I'd like my gambling wacky, if possible

I saw a casino billboard on the freeway using the words, 'Wild WACKY Winnings!' And get this: the word 'wacky' was in a crazy font, which is pretty fucking wacky if you ask me.

Then I got to thinking that Wild Wacky Winnings was probably just the name of a slot machine, and there's nothing particularly wild or wacky about pulling a lever until you don't have any money.

Maybe it'd be wacky if all of your winnings came in the form of top hats filled with shaving cream. Or if every time you won, a man dressed as a giant baby painted a tiger on your chest. Fine, that's wacky.

But a colored font? Not quite, slot machine. Not quite. Hire a chest painter, then we'll see.

(work.)

After remembering that old women love slot machines and that that'd be the demographic most likely to play the Wild Wacky Winnings slot machine, I realized that maybe painting tigers on the chest of an old woman isn't so much wacky as it is gross.

Grandma, the Nigerians want you to learn computers

I think you could get old people to use computers better by turning their weaknesses into strengths.

Right now, telling old people to install Firefox to reduce the amount of spyware on their computers doesn't make sense to them. They won't do that because right now they can just click the blue 'e' and they're on the internet! Just like that! They can play internet mah jongg forever now, thanks to the letter 'e'!

Now if you told them that if they didn't install Firefox then a ghost would visit them at night and tell them the name of their crush, they might install it. If a nice Nigerian man would share his fortune with them if only they'd run regular spyware checks and update their antivirus software, they'd do it.

Maybe we could get them to get 22 of their old friends to do it, too, because if they don't, they'll have bad luck for 22 years and nobody will ever love them so PASS IT ON!!!!!!!!!

(work.)

For those of you not familiar with Nigerian scams, those are the ones where bad men and women in Nigeria send emails to strangers and say things like, "I'm a Nigerian prince. If you give me some money, I'll be able to give you a LOT of money, so please give me all your banking information." The sad thing is, some people suck at the internet so badly that they fall for these scams.

Fortunately, the heroes at 419eater.com have mastered the art of scambaiting. This is when they'll email the scammers back and pretend they're interested in their offers, but only if they can prove that they'll really send them money. They'll respond to an email with, "I'm a member of the Church of Fish and Bread. Could you please prove you're a member of the church by sending me a picture of you putting fish on your head and eating bread?" This leads to the potential Nigerian scammers attempting to prove themselves to the 419eater people by doing ridiculous things.

For example:






The best part about these pictures the people in them are criminals, so you don't have to feel bad. Hooray! See 419eater's trophy room for more awkward pictures of bad people.

Shaving cream on my toothbrush

You know you're too tired to function when you get out of the shower and squirt a huge glob of shaving cream onto your toothbrush.

There was that pause immediately after I did it, too. One where I realized what I had just done and then silently screamed '...fuck!' to myself.

It was like I woke up knowing I wouldn't have anything to say this morning, then my brain nudged me and said, 'Nah, don't worry about it, I've got your back.' Then five minutes later I'm standing there with shaving cream on my toothbrush thinking, 'I hate you, brain. I hate you with the fire of a thousand suns.'

Then my brain says, 'How can you hate me when all you're thinking about is what Bea Arthur looks like under all those old lady clothes...?'

Then I, realizing I'd just challenged my own brain to a fight I'd never win, unwillingly got a mental picture of Bea Arthur undressing as a look of horror spreads across face.

(work.)

My away messages can get weird when I'm tired, but there's not much I can do about that. My brain likes to anthropomorphize things.

They all suck at math

On New Year's Eve I went to the MGM Grand Casino in Detroit with Amy's family for an hour and a half of gambling.

When I first walked into the casino, I realized that everybody in it had something in common. From the young people losing at craps to the really, really old people losing at slots, they all had one thing in common: they all suck at math.

It didn't matter if these people were from Detroit or they drove in from the suburbs. Yes, they all shared that special bond of absolutely blowing at statistics and probability. Sure, they're all there to lose different amounts of money (no matter whether it's supposed to be for tuition or if their grandkids should inherit it), but at the end of the day, it's because they're all horrible with numbers.

Seriously, people. The casino doesn't stay in business because everybody's winning.

(work.)

The Grandpa Loop

Tonight, on our way to dinner, some friends and I bumped into an older guy I know. He told us about the library where he works, only soon things went awry.

'Did I ever tell you about this thing one time?'
'No, let's hear it.'
(he tells the story, then a minute later)
'Did I ever tell you about this thing one time?'

Uh oh. We've fallen into a Grandpa Loop.

This man's memory has been kicked in the face by his arch nemeses: Old Age and Living Through the 70s. If he'll repeat this information once, there's a chance he could repeat it forever.

You ever program your graphing calculator to repeat 'balls' or 'farts' by making it loop back to the same thing over and over again and it won't stop until you turn it off? That's kind of like what God did to this old man's brain.

And that's why you should never talk to old people.

(Bed.)

Here, try it with your own graphing calculators:
Lbl 2
Disp "farts"
Goto 2

Now go outside.

Rich people live in the sky, with God

While in town, my grandparents took me shopping at Nordstrom. This is a store designed to make people feel poor. I saw fuzzy, multicolored clownskin sweaters go for over a thousand American dollars in this store.

So naturally, when you are shopping for something, they assign an old white man to follow you around and tell you what looks good on you (everything, you handsome devil, you!).

I was waited on literally hand and foot while these people put shoes on my feet and told me which pants looked good on my ass. Not once did these people appear to be down-to-earth people, as you may know that only poor people live on Earth. Rich people live in the sky, with God.

(work, 8-6.)

The salespeople never cracked jokes. I'm not sure if that was because they weren't allowed to or because there was no humor left in their wrinkled, decaying caucasian bodies. I have a feeling if I were to demand platinum cufflinks covered in diamonds and then platinum again, these men would have just politely said, "I'm sorry, sir, we don't carry those. Could I offer you a Swedish taint massage while you try on those khakis?"

I don't know if taint massages actually exist, but if there's any culture I trust with my taint, it's the Swedes.

Vaginal cream from Grandpa

When my grandfather heard that I had dry skin, he left to retrieve a tube of cortizone cream in his suitcase upstairs. Minutes later, he returned to give me a tube of cortizone cream, only it wasn't regular cortizone cream.

It was vaginal cream. My grandfather had vaginal cream.

'It's great for jock itch,' he said.
'This is for vaginas, you crazy old man,' I thought.
'Thanks,' I said, putting the vaginal cream in my pocket and wondering why he didn't use non-vaginal cream for his dry skin.

Most grandparents just shower their graduated grandchildren with hugs, checks, and alumni t-shirts, but my grandfather went the extra mile and gave me cream for a vagina. Thanks, Grandpa!

(Work 'til 4ish.)

For the record, I love the shit out of my grandparents.

Also, this would have been a great way to call me a pussy. However, Grandpa's at that age where calling people pussies just isn't cool anymore. Plus he said "I use this stuff myself" which kind of ruins any "Here's some vaginal cream, you vagina" jokes.

Fruitcake lady

Fruitcake Lady

You need to watch this old woman. She is a gem.

When you're old, you can say whatever the hell you want, because everyone's afraid you're going to die and nobody wants to call you an idiot right before you pass away. People could look like assholes at your funeral.

'Yeah, Great Aunt Margerie was a sweetheart.'
'Didn't you call her a crazy bitch and then she died?'
'Shit.'
(pause)
'She is going to haunt the shit out of you.'

So keep on telling it like it is, old woman. Screw on the floor, next to the air conditioner.

(Livonia.)

I need to learn how to draw, 'cause webcomics will make a hell of a lot more internet money than text. People don't want to read "she is going to haunt the shit out of you." They want a cartoon character with big anime hair saying it. So when I stay poor, it's not because I don't have ideas. It's because I can't draw anything other than smiley faces and penises.

Give the old woman a lapdance

Amy's grandmother is having a birthday tomorrow, and very briefly I thought of a gift that could go from sexy to tragic in mere seconds.

Amy's grandmother likes me. I don't know if it's because I'm a nice guy or because I keep pills in my pockets, but I'd say she digs me. And when a lady digs you, what's the best thing to do for her?

That's right: give her a lapdance.

Well, very briefly, I pictured myself sitting on her lap and then her yelling at me because her legs couldn't support my weight. Then Amy's family would get mad at me for straddling their eldest member and I'd be asked to leave for trying to do something sexy for an old woman's birthday.

Looks like someone's just getting a hug tomorrow.

(Class.)

I don't even know how to give a lapdance. Fortunately, this hypothetical lapdance in my head ended with an old woman getting hurt, so I didn't have to get to that part where I panic because I don't know how to grind someone more than one way.

Talking to my grandparents while drunk

I talked to my grandparents on the phone today. Now, before you congratulate me for being a good person, know that I was drunk.

To make matters worse, I was at Buffalo Wild Wings, the loudest of local sports bars. So not only was their dear grandson slurring stuff, but my grandparents heard all sorts of yelling and bad music in the background, too. I am so out of the will.

Also, my computer exploded tonight, so one drive isn't working, and for a while my C: drive couldn't find my OS. So if for some reason my computer is turned off EVER AGAIN, you won't hear from me. Real life friends can always call me if I'm not online, but I feel like I should set up an invasive camera in my bathroom so you internet people can continue to secretly keep track of all my shit. Anonymous jerks.

(Bed.)

There is nothing worse than a sick computer. At least when I'm sick, I know that I'll get better, because the human body is awesome and can do that. My computer just makes kind of a sputtering noise and I get blue screens of death.

Back when 'Grandpa' was more of a nickname

'Grandpa grew up in a tough neighborhood. When he got mad at me, he'd threaten my life, then show me a knife he got in his youth. It had 'Grandpa Clarence' carved into it, from back when 'Grandpa' was more of a nickname.

The neighbor kids would come over and he would tell them to get off his lawn. Then they'd say, 'Grandpa Clarence', but there'd only be one Grandpa because they weren't related to him. Anyway, they'd say 'One Grandpa Clarence, I'm mowing your lawn, stop yelling at me,' and he'd say, 'I don't care if I paid you. I want you to move my lawn, mow it elsewhere, then put it back without bothering me.'

Yesterday this gibberish shot out of my mouth and into Bora's mic for an audio project of his. I'll post the mp3 if I get ahold of it.

Until then...patience.

(Class 'til after 6.)

America rocks, PASS IT ON!

When people get old the part of their brain that finds bullshit decays. Or maybe it's overtaken by the part of the brain that wants to make you clap your hands and giggle. Either way, my grandpa forwards me shit now and it's retarded.

The sad thing here is he didn't even send me a list of jokes about Janet Jackson's boob at the Super Bowl or anything along those lines. Oh no, it's a racist, far right political rant about how dangerous Muslims are. to quote:
'If we can't stop the Muslims, how could anyone else?'

I don't know who started this chain email, but you have to wonder who thinks, 'I'll get those foreigners back by making old people even MORE racist,' and then forwarding a wacky far right wing rant to everyone on their bowling team with the message being, 'America rocks, Islam sucks, PASS IT ON!'
(paper.)