Do Not Adjust Your Sets
For those of you just tuning in, this isn't Lowtax, it's Fragmaster, and I'll be doing the updates on weekends from now on due to changes in the world market economy and the level of sewage backed up in Lowtax's posh Costamesian home. Mr. Kayak-yank-ya will return Monday with his usual garbage.
Super Bowl, Super Villains
Since today is Super Bowl Sunday, every webmaster in the world is contractually obligated to talk about the "big game." Most of 'em will say dumb stuff like how they can't wait to unzip during the 'N Sync half-time show (well, at least sCary will) or how they're looking forward to the "Tomb Raider" movie commercials because they want to nitpick about all the inconsistencies between the videogames and the movie or some other such nonsense.
I, however, would rather talk about this wonderful NY Post article that helpfully points out which Super Bowl players have criminal records and / or run-ins with the long spork of the law. Let's examine some of the more juicer tidbits, shall we?
What the heck is "simple" battery? Is that where you just punch somebody in the face with your fist, compared to "complex" battery, which must involve building an intricate face-punching machine out of the remains of a depression-era electronic icebox? Or perhaps when the cops came, Sharpe said something like "The beeyatch got outta line… it's that simple!" instead of babbling on and on about how the insecurities instilled in him by his goose-juice swilling mother has since caused him great difficulty in maintaining healthy relationships with the opposite sex, thus making the battery "complex." Who knows?
Ewww, that is SO SICK. Trying to entice orange-faced chocolate-factory working midgets into bed in exchange for a few sawbucks? Oh wait, I read that wrong… I got "Opa Locka" confused with "Oompa Loompas," you know, those scary dancing wee men from "Willy Wonka." Regardless, I bet Larry Webster would love to "defensively tackle" one of those guys in a cheap hotel room, if you know what I mean… *wink* *wink*
How embarrassing. A guy who does nothing but run - professionally, no less - can't elude a seventy-two year old J.C. Penny's security guard with a trick knee and glasses thicker than this grandchildren's elbows. As for the whole polo shirt thing, perhaps he should have been turned over to the fashion police instead of the real cops? See, that's funny since there's no such thing as the fashion police and polo shirts make you look like a citizen of a short-bus community.
My, my, my, haven't we been busy Mr. Christian… IF THAT'S YOUR REAL RELIGION! You'd think with a name like that he'd be a fine, perfectly sturdy young man capable of good deeds, such as not pushing old women into the path of oncoming buses. But instead he pisses all over, threatens to kill people, drinks moonshine by the meter, and loves rape so much that he goes for the extra point by doing it twice. I'm not sure what "third-degree" assault means, it could be as minor as a lewd remark or something majorly serious like the kind of stuff that happens when Mike Tyson's leash-holders mess up and let him run loose. However, I do know that a third-degree black belt in karate can chop your head open with the heel of his or her left foot, so I'll just assume that's what he did. An astute hypothesis methinks!
So while you're watching the Super Bowl, just remember that a good percentage of the dudes running about in their fancy spandex uniforms and stupid double-digit numbers on their backs aren't very nice people. I'm not saying all NFL players are desperados, far from it, I'm just saying that the entire league is corrupt, secretly run by Las Vegas bookies, and that the Giants will win.NOTE: most NFL head coaches are former car thieves.
And after watching the hoodlums toss the old pigskin around, please forget to check out the second season of "Survivor." Jeff K's Internet Version is far, far, superior and the television show can't possibly live up to Jeff K's high production values and witty dialogue. And integrity.
The Hand is Suspect!
I'm sure you've all heard of the ghetto-fabulous phrase "talk to the hand." Now, in times of need I often heed this advice and chat it up with the hand just to pass the time, you know, like on a bus or at the DMV. But I recently went through a tough time in my life, a period in which I couldn't be sure if my hand was faithful, and more importantly, if I could trust it. Fortunately, most people will never suffer the pain of not being able to completely and implicitly trust the hand with every duty they assign to it.
It reminds me of another old phrase: "never bite the hand that feeds you." But what if the hand that feeds you... is biting you? This is not a jolly thing, and I learned this life's lesson the hard way. Since I think it's best to express your feelings through art and I am - if nothing else - an artist, I drew a picture of my ordeal to give you brief glimpse into what I felt at the time.
I wouldn't normally mention this, but in light of certain recent events I thought this would be a good time to bring it up. With the hand suspect in a variety of crimes - including world walrus and yellow teeth hair - well, you can never be too careful. Plus, these recent outrages have caused us all to reevaluate our opinions on forced tattooing for mid-westerners.
So I guess the moral of this story is that you should never take things for granted. If you think your life sucks just because you only have a 14.4 modem and the last thing you took on a date was made out of lytherphforamra or one of those other new-fangled plasticsdiseases thingers, just take heart in the comfort of knowing that the hand will probably never, ever betray you. Now cut your damn fingernails, you slob, are you trying to make it mad?!?
Extremely proud over here! The bosses took notice and I have been promoted to 20 cages!!
Mr. Sakurai-sama, where the FRICK is Dino Riki!?
Are there arrows in Tomb Raider? "No. Absolutely not."
The Something Awful front page news tackles anything both off and on the Internet. Mostly "on" though, as we're all incredible nerds.