Pants Dispenser

Don't steal home without it! Quotes

Thursday, March 31, 2005


So, Terri Schiavo has passed on. I can only believe that wherever she is now is a better place, and that she can now talk and move around and otherwise be an independent and productive soul. Sorry about the Snickers comment.

She'd probably meet people that teased her, and she'd be like, I can talk, now, biotch! Who wants to bet TS talks like an 8th grader from the South Bronx? Hey Hey hey! You know, like Helen Keller would be in the afterlife.

Tuesday, March 29, 2005

Competition for Strongbad, Seriously.

Alien Loves Predator.

Deal with it.

Monday, March 28, 2005

A Question to A Question

Question: Please come up with a more appropriate name for the ringtoe:

My answer: Not that this is an answer, but what I want a word for is what you call it when you are walking down the street in the rain, but you are holding something with two hands so you can't hold an umbrella, and your umbrella is hanging from the base of the strap of your messenger bag and is hitting you square in the balls a half-second after each of your feet lands. The faster you walk, the faster you get hit in the balls. ooooooooooooooooooooooooo ooooooooooooooooooooooooh love hurts.

WSJ Personal Tech Tonguing the Batteries- Zing!

This Story comes from the Personal Tech column by Walt Mossberg at the Wall Street Journal.

from the story

"A new company, Firefly Mobile Inc., has introduced a small, colorful,
cellphone that fits comfortably into the hands of kids aged 8 through 12, and is greatly simplified so kids can easily use it. But the phone is also designed to strictly limit what the kids can do with it and to give parents control.

Among other things, Firefly has a 911 button on its side for emergencies and its battery isn't removable because, according to the company's CEO, kids put their
tongues on batteries.


I know I did that. FYI 9-Volt batteries work best.

Monday Morning Cold, Dark for Noamistani people

You heard it here first, folks. Monday begins with a cold rain and a reign of terror from the dictator of Noamistan. More as it develops. As we all know, when it rains, it pours.

Oh, and note to me from the Noamitator: the office day begins at 9:30am.

Emotional Rollercoaster Eclipse of the Heart

A couple things on my mind. Definitely trying to figure out how to start the comedy thing, which I define as getting some more gigs, writing some more material, and potentially making some extra cash doing it. I would settle for working for free drinks (for now).

I've got to write down some funny thoughts here.

It occurred to me in the media frenzy surrounding the terri schiavo debacle that something is missing. Where are the Snickers PR/Marketing people on this one- asleep at the helm? I mean, if there's a hunger inside any white person, it's gotta be Terri Schiavo, right?

And now I read that she's being allowed to take holy communion. Do they think that'll tide her over? I'm not a Catholic, but i don't recall any mention of the wafer having gooey nougat or being packed with peanuts. It is probably debatable whether I could offend more people if I made jokes about JC but I'm just not going to go there.

When I was a freshman in college, I took a writing class (or rather, picked from among the seminars offered by dear old Ezra) called "Bloody, Bawdy plays of the English Renaissance" which was taught by a great young professor, J.L., who had evidently donated a large collection of pornographic materials to a library on campus. Talk about "I would found an institution where any person could find instruction in any field of study"! We were invited to check this out, but I never did. I had the internet.

BBPOTER was a great course, for which I was late far too many times, many of which on account of late nights during fraternity pledging. In any case, the lasting impression from this course was that all written work is deliberate, and so even words or ideas being near each other meant something.

I apply this now to watching television commercials. I could give you an example from the Revenger's Tragedy, or, 'Tis Pity she's a Whore, but that will not be productive for either of us. Go read Coriolanus and come back to me.

During the broadcast premiere of "Grey's Anatomy" (not a bad show, all told) there was a fascinating sequence of three commercials. The first was for a hair conditioner. The visual was of a white comb on a white background which gradually loses all of its "teeth" presumably by being pulled through hair which did not have the benefit of the conditioner advertised. None of the independent experts surveyed at the time (my sister and her friend) seemed to believe that this was a common occurrence for a comb-full and complete breakdown.

Next up was a commercial for a new cleansing pad which foamed into a lather without water. Cheers to the Chem E's who worked that bit of magic.

And then, out of nowhere, comes a commercial of a woman narrating a difficult stationery decision and concluding to put the picture of her young son (five, maybe six years old, now deceased) on the inside of the cover with an inscription, and then flash to the American Heart Association logo and 1-800 number on white background. Tragedy embodied.

And i don't know if this means anything, but I was just imagining a series of subconscious but rational thoughts.
"Hey, at least my hair doesn't do that to my brushes. I feel secure in the knowledge that my hair care regimen is effective. I do not need your product.

An incredible breakthrough! You mean Oil of Olay has come up with a way to combat dirt and aging on my face but I don't have to have a towel or running water to use it! Surely you jest! My camping trips will never be the same!

My cosmetics-ad-induced elation is flying around the room, propelled by the air of my joy, making thbbbbbbbbt noises and twirling, finally crashing to a halt on the floor in a wrinkled, saliva dripping mess. What a bummer."

Who's sick idea was that emotional roller-coaster? Does the AHA have to pay more money to get placed next to the most trivial of spots? Or less? Egads, I hate to even think about it.

Welcome to Pants Dispenser

I have arrived here because, pretty much, I ran out of money and can;t afford to feed the Radio Userland meter...anymore. So now I've struck out on my own. Or at least as Own as I can get for free. The name of this blog, I think, vaguely refers to a David Letterman skit.