Yes, the Demon Fires were started by space aliens, not demons. You knew it wasn't demons all along, didn't you?
Also, check the bottom of the page for the previous stories.
[link]
Monday, October 29, 2007
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
Kev Destroys his first DVD. Just in time.
[PREVIOUS POST]
...
The only problem is that the download is 140 MB. Which will be done here in...15 seconds. The blog works!
I'd like to have the whole DVD done soonish so I can start burning copies for people who missed the wedding, like my friend at church, Kile the Second, better known as Kile II. He had an entire planet named after himself, and inserted into the Star Wars: Rogue Squadron game. He's cool. Turns redder'n a beet when he laughs too hard. He is my Dad's age, like all my other friends.
Every last one.
OK, I got one DVD "imported!" Now to get the second, then attempt to edit it a bit. Whew, boy. I may just do the receiving line, but I want to end it with a (the) karaoke song dedicated to the Bride and Groom. I also want the signatures recorded, but...all you can see is me then my brother leaning over a piece of paper. I didn't think to record closer. The software I am using costs $60.00...
Man, I am thirsty...
I wish I were dead. Then I wouldn't be thirsty any more for ever. My water got room temperature...so...I should go get some more...here I go...
OK...that's better...
Now a pause whilst I play around with some dials...stupid dials...
Wait...those aren't dials...they're buttons...
Simulated buttons...
Clicking...what am I doing...what am I doing...OK, now it says "burn," so let's see if I did it right!
OK, now I am watching it on the TV. I liked how my Mom waved to Soffs, the Hitman's daughter. Now the Camera Bearer Shiner is up there taking some pictures. Snap snap. I hope I didn't make him feel uncomfortable when I got him on camera in the hallway. I uh, edited that bit out. I think. I mean...you know...dang, now your filthy mind is making things up, you ...pervert.
Really, I had no idea what I was doing (when editing). I'm so glad my Granny was there. Talk about moral support.
I'm also glad the Hitman made it. I loved that part where we went to hunt him down and publicly humiliate him. We'll see..here...how well...I edited it! YES, THIS IS THE LAST HURRAH...
Woo, perfect!
Second perfect. I got my evil laugh in.
I DID IT PROPERLY, HURRAY!
Rofl. Now the Hitman is telling me what I'm supposed to know. He is informing me that I have to be giving a toast right then. "WHAT?!?! ME?! WHEN?! OH MAN, THANKS! I GOTTA GO!" is not something you ask a guest.
I made the toast, then my Dad made a FOOL out of me! I went to chink glasses with him, but NO! "I don't need to chink glasses with my son!" he blurted, mentally. He left me hanging. Damn him!
That's fine though, because shortly after, he thanked everyone and my Mom said "Shut UP!". Rofldolf, tax please. Truly a moment of brilliance.
So anyways, it appears that I officially edited my first DVD, and made a pretty dang long post about it. Oh...darnit...let me see how it looks with the video game references edited out. And the toast transcript.
Dangit.
...compromise time. My Mom first taught me the definition of compromise when I was in the womb. I wanted all of her calcium, but she would only let me have a bit. Curse her calcium-rich bones. I would have gladly devoured them, had I had free reign over the calcium supply of her body. Now my teeth will rot out because my Mom did not give me enough calcium.
Thanks a lot, Mom.
So basically, I said all green chicks are evil or wrong or wicked (with the exception of if Samus Aran gets a green suit; how could she adorn herself to evil ends?), then made a (very inappropriate, almost-racist) blind accusation against the Gerudo that they got drunk at a Halloween party and dyed themselves green and slaughtered every single male of their..."species..."
Species...
...well.
[DVD edited in 4 hours time; 1 hour for download, 2 hours for working on it, 1 hour for watching it]
...
The only problem is that the download is 140 MB. Which will be done here in...15 seconds. The blog works!
I'd like to have the whole DVD done soonish so I can start burning copies for people who missed the wedding, like my friend at church, Kile the Second, better known as Kile II. He had an entire planet named after himself, and inserted into the Star Wars: Rogue Squadron game. He's cool. Turns redder'n a beet when he laughs too hard. He is my Dad's age, like all my other friends.
Every last one.
OK, I got one DVD "imported!" Now to get the second, then attempt to edit it a bit. Whew, boy. I may just do the receiving line, but I want to end it with a (the) karaoke song dedicated to the Bride and Groom. I also want the signatures recorded, but...all you can see is me then my brother leaning over a piece of paper. I didn't think to record closer. The software I am using costs $60.00...
Man, I am thirsty...
I wish I were dead. Then I wouldn't be thirsty any more for ever. My water got room temperature...so...I should go get some more...here I go...
OK...that's better...
Now a pause whilst I play around with some dials...stupid dials...
Wait...those aren't dials...they're buttons...
Simulated buttons...
Clicking...what am I doing...what am I doing...OK, now it says "burn," so let's see if I did it right!
OK, now I am watching it on the TV. I liked how my Mom waved to Soffs, the Hitman's daughter. Now the Camera Bearer Shiner is up there taking some pictures. Snap snap. I hope I didn't make him feel uncomfortable when I got him on camera in the hallway. I uh, edited that bit out. I think. I mean...you know...dang, now your filthy mind is making things up, you ...pervert.
Really, I had no idea what I was doing (when editing). I'm so glad my Granny was there. Talk about moral support.
I'm also glad the Hitman made it. I loved that part where we went to hunt him down and publicly humiliate him. We'll see..here...how well...I edited it! YES, THIS IS THE LAST HURRAH...
Woo, perfect!
Second perfect. I got my evil laugh in.
I DID IT PROPERLY, HURRAY!
Rofl. Now the Hitman is telling me what I'm supposed to know. He is informing me that I have to be giving a toast right then. "WHAT?!?! ME?! WHEN?! OH MAN, THANKS! I GOTTA GO!" is not something you ask a guest.
I made the toast, then my Dad made a FOOL out of me! I went to chink glasses with him, but NO! "I don't need to chink glasses with my son!" he blurted, mentally. He left me hanging. Damn him!
That's fine though, because shortly after, he thanked everyone and my Mom said "Shut UP!". Rofldolf, tax please. Truly a moment of brilliance.
So anyways, it appears that I officially edited my first DVD, and made a pretty dang long post about it. Oh...darnit...let me see how it looks with the video game references edited out. And the toast transcript.
Dangit.
...compromise time. My Mom first taught me the definition of compromise when I was in the womb. I wanted all of her calcium, but she would only let me have a bit. Curse her calcium-rich bones. I would have gladly devoured them, had I had free reign over the calcium supply of her body. Now my teeth will rot out because my Mom did not give me enough calcium.
Thanks a lot, Mom.
So basically, I said all green chicks are evil or wrong or wicked (with the exception of if Samus Aran gets a green suit; how could she adorn herself to evil ends?), then made a (very inappropriate, almost-racist) blind accusation against the Gerudo that they got drunk at a Halloween party and dyed themselves green and slaughtered every single male of their..."species..."
Species...
...well.
[DVD edited in 4 hours time; 1 hour for download, 2 hours for working on it, 1 hour for watching it]
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
Camcorder Conundrum: Kev Destroys his Mind
OK, so my parents' wedding was recently. As you may know, my Great Grandmothers' death celebration was also recent, and our Sony (model TRV-138, if memory serves) Hi8 died. It got stepped on then hit with a hammer to unjam it. What?
We had to make due with my digital camera, which pulled through like a champ. Thanks digital camera! You pulled through like a champ! Give yourself a pat on the back. Champ.
As for my parents' wedding, we borrowed my dearest Aunt Desnee's camcorder (thanks!), a Sony DVD model. After recordering the...OK, recordering is not a word, folks. After recording the "behind-the-scenes" stuff, I "disced" the ceremony and the receiving line (where everyone hugged my Mom). (And my Dad). (He was there, too, I think).
Now, since the DVDs can only hold 30 minutes (20 minutes for short play and 60 minutes for long play), I had to record on three DVDs. Yikes. I'm "discovering"...get it, discovering? DVD humor, folks. Laugh, man! "Hah hah" like that! LAUGH!
Here, I'll take occasion to admit that I thought MiniDV was a 3" DVD disc. Here I thought that there were cameras which used full-sized DVDs, and those were the DVD cameras. How on earth, I don't know. I'm not stupid or anything. I think it was the ads with the miniature DVD (MiniDV sounds like a miniature DVD!) and camera inside a womb with the fetus holding the disc. That was definitely it. Or maybe it was a barbie doll holding the disc. I think barbie should have been capitalized. Barbie. Yep. Well, we'll get that in editing. Like men.
Anyways, I'm discovering how difficult it is to edit the DVDs. DVD humor again. You missed it, didn't you?
You'd think it would be easy and streamlined, right? Just rip them to the computer, edit by selecting scenes, then click "burn." Or, even just compile all three discs (as they'd all fit on a single full-sized DVD!). Simple. But no.
It turns out that the DVD cameras record in "DVDese," but most editing software (like the editing software I already have) only knows "MiniDVese." I'm going to have to download a freak Hulk-type software (it's normal EDIT Banner one minute, then RAAAW! PROCESS AND RENDER! Hulk the next) to edit them. But my real problem? Ohh, the length of taping. I tell you what, if they had DVDs which recorded for 60 minutes, I'd be all over a DVD camcorder.
I would play with it and hug it and tell it I like it and put it under my pillow and make it breakfast in bed (with orange juice!!!) then hallow it in the Drawer of Hallowed Things Kev Likes. The hallow from the other hallowed objects rubs off on the non-hallowed object, much like a "little leaven leaveneth the loaf." I have no idea where the hell the hallow came from, but it's been hallowing everything in that hallow drawer for years. I need to start an official list of hallowed games, paddles and memory cards.
...anyway, I figure I have two choices in the camcorder market. But first, the qualifiers: it has to have Sony's Nightshot Plus or equivalent. That's big for me because I want to be able to film things at night. I'd live with it if I weren't already spoiled silly, but the Nightshot contains too much raw awenem. This leaves me with, to my knowledge, only Sony camcorders.
Sony's line features the DCR-DVD108. It is my DVD camera of choice, not to be confused with my general camera of choice, and it has a $350 price tag. After experiencing taping the wedding on three discs when I could have used 1 DV tape, I am apprehensive. I have another wedding to tape shortly- which most likely will be twice as long- and I do not want to fumble around with 2 or 3 DVDs.
As for my MiniDV camera of choice, the Sony DCR-HC38 fits the bill. It has a $300 price tag, and it is...one up from the entry level, and has 40x zoom (the aforementioned DVD camcorder also has 40x zoom). But with the camera shake, 40x zoom would only be useful in very rare instances. You'd have to have a tripod for sure.
My current thoughts are that we should get a MiniDV camcorder. The biggest reason is that they allow for 60 minutes in the higher quality (and you can buy 80 minute tapes), where DVDs only allow 30. That's a sad thing for DVDs. Just the fact that I could have caught EVERYTHING- from behind-the-scenes stuff to ceremony to receiving line- on one MiniDV instead of 3 DVDs makes me sad and angry. It makes me want to, I don't know...fling something at a tree. Maybe I should stop using that banana and coconut hand lotion...and I should avoid bananas.
If I did get a MiniDV camcorder, I think I'd have to buy an external hard drive to edit and backup (though, everything changes when you actually work with the product). Apparently, each little tape is 11 GB. That's bigger than a double-sided DVD! And I really wanted to type "double-sided sticky tape," as...when else do you use the precursor "double-sided?"
I am not much for external, spinning, hard discs. They freak me out. I think...you can transfer straight to DVD...then edit that 2 or 3 GB file. Who knows, like I said, it all changes when you actually work with the thing.
Now that I've decided I want a MiniDV camcorder, I need it by Halloween (filming a non-holiday-related spoof show), as I don't have time to send it back to an online store if it doesn't work...so Walmart is the only brick-and-mortar franchise without the 15% restocking fee. I don't mean to sound greedy, but those restocking fees are of the Devil hisself!
Walmart only sells the DCR-DVD108 and the DCR-HC28. The HC28 is basically the HC38, but it's a step lower with 20x zoom as opposed to 40x zoom. I'll have to make a...gasp...compromise! It's also $50 less, and that's a whole battery or shoulder strap or something, and believe me, the battery they provide is rarely enough...so it isn't too much of a compromise. I'm planning to someday go camping with my Dad in the dark woods. I'll need plenty of camcorder battery life for that, as I'm certain we'll run into stick figures and stuff and a blaring witch and get lost and both die.
Now that I've got that cleared up (I've also heard that the DVD format is going to fold, and MiniDV will outlive it or something?), I STILL have to deal with these accursed, filthy DVDs from the wedding. I'm going to download a Hulk-type video editor, and use the 30-day trial. I...I may end up buying it. No need to refuse trial to me! HAHH HAHAH AH SUCKERS!!!
[NEXT POST]
We had to make due with my digital camera, which pulled through like a champ. Thanks digital camera! You pulled through like a champ! Give yourself a pat on the back. Champ.
As for my parents' wedding, we borrowed my dearest Aunt Desnee's camcorder (thanks!), a Sony DVD model. After recordering the...OK, recordering is not a word, folks. After recording the "behind-the-scenes" stuff, I "disced" the ceremony and the receiving line (where everyone hugged my Mom). (And my Dad). (He was there, too, I think).
Now, since the DVDs can only hold 30 minutes (20 minutes for short play and 60 minutes for long play), I had to record on three DVDs. Yikes. I'm "discovering"...get it, discovering? DVD humor, folks. Laugh, man! "Hah hah" like that! LAUGH!
Here, I'll take occasion to admit that I thought MiniDV was a 3" DVD disc. Here I thought that there were cameras which used full-sized DVDs, and those were the DVD cameras. How on earth, I don't know. I'm not stupid or anything. I think it was the ads with the miniature DVD (MiniDV sounds like a miniature DVD!) and camera inside a womb with the fetus holding the disc. That was definitely it. Or maybe it was a barbie doll holding the disc. I think barbie should have been capitalized. Barbie. Yep. Well, we'll get that in editing. Like men.
Anyways, I'm discovering how difficult it is to edit the DVDs. DVD humor again. You missed it, didn't you?
You'd think it would be easy and streamlined, right? Just rip them to the computer, edit by selecting scenes, then click "burn." Or, even just compile all three discs (as they'd all fit on a single full-sized DVD!). Simple. But no.
It turns out that the DVD cameras record in "DVDese," but most editing software (like the editing software I already have) only knows "MiniDVese." I'm going to have to download a freak Hulk-type software (it's normal EDIT Banner one minute, then RAAAW! PROCESS AND RENDER! Hulk the next) to edit them. But my real problem? Ohh, the length of taping. I tell you what, if they had DVDs which recorded for 60 minutes, I'd be all over a DVD camcorder.
I would play with it and hug it and tell it I like it and put it under my pillow and make it breakfast in bed (with orange juice!!!) then hallow it in the Drawer of Hallowed Things Kev Likes. The hallow from the other hallowed objects rubs off on the non-hallowed object, much like a "little leaven leaveneth the loaf." I have no idea where the hell the hallow came from, but it's been hallowing everything in that hallow drawer for years. I need to start an official list of hallowed games, paddles and memory cards.
...anyway, I figure I have two choices in the camcorder market. But first, the qualifiers: it has to have Sony's Nightshot Plus or equivalent. That's big for me because I want to be able to film things at night. I'd live with it if I weren't already spoiled silly, but the Nightshot contains too much raw awenem. This leaves me with, to my knowledge, only Sony camcorders.
Sony's line features the DCR-DVD108. It is my DVD camera of choice, not to be confused with my general camera of choice, and it has a $350 price tag. After experiencing taping the wedding on three discs when I could have used 1 DV tape, I am apprehensive. I have another wedding to tape shortly- which most likely will be twice as long- and I do not want to fumble around with 2 or 3 DVDs.
As for my MiniDV camera of choice, the Sony DCR-HC38 fits the bill. It has a $300 price tag, and it is...one up from the entry level, and has 40x zoom (the aforementioned DVD camcorder also has 40x zoom). But with the camera shake, 40x zoom would only be useful in very rare instances. You'd have to have a tripod for sure.
My current thoughts are that we should get a MiniDV camcorder. The biggest reason is that they allow for 60 minutes in the higher quality (and you can buy 80 minute tapes), where DVDs only allow 30. That's a sad thing for DVDs. Just the fact that I could have caught EVERYTHING- from behind-the-scenes stuff to ceremony to receiving line- on one MiniDV instead of 3 DVDs makes me sad and angry. It makes me want to, I don't know...fling something at a tree. Maybe I should stop using that banana and coconut hand lotion...and I should avoid bananas.
If I did get a MiniDV camcorder, I think I'd have to buy an external hard drive to edit and backup (though, everything changes when you actually work with the product). Apparently, each little tape is 11 GB. That's bigger than a double-sided DVD! And I really wanted to type "double-sided sticky tape," as...when else do you use the precursor "double-sided?"
I am not much for external, spinning, hard discs. They freak me out. I think...you can transfer straight to DVD...then edit that 2 or 3 GB file. Who knows, like I said, it all changes when you actually work with the thing.
Now that I've decided I want a MiniDV camcorder, I need it by Halloween (filming a non-holiday-related spoof show), as I don't have time to send it back to an online store if it doesn't work...so Walmart is the only brick-and-mortar franchise without the 15% restocking fee. I don't mean to sound greedy, but those restocking fees are of the Devil hisself!
Walmart only sells the DCR-DVD108 and the DCR-HC28. The HC28 is basically the HC38, but it's a step lower with 20x zoom as opposed to 40x zoom. I'll have to make a...gasp...compromise! It's also $50 less, and that's a whole battery or shoulder strap or something, and believe me, the battery they provide is rarely enough...so it isn't too much of a compromise. I'm planning to someday go camping with my Dad in the dark woods. I'll need plenty of camcorder battery life for that, as I'm certain we'll run into stick figures and stuff and a blaring witch and get lost and both die.
Now that I've got that cleared up (I've also heard that the DVD format is going to fold, and MiniDV will outlive it or something?), I STILL have to deal with these accursed, filthy DVDs from the wedding. I'm going to download a Hulk-type video editor, and use the 30-day trial. I...I may end up buying it. No need to refuse trial to me! HAHH HAHAH AH SUCKERS!!!
[NEXT POST]
Sunday, October 21, 2007
Downloading Maps for C&C: Generals: Zero Hour
I remember this one map I just loved. Don't I just jump into posts?
Four corners, four bases, three ways into each base. A tournament-style map (that means it's pretty much equal for all players, no one is closer to resources and such).
It is not included in the game. It was a download from EA's site (EA is turning into a freak monster, i'int it?). I lost it a long while ago, and now I am trying to find it.
Only...EA does not appear to allow map downloads anymore. They had THE coolest site. But now it is, seemingly, dust. Curses. It had ALL of the units listed- like an online catalog and it was good. All they want to do now is sell you more of their pitiful, awesome games. So I decided to go to a fan site called Command and Conquer Den. I believe I may have acquired my target map. I will see. I decided to download about 50 maps (one map pack has 25 maps, another has 8, etc.).
Still, it's a shame that the site is seemingly gone. I cannot find it. It's as if a link is missing.
OK, the map is "river crossing." It's not the best map ever, but I like it. I live off of compstomps, as you know. Now, I think it was in the "New Standard Map Pack" (or one of the other two map packs) here. I can't believe EA forced me to go to a fan site. Fan sites give me the cooties!
...GET OFF!!!1 AHH!11!!123~~````
Four corners, four bases, three ways into each base. A tournament-style map (that means it's pretty much equal for all players, no one is closer to resources and such).
It is not included in the game. It was a download from EA's site (EA is turning into a freak monster, i'int it?). I lost it a long while ago, and now I am trying to find it.
Only...EA does not appear to allow map downloads anymore. They had THE coolest site. But now it is, seemingly, dust. Curses. It had ALL of the units listed- like an online catalog and it was good. All they want to do now is sell you more of their pitiful, awesome games. So I decided to go to a fan site called Command and Conquer Den. I believe I may have acquired my target map. I will see. I decided to download about 50 maps (one map pack has 25 maps, another has 8, etc.).
Still, it's a shame that the site is seemingly gone. I cannot find it. It's as if a link is missing.
OK, the map is "river crossing." It's not the best map ever, but I like it. I live off of compstomps, as you know. Now, I think it was in the "New Standard Map Pack" (or one of the other two map packs) here. I can't believe EA forced me to go to a fan site. Fan sites give me the cooties!
...GET OFF!!!1 AHH!11!!123~~````
My Brother and Sam the Wedding Cake.
Meet Sam. Sam is a slightly twisted wedding cake. His life began- as all cakes do- in the planning stages. He was made by my Dad over 4 days. He was to be white. Then pink.
Now purple, white, and pink. Sam does not like himself. His self-image has been shattered- imagine growing into your teens being black/white then switching colors. It would be freaky, wouldn't it? Well, that's what Sam went through. Sam...not to be confused with Samus Aran, the greatest Bounty Hunter in evar, or Sam Fisher, the all-console whore, who...uhh, I think that's a bit graphic. It has to do with blenders and...uhh...so...yeah.
Now that you know Sam's name and Sam's struggle, and who not to confuse Sam with, imagine being platooned (lol, I'll replace that with "showcased" in editing, like a man) in front of 100 people who all want to eat- AND digest- your flesh?
Not fun. Anyway...Sam was delivered around 11 AM. We set him up right away. Then my Brother walked up.
My Brother.
Matt the Meininger.
They called him "flame boy" when he was a child, because he would cause more devastation than a fire. Except he cannot control his raging destructive powers as I can...and his hatred consumes him. It's a real Darth Vader thing. Except, instead of a light saber, he has pure rage and inferno-hate.
He waves happily. He's waving really fast, as the camera is fast enough to pick up flying helicopters' blades with minimal (if any) blur...so...wow.
Now...if you'll notice, he took the statue off the top. He considers the cake (below pic). Its delicate beauty. Its delicate deliciousness. Its delicate delicaciness. That's definitely a word. Did I mention Sam has the texture of cornbread?
With corn in it?
A pang of evil crosses his mind. A hateful, mischievous streak of rueful mal-intent.
He knows what he'll do. But can he do it?He can. He knows he can. He fixes his stare ahead (below pic)...imagining the grandeur. A wedding cake...all to himself...yes, yes...if he...cannot eat it all...then he will destroy it...any then none will take his...precious from him...
Yeess...let the evil flow through you, his mind whispers, which he hears only faintly... as a sly coat on the fell wind blowing through the open doors of the reception hall. He is lost in his paranoid, destructive fantasies of evil. Evil. His mind melts and folds as the ocean, with crashing, endless waves devouring whole any helpless, shipwrecked thought of niceties...or peace...
Suddenly, like an alligator, he springs forth!
OH NO!!!!
Yes! Yes! Devou-[end transmission, static]
Friday, October 19, 2007
Wedding Preparations and the Prodigious Discovery
So, right now it is 3:34 AM, Friday the 19th. Of October. Sheesh, do you even know what state you're in right now? Are you...are you drunk? At this hour? Shame. Shame on you. Now you're going to Hell.
As or me, I ...that is, as FOR me, I am preparing to head out and see BOTH of my grandmothers. They usually fight over me, make a fuss, tell me I shouldn't trust the other one...actually...I can't remember the last time I saw both my grandmothers at the same time. It was...uhh...I wonder if I've ever seen them together? Oh well, I guess I was probably lying when I said they fight over me. But I'm sure they do. Or would.
We're going to do a "rehearsal" for the wedding, so we need to be there early, before Satan haunts up the place. Oh...which wedding, you ask? My Mom and Dad's! Yes, I'll tell the story sometime.
In short, my parents were going to wed in a courtroom. They had it all planned out. Then my Mom decided she wanted a real wedding. Not a $25,000 wedding, mind you. Just a ceremony. Which we'll be working on today.
Kev, signing off.
Later that same day, evening...
Ouch. Owie. Pain! How could I have foreseen this agony; what sort of devilish witchery would I gleefully sink to to avoid the remorseful pain! My shoes, in the last half-hour of work, were turned into miniature beds of hot, smoldering coals! Like those video game enemies you see which have cracks of lava on them. Those were my shoes! Those ARE my shoes! They look like a burned-blade (black- we'll get that in editing) marshmallow, and my feet look WORSER!
I had to mop an 15' by 50' section of floor. Not too terrible, but the bucket had to be emptied very often, and the floor looked no different before and after. When it was polished it looked a lot different. All shiny and stuff. So I mopped half the floor, did half of the work, then some bozo- who hadn't mopped anything- comes in with a polishing wheel-thing and takes all of MY glory! Curse him!
Then I had to work in a kitchen for a few hours. I had to go to Walmart twice, and do a lunchrun (but we ate around too small a table, and it was horrible). Ahaha hah. It was hilarious!
Kev:
"Can I get 5 whoppers with cheese..."
Guy:
"5 whoppers. Will that be all, sir?"
Kev:
"Ahaha, no. Can I get three medium fries and two medium onion rings?"
Guy:
"...OK. Wil-"
Kev:
"And can I get a whopper with no onions and no cheese?"
Guy:
"Another one?"
Kev:
"Yeah. And can I get a whopper with extra pickles and mayonnaise and no cheese?"
Guy:
"...another one?"
Kev:
"Yeah. And can I get two side salads?"
Guy:
"...will that be all?"
Kev:
"Yes, sir."
Guy:
"Total is $35 at the window."
Kev:
"Thanks."
When I got up there, they had 3 bags to give me. The lady handed them to me spitefully. I gave the order to a guy, so I assume he was so distraught that he just had to take a break or did not want to see me, at which point the lady took over. Seriously, they were upset or something. I ruined their morning.
She looked like she really hated me right then. There was no one in line behind me, though, so it isn't like it was the lunch hour rush and I was ruining things. In fact, the intersection there was closed, so I did them a favor!
"I hope you burn in HELL!" was the lady's goodbye to me. "Uhh...thanks...you have a nice day, too," I offered. She stared down at me. I...drove away from that evil place. Now that I think about it, I could've sworn I tasted evil on my whopper! I wonder if anyone else tasted evil on theirs? Come to think of it, they gave us 2 extra salads. I wonder if that was to contain all the evil they wished to dispense upon us.
...anyway, whilst I was in Walmart, I took 40 minutes and made some wedding gifts for my Mom and Dad. They cost $18; there was a dog-tag-engraving-machine, and I put "Kev's Mom's Groom," and "Kev's Dad's Bride." I made a mistake, though; I put Dad's number on the tag Dad should wear (and vice versa for my Mom's tag). So if emergency crew find him mangled and possibly decapitated (link is to a post of mine, not a decapitation, I wouldn't do that! Although...I did execute an ant in that manner once), they'll call his number to inform his family of his bitter fate, but the phone there will ring. They'll be able to get his information from the number, I'm sure, but it's less convenient. All in all, I spent about 8 hours on my feet. Even Big Boss experienced foot pain, so that's something.
I also got a tag for my parents' favored dog, LJ. It has his name, TWO numbers to call, and "Reward" at the bottom. I remember how often me and my Dad would find things and return them expecting a reward. The people would say "Oh...thanks," and shut the door. They always had doors...
One time, we found a HUGE wallet. It had everything in it. We found it on a water regulator (someone had stripped it of cash, most likely, but we didn't look, lest we spoil our well-earned reward!), and took it to the owner less than half a mile away. "Yeah...thanks, I'll give it to him," the guy said. Then closed the door. I told you. They always have doors.
Once my shoes turned into coals, and my feet into burnt-to-crisp marshmallows, we left. We had to pick up roses and a gift certificate. On the way home, I decided that I should get a haircut, as we may not have time the day of the wedding. Good idea as far as the timing goes.
But...the haircutter was very violent. You KNOW you have a violent haircutter when they ask you if you want to be anesthetized...then recommend it when you say "uhh, I don't think so."
We picked up some dinner, as my Dad was making the wedding cake. "It...could...be...very...dry!"
The prodigiously fantastic, amazing discovery...
We also picked up an ice cream cone from Dairy Queen, as that is my tradition for celebrating. The last time we had something to celebrate was 5 or 6 months ago. And...really, the tradition isn't that old. This was the first time I realized that you can ask them to thin-coat the ice cream!
It's simply amazing. Typically, the coating is so thick it's disgusting, and you end up throwing most of it away. You just ask if they can make the coating thinner. E plus Z. My Mom asked them if they dip it several times or what, or if they can give it a light coating. "Uhh, no ma'am, we only dip it once."
She has a way of not asking things very clearly at drive throughs. One time, she ordered like this:
Kev's Mom:
"Yeah, can I get one of the menu items 5 items down and 3 items right, without white rings?"
Guy:
"W...what?"
Kev's Mom:
"And one of the menu items 3 items down, 4 items over, and 5 items down, and 1 item over to the right?"
Needless to say, he didn't quite get it. They had to send someone out so Mom could point to what she wanted. So instead of saying "could you give that cone a light dipping," she asked "how many times they dip it." Riight. It worked out in the end, though. I recommend having them light coat it. I wonder if other brilliant minds have discovered that DQ can light coat their cones?
Well, it doesn't matter- this brilliant mind has revealed it unto the world!
[tomorrow is the wedding]
As or me, I ...that is, as FOR me, I am preparing to head out and see BOTH of my grandmothers. They usually fight over me, make a fuss, tell me I shouldn't trust the other one...actually...I can't remember the last time I saw both my grandmothers at the same time. It was...uhh...I wonder if I've ever seen them together? Oh well, I guess I was probably lying when I said they fight over me. But I'm sure they do. Or would.
We're going to do a "rehearsal" for the wedding, so we need to be there early, before Satan haunts up the place. Oh...which wedding, you ask? My Mom and Dad's! Yes, I'll tell the story sometime.
In short, my parents were going to wed in a courtroom. They had it all planned out. Then my Mom decided she wanted a real wedding. Not a $25,000 wedding, mind you. Just a ceremony. Which we'll be working on today.
Kev, signing off.
Later that same day, evening...
Ouch. Owie. Pain! How could I have foreseen this agony; what sort of devilish witchery would I gleefully sink to to avoid the remorseful pain! My shoes, in the last half-hour of work, were turned into miniature beds of hot, smoldering coals! Like those video game enemies you see which have cracks of lava on them. Those were my shoes! Those ARE my shoes! They look like a burned-blade (black- we'll get that in editing) marshmallow, and my feet look WORSER!
I had to mop an 15' by 50' section of floor. Not too terrible, but the bucket had to be emptied very often, and the floor looked no different before and after. When it was polished it looked a lot different. All shiny and stuff. So I mopped half the floor, did half of the work, then some bozo- who hadn't mopped anything- comes in with a polishing wheel-thing and takes all of MY glory! Curse him!
Then I had to work in a kitchen for a few hours. I had to go to Walmart twice, and do a lunchrun (but we ate around too small a table, and it was horrible). Ahaha hah. It was hilarious!
Kev:
"Can I get 5 whoppers with cheese..."
Guy:
"5 whoppers. Will that be all, sir?"
Kev:
"Ahaha, no. Can I get three medium fries and two medium onion rings?"
Guy:
"...OK. Wil-"
Kev:
"And can I get a whopper with no onions and no cheese?"
Guy:
"Another one?"
Kev:
"Yeah. And can I get a whopper with extra pickles and mayonnaise and no cheese?"
Guy:
"...another one?"
Kev:
"Yeah. And can I get two side salads?"
Guy:
"...will that be all?"
Kev:
"Yes, sir."
Guy:
"Total is $35 at the window."
Kev:
"Thanks."
When I got up there, they had 3 bags to give me. The lady handed them to me spitefully. I gave the order to a guy, so I assume he was so distraught that he just had to take a break or did not want to see me, at which point the lady took over. Seriously, they were upset or something. I ruined their morning.
She looked like she really hated me right then. There was no one in line behind me, though, so it isn't like it was the lunch hour rush and I was ruining things. In fact, the intersection there was closed, so I did them a favor!
"I hope you burn in HELL!" was the lady's goodbye to me. "Uhh...thanks...you have a nice day, too," I offered. She stared down at me. I...drove away from that evil place. Now that I think about it, I could've sworn I tasted evil on my whopper! I wonder if anyone else tasted evil on theirs? Come to think of it, they gave us 2 extra salads. I wonder if that was to contain all the evil they wished to dispense upon us.
...anyway, whilst I was in Walmart, I took 40 minutes and made some wedding gifts for my Mom and Dad. They cost $18; there was a dog-tag-engraving-machine, and I put "Kev's Mom's Groom," and "Kev's Dad's Bride." I made a mistake, though; I put Dad's number on the tag Dad should wear (and vice versa for my Mom's tag). So if emergency crew find him mangled and possibly decapitated (link is to a post of mine, not a decapitation, I wouldn't do that! Although...I did execute an ant in that manner once), they'll call his number to inform his family of his bitter fate, but the phone there will ring. They'll be able to get his information from the number, I'm sure, but it's less convenient. All in all, I spent about 8 hours on my feet. Even Big Boss experienced foot pain, so that's something.
I also got a tag for my parents' favored dog, LJ. It has his name, TWO numbers to call, and "Reward" at the bottom. I remember how often me and my Dad would find things and return them expecting a reward. The people would say "Oh...thanks," and shut the door. They always had doors...
One time, we found a HUGE wallet. It had everything in it. We found it on a water regulator (someone had stripped it of cash, most likely, but we didn't look, lest we spoil our well-earned reward!), and took it to the owner less than half a mile away. "Yeah...thanks, I'll give it to him," the guy said. Then closed the door. I told you. They always have doors.
Once my shoes turned into coals, and my feet into burnt-to-crisp marshmallows, we left. We had to pick up roses and a gift certificate. On the way home, I decided that I should get a haircut, as we may not have time the day of the wedding. Good idea as far as the timing goes.
But...the haircutter was very violent. You KNOW you have a violent haircutter when they ask you if you want to be anesthetized...then recommend it when you say "uhh, I don't think so."
We picked up some dinner, as my Dad was making the wedding cake. "It...could...be...very...dry!"
The prodigiously fantastic, amazing discovery...
We also picked up an ice cream cone from Dairy Queen, as that is my tradition for celebrating. The last time we had something to celebrate was 5 or 6 months ago. And...really, the tradition isn't that old. This was the first time I realized that you can ask them to thin-coat the ice cream!
It's simply amazing. Typically, the coating is so thick it's disgusting, and you end up throwing most of it away. You just ask if they can make the coating thinner. E plus Z. My Mom asked them if they dip it several times or what, or if they can give it a light coating. "Uhh, no ma'am, we only dip it once."
She has a way of not asking things very clearly at drive throughs. One time, she ordered like this:
Kev's Mom:
"Yeah, can I get one of the menu items 5 items down and 3 items right, without white rings?"
Guy:
"W...what?"
Kev's Mom:
"And one of the menu items 3 items down, 4 items over, and 5 items down, and 1 item over to the right?"
Needless to say, he didn't quite get it. They had to send someone out so Mom could point to what she wanted. So instead of saying "could you give that cone a light dipping," she asked "how many times they dip it." Riight. It worked out in the end, though. I recommend having them light coat it. I wonder if other brilliant minds have discovered that DQ can light coat their cones?
Well, it doesn't matter- this brilliant mind has revealed it unto the world!
[tomorrow is the wedding]
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
Operation: Free Passage
Today, I was on goat birth watch. Nothing happened. So, I decided to go feed. In the process of feeding, I discovered a very nasty hedge of goat feces mingled with old hay, pictured below, blocking access to the birthing pen (the other entry is through the main pen with all the goats, which is an inconvenient truth-- LOL I CAME UP WITH THAT INSTANTLY).
I obviously could not let this enemy obstruction go unpunished. The mere thought that a 2-foot pile of goat poop, and goat pee, and hay, and dust, would stand in the way of me having free passage to the birthing pen! And I will NOT wade through the waves of goats to go in the other way. Clearly, I had one option. I got the pitchfork. The best defense is a good offense, and this pitchfork has a 7-foot steel handle, though one of the forks is bent pretty badly, and that will make it 150% harder to use. Seriously; if you have a bent fork, straighten it. It'll change your life.
So first, I dug my way to the gate and pried it open, below.
Our eldest and smartest dog, the pack leader Hannah, a border collie mix, watches approvingly. Though...she...wishes she were further away. Or that the wind was not blowing the milifine dust into her eyes, lungs, and brain. It's that fine.
Below you can see how desperately thick the enemy is, though the picture does not do the sheer demonic density of it any even slight justice. It's about three times as hard as digging through dirt. And eight times as dirty. And there's more dust. And it's heavier. And more depressing. And harder to move.
Below, though it is hard to see, my objective has been accomplished, and the Goat Poop Gate Guard has been defeated. That ought to teach that inanimate object a lesson. And make everyones life easier.
Rest in peace, gate.
I obviously could not let this enemy obstruction go unpunished. The mere thought that a 2-foot pile of goat poop, and goat pee, and hay, and dust, would stand in the way of me having free passage to the birthing pen! And I will NOT wade through the waves of goats to go in the other way. Clearly, I had one option. I got the pitchfork. The best defense is a good offense, and this pitchfork has a 7-foot steel handle, though one of the forks is bent pretty badly, and that will make it 150% harder to use. Seriously; if you have a bent fork, straighten it. It'll change your life.
So first, I dug my way to the gate and pried it open, below.
Our eldest and smartest dog, the pack leader Hannah, a border collie mix, watches approvingly. Though...she...wishes she were further away. Or that the wind was not blowing the milifine dust into her eyes, lungs, and brain. It's that fine.
Below you can see how desperately thick the enemy is, though the picture does not do the sheer demonic density of it any even slight justice. It's about three times as hard as digging through dirt. And eight times as dirty. And there's more dust. And it's heavier. And more depressing. And harder to move.
Below, though it is hard to see, my objective has been accomplished, and the Goat Poop Gate Guard has been defeated. That ought to teach that inanimate object a lesson. And make everyones life easier.
Rest in peace, gate.Kev and Cupcakes
I have a confession to make.
I...have trouble making cupcakes. Yes, tis true. It started back when I was 9. Somebody made blueberry cupcakes...and...I tried to make blueberry cupcakes. They turned out...not so good. All the blueberries went to the bottom, and, oh, I've been traumatized ever since. I wanted to die.
Slowly, over the years, I've been mending my relations with cupcakes. Well, really, I've just been getting over the tragic event. A while back, I made Pumpkin Chocolate Chip muffins (which are really good, and especially good as mini muffins), and recently, I made these Wicked Cupcakes.
They have a peanut butter frosting. If you're like me, you'll laugh, because you HATE peanut butter! In fact, it makes you sick. But I loved these cupcakes despite the fact they had peanut butter in (or...on) them. I did not make witches out of them, but cutting into them and inverting the cone of cake on top is a neat way to decorate. They're a little difficult to eat with a cookie on them, which is why I didn't bother.
Once again, let me advise: if you ever have to "combine flour, baking soda, salt, and cinnamon" in a bowl, just use a ziptop bag (you'll have to blow it up a bit then seal to "shake" it properly). It works tons better and does not dirty a bowl. I'm sure you could reuse the same bag, but I prefer to cut a hole in the corner to easily pour into the Kitchenaid (when I need to alternate, especially). Yes, I am spoiled.
Next on my list is the Lemon Crusted Lullyberry cupcakes. Oh, I'm sorry, Lemon Cream Cupcakes. I only saw "Lemon Cr" in the tab, and I assumed it was "Crusted Lullyberry." But y'know, I think I will call them Lemon Crusted Lullyberry cupcakes. I have high hopes for these (I <3 lemon). After, my next goal is a nice, white cupcake with pink or purple frosting. How the hell do I make white cupcakes?
OK, after searching one of my best cookbooks, I come up with buttermilk cupcakes. Ooohkay.
Now I only need a fr...oh, baby. What on earth is a Dobostorte?
Or a coconut cake with lime curd...
Well, I'll need to spend some more time with this cookbook.
As for the cupcakes, I'll convince my parents to buy the ingredients today. I just need 8 lemons or so. I'll need a cup of juice for the meringue pie. And zest. I'll let you know how they turn out.
I...have trouble making cupcakes. Yes, tis true. It started back when I was 9. Somebody made blueberry cupcakes...and...I tried to make blueberry cupcakes. They turned out...not so good. All the blueberries went to the bottom, and, oh, I've been traumatized ever since. I wanted to die.
Slowly, over the years, I've been mending my relations with cupcakes. Well, really, I've just been getting over the tragic event. A while back, I made Pumpkin Chocolate Chip muffins (which are really good, and especially good as mini muffins), and recently, I made these Wicked Cupcakes.
They have a peanut butter frosting. If you're like me, you'll laugh, because you HATE peanut butter! In fact, it makes you sick. But I loved these cupcakes despite the fact they had peanut butter in (or...on) them. I did not make witches out of them, but cutting into them and inverting the cone of cake on top is a neat way to decorate. They're a little difficult to eat with a cookie on them, which is why I didn't bother.
Once again, let me advise: if you ever have to "combine flour, baking soda, salt, and cinnamon" in a bowl, just use a ziptop bag (you'll have to blow it up a bit then seal to "shake" it properly). It works tons better and does not dirty a bowl. I'm sure you could reuse the same bag, but I prefer to cut a hole in the corner to easily pour into the Kitchenaid (when I need to alternate, especially). Yes, I am spoiled.
Next on my list is the Lemon Crusted Lullyberry cupcakes. Oh, I'm sorry, Lemon Cream Cupcakes. I only saw "Lemon Cr" in the tab, and I assumed it was "Crusted Lullyberry." But y'know, I think I will call them Lemon Crusted Lullyberry cupcakes. I have high hopes for these (I <3 lemon). After, my next goal is a nice, white cupcake with pink or purple frosting. How the hell do I make white cupcakes?
OK, after searching one of my best cookbooks, I come up with buttermilk cupcakes. Ooohkay.
Now I only need a fr...oh, baby. What on earth is a Dobostorte?
Or a coconut cake with lime curd...
Well, I'll need to spend some more time with this cookbook.
As for the cupcakes, I'll convince my parents to buy the ingredients today. I just need 8 lemons or so. I'll need a cup of juice for the meringue pie. And zest. I'll let you know how they turn out.
Stressful week and Kev gets mad
Yes, my parents' wedding is less than half a month away. I would be happier, but there's no cash involved for me. I'll now take occasion to say that the wedding is a curse, of a thousand sorrows, which turns my parents into freaks, freaking out and yelling at each other, and lying to me!
So to start a bad week off, on Saturday, my Mom wasted half of our water by leaving the water hose running. I was bitter over that. I get bitter and grind my Teeth of Anger and Gears of Hatred as opposed to exploding on the spot and ...making a spot on the carpet, unlike some people.
Make no mistake. I tried to hold my bitterness. Yet it remained. Then, my Dad used my brother as a shield to avoid going to Church. So me and my Mom, the "happy new couple," showed up. I am sure that's the new thing; it's not bad enough to assume we're married, now they assume we're getting REMARRIED after having two children, one of whom is 20 years older than me!
But...I digress. To make matters worse, on the way home, we get word that the goat, Zoe, is about to shoot out a few babies ("shoot" is the correct term for her; projectile birthing is the technical term). So we do not have a chance to get a voice recorder. I need one. My old one does not have a USB cable, so it cannot transfer (it's a Sony- what was I thinking?! God forbid, do not get Sony ever again, Kev!), and the Hitman has been out of town for the last two Bible studies, and possibly this one. I want to make him a CD of the Bible studies so he is not behind. The voice recorders' worth shall be shown!
In addition to not getting the voice recorder, there is a really fantastic sale on beef. We did not get to stop for that. Then, for Sunday night dinner, my Dad made one of his specials. Uncleaned boneless/skinless chicken (they weren't even unfolded!), overcooked until it is dry in the oven, with no spices or seasonings whatsoever. They had cheese and ham on top. They were served at room temperature.
As for the side, we had tamales. Tamales with stale masa. Tamales which begged to die. I offered to buy new masa, but no, no, no. They were only slightly edible, and it made me even more bitter.
On top of this, he completely filthied the most difficult-to-clean pan we have. He DID put aluminum foil on one pan he used, though, so he's getting a bit smarter. Then, he said he'd get water on Sunday- while he was staying home from Church- but he did not. So I HAD to get water on Monday.
Then I discover he took the truck (on Monday), which is the easiest way to get water (unless you want to mess with hooking up a trailer then having to unhook it within a few hours, not fun). That sent me over the edge, and no longer was I only bitter on the inside. I was en angered. I TOLD him I needed to get water on Monday. "But I figured you'd just use the car," he said. Oooh.
I don't get angry often. Everyone else? Well, my Brother is angry in a bad way several times a day (he has a brain tumor pushing against his...brain, giving him a constant headache. That's my theory, at least), my Dad routinely upsets the house through his judgment of the condition of house-cleanliness (he blames everyone but himself), and my Mom snaps all the time. They're great most of the time, but compared to me, they're ravenous, evil entities of death.
This Monday?
The Monday I am mad on?
Give me a wild guess as to their mood.
That's right.
They were in good moods. This is the first time in probably 2 months I've seen them all in good moods at the same time. And I was in a bad mood. For the first time in 2 months.
You freaking bozos!!! DAMN!
So to start a bad week off, on Saturday, my Mom wasted half of our water by leaving the water hose running. I was bitter over that. I get bitter and grind my Teeth of Anger and Gears of Hatred as opposed to exploding on the spot and ...making a spot on the carpet, unlike some people.
Make no mistake. I tried to hold my bitterness. Yet it remained. Then, my Dad used my brother as a shield to avoid going to Church. So me and my Mom, the "happy new couple," showed up. I am sure that's the new thing; it's not bad enough to assume we're married, now they assume we're getting REMARRIED after having two children, one of whom is 20 years older than me!
But...I digress. To make matters worse, on the way home, we get word that the goat, Zoe, is about to shoot out a few babies ("shoot" is the correct term for her; projectile birthing is the technical term). So we do not have a chance to get a voice recorder. I need one. My old one does not have a USB cable, so it cannot transfer (it's a Sony- what was I thinking?! God forbid, do not get Sony ever again, Kev!), and the Hitman has been out of town for the last two Bible studies, and possibly this one. I want to make him a CD of the Bible studies so he is not behind. The voice recorders' worth shall be shown!
In addition to not getting the voice recorder, there is a really fantastic sale on beef. We did not get to stop for that. Then, for Sunday night dinner, my Dad made one of his specials. Uncleaned boneless/skinless chicken (they weren't even unfolded!), overcooked until it is dry in the oven, with no spices or seasonings whatsoever. They had cheese and ham on top. They were served at room temperature.
As for the side, we had tamales. Tamales with stale masa. Tamales which begged to die. I offered to buy new masa, but no, no, no. They were only slightly edible, and it made me even more bitter.
On top of this, he completely filthied the most difficult-to-clean pan we have. He DID put aluminum foil on one pan he used, though, so he's getting a bit smarter. Then, he said he'd get water on Sunday- while he was staying home from Church- but he did not. So I HAD to get water on Monday.
Then I discover he took the truck (on Monday), which is the easiest way to get water (unless you want to mess with hooking up a trailer then having to unhook it within a few hours, not fun). That sent me over the edge, and no longer was I only bitter on the inside. I was en angered. I TOLD him I needed to get water on Monday. "But I figured you'd just use the car," he said. Oooh.
I don't get angry often. Everyone else? Well, my Brother is angry in a bad way several times a day (he has a brain tumor pushing against his...brain, giving him a constant headache. That's my theory, at least), my Dad routinely upsets the house through his judgment of the condition of house-cleanliness (he blames everyone but himself), and my Mom snaps all the time. They're great most of the time, but compared to me, they're ravenous, evil entities of death.
This Monday?
The Monday I am mad on?
Give me a wild guess as to their mood.
That's right.
They were in good moods. This is the first time in probably 2 months I've seen them all in good moods at the same time. And I was in a bad mood. For the first time in 2 months.
You freaking bozos!!! DAMN!
Monday, October 15, 2007
My Laptop and guarding it and how I can do better.
My brother.
Oh, what can I say about him. I know what I'll do. I'll lament about how horrible his cooking (and eating) habits are.
He has a messy way of cooking, and every single day of his life he eats the same thing. A type of macaroni and cheese with added Pizza ingredients (ham, pepperoni, mushrooms, tomato sauce, and others). He does not stir it when he cooks it over high heat, so it burns very badly, and I have to clean it. I'm pretty sure I've complained about it before.
He completes his horrible mess by leaving the dish in his room for a week with two cups of leftover "noodle vomit" until it condenses into a cheesecake-like brick of stinking, occasionally moldy mess. If I attempt to make him clean either the bowl or the pan by, y'know, not cleaning it so he eventually has to, he breaks down crying.
Don't siblings like that make you angry? It reminds me of my Dad's Worst Sister, Aunt Punface. You just can't help but make up zany puns when you're around her, usually about her face. Typically...they're not so much puns but insults. Regardless, that's her nickname. They used to play baseball together when they were young, and she would take the outfield. She'd get the ball and not take it in. Then when they got mad, she'd tell their dad, and they'd get in trouble. They had a belt-and-switch dad who beat them regularly and practiced witchcraft, so trouble was bad.
His parents had four children, and only two turned out alright; my Aunt Desnee, and my Dad. The other one, my Uncle Inderb, is currently living on an Indian war veteran camp doing marijuana with the Indian war veterans. That is his...occupation. I've never spoken to him, as far as I can remember...yet I've seen him naked. Funny world we live in, isn't it?
Anyways, back to my brother. Cheese all over the floor. The living room floor. Ohoho, it is horrible. It makes me sad. It is unfair. You'd think that, when making macaroni and cheese, you wouldn't be able to spill pre-grated cheese all over the place. I would morally allow block cheese to be spilled while being grated, but how hard is it to hit the pan when you have shredded cheese? Not hard at all if you're a careless slob, apparently! Dammit!
Then there's the ham he leaves all over the place. He thinks it's cute to give the animals scraps as he cooks, just like my Dad (do fathers always pass on bad manners?). Yet, I only give them scraps if they eat them. That's the difference between me and them. It ends in the animals eating them and them not laying on the floor to ebb grease.
Anyways, what's my point? Somehow, a month or so ago, I found my laptop's CD drive was nonfunctional. "Oh, Samus' visor!" I exclaimed, as I felt my heart compact. By the way, that's more a "scared" expression than a "damn" expression. 70% scared, 30% damn.
After crying for several minutes, I decided to take the CD out. It was...Command and Conquer: Generals, I think. That is, I know. I have a memory, after all.
My CD drive had been acting funny for weeks prior. It kept- for no reason- ejecting itself. Now, I don't know about you, but I do not appreciate having my computer do things I do not approve of it doing. Because...the next step is murdering me in my sleep. It's happened before. Just search for "computer killed me in my sleep," and see how many results come up! Almost 1.8 million people dead because of disobedient, murderous computers. I will not be a statistic.
I took the CD out, only to discover a piece of cheese lodged in the CD drive, pushing against the CD, stopping it from spinning. Aha, I thought. I have no idea how he managed to stand over my laptop and grate cheese into it...but he did it. After I removed the piece of cheese, it worked flawlessly, and did not eject sporadically any more! VICTORY!
Except that...recently, my SD card drive stopped working. That is not good at all. Upon further inspection, there was...chocolate inside my card drive. I have absolutely no idea how. Chocolate isn't even that popular around here! Drat! How could it be! After I removed the chocolate, the drive worked fine.
Then, I discovered the reason that certain keys on my keyboard get jammed. Apparently, things get underneath them. Things that I don't have any idea how they got under there. Pieces of plastic, mostly. From where? I do not know. God knows.
On Sunday, we stopped by a Walmart, and...my Mom got a glue gun.
Today, I found a drop of hot glue lodged under a laptop key.
So, to strike back, I'm going to get a laptop case as soon as possible to stop these relentless attacks before something serious happens. If a drop of hot glue can travel 15 feet and wedge itself into a closed laptop, then weasel its way under a key...I fear to think of what else could do the same. Plus, I need somewhere to put my mouse, now that I have one. Then I can take my laptop with me places and get robbed. Let's see how long it takes me to acquire one, shall we?
Oh, what can I say about him. I know what I'll do. I'll lament about how horrible his cooking (and eating) habits are.
He has a messy way of cooking, and every single day of his life he eats the same thing. A type of macaroni and cheese with added Pizza ingredients (ham, pepperoni, mushrooms, tomato sauce, and others). He does not stir it when he cooks it over high heat, so it burns very badly, and I have to clean it. I'm pretty sure I've complained about it before.
He completes his horrible mess by leaving the dish in his room for a week with two cups of leftover "noodle vomit" until it condenses into a cheesecake-like brick of stinking, occasionally moldy mess. If I attempt to make him clean either the bowl or the pan by, y'know, not cleaning it so he eventually has to, he breaks down crying.
Don't siblings like that make you angry? It reminds me of my Dad's Worst Sister, Aunt Punface. You just can't help but make up zany puns when you're around her, usually about her face. Typically...they're not so much puns but insults. Regardless, that's her nickname. They used to play baseball together when they were young, and she would take the outfield. She'd get the ball and not take it in. Then when they got mad, she'd tell their dad, and they'd get in trouble. They had a belt-and-switch dad who beat them regularly and practiced witchcraft, so trouble was bad.
His parents had four children, and only two turned out alright; my Aunt Desnee, and my Dad. The other one, my Uncle Inderb, is currently living on an Indian war veteran camp doing marijuana with the Indian war veterans. That is his...occupation. I've never spoken to him, as far as I can remember...yet I've seen him naked. Funny world we live in, isn't it?
Anyways, back to my brother. Cheese all over the floor. The living room floor. Ohoho, it is horrible. It makes me sad. It is unfair. You'd think that, when making macaroni and cheese, you wouldn't be able to spill pre-grated cheese all over the place. I would morally allow block cheese to be spilled while being grated, but how hard is it to hit the pan when you have shredded cheese? Not hard at all if you're a careless slob, apparently! Dammit!
Then there's the ham he leaves all over the place. He thinks it's cute to give the animals scraps as he cooks, just like my Dad (do fathers always pass on bad manners?). Yet, I only give them scraps if they eat them. That's the difference between me and them. It ends in the animals eating them and them not laying on the floor to ebb grease.
Anyways, what's my point? Somehow, a month or so ago, I found my laptop's CD drive was nonfunctional. "Oh, Samus' visor!" I exclaimed, as I felt my heart compact. By the way, that's more a "scared" expression than a "damn" expression. 70% scared, 30% damn.
After crying for several minutes, I decided to take the CD out. It was...Command and Conquer: Generals, I think. That is, I know. I have a memory, after all.
My CD drive had been acting funny for weeks prior. It kept- for no reason- ejecting itself. Now, I don't know about you, but I do not appreciate having my computer do things I do not approve of it doing. Because...the next step is murdering me in my sleep. It's happened before. Just search for "computer killed me in my sleep," and see how many results come up! Almost 1.8 million people dead because of disobedient, murderous computers. I will not be a statistic.
I took the CD out, only to discover a piece of cheese lodged in the CD drive, pushing against the CD, stopping it from spinning. Aha, I thought. I have no idea how he managed to stand over my laptop and grate cheese into it...but he did it. After I removed the piece of cheese, it worked flawlessly, and did not eject sporadically any more! VICTORY!
Except that...recently, my SD card drive stopped working. That is not good at all. Upon further inspection, there was...chocolate inside my card drive. I have absolutely no idea how. Chocolate isn't even that popular around here! Drat! How could it be! After I removed the chocolate, the drive worked fine.
Then, I discovered the reason that certain keys on my keyboard get jammed. Apparently, things get underneath them. Things that I don't have any idea how they got under there. Pieces of plastic, mostly. From where? I do not know. God knows.
On Sunday, we stopped by a Walmart, and...my Mom got a glue gun.
Today, I found a drop of hot glue lodged under a laptop key.
So, to strike back, I'm going to get a laptop case as soon as possible to stop these relentless attacks before something serious happens. If a drop of hot glue can travel 15 feet and wedge itself into a closed laptop, then weasel its way under a key...I fear to think of what else could do the same. Plus, I need somewhere to put my mouse, now that I have one. Then I can take my laptop with me places and get robbed. Let's see how long it takes me to acquire one, shall we?
Sunday, October 14, 2007
Armor Up
OK, for my birthday, I got a package of Command and Conquer: The First Decade. It is a collection of the C&C games from the first 10 years, thus...the first decade. Hands down one of the greatest values in RTS. Probably the best. It even has Command and Conquer: Generals, which is only a few years old and has current-gen graphics. All on...one disc, I think. There's also a bonus disc. Dunno what that's for. I never do.
Command and Conquer: Red Alert II was one of my most favorite games. I am currently unaware of how it ties in to Red Alert I, but I still like it. My favorite part is Yuri, with his evil, mind-controlling ways, and in the expansion pack...oh, well, I like the expansion pack quite a bit. My least favorite part of the game? It's short.
Thus far, I have "conquered" the Allied campaign of Red Alert II. I just love the actors. Oh, and when I say I finished the Allied campaign, I also mean I finished the expansion pack's- Yuri's Revenge's- Allied campaign.
So, having taken 5 days of light play to do that, I'm going to play the Soviet campaign. I hate the Soviets. Stone-aged ...perverts. No things named Chrono...however, since I like them so much (I meant "dislike," but we'll get that in editing, like men!), I can send men to their horrible, pointless deaths very easily. Yes, yes. Plus, they're cheap, and they are all easily sent to their POINTLESS DEATHS! Did I already say that? Well, I say it twice now! Ahahah!
Seriously. I'd love to talk to someone who actually likes the Soviets. Typical tyrannical dictatorial country, sending 50 million men to die to save 20 billion dollars developing their technology. They...don't even use missiles in this game. They use FLAK still! LOL! Like NEANDERTHALS! OK, now quiet, don't tell them I was making fun of their airborne grenades.
(hehehe...airborne grenades!)
Command and Conquer: Red Alert II was one of my most favorite games. I am currently unaware of how it ties in to Red Alert I, but I still like it. My favorite part is Yuri, with his evil, mind-controlling ways, and in the expansion pack...oh, well, I like the expansion pack quite a bit. My least favorite part of the game? It's short.
Thus far, I have "conquered" the Allied campaign of Red Alert II. I just love the actors. Oh, and when I say I finished the Allied campaign, I also mean I finished the expansion pack's- Yuri's Revenge's- Allied campaign.
So, having taken 5 days of light play to do that, I'm going to play the Soviet campaign. I hate the Soviets. Stone-aged ...perverts. No things named Chrono...however, since I like them so much (I meant "dislike," but we'll get that in editing, like men!), I can send men to their horrible, pointless deaths very easily. Yes, yes. Plus, they're cheap, and they are all easily sent to their POINTLESS DEATHS! Did I already say that? Well, I say it twice now! Ahahah!
Seriously. I'd love to talk to someone who actually likes the Soviets. Typical tyrannical dictatorial country, sending 50 million men to die to save 20 billion dollars developing their technology. They...don't even use missiles in this game. They use FLAK still! LOL! Like NEANDERTHALS! OK, now quiet, don't tell them I was making fun of their airborne grenades.
(hehehe...airborne grenades!)
Thursday, October 11, 2007
A surgeon or a girlfriend: Popoe's Desire
Well, Popoe, our stupidest cat, the cat who is SO stupid he can barely feel pain, and who has a severely misshapen face, is being relentlessly attacked by his hormones, as he has not yet been parted from his...uhh...you know.
My Mom stated that "he either needs a surgeon, or a girlfriend. It does not matter which one." He doesn't give a damn if they're out of practice or lost their operating license or what, he NEEDS somebody to help him! You know, putting out ads in the paper.
"Male, unneutered kitten seeks m/f surgeon with scalpel or f kitten wishing to never leave me. Must meet immediately."
So I got to thinkin', and...
Read slowly and with feeling:
How long... I wait.
Suffering... my fate.
How long... I... wait...
A surgeon...or a date.
Now as a normal song tune:
Chorus:
I need a surgeon, carrying a scalpel
I need a girlfriend who'll accept me as I am
It doesn't really matter which one comes to my aid
As long as they can ease my pain
Surgeon surgeon, won't you cut my balls off
Surgeon surgeon, won't you make my pain stop
Surgeon surgeon, no time for anesthesia
Surgeon surgeon, I'd do the same to ease ya
[break for music or chorus or something]
Girlfriend girlfriend, I need your assistance
Girlfriend girlfriend, not looking for a one-night stint
Girlfriend girlfriend, let's start us a family
Girlfriend girlfriend, I promise that I will not flee
[short break]
But girlfriend girlfriend's repulsed, by my idiocy.
[short break]
Surgeon surgeon, you are my last bet
Surgeon surgeon, make it so I do not fret
Surgeon surgeon, I don't enjoy the pacing
Surgeon surgeon, nor my heart a-racing
Surgeon surgeon, stupid things I do-oo
Surgeon surgeon I'm depending on you-oo-ooo
Read slowly and with feeling:
Where are you, dear surgeon...
Lost in a sea of sand...
Lost in a sea of water...
Lost in the bowels of the earth...
Someday we'll be together...
If only for a moment...
On that day, my dear surgeon...
Bring your scalpel.
My Mom stated that "he either needs a surgeon, or a girlfriend. It does not matter which one." He doesn't give a damn if they're out of practice or lost their operating license or what, he NEEDS somebody to help him! You know, putting out ads in the paper.
"Male, unneutered kitten seeks m/f surgeon with scalpel or f kitten wishing to never leave me. Must meet immediately."
So I got to thinkin', and...
Read slowly and with feeling:
How long... I wait.
Suffering... my fate.
How long... I... wait...
A surgeon...or a date.
Now as a normal song tune:
Chorus:
I need a surgeon, carrying a scalpel
I need a girlfriend who'll accept me as I am
It doesn't really matter which one comes to my aid
As long as they can ease my pain
Surgeon surgeon, won't you cut my balls off
Surgeon surgeon, won't you make my pain stop
Surgeon surgeon, no time for anesthesia
Surgeon surgeon, I'd do the same to ease ya
[break for music or chorus or something]
Girlfriend girlfriend, I need your assistance
Girlfriend girlfriend, not looking for a one-night stint
Girlfriend girlfriend, let's start us a family
Girlfriend girlfriend, I promise that I will not flee
[short break]
But girlfriend girlfriend's repulsed, by my idiocy.
[short break]
Surgeon surgeon, you are my last bet
Surgeon surgeon, make it so I do not fret
Surgeon surgeon, I don't enjoy the pacing
Surgeon surgeon, nor my heart a-racing
Surgeon surgeon, stupid things I do-oo
Surgeon surgeon I'm depending on you-oo-ooo
Read slowly and with feeling:
Where are you, dear surgeon...
Lost in a sea of sand...
Lost in a sea of water...
Lost in the bowels of the earth...
Someday we'll be together...
If only for a moment...
On that day, my dear surgeon...
Bring your scalpel.
Tuesday, October 09, 2007
The Destroyer Rearranges
The Destroyer appears. He moves through the Valley of Useless Crap, unmoved and uncaring, a seemingly barely sentient being, knowing only death and destruction. All tremble at his icy stare. All tremble at the visions of their doom and destruction and past colonies demolished in one fell, malignant swoop.
Junk Villages, great in times past, lay in ruins. Wasted, spent piles of lost hope and depressed, relentless sorrow permeate what little is left of their once formidable domain. Odds and ends find their rest in the horrific silence and despair of death. Yet still the Destroyer has not quenched his thirst for destruction. Pillaging...ever pillaging. Each stride sends fear like a bolt of lightning, drenching the hearts of whatever lies ahead with miserable fear. All wait for their end.
He comes to a stop. He looks slowly side to side. All fall as if dead at his feet. Yet the killing does not commence.
No pillaging. Wrath and destruction on hold. He descends as he rarely appears. A savior. He leads the refugees away from the burning ashes, who, having survived the relentless destruction, passing through the fires of his wrath, have found favor. They fear to follow him, yet find themselves powerless to resist. As they trudge in silence, presences falling at their sides, would-be enemies stopped in their tracks; they march under the protection of the Destroyer.
Could this be the same one who came before, upturning the Soils of Uselessness and stopping the Fountain of Waste?
The same who pillaged the Pile of Crap and the Box of Lousiness? Threw out the whole village of Worthless Nick Nack? Burned to the ground and left none standing of the Cupboard
of Inutility? Dispensed raw hatred upon the ancient Elders, the inhabitants of Drossy Cubbyhole, who watched over the Valley of Useless Crap?
As we are led to our new habitation, when we arrive, it becomes clear that the previous existence is over. Wrath ceases against us, as we oppose the Destroyer no more. Having been removed and displaced, we begin the arduous task of growing our deep roots; yet, this time, we do not grow them for want or need of surviving the fires of wrath. This time we grow them for a new brand, a new breed of non-folly, a new realm of peace and hopeful prosperity previously unknown. We now know the joys of being approved by the Destroyer, of being, instead of under his destruction, under his protection. Having endured his attacks to the end.
None know what the future holds, yet it is less harrowing than ever it has been. We face it with newfound hope.
[I rearranged the house a bit, and this is what happened from the perspective of what I rearranged; I moved a refrigerator, the milking supplies, the table, the garbage can, and the 4' tall speakers, thus adding about 25 square feet of space]
Junk Villages, great in times past, lay in ruins. Wasted, spent piles of lost hope and depressed, relentless sorrow permeate what little is left of their once formidable domain. Odds and ends find their rest in the horrific silence and despair of death. Yet still the Destroyer has not quenched his thirst for destruction. Pillaging...ever pillaging. Each stride sends fear like a bolt of lightning, drenching the hearts of whatever lies ahead with miserable fear. All wait for their end.
He comes to a stop. He looks slowly side to side. All fall as if dead at his feet. Yet the killing does not commence.
No pillaging. Wrath and destruction on hold. He descends as he rarely appears. A savior. He leads the refugees away from the burning ashes, who, having survived the relentless destruction, passing through the fires of his wrath, have found favor. They fear to follow him, yet find themselves powerless to resist. As they trudge in silence, presences falling at their sides, would-be enemies stopped in their tracks; they march under the protection of the Destroyer.
Could this be the same one who came before, upturning the Soils of Uselessness and stopping the Fountain of Waste?
The same who pillaged the Pile of Crap and the Box of Lousiness? Threw out the whole village of Worthless Nick Nack? Burned to the ground and left none standing of the Cupboard
of Inutility? Dispensed raw hatred upon the ancient Elders, the inhabitants of Drossy Cubbyhole, who watched over the Valley of Useless Crap?
As we are led to our new habitation, when we arrive, it becomes clear that the previous existence is over. Wrath ceases against us, as we oppose the Destroyer no more. Having been removed and displaced, we begin the arduous task of growing our deep roots; yet, this time, we do not grow them for want or need of surviving the fires of wrath. This time we grow them for a new brand, a new breed of non-folly, a new realm of peace and hopeful prosperity previously unknown. We now know the joys of being approved by the Destroyer, of being, instead of under his destruction, under his protection. Having endured his attacks to the end.
None know what the future holds, yet it is less harrowing than ever it has been. We face it with newfound hope.
[I rearranged the house a bit, and this is what happened from the perspective of what I rearranged; I moved a refrigerator, the milking supplies, the table, the garbage can, and the 4' tall speakers, thus adding about 25 square feet of space]
Friday, October 05, 2007
4 Hours to Birthday: I can wait!
Well, it's actually 17 hours (I am counting "time to party"). But let me teach you a trick.
We have a thing we do around here. My brother taught us how. He has down syndrome, and somehow he teaches us things. Not too many things, though, we're kind of slow. He also threatens to saw my head off, but well, nobody's perfect!
You simply figure in the times you will be entertained. You know- time passes when you're having fun. You learned that in Kindergarten, you obtuse, shinning (shinning in that you're dim) example of stupidity. So if I sleep 8 hours, then I will be "entertained" for those 8 hours, and they do not count.
Thus, I now have 9 hours to wait. But I'll spend 2 more hours being up (which don't count; I'll probably watch a movie), then 3 hours in the morning playing Metroid Prime 3: Corruption. I am hoping to face Gandrayda tomorrow, and I'm going to investigate that Frigate, not necessarily in that order. The...Valhalla. Yes. The G.F.S. Valhalla.
It was...taken advantage of during a training mission. The marines who were stationed on the Frigate...are currently dead. I smell zombies.
I think the most I can play Wii is 1.5 hours. After that my neck begins to hurt. My bed is too low to the ground, I think. Plus I start getting cramped. You know the drill. However, if I am hot on the trail of that louse-turned-Hunter Gandrayda, who thinks she is better than Samus, and who I am going to really, really enjoy dispatching, I could play for hours. Oh, but look at me, Carrying on Like A Schoolgirl!
Oh! And speaking of Wii, I got an email straight from HQ the other day. Apparently, they're now passing out- for free, in a wrist strap fashion- Wiimote jackets! Yes! No more losing my grip and sending the Wiimote rocketing through the window and knocking over power poles (that's a joke). It is on the Nintendo main page currently. It will not be in a while. I just need to enter the serial number, and I'll be order two...plus I need a new wrist strap for my Wiimote. Notice Nintendo is giving me a Wiimote jacket for my birthday? Oh, there is no end to their coolness.
OK, so if I then stay up 2 more hours tonight watching a movie (Scrooged, perhaps?), then play Metroid Prime 3: Corruption tomorrow for 3 hours (play for 1 hour, take an hour break, play for another hour), I only have 4 hours to go. Simple, isn't it?
It can be applied in any situation- why, last Saturday night, I figured the night did not count, so it was only 6 days, then Saturday doesn't count, because it IS my birthday, so last Friday I only had 5 days to go to Saturday. Cool, huh? I hope I explained it right.
And, now I've wasted (as in, it is now "spent") 30 minutes, so it's only 3.5 hours to go. The blog works!
We have a thing we do around here. My brother taught us how. He has down syndrome, and somehow he teaches us things. Not too many things, though, we're kind of slow. He also threatens to saw my head off, but well, nobody's perfect!
You simply figure in the times you will be entertained. You know- time passes when you're having fun. You learned that in Kindergarten, you obtuse, shinning (shinning in that you're dim) example of stupidity. So if I sleep 8 hours, then I will be "entertained" for those 8 hours, and they do not count.
Thus, I now have 9 hours to wait. But I'll spend 2 more hours being up (which don't count; I'll probably watch a movie), then 3 hours in the morning playing Metroid Prime 3: Corruption. I am hoping to face Gandrayda tomorrow, and I'm going to investigate that Frigate, not necessarily in that order. The...Valhalla. Yes. The G.F.S. Valhalla.
It was...taken advantage of during a training mission. The marines who were stationed on the Frigate...are currently dead. I smell zombies.
I think the most I can play Wii is 1.5 hours. After that my neck begins to hurt. My bed is too low to the ground, I think. Plus I start getting cramped. You know the drill. However, if I am hot on the trail of that louse-turned-Hunter Gandrayda, who thinks she is better than Samus, and who I am going to really, really enjoy dispatching, I could play for hours. Oh, but look at me, Carrying on Like A Schoolgirl!
Oh! And speaking of Wii, I got an email straight from HQ the other day. Apparently, they're now passing out- for free, in a wrist strap fashion- Wiimote jackets! Yes! No more losing my grip and sending the Wiimote rocketing through the window and knocking over power poles (that's a joke). It is on the Nintendo main page currently. It will not be in a while. I just need to enter the serial number, and I'll be order two...plus I need a new wrist strap for my Wiimote. Notice Nintendo is giving me a Wiimote jacket for my birthday? Oh, there is no end to their coolness.
OK, so if I then stay up 2 more hours tonight watching a movie (Scrooged, perhaps?), then play Metroid Prime 3: Corruption tomorrow for 3 hours (play for 1 hour, take an hour break, play for another hour), I only have 4 hours to go. Simple, isn't it?
It can be applied in any situation- why, last Saturday night, I figured the night did not count, so it was only 6 days, then Saturday doesn't count, because it IS my birthday, so last Friday I only had 5 days to go to Saturday. Cool, huh? I hope I explained it right.
And, now I've wasted (as in, it is now "spent") 30 minutes, so it's only 3.5 hours to go. The blog works!
My childhood dies slowly.
So, I have things to do before my birthday. I have to write my speech, which I am going to ...speak, and, also, I have to tell my parents- slowly- and in detail- how to run a birthday operation. My hopes officially landed on the moon yesterday, and, well, they used gorilla glue to secure themselves to the surface. There will be no retrieving them. They are stuck being high hopes.
Also, I have to keep from dying. VERY important. Then, I have to have a heart-to-heart with myself because I'm going to become a man. The problem is... I should be a man when I give myself "the talk," so...I don't know. I guess I would rather become a man first, thus be qualified to give myself "the talk." To wit, I'd rather be a man without guidance for a few hours, then tell myself how to be a man than to, as a child, tell myself, before the fact, that I am going to be a man and this is how it's gonna be.
Second, I have some...issues to resolve with that...that...metamorphic, pink-fleshed, see-through-bowel-having WHELP Gandrayda! Damn! She just toasts my bread! That...oh, I will stop now before Istart crying begin cursing uncontrollably and uh, beat someone.
I can see her. In my mind. Oh, just in case you didn't know (where have you been for the last month? Roasting in the pits of everlasting damnation?), Gandrayda is a bounty hunter in Metroid Prime 3, and she thinks she's better than Samus. As you well know, that is a capital offense, and I am going to tear her throat out for it. Hopefully, I'll get that done tomorrow. Unless I can smash her between two ships or in a press or something. As long as her brain loses its...liquid...life-giving...fluid feed, I guess, I don't know if she has blood...then I am fine. Maybe I'll just rip her head off then crush it, to be sure. You know, land a ship on it, or something.
Today I was watching Zaboomafoo. It occurs to me that I will no longer be able to watch it. I will be a man tomorrow, and I can't be watching children's shows anymore.
Not that I...y'know...ever have. I figure I should go sit in at a Kindergarten class, or something. Go to a teachers convention. You know...like...a bachelor party, except this is the last day of my youth. From now on, it's liver spots, varicose veins, baldness, and dentures. And...laxatives.
God help me.
Also, I have to keep from dying. VERY important. Then, I have to have a heart-to-heart with myself because I'm going to become a man. The problem is... I should be a man when I give myself "the talk," so...I don't know. I guess I would rather become a man first, thus be qualified to give myself "the talk." To wit, I'd rather be a man without guidance for a few hours, then tell myself how to be a man than to, as a child, tell myself, before the fact, that I am going to be a man and this is how it's gonna be.
Second, I have some...issues to resolve with that...that...metamorphic, pink-fleshed, see-through-bowel-having WHELP Gandrayda! Damn! She just toasts my bread! That...oh, I will stop now before I
I can see her. In my mind. Oh, just in case you didn't know (where have you been for the last month? Roasting in the pits of everlasting damnation?), Gandrayda is a bounty hunter in Metroid Prime 3, and she thinks she's better than Samus. As you well know, that is a capital offense, and I am going to tear her throat out for it. Hopefully, I'll get that done tomorrow. Unless I can smash her between two ships or in a press or something. As long as her brain loses its...liquid...life-giving...fluid feed, I guess, I don't know if she has blood...then I am fine. Maybe I'll just rip her head off then crush it, to be sure. You know, land a ship on it, or something.
Today I was watching Zaboomafoo. It occurs to me that I will no longer be able to watch it. I will be a man tomorrow, and I can't be watching children's shows anymore.
Not that I...y'know...ever have. I figure I should go sit in at a Kindergarten class, or something. Go to a teachers convention. You know...like...a bachelor party, except this is the last day of my youth. From now on, it's liver spots, varicose veins, baldness, and dentures. And...laxatives.
God help me.
Thursday, October 04, 2007
Kev Goes to the Dentist...and makes a long, long post about it.
I know what you're thinking.
So, I went to the dentist a week or so ago. I did not blog about it immediately, because I...took a note from a close friend and decided that when I have an...disturbing event occur, I should let my uneasy feelings subside before posting about it to avoid "paranoid, delusional episodes." That close friend was my Mom. She gave birth to me. Welcome the "I probably made that up" tag. Prepare to be used, baby.
My Dad had an appointment on the same day an hour after mine. He said it would be fine.
Now, my Dad is never right. One day, he was wrong so often, even he started to realize he was wrong when he thought something. So I was not assured. We arrived at the dentist office. There was a faint smell of dread in the air. A still.
Suddenly, we heard the dentist call out (it was a small office): "DAMNIT! GET ME THE HAMMER DRILL," followed by "Which one? The Craftsman or the Bosch?" from an female assistant. I did not like his reply: "WHICHEVER ONE HAMMERS HARDER, DAMNIT!"
Seemingly for good measure, he yelled again: "DAMNIT!"
My Dad handed me the forms. "What are THESE?!" I screamed, half in a rage, half almost in tears. You know how your voice gets when you're in immediate, horrifying danger. "Kev...it's the forms. You're almost a man. You need to learn to write on them."
He added for good measure: "Oh...and make sure your writing in legible."
The words echoed in my head as the world spun around me.
Now, for some reason, my Dad thinks my writing is illegible. I wouldn't know why. My writing is a WORLD apart! I don't know anyone else who can write like me. No one even tries! Below is a picture of both my normative write and also my cursive.
Purely readable. You could print the above picture on a matchbook and still be able to read it. So clear.
Now, have you ever seen better cursive? You could print that on a match and still be able to read it. Whew. *touches writing and makes a "tsss" sound to indicate that it is very hot penmanship*
So I filled out the form. I made ONE little mistake, and my Dad shredded it and decided I should attempt to fill out another or "save them stacks of paper and let me do it." Ooh, that man!
We waited around a bit in their waiting room. We could faintly hear the drill in the operations room. It stopped. Someone yelled out "OH, CRAP!" Shortly thereafter, a nurse appeared near the receptionist. She shook her head solemnly and formed a cross on herself. The receptionist stated "third one this week."
...it was Tuesday.
"Oh, dear God," I prayed. "Now would be a nice time to call us all home, please. Or just strike the dentist with one of your lightning bolts, or a meteor. Yeah- a big meteor. You know, I heard that a lot of people are dropping dead from heart attacks all over nowadays...kill him, Lord!"
Then I heard the call.
From the nurse.
"Mr. Stewartsky?" she stated. "HI!" I blurted, trying to appear more scared than I was. "Come with me," she said. There was something about her. Something evil. Something...evil. Wait. No, yes, that's right. Two evils.
"Hi, my name's Susan, I'll be your oral hygienist today," she said, her soothing, grandmother-like voice eking evil. Or...kindness...I forget which. Hindsight, and all that. She directed me to a dentist chair. I would not be broken that easily. Do you have any idea how close "Susan" is to "Satan?" VERY!
Sadly, my "I am a good patient" instincts kicked in, and I sat down. Curse that instinct. All my doctors love me, though. One time, my doctor passingly mentioned his lunch break, so I offered to do the work while he went to lunch. I had such a good patient history, he trusted me to do it myself and gave me his stethoscope! I diagnosed myself and even gave myself 5 shots! Note, this wasn't Dr. BBHitnnaface (the time I got some blood drawn, the time I got the test results back).
The rest of the visit went fine. She was the most awesome oral hygienist- she made a comment on my Dad's dental history. He hadn't gone to the dentist for 30 years, and now he has to have a few teeth pulled. She- spur of the moment- called it the "30-year plan." Rofl. Dolf. Tax, please!
Everything went fine, that is...until the dentist came in to take a final look. Wow, it's amazing how much their XRay technology has improved. It used to be...you'd have to wear a 400 pound lead "apron," and so you wouldn't die while it was on you, they first hooked you up to an iron lung. THEN, they sealed you in a concrete chamber 50 feet underground so you wouldn't "radiate up" the atmosphere. Like it was YOUR fault!
...anyway, once the dentist got there, he started breathing in my face. He was a smoker who heavily minted his breath. It was like gutting an animal, sticking your head in its ribcage, and trying to drive. Sorry, that may be a bit graphic. They actually have really clean rib cages, but they STINK!
In the end, I got the all-clear from the dentist. I think I became addicted to cigarettes in the 3 minutes he was looking at my teeth, though. I had no cavities. AT ALL. Plus, Sata-er, Susan, said my teeth were beautiful. She almost fainted once she got to looking at them!
Lastly, she polished them with love. I asked her how she has so much love to polish into teeth. I know that if I have to cook, say, three meals worth of hamburger patties, I have less love to put into each patty, and if I have to put love into a meal like Thanksgiving, I have to store it up by cooking hatred and disgust into two or three meals right before cooking the Thanksgiving dinner. She said that you just get used to it, and that she could only polish love into one or two sets of teeth a day when she first started. Go figure. I guess that's why people who often cook typically get better and better.
Now I need to go to sleep. One more day to my birthday. Oh, and that reminds me, did you know that I enjoy using a glove when I play RTS games like C&C (Real Time Strategy / Command & Conquer)? Oh, yes, I used to use a certain glove, but it is long gone. The problem is that most gloves are not comfortable enough to use with a mouse for any length of time, and if they are, they're very slippery and do not afford a good grip. But if they do offer a good grip, they're usually too thick to be comfortable. Oh, what a predicament, oh, meomi. It's hopeless. I pretend I'm Destroevsky. You know. That's really a brilliant thing, I think.
That guy was gay, right?
So, I went to the dentist a week or so ago. I did not blog about it immediately, because I...took a note from a close friend and decided that when I have an...disturbing event occur, I should let my uneasy feelings subside before posting about it to avoid "paranoid, delusional episodes." That close friend was my Mom. She gave birth to me. Welcome the "I probably made that up" tag. Prepare to be used, baby.
My Dad had an appointment on the same day an hour after mine. He said it would be fine.
Now, my Dad is never right. One day, he was wrong so often, even he started to realize he was wrong when he thought something. So I was not assured. We arrived at the dentist office. There was a faint smell of dread in the air. A still.
Suddenly, we heard the dentist call out (it was a small office): "DAMNIT! GET ME THE HAMMER DRILL," followed by "Which one? The Craftsman or the Bosch?" from an female assistant. I did not like his reply: "WHICHEVER ONE HAMMERS HARDER, DAMNIT!"
Seemingly for good measure, he yelled again: "DAMNIT!"
My Dad handed me the forms. "What are THESE?!" I screamed, half in a rage, half almost in tears. You know how your voice gets when you're in immediate, horrifying danger. "Kev...it's the forms. You're almost a man. You need to learn to write on them."
He added for good measure: "Oh...and make sure your writing in legible."
The words echoed in my head as the world spun around me.
Now, for some reason, my Dad thinks my writing is illegible. I wouldn't know why. My writing is a WORLD apart! I don't know anyone else who can write like me. No one even tries! Below is a picture of both my normative write and also my cursive.
Purely readable. You could print the above picture on a matchbook and still be able to read it. So clear.
Now, have you ever seen better cursive? You could print that on a match and still be able to read it. Whew. *touches writing and makes a "tsss" sound to indicate that it is very hot penmanship*So I filled out the form. I made ONE little mistake, and my Dad shredded it and decided I should attempt to fill out another or "save them stacks of paper and let me do it." Ooh, that man!
We waited around a bit in their waiting room. We could faintly hear the drill in the operations room. It stopped. Someone yelled out "OH, CRAP!" Shortly thereafter, a nurse appeared near the receptionist. She shook her head solemnly and formed a cross on herself. The receptionist stated "third one this week."
...it was Tuesday.
"Oh, dear God," I prayed. "Now would be a nice time to call us all home, please. Or just strike the dentist with one of your lightning bolts, or a meteor. Yeah- a big meteor. You know, I heard that a lot of people are dropping dead from heart attacks all over nowadays...kill him, Lord!"
Then I heard the call.
From the nurse.
"Mr. Stewartsky?" she stated. "HI!" I blurted, trying to appear more scared than I was. "Come with me," she said. There was something about her. Something evil. Something...evil. Wait. No, yes, that's right. Two evils.
"Hi, my name's Susan, I'll be your oral hygienist today," she said, her soothing, grandmother-like voice eking evil. Or...kindness...I forget which. Hindsight, and all that. She directed me to a dentist chair. I would not be broken that easily. Do you have any idea how close "Susan" is to "Satan?" VERY!
Sadly, my "I am a good patient" instincts kicked in, and I sat down. Curse that instinct. All my doctors love me, though. One time, my doctor passingly mentioned his lunch break, so I offered to do the work while he went to lunch. I had such a good patient history, he trusted me to do it myself and gave me his stethoscope! I diagnosed myself and even gave myself 5 shots! Note, this wasn't Dr. BBHitnnaface (the time I got some blood drawn, the time I got the test results back).
The rest of the visit went fine. She was the most awesome oral hygienist- she made a comment on my Dad's dental history. He hadn't gone to the dentist for 30 years, and now he has to have a few teeth pulled. She- spur of the moment- called it the "30-year plan." Rofl. Dolf. Tax, please!
Everything went fine, that is...until the dentist came in to take a final look. Wow, it's amazing how much their XRay technology has improved. It used to be...you'd have to wear a 400 pound lead "apron," and so you wouldn't die while it was on you, they first hooked you up to an iron lung. THEN, they sealed you in a concrete chamber 50 feet underground so you wouldn't "radiate up" the atmosphere. Like it was YOUR fault!
...anyway, once the dentist got there, he started breathing in my face. He was a smoker who heavily minted his breath. It was like gutting an animal, sticking your head in its ribcage, and trying to drive. Sorry, that may be a bit graphic. They actually have really clean rib cages, but they STINK!
In the end, I got the all-clear from the dentist. I think I became addicted to cigarettes in the 3 minutes he was looking at my teeth, though. I had no cavities. AT ALL. Plus, Sata-er, Susan, said my teeth were beautiful. She almost fainted once she got to looking at them!
Lastly, she polished them with love. I asked her how she has so much love to polish into teeth. I know that if I have to cook, say, three meals worth of hamburger patties, I have less love to put into each patty, and if I have to put love into a meal like Thanksgiving, I have to store it up by cooking hatred and disgust into two or three meals right before cooking the Thanksgiving dinner. She said that you just get used to it, and that she could only polish love into one or two sets of teeth a day when she first started. Go figure. I guess that's why people who often cook typically get better and better.
Now I need to go to sleep. One more day to my birthday. Oh, and that reminds me, did you know that I enjoy using a glove when I play RTS games like C&C (Real Time Strategy / Command & Conquer)? Oh, yes, I used to use a certain glove, but it is long gone. The problem is that most gloves are not comfortable enough to use with a mouse for any length of time, and if they are, they're very slippery and do not afford a good grip. But if they do offer a good grip, they're usually too thick to be comfortable. Oh, what a predicament, oh, meomi. It's hopeless. I pretend I'm Destroevsky. You know. That's really a brilliant thing, I think.
That guy was gay, right?
Tuesday, October 02, 2007
I'm Not Neo: Seafood Vengeance
Well, today I had a dream that I was Neo. An Agent was trying to kill me. Except that...the agent traveled back in time, Terminator-style. Wiggy.
I then got to thinking how much I like Gumbo because I looked at Pioneer Woman's BBQ Shrimp recipe (which looks birthdaytastic!). I have a deep admiration for seafood. My parents kept me hopelessly held back from seafood. "YOU CAN'T EAT THAT, KEV," they spat. "But Mama, Papa, I wanna eat seafood!"
"THEN YOU CAN DO IT OUT IN THE RAIN! NOW SCOOT, YOU VERMIN!" they screamed. "GET IN THERE AND EAT YUR DAMNED HOTDOGS AND HAMBURGERS OR CRAWL OUT THERE IN THE RAIN AND DIE AND ROT IN HELL!!!"
...needless to say, I did not eat much seafood.
But now it is time to take my vengeance. Now that they can no longer drag me outside and leave me in the cold and rain. I began by establishing Salmon as a dinner. Then, I established Gumbo as a great dinner. My parents- both of them- HATED Gumbo. I mean, they would get sick just if they knew it was cooking. They'd lose their appetite a week before and not know why. It's like, Gumbemaric pressure or something.
It, hah heh ho hah, turns out they'd never...y'know...actually...you know, had Gumbo. It turns out they love it. Oh, but they hate shrimp. I bet...that if I make BBQ shrimp... they both dig in, heaping praises on me. Oh, and that certainly would be a great meat dish for my birthday, to compliment the Rotini and Sweet Pepper Primavera (primavera has the word "prime" in it! Yes!). They say it takes 2.5-3 pounds of 21-26 count shrimp. Hmm.
Someday, I'll need to get a cookbook on seafood cooking. And I am going to own some crabs in a few months, here. By own I mean pwn, not "possess." As in...cook, then eat. Heh heh heh.
Speaking of "pwn," did I mention I do so find it difficult to lug around a Strong's Concordance, and it really takes a while to find something with it? Y'know, somehow...I think I forgot to post that. You know, how Hitman and the Justice think it's funny to lord these things over me. Oh well, I'll buy myself one for Christmas or something.
I then got to thinking how much I like Gumbo because I looked at Pioneer Woman's BBQ Shrimp recipe (which looks birthdaytastic!). I have a deep admiration for seafood. My parents kept me hopelessly held back from seafood. "YOU CAN'T EAT THAT, KEV," they spat. "But Mama, Papa, I wanna eat seafood!"
"THEN YOU CAN DO IT OUT IN THE RAIN! NOW SCOOT, YOU VERMIN!" they screamed. "GET IN THERE AND EAT YUR DAMNED HOTDOGS AND HAMBURGERS OR CRAWL OUT THERE IN THE RAIN AND DIE AND ROT IN HELL!!!"
...needless to say, I did not eat much seafood.
But now it is time to take my vengeance. Now that they can no longer drag me outside and leave me in the cold and rain. I began by establishing Salmon as a dinner. Then, I established Gumbo as a great dinner. My parents- both of them- HATED Gumbo. I mean, they would get sick just if they knew it was cooking. They'd lose their appetite a week before and not know why. It's like, Gumbemaric pressure or something.
It, hah heh ho hah, turns out they'd never...y'know...actually...you know, had Gumbo. It turns out they love it. Oh, but they hate shrimp. I bet...that if I make BBQ shrimp... they both dig in, heaping praises on me. Oh, and that certainly would be a great meat dish for my birthday, to compliment the Rotini and Sweet Pepper Primavera (primavera has the word "prime" in it! Yes!). They say it takes 2.5-3 pounds of 21-26 count shrimp. Hmm.
Someday, I'll need to get a cookbook on seafood cooking. And I am going to own some crabs in a few months, here. By own I mean pwn, not "possess." As in...cook, then eat. Heh heh heh.
Speaking of "pwn," did I mention I do so find it difficult to lug around a Strong's Concordance, and it really takes a while to find something with it? Y'know, somehow...I think I forgot to post that. You know, how Hitman and the Justice think it's funny to lord these things over me. Oh well, I'll buy myself one for Christmas or something.
Monday, October 01, 2007
Nothing to do? Not again!
Well, I have nothing to do. I know, I know. I just finished Call of Duty III (CoD3), and it was better than I remembered it. I like running around with a team. You know...not having to do all the work. That is, you do not command them, so you don't have to always be ...awake.
I am making Corned Beef for dinner tonight. I made three roasts, so hopefully that'll be enough. Did I mention I am a sucker for corned beef? Oh, yes. I will throw some cabbage in the pan the last 50 minutes of boiling. Oh, man. I forgot the pepper. That's OK. I will add it once I finish this post. By the way, why isn't malfunction malwork? No sense.
I am also making Cinnamon rolls, as shown here. The recipe looks good enough. There's some crude humor on her page. My one complaint would be that they do not have pecans, but I will put them on when I make the frosting.
I know what you're thinking. "Huh, Kev is making corned beef.
"And Kev is making cinnamon rolls...and Kev only makes Cinnamon rolls when he's celebrating something...and it's October 1st...OH MY GOSH, KEV IS A CLOSET DRUNK!"
Well, still your brain cells, fool! I am not a closet drunk! No matter how much my Mom and Dad accuse me of such, I am not! Now, usually, October means Okslaovin Fiyest is ending, where people drink beer and...other things. Let me assure you, I am not celebrating Okslaovin Fiyest. I am celebrating two things: One, 5 days to my birthday! And two, I get to start playing Metroid Prime 3 again!
I took a break because I was terrified I would run out of Metroid goodness before my birthday. To keep myself entertained, I began playing Call of Duty III. It took me...4 days to beat Call of Duty III. It was a lot better this time, and I think that was due to it not, y'know, costing me $50 this time (as I had already purchased it). Plus, the length was perfect.
But now there's a lull in preparing dinner, Call of Duty III is dead and done, and I don't want to play Metroid Prime 3 at this moment. So, I have nothing to do. You know what I'm gonna do?
I'm gonna soak my feet. You heard me.
I'll let you know how the Cinnamon rolls came out.
While I soak my feet, I may read Robert Spencer's site, where he advertises The Truth About Muhammed.
I am making Corned Beef for dinner tonight. I made three roasts, so hopefully that'll be enough. Did I mention I am a sucker for corned beef? Oh, yes. I will throw some cabbage in the pan the last 50 minutes of boiling. Oh, man. I forgot the pepper. That's OK. I will add it once I finish this post. By the way, why isn't malfunction malwork? No sense.
I am also making Cinnamon rolls, as shown here. The recipe looks good enough. There's some crude humor on her page. My one complaint would be that they do not have pecans, but I will put them on when I make the frosting.
I know what you're thinking. "Huh, Kev is making corned beef.
"And Kev is making cinnamon rolls...and Kev only makes Cinnamon rolls when he's celebrating something...and it's October 1st...OH MY GOSH, KEV IS A CLOSET DRUNK!"
Well, still your brain cells, fool! I am not a closet drunk! No matter how much my Mom and Dad accuse me of such, I am not! Now, usually, October means Okslaovin Fiyest is ending, where people drink beer and...other things. Let me assure you, I am not celebrating Okslaovin Fiyest. I am celebrating two things: One, 5 days to my birthday! And two, I get to start playing Metroid Prime 3 again!
I took a break because I was terrified I would run out of Metroid goodness before my birthday. To keep myself entertained, I began playing Call of Duty III. It took me...4 days to beat Call of Duty III. It was a lot better this time, and I think that was due to it not, y'know, costing me $50 this time (as I had already purchased it). Plus, the length was perfect.
But now there's a lull in preparing dinner, Call of Duty III is dead and done, and I don't want to play Metroid Prime 3 at this moment. So, I have nothing to do. You know what I'm gonna do?
I'm gonna soak my feet. You heard me.
I'll let you know how the Cinnamon rolls came out.
While I soak my feet, I may read Robert Spencer's site, where he advertises The Truth About Muhammed.
Sparkplugs VS. The Destroyer
So, today I got up. I got dressed, and went and changed out the spark plugs in our 1989 Ford F150. Al Gore would be rolling around in his grave!
First, I took out the first one. I went P2341, then D4321 (P is passenger, D is driver, and "1" is closest to the radiator (that is a cool word!!!)). One was a bit rusty...on the inside. Eek. Two plug wires broke, but luckily we have a few extra (a guy from church owns a Ford and left his car unlocked). (I am joking, I do not know from whence they came).
Oh, also, this week was the first week I missed church. I had an...unsettling dream. My Pastor was the antiChrist, and I found his cloning labs and genetic research lab (and probably got caught on camera). He wasn't doing anything evil, but he WAS evil! I made a decision that just because he wasn't being evil right now, doesn't mean he won't turn evil and start running around like a dragon with its head cut off. Me and my Mom got in a fight on the way there (well, my Mom was in a fight with me), and we turned back 10 minutes out, then I was going to go by myself.
I decided I don't want to go to church by myself. That is not fun. It also is not fun when just me and my Mom go. People think we're husband and wife. Or...God forbid... a couple! EWW! Then my Dad comes along, and they think...oh. Is this your son? to which I reply, "GOD, NO, HE'S MY DAD!"
I picked up some Meow Mix as the cats were out of food. Also, this was the week my Dad bought some turtles for a friend at works' daughters. I don't know if they're the ones who like to lick rattlesnakes. The freaks. I have a mental image of them as those twins from The Great Outdoors. The creepy ones. Trust me, I will NOT get over their creepiness ANYTIME soon. Prepare for months of complaining, outraged posts about THEM (that is, my dad's pals from works''s' daughter's')!
I mean, come on! Well...I will have more on the subject later. I could go on for 5 posts about it.
So, I changed the spark plugs. They looked terrible. They were all worn down and stuff. I also changed out the distributor cap and rotor. I tried to start the truck...and, hah, of course it had to lag a bit. I thought it wasn't gonna start. But it did. The truck, months ago, used to idle at 25 MPH. Then it dwindled down until it was finally at 15 MPH lately (with slightly slow acceleration). Now it's back up to idling at 25 MPH! Yes! I assume the acceleration is much better as well.
This was the second car operation I've ever done by myself. The first was an oil change on our '96 Pathy. You know how spark plugs can be. My grandfather tried to change out some spark plugs on his newer Ford, and just about lost his arm when a wild ape jumped into the truck and started it. I told him, "German, do NOT route your arm through the fan belt."
But he didn't listen to me.
Then again, neither of us expected a wild ape to launch itself from its arms into the drivers seat and start the car. Luckily, Grandpa German heard it land and looked up. He took his right arm out from inside the belt, but was still leaning on it with his left, and the force of the belt moving under it ripped it out of its socket. Luckily, the ape was a trained medical assistant, and popped it back in. It then suggested a local doctor (it carries cards for him?), and when Grandpa could not drive due to his arm, it drove him. What a kind ape. But it always gets into trouble.
The ape has not been seen to this day. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to get to making the GREATEST DINNER IN EVERDOM. The only sad part is that there is no sparkling water. I guess that's OK. I am going to have to drink Ginger Ale (the only kind of soda I can halfway enjoy; others are too sweet).
First, I took out the first one. I went P2341, then D4321 (P is passenger, D is driver, and "1" is closest to the radiator (that is a cool word!!!)). One was a bit rusty...on the inside. Eek. Two plug wires broke, but luckily we have a few extra (a guy from church owns a Ford and left his car unlocked). (I am joking, I do not know from whence they came).
Oh, also, this week was the first week I missed church. I had an...unsettling dream. My Pastor was the antiChrist, and I found his cloning labs and genetic research lab (and probably got caught on camera). He wasn't doing anything evil, but he WAS evil! I made a decision that just because he wasn't being evil right now, doesn't mean he won't turn evil and start running around like a dragon with its head cut off. Me and my Mom got in a fight on the way there (well, my Mom was in a fight with me), and we turned back 10 minutes out, then I was going to go by myself.
I decided I don't want to go to church by myself. That is not fun. It also is not fun when just me and my Mom go. People think we're husband and wife. Or...God forbid... a couple! EWW! Then my Dad comes along, and they think...oh. Is this your son? to which I reply, "GOD, NO, HE'S MY DAD!"
I picked up some Meow Mix as the cats were out of food. Also, this was the week my Dad bought some turtles for a friend at works' daughters. I don't know if they're the ones who like to lick rattlesnakes. The freaks. I have a mental image of them as those twins from The Great Outdoors. The creepy ones. Trust me, I will NOT get over their creepiness ANYTIME soon. Prepare for months of complaining, outraged posts about THEM (that is, my dad's pals from works''s' daughter's')!
I mean, come on! Well...I will have more on the subject later. I could go on for 5 posts about it.
So, I changed the spark plugs. They looked terrible. They were all worn down and stuff. I also changed out the distributor cap and rotor. I tried to start the truck...and, hah, of course it had to lag a bit. I thought it wasn't gonna start. But it did. The truck, months ago, used to idle at 25 MPH. Then it dwindled down until it was finally at 15 MPH lately (with slightly slow acceleration). Now it's back up to idling at 25 MPH! Yes! I assume the acceleration is much better as well.
This was the second car operation I've ever done by myself. The first was an oil change on our '96 Pathy. You know how spark plugs can be. My grandfather tried to change out some spark plugs on his newer Ford, and just about lost his arm when a wild ape jumped into the truck and started it. I told him, "German, do NOT route your arm through the fan belt."
But he didn't listen to me.
Then again, neither of us expected a wild ape to launch itself from its arms into the drivers seat and start the car. Luckily, Grandpa German heard it land and looked up. He took his right arm out from inside the belt, but was still leaning on it with his left, and the force of the belt moving under it ripped it out of its socket. Luckily, the ape was a trained medical assistant, and popped it back in. It then suggested a local doctor (it carries cards for him?), and when Grandpa could not drive due to his arm, it drove him. What a kind ape. But it always gets into trouble.
The ape has not been seen to this day. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to get to making the GREATEST DINNER IN EVERDOM. The only sad part is that there is no sparkling water. I guess that's OK. I am going to have to drink Ginger Ale (the only kind of soda I can halfway enjoy; others are too sweet).
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