FIRECAT!

LiveJournal Tags: dreams,celebrities,peeing,sex

Ever notice how when you're rudely awakened, like say by the radio alarm clock going off at 5:00, it's always in the middle of an f'in sweet dream?
So here's the scenario: I was enjoying the last rays of Summer camping down by the ocean in my dad's old truck and camper and there were a few familiar faces, like the two ugliest, most religious girls from high school. In other words: unboneable. So instead of bothering with them, I go down to the shore. It's dark out, and I see this giant metal cougar hovering above the waves, with it's paws extended towards me. I try to hide behind a grassy mound, but I can still feel it's eyes on me. I peek out, and I realize what I'd seen is just an elaborate animatronic statue for tourists to gawk at as their ferry docks. It's designed to come up out of the waves from the top of a submarine. It's glistening silver. At the end of one of it's paws is a flamethrower. It blows flames towards me and I can feel the heat from behind the relative safety of my mound. It dips it's other paw in the water to splash the tourists leaning over the back of the ferry, and I subsequently doused by the spray.
The other part of the dream involves an Angelina Jolie movie on cable. Now she's appeared nude in several movies, but she's full-on hardcore porno-fucking in this one. Only the cable keeps cutting out, saying that I've lost transmission or some such nonsense. There's one scene where she's on her back on a piano and she has he ass so far up in the air she's nearly doubled over. Then it cuts out. Still, frustrated with the cable, I keep watching, and not just for the porn scenes. During the rest of the movie she's killing everyone around her, but she's perfectly calm and collected right up until the moment she slits their throats with a knife she pulls from her hair. It reminded me of those weird foreign films that are supposed to be all hoity-toity, but the only reason that anyone watches them is for brief glimpses of nudity and debauched sex late at night. I give this movie two thumbs up... my own ass.
The other night I had a dream I had to go out behind a bar and pee in these elaborately decorative bushes for an inordinate amount of time after walking in on two retail outlet store employees fucking in a bathtub. I'm seriously pissing for like seven minutes. Plus I'm actually asleep while I'm doing this, so in the back of my mind I'm thinking, "I hope I'm not pissing the bed." As luck would have it, I wasn't, and when I woke up I took a wicked piss.

Hollywood's Self-Congratulatory Handjobs

So the Emmy Awards were held last Sunday night and for some reason they let not one, but five reality show hosts host the show. It was oddly appropriate since reality TV has completely taken over conventional television. It was the only alternative to the months-long reruns that came as a result of the writer's strike. They should have only given half a statuette to the award winners for writing, as that's equal to the job they did. One writer was complaining afterwards because his speech had been cut-off halfway by the show's director, which shows you the level of a writer's importance. The show's director, however, had just won an award for directing another award show, which to me seems like a conflict of interest. Awards shows should not win awards themselves. Ever. It creates a rift in both space and time through which smugness can escape. It's as if someone accepting an award was suddenly presented with a second award for accepting an award, and so on and so forth. I say if your award winning director cuts you off during your acceptance speech after only a few seconds, walk off the stage, down the aisle, and up into the booth where he is, take his statue from him and break it in half. Give it back to him then and tell him he's won the award for being the biggest asshole.
What I've always wondered is: am I supposed to feel sorry for the people who lose? These multi-millionaire drop-dead gorgeous celebrities with their perfect hair and teeth? Am I supposed to feel sorry for them and their pretty dresses and fancy suits? However will they be consoled? Maybe they'll be so upset they'll sklp the after-party altogether and head straight back to their mansions in the stretch limosines to drown their sorrows in 25 year-old Scotch and mountains of cocaine. Why do they still need the confidence boost of a cheap plastic ornament to make themselves happy? They're fucking celebrities. I mean I'm empty inside, but these people make me look like if you cracked me open you'd see the, "Zippety-Doo-Dah," musical scene from Walt Disney.
FUCK!

Large Hadron Collider? I hardly know her!

LiveJournal Tags: Hadron Collider,science and technology

The Large Hadron Collider has recently hit a snag involving a helium leak that will take two months to properly fix. Now, the Hadron Collider is the largest and complicated machine ever built by man, and a lot of people have questions about it. A lot of misinformation is going around and I thought that I, with absolutely no scientific experience whatsoever, would take a moment to address these questions and alleviate some fears.
Myth: The Hadron Collider will open up a black hole that will destroy the planet.
Fact:  The Hadron Collider will not open any black holes, but it will burst open and candy will come out of it like a pinata.
Myth: The Hadron Collider will give you super-powers if you stand next to it.
Fact: The Hadron Collider will only give you herpes.
Myth: It's actually spelt "Haldron Collider," and was named after the man who developed it.
Fact: No, it's spelt, "Hard-On Collider," and was named after a gay porno.
Myth: The Hadron Collider cost billions to create.
Fact: Construction crews cheaped out on most of the materials, using paper-mache and the like to complete it. The actual cost was $96 Euros, which is 14 cents American if I know my currency at all, and I don't.
Myth: The Hadron Collider is 27km wide and straddles the borders of Switzerland and France.
Fact: Your momma's so fat she's 27km wide and straddles the borders of Switzerland and France.
Myth: The Hadron Collider was built to recreate the Big Bang.
Fact: The Hadron Collider was built to recreate a gang-bang (see: "Hard-On Collider" circa.1987).
I hope that this helps a lot of people out there.

Technorati Tags: Hadron Collider,science and technology

Damn Your Segmented Eyes

There was an update to Spore two days ago which promised to fix all the bugs that had been causing the game to freeze and crash, but it hasn't. After updating, I tried playing, but of course it froze as usual after a few minutes of play. So it's still unplayable and I wish I could get my money back since I'm definitely a victim of hype.
Hype will kill one in every ten Americans. Please give generously. (Have you ever wondered how to avoid catching a disease you have a 1 in 10 chance of developing? Kill all but eight people. After all, eight is all you need.  Chose wisely, though, as dentists will throw the equation into chaos.)
In the meantime, I've been playing less popular games on my Xbox 360, like Braid, Catan, and the Orange Box. This is the first time I've played a Half-Life game, and it's a little tiring. Every stage passed leads to another too-similar stage. After committing alien genocide, you have to stop and wonder how many more face-hugging Alien bug rip-offs you have to kill (see: "Ender's Game" by Orson Scott Card, which incidentally they're developing into a game based on a movie based on the novel. Who's they? Aliens.) I beat Portal pretty quickly, since it's a short game to begin with. As for Team Fortress, you can't play an online game if no one wants to play with you. That's what sucks about shooters people play only for the online multi-player: as soon as a newer game comes along you might as well throw the game you have in the trash. All those stats you've ranked up mean nothing in about four months time, making your obsession with the game all the more pathetic.
Is anyone interested in WoW's upcoming expansion? It's been nearly a year since the last expansion, and most hardcore gamers had bridged the ten-level-gap between versions in a matter of days, they've been doing nothing but gear-up since. That's a year of doing same instances over-and-over again to gain marginally better equipment for their uber-elite characters, gear that will be antiquated within seconds of the new release. All those hundreds, if not thousands of hours spent grinding will have been for nothing. Then the cycle will begin again. In the end, the only winner is Blizzard, as they gradually take over the real world while you play around with their pretend world.

Technorati Tags: games,WoW,360,Spore

Do This:

I'm going to be like Dane Cook and come up with suggestions on how to conduct yourselves. The next time someone asks you to explain yourself, (and I'm talking about the angry, "Explain yourself young man/lady!" kind of way) you should immediately starting singing the Meow-Mix commercial, which -as we know- goes:
"Meow meow meow meow,
Meow meow meow meow,
Meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow,
Meow meow meow meow,
Meow meow meow meow,
Meow meow meow meow,
Meow."
(Repeat until they go away).
Afterward, celebrate an "Epic Win!" in a socially unacceptable fashion to repeat the process.

Super Gays

Homosexuality and comic books have a long-standing relationship together, dating back to the origins of the Comics Code Authority and allegations that Batman and Robin were involved in a homosexual relationship.
 
If a grown man and a young boy going out at night dressed in a pair of tights and sliding down poles into deep, dark caves is wrong, I don't know what right is.
It wasn't until the late nineties, though, that super-heroes began coming out of the closet.
The first such hero is Northstar of Alpha Flight, one of the least popular characters of the least popular mutant super hero teams, and Canadian no less! His coming out was little more than a publicity stunt to gather readers to one of Marvel's most under-whelming titles. Every coming out since then has followed the exact same guidelines. Since it'd be too risque to make a popular hero, or heroine gay, (Wonder Woman for example), both Marvel and DC have tagged on homosexual plotlines to a number of "what's-their-name?" characters, no matter how much evidence to support their hetero lifestyle may have come beforehand.
Case in point: Grace Choi from the Outsiders. Now you may ask, "Who is Grace Choi," and, "Who are the Outsiders?" which are both very good questions that I'm not about to answer, suffice to say that for a period of time, she was quite hetero, often boasting of her sexual encounters with various men like Arsenal, etc, until hooking up with Thunder, a same-sex team"mate." Now, I'm all for two hot chicks going at it, (especially if they're wearing special outfits,) but there was really no foreshadowing up to this event. It was really just a, "We're gay now, deal with it," type of situation.
The coming out of long-forgotten and most forgettable Batwoman, was more natural, especially beside her lover, the Montoya, the new Question. Montoya had been written as a lesbian prior to reintroducing Batwoman and the introduction to the backstory about their previous relationship together, so it didn't come quite as such a shock, but the media went nuts about it anyway. Putting "Bat," in front of "woman" made news organizations think she was a big fucking deal, when even nerds were scrambling through their back-issues trying to figure out just who she was supposed to be. In truth, Batwoman is really just a nobody, ranking below the third Batgirl. Batman has more spin-off characters than anyone else. In fact, there were no less than three Batwomen in a barely remembered Batman: The Animated series straight to video "Batman: Mystery of the Batwoman," none of which were gay and all of which were possible romantic interests for the Batman.
Even DC villains are turning gay, like Scandal from the Secret Six, but none of them can hold a candle to the homosexual relationship between the Midnighter and Apollo from Wildstorm comics. What makes them different is that they're actually big-name characters, even if their series isn't one of the most popular. Midnighter even has his own title.
They're still not as famous as the Beast, or Colossus from the X-Men, except that the Beast only claimed to be gay to get out of dating a former girlfriend, and Colossus is only gay in the Ultimates alternative universe where nothing really matters. Colossus gets all hopped up on drugs and goes looking for his boyfriend, setting an example for gays everywhere. With the Beast, it seemed like they were trying to set him up for a gay plotline, but they thought better of it. He's too much of a "bear" to be gay, I suppose.
As for teen role models, Marvel has Hulkling and Wiccan of the Young Avengers. To their fame, they were featured in an action figure set together before it became apparent they were gay. Also: Wiccan's name used to be "Asgardian." C'mon, "Ass-guardian?" Who saw that coming? The Hulkling, that's who!
So what's the obsession with gay super heroes? Well society is obsessed with gays in general, and when those gays are all half-naked wrestling muscle men, then that interest meter goes up a notch. Like I said, people have often thought peculiar things about any super man/boy sidekick relationship. Just look at any fan-fic site, and you'll see what I'm talking about. They give the "Batpole" a whole new meaning. Most sidekicks are killed off just to avoid the comparison. Look at Captain America's Golden-Age Bucky, or Jason Todd as Robin. These older sidekicks often come back as older, meaner versions of themselves because they were blown up (or because someone touched them under the Batbelt). Plus, they date the female version of the heroes they're side kicking for. Robin grows up to date Batgirl, which is as close as you can come to fucking Batman without going into the Batcave. If you remember the live-action The Tick series, (and you don't), it was basically cancelled for going overboard with the gay jokes. It was seriously almost every second sentence. There were entire episodes (and there were only nine episodes total) based on that premise.
Even gays are obsessed with super heroes. Go to the next pride parade and count the number of Wonder Womans. This is a trend that just going to keep skyrocketing until every hero everywhere is gay, or getting gay.

The Mona Lisa of Blogs

One day, my rage will culminate into a manifesto so profound that the internet will crack asunder under the weight of it's content. My blogs will replace "The Diaries of Anne Frank," and "Walden," as required reading for Grade 11 English Students. It will usher in a new age for man that our minds as they are now cannot perceive for its sheer magnitude. For who can say that it is not truly art, (aside from the artists and the critics and the art critics)? A canvas of cloth cannot contain all that I can paint, and so I use the world wide web, for it is... world wide.
I tried to check online to see if there's any way to fix the numerous errors and glitches in my copy of SPORE for PC, but the site related to solving these errors are also glitched. It's a pity too, because I was just starting to enjoy it, and I don't know if I want to risk playing it again just to have my computer freeze up on me. Some checking proved that I'm not alone with my frustration. Spore's kind of a dud in more ways than one.
One of the interesting things that arose from the Creature Creator prequel to this game is the creature of Sporn, which is pornographic creatures made to look like they have enormous phaluses, or are copulating with a conjoined mate. There's an easily accessible feature in SPORE that allows you to ban such creations, putting a black mark against you. I believe the game itself automatically logs you in, takes all your old offline creations from the Creature Creator edition, and forces them online, so if you happened to have done something like that floating around in your saves, it's now on the interwebs.
I of course, have such creations. There's parts in Creature Creator that are obviously penises and balls, and should be placed accordingly on the creature.
"I have this weird thing, I mean one in every ten kids has it..." -Superbad.
Also, I think I've been banned from Writer's Block on Livejournal due to my insistence that September be renamed, "Fuck You Month." Seriously, they had three different, "September is _____ Month, how do you ______ to ______ your ______?" September isn't anything but a bad idea. Grow a pair.

Crash-o-licious.

So I downloaded SPORE through legitimate means (ie. by purchasing it off of EA as opposed to piratebay), and I've been playing it off-and-on for the last two days. This game's been in development basically since the Sims came out, and it's frozen my more-than-adequate computer about seven times now, forcing me to restart both my game and my computer.
The game itself is less interesting than it's concept. Your goal is to create your own species and take them through their cellular stage, to land-walking creature, to tribal, to civilization, then to galactic conquerors. Each stage has it's own creative tinkering. You create your creature, it's buildings, towns, vehicles, anthems, etc., but it plays like Sid Myer's Civilization with Sims overtones. Most of the fun come from the actual creating, and it's immediately ripped away from you when you see that your creature doesn't cut it in real-life. Then you have to scrap creativity for the most powerful parts. You find yourself sticking some weird spiky-thing on a creature's chest because it's the only place you're able to put a powerful weapon to fight your enemies, which are constantly trying to commit genocide against you. It's like living in Dafur, I suppose.

Eating Away at Me From the Inside

LiveJournal Tags: dreams,life

So most people have nightmares, but how many people wake up in a fit of rage for reasons other than their alarm clocks? I woke up at around six this morning, livid from a dream I had. For some reason, I was taking a shower in my parent's basement inside of a modified laundry washer. I had to squat under a short hose that was dangling above me. Suddenly, through the door window leading out of the laundry room, I could see someone walking up to the fence outside. They began digging through a few piece of scrap wood that had been lying next to the fence, but unsatisfied with what they found they, they ripped off the top of the gate and began walking away.
Enraged by their theft and destruction of my gate, I bounded outside naked and wet and ran after them. "What the hell do you think your doing?" I demanded.
"This was just lying back there in the scrap pile, so I took it," the person lied.
"The hell you did, you tore that off of our gate. Now go put it back," I demanded.
"No, I need it," the said.
"What the hell are you talking about, 'You need it?' It's ours, it's a part of our gate, now go put it back," I insisted.
"I need it for my gate. It's the right size," they kept arguing.
It was fairly obvious at this point that this was a dream about work. I deal with human scavengers on a daily basis who waste vast quantities of my time and patience by wanting to know the prices of little bits of wood they find lying about. They come carrying them to me like pack rats, saying, "It's just the size I need." Should there be no wood for them, they'll fall into a deep depression. Meanwhile, it becomes increasingly difficult to mask my disgust with them. I sell wood. I don't give wood out as presents to underdeveloped rodent people. If they want wood for free they should try the forest.
The thief asks to speak with the manager in a no-nonsense tone. Even though this is my parent's house, one shows up, and I become the target of a heated debate. No one seems to mind I'm naked and wet. The general semblance to the argument is that I am wrong, and that this person should get there way like a spoiled child because they want to. As usual, with all arguments involving anyone I speak to, the other person provides no compelling statements, or evidence to support any claim, besides a basic, "Gimmie gimmie gimmie! Wah wah wah!"
I'm an English Major, which means I had to spend a large portion of my life developing professionally-worded arguments to support my statements in essay after essay after essay. I was judged on the merit of my logic and my carefully researched references. Then I entered into a world of fools who presume the righteousness of their petty causes is enough to persuade anyone. I'm expected to go along with whatever ridiculousness my opponents conjure up. Any attempt to break down their defences is met with, "Are you calling me a liar?" I of course, am, but I am unable to admit it for reasons of employment, or else a lack of heart.
After six years of so of this lifestyle, however, it begins to chip away at your reason. Tempers begin to shorten. I'm actually repulsed by most of the people who greet me nowadays, as unconsciously I can guess at their intent. Their quivering, greasy moustaches belie their childish logic.
There's many situations I encounter which I deem unfair, or unjust. I'm no different from anyone else in that regard. My reaction to a no-win situation involving something so miniscule and bizarre, might even be the same, but as the dream ended, all I was left with was rage.

Hot Boxing

So I bought an Xbox 360 over the weekend, meaning I finally have a chance to use the hi-def on my TV. I haven't bought any games yet, and after playing a few demos off of Xbox LIve, I'm glad I didn't. The controls for a lot of these games seem like they'd take a long time to get used to. At no point during a game should anyone ever have to pause and go look for a manual to figure out how to kill an enemy, which is what I felt like I had to do during, "Alone in the Dark," and "D.O.A. 4." "Bio-Shock," blew my fucking mind open like a can of beans in a microwave. I know I'm pretty late to the party, but all this is new to me. I downloaded "Castle Crashers," a game best played with four people, and played by myself. In "Castle Crashers," you crash castles. Swarms of enemies will... swarm you... and you try your best not to die. Even if you do die, however, you're sent to a screen where you can adjust your stats, making you more powerful. Along with the cutesy animation, there's some really crude bathroom jokes, like shit-propelled deer rocketing across the screen. Mostly, you're just hacking and slashing, but some of the levels are reminiscent of Super Mario with power-ups that make you giant, green poison balls shooting across the screen and giant, spiky mashers you have to duck under (seriously, what's the deal with Thwomp from Super Mario Bros. 3? He's a living stone block with spikes coming out of him and he can hover up and down, but all he does is drop down at even intervals. You'd think he'd change it up and maybe just hide until he saw Mario come by then drop down, but no, like an asshole he just drops in rhythm You can see him coming from a mile away. Plus he gives you enough time to run past him. If I were him, I do his stupid pound routine, then just as Mario was coming, I'd stop short just above his head then drop. Bowser really needs to train his troops better). Some of the independent games you can download nowadays can kick the ass out of the big-budget titles on store shelves. Anyway, my tag name is, "slappyhands," mainly because at this point, all good names are taken. I've learnt to deal with that.
What happens in 20 years when there's literally no screen names left? Our children's-children won't be able to go on the internet anymore. They'll have to inherit them. In the future, people will be upset when they receive a million dollars in a will instead of the screen name, "kissybear."

McCain Fries

I'm watching the McCain acceptance speech, and I've come to realize that Senator John McCain is no different than Emperor Palpatine from the Star Wars Saga. He's just as old, evil and white to fill that role. A brief pan of the audience proves just as much. Those who follow him are as white as he. Even the black security agents lurking in the background look as though they've been dipped in bleach. The average age of his supporters is 10.000 years old. Yes, Republicans are reanimated mummies. I'm not talking about Mummies from the Bradon Frasier movie, "The Mummy," or any of it's subsequent movies, I'm talking about real 10,000-year-old mummies. Have you seen a mummy without it's bandages? It's like  Play-Doh that's been used already to make a Science Project volcano. They try to show the kids in their public speeches dancing to music we can't hear, (their great-great-grandchildren,)  but we know that once the dance is done, they'll sacrifice them to their mummy-God Ra to prolong their already over-lived mummy-lives. McCain's mom is 96 years old. 96. Former First-Lady Barbara Bush is younger. Have you seen her? It's like looking into a coffin. At 96, you're a corpse. I don't care what anyone says, you should be dead, and I had a 106-year-old Great-Grandma. Try getting kisses from that, you fuckers. One touch and you're cursed by the mummy. At 96, you can't even decompose, because you're already dust. Old dust.
Fuck you.
Just though I should put that in somewhere. There was a time and a place where I'd accept McCain as President, and that was before G.W.B. became President. Back when he was the Bush-Alternative, not the Bush-Adoptee. Seeing Obama as the Democratic nominee is like seeing Jesus brought to life again. Seeing McCain eight years past his prime is like seeing Genghis Kahn 8.000 years past his prime.
There was a time when I would have accepted McCain as a P.O.W. war hero without question, but that time is past. Now I see him as a baby-bombing dick-hole who shouldn't have been spared by his captors. Honestly, if McCain had fire-bombed my village and killed my brothers and sisters, I wouldn't have kept him prisoner. I would  have straight-up shot his ass. So McCain got a few beat-down in war camp? They don't equal the pain and death he's dished out. You can't be a gear in a war that no one would support and call yourself a hero.
I had a Great-Uncle who turned his plane back out of fear of being shot out of the sky, rather than bomb locations in Germany, and I didn't realize until considering McCain's credential how my uncle's apparent cowardice probably saved dozens of lives, including his own. McCain's job in the war was to bomb the shit out of Vietnamese villagers based on very poor intel, if you could claim there was any intelligence in the U.S.'s actions. When he was shot out of the sky, he was kept prisoner for years. He's the equivalent to the Vietnamese as Hitler. To America, he's somehow Jesus.
McCain has enough medals to cover his sleeve from shoulder to wrist, but what nation wouldn't  give him his consolation-prize medals after doing ten-or-so-years as a P.O.W.? They give medals to any soldier who doesn't die these days, (and any who do), so where's the honour in that? My own Grandfather sent his WWII medals back to Queen Elizabeth II after she knighted The Beetles. Mark of honour from the dog the bites you don't mean very much these days. They're just incentive for your grandchildren to enlist in dubious causes.
Don't get me wrong, McCain is the one Republican I'd want to run. Out of them all, he's the sanest, which is saying so very, very little. I wish he'd have run these past eight years instead of Bush, but things wouldn't have changed. 9/11 would still have happened. The U.S. would still be in Iraq/Afganistan. That's true even if Gore was in office, or what's-his-name John Kerry.
So what does any of this matter?
It matters because it lays bare a piece of America's soul, and it's a soul divided against itself.
"A house divided against itself cannot stand. "-Lincoln.

A Ranger Alone

So I just finished reading "The Lone Ranger" Issue #12 by Dynamite Entertainment (an imprint of Marvel Comics) and I'm noticing that the Lone Ranger's life bears a striking resemblance to Batman. The Lone Ranger uses stealth to appear -as if by magic- at the bedside of an evil-doer (much like our hero, Batman, who can appear out of thin air after years of practice), bearing an ominous warning, then is summoned by a blazing signal by the town's Sheriff (like Commissioner Batman signalling Batman with the Batsignal), and then the Lone Ranger retreats to his cave hideout (like the Batcave). The comparisons are obvious (he hides out in a cave, for God's sake) but the question remains: who came first: the Ranger or the Bat? Everything in the Lone Ranger comic seems natural. Where else would a super-hero cowboy hide out but an abandoned silver mine, where he gets the metal to make his signature silver bullets? Interesting enough, Bob Kane based Batman on old silent films, such as "The Bat," about a serial killer who dresses as a bat and uses such devices as smoke pellets to escape justice. Could the masked avenger the Lone Ranger helped shaped Batman's identity? Even their origins are similar. Batman's parents were murdered in front of his eyes by a mugger, leading him to a life of crime-fighting. The Lone Ranger (a.k.a. the Singing Cowboy) had his father murdered by stagecoach robbers, leading him to a life of vigilante justice. Both men have their sidekicks. For Batman, it's Robin, for the Lone Ranger, it's Tonto. The key difference? The Lone Ranger will cap your ass. He'll fill you full of silver, whereas Batman detests guns and taking life. The Lone Ranger is Batman Texas-style, and you don't mess with Texas.