It doesn’t get much more clever than this.
The kind folks at SaveMyAss will mail your sweetie flowers on all the major dates, and send her flowers randomly every four to six weeks:
If you’re a successful professional whose career demands the bulk of your time, you know the situation. You want her to be happy, but work keeps you so busy… and maybe you’re just not as good at being romantic as you’d like to be. Imagine how she’d feel if you sent her flowers on a regular basis. Sign up for this service once, and we’ll take care of the rest.
I wonder. If I asked nicely, would they send Karen tarantulas instead?
Hat tip to Ishbadiddle.
D.
PBW’s post pointed me towards The Generator Blog, which in turn led me to Atom Smasher’s Graffiti Generator, which allowed me to produce this:
which means I must have more politics than sex on my mind at the moment. How odd!
Make sure you don’t miss out on The Machine, too (see my last post) — another great toy.
D.
PS: As long as you’re wasting time, why not play the Dick Cheney Quail Hunting Game?
I predicted it in my trilogy-in-progress.
Sure, in my version it wasn’t the Vice-President involved, but the President, his sons, and some security guys. And they weren’t human, but birds. With, um, arms instead of wings. And they weren’t hunting birds (not intentionally, anyway) but giant killer centipedes. And the outcome was quite a bit bloodier than what happened to Harry Whittington.
Other than that, I nailed it, nailed it cold. Life imitates art.
D.
Technorati tag: cheney
Shelbi wins the drawing. Congratulations!
Thank you, all of you who played. That was a delightful bit of self-stroking for me. If you missed out, don’t feel bad — I’ll have another contest in April when I hit the one year mark.
Shelbi, email me at azureus at harborside (dot) com, and send me your snail mail addie. If you would rather have a gift certificate than Borges’s Collected Fictions, let me know.
Thanks again, everyone.
D.
I own a Miata, which is almost the spittin’ image of this car (except for color).
You live on the edge, and you live for the adrenaline rush. You don’t need luxuries, snob appeal, or superfluous gadgets. You put your top down, get your motor revving, and take all the curves that life throws at you at full speed. So what if you spin out occasionally?
Take the Which Sports Car Are You? quiz.
I found this quiz at Dean’s place.
By the way: don’t forget to enter my 500th Post Giveaway, if you haven’t done so already.
D.
please come over here and tell me about the significance of Du Bist Deutschland and klowände?
They are both top search terms at Technorati, but I can’t find much of an explanation in English. I feel so out of the loop.
D.
File under: shamelessly soliciting (advice)
I’d like to buy a good college biology textbook for my son. My textbook was wonderful, but it also has a 1980 pub date. That might work for math or physics, but biology changes faster than that (especially phylogenetics . . . 1980 is pre-Archaebacteria, if I’m not mistaken).
I’d also like to buy him an American History textbook, high school or college level.
As long as I’m on this topic, we’re going to get to European History after American History — any suggestions for that?
Thanks, folks.
D.
. . . but what the hell!
CNN.com: Mummified Body Found in Front of TV
Quote:
Johannas Pope had told her live-in caregiver that she didn’t want to be buried and planned on returning after she died, Hamilton County Coroner O’Dell Owens said Monday.
Pope died in August 2003 at age 61. Her body was found last week in the upstairs of her home on a quiet street.
Her daughter and granddaughter lived downstairs. They and Ms. Pope’s caregiver all believed she would come back to life.
I think I can forgive the three-year-old granddaughter for thinking that, but the other two?
Here’s how to make a mummy, circa 2006. Prop dead body in front of TV. Leave the air conditioner running — forever. Enter room occasionally to spray body with Lysol.
Don’t let the air conditioner breakdown, ‘cuz guess what, folks — that’s how the neighbors figured it out.
D.