MEEBO’s Revenge

Ok, do check the previous post for how to easily murder that awful Meebo chat-bar, etc on your site. But I do need to post a small WARNING here. Do it at your own risk!
  
See nowadays everybody’s linked to everybody. I get an email from MelFamy mentioning Buckminster Fuller and my g-mail is suddenly alive with links for  Fuller Brush Company, plus an outfit who’ll set me up with ‘fuller breasts’, for a price. So no wonder Meebo found out about my treason.


    I knew it right away when I got a strange SMS from my buddy Andy at Tel Aviv University. He’s 3rd year Bio, specialty Entomology. And something wild must’ve happened in the lab. Hard to tell exactly what though, because MEEBO CRIPPLED HIS PHONE’S KEYBOARD! (-ADD: So I thought-) Yeah, it took a while to figure out, almost like forensics, but the evidence is right there in the first exchange:

-STAN TANNED NATASHA’S ANTS-

This was Andy’s SMS, and the first hint something wasn’t right. Luckily, I’d visited there not too long ago, toured their setup, with the screened cages, the cameras, and the heaters. Yeah, need to keep those tropical ants warm enough to procreate. So duh, looks like ‘Stan’, a partially un-wrapped dude from Eilat in the South, got tired of his love for the lovely Natasha-of-the-Ukraine being un-requited, and went over the edge. Turned the heater on her brood-chamber up to ‘Awesome’! (I’m pretty sharp at guessing the plots in affairs of the heart.)

Figuring that some foreign entity had ‘limited’ Andy’s Alphabet, I msg-ed back in kind:
 
-SAD. STAN’S AN ASS-

Really more to sound out Andy’s loyalties in the fracas. He is splitting a flat  with Stan this semester. And sure enough, I get this ‘counsel for the defence’:

-NATASHA DENTED STAN’S ‘NADS-

Well shit happens, especially when you get over-amorous with an IDF veteran-girl who hasn’t forgotten her basic training. But I decided to push Andy into his own corner as the advocate for his room-mate. (oh, and stay within my Meebo letters):
-AHA. ANY DNA, ANDY?-

Andy’s reply surprised me:
-NADA. STAN’S A SATAN-
Ok then, I thought to myself, and replied:
-HA!-   …then quickly searched for Stan’s cell#. Great, got it. Sent him a fairly long query; (I’m not big on the old ‘WHASSUP’ even on texting). He responded with a puzzled -??-.
That’s when I realized, mebbe ‘it’s not them it’s me
It’s ‘MY’ phone’s alphabet that Meebo’s dicking with? What to do? I got straight to the point:
-STAN,  Y?-

-SHE NEEDS A HAT- he replied within seconds. ‘A hat’?? I thought, and so I sent him:
-A HAT??-
No reply… and sadly, that’s the last info I have on this formicide investigation. He probably means ‘a tin-foil hat’, but go try to spell that out with a ‘SHATN-DY’ keyboard. My only question is: ‘If I capitulate and put the god-damn Meebo-virus back on my Xanga page, do I get to use the whole alphabet?  Only Meebo knoweth, and they ain’t talking…
Like I said folks, consequences. Karma. Step on a crack/ break yer Momma’s back.’
. And you won’t even have the letters to say you’re sorry.

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15 thoughts on “MEEBO’s Revenge

  1. HappierHeathen

    I’m still ignorant of what a meebo is. Near as I can tell, it causes something like spongiform encephalitis so I suppose my ignorance is actually quite blissful. Come Thursday I will give thanks for my ignorance!

    Reply
  2. HappierHeathen

    @jsolberg –  Ah, so meebos are something like blister beetles then. I hate those darn things.I just this moment searched to discover what a meebo is. Apparently I’m even less interesting in real time, so instant messaging just isn’t my bag and I’m glad that my nicely locked down browser doesn’t show me whatever it is that Meebo provides here.Indeed, Thursday we Merkins will celebrate horribly abusing the generosity of indigenous people and boil the fat of large poultry to make gravy. Then with the history of our culture properly celebrated, we’ll rush out to spend what little remains of our hard earned cash buying things no one needs to celebrate our modern culture of ostentatious consumption. Then when the credit card bills roll in come January, we’ll all be as remorseful as a hungover Mormon. Cue the Fiddler soundtrack: TRADITION!

    Reply
  3. jsolberg

    @HappierHeathen – Ha, a smartly-written description. But I kinda have a particular soft spot, or lack of revulsion at least for Gratitude Day. I’ve scheduled two trips to the Snakes here precisely to enjoy being invited to numerous serial sequential feasts. (And came back once weighing 200 pounds!) Happy holiday

    Reply
  4. jsolberg

    @Roadkill_Spatula – Haha. I just knew no post was complete without your ‘expanded-feature’ Version. I am in fact awaiting the payback from the cyber-bullies for having rained on their plastic parade. Call me Paranoid, but these robots *do* talk nights, having nothing else of substance to occupy their processors. Pity poor Natasha; her career as an Ant-ler incinerated, de-horned by a petty ant-agonist. Stan is indeed the Ant-i-christ!

    Reply
  5. sleekpeek

    So /that’s/ what’s happened to my Meebo! I was wondering why I can no longer access this instant messaging system! It’s you and your Meebo conjuring blog! @chromepoet –  I used to have “Eater’s Digest” I created in the 9th grade (I’m so old)! Thanks for the memory! And back to…@jsolberg – and back at you, jsolberg, whew! let’s /def/initely fix this mad cow situation! Happy Gratitude Day!

    Reply
  6. jsolberg

    @sleekpeek – Far be it from me to decide for others that they daresn’t agree to wait forever for web-pages to load. I fixed my own problem dramatically by nixing this useless tacky tack-on. That’s great you antedated my Reader’s Digest quasi-neologism. Hurray for us post-pubescents, I say. /And I’ve seen mad-cow up close. It arouses extreme pity for the poor doomed creature. Looks like falling-down drunk plus hydrophobia, but with slightly less drool.

    Reply
  7. sleekpeek

    @jsolberg – It’s an awful disease. I saw its cousin,Creutzfeldt–Jakob disease, in the early stages take my father-in-law. It was sad, of course for many reasons, for one, b/c many at first thought he was hitting the bottle again. I knew him during only his brief moments of lucidity, and I think he’d like me to end this on a note of humor, from what I gathered from the lovely man in such a short time. He’d say, Right On, about hurray for us post-pubescents! I bet you and he could have talked much on the ’60s. And don’t take this to mean you’re old enough to be my father (15 years old is too young to be a dad!). He was almost 72 when he passed. A really cool guy. Thank you for your comment space to allow me to share this. It’s out here in the ether. Maybe this is what it’s about. Peace and all that jazz.

    Reply

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