Malarafication.

Once again, I shamelessly steal someone else's picture.

I'm sick of Blogger's Word verification.

It pisses me off.

At first it was cute.

"Please prove you're not a robot." It said.

Then it would give me a word. Just one word.

(Much like Sean Connery's "One Ping Only" in The Hunt for Red October - this has no significance to what I'm talking about, but it's what came to mind when I typed "Just One Word." See? That's how my mind works, people - all over the place.)

Even though it was only one word, it was at least a word I could understand. I could find it in a dictionary. It was harder to type than "cat", but easier than "Supercalafragilisticexpialidocious". That should fool just about any robot, right?

For the last while now, Blogger has gone to two words in their verification system. I'm okay with two words, as long as they make sense. I always looked at it as expanding my vocabulary while getting my opinion out there. I do comment on some blogs quite a bit, so if I have to type "Dog" and "Bountyhunter" after reading a particularly witty post, I'm okay with that.

But now blogger has taken that away from me.

They've started using words that have no meaning - and that drives me nuts.

What kind of word is "decith"? How about "donfo"? (Actual words from when I tried to comment this morning) I tried typing them into Google to see if they were actually anything, but nothing showed up. "Decith" sounds like a guy with a lisp trying to say "desist", and "donfo" sounds like an Asian waiter asking how long I want my eggs poached.

("How long would you like them donfo?" He would ask, and my reply would be, "Until they're done.")

So what's next, Google? What do I have to do to prove I'm a real human being with an opinion? Will it be three words? Four? Why not make me type out " The quick brown fox jumped over the lazy dog" before I hit "Publish"?

Or even better - Math! Have me do long division (and make sure I show my work). Maybe some word problems would weed the Spambots out from the herd. They don't have time to figure out how long it would take Mr. Green to get to Cleveland by bus at 50km/h if his wife was on the beach in Florida - they need to skip that shit and sell more Viagra.

I'm waiting for the day when I type a witty, charming, insightful response on someone's blog, and the next thing I know, my DVD drive on the laptop pops open and I have to give blood, urine, and "other" samples before hitting "reply".

Just wait - it'll happen.

And then my laptop's going to be a mess. Great.








Later.

You are Legion.

Are you one of the people in this picture?

I just want to say thanks.

Thanks for stopping by and listening to whatever rambling train of thought I have going on. I'm a stat junkie, so knowing there are 100 people out there who took the time to follow this blog is kinda cool.

(I'm sure a couple of you are spam bots, but whatever, welcome to the party.)

So be you Jobe or Bish from Victoria, The Homeoffice in Ontario, Steve in Portland, TripleT in chilly Chicago, or whomever at The Kroger Co. that keeps coming here (us grocery retail types have to stick together, right?) just know that I'm glad you stopped by and took the time.

For those of you I missed, I'm sorry - there's just so many of you now!

It's hard to see, but I'm smiling like a fool.






Later.

T.V. Gold.

As a child of the 80's, I would have watched the fuck out of this if it was a weekly T.V Show.




How sweet is that?


Later.

Stay of Execution.

Considering that since Christmas, the kids have been playing Lego Batman and Lego Indiana Jones non-stop, just the sight if this comic made me laugh my ass off.

This guy's stuff is hilarious - check it out.


Later.

Good Mail.

Most days, your average Inbox is so full of spam and other assorted debris that it's hard to sort out the good news from the ENLARGE YOUR PENIS NOW!!! - type stuff.

My Telus-assigned email address is the one I use for all my junk. Anyone who needs an actual address I can respond to, but I think is going to send me copious amounts of crap - they get that one. I check it once a week, and it's usually to just shift-select all-delete.

The Real Me uses Gmail.

Even with that, I still get some junk - newsletters I subscribed to but don't read, the one guy I know who still sends out FWD:FWD:FWD:FWD stuff, (even though I've asked him not to), and the occasional spam because the Wife signed up for something and put in the wrong address.

But today was a good mail day. I received 4 emails that brightened my afternoon:

• A reminder from the local running store about the 10K I'm in this weekend. (I placed 4th in my age group last year - going to try and better that)
• Same local running store sending out a congratulatory email to all the local runners in the RVM - sure, it's a bulk email, but everyone gets to see my name in lights - as a finisher.
• Message from the Event Photographers that my race-day photos are online. This one's tough because my finish-line photo looks realllly bad.
• And a confirmation email from the Tidemark that my 6th row tickets to see the Trews are in. (Oh yeah, baby - the Trews.)

So believe me when I say- checking my email, while purely habitual and borderline obsessive-compulsive, was very rewarding today.

And I also got this one from a Nigerian Prince who needs my help to transfer millions of dollars - this could be good.


Later.

Cream My Jeans.

I know it's only 14 seconds.
I know there's no lyrics.
I know there isn't even pictures of the band.



But there is the sound of Dave Grhol smashing the shit out of some drums. And if Josh Homme and John Paul Jones can keep up with him, this should be fucking Epic.



Later.

Your Chocolate in My Peanut Butter..

Below is a amalgamation of two of the best things in my universe: Kings of Leon and Pulp Fiction.

Uuummaa.



Sweet Christmas, is that awesome or what?

By the way, in case I haven't mentioned it a thousand times already - in 32 days 'till Kings of Leon in Van!
(Fuck, I feel like a giddy schoolgirl...)


Later.

Dirty Songs Make Me Laugh

I've always wanted to rhyme "hootchie" with "cootchie".

Really, what else does a song need?

This song speaks to the 17-year old boy that lives deep within my soul.




Later.

Twitterpatied

If you'll look to your right, you'll notice that I've recently started using Twitter, and stuck it in my blog.

Yes, it's a blatant ripoff from another blog I read. (Didn't someone say imitation is the highest form of flattery?)

With the new phone making texting easier, I thought I'd give it a go. There was no point in doing it before - I'd waste so much time on each entry on my ol'school phone that I'd be doing nothing but typing about how sore my thumbs are.

I think Twitter is better suited to my style of humor. I'm all about the quick line and ready quip. If the Sidekick and I could link Twitter accounts, you know there would be some wicked witty banter going on - the Internet would fall before the onslaught of Kevin Smith quotes.

(Sad, really.)

So if you do check back and I haven't posted, look over there - I just might have something Twitty to say.



Later.

Curse The Radio.

I curse public radio.

I curse the radio in general, be it at the gym, the car, or at work.

Why?

Because it got this song stuck in my head. The Fucking Jonas Brothers






And that's just unfair.
Catchy, lighthearted pop, but unfair nonetheless.

Now I have to scrub my brain with some hardcore Death Metal. (That's the audio equivalent of an SOS pad, right?)


Later.

In Between Goals.

I'm kinda lost.

Having finished my Half Marathon and winning the weight loss contest I was in, I'm all out of goals. I know, I know - most intelligent people would have planned for what they were going to do after achieving their goals, but if you've been reading this blog for any amount of time, you'll understand I don't really operate that way.

So what is it that I want to do?

My next big run is in October, so the training for that is out - but I think I'll keep doing the mileage - I don't want to stop that. Running 20-25 miles a week should keep me where I want to be.

I do still have that last 6 pounds to go, and I did get all this weight loss stuff in my prize package, so - I think with a slight change in my weight routine, I'll be pretty good to go. Maybe I can get my BF% down to 16-17%.

I think this year, I'm going to get a tan. I have the fake 'n bake passes, (yet another prize) and with running outside when it gets warmer, maybe nature can help with the rest. It would be nice not to be translucent for at least one summer.


Well look at that - I've got some goals.

Thanks, Internet - what would I do without you?




Later.

Let's Go Yachting.

Sure, you'll be the 9,255,054th person to see this video, but you could be the first to do it from my blog. (That's something, isn't it?)

Anyway, I laughed my ass off.



I can just see myself off of Cape Mudge, cruising along with my Lucky and enjoying the high life. Ah, yes.....





Later.

Skewed Readership.

One part of my blog that I really enjoy is seeing who's coming around to check out what I'm saying in my little corner of the Internet.

It's interesting to see that people from Korea, China, Uruguay, England, Scotland as well as my Canadian brethren are interested in some topic enough that they stumble upon my assorted rants and raves.

What's disturbing is how many are interested in this post.

Why is the subject of geriatric urine such a hot topic? Is it due to the rising senior population, or is it some twisted fetish? (The skeptic in me, who's been on the internet a while, is well aware that it could be the latter.) Whatever it is, I'm such an authority on it that I'm number 8 on Google China's results for "old men peeing".

Conflicted: Impressed that I'm ranked so high, yet disgusted at what they are looking for.

Good thing I don't write about anime porn.



Later.

My Inner Geek Just Jizzed In His Pants.

This movie is going to fucking rule.


(Oh God, I'm such a nerd.)





Later.

Pop For Sale.

So they are auctioning off Neverland.

Now, I'm not one to judge how batshit crazy Micheal Jackson may or may not be, but if you leaf through even just a portion of the online auction catalog, you'll understand that he just isn't living in the same world as the rest of us.

It's not the scores of Arcade games he has, nor the antique popcorn & coffee machines. (I'd have that shit too, if I had the cash.)

It's the dolls.

Not so much the life-sized Batman & Terminator statues (still cool), but the life sized ones of:

• Maids - old, not french.
• Butlers - old, not Alfred or Benson.
• Old people sitting on benches.
• Clowns.

There's more, but I think I mentally blocked the rest of the shit out.

I can't even begin to say I understand why he'd have shit like that laying around.

But who would understand? Macaulay? Janet? Someone ask Tito - maybe he knows what the fuck was up with that shit.

All I know is I'd hate to be the guy who's got to pick that shit up after it's sold.

"Was this pair of toddler's undies supposed to be with the belt and jacket from the Bad video? - Oh, I didn't think so."



Later.

W.T.F.

The Boys love to watch this show.

I have fun watching them watching this show.

They laugh so hard I almost think we might have to go back to diapers.





Seriously - whatever these guys are smoking - I'd like a hit.


Later.

Post #2 - Fucking Hilarious.

This Ad cracks me up.



It's the squeaking that makes it.

Oh God, ..the squeaking.

Someone needs some lube.



Later.

Google News Is Some Fucked Up Shit.

Google News obviously has a different view of "Entertainment" than I do.

When I plopped down in front of my computer tonight, I do what I always do - hit Google News to get caught up on what's going on in the world.

As I scrolled away, checking each section, I noticed that the type of stories that were usually in "Entertainment" ( Movie premieres, Album releases, Lindsay Lohan on a coked-up binge) weren't there. Instead there were the three stories you see to your right.

Now why Google News describes Drunk Driving, Childbirth and Fleeing for Your Life as "Entertainment" is beyond me. I can't picture any of the people in the above situations laughing and cheering as they unfold. (Maybe the Drunk, but not if he's been nabbed by the Cops.)

Somebody fucked up somewhere.

It's probably just a glitch, but if the local Bake Sale is listed under "World News" I'll know someone has gone off their rocker.



Later.

Call Me Petty, But...

Nothing makes me feel better than winning at Poker.

Except taking chips from a real dick, that is.

When I got home tonight, the Wife was playing in an online tournament - she was doing okay, but there was this guy at the table who she said was being a real dick. She got fed up playing and asked if I wanted to finish the game.

I jumped in, and within five minutes had this guy totally pissed at me. Normally I don't say much in chat, but I started lipping this guy off every spare moment. His best comeback was to take shots at my Mom, and that shit hasn't bothered me since grade school.

Cut to ten minutes later when I say he's got no balls and he goes all in with 7/8 offsuit - of course I have pocket Jacks. Bye-bye, loser.

Although it felt good, it takes me back to that old adage:

Winning an argument on the Internet is like winning Gold at the Special Olympics, even if you win you are still a retard!

Welp, call me retarded, then.



Later.

It's Not A Race...

Just because I'm posting this hilarious video does not mean I know anything about, nor have anything in common with said topic. (So don't go reading anything into this.)



I'm glad he covered thinking about baseball, but Kathy Bates? Ewwww.... That's just too much.




Later.