Oh. Dead.
Enough of all that. Buzz was sitting in his crappy chair BIT THEN NOTING
Enoguh. Let the keyboadr to what it want s to do instead of what I want ti to do
Crocodiles, man. That’s the stuff. This is the latest new thing, you understand. All the kids are doing it. How can we deny the sacred power of zeitgeist geometries? You fucking heathens! Is this not the US of A? Are we not the latest in the human production line? Mutation. The absolute key to this thing is mutation, and lots of it.
You must understand that this culture has stagnated! Like curdled milk, some say. How can we swim in these deplorable conditions? And those bastards dream of the 50’s? HA!
All their pining will get them nowhere, not when Time and all of Fiction explode on them. To Hell with their petty safety concerns! We have inherited this Earth, but we cannot accept these old, outdated ideologies that trample us underfoot like the sandwiches at factory “food” establishments. Mutation is the key! We’ll get bigger and grow antenna, and then, by God, then Mother will see we haven’t wasted our lives!
Oh, my. I’m on quite a lot of drugs, and The Visions are afoot. Prepare yourselves.
Yes, that means you too, Mr. President, with your hot wife and your pleated pants. YOU DON’T FOOL ME, NO.
I’m no telepath, but I know what you’re all thinking: You’re wondering why I’ve gathered you all here. You wonder why I’m boiling several blow-up dolls in front of you.
Imagine for a moment you are a blow-up doll. Imagine you are this blow-up doll for a moment. And this tube of hot air, funneled UP YOUR ASS, is the crap of society. Religion. Politics. Economics. Ideologies.
All this will very shortly come to an end. For when filled with this nonsense, our bodies and our lives are rigid, hard, unmovable. EASY FOR FUCKING, eh Mr. Putin?
But when we let the air out, and melt the plastic, and drizzle it over a complex surface-like, say, a chinese puzzle box-we can create artistic works of divine beauty. WE GO. WE CAN DO ANYTHING.
But you, maintainers of the pump, would have us rammed up the ass daily. You made me GET A JOB. You made me BEG. Now we’ll see how you do, up there, WITHOUT ALL THE ASSISTANCE.
Listen well, dictators of flesh space! I hold in my finely-chiseled hands a SPACE-TIME DETONATOR.
Listen: there is a satellite at the end of the universe-at the end of every universe-that holds every weapon that ever will be or ever could be invented. There is an entire ballroom’s worth of conceptual bombs in there.
You question “ballroom?” Why? SHOULD IT HAVE BEEN A FOOTBALL COURT, YOU FASCISTS?
No. Sometimes I like to feel pretty.
As I was saying, the conceptual bombs are hundreds in number. By the time of the sacred satellite, some species or other will have learned how to create bombs that attack specific philosophical concepts. Trillions of them. Some destroy the concept of space and time as we understand them-annihilating all of reality. Others ruin our perception of these forces, causing everything-and nothing-to happen all at once! Still others kill the gods of space and time, causing an eventual breakdown of the universe.
THIS one has localized effects. It blows up the way things are. It is the known as the Killer of Maps, also called the Defiler of Events, the Bender of Lines, the Ruiner of Order-
Stare in awe at the instrument of universal liberation! Stare into the Fracture-maker! The Maze Breaker! The Holy Epicenter of all Chaos!
OMEGAREND! Wet your tailored suits in fear!
This name tag identifies me. Ha! You think these pathetic vowels are sufficient? You think basic human grunts can capture my glorious essence? BANG! See? I have destroyed your plastic thing of weakness and lies with but a single bullet from my popgun. My Grandmother gave me this for my third birthday. Just think: Soon such terms will be meaningless. Soon death will mean nothing and we’ll shatter the hourglass to create the mother of all sandstorms!
Dinosaurs! Steam Engines! Lightsabers!
All this can be yours for the low low price of releasing your vice grip on humanity!
WE will be the new prophets! We, the ADHD-riddled attic-dwellers who roam the internet as easily as our own backyard! We who go from French New Wave to Japanese B-Movies in the blink of an eye! We who like rap-metal-country-funk! We who deny your stone walls!
I PUSH THIS PLUNGER IN THE NAME OF LICKITY-SPLIT! MAY IT IMPALE YOUR FOUL TOILET HEARTS!
BEHOLD!
Thursday, July 18, 2013
Sunday, June 16, 2013
Man of Steel opening re-enactment
The following is a re-enactment of the first 15 minutes of the latest Superman movie "Man of Steel." Hope you enjoy.
INT. BROWN, DAY.
We zoom in on a brown, GENERIC SCI-FI world that is very brown. JOR-EL walks by in the busiest outfit ever and warns the council that Krypton is about to explode.
A COMPLETELY UNNECESSARY ACTION SCENE FOLLOWS.
ZOD shows up and shoots one of the council members, causing them to EXPLODE.
JOR-EL, the brave, stoic scientist-philosopher who believes in a better life in the future, a life where might doesn't make right, where disputes can be solved sanely BEATS THE LIVING FUCK OUT OF a bunch of silver NECROMONGERS FROM CHRONICLES OF RIDDICK. Jor-El KILLS THE SHIT out of them. One of them EXPLODES.
JOR-EL rides one of the REJECTS FROM EPISODE 3 around a brown ship, which EXPLODES.
He enters a birth chamber, is attacked by a brown robot that EXPLODS, and takes a swim to steal some weird skull-looking thing. Then he goes back home and puts baby Superman in a brown rocket that looks like a DOORSTOP.
ZOD and the Necromongers enter Jor-El's brown and silver house.
Jor-El, the wise man who knows his life has been forfeit to save his son's life and has resigned himself to his fate, understanding that Krypton is doomed and that further conflict is pointless, puts on a SWEET BROWN ARMOR SUIT AND BEATS THE FUCK UT OF ZOD, which makes perfect sense since he's a scientist and Zod is a warrior.
THE CAMERA JUST GOES FUCKING CRAZY.
Zod stabs Jor-El with a brown blade.
SOME OTHER SHIT HAPPENS, and then Zod and co. get frozen.
STUFF EXPLODES. Then the brown MOUNTAINS explode. Then the brown GROUND explodes.
Then KRYPTON EXPLODES.
INT. BROWN, DAY.
We zoom in on a brown, GENERIC SCI-FI world that is very brown. JOR-EL walks by in the busiest outfit ever and warns the council that Krypton is about to explode.
A COMPLETELY UNNECESSARY ACTION SCENE FOLLOWS.
ZOD shows up and shoots one of the council members, causing them to EXPLODE.
JOR-EL, the brave, stoic scientist-philosopher who believes in a better life in the future, a life where might doesn't make right, where disputes can be solved sanely BEATS THE LIVING FUCK OUT OF a bunch of silver NECROMONGERS FROM CHRONICLES OF RIDDICK. Jor-El KILLS THE SHIT out of them. One of them EXPLODES.
JOR-EL rides one of the REJECTS FROM EPISODE 3 around a brown ship, which EXPLODES.
He enters a birth chamber, is attacked by a brown robot that EXPLODS, and takes a swim to steal some weird skull-looking thing. Then he goes back home and puts baby Superman in a brown rocket that looks like a DOORSTOP.
ZOD and the Necromongers enter Jor-El's brown and silver house.
Jor-El, the wise man who knows his life has been forfeit to save his son's life and has resigned himself to his fate, understanding that Krypton is doomed and that further conflict is pointless, puts on a SWEET BROWN ARMOR SUIT AND BEATS THE FUCK UT OF ZOD, which makes perfect sense since he's a scientist and Zod is a warrior.
THE CAMERA JUST GOES FUCKING CRAZY.
Zod stabs Jor-El with a brown blade.
SOME OTHER SHIT HAPPENS, and then Zod and co. get frozen.
STUFF EXPLODES. Then the brown MOUNTAINS explode. Then the brown GROUND explodes.
Then KRYPTON EXPLODES.
Sunday, May 12, 2013
I thought Pageviews Were A Fairytale
Apparently there have been 15 page views today, which is more surprising than it is encouraging, but still pretty cool. Realizing that people are actually reading this drek makes me think maybe I should write something more substantial than my half-drunk thoughts about a crappy TV show.
So how about some whining instead?
I am absolutely terrified and completely unprepared to leave college, having mastered none of the skills necessary for life in the "real world." I'm not satisfied with the education I've gotten, I barely know anyone in my major, and I'm abysmal at talking to people unless I have three beers in me.
BUT I SURE CAN NAME EVERY GODZILLA MOVIE IN ORDER, BOY HOWDY.
It's frustrating. I was talking to an older relative about these concerns the other day, and her response was "the college years are the best years of your life."
Gee, thanks.
So how about some whining instead?
I am absolutely terrified and completely unprepared to leave college, having mastered none of the skills necessary for life in the "real world." I'm not satisfied with the education I've gotten, I barely know anyone in my major, and I'm abysmal at talking to people unless I have three beers in me.
BUT I SURE CAN NAME EVERY GODZILLA MOVIE IN ORDER, BOY HOWDY.
It's frustrating. I was talking to an older relative about these concerns the other day, and her response was "the college years are the best years of your life."
Gee, thanks.
Saturday, February 2, 2013
Blue Mountain State is a Fucking Peice of Shit
I just sat through three episodes of this show, and I... I don't have the words.
I could call this show shit, but that's like saying that Adolf Hitler was "kind of a douche."
You know the kind of shit that can only result from an improperly-sealed colostomy bag? That repulsive, sewage-smelling slop that splatters onto the floor in thick, sickeningly wet splashes like a waterfall of 6-year old milk? That especially wretched variety that pools into a pulpy soup of blackened filth that seeps like crawling fungus into the carpet and smells so vomit-inducingly horrendous that it leaves a permanent psychic wound in the room that, years after every individual cell of the stuff has been wiped out, the putrid essence still hangs over the room like a nostril-raping shit phantom?
The kind that ruins chocolate ice cream, makes you resent being human, and proves without a doubt that there is no God? If you don't, be thankful. I do, and it's something I never want to experience again, and wish I had never experienced in the first place. Nietzsche once said that what doesn't kill us makes us stronger. Nietzsche can go fuck himself. Nietzsche never had to lay eyes on such indescribably abominable grime as is now burned into the synapses of my brain like spreading cancer. Nietzsche never had to breathe in the lifespan-shortening fumes. Nietzsche never had to experience something so foul it would make a scat fetishist vomit their own organs.
Is this sufficient? Am I getting my point across? Do you have a suitably vile mental image in your head? Good. Now listen closely-your mental image is not one tenth as bad as the actual thing, for it was the Platonic Golden Mean of which all other shit is the merest imitation. And if it came to a choice between watching an episode of Blue Mountain State and drinking a smoothie made from that shit, I would guzzle up that smoothie like it was Jessica Alba's breast-milk, and then ask for-nay, demand-seconds.
Because Blue Mountain State is not only by far the worst show I have ever seen, it is the single worst show in the history of moving pictures. Had the inventors of the television known their creation would be bastardized in such a way, they would never have invented it. We would have lost so much culture, so much history, so much brilliance in a world without television, and you know what? It would have been worth it to delete this travesty from the timestream.
Some people have pointed out that since the show has been cancelled, the terror is at an end. These people are fools. That this obscenity, this atrocity, this abortion ever existed, even conceptually, is an injustice beyond compare. That cancellation is not good enough is beyond obvious. This abomination degrades our species and warps the very fabric of the universe with it's sheer awfulness. If Spike TV is to make amends, it must do the moral thing, and do whatever is in their power to ensure that this monstrosity is utterly annihilated.
Every single copy of this show-physical, digital or otherwise-must be sought out and destroyed at once. Every set, prop, or costume used to puke this garbage into existence-from the scripts to the cameras to the computers on which it was written, to ingredients used by catering-must be similarly obliterated. Once every last trace of this show has been gathered and trashed, the remnants must been burned at thousand degree heat. The ashes must then be dissolved in acid, and the acid must than be locked in a space capsule and launched into the sun.
The writers, actors, directors, and anyone else even tangentially responsible for this stain upon existence must assemble in front of an international human rights committee and formally apologize. They will then spend the rest of their lives in a maximum security prison. Finally, the show must be scrubbed from the internet. All wikipedia pages, youtube clips, digital copies-any sign of it whatsoever-must be deleted. We will then agree to never speak of this again. Then and only then can the long healing process begin.
...
Thats jus wat i think, tho, tell me wat u think in teh coments1111!!111
You know the kind of shit that can only result from an improperly-sealed colostomy bag? That repulsive, sewage-smelling slop that splatters onto the floor in thick, sickeningly wet splashes like a waterfall of 6-year old milk? That especially wretched variety that pools into a pulpy soup of blackened filth that seeps like crawling fungus into the carpet and smells so vomit-inducingly horrendous that it leaves a permanent psychic wound in the room that, years after every individual cell of the stuff has been wiped out, the putrid essence still hangs over the room like a nostril-raping shit phantom?
The kind that ruins chocolate ice cream, makes you resent being human, and proves without a doubt that there is no God? If you don't, be thankful. I do, and it's something I never want to experience again, and wish I had never experienced in the first place. Nietzsche once said that what doesn't kill us makes us stronger. Nietzsche can go fuck himself. Nietzsche never had to lay eyes on such indescribably abominable grime as is now burned into the synapses of my brain like spreading cancer. Nietzsche never had to breathe in the lifespan-shortening fumes. Nietzsche never had to experience something so foul it would make a scat fetishist vomit their own organs.
Is this sufficient? Am I getting my point across? Do you have a suitably vile mental image in your head? Good. Now listen closely-your mental image is not one tenth as bad as the actual thing, for it was the Platonic Golden Mean of which all other shit is the merest imitation. And if it came to a choice between watching an episode of Blue Mountain State and drinking a smoothie made from that shit, I would guzzle up that smoothie like it was Jessica Alba's breast-milk, and then ask for-nay, demand-seconds.
Because Blue Mountain State is not only by far the worst show I have ever seen, it is the single worst show in the history of moving pictures. Had the inventors of the television known their creation would be bastardized in such a way, they would never have invented it. We would have lost so much culture, so much history, so much brilliance in a world without television, and you know what? It would have been worth it to delete this travesty from the timestream.
Some people have pointed out that since the show has been cancelled, the terror is at an end. These people are fools. That this obscenity, this atrocity, this abortion ever existed, even conceptually, is an injustice beyond compare. That cancellation is not good enough is beyond obvious. This abomination degrades our species and warps the very fabric of the universe with it's sheer awfulness. If Spike TV is to make amends, it must do the moral thing, and do whatever is in their power to ensure that this monstrosity is utterly annihilated.
Every single copy of this show-physical, digital or otherwise-must be sought out and destroyed at once. Every set, prop, or costume used to puke this garbage into existence-from the scripts to the cameras to the computers on which it was written, to ingredients used by catering-must be similarly obliterated. Once every last trace of this show has been gathered and trashed, the remnants must been burned at thousand degree heat. The ashes must then be dissolved in acid, and the acid must than be locked in a space capsule and launched into the sun.
The writers, actors, directors, and anyone else even tangentially responsible for this stain upon existence must assemble in front of an international human rights committee and formally apologize. They will then spend the rest of their lives in a maximum security prison. Finally, the show must be scrubbed from the internet. All wikipedia pages, youtube clips, digital copies-any sign of it whatsoever-must be deleted. We will then agree to never speak of this again. Then and only then can the long healing process begin.
...
Thats jus wat i think, tho, tell me wat u think in teh coments1111!!111
Thursday, May 31, 2012
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)