Once upon a time, in some place or another, a tiny village sat.  Partly because of the steep and dangerous mountains that surrounded it, and partly because of the fierce dragon that guards it, this village escaped both the detrimental and beneficial effects of time that changed the world around it.

Inside this village, life is simple, vowels are frequent, fairies are benign, and the greatest mind the world has never known works diligently away in a dark and musty study.

Ancient tomes, bubbling concoctions, and whirling contraptions littered the already cramped study, reducing it from cramped to claustrophobic nightmare dimensions with just enough room for one man to navigate the gargantuan piles of books and oddities from cluttered desk to cluttered desk.

The wiry man behind the madness appears to work very hard translating an ancient document of some sort, surrounded by the appropriate paraphernalia related to such a pursuit, but instead he is about half way through a crossword puzzle that sits on his lap.  He taps a pencil idly on his chair, and in a moment, reaches behind him to place a phonograph needle back on track before leaning back and taking a sip from a glass sitting on the desk beside him.

This is the lair of one of the great heroes belonging to this village, the Mechanic.  The other two are the Captain and the Governor.  The Captain spends his days drilling and marching out of doors with his handful of deputies, and the Governor hosts parties every night.  Everyone else has a normal job, farming, shepherding, blacksmithing, keeping an eye on the dragon, or mining the mountains for sugar and precious metals.

Everyone in the village knows the Captain and the Governor very well, their hero status is unassailable, but the Mechanic is rarely seen.  A few people believe he is a normal villager, perhaps somewhat invalid, or a nut perpetuating a few myths, but he is, indeed, a hero.

All of the Captain's war machines (both of them) were designed by the Mechanic, the Governor's parties are powered by rumbling machines designed by the Mechanic, and oddly enough, the pretty pictures on the wall, and the dazzling coloured light displays are also designed by the Mechanic.  

Sir Lord John Fritzlebald's Adventure Journal

2/1/08 I joined the Intrepid Explorers League, and my first assignment was to explore Lost South American Dinosaur Mesas.  I packed up my belongings, and sold them at a slight loss, and then swapped assignments with the tall gentleman from Nice, and then stole the assignment back when he wasn't looking, because looking for Dinosaurs is much safer than exploring Detroit's sewers.

2/2/08 I headed out to Abercrombie & Fitch, American Outfitters, and Hot Topic to load up on supplies, and grabbed a pile of gummy bears and some pretzels for substinence.  My canteen was full of Ovaltine, and my heart was full of courage.

2/3/08 The aeroplane I chartered was a rickety old contraption built before the great war, and the pilot seemed about the same age.  I had my equipment and unconcious companions were stowed in the back, along with a years supply of booze and sunblock.  I entered a drunken stupor at 900 hours, and the flight left at 901 hours.

3/1/08 My drunken stupor has worn off, and I'm surprised to find South America is full of desert, and my mouth is full of blood.   I have no idea where the pilot went with the aeroplane, and I believe he absconded with all of my supplies and companions.   I have no hope of survival, no booze or women, I may as well sit here and die.

3/2/08 Praise the Heavens!  I have constructed a still and am distilling my own liquor from local cacti and crushed insects.  Now to do some exploring!

3/3/o8 Crickey, I'm plum done in, right knackered I am, best to sit here and drink a little moonshine.

3/10/08 I've run out of moonshine, and have decided to explore a bit further, perhaps I'll make it to that large house on the hilltop that has been haunting my dreams and hosting loud parties which give me wildly painful headaches.

3/11/08 Just my luck, the the gentleman that owns this house on the hill is an avid hunter, he desires to hunt the 'most dangerous game' in the world, and but I've seen that film before, so I've just bludgeoned him with a crudgel, and stuffed him in a wardrobe while I assault his wine cellar.

3/20/08 Wine cellar depleted, back to the adventure.  I crammed my pockets full of port and brandy, and my pack is full of various cheeses and a couple of tongues.  My canteen of Ovaltine is still untouched.  I swiped a map of the area from a filling station, but I can't read this silly colonial dialect. 

3/21/08 Deadly ill, must have eaten something bad, perhaps accidentally drank water?

4/4/08 Pretty tired of all this damned adventuring, I never expected life to be this hard, a couple bottles of the port are corked, and I have to carry all this crap myself.  I've been dragging all of my supplies behind me, and I'm exhausted. 

4/5/08 Hallejulah, I've been picked up by a kindly gentleman on his way to make a profitable business deal somewhere to the south, I'm well on my way now!

I didn't really have anything to write today, so I'm posting a few bits of my dreams I had written down not too long ago.  This one I had a tough time remembering, but it started with a journey through a enigmatic and eccentric building filled with odd bits buried in the cornerse of my mind somewhere.

The comforting reward room is packed with jokes and neat gimmicks, but somehow, it collapses into a disaster area, a pop-culture poster comes alive and suggests you take a random length of duct to a fabrication machine for some reason, but you can't find it, you notice things along the way that weren't there before, or are now ominous, in the way, or malfunctioning.

Screwing lightbulbs into a skull, in order to make the whole room descend like an elevator, can only tell that might happen from outside the room. The increasingly evil looking skull begins to snap at your fingers, and a bulb breaks.

The sky, seen from the backdoor is at the end of a beautiful sunset. Stars are visible, but there is a storm on the way.

One of the rooms you come across is now inhabited by odd fantasy-type characters, like toys come to life, they ignore you, and just do their own thing.

This one started differently, but I barely remember it, so it basically starts here, inside my bedroom.

Outside the window, something mysterious inexplicably grabs your attention. Your find yourself outside, where the horizon fills your view with the dark shapes of trees and nearby buildings, dimly lit by the night, until you look up at the sky, where a silently growing symphony accompanies your every glance, where all that are nearby are drawn, where the moon sits serenely, the quiet source of the curious music.

Lunar eclipse sends the world into chaos, surrounding clouds explode into reddish colored plumes overhead, framing the eclipse in wild shapes, growing shapes inside of which entire worlds of contrasting hues and shades seem to exist, until you are watching universes burst into being and then crash wildly into each other, sending galaxies of color swirling away together. Galaxies are filled with people and planets interacting, fantastic beasts and familiar memories of your past whirl together in the clouds, seeming to originate from the glowing lunar eclipse.

Is reaching this lunar spectacle possible? You feel as if it is close, as if you could climb a small stair and step inside this chaotic realm, where matters of divine importance call for your attention.

Dr. Pierce McWiggle scratched a writhing tenticle across his brow and tasted some of the charred honeydew melon.

"Interesting." 

Honeydew melon does not grow on this planet, though several varieties of vegetable and one animal are somewhat similar.  None of them travel at very high velocities, and few get charred on their own.

"Fruit may be extraterrestrial in orgin."  He jotted down with a serpentine finger a few more notes, and then got to work.

Dr. McWiggle consumed the entire Corpus Delicti with gusto and vinegar, and carefully filed away the report.

  

 

Little spherical bits of frozen vomit drifted aimlessly through space, clinked off a passing asteroid, and smashed into the atmosphere of a large pink planet.  The portions of scotch burst into flame, but the honeydew melon survived the journey, making landfall in several charred chunks.

The medical examiner dusted off his tenticles, and scribbled on a chart.

"Cause of death appears to be high-velocity impact of charred fruit of some sort, smashing the skull into itty bitty pieces."

Not wanting to fill his airsick bag yet again, Race Lardjaugh unrolled the window to his Xtireme fighter ship and vomited explosively out into the vaccum of space, the moist chunks of freezedried honeydew melon embraced in little orbs of bile and scotch got caught in the ships gravity well and began a revolting orbit around it.

Race rolled his window back up, and wiped his mouth.  

"Burp"

  

I've decided to shoehorn another post into this annual journey around the sun we've titled a 'year'.

This post won't be as morbidly introspective and incoherent as those previous, but hopefully, it will be slightly more pointless and wandering than usual.  Assembled at my fingertips before me are the keys to the universe, lit up with a soothing blue glow from the LEDs in my logitech G15 keyboard.  What a nice looking five!  

Gotta assemble some magic for a party later.  I'm a nervous wreck when asked to perform magic.  The problem, is that I always know how the magic works, and am not impressed at all, why should anyone else?

"Awwwwww" hollered whatshisface, referring to something that had previously occurred, and of which you were not yet cognizant.  However, you soon discovered the reason for this outburst.

"I was used as a springboard into another one of these silly stories!"  He muttered, and wandered away into the distance, disappearing over the horizon, the curvature of the earth swallowing him up and erasing him from your view.  You then sat down, and began typing on your IBM electric typewriter:

"Awwwwww" hollered whatshisface...

This time paradox feels familiar, you think, but your paper flutters to the floor on top of the pile of crumbs that had slowly built up over the hours you spend consuming mass quantities of corn chips and Chip's Ahoy! chocolate chip cookies.  Bending down to pick up the sheet of paper, you find a window into the unending depths of the universe on the floor, the entire cosmos spinning away obliviously into eternity to the strains of Gershwin's Rhapsody in Blue.  

Mesmerized by the sight, you sit in your chair, lost in your thoughts, unable to remember the ones before, never knowing what the next may be, completely fascinated by the intricate ballet beneath your feet, until your sheet of unreadable text slips into the void, and sails away into the distance.  

Without hesitation, without a care, you follow it.

Completely motionless, the universe falls around you, all reason is lost behind, you are a mere spectator as the play unfolds, the ballet continues around you and you are numb to all but sight.

This is the place.  All things can now be easily understood, but nothing needs to be.  Nothing is important, you need not do anthing, and you are now capable of accomplishing any feat; but something needs you, something is calling desperately for you, but you aren't yet aware of it.

A passing planetary orb is torn asunder. Its flaming guts spill into the inky blackness and its several majestic moons wander off to find another home.  The planet rotates slowly, first nearly blinding you with the heat at its core, its flaming heart beating away under a cloud of magma, then rotating away, metamorphing into the face of a clock, ticking away the minutes.

"Time moves slowly like a hunter stalking its prey, but as soon as it realizes it has drawn attention to itself, sprints madly away at a pace unmatched."  

The clacking of typewriter keys snaps you out of your reverie, and you begin typing anew.

"Awwwwww" 

Aha!  Caught you on your way to forward chain emails again?  Stop. Please stop, it's pure torture.  I don't even read them, I just abandon the email accound and create another one that I wont share with you, until a moment of weakness down the road ruins everything and I have to create another one.

As usual, I refuse to stoop to conventional humor tactics and use dirty words or fart jokes to produce a nervous laugh or embarrassed chuckle.  Instead, damn butt boobies heiny poopoop fart.

Haha.  Slightly more creative maneuver there, with a setup and a punchline and all.  Fart.

That bit was the kicker.

  

The new Star Trek trailer has been out for a while, and I thought some opinions from a bona fide nerd would be in order.  I compiled my thoughts thusly:

Corvettes are cool.  There was a brief period during which they were hideous, but at that time, everything was.   Mechanically, older cars are more beautiful than the Enterprise, which is full of wingdings, widgets, and magics.  Nobody uses that crap anymore.  Magic went out with the wizards years ago, and while widgets are fine for things like books and blogs, it would be silly to run a spaceship with them.    

Why does everyone get so emotional and dramatic in Star Trek?  Real spaceships are filled with alcohol and boredom, puctuated with card games and depressing introspection.  The results are a lot of forced jokes, drunken stupors, fist fights, and lazy doodling.  (In that order.)  I usually spend the time reading or playing video games, not having heated discussions with the crew as to whether our course is right or our crystal magic is running dry.  That's what computers and other people are for.  

Now, for my money, the sexiest new tech in spaceships is Improbability.  It's often unstable, but boy howdy, is it fast.  

In all honesty, yes, I am the masked vigilante gluing your jenga blocks together

I'd like to take this opportunity to set the record straight concerning a few popular misconceptions running around and nipping the ankles of good sensible citizens of our Sub etha net.

First: yes, several advertising planets have exploded without warning into vast galactic confetti drifting aimlessly into space, and it was one of the greatest adverts a soft drink corporation could have asked for.

Second: no, I didn't post naked pictures of the star of the hit POI network dramedy "Zeali, the Vegelian Sea Creature Who is also a Police Detective!" packaged with a credit card stealing computer virus.  All of the naked pictures of Vegelian Sea Creatures posted here are virus free, completely unlike the actual star of the hit dramedy "Zeali, the Vegelian Sea Creature Who is also a Police Detective!" who has a great number of sea viruses living in a puddle of sea water pooled up in its ear scale.

Third: I have no idea who took a Flightbeam Instant Aero Transporter on a joy ride on Monday.  Whoever did was a fantastic pilot though, and should get a lucrative advertising deal with a soft drink corporation where he pilots one through several loop the loops and into space holding a bottle of soft drink in his hand.

Fifth:  For tax purposes, the fourth point is donated to charity.

Sixth: A gang of super hackers are actually running around the Sub etha net starting silly rumors about obscure mathematical functions and congressmen best ignored.  These rumors serve no purpose other than to rile up politicians, and--who are we kidding?  Fire away hackers!

Seventh: This is the actual end of this post, don't be fooled by the following advertisements.

"Please, please, please, purchase copious amounts of JaqueSuet Soda before we destroy more planets you ungrateful buggers!"

"Lonely? Looking for love? Try Sub Etha Net Harmony.Commercialsite.sub.lotsamoolah for carbon based lifeforms that are not likely to attempt to gnaw your arms off.  I did, and now I have a symbiotic parastite living in my skull!"

"Parajoy soda is planet destroyingly good!"

One dark day in the middle of a sentence,

two bad adverbs to fight got up,

back to back, each other they faced,

their swords they drew, and each other they modified.

Large & Small.

While the world is cold and the north wind blows,

I've lost my train of thought.

I looked everywhere, in the station and the depot,

It's not where I thought.

Cats perhaps, or leaves maybe rode there upon,

That's not what I thought.

It was fascinating, perplexing, and whatnot,

That's what I thought.

But I've misplaced it, it's gone and that's that.

So now I've got a new thought.

Or have I?

The Elusive 'Jump'

Notice: This is a rant, however, I have cleverly disguised it as an informative and slightly humorous blogopost.

How many times have you been reading an article, maybe a blogopost, or whathaveyou, and the article said:

More after the jump!

or

Find out, after the jump!

Well, I have news for you. Find out after the jump.







Did you see any jump? DID YOU?! HUH? No? Maybe? Don't know what a jump is?

I'll tell you.

Many, many years ago, there was only one screen resolution, 800x600, anything over that was only for stupid rich people, and anything less was probably what you had, because you suck, and are poor.

Webpages can scroll down many miles, some going into the center of the earth where they can get infected with demonic spyware and explicit hardcore donkey sex ads. After the Stockholm Conventions, where web developers decided to only scroll down to the earth's crust, someone got scared and, not underestimating the stupidity of the human race, worried that maybe humans are so incredibly stupid that they would not realize that the rest of the webpage scrolled down the screen. So they started leaving clues, like making sure a giant picture dribbled down the screen, forcing a scroll, or leaving the helpful:

More, after the jump.

HOWEVER, today is the future, and we have at least 100 resomolutions, and mine is pretty big, the screen is 22 inches for the love of all things sweet and sour. AND YET, never once, has that damn line break, that elusive jump, been at the bottom of the screen where it belongs, nor has it been even on the first screen. I always have to scroll down the page several paragraphs to find a completely useless and somewhat cryptic:

Find out more, after the break.

What the Care Bear screen size do they expect everyone to have? If I had the oh so common 800x600 or even a nice 1024x786, I would have to scroll a good 6 inches to find that stupid and useless misplaced insult to my intelligence.

So just stop, ok? Nobody uses that stupid crap resolution you think they do, nobody is so incredibly stupid that they can't scroll down the screen, and even if they were, you didn't put that 'helpful' hint in the right place, and you wrote it in web developer code, you stupid sqid ink.

Novel IIII

Swinging from the rafters was a DeVinci-esque gyroplane; fabricated out of wood and waxed paper, it appeared both heavy and fragile at the same time. Dr. Spaulding manipulated an array of pulleys and levers, and the gyroplane eased down to the floor.

Brick peered inside, and found a number of dials and levers, switches and buttons.

"What's this for?" He asked.

"I figured it would be safest to travel, um, not on the ground. That's why I built this, based on some ancient designs, it should keep us out of the reach of those beasts out there." Dr. Saulding jerked his thumb at the door.

"Ok, but I still prefer my bike."

I forgot

because Pandora is playing Bjork.

But other than that, everything is ok, nevermind the rabid wolves that are building an oil derrick in my neighbor's oatmeal.

Bjork. Honestly.

Anyhow, on to today's narrative explosion of epic tonality! Rawr! Bjork, Bjork!

Yosemite Thermite Johnson was a man, a big man, a man of unquestionable poise and unsatisfactory bearing. This posed no problem at all, except when he assailed an oil derrick held hostage by poor engineering and design.

Don Quixote once said something which is immaterial at this junction; however, Yosemite used semi-colons at every opportunity, even when unsure of success. For this purpose he carried an assortment of pens and Sharpies, and corrected grammatical errors to his own satisfaction, and not that of Gregg, nor even e.b. white.

Yosemite deftly shot apostrophe's and dashes at advertisments-things like posters or playbills-as well as a few decimal points for good measure.

The oil derrick in question appeared in a copy of 'Space and Ancient Greece', barely a month had passed before the derrick was assaulted by a hyphenating psycophath like some sort of raping serial editor, and woke up in a hospital a shadow of it's former self, an oi-derrick.

Yosemite scrawled a moustache and glasses on a Calvin Klein underwear model and yodeled away in his black Fiat Spider, scanning for unvandalized and uncivilized, unaesthetic and unironic text to 'correct'...

Until next-time; never "fear", for unecessary character may (or may~not) be "near".

Piracy their dreadful trade is

I want to start an internet website that is devoted to pirating Disney pirate movies. Why? You foolishly ask, knowing it will result in a long, and impossibly unfunny monologue?

Because it's possibly ironic, depending on how you understand the concept! I'd also like to see the lawsuit.

"Stop pirating our pirate movies, you dirty thief!"

"What? The movies that encouraged me to steal, rape, and plunder and rob, not to mention thieve and noddle and cob? Make up your mind! Is it good or bad to be a pirate!? Lolzz!1!"

I will call it "Captain Long John Jack Sparrow's Treasury of Pirate Fun and Disney Movies" and I will use their logos without permission. Also, I will include pirate recordings from Gilbert and Sullivan's productions, but not the filthy crudola that isn't Disney or D'Oyly Carte.

The lengthy legal proceedings will make for good watching, and that's how I'll make my fortune. If you pirate that, I will hunt you to the ends of the world, where we might fall off into upside-down neverland, if sources are to be trusted, AND WHY NOT, DISNEY IS HONEST AND TRUSTWORTHY, right? If they aren't, then their legal standing will be shaky, to say the least, and goofy, to make a painful and pointless, but perfectly played pun.

Yo ho ho and a bootleg DVD or two!

Novel III

"No need," Dr. Spaulding pointed out, "sensors indicate the intruders are retreating. Isn't that right girl?"

Dr. Spaulding's dog nodded in agreement, her ears twitching, searching for the sound of intruders.

"I've got a pile of new gadgets for you to test on your next run."

Brick eyed the pile with some interest, but nothing beat the security of his .45 revolver and his trusted damascus blade. Dr. Spaulding's inventions sometimes came in handy, but they weren't terribly reliable in 'real world' situations when hostiles were closing in hard and fast and you had no time to read the labeling.

The hum of the dog food can opening laser perked the dog's ears up, and she trotted over, her nails clicking on the flagstone floor. She nuzzled Brick's hand briefly, and then sneezed slightly when the scent of gun oil reached her brain.

Dr. Spaulding shifted a number of levers, and an array of pulleys and ropes leapt to life above their heads.

Princess Dairies

There, I finally got around to putting this review together. Death Race 2000 stars some really funky cars, like Hanna Barbara's Wacky Races or some such. They have teeth and knives and guns, or caricatures thereof. These are used to run over people in the cross-country (LA to LA, judging from the scenery) race. On purpose, for points.


We get some commentary from goofy TV personalities, like Old Guy, Overly Friendly Female, and Scary Druggie. They provide a lot of exposition, like how many points babies are worth, how Frankenstein is a "close, personal friend of mine", and which racer just drove off a cliff through a giant ridiculous fake tunnel entrance. Scary Druggie is fun to watch, because he is like a 70's clown, and is always incredibly excited by the slightest thing, if he found a penny on the floor, he would explode like a bucket of sheep filled with TNT.



Our hero (I guess) is David Carradine, played by Frankenstein, a mish-mash of human parts cobbled together after a gazillion accidents he's accrued through the years of racing. His experience and fan base is enormous, and so was the simile I was cooking up. That's his car, it's kinda cool. Is he a bad guy? A good guy? I don't really care if you ever watch this movie, but I won't ruin his story line for you, just in case you smoke a lot of pot and want to watch this movie while dropping acid and shooting up reefer. (I guarantee everyone in the movie production was, except Stallone, he hadn't even started on steroids yet.)

See?

His character's name is too stupid for me to remember, but he's a thug, or perhaps a hood. I forget. He slaps his girl around a little, and shoots a tommy gun blindly into a cheering crowd. A little like Rambo, I guess. He may be second favorite to Frankenstein, but he's a bigger star. Also, he has guns. I'm not talking about his arm muscles there, because I'm not sure he had them there.

The President of the United States lives on a pyramid, I guess, and nobody knows where. This may indicate a post-apocalyptic setting, but I can't tell the difference between the setting here, and really early Rockford Files. He acts kind of religiously, like the Death Race is a rite or something. He provides some exposition again, and some a plot point, but don't expect this to be clever like Ultraviolet!


The gaps between legs of the races is filled with horrible, horribleness. Oompa Loompa cameramen run around with toaster ovens strapped to their backs, and David Carradine stomps around like a leathery Darth Vader, and the female racers take their tops off gratuitously.

They have the complexion of Miss Piggy.



Thank God Miss Thomasina Whatsit does not remove a single article of clothing! She leads the resistance, which is comical, and attempts to sabotage the race by killing racers and airing her Weirdness on TV in protest. She makes speeches and eventually becomes the fascist she pretended to fight against. Just like Republicans.


The crescendo, if you will, is when the resistance brings in awesome air support in the form of this here aeroplane. It's pretty badass, except the whole scene put me right to sleep. I'm pretty sure an ambulance was there to for some reason. The president blamed the aeroplane on the French to conceal the fact that the resistance somehow got an aeroplane past security and is trying to kill people by boring them to death.

There is a bunch of plot, like Thomasina's daughter is in there, David Carradine has a handgrenade, and the twist ending which hits you really fast and gives you no time to savor what the hell just happened.

It's a great idea, just hampered by such things as the 70's, no budget, and thinking gratuitous nudity and gore can make up for not knowing how to make talkies. And probably drugs.

I managed to install linux mint on my mom's oldish notebook computer, and so far, she is happy with it. It eliminates a lot of the slow down (spyware?) and now I know for sure what is running on it, and what is not.

Installation is a breeze, unless you have low memory, and then it's a bit awkward. But it includes support for nearly everything, so it's an easy switch from Windows.

I've got Death Race 2000 on it's way now, and hope to have
a review for you soon.

While I try to install linux on this old POS

Come, let us hasten to a higher plane,
Where dyads tread the fairy fields of Venn,
Their indices bedecked from one to n,
Commingled in an endless Markov chain!

Come, every frustum longs to be a cone,
And every vector dreams of matrices.
Hark to the gentle gradient of the breeze:
It whispers of a more ergodic zone.

In Riemann, Hilbert or in Banach space
Let superscripts and subscripts go their ways.
Our asymptotes no longer out of phase,
We shall encounter, counting, face to face.

I'll grant thee random access to my heart,
Thou'lt tell me all the constants of thy love;
And so we two shall all love's lemmas prove,
And in our bound partition never part.

For what did Cauchy know, or Christoffel,
Or Fourier, or any Boole or Euler,
Wielding their compasses, their pens and rulers,
Of thy supernal sinusoidal spell?

Cancel me not -- for what then shall remain?
Abscissas, some mantissas, modules, modes,
A root or two, a torus and a node:
The inverse of my verse, a null domain.

Ellipse of bliss, converse, O lips divine!
The product of our scalars is defined!
Cyberiad draws nigh, and the skew mind
cuts capers like a happy haversine.

I see the eigenvalue in thine eye,
I hear the tender tensor in thy sigh.
Bernoulli would have been content to die,
Had he but known such a squared cosine 2 phi!

~Stanislaw Lem 'Cyberiad'

?

So, once upon a time, in a far away place, in New Jersey, a simple crocus bloomed auspiciously.

This wasn't unusual. However, Ted vomited as a result. I assume you know Ted? He's an ass.

Seriously. He's no fun at parties, unless you enjoy laughing awkwardly as someone pours his drink on his date's head and spews profanity in every direction like a particularly offensive malfunctioning septic tank. Anyway, this crocus was genetically modified to release noxious fumes when it bloomed.

The alien invasion had all sorts of trickery up it's figurative sleeves just like that. They spent a lot of time making sure we replaced all of our metal objects with low-quality plastics to ensure our defenselessness, and then resorted to petty pranks.

The latest of which was that damn crocus. The crocus spent it's childhood various schools, getting chewed on and starved by negligent children and pitied by poor teachers. Then an alien by the name of 'X'hcccrtryblax'tch teleported in one night and rescued it, along with some tadpoles and a lot of staples.

Ted was an ass, did I mention that? Oh, right. So this crocus gets modified with some standard DNA replication and some Whoopiematic Laughspew. Then 'X'hcccrtryblax'tch, disguised as a lilac dragon buzzed in and placed in on Ted's counter.

Ted didn't notice it, on account of all of the detritus and debris accumulated on his countertops, which mysteriously aided the growth of our crocus, and it bloomed.

I actually don't think the Laughspew was needed, that kitchen was nasty to begin with, and Gordy nearly tossed her cookies in there on a daily basis anyway.

Novel, II

Brick rubbed his eyes, and squinted at the martini glasses on the table before him. They shook a bit, and the room spun around them. He rubbed his eyes once again, and the room steadied. It was just the glasses moving.

"Um.." He was about to ask a question, but Dr. Spaulding beat him to it.

"That's my latest invention. It's an automechanical waiter!"

"Ah."

The glasses disappeared into the cavernous recesses of the machine, and a faint shattering noise resulted. Several fresh martinis were produced from another mysterious orifice, and were set down on the table.

"I think that's enough for me, actually," Brick said. He tossed another down to steady the room once again, and drew his firearm. He field-stripped it, and gave it a good once over. Once he had put it all back together, he fired a round through the window at a horrible face that vanished as quickly as it appeared.

"Maybe we should order some Molotov's." He quipped.

I have no idea what happened to the fonts.

Hit This!

HITMAN

I actually went and saw this movie, and it isn't too bad--if you played the game the movie is loosely based on. If not, then it isn't too bad.

The premise is that Mr. Agent 47 kills people and is really stiff and unconvincing in public due to some radical upbringing which turned him into the ultimate killer, and also makes him really stiff and unnatural in public. In the game, this is kind of hilarious, being bald and scary while delivering flowers to a sick perverted Jabba the Hutt guy draws absolutely no attention. It makes you kind of nervous, wondering why nobody just shoots you in the face as a natural reaction to your scariness. This is very odd on the big screen.

Also, the movie hitman spares the life of some hooker chick. I don't know if you play video games, but if you do, you would know how ridiculous that is. Typically, you kill everyone. (I know I do.)

It's kind of disappointing that the hero only changes clothes a couple times, unlike the video game version, where you wear tons of silly disguises.

Also, why do the soldiers dress like samurai from the future? Maybe the costume designer played the wrong game?

Don't expect much from this movie, and you wont be disappointed.

I actually only played the 2nd Hitman game, and didn't finish it, but I did watch my brother some of the other ones, and I can say that watching the movie was a lot like watching him play the game, except there weren't any angry rampages after failing multiple times to sneak past guards.

I haven't posted in a long time, but that was just to keep you desperate introverted internet dwellers in suspense. I also played a LOT of video games.

Why read blogs in the first place? I don't have a whole lot to say, I don't bore you with details of my toenail clippings (unless they are shaped like the virgin Mary. She probably got some later though, so she shall henceforth be known as Mary, virgin mother of Jesus, and later not virgin at all on account of her husband Joseph, who, in all likelihood, hit that, abbreviated as: MVMOJALNVAAOAOHHJWIALHT, because that's easier to say, which just makes sense.)


I shall instead, endeavor to entertain, which is pretty hard, on account of me being pretty damn lazy.

Today's entertainment is a Video Game Review. I am (to my knowledge) the only person to think of this type of review, and deserve to be honoured with much honouring, and especially honouring with a 'u', 'cause honour is worthless without it.

I played a game called 'Assassin's Creed' which was really fun, but didn't really have a lot of assassinating. Mostly it was looking for mines in a big mine field. I didn't understand why, of all things, an assassin would waste his time looking for mines, but it was really addictive. What if you were wrong, and clicked the wrong square? You might get blown to bits, or just have to start over with another grid.

A lot of hype was spread around with a spade or trowel, or whatever manure spreader kids are using nowadays about the A.I. and the graphical resomolutions and pixelatonomy there is in the game, and frankly, I was disappointed. I assume the game was written in Visual Basic, (which is really complicated, but far easier to master than say--Pharsi) and that probably limited the graphics somewhat, but they did look spectacular on my nVidia 8800GTS 640MB from evga, purveyors of fine electronics on an internet near you.

I tried to purposely click on the little landmines, thinking I was supposed to assassinate them, believing they were targets, like little ant-like soldiers, or political figures my ant-queen was conspiring against, but I'm just gonna have to accept the designers did a horrible job with the art design of the characters, and play as if they are landmines. It's more fun that way.


I believe the little smiley face on the top of the screen is the ultimate baddy, the bossus magnus, if you will. Maybe if I played for more than 10 seconds, I would be able to reach it and assassinate it's stupid mocking smirking face, but my computer reminded me it was time for tea, and I concurred.


I give 'Assassin's Creed' a 8.9 out of an old shoe.

*note, all images in this post are stolen shamelessly from Wikipedia, unless otherwise noted. If you squeal, I will blame you for it and hack your ip address which is 127.0.0.1. Go ahead, check it out. I was right, wasn't I? I hope that scared you, you backstabbing little shrew.

Novel Part I

Dr. Spaulding put the finishing touch on his latest invention, an automechanical dinner server. He fired it up, and activated it. "Waiter, I'd like a cocktail". The dinner server picked up a tumbler, and and dropped several pieces of ice next to it. Then it sprayed several types of liquor into the air.

Dr. Spaulding sighed, and went back to work.

* * * * *

Brick sped through the night, partially lit by the waning moon, his steam powered motorbike belched black smoke behind him. The road twisted and turned through the dark forest, the dark trees cast finger like shadows that seem to reach out for him. The night blasted by, his fog lantern attempted vainly to cut the thick darkness. His googles began to fog up. He slid them back up over his leather helmet, and squinted into the darkness.

Behind him, an unearthly scream stabbed the night, and tickled the hair on Brick's spine, which stood on end. He opened the throttle, and took the next turn far to fast to be considered safe.

Brick's motorbike wobbled a bit, and then lurched forward from a violent blow from the rear. Brick drew his revolver, and fired blindly behind him, while wrestling with the controls of his bike.

Just when he ran out of ammo, Dr. Spaulding's lab lit up the night. Brick leaned forward, and with one last burst of speed, launched out of the dark woods, and crashed into Dr. Spaulding's barn.

He holstered his weapon, brushed the hay off his shoulder, and sauntered into the lab.

"Vampire werewolf monster things are getting out of control."

"Ah, yes," Dr. Spauldings replied, without looking up. "Almost done here, just one moment."

He handed Brick a cocktail, and they both tossed a few back.

Blue Helmets With Red Spots

"Cheese and Bacon," said the Dodo.

"That's a poor defense." Replied the magistrate. He slapped the gavel against another walnut, and fired another round into the lifeless paratrooper carcass hanging from a tree branch.

NATO paratroopers had been dropping through the trees since dawn, and the tall, dark, and feathery Dodo bird had been hunting them with knives and aplomb since about five minutes after dawn.

The magistrate twirled his shotgun, and dropped it in the mud.

"Damn."

Another paratrooper crashed through the trees, only to be dispatched by a volley of incendiary rounds from the Dodo's GE minigun.

"Of course, Cheese and Bacon, as a defense, hasn't been used since 1823, in Jim's Big Boy vs Kramer, not with any success, anyway. My version is slightly more advanced."

"I hope so," the magistrate commented, wiping his shotgun clean with a lark and a frown. "By the way, I heard Kramer was sacked recently."

Sirens wailed, and sailors listened drunkenly, only to crash into the rocks. More paratroopers landed, their knees making grisly crunching noises as they snapped like kindergarten teachers at Red Bull and Firearms day at school.

The magistrate, recently dewigged, took a hit from a hipflask, and scrawled a memorandum on the importance of firearm cleanliness. The sound of a GE minigun exploded and echoed through his skull like a crappy Britney Spears tune.

Standard issue brain-gnomes clubbed the echoing sound with a spatula, and poured it out the magistrates ears with an inordinate amount of blood.

The Dodo released the trigger, and scratched his head.

"Is NATO good or bad?" He asked.

"What?" The magistrate was holding his bleeding ears and crying a little bit.

"Is NATO the good guy, or bad?"

"Oh, um... Bad?"

"Ok."

The Universe

Almost all of my vacation was spent playing video games and killing terrorists, and now I'm back at work.

CRAP.

Today's story goes a little like this:


Sing O Muse, the song of Vergilus,
Droid of amusing stature, and first
To travel the length and breadth
Of the Universe.

Starting at One End, and young,
Vergilus donned his Shining Armour
Engraved with ones and zeros.
He was ready to go.

On his cybernetic chariot he
Flew into the darkness of space.
The light of a thousand suns
Shine reflected in his Shining Armour.

As a falling star in spring, brilliant in the sky
Vergilus shot through the nether
Through Chaos he left a shining trail
Of ordered integers in Fibinacci.

Night awoke, and suprised "Who is this
That dares through Chaos? Who interrupts
My sleep? What Light is this? Has Dawn
Lost her way?" So, Night.

Vergilus escapes Chaos, and enters
Our heavens. The Twins and the Bear
Which some call the Plough stare in
Shock. Orion stops his Hunt.

The Dragon nips at his heels, Cancer
Stings in vain at the chariot as it
Flies past our terrestrial home.
The Virgin blushes at the sight.

As a bright comet, as a passing sun,
Greater than Jupiter in Brilliance,
Shaming Sol, and dwarfing Luna,
Vergilus in his chariot shines.

This is the midpoint of the Universe,
There is much to travel still, so
Much time to cover and space
to fill.

Into Oblivion, Vergilus speeds, out
Of our sight. There he meets monsters
Of Nightmare and Doom. His chariot
Sparks light and he Laughs.

Teeth and Talon, Tooth and Claw, clutch
And slash, but his Shining Armour deflects
It all. Demons scream at the light that
Still radiates from his car.

Out of Oblivion he shoots! Into Brave
New Worlds, unexplored, and young, he
Emerges, aflame, and unweary. Outstripping
Dawn, and even Rumor.

Our Tin Hero is nearly done, but what
Dangers lie ahead? What is the Other End
Of Space? Adamantine and warped. Sadly,
Vergilus arrives.

Silicone and tin drift through our galaxy,
Meteors and Asteroids, Comets and Debris
Are all that is left, as Vergilus' chariot
is smashed to bits.

Sing O Muse, of the Charioteer of Tin, Vergilus.
The first to travel the breadth of the Universe,
Who drifts in amorphous silicone through
the Heavens.

All work and no play...

My sister just emailed me the following letter I composed at my grandmother's house whilst testing her electric typewriter. It makes more sense than many of my more recent blog posts---

"Dear Sirs:

Why do you torment me with your bills and strong arm men? I am a sensitive individual. I cannot abide such mean and worldly pursuits.

If you must persist in this cowardly persecution, I may be forced to pay you in old fish heads and used lightbulbs. We neither of us want that to happen, do we?

Please do not send that man named "Roscoe" again. He is a frightening, beastly man. I cannot understand why you would employ such riff-raff. I had thought you were more verflavian than that.

Also, I wonder if you would mind returning my dog you repossessed on Friday. he is quite nice, and I am afriad of what Roscoe may do to him. The dog's name is "Baskin Robbins" but he will respond to "TCBY" as well. DO NOT FEED HIM MONKEY WRENCHES! This is a Bad Idea. I did it once, but it was an accident. He is really too small to properly digest such things. Use smaller hardware if you must.

Thank you for your kind attention, and remember to smell the buttercups as they are loving caresses by the light of the moon in June with a spoon in your buffoon.

You will not find me at my previous address, so don't bother."

---You might not think it as funny as I do...

Spaced!

One of my new favorite shows!

If you like Shaun of the Dead and Hot Fuzz, then you'll love this show. It's fantastic.

Nine times out of ten...

"Soooooooooooo

ooooooooooooS"

Thusly did the radio transmitter on the dashboard squawk. Little lights blinked randomly.

Mike's head snapped up, and he rubbed his eyes.

"Shouldn't have been sleeping on the job, Mike." He told himself.

He glanced at the dashboard, and fell asleep again.

====================

"French Fries?"

"Yes." Captain von Rickenheimer slapped the princess.

8888888888888888888


"Which one do you like best?" Mary Darling asked her pet flamingo, George.

"The red one does not suit your complexion." He said, matter of factly. He took a puff from his ivory tobacco pipe, and squinted.

"Are those electric, or gas?"

"I wish!" I still have use my imagination to make them go."

Mary pouted, and fired a few rounds at the wall.

"Nearly finished my second name there" She commented, before holstering her weapon, and spitting on the floor.

George flapped his wings, and soothed his ruffled feathers.

"At least you don't have to turn one of those damn cranks."

wwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww


Four Prizonshiv cruise missiles cruised towards a large bulbous city that crept across the horizon. They were large, massively large. They had to be, to carry all of that cranberry jelly.

On radar, they were little bigger than the period at the end of this sentence

qrqrqrqrqrqrqrqrqrqrqrqrqrqrqrqrqrqr


Mike slapped at an imaginary fly that tickled the hair on his hand, and continued to dream of walruses and Spanish Guitar.

"Sooooooooooooooooooo

ooooooooooooooooooooS"

"Blink"

"Blink"

99999999999999999999999999999

In the corner, a wily cockroach scanned the readout on his wrist computer.

"All systems are functionals" He clicked, harshly.

"Durkha, Durkha!"

.......................................................:.........

The princess sneezed. Captain von Rickenheimer wiped his nose and drew meaningless little designs on the cocktail napkin.

Two shots rang out, and a third grabbed his jacket and ran.

"Damn you." The princess muttered under her breath, and stabbed the Captain in his face.

Her decorative sandwich toothpick snapped in two, leaving her holding the decorative spleen portion, while the pointy business end jutted painfully out of the cheek of the Captain.

He fell to the floor screaming.

"Horseradish! Not Horseradish!"

The waiter cleared the table.

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

"Well, if you already liked that one, then why bother me?" George swallowed his whiskey awkwardly, as only a bird, or possibly a baby human can.

Mary Darling shot a glance at him and selected the one she secretly wanted all along, and inserted it into her clothing emitter. Instantly, the world exploded into a ball of cranberry jelly.

oxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox


The vast army of cockroaches approached the creeping mass of cranberry jelly in lockstep. They brandished marlin spikes and turnpikes.

"I say," quoth the soaring beetle-hawk,"lets eat them cockroaches, eh?" His wings closed tight against his body, and he dove down, like a hockey player. The roach army disappeared in a puff of feathers, and nine times out of ten, that sort of thing will happen.

One day, in midsummer, when Helios shines in full power over the earth, and Boreas is sleeping far off, I was tramping through the woods with my loyal dogs, Argos and Colin.

The dogs followed their noses and ears, chasing squirrels and bunnies, and sticking their snouts into gopher holes. The dark wood was lovely and cool.

My senses were overwhelmed by a song that my dogs did not seem to hear. I followed it to a dank cavern that gaped in the side of a mossy hill. The song reverberated through the dark cave. Colin's ears pinned back and he sat outside the cavern, whining slightly.

Argos bravely entered the cavern with me. I lit a makeshift torch, and ventured inside. I slid on the slick muddy floor, and plummeted done into emptyness. The dogs barked above me in the distance.

* * * * * *

I awoke in a dim blue light that had no apparent source, yet lit my surroundings completely. Argos licked my face, which had a bit of clotted blood on it. I stood a bit shaky after my fall, and studied my situation carefully. In the faint light allowed, wild and bizarre shapes twisted their way from the floor to the ceiling, and dark shadows played along the trunks of subterranean trees. The air was cold and thick. Argos stood behind me, and his ears pricked.

A dark stream flowed at my feet, dividing the mossy floor into a veritable archipelago. Albino minnows leapt from the water, and nipped at glowbugs that hung overhead, their reflections in the glassy dark water resembling nothing so much as a large city seen far away at night.

I took a few steps forward, and skipped across a couple of stones in the midst of the stream to the other side of the cavern. Argos stepped lightly on each stone behind me, as if he were afraid to touch the waters.

I was still being drawn to the song that echoed softly in the distance. My eyes strained through the dim lights and shadows but my efforts were not rewarded beyond a few feet and glimpses of large mottled butterflies that flittered across my path in silence.

I patted my dog's head when I found a path that twisted through the trees. The song grew fainter as if it was retreating down the same path. I increased my speed, but the song seemed farther away than ever. I hurried even more, but gained no ground. The song almost drowned out the sound of the rushing wind, the clicking of Argo's claws and my own echoing footsteps.

The darkness swallowed me up.

I groped frantically in the darkness, it seemed to seep into my pores, it was suffocating. I took a few slow steps, and fell into fast flowing water. It was only inches deep, barely above my ankles. I followed the flow, hoping it would lead me. Somewhere.

It did. The water was the same stream that greeted my arrival in the beginning, and was my constant companion during my race through the cavern, though I didn't pay much attention at first. I followed it into a high-ceilinged cathedral of a grotto. Mossy buttresses stretched away, far above, and sweet smelling flowers twinkled in the light of a thousand glow bugs that shone like so many stars in the night sky above me. My attention was completely captivated by a marble figure that stood in a rocky fountain, and sang a song ever so sweet.

Pirates 3!

It's a really good movie, but I thought there would be more piratey stuff?

Why did Jane Fonda take over the Jack Sparrow role? What happened to the Dagobah place?

These are questions that may never be answered. Instead, we are thrown into a new location (San Fransisco) without explanation, and instead of sweet swashbucklin' swordplay, we are assaulted with boring ass speeches and lame pratfalls poorly portrayed by Lindsay Lohan and Felicity Huffman. Jane Fonda does a good job playing a regular non-pirate, but here pirate performance in this movie is SUCK.

Dermot Mulroney carries the whole movie. His part is played with piratey pinache that even Erroll Flynn would be jealous of. The nuances were both delicate and buccaneering, he was filthy and swarthy and everything a pirate should be.

Also, why didn't they have any ships? Disney made a poor choice when they decided all of the pirates should drive cars and trains. But it kinda worked on some level.

The final scene where Jack Sparrow (Jane Fonda) argues vehemently with Barbossa (Dermot Mulroney) was fantastic! The stunts blew me away. Adjectives and pronouns were far better than in the last movies.

I totally recommend the movie, I cried at the end! I applauded.

Who the hell is Georgia?

Spiderman 3

Top ten reasons to see Spiderman 3

1. Venom
2. Venom
3. Venom
4. Venom
5. Venom
6. Venom
7. Venom
8. Venom
9. Venom
10. Sandman?

My violent shoe theory

Ambulance chasing Jack Thompson claims that violent video games helped train whatshisstupidface to shoot people at VT, and also all of the other school shooting jerkwads. His evidence? Basically, it's correlation. Which proves nothing. They all played violent video games?

Guess what?

They all wore shoes.

• Violent nutjobs cannot have the success at shooting innocent people that they do without wearing shoes. How far would they have gotten without them?
• Did you know that our Army Special Forces (trained killers!) wear shoes? It's true.
• Lee Harvey Oswald, John Wilkes Booth, and John Rambo wore shoes.
• Big Game Hunters wear shoes as well. It helps them track and kill their prey.
• The Columbine wacktards wore shoes.
• So does your mom!
• Most of the world's armies train to kill in shoes.
• Executioners in prison wear shoes.
• Nearly every character in every violent action movie wears shoes.
• El Wray wore shoes.
• JACK THOMPSON WEARS SHOES.
• Every killer, every unbalanced violent wacko in this country is wearing shoes that ANYONE CAN BY AT A STORE WITHOUT HAVING TO PROVIDE GOVERNMENT I.D.!

That should be proof enough. Violent video games aren't to blame for this massacre, shoes are.

I challenge Jack Thompson to defeat my impenetrable logic.

Rock On!

I've found a bodacious time waster that is Tenacious D based. Gnarly, dude.


I don't know if you are familiar with Guitar Hero, but this little gem plays a bit like it. Just play your keyboard like you would rock on your Martin. The 'strings' are A-S-D-F, just hold them down, and press the spacebar to 'strum' in time. Do it right (tricky), and the music is sweet. Mess up (quite likely), and the music stutters and squeaks, which is what I would expect to happen if I tried to really play a guitar.

You could just leave the keyboard on your desk like some sort of unhip shmuck, and type away frantically, but it's tough to remember which finger coresponds to which key. I've found it easier, and somewhat cooler to hold the keyboard upright, a bit like an accordion, and imagine I don't look like an ass. It feels more like a guitar that way too.

If you have some friends or maybe little brothers, you can probably assign each person their own key to push. A cheap way to post a high score, or fun party activity? I'll let you decide.

Wow, you host some sucky parties dude.

For mad points, you can use the mouse to wriggle the devil's uvula. That part is tricky.

I've decided to use my foot. Hey, that mouse can't get much dirtier unless I wiped it on my dog's butt and cleaned the john with it, why not wriggle that blighter with my little piggies?

That's right. I'm totally rocking Dick van Dyke's one man band in Mary Poppins as Tenacious D.

That song rocks too.

But remember, wriggle the devil's uvula! (with your toes! Or possibly your little brother! I punch my brother in the head when he fails! Don't smash your monitor with the keyboard! Unless you are Pete Townsend!)

Edit: here are the lyrics, just in case you can multi-task hardcore:

"POD"

Cause it's the Pick of Destiny child,
you know we will be rockin' cause it's flippin' insane.
It's just the Pick of Destiny child,
my precious little diamond on a platinum chain.

In Venice Beach there was a man named Kage.
When he buskin he was all the rage.
He met Jables and he taught him well.
All the techniques that were developed in hell.
Crotch-pushups and the power slide.
Geek simulation now there's nowhere to hide.
They formed a band they named Tenacious D.
and then they got the Pick Of Destiny.

Cause it's the Pick of Destiny child,
you know we will be rockin' cause it's frickin' insane.
It's just the Pick of Destiny child,
our tasty moves are better than a chicken chow mein.

Cause he who is sleazy,
is easy to pleasy.
and she who is juicy,
must be loosy-goosey.
and he who is groovy,
will be in my movie, so come on!

The wizard and the demon had a battle royale,
The demon almost killed him with an evil kapow.
But then he broke his tooth,
and thus the demon said Ow.

Cause it's the Pick of Destiny child,
you know we will be rockin' cause it's frickin' insane.
It's just the Pick of Destiny child,
you know our movie's better than a Citizen Kane

Cause he who's a geezer,
must live in my freezer.
and she who is snarky,
is full of malarkey.
and he who is groovy,
must be in my movie, so come on!

Cause if you're a diva,
then go to Geneva.
and if you're a croney,
then suck my baloney.
and if you are groovy,
then get in my movie,
It's called the Pick of Destiny.
It's called the Pick of Destiny!

Dante's Failure

Poor Dante, he didn't quite make to the last circle of hell. He did witness quite a few gory and grotesque tortures for familiar crimes, but the last circle of hell was too much for his innocent mind to comprehend.

In this jaded, internet saturated Jackass post 9/11 world, man is not only slightly more sinful than in the past, but also slightly more capable of not going insane and smacking himself in the face with a hammer when he is told the horrible wretched truth of hell. I have it on a good authority from a source that has actually been there, that the following hidden circles of hell not only exist, but are quite large and well populated:


3.14 Circle: Second level, third door on the right: The especially nerdy and antisocial are found here enduring endless dental operations inflicted by inebriated amateur veternarians with rusty hand cranked tools, firebrands and little biting insects of some sort.

1.5th Circle: Down the corridor, and through the looking glass: The obsessive pharisees and damning finger pointers are forced to edit excrutiatingly long essays posted on internet discussion boards in Klingon and Japanese. They are only allowed to use their own blood as ink, which they produce by stabbing their pens into their eyeballs and are whipped and ridiculed by great greasy flabby ogres that constantly point out bizzare little known laws of Romulan and Inuit grammar. Some march for eternity and are beat mercilessly for making minute mistakes like blinking out of time with the cadence.

9th circle: Uz'thalial's Club: In the back room, VIP only: Executives of massive corporations and especially corrupt politians have their heads removed which are used by Uz'thalial's posse to play pocket billiards on a table of fire and coal. The headless bodies are stood upside down with their shoulders inside bedpans and cesspools of uncouth alien excrement and radioactive waste, with worms slithering and pulsating inside their neckholes while the pool players use their asses to chalk their sticks. Their toes are nibbled on by the firery teeth of the devils for appetizers.

If you get more information, feel free to share! Happy Columbus Day!

Next time, next time!

In the twilight, I could just make out the shape of a man, covered with a cloak, moonbeams clutching the pleats in the soft fabric. He stood motionless among twisted tree branches and knotted gnarly trunks.

An owl flew overhead.

I fixed an arrow to my bowstring and took careful aim at the shade before me.

When I let fly, the string hummed in harmony with the whistle of my bolt through the darkness, the short mood completed with a satisfying 'plunk' in cresendo.

I rushed through the undergrowth, brushing the talons of the woods aside and cracking my shins into fallen logs like Barry Bonds in a steroid induced self destructive craze.

When I reached my aim, all I found was an old Holocaust Cloak with a note:

"Missed me again, jerkface!"

I rubbed my shins and scratched my chin thoughtfully. There was nothing left for me to do, so I powered on the Xbox.

Black and White Dog

Where oh where has my little dog gone?

Oh, where oh where can she be?

I think she's pooping on my neighbors lawn,

or taking a leak on their tree!

She follows her nose where'er she goes,

and scares little children for me!

Ahoy! Is that the neighbors cat?

Ah yes, ah yes, indeed!

Strange how she ignores that cat,

But chases their doggy instead!

Great Debate!

Ok, sorry about the lack of funny recently.

I now bring you the Great Debate!

I recently noticed the popularity of one Superman, (aka Clark Kent) and was slightly disappointed, since I prefer the Green Lantern. The greatest of which is Hal Jordan. Only slightly less great is Kyle Raynor, and if you don't mind scraping the bottom of the Giant Barrel of Class and Style, Guy Gardner and John Stewart are not completely unservicible.

Today's Great Debate is which super Hero is better. Not necessarily stronger or faster, since Superman's limits are theoretical, but merely overall coolness and various qualities that make a good Hero.

Also, I'm only going to use Hal, Kyle, and Clark Kent, since every other variation sucks. (Not that I've seen them all, but this is a fair assumption, get over it.)

Superman

First, look at Superman's costume. He is either too dumb to figure out how to put on his underroos, or he changes clothes so fast, that his pants are on before he finishes pulling up his BVD's.

It is a striking outfit in most other regards, however. Not much chance to enter any sort of stealth mode though, is there?


See how super he looks? The cape is very dramatic. Tons of bulging, rippling muscles as well. It must be hard for artists to contain themselves, I mean, c'mon, he's the greatest, strongest guy in the Universe, so you'd better pack as many swollen muscles on that godlike frame as you can. Somehow, Clark Kent gets rid of all of that added muscle mass instantly, tranforming into the dweebiest dweeb of all. Oh yeah, Superman is a little schitzo.

Oh, and I think maybe he has a hard time fitting pants, 'cause he always wears a belt. But that may just be a sign of the times he was born in.

Character wise, he is too super. Gets kinda boring. Plus, he can't have a love life. He is the last of his kind, there can never be another, without some creative writing.

Superman is an alien, and as such is kinda creepy for anyone to have feelings for. Losing his entire planet and family is pretty good back story, but it's pretty fantastic. You might sometimes want to be like Superman, but nobody wants to actually be him.

Powers include: Flying, moving fast, x-ray vision, lasers shoot out of his eyes, lightning shoots out his ass, he is bullet proof, indestructible, etc. Only weakness is the incredibly easy to obtain Kryptonite, which is supposidly shards of his homeworld. Probably shards of alien broccoli.

And now on to:

The Green Lantern

Hal Jordan

Ah. Now that's style! Sweet custom Domino mask, subdued styling with just the right amount of Heroic Flair. He can go into stealth mode instantly with green, and wont leave any fingerprints behind to incriminate his alter ego.

You will also notice the lack of any sort of cape. Capes have been the downfall of many super Heroes. The mask adds enough drama on it's own. Absolutely no problem with his underpants, and no belt. This is a modern, 'with it' kinda guy.

His hair isn't greasy looking, it's long and full of body. He usually has that sweet Indiana Jones chin stubble.

Character wise, this is one seriously cool dude. Test pilot for fighter planes, he was chosen to be Earth's Green Lantern on account of bravery, fearlessness, integrity, and downright awesomeness.

Hal isn't a disgusting mass of pulsating muscles and veins like some other 'Heroes', but he is well built, and nicely proportioned.

The beauty of the Green Lantern, is the Corps. Anyone can be a Lantern Bearer if they are pure of heart, strong, fearless, have huge brass ones, and can grow chin stubble.

Powers include: Being able to make anything he can imagine out of some kind of light emitted from his rechargable Power ring. Light against Darkness, get it?

I decided to throw in Kyle Rayner for the heck of it. He's got a kickass costume (especially his new one, not pictured). This costume looks even more like a Harlequin, which gets some bonus points from the French Judges.

He's designed for the violent, jaded, MTV generation, mostly focused on weapons, but recently became more stable and respectible. He became a Green Lantern on accident, but that proved fortuituous.

I don't know a whole lot about him, and less about the other slobs that wear Green.

Oops

I forgot to write a sappy 9/11 post today. Here you go:

Sappy, sappy, blah blah,

Sob.

Blah, sappy, sap, sap, damn terrorists.

How am I supposed to watch TV now?

All of my favorite TV torrent sites are ridiculously unreliable, running on flaming pocket calculators somewhere. I don't have time to sit down and watch tv when my shows get broadcast, so I usually download them. Too bad my favorite TV torrent tracking sites are burning heaps of police confiscated crapola.

There. I said it. I download dubiously legal TV shows. Prison Break, 24, Dr. Who, etc. There are hard to find. tvtorrent.info folded a while ago, and now eztvefnet.org is gone. (Well, not gone for sure, just gone for now. Maybe it will come back. Then it will catch on fire again. I'd hate to be the guy that runs it. He must just sit there frantically hacking way, spraying it randomly with a fire extinguisher, kicking it, and then he coaxes it back into operation for about ten minutes, and then it bursts into flames again.

I mean, I could delve into the darkness that is torrentspy, but a good percentage of 'Prison Break' searches deliver results of the XXX variety, or a gazillion episodes from last season. Mininova isn't bad, but I still crave the convenience I once enjoyed.

It's almost as if the media companies that pay for these shows don't like me downloading them, which would mean that I would not watch them at all.

I'm sorry that this a rant, and not 'teh funny', but I am bitter, ok jerkface((s), depending on if that other guy reads this)? (My parenthesis (are) getting (out) of control!))?

Yes. In case you use this thing as a magic eightball, the answer is yes!

Ok, It seems eztvefnet.org is back, but for how long? Who knows? Say, if you are brave, a looking for some fantastically hilarious, slightly less obscene than 'South Park' show, check out the 'Venture Bros'.

My titles lack creativity somehow

NO! It says 'titles' not 'titties'. Perverts.


Here:

No, wait, over there ---> Ha! got you! down there, |


So, got carried away for a moment. Stephen Hawking is looking for a new assistant. Apparently, applicants will need to progress through a wacky castle completing a series of challenges ranging from basic computer programming, to building a room out of a bunch of puzzle pieces. The journey is probably a lot more fun than the destination in this case though. I decided to attempt the impossible, and tried out.

Day 1, 12AM:

There are a lot of dorks lined up in front of the castle with me waiting for the bell. What nerds! They haven't showered in weeks, and they are all wearing stupid anime t-shirts. Met a guy named Felix who plays Chromehounds, found out he's in my squad! Cool!

Day 1, 2PM:

Only half of us made in past the flamingos and the weird memory game to gain entry into the house. Poor Felix got his head blown off by a flamingo's laser.

Day 1, 5PM:

After much struggling, some pain, and a little backstabbing, I made it to the cipher room. I haven't seen any other applicants for 15 minutes, so I think I'm a little behind. Crap. Let's see, t-u?

Day 2, 11PM:

Oh $#!^! It's RSA encrypted! WTF? This is impossible!

Day 3, 12AM:

I killed a man. This is insane. All I wanted was his PBJ sandwich. WHY IS THIS EVEN PART OF THE COMPETITION? Why do we need real guns?

Day 3, 6PM:

Ok, I've got the hang of the whole lion taming thing. I figured out how to work the whip, but the stool? What's that for? Stephen Hawking is crazy! I don't need to kill people or tame lions to be his assistant! This doesn't make sense! Oh, wait, ping pong!

Day 5, 3PM:

Nothing matters but victory. I have tasted success. Failure is not an option. Failure is for the weak. I will emerge the champion, and all others will perish. My glory will shine upon their lifeless corpses, and they will gnash their teeth in envy.

Day 5, 3:30PM:

Aww. I got disqualified. Got one wrong, 'Jai Alai' isn't a parlour game. Crap. Oh well, who wants to wipe dribble from the chin of Dr. Hawking? Made it pretty far though, so I didn't humiliate myself.

The Joys of Dental Work

Are few.

Alas, but I, to the Dentist, went, and a Canal of Root, got.

Sucks. The good news is that it didn't hurt. The bad news is I need another one. Next time, a metal rod inside the $#@! root they will put.

See what I'm doing there? Puting the verb after the subjects? That's just a small example of how I can be an ass. (It's not Yoda-speak.)

On to more interesting topics.

Movies? Ok. I'm gonna go watch one, and try to forget the horror that lays ahead, waiting, like a horror that lays await for you, up ahead, waiting, like, well, something horrible.

I shot the Sheriff, but I didn't shoot no Red Baron

I was flying my trusty Sopwith Camel across the English channel, as I am wont to do from time to time, in this jaded, post 1914 world, when I got bounced by a red Fokker triplane. I executed a quick Immelman Maneuver, but when I looked back, he was still on my tail.

Firery tracers flicked past the cloth covered wings of my trusty biplane, like so many angry lightning bugs from hell. I shoved the stick in the opposite direction, and mowed through a sea gull. This provided a brief smoke screen to hide my next manuever, which caused the guy wires in my wings to creak, the wood groaned under the stress. These sounds were loud over the roar of my engine. They had to be, if any part of the rigging failed, I could die, or pay hefty repair costs to that jerk repair guy back at the aerodrome.

I clamped the cigar in my teeth, and held on as I dove upside down yet again. The wind rushed past, the engine screaming, and the scent of oil strong. I must be leaking somewhere again.

The red Fokker was on my tail, still I could not shake him! I had lost so much altitude that salty brine was spraying off the whitecaps from the sea below onto my oily googles. I anxiously smeared my flying glove across the lenses, but that made it worse. The world was now streaky, blurry, and whirling around me, out of control. I was losing it, I couldn't dive any lower. I can't shake him! I can't shake him!

My engine sputtered, greasy feathers flew out. Stupid gull really mucked up the works. Repairs are really gonna add up when I get back! I took a quick glance behind me, and he was gone.

Damn you, Red Baron! Damn you and your delicious pizza!

Spamalicious, dude.

I'm breaking with tradition here and posting once again on this, my much ignored blog.

(computer games don't play themselves)

Today's topic is my spam from the last post.

This guy left a comment saying that my blog was inquisitive. That makes sense, IF YOU THINK MY BLOG ASKED SOME SERIOUS QUESTIONS. I'm yelling for emphasis, because that indicates that my blog is now hungry. Don't actually buy stocks based on that guy's "advice" or his "friends". While park rangers are known for their acute instincts and bear rangling abilities, they aren't respected on Wall Street, unless there is a bear market. HA!

On the bright side, Juicy Fruiter updates a bit more frequently, so maybe you can all become fans of his, and send him money market advice. Have fun reading his stories about being a park ranger! Try to refrain from making fruit related gay jokes!

I think that this bonehead may be the same guy, since his comment is nearly identical, sans the park ranger schpiel. He's big on nanotechnology, but boring as hell.

"I read over your blog, and i found it inquisitive," he says. Liar. I guess there is a big advertising firm that just hands out a handy list of comments to their rats so they can attract people to their fake blogs to read crappy advertisements, and they just pulled whatever the biggest word was they knew out of their asses and pasted it into the blank.

"Get any Desired College Degree, In less then 2 weeks.

Call this number now 24 hours a day 7 days a week (413) 208-3069

Get these Degrees NOW!!!

"BA", "BSc", "MA", "MSc", "MBA", "PHD",

Get everything within 2 weeks.
100% verifiable, this is a real deal

Act now you owe it to your future.

(413) 208-3069 call now 24 hours a day, 7 days a week."

Go on, do it. You know you want to. Get a college degree in less than two weeks! Whee! Wait, how much drinking can I expect to get done in that amount of time? I can't finish a whole bag of College Herbs in two weeks! I needed to get four years of hard drugs and wild parties before I got a serious job trolling the internet pretending to be a park ranger that likes stupid blogs and "knows a guy that knows a guy that recommends nanotechnology stocks."

This was all in fun, if any of those jerks are really people that really did think my blog was "inquisitive" or possibly "alluring" or maybe even "solipistic", or if they were hacked and setup by "the man" then I apologize, please send more spam, so I can make fun you, you jerks.

Not long enough, hmm?

First post in months. Crap. Well, I've got an actual paying job now where I microwave lightbulbs, smoke bombs, and generally make an ass of myself.

Lightbulbs=coolness -lots of pretty colours and explosions. Fairly safe.

smokebombs=scary as hell -damn funny and horrible to clean up. (impossible? we shall see...) Possibly toxic fumes, oh, and stink to high heaven.

flurescent bulbs? tried them briefly. Very scary. Need to do more research. What is inside? Can I safely nuke a sandwich in that thing now? The insides of the microwave are blue now. Will a white bomb cover it up, or burn black?

I'd like to take pics and post them, but I'm awfully lazy.

At least the Mighty Cerebron has found time to update his ridiculous blog. It's totally unbelievable.

AhhahAHahaHAaAhahaAHahaHA. <- needed to get that out. So much to do, so little time and motivation, dammit.

'nite.

Crazy federal laws! Bad! Bad!

I recently read an article on how to build your own traffic light changing doohicky , and as soon as I finished it, some jerks tried to make it a federal offense. Of course, there was a lot of hand-wringing, and some crying "we can't have maniacs drive 80 MILES AN HOUR THROUGH AN ENDLESS STRING OF GREEN LIGHTS!" "Ambulances would explode! Mayhem! Carnage! Won't anyone think of the children?"

Naturally, I was disgusted. The whole concept is insanely simple, you just flash infrared lights at the right frequency, and the light is supposed to change. It's just a flashing light, no radios, no encyption, and no complications.

I had no idea the federal government thought that it could regulate intrastate traffic laws, so I did some Shoddy Research™, and found the text of the bill, (nevermind that some of the text is now at the DIY link)

"To improve traffic safety by discouraging the use of traffic signal preemption transmitters"

That kind of says it all, doesn't it? "We are just discouraging the use of stuff, not actually doing anything"

"(2) USE- A person who makes unauthorized use of a traffic signal preemption transmitter in or affecting interstate or foreign commerce shall be fined not more than $10,000, imprisoned not more than 6 months, or both."

I'm not sure how anyone can draw the line between what affects interstate commerce, and what doesn't. If you check the intersection, and don't see anyone else, then I guess you are ok. (Unless your state banned it!) Funny thing though, ambulances and fire trucks have nothing to do with interstate commerce, so this law doesn't protect them at all. Huh.

I also hate how the lights are called transmitters. Gee, are flashlights transmitters? I can send morse code with them, so is the FCC gonna raid my house and steal my flashlight transmitters?

"(b) Definitions- In this section, the following definitions apply:

`(1) TRAFFIC SIGNAL PREEMPTION TRANSMITTER- The term `traffic signal preemption transmitter' means any mechanism that can change or alter a traffic signal's phase time or sequence."


Oh... Do you know how traffic lights sometimes work? Sometimes there's a magnet down there that can detect the presence of a car, and the mere presence of a car makes the light change. WHOA! My car MAY BE ILLEGAL?! What about those little buttons for pedestrians? Unless, the rumours are true that they are fake pieces of crap, they might be illegal!

"The term `unauthorized use' does not apply to use of a traffic signal preemption transmitter for classroom or instructional purposes.'."

Oh good, because the world is my classroom, and I'm instructing my pal here in MIRTs...


-----------DISCLAIMER--------------

Big giant suprise coming up... I'm not a lawyer. Don't take this crap as legal advice, it might get you in trouble, you maniac, trying to drive 80 MPH THROUGH AN ENDLESS STRING OF GREEN LIGHTS CRASHING INTO AMBULANCES AND RUNNING OVER CHILDREN!

I love NYC!

So I was hunting hobos the other day, and I accidentally wandered into a Yakuza owned warehouse. I was gonna shoot my way out as normally would, but several members of the local Yakuza 109 were selling watermelons, and I really like those.

Anyway, I dropped a watermelon on my toe and it really hurt. I limped back to the dark alleys where I roam, and found a couple hobos, but I was too tired by now to light them on fire like I usually do, so I just pushed them down an open man-hole. Then I sat back down and ate some watermelon.

On my way back home, several wild dogs tried to sell me some drugs but I said no. Then I threw a stick for them, and grabbed the drugs that they dropped. Stupid dogs.

I haven't posted here since forever. I keep getting caught up reading the adventures of the great Cerebron Ix. Meanwhile, I'm squashing sentient Cheetos.

I've been having problems with McAfee products here for some reason, they just refuse to install. I've quested through various forums, search engines, etc, and journeyed through the murky mists of the Registry. I've cleared esoteric Files from hidden folders, and scanned the snot out of this electonic abacus with various Virus Hunters from yon internets with no luck at all.

DARN YOU!

Alas and alack, I've got no antivirus running now (defense = -100), and barely have a free Zone Alarm firewall (defense = x100) running. Pooh.

Anyway, when I'm not battling MY OWN COMPUTER in a contest of wits and bytes, I almost have time for fun.

Say, if you all read through that batch of boringness, then maybe you know me... or are just bored out of your gourd. I'll leave you all with a poem.

The summer is over
time to kill aliens.
well, isn't it always?