BAMF

I do not agree with today’s slice, I merely oblige those of you who actually want to see Stacey Ferguson (Fergie of the Blackeyed Peas to you and me) in various states of undress. So enjoy it, you sick freaks.

Meh.

Like many others, I was quite disappointed in the cancellation of Mystery Science Theater 3000. But then a few weeks ago, Bongweasel informed me that Mike J Nelson was ressurrecting the spirit of the show in a new format, called RiffTrax. RiffTrax are cheap downloadable mp3 formatted audio tracks that you listen to while watching the appropriate DVD. This pretty much throws out any issues with troublesome licensing fees and lawsuits, in exchange for a slight bit of user annoyance. The Trax are between $2-3, which is a pretty good deal. Especially if you are into internet piracy, which as we all know is the mailroom level in the pirate corporate lifestyle.

Mike’s site also pointed out that you can watch Night Of The Living Dead for free on Google Video, so don’t say I never give you anything. And if you’re literate enough to read beyond the SOTD post level, you might want to try Nelson’s Mind Over Matters, which is excellently random and simultaneously hilarious. I just found out that his fiction novel, Death Rat! has also been published, so I’ll have to check that out as well.

Until that “Hogan Knows Best” show came along, I had no idea that a fellow like the Hulkster could produce mildly attractive offspring. To celebrate this fact, we’ve finally got a gallery of his daughter Brooke Hogan. Thankfully she doesn’t have her father’s arms, chest, or baldness.

If I ever brought her to orgasm, I’d totally move from each side of the bed to the other doing that “I can’t hear you” move that the Hulkster used to always pull on the crowd. Then she’d bodyslam me and throw me out the door. But it’d be worth it.

I volunteered to stick around and wait for a Comcast technician to come down and install a cable modem at my girlfriends place this morning. Boy oh boy am I glad I did that. The tecn was scheduled for 9AM, and promptly arrived right on time at 11:05. I sat around playing Sim City on the old SNES I brought over (3D games make the girl sick) and after about 2 years of commerce had passed, he loudly lamented that he was not getting any “Internet through Internet Explorer.” At this point he called the support line, and I went along my merry way.

After another few years of development and muffled Spanish cursing on his part, I decided to pay a bit more attention. He stepped away from the machine and stated that it was a shitty thing to happen on his third day on the job. Great. He also informed me that he was not a “computer kinda guy” but that he was well informed on the “basic stuff.” Basic stuff being checking the internet options, and clearing the temporary internet files, which was useless considering that the computer was just purchased a week ago and had never experienced the vast tubes of the interweb.

I’ll spare the really technical details, but long story short: it didn’t get fixed. Things chugged along nicely after I jumped into the fray, but tech support for some reason will not provide adequate support to their technicians due to the fact that they are supposed to be well equipped to handle such emergencies on their own. This one was not. I became aware of this fact when the fellow turned the machine on, stared at the windows background for a few seconds, bent down to check the network cable and asked “is your computer on bro?”

…

“You mean the big black box humming next to you which is broadcasting the image that you are currently looking at onscreen?”

“Yeah.”

…. “Yes. I believe it is on.”

Eventually I just told the guy to take off. I can handle it better than he can, and according to him, tech support will treat me far better as I am an actual customer. He attempted to “trick those fuckers” (his words) by calling and pretending to be a customer at one point, but was stalled when asked for a social security number. Despondent, he admitted to the operator “Yeah, I’m a technician hommes.” Rather than debate this statement, I just sent him on his merry way. Four hours of my morning down the drain and I have a non-functional cable modem to show for it. Good to see that Time Warner’s takeover of Comcast did not cause any ill effects on their level of service.

I don’t really know if these photos of Lindsay Lohan’s box are legit, but I figured you’d want to see them anyway. The pics have clearly been altered, but it could have been merely to highlight these uh… attributes.

Judge for yourselves, I’m going back to bed.

Apparently there was never a gallery of Kate Moss prior to this week, so it’s time to rejoice. And by rejoice, of course, I mean sit around in front of the computer with your pants down hoping that your roommate adheres to the “tie on the doorknob” rule.

For a girl with such a tit deficiency, she sure like to overcompensate by showing them off all the time. Bless her for that. Bless her… uh, heart.

So I’ve been out in meetings all day, which kept me from receiving the flurry of media information regarding Steve Irwin’s death. It also kept me from the various tasteless (and funny) parodies. I decided to watch the Larry King interview just a bit ago, which seemed even more distasteful than the parodies. King essentially made his best friend cry, and then kept pummeling him with ridiculous questions. It was pretty apparent that Larry didn’t give much of a shit when his opening comment was “John Stainton is Steve…. er, WAS Steve Irwin’s manager.” The poor bastard looked right at his shoes to fight off the tears.

We’ve all gotta go sometime, but I sincerely thought that Steve Irwin would go being swallowed by a boa constrictor or torn apart by a crocodile. Getting killed by something that commonly annoys surfers is a pretty tame death. That’d be like Johnny Knoxville dying on the set of Jackass 3 from a bee sting. And not while wearing a giant bee beard, he would be strapped to one of those spinning wheels while someone tosses knives at his crotch when the bumblebee mildly flies up and stings his ass off of the mortal coil. I appreciate it when irony goes in the “more funny” direction, not towards the “meh, lame.”

In the words of Larry King, in regards to his sad death: “Keep on keepin’ on.” Well said, you crazy fuck. Well said.

To celebrate Labor Day, which marks the first time in months that I’ve allowed my skin to see more time in the sunlight than the small stretch from my car to the front door, there have been some major updates to SOTD. Here are a few pick-me-ups to brighten the long weekend:

We’ll start off with Jessica Simpson, (who seemed quite retarded at the VMAs, which I am ashamed to have watched) Eva Mendez, Scarlett Johansson, and Christina Aguilera.

More to come. And just to make things more interesting, why don’t we use this time to formally request some slices in the comments. I’ll forward your requests on and see what can be done.

If you hate Nigerian scammers, you’ll like this short video:

I especially liked the bit where the reporter started yelling “DON’T FIRE!”

Kudos to Circuit City. If that isn’t sticking it to your customers with something rusty and sharp, I don’t know what is.

You’ve gotta appreciate evil deeds such as these, they must have a collective set of corporate balls the respective sizes of Harry Knowles and Hugo from “Lost.” One is always bigger than the other, you know.