Thursday, August 28, 2003
The Great White North is calling.....
Today, I am leaving for Canada. I can't wait. It's been a few years since I've been there, but I'm pretty sure I'll get back into the swing of things just fine. Got my flannel packed and everything. So this won't be updated (by me anyway, and I doubt by any of the other freeloading non-commital pudpullers here either) for about a week. In the meantime, amuse yourself by checking out the best online journal I've eveer read: Confessions of a Porn Clerk.
Remember kids, without laughter, you can't spell slaughter.
Today, I am leaving for Canada. I can't wait. It's been a few years since I've been there, but I'm pretty sure I'll get back into the swing of things just fine. Got my flannel packed and everything. So this won't be updated (by me anyway, and I doubt by any of the other freeloading non-commital pudpullers here either) for about a week. In the meantime, amuse yourself by checking out the best online journal I've eveer read: Confessions of a Porn Clerk.
Remember kids, without laughter, you can't spell slaughter.
Wednesday, August 27, 2003
All mystical on your ass
Quote of the day:
You can build a wall to stop people, right, but eventually the music, it'll cross that fuckin' wall, right? That's the beautiful thing about music-- there's no defense against it. I mean, look at Joshua and fuckin' Jericho-- made mincemeat of that fuckin' joint. A few trumpets, you know? --Keith Richards
I've been thinking alot about music lately, and the nature thereof. Now, normally I don't go into all that mystical stuff ("Don't give me none of that Navajo mambo ja-hambo shit, Chavez.") but I'm re-reading Zen Guitar and it makes a lot of sense. I'd recommend it to any musician out there.
In other news, EB still hasn't recieved thier shipment of motherfuckin' Soul Calibur II. They better have it by 3 or there will be unholy hell loosed on thier pathetic little store.
Quote of the day:
I've been thinking alot about music lately, and the nature thereof. Now, normally I don't go into all that mystical stuff ("Don't give me none of that Navajo mambo ja-hambo shit, Chavez.") but I'm re-reading Zen Guitar and it makes a lot of sense. I'd recommend it to any musician out there.
In other news, EB still hasn't recieved thier shipment of motherfuckin' Soul Calibur II. They better have it by 3 or there will be unholy hell loosed on thier pathetic little store.
Tuesday, August 26, 2003
Suck my ink
Well, since blogspot.com is still having problems with thier ordering system, I broke down and had to pay VillagePhotos for thier services. Which is cool because I've used thier free service for a long time, and I've never had problems.
Anyway, here are the tattoo designs I've got thus far. Choose wisely, young Skywalkers. You can post your votes in the comments or let me know via e-mail. If you don't have my e-mail address, you can ask someone who knows me. Because I seriously doubt that anyone reading this doesn't know myself or one of the other random contributers from other boards or real life.
On with the show....
Which will be the new hotness?
Well, since blogspot.com is still having problems with thier ordering system, I broke down and had to pay VillagePhotos for thier services. Which is cool because I've used thier free service for a long time, and I've never had problems.
Anyway, here are the tattoo designs I've got thus far. Choose wisely, young Skywalkers. You can post your votes in the comments or let me know via e-mail. If you don't have my e-mail address, you can ask someone who knows me. Because I seriously doubt that anyone reading this doesn't know myself or one of the other random contributers from other boards or real life.
On with the show....
Which will be the new hotness?
Still burning.....
Goddamn it. Everytime I think I catch a break, I get cornholed by life. I reserved Soul Calibur on Sunday, at my local EB. While there, I was chatting with the clerk, and he remarked that they would most almost definitly have the games in on Monday. I expressed surprise at this, since the release date is officially today, but when presed he said that since it was no longer in thier system for a release date, it had shipped early and would be there Monday. Of course, I called yesterday to check, and the manager sputtered out that it would in fact NOT be in Monday. Ok, fine, I can handle that. But he also went on to say it wouldn't be in Tuesday either. Cue my burning fist of rage. I have to wait an EXTRA GODDAMN DAY to get my game when the rest of the country has thiers NOW. It's not like I love in East Bumblefuck, here... it's the city of brotherly fuckin' love, fer chrissakes. And believe me, I would really like nothing more than to spread a little love to that lying, evil, fat, stupid TRICKSY clerk! WE HAAAAAAAAATES HIM!!!!!!!
Vengence shall be MINE!
This asshat has violated the first and most sacred commandment of gaming: thou shalt not promise games before they can be sold. So I feel justified in educating him a little bit by cramming my entire leg up his ass and doing the can-can down Germantown Pike. Where's sledgy? Time for a road trip.
Goddamn it. Everytime I think I catch a break, I get cornholed by life. I reserved Soul Calibur on Sunday, at my local EB. While there, I was chatting with the clerk, and he remarked that they would most almost definitly have the games in on Monday. I expressed surprise at this, since the release date is officially today, but when presed he said that since it was no longer in thier system for a release date, it had shipped early and would be there Monday. Of course, I called yesterday to check, and the manager sputtered out that it would in fact NOT be in Monday. Ok, fine, I can handle that. But he also went on to say it wouldn't be in Tuesday either. Cue my burning fist of rage. I have to wait an EXTRA GODDAMN DAY to get my game when the rest of the country has thiers NOW. It's not like I love in East Bumblefuck, here... it's the city of brotherly fuckin' love, fer chrissakes. And believe me, I would really like nothing more than to spread a little love to that lying, evil, fat, stupid TRICKSY clerk! WE HAAAAAAAAATES HIM!!!!!!!
This asshat has violated the first and most sacred commandment of gaming: thou shalt not promise games before they can be sold. So I feel justified in educating him a little bit by cramming my entire leg up his ass and doing the can-can down Germantown Pike. Where's sledgy? Time for a road trip.
Sunday, August 24, 2003
And the soul still burns...
First off, yes, I agree with driftwood....... except dinner didn't used to cost $210+ for 5 people. I think that was a serious consideration for ending the night early. In NYC there are plenty of things to do for free-- I've seen it first hand. Philly,however, is the city of brotherly "gimme your money". And no one seemed like they had the energy to go get a movie, so that was that. By the way, those who abandoned us for greener pastures never called back. I can only assume they met the same fate as we did.
But on to more important things. Soul Calibur II. For years, my fervered dreams have rung with the clash of steel and thundering mispronunciations of "Voldo!". Today marks the beginning of an era.... for today I go to pre-order Soul Calibur II. Mwahahahaha....mwah...mwah hah. Oh Kilik, how I've missed you. Bring back the pages of history, my friends. Oh, and uh, throw Spawn in there too. Stupid drifty gets stupid Link. But I digress. Accpmpanying this glorious offering is the holy grail of gaming, something that has never been tried before. The One Stick to Bind Them. A universal controller compatible with all three systems. Will wonders never cease? I know MY soul still burns. Or maybe it was the Taco Bell.
NOTE: They moved the goddamn car. Finally. Unfortunatly I didn't get to hit it with Sledgy.
First off, yes, I agree with driftwood....... except dinner didn't used to cost $210+ for 5 people. I think that was a serious consideration for ending the night early. In NYC there are plenty of things to do for free-- I've seen it first hand. Philly,however, is the city of brotherly "gimme your money". And no one seemed like they had the energy to go get a movie, so that was that. By the way, those who abandoned us for greener pastures never called back. I can only assume they met the same fate as we did.
But on to more important things. Soul Calibur II. For years, my fervered dreams have rung with the clash of steel and thundering mispronunciations of "Voldo!". Today marks the beginning of an era.... for today I go to pre-order Soul Calibur II. Mwahahahaha....mwah...mwah hah. Oh Kilik, how I've missed you. Bring back the pages of history, my friends. Oh, and uh, throw Spawn in there too. Stupid drifty gets stupid Link. But I digress. Accpmpanying this glorious offering is the holy grail of gaming, something that has never been tried before. The One Stick to Bind Them. A universal controller compatible with all three systems. Will wonders never cease? I know MY soul still burns. Or maybe it was the Taco Bell.
NOTE: They moved the goddamn car. Finally. Unfortunatly I didn't get to hit it with Sledgy.
Friday, August 22, 2003
My apologies, Rob. May I call you Rob? Yes, then my apologies, Rob.
Ok, I ranted about a week ago regarding the lack of tits in Mr. Zombie's horror film House of 1000 Corpses. Well, shame on me... Robbie was a sneaky little boy, and I totally missed the titties that are present. And they are there, in a respectable quantity. Where, where, show us OMFUG! Well, they're in the TITLE sequence. Hooo doggy, I had totally forgotten about those. I think one set of em belong to Dita Von Tess, but I'm not sure since she's not credited anywhere and they go by pretty fast. And a few dead cheerleader tits, too. The reason, I think, that I felt there were no boobies in the movie is because there is never a good daylight, high contrast shot of jugs. There are also some in a flashback that Baby has where she's rolling around molesting corpses. Unfortunatly, they're de-colorized, sooooooo.....like I said before, Baby needs to open the sweater silos and fire her nipular warheads in the sequel. Right on. "Tiny fucked a stump". Heh.
Ok, I ranted about a week ago regarding the lack of tits in Mr. Zombie's horror film House of 1000 Corpses. Well, shame on me... Robbie was a sneaky little boy, and I totally missed the titties that are present. And they are there, in a respectable quantity. Where, where, show us OMFUG! Well, they're in the TITLE sequence. Hooo doggy, I had totally forgotten about those. I think one set of em belong to Dita Von Tess, but I'm not sure since she's not credited anywhere and they go by pretty fast. And a few dead cheerleader tits, too. The reason, I think, that I felt there were no boobies in the movie is because there is never a good daylight, high contrast shot of jugs. There are also some in a flashback that Baby has where she's rolling around molesting corpses. Unfortunatly, they're de-colorized, sooooooo.....like I said before, Baby needs to open the sweater silos and fire her nipular warheads in the sequel. Right on. "Tiny fucked a stump". Heh.
Thursday, August 21, 2003
And now, a word form our sponsors.
Well well well. I come to you bearing updates a'plenty, ready to reazzle and dazzle you with information so new it'll peel the enamel right off your teeth. First, the car. Yes, it's still sitting in my driveway, and I still have no idea who it belongs to. But I can't have it towed because... guess what... I rent, and only the owner can have a car towed if it is physically on the property. Fuck. So, of course, my cock-strangling little landlord is unreachable, and hasn't returned any of mine or my downstairs neighbor's calls. Not surprising, since we don't have tits (he returns calls if the wives make them). So, Here's what I'm going to do. I'm going to write a note to whoever owns the car and tell them to get it the fuck out of my driveway. I will seal it in a plastic bag, to protect it from the weather, and tape it on the rear window. I will give the owner exaclty one week to shake off thier crack induced haze and stumble back to remove this fucking behemoth land cruiser from the property.
In the interim, I will buy a sledgehammer.
When (and I say when because I have FAITH, lor'almighty, I have STRENGTH, lor'almighty) the glorious day comes that signals the end of a week, I will unwrap my shiny new sledgehammer and wreak holy fucking vengence on this nightmare's poor little frame. I will continue to do so for an hour each day until the car is nothing more than metal filings. And then, I will take the license plate to the DMV and have them declare whoever owns this car legally dead. Then I will hunt the owner down myself (taking "sledgy", of course) and break every bone in thier body in reverse alphabetical order. Goddamit son, don't puss out on me now. THIS IS WAR!
Second update: the tattoo designs are done and photoshopped. Unfortunatly, I can't upload them. Why, you might ask? Fucking blogspot isn't accepting upgrades to thier service plans, probably due to the massive worms that are going around annihilating thier servers, and I'm out of hosted web space. So I'll get 'em up as soon as I can, but in the meantime hang tight. Fucking internet worms. Fucking incompetent IT people. Gah. I was an ART MAJOR and I can figure this stuff out, but for the pros to get it right they need to circle the smacktards and diddle each other silly until they can find a patch. Gah, I say! Gah!
Well well well. I come to you bearing updates a'plenty, ready to reazzle and dazzle you with information so new it'll peel the enamel right off your teeth. First, the car. Yes, it's still sitting in my driveway, and I still have no idea who it belongs to. But I can't have it towed because... guess what... I rent, and only the owner can have a car towed if it is physically on the property. Fuck. So, of course, my cock-strangling little landlord is unreachable, and hasn't returned any of mine or my downstairs neighbor's calls. Not surprising, since we don't have tits (he returns calls if the wives make them). So, Here's what I'm going to do. I'm going to write a note to whoever owns the car and tell them to get it the fuck out of my driveway. I will seal it in a plastic bag, to protect it from the weather, and tape it on the rear window. I will give the owner exaclty one week to shake off thier crack induced haze and stumble back to remove this fucking behemoth land cruiser from the property.
In the interim, I will buy a sledgehammer.
When (and I say when because I have FAITH, lor'almighty, I have STRENGTH, lor'almighty) the glorious day comes that signals the end of a week, I will unwrap my shiny new sledgehammer and wreak holy fucking vengence on this nightmare's poor little frame. I will continue to do so for an hour each day until the car is nothing more than metal filings. And then, I will take the license plate to the DMV and have them declare whoever owns this car legally dead. Then I will hunt the owner down myself (taking "sledgy", of course) and break every bone in thier body in reverse alphabetical order. Goddamit son, don't puss out on me now. THIS IS WAR!
Second update: the tattoo designs are done and photoshopped. Unfortunatly, I can't upload them. Why, you might ask? Fucking blogspot isn't accepting upgrades to thier service plans, probably due to the massive worms that are going around annihilating thier servers, and I'm out of hosted web space. So I'll get 'em up as soon as I can, but in the meantime hang tight. Fucking internet worms. Fucking incompetent IT people. Gah. I was an ART MAJOR and I can figure this stuff out, but for the pros to get it right they need to circle the smacktards and diddle each other silly until they can find a patch. Gah, I say! Gah!
Wednesday, August 20, 2003
Blah blah blah splort II: First Splort
More computer fun at work. I spent 3 hours this morning waiting through countless patches and updates, rebooting a grand total of 9 times. Fan-fucking-tastic. I love the fact that this virus COULD have been destroyed by setting forward our system clocks to Jan 1, 2004, but instead our IT fucks insisted on (get this) NOT patching our computers and getting McAfee to do a special removal procedure for them. Which crippled our systems. And THEN they decided to install the patch. Thumb, meet anus.
.....at breaking stuff, maybe.
So today I beat som more ROMs instead..... which was cool, but hey, let's face it: if I wanted to do fuck-all for an entire day, I could just as easily do it from home. But management, of course, wouldn't let us leave, so I took my frustrations out on MegaMan's enemies once more. Thus far, I've beaten 1, 2, , and 4 (plus Double Dragon) all at work since last Thursday. And I am 3 stages ionto Ninja Gaiden, along with a slew of other games that frustrate me because I no longer have a 12 year old's sugar fueled reflexes. But, on the bright side, I'm outta here in 5 min. I should probably be putting up tattoo ides tonight/tommorow, so stay tuned kiddies.
More computer fun at work. I spent 3 hours this morning waiting through countless patches and updates, rebooting a grand total of 9 times. Fan-fucking-tastic. I love the fact that this virus COULD have been destroyed by setting forward our system clocks to Jan 1, 2004, but instead our IT fucks insisted on (get this) NOT patching our computers and getting McAfee to do a special removal procedure for them. Which crippled our systems. And THEN they decided to install the patch. Thumb, meet anus.
So today I beat som more ROMs instead..... which was cool, but hey, let's face it: if I wanted to do fuck-all for an entire day, I could just as easily do it from home. But management, of course, wouldn't let us leave, so I took my frustrations out on MegaMan's enemies once more. Thus far, I've beaten 1, 2, , and 4 (plus Double Dragon) all at work since last Thursday. And I am 3 stages ionto Ninja Gaiden, along with a slew of other games that frustrate me because I no longer have a 12 year old's sugar fueled reflexes. But, on the bright side, I'm outta here in 5 min. I should probably be putting up tattoo ides tonight/tommorow, so stay tuned kiddies.
Tuesday, August 19, 2003
Blah blah blah splort.
Well, work today has been really really fun. A hoot, let me tell ya. Hit by a virus, e-mail not working terribly well, Oracle connections unusable, and our server is passing data like a constipated elephant. So what have I been doing to waste your taxpayer money? A good question, my young friends. I've been gamin, mostly. Thank god for the ol' Nintendo Emulator. And since I own the original carts, I feel no guilt about using the ROMS (*cough*no legal action, please *cough*).
Also, I've been working on designing my next tattoo, which has proved difficult, mainly owing to the fact that instead of Photoshop I've been forced to use the New Improved Busted-Ass (tm) version of Gimp. I gave up farily early on that, and have been doing things by hand here. Which may explain why I feel a little high since I've been huffing permanent markers all afternoon whilst toiling away on copier paper. Should make the drive home fun though. Anyway, I've got a few designs that I like, and I will be tweaking them a bit here and there, trying to find that perfect piece. I've settled on a celtic theme, possible including the words "ceol" and "beatha" (gaelic for music and life, respectively). Or perhaps "anam" which means soul.
At any rate, methinks I'll don something novel this time-- I'm going to take a picture of my shoulder (where the tat shall reside, verily and huzzah) and photoshop the design onto it so's ya'll can see what it looks like. I'll probably be posting the photoshops here so all of you can vote on which one you like best. And you can tell your friends to vote too, and then you'll have company when I totally disregard your opinions and get whatever the hell I want anyway because I trust you all about as much as I'd trust a horny midget whose just power-swallowed a handful of Viagra and has been told not to spank it until he hears Vivaldi's Four Seasons on MTV. This won't happen for awhile, as the fundage is low and Wifey needs a new dresser first, but hey, I'm bored and have nothing better to do.
Well, work today has been really really fun. A hoot, let me tell ya. Hit by a virus, e-mail not working terribly well, Oracle connections unusable, and our server is passing data like a constipated elephant. So what have I been doing to waste your taxpayer money? A good question, my young friends. I've been gamin, mostly. Thank god for the ol' Nintendo Emulator. And since I own the original carts, I feel no guilt about using the ROMS (*cough*no legal action, please *cough*).
Also, I've been working on designing my next tattoo, which has proved difficult, mainly owing to the fact that instead of Photoshop I've been forced to use the New Improved Busted-Ass (tm) version of Gimp. I gave up farily early on that, and have been doing things by hand here. Which may explain why I feel a little high since I've been huffing permanent markers all afternoon whilst toiling away on copier paper. Should make the drive home fun though. Anyway, I've got a few designs that I like, and I will be tweaking them a bit here and there, trying to find that perfect piece. I've settled on a celtic theme, possible including the words "ceol" and "beatha" (gaelic for music and life, respectively). Or perhaps "anam" which means soul.
At any rate, methinks I'll don something novel this time-- I'm going to take a picture of my shoulder (where the tat shall reside, verily and huzzah) and photoshop the design onto it so's ya'll can see what it looks like. I'll probably be posting the photoshops here so all of you can vote on which one you like best. And you can tell your friends to vote too, and then you'll have company when I totally disregard your opinions and get whatever the hell I want anyway because I trust you all about as much as I'd trust a horny midget whose just power-swallowed a handful of Viagra and has been told not to spank it until he hears Vivaldi's Four Seasons on MTV. This won't happen for awhile, as the fundage is low and Wifey needs a new dresser first, but hey, I'm bored and have nothing better to do.
Monday, August 18, 2003
Road Trip!
Clicky-clicky, you hosebags.
Apparently God has not forsaken me after all. Ther is going to be another Rob Zombie creation unleashed upon this stagnant world come April 2004: House of 1000 Corpses 2. Mwahahaha. Apparently, this one will involve the same people as the first did, but they will be going on a road trip. I loved the first one-- there were some great tributes in there, especially to really underground films like Suspira, so I'm expecting great things again from Mr. Zombie. That being said....great googily-moogily, can we PUH-LEEEEEASE put a tit in this one? I'm not being a Male Chauvenist Pig (tm) here, simply a horror purist.
Let's call it "House of 1000 Funbags".
Forget all the rules Scream gave you about horror movies: there is only one rule. At some point in the film there shall be nipple leather. I don't care where, or how much, but there must be some. Even Army of Darkness recognizes this basic truth.... Sam and Bruce didn't really want a nude scene, but hey, rules is rules. As such, they sucked it up and forced some poor lil starlette to husk her corn and got the shot. See, it's so nice when everyone plays the game right. So Sheri Moon/Zombie, let's go. Rip an' strip, time to give those chesticles thier moment to shine. It's showtime, Baby. (Hahahah, see that's funny because her CHARACTER's name is... oh, never mind).
ED: No, I did NOT phhotoshop the above picture..... mine would have been done much better. And less cloth-ed. \m/
Clicky-clicky, you hosebags.
Apparently God has not forsaken me after all. Ther is going to be another Rob Zombie creation unleashed upon this stagnant world come April 2004: House of 1000 Corpses 2. Mwahahaha. Apparently, this one will involve the same people as the first did, but they will be going on a road trip. I loved the first one-- there were some great tributes in there, especially to really underground films like Suspira, so I'm expecting great things again from Mr. Zombie. That being said....great googily-moogily, can we PUH-LEEEEEASE put a tit in this one? I'm not being a Male Chauvenist Pig (tm) here, simply a horror purist.
Forget all the rules Scream gave you about horror movies: there is only one rule. At some point in the film there shall be nipple leather. I don't care where, or how much, but there must be some. Even Army of Darkness recognizes this basic truth.... Sam and Bruce didn't really want a nude scene, but hey, rules is rules. As such, they sucked it up and forced some poor lil starlette to husk her corn and got the shot. See, it's so nice when everyone plays the game right. So Sheri Moon/Zombie, let's go. Rip an' strip, time to give those chesticles thier moment to shine. It's showtime, Baby. (Hahahah, see that's funny because her CHARACTER's name is... oh, never mind).
ED: No, I did NOT phhotoshop the above picture..... mine would have been done much better. And less cloth-ed. \m/
Now there's something you don't see everyday...
How much money did they pay this poor bastard to do this photoshoot? He looks kind of frightened to me. Thanks, SA, for bringing this atrocity to my attention. Isn't there something in the bible about the end times coming when humans wear gigantic dog scratch-guards willingly? If not, there should be. Mark of the beast and all that. Oops, gotta go... I think I just heard a seal of the apocalypse breaking.
Damn that Smilex! This town needs an enema, and so do I!
How much money did they pay this poor bastard to do this photoshoot? He looks kind of frightened to me. Thanks, SA, for bringing this atrocity to my attention. Isn't there something in the bible about the end times coming when humans wear gigantic dog scratch-guards willingly? If not, there should be. Mark of the beast and all that. Oops, gotta go... I think I just heard a seal of the apocalypse breaking.
Sunday, August 17, 2003
Sunday, nut gobbler of the week.
Well, it is, right? I mean you NEVER get anything accomplished on Sundays. But that's not the point..... I just needed a clever headline. Anyway, I got my Wu Name... I will now be known as the Erratic Assasin. And, as anyone who has played Halo with me will attest (except Jake, to whom I say a hale and hearty "fuck you") I am indeed an erratic assasin. But I digress, because that's still not the point.
The point is this: I got ye olde videogame bug. I got it bad........ 8 bit flu. I want to do nothing but play old NES games on my 'puter all day. I mean, it's one thing to do that at work, where I quite obviously have nothing better to do. But home-- now that's different. I've got an X-box (HUGE!!! LOLOLOL!!!!!11!1!1) and a decent sound system to go with, but lately I'm yearning to hear those wonderful little bleeps and bloops, to shoot things with my MegaBuster (Mega Man's weapon, for those of you who are smacktards) and collect my little energy pellets like a ho sniffin' for crack. As a matter of fact, I'm goign to stop wasting precious time on this and go do that now.
/still getting nothing done on a sunday.
Well, it is, right? I mean you NEVER get anything accomplished on Sundays. But that's not the point..... I just needed a clever headline. Anyway, I got my Wu Name... I will now be known as the Erratic Assasin. And, as anyone who has played Halo with me will attest (except Jake, to whom I say a hale and hearty "fuck you") I am indeed an erratic assasin. But I digress, because that's still not the point.
The point is this: I got ye olde videogame bug. I got it bad........ 8 bit flu. I want to do nothing but play old NES games on my 'puter all day. I mean, it's one thing to do that at work, where I quite obviously have nothing better to do. But home-- now that's different. I've got an X-box (HUGE!!! LOLOLOL!!!!!11!1!1) and a decent sound system to go with, but lately I'm yearning to hear those wonderful little bleeps and bloops, to shoot things with my MegaBuster (Mega Man's weapon, for those of you who are smacktards) and collect my little energy pellets like a ho sniffin' for crack. As a matter of fact, I'm goign to stop wasting precious time on this and go do that now.
/still getting nothing done on a sunday.
Thursday, August 14, 2003
I have fallen from grace
How the hell did I miss Rob Zombie's House of 1000 Corpses coming out on DVD? I mean, Jesus fuck, was I like in a coma or something? Why didn't one of you assholes tell me about this? Stumpy, I'm looking at you here. And don't give me any of that shit about "Oh, well, I'm so busy at work that..." Screw that, get the corporate dick out of your mouth and focus on the important things in life. Anyway, looks like I'll have to blow a bit of my hard earned new raise on this cinematic tour de force this weekend. Apologies to Mr. Zombie, I meant no disrespect.
Use your brains to help us!
How the hell did I miss Rob Zombie's House of 1000 Corpses coming out on DVD? I mean, Jesus fuck, was I like in a coma or something? Why didn't one of you assholes tell me about this? Stumpy, I'm looking at you here. And don't give me any of that shit about "Oh, well, I'm so busy at work that..." Screw that, get the corporate dick out of your mouth and focus on the important things in life. Anyway, looks like I'll have to blow a bit of my hard earned new raise on this cinematic tour de force this weekend. Apologies to Mr. Zombie, I meant no disrespect.
Wednesday, August 13, 2003
Our dirty little secret...
Revelations from last night's drinking excursion:
"As a man, you got two 'get out of Jail Free' cards: the L bomb, and the first time you cry in front of her. And you better save that last one for something REALLY good, because after she sees it once she'll never believe you're doing it for real again."
Revelations from last night's drinking excursion:
"As a man, you got two 'get out of Jail Free' cards: the L bomb, and the first time you cry in front of her. And you better save that last one for something REALLY good, because after she sees it once she'll never believe you're doing it for real again."
Tuesday, August 12, 2003
The Kids Are Allright
Got new glasses yesterday. Nice rectangular ones, with a thicker black frame. I woulds like to clarify, however, that I am not an emo fuck. (I can't deny that I appreciate Weezer, though.)
First reaction at work was from my boss. "You look like Elvis Costello. No, wait.... you look like a child molester!"
Groovy.
Got new glasses yesterday. Nice rectangular ones, with a thicker black frame. I woulds like to clarify, however, that I am not an emo fuck. (I can't deny that I appreciate Weezer, though.)
First reaction at work was from my boss. "You look like Elvis Costello. No, wait.... you look like a child molester!"
Groovy.
Monday, August 11, 2003
One Hour phot.....er, four hour phot.... er, you'll get it when we're good and ready.
The whole idea of a one hour photo service is that you can drop your film off, undeveloped and reeking of mystery, and return one hour later to claim your artistic Kodachrome masterpieces. O, what a glorious thing! Gone are the days of waiting a week, trembling like a leprechaun with the DT's for your celluloid gold. Through the magic of technology and pimply-faced annoy-o-bots called "clerks", you need only to count of 3600 seconds and *poof* you have the spoils of your fancy camera work.
Yeah, and I just shot 17 purple monkeys wearing tutus and garter belts outta my choc-y starfish. One hour photos are the biggest rip-off in the world. NEVER, and I mean never are the photos ready in under 2 hours, and you're lucky if that level of service is acheived. How fucking hard is it to feed film into a machine and press a button? I understand that the job requires thumbs, and hey-- not everyone has 'em. But look, if you're going to advertise the service as one hour, they my pictures had better be ready when I come back in three. It took ya two hours? Fine, that's behind the scenes black-ops stuff, and as long as it doesn't affect me I'll pretend I nevere heard it.
I propose that there be a law mandating that all one hour photo locations tell you EXACTLY how long it will take for your film to come back. This is not logistic rocket science... they know how many rolls are in front of yours, and how many exposures are on each. And the machine moves at the same rate constantly with...you guessed it..... MACHINE-LIKE PRECISION. So one theoretically could know how long it will take to get pictures back from the abyss, right down to the minute. But for every minute that they're late, they take $.10 off the cost of having film developed. And if they're more than an hour late, it's free. After two hours, the customer is given free prints, a free roll of film, and the option of sodomizing the operator of said machine with as many film canisters as they can grab in one hand. Three hours? Here comes the developer enema!
Look, we'll make it even easier. How about this: STOP ADVERTISING ONE HOUR PHOTOS! Just stop altogether. Use "same-day service" or something. If you TELL me up-front "Yeah, they'll be done by 4" then I have no problem. But the next place that falsely advertises one hour service, I swear to Jebus, will find themselves with a lawsuit handled by Mr. Leonard J. Crabs. If you can't manage that, at least tell your clerks to stop laughing at me when I drop off my film. The last one had to change his pants because he was guffawing so hard he ripped his bladder in twain. Peace out, hommies, and fight the good fight.
The whole idea of a one hour photo service is that you can drop your film off, undeveloped and reeking of mystery, and return one hour later to claim your artistic Kodachrome masterpieces. O, what a glorious thing! Gone are the days of waiting a week, trembling like a leprechaun with the DT's for your celluloid gold. Through the magic of technology and pimply-faced annoy-o-bots called "clerks", you need only to count of 3600 seconds and *poof* you have the spoils of your fancy camera work.
Yeah, and I just shot 17 purple monkeys wearing tutus and garter belts outta my choc-y starfish. One hour photos are the biggest rip-off in the world. NEVER, and I mean never are the photos ready in under 2 hours, and you're lucky if that level of service is acheived. How fucking hard is it to feed film into a machine and press a button? I understand that the job requires thumbs, and hey-- not everyone has 'em. But look, if you're going to advertise the service as one hour, they my pictures had better be ready when I come back in three. It took ya two hours? Fine, that's behind the scenes black-ops stuff, and as long as it doesn't affect me I'll pretend I nevere heard it.
I propose that there be a law mandating that all one hour photo locations tell you EXACTLY how long it will take for your film to come back. This is not logistic rocket science... they know how many rolls are in front of yours, and how many exposures are on each. And the machine moves at the same rate constantly with...you guessed it..... MACHINE-LIKE PRECISION. So one theoretically could know how long it will take to get pictures back from the abyss, right down to the minute. But for every minute that they're late, they take $.10 off the cost of having film developed. And if they're more than an hour late, it's free. After two hours, the customer is given free prints, a free roll of film, and the option of sodomizing the operator of said machine with as many film canisters as they can grab in one hand. Three hours? Here comes the developer enema!
Look, we'll make it even easier. How about this: STOP ADVERTISING ONE HOUR PHOTOS! Just stop altogether. Use "same-day service" or something. If you TELL me up-front "Yeah, they'll be done by 4" then I have no problem. But the next place that falsely advertises one hour service, I swear to Jebus, will find themselves with a lawsuit handled by Mr. Leonard J. Crabs. If you can't manage that, at least tell your clerks to stop laughing at me when I drop off my film. The last one had to change his pants because he was guffawing so hard he ripped his bladder in twain. Peace out, hommies, and fight the good fight.
Good Golly, Miss Molly..... SHUT THE HELL UP!
Oi. So the new neighbors moved in yesterday, in the apartment above ours. And boy howdy, did they move in. They moved, and they moved, and they moved.... right up until around 3 o'clock this morning, they were thumping and thwacking. I think they were actually holding an illegal midget curling tournament. I can't believe how loud it was..... I mean, I know I'm a light sleeper, but this even woke up the hobo I killed and buried under the porch 2 years ago. And of course, since there was noise, the cats had to get started, and I was awake most of the rest of the night. Blah. I seriously need to invest in a sign on a post that says "Shut the hell up" so that I can hoist it up to the third floor window when necessary.
Onto a slightly more interesting mystery..... the car that has been parked in our shared driveway is still there. Big surprise, you say. HAH! You're wrong. It IS a big surprise, because we assumed it belonged to the future tenents above-- but no, it would appear this is not the case as there is ANOTHER CAR THERE NOW!. My crafty deductive skills are working overtime here, so stay with me... the first car has Alabama plates. Fine, they could have registered it in Alabama... but the new car has NEW YORK plates. HAH! But wait, you say, perhaps they're just roomies from different places. And I say to you "Neagtive, Ghostrider"; we have it on good authority that they are a long-time couple from California. So, whose car is the one with 'bama plates? As far as I'm concerned, it belongs to the towing company if I don't hear from the upstairs peeps soon. Mwahahahahaha. Updates to follow.
All your car are belong to towing company.
Oi. So the new neighbors moved in yesterday, in the apartment above ours. And boy howdy, did they move in. They moved, and they moved, and they moved.... right up until around 3 o'clock this morning, they were thumping and thwacking. I think they were actually holding an illegal midget curling tournament. I can't believe how loud it was..... I mean, I know I'm a light sleeper, but this even woke up the hobo I killed and buried under the porch 2 years ago. And of course, since there was noise, the cats had to get started, and I was awake most of the rest of the night. Blah. I seriously need to invest in a sign on a post that says "Shut the hell up" so that I can hoist it up to the third floor window when necessary.
Onto a slightly more interesting mystery..... the car that has been parked in our shared driveway is still there. Big surprise, you say. HAH! You're wrong. It IS a big surprise, because we assumed it belonged to the future tenents above-- but no, it would appear this is not the case as there is ANOTHER CAR THERE NOW!. My crafty deductive skills are working overtime here, so stay with me... the first car has Alabama plates. Fine, they could have registered it in Alabama... but the new car has NEW YORK plates. HAH! But wait, you say, perhaps they're just roomies from different places. And I say to you "Neagtive, Ghostrider"; we have it on good authority that they are a long-time couple from California. So, whose car is the one with 'bama plates? As far as I'm concerned, it belongs to the towing company if I don't hear from the upstairs peeps soon. Mwahahahahaha. Updates to follow.
Sunday, August 10, 2003
Enter Loki, stage right.
Soooooooooooo, yeah. We got a little 2 month old kitten yesterday. I 'm going to call him "Loki" here. That's not his real name, but I think it should be. He basically looks like a little Fang, but instead of Fang's stripes he has spots. Same coloration and everything, and same facial and belly markings.
Anyway, Fang has been tormenting the hell out of him, which is not cool considering how much larger Fang is. But (and this is why he should be called Loki) the kitten has managed to dive bomb and sneak attack once or twice with stunning efficency, leaving Fang somewhat dazed. I cheer. Actually, feel kind of like a Caeser watching all this; it's very much like the gladiators dueling in a sunken pit, vying for my affection. Except neither one of them gives a crap if I'm watching or not, and could care less if they amuse me. By the way, what is the verb for gladiators fighting? To gladiate? "They gladiated until the sun went down, managing to struggle to a draw and no more." Nope, doesn't sound right. Any insights, driftwood? Gladiator is a funny word when you type it a lot.
Frickin' laser beam gladiator-kitten-death-sphere thing.
Soooooooooooo, yeah. We got a little 2 month old kitten yesterday. I 'm going to call him "Loki" here. That's not his real name, but I think it should be. He basically looks like a little Fang, but instead of Fang's stripes he has spots. Same coloration and everything, and same facial and belly markings.
Anyway, Fang has been tormenting the hell out of him, which is not cool considering how much larger Fang is. But (and this is why he should be called Loki) the kitten has managed to dive bomb and sneak attack once or twice with stunning efficency, leaving Fang somewhat dazed. I cheer. Actually, feel kind of like a Caeser watching all this; it's very much like the gladiators dueling in a sunken pit, vying for my affection. Except neither one of them gives a crap if I'm watching or not, and could care less if they amuse me. By the way, what is the verb for gladiators fighting? To gladiate? "They gladiated until the sun went down, managing to struggle to a draw and no more." Nope, doesn't sound right. Any insights, driftwood? Gladiator is a funny word when you type it a lot.
Saturday, August 09, 2003
Gardengnomicus Hostilius
Had a few friends over last night..... good times were had by all. Quote of the night, by yours truly:
"Garden gnomes should be considered extremely dangerous at all times. I'm fuckin' serious."
So we're going to go get a cat today, after the wifey gets done at work. Should be a fun experience as we sort through hundreds of furry litte clawbags. Beacuse you know whatever cat we get will have to be wierd enough to compete with Fang, and that's no easy task. Hopefully, I can train this one to become a whirling death sphere of fur and claws too.
Had a few friends over last night..... good times were had by all. Quote of the night, by yours truly:
"Garden gnomes should be considered extremely dangerous at all times. I'm fuckin' serious."
So we're going to go get a cat today, after the wifey gets done at work. Should be a fun experience as we sort through hundreds of furry litte clawbags. Beacuse you know whatever cat we get will have to be wierd enough to compete with Fang, and that's no easy task. Hopefully, I can train this one to become a whirling death sphere of fur and claws too.
Thursday, August 07, 2003
The flogging of Casey Jones
Yeah, so more trainning today.
Remember Miss "Brutally-beat-Casey-Jones-with-an-Iron-Whonger?"
Yeah, she was in the training again. And again proceeded to waste everyone's time. She did bring to light a problem, however, that has been plaguing our nation of computer users for some time: the double click. Now, she was good at it. Really good. Lightning fast fingers, this one. Most people don't have a problem double clicking.... it's not brain surgery, and can be easily facilitated witht the adjustment of your double click speed setting. The problem is this: hyperlinks and submit buttons. Please, people, don't double click them. It makes them very, very angry. And it annoys me so much that it makes the baby Jesus cry.
What is so fucking mind-boggling about this concept? Here, let me give you a hand. this is a folksy little saying passed down to me by my grandmother... you know, the kind that rhymes, so it's easy to remember: To open a program, click once and once more; but when on the 'net CLICK ONCE OR I'LL FUCKING TEAR YOUR HEAD OFF AND FUCK THE STUMP TILL I'M BLOODY AND WET YOU STUPID, WORTHELSS WHORE!!!!!! Nothing, and I mean NOTHING on the internet requires more than one click. If you ever find yourself doubting this, pick up your mouse, and turn it over. Then accelerate it rapidly towards your face, and repeat until you knock yourself unconscious. When someone revives you, you can ask them if you need one clicks or two. Failing that, you can always ask your computer. Yes, you read that correctly. Get on your hands and knees in front of your computer, and say in a loud, clear voice, "Should I click this link once, or twice?" If your computer responds with a series of whistles, whoops, and beeps, go ahead and click twice. Otherwise, only once. Works every time. Now leave me alone, I need to go "educate" some people.
Update, sometime later.....
I forgot to mention that the wife and I are getting a friend for our cat (whose name on this page shall be Fang). As you can see from the below picture, Fang is gearing up to play with his new pal.... I suspect this new kitten shall be "pwned" in short measure.
Yeah, so more trainning today.
Remember Miss "Brutally-beat-Casey-Jones-with-an-Iron-Whonger?"
Yeah, she was in the training again. And again proceeded to waste everyone's time. She did bring to light a problem, however, that has been plaguing our nation of computer users for some time: the double click. Now, she was good at it. Really good. Lightning fast fingers, this one. Most people don't have a problem double clicking.... it's not brain surgery, and can be easily facilitated witht the adjustment of your double click speed setting. The problem is this: hyperlinks and submit buttons. Please, people, don't double click them. It makes them very, very angry. And it annoys me so much that it makes the baby Jesus cry.
What is so fucking mind-boggling about this concept? Here, let me give you a hand. this is a folksy little saying passed down to me by my grandmother... you know, the kind that rhymes, so it's easy to remember: To open a program, click once and once more; but when on the 'net CLICK ONCE OR I'LL FUCKING TEAR YOUR HEAD OFF AND FUCK THE STUMP TILL I'M BLOODY AND WET YOU STUPID, WORTHELSS WHORE!!!!!! Nothing, and I mean NOTHING on the internet requires more than one click. If you ever find yourself doubting this, pick up your mouse, and turn it over. Then accelerate it rapidly towards your face, and repeat until you knock yourself unconscious. When someone revives you, you can ask them if you need one clicks or two. Failing that, you can always ask your computer. Yes, you read that correctly. Get on your hands and knees in front of your computer, and say in a loud, clear voice, "Should I click this link once, or twice?" If your computer responds with a series of whistles, whoops, and beeps, go ahead and click twice. Otherwise, only once. Works every time. Now leave me alone, I need to go "educate" some people.
Update, sometime later.....
I forgot to mention that the wife and I are getting a friend for our cat (whose name on this page shall be Fang). As you can see from the below picture, Fang is gearing up to play with his new pal.... I suspect this new kitten shall be "pwned" in short measure.
Wednesday, August 06, 2003
Pimping Firebird and Blaming Canada
After much prodding and haranguing from driftwood, I have finally installed the latest build of Firebird. Despite my long-standing love of outdated and obsolete software, I have to say this is nice. Veeeeeeeeeeery nice. Browser go fast. Clicky clicky. Og like. Since I had already thrown off the shackels of IE and Netscape in favor of Mozilla, the transition was pretty easy; however, I did have to d/l some extensions to get all the functionality I had with Mozilla. On the plus side, a lot of the crap I never used is gone so the browser is streamlined. There are a few things to get used to-- Ctrl+Enter no longer opens the highlighted link in a new tab (this is now handled by Alt+Enter) but Ctrl+click still does. Having tabs moveable is nice, as is being able to right click in a window and using the mouse scroll to change tabs. Be aware, however, that some of the themes available for d/l aren't finished and have non-functioning back/forward buttons. And now, back to your regularly scheduled rant.
Scenario: Driving home from work last night. Radio is on, and drifty and I are talking about the day's evils and foul deeds. Suddenly, I hear a blasphemous sound from the speakers.
OMFUG: Is this... Rush?
driftwood: I don't know, maybe.
OMFUG: GODDAMMIT THIS IS RUSH! ARRRRRRRGH! (sweers into nearby troop of parading nuns in violent rage)
I realize this is going to offend Tommy Schu, but it must be said. I hate Rush. I mean, really, really hate them. I can't stand this bunch of Canadian refugees. Tom Sawyer is a fucking horrible piece of music. I have never understood why people like this band-- every single one of thier songs sounds like someone gave a keyboard player a Moog and as much acid as he could carry, and plunked him in a studio with a bunch of overused effect pedals. Geddy Lee needs to seriously grow a set... he sounds like a eunich, and his voice grinds the nerves in my brain into tiny pieces of gunk, making me unable to do anything but think about punching kittens. They've released llike 19, 372 albums in thier career and every single one of them is my own personal sonic nightmare. I can handle prog rock (which I am told is what Rush feels they do) but there is this deep seeded irrational hatred nonetheless. Like I said, I think it all comes down to Geddy Lee's voice. I'm pretty sure he's a howler monkey crossed with a pixie trapped in a aging, permed rocker body. Even seeing a picture of him makes me cringe. I would, in fact, cut off various parts of my body if I could be assured that Rush would blink out of existence following said act. Wishmaster, I need you..... Rush, if you're reading this, please please PLEASE go back to East Moosefuck, Ontario and serenade the trees and whatever strange little woodland creatures are there with your "music". If you fail to comply, I'm going to personally attempt to get your illegal alien asses slammed in the deepest recesses of the US prison system, which is (I hear) only slightly worse than Canada. Failing that, I'm going to lobby for the UN to restrict Canadian exports of music, which will inevitable piss of Celine Dion. And I KNOW (Geddy, I'm lookin at you here) you guys can't take Celine Dion in a fair fight, so you'd best shake the mothballs out of your lumberjack uniform and get a-steppin. End transmission.
After much prodding and haranguing from driftwood, I have finally installed the latest build of Firebird. Despite my long-standing love of outdated and obsolete software, I have to say this is nice. Veeeeeeeeeeery nice. Browser go fast. Clicky clicky. Og like. Since I had already thrown off the shackels of IE and Netscape in favor of Mozilla, the transition was pretty easy; however, I did have to d/l some extensions to get all the functionality I had with Mozilla. On the plus side, a lot of the crap I never used is gone so the browser is streamlined. There are a few things to get used to-- Ctrl+Enter no longer opens the highlighted link in a new tab (this is now handled by Alt+Enter) but Ctrl+click still does. Having tabs moveable is nice, as is being able to right click in a window and using the mouse scroll to change tabs. Be aware, however, that some of the themes available for d/l aren't finished and have non-functioning back/forward buttons. And now, back to your regularly scheduled rant.
Scenario: Driving home from work last night. Radio is on, and drifty and I are talking about the day's evils and foul deeds. Suddenly, I hear a blasphemous sound from the speakers.
OMFUG: Is this... Rush?
driftwood: I don't know, maybe.
OMFUG: GODDAMMIT THIS IS RUSH! ARRRRRRRGH! (sweers into nearby troop of parading nuns in violent rage)
I realize this is going to offend Tommy Schu, but it must be said. I hate Rush. I mean, really, really hate them. I can't stand this bunch of Canadian refugees. Tom Sawyer is a fucking horrible piece of music. I have never understood why people like this band-- every single one of thier songs sounds like someone gave a keyboard player a Moog and as much acid as he could carry, and plunked him in a studio with a bunch of overused effect pedals. Geddy Lee needs to seriously grow a set... he sounds like a eunich, and his voice grinds the nerves in my brain into tiny pieces of gunk, making me unable to do anything but think about punching kittens. They've released llike 19, 372 albums in thier career and every single one of them is my own personal sonic nightmare. I can handle prog rock (which I am told is what Rush feels they do) but there is this deep seeded irrational hatred nonetheless. Like I said, I think it all comes down to Geddy Lee's voice. I'm pretty sure he's a howler monkey crossed with a pixie trapped in a aging, permed rocker body. Even seeing a picture of him makes me cringe. I would, in fact, cut off various parts of my body if I could be assured that Rush would blink out of existence following said act. Wishmaster, I need you..... Rush, if you're reading this, please please PLEASE go back to East Moosefuck, Ontario and serenade the trees and whatever strange little woodland creatures are there with your "music". If you fail to comply, I'm going to personally attempt to get your illegal alien asses slammed in the deepest recesses of the US prison system, which is (I hear) only slightly worse than Canada. Failing that, I'm going to lobby for the UN to restrict Canadian exports of music, which will inevitable piss of Celine Dion. And I KNOW (Geddy, I'm lookin at you here) you guys can't take Celine Dion in a fair fight, so you'd best shake the mothballs out of your lumberjack uniform and get a-steppin. End transmission.
Tuesday, August 05, 2003
Something my mom never told me
Did not realize it was possible to dutch oven oneself in the shower. I now know better. The worst part about it was having absolutely no way of escaping. I also now understand what drifty feels like when he rides in the car with me. At least he could open the windows.......
Did not realize it was possible to dutch oven oneself in the shower. I now know better. The worst part about it was having absolutely no way of escaping. I also now understand what drifty feels like when he rides in the car with me. At least he could open the windows.......
Oh. My. God. A rant. driftwood popped his anger cherry. It's all downhill from here, folks. On a slightly more angry note: Today I spent an entire day in what can only loosely be called "training". At an un-named gov't facility, veiled in secrecy, we were taught the ancient art of...clicking a fuggin mouse. Why, you might ask? Because some people...holy hell, these people are stupid. I mean, should you really have a job where you're expected to do anything more than mouth-breathe if you can't grasp the concept of "entering passwords"? We were SUPPOSED to accomplish something useful, but the sad truth is that one person brought the entire train screeching to a halt. I mean, it couldn't have been brought to a halt quicker if she had skull-fucked Casey Jones with an iron whonger. Gah. I can't believe I'm not allowed to shoot people simply because "society" feels it isn't "nice".
Why? (to tha izzo)
Rap music has a long and interesting history. This rant is not going to take any of that into account. Why, you might ask. Well, I’ll tell you. Because I am sick and tired of the direction this music has taken. Not that I ever really cared to begin with, but that's not the point. Rap today has nothing to do with urban expression, which is where the music grew from. Ah, for the good old days of Public Enemy! Today, rap music is all about validating power by comparing wallets and seeing who has the larger posse of ho’s, and about violating all morality. Oh yeah, and it’s also about one other thing... inventing words that sound fucking stupid.
But first, let’s take a serious look at morality in rap. I hear so many lyrics that suggest to me that these rappers need psychological help. Oedipal complexes and bestial themes run rampant today. For instance, DMX is constantly shouting such things as “get to me, dawg”. This is an obvious reference to his need to have sex with animals. It belies an inadequate developmental period, and suggests that perhaps women are too frightening to him. He obviously needs to control his sexual partners, and animals are the perfect solution. Nelly is another rapper who faces deep problems. Remember the hit song containing the words “Andale andale mama, eya eya”? Andale is Spanish for “Go” and is used only when one is riding a horse or perhaps a llama. His use of this in reference to his mother shows to us his Oedipal complex and his desire to figuratively “ride” (i.e. have sex with) his mother. Poor woman. And he is so ashamed of this fact that he speaks in strange, foreign languages like Spanish to hide his need.
On to the words that sound fucking stupid. Shizzle? Bla-dow? Bliz-nitch? Straight trippin’? Come on, this isn’t pre-school. It’s ok to use real words to communicate, honest. Or is it too hard to pronounce some of these words? Ah, of course. Adding extra syllables makes everything better. Yes to the izzo indeedy. Personally, I think it is all the crack. But hey, that’s just me. Well, me and Strom. But he’s drunk, so it’s ok to ignore him. Anyway, what does a guinea pig know about rap? So back to the gibberish. It’s not just adding syllables to words anymore. It’s all about stupidity now. Who comes up with this shit? Well, through careful research, I have managed to recreate an occurrence of a new word entering the English language so that you may see exactly how this happens.
Deep inside a studio, a random rapper with no belt is thinking. Suddenly, inspiration strikes.
“Hmm, I think I’ll make up a new word. Let’s dump this scrabble set on the floor and see what we get. Oooooh, fiziwiggin’!!!! That’s great! I’ll have to put that in here somewhere. Let’s see…
Muthafuckin’ bitch runnin’ up in my shit
Talking trash grabbin cash like she fuckin legit.
Ya’ll bitches out there be gold-diggin’
I ain’t goan put up witchoo fiziwiggin’
Yeah, that’s great! Super! Now, let’s just throw in a few more “fucks” and references to beating up women and a reference to smoking crack, and we’ll call it a wrap. Get it? Wrap? Rap? Hahahaha… yo, this is the real muthafuckin shit, dawg.”
English, motherfucker! Do you speak it? Now I know that some of you reading this will start whining about now, saying “Oh, well it’s a form of reclaiming black heritage and forging solidarity” Riiiiight. Guess what? Crackers do it too. Look at this guy, Bubba Sparxxx. Despite being mocked mercilesly for riding a tractor in his first ideo a few years ago, he has perservered and released another album. Groovy. But his fat ass is doing the same thing, and he’s whiter than a fresh pair of Wal-Mart panties. I mean, it’s all well and good with me if Maya Angelou or Willy Shakepeare wants to make up a word to describe a consition essential to humanity that has heretofore remained unexpressable. But everyone else, KNOCK IT THE HELL OFF!!! And if you don’t knock it off, you can all bliz-ow me., my nizzle.
Rap music has a long and interesting history. This rant is not going to take any of that into account. Why, you might ask. Well, I’ll tell you. Because I am sick and tired of the direction this music has taken. Not that I ever really cared to begin with, but that's not the point. Rap today has nothing to do with urban expression, which is where the music grew from. Ah, for the good old days of Public Enemy! Today, rap music is all about validating power by comparing wallets and seeing who has the larger posse of ho’s, and about violating all morality. Oh yeah, and it’s also about one other thing... inventing words that sound fucking stupid.
But first, let’s take a serious look at morality in rap. I hear so many lyrics that suggest to me that these rappers need psychological help. Oedipal complexes and bestial themes run rampant today. For instance, DMX is constantly shouting such things as “get to me, dawg”. This is an obvious reference to his need to have sex with animals. It belies an inadequate developmental period, and suggests that perhaps women are too frightening to him. He obviously needs to control his sexual partners, and animals are the perfect solution. Nelly is another rapper who faces deep problems. Remember the hit song containing the words “Andale andale mama, eya eya”? Andale is Spanish for “Go” and is used only when one is riding a horse or perhaps a llama. His use of this in reference to his mother shows to us his Oedipal complex and his desire to figuratively “ride” (i.e. have sex with) his mother. Poor woman. And he is so ashamed of this fact that he speaks in strange, foreign languages like Spanish to hide his need.
On to the words that sound fucking stupid. Shizzle? Bla-dow? Bliz-nitch? Straight trippin’? Come on, this isn’t pre-school. It’s ok to use real words to communicate, honest. Or is it too hard to pronounce some of these words? Ah, of course. Adding extra syllables makes everything better. Yes to the izzo indeedy. Personally, I think it is all the crack. But hey, that’s just me. Well, me and Strom. But he’s drunk, so it’s ok to ignore him. Anyway, what does a guinea pig know about rap? So back to the gibberish. It’s not just adding syllables to words anymore. It’s all about stupidity now. Who comes up with this shit? Well, through careful research, I have managed to recreate an occurrence of a new word entering the English language so that you may see exactly how this happens.
Deep inside a studio, a random rapper with no belt is thinking. Suddenly, inspiration strikes.
“Hmm, I think I’ll make up a new word. Let’s dump this scrabble set on the floor and see what we get. Oooooh, fiziwiggin’!!!! That’s great! I’ll have to put that in here somewhere. Let’s see…
Muthafuckin’ bitch runnin’ up in my shit
Talking trash grabbin cash like she fuckin legit.
Ya’ll bitches out there be gold-diggin’
I ain’t goan put up witchoo fiziwiggin’
Yeah, that’s great! Super! Now, let’s just throw in a few more “fucks” and references to beating up women and a reference to smoking crack, and we’ll call it a wrap. Get it? Wrap? Rap? Hahahaha… yo, this is the real muthafuckin shit, dawg.”
English, motherfucker! Do you speak it? Now I know that some of you reading this will start whining about now, saying “Oh, well it’s a form of reclaiming black heritage and forging solidarity” Riiiiight. Guess what? Crackers do it too. Look at this guy, Bubba Sparxxx. Despite being mocked mercilesly for riding a tractor in his first ideo a few years ago, he has perservered and released another album. Groovy. But his fat ass is doing the same thing, and he’s whiter than a fresh pair of Wal-Mart panties. I mean, it’s all well and good with me if Maya Angelou or Willy Shakepeare wants to make up a word to describe a consition essential to humanity that has heretofore remained unexpressable. But everyone else, KNOCK IT THE HELL OFF!!! And if you don’t knock it off, you can all bliz-ow me., my nizzle.
Monday, August 04, 2003
Holy Jebus, I hate the Windows port of GIMP. What a broken, buggy lump of steaming llama snot it is. Trying to get a header done for this page so we don't have to look at the ugly one that's there now, and I'm ready to start punching kittens. I was almost done, and GIMP crashed on a blur filter. Fine, I can accept that. However, upon reopening, I have discovered that it now believes that no matter what color I specify for text, it shall be black. Stupid office computers not allowing Photoshop installs. Where's my pissed off smily emoticon when I need it?
EDIT: 15 minutes later, I have re-installed and it appears to be working ok now. I need a martini.
EDIT: 15 minutes later, I have re-installed and it appears to be working ok now. I need a martini.
Hello all. Welcome to our little slice of disgruntlemnt. We'll be posting thoughts/rants here for the whole wide world to read, and subsequently decide we are idiots because of. Hopefully, we'll only make sense once or twice a month.
-------------------------------
There are a few things I simply cannot overlook in women. Allow me
to slip into Costanza mode here:
1. Flip-flops. I hate flip flops. With every twisted ounce of my charred soul. They should
be immediatly banned in every state and in third world countries such as
Canada and Alabama. When I see women walking down the street with them on, I
just want to stop them and say, "You know, the Greeks figured out that the
ideal woman is proportioned so that her navel is in the center of her body
when looking at her from the front. Thus, women wear high heels to 'stretch'
thier bodies, correctly positioning the navel and making themselves more
attractive to males. You, on the otherhand, are simply making your ankles
look fat, and I have no desire to copulate with you, you stinking broodmare."
I'm pretty sure that, when I'm drunk tonight, I will do precisely this as the
thought has now been filed away in my subconcious amongst the important
directions such as "remember to breathe" and "don't let anyone see you kick
babies".
2. Untamed eyebrows. I cannot abide a woman whose face looks like two randy
caterpillars ar throttling full tilt towwards each other, ready to throw on
some Barry White (or whatever the hell passes for libido-enhancing music in
thier world) and ram-a-lama-ding-dong. For the love of all that has ever
been holy and good, PLUCK THE FARKERS BEFORE THEY BREED! Besides, if she's
not willing to show that attecntion to her face, I'm sure that there will be
some pretty dense jungle to forge a path through below. And sorry miss, I
don't own a pith hat and my name ain't Gunga Din so if you're knitting a
sweater everytime you cross your legs I'm pullin the ripcord.
3. "Skorts". You know, looks like a skirt in the front, but shorts in the
back? Bzzzz. Survey says: no. If it looks like a skirt, then I sure as hell
better be able to glimpse some of the ol' hardware cover when you spread 'em.
If you want to wear shorts, fine. But don't try to hide that fact. It's not
like a skort is dressier and will get you into Zanzibar when shorts would
fail. And if you wear a skort, you know what you're telling the world? Two
things. You are saying "I own only shitty underwear form Walmart with the
occasional non-white Target brand Heather's Lie (or whatever the hell thier
rip-off of Victoria's Secret is)" and, simultaneously, "I love to lie to men,
and make myself out to be more sexy than I am through my promise of forbidden
fruit which, in all likelihood, is too ugly to risk you seeing it (even
covered) in undies by daylight." What, do they have vampire cooches that
exploe when exposed to light? God.
-------------------------------
There are a few things I simply cannot overlook in women. Allow me
to slip into Costanza mode here:
1. Flip-flops. I hate flip flops. With every twisted ounce of my charred soul. They should
be immediatly banned in every state and in third world countries such as
Canada and Alabama. When I see women walking down the street with them on, I
just want to stop them and say, "You know, the Greeks figured out that the
ideal woman is proportioned so that her navel is in the center of her body
when looking at her from the front. Thus, women wear high heels to 'stretch'
thier bodies, correctly positioning the navel and making themselves more
attractive to males. You, on the otherhand, are simply making your ankles
look fat, and I have no desire to copulate with you, you stinking broodmare."
I'm pretty sure that, when I'm drunk tonight, I will do precisely this as the
thought has now been filed away in my subconcious amongst the important
directions such as "remember to breathe" and "don't let anyone see you kick
babies".
2. Untamed eyebrows. I cannot abide a woman whose face looks like two randy
caterpillars ar throttling full tilt towwards each other, ready to throw on
some Barry White (or whatever the hell passes for libido-enhancing music in
thier world) and ram-a-lama-ding-dong. For the love of all that has ever
been holy and good, PLUCK THE FARKERS BEFORE THEY BREED! Besides, if she's
not willing to show that attecntion to her face, I'm sure that there will be
some pretty dense jungle to forge a path through below. And sorry miss, I
don't own a pith hat and my name ain't Gunga Din so if you're knitting a
sweater everytime you cross your legs I'm pullin the ripcord.
3. "Skorts". You know, looks like a skirt in the front, but shorts in the
back? Bzzzz. Survey says: no. If it looks like a skirt, then I sure as hell
better be able to glimpse some of the ol' hardware cover when you spread 'em.
If you want to wear shorts, fine. But don't try to hide that fact. It's not
like a skort is dressier and will get you into Zanzibar when shorts would
fail. And if you wear a skort, you know what you're telling the world? Two
things. You are saying "I own only shitty underwear form Walmart with the
occasional non-white Target brand Heather's Lie (or whatever the hell thier
rip-off of Victoria's Secret is)" and, simultaneously, "I love to lie to men,
and make myself out to be more sexy than I am through my promise of forbidden
fruit which, in all likelihood, is too ugly to risk you seeing it (even
covered) in undies by daylight." What, do they have vampire cooches that
exploe when exposed to light? God.
