Mayhaps an apology is in order to you all. It has been quite some time since I have dabbled in bloggery, but I assure you that I have not been resting on my supple, curv-ed laurels. I have, in fact, been fighting the good fight on behalf of you all. (And by you all, I mean roughly 13% of you…then again that number should probably be significantly lower with regards to this blog.)
I speak, of course, of the campaign that I have championed for these past few weeks. A cause that had drawn me from many of my responsibilities – blogging, bathing, even surfing for porn. Yes, I have wreaked like a French woman’s armpit for nigh a month now pursuing justice. Pursuing corporate responsibility. Pursuing the cancellation of the Black Donnelys.
The Black Donnelys. Pshaw! (If I could create an appropriate spit noise using only letters, I would insert it here.) Black my eye. If those gentlemen, those Donnely brothers, are supposed to be true representatives of my fellow Americans of African descent, then I am a Mexican-American hermaphroditic sheep-herder from the isle of Elba…I guess that would make me a Mexican-European. (And I’m not, by the way, Mexican-European or a sheep herder.)
(…I’m not a hermaphrodite either, come to think of it…)
Black. They dare call themselves “black.” In a show about four “black” men trying to overcome the odds laid against them by the racist society that dominates this nation, does NBC hire even one “black” actor to play the role? No. They hire four of the palest, thinnest, low-jumpingest crackers they can find. What an insult.
Don’t believe me? Just check out the show’s official Web site. I guess NBC thought that playing rap music in the background would make us overlook the pigmentation deficiency in Messiuers Tucker, Stahl-David, Lush and Guiry.
And, of course, the hits just keep on coming. Are these four “black” men fine, upstanding citizens? Are they businessmen or lawyers? Are they professors of physics? I know, they’re firefighters. Right? Oh wait, I remember now - they’re street thugs…How original. How very original. NBC should get a fracking award for originality.
And if that stereotype weren’t already played to the hilt, NBC is certain to make sure that these thugz fo’ life are capable of only the most subhuman of intelligence. They can barely speak English, and when they do, it comes across as a slurred, barely intelligible dialect. I’m sure that if these characters had descended from somewhere in Western Europe rather than the majestic African plains, they would not have been afflicted with this problem. And really, do they have to refer to each other as “brothas” every five minutes? Hasn’t that stereotype been played out already? Shouldn’t they being saying “nizzle” or dropping the word that must not be named. (You know, the n-bomb.)
Then again, perhaps we should get on our hands and knees and thank our “massah’s” at NBC that they were at least willing to grant them the gift of speech. Some are unwilling to do even that.
I would be lax in my duties not to mention another alarming theme that centers around the series’ main character, Tommy Donnely. When the show starts, this fine “black” lad is enrolled in college, making a better life for himself. Of course the thuggery of his “brothas” soon drags him back into the life of crime that he was trying to slough off. Unfortunately, this education seems to have only made young Tommy a more formidable threat to society at large. They should just save everybody’s time and start every episode with the phrase “An educated ‘black’ man, is a dangerous ‘black’ man.”
I wouldn’t be surprised if that were the next theme used in those crappy “The More You Know” PSAs they’re always doing. Maybe they could get David Duke or Robert Byrd to do it for them…
But I digress. Yes, I have struggled. I have fought the good fight, and as of this week, my struggle is over. Victory is ours my friends. Rejoice. The blindfold has been pulled off our dear Lady Justice, and she is wicked pissed. We the people have once again joined our hands across this great nation to show that we shall rise above it all and have a dream of some kind that I can’t remember the nature of at this exact moment. Ultimately, we have shown Corporate Amerikkka that you cannot screw with the few, the proud, the Nubians.
Thursday, April 05, 2007
Sunday, December 31, 2006
We Wish You A Happy New Year
We've reached the end of yet another year, and as is common for the season, we find ourselves reflecting back upon the past...and planning for the future. The odd thing about this particular year is that we find ourselves actually looking forward to the upcoming twelve-month span. What's even stranger is that we are looking forward to some of the changes that the new year will bring.
Now typically, we are downright petrified by change. We tend to acclimate to new things rather slowly and don't like our routines mucked with. We are also overly pessimistic and typically only see the negative aspects of the "new," glamorizing the "old" into something greater than it ever had been.
That being said, we look forward to this new year with warm thoughts...hope if you will. We believe that this upcoming year holds potential. That things will turn out to be greater than we expect. That new opportunities will turn into new pleasures and realms of enjoyment.
And why do we have this hope you might ask? One word: Venom.
This next year, Venom will be transported from the paneled pages of our much beloved sequential art and thrust upon the silver screen. We're talking the real Venom here. Not Mac Gargan (Venom II) - the tripe that we are currently being forced to injest in today's comics. We refer to Eddie Brock. Eddie F@cking Brock*...in celluloid.
'Bout damn time.
*Eddie Brock's middle name is, in fact, not "F@cking" but Allan. By replacing Mr. Brock's middle name with "F@cking" we meant no disrespect - we were merely using the term as an emphatic to express our jubilation.
...Come to think of it, "Allan" does mean "harmony" which could be used to describe f@cking...Okay, maybe not f@cking per se, but the intimate act of coitus. Yes, we ask our readers to replace the above line with Eddie Intimate Act of Coitus Brock. Then all parties should be satisfied...
Now typically, we are downright petrified by change. We tend to acclimate to new things rather slowly and don't like our routines mucked with. We are also overly pessimistic and typically only see the negative aspects of the "new," glamorizing the "old" into something greater than it ever had been.
That being said, we look forward to this new year with warm thoughts...hope if you will. We believe that this upcoming year holds potential. That things will turn out to be greater than we expect. That new opportunities will turn into new pleasures and realms of enjoyment.
And why do we have this hope you might ask? One word: Venom.
This next year, Venom will be transported from the paneled pages of our much beloved sequential art and thrust upon the silver screen. We're talking the real Venom here. Not Mac Gargan (Venom II) - the tripe that we are currently being forced to injest in today's comics. We refer to Eddie Brock. Eddie F@cking Brock*...in celluloid.
'Bout damn time.
*Eddie Brock's middle name is, in fact, not "F@cking" but Allan. By replacing Mr. Brock's middle name with "F@cking" we meant no disrespect - we were merely using the term as an emphatic to express our jubilation.
...Come to think of it, "Allan" does mean "harmony" which could be used to describe f@cking...Okay, maybe not f@cking per se, but the intimate act of coitus. Yes, we ask our readers to replace the above line with Eddie Intimate Act of Coitus Brock. Then all parties should be satisfied...
Friday, December 22, 2006
Thursday, November 23, 2006
What I'm Thankful For
While there are many things for which I am thankful - family, friends, living in the United States of Freedom - I believe that I am most thankful that hippies are so incompetent. I could almost pity them if it weren't for the bile that rises in my throat every time I hear one of their THC-ladened voices.
A "Global Orgasm for Peace"? Really? That's what you've come up with? Man, that's really going to change things. (And by change things, I mean increase the stock value for the manufacturers of Kleenex and various brands of laundry detergents.)
I just pray that none of these orgasms result in conception...
A "Global Orgasm for Peace"? Really? That's what you've come up with? Man, that's really going to change things. (And by change things, I mean increase the stock value for the manufacturers of Kleenex and various brands of laundry detergents.)
I just pray that none of these orgasms result in conception...
A recent MySpace comment exchange
I've been particularly busy (and simultaneously lazy) this past month and really haven't posted anything. To make up for some of this vacuum, I feel the need to share with my readers a brief comment exchange I had via MySpace a couple of weeks back.
(Note: This is a reference to one of the opening scenes in Boondock Saints. In this scene one of the leading characters (St. Boon, I believe) is on the receiving end of a diatribe from a rather manly lesbian womyn (i.e. "bull dyke") about the misogynist origins of the phrase "rule of thumb" - those origins being that a man could beat his wife with a stick as long as he used one no thicker than his thumb. The leading character (on second thought, I believe it was St. Dock) comments that one really couldn't do much damage with a stick that thin and proposes that it should have been a "rule of wrist." The womyn does not weather this response well and all manner of violent hilarity ensues.)
(Second Note: This was a rather random comment to have posted on one's MySpace page - a communication style fairly typical of this particular female. Of course, as soon as I point out the randomness of said actions, I am told that I am both "mean" and/or a "jerk.")
Lily - do you think it should have been a rule of wrist?
(Note: This is a reference to one of the opening scenes in Boondock Saints. In this scene one of the leading characters (St. Boon, I believe) is on the receiving end of a diatribe from a rather manly lesbian womyn (i.e. "bull dyke") about the misogynist origins of the phrase "rule of thumb" - those origins being that a man could beat his wife with a stick as long as he used one no thicker than his thumb. The leading character (on second thought, I believe it was St. Dock) comments that one really couldn't do much damage with a stick that thin and proposes that it should have been a "rule of wrist." The womyn does not weather this response well and all manner of violent hilarity ensues.)
(Second Note: This was a rather random comment to have posted on one's MySpace page - a communication style fairly typical of this particular female. Of course, as soon as I point out the randomness of said actions, I am told that I am both "mean" and/or a "jerk.")
Josh - Unfortunately, I may not be the ideal person to ask this question for I do not advocate the beating of women – the shaking and choking of, most certainly. But beating? Heaven forbid!
That being said, I feel that a rule of wrist would be far too arbitrary and difficult to enforce. Are we talking about a beefy, rotund (fat) wrist such as mine, or are we talking about the waifish, track-marked wrist of Keith Richards.
I believe that I would reject any standard based on a measurement of human anatomy...unless, of course, we’re talking baby necks, which I have found by my experiments to be fairly uniform.
Yes, I believe I would support a “rule of baby necks.”
Sunday, November 05, 2006
A Vendetta, Held as a Votive, Not in Vain
As my previous post indicated, today is the fifth of November - Guy Fawkes night. For quite some time, this day had no importance to me; however, in the past handful of years, it has taken on special significance thanks to Alan Moore's work, V for Vendetta. As this day is tied to several key plot points, I feel the need to celebrate it in a fashion befitting the fictional work that has so captured my fascination.
After pondering how to accomplish this feat for some time, I remembered this VG Cats comic strip and inspiration struck. There is a scene in the film adaptation of the work that features a particular alliterative soliloquy that V uses "to suggest the character of [his] dramatis personae." Deciding to follow in these footsteps, I offer similar fair:
J’accuse!
Je suis, a jovial jack-of-no-trades, juxtaposed as both judge and jury by the jugglings of Fate. This jester, no mere jackass of jocularity, is a jetsam of the corpus juris, now jaded, jaundiced. However, this judicious junket of a by-gone jibe, stands at a junction, and has journeyed to jettison these jingoist and jackbooted jackals jockeying jobbery and joisting these jeering jezebels and the jiffy jailing of joy.
The only judgement is justice; a jihad, held as a jingle, not in jest, for the journeying and jonesing of such shall one day jubilate the jurisprudent and the just. Jiminy christmas, this juggernaut of jargon jaunts most jabbersome so let me simply add that I am jolly well pleased to meet you, and you may call me J.
(Author's note: If you hadn't picked up on this yet, my name is Josh)
Sweet jeebus, this was a lot more difficult than I thought it would be, starting out.
Now, I admit that this is nowhere near as eloquent as the original, but I worked with what I had. There aren't as many "j" words as you might think, and they all don't make the same "juh" sound. Also, my hands were a little tied since I was trying to keep to the same structure as the original. Had I been fomenting my own speech about what I stand for (assuming I ever decide to stand for something), then I probably would be able to pull off something a little more classy.
Anyway, here's the text from the original, so you can compare it if you feel so inclined:
After pondering how to accomplish this feat for some time, I remembered this VG Cats comic strip and inspiration struck. There is a scene in the film adaptation of the work that features a particular alliterative soliloquy that V uses "to suggest the character of [his] dramatis personae." Deciding to follow in these footsteps, I offer similar fair:
J’accuse!
Je suis, a jovial jack-of-no-trades, juxtaposed as both judge and jury by the jugglings of Fate. This jester, no mere jackass of jocularity, is a jetsam of the corpus juris, now jaded, jaundiced. However, this judicious junket of a by-gone jibe, stands at a junction, and has journeyed to jettison these jingoist and jackbooted jackals jockeying jobbery and joisting these jeering jezebels and the jiffy jailing of joy.
The only judgement is justice; a jihad, held as a jingle, not in jest, for the journeying and jonesing of such shall one day jubilate the jurisprudent and the just. Jiminy christmas, this juggernaut of jargon jaunts most jabbersome so let me simply add that I am jolly well pleased to meet you, and you may call me J.
(Author's note: If you hadn't picked up on this yet, my name is Josh)
Sweet jeebus, this was a lot more difficult than I thought it would be, starting out.
Now, I admit that this is nowhere near as eloquent as the original, but I worked with what I had. There aren't as many "j" words as you might think, and they all don't make the same "juh" sound. Also, my hands were a little tied since I was trying to keep to the same structure as the original. Had I been fomenting my own speech about what I stand for (assuming I ever decide to stand for something), then I probably would be able to pull off something a little more classy.
Anyway, here's the text from the original, so you can compare it if you feel so inclined:
Voilà!
In view, a humble vaudevillian veteran, cast vicariously as both victim and villain by the vicissitudes of Fate. This visage, no mere veneer of vanity, is a vestige of the vox populi, now vacant, vanished. However, this valorous visitation of a by-gone vexation, stands vivified, and has vowed to vanquish these venal and virulent vermin vanguarding vice and vouchsafing the violently vicious and voracious violation of volition.
The only verdict is vengeance; a vendetta, held as a votive, not in vain, for the value and veracity of such shall one day vindicate the vigilant and the virtuous. Verily, this vichyssoise of verbiage veers most verbose so let me simply add that it’s my very good honor to meet you, and you may call me V.
Saturday, November 04, 2006
It's Midnight in London
Remember, remember the fifth of November,
The gunpowder, treason, and plot
I know of no reason why the gunpowder treason
Should ever be forgot
Friday, September 29, 2006
Nerd-off 2006
Since I am chained to a computer (with Intraweb access) all day for my employment, I find myself rather frequently dallying about various and sundry Web sites, looking for a distraction from my meager existence. A scant number of weeks ago, I found such entertainment in the most recent musical video of one Weird Al Yankovich - a video entitled “White and Nerdy.”
As one who is both “white” and a “nerd” (though I envision myself as more of a “geek” - man I love me some raw chicken heads), I found this latest aural venture rather enjoyable. But after perusing said video a number of times now, I couldn’t help but notice a certain smugness on Mr. Yankovich’s metal enhanced maw. An “I’m better than you” attitude that began to stick in my craw.
After my craw had become infected (and I had to miss three days of work), I decided that it was now time for me to take action. Well, Mr. Yankovich, since no one else has decided to hoist you by your own petard, I will take up the charge. Let us have a nerd-off to see which of us is the whiter and nerdier.
Yankovich: “They see me mowing my front lawn”
Josh: I have a natural aversion to sunlight and avoid it at all costs
Yankovich: “First in my class here at MIT”
Josh: Umm…I went to CU Boulder, and wasn’t even in the honors program…but I did learn how inherently evil I am because of my white skin and my penis…though I can’t remember which is more evil anymore…I think it’s the penis
Yankovich: “Got skills, I’m a champion at D&D”
Josh: Haven’t really played too much D&D…that’s more my brother’s department. I cover the comic book front…
Yankovich: “MC Escher that’s my favorite MC”
Josh: I’d probably go with MC Frontalot - the lyrical mastermind that gestated the “Penny Arcade Theme” and “Rhyme of the Nibelung.” Of course, I’m more of a metal fan.
Yankovich: “All my action figures are cherry”
Josh: a) Action figures are referred to as “mint,” not "cherry"
b) If they are out of their boxes, they are no longer mint
c) I lack the snazzy shelf display of Mr. Yankovich because the vast number of G.I. Joe figures I have wouldn’t have fit onto the same shelf…not to mention my Star Wars figures…or X-Men figures…and don’t even get me started on vehicles…amateur
Yankovich: “Stephen Hawking’s in my library”
Josh: I think I’m pretty much pooched on this one. I mean, I still have my Physics texts, but none of them were written by Hawking. Has anyone heard of Raymond A. Serway? No?…nevermind then.
Yankovich: “My MySpace page is totally pimped out”
Josh: Pshaw! You call that pimped out? With a white background? Mine has a painting by Alex Ross of proposed X-Men costumes that he did for Wizard magazine. Beat that…I mean, if I had a MySpace page, that’s what I’d have…but I don’t.
Yankovich: “Know pi to a thousand places”
Josh: 3.14159265…that’s all I’ve got. I do have a copy of the “Pi” song by Kate Bush…I guess I should listen to that more.
Yankovich: “I’m a whiz at Minesweeper”
Josh: Minesweeper? Minesweeper? You’ve got to be kidding me. Okay, this should be an easy one. I’m currently splitting my time between Diablo II and Lego Star Wars II: The Original Trilogy. Sweep this. (Author’s note: I am holding my sac while writing this…never realized how hard it is to type with one hand before.)
Yankovich: “Do vector calculus just for fun”
Josh: My electives in college included three semesters of Calculus along with individual courses in Differential Equations, Euclidean/Hyperbolic Geometry, Linear Algebra, Probability Theory and Abstract Math. I took so many math classes “for fun” that I stumbled into a Minor in Mathematics without even trying.
Yankovich: “Ain’t got a gat, but I’ve got a soldering gun”
Josh: I’ve got neither, though I’d probably get a gun first. But before I do that, I probably should get these random suicidal urges under control.
Yankovich: “Happy Days is my favorite theme song”
Josh: I think that indicates that you are a homosexual, not a nerd. I guess I’d go with the theme song to Firefly.
Yankovich: “Sure kick your butt at a game of ping pong”
Josh: I proudly claim that I lack the hand-eye coordination to beat a drunk five-year-old at a game of ping pong…on a similar note, I apparently can’t beat a five year old kid at drinking games either…damn that little girl could slam the Goldschlager.
Yankovich: “Ace any trivia quiz you bring on”
Josh: Hrumph. I see that you were playing the Genus Edition of Trivial Pursuit. I guess you could play that…of course, the last version of Trivial Pursuit I played was the DVD Star Wars Saga edition. And I won.
Yankovich: “Fluent in JavaScript as well as Klingon”
Josh: Jegh…I know a couple of words, but I am by no means fluent in Klingon.
Yankovich: Oooh. Look at me. I’m so nerdy, I’m dancing in front of the Schrodinger equation.
Josh: I frickin’ derivated the crap out of that abomination to find its probability density function so that I could use it to determine the location of a single particle in a two-dimensional box. Sweep this. (Author’s note: still holding the sac)
Yankovich: “I’ve been browsing, inspecting X-Men comics, you know I collect them”
Josh: The hell you do! Mother F*cker, that is not the proper way to hold a comic. Bending them? If you’re going to bend a comic after it’s been bagged and boarded, you might as well drop trough and floss your sphincter with it.
For all of you novices (I’m looking in your direction Yankovich), if you bend a comic that has been bagged and boarded, the board bends. And anyone that knows anything knows that if a board bends, it stays bent, which will cause your comic to bend and be permanently disfigured a la Mel Gibson’s face in The Man Without A Face…or his career after dropping a few racial epithets.
Yankovich: “I edit Wikipedia”
Josh: Can’t say I’ve ever done that. I did waste an afternoon reading the flame war over the article on Freemasonry, though.
Yankovich: “I memorized Holy Grail really well”
Josh: While I enjoy the film, I can’t say that I’ve memorized it “really well.” I could paraphrase it to the annoyance of everyone around me though.
Yankovich: “I got a business doing Web sites”
Josh: Yeah, and my job is professional sex slave for Natalie Portman…and Keira Knightley…and Jeri Ryan.....................sorry, got a little distracted there. What was I talking about?…Oh yeah. Come on Yankovich, we all know that you are a multi-Grammy-award-winning musician. Me? I’m a copywriter, and I spend all day writing boring marketing material about servers and tape libraries and service oriented architectures.
Yankovich: “I got myself a fanny pack”
Josh: Your point. I’m not even going near that.
Yankovich: “They were having a sale at The Gap”
Josh: Slow down, cowboy. You shop at The Gap? What kind of a nerd are you? I buy my staples - pants, underwear, socks - at Wal-Mart. Everything that covers my upper half (re: T-Shirt) is purchased where real nerds buy their clothes, online or at a SciFi convention.
Yankovich: Spend my nights with a roll of bubble wrap
Pop! Pop!
Hope no one sees me, getting freaky
Josh: Um, what?
Yankovich: “I was in AV Club and Glee Club and even the Chess Team”
Josh: Drama, Basketball, Soccer…yeah, I lost this one. In my defense though, I went to a small, private school (grand total of 12 in my senior class), so they pretty much had to accept anyone that tried out for a sports team…beggars can’t be choosers.
Yankovich: “Only question I ever thought was hard was whether I liked Kirk or did I like Picard”
Josh: If you’re a real nerd, you already know the answer to this question “balls to bones.” Of the two, I pick Kirk. (But between you and me, I’d take Capt. Benjamin Sisko for the win every time.)
Yankovich: “Spend every weekend at the Renaissance Fair”
Josh: I went once this last summer.
Yankovich: Oooh. Look at me. I’m purchasing the Star Wars Holiday Special.
Josh: Okay, I don’t have a bootleg copy of the Star Wars Holiday Special, but I can tell you that it contains the first public appearance of Boba Fett, the most feared bounty hunter in the galaxy.
And the winner is…
Damn straight. Respect my authority. Don’t want none, won’t be none…I suddenly feel like crying…
As one who is both “white” and a “nerd” (though I envision myself as more of a “geek” - man I love me some raw chicken heads), I found this latest aural venture rather enjoyable. But after perusing said video a number of times now, I couldn’t help but notice a certain smugness on Mr. Yankovich’s metal enhanced maw. An “I’m better than you” attitude that began to stick in my craw.
After my craw had become infected (and I had to miss three days of work), I decided that it was now time for me to take action. Well, Mr. Yankovich, since no one else has decided to hoist you by your own petard, I will take up the charge. Let us have a nerd-off to see which of us is the whiter and nerdier.
Begin:
Yankovich: “They see me mowing my front lawn”
Josh: I have a natural aversion to sunlight and avoid it at all costs
Advantage: Josh
Yankovich: “First in my class here at MIT”
Josh: Umm…I went to CU Boulder, and wasn’t even in the honors program…but I did learn how inherently evil I am because of my white skin and my penis…though I can’t remember which is more evil anymore…I think it’s the penis
Advantage: Yankovich
Yankovich: “Got skills, I’m a champion at D&D”
Josh: Haven’t really played too much D&D…that’s more my brother’s department. I cover the comic book front…
Advantage: Yankovich
Yankovich: “MC Escher that’s my favorite MC”
Josh: I’d probably go with MC Frontalot - the lyrical mastermind that gestated the “Penny Arcade Theme” and “Rhyme of the Nibelung.” Of course, I’m more of a metal fan.
Advantage: Tie
Yankovich: “All my action figures are cherry”
Josh: a) Action figures are referred to as “mint,” not "cherry"
b) If they are out of their boxes, they are no longer mint
c) I lack the snazzy shelf display of Mr. Yankovich because the vast number of G.I. Joe figures I have wouldn’t have fit onto the same shelf…not to mention my Star Wars figures…or X-Men figures…and don’t even get me started on vehicles…amateur
Advantage: Josh
Yankovich: “Stephen Hawking’s in my library”
Josh: I think I’m pretty much pooched on this one. I mean, I still have my Physics texts, but none of them were written by Hawking. Has anyone heard of Raymond A. Serway? No?…nevermind then.
Advantage: Yankovich
Yankovich: “My MySpace page is totally pimped out”
Josh: Pshaw! You call that pimped out? With a white background? Mine has a painting by Alex Ross of proposed X-Men costumes that he did for Wizard magazine. Beat that…I mean, if I had a MySpace page, that’s what I’d have…but I don’t.
Advantage: Josh?
Yankovich: “Know pi to a thousand places”
Josh: 3.14159265…that’s all I’ve got. I do have a copy of the “Pi” song by Kate Bush…I guess I should listen to that more.
Advantage: Yankovich
Yankovich: “I’m a whiz at Minesweeper”
Josh: Minesweeper? Minesweeper? You’ve got to be kidding me. Okay, this should be an easy one. I’m currently splitting my time between Diablo II and Lego Star Wars II: The Original Trilogy. Sweep this. (Author’s note: I am holding my sac while writing this…never realized how hard it is to type with one hand before.)
Advantage: Josh
Yankovich: “Do vector calculus just for fun”
Josh: My electives in college included three semesters of Calculus along with individual courses in Differential Equations, Euclidean/Hyperbolic Geometry, Linear Algebra, Probability Theory and Abstract Math. I took so many math classes “for fun” that I stumbled into a Minor in Mathematics without even trying.
Advantage: Josh
Yankovich: “Ain’t got a gat, but I’ve got a soldering gun”
Josh: I’ve got neither, though I’d probably get a gun first. But before I do that, I probably should get these random suicidal urges under control.
Advantage: Yankovich
Yankovich: “Happy Days is my favorite theme song”
Josh: I think that indicates that you are a homosexual, not a nerd. I guess I’d go with the theme song to Firefly.
Advantage: Josh
Yankovich: “Sure kick your butt at a game of ping pong”
Josh: I proudly claim that I lack the hand-eye coordination to beat a drunk five-year-old at a game of ping pong…on a similar note, I apparently can’t beat a five year old kid at drinking games either…damn that little girl could slam the Goldschlager.
Advantage: Josh
Yankovich: “Ace any trivia quiz you bring on”
Josh: Hrumph. I see that you were playing the Genus Edition of Trivial Pursuit. I guess you could play that…of course, the last version of Trivial Pursuit I played was the DVD Star Wars Saga edition. And I won.
Advantage: Josh
Yankovich: “Fluent in JavaScript as well as Klingon”
Josh: Jegh…I know a couple of words, but I am by no means fluent in Klingon.
Advantage: Yankovich
Yankovich: Oooh. Look at me. I’m so nerdy, I’m dancing in front of the Schrodinger equation.
Josh: I frickin’ derivated the crap out of that abomination to find its probability density function so that I could use it to determine the location of a single particle in a two-dimensional box. Sweep this. (Author’s note: still holding the sac)
Advantage: Josh
Yankovich: “I’ve been browsing, inspecting X-Men comics, you know I collect them”
Josh: The hell you do! Mother F*cker, that is not the proper way to hold a comic. Bending them? If you’re going to bend a comic after it’s been bagged and boarded, you might as well drop trough and floss your sphincter with it.
For all of you novices (I’m looking in your direction Yankovich), if you bend a comic that has been bagged and boarded, the board bends. And anyone that knows anything knows that if a board bends, it stays bent, which will cause your comic to bend and be permanently disfigured a la Mel Gibson’s face in The Man Without A Face…or his career after dropping a few racial epithets.
Advantage: Josh
Yankovich: “I edit Wikipedia”
Josh: Can’t say I’ve ever done that. I did waste an afternoon reading the flame war over the article on Freemasonry, though.
Advantage: Yankovich
Yankovich: “I memorized Holy Grail really well”
Josh: While I enjoy the film, I can’t say that I’ve memorized it “really well.” I could paraphrase it to the annoyance of everyone around me though.
Advantage: Yankovich
Yankovich: “I got a business doing Web sites”
Josh: Yeah, and my job is professional sex slave for Natalie Portman…and Keira Knightley…and Jeri Ryan.....................sorry, got a little distracted there. What was I talking about?…Oh yeah. Come on Yankovich, we all know that you are a multi-Grammy-award-winning musician. Me? I’m a copywriter, and I spend all day writing boring marketing material about servers and tape libraries and service oriented architectures.
Advantage: Josh
Yankovich: “I got myself a fanny pack”
Josh: Your point. I’m not even going near that.
Advantage: Yankovich
Yankovich: “They were having a sale at The Gap”
Josh: Slow down, cowboy. You shop at The Gap? What kind of a nerd are you? I buy my staples - pants, underwear, socks - at Wal-Mart. Everything that covers my upper half (re: T-Shirt) is purchased where real nerds buy their clothes, online or at a SciFi convention.
Advantage: Josh
Yankovich: Spend my nights with a roll of bubble wrap
Pop! Pop!
Hope no one sees me, getting freaky
Josh: Um, what?
Advantage: ???
Yankovich: “I was in AV Club and Glee Club and even the Chess Team”
Josh: Drama, Basketball, Soccer…yeah, I lost this one. In my defense though, I went to a small, private school (grand total of 12 in my senior class), so they pretty much had to accept anyone that tried out for a sports team…beggars can’t be choosers.
Advantage: Yankovich
Yankovich: “Only question I ever thought was hard was whether I liked Kirk or did I like Picard”
Josh: If you’re a real nerd, you already know the answer to this question “balls to bones.” Of the two, I pick Kirk. (But between you and me, I’d take Capt. Benjamin Sisko for the win every time.)
Advantage: Josh
Yankovich: “Spend every weekend at the Renaissance Fair”
Josh: I went once this last summer.
Advantage: Yankovich
Yankovich: Oooh. Look at me. I’m purchasing the Star Wars Holiday Special.
Josh: Okay, I don’t have a bootleg copy of the Star Wars Holiday Special, but I can tell you that it contains the first public appearance of Boba Fett, the most feared bounty hunter in the galaxy.
Advantage: Yankovich
And the winner is…
ME.
Damn straight. Respect my authority. Don’t want none, won’t be none…I suddenly feel like crying…
Friday, September 08, 2006
Non-Story
“So, what’s it about?”
Thomas cocked his head slightly, “What’s what about?” He had not been paying attention to the conversation for a couple of minutes now. Instead, he had been focusing all of his attention on the new red-haired waitress. She had her hair in pigtails and wore a tight t-shirt that didn’t quite reached down to her waist, exposing a well-defined midriff along with an eye-catching belly-button ring.
Thomas and his friend Matt, the one that had asked the question, had been coming to the Walnut St. Café for two years now, and every waitress (never a waiter) had come with a short shirt and a pierced belly button. This fact alone was why both Matt and Thomas continued to come to the café long after graduation, when caffeine was no longer required to fill the gap between last night’s party and today’s classes.
Matt sighed, shaking his head in frustration. “Your story.” He paused for a moment, waiting for Thomas’s eyes to shift from the waitress back to him. “The one that you’ve been wasting all of your time on. The one that you were worked on instead of going to Jeff’s party.”
Thomas finished pouring the second creamer into his coffee before replying. “Oh, right. It’s, uh…well, it’s...” Thomas cooled his drink by blowing on it while he tried to find the words.
Glancing one last time at the redhead, he answered, “Well, it’s not exactly what you would call a story. I mean, it is a story – characters, fiction, dialogue – all that. What I mean to say is that it’s not what you’d call a story.” He placed the emphasis on the word “you,” dragging out the word to drive his point home.
The Walnut St. Café was one of those cozy, hole-in-the-wall establishments that were better known for ambience than flavor. From the halogen lamps to the used books lining the walls to the ceramic kittens arranged on the mantel over the faux fireplace – every detail was meticulously planned to make the patrons feel like they were in someone’s home.
The walls were a faded beige, artificially scuffed and marred to exaggerate their age. Old, worn couches were littered about, carefully placed to maximize conversation. It was, in fact, on one of these couches – a blue and green striped one – that Thomas and Matt held their conversation.
Finding the words, Thomas finally answered, “Not a lot happens in it really, it’s just about two guys sitting around talking. Kind of like we’re doing now.”
Matt let this sink in for a moment. “So it’s about a couple of guys sitting around a coffee shop? That sounds boring.”
Thomas shook his head. “No. They’re not at a coffee shop. They’re at a bus stop.”
“Still sounds pretty stupid.” It was now Matt’s turn to blow on his coffee. After taking a sip, he added, “I thought you wrote sci-fi stuff, anyway.”
“Well, it’s at a bus stop in the future.” Ignoring the scowl this answer brought to his friend, Thomas continued, “They’re talking about bus schedules.”
Matt set his coffee down. “You’re kidding, right?” Thomas’s sheepish grin was a clear enough answer. “You’re not kidding…Holy crap, dude. That just sounds god-awful. Why would you think that anyone wants to read that? Nobody wants to read about two guys talking about bus schedules in the future.”
“Well,” Thomas answered defensively, “they’re actually talking about literature.”
“What?”
“Yeah, the bus schedules are a metaphor for literary conventions.” Thomas took another sip, letting the fact sink in. “It’s really self-reflective about the nature of writing and the role the speaker plays in the voice and tone of –“
Matt cut him off before he could finish. “You’ve already lost me. I’m not even reading it, and you’ve already lost me. Nobody in human history has ever wanted to sit down and waste their time, reading about two guys sitting around a coffee shop—”
“Bus station.”
“—bus station, talking about literature.”
“Hey guys. Can I get either of you anything?” It was the red-haired waitress that Thomas had been ogling earlier.
“N-no. We’re good.” As always, Thomas’s stutter acted up when speaking to women. Matt let himself smile at his friend’s discomfort.
“Okay, then. Well, let me know if you change your mind.”
She began to walk off when Matt stopped her. “Actually, there is something you could help us with.”
“Yes?”
“Well, my friend and I were having a discussion, and we were hoping an outside opinion would prove useful.”
The waitress wore a coy smile. Even though she was new, she was already used to being hit on by customers. “Sure. What do you want to know?”
Cocking his head slightly and in the most serious tone he could muster, Matt asked, “Do you find bus schedules interesting?”
“That’s your question?”
“Yeah.”
She allowed herself a slight laugh before responding. “No. I don’t find bus schedules interesting.”
Matt nodded his head briefly in agreement. “Fair enough.” He continued with the serious tone he had used earlier. “Now, what if I told you that the bus schedules are a metaphor for literature? Would you have the same answer?”
The waitress’s confusion was obvious on her face. “Um. I’d still say that they weren’t interesting.”
Matt smiled “Thanks.” He turned back to face Thomas.
“That’s it?” the waitress asked.
“Yeah. Thanks again.” As she walked away he smiled at Thomas. “ See, I told you.”
Thomas had been much less entertained by the exchange. Staring Matt straight in the eye he said, “You’re a dick.”
“What?”
“You didn’t have to embarrass me in front of her.” Thomas’s face was a slightly flushed, showing how upset he was.
“Dude, she didn’t even notice you. If anything, she thinks I’m the weird one.”
“Whatever.” Thomas shifted his focus to stirring his coffee.
Matt allowed his friend a couple of minutes to calm down. When he was sure that the storm was over, he continued, “Is the bus at least cool?”
“Huh?” Thomas pried his gaze back from another waitress, a brunette this time.
“The future-bus, does it come flying in? Or is it driven by a robot or something?”
Thomas’s sheepish grin returned, “Well, it’s not that kind of future. It takes place three months in the future.”
“What?”
Thomas nodded to make it clear that he was serious. “Yeah, that’s one of the things I was playing with. See, the story is about you in the future.” He pointed at Matt when he said “you.”
“The story is about me?”
Thomas corrected him. “Not you, you. The reader, you. Every reader. It’s about everybody. Anyway, I wrote the story in the future, but at a defined point in the future so everything is in the future imperfect tense. In other words, every time I use a verb I –”
Matt raised his hands, stopping him. “Dude. Stop. No. You’re done. You’re done. I am not going to hear anything more about your stupid future but not future story of two guys sitting at a bus station.”
Before Thomas could respond, Matt continued. “It’s a story. In the future. If you do a story in the future, you either have robots, lasers, or space travel,” he said, counting off the options on his fingers. “I don’t even like this crap, and I know that. You write a future story about technology going crazy or the perfect society going down the toilet or something like that. Sci-fi is all about picking a trend that’s going on today and then running that concept into the ground. You don’t write a story about bus schedules.”
Thomas’s annoyance was starting to show, his words biting as he answered. “I told you when we started this conversation that it wasn’t what you would consider a story.” Again he dragged out the word “you.” Crossing his arms, he continued “I didn’t write it for you, anyway. I wrote it to make money.”
Matt’s voice raised in pitch as he asked “How are you going to make money off of a stupid-ass story like the one you just described?”
“Well, I was going to try to sell it to one of those literary journals. They eat this crap up,” he explained. “They’re all about self-reflective writing, and if you sprinkle in a few college lit words – intertextual, juxtapose, interlocutor – they’ll be throwing money at you.”
Matt’s tone showed that he was quickly losing interest in the conversation. “Whatever, man. It’s still a crappy story.”
After sitting in silence for a few seconds, he added. “You know what you should do? You should apologize to your readers at the end. You should make a new character that represents the reader.” He pointed to a man sitting at a table nearby. “Like that guy.” Matt’s finger ticked slightly to the right as he added “or her.”
The man was rather ordinary in appearance. He was of average height and average weight, wearing common clothes that one would find anywhere. His skin was a light tan that made it difficult to tell his race. His hair was in a popular style, and the color seemed to shift depending on how the light hit it. The woman that Matt had indicated was seated next to him, and oddly enough, matched the same description.
“You should have one of your cyborg bus passengers from three weeks in the future, turn to the reader character,” Matt turned his body away from Thomas to the couple now collectively designated as “the reader”, making it difficult to tell which of the two he was addressing, “and your character should say something to the reader, like, ‘I’m sorry. I have no business writing. I am not the least bit entertaining. I lack both talent and skill, and I sincerely apologize for the verbal suckage that I have just forced upon you.’”
Matt turned back to face Thomas. “Or something like that.”
Thomas sat still for a moment, his eyes focusing on the almost empty cup of coffee in front of him. With a sigh that conceded defeat he murmured, “Yeah, you’re probably right.” He reached into his pocket, pulled out some change, and dropped it on the table. Standing up from his chair, he paused, his eyes again resting on the last few sips of coffee in his cup.
“On second thought,” he said as he scooped up the change, dumped it back into his pocket, and downed the last of his coffee, “screw ‘em. Screw ‘em all.”
Thomas then walked out of the café with his middle finger extended, passing by Matt, the red-haired waitress, and the average couple – the readers.
Thomas cocked his head slightly, “What’s what about?” He had not been paying attention to the conversation for a couple of minutes now. Instead, he had been focusing all of his attention on the new red-haired waitress. She had her hair in pigtails and wore a tight t-shirt that didn’t quite reached down to her waist, exposing a well-defined midriff along with an eye-catching belly-button ring.
Thomas and his friend Matt, the one that had asked the question, had been coming to the Walnut St. Café for two years now, and every waitress (never a waiter) had come with a short shirt and a pierced belly button. This fact alone was why both Matt and Thomas continued to come to the café long after graduation, when caffeine was no longer required to fill the gap between last night’s party and today’s classes.
Matt sighed, shaking his head in frustration. “Your story.” He paused for a moment, waiting for Thomas’s eyes to shift from the waitress back to him. “The one that you’ve been wasting all of your time on. The one that you were worked on instead of going to Jeff’s party.”
Thomas finished pouring the second creamer into his coffee before replying. “Oh, right. It’s, uh…well, it’s...” Thomas cooled his drink by blowing on it while he tried to find the words.
Glancing one last time at the redhead, he answered, “Well, it’s not exactly what you would call a story. I mean, it is a story – characters, fiction, dialogue – all that. What I mean to say is that it’s not what you’d call a story.” He placed the emphasis on the word “you,” dragging out the word to drive his point home.
The Walnut St. Café was one of those cozy, hole-in-the-wall establishments that were better known for ambience than flavor. From the halogen lamps to the used books lining the walls to the ceramic kittens arranged on the mantel over the faux fireplace – every detail was meticulously planned to make the patrons feel like they were in someone’s home.
The walls were a faded beige, artificially scuffed and marred to exaggerate their age. Old, worn couches were littered about, carefully placed to maximize conversation. It was, in fact, on one of these couches – a blue and green striped one – that Thomas and Matt held their conversation.
Finding the words, Thomas finally answered, “Not a lot happens in it really, it’s just about two guys sitting around talking. Kind of like we’re doing now.”
Matt let this sink in for a moment. “So it’s about a couple of guys sitting around a coffee shop? That sounds boring.”
Thomas shook his head. “No. They’re not at a coffee shop. They’re at a bus stop.”
“Still sounds pretty stupid.” It was now Matt’s turn to blow on his coffee. After taking a sip, he added, “I thought you wrote sci-fi stuff, anyway.”
“Well, it’s at a bus stop in the future.” Ignoring the scowl this answer brought to his friend, Thomas continued, “They’re talking about bus schedules.”
Matt set his coffee down. “You’re kidding, right?” Thomas’s sheepish grin was a clear enough answer. “You’re not kidding…Holy crap, dude. That just sounds god-awful. Why would you think that anyone wants to read that? Nobody wants to read about two guys talking about bus schedules in the future.”
“Well,” Thomas answered defensively, “they’re actually talking about literature.”
“What?”
“Yeah, the bus schedules are a metaphor for literary conventions.” Thomas took another sip, letting the fact sink in. “It’s really self-reflective about the nature of writing and the role the speaker plays in the voice and tone of –“
Matt cut him off before he could finish. “You’ve already lost me. I’m not even reading it, and you’ve already lost me. Nobody in human history has ever wanted to sit down and waste their time, reading about two guys sitting around a coffee shop—”
“Bus station.”
“—bus station, talking about literature.”
“Hey guys. Can I get either of you anything?” It was the red-haired waitress that Thomas had been ogling earlier.
“N-no. We’re good.” As always, Thomas’s stutter acted up when speaking to women. Matt let himself smile at his friend’s discomfort.
“Okay, then. Well, let me know if you change your mind.”
She began to walk off when Matt stopped her. “Actually, there is something you could help us with.”
“Yes?”
“Well, my friend and I were having a discussion, and we were hoping an outside opinion would prove useful.”
The waitress wore a coy smile. Even though she was new, she was already used to being hit on by customers. “Sure. What do you want to know?”
Cocking his head slightly and in the most serious tone he could muster, Matt asked, “Do you find bus schedules interesting?”
“That’s your question?”
“Yeah.”
She allowed herself a slight laugh before responding. “No. I don’t find bus schedules interesting.”
Matt nodded his head briefly in agreement. “Fair enough.” He continued with the serious tone he had used earlier. “Now, what if I told you that the bus schedules are a metaphor for literature? Would you have the same answer?”
The waitress’s confusion was obvious on her face. “Um. I’d still say that they weren’t interesting.”
Matt smiled “Thanks.” He turned back to face Thomas.
“That’s it?” the waitress asked.
“Yeah. Thanks again.” As she walked away he smiled at Thomas. “ See, I told you.”
Thomas had been much less entertained by the exchange. Staring Matt straight in the eye he said, “You’re a dick.”
“What?”
“You didn’t have to embarrass me in front of her.” Thomas’s face was a slightly flushed, showing how upset he was.
“Dude, she didn’t even notice you. If anything, she thinks I’m the weird one.”
“Whatever.” Thomas shifted his focus to stirring his coffee.
Matt allowed his friend a couple of minutes to calm down. When he was sure that the storm was over, he continued, “Is the bus at least cool?”
“Huh?” Thomas pried his gaze back from another waitress, a brunette this time.
“The future-bus, does it come flying in? Or is it driven by a robot or something?”
Thomas’s sheepish grin returned, “Well, it’s not that kind of future. It takes place three months in the future.”
“What?”
Thomas nodded to make it clear that he was serious. “Yeah, that’s one of the things I was playing with. See, the story is about you in the future.” He pointed at Matt when he said “you.”
“The story is about me?”
Thomas corrected him. “Not you, you. The reader, you. Every reader. It’s about everybody. Anyway, I wrote the story in the future, but at a defined point in the future so everything is in the future imperfect tense. In other words, every time I use a verb I –”
Matt raised his hands, stopping him. “Dude. Stop. No. You’re done. You’re done. I am not going to hear anything more about your stupid future but not future story of two guys sitting at a bus station.”
Before Thomas could respond, Matt continued. “It’s a story. In the future. If you do a story in the future, you either have robots, lasers, or space travel,” he said, counting off the options on his fingers. “I don’t even like this crap, and I know that. You write a future story about technology going crazy or the perfect society going down the toilet or something like that. Sci-fi is all about picking a trend that’s going on today and then running that concept into the ground. You don’t write a story about bus schedules.”
Thomas’s annoyance was starting to show, his words biting as he answered. “I told you when we started this conversation that it wasn’t what you would consider a story.” Again he dragged out the word “you.” Crossing his arms, he continued “I didn’t write it for you, anyway. I wrote it to make money.”
Matt’s voice raised in pitch as he asked “How are you going to make money off of a stupid-ass story like the one you just described?”
“Well, I was going to try to sell it to one of those literary journals. They eat this crap up,” he explained. “They’re all about self-reflective writing, and if you sprinkle in a few college lit words – intertextual, juxtapose, interlocutor – they’ll be throwing money at you.”
Matt’s tone showed that he was quickly losing interest in the conversation. “Whatever, man. It’s still a crappy story.”
After sitting in silence for a few seconds, he added. “You know what you should do? You should apologize to your readers at the end. You should make a new character that represents the reader.” He pointed to a man sitting at a table nearby. “Like that guy.” Matt’s finger ticked slightly to the right as he added “or her.”
The man was rather ordinary in appearance. He was of average height and average weight, wearing common clothes that one would find anywhere. His skin was a light tan that made it difficult to tell his race. His hair was in a popular style, and the color seemed to shift depending on how the light hit it. The woman that Matt had indicated was seated next to him, and oddly enough, matched the same description.
“You should have one of your cyborg bus passengers from three weeks in the future, turn to the reader character,” Matt turned his body away from Thomas to the couple now collectively designated as “the reader”, making it difficult to tell which of the two he was addressing, “and your character should say something to the reader, like, ‘I’m sorry. I have no business writing. I am not the least bit entertaining. I lack both talent and skill, and I sincerely apologize for the verbal suckage that I have just forced upon you.’”
Matt turned back to face Thomas. “Or something like that.”
Thomas sat still for a moment, his eyes focusing on the almost empty cup of coffee in front of him. With a sigh that conceded defeat he murmured, “Yeah, you’re probably right.” He reached into his pocket, pulled out some change, and dropped it on the table. Standing up from his chair, he paused, his eyes again resting on the last few sips of coffee in his cup.
“On second thought,” he said as he scooped up the change, dumped it back into his pocket, and downed the last of his coffee, “screw ‘em. Screw ‘em all.”
Thomas then walked out of the café with his middle finger extended, passing by Matt, the red-haired waitress, and the average couple – the readers.
Monday, August 28, 2006
Jesus???...really???
A few weeks ago my church held a faith conference to…to…OK, I’m not entirely sure what the goal was, but it did involve several well-known speakers, and they talked about, oddly enough, faith. Now, to anyone that has ever attended one of these charismatic love-fests, they would note that emotionalism is a key element to the success of these outings. Also, to anyone that has ever interacted with me, they would note that emotionalism is not something that I am prone to and, in fact, heavily dislike.
That being said, throughout the conference, I was open to the messages shared and listened for a “special” word from God, one that was just for me. However, as is common, I was not affected on the same emotional level as everyone else and found myself expecting more.
With the conference over, the guest “men of God” gone and my hopes crushed, I resigned myself to tarry on, plugging away at my dead-end life and my dead-end job. One day while toiling away at my desk, writing copy and leading the crap out of some technical content, I was (as C.S. Lewis might put it) surprised by joy. As I scanned through my inbox I was greeted with this image:
From: Jesus
Subject: really
Subject: really
Imagine my excitement at receiving an e-mail from the Word Become Flesh. With baited breath, I opened the message to be greeted with the following text:
Dwight just told me that you no doubt became aware about the knowledge on feeling like you did in college,
Just though you might want to know plan, that has been consulting me feel better about myself.
Armando and me have been on this new program
http://www.icpe.cognizancelosed.com/ly/
that has been guiding me with that.
salon end of the sandstone cliffs
roll background were countless flaming eyes.
Thailand yet bunk beds I may
First, I would like to thank you, Dwight, whomever you are, for speaking to Jesus about me. I don’t remember you from college, but I was so hopped on queludes for those four years that I really don’t remember much of it…except that one night with the pony and the trebuchet, but my lawyer says that the statute of limitations hasn’t expired yet, so I probably shouldn’t say anything more about it…Anyway, as the Lord’s message indicates, I have been feeling much like I did in college – burned out, hapless, lonely, depressed and wanting more out of life.
Now, I’m not entirely sure who Armando is (perhaps some unknown saint, maybe an archangel), but if the Son of God says that he’s hooked on a new program from some random Web site, sign me up.
After visiting the site, I was admittedly confused why the Savior of Mankind is so interested in HGH treatments from the Total Health & Rejuvenation Center. However, as an Xian (it’s like a Christian, but more hard core) my stated goal is to be a follower of X. So if X is interested in the activities of the Total Health & Rejuvenation Center, that means that I too am “interested” in the activities of said organization…and by “interested” I mean “I’ll be dropping HGH like my pants at the proctologist.” (NOTE: The previous statement was meant as an analogy. The author of this blog has never allowed anyone to place their finger in or anywhere near his exit clause…except for that night with the pony and the trebuchet…damn queludes.)
…With regards to the last three lines of our Lord’s message, I figured that Jesus was just throwing those in there to get past my spam filters, which are fairly aggressive…and come to think of it, run by a daemon...and if twelve years at a religious indoctrination center (private school) have taught me anything, it's that anything remotely resembling the word "demon" has to be inherently evil.
Of course! How could I have been so blind? All of this time wasted, waiting for a divine connection when the answer has been staring me in the face all along. The Lord has been trying to communicate with me, but the foul network administrators that have surrounded me are doing everything possible to stop that from happening. Obviously this foul class of ne’er-do-wells are in league with the prince of lies and seek to undermine my faith. Well have no doubt that this travesty will not go unanswered.
IT support staff be warned – I’m coming for you. Pray to your fallen lord now, for my wrath shall be swift and unending. (And by “swift” and “unending,” I mean that I am going to taser you in your junk…and by “junk” I mean “testacles.”)
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