So, this jackass from Turkey writes an email asking to get the files off of his webserver. I look up his account.
He cancelled his service a few days ago.
Wouldn’t any rational human being download all their files first, then cancel the service? Or are things that different in Turkey? Do they do everything ass-backwards, like eating the cone before the ice cream, slipping on the condom after having sex, or dropping trou after taking a dump?
Man, no wonder why the EU doesn’t want those crazy bastards in their club. Europe is messed up enough as it is.
Evil Ned rubbed his hands together and cackled as the massive pumps churned into the night.
“Are you sure this is going to work, Ned?” asked his sidekick Ralph.
“Minnesota will pay dearly to get their ten thousand lakes back!” said Ned.
Ralph stood by the last of the lakes and watched the water level slowly sink. The shore shrank away, and he walked along the muddy lakebottom.
“I feel bad for the fish,” said Ralph. “They’ll die.”
“A sacrifice I’m willing to make,” said Ned. “Oh, and grab a few of those fish. We’ll grill them for dinner tonight.”
There are three kinds of empty cat collars in this world.
All those collars at the pet store. So hard to choose. Will it look good? Does it have a bell? Is it a safe collar for them to wear if they get tangled in something? How long will they take to get used to it?
Sometimes, a collar wears out. Or it breaks. They just get thrown out with the rest of the garbage. Once again, you buy another.
But every now and then, an empty collar means something else:
A dear, beloved friend is gone.
Those, you keep.
Unregulated currency flow can be a dangerous thing.
First, they started with banks. They seemed innocent enough.
Then came ATMs, advertised as “Where you need them” but actually positioned along lines of economic-force that Mayan astrologers calculated centuries ago.
Finally, cathedrals to The Almighty Dollar appeared at convergence points.
That’s when they began to pull.
Tensioned lines of economic-force buckled the fabric of reality. Time-space twisted worldwide.
In some places, it tore.
It’s been centuries since Wall Street exploded with vicious Keynesian Multipliers. Since then, man has slowly returned to barter and trade.
Simple supply and demand. Back to basics.
King Richard sighed. There was another fight in the Royal Observatory. Five assistants were laid up at the Healer’s.
“Bring those damned eggheads here!” shouted the king.
“Yes, Sire,” said the Chamberlain.
Phillips and Mossbeard were still attacking at each other, even as the guards threw them to the throne room floor.
“The Earth revolves around the Sun!” shouted Phillips.
“The Sun revolves around the Earth!” shouted Mossbeard.
Richard scowled at them both.
“Off with their heads!” he shouted.
“Sire?” asked the Chamberlain.
“They are both wrong,” said the king. “The world revolves around me.”
“Yes, Sire,” said the Chamberlain.
They flipped a coin.
Bob won. “You type.”
When Terrence typed “Cook” in the field for Occupation, Bob balked.
“He’s a chef, not a cook,” said Bob.
“There is no difference between chef and cook,” said Terrence. “Chefs are professional cooks, and professional only means that you’re getting paid.”
“Professionalism means more than just payment,” said Bob. “There’s an element of experience, and dedication you’re leaving out.”
“Fine,” said Terrence. As always, he got out the correction fluid, painted over “Cook” and typed in “Chef.”
“Thank you,” said Bob. “So, what does the coroner think?”
“Ahem. Medical examiner.”
We are returning your test unit from the Microsoft OfficeAndroid Bob beta program.
Yes, we were impressed with Bob’s diligence and endurance, but there are problems with the verbal interface:
* When told to “Bounce this off of Dick,” Bob cracked three of the Vice President’s ribs.
* “Light a fire under Mueller’s ass” resulted in second-degree burns to the FBI Director that required skin grafts.
* Finally, “Help me wrap my head around this” caused the tragic death of our Transportation Secretary.
So, we’ll wait for Version 2.0.
White House Chief of Staff
It’s simple, Doc. If I don’t wind my watch, the world stops.
My mother told me that. And since I was five, I’ve kept this watch wound up.
I’ve gone through so many wristbands, but the watch itself just keeps on ticking.
Never overwound, mind you. That makes time go by too fast. It’s hard enough keeping up as it is.
Once, some guy stole my watch on the subway, but I got it back before the world stopped.
I planned on giving it to my daughter, but Sarah took her. No forwarding address.
So, now will you clone me?
So I’m shopping for a new turban, minding my own business, when this American starts chasing these guys with a huge basket.
He’s lashing a bullwhip around like a five-tongued frog in a fly swarm.
Allah, how I hate tourists!
So, the crowd gets out of my way, and I pull out my scimitar.
Yeah, my Dad gave this to me. Great balance, huh?
Anyway, I wave it around a bit. I figure it’ll scare him off or something.
The crowd eats it up, and suddenly the crazy son of a bitch shoots me.
So, Allah, where’s my seventy-two virgins?
Want to know your future?
Well, some psychics read tealeaves. Others read palms.
I know a few who even still read those goofy Tarot cards.
My pal Elmo’s different. He calls himself the Whizzing Wizard. Or the Whizzard for short.
He can tell your future by drinking your urine.
Not directly, mind you. He’s got a silver bowl to drink it out of.
Other psychics think it’s awful. They call him “Trickle Me Elmo.”
But they’re just jealous, because he’s pretty damned accurate.
Elmo’s problem is he charges a bloody fortune for his services.
But, hey, can you blame him?