I came home from work on Sunday night, and this website was down. So was Mockable, and it was all fairly annoying. But, you know, it’ll happen from time to time.
And after I hoisted my heft off the dormancy platform, and shuffle-pooted to my computer the next morning, I saw that both sites were STILL down. Grrr… Something must be seriously wrong, I mumbled into my chipped Cape May mug. Fan-flippin’-tastic.
I sent my webhost an email, asking what was going on, and started complaining about the situation at Twitter. And people told me: the Surf Report isn’t down… I’m looking at it right now.
What in the double-decker heck?
Turns out I’d triggered something in the host’s firewall, and my specific IP address was blocked from visiting any sites housed on the server. They couldn’t tell me why it happened, but fixed the problem.
And the entire process, from first profanity to remedy, took several hours. The hosting company advertises 24 hour support, but I think it’s a Steven Wright situation: 24 hours… but not in a row.
So, that’s why there was no update yesterday. Sorry ’bout that. I hate to miss any day (I really do), but especially Mondays. And so it goes.
After I’d washed my hands of the situation yesterday, I decided to go to Waffle House for their Big Retarded Field Hand breakfast. But it didn’t happen. I went to Borders instead, and bought this book.
Next Friday I’m going to go into revise/rewrite mode on my “book,” and want to ingest that guidebook before I get started. It has a good reputation, and since I’ve never edited a novel-length manuscript before…
I’ve made a point of not reading my book since I finished the first draft at the end of December. It’s best to just let it settle for a while, I think. I did send it to two more folks to read and critique last week (one of whom is a Surf Reporter), and am looking forward to their feedback.
The thing still needs some work, but has good bones, I think. I’m excited to start working on it again, and making it better.
After Borders it was time for me to go to work, but I still hadn’t eaten anything. So, I ended up going through a McDonald’s drive-thru, and taking them up on their $3.99 Filet-O-Fish meal deal.
And have you ever tried to eat one of those fish sangriches while driving at 75 mph on an interstate highway? It’s not easy, I’m telling you, because of the criminal overuse of tartar sauce. Why do they have to put so much on there? Sweet Maria. What do they use, a soup ladle?
So, the first bite sent a golf ball-sized glob of sauce out the back-end of my sandwich, and I was worried I’d get it all over my clothes. So I was contorting myself and dodging falling tartar, while traveling at a high rate of speed.
Tasty, though. I like those Filet-O-Fish. Know what I mean? I wish I had one right now.
During my website frustration yesterday, “Smells Like Teen Spirit” came up on iPod shuffle play, and it reminded me of the Weird Al version of that song: “Smells Like Nirvana.”
I like Weird Al, he’s usually reliably silly, but the dude seriously dropped the ball on that one. The video is funny, but the song parody is incredibly lame. Smells like Nirvana? Sheesh. A kindergartner could come up with something more clever than that.
In fact, I’d like to make that the Question of the Day. I’m getting all worked-up about it… In the comments section, please suggest a better parody of “Smells Like Teen Spirit,” than Al’s.
I’ll get the ball rolling with a few off the top of my head:
Smells Like Bad Hygiene
Smells Like Recent Feces
Smells Like Hotdog Belches
Smells Like Wolf Blitzer
Take it from there, Surf Reporters! Together we can build a better parody.
And I’ll see you guys tomorrow.
Shoot, if we’re going to do it right, let’s malaprop the whole tune – let’s start with verse 1:
Load up on guns
Bring your friends
It’s fun to lose and to pretend
She’s overborne and self-assured
Oh no, I know a dirty word
Chorus-
Hello, hello, hello, hello, how low?
Hello, hello, hello, hello, how low?
Hello, hello, hello, hello, how low?
Hello, hello, hello ,hello
With the Lights out it’s less dangerous
Here we are now entertain us
I feel stupid and contagious
Here we are now entertain us
A mullato an albino
A mosquito my libido
yay
We CAN, and MUST, do this thing right.
BTW: They ‘yay’ part might give the group trouble, but I’m convinced we can come up with something to distort even that one syllable into comic greatness.
Tiff, you are not thinking. The ‘yay’ part is clearly ‘Kay!’.
i use the excess tarter sauce to dip my fries in. Actually if you order extra tarter sauce you always get an amazingly fresh filet o fish sangwich. Just dip your fries in the excess then eat the sandwich,,,,yum
Smells Like Peen Syrup
Okay, Tiff, I’m game (even if my blog is temporarily down…it’ll be back). A parody in Appalachian English, no less:
Blowed up my buns
Reamed my friends
For ‘at grenade in my rear end
It’s all blowed-out, you rest assured
Oh no, how can I make a turd?
Chorus-
Hell no, hell no, hell no, hell no, low blow?
Hell no, hell no, hell no, hell no, low blow?
Hell no, hell no, hell no, hell no, low blow?
Hell no, hell no, hell no, hell no!
With my ass out, I’m outrageous
This is not advantageous
I fear sepsis and contagions
A mutilation an assplodo
An my pecker, where did he go?
yay
Smells like low tide
@ WB: burnt pubes…that might top the list of “smells you don’t want to.” LOL.
Jeff, forget the editing book. You need this one:
http://www.amazon.com/Little-Billys-Letters-Incorrigible-Correspondence/dp/0061807281
Hi Jeff thanks for the shirt, it arrived today.
Smells like green spit-up.
These responses are funny as hell!!!
Smells like…crusty beanticklers.
Good Morning Surf Reporters…..
Tried to come up with a few more “smells like…..”. I have nothing. None of them made sense, but then again, none of them are supposed to make sense.
Jeff,
I assume you’re aware that in two adjacent posts, you have posed QODs which span the distance from the timeless and ethereal all the way to the National Teenage Haiku Contest*. Quite an expedition, even when the mode of the music changes.**
So, if it must smell:
– Smells Like Mean Deer Shit
– Smells Like a Mosh Pit
And, if it must smell AND take into account the possible culpability of Ms. Love in the death of the writer/singer:
– Smells Like a Mob Hit
Of course, it doesn’t have to smell…
– Spells Like Bad Sanskrit
– Shell It, I’ll Sear It
I messed around with this for almost an hour, but couldn’t top “Smells Like Wolf Blitzer”. That was inspired, and it seems to me that it could be its own song, separate from a parody of Nirvana.
In any event, two very good QODs, after a few only OK ones. You are on a roll, and if you don’t insult the firewall, perhaps another today. I’ll look forward to it.
best as always,
jtb
.
* @1968, Ed Sanders, Ken Weaver, The Fugs, 4 Men With Beards Records. All rights reserved.
** @1968, Tuli Kupferberg, The Fugs, 4 Men With Beards Records. All rights reserved.
Smells like dog the bounty hunter.
Happy Birthday to Chuck Norris!
Chuck Norris built a better mousetrap, but the world was too frightened to beat a path to his door.
When Chuck Norris was denied an Egg McMuffin at McDonald’s because it was 10:35, he roundhouse kicked the store so hard it became a KFC.
Chuck Norris ordered a Big Mac at Burger King, and got one.
Chuck Norris’ tears cure cancer. Too bad he has never cried.
When the Boogeyman goes to sleep every night he checks his closet for Chuck Norris.
Chuck Norris never “gets laid”, rather: “laid gets Chuck”
Just got back from getting a haircut. Just as the barber chick was readying to whip the tablecloth thingie off of me she asked me if my eyebrows were OK. Whiskey Tango Foxtrot? I don’t have a unibrow.
Now I’m gonna go stand in front of the mirror and wonder why she asked me that.
Smells like me, Fear it.
A choad of gnomes, swing the trends
gramps just shit his depends
I ain’t been blown or ate a turd
your mom’s tits can’t feed a bird
On the same note many moons ago on KY Derby eve (before I drank) a friend and I rewrote “sweet dreams”:
Pete screams when he’s in heat
Seuss did his mom and so did we
Unraveled the squirrel with the cream of wheat
Everybody’s cooking a pumpkin