First post in three months, and all you're getting is this crappy joke.

The other day at work, I found this case of bottled water that was labeled "Programming Water."

I was intrigued, so I figured I would test it out to see if it actually worked:

Yes, that is tape holding the brew basket shut, because we are classy motherfuckers. And because it spills all the fuck over everything otherwise.

And it did—but it only does Java.

Oh, and Python.

Yes, I know this is actually a rattlesnake. Jesus fucking Christ, just go with it. For fuck's sake, people.

I should have known something was up.

The other day I was watching Game of Thrones and eating some burritos before derby practice, and all of a sudden Sana jumped up on the table in front of me and started being aggressively affectionate—licking my face, giving me headbutts, and purring like crazy. She did this for like half an hour, until I finally had to move so I could get ready for practice.

When I went to put on my ankle brace, I discovered that she had thrown up on it. Recently. And then came and licked my face.

Thanks.

P.S. I also put this on a shirt so you can warn people in advance:

Aggressively Affectionate by causticsnark

How to love a Yankee Candle.

I bought a Yankee candle for my mom a little while ago, and they put these little instruction cards in the bag because apparently they don't understand that the type of people who need a six-step set of instructions on how to use a candle are exactly the people who shouldn't be allowed to use them in the first place.

Today I found one of the cards at my desk at work, and actually bothered to read it, and then I just broke down in a fit of hilarious what-the-fuckery because I'm still twelve years old. The title is "How to love a Yankee Candle." It only gets worse when you read the instructions.

Keep going until you've tried them all!

Anyway, this isn't a real post. I should probably start putting these warnings closer to the top of the post (*snicker*...yep, still twelve). You should probably just forget this ever happened and try back tomorrow. Sorry.

Cats are terrible editors.

So, I had this great idea that I was going to try to write this morning, since I finally got a chair so I could sit at my actual desk that is not a coffee table at the couch in front of the TV because apparently that is a recipe for watching a shit-ton of Adventure Time, but absolutely no productivity.

Sana wrote the original caption for this picture, but I had to move it because it went right the fuck of f the edge of the screen.
Also—not pictured? The chair that the whole first sentence was about.

Of course, this morning, my actual view looked more like this:

This was actually the best view I had while trying to write this morning.

After I told Sana that she couldn't just stand there and be in the way, she decided to help* me write**. Here are some of her suggestions for another post I was trying to work on (they're all additions, as apparently she never managed to step on the backspace key hasn't quite grasped how to suggest deletions or substitutions yet):

• -0
• gt3weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee
• 0------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ (apparently I don't use nearly enough zeroes or hyphens when I write, which I really need to work on, or I'm going to alienate my entire feline audience)
• vfggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggc

For this post, though, she only had one suggestion, which she used to try to caption that first picture of the desk:

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

I think she was trying to transcribe the lyrics to the Doctor Who theme. Or maybe she was just excited that Ten was on the screen, because she's totally a Tennant fangirl:

Gwen helped by making sure none of the sunlight in the room went to waste.

Anyway, obviously this isn't a real post. Hopefully I'll have one soon, as long as my editors don't suggest too many aws2weihgasssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssi890 major changes.

*stand
**on my keyboard

Holy shit, you guys. This is real.

I'm about 167% sure this is just one of Google's April Fool's Day things, but this just happened and if it's not I don't know how to make sense of the universe anymore.

About a year ago, I submitted a redesigned snark logo to the Sparks McGee tumblr, which was, in turn, based on this blog post by Wil Wheaton. Since then, I've noticed that a lot of people are finding me here by searching for "i've got a course you can plot." Mainly out of curiosity, I Googled it, and this happened:

In case you can't tell, the first result is the Sparks McGee tumblr. The second one is where I posted about the Sparks McGee tumblr
actually posting my submission. That third one? The original post where Wil Wheaton FUCKING INVENTED IT IN THE FIRST PLACE.

Not funny, Google.

Something clever about Easter.

Conversation between me and my wife today:

Me: Some horrible pun about the road being tired because probably there was a tire laying in it.
Her: Maybe it had too much ham and candy.
Me: Now I have Marcy Playground in my head.
Her: God, that's horrible!
Both of us, singing: "I smell ham and candy..."

Yeah, this is what we're like, pretty much all of the time. It's awesome.

Also, if you don't follow me on Twitter, you missed this one the other day:

Me: Bah!
Coworker: Humbug?
Me: Nah. Wrong Jesus holiday.
Her: I don't know any ending for 'bah' that goes with Easter.
Me: ...Rabbas?
Her: ...
Her: .....
Her: ..........
Her: You win.

Oh, by the way, this totally isn't a real post, but you can always just read the one I wrote last Easter.

This is *exactly* what Talk Like a Pirate Day is about.

I like to imagine this is how Hollywood, the RIAA, and the rest of the SOPA/PIPA assholes picture the average Internet user.

Internet piracy: You're doing it wrong.

In other news, I'll be dressed like a pirate at work for the second year in a row because my job is awesome.

I'm *exactly* like Anthony Bourdain. Except with Red Baron pizza instead of sheep testicles.

Me, on Twitter over the past month or so:

• Joe T's is like the TARDIS of restaurants. #biggerontheinside
• Also, If Jack in the Box starts sounding like a good idea, you've had enough.
• Have just invented Naan Pockets. You're welcome, people who want to eat Indian food on the go. #NaanPockets
• That is full of win! And also wine, probably.
• "Pour some peas on my plate...in the name of lunch!"
• My 21st: "All the beers, please." "Yes, sir." "And my free dessert." "I'll need to see some ID for that." picardfacepalm.jpg
• Went to Mellow Mushroom and had Philosopher's Pie. Or, as it's called in America, Sorcerer's Pie.
• Gave myself hipster mouth eating pizza for lunch today. #beforeitwascool

Klout, this morning: I believe you are influential about food.

Your move, Food Network.

America, fuck yeah!

So, Amazon's appstore has just offered me a spectacular deal in honor of America's independence:

What better way to celebrate America than by playing a bastardization of the national game of China?

I've also learned that patriotism is inherently tied to buying any of the following items, plus many more:

• New or used cars
• Appliances
• Furniture
• Shitty, shitty beer

Meanwhile, in Texas, today is the one day out of the whole fucking year that it's OK to admit we're part of America. Mostly, it's an excuse to mix alcohol and blowing shit up in the back yard, which is actually just regularly scheduled programming about 10 months out of the year here.

Anyway, Happy Independence Day, Americans! Remember to count your fingers before and after.

To Canada, specifically: I apologize for the noise. We'll try to keep it down. Also, your planning this year was much better than ours. At least you put your holiday on a weekend and not a fucking Wednesday.

To the rest of the world: Um, it's Wednesday, so I guess the week's about half over.

ASSHAT.

Dear Facebook:

You are an asshat. In fact, having attained Asshat Level 9, you have cracked into the Hipsters-Would-Loudly-Sigh-And-Recall-Your-Early-Days-If-They-Weren't-All-Still-Using-Myspace Tier of Social Media Asshattery. Roughly 80% of your interface is a failure pile of shit I don't want, but can't move, hide, or otherwise get rid of. I get that you can't control what other people post, so there will always be some amount of wankery, but for the love of God, please just give me the option to add myself to some kind of "No Wankery" list for all of the following bullshit:

Ask a Question: I thought that this was just a dipshit fad to go along with "hit 'share' if you agree/remember/are an asshat," but apparently it's a Real Fucking Thing. There's only one question that needs to be here: "Who gives a shit?" And only one answer to choose: "Not me." Please change this into a button that borks your entire computer.

A Million Fucking Ads: This is a whole pile of bullshit I don't care about. Over the course of several years, you've managed to show me a grand total of one fucking thing I actually cared about, and then I couldn't even go, so even that kind of makes you an asshole. Every time you show me one of these, I mark it as offensive.

Ad Manager: I don't have any fucking ads. I don't want any fucking ads. But apparently I need a fucking ad manager to remind me that I could always change my mind and choose to give you a pile of money to irritate other people with all my shit that they don't fucking care about.

Apps and Games: Apparently it was somewhat misleading when the only option that appeared when you clicked "remove" was "add to favorites," so I guess you changed that to "edit," but somehow "add to favorites" is still the only thing I can do. It's incredibly important and convenient to me that I be given no option other than to make something that I don't want to see in the first place even more visible.

Fucking App Requests: I've blocked literally 200 different fucking apps and games I've gotten requests for. What in the name of fuck makes you think I want this here?

Pokes: Seriously, why the fuck does this still exist? Fuck this forever.

Stalker Timeline: I thought the regular timeline was supposed to be a feed of all the shit my friends were doing. Apparently I also need a separate feed so I can follow Every. Single. Click. It's like the asshole who gets Twitter and posts about literally everything they do, from washing the dishes to taking a shit. NO ONE FUCKING CARES. At least I can hide this bullshit.

Top Stories vs. Most Recent: Who the fuck are you to decide what's most important to me? Why is it all stupid shit like "I put something in the microwave for dinner" that goes to the top of this list? For all the personal information you collect about everybody, you don't seem to know shit about what any of us actually care about.

Trending Videos/Articles: First of all, fuck you and every news site that forces me to "like" an article in order to read past the jump. This is an unholy cross between journalistic whoring and chain statuses. It's like a Ponzi scheme, but for news. Secondly, you tell me every fucking time somebody I know reads an article or watches a video. Why in the name of fuck would I need you to also tell me that a lot of people had read that article or watch that video? This is the online equivalent of someone saying "oh, wow, you're really sunburned!" And then slapping it.

Asshat Level: 9

Dear Twitter:

You're only a little bit of an asshat. Your Asshat Level is just 3—a mere third of the colossal wankery Facebook is putting up. It's like you're not even trying. Here's what you have managed:

Promoted Trends: If you have to pay to get it on there, it's not fucking trending; it's a goddamn commercial. It's like if my friends and I just saw The Avengers, and we're all talking about it, and then all of a sudden one of us screams "KOTEX!" for no fucking reason. Actually, no, because that would be hilarious. It's like if we were all talking about The Avengers, and then one of us tried to sell everybody else car insurance.

Promoted Tweets: Same fucking thing. This is the same kind of dickery you find scrawled inside bathroom stalls, except it's like you kicked in the door to my house and spray-painted "← FAG" next to a picture of me, and then when I called the police, they just said "well, you can either clean it off, if you're sure that's what you want to do, or you can take a picture and share it with all your friends!" Fuck that. I want you to make it fucking stop. Now.

Who to Follow: "Remember that one time when it was 107° out and you said "seriously, fuck this heat?" Well LeBron James plays for the Miami Heat, and we think you would totally give a shit about whatever asinine bullshit he has to say. Also, a friend of a friend of a friend is following one of their friends, so we're sure you care about that, too. Also, Kevin Bacon." Stop telling me what to do, you presumptuous prick.

Asshat Level: 3

Everything is fine. Nothing is ruined.

This isn't a real post, but I drew this after I worked last weekend because this happens every time I work a weekend. It's like there's some kind of Saturday bomb.

"I don't know where that fuckin' book is, man. It could be anywhere. There's a lot of 'em about!"

I meant to post this yesterday. It didn't happen.

You know how sometimes you're switching out the laundry, and the brand-fucking-new box of dryer sheets falls into the washing machine, but you don't notice because you're holding a huge pile of towels and shit, and you drop all of that in on top of it, and then when it comes out, everything is covered in dryer sheets and bits of cardboard?

Yeah, I just fucking did that.

Welcome to every day of my life.

In other news, here's what you've been missing on the rest of the interwebs:

What you missed on stumblr.
I pinned this stuff. It's made of awesome.
SNARKS MCGEE. I made this, and they totally posted it. "I've got a course you can plot." (The back story.)

What you missed this week on snark:
My brother graduated from college.
Apparently they don't do "have it your way" anymore.
The actual end of my patience.

Some other stuff that I didn't make, but you should look at anyway:
This is one of the most horrifying things I've ever heard of.
For the love of god, someone get me one of these.
Holy trainwreck, Batman.
Being a human: You're doing it wrong.
10 lovely reasons why men shouldn't be ordained.

Finally, something that a friend inflicted upon sent to me:
http://thecleverhelper.tumblr.com/post/22263818618

You're welcome, Internet.

Things you will never hear me say: "My stylist..."

I've never exactly given enough fuck to be bothered to spend copious amounts of time trying to make my hair look all perfect. If it takes longer than about thirty seconds, I'm probably going to give up and just go out with it looking however it did when I lost interest often much to the chagrin of my wife. And I can't even remember the last time I actually paid somebody to cut it. The closest thing I've ever had to a stylist was my friend Jess, who used to cut my hair into mohawks and dye it green or blue or whatever sometimes until she moved to Far The Fuck Away, and I started just doing it myself. Mostly, I use the four-year-old method, which is where you just sort of grab and cut until it's generally shorter. Except most four-year-olds probably don't ask their wife to fix the spots they can't see so that it doesn't end up looking entirely ridiculous when they're done.

Pretty much, this is how I decide when it's time to cut my hair: I wake up, shamble over to the mirror, and look at my reflection. If I look like me, it's OK, but if I look like someone famous, it's probably time to cut it. Eventually.

In other news, this is still not a travel update. That's tomorrow.

Here's what I've inflicted on the rest of the interwebs:
This stuff is made of awesome.
Snark + tumblr = stumblr.

And here's some stuff the rest of the interwebs have given me in return:
Snoop gets technical.
Indiana Jones: not so much on the tenure track.
I've started doing this.
North Dakota has about the fewest zombie apocalypse danger zones of any state. Who's surprised?
DOCTOR WHO COMIC MAKER. SO. MUCH. WIN.

I'm pretty sure I got the better end of that deal.

This isn't a real post, but I felt like I should do something to mark this important milestone. Or something.

Oh. My. Shit. Snark is two years old.

You'd think I would have accomplished more in that time.

Anyway, I don't have a real post for today, but here's the first thing I ever posted here, two years ago today (P.S. It's funnier if you imagine Lewis Black's voice when you read it):

Someone told me today that the Census Bureau has a PSA featuring Dora the Explorer. The first coherent thought I was able to have was “what the fuck?” I think that, first of all, if I were trying to decide whether or not to fill out my census form, and I saw a commercial in which a cartoon character from a children’s network tried to convince me to do so, I would throw it the fuck away. Then I would move to a country that took itself seriously.

I have to admit that I haven’t seen it yet–hence my ability still to type coherently–but I’ve discovered so far that it’s part of a campaign called “Children Count, Too,” which attempts to counteract the apparently common problem of parents who forget to count their young children when filling out the census form. Fair enough–maybe–but who are they marketing this to? Are there children filling out the census form? If so, this could help to eliminate the error of not counting oneself, a common mistake among children, especially those under the age of five, who HAVE NO BUSINESS FILLING OUT A FUCKING CENSUS FORM.

Or do they expect these children to take on the responsibility of reminding their parents to count them? If you can’t remember how many children you have, the answer should be zero, because you are a shitty parent.

Apocalypse Not.

If you’re reading this, you didn’t get raptured yesterday. Again. Me neither. Actually, I don’t know anybody who did, which probably says something about the people I hang out with.

You may remember not getting raptured in May as well. It's like getting picked last in gym class all over again, but instead of playing right field in kickball, you have to fight zombies and live in that Metallica song.

If you don’t follow me on Twitter or Facebook (or if you didn't in May), you missed what was probably one of my most active social media days in quite a while. I’ll graciously recap to make it look like I put some effort into this post.

No traffic on my way to work this morning. Could have been due to Rapture. Was actually because it was 8AM on a Saturday.

Although, I saw exactly zero cars with Jesus fish in 40 miles in a Bible Belt state, so maybe.

Maybe the Rapture happened, but we’re all such assholes that everyone’s still here.

Seriously, how did Tim LaHaye write like 15 books about this? This is the most boring Rapture ever.

Just after midnight:

...From that, I conclude that God Almighty is not heavily into Numerology.

The last one is from the next morning:

I have a strong suspicion that if you turned on MTV today, you’d see Harold Camping pull off a mask to reveal that he’s Ashton Kutcher.

He did admit a couple days later that mistakes were made, but thank you for donating your entire life savings to my retirement fund this righteous cause and no you can't have it back because the real Rapture is actually October 21st, so I totally still need it. But in a fantastic cosmic coincidence, May 21st was still significant to the Apocalypse. Apparently it wasn't the Rapture, just Judgment Day. It was also completely invisible, which is why you didn't see Arnold Schwarzenegger or Robert Patrick. God just quietly called Santa and asked to borrow his naughty and nice lists so he would know who to save when he destroyed the universe yesterday.

I really wish I could track down all those people in high school who had all that crap that said “In case of Rapture, you can have my shirt/car/other material possessions” and put in a claim for it. I’d be like “dude, you’re still here? What happened?” And they’d be all embarrassed because they realized that their shirt probably should have said “Arrogant Fuck” or something. I’d also point out that they probably didn’t get picked just because they were wearing that shirt, because if you need to wear a t-shirt to prove something about yourself, it's probably not true anyway.

On a related note, Jesus has mutated from a tasteful fish icon into a giant, crappy, Photoshopped murder shark. I'm pretty sure this is exactly how the Apocalypse was supposed to happen.

You're gonna need a bigger crucifix.

UPDATED: You're welcome, Internet.

So, I warned you the other day that I had been planning to do this, and today I did it. I know. I'm surprised, too.

I've been quietly claiming little bits of the interwebs for myself lately, and now I'm forcing them upon sharing them with you! I'd meant to do this last week, but didn't. If you've stopped by since last Saturday, you already know that story.

Here's what you've been missing:

I have a Pinterest now. I've been collecting awesome stuff. You're welcome.
http://pinterest.com/snark/this-stuff-is-made-of-awesome/

Also, Flickr.
http://www.flickr.com/photos/causticsnark/

And stuff that has nothing to do with me, but that you should check out anyway.
The Rejection of Anne Frank. This is exactly how it would happen today.
Reasoning with Vampires. It's really hard to go wrong when you're making fun of Twilight.
Vampire Moths. It's moderately terrifying until you realize they're basically just giant mosquitoes.

In case you haven't heard, the Rapturepocalypsequake happens again today, so you can probably expect to see more of this. Also, lots of recycled dinosaur jokes and REM lyrics. In case of Rapture, you can have this blog. Not because I expect to go, but because if it does happen, I'll be too busy dealing with the zombies and figuring out how to find food to update it. Plus, it probably wouldn't exist anymore anyway because if God really wanted to destroy the world, He'd probably start by shutting down the Internet. In the event that doesn't happen, I'll be back tomorrow.

This may be half-assed, but at least it's still in time for Talk Like a Pirate Day.

Conversation I had with myself on Saturday:

Me: ICANGOTOWORKDRESSEDLIKEAPIRATEFORTALKLIKEAPIRATEDAY!!!!! SQUEE!!!!!
Also Me: Oh shit, no I can't. Even if I had Dad overnight my Jack Jake Sparrow costume, it still wouldn't get here in time.
Me Again: Wait, I do have a couple of eye patches. And bandanas. And a Jolly-Roger-esque eyepatch-skull-and-crossed-swords shirt. And a skull necklace. And earrings. And tattoos. Just like everyone does.

Apparently, the line between "pirate costume" and "everyday clothes" is not particularly clear in my case.

Because usually, Frisco is the Aspen of Texas.

As North Texans celebrate the glorious "cold front" we've been experiencing, let's not forget how completely fucking normal terrible the skiing conditions were a month ago.

All your spam are belong to us.

Sometimes I watch The Matrix see all the crazy technological advances we're making and worry that we're teaching the machines to enslave us. Then I read the comments in my spam filter and realize that that will probably never happen because the machines:

a) Are really stupid. They don't even understand syntax, which is kind of critical for artificial intelligence. Have we invented artificial stupid? Because we really don't need any more of that.
b) All work for pharmaceutical companies and don't want to enslave us so much as sell us boner pills and weight-loss drugs.

Pretty much, you have to read it because I don't even know how to begin to explain it. It's the kind of thing that would give the Turing test a stroke:

Acne is known as pimples, lumps, and plugged pores that be published on the false impression, neck, face, shoulders, and caddy areas.
There is not undivided major element that causes acne and it is stimulated during hormones, put under strain, nubility, sustenance, and other factors.
The ra can also commonplace old hat the outer layer of your hide encouraging your sebaceous glands to start producing more oil.
No one is unsusceptible to fell blemishes when the conditions are there.
Now you have a defense against acne with Proactiv.

There are easily understood things your can do to prevent your acne from occurring in the first place.

In perpetuity, be gentle with your face. Unstintingly that is too vehement or stone-cold can trigger your sebaceous glands to bring up grease and hamper up your skin.
You should wash your exterior at least twice a lifetime to save up the bacteria levels to a minimum.
Do not against refer to your face. The hands bear the most bacteria and you do not to abode the bacteria here.
You should also lave your hands numberless times a day. This settle upon pinch keep the bacteria levels not up to par in case you patch up your face.
Benefit of women who function makeup don lubricant sovereign or hypo-allergenic makeup by reason of susceptible skin.
Men should use antiseptic products in spite of razor long that are designed to empty remove the pores and moisturize the skin.

It's like a thesaurus threw up on me. I need to go wash my exterior. At least twice.

This kind of bullying will not be tolerated.

Tropical Storm Bret is kind of an asshole. Apparently, so are 2 other people.

I'm betting that they're sycophantic henchmen, like 
Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. Or Crabbe and Goyle.