News Flash: Nobody Gives A Shit!

by on September 23, 2002 @ 1:08 am

How did I miss this amazing piece of news? Maybe one of you sent it along with my 1400 instances of SPAM last week.

[ Bon Jovi Foils Music Pirates That Don’t Exist ]

The 1980s megastars have a new, Web-based scheme to discourage their soon-to-be-released disc from being pirated. And computer security experts think the program just might work.

On the inside of the packaging of Bon Jovi’s Bounce is a 13-digit, randomly generated serial number. By entering that code on the group’s website, fans enroll in a program that puts them “first in line” for concert tickets and allows them to listen to unreleased tracks from the band.

“The idea is to make anyone who’s file sharing or burning feel like they’re missing out by not buying a real copy of the CD,” said Larry Mattera, a new-media executive at Island Def Jam, Bon Jovi’s label.

You know what’s grand? This will actually work. Pirates will not be downloading copies of Bon Jovi’s fagnum opus this Fall. But the reason isn’t because of the discouraging concert ticket mumbo jumbo. You want to know why nobody’s going to pirate their new CD? I’ll let you in on the secret.

*leans close*

Because they fucking suck.

Betcha didn’t see that one coming a mile and a half away, did you? Jesus H. Christ on a pogo stick, just because my 80s compilation MP3 CD contains Livin’ On A Prayer and Wanted Dead Or Alive doesn’t mean I want to hear whatever the stupid bastards are croaking out now. Lemme give you a lil’ tip Bon Jovi. If Triumph the Dog from Conan decides to pay you a ten minute visit to tell you that you suck, beleive me, he’s not being cute. You suck like a gay undersexed Hoover Wet-n-Dry vac after a few Midori Sours.

Sorry to break it to you, but outside of New Jersey (which, thanks to you assholes, is still one of America’s main sources of the mullet) nobody gives a shit what you do. Therefore wasting time and bandwidth checking into your recent exploits are a foregone conclusion.

Work On A Friday? Bah!

by on September 20, 2002 @ 10:44 am

If you hadn’t heard already, has put up this nifty little web app that takes any picture and morphs it into a 3D person saying whatever you’d like. The forum kiddies have already taken to it like Corey Feldman takes to career failure. Of course, some of you are far too lazy to actually register, so I figure I should point out some of the finer reader creations while you can still view them.

Use the comments section to add your own, I’m sure there’s plenty of untapped comedy gold just waiting to be mined.

And just so’s you’re clued in, it will ask you to install a third party 3D rendering thingy. So if you’re in a tin shack somewhere in the mountains hiding from big brother, maybe you’re not too keen on this one. Perhaps I could interest you in a bullet for dinner instead, you crazy asshat.

Soon To Star In Yet Another Goddamn Stakeout

by on September 19, 2002 @ 4:13 pm

It smells like my career down here!I received a pleasant piece of electronic correspondence yesterday afternoon. However, it was sandwiched (like all other e-mails) inbetween 637 pieces of SPAM I received yesterday, most of them containing virii. God bless the Internet, where every message contains A Very Valuable *insert retarded noun*

Anyway, spite and hatred aside, the link was from $nowman, letting me know that Rosie “LOOKITMEIMGAY” O’Donnell has dumped “Rosie Magazine” over problems with the publisher. What with the recession and all, they probably had to cut back on their hourly tributes of ham-cheese-and-Indonesian-waif sandwiches.

“I’m sorry to have to tell my readers and my staff that my involvement in the magazine is ending, but my integrity and name are at stake, and that price is too high,” O’Donnell said at a news conference. “I cannot have my name on a magazine if I cannot be assured that it will represent my vision and ideas.”

A legal battle is a possibility, although no lawsuits have been filed yet. Both sides have hired lawyers, and in a memo sent to employees, Gruner + Jahr indicated it blames O’Donnell.

“It is truly shocking and disappointing that Rosie would walk away from her obligations to her staff, her business partner and her magazine audience. In doing so, she destroys the value of the business we created and violates the conditions of our binding contract,” the memo said.

Fat housewives everywhere will be mourning, I’m sure. Where will they get their information on… come to think of it, what the fuck kind of content could that woman actually cram into a magazine sporting her monicker? I’d wager that the majority of her knowledge revolves around the following:

  1. Getting media attention for coming out when everybody already knew that you were a big fat box-muncher.
  2. What Nell Carter was really like…underneath the muumuu
  3. What K-Mart has on Blue Light Special this week
  4. The number for Penny Marshall’s personal line, where the answer machine only contains muffled sobbing
  5. Why so many children have gone missing lately. *hint: check her fridge*

Well, now that I’ve slacked around my last ten minutes of work, I’m going to do something constructive. If any one needs me, I’ll be at the urinal.

Blame Society’s Problems On The Hamburglar

by on @ 12:55 am

Warning: This post only has a remote possibility of being funny, and that’s if you’ve seen the film Best Of The Best, or it’s sequel starring that deuchebag Wayne Newton. And even then, you probably won’t find it at all funny, or possibly cast aspersions on my character due to my mockery of the disfigurement of a child, or a fictional character. In either instance, please relocate to the nearest senior citizens center, place your mouth within a close proximity of your wang, and proceed to fellate yourself. This is just an observation, Mr. Critic, not the State of the Union address. I don’t cast judgement on you for mouthifying your junk in retirement homes, do I?

Now that I think about it, that beef in the freezer might have said Expires September 22, 2001. Or was it 2000? Anyway, on to the picture.

Tommy's brother would still be alive today if the Goddamn clown hadn't fucked up Dae Han's life.

As messed up as this picture is, does the kid not remind you of Dae Han? This explains a helluva lot of things. You start runnin’ with the McDonaldland posse at an early age, you get started on a life of hate and bitterness. And uh… TaeKwon-Do. …Mayor McCheese is a black belt.

Before I pass out, can anyone tell me why America and Korea were the only two countries in that movie to compete for the world championship? Honestly, maybe I missed something, but did the rest of the countries just decide not to fucking show up? It was the 80’s, I guess, so they were probably all coked up listening to Debbie Gibson records. Or that might’ve been me, the memory’s a little fuzzy, I’ll have to get back to you on that one.

While We’re Handing Out Awards

by on September 17, 2002 @ 10:06 am

The award for Holy Shit I’m A Fucking Idiot goes to… *cuts open envelope*

USA TODAY — POCONO PINES, Pa. — One person’s reject can be someone else’s fortune. Just ask newly rich Paula Buckley. Buckley, 21, a deli clerk at Pen Mart, bought a $10 Power Play ticket because a customer rejected it. Then she hit the $400,000 jackpot. Powerball tickets can’t be reissued the way other lottery tickets can, said lottery spokeswoman Sally Danyluk Buckley learned she had won Monday morning. ”I ran the ticket through the machine and it said, ‘Do Not Pay’ because it was a $400,000 winner, and we cannot pay those out at the store,” she said. The machine chose the numbers.

Congratulations, guy (or girl) who turned down that lottery ticket. Prepare for the most painful years of your life to date. If impotency wasn’t a problem before, well, you might want to invest in one of those Viagra cutters that Jacko previously discussed. Enjoy your award, you’ve earned it.

It's your son on the phone, Bill. He said something about a walkin out of a closet, or somethin'

*claps* Let’s keep the acceptance speech to a minimum, got me?

Shiver Me Timbers, Lad

by on @ 1:02 am

So I guess we uh… we aren’t going to war then, huh?

Oh wait, we still might? Jesus H, it’s like having a prom date drunk enough to boink your sorry ass, but then she throws up all over her dress. Will it happen? Won’t it happen? How about you arm me, I’ll fly the fuck over there and shoot the bastard myself. Morality, schmorality. If it makes gas prices drop and returns me to my regularly scheduled programming then I say Boo-Yah, lock and load, sucka. Then you and I can get back to the really important issues. Like pie.

Well Sock Me In The Balls, It’s Monday Again

by on September 16, 2002 @ 8:12 am

First article of news I click on this morning:

Finally we have an adequate dumping ground for 80s glam rock rejects.

Since I had yet to partake of my morning cup of java, I was obviously drowsy and slightly confused (and admittedly excited) by the proposition that this fellow and his cohorts might be smashing into the moon’s surface. However, logic quickly gripped hold and returned me to my normal Monday morning rigamarole.

One sidenote, this would be an N’Sync space trip that I wouldn’t mind pitching in a few dollars for. Imagine them saying Bye Bye Bye as they careened into a fireless oblivion on the dark side of the moon. C’mon everybody, pony up a sawbuck, we’re sending those fucks on a collision course with destiny. And by destiny, I mean a big fucking lunar crater.