That Second Dead Nikon Coolpix S10 Again (Again)

There I was, running through the hall to shut off the emergency alarm.

I hear a clack, clatter, clack. "Oh, dear," I think as I key in the code.


Good news: The alarm didn't go off. Remember the alarm from The Second Horrible Day?

Bad news: the clackery clatter was my Nikon S10. My second Nikon S10.

My first Nikson S10 died back in August-September after being dropped on the lens housing. I had that one for a good time. I took more than 10,000 pictures with it. It went to 9,999 and rolled to 0. Then it got dropped- like it had been about 5 times before- on a Walmart floor. But this time...lens error.

My mom bought me a new one, probably because she owed me. It was a complete surprise. She [called and] asked me if I could bring the box in because "the vitamins might be damaged by the sun." Then she expected me to open it, but I said, "Come on, why would I open it? That's stupid, I don't have time for this."

It drove her nuts because, usually, I open any package regardless of if it's mine or not. (They HATE this about me at work, by the by.) I had an idea of what it might be ("bring it in"?), but I didn't fully know until I opened it. I still "told her I hadn't opened it." You see, "I didn't have time to open it [a second time]." I opened it from the bottom so she couldn't tell I had opened it. Then she said, "Hey, look!" and I said, "What, it's another Nikon Coolpix S10?" Man, it was great. And I used the word 'open' a lot in this paragraph.


Wonderful memories about taking any joy out of my mom's buying me a gift aside, this second Nikon Coolpix S10 lasted until a few weeks ago. Then the whole alarm and Lens error thing.

Having lost two cameras to this obvious lens error weakness, I'm still going to buy another one. Am I mad? Am I stupid? Do I have a brain lens error?

No, I'm just hopelessly attached to the swivel-head design. Nothing else comes close. If you want to know what it's like...just think of your camcorder. Those- even the 5-year-old Hi8's- have swivel-LCDs. However, all the valuable buttons are easily accessed; with a camcorder, your hand breaks off if you try to swivel it too far. Because with a camcorder, the whole system moves. Along with the buttons.

With the Nikon S10, your hand stays comfortably not broken off, and you can adjust any setting you want except for Vibration Reduction and the amazingly useless "Face Focus" mode. It's a great camera. My camera holster? Not so great a camera holster. Next time, better camera holster.

The S10 is big compared to compact cameras, but the battery life is good. Somehow. And the 10x optical zoom is neat, though at 10x the quality is a little low. The coolest thing is the proximity of the flash and focus to the lens; it allows for very close closeups. Even closeups of mouths. I feel very restricted using any other camera (their closeups lose), and I've known for a while that the only camera that can shake me from my love of swivel-headed cameras will be a DSLR. Even then, I'll still have an S10 (or more recent) because, well, DSLRs suck.


Problem is...the S10's now sell for $400. That's a lot more than their original worth. Why? They addict people to them. That's why. I'm proof.

Then they don't make new models for years, and they stop producing them. So now I have to look into getting it repaired. Goodbye.

Not The Death Game

I've been playing the death game lately. I know I shouldn't. It's too nerve-wracking. Most of you see the death game as Russian Roulette, I suppose. I don't call it that.


I call it Metroid Prime: Hunters. It's a very lonely game. I think that's because it's on the Nintendo DS; most games on that system are lonely. I think it's because my DS is onyx black, and I play it in the dark, and it's really solitude evoking. Metroid itself is lonely, then when you add the floating nothingness that a black DS and a dark room provide...well, you're a spaceman.

I say it's nerve-wracking because Samus dies a lot. You can fall to your doom off of cliffs, or get crushed to death by pistons that, in the console games, wouldn't have caused death.

I call it the death game because I was playing it when I got the news of my great grandmother's death. She was 93. I don't remember much about her, but I do remember the day she died. It was her birthday. They (my mom, dad and some family) had pizza and cake. It was a comparatively late night. Then I got the call. "She died as soon as we left!" Thus, as I was playing Metroid Prime: Hunters when she died, I call it the death game. And not only so, but we have a pair of Death Bears, too, because they were a gift to her on the day she died. Since she died while she was alone, we think that the bears strangled her. Shhhh.


I digress. (I have to do that a lot, don't I?) I'm not sure which videogame to play now that I've finished Metroid Prime. It is either Conflict: Desert Storm, Splinter Cell: Pandora Tomorrow, Super Mario Sunshine, or a Paper Mario title, either the original or TTYD.

Since I don't feel like directing a senseless squad, Conflict: Desert Storm is out. And since I don't feel like playing a game that doesn't allow you to listen to sermons while you play, Splinter Cell: PT is out. I have gotten enough of Delfino Plaza via SSBB. That leaves it to a Paper Mario.


It's a tough choice. I am in a strait. I can go for the simplicity of the original, or the complexity of the second. Hm. Goombario, or ponytail girl. Fan-smack, or Vivian. Awesome train ride, or goofy desert train ride.

It's a decision made harder in that they're both played via Wii with a Gamecube paddle. Let's see...oh...drat it all. The original will take less time, and the second will take a lot more time. The second has that island "level" that I hate, but so does the original. Argh! The second has a detective mystery, a championship wrestling parody, a mob underground...

The first has a better haunted house level, and the awesome Shy Guy level...and short-stop the egg-baby...OK, it's almost winter. The original PM should be played in winter. Thusforthtoherefortotheretothenfortothere (or any combination thereof), Paper Mario 2: The Thousand-Year Door it is!


I find my selection process very interesting. And this is a fine example of a near-gibberish post.

Popoe, Come Home

You know who Popoe is?

Here he is after getting caught in a tree last February. It was a Sunday.



And here are some of his better moments, all heavily laden with pictures:

Lionel and Popoe get Catnip Stoned: The Werewolf
Attack of the Yarn Antenna
The Cat Chair's Catnip Residue




He disappeared. The last time he was seen was May 30th/31st. As you may know, Lightning's baby, Dummy, was born on May 30th. I would say some sappy thing about how as one life enters one leaves, but Dummy died almost 20 days later on June 16 or 17 and, come on. I don't want to say sappy, idiotic things like that.

The last notable event was this...look closely. Open the picture, peer at it.


Yep, it's what it looks like. Here's afterwards:


It's his tail, if you can't tell. So, I can't say that he left because he got headbutted and got his tail bit two or three times by a goat in labor, because I think he actually stayed around for another day. (He had no idea what a headbutting was, so he did not evade.) I think he left because it was June, and June's a nice time to get hit by a car, I figure he figured.



At first we were sad, then we realized...we hate that rotten ne'er-do-well! He was getting nearly unbearable. He's just too stupid to learn how to behave. We don't know what happened, but the theories are as follows:

Matt killed him and hid him.
He died under the house.
Matt killed him and Mom hid him, thus why she's so sure that he's gone for good.
He is actually gone and apprehended or hit by a car/truck.
Mom killed him and hid him.


Notice me and my dad did no killing? Yeah, shame on you, Mom and Matt. Killers.


Hey, by the way...expect a post about slaughtering goats, soon. Me and my dad are going to drown then behead and cut up a three month old baby! This is gonna be great.

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.

Second Rattlesnake of the Season

NOTE: 16 pictures are linked, but none are displayed in the post. You have to click to see the images, so if you easily scare, you're fine. Some descriptions are creepy, but there's no helping that. Pictures 1-7 are just the snake (with its head on), and I think picture 9 introduces the bloody stump of a neck (it'll warn of graphic content), and from there it only gets more graphical.



Well, I got a rude awakening today. BANG BANG BANG POW, my wall went. I had the mind about me to get up and see what was going on. My Mom informed me there was a rattlesnake. You may remember the First Rattlesnake of the Season. This was the second. Except this time, I had backup, so I was less likely to imagine a random, paranoid, fantastic thing happening. And I got pictures with the ultra zoom.


When I arrived on the scene, the snake was laying under the Little Blue Wagon. (plus zoomed). My Dad first tried to hook him with the snake rope hanger, but it broke, causing the snake to fling backward.

While my Dad was reloading (running a new rope) the snake grabber rope-hanger, the snake waited patiently. It almost fell asleep, it was so peaceful...it tried to escape, but got about 2 feet before my Pa finally roped him. (plus zoomed).

Then my Dad cut his head off with a shovel. Here is his bloody stump of a snake neck. Picture is graphic: link.

Then my Mom started being a jokepot. She moved the snakes' head (severed head) close to itself, and it...well, it bit itself. Just like the first snake.


The heads stay very alive for quite a while, just so you know. I would -never- trust a snake head, as reportedly their venom doesn't lose its potency. And when I say "alive," I mean "can still open their fangs and bite you," and they stay alive to that point for 15-20 minutes after their head is severed.
Obviously, they can still see...and obviously, they still have their other senses. They'll bite down on the first sign of warm flesh. It bit itself nearly as soon as we put it in range. Creepy thing. Or...would it be biting itself if it was severed from its body? Anyways, here's another picture. He thought he was biting one of us, and he was making sure he got us good!

Little Jihad, LJ, my Mom's dog, was the one who alerted us to it. Rhythmic barking. He is tan, as well as our old Snake Alerter, Jewel. She died. Anyway, here it is from another side. You can actually see his fangs. I'm going to make cinnamon rolls, corned beef, cabbage and potatoes for October 1st or 2nd. Oh, and carrots.

Again, they can function enough to bite you for quite a while. His body continued moving, as well. It stopped moving after...sheesh...35 minutes. It had been bitten and, I am sure, poisoned, so maybe it was causing muscle spasms.

My Dad is going to give the dead snake to his boss. His boss has a few little girls. They're...not too bright. Let me put it this way: if humans were stars, they would be charcoal. Burnt charcoal. They thought the last rattlesnake we sent them was a lollipop. Eesh.


Here is an interesting picture of the snake actually picking itself up. Heh. Heh. Heh...

Here it is afterwards. It's dying. You can tell because its face is sideways.

Here, and here. No more pictures.


My Dad took it into the house (of course, to put into a ziploc bag, all along the merry way dripping snake blood on the floor and contaminating with snake feces the kitchen), and on the way, introduced Precious to it. She did NOT like it. She kept backing up until she hit my feet, then cowered down. Poor kitty.

Tiger, on the other hand, was very interested. He went up and smelled it. Now do you see why he can't go outdoors?

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a date with some macaroni and cheese.

That Dead My Great Grandmother Again

Well, recently, my greatest Grandmother, Helen L. Stewartsky, passed away. I accompanied my Mom as the FO (flag officer) of our household, as is my customary position, to the memorial service. A lot of people showed up, not a lot of people had memories. There were two funeral operators: one short person, one tall person. Short One and Tall One.

I think it was the most dynamic duo I have ever seen. And I've seen some really dynamic duos. Link and Midna. "Sir, are you here for the memorial service of Mrs. Stewartsky Sr. III?" Tall One asked. "Why, I...I guess!" I said, overwhelmed by the sheer, raw base awenem of their operation. The Short One could cling to walls like the Beam Pirates during the Elite Pirate fight. She could also fly to an extent, it appeared...or, hover...

My Grandmother was one of the first there. Also, my Pastor. I was so happy to see him. I didn't know anyone else there, and the Short One was beginning to creep me out a little. "Hellfire and DAMNATION!" the Justice screamed when he saw me. He said he was preparing for the service, said he'd been practicing his grimaced shout of "HELLFIRE!" for hours in the mirror. "Well, you've certainly got it down," I said after getting over the initial shock. "I doubted my own salvation for a second, there!" I said. He nodded his head enthusiastically, smiling. His trademark.

We all sort of stood around a bit waiting for Molly, my Aunt. She was late. While we were waiting, I discovered my camera did not work, and...I WAS THE CAMERAMAN! Oh, no!

There was a bus route nearby, and I considered throwing myself in front of one of the big creepy things to bypass the severe, horrific, piercing blow of failing in my God given duty to record that service. I felt all of my hopes and dreams fading. I felt like a leaf crumpled and browning on the ground, awaiting the rain for a trip to the gutter to live out my life as a sewer leaf.


Then I remembered I had cleared my SD card. And...sure enough, I got to record it with my digital camera! It looks simply terrible, I am sure, but I recorded it nonetheless. I had something like two minutes left once it was over (whew); enough to take about 40 pictures.

My Pastor was kind of nervous, but he did great. Certainly better than I would have. I think Short One and Tall One were regretting not having the pulpit bolted down. He pushed it over two or three times, and finally settled for standing on it, towering above his captive audience.

"HELLFIRE, DAMNATION!" my Pastor railed. "EVERLASTING INFERNO, ETERNAL JUDGMENT!" he spat. "YOU'RE ALL GONNA ROT IN THE BITTER PITS OF HELL, AND EVERY ONE OF YOU KNOWS IT!" he shrieked in a primal fashion. "FIRE AND BRIMSTONE, ETERNAL SEPARATION FROM THE LORD!" he blared.

"ROMANS 3:23 STATES THAT ALL MEN ARE SINNERS REGARDLESS, AND ALL MEN, INCLUDING YOU, HAVE FALLEN SHORT OF THE GLORY OF GOD! ONLY DEATH AWAITS! THERE'S ONLY ONE ESCAPE! THERE'S ONLY ONE HOPE OF SALVATION! ONE LORD, ONE FAITH, ONE BAPTISM! YOU MUST ACCEPT THE GLORIOUS GRACE OF GOD THROUGH OUR LORD AND SAVIOR, JESUS CHRIST! PUT YOUR FAITH IN HIM, HIM ALONE, AND NOTHING ELSE!" he finished.


There was an awkward pause. When I looked over, somehow the audience, all but 7 or 8 of them, had recoiled so fiercely that they were actually sitting several seats further back than they had been. I saw no one stand up (I have totally awesome peripheral vision), so I can only assume they melted into the floor and slithered their way under the pews. Many of them had taken liberal use of the alloted tissues to stuff their ears as scalding tears of frustration streamed down their faces, their teeth gritted. It took them awhile to realize he had quit talking. The best I can describe their actions is "writhing."


Others, the older ones, I assume, had flipped over with their legs sticking straight up, kicking violently; they had failed their trek under the pews. Pastor's Wife, the Mrs. Raw Support, was there. She's...supportive. Her presence kept the audience from crawling too far back in their desperate attempts to escape my Pastor's voice.


Afterwards, everyone was really happy. I would assume as happy as someone would be to discover that a tornado had passed over their house, and they survived hiding in a cupboard. My mom instructed me to take a picture of the milling crowd every once and a while, and afterward, a lot of us got a "family picture" taken (I was shiningly brilliant enough to bring a tripod; I made them all look like fools!). I think most of us were there.

I didn't know my Great Grandmother. All I knew of her is that she likes fish and chips. After hearing memories exchanged and my Mom blathering with her family on the phone, I discovered that my Great Grandmother used to knit sweaters out of tears because yarn cost too much. She would best be described as "stupidly frugal."

Did you know that being too nice will kill you? Proven fact. Being too mean will easily kill you, as well. Being too clever will kill you. And so will being too frugal.

Among the things I overheard, as pertaining to her frugality:

"She was so frugal, she used to water her garden with her toilet water!" Eww!
"She was so frugal, she used to beat children herself, instead of hiring someone to do it!" Weird!
"She was so frugal, she would bake 'scorpion cakes...'" which is a cake pan filled with SCORPIONS EWW!
"She was so frugal, she used to do her own laundry in, you guessed it, her toilet water before she watered her garden with it!" GROSS!
"She was so frugal, she used a cheaper butter alternative - air! Her cakes were "stillbaked!"
"She was so frugal, once she had to have brain surgery (massive brain tumor), and she did it herself with two butter knives, a grapefruit spoon and a pastrami sandwich!"


On and on and on. Apparently, she was very cheap. But she never missed a birthday (her freezer would fill up with frozen scorpions; she used them like normal people use frozen blueberries and slash or cranberries), never missed a wedding (scorpion cake covered in fondant), and always put on a Halloween display. Her neighbor (he had a backhoe) would dig her a pit, she would push the children into the pit, and the pit would be crawling with scorpions. It was voted the neighborhood's least favorite Halloween display 58 years in a row.

She was...a human. She survived three cold wars, five hot ones, and countless dreadful, demonic, arrogantly cruel and evil Arizona summers. She seems like the kind of useless fool who enjoys summer. Curse her bones. God bless her for ever, that brave brave woman! Honor! Honor!


Afterwards, we received a call. All I heard was screaming and crying. I figured someone had gotten in an accident. I wore my suit, so I was dread to anticipate dragging a (possibly) decapitated family member from the burning, ashen remains of their failed 80-mile-an-hour freeway merger. In fact, I always wear a tee under in case I have to drag a (possibly) decapitated family member out of the burning, ashen remains of their failed 80-mile-an-hour freeway merger. I suggest wearing normal clothes under dress clothes wholeheartedly.

Long story short, a friend of my Mom's had a dead cat which needed to be buried. I dug the hole and covered the little darling up. A flower plant was planted on top. Rest in peace, Cloud.


Two funerals in one day. Do we have bad luck?

That Dead Murdered Wooly Mammoth Again

Feast your eyes as these giant ants feast on what may be the dreadful remains of a Wooly Mammoth in the snow.


Enlarge it. They seem to enjoy the soft, rich flesh of its head more. Rest in peace.


Rest in the knowledge that your death shall be avenged. The destroyer shall fall upon your killers like an army of ants on a wooly mamm...oh...man...sorry...bad example.

That Dead Bowl Again

Today it rained.

Rather, this morning. I was awoken at 3:30 AM by my Mom telling me how it's storming.

It was a thunderstorm- our third one in the last month, the first being on July 6th. I will blog about the second one, then this one. Is it just me, or is that dude who does the weather alerts really, really hot? I mean, his voice? On the radio? It's not wrong to be attracted to a mans' computer-assisted voice, right? For all we know, it could be a woman, right?...I mean, it is computer-assisted...

I will do the subject of this post, then I might as well do a TA update.



Today, a bowl died.

I am not talking about just... dying. Dishes die occasionally around here, and it is nothing to post about. But this bowl was different.

This bowl suffered.

This bowl envied the dead.

This bowl had 5 different colors of mold in it.

This bowl, in the end, had to be put out of its misery.

This bowl, in the end, begged, to be put out of its misery.


My brother brought it out of his room today. My theory is that it found its way under his bed or hid someplace. There it was assaulted by the mold. There were 5 different colors of mold on it. See picture, below.


As you can see, there is blue mold, white mold, black mold, gray mold, and yellow mold. The yellow is on top of some white to the left of the picture. It may be hollandaise. The only problem with that theory is my brother does not eat hollandaise, and, well, I haven't made hollandaise for at least eight months. So unless my brother secretly knows how to make hollandaise- or even likes hollandaise- and for some reason puts it on his spaghetti- on top of the white mold- I doubt it is hollandaise.

A moment of silence for the bowl, a courtesy not afforded such deaths as Bambi, whom suffered weeks with a horribly painful blockage of his urinary tract. Bambi was just a goat.

This was a bowl which was with us for over eight years.

That Dead Shovel Again

His name was Eagle. At least, that's what his sticker said. Today, whilst cutting into some particularly hard sand, his handle broke off. It was near the base- I don't think he felt a thing.

Most likely it was over for him in an instant. But for us, the suffering has just begun. Envy the suffering he was spared.

Rest in peace, Eagle. Rest in peace.

That Dead Goat Again

Well, remember that goat I mentioned? The buck, the one who has "urinary calculi?" Which resulted in...like...I won't describe it. But he died recently, and it took tons longer than we expected. The end result is a urine-smelling carcass. Luckily, I dug his grave yesterday. I mean, he died, so I dug his grave, but it was still lucky. I just don't know how yet.


I made the grave 3' deep by 3' wide by 4' long. I got five blisters. Oh, whiney whine. I did get a damn hell tan too. Sooo close to a sunburn... Oh! And my shoes arrived yesterday, too! They're one size too big, so I will send them back. They seem comfortable, and are dressy. Like, they're going to draw attention, they're so dressy. I love them! Currently, they're a bit uncomfortable, as I lose traction because they're too big, but that should be fixed with the size down. I am going to buy some new ...uhm...sneakers, as well. It's waaay too filthy out here to wear dress shoes.



Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go outside and feed, water and milk. Tomorrow, we're getting rid of the cows! YES! Brownie and Blackie, those accursed fiends! We'll take their bathtub, too.


Oh, right, you don't know. Well, we have a...oh well, I need to get outside. It is 4:11 PM. Be back, soon.


It's now 6:23 PM. Damned goats. I am back! I found a baby chick outside in the chicken pen. It is prettyful! I am going to name it Stompy. I think.


So like I said, you probably don't know, but we have a bathtub out by the cows. It's their water dish. So once the cows are gone off to slaughter tomorrow (double yay!) we're gonna...AWW MAN, I just remembered! I forgot to make my Challah bread! Be right back! 6:25 PM!

I am back, and it is now 6:30 PM. Yes, I made a loaf of bread in five minutes! Behold!

Okay, so crud, I'm going to be eating around 8:30 tonight. Oh well. I can live with that.


So yeah, their water "dish" is a bathtub. We'll be giving that to the goats. See, the goats have about 20 gallons of water. They drink 20 gallons of water by 11 AM. So they go without water for about 7 hours unless I fill it up, which I do. Strange thing is, they only drink about 10 gallons between 11 AM and 5 PM. Well, I guess that's not so strange, but you know what I mean. When we get the tub there, it'll be easy sailing. Unless a goat drowns in it.

My parents are picking up a horse trailer today. We're going to take those cows to slaughter ourselves.


Strainge. I went to Coast to Coast AM just for kicks to see how their "strange craft" was doing. Apparently, the writing on it is some sort of Klingon. Rofl.

Also though, I called my Dad to let him know. He had thought it looked "real" too. Of course, if it was "real," my opinion would be that it is a demon, as that is my view on UFOs. They move too fast to ...be able to move that fast. They would disintegrate, right? Anyways, so I called my Dad, and it turns out they are trying to find an autoparts store.

"Oh. Well, you need my help? I just got inter-" about this time, I am cut off by "YES!" a few times. I learned a while back how to use Google Maps, whilst on the great Wii hunt (my Mom also blogging= rocks). I also helped my Aunt once. I get a feeling of satisfaction, because well, if someone calls me, I can help them find a place nearby, and that's important to them. Such as, when me and my Dad broke down on the freeway, I could have called me and I could have found myself a store. As it was, we had to walk through gang territory, and they murdered us! Our bodies were found, dead, the next morning.


So, I guided them to an autoparts store. If I didn't open two map windows, I would've gotten them one within a minute, but it took like ten because it was a bit slow. Also, every time I would find one ahead of them, they passed it, lol


So it seems something wants me to not tell you about the cows. They stopped by the autoparts store to get a connector for the horse trailer they borrowed. Oh, but look at me, I'm rambling. Tomorrow, the cows are taken TO LE SLAUGHTER! AHHHHHAHAHAAHAH!

First Rattlesnake of the Season

Edited and updated Sunday, July 8th, 2007
Pictures will not be featured. Here is it dead: Dead snake closeup
Internet speed is still 160kbps up/360kbps down




So yesterday, I was playing Pokemon Pearl. Ahh, what a safe life I live, I thought.


In Pokemon, there are Pokemon called "alternate color Pokemon." I prefer "Shiny" Pokemon though. So, these shinnies appear like other Pokemon. Except that there's a 1 in 8,000 chance of seeing one. I've only see one in all the, probably over 80 hours I've spent on Pokemon Blue (Update: I got one in Pearl also, caught it, a Krikitune though). It was an Abra. Didn't catch it either :(

It ran away. But anyways, when I'm playing, I'm CONSTANTLY in the frame of mind of, "Is this pokemon I've never heard of before colored differently?" then I have to catch it and find out. The powers that be say that stars appear when it's a shiny, but I don't wanna take any chances until I know what those stars are like.



Last week, Friday actually, I requested my parents search for a BB Gun. I wanted one in case of a rattlesnake attack, so we could kill it without having to noose it then behead it. They were all like, "Oh, we should get it online." and I said, "well, I think you should just get one." So they got the Remington with a Scope model (official name!) and over the weekend I got a bit more accurate with it and stuff.


So...yesterday...I had to go dig a grave. A goat is gonna die. If you must know, he has urinary calculi, and he can't pee, so his bladder is currently filling to the point it is going to burst inside him and he will die. Farm life. Actually, at the moment, he has a hernia. Just...you know...in the front. *shudders*


So I went to dig his grave. I was still in that state of mind I am when examining Pokemon for a shiny. I was looking, thinking "rattlesnake rattlesnake rattlesnake." I had to go into the garden to get the shovels. Yes, I dig with TWO shovels. You wanna fight about it?


And there he was. One of the biggest, most fearsome Here the the festering, maggot infested tag of Things I Hate rattlesnakes I've ever seen! Three feet tall! FIVE TAILS, two heads, and TEN TONGUES! Two horns, and snakes protruding from its eye sockets instead of eyes!!! I ran inside faster than a steam-engine train burning nitro glycerin!

I got the BB gun and the pellets for it. It holds BBs too, but pellets don't ricochet as easily, if at all. He was still there! Panting, practically inhaling my very being! It sounded as if a plane was taking off with each rise and fall of its nine chests. Whooooosh, WHOOOSH. Whoooooosh, WHOOOOSH. And every once and a while it even sounded like a helicopter taking off!


So I took careful aim! AND I PULLED THE TRIGGER! I missed, and shot a bit below its head, causing it to recoil and begin to rattle frantically. Whew, creepy. It was about 1.5 D batteries around, and like 3 feet long or something.

I then got another vantage point. I turned around, AND IT WAS GONE! I thought, "hmm," but was cut off in my thought by the sound of a car revving. OH MAN, SOMEONE'S STEALING THE CAR TOO! I thought. Then it peeled around the corner, heading right for me! IT WAS THE SNAKE! It had its ten rattles hanging out the windows, hissing hysterically, and it had apparently grown arms! I jumped into the armored fortress that is the brokendown F250 with Hydraulic Lift support! BAM! it went! CRA.........wait...

Okay, sorry, that didn't happen. Sorry. So uhm, I got my other vantage point, and took a shot at it. I pierced it good. I then realized it was stuck inside the chickenwire of the garden! Note that when I had first found it, I was about five feet from it. I saw it before it rattled. I saw it, then heard rattling. Oooh, the nerve. It was looking at me. Both heads. Flicking its black tongues. All ten of them. Creepy.


So I took advantage. At this point there was no going back. I was about to give up. I shot it again. This time, I pierced its bladder. Urine was flying everywhere. Green urine. I shot it several more times, and pierced several more of its bladders, most likely amnionic sacs, all of them spewing different colored, acidic, demonic liquids of urinic qualities. Then I shot it some more. At one point I thought it was dead, so I shot it again, and it moved around all angry. Fifteen shots later...oh and...


A shot...is ten pumps. Hard to do 15 shots in a row. I am SORE. Each time it took me about two minutes to reload and another two minutes to aim. I was out there for at least an hour. So, it looked dead. Then I called my Dad to update him. As I was talking to him, it started writhing. CREEPED ME OUT! OH MY GOODNESS THAT WAS THE HANDSDOWN CREEPIEST THING I'VE EVER SEEN IN MY LIFE! PERIOD! BY FIVE TIMES!

...and I've seen about five goats give birth! Heh heh heh. So anyways, IT WAS WRITHING AROUND IN BITTER AGONY, suspended, about in the middle, by the chickenwire hole it was stuck in. Its head end and rattle end were both flailing independent of eachother. It was SNAPPING ITS VENOMOUS FANGS, all eighteen of them, everywhere! It struck the ground several times, and bit itself about five times. Bit itself.

That's how violently it was flailing. And this was just the time I could look at it, the rest of the few minutes were filled with uncontrollable shuddering and exasperated CREEPOUTEDNESS.

EWW THAT CREEPY JERK! Man. Creepy. It finally resorted to- get his- sinking its fangs into and holding onto its own neck.

Several minutes. I shot it several times. It still held on, biting itself. It comitted suicide; Rattlers aren't immune to their own poison apparently. I couldn't get closer than four feet from it loooong after it was dead. I got a few headshots in, and finally threw a bag of turkey feed (we don't need it anymore, the turkeys were killed by the dogs some time ago) on it to cover it up. Coincidentally, this cut it in half where it was hooked in the fence. My parents say it was one of the biggest rattlesnakes we've seen. I had to kill it all by myself. Thankfully, my father 'exported it' to the neighbors yard. Heh heh heh. Their problem now.


So yes, the first rattlesnake of 2007 was slain by Kevinsky the Destroyer!

But let's look at this. Imagine I had not been so heartstumped on getting the BB gun. I would have been unable to shoot it with the BB gun. Now, imagine how much closer I would have been to it if I hadn't been playing Pokemon, and in the "shiny, shiny, shiny" mindset of constantly scanning for something?

And imagine if it hadn't been stuck in the fence?

I thank God I had it in me to get that BB gun, and that I was playing Pokemans's, and that it was stuck in the fence. That thing could have been a few more feet in, and I'd be A DEAD ZOMBIE CORPSE!!!

It's not endangered, so it was a clean, legal kill. I look back on it, and I feel bad because it got hurt. That sucks. That's the worst thing about the whole memory is that it got hurt for no good reason...it was just unlucky enough to come up against Kev.


Kev the Destroyer.










Jayme stumbles out of building; mist exits rapidly, walks down the few stairs, goes towards Dan and Ness, Dan scrambles out of the way horrifiedly; Dan and Ness have not seen Jayme for several months.

Jayme (leaning on Ness):
(out of breath, swallows) "You know what a horse is right?"
Ness:
(nods with concerned/worried expression)
Jayme:
"You know what a mace is?"
Ness:
(nods, faster this time)
Jayme:
"Good girl-" (shoves away from her and collapses in grass)

About that time, some dude appears in the building where Jayme was, on a horse (horse is rearing up for show), wielding a mace, cackling hysterically.

Ness looks with disbelief at Jayme as the mace-wielding horseman charges her. Looks several times between the two.

Tiger's Attraction to Wii Paddles

My ear hurts. My left one. It feels like I've been listening to music too loud. You know what they sa...hm. I am resting my head on my arm when I type, and when I type, as my uhh...arm...types, it makes a sound like someone hitting a cymbal. PSSH! BSSH!

That's alright I guess. That's my right arm I'm resting my head on, my left one sounds like a bagpipe. Good tune, too. Then the cymbal. BSSH BSSH BSSH PSSH goes my right arm with each touch of a key.


So anyways, my cat's name is Tiger. Well I have two cats. For now we'll concentrate on the eldest, about five years, named Tiger (he got his balls cut off). Pictured at right, floating in tropical bliss. He had a brother (Speedy, all black, green eyes), but his brother is ah...how do I put this...planted? About two-three years ago. You understand, like, he got hit by a car, then his sweet, sweet bodily organs and juices got devoured by various scavenger beasts.



Maybe I shoulda just said he got hit by a car. Anyways the people were kind enough to bury him a little bit. The only problem is he got drug out, then they devoured his sweet, sweet bodily organs and juices.

Actually, it mighta been a truck. Either way, the fact remains. His sweet, sweet bodily organs and juices were devoured by scavenger beasts. Thus this post gets the Death tag reserved for Death, as it was a Death suffered. I feel bad for Tiger and my Mom. Tiger went out to smell his grave. He would lay out there for days just...laying there...he didn't eat or drink...

It took about a week. He would bring dead animals to the grave and lay them there. He would dig a little sometimes, and sometimes he would just meow really loud...more like a like...you know, a moan or something. He missed him so much...he built Speedy a gravestone, too, and kept it stocked with fresh flowers.

Tiger and Speedy pictured at left, competing in the Synchronized Bathing competition in Momsh'room.

...wait (presses earpiece to hear better). Okay hold up...maybe he didn't mourn Speedy's death. Hold on hold on...oops, sorry. I DID make it up. Sorry about that...whew boy...



Okay sorry. I uh, so, after we buried Speedy, we took Tiger out there and he could tell Speedy was buried there, so we kept Tiger inside for like two weeks so he wouldn't get too sad. He really did start getting a little depressed/scared when he smelled his gravesite...poor guy. Speedy, he had his sweet, sweet bodily organs and juices devoured relentlessly and, most likely violently by vicious scavengers. Tiger, he had to deal with the mental trauma associated with losing a brother...much, much worse, right?




I like the Wii system. Awesome system. And I am non-combative when it comes to other systems. I don't have experience with them so I will not pretend to. If someone says, "Man, the Wii sucks. PS3 is SO innovative!" I would probably, you know, break their arms so...I WILL defend what I know, but I won't go making claims about personal preferences, such as, maybe some people like eating ice cream with citric acid sprinkled on top they're called crackheads but that doesn't make them freaks. System preference is a personal thing, and not logically based. That much is obvious if you are intellectually honest.

So I get kinda...like...wigged out...when I see Tiger playing with a Wii paddle. I call controllers Paddles by the way, I can't help it. I say "controller" but I say "paddle" first, then 'controller' is crammed into the last e, and it isn't audible. Try it. Try to say 'controller' in the time it takes you to say the e in 'paddle.' Hard huh? Yes, it is a silent e...so, you know, logically. And all...and uh...yeah...

Dunno what it is he likes so much about them. It's something to do with the cords. I think he thinks they're strings. Or maybe...the Wiimote falls, then drags the Nunchuk with it, so he has fun chasing them? Hmm. I bet that's it. Man...thanks for talking with me, I feel alot better now.

I am failing miserably in getting the water. The garbage cans are out there though, so I will be able to throw more things out. My poor parents are so mentally traumatized. And yet they feel bad for me because I can't sit down...




Song of the Day is He Is Called Jesus (Simeon) by Todd Agnew (uhm and Friends?) on his Do You Hear What I Hear? CD. It has came to my understanding that there are certain songs that are just like...timeless? I think that's the word. Such as God Help Me and The Orphan. Timeless.













(Dan turns on radio, Short Skirt / Long Jacket is playing on Radio, the Team is in a car, Ness in back seat)

Ness:
Is this like a...porno theme song or what?

Jayme looks back and shakes head several times:
You look too much into things.

Ness crosses arms in Ninja disapproval stance *which I have yet to figure out, I think I have Ninja greeting stance figured out*.

(when song ends)
Radio DJ:
That was Short Skirt / Long Jacket, played as the theme song to at the veehehehery least FORTY movies which are pornographic in nature! This is 102.013threeeheheeeey, all porn theme songs, ALL THE TIME!

Dan reaches over slowly and clicks radio off.

Heh heh heh.

I have a certain disdain for the word 'heh'. It just seems disrespectful to me...to you, maybe it would be like me saying "wahaha!" whilst jumping about. Maybe, flailing my arms, in the manner of, say, a chimp of some sort. Yes, difenatilie. Maybe not. Either way, "heh heh heh" is fine to me, as it's a type of sinister, or, dare I say it, evil laugh.

Or, God forbid, (evil) CHUCKLE! And chuckle is only one letter away from CHUCKLES, and Chuckles was one bad parakeet. *shudders*. Chuckles could talk. Like a parrot. He drove people insane. See artist's rendition of Chuckles, at right.

"YOU CAN'T DO THAT!" They'd exclaim. "STOP IT! NO! YOU'RE NOT A PARROT! N-NUH GET'AWAY!" (Chuckles was not getting closer to them in any way.)...they eventually had to move Chuckles to a building surrounded by water, so that when people jumped out to 'end their suffering,' they'd land in the water.

The water was kept at like 50 degrees, which took their mind off of Chuckles. One remedy to Chuckles Syndrome was convincing the patients that they heard the voice in their own head. It was easier for them to deal with that, rather than that a parakeet can talk. Shame really.

Chuckles was known to wear a lab coat and sunglasses, not necessarily at the same time. He also had many followers, much like...what's that one dude's name...Nostradamus. Chuckles died peacefully of natural causes, after a lifetime of eating many crackers including flour less (for passover!), fruit crackers, and crepe crackers. He loved those crepe crackers. He liked them with a side of cream and some apricot hearts. Yes, for Chuckles, apricot trees gave up their richest fruit. Rest in peace, Chuckles. Rest in peace burd.


So anyways, now that I've honored Chuckle's memory, onto the main topic of the post.



I should have called the post "Blowgun." Yes, all beware, I am arming myself for the revolution to hunt birds. Heh, heh, heh. Okay, well, there aren't really any birds around here...but uh......I suppose there IS a purpose to having a blowgun. What if I ever want to kill a squirrel, or hunt bunnies next door? Or...what if there's a killer snake outside, and I have to put a dart in it's face?!?! OR A WEREWOLF!

I can't shoot a werewolf in the brain with a dart if I don't have a DDS (dart deliver system)! Sheesh! Moron. So I'm going to order the Bunker Buster purple swirl color model. I like the color purple when swirled with black, what can I say. Also, I like the classicality of it. I am a classic person. Not the music though the music sucks.

$27.00: One Bunker Buster Blowgun in purple swirl, 36" two-piece model
$3.00: A plastic handle grip
$2.00: 10 Stinger darts
$4.50: 100 paint balls (assorted colors)

I also ordered a few more things, but for your safety as well as mine, and my ability to live lawfully under the laws of the Arizona law book thing, (courthouse) I will not mention them here. It was not pepper spray, and was not a telescopic baton. Just you know, so you can stop thinking it is both of those things. That I mentioned. The pepper spray and telescopic baton. Was not those.

I ordered it under my alias name, "Kevinsky Stewartsky." They'll never know who I am, as I slowly submerse myself inside my cloak of indiscernity, much like an alligator sinks into a pond to await its prey. Hehehe.

So yeah, my Dad will have some surprises waiting for him when he gets back. I'll have like, forty birds shot dead. I don't consider myself a killer. I consider myself a hunter. I kill animals. I wouldn't hurt a fly either. I've killed three birds in my entire life. I've killed five turkeys. I don't consider myself cruel. Let's stick with that one...

I'll update you on my progress. I will have to use my Mom's car tires as practice, so...well, she'll update you on my progress, too.


Song of the Day is Great Is Thy Faithfulness by the Newsboys, on their Adoration: The Worship Album CD. Me and my Mom have the same number of posts for 2007. We'll see who wins it in '08. This post took me three hours. Aren't I the fastest typer ever?






Jayme:
Are you gonna cook that thing for dinner?
Nessa:
(moment interrupted; distractedly) No...
Jayme:
Let it go then, it's diseased.

That Dead Cutting Board Again

Yes, I am retiring one of my favorite cutting boards. It's a Kitchenaid. Me and my Granny got it oh, like a year ago. It's just too damaged. Got onions chopped on it and mustard smeared into the grooves left by serrated knives too much...now everything I cut on it smells like, well, rotting onions and mustard. Not as attractive of a scent as you might think. I wouldn't bottle it.

So now I must seek after a new medium-sized, about 11"x17.5" cutting board. The Kitchenaid 'bundle,' which comes with one large board and one medium, cost us $20. I'll ask my Mommy to keep her eyes open. I don't think we need a second large one...although it could be cut down to size.

I'll bury it sometime. Poor thing.

On Billy Mays and Brooklyn (the Goat)

I've gotta tell you something, Here is the festering, maggot-infested tag of Things I Hate I don't like Billy Mays. You know, the Oxyclean dude. What a jerk. "OXYCLEAN BUY NOW!" and we all know it doesn't work. And I hate his voice. It's "kinda like nails on chalkboard," if you know what I mean. I just quoted the Mighty Morphin Power Rangers movie. But, of course you know what I mean! You're my friend. Understander, that's what you are (article contains coarse language). [Link removed due to language. Just go watch this video on my mom's blog, at the bottom of the post.]


That [the article I removed the link to due to coarse language] was written by a goat, and I can wholeheartedly say that that's an accurate depiction of goatness. Except goats curse more and say "GIVE ME THE FOOD!" a lot more. And make silent death threats until you give them the grain. Then attempt to carry them out. They deliver the milk though, and sometimes that's all that keeps them off of the chopping block. Correction, that is all that keeps them off the chopping block.

We had a goat named Brooke (Brooklyn). She was a dairy goat. A heavy dairy goat.



I had such a hard time finding a picture of Brooke that didn't make her look like Eeyore...she acted just like Eeyore.

Anyways, she always had trouble birthing.

The first time, all her babies (three) died because our then-'herd queen,' Dallas, headbutted her a week or two before she was to give birth.

Then the second time, I believe she just plain aborted (two, I believe).

The third time, she had birthing problems, but delivered 3 breathing doelings. Then she died of a mineral deficiency and left them orphaned, and we had to bottle feed them with milk from the other goats. She was a great actor, let me tell you. Her mere stubbornness made it so. The slow way she thought about things, like an idiot. It showed on the camera so blazingly.

She was the herd queen's right hand goat, blindly loyal. She was our (me and my dad's) favorite. That silly goat won our hearts with stupidity...what happened, was when her hornbuds were burned off (with an iron; that's how you keep them from growing horns) by her previous owner, it went a bit close to her brain, and it got cooked a little.

I'm not kidding.

Brain damage.

Update 8/23/07: Her babies are just as obtuse as she was. They're getting dumber by the day, and it looks like they are going to end up as slow-minded, clueless, idiotic- and moronic- as she was. Thus I conclude that the brain damage story is inaccurate, and she was really that stupid.


Anyways, she was a good goat, but she was stubborn and stupid, and my mom had a lot of trouble getting her "up, up, up on the milkin' stand." About this time is when my Mom would have shot her, had she had a gun in hand.


And now, you know what? We sold one of her birth of three, and have two left, and they seem just like her. So I guess I was wrong- it wasn't the iron- she really was that stupid.

It's genetic.

God help us.
More tomorrow.