Oh yeah, today's FREE IDEA.

Sorry I haven't been making more of you poor sods millionaires, but due to the StumbleUpon problem, I was unable to post. Anyway, here's today's. It's called the "DateWatch" (or something similar). It is a small device which contains some kind of fucked-up microprocessor that records your preferences for a potential mate or dating partner. It also contains some kind of short-range radio transmitter (like cell phones). The basic idea is that everyone answers a series of questions posed by the device, and whenever someone with compatible answers is within range (say, 100 yards), an alarm will sound (or vibrate) alerting both persons to the presence of a nearby potential romantic partner. Will completely revolutionize dating and make it easy for even shy and timid people to make connections. THANK ME LATER, after it comes out and somebody ELSE makes millions.

I got drunk, but not CRUNK

I failed to get crunk, because I was too piss-poor of spirit to try. But "blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the Kingdom of Heaven," or so I am told. I'm not so sure. I think it might be more like "blessed are the freak assholes who go buy a bottle of maximum strength Robitussin cough syrup at Family Dollar, slam it, and then trip THE HELL OUT for 4 hours, followed by the ingestion of huge amounts of beer (and possibly trying to drive and hitting a "no truck parking" sign). Fuck a truck anyway.

OH! OH! I figured out how to post again!

I, THE ADMIRAL, have determined that if I disable the goofy-ass StumbleUpon add-on for Chrome, the Gods of the Ancient Mayan civilization shall allow my to soil your optic nerves once more. And at this news, every being in the Universe rejoiced greatly, EXCEPT YOU. Because you are dumb. But what's puzzling, odd, and at the same time MURDEROUSLY ANNOYING about this Blogger interface is that I seem completely unable to create paragraphs. Did you actually think paragraphs were not present in the text editor? Of course the fuck they are, you functional illiterate. They just fail to show up. I don't recall Blogger having this incredibly lousy an interface ever before. One of those highly "educated" up-and-coming SUPERSTARS at Google must be responsible for this. I bet he or she is making enough money to have his or her under-servants wipe his or her actual servants' asses. And I'm still fucking broke. But, on the brighter side..

Hoooolllllllly SHIT!!!!!

No matter how you type it, it looks like "Holly Shit" and reminds you of some kind of Christmas fable, but nevermind that. I just discovered I have a damned appointment with my therapist at 11 AM tommorow. 11 AM!!!!!!! WHAT THE FUCK??!?!??! Do you expect me to bend time to arise at that UNGODLY hour? Fuck me. I predict much grumbling and gnashing of partially-deformed and disintegrated teeth so very early in the morning when the morrow comes around.

A note to my ex, who is a TYRANNOSAURUS REX.

Today's totally FREE IDEA

As you know, I am a GOD DAMN GENIUS. Like Forrest Gump. And as part of that whole package, I constantly think of million dollar ideas every day. But, of course, since the system you idiots choose to live under and praise to the skies is capitalism, it is impossible for me to pursue any of my ideas. I have already invented half the shit you use now, but patents cost fuck-trucks of money, in case you didn't know. Don't believe me? Well, how about that shit where you scan a code with your smart phone and it brings up a web page? I invented that almost a decade ago, among other things. So, as a protest against your stupidity and the stupid stupidness of the stupid-ass system your dumb fucking asses have shat out upon us all, I sometimes give away free ideas worth a million dollars or more. Just because I hate you that much. Here's today's. Enjoy your millions, whoever does this. While trying to talk to my wife in the stairwell, I leaned a little too far to the left and busted my giant-ass Next Level head right against the the top of the god damn doojamb. Needless to say, this shit hurt, but within a matter of of nanoseconds (which, for an android, is practically an eternity), I envisioned a product which would prevent all such whacks to the noggin forever. It is simply a piece of cushioned foam-rubber (or some other snappy-looking shit) with an adhesive backing, ready to be applied to any surface to prevent head-banging (MEGADETH!!!!!!), toe-stubbing, or other minor misfortunes. Give it a catchy name and maybe I'll buy it in the "As Seen On TV Aisle" someday. Thank me later (ie never).

Attention "Internet Marketers" - Why You Can't Sell SHIT To A DUNG BEETLE

It's no secret that "Internet Marketing" is going down the toilet, and you are all pulling your hair out trying to devise new ways to sell your shitty-assed Frauducts™ (term courtesy of The Salty Droid) to the ever-diminishing pool of greedy marks with too much money and too few brain cells. But WHY, OH WHY, Dear Sweet Supply-Side Jesus, is this the case? Is it because of the recession? Shit no! Desperate people spend way more on stupid-ass schemes and "Big Dreams" (as you puke-inducingly call them) than comfortable people. That's a SCIENTIFIC FACT. In fact, is it because of Any Other Reason Than Your Own Stupid Ass? NOPE. It's because of YOU - because most of you never really learned how to sell sunshine to a marigold, much less sand to the Taliban. You see, the fact is, most people in marketing are STUPID (as well as sociopathic and Bastardly Queer™ [term courtesy of Time Cube]). You LACK the BASIC understanding of human psychology required to sell your latest e-shit. You don't know what you're doing, but I DO. That's why I made more money in internet marketing JUST FOR LOLS in my first 2 months than most of you make now. But I quit, because selling useless Frauducts™ to other people ACTUALLY FUCKING SUCKS, no matter how you try to rationalize it. Still, I am willing to offer coaching for just $10,000 an hour. You laugh, but you'd really never make a better investment, sociopathic assholes. For that small sum, I would be willing to temporarily set aside my ethics and take you to McSchool.

THE ADMIRAL IS ***THE*** ADMIRAL

There is none other. Accept no substitutes, or, if you must, at least let me know of their existence so I can break a photon torpedo off in their ass. I am the Admiral of Admirals. 'Tis upon my mighty Ship that all navies do sail, and 'tis upon my mighty Lip that all bacteria do prevail. That's because I have a mustache. And that's because I am too lazy to shave. Why shave or engage in any personal hygiene when you are THE ADMIRAL OF ALL EXISTENCE? Haha, you laugh, but this is a ZEN FUCKING KOAN. Oh shit, now you're trying to think that shit out. Good luck, noobs.

Give it to me FREE! FRREEEEEE!!!!! I COMMAND YOU!

And if commanding you fails, I just type "Product XYZ" (where "product XYZ" represents the actual product I want, you dolts - no, not actually "XYZ" but a variable represented by that linguistic device, much like algebra... ah, fuck it) into Google followed by the word TORRENT, and POOF, I get your goddamned piece of shit bug-fucking disappointing-ass bullshit $97 product for free anyway. HA! NINJA MOVE! So, in conclusion, FUCK YOU. Just give me the shit FREE and then try to upsell me on the back end, through the stupid-ass autoresponder e-mails I am too lazy to 1-click unsubscribe from. Even a novice marketer knows that old trick (especially since anyone but me would feel guilty about "stealing" the product and therefore have a greater sense obligation to make a legitimate purchase later), but NOOOOOO, you fuckers have to be all greedy and try to get the upfront payment from me before I can figure out how to "Naturally Heal All Diseases and Become a Super-Shaman Who Dropkicks Raptor Jesus." Short-sighted buggers. I'm off to download the torrent now.

DEATH PENALTY for writing checks in the EXPRESS LANE.

Now, dear readers, who are my cute little intellectual Chia Pets, HERE is a cause in which I truly believe. If you even APPEAR to be about to produce a checkbook from your bloated-ass purse in the EXPRESS LANE, you MUST DIE INSTANTLY. No due process, no police, not even the generous protections of the NDAA. Electrocution devices must be installed in ALL express lanes to discourage such abhorrent misbehavior. In psychology (one of the many fields in which I have a self-awarded master's degree), this is called "behavioral conditioning." After you see a few people die in the express lane while having the shit blasted out of them by Nikola Tesla's ghost, you will think twice about whipping out that fucking checkbook. AND SHIT BALLS IF THAT ISN'T THE RIGHT THING TO DO.

WHY I AM A GENIUS (and you are an albino dirt mole)

It's basically because I think of shit LIKE THIS while sitting ON THE TOILET. Adjacent Causality and Variability in a Quantum Computational Universe. While you think about what you are going to do with your life now that Twinkies went out of business. Just face it, I'M BETTER THAN YOU. If you're not convinced yet, I forgive you, IT'S BECAUSE YOU ARE FUNCTIONALLY RETARDED. Go read THIS and cower... shake and tremble in the knowledge that even if you ingested 192 metric tons of LSD, you would never think of the shit I come up with while popping zits on my ass.

I do hereby solemnly SWEAR that I will NEVER reply to your stupid comments.

PAY ATTENTION. Here is the relationship between you and me. I am a GENIUS. You are NOT. Between us there are thousands of miles of cables and wires, through which I unfortunately cannot transmit my incredible mind-power to deliver a scissor kick to your neck-holes. HOWEVER, I can steadfastly ignore any "contributions" you might attempt to make to the perfection of my brilliant and Genesee Ice-sodden writings. I AM THE PINNACLE OF HUMAN EVOLUTION. You AIN'T. You are not even Admirals, or even fucking Ensigns. GET OFF MY BRIDGE!

THE ADMIRAL, or "Why I Am Better Than You"

Blogs. If I were to say there are ten million of them as a dismissive sarcastic point, I would undoubtedly be underestimating. Well, here is another one, and it's very likely to be a piece of shit just like the rest. But I don't care. I am bored. I was first promoted to Admiral in the third grade. I have been an Admiral for 32 years, so fuck you! Yes, fuck you!!! That's all for today.