Friday Night Art #1

Steve MerrymanArt2 Comments

Introducing a semi-regular (meaning whenever I get around to it or remember to do it) feature, "Friday Night Art".

The first entry is a painting I did of our Black Lab / English Mastiff, Boris.

This is actually my very first pet portrait. I was just getting used to Corel Painter and thought Boris would be a good subject. As it happened, Corel held an art contest for its users a year or two later and I submitted this piece.

The problem was that in order to win, I had to get votes, and I'm terrible at organizing elections. Hardly anyone voted for Boris. But the judges of the contest got to pick their favorites and Boris was one of them.

As a result, I won a first generation iPad.

pet portrait - Boris at 6 months

It's hard being a puppy.

Me

Steve Merryman is a cranky old fart. He writes about things that make him tick, and things that tick him off. You may object to his views; you may think he's a moron; and you might wish to tell him so. In return he would remind you that his lack of concern for your feelings is only exceeded by his indifference to your opinions. Good day, Sir!

Is it “Art”?

Steve MerrymanArt1 Comment

There are people out there in the world who look down on digital art as though it's somehow "cheating" and not real art. When I tell them I create my paintings on a computer, they do their best to hide their disdain. But I can tell.

I have friends who are artists, and I know they think my art is not legitimate. How do I know? Because they never ask me about it. If they thought it was "real" art, they'd be interested. But they don't ask. Ever. I'm not exactly sure why, but I suspect to their minds, if they were to show interest it would somehow legitimize a form of art they feel lacks authenticity.

To be clear, I don't think digital art should command the same dollar value as traditional art. Obviously, something that can so easily be reproduced is not as valuable as a one of a kind, done-by-hand painting. But that's not what I'm talking about.

Art is not about a dollar value, it's about the act of creation. My digital paintings are as legitimately "art" as a Rembrandt self portrait. I am NOT saying they are as valuable. I am NOT saying they are historically significant. What I AM saying is that both are legitimate artistic human expressions.

Human expression. That's what art consists of - whether created with a finger, a brush, or an electronic stylus.

Is it art? Cartoon

Me

Steve Merryman is a cranky old fart. He writes about things that make him tick, and things that tick him off. You may object to his views; you may think he's a moron; and you might wish to tell him so. In return he would remind you that his lack of concern for your feelings is only exceeded by his indifference to your opinions. Good day, Sir!

Religion is ketchup

Steve MerrymanReligion1 Comment

In an online article at Quillette, Clay Routledge makes the case “From Astrology to Cult Politics – the Many Ways We Try (and Fail) to Replace Religion.” The main thesis of the article hardly needs explanation (it’s right there in the title).

A large part of the article is a rehashing of demographics with accompanying generalities.

“Nearly one-third of Americans report having felt in contact with someone who has died.”

“The number of claimed ‘haunted houses’ in the United States is growing.”

“Some who reject both traditional and non-traditional supernatural beliefs…”

Etcetera, etcetera.

There’s nothing wrong with citing statistics. They do a fine job of showing where people are at the moment, it’s just they don’t really explain much beyond that.

It’s a snapshot. Not a story.

I got a little frustrated reading these demographic info because I couldn’t find anything to reflect my position, then:

“Some people may be disinclined toward religious-like thinking in all respects, but they are likely an extremely small percentage of the population.”

At last! There I am!

But, like many religiously inclined folk, Professor Routledge can’t leave it there, he must explain away people like me as lacking the self-awareness to realize how religious we really are:

“Instead, most people who imagine themselves as irreligious simply haven’t come to terms with their religious nature.”

Apparently, Professor Routledge is a mind reader who can sense my inner conflicts with his penetrating and oh so sexy gaze.

Prof. Clay Routledge

My inner religiosity laid bare.

He continues:

“They believe that because they have rejected the faiths of older generations that they have no faith at all.”

Hmmm. But maybe they have no faith because they have not only rejected the faiths of older generations, but also the silly superstitions of this modern era like haunted houses, ghosts and magic stones. I mean, if we’re gonna graph this out on a line going from “Belief” to “No Belief”, it should at least be possible that some exist at the far right, in the “No Belief” category, right? Prof. Routledge, being a man of science(?) must agree it’s possible, even if he thinks the probability is low.

“They may simply be unaware of many leaps of faith they regularly take, and misjudging which ones will allow them to generate meaning in ways that allow humans to maintain a healthy harmony between the secular and the sacred.”

Boy, I could have really used an example of a “leap of faith” here. He seems to be making a lot of assumptions in that confusing sentence. He also seems to be asserting that to be fully human, one must have a belief in “something more enduring and meaningful than our brief mortal lives”.

Look, I’m just a dumb artist with delusions of blogging grandeur, so what do I know. But as a definition of religion, “belief in something more enduring and meaningful than our brief mortal lives” seems to set the bar pretty darn low.

I “believe” in the Universe. I “believe” the Universe exists. I “believe” the Universe is more enduring than I. To the extant that anything has meaning at all, the Universe surely has a larger claim to meaning than I. Does all this mean I have a religious belief in the Universe? I don’t think so. But would Prof. Routledge, say that I do, but I’m just too dumb to realize it?

I often wonder why it’s so hard for believers to accept that some of us simply have no belief in any of that stuff. I’m often confronted with arguments like the good professor’s which attempt to assign to me, without any evidence, some level of religious belief in what I can only assume is an effort to define everyone as religious. To me such attempts smell like arrogance and insecurity at the same time, sort of a cross between mothballs and cat poop.

Is it really that hard to imagine someone living outside of religious belief and still experiencing the fullness of humanity? I don’t think religion is the “special sauce” in humanity’s Big Mac. I think it’s more like ketchup. I don’t need ketchup to enjoy my burger, but some people want a little ketchup with theirs, and others want a little beef with their ketchup.

ketchup burger

Religion requires many napkins.

I’m saying religion is a condiment in humanity’s burger (remember, you heard it here first). Professor Routledge seems to want it to be the bun or the burger itself.

This metaphor is making me hungry.

I can’t presume to speak for anyone but myself (Professor Routledge might consider doing so as well), but all this talk of the need for religion strikes me as nothing more than window-dressing for the desire to forget Galileo and return to a heliocentric creation where our actions, our thoughts, and our wishes are the most important and meaningful thing in the Universe.

I just can’t buy into that scenario because based on observation, the Universe appears random and kind of absurd, and we look like happy accidents of nature that are of little or no consequence in the grand scale of time-space. In the end our story will be like Seinfeld: all about nothing.

I don’t see that as negative. I see that as liberating: I get to define my own meaning.

The meaning of my existence is what I say it is, or what I try to make it, and it can be as simple as waking up each day and being a loving and protective husband and father, a good master to my dogs, and endeavoring to be a creative and happy artist. And cheeseburgers. Don’t forget the cheeseburgers. The “grand meaning” of my existence is nothing more than my desire to be present to those I care about and do as much as possible with what I have in the short time I have left.

And to eat cheeseburgers.

Others may be dissatisfied with that, and seek more from life. I wish them well, and hope they find what they’re looking for.

Like every human, I’m a superstitious monkey at times. Despite what Prof. Routledge implies, I don’t embrace superstition. I try to rise above it.

Me

Steve Merryman is a cranky old fart. He writes about things that make him tick, and things that tick him off. You may object to his views; you may think he's a moron; and you might wish to tell him so. In return he would remind you that his lack of concern for your feelings is only exceeded by his indifference to your opinions. Good day, Sir!

It’s not Photoshop, dammit!

Steve MerrymanArt2 Comments

Today the Bloomsday folks unveiled the 2019 Bloomsday Poster. Yeah, they did a few other things, too. But the poster is what I focus on. Why, because it’s my poster, my concept, and my artwork.

This is the third in a series of four.

This is how I create this series:

  1. In late 2016, I assembled photo references for all four posters, and arranged them into a large group.
  2. I split the large image into fourths.
  3. For each poster, I take the segment for that year and use it as a basis for my sketch. Here’s the preliminary sketch for this year’s poster:
  4. Once the sketch is complete, I work in Corel Painter to establish a color palette and use that palette (mostly) to paint the image.
  5. I then incorporate the artwork into a layout file and send it to a local offset printer.

If my headline sounds a bit testy and defensive, it’s because I constantly have to explain that these aren’t photo manipulations, but honest to gosh digital paintings. It’s not Photoshopped images. It’s not filtered photos. It’s original art created by my hand, painted using digital tools.
I’m tired of hearing how digital art is somehow “not real art”, or that I’m just using photographs and “making them look like paintings”.

Uh… bullshit.

Yes, I use reference photos (photos that I’ve shot myself), as most realist artists do. I even do a little tracing at the outset because it helps speed the process. But after the initial sketch, it’s all painting, and even though my tools are digital, my methods and techniques are based on traditional oil painting processes.

I'm quite pleased with this year's poster. I was even able to sneak a family friend into the group, which will be a fun surprise.

Me

Steve Merryman is a cranky old fart. He writes about things that make him tick, and things that tick him off. You may object to his views; you may think he's a moron; and you might wish to tell him so. In return he would remind you that his lack of concern for your feelings is only exceeded by his indifference to your opinions. Good day, Sir!

Compliment Negation Fixation

Steve MerrymanAttitude2 Comments

I believe in recycling, but only if it suits me. When I find myself buried in panicked clients and have no time to write a new blog post, recycling an old blog post suits me just fine. So here is an old post that I've enhanced with images and (mostly) proper grammar. Enjoy!

The inability to accept compliments is part of my character. It was bestowed on me by my father, who always assumed a compliment was the prelude to a request for money, or an inconvenient favor.

This inability was often demonstrated to me. When I graduated high school, the principal, noting how involved I had been in school activities, offered his compliments to my parents for raising such a fine son.

Dad's reaction was typical

"He's a dink," he said.

This family trait of negating positive comments came out when I attended a couple days of activities at Central Washington University, including being honored as the Art Department's Distinguished Alumni for the year.

I was honestly confused by the honor, though I did my best to maintain a gracious attitude towards all the genuinely nice people who, for reasons that escape me, seemed to think I was pretty awesome.

Obviously, they didn't really know me.

My biggest fear in such situations is that things will get out of hand and I will let the compliments go to my head and start offering opinions on things with which I have no knowledge or expertise:

  • "Nilla® wafers are the key to long life."
  • "The moon landings were real, but just on the wrong moon."
  • "Never store important data in The Cloud because clouds are made of water and water is bad for electronics."
  • "There's really no way to tell if someone ate asparagus."
  • "If one whiskey is good, just think how good the whole bottle would be."

So it was with some trepidation that I participated in an alumni panel in which we would potentially be asked open-ended questions. Sure enough, one of the questions asked of all the panelists was (roughly), "What can you say to a student that is graduating into a tough market? What can they do to help start their career?"

I kept my mouth shut. Why? Because all day I had been treated like some kind of expert when really all I was doing was reacting as I would normally react and trying not to let on how arbitrary were my opinions. Sure, I can give advice on font choices, colors, and maybe a few headline ideas because that's what I do all day, and those opinions will be colored by my biases and predilections. But just because I'm good at those little things doesn't really qualify me to pronounce, like some swami on a hilltop, life advice to twenty-somethings venturing out into a market that bears little relationship to the one I entered over thirty years ago.

That's the danger of compliments. They make you feel smarter than you probably are, and if you take them seriously, they can get you and others in a lot of trouble.

Earlier in the day, I was told by a nice, elderly lady what an honor it was for me to be selected as a Distinguished Alumni. Immediately alarms went off in my head and I switched into Compliment-Negation Mode. "I think they were at the bottom of the barrel when they got to my name," I told her. "A lot of folks must have said no before they got to me."

Of course, I was kidding. But Compliment-Negation is just the way my mind works. If occasionally I sometimes find myself agreeing that I'm super awesome, I knock that opinion over the head, tie it up and keep it prisoner deep down in a cellar well. Every once in a while I toss it some food, but most of the time it gets the hose.

And I never let it out in public.

Is this Compliment-Negation fixation a bad thing? I don't really know, but it's a large part of the engine that drives my creativity.

Reminding myself how far short I am in talent and ability is how I fuel that engine. Creative insecurity is the name of my driving force. It's weird and sad and, strangely enough, it seems to work. It's got me this far, which isn't all that bad.

In the end, I'm grateful to those at CWU who thought to honor me. Hopefully I can rise to the level such an honor implies.

Now I'm back home in the woods. Hiding from human contact and keeping my raging ego in check.

PS. I do have an answer of sorts to the question posed during the panel. "What can you say to a student that is graduating into a tough market? What can they do to help start their career?"

There is no Recipe For Success. Everyone must eventually find their way on their own. It's scary and exciting, and that's what makes it so rewarding in the end.

While there is no obvious answer, there are, however, some general principles I believe led me to find success in my career. Those principles are:

  • Dedication - I was dedicated to my craft.
  • Obsession - I was obsessed with every detail of the business and art of design.
  • Curiosity - I was interested in learning new things and gaining information.
  • Kindness - I was friendly and helpful to the people I met.

Those four qualities helped me find success in my career. Note I did not list "Talent" because I don't think I'm particularly talented, but I've compensated for it with other qualities.

Me

Steve Merryman is a cranky old fart. He writes about things that make him tick, and things that tick him off. You may object to his views; you may think he's a moron; and you might wish to tell him so. In return he would remind you that his lack of concern for your feelings is only exceeded by his indifference to your opinions. Good day, Sir!

How one concert ticket changed my life

Steve MerrymanStories

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It was a Saturday in September, 1991. I was sitting in my somewhat reliable 1986 Mazda B2000 pickup in the U-district in Seattle. At the time, I was living two hundred miles away in Spokane and working as a graphic designer for a hotel and property management firm.

I was twenty-nine years old. I was a bachelor. I was unattached, and I loved my freedom, Baby!

One thing I didn’t love, however, was always being alone.

Now, to be clear, I am by nature a loner. I am quite satisfied being left alone with my thoughts, a jar of peanut butter, and some saltines. I’ve always been this way as long as I can remember. One of my fondest memories as a kid was sitting high up in an apple tree by the side of the road with a book, wasting the afternoon reading, eating apples and watching people pass by. I was known as “that creepy kid in the apple tree” and they me left alone because “creepy” and they knew I was harmless. I’m convinced that today if I were that same kid in the tree, I’d be hauled down, given drugs and sent to therapy until I was suitably pliant and smoothed over, just like the other kids. It would be like Pink Floyd, but without the pudding; just the meat.

I’ve grown accustomed to solitude. If I had my way, I’d be alone 90% of the time and be just fine with it.

Trouble is, that last ten percent alone is intolerable.

So, there I was in Seattle, having driven across the state the night before just so I could be at Tower Records early enough to purchase tickets to a Dire Straits concert seven months away. Now here’s the thing. I had no girlfriend at the time. In fact I knew of nobody I could take to the concert, friend or otherwise. And yet I bought two tickets. TWO. I don’t know why other than out of hopefulness that perhaps I would at least have a friend to share the experience.

As far as I knew I was the only person in Spokane that liked Dire Straits enough to drive to Seattle for tickets. Buying two tickets was nuts! What was I thinking? The concert sold out in a few days and I kept my extra ticket, thinking if I didn’t find anyone, at least I’d have extra leg room, and a spot for my emptiness and despair.

To this day, I still have no good answer why I bought that extra ticket.

A couple months later, in December…

She was a nice gal who worked for the company in an out of town branch office (a hotel, actually). I had met her previously in a brief introduction when she visited our offices. She was attractive, fit, and tan, which appealed to me, but I didn’t think much of it at the time.

We met again at the Christmas party. We danced, talked, laughed and I’m not sure exactly when it happened, but at some point that night… well, let's just say I noticed she was pretty damn awesome.

We saw each other again before Christmas, and she introduced me to her daughter who was six. We hit it off, which I think sealed the deal in her mind because she later invited me to her parent’s house for Christmas.

That Christmas I was a stranger in a strange land with people I’d never met who were looking at me funny. It was awkward, but she was there so it didn’t matter.

Later that week, I was back at work when someone from another company-owned hotel came up and congratulated me.

“Congratulations?” I said, “For what?”

“I heard you were engaged.”

“I am? To who?”

As it happened, she had put in for a transfer to Spokane and when asked why, she had told her boss she had met the guy she was going to marry. There are no secrets in the hotel business apparently, and word spread like wildfire… except to the prospective husband.

Marriage proposals are one of the most nerve-wracking things a guy can face. At least that’s what I’ve been told. Frankly, I wouldn’t know.

A few months later, on April 4, 1992, I had someone to share my tickets to the Dire Straits concert in Seattle. We drove to Seattle early that day. She was tired, having worked the night shift, so I suppose it’s only natural she fell asleep during the concert. The Dire Straits concert. Dire. Straits. These were the days before smartphones, otherwise there would be a photo. There would be many photos.

I don’t know what the lesson is here. All I know is that because of Dire Straits, I found a lifelong companion. We’ve been together since. The Missus and I, not Dire Straits.

So I guess it’s more of a “give life a chance to surprise you” blog post.

We’re not the sort to go out for dinner on Valentine’s Day. We’ll usually go out for lunch, and avoid the later, amateur night crowd. We much prefer spending a relaxing evening with a fire and the soft glow of the ID Channel on the tube (“Happily Never After” is our Valentine’s Day marathon of choice, followed by “Wives With Knives”), I in my easy chair, and her on the couch, taking notes.

Finally, and just because I thought it was amusing in a classic case of “letting life surprise you” sort of way, making Valentine’s Day reservations at The Waffle House is a hot item in certain quarters. Sadly, we don’t have a Waffle House in these parts, otherwise that would be the perfect place for me to give the Missus her Valentine’s Gift:

“Enjoy the vacuum, Babe! It’s a Shark®!”

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Me

Steve Merryman is a cranky old fart. He writes about things that make him tick, and things that tick him off. You may object to his views; you may think he's a moron; and you might wish to tell him so. In return he would remind you that his lack of concern for your feelings is only exceeded by his indifference to your opinions. Good day, Sir!

Winter arrives… finally!

Steve MerrymanDaily Notes

The snow finally arrived a couple months late, but who's complaining? Currently the weather fortune tellers are saying snow is coming every day for the foreseeable future, or at least the next seven days.

Happily, the latest storm ended with a little sunshine this morning. It makes 10° (F) much more bearable.

Image

The Home Office

With the possibility of lots more snow in mind, I'm pushing each daily snowfall as far to the side of the road as my tractor will allow. It's tricky because even with chains on when I've got a lot of snow piled up, the drag can force Mr. Deere into the ditch. I've had to dig him out on occasion.

But that's country living. It's what we signed up for when we bought this land and built some twenty years ago.

We've had people stay with us on occasion who have been unable to sleep the night, not because it's too quiet (though it is quiet to my ears), but because the noises they heard were too different from the urban noises they're used to. I think the neighbors still had their peacocks on one occasion. Peacocks are nervous birds, and any little thing can get them going, and when they do, they sound like a child screaming bloody murder, which I assumed was a fairly normal urban sound. I've seen the Law and Order episodes.

I love the isolation. The winters can be hard, and the summers can be nerve-wracking in fire season. Keeping the grounds clear with a defensible space is a constant job in which I'm always playing catch-up. I spend much of the spring clearing brush and processing dead trees for firewood.

Speaking of which, the Missus does like her roaring fires in the winter. We started with nearly two cords of wood (split and stacked by yours truly), but now that the winter storms have finally hit, I'm eyeing the dwindling pile with concern. I find myself looking very closely at the kitchen table, chairs and other wooden furniture and thinking… maybe.

If we get a break in the weather I'll take down a couple small dead fir trees. They've been dead for some time and should split easily enough in a couple hours. That should get us through to April.

Not much of note in this post, and I apologize for the rambling tone. I've got better posts formulating in my brain, but they still need a little time in the oven.

Until then, let me turn it over to the Chief of Security who has a word of warning for would-be burglars and Jehovah Witnesses.

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If you can get by me, the silver is all yours. Good luck.

Me

Steve Merryman is a cranky old fart. He writes about things that make him tick, and things that tick him off. You may object to his views; you may think he's a moron; and you might wish to tell him so. In return he would remind you that his lack of concern for your feelings is only exceeded by his indifference to your opinions. Good day, Sir!

My annual Bloomsday rush

Steve MerrymanArt

Every year at this time I'm in a panic to get all my Bloomsday projects out on time. Today was a big deadline in that push

I've been working on the art for the poster for the last three weeks and just finished that last week. Today I had to finalize the layout and create a full-size mockup. Not a big deal, but this was the easiest of my projects.

Additionally, I had to create thirty billboard layouts covering all the Bloomsday registration deadline countdown. I create ten basic designs in three different sizes. That's thirty total. That was all accomplished in one exhausting day: yesterday.

Finally, I had to create the first proof for the entry flyer that gets distributed around town. This year we went from a two-color large foldout to a full-color single-fold.

All these projects were due for First Proofs today by 2:30.

I just made it by the skin of my yellowing teeth. So now I'm going to take a break for the rest of the day and goof off because I can and that's why I work for myself.

Me

Steve Merryman is a cranky old fart. He writes about things that make him tick, and things that tick him off. You may object to his views; you may think he's a moron; and you might wish to tell him so. In return he would remind you that his lack of concern for your feelings is only exceeded by his indifference to your opinions. Good day, Sir!

Correct: Modern Art is S**t!

Steve MerrymanArt

I love it when Paul Joseph Watson goes on a tear about pop culture. This time he targets "modern art".

Click the lower-left arrow to start (I don't know why, but my blog software ignores the start arrow in the middle).

Me

Steve Merryman is a cranky old fart. He writes about things that make him tick, and things that tick him off. You may object to his views; you may think he's a moron; and you might wish to tell him so. In return he would remind you that his lack of concern for your feelings is only exceeded by his indifference to your opinions. Good day, Sir!

Super Sexy Scam SPAM

Steve MerrymanAttitude

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This morning I received an email that was filtered into my SPAM files. I have very ruthless filters, which means I tend to get more in my SPAM box than my legitimate email box, so I’ve developed the habit of quickly checking through that folder for any real emails that may have been filtered incorrectly.

This particular email grabbed my attention because the heading was a combination of my current email address, and a very old password I haven’t used in over ten years.

Hmmm. That piqued my curiosity. The message (grammatical errors and all) is immediately below followed by my response (which I placed here instead of responding via email - DON'T EVER DO THAT! - duh!):

The SPAM:

“I am aware XXXXXXXX is your passphrase. Lets get directly to point. No-one has paid me to investigate you. You may not know me and you’re most likely thinking why you’re getting this email?

“Well, i actually installed a software on the X vids (pornographic material) web-site and guess what, you visited this web site to have fun (you know what i mean). While you were watching video clips, your browser initiated functioning as a Remote control Desktop that has a key logger which provided me with access to your screen as well as webcam. immediately after that, my software obtained all of your contacts from your Messenger, FB, and email . Next i created a double video. First part displays the video you were viewing (you have a fine taste lol…), and next part shows the view of your web cam, and it is you.

“You got 2 alternatives. Shall we take a look at each of these options in particulars:

“First alternative is to disregard this message. as a consequence, i am going to send out your actual video to all your your contacts and thus just think about the humiliation that you receive. and likewise in case you are in a committed relationship, precisely how it will certainly affect?

“Number 2 alternative is to compensate me $988. i will think of it as a donation. as a result, i most certainly will without delay delete your video footage. You can keep going daily life like this never occurred and you will not ever hear back again from me.

“You will make the payment by Bitcoin (if you do not know this, search for ‘how to buy bitcoin’ in Google search engine).

BTC address: XXXXXXXXXXXXX etc. [Case SeNSiTiVe copy and paste it]

“If you may be looking at going to the law, good, this email message can not be traced back to me. I have dealt with my steps. i am also not looking to charge a fee a lot, I just like to be compensated. i’ve a unique pixel in this email, and right now I know that you have read through this email. You have one day to make the payment. if i do not receive the BitCoins, i will send your video recording to all of your contacts including relatives, coworkers, and so on. However, if i receive the payment, i will destroy the recording immediately. if you need evidence, reply with Yup! & i will send your video recording to your 5 contacts. This is the non-negotiable offer thus please do not waste my personal time and yours by responding to this email message.”

-Marinna Waterfield

My reponse:

Well, Marinna, you certainly have quite a set of balls. But there are a couple problems with this scenario:

  1. I don’t have a web-cam on my desktop computer, and never did.
  2. I do have a laptop with a camera, but the first thing I ALWAYS do with laptop cameras is cover them up with a couple pieces of thick black tape. Why? Because I’m paranoid. It’s the same reason I don’t use SIRI, don’t have an Alexa or any other of those kinds of devices. It’s also why I don’t buy so-called “smart” appliances, and never use my phone for email or web-browsing. In fact, I’m thinking of going back to a flip phone because smartphones are overpriced and a pain in the ass. You may ask why I cover up my laptop camera? Simple. I eat a lot of cheese and I don’t trust that assholes like you won’t hack into my computer and video my various expressions as I sit on the toilet pushing out a stink pickle.
  3. I don’t use Messenger.
  4. To the extent that I ever even used that password, it’s at least ten years old, you wouldn’t get anything from it, especially not my contacts and/or Facebook info.
  5. As for online porn? Hey! It’s what the internet was made for. In fact, I get hot just thinking about you banging out that grammatically atrocious ransom note and… well, let’s just say that I’ve gone through half a box of tissues just composing this blog post, and I’m beat (literally!).
  6. And, finally, I can't even get my friends to read my blog, so what makes you think they'll want to watch a video?

So, please, by all means, SPAM everyone with your bullshit video. It won’t be me, so I don’t give a shit. Hell, I don’t even like most of the people on that list, so I’ll giggle a little just thinking about it.

But I know you ain’t got shit, and are just blowing smoke up my ass (oooh! There I go again! Such frissons of pleasure! Gonna need another box of tissues soon).

No. I’m betting you bought a bunch of emails and passwords without any context and are just fishing for men with guilty consciences. Nice try, but you’ll find no conscience here; I had mine removed years ago. I remember sitting on the couch all weekend with a frozen bag of peas on my lap where my conscience used to be… oh, wait, was that my vasectomy?

So, Marinna, there you have it. I don’t give a shit about your filthy scam, and if it’s not too much to ask, I hope you die a lingering, painful death by bowel obstruction (aka having a 4-inch rough-cut post driven two feet up your rectum by some modern-day Vlad the Impaler).

I’d definitely pay $988 in BitCoins and bring a box of tissues to that show.

Me

Steve Merryman is a cranky old fart. He writes about things that make him tick, and things that tick him off. You may object to his views; you may think he's a moron; and you might wish to tell him so. In return he would remind you that his lack of concern for your feelings is only exceeded by his indifference to your opinions. Good day, Sir!