Hillary has gone batshit crazy with this whole anti-videogame crusade of hers, and it's time for it to stop.
What does that have to do with you, you say? Don't play innocent with me. Everybody knows why your wife's pulling this shit. But you only play for five hours a day? Billy, my man, seriously - turn off the Playstation and give the woman some lovin'.
She caught you playing Final Fantasy X-2, didn't she? She wants to know what that Yuna's got that she doesn't. If it makes it easier, if you're into this sort of thing (and of course you are, you're Slick Willy), dress her up in a pair of hot pants and a tight white shirt-ish thing and give her a set of pistols. Just make sure they're not loaded, because she'll probably cap any intern who smiles at you.
That's not it? You say she caught you playing the Hot Coffee mod, and wandered away muttering something about how you never rock the bed that hard in real life? That explains a lot...
But I digress. For those of us who enjoy videogames, and for those who hate them and wish they weren't on the evening news, please quit. At least for the upcoming election year. I beg you.
Sunday, July 23, 2006
Friday, July 14, 2006
This one will go down in infamy
In a bulleted list, for no particular reason other than tradition:
- Sweet fucking Jesus, the girl sitting on the stool next to me at the Squeeling Pig was huge. I take that back: she wasn't sitting on the stool so much as she was clenching it as tightly as she could with her ass cheeks so it wouldn't slide up her huge asshole, like she was fighting off a suppository.
- For the first two hours I sat there, I seriously thought she was a guy. Then I realized she was a manatee.
- She should invest in three Stairmasters...one for each leg, and a third to keep the motivational cheeseburger moving and out of reach.
- The Squeeling Pig is the name of the bar, not the clientele they're attempting to attract.
- Think you found a spelling mistake? Don't get excited. That's the way the bar spells its name.
- I'm still not entirely sure how she got in. Pete the Door Guy may have had to airlift her through the skylight.
- Why the fuck do the guys on the second floor always play that one annoying techno song? It would be better if they had multiple annoying techno songs, so I couldn't memorize the beat.
- I digress - back to the Pig. I haven't seen that many fugly looking people since the last time I looked in the Women's Center at Wentworth.
- So to my left was Shamu...and to my right was some mouth-breathing geekazoid. You like Unix, huh? Great, but there's no need to put it on a t-shirt. You should know by now that hot chicks don't dig Linus or the shit he copied.
- And the ponytail! What. The. Fuck. Granted, it was cleaner looking than most of the long hair cuts I saw at Wentworth...but this isn't a god damn tractor pull.
Thursday, July 13, 2006
A Message From the T
Heidy ho there, the T here. This blog has been looking a bit sparse and crappy lately, so I figured I'd take advantage of my standing invitation to speak my piece.
On that note, I'd like to announce that Operation Isaac Newton has been a complete success. While some of my advisors were a bit skeptical about the possibility of those in charge of the Big Dig actually thinking that hanging big ass concrete tiles from the ceiling by thin strips of metal would be a good idea, it turns out that I was right and they were wrong. Ridership has skyrocketed since the accident, just as I planned. Now, if my agents can just convince the tunnel contractors that candles are just as good as flourescent bulbs, I'll have it made! That's right, automotive industry; public transportation just left yo ass for a white girl!
I'm also quite pleased to announce that the number of confused tourists has nearly quadrupled since my semi-introduction of the Charlie Card. Soon, these idiots will learn that reading up about the subway system on my website is actually a good idea. Then I will make bazillions with my Google ads. Click fraud that, biatch!
All the Massholes out there in Interweb land will also be happy to know I've finally devised a fool proof way to get the handicapable onto and off of the train. All new cars will be equipped with a large robotic arm. I call it: the Cripple Crane! The Cripple Crane will hoist the disabled onto the roof where a set of super powerful magnets will take firm hold of their scooter, wheel chair, or "magic shoes." After all, we can't have cripples falling off our train! They're liable to cause more damage than a plummeting concrete panel! The ACLU has fully signed off on our plan despite the fact that the new system has proven ineffective for assisting peg-legged pirates. It turns out that peg-legged pirates have their own special interest group, and they routinely kick the ACLU's ass at beer pong.
Anyways, that's about it for me. This is your friendly neighborhood T, signing off!
On that note, I'd like to announce that Operation Isaac Newton has been a complete success. While some of my advisors were a bit skeptical about the possibility of those in charge of the Big Dig actually thinking that hanging big ass concrete tiles from the ceiling by thin strips of metal would be a good idea, it turns out that I was right and they were wrong. Ridership has skyrocketed since the accident, just as I planned. Now, if my agents can just convince the tunnel contractors that candles are just as good as flourescent bulbs, I'll have it made! That's right, automotive industry; public transportation just left yo ass for a white girl!
I'm also quite pleased to announce that the number of confused tourists has nearly quadrupled since my semi-introduction of the Charlie Card. Soon, these idiots will learn that reading up about the subway system on my website is actually a good idea. Then I will make bazillions with my Google ads. Click fraud that, biatch!
All the Massholes out there in Interweb land will also be happy to know I've finally devised a fool proof way to get the handicapable onto and off of the train. All new cars will be equipped with a large robotic arm. I call it: the Cripple Crane! The Cripple Crane will hoist the disabled onto the roof where a set of super powerful magnets will take firm hold of their scooter, wheel chair, or "magic shoes." After all, we can't have cripples falling off our train! They're liable to cause more damage than a plummeting concrete panel! The ACLU has fully signed off on our plan despite the fact that the new system has proven ineffective for assisting peg-legged pirates. It turns out that peg-legged pirates have their own special interest group, and they routinely kick the ACLU's ass at beer pong.
Anyways, that's about it for me. This is your friendly neighborhood T, signing off!
Thursday, July 06, 2006
Um, no
http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20060705/ap_on_re_us/simpl_wurdz_1
Seriously. Do we want to be known as the nation that writes formal business communications and what we have that passes for literature as if we were chatting on instant messenger? Granted, we may be heading that way naturally, but these people are batshit crazy. Earth to douchebags: if you spent as much time helping your kids with their homework as you spend protesting spelling bees, maybe your illiterate offspring would be able to correctly scribble the word "vasectomy." If they intend to grow up to be like you, I highly suggest they invest in one at an early age - say twelve.
Just what are these dumbasses thinking? Look at it this way: "leekuj" doesn't have the same visceral charm as "leakage." "Hell" ("hel"), "fuck" ("fuk"), and "damn" ("dam") can no longer be considered four-letter words. These idiots are screwing with things that were never intended to be screwed with (like Brigitte Nielsen).
Next thing you know, they'll want to hose the comma because people don't know where to put it. They'll want to take the semicolon out behind the shed and shoot it because they can't understand why there isn't a period there. The colon will be relegated to eye duty in emoticons, and then they'll argue for those stupid things to become an accepted grammar construct. This way their kids will never miss a joke, a threat, or an instance of sexual harassment, as there'll be a little face there to emphasize the intent behind the sentence.
This is bullshit, and it needs to be stopped. Please join I Stole Your Lunch in spelling things correctly and using proper punctuation. It'll be our little "fuk u" to assholes who think the language is too difficult.
P.S. It would be extremely funny if someone pointed out a spelling mistake in this update. If you notice one, please do not hesitate to comment.
P.P.S. If you happen to be a funny looking MassArt guy, please refrain from making out with your fat, ugly girlfriend while on public transportation. The rest of us do not appreciate it. Thank you.
Seriously. Do we want to be known as the nation that writes formal business communications and what we have that passes for literature as if we were chatting on instant messenger? Granted, we may be heading that way naturally, but these people are batshit crazy. Earth to douchebags: if you spent as much time helping your kids with their homework as you spend protesting spelling bees, maybe your illiterate offspring would be able to correctly scribble the word "vasectomy." If they intend to grow up to be like you, I highly suggest they invest in one at an early age - say twelve.
Just what are these dumbasses thinking? Look at it this way: "leekuj" doesn't have the same visceral charm as "leakage." "Hell" ("hel"), "fuck" ("fuk"), and "damn" ("dam") can no longer be considered four-letter words. These idiots are screwing with things that were never intended to be screwed with (like Brigitte Nielsen).
Next thing you know, they'll want to hose the comma because people don't know where to put it. They'll want to take the semicolon out behind the shed and shoot it because they can't understand why there isn't a period there. The colon will be relegated to eye duty in emoticons, and then they'll argue for those stupid things to become an accepted grammar construct. This way their kids will never miss a joke, a threat, or an instance of sexual harassment, as there'll be a little face there to emphasize the intent behind the sentence.
This is bullshit, and it needs to be stopped. Please join I Stole Your Lunch in spelling things correctly and using proper punctuation. It'll be our little "fuk u" to assholes who think the language is too difficult.
P.S. It would be extremely funny if someone pointed out a spelling mistake in this update. If you notice one, please do not hesitate to comment.
P.P.S. If you happen to be a funny looking MassArt guy, please refrain from making out with your fat, ugly girlfriend while on public transportation. The rest of us do not appreciate it. Thank you.
Sunday, July 02, 2006
Customer Disservice
We've all experienced piss poor customer service at some time in our lives. Several examples of such travesties of capitalism have been finding their way to the web in recent days, including a recording of a customer's attempt to escape the clutches of his AOL subscription and a video of a Comcast employee sleeping on another customer's couch. Look out, Susan Wornick; the Interweb is taking your job!
First off, I would like to assure you that you'll never experience such shitty service from I Stole Your Lunch. Sure, you may occasionally find one of our representatives passed out in your living room, but that's the kind of thing you have to deal with when you employ hobos and pay them in bathtub gin. Just give Boxcar Willie a good shake and a glass of water and he'll be on his way with a thank you and a smile. And if you're real lucky, he'll bust out the harmonica and serenade you with a classic rail ridin' hobo ditty before he goes.
To prove just how well we here at I Stole Your Lunch serve our customers, here's a transcript of a conversation between a customer and one of our phone representatives:
Representative: This is Boxcar Willie. What the fuck do you want?
Caller: Uh, hi...I was calling to cancel my account.
Boxcar Willie: Well, I would like the name and address of that asshole conductor who tossed me off the train in Boise last week, but we don't all get want we want, now does we?
Caller: No, but...I would think something as simple as cancelling my account...
Boxcar Willie: Simple? Simple? Everytime an ISYL account is cancelled, an old woman shits herself.
Caller: Um...
Boxcar Willie: So why would you want to cause that? It could be your own mother, you insensitive clod!
Caller: I just want to cancel my account...
Boxcar Willie: Tell me something. You got a girl?
Caller: ...I'm married, yeah, but that's none of your -
Boxcar Willie: She put out?
Caller: We are quite happy together, thank you very much!
Boxcar Willie: Then you might want to keep your subscription. Ninety percent of men who cancel a subscription to I Stole Your Lunch never again feel the touch of a woman.
Caller: So you mean people have actually been able to cancel? How many?
Boxcar Willie: Four.
Caller: Wait...ninety percent of four isn't a whole number. How can ninety percent of four men...
Boxcar Willie: One guy sold his kidney. It wound up in a porn star.
Caller: Awesome. Now just cancel the account.
Boxcar Willie: Why?
Caller: I don't use it anymore.
Boxcar Willie: Why?
Caller: Because I don't.
Boxcar Willie: Why?
Caller: Because I...I switched to MySpace.
Boxcar Willie: You poor, pathetic wretch.
Caller: I...I know...I'm ashamed...but all my friends are on it.
Boxcar Willie: That's no excuse, and you know it.
Caller: Yeah...
Boxcar Willie: All the cool kids have blogs.
Caller: But...it's so tempting...
Boxcar Willie: Here's what I'm going to do...I'm going to leave your I Stole Your Lunch account active...and if you delete your MySpace account within 24 hours, I'll kidnap your mother-in-law and ditch the body in a dumpster outside the station in Des Moines.
Caller: You will...that's...wow, what a deal! Thanks Boxcar Willie! I'm sorry I thought about leaving I Stole Your Lunch!
Boxcar Willie: Damn straight. Now your mother-in-law...will she fit in a Hefty bag, or do I have to go to Home Depot and get a tarp?
Wow! Now that's service! I Stole Your Lunch solemnly promises not to let you make the mistake of joining MySpace. Talk about a company who cares!
First off, I would like to assure you that you'll never experience such shitty service from I Stole Your Lunch. Sure, you may occasionally find one of our representatives passed out in your living room, but that's the kind of thing you have to deal with when you employ hobos and pay them in bathtub gin. Just give Boxcar Willie a good shake and a glass of water and he'll be on his way with a thank you and a smile. And if you're real lucky, he'll bust out the harmonica and serenade you with a classic rail ridin' hobo ditty before he goes.
To prove just how well we here at I Stole Your Lunch serve our customers, here's a transcript of a conversation between a customer and one of our phone representatives:
Representative: This is Boxcar Willie. What the fuck do you want?
Caller: Uh, hi...I was calling to cancel my account.
Boxcar Willie: Well, I would like the name and address of that asshole conductor who tossed me off the train in Boise last week, but we don't all get want we want, now does we?
Caller: No, but...I would think something as simple as cancelling my account...
Boxcar Willie: Simple? Simple? Everytime an ISYL account is cancelled, an old woman shits herself.
Caller: Um...
Boxcar Willie: So why would you want to cause that? It could be your own mother, you insensitive clod!
Caller: I just want to cancel my account...
Boxcar Willie: Tell me something. You got a girl?
Caller: ...I'm married, yeah, but that's none of your -
Boxcar Willie: She put out?
Caller: We are quite happy together, thank you very much!
Boxcar Willie: Then you might want to keep your subscription. Ninety percent of men who cancel a subscription to I Stole Your Lunch never again feel the touch of a woman.
Caller: So you mean people have actually been able to cancel? How many?
Boxcar Willie: Four.
Caller: Wait...ninety percent of four isn't a whole number. How can ninety percent of four men...
Boxcar Willie: One guy sold his kidney. It wound up in a porn star.
Caller: Awesome. Now just cancel the account.
Boxcar Willie: Why?
Caller: I don't use it anymore.
Boxcar Willie: Why?
Caller: Because I don't.
Boxcar Willie: Why?
Caller: Because I...I switched to MySpace.
Boxcar Willie: You poor, pathetic wretch.
Caller: I...I know...I'm ashamed...but all my friends are on it.
Boxcar Willie: That's no excuse, and you know it.
Caller: Yeah...
Boxcar Willie: All the cool kids have blogs.
Caller: But...it's so tempting...
Boxcar Willie: Here's what I'm going to do...I'm going to leave your I Stole Your Lunch account active...and if you delete your MySpace account within 24 hours, I'll kidnap your mother-in-law and ditch the body in a dumpster outside the station in Des Moines.
Caller: You will...that's...wow, what a deal! Thanks Boxcar Willie! I'm sorry I thought about leaving I Stole Your Lunch!
Boxcar Willie: Damn straight. Now your mother-in-law...will she fit in a Hefty bag, or do I have to go to Home Depot and get a tarp?
Wow! Now that's service! I Stole Your Lunch solemnly promises not to let you make the mistake of joining MySpace. Talk about a company who cares!
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