July 2002

July 24, 2002

Ok. This is a rather cheap way to get out of actually writing some content... and I normally kinda dislike those massively forwarded ubiquitous net jokes, pics, whatever... but I found this sorta funny.

Ladies and gentlemen, If Spider-Man Were Gay!

July 15, 2002

People smarter than me have told me this is a great site to kill some time with.

True to form, I disagree. I think fark.com kinda sucks, actually. It's basically a little laundry list of links that purport to be interesting (or... something). I mean, "Adobe to offer 'stripped down' version of Photoshop"?

Um.

Whoopee.

I was only moved to click a single link on the main page, there. And once at the linked site, I didn't even dig into the article before becoming distracted and closing the window.

No, no, no. Not good.

Now, this is more my speed. I love the Obscure Store. It am rock my am world.

Of course, after reading most of the linked articles, I'm usually quietly weeping to myself and telling co-workers that my contacts are bothering me, or contemplating the illegal purchase of an assualt rifle and several cases of armor-piercing rounds, but that's all part of being alive, being wide awake in America, right?

Right?

July 9, 2002

Quote of the day gets a slight reprieve:

"The one who say that he was going to return honors to the office was definitely talking about Ceasar Type Honors like in Gladiator: Stabbing the enemy in the back before the fight. Not surprising for Daddy son. Leading (or I must say cheating) from the back."

- Zacarias Moussaoui, terrorist, fucking psycho, speaking about George Bush. (At least, we think. Really, who the hell knows? The way this dillhole strings together a sentence, it's pretty hard to tell exactly what the fuck he's yobbing on about. Can't we just throw the switch, already?)

July 7, 2002

More proof for the puddin'...

Proof that God does exist: Discovering the Sci-Fi Channel's wise decision to show "Godzilla Versus Space Godzilla" from 3 to 5 pm.

Proof that Christ is still pretty steamed about the whole crucifixion deal: Making the discovery at 4:45 pm.

July 3, 2002

And now, proof that anyone can take a bad picture:

July 2, 2002

I'm fairly certain that I slaughtered puppies in a former life. Likely, golden retreivers or yellow labs or some other breed that produces really, really, adorable lil pups.

My reasoning? Well, how else could one explain one's inability to pick the right friggin line at Dunkin Donuts, time and time and time again. I stood for fifteen minutes this morning, only occassionly breaking the tedium to amble a half step forward, in the general direction of the counter. Now, fifteen minutes... that's like, well, not a lot of time. UNLESS YOU'RE STANDING IN LINE FOR A COFFEE AT DUNKIN DONUTS. I might write off the whole thing to a bit o' bad luck, except for two factors:

1. I always pick the wrong line - D. Donuts, grocery store, mini mart, whatever. Even when my line has two patrons and the line I spurned has, like, forty dullards, it's the wrong line. It's. The. Wrong. Line.
2. The line(s) that I don't pick always move(s) along auto-fucking-bahn fast. The pillock at position number 40 that I blew by to take the anchor position behind the two-patron line is always pulling into his or her driveway at about the time I'm finally getting served.

This morning, I watched the line to my right lap me roughly three times. I figured that my helpful counter person was probably showing love for the customers by hand-crafting the plastic and styrofoam cups in the back (either that, or reading, "Learn Something That Sounds Suspiciously Like English in Thirty Days"). A touching gesture, perhaps, but buddy, some of us have to get to fucking work.... slaughtering more puppies.

July 1, 2002

John Entwhistle, bassist for The Who died last week in Las Vegas of an apparent heart attack.

The Who had a pretty major impact on my adolescence. Truth be told, they helped shape the course of my life right up until my mid-twenties.

(Cue the Way Back Music)

I think I was in fifth grade when my sister rented the movie, "The Kids Are Alright," (a sort-of documentary of the band, tracing them from their origin up through the "Who Are You?" sessions in the late seventies) and made me sit through it. I was all Maiden, Priest and Halen, so this wasn't my idea of a good time. But when I saw Pete Townshend rend his Les Paul to shreds and heard Roger Daltrey's take on primal scream therapy at the end of "Won't Get Fooled Again," I was all like, "Pardon me. Where the fuck do I sign?" I experienced a rush of recognition - oh, ok. I get it. This is what I want to do with my life - that must be the same thing soon-to-be priests feel the first time they glimpse kiddie porn.

For the the next ten years or so, music was it for me. My first, my last, my ev-ry-fang... er, close to it. I now spend my days at a desk job so we can all guess how this story ends. But it was a fun ride getting here. Long live rock.

In other news, Pete Townshend has reportedly changed a line in "My Generation" from, "Hope I die before I get old," to "Life begins at sixty."