Once again, the Carnival of the Vanities has rolled into town. This one’s huge!
[ Also seen at Blogcritics ]
Once again, the Carnival of the Vanities has rolled into town. This one’s huge!
[ Also seen at Blogcritics ]
Other evil overlords save up their demands for servitude, but not our Bill. No! Every week it’s something else. It’s like she’s this big egomaniac or something.
Oh, wait, I forgot. She’s Canadian. That explains everything…
Well, this week’s bit o’ sacrifice to the Mistress of Montreal involves food. Specifically, the command from up north reads, “Bake, Minions of Billegible!
And so, we present: Hidden Surprise Cookies
My brother just introduced me to the next big time-sucking, too-cute-for-words, addictive-as-hell, and-all-those-other-hyphenated-phrases game. For the love of all that’s holy, do NOT go to Jardinains! And do not download it and start playing it.
You have been warned.
According to most sources, the Police don’t often use real-life sketch artists anymore. Instead, they let computers do the doodling.
Grump found this cool Flash Face thingy a while back. I tried to draw myself this morning and wound up wasting a half an hour just playing around with the thing. Ooh, let’s try that nose. Ew! My ears aren’t that big! It’s like Mr. Potato Head does drawing.
But wait! There’s more! I found another sketchy thing.
At PoliceGuide, there is the Computerized Police Sketch Artist. Just answer a bunch of questions about the face you saw robbing the 7-11 last night and voila! Instant sketch. Try it yourself. It’s cool. heh heh heh.
Yay! They’re finally done asking us for our address whenever we go to buy a frickin’ battery at Radio Shack. Next up: DNA samples.
NOTE: No offense is meant to the many fine employees of Radio Shack. Not that any of them read this blog…
[ via Slashdot ]
Picture your father and mother.
Go ahead. Close your eyes and picture them.
Now, picture them with their index and pinky fingers raised in a satanic salute, heads banging, bouncing in their seats, while they sing “Bohemian Rhapsody” with you, your best friend and your brother…
Yes, it was one of THOSE nights.
One of those miraculous nights when father, mother, daughter, friend-of-daughter and son actually enjoy each other’s company.
When 16-year-old son doesn’t complain about how annoying his 13-year-old sister and her friend is.
When daughter doesn’t ask son to stop bugging her. Repeatedly.
When they watch a three hour movie and all agree that it doesn’t suck.
When they blast A Night At The Opera at eardrumsbleeding volume on the car CD player (much to the chagrin of the 7-11 patrons).
When they introduce daughter’s friend to the delights of Heart Attack Alley for the first time.
When they go to a really nice fondue restaurant in jeans and t-shirts and proceed to lay waste to TWO pots of chocolate…including daughter and friend-of-daughter literally scraping the bottom of said pots to the point that they needed no further cleaning…and winding up with father tossing mint packets to daughter and friend-of-daughter, but missing son–instead, heaving it over into a neighboring booth…
Chocolate and sugar overdose.
Giggling teenage girls.
These are not things my parents would have been thrilled with.
But I was.
It was one of THOSE nights.
To hell with aliens! This is a great application of unused bandwidth…though it’s brainwidth more than CPU cycles they’re after. The Distributed Proofreaders site proposes to ease the burden of proofreading the e-text of Project Gutenberg by splitting it up one page at a time. Just sign up. Read a page. Correct some spelling. Do your part to further the cause of the spread of free information.
[ via Flablog ]
OK, here’s my last rant, then it’s off to nice happy posts.
While I think it’s just fine that they picked Winston Churchill as the Greatest Briton, I am left just a wee bit aghast at the other choices.
Let’s just start off with Number Three. Yep. You guessed it: Princess Diana.
I am not trying to make any judgment as to how sweet and compassionate she was or how much money she raised for charity or any of that rot. I’m just saying: Are you out of your freaking minds?
Princess Diana above Darwin, Shakespeare, Newton, Elizabeth I, Cromwell, Victoria, Hawking, Henry VIII, Dickens, Maxwell and Tolkein??? What kind of mad group of islands did we spring from over there?
It gets worse.
Boy George is on the list.
Boy George is ranked higher than Florence Nightingale.
King I-Didn’t-Even-Exist-You-Numbskulls Arthur is on the list.
King Arthur beat 49 real people.
John is in the top ten (8th). Paul is 19th. George is 62nd. But NO RINGO!
I supposed I shouldn’t be too hard on the British people, however. At least their government doesn’t have to spend money convincing morons that we really did go to the moon!
[ via Plasticbag.org ]
Speaking of flesh-eating viruses, the RIAA decided that being cooped up on a ship with a thousand other guys while getting ready to defend the country just wasn’t pleasant enough. So, as a treat, they took away the sailors’ MP3’s. How thoughtful. A court-martial for the holidays.
[ via Amish Tech Support ]
I admit it. Today, I used CookieCop today. And AD-Aware, too. I even stopped pop-ups with POW!. I’m so ashamed. Or I would be, if I believed what the flesh-eating virus that runs Anti-Leech says.
[ via fellow culprit dragonleg ]