Thursday, April 28, 2005

I'm so time-crunched, I'm posting emails

This was to a friend of mine, that includes an email to another friend of mine, who shall remain nameless...for no particular reason. Well, they're both really smart girls who happen to be scorchingly hot. THEY'RE MINE. STAY BACK OR DIE.

I'm going to use the scientific method on you now. I don't really remember all the steps, so I'm going to boil it down to this:

1. Form a hypothesis and tell people about it like it's already fact
2. Gather data
3. See how that data supports my hypothesis
4. Figure out what I did wrong
5. Gather more data
6. Repeat steps 3 and 4
7. Keep gathering data till some fragment of the sample supports my hypothesis
8. VOILA! Science!

So, my hypothesis is that you desperately want to have sex with me. The supporting evidence I have thus far is a) I have a big cock, which you want, and b) I've called you twice in the last couple of weeks and never heard back. You are clearly playing hard to get. You're not fooling anyone here. Now, I need to gather more data, so let's get naked.

In other news, I finished Rainbow Six and Robotech: Battlecry on the train to and from work in the last month or so (books you don't care about), and finished Animal Farm two days ago and have started on Brave New World today (books you'd BETTER care about). In the first few pages of Brave New World, they speak of how via x-ray manipulation and other nonsense, they can get as many as 80 or so humans out of ONE fertilized egg, and they are all identical twins. The even got 16,012 people out of one ovary. They are using this to create a more stable, uniform society. If you've read the book, I'm boring you, but if not, it's really interesting so far.

Animal Farm had the most boring, dry Foreword and Introduction I think I've ever read. The story itself was plenty good, though a bit depressing by the end. Poor Boxer. Poor Communists! They meant well. If you want to have a discourse about these books, or about how bad your lust for me burns in your upper thighs, email me back.

me

P.S. Meet my friend Sallie (philosophy and lit junkie, videogame nerd, and full-time hottie), and read her bit on whether robots can be taught emotions. Go here. If you need any more incentive, she has pictures on her site of her kitties, Bjork and Peeko. I can HEAR you having a cute-gasm.

P.P.S. Here's my response to her piece on robots and emotions. Go read that first (see above for link) and then come back and read this.....

I checked your web page today and the bit on robots possibly having emotions. I think it's entirely possible. I've been a believer for a long time that everything about us, even our creativity, is simply an amalgamation of everything we've experienced, consciously and subconsciously. True creativity is putting together things in a way that hasn't been seen before, or in a long time, at least. But you're essentially still recombining pre-existing things. Wanna "invent" a word? You're using a pre-existing language. A song? The same notes that have existed for centuries. A work of fiction? Language and personal experience!

As a creative person myself, this kind of thinking should be depressing, but it's not, if only because I'm a "why" hound, and knowing the reason for something does nothing but strengthen it for me. However, the "why" of these "emotion" things is always a problem.

So we've come full circle. While I think every human expression and condition is purely a biochemical reaction to some stimulus, there are those instances that try utterly hard to defy categorization, like loneliness, loss, and homesickness. Still, they can most likely be chocked up to comfort zones and familiarity, something we all seek as living beings, be it a location or simply a person who affords you regular and pleasurable physical contact (not strictly sexual, either).

Metallica has a song called 'One' in which a soldier loses sensory input and is struggling for some evidence that he's even alive and/or how to kill himself. One part goes as follows:
____________________________________________________________

Darkness, imprisoning me, all that I see, absolute horror.
I cannot live, I cannot die, trapped in myself, body my holding cell.

Landmine has taken my sight, taken my speech, taken my hearing.
Taken my arms, taken my legs, taken my soul, left me with life in hell.
____________________________________________________________

Without any sensory input, how does one experience anything, and thus know or FEEL anything? And the whole notion of the soul, while tragically romantic, is nonsense.

Now, your homework assignment is to tell me what you think of organized religion. :) I have a few of my own theories to disprove the existence of god, yet I can still empathize with people who cling to their faith for dear life. It's a weird thing, and it all has to do with imprinting when you're a young 'un. Your turn!

Wednesday, April 27, 2005

I'm famous

I got mentioned here for posting Tokyo Breakfast the other day. Go me.

I'm off to dream of a girl I'll never have. G'nite.

Tuesday, April 26, 2005

And So It Goes...

So I was holding out hope that this one remaining girl at work just might be available. I got transferred to her department today to start learning her job (as a helper, not a replacement), and she was quite delightful. Same sarcastic sense of humor, same messy-but-organized living strategy, same couch-potato, homebody mentality...and she's GAW-GEOUS. So things are going swimmingly, and I ask about roommates (everybody here has them; it's the only way to afford it), and she lives with her boyfriend. *sigh* There are no decent single women in this city. I give up.

Well, I got zombies to go ventilate in Judge Dredd, the surprise game of the year. I'm addicted to it.

Monday, April 25, 2005

NEW SONG!

Song of the day is now Bullets by Creed. If ever there was a song that rocked and made you wanna break stuff (other than Metallica, of course), this was it. If you've never heard it, I implore you to give it a listen. Nevermind the fact that it's Creed, all you haters. It kicks ass.

Saturday, April 23, 2005

Telemundo!

I work in a part of my office right now where I'm surrounded by Spanish people. They speak it, they listen to irritating Spanish radio stations. I can only stand to look at Telemundo on tv for a split second, and the sound of it is bearable for only a second longer, so you can imagine my day. Plus, my mild degree of paranoia makes me think they're secretly talking about and/or planning against me.

I'm not bashing Spanish or anything. I have a particular dislike for a wide array of foreign languages. The only ones I take any pleasure in are Latin, and British and Australian accents. German is audible spitting, French is for girls and sissies, and Italian is for mobsters. Irish and Scottish are kind of amusing sometimes. I don't think I like any languages from Africa. Russian I have some respect for, but only because its funky alphabet was proliferated in this country by a slew of 1980s cold war movies like Spies Like Us. And a lot of good hockey players come from Russia. I suppose, by that token, that I should like Canadia. But only the English-speaking people up there. French is only to be spoken when surrendering.

P.S. I am a bad ass.

Friday, April 22, 2005

Song of the Day!

Something I've been meaning to do for a while is start adding some tunes for your listening pleasure. Look in the sidebar at the right, top of the "Links" box. It'll be there, and it'll change every day or so. Check back often.

So what DO I do to stay awake?

I have to do something, duh. Between playing CDs of things like the Burnout 2 and 3 soundtracks, Metallica's Garage, Inc. album, and whatever else I'm mixing these days, I think about sex. I think about it till I get a nice big hard-on, then I let it go away. Then I do it again. It's healthy for all the parts involved to get a fresh surge of blood once in a while, it keeps my mind occupied, and since I think about sex pretty much non-stop anyway, might as well run with it.

So yeah, if you work at my office and need me to come over to your desk, and I delay you a moment, don't take offense. I'm trying not to poke you in the eye.

Case in point

Alicia posted a comment the other day about how corporate America has no desire to recognize its worker bees as individuals, as people with different needs even in identical situations. I was talking about divvying up break time in that case. Now I have another point to make.

My job is boring. The hardest part about it is not falling asleep or continually questioning the worth of even DOING this job. It's largely meaningless and only caters to the elite fuckwads who buy expensive jewelry to begin with--and break it. So what do I do to fight the narcolepsy? I read funny shit on the Internet. Or at least I DID.

I was into a ritual of scouring SomethingAwful.com and many blogs throughout the day, getting my regular dose of stay-awake brain stimulant in necessary intervals. I did it when I wasn't using the computer screen for anything else, and I was stuffing paperwork into baggies, which makes up about 50% of my day. I can read and stuff at the same time. Just ask my ex.

This was all fine and good until I moved over to Receiving from my cushy gig in Repairs. I didn't choose the move; it was asked of me, and I'm friends with some people in both departments, so it didn't seem any better in one place or the other. Apparently the head guy for Receiving is all about not using the Internet at work, even for doing my timesheet, which is something I HAVE to do every Friday before I leave. I don't have a choice, but I can still get in trouble for it. Right.

So this guy spies me reading a little something on the web while stuffing, and reports it to my immediate supe, who quells my happiness post-haste. He didn't like doing it, and he totally understands my plight to cut a swath through the boredom and monotony, but it's out of his hands, and if I get caught again, it's his ass. I like Tom, so I'm not going to get him in trouble. As a result, though, my productivity has plummeted. Good thinking, corporate ass-clown! Now you pay me the same amount to do LESS! It's also a good feeling to have to take a big dump at work since

a) the bathrooms where I work are really nice, and
b) I'm getting paid to stay in there as long as I want.

Who's gonna argue with a man who is shitting violently? When faced with the alternative of me shitting right in my chair (don't try me; I'll do it), I think one choice is clearly more desirable. And less messy.

Tuesday, April 19, 2005

Corporate America sucks at math

I work in an office where I get a half-hour lunch and two random ten-minute breaks, to be taken whenever I want, causing a halt in my daily productivity twice for approximately 600 seconds. Let's do a little math:

30-min lunch + 2(10-min breaks) = 50 minutes

Now, it is my assumption that these 50 minutes, since they are mine to dispose of, can be consumed by a non-working activity, whenever I want. Thus, I could show up to work 20 minutes late and still take a 30-minute lunch, or alternatively, go home 20 minutes early. Not so.

Apparently, I can waste 20 minutes of not working at ANY time except the end of the day. What's the difference when I use them, so long as I'm NOT WORKING for 20 minutes? As I was heading out today a little after 5pm (my normal work day runs till about 5:30pm), one of my supes stopped me to tell me I couldn't do that. I still don't get it, but neither does anyone else, I'm sure.

Man this country's full of stupid people and bullshit rules.

Monday, April 18, 2005

Erectile Dysfunction

Ya know, everybody talks about this like it's an epidemic, like it's something that just HAPPENS when guys get old. Let's think about this...how many of these guys you see in the commercials are dating 20-something supermodels, or even any woman under age 40? The fact of the matter, and something the drug companies don't want to let you in on, is that as women age, they don't look as good as they used to. So, say you get married at age 20. Your wife is a babe. You boink her 5 times a day and it never gets old. Then she starts shopping and gabbing and talking about kids and a house and a car and a nice neighborhood....and suddenly you stop screwing altogether. Of course, it's HIS fault, right? Whatever. Next thing you know, her boobs are hanging down to her knees, she's buying tube socks instead of bras, and anything that was ever hot about her has started to resemble the shell of an aardvark. She's not hot anymore, and she gives you way to much crap about your tools in the garage, that old t-shirt you've had since college, and basically everything else you find fun. With no passion AND no hot wife, I wouldn't be getting it up, either.

The moral of the story here, boys and girls, is that Viagra and Cialis are not drugs that make men happy. They are drugs that make women happy and keep men feeling redundant and unappealing. You think a guy on one of these stiffy pills ever gets a hummer? Not on your life.

By the way, in case you're wondering, my junk works quite well. Extremely potent, too. Any ladies wanna try to prove me a liar? You'll be walking funny, I guarantee it, or your money back!

Sunday, April 17, 2005

New shit to look at!

I put up some new images in my 1up.com gallery that you NEED to see. Click right about here. If it doesn't work, it's either gremlins in the Internet or a funky link I get from being logged into that page myself.

But I'm betting on gremlins.

Saturday, April 16, 2005

The kind of questions I ask

It must be fun living with me. For instance, right now I'm contemplating asking my roommates if we have a hammer around here. I don't think we do, but it never hurts to ask. They will say no, quickly run the gamut in their heads of common uses for a hammer and, coming up empty, ask me what I want it for. My answer? "My foot hurts." Fo' real. The top of the arch hurts like I just need to crack a knuckle or something. So, to make my foot stop hurting, I'd hit it with a hammer.

Wouldn't be the first time I've used backwater redneck home remedies. Remember that time I operated on my own foot to remove a wart? Armed with nothing but scissors, nail clippers, and a pocket knife, I got rid of that little bugger once and for all. Of course, I bled all over the bathroom, but I think an occasional bleeding keeps the body going, keeps things fresh and motivated. Women have monthly bleeds, and they outlive men consistently. Coincidence? I think not.

Wednesday, April 13, 2005

What the fuck happened to Tuesday?

I swear, I have no recollection of yesterday even happening. I checked the date on my computer at work, moderately certain that I still had three days left of bullshit this week, only to find that tomorrow is already Thursday! So, what the fuck happened to Tuesday? Is my life becoming so rote and meaningless that I'm now completely unaware of the passage of time up to quantities totalling entire DAYS? Wow. Maybe walking halfway across Manhattan on Canal St twice a day will do that to you. I've never really enjoyed Canal St much. Or TriBeCa or Chinatown, either. Midtown is pretty cool tho.

Tuesday, April 12, 2005

I have never laughed this "hard"

So I'm reading Maddox's "How To Kill Yourself Like A Man" and got to 'Hold Your Breath.' He states the following:

What you need: balls.

How to do it: this is similar to strangling yourself, but the difficulty level is hard. Harder than a priest at a playground.

Right there I fell off my chair, tears streaming, and maybe a little pee even came out. Holy shit was that funny, pun intended.

Nu Stile

Yeah, new template, same bullshit content. Lemme know what ya think. About both.

T-Shirts!

I had an idea for a shirt or two today. It would read, in big bold letters across the top:

VIOLENCE

Then below it, there could be any number of punchlines, like:

-Over 300 billion served
-Solving problems and disagreements since...forever
-est. 6,000,000,000 B.C.
-the easiest way to end a marriage

I could also do shirts like:

SUICIDE
-the only REAL problem solver
-it makes them all go away
-just try it. if you don't like it....too bad.
-it won't get you into heaven, but it will get you out of this shithole
-there are worse ways to go
-the easiest way to end a marriage

or

GENOCIDE
-making the world more like you
-we must have missed you
-national pastime of...well, everybody at one time or another
-are you Jewish?
-let's all be the same!
-because diversity sucks
-the easiest way to end a marriage

or

FRATRICIDE
-be the only child
-get twice as many present this Christmas

And if you don't leave comments on my blog, I will hunt you down and kill you. You know who you are, and more importantly, I KNOW WHO YOU ARE.

Oh, and go read Maddox, Utah's funniest asshole.

Monday, April 11, 2005

Tokyo Breakfast

This is too frickin funny not to show to the whole damn world (or at least the scant few people who read my drivel...that's you). Watch THIS! It's a mockery of racism and urban culture. Kudos to Nick for showing it to me in the first place.

Nudity ahead!

Made ya look. Sort of. I just applied for a position as editor at Penthouse Magazine right here in merry old New York. No idea what's going to happen there, but they'll probably call me since I actually expressed interest to my current boss in becoming a permanent employee where I am now. Whoever pays me more will likely win since erasing debt is my goal for this year. Of course, the allure of working at Penthouse (or any skin mag for that matter) is nigh irresistable. I would be my own hero if I got that job. No, if I got a job as photographer, then I'd be my own hero once and for all.

Sunday, April 10, 2005

I don't age, I just get tired earlier

I don't feel a day older than about 20. When I talk to people in their 30s, I still think of them as superior to me the way we thought our parents were superior. I keep forgetting that I have a stacked resume and some bad ass talents that nobody knows about. I'm too damn humble.

Saturday, April 09, 2005

Maybe I'm too old for this...yeah right!

I went skating in Central Park yesterday for the first time, then skated down to 14th St (via my sacred BravoBlades). I got to hang with some skateboarders in the Park despite that supposed rivalry between bladers, boarders, and BMXers.

On the way home, somewhere around 20th St in Manhattan, I found some rough pavement I wasn't prepared for, and fucked myself up pretty good. Got both knees, one worse than the other, and I hurt all over. I was picking asphalt out of my palms on the subway ride home. The best part was that I got up after the fall and still skated six more blocks to the train. RAHR! Maybe I'll add as pic of my knee to my pics page.

Thursday, April 07, 2005

Why does it take so damn long?

I update my blog, and sometimes it takes a day or so before they show up. How is that timely? Blogspot, get it together, nigga.

Back vs. front

I've noticed more in NYC than anywhere else this phenomenon where people can look fantastic from behind, but be utterly hideous once they turn around. The foot traffic back in BG did not exhibit this property nearly to the extent that New Yorkers do. If a bitch was hot from behind there, she was 9 times out of 10 hot from the front, too.

Why the fuck do I work where I work? I spent my whole day feeling like I was working the goddamn border patrol in Arizona. Nobody in the vault where I was working today spoke anything but Spanish. Talk about an out of place feeling.

I also had to deal with some stupid bitch at the post office this morning who lectured me in broken Chinglish for not using a bigger envelope to send this feeble scrap of paper to the IRS to get an extension, an encounter and experience I could have avoided completely had mom managed to keep track of my W-2s for any amount of time. No, that was too much trouble.

A smell unlike any other

I got on the train the other morning, noticing a large hole in the crowd toward one end of the car. What luck! I pushed thru the crowd and made it to the big empty only to find the air was polluted all too foully by some unwashed homeless dude taking a ride on the N. It was like Pigpen, where the dirt and stench nearly falls into the visible spectrum. Good god man, the N goes almost to Coney Island. Just get off and jump in the ocean to wash off that shit.

Come to think of it, that guy probably gets laid more than I do.

The war is over, and the ladies won

It's official: I'm doomed to celebacy. When I hit #78 today, it became more than I wanted to bear any longer. I have not had a date or a girlfriend since August 16, 2001, and I refuse to hold out hope any longer that there's someone who can see through and take an active interest who's not mentally insane. Congrats ladies, you've broken me. Somewhere between Shannon and Nadia, I fell to the relentless slings and arrows of female rejection. Fuck you, too.