Category Archives: teh funny

Fun with Twitter

These two tweets just passed by in my feed, back to back:

Oh, well that makes sense.

Both these guys are fellow Lighthouse Hockey writers


Obviously Dom’s replying to something Keith said earlier, but for a minute I was trying to connect these two statements as a coherent conversation.  I think I even got as far as thinking that “comedians using puppets” was a reference to the NHL and its referees.

Stupid lockout.


Something else that hasn’t changed

Still getting spam comments.  The filters have caught them all so far, but the following was so good that I had to share it with all you lovely folks.

People get annoyed about institutions charging them bank fees to access their own money , but bank accounts do have the underrated benefit of making it impossible for a disturbed child to steal your life savings and use it to buy mass quantities of candy.

The original has met the well-deserved fate of all such messages – extreme deletion – but the actual content had a certain charm.  It is most likely an actual quote from somebody else, in fact.  No way a real spammer came up with this.  It makes me wonder if any of my own non-mots have been plagiarized and attached to links for cheap foreign medicine or appeals to help launder untold millions from an imaginary dead potentate.

Information that would have been more useful yesterday

WHOA – you guys, you won’t believe it!  Overnight I had a vision.  It was amazing.  All the solutions to the world’s problems were revealed to me in a flash.  It’s taken a while to write it down, but it was so vivid and real.  It’s all so simple…  All we have to do is —

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The Tech in Black

This little fun tidbit crossed my Twitter Timeline, courtesy of Friend o’ the Hive Sheila O’Malley:

My Help Desk guy’s name is Johnny Cash. I can’t help but say his first/last name. “Johnny Cash, hey, something’s up with my Outlook …”

So of course, fun things encourage playing along…

Well, my boss left the company when I got hired
Gave me a cubicle and then retired
My training was a stack of post-its in a drawer
Now I don’t blame him that he run and hid
But perhaps the meanest thing he did
Was before he left, he hung “IT” on my door

I never knew a thing about computer stuff,
So a lot of folks made it mighty tough
It seems I’ve had to fight the whole day through
Somebody would giggle when the printer jammed
Some fool would crash the network with Porn on Demand
Lemme tell you, life ain’t easy for an IT dude

I learned PCs and I grew a thick skin
You’ll get it fixed when I say when
As I roam from floor to floor to repair the probs
And I made me a vow to the moon and stars
That I’d search the chat rooms, Twitter, and blogs
And kill that man that gave me this awful job

Now you might wonder why I didn’t quit
But times were too hard to spit the bit
So I worked hard to learn all about PCs
And then one night, working overtime
From the corner of my eye, who comes online
But the mangy dog who made me work IT

I knew right away it was my old boss
From the IP address he used, of course,
And his avatar was the same from times gone by
He was crude and loud and a snobbish scold
So I logged in quick, and my blood rUn cold
And I Twittered – “How you be? I work IT! NOW UR GONNA DIE! #revenge”

So I blocked his feed before he could hide
And his email went down, but to my surprise
He come right up with a DoS attack
I rebooted and hacked him live
Crashed through the firewall and into the hard drive
Coding and uploading till both our screens went black

I tell you that I’ve fought tougher hacks
Though I can’t remember that far back –
He phished like a pro and spammed like a Nigerian Prince
I saw him LOL and I saw him WTF
Went for his antivirus, but I booted mine first
And after a minute, I saw “colon-parenthesis”

“Kid,” he texted, “Times are rough
If you want to make it you’ve got to be tough
And I knew a typical degree wouldn’t last you long
So I give you a tech job and said good luck
I knew you’d grow unique skills or bust
And it’s those l33t skilz that’s helped to make you strong!”

“Now I know ur h8in, but why you mad?
It’s not the worst job you’ve ever had
And if you want to you could brick my PC
But you ought to thank me before you do
For your HTML and coding-fu
‘Cause I’m the lousy cuss who put you in IT”

What could I do? I got choked up, shut down my hack
Erased the virus and gave his passwords back
And I come away with a different way to see
And I think about him, here and there,
When I squash some bug or scrub malware
And if I hire a guy, I think I’ll…

One of our earliest successes

Today the dread Doctor Darth J links a WSJ piece contrasting Romeny and Obama.

The article is worth your time, but this is more a quick note on Lokai and Bele, the two fellows pictured in Doctor J’s post.  Together they pulled off one of the first signature gags in the history of the Department of Practical Jokes.

The United Federation of Planets is* useful, but also often annoying.  They often think they’re actually in charge instead of the Masters.  Being a forward-thinking despot, the Czar ordered our Department to prank ol’ Bossy Britches himself, James Tiberius Kirk.  Lokai and Bele (not their real names, obviously) were duly dispatched.

* Or will be, or has about to, depending on your temporal reference point.

The Full-Contact Cosmetics Team were unsung heroes.  They actually fooled Doctor McCoy, who is nobody’s fool, into thinking that was their natural pigmentation!  But Lokai and Bele sold it so well, Bones could hardly be blamed.  Hell, at the end we began to wonder ourselves.  They were only supposed to fill all the Jeffries tubes with rice pudding, but instead they wove that outlandish tale of a millenial vendetta… I’ve got to hand it to them, it was brilliant.  The UFP has that soft spot for making everyone play friendly.  And whenever things got dicey, they hit Kirk right in the ego, and distracted him from actually asking five minutes’ worth of hard questions.  I swear, he must have majored in journalism at Starfleet Academy.

So the whole Enterprise wound up diverted light-years off course, to their “home planet,” where we scooped them up and brought them back to the Supersonic Rocket Ship.  They crack us up near tight deadlines by jogging down the corridors with those drippy stoner faces they used “remembering” the “civil war.”

Now, you may ask, gentle reader, what point there was in merely inconveniencing a Federation starship like that, just for a joke?  Well wouldn’t you love to know…

The Folsom Elementary Blues

The good Professor is “overthinking” song lyrics, which is always fun. A lot of really good songs actually don’t make a lick of sense if you parse the words.

His musing on Johnny Cash (The Man, Emeritus) has made me think of an old song parody I rattled off years ago, upon learning that there is a town of Folsom here in New Jersey.

The Folsom Elementary Blues

I hear that school bell ringing
Class is out again
I ain’t seen the playground
Since I don’t know when
‘Cause I’m stuck here in detention
And time keeps draggin’ on
Gotta write a hundred times
I’m sorry I did wrong

Way back in September
Teacher told me, “Son,
Always be a good boy
Play nice with everyone.”
But I shot a girl with spitballs
Just to watch her cry
When they tell my parents
I know I’m gonna die

I know they’re eating tacos
Over in the dining hall
Then they’ll go to recess
And play dodgeball
But I’m stuck in detention
I know I can’t be free
Ol’ Folsom Elementary
Has got it over me

I know what I’ll be doing
When the weekend rolls around
My friends will be out having fun
But chores will weigh me down
I’m grounded for the weekend
Although I long to play
But the end of my detention
Will chase my blues away

Hm, this could be a problem

Over at Dustbury, friend Charles is rolling unsteadily down memory lane with’s 100 Worst Cars of All Time.

These misbegotten hunks of pre-rusted misery are not exactly your Daddy’s hot rod Lincoln… though they will drive you to drinkin’.  The unloved, the half-assed, and the openly-dangerous are all on display here, some with advert copy that makes one fully believe in the doctrine of the Fall of Man.  How else could such lies be told, and with such impossibly bad grammar?

Fortunately the Insideline folks are providing the quality snark.  For #50, the ’55 Dodge Le Femme, they observe, “Few were sold because, apparently, transvestism isn’t good marketing.”  For #86, the infamous ’90 Chevy Lumina minivan: “Plastic-bodied van with an aardvark nose and dashboard top big enough to host a track meet.”  But their best might be when they just give it to us straight:

#17: 1982 Renault Fuego: Fragile, front-drive French coupe that rusted quickly into dust or burst into flames amid random electrical fires.  Recalled for steering wheels that came off in drivers’ hands.  [emphasis mine]

You know, for that silent movie comedy experience.  They had such fun adventures!  I mean, who doesn’t love Buster Keaton?  A filthy commie, that’s who.  Vivé la Renault!

Nightfly: the Special Edition (blu-ray)

Y’all will remember how badly we geeks lost our minds over the terribleness of the Star Wars prequels.

That was a bitty-bit our fault, I suppose.  George Lucas re-released the original three movies in the run up to the 1999 debut of The Phantom Menace*, and these Special Editions featured some nifty spruced-up effects, but mostly they featured the restoration of redundant deleted footage, a bunch of CGI clutter blocking the view of the actual movie, and Greedo shooting first – an egregious affront on a lot of levels, not least of which was the damage done to Han Solo’s character.** Maybe we should have been a little more wary of The Phantom Menace as a… ZOMG NEW STAR WARS squeeeeeee !!1!eleven~!!

*Yeah, it’s been twelve years.

**First off, the guy’s a smuggler and a gangster who may have double-crossed his crime-lord boss. He’s not gonna wait for a pretty-please. Second, he can’t possibly be dumb enough to expect Greedo to miss a shot from four feet. Third, it’s obvious that he banks on Greedo not shooting at him at all, because then Greedo would be out the bounty money; that’s how Han gets the drop on him the first place.  The edit makes no sense on any level.

But we convinced ourselves otherwise.  We seem even to have convinced George, who actually un-tinkered somewhat when the original movies were remastered again.  Not that it stopped him from making all of the same mistakes in the other two prequels: bad characters, inexplicable choices, and endless clutter on the screen.  We just thought that he’d leave well enough alone with what he’d already done.

Well, now it’s obvious.  We only convinced George Lucas of one thing – that we’re all ungrateful peasants, and as a result he’s decided to tinker and tinker to the bitter end.

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The Akismet does a great job of weeding out what little spam I get, while letting legit comments through – the only couple of times I’ve had actual comments snagged, simply approving them was enough to let the algortihm permit future messages from that person.

So, why am I sharing one of these with you now?  Have I really resorted to the last refuge of a stumped blogger?  Yes.  Yes, I have.  Because this is ROYAL NOTICE!

Undeniably believe that which you said. Your favorite reason seemed to be on the internet the simplest thing to be aware of. I say to you, I definitely get irked while people think about worries that they just do not know about. You managed to hit the nail upon the top and also defined out the whole thing without having side-effects , people can take a signal. Will probably be back to get more. Thanks

That’s the name with the comment.  “Royal Notice.”  He certainly talks like one of those foreign princes in the emails, doesn’t he?  So where’s my offer of “263,000,000 $USD” ?  C’mon, I defined out the whole thing with no side-effects!  That takes some skill, especially when it comes to people thinking about worries they don’t know about.

This was left, by the way, in the comment queue for the Dinosaur Comics post.  Maybe the money’s being forwarded to Ryan North.

Because I am a giver

This is a little something-something for Laura, the propriotress of Fetch My Flying Monkeys.*

* I originally typed that as “Monkees,” and am now alternately amused and terrorized by the vision of Mickey Dolenz and Davey Jones gliding about the rooftops like Mary Poppins.  They get the strangest looks, indeed.

No, it’s not George.  I haven’t got that kind of pull in the world.  But I can link a website, and this is that website: Dinosaur Comics.  It’s a proven scientific fact that a comic must be awesome if it features a Tyrannosaur calculating how fast he’d need to spin the Earth to levitate a person via magnetism – just to get that person off his couch.  Exhibit A: the Tyrannosaur explains this by yelling, “That’s right, tiny woman, I noticed you hanging out on my couch; it weirded me out and I started doing Math!”

So – you’re welcome.

(Via Zoopraxiscope, who clued me wise with this Dino strip about the odds of the occurance of Batman.  I am truly in his debt.)