Spammers are getting creative enough to actually make me have to read their link addresses to be sure that I’m not ostracizing some poor lurker who just wants me to read their happy little message. This concerns me. At least it gives me something to do for about 2 sad little minutes where I think I might possibly be loved before the crushing defeat bears down with its millions of pointy spikes impaling my soul. Carry on spambots, I <3 you.
Lately there have been many banana sightings, but most prominently was a murder scene in the movie Gangster no.1. Since I can’t find a clip of this anywhere, I will grace you with a screenshot and also recommend this movie. Because it is good. Watch it.
Things were different as a child. Halloween was a time of candy and wonderment… and candy… and more candy. But as an adult, I had forgotten until I dropped by the gas station and was consequently reminded of the pending holiday. Soooo, I drew this cat. In a banana suit. It’s festive. Shut up.
After the tragic death of my previous Greymatter blog, I realized that it’s time for me to stop holding on to horrendously outdated programs and move out of my comfort zone into this terrifying realm of user friendliness known as WordPress.
It’s taken me approximately 3 hours to accomplish this five minute task. Why? Because my crazy brain decided that it would be much more productive to sit around and read blogs, be retarded on Facebook, and eat mass amounts of freezy pops at the same time.
While this has nothing to do with bananas OR this blog, I do feel that the events of this morning NEED to be documented somewhere. So here’s a story.
I received a post on my Facebook wall consisting of nothing more than a quote from my 5 year old son (known as The Spawn). It said “This is lettuce, this is lettuce, this is lettuce, and this is a hotdog.” This saying came to be lexicon after a particularly interesting day at the park where he opened a pretend restaurant and served nothing but lettuce and the occasional hotdog.
Seven hours later, a notification popped up saying that G.R. had commented on my post “boo.” I went to her page a few hours later and she had deleted me! Not only that, but had prevented me from even sending her a message to ask how I managed to offend her so badly! Perhaps her mother had gotten into a tragic accident in her lettuce mobile after some hooligan threw a hotdog in the street, derailing her and causing total destruction of the lettuce into a flaming ball of suffocation and melty death. But now I will never know.
And this is why lettuce, hotdogs, and Facebook can’t have nice things.
