Welcome to the 17 Nov 2000 archive of Stream - you can click the planet to the left to get back to Jimbo's World if you're lost.

Turns out I accidentally linked the same fucking cute-little-kitten flash when I meant to (and said I did) link this mpeg here in that update about "what big kitties think of cute little kittens" down there.  Dammit!   Oh well, it's fixed now.

But on to the actual subject of the update at hand, I thought you folks might be amused by this little anecdote:

I've always told Trava that I would buy tampons for her if she ever needed them - which astonished her, since, of course, that's supposedly something that "guys just don't do."  She decided to put this willingness to buy girly stuff for her to the test last night, by sending me out to procure some pantyhose for her.  Aha!  The stakes have been upped!

So off I head to Wal-Mart at 11 PM, instructed in stern tones to make sure I get "L'eggs Silkenmist, color Nude, size A, one box sheer toe and one box enhanced toe."  Got it.  For you guys out there, who probably know nothing more about pantyhose sizes than I did, "A" is the smallest size available - Trava is 5'3" and about 110# .  (This seemingly trivial factoid will be important towards the end of our story.)

Once I located the pantyhose in the rather sprawling female clothing department at Wal-Mart, I made a discovery:

Pantyhose displays are not organized in any even faintly logical fashion.

This is doubly irritating when you realize that there are more varieties of pantyhose in a typical display than there are flavors of ice cream behind a typical Baskin-Robbins counter: in the L'eggs brand alone, the color selection includes (but is not limited to) Nude, Ebony Mist, Jet Black, Taupe, Off-White, Dirty Cream, White, Suntan, Snow, Yellow Snow, Colombian Cocaine, Caucasian Semen, and Asian Poo.  All of these colors are available in "Silkenmist", "Sheer Comfort", or "Gatorback Steel-Belted 50-series" varieties... and any of the resulting combinations can be had with "Sheer Toe", "Enhanced Toe", "Reinforced Toe", or "Shit-Kicking Steel Toe For Foundry Workers And Bull-Dyke Lesbians."

Once you've narrowed all that down, then you can worry about whether or not they've got the proper size.

Eventually, I secured the requisite two boxes of L'eggs Silkenmist, size A, color Nude hose (one Sheer Toe, one Enhanced Toe) - and off to the checkout counter I went, a mere 15 minutes before closing.  As it turns out, nobody but myself and the 68-or-so-year-old female cashier was in sight... and when she started casting nervous looks from the two boxes of delicate hosiery to the 220-pound man who just put them in front of her with an expectant look on his face, well...

That was when I knew the fun was about to begin.

The second time she looked from the hosiery to me while she was ringing it up, clearly confused, and just as clearly afraid to ask, I allowed a slightly puzzled look, followed by an enlightened realization sort of look, to chase themselves quickly across my face.  "Oh, those aren't for me," I said... with just the slightest trace of oh-so-subtle "sweetheart" tone in my voice, very carefully inflected to be audible, but only barely so.

Clearly even more confused and unsure, she darted an even more nervous glance between me and my purchases and nodded quickly, almost furtively, as I swiped my credit card through the terminal.

Again looking at the hosiery myself, I let a little grin out, made ruthless eye contact and said "oh come on honey... you know I could never fit into an A."  And with a self-deprecating little chuckle, I sashayed my way right on out the store.

I know the presidential election is close, but damn. Maybe being made of wood will come in handy for Gore--he'll need a good pokerface.. Oh, and Laural sent me a link to the single most tasteful and mature take on this election. (you'll have to scroll down a bit for the Flash movie, and you might want to make sure you can deal with penis humor) Enjoyed that, did you? You sick fuck. Go read Smile or I'll poke you in the nose. I still have The Conscious Beast lying around in TXT format somewhere on my computer--I'm considering releasing it in serial format after Smile's done, to keep the serial goodness flowing. Finally, now that I'm on a high-traffic E/N site, I want to request breasts... not for me, but for The Evil Project. You see, we've been trying to do Don Knotts a big favor...

08:12

Keith M's ever-popular ongoing-serial-teenage-drama-with-naked-chicks, Smile, is now hosted here at Jimbo's World.  Read it, biatch!

06:35

I went searching on Napster tonight for some "flashback tunes" - anybody else remember Tangerine Dream?  You have to respect those guys... it had to have been really fucking hard to be pure electronica before the mid-90's techno explosion.  What I didn't find were any songs from any of the old Tangerine Dream tapes that I owned back in the day... but sometimes, it's what you don't expect - what you've completely forgotten about - that grabs you the hardest.

What I did find is a rather poignant, if primitive by today's standards, ambient piece from the Risky Business soundtrack.  Risky Business was my very first "date" movie... and you know, I hadn't thought about that movie - which I never saw again - for years, but hearing Love On An L Train tonight brought it all back like it was yesterday.

I felt like the luckiest seventh grader in the world that day, "taking" two gorgeous girls, one of whom I was very much in young love with, to a movie.  (My mom, who kicks much ass, drove us to the theater, got us tickets for the R-rated movie through what she probably never realized was sheer force of cashier intimidation, and promptly drove away as soon as we walked in the door.)  And it was an adult-themed movie, with full frontal nudity (for you younguns, that was a much bigger deal in 1983 than it is now), at that!

You know, this may sound sappy as hell, but that was one of the very best days of my life.

Tangerine Dream - Love On An L Train (mp3, 4.8MB)

Clicky-clicky, and play Guess The Dictator or Sit-Com Character!

I mean, sweet fuck...

Pursuant to my life-long dream of not being fucking poor forever I have had to cave in and get a roommate for my apartment. Knowing nobody personally who needed a room to rent my only option was to advertise the room in the local paper and pray that they wouldn't all be freaks. And since pointing out people's flaws and laughing at them is a lot of fun, I figured I would share my experience.

Rather than scheduling appointments I held an open house on Sunday and let them arrive as they pleased. All names have been changed to descriptive generalizations in order to increase the amount of ridicule. Listed in no particular order:

Contestant #1: Buddhist Stoner Hippie (BSH). BSH was the first to arrive, but his punctuality was the only thing he had going for him. He was incapable of doing or saying anything without being prompted to do so. I had to ask him to come in three times before he caught on - the "Vacancy" signs were practically visible behind his glassy eyes. For a moment I considered how nice it would be to have a reliable source of good drugs nearby; but the downside was he was unemployed (and not very employable) and had spent the last year as a hippie farm slave.

Contestant #2: Hyper Nerd. Why is it that no matter where I go (in this case my own apartment!) there is always a pudgy dweeb who takes the slightest passing acknowledgment as a signal to latch on to me for an hour? This was that guy. He stayed the longest of anybody BY FAR, looked at everything at least twice, and started asking pointless questions just to extend what was probably the longest conversation he had in a while. "How well does the toilet work?" Fuck you, get out of my house!

Contestant #3: Frightened Hottie. She showed up literally thirty seconds before Hyper Nerd and I gave them both the five-minute walkthrough at the same time. Immediately afterwards she excused herself with an incredibly transparent and lame story. Whether this was because of me, the apartment, or Hyper Nerd (in which case I don't blame her for splitting so quickly) I will never know. But I got a good long look at her foyne ass going up to the attic and that pretty much made my day. AND I still have her phone number!

Contestant #4: American Freshmaker. This guy is so Keith M that it almost frightened me. He is roughly Keith's age, height and build; has about the same haircut, and lives with his parents. Whether or not he has worked in a comic book store is still a mystery. What's even more scary is that he will probably be my choice for roomie and might even end up hanging around the forum someday. We'll see how long it takes to cast him in the next Powerhole flick.

Contestant #5: Unwashed Alcoholic. I had my suspicions about this guy before he even showed up. The message he left on my phone sounded just like my drunk-ass dad, and when I called him back I talked to his current roommate who ALSO sounds just like my perpetually sloshed pops.  In an alcoholic haze he missed all of the verbal clues I dropped him trying to make him aware that a visit to my place was unnecessary and futile - he managed to finagle me into showing him the place. I did my best to rush him through hoping the odor wouldn't linger, and as he left I was tempted to ask him to not sleep on my porch.

Contestant #6: Tubs. A good warning sign that someone might be a freak is if their first question over the phone about an apartment is "Does it have a full bathtub?" Not how much, or where, or even how big - she wants a horizontal cleansing experience or no deal. When she came by I found out why; people her size can't stand up long enough to shower. And if they do, they can't reach everything. Nice lady, but anybody who weighs more than me (230+) is going to be hell on my already creaky floorboards. The steep flight of stairs leading up to the place made the decision for her, though.

And then there were the ones that didn't even make it to view the place:

Contestant #7: Captain Phone Tag. After reading my ad in the paper he calls my machine three times within eighteen hours and leaves two numbers where I can reach him - his work and his cellular. When I call his office they can't find him and confess that they are never quite sure when he will be there. The cellular number is disconnected. After ten or so attempts I finally talk to him and he agrees to stop by. Then he does not show up.

Contestant #8: ???. The mystery man! He sounded composed on the message he left me, but every single one of my return calls got a recording of two young girls singing about Miami. One night I even dreamed about watching Letterman and the musical guest was the two kids singing the Miami song. I left a couple of messages but never heard back.

Contestant #9: The Flake. This one was a pain. We only talked by phone and she couldn't decide if it sounded right to her. Then she couldn't commit to the nine months residency I demanded. Then she couldn't decide if she could make her decisions on my deadline. Our phone conversation went around in circles for about fifteen minutes with no concrete answers; so I blew her off. Interestingly, none of the three females could make a solid commitment to most of my requests. They wouldn't say yes, but they wouldn't say no. I forget, which gender has the fear of commitment again?

Otherwise known as Jim, Erik, Rob, and Keith.  Abbreviated, that spells JERK.  Coincidence?   I'll leave it up to you fuckheads to decide.

10:40

23:44

The aforemetioned Circuit City advert features an overweight man using a digital camera and a bit of slick graphic work to turn himself into a Chippendales' dancer, and sending it to a waiflike bird-woman.

Further proof that today's man prefers his dumps like a truck.

06:43

17:21

18:33

(That's not all that's cracked, Rob. )

18:38

17:31

08:36

07:46

07:32

Now that's entertainment.  And on to the next celebrity... according to AltaVista, Britney Spears has "clearly shed her image as a pure-as-virgin-snow teen princess."  Uhhhh... what "pure-as-virgin-snow" image?  You mean somebody bought that whole "I only dress like a teenage coke whore to stay cool while I'm dancing on stage, why do all those creepy menfolk want me" line...?

Frankly, I don't see how nipple piercing and drunken bar dancing (sorry guys, that's not a link to a video clip) can do anything to further cheapen her image.

And before we end our morning of yellow rag journalism, a quote:

Heh heh heh... nice to know it comes easy to you, dear.

19:23

08:36

15:02

On another note, I'm working on a little parody of my own. Assistance would be appreciated - I've got a concept but very little content at the moment.

11:17

Out of these three shows, the first is rarely aired, the second is aired only late at night, and is certainly destined for cancellation, and the third is back from a long absence that's sure to repeat itself.

My solution? A trade.

Comedy Central trades Win Ben Stein's Money and rights to the old episodes of South Park to MTV for the right to air Jackass and Tom Green. They're both owned by Viacom, and we all know that Comedy Central is where Jackass and Tom Green both belong.

Either that or we fire a cruise missile at 1515 Times Square during a taping of TRL. Either would make me happy.

(Win Ben Stein's Money rules, you damned Philistine. -Jimbo)

18:16

08:36

08:36

02:07

"God's a woman... God's a woman... God's a woman and a man, he's both. I think prolly he is. He's all things, isn't he? He? Or she?"

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