is the exact time at which your soul will escape you.
Once again, I danced upon the razor's edge, and managed to pull in just good enough grades to survive another term. Anyway, we've got a really big show planned for you tonight, because it's been a while, I haven't slept in two days, and as usual, there are things on this planet that piss me off, and what better way to hone the blade of my scimitar wit than to rend the stupidity of humanity?
I suppose writing something that made sense, had a point, a greater purpose, and was generally upbeat and heart lightening would be better, but hey; if you're reading this LJ, you know me better than that. I save all my positive thoughts for the live show.
Episode 92: Bias.
Ever notice how whenever there's some wonderful new product, or some better deal, and it's advertised on TV, the same two characters, played by different people of course, are always hocking it? The cast, for those who are still groping for meaning are:
• Stupid Dumb Fat White Man: Duh, I'm fat and stupid and spend too much money on inferior goods.
• Woman: I have bresticles and ovaries, so automatically I made the right choice and get to laugh at fatty.
Now, this is obviously a gross and generalized stereotype, but is it wrong? When was the last time SDFWM got the 'good' deal, while Sally Spanksalot paid too much for her muffler? That never happens.
Same thing happens when the product dual is between two women, except that when it's a chick fight that doesn't involve mud wresting (in which case everyone wins) it's the woman who's more the minority that has the proper product. Sometimes they have to go reaching...one will have amber eyes and the other will have mahogany eyes, so the latter gets New Hyper Ballbusting Palmolive that not only cuts tough grease on dishes, but if you sacrifice a goat and draw a hexagram on the bottle, when you pour it out it will form into a small sudsy ninja that will go all tiger-hand on everyone who made fun of you in high school.
Note that this does not apply to commercials with only guys. The statistics are, according to the figures I'm about to pull from my ass (hold on, I have to make sure I get the right grip), that minority status doesn't determine which of the combatants get the 'good' deal or product or free blow jobs for life from the pnumatic pipe clearing service. Rather, the winner will be determined by either greater hight, or straightness of teeth.
There, I just conqured advertisements.
Episode 93: Façade.
After a few glorious, mushroom-stamped-by-God weeks in the single, I'm now back in The Bunker as I was last year. They repainted the door frames and hall, but did nothing to the damage on the inside. In fact, the A/C grille appears to be trying to take gravity's advice on the whole 'fall to the floor' concept, and the water damaged fake wood might just let it free its mind.
This school is a tribute to the American perception of proper presentation. If you make it look good enough on the outside, it doesn't matter how rotten it is on the inside.
Will people ever realize that a modicum of discipline on the inside reflects on the outside, without having to put any extra effort into it; while the façade requires both construction and maintenance, and does nothing to quell the 'rumors' spawned by the distgruntled?
Yes, but only if you take 'people' to mean 'the 5% of humanity that is doomed to babysit the ones that Nature used to take care of with a sudden cold snap.'
Episode 94: Swap, Swap, Swap, Boom.
I guess I'll try to get some work on my program done this week. After three years of poking at it, I just want it to be done, but the problem is, to do so I have to code, and the coding is no longer fun. It can be...when I get on a roll and things work it's great, but I'm just tired of staring at it knowing that while I think I'm doing it right, it's going to be wrong, and I'll wind up stripping out 90% of the day's code and starting it over later. I just don't like the idea of it becoming the Duke Nukem That Never Was, Or Was It? that it has the potential to become. Besides, I'd like to play with that 3D puzzle game thing I was toying with.
Episode 95: Jesus Hole.
As a few of you may have noticed, Florida experienced some foul weather. Nothing major, shoved a couple trees down the stairs, and unfortunately, only two old fucks died, so medicare will breathe no sigh of relief. This did, however, mean that M&Ms are harder to find than normal. I wound up having to get Minis, because all they had were ones with nuts in them, and I'd rather not be killed by my candy, and those retarded new ones that suck.
So I choose to be hungry and extract the satchel from its plastic bag womb, only to be posed with what very well might be the most important question asked since "is this thing on?"
Pretty or swampy?! How am I to know? What am I, a mind reader? There was only one bag left...so whichever it is, it has to be the bad kind, or else the previous buyer would've snapped it up. Time to get thinkical.
The first thing we do is examine the serial number. "411B143" B has to be for Bad, and both numbers are odd, and contain a majority of odd digits. That's three in favor of Swampy.
Round two: I yelled at the bag and threw it toward the trash can. It landed on the rim, and fell in. Four for Swampy.
Round three: The M&Ms failed to sexually arouse my wall clock.
Sounds conclusive, time to release the evil...by C-section!
It's a girl!
I love how I'm always correct about everything.
Episode 96: Knocking? Perhaps You Need Some Premium Gas.
I hate how phaggots will continuously rap upon the door demanding access to the floor, when repeated use of my access card won't make the door obey. What infuriates me, however, is when they are 'friends' of 'people' who 'live' on the floor. First, I never signed off on their having human contact at all; but the deepest issue is this: these ambletory sacks of wasted carbon lack the sophistication and manners to meet their guests at the point of entry and escort them to their destination.
It is a generation of miscreants, and they're being allowed to vote.
Episode 97: What Yo' Sayin' Mayonnaise?!
Last night I sat down and translated a document. One that was supposedly written in English. Wer i to type my wrds lke tey wer n e passage i trnslated u wuld as i did bcome quite iratatd & surrender to ennui. "What the fuck is this shit?" I exclaimed when I saw it at first, but deep down I knew I dropped a comma..."What the fuck is this, shit?" Exactly where the hell did technology go wrong? The whole point of electronic communication is that it simplifies proper composition. You don't have to strain your arm pushing a pencil up and down a page to forge an 'a,' 'n,' and 'd' to conjoin your words. You merely tap three buttons, and there's a special button that makes wrong letters go away, where before you had to put your writing in the fridge so it won't spoil, drive to the store, buy an eraser, return, and grind away the error.
And yet, today, a time in history when mankind has never had to put less effort into communication before, our kids r writin liek totl retards. Roll back 5000 years. Egyptian scribes are writing. They are chiselling pictures of people, animals, and reproductive organs into stone. do thy writ liek this wif lzy spelin & abbr.s? Only when they had absolutely no space to work with...frequently, they'd chisel a glyph, then chisel in the pronunciation of the glyph after it! That's like spelling 'pharmacy' as 'phfarmacysee' just to be sure there's no ambiguity.
There's human evolution for you. A half myriad years pass, and we go from painstakingly sculpting passages to vomiting forth ignorance and beaming it around the globe at the speed of light.
And the best part: When you call them on it, they always come back with: "u kno wut i said"
It may be true that "i kno wut u said," but the important thing is this...You don't.
Episode 98: Ozone Windwalk.
At the exact moment in time I'm writing this, my internect connection is down. Seems almighty college is pulling some digital pud again. It was down for a bit yesterday, too. But since it's the middle of the night, I wonder if they have a caged nerd in the basement to fix it, or if it'll have to wait until 8am. It's keeping me away from my Gunbound, and that's just unlawful. Without a constant stream of data to fill the 25% of my brain I don't use, I start to come up with ideas of ways to entertain myself. Perverse, disgusting things. Like connecting the room's two LAN ports with a crossover cable, just to see if something happens when the net comes back on. Worst case scenerio, nothing happens, but I have a place to hang my towel.
Episode 99: Relations.
They say you can pick your friends and pick your nose, but you can't pick your family. That says nothing of picking your friends' and family's noses. Building upon that, is has been shown that women can idendify their husbands by the glorious fragrence produced by their armpit secretions. Now we can add that while you can't pick your family, and may or may not be able to pick your family's noses, you can pick out your family with your own nose.
And you thought it was just there so you'd know when to change Baby Johnny's dai-dais.
OMG MAN BORN WITHOUT A NOSE! YOU SAW IT IN THE INTERWEB SO IT MUST BE TRUE!
Episode 100: Bottles of Beer on the Wall...
While moving out on the Friday evening that was the last night of school, I traveled the stairs to dispose of a bag that contained various flavors of garbage. I paused, to observe a precession of revelers. Apparently, it was a selection of males that had money to spend, and the sororitutes they spent said money on. As the studs ascended in pairs, the weaker leaning on the more steadfast, uttering such golden phrases such as "you can make it" and "you can change your shirt when we get to the room," a part of me wanted to take one of the females aside and ask if this truely and honestly is her concept of a 'good time,' but then I realized, if the unit had enough sense to comprehend the gravity of my query, it wouldn't be checking its shoes' soles for vomit while rounding the stairwell.
I suppose I just don't know how to have fun.
Episode 101: Dalmations Go Insane If They Aren't Allowed to Fuck.
Ever seen a dalmation with a boner? Yowza. I think that's why they have them at firehouses...if the pole breaks they can just hold the pooch over the hole and red rocket 'em a bit. I have yet to figure out what useful purpose the blotches serve. I suppose it helps them blend in with the state of Illinois. You know...mostly white but with black spots scattered around. The best part is, if a local chinese restaurant turns over to become an ice cream parlor, you can sell the pooch as vanilla and chocolate chip 'plus' on Special Flavor Saturday.
I suppose writing something that made sense, had a point, a greater purpose, and was generally upbeat and heart lightening would be better, but hey; if you're reading this LJ, you know me better than that. I save all my positive thoughts for the live show.
Episode 92: Bias.
Ever notice how whenever there's some wonderful new product, or some better deal, and it's advertised on TV, the same two characters, played by different people of course, are always hocking it? The cast, for those who are still groping for meaning are:
• Stupid Dumb Fat White Man: Duh, I'm fat and stupid and spend too much money on inferior goods.
• Woman: I have bresticles and ovaries, so automatically I made the right choice and get to laugh at fatty.
Now, this is obviously a gross and generalized stereotype, but is it wrong? When was the last time SDFWM got the 'good' deal, while Sally Spanksalot paid too much for her muffler? That never happens.
Same thing happens when the product dual is between two women, except that when it's a chick fight that doesn't involve mud wresting (in which case everyone wins) it's the woman who's more the minority that has the proper product. Sometimes they have to go reaching...one will have amber eyes and the other will have mahogany eyes, so the latter gets New Hyper Ballbusting Palmolive that not only cuts tough grease on dishes, but if you sacrifice a goat and draw a hexagram on the bottle, when you pour it out it will form into a small sudsy ninja that will go all tiger-hand on everyone who made fun of you in high school.
Note that this does not apply to commercials with only guys. The statistics are, according to the figures I'm about to pull from my ass (hold on, I have to make sure I get the right grip), that minority status doesn't determine which of the combatants get the 'good' deal or product or free blow jobs for life from the pnumatic pipe clearing service. Rather, the winner will be determined by either greater hight, or straightness of teeth.
There, I just conqured advertisements.
Episode 93: Façade.
After a few glorious, mushroom-stamped-by-God weeks in the single, I'm now back in The Bunker as I was last year. They repainted the door frames and hall, but did nothing to the damage on the inside. In fact, the A/C grille appears to be trying to take gravity's advice on the whole 'fall to the floor' concept, and the water damaged fake wood might just let it free its mind.
This school is a tribute to the American perception of proper presentation. If you make it look good enough on the outside, it doesn't matter how rotten it is on the inside.
Will people ever realize that a modicum of discipline on the inside reflects on the outside, without having to put any extra effort into it; while the façade requires both construction and maintenance, and does nothing to quell the 'rumors' spawned by the distgruntled?
Yes, but only if you take 'people' to mean 'the 5% of humanity that is doomed to babysit the ones that Nature used to take care of with a sudden cold snap.'
Episode 94: Swap, Swap, Swap, Boom.
I guess I'll try to get some work on my program done this week. After three years of poking at it, I just want it to be done, but the problem is, to do so I have to code, and the coding is no longer fun. It can be...when I get on a roll and things work it's great, but I'm just tired of staring at it knowing that while I think I'm doing it right, it's going to be wrong, and I'll wind up stripping out 90% of the day's code and starting it over later. I just don't like the idea of it becoming the Duke Nukem That Never Was, Or Was It? that it has the potential to become. Besides, I'd like to play with that 3D puzzle game thing I was toying with.
Episode 95: Jesus Hole.
As a few of you may have noticed, Florida experienced some foul weather. Nothing major, shoved a couple trees down the stairs, and unfortunately, only two old fucks died, so medicare will breathe no sigh of relief. This did, however, mean that M&Ms are harder to find than normal. I wound up having to get Minis, because all they had were ones with nuts in them, and I'd rather not be killed by my candy, and those retarded new ones that suck.
So I choose to be hungry and extract the satchel from its plastic bag womb, only to be posed with what very well might be the most important question asked since "is this thing on?"
Pretty or swampy?! How am I to know? What am I, a mind reader? There was only one bag left...so whichever it is, it has to be the bad kind, or else the previous buyer would've snapped it up. Time to get thinkical.
The first thing we do is examine the serial number. "411B143" B has to be for Bad, and both numbers are odd, and contain a majority of odd digits. That's three in favor of Swampy.
Round two: I yelled at the bag and threw it toward the trash can. It landed on the rim, and fell in. Four for Swampy.
Round three: The M&Ms failed to sexually arouse my wall clock.
Sounds conclusive, time to release the evil...by C-section!
It's a girl!
I love how I'm always correct about everything.
Episode 96: Knocking? Perhaps You Need Some Premium Gas.
I hate how phaggots will continuously rap upon the door demanding access to the floor, when repeated use of my access card won't make the door obey. What infuriates me, however, is when they are 'friends' of 'people' who 'live' on the floor. First, I never signed off on their having human contact at all; but the deepest issue is this: these ambletory sacks of wasted carbon lack the sophistication and manners to meet their guests at the point of entry and escort them to their destination.
It is a generation of miscreants, and they're being allowed to vote.
Episode 97: What Yo' Sayin' Mayonnaise?!
Last night I sat down and translated a document. One that was supposedly written in English. Wer i to type my wrds lke tey wer n e passage i trnslated u wuld as i did bcome quite iratatd & surrender to ennui. "What the fuck is this shit?" I exclaimed when I saw it at first, but deep down I knew I dropped a comma..."What the fuck is this, shit?" Exactly where the hell did technology go wrong? The whole point of electronic communication is that it simplifies proper composition. You don't have to strain your arm pushing a pencil up and down a page to forge an 'a,' 'n,' and 'd' to conjoin your words. You merely tap three buttons, and there's a special button that makes wrong letters go away, where before you had to put your writing in the fridge so it won't spoil, drive to the store, buy an eraser, return, and grind away the error.
And yet, today, a time in history when mankind has never had to put less effort into communication before, our kids r writin liek totl retards. Roll back 5000 years. Egyptian scribes are writing. They are chiselling pictures of people, animals, and reproductive organs into stone. do thy writ liek this wif lzy spelin & abbr.s? Only when they had absolutely no space to work with...frequently, they'd chisel a glyph, then chisel in the pronunciation of the glyph after it! That's like spelling 'pharmacy' as 'phfarmacysee' just to be sure there's no ambiguity.
There's human evolution for you. A half myriad years pass, and we go from painstakingly sculpting passages to vomiting forth ignorance and beaming it around the globe at the speed of light.
And the best part: When you call them on it, they always come back with: "u kno wut i said"
It may be true that "i kno wut u said," but the important thing is this...You don't.
Episode 98: Ozone Windwalk.
At the exact moment in time I'm writing this, my internect connection is down. Seems almighty college is pulling some digital pud again. It was down for a bit yesterday, too. But since it's the middle of the night, I wonder if they have a caged nerd in the basement to fix it, or if it'll have to wait until 8am. It's keeping me away from my Gunbound, and that's just unlawful. Without a constant stream of data to fill the 25% of my brain I don't use, I start to come up with ideas of ways to entertain myself. Perverse, disgusting things. Like connecting the room's two LAN ports with a crossover cable, just to see if something happens when the net comes back on. Worst case scenerio, nothing happens, but I have a place to hang my towel.
Episode 99: Relations.
They say you can pick your friends and pick your nose, but you can't pick your family. That says nothing of picking your friends' and family's noses. Building upon that, is has been shown that women can idendify their husbands by the glorious fragrence produced by their armpit secretions. Now we can add that while you can't pick your family, and may or may not be able to pick your family's noses, you can pick out your family with your own nose.
And you thought it was just there so you'd know when to change Baby Johnny's dai-dais.
OMG MAN BORN WITHOUT A NOSE! YOU SAW IT IN THE INTERWEB SO IT MUST BE TRUE!
Episode 100: Bottles of Beer on the Wall...
While moving out on the Friday evening that was the last night of school, I traveled the stairs to dispose of a bag that contained various flavors of garbage. I paused, to observe a precession of revelers. Apparently, it was a selection of males that had money to spend, and the sororitutes they spent said money on. As the studs ascended in pairs, the weaker leaning on the more steadfast, uttering such golden phrases such as "you can make it" and "you can change your shirt when we get to the room," a part of me wanted to take one of the females aside and ask if this truely and honestly is her concept of a 'good time,' but then I realized, if the unit had enough sense to comprehend the gravity of my query, it wouldn't be checking its shoes' soles for vomit while rounding the stairwell.
I suppose I just don't know how to have fun.
Episode 101: Dalmations Go Insane If They Aren't Allowed to Fuck.
Ever seen a dalmation with a boner? Yowza. I think that's why they have them at firehouses...if the pole breaks they can just hold the pooch over the hole and red rocket 'em a bit. I have yet to figure out what useful purpose the blotches serve. I suppose it helps them blend in with the state of Illinois. You know...mostly white but with black spots scattered around. The best part is, if a local chinese restaurant turns over to become an ice cream parlor, you can sell the pooch as vanilla and chocolate chip 'plus' on Special Flavor Saturday.