Don't bother with me if:
You find peeing in the shower 'gross' or 'yuck'. It irritates me to no end when something this trivial 'sickens' a woman and the reason I keep using 'inverted commas' (as the elitists call them) is because I don't believe anyone - man or woman - HONESTLY believes that taking a whizz in the shower is nasty.
I just refuse to believe it. You can say it, and even try to convince yourself that it is a vile thing, but in the end, you don't care, at least I don't, and if you're reading my opinions, it's because you're looking for confirmation of your own opinions, which means that you'll change your opinions to mine so that we can agree.
Honestly, you pee on the floor of the shower, and it's washed down the drain. Is that any worse than putting all of the dirt that has accumulated on your body for days (one day, if you're not like me) down the drain?
I just don't get it.
2. If you say 'like' more than 0 times per sentence, and more than three times per conversation (excluding those times when it is used in a manner that compares the similarity of two entities, such as, "Being on the roller-coaster was like flying in a jet") then don't speak to me. Ever. As a matter of fact, don't even exist when I'm around, because it's going to irritate me in an increasingly collective build until I reflexively saw your eyes out and use them as extras in a game of Hungry Hungry Hippo.
The surefire sign of a person who is -- ho hum -- less than an intellectual, is the use of crevices, such as 'like,' and 'uhm,' and, 'well, I mean-- y'know'.
And I don't mean a person who simply, like, you know, doesn't have a, like, big vocabulary, but like, the person just, y'know, isn't really, like, smart, like, y'know, smart, like, at all, y'know?
And, like, y'know, well, I mean, y'know, like, because like, if y'know, he was, like, y'know, like, I mean, y'know, like-- and now I've forgotten what I was talking about! Blast it all!
I did not want to believe it for a long time, but in the end, all of the evidence points to this conclusion: fifteen year old girls raised in public schools are inevitably dense.
3. You're a teenager.
That's right, if you're under eighteen, don't bother talking to me. I'm bored of conversations that don't go passed, "Hey, what's up?"
Here's the average conversation:
Him: Hey, what's going on?
Me: The same thing that has gone on, is going on, and will continually go on for the rest of my pathetic, miserable and perpetually increasingly depressing life: nothing. Nothing is all that ever goes on. You need not ask ever again, ever. Ever. Never. Never ever. Every time you ask that question, a small piece of my soul dies and is reincarnated as hellfire where it torments me, burns my spirit and destroys me into oblivion.
Him: . . . oh.
Then I go into berserker mode and start killing everything around me with a copy of "The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy".
By time I'm finished I relax enough to speak rationally, but there's no one left to talk to because they've all been bludgeoned into vegetables with a paperback.
The point is, everyone sucks and I don't want to talk, even if that is my greatest talent.
4. If you insist on talking about your problems.
Really, the last time I heard someone speak to someone else, all she did was swap stories about 'terrible' things that happened to her. The average teenager conversation, (especially on a bloody cellphone!) will sound like this:
"Like, oh my gosh, I was over at my ride when this guy comes and gits all up in my bin-iss, so I be tellin' him to be steppin, know what I'm sayin'? So then he goes and gets my superior and I be all, "Fine, go 'head and get my supervisor! He just gonna agree wit me! I tole him!"
Followed by half a trillion head-pans, and a countless assault of hand-motions that would put a person who speaks sign-language to shame.
New rule: If you're on the cell-phone, no one can see your defiant hand-motions, but the people who can see them are not speaking with you; stop it, you look like a moron.
I'm serious, don't speak to me if all you're going to do is tell me about your problems or how you 'tole' (an alternate (read that: wrong) way of saying 'told') someone off because you're so vastly superior, and certainly not because you're just more audacious and still too young to have the capacity for shame or humility.
Is that all that goes on in teenagers lives? Problems?
"Oh, boo hoo, my daddy left when I was two, some guy just got 'up in my face,' and my feet hurt! My back aches!"
Wah wah wah! It is impossible to get any kind of decent conversation out of these people! No wonder I don't know how to speak to kids these days; they don' talk, they compare sob stories.
I saw an emo kid once walk away from a crowd of teenagers while shaking his head, saying, "Man, these people are just too depressing."
Then he went home and cut himself, but failed to find any comfort in it because it just didn't seem as awful as it used to, prior to hearing every kid on the planet talk about all of their unimportant, insignificant 'problems' that amount to trivial discomforts.
Shut up, already, and help me pull my foot out of your throat.
- Atari
- Atari
That's right, people! This entry was so amazing it required two signings in order to keep it from spontaneously combusting into a shower of physically manifested impressiveness.
Sometimes, I make entries just so that it'll create a shower of awesome that I can bottle and save in case I want to turn a box-turtle (boring) into an alligator snapping turtle being eaten by an alligator. (Awesome)
((Look for my new product, "Bottle 'O Awesome" on Ebay. If it kicks off, I'll follow it up with my much rarer, "Bottle O' Impressiveness," then cash in on the success by selling the ever-pleasing, "Bottle 'O Air". ))
Thursday, January 22, 2009
Movies Are Getting Away With Too Much These Days
Yet again I am subjected to the endless preaching of movies that feel it their responsibility to force some stupid, hackneyed agenda down the throats of all of its viewers.
Here's a clue: not everyone believes in the same regurgitated cliche' of 'truth and justice' as you do! Stop trying to make a point and get to the action scenes, already!
Like, for example, Narnia. I was watching the Chronicles of Narnia: Prince Caspien the other day because it looked a lot less like kids being annoying than the first. (And I was right, this one had less of kids being annoying and more of people standing around staring for at least a combined forty minutes of the movie)
Instead of them going into Narnia, living for eighty years, then going back and becoming kids, then going back into Narnia and living another eighty years, and doing that same thing over and over in order to be immortal, they go just long enough to 'learn all that they can [from Narnia]' and then they have to stay in the real world.
Belay that malarkey! Why do they have to learn some kind of lesson in fantasy-land that most people learn in the real world? Why do they have to return to earth? What is the point of that?
If these kids had any sense, which they don't, they would be immortal like I would, only I wouldn't, because people suck and I don't want to be here any longer than I have to without killing myself.
The reason they put this 'lesson' in there is because the producers realized the kids were really just too stupid to stay in Narnia, so they made up some nonsense about how they really only stayed long enough to gain knowledge in an obsolete, unnecessary manner in order to make some kind of sense and to appeal to mothers who lap that kind of stuff up and think it's 'whole-hearted' goodness for their children, not realizing that the kids don't care because they're only there for the action sequences.
And was it just me, or did that movie have the worst camera work ever?
Take, for example, the part where the camera panned to the sky and did a time-lapse to nightfall. At this point, the obvious thing to do would be to pan the camera down to reveal the children and their fire, (or it could have been the opposite and time-lapsed to morning, same difference) but instead, it just shifted from one view to the other instantaneously, making everyone lose the mood and possibly wake up from the nap they took while waiting for the characters to stop standing there with their mouths agape.
Then, the poorly-done scene where that one soldier shot the arrow and it did the 'follow-the-projectile' camera move, only it did it in the most anticlimactic way conceivable, as if the people making the movie just did not care that much-- or wanted to annoy the ever-living out of me. . . which they did.
And then we have conflict which is never resolved, like the whole argument between the prince and the High King-- Pete I think his name is. . . what a lame name for a high king. If I were a king, my name would be Asimoth Leon Grand, with unnecessary accent marks everywhere, so it would look like, As'imoth' Le'on Grand', and would be pronounced 'Jake Terrymore'.
Man, my subjects would love me just because of my name, never mind the monarchy dictatorship.
So like I was saying, we need to stop putting these unneeded, heartfelt tidbits of knowledge and wisdom having to do with abstract concepts such as love and friendship, and instead start making movies that have a REAL point.
Or, if you have to have two apposing viewpoints, why always make the obvious choice the right one?
Consider the end of the Daredevil movie-- the man has already killed two people, one of them in the first ten minutes of the movie-- in cold blood. . . and then tells the world about it.
Then, he gets to the crime-lord himself, the kingpin, fights him in an epic ending duel. The final move consists of the Daredevil sliding underneath the kingpin, between his legs, kicking the front of his knees making him double-jointed but non-the-better for all it does him, and prepares to unleash the final blow which would no doubt have been something awesome such as bludgeoning him over the head with his cane and then tossing him out of the window.
Suddenly, the writers decide that the movie was going too well and the Daredevil has a spontaneous lapse in judgment, gets an over-developed conscious and an excessive sense of compassion and pity, so instead of killing him he listens to the kingpin declare that he will rip out the Daredevil's intestines and strangle anyone close to him with them, then cut off his head and eat it raw, to which the Daredevil responds, "I know."
Wait-- what! "I know"? No! You don't know, apparently, because if you did you would have thrown him out the window!
That is stupid! He could have gotten rid of a great evil, but because he is supposedly 'different' than the bad guys, (that difference being the inability to kill, because, obviously, killing, regardless of what the bad guy has done, is simply a 'bad guy' thing to do) he will probably be mourning over the loss of his dear lawyer associate in the sequel, who has been impaled with a large but finite quantity of sharp and not-usually-deadly objects.
That is what compassion, when staring at the deathly glare of Satan, will get you; more dead colleagues.
Down with compassionate, media-crafted lessons! Down with all of these accursed CHILDREN in our movies!
What on earth!
The next movie coming out where these people have to escape from a city-- why with kids? Why! That movie could be done just as well with all adults!
As a matter of fact, the movie could do with JUST Bill Murray! No kids, no cast to figure out what is supposed to be happening, just Bill Murray being funny and unwittingly stumbling upon clues in a comedic fashion.
That would work-- honestly, what is with all of these movies coming out with kids in 'em? Nims Island, Chronicles of Narnia, that one with the kid in it-- who. . . did some stuff and got strength and at the end had a twin brother.
People have some kind of obsession with kids getting powers or discovering some kind of wonderful destiny.
My brother bought these books about teenagers who become vampires or some such rubbish. Anyone who speaks like this: "Becoming a vampire the first day of school is, like, SOOOO totally the worst," deserves to be shot, not gifted with the powers of a vampire and then left to sit around crying about being unable to go outside in the sunlight.
"Boo hoo, woe is me, I can't go out in the sunlight! Wah wah!"
Then how about we just stake you through the heart and get it over with.
I've figured it out: Hollywood has decided, in its infinite wisdom in the art of making our lives miserable, that it is going to wear down America by making so many movies that have kids for NO REASON AT ALL that everyone will get high blood pressure and be unable to defend themselves when the time comes for the takeover because they'll be too busy counting to a hundred.
Well, not me.
In my book, all of the characters are going to be thirty or older and its going to be nothing but witty dialogue and snappy repartee. That way if it is ever made into a movie, at least the dialogue wont be awful.
Here's a clue: not everyone believes in the same regurgitated cliche' of 'truth and justice' as you do! Stop trying to make a point and get to the action scenes, already!
Like, for example, Narnia. I was watching the Chronicles of Narnia: Prince Caspien the other day because it looked a lot less like kids being annoying than the first. (And I was right, this one had less of kids being annoying and more of people standing around staring for at least a combined forty minutes of the movie)
Instead of them going into Narnia, living for eighty years, then going back and becoming kids, then going back into Narnia and living another eighty years, and doing that same thing over and over in order to be immortal, they go just long enough to 'learn all that they can [from Narnia]' and then they have to stay in the real world.
Belay that malarkey! Why do they have to learn some kind of lesson in fantasy-land that most people learn in the real world? Why do they have to return to earth? What is the point of that?
If these kids had any sense, which they don't, they would be immortal like I would, only I wouldn't, because people suck and I don't want to be here any longer than I have to without killing myself.
The reason they put this 'lesson' in there is because the producers realized the kids were really just too stupid to stay in Narnia, so they made up some nonsense about how they really only stayed long enough to gain knowledge in an obsolete, unnecessary manner in order to make some kind of sense and to appeal to mothers who lap that kind of stuff up and think it's 'whole-hearted' goodness for their children, not realizing that the kids don't care because they're only there for the action sequences.
And was it just me, or did that movie have the worst camera work ever?
Take, for example, the part where the camera panned to the sky and did a time-lapse to nightfall. At this point, the obvious thing to do would be to pan the camera down to reveal the children and their fire, (or it could have been the opposite and time-lapsed to morning, same difference) but instead, it just shifted from one view to the other instantaneously, making everyone lose the mood and possibly wake up from the nap they took while waiting for the characters to stop standing there with their mouths agape.
Then, the poorly-done scene where that one soldier shot the arrow and it did the 'follow-the-projectile' camera move, only it did it in the most anticlimactic way conceivable, as if the people making the movie just did not care that much-- or wanted to annoy the ever-living out of me. . . which they did.
And then we have conflict which is never resolved, like the whole argument between the prince and the High King-- Pete I think his name is. . . what a lame name for a high king. If I were a king, my name would be Asimoth Leon Grand, with unnecessary accent marks everywhere, so it would look like, As'imoth' Le'on Grand', and would be pronounced 'Jake Terrymore'.
Man, my subjects would love me just because of my name, never mind the monarchy dictatorship.
So like I was saying, we need to stop putting these unneeded, heartfelt tidbits of knowledge and wisdom having to do with abstract concepts such as love and friendship, and instead start making movies that have a REAL point.
Or, if you have to have two apposing viewpoints, why always make the obvious choice the right one?
Consider the end of the Daredevil movie-- the man has already killed two people, one of them in the first ten minutes of the movie-- in cold blood. . . and then tells the world about it.
Then, he gets to the crime-lord himself, the kingpin, fights him in an epic ending duel. The final move consists of the Daredevil sliding underneath the kingpin, between his legs, kicking the front of his knees making him double-jointed but non-the-better for all it does him, and prepares to unleash the final blow which would no doubt have been something awesome such as bludgeoning him over the head with his cane and then tossing him out of the window.
Suddenly, the writers decide that the movie was going too well and the Daredevil has a spontaneous lapse in judgment, gets an over-developed conscious and an excessive sense of compassion and pity, so instead of killing him he listens to the kingpin declare that he will rip out the Daredevil's intestines and strangle anyone close to him with them, then cut off his head and eat it raw, to which the Daredevil responds, "I know."
Wait-- what! "I know"? No! You don't know, apparently, because if you did you would have thrown him out the window!
That is stupid! He could have gotten rid of a great evil, but because he is supposedly 'different' than the bad guys, (that difference being the inability to kill, because, obviously, killing, regardless of what the bad guy has done, is simply a 'bad guy' thing to do) he will probably be mourning over the loss of his dear lawyer associate in the sequel, who has been impaled with a large but finite quantity of sharp and not-usually-deadly objects.
That is what compassion, when staring at the deathly glare of Satan, will get you; more dead colleagues.
Down with compassionate, media-crafted lessons! Down with all of these accursed CHILDREN in our movies!
What on earth!
The next movie coming out where these people have to escape from a city-- why with kids? Why! That movie could be done just as well with all adults!
As a matter of fact, the movie could do with JUST Bill Murray! No kids, no cast to figure out what is supposed to be happening, just Bill Murray being funny and unwittingly stumbling upon clues in a comedic fashion.
That would work-- honestly, what is with all of these movies coming out with kids in 'em? Nims Island, Chronicles of Narnia, that one with the kid in it-- who. . . did some stuff and got strength and at the end had a twin brother.
People have some kind of obsession with kids getting powers or discovering some kind of wonderful destiny.
My brother bought these books about teenagers who become vampires or some such rubbish. Anyone who speaks like this: "Becoming a vampire the first day of school is, like, SOOOO totally the worst," deserves to be shot, not gifted with the powers of a vampire and then left to sit around crying about being unable to go outside in the sunlight.
"Boo hoo, woe is me, I can't go out in the sunlight! Wah wah!"
Then how about we just stake you through the heart and get it over with.
I've figured it out: Hollywood has decided, in its infinite wisdom in the art of making our lives miserable, that it is going to wear down America by making so many movies that have kids for NO REASON AT ALL that everyone will get high blood pressure and be unable to defend themselves when the time comes for the takeover because they'll be too busy counting to a hundred.
Well, not me.
In my book, all of the characters are going to be thirty or older and its going to be nothing but witty dialogue and snappy repartee. That way if it is ever made into a movie, at least the dialogue wont be awful.
I'm Sick of People Being So Defensive
Two words: Chill out.
Every time I enter a forum and find a thread about role-playing that has a long list of rules, and the owner of the thread looks like a reasonable person who merely made a small imperfection in word choice, so I send him a private message with a better word suggesting that he may have meant this word but is not obligated to use it at all, the person gets all defensive.
What is the problem with me suggesting a viable alternative that may be more suited to his purpose?
Is pride so rampant that he cannot merely say, "Thanks for the heads up," and then just never use the word?
What is your problem? The humble suggestion always deteriorates into a senseless argument in which the person I am speaking with attempts to make me look like some sort of perfectionist who is only pointing out small incongruities in everyone's writing in order to feel superior.
The next thing I know, he's stumbling back onto himself, dismissing things he had already said and replacing them with other defensive arguments.
He first says, "Well, the word 'vulgarity' means the same as 'expletive'."
I pointed out that it does not, but that it was just a heads up and he is in no way required to use the word.
He then retorts, "WELL! IT'S A GOOD THING I'M NOT IN SOME KIND OF CONTEST WHERE EVERYTHING HAS TO BE PERFECT! AND I MEANT ANYTHING THAT IS VULGAR AT ALL!"
No, you meant 'expletive,' but you should CALM DOWN BECAUSE YOU'RE GOING TO BURN OUT THAT ONE GOOD BRAINCELL!
Instead of blathering on like a buffoon, you would have saved face had you only given me a small thanks, (or no thanks) and been about your way, but now I'm writing a journal entry about all of you morons who are too defensive to take what is not even criticism, but mere suggestions that you have possibly made a poorer choice than you reasonably could have, and it would be quickly rectified.
Most will never, EVER use the word I supplied, out of sheer contrariness.
Defensive, insufferable simpletons.
Every time I enter a forum and find a thread about role-playing that has a long list of rules, and the owner of the thread looks like a reasonable person who merely made a small imperfection in word choice, so I send him a private message with a better word suggesting that he may have meant this word but is not obligated to use it at all, the person gets all defensive.
What is the problem with me suggesting a viable alternative that may be more suited to his purpose?
Is pride so rampant that he cannot merely say, "Thanks for the heads up," and then just never use the word?
What is your problem? The humble suggestion always deteriorates into a senseless argument in which the person I am speaking with attempts to make me look like some sort of perfectionist who is only pointing out small incongruities in everyone's writing in order to feel superior.
The next thing I know, he's stumbling back onto himself, dismissing things he had already said and replacing them with other defensive arguments.
He first says, "Well, the word 'vulgarity' means the same as 'expletive'."
I pointed out that it does not, but that it was just a heads up and he is in no way required to use the word.
He then retorts, "WELL! IT'S A GOOD THING I'M NOT IN SOME KIND OF CONTEST WHERE EVERYTHING HAS TO BE PERFECT! AND I MEANT ANYTHING THAT IS VULGAR AT ALL!"
No, you meant 'expletive,' but you should CALM DOWN BECAUSE YOU'RE GOING TO BURN OUT THAT ONE GOOD BRAINCELL!
Instead of blathering on like a buffoon, you would have saved face had you only given me a small thanks, (or no thanks) and been about your way, but now I'm writing a journal entry about all of you morons who are too defensive to take what is not even criticism, but mere suggestions that you have possibly made a poorer choice than you reasonably could have, and it would be quickly rectified.
Most will never, EVER use the word I supplied, out of sheer contrariness.
Defensive, insufferable simpletons.
I Must Admit: Dragonforce Rules
Really. The best power metal band in existence.
Most power metal sucks horribly, getting its face stuck that way, cheeks sucked in an all. Then comes Dragonforce and throws all of the other bands into a pit, covers them in honey and makes bear calls with its superior vocals.
Too bad there are no bears around and we still must endure the endless, high-pitched, weak, dull music that the other bands offer.
I was browsing YouTube and saw that some of the lists of power metal made no reference to Dragonforce at all.
Can you believe that? The audacity to exclude Dragonforce (even accidentally, which is undoubtedly what occurred) is of such an excessive extent as to be arrogant and deluded!
No list is complete without Dragonforce.
When I make a shopping list, I add 'Dragonforce' to it. They're JUST that good.
I played Dragonforce at a science meeting once, where all of the scientists with their thick-rimmed glasses, sniffing noses and superior intellect were gathered to celebrate the natural world.
Upon getting to the chorus of 'My Spirit Will Go On,' trolls were burrowing out of the ground, trampling over the cool, freshly turned earth, and wizards were casting fire spells and attempting to ascertain what the inverse square law is until they grew frustrated and just burned the whole place down.
True story.
Moreover, no one, even fans of Dragonforce, respects Dragonforce and appreciates their songs.
Why is it that each time I mention the band, some ignorant oaf must spout, "Oh! Through the Fire and Flames!" as if he knows what he is talking about?
What about the dozens of other songs they have made? At least three of their songs are better than Through the Fire and Flames, but you uneducated yokels know this one song from a video game and regardless of your alleged claims to like Dragonforce you couldn't name any of their other songs.
Look at this list:
Above the Winter Moonlight
Fury of the Storm
Soldiers of the Wasteland
My Spirit Will Go On
Fields of Despair
Inside the Winter Storm
Once in a Lifetime
Valley of the Damned
Lost Souls in Endless Time
The Flame of Youth
Black Winter Night
And that's not half of what they have.
Each of these songs can bring the hardest heart to an even more impressive caliber of hardness, cause people to adorn themselves with swords and slay dragons that appeared just now while 'Heart of a Dragon' was playing.
We have too many posers:
1. The posers who used to like Dragonforce, but don't any more because they 'sold out' or because their 'old stuff is better'.
These jerks like Dragonforce; all of it, but they want to justify their preference to all of the snobs who hate Dragonforce, so they claim that, "[You're] right, Dragonforce sucks, but their old stuff is good."
Yeah, no; shut up. They don't have 'old stuff'. If your band has only been around for eight years, then you don't have old stuff.
Their new album involves more awesomeness than is possible to shake a stick at, because the song will summon a bolt of lightning to turn your judgmental hide into a pile of greasy ashes which will be slowly scattered to the wind and lost as they fade in the distance at the bottom of a massive canyon.
2. The posers who hate Dragonforce because, 'All of their songs sound the same'. If you think all of their songs sound the same, then it's because you haven't listened to the band, which automatically nullifies your opinion.
And what band doesn't have songs that sound similar? If the tune is different and the meaning is different and the sound is different, then it's not 'the same'.
The only facsimile around is you dumb lemmings who have less originality and diversity than can be found in a bowl of Cheerios(tm).
3. The posers who make me angry. I'm referring to everyone in the world. Seriously, what's up with you people?
You need to chill out.
You cannot lambaste an entire group of people simply because their ideas differ from your own.
Next thing you know, your internet blog will have an entry about people who don't like the music you like or the Television shows you enjoy.
Bunch of conceited bigots.
Most power metal sucks horribly, getting its face stuck that way, cheeks sucked in an all. Then comes Dragonforce and throws all of the other bands into a pit, covers them in honey and makes bear calls with its superior vocals.
Too bad there are no bears around and we still must endure the endless, high-pitched, weak, dull music that the other bands offer.
I was browsing YouTube and saw that some of the lists of power metal made no reference to Dragonforce at all.
Can you believe that? The audacity to exclude Dragonforce (even accidentally, which is undoubtedly what occurred) is of such an excessive extent as to be arrogant and deluded!
No list is complete without Dragonforce.
When I make a shopping list, I add 'Dragonforce' to it. They're JUST that good.
I played Dragonforce at a science meeting once, where all of the scientists with their thick-rimmed glasses, sniffing noses and superior intellect were gathered to celebrate the natural world.
Upon getting to the chorus of 'My Spirit Will Go On,' trolls were burrowing out of the ground, trampling over the cool, freshly turned earth, and wizards were casting fire spells and attempting to ascertain what the inverse square law is until they grew frustrated and just burned the whole place down.
True story.
Moreover, no one, even fans of Dragonforce, respects Dragonforce and appreciates their songs.
Why is it that each time I mention the band, some ignorant oaf must spout, "Oh! Through the Fire and Flames!" as if he knows what he is talking about?
What about the dozens of other songs they have made? At least three of their songs are better than Through the Fire and Flames, but you uneducated yokels know this one song from a video game and regardless of your alleged claims to like Dragonforce you couldn't name any of their other songs.
Look at this list:
Above the Winter Moonlight
Fury of the Storm
Soldiers of the Wasteland
My Spirit Will Go On
Fields of Despair
Inside the Winter Storm
Once in a Lifetime
Valley of the Damned
Lost Souls in Endless Time
The Flame of Youth
Black Winter Night
And that's not half of what they have.
Each of these songs can bring the hardest heart to an even more impressive caliber of hardness, cause people to adorn themselves with swords and slay dragons that appeared just now while 'Heart of a Dragon' was playing.
We have too many posers:
1. The posers who used to like Dragonforce, but don't any more because they 'sold out' or because their 'old stuff is better'.
These jerks like Dragonforce; all of it, but they want to justify their preference to all of the snobs who hate Dragonforce, so they claim that, "[You're] right, Dragonforce sucks, but their old stuff is good."
Yeah, no; shut up. They don't have 'old stuff'. If your band has only been around for eight years, then you don't have old stuff.
Their new album involves more awesomeness than is possible to shake a stick at, because the song will summon a bolt of lightning to turn your judgmental hide into a pile of greasy ashes which will be slowly scattered to the wind and lost as they fade in the distance at the bottom of a massive canyon.
2. The posers who hate Dragonforce because, 'All of their songs sound the same'. If you think all of their songs sound the same, then it's because you haven't listened to the band, which automatically nullifies your opinion.
And what band doesn't have songs that sound similar? If the tune is different and the meaning is different and the sound is different, then it's not 'the same'.
The only facsimile around is you dumb lemmings who have less originality and diversity than can be found in a bowl of Cheerios(tm).
3. The posers who make me angry. I'm referring to everyone in the world. Seriously, what's up with you people?
You need to chill out.
You cannot lambaste an entire group of people simply because their ideas differ from your own.
Next thing you know, your internet blog will have an entry about people who don't like the music you like or the Television shows you enjoy.
Bunch of conceited bigots.
Personality or Physical Attractiveness?
Oh, we've all heard it, sure. We've all read it, watched it on T.V., and we probably believe it, too. I am referring to an old proverb that states the following, although perhaps not a facsimile thereof:
"If you care more about looks than personality, then you're shallow."
In response, I would like to ask the converse: What if you care more about personality than looks?
And are the only two things in the universe personality and looks?
What about accent, hobbies, skills, temper, gullibility? Not EVERYTHING is a person's personality.
For example, I'm talking to a girl right now who I would marry, save for that she wants cattle and loves horses. Liking horses isn't a part of her personality, but that is deterring enough that I know that she is not the one for me based upon that alone.
If a girl is my ideal girl, but I don't find her attractive, then that is enough to know that she is not the one for me.
How do I know this?
Well, consider: Have you ever noticed how a person's awesome personality can cause him to look much more attractive?
If a girl is so physically repulsive (even though beautiful in personality) that I am disheartened upon the sight of her, then why should I have to marry this person? To avoid being called 'shallow'?
Drop dead.
Even unattractive people find significant others to marry them, which proves there is someone for everyone.
I believe that if you love a girl's personality but not her physical beauty, then you are doing a severe disservice to her by muscling your way through the gag reflex just to be with her, because you are hindering the person for her that would find her perfect in beauty and in personality and in every other aspect of her life.
In light of this, I conclude that it is shallow to ONLY like a person's personality.
In your FACE modern orthodox!
"If you care more about looks than personality, then you're shallow."
In response, I would like to ask the converse: What if you care more about personality than looks?
And are the only two things in the universe personality and looks?
What about accent, hobbies, skills, temper, gullibility? Not EVERYTHING is a person's personality.
For example, I'm talking to a girl right now who I would marry, save for that she wants cattle and loves horses. Liking horses isn't a part of her personality, but that is deterring enough that I know that she is not the one for me based upon that alone.
If a girl is my ideal girl, but I don't find her attractive, then that is enough to know that she is not the one for me.
How do I know this?
Well, consider: Have you ever noticed how a person's awesome personality can cause him to look much more attractive?
If a girl is so physically repulsive (even though beautiful in personality) that I am disheartened upon the sight of her, then why should I have to marry this person? To avoid being called 'shallow'?
Drop dead.
Even unattractive people find significant others to marry them, which proves there is someone for everyone.
I believe that if you love a girl's personality but not her physical beauty, then you are doing a severe disservice to her by muscling your way through the gag reflex just to be with her, because you are hindering the person for her that would find her perfect in beauty and in personality and in every other aspect of her life.
In light of this, I conclude that it is shallow to ONLY like a person's personality.
In your FACE modern orthodox!
A Tale of One Slightly Abnormal Night in My Life
I don’t know if I’ve related this tale to you before, but it is a true story told with the honor of my Chicanery.
I’ll start with a bit of back story:
My siblings and I were subjected to very little of the horrors that the public school offer. My sister, being the oldest, was tortured the longest.
I was in school for two years or so, and the best thing I ever learned was that doing retarded things may impress people, but those same folk who were so in awe of your skills at urinating high above the latrine will casually cast all blame aside and never look back as it crashes upon your head. I was promptly whisked away from public school and began my career in the home schooling, and was emasculated as my mother learned everything ten times faster than I.
I am uncertain, but peeing in front of the school bus may have had something to do with me being withdrawn from the public schools, in addition to home-school being, as mother said, what she felt that God wanted.
My cousins, in general, have been treated in the same manner, being withdrawn from the indoctrination camp and were often learning right alongside my siblings and I.
My cousin’s name -- the important one, anyway -- is Preston. He’s almost six feet tall, red headed, broad-shouldered, and in a perpetual state of anger and dismay because his little brother is apparently going to be more broad shouldered and taller. Attempts at beating him down have been unsuccessful, and the bruises do not even last.
Preston’s mother is a bit– capricious, and despite the fact that her son is incredibly smart, especially in regards to mathematics, (he got his GED twice as fast as I was able to earn mine, once he got to the school) she became distraught at many different periods in his life during his schooling.
Although it seems like several times, I am fairly certain that it was only once, whereupon she became so frustrated that she reinstated him into public school for a transient session. I do not know if it was for even a full grade, but he was touted as smarter than anyone in his class, and he ostensibly was, because he never complained about having trouble in school.
Be that as it may, it was during this temporal interlude wherein the story begins.
There was some sort of party happening at his school. I have no idea what type of party it was. It took place in a large basketball court, with rotating, colored lights and unreasonably loud music.
Somehow, I was able to accompany him, and the lady at the entrance was not as happy about receiving an extra five dollars as I thought she should be. It was not as if I were getting free drinks and food.
Upon entering, I was enthralled by the lights and sounds, and it was an unusually prolonged moment before the natural feeling of being an outcast settled comfortably in.
There were some dances, and one in particular that confounded me was the slow dances.
I was against a cool, concrete wall behind the high basketball goal, watching curiously. Men and women partners (or, rather, boys and girls) had clasped hands, shut and locked jaws, and blank stares as they moved in an almost trance-like state about the floor in slow circles, swaying left and right.
This did not immediately come to my attention, but rather, I thought of it in retrospect. What did intrigue me was when the song ended and the lights grew slightly brighter, though still remaining dim.
Everyone, I noticed, detached from his partner, promptly averted his eyes, and walked away from one another.
Wait– what!
It was as if they wanted to have nothing to do with each other! They were dancing because it was expected of them, but when it ended, they made no pretense to chat or bring his or her date to the punch table. (I don’t think there was a punch table, actually) They just disengaged and distanced themselves as quickly as possible without appearing manic.
I found this extremely odd, but attribute it to awkward adolescence. Half of those kids would not know what to do with a girl if he had her. (Personally, I could never buy chocolate for a girl. I would eat it before I left the store.)
This is not the main event I intend to relate to you, however.
After this took place, another song began playing soon thereafter. Now, maybe it is the rustic, old fashioned, morally astute person within me (and who permeates my very being) but I was absolutely appalled at the manner in which these girls danced!
They could not have been older than fifteen, and they danced – a word I use loosely, as it was more or less a display of how well her body still performed; a demonstration of her womanly faculties, rather than a dance – as if they were 23 years old in a rave club dancing to depraved techno music.
It is beyond my knowledge to describe exactly how they were moving, but it involved less coordinated rhythm, and more of the ability to individually control each muscle running along that young, lithe figure.
These girls put snakes to shame with their absolute control and serpentine movement. I felt as though with every sensual writhing of their stomach muscles that they were beckoning me forth.
I observed in silent fascination.
There was one particular girl who was pretty, to me, in such a way as that no one else mattered after I had set my eyes upon her.
I have no recollection of what her friends looked like, or what anyone else was doing.
Now, I am fairly cognizant of most of the chicanery that women employ in order to lure men into their detrimental and mortifying metaphorical clutches.
These girls, though– allow me to recount the events:
I watch these girls giving the air clothed lap dances for a little while, but eventually lose sight of them somehow. As I pick my way through the throng of people, trying my best to avoid running into or annoying anyone, I suddenly spot the girl – and a friend or two of hers – quickly moving through the crowd. She stops about ten paces in front of me, clearly within my visual range, and then begins dancing, once again, in the same erotic fashion. I was only a couple of years older than these people, and was thoroughly enticed by this girl in particular.
I had no spiteful thoughts toward them, and was filled with almost servile deference to their superior beings.
So I become pathetic and nervous around girls. Shut your teeth. Unless you’re a hot girl, whereupon you may chortle at your leisure.
It was suspicious then, and blatantly conspicuous now, that she was attracted to me (I cannot take all of the credit, you know how kids are with older guys). It was further made apparent and proven by the fact that she repeatedly appeared in front of me and began dancing, yet again.
The dance ended, another started, and people began to socialize. I ended up against that same blasted wall, attempting to work up the nerve to chat with this girl.
I really wanted to speak with her, because of my raging hormones, and because I rarely ever had the opportunity to so much as chat casually with a female who was not related to me. (Read that: my sister)
My cousin approached me and we had a short conversation that I do not remember, but it went something like this, I think:
Atari: Man, do you see that girl?
Blaze (Preston) : What girl?
Atari: You see– the one in the blue shirt. (Or what ever she was wearing)
Blaze: Oh, yeah– I see her. You gonna talk to her?
Atari: Well, I want to, but – y’know, I can’t just walk up to her and start talking!
Blaze: Why not? Don’t be a coward.
Atari: O.K., I’m gonna talk to her. . . .
Blaze: Alright, go ahead.
Atari: . . . .
Blaze: Come on!
Atari: O.K.! O.K.! I’m going– just– I can do this. . . .
After about five minutes of this, my cousin grew annoyed at my lack of courage and decided that the best course of action was to beat some sense into me.
Having come to this conclusion, he quickly steps forward and buries a quick right fist into my gut.
I release a choking gasp and curl forward. Strangely, I can only think, “He’s right, you’re a worthless coward!”
Well, as luck would have it, while Blaze found something else to do while not pummeling me for my cowardice, the girl happens to cross my path and - much to my surprise and ecstasy - she speaks to me!
And what does she say?
“Hey– uh, why were you following me and my friends?”
Wait. Hold it right there. WHAT did you just say? I was following you? Why on earth would I follow a bunch of girls around a dance floor? Do you think I’m some kind of pervert? Or some idiot who isn’t a pervert but wants everyone to THINK he is? That’s the only reason I can think of , save for pitiful desperation, that would cause a guy to tail a bunch of girls as they dance like strumpets, feeling up their bodies like they had just inhaled a gaseous aphrodisiac.
But, I was on my A-game that night and calmly said,
“Uh, I was following you?”
My rapier wit cut a pause in the conversation, and I have little recollection of anything that happened afterward.
I do know that as I was sitting up on the bleachers, some moron who thinks he’s hot stuff comes up to me – all 5'2" of him – and has the audacity to tell me the ad lib quote below:
“Hey, dude, were you talking to that girl? Yeah, don’t bother, man. Just leave her alone. She doesn’t even like you– she HATES you, dude. So just don’t talk to her, any more.”
I smiled politely, and it was not hedged with the condescending acid which I only imagined.
What have we learned from this, boys and girls?
People who go to school are vacuous, asinine tools. Don’t go to high school if it is possible for you to avoid it. You may never fit in, but you can rest in comfortable solace, eternally secure in the knowledge that you will never know the ravages of incomprehensible stupidity drilled into your malleable psyche from age five upward.
I’ll start with a bit of back story:
My siblings and I were subjected to very little of the horrors that the public school offer. My sister, being the oldest, was tortured the longest.
I was in school for two years or so, and the best thing I ever learned was that doing retarded things may impress people, but those same folk who were so in awe of your skills at urinating high above the latrine will casually cast all blame aside and never look back as it crashes upon your head. I was promptly whisked away from public school and began my career in the home schooling, and was emasculated as my mother learned everything ten times faster than I.
I am uncertain, but peeing in front of the school bus may have had something to do with me being withdrawn from the public schools, in addition to home-school being, as mother said, what she felt that God wanted.
My cousins, in general, have been treated in the same manner, being withdrawn from the indoctrination camp and were often learning right alongside my siblings and I.
My cousin’s name -- the important one, anyway -- is Preston. He’s almost six feet tall, red headed, broad-shouldered, and in a perpetual state of anger and dismay because his little brother is apparently going to be more broad shouldered and taller. Attempts at beating him down have been unsuccessful, and the bruises do not even last.
Preston’s mother is a bit– capricious, and despite the fact that her son is incredibly smart, especially in regards to mathematics, (he got his GED twice as fast as I was able to earn mine, once he got to the school) she became distraught at many different periods in his life during his schooling.
Although it seems like several times, I am fairly certain that it was only once, whereupon she became so frustrated that she reinstated him into public school for a transient session. I do not know if it was for even a full grade, but he was touted as smarter than anyone in his class, and he ostensibly was, because he never complained about having trouble in school.
Be that as it may, it was during this temporal interlude wherein the story begins.
There was some sort of party happening at his school. I have no idea what type of party it was. It took place in a large basketball court, with rotating, colored lights and unreasonably loud music.
Somehow, I was able to accompany him, and the lady at the entrance was not as happy about receiving an extra five dollars as I thought she should be. It was not as if I were getting free drinks and food.
Upon entering, I was enthralled by the lights and sounds, and it was an unusually prolonged moment before the natural feeling of being an outcast settled comfortably in.
There were some dances, and one in particular that confounded me was the slow dances.
I was against a cool, concrete wall behind the high basketball goal, watching curiously. Men and women partners (or, rather, boys and girls) had clasped hands, shut and locked jaws, and blank stares as they moved in an almost trance-like state about the floor in slow circles, swaying left and right.
This did not immediately come to my attention, but rather, I thought of it in retrospect. What did intrigue me was when the song ended and the lights grew slightly brighter, though still remaining dim.
Everyone, I noticed, detached from his partner, promptly averted his eyes, and walked away from one another.
Wait– what!
It was as if they wanted to have nothing to do with each other! They were dancing because it was expected of them, but when it ended, they made no pretense to chat or bring his or her date to the punch table. (I don’t think there was a punch table, actually) They just disengaged and distanced themselves as quickly as possible without appearing manic.
I found this extremely odd, but attribute it to awkward adolescence. Half of those kids would not know what to do with a girl if he had her. (Personally, I could never buy chocolate for a girl. I would eat it before I left the store.)
This is not the main event I intend to relate to you, however.
After this took place, another song began playing soon thereafter. Now, maybe it is the rustic, old fashioned, morally astute person within me (and who permeates my very being) but I was absolutely appalled at the manner in which these girls danced!
They could not have been older than fifteen, and they danced – a word I use loosely, as it was more or less a display of how well her body still performed; a demonstration of her womanly faculties, rather than a dance – as if they were 23 years old in a rave club dancing to depraved techno music.
It is beyond my knowledge to describe exactly how they were moving, but it involved less coordinated rhythm, and more of the ability to individually control each muscle running along that young, lithe figure.
These girls put snakes to shame with their absolute control and serpentine movement. I felt as though with every sensual writhing of their stomach muscles that they were beckoning me forth.
I observed in silent fascination.
There was one particular girl who was pretty, to me, in such a way as that no one else mattered after I had set my eyes upon her.
I have no recollection of what her friends looked like, or what anyone else was doing.
Now, I am fairly cognizant of most of the chicanery that women employ in order to lure men into their detrimental and mortifying metaphorical clutches.
These girls, though– allow me to recount the events:
I watch these girls giving the air clothed lap dances for a little while, but eventually lose sight of them somehow. As I pick my way through the throng of people, trying my best to avoid running into or annoying anyone, I suddenly spot the girl – and a friend or two of hers – quickly moving through the crowd. She stops about ten paces in front of me, clearly within my visual range, and then begins dancing, once again, in the same erotic fashion. I was only a couple of years older than these people, and was thoroughly enticed by this girl in particular.
I had no spiteful thoughts toward them, and was filled with almost servile deference to their superior beings.
So I become pathetic and nervous around girls. Shut your teeth. Unless you’re a hot girl, whereupon you may chortle at your leisure.
It was suspicious then, and blatantly conspicuous now, that she was attracted to me (I cannot take all of the credit, you know how kids are with older guys). It was further made apparent and proven by the fact that she repeatedly appeared in front of me and began dancing, yet again.
The dance ended, another started, and people began to socialize. I ended up against that same blasted wall, attempting to work up the nerve to chat with this girl.
I really wanted to speak with her, because of my raging hormones, and because I rarely ever had the opportunity to so much as chat casually with a female who was not related to me. (Read that: my sister)
My cousin approached me and we had a short conversation that I do not remember, but it went something like this, I think:
Atari: Man, do you see that girl?
Blaze (Preston) : What girl?
Atari: You see– the one in the blue shirt. (Or what ever she was wearing)
Blaze: Oh, yeah– I see her. You gonna talk to her?
Atari: Well, I want to, but – y’know, I can’t just walk up to her and start talking!
Blaze: Why not? Don’t be a coward.
Atari: O.K., I’m gonna talk to her. . . .
Blaze: Alright, go ahead.
Atari: . . . .
Blaze: Come on!
Atari: O.K.! O.K.! I’m going– just– I can do this. . . .
After about five minutes of this, my cousin grew annoyed at my lack of courage and decided that the best course of action was to beat some sense into me.
Having come to this conclusion, he quickly steps forward and buries a quick right fist into my gut.
I release a choking gasp and curl forward. Strangely, I can only think, “He’s right, you’re a worthless coward!”
Well, as luck would have it, while Blaze found something else to do while not pummeling me for my cowardice, the girl happens to cross my path and - much to my surprise and ecstasy - she speaks to me!
And what does she say?
“Hey– uh, why were you following me and my friends?”
Wait. Hold it right there. WHAT did you just say? I was following you? Why on earth would I follow a bunch of girls around a dance floor? Do you think I’m some kind of pervert? Or some idiot who isn’t a pervert but wants everyone to THINK he is? That’s the only reason I can think of , save for pitiful desperation, that would cause a guy to tail a bunch of girls as they dance like strumpets, feeling up their bodies like they had just inhaled a gaseous aphrodisiac.
But, I was on my A-game that night and calmly said,
“Uh, I was following you?”
My rapier wit cut a pause in the conversation, and I have little recollection of anything that happened afterward.
I do know that as I was sitting up on the bleachers, some moron who thinks he’s hot stuff comes up to me – all 5'2" of him – and has the audacity to tell me the ad lib quote below:
“Hey, dude, were you talking to that girl? Yeah, don’t bother, man. Just leave her alone. She doesn’t even like you– she HATES you, dude. So just don’t talk to her, any more.”
I smiled politely, and it was not hedged with the condescending acid which I only imagined.
What have we learned from this, boys and girls?
People who go to school are vacuous, asinine tools. Don’t go to high school if it is possible for you to avoid it. You may never fit in, but you can rest in comfortable solace, eternally secure in the knowledge that you will never know the ravages of incomprehensible stupidity drilled into your malleable psyche from age five upward.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)