10. Matt Stone and Trey Parker
Tripping on LSD at the Academy Awards while wearing the dresses that Gwyneth Paltrow and Jennifer Lopez had worn the previous year should be enough to put them on any list for any category of anything ever.
9. Jeremy Irons
His website is not only awesomely gaudy and ugly, but his portrayal of Simon in Die Hard 3 is what inspired me to become a super-villain.
8. William Shatner and Leonard Nimoy
If you think of these two great musicians as actors from Star Trek, then you have simply not lived.
7. John Stewart and Steven Colbert
Because they don’t even need writers. Well, they help, but I don’t have writers so I have to take them at their word.
6. Steve Jobs
Well he didn’t sanction this movie, but he worked for Atari, founded Apple, NeXT and Pixar… not bad for a guy who didn’t used to shower.
5. Hugh Laurie
Have a problem? Dr. House will solve it by medicating himself. And pick up a copy of Black Adder while your at it, the idiot Prince George will give you an idea of how good old Hugh really is.
4. Charlie Rose
For God’s sake! The man went on the air with a black eye because he dove to save his Mac Book Air! That is the kind of dedication I look for in my journalists.
3. Hayao Miyazaki
The god of animation, mind shatter recovery and Totoro! Life without this man would not be worth living.
2. Makoto Nagano and Kazuhiko Akiyama
After twenty seasons there have only been two winners of Ninja Warrior. TWO! IN TWENTY SEASONS! There is nothing like it in the United States, or anywhere else. Any other show would realize they need easier obstacles, but not the Japanese!
1. Alan Rickman
The man played Richis, Severus Snape, Marvin, The Metatron, Hans Gruber and the great, the magnificent, Sheriff of Nottingham. His career of evil, brooding characters who get to say things like “Because it’s DULL, you twit. It’ll hurt more” has made him the coolest human being alive.
Ξ July 25th, 2008 | → 0 Comments | ∇ Rant |
I don’t know if everyone else will find this as strange as I do, but this picture was taken on the first floor of a three floor building. Now I am not the world’s leading advocate of handicapped rights, but I don’t park in handicapped spaces and don’t throw people out of their wheelchairs when I arrest them. However, I’ve got to say that putting the wheelchair accessible bathroom on the top floor does seem to be a bit of a sick joke… Even for this place with it’s shitty cafeteria and leaking water feature.
A side note on the service on the cafeteria, when I pay for my daily sandwich or diet mountain dew, I use, like everyone under the age of 30, a debit card. This card is placed in the greasy proprietors hand and he (as is the custom) swipes my card though a machine of dubious security. He then places my card on the cash register until the transaction is confirmed. In other words, I have to stand there with my wallet open until he gives my card back. Why? Do I look like I’m going to run off and the card is going to come back as overdrawn? Does my suit scream criminal or lowlife? I mean, I have to sign the damn receipt anyway, so I have to wait for that. I don’t understand. I guess I’ve never had a real job – meaning one with cash register – so I wouldn’t understand. But one day, I’m going to nicely rake my card and receipt back from the gentleman, snap the card in two in front of his face and slit his throat with the jagged edge of my broken card and the snapped side of my psyche.
Yup, a new dawn has arisen. I’m not sure if that’s the right expression, but hey. This is being pecked out on my beautiful little touch screen, curtsey of Apple, Inc., At&t and my credit card. The age of blogging while sitting on the office toilet is finally here, the time where nerds will simply run over you in the corridor as they tell the world about how much they hate their office’s new shag carpeting, and the era of broken noses in glass doors and walls will at last be the fault of personal expression and not short skirts.
Thank you Mr. Jobs, you have taken the last waking moment of my day not spent in front of a screen and replaced it with one that will hurt both my eyes and my fingers.
This morning I received an email from Friendster. Yes, that’s right, the social network that started it all. I had hoped they had simply slipped into oblivion, with the founders forcing themselves to drink Busch Lite and erase themselves for their sins against humanity, but it appears that the are still around, and so is my account.
The reason that I have not heard a peep from the forefather of that eye-sore Myspace, and that time hole of Facebook, is twofold: I haven’t had the email account to which the Friendster account is linked, active in over two years; Second, one I know uses it, talks about, or even mocks it – that’s how old things can become on the Intra-web. So, what was the message you might ask? It was from my good friend Mandie, saying that she hadn’t spoken to me in a long time (which is odd because I saw her on Saturday), and that she didn’t use Friendster anymore, but rather something else which I had not heard of. The picture will make it slightly clearer.
So it turns out that the only thing that Friendster is now good for is as a medium for spammers to waste more of my time by sending more junk that’s going to get through my email filters. And I guess to hack my friends old accounts. When we’re all a hundred years old, are all our old accounts on long forgotten fad websites going to still be sending us fake friends requests, spam text messages and our tenth billion “Increase the size of your penis” emails. I have tried in vein to cancel my MySpace account for months now – it is simply not possible. How many of these types of awful ways to contact me are going to exist when I’m old and crazy and willing to click on the suspicious “banking refund” links or try giving that nice man in Nigeria a call.
I wait everyday, with dread, for the Internet to finally get me.
