I was wearing a floufy skirt yesterday, and it was a wee bit windy. I thought to myself, “man, it would be pretty lame if the wind blew my skirt up”. And then, I remembered that I have absolutely no problem being seen in a bikini. Same damn thing. Same shape, same colour… slightly different fabric (sometimes). The context might have made it a bit embarrassing. Mortifying, though. No. You see, I was wearing underwear! Oh my stars! And underwear is MEANT to be seen. That’s my theory, anyway. So calm the fuck down. It’s meant to keep your naughty bits in place, but it’s also meant to keep them under wrap. If you’re seeing underwear, you’re NOT seeing naughty bits. I recently found a website devoted to the art and practice of catching brief glimpses of women’s bras. It had multiple posts expounding upon strategy and technique (I can’t find the site again, but here’s the general idea: be a creepy fuck and make shifty glances out of the corner of your eye when ladies are bending over, as if they won’t notice). WTF? It’s not hard to see bra. Bra is everywhere. They design bra straps with the fact that they’re going to be visible in mind these days (on account of people are tacky — all walking around with their visible bra straps and dumbass flip flops). What you really want to see is nipple. And you DON’T see nipple, because of the abundance of bra. Just like you don’t see vag because of the abundance of panty.
What the hell, if I’m going to make a post like this and be inundated by asshole traffic, I might as well throw the words Paris Hilton, Lindsay Lohan and Britney Spears in here. Hoy. Have those three learned the purpose of underwear yet? (All signs from a random scroll-through of The Superficial point to no). Also, here… this is what you were actually looking for, Google perv: P-Line World.
I don’t know why oap isn’t a bona fide word by now. I bet you’ve all used the word at least once in the past 24 hours (unless you’re the sort of internetter who hasn’t seen another living being in the last 24 hours)…
oap (interjection): acknowledging a minor minor mistake; a word that I use 17 times a day, and hear coming out of other peoples’ mouths almost as often but that isn’t in the dictionary because one says it only when trying not to be noticed, and thus no one notices it as a word; minuscule form of oops, used when an oops might otherwise be appropriate, but you’re too busy concentrating on being an oaf to come up with anything much more than a random embarrassed grunt of a noise (possible origin of the word — a combination of oaf and oops?); an exclamation similar to eep, but much less urgent and sans any actual shock or fear, or for that matter, an exclamatory tone of voice; the proper, polite vocalization upon almost (but not quite) running into someone in an office hallway or grocery store
The one good thing about spam is… if you don’t regularly get a lot of e-mail (I have notifications for things like MySpace, Facebook, etc. turned off, and don’t get much personal mail), it’s a good way to discover sooner rather than later if there’s a problem with your mail server. If it wasn’t for spam, that kind of thing could take me weeks to notice! Especially if the problem was intermittent.
So gay = Star Trek: Enterprise theme song.
In case you hadn’t heard.
One of the arguments people give for preferring partial posts in RSS feeds is that they don’t like having to scroll through long sections of text.
Uh, duh… Why would you ever have to scroll?
Learn to use hotkeys, internet.
Don’t worry, America’s Next Top Model womens… even Coco Rocha and Behati Prinsloo have trouble figuring out their choreography. Geez, how difficult is it to walk from point A to point B?
(Eh, whatever — I know from my limited experience that modeling is actually hard work — gasp! And everything I’ve done has involved standing in one place — I didn’t even get as far as walking…)
P.S. Last week I was a lesbian and now I’m a ho.
I checked Google, and people have already said this, but… I’m going to say it again, because it’s true. And it doesn’t seem like anybody has put it as simply as I’m about to:
The Internet is not a medium.
The Internet is not a medium in the same way that newsstands, DVD racks, hard drives, briefcases or Tupperware storage bins are not media.
The end. Bye bye.
Edit: I thought I might as well link to the Google search results for “the Internet is not a medium“. Bleh. As if it makes me any more authoritative than not authoritative at all. Um, I went to university for New Media for a year until I realized I was too smart for that shit, since I’m a genius and all? Does that count?
Edit2: Library shelves are just about as media-y as the Interweb. Also, I’m a bad Canadian. Fuck Marshall McLuhan. Say anything about him in a comment and perish.
Edit3: Those Google results include a lot of sites that claim that “the Internet is not a medium for [suchandsuch]” (emphasis and suchandsuch mine). Fuck those people. Whatever the Internet is, I can do whatever the fuck I want with it, so there. Take that. Fuckfaces. It’s not for copyright enforcement. It’s not for business transactions. For literacy. For community, junk mail, advertising, entertainment, blah blah blah. It’s for whatever I want. I am the Internet.
The Internet is for me.
End end end.
Who’s seen the new Uno commercial? Well… I can’t help but hear “you might get no cards, you might get AIDS!” every time it comes on. I’ve been singing this delightful ditty for days.
Those swindlers from the old tale about the Emperor and his new clothes were pretty sneaky, but if they were smarter, they’d have come up with a scheme that didn’t involve sitting around, pretending to work for hours. And hours. And hours. Not a real time or effort saver of a plan, was it.