|I have absolutely no idea what this picture of him is about.|
I believe in hockey that is called a "shat trick".
While you're insane to the point of sifting through excrement to find an object of great sentimental value, I will plan out the slow, methodical destruction of a Wawa employee that puts the vinegar IN THE MIDDLE OF THE FUCKING SANDWICH INSTEAD OF ON THE FUCKING BREAD.
But alas, the money is probably best saved up for a car that doesn't smell like three weeks of taco shits lit on fire and smothered with pencil erasers, and toward a real doctor since the CVS minute clinic whore couldn't figure out why my throat was sore, and now it's gone from "sore" to "oh fuck that was blood". And I could probably use a haircut, I'm thinking about ordering a flowbee. They still make that shit. http://www.flowbee.com/ IT SUCKS AND IT CUTS. It's an eating disorder away from being a high school cheerleader.
I have more issues than National Geographic. I just keep most of them under my mattress. Especially the ones with the floppy funbags.
Whenever it's sketched and you scan it, would you be at all able to save it as a .tiff? It's a higher resolution and gives me a lot more to work with. If you can't, that's cool, I'll just name one of my kids after you and starve it or give it bad haircuts.
Template: These bitches keep wanting to give the header image a colored background. Gonna keep dicking with it until I drive my fist through the laptop screen. I'm not sure why I'd be driving my fist, since it would take me longer to get my fist to the car than it would to propel my fist with the power of my own musculoskeletal system and blind fury. I also can't believe that I have to add "dicking" and "musculoskeletal" to Firefox's spell check dictionary. I had a better vocabulary than this piece of shit when I was eight. After this I'm going to look for a "suggest feedback" link and see how many times I can fill it with "READ A FUCKING BOOK". I may have digressed slightly here.
Dots: Imageshack sucks a fuzzy one. I saved it as an uncompressed, high-resolution image, and it looked at it, scratched its head, then gave it to a team of capuchin monkeys with crayons up their assholes to interpret as they see fit. HOW DO YOU NOT HAVE CAPUCHIN IN YOUR GODDAMN DICTIONARY, FIREFOX? SUCK EVERY DICK THAT EVER WAS. That being said, I can at least put the thicker polka dots as the background until the clothesline is done.
While I'm filling this with random bitching, it may take longer for internets as it turns out the former residents of my current domicile decided that their comcast bill was more of a suggested donation rather than an invoice for services rendered. Now that it's one of those rare occasions that somebody gives a fuck about who I am, my social security card has gone all Bermuda fucking Triangle, but I somehow still have door passes to a titty bar that I got as a tip five years ago still in my fucking wallet.
It's not going to be "exactly" like it, partially because she's using a different platform (wordpress), and partially because I'm a fucking artíst. Note that accent, fucker.
Washing machine - Replaced the sides completely with straight lines. The Maytag man can suck it.
By the way, you are awesome for being this specific and giving step-by-step... uh... steps. It eliminates guesswork, fuck-ups, and stupid questions. Pat yourself on the back, or the front if nobody's looking.
Now the fucking gadget borders aren't showing up. I'm seriously about to start throwing my feces like a fucking monkey.
I'll be at Barnes & Noble, so if you want to/can, swing on by. But be ready to distract yourself with gossip magazines (Tiger Beat has an excellent write-up on Justin Bieber's kissing technique), or comic books (I recommend 'New Avengers'), as I can get incredibly asocial when I'm not even staring at a computer screen.
Unfortunately, since our last batch of email back and forth, this is the first time I've had to sit down and work on it. Long boring story of 60 hour work weeks, homelessness, and new landlord that is either missing or suffering from an overabundance of chromosomes. Digression aside, my ass is firmly parked in this Barnes & Noble until closing and until then my time is dedicated to working on your graphics. Word is motherfuckin' bond.
I'm barely even buzzed on frappuccino, FYI. I want alcohol fumbling around my insides like an awkward, inexperienced lover.
Also, I figured out why there was an open table next to a power outlet. The guy at the table right next to it smells like shit. Not feces shit, but cigarette shit. He also has what looks like brass chandelier ornaments hanging from his ears that look more gauged out than Octomom's twat. OOOH, HE JUST DID AIR DRUMS! EVERYTHING ABOUT THIS GUY CAN GO FUCK ITSELF.
I wish I had his ability to find the words to express the similar thoughts I often have in my head. He can also turn almost any conversation into a completely vulgar and inappropriate one. I think he enjoys the challenge of it. I must say, I am quite jealous of his talent. There are so many more examples of his words of wisdom, and we talk several times a week, so I'm guessing this is only Webmasterisms: Part 1. Stay tuned.