I am amazed at the technology that allows one to sit a mile away (next to the only three Porta-Potties) and have a recobanizable photo taken. These images were taken from screenprints converted to .jpg files with MSPaint, and were not doctored except for cropping.
[Note that even Jesus attended the event in his burial shroud.]
This is the Fullscreen Gigapan. Zoom in, zoom out; look for Elvis and Waldo.
Then I spotted Aretha Franklin with some serious mojo flyin’.
[Related inaugrabation photos here; More UltraZoomage here.]
Whoa. Batman logo with tinyperkynipples, on a Chrysler Minivan no less. Let’s all scream, “PARTYMOBILE!” Bijonce and her sister Charlondra be gonna jump de bones of the driver of this dragon wagon, assuming they can see over the hood to appreciate the majesty of it all.
Of course the neighborhood girls are way underage, and the only way they’d see the attraction is if Bozoman personally lifted them higher than his blood alcohol level x the height of the hood ornament. Fortunately Bozoman can’t, and has to rely on subterfuge to get his prey into the Mommyvan. Fortunately for Bijonce and her sister, they’re both armed with tasers and the bone-breaking physical paybacks of the self-defense kind.
This conundrum leaves Bozoman with nothing but his two Bozofriends and a couple of quarts of beer. Since no significant otter, either outside or inside of Bozoman’s Mommyvan, can view the Batmoboil Logo, the only way the lame-o paintjob boosts this embarrassing piece of dorkness to the level of Babe Magnet is in the mindvapors of Bozoman himself.
“Now… with my face tripping me, I trundle and stravaig wearily behind Mrs Bastard, and Mrs Bastard’s mammy. My houghs are aching, my arms fair pulled out of their oxter’s, carrying shopping bags the equivalent in weight of a Volkswagen under each arm. My mooth being drier than the watering holes of the Sudan. My bank balance lighter than a ballerinas fart, I am continuing to rue my words woefully.”
I’ve got little idea of what Jimmy Bastard is ranting about, but anyone who uses a phrase as delicate as “lighter than a ballerina’s fart” is okay by me. It’s somehow connected with this picture:
There’s also gotta be a pun in there somewhere. Have at it.
[Image and quote from here. He warned me, too.]
At 8:30PM tonight, make sure you turn all your lights on, power up your TVs and stereos, and celebrate the Technological Achievements of Humanity. Get in your cars and drive somewhere, just for the sake of it, and just for fun. Raise and lower your garage doors, and run your washing machines. Run the dryer without anything in it. Got a power mower? Crank it up. Heat up your cat’s food in the microwave. Take your dog out to Burger King. Make as many long distance telephone calls as you can. Run your dishwasher with half of the normal load, and run the other half separately. Open up your refrigerator door, and look without removing anything to eat. Do it again. Download updates for all your computer programs and email them to all your friends.
LET’S CELEBRATE AMAZING ACHIEVEMENTS FOR A CHANGE!
“But why should I do that?” you ask. I’ll tell you.
We’re fighting Global Cooling. Mostly we’re fighting Global Idiocy, but let’s call it Global Cooling for now. The feel-good crowd will never know the difference anyway.
Those folks who think that turning their electricity off for an hour will “save the planet” (or “send a message” to someone or something) are the same folks who stood outside their homes a couple of years ago with candle wax dripping over their fingers, believing that the space shuttle was gonna zoom by and take a photo of the earth lit up with peace candles. My message is:
Image above from Sexy People. The site has many pictures of average, but slightly odd-looking people. When viewed individually, they aren’t much, but when viewed collectively, heh, it’s a Mag-Lev train to Hootsville.
A year later, the zomboys are still in sheer terror, suddenly realizing that the rest of their lives will be spent hunting for brains. (Here’s another example of a kid who gets better looking with age.)
I suppose I fall into the same category of normal-yet-slightly-odd-looking people. But of course you folks already know who I am.
I like caption contests, and when I happened across this one, the caption seemed obvious to me:
“Look, mates! His pecker’s on the wrong end!”
Reforming Geek liked it enough to send me an egg. Not just any egg, a decorated cardboard egg. In a checkbook box. (I might as well take the rest of the week off as the “glow” hasn’t worn off yet.)
Here it is, without the plastic bubble wrap that protected this coveted treasure.
The secret of the egg didn’t appear until a scan revealed the hidden “laser rabbits” thing going on. Thanks, RG.
Tacky Raccoons 