Here’s something you can not fall for like I did and then leave me a comment about how you didn’t fall for it like I did. Then you can check out the site of the guy who posted it and get all zut alors, adorable! and shit.

In the whole “two damaged cars in one 24 hour period” saga, one notable element is the pleasantness and profound competency of nearly everyone (4 insurance reps, 2 adjusters, 2 clerks at the collision reporting centre, 3 police officers, 1 tow truck driver, 1 rental rep, 2 autobody attendants, 1 property manager, 1 receptionist for a snow clearing contractor) involved in the various stages of fun. The only exception, so far, is one totally useless insurance CSR who booked me into the wrong rental car at the wrong rental company at a location that didn’t actually exist. But everyone else was great. (Not counting, of course, the jackass pickup truck and snow plough drivers.)

Sadly the saga continues. Because it was (apparently) a big weekend for “smashin’ up yo ride”, the autobody shop (slash rental place) only had one vehicle left. When they pulled out with that red minivan, I was all “WTF?” and “NFW!”, because a guy who’s got two cars all smashed up should not be trading up to a boat that’s double the size of either.

I did end up getting to work and, though carless, was promised that by the end of the day a non-boatlike car would be delivered to me out of the stock of vehicles expected to arrive later in the day. Though as I was writing this I thought to call the place and confirm that… and have been told that all they have is a minivan.

Maybe when I smash that one up they’ll give me a transport truck.

I don’t know if I love this, but I think I might. I know I love Shirley Bassey.

And besides, the front page was in desperate need of some imagery. Verbosity whut? Christ.

Everything good starts dirty.

via BoingBoing meaning you’ve seen it

This just in from our Toronto entertainment correspondent:

Spicetacular. Someone start the countdown, I’m too excited to find a clock and figure out the number of days.

I feel slightly nauseous that I’m a willing pawn in a multinational’s soulless advertising campaign, but this is viral video done awesome… I actually learned something and immediately wanted to go out to buy a t-shirt, a bottle of ketchup, a dozen eggs and a baby.

http://www.waitless.org?video=potato

via Dead Robot

I feel bad for internet thieving but I forget where this came from.

Extra love for anyone reading this who was born before 1980.

I was told by Emily last night, between bar hops, that I had to get my nail gun and come back to her house because the mice were back. I’m not sure how the nail gun figured into her rodent control plan and I really didn’t get the sense that I’d be happy about it if I did know, but this morning THE INTERNET™ provided the perfect nail-free solution: A mouse trap that uses lasers to catch mice, carbon dioxide to gas them, and then sends a text to your phone telling you to come pick up your dead mouse.

This has been sitting in my draft love letters folder for quite some time. Enjoy it as you think of how awesome Fridays are:

I was looking up the definition for ‘moar’ to make sure I was using it right… check out entry #2 listed on urbandictionary.com.

Wan’t!

I don’t think their definitions are peer reviewed.