ViX44's Journal

8:24pm: True Genius
A few new Stephen Hawking quotes.

Opinion of the Simpsons: "It's the best thing on American TV."
Bush's limitation of stem cell research: "America will be left behind if it doesn't change policy."
Sending astronauts to the moon: "Stupid. Sending politicians would be much cheaper, because you don't have to bring them back."
IQ: "People who boast about their IQ are losers."
Meet Isaac Newton or Marilyn Monroe: "Marilyn. Newton seems to have been an unpleasant character."

Smart people are cool.

3:05pm: Episode 133: Tainted Meat.
Name things that appear in ratios of One to Six!

Heteros vs. Homos in drama class?
Girls who know how to cook vs. Girls who suck?
People who admit to listening to Beck vs. People who listen to Beck?

How about Shelf space devoted to good food vs. Shelf space devoted to shit.

Picture it, Freezer Section, I'm wanting to buy the Wonderful Glorious Chicken Tenders I've come to adore as of late. From the aisle, ONE bag is visible. There are more behind it, but One is visible. To its right, a mountain of bullshit cocksmoke chicken. Some sort of baby-blue bagged bullshit that apparently was trying to surf the low carbohydrate fad, and wound up being slammed against the rocks. I have to wade through this sea of shit to get a My Chicken, which, hilariously enough, is only being offered in 28oz. bag because the three pound bag was too fucking convenient for me.

At the checkout, I see "T.B.BUFFALO TNDRS" flash on the scanner, and I know I'm fucked.

FUCKED!

Apparently, so enchanted by their mountain of Bad Debt, they put two varieties of the good brand in the same blind cavern. And since the bags look identical between varieties, I now have two sacks of shit I'll have to try, hate, and throw away. Along with my fo'teen dollas.

I don't understand why flavor modification crap exists on my planet. If you don't like the taste of something, don't eat it. And don't fucking put nasty shit on it just to shove it up my ass on a Fucking Sunday. Buffalo. Fucking idiots, it's a bison. Get it right.

And Another Thing.

What's with putting those porno guards in front of shitty magazines like Good Housekeeping? If they were going to roll some nipples out, I could see the point, but they're putting plates in front of magazines which make no sense. And today was the champ...they put a plate in front of DR. PHIL. What, were they afriad some unloved housewife would see his midwestern raw machismo and start humping the hell out of the candy-n-magazine rack if they didn't cover him up? And the top of his Dome was still visible, shining away like a little diamond in the goat's ass. That rack may not make it through the day un-humped, yet.

Episode 134: That Was Cool.
Darts and Laurels to MTV/Comedy Central. They decided to win at the universe by bringing back Bevis and Butt-head in full force, with a veritable malay waylay across both MTV2 and Comedy Central, focused around shucking the new DVD box set. The crowning moment: When Billy Dee Williams is interviewing B&B. Paraphrase

BDW: "...but I don't see how they could possibly make such a great offer."
B-H: "Uh, MTV's going broke. They need cash."

At the same time, however, a middle finger rises for their wrapping B&BH segments around shitty music videos. Really shitty music videos. All the bands that have an ad in every commercial break sucks. Thrice sucks. Hawthorn Heights sucks. (Seriously, you need at least one guy in the band who isn't a drummer or guitarist.) That guy who sucks sucks.

And yet, again they are forgiven, because they're pushing Wonder Showzen on CC with the 13pm Friday slot. O yes.

Odds and Ends.
I haven't studied for either exam this week. I lose.
My buffalo bullshit's almost done cooking. I lose.
I over slept twice this week. I lose.
I'm still tired. I lose.
Elder Scrolls 3: Morrowind 2: Oblivion comes out in a few weeks. I fucking win.


Making a new verison of My Map for CS:S...

7:12pm: Yea. I filled out another LJ meme.

This Is My Life, Rated
Life:	6.1
Mind:	7
Body:	5.5
Spirit:	6.4
Friends/Family:	3.2
Love:	0
Finance:	4.8
Take the Rate My Life Quiz

2:53am: MacCarthy knows you!
It's an infectious LJ quzzlet, and now you HAVE TO post yours!

You are a Social Moderate (56% permissive) and an... Economic Conservative (73% permissive) You are best described as a: Capitalist You exhibit a very well-developed sense of Right and Wrong and believe in economic fairness. loc: (24, 87) modscore: (44, 34) raw: (4132) Link: The Politics Test on Ok Cupid

The chart does NOT render properly, I know. Hit the comment thing to get it to show up right.

3:10am: Raaaaaaaaage Dump.
I'm in a venomous mood. Why? Because I had this thing all keyed out, and then Opera choked on a cock because in another tab an imbedded WMV loaded up and killed the planet. Thus, nuking my almost-completed post.

FUCK IMBEDDED EVERYTHING.

Now, some imbedded images, jpeged for her pleasure.

Episode 130: Images On My Camera.
I finally installed some TWAIN drivers on this beast, and that means the souls I've captured in my camera can now be shared with The World.

I wondered why my chicken was having an orgy one day...


...but I soon found out that for them, it was the End Times. See, Tyson, in their infinite cost-cutting-while-raising-prices-but-oooh,-coupon-for-you!-ism are changing the formula. See:


See those insideous brown chicken tenders invading the white-meat highlands of deutch...aluminium-pansylvania? The wonderful, high-quality tenders are being replaced with the cheap, scraped-off-the-bottom-of-the-vat meat they use with their "chicken nuggets." But the price sure as fuck didn't go down to match.

I now have more harddrives than I have IDE sockets.


I draw'd this. *ker-sued by FOX*


This is what I get for leaving my friend alone in my room while I lay waste (in)to the plaid porcelean pools in the dorm shit-hall. If I get charged for damages I'm going to complain like a motherbitch.


Name obscured to protect the no-longer innocent. Snapped this shot at 4AM and it was gone by 9AM, so only a few were able to learn first hand the content of this vital public service announcement.


Episode 131: Brother, Can You Spare Four-hundred Fourty-three Dimes?
I was in quite a pickle, and not one of those fun vibrating pickles. No, I had four bills in my wallet. $50, $10, $1, and $1. Okay, and a deuce, but that's to remind me of my sacred freedoms. Anyway, I need to bust up this Grant note. So, I go to the local snack shop that's built into the dorm. Now, this place should have a sign that says 50% Lazy Tax Added For Your Convenience," as everything is about 50% higher than it would be at any real store. If there's any place that can break a fifty, why not the place that you'd pay $50 for $30 of ramen noodles? I get my token items, a small bag of chips and a 2-litre of Pepsi. Real world price? $1.29 for the soda, $1.49 for the chips, $2.78 + tax. Rings up to FIVE SIXTY EIGHT (-ish, I became pissed so soon after I forget the actual number but that's close, and matches the title) I put down my $50 and wait for my legal tender for all debts public and private to kick in.

I get the "do you have anything smaller" line. Of course, I lie out my ass. I need smaller bills for cash transactions with people who don't carry much in the way of change, themselves. I'm not going to lose my only sawbuck to get gouged in the eyes over stale Ruffles and fluid that can kill a diabetic hamster at seven yards. She then says she's pretty sure she can't break it, but won't open the register to find out, since that will mean the manager will have to come over and stick the key in the hole and set the tic tacs on fire or some shit. So, I take my legal tender for all debts public and private out the door.

Now, I'm having to get creative, since my dollars are my only light vending machine fodder. Locally I've been getting my root beers with nickels and dimes. Not that that's any cheaper than the snack shop's rate, but fuck them. Grant wouldn't put up with that shit, neither shall I.

...the machine won't take my pennies. Rewr.

Episode 132: IT'S CRAZAY!
Super glue is bullshit.

I got a CD from the used disk shoppe, and it turns out to be damaged. It'll play, but a few tracks sound like shit as the laser pierces the puncture wounds. I'm guessing it was dropped from a car and scraped just a bit on some gravel. Anyway, I'm pissed and plan to return it.

You know in physics class, how they tell you when you roll the rock up a hill you put potential energy in it? Well, that's 100% bullshit. After all, if you had energy in it, it should be able to be spontaneously spent to make it do something, like get hot or spin around or just plain explode. It's a lie to get around the annoyance that since gravity puts objects in motion without balancing that whole conservation-of-energy jazz. Anyway, the CD case cheated and somehow managed to fly off my table from a state of inertial rest. And the little hinge clip part snapped off.

Bastard.

I figure, I have some superglue tubes I've never used, they'll save the day...they'll stick anything together! Even soap and shaved cats with devil faces magic-markered on their asses.

After fifteen minutes and three attempts, that shit didn't stick anything to anything. So now I have shitty CDs that I can't take back, since it's a special 2-disk case I don't have any equivalent replacement for.

Bonus Track.
The net-famous Kids' Show trailer was one of the most awesome things to ever be. Apparently, while USA passed the opportunity to put it in production, it airs spontaniously as an eight-episode first season on MTV2. While I am very disappointed that they editied some of the best stuff, including the molestation of the Hot Dog Factory skit, it's nice to see it on the air in some form, even if they retitled it "Wonder Showzen," for no good reason. Search for kidshow2.wmv to find the original pilot of power. While on MTV2, watch Stankervision and become enlightened.

4:20pm:
Now I know, it takes five years to buy the bisexuality out of a woman. (I really hope that the use of 'your' in that was meant in jest...or this 'cristina' needs a shot of vitamin LEARN ENGLISH, administered with a baseball bat to the temple.)

Episode 128: 220031 - 220095.
Remember that hard drive I got none to long ago? Bad sectors mean I'm now a hundred-eighty bucks lighter. I'll be playing the restoration game for a while, but for now I'm just glad that I was able to get a new drive the next day. But, Maxtor's the only thing we have in town, so it, too, will die in a couple months. Oh joy, rapture, and contentment.

Episode 129: T-Minus
One more year of classes and college will be behind me. Which, of course, means nothing but a wastelandic void will be before me. It's kinda funny, because in twenty to thirty years, I'm going to start to change into a crotchety old person who doesn't "get" popular music, thinks kids need to clean up their act, spell properly, employ grammar, not stick metal shards in their bodies in the first place, and stop whining about not getting things they aren't owed in the first place.

And since that describes me now, I may very well turn into some sort of Old Elemental, ravaging the landscape and demanding 10% discounts.

Denouement.
Shitty fucking update, I know. I don't do things, and I'm not feeling up to pulling a lot of bullshit out of my ass today, so I'm going to reach for my mouse and push the Update button right about...now

2:16pm: PFD. It's Alaskan for I'm Rich, Be'otch!
I'm being LJ-reticent again. Not much in the way of news...I'm assured a B in Management, likely a B in Philo, likely A in Astronomy, and Finance...I could go stupid and get a C, but I might get an A if I luck out.

So, eat a forum post I feel is share-worthy, because it's really awesome if you're a smart smartass ass like myself...

Episode 127: Math is Fucking Cool.

The Question!
"Prove the identity: cos(pi/5)cos(2*pi/5) = 1/4
Hey, guys, I've been trying to solve this for two days and even don't know how to move from a dead point. Could you give any advice?"

The Result of My Infinite Genius!
Awesome, a chance to throw my 161 IQ around.
This is a complex problem.
0)
cos π/5 cos 2π/5
1) Convert to sin because I'm sinful.
sin 7π/10 sin 9π/10
2) I want to fit this to an obscure formula that does neat shit.
-2/-2 sin 7π/10 sin 9π/10
-1/2 [ -2 sin (14π/10)/2 sin (18π/10)/2 ]
-1/2 [ -2 sin (16π/10 - 2π/10)/2 sin (16π/10 + 2π/10)/2 ]
-1/2 [ cos 16π/10 - cos 2π/10 ]
3) Cool, huh? I didn't think I had it in me. More formatting fun...
1/2 [ cos π/5 - cos 8π/5 ]
1/2 [ cos π/5 + cos 3π/5 ]
4) Now this is probably where you got stuck, I did, too, for a bit. But then I remembered, this is a complex problem. Heh.
1/2 [ 1/2[e^(iπ/5) + e^(-iπ/5)] + 1/2[e^(3iπ/5) + e^(-3iπ/5)] ]
1/4 [ e^(iπ/5) + e^(-iπ/5) + e^(3iπ/5) + e^(-3iπ/5) ]
5) I fucking love shit like this, we've seen π, e, i, and who's missing? That's right, φ! (The 5 is the big clue, in fact, φ = 2 cos (π/5), so the complex path may not be necessary...but even so, it'd be less fun.)
1/4 [ [e^(iπ/5) + e^(-iπ/5)] + [e^(3iπ/5) + e^(-3iπ/5)] ]
1/4 [ φ + [-φ + 1] ]
1/4 [ 1 ]
1/4 QED

If you cheat and use that φ = 2 cos (π/5) identity:
φ/2 [2 cos² π/5 - 1]
φ/2 [2 φ²/4 - 1]
φ³/4 - 2φ/4
1/4 [ φ³ - 2φ ]
1/4 [ 1 ]
1/4 QED²

And what does this prove?

11:51pm: Episode 125: Disgrace.
I miss the good old days, when death, being the culmiation of all one's life's efforts, was regarded as something special. Every human culture until the 1960's has some concept of honorable death. The most important thing to a viking was to die with his sword in hand. Countless stories have been composed revolving around heroic characters who are willing to, and often do, sacrifice their lives for a cause. Arlington National Cemetary is filled with rows of corpses that once housed the souls of people who chose to die with honor in the service of their national community.

But then America became one big pussy, filled with limp wristed yellowbellies who got so used to medical technology being able to repair the damaged that they started to expect medical technology to prevent death. Americans lost their respect for death as their greed for 'life' grew. And think about it, what good is living more when you're already an old fucker who can't do anything? There's the key, Americans got into the habit of seeking quantity of life because they traded away the quality in order to score some overtime and buy some junk they'd never have time to use, like a boat or a new car or some shit.

Terri Schaivo died a long time ago. And by died, I mean her life ended. Tragic? Sure, but facts are facts and the real world is rarely the way we'd like it to be. The humane thing to do would be mercy execution by lethal injection. This feeding tube bullshit is the most retarded shit since Ted Kennedy getting away with double homocide. But "we can't do that." We're a society that would rather let someone lie a rotting vegetable than let their body go when the mind is already gone.

Want to argue she might still have conciousness floating around in there? Okay, let's play. First, she'd be effectively in an isolation cell, and minds tend to go nutty when you lock them up for a good few years. Two, she'd probably have come to terms with the fact she isn't coming back to the land of the living, and that her continued existance does nothing but rend the lives of her family members. Three, if only the subconciousness is functioning, she's probably in a dreamstate. Knowing the kind of nightmares I can cook up when I eat too many pizzas before bed, just imagine the kind of fucked up shit she's trapped in when her brain is half-kacked.

So, do you have any plans for your death? Remember, you only get one shot at it. Make it count.

Episode 126: Hell Frozen Over.
About damn time I pulled it off.

12:54am: LJ Quizzes...
...telling you that which you already knew since 1999.

You scored as atheism. You are... an atheist, though you probably already knew this. Also, you probably have several people praying daily for your soul. Instead of simply being "nonreligious," atheists strongly believe in the lack of existence of a higher being, or God. </td> atheism 75% Satanism 63% paganism 63% Islam 58% agnosticism 50% Buddhism 42% Judaism 33% Hinduism 21% Christianity 13% Which religion is the right one for you? (new version) created with QuizFarm.com

Check out that MS-Paint image. Usually the kiddies go to the trouble to find an admirable DeviantArtist and steal an image. Then again, it's hard to find someone who drew a picture keyworded with "no god"...but I have one, because...well...I have everything.



And the best part is: This just means that the god I believe in is so godlike that He is beyond all the false gods mankind has invented over the last couple million years.

2:08pm: This Toilet Is Now Dead To Me.

10:24pm: Charlie Chaplin Demands an Explanation for this Bullshit!
Spring Break happened, and fell, like some sort of Bob Dole/Fidel Castro soufflet. Did you know that soufflet in French is like plateau in German?

Episode 121: That Bill Gates, He Done It Again!

All you sillynips out there using Windows XP, you'd better backup like a mofo, because next time you need to activate XP, you have to play Twenty Questions with a service rep.

Here's the poop: Systems with XP preinstalled and sold to Users who actually think you need to take your box to the shop to get rid of the 'Messenger' virus never need to input their CD key. So, capitolistic computer guys have been selling these assigned-but-unused CD keys. Thus, Bill demands that everyone call up and kiss ass to reinstall their OS. Just as if you'd broken the Law of Bill by reinstalling too many times in the past.

So, I ensured that I installed and activated my fresh XP Pro key (I got a couple more for free from the school, it's amazing what you can get if you keep your ear to the rail) the day before they started busting balls. This means, of course, that I have to reinstall everything again. Which is fucking tiresome.

And why did I need to reinstall? Because my fonts died. Let that be a lesson to you as it was to me. Don't let XP have fifteen days of uptime, you'll pay for it later.

Episode 122: Archival.

I drug my VCR up to college, and will be working on archiving my tape collection. I have about sixty tapes that need to be preserved. My VCR eats a tape a year, so I figure I won't give it any more opportunities to feed than I must, and I have lots of little clips of stuff that should stand alone. Also, my MST3K collection must survive. Must. It was supposed to happen over spring break, but didn't, because my video capture card in this system requires WDM drivers, and VDub 1.5.10 doesn't play that game. Thus, I had to get VDub 1.6.ß to record properly. Under 1.5, I get okay video with some frame drops, but the Audio doesn't time correctly, so it slides out of sync like a motherbitch.

Episode 123: My Failure is Perfection.

I really don't understand my fate.

My only graded assignment from my Philosophy class was a B-. This school doesn't have -'s, so I will assume that's a B, but that my paper was confusing attached a hyphen. Sometimes 1500 words just aren't enough to capture my brilliance. It's a class I need only pass, so I don't worry.

My only graded exam from my Astronomy class I triumphed with a 33 of 34, defeating all comers. Missing one does disappont me, but I was still par excellance amongst my peers, crushing them to a creamy paste with the awesome mass of my throbulating brain meats.

My first Finance exam was a cakewalk, and I missed only three. The second was a nut-busting ass-hammering soul shredding motherfucker. I missed two. wtflol?

Management. Well, I barely made the C line on the first exam, and the second is Tuesday. I know nothing of the course. My failure is assured.

Episode 124: Head and Shoulders Above the Competition.

Whilst seeking out a bag filled with containers of grape juice such that I may evacuate my systems of any foul humours, I stepped in something sticky. I was quite hopeful...after all, it could be a life form. A sentient life form. A sticky pool of protoplasym I could name, raise like a pet, nurture to significant proportions, and then use to suppress the common run of man and lead them to surrender before me and my right hand goober. Alas, it wasn't anything so spectacular. Apparently a bottle of shampoo fell from my dresser while I was packing for spring break, and the lid unfastened allowed it to leak all over my floor about the closet.

Now, my floor has a bold sheen and amazing lift.

Not to be confused with Charlie, who's not a bold Sheen; or Otis, which is a decent, but far from amazing, lift.

1:46pm: It Truly Sucks to be Me.
Episode 117b: A Disturbing Lack of Opportunity.
Vapor trail in, vapor trail out. I lose.

Metalogue.
It's my fucking lucky day! I got a free litre of Coke according to the bottlecap on the 20oz bottle I got from a vending machine. I'm a winner! Go me!

Episode 118: My Rage Burns Like the Hemroids of a Thousand Suns.
My bicycle's front brake cable is loose, and doesn't respond to my attemts at repair. Fuck you, God.
After two weeks of chasing down customer service reps, I finally got an access code I've been needing; only to have it be accepted but not allow my login, anyway. Fuck you, God.
The chicken strips in my fridge taste like shit. Fuck you, God.
My binoculars' lens coatings are old and cracking. Fuck you, God.
I have an exam I will fail, tonight. Fuck you, God.
I am liked by others, only as far as I provide free service, comedic or otherwise, and then can be disposed of easily. Fuck me, God.
Knowing when I'm too distracted by the agonized screaming of my subconcious, the scan-card operated doors consistantly fail to unlock the accesses of my dorm, often causing me to twist the shit out of my bad wrist (busted it up in a bike mishap) and make my mood an order of magnitude more foul. Fuck you, God.
The second set of doors pulls the same stunt. Fuck you, God.

I must admit, I am truely blessed. Only through divine intervention could a being such as my self; beset with the great gifts of knowledge, capacity, and capibilty; be also beset with such an array of caltrops in the form of everpresent bullshit such that the aforementioned attributes fall impotent before it. To posess such a list of situational advantages, and yet claim no yield therefrom. People get born without arms, in trailer houses, to unwed mothers who drink a lot, and compared to them I've had things quite easily. And yet, all I have to show for it is a shitty attiude. Only through divine intervention, indeed.

Episode 119: Happy Thoughts!
* Since my roommate only appears two or three hours a week, I basically have a single room. But it's better. A single isn't much larger than half a regular room. I basically have a single room that's sporting a boner. Hurray!
* There was a lizard in the shower stalls, and I like lizards. I caught him, and petted him, and figured he'd be happy here, since anoles can't drink fluid water, and thus depend on condensation to survive. With all the shower steam, he'd need not worry about going thirsty again. Two days later, he was a rotting corpse, stomped by one of the dorm's inhabitants. Hurray!
* My Best Buy harddrive hasn't failed yet. Likely because I have yet to put all my vital data on it. Hurray!
* Who's the greatest comedic actor in Ghostbusters? Murray!
* I can't think of anything else positive that's come into my life any time recently. That means I'm done enumerating. Hurray!

Episode 120: Cast in the Name of Nothingness, Ye Not Realised.
I don't get it. Despite my best efforts, I'm still feeling emotions. Considering my disappointment, exclusion, and capitalization have been the majority of my experiences with humans, it'd be logical that by now, I would truely learn to not care, anymore. Not care, in the grand sense.

But today, I'm one step closer.

Epilogue.
There, I've made my official Emo post. I'm now a real live LJ user. A new depth, attained. O, what the future must hold...

11:59pm: Episode 116: Bump for Truth.

Good evening, ladies. Prepare to wrap your minds around the following, for if you do, you will finally understand the difference in the sexes, and be even more suited to exploit them to the ends of self-gratification, pecuniary fortification, and good old fashion maneating.

Let us begin wtih a prompt from Sarah:
"Why is it that guys can hook up with as many chicks as possible and get all the praise in the world, but as a female if I hook up with too many guys I am labeled a slut? What makes it different?"

First of all, let's make a definition. I may have mentioned before that there's a difference between a girl and a young woman. This exists for males as well, but while females will jump their line quite suddenly...often when they wake up one morning, rub their belly, and realize a parasite is developing within...males frequently take years to fully shift over. Aside from a rare few, the shift won't happen until the 25~30 range, and some guys won't finish until they wrap their mid-life-crisis Camero around a telephone pole.

Next, to illustrate this divide, I must somehow transmit to you ladies how young male society works. Unfortunately, it isn't as simple as seeing who grows tits first and collecting extortion evidence. And I know I'm fighting an uphill battle, because just look how many females still pull the 'hinting' stunts around guys instead of just saying "I want flowers, chocolate with no almonds, a seafood dinner, and three orgasams for my birthday." But I suppose I should make some use of my IQ so large none could accurately measure it, so we'll see how well I perform in this endevour.

In the beginning, the first few years of social behavior, K~5th grade or so, boys are busy thinking that girls are icky. And rightfully so. Show a girl a cool lizard, spider, or frog, and she'll make really loud noises, tell the teacher, and then you'll be given Ritalin. Thus, males only associate freely with other males, and are divided into three groups, Bullies, Targets, and Victims. Bullies are the fat stupid ones, Targets are the normal ones, and Victims are a heterogenious mix of the socially inept due to being failures at genetic recombination and boys with IQs so large none could accurately measure them.

Toward the end of this period, the Hierarchy forms. A few bullies take up the Targets who are properly aggressive and submissive as Toadies; average Targets learn to simply avoid trouble, and Victims watch as the injustices against them go unaddressed. By the time high school is reached, groups become larger and more extensive, as lunch money bullies get fat and turn into footballers or simply never graduate, and good toadies get their own toadies, expanding the network.

So, high school. Basically two types of male groups exist here...
1) The Loose Friends Network. A bunch of guys who've all shared classes, and know each other enough to shoot the shit and maybe hitch rides with each other; but there's no solid bond. It's all about convenience. They won't talk to each other after college.
2) The Lone Wolf Pack. The Wolf Pack is quite common, and captures a large population of high school males. There's an Alpha, and a hierarchy of males who feed him envy. The Alpha is sexy, and everyone is attracted to him, male and female. He's the guy who gets all the girls, and he's the guy who gets all the toadies. The Toadies make the Alpha feel awesome, which makes him a stronger Alpha and more dedicated to keeping his worshipers. He also gets to fuck a lot.

I will skip the details of male bonding and homo-non-sexual attration, because frankly you ladies couldn't handle it. Sorry, but there's just no analogue. Instead, I'll return to the question and use the above construct to answer it.

"Why is it that guys can hook up with as many chicks as possible and get all the praise in the world, but as a female if I hook up with too many guys I am labeled a slut? What makes it different?"

First of all, the guys. Guys from a Loose Friends Network never get laid, because a LFN is always studded with girls, and girls won't fuck guys they know and can trust because that'd be too easy. "You'd make someone a wonderful boyfriend... *guy's eyebrows raise* ...but I wouldn't want to risk hurting our friendship." *guy is confused for the next three months* So they're out. Now, a Wolf Alpha wakes up to a random vagina riding his morning glory every day, so he basically sets the standard for being laid. Alpha gets all the tail, and toadies wish they were at the top of the pyramid, too.

This is where the 'double standard' comes into play.

To be a top-echelon toadie, you have to be on the inside. This inner circle is out of reach for all the sattelite toadies that aggregate around the Alpha and the Right and Left hands. So, to joust for position, they compare themselves by seeing who expresses the most Alpha-like attributes. And there's only one Alpha attribute: Getting laid. Be it copulation with females or targeted with envy from males, one's Alpha Factor is what determines rank.

And that's why guys get 'all the praise' for banging lots of girls. It brings up their Alpha factor! One, they're getting laid to a degree, which makes them sorta alpha like; and then they get the envy of the failure toadies, which makes them more Alpha-like. Just a couple lays can bump an entry level toadie to Second Echelon in under three weeks.

BUT, just getting laid doesn't make it happen. See, the Alpha gets QUALITY hoes and (so they see themselves) QUALITY toadies. So, the aspiring star has to ensure a high quality factor. This means getting laid by near Alpha-grade females. This is why females who screw a lot of guys meet social rejection. No toadie gives a shit about a ho that isn't going to improve his rank...so if she's screwing a lot of guys, she's not Alpha grade, she's toadie grade. To hell with that...there's no gain in fucking four twos, but there is from getting one shot at an eight. All a toadie-grade ho is worth is an orgasam and staying in the "is getting laid sometimes" echelon.

When highschool ends comes college, where the Fraternal orgizational structure appears, which is just fat people screwing while drunk, and after that, the Wolf Pack male suddenly realizes that real life doesn't work 'that way.' And eventually, sometimes after a quite a long time, the disenfranchised pack member becomes a Man. Someone who just wants to know that at least one person on this planet cares enough about him that when he comes home from a day of eating his bosses' shit, he'll be able to enjoy a decent meal and sleep in a bed that's warmed by something more significant than a cat that vomits in his shoes.

Well, there you have it. Guys don't like girls who have a lot of sex because it doesn't help their standing in the pecking order, while Men know to appreciate experience.

Thus, girls should feel free to have fun, assuming they find Men who can provide it. Just don't get the AIDS while you're leveling up.


Episode 117: A Disturbing Lack of Decisiveness.
My roommate says I shouldn't give her my card...but I still think it'd both eliminate the potential for transcription error, but that it'd convey my courtly manner, giving a proper indication of my flair for professional exhibition.

You know, like how I cook up bullshit rants and meaningless drivel about crap nobody cares about and post them on a blog at three in the morning.

I don't know which is the proper course of action, but at least I'm confident I'll know which was the wrong selection after I select it.

2:32am: Episode 114: Foggy Thought.
My pimp-hand was dreadfully weakened last Friday night by cloud coverage. I am displeasured.

My college is stupid. See, if you want to look at stars, it's good to be in a dark place. So, guess what's no more than 300 feet from the 'Observatory?' A fucking water treatment plant with a lighting array rivaled only by the football stadium. Which, of course, we can easily sink thousands of dollars into. But build an observatory in a proper location? Naaaaaaaaaaa.

Anyway, if you have one of those junk-ass $100 Wal*Mart telescopes, now's a good time to drag it out...

Our sky is set up for midnight tomorrow night, eastern. The time doesn't really matter, it's up all night, but that's when the moon will be almost directly overhead.
Assuming you can't find the moon, I included a clear shot of Orion, since no one misses that bad boy.
As illustrated, the moon will be almost cradled by an arc of four bright points of light. Those are Castor and Pollux, the Gemini Twins, the sadly-uninterestingly named Kappa Geminorum, and the local bad boy with the bling bling, Saturn. And if you still aren't sure you found it, it'll be close to the moon, almost in a direct line from Luna to Procyon (Alpha Canis Minoris), a bright star amonst many in this part of the sky, that's only about eleven and a half light years away.

Even a crummy Wal*Mart job should be enough to resolve the rings, and even a few of the moons, including Titan, which was in the news recently as our papparazzi probe managed to sneak into its back yard and take a $330M photo of a cold rock.

Aside
I did one of those damn LJ memes. I'm riding a serious wave of BORED tonight. Here's the poop:



That's the price I pay for knowing the names of the atoms. In fact...

Episode 115: Recital.
Hydrogen Lithium Potassium Caesium Rubidium Francium, that should be all the Alkalines. 6.
Berylium Magnesium and Barium, I always had trouble with the Alkais. 9.
First transition is huge...Scandium, Technetium, Titanium, Vandium, Molybdenum, Chromium...so many metals here that are a pain because they're useless outside of ores. 15
Second transion is fun, it's like utility metal tic-tac-toe. Iron, Nickel, Copper, Iridium, Platinum, Palladium, Osmium, Kesley Grammer, and Whoppie as the center square. 22.
Third transition is kinda sad, only six. Zinc, Gold, Silver, Mercury, and two more I can't believe I forgot. 26.
Gasses are easy, Helium Neon Argon Krypton Xenon and Radon. 32. I think once they finally synthesise a noble gas group element that's heavy enough to be a metal, they call it Hardon. You know, to keep the name sequence alive.
Florine Chlorine Bromine are pretty gasses that taste like burning. 35.
Living creatures seem to dig stuff like Boron Carbon Nitrogen Oxygen Phosphorus and Sulphur, 42; and there are a load of fun metals down below...Aluminium Gallium Tin Lead Arsenic Polonium Bismuth...49.
There are rare earth elements, which aren't rare, and weren't made in the earth. Things like Promethium, which had about six or seven names at one point, 50; and stuff like Erbium and Neodymium, which make cool magnets. 52.
Radioactive elements are fun. Radium Actium Thorium, 55, the planetary triplet, Uranium Neptunum Plutonium, 58; and then the names get goofy because modern people are dumb. We'll jump ahead a bit to No. 106. There's a cat named Seaborg, who's not only alive, but his entire work address has elements attached. Seaborgium Berklium Californium Americium. 62.
Of course, there's plenty more. Lawrencium Nobelium Einstienium, Hafnium Curium Holmium and such. 68.
There's a place named Yitterby in Sweden. It has Yitterbium. And Yitrium. And Terbium. 71.
And there's more I know but couldn't place in their group. Holmium needs a home, Zirconium and Vanadium probably should be up there in first transition. Rubium's probably Alkaline, Gadolinium I forgot too. Hassium...IODINE! I forgot IODINE, lord...78...Lutentium, Lathanum I think are rare earths; Niobium is a first trans and a nice font. Strontium needs mention, Tellurium Thallium...84.

84 of 109. It's been too long.

6:44pm: Blue!
This could very well be the greatest comic ever.

1:16am: An now, an important service announcement...


Remember, cats and kittens, they are inside your web, gawking your pix.

Episode 111: Forced Smile.
Aight, I'm sitting on my ass, and writing whatever the hell falls out of my head and onto the keyboard, where it turns into a gooey paste, worms its way around the circutboard, through the wire, out the cable, and into your computer, where it is right now, as you read this.

Kind of an existential cow chip. Cow chips, of course, being the thing cows eat while watching football. They used to enjoy cow dip with their cow chips, but the mouth cancer kinda killed the fun. That, and cows can't hit a spittoon for beans.

I need to work on being an asshole in a swift way. I'm thinking of hitting on a girl in one of my classes, and girls only like assholes. Apparently the pooper they already have just isn't enough. Which is odd, because girls don't shit. The most they do is 'potty,' and that's only an excuse for leaving the makeup mirror lighter than they were when they arrived. In actuality, it's because they have to cross a damn lobby. No shit.

It will come as a bit of a suprise to all one males who read this, since only girls read my LJ, which is odd since the shit I say is enough to make Andrew Dice Clay seem like a feminist. But there's a big difference between a men's shithouse and a woman's. They get a lobby.

I'm walking around, frightening ambient children, as is my wont, when a tiny thing that seems to be a human woman enters the 'Ladies Room.' Now, it confused me because which it had the proportions of an adult, she must've been 4'6". Had the children I'd frightened ran in her direction, she'd have likely been stuck in the grooves in their tennis shoes. (Do the kids still call them 'sneakers?') Now, I'm not the kind who peeps into shithouses for pleasure, though I've seen some characters at this college who seem to make it an occupation, but normally I expect to see sinks and shitter stalls about a hard tile floor.

I see carpet, a table with magazines, chairs, and a fucking mauve couch!

The fucking Ritz Carlton teleported into the Woman's crapper closet, and apparently no one noticed. Before the door closed, I was half expecting to see a butler with a monocle.

No wonder women piss in groups. It's bad enough to get piss-nervous as a guy when standing before the Trough; I can imagine Tinywoman trying to do the hover at the can behind a lobby and dining hall so vacuous that even the snap of a strand of panty elastic echoes for sixteen seconds.

Episode 112: You Can See the Death in His Veins.
When I was a sprout, which is an undeveloped version of a killpod, by the way, an artist bought my house. You could tell he had heart issues by looking at his hands. They were all veiny and gross. Anyway, he bought the house because he liked the little creek that ran through the back, and the untamed woods beyond. To him, they were a source of inspiration and calming tranquility.

His wife divorced him, kicked him out of the house he bought, kept his money, and his kid.

He did a few shitty commisions for a game company that looked worse than something I could paint by jamming a loaded brush in my ear canal and rubbing it against a canvass while having a neurologic seizure, and finishing it off with a garnish of half-digested brussels sprouts. Then he died, as his heart detonated, releasing enough blood and energy to make the blue hairs in the county go from blue hair to red to kind of a crispy brown that smelled funny.

Episode 113: Capacitor.
After a certain pain-in-the-ass experience that occurred immediately following the production of that little animation, B24, you were all treated with, I bought a new harddrive. Yes, at Best Buy. I know I'll pay for it in the end. But for now, I payed $150 for 250GB, which I can't complain about. At least, not to the usual degree.


It makes me happy in a general way. Mostly because it's faster, has fatter cache, and more storage than my two previous disks combined. It also snaffles caps off of jugs, bottles, and jars. Scramble an egg while it's still inside it's shell? You better believe it! But wait, there's more...

Actually, there isn't.

At least, for tonight.

*exits*

11:22pm: I Must Never Be Left Alone
It's two-minute-movie time. That's right, pop your corns, pull a chair out of whatever you'd stuck it in, and enjoy. DO NOTE, it's a 2MB GIF, so if your connection is not mighty, Save-As the crazy cracker.

6:56pm: Welcome to 2005, plus or minus innacuracies condoned by the Roman Catholic Church
Here's some old shit from the year afore I never got off my duff to post, and some new shit, that's well, new, but pretty weak. I'm too tired from being a slob to actually be creative and interesting for this update.

Episode 107: Power Buy!

Nothing feels as close to prison sex as being raped by your god damn grocery store. Here's a shot of the receipt from my latest escapade...



Note how one brand of chicken was a special deal...I saved a $1.50, by paying $3.99 on a $4.99 box of chicken.
* does math *
...$4.99 - $1.50 = $3.99 now? That's right. See, I'm saving a sesquidollar on my $4.99 chicken because they RAISED THE PRICE TO $5.49. No, no, no, fuck you, fuck Pubicx, fuck the chicken, fuck cashier Kristin, Shane, you can eat die and shit you corporate whore. How the hell damn dare you say I'm saving money when you're doing nothing but throwing a shit screen to cover the fact that because I bought a whole lot of this brand of chicken, you're now going to stick it in me for an aditional fifty cents a box.

Always read the tags, and remember what they used to say. Your everyday low prices are being shoved down the memory hole as we speak.

Episode 108: Observance.

On the way back from grocery hell, I'm stopped at a generic intersection. Now, in a college town, jaywalking is pretty common. It's the only way to get across the street within the hour, and it's socially acceptable to pretty much do whatever the hell you want. But it's supposed to be within reason.

I'd noticed that some sort of school bullshit was going on by the stadium. Apparently, those ugly smelly 'human' things wanted to be near each other and create sounds or something. I don't understand them, since my composition is mostly silicon and germanium. Anyway, I'm at the aforementioned intersection, and I notice something; one of the campus cops had his arm in the light's control box, so he could direct traffic without standing in the middle of the intersection like a dope.

When the traffic stops, I noticed the pedestrian figures he just has to cross. I look at the cop, the cop looks a me, I smile a little, he smiles a little, turns on the white "Now you can cross" light, and I then go.

As I passed by the cop and the moron who crossed when he felt like it, I heard the officer say "You know how many tickets I've given to pedestrians who..."



Entr'acte
Normally, I'd rant and rave and blow and go on about how terrible shit is. But NO, this is 2005, so the fact that I missed a B in statistics by one quarter of a correct answer has no effect on me. If anything, it causes me to become stronger and taller. YES.

No, it makes me bitter and vitrolic. And that's good, because that's what you, my loyal readers, all seven search-engine spiders and one lost bastard who thought this was a link to that bitch who got AIDS after sucking thirtyseven dicks and bragging about it on LJ, come looking for.

Episode 109: Screening Process.

Check out the convergence on my new monitor I got from Bestiality Buy!



It's so far off it's blatantly obvious even to my shitty digicam. I tried displaying a single diagonal purple line across the screen. It was beautiful the way it'd scale from one purple line to a blue and red line that would look at each other and say "Hello, line, how are you?" "I'm well, and you?" "Wonderful, but kinda lonely, since I'm three pixels' width too far to the upper right than I should be.

Best Buy, the only thing more (oxy)moronic than the store's name, is it's customers! MWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAhahaha ah hah a hh aaaauuugggggggh.

Episode 110: Savages.

You know, some people are really stupid. They simply lack the discipline to control their primal drives to do what humans do best, despoil.
After the hurricane took down a tree local to one of the dorms at my college, they decided to pour a walkway in its stead, since it was a high traffic area, and washout of soil from the tree's absence was undermining the existing concrete.

Now, I understand that some people think they're something special by scratching their initials into wet cement. Okay, wonderful, in 2035, someone will see that, and think "wow, TJK's a fucking idiot." You get your 15 seconds of no one really gives a shit, but you're the current topic, anyway. But this...this is simply inexcusable.



Frankly, the criminals who created this disgrace should be forced to chip out the concreate with their skulls, mix fresh concrete, pour it in the rain, watch it wash away, mix another batch the next day, pour it again, and then stand guard until it sets; lest it be defaced again which would then lead them to chip it out and start anew once more.

Bonus Track
I might find a way to mold my new roommate into a proper Panel de Pon/Tetris Attack player. Stay tuned.

10:00pm: More Pills Please!
Episode 102: Creeping Communisim.

Today, American Express took the time to remind me that they're willing to eat the loss if someone steals your debit card and blows your wad. I find it interesting that we're seeing the birth of a nanny bank state.
See, the banks save a few cents (and then charge you) for the 'convenience' of shit like debit cards; but then have to cover your ass when either:
A) You're a careless fuck who loses the card.
B) It's stolen by someone because our society doesn't electrocute convicted thieves.

Just as the government is being turned into one big nanny for a nation of skidmarks who can't, don't, won't, and couldn't take care of themselves; the banks are turning into financial nannies who have to make sure baby doesn't let one of the older kids pull the cork out of his piggybank.

Episode 103: $0.15.

I added fifteen cents to the pizza guy's tip tonight. Not because of how hot the pizza was or how fast it got here; but because the pizza guy was a pizza gal. I suppose that indicates I'm shallow and superficial.

But in actuality, I was planning to short the tip by $0.15 because I was still pissed off about last time, where my pizza was cold and late because the guttersnipe behind the phone fucked my order up.

Episode 104: Fictional Advertising.

Keebler elves, in exchange for jerking off into the oreo creme, or as they call it, injecting elven magic, are supposed to make some of the most asskickingest cookies around. And when the package says "Deluxe" I expect them to mean it...



...and it tastes as pale as it looks. Don't buy cookies from the grocery store. Ever. You only encourage them.

Episode 105: Hey, Everyone, We're All Gonna Get Laid!

Rodney Dangerfield died today, and that sucks. Not because he was some sort of superhero, but because he was one of the few 'greats' who could get away with being a pompous asshole comedian and get praised for it. George Carlin's about all we have left now. They aside, the only comedian who can both be funny and be 'edgy' at the same time is Dave Chapelle, and he sucks.

That's right, he sucks. He's not funny. He's simply good at making fun of blacks and not being murdered because he, too, is black. Not that there's anything wrong with it. He's one of very few who know how to make racial comedy successful, and for that he's rewarded with a show that performs so well he can yell I'm rich, beeotch! at the end of every show and actually mean it. But he's a one trick pony, and eventually he'll run out of jokes concerning stupid white men, fried chicken, and rappers with pending sexual assault charges.

I can't help but wonder what the future holds for the entertainment industry. It's so heavily trod that replication and regurgitation isn't just a way to make a quick buck, it's all they have left. The internet has opened the doors to ameteur works, but even so, for every good webcomic and every Maddox, there are thousands of losers who think they're funny, because one random reader posted a reply of "lol XD".

Episode 106: A Random Post from Elsewhere.

I don't know if I can. Looking back, I can see my house, and that if I wasn't making sense a few hours ago, more hours of not going to bed hasn't helped any. Likely, I would simply confuse past me, triggering a defensive reaction that will likely involve flan, cottonballs, an onion, and a piece of string.

Two of which, I have only in limited quanitites. The other two, I don't have in unlimited quantities.

Perhaps 'mirrors o' fat' is like Land O' Lakes or something. Land O' Lakes is cool when you're in middle school because you can cut the box such that you can put Pocahantas' knees over her chest so it looks like she's going topless.

Or at least it's supposed to look thus. That's why it's limited to middle school. First PE class in high school, you learn what tits actually look like, and the magic is lost. But hey, it's a box of butter, how demanding can you be?

Well, I don't know about you, but I can be pretty damn demanding. But not of butter, butter's done nothing to me but be tasty and ride my baked potatoes like a drunk welshman on a mechanical bull.

Speaking of, I hear the EUSR published some sort of publication, and their map thereon didn't have Wales. See, most of their countries are landlocked, and Japan's been increasing activity which has distracted attention from the topic, but this makes plainly obvious the fact that Europe has no intent to save the whales, and in fact, already considers them non-existent.

America has plenty of whales. Why? Because they eat too much of that damn Land O' Lakes butter. It goes straight to your ass. That's why it's good to keep Borax in the house. With a fourty mule team, you can consume two-score-fold more delicious Land O' Lakes butter before your ass collapses beneigh its own weight.

Which, of course, is measured in pounds, and not kilograms, like the EUSR wants you to think it should be. In their intoxicating cloud of self-righteousness, they forget that their use of kilograms on scales is inappropriate because they are using a weight system to calculate mass. They just can't seem to swallow their own metric system and use Newtons.

Probably because if they did, people would think their scale was telling them how many Fig Newtons they ate, and if they don't eat Fig Newtons, because they're too busy eating sweet Land O' Lakes butter on their flan, cotton balls, onions, and string, they'll think the scale is lying to them by reporting newtons unconsumed. Which, of course, will lead to mass hysteria as people eject from their windows a terrible downpour of newton based scales. Children would run outside expecting a tickertape parade, only to be beaten, bashed, bludgeoned, bonked, beaned, battered, bloodied, and bruised by the baleful barrage of bathroom balances.

And you thought mirrors bringing misfortune was just a superstition.

Bonus Track.

I suppose I should get back to work on my program, and my school work, and a dozen other things. But frankly, I've been feeling like shit for quite a while. I thought it was sleep, but I was in bed for twelve hours, and I still feel like shit.

Which is quite the bummer.

4:51am: is the exact time at which your soul will escape you.
Once again, I danced upon the razor's edge, and managed to pull in just good enough grades to survive another term. Anyway, we've got a really big show planned for you tonight, because it's been a while, I haven't slept in two days, and as usual, there are things on this planet that piss me off, and what better way to hone the blade of my scimitar wit than to rend the stupidity of humanity?

I suppose writing something that made sense, had a point, a greater purpose, and was generally upbeat and heart lightening would be better, but hey; if you're reading this LJ, you know me better than that. I save all my positive thoughts for the live show.

Episode 92: Bias.

Ever notice how whenever there's some wonderful new product, or some better deal, and it's advertised on TV, the same two characters, played by different people of course, are always hocking it? The cast, for those who are still groping for meaning are:

• Stupid Dumb Fat White Man: Duh, I'm fat and stupid and spend too much money on inferior goods.
• Woman: I have bresticles and ovaries, so automatically I made the right choice and get to laugh at fatty.

Now, this is obviously a gross and generalized stereotype, but is it wrong? When was the last time SDFWM got the 'good' deal, while Sally Spanksalot paid too much for her muffler? That never happens.

Same thing happens when the product dual is between two women, except that when it's a chick fight that doesn't involve mud wresting (in which case everyone wins) it's the woman who's more the minority that has the proper product. Sometimes they have to go reaching...one will have amber eyes and the other will have mahogany eyes, so the latter gets New Hyper Ballbusting Palmolive that not only cuts tough grease on dishes, but if you sacrifice a goat and draw a hexagram on the bottle, when you pour it out it will form into a small sudsy ninja that will go all tiger-hand on everyone who made fun of you in high school.

Note that this does not apply to commercials with only guys. The statistics are, according to the figures I'm about to pull from my ass (hold on, I have to make sure I get the right grip), that minority status doesn't determine which of the combatants get the 'good' deal or product or free blow jobs for life from the pnumatic pipe clearing service. Rather, the winner will be determined by either greater hight, or straightness of teeth.

There, I just conqured advertisements.

Episode 93: Façade.

After a few glorious, mushroom-stamped-by-God weeks in the single, I'm now back in The Bunker as I was last year. They repainted the door frames and hall, but did nothing to the damage on the inside. In fact, the A/C grille appears to be trying to take gravity's advice on the whole 'fall to the floor' concept, and the water damaged fake wood might just let it free its mind.

This school is a tribute to the American perception of proper presentation. If you make it look good enough on the outside, it doesn't matter how rotten it is on the inside.

Will people ever realize that a modicum of discipline on the inside reflects on the outside, without having to put any extra effort into it; while the façade requires both construction and maintenance, and does nothing to quell the 'rumors' spawned by the distgruntled?

Yes, but only if you take 'people' to mean 'the 5% of humanity that is doomed to babysit the ones that Nature used to take care of with a sudden cold snap.'

Episode 94: Swap, Swap, Swap, Boom.

I guess I'll try to get some work on my program done this week. After three years of poking at it, I just want it to be done, but the problem is, to do so I have to code, and the coding is no longer fun. It can be...when I get on a roll and things work it's great, but I'm just tired of staring at it knowing that while I think I'm doing it right, it's going to be wrong, and I'll wind up stripping out 90% of the day's code and starting it over later. I just don't like the idea of it becoming the Duke Nukem That Never Was, Or Was It? that it has the potential to become. Besides, I'd like to play with that 3D puzzle game thing I was toying with.

Episode 95: Jesus Hole.

As a few of you may have noticed, Florida experienced some foul weather. Nothing major, shoved a couple trees down the stairs, and unfortunately, only two old fucks died, so medicare will breathe no sigh of relief. This did, however, mean that M&Ms are harder to find than normal. I wound up having to get Minis, because all they had were ones with nuts in them, and I'd rather not be killed by my candy, and those retarded new ones that suck.

So I choose to be hungry and extract the satchel from its plastic bag womb, only to be posed with what very well might be the most important question asked since "is this thing on?"



Pretty or swampy?! How am I to know? What am I, a mind reader? There was only one bag left...so whichever it is, it has to be the bad kind, or else the previous buyer would've snapped it up. Time to get thinkical.

The first thing we do is examine the serial number. "411B143" B has to be for Bad, and both numbers are odd, and contain a majority of odd digits. That's three in favor of Swampy.

Round two: I yelled at the bag and threw it toward the trash can. It landed on the rim, and fell in. Four for Swampy.

Round three: The M&Ms failed to sexually arouse my wall clock.

Sounds conclusive, time to release the evil...by C-section!




It's a girl!

I love how I'm always correct about everything.

Episode 96: Knocking? Perhaps You Need Some Premium Gas.

I hate how phaggots will continuously rap upon the door demanding access to the floor, when repeated use of my access card won't make the door obey. What infuriates me, however, is when they are 'friends' of 'people' who 'live' on the floor. First, I never signed off on their having human contact at all; but the deepest issue is this: these ambletory sacks of wasted carbon lack the sophistication and manners to meet their guests at the point of entry and escort them to their destination.

It is a generation of miscreants, and they're being allowed to vote.

Episode 97: What Yo' Sayin' Mayonnaise?!

Last night I sat down and translated a document. One that was supposedly written in English. Wer i to type my wrds lke tey wer n e passage i trnslated u wuld as i did bcome quite iratatd & surrender to ennui. "What the fuck is this shit?" I exclaimed when I saw it at first, but deep down I knew I dropped a comma..."What the fuck is this, shit?" Exactly where the hell did technology go wrong? The whole point of electronic communication is that it simplifies proper composition. You don't have to strain your arm pushing a pencil up and down a page to forge an 'a,' 'n,' and 'd' to conjoin your words. You merely tap three buttons, and there's a special button that makes wrong letters go away, where before you had to put your writing in the fridge so it won't spoil, drive to the store, buy an eraser, return, and grind away the error.

And yet, today, a time in history when mankind has never had to put less effort into communication before, our kids r writin liek totl retards. Roll back 5000 years. Egyptian scribes are writing. They are chiselling pictures of people, animals, and reproductive organs into stone. do thy writ liek this wif lzy spelin & abbr.s? Only when they had absolutely no space to work with...frequently, they'd chisel a glyph, then chisel in the pronunciation of the glyph after it! That's like spelling 'pharmacy' as 'phfarmacysee' just to be sure there's no ambiguity.

There's human evolution for you. A half myriad years pass, and we go from painstakingly sculpting passages to vomiting forth ignorance and beaming it around the globe at the speed of light.

And the best part: When you call them on it, they always come back with: "u kno wut i said"

It may be true that "i kno wut u said," but the important thing is this...You don't.

Episode 98: Ozone Windwalk.

At the exact moment in time I'm writing this, my internect connection is down. Seems almighty college is pulling some digital pud again. It was down for a bit yesterday, too. But since it's the middle of the night, I wonder if they have a caged nerd in the basement to fix it, or if it'll have to wait until 8am. It's keeping me away from my Gunbound, and that's just unlawful. Without a constant stream of data to fill the 25% of my brain I don't use, I start to come up with ideas of ways to entertain myself. Perverse, disgusting things. Like connecting the room's two LAN ports with a crossover cable, just to see if something happens when the net comes back on. Worst case scenerio, nothing happens, but I have a place to hang my towel.

Episode 99: Relations.

They say you can pick your friends and pick your nose, but you can't pick your family. That says nothing of picking your friends' and family's noses. Building upon that, is has been shown that women can idendify their husbands by the glorious fragrence produced by their armpit secretions. Now we can add that while you can't pick your family, and may or may not be able to pick your family's noses, you can pick out your family with your own nose.

And you thought it was just there so you'd know when to change Baby Johnny's dai-dais.

OMG MAN BORN WITHOUT A NOSE! YOU SAW IT IN THE INTERWEB SO IT MUST BE TRUE!


Episode 100: Bottles of Beer on the Wall...

While moving out on the Friday evening that was the last night of school, I traveled the stairs to dispose of a bag that contained various flavors of garbage. I paused, to observe a precession of revelers. Apparently, it was a selection of males that had money to spend, and the sororitutes they spent said money on. As the studs ascended in pairs, the weaker leaning on the more steadfast, uttering such golden phrases such as "you can make it" and "you can change your shirt when we get to the room," a part of me wanted to take one of the females aside and ask if this truely and honestly is her concept of a 'good time,' but then I realized, if the unit had enough sense to comprehend the gravity of my query, it wouldn't be checking its shoes' soles for vomit while rounding the stairwell.

I suppose I just don't know how to have fun.

Episode 101: Dalmations Go Insane If They Aren't Allowed to Fuck.

Ever seen a dalmation with a boner? Yowza. I think that's why they have them at firehouses...if the pole breaks they can just hold the pooch over the hole and red rocket 'em a bit. I have yet to figure out what useful purpose the blotches serve. I suppose it helps them blend in with the state of Illinois. You know...mostly white but with black spots scattered around. The best part is, if a local chinese restaurant turns over to become an ice cream parlor, you can sell the pooch as vanilla and chocolate chip 'plus' on Special Flavor Saturday.

4:36am: Prolost and Profound
Y'by posted a methodolic numerological name assigner doohicky, so I play along...




4/6ths of my extensive friends list made the cut. I guess Ky and Gero will have to wait for the OAV.

Episode 85: Hooch.

Good Idea: Drinking fruit juice instead of soda.
Bad Idea: Drinking paint instead of soda.
Good Idea: Crushing a plastic bottle with a cap, and closing it tight so it's void of most air and takes less space in the trash.
Bad Idea: Crushing a plastic bottle with a cap, that's been sitting next to the trash can for a few days, that now reeks of fermented juice and has strange spores growing rapidly inside.
Good Solution: Spraying Lysol in the air (even though it says it doesn't work that way) to at least mask the foul odor.
Bad Solution: Stuffing a wide-brimmed hat in your anus and running around naked through the courtyard screaming random lines from West Side Story while throwing sqirrels at albinoes and growing extra heads that look like Liona Helmsley.

So far, I'm doing the right thing 66.7% of the time, and Meatloaf told me that two out of three ain't bad.

Episode 86: ...was kicked out of the nightclub and given a curb job.

Episode 87: I Can't Get No Sleep

If you're viewing this after 6am the day I post this, which you are because no one actually reads this shit, not even you, it's just a halucination, you might notice the GB ranking image in Episode 80 has changed. That is, if you actually read Episode 80 since I posted it, which was three days ago, and you didn't read this shit then, either, your halucination is merely halucinating a past halucination in order to preserve continuity.

This is because I played waaay too much GB today. Like...hours and hours. In fact, if I hardcored it, I could make the next rank before tomorrow's rank updates. But I have one of those 'lives,' though not much of one, to attend to, and that makes me sad. The cool thing is, if I bust my ass this week, I'll overtake the guy who got me into this madness.

Episode 88: Foil it Before You Soil It.

I've pretty much realized that everything that's good in life has something to do with aluminum foil. It keeps chicken fresh in your freezer, and does wonders cooling your house by reflecting sunlight before it hits your windows. Plus, it does all kinds of neat shit. You can wad it into a ball. Lets see how good Poochy is at being forcfully reformed into a tight sphere-like shape. Thought so. But there's one thing even aluminum foil can't do. Make my dorm doors suck less.
Here's the deal, all the dorms have scan cards. Swipe, open door, burst into flames. Pretty simple. The joint I'm in this summer, however, has a problem. While scanners are installed and therefore should obviously have been connected with wires to the asses of the door unlocking gnomes, they instead have "Use Key" written on them. Hence, I have to fight with a ringful of keys, one for every barrier, to my room. This complicates matters when the keys are all identical save their seven digit serial numbers, and I have shit to carry in that I do NOT want to set down and pick up again.

Now, I know they're going to charge me for it, but this irritates me to the point that I, master of infinite everything, must punish the ground slivers of brass by, once the key is in the lock and twisted to the open position, pulling the offending door open using nothing but force applied to the key, which will eventually break them. The key thing is, (lolwtf, I'm teh funnay) if it breaks during my time, it sucks, but if it fractures on the next guy's term, I win!

Episode 89: Authoritative Rule

I love, and by love I mean frequently begrudgingly do to greater the amount of entertainment I get from one of my activities, to cut paper. But sissors don't work for me. People seem to think there is such thing as "a sissors," which is as fucking stupid as ording a Chicken McNuggets, or hunting a deer. Plus, they aren't accurate enough for me. No, I wage war with a 'surgically sharp,' whatever the hell that means, XActo knockoff knife and a metal ruler.

My ruler, however, when I found I needed it, was nowhere to be found. It was found later, under a sheet of paper far too heavy for me to trouble myself to lift. Anyway, I went to the college 'Bookstore,' which is 20% overpriced textbooks thanks to the McGraw Hill Mafia, 20% computer and office supplies, 10% general books, and 50% worthless shitty UF branded merchandise so reprehensible that I wouldn't use it to cover the shit that leaked out of my worst enemy's corpse after he/she was crushed by a falling submarine, to get rulers.

I wound up getting two. One, an expensive plastic see-through job I don't need, but might want some time, since I know I've wished my old lost metal one were clear at times; and a metal one. Here's the sticker:



Pretty high, but hell, I didn't actually have to go anywhere, so I pay the piper to hear the song, right?

But wait, there's something about that tag...it has stratum! I'm a curious motherfucker when it comes to things people try to hide from me. Remember the Arc of the Covenant, when the Nazi's openend it up and their faces melted? I just slapped on some SPF 10 and put on a second layer of blue glasses. No problem. So I dive in to the first sticker...



Covering the childrens' ears with my mind, I now exclaim WHAT THE FUCK?! Pardon me if I'm overlooking something, but just how in the nine ass-slapping, stomach churning, turd flinging, tumor eating, donkey punching, DranO drinking hells does a $1.89 ruler between February 13th '03 to April 28th '04 incur $1.90 in expenses that you have to pass on to me? Did it drink your beer? Did it use your laundry detergant? Did it get frightened by lighting and wet your pants? Perhaps it cleaned out your change tray and bought a lotto ticket and two packs of gum?

I guess they're getting me back for the LAN wire they undercharged me on. No, they would've screwed that $1.90 out of me either way. Bastards.

So now, I'm a sawbuck lighter and have plenty of rulers. I expect them to fight to the death for the throne. My crafts drawer has not enough room for a triumvirate.

Episode 90: Portal to the World

I need to get a new monitor. This one is getting...weird. It screams at me until I beat it up for a while, and the vertical gets 'wrinkly' sometimes. I may have to drop a couple C-notes on a 19" job with those flat screens and stuff. It will bust my ass with its weight, but dammit, I need more than 1280x1024 at 60Hz. Plus, it will give me an excuse to cut out even more strips of paper with my new ruler, which judging by the price of, is made of solid platinum and its numbers are ingraved and inlaid with a gold/blood-of-Jesus alloy.

Episode 91: Round Numbers are Training Wheels For the Mind.

They make people lazy and accepting of failure. Why? Because remembering a round number is really remembering a two digit one. '3000' is not Three-Thousand, it's Three of those "thousand" things that are just three zeros in a row. Hence, it's really "3, 3 zeroes." Humans don't learn enough cardinal numbers. Case in point, how many dots do you see in each figure below, without counting them.

.

One! You know that, and you remembered all by yourself!

: :

Four, right? Good! Now how many?

.
: : : : :
: : :   : : :
: : : :
: . :   .


(SPOILERSPACE)


Fourty-five! Yeah! Wait, what? You didn't just look at that and see fourty five? Likely, you are now thinking "Hey, there are fourty-seven there, I counted!" If so, then Haha! I said no counting. If you're thinking "forty-what?" then you need to go back to an episode in the fourties and work your way forward again. In the astounding case you did just glance at it and say fourty-seven, you should've taken over the world by now. See, fourty-seven is not a learned cardinal number. We learn one through six as cardinal numbers with dice in kindergarden. You'll know cardinals by sight up to ten if you play a lot of cards and are a visual learner rather than one who just uses the indices instead of the pips. Hence, what you likley did was mentally divide it up. Perhaps as a ten, two sixes, an eight, a five, and a couple ones off in Lalaland.

I hate when people can't remember phone numbers, including myself. The issue is, as you've likely heard, short term memory holds about seven concepts at once. Hence, the phone number 428-7142 is 4, 2, 8, 7, 1, 4, 2. And you forget it immediately. To be cute, people simplify it...4, 2, 8, SEVENTYONE, FOURTYTWO. Got you diagonally, pretty sneaky, huh? See, now it's five objects, because your untrained brain is still good enough to handle two digits as one concept. Want to learn phone numbers? There are two digits in the example phone number. Four-hundred Twenty-eight, and Seventy-one Hundred Fourty-two. Chances are, that becomes two, three, or four objects in shorterm memory, and one in long term. You'll remember the number as 428, and that number that comes after it which happens to be 7142 for some odd reason; rather than this spegettistring memory of a four, then a two, then an eight, then a seven, then a one, then a four, then a two.

This works for EVERYTHING IN LIFE. Every memory in your head is built on objects, and the way to remember better is to accept more complex objects. You already know how to make the cardinal ten into 0 through 99, and how to bind the hundreds concept to the tens. Building on that, you learn to accept thousands as wholes, and become superfly brainiac thinking machines.

Well, you might, because you're reading my blabber, and like nursing ambrosia from the mammary of Athena, you're growing wiser, taller, and more statuesque. But the rest of the world wants round numbers. They want to know what it's like, not what it is, because details are "too hard."

HARD. I'm sick and tired of hearing that word being used in place of 'difficult.' Life is hard, and difficult. Games of skill are not hard, they are challenging. Grow some vocab, somewhere between 428 and 7142 words should do for now.

7:50pm: Oh, the DRAMA!
Swolen membranes giving you migranes? Funky foul fragrences making you feel isolated even when in a croud? Ever wish you could get rid of that knot in your gut? You need...

...to read this day's/month's/year's/decade's entry!

Would you like to learn more?
[Y/Y]


Episode 78: ePenis, EXTEND!

If you happen to frequent certain vBulletin boards, you know they have a system of 'Reptuation.' People can give you or destroy your reputation score by voting on the quality of your posts. The key is, the more points you have, the more points your verdict is worth. Anyway, today I earned my first hundred, thanks to a 10-point boost by impressing one of the OGs. Now my votes are worth two. Plus, it won't be long before I get a third power level for tenure. Bow down, mortals, because I'm well on my way to being a patrician and having votes that actually count for something. You know, like residents of Florida, Texas, California, and New York.

Oh yeah, I live in Florida, double pwnage on you if you're not with the In Croud, sukkasukkafoos.

Episode 79: Behavioral MODification II

I got bored, so I dumped pretty much every Tracker file I have into a playlist. Hence, I now have five hundred mods with length ranging from one to over fourty minutes running in a loop. It makes me feel fresh, funky, and flossy fine. And why do I have such a playlist queued up? GUNBOUND!

Oh, and if you want to try to out ePenis me with some My WinAmp has eighty gajillion songs I nicked off of Kazza, forget it. My 500 good songs gangraped all your crappy MP3s and left them bound and gagged suspended from the local interstate overpass. Besides, Episode 33 explains the nature of WinAmp users.

Episode 80: Nak Dies.

My attempts to mathematically solve GunBound have been rather disappointing. I made some progress, but I'm missing some crucial key is ruining my life. In the mean time, I get stupid fucking teammates.

Usually, they're the usual breed of stupid. Noobs in Adium Sate try to shot gun somebody by throwing the tracer in their face, thereby targeting the ground immediately in front of them and doing 40 damage instead of 400. (A sin for which even I spam "SATE!" to remind them that they aren't in a noobie rig, but rather one that requires actually aiming a trajectory, not just facing in their general direction and pushing the button.) But some nights, I get that special breed of stupid. You know, the Politically Correct definition of special.

Okay, it's 1-1 lives, so next fatality is the win. I get my turn and I pummel the bejesus out of random enemy, bringing him to about 10% power. All the girl on my team has to do is turn around, align the aim pointer to his ballsack, and fire.

She lobs a round down town and lays waste to a clump of land that looked a little bit like Martin Mull.

I've made my share of errors, usually missing my target and hitting my teammate who just HAD to get right in front of 'em, but Jesus H, you have to at least pretend to pay a modicum of attention to the world around you.

So, while I rapidly gained ranks on the newbie server, now that I'm in the 'normal' rooms, my rank is barely creeping upward, because it's always either my team of random scrubs being bent over a row of pickle barrels by a clan that speaks nothing but singaporean portugese, or we have the victory in hand, and Stupid McFuckdoodle drops the ball.

So, my rank is still a crappy this:


Episode 81: To Serve (and Protect) Man

I used to use ZoneAlarm, but it got infected by Phaggotocity, so I switched.
I used to use Agnitum 1, but it just loved to BSOD while browsing. They don't support the free version, so I switched.
I used to use Sygate, but it had a shitty GUI, and it couldn't make heads or tails out of GunBound, which has four executables, only one of which properly named .EXE, and they keep patching each other with security updates, because GB gets hacked all the time, so I switched.
I'm now on Kerio, which will play nice for 28 more days, then become holy-crip-he's-a-crapple-ware.

My school's given me (literally) thousands in free edu-licence software, why the hell can't they get us some proper software firewalls for free?

Episode 82: CHEESE!

I felt like treating myself to a pizza. Ever since I came to this maggot-infested corpse of a college, you could get a large with one topping for $6.51 from El Cheapo's Good Enough Pizza.***** So I'm all like hook me up, and he says the total's seven-something. I didn't even catch what that something was, because as soon as the "sev-" registered, I wanted to stab him in the prostrate through the phone line with the bicycle spoke I found in the parking lot at the grocery store that day. Their excuse? The price of cheese went up.

CHEESE! Just how exactly does half an ounce of cheese sprinkled astoundingly conservatively on a crappy pizza jack the price by a buck? Did the bacteria go on strike? Is it magic cheese wrapped by Jesus in gold leaf? Well, I could either go with it and not tip the driver, or tell them good night. I opted for the latter, because the driver needs tips to cover his gas money. Not that I specifically know for certain that he's paying for his gas, but if the company is charging an extra dollar per ounce for cheese they're paying an extra ten dollars per truckload of, you know they're fucking their drivers, too.

***** Real name undisclosed to protect the guilty whores, which is why I chose a certain number of a certain symbol to represent their name. Hint Hint Nudge Nudge.

Episode 83: Data Mummy

I'm taking a class covering the history of ancient Egypt. That means we get to look at data that's been preserved for about five thousand years. Knowing that my CD-R collection is made with disks that can show budding failures in months, and unreadable disks start crapping up after a couple years, which it's been since I burned them, I've started moving worthy data to CD-RW. While it's slower to work with than CD-R, it's erasible, which is good for appending stuff to archives, and because it relies on a phase state change of a metallic (usually a silver compound) it is significantly more resistant than the chemical dye used by CD-R that decomposes whenever exposed to light, air, or nude photos of Rick Moranis.

Hence, it's now $10 for 10, rather than $20 for 50, but the 150% increase in expenditure is worth it if I won't lose data, or burn two more disks to either represerve the data on fresh material, or create a new version to add new stuff to an archive.

Episode 84: Feel Free to Hate Yourself in the Morning

IIIiiiiiIIIIt's Bonus Time!

Q: What preceeded every Episode in this entry?

Not the Episode before it, obviously, since there's none before the first. No, it was a donut. See, I have a fresh dozen just sitting here, and I couldn't think of a proper excuse to eat the hell out of them. So, to help encourage me to entertain you with my brilliance, I force myself to grind out an Episode each time I eat a donut.

Was it worth it?

You tell me, or more speciffically, leave a message with my soon-to-be-fat ass thanks to these damn donuts, and eventually it will pass the message along to me.


SATE!

1:48am: We Make Excreme...Excitement!
My nipples are throbbing with anticipation, as I'm now allowing myself the sinful pleasure of entertaining YOU, random webcrawler bots and people who were searching for penis extensions and somehow were linked to this page, with my glorious babble about things that mean nothing to anyone.

Episode 72: Twizzler

I have something on my nose that doesn't pleasure me. It's one of those subdermal zit/boil things. You know, it could be a zit, but then you'd just pop it and be done with it, so instead, it becomes just a disturbing little slighty-red spot that hurts like all seven hells if anything touches it, from the rogue finger of a pudgy ten year old to an uncommonly sharp oxygen molecule. It's almost enough to make me want to slice the offensive beast off with a rusty butcher's cleaver, but then my glasses wouldn't set right.

Funny thing, you know those little plastic nose rests on glasses? One was imbeded in my elbow today. That's what I get for letting the power go out in a thunderstorm.

Fun fact: If you're a male and you complain about bleeding, one in eight people will be subtly enraged.

Yeah, I'm in a mood to make 'jokes' like that. (What, you didn't catch it? Read it again with your thinking cap on.)

Episode 73: Reformat

My room needs to be cleaned. I'm thinking about undressing the walls. They've been well postered for a while, and it might be sufficiently eerie to make them go commando for a while. I also need to rearrange my room's furniture. I need to get two computer stations and my Roland set up properly. Plus, I got a free bed, and really should replace my current slab. Not that I mind the slab. I'm not picky about my sleeping, and have no problem flat out on lenolium with a folded pair of jeans for a pillow. But my inner princess wants to be pampered once in a while.

That was a strange statment, even for me. So I'll now change the subject by saying "look over there!" and pointing over your shoulder.

Look over there! *points*

Episode 74: We Turn Like Whisks

I like my li'll Canon A60, but the trolls didn't give me a case to put it in. The bubble wrap's sufficed for a while, but I want something proper. Problem is, Wal*Mart, once again, fails to impress.

They had two styles, either a huge leather affair, which is fine for a proper camera, but not a pocket job. The other option, wasn't and option, an orange...thing. It claimed to be 'molded' which means it's round. The addage of a square peg in a round hole...camera = peg; case = hole; me = disapponted.

And by dissapointed I mean am spending my money elsewhere.

Episode 75: Screwed


Episode 76: Fluff and Fold

I learned me some shirt origami. That's right, I know how to fold shirts the way the Japanese do. Of course, it doesn't work on Great White Devil shirts, because they're too big. You have to be small and Japanese for them to fold right. Aryan tents come out all angled wrong.

Either that, or I'm not doing it right. But what are the odds of that?

Episode 77: Menchi

It's fun to grab a pair of sissors and cut stuff up. That's why circumcision is still practiced today. Ever eat Flavor-Ice? The little fruit flavored ice pops in plastic that you cut the end off of? Think about it, you circumcise the ice-pop, then suck the juices out.

Yummy!

Outro

I haven't had any soda since Friday, and frankly, I feel better without it. Except for the whole being tired thing, that sucks.

1:52pm: An elemental user?!
Four weeks until I return to college. I miss my room already.

Episode 65: OMFGKS!

I've been playing a lot of Gunbound recently. That means dealing with an Undesirable Element. Jerkwads from around the world. Don't get me wrong, I'm a big fan of languages that don't use the roman character set, and my awesome music teacher is Brazilian, but in Gunbound you can't get through a single game without someone yelling at you in spanish or portugese, and expecting you to understand it. I swear, I'm going to snap if I see another "jajaja" or "...tu madre..." flash across the screen. I've invented my own language, Radomanian, to respond back to them with.

It isn't just the taco talkers that take the fun out of Gunbound; it's those who have no concept of strategy.

You've spent most of the battle whaling on some prick, and your opponent has an opportunity to kill him before your next turn. Your team mate kills the loser, and 'steals' the ~$100 bounty and gets 1 game point added to his score. Not only does this mean the guy doesn't get his next turn,* but now YOU can focus your efforts on the next guy, and it puts your TEAM closer to victory, which will earn EVERYONE on the team a ~$300 bonus and 12 game points, each. And yet, retards fly off the handle about how Soandso stole MY kill!

*There's only one situation that I can think of that is really a kill steal; if player A has been the only one to hit the enemy, if B shoots the enemy when A's turn to finish the guy off would be before the enemy's turn, and if A's position is such that there's no one else he's able to attack.

Any other time, if you wanted the kill, you should've killed him on your last turn.

Most comical is when someone (B) "tries to killsteal," by using two attacks in one turn (there's more to it, but basically you can skip your next turn to fire two rounds in one turn) and bringing the enemy down to a sliver of heath. The guy who 'owns' that kill (A) starts spamming like someone raped his grandmother about how his lousy teammate tried to killsteal; when in actuality, chances are, A would've spent a dual attack, brought the enemy to a sliver of heath, and then the enemy would've waxed A's ass to a shiny luster on his next turn.

That's another thing; look at the damn turn order, punks.

All this shit aside, if you can play with people you know, or just aren't assholes (there's sometimes as many as two in a game, me and someone like me), it's a very entertaining game.

Episode 66: Deterioration

I've come to realize that most of my CD-R based anime collection is reaching that two year mark when bargain brand CD-Rs turn to dust. So I'm running through the series I haven't seen, and earmarking any that are worthy of preservation. Few are, really.

Two disk errors so far, one on RahXephon, which I hear is just another mech/Eva clone, so to hell with it; and one on Hale Nochi Guu 30, which I was able to salvage. The Evil Bit was during the credits, so I was able to snip it off and reburn the disk.

The only notible series so far was Tokyo Underground, which I remember getting some negative reviews amongst the White Otaku. While they did nerf the ending compared to what I expected, and the plot was pretty weak, it wan't too bad of a show, in the sense that I didn't say "this sucks the big one" and turn it off like many other series I gave opportunity to, such as the abysmal Those Who Hunt Elves, which was cast into the pit of fire after six minutes. (Yes, I have one of those.) You could see their budget fluctuate in real time in TU, where there'd be a neat CG effect in one episode, and horrible blue inkspills that represent water in the next. Half the fun was guessing how good or terrible the next effect would be. That, and it follows the cliché of having people name their attacks and yell the names out when using them. It's priceless in its stupidity.

Episode 67: Framed

My glasses frames get destorted every time I lose track of them. Its as though some bastard was bending them up when I'm not watching. I need to find them soon, perhaps I'll sit down and think about th...what's tha...oh. Well, another of nature's mysteries, solved.

Episode 68: Just Plain Unnatural

Generally, my father serves the purpose of making me feel less like an Old Guy using his powers of being an Older Guy. However, all too often, I find us in conjunctive opinion, and that makes me sad.

[ Magazine rack at Wal*Mart, automotive subsection ]

Padre: "Is that the new fashion?"
Watasi: "Huh?"
Padre: "That type of hair, I've been seeing it on TV and magazines a lot recently, and I don't think it looks very good."
Watasi: "I don't know, I generally avoid TV and magazines, because they feature women who don't look very good."
Padre: "I remember when the women these magazines hired looked as good as the cars they sat on."

And thus, I realize that I am furthermore doomed, as the females of this generation not only have no attraction to me, but I none to the stylings the media imposes on them.

No wonder I've been spending my summer watching fansubs and shooting tanks online with Lithuanians who speak Singaporean English.

Episode 69: It's a funny number, because if you turn it sideways, it looks like the symbol for Cancer the Crab

Seriously, that's what I thought was the joke from ages seven through fourteen, and during that period, my comments about it met with uncomfortable atmosphere around my elders. Similar to the "where'd you hear that" return questioning I received asking the meaning of "sit on [someone's] face," having misheard the slurringly read line "what's that on your face" in an old Tom Hanks movie; not unline the famous Mondegreens that have plagued rock music for years.

And now, back to the show.

During lunch, which I will belabour in Episode 70, Mercury Insurance Group took it upon themselves to inform me without my permission that some random group that apparantly grades insurance groups gave Mercury an "A+ Superior" rating. Do they really think I'll trust the evaluation of an organization who's standards are so miscalibrated that the concept of A+ Superior even exists? How bad must you be to get a poor rating when you have to slug your way down through the Letter Grades, the inevitable +++, ++, +, ±, -, --, --- ranks, and the adjectival Superior/Inferior/Exterior levels. I like the roman grades. Thumb up, you live; thumb down, into the pit of lions.

Episode 70: Pizza Quota

Totino's Party Pizza is the only frozen pizza I eat. I like the fact that while it's not really pizza by any definition of the word, for 198¢ I can eat, and cheap is good.

But all's not well in the freezer section.

I expect that most of you, my loyal henchm...readers are part of the upper echelon, the top 5% of humanity who have been chosen by God in His eternal wisdom to rule over the Lower Orders and guide their sheep-like blindness toward the light. So I shouldn't need to describe the dynamics of supply and demand, but in the case someone's running on seven cylinders (yes, back in the old days, engines had eight, not six), the idea is this:

The more of something people want, the more will be made and the less it will cost.

Totino's Party Pizza operates outside this law of business. Why? I suspect they impose a pizza quota.

Look around, and you'll notice that Totino's comes in many shitty flavors. Cheese (why bother), Pepperoni, Sausage, Combination (pepperoni and sausage), Three Meat (combination and canadian bacon), Mexican (J's in place of H's), and probably something else as un-noteworthy as it is exotic. But where's Hamburger?

Wal*Mart. That's the only place that has Hamburger. What's more, if you look you'll notice something even more subtily conspicuous than their wide array of flavors. No one buys anything but Hamburger. Like the Towers of Hanoi, if anyone managed to properly remove all the pizzas from the monumental stack, the world would end in a cataclysmic cataclysm of cataclysmic proportions. Fear not, however, children, for that will never happen. Because no one wants any of them other than Hamburger.

Back to the beginning: How is it that when 147% of their sales are in Hamburger, can there be such abundant overproduction in flavors that no one buys? Time to look with our New Eyes,™ and for today, they are the eyes of Totino's.

We're the producer of astoundingly cheap fewd fodder to cram down the throats of greedy American fatties and children. However, we use meat products, and they're a bitch to work with because of those annoying "heath codes" and "USDA" and "you can't label pigeon as chicken" things. That means we want to buy the cheapest meat we can for most of our pizzas. Pork is easy, because we can make 'bacon' into 'pepperoni' by adding Red 40, and into sausage by griding it. But hamburger...that takes work, because it only works as hamburger. Plus we have to get real meat, because The Man puts us down when we try to use rat and homeless people. That costs money.

So, we make lots of pork and a little hamburger. That works until the sales figures come in. Turns out, people go absolutely apeshit over hamburger but the pork lines sell at a trickle rate, usually to hillbillies who aren't really to gut their pet Snorty, and to soccer moms who can't find any hamburger left, and are going to use the Starving in China line to bitch their kids into eating the crappy pizza.

Sucks for us, our clients all want huge hamburger orders, and our meat contracts are heavily tilted toward pork. What do we do?

Fuck 'em.

You want hamburger, you get hamburger. But for each unit of hamburger, you have to order a unit of cheese and three pork units.

The result: Only big names like Wal*Mart will go for such a contract, and smaller units run (optional cheese and) two pork units. This, of course, drives up the stock of Hamburger (price and demand comes back with a vengence) meaning Wal*Mart gets cleaned out of Hamberger every time, and desperation buys pick up enough of the pork units to make the overstock manageable.

Mercury Insurance Group just had to finish the despoilation of my appetite with their A+ Superior ranking while I tried to cram down my Three Meat because Hamburger was tapped out again, and the desperation buy kicked in.

Epidose 71: Disexlia

I find it interesting how the brain interprets and translates information.

Example, spatial information can be translated easily...if you see someone's left profile, you'll recognize them from their right. Words on glass read from the other side of the pane you can often read with a small albeit detectible amount of additional thought. Downside up figures are rarely any more difficult, be they inverted or rotated. Yet artists will recognize the fact that an attempt to recreate an image of a person will be more accurite if the image is rotated or inverted.

Audio doesn't play that game. Reverse something spoken, and it's near unintelligible; reverse music, and suddenly you're trying to brainwash your fans and turn them into satan worshippers.

Thus, humanity would serve well to reverse time every now and then, so we'd be as good at comprehending backwards events as we are backwards words. Of course, some people would cheat when tested, since all the backwards events already happened, but as long as the testing is used only to determine school funding like the FCAT, it's okay.

(For the unenlightened, FCAT is the Florida standardized test that sees how good the teachers are at drilling students with FCAT pretests to determine how much funding they get. The best part is, they produce students that can't handle a number to an exponent, but they're superstars at filling in bubble B. Well, actually they can't do that either, but it's a relative test, and the un-loved, un-parented black kids' parents deal deckfuls of racecards until the scores are invalidated and thrown out; so in the end, kids stay stupid, funding stays misappropriated, and my glasses stay blue.)

Bonus Track

Thanks to the Shrek promotion, my store was out of M&Ms. I wound up trying "Rocklets," an Argentinian knockoff brand.

They tasted exactly as one would expect from an Argentinian knockoff brand. Like the candy you'd get at Halloween from the old people everyone knew dispersed only the cheapest crap they could find. I think I'll save the second bag for someone I don't really like.

2:58pm: You Lose Bend Over


Feed me a stray Radeon AIW 9800.