Twisted Friday Distraction

May 19, 2006 at 3:35 pm (Funny Shit)

http://www.albinoblacksheep.com/flash/pingu2.php

Check this out–could be offensive.

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Can’t Touch This

May 8, 2006 at 1:02 pm (Funny Shit)

I can’t touch this one today for a funny post, so go see Chatty B. Tawkin and check out this video. I don’t have sound and it was STILL a scream!

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Stupidity Breeds Stupidity

April 29, 2006 at 11:26 am (Funny Shit, Pop Culture on Parade, Raised by Wolves, Rant Goodness)

The TomKitten is loosed upon the world. Brangelina have bred and are awaiting the results. Fetus Spears has already been the cause of one call to CPS. And now we have news that Fetus Spears V.2 is in production. I could go on with the list of luminaries that are about to spit out babies or have done so recently, but it'll just belabor the point.

The point is, I read daily on blogs and hear all over the media about "stupid people shouldn't breed," or "people should have a license to have babies," or some other supposed remedy for the multitude of annoying fucks who give birth to more stupid, annoying fucks. Last night on Mind of Mencia I heard what should have been occurring to all those who lament that the world is getting dumber. To quote:

Mencia: If you have one D student, who are they gonna breed with? ANOTHER D student! And when one D student breeds with another D student, what do you get?

Audience: DeeDeeDee!

Finally, someone ELSE who totally gets that combating stupidity requires guidance! His suggestion was to require C students to only make babies with A students to increase the chances of producing a child bright enough to pound sand. I think my idea is much better: Having smart people step up and out-produce the stupid people child-wise.

I'm totally serious! Make a smarter world, smart people, one squalling shit factory at a time!

Read the rest of this entry »

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New PBS Pledge Breaks

March 9, 2006 at 11:13 am (Funny Shit, Pop Culture on Parade)

I lucked into a great program last night while paging thru the DirectionalTV program listings. Without stopping to look at which station was carrying “Monty Python’s Personal Best,” I flipped over to watch it. After about 20 minutes of zany madcap slightly filthy British humor, I was RUDELY interrupted by…

You guessed it (maybe from the post title?). A pledge break for the Detroit area PBS station.

Yay, rah.

As I kept watching, praying for the interminable pledge breaks, complete with stupid blonde who can’t pronounce Gilliam and stupider balding man who can’t get a Python quote correct to save his eternal soul, something occurred to me.

While watching the list of Pythonesque goodies I could get if only I would donate $500, it occurred to me that I’d give $50 right then if only those two dipshits would shut the FUCK up! That’s when the idea I should sell to PBS hit me.

They’re doing this all backwards.

No matter how insipid, stupid, ignorant or just plain bland the hosts of the pledge breaks are and no matter how fervently I would wish for them to be struck dead with a seizure of tasteless facial expressions, I do eventually know that they will soon shut up and let me get back to the Dead Parrot Sketch. That is where PBS is screwing up.

Here’s the new plan: PBS should BEGIN the program section that is advertised for pledge-breaking annoyance with the HOSTS, not the funny and good PROGRAM they’re trying to raise money to carry. You see, if this segment BEGAN with, “Hi! We’re your gag-inducing hosts, Suzy Creamcheese and Guy Dilhole. You’re stuck with us until you send us enough money to put Monty Python’s Flying Circus in this time slot. We’re going to stay here, annoying the living piss right out of all of you, until you all call in and pledge enough money to fund this program,” they’d have those on-the-fence (and on-the-dole) viewers so sick of them within 10 minutes that they’d have every cent it costs to show Monty Python on PBS.

I can imagine how it would go (sliding sock puppets onto hands while trying to convince the cat that they’re not her new claw toys):

Suzy Creamcheese: Hi, I’m Suzy Creamcheese, and welcome to PBS’ pledge drive.
Guy Dilhole: I’m Guy Dilhole and Suzy and I are going to keep you company until we’ve raised enough pledge money to actually show you Monty Python’s Flying Circus.
SC: We used to show parts of the actual program during these drives, but you freeloaders were just here for the high-brow programs and wouldn’t cough up enough dough to let us show our station logo, let alone a full series of obscure British humor.
GD: That’s right, Suzy, we’re going to act like we’ve actually seen this excellent program but show that we actually don’t know Michael Poulin’s ass from a hole in the wall.

Offstage director shouts, “That’s Michael PALIN”

GD: Sure, it’s Palin, Mr. Director, but since we have to motivate Viewers Like You to give us money, we’re going to mispronounce and misquote our way through this script until we hit our goal.

OD: Oh, yeah, I’d forgot about Operation Irritation

SC: You’d forget your head if it wasn’t attached.
GD: And now, so that you’re completely aware of what you’re missing, Suzy and I are going to totally screw over the best sketch comedy available today, the “Dead Budgie Store”

OD: Dead PARROT SKETCH, you useless loony.

GD flips off the OD and begins…

I’m mercifully drawing the curtain here, since the ensuing massacre would be both NSFW and rated X by the Motion Picture Association of America and would have PETSP (People for the Ethical Treatment of Sock Puppets) all up in my grill. Personally I would not be able to keep myself from poking a pin deep into Pamela Anderson’s fake tits (which would get me beaten up by Tommy Lee), so I’d best avoid them if at all possible.

See how much more effective that would be? Wouldn’t YOU dive for the phone, just to stop these two shitbricks from ruining all memories of sneaking into the TV room for a dose of “The Ministry of Silly Walks?” Even though I actually know where this station’s studios are, know they’re not far from where I live, and know that a 12 gauge shotgun would certainly make that bitch quit saying “Jillun*,” I also know it wouldn’t be well-recieved to have an incident of this sort broadcast. The FCC would probably double the fines given to CBS the time Janet Jackson showed her nipple to the world.

I’m not mentioning the jail time I’d get. Making that male host from last night get “Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition” correct would be totally worth it.

*Don’t get all “Oh no she di-unt!” on me. Oh, yeah, she went there, and went there badly.

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It’s just too easy

March 7, 2006 at 8:33 pm (Funny Shit, WTF)

It’s just too easy to find things like this on the interwebnetz. Thanks to Fark and The Smoking Gun.

And I wonder why I need a bleach shower every time I look at my search engine hits…

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Huh?

March 6, 2006 at 11:29 am (Funny Shit, Pop Culture on Parade, WTF)

Pamela Anderson Objects to Breeding for Large Breasteses

Oh, quit it, you know you had to go look.

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And the prize

March 5, 2006 at 1:50 pm (Funny Shit, WTF)

…for the grossest search engine hit ever to turn up this blog is:

Here.

Ew.

And I’m the #1 hit. You can be proud of me too.

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The Married

February 27, 2006 at 9:56 pm (Funny Shit, Rant Goodness)

Honey and I were having a conversation that started with a comment about this news article on Channel 4. He said something about chasing married women around, how it’s not very bright and how he’s never done it. I told him I hadn’t knowingly ever chased a married man, and the conversation (oh, so bright and intelligent at the start) devolved…well, see for yourself:

Honey: Why did you go out with him if he was married?
Me: I didn’t KNOW the silly fuckhead was married–found out when someone else told me, and that was the end of it.
Honey: What?
Me: What the hell would I ever have wanted a man who was married but not to me FOR?
Honey: I dunno…trails off as I start ranting
Me: Seriously–what fucking good would a married man do me? He’d never be around when I actually needed him, he’d be with WifeyPoo…
Honey: What about…
Me: Just busting back since I was on a really good roll and I knew he’d put up with it because I was naked…So he’d do me exactly no fucking good whatsoever.
Honey: How does a married man hit on another woman anyhow?
Me: Usually it’s the “but the sex will be awesome” bullshit that all men try on every woman they want to sleep with.
Honey: Does that work?
Me: Not on me. Shit, I could get spectacular sex with unmarried men. Hell, technology has advanced to the point that if I can’t get great sex with an unmarried man, I can do it my damned self!
Honey: True, true.
Me: Getting it on with a married one would just be annoying. Married men chasing strange tail is like a fucking disease.
Honey: Huh?
Me: Yeah! I used to think about those guys with capital letters in my mind, like “The Married.”
Honey: Whut?
Me: Still nekkid, still on a roll…Yeah, they’re like having a disease. I’d think “I’ve got The Married chasing me,” in the same tone as I’d think “I’ve got The Measles” or “I’ve got the crabs.”
Honey: Being married isn’t like a disease. People tell me it’s nice.
Me: Sure, it’d be nice with a man who was married to ME, but with a man married to someone else, having sex with them would be like having crabs–annoying, irritating, and a real pain in the ass to get rid of.
Honey: Oh.
Me: Dealing with someone else’s husband wanting your body is like having syphillis, only a simple shot isn’t enough to get rid of him.
Honey: So, you’re saying when we get married you’ll still want me?
Me: Sure, about as much as I do right now, Honey.

He didn’t look happy about that for some strange reason that probably has a lot to do with his mother’s penchant for snoopiness and there being a little pervy boy with his bedroom directly across the hall from ours.

It’s afternoons like this that I’m grateful that her hearing is failing and that Garand has to work once in awhile to support his porn site subscriptions.

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Farking funny

February 19, 2006 at 11:22 am (Funny Shit)

The only thing I like better than stupid Michigan cops is stupid Michigan crooks

Quick response by Owosso police nabs break-in suspects

By ART BUKOWSKI, Argus-Press Staff Writer

Freshly fallen snow ruined the plans of two men who robbed Harrand’s, Inc. in Owosso early Friday.

QUICK action by Owosso police led to the arrest of two men suspected of robbing Harrand’s party store, 620 E. Oliver St., early Friday morning. The men will be charged in Shiawassee County 66th District Court.

Both men were arrested at a house on North Park Street after police followed the tracks of a shopping cart they filled with beer and cigarettes and pushed away from the party store.

Owosso Deputy Police Chief Mike Rau said officers responded to an alarm at Harrand’s around 4:10 a.m. Friday. The shop’s glass door had been shattered, but no one was in sight – then officers noticed a strange set of tracks in the snow.

“The (officers) didn’t even really know what they were following at first, it looked like a sled,” Rau said.

Officers followed the tracks to a house on the 500 block of North Park Street, where they arrested a 19-year-old Owosso resident who confessed to the robbery. After obtaining a search warrant, officers entered the house and arrested the second suspect, a 20-year-old Battle Creek resident.

I can just hear the conversation:

“Lookit all the beer! Ooooh, and smokes too!”

“Too bad we can’t carry more.”

“Hey, here’s a cart. No one will miss it.”

Dumbasses.

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Boobs and Menthol?

February 2, 2006 at 8:33 pm (Funny Shit, Soaping and Knitting)

As some of you know, I do claim to be a soapmaker. I haven't got a space to work in right now (and progress on that front is painfully slow), but once I do I have many nice things plotted and will share them as I get them done. I do nice work, and for that nice work to be affordable to me and those who drool over it, I must score primo ingredients when I can.

As part of said ingredient-scoring, I recently acquired a pound of menthol crystals. They're 100% pure menthol, extracted probably from cornmint essential oil. They smell heavenly if you're into the Hall's Vapor Action school of yumminess. These puppies were so strong I could smell them thru the Priority Mail packing Marti used to send them to me! Sheesh–I could mentholate anything I want–hell, I could mentholate the unwashed masses yearning to be free. It's just a matter of finding room to make anything out of my new hoard of minty-freshness.

For a couple days, they sat next to my printer, making the air redolent with a slightly biting sting. Since I decided I wanted to smell Pink Grapefruit EO instead of minty freshness, I stuck the Ziploc-type bag on a bin sitting under my computer desk, which currently serves to hold my scale, various types of crap, my leave-the-house brassiere, a box of washcloths I need to send to a friend west of me for hurricane refugees (that has been packed for two months–shut it, I can't stand the smell of my printer ink thanks to my stoopid head), a couple of plastic bags, and various assorted shit that gets bumped out of the way when I need to put my feet up.

Monday, circumstances beyond my control dictated a trip to Hel*Mouth (aforementioned head behaving much better when I eat copious amounts of NyQuil-ish shit). Since I never leave the house without a bra, I groped for the one I stash downstairs–it's the best one I own and the one that makes the breasteses look their besteses.

With Honey bellering in the background, I duck into the bathroom (you know, that room with a door that everyone on the planet but my housemates fucking SHUTS when they're shitting?) and hurry into the 18-hour bondage device, then duck back into my shirt and hit the door running to get coat, shoes and…

What?

Sniff.

Henh? What smells so fresh and sinus-clearing…and why do my boobies feel so cool and cheerful and perky-sweet?

SNIFF.

Open neckline of shirt and sniff harder.

I walk into the living room. "Honey? Smell my tits and tell me what you think."

"Oh, I like that–kind of Oriental yet fresh. Who'd you get that scent from?"

"I left my bra too close to that bag of menthol I just got. The Oriental is that Opium dupe I loved so much."

"That's different, Honey."

"Yeah, but do you think anyone will think it's weird, me smelling like this."

"Uh, Serra? We're going to Hel*Mouth. Who gives a shit?"

"True. I can use the smell to keep from whiffing the other customers."

"Yeah, me too."

"No, Honey, you're not sticking your nose in my tits in pubic, I don't care if we see that all the time at Hel*Mouth or not."

Mentholated boobs are an acquired taste, though, much like chocolate covered ants or American Idol–The Shitty Auditions or this blog. You have to like the cooling sensation you'd get by using something like my Peppermint Extra soap–that tingle on your goodies/snootch/junk/family jools/whatever yer pet name favorite is a shock at first, one you either like or scream, "Make it stop! Make it stop!"

I like the Peppermint Extra, but I think mentholating one's tits is just going a little too far, so it's time to get a glass jar for the menthol, and a little cute dish for a couple crystals at a time. After all, a little of this stuff definitely goes a long way.

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SPT: Don’t eat the soup

January 17, 2006 at 10:22 am (Funny Shit, Sock Puppet Theater, The Enlightening Ones)

As we begin Sock Puppet Theatre, once again H'sMa has again taken it upon herself to see how long it will take to piss me off. Yesterday's topic: You need to eat. Keep in mind that anyone who has seen the size of my ass is certain this should never need to be a topic.

H'sMa: So, Serra, whatdayawant for lunch?
Me: Uh, I'm not hungry Ma.
H'sMa: But you need to eat.
Me: Sighs…I'm not hungry.
H'sMa: How about some of the vegetable beef soup I made yesterday?
Me: You mean the stuff in the crock pot?
H'sMa: Yes, certainly–it sure smelled good yesterday, didn't it?

Me contemplates the fact that not only did it smell like ASS yesterday but that the ass soup sat in the crock pot on the counter from the time she turned it off until now, sans refrigeration. Me shudders.

Me: Stepping up the bitch factor in my voice…I said I wasn't hungry Ma.
H'sMa: But you need to eat.

Me gives up. Just sounding bitchy about the subject of food isn't going to work. Me is going to have to 'splain to Loosey why she can't be in the show at the club.

Me: Ma, did you ever put that soup away yesterday?
H'sMa: No, of course not, it's in the crock pot on the counter.
Me: Then it's no good anymore. Things like that need to be refrigerated.
H'sMa: Heavy on the scorn…No it does NOT! It's BEEN cooked, you know.
Me: Yes, Ma, it does. Between the protein and the water, it's a perfect place to grow things that cause food poisoning.
H'sMa: Oh, no it's not, you're just not thinking…
Me: Fine. Eat all you want, but I'm not touching it.
H'sMa: Well! Huffy and dramatic…I make nice food and you…
Me: Refuse to get sick again just to be nice and avoid fighting with you. I'm going upstairs.

Aaaand, scene.

The soup is still sitting on the counter. The guys, notorious for eating anything, have not braved opening the lid. That shit's three days old now. I'm not even lifting that lid to throw it out, at least not without a cattle prod and a cage handy. It's H'sMa's monster; SHE can tame it enough to make it go away.

I'm sticking with things I see come out of cans JUST before I eat them from now on! Fortunately Honey brought home six cans of Campbell's Tomato so I'm good for a week.

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Hadn’t heard this one

January 12, 2006 at 5:07 pm (Funny Shit, Other Bloggers)

Karen over at Troll Baby does it again with a blonde joke I hadn’t heard before. Go check it out.

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The 2005 Darwin Awards

January 11, 2006 at 7:44 pm (Funny Shit, Pop Culture on Parade, WTF)

My favorite time of year is here–the list of the four most ridiculous accidental deaths have been released here at the Darwin Awards website. As the website says, “We salute the improvement of the human genome by honoring those who remove themselves from it. Of necessity, this honor is generally bestowed posthumously.”

This year’s recipients are:

1. The newest recipient of the “Most Likely to be Shot by His Own Troops” Award goes to a Second Lieutenant in Switzerland who thought a surprise lesson in hand-to-hand combat was totally the best thing to do immediately after a live fire exercise. The Looie was shot by one of his own soldiers as he sprung a suprise knife attack on the guy. Gee, good thing he’d trained the guy so well in how to turn the safety off on his weapon in case of sudden attack, now isn’t it? We could also call this award the “Don’t Bring a Knife to a Gun Fight” Award. Awarded posthumously, as all the best Darwin Awards are, since the single shot ended the officer’s life.

2. This winner truly earned his Darwin Award as well as the “Tim the Tool Taylor” Award for Home Maintenance Errors. Seems an enterprising soul in Croatia decided to make his own chimney-sweeping tool. He had nearly everything when he realized that his broom was far too short to tackle the job. Once he’d pondered, he figured that if he attached a chain with a weight welded to it to the broom, he could handle the job with no problems. As happened on “Tool Time,” though, the job blew up in his face as he welded a fucking grenade to a chain for the apparatus. I don’t think so, Marko.

3. In the Jon-Erik Hexum category, a Vietnamese man decided that a rusty old detonator couldn’t hurt anyone. In fact, he was so certain of this fact that he had his buddies hook the two wires dangling from the explosive to a 220V outlet. As Emeril would say, “BAM!” and this dumbass met his Maker on the way to the hospital for treatment of injuries resulting from a blast that blew out his cheeks and smashed all his teeth.

4. Finally, we have one of the rare deaths caused by a Lava Lamp. A 24-year-old man in Washington, for reasons unknown (since there were no witnesses, no drugs or alcohol involved and no way of knowing what was going on in his mind), put a Lava Lamp on a stove and turned the stove on. Police found him dead with a shard of glass thru his heart and absolutely no explanation of why he tried heating the lamp over an open flame.

I don’t see any 2005 Honorable Mentions, but the 2004 ones involve a pair of fishermen who can’t tell the difference between the hole for the gas tank and the one for the rod holders and a group of soldiers too damned dumb to find out if that white powder is poisonous before using it. [Turns out they’d powdered their noses (inside and out) with Thallium.]

As wonderful as I think it is that past and current honorees have seen fit to excuse themselves from adding to the population of the planet, I could still argue a case for arranging such accidents for those who stubbornly refuse to fuck off and die. True, it would do no good since it’s not likely to be legal any time soon, but it would amuse me and let me practice my debating skills.

A girl can dream, can’t she?

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Sunday’s Silly Thing

December 4, 2005 at 10:34 am (Funny Shit, WTF)

from Fark

I'm afraid, very afraid to show this one to Honey. You see, he's the kind of guy who would want to take an old toaster and do this, or make ice cream using liquid nitrogen, or do this, or this. On the other hand, it'd be a blast to watch, wouldn't it? It'd only take a bottle of pop and roll of Mentos, a few minutes' time outside, and a little bit of convincing me to let him do it. The latter's half in the bag already. I'm tempted to call him just before he finishes work tonight.

We'd certainly have to do it outside. That means the neighbors would see. One set's a pretty nice bunch, so it'd be somewhat embarrassing to have them wonder what the hell we were doing. The neighbors on the other side, though, can just suck my ass–they want to be the Griswolds when they grow up, judging by the garish light display next door. It's just not good enough for them to have a security light that is so bright the LOL can suntan in her own bed, no! They must, simply MUST get every single strand of lights Hel*Mouth sells and string them all. THEN they had to get a blow-up snow globe large enough for a family of four to go live in…but I digress. Long story short, they've got no call to think anyone else on the planet is strange when they put their complete lack of taste on display for the world.

That article I linked to above says to use diet soda because there's less sticky stuff to clean afterward.

Pussies.

Dialing the phone…Honey? Grab me a 2-liter bottle of something really sugary and fizzy and a roll of mint Mentos, would you please? Yes, I'll pay you back, if you think what I'm going to do with them was not as fun as I think it'll be…

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Christmas Shopping Online Part 2

December 1, 2005 at 8:26 pm (Funny Shit, Other Bloggers)

This is not the teddy for your adorable niece, or anyone else who isn’t truly sick and twisted. I’m not posting a picture because you really, really need to see the whole ad.

Thanks to Samantha Burns for the heads-up.

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Christmas Shopping Online Part 1

December 1, 2005 at 10:20 am (Funny Shit)

My favorite way to dodge the crowds and the dipshits during the holidays is to make retailers send things directly to me. I've gotten incredibly fond of not running around iffy, icy, snowy roads, not slogging my fat ass thru malls, not having to supress the urge to beat someone senseless (no matter how richly deserved), and best of all not spending more than I have to in order to get what my loved ones want.

I was surprised, however, to find this while browsing a sporting goods website:

Image hosted by Photobucket.com

TOO snuggly for words! It sucks that they don't make my size, but considering the other things I've found today, I can deal.

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Better than shaking the baby

November 30, 2005 at 6:31 pm (Funny Shit)

You know there are folks who just need to be shaken until their noses bleed and their grandchildren are born silly. But, since that shit’s illegal, you’ll have to settle for this:

Go shake them. Now. Shake them hard.

Swiped from Chris

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AOHell adds blog ads–deluded users surprised

November 27, 2005 at 9:33 am (Funny Shit, Pop Culture on Parade)

from Fark

This article addresses the shock and dismay of people who have been shelling out their hard-earned sheckels to Internet Service Provider AOL at finding ads on their blogs. It seems these deluded individuals still think Uncle Hell is in business to toss their salads every time they log in, and finding ads on their blogs doesn't make them happy.

These folks sure want a lot of the wrong things for their $23.90 a month, don't they? They don't want a lot of advertising on their blogs or their other services, but they're perfectly willing to put up with the most invasive required downloads in the industry, the most restrictive access offered anywhere, massive censorship, more cookies than the Keebler hollow tree, the most difficult customer service, and the online environment least conducive to doing anything outside AOHell's realm.

What these users don't realize is that AOHell's not doing so well. They've suffered a decline in gross revenue, mostly due to offering Netscape internet access at over $10.00 less than it actually costs them to provide same.

From an article at ISP Planet:

Costs were $235 per subscriber per year or $19.62 per subscriber month. Revenues were $258 per subscriber per year or $21.52 per subscriber per month.

Even though AOL will probably eke out net profits of $740 million, that's only $22.85 per subscriber per year.

Any rise in costs or decline in revenues would hurt. Although there is no foreseen rise in costs, there is an obvious cause of declining revenues: AOL's $9.95 per month Netscape service.

Just looking at the finances, it's obvious that AOL cannot sell its cheap service the way it sells AOL because it cannot accrue costs of $19.62 per subscriber for a service that it's selling for $9.95. The company will have to use the cheaper marketing tactics that small ISPs know so well, such as radio and newspaper ads and local events.

I don't know anyone who runs a business who's willing to stick their tongue up ANY customer's ass for $22.85 a year. After all, that's a lot of tongue-shaving, even for the whores who run AOHell. That profit-per-customer figure includes their advertising revenue, so it's obvious that those little rimjobbers are far, FAR too busy licking the bungholes of their almighty advertisers to care whether or not their bread-and-butter customers object to big screaming ads flashing at the top of their blogs.

The solution here is the same as it would be for anyone dissatisfied with a given company's policies/service/prices/tonguefucking–go elsewhere, shut up and deal, or wait for the bypass hack to come out.

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Two things: Jack and S*it

November 26, 2005 at 12:25 pm (Funny Shit, Pop Culture on Parade)

When I see or hear this:

Image hosted by Photobucket.com

It makes me think of this:

Image hosted by Photobucket.com

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Adventures in Driving in Southeastern Michigan

November 24, 2005 at 10:12 am (Funny Shit, WTF)

Can you drive well in the snow? 'Tis the Season, ladies and germs–the first snow that's sticking to the ground is falling outside my window.

I knew it was coming, because that's just how I roll (and that's just how my fucked-over back and newly-complaining knee roll too). I made a point of making sure I have everything I need to make what I'm supposed to tomorrow. I even did a "don't forget" list for Honey.

So much for my planning ahead. Honey launched into his planned clam chowder this morning, only to decide 10 minutes into the job that he doesn't have enough milk. He's already got his mom slaving away peeling his potatoes, which is what she tells him.

"But I don't have my shoes on, Mom" is his brilliant comeback.

Nice. All that money spent on an Engineering degree and he can't figure out how to go from shoeless to shod. This guy can build one of the six parts used on the Ford Explorer that has never been under recall, but it doesn't occur to him that putting on a pair of shoes is fairly easy stuff. I'm not amused–I know Honey well enough to know this is Honeyspeak for "I don' wanna goooooo."

So, I go put on a bra (I don't give a shit if I'm seen in sweats and a shirt that says, "I wanna be like Barbie–the bitch has everything" but I won't be caught dead in pubic without a bra except under extreme duress), get the car keys to H'sMa's Lumina, and head out. "No problem," I vaguely recall saying, "Hel*Mouth's only a mile away."

I really should know better.

On the way there, I wind up behind a 4WD Ford pickup whose driver clearly thought he was fine because, well, he's got that nifty-assed four wheel drive, so he's not going anywhere but on the road.

I bet he thought that all the way to the ditch. I reach for my purse to get my useless cell phone, only to realize I'd just grabbed my wallet and left the shitcarrier home. Oops. See you on the way back, dumbass. Hope you remembered yours.

Hel*Mouth was not a fun time either. It was full of folks who just have no conception of the concept of them not being the only people with things to do in that store. The customers were even worse–I nearly got rear-ended again when a guy holding a list that his wife obviously wrote, in VERY large print, decided that the best way around a cart is through it. This prize catch (thank you Jeebus for this man already having a woman to make life hell for) yelps, "Hey!" after he taps the back end of my cart, like it's my damned fault he's trying to read and push the cart at the same time. Buddy, would you do that in a car?

On second thought, maybe the better question is, "Do you own that white Ford pickup sitting in the ditch about 1/4 mile from here?"

Anyhow, I get out of the place, managing not to throw anything or invent new swear words, get in the car, brace myself, decide to forego the stop at Caribou (no WAY am I going to try to maneuver that six-foot-wide parking lot today. I'd have to hurt someone if I did) and just get the car home before someone wipes me off the road.

BLEAH! That's about the only way to describe the trip home. Between the yuppie scum talking on their cell phones instead of paying attention to who they're about to rear-end, the car next to that pickup who thought he didn't have to get the ass-end of that Beamer out of the road, and the little old lady (least I think it was a lady–sometimes it's hard to tell) who just stopped in the middle of the exit from Hel*Mouth, apparently unable to decide if it was true that if you press the foot pedal on the far right if the car would move, I began to mumble the mantra that got me home.

"Next time, I bring the Mauser."

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