Seb's Inferno

***MISSION LOG BEGINS***

Hey Twitters!

Today, we'll be returning to some of the sights, sounds and smells of Maitland and "Surrounds", possibly in the style of Dante's Inferno. The general atmosphere required for reading this can be achieved by activating "Left 4 Dead" cinematics, thus giving us our view of the town (taken from the old hill where they used to hang people. No, I'm not joking.).

So, as we proceed into town, we come to a Willow'd Glade. At least it could be called that if it wasn't full of Cow Manure and, ahem, Literature.

The closer we proceed into the town, the more obvious our decent into hell has truely begun. We're no longer in Penthouse Limbo, but are now in the realm of Signpost Punishment, as we observe below:


"But Seb, these Signs have merely been poorly maintained! Where's the REAL MEAT?"
Here it is:


Proceeding past our Signpost Hell, we move into a more disturbing world. Maitland's Premier Petrol Station. Not simply content with being open Mon-Fri 9-4, and no other times (And shut on Wednesdays once a month), they've gone up a whole other level of Inconvenience, and have traded in Petroleum Based Fuels for the "Traditional" fuels, the fools:



Do you remember "The Magic"? Did you wonder of the beast contained within? One that I dared not capture, for fear of my sanity and soul? Well, turns out I was feeling lucky, punk. Here it is, in all of it's unholy glory:

Don't think getting this picture was easy, either. Because nothing works in this town, the sign on the Hovel housing this beast had the following warning strung on it's automatic doors:


I felt a deep urge in my stomach to run, to escape the terror, to get out of this hell, and sprinted across the Styx-ian river to the "Upper Class" side of town. What I saw there was not particularly reassuring.

It had to be a trick! The town seemed "Posh", but there was something wrong, it had to be a deception. Maitland is like Cancer. You can dress it up as "Mutant Powers" all you want, but that doesn't change the true effect it has on you. Rounding a corner, I saw all the evidence I'd ever need.

You can run away to Lorn, but you can't run away from Maitland. Rich people just leave nicer things out on the street for the rain to get into.
There was nothing to see beyond Lorn. It was a desert. I sighed, and resigned myself to the fact that I would have to return to Maitland.
In there, the deception continued. I stumbled upon an apparently family friendly locale

I walked into the door, the first item I saw was a Pinata in the shape of a Phallus. I Left.
Further Evidence of poor signage lurked around, but this was not that outer circle of Hell I had passed, it was just the idiocy seeping down into a deeper layer

The deeper I went, The more terrible things became. It was as if Nature itself had begun to mock me, creating pale imitations of the real world, dashing my hopes for Deus Ex Machina.


However, in this pit of Hopelessness, I came across a small becon of hope. A sign directing me to an Ecological Walk. Perhaps there is hope for us all, I thought

I began the trail, seeing what beautiful sights I could gaze upon...


Hmm, maybe it's around the corner...

NO! BETRAYED! BETRAYED BY THE SIGNAGE! I know that the nature lies beyond here, somewhere. It must. IT PROMISED ME NATURE! IT DELIVERED ME "Go Away or I'll Shoot You In The Face With My 12 Gauge". Defeated, I turned to leave.
Then I saw it.

This is the nature I was promised. This was the Redemption! It was my "Get out of Gaol Free" card for Soul Redemption. It was the oldest Cockatoo I've ever seen.
I cheered! Surely I must no longer be in Maitland! I have escaped! I drove down the road a little bit, but was then confounded by a sign I had never seen the likes of before...

I panicked! I was still in Maitland, somehow! I ran back towards the Cockatoo, only to come face to face with (I'm not joking about this one)


***MISSION LOG UNEXPECTEDLY TERMINATED***
***SYSTEM SHUTTING DOWN***

Post Mortem:

"Seb, was that seriously a Murder House?"
Apparently! Since I can't afford the fact-checking skills of my bitter website rivals at Christianity Today, I tend to rely on either old fashion "Street Smarts", or, if I couldn't be bothered routing electrical energy to certain parts of my brain, that Bastion of Truth, Wikipedia. Yeah, Wiki. The same people who bought you such classics as "Steve Irwin is dead LOLLOL" "STEVE IRWIN WAS KILLED BY FLYIND DICKS. MAY HE RIP. BEWARE OF FLYING DICKS", "LOL STEVE IRWIN WAS PWNED BY A FUCKING FISH!!! STUPID FUCKING CHAV!!!", and "JIMBO WALES USED MIND RAYS TO KILL STEVE IRWIN!!! FUCK YOU, WIKIPEDIA!!!"
Of course, at one stage the only thing that Wiki knew about Maitland was that it had "The Worst Roads in Australia", but we can forgive it for that. OR CAN WE? Bah, it gives me the Shinolas.

What also appears to get my "Goat" are people whom do not change their little "Personal Messages" on Micro$haft Live? Messenger. Yeah, I'm looking at you, Linz. You've had this message for about 4 months. And before that, you had "I have new shoes!" for a WHOLE GODDAMN YEAR.

By that token, I could also say "Hey Everyone! I HAVE A NEW BLOG". It's not new. It's not important. It leaves a smokey half-swallowed lump in my throat. The lump is either disgust, or the result of eating an entire block of white chocolate last night. Don't ask me which it actually is, as they're both as likely as each other.
Well, having gotten that Skellington out of my closet, I think we can move on to the Wardrobe in the Garage


OH NOES FAILED AGAIN.

GAME OVER MAN, GAME OVA (Ovum?)

Hey Funk Junkies!

We're back for a reason that no sane mind can fathom (For it is not I who am Crazy.. It is I who am MAD!), perhaps it's another bit of insane justification that sounds good in your head but sounds completely retarded when you say it out loud (such as Summerland"Summerland". Yeah, that's right Hip Hoppers, it's a stupid name, and sounds like you thought it up to have a stupid music festival in Adelade about yourselves yourselves yourselves yourselves yourselves yourselves yourselves (Sorry about that, but If I can't tell the freaking difference between any of them, what hope do you have?)).


Hmm, perhaps it's an insane desire in my mind to keep writing out this terrible thing, but then again, once upon a time, someone thought that making a game called "KISS Psycho Circus" was a good idea. It wasn't. We should be thankful for modern thinking and intelligent reasoning. Although, a modicum of caution is advised, as it appears to be all too easy to go off on a completely random and irrelevent tangent where the author has spent the last 4 minutes staring out the window looking for butterflies. Ah, there's one now.

"Seb, this appears to be one of the most insubstantial posts I've ever seen" I can hear you mutter to yourself.
Well, talking to yourself makes you crazy.
OR DOES IT? I wouldn't know, because I seem to do it alot. Mostly because there's nothing else to do. An excellent example of this occured the other day, when my brother and I were reloacating all of my sister's school books and things she'd actually need to a small shed filled with car parts and dominoes car tops(We'll come to their reason in a minute, but first, THIS?)


I walked over to this scene, not far from the shed, and gazed at it.

I asked my brother what he thought when he too looked upon it, and our answers were the same.

Finding this an excellent reason to get the hell out of Dodge Maitland, we discussed an appropriate "leaving present", and formulated a plan, as follows:

1. Borrow someones shitty old Commadore or Falcon, and attach a Dominos Car Top to it
2. Dig out old uniforms and fake name tags ("Hi, My name is Tyler Durden/Manuel Calavera/Darth Nihilus")
3. Find an old Pizza box and fill it with a hub cap
4. Drive up to a random person's house, scream some abuse, throw the "Pizza" on the ground
5. Wait until job is threatened, then tell them to "Try it, fatty"
6. Run like hell and drive away.
7. Come back 5 hours later under the cover of darkness and fill their letterbox with Free Coke & Garlic Bread vouchers until nothing else will fit in


The alternative plan was to attach the Car tops to the side of the car and drive at high speeds close to power poles.

Hmm, well, my Sanity Meter has begun to refill, so it's off to Project Mayham for me. Ciao!

I'm gonna go down to the shops and get myself a big jar of...

PING!

(Press W to) Step Forward, Baby, Into the Light

Welcome to the last bastion of stupid in a wide world of enlightenment. Yeah, that's right inebriates & flagellation enthusiasts, it's time for IDIOCY! This time, however, it's of the Virtual Form...

I recently revisited an ancient game called BioMenace. The introduction had a mulleted, mustachioed man in a fruity lime green tank top surrounded by overbaked potatoes and what I assumed was "Spacecat". Remember, kids, this was back in the day when there was nothing cooler than a 16 colour man and his quest for shooting things in the face for a reason that alluded each and every one of us.
I didn't like the controls, so I changed jump to Spacebar. of course, it neglected to tell me that spacebar brought up the menu, and after jamming down the spacebar in a feeble attempt to make it work, I managed to crash not only the game, but DOSbox (Because I was running it in FANTASTIC VOYAGE MODE from The Future! (It's Bright, but not Orange. They went down harder than a triple cheeseburger into your guttocks)).

So, after resigning to this particular brown nugget failing horribly, I moved on to the next thing I could claw my way onto.
Next, I turned my attention to a game which sits in something of a rare, but shameful, category - Things that I couldn't be arsed finishing. I tend to make it a general point of these things to at least attempt to get to the end. Call of C'thulhu however, was not one of these. Booting it up, it suddenly all came flashing back. The brown. The grey. The fact that everyone kept dying after I'd done their stupid fetch quests. Also the fact that I had the combination to a safe but it wouldn't open because I'd put in the wrong number on the first try. Why did I put in the wrong number? Because freaking Americans put their dates in the wrong order, that's why. It's DD/MM/YYYY, not MM/DD/YYYY. I can put up with YYYY/MM/DD, because that's actually useful for finding things chronologically, but months first? HAVE YOU BEEN SMOKING KIPPERS? WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU? Anyway, failing to open said safe meant that the story wouldn't progress, and the flabby grey fishy looking men kept snarling at me. So I whimpered and ran off to do something else. Like play Frisbee with the game disc.

Another game which falls into the category of "Didn't finish it because of strangeness" is S.T.A.L.K.E.R., which sends you into that cheery little place known as Chernobyl, where you are tasked with looking for things to jab into your small intestine to give you 10% resistance to flea bites, while making your anorexic or dyslexic or just itchy as a side effect. The first time I stopped playing this was when I was very close to the end, and it was for a very good reason. You see, this game is buggy. I don't mean in the occasional mistake where suddenly everyone in the level decides to shoot all their ammo at a single brick, I mean the "If I'm goin' down, I'm takin' ya all with me" kinda buggy. As in it would bluescreen the computer if I had the audacity to attempt to finish the game. The nerve of me! How DARE I even attempt that?
Second time around, when things had been fixed, (and it wouldn't drag down everything in the computer with it in a fiery blaze of "glory" when I attempted to open a door to steal someones dog) there was a NEW and EXCITING issue. Sure, playing was fine, it was just that everyone had developed a fascinating new skill! I liked to call it "Sudden Ragdoll Syndrome", but to the uninitiated, the basic gist of this was that people would just drop dead for no reason. At all. It was like "Hey guy, I found all these cans of meat in your tent, and now I'm gonna sell them to you so we can go through this farce of an economic charade", and he would be all "Awesome! TINS!" then as soon as he was finished, he would keel over and do the death rattle & roll, which usually involved his legs spazzing randomly as his corpse had somehow become lodged in the ground. What caused this death? No one knows. Perhaps he became aware of the fact that he was in a computer game, and the thought just BLEW. HIS. MIND. (up).
Maybe it was the deep and terrible shame that he felt, knowing that his in-game life had been reduced to buying cans of "meat" he would never use, and so he went all mental Hari-Kari on us. I can't tell, and alas, it will have to remain a mystery for the ages.

I've seen many terrible things in my time. I've seen AI-free bots in Battlefield 1942 lie down and to the doggie bounce with their heads. I've seen the Quantum Suicide Mario experiment. But nothing is as terrifying as... Well I think I'll leave it to this guy to explain.

Because I Have A Duty to Tear Apart Major Events

Today's major event: The Melbourne Cup. Or, if you prefer, the Hat Parade that stops the nation. Or, if you prefer, what not to wear to a muddy field. Or, if you prefer, what the papers will run on the front page instead of preliminary U.S. presidential election results on Wednesday.


Some Stats (No, Not Those Stats)

We all know that the sum of money we waste on this race is fast becoming more than what the banks have lost in the global financial crisis. So instead of focusing on that minor piece of exaggeration (a single state was only capable of gambling away $34 million on the cup last year, let alone what the rest of the country threw at it), we should first examine where this whole race went wrong. Some would argue that it was when they decided that if parliament is sitting, that they would stop yelling at each other and not run the country for a few minutes. Some, however, may argue with equal credibility that such a thing is not so bad after all.

No, the sole culprit responsible for ruining the Melbourne Cup is one horse: Makaybe Diva. When this horse won the Melbourne Cup for the third time in a row it was the dullest race I ever witnessed. The favourite winning by a lot doesn't make a great race to watch. For a good indication of how a horse race should go down, find any race where the lead changes a few times, and then someone only wins by the tiniest of margins. That's actually exciting to watch. Watching the favourite trounce everyone else is painfully boring, no matter what sport you're watching.

For no good reason than possibly to annoy me further, people thought it (the horse) was nothing less than a living god. The arrogance was astounding. The track was manipulated to suit Makaybe Diva for her 3rd win, and the horse was immediately put into retirement afterwards. That's like giving a kid huge clues on how to answer an IQ test, calling them the next Einstein, and then leaving them to test their smarts on B-Grade quiz shows later on in life when no one remembers who they are anymore. The worst part was when, despite not having even been alive during the reign of Phar Lap, the trainer of the horse said "I don't want to put Phar Lap down but I never saw him win three Melbourne Cups."

Well, I don't want to put Makaybe Diva down (okay, maybe I do), but I never saw her win 72% of all the races she ever entered. Phar Lap did. In fact, Phar Lap won more races than Makaybe Diva ever ran at all. That's what makes a horse great. So what if 3 of Makaybe Diva's piddly 15 wins were the same race? That doesn't make you great. You don't become a great F1 racer by winning the Australian F1 Grand Prix 3 times and then bombing out on the rest of the series. A staggering 37 of Phar Lap's 51 races were wins.

But wait, it gets better. Both horses only raced for about four years. So not only did Phar Lap run more races and win more of them, he did it over roughly the same time period. So really, who's the better horse? My money's on the horse with the gigantic heart, not the one with the gigantic ego.


16% Racing, 84% Filler

What's the one thing worse than an arrogant horse trainer? Channel 7's coverage of sport. We all saw how deplorable the Olympic coverage was. The coverage of the Melbourne Cup is no better. In fact, it's probably worse. When the Olympics aired you still actually saw some sport, which is more than you can say for the Melbourne Cup.

Let's do the calculations. Not including stuff like "Sunrise: Live 3 Centimetres From The Side of the Track" or "Today Tonight: Live From the Stables", Channel 7's coverage usually goes for about 7.5 hours (assuming it runs on time, which I don't dare to check given the trash that's likely to follow), and let's assume that each race gets about 7 minutes coverage (not including that pointless parade they do or the interview-on-the-back-of-a-horse afterwards). Believe it or not, there are actually 10 races on Cup day, including the race that everyone supposedly cares about. It makes you wonder how people in the races run after the Cup must feel.

Back to the calculation:

10 races * 7 mins each = 70 mins of racing.
7.5 hours = 450 minutes of total coverage.
70 / 450 = 0.1556, or 0.16 if I'm kind enough to round up.

Over 6 hours (84%) of Channel 7's coverage is filler, and just 16% is actual racing.

There is one highlight that can be gathered from the endless hours of footage, and that's people saying stupid things. Perhaps a jockey will say "I think I landed on my head," or maybe it's an overly excited winner getting a bit confused about how a horses legs make it move when they say "Lastly, we have a big team of people who make these horses run." (Both are actual quotes from last year's coverage.)


Why Don't The Other races Stop the Nation Too?

Did you know that there are more horse races run each year than just the Melbourne Cup? Ever heard of the Caulfield Cup, for example? Or what about the Cox Plate? That's a race that is arguably as prestigious as the Melbourne Cup. According to Wiki, the Cox Plate is part of an international "grand prix" for horses. So why doesn't anyone care about that race? Why not stop for the Sydney Cup as well?

Here's an idea. We've got a plate and a few cups already. We might as well change a few of the race names, and stop the nation for the whole dinner set.

Be Prepared, Kiddiles!

In case of McCain, Break Glass

Oh, and if I don't turn up for the next few weeks, it's probably because I've been eaten by Zombies

(Just kidding, punks, I'll have something truly gold for you after I finish writing a little essay)

No one can resist....

No one....

Chapter 71: In which Seb appears to die a little inside

Hey Esteemsters!
It's a night of madness, and heat. So what better way to spend it than fornicatingBAD SEB! Well, it's either this or egging children in Halloween costumes. Aye, we're once again at that time of the year when everything seems to happen at once, and the nasties break forth from the Earth and chew on our minds.
So, how can we assist ourselves in avoiding a gruesome fate such as this? I dunno, so you'd better ask elsewhere, or just go back to dreaming like a mad bugger about things.
Like a machine that grants all your wishes.
Anything that lets you live out your ultimate fantasy job can't be all that bad, right? Right?
Oh lord. It's too hot. I think that something has melted inside my cortex.
I may return, but I doubt it.
Maybe it's all an insane dream, and I'll wake up and there'll be a guy going "You fell in a ditch"

MacDeath: The Original Soundtrack

Hey Funkers!
Because I care OH SO MUCH, here's a little Tasty Treat! It's the Somewhat-Official Soundtrack to MacDeath!
Now, for the audience participation section, Let's let you all attempt to figure out what song corresponds to what bit of the film!
Also: HAT PARADE!
Signin' out!
-Funkinator One.

MACDEATH -OR- The Über

Scene opens on Newsagent, where Macbeth strides triumphantly, his morbidly obese friend Banquo (who is wearing a "I'm #1, So why try any harder?" T-Shirt) in tow. He is beaming, as he has just won a fabulous prize: the last of the Women's Weekly Magazines from a crowd of deranged Big Brother fans. He parts with Banquo, who enters the subway to find dinner, and eagerly returns home and reads his favorite section, the Horoscopes.

Macbeth examines the page until he finds the relevant sign, Taurus. It says "Everything that you strive to achieve will turn around and smack you in the face, your friends will fail just like you and so will all their children. P.S. You will grow fat & die soon". Macbeth misinterprets all this as a good thing and rings up his Ex, just to rub it in her face. Scene cuts to Lady Macbeth. She is a Crack Whore working near Loch Ness, selling corn dogs at a derelict stand. She turns around to answer her phone (turning her back to Loch, where Nessy has just appeared, along with many tourists) and shudders when a cry of "WASSSUP?" is yelled down the line. She slams down the phone & decides to go and pay Macbeth a visit.

Macbeth is reading the Women’s Weekly on the toilet. Lady Macbeth & her CHUM-addicted-dog kick down his front door and storm into the house. She grabs Macbeth, pulling him off the toilet, holds him up by the scuff of his neck, and asks what the hell is his problem. The Women’s Weekly then falls open to the Horoscopes page, where Macbeth has circled his star sign (Taurus). Macbeth stutters: "The stars are good for me, they say I am lucky. That's why I called you". He also is holding an ID pass to Microsoft's HQ, where he works as a Janitor, which draws Lady Macbeth’s eye. The card is shown to have a special event pass on it, the annual Microsoft Festival of Failure. "Bill ‘Duncan’ Gates goes there tonight!" he says, pointing at the event info.
Lady Macbeth convinces Macbeth to kill Mr. Gates and take over Microsoft. Later, in the Microsoft HQ ballroom, Lady Macbeth has been telling Mr. Gates all about how good at toilet cleaning Macbeth is.
Macbeth is pacing around under the ventilation system up on the roof, where he is about to enter it. Macbeth says: "Is this a dagger I see before me?" as a shiny metallic object appears before him.
Lady Macbeth appears, holding a Heckler & Koch .45 P9S and says "No, dipshit, this is a gun".

Scene cuts to Macbeth crawling through the air vents (ala Mission Impossible). Macbeth spots Mr ‘Duncan’ Gates, removes the grate at the back of his office, and lowers himself down, landing quietly behind ‘Duncan’. It is then revealed, much to Macbeth’s shock, that Bill ‘Duncan’ Gates is using… an iMac! Macbeth composes himself, then cries "HOW ARE YOU GENTLEMEN? ALL YOUR FACE ARE BELONGING TO US!" ‘Duncan’ then spins around in his swivel chair rather quickly, to see who made such an outrageous claim, only to have Macbeth fires his pistol 10 times at point blank range, covering both of them in blood splatter. Macbeth reloads his gun and shoots the two guards holding FN P90's outside the door.
He returns to the desk and writes on ‘Duncan's’ stick-it pad under ‘TO-DO's’: “1. Promote Macbeth to CEO” “2. DIE".
Back outside near the air-conditioner vents, Lady Macbeth is playing hip-hop music on her iPhone, fairly oblivious to the world around her.

Macbeth throws his bloody suit out from the air vent, hitting her trashy ballroom gown, and smearing blood on it. "OH, all the OMO of Arabia shall not remove this blot!" Lady Macbeth cries. Macbeth tells her that there isn't any OMO in Arabia, and just to get over it. Just then the cops turn up, and are immediately drawn to the sight of a Scottish Terrier in a Holden Sandman eating CHUM like there is no tomorrow. There is saliva on everything inside the car, including the many needles and crack pipes in the back. There is some evidence of leakage, dripping out of the doors onto the asphalt below. One Cop says "Such foul a night I have not seen!" We cut to a flash back of the Cop throwing up on the shoes of the chief at his Birthday party, and getting kicked in the groin for his efforts. Flashback disappears. "Nope, I was wrong".

Down in the parking lot, Macbeth watches as Banquo blunders, totally drunk, into the security booth and passes out. Macbeth then sees himself killing ‘Duncan’ on the monitor.

Macbeth walks the spaced-out Lady Macbeth back to the vile Sandman, and gets in the back with her. Bumping sounds are heard, as well as the occasional dog yelp and sound of the suspension under stress. There’s the muffled cry of “CHUNKY!” at one point.

The next day, Macbeth is appointed to CEO of Microsoft at a big lunch break, so he sets up a CHUM stand for all his idiot employees, distracting them while he calls his “Soul Sister” and tells her to get her all her Brothers & Uncles & Cousins & Lobsters together for a very special 'Job'. The entourage arrives, and Macbeth tells his new goons to jump Banquo and his pet monkey, Fleance, down in the parking lot.
Banquo and his monkey are in car park, doing nothing in particular, when the goons descend upon Banquo from all sides. They are dressed in sharp Disco clothes and are wielding high-powered electric cattle prods. "Fly Fleance, Fly!" shouts Banquo. The monkey flaps its arms up & down, only to get whacked on the butt with a cattle prod and fall into a storm water drain.

Lightning strikes over the new Microsoft Headquarters, as Macbeth ordered it be relocated to Scotland, so he wouldn't have to drive very far to get to work. Macbeth is sitting, listening to the board of directors, while reclining his sofa. Suddenly he jumps up, appearing agitated. We see a psychedelic viewpoint, Macbeth’s, with Banquo in it looking idiotic as usual. Back in reality, a closeup of Macbeth's arse reveals that he has one of Lady Macbeth's needles jabbed into him. Macbeth, who is naturally quite worried by the return of Banquo, consults the Women’s Weekly again. He finds that the horoscopes have been replaced with the “Mystic Hags”, a $5.95 a minute hotline, so he calls it. A voice which sounds like a very bored housewife tells him that he is unpopular, will be removed from office by normal people and will only survive be fine if Burning Wood do come in Dumpsters at Microsoft. He makes a stupid noise and hangs up, once again completely misinterpreting the message. He gets a Text Message on his busted up Sony Ericsson K700i, saying that Macduff (one of the executives at Microsoft) has gone over to Apple. He then dials on his mobile and arranges for the trashing of Macduff's home.
Cut to Macduff's home, where Lady Macduff is sitting in a chair eating chocolate and watching Jerry Springer. She has rollers in her hair and is dressed in garish pajamas. Suddenly the door bursts open and automatic weapons fire fills the house. We cut to Macduff’s 9 yr old son playing on his N64 in the living room. One of the pistol packing punks challenges him to a game of Perfect Dark. The camera focuses on the two as they duel it out, while a ridiculously over-armed team continues to destroy Macduff’s house & it’s occupants. This continues until the kid throws up his controller in frustration, crying "Mother, he has killed me!". He storms out of the room in anger, ignoring all the gunfire/mutilated bodies around him, goes to the fridge, pulls out a can of CHUM, puts it in a bowl and eats it.

We now cut to Lady Macbeth hallucinating with crack pipe in hand, outside of a very cheap motel. She falls into the Loch and is promptly eaten by Nessy.
Back at Microsoft, Macbeth is swearing at his phone. He switches off Text messages. Macbeth goes over his PC, where Live! Messenger is running. He sees that his wife's pusher, the one that he had bribed to get her out of the way, has written “she got 8 lol”. Macbeth writes "YAY! KTHXBYE", and logs off computer.

Outside Microsoft, Macduff and some people from Apple are ready to storm the building and get Macbeth. Macduff, who is leading this attack, receives a call, and learns of the destruction of both his home & family from his landlord (who is quite pissed off, and tells him that he’s not getting his bond back). The Apple employees and Macduff don their riot gear, and, using a dumpster filled with wood, charge into Microsoft’s foyer, running over several cans of CHUM on their way. We see Lady Macbeth’s dog reappear, chasing the CHUM clogged wheels of the dumpster, as it is forced through the front pane of glass.
Macbeth is watching this all unfold from inside the foyer. He is donned in his finest dark suit and Armani sunglasses, and is armed with an nasty looking rifle (An XM8, or whatever is cooler looking). The invaders rush from behind the dumpster into the foyer, which is filled with pillars. Macbeth suddenly appears and shots at the closest man. A Coke vending machine is the only other object standing out in the granite & marble room. Macbeth suddenly remembers that average, normal people surround him, so, believing that he is bulletproof, a gunfight begins. For 5 minutes, Macbeth gradually eliminates all but one of the people trying to kill him (Yes, it’s a complete and utter Matrix Lobby Scene Rip-off). Clearly unbothered by the last man, he goes over to buy a Coke, but receives a can of CHUM from the machine instead. Macbeth is too pumped up on adreneline to notice this important fact, and swigs down the entire can.
Behind Macbeth, the last Apple invader takes off his face mask, revealing that Macduff. He shouts, "You killed ‘Duncan’, pissed off my landlord, but to top it all off, you called the Mystic Hags, didn't you? Well, I had your line tapped and … I'm a test tube baby!"

Macbeth suddenly realizes what he has just ‘drunk’ and looks rather ill. Macduff then shoots him in the back. Macbeth falls to the floor, apparently dead. Macduff leaves triumphantly, playing “The Final Countdown” on his phone’s loudspeaker.
Approximately 3 hours later, we see the inside of a darkened ambulance, where the body of Macbeth lies on a gurney. Macbeth’s eyes suddenly open, and he removes his shirt, revealing a bulletproof vest. Macbeth, then vomits CHUM onto the camera, and says “Mmm … Extra Chunky".
Credits Roll.

Here's a thing to keep ya goin'

Right, a first up here's a certain game that's quite close to my heart, except in Flash form.
Also, the watch that hates America!
In the mean time, you may all rest easy in the knowledge that the Über is coming. Don't fret.

Oh fine.

Here's the "Oh So Passionate" Bridal Waltz. For your Eyes &/or Mind!

But it's the last I've got of Wedding Fodder!! You'll just have to wait until I unveal the überpost in a while, alright? Until then, it's back to our regular garbage for a while, ok? Please don't throw rocks at me.

DISTRACTIONS from soridness! - OR - I lost 90% of my Audience, and all I got was a crushing sense of worthlessness!

Hey Fools & Fools of the Finer Sex!

Today's Witching Hour post is about little nuggets of Brown & Gold that we find in the S-Bend we call the Internet. Today, we'll be looking at Games. Yes, unfortunately for all of you who were expecting another acerbic post on a certain wedding, I think I personally have flogged that particular dead horse so hard it's skeleton collapsed in on itself, leaving a bad smell in the air. And Horse Flu.

Right, I'll start off nice (for a change!), I've got here a little game that can be basically described as "Choose your own Soap Opera". For all your dorks out there, think "Days of our Lives" meets "Deus Ex". Yes. I went there. Oh! In a Similar Vein, we've got Façade. It's mad, in the "type in what you want to say and the computer reacts to you" kinda way.

Next up, here's possibly the most utterly batshit insaneforgiveness/naiveity-based game I've come across in a long time. I was crying at the end of it. Not in a "I cried at the end of Dreamfall, because it was incredibly tragic yet beautiful" sense, but the "MY MIND CANNOT TAKE THE HILARITY ANYMORE DOG FRUITS" sense. There's alot of strange stuff on the Inter-fail, including the products of very strange competitions. One such glorious mish-mash, is named THE EMERGENCY 100-in-1 KLIK AND PLAY PIRATE KART MELTDOWN (It's in 7-Zip, the bestest compressor ever! Oh god what is happening to me... NOOOES)

Well, let's move into more "OH GOD THAT'S HORRIBLE" terratory, where we have, in the spirit of DEFCON, a little flash game called "Pandemic 2". I'll let you figure out what to make of this game, but beware, it is addictive, but, like DEFCON, only really sinks in when you ponder the numbers on your screen. Oh dear oh deary me.

I think I've burnt something out, I'll go and get it replaced, then come back and have another go at mild entertainment. Oh the terrible things I have seen to bring you these links.....
ALSO! We appear to have a WINNAH! Yes, the offical party line of the Blog, when it comes to Drinking, is that "It's Thursday Night and there's Wall-To-Wall Fuck All!" Thanks for Voting, mysterious strangers!

More unwanted insight into the horror below

(All credit to Jess for the $400 woe and image. All credit to me for the horrid wank joke on the bottom)

Oh, just for the record, when all the "Right, Richard, get all of your boys in for a shot" photos were being taken, things were pretty run of the mill. Come Rebecca's turn, our good friend Jess steps up to the ill-attended picture, and is told to get out of the shot because she's Richard's friend. Yes, even though Jess had endured what was coined "The Hen's Party from Hell", where the attendance was majority blood relatives and her 3 month old daughter, she is still not counted as her "friend". Not that I can imagine anyone actively seeking that illustrious title. Not even the few people she had invited from her former place of employment were there for her.

One more Achievement, because I care

But, perhaps most telling (of the events we have not replayed to you, so far) came from the Maid of Honour's speech, where the heaviest emphasis was put on the words "You're the most beautiful bride I've ever seen". The response from the bride was an expected smirk and a smug expression. The rest of the speeches (apart from the excellent Meta-Speech) were delivered in hollow monotonic verse, with not a hint of passion.
The Bride also wrote out her Wedding Speech 30 minutes before she had to deliver it, and completely omitted Richard's Parents from it.

A quick summary of the Wedding - OR - Party Achievements

(As a late addendum, I would like to relay some of the 'kind' words spoken to our dear friend, Jess, in the Women's Bathroom from the Bride, after Jess had just complemented her on her dress)

"I like your dress too. It makes you look like you're actually thin"

This serves as a fine example of why nobody particularly cares for this bride.

15 Laws of Theatre (and Five Laws of Live TV)

In the spirit of digging up old stuff and posting it on the blog, here's something I stumbled across that I wrote apparently not all that long ago (based on events that happened much longer ago than when it was written).

But this is the revised edition with all new material written this week! (And there may be even more material in the future.)

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1st Law of Theatre: The show never starts on time.

2nd Law of Theatre: The interval is always five minutes longer than advertised.

3rd Law of Theatre: The aisle seats fill up first.
Corollary: Anyone who invariably arrives late will have a centre seat.

4th Law of Theatre: There is never enough room in the foyer to accommodate a large audience.

5th Law of Theatre: No matter how big the theatre is, the air conditioning will always be slightly too cold for the audience.

6th Law of Theatre: The show is never ready by opening night.

7th Law of theatre: The bigger the cast, the more noise they will generate.
1st Corollary: The maximum noise generated is proportional to the square of the number of people present.
2nd Corollary: The amount of noise that the stage manager can use to silence the cast backstage is inversely proportional to the noise generated by the cast.
3rd Corollary: If there is more than one cast, the extra cast/s will never be silent during rehearsal, nor will they be silent (in the audience or otherwise) during a performance.

8th Law of Theatre: Extra lines of dialogue will inexplicably appear on closing night.

9th Law of Theatre: The director is never completely happy with everything.

10th Law of Theatre: The theatre the production is set in will never be able to accommodate the director's full vision.
1st Corollary: The stage crew will never be big enough to cope with the number of set pieces used to fulfil the director's full vision.
2nd Corollary: The transition from rehearsal space to the theatre will always result in unforeseen problems in the director's full vision.

11th Law of Theatre: There is never enough room backstage.

12th Law of Theatre: Every production company will have one prop or set piece that is always used in every production.

13th Law of Theatre: The smoke machine never sends the smoke where you want it.
Corollary: If the smoke ends up in the right place, it will still also end up in the wrong places. (Wrong places include: the audience, up.)
2nd Corollary: Whether or not the smoke ends up in the right place, there will either be not enough, or too much.

14th Law of Theatre: There will always be one microphone or light that always plays up consistently over the season.
Corollary: If you fix it or send it to be fixed, another one will begin to play up in its place.

15th Law of Theatre: At least one actor will forget their lines, get sick, or incur an injury at some point during the season.
1st Corollary: The probability of something else going wrong is proportional to the number of things that have already gone wrong.
2nd Corollary: The probability of major technical faults occurring increases as the number of errors on stage increases.

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1st Law of Live TV: Live events never finish on time.
Corollary: The scheduled finishing time of an awards night can be effectively lengthened by at least an hour.

2nd Law of Live TV: At least one thing will be considered controversial.
Corollary: If nothing else, someone will swear.

3rd Law of Live TV: Satellite coverage will always break up.
Corollary: If it doesn't break up, the sound will be out of sync.

4th Law of Live TV: Live editing will always produce at least one odd camera angle.

5th Law of Live TV: If something is scripted, it will be apparent that it has been scripted.
Corollary: If something has not been scripted, it will be aparent that it has not been scripted.

Build it up ... Tear it down (Rebuild it out of pious guilt)

Today we have a SPECHAL treat for you! It's Here

Now, doing things because songs suggest them often results in interesting outcomes (At this stage, we shall take note that I don't listen to the Gangsta Raps or Pops, as they offend the ear & mind). For instance, back in 2003, I had the idea that the best way to spend a Friday Night was not going to a party, nor attending a sporting event, but "Stealing People's Mail". Of course, the closest we ever got to interfering with the postal system was geting the mini CDs out of the Kelloggs Coco Poops, covering them with used up white-out, writing "FLUIDS O' LOVE" on them, and placing them in random peoples mailboxes. Digusting & Hilarious? It certainly was when we were 17.
Fastforward to 2006, for this was the year that... I went to Werribee. Here's my advice to all you kids & kiddies out there: Don't go to Werribee. It's like Woolongong, except with more teenage gangs and every shop seems to be owned by Tatassalls, which leads to my final point about Werribee. It's most likely the town with the lowest self esteem in Australia. Sure, we've got communities where half the population is constantly snorting petrol, or ones where the police are so corrupt you join them just so that you won't be constantly arrested, but these towns still lack that "We're a gambling company's bitch" flavour, accompanied by a "Nature Reserve" which consisted of a steep incline, and a sad looking creek. Sure, the time I went there was about the time I had contracted glandular fever, so I wanted to die, but still, the "suckatude" of this place just kept coming back to hit me. It's one of those places where everything is shut all weekend, probably due to the fears of "canvasers" and "skylarks". I guess TISM were correct, though, it really is a toilet...

Moving onto the next item, we come to what should be considered the "Anthem" of 2003, yes, that's right ladies & gentlemen, it's "I Suck". I believe that the song itself speaks clearly and concisely for itself, and basically undermines everything that High School ever taught you about "Self-Esteem". Thankyou Mark Ronson, you are a hero to the masses.

The next item on the agenda is a song from waaay back, called "If You Want To Be Happy". This horribly sexist and abusive verse is an excellently upbeat way to liven up anyone's day, as seen here (P.S. after he gets mad, just quit, the good bits are over. HEY! THAT HOLDS TRUE IN REAL LIFE TOO :D)

Have you read to the end, boys & girls? Well Here's your "Punishment"

Oh fine, here it is.

I hope you're happy. That's the last of the horrible video clips we've got for you unfortunates. At least for now, that is.
"It's just Cameron riding into a pit, what's so "XTREAM"(sic) about that?" you may ask.
Well, that's a bacteria-based sewer pit, old style because Maitland won't run a sewer line to our house. Yeah. Now who's both horrified and impressed? Not me. I'm too busy working on the next posticle in secret OH GOD I SAID TOO MUCH

Warning: May Threaten Sanity

The following is an excerpt from a certain Year Book, and has been added to the blarg for archival purposes.

This is a Very Stupid Story – Written in Year 9 and kept away from the public for very obvious reasons. It is called: “WARNING! MAY THREATEN SANITY! ”

Hello everybooooooody. My name is Private Cox. I joined the army so I would have a silly title and could go back to 1992 and bet on all the right races so I would get rich and then I would be able to challange Kerry Packer to 20 rounds of Pepsi Extreme Downhill Lawn Bowls on the big top Candy Arsed Mountain.
This mountain was complealy EVIL so since i was Private Cox, or still am, or will be, since in 1992 there was no Pepsi Extreme Downhill Lawn Bowls or other acts of self mutilation, or the fact that i probably would not be in the army yet so i would be stuffed, how ever in order to be stuffed i would need to go and see a taxidermist.
Then this Taxidermist would be able to tell me stories about cowboys and pigeons in the land of 20,000 different brands of urinal cakes. Then he would use these amazing stories to make me more easy to get stuffed, or if he is in a hurry, he will hit me in the head with his wife's waffle maker, or maybe he already has, since it will be the year 1992. So suddenly, only 9 years later, i will remember that he was botching the job, so i will reload my Jedi Juice drink bottle and refill my NAPALM FLAMETHROWER and go over to his house where i just might find him sodomising his gerbil. That would mean that i would not need my Flame thrower, as my stomach would provide enough vomit to kill the entire number of Joel's Relitaves (about 96 Billion Rodents of various descriptions), yet alone a gerbil sodomising taxidermist. Then with the doctor ( was he a doctor? i thought he was a bull shit artist) out of the picture (which was a bad one in the first place), and using my local $9.95/hour lawyers, i could get all the blame deflected onto him, I could retire and become the filthiest porn king until i would be 12 and mum taked to me about birds and bees and i wondered why i didn't see any giant killer birds trying to sting my eyes out and vouched never to be mr pimp ever again (well, it was my new years resolution, so it stayed true for about 7 minutes), by this time i had become deranged and had enough money from my book, "HOW TO REMOVE A FACE WITH A DISC SANDER", to bribe my way into Merewether Low School, where I invented an outdoor dunny that also doubled as a rocket. I was very happy when it worked, except for the fact that i landed on my groin at Merewether High School ( The flag pole to be exact, where my ARCH-NEMISIS, MR COX (WHO IS NOT RELATED TO ME AND EVEN IF HE WAS I WOULD HAVE KILLED THAT BOOT-SCOOTING MUDDA LONG AGO). Mr Boyd then got me down with his hair and I was very thankful, so i gave him a cold, and a bottle of white out. he was so pleased that he gave the school a fresh coat of white paint (ask mitch, richard, or me about this). Then i would go quiet and dream of giant monkeys for 2 years, tell Coolio to grow a face, because he required one for the school photos (YES, there was no face, just bone and muscle, very messy). Then I would join the salvation army and get the most kills to my name ever. I was amazed that noone had gotten as many punks as me. Escpically the old people, because they are as easy to hit as Tim Schnider. Then they branded me criminally insane and gave a medal, and a drivers licence, meaning that i killed even more people with my amazing minibus that had , or has, because my brain melted sometime ago. about 23 (skeedoo) years ago. Then i got lots of home work so i decided to make artitfical arm hair for ducks, and was shipped of in a box marked fine china to the nearest base which was ace of base, so they called me PRIVATE COX and sent me back in time to make them popular but i failed horribly so that is why i only meanson them now. They are still trying to get me to smwll their jeans to see if they need washing yet, but they havn't caught me yet. WAIT! WHAT IS THAT TAPPING NOISE! OH MY GOD! IT'S THEM! excuse me while i get my 20mm ammo for my assualt slingshot. (huge boom). Where woz i? oh yeah, i have compleatly forgotton why i wrote this. So the next day, which hasn't happened yet i will porbably breath, unless i die, and that would not be fair because i would never had the chance to decapitate Barney the Purple Dinosaur infront of kiddies all over this sad country. But if i decapitated Barney, the country would no longer be sad and would be happy, but its hard to make people happy if your dead, unless they wanted you dead because you told them about the similarity of their mum's face and boots that you throw up in, then play rugby in for 6 months straight,then throw up in again, and then give to a horney dog that gets far to excited and make a mess, so they would want me dead, and that would make them happy, but i would want THEM dead, so i would leave a burning bag of bird poop outside their house, so when they go to see what it is, i can run them over with my ride on lawnmower, and then i would have to run away, because the cops would come to get me for smelling up the street, because i would have had too much curry the night before, which would be tonight, and then i would have to call my terrorist friends, who just happen to be koala's in balaclava's. They would then bust me out of sitting in the corner looking at the wall and thinking about what i had done, because the cops made me sit in the corner and look at the wall because i had been bad and also to see if Big Kev's cleaning agent really worked. I would then say yes, and Big Kev would jump off the bottle and say "I'm Exicted!" and then we could all go for a lap of honour in a horse float which was attached to the back of a sewerage truck that was driven by a blind circus monkey called Ronaldo who knew a secert Web Code, which just happened to be SuperTed, so the Monkey said SuperTed and turned into a banana and attempted self-canabalism, which was very messy. Then I would have to kill the evil clowns from outer space who wrote in a funny way, because no one could read what they wanted people to know about their circus, so they got pissed at the pub and had a huge fight with the Blues Brothers who had to run off because they drank $400000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000 worth of beer and needed kidney and liver and heart replacements because they had eaten them by accident, thinking they were beer nuts. Anyhow in this fight, the phone got knocked off the hook and Weird Al showed up to sue everyone but ended up sueing himself for a lifetimes supply of toenails, which was delivered in a truck to his front door, which was weird to Weird Al because he lived on the 42nd floor, so he went crazy and started attacking the toilet with a toothbrush. Meanwhile, I was bopping down the street that seemed to go on forever when i walked into a wall, i wondered where the wall had came from, then realised that i'd been watching TV and had fallen off my stair climber, while my brother was too intoxicated to sing happy birthday (which is quite intoxicated, trust me) so he sung HHHHHHHAEEEERRRRRRRRRRYPPPPPPPP BBBBBBBBEEEEEEERRRRRRRRFFFFFFFFFFFFGGGGGGGGGAYYYYYYYYYYYYYY PPPPPPPOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO YYOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOH. THen he colapsed into the fish tank filled with cool refreshing sprite, and I would have to drag him out, because i wouldn't want to miss out on my geography lesson the next day because i would have to go to his funeral, which would be putting him in a sack filled with bricks and dumping him in the river, so the next day, which has not happened yet because i do not know what time period this is in, but i don't think i need on due to the Crazyness of me Private Cox, or maybe it has happened yet. ANYWAY, the next day there was a turd of prey, in the sky, but it swooped me and pelted me with beegees songs like Night Fever.
I’m So Sorry. This should not exist, yet alone 100+ copies. Don’t rip out the page, I’m sure that the other side is better. Just use white out on this side. PLEASE - SEB

As I said then, I'll say again. "I'm So Sorry."

Not convinced we can do Stop-Motion madness?

Well, you can die in a fire!
Then you can watch... ARSE_RABBIT.AVI

Well, failing that, you can see the one photo that Phailed to make it into the last page...

... is that a younger Lambie in the foreground?

Raiders of the Lost Drive

Hey Funkers!
I've been a-raidin' some old hard drives I had from my last computer, the horrible horrible Dell, and I came across some horrible horrible things! So, what else COULD I do but stick them up here, much to the ire and disdain of all who subscribe to the New Testament of Funk (AKA The "Oh GOD! NO!" Newsletter)!
First up, we have a mostly complete video that was filmed in February as well as a stint in July/August of 2003, in the HSC year. It may not be as cutting or as amazingly hilarious as we thought it was back then, but it's an important part of our CULTURE.

Amazing fact: The vid is technically a stop motion film! It is literally lots of horrible little photos that were stitched together! That's why we had an ill-fitting soundtrack! Now that you've stopped caring, I can tell you that there was one last skit that never made it in. It involved a bike, a sewer pit, and oranges. Let's just think about that for a moment, shall we. Yes. Now be thankful. Also, it was meant to be 2 separate films, but the 2nd was never finished, so they were sown together like some kind of hideous monster

Also hidden in the bowels of this drive was my one of my Year 12 pages from a rather infamous book. Yeah, it's the yearbook with the muck up photo where one of our cohort had her tit out. Pleasant!
But anyway, I'll put up a page that needs to be viewed in it's original context, and as a SPECHAL TRORT, you'll get a boring as batshit explanation of what the hell is going on behind those beautiful, inspiring words...



Just wait until I get back to the drive, there's so much more horrible material to UNEARTH!
Cya 'round, Mother Funkers!

WALL TO WALL STUFF ALL - Or - Mind Of Darkness

Well, dear StarStruckers Incorporated (Thanks Toronto Public School!), It is currently 8:19PM on a Wednesday Night, and I'm here at Groove Street Station, contemplating truth, beauty, and a $9/L bottle of Wine. Yes kid-sters, it's another night where too much drink is barely enough! The Torrents are Hot! The Weather is Cold! and the Air conditioner is filled with Dust! and we're getting rolling Blackouts!! Oooh yeah, it's time for the event you've all been waiting for... DIATRIBE!
... Well, it's either this or I dig out possibly the worst Word Document you've ever seen. And no, I'm not talking about the one which was about 80 megs and 412 pages of pictures of cretinous material (don't ask. You'll regret it in the morning like the aforementioned $9/L terror), I'm talking about a Year 12 page with just the correct amount of background images to bring your brain to the edge of Haemoragging without quite getting there. So you can enjoy it. You know. LIES. Although it did profess a certain love for Bill Paxton... C'mon! He's the ONLY person who's been killed by Alien, Predator AND Terminator! Who else can you Idolise? (Actually, I think he managed to kiss Helen Hunt without Vomiting in Twister, so there you go, he also preforms miracles!) WHERE IS YOUR GOD NOW? I'll tell you where he is! He's off writing a letter to Mr Paxton telling him how Awesome! he is. You can also forget about the 2nd coming, Jebus is too busy staying home and watching Aliens: Special Edition.

So, shall we delve into the world of political commentary & social observations? Lets Do! With the current Australian Olympic Effort following the philosophy of "GO FOR BROWN", I am reminded of a limerick that a peer of mine composed on demand when we were forced to sit through "The Return of Justin Norris to his high school to talk about sucking during the 2000 Olympics". I believe that the wit and genius of the bard graced us that day, and to quote my eloquent peer, known then as "Daaaaauuvee":

"Justin Norris I think you suck
You are but a useless fuck
3rd you came, in that race
To our school, you're a fucking disgrace"

See, the power of BROWN has been with this country since that fateful day! While we may have athletes in their Speedos and... well, to be fair that seems to be all we've got over there. It's not really an Olympic Team, but more of just the Swimming Team (Cheers Lambie! I may be absolutely maggotted off my brain, but I know when to acknowledge. If only this damned thing had footnotes...). Bah. I'll be honest. If it requires Running, Jumping, Hitting, or any form of non-liquid related exercise, I'm not interested. Actually, scratch that (look at me! I did!), I'm not interested. Period. All I know is that this will go down as the Faux Olympics. You know what I mean. Faux Fireworks. Faux Singing (therefore Faux Chinese Nikki Webster leading to Faux FHM spread in 6 years. Cya in 2014, Kiddo!). Faux COUNTRY! China is a lie! You read it here first! Kinda like watching a deviant hiding in a bush suddenly burst out and scream things like "SOLVENT!", "BUTANE!" and "PARIFFIN!". These things are half expected, but amusing never the less. I'm sorry if you're reading this in China, where Thinking is Outlawed, so if you're Lozi, SORRY BUT YOU'RE GOING TO GAOL! (Good thing you're back in the country where a wife earning more money than a husband is a trival matter, rather than a horrible scandal. OR ARE YOU? OH NOES!). BANG ON.
Well, seems that I've forgotten what I was talking about! Chalk another up to foolishness and idiocy! Let's continue this in a while!

**Approximately 3 hours later***

Oh god what the hell is this? The last thing I remember is going on about Innuendo and Kosher-ness. And making Kosher sound SUSPECT. It's an achievement, for sure. Just watch and I'll get a little pop up.


META MEANS I DIE TWICE.
Oh lord here comes Charlton Heston to chastise me...

I'm outta here.

Your Lord & Master Commands Thee!

He is ever present.

Instant Entertainment! Just Add Water!

Hey Funksters! If you're ever at a Party or Event, and need a quick tale to get things funked up, try this one (Customisable for utility!)

I want to tell you a story about the last time I was in (Town).
I was walking on the street about 10:30 at night, A lot of people go to bed around here at 10:30 at night. And well, I was walking along when suddenly these jocks in this bright blue car drove up. It had halogen lights, chrome rims, everything but the CB. It was a life-size Hot Wheels car for some dumb rich kid, right. Well, they drove up to me and they yelled what dumb rich kids usually yell, "Hey, faggot," and showered me with some water. So, I stood there thinking, "what a bunch of fuckheads"and picked up a rock.
Now, I waited, walked down about a block to where the Kentucky Fried Chicken is, and sure enough they drove around again. They said, "Hey, faggot, where's the nearest McDonald's?" I said, "I don't know" and they squirted me again.
So I threw the rock and put a nice-size dent in their giant Hot Wheels car.
They screached to a halt in the parking lot of some department store, who's name I don't remember, and they got out their clubs and they ran after me, yelling, "We're gonna kill you, you god damn faggot, we're gonna kill you, you motherfucker."
So I got in a phonebooth by the Kentucky Fried Chicken, held my legs straight out like this so they couldn't open the door to the phonebooth. So they began charging the phonebooth, beating on it with their club, yelling, "We're gonna kill you, you motherfucker, we're gonna kill you, you god damn faggot." I just looked at them.
So, there was a crowd gathering by this time and these kids were standing nearby and they said, "Oh, look at him, he's insane." I thought, ah-hah, here's my way out.
I yelled at them, "Take me to a mental hospital right away, I wanna be be put away. Please put me away, c'mon, call the cops and put me away. Please put me away now."
They said, "Alright, faggot, we're calling the police." So they called the police.
The cop comes out and I go, ah, my savior, I'm away from these jocks. He opens up the door, "Get out of there, you," throws me up against the car, frisks me, shoves me in the back. Then he goes over to the jocks, "Now what happened here? It looks like we're going have to take him to jail but we got to have the full story first"
So the jocks, who had an ace in the hole go "Well, goddammit, the motherfucker put a dent in my car, a $20000 car, right, so I got my club, I went out and I wanted to kill him. I want to kill him! Lemme kill him, goddammit! Lemme kill him!"
So the cop made them go home, and he drove me home, and he confiscated their club and my rock as further evidence. And I thought, so this is (State), huh? Tolerent (State)?

Just add gestures for effect!

Dance Dance Regurgitation -OR- Blasphemous Reggae Dance

We now return to your regular pro-gramme-ing...
Oh god, what the hell do we actually DO for regular articles? Do we even do regular articles? Or even regularly? Or even? Or? ? Feh, time for another round of the "OH GOD NO" Newsletter...
But I digress, as my attention span is too short to... to... Ooooh!
I found something PRETTY in my desk! That was sufficiently distraction to derail my train of thought down into a valley of madness... Let's see what joyous trees of stupidity we can smash into on the way down!
God, these ideas never lead anywhere good. I guess it's kinda like Waterworld was better before I saw it. It was Mad Max on Water! Dirty Dreads! Rusty Things! AND THEN WE SAW THE FREAKING FILM. You know what I'm talking about, don't ye? I think that it could be the fact that the opening scene was such a ringing endorsement of the Recycled Water Campaign (Almost as much as Pitchfork Media's review of Jet - Shine On. Look it up at work if you don't want to keep your job. If I won't link to it, you gotta know it's BAD). Yum. Actually, has Kevin Costner ever done anything good? Nah, of course not. I guess he's just another filthy plague-bearing goat.
But let's get on to more interesting topics? We could make something interesting, like the English-Marlon Brando translator (Everything comes out as "Murrrrr" or *Wheeze*).
We could go on about strange fixations that I've heard from the certain anonymous people on the Interwoe, such as "I'm not a Labor supporter, but I'd like to bang a chick wearing nothing but a Kevin 07 T-Shirt" (Ever wonder why my mind never seems to work? It's because I hear something of this ilk at least once a week...) but somehow I feel like I'd be violating the law.
BURRITO!
S OUT!

"I modded it so hard that it ceased to exist", and other ways to get on the Scoreboard of Foolishness!

Hey Funksters!
Today, I feel that I'll go for a slightly altered route to my usual insanity! Today, I'm going to talk to you about a subject that's very close to my heart. That's right, philistines, (If you think it's about Pvt. Hudson, I'm sorry, but maybe next time...) it's the world of Modifications! Mods are the reason why I don't like iPods, sure they hold heaps and break as soon as you drop them once, but they're about as resistant to change as aristocracy (and what's worse, while there are pockets of resistance the general community consensus is that it's fine to just take it as it is, iTunes and all, and when's the last time you saw regicide becoming vogue? C'MON PEOPLE! DEFENESTRATE! BOHEMIAN-STYLE!). That's the reason why I rock out with my ancient, scratched Sony Walkman. Sure, the battery cover doesn't stay on, but you get something like 28 hours of musics out of a single AAA rechargeable battery, and best of all, it's been modded to allow for simple drag & drop song loading, none of this "DISCONNECT AND YOU GET AIDS" kind jazz. Simplicity is good, methinks.
Simplicity is good? Actually, I'll retract that statement due to the overwhelming amount of evidence to the contrary. Where is this evidence, say ye? The goddamn computer, says I. Let's get one thing clear, I don't think a computer that glows like a jukebox is a good thing. Especially those that have that neon Blue glow like a hotted up Rice-mobile. Thermometers or "YOU HAVE 5 MINUTES TO RETREAT TO A 200KM SAFE DISTANCE" displays are good in my book, but I never got into that, for several reasons (such as the fact that I'd probably blow it up and have neon gas disperse everywhere in the machine, followed shortly by death or woes.
So, shall we examine what I've actually got? LETS DO!
Well, there's the standard upgraded DVD burner, which should be region 0, but I do hate that PowerDVD player for switching on me constantly. There's also a 2nd DVD-ROM, but that's not actually connected to anything because of a long and horrible story. The side hatch will not stay shut now, because of another long and horrible story. But the STICKERS CHILDREN! THE STICKERS! And Soviet Hatpin! WHO COULD ASK FOR MORE?

But back to horrible things! Let's see... in an effort to make it more stable, I destroyed the Prefetcher, which makes Windows about as graceful as a Lummox, but I think I'll end this rant, as I've probably gone down that trail long ago...
So, what say ye? Is taking things apart & making them more brokenAWESOME the new black?
Need some ideas for horrible home disasters unleashing the funk? Well, try some of these!
Increase electronics power by adding a voltage to the ground, or, better still, WE DON'T NEED NO STINKIN' GROUND!
Build your own mobile phone out of bits of other phones!
Make a toast-friendly shower head, and you'll be my freakin' hero.
SO LONG SUCKERS!