Before I get into any sort or ambling tonight, I have to give huge props to Spybot Search & Destroy. Do people still give props? Did they ever, really? I don’t know. The point is, I had a virus on my computer that was rendering it into nothing more than an electricity-driven piss-me-off device. I know I’m a little spoiled by things like massive amounts of RAM and enormous piles of hard drive space and cable internet. I admit it. But when your computer takes 25 minutes to turn on? That’s too many.
And getting on the internet was a joke. Upload speed of 5 kbps. I’m supposed to get, on average, between 500 and 700. You remember dial-up, where if some asshole had put a picture on his site, it took five minutes to load? Worse than that, my friends. Half the time, the connection would time out even before the pictures would load.
The thing is, I do almost all of my school work on my computer. Three of my classes are taught online, and the other one is Photoshop. So this past week has sucked a lot of balls.
I have Norton Antivirus on my computer, mostly because that’s what came on it, and when it was time to renew, I wasn’t brave enough to switch to freeware. I’m kind of an idiot, I think. When I mentioned to Trey the other day that I had Norton, he said, “Why?” And it’s a damn fine question. I scanned with Norton over and over again. I got down into my startup, I went into safe mode, I blah blah blah. Basically, I made it to where Norton could scan everything. It turned up nothing.
Desperate, I decided to turn to their live support. The thing is, it isn’t compatible with Firefox. Okay, I figured, I already have a screwed up computer, so how bad could it be? Like I said, I’m kind of an idiot. Once I opened up Internet Explorer, the pop-up windows covered my screen. I couldn’t even see Norton’s site because of Covergirl ads. Like, fifty of them.
So I unhooked my wireless adapter and ran a full system scan. Nothing turned up. Finally—and I have no idea why it took so long—I downloaded Spybot. I think I had tried this before, several years ago, and it wouldn’t install unless you uninstalled Norton. That’s why I was a little hesitant.
I ran a scan, and it was about fifty minutes faster than Norton. 83 viruses. Eighty. Fucking. Three. Trojan. Viruses. That Norton had just, I don’t know, missed.
My computer’s back up and running now, and I’m incredibly pleased with Spybot Search & Destroy, and just wanted to let you all know about it. I don’t know if it works this good all the time or what, but I know that my computer’s running like it should for the first time in about a month.
But enough about that. Well, except to mention that Trey was incredibly helpful, telling me about Spybot, while rik, on the other hand was just a punk: “It’s your porn, it stopped up the internet.”
“It’s not the porn.”
“You been looking at a lot of pictures of guys with big penises? I bet that’s what it is. Their penises stopped up your wires. You’re gonna have to call an internet plumber.”
But, really, enough about that.
So it was presentation day in my Photoshop class today. We were supposed to design a logo kind of thing. Mostly we were supposed to use the pen tool in Photoshop. If you aren’t used to using this tool, it will make you want to punch baby seals in the face. While most of the tools in Photoshop are pretty intuitive for me, this one was...not. Each time I wanted it to do something, it would do the opposite.
Actually, that’s not even true—if it did the opposite, I could at least figure out how to work the damned thing. Every time I wanted it to do something, it did something completely different, in new and baffling ways. The sad part is, I lucked out and used a picture that should have been easy to work with:
If you have a lot of twists and turns, it just makes it that much more difficult. For example, one girl used a plant. A curvy, twisty bamboo plant. Which I thought was bad until I saw the picture of a donkey that a guy did. Each fine hair on the donkey was traced around using this hellish tool. I don’t know how he managed to hold onto his sanity.
And this brings us to our real story of the evening. Each project, the teacher tells us the basic idea of what we have to do. We draw out four different ideas and take them in. He picks the one he likes the best, and then we bring in four variations of that single idea. It sounds like a relatively easy process, but over half of the class still gets confused about it, even though this is the same exact thing that has happened all semester.
Out of that last batch, the teacher picks one, and that’s the one we create using Photoshop.
We show up with our initial four, and this one guy slides his paper across the table to the teacher. I stare for a second, trying to figure out if I’m seeing what I think I’m seeing. There’s a donkey getting punched in the face.
There are probably more surreal conversations to hear than when the speaker is discussing the donkey punch with absolutely no idea as to its slang meaning. Probably. I’m not sure if I’ve ever heard one, though. Because that’s the design that he picked, of course.
“I…I like the donkey punch,” the teacher says. “I can see you don’t want to. Is there something you’d like to do instead of the donkey punch?”
“No. I mean…I’ll do it, if you want. I just wasn’t expecting that.”
“Yeah, I think go with the donkey punch. It definitely looks the best.”
Meanwhile, I’m just fighting laughter so hard that I’m afraid I’m going to piss myself.
By the way, if you’re wondering why “donkey punch” has been coming up so much on this site lately, this is why. I told rik about this guy and his project, and since then, the phrase seems to come up in almost every conversation we have. Weird, right?
We come back the next class, this guy has four variations of the donkey punch. On one of them, he has made the first letter of each word really big. I glance at him as he shows us his sketch. “Yes,” he sighs, “That says D P.”
My mind is generally in the gutter. I don’t know if it’s because my mom always thought that everything remotely sexual was a super sin so I had to rebel, or if I’m just hardwired to be something of a sexual degenerate. It’s just something I’ve come to accept—if it can be taken as innuendo, that’s how I’ll take it.
But come on, man—you’ve got the donkey punch and the DP?
Long story short, I sat in class today looking up at a projection of a donkey getting punched in the face. I listened while people discussed stylistic aspects of the donkey punch. At one point, the teacher said, “Yeah, if you use a real donkey, you probably have to put a disclaimer so you don’t offend any animal rights people.”
“I would think it would be more offensive to women,” the designer said.
“No, I know lots of women who like wrestling,” the teacher replied. “Wrestling, pickup trucks, they wouldn’t mind a donkey punch.”
There’s a reason for the statement, there really is. I can’t remember why, but at some point, this picture had been associated with wrestling. Like the WWF or whatever, because in addition to the donkey getting punched, there are also the letters WTF emblazoned across the top.
So you have this picture projected up on the wall, like six feet by six feet, of a donkey getting punched, WTF across the top, and the instructor talking about how he knows lots of women who would be into a donkey punch.
I’m not making this up.
And then the guy sitting beside me goes, “I bet it’d be hard to find an image of a donkey getting punched.”
I couldn’t resist. “Nah, man, just Google image donkey punch, I bet you’ll find something.”
He laughed, because what a ridiculous picture that would be. “I’ll do that,” he said. “Just to see what I’ll find.”
Hopefully, he’ll be scarred for life.
UPDATE: I just decided what the hell, and Google imaged “donkey punch.” Oddly, it wasn’t that bad—mostly t-shirts. There were a couple of pictures of naked chicks with guys in donkey outfits behind them, wearing boxing gloves. There was a picture that said, “Fat chicks give the best head because they’re hungry.” There was a picture of a DVD that featured the actresses getting donkey punched. Mostly, there were t-shirts.
Don’t act like you weren’t curious.