Somebody's Daughter: A Path out of Porn

Welcome the 'tas2' tag.


So there I was, chillin'. You know me.

Then I saw the advertisement! It pulled on my heartstrings; the way it made itself look like an ax-murder flick (not that I like ax-murder flicks, but the advertisements are killer-neat), the way it offered me a view into modern-day Christian self-help on a very serious topic...I couldn't resist. It drew me into its world and there, captured my attention.

After four minutes of the same five, indiscernible words being sung fifty times to really bad contemporary christian music, I knew exactly what it was- a case of MDD. Music-driven-drivel.


"Blah blah blah I used to be a pastor, blah blah internet has made pornography available to everyone anonymously, blah blah blah blah."

Every episode (three of them, about twenty minutes each) introduced an agonizingly long, painstaking bit of music- and the last one had a grand finale of three words sang two hundred times. Two hundred times in rap = two minutes. Two hundred times in country = six minutes. Two hundred times "with feeling"? Man, oh man, that song never ended.

The not-so-bullet-pointed point of the movie was that some poor fool who is an pornographer is someone's daughter. This point, as far as I can tell, was only expressed in one song (and not the grand finale)...it seems more like a preview for an actual movie, yet they want to send this to every church in America. And they want me to pay for this.


\
Perhaps my negative feelings on this whole failed attempt at producing Christian self-help is based on what my mind came up with when I read the title.


Somebody's Daughter. (Lightning flashes over title. Dramatic music.)

A man, caught in the trenches of pornography addiction. No one knows. His daughter is at college. One day, he comes across pornographic images of her. Now he has a conundrum; he has to tell his wife about it, but then she'll know how he found it. A story of telling the truth, them having to deal with two disasters at once (and he gets his trust betrayed in a major way as well- and the parents, despite the awesome rift betwixt them, have to stay strong for/against their daughter), lots of tears, and finally triumph. And he realizes that all along, these women have been someone's daughter. Dunna dunn. Dunnnnnnn. Plot, storyline, tension, drama. Stories are like...well...I won't use that analogy, darn it.


Maybe I'm just bitter. Yes, that's it. I'm bitter, and the WHOLE WORLD is sweet. I'M THE ONLY CRAZY, BITTER ONE. JUST ME!







"I only went off course once in my life. I was fourteen and mad at the world. I even got a wonderful red leather jacket...loved that jacket. Few days later, as I walked past a corner, my first best friend hit me right across the side of my mouth with a baseball bat. Then my second best friend stepped out, and they started beating me with them...knocked out five teeth, shattered twelve, seemed to try to break my ribs below my breasts, split my left triceps open by blunt trauma. I kept repositioning...like getting comfortable in bed, but the goal is to not be hurt as much. I looked like a rotten, bruised banana once they were done...blood all in my hair. I cried."
-
"Wow.
"...
"What did you do to them?"
-
"I didn't do anything to them...I did burn the jacket and smelt the baseball bats, though."

Why Can't Dupful be a Word?

Why? Why cruel language-crafters?


What would you call someone who was a fool? A tomfooleriedier? No! Too hard to say. Then, how about a dupful jerk? It'd fit perfectly, for certainly!

It's such a wonderful word. Think about it. Think hard, now, language-crafters.


...oh, you say it looks stupid?




Darn it. I guess you're right. I guess that's the reason I'm not a language-crafter.

(Hangs head in shame.)

That's New

I think...


That I'm turning into a wuss. I'm playing Metroid Prime 2, and I just got to um...the fortress place. I won't describe it too much so that I can claim this as spoiler-free.

Anyways...I saw a Rezbit...and I whimpered.


Like a girl.

I said, "I hate em I hate em I hate em!" and it came out in a whiny, sissyish whimper.

Just like a girl.


I was so surprised that I paused the game (the Rezbit is still there) and started writing this. I know what you're thinking. "It's not that bad, Kev. Rezbits are obviously ferocious, scary monsters, and one jumped out and scared you."

I might agree, and I did forget that they exist. So it was a bit of a surprise...but Rezbits...well...they look like...they're...they're floating sea mines, alright? With two mace heads attached to them with some kind of invisible bond, so that they float around them like satellites.


And not only do they resemble three non-scary, small, floating sea mines, they also move slowly. And their two smaller satellite-sea-mines float around them pretty slowly, too. They can disrupt your view (making it staticky), and they can form a reflective shield, and they can launch a volley of blasts of sorts, but aside from that, they're hideously non-terrifying.

Someone shoot me in the head. I need some lead in my thought centers to toughen me up.

Or kill me. Which is what a craven wuss deserves.

Broken O Key

My laptop has experienced its first, non-software-derived breakdown. Something was under the O key, so I took the key off to remove the obstruction. I've taken keys off before. They snap right back on in a most unfathomable fashion...but not this time.


I'm not sure what happened. Regardless, now my only option is to press the rubber nipple and I'm just sure it wasn't designed for that and will soon fall off and I'll cry like a girl. It's usually a fingernail or toenail that causes the problems.

Don't ask me how clipped nails end up in my laptop keyboard. I couldn't tell you. It's not like I have a Barbie Nail Salon® that I have in my room right above my laptop area. It's not like that at all! Whatever gave you such an INSANE idea as that?!?!

I HAVE TO GO!

Kev Goes Bowling And To The Movies (guess which one he fell down at)

Well, we had decided a few days ago to go see a monster truck show or something (Father's Day, and all). When we discovaried (sic) that the tickets were approximately $400 a piece, and that parking (defined as sections named "Dehydration, "Heat Sickness," "Organ Failure," and "Pork Rind Sunburn") was $50, $40, $30, and $15, respectively, we changed our minds. The outrage of the parking really got us. Who charges for parking? Jerks, that's who!



...instead, we set out for a fun-filled day of bowling. The movie idea came later. My dad said "Mom hates us, and wishes us death; let us not provoke her slumber, for she desires not to roll balls down an alley like we men do; and likewise also, your brother does not desire these things." I said, "O rly?!!" and I woke my brother up. He told me, "Thanks, Kev. I completely forgot!"


My dad stood corrected. My mom woke up before we were off, and apparently she really didn't want to go. I decided that, since Matt wanted to see The Incredible Hulk anyway, we should have that as a backup plan if bowling didn't work out (i.e. if there were too many people there).


Off we went. La-de-dah, we were there. Not too many people. We got our shoes- a 13 is a bit small for me- and the balls. I got me and my dad a XL finger size, and my brother a L. The guy was pretty helpful. I wonder how he knew Matt (he has down syndrome) would need a light ball? I barely knew that. Those things get heavy after an hour of missing the pins.


I stepped to the plate. Mistake one, it isn't called a plate. I don't know what it's called. I type with two fingers, and hit the spacebar with my thumb, and shift with my right pinkie...I have no idea what a bowling stand is called.

My dad showed me the basic form. I've only been bowling two or three times and that was more than ten years ago. (I think I did win a game at a birthday party. Mom, can you confirm?) I thought you held the ball with the middle and index fingers.

I took too many steps on the first shot. My dad, ever helpful, was SURE you only take two steps. I released the ball. It wasn't a gutter ball, I don't think. I went off balance.

My feet slid around. I fell.

I caught myself on some invisible, ethereal object and managed to catch what I will define as a "temporary, impossible balance." Then I fell again. Before I hit the floor (I was falling very, very, very slowly) I accepted my fate. There were five parts:

#1: Slip
#2: Fall
#3: Somehow regain balance
#4: Falling again
#5: Accepting my fate and landing on my back. (I accepted it before I landed.)


Yep. Five parts. There I was, after my first um, pitch...on the floor. Looking at nothing in-particular. I got up, then proceeded to take the most difficult second bowling pitch of my life. I took half a game to learn not to fall (it came pretty quickly from my "learning to skate on cement" days), then one and a half games to fail to learn how to throw the ball straight.

Remember how my dad said to only take two steps? Turns out, HE takes three. And others take four or five. Yeah, way to know how to play the game, Pa. Funny thing is, he argued me...the proof was manifest at his next throw. "Oh, I do," he said. Then I said, "And they do, too." And he said, "No they don't," as the guy next to us took five steps. I think I got the order messed up, there...it happened, but maybe not in that order. OK? OK.

On the second game we played, he got four strikes in a row, then proceeded to not hit anymore strikes. Once I said, "You win a prize if you get a perfect game," he began missing.


Way to not win a prize, Pa. All coin-operated machine efforts were thwarted...

I can't spell tonight. I have to go. I'll post the movie review in another time. We went to see The Incredible Hulk, and my review is abbreviated as thus follows: Um...yeah...what's your point?

Y So Soaked?: Lionel's Last Chance

I woke up today to find a puddle of water on the table.

As you may know, we recently rearranged the house. The table is now the... centerpiece, if you will. Before, it was just a good place to set things. Assuredly, between my mom and dad, upon arriving home they can have that table filled to the brim with the stuff they take with them (my dad carries a basket! Like Little Red Riding Hood!), but with the table in the position of kingly adoration it is in now, it is neatly and efficiently removed to the far corners of the house. (By that I mean I just fling their stuff to his couch and her desk- hey, I haven't heard any complaints yet.)

So naturally, I put my laptop on the table. It fits perfectly, and it's convenient, because I usually use my laptop while I cook, but not even the dumbest stupid-fool would dare leave a delicate piece of equipment in THAT kitchen. That kitchen has about 50 knives in it. A few of them are starting to seem sentient.

For Mother's Day, my mom bought herself some flowers. She put these flowers in a "vase" on- you guessed it- the table.

So when my laptop, and my musical note's, and my voice recorder are on the table...and a vase full of water spills...

Well, let's say it didn't go the opposite direction. I am writing this from my mom's computer. I expect my laptop to make a full recovery.


Now, I don't know who's to blame, but I doubt it's my parents. I blame Lionel as the only cat inside the house. And he has a sheet of offenses relating to the table.

Counting this transgression, Lionel the cat only has one strike left. If he uses up his last strike, he's getting thrown out to the dogs, where they will surely devour him. See, he runs. They chase. He runs faster. They bite his legs off. This...this is the way of the country, involving too-difficult-to-explain-here dynamics of country laws, country courts.


If you mess up, we're throwing you to the dogs. Now I'm off to make something. Like...tea.

Repairing a Porch

Today I will show you how to repair a porch. Last year- back when my mom finally acquired a Nintendo Wii- I repaired the same spot, but didn't do as thorough a job as I should have. That was on December 22nd, and my dad was still in jail at that point. Now I am reaping the fruit of my not fixing it thoroughly by having to repair it once more.


We begin by examining the spot that needs fixing.

See the large section of wood that's lighter colored? That's the piece that's becoming week. (Weak- we'll get that in editing.) It's cheap wood, and it's thinner than the rest of the porch, so you can understand the problem. Not to mention that it's on the most used part of the porch.


Now, I removed all the fastenings. Several screws, and a nail. I had to look for a hammer; failing, I used the miniature kiddy claw hammer we keep in the kitchen. It only has one claw. The other claw broke off in the process of trying to remove the single nail- this was one of the times I'm very grateful that I wore pants, as because of their protection I'm thankfully still capable of having children. So I had to spend another 10 minutes looking before I found a medium sized hammer that worked.


Take that, you cad nail. See how it looks underneath?

Note that it needs more cross braces. That's one of the most stressed portions of the entire porch, and it has little support. I know this because, well, it's the ONLY portion of the porch we've had to replace. Now we have to replace it a second time. Precious and either Tessa or Penny are in the picture; probably Tessa.

Next, we need a saw so that we can both cut the supports and the new plywood section.

No...that's too old.

AGH, that's WAY too old!

Ah! Just right! Ever used a table saw? I wish I could say "It's really quite simple" but I don't know either. Because I'm unrelentingly smart, I'll figure it out on my own. Oh...and before you think this is all easy fun and games...it's been over an hour so far. It's not easy, fun and games when you have to hunt down every tool you need, most of them not working very well. Pastor says that the only way out of this life is a .45 to the temple...don't have that particular caliber.

OK, here the braces are in. See how I positioned them? That's called a "Y-axis inward end support." So far, it's been another hour- almost exactly another hour, in fact. (It isn't really called a Y-axis inward end support, but why not?)

Now to the pile of wood for the plywood. The pile of wood was supported by two metal sawhorses, and one of them got mercilessly owned during removal of the plywood. I got very angry and frustrated during removal. There were 4 2x12x12's, and 3 1x4x10's, and 3 sheets of 5/8x4'x8' plywood. Then there were two picnic tables on top- yes, picnic tables- and two milk-crate-sized boxes of tools. Then two tarps covering it all.

It was the whole "Maybe I can remove this without removing it all one by one" attitude that owned me. I was very mad. I haven't cursed like that in months! And months! In the course of my cursing, I rethought some of the meanings of the words I was using. Those things are downright vulgar, especially when strung together in just the right way. No wonder I don't like them.

Anyway, here's the plywood cut. I believe it's called "ripped." Because you "rip" a sheet of plywood. I don't know why it isn't called "cutting." It's the 21st century, dudes...we have cool new words to use. Like "cut."

There it is. It's not a very straight cut...I don't think table saws are designed to cut ...er, rip plywood. It's sort of a wavy cut. If I had the circular saw, everything would be fine and dandy, and the Muffin Man would have dropped by with a basket of lemon fluff and orange creme muffins. But my dad has the circular saw at his job. Thanks a lot, Dad. You prevented a visit from the Muffin Man! ...and now I want to make a lemon meringue pie!

Here it is, finally in place. Isn't it pretty? I think it is. I simply screwed it down every so often along the sides. That worked out well. It took 2 hours and 53 minutes to get to this point (not counting break/phone time.) Seems very durable, but there's one problem...


Now the screen door is hard to open and shut. Thus, it needs to have its hangers adjusted; shouldn't be too hard. Also, part of the problem is that our screen door has nail heads sticking out on the bottom- don't look at me, I'm smart enough to use screws- and those nail heads rake across the wood until they've sufficiently cut themselves a groove to move in. That's where the term "Groovemovin" came from, you know. You know, from the song?...no? Come on, everyone knows the chorus to that song! It's as popular as the chorus to "Pear Trees Don't Bloom In August"! ...you know that one, right? About how partridges are left without a pear tree to hang in dur...oh forget it, you uncultured nail.


I was screwing and unscrewing on my merry way to having the screen door adjusted just perfectly, when something happened that I didn't expect.

The bit broke.


Oh, the humanity! Oh, the drama! Oh, the pain! Oh, the nausea, heartburn, indigestion, upset stomach, and diarrhea! HEY PEPTO-BISMAL!...aw man, that completely ruined the whole "disastrous occurrence" effect I was going for. Anyhoo, time to find a new bit, right? E+Z divided by Z, right?

Once more, not that simple. By 1:50 PM I had given up completely. With no more bits to be found- my dad has them all except the ones which are too big or too small- my toiling was found to be in futility. In total, I spent 3 hours fixing the porch today. We'll see how effective my laboring was next year around this time.

Now, I am off to have a bowl of gumbo. Gumbo makes everything better. Including the fact that I should be milking right now, and dinner is nowhere near being started.

Why do I hate zucchini? I'll tell you why I hate zucchini.

Well, when I saw this picture...



It was "Man I love that stuff!" all over again. So, I know that we have mayonnaise, I'm pretty sure we have yogurt, I think we have cucumbers, and we of course have the bread ingredients. I think we even have the apples! If you don't know what Jew Food Challah Bread Sandwiches are, check this post: Challah Bread and Vegetable Sandwiches.


Now, go ahead and picture me toiling away for several hours, only to realize that some fool used all the cucumbers in a salad. Imagine the horrible sorrow I experienced. Then imagine that it was ALL DUE TO THE ACCURSED ZUCCHINI THAT I THOUGHT WAS A CUCUMBER! ERRAAARGH! CURSE THE ZUCCHINI GOD, ZUCCULES!

[like hercules]



...OK, I really found out that we were cucumber-less before I began toiling, but I still don't have to be happy about it.


...plus, it's harder to cook zucchini than eggplant. Looks like I'm having bean soup for dinner, instead, guys. Sorry guys...party's over.

I didn't do it. SERIOUSLY. I DIDN'T.

Alright, really, I didn't do it. Seriously. I didn't. I swear! It wasn't me! It was the cats! See picture, below!


Now, just because it's my pillow that's urine soaked, does not mean that I did it! I have, to my knowledge, never wet the bed!


Now what happened is, I have a bean bag chair on my dresser at the head of my bed (in my closet; it fits well.) One of the kittens- I assume, as the adult cats have never done this- climbed on top and peed all over it. I guess it formed a pool, as when I drug the bean bag chair onto my bed...well, you can imagine what happened to the puddle of urine on top.

I thought maybe there was a dish of water up there I didn't know about...but when I smelled it...it smelled faintly of cat urine. I then realized it was also on my shoulder in addition to my hand. I got up, slightly alarmed...perhaps this puddle is semi-sentient, I thought, as it seemed to climb up my hand to my shoulder. I braced myself to deal with a Venom-like being, perhaps an Ing.

I got up, only to discover it had completely soaked my pillow, as you can see in the first picture! Appalled, I got up and ran through the story in my head. Cats peed on bean bag chair. I did not do it. I flipped the chair onto my bed, I did not pee on my bed. I did not do it. I then got up, but not to pee on my bed, which I didn't do, because I didn't do it!

I went and washed the chair off in the shower. I then put my pillow and blankets into the washing machine. I cursed the cats to Hell several times during all of this.


I really didn't do it. If I did, I would have had to either

• A: get up in the middle of the night and pee on the bean bag chair, sabotaging myself
• B: pee directly on my pillow; however, this doesn't fit, as it was more of a "splash." Therefore, I would have had to first pee in a dish, then splash that onto my pillow- while sleeping.
• Or C: I would have had to, through telekinesis, will urine out of the septic tank, up through the toilet, under the toilet door, under my door, and either onto the bean bag chair or onto my pillow, and I would have had to do it from a distance, AND I wouldn't of known I was doing it. I think I would know if I was willing a stream of urine out of the septic tank through the air onto the pillow beside me!
  

Therefore we conclude that I DIDN'T DO IT, IT WAS THE CATS! I DO NOT WET THE BED AND EVEN IF I DID, HOW WOULD I HAVE WET THE PILLOW? HOW OFTEN DO YOU HEAR ABOUT LITTLE TIMMY'S "PILLOW WETTING PROBLEM?" YOU DO NOT! THEREFORE, I DIDN'T DO IT

WHY DOESN'T ANYONE BELIEVE ME

When Getting Water Isn't Easy

So, our well is down. Which I found out today as I went to gather water for the little flock. Uhh, sorry. I meant to say, as I went to get water to sustain me, my family, and my neighbor's family.

A sign was on the door of the well. It said, "Dude, back off. No water getting kay? Go to another outlet plz. GG nubtub."

"Addresses" to the other well outlets were provided. Several of them were also down (I didn't know so many well outlets could exist in such a cramped world!). The reason I say "addresses" is because it wasn't so much an address, but a random, unheard of, 1-mile-long stretch of "road." That's just great.

Now, had they said, "The water is poisoned at the other wells, please chill out on the side until the 31st so you can get water then," I would have went home a happy, contented camper, having caught my share of fish. But noo. I went out in search of the nearest outlet...surely enough, it took my 35 minutes (we'll get that in editing, like men) to find it. I learned a new hymn. "He Lives." I now despise it, as I sung it at least 500 times in the process of finding the well. Oh, and now I've got "Used to know some people, who walked and talked with me. But since I found salvation, they turned their backs on me" stuck in my head. Ugh. Make it stop...make it stop!


I pulled up, very happy to have found it. However...there was a sign up. "Dude lol, the water is like, poisoned and stuff, so don't drink it alright? Feed it to your dogs lol and your carrots too dude lol it's great for gardens and fields but it will kill you."

I paused for a second to assess my feelings. Resentment, frustration, betrayal, sadness, a feeling of futility, and the feeling you get when you are happy then sad suddenly.

I drove off slowly. I came home and found, typed, then printed out some directions. The lost sheep of the house of idiocy (IE the segment of mankind that is lost and stupid) would surely not be able to find it if I were unable to. I made an error, so I will reprint them tomorrow. It's not grammatical, just something I didn't know about when I printed them.

Following my own directions proudly, I set off in search of the second well. As I was driving down the road a few miles from it, a jokepot pulled out in front of me. Picture, below.

I followed him very politely, as I always do when getting water. How much sense does it make to overtake them, spit dust in their face, then pull into the well and sit there for two minutes until they arrive with a crowbar and a bad look on their face? Not much, I reckon.

Then I saw the sign. No, locusts did not fly out of the earth and eat the rubber off my tires...but I saw the sign. "Dude, uh, hi2u, lol. Well uh the water here it's like...also poisoned, LOL. sory to get you out this far but it has waay 2 much floride and it'll kill you dead if you touch it so...no drinky aright?"


I drove away slowly once more. I decided that, instead of return defeated, I would go back to the first well that was poisoned and get some of their water. If we have 1500 gallons, that should dilute the poisoned 500 gallons. On the way there, I saw some water! And I mean for reals! Check it out, below, doug.

Spit spit spit spit spit spit endlessly spitting water into a small concrete trench. Ah, the life of a polyvinyl chloride pipe.

When I arrived, I found the accommodations to be...less than stellar. On top of the poor accommodations (razor wire), I found that my water tank was attempting a valiant escape! Boy, you KNOW water is poisonous when your inanimate, non-sentient water tank tries to escape to avoid it! Picture, below. Note that it is almost falling off.


Regardless, the pump pumped water and the rocks kept the mud from swallowing up the tires, thus it worked. It took a long time, though, probably 9 minutes. So I examined my knuckles. One is particularly bad. See picture, below.
Doesn't it make you wonder why I don't use lotion? It makes me wonder why I don't use lotion. Am I the only one who is wondering why I don't use lotion? I guess...I am going on an intensive lotion program. I'm going to wear a glove with a bunch of lotion inside of it, thus lotionizing (or is it moisturizing?) my skin...intensively.

While the water was pumping, I discovered some good news! Yes, the "sticker amongst the gnats," if you will. Yes, I found out that Christ died for us! Check the pic of our truck window, below.
Well, I guess I already knew that, but it bears repeating. Thanks, Lord!


Romans 5:8:
But God commendeth his love toward us, in that, while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us.




Note: this is one of the only posts I have EVER not proof read.

Highspeed transfer VS. USB 1.0

So tonight I made an attempt to transfer some of my mom's pictures (9 GB worth! Wow!) to my computer. It failed miserably. The SD card didn't work, the new external hard drive we got tonight (a 500 GB My Book marked down from $170 to $130) wouldn't work, and it was just a mess.

These are the problems you encounter when you have a computer that is 6+ years old that has USB 1.0, no Firewire, no CD burner, and no DVD burner. It seems to be across the board; I get the same error message with the SD card as I did the previous external HD. It must be...I don't know.

Bah. Once more. Bah. Again, now, with feeling. Bah. Humbug! Humbug! Pancake flapperjacks!


I'll just wait until my mom buys a USB/Firewire upgrade...but then again, for the cost of buying the $40 upgrade, we might as well just buy a new desktop. OK, maybe desktops aren't that cheap, but darnit, I'm mad at my mom's computer right now. Oh, it's disclaimer time.


Disclaimer: I am in NO way an expert in computers. I studied purchasing laptops for about a week when I purchased my laptop a year ago, and it's easy to apply that to purchasing a desktop.

Go look at this Gateway GT5405E, and rage against my mom's machine with me. Ooh, feel the hate. Tss, burn.

A 2.8 GHz dual-core, 1 GB memory, 250 GB hard drive...only problem I see is that it has 2 RAM slots, and both are taken up by 512 MB chips/board/cards/whichever (max RAM: 2 GB). It's got Vista premium. The graphics processor looks like the only lmao but we have a (better) GPU on the current desktop. It costs $300, and shipping would make it around $350.

Then there's this eMachines T5230, which has the same processor as my laptop, only it's 2.3 GHz and it's a dual core. It also comes with Vista and a 250 GB drive. The difference is that this one has only 1 RAM card, which is 1 GB (max RAM: 2 GB). Actually...a reviewer argued that it has 2x 512, and Tiger Direct is usually wrong when contested by anyone. It has a Nvidia 6150SE GPU...only thing I know about that GPU is that it's shared memory, and I think the 128 MB GPU on our current desktop is 128 dedicated. It is also $300.

Then there's the Gateway GT5407E, which is almost the same as the first Gateway, except that it has a slightly different processor (it's still a 2.8 Dual Core), 2 spare RAM slots (max ram: 4 GB), and a 320 GB HD. It also comes with a TV tuner. I'd choose this model over the first Gateway, the 05E. This is the 07E.

I believe those 3 are the top 3 on Tiger Direct as far as refurbished in the $300-$400 price range. Now...would I choose the eMachines, or the Gateway 07E? First things first, only looking at Tiger Direct is a mistake. You have to vary your search to different sites, but given the choices...oh...I suppose since we already have a GPU, I would choose the Gateway. The 320 GB HD pushes it over.

The next step towards buying one would be A: see if the need is logical (it might be), B: get the money together and see if it's possible, and C: research the heck out of them and find others. But the really awesome, amazing thing about desktops is the ability to upgrade them. So any small lack of foresight can be remedied easily.


For example, I got Command and Conquer: Generals as a birthday gift from my dearest Granny several years ago. I was so overjoyed! I loved it already!

I put it into the machine, and...lo and behold...it didn't work! It would crash the game and dump me onto the desktop just in the opening movie. If it were a laptop, I'd be out of luck. But it was a desktop, so my mom bought me a...I think Nvidia GPU. Then it worked. I was happy. I think I may have peed my pants; I can't remember.



Of course...I would install the current desktop's HD into the new desktop just to spite it, therein taking care of the file transfer problem. Assimilation. The Borg have it down right. Anyway, I consider the hard drive the soul of the computer, and we've had that old desktop for 6+ years. It's also refurbished (we would not have bought a new one), so I have no doubts about refurbished computers. It's still going very strong, and it's a generic brand, to boot. Get it? To boot? Computer humor! Laugh, man!

Of course, first things first, determine if there's a need. We'll see how all this pans out.

My Computer Has 200 MB Left

Oh, I never thought I'd live to see the day. It's much too terrifying. I always thought that I would have my life taken from me or take it myself before this day. But it has arrived...and too soon. And at an inconvenient time. And a bad place. Drat.



Between my mom's wedding, the episode of Sticky-D, my music, my pictures, my C&C games, video game trailers and sermons, I have around 20 GB taken up. That leaves 40 GB floating around for various malware programs.

And that's only counting the heavy-hitters that register 1 GB or over, not the (seemingly countless) 200-300 MB programs, like haCkU.exe, or sLowurComp, or Spion-you.


After some managing, I have 13.2 GB free. An idea struck me. I could just upgrade my laptop's hard drive (as opposed to getting an external hard drive). This has a measly-feeble 80 GB, and on top of that, it's 4200 RPM. I guess that's cool, as it keeps my laptop nice and cool. I hear these horror stories about people who have higher RPM drives falling asleep with their laptop on their lap and waking up and there's nothing left but charred bones about the laptop location, typically their lap.


(I just now loaded my beloved voice recorder's contents into the Audio Dropper file, so I'm going to wipe the recorder. It's formating...formatting...formatting...GONE! Boy, "format" options amaze me! So quick and could ruin so much. 457 MB into thin storage space!)


It seems I could double the capacity of this drive for the cost of an external hard drive; for another $70, I could triple it. 250 GB.

That'd mean that I could have everything on my computer- think of the lawsuits! Then, in the case of fire (or catastrophic manifestation of God's wrath, such as "thunderragebolts"), I could grab my computer. That'd mean I can blog about the firefighters' progress as my house burns down, or the local priest's progress as he attempts to stop the raging thunderous lightning bolts. But...it wouldn't take long at all to fill 250 GB if you're talking video.

An external hard drive- one backed up by DVD copies or not used at all- would be my best bet. I still need to organize me and my mom's pictures. If I can ever figure out why my system backup discs won't burn I'd gain another 14 GB. Let me try that again; it'd just make elves fall from the sky of my world if it worked. Oh boy, it's writing to disc. Like it always does, then it stops.

Still writing; it's been 7 minutes, and it hasn't moved one percent from the typical freeze-point of 33. It's so depressive. Oh, boy, it's at 39%! That's 6 percent over the failure percentage. My hopes, they're a-rising!


Whoa! 56%! A green pair of stockings just fell from the sky! Either Link and Midna just blasted off to the Gerudo Desert, or it's gonna rain elves! 63%- I'M SMELLING PINE TREES!

Stage two of post:
Kev chronicles his adventures in "DVD backup disc creation land."

71%! I can hear the little jerks scream as they fall from the heavens! 74%!

86%! I am in disbelief. I roughly seem to remember my first Metroid Prime completion percentage was 86%. Regardless- the elves, I can see them a-falling!

It's at 91%! Hopes, don't stop rising now! Argh! 96%! It can't be! It's over NINE THOUSAAAAAND...sorry. Oh, I love that joke. Oh no...now I sound like a nerd! I don't watch DBZ anymore! I always hated it! I just like the joke because it's a horrific reminder of embarrassing voice acting. That's a clean, unedited clip, by the way...not sped up, rotated, with other scenes patched in and annoying beeps. Leave it to someone named "Metroid 149" to leave the original. Now I've gone and Carried on like a School Girl. And mentioned Metroid.

AHH, ELVES ARE ALL AROUND ME, THEY ALL WANT CANDY CANES AND PINE TREES AND I HAVE NEITHER! Disc one created! It actually worked! I can't believe it! I think I peed my pants! YES! Yes, I DID pee my pants! And it did work! Now if the others will only burn (3 to go), I can be rid of the 14 GB backup files. I will read Chuck Norris' book, Against All Odds, while I wait for it to finish. It got here today, and it is interesting.

The process is at 33%. Oh, feel the hope I have. 58%, and 10 minutes later. 75%, 10 minutes later. Oog, he just described his dad as an "alcoholic gypsy." Lol! Boy, I sure do appreciate my dad. He's a good guy. Yilk. 10 minutes later, the second disc is done. It's magic.

Ah. So, true courage is not the absence of fear, but the control of it. OK. He made a typo on page 30. Called his brother "Weiland" instead of "Wieland." What horrible proof-readers. I sit judging. There may have been a typo on page 38- "tang so do" instead of "tang soo do." It could very well be some Jedi pluralistic word trick.

Some time later, the third is at 90%. I have to charge my camera battery. It's charging. Egg. The process stopped...the third disc was rejected, ruining the DVD. Now I've ruined another DVD trying again, and now I've got a third disc in the drive, hoping it will burn...it's been 10 minutes, and has not progressed beyond the 33%. It's trying now, though. Good, it "caught."

Goodness, it's done. One more to go. I did not expect this would take six hours at all! I expected sitting back right now, enjoying a refreshing glass of ...uhh, refreshment...and watching the clouds roll by. Or...actually, no, I wanted to be sleeping. I'm going to go make my bed.

79%. Oh boy. I can taste my pillow already.




Oh, boy! It's done, it's done, I can go die now! My life is finished! Hooray!


After all these months, what seems like years, trying 3 other times with much failure, I've finally burned the discs! I can forever say "goodbye" to the recovery files!


I don't know if I delete them or not. I'll have to see. Tomorrow. I'm going to go sleep. Our eldest dog Hannah died today, by the way.

Things to do, things to do

OK, first on my list is edit the wedding for Bess. The (editing) program arrived yesterday, and tomorrow will be my first free day. I will attempt to chronicle my experience with the program and with editing the wedding to the best of my abilities, as it is the duty of I, the Supreme Camcorder Bearer. In fact, I was the only Camcorder Bearer, and like Obi Wan to princess Leia, I am their only hope.

But tonight I have more pressing matters. First things first, I need to eat. I had a great breakfast (my mom made pancakes, and I had peanut butter on them for the first time in a long time, and they were good, despite my ill-conceived complaining!), but that was 14 hours ago, and now I'm hungry. I will heat up some enchiladas that she also made. My mom makes good enchiladas. How? I don't know. She just does. It's one of those things that moms do. Or, my mom at least.

Oh, that burned my tongue. Ouch. OW!

OK, time to let them cool. I use a "three ouch" method for determining if a dish is too hot. Darn. I know, I'll "surf the channels" to see what's on. Fine, I'll settle on an episode of "Cops." I'm sure that says something about me, like I enjoy basic brutality or realistic suffering, but right now it's the only thing on and I learn stuff I can use everyday (like "don't do drugs" and "don't carry illegal weapons").

OK, that's done. Now to read my mom's blog.

Done. Now I know what a..."crying poormouth" is.

Firefox does not recognize "poormouth."

Troubling.


OK, now to make a post about []. Away to the next blogger window!


At right! OK, you can't see. Now it is 11:08 PM.

OK, the TV is annoying me. Off it goes. OK, the lights are annoying me. Off they go. One light on. Me and my mom's favorite light. It's a dandy little dude with a light blue finish who sits aside from the couch and provides excellent ambient light. But this is not the window I should be in. It is 11:14 PM.

11:56 PM. I am still working on it.


I smell dog poop. Darn it. Agh. It's noxious. Eh.

It's 12:35. Buh. I am going to find the source of the horrid stench. It is driving me batty.

OK, so far I've determined that it is localized to my chair. There's two possible sources; the horrible, filthy garbage can next to me (a defiled "recycle" can that my brother throws other garbage in), or the cat box (though, the box is 6 feet from my chair).

Having removed the garbage can, I no longer smell the noxious odor. Praise God!

Darn brother sabotaging me with his garbage can antics. "I know, I'll do this on purpose to mess with Kev!", he said to himself. (Kev clenches fist).


It is now 1:14 PM, and I do not have the post even halfway finished. It's a hard post that I had to reword 3 times (the biggest problem is that the "Painless Guide to Writing" arrived, and its advice seemingly kills most sentences- they claim it'll help you to *not* sound mechanical! It must've been written by a human-hating robot, or I need to read it more).

Goodnight. I am going to go sleep like a man gone mad. Don't you hate (there's that overpowered word again, let's use "dread" next time) it when you have to combine two large subjects into one post (a backstory and story), and you have to whittle it all down until it's short enough to be a post? I dread it. There, I did it!

Christmas season. The "most wonderful time of the year."

Sadly, with the Thanksgiving season evaporating like a small drop of water in Hell's bucket of despair, Christmas is "officially" in season. The winds of sorrow and the glazed sea of soulless eyes will soon converge on stores for one sole purpose: gifts. Merry making gifts. They'll mull about with fearsome greed.

I heard a story from K-Love a year ago. I guess the "Crossdressing Elmo" was the hottest gift (it came with a set of clothes that could be turned inside-out; one side would be a feminine outfit whilst the other would be more masculine). A lady from K-Love was trying to find one, and she got one reserved for her, and when she went to the store, the checkout lady had to tell her that the shipment didn't make it. The checkout lady either almost cried or did because everyone else she promised a Crossdressing Elmo to got very mad (and this K-Love lady didn't, and she was expecting her to). I think it was Crossdressing Elmo, at least.


I know everyone always says this, so I might as well jump on the bandwagon: hasn't Christmas been in season? I noticed Walmart put up Christmas decorations 5-7 weeks ago. I was getting some Meow Mix for the Damned Cats, and there they were. "Ho ho ho ho!" one Santa looked as if he were saying. Another seemed to say, "Ha ha ha ha, your momma wears army boots!"

I've never seen such a freak of a Santa. Ooh, that box made me angry. The first time someone told me my momma wore army boots was an old (as in my old, not old old) dentist. "Oh, don't you ever brush," he said during one of our first visits. "No wonder we couldn't detect any cavities!" he declared. "Ugh, splack!" he noised, coughing. He looked like he was gonna vomit or something. I guess he had some type of food poisoning. "OK, nurse...get me the scalpel...I'm going to have to surgically remove the plaque.


"All my years in the business, and this is the worst," he quipped. "OK, take him to the x-ray arena and let's try to loosen some of that with an elongated exposure," he said, out of breath. Once we got there, he started getting annoyed. "Damnable lawyers," he said as he pored over paperwork. "OK, kid. You tell anyone we shot you with an elongated x-ray exposure, and I'll tell everyone your momma wears army boots. Got it?"

I was 10 or 11 if memory serves. I nodded, wide-eyed, as they lowered me into the pit. I heard the silo-like door seal shut. Remember how technology was back then? Excerpt from this post:

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!

Speaking of concrete enclosures, Mr. and Mrs. Bruckner are moving to a new locale this week, and they are fans of the Red Sox. So I want to get them something. I'm thinking of making them a lamp with a Christmas stocking as the base. You know, a red sock. Also, it'll be a Christmas decoration. I am still undecided. Perhaps I will get them a...

Uhh...a pair of underwear. They're an...I am not quite sure how to put this...slightly elderly couple (but they don't let that put a damper on their spirits!), and they get cold faster than a group of young, smart, eager-to-learn Bible students just lining up to be taught!



OK...actually, I am the only one there under 40. Drat.

Actually...I don't know how old the Hitman is. He may be 39. I know he went through something around 10 years of training ("deacon" training"), so he's at least 10. He reminds me of Fulgore. You don't really know how old he is, but you can guess.

I don't despise Christmas. I simply do not regard it as the "reason for the season" (we don't even celebrate it). The reason for the season is the weather! Yes! Darn. Now I'm craving Riesens. Do they have ads like that? The "Riesen" for the season could be a minty Riesen with white chocolate coating. But, noo, Kev is an idiot.


It's hard to believe that some people actually hate winter. As much as I despise Arizona summers, I would not ever want to hate winter. You can find out why we don't celebrate Christmas with a simple Google search of "pagan christmas." It's not that we think it's evil; we don't find it necessary (and it's stressful!). Also, the celebration should not be his birth, but his resurrection. That's where the power lies.

I Corinthians 15:17-18:

17	And if Christ be not raised, your faith is vain; ye are yet in your sins.
18	Then they also which are fallen asleep in Christ are perished.

Not to be confused, this is Paul speaking to those who say that there is no resurrection of the dead (he's working through their logic; if there's no resurrection, as they claim, then they cannot have the remission of sins...you know, just like we can't justify taking the "promise" and "blessing" part of Israel's program without the "wandering through the desert like camels" and "cursing" part). Verse 12, same chapter, provides the context:

12	Now if Christ be preached that he rose from the dead, how say some among you that there is no resurrection of the dead?

(Italics mine).

So, remember: a text...

("The body of a printed work as distinct from headings and illustrative matter on a page or from front and back matter in a book.")

...without a context...

("The part of a text or statement that surrounds a particular word or passage and determines its meaning.")

...is a pretext (An effort or strategy intended to conceal something.). That's one of those cute catchphrases people use. It's true. That's why CNN says "We put the world...in Clintext. UH, context! Crud!" (drumroll)

On Hold: The Razor.

Well, since I have extra time, I am not quite sure what to do. Today, I called Walmart to find out if they had a certain electric shaver, the Philips Norelco 7140XL. Our old shaver broke, yet still today I saw my Dad using it. What broke, you ask? One of the covers came off of one of the blades (it's a 3-head model). He's shaving with the two while avoiding the other rapidly spinning, demonic, sharp head that would give him something akin to what happens to a raw chicken leg placed in a garbage disposal, but in the face.

I wanted to ensure it could not be bought from Walmart, and I also didn't want to trouble my dear, dear parents with searching about aimlessly for it. I gathered my honor, and all my courage, and put away my pride, and I called.

"Hello this is Walmart happy holidays, what can I do for you?"

"Uhm, yes, I am looking for a representative in personal care?"

Keep in mind that my voice sounds especially deep and I have trouble pronouncing some words as my sinuses are clogged.

"What the HELL do you mean, personal care?" the lady sounds outraged.

"Uh, like, personal grooming care," I began (I meant to say "like electric razors") to say, but she interrupted.

"Eww! What do you mean?!"

"LISTEN YOU LOUSY JERK," I began. I had to deal with this. "PERSONAL" DOES NOT ALWAYS MEAN SEXUAL ORGANS! AND GO TO HELL! AND WHILE YOU'RE THERE, MAYBE YOU CAN FIND A GUTTER TO NOT DRAG YOUR MIND THROUGH, YOU PERVERTED CARCASS OF FLESH AND BONES!"

"...OK then, let me transfer you."

• I am waiting now. First song that comes on is Away in a Manger.
• The second is "Sleigh Ride."

At this point, someone talks to me. They claim that razors would be in 'home care.' They proceed to ruthlessly place me on hold.

• The third is The First Noel, or something along those lines (it had "noel noel" in it)
• I couldn't identify any phrases in the fourth song.

At this point, someone else picks up the phone. Wondering who I'm waiting for. I say, "home care." "OK, let me transfer you."

• I couldn't identify any phrases in the fifth song.
• The sixth song is "O Holy Night."
• The seventh song is "What Christmas means to Me."
• The eighth song is Jinglebell Rock.

They then made an announcement that it's time for the employees to do a "safety sweep." I wondered if they would abandon their phone answering posts to do that.

• I couldn't identify the ninth song, except for the words "toda," "Elohim," and "Yeshua" (all Jewish words) in close proximity to each other. It was Jewish singing, and at the end I identified the phrase "rock of ages." Despite my efforts I could not identify the song.
• The tenth song is Sleep in Heavenly Peace.
• The eleventh song is "The Coolest Pair" by Clint Black.
  

At this point, someone came on. "Hello, who are you waiting for?"
I decided to change up my strategy. "Yes, I need someone to do an inventory check in house wares for an electric razor." "OK, please hold."

• I couldn't identify any phrases in the twelfth song.

Surprisingly, someone came on very soon after the last check. To ask me what I am on hold for. "I need an inventory check for an electric razor," I said. "Please hold." She put me on hold. In a sinister fashion.

• Sleigh Ride was on again as the thirteenth song.
• Santa's on His Way/Christmas Time is Here is the fourteenth song.

At this point, I had hit the 50-minutes-on-hold mark. Some lady who sounded happy answered. I told her, "I need an inventory check for an electric razor." "OK just a second, let me transfer you LOL" was her response. She was kind and nice and I believed her in my naive way.

• The fifteenth song was "I've Got My Love to Keep Me Warm," but NOT THE VERSION BY BILLIE HOLIDAY. Ugh. NO. NO. NO. NO. It was a guy. NOT A WOMAN SINGING LIKE A GUY WHO HAD A HORRIBLE VOICE AND NO GRASP OF MELODY.
  

Another representative answered. I was sure I could trust the nice lady from before who told me it would only be a short while and to keep running towards the goal!

"Hello, how may I help you?"

"Hi! My name's Kev! Oh, boy! I totally trusted that other lady!" "OK?"

"I need to know if you can do an inventory check for an electric razor." "Uhh, sir...this is the toy department."

I sunk into my chair as small squiggly cartoon lines depicting frustration arose from my head. She transferred me to somewhere. I couldn't believe it, within a minute someone answered!

"HI my name's Kev hi hi don't hang up PLEASE hi how are you!" "Iam(sic)...OK. What are you on hold for?" "I need an inventory check on a razor!" "An inventory check?" "YEEAH!" at this point, my tongue is hanging out of my mouth, I'm on the edge of my seat, and my eyes are bugging out with pure anticipation!

"An inventory check on food?" she confirmed. Still looking straight ahead, my eyes shriveled back into their sockets and with my tongue still hanging out, my open-mouthed grin turned to a malformed, open-mouthed frown as my eyebrows met my nose.

"No...razor. Shaving," I announced pitifully. No one would hear me. "OK let me transfer you."

It took several minutes for the frown to undo itself. I stared at the clock. Slow-motion set in. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Flea.

What?

Tick. Tick. Tick...

That's better.

• The sixteenth song was O Holy Night again.
• The seventeenth song was I'm Dreaming of a White Christmas.
• The eighteenth song was What Christmas means to Me again.
• The nineteenth song was Walking in a Winter Wonderland.

And thus with 4 songs 14 minutes pass. I then hung up. I had been on the phone with my Mom (I love my little pay-as-you-go phone and no one can take our love away!), and she checked, and they did not have the razor in stock. Instead, they had the model down from it. I asked her to just get that. I slumped into my chair and thought bad thoughts. I also asked her to get some white chocolate chips, some chocolate chips, and some red and green candy canes, so I couldn't of thought too bad of thoughts, but I thought as bad as I could. I focused on how I spent 68 minutes and 20 seconds causing Walmart a higher phone bill. Then I added some self-pity by realizing I hadn't done a thing while on hold except jot down song titles.

I sat slumped festering in my self-pity, disappointment and wrath. I considered calling off buying the lower model razor. While probably the same razor, I don't know why it's $20 cheaper. Some reason, obviously. And razors last for years, and I don't want to regret this in a year or two.

Then, my Dad called. Whilst wandering aimlessly throughout the store, they came upon a GIANT DISPLAY PILE of the razor I had wanted originally. My Mom was furious. She went right over to customer service to complain. My Dad narrated it to me:

"OK, she's in line. OK, she's talking to the lady. She's being very animated. Alright, she's smiling now, I had better get off the phone before she sees me talking!" (click).

I was then happy. I learned two valuable lessons from the process: always look for display piles when items are out of stock, and never stay on hold for more than 65 minutes.

My parents are now home.

The Test Turkey -- Thanksgiving post #6

My Dad, several days ago, saw an article in the paper discussing grill-roasted turkey. It's like fried turkey in the realm of ...y'know, moist type of turkey. I guess. My Mom asked me to make a test turkey cooked in this fashion a few days ago. Luckily, my Mom's job gave us a turkey. They are so kind. It is only a year and a half old. It is only a year and a half old. It's only a year and a half old. Year and a half old.


Year and a half old.



It is a 12-pounder, so it's perfect for these instructions (I suggest not trying to spice the meat under the skin- it's too weird!). It cooked it very well. The breast meat got to 165 as the leg meat got to 185; make sure to test each breast and each leg, as the heat may not be centered. Apparently, probe thermometers and grills do not go together. Don't do it.


Only problem is...the turkey smelled funny. The last time I remembered smelling that smell- old, old turkey- was when we slaughtered our own. Eeew. That meat was so terrible. I told you about it, right? It weighed like 40 pounds? A 1-gallon ziptop bag- completely stuffed full with nothing but white meat- went to waste? Yeah. It was too horrible to eat. Even my parents- ever the optimists- admitted it was, well, horrible. It took them over a year of licking their wounds to acknowledge it, though.

So...it turns out that I can't be sure how well the grill method worked out. With a rotting bird, I can't be sure if the utter lack of broth, horrible texture, and bad taste are due to the rotting bird or the method of cooking. I assume it is the rotting bird, so I cannot therefore comment on how well the grill method works. Did you know it takes like 3 minutes a pound to cook a turkey in oil?


According to a show on right now- American Eats, on the History Channel, DirecTV channel 269, episode "Holiday Foods"- my Dad was right that it isn't that sly chemical in turkey that makes you tired after eating Thanksgiving dinner. I thought he was right. Apparently, according to their little blurb, it is carbohydrate overload. What my Dad thought. I'll have to tell him tomorrow. Here is a link to an article I didn't have time to read but assume explains it anyways.

Below is a picture of the turkey, after finishing roasting. It took more or less the amount of time described, but I had to flip it one more time (the left side was done, the right side was not). I only had to cook it for a few minutes on this side.




I guess I, currently, rather dislike these paranoid different methods of cooking turkey. Maybe some day I will grow out of it, but I long for the days of Mom's good-old-fashioned "plastic bag" turkeys. Oh, those were the days, back before I had anything to do with Thanksgiving. Except eating at the table.


I do so hope that Mommy will pick up some type of turkey roasting rack, because we do not have anything to hold the turkey above the liquid which will gather in the pan below it and Thanksgiving will be effectively ruined without it. I need to bake four pies tomorrow, as well as clean out the oven, as well as everything else that has to be done in the world. I am feeling better, however...more energy, and my tonsils/back of mouth is no longer sore. I will probably let my Mom bake the pumpkin pies, actually.

1 day to Thanksgiving! I am getting completely sick of making these update posts!

Logan, the Sky Angel Cowboy

Well, it's one of those things that everyone flips out about. "Oh wow, this kid is so smart, he makes Kev look like an IDIOT!"

Over and over again. First, it was Ellen DeGonzalez (I refuse to check the spelling of his name), the child who should have been shot repeatedly. "Wow, he's so brave, much braver than Kev!" And then that one punk from Home Alone. "Boy, I know that he didn't really do any of that stuff, but he at least acted like he did! And that's FIVE times as good as our boy!"


Or, how about that kid from Power Rangers Turbo, who fulfilled the desires and wishes of every child ever alive? "Wow, he makes our son look STUPID! Why'd we even have a child if it was gonna be a LOSER who we're ASHAMED OF?!" WELL I DON'T KNOW WHY THE HELL DID YOU!?!


...well anyway, enough about me and my parents' quality TV time spent together. More on Logan the Sky Angel Cowboy. He apparently lives on a farm. I first heard this a week ago on KLove. He had to shoot a cow that broke its back and now he's whining about it to a Christian radio station. I don't know what's so hard about what he's saying. Doesn't everybody know that?

No? Oh. Well, then here it is [link]. It's a real tear-jerker. I was sniffling by the time it was over.


As I am sick and my nose is running. Aha-hahaha. For some reason it elicited very little emotion- oh yeah, it's because I'm a guy. Not a wussy girl. Now, I am off to roast a turkey in the grill. Apparently, it's like frying a turkey, but less destructive. I can't wait to see how my family likes it! Plus, I got to wash a load of dishes, do some laundry, and tidy up the house. Then, call my Mom and whine for hours about nothing.

Dad's Lack of Food Poisoning Knowledge

My Dad- despite the fact that he came down with a case of explosive diarrhea from food poisoning just last week- does not believe that food left out for days can give you food poisoning.

A living example is the food I made him Friday night. He was going to leave Saturday, and stay overnight at a jobsite Saturday night, so I wanted to make him a "delicious icebox lunch."

I made him:

3.5 leftover hamburgers from dinner that night
A half gallon of goat milk
A quart bag of doritos chips
1 dozen boiled eggs
1/4th of the Applesauce cake that I made
The "cheesecake" he made but no one ate (so I figured I'd give it to him), and a small bag of jello to go with it
A very large portion of macaroni salad (he loves macaroni salad like I love potato salad HINT HINT)
2 slices pizza
4 tamales (we made them on Tuesday)

Now, with a spread like that, wouldn't you be self-sufficient for a few days? Just the boiled eggs alone!

But no. He has to go spend $30 on a steak dinner, while we eat AIR! His reason? "I couldn't read any of your non-legible handwriting! In fact, anytime I see your handwriting, I don't even bother reading it, because it is so horrible!"


How often do you see a note in the morning- prominently displayed- and ignore it because it's "strenuous to read"?

I, personally, avoid such folly. He, apparently, does not. When asked why he didn't simply look inside the ice box filled with at least 10 pounds of food stuffs, his response is "because I didn't know what was in it."

That's like not looking in the refrigerator and starving to death because "you don't have a photographic memory and can't be sure no one placed a bomb inside it that will kill you."

To make matters worse, he didn't see fit to refrigerate it.


So he'll be taking food that's been out for 2 days to work to eat for lunch. And it will not be refrigerated there, either.


To make matters worse, tonight my Mom told me "Oh yeah, BTW Kev, I read that letter you left for your Pa."

I expected something along the lines of "We're going to set up an automated whipping machine that beats you senseless each time you make a misshapen 'i,' because boy, your handwriting is horrible! I couldn't even tell what letters you were trying to "spell," let alone which words!"

But no. "I read it, and it's perfectly legible. What I think is that he needs glasses."

"Wow...really, Mom?"

"Yes. Didn't you see him trying to read that bank statement the other day?"

"Uhh... no."

"He...had it upside-down."

"Oh. So it isn't me? It's HIM?! I've been developing a paranoid, delusional phobia about my writing for months and it's HIM?!"

"I guess so."

"Oooh. I hope he DOES get explosive diarrhea again!"


I'll report back the consistency of his bowel movements. He deserves it, I know that. Boy, those boiled eggs look good...he had to ruin them. Or at least I assume they're ruined. My Mom seems to agree, and she knows all about medicine and differentiating between colds and flus. My Dad knows how to differentiate between colds and flues. My right nostril is stuffy.

Samus Aran's famous Afterburner Cookies

Well, I came up with that name, and now I am craving them. They do sound good, don't they? Toasted to cookie perfection on the extremely, disintegratingly hot jets of Samus Aran's gunship.

Damnit.

They don't exist, and I have no idea what they would even be.


Have you ever heard of that one book that described what somebody made, and people everywhere began making it, and it actually became a recipe? I think it was...fried eggs, or something.


Maybe I should do that for Samus Aran's famous Afterburner Cookies. They'd have to be...a crispy type of chewy cookie. With some type of fruit in it. Probably dried cherries or dried cranberries (cheraisins and craisins). And some...thing. Oh, I'll think about it.

Have you ever had a craving for something that doesn't exist, and you don't know what it would even be (if it did exist)? If so, was it Samus Aran's famous Afterburner Cookies?

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~~````