Mental Llama

Dear Blog

2010-11-10T19:42:00.001-08:00

I love you. I'll be back soon. I promise.
Love,
Me.

And many happy returns

2010-09-07T13:10:00.000-07:00

O blog, I hath abandoned thee! Or so it would seem. College, summer...other things have taken sad priority. But I am back for the moment, and I shall post again, having broken that terrible bout of Writer's Block. One of my favorite parts of college is Writers Group, which meets once a week here, during which we write, critique and write some more. At last week's episode our prompt was "The Existential Crises of Kings and Queens" and so I drew up a list...because I am a nerd.

1. No matter what King Conute says, waves JUST KEEP COMING IN.
2. Royal Shiatzu does not seem to understand Divine Right of Kings.
3. George I gets so wrapped up in things that he all together forgets the reason for all those taxes.
4. Queen Elizabeth I's infamous "Why can't I find a man!?" tirade.
5. Mary, Queen of Scots feels like she's "losing her head."
6. Edward the I just doesn't understand that Scotland still isn't his.
7. Edward II realizes that Daddy never loved him.
8. Henry V forgets what he was saying about St. Crispin's somethin; curls up into fetal position and cries.
9. King Lear.
10. Robert the Bruce's next animal metaphor is eaten before his eyes.
11. Upon reading about himself in the tabloids, Charles Edward Stuart stomps his feet and yells "I'm not a pretender, I'm NOT!"
12. Henry VIII wonders if it is he, not his wives, who have son-production problems.
13. Elvis is replaced by the Beatles.

Writer's Block.

2010-07-01T08:51:00.000-07:00

Not just the regular kind of writer's block either, where I can't think up plot points or how to develop a fictional character. No, this is full-on, beat-your-head-against-the-wall complete and total ending of all creative circuts. This is bothersome. I can't even write a blog post satisfactorily. DAMN YOU, BRAIN!

The Happy Place.

2010-05-27T09:54:00.000-07:00

http://www.happyplacegarden.com

Seriously, people? You're building a garden in the shape of a heart with a smiley face, so that middleschoolers won't be sad anymore? Wonderful. How's about we erect a big soccer field to end war, or maybe a library to stop world hunger? That's going to solve everything. Because we couldn't put the several thousand dollars it is taking to build that thing toward something useful, like, say, Haiti, no, our sad little kids are a much bigger problem. The more we coddle them the stronger they will become, and if we designate a certain plot of land "happy" then, well, it just has to be happy all the time, right? Through the power of love and cheap heart-shaped symbols and handprints we cane make everything better. Good people, I have a choice finger for you. Guess which one it is.

The Badass Chronicles, Addendum.

2010-04-05T19:03:00.000-07:00

These were brought to my attention by Mr. Benjamin S. and I thank him heartily for them. The following article appeared in the latest addition of Mental Floss Magazine, and was written by Erik Sass (hats off to him) and since I'm too lazy to rewrite anything, I'm just going to cut and paste. Anyway, I figured these men deserve their mention in my little corner of the InterWebz, and since we all--well, most of us--know how much I enjoy a good con story or game of run-away-from-the-cops, I just couldn't help but post it.

1. How to Become the Subject of a Country Ballad
Christopher Daniel Gay is nicknamed Little Houdini for a reason: The 5’5” Tennessee native knows how to make 18-wheelers and construction equipment vanish into thin air. More impressively, he knows how to perform such disappearing acts in police custody. But Gay is more than just a master thief and escape artist; he’s also a loving son.

In 2005, Gay broke out of a Nashville jail to visit his ailing father. Two years later, he fled from the authorities to see his dying mother. This time, Gay was being transported to a jail in Alabama for stealing an RV. Somehow, he freed himself from a full set of shackles (on his hands, feet, and waist!) and gave two policemen the slip at a South Carolina rest stop. He then stole a pickup truck, drove 300 miles, hot-wired an 18-wheeler, and drove another 100 miles to a town just north of Nashville. The police were hot on his trail, but Gay refused to pull over until he reached his mother’s house, where he drove the big rig onto her front lawn and fled into the woods. But the story doesn’t end there. Gay then headed to Nashville and stole country singer Crystal Gayle’s tour bus. He drove the bus to a NASCAR race in Lakeland, Florida, where he told the track manager that he was there to pick up Tony Stewart, the legendary race car driver. When authorities became suspicious, Gay abandoned the tour bus and fled. The details of the escapade are immortalized in Tim O’Brien’s 2007 hit country song “The Ballad of Christopher Daniel Gay.” Last February, Gay was arrested once again in Florida. But he escaped as police were transporting him back to Tennessee. Despite locking down the surrounding area and searching for Gay with helicopters and bloodhounds, Little Houdini worked his magic on a big rig and took flight yet again.Gay and his 18-wheeler were finally apprehended on March 16, 2008, near a Wal-Mart in Lakeland, Florida. A spokeswoman for the Polk County sheriff’s department told journalists, “He is being treated as an escape risk.” You can say that again.

2. Skydiving for Cash
On November 24, 1971, a man calling himself Dan Cooper boarded Northwest Orient Flight 305 from Portland to Seattle, carrying only a briefcase. Once in the air, he handed the stewardess a note. When she ignored the gesture, Cooper politely redrew her attention to the message. This time, she realized how serious the situation was. The note said that Cooper had a bomb in his briefcase, and that he planned on setting it off unless he received $200,000 cash and some parachutes upon landing in Seattle. After having his demands met, Cooper redirected the plane to Mexico. He also gave the pilot instructions to maintain a speed of less than 150 knots and an altitude of less than 10,000 feet, and to keep the flaps set at 15 degrees. All of this kept the plane moving slowly enough for Cooper to make a dramatic exit. With cash in hand and a parachute on his back, Cooper jumped out of the plane somewhere over the Washington-Oregon border. To this day, Cooper’s whereabouts are unknown. Authorities maintain that he probably died while leaping from the plane, but there’s evidence to suggest otherwise. In 1978, hikers in Oregon (near the area where Cooper had jumped) found instructions for descending the rear stairwell of a Boeing 727. And in 1981, an 8-year-old boy discovered $5,880 that turned out to be part of Cooper’s ransom money. Neither discovery is conclusive proof, but there is one more piece of evidence: In 1997, the FBI opened a posthumous investigation into Duane Weber, an antiques dealer in Florida who made a deathbed admission that he was Dan Cooper. It turns out that Weber had a criminal record, serving six prison terms for burglary and forgery, and that he’d received military training during WWII, which included skydiving.

3. Thinking Inside the Box
On March 29, 1849, a 33-year-old Virginia slave known as Henry “Box” Brown earned his middle name by mailing himself to freedom. At the time, Brown was heartbroken. His wife of 18 years and their three children had been taken away from him and sold to a slave owner in North Carolina. With little to lose, Brown convinced a white shopkeeper to seal him in a box that measured roughly 3 ft. x 2 ft. x 2 ft. and mail the package to an abolitionist in Philadelphia. The journey lasted 27 hours, and although the container was marked “This side up with care,” handlers largely ignored the instructions. The box moved from wagon to railroad to steamboat to wagon to railroad to ferry to railroad and then to wagon again—all the way to Philadelphia. Incredibly, all that jostling had little effect on Brown’s manners. When abolitionists pried open the delivery and Brown emerged from the box, his first words were allegedly, “How do you do, gentlemen?”

4. Geronimo’s Magic
If Dan Cooper had yelled “Geronimo!” when he jumped from that plane in 1971, it would have been appropriate, as the Apache renegade was a great escape artist in his own right. In 1851, after Mexican soldiers killed his mother, one of his wives, and his three children, Geronimo went on a rampage. The 22-year-old Indian warrior quickly became legendary for his fearless method of attack. He would appear out of nowhere—wielding only a knife—and run head-first through gunfire to stab his enemies. Seemingly impervious to bullets, Geronimo killed hundreds of troops and settlers across northern Mexico and the American Southwest.

After five years of guerrilla warfare, some 10,000 U.S. and Mexican troops began pursuing Geronimo. And yet, he still managed to evade them with his near-supernatural ability to vanish into the terrain. Indeed, the Apache believed he had special powers—walking without leaving tracks, reading minds, and moving objects with his thoughts. In fact, legend has it that Geronimo once led his band of Apaches into a cave in the Robledo Mountains of New Mexico. The American army was at his heels, and as soon as Geronimo entered the cave, troops fanned out and blocked the only other exit. They thought they had him cornered. But a few days later, Geronimo and his followers appeared miles away from the cave. Hundreds of historians, geologists, and archaeologists have since combed the site to figure out how Geronimo made his incredible escape, but to this day, experts are baffled.

5. Winston Churchill’s Prison Break
In 1899, Great Britain found itself in South Africa warring with the Boers—South Africans of Dutch descent. One of the British journalists covering the war was an adventurous 24-year-old named Winston Churchill, who loved combat so much that he became a war correspondent after his discharge from the army. On November 15, the Boers captured Churchill and threw him into a POW camp in Pretoria. Immediately, he began closely monitoring the guards and realized that there was a gap in their routine when no one was watching the 10-ft. wall surrounding his building. So, Churchill decided to make a break for it. But first, he needed to settle some accounts. Being the gentleman that he was, he paid his bill with the Boer shopkeeper who’d sold him tobacco, and he wrote a note of thanks and apology to the Boer Minister of War, who’d also befriended him. Then he scaled the wall. Upon escaping, Churchill ran to a nearby villa, where he waited until he was able to hop on a passing train. For several more days, he followed the rail lines, sleeping in ditches, stealing food where he could, and fishing newspapers out of trash bins to read about the manhunt pursuing him. Six days later, Churchill made the last leg of his journey when he crept onto a train headed for the Portuguese colony at Delagoa Bay. The ride took him 250 miles east to the Mozambique coast, where he crossed the border into freedom. Churchill’s daring escape did wonders for his name. It made him a celebrity in England and helped launch his political career.

6. The Dalai Lama Makes a Break for It
In 1959, as the Chinese cracked down on Tibetan rebels, Mao Zedong set his sights on the Dalai Lama, and it became clear the young Buddhist leader was in danger. Not knowing the best time to flee, the Lama started consulting the Oracle—a fellow monk who reveals prophesies while in trance. For several days in a row, the Oracle told the Lama to stay put. But that changed on March 17. As riots busied the Chinese authorities, the Oracle suddenly insisted that the Lama get moving. Disguised as an ordinary Tibetan, the spiritual leader snuck out of the ancestral palace without alerting anyone. Once in the countryside, he met up with his family and top religious officials, and together, they headed to India through the Himalayas. It wasn’t until two days later that the Chinese government realized the Dalai Lama had flown the coop. When they figured out what had happened, they immediately closed the Tibetan border and dispatched 50,000 troops to stop the famous Buddhist. But it was no use. Many of the mountain passes were only known to Tibetan mountain guides who would rather have died than betray their spiritual leader. Meanwhile, heavy cloud cover prevented the Chinese air force from performing aerial reconnaissance. Two weeks later, after trekking through the rugged mountain range and negotiating the treacherous Brahmaputra River, the Dalai Lama surfaced at Tawang Monastery, 50 miles inside the Indian border.

7. The Cold War and the Hot Air Balloon
After watching a TV show about the history of hot air balloons, two friends living in East Germany, Hans Strelczyk and Gunter Wetzel, had a brilliant idea: What if they put their families in a hot air balloon and simply flew over the Berlin Wall? Capitalizing on Strelczyk’s skills as a mechanic and Wetzel’s as a mason, the pair built an engine out of propane gas cylinders and constructed a balloon out of taffeta. However, as the plans moved forward, Wetzel’s wife got cold feet, and the Strelczyks decided to go it alone. On July 4, 1979, the family launched the balloon from a meadow about 25 miles from Berlin. But damp conditions squelched the hot-air burner after only a few minutes. They made a hasty landing in East Germany, where the border guards spotted them. The Strelczyks managed to escape, but East Germany’s brutal secret police, the Stasi, was now wise to their plan. Terrified of being discovered, both families set to work again. The men built a bigger, sturdier burner, and the women stitched together 60 pieces of canvas and bedsheets to make the balloon. On the night of September 16, with Stasi detectives hot on their trail, the two families reached the launch site, inflated the balloon, and took to the air. Because the balloon had no basket, the two men, two women, and four children all clung to a small metal platform as the device climbed to 8,000 feet. After 30 minutes, they landed, unsure of which country they were in. They eventually spotted a police officer, who confirmed they were in West Germany. The two families became instant heroes around the world, and their balloon was seen as a symbol of freedom.

Plastic Bags In Trees.

2010-03-30T20:20:00.000-07:00

I hate plastic bags in trees. How the hell do they get up there anyway? If a bag is floating, it floats close to the ground, but no, when it sees a tree it just has to soar higher and higher until it can cling to the branches like a needy child. And it's never stuck on the outer branches either. No. It's always wrapped all around the trunk, which means that the stupid bag had to freaking jet-pilot itself, X-wing style, between the branches to get there.
Over the weekend I went to Minnesota (a 5 1/2 hour drive) and back, and I saw 8 of them. Last time I saw three. Do you know what that means? They're reproducing.
Don't even get me started on plastic bags on fences.
Anyway, I just thought I'd let you all know because, of course, you really need to be informed on such things. Don't even think of trying to get them down, too, because they're always way too high up, and they're probably wet and full of gunk, and will forcefully throw said gunk at you if you try to ascend. I hate those things so much.
Goddamn plastic bags in trees.

It's the...

2010-03-15T12:53:00.000-07:00

IDES OF MARCH AGAIN!
A brief history:
'The Ides of March' was made famous by Shakespeare's play, Julius Caesar. To quote Shakespeare exactly, the scene went:

SOOTHSAYER: "Caesar! Beware the ides of March!"
CAESAR: "What the hell are the ides of March?"
BRUTUS: "Well, that's the fifteenth of March."
CAESAR: "Why that's today..."
[Caesar is brutally stabbed to death in slow motion]
CAESAR: "Et tu, Brute?"
< /Caesar >

So have a nice day, and beware!

Script Frenzy 2010

2010-02-22T19:58:00.000-08:00

I've decided to participate this year. Have I ever written a script (stage, screen, graphic, adaptation etc)? No, no I have not. I don't even know how to properly write a script, other than what I could pick up from Wikipedia. I shall, in all likelihood, fail miserably, but it's worth a shot.
I came up with the idea for the play months ago, and was really rather bothered that I couldn't abandon my NaNoWriMo project to work on it more fully; but alas, my characters would not allow it.
Now rock operas have been done and done and done to death, and they seldom get much better with each new "innovation." However I propose something entirely different, and yet very much the same: an acoustic punk musical. This is not some pansy-ass, Green Day/Blink-182 poser playboy punk kind of deal, no, this is real guts-and-glory, anarchist revolutionary, hardcore punk--using two acoustic guitars as the only instruments. I have not yet written the songs, and may use others in their place for the first draft. This will work just fine, since I know right where I will use something with the same themes of Rise Against's Drones or Thrice's Trust or Against Me's Baby I'm an Anarchist.
So. This should be interesting. We'll see how it plays out, or if, perhaps, I abandon midway through. In the meantime, I'm very excited.

Gone but Not Forgotten

2010-02-07T20:18:00.000-08:00

There is a reason that I have not yet posted again. Really. I have been meaning to summarize the Badass Chronicles, and could not do so until I found something, a recording. Rocco's speech from Boondock Saints II summarizes everything pretty well. (Edited for innocent-ish eyes...meaning I cut out all the unnecessary Fwords.) It is pretty much everything I wanted to say, something of a call to return to masculinity, and I think it's pretty damn badass:

Men build things, then we die. It's in our DNA! THAT'S WHAT WE DO!
And when it all falls down? we build it right back up again, but this time bigger, better. Look around you! Look what we can do. Look how beautiful we are. You think the men that built all this had it easy? They were hard men, doing hard stuff.

I am so sick of all of this self help, twelve step, leftover hippie generation bull.
Now they don't want you to do anything, right? Just sit there. Don't drink. Don't smoke. Don't drive fast.
Kiss my ass!
Screw it! Do it all I say! Do you think Duke Wayne spent all of his time talking about his feelings with a therapist? There's no way he did!
John Wayne died with five pounds of undigested red meat in his ass. Now that's a man! Real men hide their feelings. Why?
BECAUSE IT'S NONE OF YOUR F___IN' BUSINESS.
Men do not cry. Men do not pout. Men jack you in the jaw and say: "Thanks for comin' out."

The Badass Chronicles, Pt V (Speaking of Claymores...)

2009-12-16T13:48:00.000-08:00

...Who else?

Braveheart, The Guardian of Scotland, The Highland Terror, the man who inspired a revolution and took back a nation, paving the way for a brief and glorious time when it was free and independent. Hollywood tried valiantly to portray him and did a decent job, mostly thanks to Mel Gibson who actually tried to understand his role. But still, Hollywood in all its special effectual glory could capture the true, sheer Chuck-Norris-like qualities of this hairy Highlander.
The story starts at William's birth in Elderslie, Scotland. His exact birth date is unknown. He was the son of Malcolm Wallace, a knight and landowner in Scotland. Malcolm had fought in many wars and taught young William about courage, respect, honesty and charity among other things. Malcolm had been a linebreaker in the Scottish army, meaning he would dress in heavy plate armor and run at sheer walls of enemy pikes, breaking the spears with a two-handed sword so that the rest of the infantry could charge without being gutted. The survival rate for linebreakers was under 10%, so Malcolm was quite a man himself. I suppose it takes someone like that to raise someone like THAT. William spent the first part of his life in relative quiet, working physical labor peacefully at his inherited farm near Elderslie.
Fairly recently Edward I had brutally overthrown Scotland's government through a combination of arms and political maneuvering (hooray for politicians), and forced every Scot to sign the 'Ragman's Roll,' a declaration of fealty to him and to the Government. Wallace refused to sign, a fact that should have come into play later.
The first account of Wallace metaphorically making large men cry took place 5 years before his open rebellion. According to Blind Harry, the first bard to put Wallace's actions into words, Wallace had been fishing along the River Irvine when a squad (six) English soldiers approached him and demanded the entire catch. Wallace offered them half. Their leader raised a steel gauntlet to strike the fisherman. Bad bloody idea. Wallace struck him with the fishingpole, then took his sword and killed the other five. When he was done, he sat back down and continued fishing. There is no record of any disciplinary actions toward Wallace, meaning he buried those bodies deep.
Something happened in May of 1297. Exactly what set Wallace off like a spark on gasoline is unclear. Most scholars think that it was either the execution of his wife, or the wife of a friend, under the orders of the local English Sheriff, a man named William Hesselrig. Every romanticist on earth loves to think that it was his wife, Marion Braidfute, and I have to say that is a lot more fun. Whatever caused it, it was bad. Very bad. After taking his father's old two-handed claymore from storage in a cottage thatch roof, he began by performing what was called 'Wallace's Larder,' in which he took the soldiers in the town of Elderslie, and, one at a time, Rambo-like, killed them silently. There were probably around a dozen of them.
Step two was simple. In the early hours of the morning Wallace scaled the walls of the English castle garrison with his bare hands and single-handedly killed every English soldier within the walls of Lanark Castle. There were probably somewhere from 20-30 armed men. He found the sheriff, the man supposed to have killed his wife/friend's wife, and put him at blade's edge. He is recorded to have said "I am Wallace, die, Hesselrig." before running him through and lobbing off his head. He then lit the castle on fire, and walked out the front gates, leaving a blood-soaked courtyard behind him.
After this came the real question: "Well, that was fun. What now?" So Wallace elected to take back his home country from the greedy imperialists' hands. Taking everyone he could to him, Wallace fled to the woods where he and his small band set up camp and began a guerrilla warfare campaign. The hit-and-run tactics of the Viet Kong, Mongols and early Picts before him served well. Wallace's band would cut a single squadron of English soldiers to pieces, disappearing into the thick Highland mist before reinforcements could arrive.
Recruits came in droves, hundreds flooding into the woods to join the man they percieved as their savior, and if ever there was a man to be idolized as a hero, it would be Wallace. Standing above 6'6" tall, broad as a barn and hairy as a goat, wielding a two-handed broadsword with one hand like a fencing foil, he was really quite imposing.
Their first real battle came at Stirling Bridge. Wallace advanced up from the south, where he met Andrew Murray, another Scottish freedom fighter, from the north. The two joined forces, creating a small but daunting army for the advancing English. Wallace was a smart man and, though not brilliant, a decent tactician. He ordered the cutting of thousands of simple pikes, long spears of twelve, fifteen feet and by destroying several bridges, forced the English to meet him on Sterling Bridge, a small but sturdy wooden bridge, wide enough for two horses to walk abreast, no more. This was a brilliant move as the English relied heavily on their cavalry, which could no longer charge.
When the two armies faced each other, however, that is exactly what Edward I tried to do. He ordered a charge of heavily armored horsemen, the backbone of the army, their tanks. Wallace's men stood several hundred feet from the bridge, their pikes on the ground.The chargers formed as best they could once across the bridge and charged the Highlanders. "Hold," Wallace yelled, keeping the men from snatching up their spears for the security of arms. The chargers grew closer, gathering more speed. "Hold!" he yelled a second time. "Hold!" he yelled once more, and when "He could see the fear in their eyes" he yelled the command to raise spears. All men reached down and held their pikes in front of them, digging in their heels and forming an impenetrable wall of steel and ashwood. The horses and men were impaled like kabobs, and the main force of the English army was desecrated. The Scottish pushed toward the bridge, cutting down what was left of the knights and riders and taking the main battle to the center of the bridge. There they were commanded to hold as the English forces charged them as best they could. The fighting was close and dirty. Pikes thrust at the English ranks from the Scottish side, and arrows whipped at the Scots from the other bank. Wallace fought in the thick of it, wielding "A sword that seemed fit for archangel, light in his terrible hand." Finally, as he had predicted, the bridge collapsed and the pikes were able to work more fully. By the end of the day the English had thoroughly sore rears.
The Scots took casualties as well, nearly a third of their forces were gone, and Andrew Murray had been killed in battle, but they had forced the English to retreat back to where they had come from, and now the job of securing borders, castles, docks, villages etc. fell to the rag-tag army.
And this is where the story turns from triumph to "tactically not-so-bright." Wallace, having reclaimed Scotland, pushed father south into England, far into England in fact, intent on besieging London, some say. The English pushed back until Wallace was backed deeper into his homeland. Wallace decided to meet them at Falkirk moor, where the English could more effectively use their heavy mounts. Two divisions of cavalry circled around the Scots, who were keeping their pikemen at the center of formation. The cavalry drove off the Scots' archers and what few horsemen they had, but could not break the spearmen. Finally the pikes were cut to ribbons by the English archers and the battle was lost.
Wallace himself retreated into the woods as he had done before, then went to France to rally support. He returned to Scotland and was betrayed by a member of his band and captured. He was transported to London, where one of the five greatest trials the world has ever seen, according to one author, was preformed. Wallace was charged with treason, along with a thousand and one other rediculous charges that only the English could trump up.
"...did burn old women inside of churches and eat children alive, did slay priests and murder infants... a runaway from righteousness, a robber, a committer of sacrilege, an arsonist and a murderer, more cruel than Herod and more debauched in his insanity than Nero".
But chief among his charges was that of treason. In reply, he said:
"I could not be a traitor to Edward, for I was never his subject." (He never signed the Ragman's Roll, and otherwise considered himself a free man) "Freedom is true, and we shall not live like slaves." And although not all of the speech survives, it is reported to have been a heartbreaking ode to freedom and the rights of men.
Freedom from the tyrannical government, the rights of men above the law...sounds almost, revolutionary, don't it?
He was executed painfully in a drawn out, public ceremony. I shall not go into detail for the sake of innocent eyes and squeamish stomachs.
And that was the end of William Wallace, and the Scottish Revolution. The end, that is, for a few years, until Robert the Bruce took up the fallen standard of Saint Andrew's Cross and freed Scotland more permanently. Scotland's fighting clans resurfaced like a swimmer emerging from suffocation water, the revolution was reborn more furious and determined than ever, pipes blaring, swords waving. Bruce drove a dying Edward I out of Scotland. Edward died gasping with his last breath that "Scotland was his" although it had just been proven that no, Scotland belonged to the Scots.
Before Bruce's greatest battle, Bannockburn, he gave no great speech, merely turned to his men and said "You bled with Wallace, now bleed with me."

The Badass Chronicles, Pt. IV

2009-12-15T19:10:00.000-08:00

Jack. Freaking. Churchill.

You know those men, too numerous to mention, who did things like take on an entire platoon of Germans in WWII and come out alive? All the Inglorious Basterds of the Second World War? There are so many, and all of them so heroic that I had a very hard time deciding which to mention and which to leave to their glory elsewhere...until I found this man.

This is Lieutenant Colonel John Malcolm Thorpe Fleming Churchill. He fought in World War II as an officer, but here's what sets him apart from the rest: he did it with a sword and bow and arrows. Not just any sword, not some pansy-ass rapier or a skinny little marine saber, no, a Scottish Claymore, a HUGE sword, capable of cleaving a man in half with ease. He once said "Any officer who goes into action without his sword is improperly dressed."
He joined the army as a young man, after which he resumed a civilian career. He took up bagpipes, and his skills with pipes and bow earned him a role in The Thief of Baghdad, an important and historical silent film. At the beginning of WWII Churchill joined the army again, signing up for a commando unit, not because he knew anything about it but because it "sounded dangerous." Score one for mindless ballishness. In May of 1940, Churchill and his regiment ambushed a German patrol at l'Epinette, France, where Churchill signaled the beginning of the attack by putting an arrow through the neck of the German officer.
In 1941 Churchill helped spearhead the Operation Archery (ironically named) raid, which began with a smaller-scale, D-Day-like landing. Churchill was the first out of his craft, playing "The March of the Cameron Men," a foot-stomping battle-tune, on bagpipes as he leaped from the boat. He then threw a grenade, drew his sword and charged the beach.
Soon after he went, claymore at his side, bagpipes under his arm and bow on his back, with two commando units to capture an enemy observation post/POW camp. He did this handily, infiltrating the town, cutting down resistance and returning with 42 prisoners, who were forced to carry the wounded back down the mountain. For that he received the Distinguished Service Order.
In '44 he led a party to support the resistance/partisan fighters in Yugoslavia, and after that he went to the German island of Brač, where he organized a motley army of partisans, commandos and resistance fighters into an attack on a German post. The landing went unopposed, but the partisans came under heavy fire soon inland and decided to deffer the attack to the next day. When the next day rolled around, Churchill led his squad of commandos into battle for a flanking maneuver, but the partisans never showed. Only Churchill and half a dozen others were left alive to reach the objective. Everyone in the squad that was not Jack Churchill was then killed by a mortar shell. He played "Will Ye Nay Come Back Again?" on pipes as the Germans advanced. He was knocked unconscious by grenades (Nobody wanted to get near him or that sword) and captured.
He was hauled to a concentration camp and interrogated, but would say nothing but name, rank, serial number. Churchill and an RAF officer crawled under the wire late one night and escaped. They were captured again near the coast and sent to another camp. Churchill didn't like that one either, so he left again. By the time he met up with an American regiment the war was over, which, it is reported, rather disappointed Churchill. He was the only recorded soldier in the war to have killed an enemy with a sword or bow.
He retired from the army in 1959, with the Military Cross and Bar and two awards of the Distinguished Service Order. He died in Surrey in 1996.

(Jack Churchill, far right, sword drawn, leads his men from the front)

The Badass Chronicles Pt. III

2009-12-11T21:39:00.001-08:00

Next is a man who is, strangely enough, still alive: Ben Malisow. Two years ago I was browsing through a bookstore, nothing uncommon, when I turned a corner and was stared in the face by a short, thick, yellow book, entitled "1001 Things to do if You Dare." I smiled and paged through it. It made my day, simply knowing that such a book existed, and so I bought it. I have since strived to complete ten things in the three to five (fairly dangerous to ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND dangerous) skull rating area (the dangerousness/stupidity of a certain act is rated from one to five skulls, one skull is something like playing hackey sack, five skulls is something like going into an African war zone. Or spending a winter in Wisconsin. Seriously).
After I had throughly read through the book I looked at the back for the "about the author" section, which I always like to read. Needless to say, I had already gained some idea of just what kind of a fellow would research and DO some of these things, but when I read the "about the author" I was blown away by sheer manly prowess.
It read thusly:
"On a $20 bet, the author jumped out a second-story high school window when he was seventeen. He tore some cartilage in his left knee. Unfortunately, he did not learn from the financial disparity of this experience and has since done a bunch of silly things. He's flown a glider and a Cessna; rappelled down a cliff face and out of a hovering helicopter; driven a race car; dumped a motorcycle; nearly drowned while trying to learn to surf (ditto water-skiing); went scuba-diving off the Great Barrier Reef; slalomed double black diamond runs in the Rocky Mountains; rafted class IV rapids and canoed class III; gone the distance in numerous boxing matches and other martial arts events (and lost just as many times); run with a herd of bulls at the request of his crazed editor; fired the small-arms inventory of the combined NATO and former Warsaw Pact; visited brothels on five continents; eaten a variety of bizarre things (including rattlesnake, horseflesh and something that was still moving); supplied security services to the FBI, Department of Defense, and Department of Homeland Security; worked as an undercover investigative journalist; served as a military officer on classified counter-drug operations; and maintained a long-term relationship with a redhead. He admits he might be stupid."
Now something I would like to point out here. Unlike everyone previously stated in this list, and unlike everyone to come, this man is not a hero. At least I'm not sure. From what I could find of him he served in the Air Force and as you saw ran some operations for the military, but since it is unclear what he did in those operations, I hesitate to put him, entirely, in the same class as the rest. But one thing the certainly can be said: he is fully, totally and completely a badass. I think, in fact, if you look up "The Man" in the dictionary, you may just find a picture of him.

The Badass Chronicles, Pt. II

2009-12-10T23:00:00.000-08:00

Next in the Ultimate Man Who Does Not Flinch When Someone Yells "Punchbuggy" Contest is Charles Lightoller. Not a toughguy like The White Death, or many of the others on this list, no, Lightoller was something entirely different. He was a quiet, reserved type, but he had something that many did not: simply chivalry and self-sacrifice.
An hour before the Titanic struck the iceberg, Lightoller had gone to bed and was lying in his cabin. When he felt the collision he ran to the deck dressed only in his pajamas. After being reassured that nothing was wrong, he went back downstairs to his cabin. When he was summoned back to the deck he pulled on trousers, a sweater and his officer's coat and hat. Once on deck he immediately began assisting with the lifeboats, strictly enforcing the "Women and children first" rule. At one point a group of men began muscling their way into a lifeboat, shoving women and children to the side as they attempted to save themselves. Infuriated, Lightoller drew his officer's pistol, which he had unloaded earlier, and roared "Get out you damned cowards, I'll see you all overboard!"
After the second lifeboat had been filled and deposited safely on the ocean, Lightoller ran to the officers' quarters to retrieve a collapsible lifeboat, but as he emerged a wave reared above the boat and he knew that he could do nothing more, so as his naval training demanded he dived overboard. When he resurfaced he saw the ship's crow's nest, but unlike others who swam toward it he swam away, knowing that it was best to get away from the sinking ship. He yelled to others but they could not or did not want to hear him. When the ship's forward ventilator collapsed Lightoller was sucked under again, this time resurfacing and, noticing a lifeboat, called out to it. The boat picked him up and he led it to safety, coaching the men through a deadly squall. Without him the first lifeboat would not have made it, and the second would be filled with cowards that the world never should have seen.
At the beginning of World War One, Lightoller reenlisted in the navy. There he fought many battles on the sea, including one against a freaking Zeppelin. For that he was awarded the Distinguished Service Cross. When he gained command of his own ship he proved himself further, fighting an out-gunned battle against a German boat, which he rammed and sunk. A bar was added to his medal, and he finished out the war as a Lieutenant-Commander in the Royal Navy. He worked unofficially in World War Two, running one of the "little ships" during the Dunkirk evacuation, an extremely risky mission. He died December 8th, 1952 at the age of 78. Having often said that he "Never should have lived so long."

The Badass Chronicles, Pt. I

2009-12-09T15:49:00.000-08:00

So I've decided to throw out some real role models, the kind boys (and girls of a certain temperament) could stand to learn from and aspire to. These are real men. The kind that make Rambo, John Wayne and Jack Bauer look like crossdressing pansies. Because "Men do not cry, men do not pout, men do not whine. Men do not share their feelings. Why? because it's none of your ____ing business!" as Rocco has taught us.

Part I
The White Death.

Once upon a time in occupied Finland...kind of. November 1939 Soviet forces invaded Finland, meeting harsh resistance, because, as we all know, the Fins are tough old buggers who DO NOT LIKE THINGS TO CHANGE. One of these was named Simo Häyhä. Häyhä had served his mandatory year in the military long ago and was at the time working as a farmer, but the Russians kind of pissed him off, invading his country and all. So he took to the place he knew: the woods. Now these are not your standard American walk-in-the-park kind of woods, these are Finnish Death Trap woods. -20 to -40, on a decent day, treacherous, labyrinthlike. All in all a very fun place.
He began his work very simply. Using an ironsighted (no scope) rifle and an old light machinegun, Häyhä began picking off Russian troops one at a time, dressed all in white camouflage. His tactics were simple: sit in a tree, pick out a creep and shoot him from impossible distances. He made quick work of the Russian forces that were sent.
After a couple weeks of Häyhä killing everything in an enemy uniform The Russian army finally sent a special detachment to kill him specifically. Häyhä killed them all in one day. They sent countersnipers, equipped with better camouflage and zoom-scoped rifles, state of the art equipment. Häyhä killed them all as well. He soon earned the nickname "The White Death" among the Soviet forces.
It wasn't long before command started getting very frustrated with this freaking Fin that would not die, and soon they sent in planes to carpet bomb all the areas where Häyhä might be hiding. He sustained a cut to his jacket from this. In under a hundred days the White Death had killed 705 men, 542 with his rifle and 163 with a light machinegun. Some sources put the numbers higher, but those are the official stats recorded by the Reds.
Finally Häyhä was shot in the head with an FMJ, or Dum-dum, a bullet designed to explode heads. It did just that, blowing half of Häyhä's head off. The White Death had finally been stopped...for about two weeks, when he regained consciousness. Haha Reds, haha.

The Saints Are Coming.

2009-12-02T16:02:00.000-08:00

For those of you who do not know, I am entirely obsessed with the movie Boondock Saints, in all it's brilliant Irish kickassness. So when I heard that after ten years Troy Duffy was coming out with a sequel to the curse-filled, gratuitously violent '99 vigilante cult film I had two simultaneous reactions:
1. "Oh God, they'll kill it."
2. "YEAH!! THAT'S RIGHT! WOOOOO!!!!"
So I was pretty anxious to see what they did to it. On Sunday The Goatish Brother and I went to the 9:50 a.m. showing, because we're just that nerdy. I almost cried coming out. It was beautiful. A different movie to be sure, but not in a bad way. It was shot differently (except for some reference shots) the cursing was different, the gunfights were different. But the characters were the same, and that's the amazing, and brilliant part of the movies. Rocco was back (briefly in one of the GREATEST SCENES EVER FILMED BY MAN) being his none-too-bright self, the brothers were exactly the same, having aged slightly, Il Duce, D-D-D-D-Doc, Greenley, Duffy, all of them, along with some fresh faces. The humor was fantastic, the exact same style of the humor in the original, and I think this one may actually be funnier. That night I went to the 9:50 p.m. showing, and it was just as good. I plan on going this weekend as well.
So, in closing: SEE IT.

This is just to say

2009-11-30T17:35:00.000-08:00

I have done
your mom
who was in
the bedroom

and which
you were probably
saving
for later

Forgive me
she was delicious
so sweet
and so cold

Because William Carlos Williams is an idiot, and my friend and I had way too much time on our hands.

R.I.P. First Amendment.

2009-11-15T00:04:00.000-08:00

Personally my favorite part is where the cops gang beat the slight little manchild and the petite little girl.
This makes me sick. Were these people rioting? Were they causing panic? Inciting violence? Destroying property? No. They were assembling peaceably. They say that in Amerika we have freedom of opinion, freedom to express opinion, that we have the power to change our government, that the government is run for the people, not for profit. Lies.

So, in mockery of The Edward...

2009-11-03T21:26:00.000-08:00

I decided to impersonate him. you can't see it here, but my arms sparkle, I had an apple and a Pea Jacket as well. I am told it was all too convincing.

Okay, Twilight fans.

2009-10-20T22:58:00.000-07:00

Stop trying to justify yourselves.

I mean, with the first book, an argument could be made, maybe. If it weren't for the fact that she spends the first 400ish pages talking about NOTHING and the plot takes 7/8ths of the book to make an appearance it would be a decent book. If only...
My true complaint comes in another form, however.
Edward Cullen is stealing all our women.
This is bothersome, for, as Martin Luther said "Man cannot do without woman." And not just that, our women are letting him!
Try telling a Twilight fan that Edward sets an unreasonable standard. Just try it! They don't seem to believe it, no matter how long you waterboard them. In fact, they seem to think that it should be easy as pie (wait, maybe cake...) for any guy at all to be Edward Cullen and compete with his sparkling preppiness. I'll let you all in on a little secret *secretive whisper* we can't do that like Jayne said: "There ain't people like that. There's only people like me."*
There are a hundred and one other defenses I've heard too. "We don't like Edward, we like the image of Edward."
Wanna unpack that one for me honey?
"Every girl looks at Edward and sees the boy she likes, so really it ends up helping you guys..."
Okay, i call BS. They are not thinking of any mortal, human person. Mortal, human people don't sparkle. Also, most don't have crooked smiles, and when they do, they are fixed by braces. Very few of us are "Seraphim-like" either (that term was used three times through the first book. Yes. I counted.) We are, in fact, human. Sucks, don't it?
A friend of mine once threw glitter on himself as a joke to his girlfriend who had said something along the lines of "Why can't you be more like Edward?"
For the moment let us entirely ignore how asinine that statement is.
Well, she did not take this very well. He dared to mock The Edward. In fact, they broke up a couple months later. I laughed.**
So anyway, Twilight fans, can we keep the stupidity to a minimum? Yeah, that would be nice. Thanks. Not that you'll do it. God, I hate Edward Cullen.

Little sparkling asshole.

*point of fact, Jayne also said "I'll show you right well I got man parts." So perhaps he is not the best source to quote.

**One problem with his plan was that glitter does not come off easily. In fact, it takes a lot of scrubbing, and it still won't come off for a week. So he had to go to school sparkling.

CSI: Sheboygan

2009-10-13T17:00:00.000-07:00

A classy bunch.

my personal favorite quote of all time: "You can't arrest me as I am going to be naked now"

Thricex3

2009-10-03T22:39:00.000-07:00

So for the benefit of The Celebrated Author, i have composed an extensive list of All the Thrice Songs that Everyone On Earth Should Listen To. i thought i would post it.

Music Box. A gorgeous song, still gives me goosebumps after having listened to it hundreds of times over 2 years.

Like Moths to Flame. a retelling of the Last Supper.

Image of the Invisible. military anthem of the virtuous counterculture.

Beggars. ESSENTIAL. about Martin Luther's last words. that says enough.

The Messenger. a retelling of Isiah 6, my personal favorite chapter of the Bible.

Artist in the Ambulance. brought me to tears the first time i heard it. but a good part of that was timing.

Doublespeak. based off of Orwell's 1984 (it seems every punk/alt band has at least one song titled after a 1984 device). made me want to spit out the words "jackboot toe-tap" every few sentences.

Lockdown. from Thrice's early years, a more speed-metal version of Doublespeak.

Come All you Weary. more or less explains itself.

Child of Dust. a retelling of the parable of the prodigal son. also written in Shakespearean Sonnet form.

Trust (acoustic version is best). also featured on the album "Punk Goes Acoustic" with other great songs like "Baby I'm an Anarchist" and "Swing Life Away"

Stare At the Sun. about the search for truth in a world of postmodernism.

Flags of Dawn. warning: will make you miss people terribly. not a good song to listen to after an HT conference.

some others that are not as essential, though still amazing:

The Weight. a serious song about marriage.

The Lion and the Wolf. the only media influence to ever give me nightmares.

The Abolition of Man/Don't Tell and We Won't Ask. based on a C.S. Lewis book.

Elanor Rigby. The Beatles song, with metal.

Pheonix Ignition. great chorus and symbolism.

Cold Cash and Colder Hearts. all about Amerika.

The Arsonist. about, well, fire. in a brilliant way.

The Melting Point of Wax/Daedalus. from 2 different albums, two opposing views of the Icarus myth.

Carol of the Bells. kick ass Christmas carol. ker-win.

this is a massive list, but every song here has influenced my life, the way i think, talk, sing, act and believe. and they are all brilliant. these are suggestions, so take them just as such.

I can't decide, fail or win?

2009-09-22T23:58:00.000-07:00

PEOPLE WHO TALK ON CELL PHONES AT THE LIBRARY.

2009-09-02T14:20:00.000-07:00

I HATE THEM. HOW STUPID AND RUDE AND THOUGHTLESS DO YOU HAVE TO BE TO NOT NOTICE THAT EVERYONE AROUND YOU IS BEING QUIET, AND THEN PICK UP YOUR PHONE WHEN IT RINGS (ON A LOUD, LATIN RINGTONE, OF COURSE) AND THEN YELL LOUDLY INTO YOUR PHONE FOR TEN MINUTES AND NOT THINK THAT THIS WILL BOTHER ANYONE!? IF IT WERE UP TO ME, PEOPLE LIKE THIS WOULD BE SLOWLY TORTURED TO DEATH VIA ELECTRODES PLANTED DEEP INTO THEIR SKIN WHICH WOULD TURN ON AND OFF AT SPORRATIC MOMENTS, CAUSING THEM MASSIVE AMMOUNTS OF PAIN. I HAVE TO PROBLEM WITH CELL PHONES, EVEN DRIVING WHILE ON THE PHONE I DON'T MIND IF ONE CAN DO IT SAFELY (WHICH MOST PEOPLE CAN'T). BUT THIS IS JUST WRONG. THERE ARE OTHER PEOPLE IN THE WORLD, MORON! AND NONE OF THEM CARE ABOUT YOUR EX-GIRLFRIEND, OR HER CAR, OR YOUR LAST PAINTBALL MATCH, OR YOUR NEW TEACHER, OR YOUR UNCLE'S WEDDING. SO SHUT UP, AND TURN YOUR %^$%# &^%@#(ED RINGER OFF.

THE END.

MY BLOG IS NOT SAD.

2009-07-27T21:09:00.000-07:00

shut up, Maggie.

Jiggity Jig

2009-06-13T21:28:00.000-07:00

he's back. and this time he's not leaving. at least for a while. too long, anyway. it was so nice for a while. i had all the shirts, hats and jackets i wanted. and no Smelly brother to tell me "no, I am wearing that, see that it is on my person." no, he's coming home, after having been gone only a month this summer. i am sad. all the food shall be gone. i shall go now, and play taps for the food. softly.

Poem

2009-05-23T15:01:00.000-07:00

Alas! it is a fearful thing
to feel another's guilt!
For, right, within, the Sword of Sin
Pierced to its poisoned hilt
And as molten lead were the tears we shed
For the blood we had not spilt

--The Balad of Reading Gaol by Oscar Wilde

The Easter Post

2009-04-12T15:25:00.000-07:00

So, this is my Easter post. Ta-da. I don't think I've done an Easter post before, or if I have, well, I have entirely forgotten it, in which case you are more than welcome to e-slap me upside the head.
I think my favorite part of Easter this year was watching all the little companies and "Politically Correct" stores etc. trying to wish everyone a happy Easter while remaining entirely neutral on religion, and totally failing. I have seen "happy spring" and "happy Easter" themes and wishes in the same stores, occasionally on the very same sign. It is sometimes funny to watch the stupid greedy exploitative capitalistic prostitute-anything-for-a-buck ideals of our culture clash with the "Politically Correct" aspect. It's like being able to watch cognitive dissidence acted out in a Wal-Greens.
My other part is, of course about Easter, the historical and biblical event. some of you have heard this particular rant before, but it bears repeating. A while ago, a few months at least, at Book Klub, Pastor Gullixon (<--sp?) mentioned something about the Resurrection story.

(1)On the first day of the week, very early in the morning, the women took the spices they had prepared and went to the tomb. (2)They found the stone rolled away from the tomb, (3)but when they entered, they did not find the body of the Lord Jesus.

Okay, awesome as this particular trio of verses is, it gets better. According to the Pastor, the Greek word, translated as "rolled" is in fact closer to "thrown" or "tossed." I just think that that is one of the coolest things I have ever heard. The stone at the grave was not just rolled away, it was tossed, like something not so much laborious in its movement as just kind of annoying or in the way. Christ tossed death off to the side, because it was nothing in His path. Like when you wake up in the morning and you're extremely groggy and cranky (although somehow that's not how I envision Christ arising in the tomb) and you're stumbling toward the door because you have crap to do, and the shirt that you threw on the ground the previous night gets tangled around your foot and starts tripping you up, so you flick your foot at the wall and the shirt goes flying, and that's that. And that is how i see Christ arising from death, just tossing sin, death and Satan aside like an old tee shirt. I suppose its like one final screw you to the devil, "well, your power's gone, so, um, I don't think I'll be staying here anymore." and then He tossed aside the stone away.

so...

2009-02-20T21:09:00.000-08:00

i found something earlier this evening. while googling "I am extremely unhappy with midgets" (long story), i noticed THIS.

you know, i would say something about our culture, but i don't think i will, because that's just too easy.

VD

2009-02-11T21:10:00.000-08:00

for various reasons i am not going to go on my normal rant about or culture and its love of selling Love for a price. i can, however, post this.

Give me Liberty, or Give me Death

2009-01-30T18:46:00.000-08:00

this, THIS, is creeping fascism. now we must control our kids to the point of putting them on a leash like a poodle?! don't even get me started on poodles. if i were a child, i would NOT STAND FOR IT! neither should the children of today! i call upon those who are still in their single digits to rise up and cast off the, well, harness. this reflects badly on the children of today as well, not just their parents. if i were their age i would be devising complicated plans to cut through the cords or lose weight until i could slip our of my leash unnoticed, but what do they do? they tolerate it! i think this calls for a revolution.

KFC Famous Bowls

2009-01-03T20:35:00.000-08:00

I love them. they're amazing. it's a five course meal all thrown in a bowl and smothered in gravy. the whole thing is fairly small but its all just carbs and startch so they are very filling, kind of like an MRE. i just love them.

WTF? (an totally new name for a blog post)

2008-12-30T21:15:00.001-08:00

let me start off by saying: i'm sorry. i'm really sorry. but just one more stupid thing off the internet:

but this one has a REASON! yes, that's right, a whole reason! this will sound familiar to some of you.
so a couple years ago i was wandering around town looking for trouble as is my habit when suddenly i saw something out of the corner of my eye and i looked around to see it. it was a monkey. i am still sure of it. it was a ring-tailed lemur. i am as sure of this as i am sure that i strongly dislike caviar. it had run from a public pavilion the stoners hang out under to a car in the parking lot twenty feet away. it was running with its butt up, a thin white-and-black striped tail was straight up behind it. i followed and tried to get a good look at it but couldn't before it ran into a tiny little space that i couldn't go. see that animal in the picture? probably the same thing!

HOW TO TICK PEOPLE OFF

2008-12-08T01:52:00.000-08:00

yes, i know this is pretty much what i did the last post, but i'm doing it again. deal with it. the creepy thing is just how many of these i (and hooligans like myself) already know and very often do (see #11 14 26 31 etc.)

1. Leave the copy machine set to reduce 200%, extra dark, 17 inch paper, 99 copies.
2. In the memo field of all your checks, write "for sexual favors."
3. Specify that your drive-through order is "TO-GO."
4. If you have a glass eye, tap on it occasionally with your pen while talking to others.
5. Stomp on little plastic ketchup packets.
6. Insist on keeping your car windshield wipers running in all weather conditions "to keep them tuned up."
7. Reply to everything someone says with "that's what you think."
8. Practice making fax and modem noises.
9. Highlight irrelevant information in scientific papers and "cc" them to your boss.
10. Make beeping noises when a large person backs up.
11. Finish all your sentences with the words "in accordance with prophesy."
12. Signal that a conversation is over by clamping your hands over your ears and grimacing.
13. Disassemble your pen and "accidentally" flip the ink cartridge across the room.
14. Holler random numbers while someone is counting.
15. Adjust the tint on your TV so that all the people are green, and insist to others that you "like it that way."
16. Staple pages in the middle of the page.
17. Publicly investigate just how slowly you can make a croaking noise.
18. Honk and wave to strangers.
19. Decline to be seated at a restaurant, and simply eat their complimentary mints at the cash register.
20. TYPE IN UPPERCASE.
21. type only in lowercase.
22. dont use any punctuation either
23. Buy a large quantity of orange traffic cones and reroute whole streets.
24. Repeat the following conversation a dozen times.
"DO YOU HEAR THAT?"
"What?"
"Never mind, it's gone now."
25. As much as possible, skip rather than walk.
26. Try playing the William Tell Overture by tapping on the bottom of your chin. When nearly done, announce "No, wait, I messed it up," and repeat.
27. Ask people what gender they are.
28. While making presentations, occasionally bob your head like a parakeet.
29. Sit in your front yard pointing a hair dryer at passing cars to see if they slow down.
30. Sing along at the opera.
31. Go to a poetry recital and ask why each poem doesn't rhyme.
32. Ask your co-workers mysterious questions and then scribble their answers in a notebook. Mutter something about "psychological profiles."

Zombie Haikus

2008-12-03T16:13:00.000-08:00

blood is really warm
its like drinking hot chocolate
but with more screaming.

Wake up to the sound
Of puppies being eaten
No more chewed slippers

If zombies smoked pot
maybe they would skip the brains
and settle for cake.

The day I died you
tried to put a bullet in
my head. You missed. Lunch!

Brain eating monsters
Make disappointing lovers
Because of the fear

Zombie Haiku by Dylan Thomas
Do not go gentle
into that zombie plagued night.
And take the shotgun.

Zombie Haiku by William Shakespeare
To bite through the skull
or beat it against the wall?
That is the question.

Zombie Haiku by Edgar Allen Poe
Beside of the sea
I killed my Annabel Lee
because zombies do that.

A Sunny Day in Dyatlov Pass

2008-11-23T20:22:00.000-08:00

so every now and then i find something that is just too cool (or creepy) to pass up. tonight, i hit gold. while chain-clicking Stumble Upon i ran into the Wikipedia article on unusual deaths (check out Aeschylus--hahahaha!) and as i went down i noticed a nice paragraph entitled "Dyatlov Pass Incident".
In February 1959, nine hikers tried to stroll through the Ural Mountains in the middle of winter (in Russia, even worse than Wisconsin) from one big butt mountain to the next. but they never got to the second mountain. one of them had to go home early due to sickness (what a girl!) but the others continued on. On February 2nd, under the mountain of Kholat Syakhl (a native name meaning Mountain of the Dead. yeah, great idea. "hey guys! lets walk around the Mountain of the Dead! we're not asking for trouble!") something happened. here's where the facts get fuzzy.
cue thunder and lightning. somebody holds a flashlight under their face. scared yet? something happened, we're not sure what. in the middle of the night the underwear-clad six men and two women tore out of their tent in terror in a temperature of -25 C without shoes or even flipflops.
enter Bigfoot, stage left.
one guy's head was splintered. another other three were smashed in the chest "with a force equal to a speeding car" according to one expert. all four of them were thick with radiation, even weeks after the "incident." the other four, scared to go back to their tent in case my brother was still around stayed in the woods until they froze to death. the ones with "suspicious wounds" were tossed in a stream and not found until the ice and snow thawed.
the Russian government didn't even bother trying to explain this one. the hikers were killed by an "unknown compelling force." no, ya think?
there's been a lot of theorizing about exactly what killed the hikers. bigfoot? UFOs? natives? nothing seems to hold up, though. especially not bigfoot. everyone knows he hates russia.
anyway, i just thought i'd share that one with y'all because, well, i'm just that nice.

And Once Again, England Celebrates Its Favoite Folk-Hero-Terrorist

2008-11-05T21:29:00.000-08:00

Remember, remember the 5th of November, remember the gunpowder plot I see no reason why the gunpowder treason ever should be forgot.

(many thanks to NFJ who reminded me of this holiday. otherwise, i would have forgotten to remember the fifth of November.)

America 2014: An Orwellian Tale

2008-08-27T21:30:00.000-07:00

By Dawn Blair

A review.

You have heard me rant before, but I think even Calvary Chapel never made me as mad as this book did. It is a fairly easy book to read as it is obviously for the suggestible and simpleminded.
America 2014: An Orwellian Tale is very simple in plot: George Bush never gives up power. Yeah, real original. The Department of Homeland Security becomes the Ministry of Peace, the secretary of state Big Brother, etc. the “new” Winston Smith is making a movie about, well, himself, when the Evil Government decides to execute him, I guess because it sounded like fun. Now, had the book stopped there, with his execution via rats or something similar to the book I would have just been pissed, but no, they had to give the reader what they want and completely destroy any poetry or meaning by having Winston broken out of prison by a hot chick. How very feministic. You get the point, it’s a super left-wing, bordering on radical, version of 1984.
Now, I’m not the biggest fan of Bush. I think he’s screwed up more than a few times but he has done a lot of good things too, not that we hear about that. So I write this, not as a crazy right-wing blogger, but as a reader. My anger here is not from the insane political opinions expressed in this “book” (I do live near Madison, so its not like I’m not used to it) but from the literary butchering of one of the greatest books of the twentieth century.
What really ticks me off is this: what was it Orwell wrote 1984 about? The evils of over-politicization, especially propaganda. What is this book that claims his cause? PROPAGANDA!!! The whole book is a big piece of left-wing propaganda. This is ridiculous. Orwell would have a fit if he were alive, he would call this person worse names than I, and probably sue, as well he should. And of course the church is in there, and the nation becomes “God’s United States” because we can’t let those evil Christians off the hook.
Now while this book claims to be “Orwellian” and therefore against the mainstream, the pressures of society and popular opinion, it is not, it is the opposite. It is like the book-within-a-book in 1984, it is fake resistance material produced by the malicious power. This is a book published not against Big Brother, but by Big Brother.
Thankfully, I spent no money on the book, but got it from the library. If any of you want to slay your soul with this drivel, please don’t spend a cent on it to support this resentful hag and her opinions. This woman has done a crime against literature, a crime against art, and a crime against the human mind.
The back proclaims the book “controversial” but it is not, it is just pretentious people bastardizing a good book and trying to enslave our minds to their little opinions. It is wrong, but I am sure they are very smug and pleased with themselves. And have I mentioned the writing? This woman needs a basic grade-school creative writing course.
The moral of this rant? Very simple: think for yourself. Do not allow others, authors or peers to pressure you into thinking one way or the other. Escape the Lock down, think for yourself.

Cow Tipping and the Theology of Glory

2008-06-22T20:17:00.000-07:00

well its been another year, another Calvary Chapel Youth Retreat. this time bigger and more mindless than ever. this time there were four or five other churches besides the one here that hosts it, so there were more people, out of which a grand total of one was any fun at all.
i arrived in the evening, having been graciously spared the first "teaching" and set up in a tent on the huge hill above the barn that served as a church. soon i had Mah Posse around and was up to no good. it began with a bonfire, then lighter tricks, finally some romping and then we were exiled to bed.
or so they thought.
'round about 1 am the four guys in my tent got together with three other girls from the other side of the field and went to the graveyard and a hay field a ways away. we sat and talked for a couple minutes then went around what there was of town. we considered cow tipping but thought better of it for that night, instead deciding on the next night for that particular endeavor. for a couple hours we built and maintained a fire and just messed around, and after that is kind of a haze, but i think it had something to do with chickens.
the next day was interesting. it started off with breakfast which was great, some one's mother cooked 200 breakfast burritos and we ate them happily. then there was a worship session in which we basically declared that Jesus was really pretty and shiny. then there was an entirely unremarkable sermon. we all slept so i can't really rant about that one.
at some point i got wet, but i don't exactly remember when. then there was THE sermon. a pastor got up and took the mic, and after telling us how he was once addicted to cocaine and meth and beer and had five kids out of wedlock before his tenth birthday he went on a very interesting rant. i do not quote him exactly, but here's something of the idea:
"...and now i see all you pure and innocent youth and it reminds me that we must be more judgemental. i know SOME" (enter menacing glare around the room) "people who claim to be Christians who SMOKE THE POT! i know some people who say they are Christians but they DRINK! or have SEX!" at this point the whole room covered their ears before they heard anymore no-no words "and all of you who don't have a quiet time, SHAME ON YOU!"
i turn to my friends on both sides and audibly say "I don't have a quiet time every day, in fact i hardly ever have a 'quiet time' so am i not a Christian?"
the pastor ignores me. "so if you see anyone who isn't being a saint, even though there is no such thing as a saint, judge him and question his faith until he does better. thank you."
having come with a copy of Bondage of the Will in hand (because i knew from past experience that i WOULD need some good theology to read) i walked up to the guy afterward and began talking.
"what did you mean by that? you just shamed me and most of my friends. I don't take well to being shamed and i really don't take kindly to people shaming my friends. so i'll give you a chance to explain yourself."
the guy was baffled. what? someone questioning his pontifications? how could this be?
"well, I, uh, you see in life..." *fog, fog, haze, haze*
"and how about all that about people who drink and smoke pot? i meet with a book club of Christians who drink and i know some very strong Christians who smoke pot. are you saying they're going to Hell?"
"...well no..."
"that's what you said, isn't it?"
there followed a short discussing that i will not relay, but i slipped in justification (oh, no, a big word!)and a few other fun phrases, including salvation by grace through faith, a little bit about baptism, and many other verbal whoppings of his butt. think of two boxers in a ring. one is me. the other is him. i was throwing punches, he had no arms. that's a suitable metaphor for that discussion. soon he woosied out and ran away, assuredly to cry in the senior pastor's skirts.
that night there was another bonfire, and we all went to sleep, as we were all far too tired to cow-tip. the next morning was cold, and mid-morning my friends' headbangin' Christian band played and i moshed and screamed, which was all very fun. I went back home about one, after which i went to the very first Madison Celt Fest (some of the three of you who read this know about that) which was all very nice.
the end.

some call it an overactive imagination

2008-06-11T23:25:00.000-07:00

the other day i was listening to the BBC (if only to mock their accents because they all end their sentences like questions) and a very useless report came up. ADHD helps Kenyan nomads survive. why? no apparent reason that i could decipher. i find this exceedingly funny. then some guy mentioned "evolution" and my mind went to "natural selection" (the unconfirmed hypothesis that nature will eventually weed out the bad in a species and leave the good, eventually forming a SUPER RACE!!!). now according to orthodox scientists the ADHD Kenyan nomads should be naturally selected and therefore eventually all Kenyan nomads will have ADHD. consider that for a moment.
now, can you not see it? hundreds of wandering, hyperactive tribes, running into towns yelling "hey! hey! wanna trade!? huh? huh? wanna trade now? I'll give you my camel for some Mt. Dew!"
i just thought i'd share that with y'all.

oh, another thing on the subject of Kenyans. in case you have never seen:
http://youtube.com/watch?v=qRuNxHqwazs
http://youtube.com/watch?v=t-3qncy5Qfk

noble and manly music inspires the spirit, strengthens the wavering man and incites him to great and worthy deeds.--Homer

2008-06-04T17:45:00.000-07:00

Both Robin and Maria gave me this one. here's the rules:

1. Open your library (iTunes, Winamp, Media Player, iPod, etc)
2. Put it on shuffle
3. Press play
4. For every question, type the song that's playing
5. When you go to a new question, press the next button
6. Don't lie and try to pretend you're cool...
7. Include commentary

Opening Credits:
Worst Day Since Yesterday--Flogging Molly
(i can see this happening. perhaps the Main Character is a loser lying on his car hood. something like that.)

Waking Up:
Good Morning Spider--Sparklehorse
(again, only if the character is a manic depressive with an "i hate having to wake up" attitude. or if he wakes up on pot.)

First Day Of School:
Slaying the Dreamer--Nightwish
(only good if the people at school took Main Character's tool. that line always cracks me up...)

Falling In Love:
Ever Dream--Nightwish
(OK, though its got an unrequited feel, so maybe.)

Fight Song:
LCM--Children 18:3
(perfect. especially the "They're coming!" part and the solo after it. if only it'd landed on "Headstong")

Breaking Up:
Sorrow--Levinhurst
(again, perfect. even though i don't like the song.)

Prom:
Ballavanich--Wolfstone
(if the prom had bagpipes, sure.)

Life's OK:
Ditches--Children 18:3
(only if he gets over his greif by getting in fistfights. im starting to like my MC)

Mental Breakdown:
Phenomenon--Thousand Foot Crutch
(not to be confused with the Manamanah song. perhaps if he gets into shootouts with police...my shuffle seems to be stuck on metal.)

Driving:
Artist in the Ambulance
(PERFECT! a song about a car crash!)

Flashback:
Leahy--Call to Dance
(It just won't work. unless he actually has a guy in the back seat playing fiddle.)

Getting Back Together:
Even Sleeping--Children 18:3
(another song about a car crash. nope. unless they yell at each other before getting back together. amazing song btw.)

Wedding:
Braeds of Sutherland--Wolfstone
(this works. especially the ending pipe solo which is absolutely amazing.)

Birth of Child:
Between a man and a Woman--Flogging Molly
(um, there are some really tasteless jokes i could make here, but won't.)

Final Battle:
Move--Thousand Foot Crutch
(yes. especially if it was filmed in a really trippy Ridley Scott stop action kind of way)

Death Scene:
You Know We're All so Fond of Dying--Children 18:3
(hehehehe. delicious irony of the shuffle button.)

Funeral Song:
Grace of God go I--Flogging Molly
(this would work perfectly. but only if the action was muted, otherwise it would be pointless.)

End Credits:
Opus One--Madison Park.
(good. the only better one i could think of is This is My Father by Ashlee McIsaac. i've always thought it would be a good end credits song...)

Pictures

2008-04-13T14:59:00.000-07:00

fine. you wanted them, now you have them. i hope you're happy. before you begin, look at the clock. remember that number.

this is Sjolinds, the wonderful chocolateshop.

these are some of the Sjolinds people. (left to right: Melissa, Tracy, Smelly and Sarah)

yep, you saw right.

State Street...

This is the wonderful hat shop. beautiful!

i thought he would look better like this...

Ragstock is wonderful, as i said before.

the one and only photo i could get of the inside.

Madison is known for its blatant homosexuality, and this young man we saw was one of them (look at the frilly shirt...)

a Russian officer found on the streets.

some young punk at the coffee/chocolate-shop

Melissa in her wall-crafted mustache.

so that's it. now look at the clock again. do the math, and know that i wasted that much time of your life.

A poem

2008-04-10T13:42:00.000-07:00

a poem written by someone familiar to all of ye...i really liked it and thought i'd share. used without permission (haha).

I.

I worked, a long and lonely hour.
I tilled my fields,
Day by day,
And slept by night.
In the broad land
Under the broad sky
Alone.
The loneliness beat upon me
Raked its claws across my soul
Burned with each drop of sweat.

A storm came.
The rains washed out my fields
Leaving a mess
I could not clean up alone
But one was there beside me
And another
And another
And yet more

"We have been here all along,
Weary man," they said.
"You needed but to cry out.
Yet you did not.
So we came to find you."

And we feasted
We sang, and danced,
We ate and drank and toasted.
We made lighter
Many a weary hour.

We swam in the stream
We climbed the mountains
We braved the deserts, faced down
Wild animals.

We laughed.

II.

For a reason unknown to us
Unexplained, incorporeal
It was time to part.
We begged
Plead
Bargained
Offered argument
Demanded explanation
To no avail.
The cruelty was transfixed
As the stars in the heavens.
So we wept.
And we unsheathed our knives
And we carved our marks
Our scars
Scratched them on each other's souls.

III.

I left that place.
There was nothing for me there.
I went back
To where we had been
I went back to the table
The places were empty, the feast
Gone.
I went to the dance hall
The instruments were shattered
The music escaped.

The stream we had swum
Contained but water and the ghost
Of voices.
I reclimbed the mountain
There was scenery,
But the beauty had fled
The desert was hot.
The wild animals tore at me. I
Cared not.

The laughter died in my throat.

IV.

I wandered the land, and
An old man with a sad wide smile
Pointed me down a side road.
"Straight along here," he said,
"Can you find your friends."
But the road had many forks
I followed one to a train station
The train left without me.
A friend was on it.
I grew sad.

I followed another road to a house
Where there was a party
A friend was there,
But I could not find her.
I grew sad.

The third fork
Led to a dock
A friend waved to me from
The deck of a departing ship.
I waved to him
And was blinded by the sun.
I despaired.

V.

Taken by the hand again,
Again by a kind man, led
Down the straight path
To a hill. He said,
"Your friends are at the top."

I climbed, but I saw them not
I saw instead a weak man
Nailed to slabs of wood.
In His hands, gaping holes
Pouring blood
In His feet, gaping holes
Pouring blood
His mouth open,
A hole in his side,
Spewing blood
And spewing water.

A kindly man forced me to my knees.
"How dare you stand in the presence
Of glory?"
He took some of the water,
And washed me in it.
I gasped.
I burned.
I died.
I was awakened from the dead, new,
The mud removed from my eyes.

I knelt with the others.
It was true--
My friends were there.
One was dead
One was sad
One happy
One weary
One crying
One winked at me.

We ate the unknowable body.
We drank the impossible blood.
We were whole.

VI.

I wandered the road yet more.
My weariness, it seemed,
Would overcome me.
My tears flowed
And I cared not who knew.

A friend met me on the road.

"Why so wet?" she said.

"Those whom I love," I said, "I am
Parted from."

"Certainly," she said, "If you say that,
Your tears will flow without ceasing."

"What then shall I say?" said I.

"Say rather,
Those whom I love, I shall see again.
Those whom I love, I am united with.
The only one who loved me,
Gave his perfect body
For me."

Then my tears flowed fast, but not
From sadness.

VII.

I grow old... I grow old...

The veil falls away at last
We are finally all here
Our souls are exposed
And the scars begin to burn.

But they are washed, and
Hurt no more.
Rather, they bind us
And it is only in having them
That we are fully healed.

A man comes who is not a man,
And the scar he has carved on
Each of us
Binds us to him
He calls us together
We eat, we drink
We sing and dance.

We laugh.

4yze

2008-04-05T19:25:00.000-07:00

recently i got glasses.
*waits for raucous laughter to die down*
And from this i learned a few things.
1) Bob really, reallyreally needed glasses.
2) Bob can still headbang.
3) The chair Bob was petting was not, in fact, the cat.
4) The world is even uglier than Bob thought.
i have several examples of the latter. first of all is Wisconsin's Snirt. this is the technical term for what occurs this time of year, when melting snow and dirt mix and form a sort of brown mush that collects in parking lots and my driveway. a month ago I thought it was tolerable, just a little annoying, but now i realize just how disgusting it is. it is repulsive.
also people, those i thought very pretty have very repulsive features about them. back when things were a little blurry eyes were perfect, skin was flawless, hair was not greasy. glasses made everyone ugly. thanks a lot.
the only other end of this is nature. it is even cooler than i first thought. the intricate patterns on leaves are more visible, the roots of a tree are more wondrous than ever before.
today i went to a zoo, just a tiny little thing funded by donation with about three small monkeys, a bear, goats, prairie dogs and a wolf. that's it. i looked at the newly cleared up monkeys, found them not too grandfatherlike, took a look at the prairie dogs, wished I could take a shot at them, saw the bear and found it fat.Then i went over to the wolf. i have seen this wolf a couple times over my life as a gray-white blur, but now i saw it in all its glory. its eyes were black beads, the fur was the texture of snow and it moved with grace i could hardly believe. that was when i realized that it was not an animal meant for a cage. the prairie dogs are fine in cages, the monkeys: whatever, i don't care about the goats or bear, but the wolf shouldn't have been there. you all know how much i like to verbally flick off PETA people, but on this one animal i agree. the timberwolf was to the woods what a lion is to the savannas: king. now a deposed monarch, stripped of crown and title, exiled to a tiny little piece of land. i spent a lot of time watching it, and slowly realized that even though everything might be a lot uglier the things which are truly beautiful are even more so now. maybe this is just the tiredness talking, but whatever.

Villainous Villainy

2008-03-15T13:21:00.000-07:00

In the month of February there resides International Fake Mustache Day, like Talk Like a Pirate Day only for facial hair.
Here, in Tinylittlenowhereville USA, however, International Fake Mustache Day falls on the 14th of March. why? because the nice people at the coffeeshop/chocolateshop say so.
The Nemoyer happened to be around on that day so we celebrated as a trio, Bob's self, Nemoyer and Brother Smelly. the previous day we spent annoying the chocolateshop people, and so on the way into town we stopped by to say "hello" and "please don't call security." there we were given mustaches of magnanimous proportion, which we proceeded to put on and douse in coffee and chocolate. after tipping our hats to the nice people there we took a long car trip into Madison, State Street in particular.
there was the normal lot of idiots, feminists, militant homosexuals, artists, fire-and-brimstone preachers etc. first stop was Ragstock, a clothing store, only fun. I found meself a nice military trenchcoat and Brother and Nemoyer bought Poofy Shirts. they had guys eyeing them the whole way home. Nemoyer also found a naval officer's trenchcoat, which went well with his red Poofy Shirt, making him look like some sort of Russian army officer (in soviet russia, baby aborts YOU!!).
next came Sacred Feather hat shop. it smelled of leather and fun. Nemoyer found himself a Greek hat which complimented his military attire and i bought a Derby, which i am currently wearing.
on the way back we stopped in Pop Deluxe, a funky little store with odd things, where we found a dead goldfish floating in a tank, which was, at the time, amazingly funny.
we got back a bit before i had to go to work so we had some time in which to mess witht the chocolate shop people, who put up with us graciously.

pictures may or may not be coming. don't hold your breath.

also, BEWARE THE IDES OF MARCH!

Books.

2008-02-12T18:25:00.001-08:00

it's been quite a season here. cold, wet, and most of all, snowy. so extremely snowy, in fact, that the plows get stuck sometimes. and with nothing better to do (school doesn't count) i have been reading a lot. a whole lot. I have a stack of books on my DVD player that i fully intend to read soon-ish, and lately Bob has been making inroads into these books.
I shall sum these up and review.

1. The Shakespeare Code by Virginia Fellows

I do not know why i wasted 352 pages of good reading time on this. let me sum it up: Francis Bacon was superman. not only did he write many, many essays and whatnot, besides being way too busy in the state, but he also wrote all of Shakespeare. that guy must have had way too much time on his hands. he also wrote all of Spencer and The Bible. He got a visit from God when he was young and was the son of Queen Elizabeth The Virgin Queen. how did that work? Elizabeth, by the way, was a psychopathic nutcase who murdered her handmaidens left and right for small things. there's so much more drivvel to explain, such as the fact that Francis Bacon was also FDR, but i won't confuse you with the details. Ms. Fellows, i think, is just a bit too in awe of Bacon and thinks that because he was soooo wise he must have done every great thing ever done. what a guy.

2. Feed by M.T. Anderson
this is a great book. it is short, easy to read and amazingly smart. M.T. Anderson also wrote Whales on Stilts, the best children's book ever. he's probably Francis Bacon. The story centers on Titus, a young man living in "a world of tomorrow" in which we are all constantly plugged into the internet. not too far from the truth. it is a wonderful, bitter and cynical story of young love and airheadedness. big thumbs up.

3.Stardust by Neil Gaiman
once again Neil Gaiman pulls a great fantasy classic out of thin air. this is another very easy read, 14 point type and 1.5 spacing are needed to make it a 300 page book, and it's so engrossing that one finds oneself barricading the door and blowing back friends and relatives with a fire hose in order to gain more reading time. I don't think i will even go so far as to summarize it at all. that takes half the fun out of it. it is also a movie, which i have not seen.

4. The Hound of Heaven
Short poem, read it. one cannot sum up a poem. it's just not done.

5. The Red Badge of Courage by Steven Crane
a classic, only with blood. The writing in this book is amazing and Crane's insite into the human mind is extraordinary. if you have not read this book, well, add it to the list.

6. The Poe Shadow by Matthiew Pearl
i am torn between recommending this book and telling you to stay far, far away from it. It traces the "life" of Quentin Clark, a young lawyer in Baltimore who becomes obsessed with Edgar Allen Poe and his death, deciding to clear the poet's name of the mark of "drunkard" for the record.the book is not just a novel, however, it is also a thesis on the death of Poe and what Pearl thinks really happened, and I have to say he presents a very strong case. my complaint, however is that the middle 1/3 of the book, while necessary, is immensely boring. it does get better as it begins to draw to a close but was nearly unbearable for a while. i give it a light recommendation.

7. Deprivers by Steven-Eliot Altman
this is a fantastic book, one of the most creative pieces I've come across in a while, topped only on this list by Stardust. It is the tale of a future dystopian (aren't those great?) world in which humans begin to evolve a natural defense called SDS, Sensory Deprivation Syndrome, which, upon skin-to-skin contact, deprives someone of a sense (feeling, taste, sight, hearing, consciousness, sense of direction etc.), permanently or for a short time. it is an amazing adventure book, like a much faster paced 1984 with more guns and secret societies. for 16+ readers.

8. A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens
meh.

9. Lord Raven's Gambit by J.T. Howes
This is my final book as i am still reading it. so far it is rally good, if sometimes a little bit cliché. It's a high fantasy novel about...well, everything a high fantasy is supposed to be about. people killing each other off, magic, damsels, dragons, witches, poison, castles, all that good stuff. it sometimes resembles a fairytale, but in a more grown up way than C.S. Lewis or even Stardust. it's unlike anything I've read and i urge you, if you can find it, to read it, or at very least buy it, as the author could use some support.

so that's my list. if you don't like it I dare you to make a better one.

If e'er there was a way to go...

2008-01-31T20:48:00.001-08:00

THIS WOULD BE IT

Code Duello

2008-01-15T20:48:00.000-08:00

I have decided upon something. we need to bring back the duel. seriously, people should start dueling again. you see back in the day, not all that long ago, in fact, if you insulted someone it had consequences. now i could probably go up to someone on the street and call them an idiot and most likely they wouldn't do anything but laugh or call me something back. I could look at my brother and, as i so often do, say "you smell bad." and he would stare blankly. if i did either of those 200 years ago i and the offended person would exchange notes, then meet at dawn and take a couple shots at each other. most likely nobody would get hurt and we would shake hands and walk away. i propose we do this again. now, granted, the pistol/sword thing is a bit barbaric, but something slightly less fatal could be beneficial to the world. i was thinking paintball guns. they're inaccurate (as dueling pistols were supposed to be, even after rifling was invented) and if one didn't use a hopper there would still be the option of that nice dramatic pause between shots.
consider all the wonderful times one could duel. Bill Riley and Al Franken would have fought a dozen duels by now. if some guy cuts you off in traffic get his number and call him out. disorderly street fights would go down in numbers. people would not be able to insult one another without a consequence. politics would actually be fun. and best of all perhaps a sense of honor would be instilled in the disorderly mob that is our culture.
do you disagree with this? I CHALLENGE YOU TO A DUEL!!!

on a lighter, yet more important note, watch this video.

ATTENTION!

2007-12-23T23:44:00.000-08:00

Merry Christmas.

wow...

2007-11-27T14:28:00.001-08:00

North Korea is a very strict place.

BOOM!

2007-11-04T21:39:00.000-08:00

Remember, remember the fifth of November, remember the gunpowder plot.
I see no reason why the gunpowder treason ever should be forgot.

NaNo...Again

2007-11-01T14:14:00.000-07:00

Well it's that time of year again. NaNoWriMo is here! w00t! so this year i've gone with (yet another) post-apocolyptic invasion type story without zombies. I have decided to base this year's novel on the theory that China will one day invade the US. after doing a little research i find this strangely disturbing. obnoxiously half the "proof" for China invading us is just some lame "prophecy" crap. someone had a dream abpout chinese people killing americans and therefore the world's coming to an end. idiots.
so anyway it's based loosely off the song Fields of Athenry, the characters, that particular scene described in the song. that's kind of where i got my idea for the big "plot twist" so i'm happy. now i actually have some idea what's going to happen! yay!
i am very excited about this new one, i really like my characters (for now. wait until they get older and more developed and they'll start acting out...) and the setting is perrfect. another evil iittle town (called, of course, Athenry MN).

The Anual Word/Caffine/Santiy Counter says:
Day: 1
Word Count: 4,900 words
Caffine Intake: three cups of coffee
Sanity Level: 2

Agincourt, 1415

2007-10-24T11:44:00.000-07:00

This day is called the Feast of Crispian (October 25):
He that outlives this day, and comes safe home,
Will stand a-tiptoe when the day is named,
And rouse him at the name of Crispian.
He that shall see this day and live t'old age,
Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,
And say "To-morrow is Saint Crispian":
Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars
And say "These wounds I had on Crispin's day."
Old men forget: yet all shall be forgot,
But he'll remember with advantages
What feats he did that day. Then shall our names,
Familiar in his mouth as household words
Harry the King, Bedford and Exeter,
Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester,
Be in their flowing cups freshly remembered.
This story shall the good man teach his son;
And Crispin Crispianus shall ne'er go by,
From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be remember'd;
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he today that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition:
And gentlemen in England now abed
Shall think themselves accursed they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day.

--Henry V Act IV, Scene III

Bloody Taggers

2007-10-23T18:27:00.001-07:00

Bob has been tagged. i let my guard down, and now I'm tagged.

the rules for tagging are:
Link the person who has tagged you.
Tell seven truths about yourself.
Tag seven new people.
Leave a message with the person you have tagged so they know about it.

you shall all be feeling my tag soon >:)
so in compliance with the rules, here are seven things about Bob that most of you hopefully don't know:

1. I can play music using only my fingernails and chin
2. I have a rule that if a cheese curd squeaks on my tooth i must spit it out.
3. 42
4. I fully intend to read Tristram Shandy one day
5. i have a love/hate relationship with dogs
6. I make it a point to say "yes, there is" when someone says "there is no spoon."
7. I hate revealing things about myself. other than my dislikes.

There. Happy?

Book Klub

2007-10-13T20:59:00.000-07:00

A post on this subject has been a long time coming, but it's finally here. Book Club. On the third Thursday of every month i have been going to a small Lutheran book club based out of a small church (or sometimes this scary guy's home) now I'm sure some of you are right now going "why, Bob? why? why go stroke your beard with people over books when as far as you go for reading is looking at the pictures?" Bob shall tell you why: FOOD! food everywhere! Indian, Mexican, American, everything. there are books and there is food. what could be more enjoyable.
i should mention one of the other people belonging to this society of literate Lutherans, and i ask you to visit her blog asap. this would be Not Freddy, who has faithfully (and eerily) observed us and documented our every meet. so check out the links remember to beware the ides of march. i warned you last time.

Obituary

2007-09-29T15:49:00.000-07:00

I figured i should say something about Matt Miller. I don't have much to say other than he will be missed by those who loved him.

Please read this.

High on God Part II/1984 Parenting Tips

2007-08-29T21:34:00.000-07:00

okay, so i believe i have a loose end to tie up. unless i am mistaken i must sum up the second half of my evangelical overnight. i hate to say it, but there wasn't much to say two. to tell the truth i slept through half of it because half of it was (fake) sermons. after sermon number 539 we went for breakfast, which was burritos. but why that particular food? i have no idea. they were good burritos, but...not at 8 am. please. there was another, longer, stupider sermon and the day was more or less finished up. we sat around for a while, waiting for rides and arm wrestling. this is an old tradition among these people. you see myself and a few of the other guys (and a couple of the girls) are constantly competing to see who is the most masculine, and a wonderful way to do this is by arm wrestling, racing and just plain wrestling. that was fun.

now, on to the other subject Bob promised you, and as you all know, bob on occasion decides to honor his promises once in a while. I've decided that my parenting tactics are going to be based off of 1984. first, i will have a Two Minutes Hate against hippies and poodles. you may already know of my plans to have them call me Captain Sir (just to keep them in line) but i think that putting up posters of my face with the caption "Daddy is watching you" will help significantly. They shall, of course, be enrolled in the Junior Anti-Sex League and recite fluent Newspeak. I will as well have a tape of myself constantly repeating "War is peace, doing what i say is bliss, eating your vegetables is strength." perhaps that will keep them in line. perhaps. My children shall live under the Iron Fist of The Parent!

and speaking of 1984, here is Big Sister.

okay, something fun. somewhat good band vs slightly annoying band.

Goo Goo Dolls: love top wallow in sympathy (http://youtube.com/watch?v=NMZUYeDrl-c)
Billy Tallent: has some good old fashioned pride (http://youtube.com/watch?v=I-9gu0lfQ50)

by the way, one of my kids is totaly going to be named Winston.

FOR YOU Conference

2007-07-28T16:37:00.000-07:00

this past weekend I attended my first (national) Higher Things conference and I must say I was not disappointed. I will attempt to make this as short as possible as I need another 15 hours of sleep.
we arrived (the conference was held at the Minneapolis University grounds) kind of late and got checked in, then caught the beginning announcements and pleanery (seminar attended by everyone) which was based on the new piece of fine toyery from Wal-Mart. when that was done the 1,200 kids there migrated to the chapel for evening prayer. That was my first Divine Service with more than 50 people. It was pretty amazing.
After that we had free time, in which myself and a few others hung around and lightsaber dueled. About 10 pm someone pulled the fire alarm in the dorm and we were all evacuated. That was entertaining. We eventually got back in and slowly began dispersing to our various rooms and dorms.
The next day Bob got up early and went to breakfast which was amazingly good for cafeteria food. The man who swiped my food card smiled and wished me a wonderful day. I met up with people soon; we talked, messed around, drank too much coffee etc. then came Matins where we sang and prayed and all that good stuff. After that was pleanery II where we were introduced to Rev. Cwirla's preaching/stand up routine. Then lunch, and after the man cheerily swiped my card I went about my eating.
i think my favorite class was the one on cults where we learned that Mormons think they are spirit babies, it would be an even fight in a cage match between the founder of the JWs and Jack Bauer and wiccans are amazingly annoying people.
After that we took over the memorial union, which then became ours by right of conquest. The memorial union is basically the U of M campus mall, featuring shopping, pizza and a massive game room. After having my butt thoroughly kicked at pool by Alex, the rest of the group and I headed up to the top floor to play apples to apples, at which I did, erm, interestingly. We finished up with evening prayer and I spent the rest of the night riding the elevators with large groups of other kids.
The following day was begun with breakfast at which I enjoyed watching a friend fill a hiking canteen to the brim with coffee, and then drink it all. At Matins we went to eh 3rd level rather than our usual 2nd. It was fun, watching everyone below us scuttle around like ants. They are lucky I decided not to step on them…
For a while we went to more studies, ate, drank and were merry and then came 4:00. at 4 the busses to Midway Stadium left and after hopping on one with someone I had just been introduced to I was off to the ball park! Bob found her to be quite pleasant. I believe the whole city is a big pothole, which includes what’s left of Dinkytown. We had a good time at the game, sitting out in the cold rain, shouting “pants!” when they played the charge music (don’t ask…) and playing games we picked up at summer camps.
We had evening prayer there which was awesome; we stood in the bleachers and did the liturgy in the ballpark.
Friday was both the best and the worst. It was, of course, the final day which was sad but at the same time we had all had so little sleep that anything was funny. Anything. This included people taking down eating pavilions, dropped spoons and old cars.
We finished the first service and went for announcements and plenary, then finished off with our last breakaway and lunch.
There was a massive divine service with 1,200 people coming up for communion which was awesome. Afterward we stayed a while to say goodbyes and take pictures, which we did a lot.
The whole thing was a lot of fun and Bob is still kind of sleeping it off. It is, however, a little strange to be around people 24/7 and suddenly hardly at all. So, now that I’ve wasted your time with that, make sure to beware the Ides of March.

High on God Part I

2007-06-23T18:20:00.000-07:00

Wow, Bob must be one serious masochist. For the second time I went to the Calvary Chapel "retreat" (of which I have previously written) to have people do their utmost to brainwash me and turn me into a mindless happyzombie swaying and mumbling to repetitive praise music. Now of course I enjoyed it as I did before, all but the horrible theologyless preachin' and soul-sucking music.
I arrived and threw my things in a tent, hoping that it was the correct one. I spent the next half hour or so wandering around finding people I knew and meeting people I didn't. After a bit we started a game of football and all the testosterone pumped boys ran about tackling each other to the ground, half the time not even caring if that particular person under them had the ball. Of course true, clean fun could not last. Within fifteen minutes the controlling half-adults decided that we couldn't do anything that would help turn us into not-weenies so it declined into girlish touch football.
Eventually we were herded like cattle to the slaughter from the field to the barn/church. There a band (which to them is almost as holy as "pastor dude" himself) began playing horrible, contentless repetitive crap they call "praise music." the sad thing about this particular setting is that the band was actually pretty good. The bass and drums especially were great, taking the occasional flourish to show that they had actually skill and didn't belong with these idiots. At long last we finished and a guy in a pony tail wandered up on stage. He spewed some crap; we prayed the Prayer of the Just ("Lord, we just want to thank you and, just ask your presence here and just...") and then were free to, once again, light things on fire with gasoline.
There was a nice big bonfire behind the barn followed by a trip to the cemetery; however nobody came up so we didn't get to zombie anyone. For the rest of the night until we were sent to "bed" we wandered about the tiny little unincorporated town that hosted the event. About nine of us traveled in the group and looked like some sort of very pitiful gang, wandering down the middle of the street.
As the call rang out to make for the tents we decided to check the fire to see if it was sufficiently out for exploding. It was.
Four or five people (all friends who we knew) sat around it quietly talking. It had died down to little more than a couple odd flames here and there and a lot of ashes and sparks. We pitched a firecracker in, waited a split second and were rewarded with an explosion, scattering the sparks within a two foot radius and making all four of them fall of their seats, screaming like little girls.
We finished up the day with lots of talking and laughing, not much content to what we were saying but it entertained us. we played various games such as the "sentence game" (going around in a circle with each person adding one more word to the overlong sentence) with each sentence starting with a word like "vodka" or "drowning." you know for innocent fundigelicals they sure know a lot about drinking.
That about sums up day I, lots of explosions and bad theology.

Llama turns 1!

2007-06-10T20:11:00.000-07:00

I just thought i should say that this blog is now a year old as of the 7th. i must say this has turned out rather well, you people have listened to me rant about good days, bad days, tree-huggers, Shakespeare, exotic Santas, vacations, babies, novels, Shakespeare again, e-dramas, Dante, renaissance fairs, vulgar old men, and, of course, evangelicals. i have to admit you've put up with it pretty well and i thank you for that.
It has occured to me that this has also become something of a journal for me, if i have an especialy interesting time i post about it, or a slightly interesting time i comment about it.

so that's about it, just wanted to inform you all that Llama has turned 1. yay!

day: 368
posts: 41
links: strangely, also 41
sanity level: -8

Job Description

2007-05-25T17:45:00.000-07:00

One of Bob's little end of the semester reports was about what i want to do when i grow up (physically) and how to get there. it was quite interesting. in researching this i met a lot of interesting people (through the internet) and, well, didn't realy go anywhere, but met a lot of interesting people. for those of you who don't know Bob plans on being a police officer, SWAT unit specificly, but before i can do that i will be a simple street cop for at least 5 years. i'm pretty sure that's what i want to do. the choice has realy been law enforcement or military for me, and since i can't join the army due to some phisical restrictions i am going with a law enforcement career. i contacted some SWAt team members and read some articles they wrote, and they all ended up pointing to the same things: hard work, not enough pay, amazingly rewarding. depending on the area a SWAT team may be called in once every week or so for drug busts, hostage standoffs and any dangerous situation. of these the most rewarding is said to be hostage standoffs, in which the officers get to see first-hand the person they saved. the most obvious problem with this is, of course, the mortality rate. one video that i found especialy moving follows below. i should warn you it is extremely graphic, lots of real-life shootouts and deaths, although all the officers survived.

this is the only problem with becoming a police officer. these officers are hardly remembered and appreciated. many people dislike the police and most don't appreciate what they do (that being keeping those perps from killing you or me), they see them as being around to spoil parties and give speeding tickets. those that do get attention are the ones the media portrays as dirty cops, regardless of whether they are or not. such is the case with a New Jersey man shot by an officer after aiming a high-powered rifle at him. as the man lifted the rifle to his shouolder the officer fired and killed him. he was portrayed as a monster who went around strangling kittens and shooting sweet little men in wheelchairs. the same goes for those who shoot armed children. when one is on the wrong end of a gun one does not stop to think "oh, it's a child behind that loaded weapon, i'd better let him shoot me." the police do far more for us than we realize. every officer in that video took that bullet for you and every other defenceless citizen out there.

okay, ibtter angry-at-society rant over now.

just a couple links to police/SWAT vids:

http://youtube.com/watch?v=8IHQqW8zOSk&mode=related&search= (graphic violence)

http://youtube.com/watch?v=DpKl9TF5DeE (not quite as graphic violence and a fat guy)

http://youtube.com/watch?v=1rKXTXF11HA (not that bad)

Evangelical Rant!

2007-05-08T20:59:00.001-07:00

As some of you may or may not know I am a big fan of the TV show "Malcolm in the middle." some parts of it *cough*olderbrother*cough* remind me very much of my life. But while watching it the other night one specific part reminded me of something.

Reese hands off a huge stack of video games to a kid for $5

Malcolm: "Reese, what are you doing?"
Reese: "selling my material possessions"
M: "why?"
R: "because Brother Billy told me to"
M: "Brother billy? you mean that nut who rides around on the school bus handing out pamphlets?"
R: "it's called the manifesto and he's not a nut if you stop and listen to him. he and his followers have this awesome compound in Oregon where we're going to live off the land."
M: "You're going off with this guy?"
R: "don't worry, it's totaly safe! they have guard dogs, watch towers-"
M: "do mom and dad know about this?"
R: "No and you can't tell them. Brother Billy says the have negitive energy and bad karma."
M: "you're talking about joining a cult are you nuts?"
R: "Brother Billy doesn't talk to me like that, he makes me feel good about myself."
M: "It's called brainwashing Reese!"
R: "my name isn't Reese anymore."
M: "then...what is it?"
Reese stops, ponders,
R: "I don't know but it isn't Reese. now if you'll excuse me i have manifestos to distribute."

Or watch THE CLIP starting at 6:07 and ending at 7:07

That is pretty much how it goes in evangelical churches. You have to sell all your material possessions and go megachurch fulltime. There’s another "believer" who needs to live with you? You can't deny, it's "ungodly" and you will be shunned. the only way to get your rep back is to convert someone or make a huge sacrifice "for the lord." they don't seem to realize that in the Christian faith we believe that Christ already made the sacrifice so they don't have to go live in a hole in the ground and act like a martyr. But they do. And if you don't there must be something wrong with you.
another thing about that clip is the "manifestos" which in Fundimentalish translates to "chick tracts" those hideous little things you find in the copy of TIME at the Dentist's office or hidden in the candy in a gas station. Those are the evil little things that proclaim "a man once saw hell with his own eyes!" and "D&D is satanic!" and all the nonsensical crap like that. They must distribute them in annoying places or...I don't know...they shrivel up and die.
The "compound in Oregon" is just like a megachurch. You can't leave, you can't get in if you're not "saved" but instead of Oregon it's in California. Always in California. Stupid California.
the part about him not speaking to his mom and dad is evangelicalism exactly. i have no idea how many times i have talked to one of my fundamentalist friends and when a non-christian relative or friend enters the discussion they say "oh, but we don't see them much. they aren't Christian."
I will not even mention the whole thing about the "brother Billy makes me feel good about myself" line.

The thing that really caught my attention when I saw this part of the show was when Reese refers to "brother Billy." some of you may remember my somewhat popular post "raise my hands and sway" about the evangelical "retreat" I went to.
As I watched the TV he said the words "Brother Billy" my memory clicked and I remembered something. The last ten minutes or so that I was there was some moron up on stage declaring that "I have conclusive proof that the end-times will come in my lifetime! Amen?" there followed, of course a rather stoned sounding "amen" in response. This was one of those many times when, while bob was around evangelicals, he had a very hard time not standing up and shouting "No you do not you dim-witted slackjawed buffoon!” Jesus said "only my father in heaven knows the day" and so you cannot know for certain.
I also had a strange impulse to run up on stage and beat him over the head with one of the many electric guitars present (EVERYONE in Calvary Chapel plays guitar it's another one of the requirements).
But when I went home and thought about it I just felt sorry for the guy. People like that are so sad and scared and hopeless that they convince themselves that because of that Jesus must be coming back soon. "Signs" you see and "prophecies" you listen to will make no difference, God will do as he will and there's nothing we can do to hurry Him along, and nothing we can do to predict.
I remember when I was a very little kid and the first "Left Behind" (in my way of thinking "left butt-cheek") book came out. Our babysitter was very into it, and though we were still in our terrible Evangelical days I still didn't get it.
"What is that?" I asked him.
His reply was "the future."
When he set it down to go make us dinner I picked it up and read the back, though I had to skip a few words. I had heard the end-times thing explained to me before and even at that age I found it completely ridiculous.
I find this a good time to re-link to this

I Am Man, See Me Nod

2007-04-20T10:43:00.000-07:00

Bob has decided to mix things up a bit. instead of starting my post with "you know what pisses me off" i will begin it with
I've finaly found something that makes me happy. the manly head nod. When bob rides a bike, jogs, walks etc and passes some other guy who is similarly involved we nod our heads. i find this nice. it's a bit like the teen grunt. if you see someone on the street and pass them you grunt, which means that you have politely acknowledged their existence but don't have to go into a discussion about the weather.
it is the opposite with (no offense) women. if you attempt to pass a woman and one of you says "hi" then you are in for a long discussion about the weather and some stupid local school politics. all the 40-something women who ware trying to get in shape love to take time away from actually exercising to stop and chat about some stupid inane little subject with someone they don't even know. this is different with someone you do know, as it would be rather rude not to stop and say hello, but with a complete stranger you should not be obligated to speak more than a word or two.
the other day i went on a local bike trail for an hour or so, during which (yes, i was counting) i preformed the Manly Head Nod 8 times. i had to stop and chat once, which really pissed me off. it was some lady with a poodle.
i hate poodles.
i believe the Manly Head Nod should become a more regular thing, not limited to guys. i don't know, do women do that? some sort of Feminine Head Nod? or do they have their own thing, like waving or spitting?
another good one is a combination of the two, a Manly Head Nod and a Teen Grunt. i haven't run into that all that often but when i do it is quite nice. i find the Nod very encouraging, and i think if we continue along this path we may one day be a society of people who hardly talk at all. my kind of world.

oh, and new movie by Bob, all of it made at 2 AM BUT BEFORE YOU WATCH watch the one below.

The Battlefield, a beautiful, toutching movie

You're It!

2007-04-15T13:25:00.000-07:00

strange, but this weekend the world doesn't seem to be working so hard to spite me. something bad must be on the way.

anyway this weekend we went lazer tagging with some friends, for ethan's birthday party which was in january. and so after rescheduling several times due to colds, flues, weather and ethan going through detox we finaly got around to it. it started at the chinese buffet where i made my arteries hate me for ever more (mmm...bacon wrapped weiners...) and we made sun of the rather dumb goldfish.

we finnished that up and got to the main part of the afternoon: lazer tag. have any of you ever been lazer tagging ? Not back-yard style, i mean in an arena, such as Ultrazone or Lazerquest, Lazer Park etc. it was very crowded and hot when we got there, but in a fun way. off to the side was a video arcade with a sniper game (overpriced, but enjoyable) which we messed around with until they called our names for the "breifing." we all filed into a room where the very bored employee told us the rules and then informed us that there was to be "noshoving,puching,unspotsmanlikeconduct,climbing,crawlingorrunning" in the arena. we then had about ten minutes to talk and goof off while the game before us ended. we then chose teams (red, yellow or blue) and went into the vesting room, which looked something like the picture above, only cooler. the place had a very military feel to it (duh, we're shooting at each other...) but more than the rest the vesting room felt like we were about to go storm a compound. the vests were heavy but it felt right, i don't think it would be as much fun if we didn't have what felt like body armor on. they looked like SWAT team vests only with colored lights. when the employees gave the word the three teams flooded the rooms, sticking together or going solo. soon red lazers filled the air and the sound of running feet and shooting were everywhere. it was built like a maze, with colored walls and blacklights everywhere. fog was pumped into the rooms and there was kettle-drum filled music over the loudspeakers, all of which combined to make a long, 15 minute adrenoline rush. i did quite well that game, mainly due to the fact that a) i shoot and so could aim better than some and b) i am a tactics nerd and i know weird things (ie how to entera close-quarters room, where to watch for enemies, crap like that). firends and i stayed generaly together, splitting off and coming back sometimes. there was one time i remember in particular about this game. a kid was running down a long hall, i had no idea what he hpoed to accomplish by doing this, but he was on the enemy team so i fired once and him him square in the chest. his vest turned off (which is what happens when you are hit) and he ran away. very fun.

the second game was much the same, blacklights, music, bases, tactices, shooting, smoke, except that this game a group of 6 or 7 girls had begun playing, and being 10-year-old girls (no offense, girls) they had no idea how to fight (yes, i've decided to drop all the pretenses and call it fighting, because that realy is what we were doing) or where to go. i found them, at one point on the stairs between the two levels, where with a few quick flicks of the trigger i got each of them.

boy, for such little girls they didn't have mouths made of sugar and spice.

the hub of activity in this place is the Blue Base, which provides excelent firefighting places. so friend and i stormed it with another person on our team, and somehow got through more or less intact. that was very fun.

on the last game we got into the breifing room and after the employee had gone through her whole thing about the rules we had a few minutes to sit and wait. ethan and friend 1, who were on an opposite team from me and friend 2, started clapping, playing mob mindgames, and it worked. everyone was soon clapping, faster and faster until it just erupted into applause. that reminded them, of course, or "we will rock you" and the whole room erupted into it, banging on the bleachers and hands until it slowly faded away. you know, that song is basicly a tribal war chant. only instead of psycing the berzerkers up to go fight the Danish they we were psycing ourselves of to og after the other teams, or in the case of a sports game, when one is doing that one is psycing the players up to play harder against the other team, but either way it is basicly the same as in the dark ages.

that round went fine, and by the end i was tired and (even more than usual) wanted to go join a SWAT team.

People Annoy Me

2007-04-01T11:18:00.000-07:00

i wonder if the sewage people will have trouble purifying the weekend that i just threw down the drain. probably.
this past Friday and Saturday Bob and family went to a college, a small Lutheran one about six hours from Bob's tiny little liberal infested town. now that we have a new, not so crappy van the trip up there wasn't as bad as many, though it was longer than some. we got out of the house about 11:00 am and got bored about 11:03. i read some more American Gods and continued my memorization of every Flogging Molly song ever written, all of which made it somewhat fun. A little ways there i telepathically killed Ethan's CD player. while looking out the window i let my mind wander, and came up with the following disjointed thoughts.
wow, that car is even crappier than ours. i wonder if it has a CD player. probably. stupid crappycar CD player people. speaking of crappy CD players i bet Ethan's is going to die soon. Ethan's old portable CD player had been on the fritz for a few weeks now, making a clicking sound every time it was played. just then i tore myself away from the wet landscape to see Ethan banging on his CD player. i took off my headphones and looked at him.
"Did that thing just-"
"die! stupid piece of crap mumblejunk..."
i sat back and wondered at the past few moments, and eventually came to the conclusion that i had telepathically killed his CD player.
we then went to see some family on my dad's side who lives up by the college. they were nice, we talked, tried not to fall asleep while talking, had to stick our fingers in light sockets to stay awake while we talked etc. they were very nice, good food, nice dogs, and a very cool farm.
later we checked into a hotel and watched, well, made fun of, the old Helen Keller movie and drifted off to sleep.

the college was okay, little and rainy. we had crappy cafeteria food while Ethan did a scholarship interview. we then went to a church service which was actually very fun as there were about 100 or so people there and a very cool organ. when we were done with that w e trundled around some more while some brainwashed student told us about how "absolutely wonderful" their school was. she made me slightly sick. we then went to the bookstore for, and i do not exaggerate, two and 1/2 hours. 2:00-4:30. i have never hated books so much in my entire life, and that's saying something. when we finished that we went to a semi-formal dinner. any of you who know me well know that i hate "dinners" especially formal and semi-formal ones. we had to sit there and act like we had some class while making "pleasant conversation" while avoiding any subjects worth discussing. "no politics, no religion, no masons" is what parents constantly say so what else is there?
the one interesting part of the meal was when a waiter dropped a tray and several people went "oooooo!" WHO SAYS "ooo!" WHEN A WAITER DROPS A TRAY!!??!! it was like they had never seen crappy plates break before, or the dropping of the tray was some sort of slap in the face to someone, or the waiter would be fired for this. myself, my brother and his friends discussed this in depth, and came up with nothing. "ooo!"...idiots. *bob massages bulging vane in forehead, wipes sweat from face and unclenches fist*

so altogether, not a total loss, after all...oh, wait, total loss.

Bob has published a new youtube video! it is very fun as all the Mcfly fans are extremely pissed off.

As well as a trailer for a thing that doesn't deserve one, because it was 1 am and i felt like making it.

And an awesome sketch.

St. Patty's Day

2007-03-17T06:19:00.000-07:00

it has occurred to me that Saint Patrick's Day has never been a big thing for me. why is that? my whole room is completely covered with plaid and i wear a kilt at every opportunity Bob gets, not to mention that i play pipes and can't wait to be old enough to drink. maybe it's how commercialized the whole thing has become, or maybe i wasn't loved as a child...I'm not completely sure. but this year has been a little different, i got up early today to catch a good Irish band on the local news (why must they put them on at 6:00 am?) and ended up staying up. after waking myself up with an old recording of "st. Patrick's day in the morning" (i know it's cheesy but i couldn't resist) i went out for a walk. cold out there. then came back here, spewed happy Gaelic at people on forums and chats, found something that reminded me of things i do with people and soon after the day started.
I donned my kilt and Ugly Brother and i went to see Ghost Rider (WORST MOVIE EVER!!!) and on the way through town we rolled down all the windows and put in a tape of "Bagpipes of Scotland" and turned the volume up all the way. that was very fun, just the looks on people's faces as they watched a very average looking mini-van go down the streets blaring the Skye Dance Song. priceless. as we got there we got our tickets and went in. immediately i spotted the best people in the lobby to mess with. the bikers. about 5 or 6 muscle-head guys were standing in a loose group, so, being bob, i walked past them and made them jump out of the way. soon after we wen to get a good seat (the movie wasn't going to start for a little while and Bob excused himself to go "get popcorn" but we all know that wasn't the case. i went out into the lobby and looked around. first target: grandma. she wasn't all that old, maybe late 50s, early 60s ish. so i innocently skipped past her and made her half-run away. she wasn't actually my target, rather the all too average looking man standing beyond her, but he just made a face where as she nearly pushed people out of the way to get away from me. next was the urinal. I'm sure you've all heard me speak of the great horrors of port-o-pottys when wearing a kilt, but urinals aren't any better, i assume. i walked into the men's bathroom and looked, there was one open one, right in the middle of a dozen men. i stood in front of it thoughtfully for a moment and watched everyone else slowly move away from that accursed place where they assumed i would go. i made them suffer for another 10 seconds of fake deciding then went into a stall. i could quite literally hear a sigh of relief from one man.
the rest of the day was pretty uneventful, i sat around, ate, drank, was merry, nice day altogether, attracted some nice attention with the kilt, my favorite kind, the confused kind!

and have i mentioned that people annoy Bob. they do. a lot.

soothsayer says:

2007-03-15T17:12:00.000-07:00

BEWARE THE IDES OF MARCH!!!!!!

ACT I, SCENE II. A public place.
Flourish. Enter CAESAR; ANTONY, for the course; CALPURNIA, PORTIA, DECIUS BRUTUS, CICERO, BRUTUS, CASSIUS, and CASCA; a great crowd following, among them a Soothsayer CAESAR
Calpurnia!

CASCA
Peace, ho! Caesar speaks.

CAESAR
Calpurnia!

CALPURNIA
Here, my lord.

CAESAR
Stand you directly in Antonius' way,When he doth run his course. Antonius!ANTONY
Caesar, my lord?

CAESAR
Forget not, in your speed, Antonius,To touch Calpurnia; for our elders say,The barren, touched in this holy chase,Shake off their sterile curse.

ANTONY
I shall remember:When Caesar says 'do this,' it is perform'd.CAESAR
Set on; and leave no ceremony out.

Flourish

SOOTHSAYER
Caesar!

CAESAR
Ha! who calls?

CASCA
Bid every noise be still: peace yet again!

CAESAR
Who is it in the press that calls on me?I hear a tongue, shriller than all the music,Cry 'Caesar!' Speak; Caesar is turn'd to hear.

SOOTHSAYER
Beware the ides of March.

CAESAR
What man is that?

BRUTUS
A soothsayer bids you beware the ides of March.

CAESAR
Set him before me; let me see his face.

CASSIUS
Fellow, come from the throng; look upon Caesar.

CAESAR
What say'st thou to me now? speak once again.

SOOTHSAYER
Beware the ides of March.

CAESAR
He is a dreamer; let us leave him: pass.

and so they do, forgetting about the warning. later Caesar is stabbed by members of the senate. i have told you people and told you people but still you refuse to beware the ides of march! well guess what? now you are going to be stabbed by members of the senate. maybe next time you will listen to bob.

also, don't forget to look at the Wikipedia entry for Freemasonry, look under "religious objections or something like that. i may or may not have had something to do with all the anti-masonic evidence presented there, i will admit to nothing.

*whistles*

Caffine

2007-03-05T20:31:00.000-08:00

over the past week Bob has preformed an experiment on himself. no, not the werewolf syrum again, a different one. after someone pointed out the fact that although i am young i am completely addicted to caffine (if you count 2 cups of coffee and a Vault almost ever day addicted...) so i decided to try someting. for three days i had no caffine and for the rest of the week after that i had only 1/2 cup of milked dow coffee in the morning to keep me from litteraly falling asleep on my text books. this was the most terrible week of my life.
i woke up day 1 (monday, last week) and after barely keeping myself awake by shocking myself with a 9-volt every few minutes i got a headache. it was not fun, in fact it was downright painful. after that (teehee) i became sluggish and tired. not a fun day.
day 2: another headache, not as bad. not so tired
day 3: no headache, tired.
now after this i began having coffee, 1/2 cup filled the rest of the way with milk. this was because i dropped instantly from Bs to Cs in school the day i stopped caffine. this increase raised my grades to passable Cs. each day after that i had only a little coffee, enough to get me up, no more. days seemed longer, much more boring. everything seemed stale, flat and unprofitable. it just generaly sucked.
but today i was liberated from my gloomy fate, and one of my first actions out of bed was to drink a pot of hazlenut coffee, gulp down a 32 oz mt dew and sit happily on the buzz for a while.
i was told that i should stop being addicted, so i tried it. i didn't like it. people seem to use mcfly lodgic when debating why not to be addicted to caffine.
"why not?"
"It'll stunt your growth." then they look at over-six-foot bob and curse.
"so why not?"
"you shouldn't be addicted to anything at your age!" if we realize it or not, we're almost all addicted to something.
i think partialy this was an experiment to see if i had the will to stop drinking it. i surprised myself in that way, i thought i'd come rushing back to my Life Juice in a day, kissing it and saying that we'd never break up again. i guess it didn't go that way. still, i learned a lot from this experience. now i just need to figure out what.

also, don't forget to check out the revenge song!

the locals have banjos

2007-02-21T13:54:00.000-08:00

The other day Bob went to a tiny little town of maybe 4000 for a gun show (which, by the way, he missed) and it suddenly occured to him that he had stepped into the twilight zone. It was a small midwestern town inhabbited by the strangest bunch of yokels you could imagion. when we first came in we needed directions to the gun show so we stopped at a little gas station. a tiny little rusty, crappy, dirty gas station, and after getting directions from a kind of weird pair of old women we started to pull away. then Bob noticed the soda machine. it was old. REALY old. about 1965 old. and in perfect condition. this wouldn't have been quite so odd if everything around it weren't completely dirty. absolutely everything within a twenty foot radius of this machine was completely caked with filth, but not the machine. so i shook my head and focused on other things. we passed some very old houses intersperced with very new houses (weird) and then anohter gas station, with a red chevy, a green ford and a black loncoln at the gas pumps, which would still be there in 5 hours when we left (also weird). but anyway we found out that the show wouldn't be on that day and after much sorrow and grief (ie: "oh. crap.") we decided to go (surprise surprise) to the antique shop. it was an nice one with some old lady crap that annoyed bob and a completely out of place bathroom.
after we spent several hours in there we went toThe Resturaunt. not one of the resturaunts, The Resturaunt. this is a town about as big as the one i live in, and we have at least a dozen, they have only one place to eat, well, actualy they have a chinese place which is strange and i susspect run by the mob like the one here, but i'll get to that in a minute. The Resturaunt was a little itallian place called Marios, which actualy had very little italian food in it. our waiter looked exactly like Dave King (http://www.bbc.co.uk/radioassets/photos/2006/8/29/3308_2.jpg on the left, red hair) only he had a lame hand and some sort of speach impedament.
the chinese place which i walked by called simply "dragon" was also weird. i looked in the window and noticed that it looked exactly like the kind of store mob bosses always own in mob movies. and there was nobody in it, although there was an open sign in the window. outside they had menues for the place, and although they were paper, it was a windy day and there wasn't a rock or anything on top of them, none were flying away. weird.
and did i mention that the streets were completely void of people? yes! not a soul dared walk on the sidewalk or street. another place that seemed deserted was the train yard, and although the trains were running nobody was ever visible.
now before i go completely crazy i should mention the bar. as i walked down the street from where we parked to where the crap shop--er--antique store was i went by one of the fifteen bars there. i could hear the rib-rattling music of a live band inside, as well as the hooting of the fans. i tried to see if i could recognize the song but couldn't so i continued on. ten minutes later i walk by it again and it is completely deserted.
that's just a few of the weird things in that town, i won't even mention how half the store-fronts had buisness signs in them but nothing inside, and completely ignore the strange little bakery kid.

so the point is, as i have always thought, bob attracts strange things, which, i guess, includes towns.

the haunchies made me do it!

honey, will you be my sappy gift-oriented money-for-love holiday?

2007-02-01T21:36:00.000-08:00

Ooookay! Bob has been looking forward to this for a very long time. because in case you three or four people who read this don't know, Bob despises Valentines Day. it's completely useless, i mean, nobody should have to "prove their love" one one particular day. if your boyfriend/girlfriend happens to forget the day, then maybe they have ADD! maybe they don't have a good left-brain. too bad. and also, as all my friends in the Anti-Valentines Day circut will tell you, it hurts not to have a girlfriend. personaly, I don't care, i just put any time or energy worrying or caring about that into my aim when i put a high-powered 30-30 tracer round through a heart-shaped box, then blow it to pieces with a 12 gague and finaly light what's left on fire. realy, i don't care, but i have compassion for those poor bald shmoes who sit there with the razor blade in front of them every Feb 14. what're they supposed to do? go out with their invisible friend? NO! they sit and are depressed. That's where i come in with my Santa of V-day thing. i hand out firecrackers and heart-shaped boxes to all the good little losers and shmucks.
Valentines day, as you should know, is overrated. it is a reason to get idiots to buy stuff, and for the rich to get richer. S I boycot Valentines day and attend as many Anti-ValDy things as possible, in person or online.

finaly, i have yet another link
WARNING!!! SOME OF THESE ARE NOT VERY NICE, IN FACT THEY ARE DECIDEDLY VULGAR!!! but many of them are good and extremely funny. so if you're sensitive to that thing don't click because if you're sensative to that sort of thing you probably wouldn't like the good ones anyway.

http://meish.org/vd/

also, Bob makes movie! (or at least youtube video). Bob (the one lighting the fires, in green/black coat and funky gloves) and friend torture and kill plastic heart formerly full of chocolates. it is an act of anti-VD.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QMwarr-oxBA

"I must admit in spite of this even I couldn't find much to like about Bob."
--Mostly Bob by Tom Corwin

THE BEST CLIP YOU WILL EVER SEE!

2007-01-23T11:40:00.000-08:00

this is what happens when you work as a stock broker with your brother (as i said, this is the best clip ever)...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n9_nGwVV_gw

and PEEPS!!!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KhCmfX_PQ7E&mode=related&search=

and now to end this with a piece of conversation between Bob and a friend:

Bob: "So you do anything interesting lately?"

Friend: *Mumble*

Bob: "What?"

Friend: "I SAID I SILLYSTRINGED A NUN!"

in the name of the eye, the square and compas...

2007-01-11T07:19:00.001-08:00

okay, you already know that Bob is weird, so i've finaly advanced to the ultimate level of weirdness. I am a Masonic Theorist. i honestly didn't want to be though, really. I like to poke around conspiracy theory sites and people, and two things inevitably come up, UFOs and Freemasons. So I decided that I should know something about what i was talking about with these sad little men, so I got a few books from the library (ie my second home) and started to read. i got one book about UFOs, I'm still not completely convinced, and then two other books, The Lost Keys of Freemasonry; or The Secret of Hiram Abiff and a New Encyclopedia of Freemasonry by E. A. Waite. i thought I'd just scan them quick and then move onto American Gods (great book) but I was not so fortunate. I flipped around in the encyclopedia and soon found a heading labeled "masonic baptism." this set off alarms in me right away. Baptism (for you non lutherans) is a sacred thing, a thing in which we litteraly toutch God through the water that washes away our sins, it is a way to bring a child into the church, a key element here. it is not something to be mocked or mimmicked, as i first thought they were doing. but i soon found that they were completely serious. they would dedicate their child to the Masonic Lodge and the Grand Lodge of England.
starting to sound like a cult yet? it gets better.

please visit: http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=-1466579788481207090&q=freemasonry+darkness+to+light

creeped out yet? there's more. at least one man, a man named Morgan was killed for attempting to reveal the Masonic secrets, this is not a theory, it is a proven fact on file with the government. that's just the start of things i have found in the Encyclopedia of Freemasonry, there is also the Egyptain rite(Masonic Rite=higher rank mason), like the scottish or york rite only creepier and not so well known, it involves much sexuality (in a very bad way, though i won't go into the details) mixed with Egyptian gods.
In the secret of Hiram Abiff they begin to spring this crap on you from what was up until now basicly a grown up version of 4-H about the "building of soloman's templ" and the "lost name of God" and all sorts of other crap. if you happen to know anyone who is involved with Masonry, ask them about Hiram Abiff, the true name of god and other thing like that.

They're out to get me!
Bob

Belsnickle

2006-12-29T19:57:00.000-08:00

have you ever thought of Santa beating all the people on the Naughty List with a huge tree limb? i didn't think so. I have recently been acquainted with teh Belsickle , the old German version of Santa Clause, who doles out both treats and severe punnishments. appearently in German traditions, Belsnickle comes on Christmas Eve and scatters treats on the floor. then he invites the good children, one at a time, to come take them. but the bad children he beats with a stick.
Bob just thought that this was an interesting Christmas fact to share with you people, so he did.
also, anyone ever heard of Nightwish? another one of those odd bands Bob finds, but they're realy good. they're kind of like hard metal/opera. i urge all you short people to check them out.

a link for one of their best songs: http://gaudfather.imeem.com/music/Am3OShU-/over_the_hills_and_far_away/

the official website: http://www.nightwish.com/

Evangelical Rant #583: To The Movies!

2006-12-23T13:45:00.000-08:00

As you, my three-four person audience knows, Bob keeps many Evangelical freinds from his Calvery Chapel years, (ugh) and when the opertunity came along to see them and get a free movie i bit. One of Bob's friends called and invited himself and his brother to a movie called "facing the giants" or something close to that. appearently it was not produced by any good companies because it was "too christian" but more likely because of the bad acting. well, that's not completely true, it probably did have something to do with the fact that there was constant praying and preaching. it actualy was a fairly good one for those stupid happy clap trap bs evangelical films. there was a lot of focus on praying, which was good because its something that is fairly neutral for denomonartions.
my favorite thing though was all the mentions of justification in it. meaning the one sentence: "god sent his son to die for you so you could live for him." which is way underplaying it and actualy makes no sense at all. stinking fundies. and why do they ALL look like they just came from the trans-syberian orchestra band practice? I don't think there is one head there (at least one that wasn't going bald) that was not covered with about ten inches of hair! it's like having sixty or so Cousin Its in one place. After the movie we all wandered out ot the lobby and had drank enough caffine to keep us going for a few hours. while there i was amazed at how many "bless you brother"s went on there. it was kind of like watching a whole bunch of monks get high and then greet each other. bloody fundies.
so that's it for my exposure to other humans for the month, back to that horrible denish tomblike cave i call my room until...i die.

teehee

2006-12-18T03:06:00.000-08:00

paolini stinks, here's proof!:

http://www.rottentomatoes.com/m/eragon/

and to you few people who actulaly read this blog, please post anything you know about, and especialy angry criticisms of the band "mcfly" because they are evil incarnate.

drool and graham crackers

2006-12-12T18:17:00.000-08:00

for those of you who don't know Bob is in a babysitting (yes, we sit on babies) thingy on every other thursday. there's some church here that has a sort of 'relief for a few hours' thing for moms. so anyway, they go party and we get stuck with the kiddies for a while for a few bucks an hour. this all takes place at 8am, so there are precious few kids available, and even fewer adults. but because bob is a homeschooler he can go and not miss class. I'm basicly the only male there, which realy sucks. actualy there are a few men in with some of the older kids, but bob never sees them anyway. the kids i work with are about a year, maybe a year and a half. just little enough to be cute but not enough to puke on you. most of the time. I've developed two shadows and an extra limb while working there, a little italian boy and a little pink girl who constantly follow me around and one boy who is absolutely glued to my shoulder the whole time.
but the pay is good and it's an excuse to get out of the house.
I'm not sure exactly what the point of this post is, but for some reason I thought I should post about my oddjob. so I will leave you with not one, but two interesting quotes.
as the suave, wordmincing hemmingway once said: "the first draft (of anything) is sh*t."
and another from my brother, upon being insulted by Bob: "You know Bob, if you were a nice pixy more people would frollick with you."
teehee.

bob hocks lugie, ends marathon

2006-12-02T18:59:00.000-08:00

yay! bob has done it! at very last over a month of hard work he has submitted his hard bought novel to NaNoWriMo (www.nanowrimo.org) and won!
*Bob pauses in speach for applause, glares at audience for not applauding*
basicly what I did was write a novel in 30 days, although it was more the 3 galons and 110 oz of caffine i consumed writing than me myslef. Smelly did the same, winning for the second year. it's not realy a competition, but anyone who submits 50,000 words "wins." it was quite fun, and suger/caffine filled. if you want more than my ramblings on it check out Stormy or the official web page.
So anyway, what is this novel about, you might ask? well, I'll blurt out my shame, it's a zombie novel. Bob knows, it's sad, like a B-movie of fiction, but at least I didn't use bikers. there are two plotlines that are the same and one that is a little different. one is zombie hunters (freemasons) in 1745 Scotland, one is zombie hunters in fudel Japan. the other, the main one, goes as follows.
the zombies have taken over, and now there are only little pockets of humanity left. one little pocket decides that they've become sick of sitting around and doing nothing and decide to look for other humans. most of these people are based very loosely around one or some of my friends, and prety much everyone I know makes a cameo appearence as a zombie or a victim. so anyway they go around, find some post-apoctoliptic drug addicts (now they can grow weed without fear of government) and find a place where people are pitting gladiators against zombies. they wander about creating plot and words until i see fit to have them retake the local city and begin a sort of safe haven for people.
so, not that good, but fun none the less. My brother is in it as a constant character, (he is a zombie who is too stupid to find people to eat, and eventualy is dressed up as a clown and shot by an old frail man) and on a dare i added the words "fifteen chickens" to every chapter, and seven goats on an island.

also, if it were a blog somebody we all know would have it already, but it's a site that me and almost all of my friends should join, so i thought i'd show it to the rest of the mental wards:
http://nolife.flower-of-carnage.org/

and so before i tell you all to beware the ides of march again, i must share with you the final statistics of NaNo:
Day: -2
Word Count: 58,092
Caffine Intake: 3 galons, 110 oz
Sanity Level: hehehe! they've come to take me away!

brother Ethan

2006-11-26T13:13:00.000-08:00

a recent quote from my brother Ethan that Bob just had to share with you:

Ethan, to Bob: "Be a good scrunchey or I'll have to light you on fire."

Stupid Ethan.

Drunken Lullabies

2006-11-08T11:34:00.000-08:00

I suppose i should say something about the recent conference I went to friday-sunday for Higher Things (www.higherthings.org) as all the other weirdos are. brother Stupid has a good one of quotes, although he insists upon referring to Bob by that infernal nickname that I can't seem to get rid of, Zeke. it was a lot of fun, lots of strange people talking, listening to realy good lectures, lightsaber fighting, hymn singing, Mouthhouse (a mailing list for Higher Things) Clue, etc. bob met nice people for the first time and was reacquainted with some who have infested Bob's dreams already. go to Stormfield, he has a pretty good despiction of the whole thing through quotes. he's so artistic. through the lectures Bob, Seth G, Garrot, Bob's brother and occasionaly other people passed stupid notes like little kids in the 4th grade, but it was fun. when not listening intently or reading/writing notes, Bob let his artistic side show and drew stick figure swat teams in firefights with stick figure militia. Even the simplest things entertain the mentaly retarted. bob met a lot of people who 75% of my audience (meaning three out of the four people who read) will not know. Rae: scary, life of the party, Seth: scary, death of the part, but fun for Gay Mario singing, Paul: has OCD which sets off Bob's OCD, Nat: eerily regular person with cheap katana, Maggie: nice, psycotic person with evil tests, Seth w/funky hair: maiwage, Harris: conservative, NRA lover loving person, Garret: "wasn't there some little thing between the Scots and English or something...". If I missed you and you were there and not insane yet, yell at me. Bob had a good time, got no sleep, developed a new OCD that other people cannot guess (other than guinea pig (cough), llama *Bob toutches nose* and cow, "moo". After the the conference we said goodbye to people, and then all decided to go to Rae's house which was on the way for most of us. There we played air guitar and fiddle (???) to Green Day songs, acted drunk because we're idiots, went to "scary" bridge which the other weenies would not cross because it was "(whine) uuunsafe (whine)". But all too soon we left and began back home with Nat and Maggie who we dropped off in Indiana. At last we went through The Evil Lands (Illinois) and back to Wisconsin.
For the first time in his life, Bob almost misses being around people, specific people, but people none the less. Oh well, he'll just cover it with massive, spasm inducing amounts of caffine. And are you all bewaring the ides of March? good! time for Bob to go back to his padded cell once again.

NaNoWriMo:
Day: 10
Word Count: exactly 21,000 words
Caffine Intake: almost exactly 1 gallon, 70 oz.
Sanity Level (1=thinking like freuid 10=raving lunatic): 6

Was she sent down to me from the heavens above?
her breath pure as whiskey by heart fell in love.
--May the Living be Dead in the Wake by Flogging Molly
(aren't the Irish such beautiful poets?)
Bob

Bob Sails Off to the Grey Havens+Paolini Rant!

2006-10-18T20:30:00.000-07:00

Yes poor misurable people! Bob's back! you thought you could keep him out but NOOOO! he busted out of his straight jacket, broke the one-way glass, pushed past the big nurses, stopped to jeer at a crazy person and ran over to his computer to ramble at you some more!
but anyway, bob wont be able to post much in this coming month so Colin, you suck and everything you say is complete bull. Brother, you smell. Aiden, your blog confuses me. sir darth etc., you need help. lightbulb...see previous statement.
"and self, go back to the psyce ward" (a message from my other personality). this is due to NaNo, which you may have already read about. Bob has little contact with the outside world at this time, but then again, what else is new...the life of a nerd is a never ending trial.
also, in the news department, bob will most likely soon be visiting an evangelical youth group (shudder) and will write about it, so my public will soon be happy again. this isn't certain, because as much as i love ranting, i hate evangelicals youth groups.
also: I hate paolini. appologies to you who for some reason find the eragon series entertaining.
i am thinking of writing 95 thesies against it. oh...i hate paolini. his first name doesn't even mear saying, but for you who dont know it's the same as the black commedian whos last name is Rock.
not only are his characters cut out from cardboard, ie the hero who "realy just wants to farm potatos," (cough) Tolkien, Jordan, George Lucas x2, Jaques, (cough). but all the other characters are terrible too. the metaphores are okay to some extent, but other than that it's generic fantasy. mercedes lacky class. but then again, lets not say things we cant take back. stupid paolini. and then he goes around comparing himself to tolkein! TOLKEIN! "oh i wrote some stupid stinkin' generic fantasy, I'm like the guy who wrote four books that have become the fathers of fantasty and amazing classics. that's like that stupid little punk from coldplay comparing himself to bono. stupid paolini. also, the names are rip offs. such as Merlock! that is one of the stupidest fantasy names I have ever heard, trumped only by Ithor.
also, as you may know Bob hunts. in the first chapter, Paolini's character Eragon (crappy name) is hunting deer. he's supposed to be the best hunter in the village, but he uses the stupidest tactics I have ever encountered! now, a deer can hear a human walking from hundreds of feet away, even sleeping, also, a hunter, for moral, good-of-the-hunt and common sense reasons NEVER shoots at a moving target, especialy with a bow. So Eragon is hunting with a bow and he comes across a pack of deer (deer dont run in packs of more than 3 or four, unless it's according to paolini.) that are sleeping and sneaks up on them. now one of them would almost definetly be awake to hear him, and even if there wasn't they would still have heard him, since he was crashing through the woods (to a deer's ears)until a few feet away. after that the dragon egg (described EXACTLY like a palantier from Lord Of the Rings) appears for no appearent reson with a poof which wakes and scatters the deer. now, lets take a moment to look at this. do dragon eggs normaly go poof in fantasy stories, even the most surreal? no! they are laid (stop giggleing middle schoolers) and do not simply appear with a little poof, like a poodle being hit by a car.
so the deer scatter andrun away and Eragon shoots at one! ask any hunter you want, you NEVER do that. if you do happen to his the thing (a 1 in ten chance) you'll almost definetly hit the rump, just causing it pain, not something any hunter wants to do, pluss it's a waist of arrows for a medeival peasant.
and the house! it's like a modern home, about a billion rooms and a nice barn! THIS IS NOT HOW MEDEIVAL PEASENTS LIVED, fantasy world or not. okay. bob is calm again now. stupid paolini. well, the men in the white coats found me again. I must leave you now. beware the ides of march!

stupid paolini
BOB

dog crap...

2006-10-15T15:09:00.000-07:00

one day, while twirling his mustache, laughing evilly and collecting the mortgage from the old woman, bob realised he has not yet told the rest of the nutt house about the Dog Crap Guy, or the Cryptic Sign Guy.Bob and family were on vacation one year and were coming back from the beach. as we went up the hill to where our car was parked we came upon a man who was coming out of the bathroom. he said hello and soon he and my parents were chattering away. he lived generaly near us so that got them talking even more. suddenly, and for no appearent reason this guy just starts going "y' know, I have a nice lawn. but my stupid neighbors let their dogs crap all over it..." (here he decended into a long string of angry words that were more mumbles than words. Bob will relate what he could make out:) "(mumble, mutter) dogs crap on my lawn...(mutter) dont let my dogs CRAP on their lawn... (mumble) (mumble) dog crap... (mutter)...gets stuck in the mower...(mutter mumble), dog crap!" as all of us stood confused and at a loss for words, another man came up, from the dog crap guy's back. Bob should probably mention that this was a state park with a kind of gate. this other guy walked up, looked around, smiled and in a voice amasingly like Comic Book Guy from Simpsons said
"whould some whone please explain the rhather cryptic sign up ahead that says 'gates close at 8'. does that mean gates litteraly 'close at 8', or there shall be no admittance hafter the eighth hour?" as we all stood shocked and confused by the simply surreal events unfolding, a young boy of maybe five came running up and lovingly jumped on his dad (Cryptic Sign Guy) to give him a hug. Cryptic Sign Guy flinched slightly from the impact and then turn ed slowly around. In a firm but quiet voice he said to the child "Do not do that Richard." those five words have become a normal saying around Bob's friends and family now (because I've told this story too many times). soon after we staggered, bewildered to our car and as soon as the last door shut burst out laughing. it was one of the most bizzare and funniest things Bob has ever experienced. other than the Old Man.

poor richard! his father must show him no affection at all. poor kid.
and in other news (well, that wasn't realy news, it happened a while ago) Bob prepares for NaNoWriMo!* wee! for those of thee that dont know, NaNo is National Novel Witing Month (that month being November), inwhich crazy people, like Bob and Bob's brother, write a 50,000 word novel in 30 days. this involves a lot of computer time, a lot of coffe, a lot of sugar and a lot of monster, red bull, no fear, rockstar (ick), adrenoline rush, JOLT, chaser, vault, MDX, amp, full throttle, thousands of other energy drinks and over all a lot of writing. Bob is making the first true zombie novel (other than World War Z) and will soon not be rich and famous. basic plot, for those of you who wish it: zombies take over, only little pockets of humanity, one group decides to rescue art (so it's not all lost) and then---bob will tell you when he finds an ending.

oh and one more thing, if you haven't seen it, SEE IT NOW!!!!!: http://www.albinoblacksheep.com/flash/demented.php
the demented cartoon movie. even better than Lord of the Peeps.

Gleeg Snag Zip!
--bob++

www.nanowrimo.org

the SS is out to get me.

2006-10-03T16:36:00.000-07:00

Bob has posted a short non-logical drool on his Conspiracy site. it has to do with evangelicals, so some of you may actualy read it. if you do read it and want to comment, do it as if you believed it or post it here. heh. i have problems.

www.contheo.blogspot.com

defiling classic poetry, act I

2006-09-23T23:24:00.000-07:00

upon request of my annoyance, er, brother, I have composed an alternate verion of shakespeare's sonnet #XVIII, shall I comapre thee to a summer's day. here is the sonnet in full:

shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
thou art more lovely and more temperate:
rough winds do shake the darling buds of may,
and summer's lease hath all too short a date:
sometimes too hot the eye of heaven shines
and often is his gold complexion dimmed;
and every fair from fair sometimes declines,
by chance or nature's changing course untrimm'd;
but thy eternal summer shall not fade,
nor loose posession of that fair thou owest;
nor shall death brag thou wanderest in his shade,
when in eternal lines in time thou growest;
so long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
so long lives this and this gives life to thee.

wasn't that BEAUTIFUL? Now how it is read in Bobland (keep in mind that it is not intended to make ANY sense what so ever) :

why must I compare thee to a summer's day?
thou more ugly with a temper
not even a breeze could blow through thy desert soul
every moment with you is like a thousand days
thy nose, like a pest's protrudes too much
and you have very, very ugly tan lines
if fair be foul than you be fairest fair
Oh pants! you are like a horse, untrimm'd
but thine infernal mother will not die!
and yet I may not loose poison in her bowels.
and still you brag that you wear Death© brand shades
when through the coffin to the ground thou growest
only then will I fin'ly breathe and fin'ly pee.
only when you die will I at last be free!

notes: Bob is a shakespeare geek, and so enjoyed throwing mud in the bard's face through mockery, for he would was like a toad, ugly and venamous! and if mine eyes may wound now let them kill him! he wouldst be rotten 'ere he be half ripe, for by mine oath I would look for a fool to find him, I do desire that we should be better strangers and he shouldst sell when he can for his is not for all markets!
bob is okay now.
anyway, I started to make another version (defiling classic poetry act II) in which I kept to the Iambic Pantamiter, but it was just stupid so I burned it, like I do most things. but if you havn't read any of the Bard (you know who you are) don't let Bob turn you off to him, read Titus Andronicus (I hope I spelled that right), it's like Shakespeare meats Quentin Terrentineo ( I know I didn't spell that right) so anyway, goodbye and beware the ides of march!

'tis better to die 'neath an Irish sky...

2006-09-17T11:28:00.000-07:00

Scots Wa Hae we wallace bled
scots wham bruce has aften led
welcome to your gory bed or tae victory.

Now's th' dae an' now's the hour
see the front o' battle 'ore
see approach proud as a foul
chains and slavery.

By opressor's woes an' pains
by ye sons in servile chains
we sha' drain our dearest vains
but we shall b' free!

wa fae Scotland's king and law
freedom's sword will strongly dra
freemen fight and freemen fa
foreward, on wi me!

Lay the proud userpers low
tyrants fa' in every foe
liberty's in every blow
let us do aer dee!
--Scots Wa Hae by Robert Burns

Bob has held back for as long as he could. for that I blame the English. (I should tell you now, when I say "English" I mainly refer to the English government.) anyway, Bob has probably spent days worth of time ranting about this to his friends, family, pets, old people, books, movies, random people and chairs, so now he will fill you in on it. It all starts in 1290-something when Scotland's last true king died, thrown from his horse. At that time the English (Edward I in particular) saw fit to take over Scotland and hold it ever since. William Wallace rose and fell, as did Robert the bruce and Bonnie Prince Charlie. Scotland is still held, although they call it a "mutual agreement" it was nothing of the sort. This angers klt-wearing Bob. Bob would like to drive a rusty old claymore into the chest of every person involved, because as if taking away Scottish independence wasn't bad enough, they now must also take the culture and language. Scots are no longer brought up to think they are Scots, but rather "brittish" which is much much more associated with England than Scotland or wales or any of the other countries England has taken over. They refuse to give back the land that rightfuly belongs to the people, like a small child taking a toy from another little bugger and not giving it back. this is utter origional sin, complete selfishness. Google "scottish independence" if you want to see more ppitiful dorks like me. so anyway, just thought you should know.
O flower of scotland
when will we see your light again
that fought and died for
your wee bit hill and glen
and stood against him
proud edward's army
and sent him homeward tae think again!
!!BOB!!

http://m2hb50calhmg.blogspot.com/2006/02/scots-wha-hae.html guns, pipes, what's not to like?

http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=4269493043588502954&q=bagpipes I just dont know...

Now go my minions, feed! feed!

2006-09-12T16:43:00.000-07:00

greetings short people, bob is back breifly! Bob has not been around as much as he would like. He appologises sincerely for this. school, (foreboding organ music) has begun and I have had little time to rant and rave at ye interested onlookers. also, in the coming time, Bob intends on doing more "themed" posts. Bob has talked too much about Bob, and not the french, the hippies, the poodles, and people in general. this shall change. Bob's family also installed a new computer so that the other one isn't always taken up with people, and Bob will have an oppertunity to scream at the monitor. so until then, I leave you with some interesting song lyrics from an interesting band with an interesting name.

Hanna's feeling less self destructive
feelin' less in general too
her kids 'ave been a lot more productive and Hanna's got a lot less to do.
from a song I forgot by Enter the Haggis.

Colin, llamas, drugs and this crap.

2006-09-04T12:39:00.000-07:00

there is a strange part of my life (well, more my brother's life) that i must inform you about. it all started one fine day maybe a year ago. my smelly brother created a blog, (www.stormman.blogspot.com) and after a few months of posting he created a post which he wrote while very tired. some guy (known only as Colin) found his blog and began commenting that he was a drug addict. if there is one thing my brother is not, it is an addict. so every few weeks this guy comes back on and calls my brother a drug addict in a different way. so one day this guy decides to put together all the odd blogs he has found and make one big blog out of it. he succseeded and it is called What is this Crap? (www.discrap.blogspot.com) and every little while he posts again. then my brother's friends found it and began talking back. one, know as "Llama Crusade" (she's crusading to save the llamas, from what i don't know) keeps coming back on. and repeatedly saying that my brother is not an addict, and telling Colin to join the crusade. So they go back and forth, and it's quite strange. you should realy check it out, but make sure to look at the comments., oh you three people who actualy read this, (yes, my audience has increased!) and comment, or look, or whatever. I think I'm going to comment, just to see what he says to my even more drug addict sounding blog. so goodbye for naow and try not to eat the guinea pigs.

ps the spark is still here, just needs a little gasoline.

raise my hands and sway

2006-08-27T12:22:00.000-07:00

Ah it's been far too long since I ranted against the evangelicals. but over this last weekend I went to a "youth retreat" just to see some of my friends. I am currently in rehab. when I got there it seemed okay, people I knew walking around, talking, pelting each other with airsoft guns (a passtime into which i quickly dove) and all was right with the world. i rolled out my sleeping bag into my friend's six person tent and then went back to where I could be with my small group of fellow retards. the boys tents were on a huge hill, surrounded by tall grass. below the hill was the barn where the "teachings" and (shudder) "worship" happened. a few hundred feet away was the house and a little beyond that the girls tents. we didn't do anything especialy fun for a while, just sat and talked about our pitiful lives.
Then it hit like a tital wave. BOOM! explosions of repeated words set to "music" and rebelling-against-theology teaching! for four hours until well past dark! AAAHRG! they all said the prayr of the just, first thing, it went something like this: "Lord, i just wanna praise you, and just, feel your presence and just totaly thank you for that just, totaly awesome thing you did on the cross, and just..." you get the picture. there were so many stupid things they said that i don't have time to tell them all, so let it suffice to say that they didn't have brains.
But after that we were finaly released fronm the bonds of rapture crap to roam free and light fires with gasoline.
once while bored I and a few freinds screamed at the top of our lunges "Joe!" (an acquaintance of mine) "your mommy wants you to kiss her goodnight" and "Joe
! your mommy wants to know if you brought deoderant!" yes it was infintil;e, but fun. after lighting a bon fire and sitting around it for a while, we decided to go to the old lutheran cemetary a block or so down (this all takes place in an unincorperated town) and hang out there for a little while. but as we babbled innanely we heard the sound of people coming, so we hid behind gravestones (mine was someone named Bennet.) and as they got close we jumped out and "zombied" at them. we all stumbled foreward yelling "brains!" grabbed their heads, looked into their ears and pushed them away yelling indignantly "no! brains!" again, infintile but fun. later we were forced into our tents by the stupid goteed councilor dudes and so we sat and talked. all kinds of pointless subvjects came up, from siblings to girlfriends (none of us, even at our age had ever had any) and so the night wore on, with all of us talking and occasionaly slipping out of our tent and into the house for some caffine. and so we stayed up all night, just like I had the night before, which made an even 48 hours (the required number of hours awake for marines).
about six in the morning we met with a female friend of ours and were recruited to wake everyone up for breakfast. So we had fun yelling and shaking tents, especialy with the realy old people. And so in yet another fit of infintileness, while they were stuffing their faces we TP'd everyone on the hill's tent, and the clicky brat girls crapshack.immediately after that I got to go over to a local gun club and shoot my extraordinarily cool shotgun, but missed my chance to throw things at the nazi rally.

did you ever see a llama, kiss a llama on a llama llama's llama taste of llama llama llama duck. (I'm slipping)
-~-Bob

creepy porn thing on my blog! humbug!

2006-08-16T15:31:00.000-07:00

to whom it may concern:
a little while ago while looking at my blog I noticed that somehow on my post under "comments" there was one. this was strange because I had posted it less than half an hour ago. When I checked it out it was some adertisment under "annonymous" for "full frontal nudes" so I deleeted it. I'm not sure what this was, how it got on to my blog or anything, so if it's a real person looking at my blog and posting I say to you "SCREW YOU YOU PERVERT BUGGER!" so please don't be offended if you see something like this on any part of my blog, and if you do please report it. thanks.

"romeo and juliet were thirteen years old, by modern standards this is shocking but according to the history books, thirteen was almost middle aged back in the middle ages. discounts for the elderly kicked in at twenty, women gave birth at nine, men went off to war at five, and the average eurpoean died before he was born."
--reduced shakespeare company

here's a llama there's a llama, fuzzy llama funny llama...

2006-08-16T14:47:00.002-07:00

what has our world come to? Is this what people waste their time making?!?

(www.albinoblacksheep.com/flash/llama.php)

Ya know the divine comedy? NOT FUNNY!!!

2006-08-16T14:47:00.001-07:00

WARNING: if you like poodles or have known a poodle that came to a tragic end, skip the first paragraph.
Greetings Bob's public! Now that I'm back you can stop that whole "weeping and nashing of teeth" thing. first thing's first. poodles. I hate poodles. I am also not a big fan of french. so french poodles are the most vile of evil things, excluding Tom Cruise. Bob came up with a theory a while ago, concerning fluffy dogs and confette. one day while riding in a car, some bloody poodle came walking allong, half in la-la land across the street, forcing the driver to hit the breaks. stupid poodles. So after we had all mentaly cursed out the poodle, my smelly, er, brother and I came up with a theory. poodles, if hit by a car, do not go splat, they go puff. not crunch, not crack, not splat, but puff. you see as poodles are like the most extreme vally girls this world has ever known, they are filled not with blood, gutts, bones nad organs, but with a sparkley confette-like substance. My friend's parents recently got an annoying, dirty, needy little french poodle, and we have a routine. As soon as the poodle comes into the room one of us points and shouts, to quote Hamlet: "how now, a rat!" and when it runs away: "dead for a ducket, dead!" in conclusion; stupid poodles.
This next subject is a depressing one, so I'll try to make it quick. modern day Nazism. in my small part of the midwest, there is schedueled to be a "Nazi march" soon. I'd tell you exactly how I feel about this, but heaviest of heavy metal rockers would be offended. I don't know whether these people are ignorant or just cruel, but I bloody well want to do something. somebombs would be fun, swastica burning, make hundreds of photo comies of holocost victems and throw them at the buggers, simply up yours-ing them as they go by. (the first two I have no real intention of doing, the others however...) I know that angry, rage seething ramblings are no fun so I'll finninsh this up. to all you bloody Nazies out there, UP YOURS and enjoy your stay in hell.
Finaly we come ot the last of my insane ravings, "classic books." now some of these are great, like Beowolf, or Kidnapped (it's set in Scotland during the revolution, how can it be bad?) but some annoy me. Walden, Silence of the Lambs, and most of all Dante's Inferno. Walden, this I have not read, but I will have to read it and from what I hear, it's like an entire book written about sitting on a rocking chair on the porch. now had it been written by Hemmingway, the old fart sitting on the porch would be drunk and homocidal. that's much more fun. And then there's Inferno. Dante's theology is messed up, Martin Luther an every single great theologen all through time is rolling over in his/her grave. But there is also quite a bit to be said for Dante, the writing's cool and some of the things that happen are more origional than anything you would read today. and so in conclusion I reviewed four great books for your convenience.
Dante's Divine Comedy: not funny.
Walden: activity is overrated.
Harry Potter: overrated.
Silence of the Lambs: "shut up lambs!"

"people who don't go to bed don't get to eat their own cheese."
--my mother

When did I get that wart?

2006-07-23T19:18:00.000-07:00

Greetings thou jolt-head illiterate horse and white livered wretched bloody userping molignant kancards! Bob enjoys quoting shakespeare. But my greeting has nothing to do with my short message for today. I have been slacking lately, and plan on doing so for a little while. I have been on a short vacation and am soon going on a longer one. 'yay.' *bob is forced to eat Robin's minstrals* 'yay.' we are going camping, or weenie camping, because we stay in an "A" frame cottage without running water, fridge, stove etc. but don't smile yet, Bob will be back once the police find me and drag me back to my strait jacket.
at this point i've been sitting at the computer trying to figure out what to say in general about my life. bugger, my life's boring.
so goodbye 'til my next drooling session.

wha I have three brothers an' thar a' rest for their arms are croost apon their breasts.
wa de poor young sailors just like me must be tossed an' driven in tha cold black sea!
--Farewell to Nova Scotia, tradidional Scottish/Canadian song (excuse the bad spelling, it's how "auld" poems are written)

Tea 'n crumpits Gov'na'?

2006-07-10T14:10:00.000-07:00

Any of you hobos ever been to the Renaissance Faire? If you have never gone, go now.
back so soon?
Anyway, bob went again on Sunday. This is only the third time I've gone and already my year revolves around it. I went first in 2004, and being totaly obsessed with fantasy and medeival history, I was enthralled. men in puffy pants and women in puffy dresses went around everywhere and called everyone their cousin ("good day good cousin!" etc.). so soon after that i had some extra money and a ren fair catologue so i got a kilt and shirt. If I just went like that I would be like one of those baffoons who were told that people dressed up, so they put on a bathrobe cape and sneakers and called themsleves "down right Elizabethen." So I got a nice belt and expensive renaissance shoes. this looked okay, not, "oh what a lovely costume if only I could afford one" okay, but passable. so this year i went all out and got knee socks, stockingflags, a sporran and claymore (enormous Scottish sword, perfect for whacking off English heads). all together my costume cost about $250 and I look pretty good.
but enough tartan babblings, on to the faire! I got up bright nad early (9:00) and my brother and I went to pick up my brother's friend. she is evil personified. her favorite hobby is hugging me because she knows I despise human contact. she fears stakes, crucifixes, silver bullets and all other forms of monster slaying. We got to the faire and after buggering around for a while we four (my brother, the Undead thing, a friend of mine and I) found the ye olde demonic armore shoppe. this, i believe was the beginning. The "it" took a picture with the salesman who was wearing black leather studded with red spikes. it was to be the first of overall 52 pictures taken that day. for some reason I was dared into going on the bungey jumps there, which was fun if slightly childish. it was especialy fun in a kilt. then we came upon the pixies. women in skin tight suits, spraypainted the color of their "element" (blue:water, green:forrest, etc). They did a kind of modern dance with people, acting kind of like people realy high on something, so every time we went by one, someone would whisper loudly "My psyciatrist said this was bad, but I'm seeing the pixies again." this gained the occasional laugh, but a lot of nasty looks. there is far too say to decribe the faire, so I'll start to put the slobber back in my mouth and fetch my dribble rag for the end. The next morning I slept until 1:00, four hours more than usual. and I delt with my faire hangover well*. So goodbye and beware the ides of march.

*Faire Hangover: a state of mind following a trip to the ren faire in which everything in your life seems so boring in comparison to all the fun you had yesterday that you want ot do one of two things; either sleep all day, or go back to the faire. the faire's far away so I always go with my second instinct.

The bravest fell and the requium bell tolled mournfully and clear for those who died that Easter tide in the springing of the year.
While the world did gaze with deep amaze at those fearless men but few, who bore the fight that freedom's light might shine through the foggy dew.
~~The Foggy Dew - old Irish battle song
Bob

Yes I am odd! what of it!?!

2006-07-06T18:39:00.000-07:00

just a couple links to show ye people today.
interesting study:

(www.livescience.com/animalworld/ 050128_monkey_business.html - 66k -) or type "new study" on google and it's the first after the three newspaper things.

Bob's new blog! if you go on, leave a message like you believe the BS I drool out onto the screen. (it's a long story why, but perhaps when I have even less to do than I do now I will share it).

(www.contheo.blogspot.com)

Give 'im the ole' man!

2006-07-05T11:14:00.000-07:00

Greetings losers! Bob is disturbed. The incident occured yesterday on the way to a fireworks show. I, and a few of my friends, (ranging from about 14-18 years old) were driving along a street, on both sides were appartment buildings.
As we poked along in our van, an old man of maybe 80 or so, dressed in a blue shirt and golf cap looked at us, and in slow motion his face twisted into an angry grimace and a lone finger went up. yes! that's right! the ole' man gave us the finger! flipped us the bird! showed us the cecular version of the "one way" sign! this elderly man looked at us and for no appearent reson gave us the ifle tower! there was a moment of shocked silence nad then a huge chorus of laughter.
LOL
ROFL
HAHAHAHAHA!
Then it was over. he turned and continued flipping us off until we were out of sight, but still laughing. wouldn't you hate to be his grand-kid? I've had the occasional finger thrown my way but this tops them all. We also have no idea what caused him to do such a thing. we were doing nothing but sitting there and talking. so we have three theories:
1. the ole fart had mental problem
2. the old man was anti-american and hated
the 4th.
3. the ole dinker just hated youth of all ages.

if you, my two person audiance have any theories please post 'em. if not just try to invision your grandpa giving you half the peace sign. It's kinda fun.

I'm a lumberjack and I'm okay, I sleep all night and I work all day.
~Bob~

The curse of the great wizard G'naftr'knak!

2006-07-01T17:13:00.000-07:00

Greetings my pitiful losers! Bob is back for anothyer round. A short one this time. The subject you ask? Nerds! Being one myself I know all about them. Have you ever had a freind who is completely obsessed with D&D or Runescape to such an extent that it envelops their whole lives? Welcome to my house party! You see, Bob's friends (not the ones who take his money at gunpoint, the other ones) are strange people for the most part. Aside from the muggers and the other quarter of semi-normal ones, most of Bob's friends are complete and utter Nerds, or Geeks. I do not use this term in a derogitory way, rather in an open, "haha non-losers, that word has no effect on us now (gniggle)" way. I firmly believe that a nerd should be open about the fact that he is one, and the first step toward the psyc house is admitting your problem. there are some forms of nerds that Bob cannot stand. these are the Enveloped Nerds. the ones who are so completely obsessed with their game, be it Warhammer, D&D or Runescape that if you speak a word of the ouside world to them they will look at you as if you had lost your pocket protector. I happen to know that these exist, I have talked to them on various occasions. teh conversation goes something like what follows:
Me: "Hey."
Nerd: "Hey. What level are you?"
Me: "32. You?"
Nerd: "Seventy five."*
Me: "Cool."
Nerd: "What's your attack XP?"
Me: "30."

A few more minutes of this and we've become basic aquaintances.

Me: "What kind of music you like?"
Nerd: *blank stare*
Me: "Like, rap? rock?Disco? Polka?"
Nerd: "Um, ya."
Me: "Any other sites you like? Game sites or anything?"
Nerd: *blank stare*
Me: "So you like, write or draw or anything?"
Nerd: I can drawr the great Wizard Za'Vatar, and sometimes the mighty warrior Ithor."

I try again several times to talk about normal things, but yet again fail.

Me: "(sigh) what's your Fishing XP?"

And I believe he is still chattering about that to this very day, and he will explain how many shrimp he can catch in one day to whoever will listen until he is old and has even thicker glasses.
this is a semi-sad day in Bobland. but look at the bright side, now, if I keep listening to their ramblings I will get a good raise soon. beause whatever happens, Nerds, since the beginning of time, will grow up to be you bosses. That's one very positive thing about Nerds, is they are exceedingly smart. I've played Wargames (something like Risk) with them before and they can beat you in five turns flat. before you know it they've blown your artillary to shreds, outflanked your prime muskets and manuvered your horses into a corner in front of some spearmen!

translation: "Geek! geek geek geeking! geek geek geek geek geekums! Geekity geekity geekums! Geek!"
But anyway, I would rather be a nerd than one of those stupid conforming "Normal" or "Cool" people. Nerds have alot to be said for them, so suck up to them now kiddies, 'cause they could put you in a monsion or the poolhouse when you're old.

*it has taken me five years of playing the game in question a few hours a week to reach where I am, and the Nerd is usualy younger than me so from that deduct how much he must play a week, or even a day. I would do it for you but I'm far too lazy. HA!

If I only had a brain...

2006-06-24T11:47:00.000-07:00

Bob is back. Hello All! but anyway, Bob will get right down to buisness. a little while ago Bob went klayaking with his friend Bobwise (www.ithinkthereforeithink.blogspot.com) a little while ago, and as he says, you may think that keeping your legs or knees under the kayak my protect you from sunburn, but you are VERY wrong. Bob poured half the bottle onto his legs and arms and neck but did that keep him from extreme pain made even worse by his evil older sibling? OH NO! and you would think that by keeping your knees covered by long shorts and a kayak you would prevent sunburn, but is that true? OH NO! So after fifteen or twenty miles of kayaking we went home and I went directly to fencing class. Our slightly scary, slightly sweet Cracovian teacher was in a good mood and didn't deal out too many push ups, so I got lucky. after that my retarted brother dorve vus home and I went to my room. there I turned on the TV and sat on my bed to watch. about fifteen minutes into 24 I fell dead asleep and didn't wake up until 11:00 the next morning with the TV still on and my brother poking my sunburned knees. I haven't been able to think clearly today at all, so I'll never Purple monkey the dishwasher anymore without sun lotion on my mailbox. I'm quite tired as you can see nad my mind has been kind of drifting off topic over and over. people keep saying I have ADD but they just don't understand. hey look a chicken! That dog had a puffy tail! ghasp! I forgot to fluiff my pillow dtoday! so to make up for it I'll just have to...oh look, a chicken!

"Knowlege is power, power corrupts, study hard, become evil.

Oh how long must we sing this song?

2006-06-17T18:22:00.000-07:00

Greetings people!, please excuse me while I puke into this bucket.
**
Ah thank you. Bob is disgusted. What is contemporary Christian music, and how did such a good thing as Christianity create such a monster? All that and more, coming up next; but first a word from our sponsors. Go turn on your radio to the nearest Christian station. Done? Good! Now listen to the lyrics of maybe two or three songs, and mentally record how many times you her the words "I," or "me," surprising how many times those words pop up in "music" that's supposed to be about God. Now if you couldn't tell weather or not you hit the CCM station or not, that's another thing. With many CCM songs you could tell someone that it was soft rock and they would believe it. Oh the buggers. Many of my friends like that kind of stuff, so I try my utmost to smile politely when asked about the music. They can't see what I find so interesting about bagpipes and claymores (a fun punk version of this can be found at www.paddyrock.com) but they smile and nod politely, like I do and we have a mutual respect in most cases. I can kind of see the appeal of CCM, in fact that was all I could listen too not all that long ago. You feel like you're having a "spiritual experience," but it's just the mood of the people, the sound of the music and the idea of it all being about God.
Wow, it seems I'm just about finished, that must have been the shortest CCM rant I've been on in my life. So anyway, the point is, beware of handraising!!!

The Zombie Mice are coming!

2006-06-10T20:01:00.001-07:00

Hello all!
*Crickets*
Bob has realized something. He has not told y'all* about his theories! How stupid of him. Over the years Bob's brain has developed a tendency to take any simple little thing and form strange conspiracy theories around it. Two examples I have already quoted from myself in previous posts, these are my two favorites.

Theory 1:
Micky Mouse, the beloved children's character created by The Father Of All Evil Walt Disney will, in the near future, draft children and adults alike into the army. It will come quickly, everyone in the government, having been kidnaped and brainwashed by the Disney Empire, will all agree to a new law that will allow children to be drafted into the army. And so without warning or reason children and adults alike will fall victem to It. And so the harvest begins. Adults under forty will be drafted by the army's newest recruiter Mickey Mouse. I say people under thirty because, in a few years, all of those will have grown up in Mousedom, or the world of children today (I mean look at little kids, if you ask them to go shopping with you and you tell them Micky will be there they agree!). But anyway, Micky will suddenly appear on TV, the papers, everywhere and begin saying "Hey kids! Join the Army!" Then he will do a sickeningly cute song/dance and all who see it will run to the nearest recruiting station and sign up like mindless drooling zombies. Which brings us to my next theory.

Theory 2:
You are alone on a misty hillside, all around you the moans of the undead echo about your ears. You raise the sawed off shotgun and fire blindly into the figure ahead of you. It takes the impact in the chest and flies down the rocky hill, but at the bottom it rises again and begins shuffling toward you. You fire again, striking it in the head. This time the grey corpse falls like a rag doll to the earth. Relieved you turn, and are immediately enveloped in the groping hands of several ghouls in front of you! You scream but no one hears and as they pull you in you can feel their broken teeth sinking into your flesh.
This is the world of the future.
Some day soon zombies will rule the earth! It will begin with a small outbreak in Nevada, then will spread throuout america and soon the entire world will be of the living dead! So I say fight back! begin collecting weapons and water now and barricade yourself in your house like I have. The Mouseful Army will not stop the undead! There are refrences to it in the book of Psalms, (chapter 27) and in an ancient Egyptian ledgend (though oddly enough it says nothing at all about mummies, only zombies). So prepare now! Mwahahahahaha!!!!
I must leave now, the men in the white coats are outside. So work hard! Strive to be masculine!Beware the ides of March!

P.S. when barricadeing yourself, try to bring along a few games, you can't clean your guns all day.

Alba Saor!
bOb

*Bob never says "y'all" he simply feels like it, so shut up about it.

Treeehuggers, kiddy edition

2006-06-08T15:35:00.000-07:00

Treehuggers. Ohhh the treehuggers. BAH! Bob was out the other day In the park when some poor person's little kid comes running up to a tree and leaps upon the defenseless thing, squeezing it and squealing "tree!" while his helpless parent stood there and looked embarrassed. Bob feels for that poor man. Also, a couple months ago Bob was innocently minding his own business when he witnessed a tragedy. Two small children, running along the street hugging the show trees along the sidewalk. Bob cries daily for their parents. Both of these crimes against nature were committed by children probably under the age of 10. Bob bawls openly.
Bob knows some people who I'm sure have embraced a few giant sticks in their time and they are nice people for the most part. But Bob will rant against them another time. Perhaps these mini terrors were raised this way, the way of love for the brainless. To you all I say, please bugger off. To those who do this because of some other sick reason I say bugger off. but then again I think pretty much the whole world should bugger off, so who am I to talk. In general people annoy me, ask anyone who has spent a few house with me and you'll know this. But now it's time for ADD boy to get back the subject at hand. The frickin' treehuggers. I can see their point about saving trees, kind of. But have they ever thought of what the trees might feel like? Just to piss me off my brother's female friends hug me and I can't stand it, so how do you think those twigs feel? Did they ask to be touched? NO! They could sue for sexual harassment like I'm planning on doing to my brother's friends. I propose a new law commanding hippies not to touched a tree but rather throw themselves at the bulldozers to prevent logging. Who's behind me!!!
*crickets chirping*
bugger. So that law didn't go over so great and now I've been committed back into the mental hospital by congress after I broke into their homes to propose my law, but things worked out well.

People Annoy Me.
Bob of Bobland

My name is Bob.

2006-06-07T18:49:00.000-07:00

Huh, so this is a blog. Interesting. This would be the time all of you CCM loving, gun controling, BoBo french-hippie gecko-haters to run away from your screen screaming. All of you buggered off? Good! I am Bob. Bob will be posting things on here when the nice people let bob out of his padded cell and onto the computer. Bob will sometimes rant about the things at the beginning of this post, and sometimes will babble about his life in general. He may also very well rant against society. Do not let the slightly distrbing glint in my eye fool you, I'm a nice guy, unless you insult my kilt or my gecko. Or if you hug me, that's when limbs fly. But Bob digresses. I am a nice person for the most part. In case you were wondering, the title for this blog has nothing to do with anything, it was simply the first thing that popped into my head. I may stop referring to Bob's self in the third person sometimes, simply because I feel like it. Also one more thing, the theories. I may publish my conspiracy theories on here. these are simply thing that my overactive imagionation has come up with (such as Micky Mouse drafting children into the army) or things that I found interesting and were shaped into elaborite theories (such as Psalm 27 referring to zombies). So anyway if you visit, leave a note on what you thought of my blog and the level of disturbing-ness (1-10). So anyway Bob must leave you for the white shores of Bobland and the happy purple glow of insanity! HEHEHE!

Alba Saor!
Bob