Does capitalism always have to be so... gaudy?     


Welcome to the 12 May - 16 Jul Stream archive - you can click the planet to get back to Jimbo's World if you're lost.

   STREAM OF urine
   This is the part of the site where I don't have to screw about with formatting, or layouts, or anything else.  I just bang on the keyboard like a diseased monkey, and *poof* - instant content!  Guess what part of the site's most likely to get updated on a regular basis?  Right.   
16 Jul 2000


I h4xx0r j00!
Ahhh... dammit, this was a tough one.  But I finally got the Forum's front page table tucked in nice and neat up there instead of stuck in another whole page by itself.  You like?


Inadvisable pictures
You know, a guy who's really heavily into the BDSM lifestyle probably shouldn't let his "slave" post a tribute page to her "Master" - so overdone that the girl actually types "O/our" to denote that she is only mortal, while Master is like God...

At least, not if said tribute page is going to include pictures of his 3-inches-if-it's-lucky shrinky-dink.

People might think he's overcompensating for something, and poke fun.  


mouseover here to whip it out

mouseover here to put it away


14 Jul 2000


Notice of intent
Just so you guys know... if you aren't at least reading the Forum (but preferably, actually participating in it) you're missing out.  In particular, there's a lot of stuff I want to get accomplished with it - graphics, new features, egregious h4xx0ring, etcetera - that's going to be eating a lot of my time for a while... and it's a hell of a lot easier to use the Forum, even to post new pix and such, than it is to make posts on the main page.  Anyway - at least until I get a news script running - that's where a lot of the action is gonna be.  Besides, where else but the Jimbo's World forum could you find a :japscat: smiley?

So jump on in, dammit!

(In completely unrelated news, snowsurfer420 got his ass added to the linkbar today. w00t!)


11 Jul 2000


Incoherent rambling: an afternoon exploration of the sordid underside of human existence
Fair warning: when I describe something as "incoherent rambling", I mean it.  Prepare yourself for a blogging.

As those of you who read the Forum know, I discovered a picture of my ex-girlfriend in a local escort service ad yesterday. To be fair to her, she's probably not working there - rather than being a recent picture, it seems to be a stolen stock shot from her modeling days.

There is a particularly unsavory corollary to this assumption, however - and one which, to be fair to the escort service who almost assuredly stole the picture from a Barbazon catalog, they almost certainly are unaware of.  You see, she "developed" extremely well and early - though she appeared upon casual observation of her stock photos to be between 19 and 23 at the time, she quit modeling at age thirteen.

One wonders what the reaction of the owner of the "service" would be to the discovery that he's advertising in the yellow pages with a picture of a thirteen, possibly even twelve-year-old girl...

But enough of yesterday.  Today was another day for the cultivated, low-grade loathing for humanity we're probably all familiar with by now... for political reasons, I'll skip this morning.  But the afternoon is quite enough: it begins with a trip to the local rent-a-car establishment, since I'm heading out of state on business tomorrow.

When I walk up to the counter on the left and begin my transaction, I can't help - literally, as I would have liked to - but to become aware of the lurid spectacle going on at the counter to the right.  A morbidly obese woman in a wishfully African, pale earth-toned getup somewhere between a dashiki and a muu-muu is loudly and vehemently arguing with the polite young gentleman behind the counter - it seems that she rented the cheapest vehicle in the place at a special Fourth of July weekly rate, and upon attempting to extend her rental period another full week, she has been charged the normal weekly rate for the vehicle - which is a full (!) $10 more than the "4th of July special" rate.

The guy behind the counter, correctly, has charged her the special rate for the special week, and the normal rate for the normal week.  Kindly enough, he has forgiven her excess mileage and forgone to charge her a penalty for keeping the car four days past the due date without prior contact with the agency.   Nevertheless - while I spend a hapless 40 minutes waiting for my vehicle, which was just returned, to be cleaned and presented to me for inspection - she continually, and ever more loudly, hassles three clerks, both assistant managers, a detail boy, and a part-time driver from another store concerning her inability to secure the $10-off special rate for the second week.  When she plays the "I'm a frequent customer because my ride is always broken down" card, the brand-new assistant manager cleverly begins a pitch that I instantly recognize is aimed at getting her to purchase one of their rental cars.  She readily takes the bait with each of his "only-one-correct-answer" questions, right up to when he snaps the trap shut: "so why don't you purchase one of our vehicles?"  Good job, NewGuyAssistantManager™: you obviously took notes in training.  I applaud your dogged application of classroom theory.

But this is where it gets good: her instant answer?   "Cause y'all don't have the right cars."  NewGuyAssistantManager (NGAM from here on out) strikes the corporate-endorsed Look Of Disbelief (361-a) and asks "you don't like the Bonneville?"  "I won't buy anything but a Mercedes, and y'all don't carry those", she replies, in a nerve-grating, kittenishly ebonic drawl.  The entire staff goes blank, and the sound of my poker face slamming frantically down echoes throughout the room, as she continues "and don't think I won't get me one.  I might even start working again so's I can make the payments."

At this point, NGAM quietly and desperately migrates to the back of the office, while the more lowly - yet also more veteran - clerks continue to deal with her resumed attempts to wrest the princely sum of $10 from the agency.  Ten minutes later, when my own vehicle was mercifully ready for my inspection and quick escape, "negotiations" were still continuing loudly.

Next stop: a very overdue haircut.  When you look in the mirror and see "70's" written in your locks, it's past time for action.   There's a local barbershop that, though it's twenty minutes away, I have continued to give my business for the past ten years: reason being, they keep the same employees.  You can get a good haircut damn near anywhere - but you can't be guaranteed one, because at any haircutting chain, they'll have rotated the staff within six months - leaving you painfully unaware of which of the current staff are expert, which are merely competent, and which one is the inevitable bumbling idiot.

Arriving in the barbershop, I deftly avoid the ministrations of the slatternly female barber by pawning off a teenage customer on her - my devout attention to the three-year-old magazine in front of me gives the kid the idea that he can "sneak ahead in line", and, blissfully unaware, he eagerly takes his seat in the Throne Of Follicular Doom.  Heh heh heh.  She, of course, has missed none of this little transaction - and he figured it out for himself, soon enough.  I definitely didn't make any friends with that maneuver.  But who goes to the barbershop to make friends?  I'm not that old!

As Burt, the incredibly misogynistic (yet masterful) barber finishes up his current client, a very well-preserved mom and her teenage son come into the shop and sit on the other end of the waiting area.  The expression on Burt's face tells me that it's exhibition-of-misogyny time: and boy, did it ever make its promise good: he instantly begins "banter" with the woman about the fact that the boy's clearly had a haircut elsewhere since the last time he's been in the barbershop.  The apprehension and tension are clear in Soccer Mom's face as she admits that, yes, she took him for a trim "in between real haircuts" - and Burt, all but crowing triumphantly, informs her that he can always spot those "kinda off jobs" the minute they walk into the store as he cashes out his customer.

Soccer Mom is one of those early-fortiesh creatures with the stylish shorts that prove how nice her legs still are (without being slutty) and that just-so French Vanilla coloring that hides her few gray hairs (without looking like a cheap bottle blonde) and that artfully applied makeup job that just covers the beginning signs of age (without looking like she applied it with a trowel)... in short, she's an upper-middle-class, lower-middle-age trophy wife.  Clearly she was a five-star-attraction in her twenties... and to be honest - on a short-term, immediately pragmatic level, at least - she's still worth four-and-a-half.  But the cynical type would note that from here, it's a pretty steep slope downhill. (If there is a more cynical brand of creature than the trophy wife, I pray to god I never meet it.)

But back to the story at hand... Soccer Mom is well aware that she's only making the time she's in for worse - but the outrage fighting to express itself on her face wins, and she defies Burt's comment about "off" haircuts by stating that she took her son where SHE gets HER hair done.  As I ease myself into the chair, Burt elbows me in the ribs and winks knowingly at me in the mirror.   "Yup... beautician cuts," he says in a tone with juuuust too much edge in it to be the light, casual banter that pretense requires we all - Burt, Soccer Mom, her deathly quiet son and I - treat it as though it were.

Ah, Burt - he's as masterful at woman-baiting as he is at his trade.  While administering the typically superb haircut that's kept me coming back for a decade, he skillfully and deceptively shifts his attack ever-so-slightly.   "You still married?" he asks me innocently, knowing damned well that I haven't been married for well over six years.  I reply that of course I'm not married, and haven't been for years.  "Ah," he replies with a twinkle in his eye and a covert glance at Soccer Mom - "you always look really happy.  Like you're satisfied with your life.  Of course you're not married - you're a happy guy!" 

Soccer Mom, knowing when she's been baited, again fights visibly for control... and the fight is noticeably shorter this time.  Almost immediately, she hisses "there are things that a wife does that a girlfriend won't."  I wince to myself, realizing full well how many openings she's just given Burt - he couldn't have scripted a more fertile response from her.  As the battle wages on around my head, Soccer Mom begins looking to me more and more to gauge the effect of her repartee - I can only assume because of my determinedly neutral status.   (The only one here more neutral than me is the boy - he's so quiet, I keep having to fight an urge to go hold a mirror under his nose to see if it fogs.)

And, interestingly enough... as the battle continues, Soccer Mom's looks at me start getting... hungry.

Burt begins giving me knowing looks, broken up by darting glances at Soccer Mom followed with more knowing looks.  Clearly, he feels himself vindicated - Loyal Wife has begun giving hungry looks to Younger Man; his work here is done.  Sure, he could make a point of that - and don't think he's too tactful to do just that, because you'd certainly be wrong... but then, that would violate The Man Code, and Burt is a Manly Guy.

At this point, thankfully, the haircut is done.  A touch more banter as I pay the tab, one impartial smile each for Burt and for Soccer Mom, and I make my escape... and look over my shoulder on the way out the door, to see Soccer Mom hurriedly looking away, and Burt grinning at me like a madman.

I could tell you about the girl at the Mexican restaurant with the colicky two-month-old baby who "considerately" carried the squalling tyke away from her family's table - to stand holding it a foot from my ear, while looking inordinately pleased at her "solution" to the problem of how annoyed her family was with the sheer volume of anguished screaming coming out of the poor kid.   Or I could tell you about the long drive home, lulled by the "cheeriness" of the strangely compelling artificial flowerbed installed in the rear deck of the brand-new Camaro in front of me.

Or I could describe the shameful but nonetheless real pleasure I feel when I hear Janet Jackson's latest insipid offering, and how I wondered if the artifical layer of soothing it laid over the day's impenetrable little nugget of jaded angst was anything like what goes through a mainline heroin addict's mind as she yanks the band and primes the needle for one more ineffectual "fix"...

But I think you get the point.

Don't you? (I warned you this was going to be incoherent.)


07 Jul 2000
19:24 Flagging enthusiasm
As it turns out, there's maybe a bit more to the whole Stile / Archu thing than meets the eye... whatever, I'm staying out of it.  Now.  Belatedly.

On a somewhat unrelated topic, I'm feeling rather uninspired about the internet lately.  Of course, until my fucking air conditioning gets fixed at the house, I'm feeling uninspired about everything - do you realize that I came home last night to discover that a bar of soap melted?  Christ.  But I digress... the disgust comes from the same thing that usually inspires disgust in me, that being crowds of mankind.  One person is usually fairly decent.  Two are often irritating.  But three or more in a group, all too often, turn out to be a bunch of fucking idiots trying to impress each other. 

On the internet, webmasters vie with each other, creating a shifting morass of alliances and enmities - and "link exchanges" - usually for no better reason than "to get more hits."  The ones with higher-traffic sites often begin to accumulate hordes of utterly mindless followers - who are generally exactly the sort of person that webmaster loathes to begin with - and yet they begin to cultivate that group of mindless followers even as they grow to loathe it more and more.

But why, I ask, do "more hits" matter if they aren't there because your site is good?  Do we derive some sort of obscure and perverse pleasure from ill-gotten hits like politicians scamming for votes?   Why, exactly, is the page there in the first place, if the methods to "get more hits" involve political maneuver more than they do layout and content?


This is a topic that's been bugging me for a hell of a long time, actually.  It seems as though far too many sites focus on political maneuver within one "community" or another - E/N, bloggers, whatever - at the expense of content itself.

When did we become so self-involved?

Webmasters everywhere have begun proclaiming that they're "not E/N", and that "E/N sucks", and that they "want to make a new genre of websites that's not E/N."  OK, great - you want to make a new genre.  So fucking make it already.  If you need to proclaim from on high almost daily that you aren't E/N... you almost certainly are.  Keep in mind that there's no secret E/N initiation, there's no dues to pay, there's no Established Fellowship of E/N Webmasters... E/N is, simply, Everything / Nothing.  If you post shit on a semi-regular basis that has no coherent theme other than the fact that you think it's cool, and you hope that people like yourself will also think it's cool... you run an E/N site.

Which leads us right back to the question of scamming for hits - and the other pet peeve I want to gripe about while I'm feeling antisocial and nihilistic: "link exchanges."  What the fuck is up with that?  Let me trot out the basic premise of E/N one more time:

You post shit on a semi-regular basis that has no coherent theme other than the fact that you think it's cool, and you hope that people like yourself will also think it's cool.

So if your goal is to create something entertaining for people similar to yourself, and you stumble across a site that you find consistently entertaining, what are you waiting for?  Link them, dammit!  Don't try to cement some kind of goddamn "affiliation" with them to try to trade impressions as though people were low-denomination coins - link that site, for no other reason than that you think your readers will enjoy it.  If they're not worth linking unless they link you back, they're not worth linking at all.  A good set of links adds value to your own site - whether any of the people you link return the favor or not.


On a more positive note
After getting about three sites deep the linkbar maze today, I found (and stole that "Apathy" graphic from) Dawn of Truth - a promising E/N site that may not even know it's E/N, and mixes skanky pr0n with interesting commentary.  Go visit.


05 Jul 2000

Today's feature: an exposť of Evil in three parts


1. The Stolen Project: poor form, Jay... poor form
Everybody accuses Stile of ripping off their content.  Usually, the content in question is a single pic - which may or may not have even come from the site in question; while he's not above lifting a graphic without plugging a site, often that's probably not even the case.  I know I pulled a pic off of UseNet once that had been posted at the PenIs a few months earlier... it happens.   Of course, when you do lift a pic from somebody else's site - even if you post it without crediting the place you found it from, it's not such a big deal (assuming the content wasn't actually original when you found it, of course)... hey, they lifted it from somewhere, you lifted it from them, Shit Happens™, no big deal, right?

But what if you lift about a third of the entire archive of pics based on an unusual theme that somebody has collected, and post it, and don't credit the site you found it from?

If you ask me, that's just fucking evil.  And that's what Stile did to Archu this weekend.

Dammit, Stile... I know your motherboard shit out on you and your readers are writing you shit letters about it - but that's no excuse to act like a dickhead.


2. Sparklers: and you give these things to kids?

pure evil.

   I actually don't have a whole lot to say about sparklers.

Other than noting the fact that, I can and do easily dispose of 60 pounds of high-yield incendiary, concussive, and ballistic devices - the sort of firework artillery you dreamed of as a young boy (if you ever were one) but your parents would probably never waste the money on - without a single casualty or even boo-boo...

And yet somehow, if I have to light a kid's sparkler, I burn the living shit out of my thumb.

Bastard devices.

And as a side note: whose fucking idea was it that sparklers are a good thing to give to small children?  Let's see... small device, all-metal construction, burns the sort of crap that the Navy calls a "Class Delta fire" and simply shovels off the side of the boat rather than making a futile attempt to extinguish the flame.  Burns at temperatures easily hot enough to poke holes through heavy fire-resistant materials with little pressure from the "operator."  Flings sparks uncontrollably all around it, even without taking into account the inevitable frenzied waving of it around.

And worse even than all of that... what is a six-year-old's immediate reaction to being given a sparkler, aside from the initial frenzied waving?

I'll tell you what: to run over to the fireworks pile with that sonofabitch still in hand.

Sparklers are evil.


3. Professor Stoner Rides Again: fake tits are bad
Hi folks... it's the good Professor here.  Please mouseover here for the next installment of pure Evil in today's little exposť: it's a subject we've covered briefly before... that's right, it's fake tits.  Bad fake tits.   Ignore, if you will, the sparkler crammed into this woman's genitals - sparklers are not germane to the topic at hand.  (Editor's note: oh yes they are.  They're evil.  See above.)

The problem that we are going to discuss here is the disgusting flap of loose skin between this woman's breasts - see inset for details.  That's called symnastia, ladies, and it's what occurs when the "doctor" accidentally makes an incision into the muscle between your breasts while he's installing those big lumps of foreign matter behind your poor helpless nipples.

Fake tits are bad, ladies... please, don't go there.


Mouseover here for 100% natural blank space.


01 Jul 2000
06:04 GothSluts and RaveSluts and angst, oh my:  exclusive review with Lars Ulrich

GothWebChick, or Betty Boop 2000?  You make the call!

   Lars, meet Archu.  Archu finds pictures of GothSluts™ and RaveSluts™ and posts them on her webpage!

Lars Ulrich says:   Sluts GOOD!

But Lars, Archu has issues.  She is full of angst - she often  turns her inner turmoil on herself and on others.  Oh, and she gets naked on her webcam a lot, too.

Lars Ulrich says:   Angst GOOD!
:: off-camera scuffle ::   :: muffled gunshot ::
Jimbo says:  Metallica BAD.

And there you have it folks - Archu good.   Now go visit.


30 Jun 2000
21:03 I know it's been a while, but...
But at least I finally got off my ass and put the new Forum up.  It still needs some visual tweaking, but it's ready for your use...

So go make your mark, children.


23 Jun 2000
19:34 This one goes out to the Argyle Sucks crew
Hey Unholy Bitch... is that you?


If it's been done to death, and I do it again, does that make me a necrophiliac?
All right, I can't stand it anymore.  I guess some bandwagons just do need to be jumped on... anyway, there are an awful lot of female types signing the guestbook and emailing me these days, and I know for a fact some of you are mighty fine.  So I'm putting out the call: email me naked pictures!   (Semi-naked will do fine if you're shy.)  Being next to a monitor with my web page on it is a plus - bonus points awarded for creativity!  And please, folks... home-grown pictures only, no internet pr0n. (well, unless it's really, really funny, anyway.)  Yes, I can tell the difference.

Assuming I get some responses, I'll be putting up a gallery as they come in.  And obviously, if for some reason you don't want your pic posted online - or if you need your face censored out or something - let me know when you mail it.


18 Jun 2000
13:41 New Jack City
While I was looking through the referrer logs today, I found a site called, apparently, Johnny Gnorpher Presents... he might not have a Mighty PenIs, but he's got some pretty entertaining video clips.  Hell, I enjoyed this one so much I stole it... I think the best part is the reaction from the chick on the right. mpeg, 195K

Oh, and by the way, I dunno if there's any trickery involved in that particular clip, but female orgasms like that do, in fact, happen in real life.  Very, very rarely.  Just in case you were wondering.

Oh, and Johnny, if you read this... fix the dead links on your video archive, would you?


17 Jun 2000

bonanza.gif (9969 bytes)

15:09 Theatre For The Jaded: Claymation Pr0n
Yeah, you heard me.  Clicky clicky sailor boy, me love you long time!  Ganked from Violet's Electralux - mpeg, 1.7MB

By the way, I haven't stolen anything from him - yet - but you should go check out the newest addition to the linkbar, Dingo Joe.



08:33 Movies you can't believe they actually make

Whittaker-san says: "I know Kung Fu!"

   Man, I laughed until I almost cried when I saw this preview.  That's right, folks, critically acclaimed "chubby sidekick extraordinaire" Forrest Whittaker has finally landed a lead role... as a samurai warrior.  (Fight, Forrest, Fight!)

In "Ghost Dog: Way of the Samurai", Forrest plays an ass-kickin', haiku-writin' African-American Samurai named "Ghost Dog."   Ghost Dog is pursued relentlessly through the ghetto by gen-u-wine Eye-Talian mafiosos... who are, inevitably, warned repeatedly by That One Smart Guy On The Bad Guys' Team that "Ghost Dog is a professional... going after him could be dangerous!"

Click here to download the trailer (3MB, Quicktime) - and if you're bored, also be sure to visit the astonishingly craptacular, largely non-functional Flash-enabled website.


Theatre for the Jaded: Sophomoric Fart Humor, part deux
Download this one, set Media Player to run in full-screen and loop indefinitely.  Trust me, you'll keep laughing so hard it hurts for at least the first twenty plays through this very short clip of a young man who learns the unpleasant truth about lighting farts. (661K, mpeg)


Theatre for the Jaded: Portrait of a Support Tech having a Bad Day™
Heh heh heh... oh, I know how this poor bastard feels.  This isn't gross, by the way - I'm just sticking it in Theatre of the Jaded so that when I finally get off my ass and make a separate page for the Theatre, this clip won't get lost in the shuffle.  If you have to support idiots on the phone occasionally, you're going to love this clip. (1.2MB, mpeg)


15 Jun 2000
17:54 Bear with me during contract renegotiations
Sorry the updates are a bit lean right now - I've got a hell of a lot going on right now, both within the page and without.  The good news is, everything seems to be progressing pretty smoothly with the new Forum - we should have that sucker up pretty shortly; it just needs a lot of tweaking.


Is that a paint stirrer...?
Mouseover here for an entirely different understanding of the term fat-client architecture.

And mouseover here if at this point, you'd rather not network at all.

12 Jun 2000
20:44 Shout-outs to the homies at the Ars forum
Dammit, it had been way too long since I spent some quality time at the Ars forum... thanks for dragging me back, you guys.  I promise I won't be such a stranger anymore.   


Linkage for the new guys
I seem to have accumulated quite a few link requests in my Inbox lately... so, here's a passel of new sites to take a look at:

Maria runs a site called Indulging The Masses.  It's nice to see another female-run E/N site... they're awfully rare, and much like female-owned apartments, they're invariably but indefinably different that the ones men own.  (Perhaps they just wash the dirty socks more often than we do?)  At any rate, Maria... welcome to the community.

I also got an email from Deomega.   They're a death metal band - so if that's your thing, go check 'em out.

If you read the PenIs, you probably already know about these guys... MagX is sort of an online version of Maxim, although I have a nasty feeling Sam's gonna kick me in the head for saying that.   Seriously, though, it's a pretty cool e-zine with content designed to appeal to the same readerbase - a "men's magazine" in the true sense of the word, not the Hustler sense of the word.

Finally, Mark runs - his format is very interesting; sort of an unholy hybrid of The Onion and an E/N site.   Give it a whirl, eh?


It's like FreeCell in java
No, it's not a card game - but good jeezus god, can it ever occupy a lot of "bored time."  Check out the Soda constructor, and assemble, disassemble, and generally fuck with virtual automatons made from springs and weights that "walk" all over the screen - you can stiffen or loosen the springs, add or remove springs or weights, screw around with gravity, and all sorts of neato stuff.

It's more mindless entertainment than the Stile Project... and lots less likely to get you sued for sexual harassment if somebody catches you playing with it at work.



Coming attractions
Look for three things to show up in the next few days:
1. A UBB forum.  (The masses have spoken!   Long live the masses!)

2. A short article about E/N, god damn it... up until now, I've managed to steer clear of all that high-falutin' talk about what E/N is, whether or not I'm E/N, why E/N does or doesn't suck, and where the hell skanky pr0n and the Stile Project fit into all of it.  But I'm finally riled up enough to say my piece.

3. An article about the biggest phenomenon ever to hit E/N: and no, I'm not talking about Stile... I'm talking about Bla-Bla.   Frankly, I think this is a hell of a lot more important of an E/N issue than the ever-present "the web ain't what it was back in the old days, sonny... we used to have to fight a 75% packet loss to AND from the servers, in my day!" rant that's showed up everywhere from Brain Damage to Gyrate.

G'night, folks.




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