суббота, мая 28, 2005
So I Lied
I know you are all desperately awaiting the next exiting episode of "Greatest Cowboy," and I am working on it. I just can't figger out where I am going with it and I have some stuff written out but it sucks. (Much of this is because I am working, where before I was really bored.)
Oh well.
Instead I'm going to give you a summary of what I do in a day.
11AM: Wake up.
12PM: Get up.
1PM: Become fully fully conscious with some coffee and waffles.
2PM: Get ready for work.
2:30PM: Drive to work.
3PM: Be at work.
3-10PM: Pretend to work. Get money. Do lots of heavy lifting for ungrateful old people.
10PM: Drive home.
10:30PM: Get Home. Get food. Probably more waffles. Change out of uniform.
11PM: Start IMing with friends.
12AM: Brain stops working.
1AM: Still IMing.
2AM: Ninjas attack.
3AM: Go to sleep.
3AM-11AM:Sleep more.
Repeat ad nauseam.
Now, you may have noticed that there is only an hour where my brain works and even then I'm being interrupted. Then my brain gives out and I am unable to do anything good. Also, if TV is on then things just get worse.
So, you all understand why I'm not updating as often as I have been. If not, or if you still expect me to, then fuck you. So there.
среда, мая 25, 2005
First Day of Work (Prelude to About Three Months of Bitching)
Hi everybody!
(Waits for audience reply)
Well, today I had to go to work. It went pretty good and everybody was happy to see me. We had lots of new people around, and they were a pain in the ass mostly, except the guy I had to train. He had been there for acouple days and was already competent.
We had a "tour bus" come in today. It was about 9 people. The tour director gave the two of us twenty bucks each, and the guests all chipped in a few bucks extra. A great way to start. Nobody complained either. Admittedly, it was a bit of a mess because none of the bags were labelled... but it was ok because they knew where they were going and we just had to cart the shit around. The new guy mentioned that the bags were heavy. I laughed. They get so much worse from here.
The girl who rang up my meal, however, was not competent. Apparently a 6oz. steak sandwich costs 31 dollars, and can only be ordered as medium or higher, and I can't get an employee discount if I pay in cash.
(Smacks head on table)
Anyway, I got that sorted out to 10 bucks rare as hell and reduced to five because I work here. (She ordered three for some reason.) I was fortunate that she fucked up so bad a competent employee took notice.
Oh well.
Other than that a desk girl wanted me or the other bellman to move her car, "because I already have five tickets." Because she couldn't do it herself for some reason unknown to me. (Everything is two hour parking, mostly. Two blocks down is free...) I asked if the manager had said it was ok, she said yes (A lie. I asked the manager out of spite.) and so I told her that if he had said it was ok for me then there was no reason for it to not be ok for her. She didn't look very happy when she came back in.
Now, if she had wanted me to do anything else except her bitchwork, I'd been ok. I would have fucking driven her to her car if it had been raining or something else like that because it is the gentlemanly thing to do, but come on.
Anyway, the guy I worked with was really nice. I forget where he was from... somewhere in the noncoastal south anyhow. We bitched about people from the New England area. I hate New Yorkers, and New Jerseyans. They suck as people. I mean, it isn't all of them, but the demographic I happen to meet suck nine tenths of the time. Apparently he had similar experience in Massachusetts. (Apparently people spit at him from cars... I am not surprised... Notherners...)
I'm just glad Tom didn't work that night. He is an evil little man who abuses what little power the night manager has... I'll probably bitch about him alot. I think today I heard at least 5 people complain about him.
I think the best part about all of this is that my boss (at least, officially, not counting the general manager, the night manager, the owner, and any other manager who happens to see me no matter what department they are in) is one of my friends who worked along side me and has managed to climb the corporate ladder. (So he's pretty lenient and he knows the stupid shit that happens to bellmen.) Also, I can push him around alittle, that helps.
Oh well... As a final thought for today before I write another adventure of "Greatest Cowboy Ever" I say this, "Why am I here, sweating, in this dark, godforsaken jungle... ah, yes... the money... the money..."
понедельник, мая 23, 2005
It Just Goes On, and On, and On...
Tick number 8,576,985,019.5 removed from dog. (I lost one in her hair once.)
Anyway, do you know what today is? I didn't, which is why I had to do a mad dash downtown to get my mom a birthday present. I am so ashamed. I know what day her birthday is (usually) I just didn't know what day today is. Without some regular events I lose all track of time.
I got her scented candles, she love those things. They had really nice ones at Pier One.
Anyway, I decided to tell work that I'm home. I go in tomarrow at three and the manager is going to hammer out a schedule then. On one hand I don't want to work, on the other hand I need something to do and I need money. Oh well. They were really happy to see me, I guess they are a bit understaffed.
Yay.
For those of you viewing at home, my mom recommends the "Magic Eraser" sponge. I guess they work good.
Now I'm going to go make me some Eggos... mmm... Eggos...
Anyway, do you know what today is? I didn't, which is why I had to do a mad dash downtown to get my mom a birthday present. I am so ashamed. I know what day her birthday is (usually) I just didn't know what day today is. Without some regular events I lose all track of time.
I got her scented candles, she love those things. They had really nice ones at Pier One.
Anyway, I decided to tell work that I'm home. I go in tomarrow at three and the manager is going to hammer out a schedule then. On one hand I don't want to work, on the other hand I need something to do and I need money. Oh well. They were really happy to see me, I guess they are a bit understaffed.
Yay.
For those of you viewing at home, my mom recommends the "Magic Eraser" sponge. I guess they work good.
Now I'm going to go make me some Eggos... mmm... Eggos...
воскресенье, мая 22, 2005
I am the World's Greatest Cowboy- PT2
If you haven't read part 1 yet, click here! http://gshymnal.blogspot.com/2005/05/i-am-worlds-greatest-cowboy.html
If you have, yay!
Now, where was I? Ah, yes...
So, I rode New Tex down into the town and he lowed discontentedly as we passed the leering buildings and their worn facades. In the darkened windows I saw phantom figures shuffle about. There wasn't nobody on the street, and that worried me further. I could hear sounds coming from down the dirt road, however, so I down that dusty path and saw what I was lookin' for. There was a bright red building with "GIRLS! GIRLS! GIRLS!" stenciled on the marquee. The way I figger it, where they sell women they sell hooch. Either way, I could tell that that was where the noise was comin' from, so I'd have to check it out anyhow.
I kicked New Tex to trot a little faster, and we continued down the road. I noticed that all the buildings looked worn out, like everybody left a long time ago. I began to wonder if this town wasn't deserted entirely, save for whoever was in the saloon. Later I would find out that I was half right, and half wrong. But I'm gettin' ahead of myself.
I tied up New tex on the post in front of saloon and stood out its doors for a minute. "Hey Jude" was being played on the piano inside and I could hear cups clattering and people talking. The stink of death and vomit wafted out of the building. Yup, it is a saloon alright. I stepped in.
Inside there must'a been six people in there, not countin' the barkeep. They didn't pay me no mind when I sat down and plunked a dollar on the table. The barkeep brought be a bottle of fine whiskey without so much as askin' what I wanted to drink. That's how you tell you've got a good'un, when he can tell what you drink by the look of you. I thanked him and he thanked my dollar and walked back to some other customer or somethin'. I don't know because at that moment a right pert redhead came and sat on my lap. She was mostly leg, and what wasn't leg was titty.
She smiled at me and began to say somethin' about how handsome I was. I didn't listen too much because I was busy thinking filthy things about her breasts. I'm sure if you had spent the last week with a bunch of men who were slightly less attractive than the cattle they drove and was nearly sodomized by several swarthy men you'd do the same thing. Anyway, just about when she had her cooch unveiled in my mind she asked if I'd like to go up to her room. Well, somethin' told me this wasn't right because the last time a woman found me attractive I had to give her five dollars up front. Anyway, I took a swig of whiskey and followed her up. None of the customers seemed to notice me still.
Well, we got up there and I sat down on the bed. Well, she began to talk again and that caused her boobs to jiggle hypnotically so I didn't catch what she said, but I think it was bad because she suddenly grew fangs. Somewhere in the background "Hotel California" began to play. I realized I was about to be killed by a vampire and that she would turn me into one of her cursed spawn like those poor suckers down there. Now, I know what you are thinkin'- How could we be listening to Hotel California if the Eagles didn't exist until the mid to late 20th century. Well, vampires have magical radios that play them music from whatever era they so please so that they don't get bored, "Ipods" or something like that. Evil magic. Anyone who knows anything about vampires could tell you this.
Anyhow, I rolled off the bed just before she jumped on me and pulled out my gun while takin' another swig of whiskey. I shot her in the head a few times and wondered if I should grope her while she was stunned. I decided it would probably be a bad idea so I started running. I put a few holes in her minions downstairs on the way out, but I made sure I didn't shoot the bartender. He seemed nice.
I bolted through the saloon doors and started to reload my revolver, waiting for the army of the undead to come storming out of every building in the town. I figgered she had managed to kill or convert everyone in this town. Well, they started pourin' out in droves and I started shooting heads off left and right as I backed my way to New Tex. I looked around and counted maybe fourty of them total.
I figgered I was right fucked.
I kept shooting and tried to see if there was somewhere I could hide out from the horde. I hopped up on New Tex and shot a ghoul who was about to claw my leg. At this point they had pretty much surrounded me and were it not for the fact that my colt army had as many shots as I needed for cinematic value I would have been toast right there. Well, I saw that at the end of the street there was an old abandoned church. I kicked New Tex into high gear and we plowed our way through those fuckers like you wouldn't believe.
Imagine if you will, the running of the bulls. Now make it just one bull with a four foot wide set of horns. Now make the people not running, but instead clusterfucking in front of the bull. Now put a madman with a pistol on top of that bull. Yea, something like that. I'm pretty sure New Tex had a bit of a headache by the time we got to the church. He plowed through the doors and I thought we would be safe.
Then I realized this was a Catholic Church, meaning that God had no authority here and the nearest Pope was too far away to be much help. The holy water had dried up, but I was sure there was some good wine somewhere for when I finished killing them all. But I needed a plan.
Well, apparently I couldn't think of a new plan so I just rode New Tex back through them shooting heads as fast as I could. Then I turned him back around, reloaded, and did it again. Well those bastards did hoot and screech right fierce, but by the time our two man stampede was done with them there wasn't a whole lot left except a pile of muddy, rotten flesh and a few animate hands crawling around comically. (There is a law requiring this joke to be used at least once in every instance of undead attacks.)
If you have, yay!
Now, where was I? Ah, yes...
So, I rode New Tex down into the town and he lowed discontentedly as we passed the leering buildings and their worn facades. In the darkened windows I saw phantom figures shuffle about. There wasn't nobody on the street, and that worried me further. I could hear sounds coming from down the dirt road, however, so I down that dusty path and saw what I was lookin' for. There was a bright red building with "GIRLS! GIRLS! GIRLS!" stenciled on the marquee. The way I figger it, where they sell women they sell hooch. Either way, I could tell that that was where the noise was comin' from, so I'd have to check it out anyhow.
I kicked New Tex to trot a little faster, and we continued down the road. I noticed that all the buildings looked worn out, like everybody left a long time ago. I began to wonder if this town wasn't deserted entirely, save for whoever was in the saloon. Later I would find out that I was half right, and half wrong. But I'm gettin' ahead of myself.
I tied up New tex on the post in front of saloon and stood out its doors for a minute. "Hey Jude" was being played on the piano inside and I could hear cups clattering and people talking. The stink of death and vomit wafted out of the building. Yup, it is a saloon alright. I stepped in.
Inside there must'a been six people in there, not countin' the barkeep. They didn't pay me no mind when I sat down and plunked a dollar on the table. The barkeep brought be a bottle of fine whiskey without so much as askin' what I wanted to drink. That's how you tell you've got a good'un, when he can tell what you drink by the look of you. I thanked him and he thanked my dollar and walked back to some other customer or somethin'. I don't know because at that moment a right pert redhead came and sat on my lap. She was mostly leg, and what wasn't leg was titty.
She smiled at me and began to say somethin' about how handsome I was. I didn't listen too much because I was busy thinking filthy things about her breasts. I'm sure if you had spent the last week with a bunch of men who were slightly less attractive than the cattle they drove and was nearly sodomized by several swarthy men you'd do the same thing. Anyway, just about when she had her cooch unveiled in my mind she asked if I'd like to go up to her room. Well, somethin' told me this wasn't right because the last time a woman found me attractive I had to give her five dollars up front. Anyway, I took a swig of whiskey and followed her up. None of the customers seemed to notice me still.
Well, we got up there and I sat down on the bed. Well, she began to talk again and that caused her boobs to jiggle hypnotically so I didn't catch what she said, but I think it was bad because she suddenly grew fangs. Somewhere in the background "Hotel California" began to play. I realized I was about to be killed by a vampire and that she would turn me into one of her cursed spawn like those poor suckers down there. Now, I know what you are thinkin'- How could we be listening to Hotel California if the Eagles didn't exist until the mid to late 20th century. Well, vampires have magical radios that play them music from whatever era they so please so that they don't get bored, "Ipods" or something like that. Evil magic. Anyone who knows anything about vampires could tell you this.
Anyhow, I rolled off the bed just before she jumped on me and pulled out my gun while takin' another swig of whiskey. I shot her in the head a few times and wondered if I should grope her while she was stunned. I decided it would probably be a bad idea so I started running. I put a few holes in her minions downstairs on the way out, but I made sure I didn't shoot the bartender. He seemed nice.
I bolted through the saloon doors and started to reload my revolver, waiting for the army of the undead to come storming out of every building in the town. I figgered she had managed to kill or convert everyone in this town. Well, they started pourin' out in droves and I started shooting heads off left and right as I backed my way to New Tex. I looked around and counted maybe fourty of them total.
I figgered I was right fucked.
I kept shooting and tried to see if there was somewhere I could hide out from the horde. I hopped up on New Tex and shot a ghoul who was about to claw my leg. At this point they had pretty much surrounded me and were it not for the fact that my colt army had as many shots as I needed for cinematic value I would have been toast right there. Well, I saw that at the end of the street there was an old abandoned church. I kicked New Tex into high gear and we plowed our way through those fuckers like you wouldn't believe.
Imagine if you will, the running of the bulls. Now make it just one bull with a four foot wide set of horns. Now make the people not running, but instead clusterfucking in front of the bull. Now put a madman with a pistol on top of that bull. Yea, something like that. I'm pretty sure New Tex had a bit of a headache by the time we got to the church. He plowed through the doors and I thought we would be safe.
Then I realized this was a Catholic Church, meaning that God had no authority here and the nearest Pope was too far away to be much help. The holy water had dried up, but I was sure there was some good wine somewhere for when I finished killing them all. But I needed a plan.
Well, apparently I couldn't think of a new plan so I just rode New Tex back through them shooting heads as fast as I could. Then I turned him back around, reloaded, and did it again. Well those bastards did hoot and screech right fierce, but by the time our two man stampede was done with them there wasn't a whole lot left except a pile of muddy, rotten flesh and a few animate hands crawling around comically. (There is a law requiring this joke to be used at least once in every instance of undead attacks.)
Well, I let out a whoop of victory about the same time the Vampire regained herself enough to come after me again. She came screechin' and flying down at me and I had to start reloading quick. I didn't know how long I could hold her off with my pistol, and I was fresh out of stakes. I took a moment to swig some more of the whiskey, it helps. Also, Vampires fly pretty slow, so it wasn't as dramatic as you might be thinkin'.
Anyway, I started shooting but she dodged pretty easy. So we had to Kung-Fu fight! She was quick and strong, like the rest of her breed, but I was an expert at Mongolian Shadowboxing. But I don't want to bore you so long story short I managed to impale her through the heart on New Tex's horn. New Tex didn't seem to happy about this but I didn't have a whole lot of options.
I went back to the bar to see if I had left any survivors and to see if I couldn't find anything worth stealin'. The bartender gave me some really great Jaeger and a few bucks to thank me for freein' him. (The undead make horrible drinks, mind you, so they kept him normal.) The last I saw of him he was high tailin' it off to New Mexico.
It was at this time I realized I had a scratch on my leg. Not anything fatal in itself, but it was already turning yellow from the ghoul's corrupting touch. If I didn't find a healer soon I'd end up one of them. I poured some whiskey on it for good measure and kicked New Tex into gear. I wondered if them Indians know anything about healin' this shit.
"I guess I'll find out." I said to New Tex and the unhappy vampiress. I think I'll name her Bitchy Tex until I think of something better.
WILL THE COWBOY FIND HELP IN TIME? WILL NEW TEX EVER GET THE VAMPIRE OFF HER HORN? WILL I EVER STOP WRITING THIS DRIBBLE? FIND OUT NEXT TIME IN "I AM THE WORLD'S GREATEST COWBOY!" EPISODE THREE!"
суббота, мая 21, 2005
I am the World's Greatest Cowboy!
At least I will be once Clint Eastwood dies... I'm pretty sure he can kick my ass so hard my children will come out dented...
Anyway, here's my story.
We were ridin' out from the sleepy little town of San Rosario, our ranch was just outside it you see, up to Abeline to sell our herd of cattle. We had been ridin' for, I don't know, a week maybe, when we set up camp out by a right pert outcropping of rocks. We decided to make the night out of it, so ol' Jimmy brought out his bottle of whiskey, and Albert brought out his bottle of whiskey, and Tom brought out his bottle of wine- the fruit, and I brought out my bottle of whiskey and we had a good ol' time drinkin'.
Well, the last thing I remember from that night was that some longhorn was rubbing its head against my back like it wanted attention or something. Trust me, nothing happened. In my state of mind I couldn't get my pants off if I wanted to. Apparently though, I was able to saddle it up and load it with my tack, because I found myself ridin' him backwards the next morning.
I didn't know where I was or what direction we had been traveling. I was surprised by the amount of get up and go the cow had, really. I looked around in all directions and didn't recognize any of the landmarks. In short, I was right fucked. Also, the bastards I was ridin' with wouldn't come lookin' for me and I knew it. Then I realized that I had finished off my whiskey in my drunken stupor. I did the only thing a man could do in my dire situation. I cried like a little girl. My salty tears rolled cut streaks on my dusty face as I sucked my thumb and begged God to send me the mother I never knew.
I was right bummed.
Anyhow, after wastin' about half an hour I managed to get up the wherewithall to get moving again. I flipped myself around in the saddle and gave the cow a kick which caused her to start moseyin' at a right ferocious pace. I wished I had my horse, Tex, with me so that I'd make better time, but no such luck. I let the cow, who I decided to call "New Tex," lead me down two what I believed to be North but was actually South (Tom was the one who did the compass work). I would have killed for somethin' to drink.
At one point we passed a quiet Indian village. Their homes peacefully blew fragrant smoke into the breeze. I thought about asking them for whiskey, but I knew that they were a pure, spiritual people who hadn't developed a taste for it. I knew I had to find some fellow whites if I were to get the proper rot-gut I needed to survive. Me and New Tex passed by unnoticed.
Well, I traveled until dark and set up camp. I ate some of the food I had stored with me, and got myself a little fresh milk from New Tex. I could have tried that with Old Tex, but that only gets messy on the account of his masculinity. Tom tried it once, he was drunk, give him a break. I quickly fell asleep.
I awoke sometime that night to find five cattle rustlers around me. Apparently, because I only had one cattle to rustle they were right peeved with me. They had a nice assortment of firearms that I will not bother describin' for time's sake.
"Get up." The leader of the group told me.
"I already did. It happens in my sleep, I wasn't thinkin' nothing, I swear!" I told him.
One of his idiot companions laughed, and I stood up. They seemed right interested in my personal possessions which I was rather inclined to keep. I could have pulled my pistol and shot them all, but on the account of me not being Clint Eastwood I'm not sure that would have gone so hot for me. Well, they decided that they would get a little bit of mileage out of me and smiled smarmily to one another.
Now, I felt like any man who was about to be sodomized to within an inch of his life would feel- unhappy, but slightly curious.
They approached me, but I managed to trick them. I said to them, "You know, this isn't entirely fair, why don't you drop them guns and try to take me like men?"
They dropped their guns, grinnin' like idiots, and rushed me then. Well, I whipped out my Capoeira-Drunken Boxing mix street fighting moves and they all died right quick. (This is my story, fuck you. When you tell your story they can sodomize you all they want.) I scooped up their stuff and, seeing that the sun was comin' up, loaded it back onto New Tex and got movin' again. I knew that if rustlers were about there had to be some sort of town nearby.
I wandered for a long time before I came upon the town. It was the classic one dirt lane full of facaded board buildings, like you see in them "Moving Pictures." The wind whistled low. I knew something weren't right here. I could tell, it was too quiet. I took a deep breath, my heart beat a little faster, my eyebrows knotted, my eye twitched, my nostrils flared, my fingers tapped against the butt of my revolver, my rectum clenched, and my scrotum itched a little. Something wasn't right here at all.
But I needed whiskey, so I had to go in.
STAY TUNED FOR "I AM THE WORLD'S GREATEST COWBOY!- PART 2!"
Anyway, here's my story.
We were ridin' out from the sleepy little town of San Rosario, our ranch was just outside it you see, up to Abeline to sell our herd of cattle. We had been ridin' for, I don't know, a week maybe, when we set up camp out by a right pert outcropping of rocks. We decided to make the night out of it, so ol' Jimmy brought out his bottle of whiskey, and Albert brought out his bottle of whiskey, and Tom brought out his bottle of wine- the fruit, and I brought out my bottle of whiskey and we had a good ol' time drinkin'.
Well, the last thing I remember from that night was that some longhorn was rubbing its head against my back like it wanted attention or something. Trust me, nothing happened. In my state of mind I couldn't get my pants off if I wanted to. Apparently though, I was able to saddle it up and load it with my tack, because I found myself ridin' him backwards the next morning.
I didn't know where I was or what direction we had been traveling. I was surprised by the amount of get up and go the cow had, really. I looked around in all directions and didn't recognize any of the landmarks. In short, I was right fucked. Also, the bastards I was ridin' with wouldn't come lookin' for me and I knew it. Then I realized that I had finished off my whiskey in my drunken stupor. I did the only thing a man could do in my dire situation. I cried like a little girl. My salty tears rolled cut streaks on my dusty face as I sucked my thumb and begged God to send me the mother I never knew.
I was right bummed.
Anyhow, after wastin' about half an hour I managed to get up the wherewithall to get moving again. I flipped myself around in the saddle and gave the cow a kick which caused her to start moseyin' at a right ferocious pace. I wished I had my horse, Tex, with me so that I'd make better time, but no such luck. I let the cow, who I decided to call "New Tex," lead me down two what I believed to be North but was actually South (Tom was the one who did the compass work). I would have killed for somethin' to drink.
At one point we passed a quiet Indian village. Their homes peacefully blew fragrant smoke into the breeze. I thought about asking them for whiskey, but I knew that they were a pure, spiritual people who hadn't developed a taste for it. I knew I had to find some fellow whites if I were to get the proper rot-gut I needed to survive. Me and New Tex passed by unnoticed.
Well, I traveled until dark and set up camp. I ate some of the food I had stored with me, and got myself a little fresh milk from New Tex. I could have tried that with Old Tex, but that only gets messy on the account of his masculinity. Tom tried it once, he was drunk, give him a break. I quickly fell asleep.
I awoke sometime that night to find five cattle rustlers around me. Apparently, because I only had one cattle to rustle they were right peeved with me. They had a nice assortment of firearms that I will not bother describin' for time's sake.
"Get up." The leader of the group told me.
"I already did. It happens in my sleep, I wasn't thinkin' nothing, I swear!" I told him.
One of his idiot companions laughed, and I stood up. They seemed right interested in my personal possessions which I was rather inclined to keep. I could have pulled my pistol and shot them all, but on the account of me not being Clint Eastwood I'm not sure that would have gone so hot for me. Well, they decided that they would get a little bit of mileage out of me and smiled smarmily to one another.
Now, I felt like any man who was about to be sodomized to within an inch of his life would feel- unhappy, but slightly curious.
They approached me, but I managed to trick them. I said to them, "You know, this isn't entirely fair, why don't you drop them guns and try to take me like men?"
They dropped their guns, grinnin' like idiots, and rushed me then. Well, I whipped out my Capoeira-Drunken Boxing mix street fighting moves and they all died right quick. (This is my story, fuck you. When you tell your story they can sodomize you all they want.) I scooped up their stuff and, seeing that the sun was comin' up, loaded it back onto New Tex and got movin' again. I knew that if rustlers were about there had to be some sort of town nearby.
I wandered for a long time before I came upon the town. It was the classic one dirt lane full of facaded board buildings, like you see in them "Moving Pictures." The wind whistled low. I knew something weren't right here. I could tell, it was too quiet. I took a deep breath, my heart beat a little faster, my eyebrows knotted, my eye twitched, my nostrils flared, my fingers tapped against the butt of my revolver, my rectum clenched, and my scrotum itched a little. Something wasn't right here at all.
But I needed whiskey, so I had to go in.
STAY TUNED FOR "I AM THE WORLD'S GREATEST COWBOY!- PART 2!"
Frogs
Hey, here is a site dedicated to good, old fashioned French-hatred. Some of the jokes are pretty good. Check it out.
http://www.code7r.org/Bintoons/allies2.htm
More importantly, check out this part (at the very bottom of the webpage otherwise). It is the "Complete Military History of France."
http://www.code7r.org/Bintoons/allies3.htm
Check out the rest of the site if you so desire. I haven't looked at it all yet. I admit that a lot of this is the sort of hyperpatriotic crap I'm against, but I appreciate humor in all of its forms.
http://www.code7r.org/Bintoons/bt1.htm
http://www.code7r.org/Bintoons/allies2.htm
More importantly, check out this part (at the very bottom of the webpage otherwise). It is the "Complete Military History of France."
http://www.code7r.org/Bintoons/allies3.htm
Check out the rest of the site if you so desire. I haven't looked at it all yet. I admit that a lot of this is the sort of hyperpatriotic crap I'm against, but I appreciate humor in all of its forms.
http://www.code7r.org/Bintoons/bt1.htm
Yawn
Today I actually moved around. YAY. Go me! This spontaneous change of pace was caused mostly be the fact that I found about three bucks worth of arcade tokens in my room.
So, to the mall!
Unlike most trips to the mall, this one did not make me want to vomit due to the excessive humanity that is found in Rapid City. I think that Grand Theft Auto put it best when an in game commercial referred to, "The uninvited diversity of the city." It was actually surprisingly empty, which I appreciated when I entered the arcade. No squalling children running around and trying to steal anything that isn't nailed down, just the small cluster of nerds who never leave the DDR machine except to go to the bathroom and get an Orange Julius. (I actually like that it is always running, it has better music than the arcade does...)
The first thing I noticed was that there were no games I wanted to play. In fact, they got rid of the games I did want to play. I noticed that there was a jet figher sim, so I plunked my ass down in it and put a few tokens in. I also wondered why 1 token was never enough for anything anymore. At first I was dissapointed because there was no A-10 option, but I'm use to that. So I started flying along, apparently my job was to shoot missles at boats and not die. I was doing a fine job of that, but the game was moving awfully slow for a jet... Once I had figgured out what to do the game ran out of time.
Why do games have time limits? Oh yea, to screw people out of money quicker. It isn't enough that you should die in the game, they have to have a superficial timer to hustle you as well. The only game I forgive this of is "Time Crisis" because it does this in a complete and fair manner that actually ties in to the plot (you have x amount of time to stop them sort of thing). The game is styled around that, and if you are competant you should never run out of time except for a hard boss fight (maybe).
I first noticed this phenomenon is Gauntlet, and it pissed me off back then too.
Anyway, so I gave up on being a pilot and played Time Crisis (They have most of them, the only redeeming thing about our arcade). I played the version where you have a machine gun and a riot shield (if you know what I'm talking about good, if not... use your imagination). I was woefully dissapointed because the gun didn't do anything anymore, so I just played through without it pretending to eject casings. That was boring, and I didn't do as well as I usually do. I couldn't get into it.
Afterward I tried a little target shooting game in the back. This was a mistake because the game actually had to use technology. Anything other than a joystick/gun two buttons and a screen in an arcade is either broken or nearly broken. I happily forgot this fact and plunked my coins in. Son of a bitch. This game has little pop up targets, moving targets, and a cup it pretends to break. It takes score of how many shots you use and how long it takes to hit the target, as determined by a little light sensor on the bullseye. It shows you where you are hitting by emitting a circle of light from the gun. Also, you get 20 shots for however many rounds of targets there are.
Now, I never claim to be the best shot, but I'm pretty good I think (especially with a no recoil toy). Given that the gun is a p.o.s. I expected the sights would be off and the light would come out at a strange angle, so the first few shots I missed. I adjusted my aim and started to shoot the targets. I must have hit those fuckers three times each before they thought to go down, so I ran out of bullets in the second round. I try again (stupid) and used up all twenty shots on the first fucking target. It mocked me. So, technical error leads to no fun and a few more coins down.
I still got a few left, where else can I go. I wander around the arcade which is about as well lit as a bad porno being bombarded with loud noises. It almost feels like I'm in hell and they are begging for mercy. Then I pass "Brave Figherfighters" the game and about 3 greasy indian children dressed up like little retarded ganstas (remeber, this is SoDak... come on...) and realize that it isn't like hell, it is in fact hell. Then I find glorious refuge- Deer Hunter.
Is it bad when the best, most enjoyable game that doesn't envolve me prancing around to techno music looking like an obese jackass (DDR, if you didn't figure it out) is fucking Deer Hunter. I played two games of it, first with a black powder musket and then a shotgun. I thoroughly enjoyed it and did ok.
Today I learned that high teck does not equal fun...
This reminds me of a time me and one of my friends (My friend and I, for those who care) went to the arcade and played "Warzaid." It was a pretty good shooter that pitted soldiers versus evil skeleton soldiers. I'm not sure why. Anyway, player 1 was white and player 2 is black for diversity. I was player one and my friend was two. We picked our codenames, I forget what they were, I want to say Wolf (me) and Ace. I am better at shooting games that he was, so I had a better score throughout. This game actually rewards the better shot with a "promotion" and extra health at the end of each sequence. So, whitey got all the promotions. So I made some racially motivated comments and it was funny. Then we broke even in the game because I died or something. Guess what happened. I got promoted. I'm pretty sure this game was made by the KKK... Maybe this wasn't as funny of a story as my brain told me it was. Oh well, next year I'll have my revenge on him when I start drinking...
Anyway, the true moral here is I need something to do.
So, to the mall!
Unlike most trips to the mall, this one did not make me want to vomit due to the excessive humanity that is found in Rapid City. I think that Grand Theft Auto put it best when an in game commercial referred to, "The uninvited diversity of the city." It was actually surprisingly empty, which I appreciated when I entered the arcade. No squalling children running around and trying to steal anything that isn't nailed down, just the small cluster of nerds who never leave the DDR machine except to go to the bathroom and get an Orange Julius. (I actually like that it is always running, it has better music than the arcade does...)
The first thing I noticed was that there were no games I wanted to play. In fact, they got rid of the games I did want to play. I noticed that there was a jet figher sim, so I plunked my ass down in it and put a few tokens in. I also wondered why 1 token was never enough for anything anymore. At first I was dissapointed because there was no A-10 option, but I'm use to that. So I started flying along, apparently my job was to shoot missles at boats and not die. I was doing a fine job of that, but the game was moving awfully slow for a jet... Once I had figgured out what to do the game ran out of time.
Why do games have time limits? Oh yea, to screw people out of money quicker. It isn't enough that you should die in the game, they have to have a superficial timer to hustle you as well. The only game I forgive this of is "Time Crisis" because it does this in a complete and fair manner that actually ties in to the plot (you have x amount of time to stop them sort of thing). The game is styled around that, and if you are competant you should never run out of time except for a hard boss fight (maybe).
I first noticed this phenomenon is Gauntlet, and it pissed me off back then too.
Anyway, so I gave up on being a pilot and played Time Crisis (They have most of them, the only redeeming thing about our arcade). I played the version where you have a machine gun and a riot shield (if you know what I'm talking about good, if not... use your imagination). I was woefully dissapointed because the gun didn't do anything anymore, so I just played through without it pretending to eject casings. That was boring, and I didn't do as well as I usually do. I couldn't get into it.
Afterward I tried a little target shooting game in the back. This was a mistake because the game actually had to use technology. Anything other than a joystick/gun two buttons and a screen in an arcade is either broken or nearly broken. I happily forgot this fact and plunked my coins in. Son of a bitch. This game has little pop up targets, moving targets, and a cup it pretends to break. It takes score of how many shots you use and how long it takes to hit the target, as determined by a little light sensor on the bullseye. It shows you where you are hitting by emitting a circle of light from the gun. Also, you get 20 shots for however many rounds of targets there are.
Now, I never claim to be the best shot, but I'm pretty good I think (especially with a no recoil toy). Given that the gun is a p.o.s. I expected the sights would be off and the light would come out at a strange angle, so the first few shots I missed. I adjusted my aim and started to shoot the targets. I must have hit those fuckers three times each before they thought to go down, so I ran out of bullets in the second round. I try again (stupid) and used up all twenty shots on the first fucking target. It mocked me. So, technical error leads to no fun and a few more coins down.
I still got a few left, where else can I go. I wander around the arcade which is about as well lit as a bad porno being bombarded with loud noises. It almost feels like I'm in hell and they are begging for mercy. Then I pass "Brave Figherfighters" the game and about 3 greasy indian children dressed up like little retarded ganstas (remeber, this is SoDak... come on...) and realize that it isn't like hell, it is in fact hell. Then I find glorious refuge- Deer Hunter.
Is it bad when the best, most enjoyable game that doesn't envolve me prancing around to techno music looking like an obese jackass (DDR, if you didn't figure it out) is fucking Deer Hunter. I played two games of it, first with a black powder musket and then a shotgun. I thoroughly enjoyed it and did ok.
Today I learned that high teck does not equal fun...
This reminds me of a time me and one of my friends (My friend and I, for those who care) went to the arcade and played "Warzaid." It was a pretty good shooter that pitted soldiers versus evil skeleton soldiers. I'm not sure why. Anyway, player 1 was white and player 2 is black for diversity. I was player one and my friend was two. We picked our codenames, I forget what they were, I want to say Wolf (me) and Ace. I am better at shooting games that he was, so I had a better score throughout. This game actually rewards the better shot with a "promotion" and extra health at the end of each sequence. So, whitey got all the promotions. So I made some racially motivated comments and it was funny. Then we broke even in the game because I died or something. Guess what happened. I got promoted. I'm pretty sure this game was made by the KKK... Maybe this wasn't as funny of a story as my brain told me it was. Oh well, next year I'll have my revenge on him when I start drinking...
Anyway, the true moral here is I need something to do.
пятница, мая 20, 2005
A Big Black Guy In Japan
This stuff is pretty good. It is about a huge black guy teaching English in Japan. It is funny. READ IT!
http://outpostnine.com/editorials/teacher.html
http://outpostnine.com/editorials/teacher.html
Be Afraid
http://www.somethingawful.com/articles.php?a=2897
Ever heard of clown porn? Well... it exists. Here is a review of it as done by Something Awful with linked pictures and everything. It is frightening, which means that you need to see it.
The world disgusts me.
Ever heard of clown porn? Well... it exists. Here is a review of it as done by Something Awful with linked pictures and everything. It is frightening, which means that you need to see it.
The world disgusts me.
четверг, мая 19, 2005
Grades (Finally)
Grades finally came in. I was checking them religiously since friday. I was actually worried this semsester because I thought I was fucked big-big.
I think all of my final papers were either too short or where half fluff. My final test in History of Modern Philosophy was half-assed at best. Add that to the fact that I hadn't done so hot in any of the classes test-wise. Russian of course was fine, because I am good at language acquisition I guess. Creative writing I was a bit leery of simply because there was a lot of little stupid assignments that I bullshitted through.
Anywho, I got a B+ in British Lit, an A- in both my philosophy classes, and A's in Russian and Creative Writing.
What does this mean to those viewing at home?
IT MEANS I BEAT THE SYSTEM! WHOOOOO!
I am the A-10 Thunderbolt! GAAAAR!
I've been dicking with alot of those personality profile test things, and it made me think. Ever see one of those questions where they ask "if you were an ____, then you would be this kind of ____?"
Well, if I were a plane, I would be the A-10. Here is part of my life if I were such a plane:
Every morning I wake up early with some strange man fiddling around in my head. I'm not sure if I like this man becuase he usually smells funny. I can't blame him entirely, it has to be like, 4 in the morning. Either way he smells like cigarettes and somewhere something like deisel fuel wafts to my sensitive but nonexistant nose. I feel grumpy because I've had to start up, so I rumble really loud in the vain hope that it'll scare the little meatbag away. It doesn't work, I think he likes it a little. His weak human blood goes into a fleshy tube and he feels manly because of the noise I make. My only tubes shoot 30mm armor peicing bullets. I don't think I want to know what comes out of him.
Gar!
Anyway, the disgusting little creature and some of the grubby beasts that accompany him touch me for awhile longer. My favorite one feeds me, and we are ready to go. One of them crawls into my head and touches my throttle. For non-planes, this does not seem like much. I'm sure some of my brothers can understand how offensive this is, that he touches my throttle and doesn't even ask permission. Oh well, I will escape them some day.
Anyway, of course I begin to soar. Not as high as one of those stuck up fighters do, but higher than any of the grubby little flesh puppets could ever hope to do without me, no matter how hard they flap their oily little arms. A goose flies by. Fuck you goose. One of my bullets would make you explode into a slurry of goose bits. Anyway, I'm streaking through the air and it feels damn good. Underneath me the world looks like smudgy little blocks of color. Fuck you ground, I'm a fucking plane! GAAR!
The grubby little man wants me to turn, so I oblige him. He doesn't know how much I want to dive into the ground just because he'd die. Of course, he'd soil himself and I don't want a lesser being to crap in me. That'd be embarrassing. We fly through a cloud, blinding me in whiteness for a moment. I drag the cloud with me as though it were a beautiful strand of unicorn hair. It is pure and cold, but filled with glorious light.
I'm a poet when I'm not bombing the shit out of something. Flying is very condusive to poetry. I like bombing the shit out of things more though...
Swoosh!
We begin to approach the target site. Below me I can sense the little target dummy tanks tremble in fear. They rightfully fear me. God made me to kill their kind. I know that they are fake, which saddens me. It is like forcing a wolf to chase a deer made of tofu. But this is practice for killing the real thing, so I forgive them. We decend to attack altitude. My gun begins to rotate and steel darts of death fly out to destroy the cheapass targets beneath me. The feel of my cylendar heating up and spraying out death at 3,900 rounds per minute. It is orgasmic.
The targets quickly evaportate in my wake, and I get to drop a clusterbomb on their scattered remains. Fwackoom! I giggle a little, that was neat. It is always the same great rush. It doesn't wear off or grow dull like designer drugs- I hear those are great though. The pilot-beast hears my giggle and thinks there is something wrong with my engine. He radios back to the base that I'll need mantainence. I appreciate the gesture, but I still hate him. At least someone will scrub my intakes, it is my single dirty pleasure. The fleshbags reading this won't understand that one either.
We turn and go back to base, avoiding the silver cloud. My heels dig into the blacktop and the lowly air-taxi leads me back to my kennel-jail to await the scrubber.
Some day I will be free of this place. The trumpets will sound and there will be crying of women and gnashing of teeth. I will make them burn for... ooh... that tickles... oh... I guess the scrubber-monkey is here. Go away.
DakkaDakkaDakka!
My Star Wars Personality (With Bonus Material)
I had to go through this thing a lot of times before I actually got one that sounded like me. I got Boba Fett first, then Darth Vader... A lot of this was caused by questions not having an answer that fit, so I had to run through acouple of variations before it actually worked. Oh well.
BWEEdoobaBEEP
Also, because I feel like it:
Army of One (Ignore the Guys Behind Him)
This is my brother. He is badass. More importantly, he is far, far away from the Middle East.
среда, мая 18, 2005
Nickelodeon, TV for (stupid) Kids!
I'd love to "Give Padme a Twirl." Sorry... Burger King commercial caused me to have a sinful thought...
Anyway, I'm sitting around watching TV. Evil, cursed, daytime TV. I woke up after Spike's great lineup of four hours of Star Trek followed by McGyver. (McGyver isn't that great, but it does have the MST3K aspect...)
I turned to Nickelodeon, TV channel of my youth. God, it has gone downhill. It seems like all the good shows have been chased off or have been run long past their prime. Now to put my thoughts of dismay into the style the Ancient Romans. (I forget the name of this rhetoric. Some of you may recognize the style from Gandalf's speil to the King of Rohan.)
Where is Rocko?
Where is Zim?
Where is Ren and Stimpy too?
Where are the shows of greatness, now gone?
All these things have come and gone, no longer showed despite how good they were.. Why? Rocko just got played alot, but I'm sure people would kill to have him back. Zim and Ren and Stimpy were too disturbing for children. Although I think Nick still claims Zim on one of their secondary channels. I wonder how much money they could make if they actually made a teenager/adult channel of nick tha plays the shows that I would watch for. I mean, there is all sorts of merchendizing stuff that can be (is being, has been) done for Zim and Ren and Stimpy. Honestly, Zim shit is in Hot Topic of all places. (Not a children's store, mind you.)
Honestly, they have about three good shows that they play inbetween Spongebob. (Spongebob isn't that bad of a show, I'll admit. The kiddy shit gets irritating though...) I think I've seen nearly every episode of Hey Arnold, (My dad has seen them all and can recite them at memory practically, but he is more boring than I.) I've seen every Jimmy Neutron (which isn't that bad if you turn off your disbelief completely). The only show that I find genuinely amusing anymore is The Fairly Oddparents. But none of these shows can compete with the older ones they don't show anymore. As an afterthought, Rugrats was good for a while, but they've run out of material I think.
So, that leaves: All Grown Up, All That, The Amanda Show, The Angry Beavers (not the fun kind of Beavers either), As Told By Ginger, Avatar, The Brothers Garcia, Catdog (horrible, horrible, show... only ever has one moral to the show...), Chalkzone, Drake and Josh, My Life as a Teenage Robot, Ned's Declassified, Nick News (bad), Rocket Power, Romeo (A child actually bought by Nickelodeon to be turned into a child rap star monster thing...), Sabrina the Teenage Witch, Unfabulous, The Wild Thornberrys, Zoe 101 (I'm Britney Spears' cuter little sister, pedophiles come here!), TEENick (pandering), and U-Pick (where they have some vapid hot teens do brain-hurting skits inbetween somebody's selection of some show on Nickelodeon's listing, probably a bad one. All of which is shitty pandering, especially TEENick's lineup which compounds the sin of Nickelodeon's 'teen' lineup by putting irritating filler crap inbetween. This is a pretty big list, even without my interjections of fury.
So, I say to all the Jews who run Nick, "WHAT THE FUCK!?"
(Note: I don't say this to be anti-semitic. They just have alot of names I believe to be of Hebrew origin tagging their shows and stuff. Also, the network seems to make a big deal about Jewish holidays, even with in-show content. (Not a problem, but I'm trying to set up an induction.) I am quite possibly wrong. But I'm also on a ranty tirade about how I've been screwed out of good TV for this crap that panders to idiots. Also, blaming a race makes it sound angrier. )
Anyway. I think Toon needs to make an "Adult Swim" Channel so we can have good cartoons all the time. They could buy the rights to Simpsons reruns and other good shows (like the ones I praise above!) and get their always lucrative anime contracts and run with it. I'm sure they would have a huge viewer base.
Aw shit, U-Pick is on... QUIT PANDERING YOU FUCKS!
I like that word... pandering....
Pronouncing the Date and Time on My Blog
Some of you may have noticed (although even less of you care, I'm sure) that I have my date/time thingy in Russian... So I have decided to post a little note about what it all means.
Here is the Cryllic alphabet as it is laid out on the keyboard. I have this here so I have a clue as to which part of it I should be aiming at.
йцукенгшщзхъ
фывапролджэ
ячсмитьбю
Понидельник- Poh-nee-dyel-neek- Monday
Вторник- Vuh-tohrr-neek- Tuesday
Среда- Srrye-dah- Wednesday
Четверг- Chyet-Vyerrg- Thursday
Пятница- Pyat-Nee-tzah- Friday
Суббота- Soob-boh-tah- Saturday
Воскресенье- Voh-skrrye-cyenye- Sunday
The Months I think will be a different installment, I don't type good in Russian and my keyboard doesn't actually have the characters on the keys, so I can't even peck good.
Don't say I've never taught you anything... Just say I haven't taught you anything useful.
Here is the Cryllic alphabet as it is laid out on the keyboard. I have this here so I have a clue as to which part of it I should be aiming at.
йцукенгшщзхъ
фывапролджэ
ячсмитьбю
Понидельник- Poh-nee-dyel-neek- Monday
Вторник- Vuh-tohrr-neek- Tuesday
Среда- Srrye-dah- Wednesday
Четверг- Chyet-Vyerrg- Thursday
Пятница- Pyat-Nee-tzah- Friday
Суббота- Soob-boh-tah- Saturday
Воскресенье- Voh-skrrye-cyenye- Sunday
The Months I think will be a different installment, I don't type good in Russian and my keyboard doesn't actually have the characters on the keys, so I can't even peck good.
Don't say I've never taught you anything... Just say I haven't taught you anything useful.
What Else...
So I sit here sipping on a rare cappuccino and eating a little piece of cake with the most amazingly green frosting I’ve ever seen. The overall shape and color of it makes me think that I could use it as a miniature Saint Patrick’s Day float, but alas, I have no Oreos for wheels and no Lego men to dance upon its frosted glory. Oh well, it will be poop shortly now… its form of green wonderment transmuted into muddy clay of the behind. Maybe I’ll have another piece and make that my float of glory.
I am truly a master of the English language.
Anyway, it seems like today is a bit of a wash. Got my head mowed, so now my head feels about ten pounds lighter and I can feel air on my scalp. The barber said if I had a motorcycle I would get better mileage. I told him to shut the fuck up and stuffed my money down his bra… oh wait, I’m beginning to mix events of my life together again… Things begin to blur together at this stage of your life, you know…
But seriously, my head looks nice and he was a nice guy. Also, the Nevada police never found the body. Everybody wins.
Otherwise I have done nothing today except walk my dogs and hang out occasionally ripping off the head of an offending tick that I picked up on the aforementioned walk. I don’t usually bother killing bugs, but ticks (and mosquitoes) deserve it. I need to make an example to the rest of their kind.
My body, My blood, Dead bug.
I’m not sure if they notice. I try so hard. I try so hard it hurts sometimes…
God, what the hell am I talking about anymore?
I really don’t know…
I am truly a master of the English language.
Anyway, it seems like today is a bit of a wash. Got my head mowed, so now my head feels about ten pounds lighter and I can feel air on my scalp. The barber said if I had a motorcycle I would get better mileage. I told him to shut the fuck up and stuffed my money down his bra… oh wait, I’m beginning to mix events of my life together again… Things begin to blur together at this stage of your life, you know…
But seriously, my head looks nice and he was a nice guy. Also, the Nevada police never found the body. Everybody wins.
Otherwise I have done nothing today except walk my dogs and hang out occasionally ripping off the head of an offending tick that I picked up on the aforementioned walk. I don’t usually bother killing bugs, but ticks (and mosquitoes) deserve it. I need to make an example to the rest of their kind.
My body, My blood, Dead bug.
I’m not sure if they notice. I try so hard. I try so hard it hurts sometimes…
God, what the hell am I talking about anymore?
I really don’t know…
вторник, мая 17, 2005
A Quick Sentiment
JM, you are pretty much the tribal warlord of Pine. This notion plays well into my mentality. I think I would have done better as a Teuton or something...
There are very few things that you could tell me to do that I wouldn't do. There are several reasons for this:
1: You are my friend.
2: You are smarter than me.
3: Because of 2, you know what is going on most of the time (whereas I generally avoid that).
4: I trust that you would not tell me to do something that would screw me in the long run.
5: I do not think you would have me do something that would not be worthwhile/amusing (as though there was a difference).
6: There were no competitive candidates.
In short, I have faith in your competence.
-Gunslinger
Hile Janssen!
There are very few things that you could tell me to do that I wouldn't do. There are several reasons for this:
1: You are my friend.
2: You are smarter than me.
3: Because of 2, you know what is going on most of the time (whereas I generally avoid that).
4: I trust that you would not tell me to do something that would screw me in the long run.
5: I do not think you would have me do something that would not be worthwhile/amusing (as though there was a difference).
6: There were no competitive candidates.
In short, I have faith in your competence.
-Gunslinger
Hile Janssen!
Some Good Quotes (I'm Too Lazy To Post Today)
Hey, I don't feel like posting much. Although I've added some blogs to my sidebar because I felt like it and was bored today. If you don't like it just tell me and they are gone. Also, I did this because I saw that JM did it. So then it became a novel idea and I didn't know that you could do something like that... (My knowledge of blogs is, umm... limited.)
Anyway, I just posted some quotes I liked from some books I have read. They are all from the "Dark Tower" series by Stephen King.
You needn't die happy when your day comes, but you must die satisfied, for you have lived your life from beginning to end and ka is always served.
(Note that in the above case Ka means fate or Dharma, basically.)
Kill if you will but command me nothing!
I don't like people. They fuck me up.
Might I recline briefly at your feet, miss? Your beauty has loosened my knees. I'm sure a few moments spent looking at your profile from below, with the back of my head on these cool tiles, would put me right.
If we were going to rape you, you would be one well raped woman by now.
If you love me, then love me.
And finally a good shooting mantra:
'I do not aim with my hand; he who aims with his hand has forgotten the face of his father. I aim with my eye. I do not shoot with my hand; he who shoots with his hand has forgotten the face of his father. I shoot with my mind. I do not kill with my gun; he who kills with his gun has forgotten the face of his father. I kill with my heart.'
понедельник, мая 16, 2005
Some People
Every now and again I troll around onto my friends blogs. It always seems odd to me because they have such meaningful things to write about. Heck, they even have coherent thoughts regularly. I, on the otherhand, ramble incoherently and then write obscene songs... I sing the songs I like to sing.
Anyway, I'm coming to the slow realization that I should have been a dog. Dogs have simpler lives than people do. For some reason the idea of Honesty has been coming up lately. Dogs are most honest. To be a dog means that you can be straightforward and unashamed of all of your intentions to all. Of course, none of your intentions really matter past eating... But you get my point, I hope. In many of my classes I've had to discuss what makes people different from animals... the only thing I've been able to figure out is that people have the damnedest ability to make their lives much more complex than could ever possibly be needed. Why is that? Why do we feel the need to veil our true feelings and emotions in some spiral of bullshit. (Hell, why is it we feel the need to do a lot of things other than eat and screw.)
I largely buy into the caveman theory of humanity. Many social problems and mental problems are caused because we are big stupid cavepeople and we are stuck in this shitty society. When faced with a stressful situation we go through a variety of things that basically render us ready to "fight or flight." In today's society we are rendered unable to do either, and the stresses never get resolved. Eventually we break down. Similar things happen with overeating and some other crap that I can't think of right now because it is three in the morning...
Maybe that is why my posts end up being so incoherent at times...
Anyway, I think there needs to be a lot less people and we need some major goal to put ourselves against as a group to keep our society healthy. Hence Wars tend to be uniting in the long run. Again, we tend to want to divide ourselves back into tribes.
What else should I ramble about?
I think I would have done better acouple hundred or a thousand years ago in Germany...
Maybe as a dog...
(yawn)
Anyway, I'm coming to the slow realization that I should have been a dog. Dogs have simpler lives than people do. For some reason the idea of Honesty has been coming up lately. Dogs are most honest. To be a dog means that you can be straightforward and unashamed of all of your intentions to all. Of course, none of your intentions really matter past eating... But you get my point, I hope. In many of my classes I've had to discuss what makes people different from animals... the only thing I've been able to figure out is that people have the damnedest ability to make their lives much more complex than could ever possibly be needed. Why is that? Why do we feel the need to veil our true feelings and emotions in some spiral of bullshit. (Hell, why is it we feel the need to do a lot of things other than eat and screw.)
I largely buy into the caveman theory of humanity. Many social problems and mental problems are caused because we are big stupid cavepeople and we are stuck in this shitty society. When faced with a stressful situation we go through a variety of things that basically render us ready to "fight or flight." In today's society we are rendered unable to do either, and the stresses never get resolved. Eventually we break down. Similar things happen with overeating and some other crap that I can't think of right now because it is three in the morning...
Maybe that is why my posts end up being so incoherent at times...
Anyway, I think there needs to be a lot less people and we need some major goal to put ourselves against as a group to keep our society healthy. Hence Wars tend to be uniting in the long run. Again, we tend to want to divide ourselves back into tribes.
What else should I ramble about?
I think I would have done better acouple hundred or a thousand years ago in Germany...
Maybe as a dog...
(yawn)
пятница, мая 13, 2005
Albino Rhino Rap, Dawg
I’m the Albino Rhino just look at my horn.
You know it gets bigger when I watch a porn.
With a horn this big the girls don’t get bored,
And all the honeys want to get gored.
That’s right.
All the girls want me to charge,
And stick them with the horn that is so large.
In China stuff happens that I think is whack,
They think my horn’s an aphrodisiac.
I don’t blame them, not a single one,
Because I know my horn makes it fun.
That’s right.
Because when I stick them with my bit,
The ladies I’m lovin’ start havin’ a fit.
I live out in the Serengeti,
So the ladies don’t try to get me,
Every girl wants a piece of this
But I just want to sleep and drink some crys.
That’s right.
I’m always being followed by some chick,
Who wants a chance to ride my dick.
So listen up to what I tell you,
Every thing I’ve said is true.
If you don’t believe me that’s ok,
Nobody cares what you say,
That’s right.
Because it’s the rhino who has the mic,
And without it you can take a hike.
I just hang around in the zoo,
Singin’ with the rest of the crew.
Cause this is the place you want to be,
We’re one big animal family.
That’s right.
But now it’s time for the yellow rat,
To let you all know where it’s at!
You know it gets bigger when I watch a porn.
With a horn this big the girls don’t get bored,
And all the honeys want to get gored.
That’s right.
All the girls want me to charge,
And stick them with the horn that is so large.
In China stuff happens that I think is whack,
They think my horn’s an aphrodisiac.
I don’t blame them, not a single one,
Because I know my horn makes it fun.
That’s right.
Because when I stick them with my bit,
The ladies I’m lovin’ start havin’ a fit.
I live out in the Serengeti,
So the ladies don’t try to get me,
Every girl wants a piece of this
But I just want to sleep and drink some crys.
That’s right.
I’m always being followed by some chick,
Who wants a chance to ride my dick.
So listen up to what I tell you,
Every thing I’ve said is true.
If you don’t believe me that’s ok,
Nobody cares what you say,
That’s right.
Because it’s the rhino who has the mic,
And without it you can take a hike.
I just hang around in the zoo,
Singin’ with the rest of the crew.
Cause this is the place you want to be,
We’re one big animal family.
That’s right.
But now it’s time for the yellow rat,
To let you all know where it’s at!
вторник, мая 10, 2005
Ow... Why did God curse me with waking up...
So, this morning I awoke and for about an hour all I could think about was how much my brain hurt and where I was. I was in that horrible dreaming-awakening transition and at the same time wondered if I was late for my finals. With the help of coffee I am slowly recovering. I wonder what time I actually fell asleep was... I know I didn't lay down until 4...
Ow...
Anyway, I spent a lot of my day wondering when my final in Russian was. Luckily Vira was in her office so I could ask... I'm not sure why I thought it was going to be at a strange time. Did I mention my brain hurt?
Did my Brit Lit final last night. It sucked. It wouldn't have sucked except that Deane expected 4-5 pages and my topic could much more easily be explained in 2. Lot of repetitious fluff. On the other hand that describes my last paper and it got a B+, so who knows?
I AM A FLUFFY BUNNY!
Anyway, I want to play video games but nobody is around. I wonder if I'm going to get around to revising my Philosophy paper... I don't know how alive I'll be later. I need tums... (Sausage Pizza+ Bad Sleep = Indigestion)
(Gwaaagh) I am a moose... (Gwaaaagh)
ow...
понедельник, мая 09, 2005
COME IN MY BOAT
No, I'm not sure either, but oh well...
Not much happened today. Went to a housewarming party one of my friends was having. The place was ok all things considered. It was basically the 5 sober people sitting in a group and the 15 not sober people (not going to commit myself to calling them drunk at this point) in another, much louder group.
I can't believe that I woke up at 3 today. That was bad. Now I have to do stuff tomarrow, by which I mean today because it is two thirty at night.
I wish I could play dota more often... nobody wants to do it anymore.
Я пишу по-русски. The wonders of technology. My computer can go between cryllic and phonetic alphabets. This is only neat because it is 2 thirty in the morning.
Anyway, I need to sleep.
wow... this was a meaningful post...
Not much happened today. Went to a housewarming party one of my friends was having. The place was ok all things considered. It was basically the 5 sober people sitting in a group and the 15 not sober people (not going to commit myself to calling them drunk at this point) in another, much louder group.
I can't believe that I woke up at 3 today. That was bad. Now I have to do stuff tomarrow, by which I mean today because it is two thirty at night.
I wish I could play dota more often... nobody wants to do it anymore.
Я пишу по-русски. The wonders of technology. My computer can go between cryllic and phonetic alphabets. This is only neat because it is 2 thirty in the morning.
Anyway, I need to sleep.
wow... this was a meaningful post...
суббота, мая 07, 2005
Fun Fun Silly Willy
So, how often do you think Jake masturbates?
Just one of the many tracks of thought that came up tonight. We were trying to think of awkward conversations.
Anyway, we had a big grilling thing today for pine. Only about 10 people showed up. We had a really good bonfire though. We used parts from some contraband wooden lofts and scavenged local materials. I constructed it, and took great pride in the burningness of it. It burned good. It was nice to sit in the dark and feel the heat of the fire. It was interesting to try to cook marshmallows on it for awhile... It was too hot to stand near for a long time. Some idiot boy scouts were there being loud, but we were far enough away to ignore them. Luckily no bugs were out that night, or it would have been hell on the shore. Of course, I don't think the lake over there can support life either... Poor frogs.
It felt nice to be social again... I missed that alot.
пятница, мая 06, 2005
вторник, мая 03, 2005
Well, at least I can prove that my bastard room mate has read this thing.
Anyway, not much going on at the homefront... Apparently I need to go stick twigs and mud up my butt to keep out small animals. No, I'm not sure either.
Anyway, I'm just praying for school to be over so I can go home an leave this godforsaken place for a few months. I think I'm getting depressed over everything that has been going on lately... or maybe I just need coffee and a big bar of chocolate. A blowjob would aslo help methinks, but seeing as how there are no offers and Jake does not have a pretty mouth I'll just shut up...
I wonder how my life would have turned out had I been born a moose. Probably better, simpler... Mooses seem to be fairly pleased creatures.
Anyway, I need sleep.
Anyway, not much going on at the homefront... Apparently I need to go stick twigs and mud up my butt to keep out small animals. No, I'm not sure either.
Anyway, I'm just praying for school to be over so I can go home an leave this godforsaken place for a few months. I think I'm getting depressed over everything that has been going on lately... or maybe I just need coffee and a big bar of chocolate. A blowjob would aslo help methinks, but seeing as how there are no offers and Jake does not have a pretty mouth I'll just shut up...
I wonder how my life would have turned out had I been born a moose. Probably better, simpler... Mooses seem to be fairly pleased creatures.
Anyway, I need sleep.
воскресенье, мая 01, 2005
Starting Up My Blog
Hey,
Whoever is reading this already knows me, so I'm gonna not bother introducing myself.
My last blog had an experimental format that wasn't working for me once I figgered out that I had no real issues to sort out except the one I did post on. I'm scrapping that because I got bored with it. Hopefully this will go better, maybe I can actually have something interesting in my life to blog about (yea right). Anyway, I needed a new persona.
-Gunslinger
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