Tuesday, February 28, 2006
If Sam can do it...Why can't we!!
Most of you may not know this but last summer Pamida in albia went through a change. It was to be called the Ultimate Value Store. Our prices were decreased on alot of merchandise and our ads were sent out monthly instead of weekly. The ads featured items priced at the new "everyday low prices". Sound Familiar? In my opinion we were trying to operate much like Wal-Mart. Well after we changed the floorplan of the store and sold lots of merchandise at the new lower prices trucks brought less and less merchandise. Our shelves became kind of empty.

Well I just heard today that the Ultimate Value plan is being dropped. Now Albia as well as many other pamida stores in the area are gonna have to remodel and raise prices. In return we will get freight. We just got a big truck yesterday.

So we tried to challenge the powers of Wal-mart and failed. Thats ok cause soon Wal-mart will attack the smaller areas that can't support it right now. It will start it's own campaign to attack smaller stores like Pamidas, Shopkos, and Dollar Generals. The campaign of
Wal-Mart Mini Centers
The Orphan Works Act -OR- The Fuck Over Art Kids Act
THIS SCARES THE FUCK OUT OF ME. EVEN MORE THEN WHALES What is it? The Orphan Works Act. Basically, it says that any art work made in the last 30 years and from hence forth that isnt clearly labelled as a person's piece of work is fare game to anyone or any company. Nothing to be afraid of, right? WRONG. This affects ANY and ALL creations, spanning from photography to poetry to animation to still drawings, even to films. The main debate now is "what is CLEARLY mean in clearly marked?" Our resident teacher/lawyer, John Dunsmoor (he worked for the FBI before becoming a teacher) came in and talked to us about it. Big companies, like *hint hint karl ;)* AOL/Time Warner and Disney, not to say they wouldn't or would, can find a piece of your work and say "oh its orphaned. Its our now and we are going to 'improve' upon their works." It throws away all copyright laws and lets big companies who can throw lawyers at people to get free ideas/artworks/concepts and go to town and make credit off ideas they dont create. THIS IS A SERIOUS FUCKING THING AND NOT A CHAIN LETTER!!! Hence the LINK.

So what can be done? Write to your congressman, childrens. Also look online for how to communicate this issue and not sound like a complete retard.

I am SERIOUSLY fucking scared about all this. I have to go to Deviantart and clearly label my pictures and hope to god it is what the big companies call "CLEARLY LABELLED." Fuck fuck fuck.
Cat piano
This is f'ing HOT . . . in a cruel way. Maybe if they didn't use spikes.
Ten MORE Commandments Found
'Apparently Moses was so enraged he forgot to tell the Hebrews about commandments eleven through twenty'

(via Weekly World News)

MOUNT SINAI, Egypt -- Most people are familiar with the story of the Ten Commandments -- even if they can't name (or don't practice) all of them. They are the laws of life's conduct given to Moses by God on the peaks of Mount Sinai. After etching them into two stone tablets, Moses descended from the mountain to tell the newly-freed Israelites what God had ordered.

The Biblical patriarch known as the Deliverer found his people worshiping golden idols -- already breaking Commandment number 2 about not celebrating graven images. Moses was so angry that he hurled the two tablets from the mountain. They shattered and, according to holy texts, were subsequently 'restored' and put into the ark of the covenant, later to be discovered by Indiana Jones.

We now know that this is not the entire story. "Yes, Moses did destroy the tablets in his righteous fury, but the pieces were not put into the Ark of the Covenant." said Professor Edward Thomas Lawrence, head of a recent expedition to Mount Sinai. "It turns out the word 'restored' does not mean 'put back together.' In this case, it meant, 'Given a new copy.'

We believe that someone -- probably Moses' brother Aaron -- used his sculpting skills to make a new set and copy them. But he only copied what he saw." After a painstaking and meticulous search, Professor Lawrence recovered all the pieces of the ancient stone tablets. They had actually been left where they landed. "Everyone just wanted to get on with their day," Professor Lawrence said.

Remarkable as it is that Professor Lawrence found the original Ten Commandments, what is more astonishing is what archaeologists discovered after reassembling the tablets. "There were actually ten more commandments carved on the back!" Lawrence told us. "Apparently Moses was so enraged he forgot to tell the Hebrews about commandments eleven through twenty."

Professor Lawrence brought in Dr. Ling Wul, an expert in ancient tongues. She translated the second set of commandments and gave the Weekly World News a sneak peek at what the rest of the world will soon be hearing about. "Unlike the first Ten Commandments, which outline an important set of moral laws, the next ten have more specific applications," Dr. Wul told us. "They are more accurately described as 'quality of life' commandments. Most are self-explanatory."

11 Thou shalt tolerate the faith of others as you would have them do unto you. ("This one seems to have been directed at those who objected to other Egyptian slaves who journeyed with the flock of Moses," Wul explained.)

12 In matters of business though shalt protect the rights of laborers, as Pharaoh shouldst have done. ("This is clearly a commandment to form workers' unions.")

13 Thou shalt not put thy animals before people, either in body or spirit. ("This refers to the animal-gods of Egypt, specifically cats, whose well-being was put before that of people -- much like today," Wul told us. "There were sheep traveling with the group and this commandment protected them."

14 Thou shalt not inhale burning leaves in a house of manna where it may affect the breathing of others.

15 Thou shalt renounce a portion of thy worldly goods to be collected by agents of the ruling body ("Tax evasion was a serious problem at the time," Wul said. "A government without a sound tax policy is one that tends to go to war and take slaves.")

16 Thou shalt not elect a fool to lead thee. If twice elected, thy punishment shall be death by stoning.

17 Thou shalt not cry "fire and brimstone" during a large public gathering.

18 Thou shalt not erect a temple of gaming in the desert, where all will become wanton.

19 Thy body is sacred and thou shalt not permanently alter thy face or bosom. If thy nose offends thee, leave it alone. "

The 20th commandment is too worn away to fully read," Wul said, "but after 'Thou shalt not' the words 'war' and 'oil' were legible. It's still a mystery."

Scholars agree that it is too early to say how this discovery will change our society. "Will people begin to follow these new commandments?" Professor Lawrence asked. "Or will they be looked at as outdated set of rules? Who can say. One thing I do know: they're going to make someone else very, very rich."

Word is that Mel Gibson has bought the rights to the tablets and is preparing to film The Ten Commandments II: the Back Side of Faith.
The Wisdom of Parasites
It looks like BoingBoing and a few other websites beat me to linking to this article, but if you haven't read it yet I highly recommend doing so. It's about a wasp who's specialty is 'retooling' a cockroach's central nervous system. Very interesting.

Don't bother reading the comments. They are stupid and somewhat depressing--a sick reminder of how obsessed some people can be about the Evolution/Intelligent Design argument de jour. Earth to Morons: THEY'RE NOT MUTUALLY EXCLUSIVE, YOU FUCKING TWITS!
Damn it.
Oh, man . . .

The problem is more widespread than first thought.

ALL restrooms are now closed. Please use the Ola Babcock Miller facilities. They have been advised we may have staff and or clients frequenting their building today.


I just got that email. Actually, everyone got that email. And then one of the upper-level admins started walking around the cubicles handing out new buckets with the pricetags still attached and little "privacy sheets" to string over our cubicle walls . . .

Okay, the buckets thing didn't happen. But all the bathrooms in this building are closed!

Why did I choose today to implement my water/coffee/Dew diet?

. . .

I have been assigned the duty of describing what I do, for those who will come after me. For now, that's the fucking moronic counselors who will finally have to do their own research for once, instead of sending me the 6th request of the month for information on medical transcriptionists. We've got this one lady—M. Krefft—and her specialty is to ask for nine things at once. In the past month, no joke, she's asked for most of this stuff at least four times. For example, today I'm going to open the "mental health counselor" report I wrote for her last time, change the client's name to the new one, and send it back to her. There you go, you fucking idiot.

. . .

Ever since I found out we're all getting canned, this job has been much more tolerable. Like wildly more tolerable. I just come here and fuck around to an even higher degree and don't worry about this stuff and wonder what will happen and drink a really alarming amount of Dew and abuse the fax machine.
It could be YOU.
18 calendar days to go till full-blown unemployment. Already the edges of reality are frayed and flapping, fibers unraveling. My sanity's going. What does the future hold? Sleeping in till three pm? Forming the UnJob Club with Morgan? Stringing a web of yarn in the front yard, gutter to curb, chimney to neighbor's mailbox, and then perching in the upper corner on all fours, ready to pounce down, wind up, and devour the nearest warm being?
Monday, February 27, 2006
I'm a damn dork.
And embarrassed. I just ran a spellcheck on my computer games graphic artist report and, finding nothing wrong, blurted out a villainous "FLAWLESS VICTORY" before I remembered I'm sitting in an office full of open cubicles.

No one has said anything yet.

That is all.
Bring an Unrestrained Zombie to Work Day
This gets better as you go.
voom
Anyone know of useful websites for people interested in being graphic designer for video games/computery stuff?
Damn.
Just 19 days till my cushy job bursts like an overloved water balloon. And then what? What?! I'm screwed. Unemployment? Hawking books? Scanning your groceries? The dreaded secretarial work? The even more dreaded food service?

As always, the weekend proved exponentially busier than I could have foreseen. Where was my streak of writing? Sending stuff out to magazines? Making my crappy paintings? Shopping at a used bookstore? Going to visit the Elder Gods (that's my new name for you older Bil/Martin/Morgan people. Kenny gets in too, and Karl)? Baking lasagna? Visiting coffee shops? Raising/running from/destroying the undead?

Damn!

We did try to go ice skating, as I've never been before, but when we got there I noticed a preponderance of prepubescent girls in pink miniskirts and leotards tearing up the ice with a disturbing amount of skill. I would have run if it weren't for Sarah, who asked what the hell was going on and determined it was figure skating practice. We retreated with a vow to return for vengeance, with Amish in tow. Can you imagine Amish on ice skates? It's hard enough to imagine me. But Amish? Damn.

Now imagine him on ice skates and naked.

Okay, I'm sorry.
I want goat pictures!
Where are the goats? I was promised pictures of goats and I have, thus far, seen NONE! Don't tease me Tim. Quit stalling and make with the goats!
Sunday, February 26, 2006
Wlesye!
Saturday, February 25, 2006
Yay!


This is me loving Schoolgirl Night.

We went to the zoo today, and there were goats. Who posed for us. Pictures to follow, tomorrow.
Friday, February 24, 2006
Oh, to hell with you.
Here is a disgusting tale for you:

Last night Goathead made a PBH (peanut butter and honey) sammich. After he crept off to the Upper Paddock, I realized that I too was estarved, and went to make my own sammich. The honey sat out, upside down, nearly empty. So, while my toast cooked, I searched the fridge. Popping out from behind a variety of condiments was a bottle whose label I could partially read: honey. I smeared it into the peanut butter in the dark, ignoring the goopiness, and went back into the living room to eat my sammich.

It tasted weird.

After forcing 2/3 of it down I went back into the kitchen and discovered that the honey was actually honey mustard.

It didn't taste as disgusting as you might guess. But I threw the remainder of that fucker AWAY.
Woodwind lab
Band Instrument Repair Technology
I'm a dork.
After a grueling shuffleboard match, I just came out on top, 53 to 10. Suck it, Orbitz!

Yes, it's pathetic. Yes, I was playing one of those annoying internet popup games. The sad thing is, I sort of enjoyed it.

I seem to enjoy games based more on their aesthetic feel, or their theme, or the mood associated with them, or whatever, than on their actual quality. For example, one of my favorite games of all time was this Vampire game that Carol bought for $5 at a KB blowout. The game was made for kids, and it was pretty simple, but it was so so awesome.

You had a board of movement squares. There was a swamp, and a castle, and a dungeon, all that. And there were villagers. And in the center was the tower, which emitted a blue light. You played the game in the dark and everything turned blue and gray and you moved around in a misty atmosphere, but then—based on dice rolls—you'd hit a button to turn the light red. The tokens that had previously looked like villagers now looked like werewolves, and corners of the board turned into secret passages.

When we broke up I was really sad that game went away.

Okay, so that was really dorky. But also the integration of the light created a really badass vampire/werewolf/spooooky wignall atmosphere.

. . .

Poor bastard.
There goes Amish's weekend
Were you aware that you can be placed on the child abuse registry for "bestiality in the presence of a minor"? Keep your laws out of my pants, big government!
Thursday, February 23, 2006
In response to dwindling enlistment numbers, Iraqi security forces lower minimum enlistment age


On a more serious note:

For those of you who don't pay close attention to current events, the situation in Iraq has escalated nearly to the point of civil war. Both sides, Sunni and Sufi, have been attacking mosques and killing religious leaders, members of the press . . . anyone who moves. It is a veritable clown car full of cockbrains over there.
Kava
This initally started out as a comment to Andy's Kava post, but it was too long, and I haven't posted anything recently due to my insanely hectic schedule of bartending and neurology.
Anyways, down to the business of business.
I would not recommend Kava for some simple reasons. I took Drugs & Individual Behavior and this was topic for some time, so I have actually read recent research and done my homework on this one. Although Kava is a sedative/intoxicant which can be used for anti-anxiety, sleep promoting, and depressant like actions, it is synergistic with other depressants. Which means that if you take Kava with alcohol persay, one beer can equal 3, which doesn't seem so bad at the time. (It acts on the GABA neurotransmitter receptors in your brain, which can cause some very bad things if that gets out of whack)
Not only does it have this effect, but it can cause sedation, slurring, ocular and neck spasms, rash, Parkinsons Disease symptoms, but it can also cause possible liver damage.
Also, since it's not FDA approved, and it can be marketed as an herbal supplement, the amounts of Kava may vary from brand to brand that are out there, making an accurate dosage very difficult to maintain or administer. So, if you do decide to try it out, although it might not seem like a big deal, proceed with caution, for your own good. Anyways, just thought you might like to know that beforehand.
I'm so proud that I learned something in class. Isn't it nice to have someone with background in drugs and neurology?
I do what the Australian indigenous people in my head tell me to do
I just sent an email to my psuedo-girlfriend that began with "Hey, my mind isn't dirty! It gets cleaned regularly with alcohol."

Today I finally decided to order some Salvia Divinorum. If you don't feel like reading the Wikipedia article I just linked to, I'll just say that Salvia is an Entheogen which means it is used as a sacremental herb in tribal religious ceremony. The tribe, in this case, is the Mazatec indiginous people of the Oaxaca mountains in Mexico. Their Shamans used Salvia to go on spirit journey's and commune with a higher plane of existence. Do you know what that tells me? This stuff must really fuck you up!!!

I'm also considering purchasing Kava for my anxiety problems, and if it works I'm definitely going to suggest it to my sister because hers are twice as bad as mine. Anxiety disorders seem to run in my family and, while I've learned to deal with it without the help of Prozac, I wouldn't mind trying this 'herbal alternative to prozac' just to see if it really works.

If I like Kava enough I might try what some indigenous Australian communities have tried. As you would know if you read the Wikipedia entry for Kava that I linked to, "Some indigenous communities in Australia have banned alcohol from their land, replacing it by the safer kava."
If they successfully replaced alcohol with kava, then that tells me that it also must...yes, really fuck you up!

It might have the added bonus of making my anxiety go away, and it wouldn't give me a hangover, which would be WAYYYYY better than whiskey. Although both might be bad for my liver, the poor bastard.
boom!
It's possible that I've never received a request of more than two sentences that doesn't have at least one spelling error.

Right now I have to go look for colleges with "accounting lasses."

I'll file this with the "explosive worker."
Dr. Who Plays World of Warcraft

Blatently stolen from ytmnd
Nerds vs. Zombies
This is for Tim wanting to be zombified for any coffee-house trips, I submit this:

http://www.flickr.com/photos/pumpkin/23400753/in/set-538104/
The worst part about my job is when I want to bitch about something but know it would be too boring to even talk about! Aghhhhhhhhhh
The hunger for flesh overpowers me.
My assignment today is to find work for a man who wants "to use DJing to spread Christianity."

Also, my employers have figured out another way (besides laying off everybody) to save money. We help severely disabled people for free or at very low cost, based on how poor they are—so to save money we're now just lowering our definition of poverty by 50%! Brilliant!

I asked someone yesterday why, if we're so broke, we can afford to have 10-15 construction workers on hand at all times, tearing all hell out of everything, and putting in posh new carpeting and herman miller chairs, and was told that it all comes out of a separate fund.

Well, balls!

Today I happen to be dressed as an organ grinder, and already caught no end of poo from it. I am dressed as an organ grinder because I am wearing a suit and a red tie, but also fingerless gloves.

I'm going to organize a zombie-themed party sometime next month, I think. I'm thinking of instating a policy whereby I will not go to a coffeehouse/bar/restaurant in March unless we're all dressed as ravaging zombies.
Wednesday, February 22, 2006
Sadness Ensues
I have to figure out a way to tow my car. Yes. Tow it. It wont start. It is dead. Like engine block cracked dead. 2 Ticket and Will Be Impounded Dead.

And this means I will have no car. It is sadness. I wanted to sell it on eBay SOOOOOO bad, cuz it was haunted by the Ghosts of Disrepair.

Also: Liking someone and not having any sort of testicles to tell them sucks...well, testicles.
Not my day/month/year...
I spent the afternoon in the emergency room. I managed to accidently cut my thumb bad enough that I now have 8 stitches in it.

I feel like such a fucking idiot...
BBAJ
Oh, man . . . the woman with the weird briefcase is sitting across the hall from me now.

Our supervisor came by and told me not to touch the briefcase case—and I told the woman that, but now she requested to be transferred next to me, she left the thing on my desk, and she put a box of mints on top as a bribe. AND SHE KEEPS TALKING TO ME IN THAT WEIRD VOICE.

. . .

Earlier this morning, I was involved in a string of emails involving the phrase "baked bean anal jet" and Amish's name.
Toothbrush
If you had to make sweet love to Britt's brother Lucas, like had to, like let's say Dave won the lottery and disappeared and three years later a midget jumped you in an alleyway and crammed a sock of chloroform into your mouth and you woke up later above Dave Wells's floating derigible full of poison gas and in order to get the antidote you had to have sex with Lucas, and you could choose between two outfits for Lucas, would you rather he wore

1) pleather chaps and a sombrero

or

2) a giant smurf costume?
Bag.
Agh! This lady here keeps asking me to research her fucking satchel, which she found in a trunk somewhere. It's imprinted with the word "Treble," which she believer—after much internet searching—links it to a concert hall in Canada. Why? Because it's called Treble Hall. She thinks it was manufactured there, by hand.

She comes by every day to ask why we haven't begun working on it. Today she brought it by and I turned it over and on the bottom it says "Mnfct. in Detroit, Mich."
*sigh*
Well, neither you nor I need worry about me running off to California.

For all my worrying about whether or not I wanted California, turns out California doesn't want me. I fear it's not alone...

On the plus side, this seems all too fitting. Not to my situation, but well, you'll see...
Tuesday, February 21, 2006
Skeleton Power
Honest to God I did this just now on a Test in Western Civ Since 1600s:

Hagal used references from both the Enlightenment Era and the Romanticisms era. Describe these references and how they apply to each other.

-Damn it, Milligan! Yout got me again, you son of a bitch! Oh man...I dont have a clue! You are slick, my good man!


...then I erased it all and BSed an answer. I have no ballz.
About as useful as a chocolate teapot . . .
Ever wonder how useful a chocolate teapot really might be? Me neither! But these guys sure did!
Great Jeebus!
Old school
http://www.flickr.com/photos/skinnycoder/102377244/in/set-72057594067730271/

In all his 8-bit glory.

The katamari one makes me giggle wildly.
Less and less relevant the more you read.
For the consideration of those who joined me months ago to form TEAM FUCKUP. It's this Sunday, with a $10 entry fee, and Andy and I are both sort of ambivalent on it. We all know Amish would gladly join. But what of us? What of little Cricket? PeePants Henderson? Young Goathead? Crusty Pete (me)?

One of the laid-off transcriptionists here just asked the other researcher what she's going to do now. "Go back to chasing retards," she said bitterly, and I couldn't help but imagine those county fair greased pig chasing competitions. Except the pig was replaced with a special kid, of course.

This job—working with the disabled, even from a distance—turns you into a terrible person. Terrible! How I hate the disabled now! I want to kick them in their wobbly knees! And I can't decide if it's because I'm sick, because there's something genuinely bothersome about the other, or if it's just because they're the client group—in the same way that P. Hut made me hate fast food customers, the UNI library made me hate patrons, and the NAR made me hate writers. Maybe it's not so much that I hate the disabled, but that I hate whoever it is I'm supposed to serve in any given job.

I'm trying to write a story right now that, at its most basic, involves a guy in a wheelchair, a stoner, a disgruntled worker, and a stolen snake. The wheelchair guy necessarily has to be very annoying, because that's his character, but then is that me stereotyping or discriminating? Maybe I should make everyone annoying? Who knows. What I do know is, he's getting a snake across the face.

. . .

Part of a research request I just received (elipses not mine):

"……it will inspire you! Bring a nose plug………"

. . .

Even though Bil smells like streudel, I think we should go see him—and those other people who live there. I say we because, as most of you know, my car is still sitting outside the flophouse, lopsided on its three good tires, heartless with its dead battery, insides decaying as plastic drops away from the door and my emergency bottled water freezes and thaws and freezes and thaws inside the trunk. Someday I will get that car. Someday when the temperature climbs out of the Fucking Freezing part of the thermometer.

But I'm not goin anywhere unless we eat pizza.

. . .

For the sake of achieving easy, sleazy fame, I'll be installing video cameras around Le Chateau. This will capture all the drama of house life, including all beer box shaking, love snake kissing, Halo playing, Amish insulting, snow tracking, drain clogging, and popcorn stealing. I resolve to leave in even the popcorn stealing, despite the fact that I am the shameless thief.
Monday, February 20, 2006
Last night I ate a delicious pumpkin dumpling.
An interesting article about revenge (you have to watch a little Salon ad to read the entire text).
A short history: Cricket vs. the Printer
Summer of '98ish: AP printer at local radio station creates a sea of paper every tour. Papercuts ensue.

Fall of 02: Server for printer in the computer lab is unable to handle anything Cricket sends to it. Results in Cricket being unable to print his project and holding up everyone else from doing the same.

Anytime after Cricket aquired his most recent printer: Inkjet printer randomly stops talking to the computer. No printing possible without a restart or a multi-hour wait. This will also happen midway through a printing, causing only a half of a page to be printed.

Summer of '04: Cricket mutters something about the printer's mother when a project was chewed up via paper jam. The Lexmark heard and covers Cricket's car with circus peanuts.

Today: Printer in the studio will not acknoledge that files Cricket sends to it. Finally snapping, Cricket drops the printer from the 5th floor landing.
JOBS
In things that might interest Wes: These aren't really game-y, but they do involve computery stuff, and pay considerably more than I'm making.

(tech jobs with the state, mostly computery, for 40-80k)

. . .

What with today being day 28 in a reverse count of days till I'm a fucking hobo, I applied for a proofreading job with the Legislature. Maybe I can sabottage the state code . . . from the INSIDE!

I think they'll notice a provision to ship a box of whisky and prostitutes to my home address, though.
Wear fedora, sunglasses, and trenchcoat
So much action on the blog today—what with Bil's lifeday, Martin's appearance, Dave's vomiting up of old pictures, and the Second Coming of Karl, that I'd feel guilty leaving my usual soulless stream of textbile.

I tried to find a good Google image matching the phrase "ruined birthday," but all I got was a happy cartoon character.

Which ain't gonna cut the cobbler.

. . .

Sarah and I discovered a megalicious Chinese buffet somewhere on Ingersoll, approaching downtown from the west. Like all buffets, it had the ambiance of a battlefield full of 4 year-olds—screaming children, spilled soda, handprints of tapioca smeared across the glass booth dividers. But also there was pineapple chicken, the Vengeful General Tsao, black pepper squid, and sushi that I was too afraid to try, buffet sushi surely being scarier than its more exclusive, less whorish cousin. Overall, everything was delicious. There were even little pumpkin dumplings, which looked like real pumpkins! Sexy.

. . .

All you people should come visit us sometime. Never mind that you've had your own house for years! Never mind it!

Someday I'll figure out how to list our address on here without risking attack and torture from weird internet hobos.

If anyone ever wants our address, email me at pharaoh at gmail.

. . .

This is Day 28 of my Hobo Countdown (Day Zero being the day I walk out of here for the last time, at 4:30). The only ideas I've come up with for my newfound freedom:

1) Wear fedora, sunglasses, and trenchcoat. Drive to Ames. Shadow Cricket all day, or until he suffers paranoid collapse. Cover his body in roast beef.

2) Construct giant plastic red hamsterball. Roll self across Des Moines, from east to west. Probably end up in Martin's, Bil's, and Morgan's yard.

3) Sleep. Forevermore. Or at least through the weekend.
For Bil's Birthday: Pictures He Aint Got a Fuckin' Clue About






May the rest of your days be just as confusing and out of the loop.
Sunday, February 19, 2006
wahwahwaaaaaah
Happy Birthday to meeeee.
Saturday, February 18, 2006
Small Fucking World
So anyone remember Candice? Yeah... shes cousins with someone here. Fucking hell! I saw pictures! I saw proofs! Small fuckin world, indeed.
Friday, February 17, 2006
The New Computer is Here! The New Computer is Here! The New Computer is Here! The New Computer is Here! The New Computer is Here! The New Computer is Here! The New Computer is Here! The New Computer is Here! The New Computer is Here! The New Computer is Here! The New Computer is Here! The New Computer is Here! The New Computer is Here! The New Computer is Here! The New Computer is Here! The New Computer is Here! The New Computer is Here! The New Computer is Here! The New Computer is Here! The New Computer is Here! The New Computer is Here! The New Computer is Here! The New Computer is Here! The New Computer is Here! The New Computer is Here! The New Computer is Here! The New Computer is Here! The New Computer is Here! The New Computer is Here! The New Computer is Here! The New Computer is Here! The New Computer is Here! The New Computer is Here! The New Computer is Here! The New Computer is Here! The New Computer is Here! The New Computer is Here! The New Computer is Here! The New Computer is Here! The New Computer is Here! The New Computer is Here! The New Computer is Here! The New Computer is Here! The New Computer is Here! The New Computer is Here! The New Computer is Here! The New Computer is Here! The New Computer is Here! The New Computer is Here! The New Computer is Here! The New Computer is Here! The New Computer is Here! The New Computer is Here! The New Computer is Here! The New Computer is Here! The New Computer is Here! The New Computer is Here! The New Computer is Here! The New Computer is Here! The New Computer is Here! The New Computer is Here! The New Computer is Here! The New Computer is Here! The New Computer is Here! The New Computer is Here! The New Computer is Here! The New Computer is Here! The New Computer is Here! The New Computer is Here! The New Computer is Here! The New Computer is Here!

Almost as annoying as replacing Computer with Phonebook. Bye bye Crashetron: youll be taking a trip out a 5th floor window this weekend.
Who invented math?
I had an uncle once—Dad's little brother, Hale—who claimed that he did, that he'd been plopped down here in time by a demon who wanted to disrupt the universe. The Great Screaming Halt, as he called it, was to occur on November 6, 1988, when a giant slide of glass would float out of the black of the universe and slide as a lens in front of the sun, frying us all. I loved Hale. He'd show up drunk at our house in the middle of the night with all kinds of equations and symbols written on his face and arms, information he said he couldn't afford to lose. Then he and Dad would start arguing about it, Dad being an enthusiastic Christian who believed that the world was going to end not by Hale's abominations but by the ones the Bible tells: fire, plagues, Jesus from the sky, and whatnot. Every time, they'd end up drunk, falling over the floor on each other while I sat and watched, not scared so much as trying to figure out who I wanted to win: Dad or Hale? If they were still going at it when Mom got home, she'd make me go lock myself in the bathroom until the scene broke up (Hale was dangerous, she said; he'd strangled a man); but by then Hale had already made an impression on me. I started trying to come up with my own ideas like Uncle Hale's, based on hours of research and study of numbers barfed out in error by our dot-matrix printer, the static on the TV, what have you. Before Hale died he made real sure that he'd planted his seed inside me—sequestered me with the passion, if you know what I mean, and, really, I point to him as the reason I got interested in school and therefore why I'm sitting here enlightening you and the world's children on the mysteries of science.
I was just looking through my old files

and found this, from the reflexology report.
Step into my office
After my you're-fucking-fired meeting, one of the women who'd been inside came over and was like "you're that guy with the unbuttoned shirt cuffs." Which was weird. And then she said she'd seen me at a job interview a while ago—so I was like "could be." But then she gave me the time period and the employer—Marsh in WDM—and she was right.

The moral is, if you're trying to escape international prosecution for war crimes, you should probably remember to button your cuffs or people will remember you.
Countdown...TO DOOOM!!!!!! -:-OR-:- it'll be a frugal weekend
Well!

I have 30 days left at this job. (Coincidentally, then, my final day will be St. Patty's Day! I know this will make Goathead happy—and drunk.)

My employer is cancelling all its contracts with temp and hiring agencies, which includes me. However that works.

So if you hear of any openings in your agencies, companies, whatever one-eyed beast it is you work for, lemme know. I'm not too concered since I'm leaving for grad school at the end of the summer—but I need to find something, eventually, to pay rent.

They're sending in an unemployment person to set us up, but I know nothing of that devilry—anyone have experience/insight/etc?
Im not a Hobo, Im a Bohemian
Poor Tim. Literally. Welcome to the world that may make you mooch off others for meals, gas, and attention. But bright side: You will collect unemployment if they can your hobo ass.

I got a flyer in the mail from Dominos. But its addressed to "THE PIZZA LOVER AT" and my addy. How did they know I love pizza?! I must flaunt that fact a lot.

Oh oh oh! I get my computer today! Whoohoo! Now I can blood pit and myspace and AIM and chat and pornsurf all i want to and not have to shun myself in the lobby computers. Damn Im pathedic!
The Hobo Life
This could be the day I lose my job!

Yes!

This all started when I was asked to compile a table displaying the number of research assignments, including statistics for number per day, week, month, and all that that I'm asked to write. Then, surprised that I was only being asked to do 0-3 a day, they asked what kind of stuff I'm being asked to research (filmmaking opportunities in Des Moines!). Then they asked me to start keeping a log of what I do here, with entries every 15 minutes. Then they asked me to go back and chart business for the past 15 months!

Then they told me they might phase out this job after April! Then they told me to write a training manual for it in case they gave the job to someone else! Then yesterday they asked me and Kathy if we'd be here today, and if not, how to get hold of us! Then they asked me to meet with my boss and the head devil lady who was disappointed with how little work we actually do, today at 1:30, in her office. (I hear the office has a pit full of rusty edged weaponry.)

Anyway.

The Outer Limits was not as wondrous as I'd hoped; I forgot how hokey the show was. But then, some (or many) things in the SF universe are wondrous FOR their hokiness. And looked at that way, the DVD wasn't so bad. Even though some of the stories didn't make sense (would a mid-40s paraplegic who'd never been laid ACTUALLY turn down a luscious young sexbot who could fuck him AND do the dishes?).

I awoke to find an empty unused mattress on the living room floor. Someone hauled it out of Spooky Wignall's dungeon, through the shower room, through Spooky's Tap, up the stairs, through the kitchen, through the dining room, and into the living room—for naught! Ah ha ha!
Thursday, February 16, 2006

For Tim I remember when we all laughed at Sean Connery 6-years ago...sigh. Where has the time gone?
Should I make something up about porn?
I have just been assigned to write a report about

"FILM MAKING OPPORTUNTIES IN THE DM AREA WITH CONTACT INFORMATION OR LIST OF ASSOCIATIONS"

But it should be easy, because the client "has experience in theater productions."
Fuckin' Beemen want my Pow'ball ticket

Courtesy Tom Ooley (Professional Crastinator on my Myspace friends)
More proof that I REALLY need to get off Wikipedia:
Some men have also experimented with penis banding as a means to temporarily experience what life would be like without a functional penis.
I need to stop cruising Wikipedia.


Madness!
Phoebe's knocked up and Ross is on crack...again

Holy piss. Holy piss. Coke has re-released Surge. But now its VAULT. All extreme for teens. And HOLY FUCKING HOMICIDAL ARMADILLOS SET ABLASE BY THEIR OWN SINFUL DESIRES!!! IforgothowmuchdamncaffeineandsugarisinSurgethelasttimeIhadthismuchenergywasonthebusfo rSpeechandTimdidntknowaboutpronouncingeverysyllableinasentenceandKellyTenofellasleepn exttousandthatswhyTimwaslisteningtometheentiretimeIfeellikeFryewhenhedrank100cupsofco ffeeonFuturamaandtimesloweddownandeverythingwasinslowmotionandthisismeoncaffeineandsu gar:HeywhatareyoudoingHeywhatareyoudoingHeywhatareyoudoingHeywhatareyoudoingHeywhatar eyoudoingHeywhatareyoudoingHeywhatareyoudoingHeywhatareyoudoingHeywhatareyoudoingHeyw hatareyoudoingHeywhatareyoudoingHeywhatareyoudoingHeywhatareyoudoingHeywhatareyoudoin gHeywhatareyoudoingHeywhatareyoudoingHeywhatareyoudoingHeywhatareyoudoingHeywhatareyo udoingHeywhatareyoudoingHeywhatareyoudoingHeywhatareyoudoingHeywhatareyoudoingHeywhat areyoudoingHeywhatareyoudoingHeywhatareyoudoingHeywhatareyoudoingHeywhatareyoudoingHe ywhatareyoudoingHeywhatareyoudoing?!?!?!?! *passes out*
Signed, the Spaniard
I'm adopting a new name: "The Dutchman." This is to confound my enemies. You are to refer to me only as The Dutchman.

Never mind that I'm not Dutch.

And no plays on my new name—a la "The Doucheman"—will be allowed.

In unrelated news, Amish's new name is The Frenchman.

. . .

Tonight is Megan's birthday. Yay, Megan! Yay! Unless you don't know her, as most of you don't. To you people I say: that's okay. I won't be celebrating either, because I am going to be a good boy and stay home and drink juice and watch The Outer Limits, which came in from Netflix. The particular collection I ordered is called

Sex and Science Fiction

which is basically all I ever think about, so I should enjoy it.
enjoy, destroy, cat toy
for trebuchet scematics, go here --> http://www.ripcord.ws/plans/plans.html
There is no linkifying the address for your ease.
Wednesday, February 15, 2006
Francais Nouveau
1) Making a cartoon is HARD.
2) Making a flash cartoon is EASY.
3) Should I "hire" a graphic designer to make a banner for the blog? Theyll do it for free...
Changes
I... seem to have hit the wrong button.

The blog looks different now.

All our old comments are gone.

Sorry about that.
For people who live in Le Chateau:
It's rent day!

Give Sergio a check for $51.424. Don't forget that last digit.

Also we need to figure out what we owe Bunbun for utilities.
Baaaaaby, I'm hot just like an oven
Has anyone heard if Amish got that bottle of Valentine's day lotion I sent him? I should have used the UPS tracker.

Cricket showed me the schematics for a trebuchet that throws tennis-ball sized projectiles. I’ve seen them somewhere before, but I couldn’t seem to find them today. Cricket, could you post a link to them? I think it might be beneficial information for all of us anyway.

As soon as we’re finished building that trebuchet we’ll have to start work on a bigger version that will chuck pumpkins 150 yards. Do you know what’s approximately 150 yards from our house? Wendy’s. That red-headed whore is going to pay for her allegiance to the queen!

I’ve been listening to the live version of Sexual Healing on my iPod over and over and over. I just can’t get enough of it. When I get that feeling, I need sssssexual heaaaaling. Sexual heeeaaaaling is something that is good for me!

Last night I had a lovely candlelit dinner with the sweetest, most beautiful girl in Des Moines and I would just like to wave that fact around like a prize goose in front of your drooling, starving faces. She was even wearing a green dress to match her gorgeous green eyes!

Don’t be too jealous, I’ll surely F it up in a week or two. Most likely in a drunken groping stupor.

If I don’t F it up though . . . oh buddy

And baby, I can’t hold it much longer. It’s getting stronger and stronger. And when I get that feeling I want Sssexual heeaaling.
Cheap stuff
This place might be worth checking out.
Filthy Embarrassment
Oh, man.

Before publishing my last post, I had to look up the lyrics to Mmmbop (although I later ignored the proper spelling of "bu dop doo wop" or whatever). Then I went over to Kathy's cubicle to help her resize a table, at which point the Crying Woman appeared with a bushel of starlight mints and tried to give me one but then delivered it to my desk instead, and I'm afraid she might have wondered why the hell I had a Hanson's fansite lyrics page open on my desktop.

I'm gonna throw myself on my scissors.
MMMbop. Dup ba doo wop.
Damn it! I forgot to watch the elephant show!

I really dig the puppets, especially the one with the mighty mustache. If I had that thing he'd follow me everywhere. He'd be My Buddy—except that his hair wouldn't fall out like the real My Buddy, because he doesn't have any hair.

Did you ever think about how weird My Buddy was? It was basically a love doll for kids. It was a life-size fake person that you played with instead of fucked. But . . . you didn't really play with him. What the hell were you supposed to do with that thing, anyway? I could carve a better Battletoads partner out of Amish's left buttock.

I am in the final stages of a turkey/pepperoni/munster sammich. It's good.

I gave Sarah the Adventures of Pete and Pete (Vol. 2!) for V-Day, and so last night was treated to such classic episodes as

The Call (featuring a telephone worker who looks JUST LIKE ANDY'S FATHER)
Time Tunnel
and
The Halloween Episode

Let me cut back to Battletoads here for a second. I know Dave will disparage me for this, but I could never pass the speeder bike level—which basically means, I could hardly get into the game. I was fine with the initial fights, then with the rapelling and the crows, but once I mounted that bike—done. Done! Done and over! The ambulance has lost its wheel. Anybody fare any better?
Tuesday, February 14, 2006
Frogs
Ok I don't want to overshadow monki's post and I'm glad to hear those game companies are still after you. Thought I might finally finish that cryptic post I made a week back.

I quit Target on Jan 30th. I decided that was enough of that crap as they were gearing up for a remodel and reorganization of the schedules. End result was 4am start time, customer service after 8am, and having to learn several new duties without any further compensation. Well thats what would occur should we chose to stay they offered transfers to one of the three stores that was still overnight or quiting as options. And all this would have taken effect in May after helping to massively rearrange the store in the remodel. Not sure exactly what I'm going to do next but sleeping on a regular schedule and not trying to hide from the daylight is facinating after 4.5 years of opposite time.

Also I hadn't mentioned really but I sort of introduced myself to the Des Moines Playhouse some time back and left a copy of my old theatre resume. They called me and I've gone in to help with lighting a couple times and then I sort of became their goto guy for puppets after they had a contractor build what was supposed to be a large giant for the Big Friendly Giant out of an inflatible love-doll wrapped in fiberfill and fabric. The downside is that they are essentially a not-for-profit organization so I only get reimbursed for materials. And I've let them off cheap so far. They've provided most of the raw materials and some old packing foam that Bil brought home a long while back made up most of em. Thought I'd show you them here quick since I'd bummed a digi-cam. And thats more than I'd posted in a long time. hah enjoy.




First fellow is Mighty Adolph from Pippi Longstockings. Second is the Terrible Frog from A Year With Frog and Toad
California == ack
Well. I'm at work. It is soul crushing, demeaning, etc... as per usual.

On the bright side, I am in the midst of an interview process to maybe get hired by a game company. They are in California, and it would involve moving there. This scares the shit out of me, every bit of shit, a veritable fecal flood.

But the company Mind Control Software looks really cool, and I think it would be a really good opportunity. Get my feet wet and that jazz. I realize that I haven't yet got the chops for going it alone, so getting some more experience and meeting lots of cool people would definately help.

Anyway, the interview process so far is at least somewhat encouraging. I talked to them once before and said I wasn't looking to move, so they had my infos. About a week ago a person from the company I hadn't talked to before emailed me and asked if I was still looking for a job. Being sought out is hot. So anyway, we talked a bit and now I have a programming problem I'm supposed to do in order to give them some idea of my abilities, coding style, work style, etc. This too is shit loosening.

So, you have been warned. I'm on the edge, say boo and I fucking shoot BANG!

Thoughts?

P.S. I left a dollar bill under Amish's windshield yesterday, but wait there is more. I got a female co-worker to write "for last night" and initial it with a big ass lip print. He won't read this, so its not yet ruined. I haven't talked to him, so I haven't had an opportunity to give him shit. Must exercise caution, if one of us brings it up he will surely know. But if he brings it up I am apt to laugh maniacly and he will know all the more. Oh dilemma of dilemmas...
Gone.
Great gravy. I am so bored that my brain is going to melt. It's going to simmer and then liquidize and drip from my ear canals in long, waxy rivulets that stain my shirt collar and make people question my hygiene habits (which are pretty questionable). But of course I won't care because my brain will be gone.

Were you aware that some peoples' earwax hardens in their ears, and has to be removed by doctors (or at least is best removed by doctors)? I dated a girl with this condition once. I guess it's not all that uncommon, since boingboing or some similar online magazine ran a story about an ear doctor who figured out a steadily-handled SuperSoaker could accomplish the same thing as a professional water tool.

Prodded by ridiculous movies, Sarah and I bought a bottle of $11 champagne which is probably going to roast our mouths and dissolve our throats. Or maybe not? I have no idea what this stuff tastes like. Has anyone had champagne? Even cheap stuff?

This is a movie you should watch: Brazil. It's very 80's and British, in a way that's reminiscent (in its filmography) of Clockwork Orange and other Brit SF. Its themes are a mishmash of political and humor stuff. And it's directed by Terry Gilliam, with one of the other Python guys in a minor part. It's basically a story about future Britain mired in bureaucracy. Sort of 1984 with a more visually interesting world and a lighter hearted story. Robert DeNiro is one of countless terrorists wanted for interrogation, for riding ziplines in to citizens' apartments and fixing their plumbing.

A lot of the terrorist/interrogation/government crap is weirdly reminiscent of the current state of the US.

Anyway: good movie.

God, I'm bored. Bored bored.

I know V-Day's a special occasion for some people, especially the married-void-of-passion sort, but how the hell could you afford any of the date specials in DM tonight? $200 for a couple? Fudge that, ya fudge hole (to paraphrase Meatwad).

I know what I'll be doing for Valentine's Day: watching Dave's link to the woman who fellates the elephant. At least, until Sarah gets home from work.
Dead fish
If you've eaten sushi, give me some suggestions!
Olive loaf
I wanna study to be a paralegal at Hamilton!

This program is represented to lead to multiple job opportunities and is not meant to lead to any particular outcome, including what is specified in the program title. Although the College will assist the student with job placement, finding a job is the ultimate responsibility of the student. The College does not guarantee that any student will be placed in any particular job, or at all.

That sounds very encouraging.

You know what I am upset about? The dearth of decent movies at theaters. I was going to write something along these lines: let's go to a decent movie. But then I realized: there are no fucking decent movies. The last decent movie in theaters was Land of the Fucking Dead.

There are probably some okay features. I heard Capote was good, for example, and having spent too long in Creative Nonfiction class, I actually have an interest in seeing it. But as far as group movies go, it ain't gonna cut the olive loaf.

Sarah has some free tickets to Fridley theaters, but do you think they're showing anything decent? They're showing Pride & Prejudice (although they're also showing the Matador, which is about hitmen. But as far as a date's concerned, a movie about hitmen ain't gonna cut the olive loaf either).

That olive loaf is going uncut.

Hey, does Nick still come here? I haven't seen his comments in a while.

Speaking of Nick: if you (anyone) have tried to call lately and left a message of import, the comments box here would be a good way to get hold of me. My phone hasn't been routinely charged, carried, or used since the move.
Happy Valentine's DaROBOTROBOTNEEDSSKINROBOTNEEDSYOURSKINROBOTROBOTROBOTSKINROBOTROBOTSKINROBOTNEEDSROBOTSKINOILROBOTSKINROBOTROBOTROBOTROBOTROBOTSKIN
This morning I composed some fortune cookie fortunes, but they would work equally well for V-Day greeting cards:

A renegade robot from the future will tear off your skin and draw it over its own angular robot body, then assume your identity and stalk around the city, dismembering those you love.

Prepare to be hacksawed.

Saddle up the next rabid dog you find.

Your last date stole a pair of your underwear, and masturbates into them nightly.

Doomed!


Yes, it's true: I am a romantic. Obviously. In fact, I even got Sarah a gift—but I hid it so well that even I can't find it. This is what happened:

Sarah came home. I was in her room w/the box from Amazon, so I dropped it through the laundry chute (if you played Clue at our house, you may know that the laundry chute leads from Sarah's room to the Transformers Pavilion). Later that night Bunny showed up with a busted tire and there was some tequila and I retrieved the boxed gift and have no idea where I hid it after that.

So: balls.

I considered giving Amish the ultimate V-Day gift: a telephone haranguing.

ME: Amish! Happy Valentine's Day!

AMISH: Fuck yo—

ME: What'd you give yourself? A protective layer of callouses?!

ANDY: What'd you give yourself? Some LUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUBE?.

But I shan't do that, for by the then robot from the future will already have skinned him, and he'll just be a quivering, moaning pile of muscle, fat, tendons, and other gloop.

But Amish mockery aside, I am quite distraught over the loss of Sarah's gift.

In answer to the comment thread on my previous post, yes, I hang up on a lot of people in the line of my job/looking for a place to stay. It involves this formula:

Time + Retardation = Frustration
Continued Retardation + Frustration = Me hanging up

For example, the last time Wellsy saw me hang up, the landlord . . . couldn't get through his head-- It was something about—- we asked for a nine month lease, and he, sort of annoyed, said "well, I want at least a six month," so I said something about the nine, and he was like "at least SIX." And then the killer was when he asked for rental references and I said we'd all been successfully renting for years and he got pissy with me and then FUCK IM!

Okay, maybe I do have a low tolerance for these people.

Over the weekend I was (un)fortunate enough to hear some older people talk about the evils of alcohol, drinking, etc. Right when this discussion hit its soppy, melodramatic, blood-on-the-windshield zenith, I remembered Rominger's Pop Wright story from almost a decade ago, Rominger standing in the high school library, telling us and his other classmates and his teachers and the motivational Pop Wright how his friends in Burlington were out partying, out drinking on their boat, ignoring speed warnings. "Hit a barge," he said. "Killed em all." And, back in the present time, I could not stop laughing.

I intend to see Rominger this weekend.

I also intend to catch Wes on the rebound. And fuck him. Or maybe I'll just tip off Amish. There's nothing that patches up heartbreak like a sticky patch of Amish's thigh hair.
Monday, February 13, 2006
The Next Level of Crossing-The-Line-of-Decency

ELEPHANT SHOWS!
Frustration
I just called Hamilton to ask if they have online paralegal programs.

"I'll transfer you in just a second. But first can I have your first name?"

"Tim. T-i-m."

"Kim?"

"Tim."

"Ken, okay, ken."

"T-i-m."

"K-e-n. And your last name?"

then:

"And can you give me your address?"

"I'd rather not."

"How about a zip code?"

"50265"

"50625. Out of . . . Des Mwawn, Iowa?"

"Jep."

"And an email?"

"T-i-m dot d-i-c-k-s @ iowa—"

"I thought you said your name was Ken."

"Just a second—" (tim hangs the fuck up)

And while I'm at it: the Iowa Bar Association are FUCKING RETARDED.
For Tim
http://www.instructables.com/ex/i/4C671748ED3B1028A1FC001143E7E506/
Birthday
It is in fact my birthday, thanks.

This birthday, at least, I do feel older. I don't know that this is a good thing necessarily.

Also, last night my girlfriend became my ex. It was fairly mutually decided, but still not happy making.

So, yeah. Hope other people are having a better time of things...
Happy birthday Wes.
Sunday, February 12, 2006
Friday, February 10, 2006
I'll bring back some Egyptian beer for you. Did you know the guys who built the pyramids were alotted a liter a day? I think that's right...
Oh mannnnnnnnnnn oh mannnnnnnnnn.

You know that crying lady I've written about before? The lady whose voice is so staggered and weird that she sounds as if her husband just fucked her son and then burned down the house while raping the family dog?

She came down here today with a file the size of a phone book, and started babbling in her weird, weird way about how she found a breifcase and searched the name online and she thinks it's old and valuable but no one will listen to her and then she pressed the file into our hands and told us to "crack the case."

So the other researcher told her it'd be best to go through our supervisor, since it's not really work-related, and she was like—"well, I found the briefcase during work hours, on a trip. So there you go. That's work-related."

Anyway, I have this file sitting on my bookshelf, and I don't know what to do with it.

The reason I'm thinking of this now is that I just heard her down the hall, in an exchange that went like this:

her: "…and then….they dr…ag you be….fore…their panel and acc….use you of selling comp…any laptops….and … tear you ap…art"

him: "I really don't know anything about—"

her: "…well….I don't know…if I believe you….but they tear you ap….art…and say you've been….stealing laptops…and it's not fair…and they want me to….admit…"

What the fuck is going on here? I need a new job.

. . .

As some of you know, I am gone this weekend, to a time-traveling convention in 640 BC Egypt. I've left themed boobytraps in my room, such as a swarm of malaria-ridden mosquitoes.
What I will be arrested for ten years from now.
Fucking Shit Cockery
So, after about 6 months of silence, Jaime calls me finally. She needs me to fix her computer. No "Sorry for not calling or getting ahold of you over break when I knew you were trying to get ahold of me" or "Hey Im sorry I missed you" just "my computer isnt running The Sims." I can overlook that... wait no I cant. Thats selfish. But then...THEN she says something to the effect of "this boy bought me a ring. It was the most selfless and nonselfish thing anyone has ever done for me my entire life. No ones ever catered to me like this before..."

You know, besides destroying my car twice, me worrying to death about her at AIT & writing every other nite, skipping out of peoples 21st b-days to go see her, getting her together with her baby's daddy, driving 200 miles a weekend including several blizzard expeditions to Cedar Falls, letting her live rent free at my place, councilling her during bad times with her pregnancy, laundering money to her when she didnt have enough to buy food, and other acts too numerous to mention, *GASP* Ive never DONE ANYTHING SPECIFICALLY FOR HER!

The math isnt right. There is not enough gnomes in the garden to make this equation work. Henceforth: I wipe my hands of her. No more of this fuckin assenine (read: Ass of Nine, like the Cat-o-Nine-Tails) cock pullery. Im done. Done! The value of a person is in their sacrifices to others, and if you dont take that credit then I wont do business with you.

Fuckin Done. I will not be trampled upon anymore; my name is not Mat. If she needs to talk to me, thats fine. But I wont be at her beck & call.
Thursday, February 09, 2006
We need to modify our trashcan
Wednesday, February 08, 2006
Just a man makin tacos
Bollocks! I tried to show you all a sweet ass picture of the Russian Patriot, Iron Curtain, but alas! The internets here wont let me send anything >50k. So I wrote a tech support request, but I made damn sure to put a Nazi Flag on the form and said the tech support people were all a bunch of these. So I got in a lil trouble for that cuz one of the tech people apparently is a german or a jew or somethin like that...anyway: It was a sweet picture! Fuckin' Tech Nazis.

Does anyone remember the hellatious escapes we did to get away from Barb Zelhart, alias, Ze'Barbdogs? What an anal cunt. Its not like school IS a prison camp, it just simulates the atmosphere for educational and moral stimulations.
Check out these dumbass law proposals.
It's not hip till there's a dog costume rental shop on every corner.
Drake tries to lure students in by calling Des Moines "the hippest city in the USA."
Tuesday, February 07, 2006
You don't.
In case you're curious, this is how you get convictions expunged from your record, in response to the research request detailed a few posts back.

We spoke with a representive of Iowa’s Division of Criminal Investigation, criminal history records department (515.281.4776). She advised that there was no way she was aware of to remove a criminal conviction from a subject’s record, and that she’d never seen it done. She advised that the client contact a lawyer, although she didn’t think this would yield much.

(About a month ago, a client told his counselor that since his convictions were over seven years old, they were unreportable to potential employers. We contacted DCI, the Iowa Attorney General, and the Department of Labor, and nobody had heard of this supposed regulation. The only regulation of this sort is detailed in the Federal Fair Credit Reporting Act, section 605 A, and concerns only the reporting of credit issues.)

Iowa’s Governor has the power to issue pardons, but this rarely happens. Also, according to the application I picked up from the Governor’s Office (Room 109) at the State Capitol, “a pardon will not . . . erase or expunge the record of conviction.” (page 1). Pardons are available only for convictions in Iowa, based on Iowa law, and not federal crimes or convictions in other states.

To apply for a pardon, contact the Iowa Governor’s office or send us your fax number, and I’ll fax this ap on over. The ap is five pages long, and it’s recommended that you append letters of recommendation from the following people:

1) Prosecuting attorney

2) Sentencing judge

3) County sheriff

4) Minister (if applicable)

5) Present and/or former employer

6) Other reputable persons

Also, you must submit proof of payment of court costs, fines, and restitution; a current Iowa Criminal History Record; a signed waiver; and current credit history.

The application will ask for a listing of other offenses.

If you need any more information, let us know. Again, we can fax this application along with supplemental materials as soon as you want it, provided you send us your fax number.
Lord knows I've tried
This is by Kurt Vonnegut, on censorship:

There is the word "motherfucker" one time in my Slaughterhouse Five, as in "Get out of the road, you dumb motherfucker." Ever since that word was published, way back in 1969, children have been attempting to have intercourse with their mothers. When it will stop no one knows.
I'm drinking your shoes.
I know that this is, in some sense, a valid question--I could find the answer somewhere, and even though I really doubt there's any sort of method that's going to be useful to this guy, maybe--maybe:

I need to know how someone would have a felony taken off of their record. A client stated that he was interested in doing this due to his felony taking place in 1994. He said he heard people are able to write the Governor to request this. What are the methods/process of having this done? Is a lawyer needed? Thanks!

But why

1) wouldn't you list the fucker's felonies?

2) or at least his name, so I could find them?

3) or what argument he'll present for the removal of his felonies?

4) or any sort of evidence that you'd talked to someone in your office or at the local copshop to ask if this was actually possible, or if you have to go through Nessie and Bigfoot to make this happen?

5) or any sort of logic process you'd undergone to determine if the client has actually looked into this himself?

This is your fucking tax dollars at work here, paying me to answer questions for idiots. And paying for that glass wall that's going up in the atrium on 2nd. And, if you want to be technical, paying for the coffee pot that filled my PLDM mug. Mmm...tasted like money that could have bought you a new pair of shoes.
Monday, February 06, 2006
Polo Jeans killed Jesus
So, I work at a Conoco. Not 15 minutes after beginning my first day of work I realized "God Damn! I hate this job." Seriously. That is the exact thing I thought: God Damn! I hate this job. I speak of gas station attendent jobs. Where people think you are hording milk in the cooler because there isn't any on display or who cant fuckin' figure out how to "PULL LEVER, SELECT FUEL, BEGIN PUMPING" or the giant 72 size font of PLEASE PAY BEFORE YOU PUMP, FUCKTARD. And the smokin' lottery women: who spawned these dinosaurs? Nature could not have evolved these abominations, nor would a menevolant God want to speak them into existance. I blame science for them. Science made penguins, polio, and now geriatric lotto cancer buns who insist on smokin indoors.

I also have an absessed tooth. It hurts. A lot :( It also swells my face. I think now it is the goiter switching positions in my face, waiting for the strategic moment to burst out of my head a full grown woman clad in armor and ready to rule the world.
Shot in the ass
Do any of you ever think back to Rominger hatcheting open the can of pepper spray and wonder: what the fuck did he think was gonna happen?
Damn you!
I loaned this book to somebody long ago, and have entirely forgotten who it was.

The clues:

It was probably a female.

It was probably not someone I was dating at the time, or have dated within the past couple years.

It may have been Carol.

And Molly! Molly still has the Master and . . . and . . . Somethingorother.
Booze OSDrunk.1
This is the computer Amish would have. Hell, we all would.
Sunday, February 05, 2006
Look at the delicious koalameat burgers that YOU COULD HAVE!


I'm not much for the great football god, but I am much for burgers and beer.

(Hurry up, before the koala escapes...)

Friday, February 03, 2006
Someone who would say this shouldn't be teaching a creative writing class anyway--

"I'm actually a little concerned about your obsessive focus on sex and potty language. Make a change — today!" Mershon warned.
This is retarded
Not the article . . . the subject.
Another interesting and disgusting piece of WWII history.
Hell frosted over a bit today
I got a job..at a gas station. Imagine that!
Thursday, February 02, 2006
Deviljuice
In case you're curious, this is what I'll be doing the next two weekends:

this Friday: I don't know.
this Saturday: Sarah's parents and brother are coming, so I'll be engaged in flitting them about Des Moines. However, I will still be available for love-making part of the day and certainly that night.

next Friday/Saturday/most of Sunday: I will be detained in some fucking bunker learning about the evils of alcohol.
My own personal seashell pink diary
Well, balls.

Recently it became fairly clear that the other researcher and I would be hired on to continue here, at higher pay, in May. They've got our research forms built into the new computer systme, and offices for us, and all that—but yesterday my analfororganization boss insisted that I create charts and tables for our research requests, as well as their subjects, and so now, on plain paper, it's clear to all that not only do we handle very few requests (1.8 a day) that require very little actual work time (about 45 minutes a piece), but they're mostly idiotic in nature.

She's in a meeting right now negotiating for our future.

If this place dumps me in May, you can bet your bottom I'm gonna go hawk books at Half Price or Border's . . . or hawk beer at some liquor shop. I don't think I could be a bartender.

Well, jep, this blog has become my private journal for the day. I'm going to come here to moan and whine and you're going to read it, all of it, are going to suck it down like cold spaghetti, sauce spattering your good blue shirt and damp noodles streaking trails across your chin.

Dear Diary:

Yesterday I replaced Grandpa's pipe tobacco with gun powder!

Woowee!
Some Bitching! And the Bus of the Retarded!
I know nobody likes reading bitchy posts—but I'm going to write one anyway. Because if I don't, my head will explode.

I'd like to entitle this post

The Bus!

of the

Retarded!


This is the schedule for the Westbound #1 bus: leave my office at 4:31, arrive outside my house around 5. So yesterday, as usual, I shut down my computer a few minutes early and ninja rolled on outta here and into the bus stop. Should have known something was up when the bus was five minutes late, but I boarded anyway, like a hapless idiot climbing aboard the Titanic.

The first indication that something was wrong was when I noticed that the index of toothless, grinning, babbling, slurring yokels was higher than usual. (And despite the title, I don't mean the mentally incompetent—I mean the ones who look like they were raised in an outhouse in Lovilia [like those beary kids.]) A bunch of laughing, grinning, drooling tards in overalls and work jackets. All babbling to each other.

At every stop, the ones in the front (it was some kind of clan) would call out to the bus driver:

"Other sidea the street! Nawp, guess not! Wait, here he comes!"

I'm guessing they were playing the "who's gonna board the bus" game.

Things got worse when the fat woman with the roley suitcase clambered on board, slowly bumping her suitcase up the steps: clang rattle, clang rattle. By this point I knew we were late, cause it was five to 5 and we weren't even out of downtown. But then we stopped again for the lady on the electric scooter, and then the lady with the crutches, and all the yokes got up and stood in the aisle—

And you know working this job has already made me hate the handicapped. Now I hate them even more.

We waited while the scooter lady did circles and backed against the wall. Then we took off. If the yokels were a clan, they disbanded now—every fucking block one would snap the wire that signals the bus driver to pull over. They'd get off, and more than once, just when we started moving again, someone else would pull the cord and five seconds later we'd pull back against the curb.

I was supposed to get home at five, take a shower, come up and greet Sarah with some food, but instead she beat me home, and it took me about 50 minutes to ride out a 29 minute bus ride.

. . .

Man, you know what I hate! Fucking refrigerators! Bet you didn't know that! But jeebus—I hate food that's cold and hard and smells like fridge air. And leftovers—blet.

. . .

Someone behind me is complaining to the bus in hushed whispers and all I can hear is the boss's same thing over again: "Well, the proofreaders write in red…please don't let the red offend you…well, you did spell those things wrong…no, she's not trying to get you…"
Sexual Fantasies about Your Mother
Wouldn't it be sweet if we could start capturing squirrels around Des Moines and tying little red capes around their necks? We could do three, four a week, and by time summer rolls around there'd be a horde of squirrels scampering around downtown, leaping from tree to tree, crimson capes billowing behind.

Wouldn't it also be sweet if I were so powerful that whenever I left ANYWHERE I could just light a match, toss it casually over my shoulder, and set the place on fire? And nobody would say ANYTHING?!
Wednesday, February 01, 2006
Logo Design


This is our logo for our cartooning company, Chadahootchie Productions. This was made by a graduate and a current Graphic Designer. I didnt draw any of it. I just told the two what to make and showed em Amish's picture, and this is what they made. This is goin on a letterhead and on business cards and the lil' production card at the end of the movie. And the Tee-Shirts and mugs and all the free shit Im goin to peddle off to you all

SORRY, NICK. i DIDNT MEAN TO ACCUSE YOU OF STEALING MY STUFF. Although you did steal my bike...and that one time you took credit for me stealing Mt. Rushmore so you could try to hook up with Carmen San Diego. I coulda told you she wouldnt put out for people who steal for her.
If you're so smart, explain this Clarissa!
Someone make this heathen jibberish about quantum entanglement into sensible babble. I feel about as confused as the people I tried to explain time travel to.
Productivity
I just figured out how to imprint my work/notetaking paper with a watermark of a giant squid fighting a blue whale.
Liquified Sweatsocks
What do you think it is about getting older than enables you to drink/eat disgusting things?

In high school, I couldn't understand everyone's infatuation with alcohol. It made you do ridiculous shit, it was expensive, and it tasted terrible!. I don't remember how I knew the taste, but I knew it was bad—maybe from smelling it on people's breath, the rotten banana odor of a mouth washed in whiskey and schnapps. And I couldn't get how anyone would enjoy sitting around dumping beer—which tasted like gray, liquified sweat socks—down their throats.

And now, of course, I am a monumental drunk.

I also despised coffee—and now I drink it constantly. This one is even more interesting, because I still think it tastes terrible. I still sip it and then shudder, shake my head, and get some more.

I think the explanation here is a recognition of the value of effect over the value of flavor—

although coffee does do that nice thing where you breathe into the mug and your own breath circles back into your eyes, only now warmed to the steamy point, and it's like you're in a shower, a feeling that can make any morning better.

I've been reading this book, The Royal Family, for . . . I dunno, months, easily. Months! It's about 800 pages of densely packed text . . . and it's all about whores. The Queen of the Whores, actually. And pretty good but depressing . . . overall, recommendable.

Wes has borrowed from me the Illuminatus Trilogy, which is basically a big ball of goofy scifi dipped in the seventies and then crammed down your throat with a generous side of Lovecraftian weirdness.

Also recommendable.
100
Remember that day last summer when we sat around the coffee shop playing Settlers? We should do something like that again.

You guys interested? People who weren't there before? Anyone? (excluding Mexicans, of course. And the damned Japanese.)
flux capacitor: some assembly required
Here's something I haven't done in awhile: I had this really weird dream last night...

We begin at present day. I'm doing my grad school thing when I figure out how to mentally time travel (think twelve monkeys). I can't remember if I had a choice about where I went, but I went back to the early days of college.

This is a very different college than most of us remember. For some reason I built an alternate timeline of what happened. We all lived in the dorms for about a semester, and now it was the end of our freshman year. There were some nice apartments I'd found.

My thoughts were, "Okay, I'll play here, relive some stuff, go back." I didn't think I could screw anything up until I took in a puppy.

In the dream I recalled that I had been offered the puppy, but didn't take it. I couldn't at the time. I didn't want a dog. But I took it this time around. All the lessons I learned from sci-fi told me I'd altered the timeline... I'd have to be careful to make sure I could even get back to where I was originally.

Of course I couldn't help but hint at everyone's eventual future 5 years from that point... People looked at me weird whenever I'd start on about something, since I'd often be remembering how things even were back then...

And that's when the tiger showed up. It didn't eat or maul any of us, but it tried, that's for damn sure. Needless to say I don't think I got back to a present that I recognized, I botched things pretty seriously. I got a faithful companion out of the deal though (even if the puppy pee'd on me...) I was also wrong about being able to just pop back to the present. I had to relive the whole thing, or in this case, relive something new.