• Microsoft gets blamed for a lot of the evil in the world today. Rightfully so. Microsoft is evil and everyone knows this. So what kind of idiot does it take to make Microsoft come off looking like the good guy? Why an idiot like Ticketmaster. Did you hear about this one? It appears that the people at Ticketmaster got annoyed with Microsoft because (gasp) they had established a link to their website! (The link has since been removed). Now while the people at Ticketmaster will admit that on-line ticket sales may have increased after this link was created, that was probably just a coincidence. But you're probably wondering is what they were miffed about in the first place. Well it seems that the boys down at Microsoft linked directly to the ticket sales page instead of the advertising heavy main page. The hits weren't coming to the page with the advertising on it! Greed, thy name is Ticketmaster. It takes a real class outfit to teach Microsoft anything about monopolies. And then there's one last little thing about Ticketmaster. Their main page sucks. It's another of those graphics only pages that I can't stand. I wish I could say that I was surprised.

• A plaque. They're doing it to get their names on a lousy plaque. It hit me the other day when I stopped by my bank. As some of you locals may be aware, the JSC FCU is adding on to their building. There have been several theories put forward on why this might be. The two most popular are that
  1. They needed the additional space.
  2. They had too much extra money on their hands and couldn't justify (or find a spot for) another branch office.
  Neither of these theories are correct. The real reason is that whenever some building is done, the building gets a lovely new plaque that lists the names of the board members and the construction committee. I kid you not. Go check out the main entrance down at the credit union and reach your own conclusions. It's pretty obvious that what the board is really after is a little immortality. If they really wanted something to do with a pile of money they should have come to me. Heck, I would have put the board members names right on my web page (for a small fee). For a the right price I might even guarantee to keep them off of my web page.

• Okay. The kid gloves are off. While many topics have been off limits (or taboo if you prefer) in the past, I'm just a little too fed up to continue in this vein. So what shall I tackle in my first forbidden diatribe? Religion? Politics? O.J.? There is enough topical material on these subjects to choke a sperm whale (note the gratuitous use of the word 'sperm'. Like I said, the kid gloves are off.) No. Today I broach a subject nearer and dearer to my heart. The Fickle Female. Fickle I say? Yes, fickle. My own sordid social life is the spirograph upon which this missive is spun. What do women say they are looking for? For the more superficial, 'Tall'. I got that covered in spades. Many like to say 'Sense of humor'. What? You don't find Polack jokes funny? 'He needs to be a professional'. Professional? If a woman won't define what kind of profession she means by this term then I can safely assume that one of my varied skills covers this vague attribute. So what's your problem ladies? Why aren't you beating down my door with mousetraps (or something like that)? The fault clearly can't lie with me as I know the proper homonym for any occasion. So get with the program.

  Then again, as only Matt and Carlyle ever read these things this whole topic is kind of pointless. At least I got a gratuitous use of the word 'sperm' out of the deal.

• Oh what evil insidiousness lurks in the bowels of our appliance manufacturers. I'd say that the insidiousness lies in their hearts, but everyone knows business people are without hearts. This fact is manifest in the cunningly planned obsolescence that all major appliances have built into them. Why else does the answering machine break down immediately after you leave on your first vacation in months? Why else would a water heater give up the ghost on the very morning where you have that big presentation at work? How else does the car know to get a flat on the one day that you aren't driving around in an old t-shirt and jeans? This is of course just another facet of the great global conspiracy, but greed and avarice lay at the heart of this one. (Then again, I suppose greed and avarice are at the hearts of most of the conspiracies. Either that or sex.) Manufacturers build an item with special microchips that are able to detect the worst possible moment for that item to fail, and you know what happens next. Poof! No more [insert your most recent item here]. The reason they do it is so that you'll be tempted to buy that top of the line item the next time around. Bastards. Sometimes you can still get a bargain that doesn't seem to fail. This keyboard rigHT HERE... THAT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE LOWER CASE! WHAT'S WITH MY DAMN CAPS LOCK KEY? AARGHHH.

• As you may have gathered from the meager text that comprises my main page, I'm not given to surfing the web to find pages loaded down with scads of graphics. If people want to put pictures on their page, that's fine by me. If they want to put together a page that generates one of those annoying messages that says "Get yourself a decent web browser you Neanderthal" when your non-frames handling browser attempts to load it, that's fine by me as well. I'll be annoyed and won't bother to come back, but it's still okay with me. But to put together a business/service page that is made entirely of pictures without one single alt=text description leaves me in a quivering rage. You don't know what I mean? Allow me to rant further. When you put a picture of some kind on a webpage what you actually do is create a link that calls the image. What you can also (are supposed to?) do is include a little tag in the link to give a text description of the image if the person is not loading images by default (you can do that you know). Perhaps I don't want to spend 8 minutes downloading a huge artsy picture of the words Click Here to Continue before getting to the meat of the page. Maybe I don't want to watch a dancing icon that requires 36 different images to move properly. Give me a [expletive deleted] choice! Excuse me while I go re-read the HTML style guide. I find it very relaxing.

• Did you know that 85% of all auto accidents involving sober drivers are the result of people fiddling with the radio stations? Of course you didn't, I just made that up. That number does have a nice feel to it though; 85%. It could even be true for all I know. But why do people have to fiddle with the radio so much? Because every [expletive deleted] radio station plays commercials at exactly the same time. Why is this? Is there a major conspiracy to ensure that you won't find music when you switch stations? Is there collusion on a national, nay, global scale? Probably. What else could explain not being able to find one station (not counting NPR) on the whole dial that isn't playing a commercial? Here's what typically happens: Jim Cooks voice comes on whining about Boston lager. This makes you immediately punch up an alternate station. On that station you are regaled with the joys of shopping at Annoying Auto Discounters. Then comes the quick leap to your third alternate. Again no joy. You're probably back to Jim and now he's whining about how you can't get away that easily. In desperation you return to the second alternate and now Jim is whining there too. What does all this prove? You can't win. I hope this doesn't come as a surprise.

• Here we are in 1997 and it's a brand new year. Seeing as how this diatribe comes well into the second week my guess would be that there are very few unbroken resolutions laying about. What's the point of picking the end of year rollover to make a promise to yourself that you know you're not going to keep? I know, I know, this is the year that (pick as many as you'd like):
  1. I'm really going to stick to that diet.
  2. This year I go running at least three times a week.
  3. I'm going to read a new book every two weeks.
  4. I'm going to save more and spend less.
  HA! Like most people you have probably already spent quality time at a buffet table, scarfing from the cheese tray, thinking about the marathon you need to run to get caught up on that running, and how you'd read that book if you only had enough spare cash to buy one. Let's just bypass the middle man called 'New Year's Resolutions' and just go straight to feeling guilty. Isn't that what the new year is really all about?

• As the year 1996 draws to a close, it's time for many to look back with a sense of retrospection to think on the past and think about what the future might hold. Not this camper. No, it's time to look back with a sense of disapprobation for the many squandered opportunities that 1996 provided. Then again, maybe not. I think I'll burn those bridges another time. Let us instead contemplate the true meaning of the new year. It means you're now one step closer to the grave, taxes will soon be due, you'll have to get your vehicle inspected soon, and your car is one year closer to giving up the ghost. The kind of things if you thought about them would make you want to stay in bed with your blankets pulled over your head hoping that father time will look the other way as he shambles into the books. Instead we'll all go down the meaningless milestone route and bring in the new year with wretched little horns, spilled champagne, and drunken shouting. I don't know about you but I think the imagery of the new year being represented by a baby is very apt. Apt in that his wicked grin is probably due to the loaded diaper he's carting around. Happy New Year indeed! Let's just stick with the old and then maybe I won't screw up so many checks.

• 'Hi there. My name is Jim Cook and I'm proud to say that my radio commercials were recently voted the whiniest commercials in America.' You know the commercials I'm talking about. Samuel Adams Boston Lager. Oh no, not beer. Boston Lager. If you haven't heard one of the commercials recently, let me refresh your memory. A typical ad is one where his whiny little voice comes on the radio with his standard phrases such as 'hand crafted brew' and my personal favorite 'the big brewers spill more in one day then I brew in a month.' The content varies, but those lines crop up consistently. So who else got some major evil satisfaction from his recent commercial where he admitted that those same big brewers brew the majority of his beer? Ah, the back pedaling and ass covering was incredible. 'Don't worry, it's different with my beer. They use my special ingredients that give the beer that special flavor.' Hah! My guess is that the special flavor is probably due to the sweeping compound and cigarette butts that those big brewers throw into the mash just out of general irritation. Get a clue Jim. Or better yet, get a different advertising agency that insists you don't record your own commercials any more. My business is nothing to be scoffed at.

• The old running joke back in college was "Okay. I'm in my senior year of engineering. When am I going to get to learn how to drive the train?" Witty, eh? Well we were all young and stupid at one time or another. As for learning how to drive the train, I've decided that there really is no formal training involved. Just prove that you're a bitter and spiteful human being, and the job is yours. You're saying to yourself, 'Hey, I'm bitter and spiteful, this sounds like the kind of work for me. But what's bitter and spiteful about driving a train?' Good question. A question that shows that you obviously don't live near a railroad crossing. For those that are fortunate enough to live near a crossing, they already know of what I speak (write). Yup, that train driver that likes to lay on the whistle, hard, repeatedly, incessantly, lustily, angrily, and a whole bunch of other "ilys" that I can't think of right now. Not all train drivers are like this though. Only the great and overwhelming majority of them. Then again, I suppose if it was me driving the train at 3:15 in the morning past the rows of darkened homes and empty roads that maybe I too would be a little angry at the slumbering masses all snug in their beds. Heck, on second thought, I'm starting to wonder why they all don't lay on the whistle.

  Not for the faint of heart (26k)

• The Great Bread Debacle of 1996 rages on. Or at least I'm raging on about it. You've probably heard about this little tempest in a teapot. Some grocery stores and "other businesses" filed suit against several bakeries accusing them of price fixing. 'Not bread! The very staff of life!' you probably wailed when you first heard this. Anyway, the bread makers have decided to settle and are ponying up some cash to more than 5500 businesses and individuals in Texas, Louisiana, Arkansas, and New Mexico. And here comes the best part right out of the paper; "Customers are eligible if they purchased bread products from the defendants or their affiliates any time from Jan. 1, 1977, to March 28, 1996, and can prove a claim." This is just too rich for words. I started digging frantically through my tax receipts from 1989 to see just how much bread I bought that so I can start planning the purchase of that vacation home. You know what? I didn't save my grocery receipts. I know, I know, you are all shaking your heads in disbelief that I had thrown away a grocery receipt from the Bush administration. It's true. But I can see why this settlement was so important to the grocery chains. I mean, here these colluding bread makers were charging higher than necessary prices that were then passed on to the consumer... Hold on a second. What's wrong with this picture? I've said enough. Let your own incredulity take it from here.

• I think the debate over 'Young Skinny Elvis' vs. 'Old Fat Elvis' took up the thought process of our entire postal system. I can picture it now; the fighting in the halls, the screaming debates, the hair pulling, shin kicking, flesh scratching, eye gouging, just all the things that make intellectual debate so rewarding. The reason I think the post office is caught up in this vicious cycle is that it's the only way I can logically explain the sizing of our postal stamps. Have you noticed the size of some of the stamps you buy? The dang things are about 2 inches tall while the amount of space on your average envelope falls just short of that. Just another example of the great conspiracy in action. My thinking is that the post office is tired of being the butt of so many jokes and that they are using this as just one more type of petty revenge. 'Make fun of us will they? Let's see how much they laugh when the address window on their electric bill gets covered by the stamp. They won't be laughing so hard when they're eating their cold pork and beans in the dark. Mwahahahahaha.' At least I hope that's the reason. If this is just another example of stupidity, well that would just plain suck. But if it's intentional, I for one would have to admire them for the idea.

• Have you tried to watch a music video lately? I don't mean those oldies on VH1 where you watch some group such as Bread weave back and forth on the stage while actually playing instruments and singing. I mean one of the modern ones by some group such as 'Smashing Melon' or 'Blind Pumpkin' that seems to be popular to kids these days. The kinda video you'd see on MTV (that is if you can ever actually catch them showing videos). Who edits these things? Is there some poor soul with tourette's syndrome that just splices it together based on whenever a seizure strikes? I don't think I've seen a video of late where any scene lasts longer than four and a half seconds. And that's for the ballads. A rock video (do they still call it rock?) doesn't have continuity approaching anywhere near that kind of time. They all seem to be a series of random images thrust upon the observer in as haphazard a manner as possible. The more unrelated, the better. And as for actually seeing some semblance of these performers performing, they must save their energies for live gigs. I wonder if kids still do air guitar routines or whether they even know to associate guitars with music anymore?

  Yes, I know the real names of those bands so don't bother writing. Sheesh.

• The Randall's grocery chain has once again proven that there is no idiot like the idiot that comes up with marketing strategy. This store has come up with a new gimmick called the Remarkable Card that allows you to "... take advantage of big savings on specially selected items throughout the store." What it really does is eliminate all of the previous weekly specials the store used to have and instead mandate that you be carrying one of their vile cards if you want to get the sale price on anything. Can you say customer backlash? The very name of the card seems to have been picked solely on it's annoyance factor. I mean the 'Remarkable Card'? Who are they trying to kid? My guess is that this whole scheme was thought up by some employee with a major ax to grind and is hoping to put the company under. If this isn't the case I'd like to think that after this little ploy bombs out that this miscreant will be an ex-employee. Until the day comes when I can boldly walk into the store and buy a sale marked item without carrying yet another card I'll be voting with my feet. Hello Albertson's. I do hope the aisles have an intuitive layout.

Note: Don't be alarmed. While automobiles and idiocy of the driver are central points of today's work, this is not an automotive diatribe.

• Once again a topic has been brought to my attention through an experience right out of the fascinating tableau that is my life. I personally like those drive through lanes at the post office that allow you to drop off your renewal notice to Guns and Ammo without ever leaving the safe and comforting confines of your automobile. But as you pull up to the circle you see before you a lumbering Caprice (or some other largish car) that was already sitting at the box when it first hove into view. With trepidation you pull up behind this behemoth and watch the horror unfold. The letters come out the window, one by one, each stamp applied not a moment before in a procedure that rivals a royal wedding for all the ceremony and pageantry this process requires. It's times like these that make me wish I was driving a big ol' truck with some sort of ramming gear attached to the front end. I bet granny would speed it up a bit if she saw 2 tons of vehicle easing up on her. This isn't rocket science people! You put the stamps on before you get to the post office and then you simply put them all in the box. There is no need for each item to be eased in individually. As for the people who wait till they've pulled up to start addressing their mail, you don't want me to go there.

• Recently while subjecting myself to a professional sporting event, a timeless gripe sprang full form into my mind. The words were there, graven upon my psyche in indelible letters of fire. Words so powerful that in that instant this diatribe had taken on it's present form without the least effort upon my part. What's with the people who use the toilets? Without going into too much descriptive detail (for this is an all ages web page and I don't want to go into the kind of detail that would have the CDA types breathing down my neck) I of course am referring to a certain lack of accuracy by these people. I mean really, do they piss all over the seat at home? This of course implies that the only people that do this are single, because even if they're married, they won't stay that way long if that's the way they always operate. Maybe it's some sort of power trip about being able to foul up a public facility. That's one power trip that has a very petty itinerary. I guess it probably comes down to marking territory. If someone wants to claim a restroom as their dominion, they're welcome to it. Just don't expect me to show my visa at the border.

• It's once again time for a subject that will have all the members of our studio audience nodding their heads up and down in agreement as they read. So play along as we discuss identification stickers on fruit. Was that a collective gasp I heard? Are you even now saying 'is nothing sacred?' (If you have to ask, you haven't been reading this very often). You know the stickers of which I speak. It's those same ones that cause you to render half of the apple inedible by gouging it repeatably with large garden implements in a futile attempt to get the dang sticker off that tells you (and perhaps the teller) that indeed this apple at one time resembled a Washington Delicious®. Not any more though. If you're like me the apple takes on an appearance much like those tree branches in some Bugs Bunny cartoons? Huh? You know, where everything has been chopped away and the tree falls over and the branch stays suspended in mid-air with Bugs laughing maniacally. I swear I've ripped at an apple until the sticker is the only thing left, just dangling there, laughing maniacally at me. At least it seemed that way at the time. Maybe I had best cut back on the use of paint thinner as a method of removing stickers. It seemed like a good idea at the time.

• Now is the fall of our discontent. The mailbox runneth over with eellike, slimy, shiny mailings of evil. I refer of course to political mailings. They usually go something like this: "Vote Walt A. Cruk (that's pronounced Crök, just like it's spelled) in the coming gubernatorial election. He is the embodiment of God on earth. He guarantees that you won't have to pay taxes ever again and that whatever profession you happen to be in will be twice blessed, and thrice protected under his administration. Don't vote for his opponent! He is an advocate of satanic worship and has been known to take part in sacrificial rites too heinous to be revealed here (turn to the next page for the details on rites that were too heinous to include on page one)." Of course this would be one of the more mundane pieces of political literature. Usually they are much more extreme. Why am I accosted with these mailings? It's not like I'm going to read the drivel that some political hack has raked together and believe a single word of it. What sort of person would be influenced by a one-sided and biased mailing that doesn't even remotely cover one side of the story? Oh wait. I'm writing about politics, aren't I? Forget the silly question.

• Turkey pot pie. Totino's frozen pizza. Hostess Ho Hos. You're saying to yourself: "How the heck did he get a hold of my grocery list?" I didn't. I just know what the typical web surfing geek uses for sustenance. But don't you hate other people knowing it? Oh sure, it's easy to con your co-workers into believing that you spent two years studying cooking from a master chef at the Sorbonne prior to going on and getting that degree from Slippery Chicken University. You just toss out the words sauté and pancetta every now and then, and they don't know any better. But heaven forbid you should cross paths with someone you know when you're at the grocery store. It's a little harder to pass yourself as a culinary genius when your groceries consist of a bag of Cheetos and a six pack of Fresca. Do like I do. Tell them you've got a friend that is laid up with an injury and despite your repeated efforts to get them to eat something healthy, they insist on the Cheetos. It is after all the cheese that goes crunch. No wait. I think it's really that block of provolone that's been in the ol' fridge for about 4 months? Now there's a crunch.

• Go back to where it all began.
• Or you could visit Volume I , Volume III or Volume IV of the archives.