A Dude's Guide. . . to everything

Spam, Spam, Spam, Spam, etc.

by Richard

I might have mentioned this before, but I love the comment spam we get here at A Dude’s Guide. Seriously, it’s pretty amazing to think about just how stupid we are considered to be by the spammers.

Most every spam comment, and that’s 99.993% of them because you dudes are slacking off a bit in the comments, comes to us with the most hilariously fractured English. And the funniest thing is the little scams they try to pull off go get published.

I’ve been admonished for deleting previous comments because, you see, they had something important to add to the discussion. Which was odd, considering those particular spammers hadn’t ever sent in a comment before.

Yesterday, as I was culling the comment spam, I found three out of 20 that had a great line in them.

“Thanks a lot for disclose incredibly good informations. Your internet is great.” That’s right, my internet is great. I think I’m going to retire as of now and just live off the money generated by my internet. Of course, something this wonderful couldn’t be true could it? Is it really my internet?

“Thanks for have incredibly excellent informations. Your online is great.” Well, it’s not exactly the same, but, in spirit. . . Maybe. Maybe I really do own the internet.

“Thanks a ton for write about very wonderful informations. Your word wide web is great.” Well, there you go. Three independent verifications. Sounds like a winner to me.

You know, now that I read these, they do seem awfully similar to each other. You don’t suppose this is all some horrible trick and these comments are churned out by a software bot somewhere and just sent out blindly? Do you?

If it seems too good to be true, it probably isn’t. Unless it’s too good to be true for me. In which case I’ll believe with all my heart.

Come to me, my internets! I demand your submission!

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Dumb, Dumb Dogs

by Richard

Dogs aren’t, let’s face it, the smartest creatures on the planet. Sure they’re cute and fun to play tug of war with and tease with a laser pointer, but smart? Nope. I’ve known rocks with more smarts. And also more sense of self preservation.

Case in point: Buzz, the garbage disposal that walks like a dog.

This morning I was sitting in my office at home (the dining room table I’ve taken over and covered with my assorted, well, stuff) and Buzz wandered into the kitchen and started hunching over and gagging. Which, as all dog owners know, is doggy talk for “I’m going to find the most delicate, least easy to clean thing within easy reach and then I’m going to throw up something gross on it and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

True to his word, Buzz proceeded to do just that. On the carpet next to the kitchen, of course. No need to dirty up that easy-to-clean hardwood floor only a few inches away. No, that would be too easy.

I sighed and got out the cleaning supplies. What, I wondered, could have made our Buzz, the garbage disposal that walks like a dog, yarf like that? I mean, this is a dog who considers broccoli stems to be his favorite treat. Turns out, I needn’t have worried about his taste buds. I should have been concerned about who had snuck in during the night and scooped out what little remained of his brains.

The dog had decided it would be a good idea to swallow a rope. Yes, dudes, a rope. We have several smallish ropes around to play tug of war with him. I guess, this morning he woke up and thought to himself, “I’d like to eat something no intelligent creature would even consider to be food and possibly choke myself to death. Yep, sounds like a fun morning to me!”

The six-inch rope crumbled there, looking pathetic in the yellowish wash of stomach acids and other less identifiable stuff. The odd thing is that I expected a bit better from him. And this is a dog who thinks goose is a great energy snack when he’s on walkies.

I’m thinking it might be time to consider an upgrade to a somewhat smarter pet. I hear slugs make good companions. At least with them you only have to clean up slime. Which, now that I think about it, is what we have to do with the dog anyway.

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It’s Not Superstition When I Do It

by Richard

I didn’t wash my socks this week. Okay, that doesn’t sound all that momentous to most people, but it’s a big deal for me because the socks I didn’t wash were my University of Florida Gator socks. They’re special socks that I only wear during Gator football games because they’re good luck.

That’s not superstition. That’s just fact.

They’re getting older and they’ve got some holes worn in the heels, but still I wear them and wash them every week. They work. No. That’s not superstition. It’s empirical evidence.

It’s like the dude who wore a pink tutu every day to work. His partner asked him why he was wearing at tutu when he’s working in Uptown Charlotte and the guy says, “This tutu is guaranteed to make sure I don’t get eaten by tigers.”

“But,” his partner says, “there are no tigers in Charlotte.”

“See,” the guy says. “It works.”

All right, I know it’s ridiculous, but still it works for me.

Right up until this week. For some reason, I didn’t put my socks in the correct laundry pile, which meant they didn’t get washed. Which meant I didn’t get to wear them for the week. (Hey, I might be a bit of a slob, but even I don’t wear dirty socks.) And, you know what? It was okay.

I feel like the Sports Grinch on Christmas morning. My maturity grew three sizes that day. Now I figure I’m about on the level of Hyper Lad. Hey, he’s very mature for an 11-year-old.

Now it’s all well and good that I took a step into the adult world this week, but don’t think I’m going to get carried away. I’ve still got my good-luck shirt, underwear and shoes. I mean, I’m not crazy.

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