Something annoying I noticed on my trek to Seattle this last weekend, are the insane lights on a SUV. I guess having 6 lights on the front grill isn't enough for them. I swear the SUV behind me was about 100 yards away and had some sort of stadium lights strapped to the hood, because all I could see was a blinding white light for about 30 miles.
I also noticed that annoying SUVs tend to travel in packs. After a couple mins of this guy with the stadium flood lights we blinding my ass another joined in the lane next to him, with some sort of errie white nuclear light, which added to the blanket of whiteness I saw in front of me. After I thought it couldn't get any worse I swear a 3rd one pulled up towing the sun behind him.
webmaster woes -- fenomas 9:35AM JST
Whoa.
Whoa.
I know Jeer didn't just bite on the PenIsMightier web design. Just 'cause you don't understand the genius (all those open font tags are there to make trouble for those Opera-using assholes), don't get all preachy. (p.s. - I know the functionality of the random stuff at the top is broken - bla bla fucked with their servers. I'm workin on it...)
But, I feel your pain, as someone who occasionally designs web pages. When I change departments, my title will likely be "New Media Designer" because no-one likes to be called a web designer anymore. Or, If I work with the backend group (insert joke here), I may become a "Developer." I kind of like that. I can tell people I'm a developer. If they have the temerity to ask what I develop, I'll say something mysterious like, "solutions" and walk away, since they should have ended the conversation already.
Anyway, I'm not usually the link-whore sort, but since we're on the topic, here's some links for all the budding web designers out there:
Dr.Evil -- jeer 11:07AM CST
Being that I haven't posted shit lately I thought it time for another update from your caring, sensitive friend, Big Daddy j. Today's installment is entitled: Shit that pisses me off. Go get the kids out of bed for this one.
1)The Olsen Twins.
Am I the only one who wants to chain these two to a water heater and beat them with a rusty coat hanger and/or a curtain rod? For a split second, about as long as it takes for a fucking Gap commercial to segway into another selling Tommy Boy anal salve, I think what wonderful porn stars they'd make if they were permitted to live and follow that path all child stars take eventually.
It wasn't as much of a struggle to keep from laying my wrists open back in the Full House days, when we were only forced to see one at a time. But now, now they aren't just botched abortions in stereo. They are walking, talking, active reminders of just how evil television is. Have the Ted Turners of the world realized that if they pacify us with enough mental Preparation H they will soon hold the ultimate trump card?
Or is it something more sinister? Is this Bob Sagget's ire drenched retribution for the world unanimously agreeing that he's just not funny no matter how many baseball bats to the crotch he shows us?
2)My title
On all my biz cards the title 'Web Designer' resides right above my name. When I'm introduced to backwater, sister kissing, cattle humping, cousin marrying yokels I'm referred to as "Our web designer". I hate being referred to as a god damn web designer. I mean these aren't Canadians, sometimes these people actually matter (Hat tip to Zippy).
One might wonder why I hate the title. Well let give you two examples.
I meet people in public who fail to realize not everyone's life is fucking dependent on making small talk. So eventually some trivial conversation ensues about they're new kitty Skittles, vasectomy or what the hell ever. At some point they all ask what I do. Typical conversations between the subject and myself are as follows:
Scenario One
Random Person: So where do you work?
j: **********.
Random Person: What do you do there?
J: Um, I'm a Web Designer.
Random Person: Really? My son does that too.
j: Oh? Where does he work?
Random Person: Oh no, haha, he's only seven.
J: Oh....
Random Person: Yeah, he likes it. Oh, did I mention he's autistic?
J: I see...Scenario Two
Random Person: What do you do?
J: I'm a uh.. ( gritting teeth ) web designer.
Random Person: Oh yeah? I've made a web page before. That's easy, you're lucky.
J: ...The title has been so whored out. It's like when I hear people say: ( In obnoxious voice ) I'm an artist. You're not an artist you're a fucking retard. Now sit down and shut up. All of a sudden every jack off with a fucking e machine he bought at K-mart is a fucking web designer. "Oh, I know HTML". So fucking what? I know how to read and write. I'm not a novelist motherfucker. I don't call myself one either. Know why? CUASE I'M NOT. I know how this must sound but consider if you were a professionally trained chef and people always compared they're experience working at Burger King to your job. Oh, they've taken to calling me Dr.Evil at work now and the penis site, not my work btw >=)
3)Cam hoes and they're ilk
I can understand the "beauty" in the ideology that everyone should have a voice on the net but can some one please explain these people who build extensive monuments to themselves? I'm talking about sites with tens of thousands of webcam photos archived. In depth analysis about they're likes and dislikes. "My faveorit ice cream is strawbery!!! YUMMY IN MY TUMMY!!!" Hey, thanks for sharing now shut the fuck up.
I don't understand the 60-70 photos of themselves and they're teddy bear Mr.Poobody, sketched self portraits and even more photos altered in a warez version of photo shop. You're not a fucking rock star motherfucker. Does anyone read this shit? Besides the drooling, pathetic, losers who jerk off to cyber sex that is?
I mean come on. I hate to be Mr.Negative Asshole here ( OK, that's a lie ) but guess what princess, no one besides your self-indulgent, egocentric brethren gives a flying fuck. I promise you. Don't misunderstand me loyal penis readers. I'm all for personal pages. For some sick voyeuristic reason I'm fascinated by a lot of personal sites but there is a huge difference between a personal page complete with bio and web cam and building a shrine to yourself.
It's like master mother fucking peice theater isn't it kids? OK, I think I've lined up enough hate mail for now. And remember, I love you, more than Jesus.
| Monday, August 14th, 2000 |
epiphany--cyd @10:06 pm pst
sorry my posts
have been sparse lately, but as you have seen, and possibly whacked off
to (as many of the emails i've gotten would indicate), my sister and brother
are in town from iowa. in addition to entertaining them, in an attempt
to build the ultimate big person toy, i've gone through a motherboard
which housed my old cyrix pr200+ chip, two motherboards which housed a
500 mhz k6 2 athlon, and a new motherboard which houses my now fried duron
600. i've also gone through my old at case, a surrogate atx case, and
now finally have a keeper atx. i ditched my old 250 w power supply from
my cyrix box, then went through a new 250 w power supply only to change
my mind and get a new 250 w power supply with an atx case i ditched in
favor of my new atx case with its current 300 w power supply. however,
when i'm finished, i will have a badass setup which will *not* include
the duron 600, because although i have heard stories
of it being overclockable to 900 mhz, it is just too unstable, hard to
cool, as well as quite a bit of work. however, with the low, low prices
of high end thunderbirds,
how can i stay away?
Anyone else feel like a Japp?
| Saturday, August 12th, 2000 |
epiphany--cyd @2:35 pm pst
admittedly, katie and her world are appetizing, albeit forbidden, but seriously, weishaupt, my sister looks about 15, and is hardly the whackable icon that katie in all her pride and glory is, even if i am biased. maybe there should be a thought police so truly sick people like you can get put away [protective big brother mode off].
Source:TheRegister
Read the rest hereMassive porn files, featuring teen and farmyard hardcore porn, have been found on the White House computer system.
A consultant came across the real-time video files after being hired to tighten up Web security as part of the US government's Y2K upgrades. The hardcore porn files were so big in byte size that they accounted for most of the traffic coming into the White House computer system's Internet firewall, according to WorldNetDaily.com.
"There were things that said 'teen," one White House computer expert, who was not named, told the news service. "There was gay and bestiality stuff too."
When probed on this, he explained: "Donkeys, goats, dogs...It's embarrassing."
Zippy, in my eyes, your status as future poster has been cemented for
all eternity merely for pointing me towards Katie's World.
Pages like that remind me that I better get in my fun now, before
the Thought Police find a way to arrest me for the those kinds of
fantasies. Also, I hope Katie forgets to inform us when she turns
18 (if she hasn't already), because that would just take all the
fun out of it. On the other hand, it's very unsettling - one of our
kind, beautiful, wonderful readers just sent me a link to a page with
nekkid pictures of the marvelous Katie, and I can't fucking look at it
because Cyd's 17-year-old sister is in the room. "What?" I hear you
ask - "Cyd lets weishaupt the perv hang around with his little sister?"
Well, I'm sure he wouldn't if he had a choice, but to my own credit I've
done a commendable job of not ogling her when she gets out of the
shower. Unfortunately, the mere presence of minors in the house has
put a serious crimp in my extracurricular activities, as you can
imagine. So, for now, the
eminently-porkable Katie will have to play the role of surrogate stand-in for
Cyd's forbidden sibling (who I hope doesn't read this).
In the larger sense, though, this whole trend bothers me. When did it
become socially acceptable for underage girls to dress like whores and
make money off of it? I'm referring of course, not specifically to our friend Katie, but to all of her ilk, the Britney-ites. You see, a year
or two ago, Britney Spears exploded onto our TV sets, magazine covers, and
celebrity porno sites, and after we all got done beating off to her, we
had to ask - "Where the fuck are her parents in all this?" I'll tell you
where, at the bank, exploring their investment options. The national news
media embraced her tentatively, too afraid to completely pimp her because
of her age, but unwilling to let such a large source of profit go
un-pimped, because of her sheer marketability. Nowadays, her influence
is so pervasive that no one even seems to remember that whoring out
your underage daughter used to be considered a poor moral decision.
Now, I'm not saying
this is a bad thing because of its effect on Britney - if she wants to
be a whore, fine, it's an admirable career goal. I'm saying this is a bad
thing because of its effect on all the little pre-teen girls with
posters of Britney's surgically-enhanced nipples on their bedroom walls.
And I who I really feel sorry for is the teen-age boys. Sure,
they're getting Penthouse-class nookie in junior high, but things
are gonna start to suck in a few years when they start looking for wives,
and discover that every single hot girl in their age range is a cynical, coked-out stripper with three kids. I hurt, and it's all my fault. Spent my evening yesterday getting faced
at about five of the local watering holes. I learned a few things in
the process though, such as the sheer boredom caused by watching a
shuffleboard tourney, and that nude dancers can get perfume that smells
like gummi-bears. I also had a 60 year old woman tell me about how I
have an old soul.
I didn't even know souls aged. I'm not even all that certain
that they exist.
From the shape of my head today, and the hole in my wallet, and the
angry looks my future ex-wife keeps giving me, I started to consider
giving up drinking. Then I remembered that I'm no quitter. So Lon, if
you see this before you leave Solipsis's house, bring home beer. Aw hell, I
may just head over there too.
| Friday, August 11th, 2000 |
Whew, finished my last final today and I have a month free. A month free to do nothing but work and play.. And of course update, I should be able to finish up all the PenIs projects..
Working tech support all these years has made me bitter. I'm bitter the second I swipe my badge and enter the cesspool they refer to as "The Call Center". It's bad enough that the customers are rude, ignorant, wads of dried cum in kleenx, but I have to deal with idiot cube mates
Idiot: Hey Tim, I love politics they make for such great fights
And remember when you think your talking to a knowledgeable female tech support agent on the other line, its normally a guy wearing eye shadow hopped up on hormon pills.. Trust me...I work with them
epiphany--cyd @10:45 pm pst
I often think the web can be divided into a few distinct categories. There's the geek pages, the E/N sites, the crap, and of course, who could forget the Beloved, the pr0n. I've been online ever since puberty, so I like to think that I know my way around, and that I can easily categorize each and every site. It's instinct.
Today, however, I stumbled onto Katies-World. This site truly baffles me. I can't quite place it, I don't know where it fits and this threatens to shatter my view of reality. It makes me doubt everything I hold dear. I don't know if I'm coming or going.
I need your help.
WTF is this site about? Who is "Katie"? I noticed that she's 17. In BAMF terms, this would make her forbidden pie. If this is some sort of pseudo-porn site, her, um... tenderness would explain why there's no nudity although she does come pretty damn close sometimes.
And so, I have a job for you PenIsites. We're going to conduct a reconnaissance mission. We're going to gather as much information about this girl as we can, so that my soul may finally rest. Major Sara and I are going to act as the forward scout element and provide preliminary information back to the squad. Lieutenant LonMabon will intercept and detain her webmaster support unit. She's helpless without him. Colonel Eod will coordinate the mission. The rest of you, and this is the most important part of the job, will "buy" the unpublished photo sets and, *ahem*, email them to me, for intelligence gathering purposes of course (I would prefer the "bikini", "skirt", and "clubwear" sets).
Get to it people. Make me proud.
Being a resourceful fellow, I thought I would post a pic of Weis as to avoid
any confusion. Brought up Google and did
a search for mongoloid pics. The ONLY link I found was here.
The truly disturbing part of my job isn't how many people are clueless about
computers. There are clueless folks everywhere. The part that keeps me awake
at night is when good people get absolutely screwed by the folks I clean up
after. Example:
A gentleman (lets call him Bob) calls me. At wits end. Seems when he was
preparing to move a month ago, he was smart enough to have the lines tested
at his new location to insure they would qualify for 1M up/down, and that
his block of static IP's will be transferred to his new DSL phone number.
Our answer (from sales mind you) was yes, absolutely. Bob breathed a sigh of
relief, as he runs a mail server off his Linux box.
Well ... three weeks pass and he has no connectivity at his new location.
When Bob calls back to sales to find out why he can't connect, they inform
him that the order was cancelled when the line quality wouldn't support 1
meg. Whoever was supposed to get in touch with Bob on this issue was
apparently ass-deep in a heroin nod. Bob bites the bullet and orders 256K
service, and sales puts in a rush order to have the connection completed.
Five weeks after placing his order, Bob is audibly at wits end after a day
of dealing with customers who have no e-mail service. Although the
connection has been made to the central office, our ISP still shows him as
having a dial-up account. Even worse, he has been informed that since his
new service goes through a different gateway, his IP addresses will not be
able to be transferred to his new phone number. Meaning an entire
reconfiguration of his mail server and all of his now unhappy clients to his
new IP's which aren't even listed on his account yet.
Makes me miss the good old days, where the worst news I had to give was
explaining why it doesn't say "You've got mail".
For those of you who have seen my rant on Amerikan Politiks on the message board, you may know that my current vote for president will be Ralph Nader of the Green Party. Today I have found out that he has gained another reason that I feel people who would otherwise not vote should make an effort to vote for him. He has chosen his running mate.
Her name is Wynona LaDuke.
After watching both G.W. and Gore chose far more conservative running mates than themselves (as if that were possible) I find it refreshing to see a potentially viable candidate, albeit one who the mainstream media has ignored, chose not only a woman, but a Native American/Jewish candidate at that. Since women have been generally swept aside by the Republicrats, I appreciate it that at least one party won't ignore a majority of the population.
I don't know about the loyal PenIs readers, but most Americans of voting age do not vote. While the pundits argue that this is because the system is working so well that most people think voting unnecessary, I would disagree. For the most part, my belief is that most people won't vote because they know it won't make a bit of difference as to who gets into office, because invariably they are owned in whole by big business. This is why only about 40% of people who can do vote, and why in a country with 275 million people, both parties figure that they can win with about 40 million votes. The pundits ignore that Clinton has never won the presidency with a majority of the popular vote (49.24% of the popular vote in 1996, less in 1992) but by a majority of the electoral college (370 in 1992, 379 in 1996, out of a total of 538). Total votes for Clinton were less than 46 million in 1996.
At any rate, if you have already decided to vote, do so, and do so with knowledge of what and who you are supporting. If you do not plan on voting, consider taking the time to throw a wrench in the system, and vote for ANY third party candidate. Eventually, the pundits will clue in on the fact that the current state of affairs is only benefiting the rich, and that the present system screws over anyone who is an individual, or not wealthy enough to really change things. For my part I am voting for Nader/LaDuke in 2000, and I would strongly suggest the same for anyone who is tired of corporate monopolization of the United States political process. There are other options, but without really campaigning yet, the Green Party has 11 to 15% of the popular vote already. While I do not necessarily agree with the entire platform of the Green Party (I'm a registered Libertarian), I do agree with them more than the Republicrats. End of this rant, Ciao, Puzzling.
Who are these new posters?
Are you going to start posting again like normal?
Can I see the new PenIs design?
How come your stomach was making that wierd sound in class this morning during that lecture and whenever the professor would become quiet your stomach would make that loud noise
As I was riding into work today on the subway, I had the pleasure of sitting next to one of these poor sleep deprived individuals that the tech industry seems to love (in a pre-caffeine state no less!!). My fortune being what it is, I of course couldn't end up sitting next to an attractive (or even unattractive, hell, im desperate) girl, or even someone with enough curtesy to sleep at home, but instead i ended up next to some scrawny overworked and underpaid lemming. This, in itself, would not have been so bad, except this particular individual was a Bobber.
For those of you who are not familiar with the Bobber, you're missing out on quite a bit, I assure you. The Bobber has an annoying tendency to go limp as he passes into unconsiousness, jerk upright to some degree as his downward motion revives him slightly, and then repeat, always going lower and lower, eventually coming to rest on his own lap. Unfortunatly, subways have a tendency to jerk everytime they pull into a stop, and this awakens the Bobber for a few seconds at which time he sits up straight ready to repeat the entire cycle. The end result is a rythmic up and down motion that one can almost see being the next trend at nightclubs. This is quite comical if you're an observer. Not so comical is the effect on the passengers to either side of the Bobber, who must endure his slack body heaving to and fro for half an hour, seeming to fellate itself to no end.
Of course, I tried to remedy the situation by subtly driving an elbow into the poor soul's ribcage, but to no avail. He might as well have been drugged up on ruphies for all the difference my elbow made to him. And so, kind readers, in my frustration, I rant here, and hope to impart with you this little bit of forewarning... beware the Bobber.
Sad: I am now developing my own collection of 3OD-style tech support
stupid-questions-from-hell.
Far, far sadder: The source is this lady who has been hired as the second
support person at the site I support. She replaces this guy who was a whiz with all things
technical, and I find out that the company she contracts for gave her the position because
of her "excellent English" (which I hope someday to see evidence of) despite the fact that she is "nontechnical."
So now, in theory, I am the user support for a 50 person office, and she is responsible
for the servers. And yet she walks in with questions like, "Someone has sending me the file
ending in "JPG." How can I open it?" and "Professor Whoosis has brought some files on a
ZIP disk, but Winzip will not access them. What can I do?"
My personal favorite, by the way: A user complained that when he sends emails, he often
gets error messages from the server at the other end that no such user exists. I tell
him not to delete those messages, so next time it happens I can have a look. Later,
Queen of the Idiots calls me saying that she has encountered trouble reinstalling Outlook. "Why did you reinstall Outlook?" I ask. "Is that supposed to aid in his typing correct email addresses?" Of course she has no reason. Now, for reasons unknown, Outlook will not run or install, so at least the user has been spared the sight
of those pesky error messages until I reinstall Windows....
Ahh, the adrenaline rush that comes with competition! It is a beautiful
thing, and not something a true professional would rush into blindly. As
soon as I got the word two other contestants and I would be spirited away to
an isolated website for a deathmatch of epic proportions, I immediately
immersed myself in a rigorous training schedule:
10:00 Physical exercise: Begin snooze-bar aerobics. Deftly reach out
beneath the blankets with one foot, gently turn ankle, kick irritating alarm
quiet.
10:10, 10:20, 10:30, 10:40, 10:50 Repeat, and consider possibly rolling
over. Feel the burn.
11:00 Arise, dash frantically around the house, perform basic hygenic
maintenance.
11:15 to 12:20 Transit to work. Mental excercise: Wonder why 50% of the
population can somehow completely neglect basic hygenic maintenance that
takes 15 minutes.
12:30 to 21:30 In the trenches. Mental excercise: Pound head on desk.
Submit forms to 5 different subdivisions of an unwieldly corporate
leviathan. Explain the nuances of right-clicking. Explore the realms of
hardware and software conflicts with uptight businessfolk.
21:40 to 04:30 Free at last. Physical exercise: 12oz curls, and lots of
'em. Build hand-eye coordination by fragging away ruthlessly. Mental
Exercise: Hell it's been a long day, let's just focus on those 12oz curls.
As you can see, I am in peak condition. Let the games begin!
The main character sits intently at a keyboard typing furiously, or
fumbling furiously at a keyboard, as the case may be.
Screams echo loudly in his ears, knowledge that a fury, barely
acknowledged by fumbing typist or onlooking passerbys that reconize not
what they see.
Knowledge becomes text, theories of time and space flow through thought
processes as fumbler tries to keep up with stream of consciousness
fowing by and visions floating through while character focuses not on
typed prose rather on music playing in background, not music from radio
but music from thought stream scream trance velominous queues of
tranquil violence.
Not focused. Not knowing. Feeling stream scream philisofic nightmare
belonging for my night, my dream, my stream, my scream.
I know not what I come from, as noone can elude to stream-scream
psychosis from velocity frightening those not wondering on the
space-time existance, what is known but not understood, what is felt but
not known, what is understood but not felt.
Finally though coalescese into one concept, belief or knowedge,
understanding without definition, scream-stream solidifies into one
note, discordant yet obviously aware. Not thought, not felt, yet
strangely understood.
I know. I am Puzzling.
Mass transit, least common denominator transportation for the huddled
masses, is my primary form of locomotion to and from work. It gets me
from home to anywhere and back in fact. There are a few reasons for
this, a few of which you should be thankful for, a few of which are
simply economics on my part. First, reasons I don't drive:
1) I can't drive worth a crap. I panic to easily, not to mention I am
one of those A.D.D. freaks who would rather look at birds and trees than
the car in front of me. Fortunately, I have yet to get into an accident
with another vehicle, but why risk the damage.
2) Road rage. Ok, rage of any sort. I tend to get pissed at the drop
of a hat more than most people, but when in a stressful situation (such
as highway 217 at rush hour) nothing peeves me quite like some jackass
in a Ford with a "Calvin pissing on a Chevy logo" sticker cutting me off
while talking on his cell phone or getting a hand job from some bimbo in
the passenger seat. Not that I care about Chevy's, or Fords, or
Dodge's, but the whole redneck "piss on" clichEis getting out of hand,
and simply shows the stupidity of the person who would put such a
sticker on an otherwise nice or even crappy truck anyway.
3) Since I sold my truck to fix the piece of crap, the only car in the
family is a mini van. I personally hate this vehicle. Not for the
social stigma as much as the number of times it has left me stranded at
the least convenient places. Not to mention my wife needs it to move
our kids from place to place, and I generally travel solo.
Me: .....
5 mins later
Idiot: Wow, I sure do love Politics they make for some great fights
Me: ....
Idiot: You know what I like? Politics, they make for some great fights
Me: Shut up I heard you the first time. Did you just hear that line from some TV show and figured you'd be crafty and repeat it to me 2 million times?
Thursday, August 10th, 2000
not that it hasn't been fun choosing new and inventive ways to shove mush (read: non-solid diet) into my mouth, cuz it hasn't, and not that continuing to feel a dull ache in one of my front teeth while wondering whether the nerve is going to die and i'm going to need a root canal isn't fun, because it isn't, but i've been having more opportunities to speak to attractive women lately than i remember ever having, and with a big, fat, bloody, crusty, messed up lip forming my muffled, retarded syllables due
to the aforementioned lip, and although it has been comforting to know that i can blame not winding up with their phone numbers on some condition which is going to go away sometime in the near future, instead of my usual shyness and uncomfortableness getting in the way, it has essentially been so much sweet, slow torture.
DISMISSED!
Win's day, August 9th, 2000
Tuesday, August 8th, 2000
Wow, a lot of new faces around here lately. Or new aliases,
at any rate. Drop me or Eod a line if you find that the poll applet
doesn't allow you sufficient lattitude in describing how much you love
or hate them. Meantime, you'll just have to guess which one of the
newbies is displayed in this fine photograph. You get two hints:
1) It's not me.
2) Seriously, it's not me.
Also, I
wanted to mention that I'm really amused by the expression on
this guy's
face. He looks... um... wistful.
what did i do when i walked in on my brother giving me that "i wasn't just caught with my hand in the cookie jar" look while he was shoving a pr0n mag (a low-quality pr0n mag at that) under the mattress? well, first, i said: "readin' pr0n, eh?" then i mimicked seventies pr0n guitar as i promptly
left him to his educational perusing. then, on my way home from work, i
bought him some "real" pr0n. i wish i'd had a big brother to buy me pr0n when i was 15. then i wouldn't have had to pay my neighbor's gramma to
show me her tits while i whacked off into her petunia garden. or did i
read about that in penthouse letters? hmmm. of course, then i fulfilled
my big brotherly duty and embarassingly posted it here for all to see.
One new submission added. Check it out here
It's all explained here
One more week and I'll be done with summer finals.. I'll catch everybody up on some tech support posts when I return. I have a load ready for the crapper but I don't have time to wipe afterward so it'll be another day before I submit it.
No
I dunno but it was embarassing enough.
Monday, August 7th, 2000
