Yiminee Software
Rants
Hello, and welcome to the rant page. This is a forum for us the staff of Yiminee to bitch, chew, gripe and groan about everything and anything. Feel free to contact us. You may find yourself in the rant page if you do.

Apr. 2, 2001: Still Ranting
I've been living alone for about a year now. When I re-read that statement it makes me sound like some mountain man living off the land digging for grubs in the forest for dinner each night. That's not true though, I enjoy the odd hedgehog, and everyone knows you can't live off grubs.

I live in an apartment by myself. Nothing is greater than living on your own. Besides the privacy and the 24 hours naked drunken fits there are many positive things to living alone. No one can complain that your furniture consists mostly of cereal boxes stuck together with crusted Cheese Wiz. "Excuse me please wipe your feet before stepping on my Eggo rug."

Please don't think I'm getting soft here, not everything is rosy and chipper here in bachelor land. When I got my own place I was sucked in by the great medium of television that once you had your own apartment there would be a regular conga line of gorgeous babes coming through. You know like the Fonz, or Seinfeld. I quickly found out you still had to have charm and personality. I thought a rent check would get you regular copulation. Not so I think you may have to have a car too. It's hard to tell a woman you'll pick them up on the bus, and after the age of fifteen girls aren't keen on riding on the handlebars of a BMX bike.

Mind you my neighbors aren't having the same problems. The pounding on my ceiling at 3am doesn't exactly suggest woodworking projects. The fools keep me up at all hours with their consistent lusty actions. It's so loud sometimes I feel like I'm in the room with them. Have they no respect for their neighbors? Not to mention the burns on my ears from listening through the vents.

I've come to a find a few solutions to this bothersome problem. First of all nothing breaks the mood like Alvin and The Chipmunks music blaring through the vents. And if that doesn't help they are defiantly breaking some sort of law up there, so call the cops.

Another solution that I find works is to taper a headshot of Bea Arthur to a broomstick and position it under their window poking it into view once in awhile. Depending on who is in the position to see this may break the mood. After all Bea Arthur is pretty hot and her feminine wiles may not help on the man.

If all else fails turn your vacuum cleaner on in the middle of your apartment to drown them out. If you are like me that's the only time the damned thing will get used anyway.

I just hope someday the tables will be turned on those lusty bastards upstairs. By that I mean I hope their upstairs neighbors have loud sex. unless there are any saucy gals out there that want to help me get revenge. Money is no object. You can pay me what you like.


Dec. 19, 2000: Merry Christmas
Ah 'tis the season. Christmas time brings out all sorts of images and memories. Most prominent of which is the magic of crass commercialism. Yes, and what would Christmas be without crowded shopping malls and overpriced must-haves? Nothing. It would be turkey and pretending to get along with your family at the dinner table. Without the distraction of the presents you might actually talk to your family. God forbid we bond.

It absolutely amazes me when I go down to the mall to get my loved ones crap they don't need nor want. The place is decorated in a happy singsong way with cheery music blaring in every store. This is completely contrasted by the faces of the shoppers. Pay attention next time the sheer misery and hate projected by the long faces in the toy aisle juxtaposes the merry season like you wouldn't believe. I am reminded of those black and white photos of prisoners marching into Concentration camps, only here it is the local Toys R Us that breaks the spirit, and crushes the soul.

I think Christmas evokes more swearing by parents than any other time of the year. First they have to go out and fight Gladiatorial battles with other parents for the last Power Puff Girl action figure. Then they have to practically strap down the children to keep them from searching the house for the damned thing. Next it's the long hot line at the mall to see Santa. Malls are kept so hot in winter that the over dressed parents will be forced to buy drinks at crazed prices just to keep from dehydration and turning into a small pile of holiday ash on the tiled mall floor. Why do you think Santa is always set up right next to a food court in every mall? Then the night before Christmas the totally exhausted parents have to put up with kids running on the ceiling drunk on too many holiday cookies and idea of gifts. Then Christmas morning the poor parent has to put together the toy using Japanese instructions. The clincher is when it's discovered the batteries aren't included and Dad has to trudge out to find a store open Christmas morn that sells batteries. And ten bucks for a couple double A's is not going to make Papa a happy camper. All this for a toy the child will get tired of and/or break by January 3rd.

It's no wonder the purchasing of prophylactics has more than doubled in the last few years. I'll bet right after Christmas more condoms are sold than any other time of the year to parents hoping never to have another child.

On that cheery note may I wish you and yours a Happy Boxing Day sale.

THE ANGRY WHITE MAN
I'm pretty ashamed of you people. So far only two e-mails. And one of them from my Mom. You gotta a beef write it in, or are ya too scared?

hello angry white man. i, chief of the blue green indian tribe of south africa wish to request that the almighty white man start producing some of your software for the PC. I know, I know, the PC is not as holy as the o-holy i-mac, and definitely does not look at cool...but some of us are forced to use them by the capitalistic evil white men conquerors (not you, the angry white man)..we have no choice but to use them.

please think about this request,
blue green indian chief of SA


Guess what pal, we don't all get what we want. Look at me I want Heather Graham lying in my bed covered in Nutella and margarine but it ain't gonna happen. Same thing with your PC dream. Unless you feel like porting it yourself you'll never see it on a PC. PC stands for perfectly corrupt, just like Microsoft. You have no choice to use them? Are you strapped to your table and forced to tap out porn site addresses on the MS Explorer. Stand up man! Quit being a pistol-whipped boy and do something for yourself. Take that computer and send it to me. I'll take care of it for you. Throw in $30 for my fee and you'll be freed of the horrible tyranny that is Mr. Gates.

Oct. 26, 2000: Rant, the First
For our premier rant I have a very serious topic that is badly in need of addressing. Why in this new millennium does everyone think they have something important to say? You can't turn around without some water headed moron telling us what he thinks of everything. We have talk radio where every beer swilling imbecile can call in and give his two bits about how wrestling isn't as good as it used to be. Television the bastion of higher morons. The only difference between the wrestling fan and these dullards is they wear suits and whine about politics. And the biggest criminal in our little collection of idiocy the Internet. Where any jackass who can run their fingers across a keyboard can tell us their life story. Let me tell you something pal, I don't give a rat's patootie what brand of faux marshmallow cereal you stuffed into your gapping pie hole when you rolled out of bed at 4pm today. We are a world of egomaniacal melon heads who thinks the world revolves around us.

I know you are thinking who is this putz, this human oxymoron, this conundrum of contradiction? Why does he feel he can put down the rest of us while he rambles complaining about exactly what he is doing? I'll tell why. I'm a single white male in his mid twenties that's why. My opinion is the only one that matters. I own the world. All demographic studies are for me. I have a good job so I have dispensable money. Everything is marketed for me.

All new cars are sporty because that's what I like. I can, with the flip of a button, determine what stays on prime time television and what doesn't. Films are made for what I want to see (especially in the summer). The more blood and sex the better. Hell even ladies underwear is made for me. Otherwise why would they market it by using supermodels? Cleavage was made for me. I control everything. With just a whim I can change the world. If I am displeased by something it stops getting made. If I like something more of it is made. My opinion is what runs this little orb we call earth.

And that's why you have to listen to me. This is my world and I run it. I will continue to run it until I get old and it becomes someone else's world. At that point I will grumble and complain about how it's not as good as when I was younger.

So just remember all you opinionated freaks out there. What I say matters and if you've got a problem with it too bad, because that means you are not part of my demographic so your say don't mean squat.

"The world doesn't revolve around you. it's too busy revolving around me"

One angry white man,
Gemmill.
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