Category: Satire
Le Clown and Me in the Dirty D
Yes boys and girls, you read that right. The Ring Leader of the wackiest circus show on earth popped in for a day long tour of the Motor City, and guess who the lucky shmuck was that had to babysit his ass?
It’s been a week and I’m still recovering…
I’m convinced there was no way of preparing for the unexpected visit. In less than twelve hours, the powdery little freakshow turned my hometown into a raging dumpster fire. See Exhibit A.
Exhibit A. Le Clown *beautification project.
To find out more about all the ridiculous antics, outbursts, and clowning around, check out my guest post today on A Clown on Fire: http://clownonfire.wordpress.com/. It’s a goody.
If you’re really bored, check out http://www.theimpersonals.com. At 10am EST, they’re gonna be featuring that goofy Fotoshop post of mine from last week. Drop off a rock star salute!
Oh, and I just watched Bar Refaeli make out with the Godaddy nerd For the first time. Wow does money talk…
-Happy Blogging \m/
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Failing at Fotoshop
I have a dirty little secret to share with you all today — one that I’ve been withholding for some time now. I can’t live with the guilt anymore, and I’m finally ready to come clean with it: I’m Photoshop illiterate. I’m not proud to admit it, but I’m still floundering away at The University of Microsoft Paint.
If you’re not familiar already, MS Paint is a watered-down photo editing program that comes standard with every PC. The only thing it’s useful for is drawing a perfect circle, square, or trapezoid, then filling it with any of the three primary colors. It’s one step above an Etch-o-Sketch.
Since I’m in a giving mood today, I thought I’d give all you graphic artist snobs an opportunity to point and laugh at some of my crudely-edited pictures from the past. Up until now, none of them have seen the light of day. The tour you’re about to take should give you an idea of what I’m working with here.
In short, my graphic design skills are about four feet shy of a slam dunk.
Behold…
…Exhibit A.
I’m a wizard at blacking out teeth. Lucky for me, Suze Orman is already missing one. The caption saved this one. The sketchy-looking thought bubble did not. Grade D+
…Exhibit B
The caption saved this one too. Grade: D
…Exhibit C
What began as a Chariots of Fire-inspired tribute to Michael Phelps, ended in a craptastic horn sympony of wet farts being lit on fire. I blew this on so many levels. First off, I butchered the name. Phleps? C’mon man. Secondly, the Olympic Rings look like they just got off some Woodstock hippie bus after eating a handful of brown LSD. Needless to say, this one didn’t bring home the gold — or any medal for that matter — just a raging case of genital herpes. Grade: F
…Exhibit D
This one’s actually believable — all things considered. In case you’re wondering, that’s Pat Robertson‘s head about to get slamma jamma’d by MJ. Grade: C-
…Exhibit E
Where was I going with this one…This was actually an old piece from my graphic design portfolio. People who interviewed me described it as being preposterous, laughable, and harmful to pregnant women. One guy even called a couple weeks after the interview to tell me he’d gone sterile after looking at it. Liar. Needless to say, my computer drawing career never panned out. Now that I look at it again, I can see where they’re coming from. You did’t have to be a dick about it. Sheesh. Grade: F
…Exhibit F
Wait for it…
…Exhibit G
…and boom goes the dynamite. This one gets high marks for originality of content. Unfortunately, I’m not sure The Enquirer is gonna fork over any loot for this Photoshop hack-job. A Kindergartner could do a better job of cutting and pasting. Look at Bush — he looks terrified. I’ll bet this won’t be the first time G-Dub’s had a low mark stamped next to his name. Grade: D+
…Exhibit H
The shading is spot on in this one, but I kinda goofed on Sara Jessica Parker’s hair. Oh, and I totally forgot that she doesn’t eat carbs anymore. Sorry chicky, this ain’t gonna help straighten out the long face —-> Grade: D-
…Exhibit G: *G-Money*
Here’s an exception. Not much wrong with this one. Except for the fried egg in Becca’s hair. It was supposed to be a daisy. Whatever. If you print this out, don’t try using it at Walmart. They just busted someone recently who was trying to score change for a million dollar bill. True story. It’s obvious that Walmart invests heavily in counterfeit and fraud prevention. But who would wanna get rid of something with that pretty face on it? Grade: A+
…Exhibit H
Gary Busey is so grouchy around the paparazzi. I think he has a sugar problem. Or a coke habit. Probably both. By the way, fake blood is hard to do on MS Paint. It looks like cartoon barbecue sauce. Someone give this man a rabies shot. Stat. Grade: D -
…Exhibit I
More pickin’ on Bush. Wait. That came out wrong. Nevermind. If you’ve never seen the movie Ferris Bueller’s Day Off then you’re probably scratching your wig right now. Congratulations! You’re the only person on the planet that hasn’t seen it. The bong in the photo looks sort of believable, I guess. And it’s patriotic too! Who am I kidding. It all sucks. Grade: D+
…Exhibit J
I can’t imagine his monthly dry cleaning bill. Actually, who cares about that. I’m sending a Christmas card to the owner of the shop. What a saint for handling all those poopy pants. Grade: C
…Exhibit K
I even screwed up my tribute to David Dixon. Wait, is that his name or his nemesis? Either way, you make it look easy, my friend. Grade: F
End of Tour.
I hope nobody went sterile.
*****
If you guys didn’t think this totally sucked, let me know. I have a lot more Fotoshop Fails in the dumpster out back. I could do a weekly bit called something corny like, “Fotoshop Fridays?” Meh. I’ll work on a title…
Oh, and check out the Post of the Week by Alien Red Queen. Nicely written, Ms Lady.
-Happy Blogging \m/
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Still Speaking Hypothetically…
I can’t think of a better way to kick off the MRTB 2K13 Campaign then by drop-kicking a few more Hypothetical Head-Spinners into the dumpster — along with a lit match.
Le Clown, I don’t want to have to stop the tape again. Please stop doodling on your name screen.
If you weren’t here for the last Q and A shit-show, make sure you check out Hypothetically Speaking (Part I) for the rules of engagement. Otherwise, sit back and relax while myself and a MagnificientTM friend of mine launch another list of stupid questions into space orbit where they belong.
Cut the lights. Fire up the Amps.
Pyrotechnics standby.
Head explosion beginning in 3…2…1
Round Deux:
…Would you be willing to have your left middle finger surgically removed if it somehow guaranteed you immunity from all diseases?
I’d rather get coughed in the mouth by someone with the Ebola Virus than have my left middle finger removed. It’s the second most important extremity on my body. If I were left handed it would be number one.
If man evolved from apes why do we still have apes?
Easy question. Because the Zoo would suck without the monkey exhibit. Watching a rabid Chimp spaz out and fast-pitch a stinky, banana flavored hand full of monkey dung at some dude eating a sandwich? That’s what I call money well spent.
Well worth the price of admission.
Le Clown: Who gives a fuck. Le Clown evolved from man, so why do we still have man?
Why do we wash bath towels? Aren’t we clean when we use them?
I don’t know about you but I’m not that eager to wipe my face with the same towel that I dry my dinner exit with. After the first use you’re playing with fire.
Standardized Post-Shower Drying Procedure:
Zone 1: Head Zone 2: Shoulders Zone 3: Knees & Toes Zone 4: “Area 51″ Zone 5: Hamper
Does pressing the call button on an elevator multiple times really make the lift come quicker?
If you’re pushing the call button from the lobby and trying to reach your bathroom on the 85th floor after drinking 14 beers, no. If you’re pushing the call button from the lobby and trying to reach your bathroom on the 85th floor after eating a plate of undercooked wet burritos, definitely no. In any other circumstances, yes.
“You’re gonna wanna make sure you’re bundled up around mid-week because we’re expecting some heavy snow accumulation, and temperatures dropping all the way down into the Cold as Fuck range.”
If the temperature is zero outside today and it’s going to be twice as cold tomorrow, how cold will it be?
In order to answer this one we’ll need to use a little weather math:
Equation:
If 32º F is freezing… and 32º F minus 32º is… 0º F… carry the 1…
Take the |absolute value| and multiply (x) by the derivative2 of the fractal binary equation. Multiply that value by the Square Root of (y)…
…According to my calculations the answer is Cold as Fuck.
Anything below zero is cold enough to make snow come out of your nose when you sneeze. That’s all you need to know. Welcome to January in Michigan. Our State Welcome Center Sign should read: “What the Hell are you Doing Here?
Which came first, the chicken or the egg?
The first egg was invented in a lab by a Hungarian scientist in 1968. The first attempt was a miserable failure, and resulted in the accidental creation of a plastic-shelled egg filled with jelly beans. After several tries, the first chicken was hatched in an incubator a couple months later. The lab technicians named the hen Erzsébet. The first Easter holiday was celebrated the following year. Sadly, Erzsébet died before the party, but her offspring Piroska, and György were present.
They were dropped into a deep fryer later that afternoon.
Le Clown: Wrong. The answer is Le Clown, and his ego. Or did the ego come first…
Is there a time limitation on fortune cookie predictions?
Yes. It expires when you break the cookie open. Most people don’t know this, but in order for the fortune to be fulfilled, you have to suck on the cookie until it dissolves – including the little piece of paper. It’s a messy and horribly uncomfortable procedure. Give it a try.
Send pics.
If someone with multiple personalities threatens to kill himself, is it considered a hostage situation?
Le Clown: No. It’s considered another fuck-up by Big Pharma. Fuck you, Big Pharma.
Why does someone believe you when you say there are four billion stars, but checks when you say the paint is wet?
Because it takes roughly thirty seconds to wash paint from your hands, and about 3000 years to count to four billion. How desperate are you to validate this claim?
If you try to fail, and succeed, which have you done?
Le Clown: Fuck you, Yoda.
How does the guy who drives the snowplow get to work in the mornings?
This one’s actually a tough question. There are countless transportation options for getting to work in the morning. Let’s try putting it into a multiple choice format:
A.) Cross Country Skies B.) A Pair of Stilts C.) A Pogo Stick D.) Flying Saucer E.) Shovels a path and walks there on his hands
The multiple choice format did not help.
If Felix Baumgartner farts while breaking the sound barrier and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?
Le Clown: I don’t know. But farts jokes are funny. Pull my finger.
Why is it that on a phone or calculator the number five has a little dot on it?
The purpose of the dot is to remind the user that any finger is a viable option for calculating or dialing with. You can even use your thumb to push the buttons if you’d like.
Erzsébet’s offspring: Piroska, and György. Photo taken at the first annual Easter party.
There’s probably a former Press Operator reading that’s not finding this very funny.
Sorry dude. You still rock. \m
Oops.
Where do people in Hell tell other people to go?
I’ve never been to Hell personally, but if I had to guess, the angry residents there are probably telling jerk-offs to go to the DMV to get their driver’s licenses renewed. If said Hell resident really wanted to insult the jerk-off in question, he’d probably tell them to go on a Saturday afternoon. That place sucks.
*********
Alright. Time to clean this place up. I gotta head next door to my neighbor’s house and try to explain to him how his car started on fire. This should be interesting. Wish me luck.
One last question for you:
What if the hokey pokey really is what it’s all about?
*Rimshot*
- Happy Blogging \m/
P.S. Go check out the Post of the Week by Sunny Days in D.C.
And That’s How My Mom Ended Up On The Stage With The Male Strippers. I Swear.
Good stuff.
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Whatever Happened to Thanksgiving?
“I didn’t have enough time to eat Turkey this year because I was busy being a consumer whore.”
Apparently, Santa Claus went on another week-long bender up at the North Pole and decided to drive his sleigh right through the pilgrim picnic table. Give that slob a DUI ticket and throw him in jail until December. Run tell that, Rudolph.
What the hell’s going on here? When I was a kid the Christmas season didn’t start until December. Nowadays, people are tripping over pumpkins trying to get their lights stapled to the house. It’s no wonder the rest of the world hates the U.S. We’re not thankful for anything unless its a 50% off Black Friday deal. By next year, we’ll all be eating turkeys stuffed with candy canes, and it’ll only progress from there. I’m holding a clump of mistletoe above my back pocket right now. You know the procedure…
Maybe I’m over-reacting. Maybe Santa’s just addressing his chronic procrastination once and for all. Congratulations. It only took a couple thousand years for him to figure out that it’s a lot easier to manage the big delivery day by planning ahead a little more. I’m probably way off though. Common sense leads me to believe that someone who’s capable of delivering trillions of parcels in one evening probably isn’t thinking about Christmas past the month of December. It’s not like he has a thirty day return policy – that’s your problem, kid.
If that’s the case it begs the question: what exactly goes on at the North Pole Headquarters for the rest of the calendar year?
Just another Friday night at the North Pole. This jolly old elf is overworked and underpaid.
I’d imagine there isn’t a lot to do up there — regardless of what time of the year it is – other than play with some kid’s Xbox or GI Joes. That means Chris Kringle is probably out at the bars getting looped on eggnog when he isn’t wrapping presents. I can picture his jolly ass stumbling back to the house — drunk and belligerent — telling dirty jokes to all of the disgruntled elves, and decking the halls with moldy beer cans. That might explain the beer gut and rosy cheeks.
And to think, for all those years you were convinced he was eating the cookies and milk you left out. Yeah right. The deer ate those. Saint Nick was eating your leftover Chinese food in the fridge, and pounding down half your liquor cabinet. If it’s linked to seasonal depression, I apologize. I’m way out of line.
He can’t be all that jolly though. How many managers have you worked for that haven’t been complete jerk-offs during a high-stress work week? Whatever they’re all uptight about pales in comparison. Try dealing with his mess. Stop crying about your yearly inventory…
Hostile Holiday Takeover
The reality is that it’s quickly becoming like a corporate merger, or more accurately, a hostile takeover. The Chris Kringle Corporation has gained majority market share of consumer focus during the month of November. As a result, the Pilgrims and Turkey Corporation have agreed to sign over their rights to the official Thanksgiving holiday. From now on the two entities will act as one. Here’s what we can expect moving forward:
- It will be mandated that Turkeys be stuffed with garland rather than traditional bread stuffing
- Christmas lights, decorations, and trees must be in place no later than November 1st
- Thanksgiving floats must incorporate at least one Reindeer, Elf, or fucking Jingle Bell
- One member of every U.S. household must spend at least one night camping outside of a big-box store prior to Black Friday.
To hell with all that. Since nobody else wants to celebrate Thanksgiving anymore, I’ll just have to enjoy it myself. In loving remembrance of the holiday, here’s a few things that i’m thankful for.
“Oh sure, now you tell me not to use water on a grease fire…”
Things I’m thankful for
- Microwaves — There’s a good chance that many of my future Thanksgivings will consist of microwavable Turkey Dinners and Hot Pockets. Keep me away from stoves. The only thing I know how to do well with a stove is start grease fires. Bless you Mr. Microwave oven inventor guy. Two minutes is about how long I like to wait before I eat anyways.
- Electric Blankets — My favorite winter time activity is sleeping. I’m like a bear. My metabolism slows to a crawl, and my heart rate drops to about 12 bpm’s for the duration of winter. Without the aid of an electric blanket I might not ever make it out alive.
- Jessica Biel – What a hottie. That’s all.
- Amazon.com — When the mad shopping dash starts, I’ll be sitting at the finish line drinking a glass of eggnog. Three days after that, all of my online orders will be wrapped and sitting under the tree. Take that you fist-fighting consumer whores.
- Aspirin– I’ll definitely be stockpiling these for the holiday season. I usually keep a bottle on me anyways in case I run into a small talker. I think it would be kind of fun if they fit in a Pez dispenser. At least I could have a chuckle before I double over from a holiday-induced migraine.
- WordPress — I’m really glad I stumbled upon it. There’s nothing I miss more than having a homework assignment on Sunday nights since graduating. At least this homework has been fun…
I don’t wanna hear anymore Christmas music, talk about shopping, or see any holiday lights. To the chunky guy in the red suit, I say wait your turn. Let’s not be hasty in hustling the Indian Corn and Hand-Turkey art projects back into storage just yet. This is supposed to be a time to relax, and to put out the family feud fires from last Thanksgiving…
…Enjoy your Holiday, consumer whores.
What Are You Thankful For? Make ‘em good…
-Happy Blogging
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Making Constructive Use of Political Yard Signs
Now that election season is over we can finally yank all those stupid political yard signs. Sigh of relief. But, being the earth-humping, new age hippie that I am, I’m concerned by the tremendous amount of potential waste being generated here. The optimist inside me assumes that someone has a plan to collect and recycle them, rather than toss them on top of a landfill pile. I won’t hold my breath…
Just in case the decision makers aren’t as forward thinking as I’m assuming they are, I’ve constructed a short list of recycling plans that should be considered by your community.
Here’s a few ways we could Make Constructive use of Political Yard Signs:
“Coming in second place has never felt so good!”
Build a Retirement Community for Ex-Presidential Hopefuls
Ex-presidential hopefuls deserve to retire comfortably too. I think it would be a nice gesture to have them put up in an apartment community constructed entirely out of yard signs. Sounds green to me? Let’s see how much you love your planet — seeing that you’ve all had enthusiastic eco-plans built into your campaigns. Oh, and no frivolous misuse of tax dollars allowed. We’ll provide whatever amenities you’d like, ex-hopefuls, so long as it can be constructed out of yard signs. A swimming pool you say? Maybe we can figure something out using the plastic ones. Enjoy your golden years Al Gore, but keep your hands off the in-home nurses.
Build a Bitchin’ Croquet Course
My vote goes to a Croquet course. A very, very big one. I’m thinking we might need to zone a piece of land the size of Connecticut to really make this happen. Create more jobs? Done and done! We can even have the course run through the retirement community. I’m sure Mitt is a real knocker at it already.
Here’s a picture of the proposed Olympic training course. Its just a rough design for now…
Olympic Hurdler Training Facility
Bring home the gold young U.S. Olympians, but stop wasting money on all of that high-tech training equipment. Am I the only one that saw Rocky? The Italian Stallion kept it modest. Punch a rack of beef, screw the heavy bag. Political yard signs would make great hurdles for our Olympic track and field hopefuls. Chop, chop, chop, Romney! Chop, chop, chop, Obama! Chop, chop, chop, Gary Johnson! Sounds kind of fun, doesn’t it? Equestrian facilities should also be considered for sign shipments.
Feed them to Goats
Are goats a naturally occurring animal? I’m starting to wonder if they were produced by a lab technician somewhere in the remote Nevada desert. Goats will eat anything short of rocket fuel. Why pass on millions of pounds of potential livestock feed? I say shred all of the signs and ship them off to goat farms. We eat steroid-injected beef supposedly, why not bullshit-injected goat?
Nudist Colony Fencing
I think a large shipment of signs should be distributed to nudist colonies for privacy reinforcement measures. Not for the sake of the colonists of course, but for the sake of everyone else passing by. It seems like all of the people that I don’t want to see walking around in the buff are the folks that love showing off their sag and jigglies the most. Please, embrace clothing! Hearing the term “birthday suit” brings a hot burp to the top of my neck.
Hmm. Looks kind calm out this afternoon…
Wind Energy Overhaul
Here’s another idea that I’m surprised no one else has considered yet. Experts are always spatting back and forth about how to create more green energy jobs, but the enormous cost and infrastructure required always seems to settle the debate prematurely. Why don’t we just pass out a couple million yard signs to jobless folks and have them fan the turbines? With that much man power, those propellers would be spinning like a ceiling fan. Low cost, high efficiency. I think we might be on to something…
*****
Let’s all raise our glasses together and toast to the end of the campaign trail. Cheers! And remember, there’s no problem that can’t be solved without a little bit of ingenuity…
I’m looking forward to hearing your ideas!
-Happy Blogging!
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A Clown on Fire: Raising le Blogging Bar
If you suffer from Coulrophobia, get a grip. Take your meds, breath into a bag — do whatever you have to do to get yourself stabilized, then go and visit A Clown on Fire’s blog.
Le Clown himself. Illustrious Author, Winner of Awards, Wearer of Patrick Roy jerseys. Join the Circus at your own Risk.
If you’re not familiar with him already, Le Clown is a fast-rising WordPress phenom, and winner of the prestigious Alan Smithee Blog Award. He’s the man solely responsible for Canada’s leading export, quality blog content – surpassing the country’s previous top export, maple syrup. He’s also a surprisingly polite French Canadian (an oxymoron, I know), and a fluent speaker of both French and Frenglish. You might be wondering how I know so much about Canada? Please, there isn’t much to learn…
When I’m not busy looking for porn on the internet, I’m usually reading through blogs – lots of them. It’s a great way to find inspiration when (le) creative tank is running on fumes. When I first discovered Le Clown, I immediately noticed that his material had the opposite effect on me. Rather than leaving me with a new found sense of inspiration, I felt like a poo-head instead. View at your own risk. By the time you finish visiting the circus, you’ll undoubtedly want to end your pathetic blogging career.
I’m packing my desk as I write. I’ve decided to pursue things that come natural to me from now on — things like breathing, walking, etc. Ok, I’m no slouch, but god damn, this guy is endlessly funny — especially the comment threads.
Despite his ego being the size of the Northwest Territories, Le Clown is unlike many of the honorary members of (le) Freshly Pressed hall of fame. As we all know, the majority of stuff on the front page is sub-par. However, Le Clown has rightfully earned his star on the sidewalk by continuing to produce stellar content. As a result, his viewership is trending upward, post-induction – ahem, WordPress editors, market research opportunity!
His phenomenal readership aside, engagement with fans is what I find most impressive. Every person that interacts with his blog is acknowledged, unlike some truly arrogant players I’ve come across. I can’t even imagine the amount of time that’s required to keep up with (le) blog. I get anxious just thinking about it.
You may be wondering if I’m a paid promoter of the circus. The answer is no. You may also be wondering if I’d like to be a paid endorser. The answer is an enthusiastic yes. I won’t quit my day job yet…
Remember your daily affirmations, Adam S. He is only a clown. He cannot hurt you. You are a fucking winner today. Remember your Alan Smithee Blog Award.
More Clowns you Should be Afraid of:
- Homey the Clown – Step out of line and you’re gonna get a rock-filled sock to the back of the head. Whatever shenanigans you may be considering, rest assured, Homey don’t play that game.
- Ronald McDonald - Don’t be fooled by this clown’s happy disposition. He’s laughing all the way to the bank while you stuff your gut full of hamburger grease. If you’re not careful, he might have to blow up a balloon catheter animal inside one of your arteries soon. Would you like fries with that?
- Carrot Top - Never trust a clown that’s going through Anabolic Steroid withdrawal. What ever happened to the skinny goofball with the suitcase full of props? The bigger he gets the more he looks like a woman. I don’t get it?
A few other things Le Clown can do that you can’t:
- Impregnate women just by staring at them — some men, too
- Fashionably wear white foundation and a foam nose in public
- Watch Hockey Night in Canada while his ego does the grocery shopping
*****
Very commendable effort my French-speaking neighbor to the north. I bow to Le Clown and always enjoy your humor. Canada, please don’t be offended by this ignorant American — he means no harm. Besides, I love Don Cherry.
Merci Beaucoup…
-Happy Blogging Ya Coulrophobic Bitchers!
I am a man of my word, Le Clown. Inspiration is there when I need it most. Do not ruin your upholstery with tears of joy.
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The Fruitless Pursuit of an Anonymous Hacker
At a time when I’d found myself wallowing in the deepest, darkest depths of writer’s despair, the universe once again delivered. Unfortunately, my newfound inspiration came with a price tag of a hundred dollars and a few days of lost blog-humping productivity. One all-too-anxious click of the mouse and I’d contracted a nasty case of cyber-gonorrhea, as well as an attitude toward the stinky prick that was responsible for it all.
It was hard not to feel remorseful about the timing of the matter. I was just starting to feel centered for once. The colorful aura that had surrounded my optimistic project faded, forcing me to shelf it for the time being. Back to the bitch diaries. I had a more pressing issue at hand.
I spent the next couple of nights by candle light, snapping off tacky one-liners with a quill pen and a head full of trance. Nothing that I wrote satiated. I needed more. I was desperate for reprisal, so I decided to try and track down the bastard. If I was going to find any closure from the whole ordeal I’d have to do a little police work first.
I figured my best shot at finding the guy would begin with establishing a motive and a detailed profile. In between slugs of coffee, I paced the room like a nervous cartoon, jotting down notes on a spiral-pad. I was feeling confident, on to something I thought. The pencil in my head began to swirl a composite sketch of the perpetrator at large.
The Investigation…
I knew that he didn’t work for a reputable company like Microsoft or Apple, because it would contradict his whole philosophy. It’s difficult to get hired into a company like either of the two when you’re on a bi-monthly bathing schedule. I could picture him; isolated in some basement hideout, screaming into a headset while touring the World of Warcraft – the smell of some off brand air freshener fighting off the stale pizza rolls and TV dinner trays piled up on his desk. In between yelling fits and large blocks of anime porn, there he sits, writing malicious code on a highly sophisticated machine.
Reason led me to believe that he probably didn’t leave the house often, so I’d have to track him down outside of his headquarters. Where would he go? What would he look like? My brain was in desperate need of answers.
He had long hair – an anything-but-trendy ponytail, perhaps. A person of poor hygiene would mean long hair. I’m sure a hairdresser wouldn’t leave their scissors near a person smelling like a dirty sponge, yet alone volunteer their services. Facial hair was also a strong possibility. He’s clearly a non-conformist, which meant rule out anything fashionable or trendy. Cheap sunglasses, military boots, an old recycled leather jacket even.
A strong supporter of the Unix operating system. Everything else was inferior computing, fit only for the common caveman like myself. Maybe I could track him down online. Start in the forums and look for the arrogant flake.
All I needed now was a motive. What would drive a human to bully the civilized world with such malicious intentions? The answer was obvious. The poor bastard was probably exiled from the rest of his peers at a crucial time during development. It caught up with him later on – revisiting, lamenting his awkward high school years. Now he was evil. Non-conformists are born that way though, no fault of another.
The Fruitless Pursuit…
There was no use wasting anymore time. Generally speaking, I had a good idea what I was looking for. In retrospect, it was a bit optimistic of me. More importantly, I didn’t know what I was going to do with him when I found him. What sort of punishment would fit the crime? More questions. Then it hit me: motherboarding — a method used for dealing with cyber terrorism, which involved tying the perpetrator to his throne, and beating him senselessly with a stack of motherboards. Half the problem with the prick is that he’s too smart for his own good, so I may as well bring his IQ down a few clicks.
I knew where I’d find him. The downtown district is full of non-conformist beatniks – lumbering around in large packs like prairie bison. What if this was all for nothing? What if I was pursuing the wrong person? Maybe he was much more refined — off shore bank accounts, suave dresser, expensive car, Rolex — the whole bit.
The once roaring fire of optimism within me was now turning into a smoldering pile of doubt as I watched the markers tick by. I could feel my foot easing off the accelerator as my reservations intensified. I decided to pull off for a bit and make sense of everything.
I ordered a coffee – no cream, no sugar. It was hard to keep myself from pulling napkins out of the dispenser and shredding them on the table. The smoke was heavy – a thick blanket of it hanging above the greasy diner tables. My mind was still in overdrive, but my thoughts were halted by an angry woman that stood up and threatened to off the male sitting in front of her. I could sense the tension mounting in the atmosphere after the blow up. Maybe it was the caffeine. Either way I decided to leave a tip and exit before I was the recipient of a misguided projectile.
Going back was intolerable. I’d been beaten this time, but not destroyed. What sense would it make to continue this pursuit? Tracking down one anonymous hacker and removing him would be like containing an influenza epidemic with a single can of Lysol. Let him have his kicks for now, I thought. The poor bastard has his coming…
-Happy Blogging Private Eye Bitchers…
Related articles
- Security Brief: Anonymous Operations (news.softpedia.com)
- Hackers Take Over Mexican Government Websites (theepochtimes.com)
- How Anonymous Hacked the Media (thedailybeast.com)
- Following your own path–How to be a socially acceptable non-conformist (onehotmessage.wordpress.com)
