I was listening to a pastor preaching the other day (for several hours...ugh, drone, drone) and he was talking about...well, let's not say what he was talking about. He said, "...and all the rest, were associated with people getting their clothes off, and there's not really but one reason you take your clothes off, folks, [when] in mixed company."
I've always thought "mixed company" meant people you don't like, or people who can't be trusted- backbiters, hatemongers, rumor mills. I looked it up...it doesn't only apply to males and wives, but males and females in-general. That's where I got the skewed definition from: thinking it applied only to wives.
Happy Father's Day. Today, my dad found a lid to add to his Paint Can Lid collection. Happy Father's Day, pops.
Showing posts with label Take THAT Satan. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Take THAT Satan. Show all posts
Sunday, June 15, 2008
Friday, May 16, 2008
Been a long long time since I've been on the water scene
Today my parents are out painting picket fences, so I'm home tending the house. As always. Surprise surprise, they left the red truck. I decided to get water; this is the first time in weeks I've been to get water. We were down to less than 700 gallons, which is practically a disaster.
The day began in a well enough way. Get it, 'well'? That's water humor, you wouldn't get it. But competition was fierce. I was only alone once; before, there were days where I would not see another car all day. It's getting to be summer. Fire consumes.
Speaking of fire, it was kind of weird not getting Thirsty Wolf water. As you know, his house burned all the way to the ground, then they cleared it away and all that stands there now is broken memories, paled dreams and sorrow.
The first few loads went OK; I have Amazing Grace, He Lives, and Leaning on the Everlasting Arms memorized (with Holy, Holy, Holy on the way) so I sang those. It made the time pass, but I got some REALLY weird looks. Example, I was driving to the well, and another driver looked at me like "whoa." I must have had a holy aura glowing around me or-- maybe it was angels! Holy Hoorahs all around!!!
Then it all went bad. Wait a minute...no, no it didn't, it was still OK.
Hey! Look! The water's done!
I was looking for snakes when I got the call. The uh, water-spilling-over call. But I somehow had 350 gallons left. So I set out on ways to use it; I make myself think of an ice cream man with a broken freezer. Hey! Look! It's a filthy, disgustingly dirty, dog-scented kiddie pool!
What an ironic time to have to pee. Usually the joke is going by fountains...not personally dispersing literally hundreds of gallons of water.
All full.
Next up is to water the grass. My dad is growing grass...that man always has some weird pipe dream going.
It may look like an oasis...it isn't, but it sure does make you want to pee. The hose is over the screen, that's what the waterfall is.
Yep, great time to have to pee. Somehow, 35+ gallons a minute just isn't fast enough. It's a proven fact: having to pee increases human efficiency by 3000%. Once, I went into a Fry's to buy pickles, and I was out of there in 10 minutes and on the freeway. I somehow spent $1200 and did the shopping for the month. I even got mail-order items (also see Mom's post), if I recall. Still, there's no increasing the flow of that water. That water didn't have to go pee, so I was moving 3000% faster and the water wasn't, and you know how you fidget when you have to pee. Imagine the fidgeting increased by 3000%.
Finally, that agony is over. But there's still more water to purge, bless it to heaven. See the above picture? That's what I do to expel the last 50 gallons of water to make it easy to put the tank away. We store the water tank in the back of another truck. We store three vehicles on our property...one is used as a shed. See below? That's how I get the rest the rest out of the tank.
Oh, but at the time, what I wouldn't have given to be causing one of those streams of water- even one of the small ones!
I could imagine Satan appearing before me. "Sell me your soul, mortal fool! I will then transfer you to the 80-foot-tall tourist attraction toilet of your dreams!" "But Satan, I don't have the ability to sell my sold! It's sold! ...BUT PLEASE, STILL TRANSPORT ME THERE!"
"Never, mortal fool!" he says, and thus another mirage-appearance of Satan evaporates before my eyes, and I am filled with conflict: do I dive after him, knowing well that I'll probably get a case of cooties if I touch him, or do I let my hopes and dreams of visiting the 80-foot-tall tourist attraction toilet of my dreams fade with his demonic corpse-like, red, spiky-tailed body?
...anyways, then I put the tank away, and here I am. Turns out, I didn't have to pee. I am unsure what all the drama was about, I think it was just the raw volume of water. My bladder must have been anticipating it, you know, like how feet are when you look off of a tall place and they tingle. You know what I mean? That's obviously what happened to my bladder.
Now it's time to make dinner. I'm late, I'm late, I hope my parents get lettuce!
The day began in a well enough way. Get it, 'well'? That's water humor, you wouldn't get it. But competition was fierce. I was only alone once; before, there were days where I would not see another car all day. It's getting to be summer. Fire consumes.
Speaking of fire, it was kind of weird not getting Thirsty Wolf water. As you know, his house burned all the way to the ground, then they cleared it away and all that stands there now is broken memories, paled dreams and sorrow.
The first few loads went OK; I have Amazing Grace, He Lives, and Leaning on the Everlasting Arms memorized (with Holy, Holy, Holy on the way) so I sang those. It made the time pass, but I got some REALLY weird looks. Example, I was driving to the well, and another driver looked at me like "whoa." I must have had a holy aura glowing around me or-- maybe it was angels! Holy Hoorahs all around!!!
Then it all went bad. Wait a minute...no, no it didn't, it was still OK.
Hey! Look! The water's done!
I was looking for snakes when I got the call. The uh, water-spilling-over call. But I somehow had 350 gallons left. So I set out on ways to use it; I make myself think of an ice cream man with a broken freezer. Hey! Look! It's a filthy, disgustingly dirty, dog-scented kiddie pool!
What an ironic time to have to pee. Usually the joke is going by fountains...not personally dispersing literally hundreds of gallons of water.
All full.Next up is to water the grass. My dad is growing grass...that man always has some weird pipe dream going.
It may look like an oasis...it isn't, but it sure does make you want to pee. The hose is over the screen, that's what the waterfall is.
Yep, great time to have to pee. Somehow, 35+ gallons a minute just isn't fast enough. It's a proven fact: having to pee increases human efficiency by 3000%. Once, I went into a Fry's to buy pickles, and I was out of there in 10 minutes and on the freeway. I somehow spent $1200 and did the shopping for the month. I even got mail-order items (also see Mom's post), if I recall. Still, there's no increasing the flow of that water. That water didn't have to go pee, so I was moving 3000% faster and the water wasn't, and you know how you fidget when you have to pee. Imagine the fidgeting increased by 3000%.
Finally, that agony is over. But there's still more water to purge, bless it to heaven. See the above picture? That's what I do to expel the last 50 gallons of water to make it easy to put the tank away. We store the water tank in the back of another truck. We store three vehicles on our property...one is used as a shed. See below? That's how I get the rest the rest out of the tank.
Oh, but at the time, what I wouldn't have given to be causing one of those streams of water- even one of the small ones!
I could imagine Satan appearing before me. "Sell me your soul, mortal fool! I will then transfer you to the 80-foot-tall tourist attraction toilet of your dreams!" "But Satan, I don't have the ability to sell my sold! It's sold! ...BUT PLEASE, STILL TRANSPORT ME THERE!"
"Never, mortal fool!" he says, and thus another mirage-appearance of Satan evaporates before my eyes, and I am filled with conflict: do I dive after him, knowing well that I'll probably get a case of cooties if I touch him, or do I let my hopes and dreams of visiting the 80-foot-tall tourist attraction toilet of my dreams fade with his demonic corpse-like, red, spiky-tailed body?
...anyways, then I put the tank away, and here I am. Turns out, I didn't have to pee. I am unsure what all the drama was about, I think it was just the raw volume of water. My bladder must have been anticipating it, you know, like how feet are when you look off of a tall place and they tingle. You know what I mean? That's obviously what happened to my bladder.
Now it's time to make dinner. I'm late, I'm late, I hope my parents get lettuce!
Thursday, December 27, 2007
When Getting Water Isn't Easy
So, our well is down. Which I found out today as I went to gather water for the little flock. Uhh, sorry. I meant to say, as I went to get water to sustain me, my family, and my neighbor's family.
A sign was on the door of the well. It said, "Dude, back off. No water getting kay? Go to another outlet plz. GG nubtub."
"Addresses" to the other well outlets were provided. Several of them were also down (I didn't know so many well outlets could exist in such a cramped world!). The reason I say "addresses" is because it wasn't so much an address, but a random, unheard of, 1-mile-long stretch of "road." That's just great.
Now, had they said, "The water is poisoned at the other wells, please chill out on the side until the 31st so you can get water then," I would have went home a happy, contented camper, having caught my share of fish. But noo. I went out in search of the nearest outlet...surely enough, it took my 35 minutes (we'll get that in editing, like men) to find it. I learned a new hymn. "He Lives." I now despise it, as I sung it at least 500 times in the process of finding the well. Oh, and now I've got "Used to know some people, who walked and talked with me. But since I found salvation, they turned their backs on me" stuck in my head. Ugh. Make it stop...make it stop!
I pulled up, very happy to have found it. However...there was a sign up. "Dude lol, the water is like, poisoned and stuff, so don't drink it alright? Feed it to your dogs lol and your carrots too dude lol it's great for gardens and fields but it will kill you."
I paused for a second to assess my feelings. Resentment, frustration, betrayal, sadness, a feeling of futility, and the feeling you get when you are happy then sad suddenly.
I drove off slowly. I came home and found, typed, then printed out some directions. The lost sheep of the house of idiocy (IE the segment of mankind that is lost and stupid) would surely not be able to find it if I were unable to. I made an error, so I will reprint them tomorrow. It's not grammatical, just something I didn't know about when I printed them.
Following my own directions proudly, I set off in search of the second well. As I was driving down the road a few miles from it, a jokepot pulled out in front of me. Picture, below.
I followed him very politely, as I always do when getting water. How much sense does it make to overtake them, spit dust in their face, then pull into the well and sit there for two minutes until they arrive with a crowbar and a bad look on their face? Not much, I reckon.
Then I saw the sign. No, locusts did not fly out of the earth and eat the rubber off my tires...but I saw the sign. "Dude, uh, hi2u, lol. Well uh the water here it's like...also poisoned, LOL. sory to get you out this far but it has waay 2 much floride and it'll kill you dead if you touch it so...no drinky aright?"
I drove away slowly once more. I decided that, instead of return defeated, I would go back to the first well that was poisoned and get some of their water. If we have 1500 gallons, that should dilute the poisoned 500 gallons. On the way there, I saw some water! And I mean for reals! Check it out, below, doug.
Spit spit spit spit spit spit endlessly spitting water into a small concrete trench. Ah, the life of a polyvinyl chloride pipe.
When I arrived, I found the accommodations to be...less than stellar. On top of the poor accommodations (razor wire), I found that my water tank was attempting a valiant escape! Boy, you KNOW water is poisonous when your inanimate, non-sentient water tank tries to escape to avoid it! Picture, below. Note that it is almost falling off.
Regardless, the pump pumped water and the rocks kept the mud from swallowing up the tires, thus it worked. It took a long time, though, probably 9 minutes. So I examined my knuckles. One is particularly bad. See picture, below.
Doesn't it make you wonder why I don't use lotion? It makes me wonder why I don't use lotion. Am I the only one who is wondering why I don't use lotion? I guess...I am going on an intensive lotion program. I'm going to wear a glove with a bunch of lotion inside of it, thus lotionizing (or is it moisturizing?) my skin...intensively.
While the water was pumping, I discovered some good news! Yes, the "sticker amongst the gnats," if you will. Yes, I found out that Christ died for us! Check the pic of our truck window, below.
Well, I guess I already knew that, but it bears repeating. Thanks, Lord!
Romans 5:8:
But God commendeth his love toward us, in that, while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us.
Note: this is one of the only posts I have EVER not proof read.
A sign was on the door of the well. It said, "Dude, back off. No water getting kay? Go to another outlet plz. GG nubtub."
"Addresses" to the other well outlets were provided. Several of them were also down (I didn't know so many well outlets could exist in such a cramped world!). The reason I say "addresses" is because it wasn't so much an address, but a random, unheard of, 1-mile-long stretch of "road." That's just great.
Now, had they said, "The water is poisoned at the other wells, please chill out on the side until the 31st so you can get water then," I would have went home a happy, contented camper, having caught my share of fish. But noo. I went out in search of the nearest outlet...surely enough, it took my 35 minutes (we'll get that in editing, like men) to find it. I learned a new hymn. "He Lives." I now despise it, as I sung it at least 500 times in the process of finding the well. Oh, and now I've got "Used to know some people, who walked and talked with me. But since I found salvation, they turned their backs on me" stuck in my head. Ugh. Make it stop...make it stop!
I pulled up, very happy to have found it. However...there was a sign up. "Dude lol, the water is like, poisoned and stuff, so don't drink it alright? Feed it to your dogs lol and your carrots too dude lol it's great for gardens and fields but it will kill you."
I paused for a second to assess my feelings. Resentment, frustration, betrayal, sadness, a feeling of futility, and the feeling you get when you are happy then sad suddenly.
I drove off slowly. I came home and found, typed, then printed out some directions. The lost sheep of the house of idiocy (IE the segment of mankind that is lost and stupid) would surely not be able to find it if I were unable to. I made an error, so I will reprint them tomorrow. It's not grammatical, just something I didn't know about when I printed them.
Following my own directions proudly, I set off in search of the second well. As I was driving down the road a few miles from it, a jokepot pulled out in front of me. Picture, below.
I followed him very politely, as I always do when getting water. How much sense does it make to overtake them, spit dust in their face, then pull into the well and sit there for two minutes until they arrive with a crowbar and a bad look on their face? Not much, I reckon.Then I saw the sign. No, locusts did not fly out of the earth and eat the rubber off my tires...but I saw the sign. "Dude, uh, hi2u, lol. Well uh the water here it's like...also poisoned, LOL. sory to get you out this far but it has waay 2 much floride and it'll kill you dead if you touch it so...no drinky aright?"
I drove away slowly once more. I decided that, instead of return defeated, I would go back to the first well that was poisoned and get some of their water. If we have 1500 gallons, that should dilute the poisoned 500 gallons. On the way there, I saw some water! And I mean for reals! Check it out, below, doug.
Spit spit spit spit spit spit endlessly spitting water into a small concrete trench. Ah, the life of a polyvinyl chloride pipe.When I arrived, I found the accommodations to be...less than stellar. On top of the poor accommodations (razor wire), I found that my water tank was attempting a valiant escape! Boy, you KNOW water is poisonous when your inanimate, non-sentient water tank tries to escape to avoid it! Picture, below. Note that it is almost falling off.
Regardless, the pump pumped water and the rocks kept the mud from swallowing up the tires, thus it worked. It took a long time, though, probably 9 minutes. So I examined my knuckles. One is particularly bad. See picture, below.
Doesn't it make you wonder why I don't use lotion? It makes me wonder why I don't use lotion. Am I the only one who is wondering why I don't use lotion? I guess...I am going on an intensive lotion program. I'm going to wear a glove with a bunch of lotion inside of it, thus lotionizing (or is it moisturizing?) my skin...intensively.While the water was pumping, I discovered some good news! Yes, the "sticker amongst the gnats," if you will. Yes, I found out that Christ died for us! Check the pic of our truck window, below.
Well, I guess I already knew that, but it bears repeating. Thanks, Lord!Romans 5:8:
But God commendeth his love toward us, in that, while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us.
Note: this is one of the only posts I have EVER not proof read.
Monday, December 24, 2007
Cry Mor Plz Santa
Where you at, foo'? I gots yo' plate of cookies right here. They're sugar cookies. I found the recipe at The Chocolate Gourmand (Old Fashioned Sugar Cookies). They're old fashioned with sugar sprinkles. But not the gross kind that have normal sugar over them and have a horrible texture because of it...but colored decorative sugar. Mm, mmm. The orange adds brightness and freshness, if I am not mistaken. I took these to church last week.
Oh? What's that? You can't show if I'm awake after midnight?
Aww, so sad. Cry a tear for us Santa.
That's right, let us hear it drop to the floor like the proverbial pin drop.
What's that, Santa? Why don't I hear a tear drop hitting the floor?
Hmm? Oh? Really? You're nowhere to be found? I see. Oh? I'm up after midnight, you say?
Can't come in through the keyhole, is it? Aww. Cry, let's hear it. Too many watchful eyes keeping you away? Really? Only two here. Mm, these cookies are great. Chomp chomp, munch munch. What's that? Gonna cry? Hold on, let me cup my hand over my ear.
OK, now...let's hear it.
...
...
...
Nothing? Santa? What went wrong? No tears? Why do you tarry so? Sleigh get stuck on little Timmy's roof? Someone shoot at you? Don't give me the "it turned to ice" routine, as ice would make a louder sound. Aww, poor Santa. You know what I think it is, my humble fools?
I think Santa doesn't exist.
You heard me. Notice what you didn't hear? Santa's tear dropping like a pin. Aww, poor Santa. I don't think he has any idea who's been naughty, and I doubt he knows who's been nice. Know why? I don't think he exists. That's why.
Now, as many as care about the blast fool, please cry the tear for him. Let it fall to the floor gracefully, splattering to watery pieces...releasing the dread sound of a broken tear.
What's that? No one?
Aww, poor Santa. None of his dear fans cried any tears for him.
Cry more, Santa. Cry more.
Here, have a tissue for your issue.
Oh? What's that? You can't show if I'm awake after midnight?
Aww, so sad. Cry a tear for us Santa.
That's right, let us hear it drop to the floor like the proverbial pin drop.
What's that, Santa? Why don't I hear a tear drop hitting the floor?
Hmm? Oh? Really? You're nowhere to be found? I see. Oh? I'm up after midnight, you say?
Can't come in through the keyhole, is it? Aww. Cry, let's hear it. Too many watchful eyes keeping you away? Really? Only two here. Mm, these cookies are great. Chomp chomp, munch munch. What's that? Gonna cry? Hold on, let me cup my hand over my ear.
OK, now...let's hear it.
...
...
...
Nothing? Santa? What went wrong? No tears? Why do you tarry so? Sleigh get stuck on little Timmy's roof? Someone shoot at you? Don't give me the "it turned to ice" routine, as ice would make a louder sound. Aww, poor Santa. You know what I think it is, my humble fools?
I think Santa doesn't exist.
You heard me. Notice what you didn't hear? Santa's tear dropping like a pin. Aww, poor Santa. I don't think he has any idea who's been naughty, and I doubt he knows who's been nice. Know why? I don't think he exists. That's why.
Now, as many as care about the blast fool, please cry the tear for him. Let it fall to the floor gracefully, splattering to watery pieces...releasing the dread sound of a broken tear.
What's that? No one?
Aww, poor Santa. None of his dear fans cried any tears for him.
Cry more, Santa. Cry more.
Here, have a tissue for your issue.
Kev makes a fool out of himself. Again.
Last night, as you hopefully know, I found out that my Twilight Princess disc (Wii) no longer works. It looks as if the Wii scratched the disc, but that makes no sense, as it never stopped working, so it was probably Satan trying to ruin my celebration of Christ's birth (which was totally December 25th!), or God trying to teach me something for sure! I hope I can find out if it was God trying to teach me something or Satan doing an attack on me. Gee, I sure wish I could tell.
Or...it's possible that it may have scratched the disc a year ago, and since the Wii's optical sensor was newer, it worked. How should I know? I don't specialize in optical sensors.
I'm going to have to invest not only my own cash into purchasing a new copy, but also some guilt-credits with my parents. I always build up guilt-credits right before Christmas: "Oh, but he's such a good son, let's get him this bar of gold!"
I have been milking the last week or so and I've been such a good son that I'm holding their faces to the figurative guilt wheel. It grinds their faces with guilt, leaving them looking something like Umagon in Tiberian Sun (complete with that suicide trick the Forgotten do).
I even cleaned our bathroom, which is probably not my mom's most looked-forward-to chore on her chore list- see her blog post, Six Days of Freedom.
So I'm covered as far as a new copy of Twilight Princess goes. I'm fine. But my brother? Ooh. His horror is just beginning. He cannot find any tomato sauce, and he's in a depressive slump because of it. Poor joker.
"I've had a ho-horrible, bad day Kev. No talking to me OK?" he says. "OK, brother." I says. Keep in mind that the only thing that happened to him was that he woke up and found out there was no tomato sauce. Enough to ruin his day. OK, brother...sorry about that.
Back to me. My mom called today and asked me if I wanted them to stop (there's the guilt-credits at work!). Well, since they offered, sure...yes, yes...all working into my master plan. Here I come Santa. Yes, we will get him. He will be ours. I'm hoping to get a copy of Twilight Princess used No, no, get it new, for the glory therein; I certainly do not want to spend $50 again. So I called around to 3 Game Crazy's. I've always shopped with them for used games...that is, used games that I need in a hurry. Otherwise I use Half.com.
I called the first one. The guy was cool; very clear voice, and typically they do their speech so fast you can't understand it. Anyways, I asked him, "Hi, what time are you guys open till?" "9 PM." "OK, and do you guys have a copy of Metroid Prime 3: Corruption for the Wii on sale?"
I meant to say "used," but I said "on sale." What a dork. What a dork he was. You are amazing. He said, "It's $50 new, and $37 used with MVP card." "Do you have one used?" "Uhh...let's see...wow, no. It should be pretty easy to find if you look around at the other Game Crazy's." "OK, thanks." "You bet." (click)
I called the second one. He rattled through his speech about how they have the greatest holiday games. "What time are you guys open till?" "10 PM." "OK, and do you have Metroid Prime 3: Corruption for the Wii in stock?" "For the Wii, for the Wii, for the Wii, let's see...yes. Would you like us to hold it for you?" "How much is it?" "It's...$50." "Oh, no, I wouldn't like it held." (click)
He seemed like he wanted me to go to Hell.
I called the third one. "Hi, what time are you guys open till?" "10 PM." "OK, good. Do you guys have a copy of Metroid Prime 3: Corruption used?" "Let's see...nope. It's new for $50." "OK, thanks." (awkward pause) (click)
I was about to call the 4th Game Crazy, when I lost my nerve. I found it again whilst I was considering that if it's new, it may come without packaging, but that's good, because I already have a Twilight Princess package box kit...
If you have not realized by now, dear reader, might I suggest you take some advice I could have used, and get some coffee...as I have been calling around for a copy of Metroid Prime 3. Metroid Prime 3 works fine. I need a copy of The Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess, not Metroid Prime 3!
Oh, where did I go wrong. You did not. Where did I folly? You did not. What caused me to err? You have not. Tiredness? You are never tired. You never sleep. Stupidity? Idiocy? Dimwittedness? What could it have possibly been, this force that made me make an idiotic display out of myself, and even still pushes me to blog about my embarrassment? It's so natural to say Metroid Prime 3: Corruption, I suppose.
Now I have to call them all back. I will wait an hour, and by then...hopefully they'll have forgotten. Ooh, embarrassment of embarrassments. And you know how much trouble I have with calling places! (Nintendo DS (Lite) Update -- the NDS will be getting some attention here shortly.) But now I know how late they are open, so I can just ask if they have TP on sale. They'll make no connection!
I'm sure more of them have TP used. It's a year old...MP3 is not. Ugh. Idiot!
I guess I can call the final Game Crazy I was going to call out of desperation; hopefully word has not yet gotten around to the other Game Crazy's of my stupidity. It's about 5 miles out of my parent's way.
Oh, drat. Their phone is not working. I'll call the first Game Crazy I called. Oohgh. Embarrassment. On hold...on hold...his computer isn't working right...they don't have one, but it would be $41 used. Weird.
My mom suggests that instead of feeling the awesome, glowing shame of calling the other two back, we should just get it new. They decided to stop by a game store to avoid going to Walmart. It was...a Gamestop. She called me to make sure I wanted a used one, and by the time I had called her back, it turned out that she had already bought the game new, despite the fact that they had the chance to buy it used (to their credit, it was only $8 more new, and they were trying to do good.)
So now I'm back on schedule...and seeing's how they stopped by Frys just for my brother, he'll be back on schedule by tomorrow as well.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to clean my room, then I'm going to play Twilight Princess. And attempt to kill Santa. If he is real. Which he isn't. Here, come get the cookies, Saint Nick...
Fresh goats milk...
...and gunpowder...
Or...it's possible that it may have scratched the disc a year ago, and since the Wii's optical sensor was newer, it worked. How should I know? I don't specialize in optical sensors.
I'm going to have to invest not only my own cash into purchasing a new copy, but also some guilt-credits with my parents. I always build up guilt-credits right before Christmas: "Oh, but he's such a good son, let's get him this bar of gold!"
I have been milking the last week or so and I've been such a good son that I'm holding their faces to the figurative guilt wheel. It grinds their faces with guilt, leaving them looking something like Umagon in Tiberian Sun (complete with that suicide trick the Forgotten do).
I even cleaned our bathroom, which is probably not my mom's most looked-forward-to chore on her chore list- see her blog post, Six Days of Freedom.
So I'm covered as far as a new copy of Twilight Princess goes. I'm fine. But my brother? Ooh. His horror is just beginning. He cannot find any tomato sauce, and he's in a depressive slump because of it. Poor joker.
"I've had a ho-horrible, bad day Kev. No talking to me OK?" he says. "OK, brother." I says. Keep in mind that the only thing that happened to him was that he woke up and found out there was no tomato sauce. Enough to ruin his day. OK, brother...sorry about that.
Back to me. My mom called today and asked me if I wanted them to stop (there's the guilt-credits at work!). Well, since they offered, sure...yes, yes...all working into my master plan. Here I come Santa. Yes, we will get him. He will be ours. I'm hoping to get a copy of Twilight Princess used No, no, get it new, for the glory therein; I certainly do not want to spend $50 again. So I called around to 3 Game Crazy's. I've always shopped with them for used games...that is, used games that I need in a hurry. Otherwise I use Half.com.
I called the first one. The guy was cool; very clear voice, and typically they do their speech so fast you can't understand it. Anyways, I asked him, "Hi, what time are you guys open till?" "9 PM." "OK, and do you guys have a copy of Metroid Prime 3: Corruption for the Wii on sale?"
I meant to say "used," but I said "on sale." What a dork. What a dork he was. You are amazing. He said, "It's $50 new, and $37 used with MVP card." "Do you have one used?" "Uhh...let's see...wow, no. It should be pretty easy to find if you look around at the other Game Crazy's." "OK, thanks." "You bet." (click)
I called the second one. He rattled through his speech about how they have the greatest holiday games. "What time are you guys open till?" "10 PM." "OK, and do you have Metroid Prime 3: Corruption for the Wii in stock?" "For the Wii, for the Wii, for the Wii, let's see...yes. Would you like us to hold it for you?" "How much is it?" "It's...$50." "Oh, no, I wouldn't like it held." (click)
He seemed like he wanted me to go to Hell.
I called the third one. "Hi, what time are you guys open till?" "10 PM." "OK, good. Do you guys have a copy of Metroid Prime 3: Corruption used?" "Let's see...nope. It's new for $50." "OK, thanks." (awkward pause) (click)
I was about to call the 4th Game Crazy, when I lost my nerve. I found it again whilst I was considering that if it's new, it may come without packaging, but that's good, because I already have a Twilight Princess package box kit...
If you have not realized by now, dear reader, might I suggest you take some advice I could have used, and get some coffee...as I have been calling around for a copy of Metroid Prime 3. Metroid Prime 3 works fine. I need a copy of The Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess, not Metroid Prime 3!
Oh, where did I go wrong. You did not. Where did I folly? You did not. What caused me to err? You have not. Tiredness? You are never tired. You never sleep. Stupidity? Idiocy? Dimwittedness? What could it have possibly been, this force that made me make an idiotic display out of myself, and even still pushes me to blog about my embarrassment? It's so natural to say Metroid Prime 3: Corruption, I suppose.
Now I have to call them all back. I will wait an hour, and by then...hopefully they'll have forgotten. Ooh, embarrassment of embarrassments. And you know how much trouble I have with calling places! (Nintendo DS (Lite) Update -- the NDS will be getting some attention here shortly.) But now I know how late they are open, so I can just ask if they have TP on sale. They'll make no connection!
I'm sure more of them have TP used. It's a year old...MP3 is not. Ugh. Idiot!
I guess I can call the final Game Crazy I was going to call out of desperation; hopefully word has not yet gotten around to the other Game Crazy's of my stupidity. It's about 5 miles out of my parent's way.
Oh, drat. Their phone is not working. I'll call the first Game Crazy I called. Oohgh. Embarrassment. On hold...on hold...his computer isn't working right...they don't have one, but it would be $41 used. Weird.
My mom suggests that instead of feeling the awesome, glowing shame of calling the other two back, we should just get it new. They decided to stop by a game store to avoid going to Walmart. It was...a Gamestop. She called me to make sure I wanted a used one, and by the time I had called her back, it turned out that she had already bought the game new, despite the fact that they had the chance to buy it used (to their credit, it was only $8 more new, and they were trying to do good.)
So now I'm back on schedule...and seeing's how they stopped by Frys just for my brother, he'll be back on schedule by tomorrow as well.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to clean my room, then I'm going to play Twilight Princess. And attempt to kill Santa. If he is real. Which he isn't. Here, come get the cookies, Saint Nick...
Fresh goats milk...
...and gunpowder...
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
What does Jesus want for His birthday?
So, I'm watching Rejoice on TCT right now. Apparently, you can't attend someone's birthday party without bringing the guest of honor a present, so we need to discover what Jesus wants for Christmas. Because he was totally born on December 25th.
They want to know my favorite Christmas carol; these people annoy me. Nevertheless, my favorite carol is Here Comes Paul.
You've heard Here Comes Paul, right?
What? You totally haven't? No way, dude. You're lying! Really? Hmm.
Well, it goes like this. It sounds sort of like another song that involves somebody coming down a lane, so you can sing it to that tune if you like.
Here comes Paul!
Here comes Paul!
Right down Pauline lane!
Romans, 2 Corinthians, Galatians and Ephesians,
Philippians and Colossians!
Rightly dividing right and left,
The four Gospels aren't to us,
Cause Paul is our Apostle yeah!
Here comes Paul!
Here comes Paul!
Right down Pauline lane!
He's got teachings direct from Christ
And he tells us just the same.
2 Thessalonians, 2 Timothies and
Philemon just for us.
Rightly divide, else Law and Grace collide
You just gotta divide them right.
My parents don't really like it. Typically they enjoy my songs, so I can only assume there is a silent resentment or pot of simmering despite brewing. We will see how the plot unfolds, and once it does, we will strike it over the head. Or...other aptly named appendage that is ripe for the striking.
Their problem is that they get caught up in the technicalities...they fail to see the big picture. Usually, I fail to see the big picture. The big picture is this: carolers on every corner of every third street, all singing Here Comes Paul. Yes...yes.
As for TCT's Here is the festering, maggot-infested tag of Things I Hate Rejoice, I give it a 2/10 for their unbridled, raw, amazingly embarrassing display which causes me to disgust them very, very deeply. Not since Tim and Willy in the Mornings have I been this purely disgusted with a talk show based upon viewing them for less than 10 minutes.
Now if you'll excuse me...I need to go simmer for a while. Ooh, ahh, anger. Tss. Hot.
They want to know my favorite Christmas carol; these people annoy me. Nevertheless, my favorite carol is Here Comes Paul.
You've heard Here Comes Paul, right?
What? You totally haven't? No way, dude. You're lying! Really? Hmm.
Well, it goes like this. It sounds sort of like another song that involves somebody coming down a lane, so you can sing it to that tune if you like.
Here comes Paul!
Here comes Paul!
Right down Pauline lane!
Romans, 2 Corinthians, Galatians and Ephesians,
Philippians and Colossians!
Rightly dividing right and left,
The four Gospels aren't to us,
Cause Paul is our Apostle yeah!
Here comes Paul!
Here comes Paul!
Right down Pauline lane!
He's got teachings direct from Christ
And he tells us just the same.
2 Thessalonians, 2 Timothies and
Philemon just for us.
Rightly divide, else Law and Grace collide
You just gotta divide them right.
My parents don't really like it. Typically they enjoy my songs, so I can only assume there is a silent resentment or pot of simmering despite brewing. We will see how the plot unfolds, and once it does, we will strike it over the head. Or...other aptly named appendage that is ripe for the striking.
Their problem is that they get caught up in the technicalities...they fail to see the big picture. Usually, I fail to see the big picture. The big picture is this: carolers on every corner of every third street, all singing Here Comes Paul. Yes...yes.
As for TCT's Here is the festering, maggot-infested tag of Things I Hate Rejoice, I give it a 2/10 for their unbridled, raw, amazingly embarrassing display which causes me to disgust them very, very deeply. Not since Tim and Willy in the Mornings have I been this purely disgusted with a talk show based upon viewing them for less than 10 minutes.
Now if you'll excuse me...I need to go simmer for a while. Ooh, ahh, anger. Tss. Hot.
Friday, November 23, 2007
On Hold: The Razor.
Well, since I have extra time, I am not quite sure what to do. Today, I called Walmart to find out if they had a certain electric shaver, the Philips Norelco 7140XL. Our old shaver broke, yet still today I saw my Dad using it. What broke, you ask? One of the covers came off of one of the blades (it's a 3-head model). He's shaving with the two while avoiding the other rapidly spinning, demonic, sharp head that would give him something akin to what happens to a raw chicken leg placed in a garbage disposal, but in the face.
I wanted to ensure it could not be bought from Walmart, and I also didn't want to trouble my dear, dear parents with searching about aimlessly for it. I gathered my honor, and all my courage, and put away my pride, and I called.
"Hello this is Walmart happy holidays, what can I do for you?"
"Uhm, yes, I am looking for a representative in personal care?"
Keep in mind that my voice sounds especially deep and I have trouble pronouncing some words as my sinuses are clogged.
"What the HELL do you mean, personal care?" the lady sounds outraged.
"Uh, like, personal grooming care," I began (I meant to say "like electric razors") to say, but she interrupted.
"Eww! What do you mean?!"
"LISTEN YOU LOUSY JERK," I began. I had to deal with this. "PERSONAL" DOES NOT ALWAYS MEAN SEXUAL ORGANS! AND GO TO HELL! AND WHILE YOU'RE THERE, MAYBE YOU CAN FIND A GUTTER TO NOT DRAG YOUR MIND THROUGH, YOU PERVERTED CARCASS OF FLESH AND BONES!"
"...OK then, let me transfer you."
I decided to change up my strategy. "Yes, I need someone to do an inventory check in house wares for an electric razor." "OK, please hold."
"Hello, how may I help you?"
"Hi! My name's Kev! Oh, boy! I totally trusted that other lady!" "OK?"
"I need to know if you can do an inventory check for an electric razor." "Uhh, sir...this is the toy department."
I sunk into my chair as small squiggly cartoon lines depicting frustration arose from my head. She transferred me to somewhere. I couldn't believe it, within a minute someone answered!
"HI my name's Kev hi hi don't hang up PLEASE hi how are you!" "Iam(sic)...OK. What are you on hold for?" "I need an inventory check on a razor!" "An inventory check?" "YEEAH!" at this point, my tongue is hanging out of my mouth, I'm on the edge of my seat, and my eyes are bugging out with pure anticipation!
"An inventory check on food?" she confirmed. Still looking straight ahead, my eyes shriveled back into their sockets and with my tongue still hanging out, my open-mouthed grin turned to a malformed, open-mouthed frown as my eyebrows met my nose.
"No...razor. Shaving," I announced pitifully. No one would hear me. "OK let me transfer you."
It took several minutes for the frown to undo itself. I stared at the clock. Slow-motion set in. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Flea.
What?
Tick. Tick. Tick...
That's better.
And thus with 4 songs 14 minutes pass. I then hung up. I had been on the phone with my Mom (I love my little pay-as-you-go phone and no one can take our love away!), and she checked, and they did not have the razor in stock. Instead, they had the model down from it. I asked her to just get that. I slumped into my chair and thought bad thoughts. I also asked her to get some white chocolate chips, some chocolate chips, and some red and green candy canes, so I couldn't of thought too bad of thoughts, but I thought as bad as I could. I focused on how I spent 68 minutes and 20 seconds causing Walmart a higher phone bill. Then I added some self-pity by realizing I hadn't done a thing while on hold except jot down song titles.
I sat slumped festering in my self-pity, disappointment and wrath. I considered calling off buying the lower model razor. While probably the same razor, I don't know why it's $20 cheaper. Some reason, obviously. And razors last for years, and I don't want to regret this in a year or two.
Then, my Dad called. Whilst wandering aimlessly throughout the store, they came upon a GIANT DISPLAY PILE of the razor I had wanted originally. My Mom was furious. She went right over to customer service to complain. My Dad narrated it to me:
"OK, she's in line. OK, she's talking to the lady. She's being very animated. Alright, she's smiling now, I had better get off the phone before she sees me talking!" (click).
I was then happy. I learned two valuable lessons from the process: always look for display piles when items are out of stock, and never stay on hold for more than 65 minutes.
My parents are now home.
I wanted to ensure it could not be bought from Walmart, and I also didn't want to trouble my dear, dear parents with searching about aimlessly for it. I gathered my honor, and all my courage, and put away my pride, and I called.
"Hello this is Walmart happy holidays, what can I do for you?"
"Uhm, yes, I am looking for a representative in personal care?"
Keep in mind that my voice sounds especially deep and I have trouble pronouncing some words as my sinuses are clogged.
"What the HELL do you mean, personal care?" the lady sounds outraged.
"Uh, like, personal grooming care," I began (I meant to say "like electric razors") to say, but she interrupted.
"Eww! What do you mean?!"
"LISTEN YOU LOUSY JERK," I began. I had to deal with this. "PERSONAL" DOES NOT ALWAYS MEAN SEXUAL ORGANS! AND GO TO HELL! AND WHILE YOU'RE THERE, MAYBE YOU CAN FIND A GUTTER TO NOT DRAG YOUR MIND THROUGH, YOU PERVERTED CARCASS OF FLESH AND BONES!"
"...OK then, let me transfer you."
- I am waiting now. First song that comes on is Away in a Manger.
- The second is "Sleigh Ride."
- The third is The First Noel, or something along those lines (it had "noel noel" in it)
- I couldn't identify any phrases in the fourth song.
- I couldn't identify any phrases in the fifth song.
- The sixth song is "O Holy Night."
- The seventh song is "What Christmas means to Me."
- The eighth song is Jinglebell Rock.
- I couldn't identify the ninth song, except for the words "toda," "Elohim," and "Yeshua" (all Jewish words) in close proximity to each other. It was Jewish singing, and at the end I identified the phrase "rock of ages." Despite my efforts I could not identify the song.
- The tenth song is Sleep in Heavenly Peace.
- The eleventh song is "The Coolest Pair" by Clint Black.
I decided to change up my strategy. "Yes, I need someone to do an inventory check in house wares for an electric razor." "OK, please hold."
- I couldn't identify any phrases in the twelfth song.
- Sleigh Ride was on again as the thirteenth song.
- Santa's on His Way/Christmas Time is Here is the fourteenth song.
- The fifteenth song was "I've Got My Love to Keep Me Warm," but NOT THE VERSION BY BILLIE HOLIDAY. Ugh. NO. NO. NO. NO. It was a guy. NOT A WOMAN SINGING LIKE A GUY WHO HAD A HORRIBLE VOICE AND NO GRASP OF MELODY.
"Hello, how may I help you?"
"Hi! My name's Kev! Oh, boy! I totally trusted that other lady!" "OK?"
"I need to know if you can do an inventory check for an electric razor." "Uhh, sir...this is the toy department."
I sunk into my chair as small squiggly cartoon lines depicting frustration arose from my head. She transferred me to somewhere. I couldn't believe it, within a minute someone answered!
"HI my name's Kev hi hi don't hang up PLEASE hi how are you!" "Iam(sic)...OK. What are you on hold for?" "I need an inventory check on a razor!" "An inventory check?" "YEEAH!" at this point, my tongue is hanging out of my mouth, I'm on the edge of my seat, and my eyes are bugging out with pure anticipation!
"An inventory check on food?" she confirmed. Still looking straight ahead, my eyes shriveled back into their sockets and with my tongue still hanging out, my open-mouthed grin turned to a malformed, open-mouthed frown as my eyebrows met my nose.
"No...razor. Shaving," I announced pitifully. No one would hear me. "OK let me transfer you."
It took several minutes for the frown to undo itself. I stared at the clock. Slow-motion set in. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Flea.
What?
Tick. Tick. Tick...
That's better.
- The sixteenth song was O Holy Night again.
- The seventeenth song was I'm Dreaming of a White Christmas.
- The eighteenth song was What Christmas means to Me again.
- The nineteenth song was Walking in a Winter Wonderland.
And thus with 4 songs 14 minutes pass. I then hung up. I had been on the phone with my Mom (I love my little pay-as-you-go phone and no one can take our love away!), and she checked, and they did not have the razor in stock. Instead, they had the model down from it. I asked her to just get that. I slumped into my chair and thought bad thoughts. I also asked her to get some white chocolate chips, some chocolate chips, and some red and green candy canes, so I couldn't of thought too bad of thoughts, but I thought as bad as I could. I focused on how I spent 68 minutes and 20 seconds causing Walmart a higher phone bill. Then I added some self-pity by realizing I hadn't done a thing while on hold except jot down song titles.
I sat slumped festering in my self-pity, disappointment and wrath. I considered calling off buying the lower model razor. While probably the same razor, I don't know why it's $20 cheaper. Some reason, obviously. And razors last for years, and I don't want to regret this in a year or two.
Then, my Dad called. Whilst wandering aimlessly throughout the store, they came upon a GIANT DISPLAY PILE of the razor I had wanted originally. My Mom was furious. She went right over to customer service to complain. My Dad narrated it to me:
"OK, she's in line. OK, she's talking to the lady. She's being very animated. Alright, she's smiling now, I had better get off the phone before she sees me talking!" (click).
I was then happy. I learned two valuable lessons from the process: always look for display piles when items are out of stock, and never stay on hold for more than 65 minutes.
My parents are now home.
Non-rotten turkey, come here and let me give you a big hug. With my teeth.
Oh, boy. I am glad, that is for sure. THIS is what I am thankful for this Thanksgiving: THE TURKEY WAS NOT ROTTEN. NOT THIS TIME. IT ACTUALLY WAS NOT ROTTEN.
YES! JOY! HAPPINESS! You know what? I CAN ACTUALLY HAVE LEFTOVERS! AMAZEMENT EBBS FROM MY BRAIN THROUGH MY SINUS CAVITIES AND EAR CANALS! I am a simple person, and most of the time simple things make me happy. Something simple can make me just as happy as something complex. Rotten turkeys? Those make me sad. Turkey that ACTUALLY TASTES GOOD ENOUGH TO WANT TO EAT?! YES, IT MAKES ME HAPPY!
It seems I can't remember the last time a turkey actually tasted good! The dark, harrowing clouds of turkey-rottenness have ceded ground (or, metaphorically speaking, air) to rays of golden turkey-goodness! Hah! Satan, your reign of horrible turkey has come to an end! From now on, TURKEY IS A STAPLE IN OUR HOUSEHOLD, AND IF YOU DON'T LIKE IT, YOU CAN ROT IN THE EVERLASTING PITS OF DESPAIR! OH WAIT, YOU ALREADY WILL BE!
You might ask what all the caps are about. I am happy. That's what they're about! Turkey! Turkey! Turkey! Once more, turkey! Actual, non-rotten, non-spoiled, good-tasting turkey! No foul raw rotting fowl taste! GOOD TASTING TURKEY! Amazing! Such brilliance!
Not tough!
Not dried out!
Not raw!
Not rotten!
Not rotting!
Not that globe-trotting whore!
Damn that globe-trotting whore!
BUT ACTUAL, NOT ROTTEN, GOOD TASTING, DESIRABLE TURKEY FOR LEFTOVERING!
Now I can see why people seek to do things with the "leftover turkey!" It was a foolish statement before; it amounted to someone saying "My dog had an accident in the house, I might as well make the best of it; honey, get me some ah...eggs and stuff, we're making a quiche."
Oh, gobble gobble glory!
YES! JOY! HAPPINESS! You know what? I CAN ACTUALLY HAVE LEFTOVERS! AMAZEMENT EBBS FROM MY BRAIN THROUGH MY SINUS CAVITIES AND EAR CANALS! I am a simple person, and most of the time simple things make me happy. Something simple can make me just as happy as something complex. Rotten turkeys? Those make me sad. Turkey that ACTUALLY TASTES GOOD ENOUGH TO WANT TO EAT?! YES, IT MAKES ME HAPPY!
It seems I can't remember the last time a turkey actually tasted good! The dark, harrowing clouds of turkey-rottenness have ceded ground (or, metaphorically speaking, air) to rays of golden turkey-goodness! Hah! Satan, your reign of horrible turkey has come to an end! From now on, TURKEY IS A STAPLE IN OUR HOUSEHOLD, AND IF YOU DON'T LIKE IT, YOU CAN ROT IN THE EVERLASTING PITS OF DESPAIR! OH WAIT, YOU ALREADY WILL BE!
You might ask what all the caps are about. I am happy. That's what they're about! Turkey! Turkey! Turkey! Once more, turkey! Actual, non-rotten, non-spoiled, good-tasting turkey! No foul raw rotting fowl taste! GOOD TASTING TURKEY! Amazing! Such brilliance!
Not tough!
Not dried out!
Not raw!
Not rotten!
Not rotting!
Not that globe-trotting whore!
Damn that globe-trotting whore!
BUT ACTUAL, NOT ROTTEN, GOOD TASTING, DESIRABLE TURKEY FOR LEFTOVERING!
Now I can see why people seek to do things with the "leftover turkey!" It was a foolish statement before; it amounted to someone saying "My dog had an accident in the house, I might as well make the best of it; honey, get me some ah...eggs and stuff, we're making a quiche."
Oh, gobble gobble glory!
"What do we do?!": Free Time. An alien concept.
Everyone please give a warm hand of applause to the new "Articles" tag, who will adorn every post from now forward which links to articles on all subjects, including blog posts (excluding my own) but excluding mass news articles (they will continue to be posted under the "News" tag).
"Moooom..." I began, a note of alarmed dawning in my voice. "Yes, son whom I love?" she inquired. "What do we do?" I asked. "About what?" she queried. "Well, we don't have two days of horrific wedding work to attend to...and we're not all hopelessly sick and dying...and Dad's not trying to kill himself working...what else will we do with our time if not try to drive ourselves bonkers with wedding preparations and in effect trying to kill ourselves?"
"I don't know. Normal people things, like sleep for long long durations," she replied.
I don't know, either. So, I set out to ...y'know, do normal people things. First, me and my Mom played a game of Upwords. That game SUCKS. Man! Seriously, someone get a surgeon and CUT THAT GAME'S BALLS OFF!
...sorry, I'm thinking of Popoe, the cat who needs a surgeon or a girlfriend.
After that (it was 11:45 or so), I decided to read this article about legalistic behavior in the church, titled From Liberty to Legalism. It took me one hour and 20-25 minutes to read. No wonder I was gnawing my arm by the time it was over. Now, I am not sure about their doctrine (and even less sure about their spelling!), but they seem to have it right. The most likely case is that several different sources put content on their website, so that's why they confuse me. Or maybe they're just confusing.
Confusing and grammatically errored. Though I am sure I make grammatical errors all my own. Recently, I dropped into some hard, green cash. I had not been paid my "allowance" for 6 weeks. I'd rather not say how much it is, but it's enough to invest in something. Uh, you know, something...small. Like books for learnin' book learning from. Learning. Tss, burn.
So, I'm going to order a book on grammar. Speaking of grammar...there's a spelling error in Metroid Prime 3. It's bothering me. I might write Nintendo over it. Maybe they'll send me an updated disc for free. Or maybe they don't know about it! You'll be a star! All will adore you, and rightfully so!
Now, you know those idiotic "Guide to (blank)'s?" Like the idiot's guide? Yes, well, apparently there's one called the "Painless" guide. Example: Painless Grammar. I know, I know what you're thinking. "Any attempt to learn anything is a sure sign that you are unlearned and idiotic. Best not admit it and stay stupid- you'll look smart. I am your pride speaking. You're awesome." After all, the front of the book is a cartoon cat portraying a shocked, frightened individual. Most likely a stupid, shocked, frightened individual.
However, the reviews speak contrariwise. One person intoned that their child read it, and that if their idiotic child could read it, "then any moron could get it, including you, Kev." These reviews...they creep me out sometimes. He or she then went on to read it and gleaned some knowledge. I mean, I already have pretty good grammar, right? Better than 98% of those on the Internets, right? Yes, you are amazing. Above a prodigy.
Besides, they had me once I saw page 6, pictured and highlighted at right (you'll need to enlarge).
Also, Painless Writing looks good. If you can't tell, I'm going to improve my blogging skills. Why? I don't know. I'm told I'm good at writing from several impartial sources, like my mom. I might as well milk it for all it's worth. What is it...just because you're gifted doesn't mean that you can rely on that gift, or something? I forget. Too gifted to remember. Damn, I'm great! Yes...yes you are.
Next up is the Rough Guide to Blogging 1 (1?). Perhaps I am a sucker for reviews...or perhaps you are simply astoundingly brilliant! Right! Go me! Also, in the same vein, I ordered No One Cares What You Had for Lunch: 100 Ideas for Your Blog. But they should...everyone cares and loves you, Kev. This is your pride speaking. Heh heh heh.
Have I ever told you about my system of buying things off of the line, like Amazon or Half.com or eBay? Well actually, I avoid eBay all together. I despise eBay. I can't see its worth. Anyway, my mom recently told me that she had not known of the "free shipping" system, or as I have so boastfully titled it, the "near buy" system, until she gleaned it from me. Gleaned is the word of the day. I saw it in Metroid Prime 3 so it's good as gold to me!
What you do is compare locations. Simple. One is shipping from NY, but the other is shipping from UT or CA. You're in Arizona. Do you suppose that item from NY will reach you as fast as the item in UT or CA? No, probably not. Since typically there are many choices of the same item in the same condition, for roughly the same price, you shop around until you find the closest location.
Sometimes it's worth it to pay an extra $1-2 on the item price itself (usually not worth it on Half.com). So you can see how aptly named it is. Near buy, as in nearby, as you order it nearby. Also note that if you're really in a vat of vinegar and pickling spices you could attempt the ol' expedited shipping+near buy.
Now, everyone tell me that I'm great for taking the initiative to nurture my brain, and say something about how you're going to order one of the books you found interesting, and that you'd like to know how they work out for me. You can do it! Trust in yourself!
PS: it is now 3:59 AM. Do you suppose I am up with the sun or down with the moon?
"Moooom..." I began, a note of alarmed dawning in my voice. "Yes, son whom I love?" she inquired. "What do we do?" I asked. "About what?" she queried. "Well, we don't have two days of horrific wedding work to attend to...and we're not all hopelessly sick and dying...and Dad's not trying to kill himself working...what else will we do with our time if not try to drive ourselves bonkers with wedding preparations and in effect trying to kill ourselves?"
"I don't know. Normal people things, like sleep for long long durations," she replied.
I don't know, either. So, I set out to ...y'know, do normal people things. First, me and my Mom played a game of Upwords. That game SUCKS. Man! Seriously, someone get a surgeon and CUT THAT GAME'S BALLS OFF!
...sorry, I'm thinking of Popoe, the cat who needs a surgeon or a girlfriend.
After that (it was 11:45 or so), I decided to read this article about legalistic behavior in the church, titled From Liberty to Legalism. It took me one hour and 20-25 minutes to read. No wonder I was gnawing my arm by the time it was over. Now, I am not sure about their doctrine (and even less sure about their spelling!), but they seem to have it right. The most likely case is that several different sources put content on their website, so that's why they confuse me. Or maybe they're just confusing.
Confusing and grammatically errored. Though I am sure I make grammatical errors all my own. Recently, I dropped into some hard, green cash. I had not been paid my "allowance" for 6 weeks. I'd rather not say how much it is, but it's enough to invest in something. Uh, you know, something...small. Like books for learnin' book learning from. Learning. Tss, burn.
So, I'm going to order a book on grammar. Speaking of grammar...there's a spelling error in Metroid Prime 3. It's bothering me. I might write Nintendo over it. Maybe they'll send me an updated disc for free. Or maybe they don't know about it! You'll be a star! All will adore you, and rightfully so!
Now, you know those idiotic "Guide to (blank)'s?" Like the idiot's guide? Yes, well, apparently there's one called the "Painless" guide. Example: Painless Grammar. I know, I know what you're thinking. "Any attempt to learn anything is a sure sign that you are unlearned and idiotic. Best not admit it and stay stupid- you'll look smart. I am your pride speaking. You're awesome." After all, the front of the book is a cartoon cat portraying a shocked, frightened individual. Most likely a stupid, shocked, frightened individual.
However, the reviews speak contrariwise. One person intoned that their child read it, and that if their idiotic child could read it, "then any moron could get it, including you, Kev." These reviews...they creep me out sometimes. He or she then went on to read it and gleaned some knowledge. I mean, I already have pretty good grammar, right? Better than 98% of those on the Internets, right? Yes, you are amazing. Above a prodigy.Besides, they had me once I saw page 6, pictured and highlighted at right (you'll need to enlarge).
Also, Painless Writing looks good. If you can't tell, I'm going to improve my blogging skills. Why? I don't know. I'm told I'm good at writing from several impartial sources, like my mom. I might as well milk it for all it's worth. What is it...just because you're gifted doesn't mean that you can rely on that gift, or something? I forget. Too gifted to remember. Damn, I'm great! Yes...yes you are.
Next up is the Rough Guide to Blogging 1 (1?). Perhaps I am a sucker for reviews...or perhaps you are simply astoundingly brilliant! Right! Go me! Also, in the same vein, I ordered No One Cares What You Had for Lunch: 100 Ideas for Your Blog. But they should...everyone cares and loves you, Kev. This is your pride speaking. Heh heh heh.
Have I ever told you about my system of buying things off of the line, like Amazon or Half.com or eBay? Well actually, I avoid eBay all together. I despise eBay. I can't see its worth. Anyway, my mom recently told me that she had not known of the "free shipping" system, or as I have so boastfully titled it, the "near buy" system, until she gleaned it from me. Gleaned is the word of the day. I saw it in Metroid Prime 3 so it's good as gold to me!
What you do is compare locations. Simple. One is shipping from NY, but the other is shipping from UT or CA. You're in Arizona. Do you suppose that item from NY will reach you as fast as the item in UT or CA? No, probably not. Since typically there are many choices of the same item in the same condition, for roughly the same price, you shop around until you find the closest location.
Sometimes it's worth it to pay an extra $1-2 on the item price itself (usually not worth it on Half.com). So you can see how aptly named it is. Near buy, as in nearby, as you order it nearby. Also note that if you're really in a vat of vinegar and pickling spices you could attempt the ol' expedited shipping+near buy.
Now, everyone tell me that I'm great for taking the initiative to nurture my brain, and say something about how you're going to order one of the books you found interesting, and that you'd like to know how they work out for me. You can do it! Trust in yourself!
PS: it is now 3:59 AM. Do you suppose I am up with the sun or down with the moon?
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
Camcorder Conundrum: Kev Destroys his Mind
OK, so my parents' wedding was recently. As you may know, my Great Grandmothers' death celebration was also recent, and our Sony (model TRV-138, if memory serves) Hi8 died. It got stepped on then hit with a hammer to unjam it. What?
We had to make due with my digital camera, which pulled through like a champ. Thanks digital camera! You pulled through like a champ! Give yourself a pat on the back. Champ.
As for my parents' wedding, we borrowed my dearest Aunt Desnee's camcorder (thanks!), a Sony DVD model. After recordering the...OK, recordering is not a word, folks. After recording the "behind-the-scenes" stuff, I "disced" the ceremony and the receiving line (where everyone hugged my Mom). (And my Dad). (He was there, too, I think).
Now, since the DVDs can only hold 30 minutes (20 minutes for short play and 60 minutes for long play), I had to record on three DVDs. Yikes. I'm "discovering"...get it, discovering? DVD humor, folks. Laugh, man! "Hah hah" like that! LAUGH!
Here, I'll take occasion to admit that I thought MiniDV was a 3" DVD disc. Here I thought that there were cameras which used full-sized DVDs, and those were the DVD cameras. How on earth, I don't know. I'm not stupid or anything. I think it was the ads with the miniature DVD (MiniDV sounds like a miniature DVD!) and camera inside a womb with the fetus holding the disc. That was definitely it. Or maybe it was a barbie doll holding the disc. I think barbie should have been capitalized. Barbie. Yep. Well, we'll get that in editing. Like men.
Anyways, I'm discovering how difficult it is to edit the DVDs. DVD humor again. You missed it, didn't you?
You'd think it would be easy and streamlined, right? Just rip them to the computer, edit by selecting scenes, then click "burn." Or, even just compile all three discs (as they'd all fit on a single full-sized DVD!). Simple. But no.
It turns out that the DVD cameras record in "DVDese," but most editing software (like the editing software I already have) only knows "MiniDVese." I'm going to have to download a freak Hulk-type software (it's normal EDIT Banner one minute, then RAAAW! PROCESS AND RENDER! Hulk the next) to edit them. But my real problem? Ohh, the length of taping. I tell you what, if they had DVDs which recorded for 60 minutes, I'd be all over a DVD camcorder.
I would play with it and hug it and tell it I like it and put it under my pillow and make it breakfast in bed (with orange juice!!!) then hallow it in the Drawer of Hallowed Things Kev Likes. The hallow from the other hallowed objects rubs off on the non-hallowed object, much like a "little leaven leaveneth the loaf." I have no idea where the hell the hallow came from, but it's been hallowing everything in that hallow drawer for years. I need to start an official list of hallowed games, paddles and memory cards.
...anyway, I figure I have two choices in the camcorder market. But first, the qualifiers: it has to have Sony's Nightshot Plus or equivalent. That's big for me because I want to be able to film things at night. I'd live with it if I weren't already spoiled silly, but the Nightshot contains too much raw awenem. This leaves me with, to my knowledge, only Sony camcorders.
Sony's line features the DCR-DVD108. It is my DVD camera of choice, not to be confused with my general camera of choice, and it has a $350 price tag. After experiencing taping the wedding on three discs when I could have used 1 DV tape, I am apprehensive. I have another wedding to tape shortly- which most likely will be twice as long- and I do not want to fumble around with 2 or 3 DVDs.
As for my MiniDV camera of choice, the Sony DCR-HC38 fits the bill. It has a $300 price tag, and it is...one up from the entry level, and has 40x zoom (the aforementioned DVD camcorder also has 40x zoom). But with the camera shake, 40x zoom would only be useful in very rare instances. You'd have to have a tripod for sure.
My current thoughts are that we should get a MiniDV camcorder. The biggest reason is that they allow for 60 minutes in the higher quality (and you can buy 80 minute tapes), where DVDs only allow 30. That's a sad thing for DVDs. Just the fact that I could have caught EVERYTHING- from behind-the-scenes stuff to ceremony to receiving line- on one MiniDV instead of 3 DVDs makes me sad and angry. It makes me want to, I don't know...fling something at a tree. Maybe I should stop using that banana and coconut hand lotion...and I should avoid bananas.
If I did get a MiniDV camcorder, I think I'd have to buy an external hard drive to edit and backup (though, everything changes when you actually work with the product). Apparently, each little tape is 11 GB. That's bigger than a double-sided DVD! And I really wanted to type "double-sided sticky tape," as...when else do you use the precursor "double-sided?"
I am not much for external, spinning, hard discs. They freak me out. I think...you can transfer straight to DVD...then edit that 2 or 3 GB file. Who knows, like I said, it all changes when you actually work with the thing.
Now that I've decided I want a MiniDV camcorder, I need it by Halloween (filming a non-holiday-related spoof show), as I don't have time to send it back to an online store if it doesn't work...so Walmart is the only brick-and-mortar franchise without the 15% restocking fee. I don't mean to sound greedy, but those restocking fees are of the Devil hisself!
Walmart only sells the DCR-DVD108 and the DCR-HC28. The HC28 is basically the HC38, but it's a step lower with 20x zoom as opposed to 40x zoom. I'll have to make a...gasp...compromise! It's also $50 less, and that's a whole battery or shoulder strap or something, and believe me, the battery they provide is rarely enough...so it isn't too much of a compromise. I'm planning to someday go camping with my Dad in the dark woods. I'll need plenty of camcorder battery life for that, as I'm certain we'll run into stick figures and stuff and a blaring witch and get lost and both die.
Now that I've got that cleared up (I've also heard that the DVD format is going to fold, and MiniDV will outlive it or something?), I STILL have to deal with these accursed, filthy DVDs from the wedding. I'm going to download a Hulk-type video editor, and use the 30-day trial. I...I may end up buying it. No need to refuse trial to me! HAHH HAHAH AH SUCKERS!!!
[NEXT POST]
We had to make due with my digital camera, which pulled through like a champ. Thanks digital camera! You pulled through like a champ! Give yourself a pat on the back. Champ.
As for my parents' wedding, we borrowed my dearest Aunt Desnee's camcorder (thanks!), a Sony DVD model. After recordering the...OK, recordering is not a word, folks. After recording the "behind-the-scenes" stuff, I "disced" the ceremony and the receiving line (where everyone hugged my Mom). (And my Dad). (He was there, too, I think).
Now, since the DVDs can only hold 30 minutes (20 minutes for short play and 60 minutes for long play), I had to record on three DVDs. Yikes. I'm "discovering"...get it, discovering? DVD humor, folks. Laugh, man! "Hah hah" like that! LAUGH!
Here, I'll take occasion to admit that I thought MiniDV was a 3" DVD disc. Here I thought that there were cameras which used full-sized DVDs, and those were the DVD cameras. How on earth, I don't know. I'm not stupid or anything. I think it was the ads with the miniature DVD (MiniDV sounds like a miniature DVD!) and camera inside a womb with the fetus holding the disc. That was definitely it. Or maybe it was a barbie doll holding the disc. I think barbie should have been capitalized. Barbie. Yep. Well, we'll get that in editing. Like men.
Anyways, I'm discovering how difficult it is to edit the DVDs. DVD humor again. You missed it, didn't you?
You'd think it would be easy and streamlined, right? Just rip them to the computer, edit by selecting scenes, then click "burn." Or, even just compile all three discs (as they'd all fit on a single full-sized DVD!). Simple. But no.
It turns out that the DVD cameras record in "DVDese," but most editing software (like the editing software I already have) only knows "MiniDVese." I'm going to have to download a freak Hulk-type software (it's normal EDIT Banner one minute, then RAAAW! PROCESS AND RENDER! Hulk the next) to edit them. But my real problem? Ohh, the length of taping. I tell you what, if they had DVDs which recorded for 60 minutes, I'd be all over a DVD camcorder.
I would play with it and hug it and tell it I like it and put it under my pillow and make it breakfast in bed (with orange juice!!!) then hallow it in the Drawer of Hallowed Things Kev Likes. The hallow from the other hallowed objects rubs off on the non-hallowed object, much like a "little leaven leaveneth the loaf." I have no idea where the hell the hallow came from, but it's been hallowing everything in that hallow drawer for years. I need to start an official list of hallowed games, paddles and memory cards.
...anyway, I figure I have two choices in the camcorder market. But first, the qualifiers: it has to have Sony's Nightshot Plus or equivalent. That's big for me because I want to be able to film things at night. I'd live with it if I weren't already spoiled silly, but the Nightshot contains too much raw awenem. This leaves me with, to my knowledge, only Sony camcorders.
Sony's line features the DCR-DVD108. It is my DVD camera of choice, not to be confused with my general camera of choice, and it has a $350 price tag. After experiencing taping the wedding on three discs when I could have used 1 DV tape, I am apprehensive. I have another wedding to tape shortly- which most likely will be twice as long- and I do not want to fumble around with 2 or 3 DVDs.
As for my MiniDV camera of choice, the Sony DCR-HC38 fits the bill. It has a $300 price tag, and it is...one up from the entry level, and has 40x zoom (the aforementioned DVD camcorder also has 40x zoom). But with the camera shake, 40x zoom would only be useful in very rare instances. You'd have to have a tripod for sure.
My current thoughts are that we should get a MiniDV camcorder. The biggest reason is that they allow for 60 minutes in the higher quality (and you can buy 80 minute tapes), where DVDs only allow 30. That's a sad thing for DVDs. Just the fact that I could have caught EVERYTHING- from behind-the-scenes stuff to ceremony to receiving line- on one MiniDV instead of 3 DVDs makes me sad and angry. It makes me want to, I don't know...fling something at a tree. Maybe I should stop using that banana and coconut hand lotion...and I should avoid bananas.
If I did get a MiniDV camcorder, I think I'd have to buy an external hard drive to edit and backup (though, everything changes when you actually work with the product). Apparently, each little tape is 11 GB. That's bigger than a double-sided DVD! And I really wanted to type "double-sided sticky tape," as...when else do you use the precursor "double-sided?"
I am not much for external, spinning, hard discs. They freak me out. I think...you can transfer straight to DVD...then edit that 2 or 3 GB file. Who knows, like I said, it all changes when you actually work with the thing.
Now that I've decided I want a MiniDV camcorder, I need it by Halloween (filming a non-holiday-related spoof show), as I don't have time to send it back to an online store if it doesn't work...so Walmart is the only brick-and-mortar franchise without the 15% restocking fee. I don't mean to sound greedy, but those restocking fees are of the Devil hisself!
Walmart only sells the DCR-DVD108 and the DCR-HC28. The HC28 is basically the HC38, but it's a step lower with 20x zoom as opposed to 40x zoom. I'll have to make a...gasp...compromise! It's also $50 less, and that's a whole battery or shoulder strap or something, and believe me, the battery they provide is rarely enough...so it isn't too much of a compromise. I'm planning to someday go camping with my Dad in the dark woods. I'll need plenty of camcorder battery life for that, as I'm certain we'll run into stick figures and stuff and a blaring witch and get lost and both die.
Now that I've got that cleared up (I've also heard that the DVD format is going to fold, and MiniDV will outlive it or something?), I STILL have to deal with these accursed, filthy DVDs from the wedding. I'm going to download a Hulk-type video editor, and use the 30-day trial. I...I may end up buying it. No need to refuse trial to me! HAHH HAHAH AH SUCKERS!!!
[NEXT POST]
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
Operation: Free Passage
Today, I was on goat birth watch. Nothing happened. So, I decided to go feed. In the process of feeding, I discovered a very nasty hedge of goat feces mingled with old hay, pictured below, blocking access to the birthing pen (the other entry is through the main pen with all the goats, which is an inconvenient truth-- LOL I CAME UP WITH THAT INSTANTLY).
I obviously could not let this enemy obstruction go unpunished. The mere thought that a 2-foot pile of goat poop, and goat pee, and hay, and dust, would stand in the way of me having free passage to the birthing pen! And I will NOT wade through the waves of goats to go in the other way. Clearly, I had one option. I got the pitchfork. The best defense is a good offense, and this pitchfork has a 7-foot steel handle, though one of the forks is bent pretty badly, and that will make it 150% harder to use. Seriously; if you have a bent fork, straighten it. It'll change your life.
So first, I dug my way to the gate and pried it open, below.
Our eldest and smartest dog, the pack leader Hannah, a border collie mix, watches approvingly. Though...she...wishes she were further away. Or that the wind was not blowing the milifine dust into her eyes, lungs, and brain. It's that fine.
Below you can see how desperately thick the enemy is, though the picture does not do the sheer demonic density of it any even slight justice. It's about three times as hard as digging through dirt. And eight times as dirty. And there's more dust. And it's heavier. And more depressing. And harder to move.
Below, though it is hard to see, my objective has been accomplished, and the Goat Poop Gate Guard has been defeated. That ought to teach that inanimate object a lesson. And make everyones life easier.
Rest in peace, gate.
I obviously could not let this enemy obstruction go unpunished. The mere thought that a 2-foot pile of goat poop, and goat pee, and hay, and dust, would stand in the way of me having free passage to the birthing pen! And I will NOT wade through the waves of goats to go in the other way. Clearly, I had one option. I got the pitchfork. The best defense is a good offense, and this pitchfork has a 7-foot steel handle, though one of the forks is bent pretty badly, and that will make it 150% harder to use. Seriously; if you have a bent fork, straighten it. It'll change your life.
So first, I dug my way to the gate and pried it open, below.
Our eldest and smartest dog, the pack leader Hannah, a border collie mix, watches approvingly. Though...she...wishes she were further away. Or that the wind was not blowing the milifine dust into her eyes, lungs, and brain. It's that fine.
Below you can see how desperately thick the enemy is, though the picture does not do the sheer demonic density of it any even slight justice. It's about three times as hard as digging through dirt. And eight times as dirty. And there's more dust. And it's heavier. And more depressing. And harder to move.
Below, though it is hard to see, my objective has been accomplished, and the Goat Poop Gate Guard has been defeated. That ought to teach that inanimate object a lesson. And make everyones life easier.
Rest in peace, gate.Tuesday, October 09, 2007
The Destroyer Rearranges
The Destroyer appears. He moves through the Valley of Useless Crap, unmoved and uncaring, a seemingly barely sentient being, knowing only death and destruction. All tremble at his icy stare. All tremble at the visions of their doom and destruction and past colonies demolished in one fell, malignant swoop.
Junk Villages, great in times past, lay in ruins. Wasted, spent piles of lost hope and depressed, relentless sorrow permeate what little is left of their once formidable domain. Odds and ends find their rest in the horrific silence and despair of death. Yet still the Destroyer has not quenched his thirst for destruction. Pillaging...ever pillaging. Each stride sends fear like a bolt of lightning, drenching the hearts of whatever lies ahead with miserable fear. All wait for their end.
He comes to a stop. He looks slowly side to side. All fall as if dead at his feet. Yet the killing does not commence.
No pillaging. Wrath and destruction on hold. He descends as he rarely appears. A savior. He leads the refugees away from the burning ashes, who, having survived the relentless destruction, passing through the fires of his wrath, have found favor. They fear to follow him, yet find themselves powerless to resist. As they trudge in silence, presences falling at their sides, would-be enemies stopped in their tracks; they march under the protection of the Destroyer.
Could this be the same one who came before, upturning the Soils of Uselessness and stopping the Fountain of Waste?
The same who pillaged the Pile of Crap and the Box of Lousiness? Threw out the whole village of Worthless Nick Nack? Burned to the ground and left none standing of the Cupboard
of Inutility? Dispensed raw hatred upon the ancient Elders, the inhabitants of Drossy Cubbyhole, who watched over the Valley of Useless Crap?
As we are led to our new habitation, when we arrive, it becomes clear that the previous existence is over. Wrath ceases against us, as we oppose the Destroyer no more. Having been removed and displaced, we begin the arduous task of growing our deep roots; yet, this time, we do not grow them for want or need of surviving the fires of wrath. This time we grow them for a new brand, a new breed of non-folly, a new realm of peace and hopeful prosperity previously unknown. We now know the joys of being approved by the Destroyer, of being, instead of under his destruction, under his protection. Having endured his attacks to the end.
None know what the future holds, yet it is less harrowing than ever it has been. We face it with newfound hope.
[I rearranged the house a bit, and this is what happened from the perspective of what I rearranged; I moved a refrigerator, the milking supplies, the table, the garbage can, and the 4' tall speakers, thus adding about 25 square feet of space]
Junk Villages, great in times past, lay in ruins. Wasted, spent piles of lost hope and depressed, relentless sorrow permeate what little is left of their once formidable domain. Odds and ends find their rest in the horrific silence and despair of death. Yet still the Destroyer has not quenched his thirst for destruction. Pillaging...ever pillaging. Each stride sends fear like a bolt of lightning, drenching the hearts of whatever lies ahead with miserable fear. All wait for their end.
He comes to a stop. He looks slowly side to side. All fall as if dead at his feet. Yet the killing does not commence.
No pillaging. Wrath and destruction on hold. He descends as he rarely appears. A savior. He leads the refugees away from the burning ashes, who, having survived the relentless destruction, passing through the fires of his wrath, have found favor. They fear to follow him, yet find themselves powerless to resist. As they trudge in silence, presences falling at their sides, would-be enemies stopped in their tracks; they march under the protection of the Destroyer.
Could this be the same one who came before, upturning the Soils of Uselessness and stopping the Fountain of Waste?
The same who pillaged the Pile of Crap and the Box of Lousiness? Threw out the whole village of Worthless Nick Nack? Burned to the ground and left none standing of the Cupboard
of Inutility? Dispensed raw hatred upon the ancient Elders, the inhabitants of Drossy Cubbyhole, who watched over the Valley of Useless Crap?
As we are led to our new habitation, when we arrive, it becomes clear that the previous existence is over. Wrath ceases against us, as we oppose the Destroyer no more. Having been removed and displaced, we begin the arduous task of growing our deep roots; yet, this time, we do not grow them for want or need of surviving the fires of wrath. This time we grow them for a new brand, a new breed of non-folly, a new realm of peace and hopeful prosperity previously unknown. We now know the joys of being approved by the Destroyer, of being, instead of under his destruction, under his protection. Having endured his attacks to the end.
None know what the future holds, yet it is less harrowing than ever it has been. We face it with newfound hope.
[I rearranged the house a bit, and this is what happened from the perspective of what I rearranged; I moved a refrigerator, the milking supplies, the table, the garbage can, and the 4' tall speakers, thus adding about 25 square feet of space]
Saturday, September 29, 2007
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.
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.
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
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?
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.
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?
Thursday, September 06, 2007
Kev Rebels Part 3: Rebellion's Consequence
[one] [two] [three]
After on the first day having chosen the path of rebellion, doing two loads of laundry, getting my clothes ready, making dinner, straightening up the house, going to sleep...
And after on the second day sleeping in, getting the family water (and the neighbors'), making dinner, and putting the shopping list together, taking a shower, loading my Bible cover, getting the debit card, leaving the house, arriving at Church for Wednesday Bible Study, studying for an hour and a half, going to the Fast Rite with the guys, then parting ways with them to head home...
...I came upon a chunk of traffic. No small chunk of traffic. It took me 50 minutes to cover a portion of road that normally takes 5 minutes, and you know how offramps are always as tumultuous as the road itself. One guy actually was determined to invent a hovercar. His reasoning was that he would figure out how to convert his old Chevy into a hovercar with a screwdriver, wrench and socket set before the traffic let up. People were lending him tools.
The bare fact that I was able to ask him what he was doing is a testament to how bad the traffic was.
I did get to let a Christian merge. It's always fun doing a nice thing then realizing you did it to a Christian...as I read a few weeks ago, Galatians 6:10:
Which is why they should all identify themselves with a banner of sorts, like I do. Once in town, I stopped by the store to get some shopping done. They have the most awesome roast on sale (which we need more of). Seriously, it practically prepares itself. It sure is tasteless improperly prepared, though.
There was a couple at the store who kind of looked like...well, you know those kinds of old people who look like they've been together a long time, but have not been very happy together? That. They saw my Bible cover. Contents unknown. "AHHHH!" she shrieked. "BIIIIIIIIIIBLE BAASHER! BURN IT, BURN IT!" she urged her husband. The weirdest things happen near the sweet potatoes. Try it; just hang out near them sometime holding a token of your beliefs- strap an ACLU badge to your forehead, or hold a giant swastika, or something like that. Sweet potatoes are like a range-limited full moon...it brings the crazies out.
I got home around 11:00 PM. My Mom was freaking out. "WHOA KEV IT RAINED!" "Yeah, Mom, totally. There was like...no rain out there, Ma." "OK LOL I WAS WRONG THEN GLAD UR HOME SON GUDNITE"
Today, I did some yard work. It was cloudy, but uncomfortable still. I long for Winter. I got a bag of garbage (or...yard "debris") and drug the fish tank stand to the Junk Heap. "OH NO!" my Mom exclaimed. "Why did you do that? That thing isn't junk! I can't believe it! Oh my!"
Because, Mom...I'm a rebel.
...though, I don't see my parents getting frustrated with me yet, calling Pastor RJ for a son-straightening sit-down, or threatening to kick me out of the house. Perhaps I need to ramp it up. I will clean my room tomorrow, and vacuum the floor. They'll...they'll be sorry I was ever born!
After on the first day having chosen the path of rebellion, doing two loads of laundry, getting my clothes ready, making dinner, straightening up the house, going to sleep...
And after on the second day sleeping in, getting the family water (and the neighbors'), making dinner, and putting the shopping list together, taking a shower, loading my Bible cover, getting the debit card, leaving the house, arriving at Church for Wednesday Bible Study, studying for an hour and a half, going to the Fast Rite with the guys, then parting ways with them to head home...
...I came upon a chunk of traffic. No small chunk of traffic. It took me 50 minutes to cover a portion of road that normally takes 5 minutes, and you know how offramps are always as tumultuous as the road itself. One guy actually was determined to invent a hovercar. His reasoning was that he would figure out how to convert his old Chevy into a hovercar with a screwdriver, wrench and socket set before the traffic let up. People were lending him tools.
The bare fact that I was able to ask him what he was doing is a testament to how bad the traffic was.
I did get to let a Christian merge. It's always fun doing a nice thing then realizing you did it to a Christian...as I read a few weeks ago, Galatians 6:10:
| 10 | As we have therefore opportunity, let us do good unto all men, especially unto them who are of the household of faith. |
Which is why they should all identify themselves with a banner of sorts, like I do. Once in town, I stopped by the store to get some shopping done. They have the most awesome roast on sale (which we need more of). Seriously, it practically prepares itself. It sure is tasteless improperly prepared, though.
There was a couple at the store who kind of looked like...well, you know those kinds of old people who look like they've been together a long time, but have not been very happy together? That. They saw my Bible cover. Contents unknown. "AHHHH!" she shrieked. "BIIIIIIIIIIBLE BAASHER! BURN IT, BURN IT!" she urged her husband. The weirdest things happen near the sweet potatoes. Try it; just hang out near them sometime holding a token of your beliefs- strap an ACLU badge to your forehead, or hold a giant swastika, or something like that. Sweet potatoes are like a range-limited full moon...it brings the crazies out.
I got home around 11:00 PM. My Mom was freaking out. "WHOA KEV IT RAINED!" "Yeah, Mom, totally. There was like...no rain out there, Ma." "OK LOL I WAS WRONG THEN GLAD UR HOME SON GUDNITE"
Today, I did some yard work. It was cloudy, but uncomfortable still. I long for Winter. I got a bag of garbage (or...yard "debris") and drug the fish tank stand to the Junk Heap. "OH NO!" my Mom exclaimed. "Why did you do that? That thing isn't junk! I can't believe it! Oh my!"
Because, Mom...I'm a rebel.
...though, I don't see my parents getting frustrated with me yet, calling Pastor RJ for a son-straightening sit-down, or threatening to kick me out of the house. Perhaps I need to ramp it up. I will clean my room tomorrow, and vacuum the floor. They'll...they'll be sorry I was ever born!
Thursday, August 23, 2007
You Reap what you Sow
And I am sowing 30 pounds of assorted meats.
It turns out, we only have like 10 roasts left after the above pictured. I will cut all of them up, too. We'll then have exactly 5,000,000,000,000,000 ounces of hamburger that all needs to be ground before it is used. -_-
Welcome the "Take THAT Satan" tag.
Tuesday, March 06, 2007
"GO"
Well, the fast seemed to produce results. Beware, this post contains religious discussion. Have you heard that they want to start giving warnings on movies like that? Right next to "Graphic Violence" they'll put "Strong Christian undertones." Jerks.
That was a shot at hollywood, by the way. Take THAT, you commie swine!
So, as I started my fast (around noon), whilst praying with Mike and my dad to start it (I'll uhh, have to find that in the Bible some day?!). I got a mental image of halfway through the Old Testament. I've been feeling led to read the Old Testament as of late, and I just love the halfway through the OT point for some reason. So then I went about my day. Slowly the peace of God descended, which I have only felt, as far as I can remember, once in my life, and for no particular reason.
Also, as with the above image, I started developing an image of a word. I didn't know what it was. It was too small to make out.
But first I went about my business in the kitchen. My to do list was
So I began with the salsa making. I chopped up about eight onions. I made one and a half quarts of onions (see right), and completed the Salsa. Then I began chopping the nuts (once the kitchen was clean). At about, I think it was 3 PM, I realized I had been snacking on the nuts accidentally. Imagine my horror, my first ever fast, an important one, and I fail three hours into it. I was on the phone with my mom when I realized I had done it. I told her, I said, "OH MY GOSH MOMMY I FAILLEDID!"
I figured, it would only make my stomach hurt more, so it equals itself out. I only ate like 8 pecans worth. I then realized I would be in the kitchen all day, so I gave up on my to do list. I guess I didn't consider the massive amounts of time I can spend in there, hours. I spent over eight hours in the kitchen yesterday.
I then went to open my Bible. I blew the dust off the cover. Once it cleared (okay, actually, I just went outside- the fast was only for eight more hours! The dust wouldn't clear that soon!), I opened it halfway into the Old Testament. It opened to the chapter of Kings, you know, Kings 1:1.
"Hmm, that's strange," I thought. So naturally, I prayed I would find the answer I was seeking. "wonder what's up with Kings. It must be important, if I randomly turned to the first verse."
And of course it just screamed TA. Actually, I think it's the most associated with TA Bible verse I know. Two verses.
1 Now king David was old and stricken in years; and they covered him with clothes, but he gat no heat.
2 Wherefore his servants said unto him, Let there be sought for my lord the king a young virgin: and let her stand before the king, and let her cherish him, and let her lie in thy bosom, that my lord the king may get heat.
I've always associated that verse with Ness. I don't think there are any other verses I associate with the Team...she just strikes me as the kind of person who would do that. Of course, perhaps I am completely misunderstanding the verse. It seems he's old. He's dying. He can't stay warm. Instead of having one of kingy's guards crawl into his lap, they seek a young virgin. (Dec. 2007: see Genesis 24:16.)
So I read Kings, I got to, I think it was chapter 6. It was about 8 PM at that point, and for some reason I got REALLY tired. I call it boot sleep. You fall asleep with your boots on, you understand. So I passed out. I woke up at 10:50 or so...and started praying.
Remember that image of a word I spoke of earlier? As I prayed, I could feel those words getting bigger. As midnight crept nearer (I've only prayed that long like, five times in my life), the words became clearer. Pretty soon, I could make them out.
Have you ever played Goldeneye: 007, or any other Rare game where they use their emblem? You do NOT have to watch the entire video. Just the first few seconds. You'll see a rotating "R." That's what I felt the word's font was.
So, the word (not plural it turns out) said 'GO'. Just 'GO,' in golden lettering akin to the rotating Rare emblem. I wasn't aware of it, but it seemed to disappear right around Midnight, when I stopped praying. Like in Super Mario Sunshine when you have to hit those sludge monsters with FLUDD, and they fill and explode. Just I had to hit this sludge monster with prayer.
What I take it to mean is, GO, do it, thumbs up, I will guide you. Right? Well, yeah. I pray for wisdom, to continue production of TA, or not, and I get the word GO. The Rare emblem connection for me means to not quit being who I've become, because that's going to be important for this work.
So, I talked to Mike the next day. When I told him, he said it meant I should go to Israel, because the golden lettering was, "well, what's going to be made of gold? New Jerusalem." Then he said that the Lord has put it in my heart to go to Israel for the last 1.5 years.
That may well be so, the only problem is, it's been more like three or four years. I've had an unnatural love for the Jewish people and the Holy Land. It's a sort of unconditional love, you understand, but it's starting to die off as I become more aware that Israel isn't the bee's knees. But that's the problem...if the Lord impressed that on him, how come he said 1.5 instead of three or four? So, now Mike is under the microscope.
Also, he suggested I become a Flash artist (animator) as a career..."you know, to make money."
He's in jail for a thing that went on at his company, well, apparently, it was a pyramid scam him and two other people were running. He scammed investors out of three million dollars. Quite impressive. He seems to be very centered around money. Such as, when my dearest dad suggested we open a church, he started going on about how we can hide this money there and do this and that and this tax and that...so, don't quite know what to make of that. He seems to really excel at making cash by underhanded means.
It just doesn't feel right, you know? We've never believed in faith healing. Not for today, the Age of Grace...and we haven't believed in speaking in tongues. We've been under Les Feldick's teachings. Now Mike comes along, and everything seems wrong. Faith healing, speaking in tongues, direct line of contact with God, but has to read other's work to learn scripture (wouldn't God tell him what scripture means?).
I don't know if I believe what Mike says is Biblical. My Mom suggested he sounded like the Pied Piper, dunno how she made that connection. She said he "sounded good, but not in a good way. Like someone stealing your children, get it now, Kev?" to which I replied "Oh, ohkay. I'll put that in my blog."
Whenever I first talked to him, I got mixed feelings. One, that he was someone I needed to talk to. Two, that he was abusive to his family. Especially his children. Don't know why I thought that...I actually still feel like that.
There's one thing, though. He seems to have the Spirit about him.
When he was praying to start the fast, I felt a presence...over my left shoulder. Like something there. You know how you KNOW something is there, but you don't need to look, because you know it's there?
However, it wasn't the presence of God. I've felt a fraction of the power of the presence of God before, and it was nothing like this. This felt, ah, like a human. Just an ordinary being. It had no power, it was just there. Quietly, too.
I could imagine it was just an angel. I could imagine it was just my imagination...or I could imagine it was a demon, or something of the like. Maybe a Lich. A Lich is a demon king, just so you know. Or a corpse. I didn't smell rotting flesh though...and usually, when there's a corpse, you smell rotting flesh. My brother's dead rat can attest to that fact quite ably.
So, what about the claimed miracle healings? Well, my dad seemed quite convinced it was a miracle healing a few days ago. Now, not so much. So I don't know what to think. Neither does my dad. I wish that he would make up his mind.
However, it seems that this is getting very frantic. Mike is teaching things that, to us, don't seem Biblical. It's turning our faith sideways for some reason. It feels as if HE is the authority on this "new Gospel" we're being preached, in the stead of God or his Word. You know how you begin to long for peace with God, instead of wondering about everything?
It's not all that drastic. Not like, "Well, see, Jesus actually had a son- they just never mentioned it in the Book!" More like, "Well, there's this and that, and this." It makes you want to ask him, "So where in the Bible does it say this?", but you don't, because you know he won't be able to tell you.
I talked with my Grandma tonight...she said she had a fearful faith back in, uhm, I think around...I forgot. Sorry g'amma! Anyways, she said that she had been manipulated. I told her he seemed centered around money. She asserted that money was not the root of evil, but LOVE of money is the root of evil. I then informed her he was in monetary trouble. She said we should pray for him. I told her, "Well, he owes three million dollars, it's going to take a lot of prayer."
She laughed. I did too. Really though, the guy, even recently, two days ago actually, tried to get us to join a pyramid scam. It was suggested he needs to really concentrate on pyramid scams now, seeing's how he owes $3 million.
So, we will continue to see this develop. I feel that that was a message from God (that is, to GO). I've actually came up with a point to start the story in TA. For some reason I am able to cententrate on how a script would go. I have no idea why I spelled 'concentrate' 'contentrate'. I mean, if I have to rate content, I will say "rate content," not "contentrate," and even then, I would include a space at the very least...
So, if Mike is evil, why would he preach the Gospel?
Why is it causing us to doubt him so?
I stand by my thought that most of this was for us to meet Mike. Since I've met him, I've experienced fellowship with other Christians. Such as he, and such as my Grandmother. Mike, though, it seems every time I talk to him, he is a little less ah, has less impact, let's say.
It really makes me grateful to God for my dad. Oh, man. They need a site. "God or Not?" Get it? Like Hot or Not, but God or Not. Tha...okay, well, I THOUGHT IT WAS A GOOD IDEA. I fake thinking YOUR ideas are good. I mean, you know...sometimes. I-...uhh, yeah.
I pray God that he helps me to accomplish the goals I have set for myself for this month, unrelated to TA.
S'Arte:
Oh yes, the rash was all over him. Up and down his back, legs, his arms, even his face. In fact, even his mouth. He couldn't eat properly, actually.
Yan'Moore:
Wow. So what did you do?
S'Arte:
We shot him
K'Luade:
You mean like a needle?
S'Arte:
no
That was a shot at hollywood, by the way. Take THAT, you commie swine!
So, as I started my fast (around noon), whilst praying with Mike and my dad to start it (I'll uhh, have to find that in the Bible some day?!). I got a mental image of halfway through the Old Testament. I've been feeling led to read the Old Testament as of late, and I just love the halfway through the OT point for some reason. So then I went about my day. Slowly the peace of God descended, which I have only felt, as far as I can remember, once in my life, and for no particular reason.
Also, as with the above image, I started developing an image of a word. I didn't know what it was. It was too small to make out.
But first I went about my business in the kitchen. My to do list was
- Make deviled eggs from the boiled eggs.
- Make avocado soup.
- Make a roast, then make baked potatoes.
- Put the roast into five burritos.
- Make salsa.
- Make Banana muffins, and chop nuts for the rest of the week (Angel slices/bars, Mutant Power Bars, and Morning Glory muffins)
So I began with the salsa making. I chopped up about eight onions. I made one and a half quarts of onions (see right), and completed the Salsa. Then I began chopping the nuts (once the kitchen was clean). At about, I think it was 3 PM, I realized I had been snacking on the nuts accidentally. Imagine my horror, my first ever fast, an important one, and I fail three hours into it. I was on the phone with my mom when I realized I had done it. I told her, I said, "OH MY GOSH MOMMY I FAILLEDID!"I figured, it would only make my stomach hurt more, so it equals itself out. I only ate like 8 pecans worth. I then realized I would be in the kitchen all day, so I gave up on my to do list. I guess I didn't consider the massive amounts of time I can spend in there, hours. I spent over eight hours in the kitchen yesterday.
I then went to open my Bible. I blew the dust off the cover. Once it cleared (okay, actually, I just went outside- the fast was only for eight more hours! The dust wouldn't clear that soon!), I opened it halfway into the Old Testament. It opened to the chapter of Kings, you know, Kings 1:1.
"Hmm, that's strange," I thought. So naturally, I prayed I would find the answer I was seeking. "wonder what's up with Kings. It must be important, if I randomly turned to the first verse."
And of course it just screamed TA. Actually, I think it's the most associated with TA Bible verse I know. Two verses.
1 Now king David was old and stricken in years; and they covered him with clothes, but he gat no heat.
2 Wherefore his servants said unto him, Let there be sought for my lord the king a young virgin: and let her stand before the king, and let her cherish him, and let her lie in thy bosom, that my lord the king may get heat.
I've always associated that verse with Ness. I don't think there are any other verses I associate with the Team...she just strikes me as the kind of person who would do that. Of course, perhaps I am completely misunderstanding the verse. It seems he's old. He's dying. He can't stay warm. Instead of having one of kingy's guards crawl into his lap, they seek a young virgin. (Dec. 2007: see Genesis 24:16.)
So I read Kings, I got to, I think it was chapter 6. It was about 8 PM at that point, and for some reason I got REALLY tired. I call it boot sleep. You fall asleep with your boots on, you understand. So I passed out. I woke up at 10:50 or so...and started praying.
Remember that image of a word I spoke of earlier? As I prayed, I could feel those words getting bigger. As midnight crept nearer (I've only prayed that long like, five times in my life), the words became clearer. Pretty soon, I could make them out.
Have you ever played Goldeneye: 007, or any other Rare game where they use their emblem? You do NOT have to watch the entire video. Just the first few seconds. You'll see a rotating "R." That's what I felt the word's font was.
So, the word (not plural it turns out) said 'GO'. Just 'GO,' in golden lettering akin to the rotating Rare emblem. I wasn't aware of it, but it seemed to disappear right around Midnight, when I stopped praying. Like in Super Mario Sunshine when you have to hit those sludge monsters with FLUDD, and they fill and explode. Just I had to hit this sludge monster with prayer.
What I take it to mean is, GO, do it, thumbs up, I will guide you. Right? Well, yeah. I pray for wisdom, to continue production of TA, or not, and I get the word GO. The Rare emblem connection for me means to not quit being who I've become, because that's going to be important for this work.
So, I talked to Mike the next day. When I told him, he said it meant I should go to Israel, because the golden lettering was, "well, what's going to be made of gold? New Jerusalem." Then he said that the Lord has put it in my heart to go to Israel for the last 1.5 years.
That may well be so, the only problem is, it's been more like three or four years. I've had an unnatural love for the Jewish people and the Holy Land. It's a sort of unconditional love, you understand, but it's starting to die off as I become more aware that Israel isn't the bee's knees. But that's the problem...if the Lord impressed that on him, how come he said 1.5 instead of three or four? So, now Mike is under the microscope.
Also, he suggested I become a Flash artist (animator) as a career..."you know, to make money."
He's in jail for a thing that went on at his company, well, apparently, it was a pyramid scam him and two other people were running. He scammed investors out of three million dollars. Quite impressive. He seems to be very centered around money. Such as, when my dearest dad suggested we open a church, he started going on about how we can hide this money there and do this and that and this tax and that...so, don't quite know what to make of that. He seems to really excel at making cash by underhanded means.
It just doesn't feel right, you know? We've never believed in faith healing. Not for today, the Age of Grace...and we haven't believed in speaking in tongues. We've been under Les Feldick's teachings. Now Mike comes along, and everything seems wrong. Faith healing, speaking in tongues, direct line of contact with God, but has to read other's work to learn scripture (wouldn't God tell him what scripture means?).
I don't know if I believe what Mike says is Biblical. My Mom suggested he sounded like the Pied Piper, dunno how she made that connection. She said he "sounded good, but not in a good way. Like someone stealing your children, get it now, Kev?" to which I replied "Oh, ohkay. I'll put that in my blog."
Whenever I first talked to him, I got mixed feelings. One, that he was someone I needed to talk to. Two, that he was abusive to his family. Especially his children. Don't know why I thought that...I actually still feel like that.
There's one thing, though. He seems to have the Spirit about him.
When he was praying to start the fast, I felt a presence...over my left shoulder. Like something there. You know how you KNOW something is there, but you don't need to look, because you know it's there?
However, it wasn't the presence of God. I've felt a fraction of the power of the presence of God before, and it was nothing like this. This felt, ah, like a human. Just an ordinary being. It had no power, it was just there. Quietly, too.
I could imagine it was just an angel. I could imagine it was just my imagination...or I could imagine it was a demon, or something of the like. Maybe a Lich. A Lich is a demon king, just so you know. Or a corpse. I didn't smell rotting flesh though...and usually, when there's a corpse, you smell rotting flesh. My brother's dead rat can attest to that fact quite ably.
So, what about the claimed miracle healings? Well, my dad seemed quite convinced it was a miracle healing a few days ago. Now, not so much. So I don't know what to think. Neither does my dad. I wish that he would make up his mind.
However, it seems that this is getting very frantic. Mike is teaching things that, to us, don't seem Biblical. It's turning our faith sideways for some reason. It feels as if HE is the authority on this "new Gospel" we're being preached, in the stead of God or his Word. You know how you begin to long for peace with God, instead of wondering about everything?
It's not all that drastic. Not like, "Well, see, Jesus actually had a son- they just never mentioned it in the Book!" More like, "Well, there's this and that, and this." It makes you want to ask him, "So where in the Bible does it say this?", but you don't, because you know he won't be able to tell you.
I talked with my Grandma tonight...she said she had a fearful faith back in, uhm, I think around...I forgot. Sorry g'amma! Anyways, she said that she had been manipulated. I told her he seemed centered around money. She asserted that money was not the root of evil, but LOVE of money is the root of evil. I then informed her he was in monetary trouble. She said we should pray for him. I told her, "Well, he owes three million dollars, it's going to take a lot of prayer."
She laughed. I did too. Really though, the guy, even recently, two days ago actually, tried to get us to join a pyramid scam. It was suggested he needs to really concentrate on pyramid scams now, seeing's how he owes $3 million.
So, we will continue to see this develop. I feel that that was a message from God (that is, to GO). I've actually came up with a point to start the story in TA. For some reason I am able to cententrate on how a script would go. I have no idea why I spelled 'concentrate' 'contentrate'. I mean, if I have to rate content, I will say "rate content," not "contentrate," and even then, I would include a space at the very least...
So, if Mike is evil, why would he preach the Gospel?
Why is it causing us to doubt him so?
I stand by my thought that most of this was for us to meet Mike. Since I've met him, I've experienced fellowship with other Christians. Such as he, and such as my Grandmother. Mike, though, it seems every time I talk to him, he is a little less ah, has less impact, let's say.
It really makes me grateful to God for my dad. Oh, man. They need a site. "God or Not?" Get it? Like Hot or Not, but God or Not. Tha...okay, well, I THOUGHT IT WAS A GOOD IDEA. I fake thinking YOUR ideas are good. I mean, you know...sometimes. I-...uhh, yeah.
I pray God that he helps me to accomplish the goals I have set for myself for this month, unrelated to TA.
S'Arte:
Oh yes, the rash was all over him. Up and down his back, legs, his arms, even his face. In fact, even his mouth. He couldn't eat properly, actually.
Yan'Moore:
Wow. So what did you do?
S'Arte:
We shot him
K'Luade:
You mean like a needle?
S'Arte:
no
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