitionary playing of Super Mario Brothers 3 probably showed the dork who was doing it. I found out by accident that it doesn't. Certainly, if not for the fact that it makes me look like an ignorant doof, I'd be glad for that. However, the file in question is in avi or mov or some other such ugly format, so I still couldn't download it if it's eleven minutes long. Let me know when this person is ready to play it without the warp whistle and maybe I'll feign some interest and schedule another accident. I like level 7.

Someone is confused. And no, I don't mean whoever put the wheelchair-accomodated notification up where a person actually using one couldn't see without backing away.

Oh dear, is today really Tuesday, June 01, 2004?
As black men we should be building a nation of strong black leaders, not a nation of super energized, drunk pimps

Over the past two weeks I have emitted in some way a good gross gallon or so of citrus-colored mucous. Definitely, if I get sick again I will have to keep it in a jar for a precise count afterwards. If the coming days proceed as planned (though just my typing that makes me suspect they won't), I will come into possession of the electronic device I seek and the time will be one of a great tending to of untended things around this here bimshwel vicinity. It turned out to be not so great, so I went and did it just now, even before getting the thing I want. So.
If you think my personal exaggerated suffering has not been enough, know that my brother (one of them) admitted, almost apologetically, to enjoying Chirac 2. He claimed it to be a definite improvement over its predecessor and "one of the funniest movies [he'd] ever seen recently," although I suspect the "recently" was only thrown in so as not to incur the wrath it has long been suspected I have. I would not have been so bothered, had I been unable to recall that he said a quite similar thing in regards to that terrible play-like-thing I wrote. So this means I either create things which could accurately be described as shrekish, or my brother's opinion is of negligible worth. One thing that pleased me, which you'll probably think shouldn't have, was his one caveat that "[I] would not enjoy it." Ha ha, beloved American institution, my ability to be disappointed is too legendary to be overcome by your ability to not disappoint.
I hear that it has broken some kind of box office record. However, I heard much the same thing said about , the third Ring Lord movie, the first Harold One-Who-Pots production, and even Thpiderman, so I disregard it. As long as ticket prices and the number of people to buy them continue to increase, records will be broken. I say, either build a better record, or stop fixing one so easily destroyed. I concede that my anger toward the sweattunic wearing gremlin has not been brought to its destined level, as I have managed to avoid seeing any advertisements for it. It is the scene montages, soundtracks and voiceovers (of both characters and critical praise recitors) in those, plus the frequent repetition which usually do the trick. However, I have seen ads for other products that have shleck in them, as this villain has a similar affinity for product endorsements to The Cat in The Hat, and curiously enough a similar voice, as well. I have a headache.

I was always embarrassed, and would hesitate to admit that I watched the world wrestling federation shows. Although, indeed, there were a great multitude of programmes other people watched without shame for which I believed they should experience much, which I would love to keep as a counter-attack should my own secret ever get out, but as they would never outright deal the condemnation I knew they had I kept quiet. You cannot blame me for indulging in such form of entertainment, however, as it is a trait heriditary.

Here, hanging in my upstairs hallway, proof that I am a direct line descendant of "Stone Cold" Steve Austin. What can I do?

Duck, you sicken me.

There are a lot of things I can get done without internet, a few things I can get done without a mouse or keyboard-- before now I was never completely aware of how little I can do without a monitor. I knew it was a small amount, but without the experience it's difficult to fully grasp. I can do two things: shut down windows and restart windows, the latter what I did first, as I did not realize that was the default option, and the former on my second attempt after pressing an up arrow after alt+F4 but before enter.
The monitor, it is just one thing, the component of my computer that, according to some windows media player 2 files I found on the CD-romodisc that came with my dell auction computer, "looks like a tv!" and yet it holds much power, more than I think it should be permitted to have. I smelled a smell, something like the melting together of rubber, plastic, and purple. Similar to one of those cherry cordial things that always infiltrates overpriced chocolate, except maybe slightly more edible if I had decent enough screwdriver to get at it. I knew it was coming from the monitor but... it's been my experience that to deal with smells like that I rub water and soap on them, and in this case that seemed like a bad idea. Eventually, in a departure from its usual behaviour of horizontally compressing the image for brief periods, it horizontally expanded the image for one permanent period. As I struggled with the question of how I'd efficiently use a screen I could only see 60% of at a time, the monitor, sensing my distress, terminated its display, and not even after fifteen idle minutes this time. It was in pain, and it knew I hated to see it suffer. You might say it pulled out its own plug, but I advise you to avoid such metaphoric speech since actually it still was very much plugged in at the time, and I might add phrases like that are rather insensitive to the memory of the deceased. Numerous thoughts battled for supremacy within my mind, "Will it work again? Will I need to replace it? Will I die from inhaling that smell if I try to sleep in this room now?" No, yes, not yet.
I have another monitor, the wise sage JR73415221, at another computer quite a distance, this one, in fact. This one with the computer whose files I like less. I didn't suspect its apprentice THTBW00349 was in any real danger, as the considerably older JR73415221 recently contracted "the lines," (not to be confused with the NES display anomaly I also refered to as "the lines" which I also won't give you any more detail about, other than that blowing air into the affected object helps neither) und so I believed that THTBW00349, who still showed much vigor and linelessness was quite a distance from its demise. I was not correct. Oh, such woe.

Thursday, May 20, 2004

But what mainly occasioned a righteous indignation was, that the scoundrelly popinjay, while he cut a fandango here, and a whirligig there, did not seem to have the remotest idea in the world of such a thing as keeping time in his steps.

I just found out that attempting to view a tripod page in the Compuserve browser which, lacking sidebar support, actually forwards to that thing over there... forwards to that thing over there. That's so irresponsible and inconsiderate as to almost be comical. In fact, it is. Oh, ha.

I've been marginally busy this past week, so I don't have anything else new. However, here is a story about cookies.

August the twenty-third. I knew this because I can operate a calendar. I had mastered the art fairly quickly, noting that the page must be turned after thirty day-length periods (henceforth referred to as "days") and that these correspond directly with the numbered rectangles printed on each page. I no longer even needed to steal a news-paper to confirm my guess (my recognizing the connection between that and the calendar was also rather ingenious, if I do say so)

I emerged from my space beneath the ground on this August the twenty-third pulling a rather large bag of cookies. Although in comparison to me the bag might be considered normal sized, my point of reference was the cookies, of which many did fill the bag, and so I thought of it as being large. I traveled through the ragtag band of plants for some minutes until I came to a road. I continued across the road until it ended and the sidewalk began. I believe it is called a sidewalk, but I have rarely heard one spoken of, so it is very possible that I misinform when I tell you it is called that, but I know not any better. I placed the bag of cookies on the ground with the open end facing the air and entered my brilliant hiding place. What made it such a stupendous hiding place was that it lay at the opposite side of the road that my home did, so no one would suspect me to be waiting there, if they absolutely insisted on suspecting my presence.

Eventually, with the day's light period, people began to be showing up. From the left and right, womans, mans, and several who could not decide. The thing which linked them all being that none of them had any matters to tend to of importance ranking with my own, for they were all walking, coming from elsewhere and going to elseelsewhere. I knew they didn't live nearby because I'd inhabited my dwelling in this region for several years (forgive my calendar terminology) and never met any of them. Although their inefficient mode of transportation irritated me, I forgave them due to their participating in my study.

At least, I would have if they'd fulfilled their piece of the bargain. I expected them to take a cookie, and, hopefully, consume it in an edible fashion. Unfortunately, they chose to continue their silly walks uninterrupted by my theoretically irresistible offer. I would have liked to have made a sign which instructed readers to "take 1," but alas, I knew how to spell few words, and "take" was not one of them. "1," indeed, I am well acquainted with from my calendar use, but on its own it conveys insufficient information.

I knew, though, that I had to do something. After the seventeenth pass (counting is a great deal simpler than spelling, in case you are wondering) I spoke my suggestion "SHAAAASKRIEG!" it did not have the desired effect. That was my fault, however. I rarely speak, so to attempt to do so without practising first is unlikely to produce positive results.
Let's try the next one.
"SCAAAAAB!" No? And another.
"STAAAAAB!" One more time.
"UNGLAAAHhhheh." Yet one more disappointment, but I was ready now.

Then came twenty-two, who was very large. A cookie connoisseur if ever I'd seen one!
"Take... cookie...?" I said meekly.
This person actually slowed down, but did not stop and soon showed signs of speeding up again. I knew I needed to more directly intervene; I would not lose this one! I leapt out with immediateness. "Would you like a cookie?"
the curious fellow ran off, eventually contributing "stay away from me!" Perhaps I had been too forceful. Again I hid. What else could I do?

Very soon another approached. Not so fat this time, but my near success with the previous subject had been especially encouraging and I expected nothing less than total success in the adjacent future.
He stopped. He quite overlooked the bag, turning instead toward my brilliant hiding place. Had I not been so expertly concealed I would swear he was staring at me for those several seconds. He looked at the bag finally and then would have surely continued on his way had I not reached out to grab his right leg, a subtle, nonthreatening tactic which served to make him stop. "Why won't you take one of my cookies?" I demanded to know.
"Why don't you have one?"
"It is a science experiment! I must remain outside the results to effectively monitor them! Have cookie!"
"I don't want one of your stupid cookies, you big-eared creep. Let go."
I would not tolerate such an ignorant and insolent assessment of my cookies. "Oh, such ignorance and insolence!" I released the leg and dealt the fool a morale crushing blow with the bag, sending the ingrate whimpering off towards his destination. "Ask your friends if they want any cookies!" I called out sarcastically, knowing that such an unsociable miser could not possibly have any friends. I restrained myself from throwing any cookies, for that would have been rude. I returned to my hiding place as I had before. As appalled as I was at the negative attitudes I had encountered, I continued my research. Beside that, my speech capabilities had returned, no doubt with victory in tow!

Another potential taker drew near. Since I had come so close on the two previous attempts, I merged my strategies, jumping out and also grabbing an arm, this time. "Could I interest you in a cookie?" I should have grabbed both, however, because the other one felt left out and came over to meet me with such speed as to make me lose the one I had, fall backwards, and not see if the person took a cookie or not. People with so little self control should seek help.

Next was a pair. I remained where I was, fearful that they may be violent like the previous one, since I did not possess adequate handage to grab their combined four arms.

It was about this time that I noticed considerably more people walking past on the road's side I was not at. Did they truly not see such a very large bag as the one I'd brought? I considered crossing the road again, but ultimately decided against it, reasoning that a good hiding place was important.

Several minutes later after five more sadly uneventful passes, a person approached on my own side more strangely dressed than usual. I eventually gathered that it must be one of those law enforcement officials I'd heard so much about. I would try to be more silent than usual, for I had been told that when angered they brought forth many friends who looked just like them, and it was imperative that I be able to keep close track of who had taken a cookie. This one seemed especially odd to me because I usually don't see them just walking around unless they have parked their vehicle nearby and are looking to
"Would you mind coming out of there, please?" this addressed to me! I was rage-filled; one of the cowards from before had told of my hiding place! I silently promised my revenge as I made myself seen. There was no sense in remaining; the longer I did so, the more people would see the official speaking to it, and the harder it would be for me to hide there again. It was a good hiding place.
"You must have heard of my wares! Have a cookie, I implore you!"
"What's this I hear about you hitting people and screaming at them?"
"Likely just that. They refused to have any cookies!"
"Does that surprise you?"
"It comes as much of a surprise; they are exquisite cookies!"
"You want to give people cookies you should invite them to a party or open a bakery. No one's going to eat something they saw lying in the street."
"Be sensible. First of all, this part is called the 'sidewalk,' and second of all, the cookies are in a bag. Those are two major differences."
"Right, buddy. I hear another complaint about you you'll be arrested. Would you prefer that?" it occurred to me the comaraderie inherent in "buddy" had been insincere.
"I'll have you know my only goal is the betterment of civilization! If it were up to you uninformed uniformed scoundrels you'd have all of us scientists in a room making fireballs and bottlerockets for you to destroy it with!"
"Hey, all I heard was that you were lunging at people and attacking them, and you don't seem to be denying it. If it happens again, you'll have bigger things to worry about than your cookies going stale, you get me?"
"Have a cookie!"
"If it will make you stop, I'll have one of your damn cookies. Would you like that?" I would. My rage subsided somewhat, despite the language, oh! The speaker continued, "I guess they can't be that bad."
"They can, but I assure you they won't!" He ate one, and suddenly seemed surprisingly surprised.
"Wow, this is a very good cookie... Huh? I must... have another!" He did. "I shouldn't... but I have to..."
"I think I'd better go." I did, and with the bag.
"Stop! Give me another!" I was chased.
"You've had enough!" this I was sure of.
"I will have them all! I crave them!" this I heard and this I did not doubt.
"You're mad!" I made an astute observation.
The madman had an object resembling the gun weapons I see with my television box occasionally.
"Stop or I shoot you!" The gun was now very visible and very pointed at me.
"Please explain further!" he didn't. He was quite suddenly too lying flat on the ground and convulsing pathetically and leaking various substances to do so. I still did not stop, for my experiment was complete and I no longer needed to expose my skin to the day's light.
"It is just as I feared" I thought as I descended once more into my home. I promptly incinerated the cookies. Those things are dangerous. I also incinerated the bag with my incinerator, and just to be safe I washed my hands. I shall try not to use that recipe again in the future!

Gatorade is Thursday, May 13, 2004

why do birds need baths?

Comedy Central. I mentioned that once back in September. Before or around that time, during some commercial breaks would be shown possibly decent standup comedy anecdotes superimposed over fearsomely groutesqe cartoons illustrating it. I believe that toward the end of success of such a production the narrator can understate the pictures, or the pictures can overstate the narration, but when the original writer is not involved at all to oversee this, you'll get at best a literal follow-along with accomplishes scantly more than depriving the audience of their ability to visualize it as they'd like to, so why bother? Naturally, this was terrible, and thus pleased the people in charge very much. But there was a problem: one advertisement needed to be removed to make room for the atrocious display, and that's less money to buy the rights to forgotten mid-80's movies that will only be shown at 6am! The solution? No, not scrap the project and cut their losses, the solution was to cut the actual show and make more if-I-try-to-put-on-the-Daily-Show-one-minute-early-I'll-look-like-I-was-watching-this cartoons (as if the Hopping Ho's segment that ends Der Man Show wasn't enough). And because presenting a display of unrelated clips without a designated "host" is prohibited by federal law, let's insert some pantsless talking babies that sound like grown men for some reason. Und so ve haf:

As an occasional viewer of the 10:30pm timeslot which this occupies on other occasions, I must again make obvious what an utter travesty this possibly but I doubt it watchable show is made to look like by the promotions for it. Don't try to sell it on the animation. I don't think there's been a competently written cartoon series produced in English within the past 13 years that didn't look like it was made by Pueblo Picasso's fourth grade art class. Eck, at least Aqualad Notorious and friends resembled people, even if they were the wrong ones. This looks like someone tried to recreate Bob Staake pictures with construction paper.

And how about that title, ehhh? You may recognize the first word, "shorties," which I will never type again, as the plural form of the name of a Danny DeVito character a certain 1995 feature film urged us to "get" (it is unfortunate that we failed), but it actually refers to those adorably repulsive figures in that image up there. Though not a word I -an ashamed member of the target demographic- have ever heard said with that meaning by a person, I do understand it to be a word with street vernacular origins, as popularized through the writings of famous syndicated not-joke columnist Herbert W Kornfield.
Next, the forced enslangification "watchin'." Because if chat rooms and McDonald's market research have taught us anything, it's that seeing informal speech in print makes it endeering and intellectual.
Then on to that word again. I regret to inform you that this does not serve to imply that the screwy cartoon babies are watching each other. That would be something, wouldn't it. No, this time it refers to the stand up comedy, which by not being long clips is therefore short, and by having someone who probably looks like Ari Fleischer in charge the comedy is therefore also ies.

Tuesday, May 11, 2004

I dedicate this post to all the brave warriors who lose their lives everyday defending our fleedom in grueling rap battles

Today marks the start of this website's third year at tripod dotcom. I hadn't wanted there to be a third year at tripod, but I don't like having to blow my nose, either. I went to the trouble (for me) to ask someone else to ask someone else if I might possibly be able to get something a step up from this without my contributing any effort, but I felt like such a worthless twilp after doing so and likely turning away one of the few people still willing to pretend to stand me that something I've omitted here just in case I haven't. Deh deh deh deh nor the meager amount of initiative to get one for myself. For $40 a year, which I can afford twice as of right now, I could have www.321lord_m', no advertisements, twice the space alotted here, and still have change to buy Raisinettes, gummy bears or Junior Mints (and I'd even get to choose!).

Perhaps my fear is that once a dollar has been spent on a website (I... stole the scanner. yes.) it suddenly needs to be significant in some way to some one, and that I can't afford. At least not times forty.

My biggest issue with Tripod up until yesterday was the resolution-change-blink seizure my monitor experiences everytime I view a page here, while a dos-based ftp client tries to download things, and I know it's downloading things, because it's quite near impossible to upload something to my tripod account on the first try, and I imagine this is even more impossible if you've hijacked my connection to do it at the same time I'm checking one of my must-provide-visual-proof-of-everything-my-liege-commands-it pages. Ehhhnyway, I realized this only happened when I tried to view this page from my own computer, and I'm hardly entitled to that, am I.

What's always a pain, however, is the less malicious, yet still pretty invasive and perhaps even more asinine Tripod "search companion." (which is always an immediate precursor to the monitor blink seizure, I might add.) Oh, you've seen it, have you? The official claim is that it "helps visitors to find what they're looking for," but unless everyone is looking for more uninvited sidebars to close and purge their registry of, I put forth that it has failed. Claim 2, that of "helping Tripod members get more traffic to their sites," is also untrue, since any sensible person worth getting the traffic of will have closed that thing the moment they saw it, and anyone curious or foolish enough not to certainly isn't going to find one of my links on any of them. Claim -1, When a visitor browses to a Tripod member site, we check our database. If similar sites exist, the Sidebar opens up, and those sites are listed. Now that's simply not true. I would say "they know it's not true," except that no beings with the senses of self sufficient to use the word "we" (as in: actual people) are checking any database, so additionally they cannot truly comprehend that they are lying. Still, if you're looking for sites found to contain the words "the" "of" "is" and "andy" as scanned by a team of gold robots who don't know they exist, then you probably built them.

The vaguely noble-sounding cause is vomited upon twofold as 1: the sites are all terrible and 2: also at tripod. It insults the intelligence of all three of my regular viewers who have any yet still come around to suggest that Fozzie's List Of Famous And Not-So-Famous Dogs (to which I say, why not just call it the List Of Dogs, and to that I'd say why bother?(and additionally hover your arrow-thing over that (but don't click it) to see one of the worst urls you ever will)), Britney Spears in the Zone 2004 (I... don't know, nor do I want to), Atkins diet is unhealthy and bad (no, really?), a few hundred pages by people named Andy and the loathesome self-parody of one Miranda J. Prince are in any way similar to what I am doing. In fact, if I didn't know to the contrary, and I'm not entirely sure that I don't, these sites were picked specifically to disgust me personally. You'll notice, if you haven't closed it yet, that our companion animal bears no advertiser logos or banners, and seems as if it was placed only to further annoy free account users into either paying Tripod money or giving up altogether. And... I suppose that's their right, but they ought to at least come out and admit it. Don't I deserve better? (Don't answer that)

Some guy wearing a suit sez:
I'm here to talk about my new book: Us Good, Them Bad. I don't expect to change your mind; if you didn't agree with me to begin with, that means you them, and you bad. Hey, I'm not saying anything that hasn't been said in hundreds of books by other guys wearing suits before me. Nope. So what if you don't vote for us in the next election? That's why I had this book written, so I could get enough money that I won't have to care for a few years, and in the event I do, I can always refer you to my book. Solving problems? Who needs that? The only problem I see is them, and they cannot be solved. The obvious and singular solution is to have more of us than them and deny everything they say that us don't like, which will probably be all of it that isn't related to abortion or queer folks*, but they don't plan to bring that up, and neither do us. Look, I can quote statistics all day. In fact, why don't I do that. It doesn't matter if they're recent, relevant, or true, as long as that by stating these statistics and intentionally not stating other statistics I look like I'm right. Did you know that 98% of Americans polled say us good, them bad? That is because before we ask that question we first ask "are you us or them?" and if the answer isn't "us," we hang up. Buy my book!

Dr. Suit
Note: the above message does not necessarily reflect the actual thoughts or opinions of some guy in a suit, since none have been expressed

*This was an ill-placed item. Several months before, such a subject as this was rarely acknowledged, and about the time I posted this, few wished to speak of anything else. Anger.

Are you there, God? It's me, margaret.  Who is this? I called for God, not you! For His sake put God on the phone! Do you know who I am?! I am Margaret. You tell Him it's Margaret right now!