They're coming to get you, Barbara. And you too, Wes.

Wow. You guys have missed out on loads of my insightful insights, due to the recent whorelicious metamorphosis of my job. What kind of insights, you ask? Well, this kind:

Was just thinking about Halo. When Master Chiefy gets hit by a warthog or sent forty feet into the air by a rocket, he dies but looks the same--metallic and bulky. But what must the inside of that suit look like? Whose job is it to pull out the gory meat after the soldier is run over by a Scorpion tank? And how much worse must it be after a couple hours in the middle of the Blood Gulch sun?

Just listened to an hour-long dramatization of Night of the Living Dead. Decent, but a little hokey in parts. I hate radio drama that tries to make up for visuals with dialogue like "look, over there, a man! Oh, he's walking toward us. Here he comes, striding absently." I also hate when you can tell that one character is another with a different accent.

Still, it provided an interesting hour-long background to video gaming. If interested, I'll loan.

Till All Are...a...singlulaur...solitarial denomination...yeah.

For Ryan: This is how the whole Unicron scene shoulda been!

Suck a hatchi to everyone else. So Tim, Andy, Ryan: when is this five year reunion thing supposed to happen?

You can uh...just shove that back up your ass.

Woah, Nelly. I got to make a lil claymation thing today. Everyone in my class had these scenes of wonton death and blood. Its just wierd: give animation kids the opportunity to make cute cuddly things for stop motion and they all make their heads explode. Our lil cartoon started off as a duck grabbin a bunny's ass, then the bunny pulls out a knife...but then a drunken bling bling dinosaur (the one i made...i wished i woulda made an orca) comes in swinging a bottle, swigs a few drinks, vomits, and passes out. The teacher laughed twice this evening: one at a game of dodgeball and the other was my vomiting T-rex. Boonya.

I ate 3 pieces of Big Red. Funny however is the fact my mouth is now shellacked in this odd not so big red flavor the gum left.

For anyone, but mostly tim who keeps pestering me about it: March 26th Ill be home. My addy is 5785 East 8th ave #421 Denver, Co 80220. Ill be home on the 26th of March.

the snozberries taste like...

Hello kiddies. I'm all like schooling it up and what not. Making some progress on various non-school things. I will try to update everyone post-haste.
1. I got a scholarship from the International Game Developers Association, so I'll be spending March 7-11 in San Francisco listening to people from all kinds of big game companies talk about interesting things.
2. Still pursueing various things with GarageGames, hopefully to increase royalty streams.
3. Looks like I'll be starting a consulting job in the near-near future. 1-2 hours a day, $20/hour. Not bad at all.
4. Been making music like things for my Electronic Music class. Peruse and opinion here.
5. I now have reading to do, of the homework form. I have a feeling that in a couple months I might miss some things(after graduation), I doubt this will be among them...

Symbols, Numers and Letters--oh my!

Well, I tried to post a few random things but for some reason it won't post. There was some imported HTML that I think may be at fault. I tried copy and paste but something was wrong with it so I attempted to fix it myself. Considering my knowledge of HTML is somewhere well below primative...I might as well have been trying to stop a nuclear reactor from melting down. I would just throw lead rods around the room and make monkey noises. My attempts to fix the HTML coding on my post was akin to that.

Oh well...I don't think the world will miss that post anyway.

I got to talk to Dave's new friend Lynn this afternoon. She hijacked his MSN and talked to me for about a half-hour. Dave was right, she does seem to be very much like Jamie. Just from what I gathered I 'm guessing she's probably a little nicer than Jamie, but who's to say. Jamie might have seemed nice when I first met her as well. Good luck to you Dave, all the same.

UPDATE: As you can see, I got the post to work. It isn't quite right. The whole post is a link and I don't know how to fix it. I'm sure it's very simple and most of you could probably correct it with a few keystrokes, but...I'm a tech retard and this doesn't seem like a very intuitive process. So I'm going to continue to throw things and make monkey noises.

UPDATED UPDATE: The offending post has been removed. I had feared it was the cause of the slowness yesterday, but as Novo pointed out, that was due to other malfunctions. Anyway, now it's gone and I'm left here in a room full of twisted metal rods, severed electrical cables that are spewing sparks and walls stained with monkey poo.

Oh! And a message for Tim's boss, from the moon:

"You look like a fat man in dire need of an ass bruisin!"

ME-VT-CT-MA-NY-DE-OR-IA-HI 5c MI 10c CA CRV

So, I didnt be the DD (not defrauding dingo, destined dumbfuck, or drunken deviant) last nite. That prolly wasnt a good idea. The people I was supposed to drive got very drunk. Then they went to a lake and stole a boat. They crashed into a pier and it exploded. Everyone died. Somewhere, Pop Wright is crying over this story as he writes it in his memoirs. But its ok. Its pretty sad when the DD (drunk ditcher) ditches the party to do other things.

What other things? I took care of Lynn the anime girl who was sick to the kittens. So basically I spent time w/ a pletonic girl fried instead of going to a bar, watching people get drunk, watching drunks sing, driving drunks to Village Inn, having drunks buy me chicken fingers, driving drunks back to the dorms, and falling asleep crying. I did fall asleep crying, just not with defaulted defaulting that defaulted the default...or something.

Does anyone remember Bionic Commando? Not the psuedo-cool GBC remake..but the original. The good ol Super Joe with the bazooka and mechanical arm. Yeah. I remember clearly that Nazis were in it, but doing some research for a paper I found out that the game was heavily de-Reigh'd. They left Hitler's face in at the end but called him "The Master" and like beating the game showed his head explode very gruesomely. But it wasnt Hitler or Nazis. Anywho, Nazis make easy default enemies in any great hero epic is what I concluded.

Nazi built ninja robot pirate monkeys (armed with metal poles) on the other hand....stretching it a bit.

Tina! Come get some ham!

Frylock:
Dear Dr. Frylock,
We appreciate your interest in human tissue reconstruction. However we cannot send you a quote-unquote "butt-load of organs?"

Shake:
Bureaucrats! I didnt say buttload. I said ASS load!

Mr. Wiggles Meets Boltar Meets Your Wife in a Seedy Motel

Yesterday one of the transcriptionist was escorted out of the building. I heard about it later, because I keep my door closed. My computer faces the door to the transcriptionist pool, and a couple of them pop in and out to talk to the tranny they've put in here to work in the afternoons. And if I'm mid-story, writing about "fucking fuck fucks" it can be a little awkward.

So three people took the tranny out. Halfway out the door her head was seen to shake. Someone thought she was going to yell. But then a seam split along the jawline, and the head splintered—that was someone's word for it although I'd say fractured is a better one—and fell away. What was left was a green stalk, divided into quadrants of flesh like a cactus's. The quadrants separated, and then the stalk whipped around and severed the heads of everyone within five feet.

Thankfully I missed all that because I had the door closed.

...

Here's the transcript of a dream I had:

MY BOSS IN GOV'T RESEARCH (NOT THE REAL ONE). Tim, go check out blah blah blah

ME. Okay.

ME GOES TO CHECK OUT BLAH BLAH BLAH. IT'S LOCATED AT A TRAILER PARK WITH A SIZABLE HOLE OUT FRONT. SOMEONE IS DIGGING THIS HOLE WITH A SHOVEL. THE SOMEONE TURNS OUT TO BE LUCAS.

LUCAS. Heeeeyyy! HE HIGH FIVES ME. Heeeyy!

ME. Well, my work here is done. EXIT.

ME COMES BACK LATER. THE HOLE IS HUGE NOW. YOU COULD EASILY DRIVE A SEMI INTO IT. I AM NOT REALLY IMPRESSED THAT LUCAS HAS DUG A 10 FEET DEEP, SEMI-SIZED HOLE IN ABOUT FOUR HOURS.

THERE ARE WORMS AT THE BOTTOM OF THE HOLE. BIG MONSTROUS ONES...EASILY SIX INCHES AROUND AND A FOOT LONG.

ME. They get bigger as you go down, huh?

LUCAS. Yeah, you fuckers! HE GIGGLES. HE STABS THE GROUND WITH A SHOVEL; MOCK COMBAT. Yeah, they're huge!

ME FAILS TO CONSIDER IT LOGICALLY, BUT SINCE IN THIS DREAM WORLD WORM GIRTH IS DIRECTLY PROPORTIONAL TO DEPTH IN SOIL, WORMS FIFTY FEET BELOW THE HOUSE WOULD BE ROUGHLY THE SIZE OF A RAILROAD CAR.

...

Here's an exchange that just happened, between me and other researcher, while we looked for a definition and listing of 'controlled substances.' I am perusing a list of them.

KATHY. Where'd you find that?

TIM. It's a federal law, so it's everywhere.

KATHY. What?

TIM. It's a fed law, so it's everywhere.

KATHY. It's a fed law, so it fits everywhere?

TIM. It's everywhere. It's a federal thing.

KATHY. So it fits everywhere? What does that mean?

TIM. It's found all over the internet. I googled it.

KATHY. You googled it and found out it fits everywhere?

Halo.

So fucking true.

Tubgirl and the Receiver want you to visit this page

Here's a wikipedia entry on shock sites such as Goatse.cx. It lists and gives descriptions, such as the one for Last Measure: "Last Measure abuses Javascript to make it very hard to leave the website . . . the main page plays a voice using the Flash plugin shouting "HEY EVERYBODY! I'M LOOKING AT GAY PORNO!" (In the Wiki entry, the words "gay porno" are links . . . ??). Read about Goatse too (link from the Wiki article I've provided). The most interesting thing is either that 1) there's almost a certainty as to the receiver's identity, because of certain moles present on the buttocks of other . . . practitioners of the goatse guy's art, or; 2) that an interview clarifies that the art is possible.

Check out the virtual keyboard on this page. Wired reports that it takes about twenty minutes to learn, and that's amazing. I mean, that it might actually work. I have trouble accepting that something so cool could be functional.

Theeeere she was just a walkin down the street singing H-Y-P-E-R-B-O-L-E!

For this post, I will not drop F-bombs.

Alien Loves Predator. What an ingenious idea.

As far as the bombshell Tim dropped....What the hell. I still dont get it. That boils my ramen to burning. And Nick changed his last name?!?!...for a woman?! Thats just isometricly recockulous. He was the most shovenistic of all of us and look what he does.

A little bit of advice: Axe Body Spray does not cover body odor or pot (and on that note bong water spilled on clothes one is wearing). Dumbasses need to learn that before they lacker themselves with it.

You slut!

Here's an article about the role of the agent as gatekeeper of the literary world. The author imagines a nonexistent bookstore that sells the literature of a different history, where different books were accepted by publishers instead of rejected. It's a compelling fantasy in a realm where 85% of potential books suck, 5% are worth publishing and potentially interesting or important, and less than 1% actually make it to bookstores.

That's via Bookslut.com, which has a pretty good lit-related blog full of links.

Here's a Logic Problem I Wrote. Let Me Know if You Come up with the Answers

LOGIC PROBLEM: Who drinks the milk, and who owns the zebra? Show your work.

Analyze the following 13 clues to determine the answer to the questions: who drinks the milk, and who owns the zebra?

1) The Englishman lives in the green house.

2) The Frenchman drives powerboats.

3) The Russian drinks tomato juice, day and night.

4) The American is married to a redhead, but openly fantasizes about the Russian's wife.

5) Sometimes, if you look at the second floor windows of the orange house, you can see the Frenchman staring out through a pair of binoculars. This is how he spends his days.

6) The German can be seen around six o'clock every evening, hugging a carton of orange juice close to his chest, walking home from the Higgledy Piggledy grocery.

7) Looking through binoculars, you can usually make out the label on the cheap bottle of vodka that the German brings home along with the OJ.

8) Last Friday night, after a lot of yelling from the blue house, a woman stumbled out into the yard, her face covered in blood. The blood was actually tomato juice. The woman cried anyway.

9) The man living next to the blue house likes mountain bikes. This is why mountain bikes disappear consistently from 9th Street, a few blocks over. No one is allowed in this man's house—ever—because there are five or six bikes in the living room. He doesn't even ride them.

10) The man who does not live in the blue or orange house regularly receives brown unmarked packages in the mail. These packages are flimsy, and come in bundles, and it is obvious to the entire neighborhood that they are porno. People used to think the man was just shy, but now they think he's having too much fun alone in his bedroom to come to cookouts and yard parties. In a way it's sad, but mostly it's just disgusting.

11) The American found a magazine called Full Up in his wife's office downstairs. It was still halfway in its brown paper sack. He tells himself that it belongs to the man who does not live in the blue or orange house, but then he has to wonder: how did it get in here?

12) Every few weeks—sporadically enough that people forget after a few days—howling can be heard coming from the house of the man who drinks water. It was assumed that the man owned a dog, but that howling doesn't really sound like a dog's. What the hell does it mean?

13) The man who collects snails hasn't shown his face in weeks because he was caught in a tryst with the Russian's wife. The man was wearing a plaid skirt, and the wife wore office suspenders that clipped to her underpants. The Russian was livid. In his attic, there's a chest of farm tools from his grandfather Zolog's farm outside Cazadero. The Russian calmly pulled the man off the bed, then dragged him to the attic. He intended to do something horrible with the farm tools but remembered that most were rusty, and all were leather-and-steel implements without moving parts. A man who would wear a plaid skirt to fuck another man's wife might enjoy things like that.

716 must be as high as blogger can count

My apartment complex must cut costs by allowing all kinds of solicitors to send me junk mail. Some of it is good bathroom material but most of it is just a waste of trees. One of the little postcards left in my mailbox the other day caught my eye. It had a beautiful brunette with piercing blue eyes standing with her arms crossed against a dark blue background. She was fully clothed, but there was no doubt in my mind why she was on this postcard: Sex appeal, baby! So I'm thinking, "Sweet, Maxim is now soliciting to my apartment."

Well, turns out it was the Postal Service trying to get me to rent a Post Office Box. Since when does the Postal Service use hot chicks to sell P.O. boxes? I'm not saying it's a bad idea, it sure got my attention. It just seems really out of character for the Postal Service. I used to have a sort of fear/respect of their gun-toting, mail-mutilating ways. Now I'm just confused and kinda turned on.

Romminger is going to have a baby.

My high school self boggles at this thought. I don't know if I should laugh or cry. Cause you know this is only the beggining! Soon our other friends are going to get it into their fool minds that their biological clocks are ticking and they need to procreate. But really, who better to populate the Earth...propegate the species...than the evoultional pinnicle that is Romminger's DNA. I sure hope Nick starts the baby factory soon. And Ryan better get on the ball as well. Kevin is probably sterile, but we can keep our fingers crossed.

The rest of us had just better keep our seed to ourselves. We don't want to contaminate this delightful little pool of genes.

Oh...and by the way...Romminger better hope Karma is a myth. Because otherwise, that baby is bound to be a Mongoloid.

Andy, don't give it away

Time for a guessing game:

Guess which of our associates is going to be a deddy.

I can be included in guesses, as can you! Actually, I can't because I'm above premarital sex. You filthy, sinful whore.

Yes! I know! THREE GALLONS! Hoop de damn doo!

Today, we celebrate one of the greatest heroes of Catholicism: Vincent Valentine, the patron saint of lovers who warded off an armada of vampire zombie aliens in the weening hours of February 14, 1272 after fighting off another armada of hybrid dinosaur intellects (who had amassed their prehistoric brains to destroy mankind) and a whole shitload of atomic robots (who werent so much pissed off about humankind but about how they werent allowed to have premarital robot sex). He killed these 3 amassed armies with a dead chincilla, a quill of Elven arrows, an automatic crossbow, and a WHOLE lotta luck from Jizzy Chrizzy. After so, he tamed the mongul hordes that had built a flying palace and helped the savages of North America find Jesus through two Golden Tablets he made from the spoils of his last campaign against the Mole People of Babylon (Now Iraq). As well, in later years, he led a group of superpowered vigilantes (Galileo, Artemis Prime, and D'Angelo the Wonder-Italian) into the heart of the heavily fortified Vatican City to stop Bizzaro Pope Phillip II and his evil Protestent regime of ninja dolphins. And how do we pay tribute to this vampire slaying dinohunter? We give out cheezy love sick poetry written on overcharged cardboard, distribute generic flowers that (like your love) will wither and die due to loss of interest, and an array of chocolates that will either be tossed in the trash or fed to your poor friend all because St. Valentine really loved his job, and you should love whoever you do likewize.

If any of this story was true, then I'd give a flying fuck about Valentine's Day.

He lived for twelve years in a pyramid of Campbell's soup cans

Read an article about the Indian Rope Trick, written by Teller (of Penn and Teller).

Randomness...

Not really much to say, but I thought I would post to let you know I'm alive.
Still bartending, and schooling; that's about all I have on the homefront. I will be home in a few weeks I would imagine. Our spring break is somewhere around March 11-21.
That's about all the news I have for now.
Happy Birthday Wes :)

Superman is a Dick.

What a bastard.

Anyone remember the Fox Kids Club? I can guarantee you that Ryan and Heather do, and now I do too.

"Whoa, chiefy!" you say (I can hear you because I have your apartment bugged). "Not only do I remember it, but I still love it!"

Well, then, you will enjoy this story.

LOCATION: A karaoke bar on the west side named for a hillbilly.

TIME: Last night.

Ryan tried some stand-up, which had some good moments. Most of the stand-up overall was pretty desperate and rambling--at last half the guys on stage had notes. So Ryan got points just for seeming more natural.

Anyway, the karaoke began. Someone sang "Picture," as someone always does. It was not brilliant. Someone sang something else, and it was slightly more brilliant. Some mid-forties dude in a sweatshirt got on stage and Ryan, next to me, blurted something about the Kids Club. He then explained to me that the guy on stage was the guy who used to do the Fox Kids Club spots on KDSM.

"Yell it," I told him, but he wouldn't. So I did. "Kids Club!" I yelled, and the guy onstage was like, "Heh, kids club..." I didn't know if he would laugh or shoot me with a crossbow.

Was it really the Kids Club guy? Was it really Ben Ulin, of Kids Club/Adventureland magic show fame? Was this the man who used to be swarmed by adoring young coeds, who had once owned a 10,000 sq. ft. submarine carved out of solid fucking gold?

Next time he got on stage, he said it was nice to know that the Kids' Club kids were now old enough to drink.

After the show we went over to his table, where he sat with a couple. Was he trying to maneuver his way into some weird swingers' circle? Who knows. We asked if we could take his picture with Heather, and then we were regaled with tales of the Kids' Club and single mothers who wanted him to teach magic to their kids and of how KDSM found him working magic and said hey, you look like the kind of guy who could give away G.I. Joes on TV between X-Men and C.O.P.S.

You may remember Michelle, who the Kids Club was passed onto when Ben Ulin left. Do you want to know what Ben Ulin thinks of Michelle? "Fuck Michelle!" he said, and rose his middle finger high, and proud.

There was also a story about a trunkload of dildos, but that's Heather's story so maybe she'll write it in the comments. IF you ask nicely.

In other news, I won an aluminum pen emblazoned with the Gray Goose label. I also karaoked Don't Touch Me, by Brak. Why did the karaoke bar have that song on file? I have no idea. Probably the reason involves a trunk full of dildos.

G'ah

I took some time to contemplate. And yes. I think I can say this with a straight face and not have any acconotations to it:



Human flesh tastes like pork.





...and thats about it.

Day of Birth

Yeah. Saturday we will party like its 2099, booya. Amish is supposed to pick me up and then we will come that way. If you want to join, Saturday you can call Amish's phone for up to the minute info. Otherwise I thought perhaps we could use the comments to organize a bit.

Jukein jivin, bobbin and weavin, talkin trash!

Hey, Halo 2 fans! Check out this link if you want to view some amazing chiefy acrobatics. I'm proud to say that I knew about 1/3 of these tricks from combat experience.

I think the Fighting Hobos should crawl out of their trashcans and empty refrigerator boxes and take to the streets around 8:45 this evening. We need a fourth, so hopefully we can talk Heather into allowing Ryan to play for more than fifteen minutes.

Hey, since St. Paddy's day is only like....oh...a month or so away, I thought I'd mention that I'm planning to leave work at noon on the 17th and come in at noon on the 18th so I can join the party downtown. If anyone thinks they could make themselves available for the same 24hrs, I might be able to provide you with some entertainment.

That is all, go back to your study of Tim's refrigerator.

Uninstallment of Internet Radio is Complete

Caper is an excellent word, and should be used more. I'm seriously thinking about enforcing this idea with barbed wire, or at least a kitchen knife.

...

For Halo players: I'm not sure what annoys me more: 1)People who scream madly to 'give me the warthog!' or 'the ghost is mine. I said the ghost is MINE!.' (See also: 'I call shotty. What the hell are you doing? I calledthe fucking shotgun!' and 'Jesus, what fucker keeps stealing my pistols?'; or 2) People who scream about the fact that they're losing. Last night I was on team slayer, and had the least number of kills. The same person who committed a violation 1) asked me what the hell my problem was, and advised me to get some more kills. I said, 'Well, I would, but I'm kinda busy reading this magazine.' (In retrospect I should have complained that if his girlfriend would only unwrap her legs from my body, I would happily give a better performance). He responded: 'You're reading a fucking magazine? This guy's reading a god damn magazine.' So I said: 'And driving.' And the guy was just like: 'what?.........(long silence)……who stole my damn pistols?'

Also hated: people who dash to a sniper rifle, take it, and then take a shotgun as well. What the hell sense does that make?

Haven't seen anyone on Halo lately. Now, while I do admire you for breaking away for a while, and envy you a bit, I do wish I had some decent teammates. Of course, I'm only on for an hour every other night (excluding last night's punishing, addictive, ow-my-eyes-are-bleeding marathon).

Thus concludes the Halo speakery.

...

Interesting article about evil and psychology here.

...

People at my office have a lot of personal arguments over their cell phones. Lot of ex lovers and money problems. It makes for a funfilled, embarrassing afternoon.

...

Hey, lemonade is the ultimate mixer for booze. Give it a shot. AMISH: Heh, give it a shot. Get it?

More carnage. And ha! My huge images mock those of you on dialup! If that's anyone.

Tim says: Diet Rite exploded. The horror! Note two things: thing first: the blast was strong enough to dent the SlimFast can; thing second: SlimFast cans look a lot like Budweiser cans.

The fucking pear on PacMan is worth 8000 points. OH MY GOD.

I am reading the best zomboe fiction I've ever seen, by Kim Newman, called "Amerikanski Dead at the Moscow Morgue." Imagine late-90's Russia dealing with zombie outbreak, at the point where people are used to the dead but still a little scared. The thing that makes this story novel is that one of the scientists, working on bodies in the basement of an old Red Square spa, speculates that the shambling, moaning state is a developmental stage before the dead become stronger and more capable of functioning...as if the zombies aren't just dead bodies but a new species entirely.

Anyway, probably no one will ever read this story, so I don't know why I'm writing this. I mean, it's in some back-corner horror anthology (_999_). But it's good anyway, and if you're ever at my apartment and you like the undead, check it out.

Youve soothed him with your greasy dance of joy...

I think we need to do an Atlanta Nights. Basically, a bunch of writers got together and made a crappy novel...and almost got it printed. And if Real Ultimate Power can get a book, why cant we? Tim, Andy, and Morgan all have fancy smantsy Majors, so why dont we all figure out a book to write? If we all take a chapter or two and write noncoordinating storylines, it would work out...sorta. Or like RUP, be full of "Ninjas flip out and cut peoples heads off, and thats cool" stuff. But we'd have pirates and robots and vampires. Very cool idea, I think.

Music Concret

Hmm. I have this electronic music assignment. I have to record people/things making different noises (ie stomping, snapping, hitting things, yelling, etc) and then sequence the video and audio of the noise production into a song. If any of you are free in the next few days (prior to next Wednesday) and would like to come and join in the fun let me know. I can provide meals, drinks, and probably a place to sleep if necessary. Any takers?
P.S. I'm already booked Sunday 12-5pm. Any other time should work. Feel free to call Amish and drag him into this as well, I might try to as well. Sorry for the short notice, but the damnable thing was just assigned today.

Piss piss piss piss piss piss piss piss piss piss piss piss piss, moan, and bitch

If my title doesnt give it away, then dont read this chiefy.

I think Ive figured out what is wrong with me:
1) I care too damn much
2) I trust too damn much
3) I bitch too damn much
4) I too damn much too damn much
5) I have yet to hunt sasquatch, Nessie, or El Chupacabras
This comes after the 3rd night in a row where I go to bed feeling WAY too mopey/emo about things. Yes, I feel as though I need to care for the underdogs in this world because no one else does. However, this blade I swing for them also slices me. Am I depressed? More then likely. Am I seeking help? Not so sure yet. If I keep this mopiness up, then yes. Honestly, I can pinpoint this sadness to the whole fucking Jaime situation where I seemed to be the only fucking person that cared. Even now, if more then ever, Im in that situation again. As for Lynn, the girl who has taken her place, ugh. I just dont have it in me to tell her she goes for the bad people and she gets the bad things from them. Mostly heartbreak and dissapointment and eventual isolation. Again, I seem to be the only person that cares. Yes, she has these gay guys falling all over her because theyre gay and they like having a girl hanging on them (new word: faghags. Well, its new to me.)

What I REALLY want to know is when the fuck did God give men the asshole switch? The one thatll treat a girl right for a while, then *flick* time to treat her like shit. And when all is said and done, that girl permanently gets the asshole switch installed on them. Then theres people like me who got the obsolete version of the asshole switch. The one that doesn't work or that crashes every time a new window (being a new female) is opened. Sure, girls have the bitch switch, but they have dimmers.

Being stood up sucks a whole Czech bath house full of nasty cocks, too. Thats what really pisses me off.

But I think that what is killing me is the fact that people will ALWAYS use me. Lynn, I fear, is using me for rides and money now that I have a job. I keep telling myself that its not so, but everyone else is saying the same rap you guys told me about Jaime in the same fucking situation. Ugh. I would think things would be different, but it all winds up being the same fucked up situation: Dave likes girl, Dave befriends girl, girl uses Dave. I just think honestly Fate and Destiny are playing the same damn drum for my life. And Im finished.

Team Discovery Channel is based here in Denver, Colorado. They are all fucking insane punk sk8er kids who live/once lived at these heya dorms. If the Fighting Hobos want to battle out w/ my Halo team, we are the Hephelomfs and I'm tryin to get em to organize more often, now that we have Digital Cumcast Internet >:D. Bring it on like Donkey Kong, bitches.

You guys smell smoke?

What is the use of a house if you haven't got a tolerable planet to put it on?
-- Henry David Thoreau

(Caution: This is another of my little diatribe's. So noone *cough*dave*cough* can say I didn't warn them.)

If what I read is correct, the entire world is going to resemble the surface of my ass on a hot summer day within the next 70 years. That's right, we're talking about a hot, sweaty, suffocated, barren and generally unpleasant place where no organisms save bacteria and virus' could (or would want to) survive. I would provide links to some of the latest news on the subject but it's hardly necessary. Just go to any news site and you'll find some mention of polar melting and global warming.

The timetable has been stepped-up considerably. Instead of hundreds of years, we're now looking at decades before the Earth will be rendered uninhabitable by human beings, as a result of our own blundering. Within our lifetime (probably between 2035 and 2050) the global temperature will raise about two degrees C. Since that didn't mean much to me when I first read it, let me translate: You can forget about doing any snowboarding in North America come 2040.

The change would cause polar melting and a host of other problems. Rainforests and agricultural areas will suffer draught, all kinds of animals like polar bears and walrus' who can only survive in colder temps will likely die...it's gonna suck big monkey balls.

I would think (and just about every reputable news vendor seems to agree with me) that this revelation deserves the attention of the entire world. I totally understand Wes' concerns with copyleft and copyright and Tim's concerns about God neglecting to endow him with super powers and pretty much everyones concerns about central Iowa going down the crapper, but I really thought someone needed to mention this. It's something that everyone needs to be thinking about because all of us, and/or our progeny, will be affected.

None of our lofty concerns about society, economy and law will matter if the human race is merely trying to avoid starvation by the beggining of the next century.

Last night we didn't hear any mention of it among the priorites of our re-elected retard. "I don't really give a shit about the environment, but damnit don't we need to stop the gang violence and let more immigrants come into the country and keep killin them mid-eastern critters."

I don't have any profound opinons to add really. I think the facts speak pretty well for their self. If everyone just follows the example of our country's president and ignores the problem, we ensure that our children and their children will suffer for our ignorance.

So everyone buy hybrid cars, okay?


Some lighthearted linkage.
Good ol' Waterloo Iowa makes it into Yahoo!'s "Oddly Enough" page.

What a way to go.

wee

Well, that last post was random eh? Way to break the silence wes, etc. Well fuck you all too, or um hi. Yeah. I was, um busy. Plus when I wasn't I didn't have anything to say. So, status report:
1) I quit my fancy shmancy technical consultant manager job. It was pissing me off and I decided I can find an unending list of better things to do, so I'll do them instead.
2) I was awarded the International Game Developers Association student scholarship. Which means I'll be going to the Game Developers Conference in early March. Will be expensive, but I can't help thinking it will be an amazing experience.
3) I have ever growing thoughts about geemus. I mentioned some things kind of vaguely in comments earlier. Trying to figure out feasibility of things now, I'll keep you informed.
I guess that maybe isn't too huge or important in the grand scheme of things, but there 'tis nonetheless. Oh, and my birthday is a week from Sunday. Anybody want to come? Xboxes technically banned from the network, but I have my ways. Other than that any requests on what to do? I figure a get together on the Saturday evening (February 12th). Um, now I go to shower, read about digital copyright, and sleep (hopefully one at a time, and probably in that order even).

Thoughts on Intellectual Property, and a great damned word...

The problem with "Intellectual Property" as I see it is that everyone is so damned grabasstic. Creators wander about like bewildered teenage boys looking to get a piece of the action. They know there are things they can do to have tighter control over their masterworks. With this knowledge firmly lodged in their craniums they pursue control furiously without knowing why or even what to do with it.

Is more control better? I don't know, but I bet the people that are fighting harder for more don't either. Maybe we should start there...

I'm for giving copyright reform/alternatives a chance to see if they can be effective. Unfortunately, the copyleft movements have gone just mainstream enough to start attracting grabasstic types. People should not copyleft because they were told to any more than they should seek stricter laws.

In the end I truly believe that the creator should have some control over their creation, I just wish that this could be accompanied by critical analysis of the implications of the choice.

Table Rage

Everyone who used to work at the Hut needs to read this article, and be sure to visit the links.

Gott damn it. I just wrote a bunch of crap about volleyball-sized glass goblets full of tropical god puke, and famous authors wielding stone swords (bought from Toys R Us) that summon the Lovecraftian undead, and it's gone. Gone gone gone. Fucking gone! So here, in lieu of my hypnotic prose, read this list of arcade games that never made it.

Another Link for Gotehed

Something tells me he will appreciate this story the most.

Maybe it's just me.

So, FYI. Some changes to the blog on the horizon.

Possibly. If I get unlazy.

Gotehed:

You better stay the fuck out of India.