Monday, December 01, 2008

Caring

I was just reading a snippet from the life of John Lennon's father, and felt the need to share this line with you, the world:

"...and kept him on the right side of the homosexual mafia who ran the ships' catering departments."

Tuesday, November 18, 2008

When You Ain't Gay

So I noticed this ol' thing was still linked on Hipster Douchebag and felt bad that virtually nothing has been posted here in like, forever. However, I'm in enough hiding that I don't feel safe writing anything and, you know, I have nothing to say.

However, I have work very early tomorrow but my room is full of people playing Worms Armageddon, which really deserves a hyperlink, but I'm hungry and want to go asleep. So fuck you.

Wednesday, October 01, 2008

Virginity Is For Squares

I've had this laptop for about, um, 15 months, and never have I seen the clock switch over to a new number (until about ago).

I felt like I had to tell someone.

Tuesday, September 09, 2008

Symphony Of Madness

I have a great love of old school arcade games. Give me asteroids, pong, snake, space invaders, and I'll be happy. Actually, pong kinda sucks. Come to think of it, they're all pretty bad, and while I love them despite that, I love (fairly) modern re-makes even more (e.g.). Fuck messy 3D graphics, sophisticated game engines, and plot; just give me a straightforward concept and 3 different commands. Distill everything to extremely simple skills: shoot the rocks, shoot the aliens. Anyone can be hardcore about entertaining games, which is why I respect the gamers of old you stuck with terrible graphics and repetitive gameplay for so many years.

The total lack of explanation is one of the most charming things about these games. Take Space Invaders for instance: no attempt whatsoever is made to explain the premise of the game, you just have to infer it from the title. "'Space Invaders', ok, well I guess those things coming at me are invaders...from space, and I have to shoot them before they get too close or, you know, they'll have invaded". Why is this charming? I like to think that there's actually an elaborate story behind the games, we're just not told about it. Random elements like why different alien ships have different spots in the formation or what the hell the mothership is doing there suddenly become not random, but rational parts of a sophisticated setting that we can only guess at through subtle hints left us by ancient programmers.

Pursuing that thread this summer, I began programming a "sequel" called (cleverly) Earth Invaders: it's payback time. The angle was that, unlike in the original, you controlled an alien vessel attacking Earth. It also differed from the original in that the aliens deployed single, better armed ships that dropped bombs from high altitude instead sending huge suicidal waves towards the surface. The rationale for this new strategy? During the first invasion of Earth (the original game), the aliens had no information about humans and assumed they were like other intelligent, more advanced species they'd encountered. In "traditional" warfare between extraterrestrials, bombs were of no use because of powerful (but short ranged) shields that protected the surface. Instead, attacks would have to fly extremely close to the surface and deploy troops or biological weapons. Since surface defenses employed sophisticated homing missiles, evasive maneuvers were pointless. This same strategy of moving slowly towards the surface was employed against the humans. Needless to say, it failed, largely because of the large population of heroic nerds living on Earth; a weapon the alien interlopers failed to predict.

After the humiliation of this first war, the aliens vowed to return and erase the embarrassment...and the human race along with it. Being aliens, they learned from their mistakes. Instead of sending huge formations at the surface, they opted to send bombers to every major city they could find, where they would pummel the humans from the relative safety of the skies. The outcome? I got sick of working with graphics and intimidated by the prospect of optimizing my shitty code.

Thursday, August 28, 2008

This Is Why You're A Lame-Ass-Bitch-Ho

Someone around here (who must live in suburbia, because that's what 'here' is, and is therefore extremely lame already) named their wireless network "home". First of all, that is an incredibly uncreative name. I hate uncreative name (yeah Rob Thomas, I said it). What a waste, not to mention the future of that poor network that will get made fun of by all the other networks for its fucking stupid name. But that's not the real issue. The issue is this: whatever loser made this network must've been thinking "Well, I'll name this 'home' because I suck and I use it when I'm at home, so I'll know to use this one". The problem? Everyone is at home you dumb shit! Everyone who opens internet connect around here will, if only for an instant, think "Oh, 'home', that must be the one I want since I'm at home".

So yeah, basically I hate you. One day I'll return to this place and hack your stupid network and rename it Lamoland. Plus I'll protect it with a password that looks something like this:

lakefglawhgkbcskvbskdjbfajkwbfk,jwd And I won't write it down. Anywhere.

Monday, August 25, 2008

Sunday, August 24, 2008

An Ode To The Good Ol' Days

Want someone to blame for the recent holiday* in Georgia? Look no further than the following:



That's right. Blood on her hands. Want to piss off Russians? Try having an ex-pat win gold for America. In gymnastics. Silver lining? At least she wasn't a synchronized swimmer. Had little Nastia pulled this shit back in the '80s, the KGB would have put her back in her place:



*The People National We Got Fucked Day, traditionally celebrated by inserting something red, white, and blue up your ass.

Friday, August 01, 2008

Anniversaries

About a year ago, or was it two...well, if you were to take this period of time and round it off to moths, it'd probably be almost divisible by three. Or four. Anyways, the aforementioned amount of time ago, I wrote about skittles. Now, some time later, I sit here with a brandy glass full of chocolate skittles next to me.

By the way, did you know that, if I google "chocolate skittles", the skittles homepage isn't the first result? Clearly they need a better website.

On a related note, I heard that there's a javascript command called "set googlebot trap", that attracts 'trolling google bots, snaps their necks, and raises them as little zombie google bots which then obey your website and can help it move up on the results page.

This just in: chocolate skittles suck. These things are positively vile. They taste like plastic that's been soaked in chlorine. Honestly, I have never encountered faker chocolate, not even when I took a safari to Coke Presents New Cocoaland. Also, one of the flavors is "vanilla". What the fuck? A vanilla chocolate skittle? Now my head hurts, just like my stomach. These abominations are just the latest in a trend by candy manufacturers (recently merged with, it would seem, shit factories); "let's take this cool product we make, and create an inferior version". Just look at dark chocolate milky ways. Shit for brained dingos.

Fuck, every one of these flavors just tastes like chemicals. It actually takes effort just to see what the fuck they're talking about when they say "this one s'mores, and this one's caramel!". Yeah, and this one is soylent green, courtesy of the people in our company who actually had good ideas.

You know how there's always some douchebag who likes to say "everything that can be invented, has been", and we all turn around and say "lol, owned, we just invented something"? Well, he's right about candy. So instead of simply continuing to make original, tropical, wild berry, smoothie (if they insists), tart'n'tangy and sour, double sour, Xtreme fruit, and carnival skittles, along with both skittles mints and mint skittles, they decided to go ahead and make chocolate ones too. Seriously? But no, like seriously? Why not put the R&D money towards advertising the existence of carnival skittles? Because, really, skittles should not have a big R&D budget (nor should that department's strategy be "exhaustive search").

Thursday, July 17, 2008

Moments Of Restraint

I hate glaciers. Really, honestly, I do. First of all, they clearly should have an 'sh' in them, not this foreign glah-see-ay gibberish. But America-and-freedom-hating spelling habits are only the beginning of their suckiness. They're lazy as hell; all they do is sit there, crushing stuff, preventing cave man expansion, and being cold. They must know they're melting (and have been for kind of a while now) yet they do nothing about it, it's like they're expecting us to solve their problems for them. Well, let me just say this: "we remember the ice age, and it sucked, so look elsewhere for help, buddy". Oh, and I haven't even mentioned how they're hogging a ton of fresh water, and not even drinking it. And we know they've been a menace to their caretakers, the polar bears. Clearly it was stress that made their hair turn white.

But here's the worst part; they absolutely ruin the terrain they leave. How inconsiderate. Seriously, I'm SICK of hills. All I have is a bike and I'm absolutely SICK of biking up your godamned hills! Do you hear me? SICK of it. New England would be a great place to live if you hadn't rolled through here and all these fucking HILLS! Seriously, no matter where I go, there's this huge fucking hill in my way. Would it have killed you to flatten stuff out a little on your way out? Water makes stuff flat and smooth, so what the fuck is your problem? Godamned selfish chunks of ungrateful ice. And you know what? I ride a BIKE! It isn't producing an CO2 to melt you sorry asses and yet you choose to make my life HELL! Fuck you.


Sunday, July 13, 2008

Good Thing I Took Three Ranks In 'Jargon'

The scene is thus: I am Dr. Dominic Monague, a "rouge" anthropologist, thrown out of reputable circles because of my...unconventional theories about demonic influences in history. Desperate to be taken seriously, I descend into the criminal underworld, rob the Louvre, and sell my bounty on the black market for African conflict diamonds. With these, I can pay a rebel faction in the South American country of Guyana to lead me into a jungle to find an ancient, accursed temple that will (hopefully) prove my theories.

Here's the brilliant part: on the boat trip into the jungle there is, among the varied crew (which included a possessed house wife and rebel gun-runner), a reverend. He seems to be a normal enough guy, and soon becomes my closes friend, because everyone else thinks I'm insane. With so many other members of the crew with interesting stories, I assumed he was just there for color. Days later, he springs me from jail. This was highly suspicious, but I shrugged it off as simply a plot device to get me out of a sticky situation. The next session, the reverend (who had been an NPC controlled by the story teller) is replaced by a real person. The new player was a goofy guy more enamored with playing a gunslinger than a priest, so we all assumed he was just messing around when he put all his skill picks into fighting, not theology.

Now the real genius: after much struggle, we've finally made it to the rebel leader, Mad Dog. After securing final passage into the jungle, we quietly enjoy our breakfast as the reverend asks to speak alone with Mad Dog, allegedly about some information he has. Then, out of no where, he shoots the rebel commander, surrounded by guards. My first thought is "what the fuck?! You're going to get us all killed!". True story, we all died, game over.

But here's the kicker.

He was, from the very beginning, a government agent on a mission to kill Mad Dog. None of us, even out of character, saw this coming at all. It was absolutely flawless in its execution. As he packed up his notes and we crossed out health boxes, the storyteller smiled and said "well, that was a good end, don't you think?"

Yes, yes it was. I have never been so happy to have a character eaten alive by dogs, because this was epic. Epic with a "p".

Saturday, July 12, 2008

Speech Day

I don't often tell other people about my dreams, but in this case I feel the world must know.

It was sometime in the near future and the world was under the oppressive rule of a police state, bent on hunting the werewolves that apparently made up a significant portion of the population. In typical police state fashion, they also arrested a bunch of innocent people. Oddly enough, I think the punishment involved being turned into a werewolf. Also, I think prisoners were sent to an idyllic Scottish countryside. This is where I was at first, but somehow we (however "we" were) escaped and ended up in some random city (in this reality cities were just huge airport-like complexes full of frightened people and police). We were getting ice cream because, well, I don't know why. I wanted some bizarre and retarded flavor that involved real pieces of orange and, because I couldn't count money at all, ended up falling in love with the spunky (and slightly disturbed) ice-cream-girl, who told me we were in Zurich (even though she didn't know where that was) and gave me little paper squares with dots on them that suppressed my werewolfness when I ate them. Luckily, we were able to get by the guards and escape into a small lobby. We were trying to get back to Scotland (which now seems like a bad plan since it was full of werewolves) when I woke up.

I really miss her...

(also I never got my ice cream)

Thursday, July 10, 2008

You There! In The Red!

I'm tempted right now to gush about my ever increasing love for John Crichton, but I'm at work and probably shouldn't. Instead, I'm going to leave you with the empty promise of it happening some time in the future. ...and this.

Monday, June 30, 2008

My Hobby:

Whenever I'm walking around in public, and I pass some stranger, I start talking in accented gibberish so they think it's a foreign language and think to themselves, "wow, I wonder where he's from?"

Wednesday, June 25, 2008

Acronyms

Who the fuck put the zero key so close to the 'o' key. That's retarded.

Wednesday, June 18, 2008

I Wanna Be Your Honey-Bee

I finally found my dream career! I've been wracking my brain trying to think of some way of turning my one-day computer science degree (knock on wood) into a career, but that damnable organ has not yielded to the torture. Until today. It happened while I was waiting for Jackie at Apple to figure out why I don't have any concaine yet (turns out they hadn't shipped it when they said they'd shipped it. There goes my dream of Apple taking over the world and establish a sleek, largely featureless utopia. It's okay though, because now I have a new dream, you know, the one I was talking about before this aside). I was singing along to Peter Gabriel's "Sledgehammer" when it struck me: I could be a call center DJ! Think about it, all those frustrated customers and tele-thrill seekers listening to the stylings of D-"double J"-V. I would play edgy, offensive music, hold giveaways, and listen to very pissed off callers. People don't mind listening to the radio, so if "on hold" is just like the radio, people wouldn't mind getting their calls not answered. Dynamite, right?

By the way, if any one of you out there work in customer service, I want you to know that, by and large, you guys do a great at what must be a pretty terrible job (at times, anyways). Go you.

Friday, June 13, 2008

So Much For "Fire And Water"

This is pretty much assured to never happen due to time constraints from my job and current-leading-hobby (programming a re-imagining of the Space Invaders concept), but it really deserves some honest time and effort.



I figure the betting would go round by round, with the pot going to either the last survivor or anyone who could win with their poker hand (assuming their attempt to "call" wasn't thwarted by a spell, creature, or discard of the 5 of clubs). Each player would have a character who would contribute abilities associated with their class (stealing cards or money from the pot, slaying opponents' creatures, etc) and level up by doing various things. All the while, everyone would have a Magic deck going, doing battle with that to kill opposing characters or undermine people's poker hands. At any point a good poker hand (e.g. a flush) could be discarded for major payoffs in other parts of the game, such as level ups or instantaneously untapping mana. The possibilities are endless.

Also, this is really funny.

Wednesday, June 11, 2008

Temple Of Doom Much?

My yearning for Civiliztion IV continues. Remember the other night? Well, that monster download that was supposed to give me a demo to tide me over until the real thing arrived got cut off. Horror. I, dismayed, started it again, only to see that, inexplicably, it was going 12 times as fast. In an hour, it was done. But, and I can only imagine this is because someone very important hates me, it didn't work (something about not being able to mount a disk image). Crushed hopes, horror. Today, I checked my package's progress and, true to my wildest hopes, it was estimated to arrive today, not tomorrow! I rushed to the post office, no package slip. Crushed hopes, horror. Again; no, same thing. Thrice I went, longing for my package. Finally, it was there (thanks to a friendly postmaster). Joyful, I jumped on Concord (my faithful steed) and sped back to my dorm.

But here's the thing: I had also ordered a mouse (to get free shipping), which they warned me would ship separately. So when I tore open my package, it was just a mouse, not gamer-crack.

Crushed hopes. Horror.

Monday, June 09, 2008

Points A and B

You know what doesn't make sense? (pause so that everyone can take a minute for stupid "your mom" and "your face" jokes without missing any key blog plot). Download time predictions. You know when you're trying to download something and you see the little bar that says something like

"tiny fraction of huge file at way too slow KB/sec; slightly longer than your lifetime remaining"

Ok, well, it's something close to that. You know what I mean. Anyways, you know how the shiny progress bar clearly moves forward and the amount you've downloaded clearly increases, and yet somehow, your very advanced computer's prediction of long it will take increases the further along you progress? How does that make sense? When I started this download three hours ago and it was 0% done, you said it would take 9 hours. Now, at 40% done, it apparently will take 11 hours. What the fuck? How does it take longer to download less? Stop playing with my heart, download manager. Also, why is this only going at 6.8 KB/sec?!?!?! Fuck.

But wait, you say! Why, oh beloved author, are you downloading something that would take 9 hours (yeah, it's gone back down to 9, douchebag) you ask. Well, I find myself here with nothing to do and the seed of "I want to play turn based strategy games" planted somewhere deep inside. Recently, this seed has begun to sprout feelers of undeniable desire that have crept into the back of my mind and, now, the front of my mind and my gums. Before long, there was a full blown YOU MUST FUCKING PLAY SID MEIER'S CIVILIZATION IV flower blooming in my mind. I sprung into action and started downloading the demo, but, alas, it apparently will take forever. Desperately needing something to do, I leapt onto my bike and struck out for the nearest Best Buy with the words "the internet is too slow" on my lips.

The bike path was shady, the breeze was pleasant, and before I knew it, there I was. And there it was, Civilization IV, gleaming like a huge pile of heroin in a desert populated by sand-komodo dragons and heroin addicts. But wait! It was for PC. Fuck me and my love of the mac. I looked around desperately, even considered settling for Age of Empires or Caesar IV or, well, Settlers. Woe, if only I had gotten around to putting Windows on my laptop.

But I was undaunted, for it seemed like just the kind of quest I was looking for...a quest for Civilization! Full of optimism (and, it would seem, total ignorance of the 95 degree weather), I jumped on my bike and set out for the next town where, rumor had it, there was a store that might carry it. I arrived, still kind of fairly optimistic, looked around, asked around, but was thwarted by fate. I realized that I was, after all this effort, still without my gaming fix and had to bike another 8 miles in the sweltering heat.

That pretty much brings us to now, with me, still dehydrated, sitting in front of a fan wishing that the internet would speed up so I can play the Civilization demo. I bowed to delayed satisfaction and ordered it online, so in about 5 business days I will finally have my fix. I imagine that sometime around 1 o'clock this morning the shakes will set it...

Sunday, June 08, 2008

Oonfarastero?

As you all should know, our livelihoods and, indeed, our very lives are constantly being threatened by the possibility of zombies appearing. Any day, any day (or, more likely, night) it could happen; you're minding your own business when suddenly your friends, family, and neighbors are all zombies, trying to eat your brains. There's rarely any warning, so our only defense is unrelenting preparedness and a healthy stockpile of shotguns.

Here's my latest tip on how to best prevent or mitigate the destructiveness of zombies; facilitate easy identification. Too often, zombies are confused for normal (well, not normal but at least living) people. I think only nonbelievers do this, but unfortunately there's a lot of them. Anyways, we need to make sure that every zombie if IDed as a flesh-eating undead abomination ASAP. The solution: mutilate the recently dead.

As soon as someone if declared dead, they should be made to look unmistakably dead. That way, if they ever rise to terrorize (and eat) the living, and are seen staggering down a street, everyone will immediately realize they're zombies and, naturally, behead them with a shotgun.

Do your part, hide your chainsaw.

Check it.

Friday, June 06, 2008

Like Mario Mushrooms, It Hapened On The Internets

(The following names have not changed to protect identities.)

AaronBurr117: :P
CatherineDeBoures: d:
AaronBurr: lol
CatherineDeBoures: [-o-]
AaronBurr: lol, we're doing buttholes now AaronBurr: (o)
justifiably_vertical: no you N0ob, it's a tie fighter
CatherineDeBoures: yes!
CatherineDeBoures: (_!_)
justifiably_vertical: cylon fighter?
CatherineDeBoures: no, butthole

P.s. (/\) Cylon fighter or rebel alliance?

Saturday, May 24, 2008

Because The World Should Know Too


Meanwhile, I've been playing way too much Rouge Squadron...

Thursday, May 22, 2008

Long Awaited Humor, Courtesy Of Someone Else

Apparently, if I want to follow the career I plan to (geek), I'm pretty much required to read xkcd, so I did. I must say, I was disappointed by his emo drivel, at least until I found pretty much the best Matrix reference ever. Also, I respect his healthy wariness of velociraptors.

This "Munroe" character managed to get pretty much all my heart-strings, from the criminally untapped combination of Bond and physics to one of my favorite hobbies. He also conceived of a way to scare of a girl while simultaneously convincing me, through his clever OCD-themed humor, to replace and exceed any sex lost by scaring off said girl.

By the way, NP completely-gotcha bitch.

Monday, May 19, 2008

Next Big Thing

Remember the last big thing (it was me)? Well, here's the next one:

Febreze noseplugs. They're a little thing that clips (painlessly) to the bottom of your nose and emits a subtle (unless smelled from point blank) Febreze scent. No longer will we have to spray everything in our homes with chemicals, just ourselves! Just think about how efficient it would be. One wearing one noseplug would be the equivalent to emptying an entire bottle throughout your house. Even better, you could use it outside your house. Is your friend a slob? Just wear a noseplug whenever you go over. Does nature stink? Don't worry, Febreze is here for you. Coming soon: Febreze body wash. Let your own Febreze-inspired stench simply overwhelm all other scents you encounter.

Wednesday, April 30, 2008

Will You Still Need Me? Will You Still Outrun Me?

There's a guy who lives down the hall (and a flight of stairs) from me who can run a 4:13 mile. I try to tell people how fast that is, but they don't get it. He's kind of a god to me for it. I mean, I used to stare up at really fast runners with sparkling little freshman eyes, thinking "I could never do that". Those guys look up at this guy and think the same thing. Guys like him made me believe that you needed to be born with a huge heart and killer lungs and calves of steel to be someone's hero. Turns out I was wrong, you just have to be totally, utterly indefatigable.

Looking through race results for a local 5k the other day, I saw something that caught my eye.

68 52:14 Bruce Kurtz 72 266th consecutive race

Last place, 52:14 for a 5k (about 16:50 miles). But the guy was apparently 72 and still running, which would be impressive if not overshadowed by the 266 consecutive part. On Tuesday, I had honor of actually meeting this guy, first grumbling about people taking his parking spot, then while warming up.

I jogged up to this old dude hobbling through the woods while I was warming up. Remembering the old results, I asked if he was that guy who'd run those hundreds of races. He replied proudly with a litany of consecutive races, here, elsewhere, running, biking, triathlons. There were races of ungodly distances (well, anything that involves swimming seems ungodly to me) that he'd been doing for longer than I'd been alive. He'd didn't really have to tell me though, you could see it in the way he talked and ran. He didn't really run, it was more of a hustling, hobbling walk. But he did it without shame. Despite the fact that I'd finish in a third of the time, I felt intimidated and humbled listening to his stories of 2-hour swim workouts (without stopping).

Here I was, 19, fit and healthy, yet hardly able to get myself motivated enough to run while this 72 year old man with an impressive list of health problems was still running 3 races a week, every week. I think I'll die still wishing I was him.

He knew his race pace (evidently the same as his warm-up pace) off the top of his head: "17 minute miles, I couldn't care less". I really care about times and trophies and arm candy that digs runners, but this guy couldn't care less. Perspective much? He said "I go by people and say 'I'm 72' and they go 'What?!'". What indeed. He didn't go by me, but as I jogged off all I could say was "what?!". That line went through my head every time I picked off another racer. "I'm 19 and I'm so alive. Say 'what?'."

I was about to ask how he did it when he told me. I don't know if he sensed my question before I asked it or was just eager for someone to listen. "My wife went through five hospitals and died in my arms". Want to know how you get tough? Cradle your dying wife. I bet that makes a 5k seem a little less painful. "I don't want to die like that. I'm 72, I have an enlarged prostate, I've had five biopsies; no cancer...it's the active cells that keep me alive. You hear about people dying swimming, biking, running. I want that to be me". I was pretty much speechless-I'm still speechless. All I could do was shake my head and say "amen", as if I could understand. As we parted ways, I found myself hoping, for his sake, that he wouldn't make it back.

He said he didn't bike down near where I live anymore (an hour by car) because if anything happened, he'd have no one to call. Yeah. Next time you think you have a problem, think about that and say "What?!"

Monday, April 21, 2008

Jell-O On The Radio

Actually, that's not true. There's nothing on the radio because we've been invaded by EVIL KILLER RATTLESNAKES!!!



They started with the children (which was fine, and easy given their low dex values), but now they've moved on to communications and, presumably, cars. I'm sure it's just a matter of time before they evolve to eat the internet and spit H5N1. Then we'd be fucked. The worst part is that humanity's second greatest defender (I'm busy), Indiana Jones, is afraid of snakes. And very old.

Things don't look good...

Thursday, April 17, 2008

Who Says This Isn't Like Real Life?

Here are some highlights from my fledgling RPG (think Dungeons and Dragons) campaign:



Vertigo: The protagonists were trying to defend an important religious figure inside a chapel. One of his would-be assassins was firing at him with a musket from a balcony across the room. One of players sprinted up a flight of stairs to attack him, and, upon reaching the sniper (who at this point had drawn a sword), tackled him off the balcony onto the stone floor below instead of using his own sword. I rolled to see what part of their bodies would take the fall; the player's character landed harmlessly (well, comparatively) on his chest while his opponent fell squarely on his head, rendering him unconscious (and probably paralyzed).

Biblical Study: One of the heroes, a prostitute, tried to use her finely honed skills to seduce or distract male NPCs (non-player characters) at every turn. Her would-be clients included a man who was, in fact, not in his room, a guard who turned out to be dead, and a man (eventually found outside his room) who fled upon seeing her.

Hazard Pay: This group of adventurers found themselves captured in an underground prison. They managed to escape after pretending to suffocate one of their companions, thereby starting one of the worst days for guards ever. The gaoler was gang tackled while trying to save the helpless PC and held in a leg-lock for about 10 minutes while another character threatened to cut his toes off. Another, moments after discovering that the man he thought was a fellow guard was, in truth, an escaped prisoner, was stabbed through the eye and killed instantly before he even had the chance to act. One of the guards protecting the exit was shot -at point blank- in the knee, then stabbed in the same place moments later. While on his knees, dizzy with pain, two of the heroes took advantage of him and simultaneously ran him through with brutal coup-de-graces. Meanwhile, his companion was gashed in the arm, more or less severing his bicep from the bone. In a heroic act, he attempted to punch his opponent (who happened to be an expert swordsman) and had his hand cut off in the process. He was left, delirious with pain and bleeding to death.

Did Anyone Pack a Compass?: This underground dungeon included a sizable map full of subtle clues as to who was in charge and what they were planning. There was a fellow prisoner who was supposed to introduce more clues in addition to an interesting moral dilemma. All of this went undiscovered by the players who bee-lined it to the exit, stopping by one storage room and the mess hall along the way. Critical plot details? Down the drain. Hours of prep? Down the drain. But I'm not bitter, even though everyone else I've ever played with will not rest until they've explored every room. So much for the Mario mentality...

Thursday, April 10, 2008

Best And The Brightest

I'm convinced that Denmark must have the world's most bad-ass criminals. Here's one of them: Lenny the Arsonist.

Lenny is presumably a lifetime criminal and all-round heartless pyromaniac. As far as I can tell, he's the only criminal in CiTY and yet the government has amassed an army of law enforcement and fire-fighting officers. The CiTY police force currently has four officers, a helicopter (currently in the shop for repairs because it "inexplicably" lost pieces), an ATV, a huge mobile command center, some kind of extremely complex radar system, and a draw bridge. Oh, and don't forget the 5 firefighters, fire engine, and huge barge (plus another engine and 2 men from the next town over) to put out any fires Lenny might start. 11 to 1?! What the fuck?

Journey To Cloud Mountain


New resolution: I must from now on stay awake for my entire birthday. Anything less than 24 hours of conscientiousness seems like a crime. Here's why:

Balloons. Somehow, they never get old. There are presently enough balloons around my door to make the entire hallway smell like latex. My sympathies to Atreyu who (allegedly) had to blow them all up herself (photographic evidence suggests otherwise).

Chicks who dig geeks. Apparently google and sharpies are all it takes to create the illusion that slutty, attractive girls love geeks, dungeon masters, and cinnamon toast crunch. As my soon-to-be-wife (on account of her cleverness and aversion to clothing) noted, "I've been looking for love in Alderaan places".

I'd like to take a moment to think about that phrase. First off, it's a solid pun ("Alderaan", "all the wrong", ah ha ha ha, get it?). Second, it features a Star Wars reference, which means it can't lose. Here's the coup de grace; Alderaan is the wrong place to look for love because it blew up! But wait, there's more*! If you're Hon Solo, it is the right place! Oh my GOD**, there's so many layers of meaning! It's like an onion***!

Fuck the evil empire. I heard a story about someone with a rebel alliance tattoo. That's awesome. Potentially unrelated to the birthday thing, but still awesome.

Traveling in style. I got carried to a neighboring building, up two flights of stairs, and into a fairly crowded room, all to an impressive rendition of "Joy to the World". No one knows why, but it happened. My interpretation? I'm kind of a big deal.

Note to self (and all the kids out there): peer pressure is wrong. Peer pressure will make you gag on frosting. Not okay. Smoking though, try that. The world will always need people with lighters so keep it up.

*Princess Bride reference, check it.
**Coming next semester, Tuesdays and Thursdays.
***An onion reference.

Monday, March 31, 2008

'06? '08? Fuck I'm Confused...But Either Way It's Expired

I'm stuck in the awkward position of wanting to write, but not wanting to be creative, so I'm just going to tell an old story I meant to write up a while ago. Enjoy.

The night started out perfectly normal with me getting that old fuck-I-haven't-gone-running-today-yet-and-now-I-have-to-do-it-in-the-dark feeling. Little did I know that familiar feeling would soon be replaced by something much darker...I jumped out the door to do a nice out-and-back down Rt. 116, a staple late-night route. But little did I know that tonight that route would hold an unexpected obstacle...The first half of the run went well, and after slapping a landmark I turned around, filled with optimism and enjoying the sweet spring (ok, February) air. Little did I know that the air would soon-ah, fuck it.

About a mile down the road I caught a whiff of skunk. Now, if you think driving by a dead skunk is bad, you don't know nothing. When you're running, you're moving way slower and typically sucking air like there's no tomorrow. You get lungful after lungful of skunk until you've finally trudged out of ground zero.

And this was no ordinary skunk. No, sir. It must have been some kind of ├╝ber-skunk, a really killer the King Koopa of skunks, the big smelly cheese of skunks. It didn't help that he'd been killed within the last 10 minutes.

My kingdom for some diffusion.

It soon became clear that I was running into the very heart of the stench. Every step, well, at least every other step brought a new wave of nausea and disgust. Just as I was being convinced that I was about to puke all over someone's mailbox, I looked to my right and lo! There he was, tail blowing lazily in the wind. I closed my eyes, held my breath, and made a break for fresher air. Thankfully, the wind was with me and soon the stench receded. I was at peace again, free of the horrible smell.

At least that's what I thought...

I got back to my dorm and paused to stretch for a moment. Then...what's that smell? Fuck. I could hear Kahn's voice in my head, "With my last breath I stab at thee!": to my horror, my shirt still smelled like skunk. Apparently, my lungs weren't the only thing saturated by his evil essence.

I sprung into action. Every piece of clothing I had was thrown into the washing machine, two pints of Febreeze was poured into my shoes, and I scrubbed off the outermost 18 layers of my skin. Thinking that was sufficient, I started to relax. But no! My beloved Ironman watch also reeked. I thought its 30 lap memory would protect it, but I was wrong. Within seconds (it's hard to say exactly, since I was unwilling to use my stopwatch) I was back in the bathroom, bathing my watch in soap until I could smell nylon boiling. I wiped my hands and smiled. Surely I had finally defeated the vile creature and could go back to living a normal life.

But in this moment of victory I reached for my room key, which I keep in my shoelaces while running. The stench hit me again, fouler than ever before in the splendor of its final revenge. My key smelled. My KEY!! It's made of metal, how does metal possibly acquire some strong an odor just by passing through a cloud of it?! NOOOOO!!!

I've been locked in my room ever since. You never know when he might come back! I hope help comes soon...I suspect Tommy the Sock is a traitor and the Febreeze is starting to run out...

Saturday, March 29, 2008

Wafer-Wearer

It has recently come to my attention that this this blog has recently come to the attention of many of the people I live with. If you're ever taken by the idea of mentioning it (especially in a negative way) on a regular basis, this is all I have to say to you:


So there and good day.

Sunday, March 23, 2008

School's Important, I Swear


I think the makers of Trojan brand condoms skipped a key day of history class because has got to be the stupidest name for a condom brand. Let's think about Trojans for a moment: 1) they lost the war. It's the only thing any of us are aware of Troy doing, and they lost. 2) They lost because of a girl (Helen of Troy, right?). I personally don't like the idea of condoms that don't fare well in conflicts involving women. And, worst of all, we have the Trojan Horse! Think about it. The horse was used to sneak unwanted dudes into an unsuspecting city. Just think about that Trojan Horse full of little spermies eager to ransack something. BAD!

Girl: "Oh, look, a Trojan. He must mean well. I know because I got a C+ in history."
Spermies: "Hooray! The trick is working, she thinks the Trojan is harmless because it looks safe. Now we can ransack her city."

This is not good. Trojan: bad marketing scheme. Good thing the women haven't caught on yet, otherwise you'd start making a lot of guys very unhappy.

Girl: "Honey, I'm not sure about this...something makes me suspect that condom of ransack-related trickery."
Dude: "Wait, did you just call me "honey"? What the fuck?!"
Spermies: "NOOO! We art thwarted!"

Saturday, March 22, 2008

I Think He's Onto Something


Patrick's right, why haven't I posted in so long? No excuse. Absolutely no excuse. Oh, wait, never mind. Now I remember; I got someone pregnant. Also here there is no excuse. Let me be the first (ok, second) to say "my bad, I'm sorry". Needless to say, I've been pretty busy. I know, I know, wrong priorities. I'll get them straight, I promise, it's just that Julie is a bit hormonal and, how you say, pissed? I'm sure it'll blow over though, any day now. So, devoted reader, hang in there just a little longer.

Thursday, March 13, 2008

Last Stand Of The Banana Man

Midterm Sanity:

Always answer your phone "sup, homeslizzle" if you don't recognize the phone number (this applies at all times, not just near midterms).

Call your lab grader "homes" in a lab report. Also, tell him you hate him to his face (because you do) because he's being mean, or because he doesn't appreciate you writing stuff like "uncertainty is a lie!" or "oscilloscopes are made by the government!" on the chalkboard.

Highlight the word "sketchy" in your anthropology book, totally without context. A month later, when you're skimming the highlighted parts, you will laugh. Laughing is important. Without laughing, education would win.

Use Elvish and Hobbit words in your anthropology notes because they really do help you remember concepts. Be sure to share these words with anyone you're studying with. Score major dork points. Later, these points can be redeemed for bemused eye-rolling on the part of non-dorks.

Um...smell the roses?

Ok, you caught me, this is all just a shameless excuse to use the word "homeslizzle". But I actually did highlight "sketchy" in a book and laugh hysterically when I found it last night. I might be able to write something real about homeslizzles, homeslices, homedawgs, or just regular homes, but I'm on the wrong side of a lot of caffeine.

571.265.1693. If I don't say "homeslizzle", yell at me.

Tuesday, March 04, 2008

Where Are The Chi-Squares?

Good Omens

8.5 weeks until the HEF SmartRun.
25 weeks until Newtown.
40 weeks until Manchester.

So I'm looking to get back to competing at the 5k, probably not so well at first, but who have to start somewhere. The first big race of the Comeback Kid's 2008 tour is coming up: May 4th. I only have the wink of an eye (about eight and a half weeks) to get myself is respectable, hopefully sub-20 shape. Today was a nice 5.5+ miler through the rain. My shoes were heavy and I was cold, but I managed a pace that I assume (the distance is a total ballpark) was a little below 8's. But who cares.

It was raining, so naturally my shirt was soaking wet. Or at least that's what I assumed when I looked down at my soaking wet shirt. But when I got back to my dorm, people kept saying "You must've been going really fast". It turns out that the back of my shirt was almost completely dry while the front was sopping wet, a function of running into the rain. I guess the difference was enough to convince everyone I must've been tearing shit up out there.

Go me.

(Also, I desperately needed an excuse to write something here).

Tuesday, February 26, 2008

Fucker Stole My Name

I feel like I should say something, but there's nothing to say (unless you want to hear about Women and Family in Rural Taiwan) and I should be studying for a physics exam right now. There is something to look forward to though...

Chapter Two: Flames Of The East

Coming of the Byzantine


First, however, I need to write and run Chapter One ("Order Of Ascension", so something like that). See, I started a little RPG group that will be playing a swashbuckling campaign that I'm in the process of writing. Taking on the time commitment of writing and running it may not have been a good idea, but I did it anyways in the hope that it would take me one step closer to my dream of founding a gaming company. I said our first meeting would be this Saturday, and although I need to have very little prepared for it (we're not even rolling up characters), I've hardly started making the setting, barely thought about the mechanics I'm making/adapting for it, and have only the faintest outline of a plot. I also have that exam, a book to finish, and a lab report looming in the distance.

If only magic was real so I could cast "time stop"...

Friday, February 22, 2008

Cold Weld My Heart

Check this out:



I just got a valentine from my high school. How sick is that? I feel so privileged to be on the mailing list of an alumni department that cares enough about me to send a card and candy. That's true love.

If that sounds sarcastic to you, you're wrong. As tacky as it may be, it is a nice gesture and reminded me that I still need to be philanthropic this year. I mean, the $1 I'm going to give them is just going to candy for me anyways, but I'm pretty sure it's the thought that counts.

Thursday, February 21, 2008

Thought Experiment

(Random aside: this is post #150...go me.)

For a while now I've been intending to explore the world of AIs through computer programming. I wanted to write some script that simulated people would follow and, assuming I wrote it right, prosper in their simulated environment. Lately, I've been interested in finding some very "general" way to do this, instead of writing a script that applies very specifically to the world I'd created.

I hadn't really gotten around to fleshing out this idea too much, until I found myself bored to death in philosophy today. My brilliant (like I said, "go me!"), if staggeringly complex idea, was to right a script that would right the script for people. This means that the programmer (me) wouldn't know anything about the world itself, only the very basic mechanics of it. They (I) would, in essence, program a programmer that would then learn about the world from the automatons in it and have to direct them from this information.

Thinking about it, I realized this went beyond Fun With Algorithms, it was about learning itself. Sweet. However, my first attempts at coming up with a framework for this programmed programmer made me realize it will have to be horrendously complex. If only I had tons if time (i.e. no homework) so I could do this...

Monday, February 18, 2008

Fuck The Z-Grip: The Saga Continues

This past August, I made a grave mistake. Standing in a Staples aisle, I thought to myself "our Civilization has surely advanced to the point where we can't screw up mechanical pencils. I mean, we put a man on the moon, so of course we can make perfectly good mechanical pencils, right?" Thus foolishly mistaken, I grabbed the first bunch of pencils I saw. Given my propensity for losing writing utensils, I grabbed a lot (though, mysteriously, not a lot of pens, which I have since run out of several times).

This was the beginning of the Hell that was Z-Grip mechanical pencils.

They are ugly. Really, very, quite ugly. The eraser is the same thing as the clicky-make-more-lead-come-out thing, so every time you erase something, you end up with a dangerously long piece of lead. If you use an eraser too much, you'll never get it out and therefore never be able to load more lead into the pencil. They suck.

But that's just the beginning.

They jam incessantly. At times, it is impossible to get any workable lead out of them, even though there is clearly a piece 4 millimeters from the opening. In this event, you must disassemble the pencil and use a writing utensil that doesn't fail at life to poke out the tiny piece of lead that's jammed into the tip. This happens a lot because these pencil are psychotic lead serial killers. I don't know how it works, but somehow they manage to hack up pieces of lead internally. It's not that you break your tip off a lot while writing, it gets broken off inside the pencil. This means your pencil is constantly coughing up tiny pieces of lead, all too small to actually use. They go into the loader in one long piece, so some part of the clicky-make-more-lead-come-out system must butcher this stuff. So not only do you use only a fraction of your lead for actual writing, but you spend 50% of your time using the defective clicker to get more lead out instead of taking harried notes on FileNotFoundExceptions like you need to.

Why do I still use them? Well, most of my money goes towards laundry, LEGOs, and Bawls, so I can't justify buying new pencils when I still have some barely-workable ones. I've done everything I can to get rid of them; snapping a couple in frustration, lending them as often as I can, but they won't go away. I loose black pens at a rate of 1 per 6.8 days, and these stupid pencils at a rate of 1 per 43.2 days.

THAT DOESN'T MAKE ANY SENSE!

Looking For That Silver Lining

School is making me a racist. Last semester, it was the Japanese and their absurdly difficult language that wrecked my life. Now, it's the Aborigines. One goddamned book about them has been haunting me for a week, hanging over any moment I spend relaxing. It's too dry to read for any great length of time, and it's being aided by nefarious physics problem sets that eat up ungodly lengths of time (and also refuse to die because I can never figure them out).

I'm looking for a silver lining. Friday night it was messing around in GTA, last night it was going to the dining hall for a second time just to get a triple chocolate sunday. Tonight, well, tonight was mostly filled with Aborigines and resignation about them (which mainly involved staring at a book or the wall). There was a brief period of joy as I rebuilt a LEGO helicopter I bought last week, but it was ruined when the build-your-own-LEGO-set software turned out to suck.

Then, about to go to bed, I happened by my new Facebook picture, and it reminded me of better time (a.k.a. Tuesday).
The details of this endeavor are, unfortunately, unsuited for this blog. They are too shrouded in obscure references and inside jokes to make much sense (ordinarily, this wouldn't stop me, but I don't think these will amuse me enough to make it worth it). It involves a box of Kleenex, a pile of very cheap peeps, and lots of permanent marker (hence the mask). If my creative genius is, well, genius, the results of this labor are presently adorning someone's wall (not the Facebook kind).

If someone bothers me, I'll write the whole story and put up some more pictures (for those of you who are my Facebook friends, you can see them in my "Milwaukee Roadtrip" album).

Thursday, February 14, 2008

Meditations On Venereal Diseases

I'd like to think that I can sum up my Valentine's Day with the events of physics class: I came in late and, upon discovering a left-handed desk, sat in it.

I'm not sure it's quite fitting, but wouldn't it be cool if it was?

Wednesday, February 13, 2008

Let's Just Say It's A Good Thing I Had An Extra Pair Of Socks

The title is a true story. There's too much toe-freezing slush and it makes me angry. Also, I'm drowning in work and that makes me angry. I'm sure it makes you angry too because its prevented me from blogging. Take your complaints to the study of Anthropology, not me.

Presently, however, I'm sitting in a computer lab waiting for a class to start and wishing I had a dry pair of shoes. I'm also hoping that my lab TA won't mind me not wearing my very wet pair of shoes. Anyways, I have about 10 minutes to write stuff here, only I have nothing to write about. Unless you want to hear about Ohm's law or the Mardu Aborigines, I don't have much to offer.

Hopefully, free time and something of interest will come up in the next few days, and you can all sup on the goodness of my blog again.

Thursday, February 07, 2008

I Am King Of The Muppets

I feel like this page looks to bland, so here's a picture.

Dissolving the Leukocytes Of My Soul

Things that are epic:

The Star Wars Saga.

The fact that I spelled "leukocytes" correctly on the first try. It's worth noting that I misspelled "correctly" on the first try (twice).

24 bottles of Bawls, currently sitting under my bed. The day they arrived was joyous indeed, and nerve wracking as I carried a very heavy, rapidly disintegrating box of glass bottles to my dorm through the rain. The most epic part if that 4 of us ordered these boxes (enough to earn our dealer a bar of caffeine soap), meaning that 96 bottles of bawls entered this dorm in the span of a few days.

Pole vaulting over a pit of sharks. Also, pole vaulting over Graboids.

A friend of mine was recently asked to describe the two best moments of his life. The first was the day of his SATs, when he listened to only "I'm a True American" by Hulk Hogan from the moment he woke up until the test. The second was more recent when he woke up at 1:55 and decided to make lunch (which closes at 2). He made it, although only barely. I remember seeing him walking into the dining hall, arms held triumphantly over his head, saying "I'm making lunch!".

A world in which this could be considered "substantial".

The Latest From The Seventh Census

Get it? I think it's pretty clever.

Anyways, I'm procrastinating on the posts I meant to write but have since forgotten, so instead I'll use siteMeter for inspiration.

First, I'd like to thank all you loyal readers (all 12 per day of you) for sticking around and giving me the sense that readership here is picking up. January came in at a record high for visits (ok, so I've only been tracking it for 4 months...)! Hooray 7th Notion!

I also enjoyed the tidbit where it told me that the average visits is 54 seconds. Nice. I encourage you all to leave the 'Notion open in a tab somewhere so I can pretend that everyone who stops by here reads through my archives.

Now I'll try to write something a little more substantial because Goobers is getting me down.

Monday, February 04, 2008

Rule #4

Leave your boyfriends out of your blogs! I'm looking at you nerddd and random blog I found on Puntabulous. I get it, you found the Final Five and I wasn't one of them. Ronald Moore doing it was bad enough, but I don't need it in my blogosphere. Yeah, yeah, I'm happy that you're happy, but we're done with that. Tack has no place on the internet, just porn, fansites, 'Copter, and the 7th Notion.

But I'm not bitter.

I don't, definitely don't, remember the time the Nerddd shot down my marriage proposal. MP totally stole my hit-on-girls-via-blog-comments tactic.

But seriously, no bitterness. You know why? 'Cuz Saltines are very tasty and I have some. Mmmmm.

:P

Saturday, January 26, 2008

Craze

Embarrassing personal fact: the sexiest thing I've ever heard is "'Fartlek' is Swedish for 'speed play'".

Also, the term "lactate threshold" is a pretty big turn on.

Sunday, January 20, 2008

I've Had A Shoefull of Bailey's And I'm Drunk As A Bitch

A friend of mine recently commented that "two thirds of college is sex, and the other third is alcohol". While I'm sure she was kidding, I questioned the wisdom of such an education, and set out on an investigation (no one is awake early Sunday morning, so I have to find ways to amuse myself). Google showed me this article, which sheds some interesting light on the issue. Equipped with this knowledge, I feel that men can know beg for sex with the "but otherwise I'll die" approach. Here's the highlights:

"By having sex three or more times a week, men reduced their risk of heart attack or stroke by half."

"Some urologists believe they see a relationship between infrequency of ejaculation and cancer of the prostate."

So there. And, for the record, there's benefits for both sides. Stress relief, exercise, improved sense of smell, pain relief, and (my favorite) better teeth. Seriously, check that one out.

Saturday, January 19, 2008

Sex Me Like A Breakfast Burrito: An Ode To The Early Morning

The legend started about a week ago one night, long after the dining hall was closed, when I was very hungry and striking out on an epic 1:30 highway run. "I'm hungry", I said. "Very Hungry. And I want pancakes." Pancakes, you see, are my favorite breakfast here on the tundra. Somehow they're served only once or twice a week, which makes them quite an event (keep in mind that I only make breakfast a few times a week, so the two events coinciding is fairly rare). I was hungry enough that only a great breakfast could truly sate me. Nothing would stand in my way. Nothing. Not even crazy dudes with chainsaws, endless highways, or Olympic caliber sprinting zombies. I told my running partner again and again, "I'm really looking forward to those pancakes, and nothing will stop me." Well, yeah, you get it.

Anyways, I braved the early morning wake-up call and made it to breakfast. I had a huge stack of pancakes, enough to actually make me a little sick of pancakes. Naturally, I went back to sleep immediately afterwards, my only reason for being up having been fulfilled. When I awoke that afternoon, I was informed that, since it was a weekend, they served pancakes at lunch too...until 1pm.

I have no regrets.

Several days later (which, I suppose, was also several days ago) I decided (for reasons I can't for the life of me remember) to stay up until about 9:30 in the morning. I don't remember anything about that night, but I remember walking to breakfast with the same guy I'd been running with earlier. He asked if I'd been up all night and I said "Yes, and guess what's for breakfast."

Pancakes.

I decided to stay up tonight too, truly just for shits and giggles (and because I've been falling asleep at disturbingly predictable times lately). I looked at the menu for breakfast this morning so I'd know what I had to look forward to and to my surprise I saw pancakes.

Certainly, this is a sign.

Friday, January 18, 2008

Consternation For The Sake Of Blogging

Why do we put dollar signs in front of numbers? It doesn't make any sense. Dollars are a unit, right? Well, every other unit goes after numbers, so what's the deal dollar sign? Think you're special? No. The coulomb goes after numbers, what makes you better than the coulomb? Is it because you're rich? Douchebag.

Or is it because you're dyslexic and when people say "30 dollars" you here "dollars 30" and jump in front of the number? You know what? I don't even care. You suck.

Thursday, January 17, 2008

Keep Me In Frame Goddamnit!

Life is like a fruit-roll up: only kids really enjoy it. Life is like 4am charades: you get kinda sick of it by the second deck. Life is like a movie: it's full of events happening sequentially. Life is like the Techno Viking. Life is not like a dignity contest. Thank god.

On a related note, I will probably have "I want it that way" (by the Backstreet Boys) stuck in my head for several days. Somehow, a few of us here on The Tundra decided it would be fun to do a boy band song for karaoke. Rehearsal started tonight. Lessons learned: the second verse (my solo) should be converted to a rap. It's best for everyone. Oh, and N'Sync makes terrible music videos.

Luckily, there is in fact no dignity contest. There's a karaoke contest, but we've decided no to win it. This is for the best, I'm sure. The turn-boy-band-songs-into-raps contest however, looks to be a wrap (get it?!).

Other news from the Tundra: I need a name for my game-making...organization to go with my 1000+ line sci-fi game. It needs to look badass in the format "(insert title that doesn't suck like my working one): a(n) NAME HERE production. Suggestions are appreciated.

We also need Go-go dancers. No experience required. Bring your own snake.

Thursday, January 03, 2008

Adventures In Sensitivity



Some dialog for all you avid fans out there (I'm looking at you freshman)...

See, I was exploring a particularly scenic galaxy that erupted from the bloated stomach of an adolescent star when I came across a shiny gold chest. I went through great trials (dodging ghosts, being eaten by giant eels, fighting handicapped crabs, etc) to get this chest open so I was pretty excited. I figured it was probably a star of either the power, sling, or jump nature. The most disappointing thing would be a load of coins or polyhedrons, right?

Instead, it was a goomba. A goomba?!

Mario: "A goomba? Fuck."

Goomba: "Oh...um...hi. I, uh, found this power star."

Mario: "Oh. Did you? Um...cool. That's, uh, pretty cool."

Goomba: "Boy, this is awkward."

Mario: "Yeah..."

...

"Can I have it?"

Goomba: "What?"

Mario: "The star...can I have it?"

Goomba: "But it's my star..."

Mario: "Yeah but I'm kind of collecting them. See, I have to rescue this princess..."

Goomba: "But I found it."

Mario: "Yeah, but everyone else is just giving them to me..."

Goomba: "Well did you kill all their relatives too?"

Mario: "Did you really just go there?"

Goomba: "Well why shouldn't I? Just because your a celebrity doesn't mean you can get away with all that."

Mario "Oh fuck this."

At this point I jumped on him, he popped, and I got the star. Basically, everyone won.

Tuesday, January 01, 2008

This Was Your Father's Lightsaber

I think the time has come for me to give a big shout-out to Darth Vader for giving me one of my favorite lines ever: "I ind your lack of faith disturbing". Actually, this is a really inappropriate time to do it, but it seemed like the least awkward way to start this post. Yeah, the least.



Here is OSK trying to escape Lord Vader. Despite his awesome lines, he's actually not that personable. On the particular forest moon, there's no moon, just a figure eight of water inhabited by trill seeking penguins and their manta ray slaves. The 'Klingon managed to befriend them and borrow a manta. In this shot, he is about to start an attempt at making it across the entire not-a-moon in less than a minute and a half. Vader is presumably behind him, instructing his escorts to destroy OSK's fellow rebel while "[he] takes care of this one". Vader, however, will be denied his catch as Old School' plummets to his death off the side of the not-a-moon. Again, and again...

Just Because

Some people would say it's rude that I haven't written here in a while (relative to normal live blogging rates), but I disagree. I think it's rude that the rest of the world has posted for me.

I also think it's rude that Major Burrows kicked my ass in the way he did. So much for Super Major Burrows Galaxy.