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Happy Muthafuckin Halloween!

and this my friends, is why john daly will forever be the wind beneath my wings.

a best of craigslist: to my friends junkie inmate girlfriend.

ten phrases that will never be the same, thanks to the election.

Why Somehow That Name Rings A Bell.

Florida is one of several states that allows early voting, so the polls are less congested on November 4th. So yesterday, I meandered down to the local elections office, stood in line for about an hour, and then I cast my vote for President. Also on the ballot were several amendments to the Florida State Constitution -- remove restrictions preventing illegal immigrants from legally own property (NO); and restrict marriage to one-man-one-woman with no allowances for civil unions (NO). But as for who I voted into the White House? So I'm going to make you wait for that one. I'll tell you who I voted for -- and why -- after the election is over. Until then, think for yourself.

But right out of the gate, I see one potential obstacle for me coming clean in a timely manner -- I'm making a quick trip up to Boston next week. Why? Two words. No, check that, three words: Bruce. Motherfucking. Campbell. In person on November 7th. So that takes precedence over everything. Shit, if I were number one on the recipient list for a new liver and I got the page on that Friday afternoon, then the number two guy would be one happy son of a bitch. Won the lottery? Yeah, yeah, yeah, cash the ticket tomorrow, meeting Bruce Campbell today. Who's on my caller ID? Jessica Biel? Yeah, yeah, yeah, tell her I'll call her back, meeting Bruce Campbell today. Priorities bitches, priorities!

As for Gravity Grid, we seem to have encountered a problem. When Dave sent in his screencap of his completing the final level, I asked for one of his final score. As it turns out, there is none; "when you hit 'Next Level' it goes right to credits (see attached) no total score, no total time, nothing like that." So I guess it's back to the drawing board. Oh, and happy birthday to The Fonz -- Aayyyyyyyyyyyeee! And with that, we have reached the conclusion of our broadcast day. Tune in tomorrow, same spider time, same spider channel. What am I saying? Fuck off, I'm busy.

play a game of distopix. it's trippy. wait for it. wait for it.... there it is.

more celebs as kids photos, including a 'baby pic' of daniel radcliff that was taken about twenty minutes ago.

so, how much candy can you fit in a pillowcase? a 5-gallon bucket? well, let's find out.

donotpostoninternet - drmilhousemd - kimbocostume - tarareidlooksrough - zombiemallmap

Stupid Is As Stupid Does.

A few days ago, I read this article with a heavy heart. Not for the kid -- shit by the time I read it he was already dead and gone -- but for the impact it's going to have on gun control legislation. For starters, as soon as anyone reads the phrase, "fully automatic Uzi machine gun," they're immediately going to think of this gun shop scene from The Terminator, and that's a vision not easily forgotten as you're scraping up little kid brains from the wall. But I refrained from commenting on this right off the bat, because I was hoping for a little more information to come out. You see, Uzi's have been around for over fifty years and most are chambered to fire either the little pussy .22 round -- so you can look tough holding an Uzi while fighting the recoil of a BB gun -- to the more popular 9mm which is the bullet the Israelis use when they want to kill a lot of Arabs.

When the original article was written, it didn't specify if the Uzi was of the semi or fully automatic design, nor did it speficy which caliber ammunition it was shooting. I had hoped -- hoped -- that no parent would be fucking stupid enough to put a fully automatic 9mm Uzi in the hands of an eight year old boy, but as it turns out I was wrong. I was dumbfounded when I read that. Completely, and utterly dumbfounded.

But in preparation for todays post, I pinged a few folks who presented opposing views on my assault rifle ideas, and here's what they had to say. And my apologies to Leon, I had to trim his response down a little bit, but nothing that altered the gist of his email...

One of the sites I make a point to visiting each day is Neat-O-Rama because, well, they have a lot of neat shit there. So I was surprise when I came across this article on their site, as they usually stick to 'ooh-aah' stuff, and don't tread into the news and current events arena too often. The article is titled, "What’s Wrong With Gun Nuts: Eight-Year-Old Boy Given Uzi and Fatally Shot Self in Head." The anti-gun connotation is apparent by the fourth and fifth words, "gun nuts" -- be let me ask you -- can you blame them for taking this stance? Would anybody but a 'gun nut' put an Uzi in an eight year old's hands? But here's the real truth that's going to be overlooked: not all gun nuts are fucking idiots like this kid's father was. In fact, most gun nuts are safer than the casual home defender guy like myself. But the actions of one stupid individual -- and yes I blame the father from a common sense point of view, more than I blame the instructor who is going to get crucified from a legal standpoint -- will make the entire firearm industry look bad.

Listen, I'm all for kids having the knowledge and skill to use firearms. All for it. In fact if you keep firearms in your home, I think it's irresponsible for you to not teach your kids how to handle a gun safely -- and more importantly -- how to unload it safely. And maybe this kid had been raised around guns and was as responsible as one could hope an eight year old to be. But he's still eight years old. He's only so-strong, his balance is only so-coordinated, and his reflexes are only so-fast. Which is why they should be shooting a single shot .22 at pop bottles, not rockin'and'rollin on a fully auto 9mm. I've sat here and tried to imagine a situation where I would consider it a good idea to let an eight year old squeeze the trigger on a fully automatic weapon firing "adult sized" ammunition, and I just can't. You could show me fifty other kids did this safely right before this kid came along, and I'd tell you that's fifty bad ideas. It's like teaching your kid to drive on a go-kart and then once he's comfortable, flipping him the keys to your F-350 diesel and tell him to he's hauling the camper to vacation this year.

c'mon everyone, say it with me: allahu akbah! c'mon louder: Allahu Akbar! c'mon louder: ALLAHU AKBAR! ALLAHU AKBAR! ALLA-oh.

finally, a pedo-bear pumpkin display that's worth posting.

stop motion is cool. stop motion boats in your bath tub are even cooler. multiple videos to watch.

This Tasteless Tuesday Rain Delay By T.O.B.

During the day today, I needed to swing past the drive-thru at my bank. I got there to find long lines, and resigned myself to spending a bit of time there. An inveterate people watcher, I began to inspect the cars around me for someone 'interesting' to watch. A quick scan of my neighbors found no attractive women to fantasize about. Damn. Better settle for weird. I looked to the car on my right, and lo, paydirt. The late-model Cherokee held three occupants, but, from the look of it, those three shared the intellectual capacity of perhaps one and a half. It appeared to be a mother with her two 'tard boys, out for a little excursion.

Mom wore the cares and sorrows of a woman twice her age in her wrinkled and frowning face. She gazed off into the sky, paying little attention to her two charges. Her eyes, in particular, were sad and worn looking. I wondered if she knew whether it was her defective genes, or hubby's that resulted in the outpouring of 'tard birth from her loins. Just wondering who to blame, you know. Anyway, imagine her pride on Mother's Day! There were hints of an emerging trailer park queen about her, but she hadn't quite evolved to that point. She was woefully under the necessary heft and girth, and she had not yet graduated to a thrift-shop wardrobe. I am confident, however, that with a little focused effort, she could become a candidate for the Springer show within a year, two at most.

ut, I digress. The stars of the show were clearly the boys. Both mongoloid, the one in the front seat looked much brighter than his brother, who sat behind mom. They both wore caps, and with a little neck craning, I could see that the hats bore their names in white iron-on letters. Perhaps they were souvenirs from a trip to a local fair, or, possibly part of mom's 'tard management strategy', in case she lost them at the mall. The one in the front seat was labeled "KENNY". His face narrower, his features less round, able to keep his mouth halfway closed, he appeared to be a higher functioning lad. He wore glasses, which lent a dignified and intellectual air to his countenance. He reminded me somewhat of the 'tard-boy that played in that "heartwarming" family TV show a few years back, except he wasn't quite as bright looking. I can't recall the name of the show, but I'm sure someone will. His brother, "TIMMY", looked as though he had been much more seriously shortchanged in the genetic material department. Timmy had the broad round face, vacant eyes and drooling open mouth of a true mongoloid.

Less animated than Kenny, and slouching against the restraint of his shoulder belt, Timmy was clearly befuddled by most of what was around him. As I stared over at him, little Timmy slowly turned toward me. I'm not sure what motivated him, I'd like to think he was aware of my boredom, and sick need for entertainment (maybe I mean "need for sick entertainment"), but truthfully, I think that's unlikely. At any rate, lil' Timmy fixed me in his baleful stare, and without any discernible movement, proceeded to empty the contents of his stomach on the inside of the window. He sat calmly while a yellowish, mostly liquid, stream of vomit gushed forth in potent waves, splashing off the window, back onto his shoulder and face. Kenny was the first to notice, and he began what appeared to be agitated laughing. Mom spun around to help but there was little to be done.

I was curious what mom was going to do. Would she pull out of line and deal with the mess, or let Timmy sit tight until she could conduct her business, then exit the line more gracefully. I watched as she barked out some orders to Kenny, and he obediently exited the car, opened the rear passenger door, climbed in, and began swabbing the puke off of his brother's face and clothes with Kleenex. Of course, we all know that Kleenex are hardly the appropriate product to use in such a situation. As soon as the wet barf soaked the tissue, and reached his hands, his laughter and glee with the whole situation faded. He began to show his distaste, as his mom pulled wad after wad of Kleenex and thrust them into to his increasingly unwilling hands. Eventually the sights, smells and stimulus must have become to much for Kenny, because in mid-swab, he opened his eyes and mouth wide, and, lurching forward, he donated his lunch to Timmy. He caught Timmy on the shoulder and back with his first heave. Having completed his humanitarian gesture, of sharing, he disappeared below my field of vision. Kenny's vomit was not as runny, so the chunks stayed put on Timmy. Decorated twice, Timmy looked just ducky by this time.

I was nearly doubled over my steering wheel at the antics going on next to me. I was waiting for mom to turn around and blow chunks on Timmy, if for no other reason than to make it a true "family affair". Sadly, I suspect her charmed life of living with Kenny and Timmy had given her a strong stomach for such things. Unfortunately, my line moved forward at this point, and I was unable to keep a close watch on them any more. I was nearly unable to compose myself to deal with the teller, but managed to choke back the laughter enough to get through. After completing my transaction I pulled away from the bank, but not without glancing into my rear view mirror to bid a fond farewell to Kenny, Timmy and mom. They made my day. I hope they made yours as well. - the old bastard.

i hereby append the list-of-black-chicks-i-would-do to include traci bingham.

all 34 car manufacturers ranked by reliability. first american company at #11, and that's lincoln. great.

"i fucking HATE queue jumpers," his partner muttered, as he held the guy down on the ground. "should be a law against it..."

the budweiser 'wassup' guys revisited 8 years later -- look out world, barak obama eats babies!

The Spider Creep-O-Meter.

As "winter" fast approaches down here in Florida, I've seen a recent increase in the number of spiders that comes with the cooler weather. I understood that I was exposing myself to a whole new subset of spiders when I moved down south, and that something I've come to terms with. So of the three types of spiders, two concern me, one does not. The first I see around my lanai all the time, and that's the Grey Wall Jumper. I know, they look fearsome, but in fact they're tiny little fuckers -- maybe half the diameter of your pinky nail. So that picture if magnified like a bagillion times, so don't get all heebey-jeebey on me. In fact me, Lord of the Arachnophobics, could give a shit about them; at any given time there's a couple dozen running around the ceiling of my back deck and they don't bother me. They don't spin webs and the only time I've ever see them spin silk is in an emergency should they fall or get chased away by larger specimen. Out of a scale of 1 to 10 -- with 1 being a daddy long legs and 10 being This Thing -- I give Gray Wall Jumpers a Creep Factor of 2.

Next up in Ernie's Wild World of Spiders, is the Spiny Orb Weaver. In fact just this morning, I found four of them spinning webs way up in the high corners of the lanai. These spiders don't freak me out because they're too small (maybe the size of your pinky nail) and well, they're too friendly looking. They remind me of ladybugs on crack. The first time I encountered one of these colorful little fuckers about a month ago, I ran inside and did a quick Google search for "spiny Florida spider" to see if I should be running like a little girl or not. Don't get me wrong, my first instinct is to run like a girl whenever I see any spider, I just wanted to know if I should be running towards some anti-venom or not. As it turns out no, they're harmless unless you're a little bug, and beneficial for garden plants. So each time one of these little dudes spins a web in the lanai, I scoop him up with the pool skimmer and shake him outside. Creep Factor of 3, and that's only because you can accidently walk into a spider web if you're not careful.

But the real coup de'creepy is what I found spinning a small web near the corner of my garage. I had noticed this spider a few days before but hadn't paid much attention until I was spraying under my garage mats over the weekend. As I knelt down to take a close look, I thought I recognized the shape and little warning bells went off in my head. Curious, I leaned in closer to observe the spider cruising around a web and tending to what looked like three burrs caught in the web. As it turned its body one way, I noticed a distinct red marking on its underbelly and .... WHOOP! WHOOP! ALERT! ALERT! DEFCON ONE! ALERT! WHOOP! WHOOP! PULL UP! WHOOP! WHOOP! PULL UP! SET PHASERS ON KILL! SHIELDS UP! FIRE PHOTON TORPEDOS! I mean it didn't make any sense; I had seen this spider's shape and red marking on television, but the color was all wrong. It was brown, not black. But color be damned, a spider holocaust was about to come to fruition. I got a little stick. No wait, not true. I got a long stick and flicked the spider to the ground. As soon as it hit, it curled up in a tiny defensive ball. I'm sure that might work well if you're being attacked by a bird, or maybe a lizard, but it didn't do much to stop 170 pounds of scared motherfucker. I stomped that spider so fucking hard, my ankle hurt for two days. Anyone wanting to take a closer look at this specimen will have to reconstruct this it out of 0.000000002 micron thick spider-goop in my driveway. And with mom safely dispatched, all three spiny white burr things followed suit; it didn't take Colombo to figure out those were probably egg sacs. Confident all traces had been smooshed into oblivion, I immediately hosed off the bottom of my shoe and ran, skin crawling, to Google. Now we've all heard about the dangerous black widow. And we've all heard about the elusive yet deadly brown recluse. So just what the fuck was the spider I found? A brown widow. That's right. Brown. Widow. Not black widow, not brown recluse. A brown widow. It *was* this thing. It was not cool. Armed with spider spray, I did a thorough recon of my entire house, lanai, yard, garbage cans, exterior lighting, landscaping, you name it. The coast seems clear. But if I ever stop updating, you'll know I was wrong and was probably killed by a brown widow. Creep Factor? 73,692,746,489,202,134.

Okay, I'm declaring Scott the winner of Reflexion and we're moving onto somethign else. I hinted at it a couple of days ago, and it's a very easy to play, yet very addicting puzzle game called Gravity Grid. The idea is to link three colored squared together in order to make them disappear. Clear the board of all colored squares and you move ontot he next level; there are 30 levels. I am on level 16 right now.

it's not news. it's not fark. it's the zombie world news. keeping you updated on zombie outbreaks 24x7.

ever go browsing through google earth and find plane wreckage? this guy did, and then actually went to the crash site.

Insert Your Favorite Weekend Joke Here.

the current leader in ball reflexion is scott followed by brent

don't think i can sit on these all the way until april 1st - so here's some workplace pranks.

it looks like all the SNL alumni cast are coming back to jump on the tina fey sarah palin bandwagon.

misha barton's nipple -- first you don't see it, now you do. might be a few drinks involved.

in a horrible case of mistaken identity, a psycho girlfriend creates the slutmobile.

halloweentree - invisiblebicycle - obamapalin2012 - protesternipslip - votingmadepersonal

Can Hold The Election & Inaugeration Today? The Country Won't Survive To January.

So I went and saw Quarantine on Wednesday, and you know, it wasn't bad. A little Blair Witch Project'ey with the first person camera work, but nowhere near as shakey and didn't have that low budget feel. They did provide a very plausible explanation for a modern day zombie outbreak -- pretty much a hyped up super rabies virus. Affects the brain, makes people all bitey, and explains the drooling that people do before going into a zombie-like state. But unlike real zombies, the face-eaters in Quaratine weren't actually dead people who have risen up, just merely victims who get very sick after being bitten. This means you didn't have to score a headshot to kill a 'zombie' -- good ol center mass shots did just as well. A few inconsistencies and plot holes; one guy gets bitten and takes half the movie to change, another guy gets bitten and half a minute later he's eating someone's face. Guy-A falls off a balcony and gets injured, but not enough to prevent him from turning into a zombie and walking around. Zombie-B falls off the same balcony, and is out of commission. But eh, still a good flick. It certainly would have been a different movie if I were one of the building's residents, mainly because I keep a dedicated zombie killing tool and some cheapie night vision goggles handy for just such an occasion. And you know the semi-hot brunette you see in the previews? I swear to God I spent the last ten minutes of the movie whispering, "Will somebody please fucking smack her," between gritted teeth. Nobody did.

But after seeing this movie I will make two public declarations. One. Well, really more of an observation, I guess. But if you and I are ever out somewhere and a stranger staggers up both growling and foaming at the mouth before biting you; and ten minutes later when you're stumbling, growling and foaming at the mouth, I will make the assumption that you're going bite as well. I will not give you the benefit of the doubt. I will not try to help you. I will not ask if you're okay. I will not help you sit down. I will shoot you. Period. And two -- this one is for the ladies -- if we're ever in a zombie survival situation I will make every effort to help keep you alive. After all, someone has to do the dishes, right? But let's be clear; I will not sacrifice myself to save you. Please try to understand that hysterics will attract zombies. Zombies are bad. Thus if you don't buck up and allow yourself to dissolve into a blithering mess of uncontrollable sobbing, I will make one -- and only one -- attempt to get you to calm down. I will slap you. Hard. If that doesn't work, I will shoot you. Hard. You have been warned. Ladies - don't be that girl.

So personally, I liked Quarantine. Would I recommend it, of course I would. But then I think zombie movies are like pizza and blowjobs -- even when they're bad, they're good. Other folks don't agree with me, but hey, fuck them. As a side note, one of the previews was for Underworld 3 -- gone is Kate Beckinsale and in is Rhona Mitra. Not sure how I feel about that.

ten things your IT guy wants you to know. ahhh, those were the days.

i still hate cats, but even i'll admit this is a pretty cool house.

Twenty Five Years Ago Today.

At around 6:20 a.m., a rainbow Mercedes-Benz truck drove to Beirut International Airport, where the 1st Battalion 8th Marines under the 2nd Marine Division had set up its local headquarters. The truck had been substituted for a hijacked water delivery truck. The truck turned onto an access road leading to the Marines' compound and circled a parking lot. The driver then accelerated and crashed through a barbed wire fence around the parking lot, passed between two sentry posts, crashed through a gate and drove into the lobby of the Marine headquarters. The Marine sentries at the gate were operating under rules of engagement which made it very difficult to respond quickly to the truck. By the time the two sentries had locked, loaded, and shouldered their weapons, the truck was already inside the building's entry way.

The suicide bomber detonated his explosives, which were equivalent to 5,400 kg (12,000 pounds) of TNT. The force of the explosion collapsed the four-story cinder-block building into rubble, crushing many inside. The blast was described by a U.S. federal district court judge as having been the largest deliberate non-nuclear blast ever. According to Eric Hammel in his history of the Marine landing force, "The force of the explosion initially lifted the entire four-story structure, shearing the bases of the concrete support columns, each measuring fifteen feet in circumference and reinforced by numerous one and three quarter inch steel rods. The airborne building then fell in upon itself. A massive shock wave and ball of flaming gas was hurled in all directions." The explosive mechanism was a gas-enhanced device, probably consisting of bottled propane, butane, or acetylene, placed in proximity to a conventional explosive such as primacord, all of which are readily available on the retail market. Despite the lack of sophistication and ubiquity of its component parts, a gas-enhanced device can be a very lethal weapon. These devices are similar to fuel-air or thermobaric weapons, explaining the large blast and damage.

Rescue efforts continued for days. While the rescuers were at times hindered by sniper fire, some survivors were pulled from the rubble and airlifted to the hospital at RAF Akrotiri in Cyprus or to U.S. and German hospitals in West Germany. In the attack on the American barracks, the death toll was 241 American servicemen: 220 Marines, 18 Navy personnel and three Army soldiers. Sixty Americans were injured. In the attack on the French barracks, 58 paratroopers were killed and 15 injured, in the single worst military loss for France since the end of the Algerian War. In addition, the elderly Lebanese custodian of the Marines' building was killed in the first blast. The wife and four children of a Lebanese janitor at the French building were also killed.

This was the deadliest single-day death toll for the United States Marine Corps since the Battle of Iwo Jima of World War II (2,500 in one day) and the deadliest single-day death toll for the United States military since the 243 killed on January 31, 1968, the first day of the Tet Offensive during the Vietnam War. The attack remains the deadliest single attack on Americans overseas since World War II. Following the Beirut barracks tragedy, the realization that terrorist organizations have weapons of potentially enormous yield deliverable by an ordinary truck or van led to the placement of protective barriers (bollards) around critical government facilities throughout the United States. [culled from]

Less than two weeks left until election day, and people both here in the States and around the world are starting to firm up their opinions. Regardless of who wins, this will be a Presidential first for America; either the first female Vice-President, or the first black President. We just have to wait and see which. Most current polls put Obama ahead by anywhere from 1 to 11 points, and as things are unlikely to be settled by a dance-off, the situation might looking grim for the Republicans. Will this be a modern day David Vs Goliath where a relatively little known newcomer drops the bigger guy? Or will Sarah Palin and her SNL prowess prove to be the connection between the GOP and Joe Six-Packs everywhere? Well, we'll find out in twelve days. So until then, be cool.

top ten americans icons that aren't american anymore. oops.

ever wonder is ehowa is down, or if it's just you? use this utility to check!

a new portable breathalizer that's DOT approved. keep yourself from a DUI for $59.

music for hackers - soundscapes for compromising a remote host.

Three Things.

One. One of those areas where I've always had a little interest is early roles that famous actors played before they were, well, famous. For example; I think one of the most powerful and omniscient roles over the past ten years or so, was Morpheus from The Matrix. Yep, Lawrence Fishborne was one smoooooth motherfucker -- a far cry from the guy who got his start in Pee-Wee's Playhouse. Another movie I love to admit loving, is Twister with Bill Paxton. Did you know he got his start as the Coast Guard radio operator in Schwarzenegger' s 1985 action flick, Commando? I tried to find some video proof, but all I could dig up is this fart-dubbed over version, but at least you can see he's really in there. Building on that, the earliest work I recognize Clive Owen in are the BMW films that were used in a 2002 marketing scheme. Obviously he's done other work before that; I just can't find it. I only bring this up because as you know, he's my choice for James Bond, instead of that tool Daniel Craig - he makes me vomit. And the reviews are in for Quantum of Solace, and while not horrible, they're not great either. It's still not too late to change, guys! And what's my favorite Clive Owen flick? Why Shoot Em' Up, of course - how can you not love a movie where a guy gets killed with a fucking carrot? Eat your vegetables, beyotch!

Two. Kids driving like fucking idiots in their riced up little Honda Civics. It bothers me. Nay, it makes me angry. Listen kiddos, heed my warning. I remember seeing the Cannonball Run for the first time and fantasizing how cool it would be to drive around in my bad ass Lamboroghini, but that's where it ended. Fantasy. I didn't pile my friends in the car and go out and try to re-enact a few scenes. Speaking of which - the Asian drivers of that black car? One of them was Jackie Chan in his first American role. Listen, when you're all growed up with hair on your chest, fine, go out and race in the Gumball 3000 with your newfound skillz. Until then, if you can't keep all four wheels facing in the same direction, then get the fuck off the road, eh?

Three. And this kind of comes from the Good-News-Bad-News department. The good news is it looks like Anne Hathaway is finally over her psycho ex-boyfriend. Of course you all know that I've been waiting patiently for her to come to her senses, trying to keep my eye on the prize and not to rush into anything too fast. Well it seems my waiting has come to an end as she seems ready to move on to another relationshop. The bad news is, it seems just not with me. So whoever you are out there, Mystery Man, fuck you and I hope you go to prison too.

And four -- sorry, I couldn't find a good picture of four balloons -- is to say that Bobby is in the lead in Ball Reflexion. And I said, "Reflexion" not, "Reflection."

clearly you can see i'm an excellent driver. because my sweet ass car is transparent, baby!

uk pro snowboarder johno verity nearly dies in massive avalanche - and we get his live camera view.

because it's all fun and games until someone gets taken out at the knees point blank with a paintball gun.

This Tasteless Tuesday Gets Ms. Ella Very Clean.

I was once employed by a company that provided home health care to the elderly. I could tell many a tale about changing icky diapers on gnarled lifeless bodies or about the lady who could pull a catheter tube out with the bulb inflated to the size of a lightbulb, however, the following tale is the one that made me throw up my hands and consider flipping burgers and McDonalds a favorable career.

“Ms. Ella” lived down a crappy little side street in the projects. Despite the ten or so young adults that “stayed” with her (they didn’t live there mind you, they just “stayed” there) her doctor decided she needed her temperature checked and help with a bath a whopping three times a week. This morning, I knocked on Ms. Ella’s door and was greeted by her with her pistol pointed at me. Once I assured her that I was just there to help her (like I had been doing for several weeks now) she lowered the gun and let me in. The other people who were there just sorta giggled and took off for whereabouts unknown. I took Ms. Ella’s temperature, checked her pulse and respirations, and then tried to convince her that since she hadn’t had a bath since last Friday (today is Monday by the way) that she needed one. After much coercion, she finally relented and started her fifteen-minute waddle to the bathroom. This might be a good time to point out that Ms. Ella weighed about 350 pounds…and she was only five feet tall. Normally, I would put a straight chair in the tub of water, get Ms. Ella sat down on the chair and pretty much hose her off. However, today of all days, Ms. Ella wanted to SIT in the bathtub.

I don’t know if you have ever seen the standard bathtub in a project house. It’s basically big enough to bathe a SMALL six year old in. I was sorta afraid to argue, fearing she might have another pistol close by, so against my better judgement, I relented. Bathing Ms. Ella in itself was repulsive enough. Being the size she was, just to wash in the crevice of her knees my hand would disappear, literally! Her boobs truly hung to her waist and reminded me of how bubblegum looks when you pinch a little ball of it off and stretch it out of your mouth. I don’t even want to think about washing the rest of her, it might bring back the nightmares.

Anyway, I finally finished washing her and it was time to get out. I gave her a hand and prepared to pull her up when I realized, she was STUCK in the tub. I pushed and pulled and pushed and pulled and she didn’t budge. I considered getting the broom and using it like a crowbar to pry her out, but my boss didn’t have much of a sense of humor and I figured she wouldn’t like that idea too much. Finally I had to take my shoes and socks off, roll up my pants and get IN the tub with Ms. Ella.

I’m sure some porn magazine would have had a field day with a picture of this…350 lb. woman in the tub with a 120 lb. woman in there too..pulling on her. I pulled and pulled and finally Ms. Ella came loose. Imagine pulling a huge suction cup off a window…SMOOOCK. When she came free, I fell backwards into the faucet and ended up turning the shower on. Now wet and really pissed I am ready to get her dressed and get the hell out of there, but…Ms. Ella is cold. I look around and she has a ceiling mounted electric heater. Without thinking, I flip the switch and low and behold I am rained down upon by thousands of roaches.

That was it, all I needed, I’d had enough. I slung the pup tent sized sweat suit on her still wet ass and took off for the door.

I stood by my car ten minutes turning my pockets inside out, shaking roaches loose, bending over shaking my hair out with one of them occasionally crunching their guts out against my scalp when I shook too quickly, cussing a blue streak, and making that shrieking sound women make when bugs are crawling in their bra. I went straight back to the office and my boss looked at me as I threw my gear on her desk. She even had the nerve to ask why I was quitting. I think I will like my new career as a burger flipper. Cindy

For those of you not into pork rinds, "chichirone" is fried pig skin. Yes, like a football. And you wonder why heart disease is the number one killer. Now who wants cheese fries?

Okay, since Robin survived as king of the hill on Orbit Runner, it's time for another game challenge. This next one is part hand-eye coordination, part reflexes. There is a ball bouncing around the screen in a predictable pattern. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to click your mouse when this ball is bouncing through various target spots. The close to the target when you click, the more points you get. There are 20 levels, and everyone will be able to complete this one, since wven if you score a 0 on a level, it still advances. Thus your final stage 20 score must beat my 3,490.

Did anyone else catch the latest Two and a Half Men last night? It raised two questions for me. One, since I missed some episodes from the middle of the series, what happened to Rose? It looks like Alicia Witt is taking her place, or was that a one time thing and Rose is still around? And two, every time that Charlie Sheen sees a sexy gallery of Denise Richards, do you think he throws up in his mouth a little bit?

well, the down economy has at least one upside. due to slumping sales, miller brewing will no longer make zima. thank god.

top ten cars for the apocalypse. uh, no mention of a 1973 oldsmobile delta 88 with a windmill on the front

if you're used to catching a nap while vista shuts down like i am, employ some of these tricks to speed things up.

You Know What? Cool. I'm Pulling For The Rays.

Unfortunately, I find myself in a situation where I am forced to readdress a topic which I had already covered a few weeks ago; feeding political ignorance. Because a scant week and a half after I posted my original, "quit forward the bullshit political slant stories without checking their validity first," I received yet another in my inbox. And like the others before, it was forwarded a dozen and a half times before making it to me, it was complete and utter bullshit, and the best part... one of the fucking maroons who sent it on wrote, "I TRIED TO CHECK WITH SNOPES.COM BUT THERE DIDN'T SEEM TO BE ANY REFERENCE TO IT." That was on October 17th, and alas, when I looked on snopes two minutes after reading it I found this article posted on October 12th. So it's obvious the person who wrote that is either dumb as a fucking brick, or a willing participant in the misinformation machine. It's this kind of super-ignorance that really pushes my buttons. So if you'll permit me some latitude to refresh a few things with you.

Regardless of which side you point the finger at -- Republican President or Democratic Congress -- you can't dispute this fact that the country is in shambles. One out of every five homes I drive past is in foreclosure. The only reason the dollar is recovering against the Euro is because our stock market meltdown has dragged down the world economy with it. The single greatest threat to our way of life isn't Iran or North Korea, or even Russia; it's OPEC. Our military is still locked into a two-front war with no end in sight, and on a global scale our sphere of influence has never been smaller. Suffice to say that this is a pretty important election next month, and we don't have much time before the nation has to pick the right person to take on a very difficult job.

So with all of this at stake, can anyone tell me -- anyone at all -- why in the fuck you would let another person do your thinking for you? Are there really that many sheep out there? People too fucking stupid to think for themselves? And it goes both ways -- some Obama supporters are just as ignorant as some McCain ones. What the fuck is wrong with some people? But no, they'll both be voting right along side you and me. The fact that people this clueless will play a direct role in steering the next four years of this country's future, is downright frightening. So do me a favor, don't be one of these assholes. Listen, I'm all about some good political satire; that's okay. It's done in jest, and people know it's done in jest. But stop forwarding all this political bullshit that assumes that because someone's middle name is 'Hussein' that he's automatically a terrorist. Stop assuming that just because someone is old and rich, that he's automatically out to fuck over the young and poor. Stop the fear mongering. Do some research, re-watch the debates, and find some truth. Close your mouth, and open your ears.

If you're going to vote in November -- and I hope you do -- make an informed decision based upon the facts and not based upon rumors and skin color. Do you want to know who I'm voting for this year? I'll tell you. I'm voting for NONE OF YOUR FUCKING BUSINESS, that's who. I'll vote for my guy, you vote for yours. Maybe they're the same person, maybe they're not. Either way, get your head out of your ass and do your own fucking thinking.

So the Sox didn't make it to the World Series, and I'm okay with that. Right after the Sox tied the series, I bounced a few emails back and forth with Celeste the Rays fan, and I told her that other than those three innings, the Rays have out pitched, out hit and out fielded the Sox at just about every segment of the game. So the better of the two teams is advancing on this year, and it sure would make an awesome Cinderella story if the Rays were able to bring this one home. Then you guys can look forweard to seeing yoru team carved up by free agency next year!

Update on Orbit Runner -- Robin has regained the lead, topping Eric by 100 points and scoring a 2,470. I'll declare him the winner tomorrow if nobody tops that.

six signs you're about to be attacked by zombies. well, seven if you hear me rack the ol .45

how many days old are you? minutes? seconds? when will you be alive for 20,000,000 minutes? or 1,000,000,000 seconds?

sperm facts every woman should know. and yes, flaherty's sister wrote the article.

Insert Your Favorite It's Weekend Joke Here. Go Sox.

UNDERSTANDING THE DEMOCRATIC AND REPUBLICAN PARTIES. A PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT FROM EHOWA.

hey lardass, put down that cheeseburger and read twenty things you didn't know about obesity.

four words that are long overdue: terry. tate. is. back. (with sarah palin goodness!)

behold, for my name is marky-mark, and i am an overly sentitive whining pussybag with no sense of humor.

autourinetherapy - badspideyisback - brunetteflashingtits - notjustapieceofmeat - thewholetrailerpark - xtinavsshaqvsyaoming

Don't Call It A Comeback, I Been Here For Years. Rockin' My Peers, Puttin' Suckers In Fear.

Wow, eight runs in the last three innings, I guess it really isn't over until the fat lady sings, eh? (wait for it... wait for it... wait for it... wait for it... oh there it is.) I'm just glad Ortiz won't be riding off into the sunset with a 1-for-17 hanging on his neck. And for those of you who had the Sox game tuned in and missed Senator McCain on Letterman last night, here it is. I think he did great -- not as great as he did at the Al Smith dinner -- but he stumbled a little when it came to defending Sarah Palin. She's an albatross. A hot albatross, but an albatross none the less. Repudiate that. And who know David Letterman is such a tall motherfucker?

Orbit Runner. New leader. Eric man with 2,640.

Easy. I've got a two word example: David Ortiz. He's been catching a lot of heat since he's the go-to-guy and he's been in a slump. But all through the past five seasons that he's been with the Sox, when they really, really needed him; when the pressure was really, really on, he's come through. If we're down by three, and Big Papi steps to the plate with the bases loaded and two outs, I know we're going to win. That was one of the things that I USED TO love about Johnny Damon before he joined the Dark Side; he was never a fantastic hitter, he was never a fantastic fielder, but he somehow always managed to some through in those clutch moments. In the four reasons that Damon wore a #18 Red Sox jersey, I can count on one hand the number of times he crumbled under pressure. With Garciaparra, who spend eight and a half seasons with the Sox, I can instead count the number of times he actually came through. He's the epitome of all show and no go. He steps up the plate and always swings at the first pitch. And misses. And then spends twenty seconds going through his little wristband tugging ritual -- he doesn't actually move them, he's just going through the motions as some part of superstition. Which would be worth sitting through if he actually hit the ball afterwards. But he doesn't, he whiffs again. And then wastes more time readjusting his wristbands. Only to step into a swinging strike. Again. So he does the wristbands. Again. And strikes. Again. Or maybe if he's lucky, manages to peel one back to foul territory. And when things start to go bad for him it's, "Oh, my ovaries hurt, I need to go on the disabled list for a few months."

And the fact that he was entitled to a World Series ring under the Sox because he played half a season with them on 2004 before they traded his worthless ass, makes me throw up in my mouth every time I think of it. Fucking pussybag. He's a curse. And as for you Alex, damn, I would protest that shit.

we’ll miss them when they’re gone: seven aging hollywood badasses.

if you haven't heard, terrence howard is out of ironman 2, and don cheadle takes his place. bad move if you ask me.

one thing i do miss down here in florida is the changing of the seasons. then i think about snow, and fuck that.

See, Now That's Being A Good Sport.

To all my friends and family who have sent me best 'wishes' chain letters, 'angel' letters or other promises of good luck if I forwarded something, NONE OF THAT SHIT WORKED. So if you could you please just send cash, bourbon, airline tickets, or maybe just a tank of gas, that'd be great. Otherwise, you're just making yourself look very, very gay.

Okay, let's talk Orbit Runner. First to complete the game, first to get EHOWA on the leaderboard, and current leader is Robin with 2,390. And hey, how could you not complete the game with Anne Hatheway cheering you on? Shit, I even heard Spiderman is going to come out of retirement and give this one a try. What more incentive do you need, balloons?

Yeah for me, I will admit it's mixed feelings. I mean nobody wants to see their team lose, but if it is going to happen there are some teams you hate to see come out on top. As I am a Red Sox fan, obviously I'm referring to the Yankees. And why are the Yankees the most hated team in baseball? Because (up tuntil the last five years or so) it's been one win after another. Any Yankee fan will be more than happy to brag about their 26 World Series wins, when the next closest team the Cardinals, have only 10. And now with the Yankees in a five year slump, and the Sox winning two world series in that time, I don't want to see my team turn take the Yankees place as public enemy number one. So if they have to sit the remainder of this postseason out, that's okay with me especially if it means one of the lowest paid teams in baseball gets to go in their place. That guy Matt Garza has got an arm like a rocket launcher.

Now as for the LA Dodgers, I had a more difficult choice to make in regards to did I want them to go or not. One one hand, their manager is Joe Torre who got royally fucked by the Yankees, so I'd love to see him make it to the Series on his first showing without pinstripes on. They've also got Derek Lowe, who was one of the pitchers that broke the Sox curse back in 2004. But on the flip side we have Manny Ramirez, who left the Sox all in a huff. I don't nessecarily want to see him do bad, but I don't want to see him do well either. At least not so soon after leaving the Sox, give him a couple of seasons first. But the big reason I didn't want to see the Dodgers go? You got it - Nomar Garciaparra. You're washed up dude. You suck. You're done. You were done before the Sox even let you go. All your cute little wristband tugging betwene pitches can't save you now. I hate you almost as much -- almost -- as I hate Johnny Damon. You're a losing loser who stinks of losing. You a loser when you're in uniform and you're a loser when you're on injured reserve -- I just don't know which happens more often. You catch about as well as your fans do, and that ain't saying much. You big losery loser pants.

for the man who has everything i present to you... the corvette z06 speedboat.

ever wonder what it'd be like with palin as president? someone guy sure did.

worried about losing money in the market meltdown? it could be worse, these guys are only worth millions now.

So I Guess That Makes This... Tasteless Wednesday? Pooh Goes Apeshit.

Everything was rather quiet in the hundred acre wood. The trees whispered to each other as the wind rustled their leaves. Under a large oak tree, there lived Pooh bear. From inside Pooh's house, there came a steady bang...bang... bang!, that was making his honey jars rattle on the sideboard. The light came through the window, and in the evening sun Pooh raised the axe once more and brought it down on the tattered remains of Christopher Robin. "Why...won't... he...fit..." puffed Pooh to himself as the axe came down once more. There was a small pile of earth, and a hole next to it, which Pooh had hidden with his favourite rug. Christopher Robin, selfish prat that he was, didn't quite fit in the hole Pooh had dug, so instead of making it wider he had decided to hack Christopher Robin's legs off. "A far more sensible idea", thought Pooh, and hummed a little song to himself as he cut the last tendon and rammed the rest of the body in the hole, finally covering it up with the rug. "Always too bossy", thought Pooh, "Always too bossy, always grabbing me by the paw and saying 'Come on Pooh lets have an adventure' or 'Pooh you are silly!' in that affected cutesy spoilt brat voice, and his stupid little shorts - bastard!"

Pooh had waited all afternoon for Christopher Robin to come round, humming a little tuneless song to himself whilst gazing blankly into the fire and fondling the oaken handle of the axe. When C.R. had finally turned up, squeaking in his child-actor voice "Come on Pooh! Open Up!", Pooh had answered the door normal as anything, talked about the weather, and then went to the cupboard and fetched the axe. While C.R. had sat there, prattling on about what a silly bear Pooh was and how he had very little brain (which wound Pooh up no end), Pooh had raised the axe high and brought it down with a satisfying thud on Christopher Robin's skull, cleaving it virtually in two, with just some muscle fibre in place to keep the pieces upright, and freezing C.R's eyes wide in horror that Pooh, lovable Pooh, could do such a thing! Pooh giggled a little and wiped some saliva from his mouth with a shaky paw. Then Pooh, calm as anything, had mopped up the blood, washed the axe and begun to dig the hole.

Piglet had wondered why Pooh had not called for him that morning, to have his tea and biscuits, and so he decided to visit Pooh instead. He admired the evening sun, blood red, and listened to the birds singing. Pooh watched him get nearer and nearer, and plugged in the drill.

Piglet had no time to realise what had happened - the drill pierced his skull, sending a beautiful fountain of blood all over Pooh's orange hide. He rubbed the blood in and all over himself, licking, licking, always licking. Then he pulled Piglet inside and put him in the cupboard. The syringe lay on the sideboard, and Pooh picked it up, paws shaking and sweating, and filled it full of solution of the funny white powder that had been given to him by a strangely spaced-out Rabbit. It was a strange effect at first, and Pooh thought he had seen many strange things, but then experienced a euphoric feeling of power. It made him irritable, and C.R. and Piglet had everything that was coming to them, no doubt at all. When night had fully fallen, Pooh dragged the bodies out and buried them in a makeshift grave. "Adios, dear 'friends'", Pooh giggled, "Things are going to change around the 100-acre wood now I'm in charge" he laughed hysterically and went indoors.

The next day Tigger and Roo made their way happily to Pooh's house, to see if he knew where C.R. and Piglet were, as no-one had seen them since yesterday. They were sure Pooh would know, as he had had tea with Piglet yesterday and was meant to be playing Pooh-sticks with C.R. in the morning. When they reached Pooh's house the door was wide open and Pooh was nowhere to be seen. Tigger and Roo looked inside Pooh's house and noticed a large hole in Pooh's floor and a notice was stuck on the wall with a large blob of congealing honey "OWT CHAGIG THE DRAGGN" (spelling had never been one of Pooh's strong points). "That's odd", though Tigger, "there are no dragons in the 100-acre wood only heffalumps. What _is_ that silly bear up to now?"Not even Tigger would have imagined what Pooh was up to at that moment. That morning Pooh had woken with a splitting headache and a rather snotty nose. So he had taken a large dose of the white powder and a little while later had a brilliant idea! He left the house with a container marked INSECTICIDE in big red letters. He took the container and went to Eeyor's favourite patch of thistles.

"This will serve that manic depressive donkey right" laughed Pooh aloud, "always cheating at Pooh-sticks, cheats never prosper", Pooh said to himself. Then he hid behind a tree to watch the unsuspecting Eeyor eat himself to death - sheer poetic justice thought Pooh as he dumped the nearly dead body of Eeyor in the same grave as C.R. and Piglet - "Shouldn't cheat should you?", shouted Pooh as Eeyor's eyes stared with disbelief - "You're lucky I didn't chop you up into little bits and feed you to Tigger!", laughed Pooh manically, before he covered the makeshift grave over.

Pooh didn't return to the house until dinner time as he was totally spaced out all morning. So when he returned to his house he was in an awful mood and all he needed to make him absolutely mad was the sight of Tigger and Roo bouncing up and down outside his house singing "bouncy, bouncy, fun, fun, fun, fun, fun, the wonderful....". "'Wonderful'?", thought Pooh aloud, "My foot, you'd think the writer of this shitty story could think up better lyrics for a song than that, and to think, they released the soundtrack album on cassette and CD; a lot of people are going to get ripped off." This lightened Pooh's mood somewhat, but the respite was brief."What was that you said?", asked Roo. "God does he never stop asking pathetic questions?", Pooh thought furiously, "I'm going to have to deal with these prats as well. Is there no-one in this place with intelligence apart from me?" Pooh asked despairingly."

Pooh felt himself extremely lucky as Roo had to go home for his afternoon sleep and that left Tigger at his mercy. Even better, Tigger suggested that himself and Pooh go and play Pooh-sticks; Pooh had smiled slyly as an idea formed in his overactive brain, and agreed - "What an opportunity", Pooh whispered to himself as he followed the innocent Tigger to the bridge.

Once on the bridge, and the rather pointless game of Pooh-sticks was under way, Pooh thought he'd much rather push his stick up Tigger's arse, rather than throwing it into the stream. Tigger was leaning over the side of the bridge looking for his stick. So he did not see Pooh's wide horrific grin as he outstretched his arms and moved toward Tigger with the intent of pushing the stupid cat into the stream - "Cats hate water, tee hee, he'll drown." There was a loud splash as Tigger hit the water and started to struggle as his head was covered by water, he gulped and choked. Pooh was holding on to the rail of the bridge and jumping up and down with excitement and was joyously shouting at the drowning Tigger.

"Why?", spluttered Tigger as he slowly started to turn blue with the cold, which Pooh found hysterical, after all a blue Tigger?? How absolutely silly. "I'll tell you why you bastard", screamed Pooh, "It serves you right, hiding behind doors and jumping out, and scaring the shit out of people." But Tigger did not hear Pooh's answer as he was already floating downstream face down in the water, dead - "Good riddance", laughed Pooh, and looked at his watch, "Still time to get that little dick head Roo before he wakes up."

Pooh sneaked to the sleeping form of Roo's mum and saw Roo's ear poking out of her pouch - "Now I've got you, you little git", Pooh thought, smiling, as he threaded a needle with extra strong cotton. He was jolly grateful for Piglet's sewing lessons now, because he would be able to sew up Roo nice and tightly, so he would not be able to get out and his mum would not be able to rescue him. So very slowly and carefully Pooh began to sew Roo into his pouch and thereby suffocating the annoying idiotic twit. After the deed was done Pooh made his way back to his house wondering how Roo's mum would take the death of Roo. Badly, hoped Pooh, as he began to cough uncontrollably and felt general nausea overcome him.

By the time Pooh got home he had puked up several times and was very desperate for some more of the white solution. He trembled as he picked up the syringe and gave himself the remaining amount. An awfully large amount, one might say, for a small little bear like Pooh. In fact too much, Pooh died of an overdose, but he died with a smile on his face: he was dreaming that he was the only teddy bear made with a willy and dreamed how he surprised Eeyor one day - but that's a story for another day. - Public Domain 1999

Red Sox. A lot of people are asking me if I'm upset that the Sox have falled behing 1-3 to the Devil Rays. And in all honesty, I'm not. For two reasons. One, I don't want to see the Sox turn into the Yankees, where it's just one World Series win after another. Nobody likes a dynasty. And secondly, if the Sox are going to lose to anyone, i'd want it to be the Rays simply because they've got one of the lowest payrolls in baseball. You can't get a much better underdog than that and you can tell as they're playing that they mean business. So I'll just have to look back at my fondest Johnny Damon memory and see how things turn out next year. And I'm okay with that. At least the Sox aren't moving their spring training to Sarasota.

Since nobody even came close to challenging Scott in Mazenetix, this of course brings us to a new game challenge. I hope you've boned up on your astrophysics, because our next challenge is Orbit Runner. Don't worry, it's not as hard as it sounds. Much like your universe revolves around me, this play universe revolves around the sun. You are that sun. Your goal is to move the sun around and get the surrounding planets into orbit. The first ten levels are easy, and I've completed them with only 74 world ending collisions. I trust you can do better, and we can compare scores heading into the later levels. Highest level wins, and completed scores trump everything else. I trust this will keep you all entertained, and ladies if you don't want to play, I have something else to keep you busy.

Imagine you're just lyin around and suddenly a man breaks into your house and forces you to choose between looking at a photose of fat chicks bulging out of their bathing suits, or a video created by one very hot brunette entitled, "Shake Your Body Like This." Which do you choose? And while you're at it, which do you think is safer; riding a wakeboard or riding an ATV? One would think that the sport of wakeboarding is less dangerous, and one would be wrong. I can only imagine how many ruptured hernias came from those crashes.

bacon! bacon! bacon! bacon! everything, and i mean everything, is better wrapped in bacon.

rage in the cage, and piss upon the stage. there's only one sure way, to bring the giant down. living dead girl.

UNMOUNTABLE_BOOT_VOLUME. STOP 0x000000ED.

I use my computer for virtually everything. If I'm watching a movie and find an actor's name right on the top of my tongue, I'll pause the television and go hit IMDB real quick to find out who it is. Before suiting up to take my motorcycle out for a spin, I'll check the Weather Underground to see if there's any rain coming my way. Boredom on a Saturday means a quick check of the local movie listings will quickly put that to bed. I get almost all of my news online, either from the main stream sites like CNN or the more offbeat sites like Fark. But as astoundingly useful my computer has evolved to be -- my current desktop has 35 times more memory than my first computer had hard drive space -- sometimes I still long for the simplicity of a bootable DOS diskette.

On Sunday night I was browsing around -- looking for usable images of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, if you can believe it -- when my computer suddenly decided to take one big enormous shit right before my very eyes. Truth be told, I actually think it was a site I visited, I was tabbing through several images picked up by Google image search and mindlessly clicking on each of them so I could see the image full sized. I didn't notice that one of the sites had, "warez" in the title until it was too late. And that's not to say that all sites with "warez" in the title are necessarily death sentences, but as the term is attached at the hip with hacking and such, I'd just as soon look for my end of the world imagery elsewhere and not take the chance. Too late.

The first sign was that despite my clicking of the mouse wheel, no additional tabs were opening. At this point, I wasn't worried. For some reason Vista and Adobe Flash don't really like each other too much, so having the occasional flash-based site hang wasn't all that uncommon. It usually comes back after thirty seconds or so, allowing you to end the runaway process. As I waited, the second sign of the apocalypse was I couldn't click around between that tab and the other existing tabs I already had open. The third sign was I couldn't click around to any of the other applications I had open, and ironically enough, the Fourth Horsemen made his presence known when CTRl-ALT-DEL wouldn't bring up the Task Manager. Another minute of me staring slack-jawed and drooling at an immobile computer screen made it apparent that only a power off/on would fix this issue. So I did.

And of course, windows pukes all over my desk. I get about twenty seconds past the sliding green "Microsoft Corporation" logo and poof, reboot. Okay, no big deal. I'll bring it up in Last Known Good Configuration, go back a few days in system restore points, and no es problemo. Wrong. twenty seconds past the sliding logo, poof, another reboot. Okay, fine, I'll bring it up in Safe Mode -- Safe Mode always works -- and restore it that way. Wrong. I made it to CRCCHECK.SYS where it would hang there for a half a minute and -- you guessed it -- reboot. But this time I noticed a quick flash of the Blue Screen of Death as it rebooted, but it was too quick to read anything. Okay, so I go into the BIOS, disable the 'reboot on crash' option and try again so I can read the BSOD text. The results? UNMOUNTABLE_BOOT_VOLUME. STOP 0x000000ED.

Huh, well that doesn't sound too damned Jim Dandy, now does it? But I'm not worried. Why, because I am a Computer God. I am Lord of the Internet and Master of All That Is x86 Based. I can fix this computer while watching the Raiders lose, doing my taxes, and letting your sister blow me, all at the same time. In fact, ever since my previous computer barf about a year and a half ago (motherboard failure) I don't keep any my usable data on the internal hard drive anymore... it's all on an external USB drive. Main computer dies, no problem, just plug the external drive into a new computer and I'm good to go. So comfortable that all my important data is safe, all I have to do is fall back upon the manufacturer's system restore option to get a clean install of Vista. You know the drill, "What time zone are you in, what language do you speak, how do you connect to the internet, etc..." In computer lingo, this is known as an Out Of Box Experience, or OOBE.

So how the fuck does your computer remember what it used to be like right out of the box? Easy. When you first get a new computer, the hard drive is basically empty save for the operating system and a few trial versions of software they want you to buy. A total of eh, maybe 5-6 gigabytes worth of stuff -- a tiny fraction of the 500+ gigabyte drives they come installed with. What used to happen is the manufacturers would send along a restore CD to be used to wipe the hard drive clean and recreate the OOBE. But CD/DVD's cost money, so the manufacturers started using small drive partitions instead. A partition is just what it sounds like - your hard drive is cut up into two virtual hard drives -- one really big that you work with every day, and one teeny tiny one with an image of what the computer looked like right when you first turned it on. It's this image that's used to recreate the OOBE. By default your computer boots up using the larger partition, where is where you install all of your programs, hide all of your gay porn, and store all of your downloaded Metallica albums. All the while this other small partition -- maybe 10Gb or so -- remains dormant and unused, with a big, "TO BE USED ONLY IN CASE OF AN EMERGENCY" stenciled on it. So when the time comes it performs its only job in this world: it reformats the larger partition, copies over that image of a fresh Windows install, reboots itself -- and bam! -- you get the OOBE just like you did on day one.

As a side note here, I'd like to point out that this is the big advantage of a pre-manufactured computer over one you build yourself. The ability to press a key on bootup, and within thirty minutes, wipe out all of your computer's ills and set the operating system right back to virgin territory. Installed so much crap that your computer is running bogged down? Do the OOBE. Kids clicked 'yes' to every spyware install and now you can't do shit without popups and browser hijacks? Do the OOBE. Fuck up your system from either malicious hacks or dumbassery? Do the OOBE. It fixes everything. Everything. It is the ultimate in Scorched Earth policy. And truth be told, it's not a bad idea to do every once in awhile anyway, just to get rid of the clutter. With the Frankenstein computers of yesterday, you'd have to manually reformat, reinstall the OS, enter all your fucking codes correctly, find your driver diskette/CD for your network card so you could get online, then track down the updated drivers for your video card, sound card, media readers, USB hubs, etc. Which is shit that I used to enjoy doing, but now I just find it a hassle. Plus with pre-manufactured computer prices where they are now, you can't dream of building an equivalent computer for the same cost. Anyway.

On my little weenie Gateway -- don't laugh it cost me less than $500 -- it's F8 upon bootup to bring up the Windows menu -- then select Recovery Options which forced the computer to boot off that tiny other partition. There's I'm given the doomsday scenario and after a few, "Hey dumbass you're about to reformat your computer and lose all your data, are you really really sure you want to do this," warnings, it should reimage your hard drive to its virgin goodness. Only mine kinda sorta didn't work. Instead of popping up with the recovery menu ten seconds later as it should, it took some twenty minutes. And when it did come up, it didn't recognize the larger partition that it was supposed to reimage to. This was not the results I expected. This is what made me long for my DOS diskette goodness because the solution then would be simple. Boot from floppy, run chkdsk, fixed! But as operating systems have grown into bloated hogs that not longer allow for a kernel to fit onto a floppy -- not that I even have a floppy drive anyway -- I was pretty much fucked. I went to bed Sunday night very pissy.

But as the sun dawned on Monday morning, I was already fully prepared to implement my backup plan: take my hard drive out, install my hard drive as a secondary in another Vista computer, and run chkdsk that way. Problem: I don't have another Vista computer. Further problem: Neither does anyone I know (either by not having Vista or not having SATA hard drives). Thus begins the backup to my backup plan: buy a new computer. Sort of. I mean I did go out and buy a new computer right as the store opened at 10am, I just had no intention of keeping it. So when I got it home, I opened the box from the bottom, carefully removed the packaging around the computer and popped off the side cover so I could install may hard drive. Boot that computer up, go through the OOBE (yeah I know, the irony) and started the chkdsk (file system repair) on my drive. Which took a whopping thirty seconds. Yes, I was fully aware that I was going through all this crap for a thirty second repair, but what choice did I have? Anyway, remove my hard drive, go through the factory recovery on the new computer to set it to OOBE and remove any traces that I had used it, repackaged it, turn my attention back to my little problem child.

With hard drive reinstalled, guess what -- it boots right up! There's my Red Sox background, all my Doom icons, my website tools, you name it. But somehow, something just didn't feel quite right. Like when a college girl comes home from a party with a black eye and smells of sex, yet she insists everything is just 'fine'. Sure, everything looked fine, and I guess that was the problem. I decided my best course of action was to do what I had originally planned, which was to go in and knock the computer back a few days, using system restore points. Vista/XP create them automatically every few days or whenever you make a change to your computer, and since my computer is over a year and a half old, so I should have hundreds of them. Only when I got into the menus, I didn't. I had zero restore points. That made me uncomfortable, and I was beginning to feel that the integrity of my system has been compromised. Now my college girl was not only telling me she was fine, but began softly crying and frantically rocking in the corner of her room.

I copied off my bookmarks, my Doom save games, my Red Sox background, and other assorted stuff that wasn't altogether crucial but still nice to have. Then I rebooted, pressed F8, went into recover and with a twinge of satisfaction was greeted with the recovery menus after a scant twenty seconds, just as it should. And so much like a Pakistani honor killing, I held a pillow over my computers face until it stopped struggling. Reformat, reload, let Vista go through its automatic updates to get current, install a few apps I need and presto, I'm ready to rock. Once the OOBE process worked correctly, it was a very quick and easy process -- the problem was however it was that my file system had been corrupted, it somehow prevented the normal repair process from functioning as designed. A rare occurrence I would imagine. I also returned the 'new' computer a scant six hours after I bought it -- damned thing wasn't compatible with my monitor. Anyway, I was back in action around 6pm last night, but quite frankly didn't feel like an update so I decided to tell you my story this morning instead. Cheers.

the most awesome and tasteless joke to come out of this political campaign yet. laugh out loud awesome.

how to tell if she has fake boobs - an illustrated guide. sort of not safe for work.

ten reasons for the current credit crisis, with ghetto commercial goodness.

Insert Your Favorite Vanishing 401(k) Joke Here.

if you've got a little time on your hands, here's a 336 question simpsons trivia quiz.

racism and ignorance is alive and well in america. props to mccain for setting the crazy old bat straight.

fifty rules for being a gentleman and ten rules for being a raging douchebag.

mountainofdew - mysisterpoops - neworleansfloodbike - stockmarketmascot - thegoodwiththebad - therealcoolbus - wearinguglyshoes

hot chick doing a beer bong. and by, "doing" i mean "taking," and by, "beer bong" i mean, "clothes off."

Spare Some Change Please?

I'm always one who likes to comment on current events, so of course the stock market meltdown is as heavy on my mind as I'm sure it is on yours. But you know what? It's too fucking depressing to talk about. To look at your retirement, or your next egg, or whatever few bucks you've managed to squirrel away over the past five or six years and to see it wiped away by the hungry bear? It just takes the wind out of you and I am definitely not all right. I might as well have spent it on hookers and blow; at least that way I would have enjoyed myself. Do you know how tired I am of seeing red, red, red, and more red? What the fuck. But I will say this though. I've read a few articles about how people have stopped contributing to their 401(k)'s until the market stabilizes and I think that's asinine. Now's the time to buy in baby -- when the blood is running in the streets. Max out those contributions and buy while everything is on sale. Presuming of course, you have any fucking money left after shelling out $6 for a gallon of milk and $100 to fill your fucking gas tank. Shit, even the pimps are hard up for cash. So much for being recession-proof.

Because it's always awesome, here's Ben Fry's Salary vs Performance chart for Major League Baseball. You gotta tip your hat to Tampa Bay this year, I'll tell you that. So what's it like watching the playoffs from home? I dunno, ask Alex Rodriguez and the rest of the Yankees. Go Sox.

And whether you whether you like porn or not - this my friends is some scary shit. If that isn't trampling on the First Ammendment rights, then I don't know what is.

knock, knock. who's there? emerson. emerson who? emerson big fucking tits you've got there, jodie marsh.

graduating from beer to whisky: ten facts you need to know. [ernie's advice: woodford reserve]

a decade of internet superstars - where are they now edition

uhhh, is it me, or does anyone else cringe at this much personal information being publicly available?

Yeah We're Running A Little Late Today.

Normally I avoid discussing any advice regarding buying or selling of stocks, but I felt this is important enough to share and warn you since this explosive situation might prove to be yet another ENRON. Please review any holdings you might have in the following stocks: American Can. Interstate Water. National Gas Company. Northern Tissue Company. Due to uncertain market conditions, I advise you to sit tight on your American Can, hold your Water, and let go of your Gas. You may be interested to know that Northern Tissue touched a new bottom today, and millions were wiped clean. It's a tough market out there. Be careful out there.

So let's talk about Mazenetix. Scott improved his score to 13,083, so if no one tops that by tomorrow, I'll call it.

So blah-blah-blah we're all following the Presidential candidates closely, blah-blah-blah. But let's get to the really importan tissues, like who is running for FAKE president. Paris Hilton enlisted the help of the all time greatest fake president, Martin Sheen.

estne volumen in toga, an solum tibi libet me videre?

on my command, unleash hell. upon your co-workers. with toothpaste.

Hallelujah And Pass The Bourbon.

My friends, let me tell you something. I watched the Presidential debate last night and my friends, I was surprised at what I saw. So my friends if I were John McCain, the first thing I would do when I woke up this morning, is to get myself a large stick. And not just any stick my friends, but a very large one. And I would track down the folks who coached me for the debate. Specifically my friends, the individual who counceled me to use the phrase, "my friends," as it would create a connection with the people listening at home. And then I would shove that large stick so far up his ass, that my friends, he would need a fucking chainsaw to brush his teeth. Because that my friends, was very annoying. Seriously. Stick. Ass. Up. My friends.

But on to more important things. Like Doom. This article featuring a Then Vs Now comparison of your favorite games, first highlights the two Dooms. The original being 1992 era graphics but complete and total kick ass gameplay versus awesome state of the art cutting edge graphics, and gameplay that eats goat cock. At least I think so; the beauty of the original Doom was its simplicity. It was mindless fun. Get gun, open a door, shoot shit. Repeat. The biggest mental challenge you had to overcome was you couldn't open a red door without the red key. That's it. The rest was all visceral asskicking. When they remade it with Doom 3, they lost that simplified gameplay. They spent more energy on creating a highly detailed world that the player could be completely immersed in -- and they did a fucking fantastic job -- but at the expense of fun. No longer could you open a door, be greeted by fifty imps and so long as you had forty shotgun shells and a chainsaw, you knew you were going to be all right. Open a door in Doom 3 and see four or five imps, and you'd better have a rocket launcher or the BFG. It just wasn't as much fun and I longed for the simpler days of the original Doom. Because shit like this just wasn't cutting it. Anyway, reminiscing upon this made me search through all my drawers and sort through some boxes in the attic until I found my Ultimate Doom Collection CD -- released to allow Doom (an old school DOS based game) to be played under the newer Windows environments using DirectX. It worked flawlessly through Windows XP and I was horrified to find that compatibility went tits up with Vista (go figure). So I spent about two minutes tinkering with all the compatibility options and I'm happy to report, was able to get it working again. I say again, contrary to what that article reports, The Doom Ultimate Collection CD WORKS with Windows Vista -- you have to modify the shortcut properties like this. And presto, asskickery resumes. So if you'd like to veg out a little bit and take a walk down Space Marine memory lane, I highly suggest you drop the $8 bucks because my friends, it's well worth it.

Building upon yesterday's killer idea, I did my best to kill all these stick figures but can't figure out how to kill the guy in the chair. Top left guy, drop him off the side. Click the top right antenna to fall and crush that guy. You can get two guys when you cut the elevator cable, if you get the timing right. Drop the flourescent light on the two bastards chatting it up. But I just can't kill that fucking office guy. But do me a favor, as you're out and about today and if you happen to snap something cool on your cameraphone, send me off a copy to phone [at] ehowa [dot] com. Please make sure your camera resolution is set to 640x480, so I don't have to waste time resizing anything. And if you want to include some text to explain the photo, that's welcome too. Oh, and thanks to Jacob, Drew, and Jeff for telling me the Jimmy Kimmel video was fake. Even though I said so. In the next sentence. Good hustle. Almost as much hustle as Matt, but clearly not as much hustle as Scott, who got EHOWA on the leaderboard at #22. My friends, I'm off to marry Jodie Marsh. Catch you later.

life lessons taught in the big lebowski. can i offer you a white russisn perhaps?

emails you get when your company is about to go under. man i don't miss this crap.

if you bid on this auction i am sure god WELL make you feel like an idiot.

miley cyrus is such a mess! she keeps changing outfits for her big date. don't peek while she's changing!

This Tasteless Tuesday Brings Us Down On The Farm.

My parents had a small farm running sheep and pigs during my teenage years (BTW this is South Australia). I think the sheer variety and frequency of tasteless events during those formative years have had quite a severe and lasting effect, but hey, each to their own perversion. I'm talking glorious events such as:

Adolescent boars forming mass homosexual humping sessions, spraying pig spoof like confetti, while those not actually involved in the humping greedily lick it off the receiving asshole.

A pig's ear infected from a bite swelling up to the size of a football, filled with yellow/green pus. Attempts to lance the ear were only partly effective, resulting in about a month of dripping oozing pus which would frequently become a shower as the swine shook its head - accompanied by the slapping sound of this sack of pus slopping either side of the head. When it eventually healed it dried up to a tiny scabby protrusion.

A "stuck" lamb during birth. The lamb came out head first, and got stuck at the shoulders. While trying to catch the ewe to pull the lamb, she surprised us by being quite nimble to her feet and running down the paddock, while the lamb's head is flopping about all over the place - no hope of controlling itself and at the same time trying to take its first few breaths. Welcome to the world, kid!

My future wife's (a nice innocent city girl) first experience of sheep very quickly changed from "Oh, aren't the sheep cute" to a dry retching disgust as high velecity projectile snot hurled straight past her.

So many other wonderful experiences such as castrations, lancing boils and infections, seeing the results of dog and fox attacks, learning at school to kill & gut chickens, and the "knife method" of castrating lambs - slice off the bottom third of their sac, and with a specially shaped hook, literally rip the poor bastards' family jewels out. Rumor has it old farmers use their teeth, and the infection conscious ones take a swig of whiskey in between.

In amongst this veritable sea of bodily fluids, secretions and oozing pus there is one ritual which stands out above all others. Three words - Fly Blown Sheep. (some background for you non-rural types): Sheep in Australia have their tails cut off when they are young to try to prevent fly strike. The tail is removed with either a knife or rubber band (same as the ball bag). Cut the tails too short and you get a lovely bout of cancer of the vulva or asshole appearing a few years later from sunburn.

Another wonderfully tasteless practice, which seems to be dying out is called muelsing. I have only seen pictures of it but it goes something like this. Take one young lamb - too young and they'll probably die from shock, too old and you imagine they feel too much pain - shear the wool from around its rear, make an incision above the tail, over the hips, down the legs, under the belly and back to the start point. Make a second incision around the arse. Now strip the outer skin from between you two cuts, giving a sort of lamb skin doughnut shape. I don't know if there could be a market for these - any ideas? Remember - no anaesthetic is used. The raw subskin eventually heals as scar tissue which will never grow wool.

The whole point of these various efforts is to prevent fly strike. Sheep being the dirty stupid creatures that they are will quite happily go through life shitting and pissing without a thought to keeping their arse clean. All too frequently shit gets caught on their wool, which then catches more shit, and so this hardened formation grows at an exponential rate. These formations are called dags, and they often rattle as the dry shit clusters knock together. Now add to this some moisture, supplied by sheep piss (which now has virtually no chance of reaching the ground without passing through the shit sculpture) or rain, plus a bit of summer heat, and you have the maggot Hilton Inn. Maggots start out in the shit but quickly start work on the skin. In a good case, they will fan out over the rear half of the sheep. It becomes pretty obvious from a distance, as the rear wool starts to fall off because there is now no skin left under it. This is when it becomes time to, "crutch the blown sheep."

Let me describe the scene. As you pull the loose wool off, you get your first glance of this mobile maggot colony. What remains of the skin is a weeping mess bearing a close resemblance to swiss cheese. Now with the dagging shears, start cutting back the wool towards the maggot frontline. You have hit paydirt when you start cutting through black/green rotting wool. And then the smell hits you. Fermented rotting wool and flesh, fed by the weeping blood and often a side serve of pus. Throughout the skin/pulp mixture is a seething sea of wriggling maggots, boring their way into the skin, feeding on both rotting and living tissue. The sight, combined with the stench, can pretty well guarantee a good dry retch, if not total loss of breakfast. Continue to trim the wool back past the maggots to the good skin. Now savour this moment - look at the shears. The blades are coated with about every vile fluid you could imagine, fragments of decayed flesh and wool, PLUS numerous maggots neatly sliced in two. If you still had your breakfast, say good bye to it now.

Your task is nearly complete. With the affected wool removed -- and it can be half the animal in a good case -- the freshly exposed soggy mess begins to congeal in the sun. A liberal dose of "strike" powder and the stupid animal is released. Remember not to clean up the dagging shears though. It's always much more fun to let someone else find them a week or two later, complete with dried maggot carcases. Enjoy! Farmer Dave.

Ehhhh, not so much, sorry Mike. But LA-Charley gave me a killer idea though. Tomorrow I'm going to post an email address that you folks can plug into your cellphone address books, and send me phonecam pictures anywhere, anytime. I'll sort through them and post what's funny. Those of you deemed worthy, I'm looking into a way to allow several people post directly to EHOWA, like I do with mine. Cool, eh?. Oh and Kevin claims to have gotten EHOWA on the Mazenetix scoreboard with 12,682 points, but since he can't follow simple instructions, he tried to forward me the webpage from his browser resulting in his score looking like this. DISALLOWED. Send screen captures folks, send screen captures.

dogs 3. cats 0.

meet the man who fell kimbo. huh. didn't see this one coming.

like ron says: stay classy, san diego -- take a close look at the attached picture.

the fifty greatest independent films of all time - who knew the terminator was an indie?

Let Me See If I Understand This Correctly.

Once upon a time, in a place overrun with monkeys, a man appeared and announced to the villagers that he would buy monkeys for $10 each. The villagers, seeing that there were many monkeys around, went out to the forest, and started catching them. The man bought thousands at $10 and as supply started to diminish, they became harder to catch, so the villagers stopped their effort. The man then announced that he would now pay $20 for each one. This renewed the efforts of the villagers and they started catching monkeys again. But soon the supply diminished even further and they were ever harder to catch, so people started going back to their farms and forgot about monkey catching. The man increased his price to $25 each and the supply of monkeys became so sparse that it was an effort to even see a monkey, much less catch one. The man now announced that he would buy monkeys for $50! However, since he had to go to the city on some business, his assistant would now buy on his behalf.

While the man was away the assistant told the villagers, "Look at all these monkeys in the big cage that the man has bought. I will sell them to you at $35 each and when the man returns from the city, you can sell them to him for $50 each." The villagers rounded up all their savings and bought all the monkeys. They never saw the man nor his assistant again, and once again there were monkeys everywhere.

Now you have a better understanding of how the stock market works.

And in case you don't get it, "es" means "is," in Spanish, hence he believes the vehicle is called "is scort," hence "scort" for sale. Heh. Yeah. Anyway, if you don't like it, stick your nose somewhere else, for this week, we have a new game challenge. And this one I actually completed (there are twelve levels) and you must complete all twelve in order for your score to count. Don't worry, they're not that hard. But time is a factor, so see if you can't get EHOWA on the leaderboard of Mazenetix.

how bloggers make their income. man i wish i was a blogger

man's dogs greet him after returning from fourteen months in iraq -- another reason why dogs rule.

obama = ? biden = ? mccain = ? palin = ?... you've seen the meme, here's the thread. some funnier than others.

Insert Your Favorite Weekend Joke Here.

just because its so fucking awesome it deserves a relink - the fantastic contraption

and the winner of light bots is jason with 178 moves
achievementlocked - fasebookisforbidden - feeldumbinthemorning - hardcordusmcchick - ihatericemilk

ever wonder what happens when you set off an airbag inside a refrigerator? the saturn vs ford showdown.

everything you ever wanted to know about a missed approach and more.

anne hathaway gallery - man what i wouldn't give to show her the best three minutes fo her life.

find someone's physical location from their ip address -- we'll be using that later this week

Things Learned By Texans Who Endured Hurricane Ike.

1. Coffee and frozen pizzas can be made on a BBQ grill.

2. No matter how many times you flick the switch, lights don't work without electricity.

3. My car gets 23.21675 miles per gallon, EXACTLY (you can ask the people in line who helped me push it).

4. Kids can survive four days or longer without a video game controller in their hand.

5. Cats are even more irritating without power.

6. He who has the biggest generator wins.

7. Women can actually survive without doing their hair- you just wish they weren't around you.

8. A new method of non-lethal torture - showers without hot water.

9. There are a lot more stars in the sky than most people thought.

10. TV is an addiction and the withdrawal symptoms are painful.

11. A seven lb bag of ice will chill 6-12 oz Budweiser's to a drinkable temperature in eleven minutes, and still keep a 14 lb. turkey frozen for eight more hours.

12. There are a lot of damned trees around here.

13. Flood plane drawings on some mortgage documents were seriously wrong.

14. Aluminum siding, while aesthetically pleasing, is definitely not required.

15. Crickets can increase their volume to overcome the sound of fourteen generators.

16. People will get into a line that has already formed without having any idea what the line is for.

17. When required, a Lincoln Continental will float, doesn't steer well but floats just the same.

18. Telemarketers function no matter what the weather is doing.

19. Cell phones work when land lines are down, but only as long as the battery remains charged.

20. All of your neighbors are fed from a different transformer than you, and they are quick to point that out.

21. Clothes hampers were not made to contain such a volume.

22. If my store sold only ice, chainsaws, gas and generators... I'd be rich.

23. Price of a can of soup rises 200% in a storm.

24. Your water front property can quickly become someone else's fishing hole.

25. Tree service companies are under appreciated.

26. I learned what happens when you make fun of another states' blackout.

27. MATH 101: Thirty days in month, minus six days without power equals 30% higher electric bill.28. Drywall is a compound word, take away the 'dry' part and it's worthless.

29. I can walk a lot farther than I thought.

30. I didn't know I could find so much pleasure in a little cool front in the middle of September in Texas.

31. George Bush Dont Care About White People!

one hundred skills every man should know: the instructions (with videos!)

behold, the top twelve nipple slips of the red carpet. sort of nsfw i guess.

Stuff Man, Just Some Stuff.

In response to the Katie Couric/Sarah Palin interview (you can see her nosedive around the three minute mark someone created this site of Things Sarah Palin Can Name. And just for kicks, here's another Sarah Palin tape, although admittedly this pone might make you feel a bit uncomfortable. Then there's a short called Lip Service from Sarah Palin's Vagina, also dubbed the "Tunnel of Truth." Boy, she sure is popular lately. I wonder just how far this Sarah fucking Palin thing can go? Well, it can make it a galaxy far, far away, thats for sure.

I took this beer quiz and got an 89%, missing only two; Bud Light (if you can believe it) and Mac and Jacks (what the fuck is that?) There aren't too many rules to follow, so see if you can do any better and if not, well then I guess you're just a stupid shit head fag. And no, this is not a game challenge; the current challenge is Light Bot and right now Vinnie is in the lead with 190.

Last week it was how to land a plane in case the pilots die. This week, it's how to survive falling out of a plane at 30,000 feet -- obviously something that Batman doesn't have to worry about. Now if I could only find a way to get Gary Coleman off my fucking car hood, I'd be all set.

Now that shes back in the atmosphere. With drops of jupiter in her hair, hey, hey. She acts like summer and walks like rain. Reminds me that theres time to change, hey, hey.

Believe it or not, this Hulk picture didn't come from Alek. Also be advised, there is a very disturbing testicle link below (the NSFW row's DON'T LOOK) and trust me, you're gonna wanna hold your boys close after seeing that one.

if all movies had cellphones, they sure would be shorter.

tickets here! get your tickets here! seriously, get tickets to any football game anywhere, anytime.

and automobile sales are down across the board. audi doing best with ONLY a 5.4% drop in sales.

I Am A Child Of The 80's.

It was a six-wheeled tank with a front-mounted blue "photon beam" headlamp, and a keypad on top. The toy could remember up to 16 commands which it then executed in sequence (such as "go forward 5 lengths", "pause", "turn 30 degrees right", "fire phaser" and so on. There was a "repeat" instruction allowing simple loops, but truth be told it never really worked right. In fact, the whole damned thing was problematic, especially the dump which seemed to only function correctly in the television commercial. Mine would lock up in the open position, or just short out the main Big Trak tank through that stupud little earphone connection they used. And the instruction manual ate cock, even by that era's standards. But despite its occassional hiccups, the Big Trak itself kicked major ass. In fact you can still find them on ebay -- fully functioning toys at the age of 29 years -- try that with today's Chinese made crap.

What prompted this little jaunt down memory lane with a Big Trak tucked neatly under my arm? Well someone send in a suggestion for a new game challenge, called Light Bot. The premise of very Big Trak'esque... program your robot with simple commands like walk forward, turn right, jump, etc, in order to light up all the blue squares. The instant I completed the first level, I was taken back to the days of sending my Big Trak after the dog, or under the coffee table, or as time wore on and I got a little bored with it, down the stairs. Ahhh, my Big Trak. I wonder what ever happened to you, my phaser firing friend? Anyway, see if you can out Big Trak me, as I completed Light bot in 195 moves. Personally, I think the second to the last level was the hardest.

So for Light Bot, just think like a programmer. Think like a Big Trakker. I even tried to find an online Big Trak simulator to link to today and get you in the mood, but no luck. I would however be named, "Mullet Troll Palin," had I been born to the current VP nominee, so I've got that going for me.

soooooooooooooooo, i was always under the impression that inhaling the mercury inside a flourescent bulb was a bad thing.

the top ten old school sports venues. hello fenway and so long yankee stadium