Inconvenience Store
GOOFY WEBSITE REVIEW: Uroulette.com
Alright, it's a slow Friday night and Lisa can't make it over till tomorrow. Your stomach is still not sure if its over its disastrous encounter with the ribs at Sonny's barbecue yesterday and so you took one of those generic lorcets left over from last month's wisdom tooth extraction and washed it down with plenty of cheapie beer. Ahh... that's better. You have become the personification of buzzed uselessness and it feels quite nice by golly.
Now what?
Uroulette.com, that's what. An exercise in couch potatoery as good as any.
Fire up the computer and punch in uroulette.com and wait for it's odiously ugly, looks like it was done by junior high computer class, graphics to appear.
Click on the ever so ugly, portion of a roulette wheel and you're instantly in business.
We're going on a blindfolded trip around the World Wide Web. Kinda like spinning a globe, closing your eyes, and punching it to a stop with your finger and then marveling at what exotic locale you've landed in when you open your eyes.
Most instructive, in a senseless sort of way.
You learn things about the web, and the world, that you'd probably otherwise never even think about. Things like: Romania thinks it's a tourist destination. Iceland has resort hotels. And America pretty much dominates nine tenths of randomly selected web sites and the other tenth are in English fer chrissakes.
You also learn that with few, very few exceptions, web pages in general are stupendously boring, idiotic, or both.
Surprisingly little porn, by volume.
Lotsa realtors and weird year-old snippets from newspapers from Dublin to Dubuque. Horrid personal home pages with hit counters still trying to attain the magical thousand mark, three years after the goofus in question decided that a home page with a picture of him with his finger up his nose and a biblical quotation of the day would be a really neat idea.
Big construction consulting firms telling you just how big they really are.
Funeral homes discreetly requesting you flip the cadaver in their direction, for a modest fee of course.
Chambers of commerce hyping towns nobody has ever heard of.
Homemade fan pages memorializing dead guys you've never heard of.
Hocus art galleries on Nantucket.
Oh hell, it's ENDLESS. Just fucking endless.
Just right for burning off those excess hours you don't know what to do with otherwise.
Give it a spin.
A lifetime resident (despite having travelled all over the damn place at one time or another) of Central Florida, James MacLaren took a four-year degree in death thrills riding giant waves on the North Shore back in the 70's. Wound up in the inconvenience store following a lay off from the Cape, where he was involved with the construction of the Space Shuttle launch pads, among other things. Father of best son in the world.
