In theory it should only take me 3 minutes to update this.
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I do not believe I mentioned here that I would be in Paris, France, Europe, for the month of July. I might not have until it became relevant, but it might not have been relevant for a long time.
23 October 2012
Volcabbage, a controversial figure of the Sham Grimeasty in today’s Republic of Porfbe, had often said, in life “I want to dig a hole and live in it,” but until now details about being dead in one have been scant.
Initially, our excavation crew had been granted permission to investigate the tomb of Roneldo, the famous and influential warlord, but the Porfbeian government withdrew support the day before it was to happen, deciding in the end that Roneldo was too respectable to be violated in this way. They suggested Volcabbage instead. Volcabbage did not enjoy Roneldo’s level of popular support nor leave a lasting impact on anyone’s customs or ideology but nonetheless had a large and eccentric grave site. Our team of archaeologists was not terribly interested, but as they had come all that way they figured they might as well. We were unprepared for what we found. Primarily because we were prepared to find something else.
Volcabbage was a court eunuch who usurped power from the beloved monarch Gorko by changing the palace locks when Gorko went out to buy a pumpkin. Gorko, despondent with shame, went into exile and never returned, even though Volcabbage ended up getting tossed out of the palace and also exiled later that evening, having neglected to win the favor of the staff in charge of the windows. As it happens, Gorko did not maintain a stock of concubines so it is unclear why eunuchs specifically were employed on the premises.
Volcabbage was only emperor for several hours but somehow had time to order this massive tomb be built. It is speculated the tomb had been designed far in advance; possibly up to a week and a half, and Volcabbage stole power primarily to demand its construction. As the workers were busy on the construction they were not notified that Volcabbage had been ousted until they finished the job. Some of the non-structural artifacts are believed to have been contributed from Volcabbage’s personal extratombal property.
What an ugly diagram! We had best look at it more closely.
1: Entrance to tomb. (1a) top floor may have been rented out to other deceased to cover some of the costs
2: Inner passage to lower level. (2a) Escalator: Volcabbage was indecisive. If the afterlife proved unsatisfactory, the deceased may have wished to return, in which event a comfortable exit from the tomb was desirable. Similarly, if being reminded of this world once more helped to put things into their proper perspective, the spiral slide (2b) would provide a quick and simple re-entry.
3: Vehicle storage zone. classical decadent tombs often contained stables, so this was seen as an appropriate analogy. (3a) Helicopter chair: keeping in mind the idea of “if you can create a physical, visual approximation it will work in the afterlife,” this was designed to simplify transportation, as Volcabbage was not a licensed driver. (3b) Chariot: in Porfbeian society a license was not required to operate one of these. (3c) Hovercraft, because there was space for one.
4: Houses for servants. most of volcabbage’s employees were little imps. Some of them are more affluent than the other imps and it is speculated the wealthiest had their own little tombs containing even tinier servants
5: Banquet chamber. (5a) banquet table: Volcabbage rarely enjoyed company. It is uncertain if this meant to represent a pathetic hope for more human contact or to give unwanted guests a space to deal with their own business in while Volcabbage worked elsewhere, possibly at (6b). (5b) Terra cotta figure of Pog, the Inedible, on a large serving dish. Pog reminds us of an ancient Chinese story of a tree which grew old through being so useless that nobody saw any reason to chop it down. Pog, in contrast, was useless and lacking in flavor merely by chance, and no predators dared attempt to consume it. Volcabbage developed odd culinary tastes, it is said, as a means of encouraging visitors to purchase their own food, particularly guests of roommates. (5c) tiny table for tiny servants to hold banquets at.
6: Bed enclosure. Reduced scale, compared to banquet chamber. Much clutter that seems to be of little consequence. (6a) Bed said to be remote-operable, but as its optimum operation requires it lie dormant this is of dubious significance. (6b) miserable, tiny desk. Not ergonomically suited to any task we can think of.
7: “pig room.” Potentially the most peculiar section. It requires special attention and so it is illustrated and discussed in greater detail later in this document.
Though this is Volcabbage’s tomb, is not known whose body was actually buried within; considering Volcabbage’s known wish to not be buried. The most common theory is that it is actually the body of Rygar, a trusted court official. A more fringe suggestion is that the original body of volcabbage was dismembered and fed to partisans of Roneldo in anticipation of a bowtie-clad imp statue being placed inside the tomb. Overcome by food poisoning or a simple curse, their lives were thenceforth inconvenient and they were buried here afterward, for they contained the tomb’s owner, who they resented and decided to spite with their posthumous placement. In another oddity, however, no bodies were found. All that turned up were skeletons, the infamous restless undead warriors. The excavators thankfully found it unnecessary to battle the skeletons to gain their respect before entering. They are not currently a threat to visitors. However, a pine cone was discovered on the premises so it is advisable to be cautious.
7a Toilet paper: Volcabbage endured allergies regularly (possibly from overconsumption of foods like 7h pizza) and found “roll” the most effective method for the dispensation of allergy relieving paper material. This roll is very large and its user would never fear tearing off an amount inadequate to contain nasal excretion flow out of a desire to conserve the material. However, it is also far too large to be portable. We wonder why Volcabbage did not propose a representation for an allergy cure to go in the chamber.
7b Nemitz: Large ceramic figure of semi-divine entity of Mupelzorian religion. Porfbe is said to be named from one of Nemitz’s quotations. Unlikely to be an effective guard. Perhaps volcabbage just found it funny to look at. Its attire suggests butler-like duties, but again it may simply be to appear ridiculous. A similar statue called an “Elpse” (7c) was looted shortly after the excavation began. Nemitz was evidently less desirable.
7d dopes: Large-eared smiling creature with similar demeanor to nemitz. Volcabbage repeatedly claimed in life to despise these “dopes,” and yet the tomb is filled with them; one for each of the six columns and a rotating gold dope (7e) in the center. The other dopes are plastic. Hopefully the servant imps were not as foolish as dopes.
7f Bowtie imp: unlike the dopes, there is no imperial record alluding to the existence of a jade bowtie imp and it is not in the plan. It has been speculated that this was placed into the tomb by a rival, possibly Roneldo, to be a source of annoyance in the afterlife
7g Ducks. No ducks found.
7h Pizza. Volcabbage was an avowed believer in the importance of a balanced diet, low in saturated fat and cholesterol. The pizza represents people not having pizza anymore because it’s in this tomb and thus people will have no choice but to eat more healthy foods. Or perhaps Volcabbage just really liked pizza.
7i A bottle. Surely this represents a drink of some sort to go with the pizza. That seemed bland so elaborate handles were added to the sides. However, much like the large toilet paper roll, this must have made the bottle impractical for placing into a coat pocket.
7j The large pig, at last, represents a fondness for pigs. The pointless monarch once said of pigs “they look funny if they are sculpted and displayed.” Volcabbage must have thought a very large pig would be very funny. A strange person, Volcabbage.
Subsequent grimeasties looked upon Volcabbage with disgust. With a mind for cultural preservation the tomb was left where it was, but highways and utility poles were built nearby. Several chambers remain unexplored, including one that appeared to represent an elegant tiled single-occupancy bathroom, but it is doubtful that Volcabbage bathed and in any event we were getting tired and decided to go home.
I would prefer to wash my own hands!
Or perhaps it is this kraft orange green goop
Warning: do not be fooled by imitation brand generic “craft” goop. How do we even know that it is orange (or green)?
Another warning: you dang kids better stop bringing your beds to the beach!
i just spent 3 hours going from a French-audio news story I barely understood about Catalonia to looking up pictures of Kim Jong-il on escalators. Good night, internet. Clearly it’s too late for me to have one.
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Crucial correction: a recent study has revealed that I have indeed eaten peanut butter before. I hated it. Most commonly before I could read, inside brown, chocolate-looking deceptions.
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“Taste the flavors, as nature intended.”
I do not think, if nature had intentions, that one would be for us to chop animals into pieces and then stuff the pieces into little rectangular packages. I think nature’s promises would look more like…
Stix. There was a time when people put food on sticks. That was too complicated. What if you accidentally ate the stick? What if you accidentally jammed the stick into your ear? Now food IS sticks. Excuse me, stix. This is very important, evidently. Much easier and safer. But wait, Fribbage, you say. Wouldn’t removing the stick result in less non-food matter being wasted and discarded? Ah ha! Research has shown that stixifying edible objects allows them to be encased in non-biodegradable material where previously nobody would have bothered.
You might have thought: apples, those are easy! one of the most overproduced and underwhelming fruits on earth. There is no place that sells food where they cannot be obtained. Packaging them is totally unnecessary. WRONG. You neglected to consider the stix factor. Could I cut the apple into stix on my own? No, I could not. By expending the slightest bit of effort, could I remove any trace of a perceived need for another plastic-wasting piece of supermarketfluousness?
I suppose you think these are just regular dumb old raisins that somebody tossed in a structurally unremarkable box behind a picture of Highschool and Musical.
Maybe you think, if it’s REAL FRUIT, with a flashy little graphic saying so, why don’t I just BUY FRUIT? Do not agree, I am mocking you! Consider that “fruit” never has print testifying to it being real fruit. If it doesn’t come in a bag, how are we going to write what’s in it? More importantly, how are we going to put pictures of cartoon characters on it?
This picture is from 2008! Disney appealing this rule was to everyone’s benefit. Goofs are good for business.
True enough, there were those apples whose stickers had a picture of Garfield-the-cat’s head with a barcode frightfully superimposed over his teeth, but stickers are only there to annoy people, and to make consuming the fruit a frightful, obsessive compulsion triggering-ordeal, either when removing and disposing of the things or discovering them permanently adhered to a common household surface when a fellow resident fails at the task. They have no practical function. Fruit stix are much safer, and better to give your kids than Dunkaroos, much as having a pumpkin thrown at you is better than having a used diaper thrown at you.
I hsve often remarked at the ingenuity of Captain Crunch, who could not create real doughnuts or chocolate and so synthesized both, but Little Debbie raised the bar so high that it fell off the supports by failing to even achieve the shape. Worse, she could not spell stix properly. Since there is no Food and Drug Administration definition of what cannot be stix, I don’t know why Debbie would let such an obvious quality error past her diabetic shock fixed gaze.
Glix Stix! Just like glow stix but with less nutritive value.
Is there nothing we cannot make into stix? Is there nothing we cannot make into Pringles? Unlike a majority of similarly-shaped items, Pringles already weren’t potato chips, and now they are less than that. They weren’t about to let somebody else get the jump on their not-quite-being a regulated commodity celebration. Also, though they dare call themselves neither chip nor stick, “PIZZA” is still a-o-k.
Pringles are also mutltigrain. Not quite whole grain, and not quite food, but wow they sure feel healthy when they have the word grain printed on their tubes!
Kid Cuisine Snack Stix. These are undoubtedly created from the remains of that really loopy-looking mascot seen on the packages through much of 2011.
Though stix-like food was still a factor. Oddly enough less stick-like than a real hotdog. Better poke it with a fork just to make sure it’s dead.
My picture from the store was blurry, perhaps a self-defense mechanism by my camera, so I looked for other people’s pictures of queasine stix. This one is still of minimal quality, but that hasn’t been a factor yet today, and I was fascinated by the picture of the little penguin, also a Martin Short fan, evidenced by the Ed Grimley hair style, stepping on a fute ball while reciting a hubris-filled monologue at the poor hopeless stixling. Sportly imagery is always a good hint that the brand has been criticized for being rubbish, like when Ronald McDonald inexplicably took up basketball in the mid 1990s. Subtly imply that eaters should engage in heavy aerobics prior to eating (or in this case just step on a ball and imagine you might), because changing the product would amount to admitting that it was rubbish, and make you liable in the lawsuits filed against you for selling rubbish and pretending it was food for years and years. Also, if the product itself were changed to be less rubbishy, then people would notice it was different, and this awareness might make them realize they were eating frozen, reheated tubes of goops that they could buy fresh, in jars, at much higher quantities for less money.
There, again! I have never eaten peanut butter or jelly in my life, nor have I in anyone else’s life, but it certainly LOOKS delicious here. And by grebij, it has NO high fructose corn syrup in it! That’s a bonus! A health benefit! Instead of using less sugar, you can use the same amount and boast that you didn’t use a different kind of sugar! It wants you to be impressed not because it did something good, but merely that it resisted doing something bad, even though it actually did, just under a different name. The anti corn syrup hype subdued the too much sugar hype and then they both wondered “why are we fighting each other?” The Westboro Baptist church website should have a glossy seal on it that says “contains no racism!”
and we are completely helpless.
Meanwhile, the artist is hopeless.
page 16 of what?
i realize it is unsatisfying to get an old page when it has been so long since a new page, but I have not had access to my paper and for some reason I have not yet totally given up on its inclusion in the process. This update approaches fixing a longstanding issue I have had: that I had no idea where the amphibian was driving off to if it had not completed its task. In the old, old 2001 script the creature had suspected that the correct recipients had indeed stolen the package, and so it returned to its home. In the 2005 edition, as now, the creature was visiting yet another destination in the same vicinity, so it should not have been on a journey of length. The answer: detour signs, just to be annoying.
I say this approaches fixing because, due to the detour injection it could only conclude midway between the next regular old page, if I wanted it to be legible, which means I need to show the full old page, which negates this. It is better this than to try and force in everything as I would have three years ago two rows had five frames. That is a bad habit. So I am not any faster than I once was but I am less concerned with economy.
I have learned to disguise my abuse, fortunately.
I would like to say another new or old new page is forthcoming, but evidently I need to get everything out of the apartment I have lived in for 2.5 years and then go to another country briefly, and both of these require more planning than I can do gracefully, so to do it awkwardly may require extra effort.
On April 3 I was waiting for a bus, with a plastic bag containing three boxes of cookies. This was one of the boxes. It is the subject of the following sentences and perhaps that is why I have no picture of the other two boxes, which came from different manufacturers. The cookies were to be eaten during an art show reception I was participating in that I suspect I will never get around to writing about. Certainly I would want people to show up to look at the artwork rather than to eat the cookies, but I had already seen the art and needed something else to occupy myself with.
A woman and man were also waiting for the same bus I was. They were beside a tree so I stood on the other side of the tree. It was unusual for anyone else to be waiting in this place, and it was also unusual for me to travel with such a large quantity of cookies. These two factors would combine in a most tragic circumstance.
The woman walked in front of the tree, so that she was almost in the street, looked over my bag and spoke. This was immediately bad news. Ordinarily nobody speaks to me in public except to ask me for money. This time it was worse.
I responded to the effect of “I try.” I eat a lot of garbage. Not as much as I once did.
The person pronounced “GMOs” like “jeeyemoze.” If I didn’t know what GMOs were genetically modified organisms already and that this person was pronouncing the letters in an abbreviation, the statement ought to have confounded me, so clearly I had to already know what GMOs were and did, and yet the person spoke as if she an adolescent telling a younger sibling that Santa Claus didn’t exist as petty revenge.
I believe, but cannot confirm, that I responded “anything you buy at a supermarket is going to kill you.” Perhaps I should have said “get away from me, you presumptuous tub” but I am never at my best while waiting for a bus.
The person replied, still looking at my bag, undeterred by my lack of mindblow,
She waited a moment, and before I could ask “do you grow your own food?”, and perhaps I wouldn’t have, because my immediate goal was to make her voice stop, she curtly remarked
I was too filled with hate to respond.
By the time it was a feasible option we were on the bus and I preferred, for the moment, unfulfilled resentment to attempting to speak to someone like that. It was far safer for me to silently hate her and myself than to risk the hate being focused on her exclusively, who had not had thirty years to develop antibodies for it. The fact that I hated myself for not focusing my hate on the woman is a marvel of evolution.
I object to a stranger telling me that I “should” do something, and I object to a stranger assuming I lack knowledge, and I object to Hi and Lois.
I was immediately reminded that four days earlier one of my more virally-minded face-book relations reposted this image, which mixes specific brands with general company names and seems to think Nestlé, one of the largest food companies in the world is a product of its considerably smaller and exclusively confection-focused competitor The Hershey Company. Both have been known to profit from exploitative labor used to obtain their chocolate, though Hershey has at least expressed a willingness to change that. In 2012. There is no wrong reason to boycott Nestlé.
Indeed most of these companies have been selling massively processed, sugar-soaked, salt-smothered de facto poison for more than half a century, for much of that with full knowledge of the long-term health effects of consuming such things. Why have I never been pestered about for drinking Coca Cola in public, but this harmless closed box is a problem? Because there was no mass-repostable graphic that said to harass Coke-swallowers recently. You would have had to actually read paragraphs about it and reach a conclusion on your own to realize it was garbage. Or look at the back of the packaging.
The boycott picture doesn’t say “GMO” on it anywhere, so it is likely that my informant also found a smirky, kony-esque video to go into scantily more detail.
Or perhaps she saw this graphic and realized oh no, three letters! That’s at least two thirds as bad as MSG!
I actually DID “google” it and the very first image was one which gave no information at all beyond ooh dass bad! In fact I was so sure it would that I wrote the part referring to “this graphic” prior to my finding and placing it here. Perhaps I should have used the text search, but I was only instructed to employ google and not any specific google function.
I am concerned that gmo is approaching southern connecticut from two different directions but for the moment I am safe.
Fortunately, no GMO comes in all these stylish and delicious flavors, which can never be used to misdirect public opinion. I just hope none of these graphics contain JPG.
I am fortunate that I correctly assumed she meant google and not googol, a number which is 1 followed by one hundred zeroes, because I probably would have run out of money buying that many gmos.
So bus stop lady now has terminator lock-on vision that can seek out a kashi logo at 30 feet behind any non-lead obstruction. It’s like smoking a cigarette in the 1990s, this week, except we got off the bus at the smokiest bus stop in town, where every third person is smoking a cigarette, spitting after smoking one or selling cigarettes to somebody else, and she didn’t accost anybody. It is no longer trendy to pester cigarette smokers because the government does it already by putting six dollars worth of federal, state and local taxes on a single little box of them. Mission accomplished. The woman also managed to get past the Duncan Donuts and Subway stores across the street (and presumably every other street in New Haven) without procuring a megaphone and yelling JEEYEMMOHZ at exiting customers.
it is possible that as a buyer of “organic” goods I seemed like somebody with an inflated sense of superiority that needed to be ruptured. In fact, any remotely edible thing I had that was in a box would have jammyohs in it. “organic” is the enemy specifically because it thinks it’s better but perhaps is not, in all cases. I can understand resenting that. The goal was not to enrich my life with health advice –not she nor the poster suggested any alternative, GMO-free products– just to get me off my high horse. However, I have also been avoiding high horses ever since I found out they were enriched with MLP.
Perhaps it is unrealistic to expect somebody to say:
However, this would have exhibited knowledge and good intentions, rather than grasping at an opportunity to inflict inferiority on somebody you know nothing about, with no provocation. It might also have encouraged conversation (provided there was a pause after the initial question), rather than scorn. Fortunately my scorn is all natural.
I like the idea of viral hypey thoughtlessness actually being put toward a useful cause, but it probably isn’t going to change anything, because it is still thoughtless, and when it’s one of my own causes I become inclined to dislike it out of spite. Nobody involved is going to learn anything. If GMO is defeated and removed from food but replaced by DDT or BVD or MXY or POG then these people won’t take it on themselves to find out, and won’t believe a suggestion from somebody else unless it is communicated on the same terms used by people selling it to them.
The woman didn’t say anything about me having three boxes of cookies, either, which are inherently lethal. “you like to eat a lot of cookies, huh? Cookies have fat and sugar in them, you should hotbot it.”
She was right that the single Kashi allotment were the worst of the bunch. I didn’t get to eat one but they felt weird. I would have known not to buy them in the future without any outside influence decreeing it.
Tuesday: alas, my inability to fulfill my hope is not irregular at all.
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I shall return to my regular quarters on Tuesday. Hopefully that will permit me to resume irregularity.
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May 27, no major dope news to report.
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I recently was looking through some of the sketchbook pages I had computer-scanned up to now, and came across a letter I had quite some while ago sent to somebody after also scanning. Included in the letter, and perhaps the reason i am no longer on any terms with the recipient, was a tiny drawing in the lower left corner. Since i thought i might want to investigate the image more thoroughly later without having to be reminded of the awful words, I cropped the image and saved it seperately. Without thinking (its subject matter made thought unwelcome) i named it “captaindope.png.” This morning (February 13) it suddenly struck me:
CAPTAIN DOPE?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!??!?!?!?!?
Who gave it that rank? Who commissioned it? Who promoted it? Why is it such a prestigious naval officer? captain dope outranks Lieutenant Dan!
I am not personally fond of Forrest Gump or his film but I sympathize with Lieutenant Dan, especially when his orders come down the line directly from captain dope. Forrest Gump has many skills by accident. The dope has NO SKILLS on PURPOSE (with NO purpose). I would NEVER obey ONE order that came from captain dope. If IT ordered me to not jump off the ship that is precisely what I would do! And no, captain dope is not smart enough to utilize reverse psychology. It isn’t smart enough for most things. Its only ability is to stand there and smile. and by the way if I stayed on board I would go over the waterfall.
Who put the dope in a sailboat and who put a hat on it?
This isn’t the first time; a recurring unstandability of mine is that some dopes will randomly be wearing hats. who is the rogue maniac traveling the lands putting hats on dopes? obviously dopes do not put hats on themselves. I get the impression they “know” how much stupider they look and become accordingly more oppressive, however.
I DEMAND that a dumpster be brought on board so that captain dope can be tossed into it. captain dope is even less qualified than captain crunch, the man who orders himself to crunchatize himself and once “accidentally” turned all his cereal into choco donuts (not to be confused with chocolate doughnuts, which choco donuts meet neither legal minimum requirement for).
Captain Crunch, who apparently recently started an internet video series where he is made of paper and re-enacts classic comedy bits from trailers to cg animation movies (screaming for no reason). Oh yes and shills for sugar-encrusted bits of gravel intended to function as meals for children. Keep on reaching, dope.
I question whether that is the real captain in the video. First of all, his mouth isn’t open nearly wide enough, and also his eyes are firmly embedded in his head. To have captain dope aspire to be an imposter of someone so amoral is just icing on the icing (cake would be too nutritious).
Our crack reading team is currently investigating other reasons to avoid cake.
I have never been more proud of my mother.
Hey bimshwel, tomorrow is mother’s day. I am your mother. Why don’t you talk to me?
Are you ashamed of me, bimshwel? Is it because I discovered the secret to clean teeth that dentists hate me for?
Is it because of the time I told you I was taking you to
Cars Land and it was just Dan Perkins Subaru of Milford? And then you watched me get arrested because the staff recognized me from the surveillance video as the person who went around painting creepy cartoon eyes on all the windshields? I don’t know what your problem is. You didn’t have to watch.
Just like you didn’t have to watch me watch television while wearing yellow wrestling boots and potentially something else. I can do what I like in MY house. Anyway, the last time I saw this picture it was on YOUR webpage. Whose fault is that?
oh no?
Oh no, somebody escaped!
Oh no, a Tintin tin!
Oh no, the Harvest Hobgoblin!
So you see things can be far worse. I have had enough tragedies for many days!
I cannot answer that, but I can tell you which New Haven, Connecticut-based university probably doesn’t have a front page space devoted to this comparison. Arbitrary lists of cartoon series titles qualified based on nothing may be a tougher call.
The list’s presence, prominence, perhaps is a dubious complaint for me to make with regard to this comparison, because I think college newspapers in general are unnecessary apart from letting students think they’re good at something that seems important but isn’t, and isn’t that hard either (regardless of whether that is the fundamental function of college for most people). Maybe getting the thing arranged, printed and distributed -on time even- is an accomplishment, but imitating the bland tone of a paid journalist isn’t. I saw somebody reading the yale newspaper on The Bus once and it was filled with great big headlines and white space. I could almost read the main print from where I was and I could tell I wouldn’t have cared to even if I were a student of the place’s, and I don’t even think it was about football. I think it was about grass. Like on the ground, outside. Oh oh hey what’s this?
Breaking news: football won the football game
Anywany, the real difference is in the benefits: You Yale folks think you’re all hot,
getting discounts at vegetarian restaurants and
dentists and what not
we get the getty mart! look, they even almost spelled the sign saying so properly. WE get to buy lottery tickets and cigarettes! We don’t get any discounts, but we can pay full price at any time of day (with our Hoot Loot), if we’re lucky enough to not be murdered when we come down this street after 6pm.
It’s not like that’s Krauszer’s, or something. That’s in the other direction. Getty Mart: it’s on the SAFE side of the school!
Dear students: we didn’t catch the guy.
In the interest of uninteresting pedantry, I should add that this notice is from last year and there was a fairly high-profile murder at Yale of a student by another, and that we’re all lucky to get out with our lives. Why focus on the differences? Regardless of your income level, you can die at college in New Haven.
8:49am, february 14, 2012: I arrived at the art building to find this memo taped in various places. After my first class was over all the memos were missing. I’d never have even known there had been any accusation against David Chevan, someone whom I had never had a class with or met or seen if not for that. An accusation is not proof, but failure to acknowledge an accusation is not a solution. Anyway,
Now I am conflicted. I am heavily anti-creep, but I am also a creep. Rarely deliberately. If I were removed from the school for that reason I never would have seen this to know why.
Please don’t use this ending.
Does it increase sales to promote the college’s merchandise as being licensed by itself? is this distinction necessary? I would sincerely be more interested in bootleg scsu junk. Both what and why.
I had assumed this was the same sort of thing as Stop and Shop’s generic brand food, utterly lacking in prestige and cheaper than the competition, but SCSU rubbish is actually MORE expensive, and its mascots are worse than stop and shop’s.
Yes, I am saying even this generic dinosaur is more appealing than an owl, or Ceramic Fred Flintstone. I think the implication is if you eat little rocks out of a fish tank for breakfast every day you too can turn into one (a rock, not a fish tank).
It worked for this guy, anyway, even if he lacks the charisma of a Rock. That is a cartoon representation of professional wrestler John Cena in a pose and level of detail that would surely be incompatible with the budget of The Flintstones. He also starred in a movie called The Marine, which allows me to retract my previous parenthesis because a fish tank is the closest he has ever come to actual military service. I’m as much a marine as he is because I rode in a jeep with one once. He kept a big knife on the passenger side, I presume, to give him more of a challenge if he needed to kill me because he suspected I might tell people he was at a furry convention.
Ehhh after Hulk Hogan urged kids to train themselves and eat proper vitamins throughout the 1980s and was revealed to have been using a different sort of “vitamin” the entire time, I suppose it could be an effective confoundment strategy for the World Wrestling Ederfation to imply its most pushed and therefore most scrutinized star –because the amount of push WWE gives a man is directly related to how many steroids he looks like he is taking– eats total garbage and watches cartoons all day. How could he be juicing? There’s no fruit juice in those things! Are there any serious questions? Oh dear out of time.
I couldn’t figure out why a 70-sheet notebook cost $3, and I only looked at the school’s brand because I assumed it was cheapest. I assumed it was my perk as a student to be allowed to buy cheap notebooks. Not at all. In the school’s mind, it is my perk to be allowed to buy official SCSU notebooks. I should pay extra to do so, beyond the tuition. With that in mind the recent email advertisement for branded school merchandise is not surprising.
It is assumed that I am a “fan” of the school’s athletic department simply because I am in attendance at the institution they are vaguely connected with. I’ve never even been at the part of the campus where those sorts congregate. I don’t know why anyone who didn’t have to, would. Certainly I’ve been seeing people wearing SCSU GO OWLS sweatpants since I’ve been here, but I assumed, as before, that this was simply because the stuff was cheap and convenient to purchase. That is in the minimal exertion spirit of sweatpants. I wore sweatpants every day of my life before I learned how to be ashamed.
But this, it is very proud of itself. It wants me to also be proud of itself. I cannot be proud while wearing sweatpants! I don’t like owls much, either, except for when I had a cat that thought he was an owl.
I think they look funny, and I like that they’re supposed to be really “wise” but in fact tend to be dumber than other real birds (which may be appropriate), but I am not taken by their visual presence. Owls are scary outside in darkness, where they are hard to see and make creepy noises. In full light they’re boring. In fact,
I just blacked out. What… what have I done?
And the school wants me to come in on a SATURDAY to buy stuff. I ha[d] an hour free every thursday [when I wrote this] and I NEVER go in there. Why would I set aside two hours to deal with buses, get in there, and deal with buses again to get back here? I wouldn’t have to come home if I never left it. The last time I went out I accidentally killed an owl, anyway. I don’t trust myself outside right now. The world is safer with me at home.
I am not the person I was when this entry started.
Oh jolly good.
I stopped watching as many tumble people [two years] after I realized it was making me mad. I thought “hey why not track the updates of people you (me) actually have met in person rather than forklogans from the internet that I don’t have a realistic idea of?” This was a stupid idea. I traded tumblr for the facebook I had ignored since I signed up and it was just as dumb.
Hey did you hear that something blew up in Boston last week? What I got from this explosion business –being emotionally detached from things that I don’t directly experience– was the face book face folk behaved exactly as I thought they would (nobody I encountered in public mentioned it). A few had legitimate worry or concern, and some others had to grasp at whatever they could to -appear- concerned, because corporate public relations departments are our strongest role models. This fortunately did not happen nearly to the extent that it did after the twin tower situation, although I haven’t been watching television, and I wrote that sentence after only one day of it.
Oh excuse me, I shall watch my terminology in the future. Right, in the aftermess of the initial mess some of the people started complaining about “the media” not leaving them alone, and also that “the media” got facts wrong, and then THIS showed up. In the lower right corner is a url for a page on facebook “conspiracy2012andbeyond.” Facebook is very much “the media” and if there was a conspiracy facebook would be in on it. Tell Lie Vision can’t actually watch you back yet. The 1980s model in the picture certainly cannot and may have been deliberately broken for other reasons.
One thing that seems to be increasing is the tendency for those who criticize the behavior of others to point out “death and disaster happen EVERY DAY in this country or that.” I think people are entitled to grief, provided it is their own. The trouble is when America expects other countries to sympathize with its grief, and then they do, even though America has never shown an inclination to pay this back unless a disaster meets a minimum threshold for publicity. As if there is some chart like outside a trabant “your disaster must be this famous to get recognition from Americans” and then its exposure is way over done and underthought, with celebrities and music videos all over it, to the degree that it seems like a marketing campaign for a product and not something that people have gotten dead from (see also: Kony, unless you’re like me and only found out about it after the point when people were laughing at other people for having seen it and fed it dollars).
Some of the slightly less cynical types still do nothing but reblog solid garbage all day, just of a more saccharinely “inspirational” tone, and it was hard to notice the difference from before. I can imagine someone thinking “i will look truly moral and righteousness if i “share” THIS…” and it would have to be imagined because I don’t reckon that much thinking occurs.
and they like it that way. Think too much and you’ll notice that this is actually an ADVERTISEMENT for a total scam. But since the only form of expression that you respond to is made like an advertisement, you no longer notice.
Another person watches a page that insists every disaster in this America country was perpetrated by the government to further its aim of taking Our Guns (despite the government exhibiting more interest in taking Our Roms), or the banks because they control the government, and sure enough they came up with an in-character angle on this.
One of them had SURELY discovered evidence of a conspiracy when a page begging for “likes” about the bombs had supposedly been made hours or days prior to the attack. Ha! Got em! But that can’t be it because there is no reason that would be part of the plan. “hey chums our false flag terrorism will NEVER SUCCEED if we don’t have a facebook page about it ready to go immediately!” and quickly the thing became stuffed with comments from boraxes saying the equivalent of “Oh ho! found out about you! This page was made yesterday!” repeatedly, because nobody reads the comments before theirs, because they want to think they are the first to say something, even though each only came because someone else told them that.
Intermittently there were ignored cries of “you can change the name of a page!,” . The implication, which none of the defenders had the clarity of mind to include, was that the page had been made for another purpose, which must not have worked too well since nobody knew about it, and the page owner retrofitted the page to be about the explosion situation, a guaranteed “like” getter, for some reason, which is therefore also scummy.
People who were aware that the page wasn’t a conspiracy had no complaints; it was just an honest hard working person trying to leech weird disaster popularity from an act of terrorism. There are probably thousands of empty facebook pages just waiting for caking news of a disaster or fad (often both) so that the page’s name can quickly be changed to be about the disfadster, because that is faster than making a new page, and then golly! looks like *I* had the first page about this dumb fad which means I am a visionary with BIG THOUGHTS who should get the most credit for RECOGNIZING its popularity that I had nothing to do with.
This is not quite a conspiracy but rather a side-effect of a system that validates people for not really doing anything, and they are such sick twits that they don’t even care that they use death and dismemberment to do it. It looks like the person was actually in Egypt, and therefore less likely to have had an immediate emotional response than I did, but no more excusable for thinking “I bet I can score some points that mean nothing with this.” But then, the idiots who “like” the page are generally Americans from my earlier category who think it is their public duty to appear to support causes and make sure everyone knows that their hearts go out to the victims. Unless one of the victims actually needs a heart transplant… better change the slogan to “prayers!” I can pray or claim to have prayed without giving up anything. I can also pray without telling anybody, since I’m supposed to be asking God for help, after all, but then nobody could know how grand and humble I was for saying I prayed.
Even after I typed all this apparently the snobopes concluded from their end that no conspiracy had occurred, but again had nothing to say about what sort of a reprobate would make that page at all. And apparently there was more than one of them!
My hearts and thoughts go out to the souls of corporate executives and their fans who think they’re preserving theirs by saying their hearts go out every time something awful happens.
Maybe if your hearts would stay IN you wouldn’t be such scrumbags.
Well golly Jeno’s pizza rolls I take back everything I said about automated or reflexory, empty birthday messages making me feel worse than if nobody had said anything. Wells Fargo’s heart goes out to my birthday.
I understand that you have heritage and good old time values, wells fargo, and ideally won’t be laundering cartel money like the bank you took over, but your stage coach just makes me think of slow deliveries and susceptibility to desperadoes
Oh what was I talking about? Oh yes, using my criticism of people exploiting a tragedy for pointless internet gains to make myself a website entry.
I got this email Friday morning.
Yeah, sure. Like I hate terrorism. First of all NO I am NOT signed up for updates and second it just seems sarcastic.
Terrorism is NOT allowed at this treehouse.
Yeah that should do it. Maybe it IS sarcastic.
This looks like the logo for a dos game from 1994 or a WaR3z group from 1998, and they would be saying YES, because the only people who take a graphic like this seriously are people who support it because it doesn’t actually mean anything to them except crazy cartoon carnage.
Obviously this has been set up by the same dork who made the other page, who just invited everybody who commented on it. The question is if this is merely a creep looking for “likes” in the most dashin’ desperate places or a naive 13 year old who really thinks this is necessary.
It isn’t like the fearsome “drugs” of the early 1990s. Saying NO at it won’t solve anything. Saying NO didn’t even solve that!
I was GOING to terror but then I saw a graphic that told me I shouldn’t.
Personally avoiding its use won’t protect you from harm. Although this only wants me to say no to the emotion terror, and often, when terrified, people scream “NO!” anyway, and that doesn’t help anything. As that picture of Mr. Rogers with text superimposed over it that keeps being “share”ed at me says, I should focus on those who are helping.
no, not that one
I think it was another one
keep looking…
Oh well I’ll find it eventually.
My point isn’t to denigrate people for having an emotional response, just for imitating one and trying to turn it into a gimmick mass-consumable, or for consuming it. Everything has to be a commodity. You don’t even need to think “shock” or “sadness” for yourself; just press a button, as with everything else. Like Doritos it comes in a variety of flavors, each with a slightly different configuration of unholy photoshop ingredients that mean nothing on their own, so that it is difficult to disassemble and reveal to be lacking in personal investment cheese. I am not good with analogies. Analogies are also a commodity.
People expected machines to put them out of jobs, but not out of feelings, and so they had no defense from it. They don’t even know it happened. Those who endlessly pass along inspirational tripe don’t seem inspired to do anything else but that. When a disaster occurs in their country it doesn’t disrupt this passive button-clicking routine; the images show up on schedule and there is still just a button to press to keep them going. You could say it didn’t disrupt my routine of pessimistic criticism either, but this is my personal matter and it brings glory to no master memester, and certainly not to me. I do this because I am annoyed and I am aware that I do it. Sometimes I wish I wouldn’t, but the sooner I do it the sooner I’m done.
I must try not to abuse this power. Because then somebody might point out that by typing “fake quotes” into google I will see that people have already done this, and also with benjamin franklin. Can I help it if there is a lot of stuff he hasn’t said? I believe I already made it plain that I am not somebody who helps.
Oh jolly good.
I am not currently open for help trades.
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I do believe there are legitimate conspiracies out there but they aren’t going to be given away by typing anger at a facebook page.
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Soon things should get back to normal around here, which is truly worrisome since things have always been strange here.
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I tried to find the piece I wrote about dumb viagra advertisements with the search snake by typing “viagra” and that consistently caused an error. Is that something I told it to do at some point?
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.
Another art show. A semi-mandatory and non-merit-based senior student art exhibition at Southern Connecticut’s State University’s Earl Hall’s Hall-Way non-gallery pedestrian space, Wednesday, at 7pm. Despite being a hallway it is an improvement on my previous gallery zone, which was a cramped office floor in a multi-purpose building (though it at least had carpeting and was in a part of town with fewer reports of armed robbers who have eluded apprehension).
I assume nobody will see this prior to then, and nobody who could have gone will ever see it, and so there ought to have been no reason to announce it, but I felt a nagging need to, and so that is what I have done. Once this is done, I can get back to…regular annoying educational matters that have nothing to do with art. I don’t actually get to leave until May, and instead of leaving I will just be staying in one place more frequently.
I am required to hold a “reception,” and I spent far too many dollars purchasing bad snacks (I only buy good snacks for myself) because I kept thinking things like “well maybe somebody likes cookies but not THIS sort of cookie,” because, historically, lacking any social abilities, my primary reason for attending parties has been to eat awful things, and too often the arrangers did not consider what awful I would want to eat. So instead of using the opportunity to take proxy revenge on people who were never aware I existed through providing snacks nobody -except- me would want to eat, I swallowed all the guilt and anxiety without chewing and will probably choke on it. I hope to have a more coherent writeup of the circumstances in [some point later than a month from now], because I need to make clear that this is not a personal accomplishment. I do not know how to relate to successful people and would hate to lose my own support.
In any event (but this one specifically) I should be full of stories afterward, unless I faint, in which circumstance the story will be more interesting and mercifully briefer.
I do have pictures of promotional imagery, but I also want to go to bed at some point this week.
Please do not congratulate me. I don’t expect that from you, certainly, but from my experience people enjoy not just bragging about good stuff that happened to them but then rollicking in expressions of approval from others for having done a thing that was already personally satisfying. Why don’t you congratulate me when I mess up? Because it will seem sarcastic. And I implied this was a mess-up, didn’t I? (yes) Right so it all works out.
Even if it weren’t, every bum in this degree program has to or may do this. It is not a recognition of any accomplishment beyond consistently paying money that I borrowed to this dumb school and not being quite so dysfunctional that I was prohibited from the right to give it [someone’s] money. The exhibition counts as a 1 credit “class” which I also pay for. So here I am legitimately attempting to raise awareness in some highly improbable hypothetical attendees.
Anyhow, I am still behind on acknowledging birthday greetings. Indeed it is probably best not to acknowledge me in any form that I can reciprocate but appear to have chosen not to if I fail to.
Ideally at some point in the future I will have an opportunity that occurs at a place and time where I can do something with it, and making a mess of that will be an all new experience.
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It has concluded. Nothing awful occurred, but it didn’t accomplish anything, either. I am used to that, but I prefer to accomplish nothing and not quite commit atrocities in my own home without spending any money.
Rattle me bones! (it’s a stupid video, watch out (or don’t watch at all))
That skeleton offers up to you ALL of its treasure, provided you do not rattle its bones. Is that really so much to ask? it is quite a generous offer. You can have your FILL! It makes but one request of you. And yet still we continue to rattle its bones. The world can learn a lot from that skeleton.
The poor thing’s disabled, for beet’s sake. First of all, it’s a skeleton. It was born without any skin or muscle mass. Also, it’s missing a leg and an eye. Skeletons don’t have eyes anyway, but this one’s eye space was apparently injured in combat badly enough that the skeleton covers the region out of personal shame.
an unusual property of the skeleton’s shame is the less it wants to be seen, the more apparent its presence becomes. It went to hide in the dark and its bones lit up, so that little could be seen except the bones. Is that fair?
See the way those cruel children laugh at the friendly undead seafarer! Do not blame yourself for your injury, skeleton! Accept your [lack of] body for what it is. I wonder if it only gives up its treasure because it has low self-esteem and thinks it has to do things like this to have friends.
Those kids are not your real friends, skeleton! They are only using you to further their own pirate careers (consider the striped shirt of the one on the left). I worry that someday they’ll push that skeleton too far… what’s this? A visitor?
a ratty hat, ratty eye patch, dessicated parrot corpse, and a pipe which presumably smells heavily of skeleton. So you can ultimately have your fill of absolute rubbish. About the only thing we can learn from that skeleton is what strategies to avoid when attempting to curry the favor of others.
You, sir, have a clear anti-skeleton bias and I have difficulty taking your opinion seriously. It is not for you to decide what possessions may be treasured by this excitable glowing bloodless mariner or its admirers. I suppose you also would disparage the captain’s dancing skills and the merit of the trumpet skeletons.
B) One’s dancing skills are necessarily impaired by being affixed to a ship’s wheel.
C) I would indeed dispute the merit of trumpet skeleton, on account of their lack of sufficient lung capacity (i.e. any at all) and labial equipment to operate said instruments. Not only that, it’s an easily avoidable situation under any circumstances, as a less woefully resourceful skeleton would simply take advantage of its natural accoutrements and strike its ribs in the manner of a mallet-based idiophone. Clearly this was a decidedly incompetent crew all around, even by the considerably lowered skeleton standards.
bones, you have something to add?
Is that all? I’m trying to defend your species and you waste my time with that?
the only thing dumber than a skeleton interrupting my business to get all up in my business and announce that it used the Medical Herb would be… oh, now who is it?
…would be using the Medical Herb on another skeleton! A backwards skeleton! Arrrrf not only was that stupid, it took up a lot more space and many more additional seconds! And I don’t necessarily need to see your creepy breathing gyrations, either! We established earlier that you don’t have lungs! what’s your point? I am busy here! Oh what’s this? Someone else is trying to get my attention now! Busy busy busy. I will finish reprimanding you later!
I REFUSE to view that photo!
What’s so great about the dumb old Medical Herb anyway?
ATIPHOGIHIOGHEGIHAAAAAAAAAAAANDONHISFARMHEHADSOMEDUCKSEIEIO The ultimate treachery! I thought skeletons were my friends but they have been turned against me. I assumed they were trying to excuse their recreational marijuana usage by claiming it was for “medical” purposes, but this bowtie shuckster would never advocate a personal enjoyment bringing measure of any kind for anyone but itself. It must be living in Oregon and working overtime to turn the now legalized leaf into a most unscrupulous sort of profit-making venture. Not only has it lied to these skeletons about the Herb’s ability to regenerate flesh, now I have to deal with undead potheads. What horror.
Speaking of horror
My favorite part about Rattle Me Bones is that it was rejected as a meme by the high meme council. Yes indeed people on the internet can make an obscene elitist bureaucracy out of ANYTHING. It has used the word “notable” to exclude something from a collection of haphazard trash. It thinks it’s wikipedia. And wikipedia itself thinks it’s something that it isn’t.
I have long claimed that what now conspicuously-label themselves as “memes” are manufactured and only persist because persons imagine they can leech popularity by exalting and imitating something they don’t legitimately care about, with only the insincerity and grabs for empty fame being organic or memetic, but I suspected I was just being spiteful. It is “good” to know there are actually people who consider themselves more qualified to judge memes than others, who control when one is in or out. From the looks of the header, “know your meme” actually is a registered trademark (and apparently Rattle Me Bones isn’t). Something that exists by endlessly remixing someone else’s material with someone else’s material, or even just exploiting someone else’s remix, is concerned I’m going to try and use its good name for my own profit. Or maybe it’s a joke. The good thing about the meme club is that it is consistently impossible to tell what is “supposed” to be stupid and what just is.
This makes me want to go to law school and torture myself for however many more years just so I can become a judge and throw out the case when Cheezburger, Inc tries to ruin somebody’s life in court. And then I’ll drown myself in pudding because I became a judge for a really stupid reason.
It is also “nice” to know that I could write a page about pine cones or dopes, have it be rejected (I would insist on that) from there but still evidently gain enough google traction that it shows up in image searches.
In my own case, I distinctly remember Rattle Me Bones and its trumpet skeletons from 1989 (one benefit to my age, I suppose) and don’t need an advisory board to tell me it is too stupid to talk about publicly. That’s the whole point.
Also good is that the lowest, most unspicable candidate for the meme-knowing board of directors is now a skeleton and likely ineligible for employment. Maybe 2013 can be different after ehhh
I would like to say we are both smart enough to know that isn’t how it works, but I also like using our intelligence disparity to show how awful the bow tie creature is. In fact, I don’t think things can get any dumber.
Well I would not go that far.
However, I am definitely going very far away.
Prior to then I should acknowledge my unconsulted collaborator, whose permission I did not seek to reuse his skeleton related comments or surround them with pictures of more skeletons, since I presumed he had better things to do.
It occurs to me that the children’s treasure map (which they apparently mistrustfully consult again after arriving at their apparent destination, as though to make absolutely certain that they have read things correctly, suggesting a similar dubiousness concerning its factual accuracy) curiously enough leads to a ship at sea, if admittedly not very far from the coast. The map also appears to be fairly old, which suggests that said ship has been there a while, and furthermore was considered even at the time it was drawn up to be a reasonably permanent fixture. I can only assume that the skellingtons were dumb enough to A) draw a map leading to a “treasure” aboard their ship, B) not realize that a ship is typically not a fixed geographical fixture, and C) fail to realize the importance of raising the anchor for proper navigation, thereby inadvertently assuring that their ship is a fixed geographical feature.
Furthermore, Käpt’n Klappermann would appear to be one of the infamous fraudulent “skeleton medalists” that have been decried on this site in the past. I can only assume that the medal in question is in fact
the bow tie fool’s “worst” place award, as strongly suggested by the styleless scapegrace’s apparently being in league with the boney blackguards.
Everything makes sense at last. In the respect that we all know that it makes no sense and is terribly stupid.
My next update will be about something we can all agree on: skeletons.
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Apparently it is not funny to write about something that makes me depressed while I am depressed by it except from a potentially antagonistic perspective. I should find out who dislikes me and have them read this. Reading it may be sufficient to convert others.
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I want to unfollow everybody who posts regularly on twitter, but then i would see nothing at all, in which event I might as well not go to the site, in which event there was no reason to dewatch anybody. To assist myself in making a decision, I continue going to twitter and being angry/depressed at garbage from the same people. It is almost never my preferred type of garbage. Would a momentary catharsis be worth terminating 10 friendships? That is not a factor; no friendship is sustained by that system. It could be said that twitter was beneficial for determining the lack of a friendship, but I don’t believe I can sustain any friendship in that system, and historical evidence has shown that I am capable of having friends under proper atmospheric conditions
How long before they notice? Maybe I should tell them. I don’t want to seem mean.
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Well here it is, the big three oh-no i am so old that I refer to someone’s age as “the big,” by its individual digits and with the letter O instead of the number zero.
I have had a great amount of anxiety about aging. I was terrified of arriving at this age and utterly not relating to all the people I already didn’t relate to from within a slightly different age group. I was thinking it would be a relief to disappoint a narrower share of the advertisers, but evidently I am legally relevant to them for another four years. I don’t expect to have children, but I never expected to be one, either, much less still be one 30 years later. That statement has no meaning but doesn’t it look like it almost does?
This year, I anticipated in advance the automatic birthday notices I usually get from other websites. They are jealous of my relationship with bimshwel. Usually I get annoyed when they try to contact me, and I see that I have 6 new thoughtful and considered email messages in the morning on my birthdate! and it’s just stupid robots that send things without thinking and also send them to everybody and I’m not special. Since I had announced in advance that I thought they were coming, I was disappointed when they were late, and then relieved when they showed up.
By anticipating disappointment, I was disappointed when none came, and then I was not disappointed at all when I was finally disappointed.
I can appreciate these automated messages because unlike the reflex “happy birthday” that, usually, people with just as much regard for me as a person as Zophar cover my pages with on websites that disseminate the data without asking, there is no imagined social debt to pay to Zophar on his own birthday, a debt which would be much harder for me to repay because I feel an obligation to say something of substance, that would be personally pertinent to the person or robot, or nothing at all. Zophar would know I didn’t actually finish Lunar Eternal Blue by the vagueness of my message (messages are his domain, after eh)
I do not disclose the day, ordinarily, because I hate responding to the things almost as much as I hate writing them. “happy birthday” is not a logical statement, or a statement at all, and it confounds my literal mind.
what have I accomplished in all these years? I have written a few hundred of these website things, although I did that in 12 years. Theoretically I could have done twice as many through my full life, so I am horribly behind. I exclude the first six years, when I was of course in jail.
I believe I summed it up well enough in the 10th anniversary, when I said that nothing had happened worthy of commemorating and I abstained from using the word “anniversary,” as if we were married, but it is possible bimshwel is the closest I will ever come to emotional intimacy with anyone, and even it I hide things from.
WHAT YOU TALK ABOUT. YOU TELL ME ALL. I KNOW ALL EVENTUALLY. TELL ME NOW. I THOUGHT I SPECIAL YOU. I FIND OUT. NO HIDE FROM ME. I COME GET YOU. OOPS NO CAN DO. GET YOU LATER. TELL.
One person thinks I could make a book of it. One person who doesn’t feel strongly enough about this to not be anonymous. (I can’t think why somebody would keep their identity secret when saying something to me). I certainly do not mean to seem ungrateful for the anonymous approval; this way I can pretend up to three people independent of each other decided I was worthy of approval so long as nobody knew who was giving it.
These website things are not worth much, monetarily (my assumption about kickstarter is that I would only make people want to start kicking me), but they make me laugh, sometimes, and they have an emotional connection to me that no other writer’s material has. It is neat when I forget I wrote something and reread it, and more-so when I still can’t remember after I have reread it. It is like knowing somebody else who has the same problems and odd appreciations. Maybe that is pathetic, but pathetic is something I understand deeply. It is like I created a robot to be my friend, except it isn’t well enough made to be patentable, which keeps it humble, and it doesn’t necessarily like me, possibly because of the shoddy humility I cursed it with. It is much more discerning than Zophar.
I would encourage anybody who feels alone and misunderstood to create things which reflect that. Even if no one else appreciates them, get far enough into the future and maybe you will. I can, naturally, also look at some things I made and have unique insight into how awful they are, but that creates an opportunity to publicly shame them into somethings bearables, like that time with nemitz preludes.
I have been unusually behind on updates because I am attempting to graduate from this university during this semester. My college situation is a major digression point. There is no time to digress because I have stupid college garbage to do. I know; I spent half the day writing it and I really didn’t have time to do that.
And that seems to be all. I assumed I had been steadily documenting my thoughts for an explosion of self-realization and evaluation at the conclusion of my thirtieth trip around the year, but I do not feel any different then a week ago, or a year ago. My epiphany is as behind schedule as anything else is. I have to put off my identity disaster until May. How can I be happy about that?
By unloading it on someone else, perhaps. Possibly you. You don’t have to understand. You may be served better not to. You came here for some reason, and I’ll take it. My online art gallery is a chronological, and my facebook whatever-it-is a chronoridiculous journey through reminders of people that I no longer speak with, and in some cases never spoke with. My personal acquaintances are often questionable friends of siblings, who come and go by circumstances beyond my control or interest, as I often have as much in common with them as the people who pretend to be animal people from my online art galleries, except they are less open to the idea that anyone might find them peculiar and discomforting. I have been indifferent toward people and developed curious grudges through my entire 30 year series of consciousnesses, but after eight years of having to press a button to say who my “friends” are it is strange to realize “no, they aren’t,” but not surprising. Maybe that is “normal.” It should not be.
Here, however, as far as I can tell, I have been talking to the same person for over ten years, and I like having something consistent. Additionally, I swear this is more positive than the thing I didn’t quite post yesterday. Imagine how inspiring it would be tomorrow.
In other news, you may already owe somebody money.
I wrote something for march seventeenth. is march eighteenth now. probably better to wait, then. I don’t trust it.
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Another inadvertent two week absence. My ability to pay attention to things has been waning, but by May I should either be back to some temporary regularity or have progressed to the next phase of irregularity. But for now, where were we?
That is understandable. I do not necessarily recognize me, either. I promise not to make you look at me. This website is for looking at things I have critical opinions of, but only when I can stand to look at them.
Something I always feel good about seeing, a doctor who looks to 1998 AOL email forwards for decoration inspiration.
No, there would not be peace, because those women would likely resent the roles they had gotten stuck in of having to do all the work, often work that nobody asked for but were feared to be silently expecting, and not get money or recognition for it.
I realize this sort of thing is a joke and not meant to be interpreted literally, but the people who write them, male or female, have no interest in peace. They think there is a “battle of The sexes” that, regardless of whether it can be won, must be “fought” forever, but primarily in trivial competitions that demean both sides, and they demand two “sides.” They never stop thinking men wearing dresses (or just underwear) and talking dogs are funny (hence the previous 20+ years of cinema comedy). They must always honk a car horn twice and knock on a door in a “shave and a haircut” rhythm. These are the millions who watch super bowls for the advertisements and may claim to “not like football” and think I will be fine with that explanation. Closeminded twits who are only impressionable when something is tacky.
For example, here is an advertisement advertising a real business that says “COVER YOUR ASSets.” See [or don’t, because my camera objected and refused to aim directly at it] it says ASS but then it says ets so it’s not REALLY saying “ass” even though “ass” is the implication, and it focuses on the posterior areas of the people in the photograph. If it had just said “asses” it would be deemed obscene by the uppity people in town, and even though it actuality does say and imply ASS, since it legally “doesn’t,” this satisfies morons, because their only objection to anything is one that they have learned. Since they learn primarily through advertising, such as this, or heavily sponsored garbage with the same values, they consider it oh ho ho just good fun. They never saw anybody be bothered by “assets” so they will not be bothered by assets, even though if “asses” legitimately bothered them, this ought to count as the exact same thing, for it very much intends to. You see? You shouldn’t! It makes no sense!
Consider the fact that this movie exists. I would rather not, even apart from the reason I am going to gripe about, but that makes it a more functional example.
If it was called “little fvckers” its name would have been changed long before this point and we would never have known that. If hypothetically it was called that anyway and advertised in every possible place where advertisements can survive, with that name, everybody involved would have been fined. However, since it is called “fockers,” it can use the exact same tacky non jokes as the previous 2 films in the series and instead of having to pay 300 thousand dollars it gets paid 300 million dollars. See? No! It’s ridiculous! Our censorship system is a sham that serves nobody and can’t even be bothered to pretend it does. All it does is empower and entertain morons who think “getting around it,” even if for no other reason to have gotten around it is the most noble act.
If almost swearing doesn’t hurt anybody, then neither does just swearing, but pretending there is a huge difference hurts my mind. There is no vulgarity Beetlejuice who you’re going to save us from by changing a letter but meaning the same thing. Likewise, having almost sworn is not an accomplishment in itself, worthy of recognition for any reason but to point out how stupid it is.
Here is another example. It is terrible. The photograph of it is terrible. Things are in accord, for the moment (although I am concerned about how opinionated my camera is getting).
It is the “words” yippie ki-yay mother russia” in transparent type over Hudson Hawk’s head and possibly a scarf.
I understand that somebody in the film movie called die hard says the line yuppie cayenne mother meet the fockers, at some point for some reason, but I don’t understand why I am supposed to accept this fabricated story that the line is a crucial part of American culture that everybody is familiar with and loves, when I’ve only ever heard reference to the phrase made by people on bad tv shows or in advertisements for other bad things, and these have outnumbered the amount of times I have encountered “yippie ky yay” sans mother or whatever in a sincere cowboy related context, which is a single time, in the opening to the 1989 tv show Hey Dude, but even that was only referencing the fact that cowboys supposedly said it, but nobody on the show was a cowboy.
A total of my experiences
yippie ki yay used sincerely: none
yippy keye yaya sisterhood in actual die hard movies: none
skippie pie ray used outside of die hard movies as reference to die hard movies: any at all which means too many.
and then an additional time when my roommate was watching godawful rubbish in the next room and some man whose life had no meaning contentedly spoke “welcome to the yipee ky yay post game show” because the new die hard movie had paid the post game show to be called that, but not to be called the “die hard sequel post game show.” or even the “that football game was 5 hours why are you going to spend another hour watching miserable twits wearing suits who weren’t playing talk about the football game you just watched? I at least am paid to be here what’s your excuse post game show.” The die hard people probably copyrighted the stupid phrase with the hope of getting royalties if anyone else says it but since nobody does unless the opposite case is in effect it went unnoticed.
Some years ago I inadvertently became aware of a critical review for Live Free or Die Hard, one of the previous die hard sequels, and the reviewer complained that since the movie was rated pg13 instead of R, Di Hardy (I assume that’s the main character’s name) only gets to say “gaza strippy ki yey-” and then gets conveniently cut off before he can say the rest, every single time. I want to complain that somebody is complaining about that asinine catchphrase that isn’t even good not being honored, but I also think implying profanity by interrupting it is pathetic. I also complain when I have to choose a complaint.
Anyway, CJ in the USA was X-Rated and that doesn’t mean it was good.
I remember yet another advertisement for one of the new computer Alvin + Chimpunks abominoids and at one point one of the things says “zippy kai yay mother-” and then is conveniently cut off by hitting a wall or a record scratch sound effect, maybe both. When you’re a cgi chipmunk every sound effect might as well be a record scratch and bumpable piece of scenery might as well be a button that plays a record scratch sound effect (because I don’t believe there is a record player on the set, nor even a computer generated 3d model of one). I’m supposed to think
Or how about the time when that titash ripoff from The Lion King keeps almost saying “ass” but then it turns into ahhhhhhh. I hate those “jokes for the parents” in films markerted at children. That’s so sleazy and lazy. Sleazy for adding vulgarity where it isn’t necessary, and lazy for writers not being able to find other ways of developing characters’ “rebellious” personalities now that they aren’t allowed to show people smoking anymore. I can understand doing the joke and moving on, but they always have to dwell on it. Ey ey wink wink did you see what I did? And people raised on that now think it is appropriate to respond with the smug monotone response “I see what you did there” in varying degrees of typed english. A joke, to these people, succeeds not because it is funny, but because they become aware that it is a joke. Congratulations on your humor attempt. But since bad movies can’t see who responds, these oafs say that to me, instead. It is like cool dude scumbag code for “i don’t think you’re funny but I am.” They render me sick!
I appreciate that it is more descriptive than responding with “fail,” like you’re MS-DOS. Not ready reading drive joke. Abort retry fail? I realize “fail” is not a new thing anymore, and I should be glad that nobody within my awareness still says “woot.” However, I did hear somebody boldly call out “yolo” but at nobody but in my presence at my questionable education facility, and I don’t even know what that one is supposed to mean other than “HELLO I KNOW WHAT INTERNET IS.” so we only lose a trendy degenerate memeword when another one replaces it, which means there is no net change. It is the same net as before and the grime of groupthought tackiness is steadily accumulating.
So now there is a poster that just says “popeye time yay mother russia” on it. I looked up this better version of the picture to make absolutely certain I hadn’t missed some hint as to the film’s title or any detail about it. I think I like the other one better because at least I could imagine a scarf which made the matter considerably more interesting, and also could hardly read the stupid letters on it. So we have a poster at a movie theater, advertising a movie, that doesn’t actually say what the movie’s name is. Just Yippie Ki-Yay™®(c)all rights reserved [variable]. I don’t know what the significance of “Mother Russia” is; something to do with Eastern European nations and maternal figures, which are either completely irrelevant or only relevant so that they can serve as a truly wretched sound-alike for “mother feckur,” which means the script was written to match the tag-line, which isn’t even a good tagline, and I only know what film series it is alluding to at all on the technicality that I am painfully aware of things I resent. I wish I didn’t know, because whose-ever idea this was trusted that I would, and it’s a daft idea and I probably hate that person. The characters in the film (assuming there is one) still probably aren’t going to say “fvcker,” which is fine, because I get enough of that without trying, so if they did say it, that would not enrich my experience, but they have to tease at it in public either way for some reason. I am meant to be excited about this allusion to a catch phrase that means nothing to me.
So in summary, corny people expect peace, but they cannot manage any peace but a piece of
I was going to say a piece of toast. Toast is a mediocre thing that many people keep in their lives. However, anything that can survive as a piece is probably worth eradicating entirely.
Additionally, it is probably unfair of me to criticize the computer-made chipmunks, since their awfulness is consistent with that of the awful hand drawn chipmunks of the 1980s, which much like the Smurfs were awful even then, regularly includeded a the battle of the sexes as a major rot point and had their roots not in comic books but in the novelty song fad of the 1960s, which also appealed primarily to corny people, even if they had superior cover artwork.
I am not at all surprised to learn they were also the masterminds behind the Transportation Security Administration.