The Horrible Day, Week 5, Post 3: Make Everything Right with the World

On Wednesday, after that we had stayed late cleaning the kitchen, I told Mr. dataDyne at bible study about my predicament. He said that I need to gird up now my loins like a man. With that pep talk (that's as peppy as his talk gets) and my Ducky Syndrome, I managed to not crash into a light pole on the way home. More on Ducky Syndrome later.



Now we'll focus on Thursday, the 5th of February, for a while, humble fool. Try to keep up.

The walk-in refrigerator purged of all rebellion, the freezers cleared of scourges, the ovens prim and proper, the floor bleached, the ceiling painted, the paint droppings from the painting painstakingly removed with a scraper (that maintenance man is a jerk), the mop bucket cleansed and the mop and broom hung neatly, the cutting board sanded to remove scratches, and with the doors lovingly propped open, my boss told me two things as we awaited our OSA.


First, none of this is my fault. Second, if we fail this OSA, none of what she does to me is her fault. Reassuring, right? Mrs. Merry joined us, and I left; she's the kitchen manager, and I don't really need to be there, just to be available if the inspectors want to meet me. Lemmings (or employees) kept casually walking into the kitchen to see how they were doing. That didn't go over well.

Soon the inspectors arrived. Three of them, all guys. I went and hid myself in my office and frenziedly checked my email; Vixen forwarded me an obvious scam email for fast cash. She's wiggy, but in a colorful kind of way. I emailed her back: "I've already got so much money that I can't spend it fast enough. Maybe I'll buy you some shampoo." I knew that that would eat at her for hours.

Time slowed. But it also sped, so half of the time it was slow, half of the time it was fast. Honestly, I couldn't tell when it was fast or when it was slow. It seemed just like normal time, but man, it was fluctuating, I just couldn't tell. I attempted to call Manny Hitman. She's hard to reach sometimes, and her voice message (welcome to "message boxland") is really weird.

Foiled, I paced; I browsed recipes for peanut butter pie (and contemplated how that could ever be good), I pondered pecan pie (Mrs. Merry loves them), and I felt somber but excited at the same time. Then out of nowhere, I was broadsided by guilt.

I'm not often absent-minded, but sometimes my mind is not on the matter at hand. It was in that moment of clarity that I realized I hadn't played video games for about a month.

And then I realized that I still haven't completed Metroid Prime 2: Echoes. I wimped out; I didn't want to face the end, and the assured death that would follow me; I hate it when Samus dies. It bothers me, and so I stopped playing. Fear of a hard fight is a common problem with gamers.

At this point, I didn't really care whether we passed or failed. I was a sad sailor. My boat had a hole in it, you could say.


Good thing, though, we did pass. It's like this: Saundra (the inspector) is a little long in the tooth, and according to one inspector who trained with her years back, is going kind of nuts. Problem, she's so adored that they don't want to fire her. The OSA was to start us out with a clean slate, and "hopefully we could all put this behind us."

Sweetheart inspections, HERE WE COME! YEEHAW!


Also, more protesters (picketers/ASPCA flyer and phone campaign) showed up, but that's not so important. During the pre-inspection cleanup (we wanted to be sure we passed), I got to rearrange the kitchen to my liking. Now, that's what I call a functional disaster!

I may have left out some details. If I have, I'll post it in a future post and call it "The Lost Post." Now if you'll excuse me, I've got some articles on hair care to forward, and some video games to play. Not necessarily in that order.

Where Have All The Moon Pies Gone?

A time ago, at least 9 years, I went with my dad to get a copy of The Sims. I was confused; I thought that you actually went and worked a job with your Sims, i.e., you got to seek revenge on your enemies as a corrupt cop or choose choice houses to ransack as a thief. I wasn't much into peaceable living when I was 10.

Turns out, The Sims doesn't allow you to micromanage your career. No virtual thieving for Kev. I had no idea Grand Theft Auto was around.

(Choose and choice. That's pretty neat.)

Anyway, on our way to get that game, we stopped by a certain store and got a Moon Pie.

Now, I hate Moon Pies.

But I'm a very nostalgic person. I like memories. I dislike memories. Memories can move me, memories can...cause me to...rebel against them. I'm trying to be prosaic, here.

Oh my goodness! Prosaic is a word! I had no idea! I meant to write prose, but I wrote prosaic. I'm so smart, it hurts. No prosastic, procrastic, or prosarositarious for me. I'm a genius.

...problem is, prose is the exact opposite of what I meant. Isn't the irony ironic? I'm getting distracted. Yes, it seems that the Moon Pies have disappeared. It's been many moons since I've had a Moon Pie, but I quite remember seeing them as recently as a year ago. I always think, "Wow, Moon Pies are not good."


For some reason, God only remembers as I forgot, my nostalgia was engaged for Moon Pies. Maybe it's the long, forgotten blond hair, or the orange, gray-black-green suit, or perhaps the gnawing guilt. Definitely the suit. That suit is awesome. And adaptable. And stretchy. But in a rigid sort of way.

I think, or it seems, that I liken Moon Pies to working with a fine woman; you hate her, but she's kind of alright. So I told my driver, "Driver, drive me to the finest establishment I know of to purchase Moon Pies from. The ol' Circle K on the corner."

To my astonishment, shock, and horror, no Moon Pies. Maybe it's the name I like. Moon Pies. It reminds me of the armorsuit.

Then, no Moon Pies at 7-11. No Moon Pies at FR. No Moon Pies at the post office. I even asked! They said they could receive a package of them if I ordered them. Hah hah laugh.


I managed to find an off-brand (Little Betty) at a Fry's. No idea where the Moon Pies have gone, but the off brand will do. They're still gross.

But they're kind of alright.

Meet the New Bookshelf and the New Bookreading Shelf Lamp

That's a weird post title, right? I'm trying a new thing now. I'm trying to write this as if I know what I'm doing. Cool, right? We'll see, humble fool.

Alright, you know my reading shelf? Man I'm feeling cocky. I think I'm drunk on my own awesomeness. No, I am not, I am wallowing in darkness and festering in a marshy type of gladness. Try understanding that three times fast, humble fool. I don't even get it. Think of it as interpretive blogging.

Ever hear of "alarm" words? Where a certain word alarms you? They say that the sound of a baby crying will alarm you- heart rate increases, etc. The alarm clock will alarm you. Let's all laugh at that last play on words. Anyway, yes, alarm words. Do they influence anyone other than ourselves?

Example, if I were to be alarmed by the word "ambidextrous" (it is quite freaky), would it influence you to not use the word ambidextrous any more for ever? Or would you not care? I guess I formed that question badly. Lemme give it another shot.

Wait, that's not what this post is about. Sorry.


The new book shelf. Right. See, I have a dresser in my closet. And above that dresser is your standard closet top shelf. It has stuff on it. I still won't give up my N64 or SNES (or even Dreamcast or NES, I'm a loser), so I need to store them. They take up space. And I keep getting more books and PC games (which are stored separately than video games due to their scholarly nature). And they keep filling the shelf in my closet up. I have to throw the older ones out to make the new ones fit.

(Just kidding, I actually throw the old ones out because they rarely meet my standards of excellence. And this is usually a continuous process, not simply to make room.)


Thus I got some angle piece things (the name, title or office escapes me), and some screws, and a drill, and a length of shelf. I removed that useless hanging rod that comes standard in closets and a little below it installed my very own Book Shelf. Ah, it's beautiful. I'm trying to find out how to make it less awesome. Can't think of a way. The only way is to make everything else in my room just as awesome. Shouldn't be too hard.


Thus the reading shelf lamp. Yes I know I just used 'thus' in quick succession, and since I recognize that, as if I were sic'ing it, I deem it acceptable. GG. I use a reading shelf for two reasons.

1: When I was 10 or 11 (those years blur for me), I read Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire with an improvised Reading Shelf design utilizing alternating hands and a large fluorescent lamp. It is more than 700 pages long and I think I finished it in two days or four days or something. Ask my mom, she'll know.
2: I've never really been able to get comfortable reading a book in any position that using a laptop could be used it. By that jumbled marring of grammar I mean that, if it's a position I can use a laptop in, I want to read that laptop instead. Laptops make the world spin on their ...its...um.

OK, that ended weirdly. Alright, so you remember my lamp that broke? No? Oh, I didn't mention it. Anyway, I kept it beside my bed, and it had a secondary lamp halfway down the main lamphal superstructure- this was conveniently accomodating to the reading shelf. But when the lamp broke I was out of light.

I didn't read anything for five years after that. I mean...no...that isn't right...LOOK, the point is, I installed a small fluorescent lamp under the reading shelf. It's sweet for two reasons:

1: My current main lighting unit is across the room. That means that I have to walk a whole three feet in pitch-black darkness to get to my bed after turning the light off. It's easy to get disoriented in the darkness, and this has resulted in many unexpected falls. Think about it. If it's dark, and all the house is dark, and it's dark outside, is it any wonder that I've wandered through my room door, the house door, and walked off the edge of the porch several times? No, no it isn't. There's no way to tell a difference between the three feet to my bed and the two doors and differing temperatures and thirty feet of the walk to the dreaded Porch Cliff, as I've come to call it.
2: This just isn't working out. Let me put it this way: Lamp = secondary light source. Secondary light source = handy. Plus now I can read, read, read, and not feel guilty for not spending the time on a laptop- because I can't use the laptop on a reading shelf- reading shelves are single-use, pretty much. Laptops make the world spin, but Samus Aran's shoulder pads reign the Sun into a cage and take captive the stars. Gosh I am fond of her.

Next up will be ... um...probably a new VCR/DVD player stand. That thing is just getting old. I think I might look into cabinetry, I'm getting sick of all of this "Let's not make a stand" riff-raff. Is riff-raff a word? It's two words? I don't care, good night, this is a weird post and long too. I haven't made one of these for a little while, have I?

Have I? I hope not. Lesson I've learned: Weird post title = weird and long post. GG.

Raise the Sign Up High!

Foreword, dictated to and thus transcribed by Kev: Have you ever thought how neat it would be to have your very own billboard sticking in your front yard? Well, I finally got my very own billboard today. Me and my son, me and my boy went out and dug the holes and stood that puppy straight up, sixteen foot high! Sixteen foot high billboard, 4' by 8'. No, actually, what is it? No, it's 3' by 7'. No wait, it's 38 1/2" by 75".

8"-high lettering and two white poles supporting it. Pretty soon, we'll be getting phonecalls: "OH look at me look at me, I need work done, pretty-pretty please!"

End foreword.


Begin KevWord™.


Ever heard the hymn Sound the Battle Cry? It's an old one. If you know it, then the following might be kind of fun:

Raise the Sign up high - See the passersby
Stop and stare a time - At the Sign
Ev'ryone take a look - This is for the his'try books
Tow'ring sixteen foot it ne'er shall fall!

If you don't know that particular hymn, you can say anything to the tune of Amazing Grace. So try singing it to the tune of Amazing Grace. Neat, huh? You can pretty much do the same thing with presidential speeches.

"I ask that the Congress declare that since the unprovoked and dastardly attack by Japan on Sunday, Dec. 7, a state of war has existed between the U.S. and the Japanese empire."

See? Fits perfect to the tune of Amazing Grace! Pretty 'amazing,' right? Get it?! Of course not, it's hymn humor, you wouldn't understand.


Anyway, the billboard is up. Here is a picture.


Yep. Billboard-a-rific. People are amazed by it. Notice how tall it is compared to the truck. And my dad, who is around six foot.

It was pretty tough raising it...a lot of it is welded, and one of the welds broke, so we had to take it all the way back to the house to re-weld it. But I welded it hard. That metal regretted ever existing I welded it so hard. Or, uh, good. I am not sure which adjective should describe force in welding.

Luckily there was a slight breeze, so I didn't have to breath too many welding fumes today. Welders say never to get into welding because you lose your sense of taste, smell, hearing and sight. I think that the fumes destroy your smell and taste, the constant noise ruins your hearing, and the welding ruins your eyes. Fun profession, right?


I am very sore. I had to hold the sign up straight while Dad positioned the truck to act as the main "anchor." Shoulders are amazing things, really, they are.


But of course, Samus Aran has already taught us that, hasn't she? Ah, Samus Aran. Her shoulder pads reign the Sun into a cage and take captive the stars.

Vote the Arm Cannon #1

OK, Samus Aran is up for voting at Gamefaqs.com. But only for today. So go vote if you haven't already.

No registration required. Vote the Arm Cannon and make your country- and your God- proud. Link: http://www.gamefaqs.com/

Remember, there is always a poll on Gamefaqs.com. So tomorrow there will be different options.

What I mean by this is that if you are viewing this poll at a later date than today, it could be "Will You Buy a Wii60, WiiPS3, or PS360?" and you will not be able to find Samus Aran as an option and I don't want you wasting your time. So this is like, time sensitive, so don't be stupid, alright?

Alright.

My Heart Just Melted

Uog.


Ever see something that you didn't necessarily mean to see, and when you saw it, it bowled you over and your heart melted into liquid and poured out of your mouth because you weren't expecting it? Like this:

John 19:34 KJV But one of the soldiers with a spear pierced his side, and forthwith came there out blood and water.

Let's "personalize" that:

But Kev was looking through his blog, and saw this post, and he fell over, and his heart melted and poured out through his clenched teeth at the sight of that stunningly wondrous visage.


Oooooooog. "A heart melted still beats."

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.

My Mom's Job: "Here, Do This Thing That's Boring"

So, several weeks ago, I was recruited to go to my mom's job to work. OH, GANDRAYDA, WHY, WHY! My heart is broken now. Have you ever had something happen that you wished didn't happen, but there's no taking it back because it already happened? Then you read something that reminds you of that something and all the feelings come back in a horrible whirlwind tornado of sorrow? Oh, would to God that the memories of her would evaporate from my soul. And that I hadn't mentioned her in this blog post. Oh, that pink metamorph!



Anyways. I was recruited to go to my mom's job. They always work me like a slave. "Do this, do that, touch not, taste not, handle not," they bark. Well, this day it was special; it was kind of like preparing for a birthday party for 120 people. I think it's illegal to have 120 people at a birthday party.

Regardless, there I was. Me and my mom showed up at 9 AM. I was on my feet until 1 PM, then I got to sit down for half an hour (I played my guitar), and then I was back on my feet until 3:30 PM, when it was time for me and my mom to have a 15-minute "Everyone but us is stupid" break.

From 1:30 PM to 3 PM, I was given the privilege of getting the coffee additives ready. It went like this: wipe the tub out with a damp cloth. Get 8 fake sugar packets. Put those into the tub, next to those, put 10 creamer packets, and then 8 real sugar packets. Then put 10 straws. Repeat 24 times.

Then I got to wipe down the salt and the pepper shakers with the damp cloth. Each one was splattered with...something sticky. So they took a while to wipe down. Here is my finished work:

I hate coffee additives now. And I hate salt and I dislike pepper. The straws? They're OK.

Then (after the everyone-but-us-is-stupid break) I got to make salad. Let me rephrase that. I got to make salad for 125 people.

Oog. Luckily, I got a competent helper in the form of an 11-year-old. He added the bell pepper ring and the tomato to the top. He saved me about 5 minutes of time. He did good.


Just when I thought my troubles were over, and that I would get to go play my guitar some more, a younger waltzed in carrying some people. By people, I mean these:

Oog. The sight of them makes me SICK. So you know, 'younger' is a word I use for teenagers. "Youngers." I.e., I don't mean "someone younger than me," I mean "someone who is within this age group." Interchangeable with 'hipsters.'

So anyways, one of these hipsters waltz in with these people. I approached to render air. I mean, aid.

First, he did it all wrong. So with my direction, we were able to get a few up. Then his girlfriend materialized. That's when things got tricky. I tried to run it down to her- "touch not, taste not, handle not," but she wouldn't listen. "OOH, LET'S FOLD THESE IN HALF SO THAT WE'LL ONLY HAVE HALF AS MANY TO DO LOL!" she blurted. He thought that was a great idea. I thought that they deserved each other.

"Listen, stupid fool," I said. "If we fold them in half, we'll still have the same amount of wall to cover, but then we won't have enough people!"

They stared blankly, very nervously/frightened. "OK, look," I said. "People. There are fifteen of them. There are ten people worth of wall. If we only have seven people, then how will we cover the ten people worth of wall?"

After a few seconds, he raised his hand excitedly. "Well?" I asked. "There are three of us!" he said. Then he counted us to make sure. "Yeah! We can stand there and make up for the rest!" He smiled real big. "Well," I began. "We could do that, but no." "Why not?" he asked, providing a shockingly thousand-mile, open-mouthed stare, as if his brain had suddenly turned to mush.

I just looked at him. "Because, then we'll have to sit there- for hours- and unlike the people, we jut out from the wall two feet. People would throw coffee on us," I added, frustrated. "But wouldn't that help us stay awake?" she added hopefully. "In a sense, yes," I allowed. "Regardless, we are not going to fold them in half, and we're not going to sit here on the ground like idiots getting coffee thrown on us."


This went on for at least two hours. And putting the people up was just as frustrating- either they wouldn't stick, or they'd come out lopsided. When we thought we were done about 40 minutes into this ordeal, the news came that we had more to do. "They are young and reckless," I confided to Red. "They are not ready." I forget what she said, but it spurred me to say "OK, I'll go gather my charges, then." It must have been a pep talk of some kind. Why do I know so many more women than men?


I digress. Remember the 125 salads I made? Well, I had to do the same thing with a cake. Or rather, a lot of cakes. If you look at the picture with the salad, you can see the cake near to it. Except that there were many platters of cake on plates. It was kind of sad that all of this brave food was about to be slaughtered. I could hear them singing "Muffin Man" and "BINGO"...innocently.


Then it was time to serve the food. I was assigned to switch the pans out. So when they ran out of corn, it was my duty to get the pan of corn out of the oven and switch it out with the other pan. I had to scream "AHHHHHH! HOT PAN! OUT OF MY WAY OR I'M THROWING IT IN YOUR FACE! AHHH!" at the top of my lungs while moving the pans so that they would know I have a hot pan. It's hard to scream in such a harried way and not match that physically by jumping around or moving violently.


Then the ceremonies began and concluded. Then it was time to clean up. The work was finished at 10 PM. I was on my feet for roughly 13 hours. Three days later, I noted that the flesh at the ends of my toes were still numb. While I was volunteering, my dad at home made the lid for the guitar case. It rained on the way home. Problem is, as soon as we pulled into our property it stopped. The more I experience this, the more I believe that our land is actually cursed.

Mission Final: Metroid Prime

I have finally finished Metroid Prime. Hoorah!! But not only finished it: Finished it with 100% of scans (I had to look one up which I would not have gotten) and 100% of items (no guide)!


But most importantly...I didn't die once, not even at the last! I ended the 'end boss' with eight or nine energy tanks to spare. Thus, 100% scans, 100% items, zero deaths.


Mission final, including the credits, at 3:18 PM; the time this picture was taken.


It took 26 hours on-the-dot according to the game's reckoning. It was more around 30, all things considered. My arms are sore. My shoulders are sore, especially. You would do well to wonder how on earth my arms and shoulders are sore after less than an hour of gaming, when I can game for many more hours without such discomfort. The best I can guess is that I was gaming really, really hard.

And that I was nervous and tense and being very cautious, as, having defeated the rest of Metroid Prime without dying, I didn't want to mess up at the end. But I made it through. I read Romans 8:37 and remembered Hebrews 12:2.

Rom 8:37 KJV Nay, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him that loved us.

Heb 12:2 KJV ... who [Jesus) for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, despising the shame, ...

For the joy that was set before him. That's what I had in mind when I bitterly assailed the last remnants of darkness, using all of my wisdom, mental prowess and reflexes. It's surprisingly draining, but I've done much harder things.

I discovered a very nice setup/trick for Metroid Prime: Turn the music low, and turn the volume up a little. It's a much better experience when you hear the ambient sounds clearer. And you can fight better. And Samus is more awesome, if it were possible. Her shoulder pads reign the Sun into a cage.


In the end, I stand victorious, even as a man. I ate the traditional pecan pie slice while I watched the credits...let's just say that pecan pies are not exactly the sugary, flaky, nutty comestible equivalent of Pepto Bismal and Alka-Seltzer. Oog.

Tradition.







Expect a header to be edited in soon, linking to a post with a master list of the posts I've posted about this playthrough of Metroid Prime within a few days...uh, post.

Metroid Prime Trawling the Third: You Can Hide, But You Can't Run

Minor Metroid Prime spoilers. No more major than the last posts of this type, anyways.

Saturday, July 19, 2008 - Hey, it's my 100th Videogames tagged post! This calls for like, a recollection of my favorite video games sometime in the next five years!


Buuurrrg. Still looking. No closer. Now I only have a few options left; two of them I do not like; one of these is looking them up in a guide. There are a lot of immature, immoral, and overall immolating things I've done, but God do so to me if I fall that far.


The other option is kind of risque. I mean, risky. But like my dad says, "Life takes risks." That's just great. Now I can see why he couldn't pilot that ship in Battletoads and Double Dragons. "Maybe that asteroid will disintegrate on its -PWOOFSH!" and no more Dad.


Well, time to begin. In the Magmoor Caverns. Like always. I'm going to search them then head to the overworld. OK...half of the Magmoor Caverns have been researched (or, re-searched) and now it's onto the overworld.

Half of the overworld (including the darn ship) searched, but I must now stop. I have a stomach ache the likes of which I've never had before. You know it's a bad if I crawl into bed and start reading Job.



Wednesday, July 23, 2008

OK, time for more searching. When I left last time, I ran to the nearest save spot, which happened to be in the Chozo Ruins. I heard the story of the Tortex pick and the hair. I guess someone put a Tortex (Dunlop) pick in their hair and it caught fire or something. Point is, "Slow and steady wins the race." I don't know how that applies to guitar picks or hair. But the talking heads tell me it does. So I'm going through the map really slowly and thoroughly. Really.

I've since adopted a new strategy: it's called turn the TV up, turn the Music setting down, and turn the SFX to the max. That will allow me to hear clearly the hum-hum-hum of the itamz I so desizer.

Ah, the Burn Dome. Memories...memories. Ah, Chozo Ghosts. Spectral entities, spectral entities... Ah, hum hum, th--

Wait just a slip-slappin' beat-a-dog moment! Stop your yabbering yap sermon-boy, I DON'T WANNA HEAR IT!


Silence. Let's hear it once more. BUWAaaaareeng buarennnng beurannngg, music to my ears! Now let's just find the sucker! I heard it at 12:40 PM. It's in a pile of long, red tree leaves. Some are fallen and on the ground.

Thermal visor reports no itamz. Scan visor doesn't show any scans available. ...X-ray visor shows nothing. Whoa. There's a secret passage that is impossible to see and that I don't remember. And it's a missile expansion! Woo! I gets it at 12:53 PM. Now I'm at 99%. 1% left.

So I guess it should be noted that itamz appear to let off the hum, hum, humming even when they're down a secret tunnel. Wow, maybe I've never completed Metroid Prime at 100%? No, that's impossible. My Cheatin' Heart says otherwise, and my Jeremiah 17:9 heart agrees! Now onto my next darling.

Wait just a slip-slappin', run-over-your-foot, slam-your-head-in-a-car-door, beat-a-dog, boil-a-frog moment! The screen tells me that 100% of all pickups have been acquired! That's just bologna! That's just pork butt!


Or is it.


Well. I ran to the gunship and saved and quit, and sure enough, the profile screen says 100%.

Thus forth, I AM HAVE COLLECTED THE MISSING 2%! But it was only 1 item! YES VICTORY FOR MEEEE

Now if you'll excuse me, I have a fine fabrics store to get to. My next goal is to start training for the end battle. Oh, what an end battle that will be. I have a few tricks up my sleeve but the enemy is gigantuous and very very evilly powerful. Hip, hip, 100%!

A Country Song I Actually Like

I don't entirely enjoy music. Or "muzic," if you want to spell it with a z, like all the hippers and the hoppers do. Like I told Mr. dataDyne - if you have a C, but it needs to be a G, cross out the C and write "This should be a G."

Sometimes I like music more than other times. It's quite ironic...I have the ability to memorize lyrics, but I don't like music.


I think the problem is that most music falls short of my stringent requirements. You may recall this:

He's [Marv Tailor] a good singer! His songs make me think of pure and clean things, like Adon from the Turok series and Samus Aran from the Metroid series! It makes me think of Adon because he sings imperfectly, just like she talks! She is probably my favorite voice actor in everdom, diary! If you don't like a game because it is scary and extremely nerve wracking, but you play it just to hear her voice every time you beat a level [every 3-5 hours of playtime], you know she's a good voice actor! Oh, and it makes me think of Samus Aran because, well, diary...street lamps, rocks, darkness, my eyelids, the sky, and thin air tend to make me think of her, too!

Excuse me while I defenestrate Philippians 4:8. That's OK, it happens with 2 Timothy 2:23 all the time when it's question time. Ahem, so yes, those are about the only two requirements for music for me. They have to remind me of Metroid, Samus Aran, or Adon from the Turok series. Or just Adon's voice. Ahh...her voice melted the Milky Way.






Where was I. Oh. The song.


I can't think now.




It's "Taylor Swift." I remembered. Should've Said No (link to YouTube search). I'm pretty sure it's the only country song I like. It makes me think of Metroid. But right after that, Less Talk More Action came on; Drunken Redneck has its high point(s), but the rest are all low.

I'm so mean. And I now must go. Sorry if you like Drunken Redneck. I'm sure you don't like Samus Aran, so you're the baser jerk.

More Metroid Prime Trawling: Come To Me, My Missing 2%!

Minor Metroid Prime spoilers!


OK...I begin in the Magmoor Caverns, from whence I left off last time. Remember that post?

And as to the title, see this post: Bess' Wedding #2: Come to me, my baby! (I hope I remember to link these two. I should make a header. I'll totally do that. Sometime.)


Right, I don't like the Magmoor Caverns, but I don't not like them, either. They're hot, the heat visor won't work right (it's TOO HOT!), there's lava, it's hotter still. There's FIRE. But they're short and linear, and there are some nice transports...and the Space Pirates are working on thermal energy, man. With lava! That's awesome. It's like cold fusion but really hot and nothing like cold fusion.

Aside, they're packed with sneakily hidden items, maybe my missing 2%. But not likely, as I've searched them several times already. Oh, and there are these gem-like things that are really, really big, and if they are gems, they are probably worth a quadrillion dollars. They're pretty.


...nothing. The Magmoor Caverns get walked through very often. Much wandering makes Kev a dull ax. Much wandering makes Kev a dull ax. Much wandering makes Kev a dull ax...




That narrows it down to the overworld, the Phendrana Drifts, or the Phazon Mines. There's a good chance I'll find my 2% in the Phendrana Drifts.

Four things:

1. Check your map. Rooms may have little shafts going out of them into caverns, and you'd be none-the-wiser without looking. Or at least less-the-wiser.
2. Use all three assistant visors to search for items! This is a great help and you'll get into the habit in no time.
   
3. Blow things up if they look suspicious.
4. Listen for the sound that items make. They cry out to be found. You know, like that old saying...that I probably shouldn't repeat.
   

Ahem, anyways... the Phendrana Drifts. It's Tallon IV's snow land. Probably my favorite area, but they're extremely tedious for the searching. Mainly because there are three parts...and there are......things. Like Sheegoths.

But I can't continue now. Time to make the bagels, at the behest of my aunty Sissy; it is Thursday, and I've searched most of the backside of Phendrana, up to Phendrana's Edge, and I saved in the Super Missile room of the Space Pirates. Few words, much tedious exploration.


[space]


It is now two days later, Saturday. Time to continue the search. Cue John Vertigo with the Revelation Overview dancers. Let's get this party started!


Drat. There are no dancers. Just overviewing...Phendrana Drifts are almost done. I've completed the loop that includes Phendrana's Edge (and the Gravity Cave), and the Space Pirate Research Facility. Time to dredge through the rest of the Drifts and then onto...the Phazon Mines.

OK, the Phendrana Drifts have been searched thoroughly...and that means that it's onto the mines. But now it's time to go, for I have work to do. I got to make a something for tomorrow [sic]. I expect it to be...turbulent. [evil laughter]


Wait, that's not how I would describe it at all! I expect it to be...great. [good laughter]


That's more like it. For you non-game-apt foo's out there, sorry if none of this makes sense. I'll um, post something special for you. Just tell me what non-game-related post you want, and I'll write it up. Maybe a post about flowers?

Quick thoughts on Fireworks

Happy 4th! I'll leave the patriotic stuff to my mom until Sunday.

Now onto my thoughts on fireworks.



Pretty
Wait, men don't use "pretty"
Well, Samus says they should - 'difficult theories' are annoying but pretty will do
OK, point
Two points, she has a last name, too
I'm right
Of course I am
Yes, very pretty
But they should not be red and green. Those are holiday colors- I mean- you know what I mean, Christmas colors
Christmas, pflaw
What is Pflaw
P'f-ff-law, from the Latin "uhh lol yah", like pfft, as in "yeah right" in a sarcastic manner but you know what I mean
OK
Back to Samus Aran
Yes, visors make seeing things clearer - I forget what the Dark Visor does
We should get visors, too
But we need a helmet, and not one that's half as tall as we are like that spandex-clad cardboard-chested weirdo whose name I currently forget
Agreed, I remember her name, and her freaky cardboard chest, but let us not think on such things, and beside, from whence can we create this sure-to-be-priceless artifact?
We can't, we need to engage in...genetic anthropomorphism...and mutate birds, then introduce them to Indians, and they will make us suit or at least a helmet then die running after Mother Nature
But I am not Samus Aran, why would they make me one
...us.
Right, right, I meant us!
Anyways...yes...that technology is beyond for the moment. For now we must focus on the finding of the Fountain of Youth, for to be living until then
I gots an idea - and it doesn't involve Jack LaLanne
Are you thinking what I'm thinking?
If you're thinking about 1 Thessalonians 4:17*, yes
Oh, I was thinking about juicing our way to youthfulness
I don't think we'll be getting any birds humanized soon enough
Agreed, we will continue this work in heaven
And angels are already basically anthropomorphic birds- we will ask them to make us a battlesuit, and then look through the visor
OK then, final conclusion: Fireworks: Creepy and pretty, but more creepy and uncomfortable than pretty
And ultimate plan: Trick angels into making us a powersuit for to gain a visor. This will be carried out in heaven as soon as we find some angels foolish enough to follow our directi--
-



Well, that went somewhat off-track, and I think by the end I was going to stage a rebellion against God. Now I see why Satan did it...but those are my thoughts, carried about by...me and myself, I think, on fireworks. Which we went to see today. I'll post about that when the dust settles. OK? OK. Oh, and here's that verse:

*-1Th 4:17 KJV Then we which are alive and remain shall be caught up together with them in the clouds, to meet the Lord in the air: and so shall we ever be with the Lord.


= "Fountain of Youth!" If you are not saved- and I don't mean "I live a good life and do good works" saved- and therefore not partaker of the "fountain of youth," then I strongly advise you to read this article, The Gospel of the Grace of God, from Berean Bible Church in Florida.

It poses this question, but I am paraphrasing: How does anyone make it to heaven? It is something I wish someone had explained to me years ago. It's not our works...it doesn't matter how good we are...and it's not the admonition to "ask Jesus into your heart," nor any prayer, or religious system, that saves you. Those have no power to save. It is only of faith on the Cross-work (that He died, was buried, and most importantly, was resurrected) of Christ. Nothing else is sufficient.

Years ago, I was convinced that I couldn't save myself by works, and that it was only Christ who could save me, but I had such a perverted/superstitious understanding (I did not believe that he died once for all; I believed that I had to continually ask for forgiveness, and that I would only be forgiven if I asked in a certain manner, and I didn't know anything beside what prophecy preachers said), it is likely I was on my way to Hell...but I was up-to-date on when the latest nuclear strike/invasion of Russia was to occur on Israel.


Thank God I'm saved by His blood, for sure.

Where's The [Other 2%]?

Warning! Minor Metroid Prime spoilers!


Murrumph. I've searched long, I've searched hard, and I've searched in water. I've searched on land. I've searched on top of humongous flowers.

I'm at 98% in Metroid Prime, and I can't find the other 2%. There are 100 items to collect in Metroid Prime...thus the 100% rating. So I've collected 98%- or 98 of 100- of the itamz to be had, but I can't locate the other two. There are five areas:

Tallon IV overworld (it's the surface of the planet)
The Chozo Ruins (remnants of an civilization of anthropomorphic hippie-birds)
The Magmoor Caverns (lava pits)
The Phendrana Drifts (snow land)
The Phazon Mines (the Space Pirate's mining operation)



I've searched them all. Apparently, not thoroughly enough. I must now go explore them all over again. I will start where I ended, I guess, which is more or less the derelict space vessel. Here goes. I hate this area...it's just so...particular. You have to go through murky water, and it's not spooky (as water can be), but it's just dull, I guess.



Nothing. Also nothing in the Great Tree Hall...now I'm onto the back end of the Chozo Ruins. I took 'Transport to Chozo Ruins East' to get here. Darned Chozo.

Alright...now the entirety of the Chozo Ruins have been searched. They're OK, but...there's those freaky giant frogs that try to digest you (and have tusks), and there's wasps EVERYWHERE. Sure, there are nice of lots...lots of nice things. Just not when you've gone through it looking for the last few items for the fourth time. And it's DANK! Man!

Nothing, nothing, nothing, and for the thir...fourth time, nothing!

I can't find the last two items tonight. I'll have to continue on tomorrow. I JUST...CAN'T...DO IT! For now...I save in the Magmoor Caverns. I'll search them tomorrow, then go give Phendrana Drifts a third searching. I get the feeling they're in the Phazon Mines...I've only searched there twice.


See this post for details on one of the Mine searches (yes, I did get quite a bit of examining done on this trip): Clad in Corruption: A Metroid Prime Post.

My Thoughts on a Metroid Movie

You know how much of a fan I am of Metroid. I mean...it's sad. Worse, I'm not your typical, hang-pictures, write-hundreds-of-fan-letters, spend-my-life-savings-going-to-their-concert, leave-messages-on-the-mirror-with-lipstick variety.

I'm your um...different variety. I am unsure what I am. I think I'm a fan of my particular personality...and you try nailing down my personality. I know I'm quirky, and I don't dress for success at all. And that's about all I know as far as my personality goes.


Anyways, the subject at hand. A Metroid movie. As a fan, I should be happy for this. My favorite character brought to the big screen...


But let me tell you what Metroid is not about.

1. Adultery.
2. Fornication.
3. Uncleanness.
4. Lasciviousness.
5. Idolatry.
6. Witchcraft.
7. Hatred.
8. Variance.
9. Emulations.
10. Wrath.
11. Strife.
12. Seditions.
13. Heresies.
14. Envyings.
15. Murders.
16. Drunkenness.
17. Revellings.
18. And such like.

Therefore, Metroid- and Samus Aran- should come NOWHERE NEAR HOLLYWOOD. That is the basest, most ...I swear, I...



Well. Hollywood is not something I want anywhere near Metroid. They would ruin it, and that is guaranteed. I can not think of any words, sentences or phrases that are scathing enough.

Let's just say that in my opinion, the ancient name of Hollywood may well have been Alexandria. Let me just let that sink in.






Actually... I believe that makes my point quite nicely.

Dad Plays A Non-Wii Videogame

Yeah...who would have thought? Sure, he can hold a Wiimote and press A, or B, and then swing it like an ape going from branch to branch and release it, but an actual game?


The only game he's ever played is Cruisin' World for the Nintendo 64. He got good enough to beat one of the hardest time trials in it (Egypt) ...Cruisin World is a real racing game, back from the days of good physics and better courses. Now racing games are practically a collection of shiny dust. That's why I hate racing games. They steam my carrots, and my broccoli, too. And they toast my bread. They boil my eggs and fry my fish, to boot. And they bake my spaghetti squash. I hates em.


The next thing, I think, was Wii Sports. There's like, a 10-year gap between games he's played. It reminds me of the Eight Years of Silence from Super Metroid to Metroid Prime, and the voice of one crying in the wilderness, also known as Samus's Appearing in Super Smash Bros., which heralded the coming of Metroid Prime.


He is dismal at Wii Tennis, but does pretty good in Bowling. Anyways, today he said that we should start playing board games. I disappeared into my room. I knew what would be required; a game that's simple to play, yet not boring, and preferably turn-based, or he would get lost quickly.

There's only one game I know that fits the bill: Mario Party (#6, the only version I have). I've never been a great fan, but I've loved the maps, especially the haunted/ghost maps. They're creepy. Then there are the high-tech space maps...that was one of my favorites. The western maps own, too. Mario Party is basically a board game.

But in-between, there are minigames. If you don't know what a minigame is...it's where, at the end of the rolling of the dice, you all engage in a sort of battle. This could be a "push everyone into the water and drown them" or a "jump over the ring of fire, please" or a "press A fast to inflate the balloon before the other person." Basically you compete in a contest setting for a short duration, OK? There are lots of them, and they're very entertaining, at least for a long while.

Point is, it's very simple to play. Airing up a balloon consists of either jumping then ground-pounding or just hitting A. Shoving people off of the raft to drown them consists of...y'know, hitting B and slapping them off of the raft onto/into the rocky currents. Jumping over the spindly line of fire that's playing jump rope with you consists of jumping with A. My dad was able to pick it right up, but he continually muttered about how it's a "Sheer waste of time."


I had to play with the small off-brand paddle that is weakening. Its A button sticks; you can barely ground-pound. It was me, Mario, my dad, PRINCESS PEACH LOL, and my brother, Luigi. Then there was Wario; he was computer controlled and set at normal, I think. We call Wario "The Monster" because he's so weird-looking.

To make ends short, I won 38 out of 40 minigames, and I got lots of revenge on Wario, who swapped coins with me when he had 10 and I had 110. Curse his bones. My dad did really great, but still lost. I decimated them in the minigames. Ran circles around, choose your phrase.

It ended with me having over 100 coins and 2 stars. My dad and Wario each had 2 stars, and my brother had none. (Wahmp-wahmp.) And he had the least coins. He felt horrible about himself. Then the bonus stars were distributed...I won Minigames, Dad won Special Spaces (he got attacked by bees), and I forget the rest. Point is, #4 was Brother; #3 was Wario; #2 was Dad; #1 was me, leading by 1 star.

Good work, dad. Even though I had a bad paddle. And you still lost. His words: "First and last time I ever play a video game!" followed by "That game was alright." He's such an old grandpa.

Clad in Corruption: A Metroid Prime Post

LATE-NEAR-TO-END-GAME SPOILERS. BEWARE!


Yes. Long I ventured into the depths of the Phazon Mines, assailed by every foul machination the fierce Space Pirates could deploy against me. Swiftly the pitiful guard they had stationed at the industrial yard entrance were destroyed in red blazes.

Then their shamefully weak Shadow Pirates made a daring attack, but cloaked as they were, they were disintegrated with the Plasma Beam. The last thing they saw, probably, was nothing. The last thing they thought, I would say, is "What a useless end I meet." Several Wave and Ice Pirates attempt an attack, and though the Wave Pirates make exceptional use of strafing, they are all cut down. The Plasma beam's Flamethrower missile upgrade is acquired.


The Elite Research station was left unguarded save by four aptly named Mega Turrets; which were soon "decommissioned." The large room, three levels totaling probably around six stories, houses a dreary enemy; the Phazon Elite, yet he is not a guard, as he is encased and in hibernation, as it were, in some form of storage. A power bomb cut through the bendezium and roughly awoke his slumber.

Another bomb laid near his stumbling feet. He looks like a mutated compilation of four or five huge, Phazon-blue burnt marshmallows stuck together, misshapen and horribly potted, near 12 feet tall, and his Scans show lack of the typical Elite Pirate cannon; he makes extensive use of the Wave Generator. Soon through continual Plasma bursts he is destroyed, and at his last he violently collapses; he fought till the end. Further, it turns out that he was a guard, though not of the room; in his wake the Artifact of Warrior appears.


Up the room. Continuing...continuing...making use of the Ice beam, five Metroids were exterminated...soon, Space Pirates are spotted. Wave Pirates, along with Power Pirates; two and three, respectively. I knock the Wave Pirates off the ledge to the first story, and from the second I proceed to snipe them slowly. When they are dead, I proceed. Scans reveal that the Pirate had been running a combat simulation program entitled 'Samus Aran'. They are both original and pitiful. Results are two out of three that their Elite Pirates will effectively combat Samus.

Continuing from the room, an Elite Pirate bursts from its 'hibernation' and attacks in a relatively small corridor. Elite Pirates are not short, perhaps fifteen or twenty feet tall. After a duration it is extinguished. Next are four Ice Pirates, soon killed. An energy refill station is nearby. Continuing, four more Mega Turrets guard a very small corridor. Gliding behind them via Morph Ball, they are deactivated by the control panel. They hang limply, and are soon permanently "decommissioned." More Shadow Pirates are destroyed.



Phazon.


Phazon all around. Darkly it glows, piles of it, or inhabiting fungal units; these latter, especially, show deep blue 'veins' on the surface. It corrupts all it touches, and destroys what it cannot. Intensely radioactive, the more concentrated "pools" of it let off purple and black bubbles. It is tense to cross these expanses, though the fungal units, which once have been mushrooms, provide quite nice platforms. There are lifts which are only revealed with the X-ray visor. It is as dangerous to the touch as molten rock, though not with heat.

The passing is gloomy. Several missiles are acquired. Metroids run rampant, and the Hunter Metroids, with their tendril, are most menacing. After a few lengths and heights of this, it opens to an industrial segment. Steel grating creates the floor above a pool of Phazon. Several Plasma Pirates are in this room; they fight with an intensity, surely overloading their weapons. Soon they cease to be. The grapple beam is used to swing to the other side of what is in effect a moat...filled with Phazon.

An energy refill station is found and used. Scans indicate that the Omega Pirate has a short life duration, and is cost ineffective, in addition to being vulnerable still to concussive blasts. Up the stairs, through the door...a Plasma Pirate makes its presence known, a last sentinel in a long line of bodies. Then the lock mechanism is manipulated...the path opens.



The room is cavernous, huge yet not dark, and the feel is that of dread mixed with anxiety mixed with purpose. Pools of Phazon litter the room. It is utterly silent. There is an sealed elevator, and above, a walkway. Directly ahead is a gargantuan pod, similar to the stasis pods of the Elite Pirates. Inside is a creature mutated beyond measure, yet with near-pristine form. Its face seems clenched and symmetric. Its size is fitting to the pod that encases it; it is difficult to determine. More than thirty feet, surely.

Scans reveal the weapon contents of an Elite Pirate, but many times in size, as well as Phazon-based armor, glinting in what light there is. Its designation is Omega Pirate. Suddenly it rouses and breaks forth from its case. The ensuing battle is short but splendorous. Super Missiles fly, and friendly fire reigns from the Omega Pirate as its massive Wave Generator repeatedly downs its allies.


After its armor is chipped away, it retreats to the pools of Phazon to recoat itself in a hard layer. At this point it is vulnerable and soon through this process of wearing down its armor and damaging it, and it coating itself, then having its armor worn down again, it is destroyed. The fell being known as Omega Pirate is no more...the Space Pirate's hopes are dashed, and the rest I must not disclose, for to do so would be folly. To put it vaguely, now Samus Aran is adorned in corruption; yet she lives, and no seed is in her.



After wandering to obtain the Artifact of Newborn, the way to the elevator-transport out of that hideous dungeon so called a mine is used. The Magmoor Caverns are accessed, and a save station is found. So ends the night's hunting. May tomorrow bring similarly bright tidings.

Crushing Cans

Yeah! Time to show how I crush cans. Ever heard of a can crusher? It's a dandy machination. Very neat, very efficient. We don't have one.

So I do it by hand. And while awaiting contact information from the Californian Saints (business to conduct, you understand), there's nothing better to do. Well, there is...but, um, for the sake of this sentence, let's say there's not. Here we go!

First, select your can. You might think this is a no-brainer, but you'd be surprised. The pictures look a bit stretched...that's um...by design. It's called stretch-fey, isn't it decorative?

Now, crush the can one way- but not too much...

Now the other way, again, not too much...these things are known for their violent, unexpected explosions that have no fathomable cause.


Now gently crush in the strong portions. What you're doing is weakening the structure...but don't weaken it too much! Or boom...it's gone Palo Verde Nuclear Generating Station on you.

After you weaken it, give it a crush like in the above picture. The point of this is to center it for a clean, single-file crushed end-result. You can cut yourself badly in can crushing, especially if you don't prepare it properly, so be careful. (There's your disclaimer.)

There, all prepared. Note: I crushed two cans, so the pictures are from two separate cans. It should be OK.

Now comes the fun/dangerous part. Grab it good...

Like that... then give it a crush.

Like that. And you're done! These results were mostly sub par, as I am currently injured in the right hand. Remember when I buried the Harvest Plate a few days ago? Well, digging always gives me a blister in the palm of my hand...the blister popped. I had to remove the first layer of skin. The remaining skin dried out.

Then it cracked! Ouch! Worser still...

It cracked again. It hurts very badly to crush cans in this condition...but what else am I to do while awaiting word from Yon Riding Horseman Email Server? Nothing, that's what.

Now, get yourself a pile like this:


And then you can feel like a supreme glacial predator, Sheegoth-style. OK, not Sheegoth-style. I'm sorry.

Amazingly good Chocolate (Sheet) Cake recipe. And I try to write like a man.

Do you know who The Pioneer Woman is? She's a lady who lives on a cattle ranch, and she's pretty cool- if crude at times. She has several blogs (the link goes to her main page, so you can see the individual blogs there), but I enjoy most her food blog, directly linked here. The index system is a little wacky right now, so don't hold that against her.


I had actually started to get sick of chocolate cake. I think it's the only cake we ever make. I do surely have fond memories of making chocolate cakes...most of them have to do with Metroid Prime 2. I think it may have well been the first time I played it.

[erased] My dad says I need to stop writing like a girl. If anyone has any tips, let me know. Let me begin by erasing that last sentence, particularly the word 'awakening'. That's much better. Anyways, those were [erased]

How to not sound like a girl...let's see...I'll erase that sentence, that'll surely help, the words 'yore' and 'golden' together never did any man good...otherwise...

...


Drawing a blank, here. Damn. Wait, that's good, a curse! Ignoring admonitions from Paul is surely a way to write like a man. Hah! Curse not? Bah! Now, how much more heinous do I have to become before my writing is entirely transformed?

Hmm...if I could gaze on her condemned, rotten visage long enough (may the truth of her womb festering the deathly Worm one day see light), I would probably post pictures of TWWMNBN. That should certainly make me seem more like a man...but that would be folly to the highest degree, and I would not sell out in that manner for a mere increasing of opinion of me by a man who claims to be my father.

Hey! That's it! Rebellion! That's certainly a manly occupation. Wait, no...those are hippies.

I think I need to accept my fate as "that lyrical guy who everyone thinks is a girl when they read his blog- you know, the guy who looks like he'd really like to be writing in loopy pink font." Sigh.



Anyways...yes, I was getting sick of chocolate cake, then we found this recipe, and I'm nowhere near sick of chocolate cake anymore. It's reminiscent of fudge (because of the icing), but not too much so. It's great...really. Here is the recipe. The Best Chocolate Sheet Cake. Ever. by The Pioneer Woman.


Now if you'll excuse me, I've got to go frost it (I made three cake pans out of it), and then I've got to work my way, in a very disquiet manner, through the Phazon mines. No sermons to help me this time...only bare, tunnel-vision-like concentration. Every tool in Samus Aran's arsenal must be put to cunning use to make it in- and out- alive.

As I Have Judged, I Hold the Cast of Death

The other day, my mom was out of town on business, and me and my dad had to milk. My mom is very gentle ('crazy old goat lady' gentle) with the goats, but me and my dad...well, we're not quite as old-lady.

When my dad decided that Lightning, the Black Goat that Recently Gave Birth (link to my mom's blog), didn't want to be milked and decided not to milk her, it fell to me as the ruthless, cruel, and evil one, to milk her, and to thereafter put lots of commas in this sentence. After she kicked the bucket twice (soaking me in milk), I decided that she did not deserve to have her small, [word removed] baby anymore. In fact, I won't even use that word, lest I bring shame to Samus Aran. I'd never want to go and do a thing like that. It'd also make an attempt at shaming Jesus, and well, I wouldn't want to do a thing like that, either.


This was the baby I recorded being born...here it is:


...and am currently not editing the footage of for Mrs. dataDyne and Mick Key and well, a lot of people who want to see it. I can't seem to find the inspiration- and now I think I've found it, but shame, there's no time to start right now. Anyway, guess what happened today? Something very sad.

I was washing dishes, as I often do. Then I discovered it...somewhere near the bottom of the water.

The beloved Harvest Plate. The plate that bore several Thanksgiving feasts, and found itself at church supplying food more than once. Brother-in-arms to the elder Holiday Plate.

Dead. I am sorry, Holiday Plate.


See that? Somehow it got chipped in a jarring way. What nonsensical, pointless brutality. This plate died long before its time should have come. And speaking of death...


There's Lightning's little baby. Well, OK, click here to see it. Warning: It's 'graphic'. It's a baby goat swollen up in a dumpster laying next to a lamp. Its dead eyes do not even show. It's not that bad, sheesh. Anyways. I suppose, now, that I hold the keys of death, or at least the ability to cast it in some fashion. His life is extinguished, and the message spans the entirety of the goat hoard. Rumors abound that I poisoned him in his sleep.

Still...what a fate not to be shared, to be dumped uselessly into a dumpster. A fate I will not allow to be shared.

Thus, I begin.

First, find your area.
Then mark the area, like below. (Squint, if you have to. Or be smart and open the picture to see it bigger.) I used a fair, fierce shovel, if weak of neck. But still not lacking in courage, and one of the sharpest we have.

Now, it in this lackluster, brutal beginning of Summer that I begin my toiling.


What a cunning foe I face...the sun...

Now start digging. I remember what short bit of life it lived as I dug, burrowing deeper and deeper, as what could have possibly been tears, but were almost assuredly sweat, dripped from my face.

Nine minutes later, with the hole sufficiently dug...


I begin the solemn progression. A fate not to be shared...the words rang in my head, as bitterly and resolutely as first my mind whispered them to me. No time for lamenting, no time for speeches...dinner had to be made. Unceremoniously, but still as ceremoniously as I could, I placed the young, dead one into the hole, then covered it with shielding to keep out prying, evil eyes. And shovels.

Now the time comes to cover it. Again, I cry bitter tears that are most likely just sweat. They sting my eyes.

This is the saddest leg of our journey...the last sighting...the sorrowful parting.

Five minutes later, it is complete. Now to stomp all about to make it harder for the dogs to get to it. And now to get back inside, for, since the Foe has seen me, it has doubled its efforts to wipe me from the face of the planet.

But Harvest Plate is in its final rest. The waves of death radiating from the sky have not succeeded...this time.

And thus I have stopped the dumpster-fate from touching my dear Harvest Plate. May its soon replacement not be a sk8rgirl or a person who says "dude" and "whoa" every other sentence.


Note: I now hear that the dummy goat (as is his name) will be buried tomorrow morning. As is our manner, I shall dig the hole today, and he shall bury the goat tomorrow. I dig holes good.


This is out next to Hannah, our psychotic border collie whose montage I have yet to make.