Fun fact: In the middle 1980s, when I was 13 or 14 years old, I was addicted to the tabloids. Not the National Enquirer which had celebrity news. I spent far too much money on Weekly World News and The Sun which had the crazy, unreal things in them. Like Bat Boy.
I would have better served myself in spending that lawn mowing money on comic books or blowing it on the Rampage machine up the hill at the U-Gas.
Logically speaking, none of these squares have buses; as a matter of fact, the image only contains a single bus spread over four squares.
I know, I am reading too much into it, but I sometimes still get a little bit anxious when trying out captchas. Sometimes the images are blurry, or the text is ambiguous as to what I’m really looking for.
I would probably take my poor, long-suffering beautiful wife to see it.
I have taken her to see far worse films based on Saturday Night Live skits.
But I would not take up another $10 or $15 a month service charge to stream it. I might have mentioned that I don’t get to see many movies these days, and I think we’re about two seasons backed up on the things we record on our DVR, so I don’t need to spend extra watching things I probably won’t enjoy and that will probably lecture me anyway.
Come on, you know I’m kidding, right? That’s an allusion to the film Turk 182, one of those films from the middle 1980s when Kim Cattrall was all that and an upsized order of seasoned fries before the Sex and the City character made her seem a little skeevy.
A new Uber service called UberJog promises to let you call an expert runner to go on a run on your behalf.
Although, to be honest, I’d prefer a service that does the swimming portion of a triathlon for you. I’ve got one coming up in three weeks, and I’m ill prepared for it. As I have been for the last two Tiger Triathlons in Republic.
And while we’re on the subject, here’s a bit of satire I shared on Facebook:
I see via Mr. Hill that I was not alone in my macabre humor.
So I have been messing around with Git and Github since it’s the versioning software all the kids use, and I’ve found the pull and push nomenclature, not to mention the order of operations, a little strange to someone used to Visual SourceSafe or Subversion. So I downloaded a picture of the Pushmi-pullyu from the film Doctor Dolittle, the original one with Rex Harrison and not the Eddie Murphy remake (although I have seen neither–but I read the book in middle school).
I was going to make a gag about it being the cover of my new book about Git.
But. Or, more precisely, butt another opportunity for mirth presented itself.
So this week, I’m helping take care of her cats while she’s out of town, and one of my boys spots the magnets and puts them together in some sort of eldritch unholy alliance you would find in Lovecraft:
I said to my mother-in-law, “A pussy-pullyu.”
She didn’t get it.
So I snapped a picture of the monstrosities and said, “I’ll put it on my blog. Someone will get it.”
You, gentle reader, now have the context of the pun and why it came so easily to me.
Eh, who cares. I’m just doing the for the mad search hits for whatever kind of sexual trick the pun means it the seedy seamy underbelly of humanity that is our Internet.
As we live in the country, you might not be surprised when the random bull shows up at Nogglestead.
But sometimes, I have to explain.
My children have been home this summer instead of going to various camps to occupy them whilst their parents work (working from home can be especially challenging during the summer time). They’ve had a lot of time playing video games, and apparently all the video games these days have integrated audio with them, so my youngest has spent a lot of time saying loudly, “Do you have a mike?”
When they had a friend over one Sunday afternoon, they all spent time playing individual games on their individual devices instead of playing with their friend. So I printed out a picture of Michael Jordan and waited until my youngest was playing on a gaming system that did not have a microphone.
“Do you have a Mike?” I asked him.
“No,” he said. At eleven, he knows the proper inflection for how can you even ask that?
“Here,” I handed him the color picture.
It’s floated around our lower level since. Being it’s a color print out, nobody wants to dispose of it willy-nilly, without enough time elapsing and reflection.
You know I had children specifically so I could make Dad jokes, ainna?
So, the other night, I was grilling chicken and pork at the same time, and I had separate tongs for each for sanitary reasons.
The tongs were not the same size, but I could remember easily which was for which meat.
The longer of the two was for the pork. Because who can forget long pork?
I would have posted this on Facebook, but there’s this one guy that I used to work with that would always thumbs up every cannibal joke I made (like this one seven years ago, which I also posted on Facebook along with Donner party gags from time to time). Which was creepy.
Probably as creepy as making cannibalism jokes, but I’m not that self-aware.