This is good information to have re: Mexican Gov. and my plan to build a sail boat on their beaches.

emoticon gender benders

I was on the Playstaion Network (Yes, i play playstation it helps clear my brain STOP JUDGING ME!) and within certain games, people are able to put "tags" in front of their names, limited to 4 characters. You see a lot of interesting stuff ,like the lawnmower

\.=.

The pistol

%"""

all manner of middle finger (which look better in font-type other than this)

o0oo
n0nn

an assortment of male genitalia and female frontal parts

{use imagination}

this week i saw one that didn't immediately make sense. And like a vanity license plate with no vowels, it sent my brain spiraling into a vortex of analysis... I believe it looked somethingng like this:

-32=

I'm quite certain of the lat three characters but the first is a little fuzzy. Something like that, however. After several zetaflops of calculation, a couple beers of lubrication and an hour or so of eliminating digital terrorists, my brain was only able arrive at one conclusion:

Its a transvestite.

I mean look at it. The parts are all there. They're blown out of proportion, not unlike a caricature, but that's what these preteen n00bs are going for, right? And the limit on characters meant the head had to be cut off, but it's all there, man, in black and white, OPEN YOUR EYES.

Of course, in the light of day and away from the passion of the moment, i can see it is also, perhaps, construed as a face.

Here i have redrawn it to include a hat.

<32=


I don't know, maybe identifying patterns in these things is like looking for shapes in clouds.

Okay, here's another one

I have this friend, let's call him Jennifer. (protect the innocent and all that)

This guy has a lot of random stories but i like the one of the crazy voicemail girl the best. I'm not exactly clear on the details surrounding how it all started but many years ago he got a call on his cell from a number he didn't know. It went to voicemail and this random caller, a girl, proceeded to leave him a voice message as if they were long lost friends catching up and had known each other for ages. Except he doesn't know her. He's sure of it. He doesn't recognize the name, voice, back story or know anyone from that area code.

This continues for years. Like 10 of them, maybe? every so often she calls, often in the middle of the night, he doesn't answer and she leaves a rambling, update of a voicemail. As such, time marches on, he gets married, has kids, he tells everyone about this random woman because its a great story but the phone calls eventually die off. (Did she die of crazy disease? Eaten by lions? run over while hopping on a west-bound trian? who knows) Then, a couple months ago, another phone call. For some reason he decides to answer this time, leading with the quite obvious: "WTF mate?"

Turns out she dialed the wrong number that first time so long ago and at the sound of his voicemail voice, decided to just start talking. From then on she used his inbox as something of a non-permanent diary; A way to unburden herself and recount the ups and downs of the years and whatnots.


We should all be so lucky to have a crazy cell-phone stalker.

Trying to explain: pt 1

Michigan:

I spent the weekend of the 4th in America's most underrated city, Detroit. I managed to check almost all the boxes necessary for a successful Detroit visit:

Sleep at Stos' house: Check
Harassed by the suburban police: Check
Illegal Fireworks: Check
Royal Oak: Check
Cruise Woodward: Check
Harassed by homeless guy for driving a Miata: Check
Challenged to a stoplight race by pick-up truck: Check
Freeways of construction: Check
Both sides of family: Check
Seedy Strip Club: N/A due to funding
Vehicular maintenance: Check
5am at an all night, private downtown bar: Check
Hanging out with Greeks: Check

Did that just happen?

Events of the past three weeks have left me struggling to sort out the details of my reality. Did all those things just happen? Did two Yoopers (and their respective lovers) visit Ohio in back-to-back weeks? Was I really at an underground Detroit after hours bar at 5am? Do I spend my day's toiling in a dim lab tucked away in a half-abandoned 80yr old building, tweaking circuits... or did i imagine that part?

Look, there was like TENS of THOUSANDS of motorcycles there. Wait, I have a motorcycle and a convertible but nothing big enough to transport a lawn mower?


How did I break the lawn mower?



When did i get a lawn?





...



I'm almost 100% sure i Kareoked Big Balls by AC/DC.




(Who in an S-10 would try to drag race a Miata? Oh Detroit, I've missed your crazy ways)