It gets worse... someone tried to hand me a lemon and lager canned shandy about half an hour ago on the street. If it was a wino, I could understand, but this was a promo of some sort uke:
So thinking about that last post, I signed into a game called Sky Gamblers: Air Supremacy and changed my callsign to "A Big Turd." Then fragged somebody by the callsign of "Reverend." Twice in a row. That's sorta horrible.
Bah. Fuckin' USPS. Misrouted an order of replacement heads for the Protank. Now they're in Sun City West.
If today is willing then fuck yeah! That said, are invisible people blind? If the membrane is invisible, sight is impossible. Imagine Sue Storm teaming up with Daredevil, the blind superhero connection alone might make for an interesting crossover run!
Maybe. But maybe not 100% invisible. Maybe their retinas are visible. Who's gonna notice a pair of retinas (retinae?) floating around?
So here's something really annoying that keeps happening -- my email client will randomly, every so often, trigger an audio alert to let me know I've got a new message... ...when I haven't got any new messages. None, zero, zip, nada. Nothing new in Inbox, junk folders, trash, nowhere. It just sets off the alert for ze shits and giggles, or possibly for ze fucks and chuckles.
Like Lanz said, it's technically "Windsor." BUT. That doesn't mean we can't come up with better ones. Like Queen Elizabeth Hammerass-Bunnypellets.
And a double shit German shit cake with shit frosting! Apropos of nothing, I just wanted to put that in here so I can use it at some point in the near future. You know how you think of something, a turn of phrase or whatnot, and then later a perfect opportunity to use it comes along, but you've forgotten it. I hate when that happens. So I'm saving that particular phrase in here so I don't lose track of it.
Oh, like a mental Rolodex of killer comebacks? Yeah I'd like to maintain an inventory of great replies too. Sadly, I don't have the memory for it.
Bought a pair of shorts the other day, quite comfy, deep pockets and a comfortable drawstring. Wearing boxers beneath I wore my new shorts as I went about my daily business. So far so good. After coming home I discover (the details of the discovery aren't important) my shorts have an open fly. No zipper, no buttons, just wide open. For all I know the Clyde-hammer was taking in the sights all day! Apparel standards have become way too lax, bottoms should be clearly marked as shorts, underwear or pajamas.
Ahhhh, I see. Yeah, there should be some rules in place to address that kind of thing. I'd say a good one to start right off with is: 1. If it has pockets, it must have a secure-able fly. Boxer shorts should not have pockets, that's about as dumb as boxer shorts having belt loops.
Oh and the elastic wars between shorts and underwear needs to end. You're wearing a pair of underwear that's doing its job coupled with a pair of shorts that aren't. The shorts keep dropping while the underwear hold their ground. Every time you pull your shorts up you're wedging your underwear that much higher.
So it turns out some whales have upside-down blowholes. Unlike most whales their blowhole is on their belly. It's very rare, even more so for one to survive to adulthood, but when they do it's a sight to be seen. They actually launch themselves out of the water every time the take a breath. I'm thinking of writing an Xmas story akin to Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer but starring Blow-bo the retarded blowhole whale.
There's a sort of poetry to that. I mean, don't get me wrong, it's that weird, retarded kind of poetry that has no rhyme, no meter and... well, usually no point... but poetry, all the same. They'd totally read that story on NPR.
That really was just about the most satisfying bowel movement ever in human history, by the way. There aren't too many things in life finer than the simple joy of sitting on the crapper spawning a brown trout while sipping from a bottle of hard cider and reading the news.
