BAMF

After a nice golf weekend out of town, I hopped back online and decided to check the news. I originally wanted to find out more about that cop who shot that family’s dog, which everyone seems to have blown way out of proportion. I love dogs. I have a big ol’ soft spot in this cold little heart for canines, but I gotta say that the guy’s not exactly evil. A tad nervous with the trigger, yes, but personally I think the guy did his unpleasant job to the best of his abilities. One mistake in the field and he’s fodder for the steaming masses of hatred that swells in the belly of America. I salute you pal, and don’t worry, our attention spans last about as long as your average celebrity wedding.

Hmm. I didn’t mean to go off on a tangeant about that story, I was actually planning on posting a couple of lines about how I randomly stumbled upon this site, which contains plenty of images worthy of Photoshoppin’ and that Triumph the Dog vs. Star Wars Geeks video. This one’s my personal favorite. If any of you have any random websites with open directories like this, please share.

A lot of people may be experiencing the same general malaise towards the Internet as I have lately. The rest of you may be wondering why, in an age of enlightenment-at-your-fingertips, I feel so (as FaaQ put it yesterday) disenfranchised with the whole damned thing. I am now prepared to give you one good reason.

By the way, this guy looks like he should be an office manager for a large scale shipping company. Or, perhaps, a theater projectionist. My projectionists friends would easily agree with this one. Hell, he could even wear his fetish-gear to work. Remember kids, while you’re watching Harry Potter, he’s watching you. And he’s doing this.

Well, I didn’t want to talk about her, but you people have forced my hand. There’s a little Asian chick out there who’s looking for nerds like you and I to fund her boob job. I personally find her entrepreneurial spirit to be a breath of fresh air. Especially when I hear things like this:

Warning: There are no ‘nudes’ here (I’m not that kind of girl!!). I will consider posting a tasteful topless photo if this site succeeds and I get new boobs.

Way to go sweetcheeks. Thousands of horny Asian fetishists will wager a buck on whether or not you’ll let the funbags out once they’ve been Super-Sized.

Personally, I’m not a fan of fakies, but you’ve gotta admire her spirit. Besides, she’s probably not going to get her tits upgraded anyway. She’s probably not even a woman, so I tip my bottle of NyQuil to another ingenious scam. G’night all.

…but it is the new year. And while I really do hate to admit it, Apple seems to be consistently putting out more and more cool shit. Today they unveiled (or at least, today I took notice of) their incredibly smoove 17″ Powerbook. Take a look:

Jeez, it’s becoming harder and harder to be a PC enthusiast these days. They run image and video editing apps like a Ferarri and have screens that make me want to commit autoerotic asphyxiation. Now all they have to work on is the games, and getting the prices out of the laughable level (which they seem to be trying to accomplish) and I’ll be sold. Besides, their ads have adorable girls that make nerds like us swoon, whereas we have casting call rejects for the new season of My Favorite Moron. Maybe we think we’re too infallible. After all, we are enthusiasts of Windows, the most mind numbingly anger-provoking OS on the market.

*looks at widescreen powerbook again*

Uh… what were we talking about?

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.