Someone Has a Small Internet
In the ongoing saga of how Google brings you into serendipitous contact with the fluffy blanket infinity of the universe… a while back someone typed the name of an old compatriot into the spout box. Said compatriot is now in Morocco with the Peace Corps. Just to show that you can’t hide from the Googlebot:
“one) swearing in was a BLAST. the ambassador is a total dork and for his speech he simply googled all our names and had us stand one by one while he announced his findings. he was surprisingly accurate. if anyone knows how to contact [the estimable Y. McMoots], they should tell her that she was mentioned in the peace corps november 2004 swearing in by the american ambassador. i’m sure she’ll be happy.”
So as an indirect result of this, I’ve just spent a few minutes combing through livejournals of people I might’ve known in high school, one year younger and one clique removed, trying to guess who they were. After realizing that there were too many art club drama boys named Joe, two or five or N, kids I barely knew anyway, I gave up. There are really very few good outcomes from such a pursuit.
Yeah, that’s kind of how I feel – but really, “blorg” is an all-purpose expression of emotion that encompasses most day-to-day experiences. It might not be appropriate for the death of a loved one or the birth of one’s first child, but anything else? Blorg.
Kittens, also, are not appropriate emotions for blorg. And kittens really are their own set of emotions, aren’t they?
do you know where can i buy the erasers in taiwan? thank!
Sorry, couldn’t thank of anyplace.
Is he now? Don’t underestimate the amount of work it takes to type something and click “spout”!
mike doesn’t think he’s lazy, he think’s janessa’s lazy
If either of you were really lazy you’d’ve been forced to eat your own sled dogs by now, I’m sure.
mike says excellent to you being a geophysiscist
Hoorah! Be excellent to one another, kids.
i sploded your scrpt and blame lenin
I knew all that perl-based Trotskyism would come back to haunt me one day. Damn!
I’m all lost in the supermarket. I can no longer shop happily. I came in here for that special offer: a guaranteed personality.
Capitalism isn’t going to help you here. You could always take Trotsky’s personality, I hear he’s no longer using it.
syrup my sticky yami
Look, I don’t know what kind of blogeuse you take me for, but I recommend treating your sticky with soap and water.
Super Robot Monkey Hyper Force Go!
Hey! Does this mean a batallion of robot monkeys will write my grad school applications? Pretty please? ‘Cause that’s what I promised myself I’d be doing right now.
Sigh. One cheez-laden essay about My Life in Science, comin’ up.