Ohm gets our ass handed to us, on the web.

I took her to go see inception, and she was pregnant like the whole time!!!

:(

HAVE FUN!!! AND BE SAFE!!!
Formal Application for dating a TFPP guy.

305’s classiest dames. And naturally, there’s now a donk remix.

*EXTRA EXTRA* Stop the presses. This just in. There’s a new definition to the Oxford English Dictionary’s 2010 Word of the Year, DONK. Apparently this totally fly whip hath been DONKED:

Girl:

I know I done you wrong. I know I been untrue. I know I ain’t been pulling my weight in terms of the laundry, the groceries, the cooking, the dishes, the turning-off of stove burners, the payment of rent and utility bills, the unclogging of toilets, the locking of car and apartment doors. So I understand you wanting a break. I understand you wanting some time apart, time alone, time to figure things out, reevaluate your priorities, clear your head. Girl, I know what I deserve. I know sooner or later a man gotta reap what he sows. But, my problem is, in terms of reaping, how come I gotta reap you coming into the Crouton Palace, my place of employment, with that hideous crustacean attached to your forehead? Girl, you know I’m on thin ice with Mr. Stegerson as it is. And now suddenly I got your crustacean wiggling its antennae and squirming its cockroach body and snapping its terrifying pincers at the paying customers. Tell me—did I really sow that? Is that really fair punishment for all those dishes I didn’t wash, those stove burners I didn’t turn off, those tuna casseroles I didn’t cook, those loads of whites and colors I didn’t do?

But just coming into Crouton Palace with that crustacean latched onto your forehead wasn’t enough. Oh no. You had to go and tell Little Roy at the cash register that you and the crustacean were in a symbiotic relationship. Now don’t that just take the cake! Don’t that just set my blood to boil! With my own ears, I heard you tell Little Roy that having that crustacean perched right above your eyebrows was mutually beneficial to the both of you. Mutually beneficial! As opposed to, you told Little Roy, all the one-way affairs you’d had in the past. You, cooking all the meals; you, picking up all the socks; you, cleaning up all the Heineken spilled on the floor, the table, the loveseat, the bathtub, the DVD recorder, the federal census; and not receiving anything in return. Now girl, you know that ain’t fair. Who do you think gave you his buddy’s unwanted Third Eye Blind ticket? Who do you think left you those discarded supermarket coupons he found outside Madame Kitty Kat’s? Who do you think gave you sweet, good loving once or twice a month, three times in February, if memory serves me correctly? Wasn’t no stalk-eyed, antennae-wiggling crustacean, I’ll tell you that much. But you remember what you want to remember, forget what you want to forget. Baby, I know I done you wrong. But I ain’t sowed this. Girl, you know I wouldn’t have recorded the UFC title fight over that footage of your sister’s wedding, if I’d known that this is what I’d sow.

Now, I admit, I’ll man up, I got my faults, I can see how my past actions might possibly merit doing me like you done me. But what really gets my goat, what really sets my temper aquiver, is how this little symbiotic relationship nonsense of yours is affecting my coworkers at Crouton Palace. They see you waltzing in with that crustacean on your forehead, all smiles, all lovey-dovey, feeding the crustacean your extra croutons, little bits of romaine, olives, parmesan cheese, arugula; and they compare this to the old days, when you’d storm in, face afire, cursing me out and knocking over promotional displays and hurling napkin dispensers at me in front of the paying customers; and my coworkers think: “Hey, maybe there’s something to this. Maybe a crustacean on the forehead ain’t such a bad thing after all.” And next thing you know, Charlene, the hostess, is calling it quits with Brad from the kitchen and dunking her head in the lobster tank at Red Lobster. Which don’t yield good results, I can tell you that much. Although, even still, she ain’t abandoned the whole crustacean thing entirely—she says Red Lobster lobsters, they ain’t happy lobsters; she’s just gotta find the right lobster, the lobster that truly gets her, who understands her, that’s all.

So I gotta ask you—where’s this gonna end? Is this gonna end with Brad, jilted and lonely, raiding the stockroom and slapping clams meant for our chowder all over his face? Is this gonna end with Little Roy greeting customers with a hermit crab hanging onto his forehead, with mantis shrimp attached to both ears, with a crayfish scuttling around inside his pants? Girl, I can’t stand it anymore. I ain’t the perfect man, but I’m a man, not a crustacean, and that oughta count for something. That oughta win me some points. I know this whole symbiotic thing might seem great right now, but just you wait—one day that crustacean’s gonna do you like I done you, like you done me, except worse, ’cause that little devil’s got claws, and don’t you try to sugarcoat them things, Lord knows you catch that crustacean in the wrong mood and those suckers will hurt!

Girl—what I’m trying to say is—ain’t nothing symbiotic in this life, ain’t no one perfect, but we had a good thing going, you and me, and it’d be a shame to give that up. So if you want to talk, you know where to find me, at Crouton Palace, where I will give you the 10% discount normally reserved for employees, just to show you my heart is true.

I miss you baby.

Love,

Your honeybee

(Me)

left: one of the russia suicide bombers (from nytimes).  right: notorious b.i.g.

really, though, she looks like that kid that played biggie in the chris cunningham music video…

Every now and again I forget to save my work and then Logic crashes and I’ve lost the last ten minutes or so of material. I threw together a little Applescript application that tells Growl to display a notification reminding me to save every five minutes.
Here is the script saved as an application, which you can download.
Naturally, this only works if you use Mac OS X and have Growl installed.
To read the source, click –> (more…)