How do you handle non-tech users complaining about lack of support?
There’s a lava pit out back. I tell the complaining users that it is a “special orange swimming pool.” Since users will believe anything and understand nothing, the problem self-solves when I say it’s time to go swimming.
It’s elegant. It avoid messes. And the screams do not usually last that long.
If I started a hobby that involved burning things for crime and general mischief, I’d change my name to “Arson Welles.”
I’ve used so much AI recently on various project I’ve probably burned down like 11 rainforests.
Sorry, rainforests!
What would you recommend to someone who likes Andy weir and Mickey 7?
That they put their head in an oven?
(Ok, I kid, I kid. It could also be a Troy-Bilt chipper-shredder.)
I’m glad I’m not a 3,000-year-old vampire because in the modern liberal mind there’d only be one other person I could date, and they’d be be my arch nemesis or something.
The reality is all those women “protecting” other women by deciding who men can date are just trying to make the market less competitive. Nothing else, really.
Self-interest rules all in humans. Women are no exception.
Almost got that treble clef right, but not quite. Try again.
A lot of people say I light up a room when I enter it.
But the judge said that was arson and those people are called “witnesses.”
Why do people cry even more when someone says “don’t cry”?
Usually it’s because I am tasing them at the same time.
I got a surprise check from the US Treasury.
A refund of $14.53 for who knows what; it did not say. Trying to decide if I should retire with the windfall or blow it all on a Ferrari. This Ferrari specifically.
The median yearly salary of a clown is $51,000. And yet so many people choose to do it for free.
For $1000, I will call you a racial slur on twitter.
I try to avoid racial slurs, but I will call you a clown-ass moron for free anytime.
What is the perfect age to get a job?
Any age is a fine age to work in my Helium 3 mines on the moon. No hand is too small. After all, there are some tight crevasses up there. And if you get stuck I also provide a saw, no extra charge!
I want to ban belly buttons.
It’s my version of a navel blockade.
Back in my day, you could grab as many crappy plastic bags at the grocery store you as wanted. Like, go crazy. A bag for every carrot and every Jolt.
None of that reusable bag nonsense that you always forget anyway.
We used to be a country.
No fencing!?!?!
You can have my rapier or épée when you pry it from my cold, dead hands.
(Yes, I know what “fencing” means here. I’m just goofin’.)