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March 30, 2006

The Stockholm situation.

I posted a bulletin to myspace Tuesday night which was as follows:

title: You are *such* a fag.
body: That is all.

It wasn't directed at anyone in particular. Just some random bullshit I posted for the fucking hell of it. Unfortunately for me, one of the roommates in the warehouse, Stockholm, didn't see it that way.

So, at like nine thirty in the morning on Wednesday, Stockholm busted into my room without permission. Then he started yelling at me, made a few threats, backed me into a corner, and pushed me up against the wall. I guess he wanted to have a fight. He's got close to an 80 pound advantage on me. I would have caught a nasty beat down in that situation.

It's good that it didn't happen, partly because I don't want to get beat down, but mostly because I would have been forced to call a friend and return the favor with interest.

March 29, 2006

Life as role playing game.

I've decided to list my skills and abilities using the standard point system of most computer role playing games. I'm going to keep track of my skills and abilities for shits and giggles, mostly because I view life as sort of a role playing game in and of itself.

So the way it works is that there are several basic stats common to all players. They're all set to a scale of 1 to 10:



  1. Strength - 4 - I'm assuming that I can carry about 80 pounds worth of equipment at any given time. I'm not the strongest guy in the world.

  2. Perception - 6 - This seems high to me, but that's only because I'm stoned most of the time and you lose a couple of perception points when you're high. So, for the sake of general purposes, let's call this a 4.

  3. Endurance - 4 - I need to excersize more.

  4. Charisma - 5 - This could be higher if I could grow a set of balls and actually learn how to not be scared to death of people with vaginas. What can I say, they're creepy.

  5. Intelligence - 8 - I'm one smart bitch.

  6. Agility - 5 - I can get into places a lot of other people can't, it's good times.

  7. Luck - 5 - I seem to have about average luck.


Once you have your basic stats picked out, you can define your skills. Skills start at level 1 and go from there.

  1. vimfu - level 20

  2. resin scraping - level 43

  3. unix admin - level 6

  4. writing - level 12

  5. drug knowledge - level 29

  6. music knowledge - level 10

  7. dj skills - level 14 <- only because my fucking decks have been up in Seattle for the last five months. Someone needs to die for that.

  8. html / css - level 50 <- it helps that I used to work in web design

  9. php / other programming - level 6

  10. blogging - level 2


That's all I can come up with at the moment, but I'll be adding and updating this as time goes by and I learn new skills and such. Right now I figure I'm about a level 10 character overall. I've got a long way to go before I hit level 99. Heh.

I bring you. . .

a hedgehog getting high!

Also, this image sums up my feelings about the Bible pretty well:

You can't survive on fags alone.

Discuss.

March 27, 2006

The benefits of looking like you're homeless and razor thieves.

I was walking back from the corner store when I got stopped by a random taxi driver who said: "You look like you're homeless, do you want some Cheese Nips?" To which I promptly replied, "Of course I do." And then I laughed my way all the way home.


Then I went to shave and shower today and what did I find in my razor but someone else's hair. I'm a reasonable guy, but you have to draw the line somewhere, and my razor is where I draw the fucking line. There's only one person that lives in this warehouse with hair that color, and he immediately got defensive about it when Mr. Parker wrote a note on the white board, so he's pretty much guilty.


So, until we move to Berkeley (which should only be another week), I have to keep *all* of my toiletries in my room, or face having some asshole use my shit without telling me. I really, really, want to murder some motherfuckers over this. It it weren't for the life in prison thing I probably would. But, in like a week I'll be living someplace where I can, say, leave my toilet paper in the bathroom and expect it to not be gone when I need to take a shit. The roommates here like to eat our food, use our shit, and then not replace it. They're great people.


Well, except for Mr. Rogers. Mr. Rogers is the fucking shit, and I'm going to miss the fuck out of living with him.

Supposedly launching today.

The scuttlebut is that my company is launching today. However, it is now almost two in the afternoon and the only people in the company that are even out of bed are Mr. Parker and I. This does not bode well for the future. I get the impression that Mr. Parker and I are going to have to run the whole damned thing by ourselves.


Fuck it, whatever, as long as we get rich and manage not to murder anyone who gives a fuck about other people's incompetence?


Oh yeah, I do. Why? Because any time I slip even the slightest little bit I get bitched at, yet these motherfuckers can't even be bothered to wake up in the AM and Mr. Parker and I are just supposed to take it. I have a feeling that once the company is started there are going to be a number of very forceful meetings which will feature Mr. Parker and I telling everyone else to grow a pair and start doing their damned jobs. That'll be good times.

Berkeley?!?!?

Well it looks like we may have found a place. The only problem is it's across the bay in Berkeley. It's in a decent enough neighborhood, and there weren't *too* many hippies out when we went on a little tour of the neighborhood today. I can see liking it there while I have to stay there. It seems like a relatively cool place. Still, it fucking sucks to have to leave San Francisco.

As part of the fun of moving to Berkeley Mr. Parker and I have decided to institute a game of nomic for the house rules. The way it's going to work is that starting with the first day that we're there and then every five days after that, we're both going to come up with a rule and then paper rock scissors for who's rule gets implemented. This ceremony is going to be referred to as Carnivale and will be presided over by a John Elway action figure, as soon as we can get one.


The goal of a game of nomic is to get a law passed that makes playing the game impossible. So, the object of Mr. Parker and I living in Berkeley will be to create a rule that makes just living there breaking the rules and thereby makes the game impossible since it's against the rules for us to even be there. It should be interesting.


Some of the rules suggested so far:


  1. blog *everything* <- This will probably be one of the first ones passed, as I'm sure it'll come up until it wins.

  2. if you're in the kitchen or bathroom, you must be barefoot (preferably pregnant as well)

  3. every morning when you wake up, you have to crow like a rooster at full volume

  4. forced karaoke - you have to sing karaoke for at least ten minutes a day (with headphones on)

  5. you are not allowed to wash any dishes




So it should be an interesting time in Berkeley. Neither one of us is really looking forward to it since everything we like to do (like Phuturo Tuesdays) is in the city. But, I'm made to understand that there's a bus that runs 24 hours, so we shouldn't be too bad off. It'll be a new experience, and I'm definitely eager to be getting out of the warehouse. The vibe here has been a little tense recently. But that's to be expected with all of Skotan's bullshit. Hopefully I'll be able to move back into the city inside of six months.

March 25, 2006

Shits! and giggles! (mostly shits)

Holy fucking hell what a shitty week it's been. Last weekend was horrible because Mr. Parker and I got paid on Friday, but it was in checks that we couldn't cash until Monday. This wouldn't have been so bad, except that we had no food to eat and had basically been starving since the previous Tuesday. We had no food to eat because our roommates were nice enough to eat all of our groceries a couple of weeks ago. So, the week before last was fairly shitty as well.


Anyway, on Monday we got to cash our checks and buy a couple of meals from Mo's, the corner store slash greasy spoon up the block. This lead to a very severe case of the shits late Monday and on into the late afternoon of Tuesday as well. There's nothing like spending an entire day on the shitter to brighten up the beginning of your week.

Tuesday night we went out to Phuturo and ran into a certain feminist blogger with whom I'vee had "relations." It was good to see her again, since after I told her that I couldn't be her boyfriend she kind of dropped off the face of the earth as far as contact with me is concerned. I got incredibly high and listened to some damned good dnb, I got to chat with Ms. MJ (who is one of my very favorite people because she buys qp's of purple at a time and loves to smoke joints at the club and is just super nice to everyone), and I even got a new mix cd from Lukeino. So Tuesday wasn't so bad, especially since the mix I got is a good one.


Wednesday night we went out to this little bar called Butter to hang out with Fatass McGee and his girlfriend, Too Hot for Fatass McGee. I got incredibly high before I went out, which isn't such a bad thing. I enjoyed the company of my friends and had a generally good time eating a deep fried twinkie. There was this girl there, and I'm pretty sure she was interested in at least conversing with me, which would have been great because she was hot. However, when I was sitting at the bar and finishing up my cheesy tots (I'd been starving for the last week, fuck off) she walked up next to me to order a drink, and instead of striking up a conversation with someone who appeared interested in me, I got up and walked over to where Fatass McGee, Too Hot, and Mr. Parker where hanging out and continued being high.


This is because I'm a fucking pussy when it comes to girls. Something about them scares the everloving shit out of me. I felt like such a fucking asshole for that, especially since when I looked over and while she was chatting with some lesbian chick she was looking at me with this look like "why the fuck won't you come talk to me?" It would be nice if I could grow a pair of balls in situations that don't involve the risk of jailtime or death, but the risk of getting laid. It doesn't help at all that I don't drink, which is an incredible disadvantage socially because while everyone else's inhibitions are lowered, mine (which are ample) are very thoroughly maintained. It also doesn't help that I'm fairly desperate, lonely, and broke, three things which women do not like at all.


Cut to Friday, I'm doing my workout for the day, and I go to move the mat that my landlord insists on leaving in my room and what happens but I get a fucking splinter IN THE FUCKING CUTICLE OF THE MIDDLE FINGER OF MY LEFT HAND. This sucks for a number of reasons, most notably, I pulled part of it out, but other parts broke off into the cuticle and can't be taken out without excessive pain or the complete removal of the fingernail. It is now infected. With any luck I'll get tetanus. It's a good thing I don't have insurance, or I might be able to go to a doctor and get my finger fixed. Later in the day I sprained my right pinky. So now, both hands hurt when I type, and I type a lot. Hooray for constant pain.


Oh, but the fun's not over yet. Later that day while Mr. Parker was out with Box of Rocks at some movie premier, I got the brilliant idea of installing XP on this hard drive that I had sitting around. So I boot the install disk and do the partitioning and whatnot, and conveniently forgot that XP *always* formats the drive on the primary master bus for no good reason whatsoever. Because I didn't read the format message as completely as I should have I lost not only my entire address book, but my entire music collection as well. 5 years worth of effort in collecting music gone in about 20 seconds. It was great. At least I got XP installed on the right drive. I'm now re-installing gentoo on the other drive in a state of utter disbelief of the stupidity that I'm capable of.


Shortly after this happened, Mr. Parker and Box of Rocks came back to the warehouse and convinced me to go to some art opening filled with urban hipster types and shitty music. That was an excersize in continued misery, as people mostly just stared at me and looked like they had more money than they knew what to do with. Fortunately we weren't there very long.


This afternoon after I woke up I was trying to make some alfredo for breakfast (it's cheap, and it's all we've got other than eggs and toast) and one of our esteemed roommates, Stockholm, came into the kitchen and started cooking as well. He then decided that he was going to do the dishes, which were piled up in the sink. Now, I have a very strict policy: I don't ever do anyone else's dishes, because that shit sucks. As a result of this policy I also never allow anyone to wash my dishes, which means when I'm done with something it's either in my room until I wash it, or it gets washed immediately.


Now, Stockholm started to get pissed off about the state of the kitchen and said something about throwing away the dishes that were left in the sink longer than a day. I said that's stupid because all the dishes belong to Mr. Parker, and Mr. Parker washes his dishes (though not as diligently as I do), as well as the dishes of the other lazy fucks that don't do their own. This set Stockholm off, and he started yelling directly at me about how he was washing these dishes and so on and so forth. My response was that he wasn't washing any of my dishes, and so should shut the fuck up about it to me. Now, I will admit to being in a fucking shitty mood today, and thusly not the best conversationalist, which may have contributed to Stockholm's little outburst. However, when I've lost 5 years worth of music in one day, I reserve the right to not be all bright and cheery and talkative for the next few days/weeks/months/whatever.


With being yelled at for someone else's fuck up earlier today and having to reinstall gentoo on my box (only this time without the 60+gigs of music that I usually listen to) I've decided that this week has been a complete waste of time, and as such I will be sitting in my room and playing video games until Monday.


It's like I say: Every step you take is one step closer to death.

March 24, 2006

Keith Richards' golden jockstrap.

"It's kinda like Keith Richards tryin' to tell a classroom full of kids that drugs'll ruin 'em while three naked groupies fight to see who gets to lick his balls that are resting inside his golden jockstrap."


Read the rest here: The Rude Pundit

March 22, 2006

I saw a South Dakota abortion clinic once. . .

No, it's not a myth. Not with the help of some very fucking cool Sioux.

Giago: Oglala Sioux president on state abortion law

This is the fucking shit:

"I will personally establish a Planned Parenthood clinic on my own land which is within the boundaries of the Pine Ridge Reservation where the State of South Dakota has absolutely no jurisdiction."

It'll be interesting to see how the government reacts to this, but I for one think it's a crackerjack idea.

March 21, 2006

Poacher's need to die.

Taken from: A Creek Running North (Chris Clarke)

Youth for Conservation Donation Page

Lion caught in poacher's trap.

Youth for Conservation Donation Page

"My friend Josphat Ngonyo helped save this lion’s life. She was caught by a wire snare, a near casualty of the bushmeat trade in Kenya. While some families used to eat the occasional wild animal for subsistence, the bushmeat trade is big business these days, with poachers catching wild animals for sale to bored or homesick Kenyans in the cities."

Youth for Conservation Donation Page

This is really sad, it makes me uncomfortable with my humanity. If other humans are capable of acts of such incredible cruelty for their own profit, what does that say about my continued participation in the human race? The fact that there are people out there trying to stop this kind of atrocity is what makes me keep going from day to day. Please, donate to these people. They're doing very important work, Kenya's wildlife will thank you:

Youth for Conservation Donation Page

Fuck you Wells Fargo

Taken from: www.short-b.us

March 20th, 2006

The drama of banks continues. It just goes to show how horrible these institutions really are when you’ve been victimized by fraud. Now don’t go “ooh, Mr. Security Engineer got his information stolen!” as that did not happen. One of my old clown room mates Kenny took my bank card, spent $399.90 on it, when I had roughly 40 bucks in my bank account. You can imagine what happened from there. I’m thrown into the negative, a bunch of extra over draft fees, then some fees because I was in the negative.

So here I am with negative $571.13 in my bank account. I find this out due to the fact I went to go buy some groceries and my card is denied. Now I know how much money I keep in the bank and how much I have in cash. It’s just something I’ve always done as I don’t use checks but rather my ATM card for everything and I tend to balance in my head and check once or twice a week if I’m using my bank card often. I was a little shocked to find this out.

Originally I called up where these fraudulent charges came from and found out that my room mate had made the charges without my permission. I confront him about it, tell him I want all the money. He was cool at first but said he only used it for $2.95 once and the rest wasn’t him. Funny how our address came up, his name came up and his email came up on each of those calls. Not my information mind you except for the address and the card number. I’m also not stupid enough to put myself that far into the negative.

So I go and file a fraud claim. Find out that I have to file a police report in order to do this. I confront the room mate yet again about this issue. When I tell him how much it is for the second time he refuses to pay for it or do anything about it. Hey it’s not my fault you just had a child with your dumb ass wife and are broke as fuck. Doesn’t mean you had to go and use my bank card for some stupid get paid shopping bull shit without my permission. Thanks a lot asshole.

Head over to the police station. File report.

Next day go back into Wells Fargo. Do all the paper work they ask me, and fax it all in along with my police report number. Get told “all is well.” They even remove my over draft and late fees because it wasn’t my fault. Should get all of my money back right? Well here’s where it gets even better.

A couple of weeks later my new bank accounts are locked. Yup, no warning, nothing. Just lock my accounts and put me on check systems. Go into the branch I go to here in SOMA. Get it straightened out, told it should be about two weeks or so until the entire thing is taken care of.

I figure everything is going well. Continue to use my bank, after all don’t you use a bank to keep your money in? It’s been awhile since I’ve done the entire cash thing after all. Then again, at the end of February my accounts are LOCKED again and I’m thrown back on check systems. That’s twice, while I’m dealing with a fraud claim. Get the round robin treatment from their fraud staff and have to talk to their reclaiming department. Think I have it all sorted yet again but it’s just getting worse.

It’s been three weeks since the last round. My accounts are still locked. I’m still on check systems. They’ve refunded the 399.90 into the old account but are still holding me liable for the over draft fees, which I did not create, they were a product of the fraud. I called them up earlier today to figure all this out. This dumb twat named Gwen in their reclaimation department called me a liar over the phone. At that point I fucking lost it. I hung up on that stupid cunt and skated right down to the branch I go to. Teller tries to get me not to talk to a manager about this but I’m livid.

Finally get a manager. He goes on about how he’s gonna sort this out and he gets the run around for two hours over the telephone on this issue. He can’t figure out what the hell is going on. After talking to 6, I repeat 6 different supervisors in 4 departments he finally gets some answers. Now I have to wait an additional two weeks to get everything turned over and the money I want back. Then after that I have to wait another two weeks to be removed from check systems. All over my stupid fucking ex room mate.

So to look this over. I’ve had a bank accounts locked twice. Sent to collections twice. I’ve been put on check systems twice (which fucks with your credit score). I’ve been called a liar. I’ve been accused of trying to steal money from Wells Fargo. They have done minimal effort in trying to help me resolve a fraud issue on my bank account. They just keep fucking with me. Instead of being nice about it, due to the fact that I am their customer and the victim in this instance, they go about trying to make my life even more miserable. I can’t even open up a new account with a credit union until I’m off check systems. That means I have to go yet another month of paying fees to get checks cashed so I can you know, pay rent, pay bills and buy food. It’s absolutely fucking brilliant if you ask me!

So for those of you out there that use Wells Fargo I highly recommend you switch to a new bank, or even better a credit union. Somewhere where they will treat you like a valued customer. If you’re moving out to an area and have to switch banks, do not, repeat do not use Wells Fargo.

March 20, 2006

Eco Nomics

Taken from Creek Running North


Another right wing email accuses environmentalists of striving to destroy the economy. We value trees and slugs and bats more than a healthy manufacturing sector, he says; clean water more than a Dow above 10,000.

And he is right, of course.

Environmentalists take pains to talk of ethical business, of fair trade, of zero-waste corporations and green certification. Are the products extracted sustainably from the earth? Does the corporation pay a fair share of the profit to its workers? Good questions to ask, worthy issues to advance.

But the right-wingers are on to something. A dispassionate examination of the world reveals the sad truth: the crisis demands the economy be destroyed.

The economy has long since ceased to be synonymous with the general welfare. A baby-killing plague would boost the GDP, as cash flowed out for expensive medicines and caskets and flowers and grief counseling services. An arsonist burns down a nursing home and the one that replaces it is built far more shoddily: an unambiguous gain for the economy. "Leaner" corporations are a sign of robust economic health, and large payroll and pension funds taken as symptoms of sclerotic decay. The pundits criticize a large big-box chain for wasting shareholder dollars: you treat your workers too well! You must be stopped!

Most people's lives decline as the economy prospers.

But there is something deeper here.

Most money now is debt, and interest must be paid. A loan is made and money created, the loan is paid and it is destroyed. But the interest, the interest remains, and at its root extracted from the ground. All wealth is grass, or rock, or oil. The new economy has freed us from the physical! Yet clean room workers must still eat rice, and another forest hectare cleared and river diverted to flood paddies. That venture capital comes from truckdrivers' labor, a secretary's pension. No one breaks a sweat around the boardroom table. Our labor is extracted as beef from a range, the distillation of air and water and green plants into human skill.

"Growth for the sake of growth: the ideology of the cancer cell," said Edward Abbey famously. He spoke of Phoenix, but it is as true of NASDAQ. This finite world can long contain no exponentials. It is growth, and growth we need! And then the collapse, but the suits talk unironically of permanent increase.

To feed all people sufficiently, to make sure none are curably ill, to school and house all well, should be our economics. The world is likely too small to allow even this, but it would be a more humane pursuit. If each transaction siphons off the better part of value, a hundred Earths will never be enough. A steel-worker's lungs, island forest, eye-sight of a Saipan seamstress, clear stream running to the ocean, lives of soldiers fighting over reservoirs of oil: some things are priceless, and the economy thus finds them worthless.



Posted by Chris Clarke on 03/20 at 01:42 PM

Conservatives whiny?

I think not? I think so:

Whiny kids grow up to be conservative.

Commercial space flight is almost here.

If I had enough money to buy a seat on SpaceShipTwo, I'd do it in a heartbeat.

Galactic Tourists Pony Up to Ride

The US Government is corrupt.

So tell you something you don't know? Well, they're *really* fucking corrupt. Like running drug cartels, murdering people, and then lying about it corrupt. This has been going on for years:

Informant weighs in on U.S. law enforcement corruption in Colombia

March 19, 2006

This just in. . .

Rich white kids are doing drugs!

Study: White kids most likely to abuse inhalants

Something must be done to stop this! All those perfectly healthy, rich, white kids are destroying their lives with inhalants! OMG!

If this study had found that it was poor, black kids that were doing this I don't think it would have made CNN. Indeed, poor black kids do all kinds of different drugs, but you don't see news reports about it, do you?

March 17, 2006

War with Iran?

I think so. . .

U.S. expresses skepticism over Iran's talk offer

Because you know diplomacy starts with talking shit about your enemies.

Particularly interesting link from that Rude Pundit post:

http://www.afa.net/activism/gaygamesproof.html

The photos are shocking, I know. . . But that one kid is totally hot.

The Rude Pundit is good today.

3/17/2006

Family Research Council: Foreign Gay Athletes Stay Home:

So, like, the Gay Games in Chicago are set for July of this year. The Gay Games are like the Olympics, except with better clothes and a smidgen more steamy, steroidal guy-on-guy action. In a surprising act of decency, the federal government decided to grant waivers to athletes to its draconian "let's-keep-the-homos-out" policy of barring international travelers with HIV/AIDS from entering the United States. So the Gay Games is now considered a federal Designated Event, thus the granting of the waiver for most of the month of July. This happened in mid-February.

Cue the Religious Right.

The Family Research Council (motto: "Telling Idiots What Jesus Would Do For Over Twenty Years") just discovered that the waiver was being allowed and, since anything that smacks of pleasures of the cock and cunt make its members quake and foam at the mouth in repressed concupiscent rage, FRC President Tony Perkins sent out an e-mail that reads, in part: "Imagine my surprise when I learned that the U.S. Government has granted 'Designated Event Status' to the 2006 Gay Games to be held in Chicago this July. The 'Gay Games' are an event known as much for after-hours sexual activity as for on-field athletic competition. In fact, on the official Chicago Gay Games web site just as much emphasis is put on 'entertainment' as on the event itself. This entertainment includes links to bathhouses and clubs where illicit and illegal activity is allowed."

The links that Perkins is clenching his ass cheeks are listed on the sponsors page, and include such places as the fine Chicago nightclub Spin, the comfy gay and lesbian bar Sidetrack, and, yes, Steamworks, a mini-chain of bathhouses, where male athletes can practice their squats and thrusts while getting slippery wet and covered in cum. These are, indeed, sponsors, as are Walgreens, Kraft, Orbitz, and Merrill Lynch, among others.

But, see, Perkins doesn't have his dick in a knot about the "gay" part. Oh, no. Perkins is concerned about disease and the health of Americans. Says Creepy Tony, "The tragedy is that there are Americans who may well be infected with a deadly disease as a direct result of this most unwise decision. Why should this administration feel the need to bow to the politically correct crowd?" What should you do about it? Perkins is there to guide you: "Please contact the Office of the Citizenship and Immigration Services Ombudsman within the Department of Homeland Security. Ask the office to revoke this almost unprecedented waiver. Human lives are at stake."

And, indeed, the FRC has prepared for you an e-mail to send to Michael Chertoff, where you tell the head of Homeland Security not to get those fuckin' ports secure or resign over Katrina. No, no, you tell him, "Inviting thousands of HIV-infected visitors to a 'Gay Games' celebration that promotes these activities will only put Chicagoans at risk and help spread HIV. (More than 60 percent of male AIDS cases in Illinois involve 'men who have sex with men,' according to the Illinois Department of Public Health.)" See, it's just that the FRC cares about all of us that they wanna keep the HIV-positive gay athletes out.

The Illinois Family Institute has gone after Walgreens for its $100,000 sponsorship (as well as Chicago Mayor Daley for being an Honorary Co-Chair of the Games). At least the IFI ain't hidin' behind the skirt of the "spread of disease" and is outright hatin' them some fags. In a hilarious postscript to his letter to Walgreens, IFI President (with the name of a drag queen) Peter LaBarbera: "I read in your web bio that North Dakota is your home state. I certainly don't think that Walgreens' sponsorship of the 'Gay Games' is something that most North Dakota citizens would be proud of. Actually, I think the same could be said for Illinois and every other state in the union. Please reconsider the implications of this corporate decision." That's right - when all else fails, bring out the threat of gay bashing by cowboys. (Insert yer own fuckin' Brokeback Mountain joke here.)

See, the FRC is crafty in that it hides its hate and intolerance underneath the veneer of "health threat," as if thousands of HIV-positive queers will descend on Chicago and spread plague faster than the nascent bird flu, like it'll be 28 Days Later through ass fucking and cocksucking. Prior to this tactic, the Christian Right had just gone after sponsors, with the American Family Institute asserting that the Gay Games are merely a chance for gays to act all icky and, well, gay, and how dare these hot, ripped men look like they're enjoying their lives, you know? (The Rude Pundit loves the warning on the AFA's page that "These photos are provided for informational purposes," so no jackin' off to 'em.) And Kraft, dear Kraft, whither our Velveeta without you?

Now, though, the FRC is acting like it's 1985 or so, hysterical, uninformed, playing on ignorance and fear, condemning those who might have a disease. Just like, you know, Jesus would do.

// posted by Rude One @ 9:42 AM

March 16, 2006

These kittens own you.

Pwnage!
Pwnage!


Beezlebub: i just realized
Beezlebub: um u m u m
Beezlebub: Timmy has the the ummmm
Beezlebub: The Magic Bullet
Lucifer: Hahaha, no shit.
Lucifer: Like, the one that killed Kennedy?

March 15, 2006

Majikthise rocks.

Great moments in impossible subjunctive conditionals

Vagina.

Discuss.

This is fucking brilliant.

Contraceptives will make you gay.

Yeah guys, let's outlaw abortion, and *then* outlaw condoms and other forms of birth control as well. That sounds like a fucking *great* way to live, what with all the unwanted babies and whatnot. Nevermind all of our fucking resource shortfalls which are only going to get worse.

It's times like these when I think the bunny is right and I should just go on a murderous rampage through suburbia murdering everyone in sight.

I think you've gone a little to far with the drugs.

So here's the tale of my first night in Dallas, TX. I had been living in West Virginia (don't even get me started on how much that place sucks) and one of my friends in Dallas offered to let me stay with him, and since I'm always happier in an urban setting I took him up on the offer.

I was in my candy raver stage at that point, so I was wearing giant pants and a bunch of plastic jewelry.

I drove from West Virginia to Dallas (about 22 hours under the right conditions) straight through without stopping for anything but food and bathroom breaks (no sleep!). It took me about 26 hours of driving and two packs of cigarettes to get down there, but only because I went on the wrong highway for a couple of hours and had to turn back. On the way down I drove through a fucking nasty ass blizzard, like I couldn't even see to the front of my car, it was nuts.

I got down to Dallas and got to my boy's house and he's all passed out on these klonopins. So I kicked him until he woke up (keep in mind I've been up for about 30 hours at this point with only the benefit of caffeine and adrenaline to keep me up) and the first thing out of his mouth is: "Let's go party." Being the nutter that I am, I was like, "Sure, as long as you're driving."

And here's the plan: We were going to go pick up some kids (my boy Jake, who is one of my non biological brothers, this rich kid Cooper who was nuts, this kid Robert who had scizophrenia, and I was already with my boy Carl, who was just generally insane), some weed, and some whippets and then go chill under this police station in Highland Park and get fucked up. If only it were that simple.

Highland Park is the richest neighborhood in Dallas. It's right next to downtown Dallas and the houses there are fucking insane. It's also where my boy Carl (and myself, for about an hour and a half at that point) lived. So there's this police station there, right? On one side, there's a little park like thing that has an opening into this little cave deal that's directly under the police station, which is where we were going to chill and do some drugs. Now, on the other side of this police station was a collapsed parking lot that also led into the cave. So, on the one side there's the little park, on the other side there's the collapsed parking lot and the cave goes all the way through.

Now we pick up all of the people we're to be chilling with and all the drugs and we go down to the police station and walk right into the little cave under it. This is at around midnight. We get into the cave, and I'm the last one in, and everyone is being entirely too loud for an operation of this nature so the cops heard some shit and shined a flashlight down into the cave. I noticed it, and told everyone else about it. Instant panic. We ran straight through the cave to the other side and everyone jumped out of the collapsed parking lot. Of course, there were several cops outside who told us to freeze. We didn't.

We scattered and ran though Highland Park for a couple of minutes until we all met up back at my car and piled in. I had the car started up and my foot was on the gas pedal ready to drive us all to safety.

That's when we got swat teamed.

Out of fucking nowhere three suburbans surrounded my car, and eight cops jumped out, all with guns drawn.

"GET OUT OF THE FUCKING CAR! GET OUT OF THE FUCKING CAR!"

Let me be the first to tell you, when you have a gun pointed at your head, you're *very* polite. You find your vocabulary limited to "Yes sir."

The cops dragged us all out of the car, put us face down in the middle of the street with our hands behind our heads and tossed the car. Then they pulled us aside one by one and interrogated us. They searched us and roughed us up a bit, and somehow managed to not find any of the drugs and pipes that we had on us.

Now, while I was laying there, face down, on the street, I was flipping the fuck out because at the time I had a prior arrest on my record for a couple of felony charges (intent to distribute, when I learned a very important lesson: keep your fucking mouth shut when you're getting arrested). I swore off drugs forever at that moment. That lasted about three hours.

So the cops, after having their fun with us, took twenty bucks from everyone's wallet and let us go no questions asked. At that point, chilling under the police station was obviously out of the question, so we went to my boy Jake's house to hang out.

At the time I had a pair of those prism glasses that make pretty little rainbows out of light and I wanted to do a whippet. So I sat on my boy Jake's bed and put the glasses on. I was facing my boy Jake's bathroom, which had a light pointing out into the room right at me and looked like a giant rainbow flower with the glasses on.

I started hitting the baloon, and just as I peaked on the whippet I looked up and saw the light, which looked like a giant flower, only I was so fucked up from the whippet that I thought it was god for about thirty seconds.

After that I finally went back to my boy Carl's place and got some sleep. And that was my first night in Dallas.

Now taking suggestions.

For shit to write on my walls. Since the landlord has been such a dick and I don't have a lease, or a security deposit, I intend to cover the walls of my room in writing. So, if there's anything you'd like for me to write on my walls, post a comment. The more profane the better. You get bonus points if it involves clown rape or Turbonegro lyrics.

Some examples of shit that I've already put up there:

"Shut your fucking face uncle fucker! You're a boner biting bastard uncle fucker!"

"Snakes on a motherfucking plane!"

"I'm a namblin' man."

"DO A BARREL ROLL!"

Dude!

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pamela_Rogers_Turner

Fucking A right! What a lucky little shit that kid was. I wish I could have been banging chicks like that when I was thirteen. Fuck man, I wouldn't mind getting play from a woman that hot *now* and it's not even illegal!

Republicans to Feingold: Fuck you!


Giving the finger to a U.S. Senator while he's giving a speech on the floor of the Senate is class!

Feingold fuck off!

BAG News Notes

Fatback.

A quick note about tonight's music post: Kid Amiga is the fucking shit.

Welcome to Gabbertown is a gabber production cd which is a classic, in my top five albums of all time. The last track, Bathtub, is in my top five tracks of all time. Which is fucking impressive for one damned album. Don't miss this one, especially if you don't know what gabber is. It will change your life forever.

Inverness is an ambient mix that's dark and scary at first but will make you cry about halfway through. It's a brilliant piece of work. Absolutely brilliant, and if you don't download it, I'll know. I'll fucking know, and I will kill your grandparents. The bunny says I have to if you don't download this mix.

DO A BARREL ROLL!!

Since a fair number of you seem to be looking for the "do a barrel roll song," as opposed to the awesome music that you could be downloading here, I'm going to post it here as a public service.

DO A BARREL ROLL!!1!!!!1!!

You're welcome.


I wouldn't fuck his mailman, either.

Kid Amiga - Inverness
Kid Amiga - Inverness

The Prodigy
The Prodigy

Kid Amiga - Welcome to Gabbertown
Kid Amiga - Welcome to Gabbertown