A Day of Magical Coffee Sickness

I worked from home today, and while I was sitting here Erin fixed a pot of coffee. I ended up drinking probably a whole pot by myself. Keep in mind I drink coffee maybe once every two months. I am sick. Not only do I have the fucking coffee frenzy where it feels like my heart is beating 400,000 times per second, but my stomach feels like small intestinal elves are making a profit out of hacking my digestive track to pieces. My condition can be summed up in one word: beelerRUGH-pffffft. And that’s god’s truth, BROTHER.

Many have told me that they cannot download the .zip archives of the pictures I posted yesterday. I’m trying to figure out what’s wrong, but every time I try from any one of my computers it works just fine. For now, I would suggest right-clicking on the links and choosing “Save Target As…”. Maybe that would work. Different people had different problems, but I’m still looking into it.

Erin was baking Christmas cookies today and watching movies like It’s a Wonderful Life, A Christmas Story, and Drop Dead Gorgeous. It was nice after working for a while and feeling like someone poured acid directly into my stomach to walk out into the living room from the office and sit down for 5 minutes. I think we should have a TV in the lab at work so people can take small breaks and relax. Because right now my group is a goddamn powderkeg ready to blow sky-high the next time someone suggests we “reprioritize our action items and call out the high-level strategies”.

After posting this, I’m going to add all of the pictures from the archive to my picture database, so if you want to see some of the better pictures from this weekend, you have that option.

–whazz on

I Hate Hollywood [Update at 8:48pm]

I just saw a commercial for the new stupid fucking Disney movie-of-the-year “Treasure Planet”. Never mind the fact that Disney wants no one on Earth to have the ability to rape the past for fiction material besides them, they are apparently the world’s most prolific employer of farting, wisecracking sidekicks. But back to the commercial that made my fucking brain break. As is usual, the movie had a bunch of made-up quotes by quote whores who work for various media syndicates (who usually have some tenuous links to the actual companies that make the damn movies). This particular work of shit-art, however, used the quote: “It’s Star Wars meets Treasure Island!”


Need I remind you, you fucking idiot movie critic, that the goddamn movie is a remake of Treasure Island?! When you use the “It’s _____ meets _____” saying, you are supposed to sum up what it is by marrying two different things, AND TYPICALLY ZERO OF THE TWO ARE THE THING THAT IT IS! Let’s say I had Jimmy Dean sausage for breakfast. If I liked it, I wouldn’t say “It’s pancakes meets Jimmy Dean sausage”! I’d say “It’s that one guy from Back to the Future meets Spanky the elephant” or something equally witty and/or insane. If I really wanted to get someone to eat maybe I’d say “It’s sex meets booze”. Apparently, Disney is run by a herd of howler monkeys.

–whazz on