BigBlackGlasses.com

Mikey says (5:48 PM):
   God fucking dammit.
   I have a big fucking sign that says "EMAIL ONLY" on my closed door.
   Why would you fucking knock on it?
   Especially to ask me a question about something that someone else said.

The world's fattest man says (5:49 PM):
   because people like you and respect your opinion.

Mikey says (5:50 PM):
   I want a gun.

The world's fattest man says (5:50 PM):
   good answer.

I was talking with a friend of mine here at work today.  We were discussing some items in the news, like the guy who is suing Apple Inc. because they allegedly put tracking devices in his iPods so that the mob could find him.  And about another guy who lives in the US Virgin Islands (we think... we couldn't remember and couldn't find the article), and is suing the the CIA because they allegedly bugged his phone.

On face value, both of these guys sound like genuine, certified, grade A whackshits.  Totally insane.  Round the bend.  Nuttier than Mr. Goodbar covered in bat shit.

But let's look at these again.

The guy who is suing Apple Inc. claims that tracking devices are not in every iPod, just the ones that he bought - one from eBay, the other from an Apple Store.  So he's claiming that Apple, through some sort of amazing future-predicting, chaos-theory-driven supercomputer, planted those iPods specifically for him, knowing that he'd buy them (either that, or not only are Apple employees in bed with the mob, but so are random folks on eBay).

Ok, yeah.  Still seems crazy.  What about the other guy?

Well, it turns out that the guy suing the CIA (you can sue the CIA?  Is this class-action yet?) actually worked as an informant for the CIA in the past.  He quit several years ago, and claims that the CIA believes that they can legally tap his phones because of his past relationship with them.  Weird, huh?  Combine that with all the news about the NSA's illegal wiretapping program under the Bush administration, and this suddenly seems significantly less farfetched.

So we have two stories here.  Both of them seem like they could only have been born in the minds of the hopelessly insane.  Years ago, we could have safely dismissed both of them as nutjobs, had the nice men with the white coats come to visit with the plaintiffs, and washed our hands of the situation.

Upon further examination, though - taking into account what we now know about what's going on in our country and the world we live in - one of them remains insane while the other starts sounding more and more reasonable.  What a sad state of affairs that we've gotten ourselves into when we are unable to tell the difference between something that is batshit insane and something that is completely possible.

In the mean time, though, all you iPod users might want to look into buying a Zune.

Have any of you noticed a ridiculous upswing in the number of morons driving around with “In loving memory of…” decals on their cars lately?

I don’t mean to go off on a rant here, but I don’t understand the mechanics of this and I don’t think anybody else does either.  While I was driving to work this morning, I passed a car with a decal that read “In loving memory of Leonard Fuckpistol: 1717 A.D. – 480 B.C.” (names and dates have been changed to amuse me).  It’s one of many cars that I’ve driven past in the last few months that have something similar.  I even drove past one that had a decalized picture of the poor fuck who got themselves killed somehow.

Why in the hemorrhaging fuck would you do this?

Did you leave good ol’ Larry’s funeral and think to yourself “You know - Larry would really want me to buy a Honda and rice the living fuck out of it.”  Or did Old Man Fuckpistol die in that car?  Maybe he’s still in there.  Who knows?  But more importantly, who gives a shit?  I know I don’t. 

All you’re doing, you collective heads of knuckle, is trying to make yourselves special.  You obviously know that the modifications you’ve done to your car make you and the vehicle look like something that came out of a 7-year-old’s acid-fueled nightmare.  All you’re doing is trying to excuse it. 

“Yeah, man.  I know I put kitten heads all over this thing, but that’s how Slinky Jim would have wanted it.”

Fuck you, and fuck Slinky Jim.  You and your car are an eyesore, and nothing will excuse that.  If you want to be a pretentious prickass, go ahead, but leave the dead fucker out of it.  Seriously – just put a sticker on your car that says “I’m a tacky douchebag” and you’ve accomplished the same thing.

Emmi and I were in Wisconsin for a funeral this week (sorry for not calling you, guys, but I needed to be with my family), and we saw a really interesting advert for a special on the National Geographic network.  It was about a cave (which I’ve since discovered lives in Mexico) filled with crystals.  And not just any crystals. 

Big.

Fuck off.

Crystals that would eat your face off without even considering the implications, if crystals were the sort to do that kind of thing.  The cave is called Cueva de los cristales, and we’re fucking going there.

...about having to have a Live ID in order to leave comments on my blog?  I'd really like to move over to Live Spaces, but there's no such thing as anonymous comments over there.

So, what say you? 

Are you OK with having to have a Live ID in order to tell me I'm an idiot?

I read this article for a while at work today, and it's spot on.

I've tried to program against Linux before, and it was a nightmare.  I chose to try using a C# compiler from the Mono project, and a free (because everything for Linux is free) IDE called SharpEdit (or #Edit, or something like that).

There were no fewer than 30 steps that I had to follow *before* I could even start writing code.
I had to get specific versions of about 20 different components - none of which were in the same place, and the guide document pointing to all of those components was outdated.

I gave up.

Incidentally, the same thing happened when I tried to use C# on a Mac, so I just gave up all together.  I've looked at Cocoa and Objective C, but that seems like a lot of work, too, for just playing around.   Anyway, read this article.  

Quote

elliotth's blog: Desktop Linux suckage: where's our Steve Jobs?

I'm pretty sure I want this.   Introducing... the HTC Touch HD - MoDaCo

I told Marc about this a long time ago, but I totally forgot to blog it.  And, since I have nothing else to talk about, I figured now would be a good time.

About a month or so ago, I was at a doctor appointment to get a refill on my antidepressants.  The office where my head meat doctor works is … interesting.  It’s actually in a school for “behaviorally challenged” kids (which means that they rotten little fucks).  As such, I’m used to there being the average amount of screaming, yelling, swearing, and general craziness that goes along with rotten little fucks.

But that day was different.

There was another patient there to see a different doctor.  I saw her enter the waiting room, and just sort of hang out at the door looking uncomfortable.  Her eyes darted around the room, and every now and then she would close her eyes and bow her head.  I thought that maybe she was praying, but upon closer inspection I heard her whimpering while she was doing it, so it became obvious that she was crying.  For about 3 seconds at a time.

After a few minutes, she moved to come sit down in one of the chairs.  Her movements were uncertain at first, as though she may have thought that the ground would give away under her.  Then she darted for one of the chairs.  Of course, it was a chair next to me.

Naturally, I was playing with my iPhone (which I’ve given up now, but that’s another blog post) and trying to block everything else out until it was my turn to see the doctor.  He was running late.  The woman looked through the magazines on the table, and decided that she wanted the one sitting in front of me.  She asked me – very calmly and quietly – if I would please hand her the magazine. 

“Oh good,” I thought.  “That seems nice and sane.  Perhaps I was wrong to jump to conclusions.”  And I handed her the magazine. 

Well, that was retarded of me, because then I was fair game for discussion.  She looked at my phone and told me that it was just like her phone.  She didn’t visibly have one, but maybe it was in her pocket or purse, I thought.  Then she reached over like she wanted to take my phone from me. 

I repositioned myself in a way to suggest that I was done with this conversation, but she was having none of that.  She started talking about… something.  I have no idea what it was.  It was gibberish, as far as I could tell, but she was very passionate about it.  Then she told me that her dad had just died the week before, and she bowed her head and whimpered again.  She put her hands up to her face to wipe “tears” away from each of her eyes.  After about 3 seconds, she was done crying again, and smiled at me.

I smiled – awkwardly – back at her, and she stared telling me all about her home on some tropical island I’d never heard of, and her husbands, and how I probably knew them.  She said that her husbands were dead as well.  She did the crying thing again, and was abruptly done with it again.  Then she decided to tell me their names.

They were both named John. 

John Ritter and John Denver.

Then she grabbed the magazine that she had been neglecting, and pointed out a picture of a chair in the magazine to me and made a “yipping” sound. 

At that very moment I saw my doctor coming down the hallway, presumably to collect me. 

As much as a handicapped man can bolt, that’s just what I did.