Teh Internets

Shit. I was meant to be making notes on the legal ramifications of IT outsourcing. Instead, I was:

Reading

Caring For Your Introvert:
‘Extroverts are energized by people, and wilt or fade when alone. They often seem bored by themselves, in both senses of the expression. Leave an extrovert alone for two minutes and he will reach for his cell phone. In contrast, after an hour or two of being socially “on,” we introverts need to turn off and recharge. My own formula is roughly two hours alone for every hour of socializing. This isn’t antisocial. It isn’t a sign of depression. It does not call for medication. For introverts, to be alone with our thoughts is as restorative as sleeping, as nourishing as eating. Our motto: “I’m okay, you’re okay – in small doses.” ‘ (Jonathan Rauch)

Who responds to MAKE YOUR PENIS HUGE spam

Finding beautiful

Monsoon: Black and white photographs across South East Asia, water-themed.

Laughing at

The 3rd Annual Nigerian Email Conference:
‘Debate: Attend a lively debate between Lady Mariam Abacha and Mr. Godwin Oyathelem.
Topic: “The effectiveness of using all UPPERCASE characters.” ‘

Eric Conveys An Emotion

Strangely fascinated by

The dullest blog in the world:
‘As I was sitting down I became aware that the temperature was neither too hot nor too cold. This being the case I made no adjustments to the temperature control on the central heating.’

Bikini picture airbrushing: Featuring amazing expanding and retracting breasts.

Listening to

Whole Wheat Radio: The site design isn’t great, but the music is class.

If I hadn’t lived in a hall without Internet access in my final year of university, it would have been goodbye degree for sure.

Oh, my God. I may just have hit the Holy Grail of website modifiers since the pornolizer. This be the T’inator, fool!

This is ridiculous. I should be writing an essay about comparative hate speech jurisprudence. Instead, I am Michael Portillo, Downing Street Fighter. In a blaze of Tory glory I kicked the arses of Charles Kennedy and Robin Cook against backdrops of first the London Underground and then a pyre of dead cows. Unfortunately, Iain Duncan Smith just KO’d me in the streets of Belfast in front of an Orange Order march. How very embarrassing. I’ll beat you another day, bald boy.

[Thanks for the link, John. Here’s another one you might enjoy.]

The Idler magazine has embarked on efforts most noble in finding the crappest town in the British Isles, and the results are a romp. I’ve always found the self-deprecating nature of most English (and Welsh and Scottish and Irish of course; geez these national sensitivities are tiresome) humour immensely endearing (this is especially so after smiling politely at American exchange students who don’t understand irony) and the contributors to this feature have it in spades. Here are some randomly chosen gems, but rest assured that any town you click on will be hilariously torn down.

On Portsmouth – “When you are able for one moment to get the stench of deep fried reconstituted chicken guts from the far too numerous fast food eateries from your nostrils, and quite probably the taste of your own blood and smashed teeth from your mouth, you are greeted by the rancid odour of the thousands of gallons of effluent that is pumped mercilessly into the sea on a daily basis.”

On Bath – “In the summer it fills to the brim with loud American and European tourists who clog the narrow streets like the coagulated grease in a Scotsman’s arteries. In the winter the only escape is incest and the insistent call of the bong.”

On Stockport – “The overiding ‘look’ for Stockport’s locals is a shaven head with optional Fila cap / visor perched on top, a Reebok shell suit the legs of which are tucked into a pair of overpowering patterned socks and a pair of Rockport, Timberland or Kicker boots. Gold jewellry is popular, usually incorporating sovereigns and / or Marijuana leaf motifs. The male uniform is fairly similar.”

I am generally self-satisfied to the point of arrogance with my prowess in various little endeavours, but with regard to blog entries my proverbial feathers have just been well and truly proverbially ruffled. When I am queen everyone funnier than me will be first against the wall, and this guy’ll be among them. Mark my words. I just have to go find a wall long enough for a shitload of people. And become queen.

The Pornolizer will always have a special place in my heart for that day of dissertation gloom when Jeremy Bentham pornolized to Jeremy “Big Cock” Bentham, but Tha Shizzolator (word to Russ for the link), while less sophisticated in its conversions, was still well worth the visit.

Now I’se be gettin’ back to tha hustle of Info’mation Technology Law. Peace out.