You may or may not have noticed my recent obsession with 70s clothing ads. I’m here to share some more reminders of why change is sometimes a good thing.
First, one that’s not that bad (for the 70s). We have British men who look like douchebags. Their shades have actually come back into style, and many people still look like douchebags while wearing them.
Every six months, I decide that I am going to write something. This something is usually a short story. Occasionally, it is a novel. Always, it is basically autobiographical, because I am not good at making things up that aren’t lies to make my life easier, e.g., “No, Verizon customer service representative, I did not repeatedly drop my Droid on concrete, as that would be irresponsible. It vibrated off a slightly sloped, very low table, onto thick-pile carpet. What? Oh. I have no idea how that cracked the screen. Faulty product, obviously.”
The problem is, I am not good at writing like this. I don’t know why I keep trying. It is like Barney Frank deciding to sing opera or Britney Spears promising to wear underwear every day. Some people are not cut out for some things.
And yet. I try. I’m trying now. I have two pages – and that’s single spaced. It will be different this time. There will be a plot, instead of vague and morose character development lasting for ten pages before I get distracted and never come back to it. There will be some pretense of it not being a journal entry. I will not channel Holden Caulfield. I will not start every sentence with the words “I,” “they,” or “the.” And when I fail miserably, as I always do, I will shelve this foolishness and go back to the things I’m actually good at, like telling the internet about interesting scientific progress or what food products I woke up to find on my floor after a night of heavy drinking.
For six months or so.
I seriously hate this Travelers’ commercial. The one with the rattlesnake with the baby rattle instead of a real rattle. And the rabbits are no longer afraid and start laughing at it. And it curls up and cries.
Bullshit.
They need to show the next ten seconds of that ad, where the rattlesnake remembers “Oh, hey, I don’t kill rabbits with my rattle, I kill them with my speed and fangs and venom!” and then proceeds to strike at each in quick succession as they lay back with exposed bellies giggling to their deaths.
4LOKO tried, but was ultimately unsuccessful at killing me. I woke up at about 10 a.m. feeling a slight hangover but nothing exceptional.
So I ended up drinking almost three full cans of the stuff. To be honest, banning this drink is pretty ridiculous. I honestly don’t think it’s really any more dangerous than any other booze product. The caffeine makes for an extremely pleasant buzzed feeling at first, but eventually it wears off. 4LOKO won’t keep you up all night. After all, alcohol is a depressant and once all that caffeine and sugar metabolizes, your entire system crashes exactly like it would with just plain ol’ booze.
I ended up passing out on the couch at like 2 a.m. or so, then woke up at 4, chugged a glass of water and went to bed. Pretty much no different than what would have happened if I were putting back a bunch of beers.
In fact, I will go so far as to say that if 4LOKO actually came in smaller cans, it would be a very nice way to start a night out. If you only drink say, half a can, the caffeine won’t wreak havoc on your stomach and the buzz is really very pleasant.
In the event of an actual emergency I will be inevitably be so drunk that I will be useless. I apologize in advance.
Here is the code I used on the image.
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.”