I had written a giant piece about the Iraq war and it's consequences, but myspace decided to celebrate my 1 year hiatus by fucking me over after two hours of work. So instead watch the video below and you'll have the same general idea of how this war is going.
Currently
listening
:
Thank You
By
Stone Temple Pilots
Release date: 2003-11-11
Shadows push into shadows so you can just make out the beginings of a corner. The corner grows until it covers a wall. A room. Your head shakes under it's on accord in attempt to shake free the stars forcing their way into your eyes. Your chair turns, and you see a smile.
"Good evening."
A tantalizing voice calls your attention to your current situation. Metal spiders out from the chair you are strapped into ending in little points, points that could have been used srynges.
"For years you've tested others for what you might consider a greater cause. And now it's your turn. You always derived pleasure from the puzzles you set up, well, Let's play a game.
"In front of you you'll notice a puzzle, it's simple, slide the pieces and form the picture. What will complicate things is that that board is electrified and will deliver quite a hefty shock everytime you touch it. Every 30 seconds you spend solving the puzzle one of this delightfull arms attached to your chair will spring forward and gouge you. Not any one of the stabs will be fatal in itself, but I imagine you'll begin to lose quite a bit of blood after five minutes.
"HAHHAHAHAHAh AhahaahahHAHAHAHAHahah haha.
"Begin."
Immediatly you touch the board and ZZZZZAAAAAAPPP you withdraw immediatly clutching your chest. Tentatively you try to bring your self to mentally solve as much of it as possible when the first arm releases and the cold metal tip kisses you. "GRAAAH!" you scream.
No more pussy-footing around, your fingers fly along with the tears, your heart aches, you aren't certain how many more shocks you'll be able to withstand. 1-2-3 more improvised darts punish your lack of speed, but finally you solve the puzzle. It's a sign, and it reads
The wall falls away to reveal a group of people who simultaniously shout "Happy Birthday Jigsaw!"
The chair opens up and one of party goers helps you pull the metal tips out of their wounds exclaiming "I wasn't sure you were gonna make it John" which elicits voruptious laughter from the rest of the crowd. A smile plays across your lips as they approach you and hand you gifts, the first being little Henry. He just graduated from dentistry school. "I got this for you, I thought you might find use of it", another outcry of laughter.
You slowly tear the paper off the box, your nerves are a little deadened from the constant shocks, and a brand new set of dentistry tools are revealed.
The Months pass by
Current mood: calm
Category: Life
The crackling of leaves gave way to the crunching of snow, which has now become the snap of sticks caught underfoot of outdoor adventures. I'm through with my yearly break for school and now I'm ready to dedicate myself to practice. So look for lots of new things to appear from my direction in this voluptuous venue.
Stay tuned.
Currently
listening
:
Spice
By
Spice Girls
Release date: 04 February, 1997
The 'Dude in the Van' is perhaps one of, if not the most, important team members in any supernatural tandem. While you post-humorously scamper your way through whatever abandoned structure, he's parked out front hacking away on his computer. His computer that, for whatever reason, doesn't look like a computer. If the team is hunting something moving through the woods, far away from a road, the 'Dude in the Van' is either parked in a trailer on top of a mountain somewhere, or flying overhead in a helicopter.
The 'Dude in the Van' is the meat and potatoes of any paranormal investigation unit, you're trapped in a no man's land, but your directly connected to Jesus Christ himself. Man does that bastard know a lot. You can look at him as the brain of the unit, and the rest serve merely as meat puppets posing as his unforgiving fists towards ghastly denizens of the underverse.
If possible, when recruiting for your 'Dude in the Van' you'll want to look for anyone who may ESP. I'm telling you right now, nothing beats the convenience of a little voice in your ear saying "Look out! That chandeliers going to fall!" And BAAM! It does. But you had rolled out of the way, all thanks to your 'Dude in the Van'
When not producing magic on-site at the scene of some grisly murder by unruly Grues, back at base he's putting together the files and doing the research necessary for the rest of the team before heading out to do the job. This means that your 'Dude in the Van' should probably have moderate search engine skills, mostly google. He should be fluent in Google Maps, and he might as well have Google Earth too. He's a Google-whore. He should speak only English, because only commies believe in integrating the cultures, and he should have a cool computer. But not one with a large fan, those make a lot of noise and if your going to be even slightly annoyed when he's trying to show you anything cool, you'd might as well call the whole thing off.
He should know how to bake, the rest of your manly team members won't know how to.
And lastly, and perhaps most importantly, he should always carry enough number 2 pencils for every member of the team, you never know when your courage will be tested.
Kudos for ending on an awesome metaphor/pun.
Dillon, you may never ask me for anything ever again.
It's quite the in depth story, allow me to explain.
The first thing people assume when I say 'mother plucker' is that I'm trying to use a cutesy fartsy way of saying mother fucker.
Those people are dead wrong.
I never asked for the title of mother plucker, it handed to me in the same way a blacksmith hands his son the title of blacksmith and teaches him the trade. My father was a mother plucker.
Mother plucking is a gentle process, you have to ready the group you are about to choose from, mothers tend to be tense species. AND this MUST be done in a group. I can't stress this delicate stage enough.
It's a well known fact that mothers are more docile if you approach them while in a group, the untold side of this sad charade is that when caught individually mothers turn sour in attitude and vicious in temperament. You don't hear about these attacks often because there are never survivors. Mothers have pedicured nails and a powerful nagging wail. The wail can stun a man from 200 feet, and the claws can part your flesh from bone easier then if you were micro-waved first.
Anyway, on a much lighter note, you select a mother from a group. While they hustle about chitting about celebrities and chatting about Reader's Digest, you choose one that looks a little isolated, but not too isolated. Remember stay away from loners. Instead look for the mother who's attempting to stay in the group, but for whatever reason (usually low-income housing, or kids with bad grades) isn't really accepted by the main group. This will ensure that while she won't have the back-up of the entire group, she'll still be focused on striving for acceptance. This is the distraction you need.
Now, comes the difficult part, I step in between the mother and the rest of the pack, and I sweet talk the runt. I coon and swoon the foul creature into believing none of the rest really care about what happens. She has the only voice of reason. Only she has the will to make a change. She's the only hope for a better tomorrow. Then I set her up in a tiny office and the 2nd floor of a shitty office building two blocks away from a shitty post office. I give her pencils, pens, phones, and paper. Everything she needs to stir up muck. I literally pluck her from the mainstream and, after the proper training of course, set her loose on the world.
----------------------------
"The disturbing material in Grand Theft Auto and other games like it is stealing the innocence of our children and it's making the difficult job of being a parent even harder" - Senator Hilary Clinton.
It feels good to write funny again.
Currently
listening
:
In Between Dreams
By
Jack Johnson
Release date: 01 March, 2005
I had hoped to post happy news, but I lost track of what I was doing on the internet. Something I will be more careful about in the future. I came across a video of soldiers in Iraq, and I wept. I've never been crushed so openly about something I've seen happen, but the more I think about it the sadder I get. Dear God, I weep for humanity.
Ladies and Gentlemen, I'd like to take a moment to set aside our differences in political tastes and make a suggestion. Two days from now, in the morning time permitting, I'd like you to drive to your local voting box and cast a ballet. I don't care if you vote Republican, Democratic, Green, or Cool Moose. Just get out there and do it.
It's as simple as this, if we hope to establish an open society centered around the exchange of ideas in the hopes of bettering ourselves; it will get us nowhere if we do not bother putting our thoughts on the table. To lay bare our intentions with support--or lack thereof.
Afterall, "All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men do nothing."
On a side rant: If you choose not to vote, and then complain that someone you didn't agree with got in office. I will throttle you with the tracks your logic train used to drive into a river. For the last six years --I'm about to get political-- we've had an unchecked executive office and I'm just about sick of it.
ANYWAY, didn't mean to get off track. I'm not going to urge you to vote for either party, any party. I don't believe in limiting choices, it's important that you get out there and use one the last freedoms we're able to excercise.
Reader submited Material 11/4
Current mood: bouncy
Category: News and Politics
I'm amazed at how much of a response I got from people who thought taking reader submissions for inspiration was a good idea, but surprisingly I got relatively few things suggested to me. All in all, about 3 suggestions. So I chose the one that struck me the most, Josh's quote of Bill Mahr.
"New Rule, America has to stop saying it's the best country, and start acting like it."
------
I'm an American. As such, I'm immensely proud of the fact I live within our national community.
When I was in the seventh grade, I attended a little known public school in Waynesville, North Carolina. At the beginning of the year I was selected by my homeroom teacher to raise the flag before school started. Every day I took care to make sure she didn't touch the ground.
At twelve I was just an ignorant child, I had no notions of politics or social reform. I knew nothing of the world that controlled my own, and I didn't know to what degree it did. Patriotism at that time was taught, I believe in my country because that's what I was told you're supposed to do. But I always believed in my home.
You always believe in your home.
At twelve you don't really care what people are saying about your president, but you sure as hell care what they're saying about your family. You might even go so far as to get into a fight or two over family honor.
As you grow older the definitions of what a home is doesn't change, it expands. At 14 home is your neighborhood. At 17 it's your town, if you're lucky enough to have transportation it might be a couple of towns. During college 'home' suddenly becomes a state. Eventually, you may decide to travel internationally. States are irrelevant to people who don't know them, home is a country.
This country is my home, and I believe in it. I'm moved by the ideas our founding fathers had, I'm disgusted by how immoral some of them were. But hey, you still love your alcoholic uncles, don't you? As long as they continue to make home feel like home, a place where you are accepted unconditionally.
Someone has dropped my flag, and I don't like it one bit.
Americans, we argue with each other almost more than we argue with other countries, but siblings are supposed to argue. What's important is that no matter what we argue about, Mom still loves all of us the same way, she doesn't play favorites with us. That's how family works.
I disagree with a lot of what our country does right now, but that's all right. I expect there to be differences. A few considerations:
300 Million voices all shouting for something different, who do we listen too?
300 Million different people, assembled into two groups? Republican or Democrat?
300 Million ideas, can we afford to consider any invalid?
Alrighty, so I've got a bunch of subscribers who are paying nothing to read my rants. But the issue here is that between work and life, I have little time to sit down and creatively rummage about the pantry upstairs for things to write about. So how abouts we try a change?
I'd like, hopefully, to try and do something of an advice column. But hopefully more in depth than that, I'm inviting you (the reader) to submit things for myself to write about. I'm hoping that response will be enough that I'll maybe do something regular, maybe if it's good enough You'll show your friends and the ball will start rolling. If you're familiar to my posts then you sort of have an idea of what my writing style is, so if what you're after isn't advice I'm also looking for suggestions of topics.
If you like the sound of what I'm laying down send me a message, I'm praying for an avalanche of mail so don't let me down!
Currently
listening
:
Extreme Behavior
By
Hinder
Release date: 27 September, 2005
In highschool, I should have been voted least likely to get scurvy. I love the smell of oranges so much that you could spray down an organgutan with scent'o'alaranjado, and it would have a fair chance in the game of love.
My floor is covered with slime, muck, hair, dirt, hate, dead animal droppings, toothpaste, clothes, philosophy, and hippies. If I drop a bit of orange juice on the ground I will lick it up. When I prepare a glass of the juice in question, I will pour it full, drink it down, then pour myself another. I'm that greedy.
argumentative
awake
calm
savage
amused
bouncy
cheerful
