When I started SB nearly a year ago the intent was to supplement what I wrote at Cracked. Unfortunately, as of today said contributions at Cracked comprise entirely of a single Photoplasty entry. I haven’t even sent them a proposal in months. It’s very much a lack of desire on my part, and also because I think they’ve slipped a bit recently. Don’t get me wrong, they still produce great stuff from time to time. I’m just not “feeling” them as much anymore.
Too many movie and video game articles I frankly don’t give a rat’s ass about.
Image credit: Valve Corporation
That said, there’s plenty of other good stuff out there. That’s a good thing, given what kind of a slacker I am.
Although I haven’t been writing much lately, I’ve been expressing myself creatively via other means. To wit, I’m learning Photoshop (well, OK, GIMP 2.8). I’m also a bit of a smartass. Turns out my daughter shares my bizarre sense of humor.
This, of course, should come to the surprise of exactly no one.
Now here’s a novel concept. I’m not spiritual or religious in any sense, yet I’m not the slightest bit offended if someone says “Merry Christmas” to me. Say what you want this time of year: “merry Christmas,” “happy holidays,” “bitchin’ Yule,” “have a moderately neato Festivus,” or even “try the quad burger over at Irv’s!” I don’t care.
I’m feeling better than I was a couple days ago. The need for drugs has subsided. The same holds true for Sneferu, who finished a three-week regimen of antibiotics yesterday. In other words, no more shoving little pink pills down a cat’s throat every damn day.
Nah. The government shutdown isn’t THAT bad. Nevertheless, I’m in no condition for 800-1,000 words of historically-themed snark tonight. John Boehner may not need no stinkin’ health care, but I certainly do.
To wit, this bottle of store brand cold medicine will soon be history.
That’s right, children’s cold and cough. I have an eight-year-old daughter, and she’ll tell you I’m a big kid anyway. The active ingredients are the same, so what the hell, right?
So I’m being a big, sniffling wuss and bagging out on History Wednesday this time around. Sorry ’bout that. Larry over at History’s Dumpster always posts good stuff. Go check him out. Assuming the pathogens don’t completely take over around here, I’ll be back with a proper History Wednesday post next week.
It’s been nearly a month since the last FCR. One would think I’d have plenty to write about today, but eh, not so much. Dredging the Internet for the awesome and the absurd hasn’t been a real high priority lately.
If history teaches us nothing else, it teaches us the notion of “the good old days” is a myth and a sham. Need proof? Consider Charles Guiteau. He was a piece of work for the ages, one who put our contemporary wingnuts to shame.
David Koresh had nothing on this guy.
Indeed, the 1881 series of events which led to Guiteau’s place in history look absolutely preposterous when viewed through the lenses of today. Yet there they are.