Friday 17th January 2003
Fuck. I was almost in a good mood until I got home to discover that--yet the fuck again--every damned parking spot was taken by cars which simply don't live here.
Spam of the Day
More Later....
It's easy enough to tell that, of course. Cars who live here have little crippled tags on their rearview mirror. Except that, instead of suggesting that the driver can't walk from the car to the door of the Mall of Fucking Duhmerica before traipsing several kilometres through the building itself, these tags suggest that the driver was unfortunate enough to move here.
Naturally, mine is the only car in the carpark with such a tag.
I may have solved the problem in part. I parked my car elsewhere, hitch hiked home, and went out and filmed all these sojourning morons in infrared--numberplates, lack of tags, and all. Someone must have noticed that: by the time I'd transferred the footage into the laptop, they'd begun scattering like cockroaches from my fucking lot.
I'd probably be pleased by that, if I thought for a moment that these 'tards posessed the mental wherewithal to remember not to do the same fucking thing again in an hour.
But anyway....
Oddly, my headache is now gone. Apparently, the best way to get over a migraine--where migraines are the result of [among other triggers] stress--is to get dangerously fucking pissed at these lemmings who got lost along the homosapien gametrail and ended up in my fucking parking spot. I may remember that the next time I get a headache; then I'll go snap a few of their bones and see if it helps. Me. I doubt it'll help them. Except, possibly, as a simple mnemonic: park here; suffer much.
Oh well. Look at the bright side. But for 6.4billion imbeciles, gremlin.net might become boring....
Which begs a few questions, I suppose. I should probably address them.
For those wondering what's up with that BurgerThing bullshit: so am I. But not to the extent that I actually give a damn.
I thought about it. I have no particular interest in eating at BurgerThing. Or at PizzaSlut, KentuckyFuckedChicken, or any other PepsiCo property. So I don't really care whether I'm allowed to buy bad food within a single store in which I'm the first and last guy ever to have spoken real English.
Beyond which issue is that of the libel witnessed by a number of BurgerThingys when Yvonne the NadaFrench Creature accused me of having been kicked out for assaultng and battering a manager I've never actually encountered. But, there again: what kind of animal really eats at BurgerThing, and who would they tell about this bullshit? It's pretty sad when you realise that the most affluent of visitors to this building is the webmaster of a website which has been banned in all public schools in the fucking state.
That gremlin.net has been banned in all Colorado schools is irksome; but at least it gives me an ironclad Taxation without Representation defence.
Hey: I make money for having gremlin.net; I've had people attempt to hit the site from a school in order to buy things/see adverts/add content to the messageboard/whatever pays me; they haven't been able to because a taxbased organisation has taken the extreme liberty of disallowing its captive audience from doing so; I'm not paying fucking taxes to support an organisation which disallows me from making the money they'd like to tax. QED.
Anyway...regarding the BurgerThing bullshit: I don't know and I don't really care. If anyone else happens to care, the BurgerThing in question is a franchise held by Mike Kutch [apparently pronounced Kootch, which may or may not be allowed on network television] of Denver Restaurant Management; his number is 303-670-9252. If you're more interested than I am, feel free to call him and ask why this Yvonne creature accused the webmaster of gremlin.net of having assaulted and battered some anonymous manager, despite a total lack of motive, evidence, arrest records, witnesses, nor ability to fucking speak English.
If you happen to find out, EMail me and let me know. I guess I'm a little curious. Slightly. On the rare occasion that I happen to wonder what the fuck is wrong with people.
Okay, so I wonder that a lot. I suppose that's no real secret anymore.
I think my favourite part of this unsolicted spam is the copyright notice at the bottom, where I can't reproduce the spam in whole or in part in any form or medium without the expressed written permission of the fucktard who spammed me with it before reading the bit in my disclaimer about all things sent to *@gremlin.net becoming the sole property of Me. If they really want to push this brainless copyright, we can talk about it after they've paid me the five hundred bucks they owe me for spamming me in the first place....
--Gremlin