|It's 1975 And This Man Is About To Show You The Future|
|(Scenes From An IBM Slide Presentation)|
|this is a parody of content stolen directly from: http://www.squareamerica.com/ib.htm|
|also i use some NSFW language because it makes me LOL|
this is where you|
want to be, bitches
or do i have to hit you
with a pool cue?
and a haircut
by a professional
|information is a series of tubes|
it's not a truck. although,|
a truck can be useful.
you like this? my kid made this.|
i don't know what it means.
who in this room|
has ever touched a woman? liar.
|even lower case is scary|
i would sit down|
if i didn't have this rash.
don't tell my wife|
about the new intern!
smiling orange man|
is watching you masturbate.
have to pee
how bold? this bold.|
take that, hippies!
do you think she would look hot|
with her hair down?
|seriously, speaking of packages...|
|ah, so *that's* where i left that.|
|what do you mean - the test is positive?!?|
|yep, it's positive. gonorrhea and jerpes.|
|pink man laughs at your misfortunes.|
you need all this stuff|
to get good ping times
or else i'm going to
pwn j00r A$$$^%!1!
in my brain
neither of these women want|
intercourse with me. i just asked.
|then this happens. i blame that chair for my erectile dysfunction|
well, where the hell else|
would you keep all your datas? silly.
|"help me obi-wan kenobi..."|
i'm not so sure|
about this graphic here. maybe. maybe not.
|gonorrhea *and* jerpes??? ROFL|
i don't know why, but that guy|
smells like peanut butter. and shame.
aaahhh! space-time is|
unraveling in neat rectangles!
this o is encircling my groin|
for no apparent reason
but i like it
maybe too much
|aw darn, not even neo can fix this now|
|sometimes i gotta dance!|
|it's like voting in cuba|
in the future, it will take four eggheads|
to cybersex one woman. and she'll still be guy.
you were conceived at this party. your mother|
was an inexpensive floor lamp.
online is right behind you with an ellipsis!
|why doesn't rash-boy just go to the doctor?|
he got it from|
one of these guys... don't ask.
seriously, the words are|
startingto get on my nerves.
|why do old men dream about david berkowitz?|
i'm telling you one last time|
quit with the friggin words already
who's the new guy?|
i hope this rash goes away soon.
i give myself papercuts|
to feel something. anything.
his doodles look like my wife.|
yep, i'm pretty sure
that woman once|
kneed me in the groin so hard
i saw god.
red man is consumed by self-hatred, due to the racial epithet inherent in his name.|
also, he's watching you masturbate.
we need a computer this big to determine|
how much juvenile humor is in these captions
we never let her leave. she sleeps|
in the corner on a pile of old punch-cards.
seriously, should i ask her out?|
maybe she has a thing for grandpas.
now i'm just
with your help,|
i might learn how to laugh and love again.
thank you for your attention.|
don't let the door hit you
where i wish i'd have bit you.
|i hope you enjoyed the hour of my life i wasted on this.|