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Category Archives: General Jabbering
Battle Not With Monsters
My mind recoiled in horror, as if after a long night of drinking a sharply-dressed gentleman smelling faintly of sulfur had shown me a cocktail napkin with a short, hand-scrawled formula proving that Pi was actually 11. When I tried to picture it in my head, my throat would close to choke back the dry heaves. The very concept was the Two Girls One Cup of food. [read more at link] Continue reading
Dear Mythbusters…
Ninjas? Are you fucking kidding me? I don’t want to be the voice of doom fellas, but of course everything they say about ninjas is bullshit. After all, they were mercenary contractors. Of course they were gonna tell people that they could walk on water and yank arrows out of the air, they were padding their resumes. A ninja saying he can disappear is no better than when I tell women that I’m a sixty-minute man: technically it’s not a lie, provided you include six minutes of looking for my pants and forty-five minutes of apologizing. [read more at link] Continue reading
Fifteen Shots and Eleven Digits
Drunk emailing and drunk dialing are important. First of all, they teach responsibility. For the occasional drinker, drunk dialing causes terrible embarrassment, which is a good thing. Otherwise, that yappy 22-year-old twat yammering into her cell phone next to me at the bar while I’m trying to watch the Red Sox game will never learn to stop. [read more at link] Continue reading
Blu-Rays and Red Rings
When I was ten my dad came home with an Atari, and this was back when it was still called the Atari Video Computer System. Ostensibly it was because my brother and I had been helpful around the house while my mom was in a full leg cast after a skiing accident, but after watching my dad gleefully mowing down racks of space invaders, I think he would have said it was a reward for not being thalidomide flipper children if it meant getting the damn thing into the house. [read more at link] Continue reading
And Lo, After Three Days They Rolled The Rock Back With a Mighty Crash…
And God knows it was a week that I should have been writing; there’s a potential 700 billion dollar Wall Street bailout that I could have been making fun of, except for the minor detail that I don’t in any way understand it. To the best I can figure out, it’s like an old, crusty white guy whose spent every day for eight years taking a running start and kicking you in the balls, and then presenting you with a bill to repair his arthritic knee. [read more at link] Continue reading