What's with all the 'used to be, once was, will be again - great' bullshit that I keep seeing everybody posting about America? Is everybody stupid? Are we in past tense mourning for a possible future present tense? What the hell, y'all? Am I the only one who sees down to the retarded bones of this CRAP? What kind of hysterical mob mentality is this? Yeesh! It makes me wanna slap something.
Can everybody just stop for a sec and rescue your underwear? Just because America is tarded and immature and insane on a regular basis don't mean it ever stopped being great. Come on, y'all! So the president is a real live cartoon, syndicated, and guaranteed for four seasons. That doesn't mean that the whole country just automatically goes down with the captain of the ship! There's literally SHITLOADS of things that have zero to do with stupid ass politics that make America great. I ain't gonna list them, because you should already know, for Pete's sake.
Everybody gets all caught up in stupid ass politics, like politics is something you should use for setting a bona-fide standard by. Doesn't anybody else get it, that a great big fat greasy pile of politics is simply ugly, ugly entertainment for your R-complex? Politics is an insidious device with one purpose - hitting the Mob Button that's buried deep down in your primitive consciousness, where it's easy to manipulate.
What's my proof for this, somebody might ask? My proof is all this bullshit that people keep saying about making America 'great again', as if America was a beloved baseball player who got caught shooting up steroids. As if using steroids totally and completely defines the ultimate worth of that baseball player named America. It's stupid media crap, designed to manipulate and warp your insides, and you all should know better.
Everybody needs to tear yourselves away from that stupid ass President Trump cartoon already. Sure, it's funny... but come on. There's WAY better cartoons that you can watch on YouTube. Like Ren & Stimpy.
Sunday, January 22, 2017
Saturday, January 21, 2017
Whatev.
Wulp, I suppose that clenches it, then. I learned today that the girl I've been cockadoody-poopoo-tarded in love with since January 2009 is now a full blown, bona-fide nun.
I guess that means I can finally put the boots to to that dime-sized knot of twisted space-time that just barged in and made itself at home, right there underneath my sternum. You know, the one that feels like a chunk of degenerate matter that got lodged in mid swallow, which I've been choking on for almost seven years now. That'll be a relief, to finally hack that thing up and spit it out, like a petrified loogie.
So. Basically good news, then. I guess.
Meh. It ain't like I didn't know it would happen eventually. I haven't seen or spoken to her since October 2011. Right now it's just a sucker punch and not a full on ass-beating. I'll be right as rain in half the time. Three years, max.
I guess that means I can finally put the boots to to that dime-sized knot of twisted space-time that just barged in and made itself at home, right there underneath my sternum. You know, the one that feels like a chunk of degenerate matter that got lodged in mid swallow, which I've been choking on for almost seven years now. That'll be a relief, to finally hack that thing up and spit it out, like a petrified loogie.
So. Basically good news, then. I guess.
Meh. It ain't like I didn't know it would happen eventually. I haven't seen or spoken to her since October 2011. Right now it's just a sucker punch and not a full on ass-beating. I'll be right as rain in half the time. Three years, max.
Friday, January 20, 2017
glide ratio
Super coolness has just occurred, only a few minutes ago.
I just finished building a 1/5th scale model of a Rogallo wing, the biggest I've made yet. The wingspan is 52" - a little more than four feet. Full scale is a 22' wingspan. 22 feet, that is. The one I made is 52 inches. This is the fifth model of a Rogallo wing that I've made. You know... for the hang glider.
The first one was just WRONG. It was built out of bamboo shiskabob sticks and a tall kitchen trash bag. This is the one that, when launched, performed the unashamed, instant stall with a loop-duh-loop. It had about a 3 foot wingspan.
The second one, I rebuilt from the ashes of the first one. It was completely destroyed when it plummeted straight into the ground from about a hundred feet in the air, at about 30 mph I'm guessing, when I was flying it like a kite at Northlakes Park a couple of months ago. 3 foot wingspan.
The third one I built out of wire clothes hangers instead of wooden utensils. This one was like the first one, but smaller, and on acid. When I launched it, 45% of the time it would nose straight down and 45% of the time it'd do a psychotic loop-duh-loop after a dramatic stall. 10% of the time it would do just the most amazingly perfect glide. 2 foot wingspan.
The fourth one I built just like the third one, but using shishkabob sticks again. My reasoning was that maybe the metal clothes hangers were too heavy. I never got to test fly this one, because I stepped on it when it was buried under a mound of dirty clothes, and it just broke, all over. 2 foot wingspan.
The fifth one I just completed a couple of hours ago. I was way more carefuller with the measurements on this one than I was on any of the others, because this one is a big one, and errors tend to magnify on a logarithmic scale by orders of magnitude. Who knows. So I had to nail a great big, unfolded lawn and garden hefty bag onto the wall, and I used one of those roll-up sewing rulers and a sharpie marker and a regular short 12 inch ruler for a straight edge to draw the shape of the borders of the most precise Rogallo wing ever, ever, onto that hefty bag nailed to my wall. When it was finished, I very carefully cut it out with one of my many thrillions of knives that I keep on hand, ready for deployment at an instants notice.
The final shape of the flat, unmounted wing was that of a right triangle with an outwardly curved hypotenuse, with the point of the right angle serving as the exact center of a circular border defined by the curve of the hypotenuse, which covered about 30 degrees of arc. I mounted it onto these long wooden dowels that I found in the crafts and hobbies department at WalMart, and all of a sudden it was a wing, for flying.
I just took it out for its maiden voyage, and man. How the wings billowed and took shape as they slipped easily, like a form-fitting garment, onto the wind. Just a trash bag taped to wooden dowels... but oh how it sailed. It was so pretty. And stable. No sudden nose dives, or psychotic stalls with a backwards loop-duh-loop right into the ground. This one just flew straight, with a glide ratio of about 4:1. That is, for every four increments of flight, it lost one increment of altitude. That's a pretty crappy glide ratio actually, but the important thing is, it was a glide ratio, and not a nose dive or a psychotic stall, ending in a loop-duh-loop. Every time I launched this one, it glided. It glided, like something that's built for gliding is suppose to do.
So, now it's just a matter of scaling it up 5 times.
I just finished building a 1/5th scale model of a Rogallo wing, the biggest I've made yet. The wingspan is 52" - a little more than four feet. Full scale is a 22' wingspan. 22 feet, that is. The one I made is 52 inches. This is the fifth model of a Rogallo wing that I've made. You know... for the hang glider.
The first one was just WRONG. It was built out of bamboo shiskabob sticks and a tall kitchen trash bag. This is the one that, when launched, performed the unashamed, instant stall with a loop-duh-loop. It had about a 3 foot wingspan.
The second one, I rebuilt from the ashes of the first one. It was completely destroyed when it plummeted straight into the ground from about a hundred feet in the air, at about 30 mph I'm guessing, when I was flying it like a kite at Northlakes Park a couple of months ago. 3 foot wingspan.
The third one I built out of wire clothes hangers instead of wooden utensils. This one was like the first one, but smaller, and on acid. When I launched it, 45% of the time it would nose straight down and 45% of the time it'd do a psychotic loop-duh-loop after a dramatic stall. 10% of the time it would do just the most amazingly perfect glide. 2 foot wingspan.
The fourth one I built just like the third one, but using shishkabob sticks again. My reasoning was that maybe the metal clothes hangers were too heavy. I never got to test fly this one, because I stepped on it when it was buried under a mound of dirty clothes, and it just broke, all over. 2 foot wingspan.
The fifth one I just completed a couple of hours ago. I was way more carefuller with the measurements on this one than I was on any of the others, because this one is a big one, and errors tend to magnify on a logarithmic scale by orders of magnitude. Who knows. So I had to nail a great big, unfolded lawn and garden hefty bag onto the wall, and I used one of those roll-up sewing rulers and a sharpie marker and a regular short 12 inch ruler for a straight edge to draw the shape of the borders of the most precise Rogallo wing ever, ever, onto that hefty bag nailed to my wall. When it was finished, I very carefully cut it out with one of my many thrillions of knives that I keep on hand, ready for deployment at an instants notice.
The final shape of the flat, unmounted wing was that of a right triangle with an outwardly curved hypotenuse, with the point of the right angle serving as the exact center of a circular border defined by the curve of the hypotenuse, which covered about 30 degrees of arc. I mounted it onto these long wooden dowels that I found in the crafts and hobbies department at WalMart, and all of a sudden it was a wing, for flying.
I just took it out for its maiden voyage, and man. How the wings billowed and took shape as they slipped easily, like a form-fitting garment, onto the wind. Just a trash bag taped to wooden dowels... but oh how it sailed. It was so pretty. And stable. No sudden nose dives, or psychotic stalls with a backwards loop-duh-loop right into the ground. This one just flew straight, with a glide ratio of about 4:1. That is, for every four increments of flight, it lost one increment of altitude. That's a pretty crappy glide ratio actually, but the important thing is, it was a glide ratio, and not a nose dive or a psychotic stall, ending in a loop-duh-loop. Every time I launched this one, it glided. It glided, like something that's built for gliding is suppose to do.
So, now it's just a matter of scaling it up 5 times.
Ye Olden Fart
Say, here's something to ponder, the next time you're carving the petrified cheese clumps out from underneath your toenail cuticles...
I think we can all agree, that uness you get murdered, or suicide yourself, or get tragically and pointlessly scrubbed along the way for some dumb reason, you're eventually gonna transmogrify into an old fart, and then die. I mean, we. Am I right?
So. You got three possibilities. I mean we. Murdered, scrubbed, or blown away and forgotten on the wind of an old, dusty fart. The Three Great Destinies According To The Human Condition. One will be yours! Just think... no. Never mind. It's better if you don't just think. About the horror, the horror...
Hang on though, I've got an idea. Say, what if... for instance.
If you in general are one of the lucky few with completely neutral luck, and you happen to survive your entire life without suiciding yourself or getting tragically scrubbed by a random death encounter, then you're probably thinking that the only thing left for you is a one way trip to Old Fartsville. Right? You were thinking that.
Allow me to suggest an alternative...
Just because you've survived all of life's horrors, only to wind up as a broken, windy fart for all of your effort, doesn't mean you HAVE to be an old fart. Instead, try being an Olden Fart.
An 'Olden Fart'.
When the time comes, that is. Just think about it... 'Olden Fart' sounds way more dignified than 'old fart'. Am I right? Say what?
You're welcome.
I think we can all agree, that uness you get murdered, or suicide yourself, or get tragically and pointlessly scrubbed along the way for some dumb reason, you're eventually gonna transmogrify into an old fart, and then die. I mean, we. Am I right?
So. You got three possibilities. I mean we. Murdered, scrubbed, or blown away and forgotten on the wind of an old, dusty fart. The Three Great Destinies According To The Human Condition. One will be yours! Just think... no. Never mind. It's better if you don't just think. About the horror, the horror...
Hang on though, I've got an idea. Say, what if... for instance.
If you in general are one of the lucky few with completely neutral luck, and you happen to survive your entire life without suiciding yourself or getting tragically scrubbed by a random death encounter, then you're probably thinking that the only thing left for you is a one way trip to Old Fartsville. Right? You were thinking that.
Allow me to suggest an alternative...
Just because you've survived all of life's horrors, only to wind up as a broken, windy fart for all of your effort, doesn't mean you HAVE to be an old fart. Instead, try being an Olden Fart.
An 'Olden Fart'.
When the time comes, that is. Just think about it... 'Olden Fart' sounds way more dignified than 'old fart'. Am I right? Say what?
You're welcome.
Thursday, January 19, 2017
Planet Dirt
You know what? 'Planet Earth' - that most majesterial sounding title that we proudly give to and proclaim as to be our homeworld - to some alien would translate literally to 'Planet Dirt'.
'Where do you come from?' those aliens would ask.
'What do you call your homeworld?' they'd say.
'You call it Earth? What does it mean, this word, Earth? Please, enlighten us with your rich cultural history! We are extremely advanced aliens, and we respect all humble origins! What? Huh? Say again? No. Really? You're joking!
We, as advanced and enlightened aliens, of course, appreciate humor... huh? You're not joking? Wait, just hold on.
Earth means... that is, translated literally, it means... dirt? Like, the stuff that makes you dirty? The stuff that retarded kids eat, and that Enlightened Beings continually strive to remain cleansed of and from? That's the name of your world? Planet Dirt?'
Uncomfortable silence.
'Ta ta, dirtlings!'
Aaaaand... they've shunted into hyperspace.
'Where do you come from?' those aliens would ask.
'What do you call your homeworld?' they'd say.
'You call it Earth? What does it mean, this word, Earth? Please, enlighten us with your rich cultural history! We are extremely advanced aliens, and we respect all humble origins! What? Huh? Say again? No. Really? You're joking!
We, as advanced and enlightened aliens, of course, appreciate humor... huh? You're not joking? Wait, just hold on.
Earth means... that is, translated literally, it means... dirt? Like, the stuff that makes you dirty? The stuff that retarded kids eat, and that Enlightened Beings continually strive to remain cleansed of and from? That's the name of your world? Planet Dirt?'
Uncomfortable silence.
'Ta ta, dirtlings!'
Aaaaand... they've shunted into hyperspace.
Wednesday, January 18, 2017
emergency bullshit
BRRRRRIIIIINGALINNNG
Hello, Grand Central Station...
Oh, hey, sup y'all. Huh? Me? Oh nuthin'. Just out haunting the neighborhood, up to no good. Drunk and high on amphetamines, hanging around between parked cars, with my head full of stars.
Oh, sorry... Huh?
Yeesh! That sounds exactly like the pedicure from hell, straight out of the lawyer book. Hell yeah, file a claim! That's an act of God. It's legal! Bad pedicures are always Acts Of God. Look it up in the lawyer book!
What? Say again? You woke up and your toenails were on fire? Oh. You just shake that off, that's called wake&bake&shake. Huh? Oh, what? They're literally on fire, with flames and smoke? Oh! Dang. Sorry bout that.
:::click::::
BRRRRRIIIIINGALINNNG!
Hello, Grand Central Station Drug Emporium, can I help you? Huh? Oh, I see. Cold or clammy? Both? Which hand? Both hands? Ok, hold please...
BRRRRRIIIIINGALINNNG!
Grand Central Station Drug Emporium Smack-O-Matic, what's your emergency? Huh? Oh. Oh, I see. Are you sure? Ok then... firstly, and according to the instructions here... hang on. Ok. Firstly, did you do the tail flick test? No? Oh... yeah. No, yeah. You need to do that for the death certificate. Red tape... anyway.
:::click:::
BRRRRRIIIIINGALINNNG
Hello, Grand Central Station Boulevard... Oh! You still there? Great! What you need are 10,000 mg of Imodium. Do you have it? I mean them? Whatever... Oh... huh? What? Oh, you have it? REALLY? NO SHIT? Great! Now just administer it... carefully... watch for it... into the subdural vein of the transvertical hematoma, of the corresponding brain partholomew... watch for the weak ipsilaterral component... got it? Great!
Now. What I need you to do is to STAB the rat, carefully, right up it's butthole. Yes. Up the butthole. What? Oh, whatever... FINE! The anus. Can we continue? Thank you!
Carefully STAB the rat, right up it's ass, with a carefully contrived stabbing tool... why you little... hey, let go of that! SECURITY!!
:::click:::
BRRRRRIIIIINGALINNNG
Hello, Grand Central Station Mind Fuck Delivery Service and Quantum Algebra, please hold...
::: seventy two gazillion years later:::
BRRRRRIIIIINGALINNNG
Hello, Grand Central Station Mind Fuck Delivery Service and Quantum Algebra II, please hold...
Hello, Grand Central Station...
Oh, hey, sup y'all. Huh? Me? Oh nuthin'. Just out haunting the neighborhood, up to no good. Drunk and high on amphetamines, hanging around between parked cars, with my head full of stars.
Oh, sorry... Huh?
Yeesh! That sounds exactly like the pedicure from hell, straight out of the lawyer book. Hell yeah, file a claim! That's an act of God. It's legal! Bad pedicures are always Acts Of God. Look it up in the lawyer book!
What? Say again? You woke up and your toenails were on fire? Oh. You just shake that off, that's called wake&bake&shake. Huh? Oh, what? They're literally on fire, with flames and smoke? Oh! Dang. Sorry bout that.
:::click::::
BRRRRRIIIIINGALINNNG!
Hello, Grand Central Station Drug Emporium, can I help you? Huh? Oh, I see. Cold or clammy? Both? Which hand? Both hands? Ok, hold please...
BRRRRRIIIIINGALINNNG!
Grand Central Station Drug Emporium Smack-O-Matic, what's your emergency? Huh? Oh. Oh, I see. Are you sure? Ok then... firstly, and according to the instructions here... hang on. Ok. Firstly, did you do the tail flick test? No? Oh... yeah. No, yeah. You need to do that for the death certificate. Red tape... anyway.
:::click:::
BRRRRRIIIIINGALINNNG
Hello, Grand Central Station Boulevard... Oh! You still there? Great! What you need are 10,000 mg of Imodium. Do you have it? I mean them? Whatever... Oh... huh? What? Oh, you have it? REALLY? NO SHIT? Great! Now just administer it... carefully... watch for it... into the subdural vein of the transvertical hematoma, of the corresponding brain partholomew... watch for the weak ipsilaterral component... got it? Great!
Now. What I need you to do is to STAB the rat, carefully, right up it's butthole. Yes. Up the butthole. What? Oh, whatever... FINE! The anus. Can we continue? Thank you!
Carefully STAB the rat, right up it's ass, with a carefully contrived stabbing tool... why you little... hey, let go of that! SECURITY!!
:::click:::
BRRRRRIIIIINGALINNNG
Hello, Grand Central Station Mind Fuck Delivery Service and Quantum Algebra, please hold...
::: seventy two gazillion years later:::
BRRRRRIIIIINGALINNNG
Hello, Grand Central Station Mind Fuck Delivery Service and Quantum Algebra II, please hold...
Friday, January 13, 2017
Bitching about that movie, Frozen.
WARNING!
LOTS AND LOTS OF BITCHING ABOUT THAT MOVIE, FROZEN.
You know that movie, Frozen? I have several problems with that movie... that is, besides that big fat Swedish meatball who runs the Wandering Oaken trading post being such a greedy, two faced prick (I've already gone on and on at arms length about that). And what the heck is a wandering oaken, anyway? That just makes zero sense for the name of a trading post that's permanently attached to the side of a mountain.
Don't get me wrong. It may seem like I'm hating on Frozen, but I'm not, really. In fact, I'm pretty much hopelessly in love with that movie. I've watched it exactly thirteen-and-a-half-dozen-and-a-half times, not counting the eleventy-seven-and-sixteen-fifteenths times that I've left it playing in the background on my days off to keep me company so that I don't die of chronic aloneness. I just have a bunch of nitpicks with it, that's all. Like I do with everything I love.
Ok, onward with the nitpicking!
Firstly, what's the story with that Christoph kid? Is he an apprentice ice miner? Does he have parents? Is he an orphan? Is he homeless? Is he just a nosy brat who follows you around, always asking questions and irritating the heck out of everybody? The ice miners sure don't seem to give a crap about him. I mean, here's this little boy, scampering around among hardened ice miners who are constantly singing about what a dangerous job ice mining is, and nobody says anything about the little kid. Weird!
Speaking of little kids... way back when, before Elsa grew up and became a neurotic bitch, she and Anna used to have fun playing with her snow powers inside the castle. Remember when they were playing, and Elsa was magickng those piles of snow, each one taller than the previous one, to catch Anna as she jumped from one to the other while screaming "Catch me!"? You could just see it coming, the fact that Elsa was only a couple of catch me's away from screwing up royally (no pun intended). My question is, why didn't Elsa just start poofing up some smaller snow mounds for Anna to jump onto? Why did she keep making them BIGGER and BIGGER? That was just dumb, Elsa.
So then Elsa slips on HER OWN ICE (come on, really?) and hits Anna right in the forehead with an ice dart! If she'd just started making smaller snow mounds, that never would have happened... anyway. King and queen anonymous freak out, and after thumbing through a book which shows an illustration of a positively evil looking troll waving it's hands and magicking over a royally garbed figure laid out prone and helpless on a stone slab like the Aztecs would put you on before ripping out your still beating heart, the king decides that these nightmare creatures are the only hope for his daughter. So, he gathers up the entire fam and makes for Troll Country, post haste.
What's the real deal with those things, really? Those rock trolls? They're definitely not carbon based life forms. Their organic chemistry is most likely based on long chain silicon molecules, what with them being basically a coven of walking, talking rocks. I won't go into the details as to why, but you can trust me when I tell you that silicon based life forms would have a much tougher time trying to stick it in an earth-like environment than carbon based life forms. In fact, silicon life would get along MUCH better in a far colder environment. Wink wink, nudge nudge. Hey, I ain't pointing fingers, I'm just sayin'. Food for thought.
Pretty much right off the bat it's established that these stone trolls are the 'good guys', for curing Anna. That elder troll sure went out of his way to scare the shit out of Elsa though, didn't he? Do you think the elder troll considered the possible consequences of showing little girl Elsa that vision in the sky of her own blood red powers attacking from every direction and stabbing her into oblivion? Didn't scaring the crap out of her like that just wind up making things worse, in the long run? It pretty much guaranteed that Elsa would constantly be scared shitless of her own nature all the time during her formative years. That's a recipe for an evil ice queen if I ever saw one. Kinda makes you wonder about those trolls, huh? Hey, just sayin'!
Ok, let's give the trolls the benefit of the doubt for a second. Maybe that's how trolls raise their little troll kids, by scaring the shit out of them, and it's perfectly normal for them. Maybe it was a well intended but tragic blunder between two alien life forms attempting to communicate with each other. Maybe rock trolls are just stupid... like, a bag of rocks stupid, and they thought that Elsa was just another rock to be yelled at. Maybe. Right? But if rock trolls are just a pack of idiots with good intentions, then why exactly did the troll elder throw in that memory wipe for Anna? Huh? Riddle me that. The king seemed to think it was 'for the best', but all it did was confuse the hell out of a little girl, leaving her with no idea as to why her big sister, who used to be 'her best buddy', suddenly just up and started hating her. Think about it. The entire situation is just completely ef'd up. It's no wonder that one of those little girls grew up to be a paranoid, cast iron bitch, and the other one so desperate for love, any kind of love, that she'd understand the meaning of true love to be simply a furtive glance in her direction. See what I'm saying about those dirty silicon based life forms? That's some seriously devious future planning of the unstupid variety, you know. Those stone trolls are pretty damn shady, if you ask me.
Oh, no wait! Don't forget about that one troll who basically kidnaps Christoph when he's just a five year old kid. "I'm gonna keep you," says the troll woman to the little boy and his moose puppy. WTF, man? Even if Christoph was an orphan, that troll couldn't have known that. Creepy! Am I right?
Ok, enough with the trolls for now.
Here's a perplexing conundrum. Why don't Elsa's hands freeze her gloves when she's wearing them? Everything else she touches freezes pretty much instantly, so why don't her gloves freeze too? Those manacles they clapped onto her hands sure froze though, didn't they? SO WHY DON'T HER GLOVES FREEZE? Could the reason be that the whole touchy-freezy thing is all in her head? A neurotic condition, stemming from a traumatic childhood experience? Manipulated by those dirty, filthy trolls, that is?
Oh boy. This next nitpick is a doozy. It really is the only completely unforgivable nitpick that I have. Why is it unforgivable? Because it's not a plot hole, or a character flaw, or anything like that. NO! This is simply sloppy song writing. Stupid sloppy song writing. Stupid sloppy song writing that borders on obscene ignorance, which borders on obscene arrogance. Allow me to elucidate.
You know that part where Queen Elsa just fucks right off to the hills after her disastrous coming out party? Remember how she finally embraces her womanhood and transforms from a stupid fraidy cat little girl into this sexy, sexy ice queen? And how she conjured this totally awesome palace made out of ice onto the most coldest top part of the North Mountain? And how she lyrically referred to a snowflake as a fractal? Remember that? Remember how STUPID that was? Didn't you just wanna reach out into the ether and slap the shit out of whoever it was who wrote that part of the lyrics? I'm talking about the 'Let It Go' song. You know -
'Frozen fractals all around'
- that part. I'm terribly, grievously sorry, but there's just no possible way, without invoking a couple of generations of math wizards into the storyline, that Queen Elsa would have been even remotely aware of the fractal nature of a snowflakes structure. Hell, the basic concept of a fractal would have been completely lost to her primitive, medieval brain! It's simply unforgivably sloppy on the part of the writer who came up with that stupid, stupid lyric. Shame on you, whoever you are, you lazy lazy song writer who made that fractal crap into impossible song lyrics!
Some more nitpicks.
Why does Christophs animal powered sled explode when it crashes, and why does Sven the Moose act like a retarded dog all the time? And why does Elsa, who is supposedly all about protecting Anna, magick an evil snow monster into existence that totally wants to kill her? Oh yeah, and Elsa does this monster magick immediately after shooting a poison ice dart directly into Anna's heart. WHY? I've tried to justify Elsa's constant, seemingly unintentional abuse of her sister, and I can only think of one reason that really works. Elsa is just a stupid, stupid girl. Not a bad girl... just stupid.
Now back to those filthy, dirty trolls. No, I ain't done with them yet.
Those stone trolls sure sing a good story about love, while simultaneously trying their damndest to force Christoph and Anna into getting married. Hell, they try even harder after learning that Anna is already engaged to someone else! Plus, there's that little troll kid who says, "and by the way, I don't see no ring." That kid is just obnoxious! Who taught that little shit that it's ok to steal another man's woman, just because she's not wearing an engagement ring? Huh? Maybe she took it off to do the dishes! Maybe she wears it on a chain like a necklace! Maybe she lost it, and desperately hopes to find it again! Maybe he just hasn't given it to her yet! Oh, man, that pisses me off when somebody actively tries to steal another guy's girl away from him, and uses that lack of a visible ring thing as justification. That makes me wanna be violent!
Anyway, what was I talking about... Oh yeah, those little troll bastards. So, do you really think that any of those petrified horse apples really gives one flip about true love, based on what we know about them now? I don't think so. They just want to marry off Christoph to a princess as quickly as possible, in order to gain some political power. See? They're bastards. I'm not pointing fingers! I'm just sayin'. Those trolls are a pack of genuine, bona-fide bastards.
Ok, just a couple more...
So, if all Anna needs is an act of true love to thaw her frozen heart, then she should have been cured the moment Olaf began to melt after building a fire for her, and then refusing to leave her side. Because if that ain't true love, then I don't know what is. Plus, Olaf flat out tells Anna that he loves her when they all first arrive at the troll clearing.
ALSO... It's clearly spelled Weselton, but everybody calls it weasel town anyway. No wonder the ambassador of Weselton is such a bitter old man.
Whew! I'm glad all that's off my chest.
LOTS AND LOTS OF BITCHING ABOUT THAT MOVIE, FROZEN.
You know that movie, Frozen? I have several problems with that movie... that is, besides that big fat Swedish meatball who runs the Wandering Oaken trading post being such a greedy, two faced prick (I've already gone on and on at arms length about that). And what the heck is a wandering oaken, anyway? That just makes zero sense for the name of a trading post that's permanently attached to the side of a mountain.
Don't get me wrong. It may seem like I'm hating on Frozen, but I'm not, really. In fact, I'm pretty much hopelessly in love with that movie. I've watched it exactly thirteen-and-a-half-dozen-and-a-half times, not counting the eleventy-seven-and-sixteen-fifteenths times that I've left it playing in the background on my days off to keep me company so that I don't die of chronic aloneness. I just have a bunch of nitpicks with it, that's all. Like I do with everything I love.
Ok, onward with the nitpicking!
Firstly, what's the story with that Christoph kid? Is he an apprentice ice miner? Does he have parents? Is he an orphan? Is he homeless? Is he just a nosy brat who follows you around, always asking questions and irritating the heck out of everybody? The ice miners sure don't seem to give a crap about him. I mean, here's this little boy, scampering around among hardened ice miners who are constantly singing about what a dangerous job ice mining is, and nobody says anything about the little kid. Weird!
Speaking of little kids... way back when, before Elsa grew up and became a neurotic bitch, she and Anna used to have fun playing with her snow powers inside the castle. Remember when they were playing, and Elsa was magickng those piles of snow, each one taller than the previous one, to catch Anna as she jumped from one to the other while screaming "Catch me!"? You could just see it coming, the fact that Elsa was only a couple of catch me's away from screwing up royally (no pun intended). My question is, why didn't Elsa just start poofing up some smaller snow mounds for Anna to jump onto? Why did she keep making them BIGGER and BIGGER? That was just dumb, Elsa.
So then Elsa slips on HER OWN ICE (come on, really?) and hits Anna right in the forehead with an ice dart! If she'd just started making smaller snow mounds, that never would have happened... anyway. King and queen anonymous freak out, and after thumbing through a book which shows an illustration of a positively evil looking troll waving it's hands and magicking over a royally garbed figure laid out prone and helpless on a stone slab like the Aztecs would put you on before ripping out your still beating heart, the king decides that these nightmare creatures are the only hope for his daughter. So, he gathers up the entire fam and makes for Troll Country, post haste.
What's the real deal with those things, really? Those rock trolls? They're definitely not carbon based life forms. Their organic chemistry is most likely based on long chain silicon molecules, what with them being basically a coven of walking, talking rocks. I won't go into the details as to why, but you can trust me when I tell you that silicon based life forms would have a much tougher time trying to stick it in an earth-like environment than carbon based life forms. In fact, silicon life would get along MUCH better in a far colder environment. Wink wink, nudge nudge. Hey, I ain't pointing fingers, I'm just sayin'. Food for thought.
Pretty much right off the bat it's established that these stone trolls are the 'good guys', for curing Anna. That elder troll sure went out of his way to scare the shit out of Elsa though, didn't he? Do you think the elder troll considered the possible consequences of showing little girl Elsa that vision in the sky of her own blood red powers attacking from every direction and stabbing her into oblivion? Didn't scaring the crap out of her like that just wind up making things worse, in the long run? It pretty much guaranteed that Elsa would constantly be scared shitless of her own nature all the time during her formative years. That's a recipe for an evil ice queen if I ever saw one. Kinda makes you wonder about those trolls, huh? Hey, just sayin'!
Ok, let's give the trolls the benefit of the doubt for a second. Maybe that's how trolls raise their little troll kids, by scaring the shit out of them, and it's perfectly normal for them. Maybe it was a well intended but tragic blunder between two alien life forms attempting to communicate with each other. Maybe rock trolls are just stupid... like, a bag of rocks stupid, and they thought that Elsa was just another rock to be yelled at. Maybe. Right? But if rock trolls are just a pack of idiots with good intentions, then why exactly did the troll elder throw in that memory wipe for Anna? Huh? Riddle me that. The king seemed to think it was 'for the best', but all it did was confuse the hell out of a little girl, leaving her with no idea as to why her big sister, who used to be 'her best buddy', suddenly just up and started hating her. Think about it. The entire situation is just completely ef'd up. It's no wonder that one of those little girls grew up to be a paranoid, cast iron bitch, and the other one so desperate for love, any kind of love, that she'd understand the meaning of true love to be simply a furtive glance in her direction. See what I'm saying about those dirty silicon based life forms? That's some seriously devious future planning of the unstupid variety, you know. Those stone trolls are pretty damn shady, if you ask me.
Oh, no wait! Don't forget about that one troll who basically kidnaps Christoph when he's just a five year old kid. "I'm gonna keep you," says the troll woman to the little boy and his moose puppy. WTF, man? Even if Christoph was an orphan, that troll couldn't have known that. Creepy! Am I right?
Ok, enough with the trolls for now.
Here's a perplexing conundrum. Why don't Elsa's hands freeze her gloves when she's wearing them? Everything else she touches freezes pretty much instantly, so why don't her gloves freeze too? Those manacles they clapped onto her hands sure froze though, didn't they? SO WHY DON'T HER GLOVES FREEZE? Could the reason be that the whole touchy-freezy thing is all in her head? A neurotic condition, stemming from a traumatic childhood experience? Manipulated by those dirty, filthy trolls, that is?
Oh boy. This next nitpick is a doozy. It really is the only completely unforgivable nitpick that I have. Why is it unforgivable? Because it's not a plot hole, or a character flaw, or anything like that. NO! This is simply sloppy song writing. Stupid sloppy song writing. Stupid sloppy song writing that borders on obscene ignorance, which borders on obscene arrogance. Allow me to elucidate.
You know that part where Queen Elsa just fucks right off to the hills after her disastrous coming out party? Remember how she finally embraces her womanhood and transforms from a stupid fraidy cat little girl into this sexy, sexy ice queen? And how she conjured this totally awesome palace made out of ice onto the most coldest top part of the North Mountain? And how she lyrically referred to a snowflake as a fractal? Remember that? Remember how STUPID that was? Didn't you just wanna reach out into the ether and slap the shit out of whoever it was who wrote that part of the lyrics? I'm talking about the 'Let It Go' song. You know -
'Frozen fractals all around'
- that part. I'm terribly, grievously sorry, but there's just no possible way, without invoking a couple of generations of math wizards into the storyline, that Queen Elsa would have been even remotely aware of the fractal nature of a snowflakes structure. Hell, the basic concept of a fractal would have been completely lost to her primitive, medieval brain! It's simply unforgivably sloppy on the part of the writer who came up with that stupid, stupid lyric. Shame on you, whoever you are, you lazy lazy song writer who made that fractal crap into impossible song lyrics!
Some more nitpicks.
Why does Christophs animal powered sled explode when it crashes, and why does Sven the Moose act like a retarded dog all the time? And why does Elsa, who is supposedly all about protecting Anna, magick an evil snow monster into existence that totally wants to kill her? Oh yeah, and Elsa does this monster magick immediately after shooting a poison ice dart directly into Anna's heart. WHY? I've tried to justify Elsa's constant, seemingly unintentional abuse of her sister, and I can only think of one reason that really works. Elsa is just a stupid, stupid girl. Not a bad girl... just stupid.
Now back to those filthy, dirty trolls. No, I ain't done with them yet.
Those stone trolls sure sing a good story about love, while simultaneously trying their damndest to force Christoph and Anna into getting married. Hell, they try even harder after learning that Anna is already engaged to someone else! Plus, there's that little troll kid who says, "and by the way, I don't see no ring." That kid is just obnoxious! Who taught that little shit that it's ok to steal another man's woman, just because she's not wearing an engagement ring? Huh? Maybe she took it off to do the dishes! Maybe she wears it on a chain like a necklace! Maybe she lost it, and desperately hopes to find it again! Maybe he just hasn't given it to her yet! Oh, man, that pisses me off when somebody actively tries to steal another guy's girl away from him, and uses that lack of a visible ring thing as justification. That makes me wanna be violent!
Anyway, what was I talking about... Oh yeah, those little troll bastards. So, do you really think that any of those petrified horse apples really gives one flip about true love, based on what we know about them now? I don't think so. They just want to marry off Christoph to a princess as quickly as possible, in order to gain some political power. See? They're bastards. I'm not pointing fingers! I'm just sayin'. Those trolls are a pack of genuine, bona-fide bastards.
Ok, just a couple more...
So, if all Anna needs is an act of true love to thaw her frozen heart, then she should have been cured the moment Olaf began to melt after building a fire for her, and then refusing to leave her side. Because if that ain't true love, then I don't know what is. Plus, Olaf flat out tells Anna that he loves her when they all first arrive at the troll clearing.
ALSO... It's clearly spelled Weselton, but everybody calls it weasel town anyway. No wonder the ambassador of Weselton is such a bitter old man.
Whew! I'm glad all that's off my chest.
Tuesday, January 10, 2017
Retards
I have a serious problem, as should any reasonable, thinking being, with this particular command:
Clean off your desk!
You know, it really should be clean ON your desk instead of clean OFF your desk, since the word 'OFF' kinda means 'away from', suggesting to the irrational mind that cleaning should occur away from your desk. I know exactly what you're thinking, so please bear with me, because my point is vitally important.
For instance... say you were obligated to give a retarded kid a piggyback ride, because of for whatever or something. You'd use this sentence structure to communicate with the retard:
verb, preposition, pronoun, noun
It's the exact same sentence structure used in the original statement under critical examination here:
Clean off your desk
But in this case, it would be:
Climb on my back
Now, since retards are mentally skittish to begin with and easily confused and are all lacking any real understanding regarding the nuance of natural language, it's critical that you should convey your meaning to one as simply and literally as possible, so as to avoid eliciting a short circuit - or a brain burn, as it's referred to clinically - inside the thick, insulated skull casings which house the coagulated brain mush which clumsily controls the primary retarded functioning of the retard, such as inhaling, excreting, swallowing, screaming incoherently, drooling, and going flat out apeshit.
You see, saying 'clean off your desk' as a suggestion for the actual cleaning up of the surface of a desk is the exact same thing as saying 'get off my back' to a retard that's expecting a piggyback ride. The incongruence instantly triggers apeshit mode, as retards are too stupid to understand anything but the simplest, most literal of communicationing.
The brain of the common retard is comparable to the big, clunky mechanical calculators of the early 20th century... loud, slow, inefficient, extremely limited in functionality, prone to overheating and routinely resulting in grotesque error and mechanical breakdown, and defaulting automatically into apeshit mode at the slightest provocation.
Now, if you were to say to a full on, modern day retard -
'Clean off your desk'
- that retard would immediately default to apeshit mode and would begin an energetic and completely retarded attempt to clean everything in the room BUT the desk. And by CLEAN, I mean DESTROY COMPLETELY, according to the clunky brain hammerings of the total retard which has just been commanded to clean everything except for something while operating as full on retard going apeshit in full on apeshit mode. Obviously, the results would be devastating.
Since it's impossible to calculate with any certainties whether or not the person or persons standing in front of you, or anyone within earshot who may be receiving your omnidirectional cleaning suggestions for that matter, is or are fully retarded, it is therefore vital to broadcast these communications clearly, simply, and literally, especially when you're posting them online indiscriminately to millions of potential full-on retards. A careless command to 'lick clean a dirty ashtray' could initiate a full scale retard apocalypse, and that would spell the end for all of us... the retards included.
And that would just be a shame.
So, have a care when speaking aloud or typing loudly, wherever you are. You never know when a full blown retard might be in range. The future of the Earth, the survival of our species, blah blah blah.
I hate that Wandering Oaken Trading Post guy.
Some may find my negative critique of the Wandering Oakens Trading Post to be unwarranted.
After all, when Princess Anna's horse bolted and left her to freeze to death just south of the North Mountain, I must admit that the warmth of the Wandering Oakens Trading Post did just happen to save Princess Anna from freezing to death in the middle of a completely unexpected eternal winter. Still...
Still, can we please expect store proprietors to not be greedy assholes? And if not just normally and as a matter of course, then especially inside special circumstances, such as eternal winters? That's a special circumstance, right? The eternal winter thing?
I think that the actions of that Swedish Meatball guy totally speak for him, by throwing Christof out into the Eternal Winter to die. And for what? For calling out that Swiss Cheeser for what he is... a greasy, greedy bastard crook, who values his winter stock over human life? Yup! Exactly for that!
Screw that guy, that Swedish Meatball proprietor guy, with the jar of fish heads! Like giving those away to witnesses of attempted murder is supposed to make it ok!
That guy is as psychopath, that Wandering Oaken Swedish Meatball guy. I hate that guy.
Monday, January 9, 2017
New words
WHOOPS
Some more brand new words I invented..
spizzle - the shiny little drops of alka seltzer that spit up out of the cup and onto your tablet screen.
moonatic - a lunatic.
threebie - when you get three things for free, all at the same time.
And I also invented a new DEFINITION.
idiot savant - an unfettered moron.
Wednesday, January 4, 2017
Threebie
WHOOPS
I've just gone and done invented another word.
threebie: when you get three things for free, all at the same time.
You're welcome.
WHOOPS
This time I invented a new DEFINITION.
BEHOLD...
idiot savant - an unfettered moron.
The saddest song EVAR
I just wrote the most saddest song ever wrote, EVER!
.
.
.
Forever Autumn
.
.
.
The summer sun is fading as the year grows old
And darker days are drawing near
The winter wind will be much colder
Cause you're not here
And you took the beer.
I watch the beers fly south across the autumn sky
And one by one they disappear
I wish that I was flying with them
Cause you're not here
And you took the beer.
Like a beer through the trees you came to beer me
Like a beer on a breeze you blew a-WAY-YAY-YAY-eeYAY-a-YAAAAAaaay...
Through autumns golden beers we used to drink our way
I always loved that kind of beer
Those empty beers like undisturbed now
Cause you're not here
And you took the beer.
Like a beer through the trees you came to beer me
Like a beer on a breeze you blew a-WAY-YAY-YAY-eeYAY-a-YAAAAAaaay...
Through autumns golden beers we used to drink our way
I always loved that kind of beer
My life will be forever autumn
Cause you're not here and you took the beer
Cause you're not heeeere and you took the beer...
Cause you're not here and you took the beer!
Insomniack
Insomniack
.
.
.
I just wanna be left alone, mostly. I can't remember if that's how I started out, or did the idea of it grow on me, like a fungus?
When you're awake for a long long long time, you start to change inside of the moment. To shift. The what it is that's you, or in my case, me, shunts over a little to the left and backward one notch. Then I get to view the happenings of the world around me from that unique position. It's a strange and weirdly thing.
It's a massive shift in the way I experience things, but it doesn't really affect my outward appearance or mannerisms that much. I seem slower and stupider, is all... but to me, it's imminently more stranger.
I can't explain what it feels like, to have your mode shifted from normal to weird, just because of being awake and awake and awake. It's like you've become an alternate you. Or that I've become an alternate me. It's one of those had to have been there things, I guess.
A lot of the time, when I can sleep like a normal person, a normal person, then, when I'm all slept out, I really, really, want to sleep, sleep, some more. The idea of getting up and having to be awake seems like this heavy, heavy thing. The idea of simple consciousness feels like a lead blanket. Like those poor, hell-bent figures from Dante's Inferno, who had to wear those heavy cloaks that were lined with gold ingots, while they walked endlessly through hell.
I fascinate myself, that I feel this way. What the heck happened to me that made a normal awakening from sleep seem like a normal awakening into hell? It wasn't always this way, and that makes the phenomenon of it supremely interesting to me. Surprising, even... to the me of the insomniacks, that is. To the regular me, having to be inside of that moment is horrible.
See what I mean, about the you that gets shifted over, and sees things differently? Mostly tragic things, and interestedly as opposed to horrifyingly? See? See what I mean? I'm looking California, and feeling Minnesota. Get it?
You wanna know what's ironic? Back when I was a normal human... I used to think, as I was about to go to sleep, with my head on my pillow, and all covered up and comfy, I used to think, all the time, I used to think this, as I was falling asleep:
'What if I didn't go to sleep, but instead I just kept thinking over and over... what if I just can't go to sleep?' And then I'd fall asleep. And every night, as I thought of the possibility of - the what if - of not being able to sleep, I'd fall asleep. And then one day the what if came true. It's exactly like an impossible monster made real. The boogey man actually came true. Can you believe that shit? Well, the boogey man may be a metaphor, but he definitely came true for me, and it still seems just as impossible.
And oh man, is it ever just as horrible as I ever imagined.
.
.
.
I just wanna be left alone, mostly. I can't remember if that's how I started out, or did the idea of it grow on me, like a fungus?
When you're awake for a long long long time, you start to change inside of the moment. To shift. The what it is that's you, or in my case, me, shunts over a little to the left and backward one notch. Then I get to view the happenings of the world around me from that unique position. It's a strange and weirdly thing.
It's a massive shift in the way I experience things, but it doesn't really affect my outward appearance or mannerisms that much. I seem slower and stupider, is all... but to me, it's imminently more stranger.
I can't explain what it feels like, to have your mode shifted from normal to weird, just because of being awake and awake and awake. It's like you've become an alternate you. Or that I've become an alternate me. It's one of those had to have been there things, I guess.
A lot of the time, when I can sleep like a normal person, a normal person, then, when I'm all slept out, I really, really, want to sleep, sleep, some more. The idea of getting up and having to be awake seems like this heavy, heavy thing. The idea of simple consciousness feels like a lead blanket. Like those poor, hell-bent figures from Dante's Inferno, who had to wear those heavy cloaks that were lined with gold ingots, while they walked endlessly through hell.
I fascinate myself, that I feel this way. What the heck happened to me that made a normal awakening from sleep seem like a normal awakening into hell? It wasn't always this way, and that makes the phenomenon of it supremely interesting to me. Surprising, even... to the me of the insomniacks, that is. To the regular me, having to be inside of that moment is horrible.
See what I mean, about the you that gets shifted over, and sees things differently? Mostly tragic things, and interestedly as opposed to horrifyingly? See? See what I mean? I'm looking California, and feeling Minnesota. Get it?
You wanna know what's ironic? Back when I was a normal human... I used to think, as I was about to go to sleep, with my head on my pillow, and all covered up and comfy, I used to think, all the time, I used to think this, as I was falling asleep:
'What if I didn't go to sleep, but instead I just kept thinking over and over... what if I just can't go to sleep?' And then I'd fall asleep. And every night, as I thought of the possibility of - the what if - of not being able to sleep, I'd fall asleep. And then one day the what if came true. It's exactly like an impossible monster made real. The boogey man actually came true. Can you believe that shit? Well, the boogey man may be a metaphor, but he definitely came true for me, and it still seems just as impossible.
And oh man, is it ever just as horrible as I ever imagined.
Friday, December 30, 2016
Organic Chemicals
Tonight I had an epiphany. I was at Kroger, just kind of hanging around inside with a shopping basket and waiting for 2:30 for my paycheck to hit, so that I could buy some food.
Finally 2:30 happened and I loaded up that basket, lemme tell you. Then, just before I went to the self-checkout, I followed a wild hair and logged onto Wells Fargo to check my balance, and fuck me blind, my balance was $9.00. I'd plum flat out forgotten that I'd missed a week of work.
That's when I had the epiphany. I'm a worthless sack of organic chemicals. Just one out of billions. Made out of common ingredients, and worthless. I can see it clearly, in math, surprisingly. The motion of my individual pattern, which calculates my existence on the fly, is an equation which never balances.
I'm like dark matter, and dark energy. A hungry gravity well that's never accounted for. I'm not even worthless... I'm negative worth. A warped piece of life that pulls anything of value into my infinitely dense singularity of shit... and say goodbye to it if you have time, because once I have it, it's crushed, and consumed, and thrown onto the negative side of the equation forever, and loudly.
Anybody who knows me knows that I post what I'm thinking when I'm thinking it. I think I mostly post the truth of the moment. I try not to lie. There's nothing anybody can say that would convince me otherwise of the truth of this epiphany. That is, assuming anybody wanted to. That's a great assumption.
Here it is. Behold, my sorry sorry drama, finally revealed, like chicken bones with all of the flesh boiled off and mechanically separated.
There is a bright side to this, you know. I'm way too chicken-shit to kill myself, plus I get way too big of a kick out of myself to cancel my favorite program. Plus I have a really shitty memory, and I'll probably forget that I even posted this. Seriously.
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