The fifth page of Features..
much like the others, but just different!
Feature #49:
If you're not familiar with the MADMARCY conversations, please take a look at some of the really old features. But, as a quick summary: MADMARCY is a girl named Amanda that, during the early days of this webpage, my friend Mike endlessly pestered online, using a healthy smattering of Kids in the Hall references to both confuse and tickle everyone involved. Nicole, a reader of this page, decided to check up on our gullible friend Amanda. Here's their conversation.
KanadaPeach: HI!!!!
MADMARCY: hi??
KanadaPeach: Whats up???
MADMARCY: not much...who is this>
KanadaPeach: Oh, y'know...whatcha doing?
MADMARCY: not much and i am sorry i dont know
KanadaPeach: Oh it's ok. I'm at my friend's house
KanadaPeach: We're gonna go swimming!
MADMARCY: yea who is this
KanadaPeach: It's just me
KanadaPeach: C'mon Amanda....why aren't you out with your friends?
KanadaPeach: I'll come pick you up. It'll be so much fun!
MADMARCY: why do u ask
MADMARCY: okay who is thsi
KanadaPeach: Silly, silly girl....
KanadaPeach: We should go to the beach!
MADMARCY: umm ok but first tell me who u are
KanadaPeach: Oh my GOD! How much fun would that be????
MADMARCY: 2 much
MADMARCY: so... who are u
KanadaPeach: I'm eating a nice, warn, soft pretzel. It's really good. Want some?
MADMARCY: is that supposed to give me a clue of some kind cause its not helping
MADMARCY: omg?? melissa?
KanadaPeach: YEAH!!! I knew you'd get it!!!
MADMARCY: lol that is what i was thinking but then i was talking to u on the other sn
KanadaPeach: I made a new one. Do you like it?
MADMARCY: yea its cute
KanadaPeach: Anyway, do you wanna go to the beach tomorrow?
MADMARCY: are u kidding when??
KanadaPeach: Tomorrow.....
KanadaPeach: Wanna bring Jordan?
MADMARCY: ok this is not melissa
KanadaPeach: ok so it's not....
MADMARCY: whatever bye
KanadaPeach: why??? can't we talk anyway???
MADMARCY: cause i want to know who u are and u wont tell me
KanadaPeach: so??
MADMARCY signed off at 11:00:19 PM.
Feature #50:
This week's been interesting. I rode "Superman: The Ride of Steel" at Six Flags New England, and seeing as it was the first big roller coaster i've ever been on, i bravely and heroically screamed like a small baby for two minutes straight. I sat next to my friend Berto, and we have a wonderfully expensive picture -- the kind that you say "nine dollars? i'm not buying a picture for nine dollars! how do they get away with that?" and then end up buying at the end of the ride -- to prove it. I'm intensely looking down and holding on to dear life ("making love to the handle bars," as i said before we dropped to a breezy 77 mph), and Berto is pointing at the camera and screaming what looks like "Don't you say that about my momma!" Anyway, moving on.
I thought i'd toss you a little eye candy this week, mainly because i don't have anything written. And so, here we have it...
1. Safe sex
2. A horoscope from the Boston Globe
1. This comes to me via my girlfriend's x-manager. It's a classy little number and, really, i can't help but enjoy a visual pun. I used to be one of those people that declared puns the "lowest form of humor." But, then i saw the Rocky & Bullwinkle movie and i realized that, in fact, i enjoy puns. Especially visual ones:
2. I had posted this on one of the home pages a while back, but it wasn't working and eventually i became frustrated and took it off. Hopefully, it'll work now. This is a horoscope from the Boston Globe that i tore out because, as you'll see, it's implying that incest is headed the way of the unfortunate capricorn. If you're a capricorn and have had any sexual relations with family members, i advise taking it up with the Boston Globe. There's a lawsuit in there somewhere, i think.
Feature #51:
This is actually something that happened a while ago, but I felt inclined to share it this week with you.
I was on my way to the train station to meet a friend of mine, which means that I have to take a bus to City Hall. So, there I sat at the bus stop on a bench by myself, and a woman in her mid-to-late twenties sits down next to me. She's wearing a long raincoat-type thing and carrying two bags: one of those trendy bags that early high school girls carry, and a grocery bag. Her hair was long, wavy and looked as if it might have been dipped in some kind of hardening hair care product. Also, I'm pretty sure she was either pregnant or had a sprouting beer belly.
"Hello," she says."
"Hey," I say, and we begin talking about the weather, because it truly was a nice spring day. It had been rainy and cold for the past week and that day was one of those pretty ones that make you want to lounge outside and eat strawberry ice cream… or something. Anyway, while I dislike small talk, complimenting the weather was in order. We also introduced ourselves.
Her name was Marie.
"What are you doing today?" asks Marie. I tell her that I'm taking the bus to the train station, yadda yadda, then ask her what she's doing.
"Making some money," she says, with a wink. (if anyone knows what's about to happen here, I commend you. I was still in the dark, mainly because I couldn't tell if she had just winked at me or I just made that up.)
"So, do you party? Do you date a lot?" she asks, which in my naïve state seemed like a somewhat uncomfortable-but-still-acceptable question.
"Well, I have a girlfriend," I say.
"Oh." Then a long pause. Then she says: "Boy, I do love my SEX!"
This is about the time when I realized that there's a good chance that a prostitute is soliciting me. Yes, it was possible that she was proclaiming her devotion to feminism or lesbianism, but I was pretty damn sure she was talking about, for lack of a better term, the horizontal mambo. And by now, I'm pretty sure she winked at me earlier.
"Well," I say, not exactly sure how to respond. "It's good to have something, I guess."
We then sit in silence for a moment, until a scantily clad woman walks by and Marie turns to me and says something to the effect of, "That bitch! She's taking my turf!"
"Oh, this is your turf?" I ask. I don't know a whole lot about the prostitution business, so it seemed like a perfectly logical question to me. Marie laughed, though, and explained that she just walks up and down the streets.
Now, here's what I consider my shining moment in this because, really, when do you get the opportunity to ask this to a prostitute? I say: "So, is business good?"
Marie smiles and nods, and I now know something about Worcester I never really considered before.
Suddenly, and I'm not making this up, a company van with something similar to "Ted's Carpet Cleaning" pulls up to a red light across the street, and the driver leans his whole body out the window and yells, "Hey Marie!"
"Hey Ted," Marie waves back, and Ted - a regular customer, perhaps - drives off.
I really, really wish I could remember the name of that company.
Anyhow, after a bit more small talk about the weather, Marie decides that I'm not biting and decides to move on. We wish each other a nice day, she picks up her bags, waves, and walks down the street.
And that, ladies and gentlemen, was my encounter with a prostitute.
Feature #52:
Hey, i'm sorry i haven't been able to update the site in a while. I'm currently in the process of working for the freshman orientation here at clark university, so i've been unable to devote a lot of time to the webpage. To put some actual content into this week, however, here's a small ditty that i've decided to plaster from an e-mail my friend shira kantor sent to me. As of this posting, i haven't really asked if she doesn't mind this or not, so let's just hope she doesn't. Anyhow, onto car bumpers:
i'll begin with a short commentary on the sad state of bumpers today. that's right, i'm talking about car bumpers, or rather the pitiful facsimiles thereof we suffer with in this 21st century. now, back in the days of yore, cars were equipped with tough, steel (or something) bumpers; separate units attached to the back of the car. The key word here is SEPARATE. nowadays these newfangled cars feature bumpers that are continuous with the rest of the car. Oh, the engineers think they are so tricky, calling the cars 'sleek' and 'aerodynamic.' Bah! And worse, car buyers believe this nonsense! but it is to their own detriment, as these "bumpers" are WORTHLESS!! why, in an accident these smooth extentions of the car body would do nothing to protect it. the car would be crumpled like the wrapper of a Snickers, haphazardly tossed to the wayside after some mucousy five-year-old devoured its inner core. the OLD bumpers would never allow the car such a fate! The bumper would lay down its life to protect the car, doing all it could to absorb the shock of any intrusion, regardless of its magnitude. so i beseech you--BE WARY! let not the evil ways of today's 'fashionable' cars deflect you from safety and happiness. for these cars are merely the devil incarnate; a coy marketing disaster and engineering fraud. and that is all i have to say about that.
Feature #53:
I truly apologize for the long time it took me to update this thing. School started and i've been a bit busy running around with classes and such. However, i finally have managed an update. Since there's nothing bulky to stick up here this week, i'm just going to present you with a nice streamline of goodies. Updates should be more regular now. Or, so i intend. Here we go:
Hopefully funny joke:
You: "Say 'Knock knock.' "
Them: "Knock knock"
You: "Who's there?"
Them: (long pause, confused look)
You: (laugh)
Them: (hopefully laugh)
If you care what I think:
There is nothing redeemable about Truth, the organization that is trying to stop teenage smoking by belting "hip" commercials at whatever demographic they can. Their ploys are trite (ripping out cigarette magazine ads, but only the ones you own? Claiming that cigarette companies look at people as "target market" and "potential customer" while ignoring that every other company does as well. Do they think Phil Knight reads me lullabys? I hope not.), the money they are using could be better spent on cancer research, and they seem to be under the impression that I - THEIR "target market" - can't make my own decision. I don't smoke, but I hate Truth.
A true fact:
As told by Cathy Zymet, the author of a number of teeny-bopper books about popular bands: the Backstreet Boys smoke cigarettes and make fun of their handicapped fans. For more information, check out http://www.mcsweeneys.net/2000/08/25backstreet4.html
If someone's drinking milk:
Try and make them laugh, as the milk will come shooting out of their nose. It may not be fun for them, but it'll be a wonderful moral humor victory for you. A friend of mine made someone shoot a carrot out his nose once. I'm jealous.
Don't ever:
Always refrain from leaning against the screen of a window, for fear that it might give way and you'll do a backflip out the building and land on a spikey fence. Take, for instance, the girl who recently did this at the University of Southern California. According to the AP, "The woman landed on the fence and two spikes punctured her buttocks."
If you don't do well with hot sauce:
Don't try something entitled "Raw Heat." My friend did, and he convulsed for a while. Then he asked for a banana.
If you don't like eating pizza:
There's a good chance you are inhuman.
If you have some dirty underwear you don't want anymore:
Sell it on ebay. I was amazed and disturbed at the amount of used undergarments that are being offered there. Some say that, while the underwear is cleaned as per ebay regulations, the seller would be happy to soil them before sending. Eeeeeew.
Is this at all true?:
I've heard that a duck's quack doesn't echo. I've also heard that people sometimes can pick up radio signals with fillings in their teeth. While I don't really believe either of these, I don't own a duck and know nobody with radio-receiving fillings. Therefore, I'm unqualified to make sound judgements on these topics.
If you've ever been to the Big Y:
There's a great supermarket called the Big Y whose motto is, "Where People Come First." My friend saw it posted on their wall for the first time and thought it said, "White People Come First." He was confused. Then appalled. Then he read it correctly, and was rather amused.
If you have a runny nose and are trying to impress a member of the opposite sex:
Keep tissues with you at all times, for your nose might become drippy. I'll tell you, droplets of mucus wait for no tissue. They'll just fall right out. While this has never happened to me, I can imagine it'd be rather embarrassing. Unless, of course, this person is into drippy noses, and then you may have lucked out.
If you know anything about politics:
When a large, 40-year-old man at Dunkin' Donuts sits down with a large pink beverage and asks you if you know anything about politics, say you don't. Otherwise, you're in for the long haul… especially when he starts asking the cops which candidate their union supports. This comes from personal experience.
If you can find a tape called "Die Schlumpfe":
Get it. It's a collection of American pop tunes sung by Smurfs (or, people with really high-pitched voices) in German. It's a hoot.
If you are about to eat a blueberry and then a worm crawls out of it:
Please tell me. This happened to me when I was about 10, and I can rarely eat blueberries anymore. That is, unless they're in a muffin. Then the worm is cooked anyway, I imagine. Wow. That's disgusting.
If you want to make someone look stupid:
Write out the following on a piece of paper, in the triangular formation in which it appears here:
Paris
in the
the springtime
Then ask them to recite this to you. Unless you picked some kind of mutant prodigy, the person will not say the second "the." Ask them to recite it again. They'll still skip the second "the." Do this again until they realize their error. You're then free to laugh at them.
Feature #54:
I liked the format of last week's feature and decided to do one similar to it. Granted, not everything is funny, but hey. So it goes.
If you know who Boston Globe sports writer Dan Shaughnesy is:
Apparently this kind of format is similar to his "Picked up Pieces" articles. I don't know what that means at all. I've just been told.
If your intention is to not make someone laugh:
Here's a bad joke: "What's brown and smelly and comes from behind?"
"What?" they ask.
"Shit."
If your car is sinking and you're trapped inside:
Try and open the windows or doors. If they're stuck, break the window. If that doesn't work, you have one frightening option: "Remain calm and do not panic. Wait until the car begins filling with water. When the water reaches your head, take a deep breath and hold it. Now the pressure should be equalized inside and outside, and you should be able to open the door and swim to the surface." (courtesy of "The Worst-Case Scenario Survival Handbook," by Joshua Piven and David Borgenicht)
If you eat peanuts:
Peanuts have a fungus that grows on them, and it isn't very good for your digestive system. In ridiculously large quantities, peanuts could contribute to you getting cancer.
If you were ever depressed and then just realized you were being ridiculous:
You may be hard-pressed to beat me in melodramatic absurdity. I was recently going through some things I had written a few years ago, and came across a wonderful sentence: "If people were watching a movie of me, they'd have asked for their refund by now." Ain't that poetic? Har.
If you're ever looking for a good quote:
"The best swordsman in the world doesn't need to fear the second best swordsman in the world; no, the person for him to be afraid of is some ignorant antagonist who has never had a sword in his hand before; he doesn't do the thing he ought to do, and so the expert isn't prepared for him; he does the thing he ought not to do; and often it catches the expert out and ends him on the spot".-samuel clemens
If you're ever looking for a bad quote:
"Life is a chicken who has come home to roost. It thinks it's a rooster, but wait. What's roosting, anyway?" - I couldn't think of an awful quote, so I just came up with that.
If you thought your roommate was bad:
My freshman year, there was this guy named Jason (this isn't autobiographical) who was planning on moving out of his room because of a number of personal differences with his roommate. Now, it should be noted that his roommate sleep-walks and sleep-talks. On the night before Jason was planning on moving out, he awoke at around 4:00am to his roommate, who was standing over him and screaming, "DIIIIEEEEEE!"
If you think three-day-old Chinese food smells bad:
Leave it out another day. Whoa boy. (this is autobiographical)
If you swallow one of those gel-cap breath fresheners:
Wait a few minutes and make yourself burp. It promises to be most minty burp you'll ever experience. Yum!
If you wear Nike and don't believe the hype about sweatshops:
University of Oregon, Nike CEO Phil Knight's alma-matter, recently joined the Workers Rights Consortium, which is an organization who promises strict workplace oversight that's free from industry influence. (Essentially, they'll seek out sweatshops and won't take hand-outs from companies) In response, Phil Knight "withdrew a $30-million pledge to the school and vowed he'd never give again." If that isn't proof that Nike is full of sweatshops, I don't know what is. Well, unless you go watch Michael Moore's "The Big One." (courtesy of http://www.motherjones.com/mother_jones/SO00/activist_campuses.html)
If you know the muffin man:
What exactly was that song getting at, anyway? "Do you know the muffin man that lives on Shirley Lane?" "Yes, I know the muffin man that lives on Shirley Lane." Was anybody getting muffins out of this deal? Was the muffin man even making muffins? Wouldn't you think that the muffin man would refrain from making muffins at home since he'd be so sick of them after a day of selling muffins, or is he not running a business in the first place? For that matter, what kind of capitalist hogwash is this? Where is this Shirley Lane? I need to speak to this guy.
If you think Tom Petty is old and washed-up:
The guy still has some kick in him after all. Apparently George W. Bush was using one of his songs for his campaign, and Petty had one of his people call the Bush campaign and tell them to knock it off. Frankly, I'm jealous of that kind of influence. I'd love to call up George W. Bush and say, "Hey dickhead, stop using my thing." I should start making something, just so Bush can't use it.
If you've ever had a videotape of you taking off your pants shown to a classroom:
You may now stand proud with me on this matter. Although, so you don't get the wrong idea, it was for a friend of mine's project, and I was wearing boxers.
If you're happy and you know it:
Clap your hands.
If you've ever eaten a rose petal:
Those taste horrible, don't they? Sure, they may be edible, but so is urine. Hey, speaking of urine…
If you ever need to get drinking water from urine:
Dig a hole in the ground, and line it with some kind of plastic wrapping or tin foil or something. Then take another thing of plastic wrapping, pinch the middle, tie a piece of string to it that supports a cup, which should be dangling in the middle of the hole. Now, take a piss into the hole and cover the hole with this cup/plastic wrapping contraption. Wait a night, and in the morning the water will have evaporated from the urine, formed on the plastic wrapping, made its way towards the center, dripped down the string and collected in the cup. You should then have yourself a nice glass of refreshing water.
If you were wondering who I learned that from:
This guy named Bryce in my high school told me this. Incidentally, this is the same guy that went to a Halloween party doused in sparkles and calling himself Haley's Comet.
Feature #55:
Ok. I lied. The exciting news may wait another week. Hold on to your horses. If you don't have any horses, then... for the sake of all that's holy, hold on to something.
Anyhow, this is something that's rather near and dear to my heart, as you might know if you read the feature that included a detailed account of my trip to driving school. I found this posted on a wonderful site called Salon, and it's by far one of the most outrageous driving school stories i've encountered. That makes me sound like i've encountered a number of them, which is untrue. Still, this week's feature:
1. ¡DMViva! by Jayson Gallaway
2. While i'm sharing stuff that isn't mine...
1. from http://www.salon.com/people/feature/1999/12/06/traffic_school/index.html
¡DMViva!
by Jayson
Gallaway
Dec. 6, 1999 | The letter arrived on my desk Saturday afternoon, but I didn't get around to opening it until after midnight. It was from the Santa Clara County Municipal Court District. Although the actual text has been lost, the general tone of it went something like this:
Dear Shitbag:
The date for completion of traffic school has passed. In truth, we don't give a fuck about the points on your record or the increase in your insurance. To us, you're just another zit on the ass of decent society. But in a Christ-like gesture of mercy, we're giving you one last chance. If evidence of completion of the course is not firmly in our claws by noon Monday, your fees will be forfeited, the case will be closed, the DMV will be notified of the conviction, and the next time you come to Santa Clara County, we will throw your insubordinate little ass in the cooler until you rot. Do you understand? Rot!
Fuck you,
The System
Hmmm. Traffic school on Sunday. I immediately began to work the phones and the Web for a traffic school offering driver's improvement courses on the Lord's Day. Once on the Net, I quickly found such a course -- in Juneau, Alaska.
Shit.
Perhaps, I thought, I should stick to the local yellow pages. And after more than 23 unsuccessful calls, I finally found a course being offered down in the Mission District here in San Francisco. After I spoke with the woman on the phone, two things stuck out about the course. First, it was being held in the back room of a bar called El Gordo Loco. Second, it was going to be taught in Spanish.
Now I'm as Anglo as they come. But what the hell? I had a couple of semesters of high school Español under my belt, and besides, I didn't really need to understand what was being taught. All that was required by the Santa Clara authorities was that my reckless ass sit in a state-approved seat for at least eight hours, and that I get at least 60 percent correct on a multiple-guess test. No problema. I signed up.
Sunday morning at 9, I found the bar easily enough, but the place was deserted and locked up tight. So I played dice on the sidewalk with a wino named Manu for about 10 minutes, until a car pulled up and parked in a reserved space.
"Buenos días!" said the woman cheerfully.
"Hola," I said.
"Hola," said Manu.
She unlocked the door to the bar and I followed her in and headed for the back room. After about 10 minutes of awkward silence, no other students had shown up.
"So, I guess it's just us, huh?" I asked.
"Sí," she said mournfully. She introduced herself as Lupita. "So, why are you taking the class in Spanish? You don't look like you speak Spanish."
I tried my best to explain to her that this class was my only option due to temporal necessity. Since I was the only one here, I said, could she please give it to me in English?
I may as well have asked her for a hand job and a small loan.
"Oh, no. The DMV requires that this class be in Spanish."
"But I don't speak Spanish."
"Then you should come back Wednesday for English."
"But I only have until Monday. Tomorrow! Look," I said, "I don't see why you can't just teach me in English. There's no one else here: just me and you."
"But the DMV inspector, if he ..."
"HE'S NOT HERE! It's just us, and that pile of shitty laminated color copies of traffic signs, and a bar with all the stools up on the tables!"
"But if he comes in ..."
"If he comes in," I said, "just start talking in Spanish, and I'll just nod and smile. I don't care. As long as I can sit here for eight hours and take the damn test. I must pass this class!"
Finally she relented. She would give me the course in English, as long as I promised not to ever tell anybody, and as long as the DMV guy didn't come in.
Fine.
So things were going just great for a good 20 minutes or so, until guess who showed up: Yup.
What are the odds?
The odds were pretty good, it turns out. These schools are supposed to be inspected every three months, but somehow this one had escaped governmental scrutiny for well over a year. Until, of course, the day I showed up.
If there was a bright side to this, it was that the inspector was from Wisconsin and knew even less Spanish than I did.
So there we were: Lupita happily chattering away, me nodding and smiling like a nebbish, and this DMV guy, who somehow wasn't figuring out that something was drastically wrong.
Lupita soon caught on that I had retained a fair amount of vocabulary from my high school days and could string silly but realistic-sounding phrases together.
So I nodded and smiled and stroked my chin pensively, occasionally interjecting things like "Camino con Jesus!"
At one point she asked a question, and I managed to put together what probably sounded like a monologue if you didn't know any better:
"Bailo con cucarachas tu no fumar marijuana. Estoy muy boracho y vomitamos en tu zapatos. ¿Dónde está los baños? En la boca del Pepe. Sí. ¿Estamos aquí? No. Está ayi. Mocho. Es muy mocho."
During our breaks, Lupita and the DMV guy stayed in the back room interrogating each other, while I put away as many shots of Herradura as I could in the time allotted. Believe it or not, my Spanish improved exponentially with every tequila shot.
"Viva la Raza," I roared as I handed in my test at the end of the day.
Even the test had been in Spanish, but choosing all B's landed me an impressive 71 percent, 11 percent over what was required.
Yup. I win. The case was dismissed. And the system can kiss my pucker.
Fight the power.
2. Here's some stuff I feel you should see:
-How to use a Japanese toilet, in a cheaply-drawn diagram format
-Slime vollyball, which is terribly difficult but very addictive
-Robot Frank, the page of a man who dresses in cardboard boxes and calls himself a robot
Feature #56:
May i just point out that nobody should ever use a guestbook company called "htmlGEAR." That's what i was using, and the damn thing was down for three weeks. Finally, i said something along the lines of "screwith youith" and just got myself a new one. So, whereas i once was nearing 200 guestbook entries, as of this writing, i currently have two -- and one of them is me. So, please sign the new guestbook. It can't hurt.
I'm going to tell you what this damn surprise is, since i feel like i've been dragging everyone on some kind of midieval dragging-torture device (like when they tied your four limbs to four horses and let the horses run in different directions. i'm so glad i was born when i was. yeesh.) with all this "surprise" nonsense. So, the surprise is this: I have a band called Buddy System Indeed, and we're soon going to release 20,000 CDs upon the world. What that will mean, i just don't have any idea. But, we have a website, which is currently in the last stages of production. When it's finished, i'll post a link to this page. We might be touring, so i expect to see you all out there!
Ok. On to the feature, which is has a bit of a "religion is silly" theme, mainly because i found two things i thought were funny and they both happened to fit that subject. So, here we go!
1. Picture of one crazy nun
2. Letter to Dr. Laura
1. You don't expect nuns to do much but.. well.. be nuns. Therefore, when one sticks their tounge out, it seems to be rather funny. Courtesy of diddly.com, this really is one crazy nun. She better be looking at a religious site! If there's any porn happening on that computer, i'm telling Jesus.
2. The following is actually just one of those funny forwards that float around the Internet. It was handed out in my Recent European Philosophy class, and I found it funny enough to slap up here. For those of you unfamiliar with "Dr. Laura," she's one of those on-air advice people who deal with family problems in a call-in radio show format. She's come under a lot of fire because she vomits out these horrible anti-homosexual comments and uses the Bible as a crutch for her advice. Anyhow, onward with a letter to Dr. Laura:
Dear Dr. Laura,
Thank you for doing so much to educate people regarding God's law. I have learned a great deal from you, and I try to share that knowledge with as many people as I can.
When Someone tries to defend the homosexual lifestyle, for example, I simply remind him that Leviticus 18:22 clearly states it to be an abomination. End of debate.
I do need some advice from you, however, regarding some of the specific laws and how to best follow them.
When I burn a bull on the alter as a sacrifice, I know it creates a pleasing odor for the Lord (Lev. 1:9). The problem is my neighbors. They claim the odor is not pleasing to them. How should I deal with this?
I would like to sell my daughter into slavery, as it suggests in Exodus 21:7. In this day and age, what do you think would be a fair price for her?
I know that I am allowed no contact with a woman while she is in her period of menstrual uncleanliness (Lev. 15:19-24). The problem is, how do I tell? I have tried asking, but most women take offense.
Lev. 25:44 states that I may buy slaves from the nations that are around us. A friend of mine claims that this applies to Mexicans but not Canadians. Can you clarify?
I have a neighbor who insists on working on the Sabbath. Exodus 35:2 clearly states that he should be put to death. Am I morally obligated to kill him myself?
A friend of mine feels that even though eating shellfish is an abomination (Lev. 10:10), it is a lesser abomination than homosexuality. I don't agree. Can you settle this?
Lev. 20:20 states that I may not approach the alter of God if I havea defect in my sight. I have to admit that I wear prescription glasses. Does my vision have to be 20/20, or is there some wiggle room here?
I know you have studied these things extensively, so I am confident you can help. Thank you again for reminding us that God's word is eternal and unchanging.
Warm regards,
Bob Jones III
Feature #57:
I decided to take a three-minute survey from random people i found on AOL. Here are the results.
Question: What would you do if everytime you said the word "the," a midget sang happy birthday to you?
Answers:
shoot myself
it would be funny for a bit and then get really annoying
who the hell are you?
hide
i'd sing along
kill him. or laugh.
i don't know what i'd do. do you ask everyone this?
Feature #58:
Sorry for the delay in updates. I was in New York at the CMJ festival, which was quite a good experience except for the 5 am bus that i had to catch -- i don't think i've ever been more tired. In one of the bathroom stalls, though, i saw a rather funny thing. Somebody wrote: Chuck D - 6 1/2 inches. No wonder he has such a BIG MOUTH!
I have a few guesses as to what that means, but i just don't know. I do know that whoever wrote it is stupid, and probably isn't nearly as intelligent or well-endowed as Chuck is.. maybe it was Lars from Metallica. He fits the description well. If you're pro-Napster, then you're pro-Chuck D. He's a good guy, although i've never met him.
Note: Feature for this week was a number of comics, which can now be found at comics!
Feature #59:
Politics are awful, and so is this guy.
I'm sorry for dominating this webpage with political whining, but that'll stop for now. No more commentary this week. Just that picture, which speaks about 1000 words... all of which are "Evil"
Anyway, the link i had up didn't really work, although i have really no idea why. See, i had found this high school in Butte County, Idaho, called "Butte County High" and their mascot is the Pirates. Therefore, they are the Butte Pirates, which i thought was funny. When i posted the link and the picture, they magically became password protected, and that was the end of my fun. However, just to prove that i didn't make it up, here's a football schedule of theirs i managed to dig up: Butte Pirates!
In other news, i get some strange e-mails from people in thanks to this webpage. Unless they're whining about the goth page, i usually find them rather amusing and do my best to repond appropriately. Some people ask me questions, others just respond to various parts of the page... one girl once went through ALL the Home pages and responded to each paragraph individually. It was the longest e-mail i had ever recieved.
But then i got this e-mail a few days ago, and i just don't understand it. I'm not going to give out the e-mail address because, well, i just don't know what will happen if i do. Here's the exchange:
Jason,
You don't know me, but I am a large goat living on top a mountain not far from you. I look down at you every day and yell, "Jason! I am Bazban, the goat of life and knowledge! Hear me and I shall impart upon you knowledge so worldly that you shall fly like Eagles in Spain!" But you do not hear, and it makes me sad. So sad, in fact, that I have to eat apple pie all day every day. Do you know how much apple pie I've eaten, Jason? Constantly. Constantly do I eat apple. All the time. If I were the kind of goat that vomited, I would vomit apple pie. But I am immortal, and immortals do not vomit. Did you know that? If you ever hear a rumor about immortals - Zeus, Hercules, Buddah, Castro - vomiting, you should know to deny it right away. But, me, I'd vomit apple pie. Lots of it.
Hear me, Jason! Hear me. I call out to you, but this e-mail doesn't count. I can't call you on the phone either because I am a goat and can not hold phones up to my pointy ears. Not to mention, I am so big that a phone would fall into my ear and get lost. That's how large my ear canal is. You can imagine the size of these apple pies now.
You can also imagine the size of my feces.
Hear me, Jason! The knowledge is yours if your ears are mine.
All is known,
Bazban
O...k... So, my response was:
Bazban,
If I had an apple pie the size of what you're probably eating, I don't think I'd ever leave my room. But my poop better stay the same size, otherwise I'm in for a world of pain.
All is questioned,
jason.
No more than ten minutes later, i get this:
Jason,
You ignorant fool! I give you warning of my gifts, and you discuss apple pie! You make me want to vomit.
All is still known,
Bazban
I write:
Bazban,
I thought you couldn't vomit?
All is still questioned,
jason.
Apparently Bazban didn't like that.
Jason,
You ignorant fool.
All is known to me and not you,
Bazban
Hungry, i write back:
Bazban,
So what about that apple pie?
Yummy yummy in my tummy tummy,
jason.
That was it. Bazban never wrote back, and i decided it was wiser not to persue it. Honestly, i don't get it. Is Bazban a reference to anything? What about those Magic trading cards? I just don't know what's going on anymore. If anyone has a clue, do tell me.
Now for two jokes:
1. Ham and eggs walk into a bar and the bartender says, "Sorry, we don't serve breakfast here."
2. Q:What's invisible and smells like carrots?
A: Bunny farts.
There are more features to be had.
Features I II III IV V VI VII VIII IX X XI XII XIII XIV XV XVI
Or, we can always go back.