Thing a Week 47: (metaphorically)

This is a piece I wrote for English a few weeks ago, that I liked enough to post. unfortunately, I lost the paper that had my only copy of it, so until I find it, this is all that's available to read. In other news, I've decided to finally get off my butt and do enough posts to fill out my backlog; therefore, in the following days i will be producing three more posts to catch up.

Also, in quick (but relevant) side note, when I consider my writing habits, I'm reminded of a quote by the brilliant Douglas Adams: "I love deadlines. I love the sound they make when they go whooshing by."

There's a telephone pole located right by my house, in the grass by the sidewalk in front. It's a pretty typical telephone pole, as far as these things go, but it recently struck me that I've become so used to it that it's become effectively invisible.
I've lived in the same house for almost all my life, and I've always had this 50 foot tall stick jutting out of the lawn right by my sidewalk. It's one of the things that I ought to know like the back of my hand-but if it comes to that, how many times have you really paid attention to the back of your hand? It's the most familiar things things in our life that we pay the least attention to.
Most of the details I can think of are snatches of memories of growing up: Making snowballs to throw at the

Thing a Week 46: I Totally got Mugged a Few Weeks Ago

Welp, here is the double post, as promised. I will do my best to create well thought out, creative, emotive pieces, because I'm a pretty cool guy who's filled with creative ideas and artistic integrity.

Yes!

Anyway, I've got a few things to talk about.

First up: I am kind of an eagle scout now, and I could use some pictures of me committing various acts of Eagle Scoutlery upon innocent bystanders. If any of the people reading this (read: my direct family) have pictures that fit that profile, I'd appreciate if you let me take those pictures, and use them, and then maybe remember to vie them back. Also, I am totally having my court of honor after Christmas, and anyone who reads this is invited.

Next up: I got mugged a few weeks ago, and didn't really talk that much about it, so here is the account, as fully as I can remember it:
Two or so weeks ago, I went to the library to pick up some books. As I was walking, three guys approached me walking in the opposite direction. I kept walking, they passed me, and then when I looked down, I noticed that their shadows had stopped walking away from me. Instead of turning around and saying moderately inappropriate comments about their hygiene, lineage, and personal habits, then running away (which is my plan for the next time this happens),I continued to walk, and then they started walking after me. Then they caught up with me. At this point, I was pretty sure I was going to get mugged, possibly because I'm psychic or not an idiot. The guy who seemed to be in charge said Syper? (siper? ciper? cyper? sigh-pur? I don't know, but apparently it's some sort of code) at me a few, times, became impatient when I stuttered confusedly, and then proceeded to express his disagreements with my bewildered comments via the traditional method, i.e. having me briskly hit his fist with my face. They then proceeded to punch me one more time, this time in my temple, and then removed my backpack, searched my pockets for items of value, took my mp3 player, told me repeatedly that they had a gun (I'm pretty sure they were lying), and then ran away. I stood up, and continued walking to library.

In response to the questions that people always seem to ask when I tell them about this:
No, I didn't fight back. It's a bad idea when you're outnumbered, and it keeps the muggers from hurting you severely
No, I didn't get hurt badly. They only punched me twice, and neither time hurt that much, it was just disorienting,
Yes, the muggers were all black. Why does everyone I talk to ask me this? IS IT THAT VITAL TO KNOW THE RACE OF MY MUGGERS? Why are people so intrigued with the fact that I was punched by minority figures?
As to what was taken: My backpack was the main loss. I've had that thign for at least 3-4 years, and it's lasted great up to its being stolen. next most important was my mp3 player, which was a piece of junk, but had my music and I miss it. I've got all my songs backed up, but I don't have convenient access, which is frustrating. I also lost two school ID tags, which is annoying because they cost cold hard cash, a commodity I tend to have in short supply. I also lost a library book (the Interpretation of Dreams by Sigmund Freud, if you were wondering), somethign else I'm going to have to pay to replace. In total, I'm probably going to end up being about $60-$70 in the whole to replace everything I've lost.

That is, in a manner of speaking, two separate items of writing. I'm also going to be posting I descriptive piece I wrote recently, but the only copy that I have of it is written on treeflesh, and I won't be able to post it until I get my hard copy back.

P.S. As an aside, money/items to help pay for items lost in muggings make GREAT christmas present,s if any of you were wondering.

Thing a Week 45: A Whine!

Right, I failed yet again to post on time, and this time I have chosen to blame (noun) Thanksturkey day. It made me fat, it slowed my reflexes, and prevented me from typing.

Don't question the logic, accept the magic.

Anyway, I will be double posting again because I fail.

Still trying to Make Up for My Artistic Failures

Since I've been dropping the ball pretty regularly on my updates recently, I thought I'd try to make up for it with an additional post mid-week. The topic is one which will probably estrange three of the four people who read this blog, since they are all my sisters.

I'm talking about Twilight, of course. This has gone on long enough. It is time to stop. Pop culture, as a whole, needs to get over its collective fascination with sparkling angst-beasts, and move on to something else (which will probably be equally retarded, but will at least be DIFFERENT). To fend off any questions, no , I still haven't read anything by Mrs. Meyer, nor do I have any intention. I was embarrassed by the thought of reading it back when it was simply the obsession of every female I knew, but by now I'm actually scared to read it, lest I start mooning over Edward (He's SO supr dreamy, rite? lol), and trying to move to wherever those things live. Somewhere called Fork, I guess.

I mean, honestly! This has reached a pandemic scale. New moon SET THE NEW WORLD RECORD FOR FIRST DAY TICKET SALES. THE WORLD RECORD. IT BEAT THE DARK KNIGHT! This is no longer annoying, this is an epedimic, and I'm getting to the point where I'm tempted to start using traditional methods to cure the disease: burn all the bodies of the infected.

THE ARTICLE FOR THE NEW MOON MOVIE HAS MORE CITATIONS ON WIKIPEDIA THAN GEORGE WASHINGTON. I'm sorry to be the one to say this, but vampires, no matter how dreamy, are not as important as the father of the United States of America.



THEY JUST AREN'T

Thing(s) a Week 44... Kind of.

Awright, I didn't exactly post an article last week.... at all.
No I don't have an excuse, I just couldn't think of anything to write about.
As recompense, I am going to give you, the audience two (2), yes, TWO articles, for the price of one (since both are free, this equals a truly tremendous discount)*

Thing a week 43: Complaints.
One of the primary factors in my lack of updating this week was schooling. I've complained long enough about what I was working on, and anyone who reads this probably knows what I'm talking about, but suffice it to say: I had an unusually stiff amount of work to do in school over the course of last week, and as result, I am kind of written out. I don't really want to write anymore. I feel, in fact, like not writing for at least a period of time. How long? I don't know. Some quantity. I'm going to write anyway, but don't expect vivacity, wit, or coherence.
In other words, things are going pretty much as per usual on my side, how are you?
Seocndary complaint before I stop whining: sleep is good, and not-sleep is very tiring. that is all.

Thing a Week This Week: Links Links, Other Links, and More Links.

I recently went on a Youtube bender, and rediscovered an interesting fatc: Youtube has some really good short films on it.

again, that is all.




*Due to certain factors including, but not limited to, the fact that I am lazy, both articles will be sub-par to make up for the added effort on my part

Thing a Week 42:Robots!

I was thinking today, a habit that I've had trouble kicking in spite of myself, and I started wondering what exactly would happen if, when the robots take over, they have a high (or low) enough level of sentience to try to achieve culture. Would the culture be completely different from what humans think, like elegantly written pieces of coding, or would the new civilization ape its old masters?

I don't know, but I think it definitely be more entertaining if it was the latter, for one simple reason: I fully expect the main repository of all human culture to be Youtube by the time the robots get around to destroying us, which means that if robots judge our culture on some kind of algorithm using the ratings and view counts of the videos, then in all probability they will form the only logical hypothesis: Human culture is based primarily on omnipresent record companies, adorable cats, whiny vloggers, adorable puppies, pretentious conspiracy theorists, adorable cats and puppies playing together, Twilight fangirls, and more adorable animals. And mentos/diet pepsi experiments. From the hypotheis, I therefore posit that robot culture will pretty much be the coolest thing Humanity has ever been responsible for.


Ever.

Thing a Week 41: At a Loss for Words.

After the world ended, the E+Blue super computer (the first ever binary based device known to pass the Turing Test successfully enough to be be accepted as "sentient" by the majority of the scientific populace) began a program to repopulate it with being constructed from the data left in its memory banks. However, due to several unfortunate and highly traumatic events (mainly caused by the world ending), several of the protocols most necessary to carry out a program of this nature had been corrupted, or at the least lost fairly extensive amounts of data. Due to some rather ingenious programming, however, E+Blue was able to form a workaround to this problem by combining the attributes of various animals with similar physical and behavioral characteristics. The workaround was extremely successful, and since E+Blue had a fairly comprehensive backup of human society that had been more heavily protected than the rest of the data, life managed to continue in spite of the minor setback of having completely ended (except for the cockroaches).
In fact, there was only one major setback to the program. Due to a rather severe lack of foresight, an exhaustively thorough collection of mythical beasts had been cataloged in the category of actual animals, and since E+Blue didn't have the appropriate circuitry to identify them as nonexistent, they were brought to life with everything else, and in many cases meshed together. This is understood by historians to be the main contribution to the collapse of the McHane Dynasty in 362 P.A.

40: It's Late, it's #40. I did 39 Other Ones.

A proclamation:

In my years as a citizen in the flawed idyll we call the United States of America, it has frequently been brought to my attention that what our country truly needs is a strong leader. A strong hand at the tiller, if you will. Someone, in short, who will take control of our bright countries policies, and guide us through the stormy seas of life with minimal quantities of hull-scraping and crashing into reefs, wrecks, and other unfortunately sharp pointy objects.

THEREFORE

At the peremptory request and desire of a large majority of the citizens of these United States, I, Genghiz Cohen, formerly of Denial, North Dakota, and now for the last 9 years and 10 months past of the Internet, declare and proclaim myself Emperor of these United States; and in virtue of the authority thereby in me vested, do hereby order and direct the representatives of the different States of the Union to assemble on Blogger.com, on the 1st day of Dec. next, then and there to make such alterations in the existing laws of the Union as may ameliorate the evils under which the country is laboring, and thereby cause confidence to exist, both at home and abroad, in our stability and integrity.

Norton II, Emperor of the United States, Protector of Mexico, Defender of the Peace and Purveyor of Justice.

I assure you, you will not regret my decision.

(If this doesn't make any sense to you, then you desperately need to educate yourself on one Joshua Abraham Norton, A fascinating gentleman.)

Thing a Week 39: With Pictures this Time!

Just a quickie post, but this time I have three (3) graphic aides to supplement the word snack I'm presenting you with. Basically, at school I'm in a graphic design class, and a recent assignment was to make three t-shirt patterns. When it comes to drawing things, I tend to be a massive over doer, so I naturally decided to make three t-shirts that would wow the ages and make children weep with joy. Short of that, I'd settle for shirts that would, at the very least, make children weep.
I failed in that respect, but I ended up making three products that I'm very happy with overall.

The Zombie shirt was my last piece. I was in a pretty big hurry when I made it, and it shows on the lack of polish, but over all I think it's pretty good. I would liked to put on a appropriate font if I'd had the time, but it's too late for that now.



the Dino was my middle piece, and it's the one I'm least satisfied with. It's not terrible, but I kind of slapped it together. given the chance, I would have definitely smoothed things out more, developed the rider a bit, and, again, gotten a font that looked at least half-way decent.








This one was my first, and my favorite by miles. I sweated art to get this right, and I'm really happy with the result. I really wanted a bright, blocky feel, but I didn't want it to be overly simplistic. I think I managed to capture that pretty well, and I also gave it my favorite caption of the bunch. this was my personal winner, hands down.



P.S. Sorry about the text being all mashed up, I'm not used to dealing with pictures.

Thing a Week 39: The 39th Thing a Week... by me.

This is another post where I have to edify, entertain and elucidate! It fails in two of the three, but you will have the decide which ones these are on your own.

Anyway, my subject today is something that I hold dear to my heart, namely: my hatred of mornings. I've already chronicled my uncomfortable relationship with sunlight, but what I have not mentioned is that my hatred grows and wanes with the time. Obviously, there is a seasonal cycle, with summer (or "hot face burny ouch time" as I like to call it) at the top of my impotent rage scale, but there is also a daily rageometer operating as a subroutine on the motherboard of my consciousnesses. I speak of mornings. I know this is cliche, but I hate mornings. When I first wake up, I consider light to be not just a bane, but an enemy, one towards which I hold a deep, abiding and intensely personal grudge. My body and mind are geared toward a life spent in the twilight hours, and waking is an affront to everything I hold dear (by which I mean my sleep). There is a feeling, as one feels the acid of daylight drip into ones eyes, that the impudent waveicles are laughing, even snickering as they pry away at the bliss of unconscious thought.
And now I'm going to bed, to continue the fight anew come tomorrow.

Thing a Week 38: Kind of a Ripoff.

So this is way late, and kind of a rip off as well. sorry bout that.

Anyway, a while ago I revealed to the world one of the most beautiful pieces of prose ever to grace the eyes of man, the likes of which i never imagined could be seen again lest the concentrated Glory of two such masterpieces existing on the same plane of existence should cause the world to crumble into specks of PURE AWE. As my readers may have guessed, I was wrong. and thus, I once again present to you, my readers:

Dragon-Star Revengeant

Book 1 in the Dawn of the SanguiBorn Octohuplet

In the black caves of Gorsungurd, a typical child is born to typical filthy peasant parents. A typical child, yes... BUT WITH A MOST ATYPICAL FUTURE!!!!!!!! for it is in his destiny to become the Scion of the Dragon-Star, the mystic relic that it is prophesied will someday destroy the cruel overlord of Mal Gr'imm'r, Zal Naw'tieF'elah. But how can he fulfill his destiny...

WHEN THE VERY RELIC THAT COULD SAVE THE WORLD MAY ITSELF BE EVIL!!!

Available in every book selling outlet, ever.

Rave reviews from some newspapers or something!

"Anderson has continued to write... a book" (Circus Purview)

"This new piece from fantasies most torturous new author has... some highlights. An absolutely... new story." (Starred review)



I probably enjoy writing things like this more than I ought to.

Thing a Week 37: I put the wrong number on last week.

This is kind of a crappy piece, but it's all I have right now. it sprung from a conversation that I had with my brother, and I wanted to see if I could translate into a decent short story.

You know what happens when you save the world? It keeps going. and after it's continued keeping going, it changes, and you become unnecessary. It doesn't help when the peril isn't readily visible, and people are able to rationalize themselves into believing that you didn't do anything.
But trust me when I say, I saved the world. And no, you won't be able to avoid having me tell you about it.
For the sake of my own sanity, I'm going to assume that you know what nanobots are. If you don't, leave right now and don't come back until you've figured out the basics of not being illiterate in the 21st century. Seriously, you need to catch on some reading material.

I'm going to have to finish this up next week.

Thing a Week 36: Not gonna say it

Ever wondered what it would feel like to walk across the U.S? Just grab some shoes, fill a back pack, and start hiking? There's a certain mythos, I think, in our sedentary culture, that celebrates the kind of person it takes to do something that stupid and awesome.

I want to be that person. I want to join the cycle of awesome stupidity. I want to be able, someday, to be at a dinner party, and overhear someone complaining about how much they have they walk around at their job, and I want to look them in the eye, squint in a manly manner, and say, in my gratuitously gravelly voice, "Try walking across America" And then every bald eagle in the surrounding 49 1/2 states would simultaneously explode from the awesome, softly weeping proud, proud tears.

SOME DAY I WILL BE THAT PERSON

Thing a Week 35: Late again

I'm late again, but I just had few points that I thought were kind of interesting, that I wanted the world to be aware of.

1. A bad simile is like a unicorn on a motorcycle fighting a grizzly bear in a hang glider: It just doesn't make sense... No matter how good it sounds.
2. Sticks and stones may break my bones, but when you combine them, you can make a catapult. I think that further experimentation may be required.
3. Often, people make me do things I don't really want to do at all. When I ask them why, they tell me it's because I need to learn how to these things for later in life. I respond that I don't mind paying other people to do things I hate, and they tell me to get to work. From this, I deduce the following:

• People like to watch me doing things I hate.

That's all I got for now.

Thing a Week 34: An Ultimatum. Of Sorts.

Yes, it's late, sorry, but at least I posted something else that could be read while I wrote this. I went to an activity this week, and I spent quite of my time there in a tired haze, gazing about my surroundings like a sheep that's been fed sleep medication (I haven't really slept in the last week, hooray for education). And as I was thusly engaged, I had thoughts about fashion, mainly my lack thereof. I therefore decided to write the following piece:

As I look around, I find my bodies coverings being relegated to the archives of antiquity. It is not done out of malice, nor is it deliberate. It is, I suppose, a march of progress. Salutary in it's way, but destined to have casualties in the flannel fields where the fashion unconscious lie. Still, if I am to be filed and drawered in the sepia cabinets of the past, at least I can find comforts in their wintered greys and bleached browns, in the monochrome tones of times long past. Certainly, I may be dowdy to the Victorians that share my filing cabinet, but it will hardly be a change.
AND THEREFORE, for myself and any who to join me, I hereby proclaim: From this point forth, let my words, my actions, and my hollow pronouncements declare my individualities, for my wardrobe surely will not. And if my husk should scare away those who would judge me...

Life Happens.

Not a thing a week!

SO, I've been kind of sucking at updating, and I wrote this, and I like it (at one in the mrning) and I thought I'd try to make up a bit for that with a mid week post. Next up date will be as scheduled, hopefully. By the way, all the misspellings this time aren't because I'm to lazy to proofread. THey're a sophisticated authorial method to show emotion and exhaustion not just jsut through the words i type, buit the type them. And im bad at proof reading.

It's 12:41 and, my eyes are slowly beign consumed by hell flames. It's not that late. It's not that late. I'm not that Tired. It's not that late. I could go all night. My eyes really hurt. it feels like weasels jelly is scratching my eyes. I'm not that tired. It'snot that late. I still have another 10 math problems to do I should work on that I need to work on that why am I not working on that. My hands

are
moving


so


slowly.

Im not tiredits'no tthatl at e. I still

Have to do 3 or eight chapters of world history too. I don't think my frame is capable of physically containing my stress levles right i wish i drank caffeine so i could go and drink some caffeine but i don't i can't i really really really want two liters of mountain and lots of sugar istill have wrok to do.


It's not that late.

I'm going to fall alseep tomorrow.

I need some eye drops.

Thing a Week 33: Late, Sorry, etc.

Due to circumstances within my control, I'm posting a day late, and I'm not really posting anything of value. Apologies to the relevant parties. Anyway, all I've got is some crappy lyrics I wrote a while ago. Have a day.

come to me my little black sheep
come to the fold
come to sleep
lay your head down
let your weary mind go (you don't need it anyway)
let us make your freedom for you
wear the chains of our democracy
forged in the fires of hypocrisy
you don't need your thoughts
when we've got better ones for free
you'll find a gilded chain can be made just as binding,
if you don't like your policies the other sides just as binding
and if you you turn a circle round,
you'll find by circle you're still bound
so come to the fold
come to sleep
my sheep.

I don't even remember why I wrote it. I think I was angry. It might have been during the election.

Thing a Week 32: Cursing the Black Daystar Since 1992

So, I'm posting this a day late. I don't really have a reasonable excuse, but in my defense:
1) I was pretty dang tired yesterday.
2) I forgot.
3) I had a sunburn.

Or any of these good excuses? Not technically, if you're the kind of person who wants to be getting technical all the time. But it was a pretty bad sunburn. I really hate sunburns, but I get them every summer in spite of myself. I suppose you could say that it's my fault, because I hate the feeling of sun screen and always avoid wearing it. You could say that, but I wouldn't listen, because honestly? I blame the sun. Stupid sun, always shooting life giving rays at my tender, pasty flesh. What really confuses me is this: I'm all American, which means my ancestry is a mix of about 300 European nations, mostly British and Nordic. Of the two, I'm pretty sure Nordic dominates. So, I have the salty blood of the vikings flowing through my proud veins. And here's where I get confused. The Vikings were known to always be spending time at sea, getting tans and pillaging and misnaming Greenland and Iceland just to annoy future generations, those jerks. SO if they were always getting tans, WHY AM I SO PASTY? I can take off my shirt and blind people 300 yards away. This does not seem to me to be the workings of a logical mother nature.

Thing a Week 31: Tesla was my Homie, Until He got that Restraining Order

Recently I found a new website which I find (unhealthily) fascinating, called Damn Interesting. Suffice it to say, it is. However, the main reason I'm using this topic as the excuse is this article, on the Wardenclyffe tower that Nikola Tesla tried to build. You might want to read the Wikipedia article on it, since I'm typing this at two in the morning and I strongly suspect my elucidative abilities are currently somewhat sub-par. The gist of it, as described by Tesla, is this:

"It is intended to give practical demonstrations of these principles with the plant illustrated. As soon as completed, it will be possible for a business man in New York to dictate instructions, and have them instantly appear in type at his office in London or elsewhere. He will be able to call up, from his desk, and talk to any telephone subscriber on the globe, without any change whatever in the existing equipment. An inexpensive instrument, not bigger than a watch, will enable its bearer to hear anywhere, on sea or land, music or song, the speech of a political leader, the address of an eminent man of science, or the sermon of an eloquent clergyman, delivered in some other place, however distant. In the same manner any picture, character, drawing, or print can be transferred from one to another place. Millions of such instruments can be operated from but one plant of this kind. More important than all of this, however, will be the transmission of power, without wires, which will be shown on a scale large enough to carry conviction."
In other words, it would be a bundle package of the internet, telephone, radio, and WIRELESS ENERGY. In case of any of my readers can't tell at this point, Tesla was basically the most awesome scientist in the history of ever. Who want's to go drool on his memory with me? I don't really have anything other than this to say, but I hope to leave anyone who reads next weeks article with something more than a slightly dirty feeling received from close contact with shamelessly creepy fan-boying of long dead scientists. Maybe.

Thing a Week 29: A Poem of Sorts

So, I actually have a piece planed out for once that I want to write, but (probably because I want to write it) it's proving difficult to pin down on paper. Analogue. And because I'm a sensitive, poetical kind of guy, I decided to share a poem... about a bug.

I was kind of stripped of ideas, OK?

Hello, little bug
in the crack
of the floor
of the room
that gran'ma died in.
You know I can hear
your skittering
as you find
new holes
to hide in.
Maybe one day
you'll find the dark place
that leads
to the hole
that lets light in
and you'll crawl
through the hole
that seeps light
through the dark
and then find the
place where the
night ends.
Wonderland!
Perhaps,
at least a place
that a bug
does not
belong in
but crawl through the cracks
and you'll find in the
blackness that
other holes
have their own tales.

I realize that for the last half of the poem the meter sounds a lot more awkward, but that's because I designed the whole piece to have palindromically syllabic lines. You can check for yourself, I got it through the entire poem. And then I ruined it by using "tales" as the last line. I hate when you try to make a syllable based poem and a word slips in that seems to be 1 1/2 syllables. Pisses me off.

Thing a Week 28:: Further Revelations on Super Heroics

I wrote a post a while ago on different awesome types of superpowers, and most of the things that I said I still agree with. However, as I have to continued to dwell on this indescribably important topic, I have decided that it's probably a good thing they don't exist. I'd like to say it's because we as a whole would turn them to nefarious, world destroying of pure black-hearted evil, but I really don't think we would.

In my experience, most people would simply act like jerks. I mean, think about it. it's like winning the lottery. People just don't consider the actual ramifications of such a sweeping development. At first they're all "Yay, i won the lottery, now I can be rich and happy forever", and then in three moths they're all "Aw man I lost it all to taxes and now I'm dying in a gutter alone and unloved". People who developed super powers might start meaning help defend truth, justice and the American way, but they'd probably end up shaking down the criminals they beat up for lunch money. It would just be too easy to abuse things like that.
I realize this is hardly an original thought, but what mainly brought it on was easy it would be to be a jerk if you DID decide to abuse you superpowers. Think about the kind of snarking you'd be able to do when you were fighting criminals!
"Oh NO, you bound my arms in three inches of steel chain, how will I be able to use my superstrength NOW- oh wait, it's SUPER strength. Wouldn't want to flex too hard, I might break these chai-OH SNAP. Too late now. Guess I don't know my strength, eh EH? It's funny because I'm about to beat into an unrecognizable pulp!
"StrongDude, you're kind of a jerk, you know that"?
"Hey, SHUT UP"

Awesome.

Thing a Week 27: Kind of a Post?

So in the first place, I'd like to apologize. This post probably won't be very long, and there is only one thing to blame it on (well technically, you could blame me, but I like to think that just because I'm the cause of an event doesn't mean I'm responsible for it. This attitude probably explains the current condition of my life). "BUT ROBBIE!" I don't hear you scream, "Surely the blame rests on you for not preparing a topic or doing any work on the post before 11 o'clock on Saturday!" riposte i thusly:
HA! and again, for unnecessary emphasis because I have childish love for hyperbole HA!!! WHile you could make that argument, and while it is a valid point, I just so happen to have a point fo my OWN. And I like to call it... Omegle. it's a site where you connect to a stranger, and then have a conversation. It is also addictive like donuts glazed in crack. To give you an idea of how addictive it is, I started this post at 11:20, went to get the address of Omegle at 11:25, and came back to finish this at... 12.
The thing is seriously like a crack sammich. I first heard of it at XKCD, where it's described thusly:
[It feels like that scene in Fight Club where the narrator sits down next to Tyler on the plane. Two strangers meeting, laying out their personality and sizing each other up in just a few words, with no expectations, and — thanks to anonymity — no consequences.

Except in this case, a lot of the time Tyler just screams “COCKS”, punches the narrator, and jumps out of the window.]

It's an apt description.

Seriously, though, the site is amazing. It's impossible to describe the feeling you get when you just connect and have an interesting conversation you will never meet again. More often, you'll get a bot spamming, but it's still a very enjoyable and addictive time waster. You should check it out!

Actually, you shouldn't You really shouldn't. Once you taste the forbidden fruit, you always thirst for more. And like some Lovecraftian horror lurking in the murky begrimed depths of the sea, when you look into its eyes....

it consumes you.

Thing a Week 26: "She Likes Cloth"... That'd be a Good Band Name

Something has recently been floating at the top of head, and I have therefore decided to broach the cask of my mind onto the Internet so that I may reuse he space for more valuable thoughts, like whether or not I should go make some toast (currently leaning towards not quite yet). Anyway, the Thought is this: Do other people try to turn all of their most awesome sounding phrases into albums/song titles?

I realize this may sound trivial (because it is), but the answer could have dramatic repercussions*. You see, I like to base my existence on the basic presumption that everyone else is a slightly (sometimes drastically) inferior copy of me, that thinks in the same ways as me. Some might call this presumption, or solipsism (technically, they would be wrong on that. Solipsism is the belief that I'm imagining everything else, whereas this is the belief that I am the pinnacle of everything else); I like to call it reality, and I'd appreciate if the rest would make a bit more effort to catch up on the scene.

This philosophy has always served me well except for the many, almost continuous times that it hasn't, but recently it hit a kink. Namely: If not everyone else is in on this Higher Truth, then they might be making an effort to individualize into NotMe's, which kind of throws a wrench into my plan to turn all of you into the drones of my hive mind. Therefore, I have decided to release the into the wild, where you may browse upon it at your leisure, and I can use your reactions to test the validity of the theory, so that eventually I'll be able to herd you all back where you belong. Underneath me.

....So, originally I was planning on turning this into a rant on band names, but I actually like this more. I will therefore cop out at this point, and leave anyone reading this with the following observation: The best album title is Curse the Black Daystar. WHy? It just is!





*Wouldn't Dramatic Repercussions be a sweet band name

Thing a Week 25: Worse Lateness

Due in part to bad planning on my part, and in part to limited computer access, I am posting this a full day late. I apologize, and will attempt to get back to a more timely schedule come next Saturday. To attempt absolution for this unpardonable crime, I am therefore writing something which I don't absolutely hate. It regards a juice box I was looking at a few days ago.
I am the kind of person who reads boxes and labels when I'm bored, so I was glancing at an off brand juice box, and I was struck by the title:

100% EXTREME 100% JUICE FRUIT PUNCH

I found it worrying. I mean, think about what it's saying! It is, apparently, fruit punch. I can accept that. Although I'm slightly skeptical, I could be persuaded that fruit was involved the production of this beverage and that the beverage can, in fact, be classified as "punch". Except it's also juice. 100% juice, to go by the title. Can juice and punch coexist? Are the two, in fact, one and the same? It is a gosh darned MYSTERY, and I am currently to lazy to see if Wikipedia can solve it. And then, of course, there is the extremity of it. This is an extreme drink. Very extreme. It's extreme! I cannot possibly stress just how extreme it is. It's so extreme that it isn't even extreme at all, it is actually eXtreme, which is apparently what happens when an adjective levels up. It has achieved some sort of transcendence. I am talking about the kind of extremity the has lightning bolts radiating from it. You could use this kind of extremeness to describe someone snowboarding out of a supersonic jet while fighting a grizzly bear strapped into a hang glider that has wings made from machine guns.
THIS JUICE IS 100% EXTREME
So I'm just wondering, why do we let this anywhere within fifty feet of our bodies? (the answer is, of course, that it is delicious and chock full of addictive chemicals)

Thing a Week 24: The Bad Wakeups

Have you ever woken up completely confused? You know, you go to bed way early and and wake up just as the sun is setting, and don't remember anything for a few minutes? Ever wondered what it would be like if that feeling kept going?

I woke up thirty five seconds ago, and I don't know what's going on. The last thing I remember is going on a walk to buy one of those vaguely creepy fake-fruit-with-possibly-toxic-glaze-substance pies at the "bakery", and now I'm here, chained upside down to a slab of iron.

...I think my memory might have some missing links.

Maybe I'm still dreaming. I kind of hope not, that seems a bit cliche right now. Anyway, I can never remember thinking about my dreams while I'm having them except when I'm having lucid dreams, and those don't count. Most of my my dreams seem to involve me running away from people trying to kill me. The last three or so that I can actually remember have kind of had that same over arching theme.

...Maybe my head's trying to tell me something.

Why is there lava underneath me?

I don't think my bed is upside, made of iron, or anywhere near the vicinity of a lava pit.

Maybe I am dreaming.

Thing a Week 23: ResponsiblyLate

Last week I predicted that I would be late in posting.

Turns out I'm psychic.

Anyway, I'm late posting because of an event which I was attending, which is called Buckeyes Boys State. It was excellent. Anyway, what I doubt anyone has realized is that the statement I just made represents a significant leap away from my previous position on any kind of publicly internet service, namely this: I specifically stated a personal detail about my life. If any of you find this inconsistent, that would be because it is. I spend most of my time in these posts talking (i.e. whining) about my personal life. I suppose the difference is mostly one of personal viewpoint. I have finally admitted to myself that the internet is ridiculously easy to hack, and there's not a lot of security measures that I am industrious enough to follow to make it even moderately difficult for all the pedophiles out there find and cyberstalk me.

HOORAY FOR PROGRESS!
that is all for tonight.

Thing a Week 22: Stirring Statements from the Future.

By the way, to any possible readers and myself, I'd like to state that there is a high possibility that next weeks post won't take place until the 22. I felt like writing something vaguely stiring and creepy.

"And THEREFORE, if we wish to continue on the path of Right and Truth, we MUST continue to follow the will of the Overmind. If we are to remain great in the eye of the Overmind, we must FOLLOW the Overmind. WHEREVER it may lead us, WHENEVER it requires our service, WHATEVER that service may be, we MUST BE READY. Let vigilance and industry be our watchwords, let obedience be our state of mind. If we follow in the steps of the Overmind, surely nothing but good can result! Today, I welcome you, the future, to take upon you the mantle left by the past. RISE, I say, RISE-for if you do not, then what exists for tomorrow but the oblivion of ignorance and, worse yet, of unguided knowledge? Let us remain watchful ever, that we do not find our minds slipping into the Chaos,-NAY the ANARCHY of individuality. And if, on some future dawn, the temptation presents itself, I bid you remember 1077! In the coming years, remember today! for this is the day that the children I see before don the mantel of the Protectors of Tomorrow!"

Vice Admiral Cobar Entz returned to his seat accompanied by the enthusiastic roar of the ignorant, sat down, and fell apart inside himself. He had preferred the day when the wave of progress hadn't felt like it was trying to convince him to fall off a ledge. And now here he was, issuing gaudy declamations to the future backstabbers that he was training to dethrone him. He felt old, and tired, and as he looked at the crowd, they seemed to be baying for his blood.

Thing a Week 21: Memoirs of a sixteen year old

So I've spent basically all of this last week organizing my room, and it has been a Big Thing for me. My room is pretty full of space, but almost all of that space is covered in various pieces of second (and fifth and eighty-seventh) hand furniture, and basically all of that furniture was filled years of accumulated debris. I found stuff I'd never even guessed at, like that clown skeleton in the closet. ...that was one of the more awkward things. However, I'd put even odds that the clown deserved whatever he got. I mean, he was a clown. I also found some pretty awesome stuff, like the schematics for one of my favorite birthday cakes ever (to a certain sister of mine, it was the castle siege cake, and yes, I still love the pangolin cake, and will be equally ecstatic if I find long-lost plans for it in one of my desk drawers). I also discovered that although I didn't realize it, my room has approximately five million cubic yards of rope (all of which comes in the form of 3 foot long segments, so most of it it is kind of completely useless for any purpose at all), four different tiny containers of sunscreen. and SO MANY PENS AND PENCILS. I am not even joking, it was ridiculous. I have a mug, in which i hold my various implements of writing, and I had to weed it out twice. I could understand this, but for the fact that whenever I try to find something to write with in my room, I can't. Trying to find pens in my room has traditionally been about as worthwhile as trying to bail water from the sea, but apparently my room has simply been tucking my pens away, just for the chance to regurgitate all of them at simultaneously. Good night, internet.

Thing a Week 20:

A while ago, I wrote this piece, and I kind of liked it. I thought it might be fun to add more to the story.

WARNING: I sprained my finger recently, and it makes typing hard. expect bad spelling and a short post.
In the spring of 1645, the largest herd of Smarm Cows ever recorded was herded across the famous sveldts* of Thibbitian Adonia. Although not necessarily noteworthy in its own right, this fact becomes more interesting when one considers that it caused a sharp increase in both cholesterol and mating in the people of Adonia, and indirectly caused the downfall of thirteen different civilazations, as well as driving a herd of defenseless mollusks to insanity, and eventually extinction. In the annals of time , the famous historian Qtholemny reffered to the herd as being "a bunch of jerks, probably". However, Qtholemny also notes that "The massive meat surplus allowed for the invention of the triple stacker 3 lb. beefburger with extra meat sauce, so it sort of balances out" Qtholemny is generally regarded as being both an unreliable and overly biased historian.



*The sveldts of Adonia (often referred to as "the plains of bad puns") are notable for having an unusually high number of REALLY COOL fauna, including Cool Cats, Hot Dogs, Three kneed bees, and of course, the smarm cows that provide food for so much of the adonian population. And for the cool cats.

That's all I could come up with today, sorry.

Thing a Week 19: Shovel Hating Sequel

Over the course of this last winter, some of you may possibly remember me writing a long(winded) and impassioned complaint on snow shoveling. I started thinking about it today, because today was the day for me to perform the summertime equivalent. By which I mean lawn mowing. Which isn't honestly that analogous to snow shoveling, except that I hate it, and I have to do it against my will (incidentally, this definition also makes snow shoveling analogous to exercise of any kind, including cleaning, washing dishes, most forms of physical labor, and several forms of mental labor as well). Anyway, my main reasons for disliking mowing are these:

1) It's physical labor
2) Specifically, it's physical labor that almost always occurs in bright sunlight
3) I am a pasty white Nordic type, and the light of the black day star burns my flesh and turns me into a walking potential melanoma
4) I am allergic to lethal skin cancer
5) I am also lazy

As this list so conclusively shows, mowing and me are not meant to be combined. However, I understand that houses look nicer with some negative space surrounding them, and so have several alternatives that don't require all the care and time that lawns do:

1) Goats. Keep a couple, and let them do the mowing for you. They will poop all over everywhere and headbutt you, but if you stay off the lawn completely then the poop will act as free fertilizer, and the goats will only headbutt each other.
2) Forest. Plant one on the yard, and you get free shade as well a potential heat source come winter. The only problem is they could fall on your house, and in heavy wind branches will fall and you 'll have to pick them up.
3) Desert Garden. Never have to water or mow cacti, and the cats will avoid your house as well. Could be difficult to maintain in winter, unfortunately.
4) Zen Rock Garden. About three times the feng shui of any other choices, you will never have to mow, and while you need to weed it and rake it daily, it's much more satisfying. Also, you will have a ready ammo source for unwanted cats, dogs, salesmen, hobos, metermen, mobs, lost relatives, in laws, and representatives of The Man.

Thing a Week 18: Nothing in Particular, But Hopefully Entertaining.

So, I would like to apologize for last weeks post. It was horrible, and although it was timely, I was disappointed in myself and it. Ah well, can't love everything I create. And no, I probably won't finish the subject. It was something I was writing just to have something to write about, and I don't think the result of continuing would be worth the effort. Unfortunately, I can't really think of anything to write about for this week either, but I'm not going to make an effort to come up with a decent topic this time.
However, while I'm on the subject I'm reminded of something. I spent most of my life being home schooled, and at one point I had to write one page long piece per day on whatever I felt like as part of my curriculum. I kind of hated it, because after about one week my creative well dried up and I still had to write. So I would sit there, picking at the desk, and then dash out something I hated, turn it in with a feeling of intense self loathing, and then have to do it again the next day. The writing tended to be large, and spread out as far across the page as I could get it to go. I remember at one point I was reduced to writing about my bed, and then writing about it again a few moths later.
In hindsight, it kind of makes me wonder why I would do the same thing to myself (albeit in a much looser, more forgiving format) voluntarily. If I keep it up, I'll probably end up writing newspaper articles that have two day deadlines. The future looms ahead so cheerfully.
Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed this bit, and I hope that I'll be able to start writing things which I find more personally satisfying. Also, if you look at the time stamp on this post, you'll see that I posted it like two full hours before midnight. It was a novel experience.

Thing a Week 17: On the Human Paradox

So, i was preparing something fancier than this, but i decided i didn't like it. instead i offer you, my audience, this gem or approximate equivalent in the rough. Basically, the point of today's post is this: I like to think in two ways-Vulcan style logical, and absurdist. I don't know why I like to think in these ways, it's just more fun than using reason. In the spock approach (by the way, I am not at all familiar Spock, so this is probably grossly unjust to the original Spock), I try to follow the linear paths of logical progression, thereby reaching the most reasonable conclusion. Being myself, i generally add an unhealthy amount of stubbornness and a light misting on the words reality and and reason.
I will have to tell you, my "loyal audience, about the absurdist approach on Monday. It's more fun to talk about anyway.

Thing a Week 16: Let's Face it, Anyone who Would Stretch a Title Post this Long, Is Probably a Bad Person.

To finish the story: The drunkest (and most racist) of the partiers started to become abrasive toward my companions at approximately 2 in the morning (i.e, he started theorizing that A) my companions were "jews and niggers" and B) they therefore deserved to stabbed/cut/something else unpleasant with a knife), and so my entourage hied themselves away from his suddenly less pleasant company, in spite of the benefits it provided (I don't know if I mentioned this earlier, but the college kids had a a much warmer fire than my troops, and it was COLD during these proceedings). About five minutes later, the shouting started*. In another 5 minutes, all was quiet again. Then the shouting started again. At this point, the only person not awake was my father, who managed to sleep through everything, including the lights of four police cars and an ambulance, and then wake up in fine fettle the next morning to tell me it was time to wake up, two hours after I had gone to bed. Anyway, after the third shouting bout most of the collegers up and left, in spite of the fact that most of the drivers weren't sober enough to find the park exit. Seriously, some of the cars had to circle four or five times before they detected an egress-point. At this, point, three people were left: "Bacchus", the small angry racist drunk who instigated everything as far as I am aware, "Maenad" a girl who was soon to play an integral part of evenings entertainment (although at this point it was actually fairly well on in the morning), and "Artemis", a female, the only person who actually old enough to legally drink.
When these were the only three left, My group started wandering back towards the college camp to notarize the damage. We arrived to find Artemis and Bacchus wrestling on the ground, and Maenad screaming nearby. Bacchus and Artemis were separated, then Bacchus started homing in on Artemis, and she responded in kind. It was around this point that people started phoning the police. Bacchus then proceeded to claim that he hadn't hit Maenad, and that he had
hit her in self defense. Maenads ripostes were equally thought provoking and coherent.
Then Bacchus punched Maenad**, she fell down, and shortly thereafter the police arrived, apprehended Bacchus and had all the witnesses write testimonials. Then I stayed up until five talking with other campers until five in the morning, and was woken up at seven to go scouting.

The moral of the story is this: If you stay up late with drunken collegers, you will regret it the morning after. But morning AFTER the morning after, you will have an awesome story to tell.


...I thought it was a good story.

*In an interesting side note, one of the best lines I got out of the entire evening was definitely "I ADVISE you to calm your a** down, or I WILL put you to sleep." This was delivered at approximately loud enough to wake up anyone within 150 meters of the campsite, in a surprisingly reasonable tone.

**In another interesting side note, this led to my other favorite comment of the night: "I didn't know she was a female" this line was delivered by Bacchus, directly after punching Meanad in the face after arguing with her for several minutes.

Thing a Week 15: In Which I am accused of Being a Worse Person

So an unnamed brother of mine (hint: he has a predilection for murder whales) has threatened to sic Cyber Weasels on me if I don't finish my story. Since the only thing worse than a Cyber Weasel attack is a Murder Whale attack, although (as my educated audience will doubtless know) Professor Lucifer Von Rathsburg has recently published a paper theorizing that a Dire Bactrian attack would not just be as painful as Cyber weasels, it would also be more humiliating. I'm off topic. Anyway, he convinced me that finishing one of my writing attempts for once would be preferable to horrible virtual mutilation, and so I will do my best to finish recollecting the events of the previous Saturday.
Anyway, the first group of drunken collegers I ran into were by far the most interesting, in the sense that most of them were apparently white supremacists. It was awkward. Funny, but awkward. I extricated myself from their inebriated fingers, but I must confesss they plied a strange fascination upon both me and my fellow campers (the two who were stupid enough to stay awake with me until 2 in the morning). We returned to our campsite, but the sound of their drunken laughter wafted through the treetops like a (slurred) siren song. No matter how entertaining our conversations at our own campsite, they could not, in the end, compare. The chance to study the effects of alchohol on the human at such close range was a FASCINATING oppurtunity, and as long as we were willing to stand the verbal abuse and edge gently around any topic that could be construed in any way as even remotely resembling something that could possibly be put in as part of the race argument, then everything was good.

I can't think of a decent way to end this right now, and it's nearly midnight, so I will have to finish this fascinating slice of life tale in a third installment.
However, I promised my brother that I would give him a bonus item to read, so here is anohter small piece of writing i did a while ago. Interestingly, it isn't a finished piece either.

The Child was not an optimist. It wasn't old enough to know about things like that, and besides that, it had led a life sheltered from things like three syllable words. Nonetheless, It had managed to achieve the opinion that overall, life was probably Pretty OK. It was because of this conclusion that the Child felt it necessary to consult with the Old Man on the day It didn't feel all that Pretty OK.
Said the Child, and I quote: "Old Man, I'm bored, and nothing seems interesting, and I feel sad for no reason in particular, but quite a few reasons in general" Replied the Old Man, "That's because you live in a cruel world full of Unloving People, Misery, Skulduggery, and Humbuggery, and you'll die early because of all the fattening foods this self indulgent nation tells you to eat".
The Old Man was a pessimist. In news that might be unrelated (but isn't), he was also clown. He loathed his job, and took great pleasure in terrifying small children by shoving unnecessarily squeaky balloon animals into their faces. No one was really sure why the Child ever spent time with him.

P.S. I realize this piece is horribly structured form a purely technical stndpoint, but I'm honestly too tired to care right now. Maybe I'll proofread and correct it when I finish the story.

Thing a Week 14: In Which I may be a Bad Person

So, yesterday I went camping with my scout troop (for the readers I like to fondly imagine exist who don't know me personally, I am a Really Truly all American Boy Scout of America, which means I go on camp outs sometimes and light things on fire that I shouldn't, such as my foot), to a state park. It is a nice place, scenic, with lots of trees and grass and other trees and rocks to admire while realizing you forgot something vitally important, and as a result will spend the duration of the night in misery. There were also people of a female persuasion at this camp site, which is normally a situation so rare that when scouts hear of it they plug their ears to prevent further pollution and corruption from such wild heresies. Being the kind of guy I am (a male), this plot development intrigued me, and I found it advisable to inquire as to the reason behind the mystery. Turns out that the college semester recently ended, and many students were celebrating it by the traditional manner (cheap beer, expensive beer, medium range beer, and any other liquor available for consumption). So in my smartfulness, I decided to say hi to my fellow campers, and enjoy watching their reactions as they tried to muster enough coordination to actually look at me and respond coherently. This story isn't done, but I'm tired and typing is hard when you are trying to operate on 2 hours of sleep.
The story will be finished later, but for now let me say: the night ended with a police call, it did not end up with me drunk or consuming any foreign substances, alcoholic, hallucinogenic, or otherwise, and I had to fill in a sheet of paper as a crime witness for the first time in my life.
Night All!

Thing a Week 13: Terror is a Whale With Red Eyes

A few days ago, I had a conversation with a certain brother of mine. He knows who he is. Hopefully. You do know who you are, right dude? Anyway, we were talking, and eventually the conversation turned, as all conversations eventually must, to Orca whales. Specifically, I was expanding on my theory that Orcas would be 3,000,000,000 times cooler if the world, as a whole, referred to them as Murder Whales instead of Killer Whales. I mean, think about it! You sight a pod of murder whales, and you know things gon' get real, and SOON. Anyway, my brother shared this opinion with me (how could anyone not?), and we started discussing how murder whales could be used to make the best movie possibly in the universe, like jaws but more amazingly fantastic. The conversation was long, but the result was clear: a movie had to be made. Spielberg cannot pass this chance up. The earth will probably fracture from the pent-up radicality if this isn't done. And I have humbly taken upon myself the task of creating the script for this awesome. Unfortunately, I am lazy, so I'm mostly patching together the meat of this post together from excerpts of the conversation. To add context, this scene in the movie takes place just as Lance (the hero type), a scrappy freedom fighting pirate, manages to survive an attack on his ship by some godless commie murder whales, which boat was carrying a load of tanks for a 3rd world country full of (also scrappy) lovable natives fighting for freedom from the communist regime besetting them on all sides.

Murder Whale:
Attack of the most terrifying things to ever exist, ever
*Technically, the whale should plural
Lance scanned the surface of the choppy sea, his red rimmed eyes searching desperately for some sign of life. It was three days now since the murder whales attacked last, two days ago since the ship was destroyed, one day since he ran out of water. Eyes glued open by the harsh sea spray and the horror of what he had seen raked the waves, always seeking the fin that he knew would inevitably appear. All that had survived that first attack of the whales was a Tommy gun, a crate of ammunition that had miraculously managed to stay dry, and a gallon of the cooks best bootleg hooch, which he and Lance had been sharing at the time of the attack.
The first fin slipped into Lances line of sight, and he grinned humorlessly. When the whales returned, he WOULD be ready.

Thing a Week 12: Late! (Complete With Crappy Excuse)

In an unfortunate trend, i am two days late to posting this. this is a BAD THING, but in my defense i had my wisdom teeth pulled today, so maybe i couldn't write because of emotional distress? anyway, this is my memory of the surgery. I'm sure everyone how reads it will find it quite instructive.

Start: I am in the car, being driven to the oral clinic by my mummy. I fall asleep.
Next: I wake up as we pull into the clinic. We get there early, so we have to wait outside for a little while before the doors are unlocked. once I get in, I start reading a reader's digest. As usual, the jokes aren't that funny. The nurse asks me to pee before the surgery.
And then I'm called in! A young, fairly attractive nurse starts asking me routine questions: Am I allergic to stuff (nope), do I take meds (nope), have I ever had Vicodin (nada), have I ever had an IV (again, no) how old am I (something I try to avoid telling the Internet) how tall am I (6'2") how much do I weigh (fat).
Then I get the nitrous oxide. I don't start to laugh, and feel disappointed. nurse person starts hooking up lots of doodads to me. This one checks my heart beat, this one checks my pulse, this one tears off my leg hair, and this one is purely decorative.
Still nothing from the the laughing gas, so nurse lady turns it up. I don't notice any difference, but then I start smiling unaccountably, and giggling quietly. I was expecting complete euphoria, but this feels pretty OK. I don't like laughing without reason, so I try to stop. It works fairly well.
Now I can hear the dentist outside. He's talking about how his hand is dry, and it hurts when he bends it. It occurs to me that normally I would kind of pissed about him talking about that instead of me, but I'm high right, and couldn't care less.
Eventually he comes in and starts prepping my arm for the IV that is going to knock me out for the surgery. I hear one of the nurses (there are two in the room now) complain that it's hard to attach something to my left arm because she's left handed. I mention that I am too. She dislikes it because the world is designed for right-handed people; I do like it because it makes me feel superior (I take pleasure in small things). Then dentist guy pricks me with the IV. I smile while he does it, and one the nurses notices and says something about it. I tell her that I'm high, and really don't care.

Then I wake up, and the surgery is over. I have to stagger up and down a hallway a couple of times, then I'm guided out to the car. I spend the rest of the day sleeping and watching Star Wars.
Wasn't that the greatest story EVER!?!?

Thing a Week 11: In which the humble author continues his war against spelling, proof writing, punctuaition and the english in general

I have written something on time! And it has longer run on sentences than possibly any of my creations before it, a feat which i had previously thought to be impossible.

In a place that existed in a time which statistics indicate was probably either long before or quite a while after the one we are currently living in, there lived a country of simple people who led a rather primitive lifestyle but nevertheless had a remarkably similar culture to our own (which certainly didn't occur because the author was a creative hack unwilling to take the time build a realistic culture for its story), except it had a lot more peasants, vassals, and penniless woodcutters, and a slightly less complicated bureaucratic process.
This fascinating and well thought out society was also notable for having an incredibly complicated navigational system, composed of not less 468 (and counting!) directions. The most notable of these were Hink, Thibbit, Ley, Snook, and of course WoopWoop, which is defined not as a direction per se, but rather "a kind of pirouetting prance not quite directly to the left, which only exists on alternate seasonal holidays". Also of interest are Ecumenicus and Stevedorean, which can only be used by royalty on agony of pain.
ANYWAY, the capital of the kingdom (The society was monarchy based, did I remember to tell you that?) had quite a few streets, naturally enough, and if you were follow the main one until you reached Quezotic St. (named after the direction Quezoticzix, which is 16 degrees Thibbit of magnetic Snook and reputed to remind people of incarnadine, which is a color, not a direction, but will probably be one as soon as the author runs out of more creative names), and then followed it to Relatively Infrequent Murder Alley, and THEN took that until you reached that shop with the distinctive odor, and then crossed the street to avoid said odor and gone another three houses, you would find a small greasy spoon run by a xenophobic midget who just so happens to make the best Lamb-and-Gidget slurry it has been this authors privilege to partake of.
This isn't actually relevant to the story at hand, but the author is rather peckish and could do with a spot of lamb-and-Gidget right now.

Thing a Week 10: A Reasonable Defense

So, I have failed once again to post in a timely manner. It was because i was in a different state, and i didn't have access to a computer, but I'm still disappointed in myself. I should have posted on Friday. Anyway, here is what last weeks post was supposed to be.
In the first place, let me apologize for the inferior quality of my last post. i did it in less than fifteen minutes, and I'm not very pleased with the result. It doesn't fit the tone of the story in my head at all, and eventually I'm going to post an edited version that (hopefully) won't make me feel the pressing need to commit seppuku for dishonoring my noble heritage. However, that is a different piece of writing, for a different time. THIS weeks post is about Facebook, and my issues with it. I've got to say it. I don't like Facebook. I'm not sure why; it just gives me an unpleasant tingling feeling. Rather like contact with humans, or an intense radiation burn.
Anyway, whenever people ask me about my irrational dislike, i cant really answer them, because i don't really know why i have ti. i have theories about it, but i haven't actually gotten around to confirming any of them. AND SO, with my typical verve and pan-ache, I have decided to compile a compendium of things that could be the reason i don't like Facebook. From now on, I will always carry a copy of this post with me, and I will shove it at peoples faces with the slightest provocation. IT WILL BE GLORIOUS.

1. I don't like social networking, period. I just don't! I'm not sure what my reasoning is, they just give me a gitchy feeling in my Spine
2. I try to avoid addiction, and from everything I've seen, addiction is the entire point of Facebook. It's about getting all of your favorite things on the net in one place, where you can overindulge at will.
3. I try not to spend my entire life on the computer. This is basically a reiteration of Point 2. When all of your hobbies and habits (and hobbits) are in one place, where will you spend your time? In hobbit land. I have an intimate knowledge of how easy it is to waste time online, i don't need another site created to help at something I'm already so good at.
4. No fourth point, but it looks more legitimate. And those are my reasons as of now.

Thing a Week 9: Revenge of the Return of the Master of the Lycanthromancersaurs

After a discussion with one of my brothers, I decided to actually think about doing another installment of the single most epic thing that has ever been written, ever. I'm going to assume my original post about this bilge was the prologue, and start running with it. Plot line contradictions can be expected!
This chapter is sponsored by Barnabas & sons clothiers, selling high quality men's garment since a while ago
Chapter 1: A Legend Grows Into Birth

On a dark and stormy night, a dark and gloomy figure walked into the dank and dismal tavern, cloaked in shadows and a heavy gauge wool burnoose, specially designed to withstand the elements (Now available at Barnabas & Sons for only 89.99 plus tax, in a wide variety of flattering colors). He stalked over to a small figure in a corner, with an air of such quiet menace that the entire room fell into menacing quiet.
"Where is it?" he asked, picking the figure up by some part of its garment whose name has been lost to history (something which a Barnabas & Sons garment is insured against, incidentally) and slamming him into one of the taverns walls.
"I would probably be able to answer that better if i had even the slightest clue what on earth you're talking about" said the figure.
"OH"
And then he walked out, into the glowering night, his proportions set off in the twilight outside by the dappled forest green of his tunic.

Thats all folks, its too late to give this thing a proper finish! Sorry, better one next week.

Thing a Week 8: Posted in the 51st minute of the 11th hour (eastern standard time)

I have a theory, that if you go to bed an hour later than you normally do, you will feel like a zombie. But, if you go to bed say, EIGHT hours later than you normally do, and get barely enough sleep to maintain consciousness, then you end up being so tired that you don't even realize you're operating at less than subsistence level, and you end up feeling nothing so much as a warm fuzzy feeling and general goodwill to all men. I believe that this is because your body looks at the shape it's in, and then says "Well, it's basically shot. We aren't going to be able to do anything to this heap without several hours of solid sleep, so until then let's just double endorphin production, shift to the lowest gear, and cruise". And so (in theory) I'll feel fantastic until my body gets the chance to recuperate. In practice, whenever I try to pull this off I become a shambling hulk that grumbles blearily at people until it can go back to bed. I also tend to trying to write downer poetry. I don't know why, it just pops out. The end result of this is one piece that I wrote yesterday, that I think is kind of funny, and one piece that doesn't rhyme at all really, and doesn't have a particularly unified meter either, but feels like poetry to me. Call it poetresque.
Anyway, here is this weeks OFFICIAL post.

Someday, I will go out to a
field, full of dead grass and old memories
left over from winter
And I will lie down
on top of an abandoned voles nest
and squint at a sky made entirely from
surprisingly bright variations on the on the color
gray.
I will watch storm clouds form and fail
to be awed by their glory
I will squint harder when the raindrops come
and think of how their acidity could
upset my PH balance
In another 3 months,
It will be too muggy to enjoy nature.

And Thus Leaves a Man of Enormous Enormance

Today I would like to commemorate two truly great people
I found out about the death of Paul Harvey yesterday, but I think the depth of the loss is still sinking in to me. He was the only radio personality I can remember enjoying every time I heard him, and probably the only one I ever actually actively seeked out to listen to. One of the most enjoyably recognizable voices I have ever had the pleasure to hear is gone, and the world will miss him.
In happier news, today is the birthday of Doctor Theodore Suesse Geissel, in my opinion probably the greatest children's author of the twentieth century. I had a conversation today, in which the comment "He wrote KIDS BOOKS" was used as a riposte to my claim that he was a genius. Yes, he did. He wrote books for children. He wrote fantastically illustrated books that brought joy to me and millions of others, and cultivated (in me, at least) an unhealthy pleasure for fantasy and the realm of the imagination. He inspired me, and showed me at an early age what kind of thing i wanted to create if i grew up. If that isn't genius, then I don't want to be brilliant.

Thing a Week 7: Almost Late is Still on Time

Before I begin this post in earnest, I would like to make an apology. Last weeks post said some less than kind things about amateur fiction writers, and I would like to make a partial retraction on it. To be fair, many amateur writers do come out with some good stuff, and I've enjoyed the scribblings of fellow students of the pen before. But I gotta say: a lot is just as bad as I said before. In the spirit of this new kinder, gentler me, I have decided to embrace the oft neglected art form of badly thought out fiction in the form of a blatantly less than kind parody. It is with with great pride, humility, hubris, and self contradiction that I present:

Master of the Lycanthromancersaurs
Part I in the thrilling Throne of the Darkenkingdom Series, already being described by critics as "absolutely... worth reading" (Wall Street Journal)

There are legends told by some, of places which are more legendary than the place where the person telling the legend is. And one of the most famous of these legendary myths is the Legend of the Dark Elfborg Drix'Makl'Akl'Hi, he who was Spawnsimmilated by the Makl'hy'Nie'hy'Nie'Hogh clan on the crags of Dread Mount Karg'klz'xix, home of the Dark Trollsguids of Karg'klz'xix, he who clave the Crystal of Glax'Hlp'mi'M'Tchoxing with the Blade of the Morning, Lyiythr'Ryll. Yea, even he who was Master Of The Lycanthromancersaurs. This Is The Legend This Story Is About.


Once I stop crying the tears of joy created by the Glory of this masterpiece, I'll get started on the next installment of my Magnum Opus. You know you want to keep reading.

Thing a Week 6: Captions are hard to come up with

I have a confession to make: I am terrified of writing non-humorous prose. The thought of making things which don't have the potential to make some future reader laugh so hard they accidentally snort the tortoise they trying to feed into their nose and then they have to go to the doctor to surgically remove it, and the doctor snickers at them and leers suggestively while asking how they managed to achieve THAT little physiological miracle (I hate when that happens, don't you?), and they they sue me for damages... the thought of not writing that kind of stuff scares the heebie-willies out of me. There are couple of reasons why: in the first place, serious writers aren't supposed to use the paragraph long run-on sentences and logical fallacies that I eat like chocolate. Second, i have tried to read some of the fiction produced by my friends and acquaintances. It is like what you would get if you exhumed the corpse J.R.R. Tolkien, then stitched it together with the mangled remnants of C.S. Lewis, Christopher Paolini, and every other fiction writer that has convinced my fellow abusers of the keyboard that they could TOTALLY write like that, no really, they could do that! You know what you get when you stitch together corpses? You get a really big corpse with an unhealthy amount of thread going through it. For those of you who are unclear about these things, that is... bad. And I know in my heart of hearts that if i sat down to make a well thought out piece of serious storytelling, it will start out bad, go to tortured, and then degrade into conversations about how the Great War of the Sutherlings and the Elder Ones of Dal'Gahl'E'Rath began when the Farmlings slaughtered the Fra'as with their own Kryptoses, and no one wants that to happen.

Thing a Week 5: This is not the content you were looking for... BUT IT IS NOW.

So, I was going to put up a short bit of yarning about out of work mercenaries, something humorous, with bits and snatches of jollity laced throughout it. Turns out that my mental blocks are alive and well, and that piece of sunshine is still in it's larval stage, possibly to stay that way. Instead, I present the audience, whoever that person is, with something else. something different. Something, in short, that rhymes. It's true! I do write poetry. I mostly write it, as in this particular case, when I'm tired, and my neurons stop operating at more than subsistence level. BUT I DO WRITE IT.

The Snarglebone:

The Snarglebone,
a squamous beast,
is flat as dinner plate.
It sniffs at everything it sees,
and all that it sniffs
it eats.
It's slavering jaw
and ravening maw
do work in harmony,
so it moves as it eats
and eats as it moves
...ah, nature's a beautiful thing.

By the way, squamous is an actual word. it means flat.

Thing a Week 4: Words are Awesome

I am bad at opening statements. This is my opening statement, and it is irrelevant to the rest of what I'm writing about. Furthermore, it references itself, just for kicks. THIS IS BAD FORM. Anyway, this week I'm talking about words, because they're awesome. English is the lovechild of most languages, immensely complex in it's intricacies, and often self contradictory. In addition, most of the words in it are synonyms for other words, which more economically convey the point of a sentence. In other words, what's not to love? This is actually the root of my problem with most swearwords and insults. If you want to verbally abuse me, you can (and most peole who aren't related to me will) simply say something along the lines of: **** you (fill in the words with the expletive of your choice). Or maybe "You're a ****er/ing
So I ran out of clever thoughts in the middle of writing this, and I can't think if a way to finish it.
Instead, I will speak of cake. Specifically, Birthday cake. Specificallyer, the birthday cakes of my youth. When I was nought but a wee tiny lad, my family used to make me the rad birthday cakes ever. I remember once my aunt made a cake that was a battlefield, with army men and a tank. This was when I learned that feasting on the corpses of ones foes is much tastier when they are made of cake. And then there another one that was a castle, with gummi bears fighting each other, climbing the walls and suff. That one stands out in my mind particulalry, because my siblings made it and they wouldn't let me come home unti lit was finished. as I recall, i was furious at them for making something so awesome without letting me help. There was also a cake that a surfing theme, but I think that one was for my brothers birhtday. Anyway, I'm out of things to alk about, and this is the most horrible piece of writing I've ever done. I think next week will be a story, or maybe monologue. For The Variety!

Thing a Week 3: Superpowers? Yes Please.

So, today it snowed again. And by "snow", I mean "six inches of why do I have to shovel this cursed blanket of malice". This has naturally led to the further development of my hunched and aching back, and to fantasies of superpowers. Unfortunately(?), I have never lived as another person, so I can only assume that my thoughts are par for the course for the rest of humanity. And my thoughts tend to gravitate consistently towards how radically kick-awesome it would be if I had superpowers. And I haven't been one of those people who idly think it might be cool if they could fly or something. Oh no, I've thought it through fully. I HAVE GOT THE ANGLES COVERED. The best superpower, of course, would be manipulation of matter, done properly. This doesn't mean that you can make a book float, or light a candle WITH YOUR MIND. Full control means... just about every superpower, really. Once you control matter at a subatomic level, you can will your body into flight, agitate molecules to flame, turn stuff to gold, manipulate peoples minds, the whole nine yards. You could adjust reality so it was the whole ten yards, if you wanted to. This is, in essence, the most twinkerifically cheatery power EVAR. Second place would selective control of a gravitational field. This means you could alter the gravity of a rock, so it falls into the side of someones head, or make a tail spinning airplane fall up if you wanted to engage in a more helpful activity. You could even make a waterfall a waterlift The possibilities are endless! Third place is spatial portals. Anyone with sense should rank this high, because it is awesome. It just is! If you've played the game, you know this. If you haven't, you should. If you don't know the game I'm talking about, get out. Now. Why are you reading this sentence, you should be packing your bags to leave on the first plane, car, train, dogsled, UFO, or velociraptor that you see. I don't even CARE if the velociraptor looks angry, I want you to GET HENCE! Also, in the off chance that anyone has read all the way this point, I have decided that the alternative title for this post will be: Paragraphs? we Don't need no stinking PARAGRAPHS!

Thing a Week 2: I fail.

I think this post will successfully set the tone for my thing a week project, being published (and written) a day after the second week. Anyway, yesterday I found out that I'm an uncle. Again. For the twenty seventh time. For those of you who don't know these things, that is a lot of nieces and nephews. Now don't get me wrong, I love my siblings children. But I have limits! I am an absentminded person, and if the reproductive patterns of my family continue at this rate, soon I'll just have to love everyone in the whole world, on the assumption that all of them are related to me. Ah well.

Thing a Week Experiment.

I've decided I want to write more, so it's my intention to start doing a thing a week challenge, inspired by Mr. Jonathan Coulton's experiment. My goal is to release one blog post per week for as long as I can keep it up, and I'm hoping to last at least a full 6 months. I haven't really thought this through (at all, as a matter of fact), so I will prolly be adding further qualifiers later on.
To kick things off, I'm going to talk about disease. Apparently, shoveling snow every day for eternity has not been good for my system, and it has responded by gifting me with something I like to call "why does the right side of my face feel like it's going to explode?" Apparently, what started out as a simple inflamed throat decided to kick it up a notch, and so now my swollen glands make it look like I have some kind of tumor going on. Sub zero temperatures for the win!

HOLY SWISS CHEESE, BATMAN!

It's a new template! I thought the old one was getting kind of boring so I decided to try a new one. Still deciding whether or not I hate it. By the way, I'm not actually going to write any funny words for this update, since I did it mostly as an excuse to unleash the horrible Batman pun on you, my faithful reader(s). HAH!

Why I Hate Shoveling (and so can YOU)!

So, I don't know if anyone else noticed, but it became winter a while ago. This means a couple of things, in my experience:
1) 'Sgonna be COLD, and
2) 'Sgonna snow.
I am pretty OK with cold. I don't like being cold, but I do enjoy being warm when it's cold everywhere else. And I really, really hate being hot, so I don't mind winter much in that respect.
As for snow, I actually enjoy it. It's like fluffy bits of ice that insulate your flesh! The problem with that is it tends to land on my houses driveway. And its sidewalk. And its stairs. And that means the snow has to be removed. And THAT means manual labor FTW!
Before I start ranting in earnest, let me explain something. I am suited physically to heavy labor. I am extremely proficient at lifting heavy objects, moving them, and setting them down. By extension, this means I am ALSO quite proficient at shoveling.
And so, when more than one half inch of snow falls, it is my sworn duty to get out there and shovel! And shovel! And shovel! And repeat as necessary! Keep going! It's not clean yet! It's Shoveling Time! At this point, I don't even CARE if I'm overusing exclamation points!!!
...Anyway, my main point is that shoveling gets old fast. no matter how much snow you remove, there are always more pretty little ice crystals ready to get a piece of that action. I wouldn't be so annoyed with this, but shoveling involves leaning over and shoveling for weeks at a time, until my eyes gain the cast of an explorer whose eyes have long swept the horizon in search of distant glory, who's had his retinas burnt out from all the stupid snow reflecting the glare of the black day star into them. And that leaning over I was talking about hurts. My spine no longer functions. I'm like a six foot tall hunchback. If I have to shovel one more pile of snow, I'm going to run to France and have Victor Hugo write a story about me.