Category: Internet is Forever

The Series of Tubes

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and I ain’t got nobody
I got some no money ’cause I just got paid fucking sent home again, until Thursday
Now, how I wish I had someone to talk to
I’m in an awful way,

But I have beer (no, not with Ray – we know how that ends) and Star Wars reruns, so I’ve got that going for me, which is good. And Tinder, which is unlikely to end well. And ham salad. And that’s all I need.  Except this


…when you realize your WordPress theme is so helpful that it publishes private admin notes for all to read. Followed by the part where you realize those notes are google searchable.
Followed by the part where you find out somebody did a google search. And DID find the notes. Plus they found some other things one throws out in the Universe, never expecting them to find their way home.

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A million years ago, I had young kids, a Jeep, a wife who sorta loathed me and a job that bored me. And cable internet and a digital camera and a President that I kind of ranted about constantly. And stories. Lots and lots of stories. Usually stupid, mundane things.

I wanted a soapbox to tell my truths. Even if they were actually lies, or mostly imaginary. The challenge was to make them amusing to my audience. This was kind of a low bar, since my “audience,” such as it was, was myself and a couple of friend/contributors.

So how to dump this maelstrom of oh f*** I’m 40, but I’ve got all these THINGS to say on an unsuspecting internet? This was 2004. No smartphones, no Facebook. The Twitters had not been invented.

But there were these things called “blogs.” God, what a stupid name. I didn’t want a “blog.” I wasn’t a “blogger.” I wanted a “website” where I could post things in serial fashion as I thought of them, augmented by pictures and video.* [Ed.: That is the very definition of a blog, genius.]

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– Me, after doing the due diligence a little late.

Evidently, I don’t get to both express myself freely and do so without risking some sort of “your self-deprecating jokes are hurtful to me” response, even though there’s no names and no point about anyone else. There’s gotta be a Costanza for this moment of Zen.

George Costanza Fail

Nah, too meta.

Date: Sat, 4 Apr 2015 18:02:19 +0530 [05:32:19 AM MST]
From:  Mrs. Emeline Vallien <> India
Subject: Drgonzo, SMELL some fresh body of adorable Mrs. Emeline Vallien

The body of the message was complete spam of course. What I think Mrs. Emeline Vallien intended to tell me was that, as I am a recent divorcee and man of the highest moral standards, she of course was thoroughly entranced by my monstrously large dick and desire to bone all the hot single ladies of south Detroit like her sincerely held beliefs.

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