A LOLHenry for the new generation

I must admit to not being a huge fan of the whole LOLcat phenomenon. The pedant in me has a tendency to get frustrated with the (deliberate, I hope) poor spelling and grammar. Of course, I have little time for textspeak or leetspeak or any such nonsense. Yes, I do understand that it is simply a new way of interacting and a genuine 'voice' of a subculture, I just happen to think that it is stupid, and makes the people who use it look stupid. Hence the LOLHenry that I created the other day, and have posted today.

Aside from an inevitable dumbing down of the language (and the standard mode of communication itself), I resent that most LOLCats make felines look like a bunch of ignorant morons. As a unabashed fan of the feline (and apologies to any relatives of Phil Jaques reading this), I feel that the sort of simplistic, inane and poorly constructed nonsense most LOLCat discourse resembles is far more suited to dogs. The canine is infinitely more likely to speak in such a crude and unrefined manner.

Like the motivational sign of a couple of days ago, you can make one too. Just go to this website.

[Again, a firm and even more polite nod to the gang at Mental Floss.]

Comments

Z said…

Hear! Hear!

5 July 2008 at 06:42

If you want to be loved, be lovable.

Henry admires the view.

Ah, Joe, you never knew the whole of it...

I still have the robot on the job. Here you can see the Tasmanian Museum and Art Gallery . And here is a poem: Soliloquy for One Dead Bruce Dawe Ah, no, Joe, you never knew the whole of it, the whistling which is only the wind in the chimney's smoking belly, the footsteps on the muddy path that are always somebody else's. I think of your limbs down there, softly becoming mineral, the life of grasses, and the old love of you thrusts the tears up into my eyes, with the family aware and looking everywhere else. Sometimes when summer is over the land, when the heat quickens the deaf timbers, and birds are thick in the plumbs again, my heart sickens, Joe, calling for the water of your voice and the gone agony of your nearness. I try hard to forget, saying: If God wills, it must be so, because of His goodness, because- but the grasshopper memory leaps in the long thicket, knowing no ease. Ah, Joe, you never knew the whole of it... I like Bruce Dawe. He just my be my favourite Austral

Zeal, n. A certain nervous disorder afflicting the young and inexperienced. A passion that goeth before a sprawl.

Here I have tried my hand at the homemade sepia-toned photo. I wasn’t happy with the way that the sun had washed out some of the colours in the original, so had a bit of a fiddle because I like the look on Henry’s face, and didn’t want to pass on posting it. I have a tip for those of you burdened with the great, unceasing weight of parenthood. I have a new recipe, in the vein of the quick microwaved chocolate cake . Get this, microwaved potato chips . I gave them a run on Sunday, Henry liked the so much I did it again last night. Tonight, I shall be experimenting with sweet potato. I think that the ground is open for me to exploit opportunities in the swede, turnip, carrot and maybe even explore in the area of pumpkins. Radical, I know. I’m a boundary-pusher by nature. It's pretty simple, take the potato. Slice it thinly (it doesn't have to be too thin, but thin enough). Lay the slices on the microwave plate, whack a bit of salt over the top and nuke the buggers for five minut

This will hurt me...

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