With Friends Like These, Who Needs Friends?

With Friends Like These, Who Needs Friends?

I’ve always been very suspicious of virtual reality. I feel like we’ll reach a point where the virtual world is so much more appealing than real life that hordes of nerd with nothing better to do will populate entire online worlds and battle each other in massive online arenas. Oh wait — that’s already a thing. Well, the virtual reality will just make it easier for them to forget about feeding their pets, babies, and or grandparents. I don’t have any virtual reality goggles and I haven’t fed grandma in over a month. She seems to be subsisting by sucking the condensed moisture off her aluminum walker, but I don’t really check on her too often.

Before you accept virtual reality into your homes, think about grandma. Dear god, won’t somebody please think of the children? How many pets will have to resort to self-cannibalization before this menace will be stopped? What are you going to do when you find your terrier eating its own liver with a side of onions and a slice of lemon? Personally, I’m just going to serve whatever is left to grandma, and then go back to playing virtual women’s volleyball.

(Many thanks to the indispensable, indefensible,and inconceivable Charles Schneider for sending this one along)

I, For One, Welcome Our New Robot Santa Overlords

I, For One, Welcome Our New Robot Santa Overlords

I noticed a disturbing lack of Christmas cheer over here on the old BSBFB, so I thought I’d spice things up with a nice interstellar Christmas carol. It’s no White Christmas, but it’ll have to do for now. Bing Crosby hasn’t been returning my calls for about 40 years, so I had to move on and find something to take his place.

While Chiron Beta Prime sounds about as cheerful as a syphilitic orphan, the whole Christmasy-type message is still there — I think. I don’t know, he mentioned Christmas during the beginning, and then I started watching something else, so I really couldn’t tell you even if I wanted to. It’s not my fault I have the attention span of a goldfish with ADHD. I blame it on years of high-speed Intertunnel access, and a lack of reading or writing anything that’s longer than 150 words.

Err — I mean, merry almost Christmas.

The Borderline Sociopathic Blog For Boys 2014 Semester Recap

The Borderline Sociopathic Blog For Boys 2014 Semester Recap

It was very nice of them to compile the next 230 BSBFB posts into one video, now I won’t need to write anything until August 3rd, 2015. I wonder what I’ll do with all of my new-found, free time. Maybe I can finally figure out how many licks it takes to get to the tootsie roll center of a tootsie pop. Perhaps I can get to work on my semi-erotic novelette: The Manly Art Of Knitting.

Either way, I think I’ll miss posting here. I’ve grown very fond of picking on the dismally disabled and alienating most of my readership. Oh, what the heck; I’ll be back with a new video tomorrow. The world needs more blog posts and less erotic novelettes. I’m still going to work on that tootsie pop though.

Coincidentally, Communists And Quikrete Is The Name Of My Duran Duran Tribute Band

Coincidentally, Communists And Quikrete Is The Name Of My Duran Duran Tribute Band

(Warning: Some salty language in the soundtrack, but it’s all indecipherable for the most part. I’d mute it for the sake of your own sanity.)

It’s rather refreshing to see that the fellow working on the apartment was wearing close-toed shoes, long pants, and a long-sleeved shirt instead of flip-flops, culottes, and half a Slayer t-shirt. Call me old-fashioned, but I don’t believe in dressing like a Vietnamese serf when working on my house. Just because everyone on HGTV does demolition wearing nothing but a fig leaf and crocs, doesn’t mean you should too. Leave that behavior to the professionals who get paid enough to replace all the toes they cut off with robotic ones. It’s a little known fact that over 90 percent of all the renovation-TV-show hosts have robotic arms and legs because they keep cutting their limbs off. Norm Abram from Ask This Old House is more man than machine at this point.

At least renovation-TV-show hosts aren’t as bad as some of the other people on TV who have their entire body encased in silicone, so they can look like disturbing, fleshy, scarecrows for all eternity. I’d much rather be the Terminator than Pamela Anderson’s boobs. Err — actually, I might take that back. At least Pam’s boob gets to touch Pam’s other boob.