I have a [nother [broken]] scanner
The New Adventures of Awards this site hasn't won
Rehabilitated guestbook
Helens agree, Helens are not original thinkers, and neither are whoever named them.

the only website visible from space

Look at your address bar, fool
A wholly needless, I expect, link back to the main page

Friday, November 05, 2004
The problem with bridges is that there are only so many directions in which one can travel without getting hit by a car or falling into the river

November 2, 2004, 6pm, eastern standard time, and there's nothing to say. Much will be said, but none of it worth listening to.

Here's a map which conveys no helpful information, yet it will be displayed again and again. This goes on for six more hours, after which point still no one knows the full result of the votings and they continue talking. The numbers are shown now because none of the news captains wanted to look like fools forecasting the winner based on incomplete data [this time], and instead gave viewers a chance to do that themselves.

The only interesting things that happened the whole time I was watching (thankfully this wasn't through all of it) were when Peter Jennings started chainsmoking and claiming Democracy Desks for Spain.

When the appropriate time came, I reactivated my picture box in the direction of nbc to see if our Conan would be showing up. No. Is it a trivial and ignorant lifestyle which ignores an important event that only happens once in four years to seek out silly ones that happen every week? If yes, does contentless, 24 hour speculation over a thing whose result I'll have no way of not eventually knowing constitute such quad-yearly importantness? I think, really, that Decision 2004 live is more silly than most things.
Ehhh, so Conan was not present, but just because the screen was on and showing things, I could not help but find out what they were. Perhaps I was just in time to see the ending, or at the very least some obtuse, awkward laughter. Maybe. But when I heard "John Kerry has to make a stand in Ohio," I knew it was time to turn that off. Like there's an active battle going on, and each candidate is actively (hence my calling the battle active) building, dispatching, and repairing damaged voters all through the night. Sadly, this is not the case. If there was a battle, it already happened, and both sides only had one bullet. The real question, is who had a bigger bullet? Unfortunately, the candidates both fired their bullets at the same time from opposite American Gladiator joust platforms above a river of cotton candy and the size of the bullets cannot be measured until the bodies are exhumed. "The time is now 12:24am, and both candidates are still in the cotton candy. Maybe Bush's bullet was bigger, but maybe it wasn't. Let's go to the map, where nothing else has changed. Here with me now are several irrelevant morons who combined hold all two of the possible guesses regarding eventual outcome." Nnnih.

On Wednesday, with Ohio still as tctc (WHAT COULD THOSE LETTERS POSSIBLY STAND FOR?!) as it was the night before that one, and myself neither having nor needing instant access to the latest count totals, I didn't know it was really over until he stepped forward and said it was, admitting defeat after many months of undauntable campaigning. That's why, on November third, 11 pm eastern standard time, when Jon Stewart conceded the election, I almost felt sad. Not even sad in a "gosh, that's pathetic," kind of way, but actual levels of concern could have been measured had you been watching me watch The Daily Show that evening. A feeling of "what was it all for?" was in the air, and those present and also not present could smell it. The efforts of not just our greatest fake journalist, but also our greatest vandals had been in vain.

What, indeed, was it all for? Ohio ended up being the state whose result took the longest to find out, for no reason apparent to me other than that TV people predicted it would. Four point variable years ago, after decades of obscurity, suddenly everyone who might was talking about the electoral college and how that would be a key factor, as if it had just been invented. I think, truly, that the whole confused ordeal of that election was planned in advance, and I was merely witnessing foreshadowing. Condsider this: jopes and dopes of all jope-and-dopages have been fardling over the subject of Hillary Clinton running for president in 2008 ever since they thought of it, despite Hilary Clinton never once actually stating a desire to do such a thing. And how could she, besides, as a democrat, do that thing against an incumbent democrat president? I'm told that's not allowed (just as is abandoning your petty party altogether in an attempt to truly accomplish something). Therefore, John Kerry could not possibly have been elected if this predetermined event was to occur. It's just like how a musical interval worksheet type thing I filled out not long ago says at one point "A diminished interval inverts to an _________ interval." Only one of the possible answers begins with a vowel. Come on, you can do better than that.
In the almost year since writing that, I have forgotten what the answer was.

. . . . . .

I suppose the foreshadowing isn't like that at all. However, I can't think at this time of anything that is, and I don't know when I'll get another opportunity to point out that particular objection, so I'll leave it in, like you've possibly come to expect I will.

With all that done and finished, I'll just be glad when all these politic lords get back to work and stop approving messages.

I hear that the person who showed me how to make those nine years ago is in jail now.

I don't know if he really ever was in, but now he is out.

Contrary to the first 320 billion years of the world, according to television, reality's true purpose is to bring us the "next" thing that we don't need. The next skill devoid, unremarkable top model? The next whiny and/or "soulful" pop singer? The next Donald Trump employee? The next professional wrestler? The next action star? The next talentless talented kid? I know CBS actually had a new Star Search for a while. Are stars truly in such short supply that we now have to search for them? Are there TV shows being cancelled because mass quantities of actors are being kidnapped or just getting lost? I think you'd do just as well to hold a Car Search. Where have all the cars gone? You never see cars around. Or stupid kids who think they can sing well, for that matter. You know what we also don't have enough of? Selfish, untrustworthy people. We need to find the next unlovable disgrace to humanity and reward this person with one million dollars. Preferably, it will be someone who can survive without modern technology, because in the event of a massive power failure it is imperative that the only people who know what to do are unwilling to help anyone else.

For a few years one million has been the big dollar payoff to whoever can prove themselves the most adept at various things with minimal entertainment value. Who Wants to be a Millionaire, which is not a game and wouldn't be a show either without the lighting and music effects, actually received awards for being the best game show just because hypothetically someone might possibly win that much money on it. Does the size of the prize make any of these programs better? If there's so much extra money allocated exlusively for payments to people who can win weird contests, why not instead give the same lesser amount to more people? If i had one hundredth of that i could afford to see a dentist a few times and maybe even get my teeth repaired (four more years! four more years!). It makes me angered to think that instead of 1000 people newly able to heat their homes this winter there's instead one moof who now has a really big boat.

Now Vh1's making a new partridge family. Do we need a new partridge family? Do we need the old one? All the partridge family accomplished was letting Danny Bonadouchey gain perpetual acting employment guest starring as himself. The one partridge family song I like is the one that begins with the part that sounds like the music from Tales from the Crypt, but only that part.

There are a great deal of remakes of things that used to be popular. Although most of them fail, since one out of seventeen don't, then apparently it makes sense to the remake people to keep trying. It would make more sense, from my, admittedly, usually astigmatic perception, to remake a thing which failed the first time. Try to fix what was wrong with it (here's a hint: it probably wasn't the lead actor's skin color) and more strongly emphasize what wasn't. Try to fully achieve the author's original vision if this was not accomplished, or stay away from that entirely if the author was a twit. However, without the name recognition, potential audiences might not even realize it's a remake, so why then, should you bother? You shouldn't. STOP. All of you.

There's a "real" Gilligan's Island, too. Possibly it is called Real Gilligan's Island. This I might be willing to go along with, but only if post-original series products are also recreated, including the cartoon, the [much beloved] nes game, and most importantly the episode of Alf where Alf goes to Gilligan's Island.

It looks like someone needs to open a really big wine bottle.

I'll say what I think of election day coverage later. If I absolutely must. For now, another unintentional page-length paragraph confederation on a different subject. I should write a book. No one would buy it, but a lot of writers get paid in advance, so there wouldn't be a problem unless I tried to write a second book.

Make sure thou hast located Erdrick's Armour before attempting to cross this divider

Attention gullible fatsos! Yoplait calls all its customers to participate in the save lids to save lives program.
A bizarre bit of blackmail, Yoplait makes no attempt to explain what logically prevents them from saving lives if the lids are not also saved.
Dah. When business folk promise to donate "up to" a certain amount of worthless greater american dollars, this means they can afford that, but they'd love for an excuse to pay less and pretend it's the fault of their own customers. 'Ey, if you, fake ice cream buyer, want to make a charitable donation, do it. You're not a good citizen and Yoplait isn't a humanitarian yogurteer over a dime. What the gump difference does it make whether they get the "pink lids" back? I'm sure the Food and Drug Administration doesn't permit their re-use, so no money is saved as a result of that. The yogurt lords are just being weird. If they want to look less weird, what they should say, is "we have a lot of money because a lot of people buy our yogurt, because we make good yogurt. But we're not keeping the money to our own selfish selves, we're using it to cure a disease of great concern to the sort of people we show in our ads. So thank us." Also, they should stop showing people licking the labels. That's gross. Next the voice says "together, we can lick(stop it already) breast cancer." What's this "we" bit? Yes Yoplait, you perform a valuable service by converting 95 cents into 10 cents. After all, it is not your fault breast cancer research can only be conducted from within a gumball machine.

What bothers me about the recent word surplus is I know that in a month I won't be able to come up with anything to put here, and then I will do it anyway.

Friday, October 29, 2004
Online Safety: AOL shows parents and kids what Safe Surfin' is all about.

I am fed up with you and your ears, wartortle. You have war in your name, but specifically what war does this refer to? Warren Garfunkle Harding? The twenty-ninth United States president, who didn't finish his term, killed by a heart attack in the midst of corruption scandalousness? I bet you weren't aware of that. You don't even know how to spell 'turtle' properly. No one's afraid of you, wartortle. You thought just because you have overbiting fangs and eyes slanted inward that I'd be intimidated? Oh, your claws. What about them? Let's disregard for a second that they're curved inwards and that whoever drew you neglected to grant you the digits necessary to uncurve them with; your arms aren't even long enough to reach halfway past your bloated head. You'd have to run right up to where i was for the possibility to even present itself of striking me, and your legs being just as long as your arms there's no way you could overtake me. Even if I agreed to let you make the first move, you're what, two feet tall? You probably needed help just to stand upright. If you could hit with any force at all, the recoil would surely knock you over, and then I could step on you. If you have problem, consider this a challenge, wartortle.

MS-DOS would not approve of this divider

There remains less than a week from hopefully the end of my failed attempts at political relevance. Then I can go back to failed attempts at photograph captioning and video game commentating. However, who I truly worry about are the fine arrogant spleebofs over at Air America Radio. If the bronze warrior John Kerry is elected to his desired position, they will have nothing to talk about. The whole reason their broadcasts are made is complainment regarding George Bush as United States president. Their only goal is to destroy a thing which they cannot survive without. Al Franken is a real life Sephiroth. It's not so much of a stretch. Ehm, maybe it is, but I already thought this all out, so that means I have to put it here.

Sephiroth commands an earth threatening meteorAl Franken used to wrestle in high school
Sephiroth was a One Winged AngelAl Franken doesn't have enough wings to fly with either
Despite being fictional and evil, Sephiroph attracted a disturbing amount of pre-teen female fansAl Franken is friends with Janeane Gararafololo
Sephiroph can cast a spell whose graphics take about ten minutes to play out several times per battleAl Franken has really long ads for the Al Franken Show during every commercial break.

Hmmm. I frequently co-occupy a vehicle with a person who listens to Air Amelica, and I do this for usually less than 26 minutes at a time, yet I always hear the same awkward, unrehearsed ad ("Al... and... Sundance! ...Channel. Togethah... agyain"). And it's Alfred's right to have that ad there, since I guess he owns the station or something. However, one day I was late (quite late) and actually made the venture during the the timeslot of the oh, so creatively titled Al Franken Show. And yet, at the same point in the trip, the same ad comes on. The same US deficit explained with an ordinary slidewhistle, the same babbling, probably inappropriate Strom Thurmond voice, the same section of the highway. The only difference being that it is broadcast during a time where were I not doing what it was telling me to do I could not have been told to do it. You know, Sephiroph tried to push 100 clones of himself into a crater, and Al Franken tried to have 100 clones of his advertisement make me throw myself into a crater. Should I go on? No? Good.

In a pre-dvd era game with no voiceovers, Sephiroph's words were read rather than heardIn numerous pre-"Mango" era Saturday Night Live sketches, Al Franken made people turn on their closed captioning.
Sethearov was a geneticly engineered monsterAl Franken was named after one.
Sefirof was hunted by nine bold warriors who would risk their lives to destroy himAl Franken kind of annoys Bill O'Reilly

There's another Franken announcement where he talks about how "the polls in the buckeye state are in a deadlock" and also how "it's" all going to come down to "the ground game and who wants it more." While I do not desire the ground game, this ad immediately followed the other one today, and meself being quite unprepared, I could not suppress a minor mirthful outburst. All right, I'm done.

This isn't a divider, but the html tag letters are shipped seperately from the shells, and their flight was delayed. I'm just storing these here until they can be completed.

Am I the only person who is physically ill of the sound of electric guitars? Every day of my life I have to hear some music-like sound sequence consisting wholly or in part of electric guitar noises and I have no way of stopping it. I used to listen to lots of old music until I became sick of violins, but I was able to stop that because it was only by my own decision that I had been hearing them at all. Electric guitars, however, cannot be stopped. I know they sound stupid without their batteries (I can't even tell when or not someone knows how to play them), but why do they even have to be guitars? Why not electric flutes or xylophones or triangles? Probably those will also sound terrible, but that might still serve to make me appreciate the sound of those indomitable guitars, because even in my own personal land of Hypotheria I know they'll be back.

Why do I suddenly crave french fries and miniature pieces of chocolate? I will figure this out as I listen an angry but occasionally very silly rap album

I do not believe valid uses exist for every single one of these. People will buy them, people will stab them, but they will not know why or impress anyone. In the event any interesting design is made this will only have been from the doings of a store bought template. So save yourself some effort and put a candle behind the template, then. The pumpkin isn't necessary. Why even a pumpkin? This all seems too strange and random a practice for the ways in which it is done to be so uniformly uninteresting.

I read against my own advice (because as we saw in the past week any knowledge beyond the most obvious is a foe to my ability to write well) some webpage which insisted this practice is to honor an restless dead wandering punchat named "Jack." Apparently he only travels one night per year and can't see where he's going because he's blind to all light except that which shines out from vegetable orbs. However, this started in something like 1872. If he's not at or beyond wherever he was going by now then I don't think he's ever going to get there. You know what, he's dead, so tripping over a few overweight children or getting hit by the car coming at them isn't going to make a difference.

I heard from less reliable but equally complain-aboutable sources that pumpkins were carved to scare off spirits, but how was it ever proven that this scaring actually occured? (if this doesn't apply to pumpkins there are at least twenty other stupid customary procedures to which it does, so shup) Ehhh, let's pretend, one fine winter in the golden age of disease you're thinking "hey, maybe if I empty and slice up this gourd I won't die a horrible plague death" and then perhaps you don't find yourself coughing up blood and various blood coated objects within the next 36 hours... how do you even consider attributing this to the pumpkin with a stupid face on it? How could you have been not joking when you came up with the idea to do that? And who's the idiot who says "you're probably right, that's exactly what it was, I'll do that too." Christians probably hated pagans because they gave The Spirits so little credit. All right, so this invisible, undetectable force of unexplainable origin is going to not kill you because it's scared of a face it could easily have watched you create? I think history and folktale adaptors will back me up when I tell you that people kept right on dying and Jacks kept getting lost regardless of the lacerations suffered by vegetable orbs.

However it started, I think the pumpkin mutilation only continued out of revenge. People were annoyed that their pumpkin cutting had been in vain so... they cut more pumpkins. It's an Amelican tradition. The only reason Billow Riley still has a show is because all the people who wish he didn't have a show keep watching it. However, this principle cannot be applied to things which no one makes money off of, so any of you who used to read this website back in March and stopped once I started annoying you aren't quite so smart as you think you are. I can update this page whether you see it or not! AH, HA HA HA, HA HA HA!


Saturday, October 23, 2004

Regarding that which is below the next divider, I received a comment (but wait, there's more!) which insinuated that possibly I have implied that all people who are physically active are neanderthals, and additionally that I must surely have watched a pretensious art film and played chess after I had finished insinuating. First of all, I did not, because it would be too hard to do them both at the same time. And beyond that, I would never unjustly pick on these people, because humans who play sports well are an underappreciated minority who don't ever get special treatment at all. It would neither be fair nor true to say I think they are all idiots. ...and I do not think they are all idiots; just the oafs. ...and I wasn't even taking issue with the oafs, only the car endorser who dresses like one. But see. Without trying, I know of three former professional fuball players who have gained further employment: Terrence Bradshaw, John Jacob Jingleheimer Madden and

this guy with an occasionally backwards head from a Cheezit box. Can you deny they are oafs? Allow me to just make a request:
Football players and football watchers, don't be oafs.

You might argue that Cheezit box guy cannot possibly be an oaf, what with the way he displays his technical wizardry in so many Radio Shack advertisements. In that case, I would respond, he's a nerd, and that's almost as bad. You don't need to be one or the other, people! There are more choices than that!

I never promised my text-based dividers would be seperate but equal

Maybe I'm supposed to trust this guy because sport folk know the most about cars (obviously), but I don't know that this man really plays one. Only that he owns the sort of shirt often associated with the people who do play the game in question. However, his puniness relative to the ogrish man-men oafs who usually wear such a shirt and that it still fits tells me that he is not included among said man-men. Further, that he wears the shirt in this context and clearly is not a player only leaves me to assume that he owns no other clothing. So: some bum off the street who only owns one shirt is trying to sell me a car that he can't even afford. Ehhh. I just thought you might like to know.

so many contractions lost their lives to create this divider

November 8 on NBC, it's the 25 Million Dollar Pyramid Hoax! Usually the prize is only one million dollars on this kind of show, but since the money isn't actually being given (it can't be known in advance that random families will be despicable enough to deserve "reality" money), nbc can say as much as they want. Since I am mentioning the show here, you possibly already assumed that I'm going to say bad things about it. That I assumed your assumption means you're every bit as predicatble as I am.


With the Punked show, the victims deserve what they get for being overpaid and gullible. With Joseph Millionaire again the punishment is somewhat valid because it's mainly scoundrels who audition for "reality" shows, and exclusively scoundrels who would make their goal to compete to marry some guy just because he has some millions of dollars. However, when you go to someone's house and say you're going to give them money and don't, that's just mean. Especially in a time when the middle class has a such a small portion of the overall class wealth statistic weird data I heard and kind of remembered during a brief unplanned encounter with Air America radio. I expect a lot of "you've won $25 million dollars! You can pay your bills! You can keep your house! You can have your cancer treatment! Ha ha, just kidding. Now sign this contract so we can put you on TV and make ourselves millions of dollars in advertising if the show is a hit and have you look like a doof either way." You don't need to give them 25 million of the dollars, but give them something. I will decide this based upon how overallly dopey and average the winning losers look. The ones in the ad... they get to keep the big cardboard check. However, I can't expect every decision to be this easy.

On a related subject, I hate when I try to be topical. The preceding counts as topical because it refers to a show which will premier in less than a month. I saw that advert'ment two days ago and thought "there are more important things to do. you don't need to write about that until november. No, wait, that was when you said you were going to work on that other page from last november. Do it now." So I did. And then I saw another advertisement for the same show yesterday which said, in summary, almost as if in response my talking points, "actually, one of them knows about the trick and really does get the money and just isn't allowed to share." So the show's still loathesome and repugnant, just for a different reason. A reason different enough to completely invalidate what I just wrote up there. However, I could have gotten away with it if I'd uploaded the it as soon as I had written it. Instead, I have a second consecutive entry which I must acknowledge to be completely idiotic, and I don't know how long I can keep that up. It's time consuming.

I read somewhere that these are called octothorpes. Now you have as well.

I don't know if you saw what i uploaded yesterday. Hopefully, probably you didn't. I had used the phrase "arbitrarily regulated," but intended to verify prior to uploading that the phrase meant something in the context or ever. However, I forgot to do that. I forget to do this a lot, and indeed usually don't even make plans to correct errors. I misuse words, phrases and sponges all the time, so that it's possible that if any readers exist they have learnt to ignore such frequent misuses. The reason I feel the need to explain this one, is that, as a reminder to meself, I had enclosed the phrase in [[[triple brackets]]] so that i could not possibly miss it when rereading the text. I did not reread the text. I still haven't reread it (or fixed it), but I did remember the bracket dilemma when I brushed my tooths today, because I guess the toothpaste was [[[arbitrarily regulated]]] by the Amelican Dental Association.

Oversized, seemingly-no-reason-to-be-on-keyboard tildes this time

I think Double Dare and American Gladiators are every bit as legitimate of athletic competitions as tennis or golf. What the grelp is a "ballpark figure," and why is this an unquestioned use of English? You'd think I was an idiot if I went on about a "shrine of the silver monkey figure" (you should, but that's not my attempted point) The only reason the default reaction to a high-socked individual standing in the path of an 80 mile per hour ball, attempting to attack it and then running to stand on a gray square is not laughter is because it's happened for long enough that no one remembers why and thus regard it as sacred. I can fully imagine a head-mounted cup relay system to fill a larger cup with Gak past the red line pleasing or infuriating entirely serious onlookers depending on what state the winning team's members live in. To my perception, Phyisical Challenge could be a real sport, and Baseball could be a real religion. The minorest, least significant modification of a randomly chosen abstract rule is absolutely forbidden. If you want to wear viking helmets then you have to form the Viking Helmet League or Viking Helmet Sect depending on which subject we are speaking. In either case, members of the non viking helmet groups may not participate. I'm not saying I want silly gameshows in the sports section. Indeed, I would prefer no sport section at all. While I'm at it, "Entertainment" can go, too. Truly, I could do away with much of a newspaper, but I won't because I don't buy them.

Hmmm, I wonder if I can transition this into another uncfocused anger against Helly Pothuh books that I wrote months ago and forgot about.

Just as it bothers me when some twit paints a picture of something like squirrels decorating a Christmas tree or rabbits praying, I'm similarly irked when some hack writer envisions a "world" in which nothing is thought wrong with adapting without alteration arbitrary earth human traditions which can only sensibly be thought to have developed for earth humans. Thus, when I hear of an alternate dimension inhabited by British boarding school children, the short-haired males to wear grey suits with ties and the long-haired females to wear high socks and other, somehow, stupid-by-comparison looking garments, and these Britons spending their leisure times engaging in organized arbitrarily regulated athletic gatherings wearing even stupider looking uniforms, I cannot help but distance me from it. If you think dropping the word "dragon" in every other paragraph is going to dissuade me I regard you as but a fool. Do not extoll the brilliance and creativity of JKRowling for merely swapping a few textbook titles and contriving the inclusion of a few mythical sounding buzzwords.

Even if the stories are good (which I doubt, but I'll accept the possibility that they are), I'm too fundamentally offended by all the underlying concepts to derive any enjoyment from it. Oh wow, I just attempted to use my internet and some terrible television show came on behind me. I'd turn it off, but I know it would come back on. Before I had a chance to cover my ears I overheard "in the magical world, Harry is a jock..." Any world in which people aspire to be referred to as "jock" is too mundane, typical and like this one to be rightly called magical. From this I gather the implication that nerds in the actual world are only not jockulus because they don't get the opportunity. That's disgusting. Even if it's for the most part true, the shame that they feel for not being jockable somewhat balances it out. However, when some bespectacled bowl haircut wimp is allowed any pride then they just need to die. All of them. We can't risk it happening again.

Why is the only reason that anyone who's not me wants the books banned due to witchcraft references? This Rowling bofe did not invent the concept of magic. Where were those protest dopes in the 90 decade when the video game scene was so saturated with spikyhaired sorcerian swashbucklers? I think Secret of Mana, having, of all things, witchcraft mascots would have been especially suspicious (Consider that Joe Camel was exiled to obscurity, and no one even suggested that cigarette smoking was sending Our Kids to hell). Where were the boycottsmiths when Penn and Teller's Sin City Spectacular premiered, and I made my mother let me watch it, and it was one of the worst television shows ever produced and I obnoxious fake-laughed through the whole thing so as not to look foolish but actually looked even more foolish WHERE WERE THEY THEN, HURGH?!

Sunday, October 17, 2004
Whatever style you crave, this gel is your slave

We've been warned. We've been threatened, but it looks like it just might happen. I don't know if this country will survive until 2008 with a republican president in the whitehouse, but it seems all but inevitable now.

Ut-oh dear. The very thought of it makes me fear for, if not my life, at least my will to continue living. We will be losing the services of a scriptedly great man. A man who will surely be historically remembered as perhaps the greatest fake president of our time, rather than fighting meaningless wars with unclear goals, Martin Sheen earned the worlds's trust and respect by tracking down and capturing many of the most feared and despised terrorists without causing international incidents.

Anyone who tells you Saddam Hussein was the real threat is woefully misinformed.

We're making progress, I just know it.

Why doesn't "pleasuring" oneself include eating cake? You're certainly not pleasuring anyone else. No, I do not wish to watch you eat cake. Especially if, after you're done, you scrape up the cake residue and eat that, too. Big bites to eat wet white microcrumbs. I hate when people do that. Even more when it's macaroni and cheese or something like that. It's almost as gross as licking the underside of yogurt container lids. I get nauseous thinking about it. Why did you bring it up? Bah.
Underscores, perhaps?

I don't "get" ham with pineapple. It seems like a conflict of interests. You might as well put salt on your ice cream or vomit on your pop-tart. Note that I meant for you to place vomit, the noun, on to your pop-tart as a topping of sorts, not to immediately vomit upon the poptart as a result of eating the salted ice cream. You shouldn't need me to tell you to do that.

Also, for no reason, what's so great about "New York Style" bagels? Do you honestly want someone to bite into one of your bagels and say, "mmmm, tastes like New York?" Does that mean the taste is as if you'd bent down and taken a bite out of the vomit-and-worse stained sidewalk? Why... If I wanted that, I'd eat a pop-tart.

It doesn't work with minus symbols, alas.

Et teh, Canada?
I wish more people did, but I'm beginning to suspect they do it on purpose!

Monday, October 11, 2004

Chicken Limbo's the one -- big fun

I said once that the first few times I saw evidence of that lion show, all relevant parts of me became stuck in a cringe. So far, that has happened every time I learn about the dreaded computer fish movie. No, the other one. The newer one. I first became aware of it while departing from the cinema in which I watched the spiderman display, but I regretably did not give it the attention it deserved. It was so long ago, I was quite foolish then. I could not comprehend the anguish and pain which would be brought forth if I did not take immediate measures to defend myself from it. It's certainly not like I enjoy cringing. That can become painful.

Right, so there's the usual creepy anthromorphation process, where, for a reason which does not exist, the characters are michael jacksoned to vaguely resemble the unremarkable twuts who make the voices. This is especially creepy (hence my initially describing it as such) because fish and humans have completely different body and head layouts, so that other than the presence of dorsal fins the end products scarcely resemble fish at all. We got end fins (why do I know what dorsal is called?) being used like feet (which isn't new, but I've always hated that), teeth where they aren't welcome, eyes shifted forward, facial features arbitrarily grafted onto faceless cnidarians... it just bothers me to think about. it. We got tables and ladders and chairs, despite the very reasons for their invention not existing underwater. They'd need to use paperweights for everything. That's too much of a hassle to be practical. Despite the marine biological documentary that is Spongebob Skwayrpants, there's more to depicting wet environs than perpetually blue backgrounds. Also present are lines and hip-hoppity try-hard references so unforgivably corny as to make me suspect the movie was sponsored by the Kansas tourism board. I reckon one "it's your birthday" has to be worth at least three "Got Milks" from the Disney Cow Movie. Also I am shown, in a fashion remiscient of this inexcusably not isolated incident, the celebrity voice-sayers saying their voice lines into microphones. They aren't saying anything special, and they aren't saying it in any special way; I am only shown this to justify the money spent on hiring them, since, as I said before, anyone could do this job. At least, anyone could do it as well as they do.
I don't like the order of operations used to make animated films. Although the previous wrong way was to start with the title (like "101 Dalmations" just happened), the new wrong way is to hire celebrities first. That's the sort of thing which is so wrong as to make the thought of explaining how it is wrong seem also quite wrong.

I heard an idiotic quote usage recently: Time Magazine (not a person from it, but a creepy anthromorphozation of an actual issue) sez: "It's finding neeemuh with an urban, contemporary tilt!" That's not a compliment. That's a factual observation. Someone at Dreamworks almost certainly watched the other fish movie and said "I bet we could copy this except with an urban, contemporary tilt and get away with 400 million dollars and additionally remind people that we made Shrec again." I have no other option but to agree.

While the new Go Lords movie is From the Creators of South Park, I'll excuse mopes incessantly saying so this time because at the moment I don't have to deal with Baseketball on NBC's weekly prime time line ipe. Hey now, what song is that playing in the background, and why am I not surprised?

On my computer this looks like two horizontal lines and not a bunch of equal symbols beside each other.

I saw an advertisement (shock beyond shock) in which at presumably a birthday party are Some Kid and one of those clowns that are always at TV birthday parties. Both of them desire a single hotdog, not because they like hot dogs, but because it has Frenchie's mustardo on it. If they (the French) really want me to buy the stuff, since all past similar exhibitions have failed, why bother with the hotdog? Show me people drinking mustard through straws or eating it with a spoon or frozen around a popsicle stick. As it is, I see more hot dog on display than mustard and I have to tell you it's not working. Ehhhm.

I did not believe the clown would be allowed to win the prize. I came to this conclusion because everyone hates clowns, and during the previous decade that had finally been acknowledged by television people, though unfortunately almost entirely towards mimes, who make up only a small fraction of the problem, if any at all (I've certainly never witnessed one). Much to my surprise, eventually the clown sprays the child's eyes with some unnamed liquid substance (I like the story better if I don't get anymore specific than that), takes the hot dog (with mustard), gleefully escapes and... I was glad to see it. Not just because I think some people complained to get it pulled from circulation, but... ehhh, I've never liked clowns either, but I realized when I saw this that I just like when adults hurt children on television.

On television, unless it's something made about or during the 1950s, in which case it will almost certainly come in the form of an unjustified authority figure commencing the beat as a result of something some other brat that I'm supposed to like but don't did. For the purpose of my amusement, it works best when the hurting is carried out by a person without any antiquated cultural norms (why am I just remembering my 2002 sociology class now?) to hide behind. Like, for example, a clown. Time for clowns to fight back.

Once they've done that, then we can hunt them down.
Eventually they'll go into hiding, and anyone who finds a clown will be guaranteed instant fame and fortune.

I'll just hold on to this one and see if it increases in value.

A funny thing happened yesterday: Rodney Dangerfield death tributes. Hilarious stuff, I guess.
Maybe I'm too literal, but I always expected Rodney Dangerfield to be killed by a landmine. Still, I'm hardly surprised. He was at an age where anytime I'd pass by a channel and see old footage of him I would assume it was a death tribute anyway. But I suppose it's always possible I may just have been unknowingly placed into the Rodney Dangerfield death tribute focus group to make sure that it's maximumly effective when the subject finally grants permission to show it by becoming dead. More on this as it develops. Chairman Mao has altered my grasp on reality.

Wednesday, October 06, 2004, Really
You will see and understand that I am making something grand.

I hope that means someone was shot. If not Clooney, anyone who would decide the location for their showdown to be over Clooney's Naked Behind.

No no no. This I will not stand for!
This is beef pasta (I guess), not beef milkshake. If I wanted that I'd just buy a cow. I will never buy a cow.

You know, it used to be beef noodle, and then the reanimated skeleton of Alamo veteran Betty Crocker decided to rename it beef pasta, reasoning that pretensiousness is better than white trashiness, completely forgetting that there's still an inadequately fingered anthromorphosized prostate glove on the box. So now again the ghoulish monstrosity has messed with a once great product by mixing more dreaded udder extract into it. Between this and Chairman Mao fingering the presidential election, I'm quite tired of the undead trying to ruin things which don't even affect them. At last Dracula gains sustenance from the people he harms. These two, however, are just bitter and immature. So am I, but I still live!
"Better tasting," while not necessarily untrue, cannot be said to true either, because it cannot be proven. You can go to Yugoslovakia and cut a woman's nose off and stuff it in her right ear and say "new! better looking!" because there are social mores which define beauty. However, for the taste of foods we have none. Only the untaste. Many people will agree that roaches taste bad, despite never having tasted or consulted a person who has tasted a roach. I say: put the roaches, crickets and worms back in, because I liked it before. I can eat a worm without vomiting. However, the mere thought of additional milk product makes me gag. When I've actually consumed it, if it faild to bring up actual food product, it instead incites my mucuous membranes to rebel, and no one's going to pretend to like me as consolation because I have allergies anyway.

This almost makes me wish I hadn't named the main character "Spam," (though one of the few good four letter names) because that completely changes the reason I think this is funny.
I'm not especially concerned with what you think of it.

Yesh, you just keep that lawnmower running while you chat with someone who you'll be able to see later. It's not like that machine makes a loud, disruptive noise that people across the road can hear, right? If you can talk over it, so can they.

Oh, you sure got me this time. I honestly believed you had finished talking and were ready to work toward finishing the job you've convinced yourself must be done. Hey, it's not like you could turn that thing back on if you turned it off, right? 'Ey. We're in October now, so why don't all of you yardwork yarbos get on back to Floriduh already before the hurricanes realize you've left and start looking here.

I dislike when people thoughtlessly quote song lyrics for no reason other than to be quoting. Yes, I get it. You figured out what the singer was saying. Great job. You're still an idiot if you were before. Few of these word confederations have meaning out of context, and many don't even make sense in context, so you're not accomplishing anything; you're not delivering any inspiring message to the world. All you've proven is that you like something that someone else did. So that's your life, huh? Who needs accomplishments when you can mold yourself to be defined by someone else's random, occasionally rhyming sentence fragments? Not you, that's who!

Matt Drudge sez:
Where in the world is Carmen San Diego? I've been trying to find out for over twelve years. At first, I was content just to sing about it, thinking of nothing more than my fat PBS paycheck, but after a while I began to wonder myself: "Where is Carmen San Diego?" I didn't know what I'd do if I found out. Maybe they'd give me an instrument to play. Eventually the show ended, and while I was glad I'd never have to say "the warrant!" again (seriously, were those brats paying attention at all?!), I still felt unfulfilled. I set up that whole "Drudge Report" operation as nothing more than a front for my real mission. That I reported the most trivial scandals of our time and suffixed them with "gate" three seconds ahead of CNN was just a fortunate side effect that nobody cared about. Including me. Ask any idiot and they can tell you how many medals John Kerry threw away or which governors are gay or the name of the Swiftboat Veteran who likes chocolate ice cream. I have learned many things on my journey, except for the one thing I set out to. And now I'm going to climb these stairs to my apartment, get a bath going, turn on this computer and drop it into the water. Hey, why's that cartoon helicopter airlifting away the twelfth floor? Could it be...?

Sir Matthew of Drudgeford
Note: The above message does not necessarily represent the thoughts or words of Matt Drudge, but you wouldn't even know that if I hadn't told you.

If I could turn back time...     No, I used that one already, didn't I.