yes, no, maybe, fud, notfud, itsatrap, securitytheater, thinkofthechildren

Even though Valentine's Day is nearly over, I thought it was still worth it to post a story about the pure love that is incest. Or lack thereof. Dunno about the study, sounds kinda flaky. Like did it take into account whether or not your sister is hot? Not saying that makes it better, but we understand. And you're at least gonna think about it even if you're not happy about it. Or maybe that's just me since I've got the hot stepsister thing going on so I don't have to feel as guilty for those thoughts.

Anyway... Found this line interesting, and by interesting I mean, maybe you should have phrased this better to get your point across:

Especially strong was the effect of watching one's mother care for a younger child. "They would be very altrustic towards that baby and they'd be grossed out at the idea of sex with that baby as an adult," Cosmides said.

At first I was like, I sure hope you'd be grossed out by the idea of sex with that baby, otherwise you've got more problems than I do.

If you're at all bothered by this post, save it. You should be happy I did it considering the fucking trouble I had to go through so that I could make it. What trouble? Where should I start.

First, I go to Blogger. Of course, where the fuck else am I gonna go, right? Anyway, I try to log in, and it's giving me some shit about switching to the new Blogger. And I'm like, fuck this, I don't wanna switch. Why not? Couple reasons. One, the last time Blogger went through a major change, I referred to it as "the worst thing ever." I even e-mailed Blogger and said as much, and I don't think I got so much as a form-letter reply. Fuckers.

But I was like, fine. I'll switch. Even though I've tried switching before but you complained that my 'blog was too big to transition over, even when you were out of beta. Now, though, when it's up to you and not me, yeah, I've gotta switch. Prick.

So fine, let's do this. I'm a, no, fuck it, I'm not going to finish that Dane Cook reference there because that guy's shit is played out and he's not funny anymore. Anyway, I decide to just get it over with. I get through step one of verifying my "old" Blogger identity. Why I needed to do that when I just did it six seconds prior I don't know. But I did it. And then I get to the page asking for a Google account. Great, I've got one of those. On the page there's a button on the right to create a Google account under "no", and... And a light blue box under "yes" with not a fucking thing in it. And I already know what's in there, it's something useful for the task at hand and neither Mozilla nor Firefox ever show useful things.

So, fuck. After fucking with about three different browsers I was just, like, forget it. I'm done. With blogging. Forever. We know that that means nothing, as evidenced by this post right here and my track record. I was just discouraged because I knew to get things set right I was gonna have to reboot into Windows and use IE (keeping in mind that I use an OS where shit doesn't work because that makes me cool, AKA a weenie).

But I sucked it up and I did it, and here I am. The new Blogger. Woo fucking hoo. At this point I haven't used it enough to figure out what I hate about it yet, but I'm sure I'll find some things. One thing I am stoked about, though, is tags. That was pretty much my only motivation to migrate when I had tried it before. Not like tags really contribute anything, as evidenced by tagging on Slashdot, but maybe it will keep me marginally amused for awhile.

Sorry, labels, not tags. And it automatically alphabetizes them for me (let the record stand that incest was the first tag applied to a post on this blog). Yeah, the new Blogger is already pissing me off.

If it weren't for my horse, I wouldn't have spent that year in college

I found this article to be pretty amusing, and it does bring up a good point. We do pick and choose what we kill and eat based on nothing but shallow nonsense, and that's one of the many things that makes us stupid. And barbaric, blah blah blah, but meat is good.

And although I'm about a week behind the curve, I should reference this Onion article at least for posterity's sake since it pretty well sums up how I feel about that bullshit. Look, it's sad enough if you get more than a little bummed out over a celebrity dying or something, but if you're getting involved in candlelight vigils for a fucking horse, you should be killed and turned into glue. Yes, in case you missed it, I distinctly remember actually reading about at least one candlelight vigil after he first got injured. It simply makes no sense to me to get all bent out of shape over someone who you never knew and had no direct impact on your life.

And let's face it, they were probably just trying to keep that thing alive for stud fees and whatnot anyway. The only amusement I can take away from the Barbaro nonsense is that if this line of reasoning is correct, it means it was at least one person's job to, uh, handle that business for the last eight months.