Hello, Jack Nicholson is dead, according to context clues given off by this ironically named publication. I wonder if his unnaturally street caricature-like swollen head was a factor in his demise. Maybe an airplane crashed into it or a triceratops hatched out of it.
Additionally, I am so off my contemporary culture that I had to check first to make sure Jack Nicholson was not dead before posting this.
Another large-headed matter I had valid reason to check up on recently:
Tommy Lasorda, best known for his endorsement of the perennial Toys R Us video game-cover pegboard space-filler Bill Clinton Baseball on the Sega Genesis now looks like
the president who succeeded Clinton, Dick Cheney.
Also, when I was in Colorado (a geographical region to the west of where I presently reside), every man over a certain age looked like Dick Cheney. I believe one of them overheard me remark on this, and while he appeared to frown in my direction, he did not have me executed because he does not have enough shame to realize that me comparing him to himself is meant to be derogatory.
That is an odd way to end, so here instead is a corny guy listening to corn.
He looks like the protagonist from another Sega Genesis release, Flashback. I am also reminded of the time I loaned my flash to somebody, for at some point I needed to get my flash back. Additionally, public nudity enthusiasts never expect you to flash back.
I will call him Cornrad.
However, corn is not rad (though it may be radioactive).
Hey, let me tell you something. I do not NEED your permission to tell you anything!
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A few bims ago I got into the topic of people pretending to be Nazis on the internet.
You might be aware that I have had my own accusations of insensitivity with regard to Hitlery activities, and I have considered the potential hypocrisy of me whining over this. But I didn’t say so then so I say it now. My use of nazy imagery behind generalissimo eli was meant to be seen as conspicuously bad taste, and if I thought that could not be determined from the context I would have changed it so that it was. These people think it is GOOD taste.
When I was in fourth grade I remember seeing another student draw a big swastika in a notebook. Nobody had ever told me that the Nazis butchered citizens of their own country, but I recognized the symbol from a book in my house and from a bizarre “ducktators” cartoon i had at one point on a vhs tape (that like any other cartoon I watched just because it was a cartoon without considering what its point was) and just thought “hey that IS a neat symbol. I will draw it in MY notebook too!” So after every suit-wearing man in the school district decided I was safe to return to the class, I naturally recited a jerky poem about how I can like whatever I want and nobody has the power to stop me.
This notice about returning was posted on the page of the person in question shortly before she was barred from returning to this specific fur-themed website. Actual Nazis’ lack of belief in free expression is one of the major things that defines them as nazis, but this has nothing to do with “free speech.” You can’t (or shouldn’t be) arrested for stating opinions, but you have no constitutionally granted right to use any website. And if we disregard the law, because it is often needlessly harsh and arbitrary, plus generally not written with the internet in mind, and consider what would be the “nice” or morally just thing to do, this person probably should have been tossed in a dumpster four years earlier. I would feel that way if I encountered this without any backstory.
“Free speech” is meant to give you also the opportunity to defend your opinion. Legally you do not have to, but if you merely state it and claim you are entitled to it, then it comes across like you CAN’T defend it, especially if you have plenty of time to write poems and draw pointless animations whose only purpose is, once again, to bother people. The supreme court might support your right to use the swastika to annoy people, but they might also agree that Richard Garriott can come sleep in my bed any time he wants because the end user license agreement for the Ultima Collection CD I got 14 years ago says so. Nobody reasonable would accept that.
As far as what these opinions are, “cartoon cats should proudly wear world war 2 nazi swastika armbands” is an opinion, in a sense, I suppose, and it isn’t just furries who are going to not like that.
This is controversial or contentious like putting a pancreas in someone’s mailbox is controversial: it isn’t, it’s just illogical and can’t possibly accomplish anything. No publicity is bad publicity, right? But this is because less than 15 people will ever read this. Nobody will give the crispy cat a book deal because I linked to its page.
I have made jokes about the famous September 11 2001, because the hype and the federally, commercially mandated mourning was an artificial and unpleasant, and often laughable waste of time. But I never made it a major life goal to post things on the internet designed foremost to be a nuisance. And still I felt bad about some of it, eventually. You can’t even compare nazi stuff to other symbols; 70 years of remembering history to avoid repeating it have removed it from logical consideration.
There could be a time in United America and Germany when swastikas mean good luck and good times, but nazis themselves wearing swastikas will always be genocidal murderers, and that stuff isn’t only in these two countries or the past. There are active Nazi groups in Russia. There are a few in the parliament of Greece, and not in the “Heil Obama, he wants to use the power the constitution grants him” sense; people who would kill their own citizens out in the open, without even sending them to secret prisons first, if they got enough of their own in the room for a vote. A legitimate attempt to desensitize people to this solves nothing.
The acquaintance I mentioned last time also draws the characters without swastikas, because he found the response to his first picture, which fully featured them, lacking, but he still credits the characters to this crispy person who is deliberately horrid, and then tries to promote the horrid person to someone like me (or did, one single time). I won’t give a gummy bear to somebody whose existence I can’t justify (not even a clear one; I actually like them now); I certainly wouldn’t spend hours drawing pictures for them, especially if I had to deliberately mischaracterize the subjects. The characters aren’t particularly distinctive anyway. You could draw any dumb white cartoon cat and call it an “original character” and avoid associating with creeps like that. It would still be a boring style pastiche but I suppose that is beside the present point. In fact as far as I can tell nobody but me cares whose characters he is drawing so long as he takes out the swastikas, even though if they are the same characters they are still nazis, because part of being a furry is being able to look at a dumb cartoon like Balto or Rescuers Down Under or something drawn to resemble one and not realize how dumb it is, and that’s why they enjoy each other’s company and I don’t.
Apart from trying to conclude an unfinished thought, I also couldn’t handle bimshwel being the last “video game humor” website to not have the condemnatory, excema suffering Master-D on it. I cannot do anything about its ultimate fate as the last website.
Speaking of cruel, power-mad dictators with low opinions of Anne Frank,
I cannot tell you what manner of female human Justin Beepler desires (It might affect listeners’ abilities to imagine they specifically are being sung at if they had details, after eh).
However, our own Never-Seen (not even now; I refuse to look) bimshwel exclusive photographs show that purple hair and knee-high yellow boots do not tickle his fancy. Walking barefoot on one’s toes while wearing blue capri pants is the only way to go.
Apart from specifically choosing to look like an extra from West Side Story, the recording industry’s current Justin’s transition from a welch’s grape juice advertisement-look is nothing new. It is the standard “hey Media I have SEX now watch out” forced image makeover. Usually people try to become trashy or thuggish, unless they already have a thug image, in which event they elect to remain thug-like. Nobody ever thinks “maybe I should change my public image of sex-driven, overpaid, selfish, untrustworthy moron.” In fact that is often a condition for them to continue being granted the luxury of being one (unless they become nazis or mildly overweight). What is notable is that this is the fourth time I have mentioned he-who-biebs despite only ever having heard one of his songs and only learned it was his on a technicality. This could give people the impression that I sometimes have really elaborate opinions on topics I know nothing about.
I was in France. Now I am not. It is rather difficult to sum up in a way that would be entertaining or relevant to bimshwel, and certainly not both. Here then is something that I wrote before I left.
Fish with sunglasses or a mustache. I suppose this isn’t something I “wrote” so much as “deemed adequately strange as to be consistent with past site content.”
this is a real movie? I would have thought that was a lonely island sketch but the corny white guy isn’t wearing sunglasses.
We bought a ZOO y’all! We’ve got ANIMALS and stuff! We’re acting really HARD CORE about RANDOM MUNDANE THINGS and this will NEVER GET OLD!
I’m a BIMSHWEL entry y’all! I’m really BITTER about my lack of gimmicky popularity so I find REASONS to complain about anyone who HAS it!
and donald duck is officially as classy as a beer advertisement.
Hence the proud strut in this related scene, I suppose. In fact only one of them seems at all uncomfortable about appearing here…
But I guess he got over it because he seems to have tossed off his clothes and is presumably running around naked somewhere near.
Oh that’s “cafe mickey,” apparently, at the free entry section of Parcs Disneyland where I met Titash from the internet. I didn’t actually eat in that place or have time to go inside and so didn’t consider what sort of business endeavor decorates itself with discarded garments. In search of food I would never enter such a place. I prefer the food to be naked, certainly, but I doubt badly drawn anthropomorph mice are on the menu, which means they are probably doing the serving and I do not desire service from them.
Nor did I eat at the Hunter’s Lodge all [I] can eat Bambi Buffet. I think the culinary-conscious French took the wrong message from that film. Maybe Disneyland Paris also has a petting zoo where visitors are encouraged to jeer at baby elephants while feeding them liquor.
No, I ate at Earl of Sandwich USA (since 1762 since 2004). Even though it was in France and named after somebody English.
This object buzzes when your sandwich is ready to be retrieved. That is all it does. Logically it should be about the size and weight of a hockey puck. It is not a drink coaster. It must be returned when the sandwich is fetched and the table is made of grey metal that would not be sensitive to minor liquid abrasion anyway.
I had thought “gosh what an uncreative gimmick for a restaurant” but evidently the place was indeed started by the present Earl of Sandwich. Also the inventor of Planet Hollywood, whose name is Earl (I cannot guarantee that he has a mustache). So you see it makes perfect sense. Earl probably got drunk one day and proclaimed “hey wouldn’t it be neat if the actual earl of sandwich had a sandwich joint? Hey I’m a millionaire! I can call him up!” And then the fellow went along with it, even though as a direct descendent he ought to know that his ancestor merely popularized the existent but nameless “bread and meat” of the lower class by consuming it in the presence of other nobles, and that putting a birth date on it or implying that this 9-year-old snack shack chain employs precious family recipes is absurd.
And yet the sandwiches are wrapped in SOLID GOLD, so there must be something special about them.
How about that. I said I didn’t have time to talk about France and I did anyway. Perhaps this can work.
Or perhaps it is through working.
Ah I expect to post something saturday. I just need to proofread it 30 more times.
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the worst should be over after today, but that does not mean it will obey.
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Simplify cheese balls! they are too challenging! look, that other jar cannot handle it at all and has succumbed to the pressure. How many more balls must suffer before they start fighting back?
Don’t be fooled. These are not adversaries. They are definitely teaming up to hurt us. Who can we enlist to defeat them?
A weirdo wearing stupid boots that fingers a flute and some useless bird that also appears to be wearing boots despite birds not having plantigrade feet that does nothing but stand there and blow on the flute. Pretty awful! Add to that a totally useless cat thing with NO NOSE that pings on a triangle while it brags about how great it thinks its useless skill is and I will have to send you to jail because that is unforgivably wretched.
THAT CAT. It has as much musical ability as it has nasal function. This foolish beings thinks it has great proficiency in existence but obviously it did not put that triangle there, since its forelimbs are used to keep it upright and appear devoid of any means for grapsing. Either somebody else attached the triangle or this absurd animal naturally has a thing protruding from its head with a triangle dangling off of it, which is even stupider. But is it stupid enough?
Hey hey! Exercise some decorum! This isn’t tumblr! Do not impugn the classy and intellectual way of ballz with a z.
I guess this sort of thing brings out the passion in people, who can blame them for using coarse language?
Epilogue: I decided this was better than posting nothing for another week. My judgment has been rather impaired lately.
A good sign, yes? Unfortunately, I did that a long time ago!
Ah I can feel my old powers returning.
A few times ago I talked about dogs. Here are some cat things, because I have been conditioned to imagine there is some sort of instinctual rivalry between the two species because I watch cartoons.
Please do not be tempted to go diving wearing an old timey helmet but without any means for obtaining oxygen. This cat is an experienced professional who trained under… water, I imagine.
Your skepticism is well placed! That is an absurd notion, considering that you are not a cat.
Are you likewise “tempted” to wear a diaper or to dress your cat in one? If so, you probably have an easier time relating to people on the internet than I do and thus I have no right to criticize you.
Here is some cat food for… oh excuse me that is Frito’s brand bean dip. It is a substance that you dip your beans into. The frito layers pack it in cat food cans to fool their enemies, the beans, who dislike being dipped, but enjoy cat food. Beans are ignorant of the ways of the world. Well, some are, anyway.
Santa Claus only takes/leaves the finest steroid jelly beans. I assume he returns them when he is finished with them, because these are the kind of steroids that improve your skill at making steroids. Additionally, since these aren’t approved by dopes they are therefore legal and Santa gets to keep his sponsorship deals and continue appearing in advertisements like this, and more importantly
he gets to continue cycling unstripped.
for it appears we have challengers. Very resourceful ones, at that; Although lacking lower bodies and thus a motivation to steal pants, they may steal your hat to protect them from the unidentified white substance dripping down from the radioactive black gelatin mold that floats above them.
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.
hello there. I have somehow ended up in a house without internet for the week. However, if I walk five minutes along the road and sit on a bench beside it with no homes in view I can get it just fine. Which sounds good but consider this regrettable thing that it has allowed me to post now instead of considering if is a good idea for six more days.
Graveyards are profoundly depressing in the respect (RESPECT I say) that even in death you will be defined by your personal monetary value, or what your family struggles to make its value appear to be. The people with the highest social rank have the biggest, most elaborate graves, even though they are no more dead than anyone else trapped in a box and hidden there. This is the grave yard near Yale university, which means it’s full of decorated military leaders, government officials, deans and professorial types. It’s no smarter or talenteder than any other cemetary, but it sure seeks to convince me that it is with these huge grey rocks. Oh mab I wish *I* had a huge grey rock! I’m so jealously reverent!
I have visited graveyards before. I always have a good time and a positive attitude.
The rich dead even have fences to keep out the poor dead.
I entered the cemetary because I was looking for a more efficient walk toward my apartment from destinations that seemed to lie in a direct line from it but that I always needed to take etch-a-sketch-esque-a-skesque routes to get to and from. The local google map showed that I could walk directly through the yard, but there was no door at the other end (it probably got dead and is buried in there somewhere), which I did not realize until I was at the place where it ought to have been, resulting in my taking a full graveyard tour and even longer to get back where I came from than usual. I should not complain for google misleading me as there is an underpass near my home that has been blocked due to “road work” for almost two years, and I regularly witness cars drive toward it and come back 30 seconds later, because, I assume, some electric direction system or another told these motorists they could go that way, because in theory it was unblocked at one point, and I find that amusing. The time I was almost arrested for being too close to the highway at a place I could walk to from my apartment, the police driver dropped me off at a place that I could not walk to because she didn’t realize the road was blocked, and it might be ascertained that she or her car lives in town.
If I have a grave I want it to have a practical function. Something that would have value to people who are still alive and have feelings. Maybe I can have a stone conveyor grave that will help people get out of the cemetary faster.
I don’t want a grave at all, but if I had the money to make a big stupid expensive grave I would want it to be as tacky as Falco’s. Something that people could laugh at in a miserable place like this that was deliberately laughable.
But I do not wish to have a grave. Don’t make me deal with your pets, don’t give me a sandwich with white goop on it, don’t identify me with “mister” or my middle name initial letter and think you’re endearing yourself to me, don’t toss unlabeled video links at me and expect me to click them, don’t bury me when I am dead unless you murdered me and are hiding the evidence. That’s just sensible. Consider this my will if you kill me before I write one.
Although if you want to be safe, rent a boat and go out to sea and toss the body overboard. Most likely the corpse will arrive at a shore far from the murder site long after you did it.
A parking space for a deceased’s automobile. That wooden obstruction is to keep a really dumb goat from escaping.
Bird, you’re too heavy! You are knocking that stone over! SHOW SOME RESPECT, BIRD! This is hello’d ground! That means it is fully saturated with greetings and doesn’t need your empty chatter. Do you know what will happen if you disrespect a wealthy dead person from two centuries ago who had lived in comfort among a repressed population of peasants? Somebody alive now will get really self-righteous about it for some reason!
Here lies Eli Whitney, famous for every street in town being named after him. He also invented the cotton gin, which helped inebriate cotton-picking slaves so they would temporarily forget that the effort-eliminating invention didn’t actually give them a break in any way. (note to self: look that up once you have regular internet access again to see if it’s historically valid (note to ross ice shelf: please thank ross for giving me a place to store my ice))
Rinkety dinkety graves for meeply folk. These may not even be secured in the ground. I think they are propped against the wall. These are the most interesting graves to me, though, because they are in all different shades of brown. Unlike eli the whitniest, their roaming undead spectres can’t afford to pay someone to clean off their demise mark once in a while.
Nobody is named Henrietta anymore. Whenever I see the name I immediately think of anthropomorphized farm animals. I can’t imagine anybody named Henrietta that isn’t a cow or a pig. Even this has a picture of a bird on it. The person got dead recently, in 2007 but seemed to have lived a long life, since 1916 and was appreciated enough to get this generous sized granite lump and so I think can handle such treatment from me, even if she wasn’t rich enough to get a fence.
I like this place because there is no pavement and it reminds me of the video game Hexen. This is one area that might actually resemble how the grave zone initially looked and doesn’t have any crass modernism mixed in. Of course Hexen is a video game about slaughtering undead wizards and wraiths (sadly, no skeletons) and I actually shouldn’t find anything comforting about that and in any event it was made in 1995. Even by video game standards that is only the equivelant of one century. But this does make something significant occur to me.
Suppose there was an undead uprising. For all the respect their retainers demand the dead themselves show little to us in rudely screeching when they see us and detaching their heads from their bodies to spit fireballs, or worse, keeping their heads and throwing bones at us. We should not bury them intact all close to each other! And we should be suspicious of anybody who defends their right to not be dismembered.
Also note there are ALWAYS imps present. I didn’t bury no imps. Who let this happen? We really should prohibit imps from entering cemetaries. Any imp that tries should be forced to present its papers. Obviously imps don’t carry paper around and aren’t licensed to exist anyhow. That should keep them out.
“Pandora.” Like I am meant to think it’s forbidden knowledge that I can’t handle that’s going to rock my world literally. In truth it’s the same annoying rubbish I haven’t wanted to handle for half my life.
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Pandora the Internet Radio is a website that finds and plays music for you based on what it perceives your interests to be.
Two years ago somebody other than myself introduced me to it and I promptly untroduced myself. While it was going on I typed a bunch of text scraps and then didn’t have the time or inclination to sort them out. I still don’t but now I have other things to do that are even less interesting. The fellow insisted Pandora was the most significant scientific achievement since the ninja turtles discovered the secret of the ooze but I clearly lacked security clearance.
Pandora Radio has no idea how quickly it won my trust by pulling up facebook information for me without asking me if I had a page there, much less waiting for me to tell it which was mine, and then somehow using this as an excuse to attack me with some whiny band that it insisted was similar to a band that I primarily “like” the page of because someone I know is in it. They are a GOOD band but I got lucky and am not looking for other “good bands.” You might say that’s the whole point of Pandora but I was holding out hope that I could locate some decent musicians who weren’t necessarily bandy.
You can turn off the facebook connection but you can’t stop it from happening the first time and you can’t have a picture on your page any other way. It has nothing to do with music but I enjoy being able to customize hostile foreign netscapes with familiar, condemnable imps.
You know what I say all the time: “I really want to listen to something with minor key tonality.” In fact everybody knows that. It’s a matter of public record. It has to be, because otherwise, that this thing knows is a tremendous breach of decency and undeniable evidence of absolutely sinister corporate collusion which way too many people that I know personally are apparently, contently, going along with.
The blurb there is consistent with my past experience that the smarter somebody tries to sound talking about music, the dumber the world gets. You can speak of being experts and know the difference between keys and time signatures but you can’t do anything to make your opinion of music any more valid than anyone else’s. My thoughts on Suprematist art didn’t change when I learned what its name was or what it was trying to accomplish (although recreating it in 3d was a good idea) and I like Gustav Klimt when he paints things that aren’t filled with shapes that resemble eyes, but I couldn’t tell somebody they were wrong to like eye shapes based on their not knowing what gesso was unless I was an irredeemable scumbag. Then, perhaps, I would have use for someone to sweetly redeem me. However, if I typed “High Flight Society” into Pandora it would just play a song by These Green Eyes that had nothing in common with it and I would go unredeemed, or possibly redempt in a manner that pertained to a different category of taste reception and THEN by gorby where would I be?
So after shunning facebook I was advised to say what I personally thought I liked, if I’m so smart.
I grant that these are hokey choices. Obviously Prophet Fukami wouldn’t be in there so I didn’t try that. Konami and Falcom put out most of the arranged/performed video game music albums that I am aware of so they seemed like the ones to start with. My taste in music is not logical and I am entitled to privately prefer hokey selections.
Yet when prompted to supply an artist that I already liked, I was turned down several times before Pandory gave up Yoko Shimomura, who gets to be in there for being one of precious few composers I like to have worked recently. Apparently she scored Kingdom Hearts, the video game, which I assume has nice enough music but unfortunately its unfortunate fan base puts the music in the “children’s” category which by the music robot’s reckoning makes it similar to The Wiggles as well as non-wiggles trying to sound wiggly, never at all mind that Yoko Shimomura is Japanese, working in video games and without using any words. Surely the game HAS an annoying word song in it somewhere to give it mass wimply appeal, but the first thing that came up was nice enough.
Afterward a half-Raffi said the same stuff about the jungle over and over again, and then Einstein played knick knack on people’s thumbs in a gesture I’m sure he was just as proud of afterward as atomic bombs. I praise children’s music the genre for daring to have songs that aren’t about the pursuit of sex (though doubtlessly if you put “he played knick-knack” in absolutely any other context somebody would think it was a hilarious masturbaty euphemism and giggle accordingly) but gosh they’re repetitive. Next there we went “loopty loo” and it was actually less musically complex than the Barney version. And then I regretted thinking that because an actual Barney song came on.
When an audio sequence comes through pandora you can indicate if you approve of it or if you don’t, or nothing at all, but like hulu’s ad disliking system, it likes to eventually return to the first thing you disliked, so confident in its own infallibility as to assume nobody would ever dislike everything it came up with unless the person was just testing the system to see what would happen and therefore not worth working to accommodate.
except for that one time I broke hulu by hating all its ads and it tried shill at me for 23 Spanish shows all at once. In frap every ad is not relevant to me because I am off the market for new television. I have two shows that I am compulsively bound to and when one of us gives up I hope it will all be over. Thankfully I don’t need to have the same policy for music because one song rarely lasts twenty-one minutes and I can listen to it without halting every aspect of my already not-very-exciting life.
And so with that in mind Pandorcus saw fit to give me a second barney song
Pandora suspected I might dispute the reasoning behind this decision and then would not allow me to leave until I thoroughly understood its lecture. it can tell me WHY it chose a song, — in fact, it likes nothing better– but I cannot tell it WHY it’s wrong or that the criteria it’s using is wrong.
What the peep is a “kid friendly vibe?” Music is not inherently malicious unless it’s created deliberately to be annoying, loud or dissonant. There are people who like listening to staticy voices and modulating frequency noises instead of conventional music, and that might not even be “unfriendly” if enough people like it that it feels better about itself. As for vibe, that means “vibration,” and a thing which creates vibrations is a vibrator, which is usually not sold to children at all. I confess I am curious how and/or why Pando has gotten around this but I’m not sure I could handle the information. I barely recovered from the knick-knack-knickerbock interlude.
The only thing that children like better than Home Depot is Sacha Baron Cohen. Naked hairy man fights also translate surprisingly well into audio form, provided you double the pitch first.
I was in a laundromat when I finally came back to this, april 20, 2012, and a flubbing home depot ad came over the radio, immediately after another ad warning me that Tyler Perry’s Madea was coming LIVE to some local venue whose name I have lamentably forgotten.
They also love free business cards.
So now every crummy top-10 fm pepsi-selling hit is also inherently identical to all video game music if it’s been on a kidz bop album.
The kidz boppiting rapper actually said “yee auhhhh” at the start of whatever that was. I imagine the professional rappists who yee auhhh are merely preparing their voices before they’re actually supposed to say stuff and whoever is supposed to edit that out never bothers to. However, this kid is saying “yee auhhhh” because he thinks it sounded good in the original and ought to be imitated. It didn’t and shouldn’t!
Through consistently disapproving of everything I eventually caused Pandy to only play minimalist xylophonic music, with no bass, harmony or percussion, and I need more than that. The second one that came up was a wordless cover of an aerosmith song. See, that’s the wrong kind of thinking. People who feel overwhelmed by voices in their lives shouldn’t have to piggy on the backs of atrocious acts like that to gain acceptance. I am not strictly avoiding words, anyhow. I am avoiding music I don’t like. As glad as I am to not hear Steven Tyler, that’s not because his presence makes the work too complex for me to comprehend.
Admidst all this Pandora kept going on and on about the music genome project like it was diplomatic immunity. It means to say
According to the website,
No actually I don’t want to know. I’m glad they don’t tell me!
NO NO NO YOU DON’T GET TO DO THAT! I DENIED YOU YOUR PROMPT! GET GONE!
This is an even lazier running gag than
no elpse today.
More stupid stereotypes that appeal to corny people. How much great stuff ever came out of a garage, and how much does these days? The only people I knew who had garage bands were the children of rich people in a couple of tv shows I probably hated twenty years ago.
I don’t even know anybody who has a garage now. I also dispute the use of “new” here. There is heaps of good, old music unaccounted for. It is said by other people who think they’re clever but are actually misquoting that those who forget the past are doomed to repeat it. However, those who are blissfully unaware of the past are doomed instead to repeat the present in perpetuity and while less dangerous I want this sentence to end.
We require your gender information to help our targeted advertising be just as wrong about you as our music selections
Also, people pay to use this.
I really shouldn’t have, but I considered that maybe perhaps the website would have improved its method in two years, so I had it running while I rewrote and formatted that up there. I shouldn’t have because that guaranteed I would have more griping to do before I could leave.
Nobuo Uematsu, another video game person, did have a listing, but he’s well known (I swear) and I don’t necessarily want stuff similar to the heavy orchestral arrangements he’s apparently well known for (or that comprise the one official released album he made that is in Pandora’s box), much less what this kooky kontraption mechanically muses and daftly decrees is similar. We need to differentiate between opposing cornies. This got me more serviceable results than Yoko Shimomura but none of the synthesizery stuff that comprises a majority of what made me like Uematsy and learn his name to begin with.
I said it was a functional composition, not that I ever wanted to hear it again. Most of what came through this was really dreary. No songs about the noises cows make but I may just be difficult to please. I don’t want items that I already have but I don’t want stuff that annoys me either.
I tried entering the name of Falco, an admitted vocalist, and was presented with some unremarkable 80s-sounding tunes, like Enjoy the Silence, better known as the song about the king wandering through the wilderness. When I just hear the song I don’t have any proof that a king is singing it because he neglects to say that he’s a king (never even mind whether he can sing) or make any royal decrees and it becomes a lot less interesting, aside from the outlandish hypocrisy of this chap ordering me to enjoy the silence after he’s been moaning about words doing harm in his little world for three minutes. By the time he shuts up another song is ready to start. Dumb king. If I am going to settle for unremarkability I need to have more control over it than this. I remember the first time I heard the song on an actual radio system, rather than with the music video, and being less interested without the king. Now that I have re-examined the video even that is rather dull. He should have a more substantial beard.
Ah, given that these images are two years old, just today I went back and typed the name again. Last time they said they’d check it out. They never did! Or they did but they had returned it already before I came back.
“Genre stations.” I hate genres. When somebody asks me “what kind” of music I listen to, I hope that they do not specify “willingly” because I have no answer. I don’t like music by its kind. I like it because it has interesting tunes and minimally oppressive voices, if any. When I tell people I like video game music they immediately change the subject if they don’t give up right there. I suspect they interpret it to mean I have unsophisticated tastes and that I merely haven’t been “exposed” to good or “real” music that by some chance happens to be exactly what they listen to, which by another chance happens to be exactly what I’m deliberately avoiding because I know I hate it. I realize that now. During my pandora trial I still maintained hope that there was a possibility of me being able to enjoy anything but silence when in the company of others (including kings who advocate the opposite). And in truth that even is not so very bad. I wish I could go shopping without Jason Mraz fedora-ing up my earlobes or share a car with someone who was actually open to having a conversation. We just need obnoxious voicy noise that we can’t respond to coming at us at all times because otherwise we risk having a thought. I see people sitling motionless in waiting rooms, on benches, on buses, going for leisurely walks, or simply standing around, inside or out[side], always with their goldfarbed earphones in and activated loud enough that I can discern the noise’s nature. We are terrified of the absence of noise. I should feel fortunate that I desire so little of it.
In closing, I cannot be pleased and it is futile to try.
No actually I like some musical theatre and I already feel boring.
Historically this has been the best ending I have been capable of writing.
Have you seen this? Have you SEEN this??!?
NO. NONE OF THAT IS FOR YOU.
Urt. That’s the first straw. nemitz is officially banned from space. nemitz doesn’t even get two straws. my policy toward nemitz is one strike and you’re dead, which I think is more than generous.
Look even Adobe Illustrator wants nemitz gone. What’s more, it strongly advises that nemitz not show itself again. Ordinarily I find the program very disagreeable. What changed? Not nemitz. This behavior is consistent.
A semi-recent comical tragedy item reminded me that it’s been too long since I publicly took nemitz to task on the topic of its existence. So try and comprehend my rage at not being able to do it for four months.
First of all I’m tired of nemitz pretending that it’s sensitive and conscientious. You’re not fooling anybody, dumb mitz. You’ll have to do more than make your ears go down to make my scumbag defense go down. it is not concerned about anybody but mitself. If we allow nemitz to get elected you can be certain of dopes in our schools within the term.
In 2012 am i truly expected to just stand by and allow nemitz to spell “heap” with two Es and take Grizzo’s name in vain?
Is anybody else hearing the GARBAGE that this thing is saying? I can’t be the only one. What is it pointing at? Nothing good. The only consolation we have is that whatever it is cannot possibly be nemitz.
How DARE it go before a national audience and proclaim “mcgoop”???! This I demand an answer, an apology and reparations for. Our brave men and women didn’t pearl chop zero at ground eleven so that nemitz could flaunt its lies in public. That’s the most slanderous statement I’ve heard since goop ohoopij. Which, incinemily, was also said by nemitz.
It would dare direct words into both a pine and ice cream cone at the SAME TIME. The center object appears to be a vegetable. That speech is NOT being broadcast! I had to change that picture after I scanned it because it was so dumb! However, in doing so I had to include actual microphones which means the message might get out. I condemn nemitz for being so insufferable that I had to undo its own sabotage against itself.
fact: nemitz is a career scumbag who complains about “gotcha” morality.
“Grebo screbo??!” nemitz you think just because that rhymes it makes some sort of point or even communicates information? Do you think that? I say answer me! And do it without talking to me.
And now: nemitz is so proud of itself that a jacket materialized in this position simply so that nemit could proudly clutch at the jacket’s lapel-things in a proud way. I demand proof of an act perpetrated by nemitz that was worth being proud over so that I can present counterproof to show this pride was also invalid.
As matters currently stand, nemitz has not claimed to have invented Red Star yeast.
Once you wear armor your fingers become obsolete. If you cannot solve a problem by punching it is beneath you. But that is beside the point. In fact it is beside every point. The points request the company of armor. All the more essential it be that we verify nemitz isn’t wearing it. Clearly, this robot is very proud of its urmor. Thankfully, however, we can rule out it being nemitz due to the less controversial leg type and its not insisting on smiling at us. Also, nemitz is allergic to boots.
Good old armor.
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I recognize the person who confronts me through mirrors but it is not someone I recall having been recently.
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One of my teachers today asked me what my major category of study was. Without having to ponder the topic I responded “discomfort.” The teacher seemed to accept the answer.
I invented fallopian tubes.
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This is why capes are essential in everyday life.
Now you know the full story.
We, in the first world, as exhibited by considering ourselves “first,” like to imagine that we are infallible. We tell ourselves we are safe, and above the likes of widespread rioting, nation decimating natural disasters, the environmental and economic side effects of our most successful businesses. In the last few years these things have increasingly become impossible to ignore, even for the willfully ignorant like myself. Our government is an endless abstract series of money wasting schemes to get elected for nothing more than the sport of it, and my own optimism took a blow after I saw people I voted for repeatedly roll over from principle at the whim of the people I didn’t vote for, who would never give a thought to returning such a favor. The analogy that’s being pushed these days is that the house of representatives and whatnot are like “spoiled children.” Children cannot be spoiled without parents to spoil them, I say.
Sometimes I think that’s part of growing older, seeing things in a greater context, and that while far from ideal it’s not much worse than it’s been and I’ll get through it. Other times I really do worry.
Really, Nerd? You think that? I don’t see how-
Are you an idiot?
Oh, I see. Forgive my imprudence. You’re not an idiot. You’re the dumbest person who ever lived.
I’m a peeping tom techie with x ray eyes!
I wish you would die.
~bimshwel has left the chat
Finally somebody who can get things done!
Dumb dragons that nobody is afraid of. Why do they not protect their obvious snouts? And what’s the point of being a dragon at all if you need a sword? I mean, in the event they were smart enough to hold the pointy end facing out. Or an ORB, for that matter. Dragons love their stupid orbs. Unless that’s the crystal coconut, I’m unimpressed. And that brings me to another topic:
Come to think of it, I’m still unimpressed.
If you didn’t know this was associated with Donkey Kong, what would you think it was? (don’t watch it, I’ll just barely explain it) The first three songs possibly pertain to some storyline or another, but by this point nobody’s sure. In an earlier song, the fore creature, Captain Scurvy, sings about wanting to steal the Crystal Coconut from Donkey Kong. This has no possible relevance to anything. Scurvy has by this point failed to acquire the coconut and gone back out to sea, because this isn’t really a film, only some random episodes with no direct continuity. So forty minutes in there’s just some dumb pirate croc singing about booty while a camera pans around his chronically understaffed ship for no reason. My guess is they realized they can’t sail this thing with just three people and they’re doomed to die at sea, so they slipped into highly delusional states, unable to cope with reality. There may be additional reasons to lose one’s coping capabilities while within that version of reality. After this sequence the view cuts to some totally different booted scalous lump in a totally different place doing a totally different thing. My mother took special displeasure at the fact that the lizardoids had nipples. I think shortly after this she demanded that the tape be switched off. We were certain it had been three hours but Amazon.corn insists the total running length is just under one-and-a-half.
Although Amazon also displays a five star rating, so maybe I ought to be suspicious. I meep, that’s only half the stars that Who’s Your Caddy? got.
Oh yes
“Oh yes” was an artifact of something else I started to write there but ultimately removed. However, when I found it just now, left and forgotten, I decided I approved of its presence.
The song was introduced to me through my less eld brother, who one day appeared (he was a sorcerer) singing parts of it and the other songs. HE had been influenced by a friend, who we’ll call “Erik,” that being his name, who in addition to singing these songs in public, sent to an approximately random assortment of people he knew an email message –equally explicable as the loosely related series of animations or his fascination with them– which referenced several of the songs, chief among which being “the booty booty.”
Though chief among the references on the whole were local inside jokes that couldn’t possibly make any sense to you. Finally we have something in common!
After listening to the song I accepted this as the title. I had to listen to it, because we apparently needed to rent this movie, because everybody in town was terribly afraid of Erik and did anything possible to appease his demands, or at the very least understand them. He was much like his romanticized Viking namesakes, except instead of burning down our house he and an accomplice just broke into it while we were away and stole a bag of frozen peas.
The song is posted in youtube with this bootastic title, also (where it is identified as “song #4.” I have not actually reviewed the program in full to make my song or minute counts) It was not until I read some recently posted comment that I realized it’s actually, in all probability, SUPPOSED to be “Booty Boogie;” a boogie being a dance, and a sort of thing a person can be said to “do.” It will surely go down in misery as the most intellectually stimulating thing I ever read in a youtube comment. Why did this never occur to me? Why did it seem so perfectly acceptable (considering the context) for the pirates to be saying “booty booty” that I never for a moment wondered if maybe they were saying something else (apart from the actor pronouncing “boogie” as if it was pronounced “boo ghee”)? More importantly, why am I thinking about this now? Why did I ever think about it enough that I remember what I used to think?
I’m glad we got that out of the way before I had time to chastise myself for bringing it up.
Google is confident that I can boo ghee even if it requires the question be changed.
So, to recrap: I was afraid to let anybody see me playing E V O on an emulator, but other parties had no shame about bringing
this into my home. Why, then, a decade later, am I the only person with ready access to plus lingering shame for both?
I think that’s twice as bad as being either.
Also at this time I declare an indefinite moratorium on the wordish “booty” appearing in this here web location.
Howdy. I will try and… aw beans I don’t even know anymore. If I put something new here then it will be here.
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I think there should be a movie in which He Man, The Smurfs, Fat Albert, Garfield, The Thundercats and every other cartoon all-star to the rescue accidentally enter a magic portal to New York City at the same time. Also present are Underdog, the Ninja Turtles, George of the Jungle, Hercules, Curious George, Alf, Crocodile Dundee, Thor, Clifford the Big Ol’ Dog, King Kong, the Capital One vikings and I don’t know Squiddly Diddly who dwell in The City anyway. In fact I think that must be what happened because otherwise every legal resident would be used to weirdos running around “not understanding” how things work and causing comic mischief that their convenient, less interesting normal person friends who mysteriously get equal billing and screen time have to cover up and pay for, and would have long since exhausted their ability to be amused at this schtick. Likewise, I expect that when the The Avengers movie happens the crony hangers-on to the various heroes will travel around in a van solving mysteries together so that they don’t all get separate time-wasting scenes.
Congratulations. You found a way to deprive the word “trilogy” of the last of its reputation solidifying clout without putting the word “prequel” in front of it.
I’m GLAD a smurf movie has traveled forth at last to give challenge. Between this and the chipmunks it’s about time we were doing soulless corporate hip ‘n edgy remakes of stuff that was shoddy and insufferable to begin with.
I’ve run out of ideas. I don’t know what to do about it,
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I decree that as per the terms of my trying to have this website sorted better that a meandering editorial like this need not be directly attached to the thing that it relates to. I did not intend for it to meander, but I ought to have noticed that it did so. And lo, I did! So there, lo. I don’t need you judging me all the time, lo. That’s really low. Ha uh.
Four years ago I would never have dared make such a picture as that, much less display it publicly. How do you feel, internet, to have allowed such an atrocity to occur? Yes, yes, I realize that’s what you DO, internet, and therefore you feel just fine if you noticed at all; my question was rhetorical!
A few persons commented –not necessarily complained, but I interpreted it as such because I am a whimpering weasel of a human being– about the creature’s conspicuous lack of trousers, and indeed even before such comments existed I was hesitant to display the image here for that reason. I didn’t put up the one I linked to within that link either, but now it is relevant and thus I must. As much as I appreciate illogical character design, that one aspect is hard to justify, as I’ve probably mentioned many times before this because I’ve always thought it very strange, not in a way that is inherently funny, and I am somewhat miffed at myself for proliferating it. I do not do this out of pointless adherence to convention, I merely came to find it a pleasing aesthetic in the past series of years for some completely baffling reason. Perhaps this was the tradeoff for no longer preferring a computer operating system environment that looked like this
I think I remarked about such remarks before, but I don’t recall where, I felt bad about it, and in any event this is not an attempt to excuse such a peculiar anti-dress code (Or it sort of is, now that I’ve seen the end and my two subsequent uses of the word. I was hoping it wasn’t that but it is).
And It’s my own fault for showing that midway image to begin with. My own self-consciousness about the issue drew attention to it that it would not otherwise have gotten, or gotten stated. As I said I think this is strange too. I agree with you!
While I can cannot recall a great quantity of images that the dumb beast ever wore respectable thigh insulation in, the lack only becomes conspicuous when the fool elects to wear a shirt and other accessories. It is like Eve and Adam of Adam and Eve suddenly being ashamed that they are naked, except this thing isn’t ashamed and we wonder why it isn’t.
The famous doughnut picture is one such image, and yet it seems not so blatant here. And why? The demi-dressed deinonychus itself is less prominent, but also it has not adapted an iconic commercial dress code to match this odd preference. Unless we consider
this guy. I’m guessing that we don’t.
And that’s far from an excuse!
Essentially, stuff to distract viewers from the shank-shield shedder’s lack of pants without actually giving it pants. That is still its dumbest style choice but no longer the only dumb style choice. And you might ask “why not just give it pants then? Wouldn’t that be easier?” Yes, it probably would. Please don’t ask that.
Certainly nobody would accuse this of being respectable, after uh.
However, the creature’s legs amuse me. They are so blatant. Almost like its stupid nose. It cannot be helped. They must be seen. Yet anytime I see a reasonably proportioned, cartoon humanoid animal wearing partial pants I can only think of
or worse. Even without elbow pads and a skateboard it’s going to remind me of Chuck E. Cheese and the Kool Aid Man (incidentally the name of the detective drama I pitched to CBS) circa 1995 and honestly I don’t have the time to put that much obnoxious photoshop blendy colors on everything. Thus the solution would be to have the atrociously attired agathaumas wear a skirt or similar noncommittal leg adornment.
But nobody yet has suggested that, so until someone does I shall ponder my excuse
and I shall hope that it is not inexcusable.