But you do come here and read things, do you not?

"... my orders are to weed out all non-hackers who do not pack the gear to serve in my beloved Corps. Do you maggots understand that?!?!?!?."

Mostly just weekdays, and mostly just 9 to 5. Mostly.

Joke's on you, the comments are way more entertaining than the submissions. Shit gets meta up in here.

I'm not even looking at my keys to type this comment. I didn't even read this post or any comments. I don't even have an account on the Mercury. Never heard of it. I've never even been to Portland.

And joke's on you - I DEFINITELY don't look at my dislikes either.

This is a stab in the dark, but maybe people eat lunch, buy groceries, or take a smoke break during their lunch break. The dough comes from the work they do before and after their errand break at 1:30. You have a solid grasp on this topic.

As for myself, I post here mostly for the benefit of corrupt politicians, judges, police, and academics. I don't really expect anybody to do anything about them, except perhaps view them with a bit more circumspection, if there's any more margin for that at all.

Thank you for not spelling it "loosers." I really hate that.

Since this I,A obviously is trying to damn us with faint praise lets take this opportunity to look back at some of the great comments of our time.

Lets begin with this one by Mr Boober McDoober in response to a depressingly flacid tome by a thin skinned Danskin fanboy:
http://www.portlandmercury.com/IAnonymousB…

I came back the next morning to return the shoes and the supervisor was there behind the counter, a lock of jet black hair hanging over one eye as he focused intently on polishing the toe of a brown leather boot. He didn't seem to notice me as I approached and looked startled when I set my pair of boots on the counter. “I'd like to return these,” I said, trying to sound really disappointed. “What's wrong with them?” He asked. “Well, they, uh, I.” I was panicking. “It's not the boots, it's, it's just... well, you kind of insulted me yesterday when you treated me like your bro and I don't even know you. I don't just let anyone treat me like their bro, that takes time. Like maybe you take me hiking and we get to the top and I let you listen to my favorite song on my i-pod and I let you put my earbuds in your ears and you give them back a little brown and waxy, but I just wipe them off on my pants and smile at you as you stand next to me and point out a turkey vulture flying over head and I say, “What's a turkey vulture?” Because it sounds like a made up creature and I've only ever seen pigeons in real life. Also, I was hoping maybe it was a bald eagle. And you laugh at me, but not in a mean way, but in a way that says, Oh, you silly adorable bro, I have so much to teach you. And then we head back down because the sun is setting, but we stop a lot on the way back to watch the colors of the sunset and when you see that I'm shivering because I didn't bring any gloves because I've never actually been hiking before (especially not in the cold), you let me wear the thick woolen pair of mittens you have on. I notice a flutter in my stomach as my hands come in contact with the warmth you've left in your mittens. For a moment it's like we are holding hands and I avoid eye contact with you the rest of the way down. We drive back through the gorge just as the last slivers of light are fading in the distance. Your radio is broken so we sing David Bowie songs in acapella. Your voice is so beautiful and now I feel a stirring in my pants. I feel like I'm going to have a shitsplosion from the beef jerky you shared with me earlier (beef jerky doesn't agree with me, but I didn't want you to think I was being rude and it was so sweet of you to share). When we get to your place I race to your bathroom and do nasty dirty things to your toilet. When I've finished unloading my bowels I realize there's no toilet paper. In a panic I check your cupboards, but only find Portland Monthly's and locally sustainable organic lavender bath salts. I pour some of these in the toilet hoping to mask the stench. You knock on the door just as I'm flushing, “Hey bro, is everything okay?” I tell you there's no toilet paper and you come back moments later and pass one to me through the door. “Thanks, bro.” The words roll off my tongue so naturally. “Cheers.” You say and you smile at me just before closing the door. And at that point you and I are bros. And I forgive you for getting earwax on my earbuds since I totally reaked up your bathroom. And when I come visit you at work you cut me a deal and give me a freebie on the boot care product. But instead of calling it boot care you call it 'bro care'. So maybe I'm just old fashioned, but that's the kind of guy I am. The supervisor had been silent this entire time and now he looked up at me, a single tear rolling down his cheek. “I'm so sorry,” he whispers. “I-I had no idea. Please, keep the boots. And the boot care, uh, I mean, bro care is on me. Bro.” Minutes later I was heading out the door and as the bells jingled signaling my exit, I turned back and whispered, thanks bro.

And who can forget this classic comment of mine from Oct. 8, 2010?

"Are those Glenn Beck's hands? No wonder he can't feel them!"

Should probably get that checked out. Sounds serious.

^^^I'm touched.

http://youtu.be/rl_NpdAy3WY

It is truly a joy to get up each day and simply do what I love.

Yo, I,Anon,

I just realized that the beginning of your last paragraph is a refrain from a Mike and The Mechanics song.

Who's the loozer now?!?!?

Is a dick jack what one uses to get it up? Do they come in other colors too?