this blog is eggsalady

I'll Be Over in Ten Minutes, Wolf.

2008-06-26T00:00:00.002-04:00

Well hello, old friend. I feel like it's been ages. Do you have a second? There's something I need to talk to you about, and I feel like I can come to you with anything. Remember when you were nine, and it would be summer on, say, a Wednesday night, eight o'clock or so, and during your big neighborhood cul-de-sac kickball game (but before you began Ghosts in the Graveyard later in the night), your friend Jimmy would make a really funny joke about Jackie from the end of the street's burgeoning breasts, and he'd still have the Rocket Pop stain on his Big Dogs t-shirt from when the ice cream truck came by five hours earlier, and you'd be scratching at your mosquito bites and tugging at the bandaids on your knees from your Slip-n-Slide wounds from yesterday, and someone would suggest you quit kickball and pickup a game of TV Tag and everyone else would throw something at that kid for such a lame idea, and then that kid would go, "sike! I was just kidding!" and then you'd talk about how freaking awesome The Mental Misadventures of Ed Grimley was last week? Well, those times were pretty much awesome. They were pretty freaking eggsalady.

That's just how I feel this blog is eggsalady felt back in the day. There were days when I couldn't wait to write to Valerie Bertinelli or the Easter Bunny, or discuss why Rachel on Friends always had her brights on in every single scene (seriously, Friends writers - maybe the pay at Central Perk couldn't afford the lass a bra with a little more substantial padding, but I refuse to believe that her lucrative Ralph Lauren career replete with an assistant named Tag couldn't have afforded a little bit of pull in the intimate apparel department). Anyways.

These past few months we've had some really great times. I loved running to you with confessions of my lust for the Marlboro Man and not Crockett (ick) but rather jherilovin Tubbs. You sat with me at the Zaxby's Discriminates Against Nonchewers Sit In of '08 (and made great strides, I believe, paving the way so that one day some kid with a hacked lingual nerve and a dream can be as good a spokesmodel as Lorenzo Lamas ever was on his worst day)!

You know what I love to do? Write you a limerick or three. Haikus? They're for your eyes and only your eyes. Oh, and maybe for ubertrashwad Six from Blossom's eyes. And those of Amy Fisher's cooking fetus. And maybe also for the author of Little Treasury of Snatch. And The Tampon Family Players (now touring with Constantine Maroulis. You go, TPFs!). But mainly for you. Oh, frick. Who am I kidding? It was all for Mr. Sex Machine Wolf Blitzer himself all along. (WB: Call me!)

And, mygod, Sexy Programmer Thursday. Oh, how Sexy Programmer Thursday was like those hot summer nights when all was good with the world and you watched your neighbor's big sister get felt up by the zitty 11th grade saxophone player in the back of his Firebird and then you'd all run and dare Bloody Mary to show up in Jimmy's mom's mirror and then flail out of the bathroom in the middle of your third request. It's almost like all that heat and all that passion of SPTs fulfilled my wildest dreams for this lifetime and my next six. Those Sexy Programming pieces of manmeat were my own personal game of Seven Minutes in Heaven over and over and over again.

What I guess I'm trying to spit out here is that all the enthusiasm, all the vigor, well, I just don't think I can keep it up like I feel like I should. I don't want to give any less of eggsalady than I originally intended, and I don't want to fall back on lame cousin Oliver moving in for an easy plot device. There's no way I'm gonna sit back and be that guy who only writes every other week or so to tell you about the baby I may or may not be having with Jessica Simpson's better nose(jobbe)d sister. I wish I had the time to devote this summer to the fast paced world of the eggsalad, but I just don't have the time I want to give it my all. You deserve more. I've had a lot of fun and eaten a lot of Easy Mac.

But, for now, this blog is eggsalady is going to go on hiatus. It really is me, and not even a little you (well, maybe a little of you, Wolf). But, I think I'll be back around some day. There's still so much we need to talk about. I mean, come on. There's still so many orifices of Tila Tequila we have yet to discover. When Ali Lohan's album FINALLY drops, I'll need you to sing along with.

To whom will I confess my inappropriate dreams about Judge Joe Brown and Judge Mathis coming to blows over the ownership of my affections?

And there are so many people I'm going to miss during this hiatus. I am going to visit some of you often (whereever you may be) - and I'm specifically talking to several of you - and you know who you are, Alice, Bee, Damon, Elastic, Malcolm, Meg and many, many more (really. If I didn't list you, that doesn't mean I don't actually want to become you!). But, FREDDY, my friend, I'm going to miss you most of all. Could everyone please go visit Retail Hell Underground and say hello to one really awesome blog? You won't regret it.

In the meantime, I'm (cliche' inbound. You've been warned) finishing my screenplay and am entertaining offers for a couple nifty little writing gigs in the works. You will see me again, and not in a Richard Hatch way. I thank you for the journey.

always,

"what's a donzer" (What kind of asshole stupid name is THAT!)

Sexy Programmer Thursday: A Very Special Sexy Interactive Episode Version 15.0

2008-06-19T00:00:00.000-04:00

Oooh, lalala my samplers of sultralicious. It's sweeps week here at this blog is eggsalady, and you lucky lovelies are the reapers of the bangin benefits. Congratulations, kids. It's a very special edition of our very special favorite weekly feature Sexy Programmer Thursday. This week's shebang is an extraspecial interactive wafflecone full of arousal. Today, ladies and gentlemen, we are going to buckle up and sidle in to play the hottest game sweeping our sweet planet: Mmmhmm.

Strap on your sexy thinking caps. It's time to play Programmer, Ping-Ponger, or Politician? Are you ready? You were born ready!

And, we're off.

I see that our first contestant has built up quite the biceps, hmmm? How does one accomplish such a lookatme, I'm so hot set of 'ceps? Could it be...monstercoding? Maybe some...world leading? I'm thinking...waving a paddle in the air like you just don't care? So, what is it, my friends? Programmer, Ping-Ponger, or Politician?

If you said Politician, you'd be right. That soulful guitar slinger is sexy enough to be a programmer, but he's Maryland's governor Martin O'Malley, instead. I can see how there would be some confusion.

Let's try again, kay?

Oh, yes. Coming at us with a comehither look. Help me out, friends. Programmer, Ping-Ponger, or Politician?

I mean, he's wearing a supersexy badge, forcryingoutloud! Was there ever any question he's a Delicious Deputy of Programming? That 'stache. That stare. Aaah, open source advocate Eric Raymond: I think I love you.

Onward we march.

Oh, hands on hips, my love? You've GQed that ass all over my motherboard. How are we feeling? Programmer, Ping-Ponger, or Politician?

Yeah, I was ready to go programmer, too. But, this pinstriped poseur doesn't have the sexiness chops to be called commander of code. Instead, our friend David Salcberg is an Aussie Ping-Ponging Olympian. The paddle's almost as cool as the program. Almost.

Ready? Okay!

Why, that's a genial smile. What strokes your keyboard, pal? Programmer, Ping-Ponger, or Politician?

I know what you mean. But, no. This hotness isn't supporting any systems, he's supporting Oregon as a studly Congressman, David Wu. Woowoo!

Let's go again.

Oh, how I'd like to brush those bangs flirting with this fine contestant's forehead aside with a sigh and a smile. So - Programmer, Ping-Ponger, or Politician?

That's right. Could it be clearer? This kind of sex appeal could only come from the co-inventor of the RSA algorithm. He coined the term "computer virus", and then he coined the phrase, "My name is Leonard Adleman, and I'm a big piece of coding sex."

Next candidate!

Oh, you hot specimen you. Programmer, Ping-Ponger, or Politician?

I refuse to believe that this sexy slab of beef has never developed some codelove in his day. But, now, Mayor McCheese sits back with the other politicos and rules over the FryGuys in town.

Alrighty. Next.

Well, hello. You seem quite at home in front of that monitor, Herr Hotness! Programmer, Ping-Ponger, or Politician?

Well, that fineness is noneother than Eric Owen, one of the best ping-pongers in the free world. Score!

Next up, grab a bite of this. Mmmm!

Programmer, Ping-Ponger, or Politician?

That pizza sucking seduction is a classic move of part romance, part pure, steamy heat. That brand of heat spells one thing: Programmer. Toru Iwatani invented Pac Man and chomped his way into our hearts. Game on!

Oh, those smoldering eyes. Are they examining some binary bliss, or are they preparing for the Smash? Will the lead others, or pwn others? Programmer, Ping-Ponger, or Politician?

Oh, Very Young Version of Governor Bill Richardson: People must have thought you were a techie all the time, when all the while you only had aspirations to run a country. I guess if you weren't born with the coding gene, being the likely Democratic VP national candidate is almost as good.

Do you have time for a couple more? Sweet. Give this stud a whirl.

A smoldering stare and a collared sweater? Be still my heart. Programmer, Ping-Ponger, or Politician?

While reader after reader plays pocket pool, our man Steve Dainton, plays table tennis. He's the the director for the International Table Tennis Federation’s Asia Pacific Office in Beijing, and he's hot to trot. Aren't we all!

And, last but not least. You get one final stab at our favorite game.

Rosy cheeks? A peeking pony? Programmer, Ping-Ponger, or Politician?

That sexy black tee peeking from the sensible v-neck leisurewear can only spell one thing. This leading member of the open source movement is clearly one of the leading sexies in the land. I have so many buttons Brandon Behlendorf could push. And, how!

Who doesn't love gameday? I sure do, and today's Programmer, Ping-Ponger, or Politician version of Sexy Programmer Thursday was no exception. Thanks for playing with me. I look forward to next time.

Sexy Programmer Thursday: The Return of the Mac(k), Version 14.0

2008-06-12T00:00:00.003-04:00

Holy Smack, my friends. We've been away oh so long, but we didn't forget about you, and we've brought you back some smoldering souvenirs to titillate your techie tingles. I hear you've had a mean jones for some programming playa. Well, look no further, because we're back once again to feed your compucravings. That's right, get ready to warm up the old hard drive, because it's time for some codestroking. Yes, sir; Happy Sexy Programmer Thursday, one and all! It's gonna be a hot one!

Today's MacNugget is as juicy as they come. He's one of the original members of the Macintosh Powerhouse Team (and, the sexiest!), and most people call him the creative machine of the bunch. Well, we call him the love machine of the bunch, but that's neither here nor there. Actually, it's both here and there - Schwing! - but we digress. Our tender morsel of moist machismo is responsible for creating the most important creative programs in the history of that sexy beast, the CPU. That's right, I'm talking about QuickDraw, MacPaint and HyperCard, and, of course I'm referring to Beautiful Bill Atkinson.

Bill brings the Sexy, and then Some, and we could talk for days and days (and days) and then two weeks more all about him, but we'd rather just treat ourselves to a visual feast of Bill on a platter. Alas, I guess we should reveal a few SPINETINGLING SIPS of Atkinson lovin, so we can get all good and revved up for the Bill Potion we're about to swallow. I'm gonna keep it brief, though, so we can get straight to the sweetstuff.

1) How's This For Irony? Just when you were imagining the dirtiest of the dirty Billy related deeds, guess who happens to hold the one and only patent for the "pull down menu"? That's right - Adorable Atkinson, himself! Just how many flavors of pulldown can I order from that menu, Mr. A? I'll take all of them, and make it a double!

2) He's Got a Digital Passion. I know - you're passionate about your digits all over Bill. That's not what I said. He has a passion for digital photography, and, in fact, he is one of the most well known, well respected, freaking sexiest digital photographers in the frickin free world. Bill went full on photography pro in 1996, and you can check out some of his nature photos at his hot and sexy site, Bill Atkinson Photography. My mind reels thinking about Bill, the naturally beautiful specimen, photographing other naturally beautiful specimens that surround him. It's like a monster delicious riddle that my libido is trying to solve.

3) Thank You, Wired.com, for Providing Our Infinite Fantasy Fodder. Thank you. Somehow, this Steven Levy guy was granted an immense gift from God and he was allowed to interview our Babe Bill. Well, Steven Levy isn't afraid to gloat about it, either. Have a look at what he said about our creative genius: Bill Atkinson "is an intense communicant. Bill is an eye-contact person, giving you total attention, really wanting to know how you are doing, how you are feeling. He hugs." Oh, Steven Levy. I don't know how much Satan paid to purchase that soul of yours, but you should be personally responsible for sponging up the drool and tears that resulted in your description of Bill's attention. His hugs. My (fantasy) hugs.

And now, back by popular demand: A Gallery of the Sexy. An Anthology of Arousal. A Ministry of MadCodingHotarificProgrammingLove. All for you. Because I love you. Because I care. I give you Wild Bill Atkinson, at his finest: The Atkinson Senior Picture Collection.

The Money Shot. Obviously. There's nothing that says Sexy like a toothy grin, and this grin is the toothiest. Coupled with a faded denim buttondown, that winning equation smells seduction in my book. Hey, Bill? Did you know that your eyes match your shirt exactly? Well, they also happen to match the color of my sheets exactly. Come over and I'll show you.

Oh, Billy Boy! The Classic Cheek Stroke? For realz? Atkinson, what are you doing to me? In this pose, you are far less toothy, but far more well-lit. In this light, I can see three new purple buttons that I hadn't even imagined living on your shirt before. You tease. That's three more buttons that need to be unbuttoned, you scamp! This pose says mature. It says thoughtful. It says that gale force winds aren't soon to knock you off that crushed velvet laden table. Or out of my dreams.

And the piece de' resistance. The ethereal Bill. The unafraid to bust out the cheek smoosh Bill. The freaking light of the heavens shining down on Bill just as they did in the perimeter of my eighth grade prom picture. Different day, same shirt, but this time gray. Still sexy. It's as though you are staring out of the pages of my Senior yearbook into the corners of my soul. I see your sideways grin, you stud. You know what time that Timex of yours says? It says it's time to call me.

Oh, Bodacious Bill Atkinson, you are the Mack Daddy of all Mac Daddies. You are one truly amazingly sexy programmer. Thanks for heating up the return of Sexy Programmer Thursday.

Even Sexy Programmers Deserve Vacations

2008-06-04T23:06:00.004-04:00

Oh, m'lords and m'ladies: It makes me feel so tingly inside to see you here. I regret to inform you that Sexy Programmer Thursday is sipping daquiris and tanning its special coding regions this week, but next week all sultry tanlines will be revealed to you and things will be hotter than ever. Why don't you lust after this for a week or so in the meantime?

See you tomorrow, mefriends.

p.s. - I've never been one to point out packages (HA!), but get a load of Wild Bill's package. I know I'd like to! YOWZA!

I wonder if Nicole Ritchie has caught wind of this brilliance.

2008-06-04T00:00:00.001-04:00

I'm not trying to brag, but I don't brag very often. I think, though, that I may have just created the world's most flawless diet, and, as such, I think I deserve a little Bragtown block party all up in here. If I were you, I'd probably assume that I am obsessed with food seeing as how I talk about it all the fracking time. But, you know that old adage about assuming, don't you? Don't ever assume, because you'll end up with a pantsload of gonorrhea.

Anyway, no, I'm not obsessed with food, but I do like it a lot. No, I'm not fat, but I do think I should probably stop running the IV drip of cheese dip through my veins or I'm going to end up gaining a couple of pounds. Anyway, tonight I just happened to stumble upon some information that I think might be the new, way less lame version of the South Beach Diet for the Summer of '08. Three words: Pixy motherfreaking Stix.

You know them. You love them. Our Stix of love and desire, sweet and pleasurable and able to not be chewed by the nonchewers of our world, are probably nature's perfect food. Indeed, can you think of a more enjoyable food? I mean, come on! You pour the delectable fruit flavored substance of love directly onto your tongue and the magic happens.

But the real magic, my friends? The magic upon which I stumbled just sixty or so short minutes ago? Just the fact that one singular Stix is a mere 8.5714 calories! Do you realize what this means, ladies and gentlemen? Let's just say you have decided to limit yourself to, hmm, 1275 calories a day (and, I'm no nutritionist or anything, but this number seems kind of low. I don't want to have to stage an intervention or anything here). Anyway (for argument's sake), you're going for 1275: that means that you can eat approximately 149 Pixy Stix in a day! If you are getting the recommended eight hours of sleep a night (I like to follow healthy guidelines), then that means you could eat nine Pixy Stix in each and every one of your waking hours! To me, this is a no-brainer.

All I can do now is sit back, tear open some Stix, and wait for this diet to take the world by storm. Imagine the possibilities. We could do Pixies on celery. We could add Pixies to our vodka. PBand Pix sandwiches, if you please. It's brilliance. Brilliance, I tell you.

Now go enjoy! Make haste!

Feliz cumpleaños, Anderson Cooper!

2008-06-03T00:23:00.004-04:00

Yep, A-Coop turns the big four one today. If I were allowed anywhere near CNN Studios (still playing hard to get are we, Wolf Blitzer? Touche'.), then I'd hand deliver a heaping slice of red velvet cake to the birthday boy, and I'd buy him a Coke. Instead, I'll raise my glass to the Silver Fox during 360 tonight and fondly remember A-Dog's days hosting The Mole. Aaah, weren't we all both younger and purer back in those simpler times!

I also came across the following photo tonight, and I thought you might like to see it. This lady has some pretty gangsta Anderson Cooper ink, don't you think? He's perched right atop her cherry (wishful thinking, indeed!) and is apparently being fondled by her butterfly. That's what I call A New Tattitude!

So a Happy Birthday to you, Anderson Cooper, you big hunk! And here's to many, many more....

Do I need millions of strangers to tell me I appear intoxicated? Probably.

2008-06-02T00:00:00.001-04:00

I like to pretend that I am ahead of the curve on all the flyest shiznittles that the hepsters are doing these days, but, let's face it: who am I kidding? I just got an iPod. Eight years later. For Mother's Day. While I was wearing a fanny pack. Haha. I wasn't actually wearing the fanny pack. I was loading it with supplies. Also not true, but, being a bit of a trendacular oracle, I will tell you this: Mark my words. All the freshest g's are gonna be sporting the pack again in the very near future, and you'll wish you hadn't tossed yours aside with your wobegone Rick Astley tapes. The Ast is coming back, and so is the assluggage.

Anyway, so tonight I caught wind of the dopest trend to hit the pervitudinous Web of the World since droves of sixteen year old Lolitas with a dream began flashing their lacy purple pushup bras on their sparkly-slash-emo-bedecked-myspace pages while perfecting the perfect amount of kissyfaced angst meets coy comehither glance for their pimply bio labpartners and also all the boys in Cellblock M. It's called Facestat, and it's marketed as "Market research for the individual." What that means is, you go there, and you can upload a picture of yourself for all the gawkers of the world to judge your attractiveness level, your weight, your sexual orientation, your trustworthiness, your level of intoxication, and much, much more. It's intriguing, really, in an ohmygod, am I really looking at this mess kind of way.

Have a looksee at this lady (I like to call her Patty):

Lemme give you a closeup so you can see what the world thinks of Patty, whose picture is on the opening freaking page of this website.

The world has proclaimed that she isn't gay, she's "definitely gay," and, by the way, not to be trusted. Why? Because her big old 40 year old smile and "hate it" haircut scream to us that she is a "serious stockbroker." Er, what?

Need more? Here's more.

Now here's an unfunny middle aged, middle class chunk of a honky who we'd definitely trust with our leftwing conspiracy theories, but who will not be returning home to the boudoir with us for an old romp between the sheets, no sir!

I don't know. I'm feeling a little skeeved by this entire facestat.com phenomenon (by the way - do NOT accidentally type facesat. Oops. Different idea entirely).

Would you do me a really big favor, though, and add your picture up there and, like, eight people who you hate, too, and let me know how it turns out? I just don't know if my balls are big enough right now to find out that a zillion people think I am a skanky yet trustworthy drunk with bad hair. I wanna know how you fare before I do it. I dare you.

Sexy Programmer Thursday: Down and Dirty Development Version 13.0

2008-05-29T00:00:00.001-04:00

Whoa there, sassy samplers of the server side of sexalicious! Out of nowhere, the most controversial two weeks in the history of our favorite carnal coding feature has just hit this blog is eggsalady. As we all know, Sexy Programmer Thursday is a lover not a fighter, so what was the contentious quarrel all about? Well, my friends, it seems that the past two Sexy Programmer recipients (Wikipedia creator Jimbo Wales and Amazon creator Jeff Bezos, of course) have ruffled a feather or two in the spicy development community. Literally thousands wrote in to express discontent or support for the last two stars of our show. See below.

I am CdrAdama 69 wrote in, "Maybe your feature should be called Sexy Sellout Investor Thursday. Why don’t you profile a real programmer instead of the Amazon guy who still can't seem to get his crap together and send me my Babylon 5: Lost Tales dvd I ordered eleven freaking days ago." And then there was DCOM-Tom, who contentiously spat, "Jeff Bezos couldn't tell his qualified identifiers from his ass." Now, I don't normally condone any sort of fighting, but all of this mudslinging amongst code studs has gotten me all kinds of excited. Well, my friends. I have heeded your calls (and finally gotten over the virus one angrily hot programmer dropped on my computer out of sexy spite).

This week, we are getting back to badass basics with a real down and dirty developer. Today's
captivating Cap'n Code is as hands-on (squeal!) piece of program pastry as they come. He's, like, the most valuable Microsoft-centric programmer to ever stroke a mouse. He's only written a jillion books (you've probably read one or ten of them - um, hello? Professional Visual Basic Interoperability - COM and VB6 to .NET, anyone? Like we all haven't dived straight into that a hundred times on a Saturday night!) Besides those things, he's dominated a billion more things, from CSLA to Magenic; that's right, today's realdeal hardcore studlycuddly coder is noneother than Rockford "Rocky" Lhotka. Lhotka? More like HOTka!

Yo, Adrienne! Get a load of some of these RANDY ROCKFORD FILES:

1) He's one Sexy Superman - That's right; he's a comely comic collector. If only someone would graphically design his amazingly delicious adventures on paper - and not just in my dreams!

2) He's a Melt in Your Mouth Minnesotan - mmm. Mountain men are amazing, and Rocky's no exception. He loves "fishing, hunting, trapping, snowmobiling, boating, swimming and generally wandering through the woods and lakes of central Minnesota." Rocky: You. Me. An abandoned cabin in the woods. It's on.

3) He lulls luscious lyrics of love. - Our Rockin' Rocky gets in the mode to code by crooning along to the sweet sounds of Rush, Queensryche, Godsmack, and Linkin Park. What a coincidence. Lhotka has been living in Silent Lucidity in my imagination for ages now. Oh, my dream is over. Or has it just begun?

And now. I have an extraspecial treat for you all. You're only gonna find it here, lookieloos (and perhaps Amazon and upon performing a painstaking Google search). After all the bad blood of the past fourteen days, it's only fair I treat you to a little harmony. A gift from me, to you. It's the Most Lust-inducing Literature Collection you're ever going to Lay Eyes On. Programming Porn - a Whole Lotta Lotkha - just for you.

I like to call this one Pensive Programmer. It's really Rocky at his very best, in my opinion. To me, it's like, nothing says badass like a man who's not afraid to sack up and pose as though he's taking his senior portrait and his life is on the line. From the perfectly feathered hair to the beautifully groomed beard: It's pure sex, eh?

Oh, a classic. In my head it's My God, Do I Ever Get a Kick Out of How Pensive Rocky Looks Again. It's almost like Billy is trying to suck in some of Rocky's sexy through his giganticly hot calculator watch. And look at Rocky over there. He's all: I'm gonna go for the poppin' my chin zit look, and even that won't detract one iota from my full-on sexy.

Look! It's Like I Even Need My Pensive Pose Anymore I'm So Enormously Sexy. Billy's back again, and all he can do is stand back and reel in Rocky's sexy. Look - written all over Billy's face, it's, "I was the sexy codetoter once, you young virile bastard." And Rocky knows it. There's no getting around who the star of the schwing is on this set.

And finally, it's the Sexy Septet All Stars. The amount of sexy oozing off our bunch is staggering. But, my buttoned down Lhotka of Love is clearly the Professional VB Prom King. (Rumor has it "VB" stands for vag bait. Confirmed!)

So here's to you, Rockford Lhotka. You are like the SuperSmokin World Peace of Sexy Programmer Thursday. Thanks for unifying us all in your lusty, lusty love. Shalom.

A very special Happy Belated Birthday to an original BSG, Brett. Hope your big day was super sexy!

An Open Letter to My Lover

2008-05-27T23:21:00.006-04:00

Dear KFC Famous Mashed Potato Bowl with Gravy,

How are you? I am fine. I just wanted to write you a quick note to let you know that I cannot stop thinking about you lately. KFC MPBw/G, you know you're the bomb. I mean, I can't even imagine my life before I met you. You totally get me, and I just know that we will be together forever. My god; it's like, you could have just stopped at the mashed potatoes, gravy, and deliciously sexy, naughtily plump pieces of all white meat chicken (which I lustily dice into tiny little morsels of love so my nonchewing orifice can swallow you with ease. And, how!) that are swimming seductively together in a plastic container of unadulterated ecstasy. But, no. You kept going, and you kept going with the fervor and passion of a thousand blazing bordellos on a steamy July night. Concerned about my nutrients, you tossed in some corn for good measure. Oh, Famous Bowl, just when you disclose your concern to fulfill my daily vegetable needs with your corn addition, then you go and demonstrate your lascivious shamelessness, bringing my love for you to a staggering climax: you go and cover your whole damn hot body with cheese. I love you.

Oh, Hot 'n Sexy, there are many who try to make me feel shame for my love for you. They say that you are no good; that loving you will lead me down a dangerous path, and that I will abandon all the things that are good for me. Well, dammit, I don't care. I need you, Bowl. You may be 740 calories, but you are my 740 calories, and I will not feel shame for our love. What we have is pure, and they can't take that away from us. No one understands what we share. You know I'll be with you forever.

Well, I just wanted to make sure you know how I feel.

TTYL; XOXOXO

I love you soooooooo much,

donzer

p.s. - Eat your heart out, Wolf Blitzer!

Sexy Programmer Thursday: Luscious Treasures Version 12.0

2008-05-22T00:00:00.001-04:00

Are you ready, my tinglymingly merchants of desire? You have arrived on a mystical, momentous occasion - the Sexy Sale of the Century! - and the babealicious bargain of our lifetime is one devilishly delicious doorbuster. That's right, shameless shoppers; it is once again our favorite day of the week - our opportunity to buy a boo at a bargain basement price - it's Sexy Programmer Thursday!

You will not be disappointed in this week's mesmerizing merchandise. No need for your credit cards this time, because the hotness is on us! Well, we wish he was on us - but, the hotness is totally gratis, and my, my, my are we grateful! Our heavenly hunk of the week is a window shopper's wildest dream. He's wonderfully wondrous eye candy, and he comes in just the right size. On top of all of his amazingly alluring assets, he also just so happens to offer about a jillion perfect products to the world via the commercially happening hotbed of love that HE CREATED - yes, that's right - our lovely clerk of love invented our shopping utopia - Amazon.com! He's beautiful Jeff Bezos, and we've got plenty of him in stock, right here.

We're whetting your whistle, I know. Want more? Yeah you do. Well, preferred shoppers, you're gonna get more. Can you handle it? Our Titan of Techsales, Baby Baby Bezos, brings the beefcake thunder, and he makes no apologies for his beauty. Saddle up and stay a while, and clip a few CAPTIVATING COUPONS of desirous info about our chiseled chairman of the board. Let the lusting commence.

1) You better believe we partied like it was 1999 in 1999. - You know it - and here's why. Time magazine named our Amastud Jeffy Bezos the motherfreaking Person of the motherfreaking Year in 1999. As if I had to remind you, I know. But, our gentle Jeff won the prize not just for his smokin hotness, but also for his ability to totally dominate the e-commerce universe. Who else has Time deemed POTY worthy? Oh. Just people like Harry Truman, Winston Churchill, JFK, Martin Luther King, Jr., Henry Kissinger, and other less attractive than Jeff worldsavers. But, yeah. Look at our bucking beauty over there. His head is mystifyingly floating in a sea of packing peanuts, and he still arrests us with his hottitude. Oh yeah.

2) Oh, to be near his lingering, tinkering hands. - Aaah. If only his handsome hands were in our vicinity, our fulfillment potential would be realized. Bazos the Babezos possesses ten perfect, technical, detail-oriented, mechanical, digits of desire. When he was just a wee toddler, he disassembled his own crib with just a screwdriver and those handy hands. As a kid, he rigged an alarm to his room with those pretty paws to keep his prysies siblings out. He was a computer science major at Princeton where he used his massive manhands to fully realize his technolove. Imagining our heroic hunk toying with the objects of his desire gets us all kinds of shivery, eh? I've got a few things that could use some tinkering, if you know what I mean, Jeff. It's your move.

3) He's already sent us into orbit, but he's ready to take all the world to outer space. - This pioneer of perfatuation is taking groundbreaking steps into the world of space tourism for the masses, and he wants to be our very own tantalizing tour guide. He's ready for liftoff, and so are our hearts, for he's launching a "vertical-takeoff, vertical-landing rocket ship capable of taking passengers to the edge of space," where they will experience several minutes of actual weightlessness, just like the kind of weightlessness they feel when they look into Bezos' alluring eyes. Commercial trips are scheduled to commence in 2010, and believe me, if I have to sell my ears and arms on Amazon, I'm all over it just to spend some precious time with our precious Jeff. Blasting off into the stratosphere has never been so sexy.

4) This man's man knows how to make our bluecollar desires boil. - Yes, he's a billionaire. Yes, he could sit back, basking in his chair made of money while we fan him with wads of cash, collecting his sweetly smelling sweat dripping with dinero into our gilded jars of passion. But he doesn't. Instead, he mingles with the unworthy masses, wanting nothing more than to drive the forklifts that we, the unworthy commonfolk, drive around the warehouses of the world. Our Jubilant Jeff relates this endearing little tale: "One day, I was at one of our sites and I asked the guys who worked there if I could drive the forklift. They had to think about it for a while because of all of the safety issues — destroying inventory, hurting people … They said, “Well …” Then, they took it outside and I got to drive the forklift." So sweet. So innocent. So sexy.

5) Never have sexier entendre-laden words been spewed in the history of the world. - In the sexiest profile of a sexy programmer ever written, writer Alan Deutschman for FastCompany.com tickles our special places, teasing us with Bezos wanderlust, in his arousing description of Jeff's upbringing: Deutschman reveals that, summering on a Texas ranch, Jeff intimately learned the "mountainous area" spending time as he "castrated cattle... and laid pipes." My mind can't stop imagining Jeff the Dream laying pipe in those mountainous areas over and over and over again. Alan Deutschman: thank you for the most erotically charged lines of poetry I have ever read. Jeff's image will forever burn in my mind, in my mountain, and in my soul.

Bezos the Beautiful has taken my breath away. Amazon's founder is the sexiest salesman in the stratosphere. Thank you, Jeff Bezos, for your contributions to our computers and to our bodies. You have us sweating, Jeff, and for that, you are one amazing bearer of the Sexy Programmer Thursday crown. You wear it well.

this is so sexy: humor-blogs.com

Now imagine if they'd had some Wesson on hand.

2008-05-20T23:30:00.000-04:00

I have been the planet's biggest loser deadbeat lately, but as freaking soon as I saw this, I had to hightail it all crazy-ex-boyfriend's-Camaro-like-fast to tell you all about it. It's my favorite formerly femulleted fictitious mom of all time (who - spoiler alert! - is incidentally allegedly rumored to be in some serious contract talk to headline one of Mullatio Enterprises' very special holiday edition films...Have Yourself Some Very Brady Mullatio anyone? Seasons Greetings, indeed!) involved in some seriously hot lip-action with my favorite badass judicious queen of sass. I think this particular beautiful brand of lady love deserves a haiku, am I right?

Menopausal lust,

Florence. Judy. A gavel.

Passion knows no age.

Just because I don't call you or write you or visit you as often as I'd like doesn't mean I don't still love you. No matter what, I still wanna hold you in parentheses. Happy Wednesday. visit humor-blogs.com, yes?

An Open Letter to Tori Spelling

2008-05-16T01:27:00.004-04:00

Dear Tori Spelling,

Happy 35th Birthday, Tori, and I mean that from the bottom of my heart. You've really come a long way since you charmed the pants off Screech as dorky vixen Violet Bickerstaff. Oh, Torz, now that I've said my warm wishes and have your attention, I kind of have some things I'd like to get off of my chest.

First of all, Tori, you're really crawing all up in my shiz lately, and I've pretty much had enough. The thing is, Tori Spelling, that I was perfectly happy with you on 90210. The tunnel that lay between your Mississippi sized breasts served as the perfect dramatic foil for Steve Sanders' optomistic wisdom slash boyish charm. You were the dyslexic virgin who loved puppies and got beat down by Ray Prewitt before his career flashbanged on that other Fox classic, The Heights (how exactly does "How Do You Talk to An Angel" still manage to creep into my head every three months or so like clockwork?). You wore the stupid mermaid dress to the spring formal with charm and you were the most philanthropic of all the sisters in the Alpha house. You made puking at the prom cool again. When the producers threw a stupid half sister at Donna, you didn't even flinch. You had the world's lamest bachelorette party attended by Andrea, Mrs. Teasley, and your mom, and you made the best of it. Oh, Tori Spelling, you did me just fine at good old West Beverly and subsequently California University and then post-college life beyond. Oh, and you know what I freaking LOVED? The made for tv movies you used to rock. Mother May I Sleep With Danger? Um, yeah you can, because that movie was AWESOME! You know what was to die for in A Friend to Die For? Your performance! And, come on: Co-ed Call Girl? I'm sure it was your work that inspired Governor Spitzer and so many others.

But, Tori, now that we are on the outside and out of the vicinity of the Peach Pit, your presence, well, it's overkill. I get that you were super rich and then your dearly departed dad only left you a tenth of his zillions. I understand that your mom was tanning your formative years away and you were stuck bowling in your house's private alley with only your dopey brother Randy to keep you company. I know that you married some skeez, left the skeez, then stole some other skeez from his wife and that made for a really good story for People magazine. But, Tori, I'm over you. I can't watch you open another bed and breakfast with your husband or birth another child on E! I can't bear another article in Us about your yardsales or your ebay store or your baby's ubertrendy nursery. I've seriously had it.

And now, Tori, I hear that 90210 is spinning off into sequeldom. If I can use a little candor here, Tori Spelling, I don't want you back. It doesn't make sense. Kelly Taylor is welcome to be the new guidance counselor. I am perfectly fine with Nat serving up pies to the new gang. Hell, Emily Valentine can even ride in on her bike and sing "Addicted to Love" at the opening assembly, but, Tori, I want you to stay the hell away from the zip code. You have oversaturated my life, and it's time for you to say peace out, and show up on Celebrity Fit Club in 2012. You're Mrs. David Silver, for godssake. Show a little pride here.

I'm sorry to be so blunt. I really used to enjoy comparing the oddly distinctly different sizes of your two nostrils. But, that was then, and this is get the hell off of my tv.

I hope the impending birth of your child goes smoothly.

Oh. If you ever see Luke Perry, please tell him I'll call him.

Thanks for listening, Tor.

Sincerely,

the this blog is eggsalady family

hey - go here, Tori: humor-blogs.com. They'll treat you right.

Sexy Programmer Thursday: Libidinous Utopia Version 11.0

2008-05-15T00:48:00.012-04:00

It's a very special day, indeed. Today, of all days, you and I are allowed to get down and get nasty, and there is no shame in our desires. For, today, our technology dreams come true. Our arousal codes are enacted, and our search engines are all kinds of fired up. Yes, yes, yes: it has been fourteen days since our thirsts have been quenched; it has been far too long since we have visited our coders of love. But, it is finally time, once again, to visit that salacious day of heavenly tingles: Sexy Programmer Thursday.

Today's lust sandwich with extra yum on the side is a different kind of programmer. Our featured lovah has not reinvented the wheel, creating some unnecessarily newfangled code that the world simply did not need. No, no: today's beefaroni simply made bazillions by getting us - the average you and Is of the world - to author his work for him. Today's highlighted fleshfest had a brilliant idea, geniusly used the already created brilliant idea the wiki (and fine-tuning it ever so finely, I might add), and created the largest mass-written information source on the entire planet. That's right, I'm talking about Wikipedia inventor Jimmy "Jimbo" Wales. Love it or hate it, you wish you thought of Wikipedia, which is singlehandedly changing the way nearly each and every Internet user finds quick and easy probably usually mainly accurate information, and, besides all that, none of us can fault Jimbo for being so damn sexy. Mmmm. So, today we take a respite from the straight up coding dream machines of the world, and we are paying homage to a different brand of programmer. Today we shall lust after a Wikiwack Wale Tale.

I know you're sweating, too - that's right; it's hot in here. You're parched; I'm parched, and we all know from the sexy Wikipedia entry on dehydration that it's time to get a little quenching up in this piece. Well, here are a few SALACIOUS SIPS of our mouthwatering drink, Jimmy Wales. Don't drink too fast, or your head'll spin. Now, ladies and gentlemen. Grab a straw and suck this down. Enjoy.

1) That's right, Jimmy: Knowledge is Sexy - Growing up in Huntsville, Alabama, our h-h-h-hottie went to school in a one room schoolhouse with three other kids in his grade (is there any doubt who the classroom stud was?!), and he loved to get his lusty learn-on poring over the volumes of World Books and Encyclopedia Britannicas in the school. While undoubtedly no tome in his possession back in the day would have an entry for the Mr. World pageant, Wikipedia does, and though Jimbo isn't a contestant, he's my sexy write-in candidate for the job. I can't think of a more smokin' representative in all the land. You've already won the title in my private contest, Jimmy.

2) Oh, Jimmy: I'll gladly be stranded with you on an island - anytime, anywhere - He's a man after my own affections. You know what he isn't? He isn't one of those wah-wah-the television-is-rotting-all-of-our-brains- buzzkillers. No - our Wondeful Wales enjoys the tv, and he's a Lostaholic, too! His amazing Wikia community even hosts a super awesome Lost site. My mind is literally numb right now imagining the scenario in which I am sitting back, theorizing on Lost theories while Jimbo is simultaneously theorizing on Lost theories, and I am theorizing on Jimbo's own Lost theories. It is too much to even consider. Does Jimbo think Ben is really a good guy at his very core, just as I do? Does Jimbo believe that Sawyer is too good for Kate, just like I believe in my heart? My mind wobbles. All I know is, there is yet more proof that my next last name is meant to be Wales.

3) Jimmy, my love: You are solely responsible for hands-down the most entertaining Wikipedia entry in the history of Wikipedia entries. Consider this, my friends: this is on his very own invented website. I know you'll love this as much as I do. I'll just let you read this excerpt and enjoy: "Wales had a brief relationship with Canadian journalist Rachel Marsden that began after Marsden contacted Wales about her Wikipedia biography. After accusations that Wales' relationship constituted a conflict of interest, Wales announced in March 2008 on his Wikipedia user page (and later to his personal blog) that there had been a relationship but that it was over and that it had not influenced any matters on Wikipedia. In return, Marsden, who claimed to have learned about the breakup by reading about it on Wikipedia, turned to eBay and listed for auction a T-shirt and sweater which she claimed Wales left behind at her apartment." That's right - our lothario broke up with her on Wikipedia. And then she did this:
I love lovers' spats. Especially when they end up with my lovemuffin Jimmy a single man.

4) Dear, sweet Jimmy: All we care about is you, yet all you care about is everyone else! - Our resident humanitarian hotness simply wants to impart some knowledge. Is that so wrong? If anything about Jimmy is wrong, we don't want to be right. You know what is right? What Juicy Jimmy wants you to know. He says, "people need to have access to fundamental neutral information to empower them to make better decisions politically, in their own personal lives." Well, Wales for Pres, I say! And, Wales in my own person life, too, please! Gulp!

5) Jimmy, Jimmy, Jimmy: you hot bearded young thing of the MTV generation. You're best friends with a former Real Worlder - and not a lame one like Trishelle or Puck or CT, but Irene, the curly haired one who had lyme disease and left the show with her teddy bear floating in the cold waters of Seattle, but with her pride in check and her head held high. You know what Irene says about our Jimbo? This: "He can meet somebody really fancy and he could meet somebody who nobody would recognize and tell the story as if it's the same." Here's what I'm thinking: Jimmy - howsabout you come meet me. I'll give you a story to tell. And, don't worry - I don't even have lyme disease.

I could go on and on about our joyous Jim. I could edit and re-edit my entry. But, I'll leave you to do your own searches for our Wikiking. All hail Wonderful Wales. He brought Sexy Programmer Thursday back with the thunder. And, we thank him for that.

visit here, alright?: humor-blogs.com

I need you, and you need these.

2008-05-13T00:00:00.002-04:00

I've been missing you, you know. I mean it, kid. Things just haven't been the same without you. this blog is eggsalady is getting a little spring cleaning itch, and, as such, there might be a little superficial and spiritual overhauling around the corner. But, since I haven't been able to stop thinking about you, I decided to make an appearance to let you in on a little advice that you really need to heed quickly, and I mean seriously lickety-split like.

If you're like me, you've got approximately fifteen dollars burning a hole in your Calvins, and you're jonesing for a little ebay lovin' capped off by outbidding Arizona75 and then a very special kinky highbidder climactathon. I'd never forgive myself if I didn't let you in on these gems. I'm afraid to tell you that we already missed out on the Star Jones paper dolls last week that slipped through our pathetic clammy fingers like dew on the petals of our morning after regret. So go scoop up your dignity, grab your Discover card and allow yourself this pleasure. You deserve it.

Here are the top five things on ebay that you need to bid on right this second.

1) For the low low Buy It Now price of $12.99, you can be the proud owner of a freaking brilliant always apropos librarian-themed humor t-shirt appealing to the horny booklovahs in all of us, featuring the rofl-iest brand of librarian humor to which you will ever subscribe. This hiLARious shirt is listed as "Librarians Have Nice Buns T-Shirt Large Funny Joke." Truer words have never been spoken, for this is a funny joke, indeed. This is a large funny joke. This is a large funny t-shirt. Librarians. Buns. Hahaha. Classic.

2) Let's face it. We've all been stuck in that moment, fumbling for the words that never come, left with sweaty palms, watery eyes, and pounds of regret. Luckily, I have found some help for our in- the-interest-of-full-disclosure-needs, and that help comes straight from the adorable mouth of punchy Dr. Ruth herself. Instead of spending $3.68 on your noontime Big 'N Tasty with Cheese, why don't you spend that money on some priceless education highlighting the delicate techniques of spilling the beans on your herps. That's right: it's the Dr. Ruth's Guide to Talking About Herpes. It's a useful guide; it's a lovely addition to your coffee table collection. It's priceless.

3) I cannot believe this is only ten effing dollars. How many nights have you been playing the your Jordan Knight doll is on a romantic dinner date with your Hillary Duff doll game when your Chewbacca doll comes in and eats Hillary and Jordan is left sad and dateless and you are sitting there thinking, "if only I had a Marcy Darcy doll to dry Jordan Knight doll's tears"? I know. I've been there more than I like to imagine, too. But, now you can own your own "Mego Style Married With Children Marcy Darcy" eight inch doll of your very own! Seller toy_collector_1954 reveals that the Marcy doll has "sixteen points of articulation", and that's fifteen points more than I feel we deserve! Bid fast, my friends. This baby won't last long.

4) Seriously. This is like my husband's dream come true. It's a calendar called Treasure Chests, and never has a calendar been more aptly named. You see, this $9.99 1969 prize features a baker's dozen boob freaks of nature. I wish I could flash all that this well endowed bounty has to offer. Alas, this is a PG rated site, and the jubblybonanza that fills these pages is not safe for the kiddies. You'll see ladies with three boobs; you'll see ladies with five boobs. You'll see ladies with boobs on their heads and ladies with boobs on their butts. It's awesome.

5) The Biden/Thompson Power Pack. That's right - this baby's bid starts at ninety nine cents, and that's ninety nine cents of heaven. I have no need to collect any other '08 Topps dreamboat candidates, because I'm getting the Fred Thompson / Joe Biden Manmeat sandwich. Fighters in the political ring - they're lovers in my heart. Trade 'em with friends? P'shaw! These suckers'll be pinned to my bra 'til the day I die.

I'm glad to see you again. I have many more suggestions to come, but, my eyelids are heavy and my lenses misty from our joyous reunion. Now let's go bid like we've never bid before. Mmkay. Love you.

I don't know. Maybe we should still click: humor-blogs.com

Saving Up To Bring You Twice the Sexy

2008-05-07T22:31:00.003-04:00

this blog is eggsalady is on a teensy sabbatical; thus, the most delectable weekly feature on the web is on break until next week. But sit tight, techielusters: next week's featured programmer is twice as hot as ever before - and that is a guarantee! Just wait until you see the hotness to come - if you can handle it!

until then,

tbis oh - and, visit here: humor-blogs.com

Real happiness is: me, you, and three giddy loved ones in gigantic whiteys.

2008-05-02T00:45:00.008-04:00

I have been distracted from my sabbatical yet again, but, once more, it is for a crucial reason. You see, I believe in my heart of hearts that tonight I have found the key to true real deal Paula Abdul batshit type happiness, and I would never be able to fall asleep if I did not share the happiness key with you. I don't even remember what I was googling when I came across the happiness holy grail, but it practically knocked me on my ass with delight when I discovered it. This is what I want for my birthday; this is what I will be giving to you on your birthday. All for the low, low price of $19.50 before S&H, we can become the new beacons of world peace together - for, it all starts with five of us. Five of us in a gigantic pair of whiteys. See below:Do you see how blissfully, adorably happy Randy, Hung, Brad S., Scotty, and Mya look standing together in their massive underpants? Do you see how though we can't see inside the whiteys, we just instinctively know that Hung and Scotty's fingers are gently intertwined, metaphorically bridging the gap of years upon years of social injustice? Isn't it amazing that even though Brad S. remembered to pack his hiking boots, tube socks, and his favorite striped Izod for the shoot, he inadvertently forgot to wear his shorts, thereby causing Hung's endearing cheshire cat grin to be unleashed upon all of our hearts and forever stamped in our brains? Aren't we all pleased to see that Mya's expression isn't even the slightest twinge bitch,pleaseish at all, though she came to the shoot thinking she'd be the only female present only to look over and see Randy in all Randy's estrogen laden glory there crashing the manmeat fiesta, too? None of it matters! For, all is forgiven when you are standing with your homies in humongous creepy dad briefs.

It's harmony, brothers and sisters, and it can be ours. If you can't wait for my present to you to arrive, order your spare pair here: Archie McPhee. I can't wait to stand in whiteys with you, forging our way to world peace, love, and prosperity.

for now, please click me gently, right here. you won't regret it.

Sexy Programmer Thursday: Smokin Hot Senior Version 10.0

2008-05-01T00:00:00.000-04:00

It's a crazy, specially-seasoned-longer-for-extra-hot-hot-hotness-edition of Sexy Programmer Thursday! Today we are honored to present one of the gilfiest techies upon whom any man or woman has ever laid an unworthy pair of eyes. He is such a smokin hot trailblazer on such a smokin hot day that our programming pioneer almost convinced me to devote an entire month to his cause. He is a tasty bite of fruit, ripened-oh-so-right; he is an early bird special at our most ravenous time of need. He's a master programming class in a sea of Typing 101s. He is our oldschool bite of babe.

Who is this beacon of retrohunk? Well, fellow lusters, he is simply the inventor of probably the most important attachment your computer has ever met. Your fingers are constantly clicking all over his sultry contributions - that's right, gawkers and droolers: he' s megameat maestro, the inventor of the mouse (and hypermedia, and multiple windows, and command meta language and much, much, muchity much much more) - Darling Doug Engelbart. Like I said - the mouse. You know your dirty little paws are all over that poor little mousy all day, and all of the night. Well, why don't you craft a fancy little letter to Dougie thanking him for your best friend. You owe him, you know.

You want more. You want so much more. He's aged to perfection; he's seasonably matured. He's a full-grown fantasy-fest, and he's right here. Here are a few TEASPOONS OF TASTY, Excellent Engelbart stylee.

1) Our bodacious babe isn't afraid to break a beautiful sweat. Doug the Wonderdrug is into all sorts of physical activity: from folk dancing, to hiking to camping (just imagine pitching a tent with this fox!). He loves sailing and bike riding and exercising of all sorts (I need to sit down; my heart is r-r-r-racing). I'm getting a workout just thinking about Dear Old Doug's steamy moves.

2) Smooth Dougie Doug thinks morning, noon, and night of ways to help the world. Brainiac El Smartington wants to make all of us lesserbrains smarter for the world's greater good. While the rest of us peons are sitting on our dumb butts playing Rock Band at Best Buy during our lunch breaks and downloading BSG spoilers while our Ham and Cheese Hot Pocket is warming in the break room microwave, our supertech is "finding ways to augment mankind's intellect" so people can "increase their capability to solve complex problems." And you never even sent him a thank you card, did you?

3) This erotic earthlover is one with his surroundings. He's a true nature nuzzler - an adorable outdoor Adonis. He raises ducks, earthworms, and bees, and he loves teaching others the scintillating scenarios of science. Oh, to be an earthworm in Dr. Doug's cardboard box. Would that I were a bee in his hive, I'd make only the sweetest honey for my Honey Doug. I'd happily waddle my waddler all over the place for my fresh Farmer. High ho the derry-oh if Farmer Doug is in the Dell. E-I-E-I-Oooooohhhhh.

4) He's got more bling than the most ballin playa. It would take two weeks straight to type out all the awards and honors Dynamic Doug has won in his luscious lifespan. In December, 2000, Presidential candidate Hillary Clinton's husband Bill bestowed the highest award for technological achievement the United States has to offer, the National Medal of Technology, upon our dawg Doug. In 1997, My Heart Belongs to Engelbart won the Lemelson-MIT Prize, and along with it, oh yeah, a check for $500,000. You should see his episode of Cribs. It's hella gangsta. And so is Doug.

5) He's so fly he could win the Mr. America pageant on his fly world peace platform alone. That's right - his total drop dead hotness notwithstanding, he just wants us all to get along, for collaboration is the ultimate key to world unity and peace in the eyes of our stud. He wants to build collaborative worldwide communities in order to "advance the evolution of society and its institutions" and "find much better ways for people to work together to make this world a better place." Hey, Darling Doug, come over here: we'll begin our own Hands Across America campaign right in my frontyard. I'll show you ways to collaborate you've never even thought of before.

So, my friends, isn't it obvious why our Master of the Mouse, Doug Engelbart, is this week's fi-hi-hine Sexy Programmer! We aren't afraid to admit: we like our programmers well-seasoned, and you know what? He's cooked to perfection. Doug, my Love, since you have entered my life, I will never again be the same. Engelbart - you've stolen my heart.

cool-down over here: humor-blogs.com

Well, this is just sick.

2008-04-30T00:00:00.001-04:00

I'm on a bit of a self-sanctioned sabbatical and had not planned on beating out a post today; however, tonight after I got in from walking my dog, I sat down to some dinner when I practically choked on my chicken - for apparently, Wednesday, April 30 2008 , is National Spankout Day. Now, I have heard of some sick excuses for holidays in my day, but just who exactly had the brilliant idea to rub this one out? I mean, an entire holiday focused solely on spanking? Seriously - what kind of jerk offered this idea? He was probably a real wanker. Whoever he was, I'm glad we didn't have to hear what other wacky ideas this lame holiday beat off to cream all of its competition and take over April 30 as its very own. Now, if you'll excuse me: I'm pretty tired, so I think I'll just take a load off and toss off for the night. Happy Spankout Day, you perveltons.

hey. why don't you polish this off: humor-blogs.com

It's Time for Some Educating.

2008-04-28T00:00:00.002-04:00

A wise women once believed that children are our future. So very, very profound, and yet so dead-on. I'm such a firm supporter of this esoteric theory that I went ahead and spawned some future of my very own. I like to call her Cornflake, and, apparently unlike another mother who requires a village for her kid-raising, I'm not afraid to admit I like to pimp her out, a dollar a hug. Anyway, the result of my reproduction with my babydaddy is going to turn one in just a few short days, and, as such, I feel it's time to get some book learnin' on in this piece. It's high time she smarted up a little bit, so, for her first birthday, I pulled out the old Mullatio Enterprises company card and purchased ten works of classic children's literature to begin her tutelage. I thought I'd share with you the texts she will receive come Friday, her big oh-one.

1) Ten Fat Sausages - You know, it's never too early to learn about the old kielbasa, and this book illustrates a veritable festivale of sausage, and not the skinny kind, but the full-on thickity-sized hella substantial sausage. It's a tenfold meatdream celebration, and it's amazing.

2) Thar She Blows - This is interesting. I don't know a lot about this one, but, the title just grabbed me. I wonder if it's illustrated.

3) Fat Puss and Slimpup - What a hilarious combo! It's a fat puss! It's a slim pup! One's awkwardly large, and the other is alarmingly narrow! Imagine the hijinks that could ensue! It's pure comedy genius!

4) The Curtain Went Up, My Pants Fell Down - I can't be positive, but I think I first heard about this one on Paul Reuben's website. It's such a timeless scenario, really.

5) Ball Games - Playing with balls is a sport, of course, and this tome presents a plethora of techniques and tips for optimum success at ball entertainment - for the sportsman in all of us.

6) A Hole at the Pole - It's tremendously useful to know the location of the pole. Likewise, one should realize that often the pole meets up with a hole. You could call it a geography lesson, if you wish.

7) A Hole in the Hedge - I assume this is the second installment in the Hole series; this social studies lesson teaches the reader that there is another hole - a hole in one's hedge - and that's a lesson everyone should understand.

8) Jan's Big Bang - I don't know. This one came free when I bought nine other books. I hope it's good.

9) Get Busy, Beaver! - I'm all for positive motivational messages. This book seems to encourage action, and that's always a plus.

10) Little Treasury of Snatch - Last but quite obviously not least, I am a sucker for a bargain. This text humbly presents not just one tale, but an entire treasury of adventures. We are sure to cherish this one for years to come.

So, happy birthday, Little Cornflake! May I teach you only the most important lessons in all your years to come!

Here's an important lesson to learn - Click here: humor-blogs.com!

Please tell me why this happened.

2008-04-25T00:00:00.001-04:00

My intentions for this post started simply enough. On Wednesday, I shared some short scenes from Period: The Play ®, the production that is soon to take Waukegan, Illinois - and then subsequently the world - by storm. I couldn't help but notice that perhaps the dialogue was a little, er, progressive - yeah, we'll go with progressive - for this blog is eggsalady's visitors that day, particularly the readers with phalli.

Naturally, I panicked. If P: tP ® alienates roughly 50% of the world population, does this spell inevitable doom for the show's impending hereafter? I'm not going to lie; I've been in a veritable tailspin since Wednesday at approximately 4:46 pm. But things in my head went from bad to re-abandoned by Wolf Blitzer in about 2.2 seconds. You see, in my moment of darkness, I speculated upon what to do - to whom I should turn. Suddenly it dawned on me: the people most likely to provide me assistance in this specific brand of menstrual alienation - and this is such a no-brainer - Blossom and Six, of course! In short: WWB&SD in this sitch? I racked my brain in order to envision scenarios in which Blossom and Six fought the man and came out on top. There were, naturally, a million amongst to choose. But, I went to the internet to find the very best of the Blix wisdom. Anyway, I am going to try to cut to the chase here as: a) my cerebrum can't take much more; and b) I don't want to drag this out for you because you deserve so much more.

Here it is, friends. My search for the sage advice of Blossom and Six led me to this:

Um, yep. Somebody skanked up Six. I don't even know where to go now. I am seriously flummoxed. Where is Six's floppy hat, and why is she wearing Tiki Barber's legs? Anyway, maybe you already knew about this, but you forgot to tell me. And then I found out in my time of need. I am more confused now than I was before. I just don't understand.

will this help? Let's see.: humor-blogs.com

Sexy Programmer Thursday: Maximum Yummage Version 9.0

2008-04-24T00:00:00.001-04:00

All aboard the hot train, you beautiful people. It's time yet again to step on up for another mouth-watering installment of the Sexytech Express. It's the hyperincredible day when our systems are operating on unadulterated, hi-tech passsion. That's right; you've booked your ticket and had your passports stamped - destination: Hottopia. It's a beautiful day in this neighborhood, so make sure you take it all in on this glorious Sexy Programmer Thursday.

This week's lusty object of our affection is one beautiful attraction. Here's a babe-a-rific brain teaser for you: this stud's brand of sexy is so old-school, it's practically new-school. Make that Gnu-school. You heard me: our lovebeast of the week is noneother than the creator of the most magnanimous operating system around - GNU, the entirely free, free-lovin' software entity of passion. Say hello to your seductive centerfold, Richard Stallman. Richard (or, rms, as he prefers to be called) is so full of lusciosity that it is impossible to humbly reveal all of his fabulous facets in this singular forum. If I can share but a glimpse of Ravishing Richard, though, believe me, you will be satisfied and begging for more.

You're ready for the free lovefest to commence, I see. Well, then. Let's get on with the pleasure. Here are a few PANT-WORTHY PARTICULARS about our captivating Code Warrior, the most dangerous gnu I know:

1) He's a one-man talent show wrapped in a perfect package. Apparently being one of the most hands-down amazingly talented hacker/coders of all time wasn't enough for our long haired lothario. No, Richard the Great dabbles in about a billion hobbies, as well, from using his tantalizing tongue to speak Spanish, French, and Indonesian, to enjoying "affection, international folk dance, flying, cooking, physics, recorder, puns, [and] science fiction fandom." All I know is, my head is spinning. If I could have just five minutes alone with Filet O'Rich and his recorder, my life would be tastily fulfillified. I'm lovin' it.

2) Our Studly Stallman is a playful player looking for love. On his wonderful website, randarific Richard shares his adorable application to be a member of Marian Henley's Ex Boyfriend list. Marian must be La Mary Loco, because after a series of endearingly honest exchanges with our hot tamale, Richard, she never accepted his proposition. Why would this beefcake need to apply to the list? I'm glad you asked. He explains to Marian: "My motivation is not that I would like the cachet of being on the list. Rather I hope that the application process, of being judged fora place on the list, could be exciting or even joyous. If it takes you some time to decide whether I belong on the list, I won't mind waiting." Richard, if you ever read this, please, I beseech you, get in touch with us here at this blog is eggsalady. I can assure you there is a BEVY of beauties at our fingertips that would love to add you to their list.

3) Rockin' rms is a Powerhouse Politico. Our heavenly hacker is an arousing activist. His home page of hotness is a forum for a flock of captivating causes. Need to find an issue to support? Well, go to his page, close your eyes, and point, and then get ready to get schooled. StallMan the Man is ready for you to Boycott Yahoo, Hotmail, MSN, and WebTV for political censorship. He implores you not to buy Harry Potter books. He wants to talk with Hamas; he wants us all to toke up; he's ready to name a waste treatment facility after President Bush; he wants to reduce the climate change; he wants to create butterfly gardens, choose tap water, and boycot Coke. And the list goes on and on. All I care about is a lovemuffin who cares, and this lustbiscuit cares. And cares. And cares.

4) He is an anointed Saint of Sexy. Truly! He is the hallowed holyman, St. IGNUcius of the Church of Emacs. His religion is a welcoming one, as he describes: "To join the Church of Emacs, you need only say the Confession of the Faith three times: 'There is no system but GNU, and Linux is one of its kernels'." If every member of this religion is as enticing as St. IGNUcius, consider me a convert! Alleluia!

5) This fine techtreat is a No-Frills Adonis. He's no slave to the Benjamins; on the contrary, he prefers to live often as a "squatter", and in the 80's and 90's, he even lived in his office. He reveals: "It was convenient and cheap. To walk home to another place when I was sleepy was a very bad thing: first of all, if I was sleepy, it might take a couple of hours before I could get it together to put on my coat and my shoes and so on. And after that, walking home would wake me up, so when I got home I wouldn't go to sleep either. It was so much better to just be able to go to sleep where I was." That is the most luscious logic that has ever blessed my lucky ears. Hey, Richard: you ever need a place to squat, call me. I've got a spot for you right here by me.

I wish I could go on and on and on about our Racy Richard. But, alas, our time is up. I do know this: Richard Stallman is worthy of our divine worship. For these reasons and a host more, Sweet, Sweet Stallman is one uberdeserving Sexy Programmer.

Click here, receive more sexy: humor-blogs.com

Bloody hell, these ads are brilliant.

2008-04-23T00:00:00.002-04:00

Aaah, the Rites of Spring. Around this time each year, I blend myself a Cuervo-heavy pitcher of frozen margaritas, head out to the back porch, and open up the well-worn old scrapbook of my favorite tampon advertisements of all time. This year, I decided to be a little selfless. Have I told you lately that I love you? Well, I do, so I am going to share some of the absolute best feminine hygiene ads with you, complete with the dialogue courtesy of the Tampon Family Players that would normally remain only in my head. I do it because I care.
There are so many things I love about this one. I'm gonna let Lamar and Tad explain.

Lamar: Holy shit, Leilani. Your crotch smells amazing. What did you do - put deoderant directly on your tampon? Doesn't her crotch smell amazing, Tad? Seriously, man. It's fabulous. Take a whiff.

Tad: Right you are, Lamar. Her genitals smell so odor free that I nearly do not even notice her grabbing a heaping handful of Mona's heaving bosom right here in the middle of our Ramada Inn lounge.

Lamar: You are so gonna hit that, Tad.

Tad: 10-4.

Sally: Look at the size of Byron's stick. There's nothing I love more than my man donning his jodhpurs and a condom cap on a snowy winter's day. That's why I use Tampax Satin - It is what's up front that counts, because it totally frees up my backdoor for Byron.

Nan: You know, Margie, back up at the campfire, when you recommended I insert a tampon into my privates rather than use up our supply of Oscar Meyer weiners, I thought you were positively bananas! But, they really are a lot more absorbent than the old tube steak.

Margie: I know, Nan. It "makes such a difference."

Need a shower? Don't forget the loofah. Click here (repeatedly) to getcha one: humor-blogs.com

Ride 'em, Cowboys.

2008-04-22T00:33:00.033-04:00

Giddy up, Partners! A joyous Cowboy Poetry Week to one and all! Loosen your chaps, mount up, and sit a spell. It's high time us buckaroos pay a little poetic tribute to the cow punchers on the range, and what better time than these seven glorious days sanctioned by California's own Kindergarten Cop himself (click on that distinguished letter to your right, why don't you?) to say a little howsyafatha to the ranchers of the world ?

Now, come on, Americans: These are your hard-earned tax dollars at work, so you might as well take full advantage of this literary powerhouse extravaganza.

See how completely not asslike at all my own governor, Sonny Perdue, looks taking the time from his busy draught protection schedule to sign the bill to proclaim this a real life state holiday for a whole entire week:My own personal celebration involves spending a lot of alone time thinking about how important cowboy poetry is to my life. In addition, I will be devoting a respectable portion of the week to paying homage to the most undervalued form of cowboy poetry: the cowboy haiku. I have already written four, which I will humbly share with you. It is my hope that you will follow my lead and spend some of your own time paying your respects to the poetry of our cowpokes on the range.

Cowboy Troy

How can I put this?

This guy’s a country singer.

Are we being punked?

Macho, Macho Man

He lassoed my heart,

The finest in the Village

Giddy up, Cowboy!

Naked Cowboy

It’s a singing ass.

Sweet Lord, this guy’s made millions.
Funny joke, there, God!

Cowboy Curtis

You rocked the Playhouse.

Didn’t you bone Miss Yvonne?

Bet Pee Wee was pissed.

And, an added bonus. Literally, a cornucopia of asshat:

for a smorgasboard of literary giddy up, click right here: humor-blogs.com

Making trillions the old fashioned way.

2008-04-21T00:00:00.004-04:00

There are some really dope benefits of not being a member of the old establishmentarian workforce - namely, being available on a full-time basis for the Judge Judy power hour. But, there's one pretty essential thing that I miss about the old 9 to 5. Two words: spending cheese. My mom always taught me that it was rude to talk about money. If I had any, I guess that quaint little rule could apply. Since I don't, I think I can carry on with this post. In my head, I now picture you clasping your bosom, tossing your head back and inquisitively mentally-menstruating something such as this: "Come again? You mean this blog is eggsalady is not raking in the doughskies to bankroll not only your daughter's future college and/or meth habit fund, but also the funds for any subsequent daughters that she begets in the future?" Child, please. But, don't get any stress marks worrying about the Donzer family, because we have a new business venture in the works, and we are going to make trillions. Trillions, I say!

Let me provide a little background for you. Just today, I was taking in a baseball game when I spotted a man freaking commanding what could only be described as a pretty damn respectable mullet. All of a sudden, I was bludgeoned by this overwhelming wave of sentimentality, for I understand that mullet-spotting is so played out. It's no longer even ironic to turn to your cuz and go, "Check out that sweet mullet over there," because your buddy would yawn, scratch his ass, take a bite of his corndog, and then finally turn his eyeballs to whereever your were pointing, because, you know, mullet spotting is so 2001. I think that's mullshit. I just don't think the mullet market has been tapped the way that God intended. And that blows. My husband concurs. That is why we are starting a new adult entertainment company called Mullatio Enterprises. I don't portend to know your personal preference, but who amongst us has not fantasized about being on the giving or receiving end of some hot mullatio action? And we're heading into this full speed ahead; indeed, our business plan is already humming along. I'll give you the blow by blow: We're thinking we keep it small in the beginning - maybe some mags, a calendar or two, a few dozen videos. My husband is turning in his two weeks at work today so we can work full time on our new moneymaker. As for me, I'm stepping out into the public for phase one of the full-on Mullatio Drafting Blitzkrieg. I've got the new business cards printed to hand out at various locales tomorrow, including (but not limited to) Krystal, Hardware Heaven, Dan's Fan City, Buy Lo, the Howard Johnson's parking lot, and the Golden Griddle. Here's my heavy hit:

If you think that you would be a match for our intiative (as a spokesmodel or a shareholder), or if you know anyone who may be interested, please let me know. And, spread the word about Mullatio - after all, the oral tradition is still the most effective means of communication. I don't think it's too bold to assert: Mullatio is the wave of the future. Come on - head to where the action is!

it may still be busted, but let's see how many clicks it takes us to see humor-blogs up and running, again!

International House of Pleasure

2008-04-19T00:00:00.001-04:00

Holy crappage, do I ever love me some IHOP, and when I say "love", I mean I could bathe in the sweet euphoric juices of the debonair Rooty Tooty Fresh 'N Fruity. I could sleep each and every night in Chocolate Chip Pancake batter while dreaming about my homie Vive la French Toast skipping over clouds and under rainbows while holding hands with his suave older friend, International Passport.

You know what I hate? Those people who are all, "IHOP is so sick. I can't believe you lick your table when you get there in case the people before you left any bacon greasy maple syrup remnants behind." Oh yeah? Well, up yours, holier than thou jerkrags. I like The Hop, and I'm not afraid who knows it. Every time I ask my husband if we can go eat at my pancake Xanadu, he goes, "IHOP? IHOP Not!" Clever. Each time he says it, I am inches closer to revealing the bombshell that our baby is probably not his.

Anyway, in perusing our favorite concubine, the Internet, I have found some fineass IHOP waitresses to whom I would like to ask a few questions. It is my strongest desire that fate will allow these waitresses to find this blog is eggsalady in order to respond to my burning inquiries.

Mmmkay. Here goes.

This is Letty Hernandez from Burbank, California. First of all, Letty: Girl, why you so fly? And that leads me to my next question. I see you're serving up my boo, the Rooty. Letty, what up with the damn parsley? This isn't the Ramada Inn lounge. This isn't the Shoney's by the airport. Do people ever touch the parsley? Who is touching the parsley? I've got an idea for you to take to management: lose the damn parsley. According to the Summary of Fresh Market Parsley Crop Enterprise Budget and Breakeven Costs Based on Average Grower Yields of 900 Bushels per Acre, 1986, the total production cost per acre of parsley, including machinery, labor, irrigation, seed, ferilizer, labor, containers, rubber bands, ice, et cetera costs $4,921.00. By my calculations, parsley totally blows. Oh, and I guess while I have you here, a couple other things: are the glasses atop your coiffed updo utilitarian, or just an accessory, and, do you ever use the whipped cream during your off hours?

Meet the spokesmodels of the North Orlando International House (the NOIHOP). Unfortunately, we do not have the luxury of knowing the names of these mysteriously lovely vixens o' the flapjack. I like to think of this pair as the Tag Team Champions of the Breakfast Sampler - The World Renowned Metaphorical Duo of the Smokehouse Combo, if you will. Um, Toothie Grin: Who ordered the burger and rings? You must've really pounded the hard sell to that sucker. What, do you get a little boisenberrific commision bump if you hock goods from the nonbreakfast portion of the menu? Surely you must, as I cannot think of any breathing organism that would play breakfast menu insurgent and order from the other side. Wait. I can. It was 1999, and it was a dare: I ordered the International House of Pancakes Fried Shrimp Platter. Readers, this is one prognostication I beseech you to heed: do not make the same mistake that I made. Fried Shrimp and IHOP should not date. They should not even be friends with benefits. I can't help but notice that Non-Toothie-Grin seems to have a knowing, ever so slightly smug expression on her countenance. Am I right, Non-Toothie? You're laughing on the inside that some assmouse has been played yet again, soon to be ingesting the rings and burger of solitude and pain. Please tell me I'm wrong, though I know I'm so right.

I totally stole this picture from someone's flickr page. Their title? "Hot waitress", of course. I guess first and foremost, I want to ask Hot waitress if she is an angel in IHOP heaven. The way the light shines through her pendulous tendrils of golden hair immediately takes my brain to the divinely delectable aromas of sausage that I know drift through those locks. Hot waitress, the appearance of vehement concentration on your face is so intense I can practically hear you asking yourself why it looks as though you are standing in 1976. Hot waitress, if you told me that you were going to meet Jack Tripper after your shift for some late night sheboinging, I'd take your word for it. Hot waitress, do you press your shirt so crisp, or do you send it out to the cleaners? I can only hope that you took a spin in a time machine, thus allowing you to read this post and subsequently answer my burning questions. I look forward to hearing from you.
Last but not least, these are my (fantasy) friends Fran Russell, pictured right, and her unnamed HOP companionista. Things look pretty friendly behind the scenes, eh? I guess, most importantly, if Fran could respond to my every query, I'd first ask exactly what it took to score the coveted IHOP embroidered black cardigan. I liken that coup in my head to winning the green jacket prize of that sexist golf romp, The Masters. But this is better. Look at her friend (I call her by her Indian name Inexplicably Wears Q-Tips in Hair), basking in the warmth that is Frannie the Ultimate Donner of the Cardigan. Hey, Ladies: I can't help but notice that my fresh squeezed orange juice may not be quite as fresh squeezed as I had once believed. I'm cool. But, not to tell you how to do your jobs, but at my house juice works really well when we keep it in the fridge. Just a proposition.

Anyway, I can only hope that our ladies will find us and provide us with the answers we so desire. Until I hear back, I'm definitely going all Hop on that ass this weekend. I'll leave you with yet another reason to visit (again, stolen - see here). There's a Horton Hears a Who celebration in the House, and you can order these Whocakes for a limited time. I'm gonna do it. I'll let you know how it plays out.

Get your pleasure on right here: humor-blogs.com. Go on. Click there, heathens!