Filed under: This Is Pointless | Tags: advertising, American Apparel, cute hair, how to get laid, Old Spice, Suicide Girls
Apparently Old Spice will all but do you itself:
Reagan has the cutest hair ever, and I have a message for American Apparel:
Dear American Apparel,
You should launch an ad campaign using Suicide Girls. I think you would find this method would even further improve your business, and they are fun, unlike the majority of girls that are featured in your lifeless photos currently.
Sincerely,
Dacoda.
… Is saying ‘Sincerely, Dacoda.’ required again to close this post? I vote no.
Filed under: This Is Pointless | Tags: bullshit, entertainment, I hate Adam Lambert, issues, music, sex addiction, wtf, you rage you lose
I seriously thought this was a joke. And then I found out that this song is currently number one on the charts. What the fuck is wrong with America? My heroes eat shits like this for a pre-breakfast snack.
I’d rather hear about Tiger Woods’ and Jesse James’ perils with their made-up sex addictions than hear this song or see Adam Lambert’s face ever again.
Help build a better tomorrow, take down Adam Lambert today.
Sincerely,
Dacoda.
Filed under: This Is Pointless | Tags: advice, astrology, confidence, decision, faith, life, magic 8 ball, reassurance, tarot
“He who can, does. He who cannot, teaches.” – George Bernard Shaw
My entire life, I have been a trusted confidante for more than a handful of friends, and not only people with whom I have been close with. In my brain there are secrets upon secrets that have been entrusted to me by so many, and I do take some pride in saying that I keep them, each and every one.
With that sort of trust and confidence in me, I have also become a prime source of advice for the people I know. I don’t know how or why, but in several cases I’m the first one to be sought out when an issue rises. I always suggest taking the logical route and weighing the pros and cons of a pending decision, whether instant gratification is worth the eventual fall out, etc etc.
I am a hypocrite.
I don’t take my own advice. I can’t remember the last decision I actually thought about. I rely heavily on my intuition and instincts. If I get the notion that I should do something, I do it, because I wouldn’t feel the need if I were supposed to write it off as nothing, right? Yet I wouldn’t advise anyone to follow my example. In short, I don’t trust people to be as perceptive as I am. Like a dear friend of mine, who we’ll call John. John makes really stupid decisions, John is impulsive, and John unknowingly craves abuse and drama in relationships. I would tell him to deny every gut feeling he has, because it’s shit and will only do him harm. I trust myself more than anyone I know. I am my own best friend.
The rare times when I ‘seek’ advice, I already know the solution. The only reason I ask is to get confirmation that it’s what I should do. If you tell me something different, I might consider it, but probably not. I already know what I’m going to do, and there’s a 50% chance that I’ve already done it. As intuitive as I am, I still always second guess myself.
Even with simple things. Like, do you want to watch Inglourious Basterds or She’s The Man? I know what I want to watch, but I’ll wait for you to put them both behind your back and ask me ‘Right or Left?’ Then I’ll choose (probably left), and (considering if it’s the one I wanted) I will exclaim my pleasure over that one being chosen. I like to see if the gods are on my side (:
If it’s a big decision, like one I was faced with today, I’ll consult the craziest things. I can’t just trust anyone with important things, sometimes no one at all. In these instances I resort to three main things, in this order: A Magic 8 Ball, my horoscope (I’m an Aries), and Tarot cards.
In a sane world, those should be the things I stay away from when making a big decision. I embrace them. Okay, so I usually disregard the Magic 8 Ball if it doesn’t tell me what I want to hear, and I know that horoscopes are so broadly written that they could apply to anyone at anytime, and the Tarot are just cards. I don’t have religion, so let me have my comforts.
I think that whatever gives you confidence should be embraced. Unless you’re an alcoholic.
What do you do for reassurance?
Keep your fingers crossed for me,
Dacoda.
Filed under: Lists, This Is Pointless | Tags: "I just get along better with guys", annoyances, blogging don't, blonde hair on black people, clear Kool-Aid, hipsters, I don't care about your feelings, I don't even know you, NSFW, slutty girls, so indie it hurts, things I hate, ur so gay, whiny blogs
No, I’m not in a particularly angry mood right now, I’m actually fizzy, fuzzy, and fine, though without carbonation and hairiness. I hate some things just like everyone else. Sometimes I have perfectly good and logical reasons behind why I do, other times I probably sound like a total crackhead. So here is my list of 5 things I hate, along with how to get over or around them.
1. Girls With No Girl-Friends
“I just get along better with guys.” Sweetie, that’s because you’re a slut. Unless the girl is a butch lesbian or a balls to the wall tomboy with a baseball bat over her shoulder, she’s up to no good. It’s not that a girl can’t be good friends with guys, lord knows I have a ton of great guy friends myself, but she should have at least a couple close gal pals.

If you can’t tell this is a red flag, I can’t help you.
Solution: Is your boyfriend friends with a girl who fits the warning? Talk to him about it and voice your concerns. Let him know that you do trust him, but she just makes you uncomfortable. If he’s any sort of a decent guy he’ll understand.Never talk to her about it. If you confront her it will only make your relationship seem weak and easily breakable, the perfect motive for her to strike.
2. Clear Beverages That Aren’t Water
I hate invisible Kool-Aid. That shit is the most annoying drink under the sun. I tried it out once when it first came out, and yeah, the flavor was nice and sugary and fruity and refreshing, but you know what happens when you leave your glass unattended for 10 minutes or so? In this case, it isn’t roofies (at least, I hope that wasn’t your clear Kool-Aid experience). You forget about it. You pick up your glass, totally psyched for some truly refreshing water, and WA-BAM! it’s a sugar rush. As your spitting and choking and cursing the gods of Kool-Aid, you swear to never let this trickster into your refrigerator again.

Capri Sun is still cool. Thank you for containing your clearness inside a shiny silver pouch (:
Solution: It’s really simple. Don’t drink it. Guess what? They make regular colored kiwi-watermelon Kool-Aid. Never, ever trust clear flavored beverages. Even Sprite can be tricky, and that’s carbonated.
3. Music/Book/Movie/etc. Snobs (Especially When They Have No Idea What They’re Talking About) (a.k.a. ‘Hipsters’)
I get it, you’re so indie it hurts. That screened tee your wearing advertising that band you loved way before anyone ever heard of them is so cool, and you must be interesting because you watch obscure films with subtitles that win awards at European festivals whose names we can’t pronounce. You wouldn’t touch anything considered less than ‘refined’ with a ten-foot pole and look down on those with the dirty Jay-Z* pleasure and who can’t help but bust up laughing over The Hangover*. And that is why everyone hates you.
Solution: Don’t be intimidated by these folks. By being so ‘unique’ they’ve made up an entire sub-culture of people who are very much the same. Don’t be ashamed because you like Lady Gaga* or Drake, and guess what, Hot Rod* was fucking hilarious. How cool are hipsters when all is said and done? Answer: Not very. The real solution to the Anti-Hipster equation: Call them out on their bullshit, they’ll throw on their Ray Bans* and run away crying. That means you won.
4. Blonde Hair On Tan People
That’s pretty self-explanatory, and if you don’t know why it’s terrible you’re probably one of those people who don’t have to use sunscreen and need to touch up their roots once a week. You know who you are…
(Also, unless you have amazing bone structure, don’t go blonde, much less platinum blonde, if you have dark eyebrows*. You will look like a fool.)

But then again, being classy has never been a top priority for her…
Solution: First, don’t do it, simple as that. Second, help friends of yours who have done it. Be honest, tell them it looks like shit, and go with them to pick up a box of hair dye to cover up that monstrosity.
5. Whiny Blogs
I don’t come to the internet to listen to people’s problems. I don’t google ‘sappy emo ranting about life.’ You know why? Because I don’t give a fuck. And guess what? Neither does any one else. If you’re going through a rough time, talk to a friend or a family member. If the going is tough because you don’t have friends or family, write to Dear Abby or go meet people like a normal person. If you want to kill yourself, find a therapist. The internet is not your friend, always remember that.

I wonder if he’s ever seen this.
Solution: If your friends are guilty of this blogging no-no, comment one of their posts saying “Hey, don’t you think this is a little too personal to add to the blogoshpere? If you need to talk, I’m always here” and then when you sit down and chat, help her to delete those sappy posts as step one to recovery and help save the rest of the internet as well. Congratulations, you’ve killed two birds with one stone without seeming like an ass. Being nice isn’t your style? Comment someone’s blog and tell them that writing about their woes and desperation is, well, desperate. They’ll be angry and probably reply with some hate speech, but it will get them thinking about what they’re writing about. Let’s face it; the only people who will lovingly respond to posts like these would be the friends you should have talked to about it in the first place or some creepy fat old man who will follow your blog as closely as he follows his team in Left4Dead*.
* = I love Jay-Z, The Hangover, Lady Gaga, Hot Rod, Ray Bans, and Left4Dead. I did go blonde once, and I never will again. Just so we’re clear on all that (:
No worries, I (probably) don’t hate you,
Dacoda.
Filed under: This Is Pointless | Tags: celebrities, Dennis Quaid, Hollywood, Lindsay Lohan, look alikes, Mean Girls, The Parent Trap, Unforgivable
But it really is uncanny just how much Lindsay Lohan and Dennis Quaid look alike:


You know that last still of her face in Mean Girls?
Yeah? Totally obvious right?
No? Go watch it fo’ free on ch131.com
If you’re a Dennis Quaid fan, I’m sorry if this offends you. If you’re a Lindsay Lohan fan, well… I don’t really give a shit.
I love how her acting steadily got worse after The Parent Trap. I will always love that and Life Size though, always.
FO’ FREE!
Dacoda.
Filed under: This Is Pointless | Tags: 2012, apocalypse, conversations, crazy shit that could totally happen, facebook, IM, serial killers, Stockholm sydrome, zombiism
I heart Jessica.
Via Facebook IM, moments ago.
Jessica
Yeah seriously.
I could see [Name removed to protect the innocent, meaning Jessica and myself, because seriously, dude is a creeper] being the perfect example of a future serial killer.
Me
Me too. He’d be the kind that kidnaps the girl, puts her in a wedding dress in an underground room, wait until Stockholm syndrome kicks in, morph her into the perfect 1960′s housewife, and then brutally murder her after she burns the toast or some shit. Then move to a new location and do it all over again.
Jessica
HOLY SHIT. 0_0
That’s dead on.
Me
I’ve come to peace with it, just because this is most likely how his future will actually pan out. Since we’re enlightened, we can prepare and prevent.
Jessica
Yes, maybe he’ll be savagely eaten by zombies during the apocalypse that the Aztecs foresaw happening in 2012.
Me
Unfortunately, he is surprisingly well-educated in zombiism. But that’s irrelevant. He’ll probably take a sledgehammer to the face in some brutal full scale riot.
Jessica
Oh that made me giggle.
Boo, hiss, and all that jazz;
I still stand by word,
Dacoda.
Filed under: This Is Pointless | Tags: A Beautiful Mess, Billy Boy On Poison, blogs, bonbons, Clifford, clothes, Dr. Katrina the Hostess, Elsie Flannigan, events, future, Katelin, Lit. Club, music, new boots, On My Way, photography, possibilities, Saybella, school, senior year, squid dress, The Chocolate Ball, vans, work
In no particular order:
1. Kate’s homemade bonbons
My super swell friend Kate (the tree climber, if you happen to look at my photography) made the most delicious chocolate wonders for The Chocolate Ball, a dance we had to support Lit. Club. They had sprinkles. And they were chocolate. Win? YES. Here’s some Chocolate Ball fun:


photo one: Pat and Erin
photo two: Morgan and Kate
2. A Beautiful Mess
As in the art inspiration blog of Elsie Flannigan. Check it out! She’s one of the raddest chicks ever, and if I could have anyone’s life, it’d be hers. As in I’d want to be like her. Not that I would want to take her life as in kill her. That would be terrible D: Anyway, she comes up with all these nifty little crafts alllll the time, finds the cutest things everywhere, the best music, the best art, and is just oozing creativity in every post. Here’s Elsie, from a picture she has on her Flickr:

3. Cliff’s van, Dr. Katrina the Hostess
Who likes cruising? Dacoda with Clifford and Katrina!

4. Cleaning my room
I don’t have any pictures for this, but I do love how clean and homey it’s becoming :3
5. Billy Boy On Poison, Saybella, and The Virgins
I’m sure you’ve heard of The Virgins. So nevermind them (but still <3), Billy Boy On Poison was recently one of the Singles of the Week on iTunes with their song "On My Way" and apparently on Gossip Girl once, but I don't watch that show so I wouldn't know. And Saybella is a recording artist out of Portland, Oregon. Check them both out: Billy Boy On Poison; Saybella
6. Thursdays
Both classes I have end in ‘-ology,’ so of course it’s a good day. Mythology and Psychology? Fuck yeah. I get to sleep in and I go home at lunch and not have to come back. I never work on Thursdays either. Thursdays are my little slice of heaven (:
7. The squid dress I’m designing
Yeah, this sketch is nowhere near completion. Just you wait. And when I become a sewing master, it shall be made (:

8. My new boots
I chose new boots over gas. I totally think it was worth it. I may have to live like I’m poor while my bank account recovers, but at least I’ll be living poor in my new boots.

9. My plan for the last day of my senior year
It’s pretty simple. Creep out a shit ton of people, cos I’ll never see them again!
10. Realizing the widespread possibilities for my future
I could be a forensic psychologist, a coffee shop owner, a coroner, a taxidermist, a photographer, a writer, an interior designer, a small shop owner, or like a doctor. I doubt it. But maybe. But no.
Or I could be a hobo and live in a box. But I bet I’ll be a happy hobo.

Keep it real!
Dacoda.
Filed under: This Is Pointless | Tags: ex-boyfriends, family, future, goals, pregnancy, shock, to do
When I finally start my own family, and I’m all pregnant and whatnot, I really hope I’ll run into an ex-boyfriend and we’ll start chatting, and he’ll be all “You’re pregnant! Who’s the lucky guy?” And I’ll be all “YOU. Weird isn’t it? I couldn’t believe it, but the doctor ran all these tests and as it turns out, I’ve been carrying this dormant embryo for like -insert years since breakup here- years. It’s some crazy shit.” All while rubbing my baby-bump happily.
Can you imagine the gradual falling of his face into the end product that is total and complete wtf’d shock? Bahaha :D
Yeah man!
Dacoda.
Filed under: This Is Pointless | Tags: Cliff, decoration, douche, fuzzy dice, fuzzy dice origins, gambling, games, Las Vegas, Minnesota, MSN, novelty, rearview mirror, tool, Urban Dictionary, Wikipedia, World War II
dax m’coda says:
There was a study done in 1993 to see if drivers with fuzzy dice were more prone to accidents.
The result was no
Cliff says:
More prone to being douches
The result was yes
[ dax m'coda = I ]
[ Cliff = Cliff ]
I don’t like fuzzy dice. I don’t like things with dice on them at all, unless they’re related to the Las Vegas area, gambling, or games. Lucky for Minnesota, having things dangle from your rearview mirror is illegal, so their Tool On The Road percentage must be way below the national average.
I think I could have some sort of respect for fuzzy dice if there was a legitimate origin. According to Wikipedia, the origin is ‘unclear, but one theory holds that U.S. pilots in World War II used dice in their cockpits for good luck, and they continued the practice when they came home from the war.’
That sounds like a crock of shit.
Let me know when this gets real, in the meantime here’s a random bit to mull over the context of:
dax m’coda says:
Do you run your hand through it?
Cliff says:
I do. It’s soft as shit.
Dacoda.
Filed under: This Is Pointless | Tags: Anne Rice, Elizabeth Kostova, health, illness, Interview With The Vampire, signs, The Historian, vampires
It has come to my attention that reading books about vampires makes me sick. Literally. My sinuses are all stuffed up, my head hurts, I’m so terribly sleepy, and I sound like I’ve been smoking since the beginning of time. And this is only Day One of the illness.
Why vampire stories? I tried to be logical and reason it out through other means, but now I’m left to this one theory. A couple summers ago, my sister suggested that I read The Historian by Elizabeth Kostova. I got less than 30 pages into it before my throat ached something fierce. So I set it down, thought nothing of it and went to bed early. That sore throat was the beginning of a two week long head cold. Fever, chills, body aches, drowsiness, puking. Later that same summer I picked up the book again, read a little more and soon came down with a lesser, though still undesirable, cold.
Two days ago I started reading Interview With The Vampire. Halfway through work yesterday I began feeling all sorts of terrible, and surprise surprise, I wake up this morning to a head full of snot.
I think this is the universe’s way of telling me something but I have no idea what. Any guesses? I will not let bounded pages get the best of me.
Oh Buffy, where are youuuu?
Dacoda.











