Archive for April, 2006

I want to spank that naughty Net Nanny

Published
by
Anonymous Coworker
on April 27, 2006 @ 9:02 am
in bitches, meta blogging, potty humor, sex, suhmuhmuh bitch, travel and work
. 10 Comments

Right now I’m sitting the “business area” of my hotel in Long Island which basically means that I’m able to escape the musk-clad stink of gold-chain wearing Italian Sopranos wannabes. Once those dirty Eyetalians discover #### is on these things, I’m sure they’ll muscle me out of here, and I know I won’t be able to get the stains from their greasy, pizza-loving hands off of me.

All I want to do is read some of the blogs on Blogtimore.com! Lucky for me, Blogtimore aggregates many of my favorite blogs, because when I tried to access those blogs via URL or hyperlink my direct access to them was blocked.

The business center has apparently set Net Nanny into place to keep people like me from accessing sites like #####################.com, diarrheafisticufs.com, and Neckbone’s, Snay’s, and Wombat’s blogs.

And I’m not exactly sure what the problem is. I tried to get to Neckbone’s site via the link on my blog. No dice. I got a nice little e-slap on the wrist from the Net Nanny letting me know that the site I was trying to access wasn’t appropriate, so I just used the Blogtimore aggregator to find out what the problem was, and all I found was a rant about moving, lightly peppered with profanity.

So that makes me think, who the #### is the Net Nanny to decide what is and is not appropriate? It’s absolutley ####### retarded. I know Neckbone’s site is innapropriate. Why the #### else would I want to read it? I mean, it’s not so innapropriate that he has anything like an animated gif of a vagina with a swastika tattoo blasting out ping-pong balls with deadly accuracy like some sort of Nerf-gun for white-supremacist perverts at the top of each blog post. (Though if anybody did have a gif like that I think it would be hilarious.)

And it’s not like kids are running around at this hotel either. It’s boring business travelers, with boring meetings, and boring lives. Even if they were kids around at some point they have to learn that the human female vagina is capable of shotting ping-pong balls so they aren’t tricked into paying to see such an act later in life. It would be a service to the community at the very least.

So please, Net Nanny, back the motherfucking #### off, get out of my ####### business, go #### yourself, and eat a big ####### steaming pile of donkey #### you jiggle-assed, victorian, sphincter-tightening bitch-stick.

P.S. Ha ha ha! I think that last papragraph is what now prevents me from seeing my own blog. Awesome.

Backup

Published
by
mokiejovis
on April 26, 2006 @ 9:02 am
in bitches, sex, suhmuhmuh bitch, travel and work
. 11 Comments

He’s gone, you get me. I know, it’s excruciating.

Yesterday, driving home from work, I got caught in backup on I-97 northbound. Something like five miles of backup, maybe more. I imagine, given the glacial pace of traffic, that the backup extended well on to route 50 at its peak.

I have a theory about sitting in backup, in that it’s like mourning.

Step one, you’re upset. “Oh, man. What the shit is this?”

Step two, you’re pissed. “Fucking shitbaggers! Fucking go! Can’t you fucking see the cars are moving? Christ!”

Step three, final step: despair. It involves no speaking, no yelling. You’re just slumped in your seat, beaten, traffic bumper to bumper as far as you can see in every direction. You’re imagining you’ll probably die on that highway, wondering why in the hell you like to drive a manual transmission because now your left leg is sore.

Anyway, I was stumbling well into a hole of step three about an hour into the gridlock. There’s helicopters overhead and their buzzing is giving me a headache. Just as I’m coming up to the source of the gridlock - a trash truck which has managed to get flipped upside down - a van pulls up next to me. A late-twenties/early-thirties young man looks over at me, obviously trying to get my attention.

“Hey buddy,” Van Guy says. He gives me a thumbs-up.

“Uh, hi,” I reply.

“Hey, check this out!” Van Guy pulls out a magazine, flips to a page, and shows me, obviously pleased with himself. It’s at this point I realize he’s showing me a random page from the porno he’s been looking at. So I’m weirded out, a little, but don’t want to piss off a guy in a van in backup, so I laugh a little. “Hang on, hang on a sec. Check this out!” he says, as he flops the magazine open to a giant photograph of a vagina as he happily nods, complete with thumbs-up and shit-eating grin.

“Terrific!” I exclaim, laughing hysterically, just as an opening appears in traffic and I speed off onto the right-hand shoulder, the only lane getting around all three blocked lanes caused by the fucking upside-down trash truck.

Seriously, strangest thing that has ever happened to me in traffic, without question.

Boo to that

Published
by
Anonymous Coworker
on April 24, 2006 @ 9:49 am
in travel and work
. 4 Comments

Not only can I not bring the funny, but I also just wrapped up a weekend that was only interesting if you lived in my house. (We put in a better piping and drainage system for the sump-pump and the downspout! Watch me go on for paragraphs in excruciating detail!)

Plus I’ve got back to back meetings all day long today because I’m going to be out of town this week. You can listen to some of my thoughts on the same trip from last year, if you go here, here, here, and here. (and here) Oh, and you should be careful listening to any of my audio posts, because I drop the F-bomb like they’re going to make it illegal tomorrow.

So, um, I’ll try to audio post from the road, but I might not, so there might not be anything up here this week, but then again there might be after all. Who knows?

I need somebody

Published
by
Anonymous Coworker
on April 21, 2006 @ 9:47 am
in contests, jokes and suhmuhmuh bitch
. 11 Comments

Thanks, everybody, for your well wishes in the previous post. I appreciate, and assure you that I’m doing all I can to drown my illness with NyQuil.

Also, I’m kinda surprised that nobody has guessed the fake spam subject line from two posts down. I guess I was craftier than I thought, either that or the spammers are just freakin’ bizarre.

I was going to put up an HILARIOUS post today, as I’m wont to do, but (ha ha, I said “but”) I’m not really feeling up to it. So I thought I would take a page from Jay’s book and do a caption contest thingy. Best caption gets a cookie.

So, right now, you have a chance to win a cookie by guessing the spammer subject line that isn’t real in the post below, and by posting the best caption to this photo:

Or, I don’t know. Maybe somebody with photoshop skills can make this image even hilariouser. Best photoshop also wins a cookie. You can email any fotochops to me.

Love, peace, chicken-grease,

ACW

Save me Jeebus.

Published
by
Anonymous Coworker
on April 20, 2006 @ 1:24 pm
in suhmuhmuh bitch
. 11 Comments

Is it possible to go from “healthy” to “so sick that you can’t think straight” in a matter of about 30 minutes?

My brain feels like it’s filled with syrup, my throat is sore, and my nose is literally leaking slime.

Fuck, I hate getting sick.

My life is so boring

Published
by
Anonymous Coworker
on April 20, 2006 @ 9:00 am
in contests, devil cat and sex
. 11 Comments

I’m not sure if everyone thinks that asking “How’s the wedding planning going?” or “How is the house coming along?” are questions that will earn them some sort of long, and oft-times hilarious story about a ne’er-do-well caterer or plumbing problem that features primarily a 35-second monologue about exploding feces, or if they’re just using those questions as an excuse to not talk about the weather. Either way, I never really deliver on either count.

Usually I have enough energy to explain once or twice a day a specific problem that we have related to the wedding.

“Oh, the hotel rooms need to be booked, but the hotel is 3 miles from the wedding site, and we need to arrange a shuttle because the hotel doesn’t have one.”

It’s so boring. But people keep asking, so I keep telling them. Really, there is no less-exciting project than the planning of a wedding. It sucks. It feels like work. Except there’s no paycheck.

And the answers to the house question are even worse because they first require an explanation about how the house is configured in order for the questioner to understand why any of the problems I might choose to describe would be troublesome. Every time I make it through that same configuration description, I surprise myself that my brain hasn’t liquefied and trickled out of my ears in an act of rebellion.

So I guess I could talk about my cats, but people hate hearing about other people’s pets. It’s usually, “Spot did the cutest thing the other day. He was begging at dinner, so we told him to go sit down, and he got a sad face! It was so cute! I took three thousand pictures and emailed them to you.” I mean sure, every now and then some innovative pet crawls into his owner’s boxer shorts and uses the owner’s testicles like a speedbag. In those cases, that pet owner is almost required to tell other people that story. But for the most part, my cats are boring too.

In my boring life I have a few things that keep me from completely losing it. One of those things is spam email. On the one hand, spam email drives me to the brink of insanity with its insidiousness, but on the other hand, where else are you going to get email attachment with subject lines like this:

Do you know that whales dick weights 1 ton.

It’s a bevy of spelling and grammatical errors in just nine words, and on top of all that, it still makes reference to a humongous whale penis. How can you lose!?

So here are nine of the most recent spam subject lines I’ve seen, plus one in there that I made up. Maybe I’ll send a cookie to the first person that guesses which one is fake.

Advanced Gain Pro can not only lengthen your penis

Do you want your dick to be wallpaper for a computer?

Are you tired of staring at Playboy trying to cause erection?

You have to try Penis Enlarge Patch to go from kitten to tiger!

With our new Viagr@ Soft Tabs you w1ll be able to open @ bottle of beer with your penis.

If penises could talk, they would definitely ask you to order Penis Enlarge Patch.

Are you tired of your friend bragging about having wonderful sex every night?

Fucking a man with a small dick is like fucking a rabbit.

For your wifes b-day you want to make a sperm firework for her? Soft Cialis Tabs is your solution.

Your dick is your visit card, so make it big and make it hard.

The uniting theme here is government

Published
by
Anonymous Coworker
on April 18, 2006 @ 9:22 am
in money, music, suhmuhmuh bitch, travel and work
. 12 Comments

1)I’ve gone to great lengths to avoid being audited by the IRS. I’ve checked and double-checked my tax return, both on my own, and using Turbo Tax’s error checking program. Plus, I’ve looked at all the numbers in a “common sense” way, and they all look normal, with nothing standing out as particularly odd. However, I did go to some extra trouble this year to ensure that my taxes were not to be the subject of a federal audit, and all it took was some flag-waving, jingoist-leaning, comically patriotic packaging for the envelope that bore my tax return.

You can see a detailed view of the envelopes here. (careful, it’s a big’un.)

Anybody who pulls the lever for an audit on this one is a commie-sniffing, Taliban-loving, America-hating America-Hater.

2)When you’re rocketing down I-95 towards the nation’s capital at greater than 20 miles per hour over the posted speed limit while stuffing your face with three-day old, leftover, soy and curry pork-chops that you’re eating out of a plastic bag, and you’re listening to the Public Enemy soundtrack to the Spike Lee movie “He Got Game” and Chuck D breaks for some ad libbing by Flava Flav (who has rendered you to nothing more than a heap of giggles due to his unintentionally hilarious outbursts during the hit VH1 reality show, “Flavor of Love”) and Flav says something about the millennium crisis to the effect of, “we gettin ready to turn this shit to the two and three zeros/ ya know what I’m sayin/ have all the clocks goin backwards/ have everything goin haywire/ you laughed before, let’s see you laugh now blue cow”, it’s probably best that you don’t try to hold back your laughter, because cleaning soy and curried pork off of the inside of your windshield at 80 miles and hour is exponentially less distracting than trying to collect a chunklet of pork chop that has embedded itself in your nasal cavity after you snorted at Flav’s bonkers conspiratorial nature.

I’m a racist

Published
by
Anonymous Coworker
on April 13, 2006 @ 9:12 am
in beer and sex
. 32 Comments

I admit it. I judge people based on their race and ethnicity. And I frequently judge people on their religion and sexual orientation. In an attempt to try to understand and overcome my biases, I will outline what I find objectionable about each specific group, as I can recall them.

Irish- They drink too much Tang. Have you ever seen a bunch of Irishmen drinking together? They all have red/orange hair and beards. It’s from the Tang. They drink too much of it, and I hate them for it.

Korean- Always want an even number of chicken nuggets.

Italian- Will refuse to smile for a picture.

Argentine- Insist on sleeping with two pillows.

Russian- Buy old vacuum cleaners and fix them for their family members.

Christians- Keep flushing paper towels down the toilet.

Nigerians- Steal the last piece of the puzzle so no one else can finish it.

Germans- Keep peanut butter in the fridge.

Indians- Refuse to acknowledge any the googly jaffas when playing cricket.

Blacks- Always rolling down the windows in their cars.

Women- Drive with the radio up too loud.

Japanese- Can’t sit still for more than 7 hours.

Egyptian- Make three left turns instead of a right.

Finland- Eat fish with ketchup and mayonnaise

Congo- Can’t hold their liquor, always die after consuming 3 or more liters of whiskey.

Hindus- Their farts always smell bad, like an Irishman.

Mexicans- Give bad haircuts to their dolls.

Chinese- Don’t like cheddar cheese.

Longshoremen- Always have bad credit.

Klingons- Copy off each other on driving tests.

Pakistani- Have a strange love of Eminem.

Greeks- Always making jokes about punching old ladies.

Jews- They always answer the phone with their left-hands.

Left-handed people- Dumb, can’t drive, small penises, don’t speak English, nagging wives, responsible for most crime and illegitimate children in our country, smell bad, have sex through a hole in a sheet, eat babies, love fried chicken and watermelon, always on welfare, illegal immigrants, mostly employed as dishwashers and lawn-care workers, drink too much, always fighting, stingy, penny-pinching, slutty, animal-like, do drugs all the time, don’t bathe, worship strange gods, sodomize children.

Who did I forget?

Junklet

Published
by
Anonymous Coworker
on April 11, 2006 @ 8:18 am
in Mrs. ACW, atheism!, food, happy hour, jesus is fo' shizzle and meta blogging
. 24 Comments

Well, I didn’t want to keep the Kansas post at the top, lest the two people in Kansas who use the internet harness a tornado, stuff it in a Fed-ex envelope, and weather-bomb my house. But I don’t really have any stories to tell or anything, so I figured I just throw some stuff out there.

1) This I straight copied from Broadsheet: Hey kids - come have some Rosemary / Garlic Fries, Resurrection Ale(s), Ozzie(s), and some laughs with Broadsheet on Tuesday. Or, just laugh at Broadsheet - she’s gettin old(er).

Grotto bar at Brewer’s Art. I’ll be there between 5:30 and 6:00 and hopefully we’ll be able to snag a table in the catacombs and hang out on a weeknight when it’s not too crowded.

If y’all come - it’ll be cozy. I think we can make the place ours if we want to.

ACWF and I will be there, proving that I actually have a fiance, and don’t just make out with an old sock every night. Oh yeah, you heard me right fellas, we make out every night.

2) Speaking of my tonsil-hockey partner, we were watching a show on A&E last night, and it was some sort of documentary about Satanism. At first I was pretty upset at the documentary, because it allowed rectal-spelunking psychologists and grump-dunking preachers to hold court over the topic. “Repressed memories” and “psychotherapy” were bandied about like they were any type of credible, and not a single person on the documentary stood up and said, “These retards are clearly retarded.” But then, at the end of the documentary, a professor of theology from a Chrisitan college essentially bitchslapped all the people who were using the Satanism fad of the late 70s to line their pockets and stuff their coffers with the cash of the idiotic people who bought into all the repressed memory crap and actually believed/lied to themselves into thinking that they had been raised in a Satanic cult. There was one baptist preacher, especially, who actually gave me chills, he was so fuckin’ crazy. He would keep his “flock” in “couseling” against “Satan” for up to 19 hours at a time, telling them what to think, telling them what had happened to them, feeding them “repressed memories” and then performing “excorcisms” on them. And I was thinking about it last night and this morning, and I really think that religion has the capacity to do as much evil as good. And I know that’s not exactly a news flash, but I think lots of members of most religions have been complicit in allowing the crazies to be the most vocal. Where are the reasonable religious folks to say, “Yes, we have a book that says the Earth is 5,000 years old, but science has mountains of evidence that suggests otherwise, but that doesn’t negate that Jesus had some pretty groovy ideas, so all you crazies just sit down, and shut up.” or “Yes, we know some of our fellow Muslims are engaged in a Holy War against the West, but our religion is a religion of peace, and love, and these assholes are screwing it up for us. I’m sure you Christians don’t want to be associated with the Christian child-beaters, Christian wife-rapists, and Christian clinic-bombers, just like we don’t want to be associated with the suicide-bombers and jihadis.”

So, I guess this is my long way of asking: Resonable religious folks, there’s a lot more of you than of the crazies. Why don’t you speak up more and call them on their bullshit?

3) There’s really not a third thing.

My last post about Kansas… because I hate it.

Published
by
Anonymous Coworker
on April 10, 2006 @ 10:25 am
in bitches, suhmuhmuh bitch and travel
. 17 Comments

Actually, it’s not Kansas that I hate. It’s the airport in Wichita. It seemed that as I got further from the airport, the levels of Hell were ascending, rather than descending, so as opposed to being trapped in a ring of hell where hungry badgers were fighting in my rectum and the winner was declared when one badger would puncture another badger’s backpack full of rubbing alcohol and gasoline while old men took bets that I was consistently losing, I was instead in a circle of Hell where you ask for Sprite and they tell you they only have 7up. I’m sure that if I had gotten further away from the airport I would have been able to leave Hell altogether… ha ha, I’m just kidding. I was still in Kansas after all.

When we were flying from Baltimore to Chicago, the weather was fine, and the flight was unremarkable. However, apparently the pilots had a little too much to drink in the Windy City, because they made Evil Knievel look like a little girl in a tutu jumping over puddles while they were flying us into Wichita.

See, Wichita had just been subjected to a string of horrible storms that were threatening to turn into tornadoes, and the storms were directly on the flight path. The pilot came over the PA and told the cabin that we could spend an extra 30 to 45 minutes flying around the storms and coming up from the south to land, or he could toss back another shot of Wild Turkey, take his pants off, and fly us right through the storms.

Clearly, I wouldn’t be blogging about this if he hadn’t chosen to treat the plane like his own personal testicle massager.

To say we hit air pockets and turbulence would be like saying that the Donner party had become a bit peckish. The plane rattled like an epileptic vibrator on a combination of PCP and about 348 pixie sticks. It was like when you swerve too far to the left or right on the highway, and your tires hit the rumble strips until you pull back onto the highway, drunkenly navigating yourself homeward. Only it felt like the rumble strips were as big as speed-bumps, and that the pilot was unable, or unwilling, to pull off of them.

It was too loud to hear people throwing up, but I knew there was some post-lunch evacuations going on by how frequently the stewardi were travelling up and down the aisle with soggy, stinking trashbags.

About 2 minutes before landing, when we finally passed through the back end of the storm, I imagined the pilot finished himself off and put his pants back on, and shortly after we were on the runway. They pulled a set of stairs up to the plane so we could get out, and the first thing that I noticed about the airport in Wichita was that tumbleweeds were blowing across the tarmac. In fact, a tumbleweed had become stuck in the stairwell that led from the tarmac to the gate. It was an accurate omen for my time in Kansas.

Then I did some stuff for two days, most of it relatively uninteresting, with the most interesting parts being of the variety upon when I relate the story to you, you chuckle politely and I then posit that the story would have been better had you been there.

Sunday I went back to the airport and I checked in without a problem. However, the idiotic Kansan fuckwits suffering from delusions of grandeur had decided to implement the most draconian security procedures they could imagine. And I can certainly understand why Kansans would be worried, what with not a god-damned thing worth targeting by terrorists existing within the borders of their entire state.

So, as I’m about to walk through the metal detector, the bitch behind the x-ray machine tells me that I have to take my shoes off before I go through. Now, I don’t travel every single day, but I travel enough to know how to dress myself when I go to the airport, and I make sure that I’m not wearing any metal, so I won’t set off any alarms that will slow me down. I wasn’t wearing a belt, and my shoes had no metal in them, so I figured I could just walk through.

“My shoes don’t have any metal in them. I won’t set off the metal detector.”

“Doesn’t matter, you have to take your shoes off.”

“Why? They don’t have any metal in them.”

“Your shoes fit a profile. Take them off, or we’ll subject you to a full search.”

Apparently the bitch on the power trip was determined to abuse every ounce of authority that her plastic TSA badge provided. However, I didn’t really want her fingers up my ass, so I just took my shoes off and kept my comments about her using the fourth amendment for toilet paper to myself.

I went through the metal detector and shockingly did not set it off, and though my shoes “fit a profile” they were not actually intercontinental ballistic missiles, so I was able to put them back on at the end of the conveyor belt, close enough to hear the bitch get even dumber.

The guys in line behind me were from Poland. It said so on their passports, and they were speaking Polish. The only one of them that spoke any English was the teenager with them, and they sent him through the metal detector first, and told him to move out of the way once he’d gone through. And even though they make people take their shoes off like they have some kind of foot fetish, they only provided two chairs for people to use to get their shoes back on, so the Polish kid was well beyond earshot once he found a seat to put on his shoes. No more Polish to English translations for the bitch working security, and she did it to herself.

The last Polish guy in the group couldn’t answer any of the “security” questions being asked of him, so things in the line behind the metal detector were getting a little hectic. Here’s how it went.

TSA Bitch: Do you have any camera equipment in your belongings?
Polish guy: Eh?
TSA Bitch: (loud and slow) Do you have-o any camera-o equipment-o?
Polish guy: (smiles and shrugs)
TSA Bitch: (to Metal Detector Guy) These guys don’t hablo any English. He doesn’t even know if he has a camera. (chuckles)

I’m sure you can see that there are about three dozen things wrong with the way this woman, and I hesitate to use this word so loosely, thinks. Compound her idiocy with the dumbness of the situation that my Polish flight-mates and I had just gone through, and I’m pretty sure that our flights are no more safe than they were before, but now they are assuredly more pissed off. Thanks for flying the friendly fucking skies.

And that’s the last that I’ll say about Kansas.

Except that it sucks.

Fuckers.

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