iPhone Haterz

The iPhone 3GS

Sure, I’ve professed my love for the iPhone to so many people. I’ve bragged about it and it’s superiority to other smartphones. And there are many other geeks out there that would agree with me.

However, right now… in this very moment, I absolutely HATE my iPhone. HATE.

I’m not even two years into my iPhone 3GS ownership and, already, I have battery issues. Also, I think that I’ve got an issue with my dock connection which cuts the life to an unusable low level. Basically, on a good day, I can get maybe 20 minutes of use out of my phone when it is not plugged in and that’s after I turned off the 3G and dimmed the screen.

I’d read articles that would chide the iPhone for not having a removable battery. I read those articles and thought that they were really backwards thinkers for wanting to have battery access. Having the battery sealed inside the phone housing was an innovation, right?

It’s only an innovation if you have a fresh battery. Otherwise, it’s a massive pain in the fucking ass that turns out to be wicked expensive to fix. It’s so bad that I almost want to consider buying an Android phone but I’ve already invested so much money in apps for iOS devices that it’s a little late to change now.

So. Fucking. Close.

Yeah, you heard me bitch. Nuke.

I can’t believe it. I went 38-12 on a match, playing on Storm and got a 24 kill streak… WITH my Tactical Nuke turned ON. Time ran out before I could get the 25th kill and throw it out there.

Fuck.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuckity-fuck-fuck.

(And, in case you weren’t sure… I’ve never called in a Nuke before. Did I say ‘fuck’? Because I meant, ‘FUUUUUCK’!!)

Vancouver Canucks… FAIL!!!

TIMMMAAAAYYYYY!!

My apologies for making the South Park reference but my boy, Timmy Thomas, almost single handedly won the Stanley Cup for the mother-fucking Boston Bruins. Screw the Great Wall of China… there ain’t NOTHIN’ getting past Tim Thomas!

Oh yeah… Vancouver? Fuck you. Assholes.

PS: I hope the golfing is good. BWAHAHAHA!!  Viva Le Oilers!!

A Summer Of Birthdays

The Empire celebrated not one but two momentous occasions very recently.

The month of May holds the birthdays of the Prince of Stanley as well as the Prince of Albacore! Not only are they in the same month but they are a mere eight days apart!

As such, these two birthdays were rejoiced and heralded by everyone living within the borders of this great nation. Great feasts were held in their honour with gifts and music.

Many friends of the two princes came to join in the festivities. The Prince of Stanley had a sleepover while the Prince of Albacore opted for a family campout in the backwoods wilderness immediately behind the palace.

All that being said, it was an expensive month to try to balance the budget and maintain the infrastructure while still jubilantly commemorating these events. The best part is that the Queen has a birthday in June while the Duke grows another year older in July. It’s a non-stop cavalcade of birthdays throughout the summer. No wonder we never get anywhere.

Is The Smoke I Smell?

Blech.

I don’t know what the hell is with my senses lately; I think my sense of smell is really out of whack. In this last week, I feel like I have constantly been smelling cigarette smoke.

At work, at home, in the car… everywhere I know that no one is smoking, I keep thinking that I am smelling smoke. And, knowing that and being aware of that… I wonder if I’m going insane or that I’ve got a brain tumor.

I suppose that it’s possible that there actually IS a hint of smoke in the air from the wildfires that have been burning out of control further north from the NJLE however I am doubtful since I haven’t heard anyone else complaining about smelling smoke.

Of course, there is a third possibility; that I’ve simply been thinking too hard and I’ve burned something out in my head.

With A Tongue Of Madness

I am here tonight to share a great truth with you.

I’m here tonight to dehypnotize you; to free you from a deadly collective obsession. I’m a voice for those who dare not speak, I’m a cry for hearts that suffer in silence and I’m here tonight to tell you what needs to be told.

I feel an itch for public service and I’ve got to scratch it.

In this best of all possible words, everything is in a hell of a mess; everyone knows it, everyone has a different explanation for it… but all these explanations are bunk. Not money, or the lack of it… not the atom bomb or the hydrogen bomb or the cobalt bomb are responsible for our plight. Not capitalism or socialism, not militarism or pacifism, not cannibalism or ventriloquism… none of these are to blame, none of these are at fault. They are mere symptoms, they are mere manifestations of an evil that is deeper rooted.

The true cause of our problems and pains; the basic cause of our headaches and heartaches and torments and turmoils and calamities and crimes… the real cause has been hidden from us; hidden by the very men who are supposed to enlighten and protect us.

The medical profession.

I accuse medical science; I say medical science is a fraud… an organized system of ignorance… I say medical science is a conspiracy, a pre-meditated idiocy.

The Princely Puppy Of Pee-Pee

Sir Wicket of Barkingham

It’s interesting how Wicket, the royal canine, will have an “accident” on the floor of the kitchen, even at four and a half years old. By this point, he should really be fully house trained because he knows how to ask to be let out to pee. He knows however he doesn’t always do it, for some reason. MOST of the time, he’s good.

Today, however, I had to clean up one of his messes. Normally, a King wouldn’t perform this type of menial task however let me say that I am no regular King. I am a King of the people and for the people. Even more importantly, I am a King for the canines. I look out for everyone… man or beast, large or small. All of them are under my protection and care. THAT’S the kind of King I am.

Anyway, as I said, I was cleaning up the mess and cast a casual gaze over into the Royal Living Room where I could see Wicket laying down with his head on the floor, looking very frowny. And I can tell he was frowning… after living with an animal for a few years and getting to know their personality, you can usually tell when they are happy or when they are upset and even when they are afraid or sad. You may not know exactly why… but you just know.

In this case, I wasn’t completely sure what his state of mind was and what he was thinking or feeling but I’d narrowed it down to two options:

1) Regret: “Dad, I’m sorry that I went pee on the floor; I’m so embarrassed and ashamed.”

or

2) Depressed: “Dude, you don’t even understand how hard it was for me to get that JUST the way I wanted it and now you’re destroying it? I AM SO MAD RIGHT NOW.”

To add insult to injury for our fair pooch; once I was done desecrating his masterpiece, I released his arch-nemesis: the Kenmore MD 12A canister vacuum cleaner with motorized power nozzle (which shall be referred to henceforth as ‘The Kraken’.)

Upon seeing it’s green hide and grey underbelly, Wicket tucked his tail between his legs and skittered off in the opposite direction. As The Kraken roared to life and began roving over the floors of the JeffLand palace, Wicket jumped for the safety of the sofa and remained there until The Kraken’s skinny grey tail retracted back into its body and it laid still.

After all of that, I’m pretty sure that Sir Wicket will be extremely choked at me and I the likelihood is high that I will return to the palace to find another yellow puddle in the Royal Dining Room, left partially out of fear and partially out of hateful spite.

It isn’t easy trying to be a King for the canines. I guess you really can’t please all of the dogs all of the time.