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Source GraphJam.com

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Source: FAILBlog

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We have the standard 6 ft. fence in the backyard, and a few months ago, I heard about burglaries increasing dramatically in the entire city. To make sure this never happened to me, I got an electric fence and ran a single wire along the top of the fence.

Actually, I got the biggest cattle charger Tractor Supply had, made for 26 miles of fence. I then used an 8 ft. long ground rod, and drove it 7.5 ft. into the ground. The ground rod is the key, with the more you have in the ground, the better the fence works.

One day I’m mowing the back yard with my cheapo Wal-Mart 6 hp big wheel push mower. The hot wire is broken and laying out in the yard. I knew for a fact that I unplugged the charger. I pushed the mower around the wire and reached down to grab it, to throw it out of the way.

It seems as though I hadn’t remembered to unplug it after all.

Now I’m standing there, I’ve got the running lawnmower in my right hand and the 1.7 giga-volt fence wire in the other hand. Keep in mind the charger is about the size of a marine battery and has a picture of an upside down cow on fire on the cover.

Time stood still.

The first thing I notice is my penis trying to climb up the front side of my body. My ears curled downwards and I could feel the lawnmower ignition firing in the backside of my brain. Every time that Briggs & Stratton rolled over, I could feel the spark in my head. I was literally at one with the engine.

It seems as though the fence charger and the piece of crap lawnmower were fighting over who would control my electrical impulses.

Science says you cannot crap, pee, and vomit at the same time. I beg to differ. Not only did I do all three at once, but my bowels emptied 3 different times in less than half of a second. It was a Matrix kind of bowel movement, where time is creeping along and you’re all leaned back and BAM BAM BAM you just crap your pants 3 times. It seemed like there were minutes in between but in reality it was so close together. It was like exhaust pulses from a big block Chevy turning 8 grand.

At this point I’m about 30 minutes (maybe 2 seconds) into holding onto the fence wire. My hand is wrapped around the wire palm down so I can’t let go. I grew up on a farm so I know all about electric fences. But Dad always had those piece of crap chargers made by International or whoever that were like 9 volts and just kinda tickled.

This one I could not let go of. The 8 ft. long ground rod is now accepting signals from me through the permadamp Ark-La-Tex river bottom soil. At this point I’m thinking I’m going to have to just man up and take it, until the lawnmower runs out of gas.

‘Damn!,’ I think, as I remember I just filled the tank!

Now the lawnmower is starting to run rough. It has settled into a loping run pattern as if it had some kind of big lawnmower race cam in it. Covered in poop, pee, and with my vomit on my chest, I think ‘Oh God please die… Pleeeeaze die’. But nooooo, it settles into the rough lumpy cam idle nicely and remains there, like a big bore roller cam EFI motor waiting for the go command from its owner’s right foot.

So here I am in the middle of July, 104 degrees, 80% humidity, standing in my own backyard, begging God to kill me. God did not take me that day. He left me there covered in my own fluids to writhe in the misery my own stupidity had created.

I honestly don’t know how I got loose from the wire.

I woke up laying on the ground hours later. The lawnmower was beside me, out of gas. It was later on in the day and I was sunburned.

There were two large dead grass spots where I had been standing, and then another long skinny dead spot where the wire had laid while I was on the ground still holding on to it. I assume I finally had a seizure and in the resulting thrashing had somehow let go of the wire.

Upon waking from my electrically induced sleep I realized a few things:

1. Three of the fillings in my teeth have melted.
2. I now have cramps in the bottoms of my feet and my right butt cheek (not the left, just the right).
3. Poop, pee, and vomit when all mixed together, do not smell as bad as you might think.
4. My left eye will not open.
5. My right eye will not close.
6. The lawnmower runs like a sumbitch now. Seriously! I think our little session cleared out some carbon fouling or something, because it was better than new after that.
7. My testicles are still smaller than average yet they are almost a foot long.
8. I can turn on the TV in the game room by farting while thinking of the number 4 (still don’t understand this???).

That day changed my life. I now have a newfound respect for things. I appreciate the little things more, and now I always triple check to make sure the fence is unplugged before I mow.

The good news is that if a burglar does try to come over the fence, I can clearly visualize what my security system will do to him, and THAT gives me a warm and fuzzy feeling all over, which also reminds me to triple check before I mow.

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Thanks Uncle!

Email. This handy digital manner of getting a message from one person to the next was supposed to make our lives easier and communication instant. Has it? Perhaps for a while this occurred (I believe it was a Thursday), but now it has become yet one more annoyance in our daily lives at the office.

I have a number of reasons for whining about email. Granted, if you’re a regular reader of this site you may have noticed my tendency to whine about most things. That’s because, whilst I may officially by a mere 31 years of age, I find myself having become a cantankerous old fart. Kinda like your granddad. But younger. And less wrinkly.

Inside the company

Peeve 1.1: CCing the world on your verbal diarrhoea
Lately I find that my work email address pushes around 50 to 100 emails my way over the course of a regular working day.

Now really folks. I’m flattered that you find me to be very important (how wrong are you?) and the associated need to include me on your chats to Bob from accounts about the stationery order. However, we have a problem. Well, you have a problem: I’m not interested. It disturbs the flow of my morning porn surfing. No really – if it’s not for me, I’m not interested.

Peeve 1.2: Replying to all. Always
This kind of ties in to Peeve 1.1 above, although not always. Therefore it gets a whole new number assigned to it. Just for clarity. There IS a system. But moving swiftly along:

Are you that person? If Bob sends a mass email to the entire company asking the owner of the blue VW to move the piece of kak before he wrecking-balls it feel free to reply to him and say “Sorry Bob. Yup, that’s me. I’ll move it ASAP.” Simple.

On the other hand you might be that person who hits “Reply to all” and types the same. Well done. 100 people now have to read your back and forth light flirtation session instead of getting any actual work done.

Peeve 1.3: Subject lines
Or rather, the lack of one. If you read the above paragraph (assuming of course you weren’t too busy CCing the entire company into your chat with Sannie at reception about your company parking spot) you’ll have noticed that we all get a lot of email. Occasionally I need to actually search for one in 6 months’ time to check on something. If you never bothered to type a relevant subject line I haven’t a snowball’s chance in Hell of finding it. Ever.

I could obviously just search every email I’ve ever received from you, but if you happen to be the same person mentioned in Peeve 1 I’m left with 84 gazillion results, including the parking spot conundrum, your Auntie’s illness and the associated requests for keeping her in my thoughts and your missing poster about Fifi’s recent mad dash for freedom and applicable unfortunate ending, this might take a while.

Now if you’ve been paying attention you’ll remember that I am apparently important. This in turn means that I don’t have the time to read through 83.999999 gazillion emails looking for the relevant one.

Peeve 1.4: emailing from right next to me
If we work in a 50-storey building feel free to drop me an email with your query about where the file labelled “Bob’s insurance claim that he’s not going to cent for” may be located. It’s all good.

If however we work in the very same office, that’s just lazy. Arise, oh lazy one, and walk the 8 steps to my desk. Ask your question. Then return to your desk. End of story.

Outside the company

Peeve 2.1: Spam
Here’s one I’m sure everyone can relate to. Spam used to be a minor annoyance. Now it actually causes problems due to spam filters having to be so intensive that genuine stuff tends to get thrown into the Spam bin too. This in turn means I have to be careful when emailing someone I’ve never sent an email to before (and am therefore not on his ‘safe senders list’) when writing the subject line (see Peeve 1.2 above) so as not to be deemed spammy and relegated to the Spam bin for all eternity.

Peeve 2.2 Dodgy smut – subject line labelling
And we’re back to the whole subject line whine, but this time from a different angle.

Spammers are not as thick as we like to imagine them to be. They tend to be rather creative lately in their attempts to get you to read their emails and therefore seem to have mastered the art of the subject line. This ties back to Peeve 2.1 in that Spam filters are now stricter. My actual work-related email to a company goes into the bin with all the bits and bobs about winning the lottery you never entered and Nigerian 419 scams, while a deceptively labelled email claiming to be from accounts, but actually inviting you to view some dodgy Scandinavian fetish porn, ends up in your inbox.

It’s all getting way too complicated. Let’s just hit the computer with a hammer and go on holiday.

Nope, can’t do that – there’s more:

Peeve 2.3: “Forward this and get cool free stuff” emails
This one destroys yet another piece of my soul each and every time it happens. It’s been going on for years now and folks still don’t seem to get it, so let’s clear this up once and for all. And now I’m cranky, so it’s time to haul out the big guns: Caps Lock. Computer geeks claim it means you’re shouting and mean business. Whatever. Don’t care. But let’s humour the pale LAN-gaming virgins this one time:

NOBODY, AND THAT INCLUDES BILL GATES, BLACKBERRY AND A MILLION OTHER PLACES/PEOPLE/COMPANIES ARE GOING TO GIVE YOU ANY FREE SHIT JUST FOR FORWARDING AN EMAIL TO SOME OF YOUR FRIENDS (soon-to-be ex-friends if you send them enough of this kak). STOP BEING DOF, STOP SENDING THIS JUNK AND GET ON WITH YOUR LIVES.

General

Peeve 3.1: Email being assumed to be instant
Yes, it gets sent instantly, not read instantly. There’s a difference. Give me a few minutes, mmmkay?

Instant messaging is instant. Email? Not so much.

Peeve 3.2: Using text-speak when emailing
Email has an unlimited number of characters, so why on God’s green earth does anyone feel the need to type in text-speak? This is of course solely a youth problem – old fogeys like me (hack cough wheeze 31 hack cough wheeze) wouldn’t know where to start. In fact, I had to copy the following example from a blog.

This about sums it up perfectly: I rly fel sry 4 tdys uth. Iv spnt cntlss hrs on hr rding tngrs psts. Evry 1 of dem splz bdly. We iz doomd.

Apparently this translates as: I really feel sorry for today’s youth. I’ve spent countless hours on here reading teenager’s post. Every one of them spells badly. We are doomed.

Really? I had no f’ing idea what was being said.

Type properly or get thrashed – your choice pal.

And… I’m done.

Whew.

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Of course you lot are still more than welcome to email me – stu@stustake.com. Let’s hear it!

Beat that.

“Jirre Sannie, but your previously elephantine posterior can like to look maar moer klein these days.”

“Thanks daaaaaaahling, it’s all down to my eating nothing but these microscopic portions of yoghurt twice a day. Now with added E-coli!”

Well done. No-one cares.

Or my personal favourite: shampoo commercials. I swear these folks make ingredients up as they go along…

I are pragtig, but being pragtig means that my kuif gets the kak treated out of it. It’s apparently full of split-ends and dry and breaks easily and and and. Apparently okes don’t smaak that even remotely stukkend. (Not that any self-respecting guy would know a split-end if it lashed him across the bridge of his nose -- but apparently this stuff matters -- Ed). But never fear! I’ve discovered new and improved (so which one is it -- new OR improved -- you can’t have both? -- Ed) Oil of PanTimoSchwarzNier, because I reckon I’m worth it. It contains shiny nanoshit and extract of marsupial claw and chunks of avocado and amino acids fortified with vitamins from the lost city of Atlantis’s high priest’s breakfast scraps. Here’s hoping there’s some actual soaplike substance in there too.

Of course no whine about crappy (LOL -- wait for it…) advertising would be complete without at least a passing mention of certain cereals packed full of bran..

Random hottie struts around in spandex looking hot.
Random hottie then goes on to discuss crimping one off so regularly that you could set your watch to it.
Random hottie no longer so hot.

Which brings me back, in an extremely roundabout fashion, to the point of this post -- yet another rather amusing beer advert -- Heineken’s “Men with Talent” ad. Take a look:

www.youtube.com/watch?v=BGKFEDqDTAE

Legend. Pure legend. 20 points.

Thanks Phillip.

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Other Heineken Ads:

• Heineken walk-in fridge commerical…
• Heineken walking fridge… follow-up to a legend…

Other beer ads:

• Castle Lite ad featuring MC Hammer -- U can’t touch this…
• Castle Lite ad featuring Vanilla Ice…
• And another funny beer ad…

Other beer-related stuff:

• Beer Goggles – proof that the phenomenon is real!
• 20 things you need to know about beer…

Mmmmm beer…

Ari Gold… is a legend! If you’ve watched Entourage you will be more than familiar with the master talent agent to beat all talent agents. This guy has a seriously foul mouth, and yet… everything he says is quite frankly hilarious.

If you have never seen the show you’re probably going to get all offended and your knickers in a knot. If so, you may wanna move it along. For everyone else, read on to relive some of Ari’s finer moments in the show.

Without further ado allow me to present 14 of Ari Gold’s quotes taken from episodes of the awesome and highly entertaining series Entourage.

Lizzy: You got the [NFL] meeting? Shit that’s impressive.
Ari: Yeah, I’d blow myself if I was more flexible.

Ari: Keep your eyes on Andrew Kline.
Lloyd: Keep my eyes on him how?
Ari: Pretend he’s Zac Efron’s Ballsack.

Ari (shouting trough the corridors of Terrence’s offices): Now Lloyd, maybe you’re not here, maybe you are. Either way, you have nothing to fear because I’m not gonna kill you. I love you. You see even though you betrayed me you are the best slave that I ever had. I mean, who could possibly replace the way that you picked up my dry cleaning? No one. Who could better the way you picked up my dog’s shit?
And if I liked short fat men sucking on my dick I’m sure that no one could do it better than you either. So, return to the king or exile yourself from this town forever. You have until the end of the day tomorrow to agree to be rebranded MINE!

Ari: I didn’t go to the Lakers game because they were playing the fucking Bobcats… And I came here today because I thought this was a session on how my wife could learn to communicate, how to answer a question without a question, basic Humanity 101, which I thought, given your wall of fucking diplomas, you could easily fix, or if you couldn’t, you could give her a pill that would either fix it or make her a mute. But now, to turn around and gang up on me? I have work to do. I have hundreds of clients to deal with, and just so we’re clear, I don’t care about ANY OF THEM. They’re ALL just a number, like Wife #1 and Therapist #7… GOOD DAY!

Ari: Die, die, die Lloyd! And when you’re gagging on Davies’ balls I want you to bite down, so he can die too!

Lloyd: What’s wrong?
Ari: Has so much cum squirt in those eyes you can’t see what’s right in front of your face? Amanda Daniels takes that job, Vince is fucked and I’m fucked. Which means we’re all fucked. And we’re fucked in the way you like to get fucked, not fucked in the way normal people like to get fucked.

Ari: People, staff meeting has been cancelled. You all have one goal today: to get Vincent Chase’s brother, Johnny Chase, a job. Any job! I don’t care if it’s a porn shoot in which he is being gang raped by a gaggle of silverback apes, if there are cameras rolling, everybody wins. 10 grand for anyone that can deliver this to me, today.

Mrs. Ari (doesn’t want Ari to pick up his phone during couples therapy): I ask for one hour of a day for his undivided attention, and I can’t even have that.
Ari: You could have it if you want to live in Agoura fucking Hills, and go to group therapy. But if you want a Beverly Hills mansion and you want a country club membership, and you want 9 weeks a year in a Tuscan villa, than I’m gonna need to take a call when it comes in at noon on a motherfucking wednesday.

(Vince’s new movie is pushed 12 weeks)
E: What are we supposed to do for 12 weeks?
Ari: Enjoy life, what else. And snap some below the belt photos of that partner of yours and send them over here. I’m bored…
E: You wish! Later.
Ari: Later.
Mrs. Ari (still half asleep): You’re bored?
Ari: It was a joke baby, you know I’m never bored here. Now give me something.
Mrs. Ari: What time is it?
Ari: I don’t know. My cock doesn’t wear a watch…

Ari: What I’m capable of doing and what you’re capable of doing are two totally different things.
E: So what would you do?
Ari: I would make a scene of biblical proportions. I would lie, scream, beg, borrow and steal. If that somehow didn’t part Amy Miller’s legs then I would call racism and I would yell for all to hear: “you’re really gonna fire my poor black client off the show he CREATED? I’m callin the NAACP, the Reverend Al Sharpton, and the ghost of my man – MALCOM X!”
E: Awesome. Guess I’m gonna try my own thing.

Mrs. Ari (talking about the soap opera she was asked to play in): Tell me that it’s exciting, and that if I did it I would be good.
Ari: It’s a soap opera baby… there is no good, there’s just degrees of bad.
Mrs. Ari: Well, then tell me that I would be pretty. As pretty as the day I left the show.
Ari: Well you left the show when you were 25 and now they shoot everything in hi-def.

(Ari is about to leave his kid’s birthday party for business) Mrs. Ari: Where are you going?
Ari: They flew in the liver, and I gotta do the transplant. Where do you think I’m going?

Ari: Fuck the phones Lloyd! Unless Carmen Electra calls for an emergency tittie fuck, DON’T ANSWER!

Ari: Speak or I will intern you like it’s 1942.
Lloyd: I’m not Japanese, Ari.
Ari: SPEAK!

Ari (to Vince): I have him caddying today. Building his self esteem. (To Lloyd): Go stand in the corner.

www.youtube.com/watch?v=7Bc43153Wlw

How AWESOME is that chorrie?

If still somewhat undecided… here’s a little more to get you stockpiling lottery tickets:

[View with PicLens]

Starting price? R 2 425 000. Bargain!

Yes please!

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Images sourced from:
Mercedes-Benz.co.za
ZCars.com.au

A quick Google search for the top 10 most viewed Youtube videos of all time (as you do) revealed this pearler: the evolution of dance by Judson Laipply.

Apparently I’ve been living in a cave -- this video was posted in April 2006 and is now the third most watched video of all time on Youtube, with (at the time of writing) 147,416,530 views -- one of which was me. Finally. Coz I’m a little slow.

According to Judson’s website, mightaswelldance.com, this video has caused him to do rather well for himself. Here’s a snippet:

The popularity of the video has lead to appearances on popular TV shows including Oprah, The Today Show, 20/20, Ellen, BBC, Inside Edition, E!, Good Morning America. He has also been featured in Rolling Stone magazine and People magazine, among many others. In addition, he has also been in two music videos -- one for Bare Naked Ladies and one for Weezer, performed at halftime of the NBA finals, and continues to bring laughter into the lives of all those who watch it.

You need to see this (unless you’re one of the 147,416,529 people who already have). Watch the evolution of dance from the early 50s to the late 00s, all crammed into six minutes.

www.youtube.com/watch?v=dMH0bHeiRNg

Legend! 20 points!

www.youtube.com/watch?v=wLuHsz7Qd04