Double Flee A
Sunday
The Soldiers At My Front Door, a short essay
For Mom, who asked me what I remember about growing up, catching me unprepared:
Mom: Did you wash your hands?
Dale: Yes.
M: With soap?
D: Yes.
M: Today?
D: ...
M: -laughs- Go wash your hands, son.
Mom: Did you wash your hands?
Dale: Yes.
M: With soap?
D: Yes.
M: Today?
D: ...
M: -laughs- Go wash your hands, son.
Courtesy of Randy, an excerpt from Ray Bradbury's introduction to Jules Verne's "20,000 Leagues Under the Sea," translated by Anthony Bonner.
Consider America, first of all the new breed of nations.
Consider America, a nation, because of its newness, ardent in its blasphemy.
Set in motion by the cetrifuge of the great wheel of the Industrial Revolution, this people flung
themselves across sea praries to stand on New England rim-rock and flung themselves yet on across land praries. Shocking other ages, they blasphemed down the meadows and over hills as ancient as the memory of Jerusalem. Consider America, her fire-dragon locomotives huffing out vast devil bursts of fuming spark, setting the lion-grass afire as they went.
Come to a forest, cut it down. Come to a mountain, quarry it to pebbles. Skip the pebbles across God's lakes. Build new mountains, finally, upright, and ornamented with man's prideful crustations. Then run men up and down elevator shafts to a heaven no longer believed in from a hell much better ignored.
Consider the authors who lived in and with these men and wrote to channel this blasphemy, express it in symbols about which such men could enthuse like devil children. With a new nation being dreamt to life, set to rights with fabulous new toys, the uneasy dreamers cast about and came up with two most ardent blasphemers:
Herman Melville.
Jules Verne.
"American" authors, both.
Consider America, first of all the new breed of nations.
Consider America, a nation, because of its newness, ardent in its blasphemy.
Set in motion by the cetrifuge of the great wheel of the Industrial Revolution, this people flung
themselves across sea praries to stand on New England rim-rock and flung themselves yet on across land praries. Shocking other ages, they blasphemed down the meadows and over hills as ancient as the memory of Jerusalem. Consider America, her fire-dragon locomotives huffing out vast devil bursts of fuming spark, setting the lion-grass afire as they went.
Come to a forest, cut it down. Come to a mountain, quarry it to pebbles. Skip the pebbles across God's lakes. Build new mountains, finally, upright, and ornamented with man's prideful crustations. Then run men up and down elevator shafts to a heaven no longer believed in from a hell much better ignored.
Consider the authors who lived in and with these men and wrote to channel this blasphemy, express it in symbols about which such men could enthuse like devil children. With a new nation being dreamt to life, set to rights with fabulous new toys, the uneasy dreamers cast about and came up with two most ardent blasphemers:
Herman Melville.
Jules Verne.
"American" authors, both.
untitled
It is a night of ethereal pain, a song of blood,
wolves vent their howls. The eternal one
rises.
Mist shrouds her gaunt form,
an impatient dread.
Her raven hair cascades over
pale and tragic shoulders, and her
full really very deeply crimson lips part slightly, to taste the
darkness streaming from the
pale flesh beneath
her.
Now a night of ecstasy,
I thirst.
---Goth-o-matic poetry generator, click image
Home-sister Emily's latest work "Venus of Mars", was a huge success at the Amsterdam film festival. Congratulations!
Saturday
How did Chuck Norris get his own show? I watched it and it sucks. As if to second the motion, the first commercial is for the "hoveround", a motorized wheelchair famous for old women sitting in wheelchairs at the edge of the grand canyon, saying "hoveround" in the most digitally decrepitized old lady voices ever rendered. Click here if you don't know what I'm talking about. It's pretty famous. "Life-alert" was next. That's the same product that to the delight of talentless stand-up comedians everywhere brought you "help, I've fallen and I can't get up". Old people everywhere whose children left them alone and out of reach of the remote control were treated to a commercial that showed an old person lying helpless on the floor. The voiceover said that they could be there for "hours, even days".
Days. You can really make up your own jokes about this stuff as well as I can. Commercialism takes all the work out of it for you because of the unfortunate transparency of the elderly's dilemma.
I'd like to see a really good website by old folks that was to this effect to counter these and countless other blights on our mediascape such as life insurance ads: "We can't move around well, we can't hear, our bodies and minds are failing and we are mostly useless except to sell things to, but we did build the world you live in. Pause for a moment your self-congratulation for being young and clever and sexy and treat us with the respect every human deserves. Think about that you are as much a pawn in the game of consumerism as we so evidently have become in the eyes of mass media outlets. You buy things because they get you laid, we buy things so that we aren't forgotten. It's a shitty way to live, and we don't sit around drooling all day not noticing." Man.
And if I needed one more reason to hate Chuck Norris, it's that his stupid fucking show, in which the cars that crash are totaled junkers brought in from the worst impound lot in California, in which his stunt double with the bad wig and "just for men gel, looks so natural no one can tell" beard performs the most workaday of slapstick stunts, which got its wardrobe and plots for free with a five-dollar rebate from the miami vice reject lot, it is that this show provides commercial breaks for the only thing more inconcievably reprehensible than the show itself: a set of shameless, frightening, exploitative commercials aimed at those among us that have been shoved thoughtlessly aside in favor of the new and bad.
Days. You can really make up your own jokes about this stuff as well as I can. Commercialism takes all the work out of it for you because of the unfortunate transparency of the elderly's dilemma.
I'd like to see a really good website by old folks that was to this effect to counter these and countless other blights on our mediascape such as life insurance ads: "We can't move around well, we can't hear, our bodies and minds are failing and we are mostly useless except to sell things to, but we did build the world you live in. Pause for a moment your self-congratulation for being young and clever and sexy and treat us with the respect every human deserves. Think about that you are as much a pawn in the game of consumerism as we so evidently have become in the eyes of mass media outlets. You buy things because they get you laid, we buy things so that we aren't forgotten. It's a shitty way to live, and we don't sit around drooling all day not noticing." Man.
And if I needed one more reason to hate Chuck Norris, it's that his stupid fucking show, in which the cars that crash are totaled junkers brought in from the worst impound lot in California, in which his stunt double with the bad wig and "just for men gel, looks so natural no one can tell" beard performs the most workaday of slapstick stunts, which got its wardrobe and plots for free with a five-dollar rebate from the miami vice reject lot, it is that this show provides commercial breaks for the only thing more inconcievably reprehensible than the show itself: a set of shameless, frightening, exploitative commercials aimed at those among us that have been shoved thoughtlessly aside in favor of the new and bad.
Thunderbolt of Truth. Now making an appearance on my father's coffee table. Seriously.
Google thunderbolt of truth and the second site to come up is panzerfaust, a militant pro-white (which means anti-everything-but-white, and what's "white" anyway?) website with internet radio shows entitled, to name two: "Can't teach them niggers nuthin", "Niggers can't vote", and providing and linking to drooling essays and pamphlets on the intellectual order of timecube.
Panzerfaust highly approves of Thunderbolt of Truth.
Not one to judge Thunderbolt by Panzerfaust, here is Thunderbolt's pitch:
"Thunderbolt's goal is to bring readers news and information needed to ignite action. Each monthly issue will document the behavior of nonwhites--Blacks, Mexicans, Jews, Asians and American Indians. For too long, our voice has been too quiet and too meek. If you agree please subscribe today."
I won't subscribe tooday, because I don't agree with this rhetorical misrepresentation of artificially contentious issues involved with modern race relations. Notwithstanding my godlike power to make or break a magazine, no magazine espousing the ridiculous oversimplification of race into white and other will be taken seriously as anything remotely connected to reality. This radical idiotic shit is guilty of the same disregard for humanity it blames on everyone but itself.
Of course my father may have this on his table because he hasn't read it yet, or because he lost a bet, or as a joke.
Google thunderbolt of truth and the second site to come up is panzerfaust, a militant pro-white (which means anti-everything-but-white, and what's "white" anyway?) website with internet radio shows entitled, to name two: "Can't teach them niggers nuthin", "Niggers can't vote", and providing and linking to drooling essays and pamphlets on the intellectual order of timecube.
Panzerfaust highly approves of Thunderbolt of Truth.
Not one to judge Thunderbolt by Panzerfaust, here is Thunderbolt's pitch:
"Thunderbolt's goal is to bring readers news and information needed to ignite action. Each monthly issue will document the behavior of nonwhites--Blacks, Mexicans, Jews, Asians and American Indians. For too long, our voice has been too quiet and too meek. If you agree please subscribe today."
I won't subscribe tooday, because I don't agree with this rhetorical misrepresentation of artificially contentious issues involved with modern race relations. Notwithstanding my godlike power to make or break a magazine, no magazine espousing the ridiculous oversimplification of race into white and other will be taken seriously as anything remotely connected to reality. This radical idiotic shit is guilty of the same disregard for humanity it blames on everyone but itself.
Of course my father may have this on his table because he hasn't read it yet, or because he lost a bet, or as a joke.
Look at this headline. Among sports fans it might pass, but to me that's just bad, bad journalism.
Friday
germicidal lighting. air filtration, sort of
"Pie Jesu domine, Dona eis requiem" means "Merciful Lord Jesus, grant them peace".
Another word frequently used in this prayer is sempiternam, which means everlasting. It's the chant from Monty Python and the holy grail. I thought it would be something obscene. What a disappointment.
Another word frequently used in this prayer is sempiternam, which means everlasting. It's the chant from Monty Python and the holy grail. I thought it would be something obscene. What a disappointment.
If there was ever a time for word to be up, that time is now, my friends.
Listen as Devastatin' Dave drops mad science on your sorry, okey-dokey-looking punk ass.
Listen as Devastatin' Dave drops mad science on your sorry, okey-dokey-looking punk ass.
Of all the crazy shit. Hacking big mouth billy bass. To run linux.
I made this up a long time ago while I was hanging out with some really boring people to entertain myself: "If you're a hermaphrodite which jail do you go to? Can't go to the men's, can't go to the women's, really, you'd have to go to one made just for hermaphrodites. But then they couldn't all be kept together either, so you'd wind up with a prison for each individual hermaphrodite, and I want one in my backyard. I'd get a big fat government contract and it would be really cool." And sure enough, here's a news story about a hermaphrodite suing a prison. Listen: there's only one way around incarcerating the intersexed, and you might as well give me the keys and a gazillion bucks.
---Dale knows better
---Dale knows better
Q: Why do women fake orgasms?
A: They think we care.
Q: How many feminists does it take to change a lightbulb?
A: None. A feminist can't change anything.
A: They think we care.
Q: How many feminists does it take to change a lightbulb?
A: None. A feminist can't change anything.
A letter I might have written if the guy who didn't hire me had been good enough to tell me so.
So there I was, outside in the cold weather enjoying the American pastime of smoking and drinking coffee. I could have been in different more interesting circumstances, as most people are when they start a story that begins with "so there I was", but I wasn't. It's my last day at this job, a temp stretch that's lasted nine months longer than it was supposed to, and I could have been thinking about what's next, or reflecting on what's been, all the details that were associated with this job and which ones I want to try not to forget and which I will, but I was just smoking and drinking coffee. It's all you can say sometimes, here I am. And there I was.
Thursday
Wednesday
Not many things are useful. Every dang website thinks they're so special that you'll set up an account with them and it's crap. The New York Times is worth it in the long run, and so is this. Set it up and make some signs. Safety sign generator.
Freeway blogger. Using public space for messaging.
Here's the white house from overhead via mapquest. Does that look doctored? Who did this prehistoric cut and paste job? Fred Flintstone? No wonder the jerk-in-residence is in Texas all the time, the white house is a cardboard box.
Post-punk kitchen: vegetarian cooking and vegan baking with no attitude. There's something beyond non-threatening about this.
there may have been a misunderstanding?
there may have been a misunderstanding?
John Aftergood runs a great website that seeks to illuminate that which the government would like to keep secret but legally (for the time being) cannot.
Tuesday
I saw this the other day, but here it is if you've got the bandwidth and eleven minutes. That's how long it took a guy to beat super mario brothers. The video. If that link breaks, try this one.
This is the best typing tutor I've seen. A game.
Yes, cartoons were funnier when you were a kid. The sad truth about cartoon censorship.
This touchscreen computer in an audi makes me drool. The really cool things you still have to do for yourself.
Yes, cartoons were funnier when you were a kid. The sad truth about cartoon censorship.
This touchscreen computer in an audi makes me drool. The really cool things you still have to do for yourself.
"How oddly situated a man is apt to find himself at the age of thirty-eight! His youth belongs to the distant past. Yet the period of memory beginning with the end of youth and extending to the present has left him not a single vivid impression. And therefore he persists in feeling that nothing more than a fragile barrier separates him from his youth. He is forever hearing with the utmost clarity the sounds of this neighboring domain, but there is no way to penetrate the barrier." (from Runaway Horses, 1969) -- Yukio Mishima, nutjob, who at the time was actually 44.
For Randy-san, pimp of the orient
For Randy-san, pimp of the orient
Wired News: When Cash Is Only Skin Deep The mark of the beast is here, payment to get easier, robberies to hurt a lot.
* MYSTERIOUS AL™ : STAMINA SINCE 1998 * He's documenting his mid-life crisis
KARHU originals, I want the string volley model.
Pink Steel, gay heavy metal. Funny as hell.
Black People Love Us! Sorry if it's a repeat, but it hasn't been done better since.
it'll make you feel better /sound file
I worked at a restaurant with a guy who was going to be in a play, and everyone else I worked with was sufficiently excited to go see it that I had to say I would too. They, of course, did not. The play was part of the fringe festival in minneapolis, wherein plays that otherwise would never be done for a variety of reasons, are. The play was called "funny sound of music girl", and was a parody of certain elements of "funny girl" and "the sound of music", mostly the latter, but all gay. The gay jokes were fast and furious-- you'd think that the more repellent biological aspects of male homosexuality would be tidily omitted for taste's sake but you'd be wrong. The only person laughing at this tripe was, naturally, seated next to me; so wild was his laughter that he actually hit me in the arm on two occasions. He was dying over there. Hoo-wee. After this crime of a play was over, the cast actually ran out of the building while the audience gathered their things. Hiding in a nearby bar, the director bought a much-needed round of drinks for the cast and crew. It might have gone unnoticed but for the costumes they were in. Three large gay men were dressed as nuns (one was "mother superiority complex"), my workmate Michael was in a leotard and platform clogs, etc.
I was bitching about this play at work when someone told me there was another that these fellow workers of mine had actually gone to, long ago, by the same director, and with Michael in it. It was considered by all who saw it to be the worst play ever made. It had been "A Surfing Christmas Carol", and these folks would never be burned like that again. They had all worked together for a long time at that place, but after that day, I was a great deal less "the new guy" in their eyes. Like in many a family, the elephant was sitting in the living room and none of us were talking about it, but we had to know that each other was aware of it nonetheless.
I was bitching about this play at work when someone told me there was another that these fellow workers of mine had actually gone to, long ago, by the same director, and with Michael in it. It was considered by all who saw it to be the worst play ever made. It had been "A Surfing Christmas Carol", and these folks would never be burned like that again. They had all worked together for a long time at that place, but after that day, I was a great deal less "the new guy" in their eyes. Like in many a family, the elephant was sitting in the living room and none of us were talking about it, but we had to know that each other was aware of it nonetheless.
Monday
"i regret not letting my brother come on, " the secret limo, " when we were kids. it was mean to play hide and go seek and run away from him to get icecream and then to go and tell him that we went on a secret limo ride with weird al and vanna white. i'll definately never do that again. sorry if your reading this james" -- grouphug
Dale would like to ruin your enjoyment of the Thanksgiving holiday in favor of a better way of eating. Slow food vs. bland turkey. Thank me later.
Oh no! "No remorse from the sniper"? That sucks!! No guilt? If my ears could bleed they would bleed blood and cover the earth with my own disappointment for forty days and forty nights and you would hear the screams of tortured dismemberment of all hopes and dreams being choked away in a spinning realm of chaos and confusion!!
They did this a while back with McVeigh, the victims wanted him to cry and apologize before he died and they all felt cheated when he didn't. It was Orwellian at the time and it's Orwellian now... what's the fucking point here, people, you want him dead where he can't hurt you any more? Doable. But you want him to agree with you? You want him to essentially love big brother? That is so bad. And it's the headline. The story should be "Man sentenced to die, victims' families perversely seek repentance". If he didn't think they ought to die he wouldn't have shot them. It's too bad he didn't shoot all the people that think their feelings are worth more than killing someone over. The loss of identity is worse than death. McVeigh died as someone who believed something, it doesn't make him a hero, but it legitimizes (as far as he's concerned) his actions.
Oh no! "No remorse from the sniper"? That sucks!! No guilt? If my ears could bleed they would bleed blood and cover the earth with my own disappointment for forty days and forty nights and you would hear the screams of tortured dismemberment of all hopes and dreams being choked away in a spinning realm of chaos and confusion!!
They did this a while back with McVeigh, the victims wanted him to cry and apologize before he died and they all felt cheated when he didn't. It was Orwellian at the time and it's Orwellian now... what's the fucking point here, people, you want him dead where he can't hurt you any more? Doable. But you want him to agree with you? You want him to essentially love big brother? That is so bad. And it's the headline. The story should be "Man sentenced to die, victims' families perversely seek repentance". If he didn't think they ought to die he wouldn't have shot them. It's too bad he didn't shoot all the people that think their feelings are worth more than killing someone over. The loss of identity is worse than death. McVeigh died as someone who believed something, it doesn't make him a hero, but it legitimizes (as far as he's concerned) his actions.
The lead for this story: "Evangelical Christian leaders expressed dismay yesterday over President Bush's statement that Christians and Muslims worship the same god, saying it had caused discomfort within his conservative religious base. But most predicted that the political impact would be short-lived."
Never mind that the president actually said something not completely asinine and got shit for it, but "most"? "evangelical christian leaders?"
The notion of religious leading is fucked (actually quite Islamic), and most of them predicted that even though Bush made a boo-boo, it would blow over. What kind of shit is that? You made a mistake! You provoked the wrath of God almighty's best amigos! He's mad at you by proxy, but not so mad that it won't go away soon!! Is this the stone age? God isn't real!! Are you guys kidding me?
Never mind that the president actually said something not completely asinine and got shit for it, but "most"? "evangelical christian leaders?"
The notion of religious leading is fucked (actually quite Islamic), and most of them predicted that even though Bush made a boo-boo, it would blow over. What kind of shit is that? You made a mistake! You provoked the wrath of God almighty's best amigos! He's mad at you by proxy, but not so mad that it won't go away soon!! Is this the stone age? God isn't real!! Are you guys kidding me?
Sunday
I've heard of a way of studying writing that is based on retyping books by the greats, Hemingway, Faulkner, etc. I think this can be spread to other disciplines and I even asked a friend if he wanted to collaborate on a shot-by-shot remake of Plan 9 from outer space. He declined.
Other things I'd like to remake:
McDonald's commercials, especially the new ones with the black kids dancing around with french fries, centering on "I'm loving it". My way would change a few, but not too many, details. I'd want them to slide right by the couch zombies that could just as easily be watching any other commercial, whom only the basic message is still able to penetrate: "Ah, it's got a good beat, looks fun, I'm loving it, think I'll let that one into my subconscious and whenever I see it again I'll buy what they have. Am I hungry?" I'd have homeless people in the background, looking wistfully at the french fries dancing by. I'd also brand every item the dancing kids are wearing, and show just the beginning of a girl jumping rope falling on her ass. And the main kid would have a gold tooth or a cavity. I can't decide which.
A complete remake of Saturday Night live episode. Only purposefully un-funny. Using the same jokes, as close a cast as possible, but dead.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Ok, wait, I think I've got the nature of consciousness figured out. It's an emergent property of the complex subsystems of the brain. Enough things were put together that they interacted in such a way as to automatically configure a new management resource, which was free and unexpected. It can't exist without all its parts, so in itself, it's imaginary and hence easy to argue about.
The ease of arguing about consciousness and over every other "god-shaped" thing comes at a cost to the rest of us, the ones who invented light bulbs and democracy and wheels. While some people earnestly harvest sensitivity and realism, involving the presence of mind that naturally accompanies some and that others refuse to grasp, the sky-god drones toil to master modes of speech I find annoying... this rhetorical speech and logical non sequiturs (both spin) are tools that should be studied in primary schools, because they have so many forms and purposes and are so politically prevalent in modern life. Children should (at least have the option to) learn to effectively configure their speech in such a way that would make them less quick to judge and accuse, that would open their minds to greater objectivity. That process may begin with speech itself.
Anyway, I wrote a while back about a crying baby and asking its parents at what age a human stops crying because it's a person that wants something, and starts doing it when it actually feels sad. If you didn't read that entry, the parents were foreign and didn't understand a word of it. Anyway, after I asked a few doctors, a pediatrician was actually willing to turn that one over in his noggin, and he said five or six years old. I asked him if he understood that I was seeking clarity in what the question I'm asking really was, and we talked it out. The answer is pretty much this: In order to clarify the question, we have to clarify "sad", which I was willing to redefine as "loss", a form of or reason for sadness which is easy to pin down. In order for that to happen, the person has to possess a certain degree of self-actualization in order to feel that one is adequately connected to something to feel disconnected. Babies are far simpler than that, and even at two or three people ape the reactions of adults in a pantomime of emotion, but at five or six, that changes. We become emotionally independent. What a crying person does is react to a loss in this case, and that is seemingly a linear causality field, but it's far from reductive, as most men who have dated women under thirty can attest. People cry for other reasons all the time. Sadness emerges. Sadness might be thought of as a measurement of independence that cannot be easily provoked. I think you can probably get hysteria and confusion and hatred, and a host of other mass-producible feelings out of a person, but sadness seems smarter to me. Looks like an emergent property (crying) points to the emergence of mind, and what we ought to do is to make a computer that can cry (and doesn't want to) to run everything. Because a computer would never, ever come up with "god" as a reason for existence.
Other things I'd like to remake:
McDonald's commercials, especially the new ones with the black kids dancing around with french fries, centering on "I'm loving it". My way would change a few, but not too many, details. I'd want them to slide right by the couch zombies that could just as easily be watching any other commercial, whom only the basic message is still able to penetrate: "Ah, it's got a good beat, looks fun, I'm loving it, think I'll let that one into my subconscious and whenever I see it again I'll buy what they have. Am I hungry?" I'd have homeless people in the background, looking wistfully at the french fries dancing by. I'd also brand every item the dancing kids are wearing, and show just the beginning of a girl jumping rope falling on her ass. And the main kid would have a gold tooth or a cavity. I can't decide which.
A complete remake of Saturday Night live episode. Only purposefully un-funny. Using the same jokes, as close a cast as possible, but dead.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Ok, wait, I think I've got the nature of consciousness figured out. It's an emergent property of the complex subsystems of the brain. Enough things were put together that they interacted in such a way as to automatically configure a new management resource, which was free and unexpected. It can't exist without all its parts, so in itself, it's imaginary and hence easy to argue about.
The ease of arguing about consciousness and over every other "god-shaped" thing comes at a cost to the rest of us, the ones who invented light bulbs and democracy and wheels. While some people earnestly harvest sensitivity and realism, involving the presence of mind that naturally accompanies some and that others refuse to grasp, the sky-god drones toil to master modes of speech I find annoying... this rhetorical speech and logical non sequiturs (both spin) are tools that should be studied in primary schools, because they have so many forms and purposes and are so politically prevalent in modern life. Children should (at least have the option to) learn to effectively configure their speech in such a way that would make them less quick to judge and accuse, that would open their minds to greater objectivity. That process may begin with speech itself.
Anyway, I wrote a while back about a crying baby and asking its parents at what age a human stops crying because it's a person that wants something, and starts doing it when it actually feels sad. If you didn't read that entry, the parents were foreign and didn't understand a word of it. Anyway, after I asked a few doctors, a pediatrician was actually willing to turn that one over in his noggin, and he said five or six years old. I asked him if he understood that I was seeking clarity in what the question I'm asking really was, and we talked it out. The answer is pretty much this: In order to clarify the question, we have to clarify "sad", which I was willing to redefine as "loss", a form of or reason for sadness which is easy to pin down. In order for that to happen, the person has to possess a certain degree of self-actualization in order to feel that one is adequately connected to something to feel disconnected. Babies are far simpler than that, and even at two or three people ape the reactions of adults in a pantomime of emotion, but at five or six, that changes. We become emotionally independent. What a crying person does is react to a loss in this case, and that is seemingly a linear causality field, but it's far from reductive, as most men who have dated women under thirty can attest. People cry for other reasons all the time. Sadness emerges. Sadness might be thought of as a measurement of independence that cannot be easily provoked. I think you can probably get hysteria and confusion and hatred, and a host of other mass-producible feelings out of a person, but sadness seems smarter to me. Looks like an emergent property (crying) points to the emergence of mind, and what we ought to do is to make a computer that can cry (and doesn't want to) to run everything. Because a computer would never, ever come up with "god" as a reason for existence.
My ninja name is Jinjiro Sakakida -san, what's yours? ---> ninja name generator
NoMarriage.com - honest marriage and relationship advice for men. For Will, the greatest band teacher in Texas
Last words, let the morbidity ensue
Princeton students take on inmates in chess, get asses kicked
Friday
What is consciousness?
useless flash toon
more
tele-twister
Dna used to build things.
magic cube!!
timecube!!
sex these objects
cool video that Drew would like.
useless flash toon
more
tele-twister
Dna used to build things.
magic cube!!
timecube!!
sex these objects
cool video that Drew would like.
Internetseer, a service.
Obviously, Gen. Franks Doubts Constitution Will Survive WMD Attack. Story here.
Bill Clinton.
Obviously, Gen. Franks Doubts Constitution Will Survive WMD Attack. Story here.
Bill Clinton.
I give you my favored link of the day. Listen to Bill O'Reilly freak out on Terry Gross.
Thursday
evidently chicken town
thin-air screen invented
Child porn cop put in jail for improper conduct with twelve-year old girl. Um, obviously. That zeal must fool a lot of people but it don't fool me. Righteousness in general is a pantload. Who the hell is anybody to tell anybody else their business?
Have fun in the pokey, child porn cop, they'll call you a "cho-mo" in there. Getting your prison label is phase one, and "cho-mo" is a step under "punk". Phase two is, you're a cop and a cho-mo, and you're fucked. Maybe while some big stinky guy is pumping your bleeding colon full of AIDS-juice, it'll occur to you that they might never have caught you if you hadn't been pretending to be one of the good guys. Or maybe they'll just kill you instead.
thin-air screen invented
Child porn cop put in jail for improper conduct with twelve-year old girl. Um, obviously. That zeal must fool a lot of people but it don't fool me. Righteousness in general is a pantload. Who the hell is anybody to tell anybody else their business?
Have fun in the pokey, child porn cop, they'll call you a "cho-mo" in there. Getting your prison label is phase one, and "cho-mo" is a step under "punk". Phase two is, you're a cop and a cho-mo, and you're fucked. Maybe while some big stinky guy is pumping your bleeding colon full of AIDS-juice, it'll occur to you that they might never have caught you if you hadn't been pretending to be one of the good guys. Or maybe they'll just kill you instead.
Wednesday
Highly unsafe site. /sex
For my awesome neighbor Rana, an unfortunately un-awesome belly dancing page. Is it the thought that counts?
For my awesome neighbor Rana, an unfortunately un-awesome belly dancing page. Is it the thought that counts?
The earth is hollow and people live inside it., from weekly world Pravda
Wilbur the turkey wants to kill you
Vodka drinking champ a winner, briefly
Jack Valenti is mad not that movies these days SUCK, but that the history channel is exploring LBJ's potential role in the JFK assassination. Here.
Wilbur the turkey wants to kill you
Vodka drinking champ a winner, briefly
Jack Valenti is mad not that movies these days SUCK, but that the history channel is exploring LBJ's potential role in the JFK assassination. Here.
Tuesday
For Ron Bumfsfield at slagbrain, who had a funny feeling about the name of "Operation Iron Hammer", you were right.
Each of us harbors a geek deep inside. Be good to your geek and watch these episodes of Nova, via quicktime or realplayer.
Each of us harbors a geek deep inside. Be good to your geek and watch these episodes of Nova, via quicktime or realplayer.
The U.N. wants to control the internet. How do you control a network organized from the bottom up? "[blah blah] say problems such as cybercrime and protection of intellectual property rights require greater government involvement [blah blah]"
Picture of woman who doesn't match her clothes right, or does she?
Chasing Bush around London. Rock and roll. "[Bush] thinks he can escape an angry public... He's wrong"
Chasing Bush around London. Rock and roll. "[Bush] thinks he can escape an angry public... He's wrong"
Killing your daughter because she was raped by your other children is not the solution to the problem. 
Monday
cool photoshop contest, toys that never were, nsfw
Why do we sleep?
Battle for the booze, the beginning sounds like it could be Minneapolis.
American miracle powder.
The canadian version. Nicer and more useful.
Battle for the booze, the beginning sounds like it could be Minneapolis.
American miracle powder.
The canadian version. Nicer and more useful.
cell phone jammer. take revenge.
Driver's license number calculator, win free drinks from people at the bar.
Tapestry, RSS feeds for online comic strips
Sunday
Johnny Hollow, a really cool riddle flash site
Fast highly effective Oneirogmophobia program at The Phobia Clinic. Give me a break. Who the hell is afraid of that?
New York Post Online Edition: news two star students make out (girls) in protest of homophobia, get suspended
Jimmy McGrath Photography, these photograhpers got them some bad ass websites
butterfly girls, should be safe for work but probably isn't
The Story of John Titor, time traveler
This reminds me of my buddy Randy. Werner Aisslinger - Loft Cube I want to live in this house. Please buy it for me.
(((D+CON/trol))) Relinquish control of your time for a little while
A useful statistic (I can wait a day or two to be told what the American people think of the president) would be: am I more likely to splash piss on myself if I pee in the water area of the urinal, or the wall part behind it? Get to work, engineers.
F u t u r e M e . o r g, write yourself, or someone else, an email in the future, but not too far, the nature of vaporware being what it is.
Saturday
Peter Funch's website is better than yours
The Course A flash series. You will watch all 10. You will ask yourself why.
I have to assume this is oil dollars at work, click an image for the video
Playmate Strip Poker nsfw
American style yatta, see why the japanese can't be beaten at their own art form
Friday
Not remotely safe for viewing. Not as bad as the legendary tubgirl or goatse, but still bad. Sorry mom. Don't click here.
First all-nude flight from Miami makes history. In that, um, it's a flight, and, they're uh, naked.
"Why are we attracted not only to the biggest version of almost anything but also to the smallest, the weirdest, the first, the last, or the only?" "A predator has to be good at picking out the old and the weak or, with no additional information to go on, the different." Article here.
Exxon fined eleven billion dollars for fraud. Somebody somwehere is sleeping on the couch tonight.
61.1% of the new costly Medicare bill is purely profit to drug companies. Strange the way I didn't hear the president mention that.
Man pulled over, fined for scratching ear. He's a lawyer.
thousands of gallons of inedible pork fat = cosmetics. Kiss me.
thousands of gallons of inedible pork fat = cosmetics. Kiss me.
This article tells us about the naming of children after brand names. Get ready for (hated) humor columnist James Lileks to make up something really predictably "funny" about that. 'Courvoisier, don't hit ESPN! Canon, be nice to your brother!' Or, 'Can a child's name violate copyright law? If a kid named Del Monte goes on a shooting rampage can the company sue his parents?' 'Will "Chanel" be more likely to wind up working at Chanel, being a mayor, or confronting her baby daddy on Jerry Springer?' Wait, the last one's actually funny, which is why you won't see Lileks go there.
Wal-mart will have its way. When I try to imagine the future Walmart gives me the creeps. Like Willy Wonka's boat ride, it shows no signs of slowing, and even worse, I think about what would have to happen to make it go away. Our entire way of life would have changed in ways that make me shiver. Free enterprise will have to die before Wal-mart does, so the future's got Wal-mart in it or it doesn't, and either way, because of Wal-mart, it's scary. Say the word to yourself. Wal-mart. That's a word people will be saying after you're dead, a common thread spanning across generations, a part of our collective cultural heritage, one that a thousand years from now will be taught about in history class, if Wal-mart doesn't own the world by then. I somehow grew up thinking that things like the Ohio River Valley would figure more prominently in Americana than a company that embodies the corporate survival of the fittest, but that fantasy has evaporated.
Thursday
Befitting the rest of my life, which is turning out to be an epic journey of mediocre proportions, I am in high-level negotiations with L.L. Bean to see if they can repair my boots at no charge. They are my favorite boots. I know most people would not consider this worthy of comment, but I, Dale Shipley, am cut of a different cloth, the kind of cloth that appreciates a good pair of work-boots more than most. And a good gravy. I'll tell you about the gravy another time.
You and I are like oil and water, but with the right preparation, we could make a tangy, delicious vinaigrette.
Satire by Caption, George Bush humor.
Wednesday
create a safety banner! put it where people will see it!
stare at this picture long enough and you will see the ocean NSFW
Singleton, whose stage name was Big Lurch, was arrested after he was spotted walking naked on a street with his mouth, chest and abdomen covered in blood. He had recently moved from Texas to Los Angeles and was recording a rap album. article here
Tom Cruise almost decapitated. Better luck next time.
Tom Cruise almost decapitated. Better luck next time.
worship of our corporate masters is actually used as a marketing gimmick here. warning, very funny
making the world a more deadly place one modified virus at a time, it's the united states government.
Hot And Fruity, a difficult gambling game
Monday
Alpha: S - OverClocked ReMix Go to super mario brothers and give some a listen, my favorite is super jungle brothers.
And now, the peter pan guy. My blog has made it all around the frayed edges of the internet.
Is it healthy to expose yourself to crazy stuff like this? I think so, because then you can say "there that is, and I'm over here.
Is it healthy to expose yourself to crazy stuff like this? I think so, because then you can say "there that is, and I'm over here.
Sunday
The people at ratkill can get downright pathological.
Another reason war is great, vaginal fistula!!
The crazy things people do for healthcare.
Call me skeptical, but this sentence always makes me shake my head: "Companies getting into the business are making so much money, they've barely got enough time to count it." Hmm. Article here
The crazy things people do for healthcare.
Call me skeptical, but this sentence always makes me shake my head: "Companies getting into the business are making so much money, they've barely got enough time to count it." Hmm. Article here
Holy shit. Visit Drudge and you'll probably see a pop-up. The pop-up says "Do you support Rush?" Below it says "Click Here Now!"
That click will take you to this page. Notice anything? Yeah, it's an "urgent national poll". I got me a feelin' that no matter what the results are, somebody somewhere can find a way to make it look like they're right about the questions on the form. For pete's sake. I've been seeing this stupid pop-up forever. Do you think even for a second there is another pop-up out there that says "Do you think Rush is a racist, warmongering, drug addict hypocrite? Click Here Now!"
I highly doubt it. This is the internet equivalent of Karl Rove's push polling, which every American needs to know about. I took the poll, by the way.
That click will take you to this page. Notice anything? Yeah, it's an "urgent national poll". I got me a feelin' that no matter what the results are, somebody somewhere can find a way to make it look like they're right about the questions on the form. For pete's sake. I've been seeing this stupid pop-up forever. Do you think even for a second there is another pop-up out there that says "Do you think Rush is a racist, warmongering, drug addict hypocrite? Click Here Now!"
I highly doubt it. This is the internet equivalent of Karl Rove's push polling, which every American needs to know about. I took the poll, by the way.
Faster than a speeding bullet. More powerful than a steaming locomotive. Able to leap tall buildings in a single bound. It's a bird. It's a plane. It's
a good reason not to take yourself too seriously.
--Dale will see you in hell.
a good reason not to take yourself too seriously.
--Dale will see you in hell.
Eric Fensler, who did the GI Joe spots, has these ideas:
"I think that they should bring Lazer Tag back, so maybe I would develop some type of new gear. As for something really fresh and new, a special pill you take, that expands in your mouth as flavored foam. So much flavored foam comes from this pill that you have to spit out, so it looks like you're barfing. But it tastes really good, so it becomes a novelty or an event when you pop one. It's Toy candy, I guess. Flavored Foam Pills!!! "Oh man you're going to do one?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?! No way !!!!!!???!!! It's so messy, but goood. Let me try !!!""
"I think that they should bring Lazer Tag back, so maybe I would develop some type of new gear. As for something really fresh and new, a special pill you take, that expands in your mouth as flavored foam. So much flavored foam comes from this pill that you have to spit out, so it looks like you're barfing. But it tastes really good, so it becomes a novelty or an event when you pop one. It's Toy candy, I guess. Flavored Foam Pills!!! "Oh man you're going to do one?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?! No way !!!!!!???!!! It's so messy, but goood. Let me try !!!""
Saturday
vice fund -- put your money where your black heart is
Alexandra DuPont reviews things. Check out the review for Star Wars episode one if you want to believe in the awesome film-reviewing power.
I found that link here, at the place I decided that no way was I going to the new matrix movie.
I found that link here, at the place I decided that no way was I going to the new matrix movie.
J.M. Coetzee, the winner of two well-deserved Booker prizes and a Nobel, is from South Africa.
I recall a recent South African news story about an anti-rape device that tears penises apart upon the rapist's attempted retraction, and I have long heard rumors of a flame-throwing car alarm, but even that didn't prepare me for a story about a murder victim's disembowelment and a strange and vivid, ahem, racial situation on the same day. Looks like J.M. Coetzee's world is more sharp, dangerous, and colorful than I'd imagined, but now that I think about it the tense realities of South Africa obviously make for a more thought-provoking breeding ground than Minneapolis. Everybody in Minneapolis wanted to be a writer two years ago, but when there's nothing taking place, the stories aren't very good.
Nineteenth-century St. Petersburg, Tolstoy.
Post-war Mississippi, Faulkner.
Twenty-first century suburban United States, hmm.
I recall a recent South African news story about an anti-rape device that tears penises apart upon the rapist's attempted retraction, and I have long heard rumors of a flame-throwing car alarm, but even that didn't prepare me for a story about a murder victim's disembowelment and a strange and vivid, ahem, racial situation on the same day. Looks like J.M. Coetzee's world is more sharp, dangerous, and colorful than I'd imagined, but now that I think about it the tense realities of South Africa obviously make for a more thought-provoking breeding ground than Minneapolis. Everybody in Minneapolis wanted to be a writer two years ago, but when there's nothing taking place, the stories aren't very good.
Nineteenth-century St. Petersburg, Tolstoy.
Post-war Mississippi, Faulkner.
Twenty-first century suburban United States, hmm.
In a story by David Sedaris, he's tryng to get a job writing for a kind-of fetish magazine. The stories he's supposed to write all have in common a woman that outgrows her clothes. The editor wants Sedaris to make sure the clothes rip apart as she outgrows them. There is a similar fetish in, you guessed it, Japan, in which the woman falls out of her clothes because she is shrinking. And here is the link.
Kangaroo scrotum pouches. So wrong.
Kangaroo scrotum pouches. So wrong.
Jessica Lynch gives military a hillbilly-dressing-down: "It's wrong." Another story with different words.
Gosh, thanks, Jessica, thanks for clearing that up.
But wait, I thought there was no reason to justify a war, since the reasons we were there already obviously speak for themselves.
You mean the military is using you to sell us the war?
Oh, I get it, you're being sarcastic.
Of course we had to go to war so we could beat the terrorists or something or other.
And you're just being funny.
No harm done, anyway, since that restrained line of potential questioning will promptly disappear forever, and all that will remain is that quintessential modern feeling, the feeling we've forgotten something, and can't for the life of us remember what it is.
Gosh, thanks, Jessica, thanks for clearing that up.
But wait, I thought there was no reason to justify a war, since the reasons we were there already obviously speak for themselves.
You mean the military is using you to sell us the war?
Oh, I get it, you're being sarcastic.
Of course we had to go to war so we could beat the terrorists or something or other.
And you're just being funny.
No harm done, anyway, since that restrained line of potential questioning will promptly disappear forever, and all that will remain is that quintessential modern feeling, the feeling we've forgotten something, and can't for the life of us remember what it is.
I really want to see what episode two of this story is, because the Merriam Webster definition of "McJob" is unflattering, and MCJOBS is a trademarked word. Does McDonald's have the muscle to subvert lexicography?
Letterman showing a picture of his new baby
.jpg to ascii converter
for those of you who live in a cave, stay there. the sun is going apeshit.
GI joe films, possible repeat... sorry
Letterman showing a picture of his new baby
.jpg to ascii converter
for those of you who live in a cave, stay there. the sun is going apeshit.
GI joe films, possible repeat... sorry
I'm debating whether or not to join the partridge family temple. I'm already an ordained and licensed minister in the state of Minnesota, meaning that I flexed my religious freedom and am legally allowed to marry and bury the fine citizens of this great state, though, so I don't see anywhere to go but down with the partridges. Looks like I'm not debating any more.
idiot test. this kind of thing will get old someday.
Great page, Franz.
You, reader of my, Dale Shipley's weblog, please choose and remember a number between one and a thousand.
Got it?
Make sure.
Ok?
Now read this.
"To enter this site you seriously have to be 18 or above, unless your state says that you need to be 21 ... blah ... adults only ... blah blah ... explicit nudity ... blah blah ... ass and boobies! This site is free of charge ... blah blah .. no creditcard needed ... blah blah ... ass and boobies!
We are not responsible ... blah ... ass ... blah ... brain damage, hardware failure caused by ... blah ... in any way."
Just trust me, it's a website with naked women on it. How unlike me not to provide a link!
Great page, Franz.
You, reader of my, Dale Shipley's weblog, please choose and remember a number between one and a thousand.
Got it?
Make sure.
Ok?
Now read this.
"To enter this site you seriously have to be 18 or above, unless your state says that you need to be 21 ... blah ... adults only ... blah blah ... explicit nudity ... blah blah ... ass and boobies! This site is free of charge ... blah blah .. no creditcard needed ... blah blah ... ass and boobies!
We are not responsible ... blah ... ass ... blah ... brain damage, hardware failure caused by ... blah ... in any way."
Just trust me, it's a website with naked women on it. How unlike me not to provide a link!
Friday
I grew up in the age of the power ballad. If it wasn't Bon Jovi that Casey Kasam was telling me was at the top of the charts, it was Van Halen, or Motley Crue, or Journey. These songs now totally consume me when I've had too much coffee. Much speculation has come into the public forum of late on the subject of "earworms", in a way that feels suspiciously like government-issue water-cooler talk. These are the songs which for whatever reason get "stuck in one's head", and which concurrently annoy the hell out of one.
Today, the one that's getting me is Can't fight this feeling by REO speedwagon. Why, oh why, must I go through this? The only way i've ever found to get the awful torture to end is by replacing it with another, MORE annoying song. Alas, making things worse is generally considered to be a bad move. So, thanks, Kevin Cronin, and the rest of REO Speedwagon! Thanks for teaming up with Journey to make my brain a hellish mess!
I tried hating your stupid bands. That got me nowhere closer to inner peace, though, since I still hear it piped out radios every fucking goddamned day, so I tried to love it, against my will and better judgement. I downloaded songs like "wheel in the sky (keeps on turnin')", and "faithfully", and I listened to them several times in a "damn the torpedoes" attempt to reclaim the space between my ears. Well, it didn't work. Damn you, Steve Perry. When the lights go down in the city and the sun shines on the bay, I'll be thinking of your goddamned song. And damn you, too, Kevin Cronin, damn you for your songs that make me a prisoner in my own skull. I should sue you fuckers. Class action, anyone?
Uplifting quotes:
"Every minute that you're not in absolute misery you should be weeping with gratitude and thanking God at the top of your lungs." --- George Saunders
"If you want a vision of the future, imagine a boot stamping on a human face -- for ever"
-George Orwell
In response to the question "What did the Iraquis say to Jessica Lynch while she was being raped?" Patty answered "Baby, aren't you glad you found my weapon of (m)ass destruction?" She continues "Iraqi doctors who treated Lynch (and helped save her) said she showed NO signs of being raped. They said it back in the spring, and they say it now.
It's hard to buy the rape allegations considering that every single US-reported aspect of her "capture/rescue" turned out to be bogus."
Today, the one that's getting me is Can't fight this feeling by REO speedwagon. Why, oh why, must I go through this? The only way i've ever found to get the awful torture to end is by replacing it with another, MORE annoying song. Alas, making things worse is generally considered to be a bad move. So, thanks, Kevin Cronin, and the rest of REO Speedwagon! Thanks for teaming up with Journey to make my brain a hellish mess!
I tried hating your stupid bands. That got me nowhere closer to inner peace, though, since I still hear it piped out radios every fucking goddamned day, so I tried to love it, against my will and better judgement. I downloaded songs like "wheel in the sky (keeps on turnin')", and "faithfully", and I listened to them several times in a "damn the torpedoes" attempt to reclaim the space between my ears. Well, it didn't work. Damn you, Steve Perry. When the lights go down in the city and the sun shines on the bay, I'll be thinking of your goddamned song. And damn you, too, Kevin Cronin, damn you for your songs that make me a prisoner in my own skull. I should sue you fuckers. Class action, anyone?
Uplifting quotes:
"Every minute that you're not in absolute misery you should be weeping with gratitude and thanking God at the top of your lungs." --- George Saunders
"If you want a vision of the future, imagine a boot stamping on a human face -- for ever"
-George Orwell
In response to the question "What did the Iraquis say to Jessica Lynch while she was being raped?" Patty answered "Baby, aren't you glad you found my weapon of (m)ass destruction?" She continues "Iraqi doctors who treated Lynch (and helped save her) said she showed NO signs of being raped. They said it back in the spring, and they say it now.
It's hard to buy the rape allegations considering that every single US-reported aspect of her "capture/rescue" turned out to be bogus."
first international protection from crappy porn week of resistance
videos of people doing various, uh, physical stuff. completely safe for work.
unablogger, not safe for work, or for kittens
40 mistakes men make while having sex with women
ideosphere
Church sign generator. Heh.
things that are broken
minefield game... i can't figure out how to win
videos of people doing various, uh, physical stuff. completely safe for work.
unablogger, not safe for work, or for kittens
40 mistakes men make while having sex with women
ideosphere
Church sign generator. Heh.
things that are broken
minefield game... i can't figure out how to win
Thursday
fat hot momma.
"television is bad" essay. /obligatory
Read this, even though it's not very funny.
the meatrix. everything you already know about factory farms, in a flash movie. my heart goes out to these activists; they have to reach for the matrix reference to get their point across.
Bang bang bang. There are certain times when I really want to apologize to my mom, should she read this page. This is one of those times, if she should choose to click on this link.
"television is bad" essay. /obligatory
Read this, even though it's not very funny.
the meatrix. everything you already know about factory farms, in a flash movie. my heart goes out to these activists; they have to reach for the matrix reference to get their point across.
Bang bang bang. There are certain times when I really want to apologize to my mom, should she read this page. This is one of those times, if she should choose to click on this link.
Wednesday
Okay. Now I'm going to repeat some material, because it bears repeating. This is a painting of a guy who never met Stevie Nicks, with Stevie Nicks.
This is another one.
This is a picture of a woman who never met Stevie Nicks, with Stevie Nicks.
I feel kind of like a dick for pointing to something people enjoy and laughing at it, but wow. Are you fucking kidding me?
I guess some people just really like Stevie Nicks! And I guess a wolf and a white dove and a rose and a moon and wolf paw prints just makes Stevie Nicks better! Where does fanatical devotion to a celebrity come from? Is there hypno-code embedded in the TV guide? Are there drugs piped through the Wal-Mart supercenter's ventilation system?
Some folks'll say it's just the kind of guy I am. A person who doesn't believe in anything and lives to tear down others. That's the way liberals are, right? Excited about nothing except ripping on god-fearing country folk. Well, I know plenty of liberals, and that's not how they are. (What's more, we don't call them liberals, just like we don't label people conservatives. We're more likely to call them hyper-nationalistic warmongering cult followers, because of our love of specificity.) But that's how I am. I'm from a small town in Tennessee. No one who wasn't there can possibly undertake to comprehend the shite I had to put up with at the hands of the dismally unprepared public education system. And the people of my little country town I think Norman Mailer unknowingly captures the essence of with his statement: "The expression of sentimentality in religious matters comes forth usually as a sort of saccharine piety which revolts any idea of religious sentiment in those who are sensitive, discriminating, or deep of feeling." Those are the conservative people I grew up around, expecting that I shut my brain off and ride the jesus love train to a magical infinity-land, which fundamentally only differs from the oft-mocked Islamic paradise because of its lack of eternal virgin-screwing. (Which begs the question, whose paradise sounds better to you?) How could I not run as far away as possible from those morbidly mindless, righteous hypno-clones, for whom it is always 72 & jesus at jesus o'clock? To be fair, where is the serious dialogue that I am missing out on as an atheist? I'd rather use what faculties I have on this merry-go-round in asking what spirituality actually offers in terms of solace, how it is possible for a human to create a fantasy world from which it draws comfort, and of course, about the nature of comfort itself.
What comforts me is that I am separate from the jesus freaks and the Stevie Nicks nuts, but I still feel a little bad, because the truth hurts. And an observation, if something makes people mad (when you're not just making shit up), it's more than likely true.
This is another one.
This is a picture of a woman who never met Stevie Nicks, with Stevie Nicks.
I feel kind of like a dick for pointing to something people enjoy and laughing at it, but wow. Are you fucking kidding me?
I guess some people just really like Stevie Nicks! And I guess a wolf and a white dove and a rose and a moon and wolf paw prints just makes Stevie Nicks better! Where does fanatical devotion to a celebrity come from? Is there hypno-code embedded in the TV guide? Are there drugs piped through the Wal-Mart supercenter's ventilation system?
Some folks'll say it's just the kind of guy I am. A person who doesn't believe in anything and lives to tear down others. That's the way liberals are, right? Excited about nothing except ripping on god-fearing country folk. Well, I know plenty of liberals, and that's not how they are. (What's more, we don't call them liberals, just like we don't label people conservatives. We're more likely to call them hyper-nationalistic warmongering cult followers, because of our love of specificity.) But that's how I am. I'm from a small town in Tennessee. No one who wasn't there can possibly undertake to comprehend the shite I had to put up with at the hands of the dismally unprepared public education system. And the people of my little country town I think Norman Mailer unknowingly captures the essence of with his statement: "The expression of sentimentality in religious matters comes forth usually as a sort of saccharine piety which revolts any idea of religious sentiment in those who are sensitive, discriminating, or deep of feeling." Those are the conservative people I grew up around, expecting that I shut my brain off and ride the jesus love train to a magical infinity-land, which fundamentally only differs from the oft-mocked Islamic paradise because of its lack of eternal virgin-screwing. (Which begs the question, whose paradise sounds better to you?) How could I not run as far away as possible from those morbidly mindless, righteous hypno-clones, for whom it is always 72 & jesus at jesus o'clock? To be fair, where is the serious dialogue that I am missing out on as an atheist? I'd rather use what faculties I have on this merry-go-round in asking what spirituality actually offers in terms of solace, how it is possible for a human to create a fantasy world from which it draws comfort, and of course, about the nature of comfort itself.
What comforts me is that I am separate from the jesus freaks and the Stevie Nicks nuts, but I still feel a little bad, because the truth hurts. And an observation, if something makes people mad (when you're not just making shit up), it's more than likely true.
Wisconsin-city-name-generator. To those of you in Wisconsin right now (and the rest of you smartasses, yes, there is someone), I'm sorry, but being from Tennessee I can say I've honestly endured more than my share of state-baiting.
Funny. Worst album covers.
The worst thing about being a kid is probably when you aren't allowed to come up with creative solutions to adults' arbitrations.
This video of a bikini girl would make Andre Breton raise his eyebrows.
You have to love jailbabe stuff. Or at least not make fun of me for loving it.
Young people have sex for money at a party. Community shocked that teens realize sex pleasurable. Ha ha ha.
You have to love jailbabe stuff. Or at least not make fun of me for loving it.
Young people have sex for money at a party. Community shocked that teens realize sex pleasurable. Ha ha ha.
Today's fuck the police from Williamson County, TN.
Ding, fries are done. Classic flash.
Where have I seen this scary guy in the front before? He gives me the creeps.
I hate when people say how is something going to "impact" something else. Impact is not a transitive verb. Fucking dumb assholes need to learn how to speak english.
Andrew Bolton, associate curator of the institute of costumes at Met museum of art, considers himself enough of an authority on what's on your mind to say "if you've even seen a man in a skirt, the first thing you think of is male genitalia". This must be dumb asshole day.
Ding, fries are done. Classic flash.
Where have I seen this scary guy in the front before? He gives me the creeps.
I hate when people say how is something going to "impact" something else. Impact is not a transitive verb. Fucking dumb assholes need to learn how to speak english.
Andrew Bolton, associate curator of the institute of costumes at Met museum of art, considers himself enough of an authority on what's on your mind to say "if you've even seen a man in a skirt, the first thing you think of is male genitalia". This must be dumb asshole day.
Outer space photography just got a lot cooler. Here's a pic from the new badass 16-megapixel camera at Mauna Kea. Purty.
A couple of tame confessions, courtesy of grouphug.com:
"One time as I was driving, I hit a parked car as I was going around the corner. I left a note that said "There are people watching, so I'm leaving this note to make sure they think I'm leaving you my info. This way they won't remember me.""
"I fuck on the first date "
"One time as I was driving, I hit a parked car as I was going around the corner. I left a note that said "There are people watching, so I'm leaving this note to make sure they think I'm leaving you my info. This way they won't remember me.""
"I fuck on the first date "
Tuesday
Monday
Why some stuff sucks
Stuff that doesn't do what it's supposed to do sucks. Simple, but they obviously don't teach this in any school. They should offer it as a course, and they should let me teach it, and here's why. I'm qualified. I know when stuff sucks. Examples?Everybody knows now that Robin Williams sucks. Well, I knew that a long time ago. Did you listen? Or did you watch Mrs. Doubtfire? Because you were pussywhipped and your girlfriend wanted to is no excuse.
Toby Keith sucks, too. It won't be long before folks wake up to that one, either. His music sucks and it's not supposed to. He sucks.
Marketing dairy products to young people as "extreme" or whatever sucks. Dairy products mostly suck in the first place.
Black comedians that appeal to white audiences with racial stereotyping jokes suck. That means Chris Rock. He sucks. Chris Rock, you suck. You suck not because you tell jokes, but because you're supposed to be funny. And you're not. Hence, you suck.
Strippers suck. They're not sexy and they're supposed to be. They look like the singer in the bar in Mos Eisley from Star Wars. Dumb tarts.
Cops suck. They fuck with hardworking, innocent people who pay half their salaries in taxes while real crime is going on all over the place.
The justice system sucks. The billion-dollar bilkers from Enron and Worldcom go free and I can't even swipe some smokes without going to jail.
"Rent", the broadway musical sucks. It's the same goddamn play that all plays are these days, a sensitive look at gay people with aids in america. It's supposed to be entertaining but it isn't, unless 'gay people with aids' entertains you.
I know what sucks. Someday the people of earth will realize this and acknowledge my foresight, making me their new god. Until then, I'll just have to settle for being unappreciated.
Bring on the artificial intelligence, people! Amazon is suggesting I read a history of western textiles by David Jenkins. There are no uninteresting subjects, only uninterested people, the adage goes, but this is ridiculous. These cocksuckers are trying to sell me a clockwork orange and of mice and men as well. It's easy to make the call that bad technology is to blame; the recourse for having these predicted interests is suicide.
Fortunately, just as there are people working in the mental health station in Riverside hospital tonight, subjectivity saves me from any serious trap, as I can blame this assessment of me on faulty technology. Try to imagine human beings having to do the work of machines again for a second. Dark ages.
Fortunately, just as there are people working in the mental health station in Riverside hospital tonight, subjectivity saves me from any serious trap, as I can blame this assessment of me on faulty technology. Try to imagine human beings having to do the work of machines again for a second. Dark ages.
No one calls me excited in the middle of the night any more. No one is irrationally exuberant. Order has taken the place of fun.
I'm getting old.
I'm getting old.
toothbrushes. beware, fellas. girls, when's the last time a guy left a toothbrush at your house? oh yeah, never.
song: good, flash: good, both: great.
song: good, flash: good, both: great.
Sunday
stats from reporters w/o limits
cheesy public access style video, cult potential?
Nader publishes 4 signs of societal decay. Just another wake-up call. Who has to wake up? I'm awake and nothing's happening.
cheesy public access style video, cult potential?
Nader publishes 4 signs of societal decay. Just another wake-up call. Who has to wake up? I'm awake and nothing's happening.
I believe that people have a need to feel tides in their beings, and that they generate these themselves in the absence of satisfying change.
For a while I had problems with my memory. During this time, I found myself on a bus with no recollection of how I'd got there or why. My thoughts at the time: "I'm on the bus! Why? Ok, I'm wearing all black! Why? I'm traveling north! I wear black at the restaurant. The restaurant is north of here. I'm on my way to work!? Yes!" That was a relief.
Other things have happened like this, like when I caught myself before falling down in high school. I was tilting to the right, slumping step by step as I walked, and then I picked up my body and kept going. It didn't strike me as strange until later that day.
I wrote a bad word on the blackboard in elementary school but didn't remember doing it until later. I was not suspected.
Things went missing and I wondered whether or not I took them. I developed a guilty conscience that I didn't deserve.
I seemed to have a problem staying engaged in the world. It was like I'd just been born sometimes. Did I turn my powers of concentration in on themselves and try to fiddle with the strings that keep me functioning properly, because of my fear of equilibrium? Was I slightly, temporarily psychotic? What is the need that I fulfilled by losing touch with reality? The episodes were such that they do not make a discernable pattern.
Although I haven't ever read anything about this, I expect it's a reality for everyone. Every single person I know can probably come up with stories like this, and it's probably so common that at this point you're asking yourself what the difference is between this and hearing about somebody's dream last night. Maybe there isn't a difference.
For a while I had problems with my memory. During this time, I found myself on a bus with no recollection of how I'd got there or why. My thoughts at the time: "I'm on the bus! Why? Ok, I'm wearing all black! Why? I'm traveling north! I wear black at the restaurant. The restaurant is north of here. I'm on my way to work!? Yes!" That was a relief.
Other things have happened like this, like when I caught myself before falling down in high school. I was tilting to the right, slumping step by step as I walked, and then I picked up my body and kept going. It didn't strike me as strange until later that day.
I wrote a bad word on the blackboard in elementary school but didn't remember doing it until later. I was not suspected.
Things went missing and I wondered whether or not I took them. I developed a guilty conscience that I didn't deserve.
I seemed to have a problem staying engaged in the world. It was like I'd just been born sometimes. Did I turn my powers of concentration in on themselves and try to fiddle with the strings that keep me functioning properly, because of my fear of equilibrium? Was I slightly, temporarily psychotic? What is the need that I fulfilled by losing touch with reality? The episodes were such that they do not make a discernable pattern.
Although I haven't ever read anything about this, I expect it's a reality for everyone. Every single person I know can probably come up with stories like this, and it's probably so common that at this point you're asking yourself what the difference is between this and hearing about somebody's dream last night. Maybe there isn't a difference.
How I find stuff on the internet
First of all, there's google. Type it in and ye shall find.But there are a couple things: phone numbers and reverse lookups are at anywho.com, and maps are at mapquest.com.
Anything you like has other things that like it, as well, other pages which point to it. You can find those pages with touchgraph googlebrowser, which you will find in my, Dale Shipley's "slink" section. It's a graphical utility whose engine is google's reverse link function. Use touchgraph and you will find enough shit to keep you neck-deep in data as long as you like. It couldn't be any simpler. Google something bizarre, or silly, or something you heard somewhere, or something you didn't, and go to that page. Then go to the pages that that page suggests. Soon you will come into one of the internet's valleys where things are a lot alike stylistically. When you get tired of it, go somewhere else. There's always somewhere else, and I am never bored by the things that people have created for each other to see and use. Every day it grows and gets better. It's meta-nature, and it warms the cockles of my heart.
NUANCE IS GARBAGE? Of course not. but it does get drowned out by the shouting. Maybe someday all writing will be the same. Imagine those circumstances.
Saturday
for John, who showed me the jesus with you always page:
the OTHER jesus with you always page
what the web's good for, to make sure you're squeezing all the use out of it possible
george w. bush scorecard of evil
the OTHER jesus with you always page
what the web's good for, to make sure you're squeezing all the use out of it possible
george w. bush scorecard of evil
bluejacking
I want to install this just so I can send satanic messages on it. And bad words, too, like the f-word and the s-word!!!
I want to install this just so I can send satanic messages on it. And bad words, too, like the f-word and the s-word!!!
words of encouragement
You can do it! You really can! Don't beat yourself up this way! That's stinkin' thinkin' and you need a check-up from the neck-up! You're almost as good as me! And that's got to be some kind of record!
0tv. That's what I'm talking about. Pull down the Mark and Mike menu for a series about the stars of American Movie. Also, check out "yesteray's news" and just TRY not to watch them all.
bowling green sewing machine
retina barbecue
- learn something
- popurls
- 0tv.com
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- new betty
- concrete tv
- dale's mails
- exile
- fairlane
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- pleix
- pretty pictures videos
- something awful
- spoonbender
- sutton impact studio
- technorati top 100
- tinypic
- today's front pages
- upenn online library
- watch links
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- wulad
- air america
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- ween
- the current
- wfmu
- watchmaker podcast
- boot liquor
eustachian justice league
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