Portmanteau: When Used For Ill, Not Good


Portmanteau

A portmanteau is typically a pretty good time. Some can be pretty fun to say and they’re almost always fun to create. There’s just something about taking two words and cramming them together so hard that a few of letters from each respective word just shoot out to the side never to be heard from again.

Sexting, jazzercise, slanguage, Bennifer are all great examples of portmanteaus. With the exception of the last one, all are a guilt free good time to say. That last one however reminds me of dark times. People should never know that much about Ben Affleck or Jennifer Lopez, or was it Garner? I can’t remember.

Occasionally the power of creating a portmanteau becomes too much to responsibly handle. When that happens the portmanteau may not have the best environment to grow up in. Sometimes a portmanteau goes bad. Grows a ponytail and refuses to maintain it’s eyebrows. Basically, it becomes Steven Seagal. Subsequently, much like Steven Segal, it also quits being fun.

Portmanteau, I Want Your Gun And Your Badge On My Desk!

Also, like Steven Seagal – who is the constant good cop who’s gone above the law- when portmanteaus go bad, we need to demand they turn in their gun and badge. While Portmanteaus don’t actually carry guns, there is a metaphor here. For portmanteaus, their gun is that pop they provide when said. The way the tongue and mouth seem to move a bit differently and the brain calls you on it.

As for the badge, a little known fact is portmanteaus all come with a certificate that the creator can display on their wall with pride. A greater known fact is that people who create portmanteaus never have anyone over to see said certificate. Not just for the occasion of seeing the certificate, just in general. It’s sad*.

Even if they did have people over, sometimes that pride wouldn’t be deserved. Occasionally, some overzealous wordsmith goes too far in the creation of a portmanteau. Perhaps they think it sounds funny. Maybe they just got tired of saying two clunky ass words together. Whatever the reason, they’ve gone above the law.

The 1947 Incident

It was 1947 and three types of people were tired of saying two clunky uncomfortable words, funeral directors, cremation folks, and government types. After boozy lunch – like the kind seen in Mad Men – they took it upon themselves to create a portmanteau so foul and opposite day of all other portmanteaus, that it was the direct antithesis of what a portmanteau should be. This one isn’t a rogue cop, it’s a gawhddamn satan spawned evil entity! Like other portmanteaus, it intrigues people to say it. Which is the cruelest part. Yet, it’s dark subject matter and more than likely poorly timed usage turns one’s sense of humor against them at a vulnerable time.

Remains + Cremation = Cremains

Cremains, you can’t help but catch the intrigue, feel that slight giggle. Even after the initial encounter. The elation in your heart as a portmanteau is used. Oh, it sounds funny and seems like it would be fun to say. At the same time, some soft spoken guy has just handed you a bucket and said, “Here are your father’s…”

That’s when one might think, “Did I hear that right?” After hearing cremains another twenty times in the next week, there will be no doubt. It’s a fucking terrible portmanteau. Cremains, turn in your gun and badge. You’re through and will never work in this town again.


Hey, on a lighter note, you may think WiFi is a portmanteau. You’re wrong!

 

*I feel that’s it’s critical to note that this entire paragraph is not true. Except for the part about not having anyone over.

Shrugs: Why Do I Go To The Gym?


Shrugs, Proof That Humans Don’t Know They Are The Punchline

Shrugs are a silly exercise that requires humans to grab far more weight than they can comfortably lift and then proceed to repeatedly shrug. As if to answer the questions they silently ask themselves, “Why did I grab so much weight, why do I do this to myself, and wait, do I make that face during sex?”

In Order To Look Good, You Have To Look Stupid

This is essentially the gyms unspoken mantra. In order to look good, you have to look stupid. Cross your arms and fold in half! Squat then explode up while thrusting your pelvis forward. Heck, just lay on your back, put a weight on your hips, and thrust, thrust, thrust.

Things that come up, must come down. Something is always coming in or going out. Such is life at the gym. Shrugs are absolutely no different. If one does shrugs in front of the mirror, which surprise, everything is done in front of the mirrors – except for treadmills because gym owners don’t have an intentional sense of humor – one is in for a life-altering experience.

A Lovecraftian View of The Seven Faces of Orgasm, Yours Specifically

It’s like looking into the pit of madness itself. If you truly love yourself and are not in love with yourself keep reading. If this doesn’t fit your description, perhaps you should stop. You may not possess the mental and emotional fortitude to survive.

As any good narcissist can tell you, looking at yourself in the mirror during sex is interesting. Although, most of us don’t find it interesting in the same manner a narcissist does. Something also tells me that many of us don’t finish while looking our mirror-selves dead in the eye.

That’s why shrugs were invented. Faces change with each subsequent shrugging of shrugs. Like a skateboarder doing a different rad trick each time they come out of the halfpipe. All of the expressions you make during sex are there and you don’t know about a single damn one:

  • The Macho Teeth Grit
  • The Whimsical Smirk
  • The Look To The Left
  • The Ho-Ho-Ho, What’s This (interrobang)
  • Open Mouth McClosed Eyes
  • The Meaningful Tilt
  • The Hey There Lassie, or Laddie.
  • The Eyebrow Raise That’s Reminiscent of The Rock
  • The Eyebrow Raise That’s More Common and Reminiscent of Eugene Levy
  • The Very Special Episode
  • The Nyuck-Nyuck-Nyuck
  • And The Wakka-Wakka

While, in the heat of the moment, these expressions may pass quickly and can be easily missed. Mistaken for a trick of the eyes. All of your lovers have caught glimpses of them. Now, each expression is completely explorable and can be broken down on each agonizing shrug. If one isn’t driven mad and has an ounce of humility, surely, they will laugh. Then the biggest challenge is not dropping a weight or pulling something.

 


If you like this, please hit the share buttons. Heck, if you hated it, please hit those share buttons. In general, hit those share buttons.

SEO Made Me Do It: New Words For The Year


SEO – Search Engine Optimization

SEO made me do it! SEO makes a lot of people do a lot of things. Good things, mostly weird things, always narcissistic things that reek of desperation. It’s the reason why people create web pages devoted to lists. SEO causes people to make punchy sans-article titles and sentences. There’s also all those calls to action. Basically, SEO is why you hate people that share posts that read “37 Ways Banana Cream Pie Catches Fire: What Lactose Intolerant Cat Does Next Is Amazing!”

That is SEO at work. Notice the lack of articles and the silky smooth tone of a late 1860’s snake oil salesman. In fact, no stop words show up until after the colon or as people in the super sexy search engine optimization biz refer to it as, the call to action. That title is so silky smooth, machines could crawl the shit out of that page and properly catalogue it.

The Future Was Yesterday and The Machine War Far Less Theatrical Than We All Expected

Essentially, SEO has made some human bend the knee like the machines have already risen and won the damn war. That human has gone on to create lots and lots of content on the internet. Of course, so many other humans are doing the exact same thing and they’re all desperate for hits. Trying to find the right words. Unique things that stand out in the subset of unique yet broad subjects.

Now, Onto The Original Topic (Go ahead and scout scroll, but it’s not much longer)

If you’ve been around recently, you will have noticed that I’ve been going on about toiletfires. If you are a super astute wordsmith or at least a diligently astute breaker downer of word parades. You may have noticed a difference between this post and this one.

I’m sure you’ve clicked those links and either refreshed yourself because you previously read both posts, or are crackling with the afterglow of having read one of those posts for the first time. Perhaps even both, you scandalous thing.

Did You Notice The Difference Between The Posts?

It happened while finishing up the second post. The previous post had been more about 2017, or something other than a fiery toilet. I have no recollection what my SEO keyword was. However, when it came time for the second post I was faced with a dilemma.

I typed toilet fire into the keyword area and the little circle went orange. I tried it a few more ways, but my free version of Yoast wasn’t having it. It was then that I took a bold step forward for humankind.

Somebody Get Webster’s On The Phone. At The Very Least Urban Dictionary.

It was in that moment, wanting to get that dang post up on the blog and not wanting to spend ten dollars a month, that my hand was forced. Forced to turn my previously open compound word toilet fire into the closed compound word toiletfire.

I felt like a real rebel! Not even Urban Dictionary has been so bold as to combine the words toilet and fire. To be honest, there’s something exhilarating about putting two words through the holy matrimony ringer. To step out in front of the humanity and become a representative of literary population. “You know what, these words belong together. Like peanut butter and chocolate! Like Ross and Rachel! Everyone can see it, just that no one’s done it yet!”

Much like an uber driver after popping a Vicodin or a child on coke and pop rocks, no one could stop me. That little circle went from orange to green. I hit publish before any crawl-bot 6000 thought otherwise.


When Grammarly told me toiletfire should be toilet fire, I added that to the dictionary. You’re welcome!

Everybody’s Hugging Everybody: The Great Unification of 2018


Everybody’s Hugging Everybody.

Everybody’s hugging everybody. Champagne and other alcohol fly in every which way. Little pieces of paper descend from the sky. People turned to gravity and said, “Hold my nachos.” Whether people were shockingly disappointed or super duper excited, people dropped whatever they were holding and clung to one another. The Eagles won, or so I’ve heard, the internet wouldn’t lie would it?

Not That I Care.

I didn’t watch the game. In fact, I wasn’t even planning to capitalize on the trending beast, then I had a thought. America loves football, a lot. Either people love those teams outright or hate one of them enough to root for the other. If nothing else, people like snacks and need something to talk about between throat lacerating fistfuls of Doritos.

Then I Had This Thought.

At some point in time last night, a Republican and a emocratD unwittingly treated one another with the decency that is given to everyone. I’m not talking about people who know how each other voted. I mean strangers at bars and at parties. Those people who just joined in comradery or be a contrarianism. Who chose to hate or love one of those teams at some point in their lives. Whether it was fifty years ago or two weeks, they were unified.

In those final moments, they consoled one another or tossed a cold one the other’s way. That had to happen somewhere in the 9.8 square kilometer* of country. People left the MAGA hats and the “I Watched Hamilton and All I Got Was A Boner.” t-shirts at home.

I Could Be Wrong

That is of course unless every democrat chose to cheer for the deep state establishment called the New England Patriot. Not only would that be typical, that would mean that there were a lot of green jerseys and red hats. I have to admit, that sounds very festive.

#DrainTheSwampEaglesDrainTheSwamp

Err.. I mean.

#FLYEAGLESFLY!


*google the miles.

I Bought A Mouse And Gained A Kindred Spirit Acquaintance: Chad


I Bought A Mouse.

I bought a mouse over the weekend. After six years, two of which involved a lot of false double clicks, I pitched my Razer Naga and bought a Logitech M720 A.K.A Triathlon. I realized that I wasn’t so much into gaming mice anymore. While I do play games on my PC, I don’t think I necessitate a mouse devoted to gaming. Basically, don’t require a mouse that resembles dung beetle Transformer named Shithouse* that was living proof that a disco ball fucked an Atari.

The Technobabble Was Free.

Back to my new sweet wireless mouse that has the unifying receiver and Bluetooth connectivity. First, the unifying receiver allows me to hook up six compatible devices to one receiver. That’s more than I need, but the ability to free up USB ports is always welcome. Then there is the Bluetooth which allows the mouse to be hooked up to three devices at the same time. With the simple push of a button, the active device is switched out and the cursor jumps to the next device’s screen.

The real kicker, files can be copied from device to device with the mouse. Make it active on one device, grab a file, hit the button, and hit paste on the next device. Done!

Then There He Was…

When I walked into the store I had two mice in mind, the Triathlon and the Marathon. Both were wireless and had years on one battery charge. The Marathon didn’t have Bluetooth, but it was cheaper. I found them both out on display where I could see how they felt and looked. I’d managed to check-out both before hearing, “Can I help you.”

My soul rolled it’ eyes. I figured it was some kid who didn’t really care what I said next. His manager had probably forced him to talk to me and was watching him. I turned around and there he was, Chad.

At Least That’s What His Name Tag Said.

Chad was excited and super helpful. He knew everything about the two mice in question and many things about everything else in that aisle. It should be noted that Chad knew all of this even though he broke his wrist and was now relegated to the exclusive use of mice with trackballs.

How do I know that he broke his wrist by falling down some stairs and that his brother sustained less severe injuries from a car accident? Do I really need to spell it out for you? Chad and I kindred spirits acquaintances on the same journey to find the input devices that best suit our needs!

Will We Meet Again?

While I don’t think Chad and I will ever meet on top of the Empire State Building at midnight with our favorite input devices** or anything. I think there is a chance that we will meet again.

You see, I think keyboards and mice are the bee’s knees. Out of those two, keyboards are the bee’s knees-i-est. I have several keyboards that I swap out from time to time.There’s my eleven year old main one from The Source and the gaming one. Plus a few randos, because you never know.

While looking at mice, I have to admit, I also stole a peek at keyboards. Chad told me all about them as well. Until the gentle nudge of a text saying, “Where are you?” brought me crashing back into reality from an input device euphoria.

I love my wife and my eleven year old Centrios keyboard, but man, those wireless, waterproof, multi-device Logitech keyboards sure did intrigue me. See you soon, Chad.

 


To my wife, I apologize. Not for Chad, but for wanting to buy another keyboard. Never for Chad.

*In all honesty, Shithouse would have been a Go-Bot.

**Hootie-hoo!

 

The Toiletfire Continues: 2018 Begins


The Toiletfire Continues

The toiletfire that will define 2018 is off to a roaring start! How could it not when 2017 went out in a blaze of glory? Might as well address that we all have the Bon Jovi song in our head at this point and if one doesn’t, then one is broken. Imagine those last few days of 2017, the final moments, set to that beautiful piece of music. Now imagine the version worthy of 2017, which is covered by a band of people who don’t know how to play, except for the oboe player – who’s just fucking on point, and said band is fronted by legendary comedian Gilbert Godfrey.

We’re halfway through January, which is a mixed bag of good news, bad news. Which means it all averages out to okay news! For instance, a good chunk of people have given up on their resolutions. Treadmills sit vacant, stairwells have tumbleweeds rolling down them, facebook accounts have been reactivated, and twitter is once again brimming with A-holes.

My Resolutions

As for my new year’s resolutions, I retroactively created two. The first one was, change a tire for the first time in over thirteen years. Completed and created on new years day, in that order. Crushed it! Boy did I feel great!

The next day, still high with accomplishment coursing through my veins and seeing an exodus of people, my second resolution was created, take the stairs at work less. If stairs are generally slower than taking the elevator, then the stairs at the first of the year are even slower. There’s a zillion people – each and every one of them with good intention in their hearts – shambling up the damn stairs, moaning, groaning, and wheezing.

So much so that nutter doomsdayers and fans of The Walking Dead get all excited because they think “This is it! The big one! The day uncle granpappy trained me for!” Grabbing duffle bags and cocking the guns they picked up on their way to work, they form a defensive line at the top of the stairs flipping over couches and plugging the gap between said couches and wall with the ficas*. Triggers squeeze, hammers rear back, and then, “Oh! Hey Bill from accounting! You look great! Did you get that fitbit for Christmas?” Bill can’t answer, he took the stairs. Avoid getting shot by the guy that thinks military boots are acceptable as “everyday wear.” Take elevator. Treat yo’self!

As For Other People’s Resolutions,

From what I see on social media, the resolution of be a better person was a fairly unpopular one this year and those that did resolve to be better people inserted “at holier than thou condescension” in the middle. For an example, of use, see the previous sentence.

That Guy On Facebook

The guy that’s facebook tile says he is unemployed and studied at school of the hard knocks ought to be a red flag. If that is a rando transient hobo bot 600, then the part that says he has a great sarcastic and ironic sense of humor, yet is angry at The Onion, well, he truly is a master of irony or an idiot.

Year of the Dick

2017 was the year of the rooster and as we should all know – without having to go to thesaurus.com – another name for rooster is cock. Under the guise of a big veiny bastard, 2017 starts to make a whole lot more sense. It flopped from left to right. It was hairy, stinky, and looked dumb. Then it ballooned for absolutely no freaking reason. People tried to run, but most just got pinned to the wall and had to stay there for four hours.

Of course, if one could reach their phone, those four hours were spent arguing with someone on social media. No one could tell if they were being yelled at by fake shitheads or real ones who think the pasty German Olson twins from The Matrix Reloaded are still cool and get raging four hour car door slamming boners each time they see a “What if I told you,” meme. Hell, no one seems to know anything anymore.

The Toiletfire Continues To Continue

Fires have a tendency to spread. Toiletfires are no different. Whether that toilet be in the boonies, the suburbs, or a prison, it doesn’t really matter. A toiletfire is a toiletfire. And a toiletfire doesn’t necessarily have so much to do with the contents of the bowl, but rather the amount of flammable material found in the water supply. Flush it once, avoid the backdraft, and now all the toilets are on fire.

At the moment, I’m joking about fire water. Yet I can’t help but think, that’s an all too plausible scenario. Hell, under an administration that seemed to give a shit, Flint had rusty water. Now we have folks that don’t give a flip about the masses water supply one bit. Not wanting to wear a tinfoil hat, but it could happen.

Especially with the repeals of laws and erosion of protection for the environment.

When laws were in place to protect water, land, and animals, they weren’t hurting us. Meaning it would be better to have them around than not have them. I mean, I’m not trying to bang my step-mom on the family yacht, I don’t need impress upon her how masculine my junk looks by cramming elephant tusks up next it. I also don’t have barrels of hazardous waste just sitting around that I don’t know what to do with. Nor have I ever thought, “this national park is way too big and would be improved by the addition of some fucking condos or a Wal-Mart.”

 


Only eleven and half months to go!

*What the actual fuck is a ficas? I hear it a lot. I say it a lot. It’s a funny word, but I don’t think anyone would know what a ficas looked even if it went all The Happening and head-butted them in the no-no’s.

 

Reviews: Chickpea And Where’d You Go Bernadette

Here are some reviews.

Chickpea

Service was horrible. I asked the waitress what beers were on tap, she said “They are on the board,” that I couldn’t read as it was halfway across the restaurant and parallel with me. To avoid any awkwardness, I simply said “Oh.” She walked off. When she came back, I asked once more, this time stating I couldn’t see the board. She said, “A lager, a pilsner, a pale ale.” Needless to say, I didn’t order a beer.

 

With such disinterested service, I figured the food had to be fantastic. Why else would people continually flock to this place? I was wrong, it’s some of the blandest food I’ve tasted. It’s on par with lowest common denominator targeting workplace cafeteria food that needs to feed masses and offend as few palates as possible. To their credit, they do know how to plate and make the food look very presentable. However, I’d gladly take a hit in that department to avoid eating a potato that has had nothing done to it other than making it not raw.

 

Those wanting Lebanese or Mediterranean fare should go to Nuba or JamJar. Both restaurant’s flavors are superior. Heck for that matter, go to any hole in the wall donair joint and you’ll also save a couple of bucks.

Where’d You Go Bernadette

Simply put, I love this book. Mental health and biting social commentary permeate the pages. There’s a lot to mull over and empathize with. I started out thinking, “I know these people,” by the end I was thinking, “I am these people.” As I closed it for the last time, I wanted to immediately open it up and do it all over again.

 


 

2017 Ate All The Dicks

2017 ate dicks!

All of them. It was literally the worst fucking year of my life. It could be said that most years have been pretty great so that maybe 2017 isn’t all that bad. While the former is true. That latter isn’t. 2017 was terrible. 2017 sucked shit through a silly straw. Hey, 2017, I loathe you. I will look back at 2017 like the festering speed bump made gawhd god-knows-what organic matter – I swear I see severed limbs and a horse’s head sticking out of it – that it was.

There was a prologue to 2017 called 2016. As far as years go, it was kind of fucky. Until 2017 blew the doors off this muth and showed people what a terrible year looks like. From a statistical standpoint, the quality of years seem to be in a downward trend. Good news is, I’m not alone. Ever since that human toilet fire showed up on a debate stage, almost everyone’s quality of life has been trending down. Even if their head’s up are shoved up their racist uncle’s ass. It won’t grant them immunity as it isn’t the ring of protection the nerds are prattling on about. Now having their head up their rich as fuck racists uncle’s ass, well, that’s a different story.

It’s not just the politics though. It’s not the fact that I can’t go on social media without stumbling upon some trash heap post that’s somewhere between smoldering and five-alarm. Whether it’s from a friend or some troll bot 5000, it doesn’t matter. It’s sucked the fun out of social media. There’s a bit of anxiety. It’s like walking around downtown and happening upon a greasy back alley handy-j while someone is yelling “This is my opinion, my opinion is fact!” Let’s say, I’ve muted a lot of people this year.

Take A Break.

I’m sorry, that last bit was kind of gross. On a personal level though, I’ve been obliterated. Bad shit occurred. The kind of terrible real shit that we all eventually deal with and though many have, there’s no good way to deal with it. It’s rough, different. Lives have been forced to change and it can never be undone. That’s why, once again, I’ve vanished for a while. I wish it were because I was working on my novel for nanowrimo, but that has about one days worth of writing against it. In general, I just haven’t felt like sitting in front of the PC and tippy-tappin’ out the words. I’m basically forcing myself to do this right now.

Thankfully, I’m fuelled by rage and the need a laugh. Laughing hasn’t been as prevalent during the last few weeks. Which is too bad because I’m a fairly funny person. Although, since it’s taken me the better part of two months to write this, more laughs have occured. I like to laugh and enjoy making others laugh.

Back to the laughing.

2017 and to that end, life, are like a horse. But not just any horse. One of the big black evil bastards that bites everybody and kicked one of his trainers into a well. Of course that was when he was young and in a good mood. Now he is more days behind him than he does in front of him. The racing days are over due to arthritis. That’s why he started taking PCP*. And to support his cool habit of taking hard to come by drugs he had to get a job. So he hauls trash carts behind him. Basically, that brings him full circle on the hipster scale. Old drug, old job, old technology, in general being a drip with a penchant for black.

At any time did I mention that the trash cart is on fire? No? Doesn’t seem like I did. Well, it goes without saying that fire freaks horses the fuck out and makes them run in the opposite direction. That’s just a regular horse. Not a horse on PCP, hauling a trash cart that is perpetually on fire and four feet behind the asshole, both literally and figuratively.

In closing, 2017 sucked. Drive an oak stake through its heart. Chop off its head. Salt it. Burn it. Bye Felicia.

Can’t wait to see how fucky 2018 is!


Before the Chicken Soup for the Soul demographic get after me, there are plenty of things I’m grateful for. I’m just, pissy.

*PCP ( ) is a horse tranquilizer that was taken off the market in 1965. People took would become dissociative and feel nothing. Case in point, in the original Terminator movie, the police thought that the Terminator was on PCP. Turns out he was a time travelling killer cyborg from Austria.

Rules of Blogging and Nanowrimo

First rule of blogging, don’t allude to any breaks or gaps in content that have already occurred. In other words, “If you can’t say anything, don’t let people know that you failed to say anything at all.” Second, love yourself for the narcissistic,cosmically offended moral compass of piety that you are. The third? Don’t allude to any breaks or gaps of content that have already occurred.

To those that have noticed an absence of posts, sorry and thanks. It’s okay that you didn’t assume the worst and filed a missing person’s report or anything. The police didn’t need to get involved, because laziness isn’t a crime. Even though, something could have been horribly wrong. However, I’ve just been busy with life, transferring the site to a new host, and prepping for Nanowrimo. Yep, that’s right. Now I’m on the hook because I’ve mentioned it to a few people.

For those who don’t know, National Novel Writing Month, a.k.a. Nanowrimo, is a magical time that happens a few times a year, but especially every November*. During this time, typically sane people attempt to write a book in a month. That is on top of everything else they have to do and at the sacrifice of what they usually do in their day to day lives. I should call out that it’s more of a first draft these folks are aiming for. Something to whittle away at for the next year or six and turn it into an actual book.

I’ve tried one other time before, but came up short, by a lot really. Mostly because it was my first attempt and I had no outline or any real idea what I was wanting to do. Although I was having fun and didn’t think what I was working on was a dumpster fire, I could see that it was turning into a huge mess.

This year will be different! At least I hope. It’s a whole new project, one that I’ve been cooking in my head for years. Even better, I have an outline. I only hope that it’s enough of one to get me through the rough times. I’ll post when I can.


*November shot first!

The Great Site Migration of 2017: Field Full of Rakes

The Great Site Migration of 2017 is kicking off just about any minute or day now. It’s a special and magical time where one rolls the dice and hopes too high hell that everything moves more smoothly than pacific northwest logging road. Well, everything has been gathered up and both hosts have been contacted. Our websites are ready to blast off into a bold new future.

But first, we have to wait five days or so. I’m unsure if this is standard practice or just one more piece of evidence that our current host isn’t as good as they used to be. Which is basically why we’re moving. I’ve been assured by both hosts that everything is going to be fine, but those are famous last words. They also have a very broad non-specific definition. Some people’s definition of fine is far different and less rosy than man. I say expect the worst and not be disappointed. On that note, here’s an old post you can check out, if my site hasn’t exploded into nothing.

 


I apologize if The Great Site Migration of 2017 causes any technical difficulties that prevent viewing sweatpantslife.com