
“Forgot there was a physical today, huh?” – Homer Simpson
“Forgot there was a physical today, huh?” – Homer Simpson
“Yeah. . . . Hey, Homer, can I borrow your underwear?” – Lenny
“Nah.” – Homer Simpson
“Sir, I’m afraid Homer Simpson is sterile.” – Mr. Smithers
“Who?” – C.M. Burns
“One of your cabbage heads from sector 7G. Take a look at this sperm sample from his recent physical.” – Mr. Smithers
“Ugh.” – C.M. Burns
“Now, compare this with a normal sperm sample.” – Mr. Smithers
“My baby translator!” – Herb Powell
“Ooooh.” – Marge Simpson
“Marge, you don’t have to humor me.” – Herb Powell
“Well, it’s pretty ingrained.” – Marge Simpson
“Before you begin, let me make one thing clear to you: I want your legal advice. I even pay for it. But to me you’re all vipers! You live on personal injury! You live on divorces! You live on pain and misery! . . . But I’m rambling. Anybody want any coffee?” – C.M. Burns
“I’ll have some coffee.” – Blue Haired Lawyer
“Want it black, don’t you? Black like your heart? It’s so hard for me to listen to you! I hate you all so much! . . . I’m sorry, it’s my problem. I’ll deal with it.” – C.M. Burns
“I bet you’re all wondering what lies under this sheet.” – Herb Powell
“Not really. We peeked inside while you were in the john.” – Bart Simpson
“Well, here it is again.” – Herb Powell
“Herb, this is the stupidest thing I’ve ever seen. I can’t believe we blew two thousand bucks on it when right now rollers could be kneading my buttocks.” – Homer Simpson
“Homer, could you stop thinking about your ass?” – Herb Powell
“I’ll try, but I can’t.” – Homer Simpson
“I’m tellin’ ya, all a man needs is an idea, and I’ve got an idea!” – Herb Powell
“Then how come you’re still a bum?” – Hobo
“Alright, a man needs two things: an idea and money to get it off the ground.” – Herb Powell
NOTE: Brooklyn October Simpsons Trivia here I (hopefully) come!
With the exception of some specific memories of the show and occasionally referring to my backbreaking, mind numbing labor, I try to keep my personal life off of this blog. Dave, Mad Jon, and myself started this as a Simpsons site, and even though I’ve gradually all but taken it over like some kind of not giving up school guy, I can’t make this a 100% pure Simpsons space. I like the idea of that in theory, but in theory communism works.
In stupid reality, which we all have to face again sooner or later, my real job has slowly eroded out from underneath me. Where once there was a prosperous Flancrest Enterprises, now there is but a roughed up and near destitute CompuGlobal Hyper Mega Net.* The bad news is that my personal finances are now in such a state that dying in the gutter is almost the only thing that is practical and within my means. The good news is that we have so few customers and potential customers left that I can throw off the shackles of the work-a-day world and follow a dream, of sorts.
(*Incidentally, this site owes its existence to the 2008 crash that crippled our business. Our sudden lack of customers gave me a lot more free time, and instead of taking up smoking, I pestered my friends into starting this site with me. As much fun as it’s been, I still really wish that cardboard cutout of George Bush Junior had never run for President.)
Donald Trump’s America isn’t going to last long, barely enough time for a half chewed piece of fish to hit the ground. I’m going to spend the weeks between now and its November 8th landing observing the human peep show that is America’s political life. Since I haven’t deposited any forty-thousand dollar checks that haven’t cleared yet, I will be doing this on the utmost cheap, by bicycle and mostly sleeping in a tent.
Click here if you’re interested in my ideas, wish to subscribe to my newsletter, or just want to understand what the hell it is I’m doing on my little adventure. Truth be told, I’m not entirely sure; but the most likely outcome is that it will be just another detached piece of modern alienation. If you want to stalk me like Lenny and Carl, there’s also my oft neglected personal Twitter feed.
As for what’s going to happen on DHS, the Quotes of the Day will still have a home here, but we will also also learn about nutrition, self esteem, etiquette, and all the lively arts. I’ve also learned in recent weeks that once I’ve been on the bike for an hour or two, I don’t have any heavy head to carry anymore and can watch Simpsons episodes with a vile burlesque of irrepressible glee. Hopefully there will be a lot more of the sweet, beautiful, oxygen deprived drunk talk that informed my recent ramblings about “Lisa’s Substitute” a few weeks back, which I wrote fifty miles into a sixty mile ride.
Beyond that, I’m hopeful that my route will take me to the C.H.U.D. infested hellhole of New York City for Classic Simpsons Trivia on October 6th. Trying being the first step towards failure, I can’t promise that I’ll be there, but I promise that I’ll try to try. In the meantime, keep watching the skis.
(This may all backfire on me like a trip to a gay steel mill, but since I have no choice, I’m taking the alley.)
“Is this the one with the lazy sperm?” – C.M. Burns
“Mmm-hmm.” – Mr. Smithers
“Ah, Simpson! You big, virile son of a gun!” – C.M. Burns
Sorry for the late quote.
“Now, Bart, I know you’re too young for that machine gun you wanted, but I’m gonna give you something that’ll make sure when you’re old enough, you can still buy one: a membership in the National Rifle Association.” – Herb Powell
“Wow, the NRA! Can I get armor piercing cyanide tipped bullets too?” – Bart Simpson
“It’s in the Constitution, son.” – Herb Powell
“I need an idea, idea, idea, what’s the matter with me? I used to have hundreds of ideas.” – Herb Powell
“What do you want? I just changed your diaper, are you hungry? Are you cold? Do you want to go home?” – Mother in Park
“Lady, you just gave me the idea of a lifetime! How do I thank you?” – Herb Powell
“Please don’t hurt me.” – Mother in Park
“Consider it done.” – Herb Powell
“Well, friend, you’re going back where you came from, the curb in front of Flanders’ house.” – Homer Simpson
I am typing this on an unfamiliar keyboard. My preferred instrument, the one I have been using for the last nine years and which produced probably close to 90% of all the words that have ever appeared on this site, is part of a laptop that, despite my sincerest efforts to repair it, has processed its last. My beloved, blue Inspiron 5100 is now awaiting shipment back to Dell, where it will be disassembled and have its constituent parts and materials either sent to a landfill or recycled into new things. It is a process I couldn’t bear to watch, and I’m glad it will take place far away from me at a time I will never know.
Going all the way back to the Apple II we had in the basement when I was a small child, the 5100 (naturally named “Charlene”) was the best computer I have ever owned, and one of the most durable and reliable pieces of electronics of any kind that I have ever seen. It had its quirks and problems, but they were always minor and I had recently managed to install a solid state drive. Just a week ago it was running better than it ever had, booting to Windows in just fifteen seconds and flying through everything from photoshop and mundane office tasks to writing this blog and letting me watch my favorite Simpsons episodes wherever and whenever.
It seemed set to continue working indefinitely. My goal was to get it to and past its tenth birthday, but it fell thirteen months shy when, last Thursday, somewhere in that cracked and worn but still very sturdy case, some small component of the RAM sockets, almost certainly invisible to the naked eye, failed after years of uninterrupted success. It’d had several near death experiences in the past, and was held together these last years by luck, love, about two thirds of the original screws, and a Lego piece that was hot glued to the inside to keep the headphone jack working. So over the last few days I tried mightily to revive it: testing different configurations, rebooting over and over, even paying for the rush shipping on the new chips I hoped would bring it back from the dead one more time. But the inescapable conclusion now is that there is nothing to be done.
On some level it is obscene to mourn over an inanimate object, something that for all the smiles and frowns it could cause was nothing more than a tool for reading lines of code, sorting ones from zeros. But while it was just a tool, it was an exceptional one, a tool that never once held back its user. So while it may not make sense or be in good taste to mourn it, the greater obscenity would be to let such a fine thing roll away unremembered. Among many other deeds great and small, it was instrumental in building this site, and it deserves commemoration here.
Like any tool, it can and will be replaced; but unlike all but the very best, it will always be missed. So long, old friend.
The Mob Has Spoken