“Quatar”, an incorrect spelling of “Qatar”, was trending on Twitter the other day.
Twitter has an estimated 190 million users. Qatar has an estimated population of 1.6 million people.
Given that it was a trending topic, it’s relatively safe to assume that more than the population of Qatar itself was talking about ‘Quatar’.
Thus, if you subscribe to the idea that the definition of any philosophical or ideological principle (in this case a country, but you could go with ‘right’ or ‘wrong’ or ‘mad’) is defined either by consensus or majority, you’d be forced to admit that Twitter, however briefly, renamed a country.
You're viewing all posts tagged with insomnia
Alternative Titles For “That’s So Raven”
- That’s… that’s disconcertingly Raven.
- That’s so GLAVIN.
- Hey, woah, that’s a little too Raven.
- I’m sorry. The doctors tried everything they could, but… it’s Raven.
- Is that so, Raven. *glare*
- That’s so Kraven The Hunter.
- That’s so ravin’. *boomksshboomkssh*
The Ultimate Lifehack
The article’s headline read “Guilt yourself into getting things done using dry markers and a whiteboard!” and I had a vivid mental image of a man found dead, face awash with colours, having eventually broken down and eaten dry-marker after dry-marker, just to stop feeling. Just to stop the cycle of tasks and guilt and shame and terrible, terrible productivity.
Being Darth Vader’s lover must suck. If just kinda fooling around, you’re left choosing between a robotic-hand-job or some kind of weird, heavy-breathing helmet-job. And if you get more serious, you just know he’s probably into that force-choking thing in the bedroom.
And it’s probably going to all go down in that strange sphere-thing he (presumably) sleeps in, and that’s gonna be cold, sterile and probably smell a little of his weird suit, which I always imagine (for no good reason) smells kinda like sweaty lemonade. There’s always a chance that a minion will open up his weird, hissing sphere-room too, you know, mid-helmet-job, and that poor bastard is almost certainly going to be force-choked, and not in a sexy way. Unless, oh God, it somehow starts turning into a sexy way, you know, like those fantasies where your girlfriend’s hot friend walks in half-way and she’s kinda into it, only with this it’s a weird, Nazi-looking guy with a British accent and Darth Vader is ‘downstairs’ trying to make sure your junk doesn’t get caught in his helmet grill because, wow, awkward.
Yikes.
No, siree, I would not want to sleep with Darth Vader.
“
The wool cap was popular with the troops but officers thought it was slovenly. For unknown reasons it was nicknamed “beanie” and is also called a “jeep cap”. The M-1943 Field Cap (developed as part of the layered M-1943 field jacket uniform system) superceded it toward the end of World War II. The television series M*A*S*H made this World War II cap famous, although the setting of the show is supposed to be the Korean War. The jeep cap was worn in all the epiodes by the character Cpl. Walter “Radar” O’Reilly, the 4077th Mobile Army Surgical Hospital company clerk. The photo at right shows actor Gary Burghoff as Radar, with cap.
Also, hey, if you’re so inclined, you can buy a faithful, alpaca-wool reproduction of Radar’s hat right here.
You ever wonder what Chewbacca’s middle name is?
And if it’s “ingTo”, that way he’d be Chew IngTo Bacca?
No?
Okay.
My gym has a grappling area they’ve labelled ‘the choke zone’.”
“Finally,” I thought when I first saw it. “A zone within which to do all my choking.”
The Polka-trance Fandango
The new neighbours are drunk, outside, and playing what I swear sounds like polka-trance. There are beats, you know, of the trance variety - that much I can definitely identify. I understand beats, I suppose, though it’s not something I look for in my 1am listening. Even less so, the accordion.
Yes, the accordion. Harbinger of sea-shanties, polka dances and apparently drunken Polish trance music. Why they’re even legal I have no idea. As America has gun laws, so should Britain have accordion laws. Carrying an unlicensed accordion? 5 years in the big house. Concealed accordion? 15 years. Mercilessly and without provocation playing a sea-shanty in a public place? I, for one, would advocate that we bring back hanging, or at the very least sterilise the perpetrators lest they adversely influence the young and weak-willed.
Occasionally they shout things, these drunken neighbours. Mostly it’s “Welcome to our world!”. I don’t really understand the attraction of this world apparently filled with polka-trance is. I wonder what colour the sky is on this world of theirs, and who there Prime Minister is, and whether they have ice-cream.
I’d go out and argue with them (shut up I would), but my other neighbour is doing that right now. I like my other neighbour. He wears a bathrobe during the day, and I think I once saw him smoking a fancy cigarette.
You have to respect that in a man.
He’s doing okay out there, I think, presenting the rational line of argument that you present in these situations. Unfortunately, like most people who present this kind of rational argument in this kind of situation, he’s making the assumption that his opponents are rational. They are not. One (and I’m assuming it’s a woman) just flashed her breasts at him. He took it as calmly as a man in a bathrobe would be expected to.
I wonder if he has two bathrobes. You know, one for the day and one for at night. And maybe one for special occasions - for when he has company around or just wants to feel special.
He’s being drowned out now though, and, yes, he’s retreating inside. They’d started singing what I assume is the Polish national anthem in protest, you see, and what bathrobed gentleman can be expected to endure that. The beats and accordion have stopped, at least.
I wonder if I should get a bathrobe.
Oh, wait, I spoke too soon. There it is again, the accordion. And the beats. But mostly the accordion.
Hanging’s too good for them.
