I always knew it: I’m perfect!
“raincoaster, raincoaster, raincoaster,” says Jan. Yeah, whatever. Fake Jan was better anyway.
You Are Marcia Brady |
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Category Archives: Generation X
Kevin Mitnick goes to Coventry
Date: Mar 2, 2007 11:36 AM
Subject: Your registration for membership in The WELL
To: mitnick@…We have decided not to offer you membership in The WELL. Your payment will be refunded, and your application is denied.
The WELL staff
Yep, it is possible to act so heinously that even in the United States of Republicanism, your money’s no good. Stolen from the Wired blog. And what horrible course of action brought Mitnick to the point of being the posterboy for Internet Ostracism?
Just this. Check out the web addy. Indeed, Spring is the season for flamewars…but more on that later…or is that l8er? As for me, I’m dying to know the rest of Mitnick‘s email. Oh, no reason…
RIP Larry “Bud” Melman: a cheap cigar in the wind
It is with a heavy heart that I inform that infinitesimal percentage of the world not already in deep mourning that Calvert deForest (Larry “Bud” Melman), who lived his life like a cheap, smelly cigar in the wind, has gone to that great Green Room in the Sky. David Letterman, who gave “Melman” his start in show business, is reported to be inconsolable.
Cheap, Smelly, Old-Man’s Cigar in the Wind
Goodbye butt of jokes,
may you ever bitch, groan and whine.
You were the ass that placed himself
where you’d be a bad punchline.
You called out to our slackers,
and you babbled to insomniacs.
Now you belong to heaven,
and the stars know you were whack.
And it seems to me you lived your life
like a curmudgeon in the wind:
never getting even one clue
when Letterman set in.
And your footsteps will always thud here,
along New York’s sleazy halls;
your cigar’s burned out long before
you ever lost your balls.
Crankiness we’ve lost;
these empty nights without your roar.
This torch we’ll always carry
for our nation’s favorite bore.
And even though we try,
the truth brings us to tears;
all our words cannot express
the joy you brought us through the years.
Goodbye New York’s joke,
from a country lost, without a soul,
who’ll miss the chance to laugh at you
more than you’ll ever know.
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Office Worker’s Anthem
I was at a writing conference a couple of years ago and the keynote speaker said something that absolutely rocked me to the very core of my being…and I hope it will rock you, too.
It was Susan Musgrave, at the Surrey International Writer’s Conference. She was talking about when she was a teenager, and she was thinking about giving up on school. Well, you just know how that went over with the Principal. He called her into his office and he went up one side of her and down the other with the whole raging authority figure trip (because at that point nobody had heard of Susan Musgrave and, indeed, she had not yet become Susan Musgrave, per se) and among the many and varied things he had to say, he said this:
If you don’t finish school, young lady, the only job you’ll be fit for is a prostitute!
And, telling the story, she said, Well I knew that wasn’t an option for me, because I hate working with other people.
and who among us cannot feel that deep in the core of our being, eh?
She went on to say, “Have you ever met someone who worked with other people? They all hate it; the only things they complain about are all the other people in the office!”
and suddenly, writing alone by the glow of a midnight monitor doesn’t seem so bad.
In memory of that moment of realization, and in memorium of many an Orwellian moment in my own office experience, we present Mister Montgomery Burns of The Simpsons, performing what’s sure to become the office worker’s anthem: Look at All These Idiots! Lyrics over the jump…
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Operation Global Media Domination: Operation Ego!
Been awhile since-t we had one of these, so there is much to report on the Global Media Domination front.
Beavers continue to do well, particularly after I scandalized a certain blogging conference with my references thereunto: one gathers they’re far more used to hearing terms like “Analytics” and “Clickthroughs” than anything more vividly … uh … castidoraean. Conclusion: Blogging about beavers is great for hits, but getting other people to blog about you blogging about beavers is truly Web 2.0.
I’m in ur googlez, baitin ur linkz!
Harshing on best-sellers in the comments sections of other people’s blogs is tonic for stats. If I wanted to win this, I’d simply say straight out that Dave Eggers’ prefaces and footnotes blow Jonathan Really Rather Ordinary and Mister Norell away, but I’m not like that…besides, Eggers has annoyed me recently.
Oo! Oo! I should pick a fight with Dave Eggers! He’s got a baby; no way is he well-rested enough to defend himself.
In other news, shoes are even better for hits than flamewars, particularly when the Manolo bypasses the two original-source articles I sent him and links directly to my own post. This takes me to my happy place and teaches me that there is divine justice in the world: those three pairs of fabulous shoes I bought on Robson Street were as sacrifices to the god of shoeblogging, and He looks after His Own, to the tune of perhaps six hundred extra hits over the weekend and a regained spot in the top 20 WordPress blogs and yay, finally! a temporarily regained place in Top Posts of the Day.
Not quite as good as blogging about shoes is blogging about crocheted bellydancing accessories; it may not bring as many hits, but it does bring prey, so that’s something. And, as always, flamewars bring out the necrophiliacs who gather around to watch the battle. I have no issue with people disagreeing with me: I have a major issue with people misrepresenting what I’ve written and being twofaced. And I have no issue at all with dumb, defensive, hypersensitive, condescending people; nope, no issue at all. It’s kill on sight.
Potentially more dangerous, or at least more criminal, are the readers of Court TV‘s forum who are fascinated (if, apparently, confused) by my post on the uselessness of Howard K. Stern‘s sperm. I mean, the rest of him is useless too; how hard can it be to figure out? But they can’t tell when I’m joking, when I’m quoting, or indeed, why any of this matters or if it matters at all. FWIW here’s a roundup: drug-abusing kid dies, junkie mother dies, rich baby held for ransom by lawyer with the paperwork and Larry Birkhead has the most obvious nose job in the history of the world. You’re welcome.
Also, broke 18k on Technorati. If this keeps up at the rate it’s been going, by this time in 2009 I will be the #1 blogger in the world.
*rubs hands together, mutters “eeeeeexcellent!“*
In Ego news, this is not designed to keep me humble; although truly it’s hard to imagine what could. That is obviously not a task to be undertaken by mortals, and Curtis has wisely chosen the easier path of flattery, may Azathoth poop ten-tentacled blessings upon him and ensure that he never glimpses the Unspeakable Pun at the Centre of the Universe and thus goes irrevocably insane.
Cuz then he couldn’t flatter me again, yo.
Curtis‘ technique is emulated by the esteemed and historic Juvenal of Bread and Circuses, although he fails to specify whether I am bread or circuses; I prefer to think of myself as some kind of fusion between the two, a juggling pop-tart, perhaps, or a particularly acrobatic type of crumpet, performing daring stunts on the back of a docile and magnificent Andalusian and no, I don’t mean Antonio Banderas.
In related news, az has posted about the fascinating internet personality type taxonomy site Flame Warriors, and guess which type I am!!!
But I am impervious to insult:
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raincoaster 