WebMD WTF

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So I was on WebMD trying to diagnose this pressure in my ears and sore throat and blah blah blah that is currently making it impossible to sleep and/or enjoy anything in life and I came across the following symptom:


Now, I'm no doctor (though I do play one on TV)...but tasting words? I have GOT to get down on this!

If you or someone you know can taste words, please click "Contact Me" above...and freaking tell me about it!

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BP's New Corporate Logo Ensures Environmental Awareness

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Hey, just because they're aware doesn't mean they care.
(Image via Green Peace)

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The Oil Crisis

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I just figured out how to stop the oil from spilling into the gulf!

You know how oil and water don't mix? If only we had a bunch of WATER to put with all that oil, it'd just separate out!

Wait a minute...

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So I've Been Thinking

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My whole reason for quitting Facebook (I know...I know...you told me so) was because of the opaqueness of Facebook's whole approach to privacy. As I'm so sure you all read my treatise on the subject, you'll be well versed in my reasoning. However, Facebook announced a few days ago some changes that negate some of my concerns. The keyword here is some.

So for those following at home, I'm now on the fence. 51% of me wants to stay off of it and 49% wants to jump back on...we shall see.

For now, I hope you are...I don't know...smelling good.

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Iron Man 3

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I can't believe my eyes. This footage of Iron Man 3 just leaked to the internet and it is...well...you just have to see for yourself. Video after the jump.

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And You're Taking that Hummer Where?

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Look, some people think global warming is a myth and some people even think that Barack Obama is actually a white dude who underwent skin toning to become President.


Barack Obama's real name? Barry Oberstein.

But regardless of your environmental leanings, you'd have to be an absolute fucking crazy person to think that this oil spill going on in the gulf is a good thing. Over 5,000 barrels of oil a day are being leaked into the ocean. Now I'm going to resist my rant on how this whole crisis was caused by sub-par safety regulation brought about when the Bush-Cheney administration deregulated oil companies' drilling standards, and instead just say that it's been over a month of this (that's 155,000 barrels of oil folks) and it's STILL GOING. 

If you only check out one thing from this post (other than the links after the jump on how to help), please check out this infographic from the New York Times that shows the enormous reach and scope of this catastrophe.  It's clear that it is not an easy task to get something like this contained and cleaned up, but check out what you can do to help.


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I got nothin'

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This is what I do when I can't think of anything to write. I post a video.

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Every News Headline Ever

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For those of you who read the paper, blogs, tumblogs, bumbleogs and warthogs, let me save you a little time. This is every headline you've ever read and every headline you will ever read:

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The Final Word on "Lost"

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If you're like me, you have a lot of questions that "Lost" didn't answer. College Humor did a pretty good job summing it up.



(via College Humor)

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10 Things I've Learned From Unemployment, Pt. III

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Part III:
Dress to De-depress

So you've been laid off, fired, let go, axed, hacked, whacked, deep-sixed, butt-fuc...anyway. You're gone. You're funemployed. The first few weeks go by and you learn to adapt to this new and strange way of living.  If you're like me, your collection of sweatpants was either rediscovered or revamped, and a general malaise has begun to convolute your every action.

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How to tell if someone hates you

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This is a simple litmus test to help evaluate how much someone dislikes you.

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This Is What I've Been Talking About!!!

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Ridiculous!

"Radio Station banned from Facebook for talking about privacy issues"

Is it just me or is that kind of the wrong way for Facebook to regain their user's trust?

Facebook: Yes yes, give us all your data so we can sell advertisements better.
User: So, I can still practice my 1st Amendment rights?
Facebook: Your what?
User: You know, freedom of speech? Freedom of the press? One of the founding principles of America?
Facebook: Ameri...what? Is that part of Farmville?

Yay freedom!


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BREAKING: Google Announces Google TV

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And I just can't find a reason to care.

Coverage after the jump.

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True Love

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Wonder how long it was before they got divorced?


via (Failblog)

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In Case of Fire

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I can't think that this would do anything but make matters worse (via FAIL Blog).

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Today's Google Logo: Playable Pacman

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Thanks to John Gruber (@gruber) over at Daring Fireball for pointing this out, I probably would've gone all day thinking "Cool logo" and never noticed the "Insert Coin" option.


 Go ahead and apologize to your boss on my behalf for ruining your productivity today.

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America Shocked at Hooters' Policy Towards Women

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Wait wait wait. What the shit? Okay. Watch the video first. Then we need to talk.


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Facebook Knows Who You're Going To Hook Up With Next

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Tell me you feel safe after reading this:

Facebook Knows Who You're Going To Hook Up With (And May Not Be Afraid To Use It) (From Gawker)

I don't think I'll be able to get an erection for a week thinking that Zuckerberg might be calculating at this very moment who I'll hoo...oh. Nope. Yeah there it is.

Still, the whole thing is messed up, no? Excuse me.

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Thoughts On the New Layout?

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Thoughts? Something you'd like to see that isn't here? Other than my mankini calendar, that is.

Let me know.

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The Real Reason to Make Your Bed

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So you won't be tempted to get back in it.

Today's gonna be...special.


Worst Morning Person Ever -- powered by Cracked.com

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Fishing With Dynamite: A Serial Novel (Chapter 2)

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Chapter 2

Nothingness.



Then, coughing. Violent, grasping coughs, choking on hot, wet air. Inhaling, retching, choking and again the dank, stale air.



Slowly, breathing began to feel less alien. The room was pitch-black and smelled of mold and disrepair.

Where am I?

 

Thoughts urged to create action; a foot wiggled, hands were being held high by something. Hands. Gravity assisted the hands in realizing that they were chained to something. A wall. The hands recognized the feel of exposed brick, and the recognition began to lift the haze from the struggling mind; began to help the mind reconnect to the body, to remember how things worked.



Then, a sound. Repetitive. Evenly spaced. Footsteps. That’s what they were. From above? Yes. They passed and the sound faded away.



Struggling to adjust to the darkness, he opened his eyes as if for the first time.

*           *           *



Marissa Docette stared at the last sip worth of cheap Chardonnay in her glass. She didn’t need to ask for the bottom-of-the-barrel anymore, all three of the bartenders at The Drop knew she wasn’t drinking for taste. Without having to ask, her glass was refilled and she caught a glimpse of the caricature of someone she knew had something to do with sports. 



“Fucking amazing who they’ll let make wine these days,” she said to no one in particular. It was around midnight as best she could tell. The Drop wasn’t known for having clocks on every wall, and the blacked-out windows made sure it always felt like drinking time. Not that The Drop’s patrons needed any help with that. She was mindlessly cracking the shells of the complimentary peanuts set out on the bar in front of her, half-watching a sports highlight show when the front door opened, granting a brief reprieve of light from the parking lot, narrowing to a sliver before disappearing as the door swung shut. 



The man who entered was a regular, she knew, but beyond that she didn’t know much else. He never really talked to anybody except some oafish guy that he would sometimes come in with. He sat down across the bar at the first empty stool, almost directly across from Marissa. Adam, the stocky bartender working that night, ambled over to the man and exchanged a handshake and began to talk to the man. Marissa lost interest and looked back up at the sports highlights show. The show had gone to commercial and she watched an infomercial about a wet-dry vac that can clean wine stains out of white carpet. 



She was waiting for Cathy, and had been for a little over an hour. It wasn’t unusual for Cathy to run late, three or four times a month she’d stop off at a high school kid’s house to buy pot from him on her way over to the Drop. Another 15 minutes passed and Marissa downed another glass of wine.



She didn’t know how much time had passed from the time the man walked in and now, the first time someone had come or gone since then, but judging by the increasing length of commercial breaks on TV it had to have been about a half-hour. Cathy, usually dapper and wearing clothes that were a generation too young for her, looked slightly disoriented when she crossed the threshold of the bar. She nervously glanced around before spotting Marissa, hitting herself in the forehead as she did so, apparently realizing the stupidity of not looking where they sat every night. Her heels softly clicked across the slimy, beer-stained floor as she hurried over to Marissa.



Marissa, who had been trying hard to act disinterested the whole time, casually glanced up from a suddenly full wine glass, catching the eye of Adam, who winked and nodded, and turned her gaze to Cathy. 



“Tight jeans, low cut top, bloodshot eyes…I’d say I know where you’ve been,” Marissa chided as Cathy sloughed her massive purse onto the bar.



“Hey Adam!” Cathy chirped. “The usual, hun! You losin’ weight?” Adam smiled from across the bar and went about pouring a vodka and cranberry juice. “Oh shit. Fuck.” She reached into her purse and struggled until she found her eye drops, which she pulled out and promptly dripped into her decreasingly red eyes. “I always forget about that bullshit,” Cathy finally turned to Marissa. “Doll, honey, you won’t believe the night I’ve had.”



Marissa studied Cathy’s wide, watery eyes and tentatively sipped her wine. “Regardless of whether I do or don’t, I don’t guess there’s any way for me to not hear about it?” 



Cathy chuffed in reply. “Well, if you must know, the girls are on display because yes, that Thompson boy gives me better pot if I show a little skin. Not to mention he’s almost 18. I’m thinking of it as something of a down payment.” 



Cathy had been married for 16 years to a wealthy, if somewhat sleazy, lawyer, known around Knoxville for having his balding head grace busses, benches and billboards with slogans like “I can get you your money!” and “If you’ve been hurt, we’ll make pay dirt.” He was a philandering alcoholic, so it was only fitting for his wife to share his love for extramarital affairs. 



“I’m surprised you’re going to wait until he’s legal. You’ve been stalking that one since he was a toddler,” Marissa teased. Cathy cackled as she threw her head back and drank her entire vodka in a gulp.



“You won’t believe the gossip I’ve got.”



*           *           *



Anders was on his fifth whiskey sour when the blonde woman who reeked of marijuana had come in. She was wearing tight hip-hugger blue jeans with fake jewels on the back pockets, a low-cut top that left little to the imagination in terms of size and inorganic origin of her breasts and carried a purse that could double as a child carrier. 



Passable, he thought as she blustered by him. He knew that she and her auburn-haired friend were regulars like he was, and he could almost taste the menthol in their cigarettes as the blonde one dramatically reached for her cigarette box in her purse. He’d had a hell of a night so far, and was engrossed in thought for almost an hour before looking up and noticing that except for he and the two women, there were only about seven other people in the bar. The jukebox seemed particularly derelict on this night and the lack of music lent the stolid air an eery quality, smoke hanging like fog just above eye level. In the relative quiet of the bar he heard the red-head say:



“And you’re going to believe some 17 year old who says he heard a gunshot in one of the safest parts of the city? How does he even know what a gunshot really sounds like? He deals pot to 35 year old women and college drop outs, he’s hardly running from the DEA.”



This caught Anders’ attention. He grabbed his whisky sour and casually walked over to the two women at the opposite end of the bar.



“Hi. I’m sorry I couldn’t help but overhear something about gunshots and the DEA, and I’m a sucker for a good story. I’ve seen you two here before, haven’t I?” 



The blonde blushed and Anders caught a glimpse of the red-head rolling her eyes as she turned her head towards her wine glass. 



He extended his hand, “I’m Anders.”



*           *           *




His memory was still hazy, but he had control of his limbs and was finally able to put together complete thoughts. He was able to discern that his hands were chained, above his head, to the exposed brick wall. There was a constant burning in his abdomen that worsened when he inhaled and exhaled. It had been a long time since he bled but he was sure that there was a tinge of blood in his mouth. He knew he had been hurt, but the pain was too widespread to effectively find the epicenter.

He was able to determine by his sensitivity to the temperature of the room that he had likely been stripped down to his boxers and undershirt. He was barefoot, and the cold of the cement floor stung against his pained feet. He had tried to muster the strength to test his bindings, but the pain in his stomach made it implausible to try again. He had resigned himself to trying to acclimate his eyesight to the darkness of his surroundings to see if there was anything that might help him determine where he was or how he’d gotten here.



After what seemed like an eternity, his eyes had adjusted to the point of being able to discern varying levels of shadow. As best he could tell the room was largely empty. There didn’t appear to be any doors or windows, and if there were any, they had been sealed off perfectly. As he was beginning to ponder his next course of action he heard a sudden gasp from across the room. At first he thought it must be some type of exhaust, but within a few seconds he realized that he was hearing the same sounds he had made when he came to. He listened carefully.



And then, from the blackness, a voice choked, “Hel……Hello?”

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10 Things I've Learned From Unemployment, Pt. II

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The much delayed (and often promised) Part II of my Unemployment series (currently sitting on someone's desk over at Cracked...allegedly) follows. This article has been modified from its original version. It has been formatted to fit your screen.

This article may not be reprinted without the express written consent of Fox Sports.

I don't know...I saw that somewhere.

Part II
"You're Overqualified"

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My Word is My Bond

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I'm resisting the obvious James Bond joke.


I know, I know....the moment I say I'm going to post about something, I end up never doing it. It's a problem. So today, no fucking shit, I'm gonna go through my promises that I've made to you, pick one, and then not write about it.


I'm hoping if I say I won't write about it that it will inspire me to actually write about it.

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8 Things Every Modern Geek Has

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You've seen them. Oh I know you've seen them. They're not quite as "hip" as a "hipster" but they're not quite as geeky as a full-time geek. Technology bloggers, half the population of San Francisco, and the greater Seattle area are full of the hip-geek, or "gip" as I like to call them.

After exhaustive research in the area, I've compiled a list of 10 things that you'll find attached, tethered or otherwise near every gip. Who knows, you may even discover that you're a gip.

Oh, and if you read the title and thought "Is there such thing as a pre- or post- modern geek?" then...good on ya. I don't know. It just sounds good.

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Why Facebook Is (and Always Has Been) a Bad Idea

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I'm on Facebook. You're on Facebook. We may or may not be friends on Facebook.

While I'm possibly a little late to jump on the "What the shit is Facebook doing with my privacy?" bandwagon, I do feel like it might be worth my time to add my two cents to the pile of...two-cent pieces. Let's start from the beginning.

I was against Facebook from its onset, partly because I wasn't currently among the collegiate, and partly because I thought "Who wants Facebook? On MySpace I can have MUSIC that automatically plays on my page and annoys people who were already listening to music!" Then MySpace got reallllly boring and buggy as it collapsed under the additional weight of its own growth.



Simulation of MySpace circa 2006

Not to mention all the angst.

So I quit MySpace. All my old AIM contacts dropped off the planet as everyone migrated to Google Talk and Facebook Chat, and largely I continued life as most of us had prior to 1999. I called people on the phone, I sent emails from time to time, and I looked at pictures of people I actually know because they were actively showing them to me. I was able to get over ex-girlfriends because I didn't have to constantly see what was going on in their lives, I was able to save all my witticisms for actual conversation instead of saying something in my head thinking "Now that's a status update!"

Fast forward three years to 2009. Everyone and their brother, mother, cousin and sister was on Facebook by this time. Even people who weren't on it at least knew what it was. The program had become ubiquitous since opening its doors to those of us not enrolled in college. People would chide me, saying "Hey Phil, why aren't you on Facebook? You should get on Facebook! It's like...you can see what everyone is doing! All the time!"

The answer "I don't want to know what everyone is doing all the time. I kinda wanna know what my friends are doing at the time they're doing it, or hear about it from them later," didn't really seem up to snuff. My friends would try to convince me how great it was, showing me their news feed and showing me all the things they were learning about their friends. Nevermind that when all of us would get together, they'd all end up telling stories that were already represented on their Facebook pages. It was compelling!

I brought this up after one such night: "Do you guys realize all you've done is talk about stuff you've already talked about on Facebook?"

Bewilderment. It was as if I'd asked Noah why exactly he needed two ducks on his ark.

"What do you mean?" "No we're not!" "Like you'd even know."

Umm...okay.

In February of 2009 I came down with a pretty nasty case of pleurisy, which is essentially like having someone stab you in the chest every time you inhale, and then remove the serrated blade while twisting every time you exhale. In the ER as I was stricken with what's called a "friction pop" (when your pleurisy-hardened lungs POP against your rib cage, causing the equivalent of an earthquake in your chest), an entirely stereotypical nurse told me:

"Sugar, I had two painful expurriences in my life. One was having my babies, and the other was having that pleurisy."

I was laid up for a little over a month with not much to do and even fewer places to go. It's entirely possible that I almost put Netflix out of business what with all the DVDs I watched; I played video games until I didn't want to even think about them anymore, I took pain pills until I didn't want to....well okay honestly I really liked the pain pills bit...anyway, I had exhausted nearly every option at that point. I had done everything I could do entertain myself whilst breathing with a lance through my lungs.

Except join Facebook.

With great trepidation, I created an account. I followed the "Getting Started" advice and found the "Friends" it suggested based on my place of work, educational experience, and other people I indicated I already knew. Within a few weeks I was up to 400 "friends." Without thinking I quickly jumped on nearly every opportunity Facebook gave me to "share" more information. You mean I can automatically publish my favorite YouTube videos to Facebook? YEAH! You mean I can automatically publish the latest vintage Norwegian pornography DVDs I purchased at Christie's last week? YEAH! You mean if I publish all this shit to Facebook and people "Like" it then I'll ultimately feel better about myself? FUCK YEAH! The sky is the limit to what you can share on the internet.

Or is it?

Sharing In the Cloud
What you may not immediately realize is that all of the things you share with Facebook; the things you like and dislike, your interests, hobbies and education, all become Facebook's proprietary information. Yes, they are still legally obligated to tell you what they intend to share. But tell me, have you read Facebook's TOS? That's 3,727 words without even delving into the other NINE legal documents that comprise Facebook's legal stance! Odds are, you probably haven't. I'll save you some time.



Facebook's Approach to Protecting Your Privacy


A few weeks ago, Facebook CEO, Mark Zuckerberg, announced at a keynote event Facebook's plans to conquer personalize the web. Facebook calls it "Open Graph" (Keynote address can be found after the jump). To sum it up, picture a semi-translucent patchwork quilt made up of your likes and dislikes, your interests, your thoughts, your searches and even the things that you and your friends have in common. Imagine wearing that blanket over your head. Because it is semi-translucent, you can still see through it. However, because you have images of your likes and dislikes and other "personal" information superimposed before what you view, you begin to see the world in a skewed way.

Say you go to the park and see a man putting on a puppet show. You may have indicated on Facebook that you enjoy puppet shows and that you are politically conservative. Imagine then, viewing this puppet show through a specialized view, provided by this blanket. Suddenly, you're watching a puppet show based on what you believe.

This isn't immediately a bad thing. In fact, it COULD be kind of a good thing. After all, we humans have always gravitated towards the things we enjoy. Societal norms implanted from childhood generally keep us from overindulging. We know, for example, that sex not only makes babies, but also feels pretty damn good. But our history has implanted a "moral code" that tends to also attach feelings of guilt and responsibility to sex. This helps (with the exception of China) to keep things in check. We love it, but we're also not going to go apeshit over it in public.

Such is not the case with the internet. A decade is such a small thing when compared to the "open graph" of something like sex. Sex has been around since the beginning of mankind, indeed in many forms since the beginning of time, and we have as such found opportunity to mold it into what it is today. However we now stand at the precipice of a great opportunity to mold the future of mankind. In under half a century, a technology has become, in many ways, a more ingrained part of our society than even sex itself! You don't have to have sex to read the paper, but you do have to log on to the internet (or, if you're just...helpless...subscribe to a paper the old-fashioned way). Something with such impact over our lives has a dire significance in an individual's view of the world.

Imagine then, a person with an imprinted set of beliefs, who receives content and information based almost entirely on that which is known to be a belief or interest of theirs. Do you think most people will actively seek out opposing opinions? No! One of the great responsibilities of "media" since its inception was to present opposing viewpoints, to inspire discussion and debate that can lead to something palpable and effective in moderating society.

When was the last time a 4chan flame war changed the world (Rick-Rolling aside)? When was the last time a video posted on You Tube altered the course of human history?

The internet, as Facebook and other major conglomerates view it, is yet another system of control. The final frontier. He (or she) who controls the internet, indeed controls the future of humanity by limiting that which we consume; and in the worst scenarios, delivering to us only that which we are presumed to want to consume.

Final Thought
If you, like I, feel the need to be on Facebook for its genuine networking purposes, for the benefit of being able to get in touch with someone from your past or possibly someone who will greatly impact your future, stay. But please know your rights. Know what you are willingly subjecting yourself to, and know which pieces of data that make up the digital version of yourself are being shared with multi-national conglomerates who will tailor content to your pleasure without consequence and without so much as an opposing thought.

This article from Lifehacker has a great way to separate yourself from Facebook's riff-raff. There are numerous articles, blog posts and resources around the web that can help you protect your information and help ensure a future in which individuals rule their own privacy.

Link to Facebook's F8 Conference and Unveiling of "Open Graph" Feature

Notice the irony of playing Green Day's "Minority" at the beginning.

"Down with the moral majority..."

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Socks

Posted by Phildo | Labels: ,

I can understand that in some cases, you need the comfort of a sandal and the warmth of socks. Like if you are, I don’t know, at a cold beach. But really…this is just unacceptable.

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Get a Hare Cut

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A friend recently recommended a blog or two to me. 



Wait. Fuck. Let me start over.



Hi. I haven’t posted in awhile. I recently rediscovered this thing called…um…shit…oh! LIFE. Yeah I’d had one on back order for awhile and it finally showed up at the door a few weeks ago. It’s been nice to leave my self-imposed exile, to step out into the bright, wide world and remember what Vitamin D feels like (it feels like the sun, FYI. But not like, burning hot plasma and gas, it feels like the sun on your skin…fuck it, you know what I’m talking about.) and in general, have been living a much more fulfilling life. Hell, I’ve even found it difficult to be as sarcastic as I so desperately enjoy being. 



Those of you who follow me on Twitter (if you don’t, you really should, it’s like…constant orgasms. And a lot of ellipses.) probably noticed things like “camping” and “not on computer” and “sex with forest creatures” show up in my Tweets. You may have even noticed that I haven’t been nearly as sardonic as normal, and this is something I haven’t taken to without noticing. For a long time I have been, in my opinion, defined by two things:

1) My overarching love of commas, parenthetical asides and ellipses.

2) Being a sarcastic man-bitch.



Imagine, if you will, an Adonis-like man standing proudly above the plebeians, bronzed chest glistening with sweat and diet coke…now imagine me. It’s pretty similar, no? Yes. Muscularity notwithstanding, I have had a hard time being less sarcastic and being generally agreeable and positive. Actually, that’s not true. It’s been really easy. Which has been emotionally hard for me. Despite all the challenges I’ve faced as a direct result of my recent possession of the faculties to enjoy my life outside the realm of mocking the internets, I was, on this day, as I write, here in this chair, with commas aplenty, dragged back down into the depths of loathing and abhor-ration.

 Since you're A.D.D. like I am, check this out:




You're welcome.

What could possibly end such a great run of happiness? Why, what else? 



There. Their. They’re.



Let’s be clear here. “They’re going to get their guitars from over there.” There. Get it? It’s not “Their about to take they’re pants off and put them over their.” 



Annnd we’re back. A friend recently recommended a blog or two to me. Generally, I take any type of recommendation whatsoever with a salt shaker’s worth of salt. As in, it took my dentist eleven years to convince me that it was a good idea to brush my teeth. And let me tell you, was he right! I made out with SO many more lady-types post-brushing. I’m also sort of warming up to this whole “showering” concept. It needs not be said that I’m a tough sell when it comes to getting me to see things your way (people who know me will surely disagree, praising me as the most agreeable person they kn…I’m sorry I just can’t finish that without suing myself for libel), especially when it comes to the topic of so and so being oh-so-funny and having just the funniest opinions and onions and what not. Fourteen worldwide studies from the top scientists around the globe have effectively confirmed that I am the chief master of all things hilarious and have final say as to what is and is not funny. David Cross in person? Not funny. David Cross on stage? Funny. Kramer? Funny. Kramer’s actor-person-counterpart? Not funny. See how good at this I am?



I reluctantly ventured over to blog number one, The Bloggess. Funny. Sure. A few chuckles emitted from my gullet, as they are wont to do. The eponymous Bloggess has a speak-first-ask-questions-later policy that I admire. So, blog number one, congrats. You’ve got another reader. I may even click on your AdWords if you make me chuckle enough and show a little cleavage.

 Related: she did end up showing cleavage.

Blog number two. The reason why I simultaneously love and hate the internet. Every Tom, Dick and Harry with a computer can have a “voice” on the internet. As I take liberty to subject you to my ranting and raving and generally bloviate about whatever soap box I happen to have washed with that day I cannot be judgemental without being hypocritical. So, label me a hypocrite (it won’t bother me) and let’s move on. This second blog, this…this internet monstrosity. Let’s be honest here, there (or they’re, or their) are barely a handful of intelligent people on the internet. Just look at any YouTube video’s comments section and you’ll see what kind of intellect the internet is populated by.


A "gagalogist's" opinion.

This is part of why I approach internet people with a grain of salt (times 1.8 million grains). I take a quick tour through the generic Wordpress blog (don’t even get me started on how complicated Wordpress is to use versus how the final product ends up looking) and click on a post that contains the word “Poop.” Sounds like a winner! Poop is my favorite palindrome, and delights me even when it is used by a 5 year old to tell me what is lurking in his drawers. 



Hey! He goes to a bar! So do I! He lives within walking distance! I wish I did! He likes bourbon! So do I! We’re practically the SAME EXACT PERSON! And then comes a story straight out of the annals of the “‘How I Met Your Mother’ Scriptwriting Playbook,” in which we are enlightened as to why you should never sleep with the bartender at your favorite bar. Never mind that we don’t have Neil Patrick Harris here to soften the blow of this awfully overplayed idea (no pun intended) and never mind that it’s not even HIS STORY. I’m still tolerating it. 



While I’m handing out sanctimonious platitudes, let me clarify that I have always been one to support free-flow writing and even intentional misspellings. However, Strunk & White exist for a reason.



Midway through the fourth or fifth paragraph comes the following quote: 



“…have come to the conclusion their are hookers out there just waiting to be saved by a mild-mannered accountant…” 



Can you spot which word doesn’t belong? A cookie for the winner! It’s in my van…c’mon! I have puppies!



Their are hookers? THEIR ARE HOOKERS? WHOSE HOOKERS ARE THEY? WILL THEY NOTICE IF THEY’RE GONE FOR AWHILE UP TO MY APARTMENT? WHERE ARE THE HOOKER’S THEYS AT? I hate caps lock, but you get it. Idiocy. 



And just like that, I’m back. Sarcastic, hating most of the population (particularly anyone who is overly passionate about…pretty much anything) and just generally looking for deplorability and debauchery to slide into. A big whopping thanks goes out to the moron over they’re who has dragged me painfully to the depths from which I came. Speaking of coming, well, insert a sex joke here (hear). 



What’s the moral here, kids? If you don’t want to look like an idiot, spell words correctly and use proper grammar. Know your homophones and avoid homophobes. Take your vitamins and avoid hormones. And Social Distortion is never, ever, ever good music.



Welcome back, me.

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