Cat assholes are not funny or cute

My life may be stuck in a rut, regurgitating upon itself situations I thought I had left behind years ago, absolutely everything may be turning upside down on itself; conversely other shit that I thought was going to be forever existant may have just flown out the fucking window, but this all means good news for you, faithful reader.

It means the semi-comfortable but semi-anemic life I'd been living for the last two or so years is also out the window. It means I'm as pissed off as I've ever been. It means I've rediscovered how much I love writing. I feel as if I've punched a thousand fucking hippies in the stomach and their frail little soy eating frames can't take it so they cough up a bunch of blood. Then I collected the hippie stomach blood and I bathed in it. A fresh baptism of hippie blood; christened again in the name of cynicism and assholocity.

Cat assholes are not funny nor cute nor edgy. They're disgusting and infuriating. I see people wearing shirts with cat assholes plastered all over them. Now there are magnets and stickers too. What fucking vos Savant decided to take all the lameness and crushing depression of a cat lady and combine that with the exciting thought of animal sphincters? Everyone knows I love nothing more than people who want to fuck animals. Yes, that's right cat ladies: I know your disgusting secret - you long to copulate with your cats because no human would dare get within 5 feet of you for fear their face would melt off a la The Ark of the Covenant or me in Arathi Basin. You wear your cat asshole sweatshirt with the coffee stains and you put your cat asshole stickers on your 1985 Ford Taurus with the broken muffler and the Michael Dukakis sticker on the bumper both of which you still have because you're clinging desperately to a time when you thought you might still accomplish something with the brief flicker of existance you've been granted and since squandered, hoping some other thouroughly depressing and worthless cunt whose only aspiration is buying lottery tickets and thinking about fucking cats sees your cat asshole paraphinalia and maybe the two of you can sit around for a while talking and dancing around the fact that you both want sexual satisfaction from your cats yet lementing that they want nothing more to do with you than humanity does but never actually just coming out and saying it to each other becuase you're both fucking worthless scared twats.

That's exactly what you say to everyone when you wear a cat asshole shirt. It's not only your horrendous stench that keeps us away from you, you vile putrescence.

This Ipod shit has gone entirely too far. It's like Abercrombie t-shirts and motherfucking Starbucks coffee - douchebagging hipsters putting out obscene amounts of money for inferior products because they see other trendwhore dickmongers doing the same. The Ipod Nano is literally so small that you could fart it out of existance. How brilliantly practical. Every shithead with an Ipod is one of two types: A diehard mac fan or a vapid dolt who likes cute trinkets with no regard for functionality. And for once, the fucking Mac hippie is the lesser of two shitheaded evils. That's right: I prefer the Wozniak wannabe to the art history major who shelled our $400 for a digital music player with a whopping 1,000 songs worth of storage. I bet you think socialism is the answer too. Get out of that Che Guevara t-shirt you worthless dink, Maddox stole any actual political message that pinko fuck had left in him when he photoshopped that image and started using it to peddle domestic violence and child abuse jokes.

There was a time when I thought Jack Thompson was actually wothy of my scorn; he has however since proven himself to be such an incompetent trainable that I can't rightfully hate him or wish him bodily harm any longer. It's like having a vendetta against the drooling kid who can't feed himself or push his own wheelchair in your high school. Not only do you just look like a jackass for hating on a mental deficient, but you know there's nothing you could possibly do to him that could even be considered in the stratasphere of what god has already done to the poor bastard.

Scooter Libby deserves to be tossed to a group of starved and sexually-molested-by-a-group-of-Scooter-Libby-impersonators Muslim extremeists. Karl Rove and Dick Cheney are evil fucks who will get theirs in the afterlife. Bush is still a well-intentioned oblivious doofus who's easily corralled. And no, hippies, John Kerry would not have been any better. Get a new fucking hobby.

That's it. I've blown my wad for the night. But I'm back, baby. Expect more updates and pointless tirades. If I can't come up with anything good, I'll just get trashed and stab drunkely at the keyboard.

That reminds me. Happy every-birthday-starting-with-this-one-is-completely-worthless-for-the-rest-of-your-life-ha-ha-ha-ha Birthday to me.

/and if you think you've got it made
//just revel in your selfish ways
///'cause when the world stops turning, so will you

Dereth gets shut down

I heard a rumor the other day. It wasn't terribly hard to believe, but I didn't want to believe it regardless. As soon as the opportunity presented itself, I investigated the proper channels where one might confirm such a claim, and sadness enveloped me.

Dear AC2 subscribers,

In spite of our hard work and the launch of Legions, AC2 has reached the point where it no longer makes sense to continue the service. We will be officially closing the Asheron's Call 2 service on 12/30/05. Until then, we plan to run live events, but we will not be adding any content or features.

We deeply appreciate the many dedicated fans of AC2 who have stood by us over the years. You have our sincerest gratitude.

Best regards, Jeffrey "I'm an asshole for doing what's fiscally sensible" Anderson CEO, Turbine

I haven't played AC2 in months, and even when I went back for that time it was rather halfhearted. That's irrelevant when all is said and done, though. AC2 wasn't my first MMO, but it was the first one that gripped me with such ferocity that I became frightened for my own well-being. I wasn't joking when I did this photoshop:

During my time in AC2 I also found the absolute worst high-end weapon in any game ever.

It's not like this was surprising for anyone. Plagued from day one by a disasterous publishing agreement with Microsoft and a practically nonexistant marketing campaign, AC2 never got very far off the ground. Server merges happened mere months into the launch of the game. AC2 couldn't even hold its own against EQ and DAoC, what chance did it have against the likes of WoW and EQ2?

Despite its financial trouble and lack of subscriber numbers, the AC2 community was unrivaled. AC2 was the first game that really showed me that who you play the game with can be much more fun than playing the game itself. Thank everyone from Crimson Warriors and later Servants of Order for the first guild that ever meant a damn thing to me. Thanks to Cupoftea for helping me through that drudge cave at level 13 and inviting me to CW, and Dawgeth for being the coolest damn Allegiance leader ever. Thanks to Cup, Elaara, Dawg, Deejay, the DeWernis and all the rest for keeping killing millions of shrillos fun.

Rest in peace my characters, I really thought you'd be around forever. Your legacy will live on through the fields of dead drudge, moarsmen, gurog, shreth and armordillo.

Folken - Lugian Berzerker
Logain Ablar - Tumerok Invoker
Mazrim Taim - Human Sorcerer
Kaneda - Tumerok Clawbearer
Mortarion - Tumerok Melee Healer

All signing off.

/she still looks like a man

On the time travel properties of alcohol

I got drunk tonight. It was pretty fun. After I had drank half a bottle of good old Knob Creek (heh heh, knob) we went on a McDonald's run, the sober Mike driving. It took about 2 minutes to make it from his house to the McDonald's.

We went to get gas, and then were back on 625. It took about 10 seconds on 625 to make it to Tim's house.

Odds are this was my brain just filtering out about 99% of the time spent in the car, but since I'm drunk I'm gonna run with this and say that alcohol is the key to traveling through time, at least forward.

I put it forth to all scientists of planet Earth: Distill whateverthehell is it in delicious, delicious bourbon that lets us shoot through space-time in absurdly short amounts of perception and let us take it as a pill, so I can fly though boring activities such as class, work, and listening to people who aren't me speak. We all know I'm the only one with things worth saying. Oh, and Kera sometimes.

Seriously though, fuck cancer, AIDS, Lyme disease and all that shit. Time travel is where it's at. I've found the secret, too. I've put you on the path. Now just do it. A few cases of Jack Daniel's, a couple bottles of Maker's Mark and Wild Turkey and you're there! Time travel yay!

Scientists, until you discover and distill this incredibly potent time travel device from within sexy sexy booze, I guess I'll have no choice than to drink in order to time travel. And, well, all things considered, I suppose that's not so horrible a fate.

/inebriated poet
//thanks mike

My eyes are retarded

I was in a weird mood tonight. Too many things going on.

I got the stupid idea to go outside.

I went outside. A bat nearly took off my head. I came back inside.

I went outside again. I sat out there for a while before the bugs ate me alive to the point that I had to run back to shelter.

I decided I'd go check out the hot tub that my family bought like 8 months ago and I have yet to use. I went upstairs and out to the back porch.

I took one step outside and stepped on a toad. I jumped off of the poor toad and some sort of horrible flying bug landed on my neck and would not leave.

I ran screaming back inside.

I can only conclude that my years of castigating nature have caught up to me; it's finally tired of my shit and will assault me at every single turn.

/fook it

In Memoria

/buhfuck

To cap it all off

During a week that shit was piled on top of me day after day, hour after hour, in a relentless barrage of excrement, today I recieved the horrible news: Mitch Hedberg has died.

He was entirely different. I can't tell you of another comedian, or person, who had the same comedic style or timing; the closest I can come to is Steven Wright, but even the two of them were different by miles.

Deadpan observations that would never be funny if not given in his signature style of speaking. Clever puns and completely retarded puns that were nonetheless hilarious. Punchlines out of left field. The man was a goddamn genius, and easily my favorite comedian in an entire pantheon which I worship.

We love you, man. You were the greatest ever. You were entirely too young and entirely too funny to die. Rest in peace.

"He said to me, 'Mitchell, Smokey is way more intense in person.'"

No. Nein. Nr. Non. SUCK A SCHLONG!

I've always defended Best Buy and their shitfucker ways to friends and family who deride the retail outlet for their punkass employees, bait-and-switch tactics, purposeful understocking of in demand items and other such transgressions of good bidness because, frankly, their store kicks ass. Every time I walk into Best Buy I need to restrain myself to prevent unintentional orgasm; I want to own everything in that store. For Chrissakes, their WASHERS and DRYERS are sexy as hell. Televisions, video games, computers, stereos - it's every electronics consumer whore's wet dream - hence the mess in the pants every time I enter.

Today was the launch of the PSP, and despite a limited budget I could not for the life of me resist the little bastard. I woke up at 8 am, as if compelled by the device's psionic allure, then promptly was at my bank, withdrawing a substaintial amount of cash moneys to buy the arousing little ebony device.

Best Buy normally doesn't open until 10 AM; today was a special PSP launch day event with an 8 AM opening. As soon as I entered the store and inquired about the object of my affection, I was coralled into a special little walled off section of the store devoted entirely to the PSP. Cool, everything I needed in one spot. There were all kinds of promos and whatnot going on, I received a free gift card and Reward Zone membership for buying a bunch of crap I was going to purchase regardless; who doesn't love that shit?

The problems came when an employee came and introduced himself, and promptly asked if he could ask me some questions. Figuring this would be the standard "what sort of games do you like?" line of questioning, I said sure, even though I was already pretty positive of what games I was going to buy. As we began talking he grabbed one of those little handbasket dealies, and when I told him I was still trying to decide between Twisted Metal and Wipeout as game number zwei, he said very matter-of-factly that Twisted Metal was awesome and placed one within the basket. What the fuck? When did Best Buy employees decide that they were given the fucking edict to determine what the customers wanted to buy? Still, I took it in stride, as I was probably going to buy Twisted Metal anyhoo, and I could always replace it if not. He then introduced me to a wide range of peripherals that I had no interest in. I made the mistake of saying "Well, yeah, sure" when asked if I planned on taking the system on any road trips, which lead to lengthy descriptions of several expendable battery chargers and whatnot. Still, I had wandered into that one all by my lonesome, so I wasn't too upset with that either, only mildly irritated. It was then time to ring up my purchases, and after a short walk to the customer service counter, I of course got the ol' Best Buy Customer Protection Plan speech. I try (and normally successfully) cut these off as soon as the speech begins, as I've heard it hundreds of times before (I buy a lot of shit at that store) and I'm never interested. I know it's just their jobs, so I usually humor them for a few seconds before telling them I'm not interested. This bitch though, looked to be about 17, would not fucking quit. Over and over and over she expoused the same points, and over and over and over I told her I was fine without it. Eventually she went on to tell her story of how a friend once didn't buy the protection plan and when her Xbox stopped working weeks later, it cost almost as much as the system itself to ship it back to Microsoft for repairs!

That's bullshit.

Regardless, I didn't call her on it, and just told her finally, firmly, that No, I'll just take what I've got here. I could see the disappointment on her face, her cheeks drooped, and a sad look invaded her eyes. She sort of sighed and then continued to ring up my stuff without saying a word.

That register was apparantly being a pain in the proverbial cock (or cunt? The cashier was a chick, after all) and so we walked over to the normal checkout area, where everything was rerung as she walked away. Now the much older, much fatter, much more penis-having guy started giving me the Protection Plan spiel. I tried to cut him off right away, but he continued talking. I told him flat out that the girl had gone over everything, I don't care, I want my system. He continued to expouse the virtues of the Best Buy Customer Service Plan.

In most cases I'm a rather calm and rational person, despite what my FTOTITHSOI may lead you, dear reader, to believe. I also know the horrible existance that is a counter biscuit, and I do my damndest to make sure that the poor fucking sods working cash registers have the easiest possible time with me. Despite all this, I was three brain cells synapsing away from telling this guy to fuck the goddamn shit hell off and ring up my bitch cunting stuff, assrammer.

Finally, the coop dee gracy: Jackass #2 begins giving me the SAME STORY OF HOW HIS FRIEND'S XBOX BROKE, AND HOW THE POOR WOMAN NEARLY PAID AS MUCH FOR THE REPAIR AS SHE DID FOR THE SYSTEM. Holy shit, what a Jesusfucking coincidence! You too!

I'm now convinced that every Best Buy employee, at time of their bullshit training seminar, is handed a peice of paper detailing the plight of Unlucky Female Friend with Xbox, and are instructed to use it as soon and as often as possible! I imagine thousands of shitheads in blue shirts and yellow nametags, reciting it line by line in front of their mirror every morning, ramping themselves up for feeding a horrendous line of shit to hundreds of people that day - each of them guilty of no crime more than wanted some fucking electronics.

I'm going to start an electronics chain some day, and there's going to be a guy at the door. That guy's going to ask you if you'd like to be left the fuck alone while you buy your shit or if you want some rimjobber following you around, placing things he knows you want to buy in your cart for you, and then trying to trick your rube ass into spending 1/3 of the product price on a second warranty overtop of the one you get for free from the manufacturer. If they want the second on, this guy will kindly point them to the nearest Best Buy and/or Circut City. He will have one sweet job.

Best Buy and Circut City will be out of business within weeks, I assure you.

/seriously, leave me the fuck alone

I think I'm turning creepy

I saw the car again today. It was surprising, as I have not noticed it for many months. I parked next to it. I took some more time to look at it. Even more bumper stickers. Hello Kitty seat covers. Alvernia parking permit.

I can't help but thinking this is really creepy. Still, it's rare to find someone into that sort of music. Rarer still to find one willing to plaster it all over one's car. Rarer still in this rotten backass podunk area. Rarerstill for one to be a female.

The thought occured to me to sit out in that desolate lot for the next hour and some minutes until the meter expired for that particular spot to see what manner of creature would appear to refill the meter and/or drive away. That's even creepier, though. Besides all that, it's not like I'd say anything. What works in that situation? "Duhh, I like them stickers whatfor you got on your veehickle. Huh-yuck."

All this over a fucking car.

You know, that I've given up on caring what others think of me as a person really has far less impact when I myself can realize what a fucking tool I am at times. It doesn't help.

/ignore this post
/please

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust

Years from now, when the lawsuits stop and the media and megacorporations have their new topic of the moment, we will look back. And on that day, my friends, we shall recount those lost, and we will talk of their great importance to the cause and to our lives. And that moment is when we will look back and realize that it was you who were the brightest star, you who were the greatest loss, and on that day, as we do now, we will feel the overarching sadness.

April 2003 - December 2004

Rest in peace, good buddy.

/sniff sniff

Jihad!

I have begun a holy war. This, of course, is in addition to my concurrent (but sometimes very apathy-beset) holy wars against VHS, Macintoshes, and furries. This, my friends, is a holy war on lane switchers.

Lane switching is indeed cutting off, but cutting off is not necessarily lane switching. If there were a Venn diagram of cutting off, lane switching would be enclosed entirely within cutting off, but with ample space outside of the lane switching universe also contained within the cutting off circle.

Lane switching is the act of intentionally taking the wrong lane, a lane that you know damn well is forced to turn into a direction you know you will not be going, yet taking that lane regardless and then attempting to cut into the lane going where you would like to go, completely bypassing this slower moving lane earlier on. Everyone who does this can rot in the deepest pits of fucking hell, which is an entirely separate place from celebate hell.

I deal with these dickmongers every day leaving work, going over the Penn Avenue bridge out of the city. While the lane switchers themselves are the cause of this problem and I wish a horrible painful ass disease on them, the problem would be quickly put to rest if only everyone had the conviction I did. Others, however, puss out, and let these cocky bastards move in front of them. Not me though, hell no. If one of these assholes attempts to move in front of me, rather than slow down, I will accelerate, and, depending on the curvature of the road at this particular place in the road, will also flip them off. Flip off them? Sounds good. I will also flip off them.

Sometimes I scream myself hoarse at these bags of twat. Filled with twat, they are, and filled with rage, I am. I inform them of impure acts I commited with their mothers, into which orifi they may insert that turn signal, and the precise number of carniverous insects I will cram into their noses and reproductive organs when I finally track them down.

All this came to a head on Friday. Some dicksucker, despite my best effort at accelerating, still lane switched in front of me. I hovered behind him, seriously considering ramming the dickhead's back bumper. Fuck yo sportscar, nigguh. My car is a tank, yours is a fucking HotWheel. Eventually, cooler heads prevailed, and I decided not to run the fucker off the road. Then, however, I heard that goddamned U2 song on the radio again. It's impossible to get away from, even on the good radio stations. A peice of me snapped on the inside.

"FUCK YOU, BONO", I screamed, probably rather incoherently. "FUCK YOUR FUCKING SPANISH, YOU FUCKING ASSWAD! YOUR SONG DOESN'T MAKE ANY SENSE! I HATE BABIES, AND MY WORLD OF WARCRAFT COLLECTOR'S EDITIONS ARE GONE! FUCK YOU BONO!". With that, I slammed the fucker on the left rear bumper. He swerved uncontrollably to the right, jumping the curb, and up the slight hill, into some bushes. His little pussy Mitsubishi had no momentum behind it, and the bushes caught it up pretty well. I T-boned the bitch with my 3 ton monstrosity, pinning him within his driver's seat, his Ipod now dangling precariously from his cracked rearview mirror; clove cigarette now laying on his crotch, burning his testicles; his precious Abercromie t-shirt covered in blood and teeth. I exit my car (which is still undamaged, mind you) and walk up to him, smashing his driver's side window with the back of my fist like I was a cross between The Fonz and a vampire. He pleaded for help and his life, something about belonging to the Sierra Club and having to go save some fucking walruses (walri?) next week, but I was too busy punching his nose into his face. I began lecturing him on lane switching; I think he heard everything I said because he stopped crying about his legs; maybe he just stopped feeling them, though.

I turned and began walking back towards my car, thinking my job done and my point made. On a whim, I turned back around, reached over the switcher, and grabbed the Ipod from around his destroyed rear-view. I looked at the currently playing song.

Vertigo, by U2, the inferior MP3 player told me. Quivering with rage, I moved back towards the man, who was now again screaming for help. As the tears streamed down his face, I shoved his Apple-crafted peice of shit into his mouth, and then kicked it so hard his head separated from itself and rolled into the passenger seat, coming to rest atop his copy of US weekly, no doubt forever staining that visage of Jessica Simpson for the rest of eternity.

As I walked away from the carnage, Slayer's God Send Death began playing from out of nowhere, as if it were placed there celestially, giving me a divine mandate to continue on my crusade. I walked to my car and drove away, knowing I had done the good lord's work on this day, and that perhaps I would be rewarded with the tragic news that U2's Bono had somehow contracted terminal vagina cancer.

Let that be a lesson to the world: Lane switch on me, expect your own death and the horrible disfigurement of your shitty musician of choice's genitalia.

/go suck a fuck

What's next, streetlamps?

Earlier today I was walking down to move my car for fear I would get locked out of the parking lot if I left it where I first put it. On my way down the street I noticed a red Dodge Neon, slathered in bumper stickers. I decided to take a closer look.

This was a girl's car. It had a leopard print sterring wheel cover, pink hairbrush on the passenger seat, etc. There was little debate.

Finally I get to the bumper stickers, and am confronted with stickers bearing the logos and names of some of my favorite bands in the world. Bad Religion, Pennywise, Guttermouth, Anti-Flag, Bouncing Souls, et cetera. I look over again. Normal People Scare Me. Look over again. This one says "I (heart) Dorks".

This was all somewhat arousing.
Yes, that's for you. You know who you are.

Anyway, I continued walking down to my car, moving it, and then began walking back up to where I began. The car is no longer around. I am honestly disappointed. I think about how weird this seems to me. That looking at this person's car honest-to-god turned me on, and how disappointed that this person, whom I had never met, never would meet, and looked at their bumper stickers for a minute would make me feel almost a sort of weird loss that she drove away.

Then I remembered that I am also aroused by commercials for Metroid Prime 2 (not even because of Samus, mind you) and that I am disappointed when they go away as well.

Then, finally, it all comes back to a singluar point: I am fucking crazy and don't make any sense.

Oh well.

/we are the true believers
//ahhhhhh-ahhhhhhhh-ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
///we are the true believers

Am I really that much like McDohl?

Which Suikoden True Rune Are You Compatible With?
brought to you by Quizilla

You are most compatible with the Soul Eater. You have a lot of pain and sorrow inside of you, which at times may seem as though it is too much to bear. Even so, you never let it stop you, and press on in life. You have great abilities and talents, and as you were raised much was expected from you. You also have a sense of responsibility, both to your commitments and the people you care about, and will try to fulfill it regardless of your doubts and uncertainty. You probably wonder why your life turned out the way it did, and wish you could change something in it. The current owner of the Soul Eater is Tir McDohl. His best friend Ted, who had kept the rune for 400 years, asked him to take it so it could be protected from the Sorcerous Windy. After he aquired the rune, the destinies of the people closest to him were bent toward death, and the Soul Eater took the souls of Odessa, the leader of the Resistance, his loyal guardian and friend Gremio, his Father, and even Ted, who commanded the rune to take him, so he could be free from Windy's control, who had captured him. When Windy later tries to take the rune from Tir, the rune itself refuses her as its master, and stays with Tir and protects him from her power. After the war, Tir declined the role of leadership, and instead wandered the land with Gremio, who was revived with the power of the collective 108 Stars. The Rune is said to be cursed, and its motives and nature are unclear. Although it is clearly a burden to the bearer, Gremio remarks that he did not believe the rune itself was evil. Its true power is also uncertain, although Leknaat warned Tir never to use the full power of the rune.

Sometimes I'm amazed by how much these stupidass little internet quizzes can really give you insight. Sometimes I realize I'm getting all philosophical and emotional because what some fucking website told me about myself in relation to a video game I played 5 years ago. Then, sometimes, I realize that the creepiest part of it all is that it actually seems to make a tremendous amount of sense.

/sorry

Can I get any of you cunts a drink?

My sanity is slowly slipping away. Well, I think it has been for quite a few years now, but recently it seems to have accelerated. My words are more jumbled and mixed up than ever before; sometimes I'll complete entire sentences or send instant messages that are entirely nonsensical (and not purposefully, either) and won't realize it until quite a while later. I'm talking to myself with greater regularity. Well, talking to myself probably isn't the correct phrase - I have conversations with myself. Coherent conversations. With myself. Like I'm two people. 100% Honest example:

I enter the bathroom at work. I begin to unbuckle my belt. The extra part of the belt gets stuck on my pants. The following is all said out loud, and I think I may have even used two separate tones of voice:

Me #1: Stupid goddamn pants.
Me #2: Well, I guess it's not the pants' fault. It's the belt.
Me #1: Yeah, maybe. No, wait, it is the goddamn pants! It's the pants' stupid damn belt loop that's causing the problem.
Me #2: Hey, that's right! Stupid motherfucking pants. Fuck you, fucking pants!

I think I need help.

Also, Shaun of the Dead is the most spectacular movie you will see this year. Go watch it any way you possibly can.

Anyway, I'm going nucking futs, and you're all fucking making it worse. Yeah. You [plural]. You know who you are.

Although I have to commend you[singular] for not causing it this time.

/save tha drama for yo momma

My review of Resident Evil: Apocalypse or Fuck Paul W.S. Anderson directly in the ear

There is no question of my devotion to and love of video games. Resident Evil sits above all series but Final Fantasy in terms of all time greatness. It is most definitely my favorite congruent video game series, and along with that congruence comes the simple fact: there is a timeline, wherein certain characters are in certain places, doing certain things. Above all else, when handling a classic series, one does NOT FUCK WITH the timeline. Up until this point Capcom had done a stellar job of keeping everything straight, with no plot loopholes or crossovers through nearly a dozen games within the series. Even the first movie got through without destroying any Resident Evil lore. Having just returned from seeing the sequel, I must let my disappointment be known - besides a simple devation from the known truths of the Resident Evil universe, it's almost as if the makers of RE: Apocolypse went out of their way to shit all over the entire Resident Evil timeline. Few things are less forgiveable. What follows is a point by point outline of the magnitude RE:A missed its mark.

Before you say it, yes, I am an angry, defensive nerd. I don't like it when people fuck with my beloved stuff. I know I'm a geek loser. No one's going to give you a prize for figuring it out.

1. Jill Valentine did NOT make it out of Racoon City by depending on some pussy scientist, or some genetic freak, or a fucking rent-a-cop.

On the left, the real fucking Jill Valentine. On the right, some slut who thinks she's Jill but can't kill a fucking zombie dog by herself.

I dunno who she thinks she is, but she isn't Jill. Besides the fact that Jill Valentine's activities during the Racoon City crisis don't even come close to matching those of the lady in the movie, she also seems to have none of Jill's accumulated knowledge from the entire Resident Evil 1 storyline, wherein she was trapped in a goddamn mansion with zombies for hours on end, having to deal with corpses, a severe lack of ammo, one tratorous fucking Albert Wesker and mounds of horrible voice acting. Someone doesn't leave an experience like that to act like the "Jill" from the movie when everything blows up weeks later.

Also, I'm well aware of the irony of declaring that the imaginary, computer generated character is the real one while decrying the actual living human being as fake. STFU.

2. Jill works alone.

Instead of pussying around with a motley crew of Umbrella rejects, token black S.T.A.R.S. members, and pretentious bitchy reporters, Jill Valentine was busy single handedly beating the fuck out of the Nemesis and laying the smack down on random other baddies who got in her way.

3. It was the G-Virus, not the T-Virus, you fucks

The T-virus made its appearance in the first Resident Evil. The catastrophe that caused the destruction of Racoon City was the G-Virus, an evolution of the T-Virus. This would be a minor thing if you didn't have the fucking head of Umbrella walking around calling his own product by the wrong name.

4. How the fuck did that bitch know that Jill and the others were trapped inside that church with no ammo before she came flying through a fucking stained glass window on a motorcycle?

There is suspension of disbelief, and then there is rediculousness. I think this scene falls under "recockulous".

5. The monster constitution was all fucked up

Zombies do not go down with a single shot to the head, unless you're firing a magnum or a shotgun, not a fucking pussy 9mm. A licker would not be stopped by a cross falling on it. The nemesis could not stand up to a withering hail of fire from 12 goddamns S.T.A.R.S. members for any period of time. He would go down. Conversely, being impaled on a measly peice of jagged metal would not even slow him down, let alone leave him helpless for 5 minutes. The zombie dogs are not that fucking resiliant. There was no tyrant in the fucking movie but if he had been there I'm sure the fucking 11 year old girl would have slapped him across the face and he would have died.

6. How did the fucking scientist turn into a zombie?

The answer: No.

The scientist, who has never been infected by the G-Virus, is shot. Minutes later, he is a zombie.

The fuck?

I originally thought that he had infected himself with the virus like he had his daughter, but were that the case, his ass wouldn't still be crippled. The only possible explaination left is that the head of Umbrella has G-Virus coated bullets, which is fucking stupid and were it true probably would have been mentioned, since it's not like they were shy about saying all kinds of other retarded shit.

7. The Nemesis does not feel remorse, he does not feel loss, he does not know of his previous life. He is a fucking killing machine who works for Umbrella.

The nemesis was created as a special version of a tyrant which, in addition to greater intelligence, a greater ability to use firearms, and more resilience, was created because it would listen to Umbrealla's wishes instead of just mutiliating anything in its path like the previous tyrants. It takes orders from Umbrealla and only umbrella. It does not become a good guy at the last second. Those who know me know that I don't use gay or queer as an insult, and in general I regard those who do as bigots. In this case, however, it is warranted. When the Nemesis turns against his masters, it is the single queerest thing I have ever goddamn seen, goddamnit. And I've looked at yaoi, for fuck's sake.

8. No fucking hunters. Again. Eat a fucking cock.

Fucking sweetness.

You know the coolest thing about Resident Evil?

Hunters.

You know the worst thing about the best game of the series, Resident Evil 2?

It didn't have any fucking hunters.

You know what made this movie even more of a fucking travesty?

STILL NO GODDAMN HUNTERS.

That's it. I'm sick of it. There are plenty more points I could go into, such as a lack of non Nemesis-class tyrants, that the "good guys" started killing Umbrella soldiers who really had no personal politics and were only earning a living, Albert Wesker not only made no appearance but was never even mentioned, Jill actually quit S.T.A.R.S, she wasn't suspended, and many more. I'm done, though. Screw it. If you are a fan of Resident Evil, don't even fucking bother to see this movie. The cool parts such as dead zombies, nostalgic recreations of classic RE scenes and seeing the Nemesis blow shit up aren't worth the complete and utter bastardization of the series we know and love. Play through the games again instead. You'll thank me in the long run.

Fuck everyone that was involved with this. The terrible irony is that a classic video game series, itself inspired by campy B-horror movies, gets turned into a movie, and instead of making a campy B-horror movie that captures the true spirit of the games, they instead make a halfassed action movie that rapes Shinji Mikami's soul and alienates those who love his work. Goddamnit. Fuck you. I'm going to fucking sleep.

/I hope this is not CHRIS' blood!

Q: When do you know your common sense has deteriorated to the point where you've become a danger to yourself?

A: When, with nothing but a bottle of water, you manage to nearly drown yourself while watching television.

/true story

Two Years

Rarely am I dour and serious, so I hope I don't scare you or anything. This entry won't be funny, and I don't mean that in a self-depricating way for once.

I knew Matt Dietrich all throughout high school, but I didn't really begin hanging out with him until 11th grade. Despite his lack of dorky qualities, other than an X-files and Star Trek addiction, he was much the same as the rest of our group, and we got along very well. Was it coincidence that the time I really started to enjoy school and just hanging out was the same time I started hanging out with Matt? I don't know for sure, but I doubt it.

I know it's cliche, but Matt was more full of life than just about anyone I've ever met. He was laughing all the time. When you were around Matt, you couldn't help but smile. He wasn't a perfect person, none of us are, but in the scant years we were close I came to love Matt Dietrich like a brother. I know I could say the exact same for at least 4 other people with absolutely no hesitation.

I saw him that night. I was with him 10 minutes before it happened. Laughing and joking like we always did. That had been the best time of my life, that summer. People were gearing up to head of to college for the first time, our last truly free summer was, in fact, coming to a close. Most of us would still be around though, nothing catastrophic was happening. I said goodbye to Matt that night and went back to my house to play a game of Warhammer with Mike and Smoker. While we sat there playing, Matt got in a car accident and died soon after. We had no idea at the time.

The next days were the most painful of my life. To those who were not us it might be hard to understand how close I had grown with these people throughout high school and even moreso the summer following graduation. To lose Matt was as if I had lost a member of my family. The only other time somone very close to me had died, it was my grandmother, a victim of cancer. We all knew it was coming as we watched her deteriorate. When she actually went, it was sad, but not a shock. This was an entirely different situation. I wandered around in a stupor for days. At the time, Matt, Mike and I all worked at the Turkey Hill together. The night after the accident was Matt's night to close the store. Mike and I decided we would split the shift.

I stood there behind this counter where we had so many good times, trying to hold myself together and do my job less than 12 hours after hearing the news. I can't imagine what I looked like at the time. I remember my mother came down to the store to check on me, and later told me that, "Seeing that look of pain on your face, and me not being able to do anything about it, made me feel worse than I ever have before", which may give you some idea of how I felt at the time, if it was that plainly visible. Around the same time, I fielded the phone call from the guy who had been Matt's best friend for years. I confirmed for him that, indeed, he had died. At that point I believe I lost it.

Even through the funeral, I still felt it was all a dream. I prayed that it was a dream. I was still in a stupor, and nothing seemed right. Matt's parents asked if any of us wanted to say anything at the service. I did; dear god how I did, but I knew I wouldn't be able to make it through it, so instead I sat there, listening to what others were saying, and wishing I could do the same.

After about a week it finally began to sink in. I began to return to normal. It still stung like nothing I had felt before. I felt robbed of a friend, but at the same time I hurt for him, for his family, for his other friends.

At times like that, some people have a great crisis of faith. It actually had quite the opposite effect on me. I'm no theologian, and I have no real concrete set of dogmatic beliefs, but I do know, through some sort of great inherent knowledge, that I will see him again some day, in some other life. We will meet again, and we will talk about the same stuff, and we will quote the same Simpsons episodes, and we will laugh at the same stupid, pointless bullshit, and it will be great. Call me naive or disillusioned or whatever you wish, but I know it.

And so I sit here, and I reflect, and I cry. The pain is no longer crushing, but it is most definitely there. I try not to dwell on that which makes sad, but I think it's healthy every once in a while. On this anniversary, I allow myself one of those days.

To this day, I choke up whenever I hear Bro Hymn. Here again I will reproduce the lyrics, with only the name changed.

To our best friend, present, past and beyond
Even though you weren't with us too long
Life is the most precious thing you can lose
While you were here the fun was never ending
Laugh a minute was only the beginning
Matthew James Dietrich, this one's for you
If you ever get the feeling you can't go on
Just remember whose side it is that you're on
You've got friends with you to the end
If you're ever in a tough situation
We'll be there, no hesitation
Brotherhood's our rule we cannot bend
When you're feeling too close to the bottom
You know who it is you can count on
Someone will pick you up again
We can conquer anything together
All of us are bonded forever
If you die, I die, that's the way it is

/We love you, Matt

My new favorite internet friends

Please note: Any and all links in this entry may be NSFW or even disgusting, except for the main one. Click them at the risk of your job, family life, or sanity.

The internet, my valued readers (all 2 of you), is a goddamn cesspool. While I truly believe that the internet is the culmination of all human intuition, evolution, and imagination boiled down to its purest form, that doesn't necessarily mean it's filled with moral values that we as a people believe we should share. To put it simply, much of the internet makes baby Jesus cry.

I am a veteran of the internet, I go where others fear to tread. Though I got to the party a bit late by geek standards, I made up for my late start by relentlessly exploring the greatest information resource the universe had ever seen and expanding my mind, mostly by filling it with as much pornography as a 16 year old who couldn't get laid to save his goddamn life could attain with 3 hours a night on the computer and a 26.4 dialup connection.

Indeed, my innocent web days were soon gone, as I stumbled blindly or sometimes purposefully into hate sites, hardcore porn sites, pirated music sites, shock photo sites, and any number of things I had no place looking at when I was 16. As can be expected, I soon became quite jaded to just about everything on the internet. It takes a lot to shock me or disgust me nowadays, at least when it comes to pictures or movies of horrible acts. I've read stories that would make the average person vomit, seen pictures that have made people vomit, and so on and so forth.

Ladies and gentlemen (or perhaps that should be lady and gentleman), I have been through the dregs of the internet. The worst of the worst. I survived with most of my psyche intact. Overall, I think it makes me a stronger person. I wear it like a badge of damn pride. When I'm unquestioned lord of the universe, I'm going to have a social program for internet masters. You will get a ribbon that you can wear whenever you want. The critera is to read/watch the following and not flinch:

1)Tubgirl
2)The Ass
3)Goatse Guy
4)5 random posts on the public urination/defacation forums
5)Debbie

But I digress. That's not what this post is about. This post is about a community that I'd be glad to be a part of. A place on the internet so innocent, so sweet, so weird that I want to join them, even though I'm not into, well... their thing.

Like so many of my favorite places on the internet, I stumbled into it rather accidentally, through the good folks at Something Awful. I had heard of this before, somewhere along my travels, but never put my thought into it. Not until I found these forums. It started as a joke, I would place it in conversations for a laugh, but one day I figured, "What the hell?" and dove in. I was quickly enthralled. Not by the content, but the way it was presented. I am, of course, talking about the Sneeze Fetish Forums.

These people are the most polite, friendly group of sexual deviants I have ever found; and coming from me, that's saying something. Just look around their boards. Sure, they get off on hearing people sneeze, for chrissakes, but they're so welcoming. I've seen people come into these forums and berate them, calling them sick bastards and whatnot, and their replies are completely pleasant and accomidating.

This is all quite a shock when you come from a world of seeing communities of the sort being the most vile, rude assholes you could comprehend. Compounding my near-adoration is that, while thuroughly weird, I don't find the act itself gross or disgusting, unlike most of the weird fetishes you find on the web. I can't tell you how much I've grown to like these people in the past few days. They're just so damn... cute and friendly, I suppose.

I mean, take this one, for example. This guy comes in and tells them that he can't understand how sneezing could possibly turn one on, and basically goes on to tell the people that they're weird or even crazy. The response was this:

Perhaps, Mr W. SFS, if it's not too personal, you'd like to tell us what turns you on and why.....no really, i'm not being factitious, just curious to hear an explanation of your own sexual preferences and how you think you may have aquired them. Very few people in this group know why they're turned on by sneezing... It's a mystery we'd all like to solve, but so far there has been little more than opinions and speculation with not much that's been really conclusive. Incidentally, if you want to know more, try reading 'Diary of a sneeze fetishist' accessible via the links page. It's a very well written account about life as a sneeze fetishist and includes some of the most insightful speculation around.

Look how helpful and friendly he is. Take a spin around the site and you'll find a lot of the same stuff.

I guess it just goes to show you that just because you get sexual gratification from something really really weird, you don't need to be a schlongface about it. So, I put out a call to the fetish communities of the internet: Take after the sneeze fetish forum. You might find that people respect you just a bit more, maybe don't find you as gross. Yeah, that's right, I'm looking at you, Yaoi people. Bunch of fucking freaks, they are.

Yes, I'm talking to you. You know who you are. *Glares*

/kidding
/or am I?
//0\\

to kick, verb: To strike with foot

Despite the fact that I have had the same circle of friends, albeit with certain additions and subtractions, since roughly sophomore year of high school, now a seemingly ancient almost 5 years ago, I've really never been on a car trip with any of them for longer than the hour and a halfish it takes to get to Gamesday; The bus trips in Europe simply don't count, they're not the same thing, and despite all our talks of going to Hell or E3 or any number of other places, we've never done it.

As such, when the opportunity arose for a nice, long car ride with Mike, and later with Kera, I figured the time was good as any. What followed was a day of... well, stuff. Lots of stuff.

It's funny how things work within our group, especially with a few of us, and especially with regards to time. Time, it seems, has little revelance in terms of exact points and the measurement thereof, yet everyone seems to accept this as truth and adjust accordingly.

For example, Mike first said that he wanted to be out of the immediate area by no later than 10 am, so we made plans for his picking me up at the train station at 8:39. At the time, both of us knew this target time was utter, absolute bullshit, yet neither one of us said it. Later, Mike called bak to change the pickup time to 10, just as I had assumed he would without any outside indication that he would do such a thing. Despite this, however, it seems Mike knew that I would somehow fuck up and leave the directions in my dorm room, causing me a run back to retreive them that would keep me from making the train we had agreed upon; as such he slept a bit late, subconsciously or on purpose, and when I called him to tell him I missed the train he nonchalantly replied that this would give him more time to get ready. When my late train arrived, Mike still wasn't there, just as I had, again, anticipated. After a detour all the way back home to drop off Brandon, getting lost and finally finding our way to the turnpike, we were at mile 290 at 1 PM on the dot - precisely 3 hours after we had "planned" on it. Just as we had actually planned all along.

I had no disillusions that the trip would be anything but hilarious and weird, but the oddness started before we even truly hit the road. We hit a gas station in order to load up on snacks and drinks and also to piss; unfortunately an old man beat me into the bathroom. When he exited some minutes later I entered to find that the bathroom had a distinctive odor. A fruity odor, in fact. I began to try to place it, when suddenly it hit me: Froot Loops. This entire damn bathroom smelled like Froot Loops. This left me with an odd question to ponder, however. Was the bathroom naturally sugary-fruit-flavored-cereal scented, or had something - lord only knows what, but something - the old man had done within the bathroom produced the curious, yet very wholly pleasant odor? It's a question that I will, most likely, take to my grave. One can only assume, and one of the two possible assumtpions is much less disturbing to think about, so I'm going to cling to that one. Of course, no good day-long trip has only a single funny bathroom story, but the second is not really mine to tell; I will simply hope that Kera will cover the entire situation with the lesbians in the bathroom on her own blog.

We weren't long on the road before hilarious things began to pop up. The first we noticed was a small car with two bikes tied to the back; this in and of itself is not very funny at all, however, one and only one of the bike's tires was spinning quite furiously, while the rest stood perfectly still. Normally this would be nothing more than a coincidence, and not really funny, except that no matter what we did and what lane we jumped into, the spinning bike tire was always in front of us, taunting us. Mike began to yell and curse and shake his fist at the tire, and it all becamse quite humorous.

An assortment of hilarious sights soon came into being, among the best being the 18 ounce New York Bone-in Strips, 2 tractor trailer trucks very apparantly having sex right in the middle of the highway, signs for "Emergency Pull-Offs", Heavy Duty Lube trucks, and last but certainly not least, Blue Nob State Park. You'd be amazed how much absolutely hilarious shit you can find just wandering or driving around if you're the most immature people in the universe.

When we made our single on-the-road piss break, we were walking towards the bathroom when I was shocked to find a woman - a particularly large, ugly woman - walking into the men's bathroom. Perplexed, I checked the signs one last time before walking in to be sure it was not I who was in the wrong. After reassuring myself, I walked in, only to find the large, ugly woman was, indeed, a large, ugly man who looked a whole lot like a goddamn woman. *shudder*

Alright, I guess that makes 3 funny bahtroom stories. Then there was the 4th one with the unintentionally funny hunting magazine articles (crappies, buck all night), but that one's not really too worth mentioning.

Before leaving the plaza with pink-shirt-guy-who-should-be-a-girl, Mike stubled across Steak and Worschestershire potato chips, something I'd never seen before in my life. After 15 minutes of watching the poor bastard running around trying to figure out where to pay for the damn things, we finally gave up and just walked out with the chips. Normally I am very much opposed to theft, but if we try to give you the fucking money for more than a quarter of an hour and no one's taking it, fuck you, it is now ours. Sorry.

Post script: The chips are fucking delicious.

Also, according to the "Littering Fine: $300" Signs we saw plastered all across the span of the state, mike racked up $1800 worth of littering fines in less than a day. He wasn't caught or charged, but he and I both know that he deserves it, and that's all that matters.

Finally, after a healthy dose of lying to his grandmother, a healthy dose of near-fatal dozing-off head-snap-backs by me, and both of us wondering where the fuck that meowing was coming from before realizing it was Kera calling me on my phone, we finally arrived at Shannon's house. While still sitting in the car, mike ripped a bit of ass. Mike then went on to relate to me that he had just "Freeted in Fartport", which he soon corrected to "Farted in Freeport on Bison Court". Also, the both of us were very disappointed with the lack of Bison, Buffaloes or other weird cows amongst Shannon's property. Verrrrrry disappointed.

The return trip was, comparably, not as exciting or funny. I do like to think, however, that through it all I managed to help Kera a bit with her fear of Lesbians and tunnels.

This post has turned out horrible, at least in my estimation, and I am very tired, understandably. 10+ hours in a car will do that to you quite muchly. No matter what, however, it was most definitely a fun time that I would indeed partake in again. Perhaps next time I'll take btter notes and try not to be so damn stupid when writing up my post trip report.

/it's ok, I'm here for you

Yeah, yeah, I know

Long time since an update. This is not a LiveJournal, so I'm not going to make up excuses; I will simply give you a short list of things that have kept me from updating for almost a month:

The grind, The Lineage 2 economy, Insane father, Lack of redesign, Penny Arcade, Severe longing, Writer's block, Crippling disappointment, Dawn of War, Car.

But lo, I am back, and using this entry as a catch all for all the shit that has gone down since the last entry. I'm going to make it funny and detached, goddamnit, because this is NOT becoming a fucking livejournal.

The first thing you will notice is that the place looks different; Kera got around to redoing things and while it is much the same and somewhat boring, it is also a welcome change. Lord knows I'll never be able to mess with it much, however, because there are so many tables contained within the html for this page that attempting to navigate your way through the raw code is as if attempting to make your way through a dense jungle where the trees have been replaced with tds, the vines by trs, and the deadly animals and other assorted natures by alignment tags - the slightest misstep can cause one to be trapped within for all eternity; and here I am, sans machete. Just adding the little credits thing under the left hand side and the archives link under the title resulted in the loss of an arm and three toes, respectively.

Analogies are great.

Also, my car had been working for nearly three entire months before the fucker stopped working again, and, as almost always in my life, it stopped working at a hilarious and completely wrong time.

Not to get all theological up in this bitch, but I do believe there is some sort of greater cosmic being who can and does influence human life. We'll call it god, just for the sake of simplicity.

God, I've noticed, has an impeccable sense of comedic timing. I believe that god, whether all powerful or not, could be the best stand up comedian ever just because of how honed his timing is. For example, my car's transmission could have fucked up at any time. Really, any at all, that's not the sort of thing that's brought on by user error or action, as far as I can tell from my utterly meager understanding of automobiles.

So, really, my car could have stopped working at any time. For example, maybe it could have happened just before I crashed my car, so that I wouldn't have had it out in the goddamn snow and broken it. It could have happened while I was working at the Eagle, so I could have had an extra day or two off. It could have happened at any particular time, any particular place.

But not with god on the lookout, hell no. He'd probably been planning this months in advance, just because it'd be funny. Hell, maybe he's the one that implanted the idea that if I was home and my parents were not that my friends and I would throw a gigantic orgy/coke party in the basement - wherein we attempt to summon long forgotten legendary demons to rape and pillage all that surrounds us while drinking his beer - so firmly within my father's head that he then went on to act the most irrational and insane that I had ever seen him. Maybe it was god who, when my father was grasping desperately for reasons for me to not return home, gave him the idea that something might happen to my car while he was 400 miles away. Perhaps it was he who gave Bobby the idea to go see Spider-Man 2 on Sunday night and not take me back to school til Monday, all for the express purpose of making my car stop working as I drove from said movie, after angering my father yet again by staying an extra day in the house, just so that I could place that horribly ironic, horribly foreshadowed, and horribly hilarious phone call to my father on that fateful Sunday night.

Yeah, that sonofabitch is a real fucking cut up.

I'm hoping that the horrendous bleeding hemorrhage that my car is now suffering from is caused by nothing more than a blown tube or hose which is easily, quickly and frugally dealt with. This, of course, all depends on whether god is willing to leave me alone for a couple of weeks.

Doubtful.

Lineage 2 has gripped me with more ferocity than I first deemed it likely to; games that are nothing but a consistant level grind, while fun to me, can't take on the same sort of addictiveness that other games can. Hell, at least AC2 had some cool quests, and that game had essentially superglued itself to my inner being. Lineage 2 has some problems that I think will keep it forever separated from my physical being, but it is certainly fun. You have to have a stomach for it, though. This is not a game with an easy grind, this is a game that will punish you at every turn, and you need the sort of personality that can deal with killstealing and constant farming of the same mob and one death setting you back an hour of xp farming and GODDAMNIT I DROPPED MY NEW FUCKING PANTS and all that sort of shit just so you can go buy a brand new weapon and drool over your specfuckingtacular new physical attack value for 5 minutes until you run back out and kill mobs with the exact same model and slighly different name for even more money and experience to repeat the process all over again. Call it the grind, the treadmill, whatever, if takes a certain personality to put up with it and even find it enjoyable. I have that personality, I don't know how many more do. I guess that's why we're seeing the mass migration from Lineage to City of Heroes. Different strokes for different folks, as the saying goes.

For me, however, Lineage 2 is a placeholder, something to keep me from going insane while I wait for the holy grails of MMOing, Everquest 2 and World of Warcraft.

I'm not going yet again into detail on why I salivate for these two games, or why one so much moreso than the other, but a little recap is in order. Lineage 2 is a level grind. An excellent level grind that knows how to keep people hooked when your game is nothing but a glorified xp treadmill of the most simplified degree, but a level grind almost entirely. Quests are utterly basic, usually reward you with nothing but money and are nealy all identical; there is also no real backstory or reason for you chracter to be doing anything at all, quest or otherwise - the details of the world are sketchy at best. WoW and EQ2 are both based on unbelievably rich universes and backstories. They actually offer quests which are worthwhile and support the story and character development. I, personally, find the graphic work in both to be absolutely stellar, even better than Lineage. There will be tremendous amounts of character customization, shaming Lineage's 2 hairstyles, 5 faces, and nearly identical in skillset characters.

Why will WoW be better than EQ2? I find the world of Azeroth infinitely interesting, customer support will be miles better, and the game has some incredibly innovative ideas. After all that, it's the community.

I played the original Everquest for a few months; in that time I came to hate the community within that game. It's hard to exactly put a finger on it, but for every 1 person who was nice, I met at least 7 dickbags. You may or may not have heard of powergamers, but imagine an entire community full of them; this was the EQ1 community. I have a very hard time believing that the EQ2 community will be any different; but I will give it a shot.

Also, EQ2 character models look dumb.

Anyway, besides all that, Penny Arcade recently had a contest to win WoW beta accounts. For weeks and weeks I waited for the contest winners to be announced, basing my hopes and dreams on an excellent photoshop done by Kera and a completely mediocre (for me), yet still probably better than 95% of what they received, little short story to carry my way into the world of Azeroth months before I should have been there. The winners were announced today, and I was, regrettably, not on the list. Despite how I felt about the odds of my winning (1 of over 3000 entries, with only 13 selected as winners) I still let myself get hyped up, spending hours at a time on the WoW Beta page, ogling races, classes, tradeskills, planning out at least 4 different characters I wanted to play, all while yearning for Wednesday to arrive, my hopefulness beating my logicalness into oblivion, then yelling at it to stay the fuck down if it didn't want to be pissing blood for a month. The logicalness, being logical, did what the hopefulness bully told it to, and so I, very uncharictaristically, got my hopes up. When my name wasn't on that page, I felt a collossal letdown. My logicalness, sensing the time was nigh, stood up, kicked the still stunned hopefulness directly in the penis, and then limped off to regain its rightful place among those who routinely control my brain and personality.

That this game which I have never even played holds such control over me is both frightening and exhilarating at the same time. It has long been known that I love Blizzard with all my heart and Warcraft with nearly that much; For more than 5 years it has been my utmost desire to work for Blizzard when I graduate from college. Bill Roper, who sits near the top of my Big List of Heroes, though he recently left the company to start another new Venture, still had a gigantic hand in the direction of the company and nearly every game it has released; on the scale which my top Hero and savior Tycho brought to the world just before E3 when commenting on Peter Molyneaux, Bill Roper is currently at roughly +5000 handjobs. To say that I have been loyal and devoted to Blizzard and everything they have done would be to say that our group, at times, acts silly. While techincally true, the descriptor is so far from accurately representing the gravity of the situation that it is rendered nearly meaningless. There is not one decision, not one single solitary feature, excepting possibly the exclusion of light elves as playable characters, that I disagree with in World of Warcraft.

This is all leading to a single point, which is that I yearn for World of Warcraft like no game ever before, possibly excepting Metal Gear Solid 2. Possibly. Even with the spectacular array of games now on the brink of release, things that people have been drooling over for years - I'm talking about Doom 3, Half-life 2, Halo 2, Fable - They are all utterly dwarfed (pun not intended but I like it now that it's here) by my need for World of Warcraft. I seriously wonder what it will do to my life, socially, academically, monatarily, yet I don't care. I want it, and I want it now. It is the gaming messiah. Nothing you say to me will change that. If you don't think it is, that's fine, but I will tell you to your face you are out of your goddamn head.

Sorry for boring you.

Sometimes I wonder why they make me take these classes.

This isn't just about physics and calculus and that kind of shit, but discrete math as well. I put up with it last term because compared to my other classes it was cake, and if it was bullshit it was at least logical bullshit, and I do like logic, if not bullshit.

This term's discrete math course, however, doesn't seem related to last term's in any way except a few of the symbols. As such, I find it kind of weird that they made us take the first one. I'm not bitching, cause I'm finding this class even easier than the first one, and the tests are all take home (yay for night classes), but it is boring as hell. No, the clear winner of this term is WW2 history. We're 4 weeks into a 10 week term and we still haven't even gotten to actually WW2 yet; just the events of the previous hundred years that lead up to the causes of the war, but I'm already enthralled. It's kind of a shame that the only truely interesting class I have this term is an elective and not anything related to my major. Ah well.

In any case, this is becoming utterly long and dragged out, not to mention pointless. A few last things and then I'm out.

Still waiting for this patch to come out for NA Lineage 2. Unfortunately the other link with the uncensored pictures seems to have deleted them. Ah well, they're saved to my hard drive for eternity.

Samurai Champloo is the second coming of Cowboy Bebop, the greatest anime ever produced and 3rd greatest thing in the history of the universe. Done by what is essentially the same team, with anime diety Sinichiro Wantabe again at the helm, you can feel the similarity with the awesome style, great character design, spectacular animation and a musical style that's totally out of place in the time setting. The music isn't Yoko Kanno, but it is pretty damn good. I've got the OST if anybody's interested. In any case, if you're not watching Champloo, get on it. The first 6 episodes are fansubbed and more come as they're released.

And people think I'm obsessed.

Finally, I will leave you with this. You know it, I know it, but now it's finally in writing for all to see.

/soon will be an orc warlock... in about 5 months

Bastages!

We apoligize for the fault in the FTOTITHSOI for the past several days; those responsible have been sacked.

Mind you, moose bites kan b pretti nasti...

If you're not laughing at that, I don't ever want to speak to you ever again, or at least for several days. Of course, I'm sure Kera won't get it, and then I'll end up being bored and unable to keep her awake.

Curses.

Anyway, pitas was being rather bastardly; every time I tried to update my template in any way (including changing the CPRQotW, which was what I was attempting to do in the first place) it would completely break an entry further down the page and keep the right menu from loading. Removing the entry and then reposting it would fix this, but no matter WHAT was changed on the template broke the page, even if I only threw in an extra paragraph tag or a word. Trust me, I experimented.

In a way, however, it provided me impetus to archive my current page and also to do a site redesign.

Before I got very far with the site redisign thing, however, I remembered how much of the proverbial ass I proverbially suck at web design, and Kera offered to redo the design for me, a chance at which I jumped. She replied that it would be pretty basic, to which I asked her to look at my current layout and gaze upon about the most basic layout on the whole intarweb. Shit, google and Maddox have more complex designs than the original FTOTITHSOI layout.

Still, look for that eventually. Woooo! Looking!

In other news, listening to computers say things that you type is just about the most amusing thing ever. I spent 4 hours in a chat room last night, just listening to the computer. If I continue at this pace I think I'll be dead before I'm 25.

/remind me to look at things before I lick them off my hand