You’ve got food on your back
You’ve got clothes in your mouth
You should be FVCKIN’ HAPPY
I was concerned that the “ol roy” interlude in my previous item was underinspired and dull, but I forgot how much uninspiration inspires people, and so he has already been promoted to Southern Connecticut State Universitti grafitti creative consultant.
Apart from the prominent FUCKIN’ this seemed too consciously peculiar to be written by a student here without an outside source, and sure enough, it is a lyric from some song that I suspect is meant to be a facetiously daft take on traditionally daft oversimplifying “message” songs, although regardless of sincerity it is musically awful. Awfulness strengthens the experience. And so what might be my initial assumption, that taking the line out of context of the bad song might improve it, seeing it scratched into a wall is less awful than hearing it sung and so, in fact, it is worse. It reminds me of another good old time, however.
I took a number of pictures from a car that day. Almost none looked like anything afterward. Somehow I have two totally legible shots of this sign. It must be my destiny to document this. Or maybe the car stopped and we got out here. I cannot decide which is worse.
Common Man, first of uh, is a sellout shill. The interior of his domain is filled with “common man” branded merchandites. While no doubt the marketing and quality of product was nothing beyond common, you don’t get to pretend you uphold the interests of oppressed, hardworking people when you charge them $20 for a mass-produced shirt that provides the most rudimentary insulation with a logo on it. I don’t have pictures of that, either!
alright, it probably wasn’t as lazy as this one.
It really isn’t hard to make a terrible shirt! This is outside of relevance!
More important than common man or his awful wears or what’s worse than them is his slogan. When I passed the sign the first time, I was certain the letters spelled up “drink in sand, feet in hand.” I wondered how anybody driving could see that and that not get into a horrific accident trying to make logical sense of it. Anything else it might say would be corny and pointless. I was so taken that I had to commemorate the experience with a tiny drawing in a notebook. Somewhere I could find it again but that less enlightened folks would never come across and make a quarrel over out of jealousy. Today I scanned it and traced it. Aren’t you proud!
Who needs good food and down home cold hard ice cream when they have feet in hand? What more do you need? You’re all but set for a good long while. A tragic existence, to never know the possibility of feet in hand.
My sister formerly had a section of her facebook account detailing “one night in hand,” a yearly event for graduators at the Daniel Hand High School of Madison, Connecticut, including all manner of chaperoned mischief that I have no idea about because I never attended that school and my sister deleted that account months ago. Perhaps out of despair of night in hand not comparing to feet in hand.
Remembering that my camera was borrowed occasionally back in those times, I searched for evidence and found none. Here is, however, a picture that I discovered in my collection from the approximate period when night in hand would have occurred. I think it tells you just as much.
According to an internet, the actual title is “nite in hand.” It is conducted under an alias so that I will not find out. For, you see, Nite in Hand is alcohol free, so it is likely students will have neither drink* nor feet in hand. Just nite, which doesn’t even exist. Truly bleak!
*unless they consume something highly deviant, such as water.
Oh thank gupin. You saved me from having to put a liquid inside me that didn’t contain an artificially flavored science experiment. Flavored water is a great replacement for something that only isn’t called that because it sounds sleazy.
Pet products fascinate me, because they are, generally, a total frivolity marketed at the buyer but not the consumer. I do not have pets. I have probably said so before, but I dislike somebody who is needy, erratic, unable to be reasoned with and can never be expected to grow out of that. That job is already taken in my house.
I am jealous of dogs. I have to brush my teeth constantly but dogs just get to eat meat flavored cookies shaped for some reason like pieces of dead bodies and apparently that’s enough.
Ah, wonderful. What can you tell me, Roy?
Lovely. Like what?
Is that so! How does it pertain to this situation.
Please don’t talk to me anymore, Roy.
This bag contains little dogs to feed to your big dog.
Similarly, the anthromoporphic dog here wants to eat his normal dog deputy. I assume. I hope he’s not mouthily lusting over that big peanut on a fork. That would be weird, and then this product would need to be recalled.
If it WAS recalled, and discontinued, that certainly would not be because thousands of people reported that their dogs became sick/dead from kidney failure after eating these things because they were made from imported Chinese poultry meat. The New York state factory just happened to flunk the antibiotic test and the owner has no intention of using meat that does not contain antibiotics (or letting one of its factories outside New York get inspected), because these are legally considered SAFE, in China, even though the investigation only happened because of people reporting that the product was harmful and the discovered health code violation was entirely coincidental. Do you understand? Explain it to me after class.
This is the Nestle corporation, after all. It only inadvertently kills human babies [in the 1970s].
You can also buy Waggin Train products in Canada, because the dogs there really culturally identify with the covered wagon mythos. Also, they are more humble and less likely to complain than American dogs when they get poisoned.
Still, getting back on topic,
It has been my experience that peanuts are weird, at least.
And some peanuts are totally normal and pleasant.
And a reasonable reader would know very well that’s not what I meant and that nobody should do that.
You are atrocious.
As a mentally ill person, I am disgusted by all this recent talk in the media that implies I want a gun.
As a non-mentally ill person, I avoid “the media” altogether because I expect to be disgusted by it.
I also avoid twitter, tumblr, various art websites and the shirts of other people at this university.
You might surmise that I am more often ill than not. I have! You might surmise that I avoid this website as well, but it is not the case. More likely, it avoids me, for I have disgusted it with my long absences that I only break to pick on old topics.
Such as the nature of people’s preferred methods of information distribution amongst themselves, and that which they distribute, that somehow finds its way to me because I hate myself for unsubcribing from the upload feed of people who I feel have been nice to me at some point, even when the contents inadvertently upset me often enough as to seem illogical to continue partaking of. This comes about surprisingly easily. Or not surprisingly at all considering that my greatest foes are backward letters, transparent material colored in blue and mouths.
And so: Another of this tumble-network’s delightful quirks is its users’ love of inserting obscenity into mundane statements to bring additional attention to them. I believe at first it was meant to be funny, but the more I saw it the easier and angrier it seemed. I should thus disclaim that this entry contains many more pictures of many obscene words, or the same few obscene words many more times. Even if those don’t bother you, me continually responding to them with the same few complaints may become emotionally draining.
Fortunately, that means skimming the remainder of the text and text images will probably suffice, if you have a passion for downscrolling which you cannot ignore.
The exploitation of this formula could be seen as a criticism of what an empty formula it is, but I assure you it is a glorious homage. Which would be fine if it wasn’t but one joke that went on forever, that didn’t start there and hasn’t stopped.
We prove that cartoons are not just for children by swearing! That is what grownups do! Hell damn genitalia words! Crap slut douche! Stuff that comes out of orifices!
Tell me for the first time why tumblir has to break out an ugly, angry word like “fucking” every time it likes anything. I don’t even notice “ass” anymore.
This is how easy it is. You just need to repeat the word endlessly to attain godhood in this crowd. Context is for, let’s say, wussies.
This is not edgy! You are not “rebelling” against media censorship! You are engaging in an equally or more insidious form of mind control and it’s disgusting. It is insidious because it is posing as a counterculture when it is very much the norm, pushing a normy agenda. Maybe the agenda of printing fundamentally harmless syllables repeatedly does not hurt anybody, but it empowers dimwits with nothing to say to say it very loudly.
The words, I can handle them. The uniformity and lack of dissent, possibly due to a lack of means to express dissent irk me.
I am very glad i don’t know this person and have that relaxed a relationship with. Know personally, I mean: It could be 90 or so “different” internet people I am less than two stages removed from. Imagine every day, anything you own might suddenly have DICKS or whatever the impulse vulgar word of the moment is written across it, with that chudgump watching and giggling. “I thought it would I MEAN I THOUGHT IT WOULD BE FUNNY IF I DID THE EASIEST POSSIBLE THING TO MAKE YOUR PROPERTY UGLIER BECAUSE I AM FIVE YEARS OLD FOR LIFE LOL OOPS NO PUNCTUATION SORRY NOT REALLY I INTEND TO KEEP DOING IT HURFDERP” I was sick of this six years ago. I feel like the older and less tolerant of worthless 0-effort mental cheezwhiz I get, the younger and more in love with it everyone else gets, because after a certain point people who hate this rubbish and aren’t me find other means of getting attention outside the websites this incubates in. Those who remain and their new pledges keep making triter and more simplistic, infantile horseradish and finding faster and less pleasant ways to demand money for it and coerce people to try and get me to spend MY money on it and to tell me it’s the greatest thing I’ve ever seen or will ever see.
At least go with Dr. Diarrhea DDS; alliteration is a decent cover for a lack of material in limited quantities. I realize that the concept of moderation is often unheard of; an aspect of moderation, after all, is that you do not hear of it often.
Huhuh. You said ‘titties.’
Nothing makes you more authoritative than talking like a bonehead. Bonedome. What do you know about my dome game, you who uses “dome” as a synonym for mental function and “game” as a synonym for things that are not games? That is to say, I assume “dome” has that meaning; my only other prominent dome experience was with a defunct rap gang called “mad dome gettaz” and they generally wove yarns about acquiring hemispherical ceilings for their basilicas and how frustrated it made them.
Behold my needlessly animated, motivational hoke-spewing head. You have no choice. I hate when somebody totally ordinary who isn’t of renown for any apparent reason beyond that some force of fate decreed that he was tells me to “be [myself].” It’s easy for this guy to be himself because he has a mob of admirers who admire him for not doing anything, even when it’s in a lower quality derivation of the original medium; in this case, video and audio of a man’s head transformed into grainy moments of movement and silence with captions. I’ll be myself and people will continue to reblog oafs like this at me being themself in a degraded form.
I looked him up, assuming the #tictactoe entry that resembled a proper name referred to the man in the pictures. He at least edits his videos; one of my major gripes with people who compulsively record themselves talking is the endless unrehearsed dead air, wordless grunts and coughing. My absolute primary gripe, that I have no interest in watching people talk at me, still wins out.
I have contemplated recording myself on some occasions, as saying longform complaining aloud makes it more apparent how much is legitimately amusing, how much is boring and how much means I should be murdered, but I can’t get past that I don’t want to have to listen to myself, and it would probably degenerate into me yelling about lizards or potatoes.
That same page, of the creative individual who took someone else’s video and turned it into a less good version of itself also had this goon in the lower left, also needlessly animated, floating there. I have no guess at who he is, since he was a permanent fixture on the page rather than a meticulously keyworded exportable, but he sure is proud of himself and that’s what counts. He is following his dream of being a smug, damp-shirted, legless, endlessly looped animated gif whose fingers keep slipping on his damp shirt, requiring their readjustment.
tumblr is ruled by fuh kyeah titled pages. Never “mammograms oh yes” or “hooray for wheat,” but “euckyeahpringles” on each and all occasions, as if it is a rule. It isn’t, but people love to pretend things are rules. That prevents a thoughtless act from needing to be justified. This series means to highlight the positivity potential of an object, but it comes across like disdain. I have even found them for topics like not having a conventional sexual orientation (such as any at all). How can you uphold an uncommon, fornication-free lifestyle when you bond yourself to such arbitrary institutionalized fornicationspeak?
Since when is “why” a factor that you consider? I should feel “inspired” to know there are other people who aren’t after sexualizing, but that doesn’t make a difference when they violate my emotional boundaries that supercede my hypothesized sex aspect with the first sentence.
Surely you get the idea by now, but I have about twenty examples. This highlights a loophill in my quest for moderation because if I don’t post them now I’ll post them later and feel compelled to include additional examples to exhibit that it is a trend. I defeat my addictions by giving in so pitifully that they laugh themselves into lethal choking fits. I assure you I have suspended my access to the source of these, or have tried to, but sometimes they follow me home.
Getting away from the internet momentarily, the university art club occasionally reserves space in a hallway for members and incorrigible nonmembers (my own status, which likely does not surprise you) to display art objects, and little bits of paper are provided so that anonymous comments may be supplied by viewers. I kept all the notes my displays received, because I am insecure and believe any compliment could be the last. This one, though, bothered me, before I had the tumblr problem. This is likely from somebody whom I would regularly wish to scream at for being way too emotionally invested in things of minimal significance. Too offended, too pleased, too easily. The internet’s social economy cannot exist without this. However, real people need not rely on it. Are they real? If they are, am I? If I inspire you, why are you such a rogueish slice of cheese? It is also possible that this note was meant for somebody else, and it fell on the floor, and someone else picked it up and stuck it on the nearest non-floor, but I don’t like that either! Perhaps I kept the thing because I appreciated the gesture and the person going to lengths to prevent my responding to its emotions by thinking about screaming.
(this was not the piece)
The art classes I attended at the university had a grand tradition of forcing the whole class to listen to crummy music while doing everything. Last year (2010?) that “FUCK youuuuuuu, a hoo hooo” (whooo just as well being me) song was a recurring element.
I cannot blame the rising of peoples’ casual nature toward the prized word on it, but I sure do hate it, regardless, though had I been free to not regard it I might hate it less.
Not every teacher has a supply of terrible CDs, so luckily there is a radio-edited version of the same song, and it is just as annoying, and is broadcast with a more tightly-regulated regularity. The word “fuck” is awkwardly replaced with “forget,” but that word is not the reason the song is offensive. The word is in a negative context and functions. It is peoples’ reaction to the word and the song’s inherent musical insufferability that rule the rued day. The more you play it, the more I hate it. Whether the word is said or isn’t, its presence is implied. The song got popular on the internet first. I’m supposed to hear it and giggle “uh oh it’s the fuck you song! hee heeeeeeeeee this song’s got swears and it’s on the radioooooooo!”
In (2012) I was again in the charge of a cd-owner, who prefered a daily visit from some dreary monotone man who sounded like he wore glasses stopping the whole song and speaking “I wanna fucking tearrr youah parrd.” AWFUL. What little music is there breaks down instantly just so it’s unmistakable that I hear the unaffected dork pronounce that calmly and clearly. It makes me want to fleeping eviscerate the bum. It’s like he is in the army for dorks who are really proud of saying nasty things. This is our duty. We do it sternly and without hesitation. We demand respect for doing it. The budget for keeping us doing this will never be cut. I suspect the “song” is meant to be about murder, which is unpleasant, but I listen to music for entertainment (or, in these situations, to protect me from what others listen to), not harsh moral reminders.
This then reminds me of some artificially “viral” “spoof” of the Captain Planet and the Planeteers animated television series, in which some yobo (I remember the clip made a big deal that Don Cheadle, whom I should have heard of, was playing the captain) gleefully advocates conserving water and then gets really serious and says “Or else I’ll turn you into a Fucking tree.” It even stops the music the same way. It just bothered me. The captain had turned some people into trees and so the warning was consistent with his behavior but I didn’t like his attitude. It makes sense that Captain Planet would be angry but making sense is not inherently funny. We have to put these indicators around the word “fucking” so that there is no mistake. It is trendy to get abruptly emotionless and hostile for no reason. At one time I had thought it bad enough to have another re-enactment of a work of mediocre fiction that I’m meant to praise as brilliant merely because someone bothered. I’m supposed to already be impressed and in some awe just because all these people dressed up like characters from a cartoon, even a terrible cartoon, but it goes to the next rubble when one of them says the magic present participle verb. Oh geeez gaiz they’re dressed up like planeteers AND swearing! This is so AUTHENTIC.
When I encounter emotionless hostility in made-up material, it reminds me of abrasive, confrontational actual people that I hate. Probably people from crummy “realistic” movies that I hate, but everyone raised by television eventually imitates it. It can be funny when fiction reminds me of real garbage people, but only when it makes fun of them or in some way implies “this is a garbage thing for people to do.” All these things do is show the garbage as if they condone it or encourage it.
The website may even have been called “funny or die.” It’s threatening me if I don’t entertain it, and having the brashness to order me to be a fan for it.
a montage of them that I had nothing to do with. this is trying to be provocative by printing the word in big, oddly colored print, but it isn’t, because the word is so common that it lacks any meaning beyond “the person saying this is unpleasant and gives being confrontational priority over solving a problem.”
in fact i momentarily considered entering the word in the tumblr search engine to see what the most promoted example was before recalling that it is a verb with multiple meanings and that tumblr has absolutely no standards for what is displayed on it
Hesus loves everyone except people who stutter. You can say I’m missing the point, but I’m not because the point is that this is really angry and antagonistic and is unconcerned with love. This Jesus here may be quoting some angry antagonistic creep from a film. I remember [one of] the creep(s) in The Breakfast Club kept asking “do I stutter?” instead of answering anyone else’s questions and I wanted to throw pumpkins at him, and he didn’t even say “fucking.” The breakfast club is the movie where the supposedly smart character’s biggest fear in life is that someone will know he is a virgin. It’s also about people who aren’t in a club and don’t eat any food and then don’t get called out on the title making no sense even though it’s a serious movie otherwise devoid of such non sequitur identifications. It is a really stupid movie. Of course I watched it at school. I remember I had to watch The Breakfast Club at the school for creeps that I attended (Cedarhurst) whenever one of the teachers was out being repaired. Not being there to see the film, the teachers were thus unaware that I was learning nothing about breakfast. I hope they got fired. For that reason, if necessary.
This narration from a 1955 Wonder Woman comic does not want to let me continue this story without making absolutely certain I understand the true meaning of breakfast. That is why this is called the golden age of comics. That and the expensive production values.
I inadvertently became acquainted with the popular skyrim video game roundabout the year-switching period. That is not the primary excuse for my continued infrequent, excuse-filled updates; I was in an unusual place and trying to complete an unusual drawing that could ideally become a useful update and so had difficulty being productive all around.
I have not forsworn any “low-tech” principles in playing the Skyrim video game; that never was a “principle,” that I played old timey video games. I just did not find the widely advertised new ones at all enticing and could not justify the purchase of a modern game system based on the price, the amount of games I had the faintest interest in or the free time I had.
My non-interest was validated when I had a chance to play the also popular Portal last year and found it wholly underwhelming. Nothing could be done to make the control feel natural to me and I couldn’t help becoming aware of all the bland, internet running non-gags that must have been inspired by it. It seemed like a never-ending tutorial session for a “real” mission that never showed up. That I still couldn’t win did not inspire me to draw many pink cubes in non-portally contexts.
By chance, somebody else at the unusual location happened to come into possession of just such electronic devices amitz my visit but did not exclusively use them in the periods when I also might have, and after observing a bit I deduced that Skrymy was mostly unlike Portal and that I might take an opportunity to see how it went. The control was just as unfortunate; I am hopeless at blocking enemy attacks and am likewise offensively impotent against any foe that attempts to block attacks and from whom I cannot cowardly run away and then turn around to start throwing stuff at once they get tired of following. Fortunately, there is still plenty for a deficient player to do, and without feeling like “I guess I’m decrepit! My future shall contain naught but jewel-matching and bird flinging.”
Undoubtedly Skyrimpf has its own share of dreadful memes, but having gradually re-outcast myself in the two years on either end of its release, I avoided becoming aware of them. I have no friends, but I have a tolerable high profile and recent video game. Or I did for a few days. That is likely all I am owed.
I suspect the wide amount of visitable areas to visit in the game is nothing new; I remember the Ultimas I tried in past years were somewhat like that, though Ultima was deliberately, it seemed, hard to approach sometimes, and I never completed any of them. You could go anywhere you pleased, but figuring out just who needed your help, and who you could help at your initial power level was even a matter of guessing. S’krim has none of that; any direction you go in, for a long time, there is something to be done that you are fully capable of doing. I imagine the homogenous medieval environments and total lack of whimsy common to the “serious” western approach to fantasy and video games would irritate me after a while, but it did not occur soon enough and I am sad to say I spent rather too long fiddling with this thing.
I do prefer medieval homogeneity to the modern society homogeneity of grand theft auto types, in which no creature or structure is going to appear that does not exist in contemporary reality. I would rather battle boring old skeletons than really boring new street gangs. Neither group is interested in making friends.
In attempting to write a brief digression I realized I have a complicated, peculiar and sometimes painful relationship with Ultima, and the digression began looking to do the same thing to this post as the games did to me, which is totally contrary to my point that my experience with Skyrim was comparatively pleasant. It remains approachable despite being the fifth game in its series, whereas Ultima was an illogical mess from beginning to end whose ability to endure so long defies basic logic, so really we are not so different.
However, my life does not make a good video game! I am glad to know at last that I needn’t necessarily experience American role-playing games in terror.
Peculiar, but not painful, is to what degree being able to choose to play as a stupid lizardoid enhances my feeling of involvement in the thing. it is likewise peculiar to have most other characters not notice that it is a lizard, and be immediately able to tell if it is male or female and choose all the corresponding words, like man or woman, him or her, even though the male and female lizard-folk look almost exactly the same, and be they male or female they are hardly women or men. They are some things that nobody bothered to make a word for. Citizens of the land are literally more concerned that the beast is wearing leather armor than that it has a tail and the head of a snake. Nobody says oh yikes a lizard! I’m getting out of here! Intermittently, an incidental bit of dialog acknowledges that it is one, but nothing important, from what I have seen. The presence of such beings may seem to contradict my remark about a lack of whimsicality, and maybe that is why everybody works so hard to pretend it is normal. They NEED to accept this to maintain order.
All these tough guys who look like Triple-H and Boromir and won’t shut up about mead are totally comfortable being around the ludicrous reptiles despite my not having encountered another after investing more hours than I would like to think into the expedition. Even the natural environment is bafflingly tolerant; the stupid tail should be knocking things over and making noise all over the place. Why do lizard-folk start with extra “sneak” points? Anybody should notice one of those is coming and challenge its freedom to do so. Although I did make sure to give it the smallest and wimpiest-looking body possible, I also arranged for the nose to be of maximum length, and the tail size is non-negotiable. Even with an acknowledged local dragon attack problem, nobody in Skyrim-land accuses the lizard of being in collusion with them, which you know as well as I do real people eagerly would. This remains the case even if it breaks into someone’s house or starts attacking people (it always loses, of course). The worst punishment is having to pay a fine, and probably less money than the crumbum stole, and then all is immediately forgiven. There is no lasting stigma or notoriety. Although, also unlike Ultima, the game explicitly identifies which items people will have a problem with me stealing. Evidently potato theft is legal so long as it occurs outside.
I like that mistakes, apart from crime, are not heavily penalized, though. I hate when something like Breath of Fire 2 lets me make a seemingly unimportant decision with a permanent effect that I couldn’t possibly have guessed and that I don’t realize until later. I don’t want to go through half this stupid game again the exact same way just so I don’t invite the wrong dork to live in my treehouse village because I didn’t realize he was the wrong dork and that I would not be able to invite additional dorks or evict the ones filling the space. Skyrim, and presumably others of its type, seem to have enough things to do multiple ways that additional playthroughs would be probable whatever the case, so this is not as big a factor. All the same I’m not looking to acquire more of them or devote my life to them (I am no longer visiting and no longer have access to the game, in fract), since I would never truly be able to finish, either. I am here to make peace, not love.
My mother claimed to have predicted that I would play as a lizard. However, I predicted that she would claim to have predicted that and decided against defying fate on this occasion.
I do not “relate” to lizards. I do not think I am one. This questionabloid does many things that I would not, such as stealing potatoes out of barrels and peoples’ gardens or selling valuable potatoes. Two other people sharing the residence at the time I visited had also played the game, and neither had chosen to be a lizard. I liked the idea of nobody wanting to be one. The perceived lack of appeal made it appealing. The truth is that I relate to things that have no business being on the premises.
Unless an unapproachable, affluent entity paid for it to be there out of spite.
Or whatever this is. Specifically, what it is, that is; I can place it in a general category of “things that should not be here.” I prefer to place it out of my sight.