Strong Bad's e-mail isn't funny today.

Comedy Goldmine is...well...just weird.

Not even The Onion is offering the humour I seek.

No, today is just a sad, sad day in terms of finding funny things online. I have a whole box of giggles just waiting to be used, but nothing worthy of them is appearing. Therefore, all of you should go find a funny link, joke, etc. and make me laugh.

Because you're my slaves.

...In case you forgot or something. Do something funny!

So I wore my "I'm blogging this" t-shirt to work today. Wow. Apparently people really respond to an "I'm blogging this" t-shirt. They seemed to have a lot to say. The streetcar ride was perhaps 30 mins long, and a whole four people stopped me to talk to me about it.

1) So this dude sits down across from me and is reading some book and then looks up and notices my shirt. A big grin appears on his face. He moves his jacket out of the way to reveal another thinkgeek shirt that he's wearing. "Is that from thinkgeek?", he asks. I nod. "Wow", he whistles, "I've never seen anyone else wear thinkgeek before." I shrug. It's one of those silent kinds of mornings, I don't feel like talking. :) He continues: "I think that's really cool. We're like an underground community, man." Ooookay, so he's a bit of a whackjob. Fortunately, the streetcar becomes crowded rapidly and a bunch of people stand between us. By the time the people clear out, his stop has passed and he got off.

2) This guy is standing infront of where I'm sitting. He's looking down at me with a big frown on. "I'm blogging this", he reads outloud. I nod. "What's that mean?", he asks. "Well", I say, "a blog is like an online journal." "I know what a blog is!", he seems very offended by this, "I meant what the hell does it mean to say that you're blogging this?" "That...I'm....going to be writing about what's currently happening in my blog eventually." "What's happening right now?" "Probably." "This conversation?" "Probably." (And I was right :) ) "That's freaky. That's what that is.", he shrugs.

3) Transfering between streetcars, a guy stops me on the street. I turn around. "Cool shirt!", he says, and gives me two thumbs up, and then walks away.

4) Two guys a few seats infront of me on the streetcar whisper to each other something about "blogging this" and then one looks over his shoulder at my shirt and then whispers something back. They both nod enthusiastically. On my way off the streetcar, I have to pass them. "We like your shirt", one of them says, and the other nods. "Thanks", I say. "Bye", they both say. And I get off.

Wow. The ironic thing is that by wearing an "I'm blogging this" shirt, people around me give me the material with which to blog what is currently happening. It's a self-fulfilling shirt!

Oh yeah, and right now I'm sitting at a computer at work. Blogging this.

Note to two of you: yes, I know that I didn't invent this idea. Yes, I know that I discussed this idea with you a long time ago. But did either of you guys actually do it? No? Thought not. So stop your whining and just read it quietly like the rest of my viewers.

Many people ask me for advice about a variety of topics. This is probably because I lie so frequently that people figure I know everything about everything. Which is absolutely true. I just lie for fun. "Yes, the red button is for don't hit me with that huge hammer. I swear. Try it."

Anyway, while reading through my daily fan mail, I came across this letter:

Dear Catspaw,
I've heard that you've made $90 using only $80 and a swiss army knife and some tape. Without selling the knife or tape for the extra $10. Can you share how this is possible?
An adoring fan

Sure. Actually I must admit that this trick works better using $20 and 16 cuts, but since I could only find a photo of a $10 bill, we'll do it with $10s and 8 cuts.

So: the first step is to take 8 ten dollar bills and cut them as shown:

Those of you who aren't complete morons will notice that there's a pattern in how these are cut. It's as if I drew eight even lines in a $10 and then put one line on each $10 and cut along that line. Those hypothetical lines are the trick to this evil: because remember -- eight lines means nine sections. And for those of you who failed Finite Math, keep reading.

Next, we have to tape the bills back together. But not just in any order! First, take the bill with the cut the furthest to the left (in the photo above, first column second row) and set aside its right segment. Then take its left segment and you're going to tape it to the right segment of the bill with the cut next furthest to the left. (So in the photo above, the left half of first column second row, is taped to the right half of first column first row). And then THAT one's left half is taped to the right half of the NEXT furthest left-cut right segment. (The left of first column first row is taped to the right of first column third row). Keep going like this. You'll eventually have a leftover piece (second column second row's left half isn't taped to anything) as well as the first piece you set aside (first column second row's left side) which both aren't taped to anything. This is fine.

Okay, what the heck was all of that for? Well, you'll end up with something that looks like this. To someone who is not expecting fake bills, it looks like nine $10s which were accidentally ripped in half and then taped back together. Taped bills happen all the time and people just sorta expect the tape to be covering a missing bit. Even the fact that one bill is missing a "1" just goes unnoticed and is blamed on destroyed money. Because bills are flimsy and end up in the washing machine, etc. People just sorta expect money to be in bad condition.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how you create $90 using only $80.

And if you're caught doing this, I don't know you. In fact, I'm not even sure I know you anyway. Who are you? Get the hell off my site.

Note: Everything below is true. I have a tendency to make...um..."dramatic improvements" to my stories. But everything below, line for line, happened this morning.

This starts with a dream of trying to chase myself. A clone of me. Except she's better, faster, stronger...she's a superior version of myself. And she's stolen my keychain and is running away in hopes of luring me into a trap so that she can kill me off and be me. "You failed", she shrugs as she turns around arrogantly - running faster backwards than I can run forwards. "You gave into The Man. You're corporate now. You haven't taken over everything and you've lost sight of your purpose. So we had to send in me instead."

I wake up naturally. Do what I always do: lean forward to look at the clock. 7:59. No, 8:00. Watched the switch. Must be a weekend. Should I go back to sleep? Should ensure it's a weekend. What day was yesterday? Looking for memories... Can't find any. Was yesterday the day I did dishes on rollerblades? That was Sunday that I did that. This would make today Monday. Wait, no. fLufFy had a day of her job since then. That was Monday. This would make today Tuesday. Unless Tuesday already happened...? No memories of Tuesday? Okay, it's Tuesday then.

I roll out of bed and turn off my alarm which hasn't gone off yet. I haven't woken up before my alarm for...well, a very long time. It's minorly weird that I did so. Ah well, might as well put the extra 15 mins to good use. I sit down at my computer chair.

The phone rings. 8:01. Who the hell is calling at 8:01?

I pick up. "Hello?"
"Is Ian there?" asks an extremely young voice. It's a girl, probably four or five years old.
I cough, knowing I have my sleepy-voice on and hoping that will fix it. "Oh, no, I'm sorry. I think you have the wrong number."
"This isn't Ian's house?"
"No. Sorry about that. What number are you trying to call?"
"Why are you awake?"
...Bit of a weird question to ask, kid. But kids are weird. Okay, I'll answer. "I have to get up this early for my job. But there isn't an Ian here."
"Oh."
"What number are you trying to call?"
"[censored]"
"Yeah, that's this number. But I think that you have the wrong phone number because this isn't Ian's house."
"Where is Ian?"
"I'm not sure." Kids are weird.
"Where did you put Ian?"
".....I don't know where Ian is."
"I need him. I need Ian."
Parental instinct kicks in. "Are you okay? Is everything okay? Are your parents there?"
"My mommy doesn't know I'm calling."
"Is everything okay? What do you need Ian for?"
"Why did you take him away?"
"I don't know where Ian is. But if you need some sort of help you can tell me."
"No! You took Ian away! I HATE YOU!"

She slams the phone down (clicks as she has trouble doing so) and I listen to a dial tone.

What the hell? This is turning out to be a weeeird morning. I'm hoping that the kid isn't in some sort of major trouble because I'm feeling too tired to play detective.

*Ring*.

Oh, it's probably the kid calling back. I pick up.

"Hello?" <- me
"Who is this?" <- person calling. Middle aged male.
"Uh....who is THIS?"
"You answer first."
"........What? No! You called. Who are YOU?"
"Alright, I'll hang up."
What the hell is with this morning? "It's [Catspaw]." (Real name)
"Oh."
"Now who is this?"
"Can I speak to [Catspaw]?"
"This is [Catspaw]."
"The other [Catspaw]."
"There's only one [Catspaw] here and that's me."
"There's not a little girl named [Catspaw]?"
"No. There's only me."
"Is this [phone number]?"
"Yes."
"And you're the only [Catspaw] there?"
"Yep."
"Hm. I must have the wrong number written down. Sorry about that."
"No problem....", something occurs to me before I hang up. Because I'm weird. "Is this Ian?"
"Huh?"
"Is this Ian?" Why am I asking this poor man this?
"Who are you?"
"[Catspaw]."
"How did you know I was Ian?"
Woah........okay.......freaky now. "Well...a little girl called a few minutes ago and asked to speak to Ian."
"So how did you know that was me?"
"I.......don't know. Guessed."
"What was her phone number? I can call her back."
"I don't know. I don't have call display. Where did you both get this number?"
"This is her number."
"Then why did she think this was your number?"
"I don't know. When did she call?"
"No, this doesn't make sense." I'm waking up now. "Why did you think this was each other's number?"
"Why did you pretend to be [Catspaw] when I called then?"
".....I didn't. [Catspaw] is my name."
"You're just both named [Catspaw]?"
"I guess. It's not exactly a rare name."
"Are you sure she's not there? This isn't [Catspaw]'s mother?"
"No. There is no one here but me." (And Brandon. But he's still sleeping so doesn't count.)
"This is weird."
"I know."
"Alright, well I'll see if I can try to contact her. If she calls back, can you give her a phone number for me?"
"Sure. Hold on, let me get a pen."
"Okay.........ready?"
"Sec. Having trouble finding a pen that's working."
"Okay."
"Okay, I'm ready. Your number is...?"
"Area-code Four one six..."
"Yep...?"
"Five ---"

And there's a click and he's gone. What the hell? He must have hung up. Or disconnected accidentally. That's okay, I've seen the movies. I'm going to *69 his ass.

I pick up the phone just as it rings again.

"This is the Toronto public library automated service with a message for the library card holder whose library cards ends with --" DAMN! The damn public library called and messed up my *69. And now Ian isn't the last number.

It's 8:11. I hang up (pst, Mud, you have a book on hold) and stare at the phone. Call back. One of you is going to call back. Call back.

It's 8:40. No one has called back.
And somewhere a four-year-old girl named [Catspaw] and some guy named Ian are trying to reach each other. In possibly the weirdest morning I've had in a long time.

What better way to prepare yourself for a trip to Central America than to get shot in the arm a million times?

So now my arm is sore but at least I'm covered from malaria, cutaneous and mucocutaneous leishmaniasis, Chagas disease, dengue fever, encephalitis (sound like a moon of Saturn to anyone else?), typhoid fever, cholera, Hepatitis A, helminthic infection, visceral leishmaniasis, onochocerciasis and yellow fever. Boy, is it ever exciting being me!

And thus I have to type this article with one hand, because my other arm is hanging uselessly at my side and may fall off at any given moment. But wow -- with vaccinations like these, who the hell needs drugs? Wheeeeeeeee!

Hello all!

This is the roomie posting for everyones favourite traveler. Catsy asked me last night to take the liberty of informing you all of why it is that she didn't say goodbye before she left, and inform you all as to the fact that she has in fact departed. There will be guest posters while she is away, as she will be gone for two weeks, and we know how cranky you all get when she hasn't updated in 5 hours. And she returns in July, so you best just suck it up and get used to her absence now. However, whilst she is in Mexico and Guatemala, you can think of ways to thank her when she returns for having always provided amusement for you in your dreary little lives that you had never appreciated until it was gone. Huzzah!

Thats all for now,
Mud

Anyone interested in filling the void left by Catsy leaving our dreary little lives may e-mail postings to floyd@pobox.com. Oh, God, the power... the power... it's surging within me... I have the power to drive away all of Catsy's loyal readers.. nyahahaha.

This InsaneCats Guest entry brought to you by the letter E and the reader Damnal.

It appears to rather well known fact that I am employed in the retail profession. This wonderful job has led me to realize that the average person is amazingly stupid. What I wouldn't give to be able to wear an I'm Bloggin This T-Shirt at work.

Today's entry will be an adventures in retail segment. I work at the Service Desk/Switch Board, which leads to all sorts of interesting situations. Best example is last Saturday night:

Me: Good evening from your Truly Canadian Zellers, [Damnal] speaking, how may I help you?
Male Caller: Uh... yes, I was wondering if you carried a specific product.
Me: Alright, what are you looking for?
Male Caller: Well... I'm looking for a, uh... personal massager.
Me: You mean a shoulder massager?
Male Caller: No, like a, uh... vibrator.
Me [nearly dying from trying not to giggle]: Just give me a moment, I'll transfer you to our service person on the floor.

Two minutes later, the girl working floor service calls me:

Her: You bastard... you know we don't carry anything like that.
Me: Hard to say that when I'm laughing my ass off. So what did you tell him?
Her: That Exclusive Boutique sells them for around $25.
Me: Heh...
Her: Piss off, my sister had her 18th birthday last week.

That's just a sampling of what my job is like.
-Damnal

Greetings slobs,

I've come before you today to discuss a matter of extreme importance. It would appear that our saviour Catspaw is, in fact, a mean spirited person getting her jollies on this web site at our own expense! As evidence, I quoth the following e-mail passed on by a fellow site-reader:

... I've started adding more typos on purpose just to annoy Mud, who is driven slightly beyond crazy with them: "How long does it take to spellcheck in this day and age?! Four...maybe five seconds! You know how to write, would you please spend just FOUR seconds putting your documents into a spellcheck? Or can I be your Editor? Or SOMETHING?" ...

As further evidence, I quote the following set of comments from May 20, 2003, in which the following conversation took place:

From: Silver Rain
An extreme change in haircolour is always a good thing. It's not necessarily a girly thing; I'm sure guys who do a wild makeover on their hair experience the same excitement of a brand new appearance.

But I dislike the fact that your stickcat images are always JPGs. If you're just going to use basic colours like blue, yellow, and white, you should use GIFs to make the images appear crisper and cleaner. You can avoid the unhomogenous blotchiness of the white background, and instead produce pure, consistent colour.

---

From: Catspaw www.insanecats.com
Giggle, that's very much so done on purpose, Silver Rain. I think using JPGs inappropriately and using MSPaint when I own perfectly good drawing software is ironic and it amuses me every time.

---

From: Silver Rain
Argh. But JPGs are generally larger files than GIFs. You're using your bandwidth inefficiently!

(As an aside, I'll note that Silver Rain's comment misrepresented the situation a bit. Catsy is actually using my bandwidth inefficiently! And she should use PNGs, not GIFs. Duh.)

Anyways, I bring this all to your attention so that I may make the following funny observation: y'all already knew this, and you still read this site. Me too. We miss your abuse, Catsy! Come back!

- Guest writing by Floydypants