Tuesday, August 09, 2005
For Those of You also on MySpace…
Thanks for crashing my shit!
And other MySpace complaints from TV’s Tim.
The first shitty thing to mention about MySpace is the weird media files some of you put on your page. Most of these things are the 1996 equivalent of animated gifs of dripping skulls, dancing jesus, various shit on fire, and intricately dancing envelops that enticed visitors to email you. Ok, a lot of this stuff is lame, and there is no way I’d ever think, ‘Gee, I need some new music; I could go to iTunes, or something like that, but no. That one person’s MySpace profile has a random piece of media on it. I’ll go there.” But it gets worse. A lot of you have media files that crash people’s browsers…so we can’t see that profile you worked on at all. If you’re a band, or you make movies, I can see you putting that stuff on there to pimp yourself, but even then…how about providing a link, not slapping it right on the page. And if I get the hankerin’ for doing a puzzle, or doodlin’, you’re probably not going to be my first stop either. Thank you for providing that public service though. Yeah. And even if your media plug ins don’t crash me, I may not want to stick around and read about you, if you’re forcing me to listen to “We Built This City on Rock and Roll” or any other piece of music that hits you like the pain threshold of being trapped in a steam room with an overly flatulent Dr. Laura and Judge Judy, and you’ve got temporary tattoos of upside down crosses that you can’t remove and a mommy complex (so you want them to approve of you despite your temporary, freakish appearance), and you are in fact dead and your corpse is infested with a rare species of burrowing monkey who all excrete sweat made of bees, and who are staunch monkey republicans who sniff monkey markers made of pure Sunday school.
Stuff is cool. So it gotsta be true that lots of stuff must be like a ninja-driven laser hovercraft made out of orgasm-inducing pizza. So you pack it on: 5 surveys, what is your pornographic stage name, candy type, superhero, surgical instrument, Judd family member, Simpson character, what your acronym of your name stands for, and a huge treaties of why you like cats. And your web page is no longer rectangle shaped. And you provide yet one more bastion for finding celebrity pictures. And riddle me this: How come it is that people who start their profiles out with the phrase, “I don’t like writing about my self,” or “I’m hard to define to sum up here,” or, “nobody wants to know about me” wind up writing pages and pages of blather. I’m not reading all of that. Only people wanting to stalk you do. Not that there are any on MySpace. Nope.
You overly-sentimental, over sharey-types, need to chill a bit. Go step away from the computer and take a walk; I think drinking might be real good too. That might be enough head clearing to help you come to the conclusion that perhaps in front of the millions of people (who don’t care about you, btw) on here is not the place to air your most private issues. And maybe you should make a necklace out of macaroni, or make little roses out of tissue paper and straws instead of compose verse…blank or non. There are too many adults spewing the angst-ridden teen type poetry up in the hizzy. And teens too. Instead of being proud you rhymed “love” with “above” try to get some penis up in your business.
Putting gas in your car is not the same as being a mechanic. So, just because you type a few pithy phrases into a form on MySpace, doesn’t make you a web designer, nor you MySpace profile a web page. Stop calling it that or people will think you were visited by sweet lady syphilis and the wacky insanity she brings.
So I get the secret code thing where, you make your text almost the same color as your background…invisible…but, if you select it, then you can read it! Yeah, I could do that. But am I? Well, the few times when I have selected the text, and it revealed such insightful nuggets as the fact you are fun loving, and easy going, I feel like the kid in Christmas Story who decodes the secret message to find out it’s about drinking Ovaltine. If you’re site rocked my face, or even offered to touch my genitals, it would be different. But your invisible text is a tree falling in the forest, Prancibald.
I want to know what you’re doing…when you’re doing something. That having been said, bored MySpace stuff can be some of the best. It gets really silly, and Dada, and I love that. But if you’re just reporting how bored you are…over and over again, and how you’re probably going to go get coffee, well, just stop that. How do you not know I don’t care? Next time you post a bulletin, it better be about you using sex-lasers to defeat a robot made of colostomy bags that was slamming your fool head in a car door.
Snopes.com. Great site. It debunks urban legends. So, next time you get an email asking you to stop people from stuffing kitties in a jar, or attributing peace plans to Robin Williams, or think that corpse heads are going to come out of your mirror, visit that site. Verify the random shit you’re spreading around the Internet. It’s not just annoying; it’s kind of socially irresponsible. It scare people and gets them riled for no reason. There are plenty of real reasons to be scared and riled. If you can’t be troubled to go to that site, then here’s a quick few pointers for you:
-If a bulletin says, “you can’t fault that logic” it’s code for “this logic is deeply flawed.”
-If a bulletin is a petition that admonished you by saying that “if you don’t sign this you have no heart” that is code for “we just made a fake petition that sounds evil, and we are going to see how many gullible, outraged people we can evilly sucker into signing it.” BTW: say the petition was real, do you think forwarding it around the net in this manner would help?
And why is it always a businessman from Texas who is what people use to verify these claims? I lived in Texas. You can’t trust the business people from there any more than anywhere else. And, as a side note you gullible freaks, don’t get in the car no matter how much candy the stranger whose breath smells like Walter Matheu’s scrotal sweat promises you.
You should consider getting a new religion if yours is so lame, obliviously fake, deeply flawed, and hated by the masses that you feel that you have to trick people into reading a bulletin about it by putting a fake headline in it about sex, or non-sucky religious-themed things. I can’t speak to the other fake, lame religions in the world, but the bible doesn’t have a passage that goes, “Thou shalt try to trick people into being down with jesus by making them think they’re going to read something sexy, and not some dry, guilty crap that reads like legal jargon written by syphilis-ridden, sun stroked nomads who had Down’s syndrome.” If you’re proud of your religion and have something to say about it, do so…in the headline, so people who want to avoid that stuff can.
What’s in a name? Sometimes 48 syllables, and weird characters. Or sometimes, it’s a crazy phrase…like, ‘the world of darkness is my true love’s vulva and her crimson exsanguinations are the tears of the zeitgeist of dream dolphins today.” That’s not a name. It’s not entertaining. It makes me think you’re not allowed to eat with a fork most likely.
Russian mail order brides. No.
Hey, you hypocrites out there telling the nice guys and gals you like them, just not, you know, like them. Stop that. It’s pandering and disingenuous. It’s a small, consolation too. “Yeah, my non-nice buddy may be getting his junk dusted, but, by golly, I got a post on MySpace that someone copied that probably refers to me in a group of other nice men. Neat.” So unless you “salute” the nice ladies and gentlemens with guilt-free oral sex, you should be chased around by the sodomy-bot 3000 with the optional barbed wire gonorrhea sprayer for trying to pull that crap. And, nice people take a stand. Tell these self-esteem poor, emotional vampires to fuck off and stick their heads in Ron Jeremy’s ass while he’s on fire in a hippo’s ass who’s also on fire. If they start talking about their exes, just walk away. I’m not saying it’s not cool to be there for your real friends, but don’t let yourself get used. As soon as the bad, cry-on-the-shoulder times are over, you are not going to be on speed dial. These lovers of nice people will abandon you.
Ok, take it all with a grain of salt, and not too seriously. Happy myspacing, freaks.
And other MySpace complaints from TV’s Tim.
The first shitty thing to mention about MySpace is the weird media files some of you put on your page. Most of these things are the 1996 equivalent of animated gifs of dripping skulls, dancing jesus, various shit on fire, and intricately dancing envelops that enticed visitors to email you. Ok, a lot of this stuff is lame, and there is no way I’d ever think, ‘Gee, I need some new music; I could go to iTunes, or something like that, but no. That one person’s MySpace profile has a random piece of media on it. I’ll go there.” But it gets worse. A lot of you have media files that crash people’s browsers…so we can’t see that profile you worked on at all. If you’re a band, or you make movies, I can see you putting that stuff on there to pimp yourself, but even then…how about providing a link, not slapping it right on the page. And if I get the hankerin’ for doing a puzzle, or doodlin’, you’re probably not going to be my first stop either. Thank you for providing that public service though. Yeah. And even if your media plug ins don’t crash me, I may not want to stick around and read about you, if you’re forcing me to listen to “We Built This City on Rock and Roll” or any other piece of music that hits you like the pain threshold of being trapped in a steam room with an overly flatulent Dr. Laura and Judge Judy, and you’ve got temporary tattoos of upside down crosses that you can’t remove and a mommy complex (so you want them to approve of you despite your temporary, freakish appearance), and you are in fact dead and your corpse is infested with a rare species of burrowing monkey who all excrete sweat made of bees, and who are staunch monkey republicans who sniff monkey markers made of pure Sunday school.
Stuff is cool. So it gotsta be true that lots of stuff must be like a ninja-driven laser hovercraft made out of orgasm-inducing pizza. So you pack it on: 5 surveys, what is your pornographic stage name, candy type, superhero, surgical instrument, Judd family member, Simpson character, what your acronym of your name stands for, and a huge treaties of why you like cats. And your web page is no longer rectangle shaped. And you provide yet one more bastion for finding celebrity pictures. And riddle me this: How come it is that people who start their profiles out with the phrase, “I don’t like writing about my self,” or “I’m hard to define to sum up here,” or, “nobody wants to know about me” wind up writing pages and pages of blather. I’m not reading all of that. Only people wanting to stalk you do. Not that there are any on MySpace. Nope.
You overly-sentimental, over sharey-types, need to chill a bit. Go step away from the computer and take a walk; I think drinking might be real good too. That might be enough head clearing to help you come to the conclusion that perhaps in front of the millions of people (who don’t care about you, btw) on here is not the place to air your most private issues. And maybe you should make a necklace out of macaroni, or make little roses out of tissue paper and straws instead of compose verse…blank or non. There are too many adults spewing the angst-ridden teen type poetry up in the hizzy. And teens too. Instead of being proud you rhymed “love” with “above” try to get some penis up in your business.
Putting gas in your car is not the same as being a mechanic. So, just because you type a few pithy phrases into a form on MySpace, doesn’t make you a web designer, nor you MySpace profile a web page. Stop calling it that or people will think you were visited by sweet lady syphilis and the wacky insanity she brings.
So I get the secret code thing where, you make your text almost the same color as your background…invisible…but, if you select it, then you can read it! Yeah, I could do that. But am I? Well, the few times when I have selected the text, and it revealed such insightful nuggets as the fact you are fun loving, and easy going, I feel like the kid in Christmas Story who decodes the secret message to find out it’s about drinking Ovaltine. If you’re site rocked my face, or even offered to touch my genitals, it would be different. But your invisible text is a tree falling in the forest, Prancibald.
I want to know what you’re doing…when you’re doing something. That having been said, bored MySpace stuff can be some of the best. It gets really silly, and Dada, and I love that. But if you’re just reporting how bored you are…over and over again, and how you’re probably going to go get coffee, well, just stop that. How do you not know I don’t care? Next time you post a bulletin, it better be about you using sex-lasers to defeat a robot made of colostomy bags that was slamming your fool head in a car door.
Snopes.com. Great site. It debunks urban legends. So, next time you get an email asking you to stop people from stuffing kitties in a jar, or attributing peace plans to Robin Williams, or think that corpse heads are going to come out of your mirror, visit that site. Verify the random shit you’re spreading around the Internet. It’s not just annoying; it’s kind of socially irresponsible. It scare people and gets them riled for no reason. There are plenty of real reasons to be scared and riled. If you can’t be troubled to go to that site, then here’s a quick few pointers for you:
-If a bulletin says, “you can’t fault that logic” it’s code for “this logic is deeply flawed.”
-If a bulletin is a petition that admonished you by saying that “if you don’t sign this you have no heart” that is code for “we just made a fake petition that sounds evil, and we are going to see how many gullible, outraged people we can evilly sucker into signing it.” BTW: say the petition was real, do you think forwarding it around the net in this manner would help?
And why is it always a businessman from Texas who is what people use to verify these claims? I lived in Texas. You can’t trust the business people from there any more than anywhere else. And, as a side note you gullible freaks, don’t get in the car no matter how much candy the stranger whose breath smells like Walter Matheu’s scrotal sweat promises you.
You should consider getting a new religion if yours is so lame, obliviously fake, deeply flawed, and hated by the masses that you feel that you have to trick people into reading a bulletin about it by putting a fake headline in it about sex, or non-sucky religious-themed things. I can’t speak to the other fake, lame religions in the world, but the bible doesn’t have a passage that goes, “Thou shalt try to trick people into being down with jesus by making them think they’re going to read something sexy, and not some dry, guilty crap that reads like legal jargon written by syphilis-ridden, sun stroked nomads who had Down’s syndrome.” If you’re proud of your religion and have something to say about it, do so…in the headline, so people who want to avoid that stuff can.
What’s in a name? Sometimes 48 syllables, and weird characters. Or sometimes, it’s a crazy phrase…like, ‘the world of darkness is my true love’s vulva and her crimson exsanguinations are the tears of the zeitgeist of dream dolphins today.” That’s not a name. It’s not entertaining. It makes me think you’re not allowed to eat with a fork most likely.
Russian mail order brides. No.
Hey, you hypocrites out there telling the nice guys and gals you like them, just not, you know, like them. Stop that. It’s pandering and disingenuous. It’s a small, consolation too. “Yeah, my non-nice buddy may be getting his junk dusted, but, by golly, I got a post on MySpace that someone copied that probably refers to me in a group of other nice men. Neat.” So unless you “salute” the nice ladies and gentlemens with guilt-free oral sex, you should be chased around by the sodomy-bot 3000 with the optional barbed wire gonorrhea sprayer for trying to pull that crap. And, nice people take a stand. Tell these self-esteem poor, emotional vampires to fuck off and stick their heads in Ron Jeremy’s ass while he’s on fire in a hippo’s ass who’s also on fire. If they start talking about their exes, just walk away. I’m not saying it’s not cool to be there for your real friends, but don’t let yourself get used. As soon as the bad, cry-on-the-shoulder times are over, you are not going to be on speed dial. These lovers of nice people will abandon you.
Ok, take it all with a grain of salt, and not too seriously. Happy myspacing, freaks.
// posted by Tim @ 8:27 PM 
