Steadily Going Inane.
The incoherent ramblings of a twisted mind.
Wednesday, May 09, 2012
Saturday, March 14, 2009
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
Screw you Web Two Dot Oh.
“The information that I received is listed in the points below: ”…apparently the trauma of high school exams has not yet passed. (Never a pleasure to me unlike to other people I know. You know whom I’m talking about. You…yes you. Do not try hiding behind the toaster, I can still see you and I know where you live.)
Moving on, or moving back, a couple of weeks ago I received a helpful email informing me that somebody was following my feed on Twitter (Link redux, for those of you who didn’t click the first time. For shame!). That woke me up from my semi-doze. (Not my fault…my office faces west and in the late afternoon, a couple of hour before lunch the sun beats down upon the windows and fucks the climate control something mean. This makes the office cozily (read infernally) warm, and that makes me very, very drowsy. Nothing to do with the fact that I’m playing too much of this again.)
Somebody was following me on Twitter! Somebody thought my updates in the form of text-based posts of up to 140 characters in length were worth following. This had me all a-Twitter. “It is my duty to tweet,” I thought to myself. But then I lost interest.
Much like I lost interest in this blog post.
Tuesday, January 06, 2009
Snippet
Me: Porn in unexpected places is always a joy.
Like finding a flower in the dead of winter
Or like a fleeting smile on a face.
Or a glimpse of sunshine on a dark cloudy day
Not Me: Oh god. You are comparing some of the most beautiful things to porn!
Me: Not porn.
Unexpected porn. Totally different.
Edited for grammar and content.
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
This blog rises from the dead...
Thursday, May 01, 2008
Into the silent dark, a smile on the face, a song in the heart, a large apple on the head.
And thusly spake the sign, “Verily, tis true that the dark days are upon us. The storms of misfortune have left us without a home, to roam forever in the outer darkness. We go without a shiver, without a quiver, with a firm step and a song in our hearts, marching into the silent dark knowing that tis our fate and tis our duty to abide. But you, you our gentle, sagacious patrons, fear not. Fear not for thine wellbeing has been insured. For thou, for thou art waiting two brave holds, waiting but for thee to accept one and to call it…home.”
So I need to pick a new place to go work out in. One is in a shopping center strip mall and the other is in an anonymous block of office buildings. The one in the strip mall is slightly closer, but the one in the office block is slightly larger and is open later. These are some of the factors that I need to weigh and evaluate before picking one.
Of course this is all a load of bull crap. I’m going to go work out at the two of them and then pick the one with the better eye candy. Eye candy and gyms go together like supermodels, handcuffs and butter.
Um…well. Yeah. So yeah. I don’t actually pay any attention to eye candy during reps. One experience with smushing my fingers and then nearly pulping my head(As the smushed fingers signaled their displeasure with the smushing and struck work for the day, muttering darkly under their breaths about unionization, Das Kapital and the glorious revolution.) with a forty five pound weight were enough to convince me that that was a bad idea. Between reps is another matter altogether. By another matter I mean that discreet and polite eye candy observation is called for…Always keeping in mind that gym shorts are well…um…a little thin.
Damn butter, handcuffs, supermodels, eye candy and a veiled erection reference. I’m good.
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
Sunday, March 30, 2008
Supply side economic observations.
The packs of detergent have pictures of babies and/or women on them.
Detergent is therefore made from distilled essence of babies and/or women?
Yes, I’m just trying to get out of doing my laundry.
Thursday, February 28, 2008
I approve of Kingfisher's T&A policy.
During the rushing, rushing that was very, very painful because of the fucking large ass suitcase I was dragging behind me while futilely trying to get it to roll behind me on its “confused about their role in the universe” wheels. (Suitcase wheels: Those round anomalies in the fabric of reality that refuse to roll but instead find themselves a comfortable spot at the bar from which they refuse to budge thank you very much!)
But I digress. Rushing in process. Dodging of the hordes of people in the airport being done simultaneously. (Master of multi tasking. And Tact. And Subtlety.) And then, everything stops. By everything, I mean me. The rest of the universe trundles along. I stopped. My attention had been grabbed by the sign right out side the entrance to the terminal. The sign had a list of everything that a person was not allowed to bring on board a flight.
When I say everything, you surely think, “He exaggerates. He exaggerates for comic effect.” To that I reply, “No. I fucking do not. I am truly a reporter of sagacious disposition and of a nature that holds veracity and accuracy in the highest esteem.” And we speak this way because that’s the way we fucking roll.
Back to the list of everything. It contained the usual suspects. The pistols, the rifles, the knives, the explosives, the firecrackers, the gas cylinders, the cans of petrol, the flammable material, the compressed gas tanks etc. etc.. Things you expect on that sign. Things that make you think, “These people here clearly are on top of things.” But they just had to go and ruin it. The list they decided needed to be comprehensive. Everything was the philosophy they subscribed to. Everything. No coy minimalism here. None of that brevity that is so open to misinterpretation.
The usual suspects were followed by the less usual suspects. The Molotov Cocktails, the spears, the clubs…Well, not yet outlandish.
The list needs more.
- Lightsabers.
- Broadswords.
- Pikes.
- Tridents.
- Gandalf’s magic staff. (Insert penis joke here)
- Photon Torpedos.
- Rocket Launched Chainsaws.
- Robot Ninjas with throwing stars.