I got a rather severe haircut

My “stylist” was dressed like she was ready for an evening at the Tropicana Club, or whatever.  She was wearing an expensive-looking dress, with a flamboyant, sparkly shawl around her neck.  Her hair was piled high, impeccably so, and she kinda glided through the room.

Holy shit, I thought, is this Liza Minnelli?

And, man, she was rough.  Her clippers had obviously been used and abused, and almost cut me open like a trout.  You know those people you see wandering around Wal-Mart, with one really tall tooth on the bottom?  Well, that’s how those clippers felt.  One of the prongs was hyper-extended, and I worried I’d be leaving there a bloody mess.

Near the end of the procedure she was slapping the thing against my neck, like she was keeping beat to an AC/DC song.  I was wincing in pain as the “tall tooth” dug into my flesh.  WTF?  Is this some kind of Sweeney Todd situation??

When she (finally!) finished, she spun me around in the chair so I could see myself in the mirror, and I think I actually gasped.  Where there had once been a pile of Bobby Brady hair, was now just a shadow.  It’s not really hair, so much as a suggestion of hair.  Know what I mean?

I gave the woman a four dollar tip, down from my standard five, because I thought I was going to need Bactine on my neck.  Plus, I could feel the current weather conditions on my scalp.

When I exited the shop the Secrets were there, and both had concerned “Holy shit!” looks on their faces.

“What happened?” one of them said.

“Let’s just get in the car,” I answered.

Sweet sainted mother of where’s my fucking baseball cap?!

The T-Shirt Lady sent me an email yesterday, telling me my reorder for the miscommunication shirts will be ready on Saturday.  So, I’ll be picking them up tomorrow, and will have everything caught-up by Monday.

Once again, I dropped the price on the Evil Twin blue/gray shirts, and they’re a thing of beauty, straight-up.  Please order seven or three today.  My 48-hour shipping guarantee will kick-in the moment I pick up the OOPS! shirts tomorrow.

Here’s your link.  Buy ‘em up!

And what do you think about a Smoking Fish Snuggie?  You can get them custom-made now, and I think it would be fantastic.  What’s your thoughts on it?

Since I’m groveling like a ball-baby bitch here, please also don’t forget to enter the Amazon site through our links.  There’s one at the end of all the latest updates, as well as other places throughout TheWVSR.  If you do this, they’ll pay me roughly 5% of what you spend.  So, it costs you nothing extra, and you’ll be supporting a worthy cause — my addiction to beer and fast food!

I don’t want to get overly cocky here, but I think our hacker problems might be behind us.  It’s been almost 48 hours, and the spam code has not returned.

A couple of days ago Jan Ole Peek, who I sometimes hire to help with technical issues beyond my abilities, located a questionable folder at the site.  It contained four small scripts that created secret pages, through which a spammer had full access to our files without a need for login information.

Diabolical!  When I realized I had a problem, I changed all the usernames/passwords but the bad code kept coming back.  Now I know why — the sphincter-spelunker installed his own backdoor portal into the West Virginia Surf Report!  Grrr…

But I’m starting to believe the episode is over.  Thanks to Jan, once again.  If you ever need tech help with your WordPress site, he’s your guy.  He has my unconditional endorsement, for what it’s worth.

I’ve applied for “reconsideration” at Google, so hopefully everything will be back to normal soon.  Excruciating!

I posted a new Mockable update yesterday, and think it’s kinda funny.  And today’s guest mock is excellent, as well.  Please don’t forget about Mockable.  We’re still chugging along over there.  Quietly, in the background.

And I mentioned this once before, but “Bud Bundy’s” web show, Star-Ving is pretty damn hilarious.  Don’t watch it with the kids, though.  It’s not exactly Nickelodeon fare, if you know what I mean.  Funny as hell, though.  Check it out.

I’ll leave you now with a couple of questionable Questions…

Someone at work recently had their house broken into, and the thieves took their B.A.T (big ass television).  Man, that infuriates me, just thinking about it.  Have you ever had your house or apartment burgled?

I’m lucky, and don’t really have anything to contribute here.  I’ve had shit stolen out of my car (like laundry!), but never an apartment or house.  And I lived in Atlanta for six years.

What about you?  Tell us about it in the comments.

Also, we’re receiving a ton of catalogs in the mail these days.  Are there any particular ones that you actually look forward to receiving?  We got a Crutchfield catalog yesterday, which is pretty good, and I got one last week frin CC Crane, a radio manufacturer.  But I generally don’t get too excited by catalogs.  Do you have any favorites?

If you’ve got anything on these two Questions, or anything else for that matter, use the comments to bring us up to date.

And I’ll see you guys on Monday.

Have a great weekend, my friends.

Now playing in the bunker

I see some of you

Google drives a shitload of traffic, you see, and if the Surf Report is no longer in their index, I instantly lose twenty percent of my visitors.  Yeah, some are these weirdos, but most are legitimate searches, for things like Alli side effects and Ads vs. Reality.

As it stands, the people doing such searches won’t find the original pages.  They’ll be sent to sites where my stuff has been ripped-off, or won’t be able to locate it at all.

And that’s highly frustrating.

Also, the Surf Report ranked well for the phrase “fast food.”  Do you know how many times per day people do searches for that phrase around the world?  Yeah, I don’t either, but it’s a lot.  We were sometimes the number one and number two result, which is pretty amazing, and now we’re nowhere to be found.

And I don’t want to get too inside-baseball here, but folks who visit the site via search engines are good for “business.”  (I use the term loosely.)  They click ads and navigate around more than regular visitors.  It’s just a fact of life.  When people get accustomed to a website they train themselves to not see the ads and links and things.  But new visitors put a little extra beer money in my pocket.

Plus, there’s a danger that this person/thing could do serious, permanent damage to the site.

It sucks.  I’ve had a person go in and get rid of the hacker code twice, and it comes right back.  I don’t know if someone is reinserting it, or if it automatically regenerates.  Regardless, it’s causing me to lose sleep; the circles under my eyes are now the size of dessert plates.

The whole thing eats turds, corn on the cob-style.

I’m watching the 1975 World Series again, and it’s fantastic.  I have all seven games on DVD — the original NBC television broadcasts — and they still get my blood to pumping.

In ‘75 I was twelve years old, and fully invested in the Cincinnati Reds.  Thirty-five years later I find I still have passion for that team, buried ‘neath all the baggage and scar tissue collected along the way.  Just seeing Tony Perez take a practice swing makes my heart skip a beat…

I wish they’d release the 1976 Series, as well.  But the Reds swept the Yankees in that one, so I doubt it’ll ever see the light of day.  It’s not exactly an edge-of-yer-seat experience, like ‘75 was.

My friend Tim collects old baseball broadcasts and sent me a DVD of a 1972 playoffs game between Cincinnati and Pittsburgh, with all the original commercials in it.  That’s a lot of fun, too.  But it’s not really the Reds I knew.  It’s an embryonic Big Red Machine, if you know what I mean.

Do you ever watch old sporting events, where you know the outcome in advance?  Toney thinks it’s nuts.  She says, “What’s next?  Random weather forecasts from 1989?”  But I love those old Reds games; I never get tired of ‘em.

I think we’ve got our New York City trip figured out.  We’ll be going on a Friday at the end of November, just me and Toney.  We’re planning to take a bus, so we can kick back and let someone else deal with the traffic and confusion.

I’m excited.  We don’t get many opportunities to spend time alone anymore, and NYC is always an adventure.  I can almost taste the John’s pizza as I type this…

And now we can start plotting our day, which is part of the fun.

The disc we need to stream Netflix movies via PlayStation 3 should arrive tomorrow.  That’ll be cool.  You know, as soon as we have a PS3.  I need to have a little talk with Santa about that, aka Santy.  Pass the beer nuts.

I have a friend who recently underwent a medical procedure involving some sort of mysterious “probe.”  I’m unclear on the details.  But they made him fast for 48 hours!  Have you ever heard of such a thing?  He had to quit eating at noon on Sunday, and they didn’t do the procedure until Tuesday afternoon.

Man, that’s a hell of a long time.  I don’t know if I could do it, and I’m not joking.  Ghandi, I ain’t.  Holy crap-nodules!

Have you ever had to fast for such a long time?  I don’t go to the doctor, so it’s not something I’ve ever experienced.  What about you?  At what point do the hallucinations start kicking in?  Tell us about it in the comments.

And if you have any mysterious probe stories to tell, I’d like to hear (read) those as well.  A guy at an old job used to tell a tale about being sent to a specialist, because he was having “ass trouble,” and the receptionist kept answering the phone, “Anal and Rectal?”

Heh.  If you’ve got anything to tell us on that subject, have at it.

And I’ll be back on Friday.  See ya then.

Have a great day, my friends.

Now playing in the bunker

I’m still having technical issues

I’m about to lose it, man.  And when I say it, I mean shit.

Anyway, the younger Secret has a birthday this week.  He’s turning 11, and on Saturday Toney told him he could pick a restaurant and we’d go there for dinner that night.

He said he wanted to go to Texas Roadhouse, which sounded good to me.  It beats Ret Lopster, which is the way he usually goes with it.  Both boys enjoy the novelty of using tools to dismantle creatures from the ocean floor, but I’m not much for the crustaceans.  Never have been.

So, we went to the restaurant around 5:30 on Saturday, and it was complete pandemonium.  The parking lot was full of cars, and people were standing outside with vibra-boxes in their hands.  Grrr…  I thought the economy was in a shambles?

I wedged my heft through the crowd inside the front door, and one of the three(!) hostesses told me it would be at least a 35 minute wait.  I told her to give me one of them boxes, dammit, and we’d be standing outside.  Incredible.  At one point I think I had ugly strangers pressed against me on all four sides of my body.  And I can’t have that.

Of course, they were playing shitkicker music in that place.  You know, because the word “Texas” appears in their name.  But Pantera was from Texas, as were the Toadies and the Butthole Surfers.  I would’ve much preferred some Butthole Surfers, if you want to know the truth.

And to make matters worse, their CD player kept skipping.  The volume was blasting, and the songs kept getting stuck:  “I think my son is a faaaaaag, because he drives a Toyota, ota, ota, ota, ota…”  And they’d let it go for a long, long time before they’d correct the problem.  Then it would happen again.

Toney stayed inside the holding pen, but it was too claustrophobic for me.  It was a little cold outside, but the Secrets and I waited on the sidewalk and looked for “celebrities.”

Do you ever do this?  We like to spot movie stars and famous musicians, amongst the general public.  On Saturday night we saw “Jerry Seinfeld,” and “George Lucas.”  They were also standing outside, with vibra-boxes.

Finally, we were summoned — almost exactly an hour after I’d been told it would be 35 minutes.  And some chick with a BB stuck to the side of her nose led us to a table inside the bar area.

And the noise level in that place was amazing; I’ve been to Major League baseball games that were quieter.  It was just a sustained din, making it nearly impossible to have a conversation.

Our waiter spoke in a voice completely devoid of inflection, and I had trouble understanding him inside that maelstrom of high-volume.  At one point he asked what I wanted on my baked potato, and I answered, “Yes.”

But once we were finally seated, and had successfully conveyed our orders to the robo-waiter, everything went from irritating and unbelievable, to fantastic.  I got a beer the size of an umbrella stand (Yuengling Lager), and the food was nothing short of excellent.

What’s your opinion of Texas Roadhouse?  Have you been to one?  I’m no expert, that was only my third or fourth visit, but I think it’s better than it has a right to be.  You know, for big-ass mega-chains.

And I’m sure we’ve been through this multiple times, but in the comments please tell us your favorite chain restaurants.  Everybody likes to trash ‘em, but what are some good ones, in your opinion?  And I’m talking about national, or well-known regional chains — not Jim’s World of Curved Sausage in Montana, or whatever.

I’ve been ordered to work thirty minutes early, so I’m going to have to cut this one short.  Here’s an especially funny Mockable from Metten, to take up the slack.

And I’ll see you guys tomorrow.

Now playing in the bunker

I’m experiencing

Please allow me to explain…

First of all, someone in India bombarded the Surf Report with comment spam over the weekend.  He (I assume) left a cubic yard of incomprehensible messages, each containing a link to a page selling air purifiers(??).

I stupidly let the guy in, after his first comment went to the moderation queue and seemed authentic enough.  I approved it, and that allowed him to post directly to the site.  So, while I slept on Friday night, he went to work…

And when I stumbled to my computer the next morning it was just a jamboree of broken English, straight-up gibberish, and humidifiers.  What in the Queen Anne-style hell??  It took me a half-hour to delete all that crap, and mark each comment as SPAM.

Then another, smaller wave came pouring in, which I zapped within seconds of it hitting the site.  I noticed he tried to post more comments since, but they’re now going to the spam folder.  So, maybe it’s over.

I’m not a fan of any of it.

Then a reader informed me that the site isn’t indexed at Google — once again!  Last week (I think) I found out the Surf Report had apparently been hacked, and dozens and dozens of invisible spam links were inserted into the source code.

This is done to increase Google rankings for rip-off artists.  They somehow gain access to sites with genuine traffic, insert their links, and hope the Google spiders and robots will believe they’re genuine links/endorsements.  Thus “earning” their shitty sites a higher ranking in search results.

So, I had the bad code removed, changed my admin passwords, and applied for “reconsideration” at Google.  They let me back in, and I thought the issue was behind me.

But now it’s happened again.  All those invisible links are back, and I’ve been re-booted from the Google search engine.  If you do a search for “wvsr” you now get a radio station, and the West Virginia Split Rail company.  Grrr…

Plus, the RSS via email feature worked for a couple of days, and promptly shit the bed again.  I have no clue what’s going on there, and don’t have much time to devote to it.  But the situation is triggering many of the “bitches and balls” outbursts.

And I allowed the t-shirts to get away from me.  Again: my fault.  All have now been mailed, though, with the exception of five or six orders for the miscommunication shirts.

I wasn’t paying close enough attention to it, and oversold a couple of the sizes.  So, being the fantastic businessman that I am (America’s Richard Branson!), I had to order more of the fuck-up shirts — at full price.  Therefore, I’ll be losing money on those five or six orders.  But it’s my problem, and not a big deal.

I’m waiting on a minimum order (24), which should be ready momentarily, and I’ll take the percentage mailed from 99% to 100%.  I apologize for the delay, but the shirts look pretty great, and hopefully that’ll be enough to buy back your love.

And speaking of Surf Report shirts…  I reduced the price of the blue/gray Evil Twin design — probably my all-time favorite — to $15, all sizes.  That’s a three dollar discount on the big ‘uns, and a dollar off the regular sizes.  Shipping is included, of course.

I did raise the price on the miscommunication shirts to $12, because of the full-price reorder, but that’s still a heck of a deal.

And I’m making this promise, because I want to be fair and can’t take the stress/guilt, to anyone who buys a shirt from this day forward:  I’ll turn all orders around within 48 hours.  I’ll try to get it into the mail the next morning, but no later than the following day.

That is, of course, after the 24 shirt miscommunication reorder arrives…  As one of my old bosses (now deceased) used to say, “You can’t ship what you ain’t got.”  But I should have them in a couple of days.  The other styles are on-hand, and ready to go now.

And I know this update is turning into some kind of bizarre diatribe about behind-the-scenes boolshit, like Lenny Bruce near the end.  But these are things I needed to get off my mannery glands…  I want to keep you guys in the loop.

Now for the pisser to end all pissers….  Yesterday I went to work, as I do on every Sunday afternoon, and my boss was there.  He doesn’t work on Sundays, so this concerned me.

“You forgot, didn’t you?” he said.

“What?  Forgot what?” I answered.

“You’re supposed to be off today.  I came in to cover for you.”

“I’m supposed to be off?  What do you mean?”

“Remember, I asked if you could work this coming Friday?  And I said you could take Sunday off, if you wanted?”

“Shit!”

So, I was supposed to have an extra-long weekend, but forgot.  I reported for work on a day-off!  How is that even possible?  I don’t forget these kinds of things — ever.

But since I’d driven 36 miles, he said I could take Wednesday off instead.  So, I’ll be working Sunday thru Tuesday, and Friday.  I guess that’s a decent compromise.  But I’m still a little rattled by it all.

Everything’s getting away from me.  Is there such a thing as time-released retardation?  I’m afraid I’ll be sticking lunchmeat to the wall, by 2012.  I really am.

And that’s gonna do it for today, my friends.  I don’t really have a Question, so just tell us what’s pissing you off today.  Use the comments link to bring us up to date on it.

And I’ll see ya tomorrow.

Now playing in the bunker

Yeah, I forgot

I parked and entered the store, and the dude said, “Can I help you?”  But not in a friendly, helpful way.  It was more of an agitated tone, like he’d just caught me naked and peeing on his back porch.

“You’re open, aren’t you?” I asked, confused by it all.

And the guy just shrugged.  He was leaning against the counter with his arms folded across his chest, and just shrugged.  Big ol’ attitude.

“I guess not,” I said, and turned to leave.

“Hey, we’re open!” he hollered.  “Come back.  We’re open until nine!”

“Go fuck yourself!” I said, and went to McDonald’s.

What was that all about??  I’m thinking about calling Jared.  The man needs to step out of his giant novelty pants, and police the operation a little better.  Sheesh.

Toney and I are plotting a kidless day trip to New York City soon.  It’s a convoluted plan (we have no local fambly to watch the boys), but I’m confident we’ll be able to pull it off.

I think we’re going to try the commuter bus that runs between Scranton and NYC.  It’s an attractive option.  We won’t have to deal with the massive traffic and expensive parking, and will be able to have a few adult beverages at the end of the day, if we’d like.  Ha!  …if we’d like.  That’s pretty funny.

So, I’m looking forward to it.  I like going there with the younglings, too.  But it’ll be fun for just the two of us to sneak away for a few hours.  It’s quite, quite rare these days, and I sometimes miss it.

I’ve been posting a few of the old Charley West cartoons at Facebook (completely baffling some people).  So far they’ve just been repeats from TheWVSR, but I plan to start posting new ones, too.

I know some of you have an issue with social networking sites, and I can certainly understand your feelings.  But we do have some fun at Twitter and Facebook.  MySpace eats it from the ass-in, but Twitter and Facebook aren’t bad, shockingly enough.

So, I hope you’ll follow us at both sites.  Give it a try, and you might be pleasantly surprised, like I was.  Pass the beer nuts.

I’m also thoroughly enjoying Life on Mars, the UK version.  I tried the Americanized abortion of a program, and quickly abandoned ship.  But the British show is great.  And I just found out today the second season will be released to DVD on November 24.  Oh yeah.  My nipples are exploding with delight.

What other semi-obscure but great things should I be renting from Netflix?  And please don’t tell me about Dexter.  There’s nothing semi-obscure about that show; hardly a day goes by when someone doesn’t mention it.  And I’m starting to develop a bad attitude toward it, if you want to know the truth.

A Wall of Voodoo song just played on iPod shuffle, and I remembered how people used to call them “Ball of Doodoo.”  I always liked the band, and that “joke” kinda irritated me.

But what other derogatory tweeks to band names, TV shows, or movies can you remember?  Tell us about it in the comments, won’t you?

And while we’re at it, what are your favorite pornolized movie titles?  The Load Warrior always jumps to my mind…  Heh.  What are some of the other great ones?

I don’t know why I’ve started skipping Wednesdays all of a sudden, but that seems to be the current rhythm of things.  Sorry.  Once my “book” is finished, we’ll get back to normal around here.  I promise.  I feel fairly guilty about my Surf Report neglect…  But it’s temporary, only temporary.

I’m going to Wegman’s now, to pick out the evening’s snooty, snooty microbrew.  I’ll post my selection to Twitter later, in case you’re interested.

And I’ll see you guys next time.

Have a great rest o’ the day!

Now playing in the bunker