Intentions

Has anyone ever asked your intentions? I bet it's quite harrowing. What are your intentions with that gun you're holding, what are your intentions with that board you have that has a plane ticket stapled to it (imagine the possibilities of that!), what is your intention for that invention that rhymes to keep attention. Convention. Abstention.


I ask myself quite often what my intentions are. I count it an important aspect of life. I, of course, because I'm talking to me, add in a description of thought to my intentions. My intention is to kill the flies, and my thinking/reason for doing this is to accomplish world peace. (Flies are the sole cause of evil in this world, you know.)

I especially ask myself my intentions when I do something I don't count entirely wholesome. And it gets to the point where I have to stop asking myself my intentions and focus more on the thought behind it. This amounts to 50% more resources for the thought process.

But thought is weak. Thoughts change and morph and you sometimes have to rely on decisions you've made; or, at least rely on these decisions for buoys of current intent; because thought is weak, and thought changes, and thought reliant upon emotion is crippled thought.


Then, what is fear-driven thought if not emotion-reliant thought? What of setting your mind against something, fear of betrayal/betraying being the cause? Can this truly be considered a legitimate thought buoy?

And what about the case where, to deal with betrayal, or the near dodging of catastrophic loss or mental damage, you create a thought buoy as a scapegoat against a bystander? What if that bystander was in fact innocent, but banished for the underlying, unrelated reasons mentioned above?


But what if you were right all along, and the bystander isn't as innocent as it seems? And now we're back to square one.

Betty Breakdown

Ever had to deal with people? I have. And do. Not often. But one of those people is named Betty.

Betty Breakdown. As they call her.

They made a jingle:

When you hear whining down the halls,
It's Betty Breakdown's wa'try falls!
When you hear sobbing and wish it'd stop,
It's Betty Breakdown - go get a mop!
When you get the feelin' you're being watched
Turn to see those cheeks all teary an' blotched
When you walk faster but a little too laaate...
It's Betty Breakdown! (someone at this point begins a mocking sob)

People apparently don't get any nicer with age. You should see the jingles they made for Patrick the Annoyingly Faced Irishman. Actually, they didn't make any for him, sorry. By the time they say his name it's time for the next part of that verse. Example:

Patrick the Annoyingly Faced Irishman is,
Patrick the Annoyingly Faced Irishman to,
Patrick the Annoyingly Faced Irishman faced,

See? There's only room for one more word after his name. Betty Breakdown is much easier. Anyways, yes, Betty. I've been told by the resident Kev Guard (or 'person that tells Kev things he just can't grasp') that I'm a good target.

Kev. A shoulder to cry on.


I hear her approach. Tap, tap...slower taps. Silenced shuffling.


Sniffling. A knock. My door's open. The knock wasn't necessary.

"Mr. Kev?" she says. I'm twice her junior. No idea why she calls me "Mr." I look up from my keyboard. They're really nice keyboards, but I'm used to laptop keyboards and for a while I'll need to hunt and peck. I'm averaging two words a minute. Long words.

"Mrs. Breakdo- Agh! I mean, Mrs. Betty!" I say.

It's too late. She's sobbing, eyes halfway closed, unfocused and spewing tears. Mumbling. Mumbling something. Maybe an ancient curse, I think. Hopefully. No, darn it...just sob-speak.

She pulls up a chair. I hastily stow any vulnerable items; papers, my laptop, the desktop's tower and monitor, the keyboard and mouse...my voice recorder which I keep in a pocket...

Nothing is holy to Mrs. Breakdown. Not even pockets with sensitive electronics in them.


The best defense you have for Betty is to put your hands on her shoulders and try to hold her back. She fights like a drunken, angry bear, however, and is known to angle her head backward so that tears gather in her eye sockets. This allows her to fling her head forward and drench you with the "stored" water.

Betty...


Yeah...I think I'll keep my door closed from now on. Or invest in a stun gun.

Kzzapow.

Brinstar, The Martian Queen, and My Life as a Teenage Robot

Brinstar is one cool word. If I were a word, I'd be ...well, alright, I wouldn't be Brinstar. But if I were a country, or city, or a secret underground lab where alarming transgenic experiments occurred, I'd sure be Brinstar. What does transgenic mean?...oh, it means that.


And if I could choose my first childhood crush, it'd be the Martian Queen. She's fabulous. I can't really have a crush on her now, just grudging respect. And maybe a little admiration. That's only a few steps below ...wait...

What was it about Ann...oh yeah, I remember. Because she says, "You love her, don't you?" and he says, "Yeah, I think I do... We'd never work." Then she says, "You could fall in love and marry me," then he says, "Yeah...and we could name our first son Jaymann, and we could watch the sunset every morning (sic)," and throws an arm around her.

Ann. She makes pain disappear.

(Tries to, at least.)


As for My Life as a Teenage Robot, it's got the same kind of hilarious fight scenes as Justice League Unlimited or the Incredible Hulk movies, coupled with the ability for the protagonist to be destroyed in diverse ways. You'd have to spend a minute talking with me to understand, really. Maybe I'll go into it further in a future post; as for now, I gots to go. Gots to go.

Go to gots. To.

...go.

"Give your wife a kiss for me!"

Ever realize something? Such as the meaning of the word 'sweet' (which evaded me for 19 years), or the meaning of the word 'excavation'? Ever created an alternate way of applying the word 'excavation'? For example, "We're going to excavate your entire fleet," and they're like, "Well there are a lot of walking dead bodies in this city, want us to knock them down?" and you're like "Actually not really lol hahah whew" then they say "Back off then lol weirdo ina box"


Anyways, I was listening to Christmas music. Nothing gets you in the Christmas spirit faster than listening to the same 15 songs for 30 days straight beginning the day after Thanksgiving...not like there is a need for new Christmas music, if all of you artists are wondering. Nope, we have about 10 classics (half are weird and one is ) and 5 hangers-on and that'll do for the entirety of the world's supply of Christmas music. We're sittin' pretty in a PRIDE, as they say, so don't apply any creativity to creating more songs. Jerks.

Anyway, the song Holly Jolly Christmas was on. Something hit me about the lyrics:

Say hello to friends you know
and everyone you meet

Oh, the mistletoe hung where you can see
Somebody waits for you, kiss her once for me

It's been said that you'll sing something you'd never, in a right mind, say. Ever noticed that last line?

Last I checked (which was never, bear with me), it wasn't cool for you to ask someone to kiss their significant other for you. In fact, I think that's quite creepy. Don't think so? Fine. Go to your boss and say, "Hey, could you give your wife a kiss for me tonight?" and see what happens. A sudden increase in creepiness is what will happen.


Or...something else might happen. Like, the phrase "No way, that's creepy! Eww!" and then a sudden increase in creepiness. When you make your boss use the words "No way" and "Eww!" in the same phrase, you know you've said something creepy. Yet, the lack of the word "fired" implies that it wasn't psychotically creepy.

I think the line between creepy, really creepy, psychotically creepy, and rose trimmer creepy is fine. Actually there are three lines. They're all pretty fine. And creepy. Especially those rose trimmers. Horrible, wretched, evil people, who do horrible, evil, wretched things. They deserve death and death finds them in disparaging ways. The *...oh, I won't describe it. That's not kempt.


Where was I going?

I forget. Point is, the guy who wrote this song: creepy. But not psychotically creepy. Just really creepy.

He's the kind who would pull a gun on you, but not the kind who would use it, in other words.


*-extinguish the candle just after they realize it's burning

Where Is My Pusher

I'm madder'n a wingless hornet. As you know, humble fool, hornets fly because they're really mad. When they can't exert their rage by creating upward lift and propulsion, they...uh...burn.

Anyways, I'm madder'n a wingless hornet. My food processor pusher is missing. There's actually two pushers. They're both missing.

It's like this. The food processor is used for two things: One, grating cheese twice a year. Two, slicing potatoes for scalloped potatoes. Which means that the food processor is used less than once a month. And that we slice potatoes in it more than grating cheese. Which we do twice a year.

Anyways, in the Dark Ages, or back when I didn't do the cooking, it was common for the pusher not to be used with the processor- and certainly not with potatoes. It was the culinary version of the bubonic plague, man. Bodies in the streets.

Then I started doing the cooking, and I realized that to make a uniform potato slice you need to put pressure on the potato; I used the pusher for the first time, and it's been sunbeams beyond the sunset ever since.


And now this. Well, it happened two years ago, actually, so I suppose it really hasn't all been sunbeams. It's been mostly sunbeams. Regardless, the first time this happened I had to listen to 40 minutes of Coast to Coast AM while I searched for it. It was a disaster. This was back when I would spend long, paranoid nights on marathon cooking sessions. Lasagna (with homemade noodles), Alfredo chicken spaghetti, stir-fry, meatloaf, pork chops and scalloped potatoes, and chicken chili (both chile verde and chicken chili). Those were the days, back when you could sell people food for rock-bottom prices and people could take food that wasn't prepared in a sanitary manner.

Days of yore. Now I must go to search for the pusher. And if I don't find it, the house is getting burned down.

3...


Hooray, the house is spared! I found one! It's dirty. Now, who puts a pusher away separate from its processor master? And dirty?


Y'know, even though I found my wings...

Where Hal Leonard's Guitar Hymnal Goes Wrong

My mom got me a hymn book (thanks, Mom!). It arrived, as these things usually do, and I set to opening it. I said, "I hope it's a guitar hymnal." A couple seconds later, I saw that it was an "Easy Guitar The Hymn Book 146 Glorious Hymns by Hal Leonard." My dad thinks I'm psychic now.


Hal Leonard is a creepy looking guy who wears what is likely a Satanic cross around his neck and looks as if he might not have a head and has a terrible ring on his finger which looks as if it needs to cast into the fires of Mount Doom. Sorry.

I didn't have high hopes, even once I found out that Hal Leonard was a publisher and that the creature on the cover likely wasn't the man who proffered the book. If this is the guy that they choose to represent the book...I mean, what, they ran out of funding so they reanimated a corpse?


According to all previous experience, if they're selling it, there's a catch. The catch for this book happens to be rearranged sheet music. Blessed Assurance goes from D Major to G Major, and the time goes from 9/8 to 3/4.

This results in the student being blissfully unaware that the actual key is D. From what they see, these hymns are all wondrously, perfectly suited to guitar...and once you realize it's been transposed (there is no mention of this in the book), you'll have to constantly consult real sheet music.


From what I can see, this guitar hymnal goes wrong in that it tries to get a lot of muscle (146 hymns) with no bone structure (just 1 page of instruction, and it only deals with strumming, and 2/3 of the page is devoted to pictures.)

Another kick in the side of this hymnal is that, while it would have been psychotically easy to have three lines of lyrics under the sheet music and chords, he opts to put these second/third verses separate from the sheet music and chords in a section called "Additional lyrics." At least the additional lyrics are on the same page.


The only good point I can see thus far is that he mostly refrains (get it? Refrain? Nevermind, it's hymn humor, you wouldn't understand) from intricate chords, using majors, minors, and sevenths with only a few cases of Asus4 or G/D. The result is that most of the hymns are playable to the beginner.


All that said, I do believe it will have some worth. It's really an extraordinary hymnal when you consider the cesspit that is guitar hymnals at large, but I won't use it except for secondary reference. There's gotta be a shining hymnal on a hill somewhere. Someday I'll find it. We'll be friends and maybe one day...something more.


Wait, that's creepy. Forget I said that.

Jesus Appears In (On) Guitar

Wazzzamyo 13, West Michigan.


I'm waiting for a Holy ...um...


...can't think of anything clever...

...must end post somehow...