Post titles are for even bigger pussies times 2.

So hey guess what? CHICKEN ASS, MOTHERFUCKER ON A PLANE SINGING THE THEME TUNE TO GENERAL HOSPITAL!

No seriously, seriously, seriously, seriously, seriously, seriously, seriously, seriously, seriously, seriously, I'm being REALLY REALLY REALLY REALLY serious now, sorry about that. God I am so immature. Seriously now, guess what? That post below this one? You know? That one about the dumb hadron whatchamajigger sciencey thing? THAT WAS MY 10,000,000,000TH POST! MY MOTHEREFFIN' 10,000,000,000TH POST AND WHAT DO I DO? I SQUANDER THE more BLESSED than blessed EVENT TALKING ABOUT ELECTRONS AND A DUMBer EMPTY LIST OF NOTHING!!!!! MAN!! I AM SUCH A DUMMY! I could have had a 200th post celebration and everyone could have lavished me with gold and diamonds and other various GIFTWRAPPED PRESENTS WORTH CASH AND/OR CASH MONEY AND/OR SPONDOOLICKS!!!!!!!!!!

GAH x 100!

Oh well. There's always 11,000,000,000. Start saving, reader. Start saving now. I'm not even kidding. I'm kidding even less than that.

Okay, so you know how I said I finally got 100,000 votes last week in that utterly ridiculous poll over there on my right sidebar? Well, I think yesterday is the day I retire it for good. It's going to rule over poll heaven like God. So, before it leaves, I wanted to properly analyze the results in an extremely well-designed and not at all irrelevant pop-culture-texture filled pie chart:

[If I'd have made this diagram it would have had boobs in it]

I would like to take this opportunity to thank the [insert obscure reference here] of my reader base. Your honesty is more refreshing, more welcomed and very very very very very very very very greatly appreciated. And as for you fucking Richard Simmons liarheads, you'd better make sure your pants are not on fire, you dishonest con artists. Jesus. You totally know this blog of mine, in quantitative measure, is WAY WAY WAY WAY WAY WAY WAY WAY WAY WAY WAY WAY WAY WAY WAY WAY WAY WAY WAY WAY WAY WAY WAY WAY WAY WAY WAY WAY WAY WAY WAY WAY WAY WAY WAY WAY WAY WAY WAY WAY WAY WAY WAY WAY WAY WAY WAY WAY WAY WAY WAY WAY WAY WAY WAY WAY WAY WAY WAY WAY WAY WAY WAY WAY WAY WAY WAY WAY WAY WAY WAY WAY WAY WAY WAY WAY WAY WAY WAY WAY WAY WAY WAY WAY WAY WAY WAY WAY WAY WAY WAY WAY WAY WAY WAY WAY WAY WAY WAY WAY WAY WAY WAY WAY WAY WAY WAY WAY WAY WAY WAY WAY WAY WAY WAY WAY WAY WAY WAY WAY WAY WAY WAY WAY WAY WAY WAY WAY WAY WAY WAY WAY BETTER THAN JUST "SOME" BETTER THAN YOURS. I promise that sentence was grammatically correct. I'm certain. Shut up.


Also, I've been meaning to share this with you. Check out the card my 6900-year-old grandmother gave me for my three birthdays in July. THE BIRTHDAYS WHERE I TURNED NOT SEVEN YEARS OLD BUT THIRTY-ONE in the most amazing way you could ever imagine:

Well done, Grandma, well done.

It could only have been better had she inserted a two dollar bill or a piece of hard candy or something, and then shat in a policeman's helmet and fucked a pornstar in the ass and burned down an orphanage while screaming "This is real, motherfucker! THIS IS REAL!!!!!!".

I love (making fun of) old people more than I love being this awesome.

Lastly, I leave you with the least funny natural disaster analogy of all time:

Hurricane Ike : Texas coastline :: Ike Turner : Tina

(WHAT? It's not like I made jokes about 9/11! (you know who you are, you soulless human.))

Larger Hadron What? (See, I can finish words)

Apparently some sciencey shit's goin' down today on the Franco-Swiss border near Geneva, Switzerland. Yeah, something to do with particle acceleration and colliding beams of protons and some other junk. I figured I would enlighten you people on what is actually going on. Following is a list of things I know about the Large Hadron Collider (LHC), the largest and most powerful particle accelerator on Earth:

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*Loads more bullet points than in the original





Yeah. You're more welcome.

The Treasure is in the Google with a cherry on top

I have stared at this dumber than dumb weblog pretty much all century long, desperately willing it to seep creative and hilarious and exciting energies into my very being. All for less than naught. Useless piece of shitter than shit shit..

In fact, my fine blog purveyor reader people innernet friends (of whom I have about nine hundred thousand million), I do have some post ideas stirring around these gianter empty noggins of mine, but, alas, they require me to be at home for research purposes. Okay, okay, fine - by "be at home" I mean "look at amateur porn" and by "research" I mean "masturbation." Whatever. Semantics. Leave me alone - Twice.

Anyway. If you're anything like me you love the posts people do about what search terms led visitors to their blog. What's that? You don't love those? Whatever, you big fat pinocchio. You do, too. Don't even front, homeslice. - This section in bold for excellence purposes.

So, here's a special edition of "People Are Fucking Weird And Bring Me So Much Joy," otherwise known as, "You Are Precious To Me, Dear Google, Especially On Slow Blog Days When I Can't Think Of Anything Else To Write About."



We start with some pretty innocuous searches - the most common search term so far leading dozens and dozens of people to my blog? Snoop Dogg Jokes. Apparently people love them some sweet, sweet Snoop Dogg jokes. Who knew they were in such demand? If my Google search statistics are any indicator, you should be breaking out your finest Snoop Dogg joke in the company of friends, colleagues, strangers, pretty much anyone. People in elevators. Those old fucks at senior citizen centers. Weddings, funerals. I'm tellin' ya, always have a fresh Snoop Dogg joke handy - everyone loves them! Except for that one person who searched don't get the snoop dog joke. Poor guy. Sorry, man.

Let's move on. We then have the searches that make me cry myself to sleep sometimes. I hate the people who searched for the following and found my blog: i have no life blog; totally crap; you suck. Yeah, well, you suck, too, dipshit. How about you fuck off and stop searching for dumb phrases?

We then have a series of weird as hell searches that are not even categorizable. Yes, that's a real word, shut it. From what I can gather, I'm assuming these searches come from one of the following types of people: a) those who have just learned the English language b) those who have been raised by wolves (and/or coyotes and/or hyenas) or c) those who are eight years old. Included in this rare genre are: minus one day 26 i want you exclusive; didn't know about black people; moonbabies daterange:2454705-2454706; what should be the passion for a statistician?; cute pictuers of kitens; pickturs of puppies; caption solver- do my 'ice' d-c---- me; how to figure out what bread your cat is. God love you all, you damn retards. And btw, your cat is rye.

Then we move on to another concern of the innernet Google searcher peoples. Apparently I am the official go-to source for how much weight a person can gain in a limited amount of time. Awesome. Really. We have here: how to gain lots of pounds; is it possible to gain 3 pounds in one day; is it possible to gain 34 pounds in one month; possible to gain 25 pounds in one month. How about is it possible for you to stop making me feel like a giant whale? Thanks in advance. Sheesh.

And last but not least there are the good ol' fashioned perverts. I welcome any and all perverts, and by whichever way you come, welcome, welcome to my blog, dear sex weirdo. You may have come from one of these fine searches: trusty vibrator; whats better then craigslist to find sex?; sex with sig hansen; rumpelstiltskin porn; olympic visible bulges; literotica phone sex; jizzy handjobs; black 70s sitcom fat kid red beret (hey, no judgment here, man, whatever creams your twinkie); daddy daughter incest fantasy; take off your pantyhose; isabella soprano rare pictures; isabella soprano in blue sweater; isabella soprano anal sex at moonlight bunny ranch. All right, all right, those last three may have been my own searches. Shut up.

Okay, and now I leave you with a comment I only discovered a little while ago. I don't get comments sent to me via email, so if someone happens to comment on an old post, I only sometimes stumble upon it. You know, when I'm, like, visiting my archives, reliving glories past while softly weeping tears of loneliness and petting my cat. Yeah. Anyway. So, the other day I come across this comment on my post with the open love letter to Sig Hansen:

OK Flawless, You and I are definatly kindred sisters, cause Sig and the boys are the bomb, but did you ever stop to think that this man has a family? He clearly is in love with his beautiful wife!I think that is all part of the appeal. I for one would love to find my own Captain not steal somone elses. While I totally get where you're comming from and do tune in religiosly. I find it rude to both the men and their wifes that the 'lady' fans of this show are so lewd in their admiration. I can only imagine how hard it was to be married to these men and just be seperated from them for months at a time proir to this show... add to that the fact that they must be mobbed in public and be made to watch all the crazy and dangerous things these men do every day. You may want Sig for some fun, but Mrs. Hanson has him for life. Put yourself in her shoes... I am sure she has enough reasons to worry every time he walks out the door, I don't think you would like women talking to your man like that if you were in her shoes!
As for you Sig, I sincerely hope that you know not all your female fans want a 'piece' of you, and I hope you will not let silly females who cannot control their hormones deter you from continuing on with your show. I am a huge fan and find you attractive as a person because of you genuine nature, your sense of humor, your honesty, integrity, and your steller work ethic. God doesn't built a lot of men these days like you and your boys! Godspeed, and good fishin'
gsroper1979yahoo

I think gsroper1979yahoo should change their name to takingeverythingIreadontheinternetseriously1979yahoo.

Gloriouser.

A lil' sump'n sump'n: A Post Made all the better by the inclusion of the word "Cuntflake"

I added the word "Cuntflake" to this post and it's now a bajillion times better than it was. See if you can find it.

Who the hell writes this crap? This blog is terrible. Wait, what's that? What did you say? Yeah, you - repeat that? Oh. Ohhh yeeahhh. Riiight. I do. I write this. This is my blog. Ohh. Um. Well, in that case, this material is brilliant!! When I said terrible up there I meant terribly awesome. I did. Swear.

Seriously, though, I promise to have something here soon. I won't promise it will be quality, but I promise it will have some words and fill up some space. That I promise.

Until then hold tight, you little monkeys. Hold tight and be patient. In fact, hold tight, be patient, and go make me a sandwich, would you?


Wait wait wait! Halt!

Before I sign off, here's something I thought was funny. My sister and her family live in Indianapolis and are die-hard Colts fans, right? Right? With me so far? C'mon, stay with me, cuntflake.* So, the Colts have a new stadium, right? Well, season ticket holders got a little preview day at the stadium a few weeks ago, so my sis, her husband and two kids went to check it out.

My nephling, who will be five next week, is a football lunatic. I'm talkin' knows all the players, their numbers, their positions, he's like fucking Rain Man Jr. when it comes to the facts. And apparently some of the players live in their section of town, so when they've been out to eat at a local Mexican restaurant, or walking through Target or doing other various things, sometimes they will spot a player. I should say, sometimes he will spot a player, because my nephling is usually the first to say, "LOOK! LOOK! THERE'S SO-AND-SO!" They have seen one player more than the others around town, at various places. That player is the Colts' center, Jeff Saturday. And every time they spot him my nephling is like so friggin' excited he can barely even contain himself.

So, anyway, they're at this preview day at the new stadium a while back and who do they run into as they're walking through the locker room? Yup. Jeff Saturday. Not wanting to squander the photo op, they ask him if they could get a quick picture and he is very kind and says something like, "Sure, no prob, just hurry, don't want everyone else to get the same idea."

So my sister pulls out the camera, as they try to hastily position the kids in the frame. You'd think my nephling would be so excited to take his picture with Jeff Saturday, right? Well apparently he was so overwhelmed with emotion he didn't know how to react so he reverted to turtle-shy mode and wanted absolutely nothing to do with any of it. Well, the resulting photo was priceless:

(That's Jeff holding his own kid, btw)

*See? The "Cuntflake" really improves the post, doesn't it?

I've Dreamt of this day Every Single Night of my Goddam Life, and if you don't believe me, ask Matron

I have dreamt of this day for a long, long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long time.

Actually, this paragraph is pretty good. I like this paragraph. But I'd have written it better. I'm just saying. Ever since I was but a shy, frail, undernourished Nigerian boy in the harsh, war-torn jungles of Burma I dreamt of a day like today. I dreamt of a magnificent day where as far as my weary eyes could see I would gaze upon a never-ending land of freedom and prosperity; a land of unyielding hope and limitless bounty; a land woven not from oppression and regression but from opportunity and the storied resilience of all who have come before me. I dreamt of a beautiful land where I would finally get 100 godforsaken motherfucking votes in that dumbass blog poll to the right over there which like the little bitch it is has been hogging some sizable sidebar real estate for entirely too many goddamn months now.

Whew. [Wipes sweat from brow]

Christ almighty that took forever, people. Jeeeezus. Vishnu. Buddha. Zeus. Odin. All the Gods. A Fecking Pantheon of Blasphemy. Saturn.

And, as this is a blessed, blessed (x100) day, I should probably do some thorough analysis on the official results replete with fancy charts and a magic touchscreen wall à la CNN's slickly-coiffed John Regicide.

But you know what? Fuck a bunch of that, arsehole-sucking-prick-grapplers. That would take shit like "effort" and "more effort," and if there's anything I know about myself it's that I am effortless, which I'm pretty sure means I am without effort and do not expend effort. I think. I'm like 90% certain. Listen, I don't know, okay? My name is not Merriam or Webster. It means something like that.

So, in lieu of analysis, I hereby offer up a prayer of thanksgiving. Thank you, dear brethren and fine citizens of Blogreaderlandville. Thank you to everyone who voted, and thank you most of all to myself, because I am infinitely more awesome and have a much better blog than every single one of you dumb donkeys.

Also, thank you to my court-ordered psychiatrist who is helping me see, on a daily supervised basis, that there is a life worth living beyond pathological narcissism.

Amen and Godspeed.

I Would Probably Have Sex With Google A BILLION TIMES if it Were Human

Even more often times people will talk about some junk and it just goes in one of my eight hundred ears and straight out another. Honestly (times 10).

And, listen (more than once), I'll just go ahead and admit it -- this pretty much describes everything you people say (and more). I mean, sure, I read your words twice (or pretend to at least), but seriously, I'm totally amnesiac about what I had for lunch today let alone the endless daily riff-raff you people type with those three thousand fingers of yours (or, for the paraplegic among us, those toes) (or, for the tetraplegic, that mouth holding the golden pencil with which you peck at those keys) (also, I am truly sorry for the loss of your limbs) (seriously, that totally fucking sucks)(and I will pray to my bazillion Gods that you recover, because that's how I roll).

This paragraph, only better: {Okay okay, that was all just to say this -- please don't hurt me when I tell you that I have just now discovered a certain precious natural resource of this magnificent planet. A certain natural resource which long ago was unmined by peoples much braver and worlds wiser than I. A resource so tremend... oh fuck this, christ almighty. I finally caught on to this Google Reader shit, okay?}

And it has interrupted, for the better, the very fabric of space and time my fucking life has been built upon. Plus one.

The following section is italicized to show my sincerity. Because I'm ace. Acer than ace. Fucking ace. Oh yeah.

I don't know what that there meant, but I just mean it has saved me, just today, roughly eight and three quarter hours. Okay, okay, I may be exaggerating, but seriously, check it out - here was me before Google Reader:

*Click link* No new posts. FUCK. *Click Back*
*Click link* No new posts. SONOFABITCH. *Click Back*
*Click link* No new posts. GOTOHELL. *Click Back*
*Click link* No new posts. IFUCKINGHATEYOUSERIOUSLY. *Click Back*
*Click link* No new posts. DIEINAFIRE. *Click Back*
*Click link* No new posts. DIEINAMUCHBIGGERFIRETHANTHATLASTGUY. *Click Back*


This was my day. Every. Single. Godforsaken. Day. Several. Times. A. Day.

See?! Do you see now why I hated you ugly monkeys with such a fiery passion?!

I could be on top of the world as I jumped out of bed in the morning, bright smiley sunshiney face ready to take on the glorious day ahead! And then, inevitably, somewhere around half past 9 at work, after about eight or nine minutes of that nonstop clicking back and forth bullshit I wanted to cut you all out of my life for good, delete my goddamn blog altogether from the internets and go cry in the handicapped bathroom stall until lunch.

Now, you may ask me, But Falwless, how does that differ from any other day at work for you? And I would answer, touché, asshole, touché, shut the hell up. But, seriously, I'm almost certain The Google Reader has already made me a better person, physically, mentally and spiritually. Sure it's only been a day, but I can already feel things changing inside of me (though, in the interest of full disclosure, it's also that time of month, so, uh, I can't be really sure what's going on in there, iffinyaknowwhatImean).

Anyway, if you haven't done it yet, I highly recommend signing up for The Google Reader. All you have to do is add each subscription (blog) one at a time, and once that's done you just leisurely check it from time to time and it will show you who has a new post up!

IT'S TRULY, TRULY A BEAUTIFUL, MAGICAL THING, DEAR FELLOW HUMANS. TRULY. Truly and deeply. Had the Magi some Google Reader back in the dizzay, they totally woulda thrown some Congratulations! New Baby! wrapping paper on that shit and given it to Jesus instead of that ridiculous myrrh nonsense. Seriously, what the fuck is myrrh and what the hell was a damn baby supposed to do with it? Wise men my ass!

And one last thing. Before you dare leave a sarcastic comment a) making fun of me for just now signing up for this crap b) telling me that, HELLO!, this new bloglist thing can tell you when someone has posted something new or c) saying "HEY RETARD, I TOLD YOU THIS MONTHS AGO" I would like to ask you to, very kindly, shut your face. Or your hands. Or your toes. Or that pencil in your mouth (seriously, I'm so so sorry about those limbs, god bless you, you limbless mutant child).

I Never Know How to Tell You Things Because Your Violent Anger Scares me Even More Than It Scares Falwless

Imagine the following post:

[I don't really know how to break this to you, people. I've thought about it long and hard, off and on, all weekend long. How will I say it? Are they going to be terribly upset with me? Should I soften the blow with some good news or something? You know, I wonder if Richard Simmons even *owns* a pair of long pants?

The questions were many and answers so few.

But, I'm just going to come out and say it. I may be absent from this blog for a week or so. I have a ton of work to do this week, and this little innerweb shithole diary blog journal webspace thingy of mine is nothing but a humongous distraction to my productivity (gahtdamnit).

So, listen, I am truly sorry. I'm pretty sure you will survive. And if you get to missing me too much, go back to those beautiful, beautiful archives and love me all over again (bring a condom this time). That's what I do in times of need.

Anyway, dear peoples, have a good week -- we will be making sweet, sweet bloglove again soon, I promise. And, just to soften this terrible blow, some good news:



(You're welcome.)]


Now imagine it on the top of a skyscraper fighting a huge robot made of reflective metal. That's what my post is like.

The Even Bigger Trouble With Having Unfashionable Friends

All right, (jacket) people. I need your help (jacket). A friend and I got into a massive massive massive debate the other night (jacket) about whether Kim Jong Il, the fantastically fucking huge dictator of North Korea (jacket), wears a JACKET (correct answer) or a SHIRT (incorrect answer).

Consider THE EVIDENCE HERE, a giant Godzilla of a link just waiting for your wide-eyed appreciation.

HAHA SUCKAH! JUS KIDDING JUS KIDDING JUS KIDDING JUS KIDDING JUS KIDDING JUS KIDDING JUS KIDDING JUS KIDDING JUS KIDDING JUS KIDDING JUS KIDDING JUS KIDDING AND SO ON.

Here's the real evidence to the power of "yes":

CLEARLY A JACKET, NO?

Head on over HERE to weigh in and vote JACKET, please!