I hate Captchas©. They pretty much tell me that the only way you care about what I'm thinking is if I solve an impossible puzzle using only my wits and my fingers. I mean once in a while you get a funny one that says something remotely dirty and then you can snicker and think you're clever because you include it in your comment and then the author is all "Oh Kurt! You're so observant!" and then they make a big deal out of it and then you pretend to be embarrassed but really you're very pleased with yourself and then the doorbell rings and it's your landlord and he still wants to talk about the rent that's late, and you just wish he could understand how brilliant you are, especially at noticing Captchas© that are semi-dirty. And then you hide in the pile of dirty jeans in the corner, because he might actually come in this time.
My Captchas© lately seem to be getting harder. Like, at first, they were all "oblige" and "butterfly" but lately they've been crazy like "frightenstein" and "30,000,000-" and I look at that number and I try to remember if it's million or billion and I say each zero as I type it so I don't lose count, but then I do anyway(s), and I'm all "Eff. Three. Zero. Zero. Zero. Zero. Zero.... EFF!" and it seems like an awful lot of work just to make a stupid fart joke, so instead I enjoy some delicious Pringles© brand potato crisps, which are totally available in a variety of mouth-watering flavors and I know Once I Pop, I Can't Stop©*, and then I go back to sitting on the couch and scratching myself absent-mindedly. Because I'm gritty and real! Like NYPD Blue.
I think Captchas© are undermining our core internet values of porn, spam, robots, and Japanese Tentacle-sex, and furthermore if I get one more that makes me put an "@" in, my comment will just be "Fuck You." Only I won't type it, I'll say it... to my goldfish and he'll be all confused because normally I treat him nice when I remember to feed him and if he suddenly feels unloved it's because YOU had to make Captchas© enabled on your blog just to be mean.
I wash my hands of this whole affair. Except for the Pringles©, because they are finger-lickin' good©**
* Pringles people: Call me. We'll do lunch. I mean we'll eat it...not fuck it. What kind of an asshole do you think I am? Like I'm so desperate that I have to have sex with this succulent Roast Beef and Swiss on Rye? Like you could do better! This sandwich is a LADY, not some slut from Pringle-town! What? Oh yeah...call me.
**This is totally a KFC© slogan so they can call me too if they like, I'll work for biscuits.
PS: I know this is three posts in one day and that is a lot, but Nikki threw off my napping time-table by tagging me, so it was this or more Japanese Tentacle Porn.