Thursday, July 29th

::The Brak Blog::

Somebody Told Me


I woke up about 20 minutes ago. Except that right now it's 12:50 PM (July 28th), and this entry won't be posted until sometime late-late tonight/tomorrow. But anyway, I woke up from this crazy dream where I was some sort of terrorist nationalist and I was dispensing to my terrorist naitonalist ranks little tiny boxes of oatmeal.

And when I say tiny boxes I mean like less than a cubic inch, and when I say oatmeal, I mean cyanide-oatmeal. We had somehow figured that were we discovered with legitimate cyanide pills, bad things would happen, so we had to disguise them. In my infinate wisdom, we did this by making them look like food.

Then I woke up, and got more creeped out, because I got to thinking: How easy would it be to make a tiny quantity of cyanide-oatmeal, and then go and like put it in those hotel continental breakfast things?! Or like just drop one or two pieces into someones bowl or something?! I don't think I'll ever be able to eat... oatmeal again. Well fucking fuck. I never ate oatmeal in the first place. Problem solved. Lesson Learned: Don't eat oatmeal, you could die, because that quaker oats bastard is out to get us all. You can just tell, with his stupid hat, and that evil grin he always wears... I don't trust him. Neither should you.

I sneezed the other day, and came to a horrific realization of how incredibly poor my posture is. You know how your entire body kinda convulses when you sneeze? Well mine did that, as usual, except this was imidiately followed by two sickening pops. After recoiling from the sneeze I had to sit and wonder what the hell just happened. I realized then that it was my hips. My sneeze had popped both my hips back into alignment... and it hurt like hell.

Not that this is going to get me to reform my slouching ways, it was just kinda weird and painful. That's all.

Speaking of sneezes, two facts lead me to another horrific conclusion. I read somewhere that sneezes cause the fluids in your body to be expelled at a rate of approximatly 90 miles per hour. I am also told that a sneeze posesses approximatly one tenth (1/10) of the energy that is involved in the typical orgasm.

90... times 10... you do the math. *cringes*

I have a question for all you people with Xangas: Can you cash in your E-Props? You know, like chips at a casino or something? Because that would be kick ass. Or some kind of rewards program... but then again, no, that would suck. Why? Because it would reward the people with the most xanga-reading friends, thus perpetuating this horrific cycle.

Thank god E-Props are worth JACK SHIT; [COMMENT ONLY, BITCHES]

Jeff Foxworthy and "Blue Collar Comedy" in general do nothing for me. If anything they just piss me off. The aim was: Wow, working class men can say clever and intelligent things just as well, if not better than rich people with movie contracts. The actual result was: Hey, rednecks are really as moronic as we all thought. "Oh ha ha. We're funny! We're poor! No one gives a shit! Oh ha ha!"

Have you noticed how I've completely given up on segues between points? Entries now resemble a typical conversation with an ADD kid who hasn't taken his meds in like 36 hours, and might also be hopped up on speed. and heroin. Mep.

They finally started letting me work the store by myself this week. That means I get to listen to whatever radio station I want to. And that means classic rock. Queen came on, there was massive rocking out. David Bowie came on as I was closing, which was neat. And yesterday, as I'm taking out the trash... Stairway To Heaven. And that song is long as fuck, so I got the entire place shut down before it was over. I hit the lights when it ended... coulda been a scene out of a movie.

Speaking of random crap that happens at work:

Yesterday this crazy lady comes in, and the first thing she does is hand me some hangers.
"I brought you some hangers"
"Thanks... can I help you?"
"I need to use your phone. Sometimes you guys let me use the phone. It's long distance, but I have a card so it's ok can I use the phone?"
"...", I hand her the phone "sure..."

So she goes in the back for a while, I kept an eye on her to make sure she didn't go all clepto on me, which is pretty fuckin' hard when all your merchandising is wrapped in celophane. She came back after about 8 minutes.

She hands me the phone "Yeah thanks."
"Did you get who you needed?"
"No, I think someone's following me around tapping my phone. It's always busy then I hear this click noise."
"ummm. OK. Come again."

And I was helping a customer at the time, and she gave me a look, and I gave her a look, and we both just kinda snickered. What the hell was phone lady's deal?! I mean I'm pretty sure she's just crazy and derranged, but what if she isn't? Perhaps she is Randolf Sivotral, whom I mentioned in my entry [Playground Love], who was the American spy who cracked the code of the SSMDS. From the letter I assumed he was a man, and that he was going to die.

But it's very possible he was a woman working under a code name, and that with her dying breath, she dragged herself into some bionic soviet clinic doing illigal research. They took her in for dead, and gave her all robot parts, just to test the new OS. She awoke from her operation, memory blanked, with no memory of her former life as an American spy. The only thing she could do was run away. And since that dark day in 1983, she's been convinced the soviet scientists are still after here, tapping her phone and such.

Or so my observations have indicated. I really want her to come back, so I can ask her all kinds of strange questions about the Cold War and robots.

Does the Dodge Magnum piss anyone else off? Because I hate it. The commercial starts off with some pretty looking sports car coming down a winding stretch, motor roaring. 'OK, I'm thinking, this is cool.' Then suddenly this giant, ugly piece of crap pulls up next to the sports car. 'WTF?!^^' The the ugly thing owns the sports car in a race. See Dodge just wasn't thinking here. You've got me who like fast cars, and then you've got men who like powerful cars. This commercial has a beautiful sports car getting owned, so you've lost the first group. And the Dodge Magnum doesn't have nearly the raw power of something like a real pickup truck, so you've lost the second group.

The conclusion I came to was this one: The Dodge Magnum can be likened to Anime Porn. See both anime and pornography are novel in their own rights, much like beauty and power are cool separately, but when you mix them it's just stupid and lame; Even then though, people will still run the fuck out to buy ugly cars and crappy porn, so why do I even bother...

I found this online video game, Ragnarok Online. It's the deal where it's like the entire 'world' in cyber space. You get to go questing and have a unique character, and can get killed by other unique characters. I started reading into it and got really excited. I always envisioned myself as something like a Mage, with cool magic powers and wisdom and stuff. So I start downloading the game. Come to find out it's 650 MB. A fucking lot that is. So I go and download it in pieces, 10 65 MB sections. I click on the first one when it was done, and the computer gets all "What the fuck is this?! I can't open it, I don't know how!"

And so I sat back and thought: Damn Tom, that was close. You were one installation away from becoming a computer game nerd. I mean the fact that I seriously considered installing this, and made an effort to, made me feel better about deleting the entire 'Ragnarok' file after renaming it 'People In Online Games Are Sad'. So that was my narrow brush with massive geekdom.

I took some notes while I was at work:

Doesn't the 'White House | Black Market' lable seem sort of racist to anyone else? I mean maybe I'm splitting hairs here, but sheesh. What a dumb thing to name your clothing.

Terrorism pisses me off. All this smoke and mirrors crap, it's people who can't wage wars the Old School Way. You see in the olden days, you couldn't just put some C4 in your shoe and drive an airplane into another building. No no, it was much more civilized.

First you had a very fulfilling but lacking childhood,
or you were dirt poor with abusive parents.
Next, you started out as a promising young politician.
Then you addoped a doctrine of central beliefs.
Finally, you twisted that said doctrine into a horrific policy of death and destruction and you're already president of your crappy little country, so no one could stop you.

Then all you had to do was invade Poland, and you were home free.
[NOTE: If I invaded it, I'd rename Poland 'Pole-Land'. The extra vowel and hyphen would subdue the masses, and my authority would become absolute.]

We've also got this really weird closet at my work. It's big and empty except for two things. A rolly chair, and a hallogen light tapped to the wall. I have no idea what it's for, but I keep hoping the floor will open up and I'll fall down a tube into the Batcave.

And we've got this poster at work for how you should have your pillows refurbished. Except they call it "cleaning, fluffing, sanitizing, and deoderizing". Let's just say I'm convinced they throw out your old one, and just buy you a new one. But the really weird thing is that the pillow on the poster looks a lot like the Fluffy Puff Marshmallow from Homestar Runner.

My days are only getting longer.

I leave for Washington D.C. on the 31st, and return on the 6th. And have the rest of the week off from work. I'll probably blog on the 7th, and it will include notes about our nation's capitol/capital, I've no clue which is correct, and letters from homeless children, telling me to quit my job.

Cowboys don't drive magnums
We shoot at Dodge (Daimler-Chrylster) product managers with them.

As was prophesized by Tom at 08:58 AM CST
[Unique Link]


Saturday, July 24th

::The Brak Blog::

Blog's Birthday: Part 2


Happy birthday to me.

Thank you all very much for reading this damn thing. It's somehow inspired me to go on yet another year. Hopefully you'll stick around as well.

Have a good one.

-Radiskull the Cowboy

As was prophesized by Tom at 10:09 AM CST
[Unique Link]


Wednesday, July 21st

::The Brak Blog::

Float On


At the start of the writing of this entry, it was 10 O'clock PM, CST. My sleep cycle is royally fucked, I've got a quite a lot to bitch about, and I still need to get the movie review section set up. With a modest mouse CD on loop and half a gallon of Straberry Banana Juice, we may just make it yet...

So yeah. This time last week this woman from the dry cleaners calls me at some ungodly hour in the morning (like 9 AM, WTF?!) and tells me they're interviewing for jobs. Kickass, I think. I hurriedly threw out my application to Taco Bell (it'd been a bad week, ok?) and took a shower and got dressed and drove over there. Turns out this place is in like the fuck of wherever at 106th and Roe. Fwee! Talk about a commute. Anyway, long story short, I ended up getting the job.

So I am now an official time-carded employee of the Foxhill branch of Tower Cleaners. Don't come visit me though, not that you were going to (assholes), because I'd get in loads of trouble. Can I tell you something though: There is so much more than you'd think that goes into the dry cleaning industry. I'd get into it, but I realize that from an outsider's standpoint, it's grossly disinteresting information. All the tagging and logging and filing and stamping and smiling and being nice and acting like I'm glad to see people I've never met before...

I swear this is going to be the end of me. Radiskull, Lord of All that is Good and Awesome on this plain of reality, is working as Counter-Boy at the dry cleaners. Not that it isn't a good gig as far as jobs go, but geez: You can never really respect your parents giving you a monthly sum for sitting around and squandering a giant chunk of free time until that wonderful privilage is gone. Which it is now for me, and hence I am miserable.

On a related note: today I sustained my first work-related injury. I somehow managed to slice my thumb shallow enough so it won't bleed, but the cut itself is really long, so it's all "Oh my god doesn't that hurt?!" "No! ROFL!!!!1!!1!1" (Like I said, this weeks been fucked up). The point being: I want to sue for compensation, but I think I'd have to cough up a lung before that will actually work. Advice from the Radiskull on this whole working ordeal:

TAKE-UP-PROSTITUSION

I've recently revisited an old love of mine... Internet Relay Chat, or IRC. If you haven't tried it, I've included [full instructions] for getting to the official room of The Brak Blog. If you're already a member of the IRC-Dork club, the room we're using at present is "#awesome" on the Esper.net server. In an effort to coerse a bunch of people to get behind a project that I believe in and they probably don't, I'm holding an official birthday party for the Brak Blog [and Annie's as well, seeing as we started the same day] in the IRC room on July 25th, at 3 PM.

There will be food and games and pretty people for you to mingle with/hit on. I promise. And only through the Magic of IRC will this celebration be possible. We'll sit around and congradulate ourselves on another year of semi-entertaining blogdom, and clink our glasses together, cheering on yet another, with possibly *gasp* more profanity. Or perhaps more content. Or maybe more of both, and maintain the same ratio we've got now. I can't decide.

I was contemplating the annomoly of anti-semitism the other day, and I got to thinking about what could possibly motivate people to hate the Jews. I mean for God's sake, they played a big part in allowing Charlton Heston to make The Ten Commandments (Heston is a dick, but that movie rocks hard), and that would be enought to forgive them for any attrocity. The funny thing being, the Jews collectively haven't done jack shit to piss anyone off. Ok, so there was that deal way back when, when they showed up and claimed divine ownership of land that was already occupied, but that's all in the past, so where do people get off hating on the Jewish people?

Oh yeah. The middle eastern deal. Hmmm....

I don't know. What I do know though, is that Kosher shit is weird as hell. I mean who thinks that up?! It's almost as entertaining as Pepsi being in the corporate-scummy-hotel-bed with the Mormon Church, if not moreso. The whole deal is they can't eat meat and dairy products together. If I had to do that I'd probably just... I dunno, open a Jewish Sandwhich shop, or something sickly ironic like that. Because I really don't have anything better to do.

I had my braces taken off a couple of years ago, which was nice. With that though came my retainers, which are essentially plastic casts of my teeth that I have to wear at night, lest they slide back down the slippery slope to the cross-bite. Anyway, I hate these things, but they suck somewhat less than braces, so I wear them anyway. The other night I had them in as usual, and having just finished my first day of work a few hours earlier, I fell asleep unusually fast.

The next morning I woke up with something hard and kinda sharp poking into my foot. Thinking it was a stray lego or something I reached down to the end of the bed to get it... to my horror my hand retrieved one of my plastic retainers. Gross. Thinking the worst was over, I returned to sleep. Waking up a few hours later, and realizing I should get up for work eventually, I got up and stumbled into the bathroom. There, in the sink, was the other retainer.

My mind can only begin to fathom how these two items came to be where they were. I'm betting I turn into a werewolf after I eat mexican food or something, and they fell out as I was stalking around, being all were-wolfy, you know? Come to think of it, that'd be really cool. Someone buy me mexican then watch me as I sleep in a pet carrier or something, and we can see what happens.

I know I mentioned throwing together the movie review section last week. I've been more strapped for time than I initally anticipated, so it's not really done, but you can see what it'll [look like]. I just got to thinkin' how I'm going to work that. Frames will be involved. *pisses self with excitement* Frames are only really fun if you have ad-free webspace, which I've had for some time now, and kinda forgot to look into. In any case, those could be time-comsuming in a fun sort of way, so I'll keep you posted as far as development is concerned.

For now though, here's a review of
Saved!
Quality: 4/5
Group Fun: 4/5
Single Fun: 4/5
Overall-Awesomeness: 5/5

This movie kicked some serious ass. I can see why it only got critically acclaimed reviews, as opposed to the raving masses' approval, because the raving masses are just to stupid to understand it. The characters are refreshingly unique, and the fact that it's poking fun of Jesus-freaks (something we've all wanted a film devoted to do for a LONG time) just makes it that much better. Plus Jena Malone is a fox. Stone cold fox. ...just thought I'd throw that out there.

A general announcement: The Blog is turning 2 on the 24th. Formal celebrations, as mentioned above, will be held on the 25th. If you are in a position to retrospect, please do so. I'll put up a special, sugar-coated, content-less-post on that day, so all birthday related comments and well-wishing should go there. [Now just watch, the only person who's going to visit that day will be Herr Raus, my nazi stalker. And he'll get all "Nazi's are kickass!" and I'll have to kill him and it'll be a big fuckin' mess. Keep Tom off the rampage: post birthday comments.]

Cowboys watch movies that suck
Just so they get to shoot the TV

They can do that, you know.

As was prophesized by Tom at 11:40 PM CST
[Unique Link]


Wednesday, July 14th

::The Brak Blog::

Hungry Like The Wolf


I'm actually kind of really depressed right now. My Bonsai tree is totally dying. Every day more and more of it's little leaves turn yellow and I have to pull then off because they're dead. I water it daily and it gets plenty of sun... if it doesn't stop dying soon I might have to go ask the tree people again 'what the fuck is wrong with it', because I'd probably get all manic depressive if my tree died.

Up on today's menu is the Statement With the Most Concentrated Bullshit of the month. Today's winner is Rachel Price, a girl I used to go to grade school with. Her away message was as follows:

goin out to dinner with maxie, then i dont know...call me and help me decide to hang out with you! haha ok that was dumb...anyways im outie call me!!
~Rach~ 210 8156


Grah. That pisses me off. Just in general. For instance, the fixation of placing the suffix '-ie' after things it should not be placed after- what the hell? Also the notion that it's my responsibility to convince her that I am worthy of her time is just sickening. I hate people.

This thing gave me an idea though: We should start a big directory of cell phone numbers. You know how people always post them in their away messages with stupid little notes like "call my cellie!!!1!! lolz!11"? Well we take that number, and throw it into a vast database of numbers. Then the next time you want to prank someone, just pull up a random file. You'll have no idea who it is, merely that they deserved to be made fun of via prank phone call.

Speaking of people who need to be pranked: How about Message Board People? I remember I had a dark spell in which I was one of them. Back then (5th Grade) I was big on the Pokemon deal. Mind you this was before it was a total fad, but regardless, I was a hapless PokeFreak. I came across this message board called 'The Pokemon Abode Board'. In those days, I totally bought into the whole charade. I was nice to the moderators, mean to the spam kids, and got on daily to try and get my post number up, even if I had nothing to say at all. Fortunatly for my sake, that board is dead and gone, so none will ever know of my horrific message board endeveradors except ye who read this entry.

Looking back on it now though, I realize how totally lame message boards were then, and still are now. Sure, there area few decent and genuinely helpful boards [See: GreyMatter Forums] that actually seek merely to be helpful. Most all the others though are these evil little hives. Each with their own queen, and subsequent classes of workers, all scurrying about, bickering, talking, flaming, bitching, and what haveyou, that offers no real furtherment of knowledge of information.

Case In Point: I hate message boards because I'm going to be damned if some prick named 'KoolDood128' is going to tell me what's what. For all I know he's a 10 year old who wets the bed and has issues with subtraction....

The other night I was driving home from Lizz's house, doing something I wasn't supposed to be doing. I had the radio on in the car *gasp!* and was listening to a CD. Not just any CD though, my friends, oh no; this one was special. Way back when I was nothing but a mere nerd on the pyramid of awesome (I've recently been promoted to "Head Geek", so don't tell me I haven't done anything with my life) I purchased a compilation of music from the Star Wars Trilogy, the Original and Good One. This CD sat collecting dust from about 6th grade up until a few months ago. I was scouring my room, in an effort to expand my music collection, for CDs I'd purchased in the past and had just left around.

This was one such disk. In any case, I was driving home that night, listening to this CD. Typically, I'd just listen to this CD on a home stereo and that would be that. In the car though... it's an entirely different story. As those opening tones to the theme trilled on, I ceased to be Tom Hogan, Head Geek of Kansas City, Missouri. I was now Tom Hogan, Red 9, of the X-Wing Squadron, a Rebel Pilot fighting a noble battle against the Empire. As I flew down 75th Street, I outran Imperial Starships; and I'm not talking about those bulky cruisers, I mean the big Corellian kind.

Swerving off of 75th onto Jefferson, I prepared to make my attack run in the Death Star trench. A quick check of my display panel revealed that I had a precious 3 minutes before the Rebel Base would be destroyed by the Death Star. Faster, must go faster. Crossing 71st street, I readied my photon torpedoes, this was going to be close-

*foom* Torpedoes away! Giant Explosion! Pull in the Driveway! I saved the Universe! Don't forget to turn off the headlights! My god... I really am still the biggest dork I know...

Dorky is fine as long as it's cool by having redeeming values. Dorky and lame though, is just unacceptable. For instance: Let's say there was this story about this guy who pulls a sword out of a rock and has badass friends and can use magic and stuff. Then we find out that the story was based on a real guy who was kind of an asshole and couldn't do magic. Which item should we pour money into and try to make bitchin'?!

The second one, about the lame dude. And we shall call it "King Arthur"! bleh. What a stinker. I kinda already said what I needed to say. It's about the "real" King Arthur, known throughout the movie as Arturias, or some weird roman shit like that. Merlin is just some creepy old man leading a bunch of guys who painted themselves blue, Lancelot is kind of a perv, and then we have Guinevere. Sweet, Sweet Guinevere, as played by Keira Knightley. When it got to the end battle scene, I figured out why they picked this version of the story.

It got Ms. Knightley into a costume made entirely of Duct Tape and string. Had they done this with the fictitious Arthur, people would have said "Oh my, that's quite excessive and perverted!" but now they merely sit back, smuggly satisfied with the scantly clad actress, saying "Oh my, that's quite historical and accurate!" It's been decided: Hollywood is officially out of ideas.

King Arthur
Quality: 3/5
Group Fun: 3/5
Single Fun: 1/5
Overall-Awesomeness: 2/5

I am typically very forgiving of movies, but this movie legitimatly sucked. Sure it was well made and historically accurate, but that doesn't mean it was fun.

Go see Anchorman instead. It was funny. I rest my case.

Anchorman
Quality: 4/5
Group Fun: 4/5
Single Fun: 4/5
Overall-Awesomeness: 4/5

It was well written, and would be funny any day of the week. Go see it, and if you don't like it, get a sense of humor on your way home.

Two nights ago after seeing

Before Sunset
Quality: 4/5
Group Fun: 2/5
Single Fun: 1/5
Overall-Awesomeness: 3/5

Lizz and I mere milling around at the park. On the way back to the car though, when we had to leave, I noticed there was a cat under the car. Hello Kitty! Anyway, when we actually get there, the cat is gone. Nowhere to be found. As we backed out of the spot I felt for sure there would be a small thud and a death-rattle. Thankfully, no such noises were heard, but this then leaves one with the though:

Where had Fred, the Inter-Dimensional Cat, gone?!
Fred was just your average feline, prowling the streets for a mouse/rat/opossum of sorts, when one day, he fell in a manhole. He followed the tunnel he was now in until it led to a room filled with all sorts of blinking equipment. At this very moment, a power surge occured, giving Fred one hell of a shock. When he came to, he found himself bestowed with the power to jump from dimension to dimension with practically no effort at all.

Fred then wanders the worlds for years, realizing that with each universal switch, he is temporarily rendered free of aging. He emerges from this journey with the ability to read and write 15 different languages, and a full understanding of the Theory of Relativity, among other things. He then spends the remainder of his days solving World Hunger and The Theory of the Universe, combatting Rap Music and Reality TV, and assassinating communist dictators and the creators of CSI Spin-Offs.

The above is yet another example of how much network executives suck. In all seriousness, if it came down to Fred, the Inter-Dimensional Cat, or The Simple Life 2, what would you watch? Sure, Fred is no M*A*S*H*, but he sure beats the hell out of Temptation Island and The Bachlorette. I really wish we could go back to the day and age where people wrote television shows and hired actors to portray either fictitious or real characters. The only reason reality TV is so popular is because all the stations got tired of writing plots. Why bother when morons will prance about in hapless situations?! lolz!!!1!!!11

[/End of Crappy TV Rant]

On the same night we saw Fred, I was driving around, and went up this one street and saw this guy standing by his car. I thought he was holding a baby... randomly, out in the dark. I quickly, and quite subtly I may add, flashed on my High Beams, only to reveal that was no baby. He was actully grasping on to the upper torso of his very blonde and very tan female companion. I'm content to just laugh and drive on. Minutes later though, I had to go down the same street.

I'm pulling up to the intersection, but before I get there, some asshole had stopped in the middle of the road... and was talking to a very blonde and very tan female companion (this time complete with both upper and lower torso)! How dare those bastards! They were street standers! I should have hit them when I had the chance! At about this time, I had the Star Wars music blaring again, so in my fit of anger I just made maleovent laser blaster sounds, and capped it all off with a single photon torpedo blast.

That should teach those assholes... standing in the street, getting in the way of my mission to destroy the death star... conspirators with the Empire... have they no gasp on the repercussions of their actions!?

I wanted to rant on one more thing before this entry was through, so I went to the news. I was distracted from this aim however, by the advertisement embedded within the article. It posed the question: [Which State Is Surrounded By The Most Water?] I saw this, and was intrigued. Typically, these things ask stupid questions like:

(The unanswerable)
Who Will Win The Election
[Bush] [Kerry]

(The Opinionated)
Should Gays Be Allowed To Marry
[Yes] [No]

(The Redundant)
Should Bush Be re-Elected
[Yes] [No]

But this Water one was something different. After a brief moment of thought though, I realized that it's almost as stupid as, if not moreso, than the rest. Look at the question, then ask yourself how exactly does one quantify how water 'surrounds'. You could assume they meant which has the longest coastline, but they didn't ask that. For you to accurately answer that question, you'd have to know specific measurements about the actual depth of the water in the surrounding coast, and at that point, the answer becomes a senseless bit of trivia. Plus, the Hawiian Islands are surrounded by the entire pacific ocean, whereas California, while having a longer coast, only has water on one side...

all of that could have been passable, but the site doesn't even answer the question. Way to go and waste my time. And I just know that someone is going to point out in a comment how the question is actually really simple and easy to answer and Tom is just stupid. If it's you, yes you, just don't, ok? I'm right on this one and I know it.

P.S.: This coming week I'm going to have a rather sizeable chunk of extra time. I'm gonna try really hard then to get the "Movie Review" section up and running. As always, no promises, but I'll do my best.

Why isn't there a TV show about Cowboys?
I'd watch it.
You'd watch it.
The Cowboys would watch it,
and kill those who chose not to.

Put that in your pipe and smoke it,
Network Fucktards.

As was prophesized by Tom at 10:09 PM CST
[Unique Link]


Monday, July 5th

::The Brak Blog::

Best Imitation of Myself


Sorry I put this one off, but at least I had a legitimate reason. I wanted today's entry to encompass the 4th of July celebrations, so as I wouldn't forget the details until next week.

As of I don't know exactly when, I've become addicted to Wikipedia. Think of it as Microsoft Encarta, sans Microsuck, and it's open source, so it has articles on even the most obscure topics. The best part being you can add your own if you feel so inclined. It rocks hard, so use [Wikipedia] for all your research needs.

My addiction to this thing has lead me on trails of reserch about the Icelandic Election Process, DC Comics Crisis on Infinate Earths, Special Realitivity, the 'Toy' breed of dogs, and Ice Type Pokemon. Indeed, Wikipedia is both good and evil.

Bill Clinton's book came out a few days ago. All I really have to say is that I adore Bill Clinton. I don't see why republicans are so mad at him. If you can manage to get past the whole scandal thing (which you should, lest you appear an immature fuckhead), he really was a great president. He had one of the best fiscal terms ever, in terms of money we didn't spend... but then again Al Gore did try not to fuck up the environment that much, and Clinton did attempt to help the middle east peace process...

Both items which conservatives would be against, for reasons obvious to them alone.

Speaking of things that conservatives hate, let's all sit around and talk about Michael Moore for a little bit. Everyone seems to have an opinion on this guy, even me. I say I like him. Right or wrong he has a belief that he stood up for and made heard, and you have to respect that. All the bullshit aside, that's what it really boils down to.

In any case, he new movie Fahrenheit 9/11 just came out, and I went to see it. Amid bashing the Bush Administration and subsequent cabinet, the PATRIOT Act, and just general liberal ranting, he had in there a clip from everyone's favorite corporate juggernaut, Halliburton. The clip was flashing random scenes from the war in Iraq, and one of them (though I question it's purpose in the motivational video) was of an explosion in the background, as camels walked around in front of the camera.

A little flag went up in my head when I saw that... It was somehow, familar. Then suddenly, it hit me! That same image had appeared in the tabloid Lizz and I had bought weeks earlier. The particular article was about 'Suicide Camels' and how they were being smuggled into the country and tethered at strategic places, and they would be our greatest downfall blah blah blah. Standard tabloid trash.

The weird thing being, you've got to wonder: Which came first? The article or the picture? They could have just as easily found that picture, and just bullshitted the article; the converse being they could have made up the article, and just found a picture that fit the description. It got me to thinking, of the small percentage that saw Fahrenheit 9/11 and read that tabloid, did any of them but me actually notice? It boggles the mind.

I was getting dressed the other day (after I woke up from sleeping, not after having sex) and I was trying to put on my pants, and I fell flat on my ass. I just sat there, confused, troubled... how had I failed at this task that was oh so totally familiar? Then it dawned on me: I'd started with the wrong leg. I'd put my left leg into the pants first, and tried to follow it with my right. The result being I got off balance and fell over.

Interested to see if this was truly the cause, I tried again to put them on, this time the standard way, right leg first. The pants slipped on just as well as one can slip on pants. How weird is that? Go ahead, take off your pants, then try to put them back on with the non-typical-pant-leg. Maybe I'm just lame, but it's harder one way and easier the other. The question I put to you then is this: Which leg do you do first? Right or left?

The other day I was working on a new screenplay that I think is going to be really interesting. While I was sitting there writing, my sister decided she felt like making a smoothie-type drink. Unfortunatly, she couldn't find the blender. Not to be foiled, she got out the meat shredder, a similar, but alltogether different device. She sliced the fuit, and put it all in this giant opaque orange tupperwere cup. I go back to writing for a brief moment, when I look up and see her shaking it.

Frustrated by my sister's lack of assertion in shaking the mixture, I grab it from her, and shake the hell out of it. As I'm shaking, I start to feel pressure on the top of the lid... this was followed a mere second later by the entire container exploding onto my shirt. It looked like an animal had flown into me and just died in a fleshy form of combustion. Turns out that as I glaced away, she added an entire can of soda pop.

If you aren't seeing where this is going, soda pop is carbonated. By my vigorous shaking, the carbon was released rapidly. The container, being sealed, contained this pressure until it reached a point where the pressure was equal (and subsequently greater) than that of the seal on the lid. Consequently, the lid was forced off, and I was covered in a mixture resembling detonated bird. Welcome to my life. (As an off-note: we still haven't been able to get all of this crap off the floor, so if you want to piss a janitor off, you know what to do.)

I've had this toy now for a good long while, it's called a 'Pocket Pikachu'. Remember Tomagatchi and GigaPets and all that crap? Pocket Pikachu is sorta like that, except way better. I remember way back when, everyone was worried about how big their creature was, how much to feed it, whether it was dead or not... Me and Pikachu never had these problems.

The way it works is you clip it onto your belt and it measures the number of steps you take with an internal pedometer. For every 20 steps it registers, it awards you a single 'watt', yes, as in the unit of electricity. These are meant to be given to Pikachu as a gift, which makes him happy, or you can use them in a slot machine game to win more watts, which make for more presents, etc.

In any case, this thing kicked ass. You never had to feed it, walk it, clean up after it's messes, all you had to do was shock it every once in a while. And instead of growing bigger, he just becomes more of your friend. This allows you to watch him do different stuff like going to school, playing the piano, and eventually hang-gliding. I got this a few years ago, and every summer I'd turn it on to find Pikachu pissed as hell that I'd ignored him all throughout the school year. I'd give him a thousand watts or so, and we'd get back on track.

The summer would then be spent making amends, and getting to be friends with Pikachu again... saddly though only to encounter the inevitable school year, and have to put him aside for another 8 months, and therein the cycle would merely continue to perpetuate itself. This summer was no different, until about a week ago. I was sitting in the parking lot of Blockbuster, having just returned 2001: A Space Odyssey, a most excellent film, when I heard this creepy little beeping anthem come from Pikachu. I pull him off my belt, and find a little message on the screen:

Congradulations! You've Reached 1 Million Steps!
Record: 9999 Hours


And that was it. Just like that, Pikachu picked up and left. I couldn't get out of that screen... Pikachu had left me without even saying goodbye. I was momentarily stricken in the Blockbuster Parking Lot, because this cut me deep. I also had 4,000 watts stored up for next summer, which would have made the reuniting process much less painful, and now it was all gone. I know all good things must come to an end... but geez. This was just a little harsh.

Today I pushed the 'Reset' button on Pikachu, and I'll admit it wasn't easy to let go, but it's good to have another Pikachu back. I'll train him over the next couple of years, and he'll grow up and go away too, and then I'll start again. Who needs kids when you've got Pikachus?

Lizz and I were down at this little triangle park by my house the other day, just sitting there, watching the cars on warnall road go by and stuff, and suddenly I see someone in the bushes behind us. Thinking perhaps there were enemies afoot, I jumped into my ninja stance, ready to kick ass in the name of kicking ass. Come to find that when this mysterious foe revealed herself, she was no foe at all, but a Maddeline Burkart! With her was the illustrious Adam Meyers, and they were in my lands on a quest for the reveared Emily Levitt.

After the usual hello's though, I exclaimed some random profanity. To explain myself, I pointed to the base of a nearby tree. Laying there on the ground was this picture of this... woman. Mind you, this was no ordinary picture, nor was this any ordinary woman. The picture was giant (like 3 feet by a foot and a half) and framed, no less. And the woman... well, she was scary. Her hair was all frizzed up 80's style, but she kinda had a "white trash" thing going on as well.

We took the picture and threw it in Adam's car, and went and showed it to Emily. Upon getting it out of the car, we also noticed that the glass was cracked in many places. As near as we could figure, this was some chick who had dumped her husband of 20 years (hence the 80's hair), and the guy, he had gotten pissed and thrown the centerpiece of his shrine to her out of his car during some midnight rampage. We gave her a name, but I don't remember it, so for the sake of records, let's call her Bertha.

I'd go off on my usual unfulfilled promise about getting a scan of this... but that's kindof somewhere near impossible, so you'll just have to use your imaginations or track Adam down if you want a look at Bertha.

Later on that night we were at Chubby's, and I was ordering my burger, and I realized I wanted it without onions, because I can't stand the consistancy. I asked the guy when everyone else was done ordering if I could get my buger sans onions.

fuck

I felt like such A) a prick, becasue the guy had no idea what I was talking about, so I had to explain, and he probably went back into the kitchen and told all his Chubby-Employed friends about the smartass little prick who used pretentious language in an effort to make fun of him... and B) a complete dork, because who the hell says 'sans' when ordering food?! Geez. When will I learn?

In other news, the blog's 2 year birthday is coming up, in 19 days actually. It's hard to believe I started this accursed endeverador almost 730 days ago. In any case though, it's very timely that Annie The Muffin Girl chose now to track me down. Way, way back when I was still on Blogger, I somehow found her blog and found it interesting. We got to talking by one means or another, and became affiliates. We then fell out of contact, and I forgot to re-add her link during an overhaul of my blogger page, so her blog was something I had long since forgotten.

However, she somehow managed to track me down here, on the new domain. She left comments on the past 2 entries, and her site is titled [Annie is the Muffin Girl]. It isn't exactly the kind of thing I look for and read with any sense of regualrity, but it's definatly something different from the standard bullshit you find on blogs these days, so I recommend taking a look... if for nothing else but a new perspective.

(And typically I wouldn't have even mentioned this, but Annie left me no means by which to contact her, so while I enjoyed telling you all this story, the main point was that Annie, if you're reading this, please send me your e-mail to [OutlawOnline@Yahoo.ca] so we can catch up on old times and all that crap.)

Speaking of the 2 year aniversery coming up, I had this thought in my mind that I should change the layout. We've had this setup for almost a year now, as it came about during the LandingClouds switch. It didn't change when we came over to the domain, so I figured this would be as good of a time as any... but you know what? I like this layout a lot. It works surprisingly well in a vast number of browsers, and I've yet to have any reported difficulties.

To make a new layout would involved me coding a new base page from scratch, and completely rebuilding the all the greymatter templates. And while I do love the power that comes with knowing HTML and CSS, I just don't think it'd be worth the effort. I've got no ideas particularly better than what you see now, so it would be stupid to change it. I'll probably get around to building a new layout at some point, but I see no reason to do so now.

I was sitting at home last week, watching Rocky IV with my dad and sister, and boy does that movie kick ass. Rock fights the commies in it, and wins over their minds and hearts and gives this modivational speech at the end, it was great in a cheesy sort of way. During one of the commercial breaks, the doorbell rings. I answer it and standing on my front porch are Mindy and Brigid.

Why they were at my house was just as suprising as the fact that they were there in the first place (I'm a long way from their neck of the woods). They were there for my boxer shorts. Not all of them actually, just one pair, but still. It was explained to me that they were competing in a scavenger hunt against Lizz and Caitlin, and that my undergarmets were one of the items on the list. In a rather dazed stupor, I went upstairs and got a clean pair of shorts for them. They left, and I walked back in to see the end of Rocky IV, simply wondering how I manage to get myself into these situations.

20 minutes later, as the credits of Rocky IV are rolling, the doorbell rings again. I hand the second pair of shorts over to Lizz and Caitlin. As they're walking away, they ask me what the quickest way to Miege is... Somehow from there I got suckered into going with them, and showing them the shortest way through Mission Hills. From there we had a blitzkreig of vandalism, hair dying, and speeding, ultimatly leading us to Wallgreens, as in the drugstore. Again... I've got to ask myself "Why don't you just have normal friends?"

The answer being:
Because that would be boring as hell, and suck mondo, so weird friends it is. *cheers*

About now I'm wondering why I needed the 4th of july to make this entry complete, and I'm now realizing how long this thing is and that I didn't, but whatever. Onward!

Saturday I was sitting in Taco Bell, eating by myself. No one was at my house, and my parents had given me money. I couldn't find anyone for company, so I went by myself. It was a surreal experience, sitting there: My taco tasted like dirt, and though the quesadia was much better my Dr. Pepper still went flat quickly. I was reading a book from the Chronicles of Narnia, which are kids books, but I still enjoy them. Right then though, I was at the beginning of the crappy one about the boat that even as a kid bored me to tears. The shitty raegae music was being piped in through blown-out speakers, and it was right then I realized I could never work in one of these places.

I'd go crazy. On my way out I left a quarter in the little machines that you get plastic rings and gumballs out of, you know, because somebody else is going to walk in there, and get a free plastic ring or gumball, and be really happy for at least a few seconds. The lady sitting across from the machines gave me a strange look, but I didn't care. Somewhere out there somebody got a free plastic ring or gumball, and was really happy for at least 4 seconds. Knowing that gives me a kinda happy feeling, on some weird level.

Finally we come to the 4th of July. As promised, I returned once more to the abode of the DeSeure's. With me as well were Ethan, April, Lizz, and Kate. The day was filled with explosions, the most notable of which follow: There was watermelon at the food portion of the party, so we heisted half of one, hollowed it out, then dried it paper towels. Then we piled explosions underneath it and lit them and ran. Lesson Learned: Watermelons are suprisingly resilliant. The process was repeated, but to no avail. We simply succeeded at blackening the watermelon.

We repeated a similar process with some box Lizz and I found on the side of the road the other day. We successfully blew multiple holes in that thing, and then there were the fireworks designed to look pretty, which are always nice, and of cource multiple soda cans were destroyed via Black Cat.

Later on, having not learned the first lesson, we put a Saturn Missile Battery (Imagine a box of crayons, except the crayons aren't crayons they're little tiny explosive missiles) into the watermelon. Some of these ricocheted around inside the watermelon, and one of them bounced around inside, and blew a hole in the side and came out at an angle, heading right for the crowd of people watching...

You know it isn't a National Holiday until you've risked death.

[Cowboys use Wikipedia]
You should too.

As was prophesized by Tom at 09:01 PM CST
[Unique Link]