I’ve been getting pretty confused while surfing Facebook, and when I checked my notifications today, I noticed that a friend ‘counted down with” me and that I can respond by doing something called “SuperPoking” or getting into a pillow fight or giving a present.

I have no idea what the fuck any of these things are.  Facebook used to be so simple.

I have an AOL account that I never use. I completely forgot to cancel it three years ago when I realized that AOL sucks, and I get billed like thirty bucks each month because I am too lazy to call AOL and sit through a half hour phone call while the customer service representative tries to get me to rethink my decision to cancel.

Seriously, though. I tried one time thinking that it was going to be a quick ‘I want to cancel’ ‘OK sir, sorry you weren’t happy with us’ kind of thing. Boy, was I wrong. It wasn’t until I researched a little that I realized cancelling an AOL account is notoriously difficult.

AOL customer service is fucking awesome because they don’t view customers who want to cancel as customers who are soon to leave their service. No, my friend. AOL customer service views customers who want to cancel as new customers because they can turn them on to new features of AOL and regain their trust. I’m pretty sure that someone needs to look into starting this type of attitude in adult.

Anyway, the bottom line here is that I still have an AOL account. I don’t have a copy of AOL on my computer because I consider it a waste of disk space, so in order to access my AOL email (where I get SPAM sent), I need to hit up AOL’s webmail suite. I can’t get AOL mail in my email client because for some reason AOL has a problem with IMAP and using an outgoing SMTP server that is not theirs. This means nothing to 80% of my readers, but I felt like using a lot of acronyms.

One more acronym for you: AJAX. I hate it, and it’s all over AOL’s webmail suite. When my browser isn’t crashing as a result of this AJAX overload, it tends to eat up about 80-90% of my system resources.

Enough tech talk, though. Bottom line here is that AOL sucks, and so does AOL’s webmail suite. Or at least that’s what I thought until I encountered this gem while trying to send an attachment:

That’s right.  I was trying to send some pics to someone, mentioned that I attached them, but I forgot to do so.  How many times has this happened to you?  I know it has happened to me tons of times, and I always look pretty dumb when someone emails me back with ‘dude I didn’t get the attachment.’  Then I have to resend, and the whole process can delay the attachment several hours.

I’m going to go head and mark this as the biggest innovation in email in the last ten years.  This is a problem many people have regularly, AOL noticed it, solved it, and accordingly save their users time as a result.  That’s what business is supposed to be about.

By the way, I want whatever underpaid staffer at AOL came up with this gem for team FatDickSimon.  I’ll pay whatever it takes.  This guy is fucking smart.

I’d also like to request this functionality in Thunderbird because I never use AOL mail, and I just forgot to attach an attachment yesterday while using Thunderbird.

Way to go AOL.  I think you suck a little less because of this, and I am going to go ahead and continue getting billed for a service that I never use just to help you crank out innovation like this.

Seriously, though.  I really like that feature.

Really?  T BAGGR?  One of my friends took this over the weekend and I thought it was way too funny to keep from the world.  What kind of a guy gets this vanity license plate?  How do you drive around and openly tell the the world that you are in the tea bagging scene?

This license plate is on a Subaru, so there is a good chance that this is the work of a homosexual.  I don’t see a rainbow sticker, though, which really throws me off.

Is it a frat guy who got the vanity license plate as a gift a few years back?  Is it a douchebag who loved tea bagging drunk guys in college so much that he decided to take the joke way too far by getting a vanity license plate?

How do you drive up to a job interview advertising that, not only do you tea bag guys on the weekend, but you tea bag so many people that you feel the need to get a vanity license plate to let the world know about your sick (yet funny) hobby?  I may never know.

What’s the deal with this guy? I’ve touched on my feelings about bathroom attendants before, but a few recent experiences have me itching to elaborate on exactly how uncomfortable bathroom attendants make me feel. I challenge you to find me another occupation that relies more on the pity/race card in receiving tips than that of the bathroom attendant. I can soap up, wash, and dry my own hands. I’ve been doing it for years. Regardless of this fact, the bathroom attendant routinely forces his services on me and then makes me feel bad about his socioeconomic position in order to receive my porn money tips.

Each time I encounter one of these fuckers, my drug-riddled brain is becomes plagued by questions I wish I were comfortable enough to ask. Is there a competition for bathroom attendants? Is there a series of physical challenges that take place when a bar opens to determine which homeless-looking guy gets to control the bathroom sink? How often do these physical challenges take place? Is the bathroom attendant sanctioned by any members of management? Does the bathroom attendant have to pay a cover to get into hot Hollywood clubs, or is he always on the guestlist? Or does the doorman just waive him in and tell security ‘He’s cool?’ Are all bathroom attendants actually homeless or do they dress down to look the part? What gives the bathroom attendant the authority to shine his flashlight under the handicap stall when my crew is busy doing lines off the toilet seat cover dispenser?

I have no idea.

Is being a bathroom attendant even lucrative enough to justify hanging out with drunk people all night in a bathroom? Some of these fuckers don’t even earn their tips. I caught one guy having a conversation in Spanish via a Bluetooth headset a few weeks back. He didn’t even get the soap for me, then he handed me a pre-torn paper towel and looked at me with the notorious ‘Where’s my dollar’ expression that only a bathroom attendant can give. Really? A dollar for handing me a paper towel while you spit game at your chica during your free nights and weekends minutes? I think not, papi. I think not.

The bathroom attendant has the ability to test even the cleanest man’s higyene. Every man, after he is done using the facilities, asks himself whether he should wash his hands and risk losing a buck, depending on how good the bathroom attendant is at making him feel bad, or just say fuck it and dry the urine off of his hands with the outfit of whatever slut he is trying to do. I’ve seen guys puke, then take a dump on their hands, then get a terrible bloody nose, yet still decide to avoid the sink to save a dollar. This makes me wonder: should the department of public health be concerned about the bathroom attendant?

I’m big on the ‘Ah, sorry, I don’t have any cash’ excuse. Awkward? Yes. Untrue? Most of the time. But I try to treat all homeless people the same, and that is the response that I gave to cardboard box dreadlock guy on the way into the club. If the bathroom attendant is dressing like a homeless guy, as far as I’m concerned he is homeless. Just like how when women dress like sluts, they are asking to be raped. Same thing.

Granted, when I’m drunk, I tend to empathize with the plight of the bathroom attendant more, which translates into tipping, but the only way to guarantee a tip from me is actually taking my penis out, holding it while I pee, shaking it off, washing my hands (just in case), then ordering me a drink. Basically, I want to be able to act like that dead dude from Weekend At Bernie’s while in the bathroom, and any attendant who allows me to do so is in for a little something special. In the form of a dollar.

I’m pretty sure I have a really bad addiction. Don’t worry. It doesn’t really involve drugs or alcohol in any way. I think I’m addicted to my Blackberry.

Don’t even start in with a ‘You can’t get addicted to your Blackberry’ comment. I’m addicted as hell. My thumbs hurt. I don’t even really use my computer for email anymore. Fuck, if I could run Photoshop, an ftp program, an SSH terminal, and a decent text editor on this shit, I wouldn’t even need a computer. I bought my Crackberry a couple months ago, and after about two hours on the phone with Verizon level 3 tech support, I was surfing the web, emailing, and instant messaging some hoes. Oh yeah, and I was completely addicted.

There was a nationwide service outage a couple weeks ago, and during those eight hours or so, I was about as uncomfortable as I’ve been since I dropped my cellphone and broke its LCD screen back in 2001. Why was I incomfortable? No push e-mail. Granted, I was sitting in front of my computer all night, which receives e-mail fine, but since my love affair with the Crackberry, I’ve completely forgotten how to use the email client on my laptop.

I may need help, but the upside to this addiction is that my email response time is never more than like 15 minutes. Also, I can still do business while I am out drinking heavily. When I was in Vegas drunk as hell a month ago, I was sending emails to a European company I do business with at two in the morning. When I did acid last weekend, I was still able to fire off a few remarkably coherent emails to a server admin regarding a new server set-up. This thing is amazing.

How much do I love it? I’m blogging right now during a dinner. You think I give a fuck? Now that I have the Crackberry, I’m always working. I love it.

You may be asking yourself ‘Always working? What the fuck? Your blog was a ghosttown over the last month, Fat Dick.’. You have a valid point, but look who threw down two shitty blog entries over the weekend. What’s up now, bitch?

I would write more, but I’m going to point my mobile browser to some hot shemale porn instead. Holler.

I don’t know when it happened, but sometime in the last year, all celebrities became expert scientists in the field of global climate change. Apparently they are the definitive sources on what we can do to stop global warming now. I have difficulties understanding why anyone would ever take scientific advice from any of these douchebags. Seriously. Actually, I find it so hard to understand this that whenever I even think about thinking about it my head hurts and I get cold sweats until I wash a Xanax down with a bottle of Chardonnay.

Does any celebrity have any type of educational background in science? I don’t think so. In fact, I’m pretty sure that I am more qualified to remove a brain tumor than Sheryl Crow is to tell me that only wiping my ass with one square means that the ice caps will stop melting.

I wipe my ass with at least six, by the way, and I only use ten-ply. Yeah, I said it. Sometimes I just throw toilet paper in the toilet and flush it to make sure that my plumbing is working properly.

It seems like everytime I read the paper I hear about some celebrity who is on a crusade to end global warming. How do these people get from public appearance to public appearance? A limo, of course. Or an SUV which transports their entire entourage. Real fuel efficient, dickfor.

I’m willing to wager that the majority of celebrities don’t understand what global warming is besides the fact that it has to do with the environment and that it’s really trendy to talk about.

I’m pretty sure that global warming does not exist, by the way. I don’t know about you, but I thought last winter was cold as hell. In fact, it just rained in Los Angeles last week. It’s April. You think it would be raining in motherfucking April if the world were heating up? Explain that one to me, Sheryl Crow.

Regardless of whether or not global warming is a reality (unlikely) or an old wives tale cooked up by the bored liberal media, I am sure of one thing: no one is dying, and accordingly, I don’t care. According to my actuary, I have about ten more years to live. I’ll die in my mid-thirties as a result of a hooker-administered drug overdose at the Chateau Marmont hotel in Hollywood. In light of this, I’m pretty sure that global warming does not have any effect on my life. Unless it leads to the world turning into a giant fireball in the next ten years. The odds of the world turning into a giant fireball in the next ten years, according to my actuary, are identical to the odds of me willingly having children, which conveniently leads me to my next point. Since I am not planning on [willingly] having children, I have no connection to anyone who will possibly be affected by this supposed global warming crisis within the next hundred years.

Sometimes you have to look out for number one.

So to recap, I don’t want to hear celebrities talk. About anything. Also, I haven’t blogged in a while and I needed to blog about something but I haven’t gone on a drug binge lately, which explains why this one was weaksauce.

I would rather give another guy a blowjob than make out with him.

Call me gay, but for some reason a blowjob seems less personal and making out with another dude seems really unnatural.

By the way, gay people are great.

That is all.

I was just doing some math and realized that I have celebrated somewhere between forty-five and sixty of my friends’ birthdays in the last few weeks.  So, by my calculation s, May (9 months apart from February) must be the most popular humping month.  Is anyone else experiencing the same phenomenon?

What’s the deal with the massive amount of conceptions during May?

I’m a big fan of wire transfers. I like setting my affiliate payments to be wired to me so I can get a little surprise when I haven’t checked my account balance and haven’t been watching my traffic. I also like setting my bills to be automatically paid and setting my renewable accounts to autorenew so I don’t forget about them when I am in the middle of a substance binge.

I noticed an $8k dent in my bank account on Saturday morning, and I realized that a bunch of my domains must have come up for renewal since the payee’s name was GoDaddy. A lot of people talk shit about GoDaddy for one reason or another, but they are an excellent registrar in my opinion, and I have never had a problem with them. My only suggestion to their user interface people is to build a fucking shopping cart where I can easily throw a bunch of domains so I don’t have to keep hitting the back button to do a bulk order while I browse.

My love for GoDaddy began about a year and a half ago when I transferred Hot Gallery Post over to an account with them. I spent about $15 on that purchase, which made me a little fish in the GoDaddy pond, but I still received a call from a customer service representative asking me if I had any questions about my domain name purchase. I’m a big fan of being treated well and given a personal touch by companies I do business with.

I’m actually going somewhere with this story…

So I realized some of my domains came up for renewal, and I thought ‘Shit I just spent a lot of money at GoDaddy.’ Sure enough, on Sunday morning I received a call from a customer service representative at GoDaddy thanking me for my purchase. I decided, since my GoDaddy account is pretty large at this point, that I was entitled to have some fun with the representative. He was a great sport, and here is how the call went:

GoDaddy: Hi, can I please speak with Simon?

Me: This is he.

GoDaddy: Hi, Simon, this is Steve with GoDaddy. I wanted to quickly give you a call and thank you for your recent purchase and ask if you have any questions about your purchase or are interested in any of our other products.

Me: Oh, yes, I noticed some of my domains renewed. Everything looks great.

GoDaddy: Ok, well if you ever-

Me: Hey, actually, could you read back to me the names that were renewed? I just want to make sure I set the right ones to autorenew. I hope you don’t mind.

GoDaddy: No problem at all. Looking at your account, I see ExtremeFuckSluts.com, ExtremeFuckSlut.com, FatDickSimon.com, InterracialCumWhore.com, InterracialCumWhores.com (plural), InterracialJumpoff.com, XXXLaunchpad.com, XXXWhackShack.com, XXXWackShack.com (spelled w-a-c-k)-

Me: Oh, I think I know what batch that is then. No need to finish the whole list. But, if you don’t mind, could you make sure that VaginaCircus.com is on the list?

GoDaddy: Yes, I am seeing that name as well.

Me: Great, that’s a really important one for me. Probably one of my better domain ideas.

GoDaddy: Is there anything else I can do for you, sir?

Me: What about FirmYourWorm.com. Was that one renewed as well?

GoDaddy: Yes, I am seeing that domain here also.

Me: Good. I haven’t built that one out yet, but I probably will in a couple weeks. Did TitManPorn.com come up for renew?

GoDaddy: I am not seeing it here. Ah, yes. I am seeing that domain in your account, but it’s renewal date is later in the year.

Me: Phew! You had me scared for a second. What about AssManPorn.com? Would you mind checking on that one also?

GoDaddy: That domain will renew on the same day as the domain you just asked about.

Me: Which one I asked about?

GoDaddy: The last one you asked about.

Me: Which one? Sorry, they all kind of blend together.

GoDaddy: Um, that would be TitManPorn.com.

Me: Ah, great. You’ve been really helpful. Thanks.

GoDaddy: You’re welcome, sir. Thank you again for your purchase.

And that, my friends, is why I absoutely love GoDaddy. I challenge you to find a registrar with the same customer service level. Find me another registrar who will read back all of my sexually-explicit domain names to me on a Sunday morning. Music to my ears.

I have so many domains that I actually forget about most and end up doing nothing with them. Remembering that I actually pay for them made me look through my account. I noticed that I have some pretty sweet ones. Note to self: start doing some work.

My computer just crashed two times while I was trying to check out some ass clown’s Internext pictures. She emailed me a link to the picture page, which I figured would be harmless. Boy, was I wrong.

When I say my computer crashed, I don’t mean I had to kill Firefox and restart it, I mean my fucking computer died. When you are a big deal like me, you always have tons of important docs opened and you can’t always trust that autosave has your back. Fortunately, I only lost a few minutes of my valuable time. It could have been much worse.

What was the problem? The ass clown (who is incidently extremely hot) slapped together a gigantic page with over thirty gigantic images. How gigantic? Most were over 5MB.

I’m tired of people who don’t understand that I don’t need a high-res pic of them getting drunk somewhere. I don’t need to see the 1280×1024 version of your new fucking baby. It’s ugly enough as an 800×600 pic.

If you are expecting a complex tutorial on how to resize images, you’ve come to the wrong place. Why? Because resizing images is fucking easy and anyone can do it and everyone has a little program on their computer that can take care of it in like two steps.

Don’t worry, you don’t need to download the latest crack of Photoshop. You don’t need to download anything. You can use MS Paint. Here’s how:

Step 1: Open Your Image in MS Paint

Here’s an image that I was resizing for Interracial Jumpoff.

Step 2: Select ‘Stretch/Skew’ From the ‘Image’ Menu

This is extremely easy.

Step 3: Fill in a Percentage Smaller Than 100

Make it small because I am getting tired of seeing your gigantic images.

Step 4: Save Your Image

Wow, look how much smaller and more manageable it is!

Step 5: There is No Step 5

That’s it. Go post your smaller image on forums and email it to your friends. You will find that people will actually take the time to download a smaller image. Yes, that 5MB image you sent to your friend of your first gay experience was ignored.