Peace at Last!

Remember my loud and crazy new neighbour also known as Stupidhead? Well, apparently her stupidity knows no bounds, and soe does my relief at her exit. She’s gone!

I wouldn’t usually wish eviction on anyone, but frankly, she needed it. If you can believe it, she got worse since the last post about her. There were all kinds of criminals entering and exiting her house, and we know they were criminals because we witnessed them dealing drugs. Plus, dear old Stupidhead didn’t mind using some of the product either. Sometimes I’d knock because I got a piece of her mail, or had a simple question, etc. and when she came to the door, I could tell she was high as a kite. I would knock and a dude would answer the door. I’d ask for her, she’d freak out, run out of the apartment, answer my question, and slam the door in my face. Hello Paranoya!

It gets better. Her friends apparently didn’t know how to use the door, so they would crawl through her window! Piles of them would stay at her house when she was not at home, and it sounded like they were trashing the place. The only reason I knew she wasn’t there was I called over one day at 3 in the morning and asked for her so I could tell her to get her crazy buddies to pipe down, and one of them who sounded stoned out of his mind said she wasn’t even there.

It got to the point where I would be nervous walking down my part of the street just because she associated with so many thugs. I’m sure nothing would have happened, but it was that element of fear. I never know what people are going to do when drugs are involved.

Now I wake up in the morning and don’t hear slam! slam! slam! I don’t smell smoke seeping in from her place and filling the lobby. I don’t hear tales of dudes wanting to “fuck up” other dudes. I don’t wonder if I should call the cops. No more drama! Life is beautiful! Let’s hope the new neighbour rocks.

Yea Suckadoo Game!

Wow. I’m a loser. I’m sitting here, my ears are full of some cold-related goop and I feel like some invisible man is plugging them, and what am I doing? I’m playing a new game that I just found out about. It’s Sudoku, or as one funny man called it once, suckadoo, for blinks. Technically this game is called the Ultimate SounDoku but let’s face it kids, it’s Sudoku!

Now, has anyone else played Sudoku and wanted to just scream? Just when I think I’m getting the hang of it, it completely fukcs me over. Apparently, you’re supposed to memorize an 81-square grid and while you’re filling in the gaps, remember the whole rest of the picture so you don’t have to wipe a bunch clean and start over! Yeesh! I always wondered what was so fascinating about sudoku. Now I half wish I’d never asked. This is worse than that time I challenged Destination Mars! God damn you Sudoku, I! Will! Win!

You Are Here? The Mini And Less Funny Version

Wow, it’s been a long time since I’ve done one of these, mostly because there haven’t been a whole lot of searches lately that have really caught my eye. There still aren’t, but here are a few that I’ve either just noticed or have had kicking around for a little while that I’ll toss up so that you can get a small peak into the minds of the people who somehow manage to find their way here. Remember, these are actual things that actual people actually searched for, Lord only knows why.

25 Jan, Wed, 15:07:01
MSN Search:
burn randy orton’s shower campaign

I’ve spent almost 3 months thinking about this and still have no idea what it could possibly mean. What The Fuck Department, I’m counting on you, don’t let me down.

30 Mar, Thu, 22:47:47
Yahoo:
Is Randy Orton sucking a males penis

How in the hell I’m possibly supposed to know this I have no earthly idea, but what I can tell you is that WWE
just suspended him for 60 days,
so if he is, it’s obviously not the right one.

By the way, even though I’ve been trying to figure it out since 2003 when we opened this place up, I still have no idea what people’s obsession is with young Randy and the staff of life. I was hoping that one of the literally thousands of people who have stumbled upon the site that way would have explained it to me by now, but sadly, not one of them has found the courage to lift the vail of shame that allows them to remain anonymous perverts and send that email or leave that comment. I can sort of understand why, but come on, this is the internet, and you can always pretend to be somebody else, like that guy at the office you don’t like very much.

05 Apr, Wed, 15:59:15
Google:
me naked

Um…maybe try a mirror?

That’s all I’ve got for now, but time and weirdoes willing, I’ll be back with a better one before too long.

But until we meet again, I’ll leave you to ponder this question.

How does it change many dyslexics to take a light bulb?

Toilet Humour

I got this in an email from Ernie’s House of Whoop Ass yesterday. I didn’t write it and I have no idea who did, but it made me laugh so hard that I almost cried, so I thought I’d share.

THE BIG DUMP

All in all, it hadn’t been a good day. Bad traffic, a malfunctioning computer, incompetent coworkers and a sore back all made me a seething cauldron of rage. But more importantly for this story, it had been over forty-eight hours since I’d last taken a dump. I’d tried to jumpstart the process, beginning my day with a bowl of ass cleansing fiber cereal, following it with six cups of coffee at work, and adding a bean-laden lunch at Taco Bell.

As I was returning home from work, my insides let me know with subtle rumbles and the emission of the occasional tiny fart that Big Things would be happening soon. Alas, I had to stop at the mall to pick up an order for the wife. I completed this task, and as I was walking past the stores on my way back to the car, I noticed a large sale sign proclaiming, “Everything Must Go!” This was prophetic, for my colon informed me with a sudden violent cramp and a wet, squeaky fart that everything was indeed about to go. I hurried to the mall bathrooms. I surveyed the five stalls, which I have numbered 1 through 5 for your convenience:

1. Occupied.

2. Clean, but Bathroom Protocol forbids its use, as it’s next to the occupied one.

3. Shit smeared on seat.

4. Shit and toilet paper in bowl, unidentifiable liquid splattered on seat.

5. No toilet paper, no stall door, something growing near base of toilet.

Clearly, it had to be Stall #2. I trudged back, entered, dropped my trousers and sat down. I’m normally a fairly Shameful Shitter. I wasn’t happy about being next to the occupied stall, but Big Things were afoot.

I was just getting ready to bear down when all of a sudden the sweet sounds of Beethoven came from next door, followed by a fumbling, and then the sound of a voice answering the ringing phone. As usual for a cell phone conversation, the voice was exactly 8 dB louder than it needed to be. Out of Shameful habit, my sphincter slammed shut. The inane conversation went on and on. Mr. Shitter was blathering to Mrs. Shitter about the shitty day he had. I sat there, cramping and miserable, waiting for him to finish. As the loud conversation dragged on, I became angrier and angrier, thinking that I, too, had a crappy day, but I was too polite to yak about in public. My ass let me know in no uncertain terms that if I didn’t get crapping soon, my day would be getting even crappier.

Finally my anger reached a point that overcame Shamefulness. I no longer cared. I gripped the toilet paper holder with one hand, braced my other hand against the side of the stall, and pushed with all my might. I was rewarded with a fart of colossal magnitude — a cross between the sound of someone ripping a very wet bed sheet in half and of plywood being torn off a wall. The sound gradually transitioned into a heavily modulated low-RPM tone, not unlike someone firing up a Harley. I managed to hit the resonance frequency of the stall, and it shook gently.

Once my ass cheeks stopped flapping in the breeze, three things became apparent:

(1) The next-door conversation had ceased; (2) my colon’s continued seizing indicated that there was more to come; and (3) the bathroom was now beset by a horrible, eldritch stench.

It was as if a gateway to Hell had been opened. The foul miasma quickly made its way under the stall and began choking my poop-mate. This initial “herald” fart had ended his conversation in mid-sentence.

“Oh my God,” I heard him utter, following it with suppressed sounds of choking, and then, “No, baby, that wasn’t me (cough, gag), you could hear that (gag)??”

Now there was no stopping me. I pushed for all I was worth. I could swear that in the resulting cacophony of rips, squirts, splashes, poots, and blasts, I was actually lifted slightly off the pot. The amount of stuff in me was incredible. It sprayed against the bowl with tremendous force. Later, in surveying the damage, I’d see that liquid poop had actually managed to ricochet out of the bowl and run down the side on to the floor. But for now, all I could do was hang on for the ride.

Next door I could hear him fumbling with the paper dispenser as he desperately tried to finish his task. Little snatches of conversation made themselves heard over my anal symphony: “Gotta go… horrible… throw up… in my mouth… not… make it… tell the kids… love them… oh God…” followed by more sounds of suppressed gagging and retching.

Alas, it is evidently difficult to hold one’s phone and wipe one’s bum at the same time. Just as my high-pressure abuse of the toilet was winding down, I heard a plop and splash from next door, followed by string of swear words and gags. My shit-mate had dropped his phone into the toilet.

There was a lull in my production, and the restroom became deathly quiet. I could envision him standing there, wondering what to do. A final anal announcement came trumpeting from my behind, small chunks plopping noisily into the water. That must have been the last straw. I heard a flush, a fumbling with the lock, and then the stall door was thrown open. I heard him running out of the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

After a considerable amount of paperwork, I got up and surveyed the damage. I felt bad for the janitor who’d be forced to deal with this, but I knew that flushing was not an option. No toilet in the world could handle that unholy mess. Flushing would only lead to a floor flooded with filth.

As I left, I glanced into the next-door stall. Nothing remained in the bowl. Had he flushed his phone, or had he plucked it out and left the bathroom with nasty unwashed hands? The world will never know.

I exited the bathroom, momentarily proud and Shameless, looking around for a face glaring at me. But I saw no one. I suspect that somehow my supernatural elimination has managed to transfer my Shamefulness to my anonymous shit-mate. I think it’ll be a long time before he can bring himself to shit in public — and I doubt he’ll ever again answer his cell phone in the latrine.

And this, my friends, is why you should never talk on your phone in the bathroom.

The Terrorists Have Won

High School officials in Fort Myers, Florida have
turned down an invitation from the organizers of London’s 2007 New Year’s Day parade,
because they feel that the members of their school band would be “safer in America” than they would be in England due to a greater likelihood of being victims of a terrorist attack there.

“What happens if kids get on a train that blows up,” asked Lee County high school consultant Herb Wiseman, one of the most inappropriately named men I’ve come across in quite some time, when making his case by pointing to last summer’s London train bombings. “We don’t have trains blowing up in America,” he told the Fort Myers News-Press.

That’s true, but don’t forget that England doesn’t have people flying passenger jets into tall buildings full of people either, so it looks like you’re even.

And as usually happens in situations like this, leave it to the kids to make the most sense.

“It’s more probable to be struck by lightning or be murdered in your sleep, than to fall prey to an attack by al-Qaeda
terrorists,” student Ethan Lapham said. “There is no better time to show these terrorists that we have no fear of them. Instead we are forced, through the cowardly acts of our superiors, to hide in shame.”

Don’t Worry About the Smoke, the Computer Says We’re Fine.

I saw a TV commercial advertising something that scared me. G.M. has had this thing called OnStar for a while in their newer vehicles. Basically, it’s a way of getting help in various situations, like if you lock your keys in your car, you crash, or you have some medical emergency while driving. You push a button and someone can speak to you and get you help. I have no problem with that, that’s a good idea. Now, they’ve instituted this self-diagnosing feature. Your car’s computer is supposed to check the car once a month and tell you if you need to take it into the shop.

Does anyone see a problem with this? If you don’t, I want you to think about this idea next time your computer crashes, hint hint. You see, boys and girls, computers can fuck up, and nobody’s a better judge of their car’s health than the driver, or another human riding in the car. They can hear the squeaks, thumps and knocks their car’s making, they can notice the oil leaking out the bottom, etc. Plus, I don’t think giving the computer a lot of control in a car, or any large object capable of movement at high speed, is a good idea. No no no, I didn’t just read one too many science fiction books. I was in a car accident that probably wouldn’t have happened if it wasn’t for the computer in the car going heywire. Dad turned on the car, and it went straight from park to reverse. then it sped up, went straight backwards, ripped a post out of the ground and bent it, continued backwards, smashed the window of a store, and stopped. Keep in mind that dad was trying to: put the breaks on, put the car in park, turn the key off, take the key out. It kept going, and as my friend looked up from the floor where he had fallen, he saw the computer readouts on the dash were going wild. When they took the car to the shop, they had to write it off because they couldn’t figure out what was making it behave that way. It went from 0 to 40 km/h in about 3 seconds. I’m pretty sure if the computer in the car wasn’t in charge of speed control, that wouldn’t have happened.

But it’s now ok to have cars diagnosing themselves? Can’t people think anymore? Doesn’t human intervention count for anything anymore? I was ok with the oil light and the gas gauge, but this seems a little over the top. I’m just waiting for someone to try and drive with a flat tire because the green light’s on, so the car must be ok.

Hold Music Made Worse

Until this morning, I wouldn’t have thought that such a thing was possible. But then I ran across
eNthem.com,
a company that will, for a cool $500, write you an official corporate anthem.

Imagine calling somewhere, being put on hold as tends to happen quite a bit of the time, and then being greeted by something like
this.
I’m not sure that I’d ever be able to do business with those people again, not only because of the auditory torture factor, but mostly because I’d probably be laughing way too goddamn hard to be able to carry on something even remotely resembling a coherent conversation.

But even though this is completely ridiculous, I can’t help but wonder what the official Vomit Comet eNthem would sound like. Thank Christ I’m not rich or stupid enough to find out. But if any of you are…

By the way, does the guy singing that song sound at all like Josh Groban? I’m curious because that’s who they compare him to and I can’t honestly say I know what he sounds like. If I had to take a guess I’d say probably not, but I’d like an opinion from someone who knows.

Game Over!

I am still surprised at how slowly some people learn some things that seem really really obvious. For example, when you make products for a small market, you’d better make good products, treat your customers with respect and prove that you are honest and fair. If you don’t, word will get around and you won’t be selling anything to that small market anymore. This story is all about a man who only learned the first of those three things, while the other two completely escape him to this day.

Once upon a time, there was a company called ESP Softworks. It made computer games for the blind, and a lot of them were pretty cool. Now, think about that for a second. Computer games designed for blind users. So, not only does your average player have to be blind, the player has to want to play a game on a computer. Compared to, oh, say, video games for the Playstation, what do you think the market would be?

One of the founders, James North, was not cool at all. He did not think very highly of his customers, and made his feelings very public by bitching about them on a blind gamers list where, ahem, a lot of his clientelle were subscribed. He would also send updates to people who had bought his games complaining about how selfish his customers were. That, in my opinion, is the stupidest idea possible. If there was a small town with 3 dishwasher repairmen in it, your dishwasher broke and the first one was not very nice to you, what would you do? I would think you’d go to dishwasher repairman no. 2 and tell all your friends what a dick dishwasher repairman no. 1 was. Soon, word would get around about dishwasher repairman no. 1 and he wouldn’t have much business at all.

but, somehow, this guy stayed in business, despite all the negative comments he made towards his customers, and despite the fact that there were other game-developers out there. It is true that some of them didn’t make as good a game as he did, but his games weren’t perfect either. I downloaded a demo of a game that was so bad that it caused two copies of a character to appear in the same room and then it would crash itself and die. Not convincing marketing right there.

Then James North decided to go out of business, or so he told us. This, in itself isn’t a shock, since sadly it happens more often than not in this market because it is so small and the amount of work that needs to be done doesn’t often equal the reward the developer gets back. But the thing that surprised me was he went out of business after taking preorder money for a product that never materialized and was handed off to a new company called Adora Entertainment, who were then responsible for all matters relating to this phantom product, including finishing it, handling angry customers who weren’t originally theirs and satisfying those who wanted their money back.

At the time, I thought, “what a prick!” But this was nothing new, since I was the recipient of many complaining emails about customers and their whining and his opinion that we were all lazy demanding complaining losers. Keep in mind that I am not his friend, or a close associate. At the time of receiving these emails, I was one of his customers only. But life went on, and the games came out, thanks to the people who were either nice enough or stupid enough to take them on.

But then…oh then, I got another surprise. I received an email out of the blue from a company I’d never heard of before called Alchemy Game Studios. I thought, “wow, a spam that talks about things I’m interested in.” Then I looked at the bottom, and saw James North’s name. I thought, “hmmm strange.” In the email, he said he was working on one of his old titles that he didn’t turn over to Adora and said he was developing some new ones. I thought “wow, James might be less of a prick after all, although why did he dump the first game?”

A year went by in which all James released was trailers, and a whole lot of email asking for what? Preorder money and patience because we blind people ask for too much for too little money and we have to wait if we want quality games. Sound familiar? Hope so, because the next part sounds really familiar. I quote from his site a piece of news which was worded very similarly to the last email I’ve received from him. It says: “Please be aware that the rights of both Montezuma’s Revenge and Raceway have been transferred to U.S.A. Games/Thomas Ward. Any questions regarding either title in regards to their release, order status, and/or refunds—if they’re offering them—should be directed to them solely by visiting their website at http://www.usagames.us or by contacting them via e-mail at sales@usagames.us.”

So here he goes again, cutting and running with preorder funds and handing over all the dirty work to some other poor fuck who, again, is either nice enough or stupid enough to take the project on. In this case, however, I know it’s the former. You might be thinking, maybe he gave the preorder money to USA Games. Sadly, you would be wrong. Shortly after receiving this email, I got another one from a game newsletter that said James North didn’t give the preorder money to this poor soul and now in order to keep himself from going under before he even begins, he’s having to give disgruntiled customers in-store credit rather than paying thousands of dollars out of pocket. Sit back and process that for a minute. Thousands…of…dollars. USA games was generously offering to bail James North out…again, as one of their first projects. This company hasn’t sold a single game yet, and James North knows this because, wait for it, this is a small community.

I can only come to one conclusion: James North is a huge scumbag and an incredible scammer. What else can I think after seeing all this crap twice. At least I learned to pay attention to history. And there is only one justice for people like him. Say it with me now, everybody who buys accessible games. “You’ll never work in this town again!”