Category Archives: Funny

hobbit names

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Ok, I’ve obviously been spending way too much time hanging out on Adam’s site lately….

Here’s a new one for you kids: The Hobbit Name Generator. Oh no, I’m not making it up. It’s for real. You can also get your Elf name too.

For the record, my hobbit name is Azaelia Chubb — I think it sounds a bit like a stripper/porn star name — and my elf name is Larien Melwasúl. Which, god help me, I think sounds kind of pretty.

The crazy thing is that I’m oddly fascinated by this, even though I’ve never seen any of the Lord of the Rings movies. Every guy I know is obsessed with them, so I kind of have an anti-LOTR reactionary stance. I refuse to go see them in the theater. Maybe I’ll see them on HBO someday, maybe I won’t. This attitude seems to drive a lot of my movie-nerd friends insane. That’s probably why I do it. >:-) (evil grin)

Oh, and a side note. I know that a lot of my friends consider themselves to be quite the Internet romance Lotharios, so this little instructional video for cyba luvaaaahs might give you a few useful tips. (Btw, that’s most likely not a work-safe link.)

your head a splode

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I don’t know how many of you guys read StrongBad’s Email on the Homestarrunner site, but this one absolutely cracked me up. And if you wait until the end of the email, you can actually play the different StrongBad video games. Awesome.

Oh yeah, and I think I know a few guys who need to shopping for a Pimp Watch. It’s so very Star Trek.

Thanks to Adam at Tattoodles for providing hours of this type of useless entertainment.

wow

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I got my first angry comment from a complete & total stranger. Thanks to my sister for pointing this out to me. I posted this thing a couple of months ago (on 11/24, to be specific) about a care package that my mom sent me. Just for those of you who might not have read it, this was one the items in said care package:

” * An article she cut out of the paper about Bret Michaels of Poison’s solo album. Dear god, will I ever live down the fact that I liked hair bands when I was 14? It was actually kind of sad, the article was a promotion for his upcoming show at The Dock in Jackson. The Dock, by the way (as anyone who’s lived in Jackson knows), is a tiny depressing dive of a place that’s been stuck in a time warp since 1985. Not entirely inappropriate for Bret Michaels’ target demographic, I imagine, but still. What a miserable existence. (I’m not sure if I mean him or his fans. Maybe both.) ”

Now, the angry comment from some person that I have never met:

” I just read your article about Bret Michaels, and I am PISSED at what you had to say about him and his fans. I am a fan and I got to meet and hang out with him in November and maybe before you badmouth someone you should know them because he is on of the coolest nicest human beings and for saying what you did you are a fool. ”

She left her email address in the comments section, so I just emailed her this:

“Hi,

I just found your comment on my blog. Actually, my sister found it & told me about it — I posted it almost 2 months ago, and I never look that far back to see what people have to say.

Just to be hopefully clear some things up, what I wrote is my opinion, it’s not an “article”. That’s the whole purpose of having a web log in the first place. I don’t know Mr. Michaels personally, and I have no idea who you are, so I certainly wasn’t going out of my way to attack anyone. But you know, my web site is just there for me to talk about whatever, and I never intend for anyone outside of my family or friends to read it. If you don’t like my opinion, I’m sure that there are millions of web sites out there that worship Bret Michaels, and you’d probably enjoy reading those much more.

Point being, I’m sorry if I offended you, but my piddly little web site is not worth the energy it takes you to get pissed.

Have a nice day.

Cindy”

I tried to be polite. I swear I really did. The “have a nice day” felt just the teensiest bit sarcastic & condescending, but I couldn’t bring myself to omit it. I was also tempted to write the word “pissed” in all caps like she did, but I thought that would be too much.

Hey, who even knew that anyone outside of my tiny little circle of friends ever read this damn thing? I wonder how many Google hits you have to go through before you find my site on a “Bret Michaels” search. Hmmm…. future geek research.

thank you for this site

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I saw Henry Rollins do a live spoken word show almost a year ago, and one of his rants was that if you want to know how to spot a d*ckhead, he’s the guy behind the wheel of a Hummer. Ever since, I think of that every time I see someone driving one of those stupid gas-guzzling “I’m a guy who needs to overcompensate for some personal shortcoming but obviously money isn’t the problem” vehicles.

Apparently I’m not the only one who thinks so, either. I snagged this link off of gclark’s web site, and I loved it, so I thought I’d share.

Speaking of which, it’s now officially the 21st, so happy birthday, gclark. Hope the old-age police don’t come & repossess your stuff.

so true

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I was reading this article on MSN Slate, which is a journal written by an ex-stripper who married an Army officer & moved to West Point. Most of it is pretty entertaining in its own right, but this quote struck me as so dead-on accurate, and it pretty much sums up how I feel about today:

“Wednesday blows. Monday, for all its problems, at least offers the prospect of a fresh start; and Friday we love, of course. But Wednesday? Vile. Squatting between what you hoped to have accomplished by now and what you might eke out if you haul ass for the rest of the week, Wednesday points to where you come up short. It’s a captious narc of a day. Wednesday, you suck.”

I know it's Friday & all, but….

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Ok, we have this client that sells lumber, or roofing, or something like that. I don’t really care, I just fix their network. Anyway, they upgraded all of their computers (trust me, it was long overdue), so they needed somebody to set up the pc’s at all their satellite offices. And “somebody” means me. So this morning, I go & get on a ferry for about an hour to get to this little hick town on the other side of Puget Sound. From there, I have to drive a few more miles to get to an even more distant (and far sketchier) hick town. I think it’s worth noting that within a block or two of this place are a strip club (with the charming name of — I swear I’m not making this up — Tony’s Topless Bar & B-B-Q), a sex shop with no windows, and several tattoo places.

So I go there and set up the new computers. The guys that work there are all very hot, but dumb as rocks. The hottest of the guys, we’ll call him Dude #1, seemed to be flirting with me a little bit. He kept leaning over my shoulder (like way closer to my personal space than necessary) to ask what I was doing — and the crazy thing is, he doesn’t even use the computers in the office. But hey, I have no problem with getting a cheap ego boost from a cute dumb guy. Meanwhile, one of the sales reps (Dude #2) also seemed to be flirting a little, which made me start to wonder if maybe these guys just don’t know how to act because they aren’t used to having women in their office. It seemed like a good probability. But then, when Dude #1 was out of the office for a minute, Dude #2 asked me if I “like to party”. Being the naive little thing that I am, I honestly wasn’t sure what that meant. I knew it was something bad, and I figured it probably had something to do with sex or drugs, or possibly both. I kind of shrugged and said I didn’t know what he meant. He kept asking me, “Come on, do you like to party?” So finally I went with what I thought was a safe answer and said “Well…. I suppose that on occasion, in my own little yuppie, girly sort of way, I guess I like to party.”

Turns out my suspicion was correct. He & Dude #1 were about to go smoke weed over in the lumberyard, and he said I seemed like a cool girl & asked if I’d like to join them. So there’s a first, I’ve never been offered drugs at work before. I politely declined the invitation — I explained that I had another appointment after I left their office, and at least an hour & a half driving time to get back home, and that I just possibly couldn’t do that stoned. (Nevermind the fact that I haven’t smoked weed in a coon’s age & have no desire to do so because all it does is make me sleepy & quiet.) They left & came back about 20 minutes later, completely baked out of their minds. They seemed like relatively harmless guys, so the whole situation actually struck me as quite funny.

Oh yeah, and one of the computers is set up in one of those hutch-style desks, and the guy had back issues of “Playboy” stacked on the little shelf above his computer. I suppose I should be thankful, it could’ve been one of the more graphic or offensive magazines. Still, porn & drugs in the office — that’s quite an operation they’re running over there. (Hey gclark, I finally saw “The Girls of Starbucks” issue; you were right, it was lame.)