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the only website vaccinated against disco and pac-man fever

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Hey, look, Chanukah, Tuesday, December 7
You'll wonder where the yellow went when you brush your teeth with Pepsodent.

This is the mural of the wating room for some pediatric people in East Haven, the town I used to occupy (guess which state). While not quite so fundamentally bothersome as that of the offices' previous location --which depicted several class picture-esque rows of nearly identical, smiling, wretched children, all black outlines save for strategically placed splotches of red on their cheekular regions-- it still makes me want to run out and generate business if you know what I mean.
But let me be more specific, anyway.
First of all, I lived in 'Staven (which no one who lives there calls it, and I no longer live there) for maybe eighteen years and never once witnessed a rabbit. A giraffe could have hid in the Toys R Us and an elephant would surely have found safe refuge at the town hall, but I would have noticed a rabbit.
Issue B, they're riding The Trolley. Although, judging by the trajectory of the backwords printed flag the brown suited giraffe is holding, the vehicle isn't moving, still the only way this would be accurate is if Holiday Inn Express was in the background, because that's where the inoperable thing's been since it was removed from the Stop and Shop parking lot, where it also didn't move.
May I just say that I do not envy that giraffe with the flag. In addition to the fate detailed in issue 3, that here just looks uncomfortable. Not only the needing to lean head out window part (but isn't that enough?), but also the buttons, man, the buttons. I can't even stand a mere four buttons, in a place where I can reach them, not tightly fastened in immediate proximity to the only things I can swallow air and food with. That probably itches, too. I'm glad I'm not a giraffe of high social standing.
Issue 3, they have all left the vast, southern New England veldt on this day to see

a boat. At least in Olde England, when you go out to watch a row it means there's a fight going on. There could be a fight in this situation if the overworked crew decided to mutiny against their useless, overbearing captain, but there are not enough windowless walls in here for the depiction of another scene, unless we choose to incorporate into the display a bazooka that fires quadrilaterally shaped bullets which operate under a Daffy Duck cartoon physics system(1). I don't know where the galley is going, but it's near enough to shore that, if there is to be no revolt, I'd definitely suggest tossing out the fish-frog and bringing in another elephant. If the vessel is magically buoyant enough for one, it can take two, so why harbor a creature that lives in the ocean anyway when it probably weighs less than one of the oars its supposed to be operating? Yes, you think about that.

(1) I swear that sentence makes sense

In many stores can be found A batteries, D batteries, and I'm told even C batteries, but not B. Why is that? I will tell you, now. B batteries fell out of favor because the word "battery" begins with that letter. Double-A is redundancy enough, but in addition to double-redundancy, "Double-B Battery" sounds like the name of a fake rapper who all the kids like at the start of a Family Matters episode but realize is a hopeless loser after he tries to get them to take drugs. Right. I can keep this up as long as you can.

The thing that was here before and is here again is now somewhere else in addition to right here.

Could it be?

It is! Christmas Tree Shop! S!

Try to imagine all the bleak vastness and general misery of a Wal-Mart without the potentially wantable brand name merchandise... and you may want to die. If you don't want to die, then I may want to throw Jujubes at you.
A definite indicator of quality, you'll notice that the name is plural despite the store being singular and not in the Christmas tree business. The upstairs windows are fake, and it's very possible the sky is also. You can tell this is a place that's a joy to be in. That shopping cart isn't trying to escape at all. Christmas Tree Shops is one of the few stores that, rather than having its own dumpster, steals one from another store and sells items out of it. This place is the last stop for many products before reaching their final destination of a ninety-nine cents store or tax-cheating yardtag sale. Their slogan is "Don't you just love a bargain?" Sure I do, don't you? Hence such a slogan. But what I like even better, is quality merchandise. Any quality you find in here is probably going to start with a K. Speaking of K, my grandmother was named Katherine but called K by friends. Speaking of old people, there's a bus that picks up a bunch of them in Massachusetts and then drives for two hours just to come to this wretched place (this being in Connecticut). I don't have a specific, always applicable problem with old people, just busloads of them willing to cross state lines to get 10 cents off a lampshade with ducks painted on it or reusable plastic eating utensils (also with ducks). Some people spend their whole lives trying to find a generic brand of Chia pet.
It seems to me that things are only marked down if no one buys them, and things are only sent to a Christmas Tree Shops if still no one buys them. And people will buy some foul stuff. Just the fact that any store other than this one sells Halloween decorations proves this. My point is not to declare mainstream stores unable to carry junk, merely to declare Christmas Tree Shops unable to not carry junk.

One Week From The Day Immediately Prior to Ankgiving, December 01, 2004
The taste of nuts and honey, Mr. Scrooge?

Thanksgiving is a day to be giving thanks. But what are thanks? What is a thank? How is one given? People will say "thank you," or "we give thanks," but these words don't help my understanding. I really want to see this thank get given. "Thank you" actually always sounded like a grammatically awkward command to me. "I'm busy, thank you yourself." That doesn't make me feel better at all. Neither does "you're welcome." Nevermind that I only ever hear 'you're welcome' after some self-righteous waddle doo runs in front of me to open up an easily opened door and demand grattitude. Still, the next time that happens, with my recent awakening regarding manners, I shall respond "go thank yourself."

One peculiar trait of my mother which makes itself known on days for thanking is that of believing, with enough contradictory hints, I will forget which foods I don't like. Did you eat any turkey? You like stuffing, don't you? Why don't you have some scalloped p'taterzh? Her own mother did the same thing, but also only to me for some reason. You liked corned beef the last time you were here! No, you thought I liked corned beef the time before the last time I was here the last time I was here. I never would call the two of them bad chefs; they just choose to make foods that I think are bad regardless of preperation. If you feel culturally bound to a meaningless tradition randomly generated by people who have long been dead and were probably a bunch of dunkelmen anyway, I will concede that it is your right to do so. But don't get offended when I refuse helpings of a thing I definitely told you I wasn't planning to consume. It greatly aggrivates me that the day associated with overeating, the one that excuses workers nationwide to partake in, deals exclusively with foods I hate. Some people even call it turkey day. (They're morons, but I think we need to eliminate the "Saint Paddee's Day" glibnics before we even begin to deal with these thopes). Why is it not fried chicken, pizza, taco and pancake day? Whuh'sat? The pilgrims didn't have any of that? I suppose they did have hormonally altered turkeys and electric carving knives and broadcast television edits of Jurassic Park (which we've already seen on video numerous times by the way) playing in the background? You can bet no one found out why the triceratops was sick by searching through "one big pile of crap" back on Plymouth Rock. And then something about The Polar Express and Hallmark before I left.

I do like pies, though. Some pies. Ones that don't have nuts or weird fruits in them. The kind of fruit that prevent me from buying the Starburst in the green wrapping with the watermelon flavor like pineappleberrybanana or coconutsteakaloupe. My favorite pie has always been with strawberries but that's not allowed for thank-giving for some cocks and oxen reason like "Oh, strawberries don't grow this time of year." Sure pal. I'm sure the "cold weather" and "lack of sufficient sunlight" makes it really hard on the "warmth dependent" plantlings. I'm sure you can't make a pie out of "undeveloped" and "green" strawberries. But feh. Pies available this time that I would dare consume were of pumpkin and apple crumb persuasion. Apple crumb pie is just like regular apple pie except it greatly distresses Tintin. And... I'm done.

It hardly seems worth the trouble to continue dealing with this page, but I will anyway just because I've forgotten how to not be bothered by my neglecting it.

I heard that there's going to be some kind of law resembling object which will make the installation of security cameras into schools mandatory, state-funded, or something else which increases the likelihood of them showing up. I'm glad these watching machines were not present during my years in that sort of facility, because nothing makes me feel less safe than the presence of safety measures. What's worse, if you have an embarrassing itch, a sudden desire to dance, or pog forbid you become coo-coo for cocoa puffs, you may be afraid to deal with that for fear of who might witness such a thing. I do hope crimes, if they would absolutely have insisted on happening, will be aborted prematurely by the invasive electric eye. What I did find laughable among the list of things which would be prevented, however, was right at the end, "possible terrorist attacks." What, you think after everyone leaves Osama bin Laden is going to climb out of a garbage can and then you'll get him while he's setting up his Wile E Coyote tnt detonator? That's not impossible, just implausible. But you have to prepare for what you can't expect, right? No one who wasn't planning it expected hijacked airplanes hitting buildings who would admit it later, after all. Still, if a couple of those are heading toward Sister Hildegaard's Game Hunting class, by the time this is evident on your 4th divided screen monitoring the hallways where the last cigarettes were found it will probably be too late to do anything about.

No one will step on my flowers now!

I heard a song a few years ago. It would have had to be, because these days I see advertisements instead. But this song's primary message was, and I quote my memory: "You're so vain, you probably think this song is about you. Don't you. Don't you. Don't you." I don't consider it to count as a point for my vanity if the only reason i think your song is about me is because you won't stop adressing me, for merely by doing so you have made the song about me. I'm not vain, you're just a twit or very confused. Pay attention! Attention. Attention.

This one is abstract, I guess

Lies! Deception! I demand proof!

Aw naw. I'm about to be punted, aren't I.

Nothing new here today. Perhaps that's for the best. How are you being? Oh, really? Well, that's not a sincere question, anyway. No one ever waits for an answer when they ask that, I've noticed. I've been better, but I expect I will be worse. They don't like to hear that. Why do they ask? The next time someone says "how are you" while walking past me I'm going to throw a watermelon at that person's back and demand, if not that my answer be awaited, that the meaning of the question be explained to me. I will make friends with these people.

The Day Immediately Prior to Ankgiving, November 24, 2004
Coming along at number 8 on our list of tv's hottest leading men is a man that once helped Stella get her groove back

One of the finest moments in music of the 1990's... nay, ever, was Whoomp, There it is! AKA Woop, Dehh-Dehh! AKA The Only Song the Older Half of my combination Fourth/Fifth Grade Class Knew Besides 'Baby Got Back.' When I'm one day famous enough to be asked by Vh1 (note the 'enough') to recall my "favorite 'Whoomp' Moment," I will relate the following anecdote: My parents used to watch a show called Studs, and by used to watch I mean happened to be watching one time I needed to use the bathroom after being sent to my bed. On this occasion three women contestants were asked to write a phrase on a card that accurately described their mate partners. One of the women wrote "Whoomp, there it ain't" and another wrote "Whoomp there it isn't." Both received howlish noises from the allegedly necessary studio audience. I guess they're both winners. In the event you were wondering, the third player was a former Jaleco employee who wrote "Whomp, there it 'Em."

Be thankful there's only one of these.

Great gimpity that's a flash cartoon, isn't it. And not even the kind with a song in it. In the event I uploaded it successfully, permits remote linking and you're too curious for your own wellbeing, click there or here to wait for and play it now if you have fast internet or don't know what you're doing. Otherwise, in the interest of preventing [further] error, right click there, there, or here and seek out a save as type option to wait for now and presumably intend to watch later when no one can see you but actually entirely forget about altogether (recommended). Whatever the case, don't click the mushroom thing, because for testing purposes that would skip scenes, and for viewing purposes closing the window accomplishes that task more efficiently, I think.

Excuses, excuses:

Largely at fault for that going as far as it did and the subject matter is a great amount of encouragement from several people whom I do not at this point honestly believe have ever seen other flash cartoons. I would describe this as approximately six minutes of the kind of attention to detail in every wrong area that has kept my site traffic beneath tripod's bandwith limit for three years. And I did. The construction of the accursed thing took about 14 months, off and on, mostly off, because Flash editor is such a depressing thing to work with. I imagine this would be even more so had I actually purchased it. The large quantity of that time on was spent shifting frames to accomodate sound rerecordings and unexpected delays following mp3 conversion, and the reason that took so long is because Macromedia never intended for dumb cartoons to be made with their public access channel slide show editor.

I didn't realize until after 80% of the noises had been didded that some of them sound extra bad on other computers because my own computer's hardware is such that when playing back a flash document every noise sounds extra bad. I believe that were I to eventually succeed in fixing that and the seemingly random timing issues (oh and maybe making the mouths move) without having the police called over my "why do you keep hurting me" screams, it would take more months and not likely improve anyone's opinion of the overall product. Truly, every time I remedialize one error I notice a new one I didn't before but that which was surely there before. Is this worth the trouble? If you were powerful enough to watch that and still come back to read this, you will agree that it is not. After such a period I'm so sick of the whole pancake that even my Pac-in-Time page is starting to look like... my Back to the Forest Page. The story's not that great and doesn't even come to a conclusion. I had to abort it abruptly because the source file has surpassed 45 megabytes (a good half of it those wretched, not even necessary sounds, ironically) in size and taking four minutes to save. Contrary to what you might think, I do have other things to do. Some of them are important, even. I want to get this on the internet and out of my control not so much, then, in search of praise, but merely so I will no longer have excuses to waste life trying to make it presentable.

One final thing, I felt compelled to brand it at the end because these things can get around. Far be it from myself to waive the usual "everything I make is bad" clause, but I've seen some right abominable flash cartoons "get around." Maybe I can change the world after all.
Problem solved

One dumb scandal I can't figure out the persistence of (excluding my mentioning it just now) is that which is in regards to Ashilee of Simpson pretending to sing while appearing on some live saturday night show (Forgive me, I cannot recall its title). I can understand hating a marginally talented individual who is only popular and employed as a result of being related to someone else, especially if that someone else is his or herself only marginally talented or a murderer. I can accept despising a musicianist who plays no instruments, [occasionally] sings songs another wrote yet gets and accepts 100% of the recognition when things go right. I can fully support resenting some stupid kid who gets millions of dollars for not doing a whole lot and will probably spend it all on cars, shoes and gold toilet paper.
However, if the only reason you can come up with was that she thought she could get away with a trick that 80% of the other singers do on a show that no one even watches for the musical interludes, then you should be mad at the person in the sound control booth who pressed the wrong button. Who, I might add, I suspect did it on purpose.
Oh, oh, but at the end of the program Ashleigh Simpson blamed it on the band, right? 'Ey. If that had happened to Brittany Spirz she probably would have blamed it on Mexicans. If that had happened to Barbra Steisand she probably would have blamed it on Jews. If that had happened to Admiral Lavigne she probably would have blamed it on The Captain and Tenille. If that had happened to Milli Vanilli they probably would have blamed it on the rain (hey, what did happen to them, anyway?).
What would have been the alternative thing to do? Imagine you're the sort of person who'd agree to perform on national live television with the intent to not actually do that but have people believe you are. And then you have ten minutes to decide on apologizing or maybe getting out of apologizing after being found out. You'd probably take the chance if it was the sort of thing that the biggest consequence for failing to excuse yourself from was apologizing. If this is a career euthanizer, then it would have been either way. If you must go down, why not do so with artificial dignity? (assuming that any mishap you'd follow with a hoedown could be looked upon as dignified)

Ah-ha! I have an idea!


I hope the chef pictured on this box is a lie. He's making pizza, and not even good pizza. Maybe you toss it in the air a few times if you're special, but this was a product of quality just the slightest bit above "frozen," so if this guy is real then he's an overpaid moron. As a fictional character, he is just a moron. He puts on that ridiculous uniform and fake mustache to dump the contents of a tomato-product filled can on a circular lump of dough and cover it with a deluxe sized Kraft Single that's sure to depart every slice in one piece. Besides the usual, what is that on the pizza, anyway? It looks like a flock of kindergarten art class migrating birds. But see at the way chef man is holding the pizza section. The awkward hand position, the inedible angle, the fact that the cheese unit has very visibly begun to slide off. As a veteran pizza slice weilder, I know that such a weight shift would be obvious without looking, but yet this guy goes right on smiling, as if that's what he planned all along. What a lube job that guy is. He's probably not even legally allowed to leave his home. Box artist had to visit and draw him there.

I can only assume this salute to bad housekeeping hanging on one of the walls of the restaraunt was painted during the same trip. The image of overturned tea apparatus upon a disshevled tablecloth which would clearly be too small for the surface were the owner mentally capable of laying it properly, is only appropriate to be seen while dining if it relates directly in some way to the person who prepares the alleged edibles. Unless, of course, this is just a plot by the wait-staff to make me appreciate the laborious task that is setting a table for hand-held food consumption.

I know Solid Snake's around here somewhere. I definitely saw him go into this room!

What the pickle?! I just realized that anytime I referenced a file with ..\ it would load in internet explorer but not netscape, which will only accept ../ ! Wuh... making me change my alts to titles wasn't enough for ya?! By the way, I can't even get those to show up anymore. I'm tired of Mozilla developers' elitist "this is the right way to use that feature!" attitude. I'm not putting up with that from someone called Mo. You couldn't even be bothered to put the E at the end. By the way, Godzilla wasn't a god, so you're not even really a Mo, either. I bet you're just an M. Probably lowercase, too. Or maybe one of those little Ms that designated my sixth grade calculator remembered a number. Congratulations m, you remembered one number. 9999999, I'll wager. How ironic that if I were only to press +1 you would at last have the e you have so long sought! But I shan't! I sha not! I shan't! The boot is on the other foot, my friend! Also, the patch is on the other eye, the peg is on the other leg, and the hook is on the other arm! Yes indeedilybob, there is no denying the pirate has definitely looked in the mirror this time!

Oh, we must give text browser people textual alternatives for the pictures mustn't we! Not I! If you come to this page with a text browser, then for the purposes of my IMGs I hate you because all I do is talk about pictures anyway. And if you're surfin' the web on your telephone or pocket-watch or microwave oven or whatever-have-you then I hate you also whether it affects my pictures or doesn't. And I like being able to have stupid concealed messages and also alert potential viewers to their presence at the same time without explicitly saying so. And if you're blind or something and, as absurd as it sounds to me, actually making constructive use of text to speech synthesis, then no doubt my recent entry dividing system will utterly befuddle you, so I advise you to proceed no further.

The legends are true! After so many years of searching, at last I've discovered the secret Tomagotchi burial ground!

I hear that the old, dirty bastardly fellow is dead now. I don't think it should have surprised anyone, he was old, after all. The hygeine issue couldn't have helped the aged immune system, either.

Friday, November 19, 2004
Please check your inventory if you decide to skip

Here is a story. It's not quite so long as the one about cookies I posted a few months ago, but I think its message is every bit as important, if not more so.
Also, it has a title.

Alex Trebek forgets how to play Jeopardy

Alex Trebek:"This Reinhold's first name was Judge, despite the fact that he wasn't really a judge. His parents must have been morons. . . . Glibix?"
Glibix Jellostein:"Who is 'Judge Reinhold?'"
"I'm sorry, I'm not allowed to tell you that."
"I wasn't asking."
"it sounded a lot like you were trying to trick me into telling you what the answer is"
"No, I was telling you, except in the form of a question. That's how the game is played."
"Is it? I had quite forgotten."

The End of That

The invasion of sideways jellyfish! Just like Nostrodamus said!

I presented an item an amount over two month-length-periods ago through which I implied that Paul Schaffer may be part goat. However, it has since occured to me that he is more bird-like. Not just in voice, but also head movement. Although I made citation then to another page not my doing in which it is implied that Paul Schaffer distributes an illicit substance known as kwak, perhaps Paul Schaffer just likes to say quack. More on this as I lose further connection with things that matter.

we must do what we can to protect what remains of the ascii rain forests

if vests exist for a reason, then surely this use is mocking that.

I hate the way Wal-Mart hijacks other advertisements to make it seem like they made something they didn't and additionally save themselves a couple of dollars on cue-cards. All they do is film an incorrigible dork saying generic Wal-Marty things without naming a product, while standing in front of a display shelf of items unidentifiable from the distance so that this can be reused for several different ads, and then they'll show the same clips of whatever the popular video games without Guns 'n Roses in them are that the normal ads use. Currently they're doing this for a game called Ratchet and Clink up your arsenal, which I mention in title only to point out that, despite banning the acknowledgement of entire music albums over the presence of swear words, Wal-Mart now repeatedly airs a commercial message with their own name on it that several times accuses both Clink and Ratchet of venturing to up your arsenal. I am sure this is the intended interpretation, because an arsenal is not a thing you can clink up. Unless you're some kind of weird robot and that describes the sound you make, but I'd rather not consider that unless I feel like updating this page, which I don't. The Wal-Martians may have saved themselves from me had the clips they stole not featured the game's logo, for otherwise I may just have assumed they were declaring the very thought of it null.

Friday, November 12, 2004
Would the Allman Brothers have to change their name if one of them became a transvestite?

Since it can perennially be said that whatever I used to write is less bad than what I currently write, it is fortunate that I forget about a lot of it until later when it will look good in comparison to things I wrote more recently but did not forget about. That probably isn't the case here.

The Sea-Biscuit dvd, what a waste of atoms that is. All these yokes going on about why they made the movie. They need to do this because if I met any of them, "why" would certainly be my first question. And they're off, trying to justify spending --when there are people having legs amputated because they can't afford the surgery to fix it (note, may just refer to cats)-- xn million dollars on the story of a long dead horse that could, and this will shock you, RUN FAST. Wow. According to some hwahdoo with nothing else to say, that regarding figures most written about (assumingly by United Statians) in The Thirties, 1 is Seabisquick, 2 is President Roosevelt and 3 is that Hitler. Now let's say we rank these in order of actual historical significance, we get Hitler, Roosevelt, and at number 37 million is Skeeballski, right behind the anonymous author of the document which went on to inspire Roller-Jam. My use of "significance" is not to exhibit Hitlervian fandom, but instead to point out that if six million people die due to a dumb wager you made, that would be your fault, rather than that of the horse who runs around in a circle.
If this remarkably average equestrian is so important, why had I never heard a thing until the movie was made? Even Kangaroo Jack I knew about a few months in advance.
Now that I've thought of it, I do recall seeing one episode of a cartoon with a horse named "Teabiscuit" in it. I can't remember what cartoon it was, only that this was the very worst episode of it that I had seen.

"They," who remain nameless for any reason you want, say this Adriatic dog treat "captured the hearts" or "inspired the nation." Surely, I am sure, there was a good 75% of depression era wrist-slitters who seriously did not phreego about it. No exact figure of enjoyers is given by anyone, but as long as it's a higher number, for any amount of time, than the most amount of morons enthralled by any other pointless watchable thing, then they're a majority. Think of this: How many dweebens watched American Idol, really? Probably even more than the horse. If some jujubrained mongoose tried to make a movie seventy years from now about a small group of idiots repeat speed-dial voting for yet one more whiny singer (by the way, the loser gets an album too), the same national heart imprisonment could be claimed, it would be just as not true, and such a proclomation would be just as uncontested.

For incompetent druids

There's a thing going around right now, for the movie The Polar Express, assumedly an accurate adaptation of the unforgivably mediocre book of the same name. It is done with more of that ground/soul breaking fweedee computer animation, but since it's suppposed to be realistic idiocy, instead of the usual "I can't wait to get my bag of candy!" announcer it has the guy who usually shills off for stuff I'm supposed to want to see because it has award nominees in it but never, ever would like Pay it Forward and As Good as it Gets and A Beautiful Mind and the legendary K-Pax. This guy who always sounds to be nearly out of breath, perhaps as if to seem like he's just had some kind of miraculous life-changing experience from watching over-hyped movies, but I suspect is just coming off his biggest cocaine high ever. Ehhhnyway, while some whiny pretensious music plays he speaks up and says "Tom Hanks, the Polar Express." Nothing else. What does that mean? Tom Hanks IS the Polar Express? That sentence fragment doesn't say he's in the movie. It merely acknowledges the concept of Tom Hanks, so all we know is that maybe he exists. I hope that's not to imply that he talks in the show, because no one else is named, so that means he does all the voices, and the only voice I've ever heard him speak in besides the normal one is Forrest Gump, and I fear for the world if there is a bored room full of influential millionnaires who all believe Amelica needs a film where half the characters talk like Forrest Gump.

There are people who really believe in that lids saving lives bit, it seems. I read a random comment on a very pro-jogurt message board by someone claiming to have been "saving since march." Isn't that some kind of health hazard? Those things still have bits of yoghourt on them. There must be some microscopic organism with standards low enough to go after that. And if you put the lids in your refrigerator... I hope you live alone, both for the sake of you and the person you don't live with. I also hope you don't get drunk (as you frequently do), go looking for a snack, and think they're big pink pringles. Actually, you probably deserve that if you were blatantly licking the wretched things in public. And you have to lick them. Yoplait will know if you didn't. They'll keep that precious pair of nickels if they don't detect human dna on each and every one of those.

I really should apologize for my last keyboard symbol-based divider. Isn't it a such a shame, then, that I'm not going to?

I don't like that "'blog" gets said out loud by real people. It's a needless abbreviation of weblog, as the people I hear saying it always pause before doing so (because they must surely also think it sounds stupid), so no time is saved. Pause or not, I can't respect "respected" newsdopes if they're using words that begin with apostrophes. That's the real reason Tom Brokaw's steppin' dahn. He doesn't want to be around when commercial breaks are made obsolete by pop-up technology. Yes, and instead of pledge drives public television will have paypal* whine drives. Premium channels will be available in free "demo" versions that only show the first three minutes of programs and then not at all after fifteen days. If you lose your remote control object and ever manually scroll past a scrambled porn channel, then guess what: that will be the first thing that comes up every time you turn on your television because of a security flaw in msnbc. Whoopth.

*paypal, so named, because those who attempt to employ it first ask themselves: my real pals will pay me, right?

For small druids
For outsize druids
For medium druids
For large druids

I was thinking about that AOL/Belindi report card thing again, just because I'm not allowed to think about things I like. Many questions came to me, going even beyond "why bother?" Will some "students" receive bad marks if they attempt to participate in a chatroom above their grade level, or will Belindi faculty make sure only kids the same age are allowed to socialize? Will ones who don't go to any chatrooms at all be given "u" or "n" grades? Will special needs chatters be prohibited from chatting in maximized windows? When you've typed a message, do you need to raise your arm and wait to be called on before pressing enter? Would copy and pasting someone else's text be considered cheating? Will notes from the moderators suggest underachieving chatters have merely not been applying themselves? Why do I think this card will neglect to report on language arts and spelling? Will we eventually be seeing cars bearing bumper stickers with, printed upon them, "My child is an AOL honor student?" Will these people still not impress anyone else?

Bicentennial Man sez:
Greetings, I am Bicentennial Man. I have come from the future to warn you: Do not make the movie Bicentennial Man! The only thing scarier than American filmmakers' idea of what androids should look like are ones which specifically resemble Robin Williams. What's worse, the idea of everyone dying except this robot. With the possible exception of that wench from the Pepsi ads. But anyway. I could not control who I was made to look like. However, you can make sure a movie about it never comes into existence. Isaac Asimov fell dead in 1992. You had plenty of time to interpret his works before then, but now it is too late. I do not trust you. You'd probably hire that crackbaby Chris Columbus to write the screenplay. Don't try I, Robot, either, please. Armies of creepy Hollywood human-faced robots? I would shudder at the thought of it were I programmed to do so. Also: Make sure Canada begins their time travel research before 2002, for that's the only way the technology will be ready in time for me to come back and warn you.

Bicentennial Man
Note: The above message does not represent the thoughts or words of Bicentennial Man, but in fact future society in general.

What's that BEHIND YOU?!     Oh, it's just another archive page. As is this.