Category: tech

Talk about software, hardware, electronics, and a myriad of other sex-repellent topics.

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hours and hours of wasted time

Hark! I am swollen with milk. Bleed me.
Nice laid-back weekend, once again the witch-project was neglected as I worked mainly on my own computer and upgrading our TiVo. In one of the easiest mods I’ve ever done, Erik and I slapped in an extra 120GB drive and upping the recording capacity from 40hrs to 141rs. Not that I was really using all 40hrs or anything, it just seemed like a fun thing to try. Now I can keep unlimited amounts of old Andy Griffith and Leave it to Beaver, for, something.

Last week I went back and read the transcript of Thursday’s debate, and believe me it resonated much more in writing when I had time to re-read and digest it all. If you missed the debate, or even if you saw it, I’d recommend reading the words in print. Sometimes, when watching it on TV it’s easy, at least for me, to get distracted – and the candidate’s answers end up sounding like random strings of politic-talk. In writing however, it’s much easier, again, for me, to see the point each was trying to make – and the intelligence and speaking skills of each comes through better. Anyway, reading it again drew out the hermit-of-a political commentator in me, but I shall not bore you, or shall I?

If there was a candidate who was pledging to kill babies if elected, but place no restrictions on gun ownership, and a candidate that wanted to heavily restrict gun ownership to small firearms for self-protection but would kill no babies – who would you vote for? It’s an unfair question, I know – but I’m trying to use it to illustrate a point. I just think, for this election, there are some issues that should bear more weight on peoples’ votes than “pet” issues. And I’m not trying to water down any one issue – if it’s important to you it should bear in your choice – but maybe, just perhaps, in the times and age we live in right now, voters may want to make some concessions to their idea of a “perfect” candidate, in order to avoid catastrophe.

There, I’ve said it, and I know the argument is full of holes and not really well-thought-out, but I think maybe, with a stretch, you can see what I’m driving at. Are you fiercely anti-bovine-growth-hormone? Great, glad you’re opinionated? but perhaps, in light of what’s going on in the world today – you’d better serve our country by voting for someone who’s less anti-BGH than you, in the interest of solving bigger, badder problems first. Then, next time around, when we have some peace and aren’t under threat of attack – then, then you can cast your votes based on the candidates’ stances on bovine growth hormones. Does that make sense?

I know, enough about politics right? But they’re just so dang interesting, I mean, but watch this video, and then read the latest over at Drudge’s place – Kerry is a no-good cheater! It’s like a big, terrible soap opera. We can watch the whole terrible, awkward drama unfold a little more this week with the vice debate on Tuesday and the second presidential debate on Friday – both of which are set to record on my newly-hugified TiVo. Bring on the politics.

I don’t even know, I’m not writing anymore. I’m going to bed. Dave out.

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a community service, y’all

I was thinking more the Prisoner of War POW, but this was too cool to not grab.
Not that I think Ollie North is a man of great integrity or anything, I don’t really know enough of the details of the whole Iran Contra situation, but he’s penned a very interesting letter addressed to Kerry – which I thought was a good read. I like the fact that he didn’t get into questioning the whole award-validity thing, making it seem like he’s taking the high road, of sorts. Anyway, I found it interesting, and, if anything, it at least sounds less venomous and fanatical than most political attacks I’ve read. I tend to like things on an inverse scale to the amount of foaming-at-the-mouth political fervor associated with them. If you present me with a well-thought-out, rational, and most importantly calm argument, I’m much more willing to listen to you than if you’re one of a million boobs wearing purple-heart band-aids at a group masturbation for God incarnate. I guess, under the microscope, everyone has some pretty nasty crap in their past that they’d rather stay under the rug or in the closet.

While getting dressed this morning, I came up with my idea for today’s blog. I got struck with a the urge to write after reading the Ollie North letter, and whipped up the intro paragraph in five minutes. Then when I got home from work I got started on the media to backup my story. So, here goes.

Know how I know my wife loves me? She irons patches on all my drawers. Yup, whenever I get a new six-pack o’ boxers, she steals them away and irons little patches and crap on ’em. Some might say this is done, not out of love, but rather as a protection mechanism. The thinking being that, in the heat of the moment, when I’m alone in my hotel room on one of my many business trips and a cute girl has not only managed to Houdini her way through my triple-locked door but also to convince me to drop trou – the unmistakable insignia of a doting wife will convince the aforementioned she-devil to release me from her spell. I mean, for real, what man-ravaging vixen with even an ounce of conscience could continue seducing her prey once she notices a cute little bunny or stately giraffe on her intended-victim’s undies? No one, that’s who! Whatever the motivation, I’m glad my drawers are personalized.

But, what would a blog entry about iron-on patches on my underwear be without pictures of my actual shorts? So, overwhelmingly demanded by the silent majority, I spread before you the cornucopia that is my skivvies. Feel free to take a gander, but don’t stare too long lest you be called by the sirens of my underpants, only to crash unfulfilled on the rocky shoals of my manhood. Feast:


T-rex, my personal fave.
A poodle, with matching blue face.
Little pig.

Speak no evil. See no evil. Hear no evil.
A long-neck giraffe.
A pink bow.

N-I-C-E.
Yup, that does indeed say “Diva.”

And no, I am not embarrassed at the gargantuan size of my shorts – does not the elephant have the largest cage at the zoo? Has not Hollywood taught us that even the largest and mightiest of cages cannot stop hairy beasts from taking women, rampaging the city, and fighting off biplanes while scaling tall buildings? I liken my boxers to these cages, holding back a fury that will only be safe within confines large enough to house it. These boxers are doing a community service, y’all – we should give them a merit badge and put them in the newspaper. And to the overly-scrutinous, I have absolutely no idea what those stain-looking marks are on the giraffe and the bow – I pulled them out of the dirty clothes that way, I swear.

Being that I want my Halloween decorations up about two weeks prior to the actual holiday of holidays, and that it’s already the 2nd week of September – that only gives me one month to plan and construct this year’s Halloween display. So, today I set about the task in earnest. I picked up a 20,000cfm fog machine (nearly eight times the volume of fog from the machine I bought last year) on the ‘net, and Ben and I did some brainstorming on this year’s “big” prop. In the end, I think we’ve hit upon a great one: something I like to call a Winch Witch.

Think this mounted on a track on the roof, using the force of gravity to roll on a track down to the roof’s edge, all the while being lit by eerie light and accompanied by a cackling soundtrack. The “flight” of the witch from the roof peak to edge will be triggered by a garage-door light-beam circuit. When someone breaks the beam, the light will turn on, the soundtrack will play, and the witch will fly on her broom from her hiding place near the top of the roof right up to the roof edge near the unsuspecting trick-or-treaters. I’m most happy because the idea to make the witch prop dynamic is all our own, and we’re already acquiring the components to make it happen. I mean, with a plan like the one below (Kentucky Fried Chicken grease spots and all), how can it not succeed?

Genius in genesis.

Man I love multimedia-rich entries like this one, I wish I had the time and ideas to do them more often. Surf on over to Ben’s site to see pictures from our weekend excursion to Smith Rock, Oregon this weekend. But, I gotta ramble y’all… have to unpack and air out the gear from this weekend’s camping trip… there’s a new Aqua Teen Hunger Force on the TiVo, and I need another bloody mary.

Oh, and you guys know from my former rants that I’m not one to usually go for this kinda crap – but several respected message boards I fequent, as well as trusted publications, have huge threads where people are saying this is real. I’m not sure, but I’m gonna put a link here and see what happens. You have to sign up for some crap “trial” offers at the end, but maybe I can get a free ‘Pod. (I’ve heard ancestry.com is the easiest to cancel after the trial period, and I’m kinda interested in what data they’ve got on my fam anyhow…) Whateva.

G’night, Dave out.

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wayne presents

Moses brought them down from a mountain.
Sometimes water sounds and tastes infinitely better to me than soda, like right now – I’m drinking water and it “tastes” great. Intro paragraph over.

Tonight I mowed my sickly lawn with tender-loving care. I edged her, used the blower to clean her of stray cut grass, fertilizered her, weed-controlled her, and all around pampered her. But that’s not what’s important about this story – the important part is the soundtrack I chose for the task. A few days ago I downloaded an album by a group called The Horns of Happiness, simply because I liked their name (alliteration does a whole heck of a lot for me for some reason). Occasionally I’ll do this, grab an album on name alone, and usually it’s a bust. Like they say, you can’t judge a book by it’s cover (as illustrated beautifully by the turds contained within the kickass album covers of Molly Hatchet). Anyway, the album was perfect for our oddly Fall-like weather this week. Some strange hodge-podge of disjointed tunes, sometimes reminding me of anything from the Microphones to Neutral Milk Hotel to Sufjan. Anyway, it’s quickly climbing the charts in my head, gunning for number one with some animal drive? yeah. The music was good, and the lawn’s already showing signs of improvement. Whew! What a relief.

Speaking of our unseasonably Fallish weather of late, bending my mind more and more to thoughts of Halloween. If I haven’t said it before, I freakin’ love Halloween. Ever since I was a kid and my brother and I used a pair of my dad’s old slacks and one of his old flannels to make a mask-covered basketball-headed dummy which we then ritualistically covered in 99? fake blood from Kmart and hung from the basketball goal above the garage. I will repeat, Halloween is awesome. This year will be our second annual Halloween party, and I swear I’m fated to finish the backyard the day before or something. I just want it done y’all, I just want it done.

Man, sometimes I get super sick of people sending e-mails around without checking them out online first for accuracy. I have a family member who is very religious, and therefore very republican and very pro-Bush. Being so republican means that this person is also vehemently anti-democrat and anti-Kerry. What bugs me is how these anti-Kerry pro-Bush mails seem to circulate like wildfire among these “churchy” e-mail “clubs.” Like a right-wing party line, these retired-couples-cum-internet-surfers dutifully forward any piece of tearjerking, awe-inspiring, mushy God-crap that lands in their inbox along down the line to the next person who needs a “virtual hug” from the Lord. Now, I know I’m on the edge of offending people here – and I don’t mean to. You’re more than welcome to need a virtual hug from the Lord, heck maybe even I do, but that’s not my point.

It’s the political mails that really get me – mostly because these donation-plate-stuffing senior citizens just blindly believe whatever trash washes up on their AOL accounts’ shores and proceed to propagate said nonsense to those of us who actually bother to “fact check” the cyber-missives. Without so much as a thought on the accuracy of whatever the internet rumour-mill churned out last, they jot their insightful comments on top of the long line of those before them and proceed to add another column of carats to the left margin of an already unreadable body of mis-tabbed and oddly-spaced text. “I think this is disgusting, shame on us if we elect these men,” reads a comment in the 15th attachment I had to open on the way to the original e-mail which is still another 10 nested “envelopes” down.

And hey, I’m not even that guy who says anything negative about the dems or Kerry is necessarily wrong. Maybe, somewhere out there, there’s a mail about Kerry/Edwards that’s fact-based and worth distributing. But most of this stuff is ridiculous. Where does it say in the Bible that you’re duty-bound to God to forward this rubbish? Thou shalt be staunch republican, may thou never neglect thy duty to forward any e-mail which let’s thy distribution list know thy as such. I mean, you think Edwards flips people off as he runs? Think Kerry’s wife really runs overseas sweatshops? Or maybe that he’s voted to kill every defense weapons bill since ’88? They’re all crap folks, all crap.

To be fair, there’s no shortage of the same going around about Bush – and the tree-huggers can be just as bad about forwarding mails painting him as the grandest fool of an evil-dictator ever to grace the earth? so I suppose it goes both ways.

And to all my relatives, if you’re reading this, I love you dearly.

Time to go check e-mail and get ready for bed. Oh yeah, here’s a picture I drew last week in Taiwan while a co-worker was doing his portion of our presentation. It was the 8th or 9th time we’d given the same presentation to customers, and I guess I was just getting bored. Enjoy.

G’nite all, Dave out.

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four paragraphs and i’ve said nothing

Foot, mouth. Mouth, foot. Make nice..
Me and Keeper are sittin’ right here on the couch, watching some Andy Griffith. Sharaun’s in the kitchen cooking up some grubons for tonight’s dinner. I was gonna work in the yard and do all sorts of productive things and whatnot, turns out all I did was fall asleep for about an hour. In case you were wondering, it’s the one where Andy gets picked as the judge for the Mayberry beauty pageant – and the whole town tries to influence him for one girl or another. Andy wisely picks the helpful older woman who’s spent so much time working on the pageant and gracefully avoids a sticky situation. It’s a non-Barney episode. I’m so done with this paragraph, I already forgot what it was about.

As an update to my freeware conversion entry, I’ve finally found some replacements for those last pieces of bootleg software on my system. Seems like DeepBurner is now working much better with my DVD drive – and is coming much closer to fully replacing Nero. Meanwhile, g4u is working as a Ghost replacement (even get “multicast” functionality by using WarFTP Server on Sharaun’s machine) and Qparted for Partition Magic. If I do take the plunge and fully uninstall Nero and Ghost, only MS Office will remain – and I have no qualms about buying Office or Windows… so I think I’m done here. And man… if only OpenOffice.org would get a solid Access replacement – I’d ditch it too.

Right now it’s about midnight, and I’m still up typing and junk. Actually, I’m perfecting the g4u backup method I was talking about from above. It’s nowhere near as dead-easy as using Ghost – but I think it’ll work out eventually, and the extra effort should be worth the “freeness.” About an hour ago I logged onto my work e-mail and sent a note to my immediate team stating I wouldn’t be in tomorrow morning. The infamous “working from home” message. I typically don’t do the “working from home” thing because I know what a crock it tends to be. But this time I really do need the quiet-time to go over my presentation a few times before presenting it to the masses for review. I’d just like to get it locked a bit more, y’know, a lil’ more polished, before I go in a present it. Anyway, I think I started writing about that to justify my being up so late or something… but I forgot.

I think maybe the Lord of Indie heard my grumblings about no new tunes yesterday. Oh, and Sara was kind enough to mention the Franz… which sadly, I’ve also worn out over the past month (but thanks for the tip). But two potentially good albums fell into my lap last night… the new Killers LP and an LP by the band Viva Voce. Both are now in the evaluation stage, and if I think I’ve got the next big thing here people – I’ll pass the info along.

So four paragraphs and I’ve said nothing. This blog needs some meat, what can I do? I was on my call this morning (oh yeah, it’s Thursday morning now), and I was giving a presentation to some people. I was using my cellphone since I had called into the meeting from home, and during my first few slides I got dropped off the meeting twice – right in the middle of speaking. Frustrated and embarrassed that I had to keep dialing into my own meeting, I moved locations in the house to get a better reception. Now, when the cellphone disconnects you – it gives you two short beeps to let you know your ass has been dropped. However, when the cellphone notifies you of another incoming call on call waiting – it also gives you two short beeps. So, I’m sitting here talking to my material after being dropped twice already and I get another call. Well, I don’t know it’s another call, and all I hear are the dreaded two short beeps. Thinking I’ve yet again been dropped and will have to apologize to my audience for the third time, I bark out a very angry and forceful “fuck!” Yes but remember folks, I really hadn’t been dropped at all. I was very much still on the meeting, in front of my audience, in the middle of a sentence. So, that was kinda cool… ugh.

Dave out.

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a new wiping technique

Schematics, I know this!
Quarter to eleven and time to write tomorrow’s thingy. Came home, tidied a bit around the house and finally unpacked from the trip this weekend past. Did some dishes, watered the trees, took out the trash and then sat down with the laptop to multitask between the NBA playoffs and knocking out some work in order to meet this week’s commitments. Now I’m done working on PowerPoint slides, and I’m sick of them, so I quit and came back here to the computer room to do some serious music downloadin’ and rippin’.

Looks like I’m not alone in the desire to digitize my entire music collection: Wired magazine had a feature this month about pay-for-ripping services that will convert your CD collection to digital audio for a fee. I’m on the Ms now, Steve Miller to be exact. In a strange burst of random activity, I spent 20min this afternoon “linking up” some items on the “cast” page. I’ve been wanting to do it for a while, since I’ve written entries about lots of things I mention on there. Anyway, intro paragraph over!

I was experimenting with a new wiping technique the other day. Oh yeah, I’m talking about what you think I’m talking about. See, I’m kinda self-conscious about my current wipe – I kinda think I’m in the minority with the technique I employ. First off, I’ll start by saying that I’m semi-obsessed with being “clean.” Not to the point where it’s OCD or neurotic or anything (although I guess that could be debated), I just like to feel like I’m relatively “clean” – especially in my nether regions. I think that my current wiping strategy was born out of this desire for cleanliness, being what my mind settled on as the most efficient and tidy method.

My current wipe? Rear-wipe, sack-to-crack. Yes, that means I actually sit up off the seat a little and reach around my body to get the job done. I never thought much of this method while in the privacy of my own home, but shitting in a communal setting tends to make one examine his techniques in light of other techniques witnessed as feet-under-stalls. I noticed that most guys don’t visibly “move” when it’s time to do the wiping, and I figured that – looking in on me in the same situation – there would be visible motion associated with my wipe. I mean, I’m not propping one leg up on the seat or anything, but the slight “lift” required to get my arm around would most likely be given away by some telltale calf-flexing or heel-raising at least. So here I am, sitting in the middle stall with two other dudes dropping loads on either side – studying foot and calf movement during the wipe-phase of their food-transactions. Putting myself in their positions and pretending to examine my own movements, I suddenly became aware that I may be in the rear-wipe minority.

The majority of field data I’ve gathered is decidedly not in-line with my methodology. In fact, I’ve never seen any visible sign that someone is a rear-wiper. So it must be that the majority of people are front-wipers. Of course, I’ve never actually had the opportunity to observe my own technique (either in a mirror or via an out-of-body experience), so I’m not even positive there are any noticeable motions associated with it. However, faced with this seemingly overwhelmingly scientific data, I decided to give the front-wipe a go. For my test run, I chose the Courtyard by Marriot in Houston, TX. I took some paper (won’t even get into the paper method here, that’s another entry altogether) and went for it. Hmm… not too bad. Have to make sure that my hand doesn’t hit the surface of the water, have to make sure not to wipe too far forward – things I’m assuming come with practice and are second-nature to the seasoned front-wiper. Maybe people kinda “loom” above the seat a little even when employing the front-wipe, like I do with the rear? It just seems like a tight squeeze to get your hand down in there between the offending area and water surface.

My conclusion, the front-wipe just isn’t for me. I just don’t trust that I’m not draggin’ poo right into that dead-zone between the canyon and cajones. I mean, I guess the same could be argued against my technique, possibly lodging poo near the top of the crackish area – but I just feel I have a better go at it from that angle. I mean, they never really taught this in school or anything – you’re just kinda on your own to figure it all out. Or maybe I missed that day? Coulda been the day the Army came and gave the ASVAB test – I skipped on purpose that day so as to not alert the brass to my superior intellect and face the inevitable compulsory enlistment.

Wow guys, I just got done writing all this – and decided to search on the web… seems my fears are unfounded! I found a website which offers a wiping “poll,” and guess what? Rear-wipe, sack-to-crack/bush-to-tush, is by far the #1 technique for men and women! For really y’allz! Check out the crazy results here. Seems I’m not in the minority after all, I guess the people I work with are just all front-wipers – or I have an exaggerated idea of what the whole process must look like from an adjacent stall. Good to know that I’m not a freak, at least.

To be honest, I’d rather do like the Japanese and French do and be rid of the whole wiping thing once and for all – the bidet has to be the single best advancement in crapper technology. What a preferred solution! Faced with reaching my own hand, TP-clad or not, into my own asscrack – or having a toilet shoot a nice stream of water up there… there’s really no choice. Water cleans, people. Paper just smears and pushes around, there’s really no comparison. When I get an extra five grand saved up, maybe I’ll go all out for one of these dealies. “They’re years ahead of us!”

OK, so I didn’t mean for the wipe thing to consume the whole blog today, but it kinda went on a word-rampage and stepped all over any other ideas. Being as it’s midnight-thirty and I’m getting’ tired… I’m gonna call it a night.

Dave out.

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feel the confidence in my firm handshake!

Think highly of thyself, dost thee?
Wow, like a dang week dude. Nearly a whole week without a proper entry. I guess there were some mitigating circumstances. One, I don’t work on the weekend; two, I’ve been busy as crap. So, the three day weekend took care of Monday, and Tuesday and Wednesday I didn’t have a second to breathe. So now it’s Thursday, and I’m sitting in a hotel room in Austin, TX. Business took me here, to meet with some customers, but I’m staying through Sunday to go visit my brother in Killeen. He ships off to Alaska next week, and my trip to Houston matched up with his last weekend in town – so I decided to catch a Sunday, rather than Friday, flight, and hang out with him. Should be cool.

I was thinking the other day, how much doctors much hate WebMD. I mean, that site can be a pretty dangerous place for those with a hypochondriac side. It’s so easy to search this huge repository of symptoms and see what crazy diseases you might have. They even have this handy “symptoms checker” page where you can pick from a big nice list of elemental problems to diagnose your ailment. I can imagine some dude going into the doctor with a ream of WebMD printouts, thinking the combination of his shortness of breath and numb toes is anything from West African Mandibulolitus to Fendabular Tindanation. And while I was over there, I found a funny page under the symptoms. The “symptom” is “fishhook injuries.” That’s a symptom? I looked for the microwave and tandem-bike injuries symptoms, but surprisingly they weren’t there.

There’s something “grownup” feeling about being in a hotel room, even more so when you’re on a solo trip. Maybe it’s just me, but I’ve always kinda liked staying in hotels. I think because, when I was young, staying in a hotel meant we were on vacation or a trip. My brother and I always got to share a bed and we would all hang out as a family. Now that I’m all grown up and staying in hotels when I travel, I get some piece of that sensation every time. I like the feeling of being “important” enough to have to travel somewhere for someone. You know, someone is putting me up in a hotel and taking me out to dinner because I’m here to help them in some way. Makes me feel all yuppie or business-class or something.

Kinda like the “importantness” I feel waiting for the daily parking shuttle to the airport terminal in the morning. Rubbing shoulders with the other suits, all of us with our laptop bags and corporate-logoed Polos, getting ready to be flown to God-knows-where… and all these dudes looking at this twenty-something punk kid, wondering why he’s here. What the heck is so important about him that he needs to fly somewhere? That’s right other coach passengers, I think I will bust out my laptop and work on a PowerPoint presentation – just because I can. What? You’re surprised I’m taking an important meeting from my cellphone while I wait for my connection? Sound odd to hear me call shots into the little headset/mic combo dangling from my ear? Wise up old-money, here’s my business card – call me and we’ll do lunch; that is, if I have time to fit you in. I’ma come up in your world with my khakis and dress shoes and exude import – I wear a badge around my neck for God’s sake! Feel the confidence in my firm handshake! I own you!!

Goodnight all, blogging should resume as normal now that things have died down a bit. Until tomorrow, peace out.

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there’s aardbarks up in there

Finely tuned scientific equipment.
I dunno if it was just laziness or what, but we were all supposed to go see another show tonight (Pretty Girls Make Graves, right here in Sac) – and I bailed. Mostly because Sharaun had a late meeting at school and wouldn’t be getting home until 8ish – and I knew she’d be tired from her 2hrs sleep last night. I just felt the evening would be better served if we just crashed on the couch and hung out with each other. So, we did. She picked up some Mexican on her way home – and we ate our dinner out of styrofoam boxes while watching the season finale of the OC. Well, I watched it at least – she fell asleep about halfway through. Which is good, because it’d be awful embarrassing if she’d seen me bawling as Marissa hit that bottle of vodka. What have you done Ryan?, what have you done?!

Dan (the same guy who’s insinuated in the comments that the blog has, or is about to, “jump the shark” – punk) has been taking karate lessons for a while. While he was telling me all about what he’s learned, which thus far has been limited to defense moves, I got an idea. See, I’ve always been curious about how effective karate lessons really are. I mean, I’m led to believe that a black belt in karate could kick my butt. But what about the karate noob? How much better are your defense skills for a couple month’s lessons? So, Dan and I devised a plan. I will attack him with all I’ve got – no holds barred street-brawl-ignorant fighting. Just a hail of fists and throwing my weight around. During my furious assault, Dan can only use the defenses and blocks that karate has taught him. This way, we see if karate is real. I know, totally scientific, right? We figured there’d probably need to be some beer involved – just to loosen up the muscles and improve mental focus… and video documentation couldn’t hurt.

In high school, I was messing around with the tape recorder one day and figured out I could wire the microphone input directly into the earpiece of the phone. This inevitably led to the tape recording of prank phone calls. In the beginning, it was simply a few guys sitting around drinking, smoking (cough, cough), and recording prank phone calls. But shortly after our first 90min compilation tape, “Volume One,” made it’s way around school – each “recording session” became a small party. More and more people heard our pranks and wanted to be around when “Joey Cora” and “Pete Metacalf” made the calls. Over the course of a couple years, we made so many prank phone calls we couldn’t count them all. After each “session,” it was my job to edit down the resulting hours of calls into the best and funniest for inclusion in the next “Volume” of calls. We ended up with four 90min cassettes, Volumes One through Four, and one 45min unedited tape dubbed the “sober session.”

The goal was always to be as stupid as possible, to see how much people would put up with. There was always an unwritten rule that you should try to cram in as much foul language as possible – because everyone knows cussing is comedy gold. Often the calls were so thick with our stupid sense of humor and drunken notions of jokes that they were only side-splittingly funny to us, but listening back on some of them I still get a laugh. The dumber the response from the people on the other line, the bigger the kick we got out of it. The angrier and uglier you could be right off the bat, the better. It’s amazing what people are willing to put up with, especially when you can clearly hear several kids just cracking up in the background.

Although I’ve never fully converted the Volumes to CD, a few years ago I began a project to digitize them all and give copies to the prank crew for Christmas. I never got finished, mainly because we don’t own a cassette deck – but I did get the whole of Volume One ripped to CD. While working on the GDM project last night I happened upon the raw CD rips. So, I decided to clean up a couple calls an turn them into MP3s. So, here – for the first time on the ‘net – some samples of our first prank calls. I estimate that Volume One was made sometime in 1992, and you can tell we were just warming up. Some of the stuff on Volume Four puts this stuff to shame. Anyway, for your listening pleasure:

[audio:SCUBA_tanks.mp3]
SCUBA Tanks

[audio:Fireplace.mp3]
Didn’t Catch on Fire Like a Fireplace

[audio:Gold.mp3]
I Have an Allergic Reaction to Gold?!

[audio:Aardbarks.mp3]
There’s Aardbarks Up In There

That’s if for today folks, I’m outta here. Enjoy.