Friday, June 6, 2008
Thursday, June 5, 2008
Maniacal Machinations: Around the World Map #1
In my infinite boredom, I found myself staring at a world map and searching for strange city names. While it wasn't the most recent of maps (it had Zaire, for christ's sake), I'm betting most of these cities still exist:
Arsenic Tubs, Arizona
Why, Arizona
Medicine Hat, Canada
Hell, Norway
Fucking, Austria
Condom, France
Beaverlick, Kentucky
Hornyhead Mountain, North Carolina
Lawyersville, New York
Arsenic Tubs, Arizona
Why, Arizona
Medicine Hat, Canada
Hell, Norway
Fucking, Austria
Condom, France
Beaverlick, Kentucky
Hornyhead Mountain, North Carolina
Lawyersville, New York
Wednesday, June 4, 2008
Tuesday, June 3, 2008
Youtube and I: Shockwave's Burden
I found this absolutely hilarious parody dub of some scenes from Transformers:
Monday, June 2, 2008
Maniacal Machinations: At the Fair part 2
I'll skip the part where I went on the rides because those were damn fun for me and thus, will probably be rather boring for you.
On the verge of puking, I sought out a remedy. My options were caramel apples, crusty popcorn, or water from the duck pool. I took my chances and got an apple. While I was waiting in line, though, I heard the guy in front of me say, "I'll take one with nuts and one with plain." Strange, I never realized "plain" was a topping I had to request. Regardless, I began taking bites out of my apple (which is harder than you'd think considering how easy it is to get caramel all over yourself) while I made my way to the respectable vendors that pitched their tents just a few yards from the edge of the fair. I'm sorry, did I say respectable vendors? I meant flea market. Honestly, I've never seen so many people selling scented candles in my life. I guess bake sales are out of style or something.
Disgusted with the paltry selection, I went to the food vendors in hopes of experiencing a wide variety of delicacies from all the various cultures of the world. What I ended up getting was a cheeseburger and a Dr. Pepper. Don't get me wrong, it was a damn good cheeseburger.
Anyway, there was this band on stage that was playing Green Day's Basket Case. To my surprise, they were doing a much better job. Then again, it's not too hard to outdo Green Day, is it?
Well, that's it for my adventures at the fair, folks. This part didn't come out anywhere near as well as the first one, but at least I didn't just post an image macro . . .
On the verge of puking, I sought out a remedy. My options were caramel apples, crusty popcorn, or water from the duck pool. I took my chances and got an apple. While I was waiting in line, though, I heard the guy in front of me say, "I'll take one with nuts and one with plain." Strange, I never realized "plain" was a topping I had to request. Regardless, I began taking bites out of my apple (which is harder than you'd think considering how easy it is to get caramel all over yourself) while I made my way to the respectable vendors that pitched their tents just a few yards from the edge of the fair. I'm sorry, did I say respectable vendors? I meant flea market. Honestly, I've never seen so many people selling scented candles in my life. I guess bake sales are out of style or something.
Disgusted with the paltry selection, I went to the food vendors in hopes of experiencing a wide variety of delicacies from all the various cultures of the world. What I ended up getting was a cheeseburger and a Dr. Pepper. Don't get me wrong, it was a damn good cheeseburger.
Anyway, there was this band on stage that was playing Green Day's Basket Case. To my surprise, they were doing a much better job. Then again, it's not too hard to outdo Green Day, is it?
Well, that's it for my adventures at the fair, folks. This part didn't come out anywhere near as well as the first one, but at least I didn't just post an image macro . . .
Sunday, June 1, 2008
Maniacal Machinations: At the Fair part 1
I went to a local fair yesterday. You know, the ones with those ripoff booth games and rides that look like they'd fall apart if I stared too hard at them. Yup, definitely a recipe for a good time.
I know they're ripoffs, but I'm a sucker for carnie games. Firstly, I hit the game where you have to roll a ball into a hole to move a mechanical horse to the finish line. It wasn't just one hole either. I had three holes of three different types to stick my balls in. The first set got my horse as far as a real horse would go if I gave it a shove. The second set . . . well, I never figured out how well those worked, though I'd assume that it'd make my horse move like sonic in a 3D game. Now, the third set of holes was serious fucking business. I'm talking 2D sonic here. That was my hypothesis, anyway. I never actually found out because while I was tempted to reach in and just dump the ball in the good hole, but the guy running the game was already looking at me since I was the only one there over the age of ten.
After recovering my shattered ego, I went to the whack-a-mole game (though it wasn't called that for reasons of copyright). Once again, I was faced with my nemesis: prepubescent children. I was pumped-up and ready to go. Hell, I'd have taken the game to town if it weren't for one thing: the five inch chord binding the hammer to the machine. It should go without saying that being bent over like a man taking it up the- I mean a fifteen year old trying to play Chopin on a Fisher-Price xylophone wasn't the ideal way to do it. I can only assume the chord was there to keep psychopaths like myself from throwing the hammer at the operator in frustration. Surprisingly enough, I managed to outdo my grade-school rivals and was able to claim a memento of my victory: a carnie prize. I had a choice between a dark green frog and a light green frog. Decisions, decisions . .
Next, I spotted a pair of target practice games. One involved using a BB handgun to shoot at novelty targets while the other involved throwing baseballs at milk cans. Recalling my previous experiences with baseballs (one of which involved me pegging a bystander), I opted for the gun. Turns out I wasn't much better with plastic firearms. Then again, the fact that the targets were about as big as the member of anyone reading this. Well, at least I didn't hit anyone this time.
Sulking past the deathtraps known as Ring Toss and Test Your Strength, I happened upon a balloon popping game. Having thrown many a sharp object in my time, I figured this was the perfect game for me. Alas, fortune was against me. 20 mph winds, lead-lined balloons, and darts about as sharp as the wit of a Newgrounds flash maker conspired to separate myself and the five-cent, mass-produced plush toys most likely made in China. Against all odds, I did hit enough balloons to get a prize, though. To my dismay, however, I was presented with a trio of abominations which included what I could only assume was supposed to be a dog with its face melted-off. I passed on the prizes.
Although I gave up on the carnie games at this point, I passed a booth with absolutely no signs, a pool filled with rubber ducks and balls, and a bin of inflatable giant hammers. Being the kind of person who likes to know the rules before playing a game, I poured my immense intellectual resources into figuring out what in bloody hell I was supposed to do. Was I supposed to catch a very specific ball? Was the net I'm using rigged to fall apart? Was this a race? Maybe-
"Just catch a duck."
"Huh?"
"All you have to do is catch a duck."
Thinking this too good to be true, I warily scooped up a large, blue duck.
"Yay, you won. Here's your hammer."
Only after taking a few steps away from the booth did I realize that the game was made for kindergartners and all I had to do was grab a damn duck. Lovely. Just lovely . . .
Come back next time for the second installment in this misadventure!
I know they're ripoffs, but I'm a sucker for carnie games. Firstly, I hit the game where you have to roll a ball into a hole to move a mechanical horse to the finish line. It wasn't just one hole either. I had three holes of three different types to stick my balls in. The first set got my horse as far as a real horse would go if I gave it a shove. The second set . . . well, I never figured out how well those worked, though I'd assume that it'd make my horse move like sonic in a 3D game. Now, the third set of holes was serious fucking business. I'm talking 2D sonic here. That was my hypothesis, anyway. I never actually found out because while I was tempted to reach in and just dump the ball in the good hole, but the guy running the game was already looking at me since I was the only one there over the age of ten.
After recovering my shattered ego, I went to the whack-a-mole game (though it wasn't called that for reasons of copyright). Once again, I was faced with my nemesis: prepubescent children. I was pumped-up and ready to go. Hell, I'd have taken the game to town if it weren't for one thing: the five inch chord binding the hammer to the machine. It should go without saying that being bent over like a man taking it up the- I mean a fifteen year old trying to play Chopin on a Fisher-Price xylophone wasn't the ideal way to do it. I can only assume the chord was there to keep psychopaths like myself from throwing the hammer at the operator in frustration. Surprisingly enough, I managed to outdo my grade-school rivals and was able to claim a memento of my victory: a carnie prize. I had a choice between a dark green frog and a light green frog. Decisions, decisions . .
Next, I spotted a pair of target practice games. One involved using a BB handgun to shoot at novelty targets while the other involved throwing baseballs at milk cans. Recalling my previous experiences with baseballs (one of which involved me pegging a bystander), I opted for the gun. Turns out I wasn't much better with plastic firearms. Then again, the fact that the targets were about as big as the member of anyone reading this. Well, at least I didn't hit anyone this time.
Sulking past the deathtraps known as Ring Toss and Test Your Strength, I happened upon a balloon popping game. Having thrown many a sharp object in my time, I figured this was the perfect game for me. Alas, fortune was against me. 20 mph winds, lead-lined balloons, and darts about as sharp as the wit of a Newgrounds flash maker conspired to separate myself and the five-cent, mass-produced plush toys most likely made in China. Against all odds, I did hit enough balloons to get a prize, though. To my dismay, however, I was presented with a trio of abominations which included what I could only assume was supposed to be a dog with its face melted-off. I passed on the prizes.
Although I gave up on the carnie games at this point, I passed a booth with absolutely no signs, a pool filled with rubber ducks and balls, and a bin of inflatable giant hammers. Being the kind of person who likes to know the rules before playing a game, I poured my immense intellectual resources into figuring out what in bloody hell I was supposed to do. Was I supposed to catch a very specific ball? Was the net I'm using rigged to fall apart? Was this a race? Maybe-
"Just catch a duck."
"Huh?"
"All you have to do is catch a duck."
Thinking this too good to be true, I warily scooped up a large, blue duck.
"Yay, you won. Here's your hammer."
Only after taking a few steps away from the booth did I realize that the game was made for kindergartners and all I had to do was grab a damn duck. Lovely. Just lovely . . .
Come back next time for the second installment in this misadventure!
Saturday, May 31, 2008
Let's Loathe with LEVIATHAN: Takin' off the Rose-Colored Glasses
Yeah, I've been seeing life as joyous and happy lately. Then One_sin came and took off those epic John Lennon glasses I was wearing everywhere.
So I'm going to the beach tomorrow with one of my closest friends. It's my first time going on a vacation without my parents. It'll be the longest I've been away from any of my family. ... The last time I took a vacation from all 5 of my family members, I went on a school field trip in fifth grade and cried like a little girl cuz I had no friends. Last time I took a vacation from my mother, my little sister cried like a little girl cuz she couldn't handle sleep-away camp.
Anyway, after losing a big argument about how a $10 XL t-shirt will do the same thing as a $30+ dollar cover up that I'll never wear again, my mom went to target today. She came into my room, and I was in the middle of sculpting a clam (that I'm now in the process of painting; I'm really into clay modeling right now...), and she told me that what she bought for me is down stairs on the kitchen counter.
Well there were three bags. I'm like, "Oh shit..." because whenever my mom goes shopping, she buys too much. So I haul the bags upstairs, glad she at least went to Target since their bags can be ironed and used for all sorts of crap (use a face mask, though), and I dump it all out on my bed. Recall that she went for one cover up. What I found was
-A spanking new purse/beach bag. I carry a "purse" when I don't have pockets, but mine looks more like a black gym bag, not something that the prom queen would carry.
-TWO absolutely hideous cover ups. One is solid light grey, and buttons all the way up. The other doesn't button but has a scrunching tie around the middle, and has light grey and dark grey horizontal stripes.
-YET ANOTHER pair of flip flops. I alternate between two pairs usually, but I will admit, for white and baby blue Croc imitation flip flops, they're REALLY comfy...
-Six pairs of rainbow underwear. Yeah. Some were stripped, others literally had patterns of the little arcs all over them. One even had a smiling, ironed on cloud. Like a lakitu cloud with drag makeup. I WEAR BOXERS, MOM.
-A simple pair of polarized sunglasses. I'm cool with these.
-A VISOR. Which is great if you're in the process of or on your way to/from playing tennis, or if you're in your fifties and up, or if you're Hispanic and wear it sideways and upside down. I fit none of these.
So now my mom's going to throw a fit telling me I don't respect her enough and that I can't dress myself and I should be wearing this girly crap that shows off my fat, rides up my arm pits and makes sweat marks, or shows off my fat, sagging ass.
Which means I will have to waste all that room in my very limited bag.
THANKS MOM, SEE IF I EVER GET YOU IMPORTED FLOWERS FROM BRAZIL AGAIN. YOU LOVE THEM MORE THAN YOU LOVE ME!!
So I'm going to the beach tomorrow with one of my closest friends. It's my first time going on a vacation without my parents. It'll be the longest I've been away from any of my family. ... The last time I took a vacation from all 5 of my family members, I went on a school field trip in fifth grade and cried like a little girl cuz I had no friends. Last time I took a vacation from my mother, my little sister cried like a little girl cuz she couldn't handle sleep-away camp.
Anyway, after losing a big argument about how a $10 XL t-shirt will do the same thing as a $30+ dollar cover up that I'll never wear again, my mom went to target today. She came into my room, and I was in the middle of sculpting a clam (that I'm now in the process of painting; I'm really into clay modeling right now...), and she told me that what she bought for me is down stairs on the kitchen counter.
Well there were three bags. I'm like, "Oh shit..." because whenever my mom goes shopping, she buys too much. So I haul the bags upstairs, glad she at least went to Target since their bags can be ironed and used for all sorts of crap (use a face mask, though), and I dump it all out on my bed. Recall that she went for one cover up. What I found was
-A spanking new purse/beach bag. I carry a "purse" when I don't have pockets, but mine looks more like a black gym bag, not something that the prom queen would carry.
-TWO absolutely hideous cover ups. One is solid light grey, and buttons all the way up. The other doesn't button but has a scrunching tie around the middle, and has light grey and dark grey horizontal stripes.
-YET ANOTHER pair of flip flops. I alternate between two pairs usually, but I will admit, for white and baby blue Croc imitation flip flops, they're REALLY comfy...
-Six pairs of rainbow underwear. Yeah. Some were stripped, others literally had patterns of the little arcs all over them. One even had a smiling, ironed on cloud. Like a lakitu cloud with drag makeup. I WEAR BOXERS, MOM.
-A simple pair of polarized sunglasses. I'm cool with these.
-A VISOR. Which is great if you're in the process of or on your way to/from playing tennis, or if you're in your fifties and up, or if you're Hispanic and wear it sideways and upside down. I fit none of these.
So now my mom's going to throw a fit telling me I don't respect her enough and that I can't dress myself and I should be wearing this girly crap that shows off my fat, rides up my arm pits and makes sweat marks, or shows off my fat, sagging ass.
Which means I will have to waste all that room in my very limited bag.
THANKS MOM, SEE IF I EVER GET YOU IMPORTED FLOWERS FROM BRAZIL AGAIN. YOU LOVE THEM MORE THAN YOU LOVE ME!!
Friday, May 30, 2008
Maniacal Machinations: Stop Quoting Portal!
I'd have thought this goes without saying, but people really need to stop saying, "The Cake is a Lie!" No, seriously. Once in a blue moon, something awesome like Portal comes along and what do people do? They quote it to death. STOP IT!
Quote-spamming something hyperpopular like Portal is good for a month tops. However, most people can't seem to get that through their heads. It stops being funny. Yes, I know the cake is a fucking lie, I know about the fucking Cube, and I know that you're still alive . . . still alive . . .still alive. Hell, stuff like this isn't even quoted with any cleverness half of the time. For example:
"Hey, guys, I went to that Chinese restaurant that just opened across the street."
"How was it?"
"I was alright, but there's one problem."
"What's that?"
"The cake is a lie!"
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA, right?
Right?
No. Damn you and your non-sequiturs to hell. It's not just Portal either. Is it too much to ask for a day where I don't have to hear, "If any of you are aliens, time-travelers, or espers, please come see me. That is all!"?
Honestly, spewing out Portal quotes with no context whatsoever is like digging up the corpse of your best friend's grandmother, repeatedly having your way with it, throwing it in a wood chipper, and then writing about it on your blog. Thank you, Internet, you killed Portal. This is why we can't have nice things.
Quote-spamming something hyperpopular like Portal is good for a month tops. However, most people can't seem to get that through their heads. It stops being funny. Yes, I know the cake is a fucking lie, I know about the fucking Cube, and I know that you're still alive . . . still alive . . .still alive. Hell, stuff like this isn't even quoted with any cleverness half of the time. For example:
"Hey, guys, I went to that Chinese restaurant that just opened across the street."
"How was it?"
"I was alright, but there's one problem."
"What's that?"
"The cake is a lie!"
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA, right?
Right?
No. Damn you and your non-sequiturs to hell. It's not just Portal either. Is it too much to ask for a day where I don't have to hear, "If any of you are aliens, time-travelers, or espers, please come see me. That is all!"?
Honestly, spewing out Portal quotes with no context whatsoever is like digging up the corpse of your best friend's grandmother, repeatedly having your way with it, throwing it in a wood chipper, and then writing about it on your blog. Thank you, Internet, you killed Portal. This is why we can't have nice things.
Thursday, May 29, 2008
Infernal Images: Don't Do Drugs
Damn it. Another cop-out. I promise I'll have something better tomorrow.
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