WHAT IN THE FUCK IS THIS THING?
JESUS H. CHRIST I'M SERIOUSLY GOING TO EFFING PUKE.
Goddammit I'm so pissed right now. This is hideous.
Thursday, March 31, 2005
Wednesday, March 30, 2005
3 wishes
If I found a genie lamp and got 3 wishes, here's what I would wish for.
- a sweet ride
- 2 chicks at once
- an indestructible hand
At first glance #3 seems so dumb. But when you think about how awesome it would be to shoot fireworks out of your hand you probably realize that it's you that's dumb.
groundbreaking
I think the guy that invented the spreadsheet really has had the biggest impact on our lives of anyone.
um
Did you ever have your cake but not want to eat it too?
Seems retarded to say "they want to have their cake and eat it too." No fucking shit. Cake is good. I eat it.
Seems retarded to say "they want to have their cake and eat it too." No fucking shit. Cake is good. I eat it.
Monday, March 28, 2005
how much poop?
I've decided that a normal person has at any given time 3 lbs of poop in them in various states. I have also decided that once this is completely purged, you can store approximately 3 days worth of food/poop before you need to go again.
Using these two observed datum, I therefore hypothesize that a normal person of my weight (roughly 195lbs) eats about 1lb of food per day.
This doesn't count water which is moot since we all know that water is roughly 95% water.
Using these two observed datum, I therefore hypothesize that a normal person of my weight (roughly 195lbs) eats about 1lb of food per day.
This doesn't count water which is moot since we all know that water is roughly 95% water.
Tuesday, March 22, 2005
Petey and Chumpo - true stories of my youth
When I was 4 my family moved to "the country." My dad got a good deal on some land and a house that was still standing. My dad did a lot of work to make it better later on but at the time, that's really all that could be said for the house. There were also 7 outbuildings on the property. The milkhouse. The Rory house. The cathouse The front barn. The back barn. The chicken coop and the fort. Not a single building was safe to be in but it never deterred us.
Early on we found a dog under the Rory house and promptly built him a home that matched the other buildings on the property in safety and inhabitability, chained him up and called him Petey. He was a beagle or a lab or something like that. I don't know much about dogs but I know this. He was weak and he could barely pull a sled. A little while later a bigger white stray dog started hanging around mostly feeling sorry for Pete. I think he would just hang around Pete and they would shoot the shit for awhile and then he would take off. A lot of times he would eat Pete's food and drink his water and then be like well thanks for the grub Pete, sorry you're chained to that shitty house but I gotta get going. Then he'd tear off like his ass was on fire and Pete would run with him for 23' 6" and then get his head yanked off by the ol' choker chain.
One day we caught this stray dog, built him a shitty house, chained him up next to Pete and promptly named him Chumpo. I don't know why. He was kind of an asshole to Pete was probably the biggest reason but now he was just a chump chained to a shitty house like Pete and stuck with a couple little a-hole kids who would eventually try to use him as a sled dog. Come to think of itm Chumpo's house was a 55 gallon drum with the top cut off and laid on its side. I'm sure that was pretty comfortable in the winter of '77.
Anyway this story is about how Chumpo ate a fishing hook.
One cold winter day in '79, when I was 7 and my brother was 10, we decided to see if Chumpo could pull us on a sled. We had a pretty decent Yankee Clipper Flexible Flyer with metal rails that steered with a wooden handle than just kinda bent the rails a little. We decided that if we ran clothesline through the handle and then around Chumpo's waist and then hooked it into his choker chain that he could probably manage us. At the time we were pretty malnourished and weighed maybe a buck o five combined. Well iteration 1 as I will refer to it was a moderate success but the cord was really constricting around Chumpo's waist and he would yelp a lot and it was annoying. So we did away with the waist loop and went straigt for the choke chain. It's called a choke chain because it's designed like a metal slipknot for maximum comfort for the dog wearing it. The harder you pull against it the more it chokes the life out of you.
Well at the time I thought Chumpo was just a real hard charger (turns out later I found out he was just fucking crazy and liked to eat cats and even tried to eat me) but for some reason he really enjoyed trying to pull us with that choker chain. He'd go like a bat out of hell for about ten feet then start wheezing like an asthmatic when the chain got tight. Since I was the smart one of the 2 brothers and an inventor of sorts even at age 7, I decided we needed better equipment.
That's when I designed the Chumpiditarod Izod Harness vest. It was a highly technical comfortable pulling harness custom fit to Chumpo. Or it might have been a Captain america underoos t-shirt that we tied clothesline to the sleeve holes and then put on Ol' Chumpo like he was a superhero. Either way he was dashingly good looking as he dashed through the snow. Now I know you're still wondering about the fishing hook
Well Chumpo lacked in perseverance what he made up for in sheer tear ass gumption for the first 10 feet of our rides so I decided we needed some motivation for the ol' pooch so it occurred to me that fishing poles and lunchmeat were readily available. Well it was about this time that my brother convinced me of my brilliance and we quickly assembled the dangling motivation.
Well what I didn't account for was that with proper motivation, Chumpo could actually increase his distance from us on the sled even though we were physically connected to him with the IzodIditarod. So I was dumbfounded when he actually "caught up to" my "chip chop ham on a hook" motivator.
My brother and I after several anxious minutes of soiling ourselves wondering what the hell to do finally decided to just cut the fishing line. Then we vacillated over whether to tell my dad the truth or not about what happened to the hook. I came up with the idea that we were fishing for birds in the giant weeping willow and that the hook got caught in the tree. So we went with it.
When the ol' man got home, he always knew when we had done something assinine and today was no exception. He got out of the old 71 Chevy pickup and strolled over to us. "what's my fishing pole doing out?" he asked. I chimed in with our brillaint allibi. "We were trying to catch birds with it." "Unfortunately though it got hooked up in the willow tree and we lost your hook." Then, as he would every single time we ever tried to pull one over on him, he called us on it. "Whereabouts, I have that old extension ladder, we can probably get it out of there." Fuck me. Why couldn't he ever just say "oh that's a bummer". No way not my old man. "Whereabouts, I have a ladder" It's 50 goddamned degrees below zero, and he wants to go "In Search Of" an 11 cent fishing hook a la Leonard Nimoy. I think we somehow convinced him that it was nowhere to be found but that may have been the first and last time I ever got away with one.
As for Chumpo, he went crazy one day after Petey froze to death, and then he ate Laverne. I just don't think he could deal with Pete's death especially since he was legs up with rigor mortis right there next to him still chained up. Laverne was a crappy cat we got from some friends that dropped cats off at our house all the time. She arrived one day with Shirley. Anyway Chumpo lost his mind, ate Laverne, bit me on the hand, and then my mom shot him.
He was a good dog. Those were good times. Ahh to be young again.
I think this is at least a partial answer to the question Scott asks me at least 5 times a day.
"What the hell is wrong with you?"
Early on we found a dog under the Rory house and promptly built him a home that matched the other buildings on the property in safety and inhabitability, chained him up and called him Petey. He was a beagle or a lab or something like that. I don't know much about dogs but I know this. He was weak and he could barely pull a sled. A little while later a bigger white stray dog started hanging around mostly feeling sorry for Pete. I think he would just hang around Pete and they would shoot the shit for awhile and then he would take off. A lot of times he would eat Pete's food and drink his water and then be like well thanks for the grub Pete, sorry you're chained to that shitty house but I gotta get going. Then he'd tear off like his ass was on fire and Pete would run with him for 23' 6" and then get his head yanked off by the ol' choker chain.
One day we caught this stray dog, built him a shitty house, chained him up next to Pete and promptly named him Chumpo. I don't know why. He was kind of an asshole to Pete was probably the biggest reason but now he was just a chump chained to a shitty house like Pete and stuck with a couple little a-hole kids who would eventually try to use him as a sled dog. Come to think of itm Chumpo's house was a 55 gallon drum with the top cut off and laid on its side. I'm sure that was pretty comfortable in the winter of '77.
Anyway this story is about how Chumpo ate a fishing hook.
One cold winter day in '79, when I was 7 and my brother was 10, we decided to see if Chumpo could pull us on a sled. We had a pretty decent Yankee Clipper Flexible Flyer with metal rails that steered with a wooden handle than just kinda bent the rails a little. We decided that if we ran clothesline through the handle and then around Chumpo's waist and then hooked it into his choker chain that he could probably manage us. At the time we were pretty malnourished and weighed maybe a buck o five combined. Well iteration 1 as I will refer to it was a moderate success but the cord was really constricting around Chumpo's waist and he would yelp a lot and it was annoying. So we did away with the waist loop and went straigt for the choke chain. It's called a choke chain because it's designed like a metal slipknot for maximum comfort for the dog wearing it. The harder you pull against it the more it chokes the life out of you.
Well at the time I thought Chumpo was just a real hard charger (turns out later I found out he was just fucking crazy and liked to eat cats and even tried to eat me) but for some reason he really enjoyed trying to pull us with that choker chain. He'd go like a bat out of hell for about ten feet then start wheezing like an asthmatic when the chain got tight. Since I was the smart one of the 2 brothers and an inventor of sorts even at age 7, I decided we needed better equipment.
That's when I designed the Chumpiditarod Izod Harness vest. It was a highly technical comfortable pulling harness custom fit to Chumpo. Or it might have been a Captain america underoos t-shirt that we tied clothesline to the sleeve holes and then put on Ol' Chumpo like he was a superhero. Either way he was dashingly good looking as he dashed through the snow. Now I know you're still wondering about the fishing hook
Well Chumpo lacked in perseverance what he made up for in sheer tear ass gumption for the first 10 feet of our rides so I decided we needed some motivation for the ol' pooch so it occurred to me that fishing poles and lunchmeat were readily available. Well it was about this time that my brother convinced me of my brilliance and we quickly assembled the dangling motivation.
Well what I didn't account for was that with proper motivation, Chumpo could actually increase his distance from us on the sled even though we were physically connected to him with the IzodIditarod. So I was dumbfounded when he actually "caught up to" my "chip chop ham on a hook" motivator.
My brother and I after several anxious minutes of soiling ourselves wondering what the hell to do finally decided to just cut the fishing line. Then we vacillated over whether to tell my dad the truth or not about what happened to the hook. I came up with the idea that we were fishing for birds in the giant weeping willow and that the hook got caught in the tree. So we went with it.
When the ol' man got home, he always knew when we had done something assinine and today was no exception. He got out of the old 71 Chevy pickup and strolled over to us. "what's my fishing pole doing out?" he asked. I chimed in with our brillaint allibi. "We were trying to catch birds with it." "Unfortunately though it got hooked up in the willow tree and we lost your hook." Then, as he would every single time we ever tried to pull one over on him, he called us on it. "Whereabouts, I have that old extension ladder, we can probably get it out of there." Fuck me. Why couldn't he ever just say "oh that's a bummer". No way not my old man. "Whereabouts, I have a ladder" It's 50 goddamned degrees below zero, and he wants to go "In Search Of" an 11 cent fishing hook a la Leonard Nimoy. I think we somehow convinced him that it was nowhere to be found but that may have been the first and last time I ever got away with one.
As for Chumpo, he went crazy one day after Petey froze to death, and then he ate Laverne. I just don't think he could deal with Pete's death especially since he was legs up with rigor mortis right there next to him still chained up. Laverne was a crappy cat we got from some friends that dropped cats off at our house all the time. She arrived one day with Shirley. Anyway Chumpo lost his mind, ate Laverne, bit me on the hand, and then my mom shot him.
He was a good dog. Those were good times. Ahh to be young again.
I think this is at least a partial answer to the question Scott asks me at least 5 times a day.
"What the hell is wrong with you?"
Monday, March 21, 2005
poor driver
on my walk in this morning I walked past a Schwebels delivery truck parked on the street. The driver was sitting inside preparing to deliver the bread. He looked reasonably well dressed in his Cintas uniform but as I walked past the truck I saw this disturbing sign on the slider door on the passenger side in big red letters.
DRIVER HAS NO MONEY
I knocked on the door and gave him a couple bucks. You never know, it could be the difference between his kids having a good meal or going to bed hungry.
DRIVER HAS NO MONEY
I knocked on the door and gave him a couple bucks. You never know, it could be the difference between his kids having a good meal or going to bed hungry.
Sunday, March 20, 2005
my window fell out
The window on my Volkswagen fell out Friday night. Yeah you read it right. I rolled it down about 2 inches (my passenger violated the airspace) and it fell the rest of the way down into the door. It's to be expected. I mean it is 2 years old and I only paid 30 grand for it so it's not like I should have expected the window to hang around much longer anyway. So this means I have to take it in to get it fixed. And this is where my blog turns into Scott's.
I hate car dealerships and automotive repair shops. There aren't a lot of guarantees in life but here's one. If you take your car in to get repaired or "looked at" or "serviced" by anyone other than a relative or Mother Teresa, you're going to get fucked. I guarantee it. You will either a.) pay for parts you didn't get or b.) pay for service that never happened or c.) literally pay someone to break some fucking thing that wasn't even broken in the first place. Why is this a guarantee? Because you don't know shit about cars. If you did you wouldn't be taking it to them to fix it. You don't know a CV joint from a PCV valve from a Valve Stem. You're an asshole and you have a car that's pretty nice so you can afford it. That's what they're thinking.
Sarah says I have trust issues with doctors. That's probably for another blog entry but if you could somehow graph mistrust by profession, Doctors wouldn't even show up on the graph for me if you include mechanics.
Anyway it was a really cold drive home Friday night. It couldn't have happened in the summertime, it had to happen at 2:30 am when I have a 4o mile drive ahead of me and it's minus 100 outside. I'm taking it in tomorrow to get fixed. They've already told me it's covered under an extended warrantee because it's a known issue. Rest assured though this trip to the dealership for "covered repairs" will not be free. I can't really tell you now what they're going to find wrong with my car but I will let you know tomorrow when Bubba from service calls to give me the damage report. It will be a forthcoming blog entry. I bet I need a new transmission. I bet that's what caused my window to disintegrate.
We'll see.
I hate car dealerships and automotive repair shops. There aren't a lot of guarantees in life but here's one. If you take your car in to get repaired or "looked at" or "serviced" by anyone other than a relative or Mother Teresa, you're going to get fucked. I guarantee it. You will either a.) pay for parts you didn't get or b.) pay for service that never happened or c.) literally pay someone to break some fucking thing that wasn't even broken in the first place. Why is this a guarantee? Because you don't know shit about cars. If you did you wouldn't be taking it to them to fix it. You don't know a CV joint from a PCV valve from a Valve Stem. You're an asshole and you have a car that's pretty nice so you can afford it. That's what they're thinking.
Sarah says I have trust issues with doctors. That's probably for another blog entry but if you could somehow graph mistrust by profession, Doctors wouldn't even show up on the graph for me if you include mechanics.
Anyway it was a really cold drive home Friday night. It couldn't have happened in the summertime, it had to happen at 2:30 am when I have a 4o mile drive ahead of me and it's minus 100 outside. I'm taking it in tomorrow to get fixed. They've already told me it's covered under an extended warrantee because it's a known issue. Rest assured though this trip to the dealership for "covered repairs" will not be free. I can't really tell you now what they're going to find wrong with my car but I will let you know tomorrow when Bubba from service calls to give me the damage report. It will be a forthcoming blog entry. I bet I need a new transmission. I bet that's what caused my window to disintegrate.
We'll see.
in my search for others whose interest is poop
You know how in a person's profile on Blogger, the things listed under interests are actually hyperlinks to all the people's blogs who have that listed also. Well today I started on a mission to find some retarded shit that people had listed there and I put "harp" in my profile. That led me to a lot of retarded shit but nothing too funny. Then I realized that I could just replace the word harp in the url string and not have to keep changing my profile. So obviously I replaced it with "poop" and happened upon this treasure. It's better than anything I could post for you right now. This is quite possibly the hardest I have ever laughed.
and now.
Janitor Nation
and now.
Janitor Nation
Thursday, March 17, 2005
Party Poker? I just met her.
So lately I have a problem where I'm playing poker online like it's a drug. I don't play for real money but as you can tell I've been doing something else besides blogging in the evenings. What I've been doing is actually sort of a blend of blogging and playing poker because you can chat with other players. I usually just say crazy stuff because for some reason most online poker players get royally pissed when you say stupid shit while you play and that makes for nothing but good fun. I told Sarah I would try to capture one of these and paste it onto my blog. Last night's conversation was a real treat. Here it is in all it's glory. FYI, I am jmanpain.
Good times.
jmanpain: what's up home skillets
jmanpain: I've been playing cards with my dogs and I'm getting pretty good so watch out
toml66: speak englis
jmanpain: what do you mean?
toml66: "your dogs" ????
jmanpain: oh sorry canines
jmanpain: actually I meant what's englis?
toml66: stfu and play cards asshole
jmanpain: I have a border collie and a jack russell terrier the collie is pretty good.
toml66: just play cards asshole
jmanpain: hey tom are you 66 years old or do you like to play 66 a lot
toml66: 66 is the number of times i banged your mother
jmanpain: with what
toml66: your dogs
jmanpain: haha good one. *lol*
jmanpain: I don't really get it but I bet that's pretty funny
jmanpain: you guys are awesome *roflmao!*
jmanpain: if I put *'s around something it means I really am doing that FYI.
jmanpain: I just asked my mom what that meant
jmanpain: she just rolled her eyes
jmanpain: she said to tell you it was good
jmanpain: so anybody exclusively using premoistened wipes?
chrisr1324: right here
jmanpain: I don't use regular tp anymore
chrisr1324: tp's overrated
jmanpain: premoistened wipes are my own little slice of heaven
NERDie23: do you carry a box with you when you have to use public bathrooms?
jmanpain: what I normally will do is pre wet a paper towel before I head into the stall
NERDie23: lol
jmanpain: sometimes I will take a bottle of travel sized lotion in and make my own premoistened wipes
jmanpain: I mean put the lotion on the tp
jmanpain: not anything weird
NERDie23: isn't that a hassle though?
NERDie23: do you have to carry a manpurse?
jmanpain: no I'm talking about just the little hotel sized bottle
jmanpain: it fits in your pocket
NERDie23: aren't you afraid that it'll bust in your pocket?
jmanpain: unless you're wearing leather pants or something I guess
jmanpain: nah
jmanpain: it's high grade plastic
NERDie23: you're fearless
jmanpain: I really am
jmanpain: until some guy comes in and sits in the stall next to me
jmanpain: then I'm locked up like fort knox
willy1273: I gotta say, worst conversation ever
mallocup6: I just threw up. boys are gross
NERDie23: yea wtg jman!
Good times.
Wednesday, March 09, 2005
prerequisite
Dear Guy Who Pages Me at 2AM,
When I am entering a blog at 2 AM you can be pretty certain I'm annoyed. For example right now I am annoyed. Why? Because there needs to be a prerequisite when we hire someone to be in charge of deciding when it's a good idea to page somebody and clearly, you didn't pass the test.
Here's the deal.
a.)User is retarded
is not the same as
b.)users are unable to access the server
I can see how you might slip up and misconstrue a as b but here are some simple questions to ask the user in choice a above to help you make the determination.
guy in charge of paging me: hello user, are you more than one person?
user: haha, no I am just one person
guy in charge of paging me: are you retarded?
user: yes. indeed I am retarded
in that case don't fucking page me at 2 AM. If by some catastrophic brainfart you still decide against all reason and better judgement to page me, please don't report situation a.) above as "hey John, users are reporting that they are not able to get to the server" as you should have been able to discern from the subsequent questions that in fact the one person having a problem is not multiple peole based on his answering no to the question "are you more than one person"
See I'm not so annoyed by the fact that you paged me to help retarded user as I am that you lie to me and say that retarded user is multiple people. There's a fundamental difference in the way I will go about my job to assess the situation when it's reported to me as "multiple people" (clearly a lie) and "some retarded user" (clearly the truth)
So hopefully this will help you decide next time if your 2 AM page is going to a.) simply annoy me or b.) make me want you to die 100 times and then just maybe if it's b you'll think twice.
Go eff yourself,
John
When I am entering a blog at 2 AM you can be pretty certain I'm annoyed. For example right now I am annoyed. Why? Because there needs to be a prerequisite when we hire someone to be in charge of deciding when it's a good idea to page somebody and clearly, you didn't pass the test.
Here's the deal.
a.)User is retarded
is not the same as
b.)users are unable to access the server
I can see how you might slip up and misconstrue a as b but here are some simple questions to ask the user in choice a above to help you make the determination.
guy in charge of paging me: hello user, are you more than one person?
user: haha, no I am just one person
guy in charge of paging me: are you retarded?
user: yes. indeed I am retarded
in that case don't fucking page me at 2 AM. If by some catastrophic brainfart you still decide against all reason and better judgement to page me, please don't report situation a.) above as "hey John, users are reporting that they are not able to get to the server" as you should have been able to discern from the subsequent questions that in fact the one person having a problem is not multiple peole based on his answering no to the question "are you more than one person"
See I'm not so annoyed by the fact that you paged me to help retarded user as I am that you lie to me and say that retarded user is multiple people. There's a fundamental difference in the way I will go about my job to assess the situation when it's reported to me as "multiple people" (clearly a lie) and "some retarded user" (clearly the truth)
So hopefully this will help you decide next time if your 2 AM page is going to a.) simply annoy me or b.) make me want you to die 100 times and then just maybe if it's b you'll think twice.
Go eff yourself,
John
Monday, March 07, 2005
master or slave?
My wife's sister and her husband just bought a new computer and my brother in law asked me recently what would be the easiest/best way to get their data from the old one onto the new one. So I gave him a few options but in the end I just told him to take out the old hard drive and put it into the new one and copy the data over directly.
He asked if there was anything more to it and I said "well make sure you set the jumper on the back of the old drive to slave mode" at which point my sister in law who had tuned out long ago because we were talking about dork stuff says "I wish boys came with that option." I responded by covertly slipping my wedding ring off and said in my special deadpan way "oh there is, you just slide this jumper (gesturing to wedding band) onto this pin (left ring finger)." At which point she used a different pin on her right hand to show her disdain.
He asked if there was anything more to it and I said "well make sure you set the jumper on the back of the old drive to slave mode" at which point my sister in law who had tuned out long ago because we were talking about dork stuff says "I wish boys came with that option." I responded by covertly slipping my wedding ring off and said in my special deadpan way "oh there is, you just slide this jumper (gesturing to wedding band) onto this pin (left ring finger)." At which point she used a different pin on her right hand to show her disdain.
Sunday, March 06, 2005
what not to do when you're 33
There are things you just don't think a lot about until you can't do them. Pooping probably is the first thing that comes to mind if you read this blog. Fortunately the subject is not poop today.
I actually played tackle football yesterday with 13 other people, none of which was as old as me. There's a reason why 33 yr olds aren't out playing tackle football much. The reason is very simple. Because the next day they will wish they were dead.
Here's my status. If an injury report were listed by each individual body part, not a single part of me would get higher than pr. Knees doubtful. Hips, thighs, neck, chest, ass, hand, calf, foot, head and tooth, etc. doubtful.
I'm in a great deal of pain. I believe there are things that might be broken but I'm in so much pain in general that I really haven't realized the individual items. I haven't taken inventory so to speak.
In short, I am a complete and utter jackass and I may never walk normally again so I wrote myself a note.
God I hate myself.
I actually played tackle football yesterday with 13 other people, none of which was as old as me. There's a reason why 33 yr olds aren't out playing tackle football much. The reason is very simple. Because the next day they will wish they were dead.
Here's my status. If an injury report were listed by each individual body part, not a single part of me would get higher than pr. Knees doubtful. Hips, thighs, neck, chest, ass, hand, calf, foot, head and tooth, etc. doubtful.
I'm in a great deal of pain. I believe there are things that might be broken but I'm in so much pain in general that I really haven't realized the individual items. I haven't taken inventory so to speak.
In short, I am a complete and utter jackass and I may never walk normally again so I wrote myself a note.
Dear Jackass,
Are you thinking about playing tackle football this weekend? I thought maybe I would send you a note to remind you of something. YOU'RE FUCKING OLD AND OUT OF SHAPE! Stop being a jackass and go play cribbage or something.
Sincerely,
Assclown
God I hate myself.
Friday, March 04, 2005
Thursday, March 03, 2005
Wednesday, March 02, 2005
winning Keira Knightley
I wrote this poem for Keira Knightley.
I think probably if she reads it she won't be able to resist my charms.
For Keira Knightley
I'm paparazzi
If Keira Knightley were dice
she's Yahtzee
For Keira Knightley
I pop arouser
in the front and center
of my trousers
I think probably if she reads it she won't be able to resist my charms.
For Keira Knightley
I'm paparazzi
If Keira Knightley were dice
she's Yahtzee
For Keira Knightley
I pop arouser
in the front and center
of my trousers
Tuesday, March 01, 2005
stupid invention
I had to unstaple something today. It's the first time I can remember doing that in like a few years I bet. I was thinking, a staple remover might be nice. Then I thought wtf? How many times must you fuck up when stapling something to actually need a staple remover. I consider the staple to be a semi permanent commitment to binding things. I'm not just willy nilly stapling shit all over the place. If you need a staple remover, you might want to seriously consider switching to paper clips for awhile.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
