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During the holidays, it's important to have traditions with those you love. Alternatively, if no one loves you, it's important to get really liquored-up and belligerent. Every Christmas, Rachel and I go to New York to see the tree and check out FAO Schwartz. It's our little tradition because we're adorable and everyone loves us. We make kissy woo-woo faces to each other all night and say things like, "Darling, you're all I want for Christmas this year," and "Let's invite this homeless man to dinner with us because it's Christmas and he's cold," and, "My love, I'm sorry the homeless man tried to slit your throat with a boxcutter during our Christmas dinner, I'll call the authorities immediately."
|Lotta sap in here. Looks great! A little full, lotta sap.|
SQUIRREL! | Tuesday, 12.23.03
This year's adventure was action-packed, and we even met a real-live famous person! The first time we saw the tree, we walked past the Rev. Al Sharpton, but fuck that guy, this year's famous encounter was waaaaay cooler. I know it's difficult to be cooler than Rev. Sharpton, but trust me on this one, ok? Here's your first hint:
Celebrity Hint #1: Had a very public relationship with Lisa Marie Presley.
The tree was lovely as always. You don't realize how enormous it is until you're standing underneath it, beholding its twinkling splendor. Unfortunately there were no ice skaters this year, which sucks because another tradition of ours is to watch people bust their asses on the ice, laugh at them and take their picture. There's just something magical about watching entire families slice each other open with their ice skate blades... it's a good thing. Until the cops show up on their horses that stink like horse butt. That's when we move on to...
Celebrity Hint #2: Has an insane comic book collection, and "sees them as being today's equivalent of mythology."
... FAO Schwartz. Remember the movie "Big," when Tom Hanks played that giant piano with his feet? That was in FAO Schwartz. Fun Fact: there is no giant piano. Slightly Less Fun Fact: If there was a giant piano, FAO would have sold it for $5 because the company is officially bankrupt. The place was a mess last night. Usually I buy Rachel a stuffed animal when we go there, but all they had left were ghetto hybrid creatures: dog's head stapled to a bear's body, monkey's head duct-taped to Furby body, etc. The Star Wars department was completely wiped out, save for a few thousand "Queen Amidala's Royal Guard that sort of looks like Queen Amidala w/ Super Girly Action Grip" figures that have been rotting there since Episode I premiered.
Celebrity Hint #3: "Ohhhhhhhhweeee, you good-lookin!"
The trip to FAO would have been a total failure without the superstar celebrity cameo appearance. Not too many people noticed him, but Rachel did, and asked if he minded taking a picture with her. "Sure... do you, uh... have a camera?" he replied very slowly. I fumbled with my camera bag while she made small talk. "So, are you doing some Christmas shopping?" she asked. "Uh... yeah." I don't want to start superstar internet rumors, but he seemed a little, how do you say... fucked up. I took the picture and he walked away, but not before turning around and telling us to "have a nice holiday." He was pretty cool, but obviously flustered that there were no cool toys left.
Celebrity Hint #4: Click the pic below! This is a very good hint, because it includes the answer.
|Click the pic to reveal the celebrity!|
So, another successful Christmas in New York City with my baby. I hope you all have a great holiday, and you get tons of kick-ass presents. God bless us... everyone.
This has been a great day for news. Unless you're the former president of Iraq. Or a Catholic priest. Or a hospital patient in Somerville, NJ. Luckily, I don't fall into any of those categories, so I'd like to reiterate my previous statement regarding the positive state in which the news resides on this day, the fifteenth of the twelfth month of the year two thousand and three. Hold on, I haven't used a four letter word in this update yet, so allow me to rectify this dillema henceforth: FUCK. Thank you so much in advance and allow me to continue if I may be pleased to be doing so ergo, concordantly, vis-a-vis.
|News You Can Ews.|
Dewds. | Monday, 12.15.03
• Saddam's Stinky Hole of Shame (link). What a pathetic way to go. "Oh shit... the US is coming for me. I know! I'll bury myself alive in this 3 x 5 hole in the ground! I'm so smart... no wonder I was the president for like 30 years!" What's even more shocking is that Saddam Hussein and Charles Manson share the same stylist. I knew those bastards were in cahoots. I love the word cahoots because it sounds so fucking ridiculous. Seriously, walk up to a police officer on the street and just mumble the word cahoots in his general direction and walk away. I guarantee you'll be shot on site for being so stupid.
Now that we've captured Saddam, I'm sure his loyal loyalists of loyalty will accept their fate quietly, and welcome our American way of life with open arms. Porno and beer helmets for everyone! I'd love to hear the rounds upon rounds of questioning they're going to give this guy...
The 5-0: You got weapons of mass destruction?
Saddam: Psssh... no.
The 5-0: You sure?
Saddam: As sure as my beard is ridiculous.
The 5-0: Allright, Saddam. You've won this round.
Saddam: Suck my filth beard, you pig.
Here's my attempt at Jay Leno-esque world commentary: "Hey, did you hear that we found Saddam Hussein hiding in a hole?" ::hold for applause:: "Hey, how many weapons of mass destruction was he hiding in that beard, am I right folks? Huh? Am I right? Hi-o!"
• Sexy 8-year-old boys you better... watch out (link). For a sassy hip-hop queen, Lauryn Hill has a strong set of man balls. Imagine being invited to sing at the Pope's auditorium in heaven (or wherever the Pope lives), and then you start bashing the Catholic church's love affair with sweet boy ass. Fucking awesome! Take that you nutty Catholics.
|I spy, with-a my little eye, some-a sexy boy ass.|
"I'm not here to celebrate, like you, the birth of Christ, but to ask you why you are not in mourning for his death in this place," Hill said, reading from a prepared statement as she came on stage for her performance as part of a all-star gala concert. "Holy God has witnessed the corruption of your leadership, of the exploitation and abuses which are the minimum that can be said for the clergy," she added, calling on the hierarchy to "repent."
Hooray! See, I grew up Presbyterian, so all the kneeling and the praying and the going to Helling and the getting raped in the ass often associated with Catholocism scares me a bit. Not in that order, though. I'd have to put the anal rape above all else, followed closely by kneeling, praying, and then going to Hell would fall last. You know why? Because I'm already there, dude. Fuckin-A, man.
• Welcome to the Somerville Hospital. Whoops, you're dead now. OK Bye! (link) I'd like to congratulate Tom Bell of the Associated Press on writing another hard-hitting, award-winning article:
A former nurse has been charged with murder after claiming to kill 30 to 40 patients over a 16-year period, prosecutors said Monday.
During a court appearance, Charles Cullen stood and told the judge, "I am going to plead guilty. I don't plan to fight this." He said he did not want a lawyer.
-- Tom Bell ( hes' a guod jernalist)
While that looks like a nicely plucked sample from the entire story picked out by yours truly, in actuality... THAT IS THE ENTIRE STORY. Tom Bell has a style all his own... too bad it's a horrible, horrible style, that gives little insight into what actually happened. I think it's safe to judge his entire journalistic career on this one, poorly thought out and executed story.
Since I'm a real journalist, I went out and did some of my own research on this so-called "Angel of Death." Allright, actually I watched the 6:00 news while eating a sandwich, but it was all in the name of journalistic research. But then the doorbell rang, and it was UPS, and I missed most of the story. Here's what I can tell you: sandwiches are delicious and UPS knocks very loudly.
I hope you've enjoyed this installment of News You Can Ews, even though this probably won't be a recurring feature. I just wanted a slick way of ending the update. Are you happy now, Mr. or Mrs. I Need to Know Everything About Everything? Here's your update. I hope you fucking choke on it.
After giving it much thought, I've decided that my house is going to kick ass. That's right, when I'm ready to move out of my parent's house in 20 years, I will do anything, and boy howdy do I mean anything, to ensure that my house is 10 bajillion times cooler than yours. Do you know how many scientists and carpenters it takes to make a house even 1 bajillion times cooler than the average house? Let's just say it takes 12 scientific calculators duct taped together to figure out the dividend, or the repeating decimel, or whatever the fuck you call it when you add stuff together. I never was very good at the book learnin'.
|We'll drink pink lemonade and watch Martinez BURN!|
Cesspools in Eden | Friday, 12.12.03
I've compiled a checklist of essential household accessories, but I'm pretty sure you can't make tiny checkmarks in HTML, so just pretend with your brain.
112% (out of a possible 100%) Essential Household Accessories
1. An entertainment center so magnificent that the human brain can't begin to decipher its splendor. There aren't enough forests on the planet to provide the amount of wood it would take to build a cabinet mighty enough to withold the raw power and fury of my entertainment center. Surround sound? Oh, we've got surround sound, buddy. If you were any more surrounded, there'd be a subwoofer jammed up your ass and/or cooch. The screen is so large that it requires three X-boxen and a fair amount of evil magic just to get the picture onto the screen. Also, the receiver has an input for every device known to man, including Czechoslovakian hairdryers and naughty bits. Basically, my entertainment center would be like SkyNet, but with more hunger for world domination.
|This is the front hallway. It's bigger than your whole fucking house.|
2. Auto Crapper 5000. I like my toilets like I like my cars: automatic. With dual cup holders. If you've never experienced the joy of having a sensor determine that your butt is done excreting poo and flush accordingly, you haven't lived. My place of employment has the auto crappers, and I've grown so fond of the technology that I assume all toilets can read my anus like an open book. The electricians must have installed some faulty wiring though, because when I'm dropping a deuce and hit 3 on my cell phone, all the toilets flush simultaneously. Actually, I guess it's more of a feature than a bug, really. Regardless, my kick ass house needs automatic toilets like it needs automatic rugs... very badly.
3. Mickey Mouse waffle iron. Everything tastes better when it's in the shape of a corporate logo. For instance, have you tried the AOLTIMEWARNER butter patties? I hear they're exquisite this morning.
4. A wine cellar (with super secret traps and an underground railroad to freedom). I don't drink wine, but I'm constantly running from the authorities for various library late fees and homicides. Therefore, a wine cellar with super secret traps and an underground railroad to freedom is a necessity in my ass-kicking house of kicking-ass. Simply tug on the correct bottle and ride the Harriet Tubman express train to Frederick Douglass Land. That's right, I name-dropped both Harriet Tubman and Frederick Douglass in the same sentence. Finally, an outlet to impress others with my third grade social studies competency. (Fun Fact: George Washington was our first president, and Abraham Lincoln wore a big hat. Also, a nickel is five pennies. In case you were wondering.)
5. A vacuum cleaner that looks like R2-D2. As a child, I would pretend that my mother's vacuum cleaner was R2-D2. I also had an imaginary friend named Michael, who played drums in my imaginary band and was eventually killed in a gruesome car accident. Before his untimely death, Michael and I would have all sorts of fun with R2-D2. I remember one time we had a contest to see who could be the most pathetic... I won, but I have a feeling that my mom's droid-shaped Hoover wasn't even trying. Then came the accident... I can still picture ABSOLUTELY NOTHING BECAUSE MY BEST FRIEND WAS MADE OUT OF MAGICAL MOONBEAMS AND PIXIE DUST AND NOW HE'S DEAD. As an homage to Michael, I plan on buying a vacuum cleaner that looks like R2-D2. Oh, and a one way ticket to the fucking head doctor, as well, thanks.
So when you enter my house, prepare to have your ass handed to you by the automatic ass retrieval system. I bet you didn't even know they made something like that, did you? Well, they don't. Yet. Just give Rachel some time to earn enough money to make all of my homeowner dreams come true.
I hate the mall. And not because of our culture's obsession with priced-to-own nouns. I hate the mall because fat women and dirty children are bussed in from the fat women and dirty children factory for the sole purpose of hitting me with oversized department store bags and rotting pacifiers. I hate the mall because all I want is a fucking Gordita Baja and a 96 gallon novelty drum of Mountain Dew, not a hard look from you and your posse of Taco Trolls. I hate the mall because I'm on my lunch break, and the water from the water cooler tastes like stuffing. I really shouldn't blame the mall for that, but I have to blame someone, and the guy who delivers fresh water to the water cooler looks like he could kick my ass.
|An update about shopping for your preferred December holiday of choice.|
I'm sorry if that offended you. | Tuesday, 12.09.03
If you live in Northern New Jersey, you're either a Willowbrook Mall person, or a Garden State Plaza person. Fuck Jersey Gardens for no reason whatsoever. I'm a Willowbrook person, because it's easier to take a shit out of your ear than it is to find parking at Garden State Plaza. Seriously, it's like fucking pandemonium every time I set foot in that place, and I tend to get very emotional and stinky if I'm even slightly inconvenienced. Also, Garden State Plaza is larger than most small countries, and no matter how many times I've been there, I become lost upon arrival. I get out of my car, enter the mall, and I immediately forget where I parked, what entrance I used, and how to contain a bowel movement within my bowels. Therefore, I settle for the equally annoying, yet infinitely more managable Willowbrook. Adverbs are fun.
|"We are here to make your holiday mall experience as unpleasant as|
humanly possible. We thank you in advance for your cooperation."
I did some
Christmas non-denominational holiday shopping the other day with the little woman, and although our mall experience wasn't all that horrible, I still require a great deal of stamina to silence the one thousand and ten voices in my head, all screaming obscenities, such as "FUCK" and "COCKPISSING ASSSHITTER." Why are my invisible friends such potty mouths? Because I need to go to two stores, and Slowy McWalksSlow has decided to cut me off, and he didn't earn the name Slowly McWalksSlow for placing first in the minute mile, if you catch my subtle drift. Slowy's girlfriend, Tubby McPopTarts, ensures that I can't pass on the left, as her spandex-covered buttocks devoured the last weary pedestrian who ventured too close to its atmosphere. Therefore, I am forced to endure the couples' riveting conversation about where the hell they're going to eat next, and what the hell they're going to eat next. I quickly block out their conversation by focusing on the thought of being burned alive by an army of Nazi ventriloquist dummies, the most frightening thought imaginable.
When the holiday shopping blues get me down, I like to wrestle old ladies over products that I have no intention of purchasing. Let's say you're strolling through Macy'ss''s (how the fuck do you show possession on a word that already shows possession?) cutlery section, and you happen upon an old woman reaching for the last Fry Daddy Junior on the shelf. Sure, you have three Fry Daddy Juniors at home, but making this old woman cry will alleviate most, if not all, of your holiday shopping-fueled fury.
Old Lady: If I could... just... reach the last... Fry Daddy Junior...
You: Here, allow me to help you, Old Lady.
Old Lady: Why, thank you sonny.
You: Ha ha ha ha ha ha! You fell for the oldest Fry Daddy Junior-related trick in the book! I'm going to take the last Fry Daddy Junior and throw it out when I get home! Ha ha ha ha ha ha!
Old Lady: B-b-b-but... my Christmas is ruined!
You: Then my work here is done. Hey! I just found $200 just laying here on the ground next to this sobbing Old Lady! Hooray! Thanks, Lacki!
You're welcome. You'll need two things to successfully survive a holiday shopping experience: a) Retard Repellant and b) lots of it. Simply douse yourself in Retard Repellant before entering the mall, and behold the magic as you part the sea of retards like a modern day guy in the bible that parted the sea of some color that I'm too satanic to remember right now. For added fun, try spraying a retard with Retard Repellent and watch him explode. It's fun, in a "this is fun because people are dying" sort of way.
"I don't rap for dead presidents
|Oh! How shocking... how dare you?|
Dare to die before I'm through. | Monday, 12.08.03
I'd rather see the president dead."
Oh, snap! Eminem's a freedom-killing terrorist! How would he like it if someone flew a plane into him? Not very much I bet. President Bush should export him to France, because the French are terrorists, and never forget the towers that fell on 9/11 because if you forget, then you support the terrorist regime. I hear the terrorists picked 9/11 because that's our emergency phone number, and they were being cute. I hate terrorists and I hate Eminem and these colors don't run!!!!!!!
"We take all matters involving comments made about the death of a sitting president very seriously," a well-placed government source directly involved in the matter said this weekend. "This matter will be investigated fully, and I expect Mr. Mathers will be interviewed directly."
|I sincerely love this picture like no other.|
-- Drudge Report
You think that's bad? I hear there's this band that writes songs about killing babies and raping their dead corpses! They actually had the AUDACITY to name one of their albums "America Must Be Destroyed!" I heard the lead singer actually masturbates all over the crowd, and then the rest of the band slaughters the entire audience for fun! How did I hear all these things? Because they're only my favorite band in the world, and yes, they do all of those things! Hooray for the lovable intergalactic space pirates known as GWAR.
Sorry, but I didn't find Eminem's verse all that shocking, perhaps because I was raised on the hateful, bitter diatribes of Oderus Urungus and pals. Prepare to be OMG SO SHOCKED ...
Crack in the Egg [4.2 mb] (from the album "America Must be Destroyed"). Not their most vulgar, but includes one of my favorite lines of all time: "The human race will die, and we'll just shrug." Fucking awesome. This song is about GWAR's pet dinosaur Gor-Gor, and the effects of crack cocaine on said dinosaur. Here's another snippet of offensiveness:
I slaughtered your daughters, I mangled your sons / If we kill enough of them, Gor-Gor will come / The end of your race, we approach the hour / Gor-Gor will get a blood-red baby shower / We bathe him in death to celebrate life / I'll be the doctor and Beef the midwife / But it takes so long, how can I cut slack? / Shoot that fucker up with some crack.
Licksore [1.9 mb] (from the album "Violence has Arrived"). A sad story of a handicapped woman who lives alone with her cat. For reasons unknown, the woman dies and the cat feeds upon a gash in her head. Quite possibly the greatest song on the subject of feline gash licking ever recorded.
The landlord comes by / The tenants are mad / They want to know why the smell is so bad / He beholds in horror / The ever-widening gash / But before he calls the cops he looks around for cash.
Have You Seen Me? [5.6 mb] (from the album "America Must Be Destroyed"). OK, this is it. The most offensive GWAR song in existence. Take this Slim Shady!
Mommies, I've been stealing your babies / I gag the brat and then maybe / I'll suck out his brain / Y'know dead kids / They're making me feel almost hard / Go get one from the school yard / He bled like a stuck pig / Have you seen me? / Suckle my bloated love knuckle / Just like Fatty Arbuckle / I'm gay and I'm proud! / That's right, faggot / And a corpse full of maggots / I wanna blow cum not bag it / Goddammit I'm horny! / It's just a dead child / An object I've defiled / Yes I know it's wrong / You'd rather that it was your mom?
|Fully posable nightmare fuel.|
**** | Sunday, 12.07.03
|WARNING: Snow is cold. Bring a hat.|
OMG NOR'EASTER | Friday, 12.05.03
<< WINTER STORM WARNING >> << WINTER STORM MELTDOWN >>
<< WINTER STORM APOCALYPSE >>
STORM LEVEL: ITALICIZED and BOLDED RED w/ four (4) exclamation marks!!!!
[11:40 a.m.] A message from the thismayhurt.com weather advisory bureau: If you live in Jersey, get the fuck out. We're expecting 30 - 40,000 feet of snow, and chances are we'll be fighting off Wampas within the next few hours. That was a geeky Star Wars reference, and if you found it funny, chances are you've never had sex before. I'm the one exception to the rule. Alternate side of the street parking rules have been suspended, because we can't find the street, nor its alternate side.
Here's a map of the snow. White areas = snow. Green areas = boogers.
[1:00 p.m.] An update from the thismayhurt.com weather advisory bureau: The snow is still falling, and people are still dying. If you have those snow shoes that look like tennis rackets, now would be a good time to strap them to your feet and get while the gettin's good. Alternatively, you can use your snow shoes to fend off polar bears and rowdy penguins. Is "penguins" the plural form of "penguin?" It doesn't look right... I think it should be "penguini." (pen-GWEE-ni) Ex: "You can easily kill a penguin with your snow shoe, but a flock of penguini will split your wig with the quickness."
If you must leave your house, we at the tmh weather advisory bureau suggest you bring the following items: Pink mittens, one of those Russian snow hats, a sniper rifle and a radiator. If you don't have access to a radiator, your home's hot water heater will be fine. If you see a stranger approaching you in the distance, immediately take him out with your sniper rifle, skin him and wear his flesh as a coat. Or just kill him. It may be a polar bear in disguise.
[3:30 p.m.] An update from the thismayhurt.com weather advisory bureau: Driving conditions are dangerous, yet extremely fun. Expect an overabundance of spin-outs, explosions and smoking debris, along with an underabundance of traction. If the female driver ahead of you is being overly cautious, we recommend rear-ending her back to Hell. A light tap will send her into a panicked frenzy, a 60 mph direct hit will scar her for life. Ladies, if a big strong man in a big strong truck is riding your ass, flip on your hazards and slam on the brakes. You could always say you were braking for a snow bunny, which can often be seen frolicking about in the snow and eating X-Mas carrots.
New Jersey has declared a Winter Storm Apocalypse, and as such, has turned off all the traffic lights. The tmh weather bureau suggests getting your ass home before sundown, when the snow will transmogrify into the deadly WINTERY MIX. No one survives the wintery mix. No one.
More weather updates to come...
In 1999, Apple introduced the iMac. Cute appearances and reasonable pricing (for Apple) aside, the machine received a great deal of attention for its lack of a floppy drive. "No floppy drive?" squealed John Q. Public, "what in heaven's name are those tree huggers doing over at Apple? Hugging trees?" Yes. Yes they were hugging trees. But in between their bark fondling sessions, the folks over at Apple HQ came to a startling revelation... FLOPPY DISKS SUCK DICK.
|1,300 k of raw, document eating POWER.|
false floppy dreams. | Monday, 12.01.03
I worked at a help desk for two years, so I've dealt with more retards than you could shake a retarded stick at. Yes, the same retarded stick that turns you retarded if you are beaten with it. The majority of the users had problems which fell into two categories: a) false floppy dreams and b) other. Allow me, if I may, to expound upon a) false floppy dreams for a moment, if you please, if you may be so kind as to read on and comprehend my words with your brain. Let's say for a second that you're an idiot. You take idiotic classes and write idiotic papers in hopes that one day, perhaps, you'll be less of an idiot. However, in your quest to attain un-idiotic-ness, you save all of your idiotic papers to a floppy disk that an old man carved out of wood and dried clumps of tobaccee. It weighs about 30 pounds and runs on 12 D batteries, but thanks to your false floppy dreams, you feel confident that your idiotic ramblings will remain untarnished. However, much like all of your other, normal dreams, your false floppy dreams are crap, and ensure that your idiotic documents will be eaten alive by your poor choice in backup media. You come into the help desk, wheeling your retarded floppy behind you on a red wagon, and you're all like, "Errr thsi is g00d floppee adn my grandftaher use it in wrold war 2 and now its broke. OMG FIX IT POST HASTE AND I'LL SUCK YOUR PENIS WITH MY MOUTH KTHANX!!!!!!" I reach into your wagon and pull out your floppy, which is leaking motor oil and anti-freeze, stand on the desk and proclaim, "A pox on thee, oh cursed wretch of the data preservation community!" I then ignite your sloppy floppy and kick you in the face for being such a stupid, retarded moron.
|Here we see the world's first floppy disk. It cost $4.7 billion and consumed more power than New York City, Los Angeles and Australia combined. It also wiped itself clean at seemingly random intervals, just like the floppies of today!|
Now, let's pretend that you're not an idiot. You have a nice, shapely figure, and you're writing a term paper about the life and times of the huggable hippie leader, Charles Manson. Well, you're my girlfriend, and you've also fallen victim to false floppy dreams. The fucked up part? I, your suave ass boyfriend, FURNISHED THE SOON-TO-BE BUSTED FLOPPY. Fuck, I'm stupid. I'm a Mac user... I'm not even supposed to have floppies! Which Hell-portal spawned this demon floppy, and how did it happen to land on my desk? This shit is really fucked up, though, for serious. She's been working on this paper for a week, and when I went to pull it up on my Mac last night, the floppy died. I was like, "please work?" and it was like, "FATALITY." Neither of us had backup copies. I go back to her house to see if I can pull it up on her father's PC... nothing. I ask her Neo-like cousin to pull it up on his PC... nothing. Well, something, but not enough. The paper was due at 8:20 this morning, and needless to say, she couldn't have finished it in time. Her professor's giving her an extension, but he's a Grade-A Dickhead and oh shit, I hope he's not reading this... he's actually a pretty cool guy once you get past the fact that he's a dickhead and oh shit I really hope he didn't read that last part wherein I called him a dickhead again. Attn Prof. Dickhead: Please don't take off points on this update because you're not even my professor and to be quite frank, you're a real fucking dickhead.
This demon floppy nearly killed the both of us. Rachel's pissed because she lost all of her work. This causes her to choke old ladies in the street and burn down the neighbor's house with her mind. I'm pissed because I supplied the demon floppy that ate her work. This causes me to unload a few rounds at the local orphanage and yell the C-word as loud as I can. Strangely enough, our actions didn't bring the dead floppy back to life. It's just fun to hurt people and say the C-word.
So let this be a lesson to you floppy users. Most of you are retarded idiots, others just have boyfriends that don't practice what they preach. You know that CD burner you use to make illegal copies of all your favorite blockbuster movies? You can also save documents to those CD's! Who knew? Chances are a CD-RW will last longer than a floppy, unless you accidentially melt it down in the microwave and drizzle it over your leftover mashed potatoes... and even then, there's a good chance you'll recover more data out of your stools than you would from STUPID FUCKING FLOPPIES THAT WOULD RAPE YOUR KIDS IF GIVEN THE CHANCE. And don't be a smartass that emails me, "Oh, well, I've been using floppies since they were invented in the 1800's and I've never had a problem with them because I'm a better hacker than you," because I don't believe your lies. Y'know, Baby Jesus' birthday is coming up, and he doesn't like it when you lie, and then he doesn't bring you presents. You like presents, don't you? Why don't you send Baby Jesus your X-Mas list on a floppy disk and see what happens.
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