Quailitude Dot Com

A Departure From Christmas

2005-12-27T15:49:00.000-05:00

Well, hello again to everyone who thought I have been dead for the past few weeks. I've wanted to post, but the right words never came, plus I've had Pneumonia, so when the words did come they were drowned out by coughing. Or as the professionals call it: "blah blah blah" (I had Pneumonia when they told me). So, here I am again to talk to you about Christmas.

I got on a plane, went to Texas, and on my way I saw it again. I wrote about this over the summer, but sense no one knew who the hell I was over the summer, I suppose I shall just start the beginning.

Airport. Baggage Checking (yes, they checked my bag, they always do. they ALWAYS look at the books, I guess they think they're the anarchists cookbooks or something). And the X-ray machine for my bag. As the bag came flying from the machine, through the rubber strips that hid the inside, I saw it. You've seen it too. I know you have, everyone has. I saw a hand pushing the bag out. It was just for a split second, but I saw it. My mother didn't believe me. BUT I SAW IT.

So I get to Texas, land of the wild, free-range republicans, on Christmas Eve, and promptly go to sleep. When I wake up I find the Christmas presents. I eat the chocolate in the stocking and start opening.

The list:
-The Monty Python Calender
-The Monty Python Autobiography
-Lost First Season, and
-the original King Kong

I was happy with it. I had forgotten about CHristmas, and I honestly didn't care much, what with my recent departure from the belief system behind the holiday. It seems that as I get older, I start to forget about these simple celebrations. My birthday, for example. On the day of my birthday, I remembered that it was, I normally have some form of celebration, very rarely big, usually just a few friends. But I didn't say anything about it, and it just went away. It's kind of depressing. I'm gonna go turn up the airconditioning, turn down the lights and listen to "Wake Me Up WHne September Ends" now, I'll see ya'll when I emerge.

You Too?

2005-12-10T10:41:00.000-05:00

Until last Monday I had no idea what U2 was. I had heard some stuff about the band, very vague stuff, and I had seen part of that iPod commercial that features Original of the Species on an iPod. Besides that, I was utterly ignorant. Adam had tickets to a concert to their concert at the Bank North Garden (thank bob it's not the "Fleet Center" anymore, ug) and, in his ADD way, he told me in a way similar to this:

ADAM: So we can work on filming the skit sometime next week?
ME: Ya, sure.
ADAM: Alright.
ME: Ok then.
ADAM: . . .
ME: . . .
ADAM: . . . You wanna go to a U2 concert on Monday?

So, I had no idea what I was in store for. I arrived at the center early, because we had unsuccesfully tried to have a leisurely dinner before hand, and met the crowds. Adam's mother and her. . . sister? went off to their side of the stadium, and we off to ours. Of course we had the worst seats. When I say back, I mean as high as you can go, up against the concrete wall with the seats below you about 6 inches away and 1 foot down. But soon the lights went out and I sat back to watch my first glimpse of U2.

Soon they came out onto the stage. The stage was, Adam informed me, formed in the shape of U2's signature, the circle inside of another circle, and that was on the end of a long oval that stretched from one end of the court (for this is also a playing court for the Celtics) to the other. Inside the oval but not on the stage was an area called the Ellipse, where about one hundred lucky fans scremed wildly.

The first up was the lead singer, a blonde man in his late twenties, I would guess, followed by one guitarist and a drum player. And they began to play. And it wasn't very good. In fact, it was rather crappy. Those of you who don't know who U2 are are probably nodding your heads right now saying "Yep, yep, that's U2 alright." Those of you who do know U2 are probably shaking your heads and saying "Bono isn't blonde. And U2 is one damn good band." That's correct, for I had mistaken the sideshow band for U2. The sideshow played for about 45 minutes, and then got off the stage to the dripping sound of golf-applause. There was a half hour intermission, and then the show began.

The first song was "City of Blinding Lights". The first band member on stage was the drummer, whose name I did not know at the time, but whose name I have sense guessed (just guessed. . . GUESSED. Correct me if I am wrong, which I probably am) to be Larry (???????????????). Next up was Mitch (?????????????) and then The Edge. And they began to play.

A quick strumming filled the stadium, I was right near the speakers, 3 times my hieght and at least 8 feet in width. Slowly a yellow light filled the stadium, and Bono's voice also filtered into my ears, but where was he? I turned my head around, and saw him at the other end of the Ellipse. I don't know how he got there, probably a secret door, but I do know that no one else had noticed it until then, he had just walked up.

"Cit of Blinding Lights" was followed by "Vertigo" and then "Excavation" (that's all I remember, unlike Seth, I do not write down the song list of every concert I go to).

I was blown away. I don't know how I'm going to pay my iTunes bill for this month, and the Library late fees for the U2 CD's I took out are going to cost a fortune. In short, I'm a fan.

WTF Carnival #2

2005-11-30T20:37:00.000-05:00

Well, here we are again, the Wow, That's Funny Carnival #2. The same people are here, mainly Me, Myself, and I. Oh, and then there's Seth, Pixel, and the newbie Adam. Replacing me as the newbie to the Goodie Grab Bag assembly, he should be picked on extra hard. I especially recomend pushing him into walls as often as possible to express your appreciation of his quips. This is coming to you on the 1'st of December, I don't care what day it actually is coming to you on, I'll be busy tomorrow which is why I'm posting today, just don't tell anyone. As always, we vote on the quips we like the most. There hasn't been a limit imposed in the past on how many you can vote on, which I find to be the epitome of stupidy, so I'm making a limit. The limit is 2 to be counted. And we actually are going to count them this month, so take that Bush Administration. Obviously you can say if you like any others in the comments, but please specify your two votes by saying the letters above the quips. So come on in. Yep, that's right, you and you, get on in there. No no, not you. Well, maybe you. Ok, fine, all of you can come in, just don't steal anything. People these days.

A

You hate yourself? How do you think I feel?!?

I'm in the same boat, but I'm going backwards.

You. . . are a placenta!

1: We're even.
2: I don't think we'll ever be even.
1: Why?
2: Because we're too odd.

2: Say the word 'what.'
1: What?
2: Say 'what!'
1: Oh. What?
2: Thanks.

The only thing I love more than food is eating it.

Its not that my jokes aren't funny, you're just ugly.

1. What word has 3 letters in it and starts most sentences?
2. Sex?
1. No, the word "the". . . but lets have some candy.

Evil soldiers who die don't go to hell, they become the French.

I hope you're happy. I lost two night's sleep and a daydream over this!

Man 1: Hey man, I’m sorry I crashed into the back of your car.
Man 2: Oh, that’s all right.
Man 1: Hey, you. . . uh. . . you wanna go exchange insurance information?
Man 2: You mean like. . . uh. . . in the back seat of my car?
Man 1: Ya. . . ya. Let’s go . . . uh . . . exchange insurance information in the back seat of your car.
Man 3: Can I come too?
Man 1: Can your back seat fit that many young men wishing to exchange insurance information?
Man 2: The more the merrier.
Man 3: Awesome.
Man 1: Let’s go.

L

I thought she said sex, but it turned out she said therapy. I guess we do need to work on communication.

M

1: A contradiction cannot exist in the real world.
2: That both is and isn't true.

1. I have an idea!
2. What is it?
1. Well, I’ll tell you: . . . . It’s a reverse mosh pit.
2. What?
1. We take these rock stars and toss ‘em into a pit, then we throw a crowd of moshers onto them!
2. That’s just sick.
1. I know, I love it too.

Boy: You know, ya can't spell "make out" without "me" and "u".
Girl: Ah, well, I could say the same thing about "murder".

It's too quite . . . too quite.

It’s not that I’m intolerant, you’re just ugly

I think a fun thing to do would be to go to an aquarium…and poke the fish.
No, seriously. It's like, the fish is swimming along peacefully, and suddenly THIS FINGER COMES FROM OUT OF NOWHERE! And the fish is like, "What the fuck was that?" But then it just keeps swimming and swimming, when suddenly THE FINGER COMES BACK! And the fish is like, "No, seriously, what the fuck was that?" But then it just keeps swimming and swimming.
Oh, and the merry-go-round is fun too.

Don't hate me for who I am, hate me for who I'm not, that way I don't
feel bad about myself.

1: You know, you shouldn't judge people by the food they eat.
2: Oh?
1: Yeah, I know some very nice cannibals.

1. Okay, okay. I have a joke
2. Alrighty.
1. Are you ready? It’s mad awesome.
2. Yes yes. Go.
1. Okay. . . okay.
2. Yes?
1. Are you sure you’re ready?
2. Yes.
1. Totally psyched up?
2. I’m ready.
1. Okay. . . okay. Here it is:
2. Yes?
1. . . .
2. . . .
1. . . . RELIGION! HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA.
2. . . .
1. . . .
2. That’s not very funny.
1. Yes your right, I don’t really get it either.

I was hoping to think of something good to end this with, but I have alot of trouble writing good conc

Got Color?

2005-11-24T17:50:00.000-05:00

The colorquiz is a widely appreciated personality test. Based upon about a decade of psychological study, it attains a persons personality from what their favorite colors are. It didn't really work very well for me. I mean, most of it is right, but there are a few complete surprises. Enjoy yet another quiz, and put that shotgun away, I promise I'll actually write something soon.

Aeger took the free ColorQuiz.com personality test!

"Seeks success, stimulation, and a life full of exp..."

Click here to read the rest of the results.

WHOA . . . Another Quiz

2005-11-20T13:12:00.000-05:00

I know I know I know. It's just that whenever I think of anything meaningful to write I'm behind on my KoH posts.

But anyhwo, here's another deep inside look into my mind:

Your Blog Should Be Green

Your blog is smart and thoughtful - not a lot of fluff.
You enjoy a good discussion, especially if it involves picking apart ideas.
However, you tend to get easily annoyed by any thoughtless comments in your blog.

What Color Should Your Blog or Journal Be?

or not, either or.

Friendship: Catalogued

2005-11-06T20:31:00.000-05:00

Some recent posts over at Pixel's website have got me thinking about friendship, and more importantly, different kinds of friendship.

So, drawing from his input, and with a few ideas of my own, I have endeavored to create a complete list of friendship.

Starting from the ground up:

Byte Sized Friendships: People who you know by name, but not by number, address, facial features, voice, or name.

Acquaintance: People who you may know through school, business, or other mandatory things, but wouldn't otherwise talk to.

Friendly acquaintance: People who you may know through school, business, or other mandatory things, and have gotten together with infrequently.

Friends: People you enjoy talking to, and speak with regularly, but with whom you only meet outside of school, work, etc. infrequesntly.

Good Friends: People who you have a bond with and who you spend at least one day a week with.

Best Friends: People who you have a deep bond with, who know you well enough to finish your sentences, who can tell you anything, and you them, and who, if you got yourself into trouble, would gladly bail you out of jail.

True Friends: People that you have a permanent deep, lasting relationship with, who you almost love, and who, if you got into trouble, would be sitting next to you in the jail cell. (Usually there can only be four of these types of friendships per person, becuase anything more overloads the circuits and cuases said person to reboot).

Well, there you are. There are a few more catagories, yes. But if I got into them I would have to think, and you don't want that.

Thank you for your time.

WTF?!?

2005-11-05T09:43:00.000-05:00

The first monthly WTF carnival is in town. A tribute to all that's witty, it will appear once a month and display quips high in wit. You can vote on which ones are the best, and the winner gets. . . absolutely nothing. So enter the world of Pixel and be amazed.

Zee Quizes

2005-10-30T17:02:00.000-05:00

You are 60% evil

You are very evil. You are fairly practical in your evil deeds and you probably wouldn’t do anything illegal. You are more inclined to not do anything when you see that something bad is about to happen. Think Seinfeld.

Take this quiz at QuizGalaxy.com

You have a sexual hidden talent

You have a sexual hidden talent. You might not look it but you are a dynamo in bed. Most of your lovers think that it is from years of practice, but really, you were just born with it.

Take this quiz at QuizGalaxy.com

Death through drugs/alcohol

You are going to die drowning after drinking too much/doing too many drugs. Dying like all of the greatest rockers – because you live like one. You like to party and experiment with perception. Rock on hippie.

Take this quiz at QuizGalaxy.com

Your boss is 55% jerk

Your boss is a big jerk. They are not the worst, but they certainly seem like it at times. Your boss is likely to steal your ideas and pass them off as his/her own and neglect you for promotions. Arg.

Take this quiz at QuizGalaxy.com

Yep, that's Prov all right.

Attention Seth:

You hate know-it-alls!

Know-it-alls are your number one pet peeve. They always know everything, and always take pleasure in making you feel stupid. And they always, always make a point of saying something when you screw up something.

Take this quiz at QuizGalaxy.com

You have a 80% chance of surviving a T-Rex Attack

You have a very good chance of surviving a T-Rex attack. You are very smart and know how to survive in the wild. You would be first in line if there was ever a real Jurassic Park.

Take this quiz at QuizGalaxy.com

You are 86% Psychic

You are super psychic. You should work at the psychic friends network. Because of your observant nature, you are able to see the patterns that people and society have to accurately predict the future. Plus you have an uncanny ability to predict chance encounters. You are good at choosing the right stocks and winning at the casino.

Take this quiz at QuizGalaxy.com

Thank you for your time.

Who needs a title when we've got Seth's Blog to steal title ideas from?

2005-10-30T14:10:00.000-05:00

When it snowed, I went out and took some pictures. I had this thought of my own accord, and took the pictures with my own (mother's) camera. Enjoy them, because with my dail up it took about 3 hours to load them all.

Thank you for your time.

Goodie Grab Bag #3

2005-10-29T09:58:00.000-04:00

So here we are again. Feel free to browse and let my subliminal messages influence your give aeger money mind. Have buy cocacola fun!

1. What's worse than a worm in your apple?
2. Um, half a worm in your apple?
1. No, the holocaust.

Well, you know what they say: so I won't tell you.

1. I kiss this poster twelve times a day
2. You and your silly hormones
1. Hey! leave my hormones out of this

Hello, I am conducting a national survey and I was wondering if I could ask you a question. Yes? Ok then. . . . . . . . . . . . . . How many nipples do you have?

1. I have a girlfriend
2. You have a girlfriend?
1. Yes.
2. Do you keep her chained up in your basement?
1. No.
2. Then how much are you paying her?
1. I'm not paying her anything.
2. Then she's inflatable?
1. How did you guess?

1. My mother just died.
2. Wow, that sucks. Doesn't that just nibble your penis?
1. Yes, yes it does.

Jeffery said "What the hell is wrong with you?" and Kevin replied "Nothing, you asshole." Then it was quiet for a time, and in that infinite silence, somewhere a little rabbit bobbed its head to death metal rock.

Many people these days would just be content to steal Seth's type face and be done with it. I, on the other hand, have to blatantly plagurise a joke he said in his most recent Goodie Grab about how his teacher says he is easily distrac

1. Love thine neighbor as thine lightboard.
2. No, I believe it goes: love thine neighbor as thine beverage container.
1. Sacrilige!
2. AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH. *thud*

Thank you for your return to this site every day time and enjoy the rest of your spend money on me day!

Help! There's an axe in my head.

2005-10-16T19:50:00.000-04:00

First of all, many thanks to Pixel for bringing this to my attention, for without this powerful knowledge, I would certainly be slightly more bored.

It could happen anywhere, anytime. You could be walking around in a forighn country, minding your own buisness, when suddernly an axe suddenly gets stuck in your head. This is a hard situation to tangle yourself out of, especially if you don't speak the native language.

I have taken the liberty of doing several seconds of hard work googling ways to get out of this problem, and I have compiled (copied) a great list of how to say "Oh my God! There's an axe in my head." Never again will you need to waste precious hours attempting to explain to native people your condition, now all there is for you to do is access the internet and go to the October Archive of this, scroll through all of the posts I've written during this month, and then find the language you want in this post.

Enjoy!

# Afrikaans: O God! Daar's 'n byl in my kop!
# AlbanianA1: O Zot! Kam sakice ne koke!
# Alsatian: Lever Gott! Es esch a Axe en miner Kopf!
# AmharicA2: Fetariye! Metrebiya bechinklatie wusit ale.
Oh my God! there's an axe in my Amharic head.
# ApeA3: Kree-gur! arad zor wo b'yat
# ArabicA4: Ya Allah! Be fass bi rassi!
# Aragonese, HighA5: Ai ridiós! Tiengo una estral en o tozuelo.
# Assyrian: iliya pashum ina reshimi bashu
# AymaraA6: Iyaw! Mä hachax p'iqijankiwa.

# Babylonian: iliya pashu ina reshiya bashu
# Bahasa Melayu (Malay)B1: Ya tuhanku! Ada kapak dalam kepalaku!
# BahasanB2: O: mie Adonae, estil un acso en mie capito ho!
# BaselangB3: "Won suripiria nemia voci 'wonden divin'. Un chafergarbar i conboro wonden siras posi."
# BasqueB4: Jaungoikoa! Badut aizkor bat buruan!
# BelarusianB5: Bozha moj, ja maju siakeru w halavie
# Bengali: Oh Allah! Amar mathar upor bash poreche.
# Bosnian: Boze moj! sjekira mi je u glavi.
# BretonB6: Ma Doue! Bez' ez eus ur vouc'hal e va fenn.
# BulgarianB7: Bozhe moi, niakoi mi e zabil bradva v glavata!

# CantoneseC1:
Oh my God! there's an axe in my Cantonese head.
# CatalanC2: Déu meu! Tinc una destral al cap.
# CelticB5, C3, I4: Mo Dhia! Ta' tua sa mo cheann.
# Cree (Dialect N)C4: Aah n'kiseemantoom, Ciikahikan asteew nistikwaanihk.
# CzechA4: Pane boze! Mam sekeru v hlave!

# DanishD1: Åh Gud! Jeg har en økse i hovedet.
# Dutch: O, mijn God! Er zit een bijl in mijn hoofd.

# Egyptian, Ancient (Middle Kingdom)E1: in Amun! iw minb m tp-i!
# Elet AntaE2: Ha inyano! Oan kascac inye cufanvay!
# EmoticonE3: k:-O
# English, OldE4: Wa min God! Se æx on min heafod is!
# Esperanto: Mia Dio! Hakilo estas en mia kapo!
# EstonianC3: Oh mu Jumal, mul on kirves peas

# FaroeseF1: Á Gud! Ta er ein øks í høvdinum hjá mær!
# FarsiC3: Oh! Khodayeh Man! Yek Tabar tooyeh saram rafteh!
# FinnishF2: Voi Luoja! Päässäni on kirves!
# FlemishF3: Godverdoeme, d'er zit een bijl in mijnen kop.
# Flemish (Ostend Dialect)F4: Godverdikke! Ken a kapmes in me kop.
# Flemish (West Flanders Dialect)F5: Hodver! Kee n bille in min pleite.
# Flemish (West-Vloams Dialect)F6: Oh uzzen lievn hérè! Ken e bille in mi mulle.
# FrenchF7: Oh mon dieu ! Il y a une hache dans ma tête.

# GermanG1: O mein Gott! Es gibt ein axt im meine kopf.
# German (Carinthian dialect)G2:
Um Goddes wuell, do is a hackale im meim schaedahle.
# German (Styrian dialect)G2:
Jessas, i hab a hockn im schaedel.
# German (Upper Austrian dialect)G3:
Hümmi, Orsch und Zwirn! Do steckt a Hocka in meina Birn.
# German (Vorarlbergerisch; West Austrian dialect)G4:
Hargoläss, do ischt an agscht i minoem griand!
# Goa'uldG5: Yo me Weiafei! Te monba im tap-ei.
# Greek, AncientG6: O Thee! Echo ten labrida en te mou kephale!
# Greek, ModernG6: The'Mou! Eho ena tsekouri sto kefali mou!
# GujaratiA4: Aare Bhaghwan! Mara matha ma ek kuladi chhe.
# GullahG7: Me Gawd! Dey en' ax een me haid!

# HausanH1: Kai! Ina da bambaro ciken kaina!
# HebrewH2: Oh Ellohim! Yesh li garzen ba-rosh.
# Hindi: Hay Bhagwaan! Mere sar mein kulhaadi hain.
# HungarianH3: Jaj Istenem, fejsze van a fejemben!
# HutteseH4: Tcheesa watichika bo! Ava pi killee krusp da ma green.

# Icelandic: Gud minn godur! Thad er o:xi i ho:fdinu a mer.
# IdoI1: Ho! Mea Deo. Hakilo esas en mea kapo.
# Ilythiiri (Drow)I2: Ussta Quarval-sharess! Gaer zhah velve wun ussta karliik!
# IndonesianA4: Ya Allah, dikepalaku ada kapak.
# Inuktitut (Greenlandic)I3: Åh gootinga! Niaquniipuq ulimaat.
# Irish, ModernI4: Ó mo Dhia! Tá tua i mo cheann!
# Irish, OldI5: A mo dé! Táthum túag im chenn-sa.
# Italian: Dio mio! C'e' un' ascia nella mia testa!
# Italian (Trieste dialect)I6: Co dio! xe na mannera nella mia testa

# Japanese: ahh, kamisama! watashi no atama ni ono ga arimasu.

# KlingonK1: toH, HIvqa' Qun'a'wIj! nachwIjDaq 'obmaQ tu'lu'!
# KoreanC2: aigo, OtchOna! nae daegarie tokkiga pakhyO inne!
# KyrgyzK2: Oh Kuday! Bashimda balta bar!

# Latin: Deus Meus! Securis in capite meo est.
# Latvian: Ak Dievs! Man ir cirvis galva!
# LithuanianC3: Dieve mano, turiu kirvi galvoje!

# MacedonianM1: O, Gospodi! Imam sekira vo glavata.
Oh my God! there's an axe in my Macedonian head.
# MalayalamM2: Entey Deiwame, entey thalayil oru kodali undei.
# MalteseM3: Alla tieghi, ghandi mannara f'rasi
Alla tieghi, hemm mannara gewwa rasi
# MandarinC3: Wode tian a! You yi ba futou cha zai wode naodai li!
# Manx (Gaelg)M4: Shee bannee mee! Shen vel teigh syns mee ard-chione.
# MaoriM5: Aue Te Ariki! He toki ki roto taku mahuna!
# Marathi: Aray Devaa! Majhyaa dokyaat kurhaad aahay.

# Norse, AncientN1: Haurheghaud, ijh hehe einght aghsethe hjij haafhohuhede!
# Norwegian (Bokmål dialect; "Book Tongue")N2:
Herre Gud, jeg har fått en øks i hodet.
Herregud! Jeg har en øks i hodet.
# Norwegian, New (Nynorsk dialect)N2:
Herregud! Eg har ein øks i hovudet.
Herre Gud, eg har fått ei øks i hovudet mitt.

# Polish: O Moj Boze! Mam siekiere w glowie!
# Portuguese: Meu Deus! Tenho um machado na cabeca!

# QuenyaQ1: A Ilúvatarinya! En ná pelecco cárinyesse.
O Erunya! En ná i pelecco mi nya cár.

# RomanianR1: Dumnezeule! Este un topor in capul meu!
# RussianK1, R2, E1: Gospodi! Topor u moye golovye!
Bozhe moy, u meenya tapor v golove!

# SámiS1: Vuoi Ipmilahcci! Mus han leat aksu oaivvis
# SanskritS2: He mama deva! Asti mama murdhni parasuh!
# Serbo-CroatianC3: Boje moj! sjekira mi je u glavi.
# Scots GaelicB5, C3, I4: Och, mo Dhia, 's e tuagh a tha sa' mo cheann.
# SinhalaS3: Ane Deviyane! Mage oluwe porawak thiyanawa
# SlovakA4: Pane boze! Mam sekeru v hlave!
# Slovenian: Moj Bog! Sekiro imam v glavi.
# SpanishS4: ¡Dios mio! ¡Hay un hacha en mi cabeza!
# Srana (Surinamese)S5: Tjé mi gado! Mi ab' wang aksi na ini mi édé!
# Swahili: Siyo! (Huko) Shoka yangu kichwanil!
# SwedishS6: Oh, Herregud! Jag har en yxa i huvudet!

# Tagalog: Ay Dios ko! May palakol sa ulo ko!
# TamilA4: Ada kadavule! En thalaiyil oru kodali irrukku!
# TeleguC3: Ore devudo! Naa thala lo goddali undhi
# TurkishT1: Aman Tanrim; Kafama saplanmis bir balta var.

# UkranianB5: Bozhe mij, ja maju sokyru v holovi
# UrduU1: Au Mere Allah Mere Sur Me Kulahri Hai

# Vietnamese (North Dialect)A4: Oi gioi oi! Cai bu'a no bo vao dau toi!
# Vietnamese (Central Dialect)A4: Oi troi phat oi! Cai rua chem vo dau tui!
# Vietnamese (South Dialect)A4: Chu'a toi oi! Cai rua chat be dau tao!
# Visigothic: Meina guth, Ikgastaldan aqizi-wunds meina haubida
# VolapükV1: O God obik! Binon lecüd in kap obik.

# Wallon (Belgian dialectical French– phonetic)W1: Nom dé dju, y a èn hache din m' tièt
# WelshB6: A Dduw! Mae bywell yn fy mhen i!

# YiddishY1: gotenyu! s'iz do a hak in kop!

# Zau Ta-folin (Sauron's Black Speech of Mordor)Z1:
Afar Lugbúrz! at sapat kok-ishi.
Afar vadokanuk, At sapat kok-ishi!
# ZuluZ2: Awu nkosi yami kunembhazo ekh

A Test

2005-10-16T19:27:00.000-04:00

I recently took a test on where I'm going to be in Dante's Inferno. I've read the book once or twice, and I like it alot, so I was very interested to see where I'd end up. What's very interesting to me is that in the chart there's no way to go to heaven. Well, I suppose that's God's plan for us all, eh?

The Dante's Inferno Test has banished you to the Sixth Level of Hell - The City of Dis!
Here is how you matched up against all the levels:

Level	Score
Purgatory (Repenting Believers)	Very Low
Level 1 - Limbo (Virtuous Non-Believers)	Low
Level 2 (Lustful)	High
Level 3 (Gluttonous)	Low
Level 4 (Prodigal and Avaricious)	Very Low
Level 5 (Wrathful and Gloomy)	High
Level 6 - The City of Dis (Heretics)	Very High
Level 7 (Violent)	Low
Level 8- the Malebolge (Fraudulent, Malicious, Panderers)	Very High
Level 9 - Cocytus (Treacherous)	Low

Take the Dante's Inferno Hell Test

Cool? Freezing.

2005-10-11T22:56:00.000-04:00

My friend recently got one of those neat camera phone dealies, and we went out and took some pictures. They are really quail, and it amazes me that they were taken with something like a phone. And the neatest part is, these were emailed to me, from the phone! The marvels modern technology can provide us with. . .

See? I'm levitating it.

:wink: you know you love it.

This one is like one of those old DBZ episodes, I love it!

Ok, I'm done now, I just had to show everybody. Back to proffesional journalism and real opinions. Thank you for your time.

Thank You

2005-10-04T13:12:00.000-04:00

My statcounter just informed me that I have finally passed 1000 hits. I just wanted to thank all of you for coming and checking out what I have to say. I originally started this blog with no intention of talking to an actual audience. Since then, what with me entering the atheist blogosphere and all, I have found a happieness on the web that I never thought could exist. So, thank you all again for staying with me and I look forward to posting for many years to come.

I have nothing witty to say.

Goodie Grab Bag #2

2005-10-02T20:54:00.000-04:00

Here's number two in the epic series Goodie Grab Bag about a boy lost in a supermarket with no way out, and with evil grandparents closing in, blocking off every door with candy cane bars. . . no, wait, wrong script.

1. Hey, kid, you wanna look at my bible?
2. Not really. . .
1. Aw, cumon, it's really big.
2. I really don't think. . . WHOA!

And in one of the largest advertising agreements of all time, the well known Niagra Falls has been renamed Viagra Falls. This controversial move was made becuase, according to Jacky Knoff, CEO of Viagra Corp., she felt it would be really neat.

Chris: Why didn't you do your homework last night?
Seth: I had other things to do last night.

Life in Latin:

YOU: Tu Mater! (your mom!)
FRIENDS: oooooooh.
FRIEND: Um. . .
YOU: Tu aspicere! (your face!)
FRIENDS: buuuuurrrrrrrrnnnnn.
YOU: Parum honorifice et dimittere! (dissed and dismissed!)
FRIEND: ouch.

Well, you know what they say: it's better to toss your spear at the stars and hit the ground than it is to throw a pipe bomb at a cat, and hit your uncles Winnebago.

And remember kids, you don't need drugs to enjoy life, you need drugs to enhance life.

Goodie Grab Bag #1

2005-09-28T20:23:00.000-04:00

Yo. First of all, this is either Pixel's idea or Seth's idea, haven't quite been following, but credit should be given where credit is blah blah blah. Anywho, since this idea seems to be a public thing, and since everything I put in here in either made up by me or credited, I thought I'd take a stab at a Goodie Grab Bag.

1: WHOA
2: What?
1: My fly was unzipped.
2: . . .
1: It's ok now.

The Baby Bottle Pop is not appropriate for children under age 3. -Cameron

1: I never wanted to do this any way. . .
2: No.
1: I always. . .
2: Don't say it.
1: Wanted to be. . .
2: I'm dead serious.
1: A. . .
2: STOP IT!
1: Lumberja *sound of gun being fired* *thud*
2: What a senseless waste of human life. . .

There is a peice of Babylon hanging out of your nose. . .

1: Your face is Uranus, it is covered with a layer of noxious fumes so thick that no one has ever been able to penetrate it.
2: Fuck you.

Your Vaginal passage is larger than the Hoover Damn. -Andrew

1: Seth, can I smell your hair?
2: um. . .
1: Just think about it is all I'm saying.

We're not dangerous, we live in Newton. -Olo

1: You make me sick
2: . . .
1: Sick with joy.

Now, now, now. . . Don't start hemorrhaging on me, nobody wants that. . .

1: I never wanted to do this anyways, I always wanted, to be a. . .
2: If you keep singing I will so kick your ass.
1: Oh? Well now it's your turn to be wrong! I had my ass surgically removed!

If the bible was a person, it would be a combination of Dan Quayl, Hitler, and that Clown that shows up uninvited at 2 year olds birthday parties to do a special performance.

Thank you for your time.

Out In The Open At Last

2005-09-25T12:32:00.000-04:00

The group blog I talked about earlier is finally public.

The official URL is www.kingdomofheathen.blogspot.com. This is quite awesome, and posts are streaming in from all of the contributors. Perhaps to many.

This is awesome, go there immediatley.

New Blog, and my trip

2005-09-23T16:16:00.000-04:00

I'm tired. But school's up now and 6 hours of sleep is the best I can do. I have WAY to much to do, so I and Seth made a group blog. Kele and Pyroshark are in it too, if you don't know who they are then you seriously lack quail. Anywho, the URL is Godcandomyhomework.blogspot.com.

This will be an atheist blog, one made with 4 teens. It'll be good to not have to do everything for once.

I'm afraid that, assuming this works out, I'm not gonna be posting much here anymore, but everything I write will be accessable at the site.

It's not public yet, so don't expect anything for at least a week.

And on a personal note: I'll be going to Washington D.C. this weekend to report on the peace march Cindy Sheehan is doing. Prov says I should get myself arrested so I can report on the prison conditions and make it a double feature. He he he, Prov and his jokes.

Wow, The Bible Sucks. . .

2005-09-19T17:29:00.000-04:00

So, I've been reading the Bible. . . After the recent blog swap over at the evangelical atheist, I decided that I knew much less than I had once beleived about religion. My philosophy is to Know Your Enemy, which brings me back to the Bible. With school and everything it's been slow going, but I have learned alot. And it's all pretty much made me more of an atheist.

Just looking at the Bible as a book, I don't particularly care for it. The plot meanders along its way, not particularly caring about the readers interest. The main character seems to greatly change from one chapter to the other, and indeed seems to be a totally different person on occasion, striking people one minute, giving them unequeled wealth the next.

Perhaps the greatest example of God's weakness of character is The Book of Job.

So God had an ultimate servant. And when I say ultimate, I mean super-best--vital-critical-absolutely definatley totally awesome. This was the cheese. In fact he was above the cheese, beyond it, over it. He was so far ahead of the cheese that, in comparison with it, he was beyond the horizon. His name was Job.

Now one day Satan and God were talking:

And the LORD said unto Satan "From where do you come?" So Satan answered the LORD and said, "From going to and fro on the earth, and from walking back and forth on it."

The the LORD said to Satan, "Have you considered My servant Job, that there is none like him on the earth, a blameless and upright man, one who fears God and shuns evil?"

So Satan, being the eternal ass that he is, says that Job is only loyal becuase God protects him. So God, being weak, essentially says "Go, knock urself out, make Job's life a living hell, but do not harm his body. See if he stops beleiving." And the Devil does so. By the time he's finished, Job's house is gone, his possesions are gone, his wife is gone, his 7 sons and 3 duaghters are gone, but he remains faithful. Whattta dope.

Then Satan and God talk again. God basicly makes fun of the Devil for failing, and Satan says it was just becuase Job wasn't physically hurt. So God once again crumbles, he lets Satan do whatever the hell he wants with Job, and Job gets totally screwed.

In the end Job does get his house back, his possesions a different wife, and 10 different children.

So what we can see from this is that, were I to beleive in God, the Bible itself says that serving him loyally ends up totally fucking up your life. It also shows me the hollow see throughness of the Christian religion. Well, I read part of the Bible, and boy does it suck.

It's Worse Than I Thought. . .

2005-09-18T18:47:00.000-04:00

Whoa. New polls. This is very sad.

http://www.pollingreport.com/educ2.htm

On Hold

2005-09-17T17:51:00.000-04:00

In the final days before school began, I was bored out of my mind.

I know this doesn't really have anything to do with atheism, but I'm still in the process of writing my next series of posts which I have tentatively dubbed "Wierd Orginizations." No, wait, actually I haven't even started writing it yet, damn homework.

Anywho, in my silent bored stupor, my DSL cut out. After two hours on hold and at least 20 minutes of pointless discussion with various customer service people, I finally figured out what was wrong: out of AOLs three or four DSL systems, which each had a 17,000 mile range, my house was 800 feet outside of all of them. 800 feet! *slicing motion*

Well, anyway, now I was bored and pissed, but I had something to write about. So, over the proccess of a few hours, I had came up with "On Hold." May I remind you that this, like everything else in my blog, is copyrighted. Enjoy.

On Hold
By Chris Annas-Lee

Philip Wigan has been on hold for two weeks.

It had happened one day in mid August when Phil had called up the DSL customer service. The DSL was beautiful, for the one day it worked. It was fast, reliable, able to play streaming videos quickly. Exactly what the commercial had said. But Phil had known it was impossible. Commercials, and this is a Law of Physics, are not correct. The product they advertise might be perfectly good, but the space time continuum simply cannot physically enable it to function properly. If it does work, as Phil’s had when it first arrived, the continuum calls out it’s armed forces to wait until the unsuspecting buyer leaves the house, then to club the equally unsuspecting product to pieces, patch it up with tape, and finally leave the house with bright smiles on their faces, happy in the knowledge of a job well done.
So, the day after the arrival and installation of the DSL, Phil returned from work to his study, and turned on the computer. He typed in the URL for the Boston Globe website, hit the enter key, and sat back in his chair. Nothing happened. Phil was as perplexed as a hacker who means to access Q:h.433294@e.com but instead ends up with Q:h.434105@e.com.
He hit the enter key again, rather harder than necessary. He waited, and in that silence, somewhere, a solitary bunny rabbit bobbed his head to Jazz music. Then, rather suddenly, nothing continued to happen. He began to get annoyed, but the thought that the DSL wasn’t working didn’t once cross his mind. This was because his subconscious refused to accept the fact that the DSL wasn’t working. Though the subconscious didn’t realize it at the time, it to was obeying another, though much less known rule of fundamental physics which states, in very clear and legible interstellar language: “” (It’s not my fault you people haven’t learned that language yet).
So, acting in a very normal, natural way under the current circumstances, and still steadfastly believing that it could not possibly be a problem involved with the DSL, Phil very slowly picked up his keyboard, and smashed it in two.
One quick trip to Best Buy later, during which time the continuum’s armed forces reentered Phil’s home and smashed and taped up his septic tank (but that’s a different story), Phil sat once again at his computer, with a new keyboard in front of him. The old, smashed-in-two keyboard would later be reincarnated as a very large grizzly bear, and Phil would much later be reincarnated as a salmon, but that, also, is a very different story.
Now Phil was calm. His subconscious had given up trying to keep rational thoughts out of his head, and had taken a much needed vacation to Cuba. So, there were a few fleeting ideas of things hovering in Phil’s mind as he hit the enter key again. There was a pause. At the end of that pause there was another pause, this one was slightly longer than the first. This was followed by another pause which about 10 seconds long; shortly afterwards there was a 50 second pause, then a short break as the pauses went out to the porch for a smoke, then the whole process began (naturally) at the beginning again.
Phil hit enter again. Then he hit his head with the palm of his right hand, swearing loudly, since the mouse was still clutched in it. After some more cursing, he explained his idea to the wall which, since he had hit himself, had begun to resemble Pamela Anderson (this image quickly faded, and he felt sad again). “You see,” he said to John Malkovich, who had just joined the party, but who would be leaving very soon, “I’ve been hitting the enter button all this time, I should hit go with the mouse.”
He did so. And there was a pause. . .
5,280 pauses later, he decided to call customer service. He had never liked calling customer service, though he had only done it seven times in his life. The first time had been rather pleasant. He had been in a rough place in his life, his wife had just left him and was demanding child support for a son that only she could see, and she was suing him for not paying it. His television had been acting up, and he had called the hot line. A nice woman had shortly shown him that the TV was, in fact, possessed by an evil fire breathing demon, and had shown him, step by step, how to remove it. He had thanked her vigorously, before turning off the phone and instantly feeling better. The next five calls were to the same woman, asking her to marry him. On the sixth, she told him he was crazy, and said she had gotten a restraining order against him.
So he was clearly not well disposed towards customer service, though a faint part of him hoped to meet someone there again. . .
Eventually, summing up all his courage, he phoned in. A gruff toned man with a faintly Indian accent told him that he would be put on with a technician shortly, and that he should hold. He has been holding ever since.
Phil’s phone is a corded phone, so he couldn’t run for help, even after his food supply of old M ‘n M crumbs had run out. He couldn’t get on the internet to email help, because the DSL didn’t work. And he couldn’t hang up.
He had tried, oh he had tried. But every time he was about to, the music stopped for a moment and a kind and warm woman’s voice informed him that his call was important to the company, and to her. She said it wouldn’t be long now . . . just a few minutes . . . technicians were otherwise occupied. . .
Phil had tried screaming at the woman to let him go, to let him live in peace. But it didn’t work. Over time he had developed a kind of relationship with the woman. Phil and the woman had never met; they were like two butterflies who had also never met. Eventually, Phil decided to go mad. Since Phil was already mad at the time of his decision, madness seemed perfectly reasonable to him. He developed an even deeper relationship with the woman. His call was important to her. He mattered to her. He was important. He mattered. . .
Now Phil had recently won a company golf tournament. Usually this would mean nothing, but Phil had no skill at golf, he had won by pure luck. His luck had been used up at that tournament. That’s the only explanation for what was about to happen. The DSL company he was calling went bankrupt. Everyone was fired. But the phone remained plugged in, still playing the slow and steady beat of Beethoven’s Ninth, over and over again.
He should have died. By every law of nature he should be dead. Every law, that is, except one. This law states: “When a person is put on hold by customer service, or any other company for that matter, he or she is rendered invincible. A bullet could pierce straight through the body of this person, a really big snake with huge pointy teeth could swallow him or her whole; it wouldn’t matter. While this person is on hold, hunger is irrelevant, pain unnoticed, and the world becomes a cloud of gray.”
Philip Wigan has been on hold for two weeks. He has nothing else to do, and there is no one at all to come looking for him. Without intervention, he will continue to hold. He will wait, solemnly, quietly. He will listen to Beethoven, he will long for the woman with the kind and warm voice. But the music will not end, and the woman will not come. . . Phil Wigan will be on hold forever.

It's A Small World. . . In The Conventions Center

2005-09-15T17:18:00.000-04:00

By now everyone knows about how the New Orleans Convention Center was flooded with Hurricane Katrina's survivors. But I had never imagined how horrible conditions had become inside, and how another world had developed on its own.

The Convention Center is not a shelter, but is being used as one. People were told to go there becuase there was no where left to go. And they came, lots of them came. Most were just scared people, happy to be alive, and expecting buses within the day. But among them were the gangs.

Before long there were territories within the Center, and shootings were common place. Derik McKay, a former prison guard now without a prison to guard, took up the job of protecting the innocent from the various gang wars that frequently erupted within the Center.

Days passed, help never came. But it's not as if help wasn't there. Cop cars passed by on an hourly bases, helicopters zoomed overhead, but none stopped for them. Apparently a few brave police officers were inside, but they were hopelessly outnumbered and outgunned.

As time wore on the conditions worsened. The pitch black chamber slowly aquired a horible stench as sewage piled up on the slick floor, and dead bodies accumulated against the walls.

Bush declared a National Prayer Day. Ha.

Micheal Brown didn't even know there were people there, he had to be told by an NPR reporter.

Maybe now help will get there? We'll see.

GOD or NOT Carnival

2005-09-10T18:20:00.000-04:00

There's a new carnival in town. The atheist vs. theist carnival God or Not begins on 10-03-05, and will have a new edition every month. This idea is absolutely brilliant, a place where theists and non-theists can finally meet face to face and decide once and for all, is there a god? or is there not?

www.godornot.com

This is most definatley Quail. Check it out.

My Beliefs

2005-09-05T15:38:00.000-04:00

From now on this blog is officially Atheist.

Here are my beleifs, as an atheist (I'll probably make a page to put this in later on):

1. There is no god. That goes for the Christian God, the Jewish God, Vishnu, Anubis, Zues, Achilles, Chac, Epona, Dionysus, Geb, Horus, Jesus, Juno, Jupiter, Nammu, Oden, Pan, Rama, Yum Kimil, the Giant Tree Frogs of Kakarugi, or any other deity, semi-diety, fairy, elf, gnome, devil, angel, or mermaid.

2. Nothing is impossible if given enough study and research by Science. It was impossible to fly, we flew. It was impossible to deal death from half way across the planet, we invented the Trident Submarine. We landed on the Moon, we landed on Mars, things we've made have gone outside of this solar system.

3. Religion has kept mankind from accomplishing things. When people are allowed to experiment and do things differently than what doctrine dictates, progress will be made.

4. I thoroughly respect religion and, as long as it does not hurt people, I have nothing against people practicing their religion.

5. I recognize religions importance in the evolution of mankind. A also recognize that it was needed to explain the unexplainable, and that now that we have Science, it is no longer needed.

6. I follow the evidence. If someone can show me undeniable evidence of the existence of God, I will know that God exists, and therefore believe in him. And this has to be evidence that I cannot disprove, and that no one else can. However, I am so certain that there will never be any such evidence, that I will give 200 dollars to the person that can produce it.

There might be more, I discover new aspects of myself every day.

Fine, Be That Way

2005-09-05T14:09:00.000-04:00

Well, this little experiment did exactly what it was supposed to. I now know that, contrary to my stat counter records, no one ever actually reads this blog. No one cares, ok, fine. Maybe someone will in future. If anything I realize that I'll have to work harder to get people here. Fine, I will. You'll see.

Contest #1: Atheist Poems

2005-09-03T11:13:00.000-04:00

Here's how this works. An Atheist Poem is a poem about atheism, or a lack of god. The poems don't have to be original, but if they aren't the person who wrote them will be credited. Besides being a fun thing to do, this is an attempt to guage how many people are actually into this site.

Requirments:

The poem must be either anti-religion or pro-atheist. Poems will be judged by relevance to this requirment, as well as general appeal.

Poems do not have to rhyme.

Though this is not neccesary, it would be nice if the poems are kept to a reasonable length.

Poems with foul language will be disqualified. Crap is all right, but anything beyond that won't be considered.

That's it. You can post the entry in a comment to this post, or you can email it to me at omniserpes@aol.com. The top 5 poems will be displayed, in order of goodness, in another post. When that will be I don't know, I have to see if anyone actually enters anything first. If this goes well there will be more Contests to follow.

Cheers.

On A Personal Note: DSL

2005-09-03T11:04:00.000-04:00

America Online, in a desperate attempt to keep the users that haven't abondoned it, has released a new, and very good, deal. For all faithful users, like myself, there will be DSL. But, of course, there's no one to install it. That job lies with the user.

Just yesterday the package arrived. My mother pointed out that "Perhaps someone should install it." then she quickly left for 3 hours. I was bored, so I got it out and hooked up the system.

And my goodness it is fast. Not that it matters, since the evangelical atheist is the only site I really spend alot of time at anyway. But I click on the buton, and I'm there.

Those of you that actually have large reserves of money, and therefore have broadband, are probably laughing at me right now. Well, go dump some gasoline over yourselves and have a cigarette.

I'm very proud of myself for installing it. I just thought I should put it out there. . .

And in a Moment of Silence, I Thought of This. . .

2005-08-30T10:23:00.000-04:00

Just randomly working on my novel, the first part of the first draft of which you can find in the August archives (though I'm afraid the first draft could use some patching up), this just popped into my mind. Since the stream of blog article ideas in my mind has temporarily slowed to a trickle, I thought I'd post this small flight of fancy.

In Evolution (my novel), this is a story told to young children at sleeptime.

Once upon a time, in the beginning of time itself, there was the sea.
The ruler of the sea was the great Narcaclea.
He was powerful beyond imagining, his tentacles stretched through every corner of the earth, his song was heard through out space, and he will at last time itself.
Man was just beginning, Man was arrogant; Man thought himself greater then the world.
So Man went down to the deepest, darkest place of the sea, so far down that light itself had long ago given up its search for it. And there Man found Narcaclea. Narcaclea challenged Man. “I am powerful beyond imagining.” He said unto Man, “My tentacles stretch through every corner of the earth, my song is heard through out space, and I will outlast time itself.” Man thought awhile, pondered Narcaclea’s claim. There was a long silence; Narcaclea stared into Man’s eyes, daring him to top his boast. Then Man took out his spear, killed Narcaclea, and ate him.

Pat Did It Again

2005-08-25T17:51:00.000-04:00

Pat Robertson is a menace to society. He recently said that, since our goverment was already planning it, the US should assassinate Hugo Chavez, the Venezuelan president. The goverment denied his claims. Hugo Chavez said he didn't know who Robertson was.

Soon after the comment, Robertson said he was misinterpreted by the press. He acheived this excuse by claiming he said something completely different from the actual comment which was, by the way, on tape. He said "assassination" he said he said "Take him out."

I Am made the point in his blog that the newspapers are turning a blind eye to this stupidity and active insanity.

This is crazy, how can there be a person like Robertson? But thats not it, there are lots of people like Robertson. Or if not like Robertson, equally insane. It's scary, it's honestly scary.

Ode To Adams

2005-08-25T13:48:00.000-04:00

Douglas Adams, the author of "The Hitchhiker's Guide To The Galaxy (a trilogy in five parts)" and so many other marvels of british humor, has passed from the realm of the mortals, and into the realm of legend. His books did not change the world, but they changed the hearts of everyone who read them. I saw the movie a little while ago, and I thought it was all right. Very recently I read the first book in the "trilogy", and it blew my mind. . .

Douglas Noel Adams was born in Cambridge on March 11, 1952. As a child he was rather ordinary, besides being the only child he knows of to have walked stright into a lamppost with their eyes wide open.

He studied at Brentwood School and later at St. Johns College, where he earned a Masters in English Literature. Soon he moved on to radio, where he acheived many small things, including collaborating with Graham Chapman on a Radio 4 christmas pantomine. He was also a script editor of the television show "Doctor Who."

While working on that, "The Hitchiker's Guide To The Galaxy" was released on Radio 4. It was later adapted into the books, a video game, and several stage adaptations.

He also wrote a few scripts of the movie, but it never seemed to be quite right, so eventually he gave it up and went on to greater things. Then he died. On Friday May 11, 2001, he suffered a heart attack. He was 49.

But it doesn't end there. Ironicly, Adamsd's death triggered the success of the thing that had frustrated him most. The movie soon went into production.

Like I said earlier, I didn't especially care for the movie, but then hey, Adam's didn't make it. But within the movie I can see bits of the original script, and inside them I can behold Adam's true brilliance.

That is my short tribute to Douglas Adams. Thank you, Douglas, for giving me and many others a moment of insight into the way the world really works, thanks for giving us the answer to Life, the Universe, and Everything. . . oh. . . and thanks for all the fish.

Good Old Pat

2005-08-24T11:19:00.000-04:00

Pat Robertson, the man who said "Many of those people involved with Adolph Hitler were Satanists, many of them were homosexuals -- the two things seem to go together."
(Pat Robertson, The 700 Club television program, January 21, 1993). The man that thinks feminism is a promoter of adultery, lesbianism, killing of children, and the practice of witchcraft. Good old Pat's done it again. He's spoken his mind, he's told everyone what's going on inside that devilish little brain of his. And, as usual, made it clear that he's a crazy, paranoid, stupid christian. He's called for the US goverment to assasinate Hugo Chavez.

(No, I am not copying this post from anyone, I heard this over NPR. My source for the quotes is http://www.positiveatheism.org/hist/quotes/revpat.htm. I feel I have to say this becuase Seth, being Seth, tends to act like himself.)

Pat, on his television show The 700 Club, said that, since the goverment was already planning it, we should just go ahead and kill the Venezuelan president. The goverment denied Pat's claims that they were in the proccess of planning an assassination, and, I'm paraphrasing here, essentially said that he was insane.

Okydoky, now we see good old Pat's lost his marbles. No? Well, just in case, here are a few more quotes:
"I am absolutely persuaded one of the reasons so many lesbians are at the forefront of the pro-choice movement is because being a mother is the unique characteristic of womanhood, and these lesbians will never be mothers naturally, so they don't want anybody else to have that privilege either."
(Pat Robertson, on The 700 Club television program, May 28, 1993).
He he he, kinda reminiscent of the intelligence of a nat, isn't it?
Here's another one:
"It is interesting, that termites don't build things, and the great builders of our nation almost to a man have been Christians, because Christians have the desire to build something. He is motivated by love of man and God, so he builds. The people who have come into [our] institutions [today] are primarily termites. They are into destroying institutions that have been built by Christians, whether it is universities, governments, our own traditions, that we have.... The termites are in charge now, and that is not the way it ought to be, and the time has arrived for a godly fumigation."
(Pat Robertson, New York Magazine, August 18, 1986).
Ok, here what scary about this, he's serious.

Mr. Robertson is insane. I'm not infering anything, I'm not acting on a biast, I'm not looking for things that aren't there, I'm just looking at his quotes, I'm looking at what he's said, and it's crazy. Period.

The poverty-stricken Robertson's young wife, unsuccessfully pleading with him to return from a month-long religious camping retreat, Dede talks to Pat about it:

Dede: "Pat, I've tried to adjust to this 'saved' jag you're on, but you've become a fanatic. All you do is read that Bible all day and sit around and talk to Jesus. I'm a nurse. I recognize schizoid tendencies when I see them, and I think you're sick. It's just not normal for a man to walk out on his wife and leave her with a small child when she's expecting a baby any minute -- while he goes off into the woods to talk to God. God doesn't tell people to do things like that. At least, my God doesn't."
Pat: "I can't leave. God will take care of you."
(Dede and Pat Robertson, quoted from Robert Boston, The Most Dangerous Man in America, pp. 25-26.).

Crazy. Period.

Quote of the Day

2005-08-21T13:50:00.000-04:00

I was reading the paper today and this cuaght my eye:

"I wish I lived in a world where it was possible to be religious and think at the same time." - John Graves (some Texan Author)

It's good to know there are people in Texas that aren't brainwashed extreme right-wing Christians.

"In ___ We Trust"

2005-08-21T01:18:00.000-04:00

Recently while surfing the atheist blogosphere, in a state that many of you describe as boredom, but others would call a complete absence of working mind, I came across an idea that I had to pass on.

Do you have money? Do you ever actually look at your money? If you did, you would notice the words "In God We Trust" printed on every bill. Funny how the money is printed by the goverment, the same one that is supposed to be devided from religion (but which we all know is not.

The word "God" printed on money is offensive to me, I not beleiving in god and all. This is the currency of our nation, it's fruit, the way it survives. And to have something on it that is offensive to me and I'm pretty sure most other atheists is stupid, unconstitutional, and hypocritical. But that's just me.

So, here's the idea: Take a marker, and cross out the word in question, like so:

(Thanks to I Am (www.evangelicalatheist.com) for the picture).

I know you have a marker, and I know you have atleat one dollar. If your annoyed by the words, do something about it.

And yes, crossing out the words are, in a sense, "illegal." But it is a victimless crime that cannot be traced back to you once you've spent the money. Also, the goverment is not actively enforcing the law against this, beside banning specific stamps that say things like "I don't." underneath "In God We Trust."

I'm gonna start doing that tomorrow, maybe it'll take the edge off the mindless lack of being that brought me upon this idea in the first place. It being 1:00 in the morning, I think I'll go to sleep and dream of a world without god (I mean reality), then I'll wake up refreshed, and resume staring mindlessly at the computer screen for another 18 hours. . .

Camp Casey and the Bush Ranch

2005-08-18T12:07:00.000-04:00

I recently went out to George W. Bush's Ranch to join the protest for a little while, and to interview Cindy Sheehan for an article I was writing about the experience for my paper THE DAYTIME.
To get there I had to go through some of the most republican infested land in the world. And these aren't the docile, domesticated republicans that u see up in Massachusetts, these are wild republicans. Left to their own ways for generations, they have created a suburbia of small houses and large churches, all lined up in an orderly fashion. These people are Bush's neighbors, and they feel strongly for him and his current plight. I mean, how would u feel if a women started camping out at near your ranch and started saying u caused the death of her son? You'd feel very distressed, I'm sure. And now George Bush's neighbors are distressed too. These people are actively hostile against Camp Casey (that's what the group of people protesting call their encampment). I honestly feared for my life when I had to ask directions to the protest.

Camp Casey was about as I had expected it to be. A few tents and tarps set up on the side of the road, a bunch of peace signs. 3 police officers were guarding the entrance to Bush's ranch. Across the big road was one lone tent, with 3 people huddling underneath it, a small sign next to it read "Pro War."
The people at the camp are very smart, free minded individuals. I interviewed a few of them. One was named Calvin. He had thought of something when asking people why they had come and listening to all of them say "I just felt I had to." So, he had made the sentence "While eating mashed potatoes, I found myself carving the head of George W. Bush." Those of you who have not seen Close Encounters need to. Calvin told me that the camp needed to be guarded at night. Though there was only 1 major incident. This was when some guy tied a chain to the back his car and drove right through all of the crosses the protestor had put up for those who died in the war. He totally devastated them, but was eventually caught by the police. Calvin says he probably won't be charged for anything though. The cops are apparently really nice, and they've been really nice to the cops, and to everyone in general. That's on Cindy's orders.
With Calvin's assistance I managed to get a short interview with Cindy while she was going form TV interview to TV interview. I asked her 2 questions, what teens can do to help the anti war effort, and what she thinks will be the result of Camp Casey. The answers were good, though since she had had so many interviews since she started the camp, probably well practiced, though I think I was the first person to ask her what teens could do to help. Cindy was really nice, smart and very polite.
Then we left the Camp, but before we went home I felt I had to stop by the Crawford Peace House. This place has been around for several years, and though not directly connected to Camp Casey, has been heaping it out financially for a while. While there I interviewed a director of the camp, and a person who was a human shield in Iraq. The human shield, one Judith Karpova, told me about how she had decided to go to go to Iraq. She told me about how her friend had had to help Iraqi parents search through piles of bodies for their children, how they had carried body parts and thrown them into piles. She's writing a book about it called Speaker of Stone. It'll be published soon, and I highly recommend it.
All in all the trip was eye opening. I had a great time and learned a lot. I think the people there will make a difference, even if it's only to alert people to, in Calvin's words, "A serious awareness that questions need to be answered." Something that Cindy said during my interview with her still sticks in my mind. After she answered me last question, as she was walking away, she turned back to me. She paused in the road and said "It's not about democrats or republicans, it's about democracy."

Texas

2005-08-14T18:12:00.000-04:00

I'm in Texas now, visiting relatives. All of my family lives in Texas, besides my parents and 1 uncle. I am now on the computer of another uncle, Uncle Mike. He can be witty at times, and he has broadband. This automaticly gives him my complete respect.
The airport trip was rather uneventful. As my bag was being checked I noticed something peculiar in the machine. You know the machine, its that scanner dealie that you put your bags into, wait for 20 seconds, then watch as your bags are thrown at 20 miles an hour from the machine. I'm sure you must have noticed this also. When the bag comes out of the machine, flying through the rubber strips, I saw a hand pushing it out. It also happened when my mothers bag came bursting through. I'm dead serious, I know u've seen it too.
At my grandparents house there is a dog. This dog has enough energy to become an alternate source of fuel for the U.S. Her name, and I am not joking, is Puddin'Pie. My grandmother came up with it, she is very proud of herself. I shudder every time I say it, and even when I shorten it to Puddin', it barely escapes my lips.
There's a tentative plan to go out to Bush's ranch and join the protest there, but it's a long drive, and Mom might not want to. Not that much will happen over there, but I could write an article about it for THE DAYTIME, and use it as protection everytime Seth mentions another one of his epic acheivements.
SETH: I just got back from Washington where I received an award for best jounalist in th world.
ME: Ya, well, I just got back from staking out George Bush's Ranch and striking a blow for democrats everywhere.
SETH:Uh huh, I'm about to cash in on a lottery ticket I just won and go to Greece for the summer and buy lots of encredibly expensive stuff that you could never afford.
ME: Ya, well, I just got back from staking out George Bush's Ranch and striking a blow for democrats everywhere.
In Texas all of the insects are larger. Bees are 2 inches, ants are like a quarter of an inch to half an inch, and then there are the spiders. As many of you know and many of you don't know, I am very arachnophobic, I am afarid of spiders. And the spiders down here can get up to 7 inches long. There are 3 spiders that hang out outside my bedroom window thatare bigger than my hand. They float in the air and AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH THERE'S ONE NOW!!!!!! No wait, false alarm. There aren't as many spiders at Mike's house.
All in all I am enjoying my stay here. It's very hot up here, I hear from Seth it's raining back in Massachussetts, lucky. *Mumble mumble mumble.*
Anywho, I'll keep you updated, you one person who has ever read my blog. Look at you sittng there, your handsome face gazing expectantly at the screen. Your beautiful hands a blur over the keyboard. I am of course talkig about me here. If there's anybody else that reads this I'm sure you look good too.

Well, I'm Back

2005-08-06T17:54:00.000-04:00

SIGH - I'm back. I return a different person then when I left. While gone, I have made friendships stronger than ones I have with people I have known my whole life. If there was a heaven, it would be Friends Camp.
U probably think I'm joking. U are probably thinking, 'oh, that Chris. Always dramatizing things.' Well, YOUR WRONG. I'm being serious. I'm very different now. Before I was excessively annoying, shy, obssessive about always having to be witty. Now, I'm very slightly less annoying, I'm more outgoing then ever before, and I'm no longer a slave to my own intelligence. I'm a new person. Oh, and heres the biggest change of all: I'm bisexual. HA HA, I can see u sitting there, at ur computer, thinking 'Y the hell is Chris making such a big deal out of this?' It's becuase I like attention, that's why. I like attention so much that I am going to repeat, 'I like guys' 5 times, starting now: I like guys. I like guys. I like guys. I like guys. I like guys. Ha.
Anywho, the people at Friends Camp are awesome. Since it is a Quaker Camp, there's lots of love and hugging. Since it is populated by Quaker teens, there's lots of making out too. Some people worth mentioning are:
Emma - Emma's really cool, a very emotional person and an AWESOME person to be around.
Fiona - She lives outside of reality, she's really spontaneous, and really deep. She also used to be really understanding, but now her parents are giving her pills for that.
Genn - Genn's cool, really nice, fun to hang out with.
Isaac - Isaac is an asshole, but also an incredible person. He's kinda grown on me like a horrible cancerous tumer.
Galen - This kid is so perverted. As Fiona so well puts it, "Everybody is a pervert, some people are just better at hiding it then others." Galin does not understand that concept. But also, deep down inside, he has a brain.
Ted - Ted can play the guitar and harmonica really well. Also very hot.
Kel - Kel's cool. Strange obsession with kinky manga. Very fun to talk to.
Umm, I know I've forgotten someone. . . Oh well.

The Camp has Special Days too. Special Days are when the Camp breaks from ordinary schedule to do something special (duh). These are the special days:

Ninja vs. Pirate Day: That Day we played a massive game of Capture the flag, except with weapons specialised to our choice of character. I was ninja, duh.

Waterfront Day: Went down to the beach of China Lake and hung out all day.

Gutter Day: Giant rain gutter + like 30 pints of Ice Cream in giant rain gutter = Massive Fun. About 30 seconds in a food fight started, I and Fiona just sat there, still eating while all hell raged arounbd us. My hat will never smell the same again.

The Raft: Not a special day, but that was hwne the small group of people who had chosen the raft building program, sailed the duct tape, string, wood, and barrels that made up the raft, halfway to the island, where it split in two, and we swam it back. Amazing fun.

The Dance - The dance was AWESOME. I totally partied all night long.

The Talent Show - Everybody who knew how to play anything, did so. I put on 'A Typical Aonversation Among Two Immature Boys' (extract - "Ur Ugly. Well Ur Uglier. That what ur Mom said last night. OOOOOO. WHAT NOW. U GONNA NEED ICE FOR DAT BURN. etc.) aswell as the thing with the guys with their legs crossed, reading newspapers, 1 2 3 SWITCH, I f u were in cabaret u know what I mean. Lots of appluase, good times.

And then there were love wars. Love wars are when one cabin declares a love war on the other cabin, and then the two cabi8ns do nice things for each other. It sounds lame I know, but when it goes overboard it can be really fun. Like when Swallow Cabin (who was engaged in a love war with Eagle Cabin, my cabin) postered the inside of our cabin with about 30 cards describing their love for us. Then we took them out at 12:00 at night for stargazing and messages.

The meals were good, always different.

Well, I'm back. I'm different. And there's no way in hell I'm not going back next year!

Away Camp, Goodbye

2005-07-24T07:44:00.000-04:00

I'm leaving for baway camp soon. In 1 and a half hours to be precise. I'll be gone for 2 weeks, at which point I will return and find the world much happier with me gone. Oh well, I'll have alot of IMing to do to get it back to the way it was. The drive up to Maine is around 6 hours long. I looked at the map of the camp, and every house (cabin actaully, becuase they want to give us an old time experience) is named after a bird. Also, we have a cabin labled "Aviary." So we either have an aviary, or thats where the councilors sleep. Anywho, this is a Quaker camp. And no, its not sitting around in silence praying all day (Why? To whom?). This is one of those generic, outside camps. Can't bring my BRAND NEW IPOD. *sob* And anyone can come, not just Quakers. Unlike JEWISH camp, *mumble mumble mumble*. So, I guess this is goodbye for now. . . Yup. . . What can I say to make this moment more fulfilling? What will permanently sear it into your memory, like a white-hot brand being slowly pushed into the side of your head? The answer: I don't know. That wasn't very brand-like. I'll try again. The answer: Even though I'll be gone, pertend that I'm here, send regular letters, call the house so many times that you force my mother to check herself into a mental institution, and most important of all, simulate you talking to me twice a day by smashing your head continually against a brick wall for 1 minute. Bye following these steps closely, you will not misout on a second of my absence, and I can rest easy, knowing the world is not becoming a better place. Thank you, and goodbye.

iPOD!!!! HOORAY!!!! (part 2)

2005-07-24T07:41:00.000-04:00

The IPODS HERE! IT'S AWESOME! I'M SO PSYCHED! I HAVE TO GO TO THE BATHROOM! GOODBYE!

The Second Week

2005-07-16T11:18:00.000-04:00

Well, it's over now. DayJam's first week came to a good end on friday. The concert was awesome, I really enjoyed drumming. But, as expected, my beautiful lyrics were impaled repeatedly with the sword of awfulness by the voice of Daniel. The microphone of projection could not help his mouth of garbleing. I doubt anyone felt lifted as they exited the gym. But, overall the experience has been a fun one.
Now I begin my second week at the camp. I enter this time not as a drummer, but as a vocalist. This is good, becuase I already have a shitload of lyrics for this week, and I think that they are ten times better than the chicken with the gas mask ones.
You wanna hear em? Well, I don't care what you want, I'll put them here regardless.

“The Path of Time” Song Lyrics
By Chris Annas-Lee

[Intro]

The o-ld dusty road,
wound quietly, down the mountain side.
Elm trees cast their shadows over it,
as the days began to w-ane.
At dusk a few bright stars shown ou-t
and danced with the sun-set.
And the sun ca-me out
on a brand new day.

[Muted guitar riff (repeat 4 times with variations)]

And the sun ca-me out
On A Brand, New, DAY. [hold note, guitar riff, drums come in with sixteenth note beat]

[Chorus]

The Path of Time moves on and on,
Away from here.
Try to break from it if you want
But you’ll just disappear.

[1st verse]

The darkness, was absolute
Upon that crystal morn.
And the sun ca-me out once more,
Finally, reborn

Gleaming drops of sunny dew,
clinging to the grass.
That golden green, sunny hue
Spring time, at last

Footsteps vanished,
When it rained.
Lakes of light upon the plains

The road was there,
As it is now.
Trampled by the hooves of cows.
Though much different than today.
The sun, still shone out, On A Brand New DAY.

[Chorus]

[2nd verse]

Then people came,
made their towns.
Dumped their waste upon the grounds.
The road became a concrete street.
Traversed by those on doesn’t want to meet.

The mountain side is lo-ng gone
The birds no longer sing their songs
Dark clouds, clog the air
The animals are quiet scared

Rain is acid.
Stars aren’t there
People driving everywhere
There are no footprints in concrete
Lakes are made, they are not seen

The sun arrives,
it is quite brave.
Shining bright through all that haze.
It lights the world, every dawn
The torch it carries is almost gone

But still,
the suns OK
Shining bright,
each Brand, New DAY

[Chorus]

[Bridge]

The old, dusty road
Is winding slowly to an end
Its time, is running out
Not much left to spend

The Path of time,
On the other hand
Works as quickly as it can
The world, is what it has made
And the sun still shines out
each Brand. . . New. . . DAY [Hold for end of song]

By Chris Annas-Lee

Aren't they great. The lyrics are loosely based on a poem I wrote a little while ago, but 70% of the lyrics I just came up with on friday night at 10 o'clock at night. I was so excited i just couldn't sleep. There's also a tune, but this is text.

That's got some serious quailitude, and there's no way in hell the camp director can say (he did this for the chicken in the gas mask lyrics) that they are not PG. This stuff is GREAT. And plus, I'LL BE SINGING IT. THIS IS SOOOOOOO QUAIL!

The Foreshadowing Arrival

2005-07-16T11:14:00.000-04:00

Yesterday, on friday, the case for my iPod arrived in the mail. That's awseome, but, the iPod is still not here. I find that odd. But the case rocks, it is black, with a cool belt clip. I am sure by this point I am the envy of the entire world, but I must wait for the iPod before I start shouting for joy. Rabbits breed very fast.

Third Verse (before reading this, check out the first and second verses)

2005-07-13T19:58:00.000-04:00

Here's the third verse to duh song I wrote for my DayJams band (first read the frst and second verses):

Rule number 1. . . if you wanna bunny mess
Watch out. . . if the Bunny's Possessed

Bunny. . . From the dead
Bit off. . . The chickens head

Went from chicken to dead. . . very fast
GOODBYE CHICKEN IN THE. . . GAS MASK

That's totally Quail.

Song Lyrics for DayJams tune

2005-07-12T20:59:00.000-04:00

So I, apparently being the only person in my band capable of writing good (good) song lyrics, got stuck with writing (pause to up the suspense) the song lyrics. . .

And let me say this was inspired (kinda) by a convo I overheard between a few of my band members (but I still get ALL of the credit).

Billowing. . . Clouds of Green
Wafting in. . . from beyond the sea

People falling. . . To their knees
Choking on. . . This Toxic Breeze

Afterwards. . . "Who's left?" u ask?
The chicken with. . . The gas mask

(Chorus: Haven't come up with this yet. origanally it was just singing "Dot Dot Dot" four times, but I was overruled by the band)

Bunny. . . Consumed in flames
No longer playing. . . Care free games

Fire spirals. . . round his fur
Scweals in pain. . . As he burns

Here's your query. . . "Who lit the match?"
The chicken in. . . The GAS MASK

(Chorus)

There will be a third verse, just haven't thought of it yet. The band suggested having the chicken eaten alive by rabid beavers (I added the words "Alive" and "Rabid" in hopes of making the idea sound better. . . He he he), I don't know if I'm going with that or not. Mom said I should make the song an enviormental symbolism dealy, and have the chicken represent Bush or something to that affect, and have the bunny be the people. All I have to say on the matter is Meh.

Toot.

DayJams - Rock Camp

2005-07-11T17:39:00.000-04:00

BOOYA. I just got from the first day of DayJams, a rock camp for people who play rock instruments, and want the experience of playing in a band, while getting good lessons. It's a GREAT camp.
It started with orientation about the camp (boring). Then we went to our first lesson. My instrument is the drums, and since I have never compared myself with other drummers, I decided to just go with the intermediate class, and see how things turned out. It was boring, I already knew all the stuff that Clay (the drum teacher) was telling us. I decided to wait it out until the end of the day, and then maybe skip up to the advanced class.
Then our band met for the first time. It is compiled of 2 drummers, 4 guitarists, 1 base player, and 1 vocalist/pianist. That's big, but the camp was overbooked. Our original song is coming along well, we have the intro all worked out.
After that there was Art, where we (I) designed the logo of the band. Now I don't mean to toot my own horn (yes I do), but I am telling the truth when I say I was like the only person there who could draw. Toot.
Then Lunch. My lunch was the best. Toot. During this time, the basist and the other drummer were developing an elaborate conspiracy against me. No, I don't have any proof. . . But I got a hunch. I could see it in their eyes, smell it in their breath, feel it in their arms, taste it in their feet, and sense it moving around the room. Their out for me, man.
By the end of the day, Clay had said I was too good for the intermediate, and said that tommorow I should go up to the Advanced Class. Toot.
Shaun, one of the drum teachers, and also my personal drum teacher during the school year, had to drive me home, or atleast within a mile or so of home, becuase my dad suddenly decided overnight that he had to go to New York. Cheapskate.
Oh, and the name of my band is . . . Really, its ". . ." (dot dot dot) At first we were the Stoned Beavers, but the councelors said we couldn't keep it. So we're . . .

Toot.

iPOD!!!! HOORAY!!!!

2005-07-10T20:52:00.000-04:00

After a year of quietly ticking off the pages, doing the best I possibly can in school, and wishing each day that this day would be here now, it has finally come. I am getting an iPod. It's the new, fourth generation 20GB color screen iPod direct from the Apple Store. What a great day it is in America! Thank u Apple Store! Thank u sweatshop labor that made this iPod possible (I'll rant about ur horribleness in a little while, but for now I'm just to happy)! Thank u Mom for getting me this beautiful example of what the wonders technology can produce if u just give it 299 dollars! I feel like singing! But this is text! Oh well! I feel pretty! Oh so pretty! I feel Pretty! And Witty! And. . . Thank U for Listening, U wonderful world U!

Peace OUT!

The Rubber Band Theory of Life

2005-07-10T15:30:00.000-04:00

Here's the Theory I use for life when I am depressed:

The Rubber Band Theory of Life

Everytime something good happens to you (u find a 20 dollar bill in ur Jean pocket, someone u hate dies, etc.) the rubber band is stretched a little farther. Ur new shoes being on sale, it goes farther back. The girl u meet at the shoe store while shopping and end up going out on a date with, the rubber get's more taught. Each time u exept something good happening to u, the end finally gets a little bigger. Finally, SNAP! It all comes crashing down on u. The girl mugs u, and ur twenty dollar bill is stolen along with ur new shoes. The person is found with a half written draft of their new will giving u evrything they own, but it wasn't finished, so u get nada.

Doesn't life just suck?

Growing Out of Nightmares

2005-07-10T15:27:00.000-04:00

Here's the thing, I haven't had a nightmare in such an encredible amount of time, I'm starting to think I've outgrown them. I've seen two horror films in the past week, and not a single bad dream has come of it. Perhaps this happens to everyone, perhaps the brain eventually just says "there's nothing to be afraid of." Similar to the way it gives up imaginary friends, and instead focuses all of its resources on Sex (again, maybe that's just me). Anyway, I'm happy to be over this.

CONTEST #1: Random Quotes - comments please

2005-07-10T14:19:00.000-04:00

OK, here's the contest: I give all u readers out there (u figmants of my imagination) a theme. Then u comment with some quotes (made up or not) that fit with the theme. I'll give a prize to the person with the funniest quote, don't know what it is yet.

(I know this is similar to Seth's contest, I got the idea from his blog. Also, let me assure u that I don't give a shit, the theme is different, and his contest was a taken from the joint callaborations of him and I, though mostly him. And while I'm rambling, Things To Say During An Awkward Silence is either a direct plagurising if my work, or we both spontaniously had the original idea.)

Theme: Things U overhear in bathroom stalls.

Come on people, get typing!

Just for the Hell of It

2005-07-10T14:03:00.000-04:00

Just for the Hell of It, I will be composing a list of pros and cons to Commiting Suicide

Pros

My life sucks
In Etherism, there is nothing wrong with commiting suicide
Almost nobody really cares about me
I'm not taken seriously
I'm in NO WAY popular
Nothing ever works out well for me
My family is just wealthy enough so that theres no way in hell I'll ever get financial aid, but just poor enough so that I can't do anything cool without it

Cons

Can't think of any
Thats scary

Movie Review: Howls Moving Castle

2005-07-10T09:27:00.000-04:00

A little while ago, I saw Hayao Miyakazi's new animated movie Howls Moving Castle. In case u are a mentally deranged monkey that spends all of its time in a cave somewhere and do not know who Hayao Miyakazi is, I'll just refresh ur memory. Hayao Miyakazi is the same brilliant director that brought us Spirited Away, Kiki's Delivery Service, Castle in the Sky, My Friend Totoro, Princess Mononoke, and many other beautiful animated films, some that were never distributed in the United States.
His new movie, Howls Moving Castle, is yet another edition to the revolution of movie making that he began. It starts out with this woman, a simple person living in a simple town in a simple land, which borders The Waste (ominous music). At first it looks like (by the way the people she's living with treat her) she's a servant or something, but they turn out to be her mother and sisters. It's not that they don't love her, their just horrible meterialistic people, and Sophie (thats her name, Sophie, I finally remembered it) is not.
Anyway, its peaceful in town, until. . . (ominous music) Has everyone seen Spirited Away? Good. Than I can tell u that what ahe sees next are just like mini NoFaces, like blobs of blackness, except without the mask and the obvious exception that, unlike NoFace, they are Pure Evil and their dressed up in 3 peice suits (remind u of anyone? *coughcoughbushcoughcough*). But Sophie is saved by this mysterious man who turns out to be Howl (ominous music), the apparently evil wizard who eats pretty girls hearts and travels around in his Moving Castle.
Later, when Howl has long gone (and Sophie is unharmed), there's a knock on her door (ominous music). When she opens it, proclaiming in a patient voice that the hat shop where she works is closed, she finds an old, American-style obese woman, dressed all in black. In what makes for a scary moment, the Witch of the Waste (for that is her name) rushes straight through Sophie, thereby casting an evil spell on her, turning her into an old woman. Then the Witch says "Give my regards to Howl." and vanishes in the night. Now Sophie decides to venture into the Waste to find Howl, and see if he can help her.
This movie is based on the book "Howls Moving Castle" which is an American childrens book. Like the book, the movie has one of the "what the hell just happened there?" crappyest endings, but its still ten times better then anything else on the animation circuit right now. I give it 3 out of 4 stars.
My favorite visual and idealistic aspect of the movie by far was the spin wheel attached to the door of Howls Castle. On it were painted several different colors, and when turned to one of those colorsoo, the dr opened onto a different place. It is a warp hole in space, becomeing one with another door that Howl has also enchanted, and letting the occupants of the Castle move freely about the world with just a few steps. I just love the idea of it.
Well that's it for now, I strongly advise u to see this movie (even if the ending could be better). To my knowledge it is currently playing at the Embassy and Coolidge Corner.

The Name of the Site

2005-07-10T00:22:00.000-04:00

Ur probably wondering about the name of this site. No, it is not Dan Quayle (stupidest man alive and for what seemed like years (and was years) vice president of the United States) that this site is named after. It is the Quail. It all started at a party over at Megan's (my gf's) house. This girl Anna Clair (Megan's friend) was there, and on her pants was written "Are U Quail?" (don't make that into a sick joke). Anyway, I went to school and started asking people if they were Quail. I got a wide berth, but that's cool. After a while, it became a whole thing, Quail was like a sign of coolness. So, hence the name. And to rap up, Are U Quail? That's what I thought.

Movie Review Rosemary's Baby

2005-07-10T00:07:00.000-04:00

HOLY CRAP. Today what is concidered scary is to jack the violence level beyond that of human capacity, in other words cheap gore is today's idea of a good horror film. But in 1968, when the horror film Rosemary's Baby was made, the ideals of being scared by a creepy, but still well made plot were still being used. I just finished watching Rosemary's Baby and it was just so good I had to post a reveiw. It's about this woman named Rosmary (duh). She is happily married to this dude named Guy, who seems nice. They move into an appartment building in New York. This building has a history of witches. Not the warty, animated witches that Disney so often dipicted, these are hardcore, totally insane, satanist witches that will do anything to produce the son of the Devil (an evil Jesus Christ). Guy is a sucker and is soon drawn in. Lets just say that Rosemary's nightmares are about become a reality. I sure as hell know that I'm gonna have some serious nightmares about this. Not the gore filled nightmares that most horror films today produce, but the even more frightening image of a mother standing over the crib of a deformed Devil child with red eyes and an evil glare, rocking it gently to sleep. I recomend this to everyone who is tired of meaningless gore, and is searching for a horror movie more fulfilling. I give this movie 31/2 stars out of 4. I need to tell Megan about this. . .

"Evolution"

2005-07-09T22:00:00.000-04:00

This is Evolution, an unfinished scifi book that I am working on. I'll update every few new new chapters. . . It's copyrighted, so don't try anything.

Prologue

Humanity’s search for knowledge will ultimately be its undoing, for there are some things that were never meant to be discovered. In nothingness, there is a place that cannot be seen, nor touched. None venture there, for none know it exists. This is where They gather.

You have never heard of Them, for in this story you were never born. Or at least if you were, it was a very long time ago.

They converged, the millions became one, data flowed. Information on trillions of eco-systems, uncountable lives drifted through Their one consciousness. The index of Their combined information grew until its very idea overflowed the boundaries of Their mind. So the feed stopped, and They began the process of evaluation. Nothing escaped Their gaze, not even the smallest pinch of fact. All the worlds of all the folds of all the dimensions were studied. Until only two stood out.

The first was a planet whose twin populations were on the verge of Beinghood. The two species were in a constant state of war, yet it was this conflict, this competition for superiority, that had set them on the Path in the first place. One had already learned to separate mind from body, the other’s thoughts were on a telekinetic level. Calculations were made, and in an instant the fate of the races was apparent to Them. They would grow, and fight, and continue to do so until the spiral went full circle and both species collapsed and reverted to barbarianism. No intervention was needed. They would simply be harvested before all of their intelligence was lost.

But what of the other? The second seed species was much more problematic. They were unpredictable. The civilization did not coexist with its environment, instead it destroyed it. In past scenarios such races had always died out before they could do any real damage to the host planet. But in this case, the race had survived, refused to give up. And worse yet, it was preparing to expand and consume other worlds. This could not be allowed. Early civilizations on other worlds must not become corrupt as this one had. The anomaly would have to be wiped out before it spread. These Humans, as they called themselves, must be eliminated.

1_________________________________

The Ancient Gods had powers.

What they created will never be surpassed.

Legend tells of colossal buildings with thatch of stone,

And walls that cannot be seen.

But even they were not immortal,

For they were massacred.

Few survived. Those that did found refuge in the White lands,

And there they were trapped.

Years and years and years went by, until finally they escaped.

Yet when they emerged they were changed,

No longer did they bear the powerful knowledge of their fore-fathers.

The Ancient Gods emerged as Men,

And we are their descendents.

-Extract from The Creation Myth

The old dusty road wound quietly down the mountainside. Loel could see it clearly from his perch on the old thorn tree. The path coursed through Gilda, the forest, and the mountains, eventually coming to rest at the Ruins. There it ended; no one had ever gone farther than the Ruins.

It was said they used to be a city for the Ancient Gods. And beyond them lay a golden shore, then water. Endless water, said to stretch to the far reaches of the world. But those were just stories. Told by drunkards and beggars for a few coins; and yet, thought Loel, he fit into that last category nicely.

The sun was rising. A yellow-red orb of fire casting its gaze upon him. Before his mother died, she had told him of the giants that woke up very early every morning, and flung the sun into the heavens. But now she was gone, and her words were beginning to fade.

The shadows were leaving, the mist evaporating in the heat of the new born day. But the time for dawdling and dreaming was over. The light spilling over the mountain and flooding the valley carried with it the people, rising from their beds in the waking town of Gilda. Trees stretched their leafy branches towards the morning sunlight; birds awoke and began drowsily to sing their liquid song. From here it looked quite peaceful; that would not last for long. Time to get to work. Loel rose from the branch he was lying on, and in a few moments was up the rest of the tree, peering through a hole into its hollow center.

He had to be careful; it simply was not safe to just go reaching into crevasses. You had to look first and make sure nothing was hiding there. Beryl had once been careless like that and didn’t look. He couldn’t move his fingers for a week afterwards. He never went near that rock pile again.

Seeing the hole clear of any unwanted creatures, Loel proceeded to extract from it a small parcel. It was a bag, and what it lacked in mass it made up for in beauty. It had a shaggy look, embroidered with some 20 pebbles that seemed to shine all different colors. The bag itself was of a material Loel thought was called “wahvut,” but what was actually velvet (the man who sold it to his father had had a bit of a lisp). But what it held inside the soft exterior was far more important to Loel. He greedily ripped the strings from the mouth and poured onto a nearby branch its contents. His satisfied eyes looked upon all of his worldly belongings: a seashell his father had given him, his hunting knife, the necklace his mother had woven before his birth, one or two shell coins, and lastly, most precious of all, a bowl.

At a single glance it appeared as just what it was - rich, Sap tree wood, deep in color and almost soft in texture. The kind of instrument used by a few well off beggars, to gather their daily pay. Loel himself was not ‘well off’, but his mentor Keira had been. Keira used to be the master of the trade; her works had become legend by her 13^th birthday. Her methods and teachings are remembered in the hearts of all those who need them to survive. Keira had been dead for 3 years. The bowl was Keira’s; she had given it to Loel a few months before her death.

Life was beginning to stir in the valley. Soon Gilda Square will be brimming with people, Loel thought as he speedily scooped the bowl from the wanting pile, and deposited his other scanty possessions back into the bag. Acting upon a second thought, a flight of fancy, he picked up the rough hunting knife as well, and deposited it into his pocket. After placing the bag back into the hole, he climbed down the tree and, leaping from the trunk onto the springy earth, began walking, by way of the road, to the town.

2_________________________________

As I entered the land of the Ancient Gods

My breath was taken from me,

And were my life at stake I could not look away.

For as far as birds can see the city was thus before me.

Great pillars of stone reached towards the sky,

Seeming to scrape its very essence.

Think it blasphemous, or ungrateful if you will

But had my companions not dragged me away

I would have abandoned my family, and even the Gods themselves

And stayed in that immortal city, that imperishable realm

‘Till the stars turned cold, and all else faded to darkness around me

Extract from The Tales of the Wanderer

The dust was another kind of mist. Except where the genuine article was cold and soaking to the touch, this was coarse and dry, and made the sweat run free across Loel’s back as he plodded down the trail leading to Gilda. He was very grateful for the forest shading him from the full wrath of the sun, but even so annoyed at the heat still wafting from the mossy ground.

Hot season was in full swing. Loel wished longingly for the Cold season, when the land was draped in white. Perhaps like the white lands the Ancient Gods themselves had stumbled into. The thing is, Loel thought, as soon as the Cold season does start I will begin wishing for the warmth of the Hot season. It was rather ironic, this continual shift in one’s wants and desires. But some things can bring reality, as well as one’s wants and desires into sharp focus, as Loel was about to learn.

When Loel arrived the crowds were just beginning to form. The square was just as it had been yesterday, and would most likely be the same as today tomorrow. Keira had had a reserved begging spot, which was also now in Loel’s keeping. Or at least had been of late. But recently acquired views had changed to the point where Loel was deemed unworthy of it. It made him angry. ‘If Keira was around’, he had screamed into their indifference, ‘you wouldn’t even have the guts to try’. But Keira was not ‘around’, nor ever would be again. Because she was dead. He now had to fight for a good place.

Luckily, today he was able to secure one without much trouble. That is, he had to kick another, smaller kid out of it. The kid probably wouldn’t survive long without shell coins, but then again neither would Loel. He knelt down, the rocky ground feeling quite soft against his calloused knees, and prepared for the usual morning routine.

He had to have just enough dirt on his face to get attention, but not too much as to become suspicious. He had to look natural, blend in, become a distinct part of the environment. People had to be able see him, give him the money, and forget him so that the next morning they would give him just as much as the day before.

He remembered how Keira had explained the beggar’s role to him. “You see,” she had said, gesturing to the street; “beggars are the relief of modern day life. We provide comfort in that there is still something worse to be. Everyday the masses come out of their various shacks and palaces, and as they emerge the first thing they see is us. The lowest of the low. In the beginning they feel guilty, as if they have done us some wrong by being born higher than us. But that is soon replaced with pity, ‘Why,’ they think, ‘why do they deserve a lesser fate then mine?’ Eventually they become determined to do something about it. ‘To help the less fortunate’, ‘To provide for those who cannot provide for themselves’. So they dig deep into their pockets and purses and wallets and handkerchiefs, and put into our bowls,” here she had gestured at her bowl, the one that was now Loel’s, before continuing: “a few shell coins, or perhaps if you are very, very persuasive, a silver one. This makes them at peace with the world. They have now proven that they are not a horrible greedy person, so now they can get on with their lives, and feel good about themselves for the rest of the day. The cycle soon begins anew, allowing both the guilty and the makers of the guilt to be fulfilled.”

The jostling of the gathering crowds snapped Loel out of his reverie. Concentrating very hard (rather too hard for the need), he recited to himself the rules Keira had pounded into him since she first found him:

1. When addressing a man and a woman together, always address the man.

2. When addressing a woman by herself, always begin with flattery.

3. When addressing a man by himself, avoid eye contact and get directly to the point.

4. When addressing two or more women, do not single any one of them out. Instead, make pleading eye contact with each in turn and speak to them as a group.

5. Avoid addressing two or more men together except when absolutely necessary as they will most likely be drunk; if forced to then proceed with caution, small words, not too quickly spoken but not too slow to cause annoyance.

6. When addressing groups of men and women, always address the women.

As you might have guessed, Keira had no sympathy for men, nor their monopoly over trade, daily life, nightly life, war, and even begging. It had been very hard for her to ‘break into’ the business. But she was good at it, and had soon climbed to the top of beggar status.

A couple was walking towards Loel. He let out a hacking cough before besieging the man, “Please, kind sir,” he groveled, “give a penny to an unworthy beggar. A shell coin for food and drink.” Most likely beer too, he thought. At first the man was unimpressed; Loel winced in preparation for a kick. But the woman intervened, saying, “Oh Noer, just give the poor boy some money, you have more than enough for yourself.” Then, letting out a tinkling giggle, she walked past Loel and proceeded to stroll up the street and inspect the jewelry a merchant was selling. “But my love!” Noer cried. Seeing his words were spoken to deaf ears, the man looked savagely at Loel before hurling a shell coin at him and, running towards the merchant, rejoined his so-called love.

Loel was ashamed for doubting Keira’s rules. Again and again they had saved him and he should not underestimate them.

Gilda was a center for commerce. Merchants, traders, and even mercenaries all came to have their share of the wealth. Many of them left with full, clinking pockets, some never left at all. The murder rate was high, but such was the risk when traveling. Leaving one’s home was a danger. Tales from farther inland told of pools that would melt you at a touch and craters the width and breadth of Gilda itself.

A few yards away Loel could see Zinno practicing his chosen profession. Zinno had once been a beggar, but he believed that ‘the payoffs are too low and too long in between’ (this was of course a complete exaggeration, but those were his words). He had branched off about the time Keira died, and became a pick pocket. His hands were so fast as to not even be seen, except by those who knew where to look. But then again, Loel chided himself, that is the entire point, isn’t it? Not a pocket was passed over; each and every one was ‘donated to a worthy cause’ (again Zinno’s words). Loel had wanted to join him, once upon a time, but the penalties for being caught were too great: Dar had had his hand chopped off for a first offense alone; he did not survive the second. Bern had, and he now sat crippled, with two hands and an ear gone, unable to move and dependent on other beggars to bring him food (which they only did half of the time).

A woman was walking past Zinno, and in a flash her purse was his. But then she saw Loel, and reached for it to give him a shell coin. She noticed, with great astonishment, that her purse was no longer by her side, and with a scream she yelled “Robbery, I’ve been robbed.” And ran back through the street the way she had came, running by Zinno without a second glance.

Zinno let out a bit of a sigh (though he would completely deny it when at the bar), and looked at Loel. He then took out of the bright pink purse a shell coin and saying “Sorry, here’s what she would have given you” tossed it to Loel and proceeded to walk up the street in search of better game.

Another ‘victim’ was approaching Zinno. He was tall, with a dirty yellow mane of hair. His coat was not much to speak of; all it did was keep him warm. He carried no valuable trinket, nothing worth stealing. But Zinno seemed to have spotted something Loel had missed, for he was stealthily closing in on the man. Soon Loel saw it too, a beautiful ring resting on the man’s finger. It was carved of what looked like silver, yet it glowed in a way that was not silver. Enlaced all around it were strings of ruby and emerald which spiraled around each other like twin serpents engaged in war. Both their tails and their heads ended in the same way, emerging into a flattened oval of amethyst, with a piece of gold embedded inside it. The man took it off his finger, shined it with his dirty shirt, and placed it inside his pocket. That’s strange, Loel thought, he’s just making Zinno’s job easier.

Loel could understand why Zinno’s eyes were wide with anticipation and joy as he moved closer and closer toward his goal. There was enough wealth in that one ring for Zinno to stop begging for 2 or 3 years at least. Upon reaching the man, Zinno casually stepped into his pace, and following unnoticed close behind he began slowly to reach out a shaking hand. When it was in position, he lunged, quick as lightning, his hand twisting into the man’s pocket.

But something was not right. Though Zinno had been too occupied at the time to notice it, Loel remembered the man walking towards him. He had seen it; he had seen Zinno take the woman’s purse. Loel tried to cry out but he could not, and even if he had it would not have mattered. For in a single motion the man had a knife out and Zinno in a headlock, with the blades tip at his throat. Loel began to draw his hunting knife from his pocket. He knew he could not make much difference, but he was prepared to rush the man. Zinno, seeing Loel’s knife flashing in the sunlight hastily shook his head no. He did not want his friend to be hurt. Loel could not hear what was said, but it must have been serious for in an instant Zinno had taken the purse out of its hiding place, along with the rest of the day’s plunder. Then, setting him down on the ground, the man pointed towards the entrance to Gilda, and Zinno ran for it, not once looking back.

The man slid the knife into a fold of his coat and, passing by Loel, deposited a solid gold coin into his bowl, before vanishing into the crowd.

3_________________________________

The Lorn are not known for their heroism, nor their outstanding

courage, nor their resistance of torture. In fact, the Lorn are not known at all. Because they move like shadows, and exist in legend.

Extract from Colliding Forces, the Lorn

Loel sat at the tavern bar, sipping at a glass of Meired Ale. He thought back to the town he was raised in, and his parents. His mother’s name was Laurie, but he just called her mom. He did not remember his father’s name.

They lived together in the peaceful town of… Well now that he thought about it, he didn’t even know the town’s name. But it was indeed peaceful. That is it was peaceful, it was until that night. His parents loved to gaze at the stars, so naturally he did too. They would sit at the stream bank and ponder ‘the meanings of life’ (that was what his father had called it). It was just like that, everything happened as usual, and then his parents were killed. The memories were fuzzy, but Loel could recall screams from the village, then dark shapes galloping across the equally dark water. His parents told him to run, and he did. He did not see it, but he heard the yells. His parents distracted the beasts so he could escape. Soon the yells became screams of terror, then of pain, and eventually stopped altogether.

Loel had walked; how far he did not know. In fact he barely remembered any walking at all, just the feeling of fear. It was as if someone was walking for him, but he still felt the fear. He had drifted in and out of consciousness for days, weeks, perhaps years on end until he awoke to find Keira watching over him.

The creaking door swung open, letting a cold breeze wash over Loel. Then he heard footsteps. And finally saw a man wearing a large coat sit down in the seat next to him. A cold fear far worse than the breeze swept through him, it was the Man. The man from the square.

He called for the bartender, who was over in the corner talking to a pretty woman. When he did not answer the man called once more, louder this time. When again his words went unheard he stood and pulled the little barkeep behind the counter, then sat in front of him. The man’s voice was soft, yet threatening. “How do you think you will stay in business,” he asked, “if you do not respond to customer’s wishes?” His words were spoken very slowly, each syllable pronounced with icy precision. “I want what the boy sitting next to me is having.” The hair at the back of my neck stood on end at the mention from this stranger. But I put on a brave face (as brave as I could manage) and took a large gulp from the ale.

Soon a glass was place in front of the man; I noticed that it was considerably larger than mine. Then the man looked directly at me and said, “What is your name?” There were no belittling tones in his voice, no smirk of superiority in his face. I realized that he was simply addressing me as one equal to another. So I answered, “Loel sir.” “Yes, I expected as much.” That really made me jump. “I’ve come on behalf of a friend who wants you to join her.” Then the realization hit me, he was talking about Keira, but Keira was dead. So to join her meant to die. I shakily stood and slowly backed to the door, thinking Oh gods, if I can just get away from this mad man I’ll be safe, I’ll run. He seems old and weak; I can easily out distance him. But something in the back of my mind shouted Zinno, Look what he almost did to Zinno.

I was about to turn and run when the man spoke: “My name is Michael, I will not hurt you; I need to speak to you.” His tone made me relax slightly, and I blinked. In that instant he was on me, his grip tightly wound around me, and the knife tip lightly touching my chin. The bartender might have tried to help me, but the mad man (or Michael) just looked at him and he stopped. There was a whole conversation in that one glance.

He brought me out a back door that probably only the barkeep could have known existed and dropped me into the dead end of an alley. Standing between me and the main street, he knelt so his eyes were at the same level as mine. “Listen,” he said, “listen as if your life depended on it, for it does.” I tried to break past him and run out into the street, but he held me. “Listen you fool, Keira is still alive.” That stopped my squirming, so he continued: “She had to leave, her life was at stake.” When I refused to make eye contact with him he held my face in his mighty grip so as to make me. “She would not have left unless she had to.” Seeing the disbelief in my face, the anger dropped from his voice and he spoke a fourth time: “‘The cycle soon begins anew, allowing both the guilty and the makers of the guilt to be fulfilled’”

I stopped then; no one had heard her say that to me. He took my silence as a cue to continue, “She told me to tell you that, if you resisted. There are people who wanted to stop what she was doing here…” That made no sense, “Begging?” I asked questioningly. “No, you dimwit, that was all a ruse to what she was really doing here.” He quickly stopped and looked around.

By this time it was nightfall. Nothing moved, the darkness was everywhere. But it seemed Micheal had heard something. He looked cautiously around before continuing, “You were never supposed to happen, but you did. When she left here we thought that was it, but then she told us about you…” He paused, listening, then resumed his speech. “Even speaking to her put you at risk, but six years of sharing a home with her made you their top priority. So we sent someone to watch you. They sent monthly transmissions…”

“What’s a transmission?” I asked haltingly.

“There’s no time” he said. “After a while the transmissions stopped, so I went to check on you. I never found the woman we sent, so I assume they killed her.” I couldn’t take it any longer. “Who are they?” I whispered. “A group of men dedicated to stopping what we are doing.” Michael replied.

A twig snapped in the street; instantly Michael was standing, a much longer dagger in his hand. “Get up.” He said to me, then louder, to someone I could not see and I believe neither could he, “Reveal yourself, YOU SCUM. Show your faces.” Then he slashed the air in front of him and from it fell a figure. It was clothed in a cloak the exact same color as the ground around it, and as it tried to get up the cloak shifted to the hue of the alley wall. Then Michael stabbed it, and it fell to the ground. Then he turned to me and said one word: “RUN.”

And so we did, out the alley, across the square and through the archway signaling the end of Gilda. I saw blurrily the forest coming towards us, dark shapes of trees, and a figure with large blue eyes staring at me. Then the voice in the back of my head repeated RUN. And all swirled into darkness.

4_________________________________

“The whiteness took the Ancient Gods by surprise. It enveloped them, and held them captive. Stripped of their powers, they lay dormant; not needing nourishment, nor warmth in that white place. They devolved, forgetting their immortal knowledge the Ancient Gods discovered their own mortality, and so ended their eternal reign.”

-Extract from The Creation Myth

A voice called to me out of the black. It spoke in a tongue I could not understand, but I knew what it was saying. So I awoke. Michael sat cross-legged next to me, humming a strange melody. Seeing me awake he stopped and asked “How do you feel?”

“Tired.” I replied, not knowing what else to say. I was numb, and confused. “I know you have questions,” said Michael, “I cannot answer them now, we are not yet safe.” That brought me out of my daze. “You mean those people are still after us?” Michael looked at me strangely, “What makes you think they’re people?”

Silenced by the man’s words, I took stock of my surroundings. I was very deep in the forest, either Michael had carried me after my black out or else I had kept running. In my younger days I had ventured into these woods, but never had I gone this far.

The trees were all about us, they grew not straight, but in a curving fashion that gave them the appearance of old men, bent with their years. Though it must be day outside, the canopy made it dark as a sunset on a cloudy day and though the birds were singing their happy tune, it seemed muffled by the forest.

Michael stood, and reaching down for my hand, helped me up, saying “Come on now Loel, we must keep a fair pace if we are going to reach Sanctuary in time.” He then took from his pocket a large round object with several figures circling one of its sides and observed a needle swinging of its own accord attached to the center.

My eyes widened with astonishment. The needle finally came to rest on a symbol not unlike this

“Due west” stated my companion, and pocketing the device began striding in the direction it had pointed. Even more confused than before, I hurried to catch up with him. There being no trail, travel was difficult. But Michael walked on, avoiding the trees and plant growth without even breaking step. I was not so graceful. In a little while we came to a stream. It was small, about 14 hands in width.

I was about to jump it when Michael put out a hand to stop me. “Step into the water,” he said quietly. After I had done so he strode to the opposite bank and sprang into a tree before leaping back down into the stream. “Let’s go.” he said motioning towards the winding waterway ahead.

“What was that for?” I asked. “Now they’ll think we’re traveling in the canopy in the other direction,” he replied, “come on, we need to make it out of this forest before nightfall.”

As we walked our shadows began to lengthen, as if they wanted us to turn and go back. Slowly the stream changed to a deep amethyst as the sun began to set. The trees were thinning and Michael said we could move onto the bank. A twig snapped in the forest. Michael drew his dagger and stood, listening. After a few moments of breathless waiting he sheathed his weapon and said “It must have just been an animal.” Soon we had cleared the woods altogether, and emerged onto a long open meadow. Half a day’s walk ahead I could see the mountains. Flowers swayed lazily in the air, the grass was short and tough. “It really is amazing,” said Michael, bending down to touch a blossom, “how such a beautiful thing can exist in such a harsh environment. But isn’t that what we humans have been doing all along.” He turned, smiling, to me, “I think it’s time we made camp.”

There was no point in a tent, not there in the beauty of nature. I and my companion simply lay down on the soft earth, and watched the stars dance with the sunset.

5_________________________________

There is no escaping the darkness; there is no escaping your fate. The Grol will find you. Dark beasts of the night, shapes in the black, shadows with teeth. They exist to kill, they have no predators, and everything is their prey. There is no escaping the darkness; there is no escaping your fate.

-Extract from Creatures of the Night

When I awoke Michael was gone. There were no footprints, no way to tell where he went. He was just gone. It was still night, though in the distance I could see a glimmer of the sun. I hesitantly got to my feet and looked about me. The forest was around 40 hands away, the canopy was glowing with sunlight, but the mountains had not yet allowed the sun to pass low enough to brighten the rest of the trees.

He had abandoned me, left me to this desolate place. I was stranded. I could not remember the way we had come, and my footprints would not show in the stream water. I kicked at the grass, sending a rock flying into the sunlight. How could I have been so stupid? How could I have let that conniving fiend trap me in this forsaken place? I screamed, released all of my anger in a single blast of sound, then fell back on the hard ground and began to cry.

“That’s quiet a set of lungs you’ve got there.” Michael was standing beside me. “I have breakfast.” He said, laying a cooked fish on my lap. “Where have you been?” I asked. “Getting you that of course. Sorry I’ve been gone so long, that stream was rather resistant.” He nodded his head towards the food, “There’s nothing wrong with that you know.” I looked at the fish and slowly realized how hungry I was. The fish soon became a skeleton, and was discarded back into the stream.

After I had finished, Michael stood up and said “Best be going, we must stay ahead of them. We have to get far away, far enough so that they can’t find us.” I rose to my feet and without another word we strode towards the mountains. As we walked the ground grew sparse, grass now appeared in select patches that dotted the hills that had risen around us. Rocks appeared more frequently, and when they did they were larger in size. Dew sparkled in the clumps of foliage, but slowly vanished as the day progressed. I and Michael’s footsteps beat as one as we paced through the valley’s end, the sound rebounded from the steep walls of rock that had spread around us. Slowly the walls moved inward, until we were walking through a passage under 8 hands in width. Above us I could see the pale blue sky, and though we were in darkness, I knew life continued in all its shapes and forms out in the open air.

Ahead was a tunnel. Something sparked in the back of my mind; I remembered darkness, my parents’ screams. “I cannot go in there.” I muttered quietly. Michael turned to me and said questioningly “Do you want to be caught?” My eyes never left the cave, but I managed to repeat “I cannot go in there.” My companion paused for a moment, when he finally spoke it was with the tenderness I had seen the night before, “Loel.” He said, stepping between me and the tunnel entrance, “This is the only way through the mountains, we must enter.” I just shook my head and again repeated, though a little louder this time “I cannot go in there.” I recalled the darkness, flashes of time I had tried so hard to forget; scrambling through the black, a voice shouting “RUN.” The anguished cries, the bestial growls, they swirled in my head until I screamed and fell back from the portal.

Calmly, Michael came to me. He pulled on my arm, lifting me up, and spoke “On the other side of that cave is Keira, on the other side of that cave is freedom, on the other side of that cave is the truth.” He shook me by the shoulders before continuing: “On this side there is death, there is memory, and there are those murderers who are coming closer by the second, and who will find us if we do not move.” Michael pushed me towards the opening. I looked into it, I gazed at the black tunnel; it seemed to invite me inside, to come and be lost forever. Michael nudged me again. Hesitantly, I took one step, and then another until I stood upon the threshold between light and dark. Slowly, ever so slowly, I extended my foot across, and walked into the abyss.

Instantly the world changed, I could not see. But for Michael’s hand on my shoulder I would have turned and fled. Over time my eyes adjusted to the gloom and I could faintly see the rock walls around me. I heard a clicking sound which reverberated around the cave and a bright light sprung from a device in Micheal’s hand. The thing was cylindrical in shape with an aperture at one end from which the light streamed forth. My gasp was audible in the silence, and Micheal willingly explained the object “It’s called a flashlight.” He said, seeing my uncomprehending face he continued, “It was made by the Ancients for situations such as this.”

So with Micheal by my side, and with the aide of this holy relic, I began walking into the gloom. In no way had my fear vanished, and as I looked around the walls, glinting from the ‘flashlight’, seemed to become a million eyes. The passage through which we tread was widening, and soon we came out into a large cavern. Our footsteps echoed from wall to wall, making it seem as if three people were walking through the black.

“Michael?” I whispered. “Yes.” came the disembodied reply. Working up my courage, I spoke again into the black from whence my companion’s voice had come, “What’s a transmission?” There was a pause; then Micheal answered “Another invention of the Ancients. You see, long ago their cities were great in number and stretched for miles on end. They had no way to communicate, so, being resourceful in nature, they created a way.

“It was this: they sent their voices through the air.” At this I was puzzled “Don’t we all send our voice’s through the air.” Michael laughed, “Well yes, I suppose we do,” He ruffled my hair, “But after a while the sound dies and fades away, well the Ancients discovered a way to make it so your voice does not die but is speedily floating through the air in the direction you send it. Then it can be heard only through a special device which the Ancients also forged.”

“The Gods were great and powerful.” I mused into the semi-darkness. There was no reply. My hands shot out in all directions, and soon I lay my fingers upon Michael. “It’s all right.” He whispered into my ear. “But besides, they weren’t really God’s, there is only one true god, all other deities are false.” And then the light began to fade. Michael hit the device against his palm, but to no avail. Within seconds we were in total black. “Michael.” I again spoke into the darkness, and as before came his reply, “Yes.”

“What happened to the ‘flashlight’?”

“Everything needs energy to exist, the flashlight just ran out.” The reply did not satisfy me, and my companion could tell, so he said “Let’s at least be thankful for the time we had. It seems we must continue on now, without the aid of the various mechanical amusements I have in my pack.” He pulled on my arm and we continued to stumble blind through the cavern.

After a little while my companion spoke again, “I am sorry Loel,” he said, resting his hand on my shoulder, “that was harsh.” I did not respond. While the light was with us I had managed to ignore the darkness not 4 hands away, but now that even it had deserted us, and we were again among the black, I felt the tinges of panic rising once more within me. I clutched tightly to my companions shirt, and listened with growing fear to the third pair of footsteps echoing off the tunnel walls. I reasoned with myself, it’s just your own feet playing tricks. But in my heart I knew, the steps were getting louder.

6_________________________________

“Pain is the bodies’ way of telling the mind it’s in danger.

Fear is the minds way of telling itself the same.

Yet in that fear and pain is a danger far more deadly,

These feelings can destroy you and leave you by the wayside.

And worst of all there is nothing to warn you of them.

-Extract from A Birds Flight

Michael slowed his steps and kept a firm hold on my shoulder. “The passage is but 50 hand lengths away,” he whispered into my ear, “if you run in the direction you are facing, within minutes you will clear this tunnel and come back out into the sunlight.”

“Where will you be?” I asked hesitantly, dreading the eminent reply. “I must leave you for a time and investigate whatever creatures have been following us.” He again ruffled my hair. Then his hand left me and I was alone. My body shook from fear and I felt frozen in my tracks. I could not move from the terror growing inside me. Nothing was visible in the darkness, only my bare feet alerted me of the presence of the ground. All noises had ceased, no longer could I hear the third pair of footsteps, nor discern Michael’s pair in the silence.

“Loel.” A voice whispered to me out of the darkness, but the voice was not Michael’s. I ran. I ran straight forwards until my hands reached a wall of rock. Screaming in fear I turned to my right and encountered another wall. I spun around and ran into another passageway that lead steeply upwards. I could see that my hands were bloody, and my knees were badly scraped. But how could I see this? Light was pouring from an opening in the rock just ahead. I scrambled through it and did not stop until I had put a fair distance between it and me. The chasm was small and at a diagonal angle in the rock face. The thought of what might come out of it filled me with horror. But what had happened to Michael? Was he dead? Was he lying mortally wounded in that ghost infested hole?

Time moved on slowly. My left hand throbbed. I dared not look away from the entrance, but seeing it was terrifying. Michael did not come forth, and nothing else emerged either. I took stock of my surroundings. The ground was hard and rocky, with little foliage to be seen. Beyond the rocks surrounding me were hills, they were a lush green, and were a welcome to my tired, fearful eyes. At the end of the hills I noticed patches of grey stone. There must be a town there I thought to myself. A ways off, I could discern a plain of flat, blue ground. It seemed to wave and shimmer in the morning sun. Looking closer I discovered that it must be water, but I had never seen water that stretched so far as to have no ending.

“Loel.” I froze, realizing with horror that I had looked away from the tunnel; that something had crept out without my knowing. “Loel?” The voice did not sound malicious, but afraid. Half paralyzed with fear I contemplated what to do. Folks in Gilda had spoken of the ghouls of the mountain. Of the creatures that existed in the dark places of the world. They dragged their victims into the shadows, and feasted upon them. They were the Grol. It must be a Grol behind me now. Though I never heard of one speaking, I had heard of what they could do to a traveler. Or worse yet, it could be one of my followers. One of those killers Michael and I had been trying to outrun. I reached with one of my bloody hands into my pocket and slowly drew from it my hunting knife. I said “Whatever you did to Michael,” I slowly closed my fingers around the hilt, “you will not do to me.” I swung the knife around and buried it deep into the flesh of the creature. A bloodcurdling scream ensued and I heard the impact of something hitting the ground. Lost in my rage, I turned to stare into the eyes of my predator. To gaze upon my defeated foe. And in that instant I stopped and dropped to the rocky ground. For it was no Grol I had struck, nor was it one of my assassin’s; it was Zinno.

7_________________________________

The loquacious ocean,

the babbling brook.

The deadly tsunami

whose waters shook

this fragile earth

to its very core.

-Extract from Forces

Held in his grasp I was helpless. The maniac bent down and tapped the flat of his knife against my neck. I knew exactly what he would do if I continued to struggle. He was informed in the ways of Maru, I could tell by how he held me: with one hand grasping the traditional fighting knife, the other poised over one of my pressure points, and the position of his feet rendering my legs useless. I knew I could not escape.

The man bent down and whispered into my ear. “I know where you were this morning, Zinno.” At the sound of my name my spine tightened and my eyes searched wildly for some rescue. People were giving me and the stranger a wide berth, but no one was trying to stop it. Except Loel, I saw the flash of his hunting knife in the sunlight, but I hastily shook my head no. I did not want my friend to be hurt.

The maniac continued his speech “You were in the Tavern. I saw you, but you did not see me.” He tightened his hold around me. “Death has a way of sneaking up on us, Zinno. You can never tell when it will strike,” The knife point wavered in the air, a few inches from my neck, “nor can you discern whether it will be a quick painless death, or whether it will be an unending agony, of burning flesh, and screams of pain.” His voice lightened slightly, but his hold on me stayed strong. “Now, place what you stole, all of it, onto the ground.” I did so, than he dropped me to the floor and pointed towards the seaward entrance to Gilda. Without looking back, I ran for it.

I ran until I was well into the forest. I stumbled through the trees and smashed through the foliage. The canopy twisted the light into weak patches that dotted the forest floor. The trunks of the trees were like the cataracts of my homeland, they fell from the canopy and spiraled to the ground, where they splashed into many roots and vines that sunk deep into the mossy earth. I was tired. My breath was heavy and I lay down in the nook of a tree’s roots to rest for a while, to ponder what had happened.

Who could that man have been? Where could he have come from? And most of all, how did he know me? He seemed like a thief, in the clothes he wore and his awareness of my own thievery. But those taught in the ways of the Maru do not dress in the fashion of that maniac, and certainly do not stalk people. The run had tired me, and the cozy nook in which I was resting was so comfortable. Soon my vision fogged and I went to sleep.

It was dark, and yet glowing. An ethereal glow surrounded me, encapsulated me. In its eternal grasp I was nothing. I was a twig, a patch of sunlight, an unnecessary obstacle. It held me its immense hand, closed its fingers around me, and squeezed.

I awoke, it was growing dark. A golden-red light filled the forest the forest and told of a passing day. I stretched my legs, as I did feeling the knots ease away. I began to stand, but I heard something. Again I crouched between the tree roots, this time flattening myself against the rough bark.

In the distance, but growing steadily louder, I could perceive the sound of footsteps. Leaves crackled and twigs snapped. These were people trained at disguise, and were it not for their number, I would not have not noticed them at all.

Soon dark shapes ran through the trees not 20 steps from my hiding place. Their cloaks flashed many colors and changed hue as their background altered, and knife blades glinted in the setting sun. I counted 13 in all, and then they were gone, running with such silence, that within seconds they had vanished, and there was no indication that they had ever been.

Slowly I rose from the tree roots, and realized with a shock the direction the party had been going. They were on a direct path to Gilda. Curiosity burned within me, and completely forgetting about the man with the ring, I began running towards my beloved town.

But I was slow, much slower than the cloaked figures, and I knew I had no hope of catching up, and soon I fell to a walk, unable to keep pace.

Darkness overtook the landscape. The trees took on a sinister, foreboding feel. A few stars shone in through the canopy, but the moon was blocked out entirely. I stumbled in the near pitch black, and fell. Once more I heard the sound of footsteps, but these were clumsy, hasty. They were crashing through the forest, with none of the grace of the cloaked figures. I lay still, and immediately two figures ran past me. The first was large, wearing a heavy coat and holding the hand of the second, who, for just a moment, stared deep into my blue eyes, then kept on running. With a jolt I realized it was Loel. And it must be that maniac that he was clinging to. But I couldn’t stop to think now, for behind them, I could hear the faint patter of feet that marked the appearance of the cloaked figures.

Fearing for my life, I turned and plunged into the dark, away from that soft crackle of leaves, deceptively calm in the otherwise tranquil night. I followed the noise of the chased until, all of a sudden, it stopped. I looked around, confused, bewildered, and found that I was alone. Alone in the dark. I jumped into a tree, and there I lay, hearing the hunters run swiftly beneath me, then just as swiftly, vanish into the night.

But I could not abandon my friend to that insane man, and I knew that if I did not do something soon they would be captured. So I leaped down from the tree, badly scraping my knee as I did, but I couldn’t stop to look at it, and yelled “Hear I am.” into the black that faced me. Then I stood in silence, waiting for something to happen. And in a few moments, something did. I looked about and saw I was surrounded by the dark shapes. They did not move for some time, and both them and I stood in silence. Then one moved in a blur of shape and changing color, and a fog slowly spread unwillingly across my vision.

I woke in another form of black. Whereas before there had been discernable shapes through a dark mist, now there was nothing. There was no light at all, and I doubted that there ever had been light in this place. For a while I sat there, feeling vulnerable in the dark. Without my sight, my other senses grew keener. A ways off, I could hear dripping water. That will help me survive I thought, before continuing the scan of my surroundings. I could feel cold rock beneath my out stretched fingers. All the evidence pointed to a cave. A nocturnal tomb in which I would draw my last breath.

For the first time in many years, I cried. The tears were uncontrollable. I emptied myself of my grief. Then I sat, for what seemed like days I remained still. Slowly, I felt my arms begin to drift, to move of their own accord, to float out of their sockets, and away from my body. I quickly rubbed my hands together, and found that my arms were there, intact. So I sat back once more, and waited.

What I was waiting for I do not know. The cold pierced within me and numbed my thoughts. Vaguely, I wondered at how I was to escape my predicament, how I would emerged unscathed. Think I told myself. Always in thievery there is a motivation. I steal because I need the money to survive, and because I enjoy it. But what would be their reason for stealing me? What is their motivation?

A sound echoed throughout the cave, a pair of footsteps, than a light. It must be my captors I thought. Quickly, I scurried into a nearby tunnel that had just been revealed by the passing light. I watched. The light grew stronger, but it was not sunlight that shone into the cave, it was a cold light. A fake, unreal light. And then a figure stumbled through the light. It was small, barely my height. It walked with a distinct fear, a fear that seemed to grow with each passing minute. Than it turned, faced the piercing light, and I saw its face. It was Loel. I would have run to my friend that second had I not noticed the hand on Loel’s shoulder, my eyes went up the hand, the arm, to the face. This figure, to which Loel clung as if to a father, was none other than the maniac from the square. Fearfully remembering his treatment of me in the square, I backed farther into the shadows until they had passed, then I crept out of the tunnel and began quietly following. After a while, Loel spoke to the maniac. I could not distinguish the words, but they were ripe with fear. My captors forgotten completely, I followed the two farther.

I kept to the sides of the passageway mostly, avoiding the wide open spaces that the center of the tunnel gave. Every once in a while, I heard the mumbling of the two figures 100 hand lengths away. After a few minutes, the light went out. The white illumination vanished and left glowing spots on my vision where it had been. Shortly afterwards there was a shocked noise, no doubt from Loel, and a harsh voice that could only be the maniacs.

I continued walking, listening for the sound of footsteps. Soon they stopped and I heard, very faintly, a whisper. Then it stopped, and I could detect footsteps coming my way. I dropped to my knees. Still at the side of the passageway, I heard the footsteps pass me, than I could discern a rumpling of leather and hard click. But nothing changed, and soon the footsteps continued. After they had vanished, I silently got up and quietly pad footed over to Loel. He was standing, stricken, unable to move from fear. Perhaps my arrival would ease his tension. I whispered to him “Loel.”

He yelled, than scrambled madly away from me. He must think I am the maniac I thought to myself, that’s why he’s so afraid. Loel never did have good nerves. Then I remembered that following him was my only hope of finding a way out of the tunnel, so I ran after him. Ahead, I saw light. Not the meaningless, fake light that the maniac had produced, but the warm comforting light of the sun. Up a steep passageway I went, but paused in front of the opening. I did not want to scare Loel again, so I waited for a little while, to let him cool. Then I slowly stepped out of the tunnel, and into the day. I could clearly see Loel in the clearing of rocky grass. Around him were hills; and he stuck out like a coin in a pocket in this environment. But then again, he had never been good at camouflage.

Loel was intently gazing off, into the distance. I came up behind him, and following his gaze, I could see that he was looking at the ruins, a cloud of smoke spiraled from them, as if someone were living there, but that was impossible, no one lived in the ruins. “Loel.” I whispered to him, when he froze in terror, I said again, a bit louder this time, “Loel?” Slowly, still facing away from me, he rose. There was a moment of silence, and then he spoke. “Whatever you did to Michael,” he said through gritted teeth, I saw the knife flash in the sunlight, but it was too late, “You will not do to me.” He swung the knife and plunged it deep into my arm, and I screamed in pain and confusion. Then he turned; a victorious gloat upon his face. But as he laid his gaze upon my face, he froze. The smile changed into a horrified expression, and he took a step back in disbelief. My eyes clouded over, and streaks of red impaired my vision, one thought lingered in my mind. Why?

8_________________________________

A shifty, cloudy curtain of blue

suspended on waters, high in the sky

Constantly changing, hardly believing

I’m gazing into your cold blue eyes.

-Extract from Release

I stood there for an eternity, gazing transfixed into Zinno’s eyes. I watched him writhe in pain on the ground, and yet I could not move; I could not help him. I tried to reach for him, to comfort him, to tie a piece of cloth around his bleeding wound; but I couldn’t. My vision faded, grew dimmer, and the voice in the back of my head said “Rest.”

I awoke, still standing next to Zinno. But a bandage had been wrapped his arm, and Michael was kneeling next to him. “I am sorry you got involved, Zinno.” He spoke with compassion. Then he turned to me. Motioning to Zinno, he said “Don’t worry, he would have lived.” Confused, I continued to stare. Michael continued, “He would have lived if he hadn’t gotten involved.”

Through the corner of my eye, I could see Zinno waking up. “I had to get you away from those people first.” Michael said. “They would have stopped me from completing my mission.” He stood, looking out onto the endless water. “Long have I pondered the sin I shall commit,”

I was afraid, confused. I took a step back. Michael didn’t seem to notice, he was caught up in his reverie. “But don’t worry about me Loel, I have been granted absolution from this act. You, on the other hand…” he took on a mournful expression, before continuing, “You, who have lived with that Keira woman, you will have to die.”

Fear trickled down my spine, I was numb with it, and it was ripe in the air. I turned to run, but Michael’s words stopped me, “Uh uh uh.” he said, “You wouldn’t leave your dear friend Zinno, would you?”

I slowly turned. Silence fell. Zinno rested on the rocky ground, paralyzed, as I was, with fear. The world faded, slowed, almost stopped. I saw it all through my own eyes. But I wasn’t in my mind anymore, I was outside it. Looking in, looking out. Michael drew a long, hideously curved dagger, and raising it to the sun, leaped forwards. Behind him, something moved in the cave. A cloaked figure, wielding a glinting needle of silver. The dagger fell, the needle flew. Michael slumped over and died.

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 2.5 License.

Things That Are Taped To My Door

2005-07-09T20:33:00.000-04:00

This is something I wrote that is taped to my door:

Announcement

This is the residence of Dr. Christopher D. Annas-Lee. If you, or one on whose behalf you speak for, wish to meet with him, an appointment must first be made. One can register an appointment with Dr. Annas-Lee’s secretary, Pamela Annas, or contact Harvey, his imaginary six-foot bunny friend. Any attempts to enter the premises without said appointment will be met with arrest, followed by a life-long sentence (and/or paragraph), followed by drowning, followed by stoning, followed by being continuously prodded with a stick for 30 minutes, followed by being eaten by crocodiles and alligators, followed by being bodily thrown from the highest cliff in Newton, followed by two weeks rations on bread and water, followed by being politely asked never to do it again. If one does gain an appointment then one may wait in the lobby (the dirty porch next to the big trash barrel) and acquaint oneself with the those also waiting (assorted vultures, raccoons, and other scavengers feasting upon the carcass’s of those who entered without an appointment) until one is called over the intercom (shouted at from the top story window) to meet with Dr. Annas-Lee.

We kindly thank you for taking the time to read this and ask you to check out our Gift Shop.

Sincerely,

A.B.P.W.H.N.B.D.

The Association of a Bunch of People Who Have Nothing Better to Do

This is something else that is taped to my door:

The Annas-Lee Gift Shop

The Annas-Lee Gift Shop is located in between the fire escape (the door painted onto the cement wall) and the merchandise refunding office (a fictional place that exists only in legend and myth). Once you have found the Gift Shop than you can do exactly what the Gift Shop’s name suggests. If you ‘browse’ (dawdle or delay purchasing a gift from said Gift Shop), then you will be promptly escorted off the Annas-Lee estate. This punishment will be followed by a chain letter describing the offense (with a few blatant lies and exaggerations weaved in) as well as telling everyone who sees you to fart in your general direction, followed by a hunk of wood appearing on your front doorstep, followed by a man named Greg repeating everything that has just been said to you several times a day, followed by you being put on hold every time you attempt to call anywhere.

In any case, the items we have at the Gift Shop are quite varied in size, shape, purpose, and lack of purpose. One fine example of our merchandise is a large cement block weighing nearly 300 kilograms and measuring 3 by 3 meters. Another is a man (or a woman, we haven’t bothered to check) who wandered into our Shop a few years ago and who has been mumbling incessantly in the corner since.

Our store sales men and women will greet you kindly with a smile, a pat on the back, a pat a little lower on the back, a squeeze of your hand, a squeeze of your rear, a kind word, and a twinkle in their eyes. They will answer any questions you may have, and do whatever you ask to help you on your tour through the Shop.

We at the Annas-Lee estate hope that you have had a pleasant time and would like to inform you that while you have been reading this all of your belongings have been repossessed and auctioned off, and that this is actually the door to one room belonging to a teenager named Chris with a very comedic imagination and a huge superiority complex. We thank you for the time you wasted reading this and wish you a safe trip home (you’ll have to walk since you no longer have a car).

Sincerely,

T.A.W.C.C.U.W.A.B.N.

The Association Which Can’t Come Up With a Decent Name

The Cow Theory of Goverment

2005-07-09T20:27:00.000-04:00

This isn't mine, but it was so funny I just had to put it in.

DEMOCRAT
- You have two cows.
- Your neighbor has none.
- You feel guilty for being successful.
- You vote people into office that put a tax on your cows, forcing you to sell one to raise money to pay the tax.
- The people you voted for then take the tax money, buy a cow and give it to your neighbor.
- You feel righteous.
- Barbara Streisand sings for you.

SOCIALIST
- You have two cows.
- The government takes one and gives it to your neighbor.
- You form a cooperative to tell him how to manage his cow.

REPUBLICAN
- You have two cows.
- Your neighbor has none.
- So?

COMMUNIST
- You have two cows.
- The government seizes both and provides you with milk.
- You wait in line for hours to get it.
- It is expensive and sour.

CAPITALISM, AMERICAN STYLE
- You have two cows.
- You sell one, buy a bull, and build a herd of cows.

DEMOCRACY, AMERICAN STYLE
- You have two cows.
- The government taxes you to the point you have to sell both to support a man in a foreign country who has only one cow, which was a gift from your government.

BUREAUCRACY, AMERICAN STYLE
- You have two cows.
- The government takes them both, shoots one, milks the other, pays you
for the milk, and then pours the milk down the drain.

AMERICAN CORPORATION
- You have two cows.
- You sell one, lease it back to yourself and do an IPO on the 2nd one.
- You force the two cows to produce the milk of four cows.
- You are surprised when one cow drops dead.
- You spin an announcement to the analysts stating you have downsized
and are reducing expenses.
- Your stock goes up.

FRENCH CORPORATION
- You have two cows.
- You go on strike because you want three cows.
- You go to lunch.
- Life is good.

JAPANESE CORPORATION
- You have two cows.
- You redesign them so they are one-tenth the size of an ordinary cow and produce twenty times the milk.
- They learn to travel on unbelievably crowded trains.
- Most are at the top of their class at cow school.

GERMAN CORPORATION
- You have two cows.
- You engineer them so they are all blond, drink lots of beer, give
excellent quality milk, and run a hundred miles an hour. Unfortunately they also demand 13 weeks of vacation per year.

ITALIAN CORPORATION
- You have two cows but you don't know where they are.
- While ambling around, you see a beautiful woman.
- You break for lunch.
- Life is good.

RUSSIAN CORPORATION
- You have two cows.
- You have some vodka.
- You count them and learn you have five cows.
- You have some more vodka.
- You count them again and learn you have 42 cows.
- The Mafia shows up and takes over however many cows you really have.

TALIBAN CORPORATION
- You have all the cows in Afghanistan, which are two.
- You don't milk them because you cannot touch any creature's private
parts.
- Then you kill them and claim a US bomb blew them up while they were in
the hospital.

FLORIDA CORPORATION
- You have a black cow and a brown cow.
- Everyone votes for the best looking one.
- Some of the people who like the brown one best, vote for the black one.
- Some people vote for both.
- Some people vote for neither.
- Some people can't figure out how to vote at all.
- Finally, a bunch of guys from out-of-state tell you which is the best-looking cow.

Things To Say During an Awkward Silence

2005-07-09T20:24:00.000-04:00

No, Mr. Murgetriod, no. Don’t throw your life away.

Caca means poo.

The Amish invented the computer.

This is Harvey, he’s a pooka.

If you weren’t alive, you would be dead.

If you say elevator really slow, it still sounds like elevator.

I’m not addicted to drugs… Well I’m not.

Did you know that men can get breast cancer too?

No, that’s not toothpaste.

And that’s not a toothbrush.

Ur in urine. HA HA HA.

Tomato.

Snnort.

Silence is Golden, and occasionally in various shades of bronze.

WOW

Etherism ('tis my religioun)

2005-07-09T17:11:00.000-04:00

Etherism

What follows is my interpretation of life. The meaning of it, as well as its intimate complexities.

Introduction

Death has plagued us since the beginning of time, and since the beginning of time, we have sought to overcome it. Many take comfort in the knowledge of someone all powerful, the knowledge that they are in good hands. Others call these beliefs lies, and act according to their own code. My interpretation is different. I do not believe in God, and I not believe in nothing. My belief lies in a different form. Etherism.

Explanation

In another dimension there is the Ether. It is the source of all self-aware life, and is the center of my belief. The Ether itself is not self-aware, it is but a vessel. It is life’s essence. It fuels the spiritual side of all Beings.

Whenever a Being (a self-aware individual) is created, a part of the limitless Ether breaks off, and becomes one with that Being. The Being will live out its life, and the piece of Ether inside it will mold to it. All the good deeds and bad deeds of that person will be balanced within the Ether fragment. When the Being inevitably dies, the fragment will detach itself from the physical bodies, and become a spirit. The spirit is an Ethereal Being. Mentally, it is the same as when the Being died. Physically, it is whatever it wants to be.

Immediately after death, the spirit passes over into the 2^nd Dimension. This dimension covers the Mortal Realm, and is very close to it. If a spirit wants, it can reenter the Mortal Realm. It can stay as long as it wishes. But when it chooses to, it will rejoin the Ether, and become one with it. This is oblivion. The Ether will absorb the spirit, and every fragment that comes out of it after wards will have a little piece of that spirit inside it.

You know u want to convert.

Yo, Yo, and Yo once more

2005-07-09T16:49:00.000-04:00

Yo. I felt like making a blog, so here I am. Yup. This is like my journal for when I get really bored. Yup.