Yea, everything written before this post is getting deleted.  Notepad anything you want to keep for shits and giggles.

According to WebWorkerDaily (a group of self-help pundits who refused me into their collective; a move I now regret trying to make), a majority of people who work online suffer from a problem called “Email Bankruptcy”; an inability to priortizie, organize, and furthermore manage their email.

Folks, go drop dead.  Seriously.

I can understand a shit load of email..but how is it possible for you-

no you know what..fuck it.  THIS is something that’s below my standards of ranting.

Holy fucking Christ how stupid can you be.

Just when I thought social networks were turning people into brain dead niche fucking meme loving retards, everyone in the industry struck a new low by CONSTANTLY saying “applications are turning Facebook into MySpace“. And it’s not informationally related fuck pundits like Fox News making the claim either. It’s supposedly the people who wield the same skills to make the applications as the people who actually DO make the applications making such braindead claims. Someone get Ann Coulter on the phone, she’ll love this shit.

Fundamentally, FaceBook is the closest thing to a social network by means of semantics because the applications make use of the concept of ’shared friendship’. I’m not coining any phrases here, it’s just two words of the English fucking vocabulary being put to some decent use here. I don’t want to see it being used on Digg 47 times or I’m fucking someone’s sister. Whatever.

Facebook encourages friendship because nearly every (original) facet of the website made you connect with the people you decided to let access your page. Took pictures? Who’s in this picture? Here’s a link to their page. Writing a blog? Care to make any shout outs? Here’s a link to their page. Facebook automated these processes. MySpace didn’t. Along came the great equalizer: THE APPLICATION PROGRAM INTERFACE (or API you shit brained idiots). The FaceBook API made it possible for people who didn’t work at FaceBook to develop extensions, plugins or more notable applications and add them to their pages for a wider range of functions. Some of them are more social than others, but it’s still there.

Remember when MySpace did that? You don’t? I’m almost certain at some point MySpace let you use the framework of their source to improve the site? YOU MEAN THEY DIDN’T? YOU MEAN MYSPACE IS STILL A ROTTING PIECE OF SHIT THAT HAS NO PLACE ON THE INTERNET? HOLY FUCKING AJAX TAGS BATMAN!!!

Isn’t that something? MySpace NEVER let the users extend the functionality of the website because everyone who uses MySpace like that is ostensibly an asshat. About the most you can do is change your profile layout, and even doing that was discovered by some expeditious HTML geek. There is still no FORMAL way to change the layout of your profile. The only similarity to Facebook is the idea that you can personlize your MySpace profile as much as you want, add as much bling, as much glitter, as much flare as you possibly can before someone files a lawsuit because you gave their 8 year old nymphomaniac daughter a siezure. FaceBook, by virtue of the nature of adding applications at will has a marginal degree of personalization.

Oddly enough, I haven’t seen anyone log onto FaceBook and siezure because of a scrolling animated marquee gif of an lolcat wearing 40 gold necklaces all glimmering and shining in the epileptic glory it withholds.

That’s because FaceBook users don’t need to know HTML. We’re college students. We know AJAX bitch.

Would I pay to read a blog?  No.  Would I pay to read a blog that sends me gifts like t-shirts?  No.

Paying someone to read their blog only feeds into their vanity as a struggling pseudo-intellectual who probably dropped out of college and spends all of their adult time at Starbucks drinking themselves into kidney failure; drinking that much coffee that much of the time will fuck you up.  Sometimes I like to find ways to make money, but ultimately, I’m starting to think the idea of monetizing my website is just shitty.

First of all theres really no security in it.  TextLinkAds, Google AdSense all requires shit to happen that you really can’t control.  You have to make people want to be interested in your shit when otherwise they’d skip over your blog like Michael Jordan over fat chicks.  That’s not in my character to make people do what they don’t want.  I’ll shove what I think is right in your face but I don’t expect you to accept it, just respect it for what it is: awesome.

Second, you’re bound to get what, $6.25 a month, and at that at the END of the month?  So you’ve waited weeks and weeks and weeks and FINALLY your money comes in, but because you were too big of a dumbass waiting for your check to come in instead of getting a job and waiting for that increment to make it, you’ve forgotten to pay your rent, the cell phone bill that you’ve accumulated talking to girls on Friendster, and you smell like shit because you needed to save up money on the water bill; just so you can get a $120 check in the mail from Google.  Isn’t that something?  At the end of it all, you’re bound to be left with $6.25 which in the long-run is the hardest $6.25 you’ll ever make, and the most valuable $6.25 you’ll spend on the Dollar Menu from McDonalds next time you’re too broke to get any groceries.  Which coicidentally…

is right now.  Bring me a McFlurry.

Beware, a rant that isn’t angry at all, but is more insightful of Wayne.

In less than a month and a half, I will be 21 years old.  I’ll be able to legally buy alcohol, in addition to nothing else that really fulfills me as an individual.  However, if it is a fact that the emergence of a new generation is signified by the day the patriarchs of the one before turns 32, then in 12 years I’ll be “old”.  That doesn’t mean entirely too much to me, as a decade is still a considerable amount of time.  Consider this though: I have an excellent memory of-above all else-the movies I’ve seen a as a kid on TV and the big screen.   As a kid, reflecting back I can say that in my opinion, the best movies of my generation were made  when I was a kid.  Now, it would seem as if movies don’t have the same level of narrative polish to them.

I think it’s because of the movie-goers.

People are getting retroactively less intelligent and need plots spoon fed to them. Movies that look good get higher ratings than movies that look like the things you see everyday on your way into work but tell great stories in the process. Voltron will be a horrible movie for people like me who grew up playing with the toys, collecting the action figures and building cardboard ‘mechs’ in the basement and defended the universe. But before this summer is over it’s going to be number 2 to Transformers by the pundits, a knockoff Transformers “wannabe” to the uneducated, and a horrible waste of money to the rest of us.”

Is that to say movies that look good are inherently bad?  In a sense, yes.  300 was an action packed movie that resulted in myself and my best friend to go home, dress up like Spartans and duel it out in the kitchen.  Do we remember anything about the story other than a potentially gay Persian, and a humpback who betrayed his birth-blood and his countryman?  I do, but the principle remains: 300 was an action movie with a very intelligently veiled sex scene (which somewhat supports my postulate that it is only a matter of time before we start seeing full out sex on both the big screen and cable TV.  That includes penetration).

For what it was worth, 300 was an amazing movie if you can get past the erroneous plot enhancements.  Movies like this, Transformers, Rise of the Silver Surfer and now Voltron that are recreations of awesome comic books and cartoons that only end up ruining plots for the sake of a few audience members who don’t know what’s going on cause me to lose faith in an otherwise viable form of entertainment.  I can’t understand the concept of sacrificing accuracy for fabricating appeal in what could very well be misguided production.  That’s just what happened to Transformers and Rise of the Silver Surfer.

Perhaps movie makers should stick to creating their own stories and filming those instead of taking the stories 89% of the country already knows the details of, and trying to change it for the other 11% living under a rock.

My name is Wayne Fiemster, I am a mediocre guy who knows his talk about web design.  I’ve decided not to put the extra effort into making my cover letter seem more special than it really is, simply because I don’t need to.  I have a semester’s worth of college education, and I dropped out because of a lack of motivation to continue.  Somehow in the year 2004, I graduated high school.  I have no real clue how this was accomplished, but on May 24th, I found myself on stage, shaking hands with the principal who said “here is your diploma, go home”.  Those weren’t his exact words, but I really was not paying attention then much more than I was during my entire educational career.  I would like to tell you I am a hard worker, so I will: I am a hard worker.  I have no college degree, I just know what I am doing because I read books and learned what I know through trial and error.  Honestly, another semester of college would have driven me through the wall, and I would end up hating myself for spending money on an agenda I already knew everything there was to know.
I have enough motivation to type a cover letter that makes me look like a complete slacker, but that’s okay; I have enough confidence in myself and my abilities to tell you that while I am not the most pristine candidate for a job who goes to school and listens to a professor yap ad infinitum while I try to inoculate myself with Tylenol PM, I can tell you I know how to make awesome web sites and from what I’ve read that’s what you’re trying to do.  Call me up for an interview if you want, I wont come in looking like I just got back from the bathrooms of McDonald’s or anything depressing to win your sympathy, I just don’t want to go through the work of thinking of a way to make things sound beautiful.
That’s all I really have to say right now, I hope you guys have a good day.

In addition to being awesome, sexy, and furthermore deadly to badgers, I’m apparently HILARIOUS. That’s right kids, Eddie Murphy got nothing on me because I can make Jewish kids piss their pants and jump off buildings in my honor. Amazing aint it?

I was eating a bowl of Frosted Flakes listening to some jackass go on and on about his trip to Burma, when I looked up at him and went “I walked on the MOON.” He laughed so hard the steak he wasn’t yet finished digesting jumped out of his mouth and jammed forks in his eyes. THAT shit was epic. I continued my story

“Yea, the part where you were talking about getting on the German autoban? I was looking at the speedometer, you know in my lunar rover, and it hits me, I’M  THE ONLY PERSON ON THE FUCKING MOON LOLOLOLOLOL”.

Lesson learned kids. Without a doubt I’d impregnate your mother with my jokes of hilarity that I totally stole from watching Brian Regan on YouTube.

BAHAHAHAHHAH go to bed.

In other words, I’m going to calm down a bit with the blog.

That is all.

Does anyone understand the reason for why voicemail exists?  I highly doubt it, but let me open things up by saying this: not to leave me five messages when I don’t pick my phone up.  All honesty up front I’m probably not picking my phone up because I’m either too busy, too lazy, or just not in the vicinity of the annoying piece of shit to actually care what you have to say (not to mention just not answering because I hate you).  That said, people who leave multiple voice messages saying the exact same thing make me very angry.  Even angrier than the people who leave consecutive voice messages with the preamble rhetoric “Oh yea, I almost forgot”; those poor bastards I can forgive because my memory isn’t as good.

I’ve forgotten why I called a person on the first ring and just hung up on them after saying nothing but “hey”.  That’s the intensity of my awesome.  Their eardrums collapse in the wake of something so incredible.

Furthermore, don’t let me catch you calling my phone twice in the span of 20 minutes, and then not leave a message at all.  That makes me go through the trouble of looking up your number and deleting it.  I will do that.  Seriously.  This is the exact process I go through when checking voicemail:

“You have seven new voice messages”
“What the f-”
“First message: ‘Hey It’s Derek.  I was wondering if you wanted to play some basketball later on thi-’ Message erased”
“No”
“Next message: ‘Derek again, just trying you agai-’ Message erased….Next message:..”

At this point, if I hear Derek’s voice again I’m deleting all the voicemails I have, including the ones that may be from sexy women or high paying job offers.  If I do this, and end up losing both sex and a job that would result in me buying something other than a Mustang, I’m no doubtedly going to hunt down Derek and shove a barstool in his nose.  That’d be quite hilarious.

Here’s the gameplan, then.  If you call me, leave ONE voicemail.  One.  There’s no reason I wouldn’t notice the fact that I have new voicemail because there is an icon that I find highly annoying to look at constantly reminding me “hey, someone you don’t like called and left you a message you don’t want to know about”.  If I call you back, great.  If not, deal with it.  Don’t put your life, and subsequently everyone you care about’s life endanger by calling me again.  I got no qualms about fucking a bitch up over a voicemail message.

Thinking about buying a Mustang because you’ve got a new job and the local dealership just slashed interest rates to 3.2 APR?  Think again.  Buying a Mustang makes you a tool, chiefly for the following reasons:

1.  Only tools drive Fords.
   It’s a fact of life you’ll have to accept.  Ford makes shitty cars by the thousands.  That would mean that for every 7 year old there are 10 horribly designed, terribly built Ford automobiles out there.  That’s a ratio I could go without.
2. Mustangs have no redeeming aesthetic qualities to them
   That would include the vintage 40th anniversary edition Mustang that looks exactly like every other Mustang out on the road.  Simply put, the only unique aspect of this car you can possibly have is the paint job.  And even then, seeing 4 black Mustangs with twin racing stripes going on the northbound lane of I-85 is boring.
3. Only girls drive Mustang’s nowadays, anyway
   Seriously.   Go find a Mustang in a parking lot at the mall (it will be about as hard as finding a Starbucks 1 mile down the street from another Starbucks.  Hard as hell) and wait for the driver to show up.  He’s either a tool, or a bitch who shops at Abercrombe and Fitch (that was actually quite contradictory and yet somehow hilariously redundant, I apologize)
4. Buying a Mustang from a dealership is going to get you a car ‘powerful’ enough to push a moped up a dirt hill while being pulled by 3 seals.
   People who associate the modern Mustang with the classic muscle car just need to be shot.  Period.  Hearing one of them roaring down the road only signifies some kid who works at Best Buy and with $20 of his dad’s dollars he went out and got a muffler loud enough to break the sound barrier with decibels alone; and between you and me, any muffler that sounds like a laser charging is enough to make me punch the driver in the gooch.

Safe yourself the hilarity: get a Chevy.  Chevy’s are real cars.  Ever thrown a baby at a Chevy? Exactly.  They always explode within 6 feet of the sheer awesome.