What the hell is with people throwing every damn image in their photobucket into their sig? Oh, wait, it's not just pictures either. We can't forget really shitty poems.
You know that cool wallpaper that you found on 4chan? Why should you keep it to yourself when you can chuck that fucker onto your sig? Share the joy, right? Hell, no one's going to mind if your sig is longer than Ireland. Does your sig take ten minutes to load? That's perfectly normal. Maybe other people are interested in your "harem" of anime women. Throw that up too. Myspace? eBay page? Gamertag? Obligatory videogame quote? A link to Yu-Gi-Oh the Abridged Series (which isn't that funny by the way)? Gaia page? Old geocities site? Sure, why not? Why not throw up your fucking autobiography while you're at it? There's nothing wrong with your sig being bigger than your god damn post.
Two inches max, folks. Two inches max.
Monday, June 9, 2008
Sunday, June 8, 2008
Youtube and I: Buttholes Ep.1
A shitload of LSD will make this a billion times more enjoyable. It's really stupid, but I couldn't stop watching . . .
Remember:
1. Never set spikes
2. Watch out for clouds
3. Lay those bricks down
Remember:
1. Never set spikes
2. Watch out for clouds
3. Lay those bricks down
Fun and Games... Not really
Hi guys/girls. Maiden post here =)
A group I'm involved in (descriptions masked to protect the innocent) organised a day of fun and games, which I just returned from. Admittedly it wasn't half bad (although it was overcast and I didn't quite manage to get the slight tan I wanted), but once again it reminds me of why I hate "orientation camps", "day-o-fun" and other similar activities. Well, ok, maybe "hate" is a little extreme, just put it down as "dislike", or "do not find any fun in" if you are averse to strongly emotional words.
First of all, I like well-planned, well-executed stuff. Rules must be well-explained, and not subject to changing in the middle of chaos. Conditions should be made as fair as possible to all teams. Once this rule is flouted in any major way, I will shrug off all semblances of competitiveness and simply treat the activity as another Day of Fun and Relaxation (TM). I suspect this usually doesn't bode well with some team members and the organisers in general, because I tend to hear things such as "Why are you not running? You are the last team, c'mon catch up catch up!!!"
Secondly, I hate it when people tend to get overly excited and emotional. I don't like it because they tend to do stuff that doesn't pass through the thinking-and-logic filter, and such stuff is usually ridiculous enough to make the logically-thinking side of me break down. That in turn pisses me off and makes me overly excited and emotional, and I hate to be overly excited and emotional because I usually end up saying stuff that I will later regret. And when I have to try very hard to not be overly excited and emotional, it wears me out and makes me tired and sleepy and in need of a nice long sip of Ice-Blended Caramel at a side cafe, and since this is never allowed in the rules (for no good reason I can see) many parties end up being unhappy, which further exacerbates the overly-excited-and-emotional situation.
Thirdly, if any money is spent on such activities (as is always the case for freshmen orientation camps held at local universities), they are spent on useless activities like going to parties/clubs, water-bombing, buying carbonated drinks and mixes and stuff I don't like, need or want. Since such expenses can quickly add up to half the cost of a decent hard drive per camp, you can see how such activities would in all likelihood irk me even before I get started on them.
I won't deny that I had fun at the activity. But if you ask me if I could have done something more fun and enjoyable the answer is yes. Unless, of course, said activity happens to be organised by real geeks with real organisation and execution skills and involves a game of physical pong or something equally ridiculously geeky and funny, and not *yaawwwnnnn* yet another checkpoint game of treasure hunt, charades or any multitude of overused and overexploited activities.
[Disclaimer: As you discerning readers might already be able to tell, this post was written with a highly biased lens and is an exaggeration of the author's actual feelings and opinions on the subject (but I swear if an unknown stranger tries to drag me to such an activity I willstrangle him with his entrails suppress all murderous intent with every ounce of being and, with a beaming smile of bloodlust politely turn him away). That part about needing a fix of ice-blended caramel is true though, as is the fact that all orientation camps cost money. I don't deny that such activities are usually fun for and possibly beneficial to most of the participants involved but if you want their opinion they are plentiful on Myspace. This is the other side of the coin.]
A group I'm involved in (descriptions masked to protect the innocent) organised a day of fun and games, which I just returned from. Admittedly it wasn't half bad (although it was overcast and I didn't quite manage to get the slight tan I wanted), but once again it reminds me of why I hate "orientation camps", "day-o-fun" and other similar activities. Well, ok, maybe "hate" is a little extreme, just put it down as "dislike", or "do not find any fun in" if you are averse to strongly emotional words.
First of all, I like well-planned, well-executed stuff. Rules must be well-explained, and not subject to changing in the middle of chaos. Conditions should be made as fair as possible to all teams. Once this rule is flouted in any major way, I will shrug off all semblances of competitiveness and simply treat the activity as another Day of Fun and Relaxation (TM). I suspect this usually doesn't bode well with some team members and the organisers in general, because I tend to hear things such as "Why are you not running? You are the last team, c'mon catch up catch up!!!"
Secondly, I hate it when people tend to get overly excited and emotional. I don't like it because they tend to do stuff that doesn't pass through the thinking-and-logic filter, and such stuff is usually ridiculous enough to make the logically-thinking side of me break down. That in turn pisses me off and makes me overly excited and emotional, and I hate to be overly excited and emotional because I usually end up saying stuff that I will later regret. And when I have to try very hard to not be overly excited and emotional, it wears me out and makes me tired and sleepy and in need of a nice long sip of Ice-Blended Caramel at a side cafe, and since this is never allowed in the rules (for no good reason I can see) many parties end up being unhappy, which further exacerbates the overly-excited-and-emotional situation.
Thirdly, if any money is spent on such activities (as is always the case for freshmen orientation camps held at local universities), they are spent on useless activities like going to parties/clubs, water-bombing, buying carbonated drinks and mixes and stuff I don't like, need or want. Since such expenses can quickly add up to half the cost of a decent hard drive per camp, you can see how such activities would in all likelihood irk me even before I get started on them.
I won't deny that I had fun at the activity. But if you ask me if I could have done something more fun and enjoyable the answer is yes. Unless, of course, said activity happens to be organised by real geeks with real organisation and execution skills and involves a game of physical pong or something equally ridiculously geeky and funny, and not *yaawwwnnnn* yet another checkpoint game of treasure hunt, charades or any multitude of overused and overexploited activities.
[Disclaimer: As you discerning readers might already be able to tell, this post was written with a highly biased lens and is an exaggeration of the author's actual feelings and opinions on the subject (but I swear if an unknown stranger tries to drag me to such an activity I will
Saturday, June 7, 2008
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!
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