One bad stick of RAM seems to be all it took to ruin two weeks of my life. Hopefully I can pick my car up from South Minneapolis in time to get over to the Nano and have them test the stick that I pulled out. I could replace it for the miserly sum of 40 bones.
If you missed the point of that paragraph, I did not drive home last night. Are you happy? JEEZ.
(this post has been edited because it just sounds way too fucking crazy. I left in the typos, though)
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This is stuff from Family Guy — so is the title
HEY, WHERE’S THE CLOWN?
EAST OF EDEN?z YOU JUST DO WAHTEVER OPRAH TELS YOU TO, DON’T YOU?
AND THE MOTION CARRIES, THE JANITOR’S NEW NAME IS SWEEPY
This is a phone call that I made
YOU HAD BEETTER CALL ME WHEN YOU GET HOME
HOLY CRAP I’M DRIVING
OKAY, FINE, WLELL YOU DIDN’T HAVE TO ANSWER
I THOUGHT MAYBE IT WAS AN EMERGENCY
CALL ME BACK WHEN YOU GET HOME
This is the call that I got back
I’M HOME, AND I DIDN’T DIE, AND I’M NOT IN JAIL
BOO! NO! HOORAY!
UGH
DUDE, THIS IS THE FUNNIEST EPISODE OF FAMILY GUY EVER
I HATE YOU
I’M SORRY THAT I’M A DOUCHEBAG
YOU HAD BETTER BE
YEAH
YEAH
So, I’m over sifting through the detritus on Craigslist, and I see this marvelous ad:
Have you seen that movie “secretary”? - 30
I am a submissive looking for her master. I want all that psychological stuff, I want all that tension and release. Me- smart, well read, attractive, unconventional, no pushover. You- know what you’re doing, or be good at acting like you do. And no cop-type mustaches, please. Serious inquires only.
I don’t know about you, but I’m growing a cop-type mustache right now.
I have to enter those numbers every 108 minutes or my server crashes. I just can’t find the “execute” button.
Snap! Pizza and Ice Cream
2851 Johnson Street NE
Minneapolis, MN 55418
(612) 788-9800
Snap! has been open in Northeast Minneapolis for a couple of weeks now, and this household continues to order the pizza. We ordered a BBQ chicken and a pepperoni/(green olive|sausage) pizza last time, and they were again much better than any of the chain pizzas that we could order. However, whereas the first pizza we had ordered was a little burnt on the bottom, the crusts of these pizzas were underdone. They didn’t have any… snap at all. The crust was too doughy and tasted too wheaty. On the plus side, the sausage came in large spicy chunks and the BBQ chicken was the equal of any that I have ever had, except for the crust. If they improve their baking techniques, their dough recipe and their bland red sauce I will be very happy instead of just happy.
We still won’t be ordering from Papa John’s.
Melody was bored last night and I was awake to beat my head against my 4041 homework. Since she’s an astrology “buff” I floated her my chart, which she proceeded to use to paint an eerily accurate picture of me. Then she got carpal tunnel, so that will be the last that I hear from her, since we have a typing-only relationship. After my homework was done, I revised my plans for a roadtrip out west. Without Melissa in the car I could definitely drive longer and stay in campsites or unbelievably shitty motels. Maybe I should do that this summer — drive to the Black Hills, Yellowstone, Olympia, Portland, San Francisco, Reno, and home.
I’m really worried about school.
Whereoke?
Wheneoke?
Drunkeoke!
Okay, so Zach wants to to do karaoke, and since I have no dignity left, I agreed to be a part of the mayhem. I am suggesting Elsie’s. Maybe the Saturday after Thanksgiving. Maybe we should crawl it, yo, with the Burlesque show at the 331, then a million bars alksdjngfaksd jkhadsf jlgs j’gs j ‘ldsagklj’es l;s ;adsg sagl ls ls jls ;as df bhadf
This is a good idea.
I didn’t know that they still made e-cards!
Hi,
I love you!
From
Emilia
Dear Anonymous Emilia,
I’m sure that I would love you too, if you would only give me a chance.
From
Jesse
I should totally write text adventures!
First you could play Stepdad:
I DON’T HAVE TO LISTEN TO YOU! YOU’RE NOT MY REAL DAD!
*slams door*
*door opens*
I HATE YOU
*slams door*
*Incubus plays really loud*
*A skunky smell like armpits rolls out from under the door*
*knock knock*
*there is a scurrying, and a window opens and a lysol smell rolls out from under the door*
> open door
the door is locked
> unlock door
with what?
> unlock door with key
you don’t have the key
> n
you are in the hallway.
> w
you are in the kitchen
> look
You are in a suburban kitchen. There is a junk drawer here
> look drawer
the drawer is closed
> open drawer
the drawer is open. there is a key inside
> take key
you have a key
> s
you can’t go that way
> e
you are in a hallway
> s
you are standing in front of a door. you hear incubus
> unlock door with key
DAD! WHAT THE HELL! CAN’T I HAVE SOME PRIVACY! I HATE YOU SO MUCH!
Or you could play “CC Club”, inspired by this terrifying exchange:
zach: WHY WON’T THE GIRLS FROM FOLK UKE MARRY ME
jessepmullan: the same reason why no woman will ever marry me
zach: your penis is too big too?
zach: funny we’d both have the same problem
jessepmullan: wanna swordfight?
zach: NO
jessepmullan: just wait for that one drunken night in the bathroom of the cc club
zach: I will so use the stall
Here’s the actual game:
> open door
the stall is locked
> unlock stall
there is no keyhole
> look
you are in a dimly lit bathroom. there is a strong smell of urine
you hear zach in the stall yelling “you are NOT GETTING IN HERE”
> e
you are in the bar area of the cc club. Many women are ignoring you.
> look women
the women are hot but unattainable. A hipster douchebag asshole is going home with one of them.
> drink
drink what?
> drink beer
you have no beer
> GIVE ME SOME FUCKING BEER
My homework is not done because some retard didn’t program the PriorityQueue correctly or some shit. I’m going to bed now so that I don’t get triple fired tomorrow. Melody says that I should chase down the cupcake woman. I think that I agree. I will be a cheetah on the savannah. Okay, really, I’m just a grumpy old male lion who lets the lady lions do all the real work like hunting and raising kids. Jeremy Irons will voice me in the animated movie based on my life. I think that my brain came detached somewhere in the course of writing this.
I had grand plans for my Saturday night involving an art gallery somewhere and an appearance at Paul’s roommate John’s birthday party with an armload of beer. All of those plans were dashed to pieces when my favorite surly lady said that if I were to be in the north suburbs I should come see her new bed. At first I was resistant, but she said “we could go to Coon Rapids Grumpy’s! There will be billa billa!” For a brief, terrifying hopeful moment I thought that maybe she had actually read some of my blog. No.
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