u235

There's a lot of things we take for granted until they're absent. Standing on a long line will make you wish for something to sit on. At a certain point we're willing to compromise and anything, even a fire hydrant will look good. After that initial rush of relief as you take the weight off your feet, it doesn't take very long to realize that yes - you're sitting on a cast iron bullet and it's pretty damn uncomfortable.

Office work chairs are a practical example of this. It's really hard to find an office chair you can sit in for hours and still be comfortable in, however once you do find that perfect marriage of tukus to tapestry the lengths one is willing to go to defend the item is without precedent.

It's an unusual thought that a component at one end of the torso can have so much affect on the other, but to do good, extended work the quality of comfort at the ass-end cannot be underestimated in terms of value.

Seen this morning on the commute to work: Mork and Mindy era glitter-blue Trans Am complete with ram, firebird decal and tinted T-top. Behind the wheel, white polo, avaitors and grecian formula.

Buddy it may be almost thirty years late but you still got it.

...by the diameter of the holes in the toothbrush holder.

Just a thought.

If you ask me to solve a problem, be prepared to hear an answer you don't like.

If you ask for my help, be prepared to have the work done on my schedule – which is now rather than later.

If you have received my help, don't be surprised if I turn you down on the same topic the next time.

Actions speak for themselves. If I go to the trouble of outlining a solution and you don't take it don't expect me to listen to you bitch and moan for eternity. Either do or do not, but don't fucking waste my time.

Remember the Ren and Stimpy episode with Billy the Beef-Tallow Boy? The one that makes the statement that “if it's fried then Dad will eat it”? The cartoon goes on from there to fry all sorts of items, including non-edible things and Dad eats it and in the end dies of a heart attack. I have to wonder if the artists had Texas in mind when they created the short. It seems that things are not very far from the truth. The latest entries this year in the Big Tex Choice Awards items are all revoltingly fried items:

Deep Fried Lattes: Fried pastry with ice cream, caramel, whipped cream and instant coffee powder (I rate it a 1 out of 5 on the aneurysm scale)

Deep Fried Guacamole: Gobbets of guacamole fried in balls and then served with ranch dressing or salsa (again a 1 out of 5 )

Deep Fried Cookie Dough: Just like it sounds (3 out of 5)

Deep Fried Sweet Potato Pie: Anyone who's ever dealt with sweet potatos knows that they absorb oil like a sponge. (4 out of 5)

Peach Cobbler on a Stick: Yep impalings go so well with heart failure – ask Vlad. Peach cobbler with dumplings covered in pastry dough and ... yes fried, and stuck on a stick. (4 plus 0.5 for the stick)

Deep Fried Frito Burrito and Fried Banana Pudding, it goes on and on and on.

Apparently this is what passes for “cooking” down in Texas: Take something – if it runs club it till it stops, toss it in a deep fryer and then jam it on a stick. I guess it gives them a break from the standard fare of miraclewhip and crushed potato chips on wonderbread with a side of Fried Coke.

Yep, disgusting and bad for you at the same time. I think people need to look at obesity as Darwin's way of saying “hey if you're too fucking stupid to figure out what to eat, die and leave the world to the rest of us.” Frankly I wish Texas could have a state fair every week...

At least in England the "tabloids" are unabashed dens of inequity. That's what they are and no one, much less the publishers, maintain a false pretense to the contrary.

Here in the US, however, with the exception of the oddly formatted, garishly colored rags that sit next to the checkout at your supermarket we don't have the same trash reporting that's massively consumed... or do we?

Lately, as in the past n+1 months, virtually every glossy magazine has reported on Brittany and her antics. For a brief, altogether too brief, moment Paris managed to steal the limelight. But currently no one, not even Pam Anderson, has been able to wrest the covers from Britney Coverage.

It's not like anyone really cared to begin with, but by now even people who don't read this trash are so jaded by the topic that it's an exercise in pain to shop anywhere. But the magazines still keep reporting it. Like an endless nightmare of blonde, brown or bald headed bimbos with oversized glasses we're bombarded with pictures and commentary on her boozing, partying, mothering, with a putrid condiment of what her mom or ex-mate are up to (latest headline - "are they a couple?")

Besides the same "who cares" comment from above, the headlines grieve for the treatment of her children ("they share her bed! they saw her drunk! she says they were a mistake!")

Why, why, why?

Kids are murdered on a daily basis, starved, maltreated, sold, forced into slavery, abused, abandoned. Consider the mass starvation of children in third world countries. Consider babies born with Aids. Ponder those displaced by war and those injured by disaster. Just how fucking important are Britney's babies compared to all the children who are currently suffering? I promise you her kids will never know pain or suffering that even ordinary children endure (an ear infection on a Sunday perhaps is a good example).

Would that I had dictatorial powers for just a day, I'd force every publisher who put Britney and her brats on their cover to take all the money invested in printing this crap and send it to the Red Cross in Darfur. At least then there would be a good reason to buy their garbage.

There's not a hell of a lot of reason for an oversized pickup truck in a highly urban area, unless of course you're into construction. I can almost see the need for a carpenter, electrician, mason, although if you have a lot of expensive or flammable tools (such as a plumber) I'd think you'd want more of a panel truck. Whatever.

Anyway, today's cocktardedness was some bozo in a Ford F-AsBigAsTheyBuildIt pickup truck, with chrome rhino bar and glossy never-been-used bed. Part of the reason it had never been used, and probably never will be, is because the jackass re-routed his exhaust through a shiny pair of highly chromed 8" diameter smoke stacks which came up though the bed. Phenomenally brilliant, really. Not only did he take useful space out of the cargo area but he also provided the nifty chance to set it on fire. Yes exhaust is hot, and there were no covers on these megalithic pipes to prevent the transfer of heat to paper, wood, or plastic. I'd think it was safe to say he could only reasonably transport glass or metal.

I can't (and don't really want) to imagine what this must of cost. Nor can I imagine his infantile glee when he first laid eyes on his junior-grade Semi.

I will give it a four-star laugh factor, however. I'm willing to bet that I'm not the only one either. Probably the person who happily took his money to make the idiotic changes found it pretty amusing as well.

In some cases, if someone is really stupid, I can see the point of this bit of advice. A good example are games like FEAR and Half-Life whose primary concept is single player.

But on an MMO that can *only* be played online?

You think people just sit and watch the intro cinematics over and over and expect the game to play like that? I dunno, and frankly I'm scared to speculate.