Category: News

I don’t want to speak too soon, but according to the official court document in my hands, I won my court case. Porn seems like an excellent investment these days, don’t you think?

Jen sent me this link just now and I found it pretty amusing. I don’t feel like quoting any of it, but for some reason I can easily picture Sharkey with a paintball gun going Pie Hunting….

I know, you missed me yesterday. Unfortunately the near-death of the home machine coupled with my legal hassles have left me a little bit behind on damn near everything. But now I’ve hucked a new 120 Gig monster in this thing and I’m back in business.

But enough about me, let’s talk about guys with dinky wangs. Like the poor fella in this story, which was sent to me by John, who’s wang is no business of mine.

The victim testified that she and Peters were sipping tea after he finished installing a deadbolt lock when she saw Peters’ semi-erect penis sticking three inches past the bottom of his shorts.

That’s impossible, according to defense attorney Gary Asteak. “She’s mistaken,” Asteak said. “He’s not that big.”

According to Asteak, physician Eric Schoeppner examined Peters and found his penis is only 1 inches long when flaccid and four inches erect.

You know what’s funny? That could be the newer, more pathetic version of the infamous South Park “Chewbacca defense.” Matter of fact, it’s just like the Chinpokomon episode of South Park. Odd, usually it’s The Simpsons that covers this kind of ground. Anyway, good for you on your legal maneuver, dinky wang man.

By the way, I’m sure it’s been linkified all to Hell and back (since 80 people emailed it to me), but a tug on the junk a day keeps the cancer at bay. Or something even more witty. I guess this means that if you have male friends, you should forward them to Sliceoftheday immediately, just to show how much you care. And then get back to work, sinner.

In the waiting room again, across from the former employer. Wish me luck.

*crosses fingers*

*UPDATE*

Well, I think that went well. I state that I think it went well because I won’t know for about two weeks. The lady could have at least given a percentage on whether or not she thought myself or the company would win. Instead she wrote a lot of stuff down on a jumbo legal pad and remained rather indifferent to either side’s case. She did, however, get rather perturbed when my former employer kept interjecting out of turn, and generally giving 5-paragraph answers to yes/no questions. I gave it my best shot though, and I put the screws right back at ’em so let’s just hope that I’m found to be non-exempt, and that my times were not exaggerated.

I guess in two weeks we’ll know whether or not I’m going to pay more taxes this year. Or would it go retroactively towards last year’s return? Oh well, never count your asses before they’re tapped.

Or the hearing officer, to be more exact. My court date is today. No, dear reader, I am not going before the gavel to defend my innocence. Today I am pleading my case to the Division of Labor Standards Enforcement against my former employer for unpaid overtime wages. It’s for a good chunk of change (all legit, mind you) and they’ve tried to make it clear to me that if I lose, they’ll try everything in their power to find a way to sue me for lawyer fees, etc. I don’t think that’s possible in these cases, but who knows. Everybody seems to think that I’ll win it with minimal hassle, but I don’t buy into their optimism until I see the money in my hand and the smile on my mug.

Wish me luck in my fight against the man today. I’m about to strap on my Sunday’s best and go get my litigation on.

Hey, lookee what I found in my inbox! A slice! From Peaches! And I have no idea who she is, but she’s fucking caliente! Have some Leonor Varela.

So now you can all stop your crying. Except those of you who’s father did run out on you when you were 4, in which case, I’m sorry.

…sorry that your father sired such a fucking whiner. Stop living in the past, man.

So it took awhile, but one of the lovely virii (of which there are hundreds daily) that have been fired at my main machine broke through the firewall borders and antivirus cannons and struck hard. Now with the lexan windows and super-trendy glowing lights and fans, my machine has effectively become the prettiest, most expensive, and least energy efficient dual monitor paperweight in the county. That, coupled with my lack of broadband at my place in HB, makes the inner Shark want to cry like Harry Knowles when the Sizzler’s all-you-can-eat buffet closes. Thankfully I can still make the twenty minute commute back to the old place with my laptop, so that I can once again browse in harmony.

The real bummer is on your hands, however, as the new slices for the next month or so are now trapped in virus Hell. So until I can get a free moment to cleanse the scourge of evil from my machine, you’ll have to make due by yourself. I know, it’s sad, but at least you can go play Solo’s Fuck/Marry/Kill game. It’s fun, especially if you even for one second let your pathetic mind beleive that you could ever possibly have a chance to do any of those three things to any woman on that list. Although for some, I wish you could accomplish the latter, but we all know that you wont. You big fucking pussy, your Daddy was right to run out on you when you were 4. Going out for milk, my ass.

Oh stop crying, you big baby. That’s why Daddy drank in the first place.

Can’t talk long. Forgot cord, laptop battery dying after 30 minute virus-riddled SPAM download. So on to the important stuff:

Moved to temporary digs down in Huntington Beach for the next two months. Literally five minute walk to hot chicks in strings that they like to call bikinis. Also live in an apartment community stuffed to the brim with said trim. (ooh, wordsmithy)

No internet access at said apartment, hence the hurried posting and lack of communications. Fixing that ASAP.

Oh yeah, this is pretty funny, and sad, and then funny again. The officer in question probably took one look at the guy and figured that nobody would really miss him. And with that piece of karmic damnation, I bid you adieu.

It would be even funnier if this was one of those fat camps: [ Summer Camp Turns Into “Fight Camp” ]

Police in Virginia are investigating claims from about two dozen kids that summer camp counselors arranged fistfights between young campers and even charged admission to see the brawls.

Franklin County Sheriff Quint Overton said this week that kids ages 9 to 13 were told to lie to their parents about the fights after several campers suffered black eyes and one broke his hand at a 4-H summer camp. The counselors allegedly also allowed betting on the fights.

My summer camps weren’t anywhere near that cool. We just sat around playing freeze tag and shit. Although you shouldn’t knock freeze tag, it is a game of superior kickassness. But I’m sure that you’ll all agree that between learning to trounce a kid twice your size and the ability to freeze in place like an asshole for minutes at a time, the mighty beat-down is going to be more useful in junior high.

What’s really sad is that I can hear hundreds of you nerds cracking your knuckles out there, daydreaming of going back to the bully who terrorized your childhood and knocking his teeth in after an 8-week trip to Camp Kickass. It’s sad, because all you would’ve learned at Camp Kickass is how to take an effective beating. I mean I know David & Golliath is a popular story, but I’ve got news for you: David had a rock, all you’ve probably got is asthma.

So basically, Stonehenge is a stone vagina. But now that they’ve identified it, scientists are going to have to take it out to a nice dinner every once in awhile to get any results from it. And about once a month, I’d reccommend that tourists steer clear.