August 7, 2012
Vercity: Age aint nothing but a Binary Number... theBoy Tho...
Vercity: Age aint nothing but a Binary Number... theBoy Tho...: (-: keyword is Binary :-) So, I’m 11001 years old. And I know what some of you are thinking, “Really 11001? When are you getting married?”...
July 16, 2012
Vercity: Femputing in a Man's World
Vercity: Femputing in a Man's World: *start windows* ... ... but for women, it’s more like *wash windows* ... fellas, am I right? hahaha ... just kidding! Let’s face it; ...
July 6, 2012
Vercity: TO RANT OR REJOICE?... theBoy Thosh
Vercity: TO RANT OR REJOICE?... theBoy Thosh: A whole month dedicated to my cup of tea, but I find myself just staring at the blank 2048x1024 px canvas, stirring a few unfiltered tea le...
Vercity: Beats by Play... theBoy Thosh
Vercity: Beats by Play... theBoy Thosh: I am a nerdcore gamer, and I also enjoy my music like everyone else who now hates MTV for not playing music anymore. When I finally got to ...
Vercity: Duct taping my windows ... theBoyThosh
Vercity: Duct taping my windows ... theBoyThosh: In the beginning, there was DOS, and user looked at it and said it was good. Now we have WINDOWS. Microsoft Windows operating system, as I...
April 2, 2012
Hardly, Working Hard
Come what may, I'm out of the house by 8:30 every morning as I have a 9 to 5 job. 9 sharp, being the 1st one there, I open the windows in the office, set up my laptop, choose the best chair (early bird kinda thing), and dive head-first into work.
I open up Firefox (... what's that browser, Mozilla?). 1st tab has what am paid to do. 2nd tab is my email. The next 6 tabs are grounds for diagnosis of chronic ADD in the work environment. Although, I like to think of them as advancing my inner ninja. They range from news articles, to nerd jokes, to social networks, to "hey Google, I'm feeling lucky today".
The thing is, I actually don't feel like am working unless I have those sites to quickly switch to and switch back. Even right now, am on blogger at 9:35pm on the 1st Monday of the month, instead of sending that email order i was too lazy to draw up on Friday (it's never that serious). Without distractions at work, we lose our humanity and might as well be robots computing pi all day.
I do my job very well, that is, not too much to get brain damage, not too little to go back home with a clean shirt. I manage to stay clear of the boss-lady's cross-hairs (Lord knows she aims to injure for a couple of generations). I subtly participate in office jokes (here's one: An alcoholic walks into a company statistics presentation and says, please don't raise the bar ... *one silent cough at far side of the room*). I've even managed to share my angry birds game with the more hard-working people so as to level our job performance output.
4:37 p.m., my brain enters safe mode. Higher processing power is put on hold to accommodate for motoring skills for the journey back to my cave. It's a good 23 minutes of swiveling, doodling, whatsapping, drawing squares and rectangles on my desktop with the cursor (Fun Fact: even Mac has this piece of time-wasting), and of course, checking the time over and over and over.
I open up Firefox (... what's that browser, Mozilla?). 1st tab has what am paid to do. 2nd tab is my email. The next 6 tabs are grounds for diagnosis of chronic ADD in the work environment. Although, I like to think of them as advancing my inner ninja. They range from news articles, to nerd jokes, to social networks, to "hey Google, I'm feeling lucky today".
The thing is, I actually don't feel like am working unless I have those sites to quickly switch to and switch back. Even right now, am on blogger at 9:35pm on the 1st Monday of the month, instead of sending that email order i was too lazy to draw up on Friday (it's never that serious). Without distractions at work, we lose our humanity and might as well be robots computing pi all day.
I do my job very well, that is, not too much to get brain damage, not too little to go back home with a clean shirt. I manage to stay clear of the boss-lady's cross-hairs (Lord knows she aims to injure for a couple of generations). I subtly participate in office jokes (here's one: An alcoholic walks into a company statistics presentation and says, please don't raise the bar ... *one silent cough at far side of the room*). I've even managed to share my angry birds game with the more hard-working people so as to level our job performance output.
4:37 p.m., my brain enters safe mode. Higher processing power is put on hold to accommodate for motoring skills for the journey back to my cave. It's a good 23 minutes of swiveling, doodling, whatsapping, drawing squares and rectangles on my desktop with the cursor (Fun Fact: even Mac has this piece of time-wasting), and of course, checking the time over and over and over.
February 7, 2012
Here writes: the Boy Thosh
Hello ... again ... friend of a friend! I'm crawling back on the grid after months of sole-searching ... and as you can tell by the crawling, i couldn't find any soles for my shoes (lame joke #1). It's good to be back, but don't call this a comeback. I'm finally ready to define where I fit myself in the little precision squares of the world.
So, purpose in life for me is the ultimate question, right? Procreation ... Pleading with Mother Nature to let the male species survive (too many girls being born) ... adding to statistics ... coming up with a proper ending for Lost? I always tell myself, "My parents gave me a name, and what have I managed to do with it so far?". Its a good way to either motivate or feel bad for thy self. But I choose to let it lift me up to the possibilities of making a proper stamp in this world.
Forget shoe-prints on the beach that get washed away in an instant; I'm talking about forever. When future robot virtual interfaces let you walk a mile in my shoes, I want them to give you footnotes (lame joke #2) to my success. I want my kids on their jet-packs to be going 'Whoosh like Thosh' (lame joke #3).
The first step should be to clean up my act, and I don't mean switching from shower gel to soap operas (lame joke #4). I'm talking about using my wisdom teeth to actually voice some words of wisdom to add some value to this life and not just jokes about people who can't walk. Even if it means being proud of owning the best beet farm this side of the map grid. I'm going to make sure my name means something more than just letters that sound right when put together.
And with that, i give you my last lame joke (#5, as seen above). If you can't find it on Google, add it to Google!
So, purpose in life for me is the ultimate question, right? Procreation ... Pleading with Mother Nature to let the male species survive (too many girls being born) ... adding to statistics ... coming up with a proper ending for Lost? I always tell myself, "My parents gave me a name, and what have I managed to do with it so far?". Its a good way to either motivate or feel bad for thy self. But I choose to let it lift me up to the possibilities of making a proper stamp in this world.
Forget shoe-prints on the beach that get washed away in an instant; I'm talking about forever. When future robot virtual interfaces let you walk a mile in my shoes, I want them to give you footnotes (lame joke #2) to my success. I want my kids on their jet-packs to be going 'Whoosh like Thosh' (lame joke #3).
The first step should be to clean up my act, and I don't mean switching from shower gel to soap operas (lame joke #4). I'm talking about using my wisdom teeth to actually voice some words of wisdom to add some value to this life and not just jokes about people who can't walk. Even if it means being proud of owning the best beet farm this side of the map grid. I'm going to make sure my name means something more than just letters that sound right when put together.
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| beets by dwight |
And with that, i give you my last lame joke (#5, as seen above). If you can't find it on Google, add it to Google!
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