In the event of an actual emergency I will be inevitably be so drunk that I will be useless. I apologize in advance.
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Daily Archives: November 19, 2010
7 posts
Instead of typing up and distributing the notes from my monthly meeting with my Director, I drew a target on the whiteboard across from my desk and I am flinging tiny farm animals at it using my desktop trebuchet. The only way this could be better is if I was wearing a helmet. This helmet:
Made you look, didn’t I? 
I think we’re all suckers for spoilers, whether we’ll admit it or not. Deep down, we all love to learn new gossip, see sneak peeks and when video of a highly anticipated movie gets leaked, some of us immediately perk up (What? Where?!?!) and clickity-clack-clack (That’s the sound my keyboard makes, what about yours?) our way through the interwebs in search of the said juicy information.
I will shamelessly admit that I love spoilers. Love them. Can’t get enough. I also live in a country that does not prohibit downloading, though it is frowned upon.
Entire length of the Wolverine movie, sans some special effects, leaked? Watched it.
First 13 chapters of the 4’th Twilight book, Breaking Dawn, appears online? Read it.
So when the first 36 minutes of the Part 1 of the culmination of a series that has defined my generation gets posted, I do not hesitate to go in search of this video. Being a member of an exclusive and highly reliable site that provides these very things makes such quests easier to accomplish. The internet has allowed us to blur the line between right and wrong and get away with it, under the guise of anonymity.
Why? I have always been of the thought that if I was going to download and watch a leaked video, or read a leaked book, then I would then pay for the real thing when it became available. I went to see Wolverine a few weeks later with my friends, and I was at the midnight release of the Stephenie Meyer book to pick up my pre-ordered copy (I know, for shame!)… Just as I will go next week with my best friend, and pay to see Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows in theatres. The first half hour was poor quality, but did little to quell my excitement- in fact, it made that much more excited. It started out with Harry and Voldemort… well, if you really want to know, I guess you’ll have to do some clickity-clack-clacking of your own or wait to see it in theaters- I wouldn’t want to ruin it for you.
(Besides, any true HP fan would have already re-read the book in anticipation of the movie, and would have a general idea of how it begins.)
What is your stance on all things leaked?
Sign advertises amenities and prices and misspellings don’t render it unreadable. It’s not attached to a church so no fear of threats to send me to hell: +3
Adorable family who either owns or manages. Mom offered me Advil because she knew I’d been driving for 11 hours. Dad offered me bottled water and moved his car so I could park right in front of my room. Kids were cute, even the one who was picking his nose: +4
Cheap ($36 including tax): +20
The motel doors all face the parking lot (no interior corridors): -6
Acceptably clean—no bugs, no toilet ring or hair in sink, smelled OK from what I can tell while recovering from a cold: +7
No visible bullet holes (or they are patched really well): +2
Weird bathroom curtain that must be totally sheer with the light on, and the cracked and non-locking window in said bathroom is creepy. Until it is light outside, I’m not turning on the light on to go to the toilet: -25
So I’m thinking we should create a new running feature called Gawkward. It’s where we find the most insane, trollish and unintentionally hilarious Gawker comments and re-post them here for everyone’s enjoyment.
Here’s a fine specimen posted on the article about Kim Kardashian’s shady pre-paid credit card:
http://gawker.com/comment/32743291/
Just so I understand: gal who partied with Paris Hilton asn is daughter of OK Simpson knife hiding accomplice Robert Kardahsian, who got his by the Fates, and used that to parlay herself to fame by fucking a, horror, black giu,on tape, and then went on to whoring hereslf out on :reality tv based on those accomplisments is now a credit card selling thing (I knew this), that parens would allow their daughtes to have????? My parents were not the greatest, but I never felt the desperate need ofr fame and momey that would make me do all tht. And parents think this is an acceptable enough role model to get a credit card for their future teen mom/pole dancing/porn star daughters who will be in debt in the six figures by age eightenn due to the rampant materialism forced down their throats not tempered by the wise financial lessons of common sense parents?
This is why America is fucked. The poar bears on the melting ice caps, and the dehydrated baby elephant of aAfrica looking for a sip don’t have a fucking chance. I blame the parents and believe one must get a license to get pregnant or keep it, and not just based on a test from some state goverment bullsjt/ This is awful,
First of all, OK Simpson is just perfect in every way. Also, there may or may not be some sort of eugenics-esque appeal for state-sponsored sterilization at the end there. It’s hard to tell with all the “bullsjt.”
Looking to serve your guests something a bit more special than beer from a bottle this holiday season? Well, read on. But first, a few pointers. When serving warm punches, keep them an a slow cooker and keep serving glasses warm by placing them in a hot water bath, and make sure you have enough cups that can handle warm liquids. For cold punch promise me that you won’t use ice cubes. Seriously. I want you to promise me. Okay? All right. Instead of those evil taste weakening ice cubes how about thinking ahead and freezing some juice, or ever better, use frozen fruit. At the end of your drink you’ll have some delicious booze infused fruit. If using any carbonated beverages in your punch, make sure to add them last, you can mix the rest of your ingredients and top individual glasses with your fizzy beverage. Lastly, don’t cheap out on the liquor just because it’s going to be mixed with other ingredients, your guests will notice. Trust. Continue reading
So the new right-wing talking point of the week is that suddenly the TSA’s pat-down methods go too far. Jalopnik today gave space to a truly ridiculous piece of whining by an aggrieved USAirways pilot:
For approximately five years I have been questioned, wanded and patted down every morning each day I report for work. I’ve asked for help with a solution, I’ve been through all the company and union channels to no avail.
So this has been a pressing concern of yours for FIVE YEARS, long before Obama was ever in office… yet it’s suddenly a pressing concern for you?
Approximately one year ago, I encountered something new called a groin check. This is where they run the back of their hands down your fly from top to bottom one inch to either side. I said I would allow this if they don’t touch my stuff. The screener accused me of being a “homophobe” and said he can’t guarantee he wont touch me in this area. I said then I can’t go through the check. I called the airline for direction and they agreed to assist me in finding a solution if I would JUST take the flight out. I allowed him his groin check and was so humiliated and enraged that I was pretty much useless in the cockpit, I was self-absorbed.
Yes! A professional airport screener running the back of his hand over the outside of his pants made this guy “humiliated and enraged.” So enraged that he admits he basically couldn’t do his job. This is an example of a professional pilot, one so overcome by the mental and emotional turmoil of a pat-down that he couldn’t be bothered to help fly the plane. Oh, and this guy is being trotted out by the Rutherford Institute, the millenarian Christian right-wing think tank (best-known for representing Paula Jones) that’s now supporting this idiot’s crusade against airport frottage.
This guy tells us how later on he refused the full-body scanner and so was forced to get a private screening.
I requested a private screening with the Captain as my witness (you always have the right to a witness.) They started in my shirt collar, went inside my pants waistband all the way around, up inside my crotch and squeezed around from the front each side and up the backside both sides. I was groped 4 times total! Next they rubbed my whole body down with a full palm pressure…including my buttocks and the front groin one inch either side of my fly.
That poor, poor captain. I can’t even imagine having this guy for a co-worker, being begged to follow him into his TSA pat-down like a child about to visit his eccentric uncle. And the way he describes it is hilarious. It’s like he truly believes that poor, poor TSA agent was turned on by the whole thing. Keep dreaming, dude.
Look, I’m not saying the TSA pat-downs are a great idea. There’s evidence that they’re simply not an effective way to screen passengers and people shouldn’t be treated like criminals, but this is idea that TSA employees are “groping” travelers is ridiculous. Alex Altman of Time.com notes that 81% of Americans are ok with the TSA pat-downs.
Today while the TSA’s director testified before Congress, George LeMieux, the Republican Senator from Florida, said “I’m frankly bothered by the level of these patdowns. I wouldn’t want my wife to be touched in the way they’re being touched.”
Think about that for a second. This is absolutely in-fucking-sane. We’re talking about patdowns, in an airport, with all clothes on. Not exactly a night at BMCFC’s house with candlelights and a Frankie Beverly tune. No one is getting their jollies from patting down some Republican senator’s wife’s FUPA. Does he get this upset when his wife gets a pap smear? He must want to punch her OB/GYN in the face every single time.
All this talk of shame and humiliation…. I’m starting to wonder if this is merely the lastest manifestation of America’s Puritanism.
So from now on, I propose a new Teabagger-friendly rule: All physical contact with another person will now be considered state-sponsored rape. It’s the only way to overcome our sinful desires.