Category: News

This morning, coming back from a little over two weeks without using a computer, I took the opportunity to clean out my hotmail. Now, as you may or my not know, depending on whether or not I have told you, I receive quite a large amount of spam. My hotmail inbox runs the gamut from “win a flat screen TV!” to “boost cell phone reception” to “Free porn in your email” from Amazing_Ass_Amanda. Wow.

Now, a normal person might question why I even keep a hotmail account, especially when that question is bolstered by the fact that no one that I know has sent a message to that account in years. But, then again, that person might also question why I wrapped their head in duct tape and buried them in the trench I dug in my basement. Some questions just don’t need answers.

And some questions do. Like the question that arose when I saw this:

Mike Tyson sex video. Now, although it has never been my thing, I can roughly understand the appeal to the many types of porn saturating the market today. Farm sluts and the pony, bondage, bla bla blah, the list goes on.

But why, in the name of all that is holy, would anyone ever, ever want to see that toothless hillbilly mike tyson in a sex video. There are some things better left to the imagination, and there are some thing better left to rot in the abyss of hell. The image of Mike Tyson’s toothless grin in a gaysex video with Don King is one of them.

Holy crap. A motorbike with a Viper V-10. That thing gives a whole new meaning to the term “crotch rocket.” I don’t see how they’ll ever sell one of these; the thing has a “Terminator 3” aesthetic, but probably costs somewhere in the vicinity of the guy with a “crusty old businessman” aesthetic. And even if some kid gets a hold of one, imagine the insurance on the thing:

“No, sir, your premium does not go down after you turn 25, or if you get married, or paint it white. We’re just going to charge you a couple grand for every mile you put on the tachometer.” Or odometer. You know what I mean.

Solo, it looks like you might be able to buy a Viper now. Or at least the engine.

The consulting company I’m doing some jobs for sent me a real basketcase of a client this week. She just wanted some really simple changes done to her database structure, so it didn’t take me long to finish it. Although “not too long” is “far too long” in bitchese, so I had to deal with fun expletives and such because the project was a couple of hours behind schedule. After that, she seemed satisfied. However, on New Years she begins screaming because she’s having some sort of problem publishing with her WYSIWYG program. So she’s on the phone with the guy who got me the work, and he’s listening to her bitch and moan about how if we can’t get this small job done right, how are we supposed to handle bigger clients. She doesn’t quite get the fact that HomeSite is software that we didn’t write, nor do we have to support. When her husband (a bigwig at a software company, who’s recurring business we would really enjoy) gets on the phone to hear our side of the tale, his wife is still screaming in the background. Here is the word-for-word dialogue that ensued:

The Husband: “HONEY. I’m trying to talk to the man, and I can’t do that with you yelling into my ear about things you don’t understand!”
Consultant: “Listen, we’ll help you out on this one no problem, which is exactly what I told her. Don’t take offense by me saying so, but your wife is a little wound up.”
The Husband: *whispers* “You don’t have to tell me pal, I married the bitch.”

Classic. Just classic. The best bit is that the woman was apparently trying to change records in the database via her WYSIWYG program. I tried explaining the difference between publishing a static HTML page and modifying a database record, but that lasted all of five incredibly inane minutes. Instead, I had her assistant get on the phone, who seemed to understand that changing the record via the handy-dandy web interface was a much more intelligent approach. I think I’ll change her to my primary contact over there from now on. I wonder if she can sign off on billing as well?

That tagline isn’t some sort of egotistical bullshit, it’s just something that ran through my grey matter in a drunkened stupor on this fine Friday evening. Although since most of my drunkened stupors involve egotistical delusions of grandeur, I may have just contradicted myself. No matter, I only logged on to let off a little creative steam, so bear with me. It’s going to get bumpy.

First off, I did not get my Wacom tablet the other day. I fear that Frys has once again broken my heart and slept with my best friend behind my back. Once I got home, however, buyer’s lust wore off and my knack for blatently cheap consumerism kicked back into gear. I logged onto eBay, and found the 6×8 Intuos 2 tablet for 80 bucks less than Fry’s had it. That’s a mere 80 bucks higher than the 4×5 version that I was going to buy, but what the fuck, if debt calls me, I come running with firecrackers Goddammit! If Paypal stops being a dick about its confirmed address bullshit, it should be here in a week. In the meantime I will make due with my deliciously sweet Logitech Elite Cordless Duo keyboard/mouse combo. Hot diggetty damn, I can surf for porn from my bed again! … I mean… I can post and do businesslike tasks from my bed again… with my pants off.

Moving right along, I have this problem. On the way back to Orange County from Palm Springs, there are hundreds upon hundreds of billboards advertising everything from retirement communities to strip joints. Actually, upon reflection, damn near 95% of the billboard content is distributed amongst those two growth industries, but I digress. There is one sign that haunts, nay, plagues my dreams and daydreams alike. I have passed it dozens of times, and each time have lamented my incompetence in remembering to grab the camera. Well, last week my girlfriend had enough of my bitching and turned the car around. And now, I present to you ladies and gentlemen, the greatest and most terrible billboard ever created:

Fuck me with the Olsen twins, that is the worst bit of advertising I have ever seen. This guy needs to hire an ad exec post haste, before he scares the living bejeezus out of any more future clientele. Seems like somebody took an example of Megan’s law and stuck it on a huge sign for everyone to see. I already know that I don’t want to ever see the fucker, and all I know of him is a billboard sandwiched between some law firm and an ad for amateur night at “Showgirls Riverside”.

I only wish I had a bigger picture. It would be a grand wallpaper to remind me of the fact that there are worse things in this world than Dell TV spots and Michael Bay films. And that thing, my friends, is Kathie Lee Gifford. Oh, and maybe Harpo the Clown making sweet love to Kathie Lee Gifford, but that’s just my overactive imagination trying to drive me past the point of insanity and into the realm of egotistical megalomania. Which of course brings us full circle back to the title of this post. Hooray for happy endings.

If you haven’t heard by now (which I hadn’t until about 3 weeks ago) there is a Britney Spears/Anna K Sex Tape supposedly made. My store managers have been debating the reality of such a video, but more importantly, where to get one.

I’m assuming you guys have just put me on your ‘people to give gifts to that you don’t know very well’ list. So let’s get cracking on that, shall we?

In other news, your friendly neighborhood Spiffie McLure has won the latest photoshop challenge in the latest poll. I’m only mentioning his name once, though. He used a picture in the new contest that I specifically barred from the immortal Imagery forum. Fortunately for him, the main picture to be abused was a Star Trek pic. So set your phasers to laugh and…uh….beam me up….scotty…..

….mini-me likes chocolate…scotty don’t!!!

If any of you fools think you have what it takes to play in big boy clone games go here and read the rules.

ok…i’m going to bed….

Every now and again I like to peruse the police log of my city, which has made #1 on the safest cities in America list a few times, if I recall. We’re still in the top ten, at least I know that. What’s funny is, you’d think we’re some kind of shitty po’dunk town that is cut off from normal human civilization. Not true. In fact, we’ve got shopping centers coming out our asses, one of the largest movie theatres on the planet (was #1 for the first few years it was open) and a shitload of money running through the town. There’s a Starbucks on every corner, and more bored teens smokin’ the weed than Dick Clark has rings on his trunk. Not a bustling metropolis, that’s true, but hardly competition for Hooterville.

However, I will admit that for a town with so much shit crammed into it, this place is a tad boring. Especially when you look at the police reports. Let’s take a look at the highlights, shall we?

Tuesday, December 3 1:42 p.m. Manic depressive not taking medication, transported out of city
— I shit you not, this is the police code for “We found a bum. We dropped him off in Costa Mesa where he belongs.” Ask anyone, you can see a bum at a freeway on ramp on your way to McDonalds, and on your way back he’s being loaded into a police cruiser. I want to be a cop in this town, the donut intake must be awe-inspiring.

Friday, December 6 3:17 p.m. Criminal threat; unknown suspect threatened to hit victim’s head in with a baseball bat, suspect possibly from rival advertising company; Valpak on Business Center Drive.
–Being that a lot of rich retards with no clue as to what to do with their inherited wealth exist in this town, it must be a pretty brutal industry. If you’ve ever seen the ValPak commercials where the little envelope guy dances around, then you comprehend the amazing visual I have of a white collar ad exec threatening to beat a cartoon envelope. But then again, I’m drunk and you, most likely, are not.

Friday, December 13 7:10 p.m. Grand theft commercial; $1,000 worth of hand tools taken from IMAX projection room; Edwards Cinema on Fortune.
— I’m surprised I didn’t hear about this one before now. I know the manager and the projectionists very well. Matter of fact, so do you. But I digress…

Saturday, December 14 5:42 p.m. Battery; 51-year-old male suspect pushed 10-year-old victim; Edwards on Jamboree.
— Yes, this is the sad level of courage that is exuded amongst the more aged Republicans around here that I aspire to become. *sigh*

Basically, if you read through the reports, you’ll see a shitload of the following: fake IDs, Identity thefts, and marijuana possession. The three top crimes in the city last month were two rapes and an armed robbery at one of the numerous Blockbuster Video stores. Not to trivialize the rapes, those are pretty Goddamn terrible, but those are the extent of criminal activity in our town? No wonder all the kids get bored, smoke weed, and ironically wind up on this police log.

The best bit is, I’ve no doubt been on that log myself once or twice. Last month there was a big hubbub concerning teens that were dropping water balloons onto cars from overhead walkways on residential streets. Seems like the whole damn place is going down the shitter. Next thing you know they’ll allow more than three black people into the town! *GASP* BTW, my good friend Tracer Bullet is one of those esteemed three, and that’s only because he has a white momma. I live in Pleasantville, only instead of black and white wholesome teens, there are a lot of Asian sluts. Rock.

I’m drunk enough to sleep now. Night night.

Im on my way to the Devils playground, aka Frys, to pick up a new Wacom tablet so I can do more fun things for my loyal readers, like you. I know, who gives a shit, right? I dunno, but I felt kind of like I was neglecting you. So here, feel some digital love.

I hope you had a pleasant stay in the wonderful year of the two thousand and two. Because next year is just going to be more of the same, with the same people ruining our lives. Not that I’m bitter about John Ashcroft tracking me down and branding my ass with a UPC code, just in case I might decide to maybe someday imply with a knowing wink to a co-worker of mine that, yes, his mother probably smells funny.

But enough of that. We’ve got so much to look forward to! I just can’t wait until I get laid off. Then that will free up plenty of time for me to join the Army, since I know without a doubt that business will be booming.

At least I had three good CD’s that came out this year to listen to (Trail of Dead, QOTSA, Sleater-Kinney). Too bad the RIAA will erase my hard drive because they have it on good authority that I might have probably kinda downloaded them off, what’s that thing called? Napster? No, out of business; the RIAA already erased their hard drives. Luckily, with Total Information Awareness, they’ll be able to check my credit card account and see that yes, I did buy those CD’s. Then they can just throw me in jail for something else I did. I’m sure that I already got a red flag on my dossier from not being married, yet ordering a economy sized box of condoms. It says “sexual deviant” right under “doesn’t pay his parking tickets.”

Remember kids, even you can be a cynic. It’s not even hard anymore.

No, that’s not a chunk of Engrish, and it’s certainly not a AYBABTU quote. It’s actually a piece of text from a remarkable Portugese-English phrasebook entitled “English As She is Spoke”. I’m quite sure that I’ll be temporarily replacing Orion as King Of Old News with this one, but those of you in the dark regarding this delightfully retarded piece of literary history will thank me. Especially once you check out excerpts from the book. If I haven’t convinced you, here’s a bit from Yahoo about the delicious nature of this book.

In 1855, Jose da Fonseca and Pedro Carolino sat down to write an English phrasebook for Portuguese students. There was just one problem: they didn’t know English. Even worse, they didn’t own an English-to-Portuguese dictionary. What they did have, though, was a Portuguese-to-French dictionary and a French-to-English dictionary. Perhaps the worst foreign phrasebook ever written, the resulting linguistic train wreck was first published in 1855 and became a classic of unintentional humor. Armed with Fonseca and Carolino’s guide, a Portuguese traveler could complain about his writing implements (“This pen are good for notting”), insult a barber (“What news tell me? all hairs dresser are newsmonger”), complain about the orchestra (“It is a noise which to cleave the head”), go hunting (“Let aim it! let make fire him!”), and consult a handy selection of truly mystifying Idiotisms and Proverbs (“Nothing some money nothing of Swiss.”) Mark Twain, prefacing an American edition, marveled of its “miraculous stupidities” that “Nobody can add to the absurdity of this book, nobody can imitate it successfully, nobody can hope to produce its fellow; it is perfect.”

First person to find me a cheap, available copy of the book gets uh… I dunno, a free custom title/pie forum access or a plug or something. Or I might even publicly berate your stupidity right here, absolutely free. And as a bonus, we’ll send you an 8×10 of your ascii-based verbal flogging, suitable for framing. Won’t Mom be proud?

I have concocted a new alcoholic beverage, which I must now share with you. However, I must warn you that this new drink, while tasty and incredibly potent, is also very dangerous. In fact, I am convinced that this drink’s sole purpose is to get the drinker quickly intoxicated, and then into the bathroom to make an offering to the porcelein god. I made this drink as a tasty treat for the lil’ woman and I, and while we both found it quite the culinary delight, about one hour later our stomachs were not quite the pinnacle of fortification. Let me run down the ingredients, and I will share my theories on why such a disturbing gastrointestinal response occurred.

Drink Recipe: “Kill ‘Em With Kindness” (I take great pride in the cleverness of that name)

Ingredients:
2 shots Vodka
4-5 shots Irish Creme, I recommend a caramel flavor in leiu of Baileys
3 shots Maple Syrup
5-6 shots Milk

This is a spinoff of the delicious White Russian. I had a friend who liked popping a half shot of Hershey’s syrup into one to make it into a more dessert type drink, and I felt like feeding one to the girlfriend as a sort of frou-frou delicacy. When faced with a critical lack of ingredients, namely the Hershey’s syrup, I improvised. I knew that caramel and maple syrup ran pretty close together on the taste scale, so I threw a shot or two into the mix. What do you know, all of the sudden the drink took on an entirely different flavor. Even I was impressed enough to partake in a couple of these delicious drinks. However, the vomit reflex an hour later was no doubt attributed to the massive amounts of maple syrup now floating in my system. These ingredients, while tasty, are a volatile mixture. Use only on those who you would enjoy watching puke their dinner into the toilet. Happy trails.

I know. It sounds gross, but trust me, it tasted great. Basically you put in the two shots of vodka into a good sized glass with two ice cubes. Then you fill the glass to halfway with the creme liquer. Then add the few shots of maple syrup, stir vigorously so the syrup doesnt coat the bottom, then fill it almost to the top with milk. Then taste it. If it seems to have not enough vodka, add that. Not enough sweetness, add liquer and syrup. Serve, and enjoy as your friends get plastered very quickly, and sent to the toilet with the same swiftness.