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| » Site title: eHow: Reciprocating Saw » Site description: How to buy a reciprocating saw as a gift. |
| » Site title: How Stuff Works: Chain Saw » Site description: Complete graphical narrative about a chain saw, including centrifugal clutches, magnetos and carburetors, with video clips. |
Wikipedia say: Topsites are sites with a ranked listing of different websites, generally related by an overall subject. In many cases a topsite is a directory of related web sites which ranks the listed sites by popularity. Topsite rankings are user generated, usually through voting by visitors (clicks in to the topsite) from member sites or by counting pageviews. Most topsites have an anti-cheat protection system and some display traffic statistics, user ratings, and reviews. Topsites often list a top 50 or top 100 most popular sites with a similar topic. They can be a significant source of free targeted traffic for member sites if that topsite becomes popular. After several early search engines failed, some people thought topsites might replace them.
You’ve come to the annoying realization that your parents were right about almost everything.
The bag boy volunteers to help load groceries into your car-in the “ten items or less” lane.
You’ve stopped supporting your children, and started supporting your parents.
You’ve found yourself discussing rain gutters.
You remember your kid’s names, just not always the right one.
You have nightmares about forgetting to move the garbage cans to the street for the garbage collector.
Your high school yearbook is now home to three different species of mold.
You buy “age-defying” makeup and “antiwrinkle” creams and believe they work.
You’ve realized that all those geeky people in Bermuda shorts walking around Disney World include you.
You recognize Led Zeppelin songs that have been turned into elevator Muzak.
As a public service, you have agreed to never appear on the beach in a Speedo again.
You’ve had three opportunities to buy every single Disney Animated Classic-“for the last time in a generation”
You’d pay good money to be strip-searched.
Wal-Mart and target seem to share your fashion sense.
The only way you know to stop a virtual pet from beeping involves the patio and a sledgehammer.
You can pack two suits, Five shirts, five ties, five pairs of underwear, five pairs of socks, a pair of shoes, and half of your bathroom into a carry-on bag-in less than five minutes.
You know what Earth Shoes are.
You think if you hear “Stairway to Heaven” one more time your head will explode.
Your weight-lifting program seems to have no effect on your muscles, but the veins on the backs of your hands are bulking up quite nicely.
On Saturday night, when your wife mentions “hot oil, a little friction, and squealing,” you tell her you’ll have the car looked at first thing Monday morning.
December 26, 1999
Dear Santa,
You must be surprised that I''m writing to you today, the 26th of December. Well I would very much like to clear up certain things that have occurred since the beginning of the month, when, filled with illusion, I wrote you my letter.
I asked for a bicycle, an electric train set, a pair of roller blades, and a football uniform. I destroyed my brain studying the whole year. Not only was I the first in my class, but I had the best grades in the whole school.
I''m not going to lie to you, there was no one in my entire neighborhood that behaved better than me, with my parents, my brothers, my friends, and with my neighbors. I would go on errands, and even help the elderly cross the street. There was virtually nothing within reach that I would not do for humanity.
What balls do you have leaving me a fucking yo-yo, a stupid whistle, and a pair of socks? What the fuck were you thinking you fat son of a bitch?!
That you have taken me for a sucker the whole fucking year to come out with some shit like this under the tree. As if you hadn''t fucked me enough, you gave that little faggot across the street so many toys that he can''t even walk into his house.
Don''t let me see you trying to fit your big ass down my chimney next year. I''ll fuck you up. I''ll throw rocks at those stupid reindeer and scare them away so you''ll have to walk back to the fucking North Pole, just like what I have to do now since you didn''t get me that fucking bike.
FUCK YOU SANTA. Next year you''ll find out how bad I can be, you FAT-SON-OF-A-BITCH!
Sincerely,
Little Johnny