Tag: I thought it was funny

LOLcats are the big thing right now, but I found my new favorite internet joke meme which combines the moving, emotional ephemera of music with the drab suckfulness of an Excel spreadsheet: song charts.

It started with hip-hop music charts:

Then widened to include the music Todd I listen to:

The robots behind Daft Punk would approve.

So now I’m giving back to the community. Anyway, here’s my first song chart:

Dorky? Yes. But at least I’m not making Rush image macros. If you’d like to add your own, join the flickr songchart photo pool!

I can’t believe how people actually voted way back in the 20th century. FUN FACT! Did you know there were as many as THREE political parties back then?

I don’t know about you, but this election I’m voting for Officer John McClain.

Wait, John McCain? Aw, shit.

SMITH (the magazine whose name must be shouted) mentions an apocryphal bet once made to Hemingway that he couldn’t write a story only six words long. His answer was the touching, heartbreaking: “For Sale: baby shoes, never worn”.

Thanks to the internet, any jerkoff can now do the same thing and think they’re fucking Hemingway too. Just visit Six Word Memoirs and stand among the literary giants while simultaneously doing both the least amount of work and the maximum amount of navel-gazing. Not coincidentally, SMITH is also selling a book of these memoirs.

And now the moment you’ve all been waiting for, my memoir:

Me and everyone else on the internet decided. We’re going to make a LOLcats version of everything. Today we made a list and I got assigned the 1968 Kubrick film “2001: A Space Odyssey“, so here goes. The first LOLcats in 2:1 widescreen.

Hopefully it will turn out better than that ‘lolternative’ nonsense from last year.

The No Country for Old Men / Pumaman crossover macro no one wanted.

OK OK, I promise no more Pumaman posts for awhile. Sheesh, it’s like I’m obsessed. I will shamelessly plug my Pumaman tee-shirts one more time, however.

Before 2001 I didn’t even know the meaning of the word redacted, and now here I am using it in a sentence. While at the local Borders & Noble, I spotted a copy of Valerie Plame’s book Fair Game: My Life as * **** ** ******** ** *** ***** *****. I had to look up the name of the book on Amazon, but thanks to some embittered prick in Washington, I could recall her name with little effort. What was that book called? Oh darn it, I forgot the name, but it’s by former CIA operative Valerie Plame.

When plugging her book, Plame would point out that large swaths of her autobiography were redacted by the CIA, because they involved classified information. I thought chapter eight on Iraq’s WMDs would make for some extremely light reading, and guess what? Like the WMDs in question, much of Valerie’s chapter couldn’t be found either:

What caught my eye, though, was the one orphan towards the bottom of the left page, standing alone in its own paragraph. What was this one brief word that Valerie wanted to emphasize so badly? My guess:

“None.”

So consider my completely unscientific stab in the dark. It was probably that or penis.

And thanks to all the mentions of the CIA, Valerie Plame, redacting things, Iraq, WMD, and so forth, I would like to say hello to the CIA operative reading my blog. Now stop screwing around on the internet and get back to work transmitting radio messages into my fillings.

I love an obvious scam. I know it’s coming, but I’m willing to let it go as far as it can just for the experience of it, only to back off before any money changes hands. I guess I’m a bit of a con tease.

I was heading to The Cat & Fiddle on Sunset Blvd. when a scraggly man asked me if I had change for a $10. I didn’t have any singles, but I did have two fives. That’s cool, he said. Why he would need two fives was beyond me, but a stranger asking for money raised enough red flags that anything else suspicious is just icing on the cake.

“Man, it’s so hard to get change in this town!” he said, stretching to reveal he’s going commando under his uncomfortably low-riding camo shorts.

I pull two fives from my wallet, clumsily letting a third fall to the ground, just to see what’ll happen. Alas, he tries nothing. I hold my fives out and grab his ersatz ten.

“Oh… I accidentally washed it.” he grinned from behind cracked teeth.

His ten looked about as convincing as this:

There it was on matte ink-jet paper, JPEG artifacts and all. “No.” I said, “You printed this out.”

And then I handed it back to him.

Didn’t tear it in half, didn’t crumple it up, didn’t just take this shady ten spot from his counterfeiting ass, just handed it back to him. Sorry, and good luck with the next mark!

I’m such a rube.

I don’t know where my phone got the idea that I live some kind of crazy lifestyle, but here are a few of the things its T9 auto-complete thought I was trying to TXT:

• Have a baby on Halloween
• Wish I’d skip on the Hat
• get lock from your mistaken Chang
• put Ice on santa
• Get up Cupcakes
• Get up Like a Virgin is Parking
• galang galang galang galang galang galang
• You should consider re-evaluating the life choices you’ve made for yourself the over last few years.

Crazy phone, huh? I have no idea what it’s talking about!