This is not a good morning post!

By Ingrid 

HELLO INTERNETS! WHAT A MIRACLE THAT I AM WRITING THIS MESSAGE AT 12:46 IN THE MORNING AND IT WILL TRAVEL ALL NIGHT THROUGH TUBES AND WIRES TO END UP ON YOUR FRONT STOOP AT 7 AM!

Just kidding -- I know that’s not how it works. Today I read an article that mentioned the “Information Superhighway,” and it reminded me of how silly we all were in 1998. In 1998, I bought my first training bra (even though I literally had nothing to train), my mom divorced my dad for the third time, and this song was number 35 on the charts. Somewhere, teens were getting laid and drinking beer at parties, but I was too busy sending fan art to Natalie Merchant, wearing white Reeboks, and tucking my tee shirts into my jeans to notice.

I hope your day is better than my adolescence was!


Today’s Video

This is, apparently, what Italians think Americans sounds like when we talk. Very hilarious.

See more funny videos and Music Videos at Today's Big Thing.

You’re An Idiot Of The 33rd Degree

This is how Mark Twain replied to spam:

Nov. 20. 1905

J. H. Todd
1212 Webster St.
San Francisco, Cal.

Dear Sir,

Your letter is an insoluble puzzle to me. The handwriting is good and exhibits considerable character, and there are even traces of intelligence in what you say, yet the letter and the accompanying advertisements profess to be the work of the same hand. The person who wrote the advertisements is without doubt the most ignorant person now alive on the planet; also without doubt he is an idiot, an idiot of the 33rd degree, and scion of an ancestral procession of idiots stretching back to the Missing Link. It puzzles me to make out how the same hand could have constructed your letter and your advertisements. Puzzles fret me, puzzles annoy me, puzzles exasperate me; and always, for a moment, they arouse in me an unkind state of mind toward the person who has puzzled me. A few moments from now my resentment will have faded and passed and I shall probably even be praying for you; but while there is yet time I hasten to wish that you may take a dose of your own poison by mistake, and enter swiftly into the damnation which you and all other patent medicine assassins have so remorselessly earned and do so richly deserve.

Adieu, adieu, adieu!

Mark Twain