Digital Chum - Virtual fish guts and other nonsense

wtf

Curse you, Phil Mickelson!

Phil Mickelson in commercial: “If you have painful, swollen joints, I’ve been in your shoes.”

Dammit, Phil! Get out of my shoes! You’re making my joints hurt!!! …and what the hell kind of disease do you have on your feet that causes my joints to hurt!!?!?

Seriously, guys? Swords would be less painful.

Boromir and Aragorn have a poetry-based pissing contest…

“Then let us start as soon as it is light tomorrow, if we can,” said Boromir. “The wolf that one hears is worse than the orc that one fears.”

“True!” said Aragorn, loosening his sword in its sheath. “But where the warg howls, there also the orc prowls.”

That’s an actual quote from The Lord of the Rings (a bit before the fellowship enters Moria). I kid you not.

It’s like Dr. Seuss briefly took over for Tolkien. WTF.

Zero miles remaining

I drove to work this morning with my car running mostly on fumes. I think my “miles you can drive before you have to call your wife to come bring gas because you’re stranded like an ass on the side of the highway” were around nine when I stopped to put two gallons of gas into my tank… plenty to get me home to the gas station where I could get a huge discount (and pay only $1.29 per gallon).

After work, I hopped back in my car, expecting my “miles left” estimate to be somewhere around fifty but, to my surprise, it was at nine.

Nine?

Didn’t I add two gallons this morning… about a mile from the office? I started to doubt that the morning’s brief fuel pump stop had actually occurred, but then realized that yes… yes, it had. The fuel gauge needle looked suspiciously higher than it would if the “nine” was justified.

So I started to drive to the gas station near my home (about thirty miles away), secure (somewhat) in the knowledge that I had put enough gas in the car to get me home. To my amusement, the mileage estimator counted down dutifully from nine… to zero… while I was driving. Sadly, it didn’t go negative.

So here’s a chronological series of photographic evidence, proving beyond doubt that my car, having sat in the cold, office parking lot for eight hours, had somehow found the time to partake in some form of computer-system-altering chemicals of a dubious nature.

First, the early warning sign when I started the car.

Fuel Level Low - Oh no!

My car, through its obviously distorted view of reality, estimates that I can go zero miles before running out of gas. Note the odometer reads 75585.

Down to zero... but I'm still moving!

When I got to the gas station… five miles later… the estimate still read zero. It was actually at zero for longer than five miles, but I didn’t want to take a picture of my dashboard while driving sevent… umm… within the legal speed limit down the highway.

Still zero... five miles later

After the fill-up, the estimate seemed to be more in line with reality. Hooray!

Ah! That's better!

Let’s not speak of the lamb.

I’ll pass, thank you very much.

No. No, I don’t think so. Thanks for the offer, though. I’m going to have to pass.

Head Cheese - No, no, no.

Tonight…

Tonight there will be two fewer testicles in the house than there were last night. Just sayin’.