Captain Planet is a metrosexual nincompoop

Captain Planet is probably the worst superhero that has ever been conceived in the history of superhero conceptions. Why? First of all, he wore a bikini. What else would you call a two piece that covers the upper torso and the pelvic area? He was a man who wore a goddamn bikini.

And while he may have had some respectable superpowers, he also had the most retarded weakness: things that are icky. You mean to tell me mother nature's avatar breaks out into spasms in the presence of toxic fumes? Sure, for a human, that's understandable; but he's supposed to nature's champion, for Christ's sake. And what the hell is up with his weakness to petroleum? Why does he become weakened when he touches that shit? I'm not even talking about pouring it into his mouth or anything—just splashing a bit of the stuff on him. Is petroleum not a naturally occurring substance? Does he not like it for its ickyness? Goddamn metrosexual.

Also, Ma-ti sucks. He just does.

Strange Stares in Seymour, Indiana

I've been in Seymour, Indiana sine the 25th of July, but I've also been very lazy since even before that, which is why I haven't updated in so long.

Now, I've lived in the States before (San Diego, California, to be specific), so I did anticipate a little bit of racial tension. However, I realized not too long after I arrived here that I had underestimated the xenophobiaand ignorance that seem to be ever present, especially here in "in-the-middle-of-fucking-nowhere-midwest-there's-nothing-but-corn-here-Indiana".

I haven't been directly confronted by anyone thus far, but I do recognize "The Stare". It's similar to that stare I got from that one cab driver when I was with my brother. It's a weird, hickish, sort of frightening and/or frightened look I get from people when I'm walking around. Sometimes, they people are usually talking, but are silenced as I pass them. To those people, I would like to say that I'm not going to rape your daughters, dropkick your ovaries, tear off your eyebrows, or eat your dogs. Unless you really piss me off.

I'm not the only one who's noticed this stare. According to Chris, he's gotten that look as well, though his mother tells him that it's all in his head.

As a side note, there way too many fucking wiggers here, although any amount of wiggers would be, by default, too many. And by the way, "wigger" is not a racial slur, and if you disagree, your mother needs to sign up for a post-natal abortion. I can help with that.

The Next Big Thing (I hope)

Forget the Star Wars Kid. This is the future.
Wait until the end, when he really breaks it down.


As seen on Break.com

Post Graduation Reflection

School is finally over. Hooray.

Not much to say really, though something’s been bugging me for a while. I think I should have published this earlier, but never really got around to it, seeing as it was originally written during a ranting fit, and therefore typographically unrefined. As you can see, it is rather long, and it took a while until I bothered editing this.

Anyway, during this past semester—our last semester of our senior year—I experienced something I know I will never experience again. I felt what it was like to be at the exact moment time ceased to be, just for a moment in the fabric of the universe. And wouldn’t you know it, this happened in math class. More specifically, Venturo’s math class.

I can’t tell you exactly what date it was, seeing as how time ceased to be for that moment—and I’m speaking relatively here, because words like “moment” or “day” really can’t be used to describe a point in time that never existed. I went into my period 1 class, math studies 11. There’s a part of me that wishes I had moved on to math studies 12 and stayed in Mueller’s class, but seeing as how I failed the second semester the first time around, there wasn’t a chance in hell I would have survived.

Anyway, I went into Venturo’s class. I was just expecting another of his monotonous droning (the guy talks like a broken German Macintosh). How wrong I was.

On one of the tables at the front of the class was a laptop, and on its monitor was a web page on statistics. I knew that was what we should have been studying so I didn’t really care. Next to that table, however, was one of those wheeled thingamajigs where you have the overhead projector, and on top of it… was the overhead projector—what else?

The laptop and the overhead projector. Individually, they are harmless. Together, they can destroy the very fabric of the cosmos. You see, I figured Venturo wasn’t the brightest crayon in the box, but even I did not expect this from him. After class started, he gave us work to do. During that time, this is what I saw him do.

He placed the laptop next to the overhead projector. Then, he turned on the overhead projector. He then turned around, and looked at the board, where there was only the orange square of light. He then put the laptop on the overhead projector, where you place the sheets to write on. Then, he turned on the overhead projector again, and turned around, and looked at the board. Then, he put the laptop on the table adjacent to the overhead projector, aimed the projector at the laptop, turned it on—and then… he looked at the board.

DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH YOUR PARENTS PAID TO HAVE YOU GO TO THAT SCHOOL? I don’t know the exact amount, but I know it was a shitload! If they didn’t have a job, they would have had to suck a lot of cock to send you there. They would have had to suck more cocks than an 8 year old Vietnamese boy in a massage parlor. They would have had to suck more cocks than a junkie in a crackhouse—and trust me folks, there’s a lot of cocks to be sucked in a crackhouse. Actually, don’t trust me on that. I’m not a reliable source. I wouldn’t know. Nope.

>_>

So for all anyone cares, your parents could be sucking dick to send you to that school, and that jackass can’t even use an overhead projector? He may as well have tried to write on the whiteboard with chalk. What fucking cave did he jerk himself out of? What. The. FUCK. Is wrong with him? He has a cell phone, so he can’t be completely out of touch with reality, if that even exists anymore. He carries it around in that little retard cell phone case on his belt. Might as well carry around a fanny pack filled with Cheetos. He never leaves that class except to take a shit during lunch, what the hell does he need that for anyway?

You know what I think he is? I think he’s some fucking freshmen’s science project gone wrong. He probably pissed on a petri dish and mixed it with regurgitated cum he got from his daddy, and when he woke up the next morning, Venturo was there with a little cell phone stuck to the side of his ass, skullfucking the family dog, and talking to a fucking Macintosh.

If you’re very careful, when you’re talking to Venturo face to face, you can hear an echo coming from his nostrils.

I Heart Pirate DVDs

This is the synopsis on the back of the cover for a bootleg version of Gladiator. I've copied it word for word, though I've added the bolding (is that the right word?) for emphasis in certain parts.

A big-budget summer epic with money to burn and a scale worthy of its golden Hollywood predecessors, Ridley Scott’s Gladiator is a rousing, grisly, action-packed epic that takes moviemaking back to the Roman Empire via computer generated visual effects. While not as fluid as the computer work done for, say, Titanic, it’s an impressive achievement that will leave you marveling at the glory that was Rome, when you’re not marveling at the glory that is Russell Crowe. Starring as the heroic general Maximus, Crowe firmly cements his star status both in terms of screen presence and acting vhops, carrying the film on his decidedly non-computer generated shoulders as he goes from brave general to wounded fugitive to stoic slave to gladiator hero.

First of all, since when was Titanic the standard by which we measure all CGI effects? I love how the writer just has that pause where he speaks completely casually as he mentions Titanic, and adding "say" as if playfully musing the weight of the worth in the movie's CGI work with a friend over a beer, feigning familiarity in that field. I hate to admit it, but I saw that movie around the time it came out, and even at that young, tender, innocent age, I thought to myself, "This looks fucked."

Secondly, what is with the writer's strange fixation on Russell Crowe's shoulders? Jesus Christ. That's just disturbing. And what the hell does it mean when it says "money to burn"? What the hell kind of movie has money to burn?

Being Korean: Part I (Koreans and Self-Esteem)

We Koreans are experts at destroying self-esteem. It's true: whether the Korean realizes the effects of his/her actions/words, he/she is a devastating demoralizer on legs that leaves a trail of destroyed egos and shattered remnants of self-esteem engulfed in nuclear flames. It's the culture, really.

You see, the standard ritual during a visit/invasion from friends/family members is pointing out the person's flaws in a most caring manner.

Example A:
Sister 1 is fat. Her sister, Sister 2, is not. Neither have seen/spoken to each other for several months.
After greeting each other and sitting down for coffee/tea, Sister 2 says to Sister 1, "Looks like you gained a few, eh?"
They both laugh/chuckle politely.
Sister 2 meant the comment as a harmless observation.
Sister 1 is slowly dying inside.

As you can see, Sister 2 has no idea what she is doing to her sister, Sister 1. Although Sister 2's comments are socially acceptable, Sister 1 becomes the unrecognized victim of an undeclared/unseen psychological civil war.

The worst of it all, of course, is that such behavior is completely normal. Pointing out and picking at one's flaws is the staple of the conversational diet. This creates an additional effect of potentially alienating the victim should he/she react negatively.

Example B:
Sister 1 is 31 years old, unmarried, and would generally be considered unattractive. Sister 2 is 25 years old, married to a succesful lawyer, and has a child.
After greeting each other and sitting down for coffee/tea, Sister 2 says to Sister 1, "So, you better find a husband soon, or you'll die old and alone! Ha ha!"
Sister 1 responds negatively, saying, "Excuse me? What gives you the right to pick at me like that? I'm your elder."
To which Sister 2 replies, "I was only trying to help."
"Skank."
"Bitch"

Rawr! Regardless of the fact that it was Sister 2 who was insensitive to Sister 1's feelings, it will be the latter who will be admonished should this exchange be retold/seen by others. Also note that Sister 2 was under the impression that her comments were somehow helping Sister 1.

Haven't been updating too much lately...

I had a cold for most of last week and I've been out of things to talk about. Time to get started again.

Rock-It Man

William Shatner's rendition of "Rocketman", by Elton John. He should have stuck to acting.




And all this science... I don't understand...

THERE'S NO SUCH THING AS ALTRUISM

Nothing is truly selfless. Every action is self-gratifying. Charity work? Makes you feel good, doesn't it? It might be hard, it might be painful, but it gives you that sense of accomplishment, doesn't it? Makes you feel warm inside. Every action is egoistic in some way.

This is also supplementary to my previous entry on parents.

Ridiculous Religious Reactions

Greek Orthodox church slams Da Vinci Code

You know, it makes me sad when people take fiction too seriously: like when the Harry Potter series was accused of promoting satanism, or when The Matrix Trilogy was criticized for being too unrealistic. This time, the Greek Orthodox Church is whining on about the evils of Da Vinci Code, by Dan Brown, just in case you've been living in a cave. Now, I haven't actually read the book myself, but I know two things about it:

1. It's fiction.
2. IT'S FUCKING FICTION

Now, I don't know what kind of retards would be, after seeing the movie, convinced of whatever sensational conspiracy theorys it spews forth, but apparently, the Greek Orthodox Church is worried that people will begin to lose faith in god as a result. As a side note, I'm only mentioning the Greek Orthodox Church because they happen to be the focus of the above article that I found, and there are other religious groups that oppose the movie and the book for similar reasons. And yes, they're equally as asinine.

The damndest thing is this quote in the article: "The Orthodox church, to which 97 percent of Greeks belong, 'does not call on people either to see or not to see the film, or to read or not to read the book ... but it is sure that those who do will see the lies and reject its riduculous content.' "

So what the fuck are they pissing their pants about? If they have so much fucking faith in their god and the members of their church, and they apparently don't believe that the movie will not compromise anybody's faith, why fucking complain? These little shits need to find something better to do than pester the masses with their oppressive ideology. Well, in this case, it's more comical than oppressive. But still.

80 Proof Sodomy

Did you know that you can consume alcohol via enema? That's right. It works just like any enema, except you use beer, wine, or whatever else you crazy folks want to fill your lower intestines with. The effects of alcohol are reportedly much more pronounced with this method of consumption. So how drunk are you after an alcoholic enema? Drunk off your ass!

Gosh, I'm so punny.

SKEET SKEET SKEET!

I wonder who buys this shit.

Title and URL change

I changed the URL because it was too annoying to type and the title has been altered to suit this new URL.

qrntn. Quarantine. Get it? Heh, I'm so clever.

>_>

There is no greater reason to fear for humanity...

...than this.

cpixel.com is apparently a networking site, not unlike MySpace.com, that exists primarily for the use of the "gangsta" community.

They are beyond such simplistically mindless rating systems such as an unadorned scale of 1 to 10. No, they strive to be far more original in their endeavors than their peers. Here are the ratings as they are:

1. Hater Rate
Well, at least this is the only one where they don't go completely fucking nuts on the random capitalization.

2. NeeD 2 Be DRunk to See U
I think this goes for everyone on that site.

3. BuSTeD aSS FaCE
BuSTeD aSS SiTE.

4. You a BuTTaFace!
Do note that "Butterface" stricly refers to females with a nice body, but with an unattractive face, as in "Nice body... but her face". However, cpixel.com, in their infinite wisdom, refuses to make this distinction.

5. JuST AveRaGE iiTE
It's not the JuST AverRaGE part that pisses me off so much as the insertion of iiTE. Anyone who uses that word in their daily lives needs to be flayed alive.

6. Somewhat CuTE
Did they just run out of shit to pull out of their asses? Somewhat CuTE? That doesn't sound so goddamn "gangsta" to me.

7. CrackaLakiN
What the FUCK does this even mean? I guess they were trying to make up for Somewhat CuTE.

8. So BaNGiN'
I need my hunting knife.

9. ThroWED BReeZY
I think CrackLakiN made more sense than this one.

10. DiME Material
Throw this in with ThroWED BReeZY and CrackaLakiN and we have the unholy trinity.

Also, check out some of the profiles. You'll agree with me (after you wipe the blood from your eyes) that these people are in dire need of help.

If this site was a joke or a parody of some sort, it would be pure brilliance. Alas, there seems to be no indications that it is so.

Superman villains

You know those villains on Superman comics and cartoons who invariably get their asses kicked in the end? Well, you know what? Those guys are fucking imbeciles. Goddamn morons to the umpteenth degree. Every fucking story starts off with some maniacal half-retarded nincompoop who thinks they can start shit in Metropolis and get away with it.

Does every villain in the DC universe (DC is the name of the comic book publisher that publishes Superman, for those of you who may have mistaken it for the capital of USA or the skateboard merchandise company) have a goddamn learning disability? I mean JESUS FUCKING CHRIST! You start shit anywhere NEAR metropolis and you’ll get your asses handed to you. End of fucking story.

Why am I writing this? Because I recently stumbled unto the old Superman cartoons that they used to show way back when. Way before I was born, but I used to watch because they kicked so much fucking ass (I’m saying “ass” a lot in this post. Maybe I have some sort of fixation on the human buttocks--but don’t tell anyone, lest they spread fallacy and hearsay regarding certain insecurities… >_>). Err… anyway…

I think if you start shit in or near Metropolis, you better give the FUCK up, because you have no goddamn chance in hell. If you even CONSIDER Superman’s track record, you’ll see that it’s obvious you can’t beat this guy. However, I must point out the fact that, as denizens of the REAL world (Or IS IT?) we are much more objective in our observations of Superman’s universe; therefore, we must take into account the fact that the villains of the DC universe are driven and compelled by certain forces beyond their control and under manipulation of the writers of the cartoon and/or comic. Still, you must realize the monumental stupidity of the villains in the DC universe.

I wonder if they’re too lazy to do their research or something. I mean, someone like Superman must surely be relatively high profile. How the FUCK do you miss something like his UNDEFEATABILITY? If you try to make Superman shit his pants with a couple of pansy-ass tin can pieces of shit robots, you need a goddamn remedial course in the art ass-kickery.

If you’re wondering why I’m writing about how much Superman kicks ass, it’s because I’m slightly drunk and have nothing else to write about.

One last thing: despite what anyone might say, Batman could school Superman any day. Just ask Frank Miller.

hammer time

Cartoon rapist on the loose

The picture on the left is a police sketch of a rapist on the loose. The one on the right is that of a tattoo on his arm. I'm gonna let the pictures speak for themselves.

Goddamn cab drivers: Part V

Now, I mentioned racist cab drivers before, but this is a different kind.

One day my brother and I missed the bus to school, so we decided to walk down the hill and catch a cab. Like most mornings the traffic was pretty hectic, with jackknives and rollovers at every block. There were a lot of cabs, but very few were vacant.

We were understandably frustrated as we were walking along, trying desperately to hail a cab. We’d already been missed by two empty ones at this point (the drivers were too busy negotiating their ways through traffic to notice us on the other side of the road), when I saw a cab heading straight for us. My brother didn’t see it because he was looking at the traffic coming from behind us.

I was about to call my brother when this shit happened:

The driver and I made eye contact, so I figured he would stop and pick us up. Wrong. He maintained the eye contact as he took down the TAXI sign from his windshield (the plastic type that clings to the glass). As he did this, his expression changed, as if to say, “You maldito chino!” and as he passed, he still maintained eye contact.

I wonder--did some Asian guy do something to him? Did a bunch of drunken Chinese men run a train on his mother when he was little and forced him to watch? Did some Japanese guy tie him up and cornhole him? Was he mugged and stabbed by an angry mob of chinky-eyed lunatics one cold, winter night as he was trying to deliver medicine to his dying grandmother?

Whatever it was, he looked pissed off.


To be continued…

Pissing too much

Yes, this is way too much information for most of you, but I felt absolutely compelled to share this with you all.

I don’t know what it is that I ate or drank or smoked or snorted but today I’ve been pissing like a--for the lack of a better word--motherfucker. I’ve already been to the bathroom eight times since this morning, and ladies and gentlemen, these were no mere trickles of fluid like water from a melting icicle during the spring thaw. No, these were powerful streams of urinary might--streams that would kill small animals--streams of Olympian proportions--streams that would squelch the sun itself into a hissing, steaming submission.

I hope you have been thoroughly disgusted by this entry.

Goddamn cab drivers: Part IV

You decide to take action, and reach for your hunting knife when the driver suddenly makes a U-turn and starts speeding toward a narrow street. There are people around, so you abandon your hopes of a silent revenge.

The driver stops the car abruptly, jerking you forward to be choked by the seatbelt. He reaches to your side and gives you an unwanted Heimlich as he turns the window knob. Then he yells at the passerby outside, "Hey, where is this?"

The passerby responds simply, "La Molina."

"Where in La Molina?" the driver asks again. But the man outside only puts on a grim smile and walks away. You think to yourself that this isn't happening.

The driver then repeats the same routine with everyone he sees. You try to explain to him that you know where your destination is, and that you can show him, only if he would backtrack, and that where you want to go is nowhere near where you currently are--but he does not listen. He continues asking every stranger in sight--man, woman, child, security guards, bricks, and beggars--to no avail. You offer to pay the driver so you can find another cab, but he insists that you stay. You try to get off, but every time you reach for the door he speeds up the vehicle, forcing you to reconsider.

The sun is setting, and you have yet to complete your journey. Your attempts at escape have thus far proved futile and you are about to give up. You tell the driver in your best Spanish, “We’ve been all over this city, every corner of it, except where I’m trying to go.”

He says to you, “We’re almost there. Don’t worry. We’ll be there in five minutes.” He says so with a smile on his face-one of pride, of ego, of blissful ignorance.

You take out a cigarette; you don’t smoke, but you figure that this is a good a time as any to start. You wonder for a second where the cigarette came from, but you dismiss that question, not wishing to further burden your mind.

Alas! You see your friend’s house. You point it out to the driver, and for once he listens to you. He weaves through the traffic and potholes. As he does so, he looks at you and says with undeserved glee, “I told you I would find the place.”

To be continued

I'm going to make you hate people

Really, I hope I do.

Check out these links; the bolded ones at the top are the most interesting. Most of them are from Daily Rotten (you'll find a link to it on the sidebar). Some of the articles are kind of old, but worth a look nonetheless.

Man raped his dying stepdaughter
Parents Dump Toddler In Street, Disappear
Gang members charged in rape allegedly watched by mother of one
Police: Woman Injects Boy With Heroin
Rapist spared corporal punishment, gets 20 years (The man penetrated the girl's vagina with a cutlass)
Child Bride
HIV-positive man gets 16 years for raping stepdaughter
Police: Minister’s wife confesses to killing

http://www.firstcoastnews.com/news/florida/news-article.aspx?storyid=55973
http://www.examiner.com/World-a81782~Mexico_Harsh_to_Undocumented_Migrants.html
http://www.thedenverchannel.com/education/8764414/detail.html
http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/12358760/
http://www.forbes.com/home/feeds/ap/2006/04/18/ap2676004.html
http://www.cbc.ca/story/world/national/2006/03/14/landslide-porn060314.html
http://www.wired.com/news/culture/reviews/0,70403-0.html?tw=rss.index
http://www.local6.com/news/8024466/detail.html
http://www.jsonline.com/story/index.aspx?id=409208
http://www.nypost.com/news/regionalnews/65538.htm
http://cnews.canoe.ca/CNEWS/Canada/2006/03/23/1502313-cp.html
http://www.thesun.co.uk/article/0,,2-2006130761,00.html

Ah, the good life

Pancakes and Irish coffee for lunch--life does not get any better than this. Of course, my mother made the coffee (They're hidden because she doesn't want me to get addicted -_-), but I made it Irish.

By the way, you can start submitting your own HaiQs by leaving it in the comments section of this week's HaiQ. Yes, I'm just too lazy to come up with my own.

Goddamn cab drivers: Part III

(Goddamn cab drivers in their natural habitat)


You're in the cab, surrounded by the yearning stink. You still convince yourself it's something else--the leaky exhaust, the absence of hygiene outside the boundaries of your person. You sit calmly inside the cab, staring out the window.

It has been 20 minutes. You ask yourself, "How is this possible? The sumnabitch with death on his mind lives only five minutes from me!" So you ask the driver if he knows where he's going, and his only answer is a "Yes" in a suspicious Spanish. You look out the window again, and you realize that you're surrounded by a quaint, yet ominous, nothingness. Dirt clouds up the windshield, as your blind rage had done so to your proper judgment.

You're lost.

But this isn't a TV show; you can't just perform an impromptu lobotomy on the cab driver, because he is the one in control of the vehicle--and, in turn, your life. The irony is not lost on you, so you wait.

Then the air reaches out to you once more, "Get out while you can!" says the putrid, tortured air of a thousand mistreated fares, "He's a fucking imbecile! You'll only end up worse than you are now!"

"But what am I to do, putrid, tortured air of a thousand mistreated fares? I don't know where I am! If I were to get out now, I'd surely be lost for there are no other cabs in sight. We left civilization and sanity miles ago!"

As if he heard your delusional conversation, the cab driver stops the car on the side of the road. He asks you in Spanish, "Do you know where to go from here?"

Rage. Pure, unadulterated rage. It builds inside you. You forget about the insolence of your friend. Only images of violence run through your mind like ants to a picnic--like the autistics at the Special Olympics--like fire through the river Styx.

The putrid, tortured air of a thousand mistreated fares beckons: "Avenge us! Avenge us!"

You wonder, should you sate its thirst for vengence? Then, the little man inside your head, oppressed, depressed, and repressed through dozens of other ill encounters with incompetent cab drivers, says only one word, and one word only (And that one word reverberates inside your mind, because one word can carry much more emphasis than a succession of words): "Goforittiger!"


To be continued...

SCAM SPAM

Check out the link on the sidebar that says "Sipo Spam Scam".
Basically, our good friend Sipo scammed the scammers that sent him a scam spam. To clarify, he fooled the scammer into thinking that he was seriously considering their "business proposal". You know, the "give me your account number, social security number, all your credit card number, all your personal information, and come visit me in Nigeria so I can rape you and steal your wallet" deal. It's worth checking out, and it's nice to know that we can fight back.
...
Meh.

Sipo, you're a hero, and an inspiration for us all.

Happy Easter!

I'm so going to hell for this (Assuming there is one)

Sex and Sandwiches

I think I'm updating way too often, but it'll slow down once school starts, or once I get a life.

This is a bit old, but if you haven't seen it, you should; or else your life just isn't worth it. I think it's somewhat appropriate, since it's Easter and the flash video includes bunnies. The song is called "Everyone Else Has Had More Sex Than Me" by TISM (This is Serious Mum).

http://www.albinoblacksheep.com/flash/bunny.php

Or, for those of you who do not have Flash (The quality is much better on the Flash version):



Pathetically enough, I can relate with that bunny all too well. So if anyone's interested--more specifically, if any hot girl with low self-esteem and a fondness for making men hot sandwiches--call me, I'm desperate (Interesting/Useless fact: reading that last sentence without the bolded words still makes sense).



Speaking of women making sandwiches, this is misogyny at its worst--or best, if you're into that stuff (It's so wrong, but when I first read the article title, I cracked up):

http://www.forbes.com/technology/feeds/ap/2006/04/14/ap2670784.html

Pa. Man Kills Girlfriend Over Sandwiches
04.14.2006, 06:08 AM

A man threw a microwave at his girlfriend, then fatally beat her after she refused to heat up sandwiches, police said.

Walter S. Fordyce, 58, of Uniontown, remained jailed without bond Thursday on a charge of criminal homicide. It wasn't clear if he had an attorney.

Fordyce told police he began arguing with his live-in girlfriend, Mary McCann, 58, early Thursday.

After throwing her to the floor, Fordyce threw a microwave oven onto McCann's chest after she refused to heat up sandwiches for him, he told police. Fordyce also said he stomped on McCann's chest repeatedly then banged her head on the floor until she lost consciousness - but that he also said he didn't mean to kill her, police said.

"It was an accident. I didn't do it on purpose," police quoted Fordyce as saying.

Fordyce ran to a neighbor's house for help, but couldn't find anyone there to call 911, police said. After returning home and checking McCann for a pulse - and finding none - he went downstairs and drank a beer before going to another neighbor's home and asking them to call 911, police said.

Autopsy results were not immediately available.



For those of you who are too lazy to read that very, very short article, my favorite part is where the guy says, "It was an accident. I didn't do it on purpose". Oh yeah, I'm sure he was just kidding around when he "threw a microwave oven onto [her] chest" and "stomped on [her] chest repeatedly then banged her head on the floor until she lost consciousness". Real. Fucking. Funny.
The IB forces less bullshit out of people than this guy spits out.

Wait, that's not all. Not only did he have the sheer moxie to beat a girl to death over a sandwich, but he "drank a beer before going to another neighbor's home and asking them to call 911" after the first house he went to was empty. Gee, I guess all that walking around for help all the way to the house next door really gets you thirsty.

I seriously hope this guy never gets pussy again. In fact, this guy deserves a big fat dick up his ass when he goes to prison. Then he'll be the one heating up sandwiches--or should I say, MANWICHES?

Okay, that was bad.




Up-up, and away!

Something I just had to share with you all

I don't know who made it--it doesn't seem like it came from Despair, Inc. (www.despair.com)--but here it is, what is possibly the most awesome poster ever.

Fall Out Boy

This banner has been popping about lately, and I just couldn't help but notice how weird these guys look.

The first guy on the left with the glasses looks like he came out of an emo catalogue, and the second guy looks like a Good Charlotte reject with a bit of a..."flair". Well, maybe that's not the best word to describe him, since flair is "distinctiveness" with a positive connotation. No, that guy is just "distinct". Look at that guy, he has that "come hither so I can bite your cock" kind of look. Unless cock-biting becomes acceptable macho behavior, he really needs to stop using so much fucking eyeliner. I don't have anything against gay people, but seriously, I think he's probably the gayest guy I've ever seen, and that's counting the guys on "Queer Eye"--and those guys are pretty freakin' gay.

The third guy--well, he just looks... odd. He looks like a girl crossdressing to look like a soldier, sort of like a white, hillbilly version of Mulan. Again, I can't help but get a bit of a "gay" vibe from that guy. It wouldn't be much of a problem if they were very obviously a gay band, but they look like they're trying to be tough and macho. Like the second guy, whose threatening leer, as mentioned before, fails miserably (unless you're a gay man with a cock-biting fetish).

I do repect the last guy a bit though; he just looks like a regular guy. He has a look on his face that says, "What the fuck am I doing here?". There's also a sadness about him, as though if he is on the verge of breaking into tears, confessing how the other three band memebers sneak into his room every night to take turns giving him a Cleveland Steamer, threatening to skullfuck him with a steak knife if he doesn't comply. But the fact that he isn't trying to escape from the group does disappoint me. On the other hand, maybe he's just given up--worse yet, maybe the second guy bit off his cock, and now has nothing to live for.

Goddamn cab drivers: Part II

<=Goddamn Ticos

Ever been with a cab driver who didn't know where the fuck he was going? The kind you know you could navigate through the city better than even though you've never driven in your life? I've met plenty of those, enough to create a composite scenario of what it is like, in case you've never experienced it before.

It's bright and sunny, and everything's been going your way until you get a call from a friend. He asks you, "Hey, come over to my place! I've got beer and video games--shit your parents don't let you have! lol!" Angered by this open statement of pretension, you decide it's time for a killin', so you get dressed, grab your favorite hunting knife, and head out the door.

You stand on the sidewalk, waiting for a cab. It's about mid-day, so there's a lot of cabs going about, but most of them are filled. After about five minutes you hail a vacant cab.

You approach the cab casually, you tell the driver where you're headed. You barter for a moment and reach an agreement. You take the fact that he bartered as a hint that the driver knows where to go. But before you open that door, you realize something's not right.

Maybe it's the smell--the air. It could be just the mold growing inside the cab, maybe...
Maybe it's the smell of deception--a cabby's lie--a putrid, tortured air of a thousand mistreated fares that reaches out to you and says, "No, Kyu! Don't go in! It's not worth it! The driver's lying to you! He couldn't find your friend's house if he crashed into it with his Tico!"

Thinking yourself so clever, you reply, "Silly putrid, tortured air of a thousand mistreated fares. Of course he couldn't find the house if he crashed into it in a Tico--he'd be dead! rofls!"

So you get in...


TO BE CONTINUED!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

*cough*cough*

Stupid shit I come up with in times of stress

I wrote this in twenty minutes on a scrap piece of paper after I finished a Spanish exam last year. I don't really know what to make of it, but it does show what kind of retarded shit goes on in my head when I'm under pressure.

What if our existence is just a concept? Perhaps the product of the deranged imaginations of a sentient being whose mind is so complex that our own minds lack the capacity to comprehend its very concept? What if its mind works in so many dimensions that its thoughts take on a greater form than does our own, which merely holds ideas in an abstract, intangible state. Perhaps its mind is capable of much greater things, and whose thoughts take on a greater form; perhaps we are the ideas themselves, or the means to preserve it, much like the electrons and charges that run our brain.
If it is a god, then why did he create us? To satiate its ego? To satiate its ego not by our actionas, but by the mere fact that we exist? Or perhaps we are merely the unfortunate byproduct of his mental processes.
I just realized that "mind" may not be an accurate way to describe it, though for our intents and purposes, it will have to do.
The questions is then, how do we know if our very existence is real? If we are mere products of an imagination, then relatively speaking, we are worth no more than the ideas we create. You can look at it optimistically: it may mean that our minds are infinitely valuable. However, a pessimistic viewpoint (the one that I tend to favor) would be that we are worthless.
The problem is that we cannot, due to our limited mental capacity, really know what is real, and if our reality is merely an illusion, it is only so to whatever created it, not us.

I think this was the result of residual bullshit expended during the exam.

Yellow people eat dogs, white people fuck them...

To each his own, I guess. Fuck those bitches!
(By the way, I can say "yellow people" because I am one)

http://www.roanoke.com/news/roanoke/wb/60764

Man accused of sex with pup; his lawyer cites brain damage

By Reed Williams

A 19-year-old man is accused of having anal sex with his sister's puppy at her Vinton home, according to his lawyer and authorities.

Frank Dalton Underwood was indicted April 7 on a felony charge of having carnal knowledge of a brute animal. He is scheduled to plead guilty next week in Roanoke County Circuit Court.

"It's the kind of case you're going to remember," said Assistant Commonwealth's Attorney Patrick Buchanan. "It's the first one I've ever seen."

The incident allegedly occurred Nov. 19 at the home of Underwood's sister and her husband on Old Virginia Avenue. Underwood had been staying at the house for a couple of months, said his lawyer, Paul Dull.

The couple went shopping for kerosene and left their 9-week-old pit bull in Underwood's care, Buchanan said.

They returned and noticed injuries to the dog's anus. They confronted Underwood and called Vinton police.

"I spoke with Mr. Underwood and he admitted to the offense," said Vinton police Sgt. Steven Doyle.

The dog was taken to a veterinarian and has recovered, Buchanan said.

Dull noted that his client has been cooperative with authorities.

He also said Underwood suffered brain damage four years ago when he was struck by a car while crossing the street.

"He has some both physical and mental conditions that all appear to be related to a traumatic accident," Dull said.

Said Buchanan: "I think this is more sad than criminal."

If convicted, the maximum possible punishment Underwood could face is five years in prison.

I wonder how awkward it is between the guy and his sister. Yeesh. Can you imagine what their conversation would be like?

"Hey, sorry I fucked your dog."
"It's okay, I would have fucked that little shitlicker anyway! lol!"

Okay, it wouldn't be anything remotely like that, but you get the idea.

Goddamn cab drivers

Living in Lima, I take a lot of cabs. I haven't bothered trying the combies(sp?), but from the looks of it--crowded and obnoxious, driven by a semi-suicidal driver--I don't think I want to.

But the cabs, I take plenty of those. Each time you hail down a cab, it's a bit of a gamble because well, the cab drivers here are such colorful characters.

There's the old guy with glasses thicker than a Lego block who can't hear you and you can't quite understand (your Spanish proficiency notwithstanding).

Then there's the wierd fat guy with whom the very fact that he can manage to get a driver's licence seems like a miracle--assuming he even has a licence. You can try to tell him all the directions you want, he's gonna pass about five blocks after the turn you pointed out.

There's also the wannabe hustler, they try to rip you off. Try. Now, I don't like getting ripped off any more than the next guy, but if there is some skill, some technique to it that I couldn't outsmart, then at least I could appreciate the quality of the grift, but when they can't even do it right, why bother? One guy tried to charge me 8 soles for what should be a five minute ride in his piece of shit Tico. Another guy had the audacity to try to charge me 15 for a four minute ride (from my place to Jockey Plaza). Now, they didn't even try to argue their point, they just saw that I was a "chino" in a fairly well-to-do neighborhood and decided to grift me.

Speaking of "chinos", there's the racist cab driver. I don't care what you say, Peru is a racist country. I know a lot of Peruvians say otherwise, that Peru is the friendliset country in South America, but that's a load of bullshit. The racist cab driver is just an example of racism here in Peru. He pretends to not understand your Spanish, he calls you "chino" repeatedly, and he tries to imitate what is his idea of Chinese, as if I would understand that gibberish. This type of cab driver may also be the aforementioned "wannabe hustler", but probably only if you're a chino or gringo or otherwise not Peruvian.

I'll continue this another time.

About parents

Coming from me, this is completely worthless, but at the risk of sounding like an angsty teenager, here's my opinion on parents:

First of all, parents justify their absolute control over you by saying that they gave you life. Well, did you ask for it? Were you ever given a chance to deny it?

No, of course not. That would be impossible--the point is, you didn't have a choice, nor did your parents give you something that you were in want of. How then, is "giving life" a favor? The world is filled with both good and bad things, and because of the latter, it would seem unethical to bring someone here. You can't guarantee that your child is going to be happy in life; and even if you were filthy rich and could provide all the pleasures in life, spoiling your child, wouldn't you still be controlling that child's life? Ask someone: would you rather be free of all obligations, have everything handed to you, and be ignorant of the world's affairs, or would you rather suffer and to keep your knowledge? A lot of people might choose the former, but others will choose the latter. The problem is that your child will be controlled, manipulated with or without their knowledge.

Now, you may ask, "But Kyu, if you were given the choice being of ignorant or nonexistence and alive, knowing, and suffering, what would you choose? If you're complaining so much, why don't you just kill yourself and be so like you never existed?" (Actually, I don't think anyone would ask me that, I'm just trying to make a point here). The reason I haven't already committed suicide is because I'm already a sentient being with the ability to make choices. I may have been forced into existence, but it doesn't mean I have to leave. Besides, I am instinctively programmed against suicide, given am instinct to survive, and I don't think I've ever been done so much harm to override that. My sentience keeps me from automatically rejecting my own existence.

Also consider the following: you have been infected with a disease. This disease will not kill you, but you will be in great pain for the rest of your life. However, you can choose to undergo an experimental treatment, the only drawback being that if it fails, you could be in even worse pain. Some would choose to undergo the treatment, others will not. Some may even consider suicide in such a case. But how would you like it if somebody made that choice for you. Might not be so bad if their decision coincided with your preference, but what if it didn't?

If your parents planned your conception, then they decided for you with complete disregard to how you may feel or how much you would suffer--you could be emotionally stable with an income going into six figures, or you could be a miserable cocksucker at the local crackhouse. That's a hell of a gamble. Also, when you consider the possible motives behind a planned conception, they look pretty selfish. Ask people with children why they decided to have babies and they will give you reasons like:
-Passing on the family name
-Always wanted to be a parent
-Social pressures/expectations
-They felt like it
-and other reasons that seem self-gratifying.

If your parents didn't plan your conception? Well then, that's what we call an "accident". You see, they were so wrapped up in their lust that they neglected to take the necessary precautionary measures; or they did, but did so knowing that no form of contraception is 100% effective. Either way, they fucked up, and nine months later, you plopped out of your mother's vagina. Yay!

Your parents don't own you so don't just follow them blindly, believing everything they say. Of course, I don't mean that you should stop caring for or loving them--that's your problem. If anything, they owe you. They knew what they were getting into when they decided to fuck; they knew the consequences of their actions. They feed you and clothe you because that is their obligation, not a favor to you. Sure, they could treat you like shit, but that wouldn't change the fact that they owe you, not own you. Besides, one of the reasons they're not treating you like shit is because they know they will feel guilty, and that's still self-gratifying. If beating you felt like jacking off you'd be a bloody pulp next to a semen stain on the carpet right now.

From the Notebook: At the Supermarket

I don't like people. To be more specific, I hate people in general, but I don't harbor unfriendly sentiments towards everyone. Sometimes, I begin to think that the human race is not all that bad, only to have this shit happen:

I go to the nearest supermarket (the Wong in Plaza Camacho) to buy some school supplies. I find what I came for, and get in line at the least crowded register. There are three people in line: me, an old lady with a basket of groceries, and a guy in a suit and tie. I hate the first guy the most, but that last guy is coming in a close second. Real close.

After the lady pays for the stuff, the prick in the suit and tie places a single bottle of shampoo (the girly kind with pink flowers on the label) and takes out his credit card.

I think to myself, "Great, this is gonna take a while". When I say this, I expect a delay of no more than a few minutes. As with any other time when I expect something, I am disappointed.

The card gets rejected, yet the prick in the suit and tie keeps insisting to the cashier that there is , or should not be, anything wrong with the card; he even blames her incompetent card-swiping skills. Angry (as if he should be the one angry), he takes out his cellphone and makes a call. He's talking to the person on the other end like it's his friend. At this time I look around and the least crowded register consists of one lady with 2 carts of groceries, so I stay where I am.

The prick in the suit and tie hangs up and dials again. This time, he is speaking less casually. After a while, he starts getting louder, especially as he laughs.

Why the FUCK is he laughing? The guy's a complete fucking dick, that's why. What kind of a disgusting pus-brained shit thinks it's funny to have a card get rejected while trying to buy a bottle of cunt soap? What the FUCK is wrong with this guy?

Of course, I move to another line to pay for my things--with cash.

The damndest thing of all is that I saw the guy's wallet when he took out his card, and he was fucking loaded with cash; soles, dollars--bills thicker than the fucker's toupee.

Introduction

I've never been too fond of blogs, and I don't think I will ever make a habit of reading others' blogs, but I present you this blog as my way of justifying an otherwise meaningless existence.

First post

A giant leap backwards...