I got my eyes set on you.

First, how come the shortlink, the thing that’s designed for the efficient-minded, quick-thinking technobot, is THREE FUCKING CLICKS AND A HIGHLIGHT AWAY FOR YOUTUBE VIDEOS!???! It should be right there, looking me right in the clipboard.

Do you even have any fucking programmers working there any more, or is it just all lawyers?  Ooh, it’s the programmers who designed it to break all the time so they still had “jobs.”  Do you even accept experience at MySpace as legitimate?  I guess, they’re a more admirable adbot and human-frustrator.  Fuck you and your ad revenue.

This is how all the job offers will come rollin’ in.

I had a list of demands, but fuck that.  I left ‘em at home, with my camera.  The gist of ‘em is basically custom filters that would allow people to keep shit they don’t want out of their stream.  They wouldn’t even have to look at the raw feed if they didn’t want to see links or tabs, unless, for example, it got more than a custom-set number of stars.  Certain users’ stars could also be flagged (tweeter-tagging) to reveal all of the tweets they star.

Attention any one looking to go to law school.  Don’t.  I will teach you for free both all the reasons you wouldn’t want to go, and what you could be doing instead.  It was just another hacking gig.  Ok, if you really want to go to law school, and you will learn some interesting shit there, meet a lot of cool, quick, intelligent people, I recommend only this: About two weeks before the LSAT, get up super-early, shower and eat a good breakfast, have some coffee if that’s your thing, and get to your practice test-taking space by the time that the test will start on the day it’s scheduled, and take a full practice test (you can buy them all over).  It hurts, I know.  I had a hell of a time doing it, and I was late a few days early on.  But, by the time the day of the test arrived, I was so used to taking it, it wasn’t that big of a deal.  Oh, and the very first practice test I took required over double the time allotted to complete.  It’s a fucking brain-puzzle race, the LSAT is.  I enjoy that kind of thing, but I’m strange.  Whatever.  #2 pencils are fun for filling in little circles. I guarantee mine were the most in-the-lines those scantron® machines have ever “seen.”  Finally, on the morning of the test, listen to some pump-you-up music to help you speed up your brain.  I used 50 Cent’s “If I can’t” ‘cuz I was listening to it at the time.  Have I told you this story already? Probably.

YouTube, why do you default to the censored videos?  And why don’t Vevo results show up if you’re not logged in?  Oh, sorry.  I forgot I was talking to an adbot.  Fuck your profitable synergistic corporate partnerships.  How is that not evil?

Hey, check this CLIPSIE playlist. Ear yums.

Read again.

The thing about proprietary algorithms is that they don’t provide for informed consent.  In fact, they do the opposite.  I’ll use a critique of Twitter as an example.  Twitter, if you don’t provide at least what your standards are for the creation of links

Here’s the only relevant link.  Aka FUCK YOU PAY ME. ☠


I ran into a friend of mine at the library.  I kinda scared him, I think.  He didn’t recognize me.  It was my buddy’s kid.  Funny story marginally related to that kid, me super fucking wasted one night, and after crashing on the poor kid’s bed (he was at his dad’s for the night) I woke up with the front of my pants mysterious soaking wet from the waist to my knees.  It didn’t smell like piss.  What. The. Fuck.  I was so in pain, so hung over from a night out drinking with this kid’s mom and her hubby, an old high school friend.  I just left.  They sorta mentioned it later, but they sure didn’t want to talk about it.  My leaving sucked, but I didn’t know what else to do.  I guess it’s just another, well, I don’t blame you for never wanting to speak to me again / I’ll gladly pay for another one if I can ever afford it / I have no clue what happened, either.

Either I pissed myself, like a lot (look, when you’re incapacitated by alcohol and your body has to release it, what do you think is gonna happen?  It’s not like that’s rare. Poison rules everything around me.), or, and this is the interesting part, I might have released some kind of piss/semen hybrid.  There’s no fucking way that was all cum.  There had to be like a quart of it.  From what I remember at the time, I had been horribly alone for a long time, and these old high school friends had invited me to a weekly, semi-weekly, however often it was poker night.  I fucking hate poker, and I almost always lost, and I didn’t have any other friends or activities, so I went.  Occasionally girls showed up, but I managed to creep them out within a night or two regardless of their claimed “toughness.” Anyway, a chance to go get shitfaced with a place to crash in town afterwards seemed like a good idea at the time.  This is why I don’t get shitfaced with other people any more.  My social tolerability requirements require more alcohol than my body is capable of processing.  Fuck it.


Lighters, muddah-mu-chach-oze! “get me some tissue” ‘cause comments got me

Ok, so I already talked to one kid in here today, and then, on the way back from the pisser, I grabbed a Justin Bieber book off the top of a shelf.  I’m not sure if I’m trying to taint this book’s its existence here so that no kids will want to touch it, or if I’m actually interested in learning about this kid.  I know it’ll just make him seem human, which is kind of the reason I don’t want to watch his music any more than the one song a friend of mine sent me a link to.  Of course she was under 18.  What the fuck is wrong with me having friends who aren’t 18 yet?  I’m not afflicted with that horrible mindfuck of crushed souls, and I’m full well aware of the lynch-mob mentality that for some reason terrifies society into prohibiting free choice in sex for postpubescent yet pre-“legalcitizens.  And honestly, part of the reason I think so many of the human population can’t look me in the eye is because they’re rapists.  I have no idea what the percentage is, but it doesn’t matter what sex you are.  Forcing someone into a violent confrontation is cruel.  Especially, imho, in exchange for tenderness.  Fuck, if you request it of me, I will probably stay away from you.  What is this fascination with violence?  That shit doesn’t get me hard.  If that’s all that does get your mate/girl/dude hard, get a different mate/girl/dude.  Need help telling the old one to fuck off?  Let me or another strong, capable, honest friend of yours tell them to leave you alone.  Permanently.  If they refuse, maybe they should spend some time in a cage.  But whatever.  I’m not saying a sexual relationship where you do physically beat on each other, terrify each other, and physically hurt each other isn’t or shouldn’t be perfectly acceptable amongst consenting adults.  It’s fucking legal, anyway, which I find oddly disturbing, yet completely in line with corporate standards of morality.  What’s the point of all of this?  I guess it’s that my “safe words” are no, stop, don’t, ouch, wait, ow, or even painful-sounding pronunciations of “oh.”  If you want me to pleasure you, you have to want me to pleasure you.  Too drunk to know what that is?  You’re not gonna get naked near me in the first place.

Hey, how funny is it that one of the best ways to find my “work” is to ?

A friend posted this on buzz.  That can’t be right.  I’m sure they’ll find a way around it.  Fucking psychopathic legal fictions always do.

Ok, library closes soon.  I better postit!


p.s. this post shortlink:

p.p.s. I paged through the book. Corporate kiddie-porn.  Sorry, kid, don’t feel bad about being a corporate whore.  It pays well, don’t it?

p.p.p.s. I also found this book, which is like a cartographer/hacker’s wet dream.

~ by LazyAssWasteoid on 2011-01-6 (Thursday).

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