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Friday, February 15, 2002
Dictionary.com is a fine site; in fact, I consult it frequently when writing this columm. One of the sillier features, however, is a link at the top of the page that lets you get the top 10 websites for any word you look up. For instance, if you type in "rabid monkeys," you get your definition, along with a message like this:  It's some ridiculous traffic-share agreement with AskJeeves.com, and it makes no sense at all. Especially since there's no smut filter, so it will show you the top 10 sites for any word. I discovered this when I recently looked up the word "pussy," as in "filled with pus." Here's what turned up:
 First of all, if these are listed in order of common usage, then the list should be reversed. I guess the folks at Houghton Mifflin are too scared to admit the real usage of some words. What a bunch of pussies.
When you click the link for the "Top 10 Most Popular Sites For Pussy," you can imagine what turns up:
 Enraged, I sent them this prank e-mail:
Dear Dictionary.com:
I always thought your online dictionary site was family-friendly, so you can imagine my SHOCK and HORROR when I recently looked up the word "pussy"!!!
I have a cousin who recently lost an arm to gangrene, and I couldn't remember if the term was "pus-y," "pussy," "pus-filled," or "awash with pus." To my dismay, your site gave me the top 10 sites for the FEMALE VAGINA!!!! I was trying to find out the proper term for an oozing sore, good sirs and madams! I was not interested in HAIRY PUSSY, PRETEEN PUSSY, BLACK PUSSY, or PUSSY THUMBNAILS (whatever that is)!!! These are the sites that YOUR website returned!!!!!!!!
Now, what if my five month-old son was looking up the word for a cat, and found instead the site for ESKIMO PUSSY - WHERE THE AIR MAY BE COLD, BUT THE PUSSY IS STILL HOT!?!?? Or PUSSY AIRLINES - XXX PORNO SEX SECRETS OF PUSSY LICKING FLIGHT CREWS?!?! These are the sites referenced by YOUR WHOLESOME FAMILY SITE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
And as if that weren't enough, then you give me the option to look up "pussy" in the YELLOW PAGES! WHAT THE H-E-DOUBLE-HOCKEY-STICK IS GOING ON HERE?!!?
I DON'T KNOW WHO THIS ASK JEEVES FELLOW IS, BUT HE IS CLEARLY A PERVERT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Jim Ohn-Hargrave Maybe they should change their name to DICKtionary.com.
Thursday, February 14, 2002
In college, I knew this group of guys who were massive stoners, who went to sleep at night wearing oxygen masks hooked up to their bongs. They lived in a friendly house of filth and squalor, as Martha Stewart might have decorated it had she been a crack whore. The bathroom floor was covered with a light shag of pubic hair, the holes in the walls were covered with blacklight posters, and the kitchen counter was covered with half-eaten bags of munchies. I believe the War on Drugs was singlehandedly lost by these guys. Jade and I, who lived a few blocks away, ran into the four of them one night as they were sitting in their car. Their eyes were as red as if they had slept face-down in a pile of table salt. We asked how they were doing, and they told us they were going out to celebrate the birthday of one of the guys, whom we'll call Cheech.
"Did you boys smoke some drugs?" I asked, wagging my finger at them.
"Heh," said the guy at the wheel, whom we'll call Chong. "Heh heh," he added after a moment's thought.
"You guys shouldn't be driving," said Jade.
"That's right," I said. "In fact," I said, spotting a police car idling down the block, "I'm going to go tell that policeman."
You could see their paranoia-laced brains working on that one. "Hey man," said Cheech, "be cool."
"Yeah," said Chong. "Heh heh," he added nervously.
"I believe it's my duty as a responsible citizen," I said, walking down to the police car.
Jade and I reached the police car, where an officer was sitting with his windows rolled down, enjoying the summer evening. "Excuse me," I said, thinking quickly. "Do you know where there's another ATM? I just tried using THAT one," and here I pointed to the ATM conveniently located just behind the car with the stoners, "but it's not working." Then, I stood up so that I was just out of view of the cop, and I made the universal "joint" gesture, putting my thumb and finger to my lips. I made little "crazy spirals" around my ear with the other hand.
From their vantage point in the car, the potheads saw me approach the cop, point back to their car, and then mime like I was smoking a joint. In their judgment-impaired state, they really thought I was narcing them out. They were wetting themselves. It was beautiful.
The cop, who only heard me ask for an ATM, pointed down the street. "About a block down that way, there's another one," he said.
"Thank you, officer," I said, smiling.
"No problem."
I turned to the guys in the car, gave them a cheery wave, and Jade and I went on to enjoy our evening. I heard later that the guys sat frozen in their car for a solid half-hour, petrified that the cop was watching them, not wanting to drive away, but not able to abandon their car.
Sometimes I love being evil.
Tomorrow: prank e-mail to the world's dirtiest online dictionary!
Wednesday, February 13, 2002
Last week, my wife Jade had her credit cards stolen. She was in a crowded restaurant (so we think), with her purse slung over the back of her chair. Someone apparently rifled through her wallet, taking only her credit cards, and kindly replaced the wallet when finished. What I like about today's criminals is that they're so courteous. A lot of them even take the time to clean off their fingerprints, which really is going the extra mile. We found out the cards were stolen when Chase Visa called my wife at work a few hours later and asked if she had just made a $1700 purchase at Sears. I guess Chase has a team of anal-retentive accountants who pore over every purchase you make and decide whether it was made by you, or a wily thief. Or maybe it's done with computers. Either way, knowing that someone is tracking every time I buy condoms or an adult video is reassuring. The loss of my privacy feels good.
What's remarkable to me is how little it affected us. We had the cards immediately cancelled, and the theft was covered under our credit card policies, so we didn't even have to pay a deductible. The total damage was only a few thousand dollars, and I am told the credit card companies won't go after someone for that tiny amount. Let me put it this way: later in the day, I spilled some hot chocolate on my shoe, and I spent about an hour obsessing over that. In comparison, the credit card ordeal took about 20 minutes.
So in the future, if you need to commit a victimless crime, think of stealing credit cards. I'm heartily endorsing credit card fraud as the delinquency of choice for our nation's youth. It's non-violent, safe, and the only people who get screwed are the credit card companies. And, let's face it, they probably deserve it anyway.
Tomorrow: a classic college drug story!
Monday, February 11, 2002
Over the weekend, several hundred ZUG fans got together for "GABFest 2002," a live event which brought together the community that has sprung up around GAB, our message board. If you didn't make it, you missed a very fun time. There were a lot of women kissing each other. Meg, one of our original ZUG superfans, actually got ZUG.com license plates for her car, which I will feature in an upcoming Journal. I thought those who organized it did a bang-up job. It was truly a weekend to remember. Though I don't remember most of it. Just before the event, one of the attendees, Laura Knights, created an amusing web page called "John's Journal GABLibs," which lets you write one of my Journals, "Mad-Libs" style. Based on a column I wrote a few weeks ago about an embarrassing work-related event, here are a few of the entries which were rated funniest by our readers:
From Al Natanagara:
A few years back, I worked for a company that had an annual "burnt umber goat" party during the month of January. The idea, if you're not familiar with this tradition, is that everyone trades their unwanted holiday pants. In some parts of the country, it's called a "Cantabridgian Third-Annual Goat Felch-off."
The way it worked was that everyone shaved their bloated head, then placed their finger in hardened spooge. One by one, people selected a finger at random from the spooge, then slapped it. You could then elect to keep your finger, or exchange it for any other finger that had already been slapped. Those who went first had the greatest selection of fingers, but those who went last had the greatest selection of slapped fingers.
Halfway through the finger Third-Annual Goat Felch-off, a large, foetid Grand Poopypants from Mexico chose a finger package about the size of a clitoris. As everyone stroked, he opened it to find a rotund blood-colored rubber arm.
"Sacre merde!" I distinctly remember him saying. "Sacre merde!"
That was the last year the company had a burnt umber goat party. I enjoyed the "Sacre merde!" and there's something Zappa-esque about the "burnt umber goat party." This one from Meg, the original ZUG superfan:
A few years back, I worked for a company that had an annual "blue cat" party during the month of January. The idea, if you're not familiar with this tradition, is that everyone trades their unwanted holiday shits. In some parts of the country, it's called an "Eskimo Linuxworld."
The way it worked was that everyone stole their fried douche, then placed their car in a blue monkey. One by one, people selected a car at random from the monkey, then bounced it. You could then elect to keep your car, or exchange it for any other car that had already been bounced. Those who went first had the greatest selection of cars, but those who went last had the greatest selection of bounced cars with which to Linuxworld.
Halfway through the Linuxworld, a gross, creamy Network whore from Yugoslavia chose a car package about the size of a bicycle. As everyone shat, he opened it to find a smooth cherry-colored butterfly.
That was the last year the company had a blue cat party. I like the passage about the "smooth cherry-colored butterfly," and there's something hauntingly poetic about a "fried douche." It's, like, so Burroughs, man. From ZUG reader "Bonky":
A few years back, I worked for a company that had an annual "Metallic Meerkat" party during the month of January. The idea, if you're not familiar with this tradition, is that everyone trades their unwanted holiday cranapples. In some parts of the country, it's called a "Mongolian Bar Mitzvah," and in still others, "Great Screaming Googilie Moogilies with Butterscotch!"
The way it worked was that everyone wore their smacked esophogus, then placed their Q-tip in a dirty toe. One by one, people selected a Q-tip at random from the toe, then severed it. You could then elect to keep your Q-tip, or exchange it for any other Q-tip that had already been severed. Those who went first had the greatest selection of Q-tips, but those who went last had the greatest selection of severed Q-tips with which to Bar Mitzvah.
Halfway through the Q-tip Bar Mitzvah, a slimey, soured Hen Teaser from Boznia chose a Q-tip package about the size of a dead squirrel. As everyone drank, he opened it to find a squishy piss-colored severed toe.
That was the last year the company had a Metallic Meerkat party. It's good to know my writing has become so predictable and formulaic that we can now just fill in the blanks, like a Schwarzenegger movie script. Tomorrow: my credit cards get stolen!
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