*ping*

It occurs to me that my neverending struggle with junk mail is a startling parallel to the Alien(s) movies. Beset by ferocious carnivores, I withdraw into a sanctuary, but ultimately some corridors remain. These, of course, are my email addresses. For many, I'm able to seal access off entirely (the designated junk accounts, which I never check), but there are still one or two corridors that I need open; my squad is still out there, and they need to get to me.

I defend my important corridors with the best in automated anti-spam gunnery and I can watch the progress of the attempted intrusion with my motion detector, but inevitably the chitinous beasts slip through. While I calmly exterminate the threat and Bill Paxton screams "game over, man!" in the corner, I know that it is only a matter of time.

Today I received a stock tip--which was very courteous of Julian Burris--in my prized personal email. Thus begins the flood of acid-blooded creatures which will drown my inbox.

Dear Comcast account, I hardly knew ye.

This is dumb, but...

I was thinking about why lipstick is called lipstick. Is it because it sticks to lips, or because it comes in stick form? I'm thinking it's probably the second, because otherwise we might be rubbing chapstick on our leather over-pants contraptions.

So true.

I can't help it if this makes me nostalgic for brand new Super Nintendo games.

i'm not crazy