It's not that there aren't things to complain about, there's a lot that pisses me off. For example, the writer's strike transforming all TV into a soup of crap and reality TV that is slowly, inexorably, making our nation that much stupider. And me, because I watch some of this crap. And am disgusted at myself. Or the fact that my office keeps me just busy enough that I drop off of the face of the earth, and don't communicate with people, or have time to go out and get a haircut, although I desperately need one. My hair is approaching 70's-Beatle-esque levels of damn-dirty-hippiedness. But that's not what this particular entry is about.
The reason that many complaints do not make this blog is that many complaints are not the continual irritant, the small grain of sandy discontent that over time gets transformed into a beautiful pearl of bitterness and rancor. I feel I have a pearl, to express to all of you. Gaze into it's splendor, as I outline the parallels between (mostly financial) aspects of my daily commute and forced prison sex. This was inspired by yesterday, the second time this month that I have had to add money on to my smarttrip card in order to just get home. This is coupled with eth realization that even though I get the maximum allowable amount of Smart-trip money deducted from my paycheck every month, I will still need to do several recharges ever month. Forever.
1. My commute, like prison sex, is mostly involuntary
Well, everyone has to get to work. I have two options: I can drive, which is both incredibly irritating, environmentally unfriendly, and more expensive, or I can drive to the Metro, and take the train into work. I can't walk to the metro, it takes far too long. And, up until these recent increases in fares, it was significantly cheaper to take metro than to drive in. But that is changing. In any case, I have to get to work, like tens of thousands of other commuters. And taking gas and/or parking into account, either way, I am paying more than I ever have.
2. Like Prison Sex, the Metro Fee increase is given hardest to those people who are least able to defend themselves.
Metro has decided to put their increase on the backs of the people who have the least choice about it (suburban commuters), as well as those who make an environmentally and traffic friendly choice to use public transit rather than drive all the way in to town.
In their infinite wisdom, Metro decided to raise fees across the board, but to raise fees still higher on those commuters who use the system as it was originally intended, to commute from the outer parts of the city and suburbs into work. Let's face it. Metro was never designed to go all over the city, to be as useful and omnipresent as, say, the New York Subway. Metro is a spoke and hub System, designed for commuters. The metro rate increases hit those who ride longer distances extra hard, because the further that a person has to travel, the higher the fare hike goes. And, those who have to drive to metro and park their cars (like me) get hit with an extra .75 a day, which doesn't seem like much until you multiply that by 20-odd days a month. Then you realize It is costing upwards of an extra $15 a month, or about $180 a year. that is on top of the extra dollar or so that longer distance commuters like myself pay, each day, each way. Works out to another $2 a day, or $40 a month, or $480 a year. So, in total, Metro raised my personal transit bill by approximately $65 a month, or $660 a year. And, like a person facing prison rape, I have no good options. I can go ahead and take it, or I can choose the slightly more inconvenient, expensive, and irritating option of driving. Basically, I'm getting fucked either way.
3. Like Prison Sex, you get nothing in return for being violated
You would think that a fare increase would lead to some corresponding increase in service, or correlate to any sort of improvement. But it doesn't. Metro needs more money because they have managed their aging systems and overlarge payroll badly. Because the governments of the various jurisdictions that metro serves won't cough up enough dough, Metro has to cover its administrative and maintenance shortfalls on the backs of its riders. And what does that mean? For your increased, and entirely involuntary spending, you get nothing. Zilch, Nada. The trains still run late, all the time. The track is still poorly and sporadically maintained. Elevators and escalators don't work half the time. No one is going to build a line out to Dulles and Tyson's Corner (probably a rant for another time).
4. The perpetrators of prison sex are not usually the victims of prison sex
This one is short and straightforward. Of all the members of the Metro board, only one or two of them uses their own system to get to work every morning. The rest of them drive to work. None of them actually have to feel the pain that they are inflicting on others. It's like having Burger King run by an all-vegan Board of Directors. What do they care if the price of a Whopper goes up by 20%?
In closing, stop sodomizing me (and others) through our wallets. I don't care how Metro makes up revenue shortfalls, as long as they don't keep raising rates. Especially by raising rates on long-distance commuters. They can plaster very available surface on the trains and stations with ads. I read on the trains, it won't bother me. Cut salaries, starting with, say, the Metro Board (Cause if you have to raise rates to cover a budget shortfall, you aren't good administrators). Allow Red Bull to pass out samples in train stations. Sell cigarettes and porn in stations. However they have to cover the shortfall. Eventually, if Metro doesn't cover their budgets, it'll be their ass, too.
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
There is a Turd in this Bank
It's been pretty quiet around Kvetch lately. Apparently all of us are totally content with our daily lives, and nothing kvetch-worthy has happened since a family-oriented Thanksgiving and a Turd on a Sidewalk.
Well, a Turd has recently surfaced in my life. It comes in the form of a bank. Well, two banks, actually. See, my wife recently switched jobs, and she needs to roll her 401(k) from that job into an IRA. For some unbelievable reason, as if she isn't capable of making decisions about her own money, there is a "spousal consent" section. Don't get me started on the lunacy of this- I'm pretty sure that how my wife and I deal with money is our own business, and her company shouldn't have to consult me to move around money that she has rightfully earned. But either way, I have to have my consent notarized- I guess they want to make sure nobody is forging his or her spouse's signature.
So I went to a local BB&T office, which was next to the grocery store where I was filling a prescription. Apparently, however, the new thing in banking is to be as big a bastard as you can be to anyone who doesn't have an account with you. This BB&T refused to provide me notary service because I am not a customer of theirs. Never mind that I own BB&T stock (which, by the way, has tanked since they took over the small savings and loan my grandparents originally bought stock in), because that apparently isn't good enough. But then the teller had the gall to suggest that I open an account with them ("we have free checking!"). Now why in hell would I open a checking account just to get something notarized? And more importantly, why would I do any business with a bank that refuses to help me with something as simple as a notarization? Look at my license, stamp the paper, and BAM we're done. But no. I tried the same request in the Chevy Chase bank in the grocery store, with the same result. So I now declare that all Banks are now Turds.
To resolve this, I decided to drive another five miles out of my way to go to a credit union service center, as I my credit union is a member of a credit union consortium. But at 2:30 on a Wednesday, they were CLOSED. Apparently, this service center is not open AT ALL on Wednesdays. So now Credit Unions are Turds, as well, in my book.
Now, there will be Turds on sidewalks all over the land. Normal people just call them banks.
Well, a Turd has recently surfaced in my life. It comes in the form of a bank. Well, two banks, actually. See, my wife recently switched jobs, and she needs to roll her 401(k) from that job into an IRA. For some unbelievable reason, as if she isn't capable of making decisions about her own money, there is a "spousal consent" section. Don't get me started on the lunacy of this- I'm pretty sure that how my wife and I deal with money is our own business, and her company shouldn't have to consult me to move around money that she has rightfully earned. But either way, I have to have my consent notarized- I guess they want to make sure nobody is forging his or her spouse's signature.
So I went to a local BB&T office, which was next to the grocery store where I was filling a prescription. Apparently, however, the new thing in banking is to be as big a bastard as you can be to anyone who doesn't have an account with you. This BB&T refused to provide me notary service because I am not a customer of theirs. Never mind that I own BB&T stock (which, by the way, has tanked since they took over the small savings and loan my grandparents originally bought stock in), because that apparently isn't good enough. But then the teller had the gall to suggest that I open an account with them ("we have free checking!"). Now why in hell would I open a checking account just to get something notarized? And more importantly, why would I do any business with a bank that refuses to help me with something as simple as a notarization? Look at my license, stamp the paper, and BAM we're done. But no. I tried the same request in the Chevy Chase bank in the grocery store, with the same result. So I now declare that all Banks are now Turds.
To resolve this, I decided to drive another five miles out of my way to go to a credit union service center, as I my credit union is a member of a credit union consortium. But at 2:30 on a Wednesday, they were CLOSED. Apparently, this service center is not open AT ALL on Wednesdays. So now Credit Unions are Turds, as well, in my book.
Now, there will be Turds on sidewalks all over the land. Normal people just call them banks.
Tuesday, December 4, 2007
A heartwarming thanksgiving tale, involving video games.
I was reading this post from Penny Arcade, a website that I read for funny cartoons and news on video games, and such. But it brought to mind my own thanksgiving day experience with video games.
My sister came down for my birthday dinner and for thanksgiving, which happened to be in the same week this year. When she heard that the wife and I had a wii, she asked me to bring it over for thanksgiving, so people could play. Being a good big brother, I naturally obliged.
Before I actually discuss the experience, i want to note two things that I discovered that day. First, the Wii is small enough that I can fit the entire system, including two controller sets and five games (not including wii sports) into a bag that I got as a freebie at a Nationals game. A small insulated bag that is intended to keep a six pack of beer cold. So, the wii is really small.
Second, (a lesson learned while actually hooking up the wii to my father's TV), my father has the most complicated audio-visual setup known to man. I don't know who installed it, but they should get a medal. The back of the stereo/video receiver system at my dad's house must have approximately 80,000 plugs, all of which have just enough room to plug in properly, all of which can (and do) become unplugged as soon as you attempt to move the receiver even 6 inches. But this massively complicated system shows no wiring at all from the front. And, (when his son is not messing with it), the system works perfectly, switching between components so easily that anyone can figure out how to operate the entire system using just one remote. I realize that someday, this will likely be my destiny, to own a system that freaking complex. It's unavoidable. It's in the Perle-Levy genes, like liberalism, or cheating at cards (I get that from my great grandmother, and I don't really cheat).
Anyway, back to the substance of my original thought. Once I hooked up the wii and had it working properly, all of the "children", with the youngest being approximately 24 or 25, descended on the system, eager to play pretty much every game I brought. (Resident Evil 4 wasn't popular. I suppose that Zombie Games aren't good after dinner). That was predictable. But, when the adults heard what was going on, they all filtered downstairs, usually individually, to check the system out. And some of them even played a bit. My aunt was playing tennis against my sister, and my family's friend Mike Mike played with both his son and daughter. His son hadn't played a video game in about three years, and still managed to beat his dad. People played, or watched, fascinated.
It makes me believe that anyone can still play these games, and that the generation gap is not as wide as it would first seem. Anyone can play games, it just has to be the right game for their interests, and the right level of challenge. I've played the 8 second wario ware games, I find them confusing and kind of off-putting. I think a lot of people do also. Conversely, some RPG that requires you to watch unskippable videos for a half hour before you can play; or a FPS game in which a novice player gets continually blown away (and subsequently teabagged by jackasses) has too high of an entry point for a lot of people. The Whole Idea of Casual games (as exemplified, for better or worse, by the wii) versus Hardcore Games (games on the PS3, or the XBOX 360) is kind of a myth. It's not a zero-sum game between games that can be played and won in an hour versus games that you have to invest 40-60 hours in. The real thing is that in some games, the initial learning curve/entry barrier has to be low enough that someone who has never/hardly ever played games.
At least some games should be designed so that people like my parents, and their friends, can play with their grown children, and have something cool to bond over. If the video game market is ever going to expand beyond twenty-somethings and us 20-ish-30-ish people that grew up on the games, and be recognized as a legitimate form of media, not just something for kids, that's the direction that things will have to go. Because sometimes, kids want to play with their parents. And sometimes, a good game can bond everyone. Plus, it's fun. I certainly thought so.
My sister came down for my birthday dinner and for thanksgiving, which happened to be in the same week this year. When she heard that the wife and I had a wii, she asked me to bring it over for thanksgiving, so people could play. Being a good big brother, I naturally obliged.
Before I actually discuss the experience, i want to note two things that I discovered that day. First, the Wii is small enough that I can fit the entire system, including two controller sets and five games (not including wii sports) into a bag that I got as a freebie at a Nationals game. A small insulated bag that is intended to keep a six pack of beer cold. So, the wii is really small.
Second, (a lesson learned while actually hooking up the wii to my father's TV), my father has the most complicated audio-visual setup known to man. I don't know who installed it, but they should get a medal. The back of the stereo/video receiver system at my dad's house must have approximately 80,000 plugs, all of which have just enough room to plug in properly, all of which can (and do) become unplugged as soon as you attempt to move the receiver even 6 inches. But this massively complicated system shows no wiring at all from the front. And, (when his son is not messing with it), the system works perfectly, switching between components so easily that anyone can figure out how to operate the entire system using just one remote. I realize that someday, this will likely be my destiny, to own a system that freaking complex. It's unavoidable. It's in the Perle-Levy genes, like liberalism, or cheating at cards (I get that from my great grandmother, and I don't really cheat).
Anyway, back to the substance of my original thought. Once I hooked up the wii and had it working properly, all of the "children", with the youngest being approximately 24 or 25, descended on the system, eager to play pretty much every game I brought. (Resident Evil 4 wasn't popular. I suppose that Zombie Games aren't good after dinner). That was predictable. But, when the adults heard what was going on, they all filtered downstairs, usually individually, to check the system out. And some of them even played a bit. My aunt was playing tennis against my sister, and my family's friend Mike Mike played with both his son and daughter. His son hadn't played a video game in about three years, and still managed to beat his dad. People played, or watched, fascinated.
It makes me believe that anyone can still play these games, and that the generation gap is not as wide as it would first seem. Anyone can play games, it just has to be the right game for their interests, and the right level of challenge. I've played the 8 second wario ware games, I find them confusing and kind of off-putting. I think a lot of people do also. Conversely, some RPG that requires you to watch unskippable videos for a half hour before you can play; or a FPS game in which a novice player gets continually blown away (and subsequently teabagged by jackasses) has too high of an entry point for a lot of people. The Whole Idea of Casual games (as exemplified, for better or worse, by the wii) versus Hardcore Games (games on the PS3, or the XBOX 360) is kind of a myth. It's not a zero-sum game between games that can be played and won in an hour versus games that you have to invest 40-60 hours in. The real thing is that in some games, the initial learning curve/entry barrier has to be low enough that someone who has never/hardly ever played games.
At least some games should be designed so that people like my parents, and their friends, can play with their grown children, and have something cool to bond over. If the video game market is ever going to expand beyond twenty-somethings and us 20-ish-30-ish people that grew up on the games, and be recognized as a legitimate form of media, not just something for kids, that's the direction that things will have to go. Because sometimes, kids want to play with their parents. And sometimes, a good game can bond everyone. Plus, it's fun. I certainly thought so.
Monday, December 3, 2007
Angry Like Hulk & Passive-Agressive Sighing
Due to a prescription snafu, the drug industry's desire to control everything and sheer laziness, my birth control pill has not arrived yet. And I am out. There is a point to this, rather than just too much information. It means that due to the HORMONAL IMBALANCE of incredible magnitude, the PMS has come. And it's not pretty.
Yesterday there was the crying. I got a lump in my throat during a journey diamond necklace commercial. Those are for mocking, not crying; journey diamonds are the most ridiculously overhyped piece of crap jewelery that lame people buy because they have no taste (if you have one or are going to buy one, then . . . you suck, sorry). But today, oh today, the anger has come. The oh-my-god-will-you-just-DIE anger. Work required deep breaths and feeling massively superior to the less-competent.
Anyway, I went to the art store to get something framed. The store closes at 6:30. I arrived at 5:15. The framer had left for the day. Now, in my sensitive (irrational) state, this upset me. I wanted some compassion for my situation. I had walked all the way over there in the freezing cold. But the guy (flunkie) didn't have the right attitude (grovelling, apologizing and giving me free stuff) for my situation. And 'lo, I was angry like Hulk. But I held it in. Maybe I acted a bit of a martyr. I might possibly have sighed heavily. And maybe made a big deal about how busy I am a la a person with a life: "will they be here on Tuesday. . .no, wait, can't do it Tuesday. . .Wednesday? Will she be here until close? Are you sure?" - like I am very important* whose schedule is just SO FULL that this is a MAJOR inconvenience. But that's it - I recognized that I was irrational. But I was thinking death-thoughts about the flunkie.
*Just to let you know how ridiculous this is, my life consists of the following: sleep (8 hours), work (9-12 hours), watch television vaguely and waste time (2 hours), eat (2-4 hours). That's my life. Sometimes I do the time wasting with my guy (though he makes me do activities, such as moving or sitting at the table to eat, which I do while sighing heavily).
And I get home and my drain is still clogged (because it didn't get unclogged magically while I was at work by little Oompa-Loompa fairies?), my Christmas dress hasn't arrived from Nordstrom.com, and my prescription still has not arrived. My suffering is great, but I am strong. There will be phone calls, oh there will be phone calls. And I will sigh heavily. They should be afraid.
Aaanyway, as a special "treat" (what I do every night), I am going to watch Friends, eat Puffins out of the box and watch the scarf I am knitting not knit itself. Don't be jealous.
PS: On a tangent, however, I am also angry at Hollywood. Why do they suck? Why do they think we are dumb? There is a movie coming out with Matthew Perry and Zac Efron and it is apparently a remake of Big, Like Father Like Son (the gem with Dudley Moore and Kirk Cameron), 13 Going on 30, Dream a Little Dream (the Coreys are masterful), and others, I'm sure. I think there was one with Milton Berle. WTF. I was in Blockbuster the other day and wondering (loudly) why all the movies sucked (though my guy was slightly affronted when I said this as had his arms full of 30 straight-to-DVD horror movies that he thought looked awesome). Why are they passing off unoriginal drivel? I don't have really high movie standards (Bring It On is far superior to Stick It - oh, but I'll still watch Stick It), but if I'm offended, you know Hollywood is fresh out of ideas.
Yesterday there was the crying. I got a lump in my throat during a journey diamond necklace commercial. Those are for mocking, not crying; journey diamonds are the most ridiculously overhyped piece of crap jewelery that lame people buy because they have no taste (if you have one or are going to buy one, then . . . you suck, sorry). But today, oh today, the anger has come. The oh-my-god-will-you-just-DIE anger. Work required deep breaths and feeling massively superior to the less-competent.
Anyway, I went to the art store to get something framed. The store closes at 6:30. I arrived at 5:15. The framer had left for the day. Now, in my sensitive (irrational) state, this upset me. I wanted some compassion for my situation. I had walked all the way over there in the freezing cold. But the guy (flunkie) didn't have the right attitude (grovelling, apologizing and giving me free stuff) for my situation. And 'lo, I was angry like Hulk. But I held it in. Maybe I acted a bit of a martyr. I might possibly have sighed heavily. And maybe made a big deal about how busy I am a la a person with a life: "will they be here on Tuesday. . .no, wait, can't do it Tuesday. . .Wednesday? Will she be here until close? Are you sure?" - like I am very important* whose schedule is just SO FULL that this is a MAJOR inconvenience. But that's it - I recognized that I was irrational. But I was thinking death-thoughts about the flunkie.
*Just to let you know how ridiculous this is, my life consists of the following: sleep (8 hours), work (9-12 hours), watch television vaguely and waste time (2 hours), eat (2-4 hours). That's my life. Sometimes I do the time wasting with my guy (though he makes me do activities, such as moving or sitting at the table to eat, which I do while sighing heavily).
And I get home and my drain is still clogged (because it didn't get unclogged magically while I was at work by little Oompa-Loompa fairies?), my Christmas dress hasn't arrived from Nordstrom.com, and my prescription still has not arrived. My suffering is great, but I am strong. There will be phone calls, oh there will be phone calls. And I will sigh heavily. They should be afraid.
Aaanyway, as a special "treat" (what I do every night), I am going to watch Friends, eat Puffins out of the box and watch the scarf I am knitting not knit itself. Don't be jealous.
PS: On a tangent, however, I am also angry at Hollywood. Why do they suck? Why do they think we are dumb? There is a movie coming out with Matthew Perry and Zac Efron and it is apparently a remake of Big, Like Father Like Son (the gem with Dudley Moore and Kirk Cameron), 13 Going on 30, Dream a Little Dream (the Coreys are masterful), and others, I'm sure. I think there was one with Milton Berle. WTF. I was in Blockbuster the other day and wondering (loudly) why all the movies sucked (though my guy was slightly affronted when I said this as had his arms full of 30 straight-to-DVD horror movies that he thought looked awesome). Why are they passing off unoriginal drivel? I don't have really high movie standards (Bring It On is far superior to Stick It - oh, but I'll still watch Stick It), but if I'm offended, you know Hollywood is fresh out of ideas.
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
Treacly Sean Taylor Post
Like probably most of you, before I begin work in the morning, I take a quick look at the news. Yesterday morning, I launched my Web browser to learn that the Redskins' best defensive player, Sean Taylor, had died of a gunshot wound suffered the day before. I'm not sure whether to be embarrassed to say this, but the news hit me harder than I would have thought. I was genuinely saddened and sort of depressed, feelings that didn't leave me all day.
At one point, I even felt an impulse to publicly acknowledge his death in some way, like with a brief note in my gmail status message or my myspace page (those distinctively mid-2000s ways of expressing yourself). Then I realized that I had never done this when people I actually knew died.
Like most people, I never met Sean Taylor. Like most people, I probably wouldn't have even recognized him if he were in the same bar or restaurant as me. But I'm not alone in feeling oddly distraught by his passing: an article in today's Washington Post recounts that hundreds of fans showed up at the Redskins' headquarters Monday night and Tuesday, first to pray for his recovery, then to mourn his death. These are people who took time off of work, school, time with their own family and friends, because they felt compelled to pay their respects to a stranger who, while undeniably a star, never transcended into celebrity status -- you rarely thought about Taylor after the game was over.
It struck me that four out of the five fans quoted in the article were roughly my age -- between 28 and 34. Maybe, as someone who grew up in the DC area in the 1980s, I am part of a generation with an unusually strong personal investment in this team. The Redskins were good -- among the NFL's premiere teams -- when we were young, and, with the Bullets perennially horrible and no baseball team in DC, had few competitors for our affection. Kids tend to embrace their favorite teams in unguarded, wholly irrational ways. I grew up with posters of Redskins players on my wall. When they lost the 1986 NFC Championship game to the Giants, I actually cried.
Maybe younger fans, not old enough to remember the last Super Bowl victory, never invested in the team the way we did, and maybe older fans are too old and cynical to mourn. But for us, Sean Taylor was one of the few players on the recent, mediocre Redskins teams good enough to remind us of the greats that used to grace our bedroom walls, and his death -- at an age younger than we are now -- strikes us in that kid-like, irrational part of our hearts that this team still occupies, a place that we have allowed to remain unguarded.
At one point, I even felt an impulse to publicly acknowledge his death in some way, like with a brief note in my gmail status message or my myspace page (those distinctively mid-2000s ways of expressing yourself). Then I realized that I had never done this when people I actually knew died.
Like most people, I never met Sean Taylor. Like most people, I probably wouldn't have even recognized him if he were in the same bar or restaurant as me. But I'm not alone in feeling oddly distraught by his passing: an article in today's Washington Post recounts that hundreds of fans showed up at the Redskins' headquarters Monday night and Tuesday, first to pray for his recovery, then to mourn his death. These are people who took time off of work, school, time with their own family and friends, because they felt compelled to pay their respects to a stranger who, while undeniably a star, never transcended into celebrity status -- you rarely thought about Taylor after the game was over.
It struck me that four out of the five fans quoted in the article were roughly my age -- between 28 and 34. Maybe, as someone who grew up in the DC area in the 1980s, I am part of a generation with an unusually strong personal investment in this team. The Redskins were good -- among the NFL's premiere teams -- when we were young, and, with the Bullets perennially horrible and no baseball team in DC, had few competitors for our affection. Kids tend to embrace their favorite teams in unguarded, wholly irrational ways. I grew up with posters of Redskins players on my wall. When they lost the 1986 NFC Championship game to the Giants, I actually cried.
Maybe younger fans, not old enough to remember the last Super Bowl victory, never invested in the team the way we did, and maybe older fans are too old and cynical to mourn. But for us, Sean Taylor was one of the few players on the recent, mediocre Redskins teams good enough to remind us of the greats that used to grace our bedroom walls, and his death -- at an age younger than we are now -- strikes us in that kid-like, irrational part of our hearts that this team still occupies, a place that we have allowed to remain unguarded.
Monday, November 19, 2007
What's in a Name?
So we have a chimney, and it's dirty. We'd been thinking about getting it cleaned for a while, and hadn't gotten around to it. But it wasn't winter, so no rush.
So while looking through the Val-Pak (you know, that blue envelope that comes stocked with 40 or so coupons for dry cleaners, tree services, landscapers, etc.) and I came across a coupon for a chimney-cleaning company. Nothing particularly unusual about the ad, other than the name of the company:
Ashmasters.
Now, seriously. Even a normal, clean-minded soul can see the problem with this. Your mind doesn't have to live in the gutter to get a chuckle out of a name like that.
Only one question remains. Are they the masters of their own domain?
So while looking through the Val-Pak (you know, that blue envelope that comes stocked with 40 or so coupons for dry cleaners, tree services, landscapers, etc.) and I came across a coupon for a chimney-cleaning company. Nothing particularly unusual about the ad, other than the name of the company:
Ashmasters.
Now, seriously. Even a normal, clean-minded soul can see the problem with this. Your mind doesn't have to live in the gutter to get a chuckle out of a name like that.
Only one question remains. Are they the masters of their own domain?
Sunday, November 18, 2007
The Reason We All Went to High School
All of our edumacation HAS had a point. It has come down to this.
According to this website, this is the quality of our blog:
Makes you proud, doesn't it?
According to this website, this is the quality of our blog:
Cash Advance Loans
Makes you proud, doesn't it?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)