Hypochondriasis

I know we all fondly remember that day when Scruffy announced that her end was near, and yet… somehow, some way, she has managed to hang on, raging against the dying of the light, her brave and pure spirit refusing to be vanquished by the forces of Hashbrown’s Syndrome, mercury poisoning, botulism and terminal athlete’s foot.

So it was with no small amount of amusement that I encountered this absolute gem of a post by that amazingly insane woman on her website:

I CAN’T READ

Yes, the (actual) owner of The Biggest Steaming Pile Of Horseshit On The Internet can’t read, because she is allergic to paper and ink. Think about that for just a few minutes, dear readers. Marvel at the sheer, unadulterated audacity of that statement. Ponder the implications of being unable to tolerate the touch of paper or ink. Scruffy cannot touch money (which is bullshit of the purest ray serene), newspapers, most restaurant menus, her mail, toilet paper, kleenex, cash register receipts, instruction manuals, the wrappers on her McCheeseburgers, the labels on her many pill bottles, napkins, TV Guides, milk cartons, paper towels, or (and this is the worst) the wrappers on ice cream sandwiches.

I’m not going to bother addressing the entire “I can’t read books” bullshit, because damn near any book you would care to name can be obtained in digital format and viewed on a video display, be it a Kindle, a tablet, a PC monitor… hell, you can read a damn book on your phone. Now Scruffy, if you decide you are allergic to knowledge, that is something I would be inclined to agree with. Also, severe allergy to civility, honesty, integrity… you get the idea.

We can only hope.

This one hurts

Please forgive my grammar. I’ve been drinking. I shall continue to drink until I fall asleep. Then, I may drink some more. Dan Wilson has died, and this is personal.

Kind of pissed about this. I’ve been carrying a defective heart around for well over a decade and goddammit, I was supposed to be the next one on the train to Wherever. Dan, you took my seat. Now I can’t even call you up and say WTF.

Dan was, beyond any shadow of a doubt, the very best human being that ever logged into the swampy morass that we call social broadcasting. He simply had no peers in terms of kindness, intellect and that rarest of all human attributes, grace. He is gone now, and we are all immeasurably poorer than we were.

I’m a touch sketchy on the details (the when, the where, the mechanics) of his passing. I swapped a few texts with Mrs. Dan – I needed to confirm that what I sincerely hoped was an idiotic rumor heard on the Ivlog was in fact just a rumor, but it wasn’t. Not much to say at that point, is there? You offer to do whatever you can, but short of performing a 21st century version of raising Lazarus, it’s all just words. It leaves one feeling a bit (well, more than a bit) empty. I can do all sorts of shit, I have many interesting skills. Can’t do a single goddamn thing about this.

Dan was arguably the single most fortunate man who ever lived. For those of you who have had the pleasure of meeting Mrs Dan, you know EXACTLY what I am talking about. She was a perfect match for Dan on every level (smart as a whip, stunning, and had that grace thing in spades). I know not which angels guided the two of them to meet, but it was the best day’s work they ever did. A remarkable woman, a remarkable couple.

Dan was directly responsible for steering me onto Taylor guitars, and I suspect he approved of the one I ended up buying, even if it wasn’t the exact one he played. Whenever I would see him in chat and say “Hey, I got a new toy”, he was just as excited about it as I was. G.A.S. (Guitar Acquisition Syndrome) will do that to you. It turns a normal (well, sorta normal) man into a little kid with a new bike. Between the guitar lust and our somewhat eclectic tastes in music, a friendship grew pretty quickly. He listened to what I played, I listened to what he played, and we were delighted when we discovered we were both fans of some fairly obscure performers. It’s a rare thing when we find someone with tastes as peculiar as our own; it’s something to cherish.

We shared some other interests as well, we were, after all, of an age demographic that sociologists liked to refer to as “baby boomers”, born in the fifties, growing up with Davy Crockett coonskin caps, hula hoops, black & white TV that picked up 2 (3 if you lived in a big city) stations, Project Mercury (NO ONE under the age of 60 can name the original seven astronauts), The British Invasion and your parents could (and did) smoke everywhere, including the doctors office (not making this up, kids). In other words, just a perfect friend. Never had to explain a damn thing to Dan. He was there, he knew.

So my friend Dan has passed on, and this is where I say “gone but not forgotten”, not because it’s a cliche, but because it is the exact word-for-word truth. I have read in various tomes that there is a philosophy that as long as someone is remembered, they have not truly perished. So I would ask the two or three of you that read this, remember Dan. Remember just how good, how decent, how kind, how remarkable Dan was. Keep him with you, in that secret part of your heart.

I need to drink more now.

Whom the Gods would destroy

…they first make illiterate. With apologies to Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, I must note that as of late, the resident know-it-all of Ivlog has been increasingly erratic in her writing.

The other night I happened by her channel and the scrolling description was, as usual, detailing some absurd aspect of her tawdry existence. What caught my eye was “I was the victim of two attempted seduces…”. Now that just doesn’t make sense, and of course, me being me… well, I had to tell her so.

I pointed out her misuse of the word and made a couple of suggestions (“I was the victim of two attempted seductions” and so on) and just to twist the pen in the wound, I observed that grammar is hard, especially if you are from New York City, where English isn’t really spoken.

I know you will find this hard to believe, but I was actually kicked out of her chat. Amazing? Indeed.

Then, a mere 2 nights later, I made another sortie into the hostile territory of her channel and lo, she had changed her show description and now had an entirely new grammatical error on display. Once again, I pointed out her error and repeated my commiseration that grammar was difficult for one who was a denizen of New York City. Her anger was plain to see, as her current favorite butt-boy (Ian123456789) was in chat and “lol’d” at her mistake. Once again, I found myself looking at the familiar “You have been kicked from this channel” message.

I fear that Yetta’s wheels are coming off. Cocoa was right; her appointment with the ferryman draws near. Be sure to keep some change handy, Yetta. Charon does charge for the ride.

What does “severe” mean?

First, let’s set the table.

“DUE TO SEVERE ABUSE OF THE SYSTEM”

Cocoa and I are in the midst of a discussion about this notice. Cocoa is somewhat perplexed about what this even means and seeks to understand this notice in light of the recent change to the ToS. I am puzzled as to what “severe abuse of the system” is supposed to mean.

It is fairly indisputable that Cram only listens to a fairly small number of people on Ivlog, so it seems obvious that one or more of these people is getting trolled hard from IPs that Cram is unable to associate with a user account (welcome to the internets, Cram). So just how hard are these Friends of Cram (FoC) getting trolled? I have no idea. I have not seen any of this for myself. The people that I observe getting trolled the most are the socially inept (Jessica, Faroe, etc) who invite and encourage the trolls with their emotional and flamboyant reactions. I have no doubt they fill Cram’s inbox with complaint piled atop complaint, but that is just part of their nature.

Cram, your website is theoretically for adults. Your ToS states “This site is designated for the use of any person, 18 years of age or older.” Obviously, reaching the age of 18 (or 21, or 35, or 80) does not confer maturity, wisdom or emotional stability on anyone, and those limp-dicked motherfuckers are the ones that are troll magnets. I watched in person as JessicaLovesDrama called for a moderator to ban “mean guests” when she was unable to deal with the fallout of a run-in she had on Crossdresser Jack’s show. As a broadcaster, she had the tools to manage her show, but she worked herself into such a state that all she could do was weep and moan piteously on camera because people were being mean to her.

So I have to ask myself the following: is this issue being driven by a handful of marginal social retards filling up Cram’s inbox, or is there something going on amidst the FoCs that I am just completely unaware of? I will seek to enhance my understanding of what is driving this interesting Vaughn-like policy and report back when I have something that seems to make a modicum of sense.

Killing guest chat strikes me as terrifically counter-productive (as amply demonstrated elsewhere) to a social broadcasting site. I don’t see this current course of action ending well for site management or site users.

Cray Cray, 24/7

Yetta is back to screaming about Lizzy around the clock. Lizzy did this, Lizzy did that, Lizzy made up user names, Lizzy made a blog post, Lizzy made a twitter account, Lizzy wrote me a “lettah”, Lizzy catfished me, Lizzy called me a name, Lizzy parked in a tow-away zone, Lizzy kidnapped the Lindbergh baby, Lizzy was late returning a book to the library, Lizzy was responsible for the stock market crash… the list is endless.

Lizzy made my nose grow!

Yetta is also yelling about other ‘casters who are “putting her on the spot” by interrogating her (Yetta’s phrase) regarding the Great New Year’s Non-invitation of 2019 that had Yetta stuck in a 72 hour loop complaining about not being invited to an Ivlog show (I really do wish I was making this up). So far, she has mentioned BPink, Donny Donowitz, and “Jackie” Lee by name as broadcasters who put her on the spot when she entered their channels by asking her about her continuing Lizzy rants. Yetta states to her audience of Ian and guests that these above named broadcasters are nefarious ne’er do wells who seek to make her feel guilty for “crimes” that others have perpetrated upon her. “I’m innocent, I AM THE VICTIM”, Yetta cries to her small and mostly silenced audience.

Credit where it is due. When Donny told the old bat he had filed a ToS complaint against her (and whether he actually did or not is certainly open to speculation), it set her off like a dog with a roman candle shoved up its ass. Yetta is still running in circles, baying at the top of her considerable lungs about how innocent she is and how very guilty Donny is.

At some point, Yetta will get her medication adjusted again and she will enter a period of quiescence, but in the meantime Yetta is fully cranked up and venting her spleen to anyone that is willing to park in her channel for 30 seconds. Enjoy, people.

The Tranny Train stops here

If you have an IQ higher than a houseplant and you have been paying any attention at all lately, you are no doubt aware that Ivlog recently made a change to their ToS, primarily in regards to the use of 3rd party applications such as Skype, Discord, etc during live broadcasts.

In a nutshell, if someone is bannzored from Ivlog, you may not have them in your show by means of one of these 3rd party applications.

So what does the simpleton cross-dresser do this morning? Jack has damisc on a skype call and within seconds of damisc starting to speak…

HEAD SHOT!

This happened before damisc could get even one sentence out of that sewer he calls a mouth. Was the Ivlog moderator sitting in the Ivlog Command Center, watching, waiting for Jack to fuck up? I have no doubts on that score. Of course he was. Jack’s propensity for fucking up is exceeded only by the amount of pancake makeup slathered on his face.

Will Jack return? Will Jack learn anything from this? Will Jack buy larger rubber titties? Only time will tell.

Thank you, Roller

Way back a long time ago, in the dim prehistoric days of social broadcasting, I met a unique guy with the name of Roller. It was on Yahoo Live and for those of you who were on Yahoo Live… it was the Wild Wild West of the broadcasting world for a few glorious and insane months. Roller fit right in. He had a great sense of self-deprecating humor and was an early adopter of the webcam overlay packages that were available at the time. I was doing a show one night and he popped up on a guest cam, tinted RED as a fire engine, with animated flames coming up from the bottom of the frame and enormous horns superimposed on his forehead. He gleefully typed in chat “I’M IN HELL!, get it?”. He was never one to let his infirmity slow him down or get him down.

Roller loved what is euphemistically called “classic rock and roll” and loved to share his music with one and all. He fell into doing shows pretty quickly and made a lot of friends with equal speed. I never met a single person who didn’t like him once they got to know him, which leads me into a True Roller Story. He was doing a show one afternoon, and I sort of dragged a new-to-the-site female into his cast. She had never seen Roller before, and shortly after we entered his channel, she PM’d me and said “This guy looks weird.” I replied “He’s a quad, think nothing of it.” She replied “A quad? What’s a quad?” I realized I had not given her a detailed enough explanation, so I told her that “quad” was short for quadriplegic and explained briefly what had happened to him. To make a long story short, that woman never missed another of his ‘casts after that day. Once she spoke to him that first time, he worked that magical southern charm of his all over her and he had another friend for life.

When Yahoo Live bit the dust we all migrated to the various available webcasting sites and eventually washed up on the shores of BlogTV. There was an afternoon show on BlogTV hosted by a guy whose ID was justROBme2 (a nice guy, technologically challenged to be sure, but a nice guy) that was heavily attended. When Rob would sign off there would always be much discussion about who was going to go live next. Eventually, Roller took over the post-Rob time slot and an internet star was born. Roller’s sure-fire mix of mainstream rock and his easy manners coupled with a fairly friendly chat room began to attract more and more viewers.

One of Roller’s patented DJ Cat images.

As time went on, Roller began to trim his hours a bit and cut back on the number of shows. I assume there were probably some health issues driving this, but Roller was always 100% cheerful and “on” when he went live. No show was complete without cries of “Fix your shit!” and “UNMUTE, noob!” from the audience, tales of dropped sticks (if you were there, you know what I’m talking about), and a detailed description of what was for supper.

Sadly, Roller has passed away, and while his shows had become downright infrequent, I feel comfortable in saying that no one who saw him is ever going to forget him. He was a natural at entertaining his friends and it was a pleasure to kick back for a couple or three hours and just let Roller take over the controls. He was widely loved, respected and admired; he will be missed.

Still angry, still balding

YellerTellerbeller is back and looking absolutely terrible. Cocoa Black actually called me and asked me to look in on the old woman. Cocoa was concerned that Yetta was puffy and misshapen and was perhaps nearing her end. While I did not disagree that Yetta is indeed looking more saggy as of late, I suspect she still has a few more miles left before her farting days are over.

Yetta was having a grand old time spewing her hatred toward the latest people that she has interacted with. Singled out for special attention: the human appearing scarecrow named McGuyver (loudly and repeatedly denounced for trying to “hijack” Yetta’s show), Boston Chickie (apparently for the crime of having McGuyver in her channel) and Capt. CRAPtastic (the latest person she is quite certain is an author on this blog). Yetta pronounced all of them to be pedestrian and unworthy of her attention… all while paying them attention. Consistency is not exactly Yetta’s salient characteristic.

Of note, there is a new Yettacentric channel on Ivlog. I do hereby swear and affirm I have exactly nothing to do with that channel, but I can also state that it is doing the Lord’s work and I wish them every success, right up until the time some asshat reports it to the comically inept management of Ivlog and they remove it.

Tears of the Weak

Okay, this should be simple, and I think for most of you, it is. There are Certain Individuals that haunt social media sites and they do nothing but lie and incite. I suspect that you, dear reader, could easily tick off a short list of them without putting forth any effort. These Certain Individuals are harmless to those of us that know them for who and what they are, but the weak-minded (that’s harsh, but it’s fair) let these people get under their skins and all too often they take what is said to or about them to heart.

The latest episode of this drama du jour happened this morning in the Official Ivlog Transvestite channel. The laughably hideous “JackieLee” was babbling on in his usual mindless manner when a slap fight broke out between Michelle Stacy (a well known Certain Individual) and JessicaLuvsJesus (the weak-minded). The mentally ill LikLik (yet another Certain Individual) sensed a disturbance within the asylum and immediately rushed to join the affray, adding his own peculiar brand of inflammatory disinformation wherever he felt it would do the most harm. It’s what he does. In the meantime, JackieLee did what he does best: absolutely nothing.

As far as a fight, the outcome was never in doubt. Michelle Stacy and LikLik are devoid of anything we might term a conscience, and JessicaLuvsJesus is basically unarmed in any battle of wits. The Certain Individuals fired off their usual spread of lies, the weak-minded took it very seriously, burst into tears and rage quit. JessicaLuvsJesus retreated to one of her alt accounts, wept copiously and finally summoned an Ivlog site moderator to nail “mean” guests with IP bans.

Various denizens of Ivlog popped in and out of JessicaLuvsJesus’ channel to commiserate or remonstrate as their natures dictated. Among these folks was Boston Chickie (someone I have “known” since she first appeared in the dim and misty past of social broadcasting) who wisely observed that with the passage of a few days this would all blow over. It did sadden me to see that Michelle Stacy was later sighted in Boston Chickie’s channel as her super-op. Boston, dear lady, if you lay down with dogs you will surely get up with fleas.

This all leads into a discussion on the subject of “transitive friendships” and the ultimately destructive nature of relationships to people who give credence to that philosophy. The friend of your friend DOES NOT HAVE TO BE my friend. It is entirely possible and eminently legitimate that you may have a friend that I despise and you and I can remain friends. If you would be so kind, please ask yourself some simple questions: when you were growing up, how many of your friends were disapproved of by your parents? Did you despise your parents because they disliked one of your friends? Do you feel your parents were wrong, given the time that has since elapsed? Do you now comprehend their point of view?

I worry for Boston Chickie and her seeming friendship with someone that I know is a viper, but I am not going to cease contact with BC over the issue. I suspect BC will, in her own good time come to see what, in my opinion, is self-evident, but as a wise man once said, you can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make him think. Er…., drink.

One year ago

I meant to post this yesterday and I got sidetracked by a stubborn PCIe SATA controller card that wished to have its way with me. This afternoon, after a fearsome struggle in which much blood was shed, I prevailed.

ONE YEAR AGO, Mommy Vaughn announced that she was dying.

Will you PLEASE get on with it.

It grieves me to report that I have nothing further to report. I shall endeavor to maintain a sense of optimism and hope for the worst. For her.

Fun for kids of all ages

Cocoa has told me to get off my dead posterior and do something I mentioned in passing once upon a time: Cookie Bingo.

The rules are simple and the card below is but an example. Write down 24 of her annoying words or phrases (which should not be too difficult, because that woman is the living embodiment of annoying) and play Cookie Bingo with your friends. Fun for anyone who has ever been on JTV, blogTV, YawnLive or Ivlog.

Right click, save as, or whatever the kids are doing these days…

Note: Her OCD forces her to say some of her words/phrases over and over. Sorry, you only get to use it once, because she IS crazy and you aren’t.

TraffiC means Tripcode

Cookie has decided that she has discovered the secret identity of this writer. She has come to the inescapable and ineluctable conclusion that I am…

The Ivlog Ouija Boards says all signs point to…

Tripcode. After announcing this, she then loudly proclaimed (in triplicate, as is her wont) that I would deny that I am Tripcode. Toots, I could give exactly zero flying fucks at a rolling doughnut who you think I am. If you need to think I am Tripcode, the Wizard of Oz, the Grand Wazoo or Father Duffy, then that is who I am.

With the help of her current sidekick, Ian985 (more about Ian shortly), they then deduced that Cocoa was someone named Jinx. After a bit more brainstorming, they came to the positive conclusion that HandsomeMork and Cocoa Black are both Tripcode. By now, you must be thinking the same thing that I am… Tripcode is a VERY busy boy.

As H.L. Mencken said, “For every complex problem there is an answer that is clear, simple, and wrong.”

Ian985 is a rather interesting character. He agrees with every single bit of nonsense that drops out of Cookie’s ever flapping pie hole. He agrees just a little too much, too eagerly, too avidly. I’m gonna go ahead right now, in writing, and call him out as a catfish. No one agrees with anyone as much as Ian agrees with Cookie, and when something is too good to be true, it’s just too damn good to be true. Shitlips, you are fixin’ to get burned once again and I for one am going to revel in every minute of it.


ME! ME! ME!

Deeply into her senescence, Yetta’s show has become a festival celebrating her own peculiar brand of egocentrism. I have encountered some self-centered assholes in my sixty plus years on this planet the kids call “erf”, but this old bat is walking off with the cake. With an ego that large, it is simply impossible for a knave such as myself to resist the impulse to stick the occasional pin in the enormous balloon of her self-esteem. Sometimes it rattles her cage just a bit, as witnessed by the screen capture below:

Spiling iz haard. No simple typo, this.

She did in fact notice her error, as a clear expression of irritation passed across her face, but in true Lipshitzian fashion, she plowed on for the next 25 minutes telling me just how very much I sucked. Then it was back to the “All Lizzy, All The Time” diatribe she has been locked into since the beginning of 2019. I must bow to Lizzy, as she is UNDER the skin of Kookie in a truly impressive fashion. Troll Level: Master.

The Holidays Can Be Hard

This time of year can be difficult for some people. For example, the bag lady of Ivlog is having an exceedingly rough time of it right now. Still pining for her young and star-crossed time-traveling paramour, we observe that Ruth Telebooth Yetta Telebenda is showing not only her sizeable bald spot (which, it appears she has been able to successfully lease as a helipad), but also a good inch or so of not-so-fashionable gray rootage.

You are cleared for landing.

I truly feel sorry for the poor hair dresser that will have to endure the hour or so of inane and befuddled Lipshitsian ramblings as Marjorie sees to her thinning coiffure in an attempt to hang on to the dimming memories of those bygone times when she was young and dinosaurs walked the earth.

‘Tis the Season

In an event that we all saw coming, Yetta’s unrequited lesbian love for Lizzy is no more.

Yetta is a harsh mistress, and apparently Lizzy’s behavior failed to pass muster, leading Yetta to label Lizzy a “sleaze”. Yetta spent a rough 24 hours defending her judgemental behavior, alternately declaiming that she had not in fact called Lizzy a “sleaze” per se, but had labeled Lizzy’s behavior (repeat the word “behavior” three times then write it in chat) “sleazy” and then stating that it really didn’t matter if she had called Lizzy a sleaze or not, as the truth must be told, and Yetta – being a direct descendant of Moses (just ask her) – is the preeminent giver of the law and truth.

So now we come to Yetta, sitting in her channel, chat set to “ops only”, insulting her listeners as “uneducated”, “willfully ignorant”, “fools”, “lacking in understanding” and so on. Yetta has lots of experience in failed relationships, and all of those failures have one common element. That element is Marjorie Levine. Lack of understanding indeed, Yetta.

Per Yetta, Lizzy will not respond to any PMs and so Yetta had no choice other than to ban Lizzy from her channel. This information comes directly from Yetta, so look for the story to change by noon tomorrow. It always does.

Pleather

For some reason, It seems that Under Teleblunder likes to “fart into pleather”. I had to look up “pleather”, which seems to be the 21st century version of what us old folks used to call Naughahyde.

Now naughahyde was damned mysterious in and of itself back in the day. I have hunted many species of critter on the North American continent, but I had never heard of a Naugha; I assumed that it must have a splendid hide, so it was probably a domesticated animal, being raised on vast Naugha ranches, probably located in exotic locations, such as Wyoming or maybe the New Jersey Pine Barrens.

Some internet research reveals that “pleather” is a chemical product made from polyvinyl chloride. Yes, it is made from exactly the same stuff that all those white, gray, blue, green, black, etc. plumbing pipes are made from. And that was when the light came on: no wonder she farts into it, it’s her toilet drain pipe.

In other news, Cookie’s COTU has hit new heights, as she stormed out of Lizzy’s show because Lizzy wouldn’t cut guest chat off. Cookie has now announced (and channeled Miss Scruffy exceedingly well in the process) that she will no longer enter any channel that has guest chat on. The Grand Dame of Social Media stated that no rational broadcaster would ever consider doing a show with guest chat on. She seemed quite put out that just anyone could add to the conversation. She added that every guest was up to no good and they should just be banned. Of course, she was telling this to all the guests sitting in her channel watching her melt down.

But she is NOT mad.

Was it something I said?

Utter Telebutter has gotten big mad at me. I am talking full on screaming, howling, raving, barking at the moon mad. You see friends and neighbors, I am, in her own words, “less than an insect”, however I am also “very dangerous”. So dangerous that Fetta will now be leaving her tenement housing project via the garage. She has alerted the NYPD Internet Troll squad, the Federal IP Enforcement Unit, The Royal Canadian Mounted Packet Inspector Division and The Brooklyn Boy Scouts (can we still call them Boy Scouts?) of my presence on her channel and… boy do I feel sorry for whoever has to deal with her.

She has sworn a mighty oath, sealed by the Covenant of Moses (who she does in fact claim as an ancestor) that she will never again read a single word of this here useless blog, as it is beneath her notice, contempt, excrement, finger nail clippings, stained underwear… you name it.

I wish her well, but I fear that she will be unable to hold fast to her word. Below is a screen cap of November’s server logs – which is (at the moment of this writing) a bit less than 29 hours old.

83 Page views since yesterday

So good luck Yoda Telekubota. I will do what I can to help you avoid my miserable website which your immense, bloated ego has no further desire to see.

Fish Story

We’ve all heard fish stories. Someone went fishing and caught a fish, and that fish increases in size each time the fisherman (fisher-person?) tells the story about the catch.

Kookie Shitlips, resident crazy person of Ivlog, is spinning her fish story even as I type this post. This afternoon, Kookie stated that she had approached an art gallery with an idea. She talked about taking screen caps of some comments concerning her, “scribbling” on them, thereby transforming these posts into art and having a one woman exhibition of … whatever. Art, it ain’t. She said the mythological dealer of art was interested in this idea and after a pregnant pause, Shitlips added she was going to be paid. More about “being paid” later in this post.

That keen legal maven, Candy Rayne, playing her role of enabler of the demented, advised Kookie that by virtue of scribbling on these screen shots, they would then become Kookie’s intellectual property. Kookie cackled about wanting to be sued by the authors of the scribbled upon posts (sued for precisely what, she did not say) as that would require said plaintiffs to identify themselves in the forthcoming fantasy legal proceedings. In other words, a typical Kookie fantasy wherein she conjures up amazing plots so she can be the heroine and vanquish all who stand before her.

This evening, the story, much like that fish, had grown considerably. By 11pm, the story was that an art gallery had approached her with this idea. Now that makes NO effing sense at all for at least two very good reasons. First, exactly how would this phantasmagorical art dealer know anything about Shitlip’s experiences on the internet, and secondly, why in the name of Blue Jesus would he then advise the Bag Lady of Ivlog to “scribble” on screen shots of which he has no knowledge?

As the witching hour approached, one art dealer became TWO art dealers. Yes, apparently the Art World of New York City is beating a path to the rent-controlled walk-up that is the abode of Kookie, and they come waving money. I said I would get back around to “being paid”. Art galleries work on consignment sales, Kookster. NO ONE IS GOING TO PAY YOU A DIME FOR A COPY OF A SCREEN CAPTURE THAT YOU HAVE DRAWN SOME LINES ON. Sadly, I have actually seen some of her “art work” and… well, it’s easier to show it than attempt to describe it. It is about at the level of a child with their very first box of crayons.

Seriously, she calls this art.

On the one hand, it is entertaining watching her lunacy from a front row seat, on the other hand, it is kinda sad watching her lunacy from a front row seat.

Voltaire? Volare!

It is apparent that someone has pointed out this fabulous blog to the vile and execrable Kookie Shitlips. Of course, Kookie is “disturbed“, so it is in her nature to point out a couple of posts we have made concerning her. She typed in the urls of two posts (her catfish experience with the mysterious Tripcode and a post concerning her usage of RevolverMaps) into the scrolling chat description window above the chat area. One aspect of her scrolling message does puzzle me mightily. Who the fuck is Voltaire?

 

 

Now I am going to go well out on a limb here and make an assumption. I am ASSUMING that Cookie is not referring to the historical personage known as “Voltaire” (real name: François-Marie Arouet), but is instead referring to some chat room wag who uses Voltaire as a user ID. This is not a safe assumption on my part. Given this antediluvian harridan’s grandiose delusions, she may actually believe that Voltaire is alive, well, and writing about her.

In any event, “Voltaire” is not a name that myself or Cocoa has ever used on any social broadcasting site. PremiumHogwash is now and has always been authored by myself and the esteemed Cocoa Black, and neither of us are fans of the cheese eating surrender monkeys. Any attempt by Kookie to credit this blog to Voltaire is purely the result of an Elavil induced psychosis.

Hell Storm ’18 or Gone With the Wind part CLXXXII

That most dangerous of men, Matt Drudge, always refers to inbound hurricanes as “HELL STORM”, this time around he may be right.

North Carolina has had some bad luck with “F” hurricanes in the month of September, and it looks like another one is on its way. The European Weather models have been calling for Florence to hit the Carolinas for over a week now, and the GFS (the American model) has finally decided that uh… yeah, it looks like Florence is gonna hit the Carolinas.

Right now it looks like it will come ashore as a category 3 storm, which is bad enough, but the projections for rainfall are slam out of sight. This rain will be coming down in an area that has had a historically wet summer already.

Let me recommend that you get familiar with this guy sooner rather than later: https://www.wxrisk.com/(fakebook page is https://www.facebook.com/WxRisk and youtube channel is https://www.youtube.com/user/wxdave1, twitter is  https://twitter.com/wxriskcom). This guy KNOWS HIS SHIT.

Is this place dead or what?

Cocoa said she was gonna do a post about Youtube killing my last show… but she didn’t.

I was doing my usual Friday show thing, this time using Youtube (which, parenthetically speaking, used to have no issue with it – but times and rules change, eh?) and just after 2 hours they shut me down. I could read the chat and see people saying I had been shut down, but I couldn’t type anything at all so I had no way of telling everyone good night. I got an email later that night saying they shut me down because “Due to a copyright match, your stream was interrupted”. I am amused by this because I had been on for over 2 hours. So did the “copyright match” take place earlier and it took them some time to react, OR was the song that was playing at that exact moment trigger the match? Who knows. I do know that based on the experience of many other streamers, Youtube will never tell me. So anyway, I am crossing Youtube off the list of places to do a show.

Got an email concerning perpetual guest numbers on Ivlog. The emailer said that they have had the same guest number for the last 2 days. They said that they ran CCleaner, deleted their cookies and so on and so forth and still had the same guest number. I went to Ivlog and lo, the assigned number I got seemed to want to stick. I blew out all the ivlog cookies (there are several of them) and removed ivlog from my history, returned to ivlog and… same guest number. IP linked? So then I removed the cookies and history and waited until the next day to go back. Now I had a different guest number. The sad and tiny little fellow that runs Ivlog really really REALLY wants to know who everyone is that uses that site. Be aware that this change in assigning a guest number is probably not in your best interests.

Goutboy might be feeling some heat from a certain sports league. I went looking to see who was showing preseason NFL games on the Miscellaneous channel and lo, nary a game was to be found anywhere on the entire site. Interesting, very interesting as Arte Johnson used to say.

There was a spot of excitement on Twitter today as they were streaming a Madden ’19 tournament out of Jacksonville, Florida and some beta male took losing his round to heart and proceeded to shoot the venue up and then put one through his own head. Dear suicidal losers: PLEASE, make your last shot your first shot. Blow your own pathetic brains out before you shoot other people. Thank you. Invest in metal detector stocks now, because this guy has just given every business that caters to groups larger than two a reason to buy one. Every news site in the world linked to Twitter for the video of when the shooting started, so Twitter, in a moment of brilliant business insight, pulled the video down. No free advertising for you, come back, one year.

Be careful out there, people.

Cr3am the Nazi

A picture is worth 1000 words, so I’ll let this screen cap taken at 5AM (10AM Cr3am time, in other words mid-morning) speak for itself.

Dietary Tips

As a man of distinguished years (i.e., old), I have been exposed to numerous philosophies, world views, observations, anecdotes, witticisms and all manner of folk wisdom. In this current decade I made the acquaintance of a brilliant philosopher from the Great State of Texas who informed me of a TRUE FACT: All women are crazy and all men are stupid.

I mention this because last night, I proved the above axiom true, yet again. For supper, I had a large bowl of chocolate ice cream, many many handfuls of goldfish crackers and most of a container of bacon bits.

To say that my stomach became upset is a laughable understatement. Cramps, spasms, explosive emissions of the sonic and semi-solid nature, pain, regret, sorrow, strange and unnatural noises coming from my torso while a hyper boa constrictor wrestles a pack of rabid weasels for control of my colon, wishing for and then praying for a swift death to deliver me from my plight… yes, all this and more describes my evening.

In all honesty, a six year old left alone at home would probably make better dietary choices than I.

I am a man, ergo I am stupid.