Darth Vader's "dfferent" brother?

more lol celebs!



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Now playing: John Williams - The Imperial March
via FoxyTunes

Speaking of food . . . eeeeewwwwwww!

Take one part food kitsch from the 1950s, add one part bad graphic arts and one part snark and you have The Journal of Regrettable Food.

Like this roast that " . . . looks . . . like Jabba the Hutt's prostate . . ."

The less said about that, the better.

Looks like lol-food . . .

The Less Said, The Better . . .

Just. Plain. WRONG!

Praise Teh Sacred Google!

This. Is. C00l.

The Discordian in me loves this kind of stuff. Eris and Google -- BFF!

Google's High Holy Day is September 14, the anniversary of the date the domain google.com was registered. And, it's just five days before another geek holiday, Talk Like A Pirate Day. A holiday devoted to the discovery of truth and good, not to mention pirates, is a perfect antidote to the annual beating around the head and shoulders with the proverbial bloody shirt every Sept 11.

Of course the Dungeon Master in me beat them to it awhile ago.


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Listening to: Seanan McGuire - Still Catch The Tide
via FoxyTunes

Make Your Own Church Sign

Details here.

I like this . . .

New shirt from SJ Games . . .

If only it were available in sizes bigger than 3x!



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Listening to: Emerald Rose - Never Split the Party
via FoxyTunes

In the dark future of the 41st Millenium . .

. . . there is only Hello Kitty!

The Altoids link is Not Safe For Work At ALL.

OK, this "lolcat" thing has gone JUST TOO FSCKING FAR!

Yet another example of people with too much time on their hands.

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Listening to: Leslie Fish - Witnesses' Waltz
via FoxyTunes

OK, this is getting out of hand, or tenticle

Lolthulu

The Wurst is Yet To Come . . .

NSFW. Brain bleach recommended. You have been warned.

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Listening to: Emerald Rose - Merry May Folk
via FoxyTunes

What's better than a Holy Hand Grenade of Antioch?

Two of them

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Listening to: Leslie Fish - The Gods Aren't Crazy
via FoxyTunes

Sometimes a traffic post is . . .

NSFW?

, , , , only a traffic post

Mr. Rogers, Destroyer of the Youth of Amurika!

Free parenting advice form our "friends" at Fox and Friends

"Can you say 'fscktards'? I knew you could . . ."

And all this time I thought it was something else.

That's what you get when you put a convicted child molester with over 100 confirmed kills as a Marine sniper in Vietnam in such a position . . .

As Scottish as . . .

. . . deep-fried Mars Bars?

I wonder what the WW point value of this might be...or that of haggis?

The "Gay Bomb"

And, no, this is NOT from The Onion.


Too fscking strange for words.

Are you, or are you not . . .

. . . an arsehole?

My score: 2

0 to 5 “True”: You don’t sound like a certified asshole, unless you are fooling yourself.

Install / Restore fest, Dreams, and Music, 2007 version

Got up this morning to the sounds of screaming sore legs and to the sounds of a screaming psyche. The legs I am keeping elevated per doctor's orders. The screaming psyche is the result of a bizarre dream I had last night. Apparently someone had hacked a World of Warcraft server -- the one where I often have 1st person dreams of being a WoW character. Anyway, I was being chased across Elwynn Forest by some kind of Nazi Troll Shaman (I am a human in this dream, not a blood elf as usual). I was getting seriously ganked, corpse-camped (kind of like my days on Maelstrom) and graveyard-camped by this guy. The next scene had me out of WoW and on a German Ford Tri-motor transport plane (like the one in one of the Indiana Jones movies). I was in POW garb, and this same troll from the game was sitting behind me, all decked out in his Waffen-SS uniform. The leggy blonde Aryan goddess-stewardess brings me a huge cup of hot coffee to drink while this troll keeps taunting me from behind about how he pwned me like Hitler pwned Poland back in '39. I turned around in my seat and spilled the entire liter-plus of steaming hot coffee all over his nice oberstrunfurther's uniform. The next thing I remember I was learning of the joys of free-fall from 10k feet, sans parachute . . .

I have a very long list of must-install software for this MacBook. Almost all of it is work-related. I am refusing to reinstall install WoW or any other game or RPG app until the work-related software I can install at home is installed (some of the proggies I need to put on this machine can only be done at work).

To wit:
All OS X updates done,
X.11 (needed for OpenOffice, not part of standard OS X installation) installed
OpenOffice 2.x installed
BootCamp Assistant installed (in case I have to nondestructively undo the Windows partition)
iTunes library AND playlists restored to iTunes; iPod content restored
Firefox 2.0.2 installed and updated, bookmarks restored
Flash Player for Intel Macs installed
AirPort Utility installed and tested
Gutenprint (gimp-print 5.0.0 print drivers for Epson printer w/o OEM drivers) installed and tested
Stuffit Expander (needed for other installs, think "Winzip for Macs") is installed and tested
Palm Desktop is installed and iSync Palm Syncing is activated. Palm user restored
Old contacts, calanders, etc synced to iCal and Address Book via .Mac
Flip4Mac (successor to Windows Media Player for OS X) installed.

Yesterday I mentioned Seanan McGuire's new album of filk awesomeness, Stars Fall Home. Oh. My. Fscking. GAWDS. I've known Seanan since the start of the worst year of my life (1995) I'd just moved to Lodi after spending almost 2 decades in Sacramento to move closer to a job I was to hold for only a few months and away from my then-best-friend, who had less than six months to live (neither of which I knew at that time). One night while perusing a used bookstore I met Seanan, who flounced into said bookstore, saw I was looking at science fiction and immediately proposed marriage to me. Being a red-blooded male, I accepted . . . as did the small platoon of other fiancees she was going to marry at the World Science Fiction Convention that year. My kind of wierdo! Right after that I met Michelle, who was working at the Pizza Hut across the street. Hard to not like this creative, insane wonderful young lady . . . and in the twelve years since she has grown into a wonderful singer, songwriter and (Real Soon Now, I hope) novelist of staggering awesomeness.
Summer 1995 was the Absolute Worst Summer of My Life. I lost both a decent job and a the aforementioned best friend in the span of a month. Combined with my sudden withdrawal from the SCA, I was more depressed than Weimar Germany's economy in the 1920s. What relieved the strain and kept me from ending it all was Michelle's constant stream of books and the sheer joy of Seanan.

1995 finally ended; I got through it and over it, finding myself in the process. Seanan went on to grow up into an accomplished young woman. Last year Seanan released her first album, Pretty Little Dead Girl. PLDG is a live recording of her Guest of Honor concert at the 2005 Ohio Valley Filk Festival; it got me through my hospitalization last year (Thanks again, Michelle . . .). SFH is her first studio recording (as far as I can tell) and it is AWESOME. Some of the tunes appeared on PLDG, but the new stuff . . . "Evil Laugh" is very nicely upbeat, reminds me of "Maybe it's Crazy" from PLDG . . . and I defy you to not weep when you hear "Still Catch the Tide." I cried when I read the lyrics; Seanan's voice wrung at least twice as many tears from me with the same words. You see, not too long ago, under similar circumstances, a woman I once loved spoke words like those to me . . .

Anyway, SFH is great. Get it. OK?

The Ferretist Threat?

A certain former mayor goes off on a ferret owner.

Merchandising gone too far?

Introducing the World of Warcraft VISA card!

Crudity = psychic pollution; Don't spare the brain bleach!

Has anyone else noticed just how more coarse and crude our culture has become the last fifteen years or so?

Item: I was at my doctor's office recently, and there was a young man sitting in the waiting room there who wore a an incredibly crude, obscene shirt. How bad? Bad enough that I do not even want to link to the design, much less look at it. Suffice it to say it depicted people engaged in sex acts and alluded to others.

Now, I'm no prude. Far from it. I consider sexuality to be sacred, something to share with one's partner(s) and with nobody else. Things like this step waaaaay over the line. I needed brain bleach to rid my psyche of the grungy residue.

Item: The very large number of chat conversations in World of Warcraft punctuated by (%$#@&,
&$#! and *%#@)*&%*)!@ (yes, folks can mask obscenities in the WoW GUI, thank the gods . . .). Fortunately, I'm playing in a wonderful guild where this kind of thing is simply.not.tolerated . . . and all I need to deal with the at-large f-bombers and other jerks is to use my old friend, "/ignore (jerk's name)" -- and stay out of the Barrens Stranglethorn Vale.

Of course, some of you might say to me: "He doth protest too much." After all, this blog is "Operation: Mindfsck." Yes, the "fsck" as I useit here is a replacement for the infamous "f-bomb" word. However, there is a deeper meaning: "fsck" is a *nix command that checks the consistiency of a computer's file system. As one does the fsck command to validate the filesystem integrity of the filesystem on a computer HD, a mindfsck validates the integrity of one's mind.

Sheer, undiluted crudity and psychic pollution: yet another reason to fight to preserve my splendid isolation.