Category Archives: Rants

Ranting and raving (or Raeving should I say – get it?) about topics of interest.

Hope, Dark Souls, and “Seriously, it’s not that bad.”

Yes, I am saying that the grim and often grueling adventure series… isn’t not hard, and that it’s a terrifically positive game. No, I’m not claiming to be “that good”.

For the unaware, there is a series of video games, the “Souls series” that is lauded as being the epitome of difficult, punishing, hardcore gameplay. Each entry follows a single undead protagonist through beautifully sprawling ruins and varieties of opponents and giant foes, acquiring magical weapons and armor and spells, meeting interesting characters to help and hinder their journey… and ultimately, possibly saving the world… by some definition, for a moment more.

To me, it’s got a lot in common with Zelda games. You know Ganondorf is going to rise again in the next Zelda game. But nobody claims those games are grim. They’re about courage triumphing over evil power. And hookshot acrobatics. And treating each boss as a puzzle until you figure out how to actually damage it without getting stomped into dust.

Failure in Zelda means… you have to walk back from the start of the dungeon… but you’ve already opened the doors, and solved the puzzles. Then you start the fight over again and try not to lose again.

Dark Souls, you’d lose your rupees in a wee sack in the boss room. So you’d run back and usually manage to retrieve it. Once in a while, you might get killed first, and you’ve lost them all, and have to collect more at some point.

But in Zelda, if you lost all of your rupees… that was not a big deal, was it? You spend most of the game either saving up for one or two big upgrades… or running around with a purse so full you can’t fit anything more into it… because there wasn’t anything to spend it on.

Dark Souls games… you can buy better stats, improved weapons, spells, equipment… and that way, losing the currency does have a sting to it. But… you don’t lose things… only currency is at risk.

And like Zelda, if what you’re doing when fighting a boss isn’t working… you should probably try something else. Try out that magic wand you got a while back, load it up with something dangerous, and give that a fling. Or maybe keep the foul beast at spear’s length… or get a big shield… or dance so close to the devil, he thinks you’re his own bad knee, and fears to step on you.

Many games have those bad moments though. Those frustrating times when you can’t quite tell when to move where to not die… or something you didn’t expect trips you up and you’ve got to try again for the 47th go around… now, in Zelda, or Mario… you have extremely limited options. You don’t get to head off to another castle to save up and buy double fire flowers. You can’t make the fireballs a little bigger. You can’t change into lighter boots and jump away farther. I can do that in Dark Souls. I can make the things I’m doing more effective even while I develop the skill to use them better. Or to try something else that doesn’t involve trying to circumcise a dragon from between his toes.

Every time I fail in Dark Souls (when I’m not falling off a cliff or something) I get back to what I dropped and I’m in the same place… with a few more souls saved up. Or I get a sharp lesson to go a bit slower, prepare a bit more carefully. But I can get through. Eventually, I am going to win. I can wear down the mountain.

Now, whenever I get killed in any Mario game? I could be back at the start of the level, with nothing. If I came in with a powerup, that’s gone now. I’m in worse shape, and facing the same obstacle. That’s brutal. Anybody remember getting thrown off the mountain in Mario 64? Having to not only climb back up, but having that boss at full health again? And knowing, no matter what, it wasn’t ever going to get easier?

Dark Souls isn’t half that bad. At least when it puts a dragon in turtle shell armor, it doesn’t ask you to do it barehanded.

Tiger! Tiger! Burning Bright.

(Which ho will you fuck tonight?) – courtesy of my sister

Welcome to another trip on the Public Shame Glory Train. Today’s stop: Woods, which connects to at least 4 other stations and possibly quite a few more.

There’s not a whole lot to be said about Tiger Woods that hasn’t already been said so far.  He’s been examined through and through on Twitter: “Wondering if my Tiger skills will transfer over to basketball? They seem to get all the quiet hoes” by @EVILTIGERWOODS, lalate seems to have dozens of articles on him and while I was typing this just updated with another, and of course piles of news and sports sites, webmagazines, and blogs. I can’t even imagine what the tabloid rack at the grocery store must look like. I bet it’s incredible.

I’m not here to take a good man down. Whether Tiger Woods is a good man, nobody can say except maybe the supposedly twenty-nine women he’s banged. We know he’s cheap and doesn’t tip, he apparently has naked photos and possibly a love child, and had women in his house when his wife was out of town. I’d link some links but frankly I’m tired of going through the huge pile of articles. I did, however, find a couple of very clever videos from Taiwan that explain a bit how he managed to lay more pipe than Mario and Luigi and their clones, combined.

I’m disappointed. I’m just a few months older than Tiger and when he first came onto the scene I had a huge crush on him. I like golf okay (not to watch but playing it can be fun as long as I don’t pass out under a shade tree on the 18th hole) and he was young and enthusiastic and interesting. As we got older I enjoyed hearing about his big wins and how he was sweeping the golf world by storm and even though I had some fangirl jealousy, I was happy to hear that he had married, and a not-famous one at that! She was probably happy too. I doubt she is happy now.

Tiger himself is not so much the issue here, because there are a lot of people out there doing the same thing or who would like to. I’ve read about a million comments from people stating sentiments from “He’s only human” to “Let the man and his family have their privacy” to “Everyone does it and what’s the big deal?” What is the big deal indeed? Is there a big deal?

I tend to think so. Here is the problem. Marriage is a legally binding contract and most vows include the phrase “forsaking all others” included with loving and cherishing and better and worse. Why did Tiger Woods get married? What was he hoping to get from it? Why does anyone get married if they know they have appetites their spouse cannot meet? This is something which confuses me to no end. Okay let me rephrase that. Why did Tiger Woods get married to a woman who wasn’t okay with him seeing other women? It seems prudent to find this sort of thing out before marrying.

It’s not just Tiger, either. Jamie Junger says she doesn’t need to apologize to his wife. These women sure know who Tiger Woods is and never once looked online to find information about him? Never looked up to see if he is married? I’m talking to you Jaimee Grubbs.

Fix Your Fucking English.

Having been on the internet, and having used the world wide web since around 1995, I’ve seen trends in spelling errors which seem to crop up over the years. The more they’re used misspelt or misplaced, the more their misuse grows. This post isn’t about being grammatically correct, as it seems to be less of a problem on the internet than flat out blatant failure to spell common words (so it’s/its won’t be here). I know hundreds of these articles exist already, but I’m going to attempt to make this one slightly more comprehensive.  Here are some examples:

1) Your/You’re – I can’t believe this spelling error is still around. After all these years, kids are still coming out of school with the inability to distinguish between a word that denotes ownership (your) and an abbreviation of the word YOU ARE. I’ll use it in a sentence, so if you’re one of these people, you can see how to use the word properly. “YOU’RE FUCKING RETARDED. GO AND SLIT YOUR FUCKING WRISTS.”

2) There/They’re/Their – Another 3 words idiots fuck up. As if it’s not bad enough that you were taught this shit in grade 1 or 2, in an attempt to sanitize your retardation as early as possible. But no, this remains one of the worst offenders. There denotes a location. Their denotes ownership, and they’re is like you’re – its short for THEY ARE. Let me use these in a sentence for you. “THERE ARE SOME RAZORS IN THE BATHROOM. THEIR BEST USE IS FOR SLITTING YOUR THROAT WITH. THEY’RE VERY USEFUL FOR REMOVING IDIOTS LIKE YOU FROM THE GENE POOL.”

3) Then/Than. This is a reasonably new trend on the internet, or so I’ve seen. Apparently people think that than and then are the same word. Then denotes a time, whereas than is comparitive. Using then in place of than is ultra retarded. If you pronounce them both the same, you should be shot at point blank. Heres a handy sentence: “DO A BETTER JOB THAN MICHAEL JACKSON. TAKE A SHOTGUN, THEN BLOW YOUR FUCKING HEAD OFF.”

4) Amok – I’ve seen this plenty of times – people saying they’re “running a muck”. It’s not a muck, it’s amok. They’re very barely even pronounced similar. This is one of those words you probably only saw at school 2 or 3 times in your entire time there, so it could almost be excusable – except running A MUCK doesn’t actually make sense. Muck is dirt, or the likes. You’re running a dirt? what? Fuck you. Sentence: “I’M GOING TO LOAD THIS SHOTGUN, AND RUN AMOK IN YOUR HOUSE LOOKING FOR YOU.”

5) Definitely – This word is one of the harder ones to spell, as depending on your pronounciation of the word, your brain may be tricked into thinking it has an A in it, or no Is at all. This is a fallacy. The word has finite in it – like infinite, which no one seems to spell “infenate”. Its about time you started using this word properly. Sentence: “I WILL DEFINITELY FUCKING KILL YOU IF YOU DONT LEARN TO SPELL”

6) Ridiculous – This word stems from the word Ridicule – as in to make fun of someone or something. It doesn’t magically change its base letters before the extension, nor does it change colour to red. Sentence: “YOUR RIDICULOUS LACK OF LITERACY SKILL IS GOING TO GET YOU MURDERED ONE DAY.”

brakes, tyres, genius, sandwich, human being, australia

cheap

Alan Wake: Review

You know… “horror” is a very hard thing to produce. Sure, you can give people tension. You can give frustration without even half trying. Humor’s well studied, if a bit hit-or-miss. But horror has one major problem when you try to put it in a videogame… specifically, you can’t die.  The absolute worst thing that will happen to your character if you badly err is that you will have to make another attempt at the section. No amount of ambiance, nor shock, nor exposition shall ever change this aspect of gaming.

Now, for a more complete review, I did play, not just the basic game, but the “Nightmare” difficulty level. This is coloring my perspective, as I wasn’t going to sit through every cutscene, read through every bit of exposition… I just bulled through in the version where the monsters had about twice the health.

Now, when I first played this game through, I enjoyed the hell out of it. Okay, it’s ripping off the primary gameplay mechanic of “Obscure” with monsters that have shadow-based armor and light strips it. And even the insane “boosting” of flashlight beams. As combat mechanics go, it’s not exactly overused. Although there is certainly some room for refinement. In this case, the enemies do not lose health from being shot until light strips off their smoky armor. To remove it, shine a light. Make it bright. When it’s on target, a bit of faux lens flare shrinks until the armor goes out with a bright flash. Also, there’s a high-pitched hiss as it’s burned off. Bit like nails on chalkboard. This rather replaces any ambient music you would normally have to indicate combat.

Adorably, the enemies do not like having light shone upon them, and will back away, strafe… and eventually put an arm up to shield their eyes and advance on you anyway. This is actually a fairly useful way to stun them briefly without wasting precious ammo. Just remember to turn down the high beams when they put their arm up so they’ll drop it and you can blind ’em again. 😀

There’s a nice, brief variety of tools. Flares for extra light that forces foes back as it dents their armor. Revolver, shotgun, pump shotgun, hunting rifle… because making the horror vulnerable still means you have to kill it! And then we get the useful weapons. Flashbangs that you throw badly that are like IFF-capable grenades. And a flare gun that works a lot like a missile launcher, and leaves a flare effect at the point of impact. And the odd explodable tank that can be shot for a nice firework effect… a few searchlights that are a bit like machine gun emplacements… and tons of generators that turn on one light to save your ass.

The most fascinating aspect of the game’s limited weapon system is that they take it all away from you frequently. Since you can’t be sure (on the first playthrough) how long you get to hold those nice weapons… use ’em or lose ’em. This forced me to play a lot less conservatively than my usual. And made the game a lot easier. I usually try to get by as much as I can with pistols, melee… whatever won’t run out of ammo soon. This is, of course, stupid, and gets you killed when you’re facing more than one foe.

The plot rather rips off In the Mouth of Madness. Fun little flick… about a writing project gone inadvertently eldritch, surreal, and omnipotent. You find pages of the manuscript that controls and foretells the game events as you play, and so do other characters. This is at least a new form of the old audio log exposition method. It rewards the observant player with information on scenes not visited, or yet to occur.

The bit that truly surprised me about this game; was its writing. The characters get good lines, the voice actors deliver well, and the overall intent is for you to enjoy meeting these folks. Your colorful sidekick isn’t a worthless idiot, though he is used to comedic effect. He’s not a bumbling fool, but a good-hearted friend to your character. The brief stretches of the game where you have companions, they’re armed, carry flashlights, and kick ass.

Although, the game premise of having the plot written by a sleep-deprived, madness-touched author in one week does excuse some of the comically lampshaded bits, like the sheriff brushing off your inquiry as to why she has a key to the bookstore (you have to go through, the roads are blocked!). Though it does suffer from a few instances where the characters absolutely must go the long way around because there’s a 3′ fence in the way.

There are a couple bits that disappoint. First, after beating the game in either normal or hard mode, you unlock Nightmare. Which gives the wee perk of letting you collect the rest of the manuscript. A few pages in each level just aren’t there in the lesser difficulties. After collecting them… I can’t see why they bothered. Half were song lyrics and poems already in the game… only a couple really added anything. It was a bit like deleted scenes on a DVD. Some of them, you can see exactly why the darned things were deleted.

Next disappointment, is in the DLC. One’s out. Another’s due. And the thing that’s going to be put in the one that’s not out yet? The ending.

No, seriously. An ending. The game we have so far is, like a lot out of hollywood, cut off at the climax. No “happily ever after”. Well, it’s actually horror genre. Make that no “Oh no. Please for the love of God no!” ever after.

The first DLC adds a chapter. Couple cute gameplay elements with shining a light on floating words to create things… like a minefield of “bad words”. The problem is that the plot never really goes anywhere or resolves anything. It’s a fantastic production of… filler.

Curiously, we have a story about a horror story with the ending not yet written… and the ending to it hasn’t yet been written. : So… incomplete review, for now. I’ll just have to leave you hanging in-

Dear Parking Garage, I Hate You. You Win Again.

As I drove my sweet silver baby down to the hospital (UNMC) this afternoon to bring my friend a few comfort items, I began to worry about the parking situation, as this is apparently one of THE places to be in Omaha on any given day. I quickly gave a thought to valet parking, but decided against it since you were right on my first left turn. Yes you, mister large concrete structure.

You seemed so friendly, open, and easy to use. There were signs hung all over you that said things like, “Green Parking”, “Do Not Enter”, and I’m pretty sure there were even a few that told me my right from my left. My car was pulled into your direction completely attracted to you because of this ‘easy to use’ face you pulled off. You also attracted me because you seemed to promise that I would not lose my way while driving in you, or lose my car when trying to leave the hospital.

Lies, they were all lies. I should’ve known better. You’re just a big concrete object full of lies and confusing directions after you’ve sucked numerous helpless cars in. I made my way in slowly, I looked for the closest spot, and I knew it would turn out to be a failure, but I figure it’s always worth a try. After realizing this was my first defeat, I continued on only to realize that I about turned the wrong way on your nice little “one way” track. Thankfully I went to this thing called school, and thankfully my family believed in literacy, so I quickly avoided making my mistake. I drove up one more track and found a comfy little spot not too far off from the entrance doors on that floor. I thought to myself that this would be easy, because nestled in your little large self were quite a few things I used as markers to remember where I parked. Things like the set of brown chairs sitting outside the glass doors, and the sight of this ugly shade of green chipped paint on your elevator doors and trim. The only thing that was going to be hard from here was finding my friend’s hospital room and the University Tower right?

Oh no, that stuff was simple. The signs and arrows were simple, and I made it about two doors away from her room before I double checked with a nurse on where my friend was at. I spent a few hours there, and didn’t leave until I knew she wouldn’t be alone. I even found my way back out of the unfamiliar side of the hospital easily, but then came the hallway where I had to pick a door to go through to get back to you. It was like I was on some sort of game show, and if I didn’t pick the right door, I wasn’t going to be rewarded with my car. I was tricked and I went straight out door one which was completely wrong, and I could tell the second I stepped outside because even though I didn’t see your brown chairs, the scenery also didn’t seem right. I tried a whole three times more in each floor on the elevator trying to figure out why the hell I wasn’t coming across the right floors again.

I finally got a little frustrated with you, so I decided I would just walk to where I felt my car was. This actually caused  me to walk in a full circle around your dark unfamiliar land. Suddenly you didn’t seem so friendly anymore. You just seemed creepy, and really really confusing. I began wondering if I maybe trusted you too much with my baby, because I just wasn’t finding her anywhere. I even thought for a bit that you had let her get towed away for whatever dumb reason, even though I knew I wasn’t doing anything illegal by where I parked. I finally got REALLY frustrated with you , and aftering landing on the same (wrong) floor yet again, I just exited your entire intimidating structure. I completely walked around your outsides, back to where my poor hatchback was sucked into you originally, and walked myself into your now poorly lit entrances. I walked up the way I remembered driving my car (without the one way near mistake) , and finally I was reunited with her. I love that car, and I’m not sure I’ll ever trust you or one of your kind again with it.

So I guess what I just wanted to get at is, I hate you. I really do. You are not the first parking garage I have lost my car, or a friends car in, and you probably won’t be my last. I think you’ll take great pleasure in the fact that you won again. You caused me to have a near freak out, because I had no other way of getting myself back home. You caused me to freak out because there is no way in the world I can afford to lose my car right now. You also caused me to feel like a complete and total idiot due to the whole walking around in circles thing, which is really what you wanted to do isn’t it? Well, congratulations. I hope you’re happy, and now I’ll have to make sure to be extra careful with you lying piles of confusing ramps and signs. That’s all for now, bye.

Messes & Things

I know we all get lazy, and in our adult lives we tend to be “too busy” for most things that we want to or need to do. Especially in these days with this so called “fast paced” lifestyle where we hardly find time to read the directions posted on a sign anymore, but when it gets to the point where we aren’t keeping our homes or our belongings clean is that just laziness or are we really THAT busy?

I became inspired to write this short story all thanks to the most likely week old McDonald’s biscuit that I just realized was sitting on the couch next to me. It’s not mine, I don’t really ever eat breakfast from fast food places, but it’s sitting right here on the couch cushion next to me all nestled up next to a screwdriver (okay so the screwdriver is my fault) and a knife. It’s as if they’re all snuggled up, and the two other objects are protecting the biscuit from the evil human being who is about to throw it away after she’s finished writing. There;s even a can of peanuts sitting behind it, acting like a bodyguard to this poor stale, lifeless, and probably tasteless, biscuit. I understand that my brother works long hours in a night, and I definitely could be of more help in keeping the apartment kept up, but I know for a fact energy is a problem for me, and it’s also hard to touch old food that I haven’t brought into the house. I’m also getting pretty terrified of that can of peanuts now that I look at them more, they are pretty mean looking. What if it’s a trap and there’s really a snake that pops out of the can the second I go to grab that disgusting pastry and bring it to it’s final resting place?

I’m starting to think I need to invest in a trash can in every room in the house or every other corner. I’m not going to sit here and say that I am the cleanest person you’ll ever meet, but I am scanning my living room and noticing that my big problem is the many pairs of shoes I own that are kind of scattered about in the pathway from where we enter our apartment. I rarely drink Dr. Pepper if ever, and there are cans of it scattered about as if they had been in some sort of war against each other.  None of them were left standing and…oh wait, there’s one survivor! Maybe it’s because he has a few body guards too, a soda cup from Runza (again not mine), an orange juice cup from McDonald’s (again not mine), a coke zero can (oops) , an open bottle of rubbing alcohol (mine, but the last place I left it was in my bathroom), a fry box from Runza(not mine) with a couple of surviving fries, and a bowl with some sort of green substance in it (not mine, and most likely molded milk).

Now I’m beginning to wonder what the exact distance the kitchen is from my couch…all I really know is it’s not that far. Maybe I should build some sort of belt like for a cash register to set all this stuff on so it makes it into the kitchen, instead of on our floor or furniture. No, on second thought maybe I shouldn’t because that would just promote even more laziness in a country that already has a severe problem with it. Oh, and just so we’re clear this isn’t a story intended to attack my brother, the poor guy overworks himself from 6pm to 6am almost every night, it’s just a realization on my part that one or the other needs to get into gear. Actually, people in general really need to. Yeah, I’m talking to you mister “I’ll just leave my soda cup on this clothing table even though the trash can is 5 steps away from me in plain sight” and you miss “I’ll just leave this paper sample cup on this end cap because even though there is a designated trash can next to each sampling station it’s just too much effort for me to use my brain or eyes to find the thing, or even extend my arm to throw it in there. I mean who does that anymore? Using your arms or any part of your body to do things yourself is so 1999! So is using your brain, my phone and computer just do that for me now!”

I’ll just leave it at that. It’s not really a matter of “I don’t have the time” as it’s more of a, “this doesn’t interest me because it’s a mundane necessary task in life, and quite frankly it bores the living shit out of me so I won’t do it. Besides , someone else will even if I don’t.”

And with that all said, I am now off to attack this biscuit, pick up these fallen soda cans, these bowls that look like they’re about to be sick, and the debris this little trash war has left on our living room carpet. If I return alive, you’ll see me back on Facebook yet again, and the carpet will be thanking me because it will be able to breathe again as well as show it’s pretty self off. Just keep this simple fact in mind, you’re all adults now. Pick up after yourselves! Hell, most of you (I would hope) learned how to pick up after yourselves since you were knee high. Why quit now that you’re adults? The only excuse you have now is any possible disabilities, or just being so old you don’t function anymore, and I mean that in the literal sense. Not just saying you’re old because you feel old, I mean like old as in you share a birthday with dirt. The end.

— I would also like to add as a side note the biggest apology on earth to my mother for being a messy teenager/young adult during the time I lived under her roof. I now completely understand the irritation!

The Public Shame Glory Train is boarding. Run, Freedom Faucet.

This. Here you are, turning on the Freedom Faucet and letting it run.  Please enjoy my thinly-veiled contempt for your kind.

Preamble: You people, you people make me sick.  Make me ashamed, make me sad and embarrassed to be an American.  Make me afraid to be a Black American.  I am so sorry we share a common national heritage and the same Constitution and that the Declaration of Independence is the same for the both of us.  You are a noxious cancer, a pox on all that is good about this country.
How dare you twist the facts to your own purposes?  How could you stand and with a straight face claim citizenship of this nation that was built on the backs of everyone but yourselves and expect to have what you want when you are coasting, as are we all, on the downward slide of our country into unreason and irrationality?  I don’t even have enough spit for all of your faces.

So, we have this video.  This black man walking through a crowd.  Somehow he becomes the target of chants and accusations and, don’t try to deny it, hatred by the protesters.  How did this happen?

I remember learning in school that this nation was founded (and yes, stolen) by people who wanted to worship as they pleased.  I used to think that this meant in America, your choices were respected.  I feel a little like a fool.  Who have I sat next to on a bus or spoken to politely in line at the store that has taken one look at my hair wrapped up and my unadorned face and thought to themselves “That brown girl’s prolly a Muslim”?  Have I walked through a door that was held by a Tea Bagger?  Did I ever smile at a baby whose parents were teaching it behind closed doors to hate in public?

What are our freedoms even worth if we’re too ignorant to exercise them properly?  I mean didn’t we all learn how to read a map in school?

What's that?  The King is an agent of T.E.R.R.O.R.?

Here’s a map from TopherChris, you stupid motherfuckers.  Read this Village Voice post too, so you can see what’s already near Ground Zero that’s somehow not more threatening than a community center aimed at fostering multicultural understanding and defusing the kind of horribly (un?)American antics depicted in this video.  I realize that this terror mosque will be right in the middle of Ground Zero, so I suppose I understand how it must feel to be standing at the site of the World Trade Center and not even be able to see the people you hate so much.  For those of you who are just looking at this for the pictures because you can barely read, “A” as in “All I want is for you to learn something today” is the proposed site of the place you’re terrified of and “B” as in “But I bet you’re still an idiot” is the site where you’re trivializing the deaths of thousands of people with the crosses you’re burning on the inside.
View Larger Map

Amagad look, over there there’s a woman dancing with no clothes on while men get hardons staring at her!  GASP!  And over there is a betting parlor!  And oh crap a bunch of kitschy junk!

In the interest of being fair, I thought I would try to balance myself out a bit here lest I be seen as some sort of liberal-thinking intellectualist who cares only about allowing terrorism and terrorists to grow and bloom in this, the “greatest nation on Earth”.  Remember this guy?

The noble Aryan profile of a harmless white guy.

Wh-what’s that say?  The face of…terror?  Really?  Perhaps you were not aware of this but Timothy McVeigh, while not a mainstream Christian, was a member of the Christian Identity movement.  I won’t go into a long definition here but let’s see what we can find out about them.  From one of their own pages:

Kingdom Identity Ministries is a Politically Incorrect Christian Identity outreach ministry to God’s chosen race (true Israel, the White, European peoples). We proclaim the Gospel of the Kingdom (government according to God’s Law) through books, tracts, tapes, videos, the American Institute of Theology Bible Correspondence Course, our international Herald of Truth Radio Broadcasts, a Prison Ministry, Biblical Counseling, Seminars, and other means. The Elect Remnant, Christian Patriots, Nationalists, Reconstructionists, Racialists, and all seeking a higher level of understanding will learn Biblical solutions to personal and national problems, and be given keys to unlock hidden truth.

I won’t link to their page but you can Google it if you want don’t already have it saved in your favorites.  Perhaps you might be saying “Well gawrsh, alphabete, those guys are extremists!” O rly?  Might they be?  Just like, I don’t know, the extremists who killed a grip of people on the eleventh of September in the Year of your Lord, Two Thousand-One?  I’m not done yet though, for ye who kneel and prostrate yourselves at the altar of hatred and stupidity.

You may recall Mr. McVeigh caused some property damage.  He blew up a building, specifically the Alfred P. Murrah on 19 April, 1995.  It remains the worst act of domestic terrorism that the United States of America has ever seen.  This is a man, a white man, in this country, a citizen who conspired with another white American citizen to cause damage to property and lives.  A guy who believed in God and, ostensibly, Caucasian Jesus.  But wait, there’s more.

Holy Crap look at all those Jesus sprinkles!

Look at all these Christian churches near the Murrah Building! Where are your protests?  Where’s the claim that by putting churches near the Murrah building is a slap in the face to the victims of McVeigh’s terror?  Where?  Oh, right, just look at these fucking comments.

Let’s see what those shifty Muslims are up to with this so-called “Community Center at Park51”.  According to their Mission Statement the founders of this project hope to

“Uphold respect for the diversity of expression and ideas between all people”

“Cultivate and embrace neighborly relations between all New Yorkers, fostering a spirit of civic participation and an awareness of common needs and opportunities”

“Establish a state-of-the-art green facility that will serve as a model and inspiration for sustainable space, helping to advance sustainable living in urban contexts”

…and a few other things.  A couple of them have to do with Muslims but if you want to tell me with a straight face that you’re not being willfully ignorant you can read them yourself and look for the “halla halla halla”.  So let’s see.  They want to uphold respect for diversity?  Those bastards!  Cultivate and embrace neighborly relations?  Foster the spirit of civic participation and an awareness of our commonalities?  What the fuck?  And don’t even get me started on that whole green facility/sustainable space/sustainable living thing.  For crying out loud it sounds like they’re trying to turn New York and indeed, all of America into some kind of place where the people you shit on prove that they’re not as bad as you think and that, in fact, they may be better than you.

I checked out some other pages.  Know what “their kind” will have in their fancy-pants new center of extremist terror-breeding?  Recreational facilities.  A swimming pool.  A reading library (oh Holy Father preserve us!), art studios (grab your Bibles lest ye be tempted to appreciate something), a restaurant and culinary school where no doubt all the food will be seasoned with a nice heaping tablespoon of jihad, and let us not forget the mother-fucking swimming pool.  Does that explain it?  Are you people afraid of getting in shape or are you scared that in your swimsuits we will see you exposed for the yellow-bellies you really are?  So hard to tell.

There will be a mosque, sure, oh, and also a memorial room for contemplation.  I see now, though, that contemplation in a 9/11 memorial room, or a basketball court, or an exhibition hall are so, so much worse than a gentlemen’s club which you would go into if it weren’t for your shame-laden penises shrinking at the thought that wimmins aren’t property and naked dancing doesn’t make them gutter trash.  And the fact that you’re not gentlemen.  I’d address the lady Tea Baggers here but I will assume their mouths are too full of their husbands’ balls to get back to me.

You are the festering, gangrenous wound in the side of this country.  You are the ones who are ignorant and irresponsible and hypocritical.  When will the physical attacks begin?  When will you mobilize to bring down De Gubmint in which it is encoded that “Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the government for a redress of grievances.”?  When will you stand up like men and women and say “You see these freedoms?  They’re ours, not yours!”?  Come on now, when will you break down your barriers of respectability and appearance as normal American citizens and do as your hero McVeigh did, and use force to get what you want while you whine that people are trampling on your precious, pure-blooded Aryan America?  Or are you afraid to just put on your balaclavas and come out of the closet as the terrorists that you are?

You deserve your tickets on the Public Shame Glory Train and you make Mr. Conductor want to drive this shit off a cliff.

I’m Wrong, and You Can Be Too!

Everyone is wrong. Wrong is the default state of the universe. It’s the default of any idea, it’s the starting place of every rationalization, and it’s every step along the journey towards either greater or lesser wrong.

I know, it seems an exaggeration. It’s not.

Do you remember physics and chemistry? My textbooks had a few pages about the various models for atomic structure that have been proposed throughout the ages. In order from quite wrong to less wrong. And the implication is that our current understanding is wrong too, and we haven’t figured out how yet.

Every science, every art, every discipline… perfection is not attained. We strive not to be perfect, but to be less wrong than we start. It’s a process, and every one of us demands improvement from ourselves in some aspects of our lives. Lest we succumb to depression.

You don’t think it applies to you? How about sex? You like sex? Gets better with practice, doesn’t it? Anyone who hasn’t repressed (or not experienced) their first sexual experience knows for damned certain that virgins are not good lovers.

Or maybe you’re a bit of a puritan? Finding sex offensive, you spend your evenings in Bible study… trying to improve or maintain your spiritual purity… or just to deepen and improve your understanding. Because you are imperfect, and therefore wrong in some way.

It’s easy to spot wrongness in others, isn’t it? Laws passed that clearly didn’t have the best of brains behind them, or have wording so poor that every armchair lawyer is thinking how bad the loopholes are. That grumpy sourpuss in line ahead of you that’s getting fed up with everything not being 100% perfect in their life and letting the whole world know… that they’re wrong in their expectations.

But the only way that we improve as human beings is to say that there’s something wrong about ourselves… and then fix it.

I am fed up with my life. It’s not living up to my expectations. The problem is, what I want is a way to get from here to… self-supporting, and having a family. I don’t have that. I lack the education, the job market sucks, and I have a shitty work ethic when it comes to begging for a job I really don’t want. I don’t even have half a clue what I want to do with my life from here.

I’m wrong!

Nothing in my life suggests I’m actually going to be any good with starting my own family. That’s an expectation that I had for life when I was 6. Maybe I will, maybe I won’t. I barely stay in touch with the loving family I have now. We’re generally aloof people and even wanting a family, I’d have to learn how to be a real part of one.

I’m wrong about hating just about every sort of retail job… that’s bullcrap. I liked work that involved a lot of moving around. Was great for my metabolism in high school. Once my weight shifts to where it’s less strain, I’ll like that again. It’s not even the physical pain of menial labor that bothers me. It’s putting up with corporate bullshit… but… most low-end jobs have pretty obvious common-sense rules. Sure, some of it’s BS layout from corporate, or obviously bad legal compromises… but there’s stories there, and you can respect them. At the end of the day, your job is to move things to where they must go so people can find them, and money can be made. I’d probably hate management there, but that’s not what I’d be applying for.

And, for what I want? I do know. I want to help people. I want to see justice. I want to get paid… and I’d like to be creative and occasionally even underhanded when someone deserves it.

I’m not quick. I keep a level head under pressure… I think I’m describing police work. Bit of a surprise, I was expecting counseling. Something to look into either way. I just have to keep in mind that, with any expectations… I’m wrong about reality.

But we all start being wrong. So it’s all right.

Auditory Hallucinations: The Rundown (Part 2)

Over the past several weeks/months I’ve been writing down anything I hallucinate while on the come-down of any sort of psychoactive drug. If you require a re-cap, you can check out part 1 here. Most of these current sentences were heard mainly during the come-down after tramadol, promethazine, or heavy doses of caffeine, whereas the last few are due to dextroamphetamine.

Here are 15 more.

1. “There’s like, a carpet sledgehammer that comes in rolls.”
2. “You guys planning to do? Not have a Christmas party.”
3. “Bit big is it? During the month?”
4. (Male) “We’re getting in touch with our clone soon” (Female) “HAHA! Cannae go local”
5. “We’ve been inspiring the hippies for…hundreds of years”
6. “What about 1…1….1:30. 1:30?”
7. “Fuck off cunt, you think they’re mine to limit?”
8. “You’ve gotta time it, then you’ve gotta mount their heads.”
9. “Fishy crab bath celery soup”
10. “No wonder I can’t pick up now, I feel seedy as”
11. (Robocop) “Somebody TURNED MY COMPUTER OFF” *gunfire*
12.  “Cut the goat out, man. Seriously whack”
13. “So like when did you lose your license and stuff, mate? You were going so good, and we’re glad you kicked him out. He’s a terrorist; wears a  suit when he comes out for a walk around the back yard”
14 “I have no idea how that idea gives me other ideas.”
15. “Water pipe rock ‘n’ roll”

Another 15 down, another unlimited supply to go. Until then,

EOF

Detrimental Assistance

Everybody needs help at one point or another right? You start off life as this confused deformed looking form of life, but now you’re no longer a fetus safe from the outside world anymore.  It’s time to start learning things on your own once you come out of that dark gaping hole crying, covered in blood, and other things you’d rather not think about. Of course you receive assistance while all this going on , much more than you will later in life (hopefully) because you are too young to fend for yourself and you’re probably about the size of  a large house cat at this point.

This is all perfectly acceptable right now. You can’t even lift more than a hair yet,  you have no idea what’s going on, people are constantly fussing at you, you can’t speak yet, and the only things you know how to do are things that are based off  instincts. If you take a shit, you can’t tell anybody you feel like you need to drop a deuce, you don’t know how to change your own disgusting piss and shit filled diaper, you can’t feed your hungry happy ass whenever you please, and so on. I’m sure you guys get the point now.

Life goes on , you grow into a young budding child (who’s still a little bratty snotty nosed shit), but you still get help from the people around you when you need it. There’s so much left to learn, and you can’t fit it all in that screaming hyper child sized head of yours. Many mistakes are made by you, but at this point it’s for the most part forgivable because you’re not ‘old enough to know better’ yet. Enough time goes by, and soon you learn  not to use your little smart mouth with your mother, lie about the fact that you just beat the shit out of your sibling (even though they are in tears on the ground beside you), or whine and bitch about a toy you weren’t bought at the store.

You also learn one very important concept of life. Showing up on time matters, and will matter much more when you get older. In order to do this ‘being on time’ thing you are also taught that getting a proper nights sleep is essential, because it usually allows you to wake up on time for any appointments, interviews, or important matters you may need to handle the next day in your adult life.

School bells ring in the morning to tell you school is starting, and you better get the fuck into the classroom.  There are also bells that ring to signify your next class is about to start, so you better hurry and end your conversation with your sticky, dirty, and dumb little friends about who has cooties and who doesn’t. Then there’s the lovely bells that ring to tell you that you’re late to class,  because somehow your dumb ass apparently hasn’t figured this out yet even though you’ve been in school for a few years now. This is supposed to condition you to learn to manage your time in order to be on time, appear reliable to your current teachers, and  appear professional to possible future bosses when you’re older.

When you’re still in these young years, you thankfully have your mother, father, maybe grandparents, or some family member/guardian who gives you a bedtime and expects you to follow it religiously. Some parents or guardians are better at reinforcing this than others, but for the most part most kids who don’t get into bed when told to can expect to see a belt or some other form of punishment coming for them. At least in our years this was true.  Now you can’t spank kids, so that creates a problem…no wonder they are all little shits, you can’t even so much as lay a hand on your kid to give them a high five anymore without someone jumping on you claiming you’re abusing the child. Anyway, that’s a different topic for another day.

Finally you hit your adult life, and hopefully you’ve learned how to set your alarm clock, wake yourself up, and drag yourself into whatever lame routine of life you may have set for yourself. Mommy is no longer waking you up saying, “It’s time for school sweetie, get the hell out of bed!” Mommy is no longer beating your ass when you refuse to get into bed the night before, and she’s no longer beating your ass for oversleeping in order to get you where you need to go on time. You’ve HOPEFULLY by this point trained yourself into being able to handle this basic part of life on your own. You can go to the bathroom on your own now, feed your own overweight hairy ass, dress yourself in your own horrendous outfits, and speak for yourself. Hopefully, at this point you aren’t crying for no apparent reason, crying to let people know you’re hungry, need to use the restroom, or need to play.

Here’s what inspired me to write this story. I love to help others, and I love to help my friends. However, I’m beginning to wonder if this is all getting to the point where it’s just detrimental to certain people in my life. I wouldn’t be overly concerned except for the fact that a majority of my friends are older than I am by several years, and I thought that with those years came something called “experience”. At least that’s what I was lead to believe…

I am finding it difficult to process that my 30 something year old friends can’t manage to get themselves up in time for work , or in some cases class (I know a few people going back to school). I often wake up to last minute text messages about how they woke up late and if there’s any way I could possibly give them a ride (I have a few friends who are unable to access cars at the moment as well). It doesn’t, or I should at least say it DIDN’T, used to bother me before because for the past 3 months I’ve been out of work with nothing better to do. In fact, I was the one who offered rides many times even though I know these people are fully capable of  finding ways to get themselves where they need to go as well as arriving there on time.  However, I’ve noticed a trend in some of these people becoming more and more reliant on me.

Maybe I’m weird, but I never found it difficult to get up and get to work or school on time. I follow a basic rule: If I have somewhere to be or someone to meet the next day, I go to bed at a time I know that I will be able to still make a timely appearance.  If I made the mistake of staying out too late and partying the night before, I mentally kick my ass into gear. Why doesn’t anybody else seem to have this in them?

What I guess I’m trying to really get at is the fact that I’m realizing my help seems to be more damaging than actually helpful. I seem to be sending these people straight back into reverse, and quite honestly I feel like a mother trying to wean my 30 something year old children off breastfeeding. They have teeth which really fucking hurt first of all, and don’t forget they can talk back in a way that doesn’t send me crying for my mommy, but rather trying to collect the bits of my brain they’ve exploded with their words as well.

It’s time to fly free birdies, I won’t be off work much longer, and if you don’t make it to where you’re going to be on time, I won’t be found anywhere within reach. I’ll most likely be stuck behind a register arguing with some numbnut about why the coupons they brought with them aren’t valid, because they refuse to read, and refuse to believe that coupons have dates, fine print, and restrictions.   No more help from me at the drop of a hat . It may be what I love to do , but I also hate hurting people, and in this sense I am hurting you by stifling the growth you apparently still have to do.  It’s time for me to move on, and all I can do is hope that you figure it out.