Orneryboy sums up my feelings toward most jobs I’ve held.

Bill Wilson, who has hipped me to such marvelous pastimes as Tweekend and Counter-Strike, once had this to say. For brevity, Bill Wilson is BW.

<< EXT. MOVIE THEATRE : NIGHT>>

BW, SB and MHG are meandering toward their cars in the busy parking lot.

BW: Should we get something to eat?
SB: Yup.
MHG: Sure.
BW: What’s around here, anyway, besides Crapplebee’s?
MHG: (chuckles)
SB: Not a fan of Applebee’s, are we?
BW: No, I am, actually. Crapplebee’s just fits so well. It just works, yknow? It doesn’t work to say “Bad-asslebee’s” or “Totally-sweetlebee’s.”

Characters ad-lib in Seinfeld-esque discussion of possibility of opening Applebee’s chain featuring only items they like, and changing the name to “Totally-sweetlebee’s.”

<< CRANE-CAM PAN OUT TO SHOW PARKING LOT ; FADE OUT ON LAUGHTER >>

Gotta admire the follow-through. This is incredible, no matter what your geek level.

You’re not your job. You’re not how much money you have in the bank. You’re not the car you drive. You’re not the contents of your wallet. You’re not your fucking khakis.

Thanks Chuck, Jim.

I once thought of myself as a decent human beatbox. I am sub-standard, I now realize. I’ll be practicing, so posts will be limited.

Dear Microsoft,

I’ll keep this simple: your browser sucks. Why is it that every other major browser can follow the standards that allow webwrights like me to create lovely, fluid and advanced sites? Meanwhile, you with your automatic updates and security changes weekly cannot even support some of the most basic aspects of CSS functionality (min-width springs to mind like a piece of wheat bread from a dangerously overtightened toaster slot.) Mind you, I’m not one for conformity. But, when your Luddite-like stubborn clinging to outdated technology forces me to constantly modify my code and use countless hacks on my aesthetically enchanting creations, when that happens…well, I just feel like killing you. Every day. And by that I mean not only that every day I feel like killing you, but also that I will breach that alchemical Holy Grail of immortality in order to have the pleasure of killing you every day.

Coridally yours,
Christopher

Do not get fooled, like I got fooled. In 2004, a forwarded email from an unknown person regarding “hairless teens” is *not* about a leukemia benefit, like I was so gullible to believe. Just trust me.

On the bright side, I have a new favorite website.

I know I’m probably the last one aboard this meme-train, but somethingawful made my day. Maybe I’ll just change the name of this site to OFN.

Then, to top off my link larceny, Czeltic Girl sent me this life instruction booklet as well.

That’s cool. I’m officially changing the category of “Stolen from Better Researchers” to “Link Larceny.” And you were there.

I am utterly enchanted. What can I say? I, like many others, can become completely enthralled in these Sierra-like adventure games.

When my boss asks what I think I’m doing on company time, I just say “Interesting flash and cookie interaction in this thing; I’m trying to work out how they did it, by getting a perfect score. You know, like Cloak and Dagger.”

Also give Thy Dungeonman a shot if you’re more of the Zork gamer variety.

As MMORPGs go, City of Heroes is quite the accomplishment, drawing even players like me who said they would never play such a game. However, it now may be on the verge of yet another conquest: capturing the growing Sims market with the release of their latest expansion, Hero Dance Party.

I had logged on to soothe my crime-stopping Jones with one of my newly created avatars, the Darkstar Deputy Vinsand’r. (Some comic book aficianados among you will find that name vaguely familiar. He is the cousin of both Koriand’r and Komand’r, better known as Starfire and Blackfire in the DC Comics Universe. The Darkstars group is also borrowed from DC.)

As I prevented muggings and earned the thanks of the citizenry, occasionally conversing with the local heroes, the new update arrived. Vinsand’r stood motionless as new information came to light. Immediately, I was intrigued by a new emotive option: “boombox.” Without hesitation, I dropped some phat beats at the tram station, and like lemmings to the sea, heroes were drawn to the power of techno marvel from my woofers.

When the rave came to its close, I contemplated if it was simply the urban area that had brought out such house-lovin’ heroes, so I moved the party uptown in front of the snooty Ms. Liberty. Even she couldn’t stop the funk. While she stood helplessly by, houses were robbed, aliens invaded willy-nilly, villains went unthwarted.

Armed with this knowledge and refusing to allow this new wonderdrug to stain our streets, I pondered the use of this new arsenal. After all, would crime be so rampant on the streets of Paragon City if the criminals and heroes embraced their common love of jungle beats, poppin’ and lockin’ and the masterful flair?

My first test subjects were members of the Skulls street gang. Despite their voodoo heritage and their commonplace loitering at local clubs, they seemed disinterested. This may have been due to their being in the middle of a mugging, I later concluded.

I thought to myself, “Of the super gangs in the city, which would most likely be slave to the rhythm?” So my next experiment was with the automaton Clockwork. They, too, were somehow able to ignore the power of happy hardcore which currently has the heroes of Paragon City in a death grip. But while I was attempting to coerce them, I was challenged by another hero to a dance-off a la Breakin’ 2. Well, I am not one to back down from a challenge. Still, her righteous moves were not to be reckoned with, and despite my superior beats, I was forced to concede to being “served.” We cannot all be Turbo.

I was disheartened but I thought maybe my lackluster performance could be attributed to fatigue. I had danced in several parties that night already, and very nearly stopped a crime. Perhaps, it was time to hit the sack. So I stopped at a local eatery, logged off, and brought on a different character to let the mighty Vinsand’r rest up for his next challenge.

As I returned, refreshed as OmegaPrime, I was immediately accosted by the latest supervillainous threat, the Soul Train. Try as I might, I could not avoid them, and was eventually dubbed a foo’. The streets of Paragon City grow more dangerous daily, gentle reader. Do not venture there without your parachute pants and your cardboard.