But boy oh boy can I talk or what? So OMG PLEASE CONTINUE TO WATCH THESE EW.COM VIDEOS. Lots of new ones are up on the most self-centered web page ever — DWTS Talk, Idolatry, and me interviewing cubicle stud Maksim Chmerkovskiy again. He keeps it real, unlike Snuffy.

But…Friend of DR Ben LaBolt has me beat because Katie Couric interviewed HIM. (at 03:25) [CBS.com]

DR correspondent Michael Slezak, always hip to the “zoo animals and gay” beat, found this bit of breaking news from the UK’s Sun.

Who are these zookeepers and this “onlooker” kidding? This gorilla is totally gay, and loved the big pink poster so much he wanted to take it back to his zoo cave. It’s really obvious, especially considering the way his hands lovingly cup the word “GAY,” and his assertive stance. I’m insulted.

This has been my second gorilla-related post in as many days. (Yesterday’s.)

Though she and Keepon do kind of look alike.

Still, what a lazy bitch.

–The Internet

Are you looking at me?

This is from the UK’s Sun Online.

Mystic Meg is about the scariest creature I’ve ever seen. Who clicks on that? Tell me you would click on that.

Previously, on Yahoo!…

Chesh sent me this screengrab because, he said, “I couldn’t believe something so perfectly suited for you was on my screen!” Awww. It really is unrealistically perfect. I especially enjoy how the very question posed by the Top Story — “Is this for real?” — is negated by the fourth link below it, presumably a link to the same exact story as the big tout. I know words like “tout.”

But then inexplicably, the story had vanished from Yahoo! It appears someone didn’t do his/her reporting to find out that according to Wikipedia, the Luther Burger, named that because it was something Luther Vandross liked to eat, originated in Decateur, GA and has been around for years.

What I find even more ridiculous than Yahoo! taking the story down is that it was even a story in the first place. Don’t get me wrong — it’s definitely my idea of breaking news — but the fact that it was featured so prominently on the site, if only for a few minutes, is truly puzzling. It’s as if someone who really wanted to get fired from Yahoo! went and messed around in the backend for his/her own enjoyment. Annie Barrett’s separated-at-birth twin, are you having a laugh?

We couldn’t let the issue go…

Remember said puncture? Ahhhhh, the puncture.

WTF, Yahoo!?

DR correspondent Michael Slezak (google alert!) took the liberty of printing out this gem from his AOL inbox:

He left it sitting on my chair — conveniently, right where my ass goes. Very clever. I could have just digital-imaged it straight from a computer, but decided to photograph it directly instead for the sake of authenticity — in the form of the two slight folds below “Flush” and above “up.” Totally didn’t need to point those out for you. It’s just that I have this extraordinary work ethic and sometimes run out of ways to channel it!

I appreciate the artwork and color scheme of this ad. I do wish it didn’t make me feel like such a heifer. Because, you see, the wording “this meal” is overwhelmingly inaccurate. This grub constituted probably seven of my meals last week, or any week for that matter. So I resent the implication, Colonex. My digestive tract is way more busted than you can even fathom. But nice try.

(For their next ad, Colonex may wish to consider this concoction that Dee found in a magazine three years ago.)

I have to go drown myself.

DR is obviously under construction. I’m in the process of switching over to Wordpress so I don’t have to keep doing every single thing on the site manually, like a total idiot.

It will look somewhat normal soon.

Kate forwarded this to me around Easter… I just remembered it becuase I’m still working on a Fannie May Solid Milk Chocolate Rabbit from a few weeks ago. (Ew!) It’s all part of the Great Apartment Eat-Out, my self-imposed plan to eat only the food in my studio before moving to the Slope in two weeks. I was going to document The Eat-Out daily on DR, before I realized it was really boring and trivial “in the scheme of things” — like everything else I seem to care about only worse!.

The word “Solid” on the box is so key. Dee only sends solid chocolate animals, as we share a deep-rooted resentment for hollow ones like those pictured. Who do they think they’re kidding? Nearly everyone! What a buzzkill.

We will not stand for this. It’s solid or bust! Dee enjoys the bonus chocolate. I like the “ski slope” skid marks I get to leave on the rolling plains of solidity with my teeth. Also: the bonus chocolate.

Those “crumbs” in the graphic look suggestive of feces. I’d still eat ‘em.

I need this (right) in my life right now. In the commercial for it, a guy eats one while driving a convertible. Convertibles are impressive and cool, which means so will I be when I rip into one of these on the street. I call it “Big Mess of Crap from Taco Bell” but a simple Google search will tell you it’s actually the Crunchwrap Supreme and that it has returned due to popular demand.

Check out Crunchwrap Supreme’s Diary for proof. Two questions: 1) How did I miss this the first time? 2) Who is in charge of hiring people to write blurbs in the voice of the Crunchwrap Supreme? That needs to be my new job.

Loyal readers such as my parents and that’s about it will remember my aversion to liquid cheese (LC) and wonder, “Annie, why would you or your really popular website endorse a product filled with ‘’Warm Nacho Cheese Sauce?'’ This is a good question, and to be honest the idea of WNCS still definitely freaks me out. But the WNCS constitutes such a small percentage of the Crunchwrap that its existence is mildly acceptable. (After I actually eat one, the WNCS’s rating will likely jump from “mildly acceptable” to “so very necessary” because I’m a traitor like that.) As evidenced by the animated text pockets on Taco Bell’s website, there is so much else the Crunchwrap Supreme has to offer, like “Seasoned Beef,” “Cool Sour Cream,” and every health nut’s favorite, “Fresh Lettuce and Tomatoes.” Health nuts will love the Crunchwrap Supreme!!!

Mine all-time fave Taco Bell item is the Mexican Pizza, which I also call “Big Mess of Crap from Taco Bell.”

It’s occurred to me that LOL (laughing out loud — get it?) is usually a misnomer. People rarely make any actual noise before they type “LOL.” So they’re lying. And since most users don’t use caps anyway, they end up just typing an even more lazy-looking “lol” and waiting for the other person to respond, as if their last IM was a worthy enough contribution to the flow. Hey, buddy: It wasn’t.

So I’ve adopted a new acronym, called AL. It stands for “audibly laughing.” Use this when you really want someone to believe that noise is coming out. Be selective about using it, but be honest. If your body is spontaenously emitting random and awkward sounds resembling some version of glee, the person on the other end deserves to know.

Quick review:

LOL = “That was funny, but I wouldn’t go so far as to suggest I’m completely losing it over here. Great try though. I am loving your effort.”

AL = “I am audibly laughing. You’re hilarious, a genius, and really attractive.”

Happy Ash Wednesday.

(AL!)

I’ll just get this out of the way.

I DON’T GET THIS AD!!!

And now for the season premiere of “Dream On!” It’s Annie Barrett’s new series that covers the insipid little world of obnoxious Internet ads, starring diminishingreturns dot net and featuring Annie’s stuffed Heffalump. (He’ll only make occasional guest appearances.) First up: an ad that truly boggles the mind. Really gets those noggin juices going.

Who clicks on these? People who are reminded by the phrase “$100 FREE!” that for $100 free they could buy some perfectly fine illegal marijuana rather easily? And pretty much avoid your crappy ad box and everything it’s associated with?! DREAM ON, anonymous company. And my answer to your question is “No.” Pot smoking is for total burnouts and Winter Olympians.

The greatest thing I did today was discover a new salad dressing (not for salad, but so I have something in which to dip my Corner Bakery croutons) called Braswell’s Creamy Vidalia Onion Dressing. It… is… incredible.

The best part about that paragraph is that what I just said is exactly why people started to hate typical bloggers. (Why did I just say “started to”? They still hate us.) These people’s defense to “Why do you hate bloggers?” would be something non-witty, like “Oh yeah, like I’d really want to hear about someone’s mundane daily details. I don’t care if you ate canned soup straight from the big silver pot.” (I also did that today! I am such a cute and quirky blogger, you guys. Check me out!)

But I have neither excuse nor apology for throwing in some random tidbit about salad dressing, because I don’t need one. When I really think about it — like really pound the idea of the dressing and maybe even some of the residue left over from the dressing itself that just encrusted itself to my mouth — it’s really cool that this great find makes me supremely happy. [In the voice of Valerie Cherish:] “Well? I’m going with it!”

I adore the word “noggin.”

My neighbors are making amateur porn again. More on that later.

So. Later!

This morning I made a beeline down the long corridor of my huge apartment in the direction of the new box of Froot Loops I’d recently purchased for something like $4 at the Hudson Street Rite Aid. I was all prepared for the uphill battle I always manage to face during the simple process of opening the box so that the little cardboard section can tuck neatly into the little crevasse provided.

GET THIS. The box had been OPENED. Weird, I thought, still not putting it past myself to have unknowingly snuck a bowl while fast asleep dreaming about something better, like Reese’s.

Nope. Not only was the BAG open too, but the “sell by” date was August 2005! YES, I am a moron for not noticing this in the store. But Rite Aid is much worse than me. DR thus proclaims a BAN on Rite Aid for all of 2006.*

The worst part of the sort-of story is that for about 30 seconds I considered eating the Froot Loops anyway, before I remembered that according to logic and general folklore, they might kill me. Then I threw them away like the good little sucker I’ve grown up to be.

Hmmm.. Bart?

Ooh, I love how they positioned the question right next to Jessica or Lisa’s eyes. It’s like she’s daring us all to take a gander at her name. I’m sure she also really wants us to get new ringtones, with participation.

*Except if I’m right near it, or need cheap beer.

Spent much of today making small changes to this site (none of which will ever be detected; awesome!) and trying to figure out why the hell the e-mail address I’d been using for the site worked about 3% of the time. There’s a new one now, called diminishingreturnsdotnet@gmail.com. I chose that name because I like long, nonsensical words and because I apparently don’t derive enough daily pleasure from Gmail as it is.

Also Google-related: (I am a Google machine! Google, check it out! Now improve my rating.) In my mostly uninteresting data-prowl through a nifty program called StatCounter, I came across this fun chart about my October 2004 archive. It’s a list of queries people made that resulted in them clicking on the link to DR in Google.

I find most of these terrific, especially “funny reindeer sweater,” “diminishing returns pizza,” and “manhattan mini storage crotch,” the latter of which is proof that at least one other person in this city was completely dumbfounded as to why an ad for rentable space needed to involve a plate of spaghetti and a crotch.

“Swishing process” was a surprise. I’m guessing this person (who lives in… Korea?!) wasn’t referring to the “mouth-swish,” a savoring process involving expertly paired food and drink with which I’m particularly obsessed. Did he want to know how to brush his teeth? Drink wine? Intriguing.

As far as I know, Pepperidge farm doesn’t make danish, but kudos to whoever decided to google that. I’m guessing he or she had “Entenmann’s,” the obvious brand, on the tip of the tongue, but it happened to come out “Pepperidge Farm.” Gross. I found most of their products dry, tasteless, and packaged in way too small of serving sizes, until they came out with the Soft Baked cookie series.

Hmm. Just Googled (again!) those cookies and found this review site. It’s called Phoood. Um, cool. Is that like Phiiish? Click on that and check out the plea from the dude who seems certain that he loves Soft Baked Snickerdoodles but can’t find them in his native France. I feel seriously horrible for this guy. He’s begging people, none of whom will ever respond to him, for “help” in acquiring the cookies. And his name is SLY! I’m dying.

The only query I have a problem with is “diminishing returns weight loss.” That’s just not right.

CL: Google!
CH: Anything Google hasn’t conquerred yet. It should, soon, because it’s a great company!

In the interest of Keeping It Fresh, DR presents The Most Annoying Web Ads of 2005 or, more accurately, The Few Annoying Web Ads Annie Managed to Screen-Capture in 2005. The first title just sounded more official, like obnoxious police sirens or Annie’s recent adoption of the title “Media Critic” on MySpace. That title is arguably groundless; the following commentary is not.

First up: this. Hmm. What IS wrong with that toenail? It’s a tough call, especially when there’s only one option and it’s helpfully checked off for you. I’d appreciate at least a fakeout answer or two — at least throw a box in there that just says “Nothing.” or “Other.” or “If you want to get the question right, don’t check this box.” If I’m as successful a trendspotter as I think I am, Internet ads these days are supposed to be fun and interactive (see below), but this one doesn’t even pose a challenge.

Then there’s my personal least favorite, the ubiquitous “Love Happens” ads that show up in the same pop-up windows as the colorful geometric-pattern challenges for which people are apparently expected to drop everything. Do these advertisers honestly think that people on a serious quest to check e-mail or download porn are going to just take a “timeout” in order to solve a remedial puzzle? Even with the promise that their brains will be “tickled” if they take a likely invalid IQ test? Actually, maybe. That sounds kind of hot.

Sorry. Those puzzles are generally harmless. Shit like this (left) is what I really can’t stand. This young woman is promoting an online dating service called Love Happens, an outcome that couldn’t possibly derive from the question presented here. “Interested in her?” Um, why? Is she spying on me? Will she call me in five minutes for a date if I say yes? What is the point of this question?

The question wouldn’t bug me so much if it wasn’t so blatantly rhetorical. You can tell the people at the Love Happens marketing meeting scoured their databases for the girl who looked the most like a common slut, and just went with her. Wait. Actually, no, that’s ridiculous. My guess is she’s not even a client. They probably found her in some younger assistant’s spring break photo album that happened to be lying around the office and just cropped her out of a “friends forever (or until graduation!)” group hug in front of some cheesy, overpriced bar in Acapulco. With her sexy messed-up side braid and dreamily vague look of accomplishment, she honestly looks like she just participated in some mild amateur porn.

The “yes” and “no” options are, like the rest of the ad, really insipid. I’m intrigued, though, by the presence of the “maybe” link. What kind of person takes the time to look at an ad like this and ponders the question long enough to say “You know, I’m still kind of up in the air — I’m gonna have to go with a ‘maybe’”? I’m torn between wanting to meet this person and wanting to slap him, hard.

Moving on to the “Sponsored Links” table prominently featured next to every single inbox message in Gmail. First of all, I’m aware that I’m not the only one who hates these — in fact, someone even created a site dedicated to how creepy it is that the G-robots basically infiltrate Gmail users’ lives way more than they know.

Whatever. It doesn’t bother me so much that these sponsored links exist. I think it’s hilarious to go through all my messages — especailly the ones I send to myself about eating and food, which can be vastly different entities — and check out the suggested links. I never click on them; it’s just amusing to see the term “Nachos History” to the right of my message.

Sometimes, though, I just don’t understand the yielded results (case in point: right). In the e-mail message sent to me that prompted these links, someone mentioned he liked the first 2006 episode of NBC’s “Scrubs.” Fine. So I get some generic links about scrubs. Obviously, no one in her right mind would ever actually click on the three links offering “Free Scrubs info” or “Your complete reference for Scrubs.” These are laughably ridiculous and therefore fine.

The Sarah Jessica Parker bit? That’s severely annoying. I scoured this e-mail exchange for any trace of something that could possibly invoke my favorite character (but least favorite character-voice… just imagining the voiceovers makes me cringe) on “Sex and the City,” and I found nothing. The name “Zach Braff” was even in the e-mail, but apparently not detectable enough to get its own sponsored link. There was also the phrase “go food shopping,” but that has even less to do with SJP than “Zach Braff.” I give up.

Up next is something that has literally given me nightmares:

I defy any company to come up with a more disgusting premise than this. The image is animated, which means that not only are there SPIDERS on your screen (one of which is RED) but that they are racing across the window past, towards, and into each other with no other intention than to get you to click basically anywhere in said window.

As absolutely vile as this little game is, it provoked some really profound insights for me a few nights ago. While lazily following the ants with glazed-over eyes, I ended up dealing with all sorts of deeper philosophical questions. What really makes the spiders run? When will their sick and twisted crawling routine stop momentarily and then repeat itself again on a constant loop? Or does that even have to happen? Holy crap — what if I was willing these computerized insects to move?

Watch this ad long enough, and if you’re like me (which hopefully no one is), you’ll eventually get terrifyingly freaked out over the idea that maybe someday technology will be advanced enough that you the beholder, and not some gadgety little appelet (do you like my attempts at tech-speak despite any knowledge whatsoever of programming jargon?), will be in ultimate control over the spiders.

Think about it!

No, don’t.

Currently loving: lighting candles with an unnecessarily large torch
Currently hating: Doteasy.com Web hosting and e-mail. You ****ers.

Send me pics of annoying ads you find! I am rather enjoying myself. Maybe DR: Version 2006.0 should consist of only Internet-ad analysis. I’m cool.

Is this Rachel Griffiths? I’m so confused. A Google search of “Rachel Griffiths Weight Watchers” is decidedly inconclusive.

I wouldn’t think much of it normally, but I saw the WW ad on the same day that I saw an Amstel Light commercial featuring lookalikes of Thom Filicia from Queer Eye and Jennifer Beals from The L Word. Clearly neither of the commercial’s actors are the celebrities themselves, but was this pairing intentional? Did people at the Amstel Light marketing meeting go “Let’s have the poeple look like the ones in the gay shows?” I just thought this was weird.

Not to mention, it’s the dumbest commercial ever. It’s set to haunting organ music that reminds me of The Count’s segements on Sesame Street when he used to say, “I loooooove to count! Ha, ha, ha, ha.” Except in the commercial, the woman mutters, “I loved you. You were perfection. And then, you were gone.”

Enter a more bug-eyed version of Thom, who gives her an “Are you for real? I brought you your fucking beer” look (left) before placing a full bottle of Amstel Light down to her empty one. Is this faux-glam scene supposed to embody Amstel’s slogan, “Live tastefully”? Are the loookalikes planted to suggest some higher-arching sexual tension or lack thereof at work in the room? Do I need to stop watching so much television?

Rounding out DR’s special advertising report is the new iPod nano commercial. The nano is so hip that it doesn’t need a capital letter to make it distinct. It really is that small.

If you’re one of the five people who read my iPod story last year, you may remember my insinuation that iPods are inherently racist. Well, in the new nano commercial, set to “Gimme That” by The Resource, a selfish white hand actually taunts a black hand with its iPod nano, and then pulls it away when the black hand tries to grab it from him. Gimme that! says the black hand, and the oppressive, hierarchical white hand says not in your wildest dreams can you have this bright white musical toy. Go back to your side and let me finish twirling around my nano as if it was a scratchy turntable and I was powering the song all by myself. Ch-check the technique, biatch.

My Text Twist obsession has lasted only a few days, but it became dangerous to the point at which I had to quit. TT is a word puzzle on Yahoo! Games that eats up time at a rate I can’t even believe. This can be both good and horrible. But it’s over. I have to stop.

Usually, at work, I’d play with one or two people hovering over the screen, collaborating with me (the typist) to get the six-letter word that guarantees advancement to the next round. I always felt kind of impure doing this, as if I was cheating myself and Yahoo! by getting outside help. But as long as they were there at the beginning of the game and stuck around until the end, they were cool. If we got a high score, it would be all of our high scores and not something each of us could lord over others as reasons why we were individually awesome.

So it really pissed me off when yet other people would walk by and nonchalantly say the six-letter word as if it was really obvious. “Footed. Duh, you guys.” I’d whirl around and literally yell at whoever did this, even if we weren’t friends (and with even more venom if we were friends). I’d be all “How could you do that? This is our game.” What?

In hindsight, this made me look mean, and somewhat deranged.

Late last night, I completed my final round of TT while alone in my apartment. It took about an hour and I was just totally in the zone. I felt unstoppable. My fingers seemed to move independently of my brain, but that’s just because my brain was operating at super-warp word speeds not connectable to lowly things like hands. This game is a lot like Snood in addictive qualities. Unlike Snood, it’s not completely mindless so you don’t feel like a total negative when you play it for two hours straight, fighting off the urge to use the bathroom, eat or drink (quite a feat for me), or even look away from the screen.

My score was 111,250 — a higher score than I even thought was possible for just one person. Even with a three-person tag team, we’d only be racking up 50 or 60,000. As I sat there alone, dominating, I actually wondered if I could turn this talent into a career. Upon emerging from ‘’the zone'’ and remembering this, I decided to give up the game altogether. It’s simply not worth its delusional effects. I’m through.

It’s been 22 hours since I quit. And like a crack addict, I am sitting here with random letters floating through my numbskull, combining to make beautiful words like “tag,” “rage,” and “greater.” But I am greater than this game. I will beat this addiction. You’ll never see me play again. Because I will do it in the privacy of the Pink Palace.

Just realized I made up the word “connectable.” I like that. I also like how up in the first paragraph, the word “eats” is hanging out right next to the large “FOOD” in the graphic/screen capture. How unintentionally excellent.

This morning I received a playful e-mail from Friendster with the subject “Friendster misses you!” Right. It can’t stand life without the cackling girl with a tambourine in one hand and Stoli Raz in the other. I particularly got a kick out of this portion of the e-mail:

Oh, really? I can “blog it up” at Friendster? That’s awesome!

Wow. Each time I read the above blurb, I get a little more pissed off, and I don’t know why. I guess it’s Friendster’s flippant attitude towards the concept of the blog. As if I’d really want to “write an ode to sausage.” God! Anyone knows the best bloggers only write their longest, most memorable missives about nachos and cupcake icing.

The Real World actually seemed kind of real last night, and it only took the death of a loved one. Yay.

Hey, you know what I hate? When people don’t step aside on escalators! I mean, what’s with those people? Seriously!

The offending item:

First, these are all shitty choices. Dairy Queen can be good if it’s July, you’re in the Midwest, and you’re resigned to being fat and happy for the next seven days. Baskin Robbins gives shoddy portions, and Coldstone Creamery employees make me want to shoot myself. It was suggested by someone I thought cared about me that I apply for a job and work there for a few weeks for research purposes, singing to the customers and shouting out my name in cheer form with key anecdotes about myself. Dude, I have a blog for that.

Yes, it would be hilarious and I might even get to write a bestselling novel about it, but who needs millions of dollars when you can have, instead, ice cream dignity and $14 an hour to watch for product placement in television? Not me, that’s who! Besides, I’m still planning on getting a job at Starbucks for a few months, just long enough to pen my debut novel, Lots of Lattes. Or maybe even Latts o’ Lattes. It’s gonna be about, like, espresso and stuff.

Secondly, I don’t appreciate the way “Rob Jefferson” has preselected Baskin Robbins for me. I remember those “Clown Cones” from Baskin Robbins. Did every store have those, or was it just the one at the Garden Market shopping center in Western Springs, IL? This was an ice cream cone with — again — a severely low amount of ice cream in the actual cone and (here comes the “clown” part) little florets of thick, multicolored buttercream icing dotting the cone and the ice cream itself to form a “clown face” that never looked anything like a real clown but tasted really, really sugary. Most of my naive little playmates would eat all the florets at once because they were all anyone cared about. I was all “WTF?” to such children because I preferred to eat my florets gradually, with a balanced ratio of ice cream to icing in each bite. I’d feel sorry for one part if I favored the other unfairly. The textures of both clashed so violently that it was just a tumultuous experience in general. In fact, I’d really rather not repeat it or even think about it ever again. And yet I’m writing about it. You can tell it’s almost six in the morning. Maybe you can’t, and I’ve just outed myself. Whatever. Look, I just found an article which mentions the Clown Cone. The writer seems to think the CC was a once-a-year birthday treat. Wow. Either they became too popular for that rule to hold, or the Garden Market chain’s employees just got way too overzealous with all the floret fun. I’d like to bet on the latter, but again, with the shoddy portions… those employees (always the same man, woman, and teenage daughter — it’s like they slept behind the counter) didn’t seem like so much fun at all. What am I talking about? Look how long this paragraph about florets is! Am I really going to post this?

Guess so.

I wrote the TV Watch for LOST on EW.com today. That’s why I am awake. It’s not my fault, except it really is.

Just realized the date is 05/05/05. DUDE.