Tuesday, May 20

New Ideas

I write a bit and I've been thinking about starting a "Bad Things Happen to Good People" series. I'm already started on the first story and, boy, it's a doozy. Look forward to reading it later on. I think I'll be done with it 'round tomorrow.


Monday, May 19


Megaman's a punk. >:(

Combining the speed of Sonic with the platforming and combat of Megaman, Pulseman breaks typical gaming molds thanks in part to Game Freak, creators of Pokemon. The art style is incredibly similar to the Pokemon games, especially in the character design. However, the gameplay is in it's own class and that is what makes Pulseman my favorite retro game to this day. It's on the MegaDrive.

Friday, May 16

Oingo Boingo

There's very little I have to say in regards to Oingo Boingo, aside from the fact that Danny Elfman is always brilliant and constantly scary.

When I lived in North Carolina, my mum found a copy of the Skeletons in the Closet: Greatest Hits of Oingo Boingo compilation and introduced me to Little Girls. Ceaselessly. In the time between then and now, I've gotten to know more of their discography and decided that Violent Love, On the Outside, and Elevator Man are my favorite songs, though they are most famous, (I suppose), for the song Weird Science. So check 'em out if you haven't already. A world of irreverent punk/ska/darkness awaits.

Vampire Weekend

Lately, there've been a few bands strikingly different to me that I can't help but love their sound. It was this way with MGMT about a month ago with me and, as a music lover, I am constantly on the lookout for another sound to listen to ceaselessly. As I was playing some Call of Duty 4 and listening to Opie and Anthony on XM Radio, I heard one of the spots for Esquire Magazine. On it, I heard a wonderful song playing in the background, which turned out to be (I believe) Cape Cod Kwassa Kwassa.

Their sound reminds me a bit of Cake with some folky bits thrown in and an excellent set of vocals for good measure. Indie in the truest sense of the word, no doubt.

So, if you're into that whole sound, by all means, check 'em out.

Thursday, May 15

The Something Store

Ever looking for something to waste your money on, but don't have the time to hove your fat ass down to Big Lots or some other large store full of cheap shit?

Well wander no more as the Something Store will surely have the right trinket for you!

~The Something Store~

With this magical offer, you can give them money, and they send you... something. Sounds a bit janky, no? Well, they have hundreds of satisfied and unsatisfied customers. The schtick is that you send $10 and they send something completely at random. It may be a duct tape wallet. Or it may be a Fossil watch. USB missle launchers also appear to be pretty popular. You'll never know until you get it.

Personally, I dunno if I'll do it. It seems like something exciting to do if ever you have some excess cash lying around. But if you have $10 just waiting to burn, then you might as well go for it all with $100, know what I'm saying.

So go ahead, buy from 'em. Looks fun!

Pic unrelated but totally phat.

Pockets and Shit

Yes, it's true. Even I use them. And whodathunkit? A rich celebrity blogger like myself, using his pockets. "Why do I bring this up?", you may ask. "Surely, rational individuals use pockets!" Well, you'd be right in that assumption. Rational individuals do use their pockets. Irrational individuals do not. They fill it with null, which is, coincidentally, the same material that 50% of their brain is made of, with the other 50% being Fruity Pebbles or some other gay breakfast cereal.

Why would anyone not use their pockets? Are they a fashion statement like babies? I see these idiot meatbags walking around school in their cargo pants, five-hundred pockets and not one of them being used. Yet their messenger bag is filled to the brim with all manner of stupidity to include some sort of notebook, gel pens, a copy of the Holy Bible, and a laptop (more often than not an Apple product of some sort.) Three of these things would fit excellently inside any of the pockets, but they need a damn bag for it all. There was a long time ago when pockets were functional, even necessary. Now, they are like the pancreas of one's apparel, utterly useless until there happens to be a problem with it. In that eventuality, one will need to operate, lest you lose change to that pocket forever.

MUHAHAHAHAHAHA. I'm wacky, aren't I?

At any given moment, most if not all of my pockets are filled to the brim with all manner of delightful things like pencils ,(OOOOOH), and money, (AAAAAAH.) Sometimes, I may be able to squeeze in the abnormally large paperback like The Adventures of Huck Finn or The Stand. So I duly keep my belongings in the pocket. Some pants, though, aren't made to have pockets. Like the ones I'm wearing at this very moment. The material is very slick, and, as such, my wallet slipped out of it and onto the bus where some individual picked it up, likely with the intention of returning it, but must've been mugged. I forgive them.

So, you neu-hippies can go to Hell for all I care or the equivalent: your local Hollister/American Eagle.


Wednesday, May 14

Mr. Wonderful

Mr. Wonderful was a man of habit. Because nothing quite says "wonderful" like order. He lived modestly, as most do. He went to work at Chromapage Photoworks where he developed film and meandered about for nine hours; the hours not spent working, reading.

Mr. Wonderful read all sorts of books, books about pirates, food, and wars. Books about vampires, killers, and bakeries. Mr. Wonderful was an avid reader, so much so that the librarians would invite him over to read stories to the young'uns. Mr. Wonderful would do so, and with great enthusiasm! He could make stories seem to come alive! And this is what Mr. Wonderful did every other day.

Monday was Mr. Wonderful's cleaning day. He was always excited the Sunday night of every week. Sometimes, he could barely sleep! Occasionally, there would be pieces of people lying around and his dog, Derwent, would find them.

Sometimes, Derwent would hide them and Mr. Wonderful would have to look for them later!

"Oh, Derwent!" said Mr. Wonderful.

Mr. Wonderful was usually careful to clean, being a man of habit. But sometimes, things got iffy, Like when Mr. Wonderful saw little Timmy Buxton watch him steam-clean the blood out of his drapes.

Timmy didn't know what he was seeing, but Mr. Wonderful was always careful, mind. Mr. Wonderful ran out onto the lawn with an old bat he had kept in the closet. Mr. Wonderful hadn't played baseball in years.

"Good afternoon, Timmy!" yelled Mr. Wonderful.

"Afternoon, Mr. Wonderful!" Timmy yelled back.

Timmy rode a few feet down the sidewalk before he caught a bat with the back of his head. Luckily, his skull absorbed most of the blow and caved inward. As Mr. Wonderful carried Timmy back into the house, a pulpy mess began to pour out of the back of Timmy's head and onto the yard and driveway. Mr. Wonderful's mother once remarked that that biting into someone's head was like sinking one's teeth into a ripe nectarine. Not wanting to dispute her on it, Mr. Wonderful took it as fact. In later years, Mr. Wonderful found this to be true. But that was neither here nor there.

Mr. Wonderful threw Timmy down on the couch and closed the drapes. He picked him back up and tossed him in the tub, breaking any bones left unbroken in Timmy's neck.

Mr. Wonderful wondered. He wondered about which tool was the best. Oh, he ad many; boxes upon boxes upon boxes. Boxes in the garage, in the attic, or in the closet. Everywhere. In the end, though, Mr. Wonderful decided on bolt cutters and a hacksaw, with some smaller tools picking up slack when needed.

Mr. Wonderful saw red as he began to tear into Timmy's flesh, shredding muscle and bone as he moved back and forth with the saw. Then, when Timmy was in sufficient enough pieces to handle, Mr. Wonderful took bolt cutters to the fingers and toes. The sound of a chicken bone snapping could be heard. Or maybe it wasn't a chicken bone.

Regardless, Timmy was really hard to identify by the end of everything. Mr. Wonderful tossed the leftovers in the fridge. Meanwhile, Derwent took off out the front door with a calf!

"No, Derwent!"

Derwent came back, reluctantly, and showed his dismay by scattering arms and legs in the backyard. Timmy was truly a boy apart at this point. Mr. Wonderful decided to take it easy from then on, and buried Timmy in several places. Around town. In the park.

Mr. Wonderful had to be careful.

Comments or questions are always appreciated. My words belong to me, (copyrights and such), however, any interpretations of the same story are more than welcome. Creativity is to not be stifled.

Sunday, May 4

I don't need television.

At least the cable/satellite programming. I've slowly realized over the past couple of months that, upon subscribing to both DirecTV and XM Radio, I can pretty much do away with DirecTV entirely.

I'm a talk radio guy. It's a dying art. There are the ultra conservative blowhards and generic sportscasters and there are inspirational powerhouses like Opie & Anthony, Ron and Fez, and El Jefe and J-Dubs. There's a voice for everyone. And I can sit there and listen to them all day every day. Provocative radio, not these Morning Zoo wacky shows with sound effects out the ass.

And it's all I need. Granted, I enjoy the various movie channels and the like, but the vast majority of television nowadays is just catering to the lowest common denominator. The only exception I can come up with off of the top of my head is the Chiller channel, and it doesn't count because 90 percent of it is reruns anyway.

There's just nothing good on TV anymore. I'm more of a movie guy anyway.

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