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I do dumb things.
John and Richard have seriously discussed putting a Net Nanny on my computer, because the dumb things I do usually happen after John has gone to bed, and I get bored. I find horrible, horrible things online and cheerfully send them to people. Richard calls this "Mamoogling". If I can't find anything suitably horrible, I cobble things up in Photoshop. Often it's racist. I send them to people, thinking, "My humor translates well on the internet. This is a good idea." Then I get defriended.
All of this could be avoided if John would just lock down my PC when he went to bed, but I fear what I would do if I got bored without a computer.
These days, because my shriveled, vestigial conscience isn't very helpful, I'll call Randy and run ideas past him. "You probably need to talk me out of something," I'll say, and then we'll go from there. He knows how to talk me down. He's an artist, after all.
Tonight, I came up with an idea I thought might be funny. It involved knitting and a well-known, often fatal disease. Two red flags. I immediately called Randy and described the idea to him.
"So what do you think?" I asked.
"Matthew," he said. "Matthew, in the five years I've known you, you have come up with many, many bad ideas. This bad idea just made the top three. This is remarkable, because your normal bad ideas are far, far worse than others' most grievous lapses in judgment. For you to have topped yourself is an accomplishment. I'm impressed. Now, I'm going to eat dinner. DO NOTHING until I call you back. Which might be never. Do you understand?"
Yeah. I understand.
... stupid net nannies.
John and Richard have seriously discussed putting a Net Nanny on my computer, because the dumb things I do usually happen after John has gone to bed, and I get bored. I find horrible, horrible things online and cheerfully send them to people. Richard calls this "Mamoogling". If I can't find anything suitably horrible, I cobble things up in Photoshop. Often it's racist. I send them to people, thinking, "My humor translates well on the internet. This is a good idea." Then I get defriended.
All of this could be avoided if John would just lock down my PC when he went to bed, but I fear what I would do if I got bored without a computer.
These days, because my shriveled, vestigial conscience isn't very helpful, I'll call Randy and run ideas past him. "You probably need to talk me out of something," I'll say, and then we'll go from there. He knows how to talk me down. He's an artist, after all.
Tonight, I came up with an idea I thought might be funny. It involved knitting and a well-known, often fatal disease. Two red flags. I immediately called Randy and described the idea to him.
"So what do you think?" I asked.
"Matthew," he said. "Matthew, in the five years I've known you, you have come up with many, many bad ideas. This bad idea just made the top three. This is remarkable, because your normal bad ideas are far, far worse than others' most grievous lapses in judgment. For you to have topped yourself is an accomplishment. I'm impressed. Now, I'm going to eat dinner. DO NOTHING until I call you back. Which might be never. Do you understand?"
Yeah. I understand.
... stupid net nannies.
