Jonas Johansson

Situation

My Facebook account was taken over yesterday. I live in Germany at the moment, but a device called “123” logged in from the States and added all my friends to a group called “Football.Network”.

How it happened

I’m not 100% sure how it happened, yet, but my strongest lead right now is that it happened when I used the media playback application Boxee. For the first time I let the service post to my wall, at 20:31, and the unauthorized log in occurred at 22:52. Seems fishy to me.

 Protect yourself

You can prevent something like this happening to you.

In Facebook, go to Account Settings -> Security -> Login Approvals. Tick the little checkbox so that you have to use your phone to confirm that you are you when you log in from a new device for the first time. This hasn’t worked with my network before, but it worked fine now, so this is definitely something you should do!

Theoretically, children run higher risk of stepping in doggy doo.

Just saw an apartment ad.

A man and his girlfriend were looking to rent a room in a shared apartment. He claimed to be very calm and friendly, a jolly good lad if you will.

On his profile picture he was holding a machine gun. Just the kind of guy you want around your kids.

I woke up with a shock this morning, but I didn’t know why. Then I remembered some weird dream I was having where our very small stairway-cleaning lady was ringing my doorbell over, and over again.

“Heh, annoying little cleaning lady,” I said to myself while walking towards the shower.

I passed by my door and took a look at the doorbe…RIIIIING! It went off! I almost crapped my pants - which made me realize I wasn’t actually wearing any.

“Hang on,” I shouted from about an arms length away from the door. “I’m just gonna… I’m eh…”

Now, you have to realize, that while these were the 5 first seconds of the situation on my side of the door - but for whoever is on the other side this was probably about 3 minutes and a lot of doorbell-button-pressing in.

Imagine that this person opened the door to my building, climbed up all the stairs, saw my door and rang the bell. No answer. Rang again. Still no answer so he or she looked around for a bit to see if he or she could find some sort of clue that would tell him or her if I was actually at home. No obvious clue spotted. Rang the bell again - twice this time.

Right about here I was probably reaching the magnificent crescendo of my cleaning lady dream - riing riing! Poff, I woke up and start stumbling out of bed.

The person outside the door hears something at this point, and feels hope… “someone… is in there…”

The person hears someone walk up to the door and say “heh, annoying little cleaning lady.” The person outside thinks “does the person inside know I’m here… why did the person stop?” So the outsider rings again and hear me taking off in full speed to find pants…

So, about those pants. It proved to be harder than I could ever imagine to find a pair of pants in this pre-shower zombie state. Sweet, here’s something! I quickly put them and a t-shirt on and ran to the door.

I held my hand on the door handle, wondering… could it be the cleaning lady… could she have heard me talk about how small she was… and that I thought she was annoying…? Would she go ape-shit crazy over this?

Suddenly, the person outside cleared his or her throat… and either that puny cleaning lady had been munching one too many steroid snacks, or this person is a man.

I opened. It was a man. A big, bearded man. “Who the fuck are you?” I asked, using my inside voice this time.

He looked at me briefly with well-meaning eyes. Then he looked at my pants and made a face that I couldn’t quite read, but he looked weirded out for some reason. Without saying a word he just entered my apartment and started moving shit around in the hallway.

Interesting morning… let’s see how it develops.

He opened the door to a very small storage room that I refer to as “The Black Hole.” That’s where things go. Forever. He started moving stuff out of there and mumbled something about gas.

As I don’t speak Beard, I could now only assume that this person was either an employee of a gas company with the intention to do a safety check on my gas equipment, or a homeless person trying to make his new home comfortable.

I chose not to think so much about it and went to get some cornflakes and milk in the kitchen. By the time I got back, eating cornflakes on the way, he seemed to be pretty happy about the situation because he smiled and left the apartment.

First order of business was to light a match to see if the room exploded in a cloud of flames, killing me with the shock wave. Nope, all good. The second thing on the agenda was to see if I still had running warm water.

But as I was walking towards my bathrooms I noticed that the door was open to my second bathroom - which I don’t use very often since no water comes out of the tap there. Strange, I could swear I left the door closed.

Mirror still there, toilet paper still there. Nothing stolen. But here’s something… the sink was wet… I turned the knob and water came out! The guy didn’t only check the gas - he also fixed my tap!

The water was splashing everywhere, so I turned it off and looked down at my pants. That’s when I understood why he was so confused by them. I put them on backwards.

Thanks for your service, Gasman.

When I stopped snoring and decided to come back to life the other day, I noticed the sun was shining. Excellent news.

The temperature of the sun is 5,505°C (9,941°F). Now that’s hot. But what about Earth?

It’s 9 in the morning and the Internet told me it was already 29°C (84°F). Usually it’s so cold in the morning I have to wear a jacket to work. But hey, it was a rather hot night I guess. Ah well, what the heck do I know.

Shorts: check!  T-shirt: check!

Giggling like a schoolgirl, I skipped along down the stairs (98 steps!) and stormed out through the front door. “Awesome weather here I cooooooo…”

…something wasn’t right. My balls disappeared. Both of them. And for some reason I could see my own breath “hhh hhh.” Some might have said it was a tad chilly. But not me - see I had facts!

For a few seconds though, the in-your-face experience I was having made me consider changing into something warmer. But 98 stairs is only doable every 8 hours or so, so changing clothes wasn’t really an option at that point.

Off to work I went.

Now, I’m used to people starring at me, for various reasons, but I couldn’t shake off the feeling that a lot more people were starring at me that morning. And they all had one thing in common; no-one… was wearing shorts. Hmm.

I’m pretty sure I had snow in my hair by the time I reached the office. My colleagues later told me it was 10°C (50°F) outside, and that my Internet weather report wasn’t updated correctly.

Dadnternet, from now on I will do the thinking.

The only thing standing in the way of your cat eating you… is size.

Affection, companionship… forget about it! It’s a matter of logistics.

Just glued a painting to the wall. I feel great.

I’m on a train in Sweden, and I’m thirsty.

To be a kind person I asked around if people in my proximity wanted something from the bistro, since I was heading there anyway. A woman just across from me said “yes, please, a coffee.” I couldn’t quite tell her age, so let’s refer to her as Ladywomangirl. I asked Ladywomangirl if she wanted milk in her coffee. She said “No, no milk!”

I started walking but a very old couple, who probably still had sex because they seemed utterly jolly, told me the bistro was in the opposite direction. All of us laughed together and we were ever so good friends. Ah-ah-ah.

I walked over bags, crouched under people and snuck past fatties through so many wagons that people in the back actually spoke another language.

Finally there, ready to queue. After some time of waiting I ordered one coffee without milk for her and one coffee with milk for me. I was told I had to pick it up myself. Alright, let’s see now… two coffees and one tiny bag of milk for me. Easy. I even picked up two freakishly good-looking buns since I was in such a giving mood.

After backtracking through the jungle of freaks back to my wagon I was met with happiness and expactations. Here be thy coffee, Womanladygirl. Rejoice! She did “the gesture” - she held her wallet and said “how much was it?” without any actual intention of paying of course. I told her “please, it’s on me.”

I sat down and was about to reach for the milk package… when SHE did! Womanladygirl, who explicitly expressed that she didn’t want anything to do with milk whatsoever, took the single. bag. of milk. and poured it in her coffee. She didn’t even look insecure. As if “no, no milk!” meant “yes, please, and bring me loads of it, manslave.”

I wanted to take my still scolding hot coffee (since I didn’t have any milk to cool it with) and throw it in her face and scream “oh, and by the way, IT’S FIVE BUCKS!”

You might think I could’ve gone for another bag of milk. But seriously, it was so far away I could’ve taken a train within a train to get there. My coffee would’ve been cold at best when I’d get back. Moldy or vaporized are two likelier scenarios.

But as the Swede I am I just drank the darker-than-black coffee (tasted like my own piss by the way) and smiled like a generous tard at her.

I’ll think twice before acting in kindness next time.

Hmm. I’ve been thinking. Imagine two siamese twins! One of the twins commits a crime so bad that she or he is sentenced to jail? The other person is innocent, so it would be a crime to lock her or him in as well.

How is this resolved?