You might think that Apple is about to announce the iPhone 6 but they have one more surprise up their sleeve before the big day finally gets here. In a move that will stun the uncivilized world (societies with iPhones) they’ll abandon the practice of naming each iteration of iPhones in boring numerical sequence.
Instead, in clever fashion, they’ll use words that sound similar to the numerical scheme we’re all expecting.
Yes, tomorrow they’ll be introducing the iPhone Sex. Siri gets a major and surprising upgrade in this one. Nuff said, I hope.
This will be followed in later years, of course, by the iPhone Heaven. This will be the one time in the history of iPhones that they won’t actually change anything. They’ll just release a new version that’s exactly the same to satisfy the cravings of early adopters.
The iPhone Mate will feature an enhanced personality matrix so you’ll no longer need to bother with the formality of legitimate marriage within the confines of the real world.
The iPhone Spine will usher in a new era of cyborgality with an interface that will make Google Glass look like quaint child’s play. Remember the good old days when technology remained outside of your body?
And, finally, iPhone Hen will exponentially build upon marital aspects originally introduced in iPhone Mate with hyper-realistic calendar reminders and much, much, much, much more. This will also be the first iPhone to incorporate state-of-the-art hammer-resistant technology.
The future for iPhones looks bright but who’s counting?
Everyone has a right to my opinion and I carry a toilet plunger to make sure it’s forced as deep as possible down your throat.
I’m talking about, of course, everyone on the internet. That’s pretty much what it has come down to, right?
Take, for example, a video posted two days ago on YouTube of a road rage incident described as “Redneck Road Rage” and “Instant Karma.” The video quickly went viral. As I write this post it already has over 5 million views. Wow.
Click here to be transported to a dream world of YouTube magic: Redneck Road Rage / Instant Karma
According to the description on the video, the woman was forced to disable comments after she was issued “umpteenth” death threats and called “a b!#$h/c$%t/whore/slut” a “billion” times.
Today I offer a short photo essay regarding the object that
wrecked my life made the big move possible: Ye olde moving truck.
Even the selection of the truck was a source of consternation. The U-Haul website said that the 24′ truck was for a “3 – 4 bedroom home.” That’s a verbatim quote. Since we had a three bedroom home, my wife thought this was a logical selection.
Yet, there I was, like Oliver again, somehow wanting more.
When you stop to think about it, moving is taking yourself and all of your stuff to a new address.
–Tom B. Taker, philosopher
The biggest truck you could get was the 26′ truck which was billed for “4+ bedrooms.” I wanted that truck. Like I explained to my wife, loading always takes longer than unloading and a bit of extra breathing room would allow us to avoid a real life game of Tetris with our precious belongings. Besides, I reasoned, the larger truck was only 10% more cost, about $265 vs. $240.
FYI: The loading to unloading ratio was about 10:1. Every 10 hours of loading time required about one hour to offload. I know because I was there with a stopwatch yelling, “Eureka!”
In the end we went with the larger truck and guess what? And guess what? Our humble three bedroom abode didn’t fit. We had to leave shit behind and strap my Trek mountain bike to the hood of my wife’s car. And, this was my wife’s brilliant idea, the cat’s litter box had to ride in the cab of the truck with me. I shit you not! (The poop tag requirements for this post have now been satisfied.)
We are owned by our precious possessions, but that’s another story.
Keep on truckin’!
About 1/3 loaded. Tetris blocks are beginning to confound.
In the photo below we see the fully loaded masterpiece. Note: This is before we crammed in everything we had filling in every nook and cranny more than a Thomas’ english muffin.
This photo documents one of the happiest moments of my life. Virginal status has been restored.
I’ve never purchased anything from Abercrombie & Fitch in my entire life. Suddenly that fact pleases me greatly.
Director of Content and Community Strategy, Geben Communication
I remember the moment as though it were yesterday (which is saying a lot, because it was nearly two decades ago…) Last week of 8th grade. One of the “popular girls” walked over to me in gym class and asked if she could write in my yearbook. When she handed my book back, I excitedly turned the cover, only to discover that she had written (in beautiful penmanship) the following:
Have a great summer. Stay thin.
Except the word “thin” had been crossed out with a single line.
I have always struggled with my weight. Big-boned. Plus-size. Thick. Curvy. Voluptuous. Padded. Pick your adjective. Over the years I learned to deal with it in different ways. I learned to ignore it. Compensate for it. Deny it. Dress it up. Cover it over. Like everyone who struggles with something physical, I…
View original post 1,125 more words
“This is only a suggestion, mind you, but we recommend it puts the product in its mouth. Masticate and swallow as necessary. Repeat these steps until product is all gone gone.”
I hope this wisdom will be preserved so thousands of years from now when future archeologists are studying us they’ll be amazed at what we came up with.
Don’t try eating that meat with a spoon. No, no, no. That won’t do at all.
In the Taker household, late at night, basking in the warm glow of the television set, cries of “Treat, treat!” can often be heard.
Household policy dictates that the person who didn’t make dinner (that would usually be me) is in charge of rounding up and serving the evening dessert. Additionally, the person who is receiving the treat gets to make the choice between the two servings. This ensures fair distribution of product. It is strictly prohibited to give yourself a giant bowl of ice cream and pawn off a tiny bowl on your mate. Bad form.
Sometimes, though, when one is feeling particularly cruel and devious, the notion of “servings per container” may come into play. That’s when things really get dicey.
These two viruses (virii?) walk into a bar…
Okay, okay. Wait, wait!
Knock knock. Who’s there? A virus. A virus who? Newt Gingrich!
Dammit. That doesn’t work, either.
A priest, a rabbi and a virus are floating in a boat…
No, no, no, no!
Take my virus, please.
Aw, fuck it. I guess there will be no humor in this post. Don’t blame me. I tried!
Continue reading →