I was a weird little kid.

But it kept me from picking my nose…

This is from the order confirmation page:

Try not to mistake this envelope for junk mail and throw it out. Yes, this happens

Tell your mom, wife or girlfriend about Best Skins Ever before your order arrives. She thinks the word Skin means pr0n and she will throw it out before you ever see it. Yes, this happens too

I dunno, I just enjoyed that.

I’m going to go back to bed now. I think my neck is broken, and this sitting around on the computer thing isn’t helping.

Pay to the order of: Me. Signed: Me. Endorse here: Me.

This one has a bald eagle and an American flag on it. I feel so… patriotic. Despite not being a citizen and all. Hurray for for sample cheques! I’ve never, ever used them all up. Who the hell writes cheques anymore?

I was going to write something else, but I have the memory of… someone who doesn’t have a very long memory at all.

Why am I so unable to sleep, lately?

My Internet has been going up and down for three or four days. And it’s slow as hell when it’s up. Comcast is sending out a tech on Sunday. They won’t fix my problem. I know this because I am psychic. S’true!

I’m hitting publish while there’s still time, kids. Bye now!

In other brain-squashing news… Internet got turned off, because who knew!? You gotta pay for that shit! Whoops. Currently connected through my cellphone, plugged in through USB, set as a modem. Good thing I hacked that shit long ago. Ahhh, T-Mobile. Weren’t counting on me being able to get proper GPRS when you sold me $5.99 unlimited data transfer, were you! The only web access enabled without messing around with things you’re not meant to mess around with is the part where they try to sell you $2 ringtones. Fuck that shit. Anyway, as cool as I am, this is slow as something that is really, really goddamn slow. Even with images turned off. How am I going to check MySpace now!?

Oh yeah, I smashed up my car today. Pity me. I feed on pity. Meh. I’m over it. As long as I don’t have any phantom neck-injuries that haven’t chosen to manifest themselves just yet. Yarg. I have to work tomorrow, damn all. Where’s a good accounting textbook when you need one?

Bah. Here’s another complaint for you, while I’m on a roll: del.icio.us is not posting weblog entries to my site. Figures. Just when I decide to start using something, it breaks. Hmph. Go here. It’s linktastic. And beware of WMF exploits, kids. Even using Firefox doesn’t make you safe from this one (just about three billions times safer — just say no to executing WMF files, and don’t give in to peer pressure).

In other news… what?

And for my own future reference, because I am too lazy and headachy to figure out how to get this working now: Using the Stumbleupon XML Feed. Also this.

Naptime.

I wish I could buy what you’re selling, Camus.

I’m giving myself a headache.

I guess I was unsuccessful at filling in the recipient, so I don’t know who it was intended for. It seems like I was angry. But about what!? It is a mystery. Yeah, I guess I had fun last night. I think.

I thought I’d link to it again because a) “Kevin Trudeau” is the number two search term used to find my website (second only to “nautical star tattoos” — and kids, bad idea = getting the new trendy symbol marked on you, because: do you know how long trends last? now, do you know how long tattoos last? compare your answers here…), and b) I still feel irresponsible for having access to a television station’s copy of this bullshit without so much as “misplacing” it when I quit. I feel a little bit better to know that nobody watched anything that station aired except for The 700 Club and American Idol. But somebody managed to get the book out of Walgreens, and I still feel compelled to write at least 47 letters of complaint. Maybe not until I acquire a typewriter and become at least 5% more curmudgeonly. I mean, I’m already curmudgeonly, but not so much that it overcomes my affinity for doing absolutely nothing…

One day I hope to become at least as curmudgeonly (er, pseudo-curmudgeonly) as Ted L. Nancy, Lazlo Toth (Don Novello) or these guys. So far, I have only one cat. I’m aiming to collect at least 27 more.

P.S.

Curmudgeonly.

Who is Dean Payne? I know that my handwriting can be a little bit messy sometimes (although I’m pretty careful about it in cases where I would like people to copy something down accurately). But if anything, half of my letters are scribbles that look like esses (at least gee, wi, dee, bee, pee, jay, and duh… ess…) I’m reasonably sure that I couldn’t possibly have made the name Sean look like Dean. And it’s a curious fact that the letter dee is right next to ess on the keyboard…

You bastards didn’t even bother to change the address on the account. You have the street number wrong. You have the apartment number wrong. It’s probably a fluke that the bill wound up in the right state. It took three weeks to convince you that my apartment existed, and even then, your customer service representatives could not figure out how to enter it into the computer. The only apartment at this address on record is “basement”. There is no basement here…

I confuses me why the account is in my husband’s name (or a reasonable facsimile thereof) in the first place, since apparently you were unable to open an account using his SSN when we called you and tried. You told us that Sean was already in your system, and that he owed you several hundreds of dollars. I wonder whose number is now incorrectly associated with us.

I look forward to paying you unnecessarily large sums of my money every month for what I hope will continue to be sub-par service.

P.S. - Metric system, plz. WTF is a “therm”. People that aren’t stupid measure in joules.

…

Speaking of idiotic organizations, my green card arrived today, miraculously. The address on the envelope doesn’t exist… The USPS, in a freakish episode of competenceness managed to get it to its destination. And the mailman, in a freakish episode of paying attention to what the hell he was doing managed to put it into the mailbox instead of onto the floor beneath it as usual. Thanks, mailman! That was nice of you!

A bar of soap made from fat pumped from Italian PM Silvio Berlusconi after he had lipo-suction is up for sale for £10,000.

More than a little bit Fight Club-esque.