Shacknews LoL

My dad wanted a TV installed in his basement office. My mom wasn't happy, so to compromise my brother and I installed a switch in the kitchen that fires up this "get your ass up here" light next to the new TV.

http://chattypics.com/files/iPhoneUpload_hylk68yi69.jpg

http://chattypics.com/files/iPhoneUpload_uifiuo8jml.jpg

RIP infobiter

https://youtu.be/z1MUzISATbQ

Whew. After a rough day I know what to have.

http://chattypics.com/files/iPhoneUpload_2uczpdmvcl.jpg

Thanks shacknews!!!!

You....guys? :(

My wife is obsessed with Wheel of Fortune. Also, English isn't her first language (she grew up in Mexico). I began discretely keeping a record of her ridiculous guesses on my iPhone...she has no idea.

Her guess: Sightseeing Chimpanzees
Actual puzzle: Ordering Appetizers

Her guess: Eating in the sauna
Actual puzzle: Sitting in the sauna

Her guess: Genius bus (it's the opposite of the short bus duh)
Actual puzzle: Gracious host

Her guess: Sofa mountain (sounds p. awesome)
Actual puzzle: Soda fountain

Her guess: Dramatic circumcision (paging abrasion)
Actual puzzle: Dramatic conclusion

I don't know why I even asked.

my colleague, a newly-hired early twenty-something girl:

"so like, my boyfriend was sexually assaulted recently, in a car, some gay guy just kept trying to make out with him, and he didn't know what to do, so he kind of let him, and he felt uncomfortable, and i think ultimately it made him a much better person because he like, now knows what women have to go through every day and he can sympathize. i was so happy. also he's comfortable wearing eyeliner and glitter which makes him so much more masculine than guys who won't wear makeup. those guys are just homophobic and don't know it."

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Someone on Neogaf put all the pieces together from the trailer and has made a nice render of what it should look like:

http://abload.de/img/62ab7goyxayr.jpg

Wesley Snipes and I got into a fight once. I am not even joking about this.

It was at a "Sound Warehouse" in north Plano, TX in 1998. I was there with my crew, and he was there with his crew, except his "Crew" was actually just a gang of dick-riding yes-men and prostitues who wanted to have sex with him, despite his acting career being "Down in the Delta".

Hadn't I seen him recently on television? On an infomercial?

The moment our posse's crossed paths in the Pop/Rap Aisle, I remembered his less-than-stellar performance in "New Jack City", and glared at him with pity and debasement, and made a sound with my mouth sucking air through my teeth. "Tksss..." I was embarrassed to be sharing latitudinal and longitudinal coordinates on a planet with such a shitty actor.

This had a great effect on him, because he stopped, and removed his (obviously imitator design) sunglasses. He folded them onto his T-shirt and said, "Ay nigga? What da fuck you starin at?"

I didn't reply. I only stared. Wesley Snipes said "Look here nigga, I ain't no muthafuckin employee at this motherfuckin store, so if yo punk ass got a question, go find a nigga who IS." He placed his sunglasses back on his face. His posse cheered him on, and began stared me down. I noticed a short, black midget standing to his rear left, grinning and tossing a pair of brown and grey studded nunchucks over his shoulder.

The midget winked at me. This made my blood boil. Steam raised from my cheeks and created a layer of fog on my spectacles, which only made me angrier, which brought more fog. I removed my designer spectacles and folded them in my pocket.

Quietly, I unbuttoned my silk purple cape, then signaled one of my cohorts with my left hand: a signal that meant, "Get out the olive oil, and Rub the olive oil on me." I allowed my purple cape to fall a crumple beautifully against the linoleum floor. I confidently buttoned down the bright pink and orange Hawaiian t-shirt I wore, and said, "Lucky for you, Wesley, I'm not with the I.R.S." My shirt was off, and my cohort methodically rubbed my muscular, curved striations and thick, black muscles with buttery olive oil.

"But I do work for the government.", I said, smiling. To which Wesley Snipes replied, "Oh yeah, punk motherfucka? Which branch?" He cracked his knuckles.

"The Center for Disease Control...."

And you've got Jungle Fever."

I swung my arm back, leaped forward and threw my whole fist at Wesley Snipes' face. My knuckles connected with his jaw with the mind-blowing force of a meteor falling from outer space. The sound of air escaping his cheeks through the corner of his collapsed mouth made him say "GURK!" The oil on my fist allowed it to slick right off of his broken jaw, and I even landed a 4 more blows, before we ended our flight against rack of CD's behind him. He was done.

"Welcome to the Drop Zone", I said.

Suddenly I realized that no one was around us. We had flown over the entire width of the CD Rack and landed directly in the next aisle. I stood up, breathing heavily, pushing air through my teeth. "PFFSSSHT. PFFFSSSSHT. PFFSSSSHTT." I was impressed with myself, and my display of ridiculous power even caused me to have heart palpitations. My crew cheered with orgasmic pride. Some of Mr. Snipes' crew even jeered at his hilarious defeat. I was on such an ego trip that I nearly pissed in my khakis; I almost pissed in my khaki pants out of self-love.

But one member of Wesley's crew didn't think so highly of me. A tall, slender, caucasian body builder, from the looks of it. 6'5, 250 pounds I wagered. He wore a black, cotton karate outfit and a leather, studded belt. With lightning speed he jumped over the display of music, screaming like Tarzan on cocaine. Flying towards me, his face gleamed with the determination of a DoDo Bird on Adderall. I saw that he was more anxious than a teenaged bulemic donating blood.

"You'll pay for this!! Wesley, I will avenge you!!!" He said, coarsing through the air like a cruise missile, leg extended like a two-by-four.

I juked backwards a step, and said, "White men can't jump".

Juking forward, I Karate kicked him in the testicles, feeling them both move to either side of my ankles like pool balls on a billiard table. He screamed like a little girl! God damn I am powerful. I struck the base of his penis with my fist so hard that pain radiated from my knuckles all the way to my teeth. I grinned like I had just won the lottery. The initial sound of my foot hitting his testicles was like a balloon popping, the "POWWWWW" reverberated off of the walls and was defeaning, repeating itself even after my second attack. Having received this punishment mid-air, his body contorted like a swastika, his limbs spinning in circles like helicopter blades and he died right there. True story.