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October 2004

Would you like to preorder this update about head moles?
IT'S ONLY 5 DOLLARS, WHAT ARE YOU POOR OR SOMETHING? | Tuesday, 10.26.04
I think my hairline is receding. Or the mole is taking over my face. See, I have this mole that acts as the state capital of my head. I discovered the mole in ninth or tenth grade when I shaved my head, and it taught me a very valuable lesson: Don't shave your head when you have a pulsating mole protruding from your skull. Recently, the mole has become more and more noticeable, even with my full head of luxuriously advanced salon hair. So, I've decided that either my hairline is receding, or the mole is slowly growing inch by inch and will eventually take over my face until I stab it with a fork.

A few months ago, I noticed another disturbing head accessory: another mole! Although not as big as the capital city mole, this sister state mole is in almost the exact same spot on the other side of my head, so it looks like I was the spawn of a demon, and my horns haven't grown in yet. Yes, I have devil horn nubs. Hopefully one day I'll harness the power to shoot lightning bolts from them, or at the very least, get better reception on my cell phone.

I always said that if I started losing my hair, I'd just shave it all off instead of futzing with comb-overs, top hats or rainbow clown wigs. But now that the capital city mole and the sister state mole are reeking havoc across my headspace, I may have to rethink my gutsy hair strategies. What looks more ridiculous, thinning gray hair, or two doorbell sized horn nubs jutting obscenely from my head? I think the moles have won this round, so I'll have to figure out a way to remove them without giving myself gangrene. One of those mini spoons that you get when you want to sample an exciting new flavor at TCBY would be perfect. I could dig those sum'bitches right out of there, slap some putty in the holes and be good to go. Or maybe I could plant some Chia seeds in there. Look, I'm just kicking ideas around, ok? You'd do the same if you were the spawn of a demon, and your horns hadn't grown in yet, and you were losing your hair, and you just dug out the horn nubs with an ice cream sampler spoon from TCBY.

YOU MUST PREORDER OR YOU WILL NEVER PLAY THE GAME! IT HASN'T EVEN BEEN RELEASED YET AND IT'S COMPLETELY SOLD OUT!
If I may switch topics very briefly, I need to vent about something very important to me. Preorders. If you're a video game nerd like myself, you've probably experienced the following:

You: Hi, I'd like to purchase this new and exciting video game that surely won't turn out to be an overhyped piece of rehashed garbage.
EBTroll: Did you preorder?
You: No. Why should I, it's bound to sell a hundred bajillion copies. May I please have a copy?
EBTroll: We don't have any.
You: But there's a huge stack of the new and exciting game behind you on the shelf.
EBTroll: Those are for preorders only. You should preorder next time.
You: But, but... I have money and--
EBTroll: Would you like to purchase a strategy guide? Would you like to save 2% on your next purchase? Would you like to sign up for our newsletter? Would you like to preorder Madden 2012?

It sounds petty, but I'd rather these stores just order a bunch of copies, and if they sell out, they sell out. None of this, "Oh, we have many copies, but since you weren't staying on top of the release date for the past two years, you can't spend your money here." And sometimes, if you don't preorder, the EBTroll will "cut you a break" and decide to actually sell you, the poor, uninformed non-preordering gamer, a copy. "Well, I really shouldn't be doing this, but I guess I can sell you this copy that I was going to donate to the orphanage. I can't believe you didn't preorder this game, what are you, some kind of idiot? It has online co-op! ONLINE CO-OP YOU FOOL!" It's just aggravating. Of course, I preordered Halo 2 so I can get the ULTRA DELUXE METAL (tin) CASE, and I may even be tempted to stand in line with nerds at the midnight release, but... ok, fuck it, I'm a slave to the EBGames fascist empire.

 
They've got the Giants, they've got the Jets. They've got it all, but they get no respect.
Hey Tony, passa the gabbagool. | Monday, 10.18.04
I see this stupid list in my internet travels every few months for one reason or another. Some of these are true, some of these are not true, and some of these are only funny if you're 75 years old. I'm not sure who made the list, but I know who's going to rip it apart for your enjoyment...

You must be this hairy and gay to die on this ride.
You know that it's called "Great Adventure," not "Six Flags."
Actually, it's called the Warner Bros. Death Adventure Shit Park. Fuck Great Adventure, and fuck the state-wide orgasm that people have over this shitty collection of rides and games of chance. Oh, and don't forget the drive-thru zoo, where animals of all shapes and sizes will a) shit on your car b) shit in your car or c) attract flies and await the sweet release of death. Do you know who I hate more than people that love Great Adventure? People that love Great AdventureS. "Oh my god, I can't wait to ride the Vomitron at Great Adventures! Then afterwards, we'll head over to Burger Kings and eat some Whopper and fry!"

You remember the song from the Palisades Park commercials.
Oh yes, I remember the song from the Palisades Park commercials. I believe it went something like, "Hey kids | Come on down to Palisades Park | Sing us the song of the piano man, sing us a song tonight | We are living in a material world | And we're going to Palisades Park because it's fun." I'm sorry internet, no one remembers your song because you are horrible at making lists.

You know that this is the only "New..." state that doesn't require "New" to identify it (like, try ...Mexico, ...York, ...Hampshire (doesn't work, does it?).
Totally unrelated, but I remember seeing a corner store named The New Delhi Deli and thinking, "This is the pinnacle of cleverness." I'm sure it was replaced with a laundromat or a dollar store a few weeks later, but still, you have to give props to the New Delhi Deli. Oh, and also, this list is stupid, angst angst angst.

You know that no respectable New Jerseyan goes to Princeton - that's for out-of-staters.
Yes, you can't earn your bachelor's in "Working the Slushee machine at K-Mart until you're 85" at that fancy book-learnin' college. But not that it matters; about 95% of the state goes to Rutgers because it's cheap and we want to build up a high tolerance against STD's. Seriously, I could receive a blood transfusion from an AIDS infected wino and not even flinch. Well, I'd flinch when they put the needle in, but after that I'd get a one-way to ticket to Healthy Land.

You know where every "clip" shown in the Sopranos opening credits is.
OK internet, you win this round. Pizza Land is around the corner from my house, but I've never eaten there because my father told me the pizza chefs ash their cigars into the dough. I've yet to validate this, but you know you're from Jersey when your father tells you that the pizza chefs ash their cigars into the pizza dough and even though you've never eaten cigar ashes, you can assume that it is not a zesty taste sensation.

"Hey, let's fuckin' go to fuckin' Pizza Land, you fuckin' mook."
You live within 20 minutes of at least three different malls.
I live within 20 minutes of two malls, so I'd like to have my New Jersey pass revoked, much like Eminem just had his ghetto pass revoked by the master of blackness, Steve Harvey. Actually, you could revoke my ghetto pass while you're at it, and my hall pass. Just please, whatever you do Mr. Harvey, don't strip me of my caucasian pass because it entitles me to free appetizers at Bennigan's once a month and I can hail a cab like that.

You've ordered a hard roll with butter for breakfast.
Oh my god, I've done this! I must know I'm from Jersey! But usually, you're ordering butter with a hard roll, because the clerks use either ice cream scoops or shovels to swab your hard roll. That's why I usually ask for either one scoop of butter, or half a shovel full of butter on my hard roll, because one heart attack a month is enough for me, thanks. No, seriously, thank you. Oh, and they make it sound like a hard roll is some mysterious bread treat. It's an Italian roll. It's long. Ask for it by name. Or don't. The ballís in your court now.

You've gotten on the wrong highway trying to get out of Willowbrook Mall.
This one is tough. If you live to the east of Willowbrook Mall, you should take 46 east when leaving the mall. If you live to the west of Willowbrook Mall, you should take 46 west when leaving the mall. Just as an example, I live to the east of Willowbrook Mall, so I follow the signs that say "Route 46 East - This a way--->" and follow the arrow until I reach Route 46 East. And then I drive until I reach my house. Then I park the car, exit the car, and lock the doors. Sometimes, if I'm feeling confident, I'll take my eyes off the road to take a sip of soda, or to change the station on the radio. But look, we all can't afford to go to Princeton! Some of us have to save our money to go to Great Adventures and eat a pepperoni ash pie from Pizza Land.

Coming soon... You Know You're From Jersey When... version 2, courtesy of this here website. Stay tuned. In fact, don't ever close this browser window. F5 is your friend (as is Apple-R, if you're a commie Mac user like myself).

 
Manservant Rokubus!
evil evil, impolite and evil! | Tuesday, 10.12.04
I'll swallow your soul I'll swallow your soul I'll swallow your soul I'll swallow your soul.
A wise man once said, "When you have nothing to write about, write about the weather." That wise man was either myself or Al Roker, I honestly can't remember. It's amazing what 50 degrees feels like when you've grown accustomed to... you know, now that I think about it, it probably was Al Roker. I'm sure he's written some laughably horrible book about predicting weather and losing 700 pounds of weatherman flab through the tried and true method of having his stomach replaced with a burlap sack filled with tapeworms. I'm sure Chapter 1 was titled, "Hey! I'm Al Roker!" or some such nonsense and in Chapter 5 ("The Tapeworms are Tunneling Towards my Brain"), he probably wrote about the joys of predicting other phenomena aside from weather, such as "How hot is this plate?" and "How many people have to die before my unholy masterpiece of death and suffering is complete?"

Where was I? Oh right, it's getting colder and colder as the days go by. Not that I mind, because... well, hmm. What? Oh, nothing. No, it's just that if Al Roker was going to spearhead a nationwide slaughter brigade, I think he'd start with Matt Lauer and Katie Couric. Wouldn't you?

Matt Lauer: ... are still investigating the fire that killed a family of gypsy orphans and their baby kitties. Katie?
Katie Couric: Thanks Matt. Let's see how our wacky weatherman is holding up outside in the cold. Are you there Al? I can barely see you through all that snow, hail and AIDS rain...
Al Roker: Yes, I'm here, Katie. Boy oh boy is it chilly out today! Ho ho! This is the most snow we've seen in the tri-state area since the last ice age, and it's not showing any signs of letting up. Luckily, I'm out here in the middle of it, and I couldn't be happier!
Matt Lauer: Wait, could you say that again Al? Katie and I were just enjoying hot cocoa and marshmallows here in the studio.
Katie Couric: That's right Al. We'd offer you some s'mores, but we ate them all and then we made out.
Al Roker: Oh hey that's great YOU FUCKING BITCHES I WILL FEAST ON YOUR MOTHERFUCKING INSID--
Matt Lauer: Heh heh, ok fattie. Next on the Today Show, we'll be talking with the man who invented heat. I'm sure Al won't want to miss this one!

Look, maybe Al is comfortable with his horrible failures. Maybe standing outside in the cold and asking Girl Scout troop #171 where they're from is a completely thrilling and fulfilling profession. But if you'll observe an imaginary passage from his imaginary book that he may or may not have written, you'll see that Al keeps many hidden demons tucked away in his newly hollowed out gut that burn with the intensity of a coal factory in Hell that turns aborted fetuses into a viable fuel source. Or maybe it's just gas. That's what I was thinking at first, but it's hard to have gas when your stomach has been replaced with a burlap sack filled with tapeworms. Read on...


Chapter 12: Today's Weather Report - Partially Super with a 100% Chance of Happy Fun Times! (p 167)
What sick, ridiculous, puppets we are, and what a gross, little stage we dance on. What fun we have, dancing and fucking, not a care in the world. Not knowing that we are nothing. We are not what was intended.

On the subway today, a man came to me to start a conversation. He made small talk, this lonely man, talking about the weather and other things. I tried to be pleasant and accommodating, but my head began to hurt from his banality. I almost didn't notice it had happened, but I suddenly threw up all over him. He was not pleased, and I couldn't help laughing.


Um, I will also swallow your soul.
OK, that was actually an excerpt from John Doe's diary from the movie Seven, but no one said Al Roker was a talented writer. He can barely get the pollen count past his lips without suffering a triple bypass on national television in front of millions of scared grandmas and jobless welfare scumbags. All I know is, if Roker keels over while I'm digging into my second bowl of Cinnamon Toast Crunch, I'll take the PATH into the city and revive that fucker myself. Why? Because if he goes... this maniac will be his replacement. I can't take that chipper bastard for more than three seconds at a time, what with his positive outlook on life, and his "Gertrude Maplethorpe of Walla Walla, Washington turns 157 years young today. Ahyuck-hyuck." What a horrible service he provides, that over 100-year-old birthday shout-out thing. It's basically a nationally televised obituary that's off by a few weeks. What sick, ridiculous puppets we are, and what a gross little stage...

 
REVAMP STATUS UPDATE = DONE
Never again... never again... never again | Sunday, 10.10.04
Ladies and gentlemen... your 2005 THISMAYHURT.com REVAMP! Featuring...

An all new look, painstakingly crafted by Master HTML Scientist, John Lacki. This limited edition TMH revamp features an all new "DIRTY JER-Z" look and feel, proving once again that the rest of the world is just taking up space on planet Jersey.

A remodeled Junk Drawer, featuring the finest in 70's carpeting and wood paneling. And, if you're feeling nostalgic, why not check out our brand new Junk Drawer Archive? It features all your favorites, including the broom closet, dead grandmas, and Rachel's old piece of shit car.

But that's not all! Act now and you'll also receive a new RSS feed, perfect for staying up-to-date with all of TMH's wacky hijinks! Just copy the link location into your favorite RSS reader, or create a new live bookmark in Firefox! So simple, even a retarded man screaming expletives while riding a bicycle could do it!

But we're still not done yet, folks! There are more exciting features coming your way, including a nifty search engine, so you can easily find that one update where I decided to wage a holy war against god with an army of undead zombie minions. Also, there's some other stuff that I may add at some point or another, but I'm so fucking sick of staring at HTML code that I've decided to remove my eyes from my skull with a weed whacker, so hopefully my next computer understands braille!

How much would you pay for the new and improved THISMAYHURT.com REVAMP? $100? $500? $7 million? How about $1.25? That's right, for the price of a 20 oz. bottle of your favorite cola, you can help support your favorite site that you look at while drinking a 20 oz. bottle of your favorite cola. And hey! You'll also receive this adorable TMH sticker with every donation! You can't beat that shit!

So take a look around and thanks for stopping by. If you find anything that's broken, or an update that suddenly went missing, or you have an idea for an exciting new feature that will take the world by storm, drop me a line at lacki@thismayhurt.com.

Thanks,
john lacki
thismayhurt.com

 
I voted for this update before I voted against it.
I will kill terrorists WITH MY HORSE FACE. | Thursday, 10.07.04
"You don't need a jewel-encrusted iPod." No, I'm not performing the Jedi mind trick; I'm stating something that should be obvious to anyone that doesn't vomit hundred dollar bills during flu season. The other day I saw this picture of an iPod (that I'm too lazy to look for right now, so let's visit the land of make believe and pretend that I added the picture to my /images folder and you're looking at it right now) that was covered in diamonds and other sparkly stuff. I'm sure it was some P. Diddy exclusive item that cost $7 million and is delivered to your house on a magic carpet that runs on unleaded happiness. Here's a story for you: I had my 2nd generation iPod for a day... a day, and the mirror-like backside of the thing was scratched beyond repair. Now, to be fair, I have wooden prosthetic hands that are lined with thorns and broken pieces of glass, so I went out and bought a case to protect my $499 investment. You see, I bought this gizmo because I want it to play music, so while it was disheartening to see a thousand tiny scratches on its surface, I quickly got over it. If Apple somehow engineered an mp3 player that looked like a box of Kraft Macaroni and Cheese, I'd still buy it. And not just because I'm a whore for stupidly expensive Apple stuff, but because it plays music, and plays it well. The fact that I eat Kraft Macaroni and Cheese at every meal helps, also.

Fancy electronics are not fashion statements. Would your friends drool over your new fur graphic calculator? No, chances are they would call you a faggot for owning a fur graphing calculator. But, I'm probably overreacting. I'm sure the maniac that invented the jewel-encrusted iPod only made one before he was shipped off to the local sanitarium, and I'm sure the rest of the world agrees with this "no duh" epiphany that's spewing forth from my wooden prosthetic fingers. So now that I've totally debunked my own argument and wasted five minutes of your time and three hours of my own, let's move on.

These are nice flip flops. Wait, no they're not. I AM A FLIP FLOPPER DON'T VOTE FOR ME.
There were a lot of "Oh snap" moments during the vice presidential debates the other night. Cheney's like, "Pssh, you've been to like two meetings your entire life, and both of them were held at titty bars. Oh! Oh! Snap!" And then Edwards' is all, "Bitch, you voted against meals on wheels, Martin Luther King day and a bill that banned the eating of babies. Oh! What now? Oh!" I flipped channels for two seconds to watch the Yankees lose, and when I flipped back to the debates, they were having a dance-off! I was like, "Oh snap!" Edwards was doing the No Meetings Shuffle and Cheney was bustin' out the Feed Poison to the Elderly Jitterbug. I learned a valuable lesson during the debates, though: never drink the cleansers that your mom leaves under the sink while watching debates, no matter how delicious and fortified with Vitamin-C they look. They're under the sink for a reason, and that reason is to prevent you from seeing imaginary vice presidential dance-offs.

My favorite part of the debates that didn't involve psychedelic trails and visuals was when the moderator asked a question, and the super tricky catch to the question was DON'T MENTION YOUR RUNNING MATE BY NAME. So what does Edwards do?

John Edwards: John Kerry, John Kerry John Kerry John Kerry? John Kerry. John Kerry John Kerry: John Kerry John Kerry. Oh, and also, John Kerry John Kerry John Kerry.
Moderator: What the fuck?
John Edwards: I'm sorry, did I do something John Kerry?

Normally I don't do topical updates because I'm not very smart, and I will always get upstaged by better websites and the Daily Show, but I feel inspired to ROCK THE VOTE thanks to MTV and entertainers who can barely form sentences. Brainiac superstar Drew Barrymore had her own MTV special about the importance of voting, in which she broke down and cried because no one was taking her seriously. Even with her extensive journalistic credentials! "Interviewing people is hard!" I don't think I want to live in a world in which Gertie can't get an interview with the president of the United States to ask hard-hitting questions like, "Why are you dumb?" and "No, seriously, like, why are you so dumb?" Leave it to the experts, sweetie. Now, President Bush, I have a two-part question. First, why are you dumb, and second... seriously, like, why are you so dumb?

 
It is 1:30 in the morning and I am updating my internet website.
gabbaghoul | Monday, 10.04.04
If I've learned anything in my 23 years on this planet, it's that when you take one cool thing and add it to another cool thing, the end result is an exponentially cooler thing than the original things when they were separate cool things. For instance, a George Foreman grill is a cool thing. It can turn a square of astro-turf into a delicious, fat-free meal that feeds a family of 12. But then, George Foreman gets all crazy on us and adds a bun warmer to the top. What, are you kidding me? I get to wrap a toasty bun around my astro-turf square? I'll buy 2, and cook the old George Foreman grill in the new George Foreman grill and go back for seconds, and you can quote me on that if the need for such a diabolic quote ever arises.

Swiss Army has developed an entire corporation around this philosophy. "Oh sure, it's a knife. And a great knife at that. But it doubles as a toothpick that fights crime and it also dispenses an infinite supply of dishwasher detergent. We don't know how we did it, we don't know why we did it, and quite frankly, we're all very scared and wet. But our dishes are spotless." Where am I going with all this? Read on, silly buns...


Netflix, TiVo team up on broadband movies to the home.
Netflix Inc. and TiVo Inc. have signed an agreement to let TiVo subscribers access Netflix's library of movies over broadband Internet connections, the two companies announced Thursday.
Yahoo news


He collects spores, molds, and fungus. This has nothing to do with the Netflix/TiVo merger, I just thought you should be aware that this is Egon, and he collects spores, molds and fungus. Just saying.
This is the greatest team-up in the history of mankind. The Netflix/TiVo merger is like Jesus in sandwich form, smothered in barbecue sauce and oozing with the great taste of KICKING YOUR ASS. I just recently signed up for Netflix, and it's an amazing service for people like me (lazy, bloated, banned from the local Blockbuster for killing a clerk with my bare hands when he rudely explained that all the copies of Jennifer Aniston's critically acclaimed romantic comedy masterpiece, Picture Perfect, were currently out of stock). I feel like I'm running an underground China Town bootlegging operation out of my room, though, and I'm fairly certain the feds are on to me. My firewire DVD burner is working overtime, and I go through more blank DVD-R's in a day than most nerds go through blank DVD-R's in two days. But, now I have my own burned copy of Jennifer Aniston's critically acclaimed romantic comedy masterpiece, Picture Perfect, thanks to Netflix. And no Blockbuster clerks had to die. I'm just kidding of course. Picture Perfect was a horrible, horrible movie, and a few Blockbuster clerks had to die.

So I'm enjoying Netflix because it is an amazing service, and it ensures that I'll always have mail waiting for me twice a week. TiVo, on the other hand, remains a mystery to me and my desires to be even more lazy. Why, if I had TiVo, the depths of my laziness would reach staggering heights... no more pesky VHS rewinding, no more hitting the VCR button on my universal remote. Yes, all of this, and more, could be mine if I could figure out a way to get more outlets in my room without hiring a renegade electrician who finds nothing wrong with installing 37,000 outlets into a 20 foot by 10 foot bedroom. I'd do it myself, but I got into enough trouble with the phone company when I tried to install a cell phone tower on my roof because T-Mobile supplies wonderful coverage everywhere in the world except for this aforementioned 20 foot by 10 foot bedroom.

I predict that the Netflix/TiVo merger will bring about many great advancements in the world of fat, lazy, ugly virgins who don't just need to see Star Trek VI: The Undiscovered Country... they need to see it NOW, goddamit. "Live long and prosper," they'll moan in ecstasy as gigabyte after gigabyte of nerdlore is streamed to their greasy TiVo box, plastered in ugly stickers and shame. Silly nerds. Meanwhile, I'll be downloading every episode of The Hogan Family for months on end. Not because I want to, but because I can. Well, I can't right now. But I will. Maybe. If it's cheap.

 

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