Recently, I decided it was time to purchase a new laptop, nothing too fancy, just a better than average laptop for various nerdy things I’m into. So, I head over to Best Buy’s website to peruse their selection, just to give me an idea of pricing, and to compare specs. Most of them have basic spec information in the title of the product; brand, processor speed, and color.

Everything was going swimmingly until I stumbled upon a laptop from Dell: “Hmmm, 2.6 GHz duo Core processor, ah, it’s their studio series…and…wait…does…does this come with a coffee pastry?” I almost thought it was the greatest laptop deal ever imagined, a way to fulfill my need for shiny electronics and food. Unfortunately, the word “biscotti” did NOT refer to the coffee house staple, instead, it was the color.

It wasn’t until that very moment that I realized the color epidemic had gotten way out of hand. I used to shrug things off when my mother would go in to one of her many “Trading Spaces” phases and want to pant things in canary, or viridian, I tolerated those affronts to the color spectrum simply because I didn’t care…but now, now they’ve gone too far!

Mmmmmm, 4GB DDR3 memory. So tasty.

I have no idea what happened between now, and the time I was drawing pictures on paper made from wood-pulp, but even back then, the eight-color pack of Crayolas would’ve been enough. However, we all KNOW that the 8-pack was never enough, in fact, you mocked the kids with the eight-pack of crayons. If you wanted to be a true Arts & Crafts baller, you rocked the 64-pack with the sharpener in the back. Flaunting your endless color combinations at your disposal to those lesser souls, “Yes, I do believe I’m going to use GOLD in this picture, what’s that, you only have yellow? Hmph…peasant.”

In all honesty, I don’t even think it was the allure of the 56 additional colors that enchanted us, but the razor sharpener embedded in the back that was large enough to allow one to skin their pinky. Because of our love for injuring ourselves in idiotic ways, the sales of 64-packs skyrocketed, and through our actions, we inadvertently sanctioned this nonsense. The colors of the rainbow (minus the worthless indigo) was enough for our parents, but not us. We needed “burnt sienna.” I don’t even know what “sienna” looks like fresh, what difference does it make if its burnt? Did it test better? “Yea Bill, I don’t think this ‘sienna’ nonsense is going to catch on with the kids…try setting it on fire then get back to me.”

Pimpin'

It’s ridiculous, if I want to paint a room red, I can’t just waltz into the paint store, ask for a couple of gallons of red paint, and be on my merry way. Oh no, I have to select from twenty various shades of red. If there are more than three shades, then the s*** is made up; “light red,” “dark red” and “red,” that’s it. If you don’t know what shade of red you have, look at “normal” red, if it’s lighter or darker, there’s your answer. Now, when I ask for “red,” I don’t mean “carmine,” or “scarlet,” or “alizarin,” I just mean “red,” and, if you start listing those options, I’m going to find a funnel, jam it into your mouth, and allow you to “taste the rainbow.” You know there’s some budding artist who realized he wouldn’t even be able to sell his works to a third-rate “Highlights” magazine, so he was forced to work for a soulless corporation and use his creativity to con the masses into thinking there are way more versions of yellow than there really are, allowing them to charge $10 for a gallon of “Lemon” as opposed to $5 for plain ol’ yellow. Now, because of their unwillingness to create new names for these new colors, we’ve had to reclassify the color of the ACTUAL things the color is named after: a lemon or a canary are no longer yellow, they’re themselves! That almost sounds like weed talk. I can see many kids failing tests in their high school art class, as a question is presented as follows:

An eggplant is what color?

a) Purple

b) Eggplant

c) Mauve

Any rational person would look at those and think, “Ok, ‘b’ is obviously the throw-away answer so it has to be ‘a.'” Unfortunately, because the corporations have infiltrated the last bastion of untainted creativity, the child is wrong, fails the test, and gives up on their dream to become a world-renowned artist, and instead, decide to turn their parent’s basement into a meth lab.

I may not know who is responsible for “creating” these colors, what I do know is, whomever they are, needs to be bound at the arms and legs, fastened to a harness (attached to a crane), and used as live bait in the piranha infested waters of the Amazon. When the feisty fish start gnawing on their lower extremities, I’ll call out from the crane to have them describe what color their blood is: if they answer anything other than “red” the line gets cut, and there’s one less pretentious jerkass walking around.

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Chris hates anyone or anything which goes against how he feels a sentient being with more than three brain cells should act. He hopes to use his “Encyclopedia Douchebag…ica” as a springboard into becoming a full-fledged, tax exempt religion complete with holidays and greeting cards, mainly so he can steal from its coffers. His hopes are…not that high, knowing that those who needs his guidance most, are unable to read his words… what with the extra flesh from their sloped, ape-like foreheads blinding their eyes from the truth.

When not acting like a complete bastard (which is not very often), Chris offers his services as a freelancer for Beckett’s Massive Online Gamer. Yep, he’s a neeeeeerd.