floorpie

ubiquitous, obligatory, boring, “link and search term” post

OK kids, it’s that time again: time to do the post where I tell you about some new links; and, I thought I’d also roll-in another cliche post, and list some of the HI-larious search terms that have found my site, lately. So, please bear with me while I pay my blogging dues…just be thankful I’m not posting pictures of my (nonexistent) cat. Here we go:

I added a few more links to the sidebar, in order to either whore for link-backs, or because I’ve generally been reading their blogs lately. As the list on my blog steadily grows to match the list in my bookmarks, I realize more and more that I need to implement the clever rotating link dealie Ernie helped me out with a while back (when I was almost a paltry B-lister [good times, good times]). To do so would mean changing everything to PHP, which isn’t a problem, except that you’d all (all 5 of you) have to update your links and blah blah blah…

some recent search terms that found me:

– bad day – penis stuck in a shower door

– black and stacked

– bling bling

– college guy urinals pics

– daffy duck fattening

– does micheal jordan have a jet plane

– erection in front of female doctor

– how to make yourself pass out

– maybe some dirty stuff

– pics of bush in tightie whities

– short simple rules when playing basketball nowadays

– tara reid is a crack whore

– the jetsons nude

and the #1 “Hey That’s Not Funny” Search Term: pics of young kids making out 12-14 years old

Meet George Jetson,

His Boy Elroy,

Daughter Judy,

Jane, His wife

Places I used to love to eat as a kid and now…not so much

.:Weinerschnitzel:.

Um, what? Did I really used to like this crap? Soggy buns and gray hot dogs make Dave a dull boy.

.:Taco Bell:.

OK, I still love Taco Bell, but I have a feeling that the interest will eventually fade. I just can’t manage it like I used to if you knowwhatImean. This one time, at band camp, my roommate and I went to Taco Bell and each got two 12-packs of tacos: 12 hard and 12 soft. We then went back to our apartment and sat at either end of our coffee table, stared at each other in silence, and ate every. single. one. 24 tacos each. Let me summarize the salient points of this experience for you: the half-life of Taco Bell cheese is about 3 tacos long…eat any more than that, and each subsequent shell is covered by a strange, yellowy, disgusting plastic.

.:Yoshinoya:.

Never have I seen a more pathetic site than the famous beef bowl in all it’s gray, stringy splendor. Back in the day, this used to be haute cuisine. Now it is just fuel…barely.

Those are the ones I can think of off the top of my head…what foods do you now cringe at?

The washing machines in my apartment complex have a Permanent Press cycle of 33 minutes. This duration remains the same whether it be set to Hot, Warm, or Cold, though the Hott flavor costs an extra quarter, most likely for added Kewlness and Sex A-peel.

You know the old saying often uttered by the crotchety: “How come you eggheads can put a man on the moon, but you can’t figure out a way to _______?!”? Where “_______” is usually something like “record Jeopardy automatically”, “keep my still from a-blowin'”, or “fix my urethra”. Well, I’m here to tell you one thing that science apparently has nailed down. (wait for it)

How long to wash my underwear.

I mean, how do they know? As an engineer, I know that theoretical estimates are often verified through empirical experimentation. Therefore, there was undoubtedly a whole team of PhD’s spending a long Sunday afternoon together, stopwatches in hand, Laundry Machine Alpha Prime: That Which Has No End to Thou Cycle (to now be known as LMAPTWHNETC) warmed up, piles of their own soiled undergarments at the ready, and boxes of Detergent X tapped and ready to go. Starting, most likely, at 20 minutes, some poor sap of a grad student had to stop the machine, reach in to the swarming mess, pull out a random pair of boxers and/or tightie-whities, give it the sniff test, and then hand it to the backup tester for verification. Through careful measurement and calibration, this test obviously eventually led to the optimum setting of 33 minutes. Of course, it had to be cross-checked at least twice.

No wonder my T-shirts and towels, shorts and jeans, underwear and sweatshirts are not unclean, nor are they over-clean, they are, simply, thankfully, clean. God bless Science.

*Update*

Obviously the victim of less scrutiny, the drying cycle is a rather conservative 45 minutes. I suspect further progress will soon be made in this area and a more specific time will be ascertained, as I often find my clothes to be somewhat over-dry.

I had hard-boiled eggs for lunch today. I’ve been inexplicably slightly craving them for the last three days, and I finally got around to actually satisfying the urge. I felt terribly domestic, standing in my kitchen, quietly reading Hemingway, and boiling eggs. I waited as they rocked and roiled, tumbled and boiled. I could hardly wait for the timer to go off…after all ten minutes seems an obscene length of time in this microwaveable future we live in.

Watching the egg-shaped, err, eggs, saunter around in the boiling water got me to thinking. I do a lot of that. It fascinates me, sometimes, to think about where foods came from. Why we thought to take a bite of this, or mix that with that…it sometimes seems so improbable.

scene opens: slightly after the Dawn of Time, but before I Love Lucy. A wistful Elysian meadow, resplendent in the light of morning. A gentle dew rests lightly on sundry flowers and grasses. Two slack-jawed yokels reverently take in the scene, watching as noble chickens strut silently about the field.

Joe-Bob: Bill, what the fuck just came out the back of that chicken?!

Bill: Holy Christ Joe-Bob, is the chickens packaging their feces now?!

JB: I don’t think so Bill, there’s still plenty of chicken-shit around.

Bill: Boy-howdy! … Dude, eat it.

JB: What?! Fuck you! You eat it!

Bill: You saw it, you eat it.

JB: Fuck. (crunch splatter gurgle) Yearggh!

Bill: Yes?

JB: NO!

Bill: Hmmmm, well hell, now what?

JB: We could try NOT eating it.

Bill: Shut up JB. Ummm, let’s try….

etc, etc.

The funny thing is, as I was reminded this afternoon, I don’t particularly like hard-boiled eggs. I have a few things like that: Things I think I really really want until I get them and remember I don’t…like hard-boiled eggs, and liver, and a punch in the face.

Well, I don’t have too terribly much in the way of stories, as inferred to below…at least nothing you’d be interested in.

I did, however, again see an individually wrapped dill pickle in the same place I did one year and 4 days ago, while under nearly identical circumstances. If we do not learn from history, we are doomed to repeat it.

So I’m going to LA again. Don’t ask why. I’ll just be gone for the weekend, and will then hopefully return with some stories. Cheers!

If one comes across a person who has been shot by an arrow, one does not spend time wondering about where the arrow came from, or the caste of the individual who shot it, or analyzing what type of wood the shaft is made of, or the manner in which the arrowhead was fashioned. Rather, one should focus on immediately pulling out the arrow. – Shakyamuni, the Buddha

things in my sphere

.:L:. The flowers smell good, and were given to me as a much appreciated gift.

.:C:. I’m covering my fridge in contact paper that I’ve spray-painted bright red. This is a test.

.:R:. My new favorite belt is an old one.

All blogging and no posting make Dave a dull boy.

Blogger is faithfully eating my posts left and right. Expect brilliance when technology gets bitch-slappped into shape. Ev is repentant.