We'll see how long this layout lasts.
Super Games Galore
Note: Games may be neither super nor galore
Assorted Asininities
Pronounce that any way you want
I have a [nother] scanner
I even use it occasionally
Awards this site hasn't won
I swear I did not win them!
The Rehabilitated Guestbook
It won't kill you. Anymore.

Since when is this calledFedgewick Biscuits and Tables?

the website that asks: what's below the bottom of the barrel?

there is no 12. Who told you there were twelve?
that there is a 13 does not necessarily indicate that there also be a 12.
A wholly needless, I expect, link back to the main page

The following day, May 7, 2004
If you're so innocent, why won't you admit--that you're not?

Do you remember that play I mentioned once in March and again in April? Probably not, but I'm going to continue talking about it, anyway. First, the program. It had one. This is the image on the front cover page. I want to hit whoever made it. The reason I demanded it be 1743x2326 pixels is because I didn't want people seeing it up close on paper to be able to discern pixels. Wisely, the printer reduced the resolution and blurred the image, because it knows what a fool I am. That it also debed up the colors was a bonus bestowed purely out of spite.

I had intended those to be evident from this picture, but they aren't, so let us move on. Jope and Some Dopes. With a name like that, if it ever became even slightly popular (and understand that I don't expect it to), that could not equal its humourous obscure reference potential seven years from now.

I am told that the play was "a hit," however, it took in no profit, so obviously this is a different definition of hit than the one movie companies use, in which any mistake which sells a certain amount of tickets is a hit, regardless of whether anyone worth acknowledging enjoyed it or not. Also frequently mentioned is the fact that most of the people who came were turned away because there was no room for them. However, an even bigger one this time, due to the disagreeable room and the fact that I wrote many stupid movements into the script without the expectation that anyone would actually try to act them out, the seating capacity was eighty-six. Further, admittance was free, and students who expressed a desire to see it were excused from their 11:30am classes (especially worthy of note, since it was performed at 4:30pm in a roller-disco), and oh yes there was free lasagne afterwards. So ha. Is it wrong that I'd seek satisfaction by employing logic to attempt to prove that my play was not a success?

The actors, however, I do not regret. They managed such a dumb script so brilliantly that I might even pretend I had a thing to do with casting them. I still think screen actors are largely scum, but theatre ilks I have more appreciation for. They have to do everything many times to get it right, and they have to memorize it all, and then they have to do it yet more times, and each one of those time with a different bunch of arbos they've never met before looking on saying "entertain me!" In this particular case, imagine the arbos are senior citizens and also saying "why do they keep moving around?"

I would have liked to get some pictures of the play in progress, but since I was kind of in it to attempt such a thing may have compromised my ability to ring a bell and then hold a sign up. I admit, I'm a slave to my craft. Some of the props afterwards were free for foto, but CAM-RA was in pretend to be working and show green battery icon and then turn off screen, have a beep tantrum and not have taken picture mode, so I have none.

Afterwards some grey-suited Ralph Nader looking man sort of congratulated me. I knew who it was.

It was the guy from the fire drill one week previous. He's just too good to stand with everyone else. I was ready to take a compliment from this guy until he said that he 1.)missed the play because 2.)he was not let in. This person, who can pull a lever to send everyone else outside, and then he just waits in the doorway like Mr. Clean or something and knows that he is master of all he surveys could have gotten in if he'd wanted to.

During this fire drill, by the way, every 7th person was talking on a krippendorfing telephone. I can understand maybe a few of them got calls just then, because they neglected to tell those with the number that they had classes then, or more likely said just that in the hopes of looking very popular indeed getting so many calls during those classes... right, maybe a few, but I think some I saw in the parking lot initiated the call. "Yeah, there WASN'T a fire. How about that. No, this message definitely could not have waited" Fop, I'll bet they were talking into their machines before the fire drill. Maybe there's a douchebaggery in everyday life course I hadn't heard about.

Then it was time to return to home. After the piano class, I mean. I just remembered who the teacher reminds me of. The hair, the voice, the diminutive size, all unintentionally, I hope, reminiscent of Donna Nappi, the fearsome werewolf woman who serves as "program coordinator" of the worst non-boarding school ever, Cedarhurst, so there's a chance, definitely, that this has contributed to my lack of success. I don't wish to explain at length just now, but to get an idea of the students there, think of the most selfish, whiny, abusive, unlovable spoiled rich wretches to ever not deserve to live. Now imagine that they actually don't have rich parents, and only act that way because they are simply just evil. Before I forget, the pianoist I was annoyed at for trying to "show off" looks like the air-bite guy from the only clip I've seen from Top Gun, but I can't relate that to any miserious life experience of mine, so I'll just leave it at that.

When I at last did leave, I wanted orange soda. STAT. I don't know why. Perhaps I'm pregnant. unfortunately, the closest thing we had was

this. I don't use it a whole lot, no. After finishing up at the poison control center, I had some Skittles.

Here's my bag of Skittles, by the way. Someone with money (presumably more than $10,000) hates me.

Eventually, the thing is being performed again, this time at THE EDGE. How edgy is the edge? So much that that's its name, fool. They're so edgy that their website is at an .org. Their slogan is "if it ain't edgy, I jump the hedgey." When you buy a ticket the ticket seller sez: "watch your fingers or you'll get a paper-cut from THE EDGE." I heard they have a theatre at the summit of Mount Carmel (which is pronounced differently than caramel, by the way, you ignorant East Haven yerfs) and when you drive to one of its shows, there aren't any railings because they don't believe in boundaries and instead there are signs that read "reduce speed ahead, mind you don't drive off THE EDGE." They're so edgy, they let their logo stamp fall into minor disrepair and didn't do anything about it.
Thursday? May 6, 2004

Goldfish don't want peace. They believe they are the master race.

Ut oh, the Friends end today. I hope they all pile into a rickshaw and drive around to pick up the Slags in the City and then they all get on an airplane and fly to Seattle or Toronto or whatever the place the logo for the Frasier villains depicts, and then the three shows I never watched one of which I don't even have the channel for that I should never have come to know were ending fight to the death. Everyone's death, preferably, but if there's a winner, that winner goes on to face the cast of Angel, which I heard nothing about the cancellation of but looked as if it might have been remotely interesting, in the championship round. Is it unfair to put a damaged and diminished group unrested against a gang of highly trained undead folk who would be difficult to damage anyway? Not when you take into account that, having been canceled by the network rather than left to gradually rot out, the Angel group will be extra succeptible to idiotic, poorly planned, deus ex machina plot twists which would have more than likely left them all piles of bones or fairy dust or whatever vampires turn into anyway. In the end, I would like to personally present the winning losers with a significant cash prize. However, I'd still be in Connecticut, and they're all rich socks anyway, so that's irrelevant.

A younger Hugh Hefner exhibits frustration at his initial lack of success profiting off of people's secret bestiality desires.

There is something missly agrave when mein own website is able to download for me viruses I didn't already have.

"Why yes, doctor, I think if you could make me a size triple-D that would be grrrrreat!"

Saturday, actually, May 1, 2004

News programs would become infinitely more exciting if they'd just change the word "injuries" to "survivors" every once in a while.

Great Moments in History

January 36, 205: Roneldo conquers China again

Just once I'd like to make a proclamation here and really be away for a month. Bah, Compuserve again. Bah, dagnabbit, doggonnit, doohickey, dang, darn, heck, curses, aw ban, aw beans, griegah, greegah, garbo, yarbo, larbo, fenfizzelt, greegorp, vlumbagor, ergope, BIMBELB, zimbob, joebob, billybob, nosireebob, feebidee, greebidee, meebidee, dope. It is for but a month, hopefully, during which something better might be decided upon, but probably won't. The problem with leaving Compuserve is that you really couldn't do worse. Even America Online's irrepressible Welcome Window loads slightly faster. I can only immediately recall the names of two alternate services, Earthlink, because I used it once, for about three months, and then inexplicably reverted to AOL (prior to compuserve) and I know Netzero, because it used to be free, as the now downright idiotic name would suggest. I neglected to ever research other internet serverse providers, because I was under the impression we were contractually obligated to serve the Serve into 2005, and... surely we are, and they're just waiting until we've paid for another to say anything.

Ah, more dividers.

As of right now, I have no internet. Don't bother yourself wondering how I'm saying this now, since I know you aren't really interested. What America Online likes to do is hold accounts hostage. They get some number for some card and bill that automatically, so the people who own the card (obviously, not me) don't have to think about it, and thus have no idea that they're suddenly not going to have internet after having no idea that the number for the card hasn't worked for the past two months. And then the only way to tie things up and truly make an end of them (obviously, again, not my problem, but my mother's sudden distressor "how am I going to check my e-mail?!" is meant to convince me that there's something going on there) is to reactivate the account and then again not think about paying the bills, and end up paying for another year of surprisingly non-service like service, possibly without even knowing it. We have outstanding Blockbuster Video fines for things that have been returned, just because it's so believable that we haven't. And they're not going to threaten someone else who took out their sole copy of the oldest movie in their stock (from all the way back in 1997) if Joe Bones at the thing I'll refer to as a desk forgot to tell the computer that we had to have given it back before someone else could take it. But anyway. Ehhh. I've been out of significant space at tripod since, January, actually, and meant to have tricked someone else into hosting it by now, but then I realized I had plenty of free and ad unaddled (even though "search companions" are technically not advertisements, are internationally beloved and aren't obnoxious, invasive or trying to sell something at all) space at, and this is a funny story, Compuserve, und so gave up my quest. But certainly, as soon as I have a clear idea of what I want, a willingness to compromise that for what I can get and... oh, right, internet, I'll be sure to rejoin the program already in progress. Or not do anything. But until then, if it exists, there shall be no more updates here (I can tell, your crests are crestfallen), or at least none with pictures.

Any job I'd trust a Cabbage Patch Kid to do I'd just as soon do myself.

I'm unimpressed by international cuisine.

If this snack is so smart, why is it in the bag, then? Does the label only serve to imply that the snack possesses the capicity for knowledge, and having had the experience of being in the bag, will try to escape once I open it? Surely chips know that I will not wait for them to expire, and with every passing moment further develops their sneaky strategy. Perhaps I should let go, and not pursue them. It is wrong to make a truly intelligent snack live and die by my tyranny. Go, forth, Sour Cream & Onion Lay's chips! Be free, live life, change the world! Don't let the naysayers eat you!

I was truly planning to upload, or at least work toward the eventual uploading of a page today, but the disk I use to transport files from my "business" computer to my "internet" computer is no longer readable. I think I possibly spilt water on it yesterday. The disk I used before this one melted. The question now, is will the next disk be crushed by a giant rock or stolen by an impromptu tornado?

here's my impression of every female contestent on American Idol:
*standing ovation*
All right. I get it. They have strong voices. They have control over their voices. But they're awful singers. Can they consistently hit and sustain difficult notes? Truly they can, but that doesn't make them a joy to listen to, and in fact after sufficient coaxing gladly joins the resistance effort.
I really wanted to not comment on that dreadful show again. I don't watch it, I don't buy the albums, I don't associate with anyone who likes to make it obvious that they do, and most importantly it's never advertised during the shows I do watch, so it shouldn't be my problem. But if I can hear the wretched caterwauling from the downstairs television in my upstairs bunker, than it's making itself my problem. Why why why does one of them have to win? As with the other times this show affronted me, a big brouteehee is made about the "mean" judges, who somehow have nothing but praise for the most typical, least lovable people who self-immolate before them. These talented individuals (I've resigned myself to the fact that is actually me who's been using the wrong definition of "talent" all these years) are at best only as good as the lorks who already have recording contracts, so no progress is being made. I heard one person who wasn't whining, when I ever so briefly went down to get meatballs, and he was singing a bad Elvis Presley song badly. So we're actually going backwards now, and I don't mean like retreating to safe territory backwards, but more like driving up a ski-jump slope and right before you reach level ground suddenly the engine explodes and oh we're not done yet we were on a ski-jump slope remember backwards. Everyone who likes any Elvis songs I've heard of should be deported to Iraq to be forced to take jobs manufacturing or being Geroge Bush effigies.

American Idol? I think rather that Americans: They-dull. Ha ha ha ugh.

You know what I hate doing? Don't answer, I was going to tell you. Wearing shoes. They make my feet hot. I also hate using toilets. Wha, I just did this an hour ago! Brushing my teeth, I also hate. If the opportunity were to present itself, I'd also hate brushing your teeth. But I do it. Something around every day. Why? Because if I don't, bad things will happen. The shoe thing, at least, can be voided if I don't leave my house, but I have to leave, because that's when the bad things happen. Although these bad things tend not to happen, there are also other bad things, those which I do not wish to compound. I must face the bad things. These terrible, awful, play rehearsals. Oh dealy, it's almost like having a job, it is. The performing gets done on Wednesday, and now, less than a week before that, is the time for me to notice all the things that bother me, those that which cannot be changed. If I had seen them earlier, they either did not bother me, or I had no idea what precisely was bothering me. But bother is in the sentence, and that's not good. Und so it is a bad thing. You know how it is, I probably bother you. I don't feel welcome on the internet unless I am made to feel thoroughly unwelcome, and I bring this forth by bothering people. But with actual people, who matter, I am often afraid to bother them, so I bother me instead. Just stop it, will I?!

Even if this wasn't Wednesday, I'm saying it was, April 14, 2004

Welcome to Pancake Mountain

Did you know there are four games based in some way upon the movie Shreq for the Gameboy Advance? (and you can be sure at least one of them is a kart game) To put that in perspective, my perspective, be it really necessary, I think there are only like two Star Wars games, and there were something around five of those movies, movies that were actually kind of like video games. With that in mind, I'm sad to say that my shock was not what, in an almost perfect world, it should have been -in a perfect world the afore four would not exist, and thus ruin my point- my shock was not what it ought to have been when I came across this.

Only for the gameboy advance could I see this in a store and not immediately assume it's the worst game ever made (and let's not even discuss the decision to place this immediately after yet another manilla envelope shoving edition of "Namco Museum"). Still, I will not play that stupid game. I will not play it. It looks lame. Not in a car, not in an elevator. Not even for free on an emulator.

This is what happens when you walk outside completely nude, save for a few well-placed magnets. Let this be a lesson to you.

There are never any action figures for the video games that deserve them. Imagine the imaginary adventures I could enact with Hulk Hogan, Chewbacca, and non-posable WCW Hulk Hogan if I could also have Flim Flam McSham, Giant Garbage Can and Sam I Am along for the romp. And why not? Demand certainly isn't an issue, for these things, when applicable, will often be found advertised in the manuals for the games the manuals are shipped with, so the figures have already been made up before anyone might find a reason to want them. And... hey, here's another picture.

But then I won't be eligible for the olympics! Ey, why is the first thing that comes to the mind of a lycos network employee at the mention of "pro" some yolk with a skateboard? I know there was a skateboard video game with "pro" in its title, but if the only requirement is those letters and for there to be a video game version of something that should never have had one, what about Pro Wrestling? Or Baseball Stars Professional (i thought i knew a page to link to regarding this, but I don't...)? That even has the whole word!
Also, no one who's giving out awards for "blog tools" is someone worth saying you won an award from. I admit I've never tried the tools, but I've seen the results, and additionally not known I'd seen the results until I was informed there were enough different "blog tools" with allegedly varying levels of quality output for an award to be necessitated.

What do you know, another Wednesday, April 07, 2004

I believe that no matter how long I live or how much knowledge I gather in my lifetime, I will never be able to explain the spoon that I found behind my toilet.

For more than fifteen years, the original ending to the smash hit holiday classic from Konami, Contra, has been thought to be lost. Until now. Too contra-versial (ha ha ugh) for Nintendo of America, like many other games of the time they made changes to it. Now I reveal to you the sight so horrible that they forgot it followed a scene in which two shirtless guys shoot birdseed into and blow up a giant heart that bleeds spiders.

Now we know. And knowing is half the battle.

in a WORLD where fishing is a SPORT...  SOMEONE thought this was clever.  *Three* times.

This is Reel Fishing. Similar to real fishing, except not spelled properly. But it's also a pun, because apparently fishing poles have reels on them. Few of them do not. So I suppose it could be said that if you aren't reel fishing, you must be doing a type of fishing which involves an unnecessary, obvious, non-humourous pun on the word fake. Please do not confuse this with Showcase Cinema's Reel Trivia, which is a terrible, unfunny, pointless pun for a different type of reel. Also, especially with that sticker-thing partially concealing the R, it should not be confused with eel fishing, for that might actually make for a good game.

Align="right" rather suits this one, I think.

I saw an advertisement for this game that started off by stating a desire for some "new heroes," and then go on to extoll the virtues of a character whose first game came out 12 years ago. Sure pal. I suppose it could be argued that jumping on and destroying shoddily built robots doesn't count as heroism, because in the context of a video game, it just makes sense to do so. In factual, it could even be paid work if someone is trying to design a jump-proof robot. I do think that if anyone's a hero, it's Robotnik for coming to the aid of those poor non-jump-proof robots, and taking measures to perpetuate their species, even while faced with the problem of the mutant over-stylistically drawn hedgehog four times the size of the animals who make their living operating the shoddy robots.

If I am to assume it's not that, I don't know what this game's about. In the downer-right corner is circle that says "team rose" on it, which appears to be made up of try-hard, overcompensatingly female versions of the utterly non-masculine figures who dominate the display. What can you really do beyond giving them eyelashes and bowribbons? Canuckles is even pink already. And two-tail McGraw appears to be placing a bid on a fondue pot or ordering one of those drinks with the little umbrella in it. Perhaps "I have a suggestion!" is being said. I haven't heard the inevitable voice work, and I do not wish to, but if the case is as I've put forth, it's surely being said by someone who has a higher pitched voice than Nancy Cartwright does.

Also, I can't help but think the moment I see "join the team" that it must involve driving around in a news van in some way. Oooh, maybe they even have a chopper.

I've done it! Not much, but I've still done it. I appended, to the Dungeon of the Unforgiven page, the Zartan commentary which accompanied the olde [ad-less] zeroes version. I was reminded of that issue a few yestodays ago when I heard a brother (a white brother, so I assume he is related to someone present) complain about resembling Rumplestiltskin while wearing a certain set of pants. How often does that name come up? About once every 47 months, it turns out.

The reason I didn't just take that page as it was when I first moved in here, is that much of my own wordiness was of irritation to me. However, seeing as I recently uploaded that thoroughly embarrassing mid-90s sketchbook snippet (if you haven't seen it I shan't help thee), I suppose my overuse of "quotation marks," a few jokes without solutions and an incorrigible pair of invalid links can only look better by comparison. But, ehhh, still, I did a bit of editing (I suspect too much) in my personal rainbow edition before putting the page here (or wherever it was before here but after there), and for some silly reason I hesitated [quite a while] to insert those words that you see to be blue. Although they made up only a small portion of the page, and now an even smaller portion, I think they add a lot to the positive aspect. Ehhh.

I'm somewhat amazed at how cleanly Saint Zartan converted it all to zero format, since my most recent speulunk revealed that I had, so long ago, constructed the whole deal with the articulate and efficient Netscape 4.3 composer, or at least that's what I gathererd according to all the stray <font></font>s, </p>s and <tbody>s lying around doing absolutely nothing. Nice tables, though.

I'm afraid you're simply not rumple enough.

There are actually a couple of things in mein archive somewhere that the one-time moon rangor at hotmail dot com brought to my attention, and I intentionally did not say so, but... nothing. It's been four years. If someone had a problem with being pseudo internet associated with me, and I couldn't figure it out by then, I probably never would, so why should I worry?

Until further you notice, I'm only going to mark the date on Wednesdays, this one being March 31, 2004

Middle Class Man is a poor man's rich man!

This is how they advertise. At the end of every show they remind the audience to check the abandoned Bradlee's building for the final word on future performance dates. Not just anyone can have a website, you know!
I think the Soul must surely own these wooden boards, for I never see any other bands mentioned there. But definitely there are many more who had placed bids on this fine space, in the talent captial that is East Haven. East Haven, home of the internationally renowned Global Publishing.

Ah yes, Global Publishing. People from all over de world come here to do their creative things. East Haven is surely the cultural nucleus of zipcode 06512, if not all New Haven county. Even in such esteemed company, however, I've personally been wary of Gargantua Soul, ever since I remembered, from a not at all excessive amount of Nintendo Power reporting, "Gargantua" is the name of a level from Battletoads. Not a level that I could ever get to, but it was that, all the same. You will also note that the band is playing at, yes indeed, big Toad's Place! (and not the one you find after getting all the coins in 1-4, unfortunately) So it's like a multi-tiered Battletoads reference. I can't handle it. They probably go on stage and punch each other with
giant green foam hands and ride jetskis into plastic ball pits. I'm scared.
My personal issues aside, it's a good thing they drew a big red line through the previous date. Otherwise I might have had reason to question their professionalism! I always wanted to go closer and get a better picture of that. Unfortunately, recently the old dates were covered up, this time with many lines, and upon them, rather than next to them a new date was written. Another great historical East Haven landmark ruined.

Remember when the trolley was moved out of Trolley Square and placed in front of the Holiday Inn Express (they have a blue sign instead of green one!) so it would be less obvious how few vehicles were in the parking lot? You could say "no, it was put there so that people could see it from the highway," and they'd want to, why? I suppose they're supposed to see it and say "oh, this place has trolleys! Or, one, anyway! Even if it went anywhere we wouldn't need it because we have a car!" Maybe they could re-enact the opening to Full House, but that's about all.

Somehow, the "over 1 million copies in print" label doesn't strike me with a comically oversized foam prop sword as the sort of thing to continue sales on this particular book. This is not literature that book club members are recommending to each other. This is not a New York Times best-seller whose author's message intellectuals with nothing better to do will be debating for years to come. This is not a book that has an "author."
It's not a book people buy to read, it's a book people buy to cheat. No, Dave Phillips, despite the title, complete maps, puzzle solutions, secret item locations and glossary of exploitable glitches don't count as "strategy," I'm afraid.

People claim to see a lot of stupid things in clouds. Sheep, ice cream, mashed potatoes, water vapour...

I'll never go outside again.
but Senor Wences is a new one to me.

I am the worst improviser in existence. Watch this.


. . . . . . I think I'd better stop now.

Ben Harper sez:
I can't stand it when people make fun of me for always using a chair on stage. In fact, I can't stand at all. I lack the strength to stand. I'm not paralyzed, it's just that my music's so heavy it weighs me down. Is that so wrong? Also, look at where my microphone is. Please explain how I could sing into it if my mouth was up there. It's people like you that kept me from learning the Indian Sitar! People would always say Hey Ben it's not called a Sitar because you need to sit while playing it ha ha ha THAT'S NOT WHY I BOUGHT IT! I appreciate the music styles of different cultures! Look, I can even play a zither! Huh? Oh, it's over there. Be a dear and bring it here. And then they say Why don't you play a harp because your name is Harper ha ha ha and STOP IT! It hurts man! To stand? NO! BE NICE TO ME! I KNOW CARSON DALY!

Sir Benjamin of Harper

Note: The above message most certainly does not represent the thoughts or words of Ben Harper. I can do this because he'd need to stand up and come over here to make me stop.

If I could turn back time...     then I would have no use for these archive pages.